Moonday early evening, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

A servant directs Indranil to the chapel of Heironeous, the patron deity of Prince Prospero and a majority of the Keolanders in Westkeep. It is of blue veined white marble, with stain glass windows depicting Heironeous’ victories over his evil brother Hextor. They are set up so that the rising sun shines through them illuminating the room, though of course now they are darkened as the sun is setting. Rows of pews fill the center of the chapel. The back of each pew has slots that contain books. The altar area is on the west side of the chapel across from the entrance. Upon it is a very lifelike painted statue of Heironeous holding his longsword aloft and gazing to the heavens. Engraved on the wall behind the statue is a hand holding a silver lightning bolt. Votary candles are burning upon it and on various other tables and shelves. The smell of frankincense pervades the air. Next to the altar is a door leading to a vestry presumably. On either side of the entrance on the east side are booths with closed doors. Indranil hears the murmuring of people talking quietly from the booths to the left of the door as he steps into the chapel.

Inside the chapel, Indranil can see that inscribed on the marble walls, except the west wall, is the Code of Heironeous.

On the north wall is written, “Duty to the People: Always strive for courage, justice, mercy, valor, protection of the weak, and faithfulness to church superiors or officers of righteous law.”

On the east wall, above the entrance and the booths, is written, “Duty to the Arch-paladin: Always strive in obedience to Heironeous himself, devotion to the church, generosity, championing good against evil, putting the needs of the church and the faith above those of mortals.”

On the south wall is written, “Duty to a Lady: Always strive in the arts of courtly love, devotion to one’s beloved, and respect toward all women in general.”

Indranil pauses at the entrance of the chapel of Heironeous and touching his right fingertips to his forehead, lips and heart bows deeply. He then approaches the altar and lights a candle and incense offering a prayer to Heironeous for the hospitality and sanctuary of the palace, for safe passage of their scouting mission and for the continued good health of his travelling companions, family, and King.

As Indranil is praying, he hears the booths open behind him. It is a man and woman and the man is saying, “Go in peace my lady.” The woman, whose voice Indranil recognizes as Lady Sedara’s, responds, “My thanks, Paragon Muire. I feel like a newborn babe once again.” Then she leaves by the main entrance. The other, Paragon Muire, walks up the aisle between the pews to check on the altar. He fusses for a bit over the altar, spares a glance in Indranil’s direction to make sure that he is not waiting for him. Seeing that Indranil is praying alone in peace, he exits quietly through the vestry door.

A thought flashes into Indranil’s quiet still mind like a radiant silver rainbow trout breaking the surface of a mirror smooth lake, water sending rainbows of dazzling light sparkling across the water, I must follow her. Indranil quickly and smoothly gets up and follows after Lady Sedara. He respectfully approaches her and says, “Lady Sedara, may I walk with you to your destination?”

“Oh. Hello Indranil. I saw you in the chapel praying and didn’t want to disturb you. You may certainly walk with me for awhile. I was just heading to the great hall to make sure that all is in order for supper. So, are you a follower of Heironeous?”

Indranil replies, “No milady. I follow no single path. I consider all the deities that do good and lead to the light as worthy of my respect and worship. Perhaps my ranger nature applies to religion as well? I find exploring all the noble paths fulfilling and enlightening. Some say it is wanderlust, but I think it more a dance and exultation in the beauty and wonder of the universe.”

Lady Sedara nods at this and smiles warmly in understanding.

Indranil continues, “I think the deities are more concerned with their own matters than our worldly affairs, and it is dangerous to call their attention down upon oneself. We do so at our own peril.”

Lady Sedara says, “Oh, but Sir Indranil, that is not the case, at least not with Heironeous and the other goodly deities. They are very much concerned with our doings. Heironeous and his colleagues are very much waiting for us to invite them into our lives through prayer and contemplation, so that they can send us their power and assistance in times of trouble.” She touches the silver lightning bolt pendant she wears and continues, “I know, for I led, shall we say, a wilder life in my youth. But Heironeous saved me for something greater than I could have dreamed.”

Indranil continues, “I came to the Chapel of Heironeous this afternoon to express my gratitude for a safe journey on our recent scouting trip and to pray for the continued health and safety of the King, the Prince, and my fellow travelling companions: Ragnbjorn and Lorindel. It seemed the most appropriate choice of chapel in the city given that Heironeous is the Prince’s chosen deity. I also wanted to thank Heironeous and his priests for their gracious healing of my ghoul bite. I was anxious about it. It was a nasty bite and no telling what vile disease they might spread.”

“There is an example of what I was saying,” says Lady Sedara. “The gods have seen fit to give some of us their power to heal, to drive back the forces of darkness, and to make their power felt here in the mortal realm. Unfortunately, there are other darker gods who also have their agents here in what the sages call the Prime Material Plane of which our Oerth is but one of many worlds. The gods have agreements among themselves that prevents them from interfering directly here, though occasionally these agreements are stretched and subverted. But they do fight proxy wars among us and through us. Heironeous, at least, fights for our happiness and salvation, but others like Hextor only aim to spread their malice and misery. There are others, for instance Obad-Hai and his followers, who struggle to preserve what they call the Balance. For myself, I have chosen to fight for the higher realms because they have chosen to fight for me and for all that I love.”

Indranil is quiet for a bit, comfortable in their silence as they walk through the palace halls. After a few dozen paces he turns and looks at Lady Sedara, bows his head and says, “Lady Sedara, I am awed with your faith in Heironeous. There are times I wish I too had such faith in a god.”

“Perhaps in time,” says Lady Sedara.

Indranil muses, “I believe that we are all – even the gods – part of the One and subject to the natural laws and inherent powers within all life. We each choose our own destiny, to do good or do harm and to reap the harvest we sow from our own actions. While the gods are far stronger and more powerful than us they channel the same forces in their magic and healing as we do. You diminish yourself thinking it was Heironeous that saved you. I believe you saved yourself by your own choice and actions by choosing the Noble Path. You are one of the strongest, intelligent, and powerful humans I have ever met and I believe you would win a battle against most forces, natural and supernatural, internal and external.”

Lady Sedara laughs gently and says, “Well, I certainly hope that will not be put to the test anytime soon. I will grant that the gods save those who save themselves, but just as in our more worldly endeavors, sometimes the right cause to make is to know when to ask for and then accept assistance.” She smiles.

Indranil responds, “I am not quite as sanguine about the motives and intentions of the gods, even ones as noble and good as Heironeous. As you say, they do use us in their proxy wars from time to time. Certainly a noble one, such as Heironeous, is a worthy ally in the fight against evil. I welcome and even have been known to seek their aid in times of great battle against evil forces much the same as the King uses heavy cavalry to smash a line of pikemen or a fireball to blast through a battlement.

“I pay my respects to the gods and seek to live harmoniously with all beings that chose the light. But ultimately I feel I can only rely on myself for salvation and enlightenment – I was born alone and will walk through the final door alone. ’To thine own self be true,’ a wise person once said. I believe we must hold faith in ourselves first and foremost and be responsible to ourselves to do good. That is what makes us strong and allows us to evolve and ultimately live free from the shackles of others who seek to enslave us, if not in body then in mind and idea.

“Lady Sedara, please forgive my forwardness and candor. I hope I have not offended you and that you do not despise me for such views. I am startled I have spoken so freely to you. I know not why, but I felt compelled to walk and talk with you in frank conversation. I fear my social defenses were lowered after the warm bath, gentle massage and time of meditation.”

Indranil pauses in his walk, bows and makes to back away fearing he has said too much.

Lady Sedara smiles at Indranil warmly and says, “Just a moment, please. I am not at all offended. My but you rangers are certainly a high-minded sort. I don’t suppose you have met Ragnbjorn’s son, Fingol, yet? He holds us all to a higher standard than even the gods I think; or perhaps he is, unbeknownst to himself, a messenger of the gods reminding us that we have become too complacent. Who knows?” She shrugs.

“I will say this, Sir Indranil. Others may not agree with me, but I think in part you are right. The gods rule over many domains, the forces of life, love, growth, death, honor, justice, sickness, and healing. There have, however, been those who have proven able to tap into these forces directly, even some priests have chosen to do so – drawing upon the divine power through their own intuitive connection with all that is, but it is a harder path. The gods make things easier for us, for they are mighty patrons, living personifications of our ideals or at times our naked ambitions and even rawest fears, and it is undeniable, at least in this world, that they make their power felt through the power they lend us and occasionally through actual manifestations of their servants the angels of the higher realms and the devils and demons of the lower. Ponder this, in the meantime I must take my leave dear Indranil and see to the preparations in the great hall.”

Indranil says to Lady Sedara, “May Heironeous watch over you in good health and fortune Lady.” He then bows deeply to Lady Sedara and holds it while she walks away. Indranil then makes his way back to his rooms to meet up with Lorindel and Ragnbjorn for dinner.

Moonday afternoon, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

That afternoon Rain sticks to the barracks, intending to stay there until her shift later that evening, playing the flute and just hanging out with anybody else there. After a little bit Vaskez and Hex, both suited up in their leather armor and carrying their weapons invite Rain to join them on the parade grounds for some weapons practice.

There are other warriors out there from some of the other squads, and the wooden weapons are also on a rack available to any who choose to use them. Clerics of Heironeous and St. Cuthbert are also on call. Over on the far side of the parade-ground some of the knights are jousting and practicing their swordsmanship.

“I’d like to take you on,” Vaskez says to Rain. “See if your tricks will work on me.” Vaskez crosses to the other side of the practice-ring, laid out with stone markers and readies herself, shortsword in her right hand and a dagger in her left.

To Vaskez’s invitation, Rain says, “Sure” in a friendly manner. Rain grabs a wooden and padded practice shortsword for her left hand, a practice dagger for her right hand, and a second practice dagger to put in her belt. Since Vaskez is attempting to defend against what seems to have become Rain’s signature move, Rain chooses not to alter it. Even though she believes herself ready for it, Vaskez is still not prepared when Rain moves in on her and hurls her dagger from just a few paces away. Like the others before her, Vaskez finds herself flat on the ground in a daze.

Once Vaskez is attended to, Hex demands to give it a try. He fares no differently. In fact he is knocked out cold and a cleric has to be called for.

To their credit, both are ready to continue. But this time they ask Rain to show them her tricks so they can emulate her. After awhile they believe they are getting the hang of it and so wish to try it out on each other. Hex and Vaskez enter the ring. Vaskez is soon the winner, as she gets her throw in just a fraction of a second quicker than Hex, and once again Hex is sprawled senseless in the ring.

“I think I’ve had enough,” says Hex when he has recovered. I’ll try that throw a few more times against the practice dummies, and then I’ll try it against you two. Thanks Rain.”

“Yes, we really appreciate it,” adds Vaskez.

Rain responds, “Any time, I am glad you found that helpful.”

After a few minutes of idle chatter while they take a break from their exertions, Vaskez looks over at Rain and asks, “Say, I hope you don’t mind me asking something a bit personal, but is there anything going on between you and Aramek, or are you just friends?”  

Rain responds casually, “No, I have nothing going on with Aramek, nor with Snoop for that matter.” They laugh and Rain smiles briefly at her own jest and then continues, “Aramek is a good man, a definite asset to our squad, it is unfortunate that most of us have let our fears and pre-judgment of him and his craft get in the way of getting to know him for who he is.”

Vaskez says, “Well I have nothing against him. I’m from the Flan tribes, and we respect those born with the touch of the arcane and those who actually go out to study it, but we are not especially afraid of them like some are,” she glances at Hex with a teasing smile. “Our own druids can be quite fierce when need be. Father Gar, for instance, is not a druid, but a priest of Obad-Hai all the same. He is one to be wary of. They are not evil, and some are actually very good-hearted, but above all they serve the Balance and not any mere human interest.”

Hex, breaks in to say, “Look, I’m not afraid of Aramek, Vaskez. How can anyone be afraid of Aramek?” he scoffs but then looks up at Rain and quickly says, “Sorry, no disrespect to your friend, but frankly he’s not exactly the fierce world destroying mage of the old tales. Magic and sorcery were what destroyed the ancient empires of the Suloise and the Baklunish, and from what I’ve heard it has destroyed the Great Kingdom as well in more insidious ways. That’s why Keoland forbade the practice of arcane magic for so long, except for a few noble houses and the Silent Ones in their Lonely Tower outside Niole Dra. But Aramek? Meeting him makes me wonder what we were so afraid of, unless there is more to him than we’ve seen.”

Rain responds to their comments, “Heh, Gar… well he freaks me out too, but not ’cause of any abilities or non-human affiliations. And the thing to remember about those ‘world-destroying’ mages you mention, Hex, is that they once were feeble neophyte spell-slingers too – all of them. The trick, for people like us, is to befriend them early on. Then, when they have the power to melt you with their pinkies, you at least have a chance of counting on friendship to save you.” She produces a big evil smile to punctuate her attempt at intimidation.

Hex stares at Rain, trying to work out if she is just joking or proposing a serious long range scheme. “Uh, yeah, that’s not very comforting Rain. But maybe we should buy Aramek a beer sometime.” He looks at Vaskez.

Vaskez vigorously nods her agreement. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan. And here, Rain, I thought your tricks were limited to knife-fighting.” 

Rain smiles slightly at Vaskez’s comment. Rain is very pleased with herself for boosting Aramek’s rep a bit.  Knowing these two I’ll bet this new view of him will spread to the rest of the squad in just a few days. Maybe now he will get some of the respect he deserves.

Hex and Vaskez don’t seem inclined to talk about Aramek anymore, so Rain says to them, “I’m gonna get in some bow practice if you two want to join me.”

“Sounds good,” says Hex, so he and Vaskez follow Rain over to the target range.

Just before Rain and her companions can begin shooting at the targets, Rain spies Aramek hurrying towards them across the parade grounds. He seems anxious. When he gets to the firing range Aramek greets everyone and to his mild surprise, Hex and Vaskez greet him warmly in return. They seem better disposed towards the young half-elf sorcerer than they ever had been previously.

Rain smiles briefly at Aramek’s look of mild surprise at Hex and Vaskez’s warm greeting then offers her own, seemingly ignoring his harried state with a friendly mocking of his arrival late in the day. “Good Morning Aramek.”

Aramek then pulls Rain aside and softly says, “I’m really exhausted but I wanted to let you know that I want to tell you what happened this morning at Master Parwyn’s shop. But I’ve got to lie down for a bit before I fall asleep standing up. I’m going over to the barracks and find a spare bunk. But let’s definitely talk later. OK?”

“Sure, I’ll come and wake you up before dinner. We can talk on the way over to mess.”

Moonday afternoon, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

Ragnbjorn and the Marinus brothers arrived at Westkeep shortly after noon. They could smell Westkeep long before seeing the levee-docks of the warehouse district. The next thing after the god-awful smell was the raucous cacophony of noise – at first a murmur at the edge of hearing then building to a loud buzzing like being inside a mill. Turning the final bend of the meandering river the levee-docks of the warehouse district came into view.

A dozen small riverboats are docked and in various stages of loading and unloading. Stevedores swarm everywhere, carrying cargo up and down the ramps leading from the levee-docks down to the warehouse lined thoroughfare called the Riverway or else loading or unloading larger crates onto large wooden cranes. Shouting and whip cracking rises above the noise as masters and supervisors drive the predominantly Olman workers to new levels of toil to speed up the work.

Indranil shakes his head in sympathy for the workers and their lot in life. They would spend a long day from before sunup to beyond sun down toiling on the docks and receive only a few coppers, enough to buy their daily bread and find a dry corner to sleep in that night. Beyond the day they had no hope for tomorrow. It is no wonder that Westkeep is such a cesspool, he thinks to himself.

They tie up against an old rickety staircase in the middle of the central wharf. Then carry the canoe down the ramp and elbow their way across the Riverway through the masses; receiving a few looks: respectful salutes from fellow Keolanders, but many looks from the Keepers clearly wishing them ill will. They approach a large wooden warehouse with lots of activity in front of it and many people and wagons going to and fro from its cavernous large double doors. They bypass the doors and continue around to the side of the warehouse.

Ragnbjorn gestures for Indranil to go ahead. Indranil knocks loudly with the palm of his canoe paddle. They wait a few minutes and then knock again. And again wait and knock. Then from within they hear a loud, “If you beggars keep bothering me I will have the lot of you thrown in the river as crocodile food.” A small spy hole opens and an eye looks out at them and exclaims, “The Lady Herself! Ragnbjorn! Indranil and Lorindel too! Bless me it’s been a long time!” Then they hear the sound of bars, latches, chains and locks being thrown and opened and the door, though it appears old and rusted, swings up soundlessly. Standing there filling the entire doorway is a giant barrel-chested, bearded man, with one wooden leg in a worn leather apron. The only thing competing with his chest size is the girth of his enormous belly. 

Vaughn was a former ranger himself but lost his leg during the battle for Westkeep and was forced to retire from the rangers. Losing his services was a sore loss to the King but in gratitude and seeing a possible benefit from Vaughn’s continued services the King set him up as the proprietor of this customs house and the drayage firm that operates there. In fact Vaughn’s ranger skills were eclipsed by his mercantile skills and his customs house grew to be the second largest in Westkeep. Indranil loved Vaughn and considered him an uncle. Vaughn was a close friend of his family on his mother’s-side and was a major reason Indranil had chosen to become a ranger.

Indranil smiles as he looks upon Vaughn of Gorham. Indranil says, “Ah Vaughn, ‘tis good to see you. I see that being a merchant and living in the city agrees with you if we are to believe the size of your belly!”

Vaughn hugs each one of them in turn and replies, “Indranil you scoundrel! Always with an easy joke you are! It is good to see you all. We have much to catch up on, but I am sure you are about the King’s business and in a hurry as usual. Let’s stow your gear and get you on your way. Perhaps tonight we can meet at Ragallach’s and talk story over a pint or three!”

Vaughn keeps a locked room in the back of the warehouse for the rangers to secure their gear and equipment while staying in Westkeep. Here the rangers leave their things before heading out to report to the Prince. They stow the canoe upside down to dry out in a rack made for it and each stow their extra gear inside cubbyholes. The companions then agree, with more hugs, hearty slaps and promises, to meet later when they can and then they leave to report to the Prince.

As they head past the market on the way to the keep, Indranil says to Ragnbjorn and Lorindel, “Wait a moment.” Indranil runs over to a grilled meat cart and buys three meat sticks, which he has to bargain down to twice what they would go for in Keoland, one gold Keoland eagle altogether. Running back he hands one to each of his companions. “Yum! I do miss the squab-on-a-stick.”

After arriving at the keep, Ragnbjorn and the brothers make their way to the palace to report to Sir Bodwyn who takes them to the barracks to refresh themselves and put on clean garments and lay aside their weapons, except of course their daggers. In all this, the brothers take their cues from Ragnbjorn, for they had not yet had occasion to enter the palace or meet any of the court, let alone the Prince-Governor. On their brief sojourns in Westkeep before this, they stayed in the barracks and only stayed long enough to get supplies and return to the marshes.

“Please wait here,” says Sir Bodwyn. The Prince will see you in a moment. As they stand off to the side, they see that Prince Prospero is engaged in a discussion with a heavyset man in blue robes with silver trim. He has graying dark blond hair and careworn blue eyes. Ragnbjorn whispers to the brothers that the man speaking to the prince is the Paragon Muire, the high priest of Heironeous.

