You Shall Not Pass
Title: You Shall Not Pass
Starring: Ithiliel, Lorik, Rori, Munch
Summary: Two dark elves try to sneak into a city less enthusiastic about their presence after their daring escape from an oppressive home, while a golem attempts to do the same while carrying a wriggling zombie. A red-haired charlatan decides to help...in the most ridiculous way possible.
The day they came to the surface was the day that Ithiliel first let herself weep. The fact that she hadn't seen the sun in years didn't hurt, either -- or, rather, it hurt her eyes enough that tears might not have seemed unusual.
In the weeks since, she's coached her companions in appropriate civic behavior. They've never lived on the surface, some of them; admittedly, the best person to help them adapt probably isn't a formerly semi-cloistered librarian who spent the last few years scrubbing floors and making beds in a Mul'niessa city.
So it is that they come to the gates of Alexandria, footsore and travel-dusty. "I doubt it will surprise you that they may not be entirely... easy with us entering. But I will speak well for you. Nevertheless, it may be best to, ah. Pull your cloak-hoods down?"
---
"...but won't that just make us look more suspicious?" Asks Lori'thalik, Lorik to most of the people he knows. Since you know the name is kind of a dead giveaway of what he is. Who he is. Where he came from and a dozen other things, just as much as the dark skin and darker hair of his. The question though is honest enough, his head tilted just slightly to one side as he regards his companion and guide in this, his latest adventure.
It really has been an adventure. A panicked flight, a running battle, and the first night he spent under the stars...well...ever. He had been awed by it, but being awed is something he's slowly getting used too. At least he hasn't started gibbering about where the cave ceiling went.
...yet.
A city though? That isn't quite so awe inspiring, after all he's lived in them before. He's just more curious about this one, espicially as he looks at the guards by the gates. "I mean we don't mean any harm, right? So it can't be that bad..." A pause again. "...I wish Shavri hadn't wondered off like she did." A longer pause. "You know I bet she went over the wall." An even longer pause. "Which is something I'm not even going to attempt."
---
Traffic is always the heaviest during lunchtime.
Especially so in the areas surrounding the western gate of the lord's city of Alexandria, where fortunes can be made or lost in the blink of an eye. A place full of as many wild opportunities as there are grave misfortunes and rendered all the more unpredictable for it. She has lived within these boundaries for a little over a year now, and it still constantly amazes her as to how the social beats in the city are so chaotic that even her upbringing in Selentia, the Land of a Thousand Princes, has done little to prepare her for it. Every corner is full of surprises, and days like these are only some of the reasons why she has resolved never ever to go back to the land of her birth, where smiles are as sharp as daggers.
The areas surrounding the western gate, in particular, is full of cafes; simple stalls open to the air, where anyone can come up and snack on a piece of confection and the hot beverage of their choice. The sun hangs high upon a cloudless sky, but the breeze is cool, bringing with it a hint of rain and the barest touch of lingering frost - a sign that Winter is stubbornly hanging on and is refusing to relinquish the change of the season to its brighter, wetter cousin completely.
Rori Lee is seated in one of these, waiting patiently for her opponent to make his move. He does so, tanned fingers moving a piece on the board laid out for them - an old game, not unlike the boards her father introduced her to in a bid to teach her not just strategy, but perception, to look into the eyes of another and home in on their greatest desires.
Or at least, their desires at a given moment.
"I still don't think you can gauge a person's mind just by looking at the board," Lorenzo Agrias tells her. "Your bits are yellow and black and mine are green and red. What does that really say, anyway?"
"That you're an aggressive negotiator who hides it well by keeping your voice level at all times, but who has difficulty understanding that retreat can be a good thing," Rori replies with a winning, cutting smile as she maneuvers her next piece.
"That, and whoever designed this bloody game is colorblind."
---
Munch trudges and scrapes. Standing taller than the average man, and covered in layers of metal, the golem's footsteps are less than silent in the best of times. Weighed down by a pair of small trees dragging behind him, 'stealthy' is about the last word to describe the metal man. The branches of the trees have been neatly trimmed, the few left woven together to form a crude bed, the whole thing a makeshift travois. A small figure is tangled in the branches, occasionally groaning softly.
