Lost and Found, part 1

The headquarters of the Historian's Guild looked plain as ever, Dhalroc Colfen thought. The smoothness of the grey walls was broken only by two brackets containing spheres of alchemical fire. To anyone else, these torches would be a welcome sight; to Dhalroc, however, they were a reminder of his last experience with such Alchemy. He unconsciously reached up, feeling his chest; it no longer hurt, but he couldn't bring himself to heal the burns, even though he knew more than enough healing Alchemy to do so. Sighing to himself and shouldering his pack, he stepped through the smooth stone door. The interior was much busier than the plain walls suggested: the foyer was constantly busy, historians scurrying around towards the archive rooms, and there always seemed to be at least three people at the main desk. For once, however, it was empty; the clerk behind it was absently toying with a quill. Dhalroc stepped up and cleared his throat.
'Oh, sorry;' the clerk said, 'I didn't see you there. Dhalroc, right? Dhalroc Colfen?'
'Back at last,' Dhalroc smiled.
'Anything to report?'
In his mind's eye, Dhalroc saw the events of the past few weeks flicker past: the wooden knife; the impossible ritual; his escape. He forced his mind away from the subject.
'In a manner of speaking, yes.'
'I'm afraid your report will have to wait; you've got a visitor.'
Dhalroc thought for a moment. Who would want to visit him? 'Any idea who it is?' he asked.
'He's an Elf, but beyond that I couldn't really tell you anything. He wouldn't give anyone his name; kept asking for you specifically. Mentioned someone by the name of Ogof, too.'
'Oh, Ogof I know. But sending someone in his place is so unlike him...'
'You'd best go see him,' the clerk said finally. 'Find out what all this is about.'

