Chapter 3: The Hound of Ill-Omen

"So - these crystals. Why are they important? What do they do?" Kahya asked as they stopped beside a creek for brunch. Two breakfasts are better than one, Boots was fond of saying. The bear controlled the pace of their travel, and was ultimately responsible for the destination. For much of the trip, Ballan and Kahya had been content to follow his lead.

The wizards stared at her blankly before Boots chuckled.

"Ah, well it depends on the crystal!" Boots began, and Ballan settled into the soft patch of ground he had chosen. His mentor was about to start speaking at length, he could tell, and so their brunch stop was about to be much longer. He wondered if there was any jerky left...

"Generally, however, Arcanum Crystals are enormous repositories of mana, caught in physical form." Boots grasped the air with his enormous paw to punctuate the point. "As such, they can be used as a power source for almost any spellcraft, if you have the knowledge to tap into them." Boots paused to see if Kahya had any questions,and continued when she did not.

"That is their general use, of course - however, each crystal is unique. They are different in hue, shape, size... all because of their unique core!"

"You should probably tell her what a core is." Ballan interjected as Boots took a breath. Kahya had been listening intently, and Ballan had grown accustomed to her quiet, taciturn demeanor since they had begun traveling together. She had been able to lead them ably east out of the jungle, though had admitted to ignorance to anything beyond that. Not very much of a surprise - she had lived in that temple almost her whole life.

Boots cleared his throat.

"I was just getting to that!" He declared, and waved his paws in a large, circular pattern. As he did so, a yellow crystal about the size of Ballan's fist appeared,and began hovering in midair. The crystal they had retrieved from Pythogoras, removed from the statue it had been embedded in. It seemed the 'snake god' had been using it for little more than decoration. "You can feel it, can't you? The hum of mana in the air."

Ballan closed his eyes. Sure enough, there was a buzz at the edge of his perception - using a sense he did not yet fully understand. As if he was sensing the approach of a storm, or tasting metal in the back of his mouth. Not unpleasant... but very strange.

"Yes." Kahya said.

"It is theorized," Boots continued, "that the Arcanum Crystals are the remnants of an incredibly powerful spell, cast by an as-of-yet unknown cabal of wizards - or perhaps, a single exceptionally powerful one!" Boots waggled his brows as he said this, though when his audience failed to respond, he deflated a bit. "I digress - You see, the crystal's core is a small, intangible mote of light" The crystal jostled around in the air as Boots manipulated it. "It cannot be touched, or moved - only felt. Physically, it can only be interacted with when mana crystallizes around it... and though the mana that does so is very dense and potent, the true power of the crystal is the core itself. For the core is a physical remnant of that selfsame spell I mentioned earlier - at least in part. Were one to collect all of the crystals, one could, in theory, recreate that original spell."

Kahya folded her arms, troubled. Ballan could not blame her. The thought of a spell so powerful that it persisted in fractured physicality was... daunting. What could such a thing do? Boots waved his paws in the exact opposite way he had waved them before, and the crystal vanished.

"How many of these crystals are there?" Kahya questioned, giving Boots a stern look. "And why do you want them?"

Boots placed a hand on his chest, giving Kahya an affronted look.

"My intentions are purely noble, I assure you!" Boots replied. "Regarding the number - seven that I know of, though only four of them belong-"

"Belonged." Ballan interrupted, and Boots glared at him.

"...Belonged to me." Boots continued, sniffing archly. "Given the magnitude of the spell in question... there are possibly hundreds, assuming all the Arcanum Crystals are of similar size." Boots shrugged. "To find them all would be an impossible feat, even for one as long-lived as I. No, I am simply acquiring them for safekeeping. They can be very dangerous!"

"How did you lose the crystals, anyway?" Ballan asked, having located the jerky and begun snacking accordingly.

"Well that's the thing - I don't know!" Boots declared proudly. "Someone pilfered them from my vault. The Arcanum council was very upset - so they excommunicated me until I got them all back."

Ballan nearly choked on the jerked beef.

"You were excommunicated by the Archmage Arcanum?" Ballan managed, coughing. Boots waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, just temporarily." Boots deflected, as if he had not been bodily removed from the most prestigious institution in the World. "They were miffed about the crystals, I'm sure they'll forgive all once I have them back."

"...The Archmage Arcanum?" Kahya interjected, and the arguing wizards stopped their bickering. "Is that also a crystal?" Boots laughed.

