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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 9794213" data-attributes="member: 143">One of the things I like about the new Starter Set is the good villain hooks it includes. Everybody loves a good villain. * * *Chapter 20“Interesting,” Dwern said.For few moments the only sound was the scritch of the dwarf scribe’s pen as he made notes in his ever-present leather book. After a time he paused. “Interesting,” he said again.“That’s all you have to say, after everything we’ve just told you?” Ravani asked.Once again they were using the back room at the Drunken Dragon tavern for their meeting. It was the day after their initial foray into the Caves of Chaos, and the adventurers had recovered from their physical injuries, though both Leana and Greghan remained rather subdued. Ravani had been the one to deliver most of their report to the scribe, with corrective comments offered here and there by Folgar.Dwern put down his pen, and calmly folded his hands in front of him atop the table. “I agree that you are probably correct, and that the kobolds and goblins do not have any direct connection to the cult. Although I think you may be right that the kobold leader was holding back information. Perhaps you could follow up on that thread when you return to the Caves.”“Return… hey, we haven’t decided we’re going back there yet. Those caves weren’t exactly dripping with treasure, like your boss suggested. And they’re not safe enough to camp there, so we have to return here each day to rest and resupply. The least you could do is pay for our expenses.”“Done,” Dwern said. “Send your bills for the tavern and inn to the clerk at the Keep, and as long as the costs are reasonable, you will be reimbursed.”The elf just blinked at the dwarf as he gathered up his writing supplies and his book, and rose from the table. “I have to deliver my report to Lord Winvarle,” Dwern said. “If you could keep detailed maps on your next visit to the Caves, that would be most helpful. Gentlemen, priestess, good day.”Greghan slid into the seat vacated by the scribe as he left. He hadn’t said a word during the entire meeting. Ravani just threw up his hands. “Damn it, I should have asked for a stipend,” he said.“Leana, you seem distracted,” Folgar asked. The dwarf looked even more askance than usual; after getting his beard fouled with dirt and blood several times on this last excursion, he’d trimmed it, apparently by himself using a knife. The result was a crooked wedge of whiskers that only added to the aura of confusion that he presented. “What’s wrong?”“I am uncertain if we are following the proper course,” the priestess said. “Neither the kobolds or the goblins were really looking for trouble. Whatever conflict occurred there was introduced by us.”“I expect Vinx would disagree,” Ravani said. “Or that dragon’s mother. And I doubt that either the kobolds or the goblins found the supplies they had in their caves at the local market.”“Neither group appeared to be up to much good,” Folgar said. “Even if we apply the most favorable interpretation to their actions, they remain dubious at best.”“Perhaps you’re right,” Leana said. “Don’t mind me. It’s been… a lot.”“And what’s your problem?” Ravani asked, turning to Greghan. “You’ve been moping ever since we got back. Sure, we haven’t found a vast cache of treasure, but we got twenty-five golds for that bandit’s weapons, and we’re alive, despite the best efforts of several bad guys to make that no so. Plus, you heard the scribe, now you can sleep in a proper bed in a proper room, instead of a hayloft.”“I… I was thinking about what the bandit said,” Greghan replied. He shook his head. “He was right. I am just an oaf.”“He said, ‘clumsy oaf,’” Ravani added helpfully.“I’m not a soldier,” Greghan continued. “I’m not a warrior. I’m a farmer.”“Plenty of farmers have taken up the blade, in defense of their land and their kin, or to join a lord’s cause,” Folgar said.“No, you don’t understand,” Greghan said. “I’m… I’m an imposter.” His hands tightened into fists, but with an effort he unflexed them, spreading his fingers wide atop the surface of the table. “You asked me before about my story,” he told them. “Well, I’ll tell it to you, and then you’ll know the truth.”* * *When he saw that the door to his barn had been left slightly open, his first thought was that he’d forgotten to secure it the night before. Afraid that some of his animals might have gotten free, he hurried forward to check. The interior was still mostly dark; he was an early riser, and the sun was just barely peeking over the treetops of the woods to the east.As he stepped inside, his foot jostled something, which made a clatter as it skittered forward into the interior of the barn. He heard something, a groan that raised his hackles and a feeling of alarm. He quickly pushed the barn door fully open, letting enough light in for him to see clearly.The intruder had been sleeping in a haystack that he’d knocked over, spreading loose straw over a portion of the interior. He was clad in a suit of mail links that covered him from shoulders to hips; a simple helmet of leather banded with iron lay on the ground nearby, and the largest sword Greghan had ever seen was propped up against a post within easy reach. A small pack, an unstrung bow, and a handful of arrows that had spilled out from their quiver completed the stranger’s inventory.The warrior blinked up at him, and held up a hand to block out the wan daylight. “Make me some breakfast, farmer. I’m partial to scrambled eggs, and a bit of meat. Sausages, if you have them.”Greghan just stood there. “Who are you?” he finally asked. “What are you doing here?”