Moonday morning, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

“Well, boys, time to pop into the old mission clinic to see what may be seen?” inquires Gar as they head back to the Processional.

Fingol replies to Gar, “I’ve sort of given up on the idea of looking around in the Heironean mission. It would be horridly unsafe, and people have been living in it. So it’s highly unlikely that it would turn anything up. Still, I could be persuaded to walk past it and see how the people there are fairing. Afterward, I do want to get some odds and ends before, er… um… if we go out into the marsh again. I want to get back to talk to Sir Gorman right away, but who knows when I will get the chance to be in town.”

“Very well,” replies Gar, “I could use some supplies as well.”

As they walk down the road to the mission, Gar asks, “So, what did you think of Master Parwyn and Reece?”

“I thought your questions were very well crafted. But I am not sure what to make of the whole situation. Master Parwyn seems to feel that his son would not match the height and weight of the thief, and neither does our locksmith for that matter, so perhaps someone got the information from him? It does seem odd though, that a young man supposedly dead five years is being robbed now. And I don’t think the items were chosen after a long search. The thief broke open just two of the five cabinets looking for medicinal materials. That makes me think he knew the shop. If so, he knew also that there were other things in the storeroom. But why check the living space – and just the one bedroom? It seems odd.

“The use of magic is odd also. The thief obviously covets arcane magic,” Fingol says with a note of disdain, “but isn’t skilled in it himself. Or at least is not widely skilled. Else he would not need the wand which casts a spell even the lowliest adept would know.”

Gar nods, “Yeah, I agree, but I am not sold on the height argument. There is only a two or three inch difference in size. That could easily be accounted for by the slouching of the burglar. Clearly, whoever robbed Parwyn has been there before and knew what he was looking for. But did you notice how Parwyn kept evading any inferences to Reece and controlling what Aramek might say? I suspect that this was not the first time Parwyn considered the possibility of his son’s involvement and I think Aramek knows more than his master allows him to share. There at the end, he was dying to say something more. I wonder what that was about?”

Fingol nods, “I noticed much the same. Although Parwyn answered all our questions, I wouldn’t call him completely cooperative. I think there was much that he left out, and not simply because he feared retribution for helping the guard. If he feared that, why would he have let us into the shop at all? No, I think his evasiveness was definitely centered on his son. As you say, the difference in height is easily explained. Beside that though, it could be his observation which is uncertain in any case.”

Gar nods his agreement. “When we have Aramek away from his master, hopefully he will be able to shed more light upon the matter for us.”

“Let’s not push him to share more than he is comfortable,” Fingol cautions. “The fellow seems shy to a fault… handsome enough though. I would have thought you’d be at your worst behavior around him.” Fingol gives a slight grin at this.

Gar chuckles, “Yeah, he’s cute enough for a roll in the hay alright. He doesn’t need to talk for that!” Gar bursts out laughing and slaps Fingol on the back in delight as he glances over at Jankin. “Maybe he’ll warm up to me yet – seems we made a little progress today in that regard.”

“Talk about sharing…” Fingol mumbles.

Fingol perks up, “Hey, you have a much better insight into people than I do. May I ask you something? That whole episode with Brother Burne is rather surprising to me. I would expect nothing but the best from a cleric of the Cuthbert Order, of course. But his actions seemed awfully – rash. I mean, wouldn’t you have coordinated with others to make sure your goal of subduing a suspect would work out a little better? I’m not trying to cast suspicion, of course! I just find it surprising to think that a man given over to a life of wisdom and moral leadership would let his emotions run so… free. Do you have thoughts in that regard?”

Gar ponders, “People are people, no matter their vocation. Brother Burne is a man of action and conviction. I find no fault in that. But it was almost as if the specter of the Scarlet Brotherhood had possessed his soul. I can see how locksmith skills would be useful for a thief and vice versa, but surely that doesn’t make all locksmiths thieves. Sir Jankin, has the good brother ever shown such sympathy with the Scarlet Brotherhood before? ”

Jankin, who was lost in thought, looks up, and says, “Sympathy with the Scarlet Brotherhood? Certainly not! However, the followers of St. Cuthbert are a bit – well – overly militant at times. They have the wisdom of staunch conviction and absolute certainty, if one may call that wisdom. I am not so sure. Sometimes they lose sight of the common good in their dedication to the law. Actually, sometimes I think they are not concerned about the good at all, just order and discipline. But they are not evil, just harsh and narrow. I think it infuriated him to think that the locksmith was a member of the Thieves Guild and was brazenly operating right in front of us. I suspect the spell he was about to cast was for the purpose of confirming his suspicions about the nature of the locksmith. The locksmith was, of course, offended, but Brother Burne was in his rights to act as he did. We are, after all, the law here.

