#fordisia

[terraisnotonfire-blog]

Volfram Prologue

"And so I said, that is not a gelatinous cube, that is my wife!"  Everyone else at the table exploded in to uproarious laughter as Deimos finished his joke, except for Saros whom merely chuckled awkwardly.  He didn't get the joke, he seldom did on nights like these.  It had been another successful day in the life of traveling perfromers, and they were celebrating in Deimos's preferred fashion, getting very drunk.  There was a time when things were tough, but these days, the father and son duo did quite well for themselves.  Their food was always hot, and heir beds were always warm, that is, except for when Saros didn't choose to sleep outside under the stars instead.  He felt a kinship with the night sky.  It made him almost feel like he belonged.  A feeling he had thought he felt as a child, but not once since.

Saros didn't look like anyone he knew, not even his dad.  He had deep indigo skin, so dark you would think it black at first.  His skin was mottled by speckles of white, except for his face which had only one large solitary dot on his forehead. But that was by far not the most interesting part of his lean, angular, elflike face, that honor went to his eyes. They were swirls of color and sparkles, like two galaxies far away twistied in the night sky.  He often wore bandanas and headcoverings of that sort to hide his hairline, or lack thereof, for instead of where hair should be, where black shoulder length tendrils about a fingers width each. From a distance, one could easily confuse them for dreadlocks, so he wore the bandanas to complete the illusion, as well as decorate the tendrils with metal cuffs and leather bands.  He wore multilayered, flashy gold and red robes, adorned with colorful trims, sequins, and tassels, a distracting wardrobe to divert attention from the far more outlandish looking person inside of them.

Deimos could best be described as ruggedly handsome.  His long mane of silky dark brown hair seemed to wave in a non existent breeze at all given moments.  His golden brown eyes were like two limpid pools of honey.  His immaculate smile, and impressive jawline were framed by a light scruff of facial hair. When he chose to wear a shirt, he often wore one with a a deep neckline and billowy sleeves he could roll up to showcase his glistening, tan physique.  Chiseled by the gods, and blessed by a higher power were phrases often spoke to describe his body.  But actions speak louder than work, and the way women acted around him spoke volumes.  They were putty in his agile hands.  It was often common to see him surrounded by a flock of women, and tonight was no different.

"You guys were great out there"

"Huh" Saros turned to see a large orc woman sitting next to him.  His swirling blue eyes locked with hers

"Oh, uh," she nervously scratched her bald head, her cheeks deepening to a darker shade of green as she looked away.  "I was just saying, I saw the two of you perform earlier.  It was really good."

"Oh thanks."  

"How did you do that thing with the goblet?  It was like real magic, but there wasn't any spellbooks or runes  or hand signals or chants or nothing."

Saros chuckled nervously "A good magician never reveals his secrets."  His secret was that it actually was magic, a magic that seemed to come from within.  It was a unique talent he had never seen anyone else possess, and one he strived to keep a secret.  And what better way to hide it than in plain sight.

"You know, I just got in to town, and I don't have a place to say.  I just checked and all the rooms are full.  Any chance you'd want to share a room."  She tried her best to remain stoic and only slightly interested in the proposition she had offered, but a mischeivous grin crept on to her lips.

Saros rolled his eyes.  It hadn't been the first time that he had been used by women trying to get closer to his dad, and yet he was constantly foolish enough to believe it would be the last, and so each time it was like a fresh wound.  He sighed with great exasperation as he grabbed his plate and stood up.  "Why don't you just ask him yourself?"  He then turned, found an empty table in the corner of the room, and moved to it.

Saros never did well with women.  He always felt anxious whenever he spoke at length with one alone.  He often ran out of things to talk about, resorting to pleasantries about weather or current affairs.  He could feel their stares judging him inferior.  Their gaze penetrated through his garish wardrobe and affectations and saw the real him underneath, the freak.  Just like tonight.  The orc woman had been staring at the freak, and as soon as he engaged, she got embarrased and looked away.  It was an occurence he had grown used to.

