Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer gets up and starts to follow Tock to the bar. Heda shrugs at him as she leaves the table where she'd performed for the greasy haired older man, jingling her money pouch she keeps on a cord around her neck significantly before tucking it inside her blouse.

At the table, the man puts down a ceramic cup, smacking his lips with satisfaction and reaching towards a small clay teapot. His dark eyes meet Bufer's.

"Excuse me, Master Gnome, is that Renraw Kem at the bar?" He holds up a silver coin with one hand as he pours hot water into his cup with the other. "Let him know I bear a message from some mutual friends."

He tosses the silver coin to Bufer, the man's black cat watching with slit eyes as it twirls through the air.

Bufer catches the coin out of reflex, then looks from it, to the man, and back again with a puzzled frown. He opens his mouth to say something about not being a messenger, then cocks an eyebrow, shrugs, and tucks the coin into his pocket.

"OK, I'll let him know," he says to the stranger.

The man then looks to his cup, sprinkling in what appear to be dried red flower petals and no longer seems to be paying him any attention to Bufer.

At the bar, Katadid's lips form the letters as he reads the crumpled note from St. Feldin's once more, at which point Dalarn and Erilon Farrin jostle him aside to get to the bar.

"Excuse me, you bearded filth," Tock says to the rowdy dwarves. "There's ale enough for everyone here, especially since half of you people are half-sized. Shove my cousin another time and I'll cut you down further."

"Watch yerself, princess. It'd be tough to play the banjo with all yer damn fingers broken between hammer and anvil," Dalarn sneers. "Why don't you go find your husband, Rags, to defend you?"

"Howdy gents," Bufer say, pushing his way into their midst. "Hey Kem, y'see that old stranger over my shoulder, the one drinkin' tea? He just tossed a silver piece at me so I'd tell ye he was lookin' for ye. Says he's got a message for ye from a friend you got in common."

Bufer turns his head to the side slightly, just enough so he can see the old man in his peripheral vision.

"I ain't never seen him 'round these parts before--but he's a big spender, an' he's got a cat with him," he adds. "I ain't no expert, but that says 'wizard', to me."

Bufer looks back up at Renraw with narrowed eyes.

"You in some kinda trouble we should know about?"

"I don't think ... I can't," Renraw strains his eyes trying to make out the stranger. "I hope ... Oh, oh, hellfire, this brandy has just started kicking in, hasn't it? I stuttered like Leach there for a moment. Bufer, did he seem friendly? Can one of you gentlemen please go see what he wants?"

"Calm down, calm down," Bufer says quietly. "Don't make a scene. He didn't seem unfriendly; in fact, he just tipped Heda right well to play for 'im. He just seems a little haughty is all. Got airs, know what I'm sayin'?"

Bufer sighs in resignation.

"All right, stay here," he says sourly. "I'll go see what more I can find out. But if he gets pissed off and turns me into somethin' unnatural, it's on yer head, boy."

"I'll go too," Katadid adds hastily, eager to walk away from the glowering dwarves. "I had. I'll ... yes."

Bufer looks up at Katydid and blinks.

"Great," he says flatly. "Just let me do the talkin', all right? Please?" With another look at the flummoxed Renraw, and ignoring the brewing confrontation between Tock and the dwarves, Bufer shakes his head and makes his way back to the stranger's table, with Katadid in tow. The cat eyes them as they approach, which Bufer finds unnerving.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but we don't often see strangers in Maidensbridge, and Master Kem's understandably a might anxious, you might say. If you could be so kind as to let us know who you represent, or simply relate the message in question to me, I'd be more than happy to relay it to him."

The olive skinned man looks up at the gnome and his bodyguard, bemused.

"I am Khenemet-Apep, the Wizard of Green Mountain, and my message is for Mister Kem alone. Those that gave it to me told me he was expecting such a message."

Kat walks back to the bar, leaving Bufer standing by Khenemet-Apep's table, the gnome clearly puzzling over the meaning of all of this. Katadid taps Renraw on the shoulder.

"The kobolds are calling Mister Kem," Kat whispers into his ear. "And I think now the gnome knows that they are."

"Holy hell!" Renraw cries. "Why now? When I'm just -- I'm just..."

Renraw looks over in the direction of the stranger to find the man staring right back at him. Their eyes lock, and Renraw jolts off his perch and tumbles backward onto his feet. He takes another frantic look over his shoulder and tries to back away from the man, from Katadid, and from everyone. Unfortunately, behind him are Tock Chandler and Dalarn and Erilon Farrin. He bumps into Tock roughly, but Tock is able to keep his balance and does not fall into the unruly dwarf brothers. He flails and turns to see what's impeding him.

"WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE MOVE THESE UNHOLY MONGREL DROPPINGS OUT OF MY WAY? LOTHIAN'S BLOOD, NON-MONSTERS NEED TO GET BY!"

He then pushes off Chandler and Leach as best he can and makes for the door at best possible speed.

