Arcanum Tales Chapter page 5 of 6

Perriman turned slowly back to the man, his anger rising. Ignorance was one thing, and insolence completely another. No mages beyond this point? Of all he had seen on this strange day, the simple sign in front of him was the most unendurable. There were certain traditions and social decorum that one just did not trod upon. Letters would be written and apologies made, of that Perriman was certain. When a follower of the old ways couldn't walk the city streets unmolested, there were obviously those in dire need of a swift lesson in etiquette.

"Now you look, here. I will not be…"

"I'm sorry sir, but I warned you…"

The man turned, whistling to a pair of large men seated near the Station doors. They rose, both carrying stout cudgels, and walked quickly towards where Perriman was standing. Was he to be beaten as well? He turned to them, setting up his hood. It seemed that there would be more than one lesson learned this evening.

"Excuse me, good mage. I think I may be of some assistance." The voice, low and nasal, came from somewhere behind him. Perriman turned to see nothing, and then, looking down, found a well-dressed gnome in coat and tails. Further behind the small gentleman was a massive creature, dressed similarly, and keeping a close watch on the gnome and his movements. Perriman immediately recognized this creature as an ogre; although its teeth and claws were less pronounced than in etchings he'd seen in particular Tullan texts, there was no mistaking its lineage. Only a day before, the mere thought of one so close would have set his hairs on end. Today, after all he had seen and heard in Tarant, the sight of an ogre in evening clothes merely evoked a cursory nod in its direction. The two armed men were still advancing.

"Look here, Station Master," the gnome called to the man in uniform. "It seems we have a misunderstanding. There's no need to resort to extremes."

The Station Master turned, red-faced. "I'm afraid you don't understand…" Upon turning, he saw the ogre, and then noticed the gnomish gentleman. His face fell. "Mr. Willoughsby! So sorry, sir. I didn't realize it was you, sir. Its just that this man here is a mage, and…"

"A mage and an acquaintance of mine, Station Master. Pray, call your men off, or I may be forced to call upon my own." At this, the ogre took a step forward, and the two men stopped dead. "I understand the situation, and will resolve in a timely and mannered way. Good day, Station Master."

"Good day, sir. So sorry, again, sir." And with that, all three men ran back towards the building proper, the Station Master berating his cronies about rash behavior and respect until they were out of earshot.

The gnome turned to Perriman, all smiles and gesticulations. "Mr. Smythe, I presume? Yes? Well met! I'm Edward Willoughsby." A small, damp hand. "So sorry about the ugliness, here. It's just that there are particular concerns, safety measures and all that. Was your trip an enjoyable one?"

"Yes, Mr. Willoughsby, although very short given the means of travel. Thank you very much for your assistance."

"Not at all, Smythe. I have a considerable investment in the Station here, so people tend to listen to what I say. You'll not be bothered again. I can assume this is your first time in Tarant?"

Perriman saw no need to lie. "Yes, and its been quite an experience. Perhaps you could explain to me…"

"Of course, of course, all in good time. We have many things to discuss, but perhaps here, so close to the Station is not the best of places. If you would be so good as to step this way? We can retire to my carriage, and then perhaps enjoy a quiet meal. I own a small restaurant in the east quarter, and there we can…"

From out of the evening crowd burst five men on horseback, scarves tied around their faces, and brandishing various kinds of weaponry. Two of the riders approached Perriman and the gnome, lowering sword points uncomfortably close to their necks, while the remaining three surrounded the ogre, who, cut off from his master, gave an ear-splitting roar. He seemed ready to attack all three of them, when the gnome gestured to him and he settled into a low growl.

"See now, what's this all about?" Willoughsby was maintaining an air of composure, although a slight shake in his voice told otherwise.

"Just good, old-fashioned robbery, Willoughsby old boy," said the man in front of the gnome. "We're not greedy, just whatever you, your bloody pet and this chap here are carrying, and we'll be on our way."

"I'm not quite sure that's such a good idea," said Perriman, the runes already forming in his head. Politics weren't always his strong point, but Perriman knew when to be direct. Disarming these hooligans would be short work.

"No, Smythe. No need to make a scene." Willougshby was reaching for his purse. "We'll just pay these men, and be on our way…"

Perriman was already moving. A word and a nod towards the man perched in front of him sent his horse rearing, the blinding flash of the Lesser Rune of Light having its desired effect on the animal. The man fell, hitting his head on the ground, his sword clattering on the paved stones.

"Smythe! No magick! It's almost here…!"

The sound again, so close it shook the very ground.

Perriman turned to the men surrounding the ogre, and spoke softly the Rune of Shadow. All three men suddenly began yelling and waving their arms in front of them, tearing the scarves from their faces. The ogre, seeing an opportunity, grabbed the nearest one, and the screams began as Perriman turned to the last man. He was leveling a strange device at the mage's chest, a short staff, it seemed, of wood and metal; two holes at the end facing him showed it to be hollow. Perriman had never seen anything of its like, but could guess at its nature. He called to mind the Rune of Illusion, an ancient and powerful magick, the shape fierce and familiar in his mind.