MerakSpielman
First Post
OK, here's the next update. I promise to keep it more up to date from now on, but remember, we don't play this game too often.
They set off the next morning for New Sillar. Slash observes that their performances didn’t even come close to earning enough wood to pay for the entertainment license. This is the same road they took on their way to New Fifechester, and there is very little of interest to see. The journey will take eight days to complete. It does not occur to the companions to complain about the dullness of the journey, or the blandness of the fungus-jerky rations. This is nothing more or less than they would expect.
Midway through the third day, Triesste calls for a sudden halt.
“I see something. On the ceiling. Looks like a bump of rock but it’s not… I saw it move.”
“This can’t be good,” mutters Crystal.
“I’m going to take a shot at it,” the half-drow replies. Nobody objects. She levels her crossbow at the dim, shadowy shape and fires. Almost instantly the creature bursts into motion, scampering along the ceiling towards to party. “I can’t tell if I hit it, but I definitely got its attention!”
As the travelers prepare for battle, the creature attacks them with two long, claw-tipped tentacles. They slash through the air at Crystal, who narrowly avoids them. Weapons drawn, the party faces their adversary. It’s moving so quickly that even with their darkvision they have trouble making out exactly what it looks like.
“You’d do well to leave us alone, whatever you are,” shouts Triesste, “You’re badly outnumbered!”
To everybody’s surprise, the creature responds by turning tail and scurrying away from them, fleeing as fast as it can.
“Damn,” growls Strak, “I was looking forward to that fight. Why’d it attack us if it didn’t plan on going through with it?”
Zya muses, “Maybe it didn’t realize how many of us there were. Or perhaps it planned on grabbing one of us and running off to eat at its leisure. Whatever its reasoning, it’s gone now.”
Warily, the party continues on their way, expecting another attack, but they see no sign of the creature.
Finally, weary from the long walk, the group arrives at the gates of New Sillar, capital of the human kingdom of Lower Silleria. There is a guard there in the yellow-and-gray livery of Silleria, but he seems flustered and distracted, hardly glancing at the group as he approaches them and calls out a warning.
“Travelers! The city is experiencing some trouble at present. If you want to go on in, fine, but things are a bit hectic.”
The party stops, “Why, what’s going on?” asks Crystal.
“Vistraks. We call ‘em Filcher’s around here, though. We’ve been hit by a plague of them. The buggers can swim through stone like it was water. They’ve been stealing things left and right.”
“Can’t the city guards do anything?”
“We do our best! But they only stay out of the stone for a few seconds, long enough to grab something, then they sink back into the floor and vanish. But, much as I hate to say it, they’re not the real problem.”
“What is?” inquires Triesste.
“Looting. There’s been a rash of petty theft, since nobody can be sure who or what took it. Everybody and his neighbor are stealing little things here and there. It’s all we can do to maintain the semblance of order. We’ve really got our hands full.”
“What do these… Vilstraks… Look like?” asks Beltana.
“’Bout six foot tall, if they didn’t hunch over like they do. Skinny. Weak-looking. Gray skin. No clothing. Bug heads.”
Triesste looks disgusted, “Bug heads? Gross.”
Crystal addresses the guard, “Thank you for your warning. We will be on our guard, but we have pressing business in this city.”
The guard waves them inside, then rushes off to tend to other business.
“They didn’t even bother to search our packs,” Slash says, “Curious.”
Entering the city proper, the party sees nothing really out of the ordinary, but the people all seem worried, and there is little conversation as they hurry on their way. The guards patrol in groups of four, with the royal crest of Silleria emblazoned on their breastplates. They look better equipped and better trained than the guards in New Fifechester. The travelers, despite being a somewhat unusual group, are largely ignored. They obtain lodging at a squat stone inn near the entrance to the city and peruse a map Triesste purchased from a vender outside.
“Well,” muses Zya, “All the manors are over in that section,” she points, “So the Krum manor shouldn’t be difficult to find. We need a good story to get us inside, though.”
“How about messengers?” suggests Crystal, “We could be delivering a message from Lord Ziffendel. I’m sure his interest in his wife’s condition would seem legitimate.”
“Good thinking. But we can’t all go – it doesn’t take many people to deliver a message and some of us,” she looks pointedly at Strak, “are a bit lacking in social skills.”
“I’ll go,” says Beltana, “I spoke to Lord Ziffendel personally, saw the house and servants, and whatnot, so I can be a bit more believable.”
“Then I should go too,” agrees Zya, “That’s probably enough. We don’t want a crowd – too suspicious. How about the rest of you?”
“I want to go check into the bad side of town,” says Crystal, “Check out the rumors, see if I can make any contacts. Any of the rest of you want to come along?” Strak, Triesste, and Slash all agree to go with Crystal.
They leave the inn, Beltana and Zya heading north-east to the wealthier section of town, and the rest of the party traveling north-west, into just the opposite sort of district.
