Chapter 1

Ellisar woke with a start.  She was late again for her meeting with her professor.  She had received word that she had an assignment and Ellisar was excited to begin her practicals.  Soon, she would be a full-fledged graduate of the first class of the University of Arcton.  

Tired of the long journey across country from Everfog to Arcton, a committee of graduates had set up a more technical school here on the east coast of Laeh.  Ellisar was among the first students admitted to this fledgling university and she was excited to prove her mettle.  

She leapt from her pallet and dressed hurriedly.  Brushing her hair as she wan to Professor Antimony’s office, she wondered what she could be tasked with.  She hoped that once this was over, she could leave her past behind her.  A foolish fantasy perhaps, considering what she’d done, but the Professor had not blinked twice when she told of her home life.  Frankly, he seemed impatient to move on to other things.  

When she arrived at the faculty offices, she straightened her shirt and strode inside as if she were completely composed.  She turned the handle on the door marked Antimony and was met by a veritable whirlwind of papers and artifacts.  Professor Antimony was seated at his desk, deeply involved with some papers.

“Professor?” Ellisar stage-whispered.

“Busy.” He did not look up.

“Professor, you asked to see me.”

“Who?  Oh, yes of course.  Have a seat.”

Ellisar remained standing, as there was not any chairs not stacked chest high with papers or skulls or some manner of thing-a-ma-bob.  

“So, Ellisar.” The professor eventually said. “You’ve done well here.  I had low hopes for a school of such single-minded people, but you’ve made quite the advances in the study of the ancients.  Most students here have half of their face burned off or a finger missing from some madcap machine run amok.  You, though, you chose a singular focus of study here.  A study of the ancients, well done.”

“Their technology was impressive, sir.  Their technology was also horrific, and so  I felt that a more theoretical approach was warranted.”

“A wise decision, that.  Had one of these half-wit geniuses tried their hand at replicating some of the things I’ve read of yours, we’d have a mass funeral instead of a graduation.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now.  Part of the idea of this school is practical application.  We separate ourselves from those navel gazers in Everfog, by requiring a field exercise rather than some lofty dissertation.  Have you considered what to do for yours?”

“Well, sir.  I had thought that perhaps I could…”

“Great, great.  I have just the thing.  You will find some artifacts of these ancient peoples and bring them here.  You will discover them with your own hands, Ellisar.  Don’t try to use your elvish connections to have someone else dig them out and take credit for it.  I’ll know.”

“Sir, almost all of the ancient’s artifacts are here. “

“Quite so, and that is why you will find new ones.  We will learn nothing from the mistakes of our past if we do not learn what those mistakes were.  Find me one of the machines of war that legend tells us clashed with your people.  Find me one of those and you will be a graduate of our fine school.”

“Sir?”

“I have a friend who lives in a small town in the Iron Plains.  He is a priest and his church is atop an old burial mound.  He thinks it may be very old indeed, and wants to find out what is down there.  So do I.  I have put together a group for you to travel with and investigate this old burial mound, and if you find anything interesting there, you’ll bring it here.  The priest will pay you, of course.  I’m sure it will be quite exciting.  Ancient bones, old tombs, the dust of a thousand years, you’ll love it.”

“A group?  Is this to be dangerous?”

“One must always be prepared for any eventuality.  If this mound is as old as my priest friend says, there could be anything down there.”

“Who will I be with?”

“You’ll meet them soon.  I’ve brought in some experts in various fields in case you run into any trouble.  I understand you’re handy with a longbow?”

Ellisar winced.  She had been worried about this. “Yes sir, but I haven’t touched one in…”

“Nonsense.  Like riding a bike, I hear.  I know all about your dead family and your dead assassin.  You killed the man who killed your parents.  It was a just killing.”

“My people do not agree.  I do not agree, sir.  I shot that man in the heat of rage, elves do not give in to anger.”

“Evidence would appear to speak otherwise.  In any event, any creepy crawly you find on this excursion is sure to deserve anything they get.  Go meet your team.”

Ellisar went out to the tavern where Professor Antimony indicated her team mates would be waiting for her.  She hoped they were good people.  She especially hoped there weren’t any elves among them.

She walked up to the door of the Laughing Scholar and pushed inside.  It was nearly noon, so there were not many people within.  There was one table, however, with three figures seated around it.  She hesitated in the doorway, nearly backing out, when the bartender greeted her.

“Ellie!  Early for you, no?  Don’t you usually come in after your classes, not before?”

“Hi Boris.  I’m meeting some people.”

“Ah, the table full of grumps, is it?  I didn’t take you for the adventuring type.”

“I wasn’t, but I’ve got something to take care of for the professor.  Apparently, he wants me to be ‘prepared’.”

