#11: Ty'Ler Do'Urden: Faces of Tarant
Ty'Ler, Virgil, and Sogg have finally completed their long journey to Tarant. They encountered only one site of interest on the way: an old stone altar in a clearing littered with various mammalian remains.
: Hold on a moment. I just have to know what this is...
: Very well, sir.
: There's an inscription on this altar stone...
: "Great Torg, Mighty Torg..." I've never heard of such a thing...
: Torg? He's an ol' ogre god. Ver' powerful. Ver' wise.
: Really? How do you know aobut this?
: There was this half-ogre I met once, Ogdin somethin'. Smart boy. Knew all sorts of things. I jus' wanted to drink, but he kept going on about human and gnomish history and all that. So I asked him, what about ogres? And he said he didn't know much, but he'd heard of Torg. He told me a story about him. Don't really r'member it, but it was... important... [His eyes stare into the distance.]
: I see... What sort of a god is this Torg?
: Sir! I really don't think this is the sort of thing you should concern yourself with.
: [Shoots Virgil a nasty look.] He's strong. Hard. Knows about discipline.
: Thank you, Sogg. I really don't know much about the gods of this land... I'll have to look into this.
: [His lips and eyes narrow, but Virgil says nothing. The party continues on.]
This journey is now behind them, however, and they have at last entered the sprawling industrial city of Tarant. Evening is upon them and they are exhausted from their trek, but the excitement of finally reaching their destination urges them on.
: Well, here we are. What shall we do, sir? Joachim's telegram should have arrived by now, there's this letter from that poor woman in the crash, and we have the address for those jewelry dealers...
: [Looking in a shop window] Those can wait. There's something much more urgent I must see to. [He opens the door, and the others follow him into the shop.]
As they enter,
a well-dressed elf with a tape measure around his collar and a spring in his step emerges from the back room.
: Are you being served, sir?
: Ah, no. Is there someone here who can assist me?
: Yes, I'm free!
: Oh, good. It's always nice to spend time with one's own kind, eh?
: I'm sure I don't know what you're implying.
: Never mind. I'm looking for something in a smoking jacket.
: Ah! Say no more, sir! I have just the thing. Now this article is hand stitched in Ashbury from finest red velvet. Note the filigree on the lapel, sir. Just the thing for a self-assured elf about town.
: Oh yes. Very fine. I'll try one.
: Wonderful. Do you know your size, sir?
: Erm, no, I'm afraid not.
: Not to worry, sir. It's but the work of a moment... [The tailor takes his tape measure from about his neck and sets to work.]
: Um, do you really need my inside leg for a jacket?
: Oh, yes, sir. It affects the setting of the pocket on the hip, sir.
: ...I see.
: Oh my, sir is broad shouldered for an elf, isn't sir.
: Ah, well, I was in the military for a few years.
: Oh really? I suppose it was just one term of service?
: Yes, but I had quite a long one.
: Is that so? That must have made sir very popular. Now, let's try a 28... [He helps Ty'Ler into the smoking jacket.] Oh, this *is* you, sir. Definitely you. Just the style for a distinguished gentleman. I can just see you now, reading your evening paper in the gentlemen's club, a glass of cognac in your free hand, the other patrons thronged about waiting on tenterhooks to benefit from your wisdom...
: Are you sure about the fit? It seems a bit tight to me.
: Mm, they are being worn tight this season, sir.
: It, er, it grips me under the arms.
: Yes, well, there's a lot of tension in Caladonian wool, sir. That's in the lining, sir, you see.
: I don't know. I think I'd better try the next size up.
: Certainly, sir. [The tailor takes the garment back to the rack and returns a moment later, jacket in hand.] Let's see how this fits.
: [Pulls it on.] Hmm. Yes...
: Oh yes, you're absolutely right, sir. That's much better.
: Yes, indeed. Although it seems to me the sleeves may be a bit long...
: Oh, don't worry, sir. They'll ride up with wear.
: Really.
: Oh, yes, sir. And this velvet is a very durable and hard-wearing material. Rarely needs cleaning, and it can last a lifetime. I do wish I could afford one.
: Oh... yes, very well. I'll take it.
: Wonderful, sir! I'll just ring up your total...
: I must say, you're quite the silver-tongued salesman.
: Well, ever since I was on my mother's knee, I learned from the best, sir.
: Oh? Who's that?
: My mother, sir.
: I see. Well, I fancy myself a bit of a conversationalist. I don't suppose you could give me a quick lesson?
: For 92 coins, sir, I'll be at your beck and call.
: That sounds very agreeable.
