Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Sularis]

---

The merchant walked down the gangplank and waved the captain off as soon as he heard the crunch of snow under his feet. Given the history of northern Dagger Isle, the skipper was more than happy to quickly pull plank and put to sea. Sularis could have recalled back to his home, but given the news he had heard and the reputation of the rampant murderers, he decided the extra travel time was worth not having the few moments of disorientation.

As he crossed the familiar snowy ground, echoes of memories stirred in his mind. He remembered when he had first come to Caina. He had started his servitutde working as a spy during the war against Yew. His service there and his maintenance of several shops had directly led to his appointment as the Merchant Lord of Caina. He chuckled, remembering the look on Mayor GreyPawn's face, when he had approached him about an open trade treaty.

He turned a corner sharply, and there it stood: The Sanctum. It was a multipurpose building that had served as his workshop, home, warehouse and office. As the mayor of Caina, he had converted a large storage area on the first floor of the tower into the city meeting hall.

Mayor. He chuckled. The title meant little these days. The Shadowform Empire had made it clear that they did not recognise his authority, as he represented the "old" regime of Caina. It mattered little to him. He wore the badge with pride, and nothing short of a final death would make him relinquish the title. The Ebon Skull was gone, but his loyalty to them was not.

As he approached the building, it became obvious things were not as he left them.

When he last left Caina, he had boarded up the windows and doors, to keep the mindless undead, orcs, and crazed madmen that roamed the island, out of his property. The death of his master had made him seek better climes, but the property value was simply too great to let it go to waste. He was a merchant, afterall.

Although he detected no movement, there were fresh orc corpses in front of the building, and light shone from several windows. Sularis drew his axe and gritted his teeth. He knew how to deal with intruders.

As he placed his hand on the door, he felt the twinge of arcane sigils, and the door opened. The magics that protected the building still worked? How could this be? Flining the door aside, he burst into the middle fo the room.



The city meeting hall had been converted into a temple of some sorts. neetly laid benches, a candle-lit altar, and a several pieces of noble decoration adorned the room. The lit candles were fresh, having burned for less than an hour. The Caina binding stone sat in a corner, unharmed, unadorned and unmolested. He crossed the room to the teleport stone, and instantly reappeared on the second floor.

The frame of the door that had been to his office had been reinforced. A flickering light in the room cast shadows under the door, into the hallway. Millions in gold, jewels and other precious goods were kept in magically sealed casks in that office. Was he intruder trying to take his fortune.

Sularis kicked the door open and lept into the room, ready to engage whomever had invaded his most secure of spaces.



The office was gone. In its place was a stripped down laboratory, similar to the one his master had maintained in Malas before he grew ill. Technomantic artifacts and preserved internal organs lay aobut the room, waiting for a host.

As he stood there, Sularis felt a creeping sence of doom flow over him. Upstairs was the vault. A treasure trove of goods and magical artifacts left to him by his dead master, the means to finance any dream he could have.

The former mayor bolted from the room and dashed to the twin eleportation stones in the sealed hall. As he appeard on the upper floor and his eyes cleared, he relaized the vault was no more.



This was no longer a workshop or a mayors hall. This was base. A military command center.

The rumors were true...but how could that be? The master was dead.
_________________

Everyone Has a Price. What's Yours?