#azareth

Since I started with Vyrren: the original fear was obviously the king dying and though he saves him from disease, he doesn’t save him from a revolt.

He’s both scared of the new noble house which take control of the kingdom (they had expansionistic ideas) but the funnier answer is he’s very scared of the ancient mage he asked for help with the king.

This mage is called a ‘spirit’ in the story, which means he was once a regular human but then was invested with very strong power by some supernatural beings. This, however, happened a long time ago and the spirit, Azareth (or Herrensus which is his official name) lost very much of his magic and now hid in a cave trying to regain his forces and regain the influence he once had.

Vyrren runs back to him after fleeing the city because he’s wounded and doesn’t have a better idea, and Azareth manipulates him into helping him regain his power until Vyrren realises it’s too late. He is very terrified of Azareth, but still clings to some hope that he might save his kingdom and for some reason decides Azareth is his only path to it. Thus he sticks around.

Silently, but with an eagerness that betrayed his gratitude, Ethysil took the tankard. There was an oily film on top of the liquid inside and its colour, as much as could be discerned inside the pewter, was a rusty shade of brown. Ethysil didn't give his mind time to reject the idea of drinking it before pouring it into his mouth.

While the concoction tried to eat its way through Ethysil's throat lining, Azareth found a crate and sat down, producing a pipe and biting into the stem. He packed it with hackle-lo and tamped it down, without much interest in the spluttering going on beside him. By the time Ethysil found his voice it was smouldering gently.

'As usual, Mr Azareth, you are a lifesaver.'

Azareth puffed out a lungful of smoke.

'Could of asked for it yerself.'

'R'khan would have noticed.'

'Think he noticed anyway when y'tried explaining Lord Seht's Sequence to him using a fork 'n some salt.'

'Ah.'

Another coughing fit prevented further embarrassment. When it was over, Ethysil joined Azareth on a box and smoothed a hand across his head, which was already feeling less sore than it had done five minutes ago. The sight of the feather on Azareth's hat swaying in time with the horizon didn't turn his stomach, either. He frowned at it anyway, then beneath the brim, where Azareth was watching his pipe smoke absently.

'While we're alone, do you mind if I ask you something?'

'Nah.'

'Did I see you calling in your debts back in Solitude?'

After a moment, Azareth slumped a non-committal shoulder.

'Aye. Needed gold for supplies.'

'You were doing it in Northpoint, too.'

'Needed a lot a' gold.'

'And yet you haven't asked any of the crew to pay up.' Ethysil waved away the pipe smoke, which clung to his hand for a moment and then faded away. 'Is something going to happen?'

'What makes y'say that?'

'You're a gambler. Nobody can call them like you. When I see you cashing in your old debts, I start to think that perhaps I ought to be doing the same.'

Azareth shifted on his crate until he faced the rest of the deck and crew, who were finished with the sail and preparing for a mage drill. Nobody had any reason to visit their corner by the prow. He waited until Oran had stamped below decks to marshal the newer recruits before turning back.

'It's a hunch, is all.'

'Your hunches are more reliable than a direct visitation from the Three accompanied by written scripture.'

The ashes in the pipe bowl glowed bright.

'Things're changing. Seen it in R'khan's face. Dunno what, dunno why, but I thought, mebbe now's the time to settle any outstanding scores. Don't hurt to be prepared.' He tapped the pipe against his knee a few times. 'Don't s'pose the Three've mentioned anything?'

'No, but I can ask. It's almost time for the Ritual, and thanks to you I might manage to get through it alive.'

No time like the present, either. Vilayn, overseeing the drill, had finally noticed the slackers to the fore of the ship, and if he hadn't stopped to criticise the formation of the mages along the side Ethysil knew he would have been the next up for a tongue lashing. As it was, he did his best to appear full of purpose as he strode towards the hatch, and only paused when Azareth coughed.

'Ethys?'

'Yes?'

'Y'owe me a septim for the cure.'

Azareth was smiling, but Ethysil knew better than to assume this meant it was a joke. He flicked his fingers into a gesture which definitely wasn't recognised by any subsect of the Tribunal Temple.

'Tight bastard.'