He found himself much more comfortable talking with men, he could converse with them much more easily. Except for when they talked about women, as they had started to do on this night.  That was one topic upon which he had a hard time relating, choosing instead to nod and mumble "Yeah" noncomittally until the topic changed.  But tonight he didn't feel like talking to anyone.  He had a lot on his mind.  

The goblet trick had gone well, really well in fact.  So why hadn't Deimos seemed as impressed by it as anyone else.  Was his dad upset because someone else was getting all the attention.  Was this what the future of their relationship held? Envious stares and lackluster praise?  Good for a beginner?  Ha. He'd like to see Deimos do anything of the sort.

"Well son, are you staying inside or outside tonight?"  The sound of his father's voice from behind caught Saros off guard.

"Umm, outside I think." Saros turned around to see his father and the large orc woman from before looming over him.

"Ah good.  I made a new friend and she was going to come back to my room and show me some of her writings."  Saros looked over at the woman to see her flexing her right arm, her bicep nearly ripping through her shirt sleeve. Deimos grinned and cocked an eyebrow.  "We are going to arm wrestle to see who gets top bunk."  The orc woman stopped flexing and her face returned to that familiar shade of dark green.

"Father, please, I do not need to hear about your sleeping arrangements."

"What?  You are always talking about how we need to communicate more?"

"You know that this is not what I meant."  Saros turned back to his food, and stuffed the last few bites in his mouth

"Ah, I am just giving you a hard time.  If you change your mind, you know--"

"The secret knock of course." He mubled through a full mouth. As he stood up from his table.  "And if you need me you can find me--

"On the tallest hill outside of town, yes I know.  I love you son."  Saros brushed past his father as he headed out the door without saying a word  Deimos turned to the woman beside him and shrugged. "They grow up so fast."

Saros made his way to the wagon outside.  He hopped inside and rummaged around, grabbed his bedroll and a couple of other essentials, and headed off in to the hills to the east.  He had seen one on the way in to town that was quite large indeed and knew it would make for an excellent spot for stargazing. And sure enough he was right, he was about a mile from town meaning he was free from all the noises and the lights, and able to just stare at the clear sky and the stars above.

Nights like this were his favorite growing up.  Money hadn't always been easy for the pair.  There was a time when they had no choice but to sleep outside.  When Deimos worked alone he had made enough coin for both, but had struggled trying to provide for two, but he did as well as he could.    When they made coin, as they seldom did, it went to food first and shelter last.    Deimos always said that he had grown up without either, and he'd choose a hot meal over a warm bed any day.

Saros always enjoyed it when his father talked about his childhood, it helped him relate to him more. Deimos had grown up an orphan on the streets of Carth, in the kingdom of Alfard.  Before learning acrobatics and juggling, he stole and pilfered to get by, before that he had lived on refuse.  He had passed on those theiving techniques in the early days, and it had been Saros's duty to supplement their income by picking the pockets of the rich.

One day, after performing in Innastorm, Deimos had found himself on the beach, staring up at the stars with his companion for the night.  At the time he was doing well enough to feed himself, and he stayed indoors when he felt like it.  But tonight, the starry sky had called to him, and after he and his lover had  their tryst, they found themselves talking about the meaning of life.  He didn't know why but he felt compelled to tell her about how empty his life felt, the constant  female attention, the food, the beds, when he was living on the streets, he thought those things would make him happy.  But he felt like he had gained all that he wanted, but lost what he needed, and he didn't know what it was.

She had told him that life didn't give you its meaning.  You had to give meaning to it.  He had nothing he was invested in or cared about other than himself.  Until he found something or someone beside himself to care about, his life would continue to be empty and meaningless.  He had told her the only thing he cared about was the freedom he felt looking up at the night sky, and it would take a miracle to make him care about anything else. Nine months later he awoke to find a newborn baby with skin light the night sky, and eyes that sparkled like stars.  He had called him his Miracle Boy ever since.

On those nights they looked up at the stars together, Saros would lay in wonder as Deimos would tell him stories of all the things he had done in his life.  Deimos would always say that the most important thing is freedom.  "Be who you want to be and do what you want to do, and let no one stop you. That is what is most important in life.  Always remember that Saros. And what's the second most important thing?" he'd always ask. "Family." Saros would always answer.

