Balian was used to aches and pains from training. However, when books were the cause, he found the headaches unbearable. Arrayed in front of him on the wooden desk were tomes he borrowed from Jhod, the priest of Erastil. The Sylvan letters on the pages looked more like thorny vines rather than script. When Balian stared at them long enough they seemed to twist around each other as if they were growing from the page. Balian rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked around the room to give his eyes a break.
He sat in one of the newly completed chambers of Redemptio Keep. The room was more like a pantry compared to the room he grew up in during his childhood in the Northstar Keep. He imagined that when the Redemptio Keep was completed this room would probably indeed become a pantry. Still, the stone walls kept out the fierce winter winds that howled outside better than his old tattered tent would have. The room was small enough that it was kept warm by an oil lamp in the corner and a trio of burning candles on the desk. Along the wall opposite the desk was a cot and above it hung his newly made banner with its half dragon, half horse kirin perpetually charging towards battle. The flickering candle light caused the creature to dance on the fabric. At the end of the room rested a large trunk that contained most of Balian’s clothes. Near the door was an armor rack where his steel fullplate stood. The dark eye slits on his helm watched him expectantly like a sentinel awaiting orders.
Balian turned toward the cot where two bundles lay. He picked up the larger one, and pulled the fine cloth off to reveal a broken bastard sword. When the blade was whole he imagined it had been perfectly balanced. The hilt and the guard resembled vines embracing each other, much like the style of the Sylvan script he was studying in Jhod’s books. The blade resembled an elongated locust thorn that looked like it was grown rather than hammered and forged. The end third of the blade was long lost but the keen edge looked as sharp as the day it was created. When the light hit the blade a certain way Balian swore he could see Sylvan lettering magically etched into it. But the hour was late and his eyes were failing him. Balian picked up the cloth, sheathed the sword and locked it in a sturdy case he slid back under the cot.
He turned his attention to the smaller bundle that still lay on the cot, a folded purple silk handkerchief that carried the faint memory of a lady’s scent. Inside the careful folds was a rare winter rose plucked far from Stagfell. Only on the plains between Restov and around Oleg’s had he seen such a flower grow. Balian’s thoughts were interrupted by a rapping on the chamber door. “Enter,” he barked with a little more annoyance than he intended. The door opened hesitantly and a now familiar Halfling slid into the room.
The Halfling had mismatched eyes, one bright blue and the other grey, making his eye look almost pupiless. He had a large lump on his head above his grey left eye, perhaps from the natural healing of a serious blow to the head. His light brown thinning hair was carefully combed over in a part down the middle. He wore a slightly threadbare suit that one would expect a professor or perhaps a wealthy merchant to wear if it were newer. He picked up his small cane and balanced it in the crook of his arm. “Lord Balian. I hope I am not interrupting you. I was passing by and noticed a light underneath your door.”
Balian cast a quick glance at the desk making sure no notes were uncovered and realized he still held the winter rose in his hand. “Not at all, Master Grimm. What brings you to my door at this very late hour?”
Master Phineas Grimm almost literally appeared beneath the hooves of Tyre one day several months before. After confirming that the Halfling was okay and getting over the horror of thinking he had just trampled a child, Balian had to endure an endless list of reasons why he would fail as Lord Ambassador if he did not take this Halfling on as an advisor attaché. When asked what he wanted in return the Halfling responded “the satisfaction of performing a good service and the occasional spare coin”. While Balian is suspicious of the Halfling’s true motivations, he cannot deny the little man has a wealth of knowledge that could prove invaluable. Phineas Grimm claimed to have spent most of his life traveling about the Riverlands performing every job imaginable. The worst was a slave. The best, or at least the most fun, was the headman of a Varisian dancing troupe that he found himself leader of by default. Phineas chuckled and gave a sly smile when mentioning this but never gave any more details.
Balian casually wrapped the rose back in the handkerchief. Phineas wasted no time in plucking a monocle from his vest pocket as he answered, “As you would expect, I am working diligently on my report that I have decided to rename, per your suggestion, with the shortened title, “A Compendium of Potential Grand Allies and Devious Foes of The Glorious Nation of The Greenbelt”, which should be completed with time to spare before the upcoming Council of Lords. With my help you will be the most well prepared Lord at the table.” He beamed with pride and put the monocle over his good blue eye, making it look twice its size. Phineas was clearly disappointed as Balian stuffed the small handkerchief bundle inside his furred winter tunic. “You have my gratitude Master Grimm. Now if there is nothing else…”
“Actually there is something else Lord Balian. It is something to do with this keep we find ourselves residing in.” Phineas waved his cane about the room, “Would you happen to know the history of these grounds it stands upon?”
“It is being built from the ruins of an old monastery from my understanding. If your accommodations are not to your liking…”
“Oh no, Lord Balian. It is not that”, Phineas interrupted again. “Do you ever feel like you are being watched?”
“All the time,” Balian cast a nervous glance at the Sylvan texts lying on his desk. “Why do you ask?”
Phineas frowned at Balian’s sudden glance but the desk was too high for him to see what Balian was looking at, “It is just that when I am working I cannot help but feel like I am being monitored by an unseen presence.”
“Oh that. Do not worry Master Phineas. There is a small chance it is ghost that haunts this place and a greater chance it is our Lord Chase watching you by some means, arcane or mundane. He is simply doing his job.”
“An interesting friend you have, this Lord Chase. Since you seem unconcerned I shall do my best to follow your example and focus on my work.” Phineas bowed undaunted and began backing out the door, “Well, I have intruded on you enough this late hour my Lord.”
Balian moved forward and began closing the door, “That you have my dear Master Grimm. Remember, there are far worse things that can be stalking us than Lord Chase.” Balian suddenly grimaced at sounding so callous at his advisor. “Sleep well Master Grimm,” he offered and closed the door before Phineas could choose to reply. Balian stood with his back against the door and pressed the bundle in his pocket. He glanced about the room suspiciously. If only the Stagslayer were truly his worry. He thought of a Chelaxian saying and reflected that it could not be truer considering Balian’s situation. It is better to have the devil at your side than stand in his path.
