Vignette - Bellevue

“Uncle? Are you in there?” Moving into the warehouse he shut and sealed the doors behind him. A quickly whispered spell wove a ward of flowing wind to them that way.

“Uncle Enzo?” He waited a moment.

“ENZO!”

“WHAT! It’s bad enough I make this le pive, but you yell at me like a cow in a barn while I do it?” The ready old voice echoed in aggravation and rage from deeper in the warehouse.

He was in a bit of a mood apparently. Sighing, Jean-Pierre walked forward around the towering stacks of barrels. Once one of the premier vinters in France, the home of the best wines on earth in Jean-Pierre, and Enzo’s, not so humble opinions, Enzo had taken poorly to his new task. Creating a palatable vintage from the local available resources.

“I wouldn’t have to yell for you if you had just kept your assistant informed. I do not ask you for much-” Dammit, he knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it passed his lips.

Sure enough, “MUCH? Merde! You want something worthy of my skills and you want it now! Always now, now, now! Good wine cannot be rushed! Even this ‘le pinard’ cannot be poured in an instant from a faucet. Not even if you wanted something worthy of a cardboard box!”

Time to take a different track.“Enough Enzo, I misspoke yes? You are an artist! You could get something drinkable out of an orange rind fermenting in an old boot. As bad as this is, it is not beyond a man of your talents! We don’t need the best of french wine. Our neighbors could not appreciate it anyway. No! We need something to sell. We need things, you need things! And they cost! Please Enzo. Help your new home, yes? And for the love of all that is holy make sure Anette knows where you are and I will promise not to shout for you again, hmm?”

The old man looked like a crazed monk from an old book. Bald on top enough to look tonsured with scraggly salt and pepper hair perpetually sticking out in a band about the sides and back of his skull. A proper french skull it was too. Narrow and long. He stood only 5 feet 8 inches, but in those feet and inches he always fully stood. No slump in his posture, nor grime permitted to exist on his long fingered hands. Piercing blue eyes looked out of narrow and sharp features with no loss of intensity despite his advancing years.

The result was, unfortunately, more of a fastidious rat then the suave handsomeness the same genes had engendered in Jean-pierre. Their current mulish cast did not help. ‘Twas a pity, Jean-Pierre reflected for perhaps the 1000nth time, that the creative fires that burned within this man were so hard to see. Or that they came with an attitude only a mother could love. Or, he internally sighed, a nephew.

Jean-Pierre softened his voice, “Uncle, we will never see our beloved valleys again. But that does not mean you will never make another vintage. It would be a tragic loss to all of humanity for you to not exercise your remarkable talents. We must drink something, and this Berryaid, this Paradise Rum or New Harlem's Jungle juice, feh! Bitch beer, rubbing alcohol and paint thinner polluted with a few drops of fruit juice! Fit only for their makers top drink. You can do better in your sleep! Please! I beg of you, show these philistines our- your, brilliance. Show them that civilization has not completely died and that our people hold the torch yet. That we remain supreme in this field, and many other fields.” He took a deep breath. “We do not rate very high in the ranks of this Union yet uncle. We have not managed to show off your brilliance yet. Yet! Please, help us overthrow this dismal state of affairs.” He paused, slumping his shoulders, “Can you really stand to stay mediocre?”

The old man turned aside in frustration. He paced for a time then turned back with a sigh, stubbornness leaving his face, leaving only exhaustion. “No, nephew. I can not. This,” He gestured at the hundreds of barrels of aging alcohol, “is proof, no? But do not begrudge me my anger! Would Monet be happy using crayons? Would Michelangelo make Jello sculptures? No! I need the proper tools to make proper masterpieces! This merde! It stings my pride,” His voice, like his face dropped as his shoulders followed suit. “and pride, pride is all I still have.” He had long been separated, Jean-Pierre knew, from Fatima and Wilhelm, his late wife and son. Reduced to visits 4 or 5 times a year. A sad state of affairs, but even 4 or 5 visits with a loved one was infinitely better than none!

“No uncle, No!” They all had to look on the bright side did they not? “You still have me. You have my Noémie and little Jacquies. Let go, if you can, the past.” Advice he often gave, but could not follow, c'est la vie. “It only makes you unhappy. You have the tallents to make something great here. Not le picrate, note even wine perhaps. Call it whatever you please. Cordial perhaps. Yes, but make of it a Cordial of renown!”

