Measure of a Man

The City of Sen-Chan. A pisshole, if you ask me, and I know you didn't. And I have been in some pissholes, let me tell you. Hey—'tender. Here's another piece of gold—a Row or whatever—for your horde. Give me and my mates another round of rice wine.

Yea—strong stuff, ain't it? Prefer a nice Perland White myself and I hear they have some nice champagnes coming out of Eastern Heimdella. Heimdella? That is where me and my mate come from. Well, technically we are from New Melatia. Way the heck to the North and West of here. Yea—we're Knights. See—straight sword, two edges. None of this “katana” stuff for us. I find a point and two edges to my liking.

Hmm? Oh! Jory's my name. Jory McAllister. What about you? Hmmm... Yea, well, whatever, I'll call you Joe.

No. No. We aren't here on a diplomatic mission. {laughs} The diplomacy of the sword I suppose. Hey no, relax. We are not here for your people... well, at least I don't think so. Hard to tell sometimes with the big guy.

Yea... I'm his squire. He's a herald. He's also a Landed High Baron of Heimdella, a Captain of the Flaming Sword, and the son of a Duke. Yea—that's like one of those Dame-Os or whatever. Yea! That's it—Daim-Yo.

Don't let his looks fool you. We have been traveling hard—two weeks of running our horses into the ground and ten days on that Heimdell-Forsaken ship. I thought that storm would never end. The boss was sure it was there to slow us down—but he takes everything personally—including the weather. Only problem—sometimes he's right. Yes—well—I know he looks a little road-beaten, and unshaven, and long haired, but let me tell you—don't let it fool you. He is as proud and stiff a Knight as you will ever meet. Honor and Law. He is your guy.

No. No. Well... we both serve Heimdell. Heimdell...? Protector of Humanity? Guardian of the BiFrost? Wielder of... oh never mind. One of our Kamels. Oh, yeah—that is what I meant—Kamis! Who do you guys worship? Your local Kami? Zen-Cha? Ancestor? Yea—thought so.

{drinking, burps} Ahhh... I wish you guys had nice flank steak. That would be the balls. Oh us?

{leans forward and drops his voice slurring slightly} We are looking for the last piece of the Lich's heart. Yea! The Lich? Nasty, evil dude. Bones, bad breath, rules the dead, plotting to overthrow the world. You know the type.

Well, you see he made himself invincible and immortal by putting his life essence in this place called the Heart of Death, and the only way to access it is to use this big green rock called the Lich's Heart. But he's a clever chap. He broke it into twelve pieces—wait, really thirteen. Then he scattered them all over the world and hid them all over and had big nasties with sharp pointy teeth guarding them. Each one in a different place. Well we—meaning the good guys, that would be us—have found twelve pieces as of a few days ago. We are meeting people here to get the capstone—the thirteenth piece that will give us access to the Heart of Death.

{draws in a breath}

Sheesh—my throat is getting dry. 'tender! More rice wine! Huh? Oh yeah—more sake!!!!

{looks around} Okay—what was I saying? Oh yeah. So here we are... we are waiting for a sign to lead us to the final piece—the capstone, the thing that will put it all together so we can smack his bony ass right back to hell and keep him there! YEAH!

{looks around warily}

But look—let's keep this between us. Okay?

The Herald watched the twines of fate spill around and through the people sitting at the table Jory was at. He watched, though he was looking in the other direction and his face mostly covered by his hood, the perceptions and awareness that played across the inn. The Ninja watcher was extraordinarily trained in the arts of stealth and watching and was unbound by fate. Still, the Herald caught his perception and tracked it to his general location, and then the watcher revealed himself in leaving a little too hastily after Jory finished his tale.

The Herald smiled. It was not a sight to bring joy, and fleeting, almost illusory. He unfolded his long, lean body. He moved with a leonine grace and as he moved forward towards the door people moved out of his way. Once he had been much thicker, but years of questing had burned and etched his body. His cheekbones were sharp, his muscles lean, his face shadowed with a week's growth of beard, and long brown hair hanging past his shoulders. The shapeless brown cloak wrapped about him concealed his strength while he was sitting but now, moving, he radiated danger and purpose.

As he walked by the table with the three men he looked at the man who had been talking and said one word:

“Both.”

The Herald then strode out the front door of the inn after the mage-assassin.

Jory looked at the two Ronin before him and they stared back, the tension escalating with each heartbeat as they sat locked in that tableau. Then Jory spoke in a quiet, serious, sober tone.

“Sorry blokes... Heimdell bless your souls.”

With a speed his size belied, the heavy bastard sword that was hanging off the back of his chair was clear of its sheath. His first cut blocked the Shizen-Kai strike from the Ronin on his left. He then spun and took the other Ronin's head off with a spinning, two-handed cut. The surviving Ronin bounced back and dropped into a high Cat-stance, his Katana held before him in defense. Jory paused and watched the steady blade, evaluating the stance, form, and then he acted. Jory feinted a straight, overhead strike and then snapped out a kick that caught the Ronin in his mid-section as the Ronin side-stepped the faux-attack. The Ronin doubled over from the force of the strike and Jory cleaved him from shoulder to solar plexus in the next heartbeat.

