Moonday Around Midnight, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

After searching the whole palace, no more assassins are found. It turns out that their bodysuits were not black but a burgundy so deep as to almost appear black in dim light. They were armed with blackened shortswords designed for slashing, not like the stabbing swords the Guard uses. They are also armed with short sickles and many blackened throwing stars, some of which were coated with poison. They also had bags containing caltrops, flash pellets, tools for breaking and entering, collapsible padded grappling hooks with silk rope, and trail bars. When their facemasks are pulled away it can be seen that they are all pure Suloise, with short blond hair and blue eyes. “These are almost certainly Scarlet Brotherhood assassins,” says one of the clerics.

Four dead assassins are found on the second floor. Two are found in the garderobe, where one was pierced in the chest with two of Noch’s arrows. The other two are in the hallway.

While everyone is occupied, Fingol picks up one of the grapples and winds up the silk rope. He also pockets some of the trail bars. He tastes one of them and finds that it has the flavor of bananas and nuts. Fingol makes a sour face. I love bananas! Why do people always try to do stuff to them?

Lorindel, Gar, and Aramek notice that Noch seems nervous around the paladins, and while they are investigating he does his best to stay to their rear. Gar wonders, Is he trying to hide something or is he simply a Chaotic kind of guy who is uncomfortable around these Lawful paladins? As the moments pass, Gar continues to be uneasy about Noch. Should I say someting to the Prince? Gar watches and ponders.

Lorindel holds back a bit as well and casually approaches Noch. “I saw the scoundrel with two shafts piercing his chest. Pretty fancy handiwork,” exclaims Lorindel. “I’m not one for the confines of court, but for now I guess we’ll need to make do.”

Noch just nods. “I’m a professional. I just do what needs to be done in the most efficient manner I can. Whether in a palace or out in the wilds, I make sure that I’m not the one on the receiving end.” He turns and walks away. 

Wakelin, the paladin in charge of the night security details interviews them all in their room to get the full story, while other paladins and clerics search the rest of the palace and the grounds for more assassins or else evidence of them. Once the interviews are complete, Wakelin asks them to wait for a while as he gives his report upstairs. A few minutes later, Sir Bodwyn comes down and asks Aramek, Noch, Fingol, Gar, Indranil, and Lorindel to come up to the salon on the third floor. When they get there, they see that all the everburning torches have been recovered and restored to their brackets, so it is well lit once again. Prince Prospero, Ragnbjorn, Sedara, and also Rain await them there amidst the bloody carnage. Throughout the room, but especially on the balcony, are dead assassins, pools of bloods, and broken furniture.

Before the others arrive, Rain retrieved her dagger from the assassin who had been holding it for her, wiping the blood on her victim’s clothing. She looks over their shortswords, but they don’t seem to be of particularly high quality, though blackened and made for slashing rather than stabbing.

With a faint smile Sedara said to her, “Wait until later, then we can distribute souvenirs. You’ve certainly earned them.”

Once Aramak, Noch, Fingol, Indranil, and Lorindel have entered the solar, Prince Prospero gives them all a brief smile but solemnity soon returns to his face. “I have all of you to thank for saving my life. The assassins below were probably hoping to cut off any reinforcement from the lower floors. Thankfully the poison was only a sleeping toxin, like those made by the Drow. Paragon Muire was able to counteract it. As you can see, Rain and I have fully recovered. You will all be richly rewarded for this – even you members of the watch who I feel showed exemplary courage in facing this threat.”

Gar responds, “Thank you, Your Highness. I am just happy that you are fully recovered.”

Indranil bows low to the Prince and says, “I am also relieved you are recovered.” Turning to Gar he says, “Father Gar, thank you for your healing powers. I am deeply grateful.”

Prince Prospero smiles graciously at them, and then he turns to Aramek and says, “There is one other thing however. I understand that you, Aramek, were the victim of a robbery last night, and that the rest of you were trying to find the culprit. Lady Sedara has found something of interest. Aramek, if you would do the honors, please open that assassin’s pack.”

Aramek does so, and in addition to the assassins standard equipment he finds a journal and an object wrapped in parchment. It is indeed the missing journal and statue. Aramek gasps in surprise as he beholds the objects stolen from his room.

Rain openly smiles, to most looking like she is pleased that the items are being returned to the rightful owner, but in fact she is thinking, Nice, very nicely done my Lord, by whom she means Prince Prospero. Well wrapped up and nobody will be the wiser.

Aramek opens the parchment wrapping to inspect the statue, even though he’s already sure it’s the one stolen from his room. He then turns to the Prince and Lady Sedara and says, “My lord, my lady, my master will be very relieved to have recovered these items. They belonged to his son, who disappeared during the Brotherhood’s occupation. His journal here says that he would not rest until he found a way to strike out against them. I suspected there was more to last night’s break in than simple robbery.”

Gar gasps as the others instantly recognize the statue as the dreaded Nerull, the ancient Flan god of death and destruction.

Prince Prospero says, “Let us move to one of the spare rooms. Sir Bodwyn will make sure no one else enters here until the rest of the bodies have been searched. We need to talk, and this is no longer a secure or pleasant place to do it.” He then leads them down the hall into an unoccupied bedroom.

Once everyone is settled the prince continues, “What I am about to say should not be spread beyond those in this room. First of all, let us make sure that everyone is known to each other. Now I know that everyone here knows who I am.” He turns to indicate Sedara, “This is Lady Sedara, my aunt who is here to assist me. She is a member of the Order of the Lightning Fists, a Heironean monastic order based in Niole Dra. This is not really a secret, but it is also not widely known. We would greatly appreciate it if you all kept this to yourselves.”

The Prince indicates Ragnbjorn, “This is Sir Ragnbjorn, a senior member of the King’s Rangers, who has most recently been conducting a survey of the marshes. His companions are the two brothers Sir Indranil also of the King’s Rangers,” he indicates the taller half-elf with emerald eyes, “and Sir Lorindel of the Scout Corps,” here he indicates the shorter dark-eyed brother, “and finally Rangbjorn’s son Sir Fingol of the King’s Rangers.”

The prince indicates Gar, “This is Father Gar, a priest of Obad-Hai, sent here as an emissary by the Great Druidess of the Sheldomar Valley who resides within the Dreadwood.”

Sedara then speaks up, “Allow me to introduce to the rest of you three members of Sir Bodwyn’s troops.” She indicates the guardsman with dark blond hair and dark blue eyes who used his longbow so effectively against the assassins.”This is Noch, a veteran mercenary, who has served with Sir Bodwyn since just before the liberation of Westkeep.” She next indicates the green-eyed light blond half-elf sorcerer with the ferret dressed in the watch tabard. “This is Aramek who recently joined the Guard.” Finally she indicates the dark blond young woman with pale blue eyes, attired like Noch in the armor and red tabard of the watch. “This is Rain, also a recent recruit, who truly outdid herself in our defense against these assassins.” She smiles especially warmly at Rain. At Sedara’s introduction, Rain inclines her head slightly to everyone.

Prince Prospero then says, “Both Sir Fingol and Father Gar arrived in court two days ago, on Fireseek the first to warn us of the restiveness of the lizardfolk. We took this as a sign that something must be done to secure the peace with them. That is when I had Paragon Muire send for Sir Ragnbjorn. I have decided to send a delegation to the lizardfolk to negotiate a treaty with them. I have asked Sir Fingol and Father Gar, in his capacity as a representative of the Great Druidess, to act as go betweens. I will also be sending representatives from our fishermen and the Fishmonger Guild, those most directly affected by any agreements made with the lizardfolk. Sir Ragnbjorn will act as both guide and translator, and Sir Indranil and Sir Lorindel will assist him. Now Sgt. Apone’s squad, of which you three, Noch, Rain, and Aramek, are members, will be reassigned to provide security for this delegation.

The Prince pauses and then continues, “But there seems to be much more involved. Now ordinarily, I would not involve members of the Guard in this. It appears, however, that you are already involved. At least two of you are.” He looks to Rain and Aramek. “I will include you as well Noch, since you have so ably defended us from this attack and are a proven veteran.”

“We have long known that Amedi warriors, orcs, and goblinoids from the scattered forces of the Scarlet Brotherhood are lurking in the Hool Marshes. Sir Ragnbjorn came across some of them yesterday. But last night he and his companions were attacked by ghouls who came from a mass grave left by the Scarlet Brotherhood not a day’s journey from this city. And now we find that Scarlet Brotherhood assassins are operating here in Westkeep itself. The final piece of the puzzle may be this statue that was stolen from Aramek’s room. It is a statue of either Nerull or of some other quite like him. If they are searching for a way to gain power from this god to use against us, then we may be in greater danger than we knew. Of course things were perilous to begin with.”

Sedara speaks again, “Aramek, we need to learn more about what this statue may be and what you all need to look out for once you go out into the marshes. We also need to know what this son of your master’s was doing with it and what he knew. If you come across more signs of this death god’s power or servants, living or undead, you will need to be prepared. Could you please tell your master that the items have been recovered, but that for the time being the Prince has asked him to allow us to keep them until this mystery is solved. This is a ‘request’ from the Prince, and his cooperation will be greatly appreciated. We ask this for the sake of the security of Westkeep and perhaps all goodly folk.”

Prince Prospero adds, “Yes he would have my gratitude. Also, do not speak of this journal or statue to anyone else. Not even other members of the Guard. They have caused enough trouble already. We shall examine these things and gather you all together once more before you set out to discuss what we find.”

Gar tentatively raises his hand. When acknowledged, Gar drops to one knee. “Your Highnesses,” Gar begins haltingly, “I may be way off track here, but today’s events all bare the earmark of the presence of a cell of the Horned Society working in tandem with the Scarlet Brotherhood in Westkeep. It may or may not be so, but I do believe you should take such a possibility into account in your examinations.” Gar remains in this position with his head gently bowed in respect, awaiting their response.

The Prince raises his eyebrows in surprise. “The Horned Society! They were those among them who worshipped Nerull, but they were destroyed eight years ago when Iuz annexed their lands. I suppose it is possible that their agents may still be around. All the worse for us, and that makes it even more important that we follow up on any clues this statue or this journal may give us as to what is going on.”

To Gar’s interaction with Prospero, Rain listens but her mind wanders for just a bit. Hmm… I sure hope I never feel so subservient to another that I have to drop on one knee. How humiliating…

“You probably won’t find them in the city,” Fingol mumbles, “or else they wouldn’t have needed to bring food with them.”

