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.”