“Your Highness, all is almost in readiness. The paladins have cleared the goblins out of the dormitories. The paladins are ready to clear the streets around the chapel. The clerics will go in swiftly into the chapel with spells of calming and get their leaders to agree to move their people into the dormitories, where they will be cared for until they can be settled more permanently on land outside the city. We are ready to move on your command. Once the temple has been repaired and re-consecrated we will be ready to begin. The clerics have brewed many potions that can cure the diseases that have been ravaging Westkeep, and I have also crafted this,” Paragon Muire then flourishes an oaken wand before the prince, carved in an intricate interlacing pattern. “This wand will remove the Red Ache and the Filth Fever from the multitudes. I believe that this time we will have enough divine healing power to prevent another general outbreak of plague and sickness.”

Prince Prospero considers this for a moment, “I certainly hope that this time things go as planned. Now you know the desperation and lack of scruples of the people of this town. You must use divine magic to keep them calm. You must have enough paladins on hand to provide adequate security. You must not let them think that anyone will go uncared for. You are, I assume, still going to use the triage system?”

“Of course, Your Highness. But this time we will use lesser spells to delay the course of the sicknesses, and to comfort those we may not be able to heal immediately. We will also look to convert and recruit among the local populace so that they too may become healers in time. They will come to know the mercy and justice of Heironeous.”

“Thank you, Paragon Muire. Have the paladins and clerics assemble in the courtyard at noon. Then go and reclaim the temple, for Heironeous, for Keoland, and for the healing of the people of Westkeep.”

“As you command, Your Highness.” Paragon Muire bows, and then hurries away.

A red haired woman then whispers in the prince’s ear and he looks over to Ragnbjorn and the brothers. “Ah, Ragnbjorn! You have arrived. I am so glad to see you cousin.”

“Your Highness, it is good to see you again. As ever, I am at your service. Please allow me to introduce to you my companions, Sir Indranil and Sir Lorindel. Sir Indranil is a member of the King’s Rangers, and Sir Lorindel is one of the King’s Scouts. They have been helping me survey the Hool Marshes now that they are a protectorate of Keoland.”

“Thank you for coming so quickly gentlemen. Was your journey a safe one?”

“Not so much, Your Highness. But it might be best to talk about it later,” Ragnbjorn says, eyeing the courtiers.

“I see,” says the prince solemnly. “It seems you have a tale to tell. I will be eager to hear it. Perhaps in my solar after I am done here,” says the prince referring to his private chambers. “Are any of you injured? Are you in need of healing?”

“Just a few scrapes and bites from, well,” Ragnbjorn again glances in the direction of the courtiers, “the critters that live out there. All the same, I would appreciate it if one of your priests could attend to us.”

“It shall be done. Now, Sir Ragnbjorn, I have news for you that will be related to our business but you should be aware of it now. Hopefully it will be a pleasant surprise. Your son, Sir Fingol, is here at the palace. He came in just a couple of days ago to report his discoveries in the marsh. It was that report which caused me to have you called in. But as I said, we will speak of that business later. I just wanted you to know that he is well and currently my guest.”

Ragnbjorn looks pleased and indeed surprised to hear this. “I must say, I am glad to hear this Your Highness. I look forward to seeing him. I must say: I have to wonder what could have brought him out of the wild. Maybe his travels were as eventful as ours have been.”

“Well, I am sure that if you don’t run into him in the halls or grounds, that you’ll see him at supper tonight.” The prince then turns to the red haired woman at his side, “Lady Sedara, please take these gentlemen to see Paragon Muire. I am sure he can spend a few moments attending to them. And then please see that they are given rooms in the guest wing and that their things are brought over from the barracks. Then bring them up to the solar.” Lady Sedara then leads Ragnbjorn and the brothers out of the hall to find Paragon Muire.

They find Paragon Muire in his offices near the palace chapel. He is busy conferring with his underlings, the lesser clerics of Heironeous who came from Keoland. It only takes a moment for one of his subordinates to brandish the silver lightning bolt of Heironeous and utter a simple invocation to detect the presence of any disease in either Ragnbjorn or Indranil. Fortunately, Ragnbjorn’s poultices seem to have worked, as they are both given a clean bill of health.

When that is accomplished, Ragnbjorn proceeds to tell Paragon Muire about the encounter with the things in the swamp. He then reaches into his pack and pulls out the sack with the head he had collected. He deposits it on the table and swiftly unties it to roll out the gruesome trophy.

“How charming,” utters the high priest of Heironeous, but his tone is far from pleased. He sucks in his breath and says, “OK, please put it away now. Give it to him,” he indicates one of the novices standing nearby. “Take that out and see that it is burned and the proper rites said.” The novice also looks far from pleased, but hurriedly does as he is told.

“Yes, well, that is what the sages have classified as a ghoul. They are a moderately powerful form of undead: corpses infused and animated by spiritual forces from the Negative Energy Plane. Ah here,” he reaches behind him for a tome from his library, The Manual of the Planes. He flips through the pages and reads:

It is the blackest night.

It is the heart of darkness.

It is the hunger that devours souls.

Continuing with the reading he says, “The Negative Energy Plane is a barren empty place, a void without end, and a place of empty, endless night. Worse, it is a needy, greedy plane, sucking the life out of anything that is vulnerable. Heat, fire, and life itself are all drawn into the maw of this plane, which hungers for more.” He shudders and places the book back on the shelf.

“Necromancers can draw upon the energy of this plane to deliberately create undead. Other times, the power of evil over a place or the mark of evil on a soul is so strong that corpses rise of themselves. Ghouls are said to be the risen remains of those who indulged in cannibalism in life, or those who were so wicked and debauched that they found a way to continue their foul depredations even beyond the grave. No one is really sure, but certainly the Amedi warriors are known for their cannibalism, and the people of this town were evil enough even before the Scarlet Brotherhood came here. I am afraid I am not surprised that the site of such an atrocity in this place would have become a breeding ground, so to speak, for ghouls. I am glad that you encountered no worse there and that you came through unscathed. As you may have heard, we are a little overworked at the moment just trying to deal with this town. But certainly an expedition to clean that site up will have to be mounted in the near future.”

After that meeting, Lady Sedara, who did not flinch at either the sight of the ghoul’s head or Paragon Muire’s ominous recital, leads Ragnbjorn and the brothers to their rooms and sends servants to fetch their things from the barracks. “I’ll let you settle in and come back for you in an hour to take you to see the prince in his chambers where you can speak privately.”

Indranil quickly and subtly sweeps the room with his senses – assessing points of entry and egress, points of concealment where a hidden threat might be as well as planning how best to defend the room should it be attacked. This analysis was taught to all rangers from the very beginning of their intensive ranger training. Besides the heavy wooden door, the only other possible entrance would be the window. The window, however, was only four feet high and one foot wide, set in a recess in the wall furnished with a seat. An oiled sheepskin covered it, but that could be rolled up. On the other side was a sturdy iron grill set in the masonry. Satisfied the room presented no immediate threat he relaxed a bit from the state of high alert he had been in since entering Westkeep.

After Lady Sedara leaves, Lorindel gives his brother a quizzical glance, “What do you make of all that? And what of Lady Sedara? Some fortitude that one’s got – not so much as a wince at the sight of Ragnbjorn’s trophy.”

Indranil walks over to claim the bed farthest from the door and window, the one where he would have the most warning should a threat appear. As the older brother and more experienced ranger he has no qualms about claiming the prime bed. He sets his things under it and sits down upon its foot facing the door and looks at Lorindel saying, “Indeed brother, a formidable leader and warrior, and beautiful as well. The prince chooses his confidants and key advisors well it seems. We are in good company.”

Ragnbjorn comes in after inspecting his own room across the hall and asks, “So how are you boys getting on? Better than the barracks isn’t it?” He flicks the silver washbasin on the side-table with his finger and sets it ringing.

Indranil says to his companions, “I am relieved to have a quiet moment with just the three of us to pause and gather ourselves. Being in the Prince’s Court was quite an eye-opening experience for me. Methinks being in the depths of the Hool Marshes was not as dangerous as navigating the nuances of the court! At least I know who my enemies are in the marshes. I would wonder that many of those courtiers would as soon as stick a knife in your back as smile at you given a chance to profit.”

“Ahh, they are goodly folk for the most part,” says Ragnbjorn. “More than a bit in over their heads perhaps, but they are doing what they can. The gods of Keoland, like Heironeous, will not tolerate the kinds of things that go on in other courts throughout the Flanaess. Even still, ignorance, ambition, hardheadedness, and personal squabbles can sometimes cause as much harm as malice, or lead to malice. And Scarlet Brotherhood agents could be anywhere ready to exploit any weakness and sow seeds of dissension, so you are right to be careful.”

Indranil turns to Ragnbjorn and says, “Milord, thank you again for your healing prowess. I am most relieved the priest gave us a clean bill of health and found no signs of infection from the ghoul bite. I must confess it has been weighing on my mind since the attack.”

Ragnbjorn nods gravely and says, “Think nothing of it. What kind of ranger would I be if I couldn’t keep us safe and well? I still feel bad about leading us all into that ambush. Let’s just thank the gods we got here in one piece.”

Indranil then says, “I crave a hot meal, a bath, and a chance to sleep!”

“We’ll get all that before long. After we meet with the prince in his solar I’m sure they can find a tub and some hot water for us all. And supper is not too far away. Maybe then we’ll find Fingol and I can introduce you to him. Truly he’s a fine lad, just a little shy and wet behind the ears. Like you two,” he grins.

As promised, servants come with their gear and stow it away for them. Then Lady Sedara returns and takes them all to the prince’s solar. The Prince bids them to make themselves comfortable. After a moment, Lady Sedara excuses herself and leaves.

“Again, I thank you for coming so quickly, cousin Ragnbjorn. And I am pleased to meet such noble companions as you two brothers, cousin Indranil and cousin Lorindel,” again the Prince addresses them by the common term of affection and courtesy used by the Keoland nobility among each other.

After other pleasantries have been exchanged the Prince turns to the business he summoned them for. “I had Paragon Muire, the high priest of Heironeous stationed here at Westkeep,” he explains for the brothers’ benefit, “call to you with a sending because I have a bit of a problem that I believe you are uniquely qualified to help me with. The day before yesterday, Ragnbjorn, your son Fingol came here to warn us that the lizardfolk were becoming restive, even overtly hostile. We have for some time been hearing from the fishermen, crabbers, and shrimpers that the lizardfolk have been cutting their nets, destroying their traps, and even casting spears at them to drive them out of the bayous. So Fingol’s news was just confirmation of what we have feared for some time: that the lizardfolk may be on the verge of outright hostilities. But Fingol wasn’t the only messenger from the wilds. A Flan priest by the name of Gar Dragonsbreath came to us as an emissary from the Great Druidess of the Dreadwood. He came bearing a message from her warning that she foresaw a great flood engulfing Westkeep. This flood would in fact engulf the world, and furthermore it would carry the taint of undeath. Gar told us that this flood might well be triggered by our conflict with the lizardfolk, and that it was the fishermen and others who were destroying spawning grounds and fouling the waterways of the lizardfolk with their nets that was destroying the Balance or harmony of nature. This is what would precipitate the disaster. Now of course, I cannot tell the fishermen, crabbers, and shrimpers to stop gathering the food we need to survive. As you well know, our supplies are low as it is. Because of the blockade by the Scarlet Brotherhood and their allies, the Lordship of the Isles, supplies can’t be shipped to us up the River Javan. No caravan has come from Keoland proper in some months. In fact, isn’t that your current mission, to survey the Hool Marshes so that a more suitable trail can be found through them? Anyway, it became apparent to me, and to the cooler and wiser heads in my court, that we have to build a just and sustainable peace with the lizardfolk that will still allow us to gather the fish, crabs, shrimp and other food that we need. Now to that end I am putting together a team, and you, Ragnbjorn, are a key part of that team. I have appointed Fingol and Gar to be intermediaries with the lizardfolk.”

At this declaration Ragnbjorn is briefly overcome by several conflicting emotions that play across his face: surprise, pride in his son, puzzlement that his son was chosen for such a mission, and then concern. “Fingol? Your pardon Highness, but did I hear you correctly? Did you say Fingol? He’s no diplomat. In fact, well… I’m just a little surprised and puzzled. He doesn’t even speak Draconian.”

The prince laughs gently at this. “No he does not. But you do. In fact you not only speak Draconian but I believe you are on speaking terms with the lizardfolk chieftain are you not?”

“Well, yes. I am acquainted with the leader of the Malarat tribe. His name is Rhodophylax in High Draconic, or Rahk in their dialect. I wouldn’t say Chief Rahk and I are friends exactly, but there is mutual respect and he did permit me to stay with them for a time and learn their language and ways if I would teach him the Common tongue and the ways of humans.”

“Well there it is then. You are the perfect guide and translator. I would prefer you stay out of the negotiations yourself, as I wouldn’t want whatever trust you have built up with the lizardfolk to be compromised. Certainly advise them privately. I have a feeling about Fingol though. I think he will do his best to find a just resolution. I also trust Gar. His interest in maintaining the Balance for the Great Druidess and his god Obad-Hai is undoubtedly sincere. He will have the respect of our own people, the fishermen, and the lizardfolk.

“Now I am also sending representatives from the Fishmonger’s Guild and aldermen to represent the fishermen. They will be a problem. I believe they have been overfishing as Gar claims, and furthermore I believe they have been provoking the lizardfolk. They would love nothing else than to see us Keolanders and the lizardfolk finish each other off so that they can come in and take the spoils. And yet, we cannot ignore their needs, because their needs are our own. We do need to eat, just as much if not more than we need to preserve the peace. We certainly don’t have enough troops here to maintain the peace within Westkeep, fend off the Scarlet Brotherhood, and fight a war with the lizardfolk. So the stakes are quite high.

“Oh, and lastly I am going to be sending one of Sir Gorman’s squads to accompany you as a security detail. You will, of course, be traveling under the flag of Rao, the god of peace. Hopefully that will be recognized and respected by even the lizardfolk.

“Now my staff is still putting some things together. My counselors are speaking with the Guild representative and the aldermen. I must say that they have not been entirely pleased that we plan to negotiate instead of just exterminating the lizardfolk as they have been asking. They are also not happy about being sent into the marshes. Also, my counselors have been getting supplies ready and loading them aboard the keelboat that we have reserved for this mission. I’ll have someone take you down to the docks to look at it tomorrow and inspect the supplies and meet the crew. Then you can tell me if there is anything else you’ll require. Fingol and Gar are ready to go and the other representatives and the squad of men-at-arms should be ready to go the day after tomorrow at the latest.

“So do you have any questions?”

Ragnbjorn thinks for a moment and then shakes his head. “Your Highness, I am honored to have been chosen for this. I am doubly honored that you have chosen my son to be one of the negotiators. We will do all we can to show that your faith in us is well founded. I’ll look over the boat and supplies tomorrow. I’d like to meet that squad as well. Then I’ll have a better idea of where things stand.”

“That will be arranged,” says the prince. “I’ll have someone meet you to take you there after dinner in the morning.”

“Now,” says the Prince turning his attention to Indranil and Lorindel, “is there anything you would like to ask?”

Indranil looks towards the Prince and goes to one knee saying, “My Prince, I seek to serve you as you see most fit. If you have no other mission for me at this time, I beg you to let me remain with Ragnbjorn and be part of his party to aid Fingol’s mission.”

“Certainly, you both shall be included in this mission,” the Prince says. He then looks to Ragnborn again with a wry grin and says, “Now, tell me about these “critters” that attacked you?”

Ragnbjorn frowns, “Now there is a grim story Your Highness. I consulted with Paragon Muire, and he told me that what we ran into were ghouls. They are undead eaters of flesh. We were attacked by five of them altogether not even a day’s journey away from here. Two attacked our camp last night at first. Then we trailed them back to where they came from and got ambushed by three more. That was my fault. We walked right into them in an oak grove. Thanks to the courage and skill of these two we got out with just a bite and some scratches. Well, to be specific, he” pointing to Indranil, “got bit and I got scratched. Thankfully we were both given a clean bill of health by the clerics. Anyway, once we dispatched those things, we found a mass grave on the other side of the oak grave. That is where they came from. Apparently all those people who the townsfolk say disappeared during the occupation of the Scarlet Brotherhood were taken and executed there. I propose that we lead some clerics and paladins back there and put those poor souls to rest, destroy any more of those filthy ghouls, if there are any more, and consecrate the grounds.”

The Prince nods, “Yes, you are right. That will be done. But we have some other urgent matters to take care of here in Westkeep first. You can lead another mission there when you have finished helping to broker a peace with the lizardfolk. I think you should come by again tonight, after supper, so we can talk about the other matters. I’ll send Sir Bodwyn to get you. These young men need not concern themselves about these other problems for now; and perhaps they would prefer baths and some well earned rest. Thank you for telling me about what happened. I assure you all will be taken care of in time. So for now, please rest for awhile and enjoy supper in the great hall.”

To the prince’s offer, Lorindel gives a sweeping bow. As he rises, he says, “Your hospitality is most appreciated. Some warm food and a hot bath sound divine.” As the court and castle puts him out of his element, Lorindel does his best to sound regal, but mostly comes off sounding aloof.

Once the meeting with the prince is over, a page escorts them back to their rooms. He tells them that he’ll send someone for them when the baths are ready.

Indranil closes the door to their room and lies down upon the bed with his feet crossed and arms behind his head and lets out a great sigh saying, “Ah that feels wonderful! Finally we have a moment of peace and quiet.”

“Indranil, all these worldly comforts, yet I cannot feel at ease,” Lorindel states as he paces in their quarters. ”I know my place,” he continues, “and I trust Ragnbjorn with my life, but something just doesn’t sit right. Should I simply relax and enjoy this good fortune? Or do you think there is just cause to warrant my alarm? Either way: I’m keeping a dagger under the pillow and my bow strung.”

Indranil looks over at Lorindel and says, “Yes brother you are worrying too much. While you are right we can never let our guard down in the palace where they play the great game, I do feel that tonight we may rest easy in the prince’s good graces and protection. Always keep your dagger handy, but you can unstring your bow!”

“Perhaps you are right. I suppose I should simply enjoy this momentary respite. Who knows when we’ll have the chance to enjoy such comforts? Plus, that hot bath sure beats mucking around in a pond.” Lorindel then leaves his bow unstrung.

Indranil says, “Indeed it does. I am actually pretty excited about getting the royal treatment as they say. A hot bath, clean clothes, a warm meal and cold beer sounds like heaven. Then brother we must go find some of those human women you talked about to spend a rousing evening with! They do love our – elven blood – ‘talents.’ Anyway, Please wake me when the page returns,” and then he closes his eyes and falls fast asleep.

After an hour or so the page does indeed return to escort Indranil and Lorindel to the baths. It is in one of the halls adjoining the great hall. In it is a large hearth upon which a large kettle of water is being heated. Two large oaken tubs, with wheels, are in the middle of the room. Tables with towels stand next to the tubs. Two beefy servants stand at the ready to fill the tubs now that the brothers have arrived, and a couple of squires also standby to help them disrobe. The bath is warm and deeply relaxing. The servants even sprinkle in some powdered herbs as well. Once finished, the servants help them to dry off and even offer to send for the masseuses to loosen up their muscles if they should so desire.