Rain quietly responds, “Good point.”

The Prince says, “Well, these are all possibilities to keep in mind, and all things to be wary of when you go out into the marsh. Any of these factions may also be trying to stir up trouble with the lizardfolk as well. It is late now. I think we should try to get some rest. We’ll have the solar cleaned and secured by tomorrow night. I would like to ask all of you to please meet me there at noon the day after tomorrow. By that time, we may have more information to share. I will also ask Sgt. Apone to join us. So for now, I thank you all for your great courage and bid you goodnight.”

On the way back downstairs, Fingol returns Indranil his bow and quiver, “Thank you for your patience. I would not have taken these without great need and if lives were not at stake. I am so sorry I was not able to prevent your injuries.” 

Indranil takes back his bow and quiver and replies, ”Fingol, no apology necessary! When in the heat of battle, please consider whatever weapons, defenses and tools I own that are accessible to you yours to use without asking. Your kind thoughts are well regarded and graciously accepted. I consider myself lucky to be alive to talk with you!” 

“I am afraid using the garderobe again will not be done without some fear of what is under the seat! It gives new meaning to the old expression, ‘it scared the crap right out of me!’” Indranil laughs loudly.

Gar laughs as well.

Aramek goes over to Rain and says, “Gods that was scary. And you – I was so worried. So tell me what happened up here and I’ll tell you what we went through?”

“Thanks, Aramek, I am glad we all made it through that one alive. We fought multiple assassins as they poured over the balcony into the room, Fingol’s father was quick enough to get the Prince out of the room quickly then the three of us continued to take them out. Somewhere in that I managed to be hit by one of those stars. I didn’t really notice till we were approaching the remaining assassins holding the Prince down the hallway. I guess I passed out at that point, and then woke up several hours later safe in bed, thanks to the clerics.”

Noch says, “Well Aramek and I were just guarding the stairs up to the solar and the third floor. That’s when we saw Sir Indranil here head to the garderobe. The next thing we knew he was on the floor trying to get out of there with Scarlet Brotherhood assassin all but on top of him. Aramek and I took out a couple of them but two more came out after us. Sir Fingol was good enough to make an attempt to toss Sir Indranil his sword, and Aramek took out another with his sorcery. That’s when we heard the prince was in trouble and at Aramek’s urging I headed upstairs.”

Then Aramek says, “I really knew there was more going on than some random robbery. I need to get back to Master Parwyn and let him know what the Prince said. I can’t tell him everything, but at least he’ll know that I have an assignment that will take me away for a while. And he’ll also be able to rest easy about any repeat of last night. Oh, and I guess I better make sure I’m outfitted for the swamps.” Aramek starts to leave for the shop.

Fingol adds, “I think a few of us should check on Master Parwyn. His safety should not be forgotten in the joy of knowing our Prince’s person is secured. Let us muster up in haste.”

Indranil says, “I would like to help escort Aramek if you have need of me.”

“As will I,” offers Lorindel, ”safety in numbers. Unless you think it prudent I remain at the keep.”

After a slight pause, Lorindel adds, “In light of the night’s events brother, I think my bow will remain strung for the duration of our stay on Westkeep.”

Indranil clasps Lorindel on the back, “Brother you have that right. Here I thought we could enjoy a bit of peace and rest while inside the palace! And come to find out it is more dangerous here than in the Hool. I would like your company while escorting Aramek.”

Gar says, “Who needs sleep? I’ll join you too. I could use some fresh air about now.”

With a rueful smile, Noch adds, “I suppose I should come along with you all. I’ll feel bad if I skip out on all of you now after all that we’ve just been through.

Rain moves up close to Fingol and says, “Hey, maybe your group here in the palace and Aramek, Noch, and I can meet somewhere tomorrow to talk, maybe the same place we met for a drink the other day?”

Fighting the temptation to slip his arm around her, Fingol says to Rain, “Absolutely, this time I buy the good beer! I would like to practice with the Guard again in the morning. How about after that?” He musters a friendly smile.

Rain responds by holding out her arm in the warrior fashion of shaking by clasping forearms and says, “We will see you in the morning then at practice – and you are on about the beer.” At this Rain smiles back.

Fingol takes her arm firmly. “Then, and now, I suppose. It sounds as though all of us are bound to check on Master Parwyn. I pray we will be unneeded. For if we are, it will already be too late! Come let me arm myself and we will go!”

Rain turns to the two brothers, “Indranil, Lorindel, we were introduced upstairs but let me offer my arm in meeting” Rain offers her arm to each. “I look forward to getting to know you both better when we head out into the marshes,” and gives them a curt smile.

Indranil returns Rain’s clasp in kind and nods back with a smile. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

Lorindel also responds with a hearty shake.

As they walk out of the castle, Gar moves away from Noch and instead walks next to Lorindel and in not a quiet voice says, “Good Sir Lorindel, perhaps you and I should visit the Street of Red Lanterns tomorrow  to, uh, wet our whistle before our next excursion? Please excuse me Lady Rain, though we might have similar taste…”

Rain responds, “No excuses needed. You do as you will and I will as I.”

“That would not entirely be unwarranted,” replies Lorindel to Gar. “I could possibly accomplish two goals. The exploits of the Red Lanterns being one, the other would be to seek our Fergus. I’m sure news of the assault has already hit the street. Perhaps he might be able to supply some additional information.”

Rain raises an eyebrow at this comment. Ah crap, here we go, she thinks. In reply she asks, “Interesting, what business do you have with Fergus?”

“I’ve been thinking about your friends.” Fingol says, with the distracted air of someone thinking aloud, “I think tonight further exonerates our maligned locksmith. He may be guilty of other crimes – or not – but the little band claims to be a resistance group, first against the Scarlet Brotherhood and now against Prince Prospero – whom they perceive to be no more than the latest conqueror of their homeland. 

It’s apparent that the same group of Scarlet Brotherhood assassins that attacked our Prince did the break-in at the shop. The journal and the statue were found on an assassin matching the height and weight of the thief at Master Parwyn’s. Assuming that all this can be taken at face value that would say to me, that the gang you met up with would no more assist the Scarlet Brotherhood than would any of us.

“I would imagine Prince Prospero would like to know more about this group; but I hope that he would bear them out with patience and the hope of winning over their loyalty. Coming down hard on them would seem to be, well, something Brother Burne would recommend. So let’s keep all this to ourselves for now. Until we have something to say to the Prince that would protect them from zeal borne of fear – or our own fears overwhelm our hopes. 

“I may not have much chance of winning them over myself, but I do admire their independence and love of country. If we arrest them for that, then what we would say is a tragic misstep would be proven true. We would in fact be no more than the latest conqueror of this land. I hope, and have some cause to hope, that the Heironeans are much more than that.”

He mutters after that, mostly to himself, “When lenience and cruelty play at dice for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner.”

Seemingly out of nothing but casual interest, Rain responds “Well put. So who is this band you mention?”

Fingol answers, “Fergus and the men that Lorindel found in his company.” Fingol flushes a bit, though no one notices in the dark and thinks to himself, I thought I was, if not clear, long winded enough to let people figure it all out by the pedantic end.

“I have no business with him yet,” responds Lorindel. “I made his acquaintance, and those of his friends Dion and Cole, by chance at the Murky Archer. He is a man of the streets with access to people and information someone like me would have trouble getting close to.”

Hearing this arouses a great storm within Rain, Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap – did Dion and the gang join with Fergus? Is that a good thing? Did my leaving start this? 

“I’m not so foolish as to trust this man blindly, Rain,” continues Lorindel, “but if he believes I have something to offer him, I don’t think he’ll steer me wrong. He’s a businessman after all. Knowledge is power to a man like Fergus. Perhaps, though, you can give me some insight to strengthen my hand.”

Rain smiles slightly, with just a hint of the devil in it, and then responds, “Sure, how about I come along with you tomorrow to meet with him.”

“So, Rain,” Gar butts in, “how do you know Fergus?”

“Old friend – won’t be good to see him again.”

Chuckling, Gar responds, “Then would your lovely presence be helpful in extracting information from him?”

Rain responds, “Heh, lovely presence, eh? Well, I’m not exactly sure, but at least I may be able to see through any bullshit he’s trying to spread. I think I’ll go hooded at first though, just to check things out.”

Aramek, who is walking next to Rain says, “So, what’s with this Fergus guy?”

Just then, as they are passing the Heironean mission on the Processional, they notice that it is very dark and still inside. There are no guards to be seen near the open doors. There are no fires inside. It is possible that they are all sleeping, but it seems truly abandoned now. The lanterns in the temple district are almost completely burned out, but there is still enough light to see what appears to be a head resting between the broken doors of the temple. Suddenly they hear a hideous screech from overhead. A bat with a body the size of a horse swoops down from the top of the temple past their heads and then flies off out of the city and into the marsh.

“Whaddafukwhazzat?” stammers Fingol looking up at the bat-horse-demon thing.

Upon seeing the giant bat, Lorindel readies his bow. ”This night becomes fouler by the hour.”

A dagger appears in Rain’s hand as she responds, “Too true, Lorindel, I wonder what we will find inside?”

Gar ducks away from the giant bat, then stops walking and says a little prayer as he looks toward the mission and he rubs his little Green Man. “Sir Fingol, it looks like it’s gone now. What’s in the doorway? I’m dying to know.” With that, he cocks his head with a smile and slowly slinks toward the door, dagger tucked up his sleeve in case he needs it, keeping all of his senses in heightened alert.

“Gar! Wait!” Fingol whispers harshly, ”What can you see with your elven sight, Lorindel? Can you say what is in the doorway?”

Gar pauses, hunched over, and looks back at the group, first toward Fingol then Lorindel.

“It’s the head of a statue,” Lorindel whispers to Fingol.

Indranil peers into the darkness and exclaims, “It is indeed the head of Heironeous covered in bat dung. The vile beast has desecrated the statue. Whatever evil is descending upon Westkeep, it is closing in on us!”

Having been raised in isolation, Aramek is quietly observing both of the half-elves to see what they will do. He is naively fascinated by their presence.

Gar wrinkles his nose at the revelation and quietly exclaims, “Ew! Should we take it? Anyone want head?” Gar giggles like a girl in the night as he walks back to the group.

Fingol slaps the back of Gar’s head, “That’s not an appropriate thing to say.”

“Yes, Sir!” Gar tries unsuccessfully to wipe the smirk off his face.

