-[Chapter 015]-

It was a quiet morning in Razazil’s private quarters. The Admiral sat at his table holding a glass of gin in his hand, pondering his decision to contact Basil von Doom. Ever since handing off his letter to Drum, he had felt like something was choking him; pressing on his throat from within. He had sought to wash the uncomfortable sensation away with alcohol, but it would always return. Now, as he once more began to feel it creeping up his throat, he raised the drink in a silent toast to a framed painting that hung from the wall in front of him—a portrait of the dragon-kin commander in his early years. The youthful expression of the Admiral in the frame stared back at the old man with a fiery conviction in its eyes, reminding him of whence he came. An assorted crown of sabers lined the margins of the frame, reminding him of what he’d done.

His cabin was Razazil’s home when out at sea, so it had all the creature comforts that one might expect. The room was bright and spacious with a good view of the harbor through the windows at the back. Charts and astral navigation tools rested comfortably in the white ivory and gold trimmed shelves that lined the walls. The cabin almost resembled an opulent scholar’s study with how many books and curiosities there were, but the trophies of monsters mounted on the walls skewed the scene enough that it gave off more of a gentleman adventurer kind of vibe instead.

His king-sized bed was tucked away in the corner, partially hidden behind a wall of curtains that served to separate it from the rest of the room. For a split moment a presence could be observed moving under the sheets. A slender shape burrowed herself deeper into the pillows and let off a long sigh. She then stretched out her arms before settling back into the comfortable embrace of the soft bedding. Through the tufts of her ruffled hazel brown hair a pair of cat ears stuck out. They subtly twitched every time the hull of the ship creaked under its own weight.

Razazil paid no mind to the sleeper softly snoring away in the corner. She was the least of his concerns right now, although he would have preferred her company over that of the gin, yet his desire not to disturb her was greater than his need for company. The old dragon-kin admiral brushed his long whiskers between his rough fingers as he pondered on matters more serious. They were not quite claws, his nails, but they were sharp enough to be used as weapons in a pinch. A hulking creature in his own right, the dragon blooded Admiral carried a resemblance to his much larger kin, but passed closer to a demi-human than a demi-dragon. Unlike his distant cousins, the lizardmen, he did not possess a scaly skin, but, rather, a rough and dark gray hide with a small patch of dark orange fur on the back of his head that ran down his neck. Likewise, there were several elongated patches of fur on his arms. The signs of his advanced age could be seen in the gray ends of his mane.

The old dragon-kin Admiral had seen it all; done things that would boggle the minds of most adventurers. He had succeeded in building himself a reputation that was sure to outlive him, but even he felt a little insecure about delivering on his promise to aid Basil von Doom on his quest.

Razazil curled his whiskers back and forth as he observed the small adamantium lockbox on his table. The dark green metal of the container glistened in the light cast by the magic lamps that were positioned throughout his cabin. The locking mechanism of the box appeared simple, but there were several rows of magic runes etched into the metal around the keyhole. These enchantments granted it an unnatural ability to resist attempts at lock picking both physical and arcane.

The Admiral poured the last of the gin down his throat and left the empty glass on the table. He then produced a key from the pocket of his jacket and placed it in the lock of the adamantium box, but did not turn it. He spent a while pondering whether or not to open it, but eventually he decided against it and placed the key back into his pocket.

“This was a mistake to begin with,” Razazil told himself in a coarse voice. “Why did I agree to this bargain? I shouldn’t set him on a path of ruin… It’s not what she would have wanted for him.”

The old Admiral got up from his chair and carried the lockbox over to a wall mounted safe. Once the precious item had been secured within, Razazil closed it and pinned several trap scrolls to the door—for good measure.

“Do you think that would stop a good thief?” someone whispered.

Razazil snapped around and reached for the saber that he usually wore around his waist, but found no weapon there. He remembered that he had left it next to his chair, but as he looked towards his desk he found a dark figure sitting in his place, clasping the empty gin glass in his gloved hand. With his boots resting on the table, the Dark Ranger struck a leisurely pose as he reclined on the chair.

Schwartz raised the empty glass towards the Admiral in a greeting. “If I was your enemy, you’d be dead right now,” he said in a hushed voice, mindful of the sleeper in the corner of the room.

“Then I am glad that my enemies are nothing like you,” Razazil replied. Cautious of his intentions, the dragon-kin Admiral approached the ranger in such a way as to position the desk between them, just in case.

“Basil is coming,” Schwartz said.

The expression of the Admiral grew bitter. “So, Drum has delivered my message,” he said. “I was half expecting that dwarf to chicken out at the last moment.”

“He was never one to go back on an agreement,” Schwartz said. He gestured towards a second glass that was resting on the desk. “I take it he had a hand in convincing you to do this?” he asked.

“It was my decision to inform Lord Doom of my findings,” Razazil answered. “Just like Drum, I am not one to go back on an agreement.”

“You do understand the gravity of the situation that you have placed us all in?” Schwartz asked. “The fate of our venerable House now rests in your hands; its future to be decided by what you are going to tell him today.”

Razazil raised his pointed snout at the dark ranger. “Trust me,” he said, “I have long pondered the consequences of my contract with the Young Master. If it is to be the wrath of the Guild or the covenant that Chronos made that will do me in, I will embrace it. I am a third party, but I am equally bound to whatever becomes of House Doom, so trust me when I say that this was not a choice that I made lightly. I have already placed my life on the line.”

The Admiral’s gaze focused on the daggers that Schwartz was wearing strapped to his chest. “Are you here to…” he asked.

