Chapter 5: The Steward of Shadows and the Sunken Stones
The news of Lord Karstark's tacit approval and the mention of the Blackmorass settled over Greywater Keep with a mixture of solemn pride and nervous anticipation. Elian, having relayed the outcome of his meeting, found Tom looking at him with an expression that was less fearful and more… respectfully awed. Maester Hannis, however, grew visibly paler when the Blackmorass was discussed in detail.
"The Blackmorass, m'lord," Hannis quavered, his fingers tracing patterns on the worn wooden table in the small hall. "An accursed place. Old tales speak of it swallowing whole villages centuries ago, before the Andals ever set foot in these lands. They say the Children of the Forest laid powerful curses upon it to guard their sacred places from the First Men. Will-o'-the-wisps lure travelers to watery graves, strange lights dance on the stagnant pools, and creatures… creatures that are neither beast nor man are said to stalk its depths." He shuddered. "No sane person ventures far into the Blackmorass. Even bandits shun its heart."
"And these 'strange beasts' Lord Karstark mentioned?" Elian prompted, filing away the lore about the Children of the Forest. Another layer to this world's history.
"Likely exaggerations, m'lord, or perhaps just oversized swamp predators emboldened by the recent chaos of war. But…" Hannis lowered his voice, "There have always been whispers of things older, more sinister, that sleep beneath the bog, disturbed only by great upheavals."
Elian nodded slowly. Curses, ancient guardians, slumbering evils – it sounded remarkably like a mid-tier YGGDRASIL dungeon description. Potentially dangerous, yes, but also potentially rewarding in terms of souls and perhaps unique magical items or knowledge. His new obsidian amulet seemed to pulse faintly against his skin at the mere thought, a subtle encouragement.
He ordered a renewed focus on training for his small garrison, now supplemented by a handful of eager, if unskilled, volunteers from Oakhaven. He also directed Tom to use some of the coin from the Whispering Woods haul, and the first meager tribute from Oakhaven, to procure better tools and materials for repairing the weakest sections of Greywater's outer wall. Every small improvement made the keep feel less like a ruin and more like a defensible, if humble, fortress.
Two days later, as Elian was overseeing the clumsy efforts of his men attempting a coordinated shield drill in the muddy courtyard, a lone figure approached the main gate. He was an old man, tall and lean, with neatly kept silver hair and a dignified bearing that seemed out of place with his simple, though impeccably clean, traveler's robes. He carried a walking staff and a modest satchel.
Hal, on sentry duty at the somewhat repaired gatehouse, challenged him. The old man responded in a calm, cultured voice, stating his name as 'Tian,' a scholar and sometime physician, recently displaced by the lingering uncertainties of the war, seeking refuge and perhaps modest employment.
Tom, alerted by Hal, came to assess the newcomer. Elian, observing from a distance, felt an odd prickle of awareness. There was something about the old man's posture, the economy of his movements, the unnerving calmness in his eyes, that set him apart. It wasn't overtly threatening, but it was… unusual. Highly unusual for a wandering refugee.
Tom, clearly impressed by the man's polite eloquence and dignified air, brought him before Elian.
"M'lord Hollow," Tom announced, "This is Master Tian. A scholar, he says, and a healer. He seeks a place at Greywater Keep."
"Master Tian," Elian said, his voice neutral, though his internal Ainz Ooal Gown persona was on high alert. He looked the old man up and down. The robes were simple but of good quality material, finely stitched. The hands resting on the staff were steady, the nails clean. This was no common vagrant. "You are far from any major center of learning. What brings you to a place as modest as Greywater Keep?"
The old man, Tian, met Elian's gaze with clear, intelligent eyes. There was no subservience in them, but a quiet respect. "Lord, war and its aftermath have a way of scattering even the most settled folk. I seek only a quiet place to continue my studies and offer what skills I possess in return for shelter and sustenance. I have some knowledge of herbs, healing, and letters. Perhaps I could assist your Maester, or even offer tutelage?"
Momonga's mind raced. A skilled individual, appearing out of nowhere? Highly suspicious. Yet, there was something… familiar about the man's profound composure, his subtle air of capability. It reminded him, ever so slightly, of Sebas Tian. But that was impossible, surely? Just a coincidence of name and bearing?
"Maester Hannis is capable," Elian replied, testing. "And my own education is… sufficient for my needs."
Tian inclined his head slightly. "Of course, my lord. Forgive my presumption. Perhaps I could be of service in other ways? I am not afraid of honest labor, despite my years. I can assist with records, manage stores, or even teach basic letters to your men, should you wish it. A mind sharpened by knowledge is as valuable as a hand skilled with a sword."
His words were well-chosen, his demeanor flawless. Too flawless. Momonga's paranoia, a trait honed by years of guild politics and ruling over perpetually scheming NPCs, screamed caution. Yet, he couldn't deny the potential value. And the intrigue.
