[Memory] The Purloined Keepsake

[Hakon]

32nd Ash, 4613

Hakon was excited to be summoned to the Office of the First Warden. It was not every day that this happened, or even really most days. As a mere Magus, and not a particularly popular one, at that, most of his days were spent training, studying, practicing magic, and praying. Other Magi played games, or chatted, or socialized, but not him, or at least not often. When he did, it was usually with the Scarlet Watch, but that was strange, too. None of them could ever forget that he was a potential threat, and after a while, he stuck to just sparring with them. He was a living source of blasphemy and potential harm to them. Presumably, it caused them strain to get to know him as a person lest he decide to shirk his duty and everything he stood for and become an iconoclast. It was unlikely to happen that way, of course, but if he did and they hesitated to put him down, that could be dangerous for them.

Any chance to see the First Warden was a chance to impress the man, so Hakon took a moment to ensure his simple clothes were in line, that his hair was in place, and that his face was as clean as he could make it with the small basin in his dormitory before answering the summons at a trot. He hoped his long legs and fast walking speed would make up for tarrying a bit.

"Good afternoon, First Warden," Hakon stated upon his entrance. "I believe you called for me? Something about a local disturbance reported to you by a merchant, I believe?"

His eyes wandered over the tableau. The Warden sat in the small room, backlit by a small window set deep into the thick stone with bars across it. While the tower offered pleasant views, the Scarlet Watch saw to it that they were secure at all times, lest Novuses with Ideas think it smart to try and jump from the tower. The plain wooden desk was a bit battered, but to Hakon's eye, it was stately in a spartan sort of way. There was a stack of parchment shoved off to the side: reports of potential rogue or iconoclastic activity in the area, perhaps movements of the coterie around the area. Hakon knew better than to snoop.

The stranger caught his attention. He was an older gentleman -- Hakon was not great at guessing the ages of people, but the man had grey hair, so he was probably really old; forty at least. He didn't look like a noble, either, which maybe would make him the man who had made the report.

"Hello, Sir -- could you please explain to me what happened? Don't leave out anything. If you were indeed attacked by a rogue mage, I'm here to help."

[Andros]

Daravin was a mistake. Andros had been told of its wealth and power, but they’re an illusion. In a land of fabulously wealthy lords and cringing, starving serfs, a peddler can’t make a living. The serfs can’t afford mid-level goods and the rich don’t want them. You can sell garbage to the poor but there’s no money in it, and entry into the luxury trade requires too much startup capital.

It became clear after a few days that this place both offended Andros’ moral sensibilities and was completely unsuitable to his trade. So he made for the border with Radenor, which the few travelers he met seemed to think promised brighter pastures.

After weeks of guiding his donkeys along muddy roads, Andros arrived at a border town. Only a shallow creek separated the two realms here. He could smell the pine forests of this northern abode in the distance.

The townspeople were mostly Norunn, a breath of fresh air for Andros. The Nurunn are friendly and lively and love a good story. Andros spent three days making friends, but on the third night a Daravain joined his table and the Norunn quickly made their for the exit.

Of what happened next, Andros has no memory, only the word of the innkeeper. He was seen in animated conversation with the tall Daravain man. He was tan with a pointed beard and lines of grey puncturing his black hair. They were laughing and backslapping, then exchanging items. When Andros woke up he was missing everything he’d had on his person - his entire store of gold, a silver ring, and worst of all, his locket.

The locket wouldn’t fetch 10df on the open market, but to Andros it was prized beyond pearls. He’d taken his very first journey to Teopolis on the mainland to purchase it when he was a youth, visiting a mage and waiting patiently for him to enchant the simple, iron necklace. On his wedding night, the happiest day of his life (not counting the days each of his daughters were born), he gave it to Elena, who was mystified by it.

Andros bade her to open it, look into the mirror inside, and sing a song. She complied, and when she was done Andros closed it, held it in his hand, and kissed it. When he opened it up again, the image of Elena could be seen singing in the mirror and her voice rang out from the locket. It was a true wonder, worth every gold piece he’d spent.

The locket never left her sight, then his after her death until it was taken from Andros in Daravin. After Elena’s death, there were weeks when he did nothing but sit in his cottage and stare at it, watching her youthful, shining face and listening to her beautiful, gentle voice.

