Seed of the Void Ch. 02

Author's Notes

Isaen has emerged from the dark pit of the Tamberan Voidhold and must now make his way up the dark tower to a rendezvous at the Board and Bard. What will he encounter once there, and along the way?

Yet another series of mine with a long awaited chapter. I am finding more time and energy to write in my life's own adventure, and with this I wanted to continue Seed of the Void as I desire to delve more into the realm of fantasy. I hope you enjoy it! A fair warning up front, this chapter progresses Isaen's adventure but does not have much in the way of sex. But don't worry I have a good amount of that awaiting in Chapter 3, which is already written and just needs some editing.

With that being said, thanks to my editor KenjiSato as always!

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Chapter 2: The Dark Tower

Feral grunts and whispers in alien tongues answered a stiff shoulder from Isaen Dusksire, as he plowed across the chaotic passages of the Tamberan Voidhold. Clutching his hood, he endeavored to sneak from the exit of the dark pit he formerly resided, to the Board and Bard in a higher level of the tower.

The rogue had little desire to follow orders, less the orders of a crazed charlatan speaking in riddles about magical conspiracy and breeding armies of mages. Even less so, when their alleged 'master' remained a nameless enigma. But, Isaen also recognized that he had little or no way to get off this rock, other than to play along.

To just be unshackled, healed, given a whore, handed a blade, and set loose, Isaen's head was spinning. Either the allegedly healed gash on his arm had begun to infect his mind, or he was presently involved in some deep-seated shit. Neither of the scenarios felt appealing to the typically uninvolved wanderer.

"Steady on, the Towerguard!" A shout and a smack found a particularly unlucky man a few paces ahead, a spot on his romp. It seemed to Isaen that the guards outside the pit were no more friendly than the ones within.

Isaen changed his path up the spiraling, rocky streets to avoid the bulbous red-hatted guardsmen and their terrible mood. It was best he have no run-ins with them, he would sooner jump into the void than go back into the pit.

Above his head, ropes of lanterns, zig-zagged across the section of dwellings and cut into the face of the void-stone that floated through the dark expanse of stars. They illuminated just enough for the inhabitants of this hole to not be lost in the sheer, cavernous black that ascended to the top of the hollow tower. The magnificence of its hollowness was only broken up by the outcroppings that ran along the edges of the tower and the occasional bridge between them.

The lanterns themselves, of course, did little for the cold. Isaen pulled his cloak close as the Void stole the heat from his body slowly. Whether it was night or day, Isaen could not tell, as it was always cold in such a place.

Isaen stuck to the edges and shadows as best he could, but the crowds of humans, boarfolk, orcs, dwarves, and the occasional drakoth often swept him away. The best he could do was to not draw much attention to himself. A feat that felt achievable in this circus of freaks.

The Tamberan Voidhold was one of many dusty ports of call in the black sea of stars and rock. Vessels from all corners of the expanse visited here, as a safe haven for trading in curiosities and illicit goods. It was not frequented by respectful folk, at least as far as Isaen had seen. Only his fellow bottom-feeders could be found within the walls.

"Errrr, watch yourself."

Grunts gave little pardon as Isaen shoved past a few slow walkers.

As he took the long trek up the spiraling streets of the tower, his mind settled into his least favorite pastime, reflection. Much of his intrusive thoughts were centered around his newfound employment, as some sort of bull for a half-mad mage. There were lots of questions about the whole thing and how exactly he could derive benefit from it. Half of the questions he wouldn't dare ask his new associates, as they centered around how he was going to escape this scenario, once they got him out of this place.

What seemed like a good deal was most likely not in Isaen's mind, he had a habit of fatalizing any good thing that came his way. This was at least since the good times in his life ended so abruptly years ago. He wasn't a good man in any respect. Isaen shed any sort of dignity for a more self-gratifying existence of bouncing between what felt good to his gut until it didn't.

None of what Cicero had laid out for him felt good to his gut... yet. But all he could do was follow the spiral of the tower to the Board and Bard, and hope there were both answers and a ticket out of this abyss.

The further he ascended, the changes in the landscape became more apparent. While nothing in the Tamberan Voidhold could be called finely crafted or regal, there was a level of refinement to the facades carved from the dark stone the further up he went. Even the inhabitants wore better clothing, the higher he climbed.

