Moonday Supper, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

In the foyer outside the great hall the priests, nobles, and other members of the Prince-Governor’s household gather. Indranil calmly takes it all in, finding the ebb and flow of the nobility fascinating. He enjoys the people watching. He soon finds Ragnbjorn among the nobles chatting with Lady Sedara about inconsequential things. Ragnbjorn spots him and motions him over, “Ah, Indranil, come on over. I understand we’ll all be sitting together at the end of the Second Mess nearest to the High Table. Where’s Lorindel?”

Indranil bows to Ragnbjorn and Lady Sedara saying, “Greetings lady and good sir. I am delighted we will be sitting near each other over dinner. I must say I am quite famished! Lorindel is… finishing getting ready and will be along shortly.” Indranil is still feeling quite disappointed in Lorindel and some of this shows in his expression.

“Good, good,” says Ragnbjorn, who chooses not to pry into Indranil’s irritation. Lady Sedara also decides not to press the issue. Just then Ragnbjorn spots someone entering the foyer. He waves and beckons. Ah, now, here is my son Fingol.”

In Fingol, Indranil sees what Ragnbjorn must have looked like when he was younger, though slightly shorter and much thinner. In fact, Fingol seems to be about the same height and weight as Indranil. Indranil’s first impression is almost no impression. This Fingol would make an excellent spy, as he can pass unnoticed and unremarked through a crowded room. Then Indranil extends his awareness and looks deeper, seeing a powerful being with a solid steel core thinking, It would be a mistake to underestimate this ranger.

Indranil notes that Fingol seems a bit reluctant to come over but he does make his way over to Ragnbjorn. He steps to his left to make room for Fingol next to his father.

Fingol’s greeting is stiff, ”Father, I’m glad to see you again. Some rumors claimed that you had trouble getting here.”

“The usual perils,” his father states blandly. “Fingol, I am sure you have already met my old friend, Lady Sedara,” Sedara nods and smiles at Fingol, Ragnbjorn continues, “and this fine young man here is Sir Indranil of the King’s Rangers. He and his brother Lorindel, who should be along shortly I’ve been told,” he quickly glances at Indranil, “have been assigned to help me survey the Hool Marshes to find safer caravan routes.”

“Yes, I have met Lady Sedara.” Fingol turns to her and says, “But seeing you again is always a privilege.” 

To Indranil Fingol gives the salute of the Ranger Corp, “I am privileged to make your acquaintance as well, Sir Indranil. Since my father is choosing to be characteristically blasé about the dangers, I will rely on you to hear of the harrows of your trip.”

Indranil catches the dissonance between Ragnbjorn and Fingol and notes the edge to their interactions. He determines to watch further as it could adversely affect their mission. He scans Ragnbjorn’s and Fingol’s faces again probing for more but they both are doing their best to put on a façade of professionalism. Indranil tries to catch Lady Sedara’s eye but she only smiles warmly at everyone, either oblivious to the underlying tensions, or deliberately ignoring them.

How silly humans can be with their emotions, reflects Indranil, playing games with each other, each fearing revealing too much that would place them at some disadvantage. It could be a genuine waste of time and energy and a danger to a mission if left unchecked. Indranil’s philosophy was to say what he felt and do what he thought, to live in alignment within himself, in the genuine belief that the root cause of all conflict was misunderstanding and lack of communication.

Indranil returns the salute and says, “Good Sir Fingol son of Ragnbjorn! It is an honor and privilege. I have been looking forward to meeting you. I am eager to join your mission to the lizardfolk.”

Fingol’s brows go up a bit at the mention of the lizardfolk. “Your help will be most gratefully received, but perhaps we should wait to speak of this until we can find a place where there are fewer ears to perk and tongues to wag.”

Indranil cocks his head and looks hard at Fingol, trying to hold his eyes for a few seconds, and then says, “I was not suggesting we discuss the matter openly, simply stating I am looking forward to joining your mission.” Indranil turns and looks at Ragnbjorn, and so that only Ragnbjorn can see, winks.

Ragnbjorn returns with a faint smile and says, “Yes, well, it is no secret that a delegation will be sent to the lizardfolk, but let’s remember to be discrete.”

“In any case,” says Sedara, “better to forget business and talk of lighter matters.” She smiles sweetly at everyone. “Oh look, here is Sir Lorindel at last.”

“Sir Lorindel, good of you to join us,” says Ragnbjorn to Lorindel. “Fingol, this is Sir Indranil’s younger brother, Sir Lorindel. Sir Lorindel is a promising new member of the King’s Scout Corps who has been assigned to work with the Ranger Corps for a time. Sir Lorindel, this is my son Fingol.”

“Sir Lorindel, well met.” Fingol bows slightly. “Although you came to Westkeep quickly, you couldn’t outpace my impatience. Thank you for bringing my father safely here.” Indranil and Lorindel notice Fingol seems distracted and inattentive. He looks around the foyer as though searching for something, even while talking to others.

Lorindel offers a polite, yet stiff bow to Fingol, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your father has served as an excellent guide and teacher.”

Lorindel then turns to Ragnbjorn and says, “Indranil suggested I relax a bit and enjoy the comforts the city has to offer. Well, I took his advice and ventured downriver a bit and found a charming little pub.”

Elsewhere, Gar feels calm after such a relaxing afternoon. As everyone gathers in the foyer, Gar looks for Godric. When he does, he approaches him to say, “Thank you, Sir Godric, for the book. Good common sense too for the most part.” Taking it out of his pocket, he gives it back to him. “I have committed it to memory for our upcoming discussion though I make no promise to live up to it, milord.” Gar gives him a big smile.

Godric laughs, “Ah, what a diligent student I seem to have found. Yes, perhaps after supper we may talk.”