Bufer turns back to Khenemet-Apep.

"Told you he was anxious."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Wuh?"

Over at the bar, Emus somehow instinctively knows Renraw's outburst refers to dwarves. Looking to see if he knows the Haurdir in question, he quickly sizes up the situation. He's drunk and he's not too bright, but he's been in enough bar brawls to know what some Farrin lowlifes and that Chandler loudmouth are brewing.

He stalks over to Emmerson's table and hoists Reed out from under Skeeter and onto his chair. He hands Reed his greatclub, and as an afterthought, his half-finished drink.

He points at Reed.

"Skeeter, guard."

While enjoying watching the dwarves argue in the corner, a slight man notices the drunken, frantic man in the scholar's robes stumbling through the crowd for the door. Never one to miss an opportunity, Stotch moves to intercept him; drunk and frantic are the best things for a man to be, if you're looking for an easy mark.

"Hold, brother! Are those robes not the colors of St. Feldin's College? I have a cousin attending that fine institution. It's amazing to see a man of obvious learning in orchard country!"

"WHAT ARE YOU?" Renraw explodes in a panic. "Aside with you, boob!"

Renraw swings a fist at the stranger, and shoves his way toward the tavern door.

"Kran's teats!" Stotch easily dodges Renraw's blow. His dark eyes take in Katadid at the bar, Khenemet-Apep watching from his seat and the worried expression of Bufer. Curious, he decides to follow Renraw outside.

Back at Khenemet-Apep's table, Bufer can't hear what's being said at the bar, but even so, watching things unfold, he has a sinking feeling about what's going to happen next. It's not unlike watching one of his idiot brothers' sheep-shearing machines blow itself to pieces, but in slow motion.

"Ugh, everywhere we go ..." Shaking his head, Bufer turns to the dark-skinned man sitting behind him, still calmly drinking his strange tea as he watches the developing hostilities with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mister Wizard, sir, but I think it might be prudent if we presently vacated these here premises. Things look like they're bound to get rowdy. I'd be happy to show you the back way out, if ye like."

With that, he turns and calls to his friends still seated on the other side of the room.

"EMMERSON! HAZEL! GRAB THE MUD DEMON! WE'RE LEAVING!"

The Wizard of Green Mountain scowls and snaps something in a language that Bufer doesn't recognize. The mangy black cat leaps onto his shoulder, and then leaps, all four paws spiky with exposed claws, toward the doorway. By the time the cat lands, the doorway has been cleared in a panic.

"After you," Khenemet-Apep says to Bufer, slouching out after him.

Emmerson hears Bufer's scream over the din of the tavern and stands up to scan the place. He stands up and looks at the source of the commotion.

"Hazel, take Reed outside. Notify the Constable and Tucker, if you'd be so kind."

Hazel grabs Reed by the hand and starts threading her way through the crowd away from the Cat & Fiddle. The errand is about as successful as walking directly into the wind during a storm. For every two steps she takes, the crowd pushes her back a step as heads turn to see what's going on inside the tavern. She barely takes notice of Skeeter trotting purposefully alongside Reed until the hound wiggles its way forward and begins nosing legs out of their path.

As she pushes her way out of the Cat & the Fiddle, she can't help but notice Tosh's cousins pushing their way, grinning at the confusion and mayhem to come. One of them winks at Reed.

Emmerson approaches Tock and he can see him speak to them in words he can't hear, but he can definitely guess their meaning.

"Hail, gentlemen," he says, addressing the dwarves. "I just came to tell you all that I have crossed words with Tock Chandler and, without a doubt, they are responsible for his soured disposition tonight. I may have angered him enough so he's taking it out on you. Leave him be tonight with my compliments and a few tankards of The Cat & The Fiddle's finest."

The dwarves look from Tock to Emmerson to Tock to Emmerson, weighing their choices.

"How many drinks, exactly?" Erilon finally asks.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Having given up on tracking down Mother Bridger amidst the revelers, Ragglus settles for a wash bucket and cloth, courtesy of some old, toothless man on cleaning duty out and about Kramer's General Store. He was Kramer's new father-in-law, Ragglus thought. He had taken pity on the young fighter, but Ragglus colorfully suggested a particular orifice where said pity could be stuffed. The old man, in no hurry to finish his duties, shrugged and set off on other chores. Ragglus, left alone, pressed the damp cloth to his face. The water was cool, but soothing all the same.

Finishing off as best he could, Ragglus catches sight of some dwarves lingering outside the smithy across the way. One didn't have to be an expert on dwarves to know that any gathered around Therurt's place of business, relaxing even, had to be of the Clan Glangirn. Clan relations being what they are, Rags would wager the smith wouldn't abide any Clan Farrin dwarves loitering about his shop.

