Nivalldier, Captain of Discovery -- Episode 05: What the Boys in the Back Room Will Have

“You must tell me all about the Regent’s most interesting vices.”

This time, it was High Priest Jeroff’s words that echoed, but in a small, tinny way. They accompanied a miniature image of the priest and the Regent’s favorite playing across the ale-stained tabletop of the last booth of the Ravenous Wyvern, so the lack of resonance could be forgiven. The priest’s image flailed through a wall of incense that drifted between the dwarf’s empty tankard of ale and a half-eaten bowl of potato and eel soup.

Nival harrumphed, then picked up his ceremonial Rod of Discovery, the baton that conveyed his position as Royal Discoverer. At a twist of one of the golden bands, the image of Jeroff faded into the end of the rod, where the spell of Remote Vision had been stored.

“Neat little trick, that,” Nival said. “It sure helps to have a spell that can tell you what people say behind closed doors.”

“When they’re magically-locked, spell-guarded doors, that’s an even better trick.” The human opposite Nival looked with satisfaction at the rod. “I told you I could make it work. Although, I’m still surprised that your bearded rock-god allowed me to cast it into one of his cherished magick items.” He popped a disgusting-looking piece of green eel into his mouth, then licked his fingers clean. “I half-expected a huge backlash from Mister Adamantite. I guess he’s not as jealous as he used to be.”

The dwarf shifted uncomfortably on the bench. “There’s a lot of things that are different with Moradin these days.” He raised his tankard absently, and the bartender reached the table as if Nival had held up a bag of golden dragons. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Certainly, Nival.” The human pulled his thick cloak about him, as if its folds could conceal him from any repercussions that often came from loose talk about a god’s powers, or lack thereof. The cloak seemed to be all of a deep dark blue cloth, but upon closer inspection, contained many small woven sigils: star constellations, archaic hieroglyphics...

(more later)

Nivalldier, Captain of Discovery -- Episode 04: Smoke and Errors

The echo of the dwarf’s gruff voice and metalshod boots lingered in the incense-filled Temple of Aramis’ antechamber for a few moments after the main doors closed. Jeroff stood his ground, and only after the echoes had completely faded did he make certain he was alone in the chamber by casting a simple spell of Appearance, making sure his old friend hadn’t left an invisible spy behind.

He’s crafty that way, Jeroff chuckled to himself.

The spell, of course, showed noone else in the chamber other than Jeroff—and one other person, poised high on the overhanging circular ledge, right between the statue of Satiation and that of Sensuality.

“You may come down now, my dear,” Jeroff said, his voice as much command as it was entreaty.

The twenty-fifth statue twitched her nose again, the only movement she’d made in the entire time she’d posed on the ledge. Slowly, the marble coloration drained from her form, and the ruddy complexion of a healthy female returned, adorned with expensive silks in mauve and taupe. She wore an elaborate necklace and bejeweled bracelet among other finery, though none could detract from her tautly muscled frame. She only lacked two important elements: she bore no Binding circlet around her forehead, which announced her availability to any male. Equally unusual was her lack of footwear.

She covered the distance between ledge and polished floor in a single leap, landing a few handswidth in front of Jeroff.

The priest neither blinked nor backed up, but smiled paternally. “You certainly have stayed in fine...shape,” he said, swallowing an unseemly bit of drool.

The woman, catlike in her movements, circled him, though she kept her eyes on the main doors. “The Captain. He is gone?”

“Mmmm,” Jeroff replied, part affirmation, part animal lust for the woman’s body.

“He will return?”

“Certainly.” Jeroff tried to follow her with his eyes, though he faced unflinchingly toward the doors.

“Then I must leave this place!”

“On the contrary,” Jeroff said, more forcefully. “This is the one place in Regentsburg that can offer you safety, both from the Captain and his diving methods, as well as the more lethal Inquisitors. Here, their magic cannot enter. Only here are you truly safe.”

Jeroff finally turned around. His own movements were surprisingly stiff, almost inhuman, as if he were part statue himself, an affliction that gave purpose to his refusal to move in Nival’s presence.

Only Jeroff’s closest associates knew the real reason: it was the aftereffect of a poorly mixed potion designed to maintain a man’s physical virility throughout many hours of lovemaking, ironically called a Draught of Rigidity.

The apothecary who sold him the erroneous potion, of course, suffered a far worse fate.