The two elves spend several instructive minutes in the back room, exchanging fine points of the garrulous arts. When they emerge, Ty'Ler feels confident that he could sell the Garrillion Bridge to any given tourist. After settling up and bidding his new friend a fond farewell, Ty'Ler rejoins his companions and precedes them through the door.
: That went well, I thought.
: [Scrutinizing the jacket] Yes, of course, sir.
: Wonderful salesman, that man.
: Indeed, sir. He must have been.
: Oh? Why?
: Because when you asked for a larger size, he came back with precisely the same jacket.
: [Stops short.] He--
: It is a nice fit, though.
: Yeah, ver' becomin'.
: ...Neither of you is ever to speak of this again. Clear? Come with me. We've got to see a guard about a note.
: Excuse me, officer. Have you a moment?
: Sir, it is a pleasure.
: I'm new here. Could you help me?
: Certainly. What can I do for you gentlemen?
: I have a message to deliver to a guard by the name of Jared. He may be posted at the Vermillion train station...?
: Oh! Yes, I know the man. He's a captain of the guard, you know. Just down the street that way. He's on duty at the doors right now. Give him my best.
: Thank you, sir. May all your watches be untroubled.
: Hello, officer.
: Hello. Can I do anything for you?
: Might I ask who you are?
: I go by the name Jared. Captain of the Vermillion Station guard. You'll have to excuse my somber mood, I'm a bit on the distracted side lately.
: What is it that is troubling you, sir?
: My girl, Wilhemina, was on the Zephyr. You know, the blimp that crashed in the Shrouded Hills. We've no word of survivors, yet.
: We, uh, were part of the rescue team. I have a note for you.
: [He reads the note.] Wilhemina! Where is she?
: I'm sorry, sir. She's dead.
: Noooooo! [He begins sobbing.]
: You have my condolences, sir.
: And my prayers.
: [He continues to sob for a few moments before composing himself.] I know I've no right to ask this of you, but...could you do me a favor?
: Of course.
: Could you stop by the stonecutter's for me? I need a tombstone made for my...Wilhemina. It is very important to me. His shop is on the corner of Mulligan Bone Alley and East End avenue. Tell him to come round to visit me, I can't leave my post.
: Of course.
: Thank you.
: Hello? Can I help you, sir?
: Jared, the captain of the Vermillion guard, sent me. His girl has died; he needs a head stone.
: Oh, how sad. I will be sure to stop by later to speak with him about it. Thank you.
: Thank you, sir. I'll let him know.
: [Jared looks up from the ground slowly as Ty'Ler approaches. Tears run down his cheeks, though his expression is one of stoicism.] Yes, what is it?
: We spoke with the stone cutter. He will be dropping by.
: Thank you. Please, leave me to my grief.
: You have our sympathies. Good evening, sir.
: Well, then, gentlemen. Do either of you know much about this city?
: Tarant? I don't, uh, know much about the place. [Virgil looks uncomfortable.] I don't much like cities... always feel so crowded, hedged in. I'd rather not say anymore about it...
: I see. And you, Sogg? Know anything about this place?
: Huh? [He squints, wobbling a little.] Looks like Tarant. I think we should stop by Grant's Tavern... uh, over on Kensington, I think. Best wine [HIC!] in th' city. Or there's always Caleb Malloy's in the Boil, but ya gots t' be [HIC!] careful over there...
: Really? I must say, Sogg, you're very well informed. Grant's Tavern, eh?
: Best bar in town.
: Sounds just the thing. Lead on, Sogg.
The bar is cheerful but subdued, the bartender
a fresh-faced young man with easy rapport:
: Good evening, sir.
: What can I help you with, sir?
: A bottle of the house and three glasses.
: As you say, sir.
: Tell me, what advice have you for someone new to the city?
: Well... If you're trying to find someone in Arcanum, try the Hall of Records here in Tarant. They seem to know where a lot of people live...
: I am in your debt, sir. Is there anything else you can tell me?
: Might be a good idea to lock up your valuables. There's been a number of robberies in the city, mostly of precious art.
: That's appalling! [He spills some of his wine. Virgil and the bartender share a glance.] I'll have to have a word with the guard, see if we can help in any way. I can't believe--
: Yes indeed, sir. We shall have to offer our services. In the morning. For now, I think we'd best be about our business, yes?
: Yes. Y-eesss. Yes. [He rises.] Thank you, sir, for your servicing. Our complimentaries to Mister Grant.
: [Looking back and forth from Virgil to Ty'Ler.] Er, right. Thank you, sir. I'll... pass that along.
: You just see that you do, my man. [Adjusts his gauntlets.]
