15th of Cylus, 721
It was a shop for dreams and wonder, a place wherein history-laden items ended up behind a double-layer, reinforced glass. Like a fortress in the mind for the first time explored, the mouth could only gape and the tongue could only dry as the eyes, wide as plates and empty like fish’ stared bewildered at the produce of history. All these items, rescued from the darkest tombs or raptured from the bloodiest of conflicts reunited here, near Fensalir’s Town Center for all interested to see – and buy, should they have the means.
In Cylus, the Bloody Story was usually closed, and so its items were left in their glass displays like bodies stored in unlit pyres. Frozen snow stacked in the streets, unmoved and unbothered by a populace forced to remain, for the most part, gathered around feeble fires in their homes. Harsh, whistling winds howled as they took over the streets, and the spirits of winter once again reigned the Melrathi streets with a frozen fist. Whenever Cylus was gone, the Bloody Story would once again open its gates, and those collector’s items, those objects of power and those accessories with long, forgotten lore would, once again, claim the coin of the wealthy – of the really, extremely wealthy that is. On this afternoon, however, an exception was made. The Bloody Story was open privately for the Dragon in exchange of a favor for an old friend. Gratitude weights more than a pound of gold between honorable men. Candlelight provided a dark, dim orange gleam to the glass displays, and the objects displayed took, mostly, a crimson shine that warned of their origins. Just like an old sword dipped in warm water and scrubbed clean, the blood it had tasted remained forever etched in the metal. So did Dandlren Kolasiir’s collection show its bloody origins, and thus named the shop for what it was: a bloodbath put on display. At least here history was truthful, and its violent tales were not painted over and discarded as irrelevant by a nescient historian.
Peake met the Eidisi waiting by the door. They shook hands, exchanged names rather dryly then stepped into the shop. The door was locked behind them, and its owner stood by it as his guest stared in wonder at the emporium. Swords, shields, books, banners and accessories all posed in their grim light, trying to lure Peake like a siren a sailor, trying to make him reach behind the glass and feel their enticing shape with his very own hands. The former nobleman, having been surrounded by luxury for most of his life, was quick to fall victim to their charm. Neglecting his associate, he ventured further into the store, and drank in the sight of the memorabilia like he’d drink in the beauty of a busty redhead. Like a child in a maze, Peake wandered through the corridors, trying to remain indifferent and yet knowing full well he was failing. The Eidisi followed some distance away, silent and unheard like a ghost, as if taking pleasure in this enslavement of the eyes in a vicarious manner. Eventually Peake landed onto something that not only captured his gaze but froze his steps. An old, battered target shield. Vaguely on the wood was displayed a seven-headed serpent, its long, worm-like necks stretching out in all directions to match the circumference around the edge of the shield. Peake stared.
“The shield of Torind Kolas, owner, builder and three-time conqueror of Kolas Hill,” Dandlren explained. His voice was grave, lifeless and almost monotonic even if full of knowledge and objective wisdom. “Have you heard of Kolas Hill?”
“I’ve heard it mentioned in old texts only,” Peake replied. His eyes left not the shield, admiring something on it that wasn’t really there but felt more real than the old wood itself.
“Kolas Hill is a castle built in Etzori territory, nearing the border of both present-trial Rhakros and Ne’haer. Four-hundred arcs ago, when Etzos was being formed, Kolas had amassed a fortune after leaving The Seven Banner Army, a mercenary force, and finding better fortune through banditry. Having made enemies everywhere and knowing no safe haven would be found for his treasure, he set on to make his own castle and his own kingdom by setting atop a hill. Through his riches, he managed to have a castle built in the middle of nowhere, and when it was done, he settled in it. Isolated from the trade routes and from any party large enough to lay siege on the fortress, he had forgotten to ensure a way to receive supplies safely and on a timely manner – or to grow his own. His fortune was, thus, his downfall. His reputation and his wealth attracted every smaller fish, so to speak, who starved him out of the fortress by robbing his supplies and slaughtering any merchant heading towards the hill. Unwilling to part with his fortune, a Defiant buried the treasure far below the castle, and was forced to flee. The story then takes a cyclical approach: a party looking for his fortune would wry their way into the castle only to be starved by the next greedy party, then kicked or massacred out of the castle before the treasure could be found. Kolas Hill has been, ever since, a living of example that has inspired most, if not all, of Idalos’ military tactics and strategy. How to conquer a castle with a small force, how to defend a position, how to get past defenses unnoticed – most of those teachings come from the documented doings of every ambitious bandit that laid their eyes on Kolas Hill.”
“Is it true, then?” Peake questioned. “Is his fortune still buried in the ground?”