The old man snorted, but the frown left his features, “Ah Nephew, you have always had a silver tongue. I am almost convinced. No, no more please.” He raised a hand to stop Jean-Pierre. “I’ve done, and will continue to do, what you asked. You do not get to tell me how to feel about it! I will reserve half the barrels to let them age a bit more, but the first batch is almost ready. I will bear the shame of it, if I must!”

Jean-pierre jumped in quickly “We must, we must!”

With a sigh he turned away. “Who would have imagined it, me reduced to the making of berry cordial.” He spat to the side, but still snapped his long fingered while speaking a short incantation. A thin, clear strand of deep red liquid snaked its way out of a sealed barrel before them. Phasing for a moment through a plug that was both there and not there. A gesture broke two small globules of liquid off, then directed the liquid snake to retreat back into the barrel. Another gesture and the globules floated before them, one each. Leaning forward but slightly Jean-Pierre sipped the liquid.

The old man had done it again, for all his fits and tantrums. An artist and a genius. Fermented mango with hints of tamarillo. It was smoothe and powerful while dragging the mind down old memory lanes. It tasted of the old county, even while being unique to the new. Yes, this was the kind of drink that would inspire. Those foreigners who were not fortunate enough to be born French, and his own people as well, who were forgetting that fact.

He could see the dawn before him, and the day was going to be bright indeed.

Chapter 4

He swam through the crystal clear water to the pleasant sound of a lute, played with considerable skill. It brought a wide smile to his face, the entertainment was a far cry from movies and personal PC’s, but that just made the bits and pieces they did have all the more precious. Skilled performers were highly valued in any hold.

Even a few norms had managed to finagle that skill into a profitable existence. Without mechanical aids projecting sounds for a wide audience took a magic user. But a smaller venue with decent acoustics was still manageable. They lost out to the magic users in some other ways though. Magic often added something extra to a song beyond just sound. Amplified emotional overtones, perhaps images or a spark of personal memory. A reminder of good times long past. It could be incredibly impressive and enjoyable. But it was also manipulative and enthralling. Timothy had a bit of a problem letting some hack of a musician mess with his head. Even when he allowed the intrusion the performance usually demanded his full attention. That was acceptable, even desirable, for a concert, not so much for pleasant background noise. There was still a place for simple, beautiful, non-magical music and this was definitely one of those times.

He found James already kicking back neck deep surrounded by 9 members of what must be his team. Five additional men and four women, if barely that. Timothy was not an expert at guessing ages, but from both looks and what James had said earlier they had to be 20 at most. Five years since the change and 15 was the usual limit for stasis. A bit less for women. Young or not, they weren’t green. There were more than a few scars dotting their exposed bodies. A history of close calls and experience that made them an adult by his measure. Even their aura’s told the tale of years of combat. He would guess they were pushing the bounds of Tier 2 individually. But with a ten man team they could punch up to low Tier 2, maybe even mid. As long as they did it smart.

Humans main advantage over the beasts was how underhanded they were, Timothy sighed at the thought. Misdirection, feints and traps. Even if a Tier 2 beast had a degree of sapience, it was far from having the experience with dickishness that a human of the same age had.

“Good evening, ladies, gentleman.”

His arrival, and unfortunately, recognition, had them scrambling upright to slam fist to chest in a salute. He wasn’t surprised. These were Runehold natives and he’d likely taught several of their magic classes. It was still annoying. Leave all the pomp to those that needed their ego’s reinforced. Timothy’s saw too much exercise as it was. “Sit, sit, no rank in the baths.” They smiled at his words, but they didn’t move to comply until he sat down himself. Youngsters seemed to take to status games more than adults these days. Maybe it was its own form of rebellion against the past? It certainly annoyed Timothy.

“Introduce me Silver? Short form please!” He said with a sigh.

“Of course. My compatriots, may I introduce you to the Father of Runes-ahhh!”

James jumped up, rubbing his behind in pain. He grumpily looked at Timothy, getting a gimlet eye in return before sighing,”-I’ll get you back for that. But fine, call him Runes in informal situations. Runes this is Tusker,” He pointed to the largest of the lot, a massive young man, scarred enough about the chest that Timothy was surprised he lived. Tusk hmm?

“-Berry,” The young lady, practically sitting in Tusker’s lap, had hair the bright blue of a blueberry. Considering the blonde roots it was an odd dye choice. Probably more to the story.

“-P.Dog,” Timothy held in the wince, the tall extremely skinny boy had an unfortunately long neck. He did look a bit like a prairie dog, sitting upright to look around. A bit cruel for a handle, even if it fit.