Maidensbridge was no stranger to Glangirn versus Farrin drunken brawls; they were among the very finest that Ragglus could remember. The square wagon wheels start to turn in his unfortunately sober brain, thinking back to those rock-munching brothers who'd jumped him. Erilon and Dalarn ... Farrin.

For the first time in hours, Ragglus starts to smile.

"Therurt," Ragglus begins, walking up to the dwarf near his smithy. He speaks low, but loud enough for anyone to hear, especially the other Glangirn dwarves close by. "You seen Constable Bridger? A mate of mine jus told me 'bout how them Farrins, Elorin n' Dalarn, they've been mouthin' off, saying Glangirns is less gifted in the pants than other dwarves, if you take my meanin'."

Ragglus turns around to see the other dwarves staring at him, frowning. He leans in a bit closer to Therurt as if to keep his speech private and not bother the eavesdropping dwarves, but continues speaking at the same volume.

"A fight's brewing, mark my words. The constable ought to be warned."

Nothing about Ragglus' manner appears at all convincing to Therurt or the other Glangirn dwarves, but from the murmured comments and dark looks toward the bar, it doesn't seem like most of them care whether the story is true or not.

Argus Glangirn stands up and, in an exaggerated loud voice, stretches, slinging his banjo over his back.

"Well, I'm off to unload some of this here green beer. I won't be here to keep an eye on you boys while I'm gone, but I know I can trust you all to not throw the first punch, should those Farrin lads start flapping their gums ..."

As he wanders off, the Glangirn dwarves grin, finish their beers, and head for the bar en masse.

"Guess i'll keep lookin' for the constable then," Ragglus says, strolling away with a spring in his step.

* * *

As soon as he's certain the Farrin dwarves are backing down, Tock turns back around to Renraw and his cousin, only to find they're gone, as is pretty much everyone but Emus.

"Oh, for crying out loud." He looks down to Emus. "Good to know some folk don't run at the first hint of scuffles. Tell Ella your next ale's on me, Emus."

Tock walks to the door and calls out.

"Oh, you cowardly sheep, get back in here! I'm going to go on in a bit! There's no fight, there's nothing to run from!"

He sees Renraw sprawled in a mud puddle, having fallen in his haste to escape the Wizard of Green Mountain. The bard bursts out laughing.

"Laugh now, Chandler," Renraw snarls, attempting to wipe the mud from his face with a muddy sleeve. He carefully pulls himself to his feet and totters over to Tock, whispering urgently in the bard's ear about Khenemet-Apep and what he guesses he wants to speak to the younger wizard about.

In the midst of the whispered conversation, Stotch strolls over.

"For a man of letters, you seem awfully prone to fits of violence and clumsiness," he smirks. "Perhaps you should take a moment and compose yourself. A jug of cider, and a breath of air will cure any troubled soul, yes?"

By now the Wizard of Green Mountain has apparently given Bufer the slip and appears in the doorway, his eyes blazing, clapping a hand on one of Renraw's bony shoulders.

"Wow! Sir," Tock blurts out, ignoring the panic on his friend's face, "It is truly an honor to even be in your presence. I would be humbled if you were to stay for the performance."

The dark-skinned wizard glances at him and then turns his attention back on Renraw.

"Enough. I have business with Mister Kem and it is business I must conduct with him alone. Now."

By now a small crowd has formed around the muddy wizard and the much more dignified wizard. Kat is leaning over trying to catch his breath and waving the crumpled remains of a letter in one hand toward the pair.

"Questions," he wheezes toward Khenemet-Apep. "Shadow mages! Mirrors ... key to ... K-Kemite ... locations?"

Khenement-Apep steers Renraw around the edge of the crowd, away from both the bar and crowd in the town square.

Tock and Stotch are left behind, watching them go, listening to Katadid mumbling questions to himself.

"Huh," Tock says finally. "I wonder what he wants. Hey there, new guy. I'm Tock Chandler. Here for the festival or for the music? It's not for the atmosphere, I assume."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

In life, many problems are caused by what amount to misunderstandings.

Take the word "drink." Humans of the Tarsisian Empire speaking the common tongue of the empire think they know what it means.

Unfortunately, it means something very different to dwarves.

In Dwarvish, the Imperial word "drink" translates to "sip." Dwarves do not sip.

In Imperial, the Dwarvish word "drink" translates to "quaff." Dwarves quaff.

Quaffing, for those who have never seen it, consists of hurling all the liquid in a container at a dwarf's open mouth. If most of it gets in, this is considered honorable to the clan, respectful to the brewer and, most importantly, tasty.

When Emmerson put down his 40 silvers on the bar, he thought he was agreeing that the dwarves would be sipping the ale he purchased for them.

In contrast, the Farrin brothers agreed to quaff.

So it was that, less than a minute later, the pair barreled out of The Cat & The Fiddle, Erilon colliding with Tock from the side, tackling him into a mud puddle. His brother, right behind him, had a similar idea until he spotted the Glangirn dwarves headed toward the bar.

