Warm, inviting torch light spilled into the corridor from the room beyond as the trio entered. The large man shut the door behind them and barred it with a large steel beam before retreating to the opposite side of the room where he stood with his back to the wall eying the two strangers warily.
Triangular in shape, the room had a high ceiling. Two of the sides were made of thick, mildewed timbers lined with dusty shelves. One long wall, now occupied by the large human with the scar, was made of brick and held a sconce holding a lit oil torch. There was likely another secret door on this wall of the same type as the one in the alley. In the middle of the room was a square wooden table laden with black bread, cheese, fruit and a large pitcher of a golden liqueur and four sturdy looking chairs surrounded the table. The room was probably used as a hide room or safe room by the former merchant owners where they would hide valuables or contraband they didn't want taxed by the empire like imported hallucinogenic drugs sold out on Dock Street. Sarel sensed strong magic in this room; the druidess probably had warding and anti-detection spells at work and magical alarms on the doors.
Kimba Truehart swept her hood back and motioned for her guests to sit at the table in the center of the room. Khaz studied the tall druid noting the golden, almost white blond hair and dark skin of someone who spent many years in the elements. She turned and looked the dwarf in the eye, searchingly. He returned her stare then gasped the color draining from his red bearded face. Her eyes were yellow, flecked with black spots, and slitted like a cat’s!
"Shape shifter" Khaz whispered aloud. I knew she was an elven witch, he thought to himself displaying a mountain dwarf’s inherent distrust for magic. Sarel on the other hand sat back and relaxed smiling at his friend’s obvious discomfort.
"Yes master Axzen, I am a shape shifter as you call it," Kimba replied with a warm smile while removing her cloak revealing the live wood breast plate and armor favored by warrior druids of the northern forests. A slender sword was sheathed at her slim waist.
"This is a friend of my order," indicating the large man in the livery of the city guard who opened the wooden door upon their arrival. "Dev Von Fritz, formerly a knight of the empire of Khor and officer in Isegoth's city guard."
Sarel nodded in the big man’s direction but got an icy stare in return.
"Please, help yourselves to food and drink," Kimba continued pouring herself a small amount of the golden liqueur in a metal goblet. She downed the liqueur in a gesture aimed to show Khaz it wasn't poisoned or some kind of witch’s potion.
"Let's cut to the chase, I'm sure ya didn't call us here to catch up with your old friend Sar here," blurted Khaz impatiently referring to the fact that Sarel and Kimba had crossed paths before.
Pouring himself a drink the frost elf agreed “excuse my friend druid. Patience, as you know, is not a dwarven virtue and I would be a liar if I said the same thought did not cross my own mind.”
"I'll get right to the point then," stated Kimba sitting across from Sarel. "I was sent by the druidic council in Stonemeet to investigate activity in the demon blasted wastes to the south and its possible connection to the cult of Hisseesha and their leader.” The elfess paused pushing her long hair back from her face and tying it back in a loose knot before continuing. "Have either of you heard of a wizard called Primus Creed?” She asked.
"I haven't but not too many people in these parts are very eager to speak to a frost elf," said Sarel referring to his people’s unsavory if deserved reputation.
After a moment’s silence Khaz spoke up rubbing his bald tattooed head as if it pained him. "During my enslavement in the arena's of Siraq and Saumecca, the locals spoke of a powerful mage called Primus Creed who was exiled into the Ikpycgen desert for planning to assassinate the Siraqen sultan, Ali Kademnon. But I figured it was just local folklore," Khaz paused and looked around the torchlight reflecting off the dwarven runes and tribal designs tattooed on his head. He cleared his throat before continuing, "I never heard any tales a what became of him and I wouldn't know if it's the same Creed that you speak of, but legend said he was a necromancer who communed with the dead. Others said he was a vampire but the lands of the sultans are steeped arse deep in superstition. Ya can never tell what’s real and what’s fertilizer. Most times it's a little of both."
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