Just then, Gar notices Fingol and Sedara talking with three other people. One is a tall heavyset man with thick dark hair and a full beard, both now showing some grey. He seems, in fact, to be an older version of Fingol. The other two are half-elves, as can be seen by their fair complexion, slightly tapered ears, and raven black hair  – though theirs are cropped short in the military manner. They seem to be in their mid-twenties, though it is hard to tell with elves and their kin. The taller and heavier one’s eyes are a startling elvish emerald while the shorter and slighter one has eyes so dark as to almost be black. All are dressed in silken court clothes, though they wear no other adornment other than the very serviceable daggers at their sides.

Godric looks over to see where Gar is looking. “Oh, that must be Ragnbjorn of the King’s Rangers, Fingol’s father as you may know. The other two are Sir Indranil of the King’s Rangers, and Sir Lorindel of the King’s Scouts. They just got here today. Why don’t you go over and say hello. We’ll talk later.”

“Thank you Sir Godric. Yes, tonight would be fine if you find yourself free. I trust you will know where to find me, milord.” Gar continues to smirk as he bows and says, “And thank you too for the intros. I think I will go introduce myself, until later, milord.”

Walking over to them, Gar says, “Excuse me, gentlemen, for intruding. I am Gar Dragonsbreath, emissary of the Great Druidess of the Flan. Thank you for coming to our assistance.” Gar bows to them all. “And Sir Ragnbjorn, I have enjoyed the fine company and dry wit of your son these last few days. I do hope the fruit has not fallen far from the tree.” Gar’s eyes twinkle in delight.

Ragnbjorn says, “A pleasure to meet you Father Gar. I have the greatest respect for the Great Druidess.”

“Thank you, Milord, I rather like her myself,” Gar responds.

Fingol rubs his eyes in vexation as Gar engages in witty repartee with his father.

Indranil just watches taking it all in. Although Indranil’s mischievous side wished to make a joke about Gar’s last name, something on the order of ‘Well Master Gar, I hope your surname is not a warning not to breathe too deeply near you! Heh heh heh,’ but Indranil feels it politic to stay silent.

After a moment, pausing to see if Indranil will speak up first, Lorindel responds with a slight bow and a smile, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Lorindel, brother of Indranil, and one of the King’s scouts.”

Indranil then offers a warm smile and says, “Greetings Father Gar. It is truly an honor to meet you. Please extend my regards to the Great Druidess for her health and wellbeing. I am Indranil of the King’s Rangers.”

To Lorindel and Indranil, Gar responds with a mirrored smile and bows to the two half-elves saying, “I hope to hear tales of your travels through the marsh, good sirs, but first, Sir Fingol, I hope you had a safe and uneventful afternoon after our busy morning?”

For a few moments, Fingol looks like he is trying to calculate the date of the next conjunction of the spheres, then, haltingly, he speaks in a tongue that sounds like a rock gargling. He gasps a bit and then asks, “Well, I hope I just said, ‘I made the most of it’ but I’m not really sure. Father, how did I do?”

Ragnbjorn and the two half-elves, however, recognize that Fingol just said, in very garbled Draconian, something that in the lizardfolk idiom means, “Wow! I just made a big mess in my loincloth!”

Ragnbjorn looks as taken aback as Fingol has ever seen him, his face stiffens and turns red and then he puts his hand in front of his mouth and his shoulders shake. After a moment, he seems to regain control of himself and he looks up to say, “Ah, so I see you are learning Draconian. Needs a bit of work, but I think,” he indicates himself and the two half-elves, “we can help you with that.”

Lorindel’s response to Fingol’s attempt at speaking Draconian is at first shock, but is replaced with an all-out effort to prevent a wide grin from spreading across his face. “Ah Fingol, valiant effort, Draconian is difficult to master. Of course we’re more than happy to assist in your practice.”

Indranil’s eyes flew wide open and he caught his breath. Uh oh, how can we save this situation from a tragic embarrassment? We certainly do not want the Prince to be embarrassed by Fingol’s ineptness. He laughs quietly and then with utter seriousness of demeanor pats Fingol on the back and says, “Well Done! Good sir. That was a most skillful way to break the ice with a sly bit of humor. I think the Prince was correct in choosing you to be the negotiator!” Then to himself he thinks, Good grief, no wonder he was hesitant to discuss the mission. He has no clue. Is this really Ragnbjorn’s son?

Gar looks a little quizzically at Fingol, then shrugs, clearly clueless. Indranil, Indranil, Indranil, the name danced around his brain, firing off old memories of the gods of people past. He almost blurts out, but softly, ‘No God?’ Coming out of his reverie, he looks at Indranil a little wide eyed, “Does your name mean ‘No God?’ What an odd name for a mother to give her child. Surely I must be wrong?”

Indranil smiles warmly with a twinkle in his eye at Gar and says, “Good Earth!  No. I honor and respect all the gods and deities that do good and promote the light. I am sworn to the cause of Good. Though, that’s a funny comment coming from a man with the name Dragonsbreath!”  And with that Indranil waves his hand in front of his wrinkling nose as if smelling something noxious. Then he laughs and winks at Gar and pats him on the shoulder in friendship.

As Indranil pats Gar on the shoulder, Gar puts one hand over his mouth and laughingly says, “I know. Sometimes I can be a bit strong.”

“Seriously though, Indranil was my great-great-great-grandfather, an elf of some repute as a hunter and warrior. The origin of his name is lost to our family.”

Gar bows deeply to Indranil, “Ah, my apologies to your honorable ancestors, noble sir.”

When Aramek and Rain reach the foyer they see that the nobles are gathered there ahead of them waiting to enter and make their ablutions before the ushers seat them. They see Fingol, Gar, and Sedara, an older man, and two half-elves.