Several minutes after separating, Slash starts to get pensive. Separating from the rest of the group, she walks on the other side of the street, weaving in and out of the foot traffic. Crystal looks over at her with a knowing smile.
Triesste frowns, “What’s she doing?”
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, a shout erupts from the opposite side of the street, “Thief! Guards! Stop, thief!”
Triesste stammers, “What? She didn’t…”
Strak lets out his harsh laugh, “Oh, I’ll be she did.”
Crystal motions them to keep moving, “I’m sure she’ll catch up with us… best not to act as though we know anything about what’s going on.”
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Slash rejoins the party, breathless. As there are no guards following her, the others don’t bother mentioning her little excursion. Strak, however, keeps chuckling under his breath.
Shortly thereafter, the group arrives at a dingy tavern in the dingy part of town. Rowdy humans are shoving and laughing everywhere, but they manage to find a table at which to sit. The furniture stinks of spilt, rancid ant-mead, but the patrons don’t seem to care.
“Remind me again what we’re doing in this place,” mutters Triesste distastefully.
“What, what’s wrong with it,” asks Strak. He rudely grabs the arm of a passing serving-girl, “Get us some mead.”
She pulls her arm back, looking distastefully at Strak, “That’s a wood each, Derro, but it comes with some food. Your kind has to pay up front.” Everybody shells out his or her wood and the girl hurries off towards the bar.
“Excuse me,” says Crystal, “It’s time to dig up some information.” Without even waiting for his mead to arrive, he stands up and walks up to the bar, gesturing the barkeep over to join him in hunched conversation. After a minute or so, the barkeep points to a man sitting at a table in the corner and the others watch as Crystal goes over to talk with him, though they can’t make out the conversation. The man in question is large, dark skinned, and well cloaked. Crystal tries to engage him in conversation, but seems to be getting nowhere. Finally, the man expresses a bit of interest and asks him a question, eyebrows raised. In response, Crystal spits into the man’s tankard. The dark man stands up violently, then laughs and says harshly:
“Ok, little Drow, you made your point. Buy me a fresh tankard and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
But Crystal rebuffs this offer, “Buy your own drink, human. I’m here on business.”
The big man’s face reddens with anger, “You deny me this? Prepare for pain!” and he whips out a short sword from under his cloak. There is a sudden flurry of activity as people scurry to clear the general area. Crystal pulls out his nunchukus, looking irritated and more than a bit scared. The man is easily double his weight, and it all looks like muscle.
Suddenly, Slash is there, whirling her own nunchukus expertly as she leaps onto the table in front of the man, “Now, now, big fellow, there’s no need for this to come to blows,” the kobold begins, “I’m sure we can all put our weapons away and settle this like…”
She is cut of as the burly man sweeps her off the table with his left arm. There’s a chuckle, and everybody turns for a moment to see Strak, still sitting at the group’s original table, leaning back in his chair and sipping the just-delivered mead.
“Oh, no, don’t stop now, this is just getting good,” he calls out.
Triesste analyzes the situation. They don’t want to be too conspicuous – a bar fight is not what the group needs. If violence is out… and Slash already tried diplomacy… well, there is only one thing left for her to try. She grabs the three remaining tankards off the table, dumps the mead out on the floor, and begins to juggle them. Everybody in the tavern looks at her in amazement. She is so hideously poor at juggling that it’s almost comical. She keeps dropping one or more of the pewter tankards and having to scramble to pick it up again. It’s clear that the comedy is due entirely to incompetence, not artifice, but she carries on. Even the burly man, previously about to run Crystal through with his blade, is staring in bemused amazement. Finally, the laughter starts, honest-to-goodness, why-are-you-making-such-a-fool-out-of-yourself laughter. Even Crystal’s opponent becomes caught up helplessly, sinking back into his chair, tears of mirth beginning to form in the corners of his squinting eyes.
Strak looks disappointed, “Spoilsport.”
“Let’s go,” says Slash, getting up from the floor, “I think we’ve gotten as much investigating done as we’re going to tonight. I hope Beltana and Zya had better luck.”
----
Meanwhile, Beltana and Zya have reached the Manor District. The buildings here were not carved from local stone, but from more expensive, imported stone. Though none of the stone used is particularly rare, a wide array of colors are represented. Each manor is different, seeming custom built, but most are at least two stories high. The overall effect of the different shapes and colors is strangely beautiful in the light of the divinely-enchanted lampposts.
The pair asks for directions and finds their way to the Krum manor, built against the side of the cavern. They observe it silently for a few minutes, seeing if they can notice anything out of the ordinary. Specifically, they check for any signs of a young baby, but they see and hear nothing out of the ordinary. They meet in a huddled conference for a minute before approaching the front door.
“So exactly what is our story?”
“Her husband misses her and is wondering when she’ll return. We’re just messengers.”
“Keep an eye out for any clues that the child is present. That’s a mystery I would prefer to have solved.”