One such inhabitant, a Boarman, decorated his tusks with dozens of golden rings that clanged as he stumped along the path, traveling opposite Isaen. The inconspicuous, hooded rogue dodged out of the way of one such tusk as he passed.

Isaen hadn't spent much time observing when he first arrived, promptly being thrown in the pit almost out the hatch of his ship, so he was the slightest bit curious.

Having traveled up the tower for what felt like hours, a certain level of fatigue had begun to set in. Isaen knew himself well enough that this was not normal, no doubt the stamina spell the mage had cast upon him was beginning to wear off. All that time in the pit and his body was reminding him of his limitations.

Stepping off to the side, Isaen quickly found a shadowy nook in the wall of the tower between two hovel doors, where he could rest. Back against the wall, he slowly slid down it until he could take a long breath. A stiff pain in his sides radiated outwards as he sat down. He distinctly remembered being bludgeoned by a spearbutt in that exact spot just the other day.

Putting the pain aside in his mind, he distracted himself by observing his rather curious surroundings.

To his intuition, it would seem he was near the port level as instructed. The streets were wider here, and a whole square was stretched out before him. Peddlers belted out prices for wares from all corners of known civilization. Ad hoc stands made out of crates were used to sell goods straight from where the container could be dropped, while more established places of business had elaborate trestles filled with all sorts of commodities. All the while, scurrying merchants gobbled up coin like the corn thrown for the hens.

Despite his pain and fatigue, Isaen wanted to be far away from here. He scanned as far as he could see for the titular Board and Bard, but to no avail.

The echoes of Cicero's words of discretion rang true for Isaen, he had no plans to make himself the center of attention by any means. Which meant he couldn't stick to any one place for too long.

Shifting a few meters over, he found another dark corner behind a stall selling the most disgustingly stale-looking loaves of bread. Most of the stalls seemed to be quite busy, even this one selling nasty bread (while it was mostly a treat for the Boarfolk). Gold was being exchanged left and right. Not far off the main hatch that led to large cargo ships, there was the flowing of crates being loaded and unloaded by all manner of slaves and constructs.

A few such slaves were being whipped rather sardonically by a crusty quaysman as he cackled. They were struggling to heave forth a large crate of fish. Many customers, agnostic to the whipping and gnashing of the slaves, salivated at the seafare being hauled in their direction. They held the coin in hand to alleviate the slave's burden upon learning of today's market price. Isaen had little opinion on the matter, other than empathy for their plight, given what he just experienced in the pits of this tower. For all he knew, he would have been sold off to be like them before long if Cicero had not dug him out.

Isaen caught himself before feeling too thankful for Cicero. He hadn't learned his true nature yet.

Before too long, his scanning eyes were distracted by the rather alluring sight of two ladies sauntering down the street. They were nicely dressed, and even from a distance, Isaen could smell their perfume. Both had brightly colored hair that wafted with the turn of their heads as they scanned the exotic nuances before them. They were the first such ladies he had seen since leaving the pit, aside from Sherry. They made him feel a kind of way in his loins.

He was not a ladies' man, suave in the craft of luring a woman with words. He was, instead, a sour person with little desire to interact with any sort of polite company. Of course, as he looked at these women, their tidbits of skin they chose to show with their fine draperies, he recalled how tempting the mandate to freely breed women was. He stirred as he watched them, wondering just how he would even go about snaring them and having time enough to plant his seed.

But by the time his senses caught up with his cock, he realized that such marks would be far less discreet than what Cicero had called him to do. Should he even concede to go along with it, it would have to be done carefully.

Besides, his current charge was to find the Board and Bard, not sit around the market leering. He could feel the fatigue really setting in, he was in no shape to fuck pretty ladies in the shadows.

Stepping out from the stand he hid behind, he challenged the flow of the busy street in search of this inn. His head was on a swivel, and his ears were open in hopes of finding it as he ignored the growing pain.

Before long, he spotted a rather green fellow with large eyes looking inconspicuous against a stone pillar. A 'twixt of his thin green lips was a pipe that burned orange. While Isaen couldn't place it, he looked to know his way around the Tower.

