Welcome to the Halmae (updated 2/27/07)

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-Second
In which: Reyu negotiates, and Anvil nearly changes the face of the Confederacy.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

The party’s jaws collectively drop. “What?!” Thatch exclaims.

“500 gold,” Tern repeats, without prompting.

Anvil pipes up, clearly fighting to control his righteous anger. “See here,” he says. “This man was purchased as a household slave, an untrained laborer. It is my understanding that 100 gold is the going rate for household slaves. Do not seek to take advantage of us, or Kettenek’s Wrath shall surely be upon you.”

A hint of anger and confusion show in Tern’s eyes and his smile kinks a notch, as he slowly steps back and whispers to his first functionary. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what a slave is worth, Anvil suddenly realizes. These people behind him are telling him everything.

This time the whisper only goes back to the second functionary before it returns to the front. Tern’s smile reasserts itself. “He was an untrained laborer… when he was purchased. Now, however, he is a skilled artisan, and a far more valuable commodity.”

“A skilled artisan? You said he was a gardener,” Reyu says as evenly as she can.

“He has developed quite a green thumb since he came here,” Tern replies. “He has a great talent for gardening.”

Anvil bursts out “Even skilled artisans do not sell for more than 250 gold!”

Tern’s smile falters, but he whispers to his people. Again, the whisper only goes as far as the second one before returning. Tern reasserts himself. “If I am to be deprived of my finest gardener,” he says, easily, “I deserve some compensation. He has made my gardens the envy of Dar Aego.”

“Surely there is room for… negotiation,” Reyu says, over the sound of Anvil’s heavy breathing.

“Certainly,” Tern replies. “I am not, after all, unreasonable.”

“We cannot afford 500 gold,” Reyu says, “for there are other slaves we must also purchase. But we could afford to double our original offer. Shall we say 200 gold?”

“No, no,” Tern says affably. “As I said, some compensation is in order. But I am not unmoved by your plea. I would be willing to drop my price to… 495 gold.”

The party gapes at him, trying to see if this is a joke. But the earnest look on Tern’s face and the pained look of his second functionary indicate that no, it is not a joke. This is Tern’s idea of negotiation.

“Allow me to… discuss this with my companions,” Reyu says. Tern’s smile widens. They take this as a blessing (on the assumption that Tern’s hat prevents him from nodding) and quickly huddle out of earshot.

“I do not think negotiating with him will be… productive,” Reyu says.

“So what do we do?” Thatch asks.

“Return to Dar Pykos, raise an army, and storm this place,” Anvil says.

“I’m pretty sure the Pledge of Confederacy forbids that,” Cyrus points out.

“Then first we’ll withdraw from the Pledge.”

“What’s with the guys behind him?” Thatch asks, aiming for a productive train of thought.

“I think they’re his advisors,” Reyu says. “He seems… unsteady without them.”

“The first is clearly a chamberlain,” Cyrus notes. “The last one answered all the questions about the slaves. The second answered all the money questions.”

“The slave master and the money guy?” Thatch asks.

Cyrus shrugs. “As good a guess as any.”

“Um. Then the second guy is probably the one we actually need to negotiate with.”

“Sure. But how do we do that with Tern here?” Cyrus asks.

“Easy!” Hue says. “We ask him to leave so we can talk without him.”

“That might be considered… rude,” Reyu points out.

“Really?”

“I don’t think talking directly to Tern is gonna do it here,” Thatch says.

“I agree,” Reyu says. “He is quite… inept.”

“Um. And Anvil might have a stroke.”

“There may be another way,” Essela says quietly. All eyes turn to her. “We do have professional negotiators at the Temple. One of them, Resolute, is a member of the Caucus.”

The others take a moment to consider that idea. “Our representative could deal directly with Tern’s representative without it seeming rude,” Cyrus muses.

“And he stands a better chance of getting a reasonable price,” Reyu adds.

“I like this plan,” Anvil comments. “It involves us not being here.”

The party breaks their huddle and turns back to Tern. “We are happy to open these… negotiations,” Reyu announces. “We shall send a representative to you to… work out the details at once.”

