Optomkiptum’s Stories.


A svirfnebli is a small, wrinkly sort of creature that lives deep within the bowels of the earth. Down there, they exist as an almost ghost-like, dwarfish people. Their grey hair is thin and wispy, their skin gnarled like the bark of a tree and their features oversized - as if someone had tried to put too many organs onto too small a face. Blessed with great strength but cursed to be as colourful as a lump of coal, little is known of their society at all. They’re generally thought live out quiet lives away from the eyes of outsiders and enjoy appraising stones, gems and mushrooms. At least, according to rumour. The reality is that they praise the Stones – with an intricate church of devoted priests and boulders. They raise large gems to a status normally reserved for Lords or Ladies with entire shrines devoted to the greatest gems of the Stonehood. And, well, they like mushrooms. They make good soup.

Far away from the caves they call home, lit not by glowing fungus but by the great burning Sun, is Optomkiptum. Possibly the most mismatched Magistrate that has ever existed. He is wandering down an alleyway, in the grand city of Galadon and is accompanied by two human guards with disgruntled looks. Their destination is a small, darkened entrance into the world-renowned guild of Necromancers where an unnaturally still man guards its doorway.

‘I demand entrance!’
Optomkiptum wandered sharply up to him, taking broad steps for a man only 3 feet in height, and kicked him in the shin.
The figure barely reacted, swaying slightly in the aftermath of the blow.
‘Now! I demand it!’ he said, raising his axe-shaped badge above his head so that whatever light there might be in the gloomy alley shined off its surface. It was only then, as if in reply to an unheard command, the figure jerked its foot to one side and with a crude stepping motion lurched out of the way. Optom took his chance, and swaggered down the stairway unchallenged. If there was one thing Optom had, it was pride. He was full of it no matter where he was. The inside of the guild was nothing more than a run-down hostel with a bar and few chairs. A servant dressed in dirty clothes swirled an equally dirty rag about inside a tankard. It seemed only the flies respected this place, and their absence was a very deep sign of respect indeed. Like many guilds, the hovel housed the current guild-quota of studying apprentices and, occasionally, handed out spell-books to those who become well-versed enough in Magic not to turn a spell for making things invisible into the untimely combustion of their left hand. The guilds were well funded by their students as each paid a hefty price ‘per lesson’. However, the entire intake went to the already wealthy patrons of the halls and rarely into their upkeep. While the communal bedrooms, the bar and the guard service were all kept loosely organised by a few underpaid servants, the Guildmasters were free to revel in their wealth. For the Necromancer’s guild, this meant a large number of Immortal mages were siphoning revenue into secret laboratories somewhere else. Immortality in the form of Undeath came at a cost, but in the end it was the ultimate goal for everyone of the guild. Though almost all but a few would fail in their task and find themselves on the ‘Golem construction’ pile, many were still drawn to the guild by rumours of untold power. Only the richest could afford any of the Mages’ guilds and so it was odd that Optom was himself a member of one. Long ago he’d managed to bluff his way into an apprenticeship with the guild of Transmutation for a few coins. From it, he’d acquired the basics of Magery, a spell-book rich in biological details and some rather nice red robes with gold trim. Real gold trim too, which was gently buffed every day before work. Quite a good taking for a foreign race in a human city. Of course, it wasn’t free to remain a guild member. His pay right now depended upon proving that this scrawny servant was hiding a very dangerous individual. Optom approached the bar.
‘I demand I greet you! Magistrate Optomkiptum Bo’sundinni of Galadon, if you please-sir!’
The servant leaned forward over the counter, to stare down into the large, black eyes that were addressing him. His posture would easily suggest to anyone that he was happy to cooperate and was offering his full attention. Anyone, except Optomkiptum. To him, this was another human that was going to smugly make clear his presentation, his height and even his appearance was unimpressively lacking. If there was one thing he hated, it was people that sniggered about him afterwards. ‘Right, ’ he thought ‘time for some real action.’ And quickly intoned the words that would weave an enchantment of flight about his person. Being small has its advantages, and one of those is that a flying spell designed to float a mere human could catapult you half way across the room, if aimed right. The barman drew back sharply, the quick rising figure grasping his collar and rolling forward over the bar with him. A gasp escaped his lungs just as his head hit the shelves behind him and Optom’s eyes drew level. The human guards by the stairs grinned quietly to each other.