Indranil grimaces to himself finding Gar’s humor distasteful. He then moves to the rear of the party where Lorindel had already moved back alongside Noch to keep watch on their trail and whispers, “Father Gar is… irritating.”

Welcome to my world, Fingol thinks to himself upon overhearing Indranil.

“He’s a bit unrefined I must admit,” chuckles Lorindel. “Still, he seems to do well in a fight.”

Fingol says to the others, “There will be plenty of people rightly offended by the desecration of the statue. I wish the best for the Olman refugees, but I think the best thing would be to get them away from Nauyotl. I am confident that beast is eating other souls than the Olman’s.”

Gar says, “I do hope those nice people are okay and not bat dung themselves by now. On the other hand, if they come back in the morning, it would lend credence, Sir Fingol, to your idea that Master Nauyotl is raising the dead out in the marsh at night. Either way, I am not so inclined to walk into that mission at night, as I would in the daylight. Perhaps we should pop by here tomorrow as a courtesy call to see what may be seen?”

Fingol responds, “I don’t remember who came up with the idea that Nauyotl is raising the dead out in the swamp, but it wasn’t me. I was more inclined to think that if he left his mission-turned flop house he would be discovered by the paladins of the town. It didn’t take long for Sir Jankin to see his nature,” replies Fingol, ”but it does raise questions why, on this night, so much is happening at once. The Prince was nearly abducted, and the mission abandoned. I am inclined to think this is not happenstance. For now, let’s plan on coming back at first light. And we’d best bring Sir Jankin with us. I think he may be useful. He certainly has a strong stake in the matter.”

They finally arrive at Master Parwyn’s shop, where all is safe and sound. The family is asleep and so Aramek bids Rain and the others goodnight.

While walking back to the castle, Gar turns to Rain and asks out of the midnight blue, “Did you last see Fergus when you left the Thieves Guild?”

Rain doesn’t even flinch at the question. She is becoming used to Gar’s lack of tact, and responds casually, continuing to look forward as they walk, “I was never officially a member of Fergus’ organization. He did me a favor once and I spent the next couple of years paying him back. It will be interesting to see him again now… things being different.”

“But,” Rain says with emphasis, and then pauses for a few seconds, “there is no need to let anybody else know of my past dealings with him or his. I am willing to help discussions for the sake of our current situation, but I would appreciate a modest amount of discretion on this from all of you. Agreed?” At this she stops and turns to catch everyone’s eyes with her own, the question not exactly being a
command, but certainly with more authority than one would expect coming from a girl or a common member of the Guard.

Fingol stops, “Rain, I hope that each of us can keep all the matters discussed here discrete. I certainly, will not break any trusts.”

“Nor will I,” says Noch. “You’re with the Guard now, and as long as you do your duty and look out for the rest of us, we’ll be looking out for you. Your past is not our concern unless it interferes with duty.”

Fingol stops, “Rain, I hope that each of us can keep all the matters discussed here discrete. I certainly, will not break any trusts.”

“Your secret is safe with me as well,” joins Gar, “And yes, I do believe you will be helpful with Fergus. At the least, it will be entertaining.”

Moonday Night, third floor of palace, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

On the balcony Rain finds herself confronted by three men cloaked in black from head to toe except for their eyes. In their hands are small black throwing stars. Behind them she sees padded grappling hooks hanging off the balustrade, and more of the black clad men climbing up onto the balcony. The closest flings one of his black stars at Rain’s face. But Rain pulls her head away though she can feel the wind of it whipping past her. She quickly jumps back and as she practiced in the bouts hurls her dagger at the assassin’s face. This time it is a naked blade that sinks into the assassin’s exposed eye, and he falls lifeless to the ground.

The other two assassins are also hurling their black stars into the room. Sedara yells, “Get the prince to safety, I’ll hold them off!” Suddenly Rain sees Sedara flying past foot first in the air. The assassin dodges aside but Sedara lands like a cat and sends him hurling over the balcony with what the Keepers in town like to call a ‘boot to the head.’ Sedara’s fist lashes out swift as the lightning that she wears as an amulet at the last assassin on the balcony but he jumps away from her. Unfortunately, three more have clambered up onto the balustrade.

Across the room, Ragnbjorn has his dagger out and is pushing the prince ahead of him towards the door, “Sir Bodwyn! Ware the assassins!”

Bodwyn rushes into the room with his sword drawn. “By the gods!” he cries as he grabs the prince and pulls him out of the room. Ragnbjorn slams the door behind him and turns to face the assassins with only his dagger held before him.

The assassins on the balustrade hurl more of their black stars, two at Sedara and one at Rain. Sedara deflects them with her bracelets.

Rain is hit on the cheek and she can feel the blood trickling down her face – and something else. She begins to feel woozy, even sleepy, but she fights it off, draws her shortsword and prepares herself for battle.

The last assassin from the first wave draws his shortsword and tries to dive past Sedara but she kicks him in mid-air into one of the chairs which splinters on impact. Rain sees him shaking his head but before he can regain his feet Ragnbjorn leaps atop him and practically takes off his head with his large hunting knife.

Sedara fells another assassin with a kick to the jaw and with her elbow strikes another in the solar plexus sending him reeling back, but the third from the second wave dodges her next kick.

Three more assassins leap up onto the balustrade whereupon they draw their swords. The last two left from the second wave draw their swords and converge on Sedara. One of them slashes her across the back. Rain looks in shock as a line of scarlet stains Sedara’s white blouse.

Rain, wary of the one on the balustrade most likely to attack, moves up behind the assassin who struck Sedara and buries her shortsword in his kidneys. As Rain steps over his corpse she shouts, “Ware the stars, poison!”

Sedara plants her foot in the other assassin who was flanking her and he crumples to the floor in a heap. She leaps over him and begins delivering a flurry of kicks and hand strikes at one of the assassins who had leapt down from the balustrade.

Ragnbjorn grabs the shortsword from the one he killed and runs to the balcony to assist Sedara. With his first swipe he slashes open the sword arm of his opponent.

Unfortunately, the assassin, in turn, slashes open Ragnbjorn’s left cheek. The two others begin attacking Sedara in tandem, though neither is able to maneuver behind her. One manages to cut into her right foot before she retracts it from an attempted strike. Behind them, three more assassins clamber up onto the balustrade.

Outside they hear Sir Bodwyn crying, “Assassins! Assassins in the halls! Get behind me my prince!”

The three assassins on the balustrade all draw their swords and leap over the heads of their comrades as well as Ragnbjorn and Sedara. Two land on either side of Rain, though the one who attempted to land in front of her slips on a foot stool and crashes in a heap.

Rain shifts to her right against the wall of the solar, putting the one who had landed on her right directly in front of her. She stabs him in the heart and another assassin is down. The one who fell is getting to his feet as the third assassin that leapt at her rushes forward to take her down. Rain keeps her back to the wall and easily fends him off, and then when the opening presents itself she lunges forward and stabs him through the teeth and up into his brain. She kicks the dead assassin off her blade in time to see that Sedara and Ragnbjorn have killed all the others, including the one who had been trying to get to his feet.

There are cries from the hallway and a flash of light glares through the cracks in the door. They hear Bodwyn yelling, “My prince! My prince!” and then there is a loud series of crashes as Bodwyn is kicked down the stairs.

“Quickly,” cries Ragnbjorn, “We must save the prince!”

Carefully, Rain opens the door just as a something lands at her feet. Fortunately she jerks her head back inside and her eyes are turned away when the flesh pellet goes off. Seeing the assassin who threw it in the hall beyond she immediately hurls her dagger right into his eye and another assassin falls.

Sedara rushes into the hall past the stairwell, but where the hall turns to the right into the rest of the south-east wing of the palace there is only darkness, all the everburning torches have been taken away or covered up. “Rangbjorn, throw me a torch from the solar!” Ragnbjorn drops the sword he had taken to grab a torch from a bracket by the door and hurls it over to her.

Just then Noch runs up the stairs, bow drawn and ready. “Bodwyn is down on the landing, he’s alright but shaken up. There are assassins below, Aramek and the others are holding them off. What’s happening up here?”

“Shhh…” Sedara says, as she prepares to move into the hall after the prince and his captors.

Noch puts down his bow and draws his shortsword, prepared to back up Sedara.

Fingol and Gar arrive, as well as Sir Bodwyn who is bruised but otherwise unhurt, in time to see Sedara, torch in hand, spring down the hall as swift and graceful as a deer. “Ware the caltrops!” she cries to those behind her. They notice that her blouse is cut in the back and awash with blood, as is her right foot. One of the assassins casts another throwing star at her, but she bats it away with her left bracelet and then she is on them. With a flying kick she snaps his neck, and as she lands she lashes out with a knife hand strike that snaps the neck of the assassin holding the prince’s legs. She somersaults over to the last and strikes out with her fist, but he has already dropped the prince to the floor and backed up against the door to the southeast tower. In desperation he draws his sword and then falls upon it to elude the disgrace of capture, dying without a word or even a whimper. Lady Sedara falls to her knees by Prince Prospero, still holding the torch in her right hand.

“Heironeous be praised! He’s alive. Sir Ragnbjorn, call for the clerics.”

Fingol and Gar notice that Noch, shortsword drawn, is by the steps prepared for anything. Ragnbjorn stands before him, bloody dagger in his left hand. There is a gash along his right arm and on his left cheek, and his blouse and pants are covered in blood. A dead assassin lies outside the door. The salon door is open, but the room within is dark. By the light that spills into it from the torch on the stairs, it looks as though there must be around a dozen dead assassins strewn about the room.

Rain makes her way carefully past the caltrops in the hallway, shortsword and dagger drawn as usual, to help Sedara with Prince Prospero. From behind she seems to be unharmed, but suddenly she collapses.

“Rain!” cries Ragnbjorn, who sprints, though carefully due to the caltrops, to her side.

Aramek arrives and blanches as he sees Ragnbjorn stoop to pick up a seemingly lifeless Rain and yells, “Oh, gods, no!  Rain! Rain! How is she? How is she! Is she… is she?” and the words to follow are lost in his throat.

“It’s okay, I think she’s just asleep, as is the Prince,” Ragnbjorn says to Aramek and the others.

Gar touches his little Green Man and a resounding “Om!” is heard as positive life giving energy radiates from him to heal those present. He first heals Bodwn of his bruises. Indranil and Lorindel who are coming up the stairs are also bathed in the healing radiance and their wounds vanish without a trace. Gar carefully walks down the hall and heals Ragnbjorn and the unconscious Rain, whose scratch closes up right away. Finally he reaches Prince Prospero and Sedara and they too are healed. Rain and the Prince continue to sleep however, for the healing energy can close wounds but cannot rid their blood of the poison.