With stiff arms, Jeroff flailed at the haze of incense, cutting a path through to the paired iridium doors that led into the recesses of the temple, guiding the still-cautious woman with a hand at her waist.

“You must tell me all about the Regent’s most interesting vices.”

Nivalldier, Captain of Discovery -- Episode 03: Darkness at the Edge of Town

The façade of the Ravenous Wyvern had seen better centuries. Decades of neglect had worn down its once crisp edifice to that of a dull, dirty gray. Where the elite of Regentsburg had once entertained themselves with expensive wine, imported upriver from Browridge, now the much less discriminating patrons plied themselves with whatever ale had been stolen from the wharves and resold at a reasonable profit. Sometimes it was fair, but most often it was bad, and made even worse by the owner’s habit of watering down his drinks with the tepid sludge that passed through the open creek in the alleyway behind the building.

How a place this foul can stay open, Nival thought to himself, must rank as one of the Great Unanswered Mysteries.

The word ‘rank’ came to mind again, as he shouldered open the creaking front door. A mixture of stale sweat and week-old hamhocks assailed his nostrils, made bearable only by the faint aroma of a decent pipeweed being smoked by someone deep in the tavern’s dark recesses.

“Good risin’ to yeh, m’lord,” called an overeager barman, wider than he was tall, as he squeezed through the gap in the bar to greet the dwarf. He wiped his greasy hands on an even greasier rag. “Wot can I git for yeh t’ make yer day passable?”

Nival fought down the urge to suggest a bath with plenty of soap, to improve both the barman’s appearance and the general health of the patrons. Instead, he held up a pair of coppers. “Your usual costs about this much?

The barman, his eyes struggling to leave the image of the burnished armor and the rod of authority in the dwarf’s left hand, nodded eagerly. “Yes, m’lord. That is, on most days. What with the wreck of the Marigold last week, prices for all our brews have increased around... oh, lemme see...” The barman tried to do a quick calculation in his head of how much he could take the dwarf for, but Nival spared him the headache.

“Don’t bother tryin’ to fleece me. There’s a silver in it if you can find a clean tankard in this hovel, and bring it to me filled with a decent ale. Just ale, mind you, without the benefit of whatever you use to cut it with. And for Moradin’s sake, keep your fingers out of it.”

Without waiting to see of the barmen had felt insulted, Nival strode to the back of the room.

“I’m surprised you’d drink that, without casting your most powerful purify spell first,” said the smoke-wreathed human near the back.

“I’ve been taught, when our muscles can bear the weight instead of our prayers, then that’s the way to go,” Nival replied. “Thought you’d have remembered that.”

“Oh, I remember, all right. I just don’t believe it any more.” The fellow’s drinking spell effortlessly drew sparkling wine into a pool floating in the air, where occasionally a small waterfall dropped down into his pursed mouth.

Next Episode: Smoke and Errors

Nivalldier, Captain of Discovery, Episode 02: The Education of Sergeant Benallus

Outside in the afternoon sun, two lines of soldiers stood at attention, the butts of their halberds resting on the stone pathway leading to the Temple. Nivalldier joined them as the Temple doors grated closed behind him.

The first soldier on the left lowered his head as the dwarf approached.

“Any luck, Captain?” the human officer asked, unable to hide his sarcasm.

“Benallus, you’re either asking about my love life or my audience with the High Priest,” Nival replied, whirling about to stare at the bulk of the Temple. “In either case, I’d need no help.” The dwarf considered the limited number of his forces, the mission at hand, stared at his metal-shod war boots, then came to a conclusion. “Sergeant, march the men back to the post.”

“Sir?” the human replied, confused. “But don’t we have orders to return the lady to the Regent? I thought¬—“

“Whatever you thought, Sergeant,” Nival said through clenched teeth, “is of little concern to me.” But something inside the dwarf made him humor Benallus. He smiled up at the human. “How many troops have you under your command, Sergeant?”

Benallus drew himself erect. “Twenty-four of the Regent’s finest, sir!”

“Good. And how many troopers are available back at the post?”

“An additional six, for a total of thirty, sir!”

“And how many buildings comprise the Temple compound?”

Benallus thought for a moment, then responded smartly, “Thirty-eight, sir!”

“Excellent. Now, how many Temple priests, acolytes and functionaries occupy the Temple grounds?”

This question caused the Sergeant to try and scratch his hair through his helmet. “Oh, uh, seventy...nine or thereabouts.” He quickly snapped back to attention. “Sir!”

