Children of The Underground

Chapter 1: The Shubin Tavern Pair

Vladigorsk, Mednagora, 1438

In a quiet corner of The Shubin Tavern sat a young man wearing a shapeless, brown tunic and grey trousers. He had a coinpurse on a string belt with little gold and plenty of air. He also carried a loaded cap-lock pistol, but rather than in his purse, or even in a holster, the man had it hidden down the front of his pants. Even though you were more apt to blow your balls off, people carried pistols in The Shubin Tavern because it was a cesspool on Butcher's Lane, aptly named for both the butchers that cut pigs during daytime and the butchers that cut men in the night.

A pretty, sandy-haired barmaid brought the man a cup of vodka. She set it down before the young man. The candlelight cast shadows like dancing demons over his tan face. The flickering flame reflected off of his dark eyes like obsidian mirrors. He looked up at her and smiled.

"Thanks," he said, gulping down the vodka in a fell swoop. "Perchance you've seen a woman. She looks about my age. Ash-blond hair, green eyes. Probably as pale as a ghost." Drazhek was smiling, but the barmaid was not. With a quick peek over her shoulder, she bent down to him and asked

"Are you looking for a vedmak?"

The man nodded, and was just about to reply, when he saw his guest approaching him.

Drazhek's guest was a tall, yet sturdy woman, with ash blond hair cut unevenly down to jaw-length. She had a sharp narrow face with thin lips and small nose. She was as pale as chalk, with purple-red cheeks. She was also dressed in a brown shirt and grey trousers, but they were considerably more well-worn than Drazhek's. All of this was under a rucksack and a black gambeson of studded leather. Some sort of harness that holstered a pistol at her shoulder, and a short sword at her hip.

The woman, in short, was the perfect illustration of a vedmak.

Drazhek's guest passed behind the barmaid and sat down opposite to him. Without looking at him, she glanced at the barmaid and smiled.

"Mila, get us a bottle of vodka with two tumblers, a plate of zakunski, and two bowls of fried potatoes." said the vedmak. Without a word, Mila the barmaid, walked away from Drazhek and the vedmak, disappearing into the chattering, singing, and swearing throng.

Finally, the vedmak turned to the man, but her smile became a smirk, of amusement.

"You know, when I posted notices at inns and crossroads, I expected a local bandit or cutthroat. But why's a highland brazier—" the Vedmak pointed to the pistol in The man's pants, which from his fidgeting now pointed barrel-up in an awkward bulge "—so happy to see me? Especially in a pub like this?"

Mila the barmaid came back with a glass bottle of vodka in the crook of her arm and two pewter tumblers in her palm. Mila sat the cups and bottle in front of The Vedmak and glanced down at the man's pants. She locked eyes with Drazhek, stifled a laugh behind her hand,

"I'll come back with the potatoes and zakunski" she giggled on her way out.

The man stuck a hand down his pants to rearranged the gun, turning scarlet. He then looked up at the vedmak, praying his face wasn't as red as he thought.

"My name is Dragomir Sventoslavichi. But you can call me 'Drazhek'". Drazhek extended a hand out to the vedmak, which the vedmak shook heartily. "And you're right. I'm a tvastrian. Though a tradition of forging orichalc doesn't make my people mere braziers."

"Brass that can conduct magic and can make magic items is still brass. And most people of Tvastrian ancestry usually live in the mountains"

"Now see," Drazhek replied "Tvastrians, such as yours truly, mined vajra crystals and orichalc years before Mednagorans came. Without either of those two, thaumaturgy would be impossible. Without thaumaturgy, artifacts would just be sideshow attractions, and the word 'vedmak' would just mean a fairytale sorcerer."