And now it’s gone. And all he’s left with is smooth rock given to him by the Daravain in exchange. At first he’d thought he must have been drugged, but the next morning the innkeeper told him it was almost certainly magic, which is unregulated in Daravin. He was furious when he realized he’d been bewitched and robbed, then despondent when he realized he’d likely never see the locket again. Without his touch, it’s only worth the cheap iron it’s made from. It’s probably already melted down, and the mage long gone.

Briefly, Andros considered suicide, but thoughts of his girls and his grandchildren put that out of his mind. They made him swear to come home safely and he intended to do so, once he’d seen the world. He’d have to soldier on without Elena’s presence - somehow.

Andros wandered across the border in a daze, then for three days into the forest until he found another inn. There he told the story of Xanthippe and her lover Argos over dinner. No one at the inn had heard it before and several dining companions were moved to tears. When he told his own story and compared himself and Elena to the doomed couple of legend, one man offered to loan him money to restart his venture and a second ran off to inform the Scarlet Watch about the robbery.

Andros was awoken the next morning by a heavy boot on the floor and a gloved hand shaking him up.

“Andros Chrysostephanos of Teos, you’re to come with us at once to report the crime committed against you to the First Warden.”

He didn’t resist or argue. He was pleased this was being taken so seriously. A few minutes later his pack animals and sheep were put under guard and he was astride a fine black horse riding away from the river. An hour later they arrived at a great tower and Andros was ushered upstairs.

Out of breath from the stairs, he was suddenly in the presence of a man whose nobility was plainly obvious from his clothing and demeanor. Andros has the same innate fear of noblemen that all commoners possess and he quickly doffed his hat and bowed. But the stranger put him at ease, offering him tea and cakes while they waited for his associate, Hakon, to arrive.

And arrive he did. Hakon is the size of a gorilla, handsome in his way but also threatening even before he’d said a word. Andros was briefly tongue tied when Hakon addressed him, but this was his chance to get his locket back or at least get some justice, so he powered through it.

“Yes, my lord.” It’s best to overdo titles if you don’t know better. “It happened right across the border in Daravin…”

[Hakon]

At the conclusion of the stranger's story, Hakon looked to the First Warden for a clue as to what to do next. The man's face was impassive, his mouth forming a thin horizontal line, and his gaze hard. This did not make sense to Hakon. How could he not be moved by Andros' tale of woe?

"I appreciate that what happened was unfortunate," The First Warden said. "And what you describe does indeed sound like magic, if it happened in the manner you describe. The main issue I have with your account is that we have no other accounts of anything like this happening in the area, and you are a stranger to our land, so I have no way of vetting your credibility. If I dispatch Magus Hakon, or anyone else to investigate this purported rogue, they will be gone for at least a week, and it seems highly likely to me that nothing much will come of it."

Were Hakon an ambitious man, he would have kept silent and let Andros defend himself from the First Warden's aspersions on his story and his character. Hakon's only ambition was to apprehend rogues and quell iconoclasts, however, so he jumped in before Andros could respond.

"First Warden, Sir, it sounds characteristic of a Mentalist. It is possible we do not have other reports because of Mentalism's more subtle abilities compared to magic that some would deem less abstract, like Sigilic Pyromancy, but as Sir Andros' story demonstrates, it can still harm people. What is a merchant without money and goods to sell? As it is my sworn vow to defend Jorikford from rogues and iconoclasts, not merely its citizenry but all who dwell or toil here, I entreat you: please allow me to accompany this man on a quest to find this rogue. If I cannot track him down, I will return here promptly -- hard rides, no rest -- to minimize wasted resources."

Were Hakon better at reading people, he would know this was not the First Warden had wanted to hear. The man's frown deepened and his eyebrows came together above his nose. His words, however, belied his facial expression. "Very well, Magus, if you feel that strongly about it. Journey with the peddler and find your rogue Mentalist. Send a report in three days time, and another in seven. If you do not have a name and a location by day seven, you are to return to the Tower. We can only spare one Scarlet Watch as your guardian, so the faster this errand is over with, the better. Understood?"

Hakon straightened and gave a deep nod, "Yes Sir, you have made yourself clear."

"Dismissed."

