Once everyone is gathered together with their gear in the main courtyard outside the palace’s sally port they find waiting for them a large, well maintained, green dray with “Vaughn’s Drayage and House” painted in brown letters on its sides, pulled by a team matched set of two shire dray horses. Each horse is huge standing at over 21 hands, jet black with white wooly fetlocks and a white blaze on their nose. Sitting at the front bench is a giant barrel-chested, bearded man, with one wooden leg in a worn leather apron, wearing a wide brimmed hat that almost fills the entire front bench. The only thing competing with his chest size is the girth of his enormous belly.

Ragnbjorn calls out to him, “Sir Vaughn! Wonderful to see you!”

Vaughn replies, “Likewise my good friend, and fair weather and the Lady’s blessing to you all. The Prince asked me to meet your party and take you and your gear to the wharves where there is a boat waiting to take you up river.

With that Vaughn turns and yells into the back of the dray, “Frick! Frack! Get about it and help these fine folk get their gear, supplies and sundries loaded into the dray.”

Once all the personal and party gear and supplies are loaded into the dray, Ragnbjorn looks at the party and says, “I need to speak with Sir Vaughn while we drive to the boat to confirm our final arrangements. The rest of you please follow closely behind.”

Ragnbjorn climbs into the front bench seat next to Vaughn and says, “Aye. I believe we are ready. At your pleasure, good sir.”

Vaughn snaps his reins, whistles through his teeth, and says, “Hep! Hep!  Artex! Areo! Onwards!” The dray moves smartly and effortlessly even full of the gear and supplies the party will need for the long journey and mission ahead. The dray passes under the main gates onto the Processional and heads south from the palace towards the dock-levees.

The city is still on martial law lock down and at each corner a squad stands watch in their red tabards with the black lion rampant over their leather armor with spears at the ready in addition to their shortswords and longbows. They also pass a few roving patrols made up of two knights (or paladins) on horseback. The citizen’s and servants on the streets move quickly to their destination with their heads down. A few Olman can still be seen performing menial labor under the watchful eyes of the soldiers and knights.

As they walk through the city down the Processional the eerie quiet, the smell of smoke from the fires mixed with the normal stench of the city, the somber mood, and the growing squalor of the city as they approached the riverfront all combine to make their spirits fall even further after the ominous reports they had heard at the meeting with the Prince. They begin to feel heavy and logy as if they had not slept in days. It begins to feel like a funeral procession.

They finally reach the Riverway that runs alongside the River Javan. The Riverway is a wide cobbled road that runs along the docks. The docks are located atop levees about 10 feet high. The levees are dirt walls bordering the riverside of Riverway with stairs and ramps leading up to the docks. There are also towers with cranes along several of the docks so that cargo can be lowered from the levee down into the city. On the city side of Riverway are the warehouses, supply shops, low class taverns, and inns.

The docks feel like a ghost town between the city wide martial law lockdown and because the town is cut off from the sea by the Scarlet Brotherhood in Monmurg and their allies the corsairs from the Lordship of the Isles who control the estuary many miles downriver. Some traffic comes from upriver though, including halfling smugglers, but the trip is risky because the Javan River is more a series of sloughs through the marsh and swampland and plagued by Amedi warriors, lizardfolk, trolls (including aquatic trolls), and many other natural and supernatural menaces.

Vaughn skillfully steers the dray up a wide dirt ramp onto the top of the levee across the streets from a large wooden warehouse with “Vaughn’s Drayage and Customer House” painted on the front. He pulls the dray to a stop next to a series of steps leading to a wide but rickety dock and next to a wooden crane with two Olman workers standing next to it.

Vaughn calls out,

“Frick! Frack! Help Tochtli and Matlal load the gear and supplies on to the keel boat.”

The party climbs the ramp behind the dray and stops at the top of the levee. They are almost knocked down by the stench of the river and surrounding swamps. Looking down to the docks they see a keelboat. The keelboat is in the common form of most such boats seen up and down the wharves. It is about 80′ long and 20′ wide, fully decked, two hatches in the front and rear are standing open waiting for goods with a large deckhouse in the center about 15′ wide and 30′ long. It has a small sail amidships whose mast doubles as a crane with eight oars for traveling upstream. It also has poles in addition to the oars. A ballista (huge heavy mounted crossbow) is mounted on the roof of the deckhouse just forward of the ship’s wheel. Usually the holds are full of cargo, but this boat has been prepared as a temporary living space for the various representatives, the watch squad, and the crew.

“Well, there she is,” announces Vaughn, “the Javan Queen. As fine a keelboat as you’ll find in these parts. Ah, there is Captain Olnut. Let me introduce you.”

Vaughn takes them over to the keelboat. Captain Olnut is there in worn, rather befouled white clothes and a ratty straw hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. He is barefooted and his feet are cocked up as he rests with his back against the side of the deckhouse smoking a foul smelling cigar. He has a long face, dark hair and eyes, and a couple days growth of beard. His upper lip bears the scar of an old wound. He cocks his hat up and looks over when Vaughn hails him. A jug rests by his side.

“Oh, there you are, Sir Vaughn,” says Captain Olnut with a curl to his lip due to the scar as he gets up and welcomes everyone aboard. “It’s been a busy morning getting everything loaded up for you all. You know how it is, or maybe you don’t,” he says this with a wink at Vaughn.

Vaughn laughs and introductions are made all around. Then Captain Olnut beckons to one of his crew and says, “This here is my first mate, Uglash. You all listen to him, because he knows how I run things around here and what should be where and who should be doing what. So you mind him.”

Uglash, at first glance, is an Olman like the other eight crewmen, though perhaps a head taller. As he approaches, it can be seen that there is a reddish glint in his eyes, and his ears have the hint of the lupine in their shape. When he grins upon being introduced they see that his lower canines are far more prominent than they should be. Uglash nods and looks to Captain Olnut.

“Alright, Uglash, get back to work you,” says the Captain with a grin. Uglash gives him a broad smile and a sloppy salute, as though this were some private joke between them, and heads off to continue barking orders at the rest of the crew as they ready the lines and stow everyone’s gear and general supplies securely down in the hold.

Yum, Uglash, that’s some tall drink of man. Silently Gar’s mind wanders, I bet he’s not nearly so inhibited as a paladin, a real animal…. I wonder, aren’t all sailors sexually opportunistic? Gar tries to focus on the real task at hand.

After awhile Vaughn takes his leave of Rangjborn and the others, and Captain Olnut says to Ragnbjorn, “Maybe we should go into the deckhouse and take a look at the chart. You can tell me exactly where we’re going.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” says Ragnbjorn, who then looks to Fingol and the Marinus brothers. “You three at least should come as well.”

Fingol nods to his father, and follows.

“I’d like to join you too milord, if you don’t mind,” adds Gar.

Before Fingol enters, Rain tries to catch his eye and then make a small motion with her head to indicate that she would like to come as well.

“Father,” Fingol says to Ragnbjorn, “Should we have Sgt. Apone and one or two of his men join us?”

“Good idea, they need to know where we’re going as well. Sgt. Apone, please join us. You can have a couple of your men crowd in as well.”

Sgt. Apone nods and picks Rain and Aramek to follow him in, and asks Noch to direct the others in getting settled down in the hold.

Rain briefly puts her hand on Fingol’s back in passing by way of saying ‘thanks.’

Fingol checks to make sure he still has all his gear and valuables.

Rain smirks and mutters, “Oh good, we brought a jester. I would hate for this trip to be boring.”

Hearing Rain, Gar mutters, “Oh, I don’t think we’ll be bored….”

After everyone has gathered together inside the deckhouse, Captain Olnut spreads a chart of the Hool Marshes out on the table in the center. “Alright, here is where we are now,” he says pointing to a bend in the Javan River about 100 miles or so from the shores of the Azure Sea.

“And here is where we need to be,” Ragnbjorn indicates a spot about 30 miles upriver, at the confluence of the Javan and Hool rivers and then moves his fingertip away from the river another 30 miles.

Captain Olnut laughs, “Yes, it looks easy on the chart don’t it? But the way these rivers twist and change, almost from season to season… Yes, the chart makes it look pretty simple.” He eyes those in the room who are not rangers or scouts. “Well, I reckon if anyone can get you where you need to be, I’ll be the one who can do it. It should take us about three days to get there. There’s a trading post out that way. We can stop there and get more supplies if we need to, though I reckon we have enough provisions for a month as it is. From the trading post you lot can make your way overland, though that’s hardly the word for it, to wherever the lizardfolk make their home. Course, I ain’t seen any, but they shy away from boats this big, at least up to now they have.”

Indranil asks, “Captain Olnut, you say your first mate has been with you for a long time. How about the rest of your crew.”

Captain Olnut grimaces and then looks at Indranil with a steady gaze and says, “Are you implying you don’t find my crew trustworthy? These men have been with me for some time now, some of them for several seasons up and down this river. If you’re afraid they’re like the riff-raff that were rampaging through town yesterday, please think again. And if you have a problem with them, well the gangplank is over there. Best take your leave now.”

Ragnbjorn says, “Vaughn vouched for you, and that’s good enough for me, and I am sure his confidence extends to your crew. We’ll be fine.” Ragnbjorn gives the Marinus brothers a stern look, “Right boys?”

“If the river changes season to season,” questions Lorindel, “how are you able to plot a course? And how long do you reckon the trip will take?”

“Well now, I may have exaggerated just a bit, but it is a fact that the river beds and edges are constantly changing, and in some areas making your way through the many branching channels can be like threading a maze. Still, there are hummocks and other landmarks that we recognize. And if all else fails there is always dead reckoning. Our main worry is the changing depths of the river, but that’s what the sounding line is for. We also try to make as many friends along the river as we can, they often alert us to any changes we need to be wary of, and we keep track of it all on the log and the charts. Don’t you worry none. In fact, I’d be happy to teach you what I can in the days ahead, which as I said should be three going upriver. Now when it comes to following the overland trek…”

Ragnbjorn breaks in saying, “That should also take about three days if the lizardfolk have maintained their trails. I know what markings to look for, though I’d daresay not many others would. Well, maybe elves,” he grins at Indranil and Lorindel.

“Another problem is shifting sandbars,” adds Fingol. “They move each season with the floods, and they can be submerged so you won’t see them until you run aground.”  Glancing at Captain Olnut, “Well, it’s much easier to deal with that in a canoe. Still you learn to read the river over time.” glancing at Indranil, “Which is where an experienced crew is invaluable.”

“Or worse, a knife in the back in the middle of the night watch,” grouses Indranil while Fingol is speaking. “I like not taking anyone’s word for anything in light of the last three days.”

Fingol takes a quick breath in his surprise, “If you won’t take anyone’s word, than why offer your own?” Fingol catches himself and continues in a more pleasant tone, “You will need friends to watch that back, try to make some.”

“Have a little faith in your fellow beings, Sir Indranil,” chimes in Gar. “No man is an island unto their self. Olman and elf, we need each other for this expedition to work in harmonious balance.”

“In light of what has been happening – all unexpected, unlooked and unwanted for recently – it is clear blind faith and unearned trust is a recipe for disaster and will get us all killed,” Indranil retorts.

“I am a warrior tasked with protecting this embassy. It is completely reasonable and necessary to check all variables for safety and security. I am to protect this mission not to make friends. If I anger someone for asking a reasonable question then that tells me volumes about that person and frankly evading the question and claiming foul tells me they are dodgy and hiding something. There is no better way to infiltrate a mission than hiring casual dockworkers. I want to know more about them. And this half-orc first mate…”

Gar tries not to laugh out loud and turns to Captain Olnut, “Please forgive our friend, Captain. It’s been a tough past few days.”

Indranil thinks to himself, These people are infuriatingly naïve and ignorant of the risks and how to properly run mission security. Likely as not, they will get us all killed. A half-orc first mate and half a dozen roustabouts as crewmen with nothing more than ‘trust me?’ By the gods I will have to sleep with one eye open and my back to the wall.

Indranil says, “Father Gar, my question needs no apology from you and if the good captain is offended then that is his problem and tells me more about him and his crew than a plain answer ever would. You would be wise to pay attention to the nuances of this discussion. Perhaps if you spent a 1/10th of as much time considering the significant danger we face on this mission as you do pondering the next boy you plan to bugger we would all be better off.”

At this remark from Indranil, Aramek looks at Rain and with a slight grin and raised eyebrow mouths, “Ouch!”

With that comment, Gar is not able to contain himself any longer. He bursts out laughing and responds, “I’m not into boys, but if you got laid, Sir Indranil, I dare say you’d be more pleasant to be around.”

With a smirk Gar asks, “Sir Lorindel, when was the last time your brother got some?”

“Ah, look at the hour,” coughs Lorindel, “time for my daily meditation. I’m sorry Father Gar, did you ask me something?”

“‘T’was nothing,” coughs Gar into his hand.

Rain responds to Aramek, “Yah, this is gonna be a fun trip after all.”

Rain asks Fingol, “I think I’m beginning to understand the nature of the arguments I have seen from afar previously. Is it always like this?” But Fingol’s attention is on Indranil.

Gar nods, smirks and mutters softly to Rain, “Only when Indranil is around.”

“Indranil,” Fingol says with some irritation, “Don’t you think this is why the enemy chooses his pawns as he does? Good men have vouched for this crew. If we cannot extend trust to our allies then we have already lost. Don’t play into the enemy’s schemes so easily.”

Indranil responds, “I asked a fair and reasonable question. I want an answer before we cast off. I swore an oath to the King and Prince to provide force protection to this mission. The Prince and Vaughn vouched for the captain and his boat. They did not vouch for the crew. The Prince trusted us to act on our initiative in the field. I want to know about the crew. Trust but verify. The only trust I give is what I see and verify. You can be as irritated as you want. That is entirely your prerogative. I stand by my question and if you see an enemy’s hidden hand behind my words then you and I have a major problem.”

For some strange reason, Gar’s eyes begin to cross the bridge of his nose.

With the ongoing argument between Fingol and Indranil, Rain keeps an eye on the reactions from Ragnbjorn and the Captain.

Aramek leans over and whispers to Rain, “This does not bode well for our mission. If we can’t start with any sense of joint purpose and unity, we’re going to be in big trouble when we meet any enemies. The question now is ‘Who’s in charge? Who’s leading us and who is following whom?’ I’ll do my best to protect us all, but I can’t protect us from each other!”