---
As they step into the stream of caravans and travelers streaming into Alexandria, Ithiliel fiddles anxiously with the end of her braid. She bobs her head to one side, then the other, weighing Lorik's summation. "Yes," she admits. "I expect you're right. The honest option would probably be to request to speak to the guard captain. I just want to make sure we get to see the guard captain without anyone trying to fill you with arrows. But since we're not trying to creep in in the night -- or, for that matter, scale the walls or crawl in via the sewers -- that will... probably speak well in our favor?"
It's one of the things she didn't realize she was going to have to get used to: doing things legitimately and without trying to sneak around.
Squaring her shoulders, she adds: "After all. I am a priestess of the Temple of Eluna. ...Or I was. I'm sure my word will be good for someth--"
She breaks off as she watches Munch trudging forward, staring up at him and then over to the figure groaning in the branches he drags. "Are you all right?" she calls, breaking away from her original path and stepping forward. "Is someone hurt?"
---
"Personally, if I have a option, I'd rather not get filled with arrows either." The shadow elf agrees with a wry twist of his lips as he glances around, noting the large space he's being given. The looks that are tossed his way. "You know, I didn't really think I'd be as much of a spectacle here. At least I hoped. I mean they have plenty of intresting things to stare at here like...that..."
This is when he notes the trudging figure of Munch that comes slowly tromping up the tradeway. "Why stare at me when there are things like that I don't understand it at all!" The shadow elf exclaims towards his companion...and then realizes that said companion is already rushing forwards.
There is a sigh before he starts after her, towards the huge golem and his groaning package. There is a slight glance in the direction of the gate guards, a few already becoming aware of the situation and staring towards the pair of elves and the big metal figure. Lorik can feel that spot between his shoulderblades itch.
Not in a pleasant way.
He tries to offer a reassuring smile in the guards direction as he hurries to catch Ith, hoping that at least confuses them enough to not feather him while he's walking. Now of course the stares are rippling outwards, the rumors and speculations traveling at speed though the crowd at the tradeway and even past the gates as everyone knows gossip can travel faster than the wind.
---
"Bullshite."
"Fact."
"Bullshite."
"Fact."
"Bullshite!" Lorenzo throws back his head and laughs. "You can't possibly have gotten all of that just by looking at my side of the board."
Rori smiles.
"Well, you got me there," she says simply. "I can't help but pay attention, Lorz. It's a blessing as well as a failing. But you're right." There's a dramatic sigh, a hand over her heart. "You got me there. You want to know the real reason how I managed to get all of that?"
"Enlighten me, oh learned one." Said with no small measure of wryness.
"Because out of everyone else in the Company, you're the biggest pain in my arse," Rori continues, snapping the win as she pushes her last yellow piece forward, and topples the man's red castle. "And despite being a huge pain in my arse, I still, miraculously, tolerate your company. I wouldn't be able to discern just why that is if I simply ignored you, would I?"
"...I don't know if I ought to take that as an insult or compliment."
"And yet, I still win." Pale fingers wiggle his captured red castle at him, smile broadening to hint at rows of white teeth. "Someone owes me a beer."
The hubbub at the end of the street catches her attention, however, and she inclines her head sideways, green eyes flecked with gold moving past Lorenzo's shoulder and towards the growing hubbub around two cloaked figures and a golem.
"The bloody hell?"
"Hn?" Lorenzo cranes his neck over his shoulder. "Tourists?"
"Well, there's plenty of those every day." Rori slowly unfolds herself from her seat. "Must be That Time again, Lorz. I'll see you tonight at the theatre, right?"
"Make sure you're not late this time," her companion says, lifting his fingers in a wave as she saunters off, before giving the board in front of him another wary, disbelieving squint.
"Reading someone through games," he mutters with a snort. "Bullshite, I say."
He pauses.
"....she saddled me with the bill again, didn't she?"
---
Munch buzzes softly. "I guess that's one way to put it. Bit beyond help though." A few other citizens show concern, starting to approach, only to 180 at getting a good look at the groaning figure. Arms and legs are missing, as is the nose, one eye, a fair bit of skin, and quite a few internal organs. This doesn't stop the head from rolling around, biting ineffectively at those who get too close. Even for a zombie it's in pretty rough shape. "I'm taking it to the Guild. Maybe they can trace back where it came from."