Dhalroc found the strange visitor after a few minutes, seated on a wooden bench in one of the archive rooms: he was tall for a human but normal height for an Elf, pale-skinned and dressed plainly in slightly mud-stained clothing. He wore a satchel bearing what Dhalroc recognised as the emblem of the Historian's guild: a scroll torn in half, underlined with a quill. The strange visitor was watching the other guild members as they wandered about the room, shifting papers and artefacts around in an elaborate filing system. Dhalroc cleared his throat and the Elf turned to him, taking in the young man's appearance: bald head, clothing of a similar style but slightly cleaner, and dark skin. He carried a small pack slung over one shoulder; it looked large enough to contain a bedroll and little else.
'Ah, I take it you're the Elf who's been asking for me?' Dhalroc asked, taking a seat beside his visitor.
'Dhalroc?' the Elf asked.
'That's me,' he replied. 'And you are?'
'Tarren L... just Tarren, for now,' Tarren replied.
'Okay, Tarren... I've been told you mentioned Ogof... that's his bag you're carrying, isn't it?'
'I'm afraid so,' Tarren replied. 'He's... no longer with us. But I was able to bring his findings here, at the very least.'
'Why ask for me specifically?' Dhalroc asked.
'He mentioned your name, and... I've never been outside of the Elven territories before.' Tarren glanced at the ground. 'I didn't know who else to go to.' Dhalroc nodded. 'So,' he said, 'what did Ogof find? If he was willing to give his life to protect it...'
'It... Wasn't just him,' Tarren sighed. 'There was another... a woman by the name of Cylfast. She told me she'd been sent to track down Ogof.'
Dhalroc blinked, looking past his visitor. He'd barely known Ogof, but he and Cylfast knew one another remarkably well. He'd always liked her, and now he'd never have the chance to say anything. 'What were Ogof's findings?' he asked finally, trying his best to put Cylfast out of his mind.
'These,' Tarren said, pulling a long roll of paper out of Ogof's bag. It was covered in charcoal rubbings, symbols and hieroglyphs Dhalroc didn't recognise. He took the paper from the Elf's slender hands, examining it closely; try as he might, he couldn't make sense of it.
'It's a complete chronicle of an Elven village, during the Old Age. Well, the original carvings were complete.'
'Where are they?' Dhalroc asked.
'They're... occupied,' Tarren replied. 'I can give you the location, but... tell me, do you humans have any kind of army?'
'There's the royal guard, yes,' Dhalroc replied.
'You'll need them. There are monsters in there; they're what claimed the lives of Ogof and Cylfast.'
'Is that what this is about?' Dhalroc asked.
'Not exactly... I found something, in amongst the carvings. One of the last few things Ogof managed to trace was quite out of the ordinary.'
'Oh?'
'A garrison of soldiers stayed the night there, freshly returned from the jungles.'
'Jungles?'
'They border the Elven territories and the Orcish motherland. I'm surprised you don't know of them.'
'I... don't know of much that isn't in or around the human kingdoms,' Dhalroc admitted. 'But please, continue.'
'The jungle is uninhabited, and yet it seems they were fresh from battle; see these symbols?' He held up the scroll, pointing to a depiction of what appeared to be a helmet, stained with blood. Dhalroc noticed the Elf's fingertips appeared to be carved from wood.
'Your fingers...' he said.
'I know,' Tarren replied. 'It's... rather a long story; I may someday have a chance to tell it.
'Most of this chronicle is standard fare: raids on human territories, prisoners taken, deaths, births, raids by Orcs... but there's one thing that stands out.'
'Does it have anything to do with these figures?' Dhalroc asked, pointing to one. It looked humanoid, but with a single wide leg, and a foot reaching back behind the body.
'It has everything to do with those,' Tarren replied. 'It would seem that at some point in the past, two of these mysterious creatures passed through the village, and were followed into the jungle. See these characters?' He pointed to a series of straight lines, intersecting one another in a complex pattern. 'These are a map to wherever the Backfoot monsters were headed.'
'And if the map was lost until now...' Dhalroc mused.
'Then odds are whatever they were headed for is still there,' Tarren finished. 'I remember seeing a carving while I was down there, depicting two of the Backfoots heading towards what looked like a temple.'
'An untouched building from the Old Age!' Dhalroc's eyes were almost as wide as his smile by this point.
'You'll need someone to read the map, of course,' Tarren said. 'I'm capable of guiding you there, but on one condition.'
'Oh?' Dhalroc asked, a hint of reservation in his voice.
'The two of us leave immediately, and alone.'
'Shouldn't we at least bring someone from the Royal Guard with us?' Dhalroc asked.
'I've thought about it, but... anyone we bring would require food and other supplies. If there's just the two of us, we could travel light; we could move much faster.'
'And we'd need to?' Dhalroc asked.
'I won't lie to you, Dhalroc: the jungle is dangerous. Every few years, my people send a hundred or so men and women in to try and conquer it; to search for anything of interest. The few who return tell of finding the remains of past expeditions, long dead. It's a dangerous place, with many predators.'
'I'm not much of a fighter,' Dhalroc warned.
'Given the right weapons,' Tarren said, 'I am.'
'The Guild has an armoury... I suppose I could access it on your behalf,' Dhalroc mused. 'I mean, I can hold my own in a fight, but it's as dangerous as you claim...'
'Whoever made the map lived to tell the tale. If we travel light, just the two of us, we could succeed where hundreds have failed.'
'I'd need some time to prepare,' Dhalroc said. 'Find a stable for my horse; I don't want to lose her. Not after all she's been through.'
'Very well,' Tarren replied. 'I'll be here when you're ready.'