Indranil looks over at Lorindel and says, “I would enjoy a massage, how about you brother?” 

Lorindel decides that a massage would be just the thing, and readily accepts the offer. ”Brother, I think the massage will do much to ease my mind.”

Indranil then turns to the servant and says, “Yes, a massage sounds good, just what I need to whet my appetite before dinner.”
The two brothers follow the servant out onto the patio leading off of the bath hall and lie down upon low padded tables, while the masseuses are sent for. They turn out to be attractive young women, dressed chastely in the blouses and pantaloons typical of this clime. They have very strong hands and seem to know exactly how to best knead their muscles and what pressure points to press down upon to relieve their tension.

At one point Indranil asks with a grin, “Will there be a happy ending?”

The masseuse working on Indranil gently rebukes him saying, “Good sir, we are respectable ladies-in-waiting of a respectable court, and are devotees of Heironeous besides; so please keep your towels on and your hands to yourselves.”

After that rebuke Indranil keeps silent. His mind wanders and his senses roam: first to the sound of flowing water in the fountain, then to the birds and insects flying nearby, then to the sounds of the palace and entire surrounding city. He seems to float in a state of observation; utterly relaxing.
Once done the masseuses quietly back out and leave the brothers alone on the tables. After a few minutes of lying quietly Indranil slowly rises and sits on the table looking out over the garden.

As they are getting dressed, without looking up Lorindel says to Indranil, “You’re right. That was what I needed. It feels like the weight of the past 48 hours has washed away. I think I am ready to enjoy myself. It’s a big city full of impressionable young maidens.”

Indranil looks over at his brother and says, “Ah, Lorindel; that was restorative!  All the cares of the last few weeks scouting a new route through the marshes have slipped away. I feel wonderful. Now that I have taken care of my body I wish to pay my respects to Heironeous inside the palace chapel and mediate until dinner. Would you care to join me?”

“No brother, go without me. Later I will seek out a temple for Corellon.”

Back at the keep, Jankin takes Fingol and Gar to the area of the palace where the paladins and clerics reside, in a corridor adjoining the chapel lit by everburning torches. A knight in shining armor, full masterwork plate armor in fact, challenges them as they enter the hall. “Halt, who goes there? State your business.” His hand is on the hilt of his longsword as he strides towards them from the other end of the hall.

“Oh bother, I can’t see a thing!” The knight lifts his visor and Gar and Fingol recognize the salt and pepper beard and light brown eyes of Sir Godric from dinner that morning. “Ah, Sir Jankin, with Sir Fingol and Father Gar I see,” he gives them all a hearty smile. “Sorry, but with the visor down in this hall, even with the torches, it’s sometimes hard to make out who’s who. Or maybe I just need a spell to cure my shortsightedness. What brings you all to our humble corner of the palace?”

Jankin responds, “I’m here with Paragon Muire’s permission to show Sir Fingol and Father Gar what’s been keeping the clerics of Heironeous so busy over the last month since our troubles in town with the Heironean mission.”

Godric raises his eyes at this, “I see.”

“Sir Fingol, Father Gar, you no doubt, remember Sir Godric from this morning; though I don’t think you were properly introduced Sir Fingol. Sir Godric is one of the senior paladins assigned to the Palace Guard.”

“Some might say Father Gar wasn’t properly introduced either,” says Sir Godric with a wry smile and a wink at Gar.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” mutters Jankin looking down and rubbing his chin to hide his chagrin.

As Jankin looks down, Gar blushes slightly and bats his eyes at Godric, “If you’re a good boy…”

“Anyway, I do what I can with these stiff aging bones,” Godric shrugs. “Well, be careful, you two and don’t do anything that Sir Jankin doesn’t tell you to do. The wards and guards in there are not to be trifled with. I’d hate for you to be turned into a heap of ashes on my watch.” Godric winks at Gar, “I’d feel pretty bad about that, since I was hoping you’d get a chance to read that book I mentioned and tell me what you think. Anyway, go on ahead, say hello to Lady Sauraa for me.”

“I most certainly will, Sir Godric,” replies Jankin as he leads Gar and Fingol down to the end of the hall to an iron bound green door. As Jankin produces a key and begins opening the door he turns his head and says, “Please do not be startled and frightened. Lady Sauraa is on our side.”

With that Jankin opens the door on what looks like a cross between a chapel and an alchemy lab. There are no large windows here either, but it is lit with everburning torches like the hall outside. Everywhere there are tables with burners and tubing, pots bubbling over low fires, and the sweet and refreshing fragrance of herbs and flowers fills the air, as though it were a spring day in a celestial garden. The far end of the room is a large shrine to Heironeous complete with a life size silver statue of the Archpaladin before which is a large font filled with what is most likely holy water. The shrine portion of the room is inlaid with white blue veined marble and pillars of the same material to set it off from the lab. One of the pillars has a thick gold band wrapped around it. Several clerics are bustling about mixing herbs, chanting, and stirring the pots. A heavy iron door on the right hand wall is the only other exit.

After taking all this in, Fingol and Gar suddenly notice that the golden band is moving, and that in fact it is not a decoration but a large 15’ long snakelike creature with golden scales and a golden frill running from the back of its head to its tail. It winds its head around the pillar to face them and then they see that it is not a snake at all but something else entirely. It has the face of a beautiful golden woman with bright intelligent eyes that burn with an almost hypnotic inner light. “Greetings visitors,” she says in a mellifluent tone that makes all who hear it feel tingly (even Gar).

Jankin steps forward to do the introductions, “Greetings Lady Sauraa daughter of King Sagara of the Gaurdian Naga, I would like you to meet Sir Fingol son of Ragnbjorn and one of the King’s Rangers, and Father Gar, priest of Obad-Hai and emissary of the Great Druidess.”

“A pleasure to meet you good sirs,” Sauraa says with genuine warmth, as she gazes upon Gar and Fingol as though taking in every hair and pore. Her head gently sways from side to side as she smiles upon them. She finally looks to Jankin who had remained silent with his head bowed and hands folded on his belly.

Jankin looks up and says, “Paragon Muire has given permission for me to show Sir Fingol and Father Gar what we have been working on.”

“Really?” Sauraa says coolly but not unkindly.

“Oh, and Sir Godric sends his greetings,” adds Jankin.

“What a dear man,” she says. “Please give him my love when you see him.”

Jankin blushes, “Uh, well, sure…”

Sauraa laughs gently at Jankin’s discomfiture, a sound reminiscent of tiny silver bells. “I don’t mean that literally you know,” she says with a disarming smile.

“Oh, of course, Lady Sauraa. Uh, anyway, about our visit…” Jankin stammers.

“You know the rules Sir Jankin. There are no exceptions, unless Paragon Muire himself says otherwise,” Sauraa says in a firm voice, like a loving mother telling her beloved son it is time for a warm bath.

“Yes, of course, but it is their choice to accept or not,” Jankin responds. He turns to Fingol and Gar. “You are not permitted to go beyond that,” he indicates the iron-bound door, “unless you consent to allow Lady Sauraa to peer into your minds. It is to ensure that no spies or saboteurs see what they should not see. It is your choice. I will certainly think no worse of you if you should refuse.”

“Nor will I, good sirs,” Sauraa adds, “but you cannot pass without being tested.” She continues swaying, smiling, and gazing upon Gar and Fingol, waiting for their answer.

“I consent.” Fingol answers plainly.

Gar bows his head before Lady Saurra, “Greeting to the Naga King’s Daughter! You may read my mind as well.”

Sauraa then begins to chant in a language neither Fingol nor Gar have ever heard before. It is the otherworldly language of the higher realms, with a sound that conveys a tranquility and power seldom if ever known on Oerth. She then gazes deeply into Fingol’s eyes.

Fingol is completely amazed by Sauraa’s appearance. His lack of social graces and the terseness of his response came not from suspicion but awe, like the young recruit shouting “Yes, sir!” to his drill instructor. He is a little upset over the opulence of the room compared to the needs of the town. He grants that there is an appropriate reason for the veneration, but followers of Fharlangh don’t have fancy chapels so it’s a little out of his experience. He hopes that Sauraa will see a genuine eagerness to help the town, although, at this point it’s more of a grim determination than a spiritual calling.

Sauraa smiles at Fingol reassuringly, “Do not judge too harshly Sir Fingol. There is always room for improvement on all our parts. As for my judgment – you may pass.”  She then turns her attention to Gar.

Still in awe of the Naga princess, Gar vaguely recalls a story he once heard about a palace under the sea. Then Godric crosses his mind with Gar gently rubbing the nape of his neck as Gar whispers in his ear, “the Lady Saurra sends her love.” Then the scene in the mission flashes through his mind along with his desire to help all people, without regard to social caste or alignment.

Sauraa smiles again, “My, but you are entertaining, and flattering too.” She winks. She turns her piercing gaze to the Green Man amulet hanging from Gar’s neck. “Nature can be quite unsentimental and ruthless, but it can also be nurturing and full of delights. It is the wild thunderstorm, the havoc of a flash fire; but also a gentle spring rain, the orderly progression of the seasons, and the ever turning cycle of birth and death.” She peers even more deeply into Gar’s eyes. “Which side of nature will you embody in the end? Or will you maintain a harmonious balance of them all? I wonder. But for now, I believe your goals are in line with our own. You may pass.”

While the Naga Princess is psychoanalyzing Gar, he smiles, at least at first. Then he blanches and goes wide eyed as she bore deep into his mind, a relieved half smile comes over his face as she finally, after what seems like an eternity, finds him suitable to her needs.

“Wait here,” Sauraa says, and then she glides over to the iron door. She chants again in the Celestial tongue and after a few moments the latch on the door moves and the door swings open. A blinding light cascades from the room beyond so all who are looking that way are forced to turn away, and shut or cover their eyes. Sauraa speaks again in the Celestial tongue and the light begins to dim, though it is still painfully bright. At the center of it is a powerful looking blue skinned man with long white hair and a noble mien. He responds in the Celestial tongue, and then again dims the light emanating from every pore of his body until it is no more than a shining halo that clearly illuminates all around him. In the room beyond are shelves upon shelves of potions, poultices, and tinctures, and on a pedestal in the center a plain cedar box.

“This is a Quesar,” explains Sauraa. “They were crafted by the angels to guard celestial treasures. The angels gifted them with minds and free will, so they would be free to choose to take up their duties or lead their own lives. I have yet to hear that any have refused to perform a service worthy of their talents. This one’s name is Avarathar.”

Jankin says, “And we are eternally grateful for its service. Now, Sir Fingol, Father Gar, please stay where you are. It would be deadly to you if you tried to enter that room, for there are wards there that would reduce anyone who is not fully devoted to order and righteousness to ash; but you can see well enough from here. Good sirs, this is what I wished to show you; so that you would know that we Heironeans have not been idle. Since the riot that closed the Heironean Mission about a month ago, Paragon Muire has considered how best to reclaim it without violence and how to be better prepared to respond to Westkeep’s almost overwhelming needs – esp. when spring comes with the threat of a resurgence of Filth Fever, Scarlet Ache, and other diseases. Some of us have been training in crowd control tactics. We are, after all knights and soldiers, and that is not what we were ever prepared for. Secondly, the clerics have been preparing poultices and tinctures, and those who are able have been brewing potions that are strong enough to cure most diseases that do not have an arcane or infernal origin. We have hundreds of potions ready. And finally, Paragon Muire has crafted a wand of healing. It is contained in that box.”

Sauraa speaks to Avarathar in the Celestial tongue and he nods and opens the box. Inside is an oaken wand carved in an intricate interlacing pattern. “This wand by itself will heal scores of people,” Sauraa tells them.

“Thank you Lady Sauraa, and of course Avarathar,” says Jankin. The Quesar puts the wand back and closes the box. Lady Sauraa looks to the iron door and it swings shut with a loud clang.

“So you see,” continues Jankin, “we have spent many hundreds of hours altogether in preparations. We had hoped to take back the clinic, find more adequate shelter for those inside, refurbish it and then open it again with better security and enough healing power to take care of all who come to us. Now, however, it seems that it has become inhabited by forces in league with dark powers. Many of those people are probably innocent thralls, but we will now have to account for the presence of, at least, an evil adept or cleric who might resist us or even resort to violence. We must be even more wary and careful.”

“Holy, holy, holy, I’m impressed,” Gar stutters. “But I am still worried about the people in the mission, Sir Jankin. Surely Lady Sauraa can confirm for you that I am devoted to neither Good nor Evil. I can go where others cannot. Please let me help the people of the mission in your noble pursuit.”

“This is beyond anything I might have wished for.” Fingol says dropping to one knee, “Lady Sauraa, I deeply regret anything you might have seen in my mind when I was in ignorance. Why have we been blessed with this secret? And how might we figure into your plans?”

Gar drops to his knee in reverence as well.

“Oh good sirs, please rise,” Sauraa says. “I’m not in charge here. I have no plans – at the moment. I am here at the request of Paragon Muire, as is Avarathar.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, saying in mock humility, “I’m just a trumped up security guard.” She levels her head again and smiles. “Seriously though, you will have to ask Paragon Muire if he needs any help when they reclaim the Heironean mission in town. He, of course, answers to Prince Prospero. They are the ones you should talk to.”

Sir Jankin interjects, “I do believe Prince Prospero has already asked them for help in other matters.” He turns to Sir Fingol, “Still, to answer your question Sir Fingol, both the Prince and the Paragon knew that you and Father Gar have been very concerned about the efforts being made, or not made, to help the people of Westkeep. Since they had already entrusted you both with grave and delicate matters pertaining to the wellbeing of the townsfolk, they saw no harm in letting you know that we are handling these other matters as best we can. Now, I think we had better be going; we don’t want to distract people here from their work. Again, you have our thanks Lady Sauraa.”

“You have my thanks as well, for introducing me to such kind and entertaining gentlemen. I hope to chat with you again sometime.” She nods her head and then glides back to the pillars and coils around the nearest again to resume her contemplations.

Jankin leads Fingol and Gar back through the green door into the hall where Godric is still standing guard. As Gar walks past Godric, they wink at each other. “See you all at supper this evening,” he calls out as Jankin leads them away.

Then Gar turns back, “Oh Sir Godric, I have some time to kill this afternoon. Do you happen to have a copy of that book on you? Or can I pick up a copy in the castle library?” Gar ends with a smirk.

“Oh, get a room,” says Fingol.

Turning his head cockeyed, Gar says, “Ah but Sir Godric is a perfect gentleman, unlike me.” Gar winks at Fingol and Jankin. “Which I do believe is why he wants to give me a little private instruction – to teach me courtly manners and what not.”

Godric interjects, “Well, all kidding aside, let’s not give Sir Fingol the wrong idea. But as it happens, my room is right here. I’m on duty right now, but I can pop in and get the book, just a moment.” Godric heads over to his room and in just a moment is clanking down the hall again with a book in his hand. “Here it is Gar, The Art of Courtly Love by Andreas Capellanus. Enjoy. We can discuss it later.” He beams at everyone as he sends them off.

With a deep bow at the waist, Gar says, “Thank you, Sir Godric. I’ll be ready to chat about it at your pleasure.”

“He’s going to put your garter on his lance!” Fingol says to Gar.

On their way out, Gar says, “I think I’d like to spend a quiet afternoon reading in my room.”

Once there, Gar gets a cup, and has a seat. He rubs his little Green Man and says a prayer to create water to enjoy a long drink of cool water after the warm walk through town to learn about the art of courtly love.

Meanwhile, with the help of a passing squire, Fingol finds the castle library. He finds some maps of the Hool Marshes, but they are obviously outdated and sketchy. Still, they do give him a better overview of the local geography and he is able to make some copies in his travel journal.

Fingol also finds a book on the Draconian language that the lizardfolk speak. He spends some hours trying to memorize a few phrases in the language of the lizardfolk, such as “We come in peace,” “We come with greetings from Prince Prospero, and the authority to negotiate trade agreements,” “Please don’t eat us,” and others that might prove useful in an emergency.

He also finds some books on statecraft and diplomacy and skims through those as well.

Finally, long after the sun has set, the bell rings calling the court to supper in the great hall.

Moonday morning, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Talk about sharing…” Fingol mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“True enough, true enough,” replies Gar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fingol stays quiet, having nothing of value to add.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, let’s go for it,” replies Gar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just the hooks then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moonday morning, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

 Fingol, Gar, Jankin, and Burne are soon on their way to Master Parwyn’s Apothecary, the sight of the robbery. They find it on the upriver side of the Processional on a little side street called Tanglefoot Lane among a cluster of other apothecaries, alchemy shops, herbal supply shops, potion makers, scroll vendors, curio shops, and even mirabicaries (purveyors of magical items). A journeyman locksmith with long blond hair and violet eyes is busily putting a new lock on the door as they walk into the workroom and shop that takes up the entire first floor. Inside, Master Parwyn, Aramek, and two child apprentices are busily at work grinding, mixing, and boiling herbs, animal parts, and other rather dubious looking materials and distilling them into poultices, tinctures, and potions for those wealthy enough to afford such concoctions.

Master Parwyn, a frail old man leaning on a cane, looks up from directing his assistants and asks, “Yes, can I help you gentlemen?” It is then that Aramek, busily grinding things with a mortar and pestle, sees them. He smiles at them, as is his custom with any customers walking in the door. 

Two of the men Aramek recognizes from the day before: Fingol and Gar, though now they are dressed in court clothes and not carrying any weapons, unless one counts Gar’s staff or the daggers at their sides that are commonly worn by high and low, esp. in Westkeep. The other two are similarly dressed in the silken loose sleeve blouses and pantaloons worn by the southern nobility of Keoland and its former provinces and current protectorates.

One of the strangers is lightly tanned, with brown hair, and black eyes. Though a young man, he is already beefy and stern looking. He wears the crumpled hat that indicates he is a priest of St. Cuthbert. Aramek has learned that the followers of St. Cuthbert from Keoland have taken over one of the abandoned temples in the temple district and have been aggressively proselytizing in Westkeep. They are convinced that what is needed in town is Cuthbertian style law and order and hope to create a disciplined neighborhood watch system composed of their cudgel bearing fanatics. Consequently the locals, or Keepers, refer to them as “Bert’s Bullyboys” or simply as the “Cudgels.”

The other is a fair skinned, light blonde, grey-green eyed young man, probably still in his teens. His countenance suggests a more kindly and good-hearted nature. He wears an amulet composed of a hand bearing a silver lightning bolt, the holy symbol of the god Heironeous, patron deity of most of the clerics and paladins who currently form the true backbone of Keoland’s occupation forces in Westkeep. The Keepers, including Rain it would seem, refer to the followers of Heironeous as the “High and Mighties” because so many of them are devotees of Heironeous like this young man.

Fingol steps forward and offers to shake hands, “Master Parwyn, Hello. I am Fingol, a ranger lately come in from patrols in the marsh. Gar Dragonbreath, has also recently arrived here with greeting and council for Prince Prospero. Sir Jankin and Brother Burne you probably know already. These gentlemen have come with me to look over the damage to your shop. I don’t know what we may find that the guard has not already noted, but I have hopes that something may be learned about the person who committed this crime. That is, if we have your leave.”