Hakon did not tarry, and alit from the room at once, making for the stables to see about getting his kit together for the journey ahead. "That went well," he said, with apparent sincerity. He hadn't noticed if Andros followed or not, so he said it as much to himself as anything.

[Andros]

Andros expected no favors from the First Warden. Noblemen don’t do favors for peddlers they don’t know. Maybe if he’s been a client, but he’s not. At home the whole Upper Village is a client of a great family in Teopolis. The villagers ship him handicrafts and servants for his household, he protects the village from the vicious internecine strife of city government.

The strategos, his patron, would have sent a squad of goons after the thief, probably with a mage or two of his own, and gotten the locket back. A crime against a client is a crime against the noble house, after all. But Demetrius, Strategos of Teopolis, was not there, All Andros had was a single goon and that goon’s guardian. Perhaps some hired muscle? None of it made sense to Andros.

But it didn’t matter, he had hope of getting his treasured locket back for the first time and that was more than enough. He felt grateful that the young man had stood up for him, if still wary of him.

“Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your help recovering my possessions. Please call me Andros - I’m just a commoner, even in my homeland.”

As stablehands prepared three horses for departure, Andros did what he did best and made conversation.

“You remind me of my third son-in-law, my lord. Another quiet man with blond hair. A foot shorter than you perhaps. When we’re on the road I can tell you about the time he fought off a wolf pack on his own and lost a finger - it’s a good story.”

He lost his train of thought in memory for a moment but got it back soon enough.

“A handsome man like yourself in service to a great lord must make a good match. Do you have a wife yet? Any children?”

[Hakon]

Hakon responded to Andros' preferred form of address with one of his own: "Magus is my title, Andros, not Lord. I was a commoner, too, before arriving here -- my parents were farmers in Northradica, actually -- and I can lay no claim to noble blood, nor would I care to. I am happy as I am."

He watched as his designated Scarlet Watch companion, Heinrich, loaded up his satchels and got ready for the journey to come. He did the same, retrieving his mace from the armory and his pack from its customary shelf in the stables. He was sent out with some regularity now that he was a Magus, and he tried not to haul around too many extra things over and above a change of clothes that fit his long limbs, some basic hygiene supplies, and field rations. He found little joy in material comforts beyond the steady surety of the continued presence of food and clean water in his life.

Andros' follow-up comments would have brought on a pang of longing had Hakon not long since gotten used to the reality of his life.

"I am flattered, Andros, that you feel I am eligible. As part of our vows in the Guild, however, Mages cannot marry, and we are barred from raising children. We can, technically, have children, but they are to be raised by people who are unmarked. By virtue of my Mark of Control, I am a potential danger to you, to those around me, and to Jorikford, in general. This is why Heinrich is here: to guard you against me, lest my wicked impulses get the best of me and I prove immoderate."

He looked Andros in the eye. "Though I am a mage as surely as the man who wronged you, please know I want nothing more than to see him made to pay for his crimes against you."

[Andros]

It was obvious this was a sensitive subject for Hakon. First Hakon pretended not to be bothered by his obviously tragic lot in life, then he blustered in an obvious attempt to frighten Hakon and cover his shame. (Or is it just boasting about how dangerous he is?). It’s transparent and rather childish. But he was still doing Andros an immense service and in any case it’s unwise to show fear.

“There are good mages and bad ones, Magus Hakon. I’m a foreigner here with very little in my pocket, and you stuck your neck out with you stuck your neck out for me with your boss - don’t think I didn’t notice it. I’ve got hired hands of my own at home and I know it takes stones to argue with the man in charge. Anyway, I’ll count you as a good sort until proven otherwise.”

That drew a stifled laugh from the guardian, whose face was hidden behind a helmet. He clearly didn’t think Hakon way such a good sort, but it doesn’t matter. How he was supposed to guard Hakon, who was 6 inches and 50 pounds bigger than him, was a mystery. There must have been magic involved.

As they saddled up, Heinrich handed Andros the gladius that was confiscated from him at the tower gate

“Can you fight, old man?”

Andros winced. He wasn’t that old. Not yet.

“Yes. I train every full moon, and I did my time fighting for Teopolis. Though I prefer never to use this if I can avoid it.”

There are times when violence is called for, but they’re rare. Words are usually plenty.

