Chapter 8: Port San-torus
The horse’s hooves clomp along the brick-paved boulevard cutting through Port San-torus. Pubs and inns line the left side of the street, while the right side opens up to a large commons set up like a bazaar. Scraggly merchants from across Upper Kleighton (and even a few from elsewhere) sit behind tables and installs hocking exciting fruits, exotic gems, strange-smelling meats, tiny mechanical Mortesian contraptions, weapons, vials full of liquids of every color, and more.
“This is a pretty big place,” Novanostrum says, “the map could’ve been more specific about just where the Nexus Sketch is hidden within this commercial bedlam.”
“He was a priester, and the map mentioned the ‘House of the Gods,’ right?” Madra says, “I’d think the most obvious place to look would be a church. How about that church over there?”
Zanther squints his eyes. “Looks more like a brothel to me. We’d better check it out.”
From the outside, the building does indeed look like a Crucifist church. The pointed spires and large x-shaped flourishes give the impression of a holy place, however, the drunks stumbling about outside and the scantily-clad women filing in and out cause Zanther, Novanostrum, Madra, and Sogbottom to mumble to each other about how the place may in fact no longer be a church.
Madra, Zanther, and Novanostrum hop down from the wagon and walk towards the entrance while Sogbottom heads to a line of fence posts to tie up the wagon.
Inside, despite the debauchery happening on tables and tiny stages and presumably within the confessionals as well, some traces of the building’s original purpose are still visible. Religious relics hang on the walls--large x-shaped golden crosses and paintings of saints. The pews have been chopped up and converted into booths, with dancing girls shaking their flesh above customers, trying to get tips, trying to convince the men to step off to somewhere more private. A large, gilded fireplace gives the place a homelike feel.
Madra and Zanther manage to find an empty booth, while Novanostrum heads off to locate a toilet. Zanther plops a handful of dodeckas onto the table and signals one of the girls. She takes their drink orders and walks over to the bar, returning a few moments later with a frothy mug of amber liquid and a frosty mug and a fruity blue drink in a fluted glass.
Zanther takes a big swig of the fruity drink, staring at the endowments of the hostess leaning over their table.
“You want me to dance for you?”
“No thanks,” she says, “why don’t I dance for you?”
She stands of their table, shaking her assets in Zanther’s face while Madra turns a deep shade of angry. After a few ticks of gyrating and contorting, he helps her clamber off the table and back to her feet. As the gets ready to walk away, Zanther notices a golden coin stuck to her left buttock. He reaches to peel it off.
It’s at this point when several things happen at once.
Feeling the hand on her ass, the girl turns around and slaps Zanther’s face. Another drunk patron notices the girl’s distress and rushes over to defend her honor, landing a few punches on Zanther before the knifesman realizes what is happening.
In an instant, people are circled around the two of them, watching them trade blows. Zanther gets the worst of a roundhouse kick, flying into a wall and dislodging a picture in a frame. It crashes down onto his head, showering him with glass and the wooden fragments formerly comprising the frame. A folded piece of paper flutters down onto his chest.
It’s now when the daemon assassin comes bursting in through the skylight above, sending screaming patrons and prostitutes running in every direction. Zanther looks up at the charging ball of red muscle, too dazed to react. The daemon notices the folded piece of paper and snatches it up.
Madra sits at the table, shocked. She takes a refreshing swig of beer.
“Aha! This must be the map--the key to my freedom. After I deal with you, of course,” he says, giving Zanther a snort of contempt as before unfolding the paper, which is not the map but is, in fact, the legendary Nexus Sketch.
Staring at the image on the paper in his hands, the daemon’s face distorts into a horrible grimace as he starts to dissolve into a pile of smoldering red ash.
“I...I’ve been tricked...”
Novanostrum walks over from the bathroom, looking refreshed, when Sogbottom comes rushing in with a look of panick on his face.
“Crucifers!” the Professor yells, “The town is positively crawling with them, we’ve got to get out of--ah! The map!”
Sogbottom lunges for the tattered paper sitting atop the pile of reddish ashes next to a still-woozy Zanther. The Professor grabs the paper and rushes toward the fire. Zanther staggers to his feet, and he and Novanostrum dart towards Sogbottom, with Zanther managing to connect with a flying tackle just a split-twitch after the paper touches the flame.
Professor Sogbottom is knocked into a table, his beard and wig coming loose and revealing a mop of greasy, brownish hair as his spectacles slide across the floor. Zanther raises his eyebrows.
“You! You spoony bard! What the High Hell did you do that for? That wasn’t the map, you idiot, I’m pretty sure it was the Nexus--”
It’s at this point when a horde of crucifers kick the doors open and swarm into the church. Novanostrum pulls out his trusty staff and swings it around his head, knocking the soldiers back with a burst of energy.
“It’s time to GO! Let’s get out!” the wizard says, jumping over the writhing mass of pikes and armor.
Madra and Zanther follow suit.
Outside, the streets are filled with Crucifist soldiers, soldiers who don’t necessarily know what they are looking for, but who are at least clever enough to realize that people who are running are people who need chasing.
So they give chase.
With a mass of soldiers in pursuit, Zanther, Novanostrum, and Madra run for their lives. Varello (formerly Sogbottom) appears from amidst this mass, riding atop a charging bull, stampeding over bystanders an sending Crucifers flying.
“Follow me!” he shouts to the three of them as he charges past.
Madra gives Zanther a confused look. “Do we follow him?”
Zanther tosses a glance back over his shoulder at the horde of Crucifers, then back at Madra. He shrugs.
“Might as well.”
Varello’s bull gallops towards the docks, where the bard leaps from his mount and lands on his feet, running, leading them down a pier and up the gangplank of a large ship. Zanther and Madra follow him onto the ship, and Novanostrum is the last one aboard.
The wizard launches a fireball at the middle of the gangplank, blasting it to splinters. The bull, now standing on the pier, is quickly surrounded by Crucifers. Both the men and the beast seem unhappy about the situation as they take a moment to size each other up.
On the ship, the four of them are surrounded by men wearing light blue robes.
One of the robe-wearing men is also wearing a fancy hat, and he observes the chaos in the town through a telescope.
“To sea!” he bellows.
Zanther, Madra, Novanostrum and Varello sit crumpled on the deck, trying to catch their breath as men rush around them, pulling on ropes and loading cannons. The sails unfurl, as the anchor is hoisted up. The Crucifers on the dock have gleefully taken to pelting the ship with their powderblasts, and the sailors cheerfully answer the Crucifers’ shots with cannon fire. A cannonballs is all it takes to disperse the soldiers and most of the pier.
The captain walks over to the four of them, holding out a hand to help Madra to her feet.
“Thank you for your help,” she says.
“We didn’t attack them to help you,” the captain explains, “we just really beeing hate those guys.”