Fingol and Gar: Moonday morning, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

 In the morning, Fingol wakes early to perform Blessing the Day’s Path in honor of Fharlanghn. Then he walks the ramparts and makes sketches of the town. 

At about the same time Gar performs his own morning meditation. He reflects upon the day to come. In his mind’s eye he sees himself walking onto the practice field again with only his shield in hand. As the fight begins, he sees a dragon rising into the air on an updraft of wind; fire flashes once then an onslaught of storm rushes out at his opponent. Mind wandering, he suddenly remembers that Fingol wanted to visit the old clinic in town today. Gar ponders his visions and prays for divine power to bring into the world, ending with, “May the blessings of Obad-Hai be upon us all.”

Sometime after his meditation, Gar ponders what he was taught in the monastery about staying alive in a military campaign. It is said that many great men of yore created strategic alliances in their manly love for one another; to protect each other’s back, so to speak. “Hmm, perhaps I should form my own military alliance? A powerful nobleman would do nicely.” Then Gar remembers a dream of being covered by a powerful man. “Grrr, that might do, that might do.”

That morning at dinner, Fingol and Gar take their customary places alongside Burne, Jankins, and Gorman. Burne is saying to Gorman, “So I hear you had some excitement last night? A burglar was it? Did you catch him?”

“Alas, no,” answers Gorman. “Sgt. Apone’s squad was the first on sight. It was a funny thing too, because it was at the home of one of the squad members. You remember that half-elf sorcerer that Sir Bodwyn recruited? He stays with an alchemist in town named Parwyn. The thief broke into his shop, stole some poultices and tinctures and then made his way up to the loft where Parwyn has a locked storeroom for his more powerful potions. The thief set off the alarm trying to get into it and then Parwyn went up there to confront him. One of the watch patrols heard it and headed over there whistling for backup from the rest of their squad. When they got there, the thief jumped out, or rather through, the shuttered window. The way I heard it, he jumped clear over to the other side of the street and disappeared into the fog with magical missiles and arrows raining down on him. But the fog was too thick and he disappeared over the rooftops. Some even swear the thief summoned the fog himself. That may be. At any rate, the thief didn’t have all his wits about him. He dropped a wand behind. Parwyn figures it was a wand for detecting magic. Thieves sometimes use them to help find the really good stuff. Apparently real wizards and sorcerers don’t need such toys to sniff out magic. A filthy business all around I say. Magic! Bah!”

“Yes, but did anyone get a good look at this thief?” presses Burne. “How about Parwyn, you said he confronted the thief in the loft. If we could get a description I could send some of my boys around and see if we can drag some of those hoodlums out there in for questioning.” He says this with an eager grin.

Gorman shakes his head. “No. This burglar was in black from head to toe. Only his eyes were uncovered and Parwyn was too startled to remember what color the eyes were. He only saw him for a moment anyway before the thief took a running leap through the shutters. As I said, that’s when the patrol showed up and he scampered off. That Aramek, the sorcerer, was quiet upset. He rushed into the house without backup, afraid for Parwyn and his family. Sgt. Apone threatened to have him horse whipped if he ever did that again. But anyway, no one was harmed, but just the same Sgt. Apone left Aramek and a few other squad members behind just to make sure the burglar didn’t come back for his wand or another crack at that store room.”

Fingol listens to all that is said with great interest. “The thief was dressed all in black? Is there no more information? Was he armored, for instance? Were any weapons visible?”

Sir Gorman says, “No, no one reported any weapons. But you’d have to ask Sgt. Apone, or perhaps those squad members who were there. Maybe they saw something else, but that’s all that was reported to me. Well, actually I should say there better not be anything they haven’t told me. But feel free to ask them yourself.”

Thinking a little longer, Fingol adds, “This may sound odd but Gar and I saw a very suspicious looking person in town. He had a monkey on his shoulder. I don’t suppose anything like that was seen?”

Burne erupts when he hears this, “What?! You saw that little bastard? Why if we ever get our hands on him…” Burne seems to be about to work himself into a fit of apoplexy.