“As for locksmiths and thieves, I have heard that even in our own lands, that is to say Keoland, the Thieves Guild operates under the cover of the Locksmiths Guild. A watch commander once explained it to me like this: the locksmiths are either thieves themselves or agents of the thieves. In either case, it works like a protection racket. Those who want to be protected from thieves will pay exorbitant rates to have locks installed, and then either pay an annual ‘maintenance’ fee, or for ‘improved’ locks in the years following. If they pay their fees, they are left alone; and, in fact, the Thieves Guild will hunt down any unsanctioned thief who tries to break the locks. Those who don’t pay are fair game for sanctioned thieves of the Thieves Guild. In fact they may be particularly targeted until they do pay up. It’s a common scam in many towns and cities and difficult if not impossible for magistrates to do anything about, because it is difficult to prove that the locksmiths are anything but what they say they are, increased rates aside. They are free, after all, to charge whatever the market can bear. Of course the Locksmiths Guilds aren’t the only front operation that the Thieves Guilds use, but it is the most common. So naturally, Brother Burne and those like him see locksmiths as agents of chaos, crime, and disorder.”

“Oh, and Gar,” continues Jankin, “as a sworn paladin of Heironeous I must tell you that we do not sanction or condone promiscuity or unfaithfulness. Of course, you are free to do as you see fit. Still, like Brother Burne, I am also sworn to uphold what is right and proper, and so I must protest any ill usage of either Aramek or Sir Godric. Please do not abuse their feelings or trust. We all have our failings. The law also sanctions patience and forgiveness; but just because there are remedies, we should not therefore rush to drink poison. And that is all I will say about that for now. Please forgive my forwardness.”

Gar responds, “Thank you, Sir Jankin, for helping us to understand Brother Burne; and I’m sorry if I have offended your delicate sensibilities, milord. I forget that other cultures are not as free in their sexuality. Perhaps I follow the ways of nature more than the ways of man. Well, more than the ways of woman, at the least.”

Looking grim, Fingol rants, “What troubles me about easily excusing Brother Burne’s approach, is that it leads to such extreme behavior – as we’ve seen! The Scarlet Brotherhood murdered all the locksmiths. Brother Burne would arrest them at random. Surely, there is some desire for justice! To be frank, so long as the lizardfolk are attacking humans found in the marsh, we can’t withdraw from here. So if we are overrun now, we’ll have to hold out to the last man. I for one would like to see this town a place worth dying for before that happens.”

“True,” replies Gar looking at Fingol, “though it seems to me there is plenty of desire for justice in this town, but with a wide range of opinion as to how that might happen. Justice is a value colored by one’s temperament, experiences, and personal philosophy. For myself, the Flan druids taught me to strive for balance while enacting justice. If one inflicts ‘justice’ on one person or group, but it causes another person or group harm, then that is not justice, even if it felt good. That is instead revenge. This is why we strive for balance and harmony rather than justice.”

Fingol responds, “I suppose you could say I am interested in ‘hunting down’ the guilty parties, if we are trying to speak in metaphor. But it doesn’t feel just or lawful to arrest people without some cause to suspect involvement.”

“True enough, true enough,” replies Gar.

Finally they arrive outside the former Heiroenean Mission. As before, they see that the temple’s doors, beneath the carven image of a lightning bolt, seem to have been busted open with a battering ram. A couple of brawny Olman men stand guard with clubs just inside the doors. They have long black hair, reddish-brown complexions, and dark eyes. It doesn’t look like they want any trouble, but neither do they seem very welcoming of visitors.

Gar prays, “May Obad-Hai grant me resistance from harm.” He emerges from prayer and walks up to the outer entrance of the clinic, a couple yards from the guards with palms together in a universal gesture of peace and respect.

“Good sirs!” Gar begins in the trade language known as Common, as up to this time he had been speaking Keolandish, “Please excuse our intrusion into your building, gentlemen. My name is Gar Dragonsbreath and I was sent to this town by the Great Druidess of the Flan to help restore peace and balance in the marsh in whatever small ways I can. If you will allow my two friends and me,” he gestures to Fingol and Jankin, “to have a short look around the mission, I would be more than happy to fill your cisterns with water and to purify any food or drink stores you may have. We mean you no harm.”

The Olman bow to Gar in return and the larger of them says in the Common tongue, “Greetings Father Gar. We have no quarrels with the Flan tribes. You are a priest of this god?” He points to the Green Man. “We do not know your gods, but if you wish to help in whatever way you are able, then you and your friends are welcome.” He gestures for them to come inside.

