Chapter III - The Aces Of Spade

"The rain is no longer getting in," said Lem "thank you good sir."

"You're welcome," Chernobelo said "I am glad to help."

Grinning under his mask the metal god was happy to be praised, especially from a oldman like Lem who resembled many brave men in his memories. Long dark brown hair, a bushy mustache that grew together with his sideburns, all of it seemed to make the owner stand out from the crowd. Gaunt but not frail, Lem from what Chernobelo observed was a pillar of the community.

"Now we can get back to drinking," Lem said aloud to his patrons.

Men, women, sailors, and fisherman cheered as he returned to behind the bar to serve out drinks to paying customers. Those who wanted a drink on credit were threatened with a good punch. Lem's ran his pub with three servers working under him, he had run a profitable business for over a decade, with a fair share of storms passing through Naofa. Though none before had caused water to seep in through under his tightly built door.

Not long after it started to rain that water was leak under the door, threatening to flood his business, trying to stop it with towels didn't help. That was till Chernobelo bent down in front of the door, and even though no one saw what he did they heard a sound, similar to a blade being sharpened. Standing up everyone saw the towels were packed in so tight under the door that no water could get in, Lem was grateful for the help, and welcomed the masked stranger to his hospitality, him and his companion. Aswang glared at Lem from a booth in the far end of the pub, with his misshapen eyes and scowling at him with his malformed mouth.

Unfazed by the little man's dirty looks, he was still grateful for the help, so after serving the cluster of customers at the bar he took a tray out to Chernobelo's booth. Walking over to their booth Lem caught sight of another odd looking stranger, one dressed in black, pale skin, and was grinning at him with sharp teeth. Shaking his head to get any odd thoughts out of his head, the pub owner came over to Chernobelo and his midget companion, and placed the tray on the table. The tray had two large mugs filled with foamy sarsaparilla, two bowls of hot gravy stew, and two freshly baked bread loafs.

"Here you are good sirs," said Lem "consider this on the house for helping me with the door earlier."

"Thank you," Chernobelo said "you are very kind."

Without much hesitation Chernobelo tilted the mask up so his skeletal mouth could drink some of the sweet tasting brew. Aswang still glared at Lem, as he stroked the dagger he tucked away into his belt, distrustful of everyone in the pub.

"Your friend doesn't talk much does he," remarked Lem.

"Not that I could remember, but he has his moments" said Chernobelo.

Never had he eaten or drank anything before, Chernobelo savored his meal feeling it fill his insides with a warmth and fullness that cause him squirm in his seat. The glow of the hearth fire cast a golden light throughout the pub, and made Chernobelo stand out for his golden mask. A valuable prize that had some of the more tempted patrons of the Aces of Spade to murmur amongst themselves. One disreputable brigand thought that he could easily stick him with a blade and rip off the mask then be gone out the door before anyone could react.

Suddenly the man with those evil thoughts felt his heart grow cold as his eyes seemed pulled towards a large monstrous grin.

The only one who would get a blade to the side is you, said a sinister voice in his mind.

Breathing hard the brigand returned to his drink and once done he went into the back where his bunk was, but all the time felt as though he was still being watched. Taking a chair Lem took a sheet next to the booth wanting to quench his curiosity.

"So Chernobelo tell me where do you come from? I haven't seen you in town before," Lem said.

The slight sound of a dagger being slowly lifted from its resting place made Lem's feel for his own weapon he kept in his left boot. Any violence that may have occurred was ended by Chernobelo who drew Aswang's attention with a few dry coughs, then when their eyes met he stared into the living doll's eyes, till he heard the sound of a dagger being slipped back into place.

"Sorry about my friend," Chernobelo said sensing Lem's anxiety "he doesn't trust many people."