Screaming a dwarven war cry that boils down to threatening to have enthusiastic and somewhat unpleasant sexual relations with the mother of the victim, Dalarn slammed into the Glangirn. This, of course, brought the rest of the Farrin dwarves in the square into the fray.

On the periphery, Argus Glangirn climbs up onto Therurt's anvil and begins playing a rousing song on his banjo, roaring out a tune with gusto. Heda Littlelark shrugs, climbs up onto a barrel by The Cat & The Fiddle, and joins in the tune.

One moment, Hazel Sawyer thinks she has her little brother under control, and then a moment later, she spots Reed and two of the Bergin gnomes leaning out of a window on the top floor of The Cat & The Fiddle, pointing to the fray below and apparently discussing how to get onto the roof.

Khenemet-Apep grips Renraw with his bony fingers, fingertips sinking into shoulders like talons.

"Now, while these fools are preoccupied," he hisses and shoves the younger wizard towards Maidensbridge's graveyard.

Standing a safe distance from the fray, but close enough to watch with vivid interest, Ragglus laughs heartily, and more heartily whenever he spots Dalarn or Erilon on the receiving end of a Glangirn blow.

He turns to catch an outraged woman's glace as she covers her small boy's eyes.

"Ain't life grand?" Ragglus asks rhetorically, grinning wolfishly.

* * *

Emmerson stops in his tracks as dwarven battle cries, cheers and epithets fill the air. He turns from looking for the constable to see the square exploding with beards, fists and feet. Among the quarrelers, he could definitely see Tock Chandler pinned by a dwarf. It wasn't pretty.

The constable and Tucker were needed now more than ever.

He tries pushing his way through the crowd to find them, but everywhere he turns, there's a wall of fists, mud and whiskers. (And in a few cases, body blows have led to puddles of vomit here and there, avoided by the combatants as best they can.)

* * *

Hazel freezes at the sight of her brother throwing a leg over the sill of an upstairs window at the tavern, then lets out a furious oath and starts running, dodging festival-goers and fighting dwarves as best she can, and throwing an elbow out when she can't.

"Get the hells out of my way!" Under her breath, she mutters continually. "Should've expected it. 'Oh, sure, Da, I'll keep an eye on him. No trouble at all. When has he ever not caused trouble?' Damn gnomes just egging him on ..."

She pauses to take a breath about 20 feet from The Cat & The Fiddle, and cups her hands around her mouth.

"REED SAWYER! You get that skinny leg back inside that window right now! A tavern is not a tree!" Absolutely furious, she points a finger at the gnomes beside him. "And you! You just stay right there!"

If Reed can hear Hazel calling up to him, he gives no sign. Instead, he and the gnomes have discovered a cache of what appear to be rotten apples and pass the basket onto the roof, where they will have an unobstructed firing line into the melee below.

* * *

Emus has been waiting patiently at the bar for the drink that Tock bought him. He was watching it being poured when he heard the scuffle start outside. He takes a step towards the door, but then he remembers his drink. He steps back to the bar and starts bouncing like an antsy child.

"Ooh! Come on! Hurry!"

No sooner does his ale hit the counter than Emus picks it up, quaffs it, and then charges outside to join the fray.

* * *

As the fight boils around them, Erilon straddles Tock's chest, pummeling him with his meaty fists, grinning broadly.

"Not so pretty after I get through with you, boy!"

And then Katadid's spell takes effect and Erilon's eyes cross and he falls forward, onto Tock Chandler. Two more dwarves nearby also fold to the mud beside them.

* * *

Once in the graveyard, Renraw wrests himself free of Apep's grasp.

"All right, wizard, you've got me. And I am suitably chastened for attempting to flee. But you'll have to pardon me for being a trifle nervous; I wasn't expecting my message to be delivered in the middle of a crowd." The implications of what he's just said set in and Renraw's normal prudence vanishes entirely. "What are you thinking, chancing compromising me like this? Did the kobolds tell you that our pact was a SECRET one? Most of the bumpkins here may not know your face, but they know who you are and with whom you associate. What POSSIBLE reason could you have to meet with me? What am I supposed to tell everyone?"

A chunk of mud slides off the bookkeeper's nose.

Khenemet-Apep slaps Renraw across the face, sneering and raking one hand back through his greasy black hair.

"Shut up, you idiot. If you had not panicked like a fool, we could have conducted our business quite calmly, and no one would have wondered why two wizards were discussing the mysteries of the ether among themselves.

"And I was not hired to deliver a message, I was hired to ensure you live up to your part of the deal."

He looks Renraw up and down with a skeptical eye.

"Do you know what a geas spell is? No, of course you don't. Sit on that gravestone and we'll begin."

"Don't take me for a fool. Of course I know what a geas is, and it isn't necessary. I said I would have no problems doing what was asked, and I won't. I'll do it under my own volition or so help me one day you'll regret it." The words are no sooner out of his mouth than Renraw realizes his error and goes pale, stammering in fear. "So, um, who do you like in the music tournament? Well, Fiddler, of course. Obviously. He's quite a talent. What's your favorite Fiddler song, Khenemet? May I call you Khenemet?