As Gar enters, followed by the nervous Fingol – who is trying really hard not to shit a brick sideways – and Jankin, they see that the pews inside have been rearranged. They have been formed into small shelters by sawing them apart and facing the seats of two half-pews towards each other with the seats and their cushions serving as beds and burlap over the whole to block out drafts and lend some privacy. The braziers have been taken off their stands and are being used as cooking fires, though the pots on them don’t seem to be overly full of rice or anything else. Though the worship hall is large and there are many holes in the stained glass to draw out the smoke, it is still hazy. The statue of Heironeous on the main altar has been toppled and covered with burlap covered in guano. Bats can be seen roosting in the dark corners over the altar which is strangely clear of smoke. Most of the inhabitants seem to be malnourished women and children, though there are a few men. Three of them come towards Gar and the others with makeshift spears, but the two outside the door shout at them in their own tongue and they withdraw. The refugees look at the visitors in silence, their faces resigned and sullen.

After a moment, an older Olman man approaches. His reddish-brown skin is weathered and wrinkled, he has high cheekbones and a high bridged nose common to the Olman, his dark hair is graying, and he uses a cane, but otherwise he seems fit enough. In the Common tongue he says, “Greetings good sirs. I am Nauyotl. I am the eldest here and so I have been chosen to speak for them. What do you wish of us?” He eyes the Green Man that Gar wears.

Suddenly, Jankin catches Gar’s upper left arm in a grip so tight that it hurts. Gar can see that Jankin’s knuckles are as white as his face. He whispers to Gar, “I think we should leave. Right now! We do not belong here.”

Gar puts a reassuring hand on Jankin’s arm, “It’ll be okay milord. We won’t be long.”

Fingol stays quiet, having nothing of value to add.

Jankin addresses Gar in Keolandish, “Very well, but I will await you in the mission of St. Cuthbert, perhaps Brother Burne is still there. This is no place for me. You two watch yourselves.” It is plain that something about this place and Nauyotl has not only disturbed the young paladin but frightened him as well.

In the Common tongue Gar responds to Jankin, “Very well then, we will see you soon.”

Jankin looks around and then leaves. No one hinders him.

Looking over at Fingol with a grin Gar says, “You may go too if you wish? I am sure I am safe with this fine gentleman.”

Fingol looks like he may run out, but then steadies himself, “No, I have been anxious to come here to see if I can be of help. If I am in danger for this, then so be it.”

Turning his attention back to Nauyotl, Gar bows his head in respect and then says, “Kind and noble Nauyotl, thank you for the greeting. The Great Druidess of the Flan bids greeting to the people of Westkeep. She has heard through the wind that hard times befall the marsh peoples and she urged this lowly priest to help bring balance and harmony in this land in whatever small ways I can. Since my friend Sir Fingol and I arrived in town a few days ago, we have been hearing tales of this mission and so we wanted to pay you a visit. As I asked the guards before we walked in, if allowed a brief visit, I would be more than happy to fill your cisterns with water and to purify any food or drink stores you may have on hand. We mean you no harm. Though I am but a humble cleric with few merits, I can cure some wounds as well, if there is any need. Alas, I have not yet learned to cure disease.”

“Those who come to us in friendship are certainly welcome,” Nauyotl says in Common. He then speaks in the Olman tongue in a harsh and commanding tone to one of the women nearby and she rushes to bring jugs over to Gar. “You may use these to provide clean water. This woman will show you where we keep our stores of food. We have little enough of it, just some grain, meat, and vegetables that are barely edible. The men go out and find odd work during the day for food and whatever else can be bartered for their labor. There are some here with Filth Fever as well. You are certainly welcome to do for them what you can.” Nauyotl then speaks loudly in Olman to all those in the mission. There seems like there might be a couple of dozen altogether, including the five guards. The rest are all women and children. They seem apprehensive until Nauyotl speaks to them and then they smile faintly, nod and bow to Gar and Fingol and go back to whatever they were doing before whether cooking, weaving, or quietly playing.

The Olman woman shows Gar and Fingol where the sacks of grain and food stores are kept after Gar fills the jugs with water miraculously created through his prayers to Obad-Hai. Apparently Nauyotl keeps the food stores near to his shelter and doles it out when needed. Three Olman men with spears guard it. It does not take long for him to purify all of it with the power of his prayers.