Gar calls out in a loud voice, “Where are the clerics? The Prince and Rain have been poisoned! We need clerics who can cure poison!

Ragnbjorn, still carrying Rain, makes his way carefully through the caltrops, Aramek at his side. Fingol turns to him in concern, “Father, what of your wounds? Are they poisoned?” He reaches for his father’s arm.

“I’m alright son. I suspect it’s a sleeping poison on their throwing stars, but I managed to shake it off. It got to this one though,” meaning Rain, “and the Prince. I think I can hear the clerics and paladins now.”

Indeed, there are the sounds of men shouting down below and from the far side of the hall armored knights are turning the corner. One of them lifts up the Prince. Sedara leads him back down the hall.

Before long there are three fully armored paladins and eight clerics in night robes led by Paragon Muire filling the hallway. Fortunately the paladins grabbed torches from the other wings, so there is finally enough light. Ragnbjorn hands Rain over to the clerics, and then he and Sedara dart back into the room with a torch. Sedara tells Sir Bodwyn to keep everyone else out of it. “There may be more! Wait until Sir Ragnbjorn and I have made sure that it is safe. She then slams the door to the solar shut.

Prince Prospero and Rain are taken into a spare room on the third floor so that Paragon Muire can begin using his divine power to neutralize the toxins that have put them to sleep. One of the paladins asks Aramek, Noch, and the others from the second floor to show them where they were attacked.

Moonday Night, second floor of palace, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

As Indranil leaves his room he notices that there are two men standing down the hall to his right by the stairs to the third floor. They are both dressed in the red tabard with the black lion rampant of the Guard. One is a young half-elf with emerald eyes and light brown hair. He wears no armor, but holds a staff and a small brown ferret perches on his shoulders. The other is a fair complexioned man with dark blond hair, and dark blue eyes. He wears the standard leather armor of the watch, as well as the standard shortsword and longbow. They seem to be standing guard. The garderobe is down the other direction to the left as he leaves his room.

Indranil makes his way to the garderobe and finds an everburning torch in a bracket outside the door. As is the custom in the palace, he takes the everburning torch into the garderobe with him and places it in the bracket there. Then he slides the latch across the door. The garderobe is a wooden seat with a hole in it set over a chute that goes down through the outer wall of the palace and empties into a little stream that flows back out into Lake Peledor. The garderobe is one of the most vulnerable areas of any palace or castle, the bars set at the bottom of the chutes are not always enough to keep out those determined to use them to climb into the castle.

Ever cautious, Indranil peeks down into the chute to make sure that he will be safe while relieving himself. Fortunately, nothing seems to be amiss in the shadowy and odoriferous stone chute. Unfortunately, things are not always as they seem. Instead of the sound of liquid splashing on stone he hears what sounds instead like water poured on silk. Suddenly a black spinning object flies out of the depths of the chute. It catches on the rim of the seat and shoots off away from Indranil and bounces off the wall with a metallic clang. Indranil backs off pulling up his breeches as quickly as he can just as a small pellet hurls out of the seat to break against the wall behind with a flash that would have blinded him had he not turned aside his eyes quickly, for he had heard of such flash pellets before from veterans of the previous years fighting against the Scarlet Brotherhood. Quicker than Indranil would have thought possible, a black clad assassin emerges from the chute, hurling the wooden seat towards Indranil to keep him off balance.

Indranil reaches back with his left hand to throw the latch and then kicks back to open the door while simultaneously drawing his dagger with his right hand. He backs out of the garderobe swinging out with a defensive strike that nevertheless slashes the advancing assassin across the chest while yelling, “Alert! Alert! Enemy attack!”

The assassin pulls a weapon from his waistband that looks like a short sickle and hooks Indranil’s leg with it tripping him. Behind the first assassin, Indranil can see another hauling himself out of the chute. Before he can act, Indranil hears someone down the hall crying out “Magia raketo!” and suddenly a bolt of crackling energy slams into the assassin with the sickle and knocks him back into the garderobe. The second assassin leaps forward with a blackened shortsword drawn but an arrow hits him in the shoulder. He staggers back into the garderobe as well.

Back in the Marinus brothers’ room, they all hear Indranil’s cry for help. Fingol grabs the longsword and throwing axe by the beds and yells to Lorindel, “Which one is yours?”

Lorindel motions towards his axe. Fingol throws it over to him while drawing Indranil’s sword. ”Thanks,” Lorindel shouts as he tucks it into his belt. He then grabs up his bow, restringing it before grabbing his quiver.

Gar draws his dagger and flings himself to the door in time to see Aramek’s arcane bolt and Noch’s arrow shoot past him and into the black-clad assassins down the hall emerging from the garderobe. On the floor waving a dagger and trying to kick himself away from the garderobe Gar sees Indranil.

“Whoa!” Fingol pulls Gar back into the room. “It’s a little hot out there! Lorindel, we could use your bow, and I may need to borrow your brother’s.”

“What is it?” shouts Lorindel. “Who’s out there?”

“Black clad assassins!” exclaims Gar, “Your brother is alive but on the ground. Aramek and Noch are firing at them!”

Lorindel quickly grabs his brother’s bow and begins stringing it.

Indranil knows he is disadvantaged fighting two assassins with only his knife, no armor and now knocked on his back. His only chance at surviving is to get clear of the immediate battle so he can recover his footing and get his back against a wall. He scurries back, butt and elbows backwards in the direction the energy bolt and arrow came from thinking there is safety in numbers and a bit of back up will give him some time. Another of the assassin’s black throwing stars hits the ground by his head and ricochets down the hall. Finally, Indranil gets away from the doorway and scrambles to his feet, even as arrows whistle overhead and he hears a short cry and then a body fall. Still, another assassin runs past him down the hall hurling throwing stars.

At the other end of the hall, Aramek ducks for cover and casts again to cover himself in an invisible field of arcane force, “Sorch-kiraso!” Noch jumps back for cover as well. A throwing star hurtles past and buries itself in the door to the great hall.

Fingol straps on Indranil’s sword and one of the quivers and carefully peeks out into the hall. Lorindel finishes stringing Indranil’s bow and hands it to Fingol.

Gar crouches like a dragon near the door listening, but he awaits the lead of the fighters, Fingol and Lorindel. As Fingol comes up he touches him on the shoulder and grants him the divine blessing to resist harm.

Fingol and Gar watch as Indranil makes it to his feet and runs down the corridor dagger in hand, but the assassin ahead of him twirls around drawing his shortsword causing Indranil to fall back before he can get a good strike.

From somewhere upstairs they hear Sir Bodwyn crying, “Assassins! Assassins in the halls! Get behind me my prince!”

Fingol rushes out into the hall drawing Indranil’s sword to strike down the assassin. Unfortunately, just before he gets there he stumbles and falls to the floor before the bemused assassin. Indranil’s sword, however, flies from his grasp, slides across the floor past the assassin and stops right at the feet of Indranil.

Aramek says to Noch, “Go upstairs, I’ll cover our backs!” Aramek pokes his head out and sees Fingol on the floor menaced by an assassin at whom he casts a bolt of arcane energy that slams into him, throwing him off balance. Noch rushes up the stairs. 

The next thing they hear is Bodwyn yelling, “My prince! My prince!” and then there is a loud series of crashes, like someone in full plate armor rolling down the stairs.

Lorindel takes up his throwing axe and rushes into the hallway to engage the assassin, as Fingol scrambles out of the way. Lorindel has to hop over Fingol and his first swing goes wide, but he at least manages to land on his feet. Before he fully regains his balance, however, the assassin slashes him in the right leg.

Meanwhile, Gar runs up and pulls Fingol out of the way and helps him to his feet.

Another assassin charges at Indranil from out of the garderobe before he can pick up his sword. Indranil dodges away, and then quickly leans in and manages to stab the assassin in the right hand.

Lorindel and his opponent continue their duel, neither able to land a blow against the other, when Aramek once more yells, “Magia raketo!” and yet another bolt of arcane power slams into the assassin, this time snapping his neck and dropping him to the floor. 

Fingol says to Gar, “I must see if I can aid the Prince.” He then takes off for the third floor.

“Me too,” says Gar, following quickly on Fingol’s heels.

In spite of the dire circumstances, Fingol is bemused as he runs up the stairs to the third floor. Assassins in the garderobe? I suppose they must… but you just don’t think of… I mean, it just doesn’t fit with the whole image… ’We whiz hard and fade into the night?’ Nah! That just doesn’t work! And I hope they wash up before they use their open hand techniques. They probably don’t! That’s why they are so deadly!

On the way up they come across a very battered Sir Bodwyn. He is moving up the stairs ahead of them back to the third floor.

The last assassin now has only a left-handed grip on his sword and for a time is unable to hit Indranil, but neither is Indranil able to get past the assassin’s guard with his dagger. Then the assassin lunges forward and catches Indranil across the chest. Indranil can’t help but cry out in pain but the wound is not fatal. Indranil backs off and sees his brother getting into position behind him, and so he throws himself aside. Lorindel is quick to take the opportunity of a clear shot and hurls his throwing axe. It buries itself in the assassin’s stomach and he collapses to the floor in agony.

Seeing that the brothers have taken down the last assassin, Aramek takes up his quarterstaff and heads up the stairs after Fingol and Gar.

Indranil staggers and reaches out to steady himself against the wall. He says to Lorindel, ”By the gods, brother, that was a good throw of your axe. You saved us. First we face inhumanly strong ghouls in Hool and now supernaturally strong assassins right inside the palace! What evil is afoot? But first we must attend to our wounds before we bleed to death. Let’s head upstairs for help.”

Lorindel looks worriedly at his brother’s wound. “Yes, let’s make haste. The others have gone up ahead.” Lorindel reclaims his bow before heading up.

When the two brothers get upstairs they hear a resounding “Om” from Gar up ahead and they are both bathed in a healing radiance.

Rain and Aramek: Moonday Night, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

As supper ends and everyone is leaving, Sir Gorman comes up to speak to Sgt. Apone and then leaves. Sgt. Apone then calls his squad aside before they can leave the hall.

“Troops, I need some of you to stay back to provide extra security for a meeting here in the palace. Aramek, you specifically will be needed as you are our squad sorcerer. I need two others. Okay, you Rain and… okay, Noch. Go back to the barracks and get your gear and then report back to me in the great hall.