"Honestly, there's no need for the spell. I give you my word, one wizard to another."

Khenemet-Apep sneers and his vile little cat makes a noise that sounds like it, too, is scoffing.

"The word of a traitor?" He shrugs his bony shoulders. "I do not care either way. I do simply what I have been hired to do. If the kobold's new leader is intending to do what I think he is, I will be well away before the plan comes to completion.

"Now, if you interrupt me again, I will be forced to paralyze you until I am finished." He fixes Renraw with glare. "You face a true wizard of Kem now, boy."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Finding an unlocked room proves to be a challenge for Hazel: Some of the rooms are normally occupied by the staff, and during the festival, merchants and other visitors have occupied most of the others. Finally, she finds one door ajar, which the Bergin gnomes seem to have picked the lock to open. None currently remain in the room, having all disappeared out the open window, and she can hear her brother and the gnomes jeering at the crowd and hurling rotten apples down at the drunken dwarves.

Hazel grasps the window frame and leans her head out, looking upward. She studies the handholds and the roofline; she ignores the apples sailing past.

C'mon Hazel, you can do this in your sleep. He's a foot and a half shorter than you; if he can climb his scrawny butt up there, so can you.

She pulls her upper body back into the room and unclasps her cloak. The long fabric could hamper her movements, so she leaves it lying near the window.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself -- Remember, he's nine. You did stupid things when you were nine. And if you toss him off the roof to teach him a lesson, you'll regret it later. Probably. -- Hazel steps out onto the window sill. It creaks ominously under her weight, and below, someone whistles and yells a comment about the view of Hazel from this angle, but she's able to get a grip and pull herself onto the shingles on the roof.

"Want an apple?" Reed asks, grinning his head off.

"Thanks much." She plucks the apple from Reed's hand and cautiously sits down on the roof, using her heels to keep from sliding anywhere. She casually tosses the apple in one hand and surveys the brawl. It's hard to keep her voice jovial, but she does her best. "So, who came up with this brilliant plan?"

She casts a sidelong glance at the Bergins, who don't seem to have halted their apple-throwing since her arrival.

"Because once you explain it to Da -- and you will explain it to him -- he's gonna think it was their idea. And then he's gonna go have a chat with Constable Bridger about gnomish tricks and impressionable boys."

Hazel pitches the apple back into the half-filled basket and wipes her hand on her trousers.

"And then, I suspect, you'll be spending your days till Blessing playing pincushion for Aspen." She eyes her brother from head to toe. "You know, I think you'll look mighty fine with a wedding dress hanging off your shoulders."

Standing near the doorway of The Cat & The Fiddle, Vonmora Farrin scans the brawlers, making a note of which Glangirn dwarves are swinging arms and connecting fists with the Farrin dwarves.

"Oh, ho, ho, they won't fight for the mountain," Vonmora mock-flexes her arms in a macho pose, "but theey fight over cider."

An uppercut to the chin sends Dalarn sprawling on the ground, a small cloud of dust briefly billowing out on impact. Dalarn wipes the blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and kicks both of his feet forward, using his weight to propel himself back upright. He cracks his knuckles, roaring as he charges back into the commotion. Vonmora nods with approval and raises her green beer in a toast and offers a brief prayer that he might find glory in battle.

Stotch treads lightly into the mud to help Tock up.

"Hurry!" Kat waves his arms and tries to get Tock and Stotch's attention. He begins pointing toward the nearest path of exit from the mob scene cleared by the now sleeping dwarves.

Stotch looks up, and grins.

"Kran's warts! I thought today would be dull!"

And then a beefy hand grabs him by the wrist and yanks him backwards, out of the fray. As he goes sprawling, he spots Deputy Tucker Gallaway wading in, frustration written all over his face. A moment later, with a squeal, Katadid comes hurtling out of the melee, landing on Stotch. Then, finally, both of them looking somewhat surprised at finding themselves in the situation, Tucker leads Tock Chandler out of the chaos.

In their wake, Dalarn Farrin suddenly fights with renewed skill, his fist connecting with Glangirn nose after Glangirn nose as Vonmora Farrin looks on, visibly pleased with herself. Dalarn's next target: Emus Graygullet.

Above her head, Reed Sawyer gives a full-body sigh in the way only a small child can, and mumbles something. Hazel can't hear his reply over the noise of the dwarves below, but her little brother seems willing to come inside. She gets him back in the inn first and then follows, shooting a dark look at the gnomes capering up on the roof as she does. They seem oblivious, talking excitedly in Gnomish and apparently trying to bean the deputy at the edge of the fray with apples. Then they spot something and quickly follow Hazel back inside with their bushel of rotten apples.