“Agreed.”
They smooth their rumpled clothing and knock on the door. A wizened servant answers.
“Yes?” He looks suspiciously at the Drow and Kobold on the doorstep.
Beltana speaks: “We bear a message for the Lady Ziffendel from her husband.”
“Very well,” he holds out his hand.
“Sir, the message is of a private nature. We are instructed only to relay it to the Lady herself, and to not leave without her response.”
The servant looks irritated, “Very well. I suppose you had better come inside. I will inform Tiny.” He slowly moves off, leaving the companions in the small foyer.
“He refers to her somewhat informally,” comments Zya.
“He’s so old he probably thinks of her as a child. He’s probably been since long before she was born.”
Very shortly thereafter, a woman arrives, with the old servant hovering a few paces behind. She is relatively young, slender, and quite pretty. She is dressed in black, apparently mourning the “loss” of her child.
She speaks, calmly: “Please, come into the sitting room,” and leads them into a small chamber, elegantly appointed with small, tasteful decorations that in no way appeal to the aesthetic preferences of either Drow or Kobold. She gestures for them to sit, though she remains standing.
“What news from my Lord?”
“Lady, your husband has grown sad and lonely in your absence. He wishes to inquire as to how much longer you will be away.”
She mutters, “I’m surprised the senile old fool has even noticed I’m gone.”
Beltana and Zya are started at the sudden venom in her voice. The servant doesn’t even blink.
“Return to my Lord, and inform him that I am not yet recovered from my grieving. I need to stay with my family, in my ancestral home, a while longer. I wish his health were such that he could travel to join me, but alas, it is not to be.” She dismisses them with a wave of her hand and stalks out of the room, leaving the thin, metal door swinging slowly on its hinges behind her.
“Er, well, then,” stammers Zya, “Thank you. We’ll deliver your message.”
The servant leads them back to the front door. A pretty maid is there, dusting the odds and ends in the hallway. She turns to them, beginning to beam cheerfully, noticing the visitors aren’t humans, and not managing to pull it off.
“You’re the messengers from Lord Ziffendel? Of course you are! You know, it’s traditional to offer people on official business a bit of hospitality. You’re leaving in the morning, so you’ll stay the night here, of course. I’m afraid you’ve missed supper.” She looks at them expectantly.
“Well, of course we’ll stay here, if that’s all right,” Beltana responds.
“Nonsense, you’ll be no trouble at all! I just need to get your room set up… Won’t take long.”
“No hurry,” interjects Zya, “We have an errand to run first in the city. We’ll be back shortly.”
Beltana and Zya return to the inn to report to the others. Slash and Strak are busy with some sort of contraption involving a looped rope on the floor.
“Filcher trap,” explains Slash, “See?” she points to a large shiny gem on the table, “It’s glass. Bait, you see. When the filcher comes up through the floor to get it, it gets caught in the loop.”
“Maybe we can catch one and, heh, use its abilities for ourselves,” grins Strak.
They wait patiently, holding the end of the rope expectantly as Beltana and Zya begin their report on what happened at the manor and their brief meeting with Tiny Ziffendel.
“So did she look like she had just lost a child, or was taking care of one?” asks Triesste.
“How on earth would you be able to tell?” chuckles Crystal.
“Well,” muses Zya, “She was wearing black for mourning.”
“Did it look like she had just changed into those clothes after you arrived, but before she appeared, just to fool you?” Triesste inquires.
“How on earth…” begins Crystal again.
“No,” says Beltana, “Her hair accessories matched her dress, and the buttons and laces were all carefully done up. There was too little time for her to change into that outfit. Ultimately, I don’t believe she has been caring for a child.”
This time Crystal just raises his eyebrows questioningly.
Beltana sighs, “I am Drow, but I know the ways of women-kind. She did not appear overly tired. She did not have bags under her eyes. She did not have, if you’ll forgive the term, that certain ‘glow’ about her that human mothers get. Her breasts did not appear engorged. If she was producing milk, as she would have been in the latter parts of pregnancy, it has since dried up from lack of nursing.”
They all look at her.
“Well, I wasn’t born yesterday. You don’t live a century as a female and not learn these things.”
Zya continues the brief story.
“… and so we’re going to be spending the night there. Perhaps we can snoop around a bit, find something out. I’m not holding out much hope, though.”
Everybody agrees that they didn’t have any better plans, so the Kobold and Drow soon find themselves walking back to Krum Manor. The old servant answers the door again.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he says, somewhat stiffly and with a distinct note of disapproval, “this way.”
They follow him up a grand marble staircase, down a hallway, and to a sturdy metal door.
“You will, of course, be expected to remain politely in your room until the morning. Good night.”
They enter the room and shut the door. Compared to the luxury of the rest of the manor, the room seems distinctly… spartan. In fact, shadows on the wall indicate where hangings and paintings have recently been removed. There are two small beds, a table, an oil lamp, a standing mirror, and a narrow, curtained window overlooking the street by which they arrived.