Lem was still bothered by Cherbelo's companion, he knew the murderous look in his eyes and was tempted to throw him out of his pub, but then came a boom of thunder that shook the walls. Looking around Lem saw the patrons of his business huddling in groups, in fear of the ferocity of the storm, the wind was growing louder, and could be heard rushing past the building. Creaking of the pub's walls and the wavering fire of the hearth made atmosphere more foreboding, candles started to be lit to ward off the growing darkness.

"Don't worry," Lem said aloud to his customers "the Aces of Spade is one of the oldest and wellbuilt pubs in town, wind won't bring it down."

"Ever seen a cyclone?" asked Medraut.

The three men at the booth looked over at the table adjacent to them, looking at the man who raised a alarming query.

"Yes," Lem said "I have seen one when I used to travel abroad, but I never seen them in Eillain, so I doubt we'll see one here."

Scoffing, Medraut took long gulp from a bottle of fine red wine, the strength of the aged substance made him giddy and stained his teeth a blood red.

"Do you think there will be a cyclone?" asked Chernobelo, sounding naive.

Although he knew what a cyclone was, and knew that it was very unlikely it would form so far north something in Medraut's voice, made him doubt the wise pub owner. There was something familiar Chernobelo sensed from the man with the large smile. Recalling the memories he was born with, however the metal god could not recall anything about the pale man dressed in black.

"If the rider of the storm chooses to conjure one," answered Medraut.

Lem scoffed as he rubbed the back of his neck, wearing a expression that tried to hide his contempt for such talk.

"I doubt someone who doesn't exist is going to conjure anything," said Lem.

Talking louder than he intended drew the attention of others in the pub who have yet retired to the back. to rest in their bunks till the storm passed. To distract themselves from the violent storm they huddled closer to the corner booth to listen better to the discussion.

"Doesn't exist" repeated Medraut "he exists, same as for the mannibles to the east, and the ever approaching fog."

Spoken in a dire tone of voice scared those who listened, even those who worked at the bar stopped working to hear what was being said.

"Mannibles exist true" said Lem "I've seen them, but I've seen storms and never seen a pale rider on a thunderbird."

"So if you don't see the sun as it passes over the horizon then it no longer exists, is that what you mean?" Medraut retorted.

"No," answered Lem "it is ridiculous to say one has anything to do with the other, I am saying that I don't believe all storms are caused by one entity."

"Yet we pray to gods and their offspring, we make churches for their glory, and believe they made the whole world and beyond." said Medraut.

A spirited debate for the spectators started to become a bitter argument between the two men. Chernobelo and Aswang watched on, the doll being glad to no longer being the focus of discussion and the other fascinated with the display.

"Don't malign the faith of the people, by comparing their beliefs with stories mothers scare their children with," Lem said.

"I mean no offense," Medraut said "but I am saying the storm rider made this storm."

A brief chuckle came out of Lem's mouth but he stopped when he saw no one else was laughing, the hearth fire died down and the air in the pub became deathly cold. No one made a sound, except Chernobelo who was eating Aswang's untouched stew.

"Don't scare my customers or I will throw you out," Lem threatened.

"Don't open the door," warned Medraut "I feel his fog, it has covered the town, if you open the door it will turn your flesh to dust."

Every hardened sailor squirmed in his seats, the women huddled closer into their man's arms, and even the most hardened fisherman felt anxious. Chernobelo could hear bewitchment in Medraut's words, he laced his speech with some power that was familiar to him, it was causing memories to flash in his mind. About Crel centuries ago, when there was no wall of fog, and the mountain gods were still young. That power can bring fear and obedience to most who listen, but there are those with strong wills, Lem was one such man who was angered that Medraut was scarring his customers.

"There is no deadly fog outside," Lem proclaimed "I will prove it."

Rising from his seat he marched to the door, customers grabbing at his arms begging him not to tempt fate, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Ignoring them all Lem intended to prove them all foolish for believing in such ludicrous lies. Standing before the door the strong willed proprietor put his hand on the handle preparing to pull it open, the pub went silent wondering if Lem was right or the stranger with the monstrous grin. There was a pause as Lem couldn't bring himself to open the door.