Tern seems slightly perplexed by that, and whispers to his chamberlain. The chamberlain fields this one himself, whispering directly back to his lord. Tern, now reassured, turns back to the party. “Excellent. My controller will receive him when he arrives. Now, good day to you all.” And with a last, rigor-like smile, Tern heads back up the staircase.

The party lets out a sigh of relief. “I hope this Resolute knows what he’s doing,” Thatch says.

“Me too,” Essela replies, and the party heads back toward the Temple of Justice.

**********

As it is late in the day, the party decides not to pursue any of the other slaves tonight. The first thing they do upon their return to the Temple is track down Resolute the Just and ask him to negotiate with the Lowess estate on their behalf. He agrees, and heads off immediately.

Now the party must plan for tomorrow. They still have no leads on Amelia’s current whereabouts. They’ll have to wait for word from the House of Barter before they can pursue her further. The other two slaves are outside the city, one at a plantation, one at a quarry. As the plantation is on the way back to Dar Pykos, they decide to save that one for last.

“It’s about five hours to the quarry from the city by cart,” Essela says. “We’ll need to leave early to get back before the gates close. Getting in after dark can be… very expensive.” There’s more than a little rancor in her voice.

“Then hopefully, we shall hear from the House of Barter early,” Anvil responds.

Resolute returns some hours later. He looks exhausted. “That man is an Aegosian among Aegosians,” he says, with little humor.

“How did you make out,” Reyu asks.

“250 gold. Best I could manage.”

There is simultaneous relief and frustration among the party. It is a better price than they expected, but still more than they have budgeted.

“So, if we pay that, we’ll be left with…” Reyu begins.

“390,” Cyrus says.

“Colin and Andrew should each cost us 100 gold,” Thatch notes.

“Plus 250 for Amelia. Assuming all goes smoothly,” Reyu notes. “That’s 450 total…”

Cyrus brings up the grim truth. “If we pay this much for Dennis, we won’t have enough for all the others.”

to be continued...

 

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-Third
In which: the party considers how to better their fortunes, and Justice is served… mostly.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

Cyrus sums up the party’s dilemma. “We need more money.”

Silence falls as the party considers their options. “Um. I suppose Hue could always take up al-Assal on his offer of employment,” Thatch says uncomfortably.

“Yeah! I could!” Hue says. “Justice demands it!” (DM’s Note: At this point, Bad Monkey Jeff began laughing hysterically, nearly fell out of his seat, and finally squeaked out the words “Pimp the gnome for Justice!” It immediately became a campaign slogan. Unfortunately, since no one knows what a gnome is in the Halmae, it doesn’t get used in-game.)

“Surely there is another option,” Reyu says, looking around hopefully.

“There are the gladiator fights,” Essela says. “Or the chariot races. One can always bet on those.”

The party contemplates this option. “I am not comfortable with the notion of making such a bet,” Anvil says. “We stand to lose what little we have left.”

“I could enter the gladiator fights,” Thatch says. “I bet I’d do pretty well.”

“Or you’d get killed,” Cyrus points out.

“I can handle myself,” Thatch retorts.

“There is still risk involved. It should be saved for our last resort,” Anvil says.

The party lapses into silence again. Finally, Reyu asks, “How much are we short by?”

“60 gold,” Cyrus responds.

“We did spend 80 gold on these robes. We won’t need them once we leave the city. If we can recover only 60 of what we spent…”

“…and not incur any other expenses…” Anvil adds.

“…we should be able to afford everyone.”

The party agrees to aim for this goal. “Right! So I guess we shouldn’t let our robes get dirty or anything,” Hue says.

“That would be best,” Anvil informs him.

Their plan in place, they agree to spend the 250 gold for Dennis. They give the money to a trustworthy acolyte, who takes it to the Lowess estate. A short time later, the acolyte returns. With him is a well-tanned man with thick dark hair and a moustache. He looks about thirty yeas old and is dressed as a slave. He scrutinizes the party with bright but skeptical eyes.

“You are Dennis?” Anvil asks.

“Yeah,” the man says, in a deep, dry voice. “They told me something about being free to go?”

“You are,” Reyu says, kindly.

“Huh,” Dennis says, thinking about it. “First time I ever heard that at the Temple of Justice.”

“Two down,” Thatch says.

“390,” Cyrus notes.