"Not quite - The crystals are named after the Arcanum, you see, for it was the first Archmage of the Arcanum that discovered them!" Boots tapped his claws together, and an ethereal hologram of a crystal nearly the size of Ballan appeared in front of them. Unlike its much smaller counterpart, this crystal was a deep, red color. "This one, to be precise - largest Arcanum Crystal currently known to wizardkind! It is jointly in the possession of all who hold the position of archmage, and can be found in the central spire at the University of Avony."

Kahya massaged her forehead and mumbled something in her native tongue.

"Well, at least the cause is noble." She conceded. "We should continue."

Boots nodded heartily, and Ballan stood up. It seemed like the only one who was hungry was him.

"Yes! In fact, just over this next hill is our destination - and something else, besides. Come now!" Boots trundled on down the path they had been following out of the jungle - which had thinned quickly into woods, and then rolling, green hills. Ballan was familiar with the area - south of Avony and across the Barrier Lake, the wilds ended with the trees.

They had officially entered the Wards, and would be safer for it. Relatively.

The path followed the stream, and it was not long before they crested the hill Boots mentioned. Nestled into the hills was a small city, the buildings rising and falling with the hills like a boat at sea. In the center of the city was an enormous, stone obelisk. The Southern Ward. Looking at it made Ballan feel safe. The chaos, unpredictability, and danger of the Wilds were far behind him, for the moment.

"Ah, Reubenberg! A finer hub of commerce and produce you will never find." Boots exclaimed, putting his paws on his voluminous waist.

"And piracy." Ballan pointed out, watching as several sky clippers raced through the clouds, heading east. Far in the distance, islands could be seen floating in the sky. "...The crystal is here?" Ballan had spent a significant amount of time in and around Reubenberg. It was a good place for a venturer to get their feet wet. Plenty of petty crime, larceny, and the like to put a stop to. Though it could be dangerous if you crossed the wrong gang or crew.

"I have it on good authority that it is, yes." Boots replied.

"Whose authority is that?" Ballan asked suspiciously. Boots winked.

"Yours." The bear laughed when Ballan rolled his eyes.

The path led down the grassy knoll into a more heavily wooded area, the stream dissipating into the ground and creating something of a marsh. They would need to cross it to get to Reubenberg, and Boots led them ably into it. The canopy was not dense enough to block out sunlight, but it was noticeably gloomier within the trees. Boots chatted animatedly about the alchemical applications of peat moss, and Ballan let his mind wander.

Or he would, if he did not feel so... nervous. He looked around. Mud, trees... and silence. No bugs or birds.

"Wait." Kahya said, and the both of them shared a look as Boots lumbered to a halt. She had noticed it too. "Eyes sharp." Boots looked around, sniffing the air, a look of confusion on his face. Ballan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he turned around. There was a puddle of standing water about fifteen feet away...

Something moved beneath it.

Ballan had just enough time to shout when a horrid creature burst, shrieking, from the bog. It was roughly the size of a halfling, and had no skin. Its bones were exposed, wrapped in dripping sinew and overextended tendons. It was as though someone had rearranged the bones of a person into the shape of a wolf.

And it was leaping directly at him - the empty sockets of the malformed skull glowing a malevolent green.

He felt Boots' titular footwear collide with the back of his ankle, and he fell backwards. The creature missed its mark, and Boots swatted the creature out of the air with a mighty swing of his paw. It went tumbling back into the woods with a shriek.

"A hound of Zagoroth..." Boots mused to himself. "Beware - it is immune tomagic!" Boots stepped back. He seemed concerned, but not concerned enough to take this 'learning' opportunity away from Ballan and Kahya.

Boots had hardly put down his massive paw before Kahya charged the creature. To Ballan's horror, its bones snapped and rearranged as it flew through the air, causing it to land on its feet. It was ready for Kahya when she arrived. Instead of dodging her incoming attacks, it met her with equal fervor.

It ignored her first - admittedly savage - kick, the crunch of bone lost amidst the unnatural sounds of the creature's otherworldly physique. She leapt back on the defensive, but the creature ignored her entirely - and charged Ballan once more.

Ballan felt the blood drain from his face as terror gripped his heart. It was after him?

Kahya came to this realization at the same time, and though she sprinted, she could not keep up with the creature.

Ballan had managed to scramble to his feet - but he only had enough time to turn tail and run.

"Running? Again? I was hoping you'd picked up some new tricks by now." Boots wondered aloud as he started to make a move to intervene.

The hound was immune to magic. Stopping it directly would be almost impossible for Ballan, and its maw was lined with what seemed like hundreds of fractured, splintered teeth.