“The rest of you get some rest. No seriously. You’re all being taken off the watch rotation. One of the new reserve squads is going to fill in for us, and we’re all going to receive new orders in the morning. So go get your beauty sleep people. Dismissed!”

As soon as they can, Rain, Aramek, and Noch hustle back to the barracks. Rain and Noch get on their armor and strap on their weapons. Aramek also picks up his weapons and slips on his tabard. They all head back to meet Sgt. Apone back in the great hall.

“Good, follow me,” says the Sgt. 

Sgt. Apone takes his three troops to the eastern door of the great hall and out into the hallway of the second floor of the southern wing of the downriver loop, the wing whose southern windows look out over the keep walls and Lake Peledor beyond. He takes them up a flight of stairs to the third floor and to a door outside of which Sir Bodwyn, the Captain of the Watch, awaits them.

“Thank you Sgt. Apone. I’ll take over from here.” Sgt. Apone salutes and takes his leave.

Captain Bodwyn says, “Behind this door is Prince Prospero’s solar. Rain, you will stay with me here. You two,” he points to Aramek and Noch, “go back down the stairs and wait at the foot of it. No one may come up the stairs to this floor unless I say otherwise. If anyone gives you any trouble, I’ll be able to hear it from up here and I’ll come down and deal with it. Everyone understand? Good. Now get to your stations.” 

At Bodwyn’s orders to Rain, she nods curtly in reply and awaits further orders after the others descend back down the stairs. After a couple of minutes of standing at attention with Sir Bodwyn, he turns to Rain with his finger to his lips and gestures for Rain to go into the room. When she does, she finds Prince Prospero, Lady Sedara, and Sir Ragnbjorn waiting for her inside. On the Prince’s desk, Rain sees the journal and the parchment wrapped statue that must be the items Lady Sedara took from Master Parwyn’s home the night before.

Lady Sedara introduces Rain as she enters and Bodwyn closes the door softly behind her, “My Prince, Sir Ragnbjorn, I would like to introduce you to Rain. She is one of my agents recruited from the town and currently assigned to Commander Gorman’s night watch. She is the one who told me about the journal and the statue and was of great assistance to me in their acquisition.”

“Rain, this is Prince Prospero of the House of Ilshar, and Sir Ragnbjorn of the King’s Rangers.” Sedara gives Rain a look that says, ‘This is no time for jesting, be courteous as I have taught you.’

Rain sees but does not return Lady Sedara’s look. She knows what to do. Rain makes every attempt to look at ease in the presence of these men, while maintaining a formal stance of one who has not yet been allowed to relax. Rain motions in greeting first to Prospero then to Ragnbjorn, not the curtsy of a girl, but the smooth motioned lowering of her head then half bow of the torso which states ‘this is important’ and says, “Prince Prospero, Sir Ragnbjorn, it is an honor to meet you both.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you Rain,” says the prince. “I have been hearing good things about you. Please everyone, sit and make yourselves comfortable for we have much to talk about.

At Prospero’s request to sit Rain finds a comfortable chair and relaxes into it, though she keeps herself keen and aware of her surroundings – looking for any nuances of expression to give hints to the others reactions.

“Let us begin with this journal.” The Prince walks over to the desk, takes up the book and the parchment wrapped statue and then sits down again across from the others. He hands the journal to Sedara. “We have already heard about how you found out about this and acquired it,” he smiles over at Rain, “but perhaps, Lady Sedara, you will be so good as to read the relevant passages for Sir Ragnbjorn and also Rain. There are things in here that you two will need to know about when you go out into the Hool Marshes.

Rain cocks her head slightly in question.

“Oh, my pardon Rain, I forget that you haven’t received your new orders yet. Tomorrow, your squad will be assigned as security for a diplomatic mission to the lizardfolk in the marshes. I have asked Sir Fingol and Father Gar to help negotiate a peace with the lizardfolk. At least a couple of aldermen from the fishermen, shrimpers, and crabbers will also be going, and a representative from the Fishmongers Guild. Sir Ragnbjorn and his two companions, the half-elven brothers Indranil and Lorindel, will be going along as guides and translators. But in addition to the very important task of negotiating peace with the lizardfolk, I want Rangbjorn, the two brothers, and yourself to keep watch for anything relating to this Reece, or this unknown deity, or any evidence of a lost city, or Thracia, in the marshes. I suppose we cannot leave your friend Aramek out of this, but we will bring him in later and tell him what he needs to know and only what he needs to know – at least for now.”

The prince turns back to Sedara, “Now, Lady Sedara, if you please…”

Sedara says, “As I mentioned, before Rain came in, this is the journal of Reece, the son of Parwyn the alchemist. She then proceeds to summarize the contents of the journal, though she also reads key passages relating what happened to Reece during the occupation of Westkeep by the Scarlet Brotherhood and how he subsequently left in search of a lost city with his friend Relikez.

Sedara hands the journal back to the prince who carefully reaches over and puts it back on the desk. He picks up the small wooden statue wrapped in parchment. It is unwrapped to reveal a skeletal being in a cowl and cloak holding a scythe. “Now here,” says the Prince, “there is writing on the parchment that seems very like Reece’s handwriting. It says, ‘Thanatos god of Thracia. Is this the power I seek? Can he still be called upon from within his ancient shrines?’”

Ragnbjorn rubs his beard in concern. “I see. So this fool Reece went off with that other fool Relikez seeking to find some lost city, Thracia I suppose, so they could unleash the power of some forgotten death god by the name of Thanatos in order to have their revenge on the Scarlet Brotherhood! And we are supposed to be on the lookout for them or for this lost city while we try to keep out of the way of rogue Amedi warriors and ghouls in the course of trying to keep the lizardfolk from going on the warpath?” Suddenly Ragnbjorn starts to shake with hearty laughter. “I’m so glad you haven’t called me and the boys back here for anything trivial Your Highness.”

Rain listens intently to Sedara’s reading and comments. As Ragnbjorn comments and laughs heartily, Rain laughs lightly as his comments have echoed her own. This is gonna be some trip. I’m gonna have to stay light on my feet if I’m to come back from this in one piece. She realizes suddenly that she is not laughing anymore.

The Prince smiles saying, “We would not presume to waste your time Sir Ragnbjorn. Perhaps, you can tell Rain about the Amedi warriors and the ghouls. She should know what you might be facing out there. And I would like to hear it again just to be sure I remember it right.”

Ragnbjorn resumes his serious mien once again. “Yes Your Highness. Well, as you know since helping to lead King Skotti and his army here to take Westkeep from the Scarlet Brotherhood, I have spent some time with Rhodophylax, the leader of the Malarat tribe of lizardfolk, but that was many months ago. 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.” Ragnbjorn says this with a rueful smile. “Now the morning that we received the sending from Paragon Muire, 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. But of course that is not the worst. That night, not more than half a day’s travel from here, our camp was attacked by two ghouls. 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 anymore, but I do recommend we return there later with clerics and paladins of Heironeous and St. Cuthbert and purify the grounds.”

The Prince responds, “Yes, that will certainly be done after your current mission.”

“There’s something else you should know,” says Ragnbjorn. “I don’t know how much you hear up there at the High Table, but you should know that Sir Fingol and the others have taken it upon themselves to investigate your little robbery Lady Sedara.”

Lady Sedara raises her eyes, “Is that so? I couldn’t hear them tonight for all the noisy minstrels. It has also been a rather busy day for me reading through this journal and recuperating from last night. What, pray tell, have they been up to?”

Ragnbjorn continues, “Well, apparently Sir Fingol, Father Gar, Sir Jankin, and a Brother Burne went over to Master Parwyn’s to take a look around. Apparently Brother Burne got it into his head that the locksmith replacing the locks on the doors was either the burglar or a link to the burglar. They ended up chasing this man through the streets though he got away, but not before stabbing Sir Jankin. Apparently, to their credit, the others were not in agreement with Brother Burne’s zeal and apparently were trying to rein him in before a riot started.

“Now, let me see, here’s how I believe it went. As Sir Fingol was questioning him, Brother Burne tried to cast a spell on this locksmith to see if he was aligned with the forces of disorder and misrule. You know how the Cudgels get. Anyway, the man pulled a knife and tried to stab Brother Burne, but Sir Jankin pulled him away and received the blade instead. Fortunately it was just a flesh wound that Father Gar healed later. In the meantime, Brother Burne and the locksmith were brawling right there in the shop until Father Gar stopped them somehow, they didn’t exactly say how but I can only imagine with those wild Flan priests. That’s when the locksmith ran off with Brother Burne and Sir Fingol after him, but he got away down on the Processional. Now, Sir Fingol and Father Gar seem to think that the actual thief may have been Reece himself or a confederate of his seeking to reclaim the journal and the statue. Yes, Aramek told them about what was taken though apparently Master Parwyn was not at all pleased.

“It doesn’t end there either. Apparently, after the baths Your Highness graciously provided, Sir Lorindel decided to go have a night on the town. He ended up in some dive called the Murky Archer and there, wouldn’t you know it, he fell in with a violet eyed man matching the description of the locksmith that Brother Burne and Sir Fingol were chasing. His name is Fergus, and he was there with some young tough named Cole and another young punk named Dion with, of all things, a pet monkey. Dion, by the way, has long been sought after by Brother Burne for ‘questioning.’ He is convinced that they are members of the Thieves Guild of Westkeep. They may or may not be, but you should know, Lady Sedara, that other people may be blamed for your robbery.”

At the mention of Fergus, Rain attempts to hide a small smile, one that only a clever eye would pick up on. That smile quickly vanishes to a very forced lack of emotion when Cole and especially Dion are mentioned. Ah shit, fuck’n Norebo’s luck, what are Dion and Cole into? Now I’m gonna have to pay a visit to Fergus when we get back from this trip… and somehow keep Dion and Cole out of this robbery mess. Fuck.

Sedara flushes to hear that others may be blamed for her robbery, “Oh no, this is… I must do something. I will not have anyone else pay for my crimes.”

Rain is surprised by this. Hmm… a sense of honor, and a true one, not just to those she serves. Interesting…

The Prince looks to Sedara and says, “Relax Lady Sedara. I will make sure that no harm comes to these men for anything you have done. That does not mean they are wholly innocent however. At the very least this Fergus has already proven himself to be armed and dangerous, though I will grant that Brother Burne undoubtedly provoked him.” The Prince turns to Ragnbjorn, “Did they attempt to rob or otherwise harm Sir Lorindel?”

