Trc - Goblin Wives - Intro

Tales of The Rusty Cauldron - Goblin Wives

Introduction -- Part 1

© JAKwriter aka writerJAK -- December 2023

All rights reserved. No republication without approval of the author.

Scanning for AI learning, data scrapping, and similar activities is expressly prohibited.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My name is Thom, pronounced with a hard Th like Thumb. Th -- om. That's me.

I'm semi-retired Journeyman mage settling into full retirement on a chunk of land near some gods forsaken village in the mountains to the west of the free city of Fairoth. I should know both the names of the mountains and the kingdom I live in, but like I said, I'm in semi-retirement looking to fully retire and if the government doesn't bother me, I won't worry about it.

This parcel of land I bought was "cheap." The local that sold me this chunk of unfarmable land got what he saw as a premium price. Me, didn't give a rat's ass. I had more money than I knew what to do with. I wanted a place of my own, hopefully a wife and a couple or three kids. I have the first, working on the rest.

What I got was 160 acres of prime rock, a bit of grass, and three beautiful springs. One spring will be watering a small garden once I get around to planting. The second and largest feeds a small lake that appeared to have fish of some sort in it. The last and smallest is conveniently located near where I am building my house.

The house is mostly done. Solid stone blocks, cut and fit perfectly, like only someone with Earth magic, like me, can do. Two stories, the first is rough finished and the second is a work in progress. Stone for the house was cut from what is now the basement.

* * * * * * * * *

Enough about the house. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm here and how I got here. Not much to tell, well, at least initially.

Up until after my 40th birthday, I was an apprentice and then a journeyman in the Mages' Guild, not to be confused with the Sorcerers' Guild, the Sorceress' Guild, the Witches' Guild, one of the three main Priesthoods, the Druids and Earth Mothers, and a half dozen more Guilds for spell crafters. Problem was that advancement to full Mage is partly political and partly dependent on one or more openings due to death, disablement, or retirement. From what I could see, based on my skills and ranking among the Journey levels, I'd be elevated to full Mage around the time I was 60 to 65 years old.

From the age of five to forty, I spent most of my time either copying texts in the library or working on the Elemental spell craft the Mages' Guild specializes in.

I developed the knack for copying just about anything with magic, as long as a suitable media was available for the copied item. My ability allowed me to copy anything with text and/or pictures, as well as some small items. The skill was unusual enough that it was one reason my elevation to Mage wasn't on the near term horizon. The mages who ran the library knew they'd lose me once I was elevated, so they made sure my ranking was as low as they could get away with.

Elemental spell craft was a bit more interesting. I was clearly a Master of Earth: anything involving rock, stone, soil, dirt, sand, and whatnot was my oyster. Fire, Air, and Water spell crafting was more challenging. Mastery of Water was hardest, and I was only in the mid-Journey levels in skill. Fire and Air were both slightly easier, with Fire near Mastery and Air in the senior Journey skill levels. In addition to Elemental magic, I had senior journeyman level skill in Wizardry. That's familiarity with the full suite of runes, sigils, wards, and the like. Mostly needed if you are going to the Deadlands, but generally useful and helpful in everyday life, like keeping other Guild members out of your room and stuff.

Given all this, I decided to leave and try my luck as a freelancer. Fortunately, I had been studying at the main Guild Hall in Fairoth. Fortunate because in Fairoth is The Rusty Cauldron. The ONLY freelance Mage Hall anywhere. Well, it's not really Mage Hall, it's a place where freelance magic users can get a job. Show up, get put on the board. There's a geas that is part of the Cauldron, and it assesses you as you enter and puts you on the board and sets the Cauldron's referral price.

It must have been my lucky day. I wandered in around four in the afternoon. Noticed I was assessed as a Senior Journeyman. I was hoping to be evaluated at the full Mage level, but not overly surprised by the Journeyman ranking. I found a table and ordered a beer. It was actually priced cheaper and tasted better than at the Mage Guild. Made me wonder how much of my "income" was siphoned off in the name of "educating" me.