"Constable's coming! Gotta go!" one of the Bergins squeaks out as they push past. Hazel checks her possessions to make sure they're all still with her, which they seem to be.

At the smithy, Constable Bridger suddenly stops beside Emmerson, who shoots him a "follow my lead" look and then hands the paladin his crutch. Balancing with one shoulder against a support beam of the smithy, the constable unslings the rifle from his back and fires a round into the air.

The booming echo sends the birds flying from the trees and brings the melee to a muddy, bloody, beer-soaked halt.

"ALL RIGHT! BREAK IT UP! GLANGIRNS, GET TO THE SMITHY! FARRINS, OTHER SIDE OF THE SQUARE! EVERYONE ELSE, GET TO ANOTHER EDGE! NOW!"

As Constable Bridger's voice booms across the square, Emus reluctantly lets go of Dalarn's beard at the same time that Dalarn lets go of the shoulder of Emus' armor. Both lower their right fists and turn to reluctantly obey the constable's orders. Emus turns to call Skeeter but sees him near the front door of the inn, standing protectively over his greatclub and half-finished drink. Reed is nowhere to be seen.

"Dumb dog," Emus grumbles. He picks up his club, finishes his drink, and gives Skeeter a scratch behind the ears and a "good dog" before heading over to the smithy with the other Glangirns. He gives Vonmora Farrin a mocking salute as he walks past.

Hearing the constable's booming orders over the throng of voices coming from the brawl, Ragglus decides being anywhere but his current location is the best course of action. He walks leisurely toward the back of The Cat & The Fiddle, intent of looping around to the back of the stables, and out of casual view. With any luck, he'll get a jump on the rest when Milos starts pouring again.

Not surprisingly, the dwarves that got hurt in the fracas shrug off their injuries, muttering "falling rocks hurt more than their fists" and return to their neglected tankards, slapping those knocked out by Katadid's spell before they do.

After the last dwarf leaves, Emmerson turns to the constable.

"Sir? I wanted to ask your advice about something. It's about the bishop's desire for me to serve as the priest in Maidensbridge. You see, I spoke today with Ebuferpaly Potentloins and we had this discussion ..."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Back in the graveyard, Renraw Kem casts a spell.

"I would've helped you willingly, you bastard!" Renraw shouts like a petulant child.

Before he can complete his spell, however, the unpleasant black cat leaps on him, sinking its claws into his thigh as it runs up his leg and bites a very sensitive place.

The pain breaks Renraw's concentration and interrupting his spellcasting. As he attempts to dislodge the cat, he barely notices Khenemet-Apep casting a spell until it's complete. True to the Kemite's word, Renraw finds himself unable to move.

The Wizard of Green Mountain opens a sack at his waist and pulls out a rope. He touches it to Renraw, saying a command word, and the frozen wizard feels the rope snake around him, wrapping tight and then tying itself around his wrists and ankles.

Reaching back into the sack, Khenemet-Apep pulls out a filthy rag, opens Renraw's mouth, shoves the rag most of the way in, then closes his mouth again.

He mutters something in disgust and sits down on a gravestone, eyeing his prisoner. He then begins the lengthy process of casting his geas.

* * *

Bufer had been torn. On the one hand, Renraw had been led away, into the graveyard of all places, by a powerful wizard he was obviously frightened to death of -- and who appeared to be an ogre's backside, besides. On the other, he'd left Hazel and her brother behind in the middle of a brewing bar fight.

On the one hand, there was a good chance Renraw deserved whatever was coming to him. On the other, Hazel and Reed were with Emmerson.

On the one hand, though, when all was said and done, Hazel could take care of herself -- and her brother and Emmerson, too, if it came to that -- while on the other, Bufer wasn't so sure he could say the same about Renraw. A pitiful example of a human he might be, Bufer couldn't in good conscience let Renraw face Khenemet-Apep alone, at least not until he had a better idea of why he was facing the wizard at all.

So now here he is, holding his breath as he creeps though the cemetery, moving as quietly and deliberately as possible as he creeps ever closer to the two wizards, ducking low to the ground and using the tombstones for cover. Neither appears to be aware of him yet, nor does Apep's mangy cat -- so far, so good. Just another yard or so, and he'll be close enough to hear what they were saying.

Approaching the pair from Apep's rear, Bufer pauses a moment to slide a dagger from his sleeve. He hopes he won't have to use it -- he's fairly certain things won't end well if he does -- but it never hurts to be cautious ...

In the graveyard, Khenemet-Apep finishes his spell. Bufer doesn't know a thing about spellcraft beyond the spells he can cast himself, but the Kemite spelled it out with his final words, which were in the Imperial tongue, presumably so Renraw would understand them: "When the attack comes on Maidensbridge, you must kill Tucker Gallaway."