Gar, who is standing next to Rain and Aramek, nods his head gently in agreement. However he is still looking at Fingol and Indranil, so it is difficult to tell with whom he is agreeing.

Indranil continues, “I would suggest we start with respecting each other’s point of view. I asked an honest and fair question and was soundly jumped upon.”

“Good sir, you refused to accept the answer already given by our good captain and so you were soundly jumped upon,” corrects Gar. “I would also like to remind you that you are not in charge here. Sir Fingol and his father are, as well as the good captain and his first mate. I am sure we all appreciate your due diligence though, Sir Indranil.”

After a pause Gar adds, “Perhaps we can stop arguing long enough to let the Captain answer you, again?”

The Captain looks to Ragnbjorn and says, “I understood from Vaughn that you’re in charge Sir Ragnbjorn…”

Ragnbjorn sighs and says forcefully, “Enough! I am the guide here, and until we reach our destination I am in charge. Then it will be up to Fingol as the Prince’s spokesman to deal with Chief Rahk. But until we reach the trading post where we will be disembarking, Captain Olnut is in charge. This is his ship and his responsibility, and that includes his crew.

“Yes, it is reasonable, Sir Indranil, for you to have asked about the crew.” He glares at the others. “No one should blame Sir Indranil for excessive caution. Now the Captain has already vouched for his crew and said they’ve been with him for some time. I daresay you’re not going to find another Captain that Vaughn trusts as highly in Westkeep, and that goes for their crews as well. Now if you trust Vaughn, then you should trust his word about Captain Olnut, and if we are to put our trust in Captain Olnut, then we should trust he knows how to hire a worthy crew. I concur with what the Captain said: if that’s not enough for you – there’s the gangplank.

“One last thing, Sir Indranil, it is our responsibility to provide security. It is not Father Gar’s, nor even really Sir Fingol’s, though I expect him to show due caution as any trained ranger. Father Gar is an emissary of the Great Druidess, he is not under our command. We may thank the gods for that, but likewise we should not be questioning or maligning him as long as he does nothing to endanger our mission. He is here at the request of the Prince as are we. Our job is to protect him not castigate him.”

Indranil says, ”As you wish Sir Ragnbjorn.”

Turning to Captain Olnut, Indranil then says, “Captain, thank you for the use of your boat, it is fine indeed. My intent was not to malign or insult you and your crew. I admit I am a bit paranoid after the last few days.”

With that Indranil leaves the deckhouse to stow his gear. Finishing that he climbs to the top of the deckhouse where he has a wide view of the boat, river and surrounds, leans his back against the ballista mount and lights his pipe settling in for the journey.

Aramek looks at Rain once again and whispers, with a sigh, “Finally! Now the only thing we need worry about are our enemies not our companions.”

Fingol passes a look to Aramek as though to say, ‘You think that settles anything?’

Rain, who has really only smiled with mild amusement at the proceedings, laughs quietly and pats Aramek on the back then quietly responds so only Aramek and Gar can hear, “Trust me my friend, compared to some of the ‘family’ squabbles I have witnessed this was nothing more than playful banter. We are gonna be just fine.”

Nonchalantly, Gar checks out Aramek’s backside and mutters softly, “Oh you should worry, you should worry….”

Rain smirks then quickly replaces it with a mocking stern face and looks at Gar saying, not so quietly and forgetting all station whatsoever, “You are not helping.”

Forgetting station as well, Gar smirks warmly and bows slightly, “Yes I know, milady Rain, my apologies.”

At this Rain whispers to Gar with a smile and wink, “But don’t stop on my account.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gar whispers backs.

Fingol takes out his journal, and with a look to Ragnbjorn as if to ask if it is permissible, begins to mark the pages where he’s copied the maps of Hool Marsh with the trading post/landing and the lizardfolk’s camp from the charts.

Ragnbjorn gives Fingol an approving nod at this.

After finding a bunk and stowing his gear, Gar too goes up for some fresh air. Seeing that preparations are still being made to cast off, he then goes up to the ballista to check out the view. After breathing deeply the tart swamp air into his lungs for a few minutes, Gar says to Indranil while looking up river with him, “Thank you again, Sir Indranil, for your excessive worries. We will come to appreciate it ever more, I suspect, my apologies as well for agitating you so. Your devotion to Good brings out the devil in me. No doubt it will be my downfall.” Gar’s smile grows wider as he continues to look upstream.

Indranil responds, ”Father Gar you are an enigma and a person I can’t stay mad at. I must say I find myself deeply conflicted when dealing with you. I find myself being equally charmed and infuriated all at the same time. Would you care for a smoke with me? I have a spare pipe in my pack.”

“Thank you, yes, that would be nice,” says Gar as he visibly relaxes. “What are we smoking?”

“Common tobacco I am afraid. I have none of the halfling weed with me, which is probably a good thing!”

Gar chuckles, “Yeah, I suppose we need to keep our wits about us.” After a little pause, “So we don’t make love instead of war.” Gar breaks out in long loud high-pitched squeals of laughter that can be heard all through the ship. He practically wets his pants in convulsions of laughter as he holds on to the ballista to steady himself.

Indranil grimaces and grits his teeth.

Rain and Aramek, Waterday Morning, Fireseek 5, 591 Common Year 

The next morning, Captain Bodwyn addresses Commander Gorman’s company on the parade grounds. “Men and women of the Guard, you have made me very proud. This has been a trying day, and it will stretch out into some trying days ahead. Today, certain elements of the Olman refugees who have come under the influence of a shaman by the name of Nauyotl attempted to bring chaos and anarchy to the streets of Westkeep. They tried to burn, pillage, and rape the law-abiding citizens of Westkeep. This is after we allowed them to take refuge here, and did what we could for them. There are those who say it might not have been enough, but no hardship excuses the kind of behavior we saw today. But you, my troops, stopped them. You restored order to the streets, you are maintaining order in the streets, and you did so and are doing so with a minimum of bloodshed. That is why I am proud. That is why Prince Prospero is proud.

“Now some of you are from Keoland and have served with me since before we liberated Westkeep. Others of you,” he looks to Rain and Aramek and a few others in Commander Gorman’s platoon, “have joined us here. But all of you are now members of the Guard, and all of you are in this together, and all of you have shown honor and courage, as well as restraint when needed and unyielding strength when called for.

“Three of you in particular I must single out: Rain, Noch, and Aramek. You have all heard the rumors. I will now tell you the facts. Last night, while providing security for a late night meeting in the palace, forces of the Scarlet Brotherhood attempted to kidnap the Prince. Rain, Noch, and Aramek made sure that their attempt failed. Please come before me.”

Sergeant Apone then motions for Rain, Noch, and Aramek to leave their places and stand before Captain Bodwyn, which they do. An aide steps up to Captain Bodwyn’s side with three boxes. Captain Bodwyn says, “These daggers of the finest craftsmanship are given to you to commemorate and reward your service.” He then steps before each of them, they exchange salutes, and he hands each one of the boxes. “May you wear it as a badge of honor.” The three then return to their places in formation.

With a final salute, Captain Bodwyn, takes his leave. Commander Gorman then says, “There is not much I can add to what the Captain just said. Tomorrow, Sergeant Apone, you will be leaving the city on a dangerous mission into the Hool Marshes. The Prince is sending a delegation to the lizardfolk that will be led by Sir Ragnbjorn and his son Sir Fingol. Your mission will be to help man the keel boat that the Prince’s delegation will be traveling on, and then provide security for the trek across the marshes to wherever those lizardfolk dwell. Of course, those of us back here while you are gone will be trying to restore peace and sanity to Westkeep, so maybe you don’t envy us either. Nevertheless, I expect that you will all show the same courage and professionalism that you have shown here today. I salute you.” He does so and then he says, “Now, the rest of you see your sergeants for your particular watch assignments today.”

Sergeant Apone then tells his squad to have dinner and stay in the barracks as Sir Ragnbjorn will be coming for them that afternoon. He then finds Rain, Noch, and Aramek to say, “You three are to report to the Prince’s solar after dinner for a private meeting.”

When dismissed, Rain immediately takes her dagger out and inspects it. She is pleased and replaces the main dagger at her side with this new one. She also congratulates both Aramek and Noch. After dinner she gathers Aramek and Noch to report to the Prince’s solar.

Waterday Noon, Fireseek 5, 591 Common Year

Prince Prospero greets his guests courteously as they file into the room. Sgt Apone is already there with Rain, Noch, and Aramek. Ragnbjorn is the first to enter, followed by his son Fingol, and the Marinus brothers, Indranil and Lorindel. Then the Flan priest of Obad-Hai, Gar Dragonsbreath, enters. After courtesies are exchanged, the Prince begins.

“It is good to see you all here. I was hoping there would be more time to prepare, but I have decided it is best that you all leave as soon as possible. Thankfully the rioting was quelled yesterday, and so we can still spare your squad, Sgt. Apone, for this mission. Now Vaughn of Gorham, our royal customs officer, will be here soon to take you to the docks and show you the boat you will be taking and introduce you to the crew. In the meantime, I want to make sure all of you here know what is going on, because there is more involved than just making peace with the lizardfolk. But let us begin there. Father Gar, would you please recount to us all your reasons for coming here and the message you brought from the Great Druidess of the Sheldomar Valley?”

Bowing at the waist before the Prince-Governor, Gar says, “Your Highness.” Then turning to the group, “Greetings and blessings be upon our upcoming excursion from the Great Druidess of the Flan of the Sheldomar Valley! The Great Druidess sent me here to share her vision for the good of all creatures and living things.

“She has been having many dreams of something unnatural that has long lain hidden in the marshes. She believes it may have to do with the lizardfolk, for they have appeared many times in her dreams. She sees them leaving their homes, whether by force or by choice she is not sure. In their wake, she sees a great flood coming down the River Javan sweeping away all before it, a flood that engulfs the world. Though she cannot see them in her dream, she senses that there are dead things in that flood, or things that should have stayed dead. They would destroy all life, all harmony, and all balance.

“Then recently she has been getting reports from our people that the fisherman, crabbers, and shrimpers of Westkeep have been going even deeper into the marshes in search of food. They have not merely been casting their nets into the waters but have begun setting many traps and even staking nets across many of the bayous and channels. They are desperate to feed their starving people, but they have forgotten the balance of nature. If they continue, especially year round as they are doing, they will destroy the very spawning areas the fishermen themselves depend upon, as no fish will be able to get through to them. This will be especially critical in the coming months of spring. She mentions this because these nets are now being torn down by the lizardfolk, who not only see themselves as responsible for herding the fish to the hatcheries but who use these waterways as the humans do a road or lane – as do many of the creatures in the swamp. In return the fishermen began shooting at the lizardfolk and the lizardfolk have responded in kind. She fears that if war breaks out between the people of Westkeep and the lizardfolk, the lizardfolk will be driven away and the disaster she sees will occur all the sooner.

“This afternoon during our practice bouts, I had a similar vision of a great flood sweeping over the swamp lands when I was knocked unconscious. My god Obad-Hai spoke to me saying, ‘Nothing is inevitable. Neither Law nor Chaos, neither Good nor Evil ever have the final say. A stone has been dropped into the waters and the ripples are spreading even now. You did not drop the stone, but it may be for you and your allies to build an embankment. It may be even wiser to seek out the wellspring and stop the coming flood at the source. There is a poisonous fruit that has fallen many seasons past without ever fully withering away, uproot it from my garden if you can.’” 

Gar looks deeply at those around the room in a long pregnant pause before looking back at the Prince, “Thank you, Your Highness, on behalf of the Great Druidess for organizing this expedition. She will be pleased when she hears about it from the wind.”

“Thank you Father Gar,” says the Prince. “And now I would like Sir Fingol to explain what brought him here, for it corroborates Father Gar’s warning to us about the actions of the lizardfolk.”

“Your Highness,” Fingol says bowing to the Prince, “and gentlepersons all,” indicating the rest of the people assembled. “My tale is shorter and less dramatic, for how could anyone out-do Father Gar in that regard? It has been just a short while since I left my apprenticeship to become a ranger in my own right. The whole of the time since, I have been patrolling the Hool Marshes. Mostly, I have travelled the river and carried messages between the villages that the fishermen have made. I have had no incidents to mention nor heard of much trouble in that time. That changed just recently, when the fishermen began reporting troubles with the lizardfolk. I helped pass the word to the towns I visited but saw no reason for alarm. Then, just a few days later, lizardfolk hurled their javelins at me. It was not hard to row away into the current and get out of range. It was then I knew I had to make a report as quickly as possible.

“I am not as familiar with the marsh or the lizardfolk as others,” Fingol glances at his father, “but this sort of trouble is entirely out of my expectation. Before these events, I have seen the lizardfolk in the marsh and had no great fear of them. They raised no resistance when King Skotti moved across the marsh into Westkeep, nor harassed the fishermen until very recently. My gut tells me something pushes them to it.” 

“Thank you Sir Fingol,” says the Prince. “Now, Sir Ragnbjorn, please tell everyone here what you told me yesterday.”

Ragnbjorn bows and says, “Certainly my Prince. I was privileged to be the original ambassador to Chief Rhodophylax, better known as Chief Rahk of the Malarat tribe of the lizardfolk. I befriended him, if that is the right word, three years ago when King Skotti sent an expedition of rangers into the Hool Marshes to prepare the way for a possible move against the Scarlet Brotherhood. It was then that a treaty was made wherein the lizardfolk promised their neutrality in the coming conflict as long as we left their hunting and fishing grounds alone. Unfortunately it does not surprise me that with supplies cut off by the Scarlet Brotherhood and their allies from the Lordship of the Isles, the fishermen of Westkeep and the surrounding villages have begun overfishing and encroaching upon the territory of the lizardfolk. I suspect that Sir Fingol is also right, that there are other forces in the marshes that are antagonizing the lizardfolk.

“Since helping to lead King Skotti and his army here to take Westkeep from the Scarlet Brotherhood, I have spent some time with Chief Rahk, but it has been many months since I have last seen him. Now I did not tell you this before because I did not think it significant, but in the light of Father Gar’s message I have realized that it may be very important. Apparently, the shaman of the Malarat tribe, G’ruk, left the tribe about three years ago with many disgruntled lizardfolk. He did not approve of making any treaty with humans and so left to ‘recover the true heritage of the lizardfolk’ according to Chief Rahk. He did not, however, tell me where they might have gone, and I thought it impolitic to ask. But now I worry that this may be a partial fulfillment of the dream of the Great Druidess.

