The Thief of the Rose_(0)

The Orion sector, Rito III, 3158 GST (Galactic Standard Time)

Reginald Ravensblade, Harpist of Time, sat idly watching the roulette wheel spin as the small gold ball travelled around in the opposite direction waiting to find its home. He was in the Maytag Casino, the largest, most prestigious gaming establishment on Rito III, a pleasure planet known for its gaming establishments. Reg had been on the planet for a week and had just finished his latest quest, another task where time had been manipulated. Several unscrupulous men had found an ancient relic and were using it to alter time to win at the various games of chance, most notably this very game of roulette.

Reg was dressed in a fine silk black tuxedo with crimson bow tie and cummerbund. The sword hanging from his left hip was conspicuously out of place, but no one had called him on it even though he had been sitting at the table for some time. The large stacks of chips sitting in front of him were a testament to his skill, so perhaps the sword was as well. Either way, the other patrons, as well as the casino’s employees, were leaving him alone. His thoughts were interrupted by his sword.

“My Lord, he comes,” the sentient Runesword on his hip, Timekeeper, announced telepathically in a hushed, almost reverent voice.

“Who?” Reg asked, absently grasping the pommel, but still watching the wheel.

“22, black!” the Dealer announced as the wheel slowed and stopped, showing the ball sitting in the pocket of the black even number.

Reg watched as a modest stack of chips were slid over to his position at the table. He had been steadily winning for the last several hours. He removed several of the largest denomination of chips from the stack and leaned forward and placed them on 23 red.

“The Creator,” the sword replied. “He is looking for us.”

This time Reg did detect the reverence in the sword’s voice. Reg looked up as a short, unassuming, elderly man sat down to his left at the gaming table. The old man was dressed in a tan cotton jumpsuit, of the kind worn by elderly men everywhere. Zippered in the front from crotch to neckline and held in place by a built in belt with a silver buckle. Attached to the belt on his right side was a large rune inscribed ring holding several intricately wrought keys of differing size and shape. He had closely cropped hair the color of burnt orange and crystal blue eyes. A strange dress for this upscale establishment.

“Harpist, we finally meet,” the elderly man said by way of introduction. “I am called Dao.”

“I have been halfway expecting a meeting for some time,” Reg replied with a nod. “You look more like a maintenance man than who you truly are. The key ring is an unique touch.”

“Maintenance man, Creator, it amounts to the same thing, do you not think?” Dao chuckled. “You like the key ring? It holds the keys to the universe.”

Reg could feel an almost imperceptible shudder from his sword. He glanced down at it with a frown. “Melvina said that eventually you would want to meet me.”

“Yes, you are an anomaly,” Dao eyed him intently. “I am very curious about that.”

“How so?” Reg asked, with a tinge of irritation. “Because I, a mere mortal, was able to draw Timekeeper from its stone?”

“No. More like you, a mere mortal, are fairly pulsing with Eldritch and the Eldritch of a WitchLord,” Dao replied. “That is a little strange considering your race is not Tarran, do you not agree?”

“A gift from a friend,” Reg shrugged. “An unintentional result of saving my life.”
“Yes, very strange circumstances and very unique. I do not believe it has ever happened before. I was unaware that it was even possible in the first place.”

“You sound surprised,” Reg replied, eyeing him intently.

“I was surprised that your body was able to cope with the change and it takes a great deal to surprise me,” he smiled. “I also wanted to thank you for saving my daughter. It was not strictly within your purview and yet you rendered aid when asked.”

“You are more than welcome, I was honored to help and besides, the unintended results made it more than worthwhile,” Reg replied with a shrug and smile. “But, that is not why you are here, is it?”

“Perceptive, very perceptive,” he replied. “No, it is not why I am here. I am in search of a champion, a herald, or a troubleshooter, if you will.”

“I already have a title and an occupation,” Reg replied drolly, his hand sweeping toward the hilt of his sword. “And I am fairly sure that there would be conflicts of interest.”

“No, you misunderstand me,” the man shook his head. “I do not want you, just your impressions. Your recommendations as it were. No, I am thinking of your friend and benefactor, one Aaron Whiterune, WitchLord and styled thief.”

“Then ask him, not me,” Reg replied absently, more interested in watching the wheel spin and tracking the rotation of the ball. “I would not presume to speak for him.”

“It is not a voluntary position,” he replied with a shrug. “I need to know how he would handle himself under less than ideal situations. Is he as resourceful as he seems? Tell me everything you know about him.”

“Why him?” Reg asked intently, now more interested in the conversation than the wheel. “He may not like being manipulated. Strike that! I know for a fact he will not like being manipulated.”

“Many reasons,” Dao shrugged, “not the least of which is the fact that he is dangerous where he is right now. Too strong for the current climate, if you will. His abilities are upsetting the status quo. He is disrupting the balance and it is unable to correct for him. I would rather make use of his unique talents than to have to put him down.”

“Put him down? Are you even sure you could?” Reg chuckled, thinking of his friend. “Many have tried and yet he still stands. If he thinks you are truly a danger he would put down the ‘Rose Swords’ and call forth the ‘Hand of Death’. I do not think even you would want that.”

“No, absolutely not,” Dao smiled a truly deadly smile. Reg chuckled having seen that very same smile on Aaron’s face quite a number of times.

“No, we … I need someone that could instinctually correct shifts in the balance,” Dao explained. “Since he is an anomaly and outside the influence of the balance he would be perfect. There are numerous worlds and Mythos where his talents would be of assistance.”

“What do you mean he is outside of the influence of the balance of things?” Reg asked and cocked his head. “Did you just not say that he is disrupting the balance on Andor?”

“Yes, I did,” Dao shrugged. “The balance cannot adjust for his actions and has removed him from its calculations. That makes him perfect for what is needed. Your impressions, please?”

“He is single-minded and does not react well to authority,” Reg tried to describe his friend. “He does not like people being taken advantage of. He never backs down from a fight, but he does not look for one either. He despises tyranny of any type, or any type of oppression for that matter. If pushed he does not just push back, he shoves. Hard. He is loyal to a fault. Balance that against the fact that he has no use for authority and no qualms about his chosen professions. He is basically evil, but even that may not be totally accurate, and has no qualms about how he achieves what he perceives as right. He is he who he wants to be, no facade, no hidden agenda. Does that give you some insight?”

“Yes it does,” Dao’s smile became genuine. “He is exactly what I need. After that glowing review it is about time that I met him in person. Do you still harp?”

“Excuse me?” Reg replied, perplexed by the change in direction of the discussion.

“I asked if you still harped,” Dao repeated himself. “I ask because I would like to hear you play. Melvina speaks highly of you and your skill.”

“Here?” Reg replied, sweeping his hand around the crowded casino.

“True,” Dao nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them the room was silent and more importantly empty.

“Harp for me Reginald Ravensblade,” Dao commanded. “Harp for me and I will tell you a story…”




He called himself Dao and he had been searching the Universe for sometime; searching for a fragment of what was left of his home world, Archan.