After that Fingol is shown to those who are suffering from Filth Fever, of which there are five children and one woman. Fingol spends some time with Gar’s help caring for them, using cloth and water to cool them down and helping them to drink the water that Gar had created. Fortunately the inside of the temple is already relatively cool and dry so there is not much more that Fingol can do for them, since he has no medicines to administer.

While engaged in tending to the Olman sick, there is a commotion at the door. It is Sir Jankin demanding to be let in to make sure that Fingol and Gar are okay. Looking to the door, Fingol and Gar can see that Jankin is out there with a sword strapped to his side and two of the Cuthbertian militiamen behind him. The Olman guards at the door are barring his way.

“You had better go talk to your friend,” says Nauyotl with a sneer. He then tells the guards at the door to stand down in the Olman tongue.

Gar says, “We thank you kind Nauyotl for your hospitality. I suppose we should go now before he becomes a little too helpful.”

Once Fingol and Gar reappear in the doorway they can see that Jankin is visibly relieved. “Thank Heironeous. I was about to charge in after you two. Let’s get away from here.” As they head down the street he says in a low voice, “That man Nauyotl is steeped in evil. It is not just that he is personally evil, which some of his followers indeed are. It is that he is a channel for dark forces. The Olman are known to worship very dark powers. I have to report this to Paragon Muire. This may cause a change in our plans. I suggest we either go back immediately or bring these two with us,” he indicates the Cuthbertians. “That is, if you still need to go to the chandlers.”

“Gar, let’s get to the chandlers,” Fingol says. “Who knows how soon we’ll have to return to our duties?”

“Sure, let’s go for it,” replies Gar.

“Very well then,” Jankin says, and motions to the two Cuthbertians to follow along behind them. The militiamen are in padded armor and bear the cudgels that they are so famous for. On their tabards is embossed the ruby studded starburst of St. Cuthbert.

They find the chandler’s down on the Riverway, just as they were told. The sign outside the store states that it is called ‘Odar’s Place.’ However, both Fingol and Gar notice that they are being tailed from a discrete distance (though not discrete enough apparently) by a couple of Olman laborers. Inside the store, the aging but shrewd-eyed Odar, who watches from behind the counter, calls out to them, “Good day gentlemen, let me know if you can’t find what you need.”

Fingol asks about a few things, “Yes Master Odar, I was looking for some stout cord – a few hundred feet worth, a trotline, some tea and spices – I was thinking of an ounce or two of salt, pepper and cayenne, a pound of flour and a half pound of tea. And if you have a map of the marsh, I’d be grateful. Although, I imagine I need to see a scribe.”

“Hm, let’s see there. That will be 1 gold for every 50’ of rope, unless you want silk which is 10 gold per 50’. If you just want some twine that will be 1 silver per roll, each roll is 50’. I have a complete set of fishing tackle for 20 gold right here.” Odar shows Fingol the fishing tackle which includes birch poles, silk line, sinkers, hooks, lures, and a tackle box. “Going fishing eh? Brave man,” he laughs. “I’ve heard the snakeskins are just about to go on the warpath, but then again you can ask for four times or more the regular price for whatever you bring in from the Fishmongers Guild.

“Now a pound of wheat will cost 9 gold. But if you want something cheaper I also have barley, buckwheat, and rye. An ounce of salt will be 3 coppers. Pepper you say? An ounce of that will be 100 gold if you have it.” He laughs. “As for cayenne, I don’t have any of that sorry to say. Now tea, I can give you half a pound for,” he quickly consults his abacus, “45 gold, milord.” 

Gar adds, “And I think all I need, Master Odar, is a pound of porridge to supplement my food stock.”

“Well good father, I can give you a pound of oats for a gold piece if its oatmeal you want.”

“Thank you, that will do nicely,” replies Gar.

Fingol coughs upon hearing the prices, “I’ll take the ounce of salt. You said twine was a silver piece per 50′? I’ll take two of those. And what would a half dozen fishing hooks cost? And what does buckwheat cost?”

“A dozen hooks will cost you one gold and two silver pieces. It’ll be three gold pieces for a pound of buckwheat.”

“Just the hooks then.”

Fingol turns to Gar, ”I was just trying to get a few things to make grubbing off the land a little easier. I like to get these kinds of things to stretch out my rations and get a little fresh food along with the hardtack. Unless you hunt and fish, I don’t see why you should worry. Just stick close to the cook, or me, if the worst happens.” 

“Yummy. Thanks, Fin. I would be happy to share any fresh meat you catch,” Gar smiles as he puts a gold piece on the counter for Master Odar.

“Are you referring to the lizardfolk when you said the snakeskins?” Gar asks Odar.