“Plus robes!” Hue adds. “Don’t forget the robes.”

***********

Word arrives from the House of Barter first thing in the morning. When the Morjene estate’s assets were split up, Amelia Morren was sold to the Vojer household. “It is not far,” Essela tells the party.

To the party’s surprise, Lord Vojer seems a perfectly reasonable individual. “I had no idea,” he says, after they explain the situation to him. “Of course, she should be freed.”

“We are prepared to compensate you for her purchase,” Anvil informs him.

“That’s very kind. I’ll need to replace her, if I can. It’s not easy to find slaves intelligent enough to tend a library.” Lord Vojer claps his hands, summoning a servant, who he instructs to bring Amelia to them.

Anvil doles out 250 gold pieces, Amelia’s sale price. Lord Vojer takes the money, and the transaction is complete.

“Is that it?” Thatch asks. “No strings? No bribes? No hidden costs?”

“Apparently not,” Reyu says.

“Three down.”

“140,” says Cyrus. “Plus robes.”

They wait for Amelia to arrive. Lord Vojer shakes his head, sadly. “The poor girl. It’s hard to imagine how she’s suffered. I believe she was treated rather badly by her previous owner.”

“Of course she was,” Reyu says. “She was a slave.”

“Not all slaves are treated harshly,” Lord Vojer replies.

“Perhaps. But it is not a custom that I will ever… understand.”

“There are plenty of people who treat their slaves just fine. Lady Morjene was never among them. The family wasn’t known for its, well, charity or kindness. She had a terrible reputation, on all fronts. It’s fortunate Amelia wasn’t there long.”

“What happened to her former master?” Anvil asks.

“She was murdered. Bludgeoned to death, rather savagely, so they say. The gods know she must have had enough enemies.”

Anvil nods, satisfied. “Then it seems that Justice was served,” he says.

A few moments later, the servant returns with a young woman. She is thin and pale, though she seems healthy and clean. She does not look at anyone in the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. “You sent for me, milord?” she says, in a quiet, deferential voice, and she curtseys.

Reyu steps forward. “Are you Amelia Morren?”

“Yes, ma’am” she says, curtseying again.

“You do not need to call me ma’am,” Reyu says, kindly. “You are a free woman again.”

Amelia seems confused. Her brow furrows, and her eyes dart around, but they never leave the floor to look at Reyu. “I’m… I’m what?” she asks.

“You are free,” Anvil says. “You have been a victim of a terrible miscarriage of Justice, which we are here to correct as best we are able. We will take you back to Dar Pykos with us.”

“I’m… I’m leaving here?” she says. There is the faintest hint of a tear in her eye.

“Yes, you are.”

Amelia is quiet for a moment. Finally she says, “May I have a moment to collect my things, please?”

The party looks around in surprise at one another. They’d have expected a more joyous response to the news. “Of course,” Reyu says. Amelia curtseys again, and disappears.

“Um,” says Thatch. “Is she all right?”

“I think it’ll take more than money to make things right with her,” Cyrus says.

**************

As the group returns to the Temple of Justice, they try to engage Amelia in conversation. She keeps her eyes to the ground, responding with quiet, noncommittal answers. The only one who gets any real response from her is Hue. “Hey!” he says. “Do you remember that al-Assal guy? He said we should tell you he was sorry he had to be so extreme!”

Amelia’s head jerks in Hue’s direction and she actually looks him in the eye. “He’s sorry?” she practically snarls. “Is that supposed to mean anything?”

“Sure,” Hue says, before anyone can stop him. “It’s good, isn’t it? It means he really didn’t mean it!”

Whatever light was in Amelia’s eyes for a moment dies out. Her eyes return to the ground. “He meant it,” she says, quietly. “They all mean it.”

“He seemed really sincere,” Hue says.

Amelia’s jaw clenches, and she suddenly turns around and lifts up the back of her shirt to reveal a latticework of old wounds from the lash of a whip. “Then I guess this was an accident, was it?”

Even Hue is stunned into silence. Amelia drops her shirt again, and resumes her sullen staring at the ground.

There is little conversation after that.

 

[dpdx]

Don't mind me; just pimping the Gnome for Justice. (Bwah!)