Frost nudges Rain and points to the older man and the half-elves, “Y’know who that is? That’s Ragnbjorn, that is. I don’t know who the two with him are, but Ragnbjorn is a near legend among the King’s Rangers, at least hereabouts. He was one of those that led us safely across the marshes. I heard tell that he’s even made friends among the snakeskins out there.”

Hex comes over and takes a look as well. “So that’s Ragnbjorn? Isn’t he Fingol’s father? I can only imagine what kind of a fighter he is judging from his son’s ability.”

Vaskez adds, “I have some friends who were on duty at the entrance to the keep. They say they came in this afternoon and were in pretty rough shape. Something tore into them pretty good out there, though they look fine now. They even told me that they caught a glimpse of Ragnbjorn’s mithril shirt. Like silvery fish mail they said.”

Frost nods, “True enough. I also heard that he has a composite bow crafted by the elven bowyer Faremlas especially for him after he helped to track down and destroy a gang of trolls that had invaded the Dreadwood, and that few are those mighty enough to draw it. His longsword was gifted to him by the dwarven swordsmith Drimli after he saved Drimli from the jaws of a winter wolf some years ago. He’s apparently been gifted with the wealth of a kingdom for his deeds, and there are none who can withstand him.”

Hex utters a low whistle, “I guess that means Fingol has a lot to live up to then.”

Rain observes saying nothing, too many things to catch to waste time on idle chitchat. She does not overtly spy on the crowd, but she fully uses her observational skills as this is just too good of a crowd to let go unobserved. 

Aramek is actually pleased to see two half-elves who apparently hold some station, although he wonders at the very dark eyes of the one. When he sees the apparent mirth being shared by the group he turns to Rain and says, “That must have been a very good joke to get them all stifling laughs like that.”

“Gar must have said something out of place again,” Rain responds, smiling just a bit, then returns to her silent observations.

At that moment, the foyer opens and the nobles begin entering the great hall to make their ablutions before being seated by the ushers. By peeking into the great hall, Rain and Aramak see that Sir Ragnbjorn and Brother Burne are seated across from each other at the end of the Second Mess closest to the High Table. Sir Fingol is seated to Sir Ragnbjorn’s right and Father Gar across from him. To Sir Fingol’s right sits Sir Indranil with Sir Lorindel across the table. To Sir Indranil’s right sits Sir Jankin and across from him sits Sir Gorman.

Once everyone is seated, Paragon Muire, in his blue robes with silver trim, stands by the High Table to pronounce the traditional blessing. With grace concluded, the servants begin bringing in jugs of wine and ale, and the many trays and platters of the First Remove. Altogether there are Four Removes. The first remove turns out to be a wild blackberry salad made with blackberries over petite leaves, lemon chèvre, roasted pecans, and a spiced rum vinaigrette dressing. The second remove is Turtle Soup Au Sherry. The third remove consists of sugarcane grilled pork chops with smoked crawfish, and spicy onion rings. The fourth and final remove is a delicious rice pudding, such as the Hold of the Sea Princes is famous for. As on most nights there are troubadours, minstrels, and jugglers present to entertain, though no one as renowned as Dellin of Pepez.

After everyone is seated at the Second Mess, Gar looks from Ragnbjorn to the half elves and says, “So, good sirs, pray tell us tales of your journey through the swamp to get here.”

Ragnbjorn is quick to respond to that, “Ahem, well. There is not much to say, and it wouldn’t make for good discussion while eating anyway.” He looks over at Indranil and Lorindel to make sure they understand him. “We can speak about it, if you wish, in our quarters later.” He turns to Lorindel, “Perhaps you have something more entertaining to tell us. You said something about a pub you found.”

“Oh, aye,” says Lorindel, and then proceeds to tell them the tale of his adventures at the Murky Archer. At first Burne seems disinterested, but as Lorindel mentions the boy Dion and his monkey he stiffens, as does Fingol. Burne, retaining control of his emotions, begins interrupting to question Lorindel about the appearance of the people he met. So in the end, the whole story is recounted with as much detail as Lorindel can recall.

Indranil looks at Lorindel nods his head and says, “Brother, please accept my apologies for being… ah… too hasty in my judgment. You have done well.”

“Think nothing of it Indranil. I can only imagine how it must have looked from your perspective,” says Lorindel. ”As I mentioned, I seriously thought about finding a way to get cleaned up before returning.”

At the end of it Burne is glaring at Fingol intensely, “You see, the violet eyed man was our locksmith! I am sure of it! And in the company of that rogue Dion! At last we have a name!” He punches his left palm to punctuate his excitement. “Dion! And now we know where to find him, or I should say them – the Thieves Guild of Westkeep!”

Fingol rolls his eyes, “And what has Dion done, besides look suspicious? And why would you pin a crime on that locksmith just for associating with him? If you were the Sheriff of Westkeep there would be no one left outside the jails.”

“It’s not my fault if they all deserved to be locked up!” retorts Burne.

Lorindel nods in agreement with Fingol, but then acknowledges Burne, “I’d be a fool to think for a moment that Fergus and his boys aren’t involved with some sort of seedy enterprise. But there were plenty of opportunities to make me their mark,” defends Lorindel. 

Fingol turns to Lorindel, “Cousin, you are very lucky to be here to tell this tale. In the future, take a friend along with you. Sir Gar or myself would be happy to show you the Twilight King, although, the barmaid is not so comely. The ale there is better fit for drinking. It’s much too good to waste on someone’s head.” 

“Sounds good to me,” replies Lorindel, “Having a guide to show me around the city is definitely welcomed. I’ll heed your advice against wandering off alone.”

“Oh I agree with Sir Fingol,” says Gar, “You should not go out alone. Take me. We’ll have so much fun. I heard about a Street of Red Lanterns that sounds very entertaining…..” Gar winks at Lorindel, smiles and raises his eyebrows mischievously as he glances around the table.