‘YOU, sir, I demand you hand over your fugitive NOW!’ screeched Optom.
‘I… dun-dun-dunno what you mean, leggo!’
‘A few minutes ago, black robes, nervous… ran down those stairs and likely tossed you some silver.’
Optom’s grip shifted so that he could comfortably stand on the bar while interrogating the now shaken man. The servant’s wide eyes clearly showed some fear but still seemed mostly surprised.
‘There’s tons in like that, boss! It’s the bleedin’ Necro guild.’
‘This one had a different face.’
The servant gulped.
‘I dun’t ever see their faces, all got hoods on, ain’t they?’
‘Ha! This one would need a big hood to hide his beak. He’d need torn robes, too, for his wings.’
Generally, Arial’s were rarely seen in the city but a recent outbreak of winged demons had brought their interests, good and bad, into it. Rumour was that the birds were trying to mingle as humans, using hooded robes to mask their identities. Although many guild members styled themselves with appropriate robes, such as heavy brown ones for the Clerics or dark, coarse ones for the Thieves, the Arial’s could only make use of the lighter mages robes. Being smarter than the average human meant they could pick up Magic quicker than most. Nearly all of them had some handy magical training, whether it was spearman with potions or conjurers with wands. This, coupled with the empty-pocketed staff, made the Necromancers guild a great hide-away for criminals. The servant took in a sharp breath, and gulped again.
‘H-he’s back there! Leave off!’ he stammered, desperately trying to break the Magistrates iron grip. Despite his size, Optomkiptum had enough strength in one arm to send the entire bar into the opposing wall.
‘Second room on the left, don’t be disturbin’ the Guild! Urk, please! Quiet!’
It was too late. In the time it had taken the servant to protest Optom had stormed off around the corner into the dormitories and signalled his guards to follow. Apprehensions were never smooth; they always fought to the end. The apprentices that had their wits about them had cleared out when the stranger had arrived, the ones that were left had likely taken anything illegal they’d got with them and were currently hiding with it in one of the laboratories, hoping it wouldn’t try to escape. Optom swung his body round to face the doorway and glared into the unlit bedroom. ‘Hrm, yes, yes. There he is.’ It took barely a second to spot the bird-mage, huddled in the darkest corner under his black, silk robes. Where a human would need a torch light and a minute, a svirfnebli needed nothing but a second. Optom took a sharp step forward, his dagger singing in unison with the guards own weapons as they slid clear of their sheaths. Realising he’d been found, the figure moved sharply.
‘No-seclari!’ screeched the Mage, throwing a twisted curse out towards Optom in an attempt to blind him. It rippled in the air, like heat off a stove, and threatened to fill Optom’s vision with an inky blackness. Magic can create wonders with some skill and belief but it can do little against a set mind and an iron will. Not only was Optomkiptum bolstered by the latest Magic-deflecting chain mail but unknown to many his very blood, bonded to the Stones, gave his body the inherent ability to absorb Magical blows like a shield. The curse struck Optom’s face, make him blink a few times before he thrust out his own hands and shook his clenched fists threateningly.
‘Piwwihtam!’ he shouted, bringing his thoughts into reality as long, cold looking chains that bound themselves to the bird-mans wrists and rapped themselves tightly about his legs. Optom lowered his hands.
‘I demand you surrender to the One-Law!’
Another wisp of Magic curled up about the Arial. His beak opened to utter arcane words but his now bound hands could do nothing to direct it. Forced to slump back as he lost his balance, the spell he intend to hurl at Optomkiptum brought about a terrible transformation to his own self. ‘Grawwwhk! Noooo!’ he screamed, as his legs became afflicted. The feathers on his thighs were falling away to reveal skin that was bubbling like boiling water, each pustule swelling and bursting rapidly as the plague spread down his limb. With a pained look, the last thing he saw was the guard as he drew up his axe – executioner style – and let it swing down upon his skull. *Thud*

*

Optom dusted off his hands, letting the energy from his flight spell drain. The corpse dropped heavily onto cobbled alley as the guards came up the stairs, wiping their blades clean with oiled rags
‘Another deed-done, boss. What was he wanted for, anyhow?’
Optom grumbled quietly to himself, as he often did, and turned solemnly to face the guards.
‘Loitering in front of the Spire.’ Optom shook his head slowly ‘He had his warning, and I demand he out-stayed it. Shame, shame.’
It was well known in Galadon what the Laws of the Blood Tribunal were but for foreigners it was unfortunate that knowing these Laws was not a prerequisite to being punished by them. The One-Law was not called so because it was a single ‘rule’. It was so called because it had a single punishment.
‘I demand such things are never worth death. Come, come.’