"Greywater Keep has little to offer a scholar of your apparent caliber, Master Tian," Elian said. "But we are in need of capable hands and minds. You may stay. Tom will find you quarters and tasks. Your skills will be assessed." And you will be watched, he added silently.
"You are most gracious, my lord," Tian said, bowing slightly. "I shall endeavor to be worthy of your trust."
Over the next few days, "Master Tian" seamlessly integrated himself into the keep's routine. He assisted Maester Hannis, who was quickly overwhelmed by Tian's far superior knowledge of herbs and healing techniques. He helped Tom organize the dwindling winter stores with an efficiency that bordered on miraculous. He even offered to mend some of the more valuable but damaged tapestries in the hall, his stitching precise and swift. He was polite, discreet, and preternaturally competent in everything he did.
Elian observed him constantly. He'd subtly question him on various topics – history, geography, philosophy – and Tian's answers were always insightful, well-reasoned, and occasionally revealed a depth of knowledge that was astonishing for a supposedly wandering scholar. Yet, he never boasted, never overstepped.
One evening, Elian found Tian in the small, dusty room that served as the keep's library, carefully cleaning and repairing the spine of an ancient, crumbling tome.
"You seem to have a fondness for books, Master Tian," Elian remarked.
Tian looked up, a faint smile on his lips. "Knowledge is a treasure, my lord. It illuminates the path and arms the mind against ignorance."
"And what knowledge do you seek in such humble texts?"
"Even the humblest text can hold a spark of wisdom, my lord. Or a clue to a forgotten truth." Tian's gaze was direct. "Just as even the most modest keep can be home to… unexpected strengths."
Elian felt a chill. Was that a veiled reference? Or just philosophical rambling? He couldn't be sure. But his suspicion that this 'Tian' was more than he appeared solidified into near certainty.
It was against this backdrop of subtle observation and growing intrigue that Elian finalized his plans for the Blackmorass. He announced his intention to lead a small scouting party to its verges. "Lord Karstark wishes for reports on any unusual activity," he stated, omitting his own burgeoning curiosity and the lure of potential power. "We will be cautious. This is merely reconnaissance."
Hal and Timms were chosen, their loyalty and courage now proven. He also selected two of the Oakhaven men, Wat and Petyr, who had shown some aptitude during the drills. As they were making their final preparations, Master Tian approached Elian.
"My lord," he said, his tone respectful. "If I may be so bold. I have some experience in traversing difficult terrain, and my knowledge of field medicine and identifying dangerous flora might prove useful. I would be honored to accompany your party, to serve in whatever capacity you deem fit."
Elian looked at him. This was the perfect opportunity to observe Tian outside the controlled environment of the keep, under pressure. "You are advanced in years, Master Tian. The Blackmorass is said to be treacherous."
"My spirit is willing, my lord. And my legs are still strong enough to keep pace. Allow me to demonstrate my usefulness beyond the confines of these walls."
"Very well," Elian conceded. "But you will follow orders explicitly. Your safety will be your own responsibility if you stray."
"Understood, my lord."
The journey to the Blackmorass took them west, through increasingly desolate and waterlogged land. The air grew thick and heavy with the smell of stagnant water and decay. Twisted, skeletal trees rose from murky pools, draped in pale, trailing moss. An unnatural silence pervaded the place, broken only by the buzzing of oversized insects and the occasional plop of something unseen dropping into the water. The obsidian amulet around Elian's neck grew noticeably warmer, and the faint hum it emitted became a distinct, low thrum that only he could perceive. His senses felt preternaturally sharp; he could almost taste the ancient magic saturating the marsh.
They made camp on a small, relatively dry rise on the very edge of the morass as dusk fell. The Oakhaven men were visibly unnerved, muttering prayers to the Old Gods. Hal and Timms, though more stoic, kept glancing nervously into the deepening gloom. Only Elian and Master Tian seemed unaffected. Elian, because this oppressive atmosphere was reminiscent of many YGGDRASIL dungeons. Tian, because… well, Elian still wasn't sure why Tian was so unnervingly calm.
The next morning, they ventured in. The ground was a treacherous illusion, solid-looking patches of earth often giving way to sucking mud or deep, black water. Elian, guided by the amulet's subtle warnings and his own enhanced perception, led the way, probing with a staff. He cast a continuous [Detect Magic] and was intrigued by the faint, dispersed magical signatures that permeated the entire area, like a low-level enchantment woven into the very fabric of the bog.
Master Tian moved with a surprising agility for his age, his steps light and sure, his observations acute. He pointed out edible roots the men had overlooked, identified a patch of quicksand just before Wat stumbled into it, and warned them away from certain brightly colored fungi, explaining their poisonous nature with clinical precision.