Andros didn't wait to see if the giant and the guard laugh at his remark. He hopped up on the mare they’d prepared for him - he’s quite spry for 66 - settled his traveling pack on his back, and guided the beast out of the stable.

[Hakon]

Hakon didn't laugh at Andros' remarks about fighting. Some degree of military training for every person seemed normal to him, given that his frame of reference was the Guild. Everyone trained in the tower: mages in basic self-defense so that they would be more useful on field missions, the Scarlet Watch for obvious reasons, and other assorted servants in the event of rogue or iconoclast attacks. Besides, old people could be good at things. Most of the Fellows were old, and they were some of the most advanced mages in all of Radenor, or at least this region of it. Hakon thought himself fairly enlightened in this way, or at least not backwards.

He put Heinrich's comments from his mind and chose to ride alongside Andros, instead.

He wasn't sure how to respond to Andros' assertion that he had stuck his neck out for him. Perhaps it was best to just tell him that. "I wasn't sticking up for you back there, Andros. I was doing what's right. I'm sure the First Warden understands that," Hakon said with the simple conviction of someone who is not talented at reading a room.

"And speaking of our earlier conversation, I have a few more questions about that evening where you met this rogue, if you don't mind." He didn't wait for Andros to indicate that he did or didn't before barreling on; these were important. "First of all, do you remember seeing a purple glow at any point? If you did, that would indicate the mage was less skilled. It's more likely, if I'm honest, that you would not see anything, and that he is decently skilled, but it would be a pleasant surprise if you were able to see a purple haze or glow at times, because that would indicate a fledgling Mentalist, and he would be less dangerous. Also, do you remember interacting with anyone else that night that the mage seemed to know or be working with? If he has associates, we should try to plan for that, too. Lastly, do you remember his name or anything distinctive about him? He may change his appearance or name, or he may not bother, but having an idea of who he was that evening may help us track him down, especially if his etheric trail has gone cold."

Hakon realized he'd been grilling Andros as though he were a rogue mage, and not the victim of same. "Um. My apologies, Andros, for my intensity. I just wish to get this right."

[Andros]

Competence. That’s what Hakon was oozing out of his pores. It was plainly obvious to Andros that he was in the presence of a clever mind, particularly because he has done this before himself. In a big village of 75 households, crime is inevitable. Theft - a lot of it - some assaults, fraud, brawls, drunken mischief, adultery, rape, and occasionally murder. As Headman it was his responsibility to solve and pubish these crimes, in consultation with the village elders.

He excelled at the parts of the job that were talking. Gently coaxing the truth out of miscreants, arranging apologies and compensation to settle things quietly, divining and fixing the root causes of criminal behavior - that he could do. But investigating was always a challenge. A missing necklace with no obvious suspect was a case Andros might never solve.

Hakon knew what he’s doing, and Andros was sincerely impressed. He’d have preferred to chat, or course, but he was happy to help Hakon find the mage.

“No, I appreciate how seriously you’re taking this. No purple glow, unfortunately, but I don’t recall much about our conversation. I remember he was tall - as tall as you - and he had very distinct lines of grey in his hair. Jet black with shocks of grey. It was very striking. And a pointed beard. He wasn’t sitting with anyone else but I saw him chatting with the innkeeper earlier in the evening, maybe that’s a start.”

As they talked, Andros heard Heinrich cursing from a bit up the road. A few seconds later it became clear why. A storm has washed out a bridge, and the river was flowing fast.

“Damn it all, old man,” he shouted. “You brought us bad luck. The next bridge is miles away, we’ll have to ford. I hope you’re a good rider.”

Without another word, Heinrich turned his horse and tried to lead it into the water. The second its foot got wet, it reared and nearly threw him. Of course it did, the water was frothing and Heinrich had made no effort to steady the beast.

Andros lept off his horse and went straight up to Heinrich’s, which was prancing nervously. He let the horse sniff his hand, then pet it’s head as it nuzzled his chest. He spoke quietly directly into its ear, calming it down.

“I’ll lead yours and mine across,” Andros announced. “Hakon, if you need help I’ll swim back.”