“I think they stripped the room of valuables in preparation for our visit,” comments Zya, sighing heavily, “Why on earth wouldn’t they trust a Kobold?”
“Stay awake. No matter what he said about staying here, we need to get some information tonight.”
“Right.”
So they wait, awake, in the darkness. It doesn’t occur to either of them to light the lamp on the table, since they can both see perfectly well in the darkness. The general noises and bustle of the household slowly dies down into the sleepy silence of night.
“You know,” says Zya, after an hour or two, “I was really hoping to hear a baby crying. I’m beginning to think the child isn’t here after all. Perhaps…” she stops and listens, “Someone’s coming.”
Soft footsteps approach their door, and then there is a faint knock.
Beltana moves to answer the door. The Lady Tiny Ziffendel stands there in her nightgown, which is, like her dress earlier, totally black.
“Let me in! I mustn’t be seen!” Beltana moves aside and the Lady hurries into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Do you mind if I light this?” she indicates the lamp, “I can barely see,” she fumbles in her nightgown’s pockets for a tindertwig and lights the lamp. Finally, she turns to face the companions. She seems pale and is trembling slightly.
“So, er, um…” she is clearly struggling to find the appropriate words, “My… husband…he is in good health?”
“He is,” answers Beltana quietly.
“And his servants? Everybody is well?”
“We saw only one servant. He seemed to be handling himself all right.”
“You know… I hate for my Lord to be lonely, with nobody to talk to late at night… You know, he is very good friends with his cleric, Hubris.”
Zya and Beltana exchange a quick glance. Where is she going with this?
“Well, he did mention that they are good friends…”
“And how is Hubris,” she exclaims, “He’s there, is he not? Keeping my Lord company?”
“No, no he is not. He left several weeks ago.”
“When?” there is a sudden urgency in Tiny’s voice, “Exactly when did he leave?”
They give her the date. The Lady quickly makes a few calculations on her fingers. Finally, she collapses, sobbing, onto the bed.
“Oh, gods, I knew something would happen. He should have been here by now.”
Zya and Beltana exchange another glance as she continues sobbing into the pillow.
Finally, Zya speaks, “You… you were expecting him?”
Tiny looks up, eyes wide, “No! I mean…” her hand flies to her mouth, “Oh, what have I said? I… I can trust you to keep this quiet, can’t I? Please tell me I can trust you?”
“You can trust us,” Beltana reassures her. She has taken on the persona she wore when she visited Ziffendel manor with Zya: soft, compassionate, caring. Zya knows that this act will drop the moment Tiny is out of earshot.
“I… I desperately need a messenger. If he was late, I’m supposed to send him a message… Oh, but I can’t! The ring… the ring…”
“What ring is this?”
The Lady pulls out a kerchief and dabs her eyes, trying to calm herself long enough to speak coherently, “He… he gave me a ring… I was to include it with any message I wrote, to insure it was really from me and that he could trust what it says. I’d ask you to be my messengers, since I can’t ask anybody in my household, and I can’t even leave without an escort, and…” tears form at the corners of her eyes, she dabs them and continues, “But it’s no use… even if you agreed to do this, I’ve… I’ve lost…”
“You’ve lost the ring?” Beltana asks gently.
“Y… yes… Actually, it was stolen. The… the filchers… one of them came and took it. My bureau is of stone, and it just rose up out of the floor, reached right through the bureau like it wasn’t there, and vanished again. I… I didn’t dare scream, or tell anybody, since nobody knew I had it…”
Beltana reaches out and pats her hand consolingly, “I understand, Lady. Isn’t there some way you could, say, buy a similar ring and…”
“No!” she exclaims sharply, “Well, the thing is, there’s an engraving on the ring. Words, written on the inside.”
“What does it say?” asks Zya.
“It’s a message… of a personal nature.”
“Ah.”
“But suppose,” Beltana says carefully, “suppose somehow you got your ring back…”
“Oh, I’d do anything to get it back! Could you find it? If you could I’d give you anything I have in return. I’d be so happy! I’d… but there’s no way… The filchers…”
“I promise you, Tiny,” soothes Beltana, “We will try our hardest to find your ring, and to reunite you with Hubris.”
Tiny bursts into tears again for a few seconds, then manages to say, “I never thought I’d be able to say this to a Drow… I’ve been told they’re all mean and nasty and would make me a slave if I talked to them… but, thank you so much. If you could do this for me, I’d be eternally in your debt. I absolutely must know what’s happening with Hubris.”
“What does the ring look like?” asks Zya.
“It’s gold, and set with an onyx. You already know it has engravings on it. Now, if you please, I need get back to my room before my maid notices I’ve left. Again, thank you.”
She closes the door behind her.
“Well that was interesting,” Beltana says coldly, “I think we need to find this ring.”
“We’ll talk to the others in the morning,” Zya agrees.
They sleep.
