3. Astralon in the year 8595

Roland

With a soft groan Roland sat down at the small table in the corner of the inn, close to the hearth, which was glooming with the rest of the embers from the night. It was in the middle of summer, so there was no real need for a fire, but the innkeeper kept a small fire going, mostly for the atmosphere. Roland thanked him for that as for the breakfast as well which consisted of a large tankard of beer, bread, grapes, bacon and a well-aged chunk of cheese. One large sausage kept the other ingredients at bay on the plate, so he would ate it at the end.

After the plate was empty, he prepared his longpipe and started to smoke. Slowly. There was time, even when the times were stressful for everyone involved. Some things need time and you have to make time for it.

So he smoked slowly, enjoyed every puff of the cherry-vanilla-chocolate tobacco he had bought from a merchant a few days ago. No, not the merchant. From this guy on the Summer Solstice Festival.

Aaaah, the Solstice Festivals are always a good choice for company, drinks and purchases. Even when you don't buy stuff - there is always something to buy - you might have a good time. 

As he emptied the heavy tankard, a man came closer. He wore a cloak crafted with a heavy green cloth, secured with a golden chain in the front. Beneath that he wore a black vest with golden seams over a dark red brocade shirt, a decent bag strapped over his chest, black trousers with an expensive looking belt and also durable boots, made for travelling. 

"Master Roland?" he asked, his dark brown eyes sat hard like stones in the sun-kissed face. He was no office clerk, he was a man of the road.

Roland inhaled and slinged a few smoke rings in the rough direction of the ceiling, every ring a bit smaller than the one before. Things needed their time.

"You've found me and know my name." murmured the war mage, then lowered his head and finally looked at the newcomer. "No need for asking. Can I offer you a beer? An ale? Maybe a red one? I do have a spare pipe if you want."

The other man looked a bit confused, raised an eyebrow. "You offer me drinks and pipes before you even know me?"

"If you are as old as me there is no harm in being friendly, even when you are a sworn enemy of mine." He smiled and made a welcoming gesture to the man and the chair in front of him. "Take a seat, costs just the same."

"Ah, thank you. If you have a spare pipe, I am inclined to accept your offer."

"Feel free." Roland put the smaller pipe onto the table with his cleaning device and the bag of tobacco. The candle between the man suddenly lit up and the mage smiled a bit behind his shortly trimmed beard. He ordered a new tankard with red ale for him and the other man a pint of stout.

They sat in silence with customers entering and leaving, getting breakfast, guests getting up and the innkeeper was busy as a Blinking Bee in the midst of it all. After they got their drinks, the men toasted at each other and they drank.

"So" began Roland, placed the tankard on the table, "what brings you to this place and to me especially?"

"My name is Prosir." He held the pint in his hand. "I'm with the Electorial Congregation. You are summoned, Master Roland."

"The... Electorial Congregation? The organisation which funds the Black Fortress around the Spiral and appoints the Mortal Gods?"

"Good, you have heard of us."

"I did. But what do they want with me? We never had any arrangements with each other."

"It is a matter of worldwide security, they told me."

"Sure. Like everything in the past sixty years." He scoffed. "What do they think? That they can summon me and I follow like a dog on a leash?"

Prosir raised an eyebrow, looked into his pint as he wanted to measure its content - the pint itself was made out of glass, so not really a need for that - and answered. "I don't know what my superiors are thinking, Master Roland. I am just a messenger and I delivered the message. Do what you want with it. I only know that is a matter of worldwide security and that you are well endorsed by taking the contract and by finishing your task."

"Pft." Roland chuckled. "I have no use for coin anymore." He sighed. "Okay, well... I don't have other matters to attend to, so I might pay them a visit. Do you want to accompany me or shall I venture alone?"

"If you have a few more hours, I would like to clean myself and restock on provisions, but we can travel together."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Roland, stretched, puffed one last time and cleaned his pipe. "Where do you want to meet?"

"Behind the city gate?"

"Sure."