Ragnbjorn smiles, “No, they did not. Sir Lorindel, unlike his brother, has a pretty good way with people. They apparently befriended him and even walked him back to the Processional for his own safety. Curious way for members of the Thieves Guild to behave, but perhaps they either genuinely like Sir Lorindel or perhaps they are playing a more long term game and hoping to get information from him.

“But that is not all, and perhaps this has already been reported to you Your Highness, but Sir Fingol, Sir Jankin, and Father Gar then went over to the Heironean Mission, which apparently is now full of Olman refugees. Apparently Sir Fingol used his healing skills to help those with the fever, while Father Gar purified their food and water for them. Sir Jankin, however, discovered that their shaman, a man named Nauyotl is some kind of servant of evil. He left and brought back Cudgel militiamen to escort Sir Fingol and Father Gar safely away. Thankfully there was no more fighting, but Olman did follow them after they left the mission, though Father Gar sent them packing by giving them food and telling them to deliver it back to the mission. Your Highness, if you did not hear of this yet from Paragon Muire, because I am sure Sir Jankin reported it all to him, I wanted to be sure that you knew of it.

“I also think I had better get my son and the two half-elves out of this city before they get in over their heads or stir up trouble that none of us need at this time.”

Prince Prospero nods gravely, “Yes, I think you are right. I certainly thank you for telling me this. I noticed that there was a bit of an altercation as well. What was that about?”

Ragnbjorn shakes his head. “I am sorry about that Your Highness. I know you asked Father Gar, as an emissary of the Great Druidess, to help broker an agreement with the lizardfolk, but he has a very odd sense of humor and my rather humorless ranger Sir Indranil did not take it too well. Sir Jankin and I talked with Sir Indranil however, and he understands that it will be his job to protect Father Gar in a professional manner and not take anything the good priest says too personally. Begging your pardon Your Highness, but I certainly hope that Father Gar is more tactful with the lizardfolk.”

Prince Prospero grimaces, “Yes, let us hope so.”

Suddenly the Prince looks to the balcony, currently closed off by a heavy curtain. He points and cups his hand to his ear. Sedara and Ragnbjorn look to the curtains as well.

Rain heard it also, like something or several things dropping lightly onto the balcony’s balustrade. Ready in her chair for immediate action, she springs toward the balcony while drawing a dagger with her right hand as she does so. She flings open the curtain to catch whoever or whatever is out there.

Moonday Night, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

Jankin walks over to the door and lets in Lorindel, Fingol, and Gar. Ragnbjorn greets them and bids them to find seats.

As Gar enters the room, he casually glances at Sir Ragnbjorn and lets out a little gasp at the sheer size of his manliness. Looking up, a little wide eyed with a bow and a twinkle in his eye, “Sir Ragnbjorn, Sir Jankin, it is a huge pleasure to see you again.” To Sir Indranil, he silently nods his greeting with a smile.

“Sir Fingol, Father Gar, thank you for coming. I think we all should confer with each other about this mission to see if peace can be negotiated with the lizardfolk, and there are things that you two,” Rangbjorn indicates Fingol and Gar, “should know about what we have found out there. Sir Jankin, if you’ll excuse us?”

“Yes, milord,” replies Jankin. “It has been a pleasure meeting you Sir Rangbjorn, Sir Indranil, Sir Lorindel. Goodnight everyone.”

Just as Jankin is leaving, Sedara appears at the door. “Excuse me, Sir Ragnbjorn? Prince Prospero was wondering if he could speak with you in the solar?”

“Hmm… Oh certainly milady.” Ragnbjorn turns back to the others saying, “You’ll have to excuse me, there are apparently some other things that need to be discussed. Sir Indranil, if you would do me the favor of telling Sir Fingol and Father Gar what happened to us. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that he leaves with Sedara.

Indranil sits back on his bed, takes a moment to fill, tamp, and light up his pipe and begins his story.

“We spent almost six weeks in the Hool scouting a passage that could be used to transport goods and services to Westkeep from Keoland. Unfortunately we were not able to find a contiguous passage with suitable draft for barges and larger boats.”

“Heh heh heh what we found in abundance was midges, flies and mosquitoes.” With a wink he adds, “Of course Lorindel’s snoring was loud enough to scare most of them away at night.”

Lorindel says, “Come now brother, my snoring couldn’t have been that bad.”

Indranil grins at his brother and continues, “The trip was uneventful until the last two days. The most troubling developments happened when we were closest to Westkeep!”

Indranil pauses for several breaths puffing on his pipe and thinking.

“Two mornings ago we observed four Amedi warriors in two canoes who paddle by us. They did not see us and while we had them triangulated and could have overcome them we chose to observe and not engage them.”

“On our last night before making Westkeep we were attacked by ghouls! Luckily we killed them but it took numerous arrows and a head shot to finally destroy them. Filled and powered by evil they were!” Indranil shudders.

“We then followed their trail back to their den and killed three more, again at great cost and peril. I was beset by two at once and took a vicious bite. Fortunately Ragnbjorn’s wilderness healing skills ensured I had no infection and our priests here confirmed I took no lasting harm. But I must say it shook me to fight such creatures that seemed to be invulnerable to all but the most devastating attacks.”

“I called it their den, but actually their den was a mass grave – a killing field left by the Scarlet Brotherhood. It was the kind of sight that shakes the soul.”

“Ragnbjorn then insisted we leave that night and make haste to Westkeep and report these two events to Prince Prospero immediately.”

“We know not who is behind the ghouls or the sudden appearance of the Amedi so close to Westkeep but it is deeply disturbing and an ill omen.”

“It’s true!” interjects Lorindel. “These vile creatures fought with such tenacity, I was barely able to keep distance enough to make use of my bow. Who’d have thought that these undead beasts could move with such speed?” 

“Ah, ghoulish indeed,” says Gar. “I do hope you are completely healed by now, Sir Indranil?” Then after a brief moment he adds, “What more do any of you know of the Amedi?”

Indranil replies to Gar, “Thank you Gar. I am completely healed.”

“Oh good,” says Gar. “I can probably help with the ghouls too if or when we have need. In great need, I can call upon the divine energy of life to bring healing and repel the undead. I don’t want any of them taking another bite out of you until I get my piece of you first.” Gar smirks and winks at Indranil.

Indranil’s neck reddens and he gives Gar a weak smile, and then says, “Thank you Gar. I welcome your help with these ghouls as they are difficult foes indeed.”

“Thank you, Sir Indranil, I will do my best.” Then looking to Fingol, Gar pauses and puts a finger in front of his lips in contemplation. “Hmm… I wonder if there could be a connection?” He wags his forefinger at Fingol, “Remember when Sir Jankin said that the appearance of the evil cleric Nauyotl, that nice old man whom we met today at the former mission, was a new development? I wonder if they are connected?”

Fingol considers this and says, “I believe the Olman refugees have been living in the clinic for about a month now. In any case, there might be a connection. Still, if Nauyotl was leaving the clinic regularly, to create undead in the marsh, than it would be likely that one of the paladins here would have spotted his aura before now. Besides, he kept a tight control on the food supply. I don’t think he would have been able to do that if he were to disappear for a few days at a time. So, I suppose it’s possible but I couldn’t say how likely. I have a feeling we will find out much more than we care to know, shortly after we set out again.”

“Yes, I believe you are right, Sir Fingol. The paladins are very good at weeding out true evil from pseudo evil,” Gar smirks. “I would be more inclined to believe Nauyotl was attracting the local ghouls to Westkeep in the same way my devotion to Obai-Hai repels them. In either case, if the Prince tries to take back the temple of Heironeous, the ghouls will certainly come to their rescue. Imagine what a ghastly sight that would be around town? I would bet that that is what those better than we are discussing at this very moment.”

Just then, Indranil excuses himself to use the garderobe down the hall.

Indranil: Moonday Night, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

Elsewhere, Ragnbjorn and Jankin come to the room where Indranil and Lorindel are staying. Ragnbjorn knocks saying, “Indranil, open up. It’s Ragnbjorn. Sir Jankin and I would like to have a word with you.”

Indranil opens the door and says, “Ah Ragnbjorn greetings. I was expecting you. Please come in.”

Ragnbjorn and Jankin enter. Ragnbjorn says, “I told the others, including Father Gar, to come here when they are finished with supper. They need to know what happened to us out in the marshes. But first we need to get some things straightened out.”

“Indranil, I am not even sure where to begin. I will concede to you that Gar made some comments that could certainly be taken as an insult, but he did apologize for at least one of them and you did threaten to attack him. I think you have some grave misunderstandings about the druids and Obad-Hai, but for better or worse, we have to work with him and so you need to understand him.

“Now, perhaps the first thing you need to know is that Prince Prospero, who was sitting within earshot of us at the High Table I must remind you, requested Father Gar, an emissary from the Great Druidess and not a soldier under anyone’s command, to help negotiate an agreement with the lizardfolk. Now I have known the Prince for some time, and he is a good judge of character. It is not your place to second-guess him in this. It is our place to provide security for this diplomatic mission. That means our job is not to presume to judge or criticize but simply to provide security for the negotiators: my son Fingol, gods help us all, Father Gar, may he keep his wit to himself, and the aldermen of the Westkeep fishermen, who frankly deserve to be spitted on lizardfolk spears for antagonizing them in the first place.

“Now, Father Gar’s wit may indeed have been inappropriate. I can only pray that he will curb it in actual negotiations. I suspect, however, that it is precisely Father Gar’s neutrality as an emissary of the Great Druidess that will give him credibility with the lizardfolk, whereas they may view our own people with more suspicion. If I know the druids and followers of Obad-Hai, they mean what they say about not siding with one race or faction over another. They serve the balance of nature whatever our own feelings may be about it. Prince Prospero believes that as a follower of Obad-Hai, Gar will be able to find the Balance and so preserve peace and find an agreement with the lizardfolk that will enable the fishermen and shrimpers and crabbers to do what they need to do. Remember the lizardfolk are not followers of Heironeous or St. Cuthbert or even Ehlonna. They are not evil, but neither are they generous. They simply do what they must to survive and maintain their place in the natural world. This is why a priest of Obad-Hai would make a good intermediary, he is not truly on our side or theirs, but serves the Balance that we must all respect if any of us are going to live here long. As rangers, we also know this necessity to respect the rhythms and harmony of nature.

“Now, you raise a legitimate concern about someone like Father Gar possibly giving aid to evildoers, but I think you misunderstood what he was saying. Perhaps I should let Sir Jankin here tell you what he has observed.”