Gar bows his head in respect toward Parwyn, “Greetings, Master Parwyn, and to you too Sir Aramek! It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Aramek’s smile remained as Fingol spoke, but when Gar steps forward to greet his Master and himself, Aramek’s smile clouds over as his mild discomfort and mistrust for Gar comes to the fore. He goes back to his task at hand. Fingol notes Aramek’s reaction to Gar but has no clue as to what to make of all that. A little bell, however, goes off in Gar’s brain. All that discomfort. Poor thing, he’s still in the closet!

Burne, Parwyn, and Jankin all raise their eyebrows at Gar’s entitling the commoner Aramek with “Sir.” The two apprentices in fact can be seen making faces at Aramek, mouthing “Sir Aramek” silently, and bowing to him as though he were a great lord. Gar mutters to himself, “I thought half-elves were supposed to be called sir?”

Oblivious to the shenanigans of the apprentices, Master Parwyn shakes Fingol’s hand saying, “Actually, I have not had the pleasure of meeting any of you gentlemen.” He shakes the hands of the others as well.

“Yes, we hope you don’t mind,” says Brother Burne. “Sir Jankin and I are members of the Keep Guard. Sir Gorman, the commander of the night watch, gave us permission to come down and see if we could find anything that might have been missed earlier, though of course that is doubtful. So we are here on his authority and we would like to help solve this crime.”

“Certainly, certainly, you will have our full cooperation,” says Parwyn. “Aramek. Why don’t you show these gentlemen up to the loft?”

“Thank you, Master Parwyn.” Fingol says.

Aramek rises and bows slightly to his Master saying, “Yes, Master Parwyn, as you wish.” He then turns to acknowledge Fingol, Burne and Jankin, purposely ignoring Gar, and says, “Please follow me, gentlemen.”

“Before we go up to the loft,” interrupts Fingol, “I wouldn’t mind starting at the beginning, as it were. Let’s get a close look at the door first.”

Fingol steps over to the door. “Pardon me.” he says to the locksmith, “What was the condition of the door when you found it? Was the door forced or the lock sprung?” Fingol looks over the door to see if there are any marks on it or on the threshold.

“Oh, this was sprung. A professional did this. Might have been a locksmith himself,” the violet-eyed man says with a sly grin.

Aramek’s curiosity immediately aroused, he naively asks the locksmith, “How many are there here in Westkeep?”

The locksmith gives Aramek an appraising look. “You’re not from around here are you?” As he asks this, Master Parwyn turns away, making it a point to mind his own business. “There aren’t many locksmiths anymore, not since the Scarlet Brotherhood burned down our guild hall with most of the members inside. I’m just a journeyman myself, so back when that happened I was safe and sound out in one of the villages, not that anyplace was too safe in those days.”

Aramek blushes a bit, realizing he’s just shown everyone how little he still knows about his new home. Heand decides to keep his mouth shut and let the others take the lead, thinking he’ll learn more by listening than talking anyway. Snoop softly squeaks his agreement.

Fingol appears distressed to hear about the guildhall. “Forgive me for dwelling on such evil news, but I am new to this town. And this makes no sense to me. All I’ve heard of the Scarlet Brotherhood tells me that they are clever and subtle. And yet that sounds as vicious and bloodthirsty as any orc raid. What possible reason could they have, save pure malice? Did they target any other guilds, or were locksmiths the only target?”

The locksmith’s jaw drops when Fingol asks him this, as if the naiveté of this question totally floors him. The locksmith looks around at the others. Jankin seems as confused as Fingol. Burne is gritting his teeth and glaring at the locksmith. Parwyn is saying to the apprentices that they should all attend something up on the second floor.

Finally the locksmith snorts and gives Fingol a dopey grin. “Ah, you know, that was back in the days of their occupation. They did quite a lot of damage with their orcs and Amedi savages; wanted to make sure that anyone who might resist was either dead, run out of town, or too frightened to lift a head up. I guess they just didn’t appreciate our craftsmanship. Wanted to make sure all doors were open to them,” he chuckles at this. “Anyway, good sirs, we’re all mighty grateful that you Keolanders showed up and scared the Scarlet Brotherhood off. Yes we are. Now if you don’t mind, I do have to finish this up.”

Fingol asks, “Do you have the old lock about?”

The locksmith snorts again, “Sure, here you go.” He hands Fingol the old lock.

Fingol examines it for scratches or other damage. “What sort of tools would someone need to spring the lock so neatly? May I keep this lock a while?”

This time the locksmith glares at Fingol, and says curtly, “I wouldn’t know about that would I?” Burne snorts at this and continues to glare at the locksmith. The locksmith looks back to his work, shrugs, and says, “Sure keep it. No skin off my back.”

Fingol notes Brother Burne’s reaction to his question as well as the locksmith’s and wonders, as it seems to him, why the Cudgels are trying to suppress information about what went on during the occupation, unless, of course, it didn’t happen during the occupation but more recently.

After learning all that he can about the lock, Fingol walks through the store. Looking closely at the floor, but even more so at the corners of tables, lintels of doorways, etc. where clothing fibers might be caught if someone bumped into them at night. 

“Aramek, was anything missing from the first floor of the shop? Was anything moved or put out of place? Do you also live in the building? And did anyone note any strange lights before the thief was discovered?” asks Fingol.

Aramek looks over at Fingol and says, “To be honest, when I heard the screaming I ran immediately to my loft where Master Parwyn and Mistress Gwen were. The master said some things were missing from down here but there were also some things stolen from the loft – some of Master’s keepsakes from his missing son, Reece. We saw the person break through the loft window to the building across the alley. I hit him with a magic missile and my friend Rain loosed an arrow at him but it hit the empty wall where the thief had been seconds before. I, myself, didn’t notice any strange lights. Your questions lead me to believe you suspect something. What is it?”

“I’ll tell you what I suspect,” growls Burne. “Our thief is right there, or at least he surely knows the thief.” Burne grabs his holy symbol, the ruby studded starburst of St. Cuthbert, and brandishes it at the locksmith as he begins an invocation.

The locksmith’s eyes go wide and he screams, “How dare you!” He draws a knife and lunges at Burne.

Jankin shouts, “Look out!” and pulls Burne out of the way and interposes himself between Burne and the enraged locksmith.

Burne’s spell is disrupted, and he yells out, “Damn it Jankin!”

The locksmith lashes out with his dagger and slashes open Jankin’s right leg.

Fingol jumps between the locksmith and Jankin, but makes sure to face the armed locksmith. “Peace! Peace friends! Peace! I suspect nothing and no one! I am only trying to reconstruct the crime!”

Burne leaps past Jankin. “Don’t let him get away!” he yells taking a wild swipe at the locksmith with the truncheon he pulled from beneath his cloak.

In a surprisingly loud and commanding voice Gar booms deeply, “Peace, gentlemen, peace!” Burne and the locksmith refuse to give up the fight however, so Gar steps back a pace or two to give himself protection from the chaos and a clear aim at the crux of the fight. Then he lets fly with a blast of stinging rain and howling winds that emerge out of his upraised right hand, like hosing down dogs in heat.

Burne jumps out of the way, holding up his left hand to protect his face. The locksmith bolts out the door screaming, “Madmen! They are madmen!”

Aramek grew up without much contact with clerics of any kind and is completely shocked by Brother Burne’s belligerent behavior and the ensuing fight. As soon as the fight began, he immediately cast Mage Armor, stepped backwards up the stairway a few steps and, as Gar began casting, yelled “Stop! Stop this immediately!”

Jankin steps back holding his bleeding thigh, looking appalled and speechless.

Fingol steps in front of Burne, “Let him go! And by the gods, Gar, no more windstorms! If your winds mix the wrong things together it won’t be the law’s judgments we’ll face but our makers’!”

Gar looks around peevishly, “Oops, sorry, got carried away in the moment.”

Burne, however, is not about to let the locksmith go. He shoves past Fingol and runs out into the street yelling, “Stop miscreant! Stop in the name of the law! Stop him citizens! Thief! Robber!” Of course, no one wishes or dares to hinder the locksmith as he races down the crowded and muddy streets, Burne hot on his heels.

Aramek steps back into the room from the stairwell; looks at Gar, and then takes in the mess created by his spell. A shadow of anger crosses his face. He then looks at Fingol and the bleeding Jankin. With a clear edge to his voice says, “Sir Fingol, had Brother Burne listened to you in the first place and not acted the complete ass, none of this would have happened. So far as I’m concerned, whatever damage has been caused to this shop is not Sir Gar’s fault but rests solely on the ‘good brother’ and I shall inform my master of that fact. In the mean time, I believe Sir Jankin’s wound is in need of attention. I’ll be happy to continue helping you, but I think that should be attended to first.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” says Jankin. “But perhaps something to clean and bind it would be appreciated.”

Fingol sighs with frustration and resignation. ”Thank you dearly for your patience! For now, I have to make sure the good brother loses a footrace, for he’s done enough mischief for one day. I pray I’ll be back and we’ll find something to put us on to the real thief.” With that, Fingol rushes out the door.

After Fingol runs out the door, Gar says, “Yes, thank you Aramek. You are a noble fellow. Now, Sir Jankin, let me have a look at that cut.” Gar walks over to Jankin and tends to his wound. Applying pressure to the cut to slow the bleeding, Gar first casts a spell to clean out the flesh wound by chanting his magic mantra and fingering his little Green Man. Focusing his mind and holding forth the Green Man, he then radiates a burst of healing power, and in a moment Jankin’s wound closes leaving only torn breeches and dried blood behind, not even a scar remains to show the ladies.

Aramek, somewhat surprised at Gar’s compliment, nods to him then turns to Jankin and says, “I’m glad you’re going to be alright, Sir Jankin.” He continues; “Please excuse me. The unseen servant will clean this mess up. I need to talk with Master Parwyn about what’s just happened. Please be seated for a moment.” With that, Aramek turns and goes up the stairwell to find Master Parwyn.

After Aramek goes upstairs an invisible spirit takes up a mop and bucket and begins cleaning the mess from the entrance to the shop.

Aramek finds Master Parwyn upstairs in the loft storeroom. He is holding the wand that was left behind by the burglar from the night before. “Aramek, what are those blunderers doing down there? It sounds like they’re making more of a mess than the burglar ever did.”

Aramek, with a scowl coming over his face, recounts what happened, being sure to point out that the entire affair was the fault of Brother Burne and that Fingol has gone after him before he causes even more trouble. He adds, “Sir Gar has taken care of Sir Jankin and I asked them to be seated while I came up to find you. The unseen servant is seeing to the mess, which, I will admit, could have been a great deal worse.”

Parwyn exclaims, “Tight Wads of Xerbo! They’ll bring the wrath of the Thieves Guild down upon our household! Doesn’t Fingol realize that the Locksmith Guilds throughout the land are almost always fronts for the Thieves Guild, or else under the control of that guild? We pay them for their locks and annual maintenance as a guarantee that thieves will stay away from our house. The lock is just a token really, or else proof against unsanctioned thieves. I hadn’t had one installed since the Scarlet Brotherhood destroyed their guild, but now the thieves have come back. I identified this wand this morning. It is indeed a wand for the detection of magic. It was almost certainly a member of the Thieves Guild that broke in, and they simply took anything magical at hand. I was hoping to pawn this to make up for the losses from last night, but now I’ll almost certainly have to return it to the Guild in reparations now that those fools attacked that locksmith.” Parwyn sighs heavily.

“Begging your pardon, Master, but like me, Sirs Fingol and Gar are newly arrived here in Westkeep. I didn’t know about the Thieves Guild connection to the Locksmiths Guild myself. That’s probably why Brother Burne immediately jumped to the conclusion that the locksmith was the thief, but it still doesn’t excuse him from making an ass of himself, and now putting us in danger through his thoughtless behavior. Master, I think you need to come back down, in the event Fingol comes back soon. He did indicate he wanted to continue the investigation.”

Parwyn groans, “Robberies and payments to the Thieves Guild I can deal with, but I hope to the gods we can survive this Fingol and Company’s investigation.” Nevertheless he does follow Aramek back downstairs, after locking the wand back up in the storeroom.

After a little bit, Aramek and Parwyn return to the shop. Parwyn looks around and says, “Well it is not as bad as I feared; just a little water.”

Jankin jumps up from the stool he was resting on and says, “Master Parwyn, I am most ashamed of my colleagues’ lack of propriety. I will be happy to pay you for any damages or inconvenience to you or your household.”

“That is most gracious of you. Thank you,” replies Parwyn.

Aramek, feeling a little better because of Master Parwyn’s reaction to Jankin’s offer of restitution, says, “I’m glad to see you’re feeling alright, Sir Jankin. And Sir Gar, while you may have underestimated the power of your spell, you certainly did put a stop to the fight. I thank you for that.”

“Thank you, my good man,” Gar replies. “And you are right, Aramek, it is very different practicing spells in the sacred groves and outdoor shrines of the Flan. I am much more comfortable in nature. Small quarters make quite a wind storm,” Gar smiles sheepishly.

Turning to Master Parwyn, Aramek asks, “Master, while we await Sir Fingol, may I bring some drink for you and our guests?”

“Yes, yes. That would be a splendid idea Aramek,” Parwyn says. Aramek hurries off to prepare some herbal tea and find some cakes in the pantry.

After watching the magic broom for a few moments, Gar says, “What a handy boom and/or spirit you have there. Since we have a few minutes until Sir Fingol returns, may I ask, Master Parwyn, what your specialty is in this fine establishment?”

Master Parwyn smiles at Gar. “I am just a humble alchemist. I know some cantrips and other minor spells to help around the shop. Nothing too spectacular, but they do make life easier.”

“Ah,” says Gar, “alchemy. So, you make magic potions?”

“Sometimes, sometimes… But it takes more arcane prowess than I claim to have to be able to make truly valuable potions. I’ve made potions that could make you invisible, or comprehend languages, or locate objects. But usually I make healing medicines, tinctures and poultices. That is what is in demand now of course.”

Then Gar queries, “Master Parwyn, may I ask what was stolen? Were they magical items?”

“No, not really… The burglar took some of the poultices, tinctures and other items that were down here. But when I ran him off he left behind a wand that will allow its user to detect the presence of magic. Something a wizard or sorcerer would not usually need, but quite valuable to others. That item, alone, will more than pay for the things that were taken if I can find a buyer who will give me a fair price. The burglar was using it to find the truly valuable potions locked in the storeroom up in the loft, but he wasn’t good enough of a burglar to bypass my alarm. So he didn’t take anything else of any consequence.”

Aramek comes back in with the tea and cakes at this point from the back of the shop, where the kitchen and pantry are located. When he does, Parwyn gives him a look as though to say, ‘Say no more than what I have said.’

“Thank you, Aramek,” says Gar. “Master, how much does a wand like that sell for?”

Parwyn considers for a moment, “Well, one would have to charge at least 375 gold for it. That’s what it costs to make such a wand.”

That much gold being more than Aramek could ever believe he would have, he evidences an audible intake of breath followed by a whispered, “Wow!”

Meanwhile, outside, under the awnings of one of the stores down Tanglefoot Lane, Fingol finds Burne and the locksmith confronting one another on either side of a stall full of pots and other cooking items. They circle around it back and forth in an attempt to get the drop on the other. Burne still has his truncheon out and the locksmith is still waving his dagger about. The merchant is shouting and gesticulating wildly, but they are ignoring him.

Fingol runs up behind Brother Burne, careful not to impair his ability to defend himself, and says, “Brother Burne, didn’t you yourself tell me that it is unsafe for healers of the keep to go into town by themselves? Let’s get you back to the keep before someone starts a riot!”

“Help me apprehend this spawn of chaos, Sir Fingol! Didn’t you know that the Locksmith Guild is simply a front for the Thieves Guild? This man is either the burglar himself or he knows the one who did it! He thought he could strut right in front of us, but he won’t get away with it. If not for Jankin’s interference, my spell would have confirmed that he’s no honest workman but an agent of anarchy and disorder.”

“You’re a raving lunatic, you are!” retorts the locksmith just as he upturns the cart, sending pots and pans crashing and careening into the street. Fingol and Burne are forced to jump back as the locksmith dashes away.

“My pots!” howls the merchant in dismay.

“After him! Don’t let him get away!” yells Burne as he takes off after the locksmith.

Fingol tries to grab Burne, but he barrels past with an oath and heads down the street, shouting back to Fingol, “Don’t you dare hinder an agent of the law! We’ll settle our differences later.”

Fingol chases after him. ”You idiot! The person who committed this crime can leap further than a bowshot and disappear like smoke in the wind. The fact that you chased him down proves he’s innocent!”

“Ha! Shows what you know!” shouts back Burne. “This locksmith may not be the burglar, but he’s certainly a thief himself and can probably tell us who it is once we put him to the question!”

The locksmith finally reaches the Processional and swiftly melts into the crowd. Fingol sees no sign of him amid the hustle and bustle. Neither does Burne, who even climbs up onto a barrel. “Damn, double damn! Fingol, if you hadn’t hindered but helped me, we might have got him. Then we’d have a lead on our burglar. You’d better stick to hunting prey in the wilds, because you just missed catching a thief right when he was under your nose. Fah!” Burne kicks at the mud in disgust and trudges back towards Parwyn’s shop.

Fingol starts up firmly, but flatly (trying to hide his anger), “Brother Burne, I suggest we get you back to the keep. I’m concerned for the peace of the town now that we have made such a commotion. Word must be out that a healer is abroad in the town.”

Burne rubs his stubbly jaw and ponders that. “You might be right. That is the kind of mischief those miscreants would stoop to, stirring up a mob with tales of a healer. The Cuthbertian mission is just up the street. We have a security force there and stout walls and gates. I’ll go over there and head to the keep later. You better get back to the others and tell them what happened.”

Burne starts to walk away but then stops, “Oh and Sir Fingol. Please convey my apologies to Master Parwyn for creating a scene in his shop. I just couldn’t bear the thought of that thief laughing up his sleeve at us like that. I should have just arrested and subdued him right away instead of wasting time casting spells. I should have known he’d resist, though I confess I didn’t think he’d try to stab me.” He rubs his neck and blushes. “And be sure to convey my apologies and thanks to Sir Jankin. Now that I’ve cooled down a bit, I realize he probably saved my life and got stabbed for his troubles on my behalf.” He sighs heavily. “And I hope you too will accept my apology Sir Fingol. I still say, we should have taken that man in, but I probably should have warned you all and come up with a better and more coordinated plan. I guess sometimes the chaos within ourselves aids and abets the chaos around us. Are we good Sir Fingol?” He offers his hand to Fingol.

Fingol listens to the sincere sounding apologies with a fair amount of surprise. Then he shakes Brother Burne’s hand, “Well, I think it is the work of the Evil Brotherhood to throw wedges amongst those who should be friends. For my part, I’ll have none of it and convey your messages sincerely. I’ll see you soon, Brother Burne.”

Fingol and Burne part ways as Burne heads up the Processional to the Cuthbertian mission and Fingol returns to Parwyn’s shop. Fingol wonders how a cleric (a group of men known for wisdom) could act so rashly. 

Fingol walks back into the shop, fanning himself to cool off from his exertions. He finds the others still discussing the value of the magic wand left by the burglar.

Gar looks over at Aramek, winks, and then says, “Aye, worth a dragon’s treasure it is. I bet the thief is kicking himself about losing it. Master, do you think perhaps he might come to steal it back?”

Aramek forcefully blurts out, “Just let him try! We’ll be ready for him, won’t we Master?” Snoop rears his tiny head up and squeaks his determination to protect the shop as well.