“Did you hear me?” the warrior said, pulling himself up to a seated position. “Off with you, or I’ll kill one of these animals.” He gestured vaguely to the beasts who were watching the scene from within their stalls along the edges of the central space. “You got a farm wife, farmer? Or do you sheep serve in that role?”Greghan still hadn’t moved; this encounter was so far beyond his experience that he had no idea what to do. But the warrior grew angry, his expression darkening. “If that’s the way you want it,” he growled. He sprang to his feet with a speed that was a bit uncanny, and he reached for his sword.That jolted the farmer into action; he rushed forward, grabbing onto the man’s wrists, keeping him from drawing that massive blade. The warrior snarled, and cursed; Greghan could smell the alcohol on his breath. The farmer was strong, but the warrior was too, and even in his inebriated state he was quick. He twisted an arm free, and drove a fist into Greghan’s belly. The blow was hard enough to knock the wind from him, and he crumpled. The warrior’s snarl became a look of grim triumph, and he raised the sword, the steel hissing as it slid from its scabbard.“Time to die, farmer,” the man said, but as he started to step forward his left foot landed on the thing that Greghan had kicked coming in—an empty bottle. The warrior stumbled, and as he tried to right himself his heel caught on his discarded pack. He tumbled backwards, landing with a heavy thud.For a moment, the two men just lay where they’d fallen, watching each other. The warrior’s hands thumped on the ground a few times, but there wasn’t enough strength behind them to push him up. A soft gurgling sound filled the interior of the space, before both it and the vague flailing ceased.Greghan slowly picked himself up off the ground. He walked forward—careful of where he put his feet—and looked down at the warrior. The man had fallen next to the hay bin he’d half-overturned the night before. In doing so, he’d knocked down the farmer’s hay fork, which had fallen onto an overturned milk bucket. When he’d dropped, he’d impaled himself on the fork. Two of the tines jutted out from his neck, now covered in a cascade of blood. The man’s dead eyes stared up at him, as if in accusation. For a long time Greghan just stood there, looking at him.* * *“I never even learned his name,” Greghan said. “I just picked ‘Grimdark’ since it sounded scary.” During his recitation his gaze had fallen to his hands atop the table, and he didn’t look up at the others as he finished his tale. “I buried the body in the woods. I took his armor, sword, and purse, and left.”“You were right,” Ravani said. “You’re not a fighter… you’re an assassin. A hay fork through the neck… gods above!”Leana rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. “Rav,” she said.“You don’t fight like a man who’d never picked up a sword before,” Folgar observed.“I practiced,” Greghan said. “Wooden dummies, and the like. My father taught me, whenever you want to learn a skill, you have to practice it until your muscles learn to do it automatically. And… and when I sold my animals, I bought… a book.”“You learned to fight from a book?” Ravani asked incredulously.Greghan nodded. “It had pictures,” he said.“Well, naturally,” the elf said. “I mean, I’m sure we all learned our trades from fine volumes. Mine was, Mastery of the Roguish Arts, as I recall. Or maybe it was Sneak Attack Your Way to Victory, now I’m not certain…”“Rav,” Leana said again.“Oh, the title doesn’t matter,” Ravani continued. “What about you, Folgar? What was your book?”“This one,” the dwarf said, holding up his spellbook.“Oh, right. Well, maybe you’re not the best example. What about you, Leana?”They all looked to the halfling, who didn’t immediately respond. After a moment, she leaned over and placed her hand on Greghan’s, and smiled. “My book was Glories of the Light,” she said. “I was thinking of a particular passage, while you were telling your story. It says, ‘Judge a man not by his words, but by his deeds.’ The deeds I remember are you holding your ground against charging cultists. Cutting a centipede off me, without regard to your own safety.” She turned his hand over, revealing the half-healed scar there. “And stepping over Ravani there to protect him from a monster out of nightmares… holding it off you through sheer blessed grit, then chopping it half in two when it tried to kill me.”“You may not be a soldier, Greghan,” she finished. “But as far as I’m concerned, you’re a fighter… and I’m proud to stand by your side.”“Agreed,” Folgar said.“Fine, yes,” Ravani said. “I did praise you for chopping that spider, didn’t I? But if we’re going to keep on with this, then you and I need to have a few conversations about the fine art of fencing. If you can even use that word in conjunction with that cleaver of yours.”Greghan turned his head away for a moment. The others pretended not to notice. “Thank you,” he said.“So what’s the plan?” Folgar asked.“As I see it, we still need to deal with that cult,” Leana said. “Reward or no, it’s the right thing to do. And I’m not convinced that they don’t have eyes in the Keep, so we need to be cautious.”“Here is what I propose…”</blockquote>

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