Dhalroc left the building in a hurry, his mind racing. It sounded dangerous, and yet... the reward was simply too high for him to pass up. He led his horse through the streets to a stable on the edge of the city, just within the walls. He knocked on the small wooden door and waited.
The door opened to reveal a diminutive, scaly figure: a Kobold. 'Dhalroc? Isss that really you?' they asked.
'Colec,' he replied. 'It's been some time.'
'I haven't ssseen you sssince you dropped out of the college of Alchemy to join the hissstorian'sss guild!' Colec exclaimed.
'I'm sorry; I've been quite busy ever since, following up a lead from out near the ruins of Penllaya.' Colec started slightly at the mention of Penllaya; Dhalroc remembered then that the ruins were entirely Kobold territory, with no outsiders being allowed entry. A few lived elsewhere on the plateau; any as far from those frozen heights as Colec and her family were rare.
'No worriesss,' she said after a moment. 'Can I help you with anything?'
'I need to leave my horse here. I remember your family owned a stable, and I was hoping you could give me a good rate.'
'For you? No charge. Jussst... try to come by more often. Preciousss little for a girl like me to do in a city like thisss.'
'You're not making a living in Alchemy like you'd hoped?' Dhalroc asked, crestfallen. He remembered how Colec used to talk at great length about her dreams of becoming the first Kobold Alchemist in the royal guard.
'No, no... My family can make endsss meet, of course; we get plenty of busssinesss during trade ssseason.'
'I can imagine.' Trade season also held a few fond memories for Dhalroc: the streets became crowded with merchants from Sorvale, carrying wares from across the world. He'd bought his first staff from one of these merchants, way back when he was training as an Alchemist.
'When will you return?' Colec asked.
'Truth be told... I don't know,' Dhalroc replied, realising it for the first time. 'If I don't... I guess the old girl goes into your possession.' He patted the flank of his horse affectionately, and Colec stepped out into the midday sun to take a closer look.
'Ooh,' she said, 'she's a rare find, thisss one. Where did you find her?'
'I... picked her up during some business, down near the coast,' Dhalroc said, trying not to think about that night.
'She may be a thoroughbred... I'd sssuggest you take her to a breeder, find out for sure.'
'Something to do when I get back,' Dhalroc said. 'Thank you for this, Colec; I owe you.' He handed the horse over to the Kobold and returned to the guild in a hurry.

He found Tarren was waiting for him in the foyer this time, standing in a corner and watching the guild members come and go. Upon seeing Dhalroc, he approached the human.
'The armoury, then?' he asked. Dhalroc nodded, and set off down a corridor.
'I don't know what you'll be needing,' he said.
'Knives, mostly,' Tarren replied. 'Never did learn to use a sword; knives were so much... easier. Quicker. And you can't throw a sword like you can throw a knife.'
Dhalroc turned into a small room, filled with cases and racks. 'I don't know what we have in the way of knives,' he said, 'but no doubt we have a few here somewhere.'
Tarren began to look through the cases, Dhalroc following close behind. After trying a few and finding them empty, he found a drawer filled with blades of various sizes. He reached for one, and there was a faint crackling noise; he jerked his hand away.
'Cut yourself?' Dhalroc asked. 'I could heal that.'
'There's more to it than that,' Tarren replied. 'I can't take anything that doesn't belong to me.'
'I won't stop you,' Dhalroc replied, not sure what the Elf meant.
'You don't understand,' Tarren said. 'I physically can't.'
Dhalroc gave the Elf a puzzled look. 'Why not?'
Tarren held up his fingers. 'These,' he said. 'The wooden tips... they shock me every time I try. I used to be quite the pickpocket.
'You'll need to take them and pass me them; that should bypass the... block.'
'Is this a common punishment in the Elven territories?' Dhalroc asked, reaching for the knife Tarren had tried to take.
'Not exactly,' Tarren said bitterly. 'There was a man... a human. He did this to me. It freed me from my imprisonment sooner, but... given the choice? I would've served my time.' Dhalroc offered the knife, and he took it, gesturing to a second.
'How many do you plan on bringing?' Dhalroc asked, handing it to him.
'Enough,' Tarren replied. 'Six; maybe seven. They need to be balanced for throwing, but sharp enough for hand-to-hand use.'
'And you can judge that just by looking at them?' Dhalroc asked, surprised. He handed the Elf a third knife.
'I have keen eyes,' Tarren replied. 'The balance is more guesswork, I admit, but there's nowhere to really test them.' He gestured to a fourth and a fifth, and Dhalroc handed them to him.
'This enough?' he asked.
'One more,' Tarren replied. 'Then we just need to find you something.'
'Oh, no thanks,' said Dhalroc. 'I prefer to use what's on hand.'
'Are you sure that's a good idea?' Dhalroc noticed a hint of genuine concern in the Elf's voice.
'It's kept me alive so far,' he said. 'I'd rather not rely on something that can be taken away from me should anything happen.'
Tarren nodded, and the two of them made their way out of the building, heading towards the city walls.