Fingol suggests, “If you do plan on laying a trap, we’d best coordinate it with Sir Gorman so we have the men to catch this thief. And you’d best move out anything that shouldn’t be broken, and make sure he can’t get out through the windows again. But I think we are way ahead of ourselves. I was hoping to know a little more about the man who committed the crime before we get to the stage of making plans.”

Looking at Fingol, Aramek sheepishly replies, “Sorry, Sir Fingol. Of course you’re right. I guess I’m just angry about our shop and home being broken into. I feel like I need to be doing something.” To Master Parwyn he says, “Master, I’m not about to let any harm come to you or Mistress Gwen, or the boys for that matter. I am a member of the Guard and I’m sure we’ll be able to get to the bottom of this! I’m just glad we were nearby when the thief broke in here.”

Parwyn interrupts to say, “Now hold on. I don’t want to antagonize anyone unnecessarily. If the rightful owner comes back to claim this wand then they may have it. I don’t want any more fights, and I don’t want to have to spend my life looking over my shoulder. And though I appreciate your help,” he looks at Jankin and the others, “someday you will all be returning to your homeland, but I have to live here.”

Jankin has no answer to this. Then he turns to Fingol and asks, “Sir Fingol what happened? Did Burne catch his man? Did you catch Burne? Where is he?”

“Sir Jankin, I’m glad to see you in better shape than your breeches!” replies Fingol. “I am glad to say our locksmith made his escape. I’d say he did a good job clearing his name, not only did he not leap from rooftop to rooftop nor disappear like smoke in the wind, he couldn’t outpace our stout friar. I kept Brother Burne from giving him a few bruises, but nearly got a few of my own for my troubles. I left him at the Cuthbert Mission; he’ll find his way back to the keep from there. 

“After the chase, the good cleric calmed down. He apologizes to all who were harmed by his rashness. He says he was enraged at the thought that the locksmith was the thief and laughing up his sleeve at us. He apologizes especially to you Sir Jankin, who was hurt while trying to protect him. 

“I’d like to offer my own apologies, for not explaining myself better, although I do not know if that would have changed anything. I was simply trying to walk through the crime to know more about the man who committed it. If my questions appeared to cast suspicion on anyone I am deeply sorry. I was simply starting at the beginning of the trail, and I would like to follow it to the end, if I may prevail on Master Parwyn and all a little longer. 

“I think we can already make some guesses about the thief based on the trophy he left behind, but I am guessing that what he sought is even more valuable, at least in this town. But I am not that far down the trail yet. And before I pick up the trail again, I wouldn’t mind taking my ease for a moment. It’s been a merry chase.

“Aramek, we were, uh, interrupted earlier, but I had asked if anything was missing from the ground floor here. And where would those things have been?”

“I can answer that,” says Parwyn. “This is my shop after all. As you can see, I have several locked cabinets on this floor. I keep various medicinal tinctures and poultices in them, as well as other more exotic items when they are called for. But last night there were no such exotic items, only the medicinals. This cabinet and this one over here were broken into. The thief picked the locks quite expertly.” He points out the cabinets, but there are new locks on them now. The old locks are on a table, but there is nothing about them that is especially revealing.

“Now perhaps we should all go up to the loft. I’ll show you what there is to see, though it is not much, and then I must get back to my work.” Parwyn leads everyone upstairs to the loft. On the way, he tells Charl and Latih to go back downstairs to supervise the unseen servant and watch over things.

In the loft, there is indeed not much to see. There is a cot for Aramek and a side table and dresser for his things. There is shelf full of old books and a trunk off in one of the other corners. One part of the room has been walled off to form a storage room with a stout oaken door. There is one window with broken shutters, consistent with someone having leaped through them to the building on the other side.

Fingol asks to search the storeroom, Parwyn grumbles a bit but he opens it up. “The burglar didn’t get in here anyway. He tried to, but then set the magical alarm off. That’s when I came up here and saw him. He was dressed all in black from head to toe. Even the area around his eyes was darkened with coal or something like it. He didn’t seem to be armed. Anyway, he dropped that.” Parwyn points to one of the shelves where a wand rests. Various potions fill the other shelves.

Parwyn plucks up the wand to show Fingol and the others, but there is nothing remarkable about it. “This is what he dropped, a simple oaken wand for detecting magical emanations. The thief was using it, as I believe I mentioned, to find things worth stealing. When I heard the alarm I rushed upstairs as fast as I could, and the burglar was fumbling at the latch on the shutters. I thought he was going to leap at me when I came into the room, but then the whistles of the night watch started blowing from the street. Whoever it was took a running start and then just leaped through the window. It must be 15′ to the building on the other side. He clung to the cornice of the building and with his free hand summoned a magical fog to cover his escape. Then Aramek came charging in with the rest of the night watch. And that’s about all I can tell you.”

“So to your knowledge, he didn’t get anything from this storage area?” Fingol persists, “And what is stored up here, do you by any chance have potions that would magically resist or cure disease?”

Parwyn says, “No, he didn’t get in here. And while you were away I was telling your friend, the good priest Gar, the only potions I make are to comprehend languages, locate objects, or even turn invisible. I don’t have much in the way of sorcery, so that is about it. But they are still valuable enough to lock away. Oh, and there are some things I make that are not magical but valuable enough to lock away also: tanglefoot bags, thunderstones, alchemist’s fire, antitoxins, things like that. But again, the burglar never got near any of it. For healing potions, one would have to see the clerics.”

“Hmmm. The thief seemed to know a good bit about your shop, and he went for healing items on the ground floor. I supposed that he would be going for healing potions up here. In any case, I think he may be back and not for his wand. I think there is something here that he wants, or he thinks there is something here. I’d suggest we keep a couple members of the guard in Aramek’s chambers for a few nights, assuming Sir Gorman can be persuaded and you are willing Master Aramek.”

“Well, my family and I would certainly welcome some extra guards for a few nights,” says Parwyn, “though probably the thieves would just wait until there are no longer any guards.”

“I agree,” says Fingol, “the thief will probably wait until the guards are pulled back. Perhaps that is when we can set a true trap for him. We’ll have to give that some more thought.”

Fingol moves over to the window and inspects it. ”Master Parwyn, could you move over to where you stood when you saw the thief? Let’s try to get an idea of how tall he is.”

Parwyn does so. Parwyn is about an inch shorter than Fingol, who is 5’9 and a bit heavier than Fingol for all his frailty. “The burglar was maybe this high,” says Parwyn using the nob of his cane to indicate the height, at about the level of his chest.

One last thing,” says Fingol, “you said he was dressed in black, any more detail than that? Was it black leather or black clothing?”

“It was just black cloth. I doubt the burglar could have been wearing any armor underneath,” answers Parwyn.

“Did you see if he had weapons?”

“No, no weapons that I could see.”

“Was there anything stolen from the upper level?”

“As I said before, nothing of any consequence was taken. I think he took a book from that shelf over there.”

Throughout this exchange, Aramek stands to the side, conflicted and wanting desperately to say something about Reece’s missing journal and the statue wrapped in the parchment, knowing he dare not.

Gar, noticing Aramek’s discomfort and remembering something he had said earlier chimes in with, “Aramek, you mentioned earlier that some relics of the Master’s missing son were taken. What exactly was stolen?”

Aramek, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, looks imploringly at Parwyn, not knowing what he should do. In a soft voice he says, “Master?”

“That was nothing,” says Parwyn. “The book was just a journal that belonged to my son, Reece. Reece disappeared during the occupation. We never found out what happened to him. The Scarlet Brotherhood killed him as they did so many. The book had an arcane mark, for Reece was also studying to be an alchemist and was a bit of a sorcerer himself, but there was nothing of any significance in that book. No spells or arcane secrets, that’s for sure. The burglar probably just took it because of the mark.”

Gar replies, “My condolences about your son, Master. May I ask how old he would be now?”

Parwyn sighs, “He would have been 23 this year.”

With a curious look at Parwyn, Gar asks, “Master, do you know who the rightful owner of the magic wand may be? Have you ever seen it before last night?”

“No, I haven’t ever seen it before. If anyone with a strong enough claim comes to get it, I will turn it over. I will not fight over it nor put my family at risk. If the rest of you wish to bait a trap, spring the trap elsewhere, not in my shop or even my neighborhood. I beg of you.”

Gar continues with his questions, “Was anything else of Reece’s taken? Was this his room?”

“Yes, this had been his room. That trunk there also has an arcane mark on it. But whatever may have been taken from it was not anything I knew about.”

Gar then asks, “Master, you mentioned that Reece was a bit of a sorcerer. May I ask if he had a familiar?”

“Not all sorcerers have familiars. Some of us have a special bonded object. Naturally we keep this a secret if we can. Reece, however, did have a familiar. It was a snake, a water moccasin.”

“Thank you, Master,” Gar says, “I apologize for prying into such a sensitive area, but if I may ask a few more questions. Was Reece tall or short for his age?

Parwyn sighs heavily. “I see where this is going. You suspect that Reece himself may have returned. Very well, he was 5’5, and weighed 141 lbs. He had a dark tan, brown hair to his shoulders, and grey eyes. The burglar was definitely shorter and slighter than Reece. And no, I wasn’t able to take note of the color of his eyes.”

Gar continues, “How many years ago did Reece disappear? If it is not too painful, milord, would you mind sharing the story of how he disappeared?”

Parwyn’s impatience now shows clearly on his face as he frowns and curtly replies, “He disappeared 6 years ago in 585. He just vanished one day. I thought he was out on another drinking binge, but he never returned. Now I have told you all I know. I must bid you all a good day, as I have work to do. Aramek, please see them out.” Parwyn turns to head down the stairs.

Fingol thanks Parwyn, “Thank you Master for your patience. I will respect your wishes and not involve the shop in any plans we might devise. But we will protect you and your family as best we can.”

“Then you have my deepest thanks,” says Parwyn.

Gar calls out, as he is whisked down the stairs by the sorcerer’s apprentice, “Thank you, Master, we have indulged your patience long enough.”

Parwyn nods, “Thank you for your interest good priest.”

As Aramek is showing Gar, Fingol and Jankin out of the shop he says to Fingol, “Sir Fingol, I will be happy to do whatever you would like to help protect Master Parwyn, Mistress Gwen and the boys. Please let me know.”

Fingol says in turn, “Aramek, I’ll speak with Sir Gorman right away! I am sure he’ll help out the landlord of one of his men.”

“And again,” says Jankin, “I offer my apologies to you and to Master Parwyn for any disruption we may have caused. I will happily come back here to help guard this shop myself if the prince gives me leave.”

As soon as Fingol, Gar and Jankin leaves, Aramek does a bit of straightening up, all the while pondering what has just occurred – the break in and what was stolen, his master’s reaction, the stupid priest of St. Cuthbert, and the subsequent questioning by Fingol. As tired as he is, he can’t rest until he talks to Rain about what’s just happened. After making sure everyone is okay and with Parwyn’s permission, he takes his leave of the shop. He heads immediately to the barracks in search of Rain. He finds her with Hex and Vaskez at the archery range set up on the parade ground.

Fingol and Gar: Moonday morning, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

 In the morning, Fingol wakes early to perform Blessing the Day’s Path in honor of Fharlanghn. Then he walks the ramparts and makes sketches of the town. 

At about the same time Gar performs his own morning meditation. He reflects upon the day to come. In his mind’s eye he sees himself walking onto the practice field again with only his shield in hand. As the fight begins, he sees a dragon rising into the air on an updraft of wind; fire flashes once then an onslaught of storm rushes out at his opponent. Mind wandering, he suddenly remembers that Fingol wanted to visit the old clinic in town today. Gar ponders his visions and prays for divine power to bring into the world, ending with, “May the blessings of Obad-Hai be upon us all.”

Sometime after his meditation, Gar ponders what he was taught in the monastery about staying alive in a military campaign. It is said that many great men of yore created strategic alliances in their manly love for one another; to protect each other’s back, so to speak. “Hmm, perhaps I should form my own military alliance? A powerful nobleman would do nicely.” Then Gar remembers a dream of being covered by a powerful man. “Grrr, that might do, that might do.”

That morning at dinner, Fingol and Gar take their customary places alongside Burne, Jankins, and Gorman. Burne is saying to Gorman, “So I hear you had some excitement last night? A burglar was it? Did you catch him?”

“Alas, no,” answers Gorman. “Sgt. Apone’s squad was the first on sight. It was a funny thing too, because it was at the home of one of the squad members. You remember that half-elf sorcerer that Sir Bodwyn recruited? He stays with an alchemist in town named Parwyn. The thief broke into his shop, stole some poultices and tinctures and then made his way up to the loft where Parwyn has a locked storeroom for his more powerful potions. The thief set off the alarm trying to get into it and then Parwyn went up there to confront him. One of the watch patrols heard it and headed over there whistling for backup from the rest of their squad. When they got there, the thief jumped out, or rather through, the shuttered window. The way I heard it, he jumped clear over to the other side of the street and disappeared into the fog with magical missiles and arrows raining down on him. But the fog was too thick and he disappeared over the rooftops. Some even swear the thief summoned the fog himself. That may be. At any rate, the thief didn’t have all his wits about him. He dropped a wand behind. Parwyn figures it was a wand for detecting magic. Thieves sometimes use them to help find the really good stuff. Apparently real wizards and sorcerers don’t need such toys to sniff out magic. A filthy business all around I say. Magic! Bah!”

“Yes, but did anyone get a good look at this thief?” presses Burne. “How about Parwyn, you said he confronted the thief in the loft. If we could get a description I could send some of my boys around and see if we can drag some of those hoodlums out there in for questioning.” He says this with an eager grin.

Gorman shakes his head. “No. This burglar was in black from head to toe. Only his eyes were uncovered and Parwyn was too startled to remember what color the eyes were. He only saw him for a moment anyway before the thief took a running leap through the shutters. As I said, that’s when the patrol showed up and he scampered off. That Aramek, the sorcerer, was quiet upset. He rushed into the house without backup, afraid for Parwyn and his family. Sgt. Apone threatened to have him horse whipped if he ever did that again. But anyway, no one was harmed, but just the same Sgt. Apone left Aramek and a few other squad members behind just to make sure the burglar didn’t come back for his wand or another crack at that store room.”

Fingol listens to all that is said with great interest. “The thief was dressed all in black? Is there no more information? Was he armored, for instance? Were any weapons visible?”

Sir Gorman says, “No, no one reported any weapons. But you’d have to ask Sgt. Apone, or perhaps those squad members who were there. Maybe they saw something else, but that’s all that was reported to me. Well, actually I should say there better not be anything they haven’t told me. But feel free to ask them yourself.”

Thinking a little longer, Fingol adds, “This may sound odd but Gar and I saw a very suspicious looking person in town. He had a monkey on his shoulder. I don’t suppose anything like that was seen?”

Burne erupts when he hears this, “What?! You saw that little bastard? Why if we ever get our hands on him…” Burne seems to be about to work himself into a fit of apoplexy.

“By the Seven Heavens, Brother Burne! Who is this person?” asks Sir Jankin.

“He’s a terrorist is what he is! He seems to be the leader of one of the larger gangs of criminals in Westkeep. They’re called the ‘Monkey’s Paws’, and seem to be primarily made up of children but also some young men and women as well. They are a rabble of urchins and street toughs. The leader, probably the one you saw, sends the kids out as beggars but also as pickpockets, and snatch-and-grab thieves. The older youths go in more for strong-arm robberies, muggings, and the rolling of drunks or unwary Keolanders who stray too far into the downriver alleys. We don’t yet know the name of this one you saw, because the Keepers won’t talk to us. We suspect he’s been the inciter of several riots and attacks on our watch shifts, especially during the hours just after sunset when people are still out and about at the taverns and gambling halls. In fact, Sir Jankin, didn’t you claim to see a young boy with a spiky ridge of hair and a monkey after the riot that closed the Heiroenean temple in town?”

Sir Jankin nods solemnly. “I remember there was a boy with a monkey. Yes, he does tend to stand out in a crowd. After the riot was over and we were cleaning up and trying to tend the wounded he came back. I was told he took back the body of that girl who had died. He had told one of the men-at-arms that he was her brother. If he is indeed inciting riots and directing attacks against us, it may be out of some misguided desire for revenge.”

Gorman says, “Well, what happened last night doesn’t sound like it was the work of street urchins. Fingol, tell me more about this person you saw. Where did you see him? What was he doing?”

Fingol starts up a bit awkwardly, reflecting on the embarrassment of the incident with the urchins, but gains confidence as he describes the mysterious youth. “Gar and I were in the town square. We were in the middle of a large crowd of street urchins begging for handouts from us. When I looked around for an escape route, I caught a glimpse of him. He wasn’t doing anything but watching. And yes, he did have ‘a spiky ridge of hair’. Also, he wore an outfit of black leather. He was short and skinny, rather young. Still, one gets an impression that some things don’t happen by chance, and some bystanders aren’t innocent. I didn’t know why the glimpse was important at the time, but there was no doubt it was.”

Burne nods. “That was him alright. Overseeing his operations no doubt, how much did they lift from you?”

Fingol pointedly ignores Burne’s question. “Not to muddy the waters, but about the girl lost in the riot at the clinic, what was her name?” Fingol asks.

Jankin shrugs. “None of us knew her name. She was in the crowd and got trampled by the mob. The boy took her away without telling anyone anything while we were tending to the other injured people. No doubt to bury her in a pauper’s grave.”

“Oh, how terrible,” Gar exclaims.

“The whole incident of the clinic just seems more tragic the more I hear of it.” Fingol shrugs, “Well, it might just be to satisfy my curiosity, but I wouldn’t mind looking around the house to see if there is a trail of any sort.”

Gorman says, “Well you are welcome to go down there and take a look. I think Aramek helps out Parwyn during the day. Anyway, tell them that I gave you the go ahead to take a look around.”

“Maybe I should go with you too,” says Burne. “Now my curiosity is piqued. This could be a lead to that little scoundrel.”

Fingol scratches his face to hide his reaction to Brother Burne’s offer. “Thank you, I have no doubt you’ll be helpful.”

“I would like to join you two as well, if you don’t mind,” Gar says.

Fingol turns to Sir Jankin and asks, “When should I tell my companions we’ll be off? I don’t want to miss the chance to discuss your plans.”

Sir Jankin says, “Oh what I have will keep. In fact, why don’t I join you all? I feel like stretching my legs in town, and it is better to travel in groups. Then, when we’re finished with this business, you and I can return here and I’ll show you what the Heironeans have been working on. You’re invited as well Gar. You don’t mind do you? I don’t want to be imposing myself,” he says this with a quick glance at Burne for Fingol’s benefit. Burne is oblivious to this as he is busily consuming a biscuit.

Fingol tries hard to avoid a smirk when Sir Jankin says, ‘what the Heironeans have been working on.’ It strikes him as a good cut on the Cudgels, as was Jankin saying he wouldn’t want to impose himself. Fingol perks up, “Impose yourself? Oh no, you’d be as welcome as the flowers in [the month of] Planting.”

Just then a page comes over and says quietly to Gar that there is a Sir Godric who would like to speak with him if he is free. The page indicates a burly older man with a salt and pepper beard sitting further down the table. The man raises his mug to Gar and indicates that there is an empty seat across from him.