It was shortly after midday as Prosir stepped out of the city gate. Roland leaned against the fence on the side of the road, his long dark staff nestled against his shoulder and his sword at his hip. His robe in the colour of sand nearly reached the ground and nearly covered his well-worn boots entirely. His long, brown hair was braided to keep it out of his face. The rising heat was not a problem, not for him. Even when it was, a had a small spell which could keep him cool for a long time. His bag was filled with provisions, water bags, two books, writing materials and a few crystals for the worst case. Everything else he had attached to his belt, under the robe and in a lot of pockets.

"You good to go?" asked the war mage the messenger which nodded. "Good. I have planned our route and we only need to make one stop to refill our provisions. Or I can hunt, if that is something you prefer." Roland pointed at his map.

"No." Prosir shook his head. "I know this village. The inn has barely the right to have this description, but the food is decent and it has clean sheets more often than not."

"Well, that makes it easy. Do you care for stories or do you want to wander in silence?"

"Master Roland!" laughed Prosir, a clean, pleasant sound. "I am in the presence of greatness. Your legend preceeds you. I was unsure if you would laugh at me or set me ablaze upon our meeting."

"Why should I do that?"

"You are a war mage. You are the war mage! The man who can't be killed, who is always coming back."

"Wait, even the Electorial Congregation knows about this?"

"I'm not sure if the entire Congregation knows it, but some of the higher folks, yes." Prosir folded his green cloak and strapped it to his backpack. "So, how old are you really?"

"Old." Roland smiled a weary smile. "One thousand five hundred years and a bit. Give or take a few weeks for my resurrections."

"You...what?" Prosir looked like someone had thrown a club against his head. "That is... I can't even imagine..."

"Yes, I'm as old as an Elf. Technically I am coming into my Eilhovar phase, but I'm just a human, so I just exist."

"And you are telling me this on your own free will? Isn't that a secret?"

"No? I mean, I do not tell everyone that I killed a god for the love of my life and got banished from the afterlife, but normally, if someone asks, I answer with the truth. What can they do, kill me? Ha!" He grinned and nestled in his bag. "Biscuit?"

"Oh, yeah, thank you." Prosir took one of the honeyed biscuits and thought about what Roland has said. "You killed a god...?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." The mage grinned again. "Who knows? Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe I'm lying or telling a story to explain why I am the way I am."

"But you are Roland, the Undying War Mage."

"That I am."

"Do...do you want to tell me a story while I think?"

"I could tell you the story why the dwarves call me Fjallvinur, the Mountain Friend."

"Oh, yes please, that sounds delightful."

"Well, there once was a ship and there was a Dwarf..."

~~

12. Astralon in the year 8595

Roland

A few days later the two travellers arrived at the Electorial Congregation, a building made out of stone partly build into a hillside, west of the northern point of the Long Neck mountain range.

A few guards patrolled the grounds, two were stationed at the huge wooden doors and four at the iron gate outside the small green park-like area.

Prosir showed them his sigil and introduced Roland. None of the guards batted an eye or made a remark. Apparently he wasn't so well-known as Prosir made him believe or the guards weren't informed enough.

Anyway, they opened the heavy iron gates and let both men enter. The second pair of guards took a look at Prosirs sigil and stepped aside as well.

"Don't draw your weapons.", grumbled one of them, Roland nodded. He didn't know if his staff was a weapon as it was only an enhancer. He could use magic without it, but not so controlled as it was considered wild magic. And wild magic always had severe consequences.

"Is there a procedere?" asked the war mage as they were walking through the halls and tunnels, layed out with wooden inlays, sometimes dark, sometimes not so dark. They didn't use torches or other open flames, the Electorial Congregation used crystal lamps. Depending on the crystal they emitted a different coloured light, but most of them used a candle-like colour spectrum.

"There is. I'm going to announce is in the headmasters office and then we have to see where they want to question you."

"That does sound like I am on trial." chuckled Roland.

"I don't think you are." smiled Prosir and knocked at a dark wooden door with a copper sign. Roland gulped down a bit of water before someone from behind the door shouted a response. Prosir opened the door, which creaked a bit. The men entered a relatively large room which looked like a mix of archive, library and office. Three men and four women sat at their desks, looking over papers, signing or sorting them.

