The Devil of Amaranth
By Deuce Traveler
Chapter One
Deuce Traveler entered the
Carrion Inn, the patrons of which could feel his bad mood
entering with him like it's own living presence. Business had
been slow the last few months, with a forgery operation he was
involved with going badly in the hidden city of Loradonia, and
two of his contacts being killed in a drunken brawl in Xezibar.
At this rate he was going to have to give up his house in
Riversy. Or he could follow the scolding advice from Sheila, the
halfling peach seller he purchased fruit from, and get an honest
job. "Heh, I'd rather live on the top floor of this dump
they call a tavern again," he thought to himself.
The twenty five year old rogue was over six feet tall, slim, but
muscular. His long, white hair was tied in a braid, its color
drained when he was twelve. Deuce let his violet colored eyes
that spoke of a magical heritage adjust to the dimness of the
room and began to walk towards the bar. Filthy stood behind the
bar, wordlessly putting out a bottle of the local speciality on
the counter for his frequent customer. Deuce paid for the drink
and quietly sat down next to a cloaked man at the bar. They
enjoyed some minutes of silence until the man finally spoke.
"We've been offered a job," Dirk, the cloaked man said.
He had frequented the Carrion Inn and it was only a matter of
time before the two rogues were partners. Dirk had a knack for
finding profitable jobs in Riversy, and their first few thefts
had gone so well that the two rogues had expanded operations in
every town and city in the region of Amaranth. Now Deuce was
rarely in Riversy, constantly traveling from area to area to
perform work for their many employers. Dirk found that he liked
staying comfortably in one city and not risking his neck, so he
kept the network they had created running through couriers,
handled the gathering of tools for Deuce, and took a quarter of
the profits.
Deuce looked disappointingly into his empty bottle and signaled
Filthy for another. "Maybe our luck is changing for the
better. What's the job?"
"The dwarves of Rockby have sent a representative to Riversy
asking for mercenaries to reclaim an axe from the caves of
Doom."
"Rumor has it that the self-proclaimed King of Doom,
Ragnatoth, has built up a small army of men to patrol those
corridors. It won't be easy to get in. How much are they
paying?"
"Twenty thousand coins, a majority of their dwindling
coffers that remains from their war with the dwarves of Dowwin's
Tomb."
"What? I can live off that for four months even with my new
home. Why so much? Who is this representative?"
"The dwarf in question is Rothor. Our contacts in Rockby
sent word of his departure from the city. Their letters got here
on the same day he did and state that he was given more than
twenty thousand coins to hire a group of adventurers to travel
with him into Doom. It seems that Rothor is here to enjoy the
pleasures of Riversy and is using the gold to fund his bad
habits, as he is known to do."
Deuce sighed. He had crossed paths with Rothor many times in his
travels, every one being a good experience. The Rothor he knew
back then was honorable, incredibly brave, and a happy soul in a
way that only the hard living dwarves seemed to be able to
achieve. Then came the green potions Rothor began to drink
regularly. Green potions enhance your awareness and can save you
when surrounded by an enemy, but at an awful price, and soon
Rothor became an addict. Now the dwarf could only dwell on his
next fix, slowly draining away his family's fortune. Deuce began
to rub his temples. "Tell me about the axe."
"You are right. This job won't be easy. What our contacts in
Rockby have told me and Rothor has left out to the mercenaries
he's talked to is that the axe is an old dwarven artifact, lost
between the struggles of the dwarven kingdoms of Dowinn's Tomb
and Rockby. Whatever dwarven kingdom regains the Axe of Dowinn
would of course gain much prestige over its enemy. Unfortunately,
King Ragnatoth has discovered the power of the Axe and contacted
his allies, the dwarves of Dowinn's Tomb, and offered to give
them the Axe for a price. They are currently in negotiations,
which is why the dwarves of Rockby are in such a hurry for
someone to get the axe for them. Rockby's spies have found that
Ragnatoth has most likely given the Axe to his newest creation.
Some monstrous creature the King calls the Almighty Keeper."
"Ha! Not a very imaginative man, is the king? I bet this
information cost us quite a bit, didn't it?"
"Yes it did, but I think I know a way to make it back. You
know, Deuce, if you decide to take this job we don't have to give
the Axe to Rothor. The Rockby dwarves would realize what a fool
the man is and probably pay us whatever price we demand from
them."
"I should have known this was coming," Deuce thought, a
frown playing on his lips. He could use the money. And why not?
Rothor hadn't been his friend for a long time. The words came
slowly out, "No... we won't be doing that. I'll go see
Rothor and tell him I'll take the job. He can return the Axe to
his people when he's done."
Dirk stared long and hard at Deuce. "Kindness doesn't
pay."
"If you don't like it, Dirk, why don't you do the job."
"We'll do it you're way, but one morning you'll learn your
lesson. Speaking of charity, those young lads were in here
looking for you again today."