--

Something about Penllaya just didn't sit right with Coraliss. She wasn't sure what it was: the cold, dry air, the altitude, maybe even the humans. She just couldn't get used to any of them; they were all so unlike the jungle she called home. Sure, there were those of her kind that lived within the canopy, but that at least made sense to her: it was easy to lose an attacker among the foliage; easy for them to lose their footing and fall to their doom. Human, Elf, Orc... none of them could climb like a Naga. Those legs of theirs were just so... clumsy.

She checked her appearance in the small mirror by the door before leaving her chambers. The face that looked back at her was pale green, with a few markings dyed on: black, yellow and red circlets on her cheeks, and a line of rings of the same colours across her forehead. Her slit-like nostrils, flush with the scaly skin, flared slightly. To a human, her mouth would no doubt look too wide: by their standards, it reached a fair way across each cheek, curving slightly upwards as it did so. She reached up a slim hand, feeling the skin: it had been tight for some time, and she'd no doubt need to shed again soon. It would take her some time to re-apply her markings, but what choice did she have?

She left her quarters, gliding into the narrow street. Penllaya wasn't the most welcoming place to her kind, but humans were far more tolerant than most. Still, not a day went by where she didn't regret going into exile. It was the lesser of two evils, however: far better than life as a Mask-host. She was all for the collective over the individual, just... not when that individual was her. She followed the steady flow of humans towards the market square; it wouldn't be long until the first stalls opened.

Coraliss waited at the edge of the square, watching the humans come and go. They seemed so... slow, so clumsy, in comparison to her kind. The air and the altitude she was almost used to, but this never felt any more normal than it did when she first arrived. Except... she saw one hooded head moving at a much more familiar speed, without the curious bobbing movement she'd come to associate with humans. It looked... familiar. In an instant, she realised what it must mean, and dived to the floor, slithering through the forest of legs, trying to make her way to the far side of the square. If she could make it to the lower levels of the Citadel, she could lose the other Naga with ease. She straightened up again, quickly scanning the marketplace for her pursuer, wondering if they had seen her. They, too, were balancing on the end of their tail, head and shoulders above the crowd. Their eyes met for a moment, and she noticed the unfamiliar markings the stranger wore: alternating streaks of black, white and brown, forming a rough half-circle beneath the mouth and a line between the nostrils. Coraliss flicked her tongue out, tasting the air, filtering out the now-familiar tang of humans; the other Naga tasted female, but with the smells of fresh produce from the stalls filling the air she couldn't be sure.