"That's right."

As he reminisced, he could feel drowsiness begin to overtake him. He took a moment to adjust his bedding and find a comfortable position, he then concentrated for a moment and suddenly a ethereal humanoid shaped figure, only visible to Saros, appeared before him."How can I aide you, Saros?"

"You know the drill.  Wake me up in 8 hours.  If anyone or anything with ill intent comes within 30 yards, wake me up."

"Of course.  Rest well." Saros closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, his ethereal guard standing watch.  His dreams were tumultuous, filled with visions of storms and battle and suffering and loss.

"It has been 8 hours Saros. Farewell."  Saros awoke to see the ghostly form of his ever vigilant protector evaporate before him.  It was a dreary day in early Autumn.  Grey mist hung in the air, not a single beam of sunlight could be seen anywhere.  Saros was glad he took the chance to stargaze when he did, odds are it would be too overcast to do it tonight.

About a half hour later, Saros found himself back in town at the Broken Shovel Inn, knocking at the door to his father's room.  There was no answer.  He paused and remembered.  He knocked again, this time five times in succesion, a brief hesitation then twice more.  Still no answer.  Once again, he knocked, this time, slower, harder, and more deliberately, but before he could finish the last two taps, the door opened.

"Knock knock."  Deimos stood before him, disheveled, sweaty, and pale.  He waved Saros in, "You can enter.  The girl from last night is gone."  Deimos made his way back to the bed with apparent difficulty

"How did you sleep?" Saros's voice was laced with trepedation.  His father had pulled all nighters before, so it wasn't uncommon to see him out of sorts in the morning. Even so, this seemed different

"Not well, and not for any fun reasons either.  Whoo, I think you are going to need to let your old man sit down for a bit.  I uh, I am not feeling so hot."  Deimos faltered for a bit as he tried to reach for the bed in front of him, but before he could make it, his legs gave out beneath him and he crumbled to the floor

"Father."  Saros rushed to his side, "Are you alright?  Did that orc from last night do this to you?"  He grunted as he managed to hoist Deimos up on to the bed.

"No unfortunately, she is not the reason for me being unable to walk.  We just talked for a little bit and she left.  There was one other thing of note.  I do not guess by any chance you came in here last night in disguise and attacked me with a dagger?"

"No of course not, father."

"Good, if so, I would have some various serious complaints about your technique.  Whoever it was barely managed to knick my arm.  I managed to stab him straight through the hand.  And then the bastard must have taken off with my knife.  Do you see her anywhere.  It was Lola, I do not know what I would do with out her."

"Father, there are more pressing issues than a dagger, here let me take a look at your arm." Saros rolled the billowy sleeve on Deimos's right arm back to reveal, amidst his olive skin, a  large patch ofwhat appeared to be marble, with a small scratch at the certain of it.    He put his hand to it, it was cold and hard like stone.  "This is not good.  Father, we must get you to a temple immediately."

"You are probably right.  I do not want to ruin my perfect complexion."  Deimos laughed, but the nervousness in his voice betrayed his apparent nonchalance.   Saros lifted him up to his feet, threw his uninjured arm over his shoulder and escorted him to the door, down the hall, and out of the inn.  After asking a few people out on the street, he managed to ascertain the location of the  temple of Cinna and began to head towards it.  Saros struggled to carry his father, Deimos seemed to be growing weaker by the second and having a harder and harder time supporting himself, even with Saros's help.

By the time they made it to the temple, Deimos could hardly hold himself up at all, and decided to collapse on the ground instead.  Immediately, seeing that something was wrong, a number of clerics rushed to his aid.  A dwarf woman in more ornate robes approached Saros as several figures huddled around Deimos, chanting and invoking Cinna's name.

"What is wrong with him, my child?"

"It's my father.  He was attacked in the night by a man with a dagger.  And now his arm is turning to stone."