“-Jugs,” The girl tucked under P.Dog’s arm was slender and hard looking. All sharp angles and bladed cheek bones. That included a chest as flat as his dinner table.

“-Stabby,” The shortish Brunette sitting clockwise from Jugs had a smile so bright and cheerful he felt like reaching for his absent wallet. Paired with some decidedly exaggerated curves and he had to wonder. She was sitting alone in a party that had more than its share of pairs.

“-Ducky,” Mid sized, muscled but not to an extreme. Fewer scars and a subdued aura suggested he was less experienced. A deeper glance revealed that to be a dirty lie. His will and mana were more potent then anyone but James, but it was a flickering hidden thing, so much less in your face then Tuskers. Timothy would lay a small bet he ate mostly Tiered Cat meat. The intent of the base creature bled through. A Hog’s meat gave improved muscles, size and vitality. A Chameleon Cat’s meat improved grace, agility and concealment.

“-Midge.” Another giant, 6’6’ and bulky with Hog meat. They really seemed to love ironic handles..

“-Gotcha.” Standard military recruit look. Had Arthur's fingerprints all over him. No clue what the name entailed.

“And last but not least the two joined at the hip there are Freckles and Guile.”

A midsized redhead, next door cute, was tucked up against another MI stamped recruit. If his hair wasn’t a significantly lighter shade Timothy might have mistaken him for Gotcha. It was cut in a flat top to fit the name. Affectation or preference? Timothy couldn’t guess.

“A pleasure to meet you all. I appreciate you taking care of my younger brother. Hopefully he does the same for you.”

Various forms of “Of course!” or “Don’t mention it.” rattled back to him. Letting it settle for a minute Ducky spoke up. “Silvers tight, we’re lucky to have him. Keeps some of our more testosterone laden members-” He glanced sideways making a brief eye contact with Tusker, Gotcha, Guile and surprisingly at Stabby. Timothy really did need to watch out for those assumptions. “-from biting off more than we can chew.”

“My little brother, the voice of reason? I’m so damn proud.” Timothy snickered as he said it. It was unfair of course. James had always had a good head for situations. It had seen him to success in as difficult and backbiting a field as existed. He was level headed to a fault, just so long as he kept his ego under control.

“Ya, ya. Ham it up why don’t you.”

“I will, I will, but let's leave that for later. I haven't been over to Dorado since establishing the Threshold, why don’t you tell me a bit about what you’ve seen.”

Ducky glanced over at Tusker getting a nod, then at James for another nod before speaking. “I don’t mind telling you, Our claims are no doubt pocket change to you. But it’s not the sort of thing we like to say in public-”

Timothy raised a hand to stop him, tagging each member of the team with his intent then rotating his hand at the wrist to dramatically snap his fingers. At the same moment he activated the privacy enchantment on one of his ear cuffs. Flexing his will he made the barrier visible for a brief second, “No one will hear anything. Anyone with the skill to punch through my wards isn’t going to care about a prairie claim.” He respected their desire for secrecy, and it wasn’t pocket change. Each team would have their own favorite, and private, spots to hit. Hidden or rare resources up there beside watering holes that often boasted higher Tier beasts. Perhaps an area of naturally growing crop they could harvest at set intervals. There were no claims though, if you blabbed it about then someone else might just stop by and snag the valuables out from under you.

They were a bit startled at the casual use of sophisticated and powerful magic. That had been half the point after all. He may not care for the formality but people felt safer when they knew there were magical powerhouses around. It was one of the unstated jobs veterans had when on R&R. This lot wasn’t at that level yet.

“Ahh, right then.” A bit flustered, but showing remarkable presence of mind he shook it off and thought for a minute. “Let me tell you about a hunt we did a week and a half ago. We were a good 4 hours out of the hold. Now Silver said you just got back from a jungle run? A day's travel on the prairie isn’t nearly so far. The jungle is all about fast movement and keeping the sightlines open.

There are no sight lines on the prairie. The wild grasses and grains grow well over even a tall man's head. You have to go slow and patient. Trusting your ears and the weep to find your enemies, before they find you. Guile and P.Dog are our weepers. Damn good at it too,” He nodded to them respectfully, getting a fist to chest salute from Guile and a blush from P.Dog. “It’s nerve racking in the golden sea. Almost claustrophobic the way the grasses close in around and above you. And you can’t clear them back either. Cutting out a trail is what Hog’s do. The preferred prey of most predators. My first instructor told me that if you act like their favorite food then they’ll eat you like it.”