As I sat, I looked around. I could see spell slingers that were definitely a level or three better than I was. Off in one corner was a really tough looking hombre. Looked like he was permanently pissed off at something. I asked someone at another table and was told the mage was Jak. He pointed to the board. SHIT! My referral fee is 75 silvers. His is TEN freaking gold pieces. Next highest is FIVE!

As I turned back to the mage at the other table, I was going to ask more. But before I could a prospective client was escorted to my table. A few quick questions about my skills and abilities. Then a deeper discussion about my ability to copy things and my Wizard skills. I was asked to follow him to another table for a discussion about a job.

Oh, I should have told you. Easily half, probably closer to two-thirds, of all customers looking for magic users at The Rusty Cauldron are heading off to the Deadlands. The three continents destroyed in a multigenerational, multi-racial (think Humans, Dwarves, Elves, and what not) bloodbath of magic, science, technology, demonography, and the like. Much of what was unleashed is still active and causing death, destruction, and general havoc. They have been walled off from the rest of the world, which consists of the only untainted continent remaining. The one Fairoth is located on.

Turns out, this client was slightly, only slightly, less ambitious. He wanted to go to the Dead Isles. To a specific island within the Dead Isles. They are only less deadly because they are smaller than the lost continents, thus, generally, have less nastiness to deal with. The one he wanted to go to was only a dozen acres or so. A few ruined buildings with hopefully good things to recover. Things that would make everyone wealthy.

He was looking for the usual, star silver. Wonderous stuff that makes seriously powerful magic just a bit easier to perform. It's mostly used for permanent enchantments, but not always. He was also interested in any of the old weapons. He had been there many years before and wanted me to copy some of the inscriptions he had seen. There were also rumors of an old grimoire with lost spells that any of the Guilds would pay handsomely for.

He had three of us. Another senior journeyman, a full Wizard-mage who could get us through the wards around the island, and myself. In addition to my primary duties, I was the backup for the Wizard-mage. If something happened to him, it would be up to me to get us back out through the wards. Hopefully, I'd be able to reseal them after we got through.

The deal was nice. If all went well, we'd be living as potentates for the rest of our lives. Less well, and we'd be set for life. Unsaid was if we were most unfortunate, we'd be dead or worse, wishing we were dead. Of course, all three of us signed up and left the Cauldron with the client. Heard the next morning that there had been some excitement in the Cauldron after we left but paid it little mind as we were leaving Fairoth on an express coach to the coast.

I quickly learned about how trips to the Deadlands, and Dead Isles, go. A client hires a ship, and has it anchor in a secluded bay away from any towns or villages. Then a rush trip from Fairoth to the coast where the ship is. Get on, way anchor and sail off with the tide. Everything is hush hush. People going to the Deadlands really don't want others to know where they are leaving from and where they are going. Apparently, it's not unheard of for a ship going to or coming from the Deadlands to get waylaid at sea. Going to is less often and generally tied to more than one group going for the same target. Coming back is more frequent. It's a snatch and grab operation. Returnees are typically injured and undermanned due to incapacitation and death.

Aside from the client and the three of us from The Rusty Cauldron, there were another dozen guards hired from The Shattered Sword. The Shattered Sword, much like The Rusty Cauldron, had been in Fairoth since it was little more than a couple of shacks. It's the premier Hiring Hall for guards and other sword slingers. We had a guard captain and a couple of sergeants to go along with the other nine.

Arriving at the coast, we boarded a small ship. A not very big, small ship. Found out there were two reasons for this. Main one was the ship's draft when fully loaded was only a few feet. That was needed due to the difficult landing spot on the target island. The other was cost. A bigger crew gets a bigger cut of the spoils. Meaning less for the client and less for us. Transportation to the Deadlands is expensive.

I really won't talk about the voyage out. It took three months to get to the island and I was seasick for most of the three. Some of the others had the same issue, but I was the worst. Fortunately, I could keep food down about half the time, so I didn't starve, but I did lose weight. Probably not a totally bad thing, since I had a few extra pounds on my frame at the start of the trip. By the time we got to the island, I had lost it all plus some.