Next: The quest for the ring.
Session 4
They set off the next morning for New Sillar. Slash observes that their performances didn’t even come close to earning enough wood to pay for the entertainment license. This is the same road they took on their way to New Fifechester, and there is very little of interest to see. The journey will take eight days to complete. It does not occur to the companions to complain about the dullness of the journey, or the blandness of the fungus-jerky rations. This is nothing more or less than they would expect.
Midway through the third day, Triesste calls for a sudden halt.
“I see something. On the ceiling. Looks like a bump of rock but it’s not… I saw it move.”
“This can’t be good,” mutters Crystal.
“I’m going to take a shot at it,” the half-drow replies. Nobody objects. She levels her crossbow at the dim, shadowy shape and fires. Almost instantly the creature bursts into motion, scampering along the ceiling towards to party. “I can’t tell if I hit it, but I definitely got its attention!”
As the travelers prepare for battle, the creature attacks them with two long, claw-tipped tentacles. They slash through the air at Crystal, who narrowly avoids them. Weapons drawn, the party faces their adversary. It’s moving so quickly that even with their darkvision they have trouble making out exactly what it looks like.
“You’d do well to leave us alone, whatever you are,” shouts Triesste, “You’re badly outnumbered!”
To everybody’s surprise, the creature responds by turning tail and scurrying away from them, fleeing as fast as it can.
“Damn,” growls Strak, “I was looking forward to that fight. Why’d it attack us if it didn’t plan on going through with it?”
Zya muses, “Maybe it didn’t realize how many of us there were. Or perhaps it planned on grabbing one of us and running off to eat at its leisure. Whatever its reasoning, it’s gone now.”
Warily, the party continues on their way, expecting another attack, but they see no sign of the creature.
Finally, weary from the long walk, the group arrives at the gates of New Sillar, capital of the human kingdom of Lower Silleria. There is a guard there in the yellow-and-gray livery of Silleria, but he seems flustered and distracted, hardly glancing at the group as he approaches them and calls out a warning.
“Travelers! The city is experiencing some trouble at present. If you want to go on in, fine, but things are a bit hectic.”
The party stops, “Why, what’s going on?” asks Crystal.
“Vistraks. We call ‘em Filcher’s around here, though. We’ve been hit by a plague of them. The buggers can swim through stone like it was water. They’ve been stealing things left and right.”
“Can’t the city guards do anything?”
“We do our best! But they only stay out of the stone for a few seconds, long enough to grab something, then they sink back into the floor and vanish. But, much as I hate to say it, they’re not the real problem.”
“What is?” inquires Triesste.
“Looting. There’s been a rash of petty theft, since nobody can be sure who or what took it. Everybody and his neighbor are stealing little things here and there. It’s all we can do to maintain the semblance of order. We’ve really got our hands full.”
“What do these… Vilstraks… Look like?” asks Beltana.
“’Bout six foot tall, if they didn’t hunch over like they do. Skinny. Weak-looking. Gray skin. No clothing. Bug heads.”
Triesste looks disgusted, “Bug heads? Gross.”
Crystal addresses the guard, “Thank you for your warning. We will be on our guard, but we have pressing business in this city.”
The guard waves them inside, then rushes off to tend to other business.
“They didn’t even bother to search our packs,” Slash says, “Curious.”
Entering the city proper, the party sees nothing really out of the ordinary, but the people all seem worried, and there is little conversation as they hurry on their way. The guards patrol in groups of four, with the royal crest of Silleria emblazoned on their breastplates. They look better equipped and better trained than the guards in New Fifechester. The travelers, despite being a somewhat unusual group, are largely ignored. They obtain lodging at a squat stone inn near the entrance to the city and peruse a map Triesste purchased from a vender outside.
“Well,” muses Zya, “All the manors are over in that section,” she points, “So the Krum manor shouldn’t be difficult to find. We need a good story to get us inside, though.”
“How about messengers?” suggests Crystal, “We could be delivering a message from Lord Ziffendel. I’m sure his interest in his wife’s condition would seem legitimate.”
“Good thinking. But we can’t all go – it doesn’t take many people to deliver a message and some of us,” she looks pointedly at Strak, “are a bit lacking in social skills.”
“I’ll go,” says Beltana, “I spoke to Lord Ziffendel personally, saw the house and servants, and whatnot, so I can be a bit more believable.”
“Then I should go too,” agrees Zya, “That’s probably enough. We don’t want a crowd – too suspicious. How about the rest of you?”
“I want to go check into the bad side of town,” says Crystal, “Check out the rumors, see if I can make any contacts. Any of the rest of you want to come along?” Strak, Triesste, and Slash all agree to go with Crystal.
They leave the inn, Beltana and Zya heading north-east to the wealthier section of town, and the rest of the party traveling north-west, into just the opposite sort of district.
