Shan: The Drunk of Perpetual Luck

The Drunk of Perpetual Luck

Tanopah gazed across the mountains. Her mountains. They were her mountains because no one else claimed them. In fact, they had no name. Among the Mazarin of Grel'lspoth and their tepid followers, this would have been common. Her people broke with that tradition centuries ago; still, these were nameless, not out of vain respect, but out of carelessness.

The mountains were remote in several aspects of the word. They were remote from the main of Alani – the civilized portion of the land, as the bulk of the inhabitants of the continent saw it. Civilized to those tepid souls content to remain ignorant of the whole, and idle in its cozy interior. It was, however, also remote to her people and her sect – more distant to her people than to her sect, the proud Mazarin who remained behind during The Extroversion.

The mountains lay at the far borders of their land, abutting Alani. Yathrib stood opposed to Grel'lspoth, as a great rival. The rivalry took the form of a struggle for influence, spilling over on occasion into open warfare by proxy as the two strove for dominance over the Mazarin mountains and the fractious city-states of their kind. When Grel'lspoth spear-headed the movement to leave behind the mountains, Yathrib saw their chance to step from beneath the shadow of Grel'lspoth's peaks. There were reasons they wanted to be left behind, although to do so they walked a line ever so fine, lest suspicion fall upon the city and be their downfall. In the end, Yathrib appeared weak, their influence ineffectual, and all the other city-states followed Grel'lspoth in their folly. Just as Yathrib wanted.

Yathrib was left alone, save for one factor.

Tanopah's sect, The Enlightened, represented the challenge, and over the centuries, Yathrib turned The Enlightened and their challenge into an advantage. Overtime, and with contact, Yathrib's gilded tongues found purchase and exerted influence over the sect tasked with ensuring their isolation from the Mazarin people, and now the two were as one. Tanopah's family dwelled alongside the Ebrakon in Yathrib for generations, but she became the first of her kin to join The Enlightened. That sent her here, to this distant outpost of her sect where few ventured.

The isolation enabled her to proceed with the sect's most vital work, unobserved and unbothered.

Snow wreathed the mountain peaks and the valleys were hazy, the white haze of distant snowfall. Hearty boughs of coniferous trees bore the weight of the recent storm which had swept over the enclave. Set as high in the mountains, the majority of storms passed well beneath, but this last one had reached to the heavens, shutting them within their buildings and setting them to stoking fires against the murderous cold.

The scene, a day removed from the blizzard, sparkled surreal in the sunlight. For as far as Tanopah could see sprawled wilderness, reminding her of the largeness of the world and the possibilities therein. The world consisted not just of the ice-bound paths of the high enclaves, nor the bustling center of their civilization at Yathrib; nor only the large valley that was Alani. No, the world was far larger, and her work on behalf of Yathrib and The Enlightened, like the expanse before her, served as a tangible reminder of the vastness of life. Of possibility.

Tanopah drew in several large, purifying lungsful of air. The thin air, brittle with cold, seared her lungs, but she'd grown accustomed. She inhaled with purpose, this time focusing on the scent of pine and of the smoke of the enclave's fires.

The rough boughs girding the overhang above the front door of the main building welcomed Tanopah when she turned back to her duties. Most sanctuaries of The Enlightened were constructed primarily of stone – they were Mazarin after all – but, up here, the builders took advantage of the plentiful timber close at hand. Thick timber formed the walls and passageways for the segmented enclave, constructed in small pods with a central, open-air chamber. Unlike anything back home in Yathrib, arches dominated the building's construction, providing an artistic flair, at one with the surroundings.

Snowflakes began to fall in a soothing waltz upon the air, rather than as heralds of a fresh blizzard. Flakes too close to the conclave disintegrated as Tanopah pulled open the thick door and heat spilled out. She stepped inside and let her eyes adjust a moment to the darkened hall.

In a rote manner, she made her way to the chamber wherein she spent the bulk of her time, using the hall's twisting length to immerse her mind in the depths of her studies. As such, a moment slipped past before her mind identified the object out of place.

Her eyes passed unperceiving over the drunken man who lay sprawled across the table. Tanopah blinked. An Alanian? She smiled to herself, chiding her overtaxed mind for playing tricks on her, even as she turned back to the table.

But, there he sat, an Alanian!

Tanopah's shock was such that not even the sight of the drunkard sprawled across her precious notes, hand curled around the artifact, failed to spur her to action. Her arms hung limp at her side, mouth agape.

"How?" she stammered, the single word encapsulating a multitude of questions.

"I walked in, of course," the man slurred back in response, causing Tanopah to jump. He did not look lucid. "Was cold," he said, wiping at his mouth with a besmirched forearm.

The Alanian seemed to come to himself a bit, lifting his head and glancing appraisingly around the room. His mind first appeared to register the empty tankard, which he tossed carelessly aside, muttering something unintelligible, but clearly a grumble of discontent. Next, the Alanian – her mind still tried to comprehend the presence of an Alanian in her enclave – found the artifact in his fist.

"Hey!" Tanopah gasped as the man made to toss the artifact, dice-like, across the table. He fixed her with unfocused eyes, shrugged and tossed it to Tanopah. She yelped, and reached for the precious bit of rock-like material, fumbling, before corralling it against her chest.

She looked up to find the drunk standing, swaying, before her, taller than her but much less steady, especially when inebriated. She took an involuntary step back and opened her mouth to call for the guards. Before she could, the Alanian shoved a half-eaten roll into her mouth, a sloppy grin covering his wide face, and made for the hall.

Tanopah spat out the roll and stumbled after him, rage beginning to trickle in through the shock. He was already disappearing around the corner. He must have picked up his pace because, hurry as she might, she failed to catch another glimpse of the man.

Tanopah burst outside, sure he must have taken this route, and examined the snow for tracks – but the snow had picked up in the short time since she had been out and obscured any trace he might have left. White clouds hung high overhead.

Another blizzard approached.

Huffing, Tanopah returned to the enclave and darted through the hall to the central courtyard connecting the eight separate buildings of the enclave, and called for the guards.

A thorough search of the enclave yielded nothing. She expected as much. The drunk had stumbled off into the mountains. He would die in the snow and her problem, her breach of security, would die with him.

Accompanied by a simmering anger, Tanopah returned to the chamber to set about inspecting everything. He had touched nothing, it transpired, save for the artifact, her food, and her ale. That last was gone to the last drop, making her wonder how long he had been there. Surely not that long! It took her hours of scrutiny to satisfy herself that the artifact was, indeed, undamaged. No harm had been done, she reminded herself as she lay awake, troubled, deep into the night as a blizzard raged. He would not survive the night. She rested confident in the knowledge.