 

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-Fourth
In which: the party quibbles for their quarry at a quarry. (It’s quite a quandry!)
(as recorded by Fajitas)

The party arrives at the Temple of Justice, where they briefly debate their next course of action. It is still early enough in the day for them to make it to the quarry and back to retrieve Andrew, the fourth of their five objectives.

Henrik and Amelia opt to stay at the Temple while the others head off to the quarry. Surprisingly, Dennis asks to come along. “Andrew and I were arrested together,” he says. “I feel a little responsible for getting him into this.”

“You bear no responsibility,” Anvil assures him. “You were framed by unscrupulous miscreants. It is no fault of your own.”

“Huh?” Dennis says. “Oh, no. We weren’t framed. We did it.”

There are several stares at that. “You did it?” Reyu says.

“But the records showed you said you were innocent,” Thatch protests.

“Well, duh,” Dennis responds. “What would you have said?”

“So you really did assault Ess Missola?” Anvil asks. “Why?”

“We were hired to,” Dennis says. “Andrew and I used to work together a lot. I was kinda the brains, he was kinda the not-brains. Anyway, this guy paid us five gold each to wait outside the compound and beat the crap outta the kid. He didn’t mention all the guards inside the estate. He kinda left that as a surprise.”

“Tell me,” Anvil says, suspiciously, “do you recall the name of the man who hired you to perform this assault?”

“Yeah,” Dennis says, thinking. “His name was… uh… Regger. That’s it. He called himself Regger.”

There is a collective shaking of heads from the party. Regger is no doubt another pseudonym of the man called Remmer or Reller, the same scarred man that set Thatch and Reyu up.

“Hey,” Hue suddenly pipes up. “If you really did attack Ess, doesn’t that mean that you really deserve to be sentenced to slavery?”

Dennis looks aghast at the notion. Anvil considers it for a moment, but says, “I do not think that is necessary. You had no intent to commit this crime before you were set up.”

“Damn straight,” Dennis agrees.

“Though your past does appear to be somewhat checkered,” Anvil reminds him.

Dennis puts a hand on his chest. “Justicar, I’ve been here, enslaved for months now. Believe me when I say that I’ve seen the error of my ways, and I have no intention of ever doing anything that lands me at your Temple again.” He looks honestly repentant. Anvil nods, satisfied that this sinner has had a true change of heart. Dennis smiles wryly. “Besides,” he says, “I was thinking of setting up shop as a gardener. Turns out I’m pretty good at it.”

*************

It is five hot hours of travel over dusty roads to the marble quarry. Reyu, Anvil, Hue, Dennis, and Essela all ride in the cart. Thatch rides Bob. Cyrus rides his own horse.

They catch a first sight of the quarry as they crest a rise. It looks as if someone has taken a bite out of the earth, exposing the rocky innards for all to see. Huge scaffolds with complicated pulley systems haul rock up the sides. Tiny people can be seen moving all about the rock face, some clearly working, others clearly guarding them.

The party draws closer. As they near the edge of the quarry, they are approached by six guards. Each has a crossbow drawn and loaded, though they do not point them at the party. One of the guards steps forward. He is a rough man, short and stocky, with a stubbly beard. “What’s all this?” he asks.

Anvil rises. “One of your slaves has been wrongfully sentenced to this fate. We are here to buy him from bondage.”

The lead guard grins, throwing a glance at his followers. “Yeah? Let’s see your money. We don’t much like armed parties trespassing all the way out here.”

Anvil reaches into his pouch and produces a handful of coins. “Our purpose here is sincere, goodman…?”

“Reyes,” the lead guard says, with an ugly grin. He looks at the money, then back up at Anvil. “I’m afraid we don’t handle these sorts of things out here. Business office is more for that.”

“Then will you direct us to the business office?”

“Tell you what,” Reyes says. “For a slight handling fee, I’ll take care of the entire transaction myself.”

Anvil sighs. More bribes were probably inevitable. “Would a handling fee of five gold pieces be acceptable?” he offers.

“See, here’s what I was thinkin’,” Reyes responds. “I was thinkin’ you hand over all the gold you’ve got, then you get the hell out of here before we prosecute you for trespassing.” He and his fellows laugh.