“Wonderful. So, including the troops here and back at the post, we have less than half as many soldiers as people we’d have to control. Right?”

Without waiting for an answer, Nival continued. “And with thirty-eight buildings, it would take our thirty men—those that aren’t guarding the seventy-plus Temple occupants—days to search out every nook and cranny in the Temple, since we have no spellweaver at hand.”

“But, sir,” the human said, lowering his voice to keep the other troopers from overhearing, “you’ve got the—uh, the power of the, um...” The Sergeant hesitated, knowing he and the other troopers only discussed this subject in hushed, nervous tones.

“You mean, the power of the Gods?” Nival smiled at the discomfort on the face of the Sergeant. “Yes, I have those powers at my disposal. And I know when a request will be seen as a waste of their time and attention, which is exactly what this would be.”

Nival spun around on one heel and headed for the nearby town square. “Sergeant, you have your orders.”

“Sir!” Benallus replied smartly, then called to the dwarf’s quickly disappearing back, “But where are you going, sir?”

“I’m going to interrogate the nearest tankard of ale.” The dwarf kicked a chunk of paving stone as he stomped down the path. “Perhaps I’ll find an answer at the bottom.”

I've decided to start posting daily updates to my series, "Nivalldier, Captain of Discovery." These are appearing on the website FewerThan500.com, since every story is 500 words or less (mine are exactly 499 words, each and every time). But since they only post weekly, I've decided to post my stories here daily.

So, as you take your daily commute, or put the tykes down for their afternoon nap, or you need that five minute break from your knucklehead boss and/or coworkers, here's a world you can disappear into, where the fight neither goes to the fastest nor the strongest, but to the smartest, and sometimes, to the trickiest.

Feel free to comment, and even make suggestions to the plotline and characters. Time and matter are mutable, you know.

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Nivalldier, Episode 01: Hiding In Plain Sight

The circular antechamber for the Great Temple of Aramis was a truly imposing sight. Two dozen carved marble statues of writhing, semi-nude humanoids poised like gods on a curved stone wall lining the interior. Their images drifted in the incense-filled haze of the late afternoon sun.

The reverence was broken by the grinding of the great outer doors, as they creaked open to admit, not a troop of Holy Perspirers nor a team of imposing Converters, but instead, a single bearded dwarf, armored like his myriad cousins, bearing no weapon but a ceremonial rod of purple-hued cedar ringed in gold. His steely gaze suggested he was not there to sample the more pleasant rituals the temple offered.

Waiting for him before the intricately carved settee of solid iridium, polished to an unnatural brilliance, was a human priest, his red-limned robe covering his entire frame, other than his folded hands and his hairless, serene face.

“Good Rising to you, Nivalldier,” said the priest, with just a hint of a smile.

“Greetings, Jeroff,” said the bearded dwarf, his gruff voice echoing in the chamber.

“And what innermost secrets would the Great Repository hold that might interest a Captain of Discovery?”

The dwarf aimed his rod at the human’s face. “Just this: I know you’re providing refuge to one of the Regent’s favorites. She’s broken numerous laws,” he paused, then said softer, “many in her own defense, I’ve no doubt.” His businesslike manner soon returned. “But she’s in possession of certain information that’s put her life in danger, as well as the safety of the Realm. I’m here to take her into protective custody.”

The priest blinked twice in surprise, a response the priest had rehearsed many times for this exact moment. “My old friend! You know it’s against the Ten Laws to withhold a suspect from the Inquisitors.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed. “You know I’m not with the Inquisitors, Jeroff! I’m trying to protect her from them!”

“Well, then,” the priest replied slowly, his practiced smile returning, “we have much in common.”

“I’m not playing games with you!” Nivalldier growled. “If you won’t hand her over to me, then my hands are tied. No weight of words, nor leeway for old time’s sake, will stay my hand.”

“There was a time, I recall,” the priest said, gazing up at the scantily clad statue of True Mercy, “that you swore your life in repayment of a certain service.”

The dwarf bit his lip, turning the purple baton over in his hand again and again. “I’m sorry for this, Jeroff. But that was long ago.”

The priest’s smile dropped at the corners. “Then the time for talking, my friend, is over.”

“You’re right,” Nivalldier said, leaning in close. “I’m through talking!”

The dwarf stormed out, stirring the wafting incense, swirling it around the two dozen statues.

Curling wisps of smoke rose up past the face of one particularly stunning female figure, whose nostrils twitched in a way most statues rarely did.

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