Looking to Sir Jankin, Gar says, “No problem here. I would love to see what the Heironeans are up to, but first it looks like Sir Godric has something on his mind. If you don’t mind gentlemen, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Go ahead, Gar,” Fingol says. “The trail is already cold, and likely obscured. I’m not really sure what we will find anyway. So I am sure we can linger over our dinner without any more harm to our errand.”

Nodding his head gently to the gents, Gar gets up from the table and moseys down to Sir Godric.

Fingol notes that Burne is shaking his head with a grimace, while Jankin and Gorman are giving each other knowing smiles.

Gar stands behind the empty chair across from Godric, and cocking his head to the side says, “Greetings, how may I help you, Sir Godric?”

“Welcome good priest! Please have a seat. I couldn’t help but observe you observing us. It seemed as though you were looking for a friend,” he says with a wink.

Gar chuckles at Sir Godric as he takes the seat across from him. Leaning back, with one hand holding his lap Gar says, “It is always nice to have friends, Sir Godric. Friends make the world a better place and so I like to keep my eyes open for a friendly face. As do you, I see!” Gar smiles.

Godric chuckles saying, “Yes, indeed. Not many appreciate that the art of courtly love has many variations. Are you familiar with the rules of courtly love?”

“No, milord,” responds Gar, “it has become abundantly clear to me in my short visit that I know very little of courtly manners and even less of courtly love. I am but a country bumpkin, a lover of nature who grew up among woodland shrines and sacred groves. Pray tell, milord, what are the rules of courtly love? Are they few or many? For adults in my lodge, there was one basic rule for all variations: ‘Do no harm.’ Is it similar here?”

“Oh, bless me, no! Those of us who devote ourselves to Heironeous follow his principles as laid out in the Book of the Code. They preserve the proper order of things and those who follow them are able to contribute to the establishment of righteousness for the peace of the land. But we have found that through patience and discipline the savor, delicacy, and passion of true love and even its consummation is greatly enhanced. I would be happy to teach you of our ways. In time, if the bonds of friendship and respect have proven strong and reliable, perhaps you can share with me what you learned at your lodge,” this last said with a wink.

Gar chuckles again, “Patience and discipline, you say, milord? Well, I always enjoy learning the ways of the gods. Perhaps I can show you how we pray to Obad-Hai sometime?”

Gar rearranges his trousers as he winks back at Sir Godric. Wow, thoughts really do become reality. Suddenly, Gar begins to fidget. “Milord, if you will excuse me, I mustn’t keep my other friends any longer. Places to go; people to do.” Standing up, Gar looks into Sir Godric’s eyes for a long moment. Bowing deeply with a smile, “I do hope to see more of you, milord.”

“A pleasure to speak with you as well, Sir Gar. Perhaps if you’d like, I’ll send my squire around to your room with a little book you might like. It is called The Art of Courtly Love by Andreas Capellanus. You might find it inspiring as well as instructive… or not.” He shrugs. “Shall I send it along to you? Then perhaps we can discuss it later if you care to.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be interesting indeed. Please do send it over. I could indeed use a little extra instruction I suppose. Can’t we all?” Gar winks before he walks away.

Gar beats a hasty retreat back to Sir Fingol and the others, “Milords, I do hope I have not caused you to wait too long nor,” smiling, “missed any gossip? Shall we head out now to search for our man in black?”

Fingol gives Gar a look that seems to say, ‘the only gossip around here is about you,’ but he settles for just saying, “Let’s go!”

Moonday before dawn, Fireseek 3, 591 Common Year

That evening as Rain comes in to the guard post, the other squad members hail her as the reigning champion. She says to Sgt. Apone, “So, you still think I skipped by on luck?”

Sgt. Apone gives her an appraising look but can’t help grinning at her in the end. “You did good Rain. You did really good! Made us all proud! When it comes to knife fighting you are one clever little bitch.”

Once the watch is properly turned over, Sgt. Apone splits everyone up into patrols. Dale, Ferro, and Noch stay behind in the guard post for the first two hours. Rain, Aramek, and Kash are to go with him; while Vaskez, Drake, Frost, Hadsyn, and Hex make up the other patrol team.

“Okay Kash, take the lantern.”

“Aw sarge, why do I have to carry the lantern? Isn’t it Aramek’s turn?”

“Shut your pie hole Kash. Aramek needs his hands free for spell working, I shouldn’t have to tell you that again; and Rain deserves a break after her performance today. That means you’re on lantern duty.”

Kash grumbles but does as he’s told and gets the lantern lit and ready to go. Sgt. Apone checks on the others. Rain takes the opportunity, while the others are distracted, to whisper to Aramek, “So I am still looking into some suitable people to go with us. Fingol and Gar might be good; I wanted to see what you thought about letting them in on it. Also, I think I have found a way to slip out of the city unnoticed. But I need more time.”

As they patrol the cool foggy streets of Westkeep, Sgt. Apone and Kash continue to banter back and forth, as Rain and Aramek walk behind them.

Aramek whispers to Rain, when he’s certain no one else is paying attention, “Hmm, Fingol seems like a good choice, I agree. I still don’t trust that Gar, but I get the impression he and Fingol are a matched set.” Aramek smiles, saying, “I’ll trust your judgment on this, Rain. But be careful about this sneaking out of the city bit. I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

Kash looks back at Rain and Aramek whispering together and teases, “Hey, what are you two lovebirds going on about?”

Before either Rain or Aramek can retort, the sound of someone ringing a hand bell can be heard from a block away. It is either someone sounding an alarm, or a magical alarm going off. Sgt. Apone yells, “That way, hurry!” And it is then that Aramek and Rain realize that it is coming from the direction of Master Parwyn’s shop. Indeed, when the four of them turn the corner they can see and hear that it is indeed from the top floor of Master Parwyn’s shop that the alarm is coming from. They hear shouts from inside. “Bows at the ready!” shouts Sgt. Apone who then uses his tin whistle to call for the other watch patrol.

Aramek swiftly casts mage armor on himself. Aramek’s blood runs cold and the adrenalin hits him like a bolt of lightning. Readying a magic missile, he yells to no one in particular, “Master Parwyn’s storeroom alarm! We’ve got to help Master Parwyn!” Heedless of his own safety he rushes towards the door, yelling, “We’re coming Master, don’t worry. We’re coming.”

“Get back here you idiot! Have you forgotten your training?” yells Sgt. Apone futilely as Aramek races ahead of him and Kash towards the door to Parwyn’s shop and home. Kash raises the hooded lantern up high as they approach the door. The lantern casts shadowy light whereby they see that Parwyn’s shop door is already open.

Rain has her bow at the ready, arrow nocked, searching for a target to point out. As she was trained, she slips into an alley across the street with a view of the building so she can cover the others and spot anyone who might be trying to get away. Well ain’t this a pickle. You would think that Lady Sedara would have picked better burglars. Well, nothing I can do about that.

Sure enough, just before Aramek reaches the door, shouts from Master Parwyn (presumably) are heard from the loft over head and the blinds covering the loft window explode outward as a figure covered head to toe in black, except for a strip around the eyes, hurtles out of it and lands on the building opposite, clinging to the cornice. The black clad figure begins making mystic signs with its free right hand and recites words of power in a hollow sexless and ageless voice, even as it clings to the cornice with its left hand and its feet hold firm to the sides of the building. It is rapidly engulfed in a thick curtain of fog and disappears from view.

Aramek releases a magic missile at the figure. The bolt of crackling magical force disappears into the fog with a meaty thump, but it cannot be seen whether it actually hit the figure or did any substantial harm to it.

Rain fires her arrow then nocks another. Her arrow disappears into the fog and strikes the side of the building by the sound of it. The sound of hollow laughter echoes from all around. In just a few moments the fog thins again, and by the light of Kash’s torch, the squad sees that the figure is gone. Rain’s arrow had struck the wooden planking of the wall right where it had been. Rain moves out from cover to have a better view of the sides of the building that the figure jumped over to, hoping to find the target again. There is neither sight nor sound of it once the fog and laughter fade away.

Aramek does not hesitate but rushes in, calling the names of Master Parwyn and his wife.

Sgt. Apone shouts over to Rain, “Get under cover girl! Wait for the other patrol and make sure no one else enters or leaves this building!”

In response to Apone’s order Rain shouts, “On It!” and moves back to cover the building while waiting for the second patrol to arrive. She finds herself waiting outside alone in the dark of the night in the shadows of the alley across from Master Parwyn’s for several long minutes.

As Aramek races up to the second floor he sees that the hall is already lit up, someone has uncovered the everburning torches in the hallway and on the landing of the stairway leading up to the loft. The doors on the second floor are closed except for the door to Master Parwyn’s parents’ room, which is open just a crack. The older apprentice, Latih, is peeking out into the hall from that door, and Aramek can hear the younger Charl crying behind him. “Who’s there?” cries the fearful voice of Parwyn’s mother from within the room. From the loft he hears the faint crying of a woman, perhaps Gwen.

Aramek, running up the hall, calls out loudly to Latih and the others, “It’s me, Aramek, with the patrol. Shut the door and stay in there. I’m going up to the loft.” Then he calls out ahead up the stairway, “Mistress Gwen, Master! It’s Aramek! I’m coming with the patrol! Hold on!”

Aramek finally reaches the loft and to his great relief he sees Master Parwyn alive and well. He’s holding a frightened Gwen in his arms, trying to calm her down. The room is a mess. Aramek’s cot has been upturned, books lay scattered on the floor, Reece’s trunk has been opened and his clothes are also strewn about. The shutters are broken and their shattered remains are knocking against the window frame. The locked storage room is still locked, and the alarm spell has finally faded. Aramek notices that right by it a wand lies on the floor.

Aramek, gasping from his headlong rush up the stairs, rasps out, “Master! Mistress Gwen! Are you alright? Are you unhurt? What’s happened here? Don’t worry! Sgt. Apone and the rest of my team are coming now.”

As he realizes that his Master and Gwen are seemingly alright, he takes in the devastation of his room, noting the wand on the floor among the other detritus. He knows enough, even though his first thought is to pick up the wand, to wait for his fellow guards to come up the stairs. He thinks, Sgt. Apone is the experienced one among us and he will know what to do and how to go about getting some answers.

Sgt. Apone and Kash come bustling up the stairs, Sgt. Apone saying, “Alright, what’s going on here?” He gives Aramek a hard look, as though to say, ‘You should know better than to charge ahead like that!’ but all he says is, “We’ll talk later, you and I.”

Master Parwyn looks up and says to Sgt. Apone, “I think everything is okay. It seems a burglar broke into the shop downstairs and then came up here looking for more loot.” He spies the wand upon the floor and walks and scoops it up, then chuckles wryly. “It will take me awhile to cast a spell to identify this, and I’m too tired tonight, but I will not be surprised if this is a wand for detecting magic. Thieves sometimes use these to find things worth stealing, even though a proper wizard or sorcerer wouldn’t need a wand for such a cantrip. Apparently the wand led him up here to the storeroom, but he didn’t have the skill to bypass the alarm spell. I ran up here and scared him off, but he dropped this in his haste. Funny thing, actually, this is probably worth more by itself than anything he might have stolen from us since all the truly valuable items are in the storeroom.”

“You fool!” says Gwen snuffling. “That robber might have killed you! And what makes you think he won’t come back for that!”

Parwyn seems a bit sobered by that observation, but says, “Well, he didn’t anyway. With the good sergeant’s permission I’ll lock this up in the storeroom and figure out what it is tomorrow. I’m sorry about your room Aramek.”

Sgt. Apone’s eyes go wide a bit at this. “I see, so this is your room then? Of course. Kash, go on down and tell the others it’s all over. Search the shop below and make sure that the burglar didn’t leave anything else behind. If it’s any comfort to you, Master Parwyn, I’ll leave Aramek and a couple of the others here to clean up this mess and make sure the burglar doesn’t come back. Aramek, come here.”

Sgt. Apone pulls Aramek aside, and says to him, “Don’t you ever run off like that again. I know you were worried about Master Parwyn, but you could have gotten yourself killed, and you exposed the rest of us to danger. Your job is magical back-up, not point man. You provide long distance cover for the rest of us, and in turn we keep the bad guys off of you. Remember your training and listen to orders next time, or you’ll be earning a few stripes on your back. We’ll beat some sense into you if we have to. You got it?”

Aramek is truly chagrined. Especially since he knew better, but he’s never encountered this kind of thing before and he really was scared for Master Parwyn and his new family. Aramek responds, “I’m really sorry and I know you’re right. These people are like my family and I was just so scared for them that I forgot myself. I guess I really am pretty new at this ‘guard patrol’ stuff but I promise I won’t let it happen again.”

“See that you don’t,” says Sgt. Apone. “Now look around up here and see if you can find anything else the burglar may have left behind or anything else he may have taken. I’m going downstairs to find a couple of others to stay here and guard the place until the morning.” Sgt. Apone heads downstairs after Kash.

Parwyn and Gwen come over to Aramek. “You probably saved my life Aramek,” says Parwyn. “I heard the alarm and rushed upstairs as fast as I could, and the burglar was fumbling at the latch on the shutters. I thought he was going to leap at me when I came into the room, but then your whistles started blowing from the street. Whoever it was took a running start and then just leaped through the window. I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come along when you did. We owe you much Aramek.”

“Yes Aramek, you are a blessing to this house,” says Gwen.

“Well, we’d better get downstairs and calm my parents and the apprentices down,” says Parwyn. Then Parwyn and his wife head downstairs. Aramek finds he is alone for the moment, in the shambles of the loft. After a quick search he finds that the statue and Reece’s journal are both gone.

Back out in the street, Rain hears the other patrol coming towards her, their lantern bobbing in the mist. Vaskez, Drake, Frost, Hadsyn, and Hex come into view. “Hey, what’s going on? Who’s there?” challenges Hex as the light of the lamp Drake carries reaches her position. “Oh, it’s you Rain. What’s this all about?”

Rain steps out of the alley in response to Hex’s hail and waves her free hand. As soon as she is sure that they see her she moves back into position to cover the building and responds, “We heard an audible alarm coming from Master Parwyn’s house there”, she points to the house, “and hurried over. Just as we got here a figure dressed all in black blasted out the upstairs shutters and jumped across the street to the rooftops above me. He then cast an arcane mist of some sort and disappeared within. Sgt. Apone, Aramek, and Kash went inside to investigate. Nothing has exited the building since. I am covering the building from here.”

Hex, and the others rush over to Parwyn’s shop and home, but before they can enter, Sgt. Apone walks out, with Kash, and motions for everyone to come over. Everburning torches are being lit up behind them in the shop. “All’s clear,” says Sgt. Apone. “It seems to have been a simple breaking and entering in the course of a burglary. The alarm and Master Parwyn scared the burglar off. No one was hurt, and the burglar got away. Whoever it was took a few poultices and tinctures from the shop level, then ransacked the loft, but doesn’t appear to have gotten away with anything too valuable.” He lowers his voice, “In fact, he left behind a wand of some sort, that Master Parwyn is going to keep for all his troubles – lucky for him; unlucky for the burglar, heh. Anyway, this is where Aramek lives, so I’m going to leave him and a couple more of you here to guard the shop in case the burglar comes back to fetch his wand, though I doubt that will happen. Do I have any volunteers to stay here and guard the shop with Aramek?”

Rain is absolutely mesmerized by the eloquence of Lady Sedara’s work. She even left behind payment for the damage done! Brilliant! Managing to keep a grin from showing on her face she responds to Sgt. Apone, “Yah, I’ll stay.”

Rain hears several titters behind her from the other squad members. When she turns to look, Hadsyn and Drake are grinning at her and Vaskez is glaring at them. Hex and Frost are pointedly ignoring the others. Rain fixes Hadsyn and Drake with the deadliest stare she can muster. They both shut up and quickly look away. Hex says, “I’ll stay with them.” Vaskez volunteers as well.

“Very well, the rest of you, we have a patrol to finish. Keep your eyes out for burglars. Let’s go.” With that, Sgt. Apone and the others head back out into the dark, now hopefully empty streets.

“Go on and check on Aramek, Rain. Vaskez and I will keep watch down here in the shop,” says Hex.

“Yes sir,” responds Rain, who then moves up to the loft to check on Aramek. On the way up she sees that the everburning torches have all been uncovered throughout the house. Through the open door of one of the rooms on the second floor, Rain sees that Parwyn, his wife, his elderly parents, and two young apprentices are inside talking and comforting one another.

In the loft she finds Aramek surveying the damage. Rain enters quietly and asks softly, “Is everybody ok?”

Aramek is both panicked and excited and urgently motions to Rain, softly telling her, “They’re gone. The thief took both Reece’s journal and the statue. This is serious and I’m even more convinced that we need to get out into the swamp to find out what happened to him!”

“Do you think that was his target? If so, you may be right; but still, I don’t see how we can slip away for at least a few days. I’m still working on the plan to get us out of the city cleanly”

Aramek takes a breath and smiles. “Of course, you’re right. I’m just upset about this. Please do what you can to help move this forward. Do you think it would help to have a talk with Master Parwyn?”

Rain smiles back, “That would probably be a good idea. Maybe he can shed some more light on the mystery of that statue and what is in the journal. I think it is time to come clean with your plan. Do you want to introduce me to them as well?”

As Rain responds to him, Aramek gets a serious look and then says, “Absolutely! You’re my friend, Rain, and I trust you. I want the master to know that as well. I want him to understand that, even though I have never met Reece, I’ve had a good opportunity to see into his heart. He’s a good man and someone I would be proud to have as a friend. I really want Master Parwyn to know that. I really want to find Reece and barring that, to at least find out what happened to him. Master Parwyn and Mistress Gwen deserve to know.”

Rain is deeply concerned about her friend’s seemingly blind faith in a man she has never met. This Reece guy could be a follower of some demon god for all we know. She tries to keep her worries from showing on her face and just smiles softly to Aramek and says, “Thanks Aramek, I appreciate that. And I am sure you are right. They deserve to know what has happened to their son.”

Aramek immediately says, “Let’s go see how things are. I want, at least, to introduce you to Master Parwyn and the rest of the family. If we can, we’ll let him know we’d like to speak with him privately at his earliest possible convenience.”

Going down to the second floor living quarters they find that Parwyn is closing the door to his parents’ room, while Gwen ushers the apprentices back to their own room.

Aramek walks up to Master Parwyn, with Rain in tow, and says, “Master, are you sure you’re alright? I know this has been a very upsetting incident for everyone. I would like to introduce you to my friend Rain.” Aramek gets a devilish smile and then says, “As you can see, she’s a member of the guard and befriended Snoop (who squeaks from Aramek’s pocket and sticks his head out) so it left me little choice but to also become friends with her.”

Aramek’s attempt at humor seems to put Master Parwyn somewhat at ease, as was Aramek’s intent. Parwyn says, “It is a pleasure to meet you Rain.

Rain steps forward slightly and responds, “And you as well milord Parwyn.”

“I think Sgt. Apone said that more of the Guard are downstairs as well,” continues Parwyn.

“Aye, the others downstairs are Hex and Vaskez,” Rain confirms.

Aramek then says, “Both Rain and I would like to speak to you in private about some things that I believe are important and connected to what just happened upstairs in my loft.” Then softly he says, “I believe it’s connected to your son’s disappearance.”

“If you wish to talk, I suppose now is as good a time as any. Let’s head back upstairs.” He calls after his wife, “Gwen, I’ll be back in a moment. I’m going upstairs to talk to Aramek and his friend from the watch.”