At the mention of the ‘Red Lanterns,’ Jankin blushes and turns away. Gorman gives a hearty laugh. Burne, however, glowers at Gar.

“Street of Red Lanterns, you say, Gar? Sounds promising,” admits Lorindel with a devilish grin.

Fingol adds, “We’ll have to give some thought to your keeping that appointment though. As Brother Burne indicated, there was a robbery. Who’s to say if your new friends were involved, but it seems possible they might know something about it.”

Between swigs of ale, Lorindel responds, “No, I think there is something genuine he can offer. If anyone can give the ins and outs of a city, it’s a man of the streets.”

Gar openly chuckles. “Yes, on your first day here, Sir Lorindel, you may have been invited into the heart of the Thieves Guild. You are my kind of guy,” Gar chortles.

Indranil says, “Gar, Lorindel is a scout. He did well to open access to intelligence and information. He did not join them. As a scout he did an excellent job.”

“Ah, yes, thank you for the clarification,” Gar smiles and winks at Lorindel.

Gorman says, “Well, we haven’t met yet Sir Lorindel, but I’m Sir Gorman the commander of the night watch. Sir Fingol here did some investigating this morning of a robbery that this Fergus may,” he turns to look pointedly at Burne, “or may not, be connected with. Maybe Sir Fingol can tell all of us what he found out. I would especially like to know.”

Fingol begins to recount his tale, “When we arrived for dinner yesterday, we were told of a robbery at the local apothecary.  Brother Burne, Sir Jankin, Sir Gar, and I were all interested in the tale. Evidently someone broke into the shop, and stole a few items. He was discovered by the shop owner, Master Parwyn, who called for the town guard.

Gorman interrupts here to say, “Actually, Master Parwyn had set a magical alarm spell that the thief tripped off. That’s when Master Parwyn went upstairs and saw him. The night watch was on the way as soon as they heard the alarm. Pardon me Sir Fingol, please continue.”

Fingol does, “The guard chased him off, but the means of escape was quite dramatic. The fellow jumped through the second story window, crossing the street in mid air. He grabbed hold of the roof lintel of the house across the street, conjured a fog of some sort and disappeared into the night.

“After hearing all this, I suppose we felt we couldn’t stay away. I didn’t know what good I could do, but, I thought I would try to reconstruct the crime and so make some guesses as to what sort of thief we are looking for.

“So we headed down to Master Parwyn’s shop. There we saw a locksmith who does, in fact, match the description of Lorindel’s friend.” Fingol glances over at Brother Burne. “He was honestly engaged in the practice of his honorable trade at the time, putting a new lock on the front door.

“We made our introductions to Master Parwyn and Aramek.” Fingol glances down at Sir Gorman, “Who is a lodger at the shop, and also in the town guard. Both gentlemen were very cooperative. Well, at first, but I get ahead of my telling. 

“After this, I started trying to follow the thief through the shop, starting at the front door.  The locksmith answered all my questions and allowed me to examine the lock. Honestly, I didn’t learn much, save that the thief was skilled at springing locks. 

“Perhaps this is what made Brother Burne suspicious.” Fingol tries not to look at Brother Burne at this point. “We had a spirited debate over probable cause at that point. The locksmith and Brother Burne chose to continue this outside as I followed. Well, long story short, Brother Burne decided to return to the keep after this, and I came back to the shop.”

Jankin raises his eyebrows at Fingol at this point and is on the verge of saying something when Burne interrupts with a laugh. Burne says, “You are very kind Sir Fingol, very gracious indeed. The fact is, and I’ll own up to it, I could see plainly that the locksmith was likely a thief himself and if not the thief then most certainly in cahoots with the actual culprit. I made a very ham-handed attempt to discern if he was actually an agent of chaos and the man lunged at me with dagger in hand. If not for the good Sir Jankin here, who heroically pushed me out of the way to his own cost, I might have been killed. Father Gar tried to cool us off and this locksmith then tried to get away.” Gar laughs audibly at this.

Burne continues, “I couldn’t let him go, and after all he had just assaulted us with a deadly weapon, so I ran off after him and Fingol came along as well. He got away unfortunately. He disappeared into the crowd on the Processional. So I decided to cut my losses and head back, though I asked Fingol to please convey my apologies to Sir Jankin, Master Parwyn and the others. If nothing else, that man still needs to be brought in for assaulting me and for injuring Sir Jankin.”

Gar nods smiling to the group, “Brother Burne is a passionate man.”

Sir Jankin interjects, “Really, I am fine. It was just a scratch and Father Gar took care of it. We probably should bring this Fergus – if that’s indeed his name – in for questioning and for attacking you, though I will have to testify that he was provoked. He didn’t know what spell you were about to cast on him.”

Burne frowns but then nods his assent to that. “Fair enough” he says. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt Sir Fingol.”

Fingol resumes his narrative, “When I returned, Sir Gar and Aramek were discussing another of the clues. A wand was left behind. Evidently it has the power to detect magic, such as might be contained in an enchanted item. So the thief was evidently searching the shop for magic, and to avoid magic wards, but lacked the ability to use spells himself. The wand is quite valuable, and I believe the thief will return for it. 

“So I searched the first floor and continued to ask Aramek about what he knew. This is when Aramek gave me his recounting. It was notable, in that Aramek said there were keepsakes missing from Master Parwyn’s late son Reece’s room. Later, Master Parwyn indicated only one keepsake, a journal. 

“In addition to that, some healing items were taken from the first floor. What is interesting here is that the items were not magical, but the thief knew just where to find them. There were five cabinets downstairs. Only two were opened. Then the thief went upstairs. If he were searching blindly, why not open all the cabinets? At this point, the perpetrator is undiscovered and had his leisure to search.”

