A Templar scorned
13
AUG/21
Vashir was annoyed. Well, if he was being totally honest with himself, he was pouting; not that his oversized ego would allow him to acknowledge that he was even capable of such a petty and childish emotion. Here he was, the famed hunter of heretics and criminals and blasphemers and enemies of the crown; a feared Templar formerly in the service of the great Red City of Balic, and yet he could not even wield enough authority to sway his companions from their current course of action.
They had arrived in Gulg a couple of days ago, and they had already upset the balance of power within the Green City, rooting out and destroying the slave traders and killing their leader, Zamora. Shadalah and the Green Star Gem were tantalizingly close at hand, and to Vashir, time was of the essence if they were to achieve their goal in freeing the princess and obtaining the powerful artifact. It would not take long for word of the destruction of the slave traders to spread like wildfire throughout the Green City, nor would not be seen as coincidence that such an action took place less than twenty four hours after a group of outsiders arrived within the City, riding in upon magnificent winged steeds, and bedecked in magic and steel and wearing the hides of fearsome beasts. Vashir knew that surprise and haste were the keys to a successful hunt – yet in spite of his protestations, his companions had instead voted to turn their animus towards the Sand Voyager’s Guild that had harbored the slavers.
Another day would be spent upon this folly and they would be wading into a very well-prepared safe house, and for what? Vengeance? Justice? They would risk precious blood and treasure in an effort to strike out at this insignificant Guild rather than pursue their main quarry: Corga and the Green Gem. Even if they were successful in this foolish endeavor, such actions would guarantee that all eyes would certainly turn towards them. If Corga chose not to run after this, she would undoubtedly gather her forces, deeply entrench and fortify herself, and await their arrival with opened arms and bared steel. If she fled, there was no telling where she would run off to. Only Oni had also seen the importance of staying focused on their main prize, and yet here they stood, outvoted and standing outside of the Sand Voyager’s Guild, armed only with a complete lack of a plan and some misplaced bravado.
David was inside the Guildhall first, brash and fearless as always, a whirling storm of psychic death orbiting dramatically around him. Oni and Arnia were right on his heels, spreading out in the room and dropping immediately out of sight. Vashir waited outside, ostensibly watching the alley and the civilians in the market, but in actuality he was letting his annoyance dictate his complete lack of action. They had barely escaped from this Guildhall the night before, only happening upon a secret door that led to the safety of the alleyway instead of being forced to cut their way through the ranks of soldiers and guards the Guild employed. The Guilders would certainly have expected them to return and would have bolstered their numbers, undoubtedly, given the extra time it had taken for them to return. Vashir, in their position, would have placed many of their number posing as civilians in the crowd in order to close in and flank any intruders as well as to cut off all hope of escape. And so he chose to wait and watch.
Ixen entered the building next, but not before shooting Vashir a quizzical look, questioning his hesitation. Vashir waved him on, and his annoyance grew. The sounds of battle echoed forth from within the giant pavilion, and yet he still did nothing.
Then the guilt and boredom began to kick in.
He could not tell how the battle was going from the safety of the streets, but he thought he could hear the cries of pain and confusion from Arnia and David. Vashir held his ground outside of the pavilion and scoured the crowd, but aside from curious looks from the milling populace at the sounds of the fracas, no one seemed inclined to rush in to join the melee. Vashir took a deep breath and began to work his way, as nonchalantly as possible, towards the door to the Guild. He had just begun to leave his post when he noticed the secret door to the alley slide open and he watched as a hulking, armed figure slipped silently out into the streets. Well, at least now Vashir could claim that he had waited outside for an actual reason and not because of some petty irritation at not getting his way.
When the armed figure neared the front door to the Guildhall, Vashir unleashed a devastating explosion of psionic energy at the man, who cried out in agony but still somehow stood his ground. Vashir blanched. He had thrown enough psychic power at the man to fell a rhynox, and yet this soldier still persisted. If this was the level of opponent his companions were facing inside the pavilion, Vashir began to actually fear for their safety.