---
"You're... bringing a zombie -- an active zombie -- into the city?" Ithiliel stares in horror, her fingers clutched around the end of her braid. She takes a step or two away from the groaning figure; she'd assumed it was some poor sick man, but whoever this was seems to have contracted so much of a sickness that he's not likely to get over it.
The little priestess looks at Lorik. Looks back at the zombie. Looks at Lorik. Looks at the zombie.
"Maybe we will have less trouble than I thought," she murmurs. "Come on. Let's go talk to the guards. ...Which Guild will you be taking it to?" This last is directed to Munch. She can't deny that it would be interesting to see whether someone can trace the patterns of magic on the poor animated corpse to find who made it.
---
There isn't as much horror in Lorik's gaze, more curiosity instead of real horror. Instead he peers at the golems pitiful 'passenger' before glancing up at the great armored figure itself. "I was always told that zombies didn't make as good servents as skeletons." The shadow elf comments towards the large figure as he turns to start towards the gate further. "I mean skeletons only smell slightly musty, and don't usually leave parts everywhere."
Its all so...normal for him. The undead thing. I mean this is why happens when your family consists of mostly evil priests.
It kinda skews your thought of normal.
"Is there an infestation nearby though? I've heard they can get out of hand sometimes." A pause. "If there is an infestation perhaps this Guild can use some help with them? I mean we do need some kind of income..."
Punching undead is what good people do right?
...look he's new at this.
Then the shadow elf pauses a moment to glance up towards the golem. "Oh! Forgive me, my name is Lorik. I've been told its polite to introduce yourself." A beatpause. "At home they always told me to use nicknames to cut down on the amount of ritual magic used against you, but maybe here it is different?"
...very new to this.
As they approach the gate though there is a bit more of a kurflufle as a second pair of guards join the first, stepping into the road in front of the...two...elves?
---
The conversation from where she had been listening, at least, was somewhat interesting.
Rori can understand the curiosity; it isn't every day that any being would march back into the city carrying an undead body - even from where she is listening, in a nearby alley, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the wall, she can smell the putrefaction emanating from the shambling, dismembered thing. It's the other two, though, that sparks movement from the guards.
What little she sees breeds suspicions immediately - a glimpse of gray skin from underneath giant hoods.
She ought to be more than content to listen. This isn't, after all, her problem.
But those sharp green eyes slide to the side towards a small boutique just across the way that specializes in luxury clothes.
Don't do it, Lorelei. This isn't your problem. Don't do it. Don't even think about--
A FEW MINUTES LATER...
"It's an absolutely lovely dress, my lady, and it suits you nicely," the store's flamboyant sales representative says enthusiastically as the redhead admires herself in the mirror. "Green is most definitely your color, though white and gold would work as well, and if I can just direct your attention to the bodice, you'll find Master Gabriel's impeccable handstitched embroidery..."
"It's absolutely beautiful," Rori replies, and to her infinite credit, there isn't a single note of artifice in her voice as she makes a small turn in front of the mirror. "I will take it."
...your poor impulse control is a /blight upon this city/, Lorelei de Beaucharnais.
"We can process your payment this way, my lady."
Payment.
Rori pivots, and flashes the young woman a brilliant smile.
"About that..."
---
Munch snorts, an intresting sound from someone lacking nostrils. "It's just a zombie. couple kids with long sticks can take out one of those." Reach attack, flanking, seriously, couple kids with long sticks. "Explorer's Guild. They'll contact the Society of Arcanists, and a couple of the temples, and they'll argue over who gets to do what. Rangers might get involved, try and track it back the regular way. I didn't trace anything, but I'm not an expert. Anyway, whole thing will likely go to whoever happened to be present at the Guildhouse when things got started because nobody really wants to delay. Unless the Watch wants to make it their problem?" He inquires of the Guards, who swiftly reverse directions and head back towards their regular spots by the Gate. NOT MY PROBLEM. NOT MY PAPERWORK.
"Yeah, didn't think so. Anyway, found it out edge of the Felwood. Get this sort of thing every spring. Some wannabie trying to be the next Dark Lord, raise up an army of undead. As if that ever works. Only example I can think of is Heth, and he's using wights. Anyway, seeing as how Mister Bitey got loose, Lord Wannabie is likely already dead. This might even be what's left of him, if experiment went really wrong."
Buzzing softly, he nods to Lorik. "Munch, also called the TerrorMaw, and occasionally The Golem Who Eats... and occasionally get called 'Oh gods what the hell is that?!' but that's really for informal occasions. Far as rituals go, figure a TrueName is long and hard to pronounce, but I'm not an expert."