Burne interjects again, “That’s not so mysterious actually. I thought about that later, and it occurred to me that the thief probably came in during the day posing as a customer and cased the place. Anyway, please go on.”

Fingol again takes up the thread of narrative, “Master Parwyn took us to the loft to look around. There was little to see. Aramek’s quarters, and a storage room with a stout wooden door. The door was not disturbed, apparently. It was magically warded. This is what alerted Master Parwyn. Aramek was on guard duty that night, so again the thief was well informed about his target. Master Parwyn called for the guard, who answered quickly. Rain and Aramek arrived. Rain fired an arrow, which missed. Aramek used a spell, which did not. So evidently our thief is injured. And then the perpetrator made his dramatic escape. We asked Master Parwyn what he saw of the thief. Evidently his clothes were all of black. They were cloth, not leather as Dion wore. His face was even blacked with soot. Master Parwyn did not believe the perpetrator wore armor or carried weapons. At least, none were seen. 

“We asked about Reece, who evidently does not match the description of the thief being taller and heavier. And as I said, he disappeared six years ago. At this point, Master Parwyn became frustrated with our questions and asked Aramek to show us out.

“It was at this point, that we made our thanks known. Also, we promised to speak with you Sir Gorman about posting a guard on the shop. I think it would be a good idea, as the thief is likely to return for that wand.” 

Gar jumps in, “But by that time, Master Parwyn asked us repeatedly to please not bring any guards to his store or to his street. Truly he became agitated by my questions about his son Reece and practically kicked us out when he realized I wondered if Reece was the culprit we seek. Understandable, I suppose, but still it makes me wonder if it was not thievery at all, but a lost son repossessing his own articles.”

Jankin says, “Well, your pardon Father Gar, but I think that what Master Parwyn asked was for us not to set any traps for the Thieves Guild at his shop or home or even street. But I do believe he still wanted us to ask Sir Gorman if anyone could be spared to provide extra security for his shop.”

Gorman responds, “Well, I’ll have to ask Sir Bodwyn about it. We are actually going to be doing some rotations of duty soon, but that is not something I’ll talk about here. But it does sound like we should post a couple of people there for a bit, or at least make sure the patrols go by Tanglefoot Lane a little more often than otherwise. Also, Brother Burne, please refrain from trying to make any arrests in town. That is the watch’s jurisdiction and you are with palace security. I can understand that the Cuthbertian militia wish to help in bringing order to Westkeep, but let’s coordinate our efforts shall we?”

Burne mumbles something, and then says more loudly, “My apologies Sir Gorman, we should talk later then about coordinating efforts.”

Gorman turns to Lorindel, “Since you seem to have made contact, if not necessarily friendship or trust, with this Fergus and Dion, perhaps you should continue to cultivate that. Let’s not scare them off. But if you could, please report what you find to Sir Bodwyn, he’s the Captain of the Watch and is the one who should decide how to proceed.”

Burne asks, “So what happened to you three after I left?”

Fingol resumes his tale, “After the visit to Master Parwyn’s I wanted to replace some equipment. So we decided to head to the chandler’s. On the way, we thought we would pass the old Heironean mission. On the way, Sir Jankin, Sir Gar, and I discussed the facts of the case and what interpretations we had made of them. We also debated whether to try to enter the clinic. I was of the opinion that it would serve little good and pose great risk.

“Once outside the mission, we saw the condition of the clinic. For those who haven’t heard of its tragic history, I’ll explain briefly. The mission was founded to provide healing to the people of the town. The clerics and paladins who could serve staffed the clinic and dispensed healing as they could. A mob broke in the front door and destroyed the place when certain people grew frustrated that they, or their loved ones, had not received treatment yet. Demand for healing far outstripped the ability to heal, unfortunately. Of course, the townsfolk have other interpretations as well.”

Jankin adds, “The townsfolk either didn’t understand or didn’t trust our triage system and they began rioting. We tried to close the clinic doors but they grabbed a post from one of the nearby ruins and began battering the door down. The guard arrived and tried to disperse the crowd but one of them was stabbed and they drew their swords. When it was all over, many of the townsfolk were dead – either in the fighting or trampled by other panicked people trying to get away. We Heironenans withdrew from the mission back here into the keep until we could prepare more resources, come up with a better plan, and train ourselves in crowed control tactics. We never imagined the situation here would be as chaotic as it has been. The people are not grateful that we liberated them from the Scarlet Brotherhood. Instead, they seem to see us as the enemy and treat us accordingly. Anyway, that happened little over a month ago, and we will soon be reclaiming the mission, or at least I hope we will, but things are apparently a little more complicated now as you’ll hear. Go on Fingol, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Fingol takes a deep breath, “So that leaves us outside the clinic. The doors were staved in, of course and guards were posted at the doors.”

Jankin interrupts to explain, “Olman guards. Olman refugees from the fighting in the rest of the Hold of the Sea Princes moved into the abandoned clinic. As you may know, the Olman are from the Amedi Jungles. They were taken as slaves by the Sea Princes, and remained slaves under the Scarlet Brotherhood. Now that the countryside has risen up against the Scarlet Brotherhood, anarchy prevails everywhere out there. Some of them have been forced to flee into the Hool Marshes and then made their way here and everyday more seem to arrive. Sorry to interrupt Sir Fingol. You were about to explain how we got past the Olman guards.”

Fingol continues, “At this point Gar said a brief prayer and walked over to the guards. I followed, fearing for his safety. He offered service to the Olmans, saying he could create fresh water and heal injury. And frankly, the refugees looked like they could use any help they could get, no matter how scant. And so I offered my own help as well. Sir Jankin did likewise. The guards gave us admission and we were introduced to their headman, Nauyotl. It was at this point Sir Jankin bid us leave with him.”