“In the meantime, for the last six weeks I have been conducting a survey of the marshes with Sir Indranil and Sir Lorindel looking for better caravan routes. A couple of days ago we received the magical sending from Paragon Muire to return here. On the way back we spotted two Amedi warriors. They passed us in a canoe as we waited in ambush. We chose to let them pass for we wanted to get here without any unnecessary trouble. However, if you shake a haystack and a bunch of pins fall out, you really have to wonder how many more pins there may be left inside. We know that many of the Scarlet Brotherhood’s Amedi troops fled into the Hool Marshes when we took Westkeep. They are evidently still out there, and may be stirring up the lizardfolk themselves with their depredations.

“But that is not the worst. That night, not more than half a day’s travel from here, two ghouls attacked our camp. Of course we didn’t know that’s what they were at the time. I brought one of their heads back for Paragon Muire to examine and he told us what they were. We destroyed those two and followed the trail back to a mass grave. Undoubtedly it was where the Scarlet Brotherhood disposed of their victims. There were three more ghouls there and we destroyed those as well. As I said, we didn’t see any others, but I do recommend we return there later with clerics and paladins of Heironeous and St. Cuthbert and purify the grounds.”

“Thank you Sir Ragnbjorn,” says the Prince. “So we know that besides the lizardfolk, you need to beware of the Amedi warriors, who may in part be responsible for the lizardfolk’s recent belligerence. The Amedi may or may not still be working with the Scarlet Brotherhood. We certainly know Scarlet Brotherhood spies and assassins may be out there, sent from Monmurg. Now the encounter with the ghouls may be tied in with the Scarlet Brotherhood, but I have a suspicion that it might be related to this,” here the Prince picks up a small object covered in parchment and unwraps it to reveal a wooden statue of a skeletal being in a cowl and cloak holding a scythe. “There is writing on the parchment that says, ‘Thanatos god of Thracia. Is this the power I seek? Can he still be called upon from within his ancient shrines?’”

Fingol, Gar, and Rain notice that Noch gasps a little and his eyes widen when the Prince reveals the statue of Thanatos that looks like Nerull, but he quickly resumes his stony demeanor.

“The writer of this note was a young man named Reece, the son of Parwyn, a local alchemist. He disappeared some years ago during the Scarlet Brotherhood’s occupation of Westkeep. He left behind this statue and a journal. Aramek discovered these while staying with Parwyn, but they were stolen three nights ago. Two nights ago they were found on the corpses of one of the Scarlet Brotherhood assassins. Aramek, would you please read the relevant portions of the journal to the others?” The Prince then takes the journal from his desk and hands it to Aramek.

“Of course,” replies Aramek, who then begins to read the relevant passages of the journal and summarizes the rest.

As Aramek reads from the journal, Rain keeps a guarded eye on Noch to see if there are any further interesting reactions from him. Gar, his face also a mask of stone, also keeps a watch on Noch. Noch’s expression is unreadable, however. He looks on as any interested professional soldier might. Gar does note Rain’s interest however. Hmm, I wonder if they are related, another brother perhaps?

Reading the entries aloud has once again reminded Aramek of the pain his master Parwyn has had to endure. Despite the fact that Parwyn is convinced his son is dead, Aramek feels even more strongly that he must find a way to settle the issue one way or the other. If Reece is still alive, he thinks to himself, I will find him. And if he is not, I will at least be able bring something back to Master Parwyn so that he can find some closure with his son.

Fingol says nothing but wonders how all these mysteries come together. Clearly the Scarlet Brotherhood came to know about Reece, because they sent one of their assassins to steal this journal. The same assassin was killed in the attempt to capture the Prince. Why attempt to capture the Prince when killing him would be so much easier? What does the Scarlet Brotherhood hope to learn from this journal? And what tragedy have we averted by keeping it from them? If Reece hates the Scarlet Brotherhood, could he become an ally against them? Or has his hate pushed him irretrievably toward this evil god Thanatos? One thing is likely, if Reece is stirring evil forces to rouse against the Scarlet Brotherhood, than he is pushing the lizardfolk out of their lands and turning them against us. Reece may or may not have his revenge against Monmurg, but Westkeep will be a victim of the scheme.

“Thank you Aramek,” says the Prince. “I think this statue had best stay with us. It is not a healthy thing. As for the journal, we will have an archivist copy it for our own records. When you return from this mission I will return it to you to give back to Parwyn.” He then puts both back into a drawer and shuts them away.

“Your primary mission has not changed. You are to make contact with the lizardfolk and see if an agreement can be reached so that our fishermen can work in peace without harassing or being harassed by the lizardfolk. Secondarily, I want all of you to be watchful for anything you can learn about what Reece and his friend Relikez may have discovered in the marshes. Look for any sign of these Thracians or their god Thanatos. Of course, also be wary for any signs of the Scarlet Brotherhood and any of their allies or former allies, like the Amedi warriors. Report back whatever you learn after you have spoken with the lizardfolk and we will then decide how best to proceed.” 

There is a knock at the door. “Come in,” says the Prince. Lady Sedara then ushers in and introduces four men. The oldest and most dignified is wearing silken tailored clothing, the others are obviously peasants, though clean enough and their clothes don’t have too many patches. 

The first is Master Aillil of the Fishmongers Guild. Ailil is an older man with golden hair turning to grey, light blue eyes, and fair skin. “Greetings my Prince,” he says in a voice that barely rises above a whisper.

The next to be introduced is Eochaid the Shrimper, representing the shrimpers of Westkeep and the surrounding villages. Eochaid is dark tan, with light brown hair, and dark brown eyes. He cups his hand to his ears to catch what the others are saying. “Greetings, Prince Prospero, it is my honor to serve you.”

Then she introduces Lugaid, known as Crabby, representing the crabbers. He is also tanned, and has auburn hair and gray eyes. “G… g… greetings my Prince. I… I… I… am honored.

Finally, she introduces Lugaid, known as Fishbate, representing the fishermen. He is also well tanned with dark brown hair and amber eyes. His voice is deep and fills the room, “Greetings my Prince. It is an honor.”

After the introductions, the Prince says, “Thank you for agreeing to participate in the negotiations. Of course it is in your best interests to do so, but I recognize that this could be a dangerous mission. Fortunately, you will have the protection of these good gentlemen, and this good woman,” he nods to Rain. She nods back slightly to the Prince and to the four representatives.

“Sir Ragnbjorn has been entrusted as our translator and guide. His son Sir Fingol will be our own emissary. He will help to look after the interests of the Crown in any negotiations with the lizardfolk. You four will share with him the concerns of your respective communities. Father Gar will also be present to represent the perspective and concerns of the Flan tribes and the teachings of the Great Druidess and hopefully to act as in intermediary between our different communities.”

“Now, unless any of you has any questions, I believe that a boat has been arranged that will take you as close as you can get by the waterways to the villages of the lizardfolk. Now, please go pack up whatever personal equipment you need. Sgt. Apone, gather your troops and get them and their equipment ready to go. Vaughn of Gorham, our customs agent, should be waiting for you all with his dray in the courtyard in a couple of hours. Go, all of you, with the blessings of the Archpaladin.”

“Thank you, Highness,” Gar bows deeply to the Prince before he goes downstairs to finish packing his gear.

Aramek bows as well and says, “I will return briefly to Master Parwyn’s to bid him and the family farewell and gather up my gear for our trip. I shall return shortly.”

Rain bows to Prospero but says nothing as she leaves.

Lorindel bows and then excuses himself to gather his gear.

“Your Highness,” Indranil says as he bows and walks backwards five paces before turning and leaving the room. Then thinking to himself he walks down the hall towards his room to collect his gear, Fishbate? What a funny name. Heh heh heh, I bet Father Gar will at some point address him as Master Bate!

Fingol bows to the Prince and follows the others out as well.

Outside, the solar, Rain comments quietly to Aramek, “See, now aren’t you glad we didn’t go off and pursue this on our own?” and smiles.

Aramek smiles back, winks and asks, “Was that an ‘I told you so’?”

“Heh, well I was more than willing to go out there alone with you but let’s just say I am very glad to have more company.” Her smile fades as she lowers her voice even more and says with a serious note, “Hey also, and I don’t mean to sound like your mother here, but I believe before this mission is over things are going to get a little dicey. When they do I want you to stay close to me, Okay. We can better protect each other that way.”

“That’s a guarantee!” says Aramek, also with a serious look. “Real friends don’t come along all that often, Rain. I spent most of my childhood pretty isolated from everyone, so having you as my friend means a lot. You can bet I’ll do everything I can to make sure we get to be friends for a long, long time. Hool Marshes be damned!”

Later at the barracks Rain says to Noch, “Hey Noch, I don’t mean to pry but you seemed to be pretty bothered by that statue… what gives?”

Noch gives Rain an appraising look. Rain is once more struck by the foul reek of Noch’s breath as he responds, “I would think anyone with sense would be bothered by that statue. This Thanatos is either another name for Nerull, or is perhaps an older even more powerful god of death. There are undoubtedly things out there in that marsh that man was not meant to know; or if once known then best left forgotten.” He turns away abruptly to gather his things and walks out of the barracks.

Rain grins ever so slightly with an barely audible, “hmmph” thinking to herself, Time to keep a closer eye on our friend Noch… maybe past time I think. With this on her mind she double checks her equipment, making sure that everything is in its place and easily accessible.

After leaving the solar, Fingol stops by the chapel and gives 20 gold eagles to Paragon Muire to support the Heironean Mission. Fingol reflects on his way back to his room, If we live through this adventure we’ll be well rewarded, but if we die, I don’t want some dirty filthy orc spending my money. After that, Fingol checks and mends his gear before packing it up and heading down the courtyard.

“Sir Ragnbjorn, do you know where I might find Sir Godric before we ship out?” asks Gar.  

Ragnbjorn’s right eyebrow arches and then he says, “Uh, no. You’d have as good an idea of where to find him as I would. I don’t keep track of the paladins here. I daresay, he’s your love-interest not mine.” He says the last with a grin and then goes into his room to pack his things.

Gar’s eyebrows rise momentarily as well. “Thank you, milord,” then he smiles and almost skips off to the paladin’s quarters. As he enters the hallway that ends at the green door, Gar looks around for his knight in shining armor. Not seeing him around, Gar knocks on Sir Godric’s door. After a moment, he hears a rustling around inside, followed by a, “Just a moment…” and then the door opens. A beleaguered Godric opens the door. He’s only wearing his working tunic and breeches at the moment.

“Oh, Father Gar, how good to see you. I was told you were in a meeting with the Prince. I just got off duty a little while ago and was just taking a nap. They’ve doubled our watch rotations since the riot.” He sighs heavily. “Anyway, come in, come in.” He ushers Gar to a seat, but oddly leaves the door wide open and then sits down in another seat across from Gar. “I understand you’re to be leaving soon, to find the lizardfolk?” he asks with evident concern.

“Yes, Sir Godric, we ship out in two hours. Sorry to disturb your rest but I could not leave without first paying my respect to you. It has been a real pleasure meeting such a shining gem as you. I am extremely pleased that you were not injured beyond repair in the riots yesterday, milord,” says Gar with a smile on his face.

“Ah good priest, it has been a pleasure to meet you as well. I’m from around Niole Dra, so all of this land is quite new to me. I certainly never had a chance to meet many Flan. I would like to learn more about you and your culture. I do hope that your mission is a success.” He smiles warmly, “I wish that we had more of a chance to get to know one another better. I hope we’ll have that time when you get back.” He leans forward in his chair and looks deeply into Gar’s eyes.

Gar leans forward as well and tries to steal a kiss. This Godric permits, but he doesn’t allow it to go too far. He breaks away and looks to the open door. “I would love to entertain, but we mustn’t give the others reason to gossip.”

“Yes, milord, thank you,” says Gar as he smiles and dries the corners of his mouth with his index finger. “When I return, I hope we can find some private time to, uh, get to know each other better.”

After a long pause, “Well, I suppose the time to dally is past. I must be off, milord. Our friends are waiting for me.” With that, Gar stands up, winks at Godric, and slaps him playfully on the butt on his way out. Smiling, “Be well, milord, so we can play when I come back.”

“I look forward to that.” Godric then pulls him into a warm embrace, and then stepping back once more says, “Until then. May the gods watch over you Father Gar.”

When Gar gets back to his room, he puts on his new chainmail from the Prince and stashes his new dagger up his left sleeve. Everything else is all ready and so he straps it on. As he finishes, he opens his door to see if anyone is waiting in the hallway, but it appears they have already gone down to the courtyard.

Rain, Godsday Evening, Fireseek 4, 591 Common Year

It is many hours before things calm down enough so that Rain and Aramek are able to leave their posts. The Guard squads are all rotated so that the off-duty squads can return to the barracks and get stew, rice and beans and a short rest before being sent out again. The paladins, knights, and clerics of the keep are also sent out to support the watch. All the Olman refugees are driven out of the city back into the shantytown and the Downriver Gate is locked behind them. After their shaman Nauyotl disappeared the violence began to die down. Several of the more violent rioters were killed or taken back in chains to the keep’s prison. The clerics then spread through town, well guarded by knights and paladins, to heal the wounded and direct the putting out of fires. The Cuthbertian militia also helped to restore order, their well disciplined ranks being co-opted by the watch to help patrol the now empty streets.

Rain sends the usual signals and notes to Sedara. Late in the afternoon she finds a note asking her to meet in the empty wing of the palace. After Rain gets there Sedara emerges from the shadows. Today she is wearing a blue cloak over her usual loose fitting white blouse and pantaloons. The only other visible adornments being her silver amulet of the lightning bolt held in a fist and her bracers. “Welcome Rain. You wished to see me?”

“My Lady” Rain replies a little possessively, putting just a bit too much emphasis on the word ‘My.’ Hmm, that was a little possessive… she thinks, before getting a hold of herself to continue.