*


Upon his return to the Spire, Optomkiptum had to face the Provost for a brief questioning. Infractions of the Law were not uncommon, but in bringing the Arial to Justice, Optom had mildly injured some crowd members, made unwelcome disturbances in the normally quiet areas of the city and caused the Necromancer’s cleaners to shove their whole months cleaning build in amongst the paperwork on the Provosts desk. The current Provost was held in very high esteem because of her awards within the guild of Invokers. Elemental magic was hard to control but Kelrizza’s devotion to finding ways of blasting criminals, without the hefty bills for cleaning them off shop fronts afterwards, had earned her special attention. Optom had no idea how old she actually was as Dark-elves were notoriously deceptive when it came to age. Her skin was smooth like a blade and twice as sleek. It would shine with a dull greyness and was beaten only by her almost static white hair. He wondered if she conditioned it after bathing and what Magic she used. His own wiry, grey hair gave him trouble.
‘Sit.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Optom took the chair in front of her desk. Outside, the street was quiet. She’d chosen the new Provosts office to be based in the city, along the same street as the Graveyard. Something the other Magistrates found quietly amusing. Often, the Provost would have her guards walk with her to the office then drag the cart of bodies from her patrols away to the caretaker after. Evocation of the elements was no power to be toyed with and she was rumoured to have over 400 years experience.
‘I see you caught him.’ She said, as the cart outside bumped across the cobbles and out of sight.
‘Of course, I demand I did as best I could given the circumstances.’
‘What circumstances?’ Her pale lips sneered at she spoke.
‘Well, well. He was found inspecting the forecourt to the Spire. When he failed to respond to our requests to leave, I had no choice but to apprehend him.’
‘Get on with it, Magistrate.’ Snapped Kelrizza, she rolled her eyes at the thought of having this dutiful svirf actually recount every step he had taken over the past hour.
‘Hrm, hrm. Of course!’ beamed Optom ‘I demand the Market square was a problem…’
‘Yes, I have a request to replace two broken stalls. You did this?’
Optom paused before answering ‘Not exactly, when a zombie’s bones explode you can never tell where…’
‘Ah. Carry on.’
‘Right, right. And then down the Trade road, he got off a memory wiping spell.’
‘The Necromancer variety? ‘Forget’?’
‘Yes, yes. Only he hit a peddler’s donkey. Seems it forgot what it was.’
‘I fail to see how that could cause any…’
‘It was blocking the warriors guild and a donkey is stubborn enough when it knows what its doing. The peddler is claiming it was a rare breed, worth several times more than the butcher offered him. Though I’m surprised the guild didn’t charge him for disembowelling it.’ Kelrizza groaned at this, people could be devious when it came to drawing coin from the Spire. Thankfully, criminals tended not to use banks and had plenty of coins on their person when they were caught. With any luck…
‘How much coin did you find on his corpse, Optom?’
‘Hrm, hrm. 30 gold pieces, at least.’
A coughing sound came from the doorway, where Optom’s guards were waiting dutifully.
‘I demand it’s more like 25, if I think hard.’
Kelrizza couldn’t help but grin. It seemed to her everything was in order so far. Since the criminals possessions were of the Spire, Magistrates often took their cut straight from the corpse.
‘And the Necromancers guild? How did the subject get inside?’
This made Optomkiptum pause, for he hadn’t thought of that. Guildguards, when autonomous, were carefully programmed with Magic instructions. While usually under the control of someone nearby, the guild often risked giving the guards some minor mental ability of their own so their master had no real need to be nearby. The Golem in the alleyway was made of old corpses, stitched together and had been given an enchanted brain to carry out its tasks. One instruction that was very clear, was under no circumstances let a criminal enter the guild. It almost invariably caused the attention of the Spire and that was the last things they wanted. Especially after midnight.
‘I… I don’t know. I demand the Golem was unharmed.’
Kelrizza’s eyebrow raised itself a notch, a telling sign she was quietly displeased.
‘Did the subject have a great mastery in Magic would you say?’
‘No, no. Young arial, maybe 12 years. Too young for controlling undead.’
As smart as the bird-race was, they had short life-spans and dark Magic took years of devotion from even the most intelligent of students.
‘Your positive?’
Optom simply nodded, his investigations were always thorough when it came to corpses. The guild of Transmutation provided plenty of lessons on biology and Optom for the moment could afford them all. The victim’s flight feathers still looked like a fledglings and his beak had only malted once.
‘Then, seems we have another quandary. Someone of the guild, wanted him kept safe.’
Kelrizza’s eyes widened slowly, a realisation crossing her face.
‘Someone high up is paying young mages for something very odd indeed…’
With a wave of her hand, Optomkiptum was dismissed. With his guards in tow, he walked down the Holy road, towards the park. Thoughts of promotions and bonuses sparking behind his eyes.