"I don't suppose you can tell me where the b--" Isaen paused, as he struggled to meet the gaze of the green man. His left and right eyes looked off in different directions, making it a riddle to decide which one to look at, and distracting to form a sentence to.

"Yeaaaaa?" His elongated and throaty response was curious as both eyes asynchronously found Isaen's.

"Do you... bah... do you know about where I can find the Board and Bard?

The eyes began to look in different directions again, a thin, green and clammy hand outstretched as a puff of smoke crossed between them.

"Tsk." Isaen fumbled for the pouch of coins Cicero had given him. Of course, the mad mage didn't think to give him anything less than a gold piece, it was such a waste to buy such mundane information at such a high price as that.

He placed the cold gold piece in the cold, green hand. Both eyes swiftly came together in astonishment at how highly this stranger paid for details.

"Wellll, I tain't 'aaave that good of directionnns. Want me tuh waaaalk ya there?" A pair of shoeless webbed feet stepped out, ready to go as the eyes seemed to be incentivized to both look at Isaen.

At least money bought him that.

"No... no... just point me."

A long, green finger pointed to Isaen's left.

"Go doooowwwnnn to that un' fooooork deeeerrrr. Bounce leeeeft and it'll be ri' down to ye left."

The green man sat back on the column, admiring the gold piece between his long fingers, as Isaen backed away.

"Thanks."

"Thaaaaaank you, frieeeeeend." It disconcertedly wiggled its digits at Isaen as he made his way down the street.

Isaen had had enough, if the splitting pain in his skull was any indication, he didn't have much time.

Of course, as he grew tired, he grew less discreet, bumping into several other travelers of various races, who, each in their own voice, hissed or snarled at him speaking in tongues he did not even pretend to know. He stumbled across the street and up the fork, just as the green man had said, hoping he was not duped by some strange bumpkin giving out bad directions for laughs.

"Eeyyyy easy there!" Isaen ran headlong into the bulk of another man. He stumbled backward only to find the red cap of a guard cocked to the side and a wisp of hair floating with the stale air around them.

"Yew drunk?" The guard crossed his arms, a bright bronze hilt of a sword on his hip. Next to him, another, armed with a short bow and dirk joined in the banter.

"I reckon this one forgot where he is. Downright disorderly if yew ask me."

"I'm... I'm just trying to find the Board and Bard."

"What? To get another drink? I think you are cut off, bugger." The guard grabbed Isaen's hood and whipped it back. His eyes studied him almost as if he had recognized the vagabond's face and the scar that ran from brow to cheek.

"No, I have a room there, I am not feelin' well."

"Aye, that's obvious. I think yew may need to get sobered up, but it's best to do that in the pit."

So close... he was so close, he couldn't go back there. He sized up the pair of guards. Both were unsuspecting, both distracted and at ease thinking he wasn't a threat. Neither had seen the blade at his hip. It was just a matter of an uppercut and a quick dash for the nearby alleyway. But could he make it there in his condition? His head spun thinking about it.

"Gentlebeastssss..." a hiss of words slivered over them. A black-scaled Drakoth, wearing a dark cloak, appeared beside the guards, his yellow-slitted eyes scanning the situation.

Rather than seeming undignified by the appearance of the fanged character, the guards had a rather unwelcoming lip curl to his presence.

"Thissss is a missssssunderstanding." He came beside Isaen, pulling him up and replacing his hood on his head.

"Greenbrier, you are not well." His yellowed eyes had a knowingness about them, one Isaen was not comfortable with. "We must get you to your room, my friend." He widened his eyes as if to silently convey his knowledge of Isaen's situation.

Of course, that old coot would have him followed, unless he had enemies with more knowledge of his dealings than he was aware. Either way, Isaen hated being followed, and he hated even more that he didn't notice.

"I thank you for your... dissssssscretion." The drakoth turned to the guards with a flick of his tongue and passed two silvers a piece. Amnesty had a much cheaper rate than simple directions it seemed.

"What's this then?" One guard, holding his bow over his shoulder, looked off-put by the bribe.

"Best see he gets a room." The other snorted, grabbing the arm of his compatriot.

"Yew just gonna let 'em go?"

"I'll explain to ya how it works around here later."

Their disgruntled expressions and bickering faded into the crowd. It was obvious to Isaen that at least one of the guards knew exactly who they were dealing with. Cicero's arm must be long, but that was not a tall feat for a mage.