“Yes, of course, what else?” Odar responds. “They’ve been attacking the fishermen of late you know. They want us all to starve so they can push all of us humans out of the marshes.” 

Gar responds, “And the humans have been encroaching upon lizardfolk territory. It’s not a pretty picture. It seems to me that lizardfolk and humans need to learn how to peacefully coexist. Of course, humans need to learn how to do the same thing with other humans,” says Gar as he glances over at Jankin.

Jankin is oblivious to Gar’s barb as he is too busy looking out the window of the shop, fretting about the Olman across the street.

Fingol just shakes his head. ”Gar, you want to change the whole world and all the people in it! And people think I am a naïve idealist.”

Gar laughs softly at Fingol, “True enough. Speaking of, I’d like to say hello to our Olman tail and send a greeting back to Nauyotl. Are we ready to go?” Without waiting for an answer, Gar picks his oatmeal off the counter and says a little prayer for resistance.

Walking towards the door he motions to the two Cuthbertians, “You two come with me.” After they walk through the door, Gar instructs them, “Stay by the door and guard me from here please.” Then he turned on his heels and calls out to the two Olman tailers while holding up his package and walking toward them, “Gentlemen, gentlemen!”

The Olman look extremely nonplussed to be hailed like this. They had been pretending to be resting between odd jobs.

As Gar walks up to the Olmans, he says in Common, in a voice not audible to the Cuthbertians, ”Good men, good men. I assume Master Nauyotl sent you to follow us? What a lovely fellow for allowing us to help your people. I don’t know how much I’ll be in town, but if he ever needs my feeble talents, Master Nauyotl may call for me. Here,” Gar hands one of them his oatmeal. “You need this more than I. Please share it with Master Nauyotl and the others at the mission.”

The Olman take the food, look at each other in puzzlement, and then bow in thanks to Gar and run off without a word.

With that Gar turns on his heels once again to cross the road.”Ready to head back milords?”

Jankin wipes the sweat from his brow. “Yes, let’s please get back now. Father Gar, you certainly do like to take chances don’t you? You may not know this, but we paladins have been gifted with the ability to sense evil, and their chieftain or witch doctor or whatever is definitely a servant of evil. They will not hesitate to eliminate us if they can. Anyway, let’s hurry back. If you are still interested I do have something more hopeful to show you both. Also, I must warn Paragon Muire about this Nauyotl. This may change our plans significantly. I guess, after all it is good that we went in there, or else we would not have discovered this, but all the more reason to be careful. Nauyotl and his minions may yet try to stop us from reporting back to the keep; though it is still day and we have these followers of Cuthbert with us.”

Fingol is walking briskly back to the keep at a slightly quicker than normal pace for him, that causes the others in the group to have to trot. “Gar there’s something I want to tell you about women. I know it’s not a topic that interests you, all the same hear me out. The funny thing about women is that just when you start to take them for granted, they run out on you. Luck is a lady. Think about that the next time you decide to just rush in. You could have gotten killed in the clinic and then again at the chandlers. Or you might have provoked the need for these gentlemen to use their cudgels, which Prince Prospero would have looked upon very poorly. Remember he said not to antagonize the people in the town. I admit that I wanted to try to help the Olman refugees, but I had said that I didn’t want to go in. And dealing with the two guys tailing us could have been done a lot better. You just got lucky. Next time, don’t take that luck for granted. Don’t take the help of others for granted either.”

Walking briskly to keep up, Gar rolls his eyes and says, “The ways of man are as many as there are human beings, Sir Fingol. What is best for one person may not be best for another. We all have our gifts and the gods do not like it if we do not use such gifts for the sake of others. Even if one does die in the act of helping others, then the rewards in the afterlife are said to be sublime and a quick rebirth assured. By the way, thank you for coming with me, even when your natural fear told you it was safer to stay out of the mission.

“Sir Jankin, thank you too for the information about Nauyotl, but the mandate of my religious order is to serve all, regardless whether they are good or evil. All beings deserve our equal respect, be they nobles or former slaves, or lizardfolk, or the grasses and trees.

“Sir Fingol, when you treat people with respect (or not) most will respond in kind. It is not luck that keeps me alive. It is my understanding of human nature along with my willingness to respect all others at the risk of my own life. Life is not worth living if we cannot put our values on the line in this world in very real ways. Don’t you agree?”

Fingol drops down to his normal loping pace. ”Respect, yes, that’s what I was talking about. In the future, please respect me enough to consult me in matters that may pertain to the timing of my joining the afterlife.”

Despite himself, Gar chuckles softly, “Yes, milord.”

Fingol’s doesn’t seem to pick up on the quip.