“Fergus of The Guild is seeking payment for services to Parwyn for the sum of 180 gold… and well… because of who he sent to collect I inadvertently put myself in the middle. I sent word back with the collectors to Fergus that he was to see me regarding whatever payment he though owed. Then I found out, though the sum has been padded a bit unfairly, that Parwyn is prepared to pay it. I am okay to let him do so… and am okay to be the one to deliver… but I thought because of your… well… I thought you may want to weigh in on how I go about this.” At this, Rain smiles a bit sheepishly and waits for Sedara to comment.

Sedara shakes her head sadly. She lifts up the silver lightning bolt pendant that she wears. “Do you see this Rain? It is the symbol of the Archpaladin Heironeous. I was once a member of such a Guild as this Fergus, but I left it when I discovered the mercy, truth, and justice of Heironeous. I discovered that I could live a life of dignity and honor in service to others. I learned that we stray from the path that Heironeous shows at our peril. Resorting to trickery and lawlessness, even for a good cause, only stirs up more troubles. I believed it was necessary to steal that journal and statue, and I atoned for it before a priest of Heironeous, but that was not the end of it. As you have seen, innocents, or at least innocent of this crime, were blamed; and Master Parwyn and his family have now been subject to more worries and dangers than I would ever have suspected, even though I left more than ample payment for what I took. Let this be a lesson to you Rain.”

Rain recognizes that life is random and ruled by chance. This is the way it is as far as she is concerned, and anyone who thinks otherwise is misguided by the many limitations of organized religion. Of any ‘organized’ religion, the Church of the Big Gamble of Norebo is the only one where Rain would occasionally pay any sort of homage, and that just involved making a few bets by way of offerings to get luck on her side. So as Sedara speaks, Rain maintains a sheepish smile while thinking, Service to others… really? Helping your friend I can see… but… really? Keep smiling, keep smiling… ‘Innocents’, does such a thing really exist? Surely she sees the randomness involved in Parwyn’s plight, it’s not like there is some cosmic balance crap… tit for tat, cause and effect, that’s all crap! Keep smiling…

“Now I commend your efforts to try to protect all of your friends. I will help you in this because it is my responsibility for starting this. Now, I will provide the 180 gold to pay Parwyn, but he must guarantee never to bother Parwyn again. I’ll let you make the payment and get his promise if you believe he’ll honor it, but I will be there with you. If he or other members of the Guild try anything untoward they will have me to deal with. I cannot guarantee the safety of any friends you may have among them if that should happen, but hopefully it will not come to violence.

“Now, I am going to talk to Commander Bodwyn and make sure you are taken off the roster for a few hours for special duties. When that happens, meet me at the main gate of the keep. I will have a different appearance then, but I will still be wearing this blue cloak. Look for that.

“Now is there anything else you need to tell me?”

Rain realizes that she has been smiling for too long and slowly drops it as Sedara begins to discuss plans. After Sedara finishes Rain says, “Okay, I’ll wait to hear from Bodwyn then meet you at the main gate. Thanks.” And she means this too and adds in her own mind, Thanks for coming with me, it will be nice to be able to stand tall just a bit, knowing I’ll have backup. Then she says, “And… um, no, nothing else. I’ll meet you at the gate. Thanks for seeing me today.”

Rain turns to leave but then turns back quickly, “Hey, um… What role will you play when we meet with Fergus?” But Sedara has already vanished into the shadows.

As the afternoon turns to evening, the sun sinks away as the fog rolls in. Commander Bodwyn comes into the barracks and asks for Rain and then sends her out, supposedly with a message for one of the watch posts in town. When Rain gets to the gate of the keep she sees a tall bald man with dark brown eyes wearing Sedara’s blue cloak waiting for her at the gate. Sedara is normally a couple of inches shorter than Rain, but this man must be at least 6’ tall. Most humans are usually around 5’9. He seems pretty burly as well. Aside from the cloak, his clothes are drab though loose fitting. Off of his belt a dagger and a shortsword hang. He hails Rain as she comes in sight, and in a deep bass voice says, “Rain, I was hoping you’d get here soon. The name’s Dunagin. Ready to go into town?” He turns his back on the guards and gives Rain a sly wink, saying in a low voice that is recognizably Sedara’s, “It’s me. I’ll be your bodyguard.”

Once past the gate, Dunagin says, “Alright Rain. You lead the way. Where can we find this Fergus. Oh, and I have this for him when we find him.” From somewhere within the blue cloak Dunagin produces a pouch filled with coins. “There are platinum pieces in here as well as gold.” He puts the pouch back into whatever hidden pocket he produced it from.  

Rain says, “Well met, Dunagin. We will take the back streets.” After taking off her tabard and folding it up into a pocket in her cloak Rain heads off towards ‘The Church’, as she likes to call it. She leads them down side streets paralleling the Processional to avoid the roaming patrols if possible, but especially the Cuthbertians. They are stopped a couple of times, but she simply produces the pass she was given and explains that she is performing a task for Commander Bodwyn. One time she is pressed, but she states that Bodwyn’s business is his own and if they have a problem they should take it up with him. She is passed on quickly enough after that.

It is misty and cool that night, and the air is filled with the acrid smell of the fires that have now, fortunately, been put out. The side streets are unusually dark as no one has come out to light the lanterns or maintain them. Only the patrols have lanterns and everburning torches. When they arrive at the Church of the Big Gamble all is quiet, though light can be seen through the cracks of the doors and shutters. The usual racket cannot be heard, though the murmur of some voices and the clack of dice leaks out.

Without turning to look at Dunagin, Rain asks, “You ready?” 

“Go ahead,” answers Dunagin.

Rain approaches the door but finds that it is locked up tight.

“Let’s try the back door.” Rain cautiously makes her way there.

The back way is exceedingly dark, thought a little light does spill out into the alley through the shutters of the buildings around it. Rain locates the back door by the light leaking from the bottom edge where the door is not flush with the ground. As she approaches it she hears a scuffling from the roof of the building across from the church. In the shadows she sees that Dunagin has stopped. Dunagin nods to indicate the roof, so Rain knows he heard it as well.

Rain quietly draws a dagger to her right hand, reversing it in her hand so the blade rests up against her forearm to hide it. She keeps her attention on the location which produced the scuffling noise while reaching out with her left hand to knock three times on the back door.

Rain only sees shadows on the rooftops, but she does have the prickly feeling of being watched, and more than watched. She is sure weapons are being pointed her way. Dunagin has set himself right behind her, in position to intercept anything shot at them. Rain notices that beneath his blue cloak, Dunagin’s right hand is holding something that glints in the dim light. Looking more closely she sees that it is a shiny steel star-knife: a weapon consisting of four tapered blades radiating like compass points from a central steel ring with a handle. It is a weapon that can be hurled or used in close combat by one trained in its use.

A slot opens at eye level and someone looks out at Rain and Dunagin. “Who are you two? Everyone’s to be off the streets now. What do you want?” Rain doesn’t recognize the voice, undoubtedly just one of the many mooks who hang about the Church of the Big Gamble trying to act big.  

Rain says, “It’s Rain. Tell Fergus I’ve come to speak with him. He’ll know why.”

“Rain huh? Well, Fergus ain’t here. So go home before the High and Mighties catch ya.” He slams the slot shut.

“Let’s go,” Rain says, a little disgusted. When they get back into the street she says, almost cheerfully, “Okay, off to the Murky Archer,” and begins making her way there.

On Rum Road they find themselves stopped by a couple of paladins on horseback with accompanying squires holding bulls-eye everburning lanterns. Rain shows them her pass. The first paladin takes it, lifts his visor to scrutinize it and then hands it back and waves them on. Suddenly, the second paladin says, “Wait, haven’t I seen you before?”

Rain turns back to the paladin addressing her. “Depends, who are you?” expecting him to raise his visor.

He does in fact raise his visor and she sees that it is Sir Jankin, whom she had last seen at the not-so-abandoned Heironean Mission that morning.

Rain says, “Ah Sir Jankin, I did not know it was you.”

“Oh, you know me.” He seems a little puzzled by that. “Ah yes, you’re a member of the Guard. I saw you this morning. You lent us your manacles. Just a second,” he reaches behind him and then pulls out a set of manacles that he hands back to Rain. “There you go. Say, why aren’t you wearing your tabard now? And who is this?”

“Pardon Sir Jankin,” says the other paladin, “but the pass does say she should be let by without questions.”

In the light of the lanterns, Rain sees that Jankin blushes a bit at this. “Of course, how foolish of me. Take care of yourselves. It’s not safe out here as I’m sure you know and we can’t be everywhere.” He then starts to ride away with the other paladin.

As they ride away, Rain says to her companion, “I really need to find time to talk with him… you know, when things quiet down a bit.” She finishes with a smile. 

“Mmm, flirting with the paladins?” Dunagin murmurs softly. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. They are very, how shall I put it, straight laced – even the ones who are not straight. I think your friend Father Gar has been discovering that.” 

“Um, no. I have other business with him – pertaining to my old life.” She doesn’t turn to look at her companion, but heads off her obvious next comment by saying, “And don’t worry, I won’t be causing any trouble.”

“I should hope not. If you offend the priests or paladins of Heironeus or the throne of Keoland you will be on your own. I would be very sorry if that were to happen.” Dunganin sounds like he means it when he (she?) says this.

They continue on to the Murky Archer and find that it too is locked up. The doors are closed and the shutters are shut, though it is also obvious that there are lights on and people inside.

Rain knocks at the front door. A girl’s voice answers, “We’re closed, orders of the Prince. Go home!” Rain recognizes the voice. It’s Livya, a member of her old gang.

Dunagin grips Rain’s arm and whispers in her ear, “Be careful of this one. She’s an evildoer. Her heart is poisoned.”

Then Rain remembers what Dion told her just a few days ago when she ran into him back at their place. He had been telling her how Rinya had died and said, “Anyway, Rinya was sick too, that’s why she was there. She was too weak to go herself so Cole and I carried her there. Livya and some of the others wanted to just leave Rinya in the street for the watch to pick up… or not. That’s how afraid we all were to catch it ourselves. But Cole and I figured that it was too late for us anyway, if we were going to catch it we would and if not, then not. So if we could get Rinya healed, maybe all of us could be saved.”

Rain says in her even but commanding voice, “Open the door Livya.”

“Rain? Oh my gods, it’s you.” She opens the door, and it is indeed Livya. She is tall and thin like a swaying reed. She has a golden tan even in these winter months, soft brown hair, and stormy gray eyes that are now widened in surprise. She holds her arms out for a hug, “We thought you were dead, and then Dion told us you joined… Oh!” She smiles broadly at Dunagin and winks, “You brought a friend – how thoughtful.”

Then Drogo’s grizzled bulk fills the doorway and pushes Livya aside, “Ah cut it out. Huh, Rain. I do recall seeing you around. I suppose you should come in. No one’s supposed to be out and this tavern is supposed to be closed. But who’s this then?” He indicates Dunagin.

Rain enters, putting her arm around Livya, “No, I’m not dead – and don’t take everything you hear at face value. There are many reasons people do the things they do, eh Livya?”  She turns to Drogo, “Hello Drogo, this is Dunagin – a friend. I have business with Fergus, and you know if I’m out tonight it’s for a damn good reason. Where is he?”

Rain surveys the room as she enters. There seem to be about a dozen people give or take scattered throughout the tavern. A group of three sitting at the bar, two others at a table in the middle, another group of three at a table further back. Others are sitting at the very back in a large booth with a curtain drawn over it for privacy. All the ones in sight are darkly cloaked men, except of course for Livya. It is clear to Rain that these mooks are holding weapons under their cloaks or beneath the tables.

Drogo steps back and looks over Rain and Dunagin. Livya slides out from under Rain’s arm and heads for the bar, “I’ll go fix a drink for ya,” she says.

“Yeah, you do that,” says Drogo. “This is all just a private little party. Now you I know, or at least thought I did. Him I don’t. Is he one of those High and Mighties you’ve taken up with? I’m not going to bother Fergus on a night like this without you telling me what it’s all about and who you’re traveling with.”

“Like I said, Dunagin is a friend. Coming here on a night like this it’s best to bring a friend. That is all.” Rain produces a slight smile at this then wipes it from her face. “My business with the High and Mighties is my own concern, but I assure you it will not interfere with you and yours.” Rain visibly relaxes, returning the slight smile to her face. “Now, my business with Fergus is in his interest. I would appreciate you letting him know I am here to conduct it… or you can explain to him why I was unable to pay him tonight.”

Drogo ponders that for a moment as Livya comes back with a tray full of mugs of ale. “Fair enough,” he says. “Why don’t you go to the back booth with Livya and have a drink with Fergus then.” Drogo then points to Dunagin, “But you can have a drink at the bar. I’ll introduce you to my fine friends: Wink, Nod, and Tic.”

The three mooks at the bar all turn to greet Dunagin with raised mugs. One winks, the other nods, and the last grimaces with a grotesque twitch.

Dunagin looks to Rain and in a bass rumble asks, “You trust these people enough to drink with them?”

Rain answers, “I’ll be fine. Try not to hurt Winkin, Blinken and Nod,” then heads to the back booth with Livya to join Fergus.

One of the mooks draws the curtain back and Rain finds Fergus there all smiles, with Imensil, the beautiful elvish barmaid, cuddling up to him on his left. Livya sets the mugs of ale on the table and gestures for Rain to take a seat in the booth across from Fergus and next to his blockheaded counterpart Clive. When Livya finishes she takes her place on Fergus’ right side. The mook lets the curtain fall back, and now there is only the dim light of the candle by which to see Fergus and his “friends.”

“Well, Rain, I’d say I’m quite surprised to see you again. I heard you got nabbed by Captain Bodwyn, and then you turn up as a member of the Guard. How’d that happen I wonder? And now Dion tells me that you’ve offered to make good on Parwyn’s debt?” He shakes his head, “The ways in which the dice of fate roll. Who can fathom it? Well anyway, here you are. Please, have a mug. We’ll have drinks and catch up and then we can settle Parwyn’s debt if that’s indeed what you’ve come for.” Fergus leans back, at ease, with his arms around the two beautiful girls on either side, his mouth curled in a smile as he nods to the mugs on the table.

Rain takes the seat indicated and smiles, acting equally at ease. She reaches out and takes her ale, saying just before she drinks “You seem pretty well informed. So how is it you allowed yourself to be blamed for a break-in you didn’t do and have no idea who did?”