He heard Boots call his name, but in his blind panic, Ballan did not hear any other commands or suggestions. He focused on putting some distance between himself and the hound, and was distressed to find that, despite his training with Kahya, it was gaining on him. Rapidly.

Another monster stepped out of the woods, and onto the road in front of Ballan. It was tall, with half its face and left shoulder covered in strange scar tissue. The muscles and bones of its jaw were exposed, though it stood on two legs and held an enormous axe. Its one good eye was opened wide with rage, and centered directly on Ballan. It raised the axe above its head, mouth opened in a terrifying roar.

Ballan threw his arms up - it was all he had time to do - and closed his eyes.

There was the sound of a bone-shattering crunch, and a piteous, mewling noise. Then, the wet sound of metal parting flesh.

"Dog! Mongrel!" Ballan heard an unfamiliar voice shout, followed by the breaking of bone. He opened his eyes, and saw the other monster savaging the corpse of the hound with its axe. Adrenaline dying down, Ballan realized this was no monster at all - just a disfigured orc. "Servant of death! Minion of chaos! HOLGITH DENIES YOU!"

With a final blow that caused the ground to shake, the orc - Holgith? - straightened, and began breathing heavily.

Then, he reared his head back, and roared at the sky.

Kahya and Boots had caught up by now. Boots appeared thoughtful, while Kahya's attention was on the creature smeared across the road. The orc ignored them, and turned to look down at Ballan.

He held out his hand. It was covered in calluses, and knotted with muscle.

"You are okay, wizard boy?" He asked as Ballan stared at him, then wiggled his fingers when Ballan did not take his hand. "Holgith does not bite."

Ballan grasped Holgith's hand, and his arm was nearly wrenched out of its socket as the orc pulled Ballan to his feet. Unprompted, Holgith dusted off the front of Ballan's shirt, and then clapped him on the back, nodding.

"You are okay." He stated, and put the axe over his shoulder. "Hound of Death God. Holgith tracks it for days now." Holgith kicked the mangled body at his feet, and shrugged. "No match for Holgith" He grinned toothily - which made the scarred half of his face contort... unpleasantly. Ballan returned the smile nervously. "You lucky, eh?"

"...Lucky me." Ballan managed, still trying to get his thoughts in order.

"Good show!" Boots crowed, clapping. The sound was dull and thick. Holgith turned his attention to Ballan's companions, cocking his head. Boots bowed deeply. "We are in your debt, my good orc." Holgith waved his hand.

"Bah. Debts. You owe Holgith nothing." He pounded his chest with his fist. "Holgith kills servants of Zagoroth. Holgith's sacred charge."

"...Sacred, is it?" Kahya asked dubiously, looking the orc up and down. He wore only a leather skirt that had clearly seen better days, sandals, and some kind of fur cloak. It was too matted to be identifiable. "You don't look much like a churchgoer."

"They do not let Holgith in churches." Holgith agreed with a grin. "No - Charge is sacred to Holgith. Was told by wise woman: 'Follow will of God'. But Holgith never hear from God! so...!" He pounded his chest again. "Holgith's will is God" He hefted his axe, still splattered with the blood of the hound.

Ballan had to admit, it was a pretty sensible approach to religion. Many people in the World believed in various deities - both benevolent and malign - though it was commonly held among scholars of the arcane that most such beings are in truth simply powerful arcane entities of one sort or another. Whether or not this made them worthy of worship was hotly debated.

The Death God, Zagoroth, for instance, was a particularly malignant being from, so goes the story, the lower planes of hell that enjoyed watching mortals suffer. He offers easy power, and in exchange only asks for incredible violence and horrible death in his name. A small price to pay, for some.

"...Which God?" Kahya asked. Holgith shrugged.

"Dunno!" He looked down at the hound. "Not this one. Holgith hate Zagoroth."

"In that, we are alike." Boots agreed, and stepped forward to stare distastefully at what remained of the hound. "...Now who sent a hound after us...?"

"Someone sent that thing?" Ballan asked incredulously, and Boots nodded.

"Oh yes - a creature such as this was... made... to bring death to a magic wielder. Many a wizard has fallen prey to such a hound. This one, however, has failed..." Boots waved his paws, and a small, bloodstained strip of cloth rose up from the hound's limp corpse. "Here we are - this is how it got our scent."

Hesitantly, Boots sniffed the cloth and unintentionally pulled a face.

"No doubt about that. " Boots grumbled, and the cloth burst into flame, followed by the body of the monstrous beast itself. Holgith took a startled step back as it did so, brow furrowed at the bear. "Well, this hound was here to kill Ballan." Boots declared, patting his voluminous gut.