The warrior looked around for the culprit that had assailed his mind, and Vashir quickly busied himself with looking through the bags on his hip with perceived indifference and innocence. Fortunately, he had taken the time to cover his purple armor with some innocuous robes and the man couldn’t pick him out of the gathering crowds. So, when he began to make his way back towards the entrance to the Voyager’s Guild again, Vashir hit him again, reaching deep into the recesses of his subconscious and drawing on as much power as he could muster, certain that this would be overkill. And yet the man still stood.
They were in deep trouble.
An explosion of fire erupted out of the top of the pavilion, sending billowing clouds of smoke and death cartwheeling madly into the sky. A nauseating green cloud chose that moment to waft out the front door of the warehouse as well – looking and moving unnaturally, bolstered by the dark sorcery that had birthed it. A fog of sickly, ambulatory death – if his companions were within its choking embrace, Vashir knew that they were doomed. Yet now he could not worry about such things, as the warrior he had assailed twice with more force than he had thrown at anything before, charged at him with a roar; murderous fire burning in his dark eyes and giant axe held high.
As the burly warrior swung the razor sharp blade at his head, Vashir popped out of existence and rematerialized fifty paces away. A second figure suddenly burst forth from the green cloud, his furry face molded itself into a mask of rage as Smarty noticed Vashir standing there and the bugbear charged at him. Vashir popped again, this time reappearing back in the other direction, near the alley – far from Smarty, but much nearer to the unstoppable warrior than he would have liked to have been.
More movement from the alley drew his attention, as the secret door opened again and out merged the defiler Abu, the leader of the Guild in Gulg. Vashir blanched. Facing an inexorable warrior and an enraged bugbear was one thing, but a full-fledged defiler was something else entirely. Fortunately David chose that moment to stumble out the front door of the Guildhall, looking enfeebled and hurt, but he drew the attention of the unstoppable warrior who hadn’t yet quite located where Vashir had teleported off to that second time, buying Vashir some much needed time.
Hoping that his companion had the strength to deal with this threat, Vashir turned his attention to the primary hazard, and drew upon every ounce of power he could muster, even going so far as to encrypt the thought processes of the powerful defiler in an effort to ensure that the man absorbed the full force of this psionic attack. Vashir’s eyes crackled with lightning energy and he felt as if he were coming apart at the seams before he released the powerful blast; following the attack up by ripping his sword free of its leather scabbard and willing the blade to burst into flame as he awaited the inevitable retaliation.
But it never came.
Abu slumped lifeless to the ground, blood pooling from his ears, a faraway look of pain and confusion in his sparkless eyes. Confused but elated, Vashir spun around looking for the warrior and the bugbear, but David had gotten his deadly psychic blades spinning again and Smarty lay dead at his feet and that fearsome warrior was nowhere to be seen.
Vashir hastened through the secret door and slipped in, moving quickly through the offices and into the main warehouse. The smell of smoke was nearly overwhelming, and he pulled his cloak over his nose and mouth, as his eyes began leaking from the burning debris in the air. The sight was worse than he had even imagined: the main warehouse was in shambles, as crates and bodies burned wildly out of control; Arnia laid in a crumpled heap amidst a handful of dead Guilders, with Oni standing over her fallen form and guarding her with that stubborn loyalty of his. The young monk was breathing heavily and lashing out with his alabaster staff, as priceless sanguine life seeped out of the many wounds that decorated his body; Ixen had again turned himself back into a giant snake and was trying to fend off attackers that were harrying him from each side, each tearing chunks of scaled flesh from him with each grievous blow.
Vashir sighed and again chided himself again for his childish petulance. Here was yet another battle where his companions had borne the brunt of the suffering and exertion, while he stayed comfortably and – relatively – safely out of the fray. He would have been dead a dozen times over if it weren’t for their ferocity, loyalty and bravery, and he had rewarded them by moping for not getting his way.
He steeled his resolve and reached back into the recesses of his mind, and thankfully found a roiling storm of power waiting for him there, practically begging to be released out into the world. He smiled and stepped out into the fray.
He might have been late to the party but at least he brought some party favors…