“So goes the story. Kolas Hill is a ruin by now, but it’s still being fought over even to this trail. Part of it is the allure of hidden treasure, the other more realistic reason is that it’s a fortress men with tainted hands use to hide away. Curiously, there used to exist a title called ‘Conqueror of Kolas Hill’, who was given to anyone who managed to capture the castle and hold it for a season. Many promotions were given to owners of such titles.”
“Where’d you get the shield from?”
“The Etzori Museum of Art and History. I knew an advisor who worked closely with the High Marshall before the Takeover.”
Peake looked over at the Eidisi. Dandlren was as tall as every Eidisi, even taller than Peake himself. His body was lithe and supple, and seemed athletic enough to compensate for the deep blue wrinkles populating a stoic, calculative face. His eyes, a pale, dead blue, were as cold and unfeeling as if they belonged more to a primal animal than a sentient being – at least, they would’ve been should they fail to show the great logical intelligence behind them. Lifeless eyes for a man as lifeless as his collection, Peake thought. The Eidisi donned furs of high quality, a quality Peake had yet to see in Melrath, but it was those eyes that made the shopkeeper a rarity himself. Worthy enough to be put behind glass, perhaps.
“You’ve spent your life collecting items of quality and of history. I’m here looking for advice.”
“Advice is rarely useful and seldom sought, Mister Andaris, especially for men like you,” the Eidisi replied. “Yes, I know who you are.”
Peake cringed at the mention of his surname, surprised at his identity being exposed so cheaply as a whore for a copper. “I need to measure the worth of the Mountain Pride Reserves, its members,” he continued, feeling somewhat victimized by the studious nature of the Eidisi. “I need a price tag for them, so to speak.”
“And you figured simplifying them like objects could erase the obvious flaws of mortal nature and the complexity of the soul,” the Eidisi replied, not with disdain or condescendence, but with a logical understanding as if having jumped onto Peake’s own mental process. “It’s an ambitious enterprise, one I’m unsure if I can aid in.”
“I’m still interested in your perspective,” Peake insisted. “How would you go about it?”
The Eidisi thought for a moment, and yet his eyes remained on Peake, fully present. “Objectifying life is a mathematical equation wherein the flaws are measured against the strengths, the value of which is placed against the background in question. Mercenary qualities such as aggressiveness, compliance and or poor moral standing must thus compete with flaws like substance abuse, belligerence and neuroticism, depending on the type of function these men will have. It depends mostly on that background and of the tasks you’ve planned for those men.”
“I’m merely guided by the biggest profit,” Peake simplified. “I want them to bring the most gold they can.”
“That is not a fixed background but one made flexible by chasing after end goal rather than letting the background lead into the goal. Like the battle for Rynmere, the goal was to defend the city and so half the Lowtown burned. If the goal had been to defend Lowtown, the city would’ve been lost. What is your relationship with the Mountain Pride Reserves?”
“I’m their accountant.”
“Hmm,” the Eidis pondered. “Then perhaps you’ve missed a step. If your background is not set, perhaps you lack insight into what brings the most profit and what kind of flaws or strengths fit better with that attitude. Once you’ve figured out what brings the most profits by default, you could measure the Reserved against that standard.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Peake admitted. So far, he was thoroughly impressed with the Eidisi. “What about their personal history?”
“Once their strengths and flaws have been revealed to you, their history will speak for itself. Whether, in the end, this history proves an asset or a detriment I cannot predict. Neither can you. However, just like the Shield of Kolas, a history gives an object power. Learning the history is most of an item’s value. Perhaps leaning to twist and manipulate that history would, for mortals, prove to be a way to exploit and further the value of their live.”
“People are not objects,” Peake pondered out loud. “The shield is merely a passenger for its history, whereas people are enslaved to their past and their limited time in life.”
“Correct,” Dandlren nodded. “Thus a history becomes an asset when interpreted and used correctly. Adapting that history and projecting it intentionally could bring motivation for change or transformation – or used to induce stagnation, depending on the situation. That, however, is speculative and far out of my area of knowledge.”
“How do I recognize their characteristics – objectively speaking?”
“Observe,” the Eidisi replied curtly. “All you need to know is in the act and the being rather than in the words or thoughts.”
Peake thought for a moment. His eyes trailed back to the Shield of Kolas before returning onto Kolas. “You’ve been a great help, Dandlren. I’ll make sure you’re paid for your time.”
“Do you still have the first edition of Rhymes by the Veteran of Venora?” The Eidisi interrupted.
Peake, about to leave, looked back into those dead eyes. That book he hadn’t heard in many arcs, and once again he felt naked under the gaze of the seemingly all-knowing Eidisi. That book, which he had received from his late mother, book which he had read from cover to cover more times that he could account for, had become like a pang on guilt on his conscience.
“I threw it in the ocean,” he lied, then slithered down the corridor and left.
Peake still felt the Eidisi's eyes when he reached the streets.