Ballan dropped his head into his hands as he sat, and let out a sigh.

"... Why ?" He asked, defeated.

"Not a clue." Boots replied.

Ballan glanced helplessly at Kahya, who shrugged.

Ballan began to sweat. There was nothing quite like being hunted by the malformed monsters of the God of Death to put some things into perspective. How many more of these things would there be? Would they give up, or try harder?

Ballan felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and was surprised to see Holgith towering over him.

"Have no fear, wizard boy!" The orc insisted. "Holgith keep you safe."

There was an extended moment of silence.

"The more the merrier!" Boots clapped his enormous paws together. "So long as the 'more' remains 'merry'! Holgith, was it? I am called Boots!" The bear bowed deeply. "The 'wizard boy' is my apprentice, Ballan - and this lovely young woman is Kahya."

"Thank you." Kahya told Holgith with a nod. "That creature ignored my kick, almost like I had not even struck it. How...?"

"Dah." Holgith replied knowingly. "Hound is tough. Spine must break." He hefted the axe, which Ballan just realized did not seem very sharp at all. "Good for breaking spine."

Kahya nodded thoughtfully at that, eyes drifting away into the distance. Perhaps... thinking about how to break the spine of a hound with her bare hands? Ballan was beginning to think that he, maybe, was not as afraid of Kahya as he should be.

"Holgith will know if more hounds approach." He told the three of them, tapping a finger to his scarred temple. "We follow the trail of their broken bodies to the one who calls them. Then, we break them!" He laughed uproariously, and Boots even joined in.

"You'll... know?" Ballan asked, ignoring the strange mirth. "How?"

Holgith tapped his scarred temple again.

"Holgith touched by foul Zagoroth magic." He dragged a large finger along the scarring - they appeared to be burns. Holgith's hands flinched away as he touched the exposed bone of his jaw. "Holgith's head hurt when minions of Zagoroth close."

"What Gods may be good!" Boots exclaimed before Ballan had a chance to ask further questions. "That's where I recognize the spellcraft - you've been struck by an agony curse." Holgith's face lit up, and he nodded.

"Holgith heard Zagoroth priest say this!" He shrugged. "Priest dead now, but curse remains. Is not so bad."

"Not so - My good man, you have an unhealing wound." Boots dissented, taking a step forward while Holgith watched him with a furrowed brow. "On your face!"

"Yes! Useful wound. Tells Holgith when Zagoroth minions near." He grinned at the three of them. "Useful, yes?"

"That's not..." Boots paused, and tapped his chin with one claw. "Remarkable. The pain intensifies in the presence of Zagoroth's magic, you see." The animalian archmage explained. "That you have turned this curse most dire to your advantage - what remarkable willpower."

"Ha! It matters not to Holgith!" He threw his head back, and lifted his axe into the air. "Death to Zagoroth! Death to Death!" He placed his free fist on his hip and slung his axe over one shoulder. "We go!"

Without another word, Holgith began walking down the road. Did he even know where they were going?

"...We go!" Boots agreed, and followed the orc.

Kahya and Ballan lagged behind. For his part, Ballan believed they had not come to a satisfying conclusion regarding the reason for why someone was sending murder monsters after him. Like nearly everything else recently, it was a mystery that would need to wait for later.

...He had to admit, he felt a little better now that a hulking brute like Holgith had just volunteered to keep him safe. Even if he did not rightly understand his intentions. Boots was undoubtedly powerful enough to keep the entire group safe from any evil Ballan could imagine, but he worried that the bear's lack of concern would land him in very real peril - as it just did.

"...Irrepressible, isn't he?" Kahya remarked thoughtfully. Ballan raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't find people who love life like that very often." She explained. Ballan glanced at the pair that had already taken to the road. Kahya had a point. If Holgith failed to react to being cursed with agony...

What could dampen his spirits?

Hopefully, they would not have to find out. He and Kahya trotted after Boots and Holgith, and they all continued down the road to Ruebenberg.

***

"They say he sold his sense of humor to Zagaroth."

Captain Stonefeet, the hardy dwarf, was distracted from examining his skychart by his elven boatswain's remark. Glancing at the small table that had been set up in the center of the warehouse, he saw his boatswain and first mate playing cards with two other members of his crew. Understandably, they were bored. The job was not glamorous.

But it did pay well.