He first took off his pack and put it on the ground. Then he stripped off his cloak and his riding breeches, leaving only a cloth undergarment for modesty - homespun for him by Irene and quite warm. He put the clothing in his pack and handed it to Heinrich, then took the two horses by the reins and walked into the water.

The trick is to show them it’s safe. You have to put yourself on the line first, then they’ll follow anywhere. The horses hesitated at first but Andros coaxed them, inch by inch, with gentle words, wirh stroking the hair, and wieh a firm hand on the reins.

When the water was up to his chest, Andros jumped up onto his own mount and continued guiding them. The horses had to swim in the middle and were pushed a bit downstream, but after a few minutes they emerged onto the opposite bank.

As Andros shivered and started to dress, Heinrich took off his helmet to reveal a smiling face not much past 20.

“You’re good with the horses, peddler.” Better than ‘old man’. “Here, take this to dry off.”

He opened a saddlebag and handed Andros his spare cloak. He took it gratefully.

“Animals trust me. Always have.”

[Hakon]

Hakon was thinking through what Andros had said. The man had a distinct appearance, at least -- while people in Radenor tended to be taller than those from other nations, anyone about his size still stuck out a bit. The hair and beard could easily change, but if the man was vain, he would likely keep it. This could be a good secondary lead if the man had not stuck close to where Andros had encountered him. He expressed his thanks to Andros before the other man rode on ahead to assist Heinrich.

Hakon had no particular facility with animals, but he was a capable imitator. He did his best with leading the beast, but couldn't stop the feeling of panic when the current threatened to knock him off of his feet.

He looked over to the far shore; the other two were already getting dressed. As much as it pained him to admit it, he needed help.

"Some assistance would be appreciated," he said, loud enough for his voice to carry. He was trying to stay upright in the river but it was not easy going. "I don't know how to swim," he admitted.

It had just never come up. He'd been too young in Northradica, the estate he'd been on in Daravin had only had an ornamental pond that he was not allowed to go near, there had been no time in Jorikford, and then he'd come to the Guild. He had trained in other ways, but Radenor was landlocked, and the likelihood of an aquatic or amphibious engagement with a mage had seemed low enough that he'd just never bothered.

His mount, seeing Hakon on the verge of panic, echoed his emotions and reared back.

Hakon muttered an "oh, shit," and then focused on standing up straight in the water and breathing deeply. He may not be able to ford the river on his own, but he could try and keep the situation from deteriorating further.

[Andros]

Andros was feeling rather proud of himself, having earned the scornful young guard’s grudging respect. He was putting his pants back on when he heard Hakon’s shout. He hadn’t really expected the big mage to need assistance. He seemed like he could probably pick the horse up and carry her on his back if need be.

But there he was, up to his chin in the roaring river as his mount reared, riderless and afraid. Hakon’s life was in danger, that much was obvious. There was no time to waste. Andros yanked his pants back off, waded in up to his knees, then dove head first into the frigid, black water.

He was serious when he offered to swim back for help. He happens to be an excellent swimmer. A walk down to the beach and a long swim after work is a daily ritual for everyone on Mikronisi. Swimming is exercise, it's a ritual competition, and it gets you clean. Andros still isn’t quite used to the level of filth that inland people seem to tolerate.

More than that, pearl diving is a minor but essential part of the economy. If he’s born with the lungs for it, it’s an excellent way for a young man to get a start in life. A few successful dives and you’ve got something you can sell to a merchant and get yourself a breeding pair of sheep or passage to the mainland for a different life. Andros did have the lungs for it way back when, and he liked to believe he still did. Probably not, but he did have it in him to cross this short stretch of water.

He swam at a steady clip, not wanting to exhaust himself in the cold water. It took 30 breaths to until he could reach out and grab the reins of Hakon’s horse. He maneuvered himself around so the two men were next to one another, Hakon standing and Andros treading water.

“Hold her saddle tight, lad! Don’t slip.” he shouted. “I’ll calm her down.”

That was easier said than done. He couldn’t whisper over the roar of the water so he shouted straight in her ear. Calmly, he told her she was a good girl, that she could do it, that he’d brush her and get her nice and dry and fed when they reached a safe stable. Patting her head repeatedly and holding an arm around her neck, he succeeded. She let her head sink down and whinnied quietly.

“Alright, mount her. Slowly. I’ll guide us to shore.”