: Come along, sir. Sogg, you can bring the bottle. [Turning away, he leaves a hefty tip on the bar.]
: Sir, if you don't mind me asking, are you much of a drinker?
: Not really, not, not, not real-ly, no. But I can hold my liquor quite well, so I'm told, you know.
: Of course, sir. Now, I see the telegraph office is next door. Shall we go along to retrieve Joachim's message?
: Just what I was going to suggest. Come on, you two!
: Evening, all. How may we at the Tarant Telegraph Office help you today?
: Do you have a telegram for Virgil?
: I'm sorry, sir, I'll need--
: My identification, sir. There should be a message from an Elder Joachim.
: Ah. Yes, indeed, sir. [He shuffles some papers around.] Yes, we do as a matter of fact. That will be 2 coins.
: Here you are.
: And here you are. A pleasant evening to you.
: And to you, sir. [Takes the message outside to read it. His face pales and he silently hands the telegram to Ty'Ler.]
: The telegram sent by Elder Joachim... I don't know what to make of it. It seems that he thinks it very important to find out why these men are trying to kill you...much more important than being here to protect you...
: I thought that was supposed to be your job, Virgil...
: It is, blast it! I'm sorry...I don't mean to get so angry...I just don't have any idea what's going on here. All I know is that Joachim showed me a better way, a new faith, and now I'm involved in something even I don't believe. [He looks at Ty'Ler, questioningly.] What do YOU think?
: [His glassy-eyed stare and curling upper lip would frighten his companion, were he not also staggering slightly backward.] Per'aps I am who you say. I'm certainly willing to accept the possibility...
: Aren't we quite a pair? The would-be elven god and his jester. [He laughs.] I don't know which one of us is crazier. We'll probably both end up in the asylum. [Smirking.] Might be a tad safer, in any case. At least there you know who the bloody mad men are...
: [Steadying himself on a lamppost] Are you mocking me, Virgil? I may not be an elven god... at least, not yet... but I damn well know what's righteous. Believe what you like. I'm undecided. Either way, we have to deal with the task before us.
: [Virgil studies Ty'Ler for a moment, then nods his head.] Yes...there is a particular wisdom in your words. [He laughs.] And crying about this prophecy gibberish isn't going to keep a knife out of your ribs. I'll shut up for a while, and we'll concentrate on that ring. If we find the owner, maybe we'll find out why those bloody assassins want it so badly...
: That sounds fine, Virgil...
: Alright. [He seems relieved.] Listen, Tarant is a big city, and a man needs to watch what he does and who he talks to. Believe me, I know a lot about surviving in places like this. This, and worse. Just keep one eye always open, and one hand always on your weapon. You can't trust strangers, and sometimes not even your friends. I used to, uh...
: Sounds like you know a lot about surviving in the streets...
: I used to...well...that was another time. [He looks down.] I...uh...know my way around. Just be on your guard, and I'll be watching out for you as well...
: Virgil...what is it? Where do you come from?
: No! I don't want to talk about it! [He shakes his head.] I'm sorry, I don't mean to...there's so much I have to learn. Joachim says the free man is defined by what he does today. I'll look no more behind me...
: I see. Let's go Virgil...
: Yes. Let's, uh...let's keep moving forward... Look, it's been a long night... Why don't we rent a room for the evening?
: Great idea. Sogg, do you know any good hotels?
: Uh... There's Poone's. But it's not too posh. Never seen an elf there.
: Hmm... Any action to be found there?
: Oh, for gods' sakes... Follow me. There's a place called the Bridesdale next to the station.
The trio proceed up the road toward the inn, Ty'Ler and Sogg staggering slightly and Virgil's eyes darting into every dark corner. On arrival, they find a particularly grand one story building with a
beautifully uniformed halfling doorman.
: Greetings, sir. And who might you be?
: My name is Ronald Langley. I am the doorman for The Bridesdale Inn, the finest hotel in all of Tarant.
: So you would recommend staying here?
: Oh, I highly recommend staying here at the Bridesdale, sir. The décor is quite modern, the rooms richly appointed and the rates are the lowest you will find in all of Tarant. I am sure you will be extremely pleased if you decide to stay with us.
: Wonderful! Before we go, are there any sights in Tarant that you would recommend?
: University park is probably the "must see" area of Tarant. That quarter of town is a wealth of knowledge. It houses the city hall, the zoological society, and the university. They are simply awe inspiring!
: Hmm. That sounds great, but I'm looking for something more adventurous...
: [He winces] Oh really, sir!
: (It never hurts to ask.)