Fergus raises his eyes at this, “You seem pretty well-informed yourself. Yes, a rather overzealous Cudgel and his friends came after me. I was only doing an honest day’s labor putting in a new lock. But it seems some unsanctioned cat burglar is operating in this town and causing trouble for the Guild. This does not please us. Perhaps, being so eager to settle things for Parwyn, you know something about this?”

Still holding her ale, Rain responds, “Well, I don’t know anything about your cat burglar but I can tell you that that Cudgel is no friend to the others who were with him that day. Burne is an overzealous idiot who couldn’t stumble upon a real clue to save his life. That’s why he makes shit up…”

Her face hardens slightly as her mind visits the dark areas of her mind reserved for unpleasant memories, “…they are all fuckin’ idiots, claiming to help the people and only feeding their obese and bulging self-importance… they are the ones truly to answer for Rinya’s death. Wharf fleas and gonorrhea to them all I say.”

At this she takes another swig of her ale to calm herself down and return to the present. “Anyways, I wouldn’t worry about any of them pursuing you any more for that. The matter is closed. Even Jankin, the man you stabbed, doesn’t hold you accountable.”

Fergus grins, “How magnanimous of him. But what does this have to do with you? Why should you pay for Parwyn? And though I’m honored that you are ready to take my word for it that it wasn’t me or mine involved in that robbery, how is that you know Burne is wrong?”

Just then, the crash of a body falling is heard. Livya pulls back the curtain, and Rain sees that Dunagin has fallen off his stool at the bar and is lying unconscious on the floor.

“Tsk, tsk, it seems your friend can’t hold his ale,” Fergus comments.

Rain hears a click on her right side, she looks over and sees that Clive is holding a hand-crossbow cocked and ready, aimed at her heart.

Fergus smiles, “Well, no need to let that bother us. Hey boys, drag him over to the booth next to us.” He nods to Livya and she drops the curtain again. “Now, where were we? Oh, and don’t worry, I think the ale you’re drinking isn’t as strong as what your friend was served.”

True anger hardens Rain, her eyes on fire as she stares down Fergus. “I thought this was a friendly discussion in which I am being very candid with you Fergus, Why this treachery?”

“Treachery?!” Fergus appears truly affronted. “Oh no girl, if it was treachery you’d never know what had hit you. This is merely taking proper precautions. I don’t see you for months, you abandon your friends,” he gives Livya a squeeze, “and then when you do show up you’re working for the High and Mighties. Then, tonight of all nights when the city is locked down under martial-law and after I’ve been chased through the streets by these occupiers for a crime I, for once, had nothing to do with, you come waltzing in here with someone who, as far as I know, is a member of the Guard or even a paladin. Now you look me in the eye and tell me that I shouldn’t be wary or suspicious?”

Rain looks Fergus in the eyes, “Fair enough, but look at it from my point of view too. Today, after finding out that my friends, Aramek and Parwyn… and yes they are personal friends of mine, were accosted by members of my own family, apparently now working for you, I decide to intervene making sure not only that Parwyn and Aramek are no longer threatened but also to make sure you get your gold - all of it. And I try to do this tonight, despite the dangers on the streets. There is no other reason for this than trying to protect my friends and re-establish contact with you… and to make sure you get your damn gold in the process. And can you blame me for bringing a friend for protection?” She looks sidelong at Clive at this, “Now, can I check on Dunagin and make sure he is still alive so we can continue this conversation civilly or are you so fucking dumb you can’t see how useful it might be for you to have a friend in my new and unusual position?”

Fergus frowns, “A little respect is in order I think. If Livya here is family to you, well then I’ve adopted her and Dion and the others as my younger brothers and sisters. That makes me your older brother I guess – Clive too. So let’s be civil, like a family, eh? Sure, go check on this Dunagin. He’s just sleeping. You can put away the crossbow Clive, we’re all family here.”

Rain moves out of the booth, and Clive follows and pulls back the curtain all the way. Dunagin has been left sprawled out on the seat of the next booth over. The curtain has been left up. The three mooks from the bar hover nearby. Rain sees that Dunagin is breathing softly, passed out and dead to the world. His shortsword, dagger, starknife, and the belt pouch with the platinum and electrum that he showed Rain earlier are sitting on an empty table nearby.

“Satisfied? He won’t be harmed. Now please, let’s continue our civil discussion – older brother and younger sister like. You two, take a seat over there for just a bit. Clive, keep Livya and Imensil entertained for a bit.”

Clive and the girls seat themselves at the table where Dunagin’s weapons and belt pouch have been placed. Livya pouts a bit, but sullenly acquiesces when Fergus waves her away. She smiles sweetly at Rain in passing, though there is a cunning look in her eyes, “We’ll catch up later Rain, ‘kay?”

The three mooks join Clive and the girls and break out a deck of Three Dragon Ante. The other five mooks spread out around the tavern seem to be minding their own business, but Rain is sure that they are also armed with hand-crossbows and paying close attention to what happens in the back.

Rain sits back down and Fergus lets the curtain fall back again. “Interesting weapons your friend has. Now, I want to know two things and then we can move on to other business. Where’s my money, and who’s Dunagin really?”

Rain responds with a smirk, “Yah, the star-knife is standard paladin issue these days,” then seriously but settling back into a relaxed demeanor she says, “Your money is in the bag they took from Dunagin.”

Fergus pulls back the curtain and calls out to Clive. “Hey Clive, bring me that pouch there.” Clive brings it over and Fergus dumps the contents on the table. 16 platinum high lords drop out as well as 20 gold admirals. Fergus reacts to this with a low whistle. “High lords eh? The old coins of the Sea Princes…” He looks at Rain appraisingly. “Nice to see these are still floating around.” He sweeps them off the table. “That will settle Parwyn’s debt then. That kind of coin seems a little above the pay grade of a simple Guard recruit though; so again, who’s this Dunagin and what have you been up to?”

Rain sighs and leans in closer to Fergus, lowering her voice so only he can hear. “Look, I am trying to live in two different worlds right now… it wasn’t my choice to do so, but I am glad the opportunity presented itself. I think somehow I can help my.,, our family in the process. Who knows, maybe even help Westkeep in the process. I don’t know. I don’t have a real plan at this point, nor do I have an agenda against the family. What I do have is my ass in a unique position to be able to see both sides of the fence and that has to be good for something. Now understand that I have friends on the other side. I have no agenda, nor intentions of harming our family, nor to harm my friends on the other side. I will not compromise either side… that means nobody besides Dunagin knows I am here talking with you. And it means that Dunagin is just a friend watching my back tonight… let’s leave it at that. Okay?”

Fergus leans back and steeples his fingers on the table. “Working both sides of the fence huh? You haven’t been on our side of the fence at all lately. All we see is that you’ve gone over to the side of the High and Mighties and the Cudgels. The very ones who came to our land without so much as a ‘by-your-leave’ to tell us how to live. You know we were working on kicking the Red Robes out ourselves before they came in and interfered, and the countryside had already risen up against them. We didn’t need their help and we don’t need them here now.

“You were too young to remember Westkeep before the Red Robes came. It wasn’t exactly a paradise here then either but it was a free city for free men. No curfews, no riots, no club wielding thugs or paladins looking over our shoulders, no attempts to ban or put exorbitant tariffs on the halfling pipe-weed from upriver, no shutting down the gambling halls or the taverns after midnight. People sang what they wished, smoked what they wished, drank what they wished and slept with whomever they wished. You know I’ve heard that some of these High and Mighties and Cudgels want to shut down the Street of Red Lanterns? Some have gone so far as to suggest shutting down the Church of the Big Gamble, saying that it’s simply a den of thieves and not a proper house of prayer! And what if it is a den of thieves? Norebo is the god of rogues! In the old Westkeep people gave him his due. The Sea Princes certainly didn’t let Cudgels chase Locksmiths through the streets on the mere suspicion of impropriety! And I’ll tell you another thing – we kept the Olman and the Amedi in their place! They didn’t run riot through the streets like now. They were happy here. We took them out of the squalor of their jungle hovels and gave them proper places to live, and good jobs to do. We gave clothes and food and freedom to worship and dance and sing as they pleased when their work was done. Did you know the Amedi and Olman were mortal enemies back in the Amedi Jungles? But here they danced and sang together! They knew their place and were glad for it. And the Sea Lords had their run of the seas and brought wealth and prosperity to all in the Hold with the strength and ambition to take and hold it. This was a tropical paradise, a land of art and love and life!

“Then the Red Robes came with their armies and their dreams of an empire long fallen to dust, and now the High and Mighties are here trying to recreate their own empire, the Greater Kingdom of Keoland that we freed ourselves from hundreds of years ago. And yet here you sit telling me that you can see both sides. Both sides of what: Freedom or oppression? Bah! How can you possibly even think of making those sides balance on the scales? There’s a choice to be made and you are going to have to make it girl.

“Now, in the meantime, I do want to know what you know about this robbery at Parwyn’s. You say you want to protect both sides and don’t want to compromise any of your friends. I’m already compromised, and the Guild is compromised if there are unsanctioned thieves operating in Westkeep. Now tell me what you know if you’re serious about looking out for us. Surely if this Parwyn and his apprentice Aramek are friends of yours then you’ll want to know that the robber was taken care of. Don’t you?”

Rain leans back in her seat, taking another swig of her ale. Who says I can’t play both sides of the game, she thinks, – at least for a while. It’s better than being his pawn and stealing just to eat. I like having gold in my pocket.

Smiling she says, “You love to preach, don’t ya. Yer good at it too.” She pauses and then continues, “Red Robe assassins attacked the palace last night. They didn’t get far, but we found evidence that one of them had hit Parwyn’s. We don’t know why, nor what they were looking for at this point… nor what their intentions were except maybe to assassinate Prospero. A few of us are looking into it during our spare time, but really don’t have anything yet. Do you know anything about recent Brotherhood activity?”

“The Red Robes hit the palace! That I didn’t know! Yes, you may be right… It would be good to have a member of the family on the inside.” Fergus leans forward, very serious now. “Tell me what happened. What was this evidence? What could the Red Robes have possibly needed from an alchemist shop that they couldn’t have made themselves? Did you end up fighting them yourself?”

Rain leans in also and says in a hushed voice only for him, “I was assigned to guard Prospero’s study when the assassins hit the halls… no idea how they got into the palace though. I took down five before I fell to sleep from being poisoned, and then woke up later attended by clerics. I have no idea what evidence was found, only that the assassins were Brotherhood. Man, they swarmed the place quick though. Later I was escorting Aramek home with some others from the palace and we passed the Heironean temple, which seemed oddly deserted. We found the statue inside was toppled over and covered in feces and just as we were going to check further a huge bat the size of a horse swooped down from the top of the tower and flew out of the city. Then today with the Olman riot lead by their shamanic leader… I tell you Fergus, bad things are coming.”

“You killed five Red Robe assassins yourself?” Fergus exclaims in surprise though in a hushed tone to match Rain’s. “You must have gotten a lot handier with a blade then when I knew you. Yes, you are right. It is good to have friends on the inside. And it looks like the Olman’s have more going on than we thought. That will bear some watching. Yes, it looks like we might be able to help each other. Yes indeed.

“It’s funny, though, you’re the second person in two nights to ask me what I know about the Red Robes. Last night a half-elf came strolling into here from the palace. Played a game of murky archer and got a mug of ale poured on his head, but he was a good sport about it and bought everyone here a round of drinks. So I took him aside and we spoke. He asked me what I knew, but of course I don’t know of any Red Robe plots. His name was Lorindel and we agreed to keep in touch. Then Clive, Dion, Cole, and I escorted him back to the Processional. What do you know about this Lorindel? Is he trustworthy?” 

Rain smiles and says, “Yes, so far Lorindel seems so. He is one of the friends I have been spending time with lately: he, his brother, and the others who I would previously have dismissed as High and Mighties. It is association with them that is teaching me to look deeper into people’s character before judging where they stand.” Her face becomes stern for a few seconds as she says offhandedly, “Dion needs a lesson in that as well I think.”

Fergus is about to respond to that when a groan is heard from the next booth over. “Hey boss,” calls Clive. “I think this one is waking up.”

Fergus raises an eyebrow and looks at Rain. “Your companion is uncommonly stout to recover so quickly. He should have been out for at least an hour. How strange…” He pulls back the curtain. “Clive, help the man to his feet. Give him back his stuff and show him to the door. Our business is done here.” He lets the curtain fall again and says to Rain in a low voice, “You are welcome here if you wish to come back and catch up on old times, and share information. Though I daresay, some of your old friends have some hard feelings about you abandoning them like you did. But if you ever show up in the company of those High and Mighties, including that one out there whoever he is, or wearing their livery, then we’ll treat you same as them.” With a polite gesture he indicates that Rain is free to depart.

Rain offers her hand to Fergus, “Thanks Fergus, but I hope at least you understand that this path was not chosen by me. It is only Norebo’s breath on the dice that I lived. And for anyone else they will just have to take up their issues with me directly. I will keep in touch Fergus.”

Fergus smiles warmly and shakes Rain’s hand. “Yes, please do. And I should tell you, do right by us and there will always be a place for you in the Guild. May Norebo’s fortune go with you.”

As Rain leaves the booth, she sees that Dunagin’s weapons have been returned. Dunagin still seems a bit woozy and incoherent, but Clive is propping him up. “This one’s not nearly as heavy as he looks.” Clive says to Rain. “I’ll take him to the door, and then he’s all yours.”

The mooks all seem to be minding their own business, but Livya accompanies them to the door. Then she reaches out and touches Rain lightly on the shoulder. There seems to be a tear in her eye, but Rain can see that they’re crocodile’s tears. “Rain, how could you leave us? And how could you join them? The High and Mighties? You know what they did to Rinya don’t you? Didn’t Dion tell you?”

The smile remaining on Rain’s face after leaving Fergus quickly retreats as stone hard disdain takes its place. Rain looks Livya in the face and says in an even low voice, “I know what happened, Livya, all of it… and if you ever suggest leaving any of us behind again to save your own skin you will deal with me. Not even Old One Foot will save you from my wrath.”

Livya blanches and steps away from Rain. She turns around without a word and heads back to the bar.