“No.” He shook his head, “You can’t walk too close together and you can’t crush the vegetation. You have to learn to walk through them without leaving a trail. It takes a bit of work, and a peculiar way of sliding your feet, but it can be done. This particular trip we were headed for a sunflower patch we stumbled on a year or so ago. You wouldn’t think so, with how flat it looks from a distance, but the prairie is filled with small gradual hills and ravines. Mostly that's a bad thing when you fall ten feet with no warning. But every once in a while you find these little hidden valleys. You nearly stumble into them, but that just means it’s unlikely anyone else will find them.”

“We were -

Ducky paused, holding up a closed fist to signal the others to do the same. He thought he heard a chitter. They called them Prairie Dogs, but they bore little resemblance to the animals he remembered from children's books. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was trespassing on a colony was as sure a method of suicide as he knew.

He threw several quick hand signs and waited. P.Dog would check with a weep. There were a lot of different possible predators out there. P.Dog and Guild could only check for one at a time each. Switching between wands as they moved to try for a comprehensive coverage. Inbetween it was up to sharp ears and common sense to fill the gaps. If you heard a chitter you checked for Prairie dogs. If you saw a well trod trail you checked for Hogs. Hear a loud rattle? STOP. Back up and go around. Snake leather wasn’t a bad material, but not valuable enough to waste carrying capacity on.

They didn’t have the money to purchase a pack canoe. Everything would have to be carried out. Now between them that was a significant amount of weight, but it still had to be picked for high value items.

There were a hundred other small things to watch for. From Dire rat droppings (they swarmed in the hundreds and could weigh over 30 lbs apiece) to leftover kills from the raptors or larger dinosaur types. He grimaced at that thought. All that joy as a child at the thought of dinosaurs and as an adult they scared the shit out of him.

He caught P.Dog gesturing out of the corner of his eye. He held in the curse that threatened to escape him. There was a new colony, and it was right on the line he had planned to take. They would have to find another entrance to the canyon, or forgo the harvest all together.

Fat chance of that. Those grains were worth a fat paycheck back in the Holds, throw in some of the quartz and iron pyrite they hoped to harvest this time and it was as much as they could expect to make in any 5 normal runs.

Still, they had to be alive to enjoy those rewards. He gestured the team in for a 10 minute stop. The well oiled clockwork with which they prepared was a joy to see. Each knowing their task and knowing where to step, or not to step to not interfere in the tasks around them. The weep teams switched to checking for migrating species. Raptors, hogs and rats. Ignoring prairie dogs and rattlers. Too hot this time of day for the latter to be doing anything but sunning itself, and the former only left their homes when the colony split. With a brand new colony in front of them, that was not going to happen again for quite some time.

Motion wards were arranged and activated as well as a sound deadening ward. All their efforts at stealth would be in vane if they chatted like idiots without a damper.

It took barely 2 minutes for everything to assemble. The weepers were still scanning but they were also listening in. “You saw P.Dog scan?”

He glanced around seeing grimaces but also nods of understanding. He didn’t need to explain the obvious. “About 9 hours of daylight left. We have time to go around, but this is the only safe entrance to the valley we know. Thoughts?”

Tusker raised his hand, “Not much of a cliff on the north west. Use ropes and belay down.”

Silver shook his head, “There’s not much of a cliff, it’s true, more like arroy walls. Unstable arroy walls. As likely to collapse under you as anything else. Even then we couldn’t pack nearly as much out if we have to climb.”

Stabby chimed in, “are we borrowing trouble. We know the prairie dog colony is in front of us, not exactly how far in front or how far it goes. Can we go around and slip through the usual entrance?”

Ducky grimaced, but glanced at Silver, he was the team's conscience in a way. Its risk assessor. He hesitated, but in the end agreed. “Worth a check. No maybes, if it's even remotely close we need to pass. A new colony won’t have fully dug up their boundary burrows, but dug or not, it’s still death to cross them.”

Ducky glanced around, seeing no disagreement he spoke, “We’ll do that then. Which way Jugs?” She was their lucky charm. Enough so that none of them would gamble with her anymore. But when right looked as good as left it paid to be lucky.

She pulled a coin out, blackened to prevent the shine from giving them away, and flipped it up, caught it and slapped it on to the back of her hand. “Left.”

He nodded again, “Hydrate and take care of business. We pull out in three.” Midge pulled out a small shovel from his pack. Carefully cutting a circular block of sod he triggered the enchantment to make a cut across the bottom. Then a quick tug pulled the plug out. They found and hunted beats from scat piles and scent markers. It would be foolish to return the favor.