The Kemite wipes his face with a dirty sleeve. The spellcasting apparently took a lot out of him. His cat wraps itself around his ankles, purring with approval and then makes a small noise of surprise: It's seen Bufer. It makes a small unintelligible noise, but the wizard apparently understands it, because he turns and his eyes lock with Bufer's.

"Do not run. Come here, gnome."

Bufer blinks in surprise, more at the wizard's reaction than at his actually having been caught in the act of eavesdropping. He hesitates, silently reviewing his options. It only takes a second -- he doesn't really have any. He carefully slips his dagger back up his sleeve before he stands up and steps around the tombstone he'd been hiding behind.

"I feel it only fair to inform you, sir," he says as he calmly saunters towards Khenemet-Apep and the captive Renraw, "That I be the apprentice of High Priest Boddynock Barennackle -- a good friend of the constable's -- and that my pa's an old, dear friend of Lord Rubik, who's a right powerful wizard in his own right, and a school chum of the Baron, besides. I'll also remind you that at least a dozen gnomes, dwarves and men-folk witnessed us leavin' The Cat & The Fiddle together, an' me pesterin' you about kobolds in the street outside. If anything unfortunate were to happen to me -- say, I didn't come home tonight, or got turned into a chicken, or something of that nature -- I reckon there'd be some pretty uncomfortable questions in your future, sir. To start."

Bufer grins good-naturedly at the wizard and he halts well beyond the Kemite's reach.

"And I am a personal friend of the baron," the Wizard of Green Mountain smiles. "We play chess and spellflag and gossip about classmates of ours."

"Fair enough," Bufer replies, his smile flickering for the briefest of moments. "That all said, what say you untie my friend, here, and explain what in the Glutton's name is going on, eh?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Outside of the town square, and away from the chaos, Stotch introduces himself to the fair-haired wizard.

"Some call me Stotch," he says, stretching a hand out to Katadid. "Many thanks for leading the way out of the madness!"

Katadid just looks at the hand with a lack of comprehension, and Stotch shrugs and turns to Tock.

"What terrific rage you managed to raise in those Bearded Folk! They were positively in a lather!" he grins. "Now what good could come from a town full of angry dwarves? Financially speaking, of course."

"Angry dwarves are often quite distracted, but alas most of their coin is already spent in ale," Tock replies, brushing himself off. "I must wash up before my performance; the ladies may enjoy the down and dirty look, but mud rarely suits me."

"Fair enough," Stotch says. "I wonder what ever became of that fellow with the flailing arms?"

"Apep," Katadid says, almost burping the word out. "That ... Where? Them both ..."

Katadid spins around in place, looking for the Wizard of Green Mountain or Renraw.

* * *

Constable Bridger looks at Emmerson, dumbstruck. The pair have retired to a table in The Cat & The Fiddle. The constable is drinking child's beer (a dwarven beer with low alcohol content made for children -- by human standards, still plenty alcoholic) and thinking.

"Well, I don't know what the bishop will say. No, that's not entirely true. I know what he'll say, I just don't know what epithets he'll use along the way. But me? It sounds like you're doing Lothian's work. Maybe."

The constable looks around for Ragglus again; he'd heard enough that he wanted to talk to the younger man, but hasn't yet laid eyes on him.

* * *

Emus and the other Glangirn dwarves are in considerably lower spirits after a thorough tongue-lashing by Argus.

"Do you idiots not want me to win the top prize this year?" he snarled, chewing tobacco speckling his whiskers. "I've been practicin' until my damn fingers are bloody. You lot can save your need to pull the beards off the Farrins' face for a few more weeks. Ruin Tootenfest instead, there's no chance for the clan to win honor there. Now get out of my sight."

The dwarves, mumbling to themselves, have cut back to quaffing a single drink at a time. Others have been drawn off by women-folk to prepare for the dance later in the evening, which means brushing the mud and other debris out of beards, cleaning up cuts and so on.

The Farrin clan, who have no one participating in the competition, are still somewhat rowdy in comparison, but have contented themselves with the idea of heckling and booing Argus when it's his turn.

One young Farrin stable hand has begun taking bets as to which bard will end up winning this year. The odds at this point, as always, favor Heda Littlelark.

* * *

Ragglus strolls into The Cat & The Fiddle, cheerily making his way to the bar.

"Watchin' a fine brawl like that makes me thirsty. Help a man out Milos, won't ya?"

"Rags, ol' boy!" Tock says. "Let that drink be on me. How you doing? Did ya see the tussle? Dwarves," he snorts, rolling his eyes. "Hey, I'd like you to meet this fella here. His name's Stotch and I've got no reason to hate him yet."

"The day's still young, we might find a reason yet," Ragglus replies to Tock, accepting the drink with a wink. He nods to Stotch and downs half of the mug's contents in one pull, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "In town fer th' tourney?"

Stotch nods and pays for the drinks with the money lifted from the pockets of the sleeping dwarves.

"So tell me, y'all," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Are ya bettin' men? I hear that there's a book being made on tonight's contest."