Outside the Murky Archer, Clive turns over Dunagin to Rain. As he said, Dunagin turns out to be a lot lighter, more like what Rain would expect Sedara to weigh. Clive nods and closes the door. No one is in sight. Rain helps Dunagin down Rum Road, but as soon as they reach the Processional Dunagin straightens up and begins shrinking and shifting until it is Sedara standing there once more.

“Whew,” she says. “It is well that you got us out of there so quickly. The spell was about to fade away. Then we would have had a real problem. And no, I hadn’t really passed out.” Sedara tosses Rain a wet sponge. It smells of ale. “It’s always good to palm a sponge when you think you’re being served something you’d rather not be drinking. But then you had better know how to recognize what you were being served and fake the effects of it.” Sedara grins, “I even fooled you it seems, or were you just covering for me? Anyway, I applaud your loyalty to your friends, and to me. You could easily have turned me over to them as the real thief, and as a royal hostage. I didn’t catch everything though. I hope you didn’t tell them anything you should not have.” She regards Rain with a discerning gaze as she asks this.

Rain smiles. “Heh, yah well I had hoped you were faking it, but wasn’t completely sure. Regardless I knew I had better at least act like you were out or possible dead. I’m sure glad you are okay though, I would hate to think what the Prince would do to me if I lost his aunt.” At this she smiles and even lets out a small chuckle.

“As for my loyalties, I hope by now that you know I would protect you and Prospero… er, the Prince as best I am able… including the secrets which matter. But I also hope you understand that there are those I truly care for who remain at least partially adversarial to Westkeep’s new owners. In all honesty My Lady, at this point, I truly can call neither the streets nor the palace my home. All I can do is try to remain true to both of those whom I call friend till they prove to be otherwise.”

“Rain, please tell me that you didn’t tell Fergus about the statue or the journal. This Fergus is not evil as far as I can tell, but he is probably not on the side of the angels and there are evil people around him, like that girl. Did you tell him of those things or what was in the journal?”

“Of course not”

“I am greatly relieved to hear that – the less people who know of such things, the better for all of us.”

Sedara continues, “Now look, Rain, we are not Westkeep’s owners, though perhaps we must be its stewards for the time being. King Skotti did not send the Prince or any of us here to harm this land, nor even to claim it for Keoland. We came to stop the Scarlet Brotherhood and to push them out if we could. We also came to free the slaves – all of them. We came to bring true justice for all who can truly call the Hold of the Sea Princes their home. We mean no evil or treachery to any of your folk, but neither will we tolerate evil, injustice, treachery, or lawlessness while we are here. When there is peace and the proper rulers of this land are restored, or at least a stable government established that the people can trust to preserve order and the common good, then we will leave. So, as long as your folk do not persist in robbery, slavery, and piracy, we will do all that we can to help them help themselves.”

Rain pauses, and then says in a smaller voice, “Yah, I know… I know,” and then a little frustrated, “It’s just that… I have never been a political person. My main worries were getting food for the family and taking care of the younger ones. Making sure they didn’t do stupid things or having to get them out once they did. All of this politics is giving me a headache!” 

Rain takes a few seconds to calm down and then continues, “Look, I appreciate what you are doing. I really do. Not just for me but for everyone. I just think that, well, maybe we are not used to having outsiders help us. I don’t know.”

After a moment Rain looks Sedara in the eyes and says, “What I am certain of is that I really appreciate you giving me a second chance, taking me out of that cell… and… well you know. Just… thanks,” and before she realizes what she is doing she hugs Sedara.

Sedara stiffens in surprise, but then returns the hug in kind. Rain immediately pulls away, turning red from embarrassment, and murmurs, “um… sorry.”

Sedara, whose eyes seem moist, says, “It’s okay Rain. As I told you before, I once belonged to a… family… much like yours. I thought it was all I would ever need or want. Then I met someone who gave me a chance, someone who showed me a better way, a brighter path. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.” Sedara touches her pendant briefly and smiles at Rain. “I guess I want to return to others what I was given. I hope someday you are in a position to do the same for others.”

Later that night, Rain returns to the barracks and approaches Aramek with a smile, “Good evening Aramek, I hope your day got better after its slightly rocky start? If I could ask a favor, please convey to Master Parwyn my personal apologies for his rather rude visitors earlier and let him know that I have seen too it that he will no longer be bothered by Dion nor Cole. Also, he is no longer in debt to Fergus or the Locksmiths. The matter has been settled.”

Aramek smiles at his friend and says, “Thanks for taking care of that, Rain. I really appreciate it and I know Master Parwyn will be relieved. I’ll find a page to take the message to him. 

“In the meantime, how did you manage that, if you don’t mind my asking? You sure seem to have a lot of connections here in Westkeep! And what was the errand Bodwyn sent you on, anyway? Was it anything to do with our excursion into the marshes?”

Rain checks to make sure they are alone, and then says in a very low voice, “Aramek I count you as one of my good friends, but please understand that anything you learn about me now or in the future can seriously hurt me if it is shared with others. Can I count on you for that?”

Aramek, with a serious expression on his face, says, “Absolutely, Rain! We haven’t known each other all that long, but you’ve really become my best and most trusted friend here. You can count on me to respect your privacy and also keep your confidences.”

Rain continues. “I am familiar with the Locksmiths and have family ties there. From the evidence we found on the assassins it is clear to me that the Locksmiths were not involved in the break in. I was granted a favor from Bodwyn to ‘take care of some personal business.’ What I did was to clear the debt and assure Parwyn’s safety and then spend some time with my family.”

 ”Wow!” says Aramek. “Thank you again for straightening all this out. I really owe you one!

Rain smiles to Aramek as she thinks, Ah Aramek, you have no idea the convoluted mess this became… but, in the end all is well and I look good – works for me. Rain’s smile shortly widens at her own thoughts, then she responds, “Any time Aramek, and just so you know I have grown quite fond of you as well. I am glad we were thrown together.”

“Yeah,” he says smiling. “You’re like the little sister I never had – even though you’re a lot more worldly wise than I am. I’m glad you’re my friend. I may not be the most powerful sorcerer around, but I’ll always have your back. You can count on it!”

Godsday Afternoon, Fireseek 4, 591 Common Year

That afternoon, with nothing else to do but wait in the palace, Ragnbjorn proposes that they all practice speaking Draconian from that moment on amongst themselves. He also proposes that they head out into the yard and get in some weapons practice.

Unlike the previous day’s practice, Ragnbjorn has the servants set the targets up 150 feet away and tells the others that they will each get five shots. Every shot in the outer circle will score 1 point, every shot in the middle will score 2 points, and each bulls-eye will score 4 points.

“Now I’m going to take some shots as well. Now, let’s say the loser will buy us all a round of drinks as soon as we can get out to a tavern again. What do you say boys?” says Ragnbjorn.

“I’m always in for a wager,” accepts Lorindel.

“Aye,” adds Indranil.

Low class move, dad! thinks Fingol. It’s not like you have any chance of paying on that bet. Why don’t you just charge us for the lesson and be done with it. Booo. Aloud he says in halting Draconic, “I dislike the bet, but favor the company. I’m in.”

Gar chuckles softly. “Three fighters and one cleric, I think I know who’ll be everyone’s bottom boy tonight,” he says in Elvish as he winks at Sir Ragnbjorn.

Ragnbjorn scores 5 bullseyes in a row for 20 points.

“By the gods! If only I could do half so well!” A broad smile breaks out on Fingol’s face as he shouts, slipping into Keolandish.

Ragnbjorn had used the composite longbow especially made with a heavier than usual pull for his own prodigious strength, or at least the strength he had in his prime, by the famed elven bowyer Faremlas. Ever since he was a youth, Fingol dreamed of being old enough and strong enough to use that bow. When he finally was strong enough to string it and draw it with ease his father sent him off to train with the King’s Rangers. Now, however, Fingol notes sadly that his father is no longer strong enough himself to draw it back fully.

Fingol scores two bulls-eyes. He then misses the target completely with his next two shots, perhaps disturbed by a growing awareness that his father is past his prime, graying and not as strong as he used to be. His final shot, however, is another bulls-eye as he shakes away thoughts of his father’s mortality and returns to the task at hand. In the end Fingol scores 12 points.

With a shake of his head, Fingol mumbles to himself in Keolandish, “Well, I’ll have to console myself with the three bulls-eyes rather than worry over my other two shots.” 

Indranil hits the middle ring, his next two shots strike the outer ring, and then he misses completely. Taking a moment to breathe, refocus, and reach out to the target with his mind, Indranil scores a bulls-eye with his last shot. His final score is 8 points.

Indranil says to himself in Keolandish, “An eight! Bah! Clearly I need to get in more practice with my bow.”

Indranil watches the others quietly and especially his master Ragnbjorn. Seeing what he has noticed before that Ragnbjorn is not able to the draw the compound bow as quickly and hold its aim effectively he ponders again the shortness of a lifespan and how fleeting life is. No wonder people cling so fiercely to what they have and see as theirs.

Lorindel is quite eager to try out his gift from the Prince, his new masterwork compound shortbow. It takes him a couple of shots to get used to the heavy draw, though it is certainly no problem for one of his above average strength. Those shots only hit the outer ring. His last three shots all sink right into the bullseye. Lorindel’s final score is 14.

Gar picks a light crossbow from the selection of bows and crossbows available in the armory for practice. His first shot hits the middle ring. Unfortunately, after loading his second bolt he pulls the trigger by accident and the bolt strike buries itself into a nearby wagon. This prompts a short lecture and demonstration of crossbow safety from Ragnbjorn in Common to make sure that Gar understands. Gar’s next two shots also strike the middle ring, and his last one hits the bulls-eye. Gar ends up scoring 10 points.

“There, you see Gar,” says Ragnbjorn in Elvish, “You didn’t end up as the bottom after all. This time it’s Indranil.” He laughs heartily.

Indranil walks over to stand next to Ragnbjorn and says in Draconian, “Master, now that we are done with the competitive side of this practice lets exchange bows with each other and try again to see what our results are. I have always wanted to try drawing your master bow and it never hurts for each of us to have a sense of the other’s weapons personality. Who knows in a pinch, we might have to use the others!”

“Well that sounds like good sense.” Ragnbjorn replies in Draconic and hands his bow over to Indranil. Indranil finds that he also is not strong enough to fully draw the bow.

“By the gods this bow is hard to draw! The very power of the wind is in it. Magnificent! I can’t do any worse than I already did, since I finished… ah… last. I might as well go for it and see if I can better my score!” All this said in fluent Draconic.

Indranil takes the bow and his first three shots all strike the bulls-eye. His fourth shot hits the outer ring. His final shot scores another bullseye. This time his total is 17 points.

Ragnbjorn laughs and slaps Indranil on the shoulder. He takes back his bow saying in Draconic, “Well now, you did better with this than I thought. Tell you what, a showing like that will get you off the hook. The first round will be on me.”

Fingol says nothing, but is pleased that the old man is showing some good sportsmanship. I guess the whole “wager” is just a bit of a joke on his part. Fingol wonders, Perhaps now that I’ve grown, I’ll be able to relate to the old man better. Perhaps when I was younger, I was too much of a boy and dad was too much of a man? Now perhaps we are closer to an even footing and although dad is still very much in charge and very much the senior ranger, maybe I can at least hold my own enough to handle his gruff humor. 

Fingol continues to muse, Or maybe he’s just a ball buster after all and I’m giving him too much credit.

Ragnbjorn turns to his son, “How about you Fingol? I know you’ve always wanted to get your hands on this?” He offers the bow to Fingol.

“Thank you father, this is an honor; although, I am always proud to see it in your hands,” Fingol responds as best he can in Draconic.

Fingol does a few test draws on the bow before taking his shots to get a feel for the weapon before he tries to hit anything with it. He finds that he can draw it back with ease. If anything, Fingol could probably handle an even heavier pull. He takes a shot and hits the middle ring. His second shot misses the target. His third strikes the bullseye. His fourth misses again. His final shot hits the middle ring. This time Fingol scores 8.

Fingol thinks to himself, Ugh, how embarrassing! Oh well, it’s all for fun.

When he is done, Fingol hands it back with a smile. ”If you are still of a generous mood, I would love to see how Lorindel does with it. I have seen him with his own bow and he is clearly the most gifted of all of us – save for yourself of course.”

“Sir Lorindel, you’re welcome to try your luck with it,” offers Ragnbjorn.

“Luck? Who needs luck? It’s all…about…the…skill,” boasts Lorindel as he struggles with the draw and lets the first arrow fly.

Fingol stifles a snort.

Lorindel’s first shot hits the middle ring. His next shot hits the outer ring. His third shot misses. His fourth hits the outer ring. His final shot, however, is a bullseye. It is clear, however, that the draw is as much or more of a struggle for him than it was for Indranil and that his aim was thrown off by it. His score is 8 points.

“Very good,” says Ragnbjorn. He then says in Elvish to Gar, “Well Father Gar, would you care to try your hand? Although I daresay, you’ve probably not received any training with longbows, let alone a compound bow like this.”

“Wait a moment while I take cover!” says Indranil in Draconic.

“Thank you, Sir Ragnbjorn,” replies Gar in Elvish, “but I need to fight smart not with strength. I’ll stick with my crossbow, milord.

Hearing this, the servants breathe out a collective sigh of relief – not to mention the wagon master who is still trying to pull the crossbow bolt out of his wagon. Fingol stifles a chuckle at everyone’s reaction.

Gar then proceeds to fire five more shots with the light crossbow.

Indranil shouts again in Draconian, “Run for cover!”

Since he doesn’t yet speak Draconian, Gar has a clueless look in his eyes.

Gar’s first shot hits the outer ring, his second misses, the third hits the outer ring again, his fourth scores a bulls-eye, and his fifth strikes the middle ring – all for a total of 8 points.

“Well boys,” says Ragnbjorn in Draconic, “I’ll be happy to observe and give you all some pointers. Now I’ve seen Sir Indranil and Sir Lorindel spar often enough. Frankly, I’d like to see how you two brothers do against Fingol and Father Gar. Any objections?” He repeats this in Elvish for Gar.

No objections are forthcoming, so Ragnbjorn says in Draconic and then Elvish, “Okay then, how about Sir Indranil and Father Gar?”

“This shall be… interesting,” says Indranil in Draconic.

Gar smiles and responds in Elvish, “You want me and you know it. Ready to get hosed?”