Jankin bows and says, “Greetings again, Sir Indranil. I have had the chance to observe Father Gar over the last couple of days. It has been… very instructive. First of all, as a paladin I can assure you that there is no taint of evil in him. If there were, I or the other paladins here would have sensed it some time ago. We cannot throw someone in the dungeon simply for being selfish or mean, but we would certainly have kept a close watch on him and put a stop to any illegal or injurious actions. But that is not all. What I observed from my time with he and Fingol is that while his sense of humor can be nettlesome, he does seem to genuinely mean well and care about people. More than that, he seems willing to risk his life to provide healing, pure food and water, and other necessities even to those who he knows may not deserve it. If he is not aligned with the Good now, if he continues on such a course he soon will be, for he has demonstrated the kind of mercy that the Archpaladin Heironeous himself teaches. I think that to him elves, humans, lizardfolk, and even orcs are all to be judged solely by their actions and given a chance to find their place in the Balance.

“There is one final thing I can say of him. Actually, I don’t know if it is my place to speak of this, but no one forbade me so I will tell you both in the hope that it will give you more confidence. We followers of Heironeous have been working on ways in which to prevent a worse outbreak of Filth Fever and the Scarlet Ache when plague season begins again the late spring and summer. Paragon Muire enlisted the help of powerful guardians to help provide security for our projects. One of those is Lady Sauraa.”

“By the gods!” exclaims Ragnbjorn in utter amazement. “You don’t mean to say that she is here! In this palace!”

Jankin nods. “Yes, she came about a month ago.”

Ragnbjorn turns to Indranil, “Lady Sauraa is the daughter of King Sagara of the Guardian Nagas. She is very powerful and very wise.”

“Yes,” says Jankin, “And she met Sir Fingol and Father Gar earlier today. They passed her test. She found them trustworthy enough to see in more detail our project, for Paragon Muire had left it to her discretion as to whether or not they could be allowed to know more. Lady Sauraa herself vouched for them. She said that his goals were in line with ours, and Sir Fingol and Father Gar both bowed to their knees in reverence before her. I’ll admit that Father Gar takes some getting used to, one needs to be able to find a way to graciously put up with his teasing and jesting as Sir Fingol seems to have, but I would trust him to do what is right in the end. And if not, well, then the Daughter of the Naga King Sagara will have made a very grave error, Heironeous forbid.”

Indranil listens quietly to Ragnbjorn and Jankin while several emotions flash across his face from anger to embarrassment to humor to quiet understanding and then peace. Indranil draws a deep breath and then says, “Thank you for your detailed explanation and confidence. I sincerely appreciate it.”

Letting out a deep sigh Indranil continues, “I apologize for my rashness. Perhaps the stress of the last two days in the Hool and the attack of the ghouls have not yet left my spirit and I am still a bit unsettled. Sir Jankin, as a paladin you make me feel much better about Gar, and to hear his reverence to Lady Sauraa makes me rest easier.

“While I feel compelled to fight evil wherever I find it, I am responsible to control my own reaction to insults. Perhaps Gar likes to mask his noble deeds with being irritating in a self-deprecating manner?

“What you said about his belief that, ‘to him elves, humans, lizardfolk, and even orcs are all to be judged solely by their actions and given a chance to find their place in the balance,’ I find great wisdom in and I too share this belief. By our actions we are known not by what race we are, or what god we profess to believe in or what clothes we wear.

“I am sworn to defend this mission with my life and all those that are part of it are equally under my protection. Mind you I like him not. I find his jokes… distasteful and his taking pleasure in the angst of others unworthy. I will avoid him at the camp fires! But worry not that this will cause conflict during the mission. I have no axe to bear against Gar.”

Indranil looks at Ragnbjorn and says, “Master please forgive me. I hope I have not caused you trouble and grief.”

Ragnbjorn waves away any further concern, and says, “No harm was done, and I am glad to hear you bear no grudge against Father Gar. We just have to protect him and the other negotiators, we don’t have to like them.”

Someone knocks at the door. “Ah,” says Ragnbjorn. “It must be the others.”

Rain: Moonday Night, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

Rain stops for a few seconds to make sure that nobody notices her exit of the hall or is otherwise watching her. She then heads after Ragnbjorn and Jankin who are walking towards the guest wing. She follows softly and keeps to the shadows, not taking any real overt risks, but looking for a nice handy alcove to be able to listen in on any conversation. She is most cautious of Ragnbjorn.

Rain follows them up a flight of stairs and then down a hall on the third floor of the east wing of the palace. They do not seem to notice her as she softly pads behind them in the shadows cast by the everburning torches set at intervals throughout the palace.

“Yes Sir Jankin, what did you want to speak to me about?” asks Ragnbjorn.

“I wanted to talk to you and to Sir Indranil about Father Gar. I think Sir Indranil has gravely misjudged him, though Father Gar’s words were more than open to misunderstanding. If I had not been with him myself I would be as suspicious as Sir Indranil – maybe more. It happens, however, that I have been with him and Sir Fingol today, and what I observed speaks very well of his true character despite his nettlesome words. There is more, but I will wait until we are with Indranil to speak of it.”

Ragnbjorn smiles at Jankin and clasps him on the shoulder. “You are a good man Sir Jankin. Let us see if we can mediate a peace here between my headstrong ranger Sir Indranil and this most undiplomatic of diplomats, Father Gar. Hopefully we can do it before the rest of them arrive. There are things they will need to know about what we found in the marshes.”

They come to Indranil’s door and knock, and after a few words with Indranil they enter.

Rain smiles to herself as she realizes that she is not the only one who questions Gar’s odd musings. I think Gar lacks the gods given natural ability to filter ones thoughts before they exit his mouth. Well, I can’t really come up with a good enough explanation if I’m caught outside of that door so best I return. Besides, any more time on this and
everyone will think I have an issue with the food, being so long at the garderobe.

When Rain turns around however, she is startled to find that Lady Sedara is standing right behind her. Her arms are crossed and her head is cocked. With a twinkle in her eye and a grin at Rain she asks, “Hear anything interesting?”

Rain recovers quickly and replies with a smile, “Heh, well at least if somebody was going to catch me, I’m glad it was you.”

Sedara puts her finger to her lips to indicate silence. Smiling, she motions for Rain to follow her back to the dining halls. When they reach the stairwell, she says, “You did very well. Not many could boast of sneaking up on Ragnbjorn. Usually he is more alert. Perhaps the ale and a sense of being safe here in the palace gave him a false sense of security. I would not try that again. But I do commend you. So what did you hear?”

Rain answers, “Sounds like Gar really put his foot in it this time, looked like he shocked pretty much everyone by something he said right before everybody entered for dinner, and he really pissed off Indranil. Sir Jankin spent the day with Gar and a few others trying to track down Parwyn’s thief, and only angering the Locksmiths in the process.”

Rain gives away nothing but a slight smirk at the mention of the thief, then continues, “So he was speaking good of Gar to Ragnbjorn, trying to smooth things over it would seem. They entered Indranil’s room and I lost the conversation. I thought it better not to continue my eavesdropping, not having a good story prepared should I be caught outside the door. Fingol’s father also commented about finding something in the marshes, I would love to hear more about that.”

Sedara says, “Well let me tell you what you missed. First of all it was not Gar that said something shocking. Sir Fingol was trying to say something in Draconian, the language of the dragons and also the lizardfolk, and apparently it didn’t come out as he suspected. I don’t know what he said, but apparently Sir Ragnbjorn and the two half-elven brothers understood it. I pray Sir Fingol learns more or at least trusts to his father to translate and does not attempt to speak directly to the lizardfolk. If he does try… you may need to kill him.”

Rain stops dead. I’m no assassin, and never will be! Regardless of the fact that she likes Fingol and regards him well, this has little to do with her reaction. I’m not a hired killer, and if this is where this relationship is going then I need to get out – now! Her thoughts trip over themselves. She’s kidding right? No really… she has to be kidding. If she is not… Oh crap, is she kidding?

Sedara pauses to observe Rain’s expression, and then laughs, “I’m just kidding! I am sure Sir Fingol has more sense than that, and anyway Sir Ragnbjorn will look after him. I just wanted to see the expression on your face.”

Rain visibly stands more at ease after Sedara laughs and admits to kidding her. Rain smiles and says, “Nice.”

Sedara then says, “Anyway, I can also tell you what Sir Ragnbjorn found in the swamps. Ghouls attacked them. Paragon Muire identified one of the heads that was brought back. Ghouls are a form of corporeal undead and apparently they were haunting a mass grave left by the Scarlet Brotherhood about a day away from here. Sir Ragnbjorn plans on leading an expedition there later to fully purify it. But there may be more such sites and creatures out there. This is something you should know as your squad has been assigned to accompany Sir Ragnbjorn, Sir Fingol, and Father Gar on a diplomatic mission to the lizardfolk that will leave as soon as it can be organized.

“You have done well Rain, but I must ask you to refrain from spying on people within the palace. There are very dangerous forces here, and only Prince Prospero and Captain Bodwyn know that you are working with me. There are things in this palace that could turn you to ash before you even knew they were there.

“Now, tonight, I want you and Aramek to be pulled for guard duty. At that time, I am going to bring you in to meet Sir Ragnbjorn. I want him, at least, to know that you are my agent. We will also discuss the contents of the journal I took last night with the prince. Aramek may be brought in at some point as well, but he is not yet to be privy to our arrangement.

“Now hurry, get back to the dining hall before you are missed, and make sure to answer Captain Bodwyn’s call for volunteers.”

“Thanks, and I look forward to meeting Fingol’s father. Till later my Lady,” Rain says as she bows very slightly then makes her way back.

Moonday Supper, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moonday early evening, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

When Rain comes into the barracks Aramek awakens instantly. Although his few hours of sleep should have left him tired, the excitement of what he wants to share with Rain pumps adrenalin through his now alert system. “Rain,” Aramek begins, “I can’t keep all this in. I’ve got to tell you what happened this morning when Sir Fingol and Father Gar showed up,” at which point Aramek recounts the events of the morning as best he can remember them. “What do you make of all that?” he asks.

Rain listens to Aramek’s accounting of the morning’s events. At the mention of Sir Jankin, she listens even more intently, wanting to glean any information about the nature of this man. She still has unfinished business there. She listens without interruption and in the end smiles and remarks, “You have had a rather busy morning, Aramek. No wonder you were tired. Well I can tell you one thing; that Cudgel bastard sure lives up to the Cuthbert’s reputation. All fly-off-the-handle action without real thought. If those guys took even the briefest of moments to think about what they were doing here then they would be in true danger of realizing the evil of their actions – and well, they can’t have that. Anyways, sounds like this Jankin may be a good guy though. I have heard his name before, and in a favorable light.