: I see. [Ronald reaches into his pocket and produces a business card, which he hands to Ty'Ler. He continues in hushed tones.] Then Madam Lil's is the place for you. I am sure that she will have something to satisfy your adventurous nature.
: Thank you very much, sir. I'll certainly keep that in mind. Come along, Virgil, Sogg.
A few short minutes later, the room is paid for and Ty'Ler, having placed his new smoking jacket on the bedpost, has fallen asleep in his clothes.
: Virgil, I think our man may have a [HIC!] problem wi' his drink.
: (Gods help us...) Yes. I'll deal with it.
: [Nods as if to say that's taken care of. The two proceed to their rest.]
Ty'Ler is the first out of bed and proceeds to the lobby for a newspaper.
: Hmm... [Goes out to speak to a paperboy. A few minutes later, he returns, looking thoughtful.]
It's another half-hour before the others leave their room.
: Good morning, sir. How's your head?
: Virgil, good morning. Take a look at this.
: Hmm? Oh dear.
: Quite so. We really will have to look in on this.
: We will?
: But before we do, I don't suppose you know where this is printed?
: Oh, well, yes, actually. Why do you--
: No questions. Lead on, brave Virgil! This is a day for action!
Mr. Langley tips his hat as they leave. Virgil and the others proceed a few blocks away to the Tarantian Editorial Office. Ty'Ler knocks, and enters. A
balding, middle aged man with extraordinarily bushy eyebrows is smoking a cigar inside.
: Good morning, sir! Might I ask your name?
: I'm Mr. Wright. Editor of the Tarantian, finest newspaper in all the land. Who are you?
: My name is Ty'Ler Do'Urden.
: What can I help you with, Mr. Do'Urden?
: I might have a newsworthy story for you.
: Excuse me. If I may just borrow my friend a moment... (Sir, I hope you're not about to--)
: Nonsense, Virgil. I'm not the sort for sneaking about. There are wrongs to right, and I've no time for hiding. So, Mr. Wright, are you interested?
: Well, this is the Tarantian. News is our business. We pay quite well... for a good story. What have you got?
: [Pulls out an older newspaper from his pack and sets it on Mr. Wright's desk.]
: I am the sole survivor of the IFS Zephyr crash. Does that qualify as a good story?
: No! YOU? You are the sole survivor from the IFS Zephyr tragedy?
: My passport and my ticket, sir. [He produces them from a jacket pocket.]
: What a godsend! What a human interest spread!
: Excuse me?
: Just an expression. Industry jargon. No offense meant. But I must have your story! I'll pay you 500 coin, on the spot, if you'll answer my questions.
: Oh really? Five hundred! You've got yourself a story, Mr. Wright! Ask away!
: Oh gods... [Covers his face in his hands.]
: First of all, I realize it was a very traumatizing experience. Please take your time. If you need to stop for a few moments, I fully understand. Are you ready?
: Yes. Thank you for your understanding. We can begin.
: So Mr. Do'Urden, you are the sole survivor from the horrendous IFS Zephyr disaster?
: Yes. I am sorry to say that no one else survived the impact.
: Do you have any idea what caused the great air ship to plummet?
: There was a tremendous explosion... it shook the entire vessel...
: Yes...
: I didn't see anything in the air, but I heard the sound of gunfire...
: [He scowls.] Gunfire? At that altitude? How is that possible?
: I also heard engines... I believe there were two different ones.
: Engines? The Zephyr was a one of a kind. What else could have been up there with you?
: There was wreckage also, near the blimp. Some strange craft...
: More flying craft? Incredible! [writing notes frantically] So you don't think it was an accident? ...Or sabotage? ...You're telling me that the IFS Zephyr was shot out of the sky deliberately? By some sort of secret air craft?
: Yes. That's as much as I've been able to piece together.
: Astonishing. Simply astonishing! Sir, may I take a quick photograph?
: Of course. [Ty'Ler poses. Mr. Wright takes the photo himself.]
: [looking very strange - a mixture of shock and elation] Mr. Do'Urden! You've just given me the story of a lifetime! Thank you so much! Here... Here's the coin I promised. You've more than earned it. I've got to get this to the presses immediately! Goodbye!
: Goodbye. Oh, before I go, one final thing-- do you know where I can find the university? There's something I need to research.
: Of course. Take the steamrail. There's a station just outside; you can't miss it. Thank you again! Good day, sir.
: Good day.
: Sir--
: Later, Virgil. [adjusts his jacket.] For now, we have work to do.
When the news breaks the next day, it's sure to be the talk of the town.
: Perkins. Get up. We're active.
: Oh?
: Ahhh! A thief in my house! What do you want?