"Yes?" A grumpy middle-aged man with a stamp in one hand and a paper in the other looked over his spectacles and didn't seem to be very amused. That was the headmasters office?

"Field agent Prosir returns." said Prosir. "As requests I bring the War Mage Roland."

"Aha." The man mustered Roland over his spectacles like he would muster an insect he wants to collect. "A war mage?"

"No, the War Mage."

"Even when he is the tallest dwarf in history and singing The Roadsong in Elvish." grumbled the other man again. "I'm going to announce you. The Headmasters are at the Roundtable, just take a seat. And don't touch anything!"

That was directed at Roland who looked around a bit curious and raised an eyebrow. Normally he weren't adressed that way.

"Why?" he asked more serious than he felt. "Anxious that I might steal one of your precious crystal lamps?"

"For example!"

Roland huffed, whispered a spell and began to glow for a few seconds. "No need for your crystal lamps. But I won't touch anything I am not allowed to."

"Good." The man now looked a bit more furious. "Now get out, we have other things to do!"

"As always." Prosir nodded a bit stiffly and led Roland out of the office. "Those grumpy... well, they do their job and they are good. Sadly. Normally you don't have to deal with them very often."

"And you?"

"As said, not very often. Usually when I have to report my return." He stopped at an intersection of hallways and pointed... it felt like north-west, but since there was no sun or any other indicator Roland wasn't sure. "The Roundtable is in that direction. Just go straight ahead until you reach a door with benches beside it. Sit there until someone picks you up. I am not allowed to bring you there. Oh, and before I forget: the Roundtable is not a table."

Prosir winked, bowed and vanished into other hallways leading into the hills and mountains. That was... Roland had expected some small speech or more mentions how deeply honoured Prosir was, but he assumed that Prosir noticed that Roland was a human after all, undying or not.

With a weary sigh the war mage walked into the direction he was directed to. His boots were still good, but he could do for a nice rest, a good stew and a fire, even in the midst of summer. A hot mead would suffice as well, but alas, he had only plain water and the rest of his cheese. He sat down on the bench next to the double doors, leaned his staff against his shoulder, then started to eat and to think and to drink.

The hallways were silent. Behind the double-doors people spoke, but he couldn't make out words, only tone and volume. The doors were designed like woodwork, silvery lines apparently showed streams of water or veins or nerves, were illuminated by the candlelight-like light of the crystal lamps.

Roland started to scribble into his small notebook. One of many. At first he wanted to design a few spells or one spell or a ritual, but thought again and tried to bring the hallways, the light and the atmosphere onto the thick paper, which was pretty decent. Not a painting or anything else, but it was understandable, so he thought.

After a bit over three hours the doors opened, a woman and a man, both seemed to be some sort of scholars, came out of the Roundtable. They were pale, sweating and looked really stressed out.

"War Mage Roland?" asked a voice with the nasally tone of a servant who knew that he was above guests and other people while still being on duty and at their service. It was an elderly man, the nose so high up he could look at the ceiling, hair white as snow with a few grey lines and a suit which people normally wore after dinner to smoke.

"That would be me." Roland looked up, met the gaze of the elderly servant. He had grey eyes and a sharp nose like a hawk.

"They are ready for you. Please follow me." Without taking another look the man, apparently used to being followed when he mutters the words in his nose-high-up-in-the-sky-tone. Roland figured he might should follow, so he packed away his notebook, the coal pen, grabbed his staff - he did not hurry, because he was not here to plead or negotiate, he didn't want anything from them - and then followed the servant into the room.

The description was not very accurate, since room didn't even fit. It was a huge hall layed out with dark grey stone and six six-sided pillars which were intricately inscribed. A lot of those inscriptions were the Eternal Runes, others were just pictures of events Roland had no knowledge about.

In front of him was a wooden podium with three stair steps. It was wide enough to house four normal-sized persons and their belongings. The podium itself stood before a dias, roughly about four meters high, made from the same wood as the podium.