---
Distressingly, Lorik is so very open and honest with the upworlders. ...Less distressingly, the enormous metal man doesn't seem to mind.
"That makes me think of -- do you remember Ni'jel the Terrible, Lorik? Set himself up in that little cavern and tried to start his own reign of terror. That's how we kept getting zombies in the garden. I expect we could track down whoever's causing problems around here. Perhaps -- "
Ithiliel's trip down memory lane is interrupted by a half-dozen of those guards returning. The gates are still being guarded, and while they don't seem to be harassing Munch too much, nobody seems especially thrilled to see Lorik. Nobody's swords are drawn, precisely, but hands are on hilts and two halberd-bearing men look... well, capable of leveling those halberds if they have to.
"Step out of line, there's a good chap," one of the guards snaps. "What do you think you're doing? Just walking up to the city bold as brass?"
"He's with me," Ithiliel begins.
"It's all right, miss," another replies. "You're not his hostage anymore. You don't have to stay with him -- "
"I'm NOT his -- are you even listening to me?"
---
"Fellwood? I...think I've heard of that. There is a map around here somewhere." Lorik pauses a moment. "I really don't think it's very effective to try to just summon up a bunch of undead and call yourself a warlord, unless like you said they have some of the more powerful types. I mean...zombies don't seem very tacticly sound...just to me. I'm not a necromancer or anything."
A blink. "TerrorMaw?" A pause. "Do you actually eat your opponents? That does sound very intimidating!" He makes it sound like a compliment even as he walks with the golem towards the city.
...at least the /plan/ was walk with the golem towards the city.
"Oh! Ni'jel! Yes he was a bit of fun to remove. I think the gardner didn't mind the zombies. Gave everyone something to do, and the fertilizer seemsed to help the mushrooms grow for the most part."
He seems perfectly willing to continue on with the story. At least until he was called out.
"I...er...me?" Golden eyes blink up towards the guard snapping at him. "I...was just, wait she's not anyone's hostage!" Protests the shadow elf. "I'm just a simple traveler," Silver hoops glint in his ears in the sun as he shakes his head slightly. "Really! I mean she was a hostage, but she's not anymore!"
One of the other guards pokes the shadow elf in one shoulder...which goes poorly for the guard because armor has little in the way of give. "I heard he's a necromancer!"
"What? I clearly just said I'm not a necromancer!"
---
The row is starting to garner the attention of everyone around as the newcomers to the city argue with the guards who refuse to let them pass.
The argument is about to get louder, but it isn't as if the two elves and the golem know this. Not yet anyway.
The woman descends upon them with a swirl of expensive silk and her hair piled up loosely in a stylish coiffure, her chin in a defiant angle and her nose in the air. She doesn't just stomp towards the guards and the undercity dwellers, but she flounces in a manner befitting her station, her folded fan slapping the wrist of a guard when he attempts to reach for the 'hostage' in a manner so imperious, one can practically visualize the red carpet rolling underneath her feet. She is young, with red hair, and green eyes flecked with gold.
And the aura she exudes practically reeks of privilege and snobbery.
"While the city rightfully lauds you for your diligence..." She squints at the rank pin on his cloak. "...lieutenant, I would have to request that you let my servant..." She gestures vaguely to Lorik without looking at him. "...and his friend pass. They were running a particularly urgent errand for me at dawn and I have been waiting breathlessly for their return. I know, I know. They look at all nothing like trustworthy individuals but the man owes me a debt and rest assured, he will pay for it with his body."
The woman then spins around, and points her fan at Lorik. "And you. Where have you been? I remember specifically telling you with all due haste. Do you know what that means? It certainly does not mean all morning! What were you doing out there? Having a picnic?! Your day off isn't until two days from now, is this how you repay my generosity?!"
---
"GUYS." Munch addresses the Guards in calm, measured tones. He's been practicing. "If he's not dangerous, you don't need to worry about it. If he is, you call the Guild, the Guild calls me. I'm already here. It's not a problem."
And then there's silks and flouncing. And no Sandy in sight.
Munch blinks with a soft 'click'.
"...I'm leaning towards 'not dangerous'."