Indranil responds in Elvish, “Father Gar I can assure you that is not the case. And by hosed, I am hoping we can limit our sparring to padded weapons and keep your oral skills in check!”

With that Indranil bows to Father Gar.

Gar makes no response to Indranil’s oral preference. He only smiles and grunts like a lizard in heat as he moves into position for the fight.

As Indranil puts up his shield and sets his sword in guard position, Gar begins gesturing and calling out, “Obad-Hai, protect your servant from the eyes of the profane.” Immediately a mist arises around him that obscures all but the sliver of the practice ring where Indranil is standing. Right after that a spout of water and howling winds erupts out of the obscuring mists and strikes Indranil full on. A lesser warrior would have been blasted out of the ring, but Indranil moves in following the source of the small hurricane while using his shield to ward off the worst of it. He is quickly enveloped by the mists and disappears from sight, though those outside hear a yelp of pain from Gar and the sound and fury of the hurricane drops away. Scuffling sounds are heard from within the mists, something drops and another yelp of pain is heard from Gar. The creaking of armor and the sound of feet maneuvering on the gravel is all that is heard until another blast of wind and rain erupts out of the mists, followed by another yelp from Gar, more wind and rain, and then a grunt and the sound of a body falling. All is quiet for a few moments and then the mists begin to disperse. Indranil stands over the unconscious Gar, victorious.

“I would have liked to have seen that one,” mumbles Fingol, who then remembers himself and claps sword to shield and gives a “Huzzah!” to the winner.

Indranil, soaking wet, kneels besides Father Gar and makes sure he is breathing. He works to make him comfortable: loosening his collar and chainmail shirt so he can breathe easier and placing his feet up slightly on Indranil’s shield. He waits quietly until Father Gar stirs and opens his eyes.

Indranil then says, “Father Gar. This was a padded weapons practice bout not a magic contest. It was my intent to practice with you as a sparring partner to help you learn your weapons but when you lashed out with your magic I had no choice but to defend myself vigorously against it. I hope I did you no lasting harm. Next time please stick within the spirit of the match – for all of our safety!”

Indranil then helps Father Gar to his feet and assists him over to the edge of the ring to sit upon the wooden benches used by students and observers to watch weapons training and matches. He remains seated next to Father Gar with a worried look on his face watching Father Gar closely for any lasting ill effects.

Fingol laughs, and jestingly reproves Indranil, “You’ve had your victory, demanding an apology for it is a bit rich! The Green Man grants his priests the power to protect themselves and his followers. It is the source of half a priest’s strength in combat. If you expected Father Gar to handicap himself so, you should have removed your armor or fought without your sword. Should we face Nauyotl again, you may have cause to thank Father Gar for this lesson. You did better in it than I did when I was blinded.”

“Good Sir Fingol, my apologies. I must have misspoken to give you the wrong impression of my intent. I was not asking Father Gar for an apology. I was actually apologizing to him for hitting him so hard I knocked him out. I had thought this was a practice bout with weapons. I intended to approach the bout with a defensive posture and limit the force of my attacks so as to provide Father Gar a sparring partner matched to his level of skill and an opportunity to practice with weapons. When he attacked me so forcefully with his cloaking and hurricane spells I had no choice but to hit hard to defend myself, and because I couldn’t see him I had no chance to pull my blow. I feel terrible I knocked him out.”

“Ah, sorry Sir Indranil.” says Ragnbjorn, “We should have warned you. It’s customary in these practice bouts to fight until someone is either knocked out or they yield. We play a bit rough here. In addition, mages and priests are free to use any spells that will not do any permanent injury to their opponents. So for instance, the Sorcerer Aramek is prohibited from using his magic missiles in the practice ring, and Gar is expected to restrain from charbroiling his opponents with the flame breath I’ve heard so much about. But wizards and sorcerers like Aramek would certainly be assumed to use their mage armor or sleep spells, and Gar was perfectly within his rights to call up that mist, though frankly I think he gave the advantage to you in doing that.”

Gar nods his head in agreement, though he still seems to be absent-minded and a bit green in the gills. He then chuckles softly but it makes his head hurt. “Thank you, Sir Indranil. That was fun. And yes, Sir Ragnbjorn is correct. I played within the rules given me. If I had not, you would be one crispy elf.” Gar let loose a loud but empty belch to emphasize his point. “Though I would not mind so much if you want to fight me naked to make our hand-to-hand combat more equal, as Sir Fingol suggests,” he says in a soft gentle voice to Indranil so as not to inflame the matter needlessly.

“Father Gar I think I know you better now than when we first met, and while I don’t always find your humor… funny… I know you mean no ill intent… although I do confess you can be quite funny… at times… don’t let it go to your head…. and no I am not going to wrestle with you naked.”

“Anyway,” Ragnbjorn continues, “if we are going to work as a team when we go into the Hool Marshes, Gar may want to remember that elves and half-elves have exceptionally sharp senses. If the opponents are human warriors and they and the Marinus brothers are enveloped in such a fog, the Marinus brothers will be more likely to hear their opponents and get the drop on them.”

Fingol comes over to help Gar sit up and whispers to him, “I’d call the moral victory to you. You really surprised everyone with that tactic.”

Gar smiles, still a little spacey, “Thanks, Sir Fingol. I can share what happened in the mist if you like. Just give me a few minutes to pull together my thoughts and clear the fog out of my head.”

Still a little wacky headed, Gar quietly blurts out, “I met the god today. Thank you, Sir Indranil,” just barely loud enough for all to hear though clearly he is somewhere else, not looking at anyone in particular. He seems to be getting a little greener. He is quiet and distant.

Ragnbjorn says, “Steady Father Gar. Just take it easy and catch your breath. You’re not hurt that badly. And which god did you see?” Ragnbjorn checks Gar out makes sure that he regains his color. To Fingol he asks, “Is he always this much of a drama queen?”

Fingol says nothing but nods slightly and grins.

Fingol and Lorindel are the next ones to enter the ring. Fingol turns to Lorindel and says in Elvish, “I can’t wish you luck, but I wish you well.” Fingol readies his heavy wooden shield and padded longsword. Lorindel enters the ring with a padded shortsword.

Fingol moves in swiftly, and all Lorindel can do is jerk away as his left hand is clipped painfully by Fingol’s sword. Lorindel recovers quickly and stabs out at Fingol, but Fingol dodges out of the way and then presses in again, forcing Lorindel back. Lorindel proves very agile as he dances away and then darts back in at his opponent, but he is unable to get past Fingol’s shield. At the same time Fingol finds it hard to get another strike on Lorindel now that he is ducking and weaving around him. Finally Lorindel gets a glancing blow on Fingol’s right leg, then he tries to tumble past Fingol to get to his blind side, but Fingol is on to him and manages to deliver a glancing blow of his own on Lorindel’s right arm that throws off Lorindel’s assault. Fingol follows it up swiftly with a barrage of blows, one of which strikes Lorindel’s right arm again. Suddenly Lorindel leaps at Fingol and then somersaults past him, stabbing out at Fingol’s right leg as he lands. This time his maneuver works and Fingol stumbles and almost falls from the pain of the blow. Lorindel tries to dash past Fingol again, but Fingol recovers sooner than expected and lashes out at Lorindel. Fingol’s blow is absorbed by Lorindel’s chainmail, and for his part Fingol turns away as Lorindel stabs into the empty space where Fingol had been. Fingol strikes out again at an opening in Lorindel’s defense but again the blow is absorbed by Lorindel’s chainmail. Keeping the initiative, Fingol continues to strike again and again but Lorindel simply dodges away with relative ease until he sees a chance to again attempt to tumble past Fingol and get behind him. He does succeed in getting past Fingol, but he overextends himself on his lunge and it is all he can do to recover and keep his balance. Fingol twists around to face Lorindel and almost falls himself. Lorindel again tries to leap past Fingol and again Fingol lashes out at the nimble half-elf, but to no avail. Fortunately for Fingol, he is able to get his shield around to block Lorindel’s assault. Lorindel again somersaults past Fingol, and again Fingol has to turn and back away from Lorindel’s lunge. Lorindel in turn continues to duck and weave away from Fingol’s counterattacks. Finally, Fingol sees an opening and slashes at Lorindel’s knees. His blow sweeps Lorindel off his feet painfully, and Lorindel has the breath knocked out of him and is out of the fight.

“Huzzah, Lorindel!” Fingol calls out cheerfully as he offers him a hand up. ”I couldn’t have asked for a more exciting match. Trying to catch you is like trying to catch the whirlwind. I’m sure we gave my father a lot to comment on!”

“Indeed Fingol,” replies Lorindel. ”That bout was most exhilarating. The best lessons are in the battlefield of course, but training with a superior skilled opponent will only push me harder. Thanks for the opportunity.”

Fingol shakes his head “Superior? I don’t know about that. More of a straightforward fighter maybe, but I wouldn’t want to be the book maker on a rematch. Your speed is incredible.”

Ragnbjorn says, “Sir Lorindel and my son Fingol certainly gave us an exciting bout. Frankly I’m amazed, Fingol, that you were able to keep your cool and take Sir Lorindel down as you did. Have you fought anyone who used such tactics against you before?

Fingol answers, “Sir Gorman was good enough to invite us to train with one of his squads. A young soldier by the name of Rain, who is no stranger to this group, fought me in much the same manner. It did not end well for me. So, I suppose I profited from the lesson.”

Ragnbjorn says, “I am certainly not going to try to guess who will win this next bout. Though as a father I admit to a certain bias, I do wish you both luck and hope that you both fight with all the skill that you have.”

Fingol says nothing, but his expression is mixed of pride and surprise.

Indranil says, “Well done both of you! Very exciting and evenly fought! Ragnbjorn, why don’t we take a short break for refreshments before we continue the match? I would like my clothes to dry a bit.”

Then, to Fingol, Indranil asks, “Sir Fingol, do you want to stay with our long swords or try something different for our bout?”

“Choose the weapons and strategy that you feel best. I’ll have to adapt, or lose. Isn’t that what the dueling ring teaches? Since, you seemed testy when Father Gar surprised you, I will tell you truthfully. I intend to fight with two swords, and to come at you quickly. I hope that I can get the upper hand quickly, for that may be my only hope against you. And now you know the whole of my mind, and if fortune favors me, I’ll have nothing to apologize for.”

“I am not testy at all,” retorts Indranil. “Two swords, one sword, or no sword – I welcome a chance to spar with a fellow ranger!”

“This bout should prove to be quite exciting,” chimes in Lorindel. “Brother, keep your eyes on this one. Sir Fingol’s got a mean slice. And Sir Fingol, don’t fall for Indranil’s feint.”

Fingol nods at Lorindel, “Thank you for the advice.”

Lorindel goes over to Father Gar. “It was a challenge from the start. We scouts are not trained for hand-to-hand. In the end though, we all fall back on our training when put in a full press,” adds Lorindel in the Common tongue.

Once Indranil is sufficiently dried off, he takes up his heavy wooden shield and padded wooden longsword and enters the ring once more. Fingol takes up a padded wooden longsword in his right hand, and a padded wooden shortsword for his left and also enters the ring. With a salute they begin. In a flash, Fingol crosses the ring and is on Indranil, striking him on the right hand with his longsword. Then Indranil seizes the initiative, using his shield to beat back Fingol and hamper his shortsword. He even manages to get inside Fingol’s guard and lands a light blow on him, but Fingol’s chainmail shirt absorbs the impact. Fingol jumps away from Indranil’s next strike and he then leaps in again striking with both longsword and shortsword. Indranil manages to dodge the first, but the second lands a blow that his own chainmail shirt absorbs. Indranil then almost drives Fingol to his knees with a shield rush and lands an overhand yet glancing blow with his own sword on Fingol’s helm. Fingol reacts swiftly and manages to get his longsword in behind Indranil’s shield landing a painful blow on his shield hand. He follows this up with an attempt to gut Indranil with his shortsword but Indranil quickly backs off. Fingol is not about to let him go however and presses his attack with long and short swords, managing to poke Indranil in the ribs with the latter but the shock of the blow is absorbed by Indranil’s chainmail shirt. Fingol nimbly dodges Indranil’s counterstrike and then lands two more blows with his longsword and shortsword on Indranil, but again they are not solid enough hits to be felt through the chainmail. Indranil finally lands a blow on Fingol’s ribs, and it is solid enough blow to force a grunt of pain from him. Fingol retaliates with a swipe of his longsword that Indranil swats away. Fingol stabs out with his shortsword before Indranil can get his shield back into position. Indranil is struck painfully in the left shoulder. The bout ends as Indranil reels back in shock and falls to the ground.

Fingol takes a deep breath and gives a small “whoop” of relief, and then walks over and offers a hand up to Indranil. 

With a wide smile Indranil grasps Sir Fingol’s hand and stands, and then clasps Sir Fingol on the shoulder saying, “Well Done Sir Fingol. Such speed! I was never able to get the initiative; perhaps if I had turtled up I might have eventually worn you down and then taken advantage – or not!”  He laughs heartedly.

“Turtled up?” Fingol repeats quizzically. “I’m glad you said that in Draconic.” With a broad grin and a glance over at Father Gar, he adds with a chuckle, “I’d hate to hear how the priest would twist that around!”

Ragnbjorn says, “Actually, Indranil, you did get the initiative after Fingol’s initial onslaught; but then he took it back again. If you can get quicker and improve your reaction time, you might be able to beat Fingol in the future. Fingol, I see you’ve taken all your weapon masters’ teachings to heart and have begun working on two-weapon fighting. Keep it up. That was very well done on both your parts.” 

Gar grins too as he begins to focus on his friends around him again. In Elvish he says, “This afternoon while I was praying in preparation for the practice bouts, Obad-Hai whispered in my ear that if I wish, I may use the same spell used on Sir Fingol this morning by Master Nauyotl. Since it seemed to be the wish of my god that I do so, even though I have never been able to do it before, with faith I called upon Obad Hai to be obscured in a mist and then I used my god given powers to try to knock Sir Indranil into a non-lethal unconscious oblivion. The laws of nature are a funny thing, rather like a boom-a-rang it seems. So even though I would run and duck after each storm blast and make myself small to hide in the mist from his keen Elvish sight, he still managed to find me again and again. Well done, Sir Indranil! I tried to trip you with my sickle a couple times but that was less than useless because I could have used that time to blast you with the power of the storms instead.