The seats were placed in a way that they sat between the pillars and there were five of it. Each of the seats was filled. The Headmaster sat right in front of the podium and was an elf who presented himself as male right now.

To the left of the Headmaster sat an Orc with brown-greenish skin and decorated tusks in a very expensive looking suit, the remaining black hair shone of oil.

At the Orcs right side sat a female Dragonborn, wearing some kind of purple-silver robe. From what Roland could see was that she was closer to a Dragon than to a Human, her slitted golden eyes focussing on him. She reminded him a lot of Xera. The memory was a dull pain, but a pain nonetheless. It would never fade away.

On the right side of the Headmaster sat a female human, clothed in a white and yellow coloured mix of a suit and a robe, which looked out of place, but lets say, she could wear it.

The male dwarf to her side wore a robe which resembled black marble with golden veins in it. His light-brown beard was braided and only a few beads were woven into the hair. His beard also shone of oil, but not as much as the hair of the Orc.

For some reason Roland felt like he was on trial for a crime he didn't commit. Yet.

He dropped his bag to the ground and leaned his staff against the small shelf of the podium, interlocking his arms and waited. Five pairs of eyes were inspecting him like he just explained his new project at the University and needed funding for it.

"So, you are the War Mage Roland?" asked the elven Headmaster, consulting some pieces of paper in front of him. Them.

"How are your pronouns?" asked Roland directly.

"Right now? He would suffice right now." answered the elf with a slight smile. "I see you are familiar with our customs."

"Of course he us." grumbled the dwarf, pulled out a pipe. "He is the Fjallvinur. He even knows our customs. Why are we doing this foreplay?"

The Dragonborn leaned a bit forward. "Stone friend?"

"More like Mountain Friend." Roland pulled out his curved pipe as well, then his tobacco and with a small gesture he offered the dwarf a bit of it. He looked at his own, still empty pipe, and nodded. Roland whispered a word and the pipe flew into his hand. While filling the dwarven pipe, admiring the mix of wood and stone and intricate details, he explained the name. "Shortly after the Spiral Incident and before Hulwar got attacked I was at Bjarghjarta.

It should have been a mix of vacation and knowledge-gathering, but the alarm was sounded. An unknown raiding party had somehow broke into the main vault of the Golden Hoard."

"They have a main vault?" The human woman tilted her head to one side. "I always thought they were all equal."

"Main vault might be a bit exaggerated." Roland smiled, propping the tobacco until he was satisfied. "It is the first vault, directly supervised by Horifax himself." With another whispered word he sent the pipe back to the dwarf, who sniffed at the tobacco and with a deep "Hmmm" he nodded to Roland.

It never hurt to be polite.

"Long story short" continued Roland, "Horifax thought that the Stonekin dwarves were the guilty ones, confronted them and finally sent an army, led by Orcs and supported by Goblins." The war mage didn't smile. "I used my entire arsenal. It was a massacre."

"You killed at least seven or eight entire Orc clans.", hissed the Orc between his tusks. It sounded like a huge, angry cat.

"Yes, maybe I did that. My group, the catapults and crossbows of Bjarghjarta did at least the same, if not more than that, before someone gave the order to retreat." Now he prepped his own pipe with his cherry-vanilla-chocolate tobacco. "I am really sorry to have the lives and the blood of your kin on my hands. I was contracted and did my job. I'm still hearing them."

Which was not a lie, but drowned out by other pains and memories. Yeah, human brains are not made to live as long as Roland did at the moment.

The Orc huffed and was not satisfied, but Roland was not here to satisfy anyone. He lit up his pipe, puffed to get the ember going and send a ring of smoke flying to the side. "I'm with my dwarven friend here: enough with the foreplay, why am I here? Why did you summon me like one of your thralls?"

The Headmaster looked around, the silver hair was very pretty and had one long braid at the left side. "We want to contract you."

"Sorry, not sorry, not interested."

The Dwarf chuckled, the Dragonborn moved uneasy, the Human leaned back in her chair. The Orc was still angry.

"You don't know what we are offering." continued the Elf.

"So?" Roland shrugged. "I'm not a mercenary anymore."