Several minutes after separating, Slash starts to get pensive. Separating from the rest of the group, she walks on the other side of the street, weaving in and out of the foot traffic. Crystal looks over at her with a knowing smile.
Triesste frowns, “What’s she doing?”
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, a shout erupts from the opposite side of the street, “Thief! Guards! Stop, thief!”
Triesste stammers, “What? She didn’t…”
Strak lets out his harsh laugh, “Oh, I’ll be she did.”
Crystal motions them to keep moving, “I’m sure she’ll catch up with us… best not to act as though we know anything about what’s going on.”
Sure enough, about ten minutes later, Slash rejoins the party, breathless. As there are no guards following her, the others don’t bother mentioning her little excursion. Strak, however, keeps chuckling under his breath.
Shortly thereafter, the group arrives at a dingy tavern in the dingy part of town. Rowdy humans are shoving and laughing everywhere, but they manage to find a table at which to sit. The furniture stinks of spilt, rancid ant-mead, but the patrons don’t seem to care.
“Remind me again what we’re doing in this place,” mutters Triesste distastefully.
“What, what’s wrong with it,” asks Strak. He rudely grabs the arm of a passing serving-girl, “Get us some mead.”
She pulls her arm back, looking distastefully at Strak, “That’s a wood each, Derro, but it comes with some food. Your kind has to pay up front.” Everybody shells out his or her wood and the girl hurries off towards the bar.
“Excuse me,” says Crystal, “It’s time to dig up some information.” Without even waiting for his mead to arrive, he stands up and walks up to the bar, gesturing the barkeep over to join him in hunched conversation. After a minute or so, the barkeep points to a man sitting at a table in the corner and the others watch as Crystal goes over to talk with him, though they can’t make out the conversation. The man in question is large, dark skinned, and well cloaked. Crystal tries to engage him in conversation, but seems to be getting nowhere. Finally, the man expresses a bit of interest and asks him a question, eyebrows raised. In response, Crystal spits into the man’s tankard. The dark man stands up violently, then laughs and says harshly:
“Ok, little Drow, you made your point. Buy me a fresh tankard and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
But Crystal rebuffs this offer, “Buy your own drink, human. I’m here on business.”
The big man’s face reddens with anger, “You deny me this? Prepare for pain!” and he whips out a short sword from under his cloak. There is a sudden flurry of activity as people scurry to clear the general area. Crystal pulls out his nunchukus, looking irritated and more than a bit scared. The man is easily double his weight, and it all looks like muscle.
Suddenly, Slash is there, whirling her own nunchukus expertly as she leaps onto the table in front of the man, “Now, now, big fellow, there’s no need for this to come to blows,” the kobold begins, “I’m sure we can all put our weapons away and settle this like…”
She is cut of as the burly man sweeps her off the table with his left arm. There’s a chuckle, and everybody turns for a moment to see Strak, still sitting at the group’s original table, leaning back in his chair and sipping the just-delivered mead.
“Oh, no, don’t stop now, this is just getting good,” he calls out.
Triesste analyzes the situation. They don’t want to be too conspicuous – a bar fight is not what the group needs. If violence is out… and Slash already tried diplomacy… well, there is only one thing left for her to try. She grabs the three remaining tankards off the table, dumps the mead out on the floor, and begins to juggle them. Everybody in the tavern looks at her in amazement. She is so hideously poor at juggling that it’s almost comical. She keeps dropping one or more of the pewter tankards and having to scramble to pick it up again. It’s clear that the comedy is due entirely to incompetence, not artifice, but she carries on. Even the burly man, previously about to run Crystal through with his blade, is staring in bemused amazement. Finally, the laughter starts, honest-to-goodness, why-are-you-making-such-a-fool-out-of-yourself laughter. Even Crystal’s opponent becomes caught up helplessly, sinking back into his chair, tears of mirth beginning to form in the corners of his squinting eyes.
Strak looks disappointed, “Spoilsport.”
“Let’s go,” says Slash, getting up from the floor, “I think we’ve gotten as much investigating done as we’re going to tonight. I hope Beltana and Zya had better luck.”
----
Meanwhile, Beltana and Zya have reached the Manor District. The buildings here were not carved from local stone, but from more expensive, imported stone. Though none of the stone used is particularly rare, a wide array of colors are represented. Each manor is different, seeming custom built, but most are at least two stories high. The overall effect of the different shapes and colors is strangely beautiful in the light of the divinely-enchanted lampposts.
The pair asks for directions and finds their way to the Krum manor, built against the side of the cavern. They observe it silently for a few minutes, seeing if they can notice anything out of the ordinary. Specifically, they check for any signs of a young baby, but they see and hear nothing out of the ordinary. They meet in a huddled conference for a minute before approaching the front door.
“So exactly what is our story?”
“Her husband misses her and is wondering when she’ll return. We’re just messengers.”
“Keep an eye out for any clues that the child is present. That’s a mystery I would prefer to have solved.”
“Agreed.”