Deeper into the morass, the path, such as it was, narrowed. Gloom enveloped them, the gnarled trees forming a dense canopy. Suddenly, from the murky water on either side, half a dozen creatures erupted. They were like monstrously oversized leeches, a sickly green-brown, with circular maws filled with needle-like teeth. They moved with disgusting speed, slithering through the mud towards the party.
"Bog-suckers!" Timms yelled, raising his spear. "By the Gods!"
The Oakhaven men cried out in fear. Elian, however, felt a surge of grim satisfaction. Souls.
"[Piercing Shards of Ice]!" he commanded, a spell he'd been practicing, a variant of [Icicle Lance] that sent multiple, smaller projectiles. It wasn't a high-tier spell, but with his increased mana, he could cast it with considerable force. A volley of jagged ice lances, imbued with negative energy that made them particularly effective against living targets, shot from his outstretched hand. They tore through three of the bog-suckers, which shrieked – a horrible, wet, tearing sound – and collapsed, dark ichor oozing from their wounds.
The remaining three lunged. Hal speared one, while Timms fought defensively against another. The third lunged at Petyr, who froze in terror.
Before Elian could react further, Master Tian moved. With a speed that was utterly shocking in an old man, he interposed himself between Petyr and the bog-sucker, his simple walking staff whistling through the air. It connected with the creature's head with a sickening thud, not with the force of a killing blow, but with pinpoint accuracy that stunned it momentarily.
"Petyr, your spear!" Tian's voice was sharp, cutting through the man's fear.
Petyr, jolted into action, thrust his spear wildly, impaling the dazed creature.
Elian, meanwhile, dispatched the one Timms was fighting with a swift [Magic Arrow] to its rudimentary eye-cluster. The fight was over in seconds.
He felt the influx of six souls, a satisfying warmth spreading through his mana core, expanding its capacity further. These creatures, while not incredibly powerful, offered more potent souls than common bandits.
Hal and Timms were staring at Master Tian with open disbelief. Petyr was babbling thanks.
Elian looked at Tian, his expression unreadable. "You move quickly for a scholar, Master Tian. And wield that staff with some skill."
Tian inclined his head, his composure perfectly restored. "In my youth, my lord, I learned that even a scholar must know how to defend himself. A lesson hard-learned, but well-remembered." He then knelt by Petyr, who had a shallow gash on his arm from the creature's flailing. Tian's fingers moved with deft precision, cleaning the wound, applying a poultice of herbs he'd gathered earlier, and bandaging it with surprising speed and efficiency. "A minor wound, thankfully. It will heal cleanly."
Every movement was too perfect, too economical. Elian had seen that level of refined skill before – in the battle maids of Nazarick, in Sebas himself. The resemblance was becoming too strong to ignore.
They pressed on, Elian's mind now almost entirely focused on the enigma of Master Tian. The amulet around his neck thrummed more insistently now, pulling him towards a specific direction. After another hour of slogging through the oppressive marsh, they broke through a curtain of hanging moss into a small, circular clearing.
The air here felt different, colder, and charged with a palpable sense of ancient power. In the center of the clearing, half-submerged in the black, oily water, stood a cluster of crude, moss-covered standing stones, arranged in a semi-circle around a larger, altar-like slab. They were clearly artificial, yet seemed to have grown out of the bog itself, impossibly old. Faint, almost invisible symbols were carved into their surfaces – symbols Elian didn't recognize, yet which resonated faintly with the obsidian amulet.
As Elian stepped closer, the amulet grew warmer still, and the subtle hum intensified. He felt a distinct magical aura emanating from the stones – ancient, dormant, but undeniably powerful. This was no mere bandit lair. This was something else entirely.
"Remarkable," Master Tian murmured, standing beside Elian, his gaze fixed on the stones. "A relic of a forgotten age, undoubtedly. The air itself feels… heavy with unseen energies."
Elian turned to him, his gaze sharp. "Indeed, Master Tian. Heavy with secrets." He paused, the silence of the marsh pressing in around them, broken only by the distant croak of some unseen amphibian. "And I find myself wondering about the secrets you carry."
Master Tian met his gaze, his calm, scholarly expression unwavering. Yet, for the first time, Elian thought he detected a flicker of something else in the depths of those intelligent eyes – a profound, sorrowful loyalty, and a dawning recognition.
"My lord," Tian said, his voice quiet but resonant, carrying a weight that belied his humble persona. "Perhaps it is time we spoke privately. There are matters of… grave importance concerning your lordship's unique talents, your true well-being, and indeed, the nature of my own service, that I feel compelled to discuss."
The moment hung suspended. The sunken stones, the oppressive bog, the watchful eyes of his men – it all faded into the background. This was it. The confrontation, the revelation he had been anticipating since the old man first walked through Greywater's gates.