"Well, given those circumstances, I think poison is most likely.  Cockatrice spit most likely.  It is excrutiating but easily fixed.  The woman crouched down beside Deimos and placed her hands on his arm.  She began chanting, and after a moment, her hand began to glow green.  Another moment passed, and the chanting and glowing stopped.  She removed her hands to reveal that nothing had changed.  "This is troubling.  Let me try again." She repeated the process and once again the stony patch of skin remained unchanged.  One of the other clerics spoke up.

"Ma'am, I don't think its a cockatrice."

"Well then what is it."

"I'm not entirely sure, but I have some conjecture.  Take a look at the skin that's already changed.  It looks more granite than limestone.  Plus, I ran a few detection spells.  He's definitely got a toxin in him.  But he's also testing positive for a curse, nothing basic either, none of our curse removal spells have worked.  I think the curse is bound to the venom and as long as the venom remains, so does the curse, and vice versa. In order to get rid of it--"

"We have to get rid of them simultaneously.  But to do that, we're going to need to know what both of them are.  Perhaps if we knew who the attacker was we could surmise what he used to attack you.  Did you get a good look at him?" The dwarf dabbed the sweat from Deimos's brow as she spoke to him.

"I did not.  But I did manage to tear a piece of his clothes.  I figure it is importnat, so I held on to it."  With great difficulty and strain, Deimos, unclenched his left first to reveal a scrap of black cloth.  Saros grabbed it and examined it thoroughly for anything of  use, but was ultimately fruitless.

The dwarf spoke up again  "If we do not stop the spread of the venom soon, once it reaches his heart, the toxin will spread rapidly throughout his body, turning him in to a statue within moments.  The only option we have left is to amputate."

Deimos chuckled, "Who ever heard of a one armed juggler?"

"Father!  This is no time for laughing."

"Saros, what have I taught you? There is always time for a laugh.  Now run back to the inn, grab my other two daggers, and rush back her as quickly as possible."

"What?"

"GO!"  Deimos dropped the levity, and his face grew hard and stern

"Of course father."  Saros got up and sprinted back to the Broken Shovel.  It took him about five minutes to make it back to the inn, he charged past customers and staff and burst in to the room.  His two other daggers, Florence and Selina, were still sitting on the bedside table.  He grabbed them and dashed back.  When he had left, the venom had already reached his upper arm, it wouldn't be too much longer before it reached his chest and things would be too late.  His mind raced over what might happen to his father.  He didn't always get along with him, but he knew that Deimos loved him.  Or at least he was pretty sure he did.  He was his Miracle Boy after all.

Saros arrived to see the clerics still huddled around him.  But they no longer appeared to be attempting to cast spells, they appeared to be reciting last rites.  He pushed a few aside to see what was happening.  The clerics had removed his shirt, he could see that it had spread all the way up his arm and to his chest.  The dwarf woman from before spoke up.  "I'm sorry, there is nothing more we can do.  Within moments, it will reach his heart."

Saros dropped his head as tears began to well in his eyes "I'm too late."

"Nonsense boy, you're just in time.  All of you, give me some space."  The clerics huddled around Deimos scattered as he struggled to his feet.  "Be a good boy and help me up."  Saros picked his father up by his still fleshy arm.  Deimos was considerably heavier than before and his left arm made a loud scraping noise of stone against stone as he was lifted to his feet.  Once he was upright he looked Saros in the eyes as he rested his good hand on his shoulder.

"Saros, my Miracle Boy.  Perhaps it is time I stopped calling you that.  You are 20 years old, it is time you become a man.  It is time you become Saros.  Whatever it is that means.  Follow your heart, do what it tells you is right, trust it and let it guide you.  I just have one small favor to ask you."

"Anything father," Saros managed to force out between choked back tears.

"Get Lola back for me.  I will miss her terribly."

"O-of course."

"Now hand me my daggers." Saros wiped the tears from his eyes and handed the blades to his father.  "The work of a showman is never done."  With screams of agony, he managed to close the grip of his stony hand around one dagger and lift his arm up as if he had just caught the blade, and positioned his other arm as if he was about to throw the other.  "Always remember the two most important things in life Saros."  Saros watched as the stone spread to the center of his chest and suddenly began to spread through out his entire body. "I love you son."  And with that, his father was gone, and only a statue remained.