Anvil is about to respond harshly, but he suddenly notices that the guards aren’t holding their crossbows quite as casually as they had been a minute ago. Reyu taps him on the knee and nods towards one of the scaffolds, where another pair of guards now has their crossbows at the ready.

Very carefully, Anvil says, “That deal is unacceptable. We are here on Temple business, and have no quarrel with you.”

“Good,” Reyes says. “Then you’ll hand over the gold and be on your way.”

Anvil racks his brain for a peaceful way out, as crossbows begin to train on the party. He can feel everyone else tensing up around him, ready to respond to any aggression.

“What’s it gonna be?” Reyes asks, taking a half-step forward.

The instant he moves, Thatch goes for his greatsword.

And the instant Thatch moves, two crossbow bolts fly towards him from the guards at the scaffold. Both strike him, one plunging deep. Thatch falls off of Bob, bleeding profusely. The party’s front-line fighter has dropped before combat has even begun.

to be continued…

*****************

(DM’s Note: I really didn’t mean to roll two hits, one of them a crit, on those guards’ readied action. And then I really didn’t mean to roll 21 points of damage on my 3d8. On the plus side, if it had been anyone but Thatch, it would have killed them right out, so I suppose it could have been worse.)

 

[dpdx]

I'd imagine that merits a little skull-cracking for Justice, no?

 

[Fajitas]

I'd imagine that merits a little skull-cracking for Justice, no?

Well, it certainly merited a lot of sweat from the DM. I'd been counting on Thatch to drop these guys at roughly the rate of two per round. I was not looking forward to a TPK on the second adventure.

 

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-Fifth
In which: Dennis borrows a blade, Essela doesn’t, and the Ferret sees some action.
(DM’s Note: I wanted to start this with “In which: The party quells the quarrel for their quarry at the quarry,” but spyscribe quashed that quip.)
(Editor’s Note: )
(as recorded by Fajitas)

“Get down!” Reyu shouts, and ducks for cover on the cart as the rest of the guards open fire. The others on the cart duck as well, just as a hail of crossbow bolts fly towards them. More bolts strike the cart than the party, who take advantage of the cover to draw their weapons.

Cyrus slides off his horse and stays near the cart, defending its flank. Reyu’s longbow sings as she returns fire at the enemy. “Anvil! Can you get to Thatch?” she calls out.

“I’ll try!” Anvil responds.

“Hey. Do you have a knife?” Dennis asks Reyu urgently, as another hail of bolts flies at the cart.

“A what?” Reyu asks.

“A knife,” Dennis repeats.

“On my belt,” Reyu answers, reloading.

Without asking permission, Dennis grabs the knife from her belt. He flips it around in his hand and, in one fluid motion, hurls it at an oblivious guard. It strikes him solidly in the arm. The guard screams, dropping his crossbow, and looks around for his assailant. His eyes fall on Dennis. “Heh,” Dennis says, nervously. “Do you have another knife?”

The guards have largely dispensed with the crossbows by now, and have pulled their swords. Essela heaves herself over the side of the cart, taking a fighting stance next to Cyrus. “Need a sword?” he asks her. She shakes her head in reply as two guards rush them. Essela moves like a blur, deftly dodging sword strikes. Her opponent is not so deft, and her hands and feet connect solidly with his face. Cyrus takes him down with a powerful blow, and continues his attack into the next guard.

Anvil, mindful of Thatch’s critical state, watches Hue’s magic missile find its mark on Reyes, who grunts with the impact. This must be ended before it goes too far, Anvil thinks, and he points his finger at Reyes. The power of Kettenek surges through him. “Surrender!” Anvil commands.

Reyes, to his own surprise, throws his sword to the ground and puts his hands in the air. “Surrender, boys! Give it up!” he encourages the others. A few look startled and hesitate, but most are unable to hear him over the din of combat.

“Damn,” Anvil mutters, and jumps off the cart to run to Thatch. Another crossbow bolt, from the guards at the scaffold, scores Anvil across the cheek. Someone should do something about them, he thinks, as he reaches Thatch’s side.

Meanwhile, another bolt from the scaffold strikes the cart, passing mere inches before the face of the mule. The mule, already unnerved by the fighting around him, now fully panics. He rears up as best he can and starts to run forward. “What the--?” Cyrus says, as the cart he is defending rolls out from behind him.