“By the Seven Heavens, Brother Burne! Who is this person?” asks Sir Jankin.

“He’s a terrorist is what he is! He seems to be the leader of one of the larger gangs of criminals in Westkeep. They’re called the ‘Monkey’s Paws’, and seem to be primarily made up of children but also some young men and women as well. They are a rabble of urchins and street toughs. The leader, probably the one you saw, sends the kids out as beggars but also as pickpockets, and snatch-and-grab thieves. The older youths go in more for strong-arm robberies, muggings, and the rolling of drunks or unwary Keolanders who stray too far into the downriver alleys. We don’t yet know the name of this one you saw, because the Keepers won’t talk to us. We suspect he’s been the inciter of several riots and attacks on our watch shifts, especially during the hours just after sunset when people are still out and about at the taverns and gambling halls. In fact, Sir Jankin, didn’t you claim to see a young boy with a spiky ridge of hair and a monkey after the riot that closed the Heiroenean temple in town?”

Sir Jankin nods solemnly. “I remember there was a boy with a monkey. Yes, he does tend to stand out in a crowd. After the riot was over and we were cleaning up and trying to tend the wounded he came back. I was told he took back the body of that girl who had died. He had told one of the men-at-arms that he was her brother. If he is indeed inciting riots and directing attacks against us, it may be out of some misguided desire for revenge.”

Gorman says, “Well, what happened last night doesn’t sound like it was the work of street urchins. Fingol, tell me more about this person you saw. Where did you see him? What was he doing?”

Fingol starts up a bit awkwardly, reflecting on the embarrassment of the incident with the urchins, but gains confidence as he describes the mysterious youth. “Gar and I were in the town square. We were in the middle of a large crowd of street urchins begging for handouts from us. When I looked around for an escape route, I caught a glimpse of him. He wasn’t doing anything but watching. And yes, he did have ‘a spiky ridge of hair’. Also, he wore an outfit of black leather. He was short and skinny, rather young. Still, one gets an impression that some things don’t happen by chance, and some bystanders aren’t innocent. I didn’t know why the glimpse was important at the time, but there was no doubt it was.”

Burne nods. “That was him alright. Overseeing his operations no doubt, how much did they lift from you?”

Fingol pointedly ignores Burne’s question. “Not to muddy the waters, but about the girl lost in the riot at the clinic, what was her name?” Fingol asks.

Jankin shrugs. “None of us knew her name. She was in the crowd and got trampled by the mob. The boy took her away without telling anyone anything while we were tending to the other injured people. No doubt to bury her in a pauper’s grave.”

“Oh, how terrible,” Gar exclaims.

“The whole incident of the clinic just seems more tragic the more I hear of it.” Fingol shrugs, “Well, it might just be to satisfy my curiosity, but I wouldn’t mind looking around the house to see if there is a trail of any sort.”

Gorman says, “Well you are welcome to go down there and take a look. I think Aramek helps out Parwyn during the day. Anyway, tell them that I gave you the go ahead to take a look around.”

“Maybe I should go with you too,” says Burne. “Now my curiosity is piqued. This could be a lead to that little scoundrel.”

Fingol scratches his face to hide his reaction to Brother Burne’s offer. “Thank you, I have no doubt you’ll be helpful.”

“I would like to join you two as well, if you don’t mind,” Gar says.

Fingol turns to Sir Jankin and asks, “When should I tell my companions we’ll be off? I don’t want to miss the chance to discuss your plans.”

Sir Jankin says, “Oh what I have will keep. In fact, why don’t I join you all? I feel like stretching my legs in town, and it is better to travel in groups. Then, when we’re finished with this business, you and I can return here and I’ll show you what the Heironeans have been working on. You’re invited as well Gar. You don’t mind do you? I don’t want to be imposing myself,” he says this with a quick glance at Burne for Fingol’s benefit. Burne is oblivious to this as he is busily consuming a biscuit.

