After taking the buckler from Morne, Fendbern handed him his belongings, including a small white bone.
It was the bone Morne had found at the campsite while he was traveling with the Crimson Gradle Company. He had noticed it was missing when he had dug into his pockets, but hadn't expected it to have been taken. It was a worthless hunk, after all.
Fendbern didn't care to explain, instead opening a door to a packed corridor and ushering Morne in. "Exit's three doors down on the right. I think it goes without saying to keep your mouth shut about what happened here, but I've met some utter morons before, so I'm telling ya. Keep your mouth shut, or we'll find you."
Morne didn't respond, only pocketing the bone and striding out, eager to smell fresh air for the first time in days.
He weaved through the crowd of nobles and Knife-Tongues leaving the stadium, chatting, and loitering.
Some of the Knife-Tongues congratulated him for his victory, others cursed at him because they had bet against him, and still others couldn't be bothered to care. Morne couldn't see Tross or her lackeys anywhere, which he supposed was a good thing. He didn't know how he'd react if he did.
He had almost made it to the door when a man as large as he was stepped in his path.
"The boss wants to see you," rumbled the man. "He has a job offer for you."
Morne, who was just about to sidestep the other man, paused. "What kind of job offer?" he replied.
"We can't talk here. If you're interested, then follow me."
His curiosity peaked, Morne followed the man.
.......
They traveled halfway across the city to a quaint estate that was plain and unadorned, a stark contrast to its neighbors with gaudy statues and lush plants.
A gardener attended a small rosebush beside the door, and a serious-faced guard manned the door.
The guard opened the door without a word when he saw Morne's escort, and the large man and Morne headed inside. The large man stopped at an unassuming wooden door and knocked thrice, the two entering only after he heard a "come in."
"Shut the door behind you, please," the room's only occupant said to Morne.
When his request was fulfilled, he swept his hair back, his gray eyes examining Morne quizzically.
He had the air of a scholar or explorer, with short, styled brown hair and a youthful face. He appeared to be in his late twenties like Morne, and was outfitted in a brown shirt and gray pants covered in loops, pockets, and pouches.
A dark brown coat, red sash, and thick leather boots completed the ensemble, making him appear as if he was ready for an adventure right that very moment.
He sat behind an expensive wooden desk piled high with maps, charts, books, and cartography tools. The walls were lined with hundreds of books and rolled-up scrolls, along with many maps of various places and strange serpent-shaped relics.
"Hello there. You're the champion of this season's Tongue Tussles, are you not? A necromancer, if I'm not mistaken. I'm Geleb, Geleb Asenda. Did Earl here give you any trouble?"
"No, boss," the large man said defensively. "I brought him here peacefully, like you said."
"Well, he looks as whole as you'd expect from someone that just spent the past few days battling," Geleb said thoughtfully.
"He said there was a job?" Morne asked, not in the mood for pleasantries.
"Ah, yes. How much do you know about the Nasnami?"
"Not much," Morne replied. "Just that they look like snakes, and they have a strong sense of smell."
Cretaya from the Crimson Gradle Company was a Nasnami. He recalled that she could smell the scent of the Ilnchan cultists on him, even hours after he had escaped from them.
"Accurate," Geleb nodded. "Although not the entire story.
"The Nasmani's ancestors were the first Mages," he explained. "Much of their terminology in regards to magic is still used today, and it is said that the most powerful among them could rival 'lesser' Gods, though it isn't clear what that means.
"For whatever reason – some scholars suspect a cataclysm of some kind – most of their cities were destroyed and much of their knowledge lost thousands of years ago. Their descendants, while still talented Mages more often than not, can't hold a candle to the grandeur of their past.
"Insight into their culture is worth a fortune, as it could potentially lead to a breakthrough in the various Schools of magic. That's why I had Earl here fetch you."
He reached for a book on his desk and cracked it open, flipping to a certain page and showing it to Morne. The page had a drawing of a moss-covered temple, the stone inscribed with imagery of snakes swallowing stars and flying on clouds.
"I believe I've found one of the ancient Nasnami's temples, hidden in the Ondethalian Mountains. The problem is, according to what fragmented records I could scrounge up, it requires someone with your particular talents to open. The talents of a necromancer.
"There is also mention of great danger within, and who better to protect me than the champion of the Tongue Tussles? Earl tells me that you fought and killed a Saxunt Lizard by yourself, an impressive feat."
"Your job will be to open the temple and, after that, protect Geleb," Earl told Morne. "I'll be accompanying as well. I may be an Infutim, but I can still crack a few skulls if need be."
"What's in it for me?" Morne asked.
"Ah, of course," Geleb chuckled. "Any necromancy Spells we find will be yours, after I copy them in my notes. You'll also be rewarded with a large sum of coin for your troubles. Around thirty large silvers."
Morne raised an eyebrow. That was three thousand Opyens, enough to hire a skilled mercenary for two entire months. "How long will this take?"
"I estimate around five weeks," Geleb said, scratching his chin and glancing at one of the maps on the wall. "One to get there, one to get back, and three to explore the temple. It could take one week more or less than that, depending on the size of the ruins.
"Needless to say, I'll provide food, tents, and other such camping supplies. So, what do you say?"