Deuce groaned, "Oh not again. What do they want now?"
"The usual. For you to show them the ropes. You've begun to
make quite a reputation for yourself in the underground. Hell,
they even talk about your exploits in some city streets. I've
been telling you for awhile that if we ever started a
guild..."
Deuce glared at Dirk. "I will not be part of some damnable
organization. Those stupid kids follow me like I'm some sort of
hero. I keep telling them they should talk to Esk, Saint, or
Angeli." He almost added Rothor, but stopped himself.
"Those three believe in causes."
"Maybe they trust in you for a reason. It's rare to find
people in our line of work that care about the people they work
with. Not that I don't care about you. If you died, I might
actually have to work for a living."
"Dirk, you don't know what it's like to be hounded by these
lads sometimes. I can't possibly live up to their
expectations."
Dirk studied his partner for a moment. "You know pal, I
think you're right. After all, when it comes down to it you're
not scared of much, but you're actually afraid of people
depending on you. It kind of makes a little cheat like me feel
better to find that the famous Deuce Traveler is actually a
coward." Dirk smiled at Deuce happily, and walked out of the
Carrion Inn, whistling a pleasant tune.
Deuce finished the last of his drink and paid Filthy, saying to
the bartender, "For a moment there I was afraid it was going
to turn out to be a nice day..."
Chapter Two
Deuce couldn't figure out why
Riversy had to be so bright and cheery this afternoon. The sun
was out without a cloud in the sky. The people smiled at complete
strangers, happy thoughts filling their minds. "How can
people be this happy? Don't they know that there is a shell of a
man living among them? A dwarf who used to be a hero, and whom
probably should have died in his hay day when everyone could have
remembered him the way Deuce did. Strong. Resolute. Unbreakable.
And how the mighty have fallen. If someone like Rothor could
become a twisted addict to something like the green flow as some
called the green potions, what did that say about the rest of
us?"
Now that he put himself in the proper dour mood to face Rothor,
he began his trek. He went past the Riversy theatre and some
general stores. He reached the center of town and stopped to
think at the Temple Yard's Riversy Fountain for a while. He
continued east of the fountain and down two streets until he
reached the Griffin Lounge Inn. Rothor rented out a room on the
second floor in one of the apartments. His friend and
ever-present companion, Sloe, unsurprisingly had the room right
next door. Deuce rapped his knuckles on the wooden frame, heard
someone stepping across the room, and was surprised to see his
friend, Esk, open the door.
"Hello dear, it's such a surprise to see you here,"
Deuce said.
"I'm planning to go to Doom and needed information from
Rothor about its layout," Esk answered.
"Excellent. I've agreed to help retrieve that axe for him,
too, although I think I'll put up a scavenger hunt, if it meant
you'd visit my room."
"I'm not after the axe, I'm after something of my own."
She said the next part louder and looked back over her shoulder.
"The axe can rot there for all I care."
"Ummm...did I come at a bad time?"
A weak, scratchy voice came from inside the room. "Deuce?
Deuce Traveler? Step in here so these old eyes can look at
you." As the rogue slipped past Esk the voice went low,
almost into a whisper. "Aaaah...Deuce. It's been what, a
year? Way too long, my friend, way too long. Well, don't you have
anything to say to your old traveling companion?"
Deuce didn't have anything to say for some long seconds. He was
afraid if he did his voice would crack, and then he would cry. He
hadn't cried since he found that his Caitlyn was gone, and he
would be damned if he would now. The dwarf looked skeletal, a
glazed look covered his eyes. This thing in front of him couldn't
be his friend. Somewhere in those eyes was Rothor, but instead of
that happiness that filled his face, there was nothing but the
lost look of self-pity. "Hello Rothor. I too miss my
traveling companion."
If Rothor heard the sting in those words he didn't show it.
"I need someone to do this job for me, Deuce. Our lady Esk
here refuses to care about her old friend. I just have to get
this axe out of Doom."
"That's why I'm here, Rothor. I could use the cash and I've
heard you were looking to hire a man for the job. Well, I'm
it."
"Hehe... <caff> <cough>.. oh. Excuse me. You
make this warrior proud, Deuce. Are you familiar on how to get
into the mountain city of Miramor?"
"I am. The half-elves of the city know me as I have visited
Miramor often looking for information on... someone close to
me."
"Well, out of the south gate of Miramor is a secret tunnel
entrance into the caverns known as Doom. Once you worm you're way
through the tunnel and get into Doom go straight through the
corridor. Our Rockby spies were able to get study maps in
Dowinn's Tomb and sent the information to us. Did you know those
dwarves built Doom for their human allies? Our spies
messages indicate the side passages are filled with a library, a
throne room, some barracks, and living spaces. However, straight
down the hallway is where they keep their greatest treasures. If
you can get past some minor locks you should find the axe in that
region of the cavern. We have several cases of gold we are
willing to drop off in your account at the bank. I'm willing to
pay you ten thousand coins for the job. What do you say?"