Their business done, a handful of dried Jasmine flowers were tossed into the hole, then the sod chunk was replaced. The moisture would activate the flower's scent. Covering up anything that might leak out in a natural, if stinky as hell, scent.

The wards came down and they moved off. Carefully sliding their feet to avoid knocking down the plant life. A step at a time. Never too fast, but without stopping as well. All the while P.Daddy watched the weep like a hawk. Tracking the edge of the colony, making sure they never got to close. It took an hour to beat out of the way far enough, then back in to check the entrance. It was close, a mile was too close with the damn rodents, but a mile might be survivable. This wasn’t.

They had found a vantage point up on the hill above the valley. The unstable dirt escarpment that made up the sides of their hidden valley was now on their left as they faced back the way they had come. It wasn’t as sheer as a cliff, but it might as well have been. It was a landslide waiting to happen. Only covered in some low growing vines and fungus it was impassible without some serious construction work.

Time consuming, loud and very visible construction work. The hills on either side appeared to be one hill from a distance, a small dog leg hiding the valley from sight. The small stream that traveled the bottom of the valley after a rain might have told the tale of its existence. But it was a pretty faint clue. If they dug out the hillside all that camouflage would be lost. Freshly dug dirt stood out like a sign for anyone bothering to look.

It was frustrating, but they would have to look for another way. Or so he thought. Then Guile tapped his shoulder, shoving a weep into his hands. Glancing down, the wand had a raptor carved into it. A quick activation told him where to look. Dropping down to his hands and knees he crawled carefully to the edge. He froze as the ground started to give beneath his hands and his testicles crawling up inside his body. But they just sank in a few inches. Nothing more, and he could finally see over the edge to a pack of Raptors chewing over the wreckage of a giant lizard. Giant enough to feed 6 raptors at least. It looked like a Lystrosaurus to him. Not from any great knowledge of paleontology, but from hours playing a certain video game as a child.

Funny, his mother always said he wasted his time with games, but now look. He learned something. Just so long as he didn’t take that knowledge too far. Somehow he doubted knocking them out and force feeding them would make them rideable.

They were in the narrow corridor through the dog leg, before the entrance proper. Even without the prairie dogs there would have been no way around them. He paused to consider. One problem was a problem. Two problems though… Heh.

He crawled backwards carefully, gesturing quickly in the sign language of hunters to tell them both what he saw, and what he wanted. They stared at him with disbelief for several moments before sighing and shaking their heads helplessly. All without noise of course. He did have a bit of a reputation. Silver even gave him his ultimate compliment. A face palm. This was going to be sweet.

It took several minutes to set up, but soon enough the illusion of a baby hog, not unusual to see if it’s passel was attacked, sighted the raptors, squealing in alarm it turned and bolted away… right towards the prairie dog colony. The old tricks were the best. Predators to the core they could not resist fleeing prey. The chase was on, and soon the screaming, chittering rage of the prairie dogs was added to the mix. The team blitzed for the canyon, aware of the fight, but desperately cloaking themselves in misdirection and scent barriers while the fight kept the beasts distracted. The raptors wouldn’t go down easily, but they would go down. Nothing short of true dinosaur titans would mess with a prairie dog town, and those wouldn’t get enough meat out of the fight to make it worth their time.

Thankfully this was not anywhere near their range. Only Dinotown bordered the big boys range and it was no coincidence that they had some of the best cloaking spells in the Union.

They made the valley, breathing hard but excited. Human brains once again triumphant over the world around them, and loot to be had as a reward!

“-came out of it with two hundred pounds of flour and enough iron pyrite for 2 dozen illusion charms. It was a very good day!”

Timothy smiled at the tale. They probably exaggerated a bit, but he didn’t doubt the bones of the story.

“Impressive haul! I purchased some of that pyrite myself. Great stuff, and unusually potent. Great for illusion work, as long as it was during the day. Your hidden valley might be a mana sink. It would explain why so many sun aspected materials were present. I’d be willing to pay a high price for the quartz you mentioned.”

He could practically see dollar signs popping up in their eyes. He let the better sink in a bit before asking after the bitter. “I do have one small question though. Your distraction got you in to the valley, did you have a plan to get back out?”

Ducky blushed while nine sets of eyes glared at him. He sheepishly looked anywhere but at his team. He searched for words without success for a time before finally shrugging. Then with a sly smile he spoke.

“Well… it seemed like a good idea at the time!”

Timothy ducked beneath the water to avoid a fusillade of thrown food chunks.