"I don't think Zagaroth plies in 'humor', mate." The first mate - a swarthy human man with a red nose - dropped a few coins into the pot, prompting one of the crewmen to fold. "Not much of a Kurkrai if he can't laugh, is he?" There was a smattering of polite chuckles from those present. Captain Stonefeet frowned.

They were discussing Kills-the-Joke. Another sky pirate captain - although one more infamous. Stonefeet prided himself on his discretion and reliability. It was what had earned him the favor of the dithering Lord Malcom in Avony. Captain Kills-the-Joke, however...

Well, perhaps they were just rumors.

"I heard tell he kills any of his crew what laughs." One of the dwarven crewmates piped up, before spitting chewed tobacco onto the floor. "Or sings, for that matter. Must be a somber ship he runs."

"Silent as the grave." The phobban crewman agreed, blinking each of his lizard eyes separately and staring at his cards. A thin coat of slime remained on their backs as he set the cards down with a hiss, and folded, before additionally folding his large hands over his larger belly. A large tongue snaked out of his wide mouth, licking one eye. "They say he's got the devil's own luck."

"Unlike you." The boatswain remarked, drumming his fingers on the table. The crewman grunted, and the hand played out. It went to the boatswain.

"Well, let's not lose our heads over other pirate captains." Captain Stonefeet said, sauntering up to the table. He clapped his crewman on the shoulder. "Maybe we don't got as many stories as the old bird - but we've certainly made our fortunes, eh?"

A round of enthusiastic agreement circled the table, and Captain Stonefeet nodded appreciatively.

"Right - Deal me in!" He declared, pulling up a stool.

Then the ceiling exploded.

The captain did not even have time to react as debris showered the warehouse. A falling beam caught him square on the top of the head and, ears ringing, he crumpled to the ground. There was an enormous hole in the roof of the warehouse - in the sky above, he saw a black-flagged ship, cannons pointed downwards. It bore an owl's skull as the emblem.

Speak of the devil...

Stonefeet tried to get his bearings, but the sound of combat filled the warehouse as black-clad men and women swung down on ropes from the airship. He pushed the beam off of himself, and caught sight of his boatswain - crushed entirely by a cannonball. Right. Time to go - he'd grab anyone he could and -

A shadow fell over him, and he heard the click of a flintlock.

Captain Stonefeet put his hands up. He heard the scrape of talons on the floor behind him and turned around as slowly and carefully as he could. The pistol was pointed directly at his forehead - held aloft by the feathered arm of the kurkrai, Captain Kills-the-Joke himself. The very topic of conversation. As if he had been summoned.

The infamous pirate was tall, nearly seven feet. Not at all unusual for people of his avian species, but still intimidating. His feathers were black as night, and he wore a simple eyepatch over his left eye. The owlish face betrayed no emotion, and his large wings were folded smartly behind him. All around them, the Humorless Pirates butchered his men.

"What were the dwarf's last words?" Captain Kills-the-Joke asked, as if he were setting up a punchline. Stonefeet blinked.

"W-what?" His deep voice wavered.

Kills-the-Joke fired the pistol, and the dwarf hit the floor like a stone.

Surveying the warehouse, Kills-the-Joke watched impassively as "Captain" Stonefeet's crew was dispatched. Easy deaths for easy pirates working easy jobs. He flipped up his eye-patch, revealing the witch-green glow of his hidden eye. All around him, he watched mana ebb and flow, pool around corpses and rise into the air in an incandescent dance of shapes and light.

On the far side of the warehouse, a veritable sun shone. Kills-the-Joke approached.

The Arcanum Crystal was sealed within a locked chest. Idly, he reloaded 'Punchline', his gun. He blew the lock off with a well-aimed shot, and flipped the chest open with a swipe of his claws. A red glow filled the immediate area, and Kills-the-Joke whistled. Finally, the crystal was in his possession.

His first mate, an orcish man named Lorgus, approached and saluted sharply. Kills-the-Joke didn't even look at him.

"Orders, sir?" He asked. No need to give a report - Kills-the-Joke could hear that the fighting had stopped. As ordered, they had killed every last member of the enemy crew to a man. He liked when his crew did exactly as he said.

"We've got what we came for." Kills-the-Joke replied, tone cold. "We make for Craven's Cross."

Kills-the-Joke reached down and grabbed the Arcanum Crystal, feeling the mana vibrate his hollow bones. This would do nicely - praise Zagoroth. He pocketed the crystal, and spread his wings wide, taking flight. With the crystal in his possession, he would have his revenge - on Lord Malcolm, and the rest of this bad comedy that people called 'existence'.

It made him want to laugh. He would, if he could.