Jankin again speaks up, “As you know, we paladins know when we are in the presence of true evil. This headman, this Nauyotl, is such a force for evil, and not a weak one either. I knew right then that I had to get out of there and find help. I went to the St. Cuthbert mission to get help from them. Brother Burne had already left for the keep, but two of their militia members came back with me to help rescue Sir Fingol and Father Gar, if rescuing was needed. Sorry, Sir Fingol, please continue.”

Fingol does. “It was well that he did what he did, as we will see! Father Gar declined to heed the warning and I was reluctant to leave him alone in such peril. Besides, the conditions the people were living in moved me to stay and do what I could. They were doing what they could, but shelters they have are little better than tents and their food is in very short supply.”

Interrupting Fingol, Gar says, “I was never in any danger and neither were you Sir Fingol, though,” chuckling, “Sir Jankin might have had reason to be concerned, even though clearly he does care for their well being greatly. Neither the guards nor Nauyotl had any problem with those who want to help them, as the two of us do and did. Furthermore, good sir, I’ve been thinking about this. When our thoughts, words and deeds bring something about, like our desire to help these people, then not even the gods themselves can break the cycle of causation we ourselves have set in motion, but instead are charged by nature to carry us kicking and screaming over the threshold of our own creation.”

Fingol resumes, “It was at this point that Father Gar and I did what we could, with Nauyotl’s blessings. Father Gar replenished their water supply. I washed and dressed the sores of the half dozen with filth fever. More must be done for them, of course. Else the humors of their contagion will foul the air of the town and spread further! 

“We had been in the clinic for some time when Sir Jankin, fearing for our safety, came back with two members of the Cuthbert’s militia as he said. Nauyotl bid us farewell and we left freely.

“But not completely, two of the Olman guards followed us to the chandler’s. I grew nervous at this. The only weapon I had was a dagger, and I did not like the idea of drawing blood, should things come to that. But we carried on our way and picked up such things as were wanted. Father Gar purchased a sack of oatmeal. At that time, I was just turning my mind to the problem of slipping past our tail and getting back to the keep without incident. At the same moment, Father Gar went out by himself and made a present of the oats to the Olmans. I had visions of them robbing him for whatever money and goods he had and a general melee breaking out. Fortune, however, was with the good priest, as the Olmans were so pleased with the gift they headed back to their people right away. Effective, but it was risky.

Smirking, Gar replies, “Yes, effective but risky; you may not have noticed, Sir Fingol, while you were paying for your items I asked our good Cuthbertian friends to guard me with their cudgels from across the lane. No doubt they helped to intimidate the poor Olmans – simple, but effective. If you genuinely care for a person’s well being, they are not so likely to stick a knife in your gut, at least most of the time.”

Fingol’s eyes widen, and he shoots a glance over at Sir Jankin, hoping he didn’t catch the inference Father Gar made about the sincerity of the Heironean mission work. He declines, however, to say anything. Jankin, in any case, does not seem to have taken any offence at Gar’s comment.

“After all this, I was eager to head back to the keep and spend the afternoon in some quiet. I’m afraid I’ve seen quite enough of towns for a while,” says Fingol as Gar nods in agreement.

A low chuckling from the end of the table soon turns into a chortle and then a loud guffaw. It is Ragnbjorn. He looks to Lorindel and then Fingol and says, “See what happens when you take country mice and throw them in with the city rats. Ha ha! We better get you boys back out into the wilds before you two get into something so deep you won’t be able to get out of it.” He looks at Indranil then, “How’d you manage to stay out of trouble? Or did you?”

Indranil chews happily and mumbles a bit while saying, “Me? Heh heh heh … I had quite enough of ‘adventures’ in the Hool following you around! You draw danger like filings to a magnet sir! I used my time to rest and meditate.” He quietly adds just below the realm of hearing, “and I had other game to chase,” he cast his eyes quickly towards the High Table where Lady Sedara is sitting.

Just at the moment, the sound of a wild cat crying out is heard from outside the keep. Perhaps it is a cougar.

Gar raises his eyebrows. “Lady Sedara? You scoundrel you! Do you always lust after the unobtainable?” Gar smiles at Indranil.

Indranil looked at Gar with an expression of well whatever do you mean?

“Hmm, I suppose your taste may not be so main stream.” Trying to keep a straight face, Gar sips his ale.

Fingol asks, “Did anyone else hear that wild cat calling just a minute ago? I wouldn’t have thought there were any around here.”

Mmm, yeah,” Gar responds. “Stranger still is to hear them at all. Cats are usually silent hunters and make noise only during the kill….”

Indranil now shows a bit of irritation in his features. “Father Gar you jump to conclusions too quickly and speak of things you know nothing about. You have now managed to offend my name, my ancestry, and now presume to question my morals all in the first two hours of meeting each other. Is this what the Great Druidess teaches her priests?

“The point I was making – and I thought I had been keeping it to myself – was that I had larger things to consider. Lady Sedara and I discussed the interaction between us and the deities. She made a case for close interaction and I was stating my preference to leave the deities alone for I do not trust them. It was an extremely thought provoking conversation and had nothing to do with – as you say – my taste.”

Fingol jumps in, “Oh I don’t think anyone had to teach Father Gar how to be irritating, it’s a profound natural talent. But don’t let him get your goat… Gosh, I’m not sure what he might do with it if he did! Anyway, he doesn’t mean much harm. Try to see the humor of it.”

Inwardly, Fingol is dancing around. Yeah!  A stiffer straight man than me! I’m so off the hook!