Reyu, Dennis, and Hue are caught by surprise as the mule runs off with them. Reyu realizes the terrified animal is heading straight for the edge of the quarry. Have to stop the mule! she thinks, and scrambles over to grab the abandoned reins. She pulls up on them as hard as she can. The mule stops. “There, there,” she mutters to it in Sylvan, knowing it can’t understand but hoping the woodland tongue will calm the creature more than Common or Elven. “It’s all right.”

Anvil, about to heal Thatch, is momentarily distracted by the moving cart. He fails to notice the guard coming towards him, who strikes him solidly across the gut. Anvil’s prayer of healing becomes a grunt of pain, and the Justicar collapses into unconsciousness.

Fortunately, Hue notices Anvil’s collapse. “Reyu!” he calls, pointing at their fallen comrades.

Reyu glances over at Anvil and Thatch, lying side by side. She swears in Elven. “Hold these,” she orders Dennis, and passes him the reins. Gripping her spear, she dashes towards Anvil and Thatch.

Dennis stares at the reins in his hand. “Sure,” he says, nervously. “Why not?”

Next to Dennis, Hue begins to cast. As he finishes, the Ferret jumps off Hue’s shoulder and charges into the fray. He leaps onto the leg of one of the guards and bites at his knee. Crackles of electricity suddenly burst from the Ferret, sending the guard into convulsions. The guard drops.

Reyu charges across the field of battle towards Thatch and Anvil, but her movement is suddenly cut off by Reyes. Anvil’s command seems to have worn off. Reyes twirls his sword menacingly at Reyu. “Going somewh--”

But the rest of his words are cut off as Essela flings herself at him. “Go!” she calls to Reyu. “I’ll handle him.” Reyu retreats towards Anvil and Thatch, as Essela takes Reyes on.

Essela’s feet move like lightning in a deadly series of kicks, but somehow Reyes manages to evade each one. Essela moves in closer, throwing a flurry of punches at Reyes’ face. Despite her speed and fury, Reyes blocks or dodges every blow. Essela growls in disgust.

(DM’s Note: Poor, poor Essela. It was her player’s first D&D combat, and she must have just missed Reyes’s AC by 1 three or four times. We all felt awful. On the other hand, she did at least keep him occupied.)

Reyu dives towards Anvil’s prone body. I’ve only got one cure spell, so I’ll have to heal Anvil first, she thinks, and she speaks Elven words to invoke healing spirits. A warm blue glow spreads over Anvil’s body, and he sits up, shaking his groggy head. “Ugh,” he says, as he reaches towards Thatch, and begins chanting a healing prayer to Kettenek.

Meanwhile, Cyrus dispatches his foe with a mighty cry, and runs to Essela’s aid. He takes up position behind Reyes, forcing the guard to split his attention. That’ll do it, Essela thinks, and launches yet another attack. Cyrus’s flanking effort proves effective, and Essela connects solidly with her opponent. He staggers, but does not drop, and retaliates with a brutal strike of his own.

Dennis surveys the fight. It’s not going well. Two guards are down, but most of the party is wounded, and Thatch and Anvil are still unsteady on their feet. The two guards on the scaffold are completely untouched and reloading their crossbows yet again. Someone shouldreally do something about them, Dennis thinks, as he struggles to control the mule.

And suddenly, before his eyes, the two guards drop, brained from behind by a pair of slaves.

“Uh-oh,” Dennis says.

Five slaves come charging over the ridge, taking advantage of the guards’ distraction to attempt escape. They carry picks and hammers, and they don’t seem to care who they attack. The battle-lines dissolve rapidly as the guards find themselves attacked on two fronts. Several drop as the slaves plow through them.

Two slaves reach the cart. “In here!” one shouts, as he raises his pick to strike Dennis with it…

…and he suddenly drops, a crossbow bolt right through his throat.

“NO ONE MOVES!!” a female voice shouts from behind.

 

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-Sixth
In which: Hue speaks, and surprisingly, no one tries to shut him up.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

The party freezes, then carefully turn their heads to look. A group of fifteen more guards has come upon the fight. All have crossbows trained at various combatants: slaves, party, and the guards as well. One by one, everyone throws down their weapons.

