Alastair Archibald - Weapon of the Guild

Xylox held the cup to his nose, closed his eyes and swirled the wine in the goblet, wafting possibly imaginary waves of aroma towards his nostrils with his free hand. Tipping the goblet towards his lips, he allowed a small quantity of the liquid to enter his mouth. Fascinated and repulsed in equal measure, Grimm watched as Xylox swilled the wine around in his half-open mouth, taking a series of brief, staccato breaths. Then he seemed to chew the wine as if it were a piece of meat, his eyes still closed as if seeking some arcane augury or prophecy from the depths of the goblet. The extraordinary performance concluded with the mage's delicate ejection of the masticated mouthful into one of the battered iron spittoons scattered around the stone floor.

"Adequate," the mage intoned, finishing the contents of goblet in a single gulp and handing the goblet to the landlord for a refill.

"And you, Questor Grimm?" A brief smile flitted across the landlord's face, and Grimm felt almost certain that his fellow mage had been gulled into accepting a lesser vintage than that for which he had asked.

Suppressing a grin, the young man ordered a flagon of ale bearing the intriguing name of 'Old Head-cracker'. It was a deep, red-brown beverage with a creamy, foaming head. He took a sip and found the brew very refreshing and palatable, but he knew that he would need the aid of Redeemer's spells to remain sober if he were to consume more than a couple of pints of the ale. Thanking the landlord, Grimm moved to a table in the middle of the bar, at which Xylox had already installed himself.

The older man seemed lost in thought, staring into his goblet of wine as if in deep meditation. Grimm looked around the bar in search of likely warriors, but there were only four other patrons present. Three of these were old and white-bearded, and the other was a younger man in the final stages of a titanic battle against the massed forces of incipient inebriation.

As the sun began to fall from its zenith, the bar began to fill, but none of the customers looked promising. Xylox interrupted his impassive reverie from time to time, scanning each new patron with a stern and critical eye for a brief moment, but he seemed no more impressed than his companion. The landlord kept the two mages well supplied with drink, for which the young mage expressed fulsome gratitude. His older companion acknowledged the hosteller with no more than a curt nod.

After the landlord brought the mages their fourth round of drinks, another group of customers entered, and Grimm felt a hand on his shoulder. Whirling around, with a firm grip on Redeemer, he felt his face break into a broad grin.

"Crest, it is good to see you! The easy life seems to agree with you," he observed, noting the half-elf's healthy complexion, and his immaculate black velvet suit of clothes. Crest was no less enthusiastic in his greeting.

"Questor Grimm, you old demon-masher! You look well. Life's been pretty boring since we last met; perhaps you're here to change that?"

Xylox seemed to snap out of his daydream, and he stared at the slender, olive-skinned, black-garbed figure with an expression of deep disapproval, perhaps because of Crest's familiar manner with a Guild Mage.

Remembering his manners, Grimm made the introductions. "Questor Xylox, it looks as if we may be in luck. Crest, here, is an expert with either whip or dagger, and a master of locks beside. He was with Dalquist and me during our last Quest, and he proved a valuable member of the team.

"Crest, my esteemed colleague is Xylox the Mighty, one of the most senior Questors in our House."

"Master Crest, please excuse us for a moment."

Xylox almost yanked Grimm from his seat and into a vacant corner of the bar.

"Have you forgotten all that you were taught about deportment and protocol?" the senior Questor snapped. "You seem to me far too easy-going with this Crest, and I regard this as deleterious to Quest discipline. Allowing a mere Secular to address you in such a manner cannot be decorous; I think Crest's manner is totally unfitting for a hired warrior. From now on, I would appreciate it if you were to restrict yourself to Mage Speech when dealing with underlings. I suggest that we wait for a more suitable and more respectful fighter to come along."

"Crest is not an underling," Grimm whispered, hotly, folding his arms across his chest. "We faced a mighty demon-sorcerer together and almost died. I have no intention of treating him like common hired help. I urge you to accept him as he is; Crest is a good, fearless fighter. He can open locks in silence and with ease, whereas you or I would have to destroy the door. I would add that no other likely warriors have come our way today. I think it would be pretty imprudent to reject one just because his attitude didn't come up to your concept of Guild expectations.

"As a last comment, I have a favour to ask: we may be Questing together for some time, and we seem to have started off on the wrong foot. I am sorry if this is due to me, and I promise to do my best not to embarrass you. But I do wish you would at least try to meet me halfway. I do not want to freeze out a good friend because it makes me look more dangerous and unapproachable. Can you not live with that? You may think that it's bad for discipline to be easy-going, but I think that it's a better way to inspire loyalty.

"You are in charge of this Quest. I will not forget that; you are the senior mage, and I will accord you all due respect. But it seems as if every time we talk, there is an argument. I think that is bad for discipline, and I do not think that it is all due to me. There must be a little give and take on both sides."

Xylox looked taken back by the young Questor's forthrightness, as if he might excoriate his young companion for impertinence. However, Grimm knew that, along with an overbearing and pompous nature, Xylox the Mighty was known for a basic sense of fairness. The young magic-user also knew that he had not, in truth, asked for anything unreasonable, just for a little accommodation.

He saw Crest eyeing the pair of mages with an expression of cool amusement.

The older man stood silent for some time, rubbing his nose with his forefinger, but he ended up taking a deep breath and nodding. "Very well, Questor Grimm, I will accept your recommendation of Crest as a companion, and I will agree to overlook your familiar way with him, so long as he does not expect me to act in the same manner. Let us return to your elven friend."

"Well, gentlemen? Am I in or out?" Crest asked.

"I have been advised by my brother mage, Questor Grimm, that you are a talented fighter and thief," Xylox declared, resuming his imperious mask. "The offer is standard Guild rates of pay, with which you are no doubt familiar, and equal shares of any booty with the exception of magical items. Is this acceptable to you?"

Crest shrugged. "As I told Baron Grimm, it's been pretty boring since we parted company. Money, I can always find. Action's not so easy.

"Very well, Questor Xylox, I'm your man."

Crest spat on the palm of his hand and held it towards the senior mage. Xylox indicated his younger companion. "Since it was Questor Grimm who recommended you, your compact will be with him."

Crest shrugged again and shook hands with Grimm, who suspected that Xylox had merely been keen to avoid a distasteful, saliva-damp handshake.

"What now, Questor Xylox?" the junior mage asked. "Do we have a full team?"

Xylox considered for a moment, but shook his head. "It is better to employ one warrior for each mage, someone who can fight on when the magic-user has exhausted his power." Turning to the half-elf, he asked, "Master Crest, do you know of any other experienced warriors currently in residence in Drute?"

"What about Harvel?" Grimm asked. "Is he available?"