"But we still can contract you, can we not?"

"No. What can you offer me? Gold? Titles? Honour?" He scoffed, blew another ring to the side. "I have more gold than I can spend. I have a title and I don't need more. The dwarves are honouring me as one of their own, even the Hraundvergur.

The High Elves treat me with respect, the Druids don't try to kill me, the Silver Elves and Witches include me in their prayers and festivals and the Garladans fear me.

I have friend and foes all over the world. I swam with mermaids, I dived with Selkies, I kissed a Valkyrie, befriended a Hoot and an Owlpanther.

So...what are you offering me?"

"Salvation. Or at least a part of it."

"How so?"

"We have reports of your last journey into the Spiral. Some Outsider killed you?"

"Yeah, hurt like a bitch. She was a bitch, to be honest."

"She was taken into custody and is still alive." smiled the human woman with a cold grin.

"Oh?" That peaked his interest for a moment. He puffed again to keep the ember alive. "Why do you think that should interest me?"

"Maybe you wanna see what has happened to her? I mean..." She leaned forward again. "The face of her to see you after she killed you..."

"I really doubt that she would remember me." Roland locked his eyes on the Headmaster. "Okay, I'm taking the bait. You are inclined to contract me to do what at the Spiral?"

"Go in there, venture down into the Crimson Chamber. Take an educated guess how we can close that thing."

"Aside from filling it with burning oil, spears, and stone?"

"There are still families who are hurting. Families, loved ones, children. People who never got to see their parents again; parents who never saw their child grow up. Children who lost their siblings."

"I know." said Roland in a chilled voice. "I was there, defending Manvongr."

"Yes."

"And now you want me to go down there and find out if they can be shut off?"

"Yes."

"Why me?"

"Because you are the Undying War Mage. You are coming back."

"...fuck."

The Dragonborn laughed. "Yes, fuck indeed. But that isn't the only thing we want you to do. We want you to be our Ambassador. With funding, with title, with privileges. With this you are bound to visit the nations of the Seven Nations Alliance and to ask them if they can send troops."

"To do what? Assist me?"

"For example, yes. If you find a possibility to close off the Spiral, we have armies to support us. If you don't, we bruteforce it."

"How?"

"Glowballs and other explosives. If we can't close it, we might bury them. It isn't a good solution, but it is buying us time."

"Aha." Roland did a last puff, then cleaned out his pipe in a used piece of cloth. He thought about to do it on the podium, but politeness never hurt. "That's it? Asking if the nations can send troops and going down the deadliest hole in Koria to take an educated look if one can seal or destroy it?"

"Yes." said the Dragonborn and the Headmaster unisono.

Roland took a deep breath. To be honest, it was a good task. A huge task which would keep him busy for a few months, if not years. He could learn a few things and maybe he finds a solution to his immortality and to the Spiral. One stone, two birds or something like that.

Don't get too excited, old man.

"Just out of curiosity, what are you offering me?"

The Headmaster pulled out a paper. "Our gratitude. Supplies for your mission. You can keep the title of Ambassador, but without the privileges. Access to our workshops in exchange for a small fee. Regardless of the outcome of your tasks you can order a house worth of two thousand Aureli."

Roland raised an eyebrow. The exchange rate between Aureli - the old Golden Empire currency - and the more common trading currency Sovent was around three point four, meaning it was a bit under seven thousand Sovent. It was a lot and was enough to buy a good size of real estate and to build a decent sized house. Not that he had the need for a house, but having the option was definitely something.

"And last, but not least, ten thousand Aureli, deposited in a way you can decide."

Now, that was a sum! A remuneration worthy of the dangers down the Spiral.

If it would a thing he cared about.

"It is a substantial payment." he nodded slowly, then sighed. "Alright. It is not like I have other things to do."

A few moments later Roland opened the door to the Headmasters office and was greeted with a "Oi, what are you thinking?"

He grinned at the man, who was looking at him furiously over his spectacles, and showed him a long parchment role. "That I am your new Ambassador and I'm in dire need of everything you got."

The man turned red and from now on Roland called him Tomato Head. But only in his mind.