When Aramek and Rain get back up to the loft, a solemn expression comes over Aramek as he asks Master Parwyn to have a seat on his cot.

“Master, you remember when you told me that it was alright for me to look through Reece’s things?

“Sure,” replies Parwyn uncertainly, wondering where this is leading.

“I did so. And what I found leads me to believe that your son may still be alive.”

“What’s this you say!” exclaims the astonished Parwyn.

“From his journal I found out how terribly your family and all the other citizens of Westkeep suffered during the occupation by the Scarlet Brotherhood. It was terrible! Anyway, in the journal he mentioned an artist friend of his named Relikez, who apparently escaped during the surrender of Westkeep and then snuck back in to tell Reece that he had found a small outpost or shrine in the Hool Marshes and believed there may be a larger lost city in there. Master, your son didn’t just disappear. He and this Relikez intentionally left Westkeep for the swamp to find some power they could use to destroy the Scarlet Brotherhood. That was his last journal entry. However, I also found a small statue in the trunk. It was a small wooden statue wrapped in parchment of a skeletal being in a cowl and cloak holding a scythe. It looked as if it might have been a representation of Nerull, the ancient Flan god of death. And there was writing on the parchment as well, which I believe was also in Reece’s handwriting, saying that he believed the statue was Thanatos god of Thracia and wondering whether it was the power he was seeking so that he could call upon it from within one of his ancient shrines. His deepest wish was to overthrow the Scarlet Brotherhood.”

Parwyn does not at all seem happy to hear the name Relikez mentioned, but he listens in stunned silence.

“Master, the thief who broke in here was not looking for potions or anything else. I believe he got what he was after. Reece’s journal, the statue, and the parchment are all gone. Stolen! Those items are the only things missing from the break-in.”

Parwyn interrupts to say, “That is not entirely true. While you were up here with your friend, I went downstairs with Sgt. Apone and checked out the shop. Many tinctures and poultices were taken from there. And if my guess is correct, and that wand is for the detection of magic, then the thief simply grabbed anything that had an aura of magic. And remember, it was the arcane marks that drew your own attention to the journal and that trunk. You might be making more of this than is warranted. Still…” He ponders this new angle.

“Master, you and Mistress Gwen have really made me feel like part of the family and after reading Reece’s journal and seeing how he rose to the occasion, wanting to do something to save Westkeep – to save you all and drive out the Scarlet Brotherhood, I gained such great respect for him. I want to do something to find him. I just know I can and Rain is willing to help with the search. But I can’t do it without your blessing. Please allow me to do this for you and the mistress and your parents. I believe that Reece went into the Hool Marshes. With your help, we would have a legitimate reason to leave Westkeep and go there, ostensibly on an herb and flora gathering expedition. Please, Master Parwyn. Let us do this for you and for Reece.”

Parwyn stands up abruptly, a fierce look on his face. “Absolutely not! Not on your life – and have no doubt that it would mean your life. I always feared that wastrel Relikez would lead my Reece to his doom! And that is exactly what he did. My son may have had noble motives for once in his miserable life, but traipsing out into the Hool Marshes with that fool Relikez to seek the aid of a Flan death god…” He shakes his head in disgust. “My son is either dead, damned, or both! And I will not have you two innocents throw your lives away looking for him. Let this alone. Just let it alone. I thank you for your concern and your intentions are noble, but… Just leave it be. We will discuss this no more.” Parwyn heads swiftly to the stair, pauses to look back to say, “Again, a pleasure meeting you Rain.” Still speaking to her, he points to Aramek, “Keep this one safe and out of trouble.” Then, before another word can be spoken he heads down the stairs.

During Aramek’s summary, Rain had been quiet and listening until this point, not exactly standing at attention but semi-tense, ready to spring into action if the need required. She had also been periodically looking over towards the broken shuttered window as if daring another assailant to arrive. This of course was a total mockery since she was all too aware of who the assailant was and knew that she was long gone having served her purpose here. Yet, appearances need to be kept, she thought to herself with an inner smile. At Parwyn’s last comment directed to her she responds “Of course.” and offers a small smile. At least this sage makes sense, she continues her inner monologue. I really am not sure where Aramek got the idea these Reece and Relikez characters were just waiting out in the swamp to be rescued. Aramek may need more looking out for than I thought.

Aramek is completely stunned and unable to believe the depth of anger that has just welled up from Master Parwyn. He turns his stunned look to Rain and says, “Gods, what have I done, Rain? Am I crazy to think the break-in is somehow related to Reece’s going into the marsh? And who is this guy Relikez? Master Parwyn really reacted with anger when I mentioned Relikez. I know he wants me to drop this whole business and now we’ve lost him as a reason for going into the marshes, but I just know in my gut that Reece is out there. I want to find out more about this Relikez. There’s more going on here than the fact that Master Parwyn thinks this guy was just a reprobate and bad influence on Reece. Master has really deep anger about him and I want to find out what this guy Relikez was all about. What do you think, Rain? Am I crazy?”

Rain pauses for just a moment then responds, “Well, honestly, I think his anger is mostly out of concern for you. True, it certainly sounds like he is not exactly a supporter of Reece’s choice in friends though. I am sure there is much more to find out about Relikez, but the two of us marching out into the marshes with a few friends may not be exactly the way to solve it.” She pauses again for a few moments.

“Don’t take his anger too hard, Aramek. He seems an honorable man and is only showing his love for you. I think we should lay low for a little while before we continue this. Maybe you can find some more information about this Relikez guy. I would think there would be some kind of records about him, especially if he needed to sneak out of the city to begin with.”

Aramek looks at Rain and says, “Yeah, I believe you’re right. He really does treat me like I was his own kid sometimes. OK, let’s see what we can find out about this guy, Relikez.”

The rest of the night is spent uneventfully, Rain helping Aramek clean up the mess in the loft, and occasionally checking in on Hex and Vaskez or else the latter two checking in on them. Parwyn and his family have all returned to their rooms, perhaps to sleep, but the everburning torches are left uncovered throughout the shop and house until the morning.

The next morning, before turning in for some much needed rest, Rain is able to stop by the keep’s weapon-smith. There she picks up three extra daggers: two more for her belt and one for a pocket in her cloak. While crossing back over to the barracks she is intercepted by Lady Sedara in her guise as the lady-in-waiting named Lassi.

“Oh Rain, I’m so happy to have run into you,” Lassi says with a smile. “If you’re heading to the barracks I’ll walk with you a bit. I’m heading over that way to pick up the laundry.” Without turning her head she looks around to make sure no one is nearby to hear. “You did well last night. Everything went as planned. You and your friend Aramek are quite a team. I have bruises along my thigh here where his magic missile hit me. And if I hadn’t moved when I did, I’d still be pinned to that wall by your arrow. Either you forgot that it might be me or mine out there, or you trusted in our skills and wanted to make it look as real as possible with your shot. If it was the former you deserve a reprimand, if it was the latter I commend you.”

Rain merely smiles, by way of saying, ‘yah, I planned that.’

“Anyway, we have the journal and the statue. I think we had better discuss this later tonight with some of the other interested parties. Sometime after dinner I am going to send Sir Bodwyn around to find some volunteers to stand watch in the palace. Make sure you are there and that you are one of the volunteers. I believe that Aramek will also be sent for. We’re not letting him in on our arrangement just yet, but we do want him close by. Ah look, here we are. I’ll see you tonight.”

Rain responds offhand as she would to anybody she considers equal, “Ok, see ya later Lassi,” and enters the barracks.

Rain sticks to the barracks till her shift later that evening, playing the flute and just hanging out with anybody else there. She makes sure she is available later on to volunteer for Sir Bodwyn.

Sunday Evening, Fireseek 2, 591 Common Year

That night proves to be a chilly one. Wisps of clouds cover the thin sliver of the waxing greater moon called Luna, as well as the smaller aquamarine moon, Celene, that is already losing the fullness it enjoyed during the week of Needfest. Ragnbjorn and the brothers pull the canoe up onto the banks of the Javan River, and easily hide it away amidst the reeds and brush. Together they lay down tarp and set up the four-man tent that Ragnbjorn keeps packed up in the canoe. Ragnbjorn decides against a fire, lest there be more Amedi warriors or worse things wandering about. Each of the three takes a three-hour watch so the other two can rest. Ragnbjorn takes the first watch, Indranil takes the middle watch, and Lorindel is assigned to the last watch. Though the half-elven brothers do require sleep (unlike their elven brethren who simply enter a trance state) they do not require as much as humans so taking the middle and last watches are not that much of a hardship for them. In addition, they have learned some of the elven tricks of maintaining a state of restful alertness.

Using the thin fishing line from Ragnbjorn’s fishing tackle Indranil runs a single line roughly six inches off the ground in the open spaces between the bogs, trees and large clumps of shrubs. Each line is tied to a small tree or large shrub that has been bent back (like stringing a bow). If someone trips on the line it will releases the tree/shrub with a loud sound. Essentially it is an early warning that someone (or something) is approaching the camp. No damage would be done unless someone is supremely unlucky to catch the straightening tree in the eye.

After eating a cold tasteless meal of trail rations Indranil takes one more look around camp to make sure everything is secure and hidden. He then makes a final pass along the perimeter 40 yards out from camp checking on the perimeter alarms. Lorindel joins him in this, trying to recall whether there is anything in the area that might be a threat to them. But this is far from lizardfolk territory, and when they passed through before they found no sign of any other threats, though of course that does not mean there aren’t any, just that they didn’t spot any. Satisfied that no one can approach from the marsh side they return to camp. Indranil enters the tent and lays down still wearing his armor and carefully placing his weapons within easy reach.

With a smirk, Lorindel returns to making preparations for sleep. To the others he says, “This spot should make for a peaceful rest. The ground is firm, yet soft enough. We will need to sleep in our armor and be ready for the creatures in these woods. Best to sleep with one eye open and our bows strung and nocked.”

“Indeed,” says Ragnbjorn as he exits the tent to take up his watch.

Indranil is tired to the bone from the long days of paddling through the endless sloughs and marshland scouting an inland passage for the King and Prince. He feels sure sleep will take him quickly. However he lays awake anxious, finding sleep slipping far away from him as he ponders Lorindel’s earlier question on his preference for which race he prefers. He is embarrassed to admit to himself that contrary to his wise words on the pettiness of label and the need to belong and be accepted that he too yearns to feel part of something: part of a tribe, a village, a race. The pain of separateness is actually deep in his being and drives him to live apart from those he feels he can never be accepted by or fit in with. He justifies his separateness with his work. As a ranger it requires him to be gone for long periods of time and gives him reasons to leave again soon after arriving – as if his job makes it okay to be alone.

After awhile, Lorindel, who also remains awake, says, “I was thinking about what you said earlier, and I agree with you brother. The distinction between man and elf is irrelevant. Perhaps there is no need to make a choice, but the societies of men and those of elves have. We are pitied by the elves, our brothers even. By the humans, we are not truly seen as men, but half-men.” Lorindel glances over at Ragnbjorn, whose shadow can be seen through the flaps of the tent. He is within earshot, but makes no indication that he is listening. In fact, he is as still as a boulder.

Lorindel looks back to Indranil and continues, “It is our fate. Take the lowliest of all the civilized races, that unfortunate beast born to man and orc. Shunned by his tribe and reviled by the humans, yet are we any different? Wishing will change nothing, I know, but unless we become hermits, this is our reality. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps my thoughts are wasted on needless worries that only serve as distractions from our mission. When our surroundings are different, maybe we will again broach this subject.”

Lorindel gestures to where Ragnbjorn sits outside the tent, in a jesting tone he says, “Not ol’, Ragnbjorn. He judges others simply by their actions; and those he hasn’t had a chance to judge, he doesn’t trust.”

Indranil replies, “Yes brother, it is one reason I like Ragnbjorn so much. He does not judge us by our blood but by our actions. He is wise beyond his years and station. He is easy to be around.

“Funny you bring up the subject again as I was laying here pondering your earlier question. I must say that being compared to those half-orcs is not a comparison I like to have made of us. I fear this will be an unresolved part of our life. What do we do? Not have a family of our own to spare our children such painful questions? Or perhaps we are a new breed entirely? Some say the elves are diminishing and man increasing. I fear this is a knot that cannot be untied and must be born. Let us sleep. Our watch will come soon enough.”

With that Lorindel turns over to sleep. Indranil’s mind, however, wanders to another of his favorite subjects to worry over, Just who and what is Ragnbjorn? While he trusts Ragnbjorn with his life and considers Ragnbjorn his master and mentor. He feels like there is more to him than meets the common eye, as is a lake that is deeper than one can swim and touch the bottom in one breath.

Indranil tries his breathing techniques but even that fails to quiet his mind on this night. He finally gives up halfway through Ragnbjorn’s watch and decides to get up. He slips out of the tent, careful not to wake his brother, and quietly walks over to where he sees Ragnbjorn sitting silently watching the Javan River flow and the wisps of cloud play the dance of veils with Celene as if it is seducing the sun to return and warm her.

Indranil whispers, “Evening tides to you Ragnbjorn. I find sleep evades me tonight. The chirping of the crickets in my mind will not let me rest. May I join you?”

They sit quietly comfortable in their silence. Then Indranil asks Ragnbjorn, “Ragnbjorn tell me about your childhood and growing up.”

Ragnbjorn, always taciturn, grunts and says, “That’s a little personal don’t you think? Bah, there’s not much to tell anyway. I’m from a family of landless knights in central Keoland. We came to homestead in the Dreadwood where we could carve out a little plot for ourselves, with the gracious permission of the elves there of course. Growing up I fancied that taking service in the King’s Rangers might bring a bit more glory than just serving in the cavalry as a regular knight. I’m sure the same is true of many of the rangers in the Dreadwood. If we manage to kill the right beastie creeping out of the marsh at the right time before it can get into Keoland, then someone might notice and our reward would be a more respectable plot in a more civilized part of the country. Ha! Didn’t ever quite work out that way, but I’m not sorry for it. I’m proud to serve my country and my king. I have a beautiful wife back home in the Dreadwood keeping our forest manor warm for me in between these little jaunts. I have three children that I’m mighty proud of. A daughter, Yvonna, well married to a wealthy merchant in Saltmarsh; my older boy Fingol, who’s a bit daft but a good ranger nevertheless, probably wandering about out here himself; and finally my youngest Arngeir, who’s probably near to finishing his ranger trials as we speak, and a brilliant one he is. I love them all, I’m proud of them all. I long ago realized that the gods have blessed me far more than I could ever have imagined – peaceful country estate or not.”

After a moment’s pause he continues, “I couldn’t help but overhear you and your brother talking. I have every confidence you two will find your place in this world. You’re both fine young men.” He laughs, “You’ll both turn out to be great heroes I’m sure, whatever your bloodline. And of course you may not realize it having spent so long traipsing through these backlands with me, but there are enough half-elves and descendents of half-elves all around Keoland that there are probably enough to form a whole nation for yourselves. Many, also, are the noble houses that have more than a little elvish blood in them. You’ll both find a worthy place for yourselves I have no doubt.”

Suddenly Ragnbjorn holds up his hand to silence Indranil and then points out to where the perimeter alarms were set. Indranil hears it too – raspy guttural voices whispering to each other out in the fog. In fact Indranil is amazed that Ragnbjorn can even hear it. He seems almost preternaturally attuned to everything in the environment. The voices just as suddenly stop. Ragnbjorn takes up his bow and indicates with a gesture that he will hide in the reeds near to where the canoe is hidden from where he can observe the whole clearing unseen.

Indranil moves quickly into the tent and wakes Lorindel with a gentle shake. Once Indranil has Lorindel’s eye he rapidly signs the situation using ranger battle sign: hand held like a blade on forehead: threat near; cupped hand to ear: noises heard; hand points towards where he heard the raspy guttural voices; hand held up with fingers spread apart: spread out and move to over-watch positions; fist to chest: leader (Ragnbjorn) and points to where he will hide in the reeds near the canoe and finally points to himself and then up in the cypress tree above the tent where he will be hiding. Ranger battle sign is a silent and efficient means to communicate and takes no more than 30 seconds to provide Lorindel a complete situation report and all the tactical information he needs to act.

While Lorindel awakens and the brothers confer, Ragnbjorn makes his way quietly over to where the canoe has been hidden. He moves like a ghost. Indranil’s acute senses hear him, but he doubts any human could have. Ragnbjorn carefully turns the canoe back over and puts his pack into it softly, and then maneuvers it as quietly and carefully as he can back to the edge of embankment. If their camp is invaded and they need to make a hasty retreat, they will be ready.

Indranil scurries up the cypress tree overhanging the tent site and wedges himself into a crook in the branches. Securely positioned and nearly invisible from below, he strings his bow using only one hand while simultaneously grabbing an arrow from his quiver over his shoulder and nocking the arrow in the string. Stringing a heavy long bow one handed is no simple task for an untrained bowman, but Indranil makes it look easy. In fact if asked he would say it was simply a matter of leveraging his body: a knee, a hip twist and a quick flex of his body. The actual trick was hooking the bowstring one handed and is more a feat of dexterity than strength.

He then checks the rest of his weapons, like a mantra, once learned then repeated without thought; dagger clear, sword clear, bow strung, quiver full, armor on. And in his mind the rhyme he learned as a young ranger:

Low To High
Nothing Gets By
Left To Right
Watchers Delight
Shoot First Shoot Last
Threat Be Past.

Indranil feels his blood begin to sing with the rush of battle sense and potential combat. His mind becomes still and his awareness expands to hyper alertness. He keeps his eyes constantly moving because at night a person can see more through their peripheral vision and perception of movement than looking straight on. He keenly listens for more indications that something is approaching. He also casts for animal sign to see if he could use their senses to augment his own.

Lorindel makes way to the other side of the clearing heading towards the other cypress tree and among the reeds, hoping the rush of the river will help to mask any sounds he might make. His shortbow is strung, arrow nocked and ready.

They wait. Ready.

As they wait, no sound comes from the perimeter alarms. That means nothing though. They could have been seen and bypassed any number of ways. As they peer into the night mists, illuminated only by the silver crescent of Luna and the smaller but fuller blue glow of Celene they can hear the haunting ethereal song of the whippoorwills and the guttural trill of the leopard frogs. The singing and trilling grow louder and more incessant by the minute, as though warning of some impending calamity. All at once it stops. All is silent. For a moment an unearthly calm descends upon the camp, and then red eyes shine out of the darkness close to the ground. Another pair of eyes appears right on the heels of the first. A moment later and the thin shadows of their owners can be discerned in the fog, creeping along on awkward gangly limbs. A snuffling and almost human muttering can be heard. Then the stench carries over, the smell of rot and decay, the smell of an open grave under moss draped cypresses in the misty moonlight.

The foremost creature, rears up on its haunches about 25’ away from the tent and sniffs the air. From its outline they can see that it is more human in shape than it seemed at first, though they can still only make out its red eyes shining in the dark and the silhouette of its painfully thin limbs and torso. The other continues creeping up to the leader. They are both facing towards the tent. Then an owl screeches; it is Ragnbjorn’s signal to attack!