Indranil turns his gaze towards Fingol saying, “Find humor in an insult? Nay, that is not my way. I do not make allowances for others poor behavior and lack of control. I live as I think and do as I say. My sworn oath is to live in alignment with the Good and my honor is my compass. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, if Father Gar insults me again I will consider it intentional and treat him accordingly.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, my apologies Sir Indranil,” chimes in Gar, “No insults were intended. I thought we were being playful. Truly, the gods should be wary of you. But good or evil is in the mind. What is good now is evil later and vice versa. I find little value in taking such changeable morals as my compass but I honor those who do, good sir. Please accept my humble apologies; I will be more careful of your sensibilities in the future.”

Indranil slowly chews his food and then takes a sip of wine to wash it down with as he ponders his reply. Looking at Gar levelly he replies, “Apology accepted Father.”

Indranil continues, “I am in great disagreement with your philosophy that good and evil is only in the mind and changeable. This is a disturbing viewpoint. It makes one question whether there is anything at all about you that can be trusted? Is this what the Great Druidess preaches?”

Gar takes another sip then thoughtfully says, “The Great Druidess teaches us to be at one with nature, just like your honorable ancestors, I do believe. However my god prefers that I do not take sides in good or evil, but to serve all equally. And you can trust that I will be incorrigible until the day I die.” Gar winks, and then, still looking at Indranil, adds, “The Great Druidess sent me here to help bring peace and balance to the Hool Marsh, irrespective of race. That I will live up to that mission you can trust.”

Indranil says, “To serve all equally? Even those that do evil?”

Without batting an eyelash, Gar responds right away, “Absolutely! I do believe this mindset is what enabled me to walk into the Heironean Mission today and why this strange little person has been named ambassador by two dignitaries. We all have our strengths and weaknesses good sir.”

Indranil replies, “Thank you for explaining yourself to me Father Gar. I think it is good we understand where we each stand before we embark together on a mission. Hear me well then and take heed for if you take side with evil doers in my presence my sword and arrow may well find you in the way.”

Gar bursts into laughter, “Do not worry good sir unless you fight evil simply for the sake of good. But let us hope it does not come to that.” Gar laughs at Indranil. “Life is too brief to quarrel needlessly, elder brother.”

Indranil looks at Gar for a few seconds then turns back to his plate, thinking to himself, This Father Gar is a load of crap in the streets. His philosophy is nothing more than an excuse for hedonism; anything goes whenever it is convenient. He will be trouble. I hope Ragnbjorn knows what he is bringing along with us.

“Agreed,” interjects Lorindel. “Brother, it surely was not coincidence that has brought us all to this table. And it certainly wasn’t to squabble. I find the father’s humor equally confounding, but I don’t think there was any deeper intent to his words.”

Indranil says, “If this was just about his weak attempts at humor – which I do not find at all charming and harmless – I would not be so concerned. Brother this is much deeper than humor. I care not to be in danger when I am unsure of who is at my back.”

Gar raises his eyebrows and his hand to his neck in mock surprise. Feeling more than a little feisty, he takes a few moments to breathe deep, nonchalantly rub his Green Man and silently cast a resistance spell. “I do hope this little chat has enabled us all to get to know each other good sirs. If we humans cannot get along, how are we to learn to live in harmony with the lizard folk? Why bother trying at all? Perhaps human and elf are more like orcs than we wish to believe?” Not smiling, Gar is in the mood to breathe fire on Indranil, to teach him a little lesson, but only if Indranil draws blade first.

Indranil pulls back from the table and stands while throwing his napkin down. “Now you suggest we are similar to those vile beasts? How you were ever selected as an ambassador is beyond me. Stay away from me for your own health.” With that Indranil bows to Ragnbjorn and then to the High Table and departs the Hall.

Pursing his lips, Gar watches Indranil make his exit. After he leaves, he leans forward and says to the table, “My apologies good sirs for my sharp tongue. But I do not mean to be a racist. Humans and elves alike, if we cannot learn to get along, even with people we do not like, then we are no better than orcs.” Gar thumps the table for emphasis. “Perhaps you all should go without me and I will stay here to help the good Heironeans heal the sick and reclaim their temple. Surely that is a better use of my time and skills.”

Stewing in his juices for a few uncomfortable moments, Gar adds, “He is right, you know, but please do not tell him so, Sir Lorindel. Surely His Highness in all his wisdom can find a better way for me to support the cause?” Leaning forward again, Gar looks around the table and into the face of everyone present, one person at a time. “It would seem my best talent may be mediating with evil people; those devoted to good can be so weird sometimes. I wonder what that says about me?” Gar smiles again and relaxes into his seat. “It’s a good thing that Sir Jankins here knows my heart.”

Father Gar,” says Lorindel. “Do not worry about my brother. He does not consider race, but looks at a man’s actions before making judgment. I’m sure of your worthiness…” Lorindel pauses momentarily and spreads his arms to encompass the entire group then continues. “Our worthiness will become apparent when we are required to act.”

Jankin nods at this, “I will speak to Sir Indranil when he’s had time to cool down.”

Changing his tone to a more casual one Lorindel says, “To be honest, it is I who struggle with race. I do not find your words to be racist. Actually just a few days ago I had mentioned that we, by that I mean half-elves, in some respects are no different than those unfortunate beasts borne of orcs and men. Not a comparison most civilized people would make, and even fewer would want to hear.”

“Ah, thank you for your graciousness, Sir Lorindel. Perhaps I simply cut too close to the quick or it was my bad dragon breath. Still, I like your brother, I hope he and I both feel more secure with each other in the marsh,” shares Gar. “I must admit, he makes me a little nervous. No doubt I do that to him as well – I do that to people sometimes – though I thought we hit it off so well at first. But back to your point, we are all half our mother and half our father, be we Flan, Keolander, elf or orc. That such parental mingling is possible should tell us that we are all essentially the same; it seems to me. It is the way of nature.”