The leader of the guards steps forward, shouldering her crossbow, as the rest of her people gather weapons. “Would somebody like to tell me just what in the gods’ names is going on?” She looks back and forth between the obvious authority figures, Reyes and Anvil, waiting for a response.

Reyes speaks first. “Slave revolt!” he gasps out. “These trespassers here were a part of it. They showed up, a bunch of slaves tried to make a break for it. It’s some kind of plot. My boys and I were just trying to stop it.”

The woman looks at the party with disgust in her eyes. “Slave stealers, eh?” she says, and her guards close in on the party. “Know what we do to slave stealers around here?”

Anvil’s mind is racing. He knows that he and his companions are all thinking the same thing: if we get arrested here, we’ll be sentenced to slavery, and we can’t buy ourselves out. He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can Hue pipes up.

“That’s not true!” Hue says. “We weren’t here to steal slaves! We were just here to buy one. But then this guy started trying to take our money, and threatened to attack us if we didn’t give it to him.”

To everyone’s surprise, the female guard suddenly motions for her guards to stop “He did what?” she asks, and she turns an appraising eye on Reyes. At a gesture, her guards suddenly begin to close on the other guards.

Unbelievable, Anvil thinks. She believes him.

“Absolutely,” Hue continues. “And then, um, after he threatened us, he said he was going to free a bunch of slaves and blame us for it, so we’d be convicted as slave stealers. So he freed them, not us!”

That’s right, Anvil thinks. That’s exactly what he… no, wait. That’s not what happened at all! Somehow, Hue’s story is so convincing that Anvil almost believes it. Even Reyes seems confused about what happened.

The female guard, however, has no confusion at all. “I might’ve known,” she says, glaring at Reyes. “I’ve always said you were a greedy, good for nothing waste of space. Let’s see how some time inside the quarry suits you.”

At a gesture from her, her guards surround the protesting Reyes and his followers and march them off. She approaches the party, quite contrite. “I’m very sorry that had to happen. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Actually, yeah!” Hue says. “We’re here to buy a slave…”

Hue explains the situation. The guard, whose name is Ellon, is only too happy to escort them to the business office, where they can make the necessary arrangements. She is even willing to grease the wheels for free, as an apology for Reyes’s behavior.

“What have you done?” Anvil whispers to Hue as they walk to the business office. “What made her believe you? Have you somehow bewitched all our minds?”

“Nope!” says Hue. “I just drank this!” He holds up one of the two potion vials he stole from Count Missola’s study. “It was a potion of glibness. It makes a person really really convincing.”

“Indeed,” Anvil agrees. “Where did you come by such a thing?”

Hue looks away from Anvil, guiltily. “Oh, you know,” he stammers. “People find things sometimes.”

“Indeed,” Anvil agrees, and decides that perhaps this time, Justice does not demand further questions...

*************

With Ellon’s help, the party quickly navigates the bureaucracy of the business office. Papers are signed, and guards are sent to fetch Andrew. He turns out to be quite a large fellow, as tall as Thatch but much wider. “Hey Dennis,” he says, upon recognizing his former partner.

“Heya, kid,” Dennis says. “Wanna go home?”

“Four down,” says Thatch.

“40,” Cyrus notes, grimly.

“Plus robes!” Hue reminds him.

“Not anymore,” Cyrus says, and suddenly everyone realizes that the robes they had been hoping to sell back have been horribly torn and bloodied by the fight.

“Now what?” Reyu asks.

“Oh, that? That’s no problem,” Hue pipes up. “I can clean those up in a jiffy!” And, casting prestidigitation, Hue cleans his robes before their eyes.

“What about the rips?” Cyrus asks.

“The power of Kettenek can mend garments,” Anvil says, completely serious. Various people try not to laugh. “There will be people at the Temple who can repair them as if nothing had ever happened.”

And so, with Andrew in tow, they pry the remaining crossbow bolts out of their cart and head back to Dar Aego.