We slowed the ship about a quarter mile away from the coast of the island, so the Wizard-mage could let us through the wards. I watched closely as he worked. I was sure I could repeat what he did. Not as fast, but I could if necessary.

The wards dropped for a moment as we slipped past, then popped back up just as the stern of the ship was within the warded zone. The ship captain and crew slowly tacked to the location the client identified. There was a fallen column resting in the water. It had several protrusions that the ship could tie off to. But they needed to be careful as the water was shallow and there were multiple rocks and underwater debris that could rip open the hull.

The ship approached and was tied off without incident. We carefully disembarked. The ship would be our base of operations, but we did have to take some of our supplies ashore. Not sure what it all was since the ship crew and the guards did all the work. I know some of it was material to set up our own wards. The Wizard-mage and I were largely responsible for setting each of the wardings, then activating them before night fell. Per the client, we shouldn't need them, but we all agreed caution was warranted until we had a chance to explore the next day.

The night was largely uneventful. The wards activated a couple of times, but whatever had approached was easily deterred. The guards on watch indicated the creatures triggering the wards were annoyance level and not a threat. So, with breakfast behind us, all but the ship crew passed through the wards. We left them up to protect the ship while we were gone. Again, given that this was such a small island, everyone believed any threats would be minimal.

A quick survey of the island found three areas of interest. A fallen building, a possible cave/basement, and a collapsed tower. Nothing was found in the building. It didn't look looted, but also didn't appear to have anything in it or under the debris in and around it. The cave did turn out to be a basement for another building that was buried in rubble. Within it were a number of artifacts. Not quite clear what they were, but both the client and the Wizard-mage were excited. We packed them up and headed back to the ship. It was late afternoon and we wanted to be within the wards before dark.

Arriving before sunset, we all passed through the wards. Then the Wizard-mage and I reset and reinforced them before sitting down for a dinner the ship's crew had prepared in our absence. As we ate, questions about how things went and what we found were asked. The client placed the three items they had taken on one of the supply crates.

The first was a device of some kind. The Wizard-mage was most excited about it. Supposedly it could calculate numbers and recall lost information. It didn't appear functional, but the Wizard-mage was certain it could be repaired.

The second was a piece of jewelry. It appeared to be a gem encrusted brooch. From what the client said, the gems themselves were rare and unusual and each would command a price of several hundred gold pieces. A collector might pay upwards of one hundred thousand gold pieces, possibly more, for the brooch as is.

The third item was a cylindrical rod, about one inch in diameter and four long. None of us was certain what it was or what it did. The aura of magic was very strong, but indecipherable.

The night was mostly quiet, again the wards were only activated a couple of times. With breakfast over, we embarked to the collapsed tower. The client took the brooch and the magical rod. The Wizard-mage took the device. Obviously neither of them fully trusted the crew to watch over their treasures.

A short walk brought us to the tower. The ruins were much more extensive than we thought. But I now understood why the client brought me on this trip. Within the tower is a stone stand. On the stand is an ancient grimoire. We all scanned the room and found no traps but found the grimoire could not be moved and could not be opened.

One of the guards came forward with a blank grimoire. I approached the stone stand and started the spell that allowed me to copy. The grimoire resisted, pushing back, but eventually relented. I could sense the words, signs, sigils, runes, the magic flowing into the formerly blank grimoire. Turns out it took over five hours. I was so focused I didn't realize how much time had passed. Opening my copy of the grimoire, I saw awful and terrible knowledge. Spells that should not exist and should never be used. I set a quick binding on the grimoire, sealing it shut, and telling the others it was necessary to complete the permanency of the copy and that I had only looked to verify that a copy had been made. They had no reason to distrust me, but I had no idea what else to do. I needed time to figure out what to do with the copy I had made.

My copy of the grimoire had gained weight due to the knowledge and spells transferred into it. It had been around 25 pounds, now it was closer to 60. I handed it to one of the guards that had watched over me while the others explored. Before we wandered off to find them, I made copies of several surviving inscriptions on the walls of the tower. I put those in my own pack, then we left to find our partners.