Fingol glowers at the remaining debaters, “Gentlemen, I think the only thing this discussion has done is to shout openly about things which ought not to be discussed, save in close whispers. It’s not our place to feed rumors about our Prince’s plans and orders. It is our place to carry them out. A thing, I expect, Indranil will acknowledge when he has remembered himself. 

“This talk of good and evil, nation and race feeds the devices of the Scarlet Brotherhood. For they would love to see the men of this city use knives on each other in the name of honor, so that they are saved the trouble of slitting our throats themselves.

“Therefore, let us forget all this talk. Indranil is a man of the King’s Rangers and will go where his lord bids and in whose company he bids, as we all must. Father Gar is charged by the Great Druidess to do all he can, and so he shall. For we have need of his skills, and yes, his temperament too. Let us be friends then and be resolved to do our duty as rangers and scouts ought, quietly!”

Gar says, “Yes, I suppose you are right, Sir Fingol. While the duty of the scouts and rangers is to quietly follow, the duty of the clergy is to use one’s voice to talk about good and evil. I am not a soldier milord. I do not follow orders well from anyone or any god. I have already carried out the will of the Great Druidess by coming here to urge the Prince to action.” Crossing his arms, Gar continues,  “Perhaps it is my dark mood speaking but I ask myself the same thing as Indranil, how could a person of wisdom appoint someone like me to leadership?”

Ragnbjorn speaks up at last, “First of all Gar, I must apologize on Indranil’s behalf. He can be a touchy one at times. And I do not think your jest about his tastes sat well with him. On the other hand, I think he misunderstands how you and Fingol fit into this mission. I know a bit more about the druids and the priests of Obad-Hai than he does, and it seems to me very appropriate that an emissary of the Great Druidess would be asked to intercede for us. I am going to go speak to Indranil. When the rest of you are done eating I’d like Lorindel to bring you, Father Gar, and you son, back to the room he shares with Indranil. We’ll be waiting there for you and there are things that we need to tell you if we are going to journey together.”

“Excuse me Sir Ragnbjorn, if I could have a word with you privately on the way back to the guest wing?” asks Sir Jankin.

“Certainly, Sir Jankin,” Ragnbjorn replies. The two of them then leave together.

After their departure, Gar takes another sip of ale and looks around the table. As his eyes settled on Brother Burne, he smiles, “Brother Burne, I do admire your passion for your beliefs. In this regard I believe we are very similar.”

“You’re not looking for round two, are you?”  Fingol is smiling in spite of himself.

Gar too smiles big at Fingol. “Not if I can help it, milord.”

Burne responds, “Passion and sincerity are one thing, but one can also be sincerely and passionately wrong. However, I’m not looking for a fight. I think I’ve had enough fighting today. From where I sit, I think Indranil was being a bit thin skinned, but I don’t think you can tell me that you weren’t needling him a bit there in the end. But that’s your business, leave me out of it.” Burne returns his attention to his ale and grilled pork.

Gar smiles at Burne. “Needles are helpful medicine,” Gar says to no one in particular.

Gar tops off his ale and chugs it down. Then reaching for the water jug he says, “I suppose I should sober up so that I can control my tongue?” Looking into the empty pitcher, “What? No water?” So he sets it down, fondles the little Green Man around his neck while saying a prayer and flicks his wrist toward the water pitchers on the table. “Ice cold water anyone?”

Letting out a satisfying belch and fart, Gar says, “Gentlemen, shall we mosey over to the good brothers’ room?”

As Fingol, Lorindel, and Gar leave the great hall, Gar makes a point to walk behind Godric. Pausing momentarily behind his right shoulder, Gar says, “Milord.” When Godric looks up, like a page delivering a message, Gar bends over to whisper in his ear, “Milord, the Lady Sauraa sends her love.” Making sure no one can see, Gar grazes the nape of his neck with his breath, the touch of his fingertips, and the creative visualization of fire and snake coiling up and down his spine. Briefly, ever so briefly, then Gar turns and leaves with the others without waiting for a response. Godric looks after Gar and smiles.

Out in the adjacent hall among the members of the watch, rumors and speculation run rife about the arrival of Ragnbjorn and his companions. Ferro says, “I have a friend in another unit who was sent out into the swamps today with one of the novices who works for Paragon Muire. The novice had a sack that Ragnbjorn brought to the palace. Paragon Muire gave the sack to the novice and ordered him to take it out into the swamp to burn. And do you know what was in it? My friend told me it was a head! But it was a head like he had never seen before. He said it was hairless and pale, with sharp elongated teeth, especially the canines, and it had dull red eyes. He thinks it was the head of a vampire!”

Rain smirks at Ferro’s tale and comments. “Wouldn’t surprise me, most likely there are all kinds of hellish creatures out there. The question is why did they bring back the head at all? Obviously it wasn’t a trophy, was it some creature of note requiring proof of its death? I wish we could hear more of what’s going on at that table.” Rain makes a note to ask Lady Sedara about Ragnbjorn’s visit the next time they talk… Heh, if there is time… seems like I never really get a good long chance to talk with her. Not like I expect a nice long chat over hot cocoa and a fire. Rain smiles to herself. She looks at her fellow guards. Heh, I wonder what these guys would think of my inner thoughts… hmm, I wonder how much those golden forks are worth… Rain quickly catches herself and stops the random thought processes to once again join the world around her and continue her study of the happenings in the room.

During the dinner, Rain manages to sit so she can face the doors that look out into the hallway and entrance to the great hall. Sometime during the serving of the third remove (the sugarcane grilled pork) she notices one of the half-elven brothers leaving, and from the set in his jaw he seemed deeply angered or disturbed. A little while after that, Ragnbjorn and Jankin leave together heading in the same direction. Rain excuses herself to follow.