***********

They reach the city just as the sun is setting. At the party’s request, Essela has set them up with work papers, which allow them to enter the city through the back gate without having to pay a bribe. They return to the Temple, where they remove their Aegosian robes and once again don their normal clothing. Acolytes use mending spells to repair the tears. The stains are more difficult to deal with, but Hue promises to learn more prestidigitations tomorrow.

At first light, Hue begins studying his spellbook. Amelia watches from a corner, almost enviously. “I haven’t had a spellbook since I came here,” she finally explains when Reyu presses her on it. “They wouldn’t let me have one.”

“You’re welcome to borrow mine some time,” Hue offers, though the Ferret seems less sanguine about the prospect.

Reyu watches concerned as Amelia leaves the room. She has been trying to reach out to the poor girl, but Amelia keeps turning away. Reyu shakes her head, unable to believe humans could treat a child in this way.

Hue is quickly able to clean the garments. They look completely new. Essela volunteers to take them to be resold. She returns with 70 gold. “I convinced the merchant they had never been worn. And that it was in his best interest to be owed a favor by the Temple of Justice,” she says.

“110,” Cyrus says. “We may pull this off yet.”

 

[spyscribe]

Part the Very Twenty-Seventh
In which: we return to the beginning... in a manner of speaking.
(as recorded by Fajitas)

Everyone makes their preparations to leave. Good-byes are made to Immobile and Essela, supplies are replenished, and Henrik, Amelia, Dennis, and Andrew all take seats in the cart.

Before they go, Immobile quietly draws Anvil aside. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but something happened last night you should know about.”

“Indeed?”

“There was a break-in at the Vojer estate last night. Lord Vojer, the one you purchased Amelia from? He was murdered.”

Anvil considers that, very quietly. “How?”

“Beaten to death, rather violently. I’ve taken steps to ensure that this case falls on my desk, but I thought you’d like the warning.”

“Is there any reason to think the girl is involved?” Anvil asks.

Immobile shrugs. “It doesn’t seem likely. She was here all night, and she hardly seems capable of beating a full-grown man to death. Still, it’s unsettlingly similar to what happened to her last master. It might be a coincidence, but… I don’t know. If you want to get her out of the city, you’d better go soon. People are going to demand Justice, and they might not care if it’s truly just.”

“Very well,” Anvil says. “Thank you, my friend. If you are ever in Dar Pykos, consider me at your disposal. I hope you have success with Kettenek’s work here. May His Justice be upon you.”

“And you, Anvil. And you.”

Anvil turns to rejoin the others, when Immobile suddenly snaps his fingers. “I almost forgot. There’s one more thing. You received a message from the House of al-Assal last night. He asked you to stop by before you leave.”

Anvil’s nose wrinkles reflexively at the mention of al-Assal. “Did he say why?”

“No. He just said it was important.”

For a moment, Anvil debates not bothering to respond. But then he shrugs. “Very well. We shall stop by on our way out of town…”

**************

"And the rest," Reyu finishes, "you already know."

Lira nods, slowly, as she licks her spoon clean. Mrs. Blackburn clears away the remains of their brunch. “Wow,” Lira says. “That’s quite a story.” She pauses for a moment. “So, you want to go get some dessert?”

End Interlude

 

[spyscribe]

On March 21st of this year, I posted the following missive:

Let it not be said that our intrepid DM cannot take a hint.

Since this thread started, Fajitas has been picking the brains of Wisdom Like Silence, Bad Monkey Jeff, and Thatch's player in order to assemble the first part of the chronicle. Or, as some of us refer to it, the campaign B.L.

(Let it also not be said that I am the only compulsive person at our table.)

So gentle readers, do not despair!

Coming soon are tales which will shed light on such nagging questions as:

"Why do the PC's hate Dar Aego with such a burning passion?"
"How did this motley group come to travel together in the first place?"
"What does a bear trap have to do with anything?"

...and many more, to be shortly followed by the chronological continuation of the narrative.

Well, this has turned out to be a rather loose interpretation of the word "shortly."

So, just in case anyone needs a refresher on the beginning of the thread:

Part the First
In which: the party grows ever larger

Part the Second
In which: Kettenek’s justice in Dar Aego is completed (well, a little bit of it anyway), and the party is somewhat poorer for it.

and

Part the Third
In which: Elven curiosity is satisfied, but other mysteries are left unsolved.

And now...