While I had been with the grimoire, the others had wandered through the tower complex ruins. A few things of interest were found, but nothing as tantalizing as the grimoire or the brooch found the previous day.

After 15 to 20 minutes, we found them in front of a sealed door. The Wizard-mage was trying to unlock it. The door was clearly resisting. The other Journeyman added his power. You could see the strain in both of them. Each was struggling and were about to give up when the door seals relented, and the door cracked open. The Wizard-mage and the Journeyman approached with two of the guards, forcing the door open.

Within was a treasure beyond all treasures. Ingots and ingots of star silver stacked floor to ceiling. Wealth beyond all knowing. Tons, maybe tens of tons.

I tried to cry out caution, but the wealth beckoned. The Wizard-mage appeared transfixed. The two guards and the Journeyman entered the room. Then everything went to shit.

Flames erupted and a huge fiery demon materialized, slashing everyone nearby with its sword. The Journeyman and the two guards were dead. Flames had burned two of the other guards and the Wizard-mage. We all started to retreat back to the ship. As we did so, I noticed the star silver was no longer in the room. It must have been an illusion for a trap. A trap that released the demon.

Our retreat wasn't going well. The demon was summoning flames to block our passage. I was the only spell caster still functional and right now, the only one able to get us through the wards around the island. Two of the guards were carrying the badly burned Wizard-mage. The guard captain and one of the sergeants apparently had enchanted weapons, the captain's two-handed sword and the sergeants' spear. With them, they were slowing the demon, buying us time to get to the wards and the ship. Maybe we'd get off this island alive.

Suddenly the client pulled magic rod out of his pocket and threw it away. Unfortunately, it was in my direction and the rod was glowing cherry red. I ducked and got behind a piece of broken wall. The guards that were with me, including the one carrying the grimoire copy, didn't duck or hide. The item exploded, incinerating them.

I ran. Ran fast. I ran really, really fast. Everyone else was too, but not all were fast enough. The grimoire had caught fire. The fire destroyed my bindings on the grimoire and, more importantly, the bindings on the spells themselves, the terrible spells I had briefly read. As the grimoire burned, an inferno of magic power was released. It slammed into the demon, the guard captain, and the sergeant. The demon was hurt, badly hurt. The captain and the sergeant were gone, along with their sword and spear. None of us went back to look. The demon, hurt though it was, would cut through us like a warm knife through butter...and it was PISSED!

We made it to the ship. The crew had heard the confrontation and had prepared to cast off. Those of us surviving got aboard. The moorings were cut, and we pushed back from the shore. Too slow it seemed. We could see the demon approaching. If we could get far enough away, it would be deterred from pursuing. Fiery demons and water don't mix. Or they aren't supposed to.

The ship caught a breeze and we sailed towards the ward line. I was focused on the spells required to get us through safely and to seal the wards behind us. I heard the cries of dismay as the demon's fires were quenched by the water, but it continued to pursue us. Focusing on the wards and the spells, I got us through and sealed them behind us. Running to the stern, I rechecked the wards. They were solid. No breaks, weaknesses, or distortions. The demon crashed into them. The wards flared and held, disintegrating it or, more likely, banishing it back to where it came from.

Two and a half months got us back home. The only treasure was the brooch. The Wizard-mage's device was destroyed in the fight with the demon and was, at best, a curiosity that he kept. The client found a buyer for the brooch. My share was 12,316 gold pieces. My share was more than contracted, but I ended up getting part of the Wizard-mage's share since I was the one to get us out. I didn't tell anyone about the copies of the tower inscriptions. A quick perusal of them on the voyage back was enough for me to burn them one night while still at sea and to scatter their ashes in the water.

Between what I had seen in the grimoire copy and in the copies of the inscriptions, I had no desire to ever go adventuring again, especially to the Deadlands. No desire to return to the Mage Guild, even if they were willing to take me back. With over twelve thousand gold pieces, I could live very well for a very long time. So, I packed up my things, wandered off to the west of Fairoth. Looking for a quiet, sleepy, rural community where I could settle down and try to forget what I learned on that cursed island.