“Protect you,” Schwartz answered. His expression betrayed a hint of irritation. “The letter has been delivered; the die has been cast. I am just here to make sure that no harm comes to you until the Young Master arrives.”

“So it is because he has commanded it that you have not slain me yet?” Razazil asked. “I was under the impression that Chronos would have had me killed, before I delivered on my promise to Lord Doom.

“I hope that you understand why I did it?” Razazil asked.

The Dark Ranger nodded. “You have placed us all in great danger,” Schwartz said. “If the Guild finds out what we are doing, it won’t matter what part we played in this circus of lies and deception. If they learn of our intention to go against their tabula rasa protocol on Basil’s father, a quick death is the best we can expect.”

“I know of the dangers involved,” Razazil said, “but I cannot go back on my promise to Basil. I will deliver what I have found, no matter how you and the others might feel about it.”

Schwartz gestured towards the wall mounted safe. “Is that it?” he asked. “The end of the trail that you have grasped? What is it that you found, exactly?”

“Something that I will only reveal in the presence of Lord Doom,” Razazil answered.

Schwartz scoffed. “I told you already, that I am no longer in on the conspiracy with the rest of the gang. You can tell me—I won’t hurt you, no matter what you have tucked away in that fancy box.”

The old Admiral furrowed his whiskers. “I apologize, Schwartz, but I have no reason to trust you on your word alone.”

“That hurts, you know,” the Dark Ranger said. “I thought that we knew each other well enough.”

“We do,” Razazil answered. “That is why I can’t tell you what’s in the box until Lord Doom has granted me his protection.”

Schwartz shrugged. “He already has,” he said. “The Young Master sent me here to guard you. Didn’t you hear me?”

The Admiral shook his head. “Sadly, it is you and Chronos that I have come to fear the most,” he said. “Your dedication to preserving the House of Doom is impressive and that is exactly why I must keep up my guard.”

The Dark Ranger’s inquisitive gaze dug deep into the rough features of the old dragon-kin Admiral. “You found the place, didn’t you; the old dungeon—the one holding the abominations?” Schwartz asked. “I figured it had to be something like that, otherwise you could have hinted at the nature of your discovery in the letter.

“Tell me, did it strike fear into your heart?” he asked. “Or were you impressed by the brutality of our old master?”

Razazil’s expression did not change, but the Dark Ranger took his lack of an answer as an admission.

Schwartz’s voice grew cold. “You do realize that if Basil learns of that place, he will drag us all there and down a path that we worked so hard to bury.”

The old Admiral reached out his hand towards the ranger. There was a flame swirling in his eyes and his chest began to rise and he prepared himself for battle. He addressed Schwartz in a grim tone. “May I ask two things of you first?”

The Dark Ranger retained his leisurely posture, tilting back and forth on the hind legs of the reclined chair. “And those would be?”

“Spare the woman in the bed and hand me my sword,” Razazil said. “I would also ask you to deliver the box to Basil, but I know that Chronos would never allow that to happen.”

“With all due respect, I reject your request,” Schwartz answered.

The old Admiral sighed in bitter disappointment and raised his fists, ready to defend himself. Schwartz observed the determination of the dragon-kin admiral to fight for his life with clear indifference.

“I already told you that I was not here to harm you,” the Dark Ranger said. “I have left the covenant,” he explained. “If Chronos wanted to stop you from divulging any information to the Young Master, then he would have sent someone else.”

Razazil tilted his head in disbelief. He then lowered his fists. “You do understand what will happen once Basil uncovers the source of his creation,” he asked.

“All hell will break loose,” Schwartz answered. “We both know that he will risk it all to find out the truth, once has had a taste of it. But I believe that if we follow his orders and somehow avoid antagonizing the Guild, the House might just remain standing at the end of it. Unlike my fellow conspirators, I am at peace with those odds.”

Schwartz playfully swirled the empty glass in his hand. “Besides, I want to find out what happened to his father no less than you do. We all do. It’s just that some of us fear the consequences of re-discovering what was taken from us by the tabula rasa protocol. Chronos and Gaia are all too eager to live in a fantasy world where the old master will one day return to us to make sense of it all. And I don’t blame them. Not after what we found in that place.

“The House barely survived the banishment of its former master,” he said. “It was only due to our influence over the Guild at the time that were not erased along with him, but it is a grace we won’t be offered again. The House is as strong as ever under Basil’s rule, but it now stands alone.

“If Lord Doom fails to hide our actions from the Guild, then this time we will all be done away with—hunted down and erased from history, just like his father was. At least we think he was, but that’s the problem with the tabula rasa protocol: you don’t know what you don’t know. You only know that you don’t know it…” He spat on the floor. “Fucking magic bullshit, that!”

Razazil took a moment to consider his situation. “What happens now?” he asked.

“Now we wait,” Schwartz answered. “Send out your ships to look for the Young Master. He will be arriving in the 9th Hell in a few hours via an unmarked teleportation site in the outer districts. He expects a pickup. No ceremonies—this visit to Port Malus is to be kept from the Guild’s records, if at all possible.”

He once more raised the empty glass towards the old Admiral like a beggar would his hand before a passing stranger in the street. “How long do I have to wait for you to treat me to some of your fine stock?” he asked.

“Then I have your promise that you will not try to prevent our meeting?” Razazil asked.

“You have more than that, old friend,” the Dark Ranger said. “You have my respect for doing what we couldn’t. Now, pour me a drink already. This is going to be a long morning if we stay sober.”