Ragnbjorn’s first shot with his longbow strikes the first creature in the chest causing it to howl in agony. As it thrashes about in pain, Indranil’s arrow sails past and is lost in the bogs beyond the clearing. Lorindel’s shaft however finds its mark in the beast’s chest not far from Ragnbjorn’s, causing the creature to renew its unearthly caterwauling. Then both creatures lope towards the cypress tree from which the last arrow sped. Lorindel, however, has already moved on to the nearby brush, where unseen and unheard he nocks another arrow and prepares to once more fire and run for a new hiding place. Ragnbjorn’s second arrow embeds itself in the leader’s left leg, and the creature collapses in a heap, mewling piteously. Lorindel’s next shot catches it in the throat and it falls into the mud, still and silent at last. The other hears Lorindel’s retreat into the deeper brush and starts after him with a snarl, but Indranil’s second arrow catches it in the back of the head and it too falls lifeless to the ground. For a long moment no one moves, and a deathly stillness falls over the clearing. Then there is a break in the clouds overhead; the moons and stars shine down what light they can on the fog enshrouded embankment. The whippoorwills and leopard frogs again take up their song, and the natural rhythms of nature seem restored.

Ragnbjorn hoots again, this particular call signaling that all is clear. He steps away from the cover of the reeds and strides over to where the beasts lay dead. Lorindel comes out of the underbrush and stands over the creatures, an arrow still nocked and ready. Indranil swings easily down from the branch he was perched on, drops lightly to the ground, and walks over to the others. Ragnbjorn, shortsword and dagger drawn, nudges the creatures’ legs, as far from their teeth and claws as he can, but they don’t move. In the blue moonlight of Celene, they look like impossibly emaciated feral people, naked except for being caked in mud and slime, one male and one female. They are hairless, with sharp elongated teeth, especially the canines. Indranil and Lorindel, with their elvish night vision, can see that their pupils are a dull red, no longer shining with their earlier uncanny illumination.

“Humph,” says Ragnbjorn, “some kind of undead probably. I guess I’d better take back a trophy to Westkeep for the priests, so they can tell us what it is exactly.” He then kneels down and hacks off the head of one with his shortsword and pops it into a sack, which he ties off. They notice that the creatures do not bleed exactly, but instead thick sluggish dark green ichor oozes from their wounds and evaporates with a nauseating stench in the cool night air.

Ragnbjorn’s grisly chore complete, he stands and gazes at the bogs. “Well, I’m not going to sleep anymore tonight after this. I want to know where these came from and if there are any more of them. This is too close to Westkeep to just pass over.” He turns back to the brothers and says, “I know you two can see well enough at night, and I have a little something here that will let me do the same.” He pulls out a small vial from one of his many pockets and thumbs the raised seal to assure himself that it is the right one. “I say we break camp, pack up the canoe so that it’s ready to go in case we need to hightail it out of here in a hurry. Then we track those things back to wherever they came from. If there are no more of them, then that’s well and good. If there are just two or three others, I think we can take them out ourselves if we can get the drop on them. If there are more than that, or no way of being sure, then we’ll leave, and report what we found when we get back to Westkeep. We can lead a team of clerics and paladins back to the site later and let them clear it out. In any case, I want to be back here and on the river heading to Westkeep by dawn. Any objections?”

Lorindel says, “Ragnbjorn, I agree that a scouting mission is in order. Those beasts didn’t seem concerned at all about stealth, so it shouldn’t be difficult to track them back to whatever pit they crawled from. If it’s only a few more of them, we should clean it up just fine. Otherwise we’ll do as you suggested, and report our findings back in Westkeep.”

Indranil says, “I agree. We must be careful though, as these creatures seem unnaturally strong. The leader took four shots to kill and the other only went down with a direct headshot. These are no easy beasts to kill. I would hate to encounter a large group of them with just the three of us. We should burn these vile carcasses before we leave for Westkeep. Who knows what diseases they will breed.”

Ragnbjorn grunts in the affirmative at that but says, “We’ll do it when we get back. If we burn them now, it will just draw the attention of others, if there are any others.”

Indranil turns to Lorindel, “I don’t know what they are but did you feel the world and all that lives go still when they approached? As if their presence was anti-life? It chilled my bones brother.”

As Ragnbjorn quaffs the potion, Indranil says, “And Ragnbjorn be careful with those potions you drink – your manhood may fall off!”

Ragnbjorn laughs and drinks up. “Well since I got it from your father’s people, I’ll be taking it up with them when I get back to the Dreadwood. I’ve probably had enough kids for this lifetime anyway.”

The three then start packing up their gear and loading the canoe.

After everything is packed up, the three set out. Ragnbjorn leads and it is no hard task to track the creatures’ spoor through the mud and reeds and around the bogs until it reaches higher ground. It takes almost an hour but the trail finally leads through a stand of oak beyond which lies what looks like a long low mound.

Suddenly Ragnbjorn points with his chin to a tree about 10 yards away and slightly to the right. Lorindel and Indranil see it, red eyes glinting in the dark as another one of the cadaverous creatures crouches by the trunk of an oak, as though waiting for them. Ragnbjorn quickly lines up clear shot and lets his arrow fly, the creature yelps as the arrow hits it in the right foot just as Indranil and Lorindel move up through the oaks for a clear shot and let loose their shafts at it. Their arrows smack into the trunk as the creature ducks back behind it. At the same time, two more of the howling beasts charge into them from their hiding places behind the other oaks. Unfortunately, Indranil finds himself fending off both of the snapping and snarling ghouls. One of them even manages to get past his guard and sinks its teeth into the leather of his cuirass before he shakes it off. He realizes it won’t be long before they succeed in tearing into him with their teeth and claws. The one Ragnbjorn had shot joins its brethren, leaping out from behind the tree despite its injury to snap and snarl at Ragnbjorn and Indranil. Lorindel, who was standing just behind and to the right of Ragnbjorn backs off and fires a shot at the ghoulish creature menacing the elder ranger, but the shot goes wild.

This ambush was exactly what Indranil was worried about. He wished now he had argued to leave immediately to report back to Westkeep returning with the clerics and paladins. Ragnbjorn can be incautious and impulsive at times. Indranil doesn’t hold it against him as Ragnbjorn is usually right and more than capable of dealing with most anything the Deadwood and Hool Marshes could throw at him.

There was no time for wool gathering however as battle was upon them and they were fighting for their lives. This time they might have bitten off more than they could chew and they were in great danger of being overwhelmed. Indranil was cut off from Ragnbjorn and Lorindel and fighting two of the ghouls.

His sword forms master had once said, “Fighting multiple attackers is easy, just fight one at a time.” His sword master had also gone on to say that in a multiple attacker scenario the single fighter can’t play defense. It needs to end in one or at most two strikes per opponent using over-powering speed and violence of action. Offense is critical when dealing with multiple attackers as you only have a chance to deal with each one once.

Indranil immediately rid himself of his bow once the creatures charged within his effective shooting range. The bow by itself is a poor weapon, only good against a bumbling drunk to knock them on the head. Against these undead creatures it was useless. He threw it at the farthest ghoul and drew his sword while shifting to the right in order to put one attacker in front of the other; now he had to face only one. He figured from the short battle back at camp that anything less than a head strike would not kill the ghoul. In a battle this fast and ferocious he would indeed have no time for defense as his sword instructor had said.

Indranil with a battle cry of “Honor!” immediately launches an aggressive attack on the ghoul facing him with a fierce cutting downward strike from the high guard position towards the ghoul’s neck. Unfortunately the wretched thing leaps back in time to save itself.

Behind Indranil, Ragnbjorn drops his bow behind him. If it were any other bow he would have thrown it at the charging ghoul to trip it up, but not even in such dire straits would Ragnbjorn casually cast away a composite longbow crafted by the famed elven bowyer Faremlas with a heavier than usual pull for his own prodigious strength, or at least the strength he had in his prime. With practiced speed and surety, Ragnbjorn drew the longsword cast for him by the famed dwarven swordsmith Drimli, and brought it crashing down on the ghoul before him, slashing into its still extended right leg though it succeeded in pulling its head away. Undaunted, the ghoul leaps at Ragnbjorn again, biting and rending at him with a fury. It is thwarted by the ranger’s shirt of mithril worn under his traveling clothes, though it does succeed in leaving some shallow scratches at his neckline with its filth encrusted claws before Ragnbjorn shoves it away and puts it down permanently by cleaving in its head.

Lorindel races off to the left past Ragnbjorn and his foe, and is finally able to get a clear shot through the trees at a little over 20 paces at one of the ghouls attacking Indranil. His shaft sinks into its practically fleshless left leg and it howls in outrage and turns its sunken red eyes on Lorindel and begins limping towards him as fast as it can. Lorindel backpedals away from it and lines up another shot, this time sinking his arrow in the ghoul’s heart. This proves to be disruptive enough to disperse the dark energy animating the creature and it collapses and moves no more.

Unfortunately for Indranil, though he succeeds in slashing the last one across the chest with his blade, it ignores the wound and slams into him before he can bring his sword back into position to ward it off. It sinks its fangs into his side, in one of the spots not fully covered by his leather cuirass. Then Ragnbjorn is there, slashing it in the back and kicking it away from him. From either side of the last ghoul, Ragnbjorn and Indranil begin hacking and cleaving at it with their longswords until it too has fallen, reduced to nothing more than a broken quivering heap of decaying flesh and swiftly evaporating dark green ichor. When the twitching finally ceases and the nauseous ichors that are the effluvium of the necrotic power that had lent it a twisted parody of life are at last dispersed, they turn away to survey the mound beyond the tree line.

“Anyone hurt?” asks Ragnbjorn rubbing his own scratches with his left hand. Indranil was bitten, but Lorindel received no wounds from the creatures. “Well then, looks like we came out of that one relatively unscathed. Still, we’d better have the clerics check us out Indranil as soon as we get back to Westkeep. These wounds could be infected. Best we boil some water and clean them out when we get back to camp. I have some herbs we can use to make poultices. Sorry boys, I thought we could creep up on these things, but they still got the drop on us. Well, since we’re here and nothing else is jumping out at us, we might as well see what there is to see. Let’s spread out and move up to that mound soft and easy. We’ll use battle sign from here on and keep to the cover of these trees until I’m sure there’s nothing else waiting for us.”

Lorindel offers a brief yet firm grip of reassurance on Indranil’s shoulder and a nod of understanding to Ragnbjorn.

Indranil, however, feels far from sanguine about Ragnbjorn’s new proposal. “Ragnbjorn you can’t be serious! Do you not see that we were almost bested by just three of these disgusting creatures? I fear that potion you took has addled your brains and given you false courage. We still know nothing about them, where they came from or if there are more of them. If we come upon another pack of them – or worse yet their nest – if will go ill for us. I say we leave immediately and make haste for Westkeep bringing the head you collected to the clerics. We can investigate fully when we return with the clerics and paladins in a full hunting party.” Indranil turns to Lorindel and asks, “Brother, what say you?”

Before Lorindel can answer however, Ragnbjorn says, “Indranil, watch your tone with me. You seem to be forgetting who’s in command of this mission. It will be a cold day in the fourth hell when I turn and run from a pack of naked savages, even if they’re undead ones! We’ve come this far, and I at least am going to take a look at that mound. That’s probably the source of these things. A poor ranger I’d be if I didn’t take a look before reporting back, especially after tracking the first two attackers this far. If there were anymore, I suspect they’d have already joined in on the ambush. Now your objection is duly noted. As I said, we’ll take a look at the mound through the cover of these oaks. If it seems clear, I’ll go out there and take a look around. You two can cover me from here. I at least want to know if this is the source or if they came from further off. Okay, Lorindel, do you have any sage advice you’d care to share with me?”

But once more before Lorindel can answer, Indranil interrupts to say, “Moradin’s Balls Ragnbjorn. Take it easy. I know you’re in command. I would follow you to the gate of the Nine Hells if you asked. That said; what kind of ranger would I be if I did not share my thoughts with you?”

Ragnbjorn, sighs and says, “Indranil, your advice is most often sound. I don’t object to your advice. But your comment about my brain’s being addled was a little too flippant don’t you think? I appreciate, however, that I led us right into an ambush; for that I do apologize, and so I will not take what you said as an affront to my honor.”

Indranil continues, “I fear that we have only scratched the surface of this new threat. There is something not right about the sudden appearance of these undead creatures. Perhaps it is some new mischief from the Scarlet Brotherhood? I agree further investigation will benefit the King and Prince. I will do as you say but let us be cautious and approach this carefully.”

“That was my thought as well Indranil,” says Ragnbjorn. As for Scarlet Brotherhood involvement, they have not as yet used the undead against us, but I wouldn’t put it past them, especially if the rumors that they worship the dark god Tharizdun are true.”

Lorindel finally gets a word in. “As Indranil suggested, we must approach cautiously and without sound. Toe-to-toe with those beasts is not how I wish to dance,” he finishes with a wink.

Indranil recovers his bow and wipes it down with his oiled-wool cloth to clean the debris and such from when he threw it at the ghoul. He rechecks the bow-string and nocks a fresh arrow with a heavy bodkin point; the better to penetrate a skull. Satisfied his bow was in good condition he was prepared to follow Ragnbjorn and provide cover along with Lorindel.

The three move up quietly to the mound under the cover of the oaks. The mound is a few paces away from the tree line and only a few feet high, but several yards long. Ragnbjorn holds up his hand for all to stay put, spread out among the trees, bows drawn, arrows nocked. Nothing stirs. After awhile, Ragnbjorn moves slowly out to the mound, keeping as low to the ground as he can. Once there, in a low voice he begins murmuring, “In the name of Beory, Oerth Mother, show me, your humble creature, the way clear of all snares and traps.” He then makes a circular gesture with his right hand and then he crouches still and silent for a long moment, moving his head almost imperceptibly slowly in order to survey the entire mound. Satisfied, he creeps up the side of the mound and peers over into the area beyond, and again begins his slow survey. After many long minutes of this, he gives the brothers the all clear signal and then motions for the brothers to join him at the mound.

Indranil follows, careful to maintain separation to make sure he can cover Lorindel and Ragnbjorn.

Lorindel also follows Ragnbjorn, doing his best to match his path. He maintains a distance of at least 10′, so in the event combat breaks out he will have enough distance to allow for skirmish. Lorindel also periodically shifts his glance from the mound to Ragnbjorn to Indranil.

Once everyone is spread out on top of the mound, peering down over its edge at the level ground beyond, Ragnbjorn holds his hands up with his left fingers lying atop his right fingers, palms up. Then he causes the fingers to fall away from each other, indicating a pit trap, and points to two places on the other side of the mound. From this vantage no more creatures can be seen, but what lies beyond is almost as terrible. The misty moonlit field is a charnel ground, upon which are strewn many broken bones, and here and there a skull can be seen. The ground all around is churned up, as though the ghouls had been digging up these bones and any other grisly trophies they could unearth. From the size of the skulls and the more intact skeletons, some were children or perhaps halflings, such as were consigned to a ghetto in Westkeep during the Scarlet Brotherhood occupation. Here and there can be seen arrowheads and crossbow bolts. Eventually, Ragnbjorn waves his hand to the brothers and all three make their way, as slowly and silently as they can, back to the cover of the tree line. From there they make their way stealthily, but more swiftly than they came now that they have done with tracking, back to the canoe.

Ragnbjorn breaks the silence once they are back within sight of the camp, “That was no cemetery. That was a mass grave. You two were still in training, so you weren’t here when we first took Westkeep. After we had secured it we soon heard stories from the survivors of the occupation and from refugees from other parts of the Hold of the Sea Princes who made it through the marshes to Westkeep. Any who had opposed or even might have opposed the Scarlet Brotherhood during their occupation were dragged away by their Amedi troops. Sometimes they were dragged out of their homes at night by the orcs and hobgoblins who also serve them. These people were never seen again. They simply disappeared. Now we know where at least some of them may have ended up. When we return I will inform the prince, and we will guide the priests of Heironeous and St. Cuthbert back here to collect the bones and bury these people properly and insure that their spirits are at rest. For now, you two keep guard. I will have to take the risk of boiling some water and preparing poultices for my scratches and Indranil’s bite. I want to do what I can to stave off infection. As soon as I am done, we will get out of here. No need to wait for dawn. We can all see where we’re going well enough now that I’ve taken that potion. It won’t wear off for some hours yet.”

Indranil sat slumped on the ground. The charnel grounds had sickened and saddened him. He could not understand the atrocities that had occurred. Why would anyone do that to others? That was proof that evil does exist. With that thought he was filled with a burning commitment to fight against evil whenever and wherever it existed. This is my purpose and why I have dedicated myself as a ranger.

He looked over at Lorindel and asked, “Brother, are you OK?”

“Only just,” is all Lorindel manages to choke out, thankful that he had only eaten a light meal. After barely managing to hold down the contents of his stomach, he continues, “Disgust heaped upon criminality for so many to die because of the fears and insecurities of madmen, only to be desecrated by these abominations. It sickens and enrages me.”

Indranil then gets up and walks over to where Ragnbjorn is working and begins to help him. As they work he says to Ragnbjorn, “Master, I watched you approach the mound and you muttered some words and made some signs which seemed very much like a spell. I have seen you do several things on this journey that make me wonder if you have skills far beyond a common ranger. I wonder if you are in fact part wizard! What say you?”

Ragnbjorn looks up at Indranil and says, “Get your cuirass and your shirt off. I need to clean that bite and apply the poultice to it.” As he does this, Ragnbjorn says, “I’m surprised your master didn’t teach you about it when you were an apprentice. Maybe some don’t. They don’t want their apprentices to get ahead of themselves. But if you last out here long enough, your bonds with nature will become, well, a deeper unity than most humans ever feel. This, shall I say, mystical bond, will eventually empower you with the ability to call upon the power of the natural world. That’s why rangers pray or at least contemplate the natural world in silence for an hour every day, usually at dawn. Many of us find a patron god or goddess, in my case Ehlonna of the Forests, or Ehlenestra as the elves call her. She presides over the forests and woodlands and personifies the beauty and goodness of nature. There are others who prefer the more uncompromising Obad-Hai, a Flan god who makes few concessions for human needs when they clash with the natural world. There are darker gods of nature as well, but you won’t find any of the King’s Rangers directing their devotions to them. Others, like my son Fingol, are devoted to Fharlanghn the Dweller on the Horizon, god of travelers. Then there are a few who just directly commune with the natural world and seem to be granted access to divine power all the same, though that doesn’t strike me as being as much fun as having a beautiful goddess to devote oneself to, but to each his own. In fact, that reminds me, after we finish dressing our wounds and move downriver a bit, we’ll pull over to shore again and we can sit and pray together as the sun rises. Lorindel can stand watch, he can say his own prayers later, but he is not a ranger and so it is not as crucial that he maintain these disciplines as we do.”

After hearing Ragnbjorn’s explanation Lorindel exclaims, “This is great news. A bowman of your caliber enhanced with favors from the divine. I am as anxious to see where your path leads as much as my own.

Then Lorindel asks, “Ragnbjorn, how bad is the wound? Is there any signs of infection?”

Ragnbjorn shrugs his shoulders and grunts as he puts his healing kit away. “We won’t know until sometime tomorrow I’m guessing. If we come down with fevers then we’ll need the help of the priests. Fortunately, we should be at Westkeep by noon; or a little thereafter.”

Indranil says, “Ah you are a cheerful one Ragnbjorn! Your confidence and assurances make me feel much better now! But the thought of a pint of Pulsch Brown, or would any of you dare to try a shot o’ the Kragg, later this day makes me feel great!”