'What if it was true?' he thought, he felt his hand shake on the handle.

A crash of thunder startled him, making leap back from the door, his chest was pounding and his breathing was hard. Almost all the patrons had to catch their breaths, although covered with a black headscarf Lem could tell Medraut's eyes were upon him, judging him for his hesitation.

"Whether there is fog out there or not," Lem said loudly "I am not going to risk, even if I'm sure that man is full of it."

There were sighs of relief and nods of agreement from his customers, Lem chided himself for allowing his pride to cause the superstitious riverfolk to panic. Before returning to his hostly duties Lem heard something outside, amid the loud noises of the storm he heard something else. The sound of breaking wood, it seemed inconsequential at first, but Lem felt his insides squirm as if warning him something wicked was coming. Putting his ear to the door Lem waited till he heard something to confirm his suspicions.

No one paid him mind as they just got over the stress of Lem trying to open the door, but three patrons paid attention. Medraut, Aswang, and Chernobelo felt unnerved, there was something close by that made their senses sizzle like a growing fire. Leaving his seat Medraut hurried into the back room, as Chernobelo stood up and started moving towards the door.

"Move away from the door," Chernobelo cried out.

Lem turned his head just as a ebon spear stabbed through the heavy wooden door, and went through the pub owners chest, piercing his heart, blood spurt out of the wound covering the door, and running down the weapon's black length. Blackness washed with dark crimson, before he died Lem's body was thrown back with the door, flying through the air before smashing against the hard stone hearth. Lying down dead, the door in fragments, covering his body as a dense pale fog rolled into the pub. Screams of fright came from the people inside who fled from certain death, one was unfortunate to be pushed into the fog and they all saw the sailor rapidly age away into bones and dust.

"We're gonna die," screamed out a frightened woman clinging to her man for comfort.

Death did not come to them, for the fog started to retreat out of the pub stopping at the edge of the doorway. Stepping inside from the raging storm, a tall pale skin man holding the black spear that was still wet from Lem's blood; the blood did not touch the pale man. All the candles went out so only the flashes of lightning showed the people of the pub what was happening. Standing between the townspeople and the pale storm rider was the stranger wearing the golden sun mask.

Chernobelo and Dolus looked at one another, Dolus could see behind the golden mask, seeing far more than the metal god realized. Holding the spear in one hand the pale man struck Chernobelo in the abdomen. Making a hole in the blue robes, it did not pierce his metal skin, not even a scratch, the spear on the however was bent at the tip. The living god's skin was stronger than goblin forged blackened iron; retribution was dealt swiftly to Dolus for killing Lem, a man who gave such pleasant hospitality.

A ribbon of metal flashed from under his robes and sliced off Dolus's right leg off from the knee, there was no cry of pain or stumbling backwards. Instead the storm rider pulled back his spear and hopped back into the storm, Chernobelo angered by the pale man's blatant murder was livid. People in Naofa didn't say a kind word about him when he first arrived, it wasn't till it rained and him and Aswang sought shelter in the Aces of Spade was he shown common courtesy by Lem. A precious moment of kindness in his first day of life that was tainted by a hideous killing, that befoulment needed brutal vengeance.

Memories of Kashchev punishing those that crossed him came into his mind, inspiring him to seek the same justice. Cupping his hands together he whispered a spell he learned from his inherited memories, and before going out into the storm placed the spell on the doorway. Fog stopped at the doorway, not entering the pub, Aswang loyally followed behind his master, dagger drawn, leaving the patrons of the pub in awe of what they witnessed. Medraut included who watched on in interest, being the only one brave enough he left the back rooms and walked up to the doorway of the pub, looking out into the storm. Flashes of lightning showed him the battle happening in the streets of Naofa. Smiling broadly, an idea came into his mind on how he could get his vengeance if he somehow gained the assistance of the living god Chernobelo.