They smooth their rumpled clothing and knock on the door. A wizened servant answers.
“Yes?” He looks suspiciously at the Drow and Kobold on the doorstep.
Beltana speaks: “We bear a message for the Lady Ziffendel from her husband.”
“Very well,” he holds out his hand.
“Sir, the message is of a private nature. We are instructed only to relay it to the Lady herself, and to not leave without her response.”
The servant looks irritated, “Very well. I suppose you had better come inside. I will inform Tiny.” He slowly moves off, leaving the companions in the small foyer.
“He refers to her somewhat informally,” comments Zya.
“He’s so old he probably thinks of her as a child. He’s probably been since long before she was born.”
Very shortly thereafter, a woman arrives, with the old servant hovering a few paces behind. She is relatively young, slender, and quite pretty. She is dressed in black, apparently mourning the “loss” of her child.
She speaks, calmly: “Please, come into the sitting room,” and leads them into a small chamber, elegantly appointed with small, tasteful decorations that in no way appeal to the aesthetic preferences of either Drow or Kobold. She gestures for them to sit, though she remains standing.
“What news from my Lord?”
“Lady, your husband has grown sad and lonely in your absence. He wishes to inquire as to how much longer you will be away.”
She mutters, “I’m surprised the senile old fool has even noticed I’m gone.”
Beltana and Zya are started at the sudden venom in her voice. The servant doesn’t even blink.
“Return to my Lord, and inform him that I am not yet recovered from my grieving. I need to stay with my family, in my ancestral home, a while longer. I wish his health were such that he could travel to join me, but alas, it is not to be.” She dismisses them with a wave of her hand and stalks out of the room, leaving the thin, metal door swinging slowly on its hinges behind her.
“Er, well, then,” stammers Zya, “Thank you. We’ll deliver your message.”
The servant leads them back to the front door. A pretty maid is there, dusting the odds and ends in the hallway. She turns to them, beginning to beam cheerfully, noticing the visitors aren’t humans, and not managing to pull it off.
“You’re the messengers from Lord Ziffendel? Of course you are! You know, it’s traditional to offer people on official business a bit of hospitality. You’re leaving in the morning, so you’ll stay the night here, of course. I’m afraid you’ve missed supper.” She looks at them expectantly.
“Well, of course we’ll stay here, if that’s all right,” Beltana responds.
“Nonsense, you’ll be no trouble at all! I just need to get your room set up… Won’t take long.”
“No hurry,” interjects Zya, “We have an errand to run first in the city. We’ll be back shortly.”
Beltana and Zya return to the inn to report to the others. Slash and Strak are busy with some sort of contraption involving a looped rope on the floor.
“Filcher trap,” explains Slash, “See?” she points to a large shiny gem on the table, “It’s glass. Bait, you see. When the filcher comes up through the floor to get it, it gets caught in the loop.”
“Maybe we can catch one and, heh, use its abilities for ourselves,” grins Strak.
They wait patiently, holding the end of the rope expectantly as Beltana and Zya begin their report on what happened at the manor and their brief meeting with Tiny Ziffendel.
“So did she look like she had just lost a child, or was taking care of one?” asks Triesste.
“How on earth would you be able to tell?” chuckles Crystal.
“Well,” muses Zya, “She was wearing black for mourning.”
“Did it look like she had just changed into those clothes after you arrived, but before she appeared, just to fool you?” Triesste inquires.
“How on earth…” begins Crystal again.
“No,” says Beltana, “Her hair accessories matched her dress, and the buttons and laces were all carefully done up. There was too little time for her to change into that outfit. Ultimately, I don’t believe she has been caring for a child.”
This time Crystal just raises his eyebrows questioningly.
Beltana sighs, “I am Drow, but I know the ways of women-kind. She did not appear overly tired. She did not have bags under her eyes. She did not have, if you’ll forgive the term, that certain ‘glow’ about her that human mothers get. Her breasts did not appear engorged. If she was producing milk, as she would have been in the latter parts of pregnancy, it has since dried up from lack of nursing.”
They all look at her.
“Well, I wasn’t born yesterday. You don’t live a century as a female and not learn these things.”
Zya continues the brief story.
“… and so we’re going to be spending the night there. Perhaps we can snoop around a bit, find something out. I’m not holding out much hope, though.”
Everybody agrees that they didn’t have any better plans, so the Kobold and Drow soon find themselves walking back to Krum Manor. The old servant answers the door again.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he says, somewhat stiffly and with a distinct note of disapproval, “this way.”
They follow him up a grand marble staircase, down a hallway, and to a sturdy metal door.
“You will, of course, be expected to remain politely in your room until the morning. Good night.”
They enter the room and shut the door. Compared to the luxury of the rest of the manor, the room seems distinctly… spartan. In fact, shadows on the wall indicate where hangings and paintings have recently been removed. There are two small beds, a table, an oil lamp, a standing mirror, and a narrow, curtained window overlooking the street by which they arrived.
