CAIRN

Ch 5 - Spiritual Finance

The trio stepped out into the warm spring morning. Thea took the lead, and headed towards a nearby plaza where they could confer in a less cramped space. Around them, Brenin had begun it's daily bustle of people carrying baskets full of various goods around. In its alleyways, hustlers scammed chumps out of their pocket money and guards had already picked young women to harass. In a corner, a man loudly preached from the Book of Ruo, a half-cent excuse for a religious text.

Upon arriving to McGulligan's plaza (named after a doctor born in Brenin, one of its few points of pride), Thea sat by the fountain and turned to see the two envoys walking awkwardly towards her. She inspected them once again, now under direct sunlight. Strangely enough, their appearance looked a bit less off putting now, as if their bodies had been settling into more normal shapes and looks.

"Alright, you, the blond one," she said, pointing at Rolfen, "tell me what this ritual is."

"Oh, it's a sort of detachment ritual," said Roflen with his index finger pointing upwards, "You break your bonds to an object so that others may claim full, legitimate ownership of it. Not too complex, but we can't do it ourselves."

"We need Petruvim," Wick chimed in.

"Who?" asked Thea.

"A spirit that lives in its own plane," said the short man, "she's left gateways around to reach her."

"How do I know you're not just taking me somewhere you can kill me and take this thing?" Thea said, tossing the rock upwards and catching it.

"You don't," replied Rolfen.

Thea's eyes went wide. It's not common to hear such brazen honesty, especially from people coaxing you into something.

"Okay" she said, breathing deeply, "where's that gateway?"

Rolfen pulled a parchment from his robe. He traced a long bony finger through it, searching for something. "It says here that the gateway is somewhere in Ginvell, you know where that is?"

Thea looked at him in disbelief. "That's several towns over!" she yelled, standing up, "Even on a horse it's four days or more! Do either of you have the money to rent three horses for that long?"

Rolfen and Wick just stared at her blankly. Wick managed to shake his head a bit. Thea paused for a second.

"You're telling me you were sent here by incredibly powerful beings, who not only make you all... all weird but they also don't give you enough money to get around? Do you have any money at all?"

She was met with blank stares again.

"No money?!" Thea's face was getting very red, "that's it, I'm done here, let whatever spooky demon come get me. I'm not going to walk for a week to meet a spirit that you may as well be making up, and all of that on my dime."

She breathed louder still. The men didn't speak.

"Not to mention my boss gets back in three days and I can't get fired. I'm barely making rent as it is for goodness' sake!" tears started to form in her eyes "and I've been saving for months now to buy another damn pair of boots because I can barely walk in these disheveled things, and, and...your damn names are so stupid and you both smell like rotting wood, and..."

Thea stopped. She closed her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks. After a few minutes of nothing but the sound of carriages and distant conversations, Thea's breathing had returned to normal.

"Please tell me one of you has a way to get there and back before my boss gets back."

"You have a local wizard?" said Rolfen, finding his voice, but only the tiniest portion of it.

"Two of 'em," replied Thea, "but they're your average town wizard, I don't think those know how to move people distances like that."

"Ah," said Wick, bearing a satisfied smile "but they might know someone who will."

The three of them talked for a bit longer and settled on visiting a nearby shop. Thea guided Wick and Rolfen down Longstead Avenue to Trenolio's Gallery of Enchantments.

Eustace Trenolio IV was seventy-three years old, bald, and missing an eye. He never became a Magister in the Ethereal Arts after his expulsion from the Seminary at the age of twenty. However, his knowledge was enough to make basic lucky amulets, enchant pots against burning food, and make a few sparks fly from his fingertips on command. Like most other town wizards, he absolutely excelled at mediocre magic.

Mr. Trenolio's store had been a fixture of Brenin for at least two centuries. Mr. Trenolio's great great great great grandmother was a harlot who'd slept with the Archmage of the Red Tower. She learned a few tricks and started selling them to the townspeople in a shop she bought from an old woman with no legs. The shop was housed in a small building made of dirty, gaudy purple bricks. A cast iron sign dangled unsafely from atop the store's door, threatening to bring a swift end to a soul unfortunate enough to be entering the store at the wrong time. Behind filthy window panes lay tacky displays of multicolored bottles, poorly carved statuettes, and thick fur robes that were probably as old as Mr. Trenolio himself.

But perhaps the town had underestimated Mr. Trenolio's magical senstitivities. As soon as Thea walked in with her two companions, the old man stood up from his chair at the back corner of the store and walked up to the three visitors. His one eye carefully scanned the three of them while he puffed on a funky-smelling pipe.

He took a few seconds to stare into the distance and said, "Hah! So you're burdened with the stone now huh?"