“As for the whole event, what do I think?” Rain laughs slightly and continues, “I think your master is right in that confronting the locksmith that way was an affront to whatever Thieves Guild remains in this city. But I doubt they were involved in the robbery. You and I both know what the true targets of the break-in were. I have no proof of course, but based on the overreaction of your Brother Burne, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the Cuthbert’s were in on it. Who knows though, I think the thing we should be focusing on is the safety of Parwyn and his family. Not just from a return visit by the thief, which I really doubt will happen, but from any repercussions by the Thieves Guild. Let’s just lay low for a few days, keep Parwyn’s family safe, and quietly see what we can find out about Reece and his friend, quietly.” She produces a wan smile to accent this last word.

Then the bell for supper rings calling all to the palace halls for the evening supper.

And with the ringing of the supper bell, Aramek looks at Rain. With a pensive demeanor he says, “I guess I really am a naïf. I would never have suspected the Cuthbert’s, but now you mention it, he really was quick to throw blame on the locksmith. I wonder…”

On the way to supper, Rain’s mind again travels back to the time before the Keolanders arrived, when the orcs and goblinoids of the Scarlet Brotherhood still ruled the streets of Westkeep. She and Dion had just grabbed fruit from a Suloise merchant’s stall and were running deeper into the maze of the Downriver alleys, the clank of hobgoblin armor and hobgoblin cries uncomfortably close behind them. Overhead they could hear the titters and giggles of goblins in some of the overhead windows, for many of the tenements in the Downriver section of town had been given over to them. The goblins were shouting encouragement and perhaps even directions in the Goblin tongue to their larger goblinoid brethren.

Though it was a sunny summer mid-afternoon, the second and third stories of the Downriver tenements crowded over the narrow alleys effectively blocking out most of the sunlight. Rain and Dion kept to the shadows as best they could, but of course the goblinoids were creatures of darkness that could easily see into the most impenetrable gloom. Fortunately for Rain and Dion, the Keepers crowding the streets made way for the two ragged urchins, but closed up again for the hobgoblin watch, risking the butt and sometimes even the points of their spears in their small show of noncooperation with the occupiers.

Rain and Dion move back into the shadows of an alley and rest against the recess of a doorway to catch their breath. Cyrus, Dion’s mischievous little monkey, clambers up onto his shoulder. At any moment they knew the hobgoblins might succeed in closing in on them if they don’t get off the streets, especially if they are spied by a goblin overhead.

“Looks like Norebo’s turned his face from us, Rain,” says Dion. “This might be the last throw of the die.”

Suddenly the door behind them swings open, and before they can even turn to see who is there, burly hands reach out and pull them by their collars into the darkness beyond.

The door slams on the pitch black room and a heavy bar can be heard sliding into place. Rain and Dion are both slammed into a wall face first by what seems, in the blackness, to be an ogre. Cyrus screeches and a man yowls, “Ahh! That mother-fucking little beast bit me!”

Another voice laughs, “I told you to be careful. You two, don’t move and keep quiet and you’ll be safe.”

A cover is taken away off an everburning torch, and Rain and Dion see that they are in a bare room with no windows, and only one other door apart from the barred one leading into the alley. There are two men in the room with them, a large brutish looking dark eyed man with lanky brown hair, and a scruffy pasty faced man with long blond hair and strikingly violet eyes about a half foot taller than Rain.

“Follow me if you want to live,” says the scruffy man with violet eyes. He leads them through the other door with the everburning torch in hand.

“Come on Cyrus,” says, Dion. Cyrus leaps back onto Dion’s shoulder from the corner where he had scampered to make a last stand. Cyrus’ hackles are still raised and he continues to bare his sharp little teeth.

The other room seems to have been some kind of shop, but now the windows have been boarded up and there is nothing left but the detritus of a ruined life and livelihood remaining. The brute is sucking on his bitten hand and glaring at Cyrus, in his eyes are murder and mayhem. The scruffy man checks through cracks in the window, and satisfied he comes back to the others.

“You going to be okay there Clive?” asks the scruffy man. The brute seems about to say something, but then just nods sullenly. “Alright then,” says the scruffy man who turns his attention back to Rain and Dion. “I’m Fergus, of late a journeyman in the Locksmiths Guild. My careless associate there is Clive. It looked like you got yourselves into a bit of a scrape, thought I’d help you two kids out. What are your names then?”

Dion gulps, “Uh, I’m Dion good sir, this is Cyrus.” Dion looks over to Clive and says with a trembling voice, “Sorry you got bit, you just startled him is all. He’ll behave, I promise.”

Rain’s mind searches for quick answers Locksmiths Guild? Oh crap these guys are the… She breaks off her thoughts to answer. Looking Fergus in the eyes she says, “I’m Rain… and um… thanks.”

Fergus grins at them, and says, “I like you two.” He turns to Clive, “Don’t you like them?” Clive nods with a twitchy smile. Fergus turns back to Rain and Dion. “Now, we locksmiths have kind of a reputation as I’m sure you know, or maybe you don’t since the Red Robes smoked us out a while back. Some call us a bunch of rogues, but others have called us the Thieves Guild. Now, not to be melodramatic…ah hell! Of course I want to be melodramatic!” He pauses and then says with a growl, “The Thieves Guild is back, and we are back with a vengeance!”

He cracks his knuckles and gives the two young urchins an appraising look, and then he says, “Now how do you two figure in, you may be asking yourselves. Well, I’m a patriotic kind of guy you know, and the Hold of the Sea Princes is all about freedom. Ah, life, liberty, light, love, and all those good things. Of course, that’s providing you have the gumption and the wherewithal to take freedom and keep it! As for others, well, they have to look out for themselves, don’t they? ‘The slaves shall serve,’ as the great sage Alistor put it. But we are the freemen, and women if you like, of the Sea Princes. The Red Robes will soon learn what it means to fight against those who value freedom more than life! Why…” at this point Clive dares to interrupt with a small cough. Fergus looks over at him and Clive gives him a sheepish grin and nods in the direction of Rain and Dion.

“Oh, yes, well, I can be kind of preachy sometimes,” he says with a grin. “Now back to where you come in. Once we’ve reestablished ourselves in town, we’ll have plenty of openings for new apprentices. You two look like you have the gumption, if not necessarily the talent, to join up with us. So we’re prepared to offer you a probationary membership. You give us a small cut of your take, say 1/3 of what you bring in now in coin or goods, and in turn you’ll have our protection and more importantly advice on how to get what you want and get away with it. Show enough talent and initiative, we’ll see about making you proper locksmiths. If, on the other hand, you prefer to take your chances on your own – the door is right over there.” He indicates the barricaded door, outside of which they can hear the harsh commands of hobgoblin watch commanders and the tromping of hobgoblin jackboots as they pass by in their search for the two urchins. “What do you say?”

Rain pauses for a few seconds to think things over. Crap, guess we couldn’t avoid The Guild forever. Still, one third… Suddenly she stands a little taller and then replies, “One third of what – a few apples and some bread? Are you kidding?” 

Dion is aghast at Rain’s temerity, “Rain!”

Fergus responds with a guffaw. “Oh yes, I’m liking you more and more. Rain was it? You’re the leader of your little crew aren’t you? Don’t deny it, ‘cause I won’t deny that we’ve been watching you for awhile. Yes, you make a good point. We hardly need to stock up on overripe apples and moldy bread. Tell you what, our regular members pay us at least 5 gold a month and do occasional jobs for us. If you each pay us 5 silver a month, keep a lookout or provide a distraction on occasion, and help let us know what’s going on around town – especially if it involves the Red Robes – then I’ll consider that our share of your apples and bread. How’s that sound to you?”

Clive moved over to barricaded door to listen, “They better make a decision soon boss, ‘cause I think we’re going to need to head out – sounds like they’re coming back this way.”

Fergus looks over to Clive and nods and then fixes his intense violet gaze back on Rain, “Looks like time is running out on you. Are you in or out?”

The door begins to rattle as it is tested from the outside. Then hobgoblin halberds start chopping at it.

Rain smiles and keeps eye to eye contact with Fergus as she says, “Well Dion, looks like you and I have just entered into service with the Locksmiths. We’ll go over details later but for now, Clive,” she deliberately addresses Fergus’ underling, “I suggest you get us out of here.”

Fergus clears his throat. “I’ll decide when, how, and who will get out of here. I appreciate your sass, but now’s not the time for it. Now, as to accepting our protection for such a nominal fee, you’ve made a smart choice. Now, you two, grab my sleeve.” Fergus then replaces the cover on the everburning torch and the room is again plunged into blackness, though as their eyes adjust they can see shafts of light coming in through the door where the halberds are steadily taking it apart. Fergus leads them over to a wall and a soft click is heard. Then Rain and Dion stumble their way through some other rooms and down a long hallway.

“Clive, check it out,” Fergus says to his underling. Rain feels Clive’s great bulk squeezing past her and the others. Then she hears a bolt being slid back from somewhere up ahead and then slid back again.

“All clear boss,” says Clive.

“Good, we’ll go out first since they’re not looking for us. Wait a few minutes, and then feel for the spy hole. Put your eyes up to it and then slide the bolt for the eyehole back and look around. If it’s clear, slide the bolt back again. Then you can slide the bolt for the door and head out. Don’t come back here. It would be unwise for you to use our facilities unless you’re a full member, or under our instruction. We don’t look kindly upon intruders. We also change locations all the time, and you wouldn’t know if the old ones have been compromised or not. So stay away. Now, head over to the Murky Archer on Rum Road on the evening of the fourth Earthday of every month. That’s where you can find me to hand over our share of the harvest. Remember that’s 5 silver for each of your gang. Don’t hold back, or we won’t be able to protect you anymore. Now if we need you or your gang’s assistance with anything, I’ll tell you about it then. If I’m not there, ask the barkeep Drogo if I’ve been around. He’ll tell you when or where you can find me. You won’t be able to miss Drogo. He’s got a face only an orc could love, though he’s human himself as far as we know. All right then, let’s be off Clive. You two take care of yourselves. See you around.” Fergus and Clive then head out leaving Rain and Dion in the dark.

Rain comes out of her reverie as she and Aramek enter the palace and head to the dining halls, greatly relieved to have left that life behind her.