“I think they stripped the room of valuables in preparation for our visit,” comments Zya, sighing heavily, “Why on earth wouldn’t they trust a Kobold?”
“Stay awake. No matter what he said about staying here, we need to get some information tonight.”
“Right.”
So they wait, awake, in the darkness. It doesn’t occur to either of them to light the lamp on the table, since they can both see perfectly well in the darkness. The general noises and bustle of the household slowly dies down into the sleepy silence of night.
“You know,” says Zya, after an hour or two, “I was really hoping to hear a baby crying. I’m beginning to think the child isn’t here after all. Perhaps…” she stops and listens, “Someone’s coming.”
Soft footsteps approach their door, and then there is a faint knock.
Beltana moves to answer the door. The Lady Tiny Ziffendel stands there in her nightgown, which is, like her dress earlier, totally black.
“Let me in! I mustn’t be seen!” Beltana moves aside and the Lady hurries into the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
“Do you mind if I light this?” she indicates the lamp, “I can barely see,” she fumbles in her nightgown’s pockets for a tindertwig and lights the lamp. Finally, she turns to face the companions. She seems pale and is trembling slightly.
“So, er, um…” she is clearly struggling to find the appropriate words, “My… husband…he is in good health?”
“He is,” answers Beltana quietly.
“And his servants? Everybody is well?”
“We saw only one servant. He seemed to be handling himself all right.”
“You know… I hate for my Lord to be lonely, with nobody to talk to late at night… You know, he is very good friends with his cleric, Hubris.”
Zya and Beltana exchange a quick glance. Where is she going with this?
“Well, he did mention that they are good friends…”
“And how is Hubris,” she exclaims, “He’s there, is he not? Keeping my Lord company?”
“No, no he is not. He left several weeks ago.”
“When?” there is a sudden urgency in Tiny’s voice, “Exactly when did he leave?”
They give her the date. The Lady quickly makes a few calculations on her fingers. Finally, she collapses, sobbing, onto the bed.
“Oh, gods, I knew something would happen. He should have been here by now.”
Zya and Beltana exchange another glance as she continues sobbing into the pillow.
Finally, Zya speaks, “You… you were expecting him?”
Tiny looks up, eyes wide, “No! I mean…” her hand flies to her mouth, “Oh, what have I said? I… I can trust you to keep this quiet, can’t I? Please tell me I can trust you?”
“You can trust us,” Beltana reassures her. She has taken on the persona she wore when she visited Ziffendel manor with Zya: soft, compassionate, caring. Zya knows that this act will drop the moment Tiny is out of earshot.
“I… I desperately need a messenger. If he was late, I’m supposed to send him a message… Oh, but I can’t! The ring… the ring…”
“What ring is this?”
The Lady pulls out a kerchief and dabs her eyes, trying to calm herself long enough to speak coherently, “He… he gave me a ring… I was to include it with any message I wrote, to insure it was really from me and that he could trust what it says. I’d ask you to be my messengers, since I can’t ask anybody in my household, and I can’t even leave without an escort, and…” tears form at the corners of her eyes, she dabs them and continues, “But it’s no use… even if you agreed to do this, I’ve… I’ve lost…”
“You’ve lost the ring?” Beltana asks gently.
“Y… yes… Actually, it was stolen. The… the filchers… one of them came and took it. My bureau is of stone, and it just rose up out of the floor, reached right through the bureau like it wasn’t there, and vanished again. I… I didn’t dare scream, or tell anybody, since nobody knew I had it…”
Beltana reaches out and pats her hand consolingly, “I understand, Lady. Isn’t there some way you could, say, buy a similar ring and…”
“No!” she exclaims sharply, “Well, the thing is, there’s an engraving on the ring. Words, written on the inside.”
“What does it say?” asks Zya.
“It’s a message… of a personal nature.”
“Ah.”
“But suppose,” Beltana says carefully, “suppose somehow you got your ring back…”
“Oh, I’d do anything to get it back! Could you find it? If you could I’d give you anything I have in return. I’d be so happy! I’d… but there’s no way… The filchers…”
“I promise you, Tiny,” soothes Beltana, “We will try our hardest to find your ring, and to reunite you with Hubris.”
Tiny bursts into tears again for a few seconds, then manages to say, “I never thought I’d be able to say this to a Drow… I’ve been told they’re all mean and nasty and would make me a slave if I talked to them… but, thank you so much. If you could do this for me, I’d be eternally in your debt. I absolutely must know what’s happening with Hubris.”
“What does the ring look like?” asks Zya.
“It’s gold, and set with an onyx. You already know it has engravings on it. Now, if you please, I need get back to my room before my maid notices I’ve left. Again, thank you.”
She closes the door behind her.
“Well that was interesting,” Beltana says coldly, “I think we need to find this ring.”
“We’ll talk to the others in the morning,” Zya agrees.
They sleep.
Next: The quest for the ring.