"Who are you?" Isaen was pulled up to his feet and down the street at a quicker pace than his state allowed him to be comfortable with.

The reptilian ignored him, easily able to just drag him along for the ride.

Isaen struggled, ripping his arm from his scaly claws and standing indignant in the middle of the street. A sharp hiss accompanied a wary gaze as the reptilian's black scales blustered and claws grabbed him once more.

"We serve the same master." A sharp glare told him to march along with it, lest they draw attention.

Isaen was beginning to hate that phrase.

What exactly would someone, who could send off two guards like that, be afraid of? Isaen's survival instinct told him to play along. Of course, the sharp claws of the reptilian gave him little choice in his present condition.

Before long, he was shoved through the front door of a noisy tavern, the proverbial Board and Bard, no doubt. It was a homely hole in the rock, wooden planks placed over the uneven stone and red stone walls dusty and lined with candles giving the place an overall dim feel.

Only a small hearth illuminated the noisy figures rushing about, ales and braised beasts in hand as they shared an intimate evening. Tavern hands and attendants served their guests, and at the back of the room, the tavern-master loomed over them all with a suspicious gaze. Especially suspicious of the two newcomers rushing into his domain.

Propping Isaen on the counter in front of the tavern-master, the scaly figure drew a wearied breath and flicked his tongue with the magic word.

"Greenbrier." His hiss seethed with annoyance.

The long brows of the master crowning two droopy eyes perked up at the name. Shifting in his chair, he flipped through his ledger to regard his reservations.

"Greenbrier... yes, yes." The master no longer seemed so domineering, but rather skittish, as he flipped through the pages. His eyes scanned the pair, trying not to notice the disheveled-looking man hardly keeping his feet before him.

He snapped his fingers, motioning for a figure standing off to the side to come closer. Isaen could hardly make her out 'til she came close, but a lovely young lady with short, black hair stepped forward, broodingly attentive and awaiting orders. She wore a faded rose-colored dress and a white apron. Her dark hair, as it was worn, toyed with the tops of her ears. The girl's face looked dejected, but serious about her duties.

She, too, looked at the new pair with some suspicion. Though her orders were passed to her before she could think anything of it.

"Myla, stop daydreaming and get these men up to the attic room, see to their needs." His old, greyed and bushy brows spoke more than his lips, as he expressed himself; the girl's attentive green eyes watching every word.

"Yes, Ona." The maiden nodded her head, sad eyes beckoning the travelers to follow.

Isaen recognized the affectionate term for 'grandfather' as the girl led them towards a set of creaky stairs. The smell of mustiness strengthened as they ascended, but the view got slightly better. Despite his condition, he could appreciate the ample lass ahead of him, her womanly hips swaying as they rose amongst the steps. She had a sweetness about her, but where it mattered, there were savory features.

His scaly companion did not leave him to admire for long, dragging him up the stairs as his weakened legs attempted to keep pace.

"The room is right this way," she said, with the breath of a dove.

His reptilian friend couldn't appreciate the beauty of it. Having just been in a dark and foreboding pit, Isaen could appreciate such things. But soon, the ravishing maiden, like the sounds of the merriment below, would disappear through the door of the attic room. The Darkoth hissed his dismissal of the tavern maid, who quickly retreated.

Isaen was rather ungracefully tossed onto a wooden stool. The battered brigand holding himself up on a table in a dark room with only three red candles to light his surroundings.

"A pity, really." A feminine voice tsked.

Perched atop the dresser, a cloaked figure observed the weary Isaen settling onto the stool, barely holding himself up. Beside the figure was a discarded mask, the very one he saw on the alleged daughter of the mage Circeo, in his ill-gotten laboratory.

"He couldn't even make it to the inn, Rozen?" The woman passed harsh judgment as her familiar bright eyes shot darts down at Isaen.

Perched and maskless, he could tell a bit more about her. If she were Circeo's daughter, then the apple fell way far from the tree. Though a similarly characteristic darkness surrounded them both. This woman was very dark: hair, eyes, and demeanor. Only her porcelain skin showed bright, and that she partially hid beneath robes and long leather boots. Though he admired the sight of a section of thigh worn naked to the world.