Her pursuer began to slither towards her with great speed, and she dropped to the floor again, weaving between stalls in the hope that the smell of fresh vegetables and not-so-fresh meat would throw the other Naga off her scent. She made it to the far side of the square and was about to duck into the maze of alleyways when she came face to face with her fellow snake woman. She realised now just how large her pursuer was: she (for she could now tell for certain that it was a she) was head and shoulders above Coraliss, her tail longer and wider also. Coraliss ducked under her assailant's arms, coiling her body and springing forwards, launching herself into the narrow alleyway. The other Naga turned, moving quickly, tail flicking back and forth. Coraliss glanced over her shoulder, seeing her attacker close behind, and... Seemingly unarmed.
'Wait,' the other Naga hissed. 'I'm here to talk.'
Coraliss ignored this, redoubling her efforts to escape. She dived into another alley, realising all too late that it came to a dead end; there was no way out without going through her assailant. She rushed to the far side, coiling up her slim body and preparing to leap; her attacker came in close, and she lost her nerve, launching herself upwards moments too early and slamming into the mysterious assailant. She tried to get away, but she felt a hand close around first one wrist, then the other; a tail coiled around her chest, and she fell forwards, her attacker's full weight pressing against her shoulders and pinning her to the ground.
'I just want to talk,' her assailant said. 'I don't want to hurt you.'
'Then get off me,' she cried.
'Only if you promise me you won't run.'
'Okay,' she said, standing up. The other Naga still stood between her and the open side of the alleyway; she had no choice but to talk.
'You're needed, back home,' her attacker said bluntly.
'What? Why?'
'The temple... your old temple. It was attacked. A garrison of elves struck and stole the mask within. Officially you're still a priestess, Coraliss; The Order considers it your duty to retrieve it.'
'Hold on,' Coraliss said, thinking back to her time in the Order. 'They shouldn't have been able to reach the mask in the first place.'
'My thoughts exactly. They had inside help, no doubt.'
'Wait,' Coraliss hissed. 'If they took the mask... if they used it... it wasn't designed for Elven use. The soul within is Naga... would it be able to cope?'
'Undoubtedly; life is life.'
'Then we must move quickly,' she said, and paused. 'How did you know to find me here?'
'Perhaps I can explain by way of introduction... my name is Cohrab, of the Order of Mazona. Perhaps you have heard of us?'
Coraliss thought back to her time as a priestess. She felt that she should know of the Order of Mazona, but... it didn't sound familiar. 'No,' she said. 'I don't know it.'
'I suspected as much,' Cohrab replied. 'I and my fellow members of the order are trackers; the only Naga allowed to leave the jungle.'
'If I'm not allowed to leave,' Coraliss remarked, 'then why are we having this conversation in Penllaya, and not somewhere warmer?'
'You abandoned your kind, your duties.'
'I... had my reasons.' She glanced down at the snow-covered ground.
'Whatever they may be, the fact of the matter is you're the only one with the authority to so much as hold the mask. Your people need you, Coraliss.'
She thought for a moment before replying.
'I... as much as I despise that mask, I can't risk it coming into the hands of your enemies.'
'Our enemies,' Cohrab corrected. 'Like it or not, you're still one of us.'
'Okay, our enemies,' Coraliss conceded. 'I... I'll help you return it to its rightful place, but then I'm returning to the outside world. For good, this time.'
'Then there's no time to waste,' Cohrab said, smiling. 'We leave immediately.'

The two of them hurried to the Citadel's vast entryway, a stone archway so tall the tip could only rarely be seen from the ground, often instead being lost in the perpetual blizzards of the plateau. Clustered around the base of the arch, stretching out a fair distance, was a second, smaller city: single story buildings, hastily assembled from wood and held together with hope as much as craftsmanship. Most settlements, Human and otherwise, had such a shanty town pressed up to the walls: a Kobold settlement. They were distrustful of the taller races (and for all Coraliss knew of Dwarves too), but still relied on them for protection and trade. Few of their settlements were on the same scale as the one outside the citadel of Penllaya: it stretched almost right around the towering outer walls and spires, a city in its own right. Coraliss had grown used to the small furry Kobolds, but they still looked up at Cohrab with distrust. The two Naga passed through quickly, eventually reaching a stable on the outskirts. Coraliss knocked on the wooden door and waited. After a few minutes, a diminutive figure opened it and stepped out.
'I'd... like to buy a couple horses,' Coraliss said uncertainly.
'I don't deal with Tallerkin, Tallerkin,' the Kobold replied.
'Well, you're dealing with us,' Cohrab stated, a hiss of menace in her voice.
'Don't have to, have to,' the small, furry figure said defiantly.
Without warning, Cohrab shot forwards, coiling her tail around the tiny stable owner. She unhinged her jaw, opening it wide enough to swallow the unfortunate Kobold whole.
'Okay, I get the point, get the point,' he said, trying and failing to avoid letting his fear show. 'I don't make a habit of trading with outsiders, but I'll make an exception for you two, you two.'
Coraliss smiled uneasily and handed over several gold pieces. Cohrab uncoiled herself, allowing the Kobold to lead them over to two large, grey-white horses.
'They'll serve you well, serve you well,' he said, handing his two clients the reins. He left in a hurry, and Coraliss heard the door slam shut and lock into place. She turned to see the tracker already atop the larger of the two horses: her tail was coiled around its midsection, her body lying along it, head level with that of the fine creature. Coraliss had never ridden a horse before, and it took her several attempts to climb up and coil herself about it. The moment she was seated, Cohrab set out towards the Elven border, several days setward of the citadel of Penllaya.