The Man of Vermis

Scagliola sat at the foot of the bed, heavy bags laying under his eyes as the morning sun shined through the window. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a single gild, his finger running over a deep cut on the face.

Three weeks…

The chirping of birds outside was the only noise breaking the silence.

I have been stuck in this damned tavern for three weeks…

He could recall, without failure, each barmaid that worked the tables, the time of day the kitchen staff changed shifts, and even which guards left their posts early to sneak in an extra pint of ale. All the while, Scagliola would be forgotten when the day started anew. This collective amnesia did introduce an unintended benefit, however; Scagliola was free to collect information from the tavern’s patrons without fear of retaliation.

That was, until he met the young scholar.

____________________________________

Scagliola thought Sallus was the same as the other tavern patrons on the first day. After all, new arrivals at the tavern weren’t unheard of, and Scagliola couldn’t discern any pattern that predicted their arrival or departure. He opted to watch as the young man pored over a map at his table, their eyes locking and a mutual raising of mugs, before leaving out the front entrance and thought nothing of the new arrival as he continued his research into his situation. When the next day arrived, he heard the old tongue call out for the first time in the tavern. He gazed out into the crowd to see the same young man beckoning him to his table.

Could the tavern have claimed another…?

Scaglioa humored Sallus as he asked for guidance and direction on his travels south. Scagliola had visited Fahbur once many years ago but was not certain how much to tell this northerner. Scagliola was fully aware of the realm’s general perception of Vermis beyond its borders, and he couldn’t discern whether there was genuine sincerity in Sallus’ words or an overabundance of politeness. As before, Sallus left the tavern, and Scagliola decided to return back to his private room. The rest of the day was otherwise uneventful, and the man from Vermis awaited the coming of the new day.

____________________________________

Scagliola woke the next morning surprisingly refreshed. It appeared his lax behavior the previous day has rewarded him. Dressing himself up in formal wear, he exited his room and made for the tavern.

“Sal’way!” A discomfortingly familiar voice called out, “Come share my table?”

Scagliola's heart sank, Sallus was indeed trapped in the temporal loop. As he learned through their extended conversation, however, Sallus does not remember their first encounter. Scagliola shared his last two days staying at the tavern, though embellishing a bit about waiting on an acquaintance. Sallus, in kind, shared his trip down to Fahbur. Scagliola made a mental note of the distance traveled, a much further range than he was able to muster on any of his numerous attempts to escape. He knew, however, time was of the essence for today and excused himself after Sallus gifted him a marked gild.

Scagliola retreated to a nearby woodshed he had discovered during his first week. A couple of planks that made up the wall were loose, allowing him entry without breaking the lock on the door. He grabbed a chair from the corner and retrieved a canvas rucksack from behind piled up logs. Placing the chair in front of the logs, Scagliola pulled out a soft leather book and flipped through the pages until he reached a blank page. Placing the book on the logs, Scagliola then pulled out a quill and inkwell to begin writing.

Sallus
Kin
Brightharbor
Scholar

The ritual only required 3 “traits”, including any names, but the northerner’s accent belied his origins. Grabbing a couple logs from the wood pile, Scagliola placed them on either side of the book, framing it. He reached back into the sack, this time pulling out both a crimson red candle and skull. After first placing the candle on the left log, Scagliola pulled out an ornate metal disk from his pocket. He pressed a button on the side, opening the disk and revealing an open flame. Lighting the candle, Scagliola then gently placed the skull on the right log, facing toward the book.

“Narro”

An unnatural darkness began to envelop the shed, as a pale green haze gently emanated from the openings of the skull. The haze traveled toward the book and quickly surrounded it, its form slowly shifting around as time passed as whisps seemed to intently touch the writing on the page. Without warning the candle put itself out and the haze stopped moving in its entirety, leaving Scagliola seated in darkness. The haze continued to linger for almost an entire minute, suspended in time and space, before rapidly absorbing back into the skull. The book shut closed as the haze disappeared, and a chorus of voices rang out

TRUST

The single word echoed within Scagliola’s head, and no other words followed.

“…That’s it?” He questioned, “Why should I trust him.”

SEEK BELOW

“That doesn’t answer my question!” He hissed.

TALISMAN CLAIMS ANOTHER

The third response was a single voice, an elderly female. A cold sweat came over Scagliola. The Matron, a name he gave this specific voice, always speaks the truth to him.

SEEK BELOW
TRUST KIN

The Matron’s command echoed as the natural light returned to the shed. Waking up from his fugue state, Scagliola peeked out of one of the loose planks to see the sun hanging low in the sky. He packed up his ritual items, returned the sack to behind the wood pile, and exited the shed to return to the tavern. He noticed Sallus was not on the ground floor, and after ascending the stairs confirmed two doors for private rooms were closed. Knowing one was his, Scagliola presumed the other door, closest to the ground floor, must have been his newfound comrade's. Locking the door behind him, Scagliola dressed himself down and laid his head on the pillow to start the day anew.

____________________________________

A splitting headache greeted Scagliola as he rose from his slumber. The morning light felt like needles to his eyes, and his bedlinens were soaked through. On his nightstand was a small card. Instinctively, he grabbed his vest from the coat rack, pulled out a stack of papers from his breast pocket and counted the number; twenty-one in total.

Another addition to my collection…

He grabbed the latest note and flipped it over.

THE SHED WAS NEVER SAFE
THE VOID CANNOT PROTECT YOU
SALLUS WILL BE MINE