Deuce's face turned red. He couldn't believe this was coming from
his friend. "You lying thief!" He screamed causing both
Esk and Rothor to jump. "After all we've been through and
you dare lie to me! I know that axe is guarded by something the
Rockby dwarves had feared! I know the axe is the artifact known
as Dowwin's Axe! I know you've come with a lot more money then
what you offer! How much did you start with? Thirty thousand
coins? Forty? How much have you spent on the green flow? You were
offering twenty thousand coins a few hours ago! Were you going to
buy some more of you're drug? I felt sorry for you, you bastard!
I should take that damn artifact of yours and sell it to the
Rockby council and tell them about what type of man you really
are!"
The door behind them slammed open as Sloe angrily barged in. She
looked like a cross between a walking lizard and a human, eyelids
that, unlike a human, were vertical and had nictating membranes.
"Deuce, leave Rothor alone! He saved your life in
Nengtaroth!" Rothor had found Sloe in a corner of known
Austin and saved her life despite almost losing his own life in
the process. When he was the hero Deuce knew. Sacrifice was
something that her own race was not know to have the capacity
for. Ever since, Sloe had been found to be overly sensitive to
kindness. Rothor saved her life once, and no matter what Rothor
was now, she loved him as her friend unconditionally and would
never leave his side. Despite his anger, Sloe's pleading shamed
Deuce.
"Very well, Sloe. I won't yell anymore, but you must
understand this man is destroying himself and I won't stand for
him bringing me down with him. Rothor, tell her to put twenty
thousand coins in my account now so you can't spend it on green
potions. Tell her, Rothor, and I'll head to Doom right now.
Otherwise, I walk out of this room right now and your Rockby
mission be damned. I've noticed no big line of sell swords
knocking on your door behind me."
Rothor laughed bitterly, "Trust you? You can call yourself a
fingersmith, Deuce, but you're still nothing but a thief. Your
spies have obviously been watching my every move and you dare ask
me to trust you? What about you, Esk? Love, if you ever truly
cared about me you would do this itsy bitsy thing for me."
Esk's head was bowed, her face hidden by her hair. When she
looked up towards Rothor, Deuce was stricken by the terrible
sadness in her face and the trembling of her voice, "You
bastard. How could you cheapen those days, you bastard? Rot in
you're bed for all I care." Esk, the warrioress, turned
crisply on the balls of her feet, a move she had learned from all
her time in the military, and stormed out, slamming the door.
"What was that about?" Deuce wondered, but kept his
face impassive and stared patiently at Rothor's still form.
The dwarf stared at the foot of his bed for several long minutes
until he spoke, "Alright, Deuce, you rot bastard. You win,
you unholy devil. Sloe, please go to the chests and arrange for
twenty five thousand coins to go into this rogue's account here
in the Riversy Bank. Are you happy now, thief? An extra five
thousand coins to make sure you come back."
"I'm not a thief, I'm a fingersmith. And I told you my price
was twenty thousand coins. Keep your extra five thousand, you
look like you'll need it for your habit." So saying Deuce
walked out with Sloe, lecturing her not to dare overpay him, and
leaving the dwarf alone.
"Heh," Rothor chuckled to himself, "keep the five
thousand coins, eh? Another day of living in bliss." So
saying Rothor slipped out of his blankets, bedsores visible on
his legs. He pulled out a large chest filled with dozens of glass
vials with a greenish liquid inside. "Yep, I can live in
harmony as my friends risk their lives when I should be instead.
I can be one happy dwarf again as brave, brave Deuce takes my
risks for me. Oh, Deuce, I remember when I thought you were some
vagabond mercenary, but despite your talk on how you didn't care
about that mission in Nengtaroth, you were there in the end, even
though you were sure you were going to die with us. And we almost
did, but we saved each other so many times in that nightmare
fortress." Rothor pulled the cork of the bottle open,
sniffed its contents, and licked his lips. "And my lovely
Esk, does she remember that first night on the shores of Elwyn?
The way you looked at me, my love. I could be so much stronger if
you didn't leave, and now I send you to die in Doom. I wouldn't
even help you in your private mission, but maybe Deuce will. Oh
Esk, I'm so so sorry..."
The dwarf started sobbing over his green potion, and started to
raise it to his lips when in the process he looked up into a desk
mirror, saw his image, and wondered who it was looking back.
Realization hit him and with a roar he tossed the vial at the
mirror, shattering it, green liquid disappearing into the
floorboards. Roaring like a wild beast, he began to throw the
vials into the walls and floors of the room, crushing some in his
fists, causing glass to cut into his blistered skin. When he was
out of potions, he collapsed on his bed, sobbing and bleeding on
his sheets, wishing the physical pain of his fresh wounds would
hurt more and distract him from the withdrawal pains soon to
come.
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