Jory twisted the blade free from the body and slowly turned around surveying the whole room, sword extended before him. Everyone stared at him for a moment then obviously and deliberately returned to their conversations and eating.

Jory knelt down, and cleaned his bastard sword on the cloak of the fallen man he had dubbed Joe.

In fluent Imperial Dal-Kon he said:

“Zen-Cha guide your spirit's path, warrior.”

He then switched to Old Taric.

“Forgive me Lord for using duplicity with these men. Though I spoke no word of a lie I did turn the truth with indirection.”

He resheathed the blade and then turned to the inn keeper.

“My pardons for this desecration of your beautiful inn, please accept my master's sincere apologies.”

And pressed another small gold Ryu into the inn keep's hand.

“If you could bring me a double plate of that shumei stuff and the rest of that bottle of sake that would be great. Thanks.”

With that Jory picked up his gear and rushed outside.

The Herald stood in the dark alley next to the inn and was completely quiet. He felt the conflict coming. His foresense was ringing with it. He was sure the Ninja hadn't escaped and was now gathering his allies. He probed the darkness with his senses and then felt the six men coming out of the darkness before he saw them. All fateless, of course. Only a fool sends the fated against a Herald. He surveyed them coldly. There was no need for words—they radiated their chaos out at him, preparing their exit spells.

He was their enemy, and an intruder to kill as quickly as possible. They were his gateway to the hidden shrine of the seven towers. He didn't dare use the Wyvernnsbane this close to the searching eyes of the Shukenja he knew were out there. He stepped back into a classic T-stance and drew his practice sword and pulled the shield off his back. He slid his arm into the shield and then opened his sense to what was happening. He felt the surge of power as the two Ninja in front prepared to shadow walk. He smashed out with the Will Lance and broke their spells. Simultaneously he leapt forward and took the head clean off the shoulder of the first Ninja—who had expected to be behind Pelleus now instead of in front of his blade—and smashed the edge of his shield into the throat of the second, stunning him, crushing his windpipe and taking him out of the fight.

He blurred into the familiar steps of the Sword Shield pattern in time to block a set of thrown sharp objects with a sweep of his shield, deflect a thrown dagger with a twist of his blade, and block the cut of the Ninja-to with the cross-guard of his sword. A risky maneuver but one of his favorites. He shattered the Ninja-to as he twisted the cross-guard hard, and Dwarven-forged steel held against the Ninja-to's sharp but inferior blade. He ignored the enchantment snare the Ninja in the back threw at him and his return cut took the hand of the disarmed Ninja clean off. The Ninja staggered back clutching his stump. The Herald whirled and smashed his shield against the crippled Ninja, sending him flying to the ground as he cut swiftly at the two non-spell-casting Ninja still standing. They both leapt back and gave the Herald a chance to recover his balance. He snapped the blade into the eighth position, inviting them to come in over it. He kept the shield tight beside him and high.

There was no sound except the thrashing and gurgling of the Ninja with the crushed throat. The crippled one had already killed himself before he could bleed out. The Herald turned and charged the spell caster as she—or rather, as he now sensed—prepped a Wild Magic trigger of some kind. One of the other two Ninja charged his back while the other started to shift into the shadows.

He extended his Will Lance with his sword and enforced reality around her as she tried to unweave the Wild Magic. Her wards parted like paper before the lance and he punched the pointed bastard sword straight through her heart and spine. Her eyes widened in surprise and she only had time to grunt as her spell construct untangled and dissolved as life essence was wrenched out of her body.

The Herald continued his forward momentum and rolled right over her, releasing the sword. His hand slapped down on his lower right leg and jerked out the dirk strapped there as he rolled onto his back. His shield interposed and blocked the Ninja's sword. His heel shattered the Ninja's knee, and then the Ninja crashed into a stupor as he kicked him savagely in the head with the other foot. The last Ninja was almost complete with the intricate finger weavings of the Shadow Travel spell when he saw the motion at the head of the alley. He only had time to regret not asking for more men as the enchanted crossbow quarrel slid right by his wards and buried itself in his throat. He slid down the wall and died desperately trying to complete the spell.

The Herald stood up in one snapping motion. He turned, put one foot on the Sorceress and jerked the blade free. He wiped the blade, resheathed it, and then picked up the unconscious Ninja with one hand. Jory looked at the Ninja warily.

“You know we aren't going to get anything out of him?”

Pelleus Wyvernnsbane smiled.

“No, but the ones joining us will be able to. Let's get him up to our room. Nice shot, by the way.”

Jory blushed.

“Well, I have been practicing...”

He grunted as he pulled the quarrel free from the body and the two left the bodies untouched. They had dealt with Ninja before and it just wasn't worth touching the dangerous spell-trapped bodies.

Talking together they headed back into the light and company as the old friends they were.