---
"And I was never his hostage," Ithiliel adds, because this is definitely going to help. "Really, this is all a massive -- "
And then? It's the Attack of the Posh Lady. On one hand, Ithiliel is slightly terrified by the sudden vortex of silk and perfume and privilege that has wound around them. On the other hand... oh of COURSE, this is their ticket out of trouble!
On the third hand, it's been so long since Ithiliel has been able to wear anything pretty that she has to stomp on the urge to ask Rori where she got that wonderful dress.
The impulse to obeisance is one that is unfortunately pretty much second nature to the little priestess at this point. She crosses her arms over her chest and bows in apology: "So very sorry, mistress! As soon as the guards allow us to pass, we'll be at your service again, mistress!"
The guards, too, are more than a little mystified. "These are your servants, madam?" Because there are enough wealthy and ridiculous people that anyone can be important. And it isn't a good idea to irritate them.
---
Oh god.
Flouncing.
Honestly Lorik seems fairly well adjusted against flouncing. Because really? Though the woman reeks of privilege he grew up around people like this. And she doesn't seem to want to poison him, she hasn't threatened to throw him to the family dogs, or use him in some blood ritual.
Really this kind of abuse if fairly mild compared with what he's used too.
So instead of /looking/ as poleaxed as he feels he gamely rallies. "You did not say 'with all due haste' or I would have remembered!" He protests. "You'll not be docking my reward for this, and we are only an hour or so late! The map you gave us was poor!" He protests as he starts walks now, pushing forwards past the guards, focusing on the woman in silk as he gestures wildly for a moment. "And you always give me things to do on my day off! My debt can't be worth this!"
...look when you make a scene you just double down on the scene. The more awkward you make everyone else feel, the less close they look at what is happening.
It seems to work at least. The Guards just stare in bemused wonder at the scene as the shadow elf pushes forwards, with his more well minded companion.
One of them looks up towards Munch and opens his mouth for a moment. Then closes it. Then opens it again. He looks a touch like a fish at this point. "...I guess you have a point..." They say begrudgingly. "...I mean it looks like he's going to be in worse trouble anyway. Especially if he doesn't stop arguing with the lady there."
---
If the guards are mystified, Rori doesn't pay attention to them, bringing forth every single remembered scrap of pretention she has had to wear like armor in her uncle's cutthroat court. Every Selese lady wasn't just a lady, she was a princess. And outside of the Land of a Thousand Princes, she isn't just a princess, but a queen. A queen among ants. Really, she ought to be surprised that after a few years removed from her homeland that she still remembers how to seize the reins of a situation with a velvet-cloaked, but iron-fisted grip, and steer it to her whims. She ought to be more disconcerted, but she isn't. Instead, she falls into the pool of her past history like a swan returning home.
...the comparison is apt, at least. Swans are ill-tempered creatures and she brings that to bear, also.
The little priestess is quick to fall in line, thankfully, recognizing the opportunity for what it is.
These are your servants, madame?
She GASPS. It is a sound teeming with outrage, and she completes the picture by slapping the fan against his shoulder. "Madame?" she repeats, in a tone so disbelieving, it is as if the guard had told her that her beloved pet pomeranian has died and she is in absolute denial about it. "I am not even twenty-two summers old, how dare you! Mark my words, sir, your uniform may symbolize your authority, but you won't get anywhere in life if you don't educate yourself with the proper way to talk to women! Oh, your poor wife!"
And with Lorik's protests, she rounds on him immediately. "And you. How dare you, too. I am an expert in drawing maps. I'll have you know that Master Galileo Bertinelli educated me in cartography, himself, it isn't my fault you can't read!"
She pauses, and lets out a world-weary sigh.
"While I completely understand that you're absolutely blinded by my ravishing beauty, you've obviously been born with weak retinas, so I suggest you refrain from cursing my excellent instructions and curse your own misfortune instead for having the visual capability of a cave bat! Now cease your prattling immediately and follow me! Pick up your feet, Herbert."
With that, she pivots on her heel, gesturing with an airy wave of her hand for her 'servants' to follow. And to the diminutive priestess:
"For the love of Eluna, no wonder you're my favorite."
And once away from the guards, she flashes Ithiliel a wink.
---
Munch blinks. Blinks again, and shrugs. "Whelp, I'ma see a man about a zombie. You guys take care." And then he's off again, dragging his load over the cobblestones.