“When it was I who was sent into oblivion, no big surprise there, the strangest thing happened. Obad-Hai reached down his hand and yanked me out of this body.” Gar touches his legs as if wondering whether they were real. “He… hmmm… well, uh, He was a very handsome well endowed Green Man with voluptuous breasts. He was the total package, so to speak. We watched the mists clear below us with Sir Indranil standing over this body with a concerned look in his face. I wasn’t worried though.

“As the mists cleared we shot into the sky. Obad Hai turned into a Green Dragon and I rode him long into the night. When we climaxed at the top of the world, we saw a wall of water the size of a sea washing over the swamp, washing it clean of human life. I leaned down and whispered into Obad-Hai’s ear, ‘Can we stop it or only postpone it?’

“Obad-Hai said, ‘Nothing is inevitable. Neither Law nor Chaos, nor Good nor Evil, ever have the final say. A stone has been dropped into the waters and the ripples are spreading even now. You did not drop the stone, but it may be for you and your allies to build an embankment. It may be even wiser to seek out the wellspring and stop the coming flood at the source. There is a poisonous fruit that has fallen many seasons past without ever fully withering away, uproot it from my garden if you can.’

“Then we both shattered into millions of pieces which scattered throughout the universe. It looked like an infinite net of gemstones sparkling in the sun. Being drawn to one of those shiny pieces of me, it sucked me in and with a loud kerplunk, I opened my eyes to Sir Indranil’s handsome face.”

Indranil chides, “Father Gar, only you can turn getting knocked unconscious into an orgiastic sexual experience! Thank the gods you are feeling better. I am greatly relieved!”

“I take what is given, milord.” Gar smiles.

Fingol thinks to himself, We should hit him again and see if there’s more.

Ragnbjorn looks deeply concerned, but can’t help but smile wryly. “Sir Indranil, I don’t think this was that kind of wet dream. This prophecy of a flood is what Father Gar first reported to the court when he came here a few days ago as an emissary of the Great Druidess. The Prince told me about what he and Fingol said to him that day. There is something out there more than just the squabbling of fishermen and lizardfolk, or the stirrings of the tribesmen from the Amedi Jungles, or the plots of the Scarlet Brotherhood. It may have to do with this Thanatos that boy Reece went to find. I think we should talk of this no further until we see the Prince tonight.”

“Forgive me Sir Ragnbjorn,” replies Indranil. “Perhaps my mind is slipping into the physical realms but I could not get past Father Gar’s ‘well endowed Green Man with voluptuous breasts…rode him long into the night and… we climaxed at the top of the world…’ That said, I have a growing unease that these attacks, riots and defamation of the gods all occurring in the last two days is a harbinger of some much greater evil about to befall us. I am eager to get out and upon our mission.”

“Yes, your mind is in the gutter, milord,” Gar teases Indranil, “but what worries me is that after the climax came the end of the world. Perhaps the puritanical Heironeans have it right after all?” Gar bursts out with laughter as his face returns to its naturally dark complexion. He affectionately fondles his little Green Man and intones, “Om” twice. “There, that feels better.” Everyone else around Gar feels better as well.

Ragnbjorn rubs his chin thoughtfully, “Yes, Father Gar’s prophetic visions are rather ribald aren’t they? I suppose that’s what Obad-Hai needs to send to get his attention. The gods do resort to skillful means when they must. Don’t they Father Gar?”

Laughing, Gar responds, “Yes indeed milord, yes indeed.”

After the fights, Gar clears his head by wandering around the practice yard and palace gardens, stuffing his pocket with dandelion seeds. He can be heard to mumble, “These will be helpful.”

Godsday Morning, Fireseek 4, 591 Common Year

Fingol and the others get back to the keep without any further incident. The Olman prisoners are handed over to the jailers as requested. Other groups of knights are also leading Olman prisoners back to the jail.

Lady Sedara greets them all as they enter the palace. “Oh thank Heironeous. We were so worried about you all. We found out that you had left this morning with Sir Godric and one of the other paladins. Please come with me right away to the solar. Prince Prospero wishes to speak with you all.”

In the solar, the Prince is surrounded by advisors who he sends away as soon as Lady Sedara enters with Fingol, Gar, and the Marinus Brothers. Ragnbjorn is also in the solar waiting for them.

“I am relieved to see that you are all safe and well,” says the Prince. Then he looks at their clothes, battered and torn in the fighting, and the soot covering Gar and the Marinus brothers. “Though not entirely unscathed it would seem. Sir Jankin told me what happened this morning. He is fine by the way, or at least he was earlier but he soon saddled up and rode back out into the city with his unit. Is there anything more you can tell me about what is happening out there?”

Indranil goes to one knee and bows low, “Your Highness, Lady Sedara, and Sir Ragnbjorn. We live to serve. By the gods, the protection of Sir Jankin and Sir Godric, and our own meager skills we are alive and well. We went to secure the Mission and recover the statue of Heironeous this morning. We were overrun by several Olman warriors under the control of the evil sorcerer Nauyotl while trying to clean and secure the statue. Then before we could recover the body of the statue we heard the sounds of fighting and rioting coming up the street from the docks. We had to depart or else face being trapped in the Mission and surrounded by overwhelming forces. We sent Sir Jankin back to the palace with the squires, the head of Heironeous, and several Olman prisoners. We failed in only being able to recover the head. The body remains soiled in the ruins of the mission. Please forgive us.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” says Prince Prospero graciously. “I commend your efforts, but do go on.”

“We then went to the aid of Sir Godric who was leading a platoon of the Guard battling a group of rioters and pushed them back to the docks. We then went to Tangle Foot Lane to aid the merchants and families there as well as look in on Rain and Aramek who were looking to secure Parwyn’s shop. We encountered a small band of Olman rioters. We subdued them and brought back some as prisoners. Father Gar and my good brother Sir Lorindel also managed to save a family from the flames set by rioters. We then returned to you on your orders.”

Fingol keeps his head bowed to hide his mild annoyance. Hearing Indranil’s accounting of all their doings on Tanglefoot Lane, Fingol thinks, At my direction! Though he is not that irritated, Fingol thinks, it would be nice if people are going to use “we” all over the place, that they’d put credit where it was due! Indranil makes it sound like he was the party leader, which was hardly the case!

The Prince says, “I commend you all for your efforts on behalf of the citizens of Westkeep and for myself and the Kingdom of Keoland. Is there more?”

Indranil continues, “The riots look widespread and we see smoke from several locations down by the wharves. The Olman rioters are using deadly force and seem more intent on premeditated destruction than simple rioters. We were forced to use deadly force in return – more than would be warranted in putting down a simple riot. To me, this indicates that there was a nefarious purpose and control behind this riot.”

Gar drops to one knee with Indranil. After he speaks, Gar adds, “Aye, Your Highness, it is as Sir Indranil says. I would only like to add that it is the same Naoyotl leading the revolt whom Sir Fingol and I met yesterday at the mission and who escaped from the Mission this morning. Last night, after midnight when we walked Aramek home, we were attacked by a giant bat in front of the Mission and found the god’s severed head covered in guano in the doorway. The Mission appeared to be empty though we did not venture inside until dawn this morning. We did not want the town to awake to the dung covered decapitated head of the ruling god of Westkeep. I fear things got out of hand. My humble apologies if we unwittingly sparked the riot.” Gar bows deeply while kneeling, staying in that position to await the Prince’s response.

 Fingol then says, “Father Gar has nothing to apologize for, my lord. I instigated the trip to the Mission. It was my intention to see if the Olmans had abandoned it, nothing more.”

“Please rise,” Prince Prospero says. He considers for a moment. “I have been informed previously about this Nauyotl. It sounds to me like he set up an ambush at the Heironean Mission and furthermore an ambush that would act as the trigger for a larger riot. I am sorry that you all got entangled in this. We should have detected Nauyotl before this, and should certainly have routed him from both the Mission and this city before things came to such a pass. Again, I am very grateful for your assistance. Perhaps if it had not been for you, Nauyotl may have had more time to advance his schemes.”

“Thank you, Highnesss” says Gar while standing up. “Perhaps so, I pray that you have been well and safe while we were away?”

The Prince smiles ruefully. “I am safe enough behind these walls surrounded by my guardians,” he indicates Sedara and Ragnbjorn. “The Scarlet Brotherhood, this Nauyotl, and all the other enemies of Keoland, King Skotti, and the Archpaladin Heironeous will have to expend more efforts than they have so far if they want to bring about our defeat.”

The Prince turns to a large chest at his side. “Lady Sedara, if you would.” As Lady Sedara opens the chest, the Prince explains, “I had hoped to bestow these gifts upon you before the assembled court in order to show my gratitude publicly but circumstances have changed. There is no more time for ceremony and I would send you all off as soon as I can. Perhaps even by tomorrow morning. I will not, however, send you off without these.”

“Sir Ragnbjorn, please come forward.” As he does so, Sedara hands him a long box from the chest. “Please open it.”

Ragnbjorn does so and gasps as he lifts out a silver filigreed spy glass. “Why this is a king’s ransom!” He says.

The Prince chuckles, “A prince’s ransom anyway. You saved my life the other night fighting off the assassins of the Scarlet Brotherhood, and as your reward I am sending you out into the Hool Marshes again. The least I can do is to make sure you can see what you’re in for well ahead of time.”

“All of you deserve credit for the quick thinking and bravery you showed last night when the Scarlet Brotherhood attacked and apparently this morning as well when Nauyotl attacked you. Now, Sir Fingol, please step forward.”

Fingol does so and Sedara hands him three boxes of varying sizes. They are each fairly heavy. The Prince explains, “Inside these boxes you will find a chainmail shirt, a buckler, and a longsword. They are all of masterwork quality. Use them well in our service.”

Fingol bows, “I am grateful beyond my power to express.”

“Sir Indranil, please come forward.” Sedara hands him three boxes as well. “I hope you don’t mind our lack of originality, but I understand that as a fellow member of the King’s Rangers you also would do well to be armed and armored in this way.”

Indranil bows deeply as well, “Your Highness is generous beyond compare. These are gifts that will be well used to serve you and the King.”

“Sir Lorindel, please come forward.” Sedara hands him three boxes. “After consulting with Sir Ragnbjorn we have determined that the following would be better suited to you. In the first box you will find a chain shirt of the same quality that your brother and Sir Fingol have received. In the second box is an everburning torch to light the way for you. In the third box you will find a compound shortbow of masterwork quality suited to one of your strength. May your aim be true in our cause.”

“You honor me your Highness,” says Lorindel.

“Father Gar, please come forward.” Sedara hands him three boxes. “In the first, you will find a chainmail shirt of masterwork quality. You will find that it is a little easier to maneuver in than what you have been wearing up until now. In the second box you will find six healing potions. In the last box, you will find a masterwork dagger. Though your cause is not necessarily our own, we are most grateful for the assistance that you have given us.”

Gar bows deeply his appreciation, “Thank you Highness for the useful gifts to help keep us all alive.”

“Now, I must go back to attending to this mess,” he indicates the smoking city outside his balcony. “Please go down to the great hall and get something to eat. I must ask you to stay in the palace or at least within the walls of the keep until we have restored order. I will speak with you all again tonight after dinner.”

After they are dismissed, Gar looks around at the group. “I’m famished! Anyone want to join me to scrounge for food?”

Indranil speaks up, “Father Gar, I am also famished! Lead on.”

“Lead on!” Fingol agrees, but he tarries to see if his father is coming along with them.

Leading them down the stairs, Gar is quiet and contemplative as he fingers his little Green Man. At the bottom on the stairs, Gar adds, “Perhaps we should unload our booty in our rooms before dinner?”

“That is a great idea Father Gar,” says Indranil. “I was also thinking about heading down to the barracks after we eat to see if any of the squires or watchmen want to trade for my old gear. Brother, would you like my long sword?”

Gar purrs like a cat and bats his eyes at Sir Indranil.

Indranil looks over at Father Gar with a grimace, “Father Gar, do not try my patience.”

Gar smiles but otherwise ignores Indranil’s agitation.

Lorindel bursts out with a laugh. Then he accepts his brother’s sword. “That would be great. A bit embarrassing the other day when I reached for a sword, but only came up with a dagger,” jokes Lorindel. “I’d be happy to use it.”

“Good idea, Sir Indranil,” responds Gar as he opens his room door, “I’ll join you, though I am not sure if many will be around on this riotous morning.” Ducking in and out quickly, he adds, “Ready to eat, gents?”

Changing the subject Gar says, “Sir Ragnbjorn, I see you are moving slow. Are you still injured? Perhaps I should channel positive energy once more for the group, to aid our digestion. Is anyone else still injured?” He looks at their motley crew.

Ragnbjorn waves them on, “I’m going to talk to Fingol for a moment. Please go on, we’ll be over in just a minute.”

“Wonderful. Let’s eat. I’m starving!” says Gar.

Fingol puts his gifts in his rooms and washes up while listening for Ragnbjorn. Hearing him in the hall, he pops out.

“Father, I hope you don’t feel that the scouting run at the Heironean Mission was hot-headed. I never intended that we actually raid the place – that was more Sir Godric’s idea. I guess I didn’t anticipate his temperament.”

Ragnbjorn ushers Fingol into his room. “We can talk more discretely in here. Anyway, no, I don’t think you did anything wrong. The way I heard it was that you went down to retrieve the head of Heironeous and that you were ambushed. Sir Godric fought back after he was attacked. Then this Nauyotl got away and apparently had the Olman under his sway down at the docks just waiting for him to give the signal to begin rioting. Are you telling me that Sir Godric instigated the attack?” 

“Oh no!  Not at all!  It’s just that I would have turned tail and gotten a lot more men. So we could properly close off the area. If we had, we might have captured Nauyotl.”

“Hmm, well, if you’d run away then Nauyotl certainly would have gotten away. Anyway, it was Sir Godric’s call because he was the senior paladin there. What really saved you was that a messenger had already been sent to the keep to warn of the mobs gathering at the docks. He must have passed you on the way down the Processional or he might have gone up a less crowded lane and bypassed the Processional altogether. Anyway, that’s why Commander Bodwyn was there with the watch so quickly. No, son, you did well. However, our job is out there in the wilds. These city problems should be left to the city folk. Now let’s go get some dinner.”

“Sounds good. We’ll be missing these meals soon enough.”