Fingol tries hard to avoid a smirk when Sir Jankin says, ‘what the Heironeans have been working on.’ It strikes him as a good cut on the Cudgels, as was Jankin saying he wouldn’t want to impose himself. Fingol perks up, “Impose yourself? Oh no, you’d be as welcome as the flowers in [the month of] Planting.”

Just then a page comes over and says quietly to Gar that there is a Sir Godric who would like to speak with him if he is free. The page indicates a burly older man with a salt and pepper beard sitting further down the table. The man raises his mug to Gar and indicates that there is an empty seat across from him.

Looking to Sir Jankin, Gar says, “No problem here. I would love to see what the Heironeans are up to, but first it looks like Sir Godric has something on his mind. If you don’t mind gentlemen, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, Gar,” Fingol says. “The trail is already cold, and likely obscured. I’m not really sure what we will find anyway. So I am sure we can linger over our dinner without any more harm to our errand.”

Nodding his head gently to the gents, Gar gets up from the table and moseys down to Sir Godric.

Fingol notes that Burne is shaking his head with a grimace, while Jankin and Gorman are giving each other knowing smiles.

Gar stands behind the empty chair across from Godric, and cocking his head to the side says, “Greetings, how may I help you, Sir Godric?”

“Welcome good priest! Please have a seat. I couldn’t help but observe you observing us. It seemed as though you were looking for a friend,” he says with a wink.

Gar chuckles at Sir Godric as he takes the seat across from him. Leaning back, with one hand holding his lap Gar says, “It is always nice to have friends, Sir Godric. Friends make the world a better place and so I like to keep my eyes open for a friendly face. As do you, I see!” Gar smiles.

Godric chuckles saying, “Yes, indeed. Not many appreciate that the art of courtly love has many variations. Are you familiar with the rules of courtly love?”

“No, milord,” responds Gar, “it has become abundantly clear to me in my short visit that I know very little of courtly manners and even less of courtly love. I am but a country bumpkin, a lover of nature who grew up among woodland shrines and sacred groves. Pray tell, milord, what are the rules of courtly love? Are they few or many? For adults in my lodge, there was one basic rule for all variations: ‘Do no harm.’ Is it similar here?”

“Oh, bless me, no! Those of us who devote ourselves to Heironeous follow his principles as laid out in the Book of the Code. They preserve the proper order of things and those who follow them are able to contribute to the establishment of righteousness for the peace of the land. But we have found that through patience and discipline the savor, delicacy, and passion of true love and even its consummation is greatly enhanced. I would be happy to teach you of our ways. In time, if the bonds of friendship and respect have proven strong and reliable, perhaps you can share with me what you learned at your lodge,” this last said with a wink.

Gar chuckles again, “Patience and discipline, you say, milord? Well, I always enjoy learning the ways of the gods. Perhaps I can show you how we pray to Obad-Hai sometime?”

Gar rearranges his trousers as he winks back at Sir Godric. Wow, thoughts really do become reality. Suddenly, Gar begins to fidget. “Milord, if you will excuse me, I mustn’t keep my other friends any longer. Places to go; people to do.” Standing up, Gar looks into Sir Godric’s eyes for a long moment. Bowing deeply with a smile, “I do hope to see more of you, milord.”

“A pleasure to speak with you as well, Sir Gar. Perhaps if you’d like, I’ll send my squire around to your room with a little book you might like. It is called The Art of Courtly Love by Andreas Capellanus. You might find it inspiring as well as instructive… or not.” He shrugs. “Shall I send it along to you? Then perhaps we can discuss it later if you care to.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be interesting indeed. Please do send it over. I could indeed use a little extra instruction I suppose. Can’t we all?” Gar winks before he walks away.

Gar beats a hasty retreat back to Sir Fingol and the others, “Milords, I do hope I have not caused you to wait too long nor,” smiling, “missed any gossip? Shall we head out now to search for our man in black?”

Fingol gives Gar a look that seems to say, ‘the only gossip around here is about you,’ but he settles for just saying, “Let’s go!”