“Well, you have fun.  Want anything?”

“I’ll have my usual.  Send something over for them too, if you would.”

“They’ve got drinks, them that’d order them.  The elf said his people didn’t partake of ‘human bile.’”

“An elf? You’re joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about that, lass.  He seems a hard one, but they all did.”

“Blast.  Well, thank you.  I’ll go deal with them.  Take care, Boris.”

She hesitantly walked over to the table with her drink and sat down.  The three figures watched her closely as they abruptly cut off their conversation.  

It was an odd group.  An elf, as Boris had said, stared coldly at her, violent eyes flashing with power.  An orc lazily looked up, but Ellisar saw something of steel within him.  Lastly, a goblin sat on his pack.  Ellisar took him for a toy for the briefest of moments, as the goblin had the largest ears she had seen on anyone not of the rabbit-like lagos.  

“Hello.  I’m Ellisar.  Would you be the group that my professor arranged?” Ellisar held her breath.

“We would, child.  What swill are you drinking?  How did you come to live in this wretched place?” the elf sneered.

The goblin smacked the older elf on the arm.  “Don’t listen to him.  He’s just upset because he’s not the prettiest one at the table anymore.  I just met him and I can tell he’s the vain type.  I’m Goblynn!”

“If it is vain to compose oneself according to a rich societal tradition, then I’ll gladly accept the label.  My name is Jaeron, and no one believes that a goblin would be named ‘Goblynn’.  Though in your line of work, I suppose an alias is always needed.  I would hope that if you live long enough to learn a lesson or two that you would choose something a bit less on the nose.”

“I am called Roil,” rumbled the orc.  His accent was clipped, as if the common tongue was not his first language, but he now wanted to speak it as properly as he could.

“Well, thank you for that.  The professor said you all had some special areas of expertise?  I’m just a researcher.”

“The professor said you were a sniper,” sneered Jaeron.

“That was a long time ago.”

“The phrase ‘long time’ means barely anything to we elves, as you well know.”

Goblynn piped up “I’m a trap finder!”

“A thief, more like it,” growled Roil.  “Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Well, what do you do?  Look scary?”

“I am a member of the Holy Inquisition.  I bring justice to the gods, and protect their faithful.”

“You’re a zealot,” said Jaeron.  “You string up heretics and burn them.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me, mage.”

“Yes, I am a ‘mage’ as you so crudely put it.  Thank you for the introduction.  I do prefer the term ‘arcane practitioner’, however.  I am wizard, to be clear.”

“Well then, now that we are all friends, let’s have a drink!” shouted Goblynn.  “Barkeep!  Your finest booze!”

“I will not drink the sort of swill served in this manner of establishment,” said Jaeron.

“Just three then, barkeep!  Make them all doubles, though.  We’re toasting friendship!”

Together, the newly minted group spoke of what their task ahead entailed.  At first the conversation was stilted and slow coming, but soon professionalism won out and they spoke in earnest.  

“We must ensure that we do not disturb or disrespect the dead,” insisted Roil.

“How can we ‘explore and totally not grave rob’ a tomb and not disturb the dead?” asked Goblynn.

“It’s a fool’s errand, in any event.  We could spend all of our time being careful around the cobwebs and dirt, but in reality it’s a hole in the ground with corpses in it.  The dead don’t need respect; they need to be forgotten.  They’re gone and expecting them to come bother us is nonsense at best.”  Jaeron gestured to Roil. “Your fear of the dead is expected from a child but not from an ‘honorable clergyman’ like yourself.”

“I merely wish to show proper regard for the spirits of the passed.  Even a heretic like yourself should acknowledge the prudency of that.”

Ellisar raised her hands in a placating gesture.  “Gentlemen, please.  We’ll take every precaution.  Should any damage occur, we will make amends.  What are your thoughts, Goblynn?”

“I think that we need another round.  What’s the big deal?  It’s not like we’re talking about paper walls here, are we?  We’ll go in, look around, grab anything older than the dirt and get out.  If there’s a locked door in our way, I can take care of it.  If there’s tomb to be blessed, Mister Holy over there can pray on it.  If there’s a candle that needs lighting, Grumpypants can wiggle his angry little fingers and if there’s someone who needs to be shot in the head, Miss Bookworm can do that.”

“I’m not a warrior any more.  I left that behind me,” Ellisar grumbled.

“I am looking at those hands, and those hands know how to shoot someone in the face from 300 yards away,” retorted Goblynn.  “I know hands, and those hands kill.”

“In any event, it’s not important.  It’s just an old burial mound,” Jaeron sighed.

“Yeah, and no story that started like that went bad,” said Goblynn.