Nidar Greyscale’s Secret
He stands in a chamber that predates Ancient Rome by centuries. There is a table in front of him, where four august beings sit. “I cannot do it”, a woman of night in robes of cream reiterates. She makes a motion of finality and the air itself turns into poison. His hair falls out. Sores form on his exposed, naked skin. Teeth blacken and rot. The light roars out from his body and the injuries of his body heals, no matter his wish, his hope.
Great, wracking sobs fills the air, and Tam Linn wakes up, covered in sweat. Searching hands roam the covers, before he finds what it is that he is looking after. He clutches Yowl against his chest, his body curling up in foster-position. The heat of her body serves as a anchor, reminds him that time is gone, albeit he still harbours that desire. To die.
Stymied. Not a feeling Tam Linn is used to. That dream just now… it was the High Priestess attempt to kill him. Failed attempt. The dream brings to mind of a more recent failure; Fenrir and his battle. It stings him. It is not that hasn’t fought strong supernaturals, for that is a motif that has been all too familiar in his life, but to actually be driven away? Although, in a fight where he doesn’t have to keep an eye on Yowl, he reckons that they’re closer to equals. No, sheer force might not just be the best option in this case.
Guile. He will have to outsmart the supernaturals of Fallowfell. No small feat that. Two kings- one of men, one of a race of giants, the world’s first bioterrorist, an assassin famed for his planning, an ancient archmage who sat at the feet of the Ptolemaic Dynasty, an older child of the Flight and of course Fenrir himself.
He removes the covers and stand up, earning himself a glare from a displaced Yowl. Her absence has made him acknowledge it; killing John Dobbs…. not a mistake, but if he had to kill someone, he should have picked someone less innocent.
Who among them, those that oppose him, is the weak link?
Is it Corazon, who wields his honor like shield against the ravages of time?
Perenelle Flamel, fearful yet of the Council?
Gomagog, whose soul treasure left after a long rule is spite and hate?
Hermann, whose Achilles heel has always been the loyalty with which he serves those he love?
Nidar Greyscale, newly arrived in Fallowfell with a purpose unknown?
Fenrir Suneater, who watches his sole grandchild like a hawk?
Merith Ptah, who with her age-old eyes sees in them children playing the games of grown-ups?
Tam Linn crouches on the floor and takes up a case filled with old papers, the files accrued on the various supernaturals of Fallowfell. Hours pass. The sun makes its ascension across the horizont, filling his bedroom with light. Greyscale, he decides on. Why is he here? The others, they have some kind of purpose in this city. But why did Nidar Greyscale move here? What is there in Fallowfell that cannot be found elsewhere?
A riddle of sorts. Boutiques? In a city of ten-thousand? Hardly. A lover? Perhaps. But Greyscale has, barring some one-night stands, made no ouvertures to any old lover. An old friend then? Hermann Schwartz? But Hermann’s presence in Fallowfell, while not a secret, was under the radar. He blinks, startled by his own thoughts, the direction they’ve led him in. A place of power. They’re rare and atleast one of them exists outside of Fallowfell, with rumors of more.
Could that be the reason.. ? Tam Linn recounts the interview he had with the man. Short. Full of hostility. He spewed a tirade about truth, and its everchanging nature. Linn never asked him about why he was in Fallowfell….He could of course ask him, and spot the lie he’d give. But that would alert him. Linn stretches out on the floor, contemplating the matter.
Leverage- that’s what he needs. Leverage over Greyscale and knowledge of the places of power. Wasn’t there something about the known place of power? He grabs the file and reads.
Single occupant of The Fenner Bog Site
indigenous Japanese, kappa?
Fled to Sweden after World War Two
Connected with Hermann Schwartz
Was questioned in accordance with a human-trafficking incident in 1946
Linn nods to himself. He definitely needs to talk to this kappa.
Gomagog, like many older supernaturals, is rich. When you live for countless centuries, money isn’t a problem. You can sell your old books, earning yourself a nice fee. You can sell gold or jewels gathered on adventures, for those things will never lose their value. Or you can sell yourself, your power to someone who will grant you the money you want or other favors.
So it’s with a certain surprise that Greyscale reaches the end of the dirt lane; a house made out of stone in the deep forests of Fallowfell. He parks his car in what looks like an old barn next to the house, considering his approach to the revelation of the existence of a World-Tree.
Stepping out of the car, he inspects the house. Sturdy, made of stone, with a wooden door and no windows. A chimney, with smoke announcing its function.
Should he really be doing this? What he is about to do is akin to open Pandora’s box. There can be no half-measures after the revelation. The world will never be the same, and the world cannot afford to be the same.
Greyscale wonders if he should just pick up and leave. It wouldn’t be the first time. Indeed, it might just be the perfect solution. He sighs to himself. And knocks on the door. Gomagog sullen stare greets him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I am here to tell you a great secret. The kind that will shake the world. That’s what I am doing here.”
Gomagog continues to stare at him, sulleness exchanged for something that could just maybe be called ‘curiosity’. “Alright then”, he simply says,” come on in.”