"Well, Stotch, I try not to bet unless I know I'm going to win or if I've got good reason to lose," Tock drawls. "Who they favorin'? Probably the little gnome harpy right?"

"Well, gambling is not always a game of chance," Stotch says, laying a finger beside his nose. He finishes his drink, and steps off of his stool. "We can talk more later. Let me mingle and see what the little people are saying."

* * *

Hazel keeps a sharp eye on Reed as she settles her cloak into place.

"Your friends seem awful keen to get you into trouble and scamper away without a share of the blame." With a hand clamped firmly on Reed's shoulder, she steers him out of the guest room and down the hallway. "If you give me your word you'll stay out of mischief for the rest of the night, I won't march you straight back to Da."

As they come down the stairs, Hazel looks about for friendly faces. She catches sight of Tock and Rags by the bar (hardly better influences than the Bergins) and Emmerson deep in conversation with the constable (guaranteed to get Reed bored and looking for mischief in minutes) but no sign of Bufer. Frowning, she scans the room again, figuring she just missed the gnome behind some burly dwarf, but she still can't seem to locate him.

She heads toward Emmerson's table with a sulky Reed tromping along behind.

"Happy festival day to you, Constable Bridger." She bobs her head in greeting, grinning slightly as she hears Reed's indrawn breath. "Quite a ruckus, wouldn't you say? If I might interrupt for a moment, have y'all seen Bufer lately? If he's buyin' Kat a drink, he sure went a long way to get one. Any idea where they might've gone?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Feel free to untie Mister Kem here," Khenemet-Apep says coolly, smiling at Bufer. "I will be more than happy to discuss everything that occurred today with the baron and sheriff, if he wishes to. I'll be more than happy to tell the authorities everything I know.

"As for you, little gnome, the kobolds have mentioned you to me. You do have a knack for wandering into the bear's cave, don't you? Go ahead and untie him while we talk. I'd like the rope back when you're finished with it, please."

The wizard sits down on a tombstone and pulls out a rather bedraggled cigarette out of his sleeve. He says a word and it lights. He puffs it as he watches Bufer.

Bufer grins widely, then actually reddens at the mention of the kobolds, and his distinction among them. Given that the only distinction kobolds usually bother to make of gnomes is between live and dead -- and even then, only grudgingly -- he figures must speak to just how much of an impact he must have had on them.

"Well, I am a Potentloins after all, sir, with all that implies," Bufer says. "And as my great-great-grandfather's third nephew by marriage was fond of saying, we didn't get the name by having soft, squiggly bits that crawled back up inside at the first sign of trouble, if you'll pardon the imagery. Allow me to assure you -- and if you could pass this on to your neighbors, I'd be right obliged -- that the 'rescue' attempt and assault on the party that, er, accompanied me was not my idea, an' had I known it was comin', I would have told 'em to bugger off. I had every intention of honoring our bargain with the priestess of Tiamat right to the end, as I believe she d-- OW!"

Grimacing, Bufer rubs the sore spot on the side of his head where an impatient Renraw has elbowed him. He glances up at the young wizard, who glares down at him over his oily gag with bulging eyes, jerking his head frantically towards the rope binding his hands.

"Oh right," Bufer says, immediately seizing the knots at Renraw's wrists. "Sorry. Er, you said you could explain why Mister Kem here is trussed up like a prize hog?"

"Oh, I think Mister Kem should share his story first." Khenemet-Apep looks at the still-gagged younger wizard. "And if there's any doubt about the story, we can certainly go find someone at Middleborough Chapel to place us in a zone of truth.

"Only if our stories disagree, of course."

As soon as his hands are free, Renraw disgustedly yanks out his gag and hurls it at Khenemet-Apep's face.

"Bufer, there's no time for games. If you heard what he's ordered me to do, you know the most important part. I'll be happy to tell you how it got to this point. But you've no reason to trust me, so I'm taking his suggestion. I only want to tell my story inside a zone of truth. He may have a way to counteract the effects of the zone, but I do not. You will know what I say is true."

"Good. Then it's agreed." Khenemet-Apep stands up, pocketing his rag. "I chose to try and talk him out of the agreement he'd made with the Tiamat faction of the kobolds, and to tell him the only way out of his deal was to make sure that faction did not remain in control, with its plans of genocide. But I will be perfectly happy to air the rest of this in front of the sheriff inside a zone of truth, so they can hear exactly what he planned on doing and with whom he agreed to do it. There's an excellent tree just outside the cathedral, perfect for a hanging afterwards."

Renraw rubs at his wrists where his bonds were and scowls at the older wizard.

"You know what you just saw, Bufer. I'm not saying anything until I'm inside that zone and protected."

Bufer glances from one wizard to the other, his frown deepening by the moment. Even as he does, he mentally files the phrase 'Tiamat faction' away for future reference; he wasn't aware the kobolds on Green Mountain even had factions.

"All right," he says after a long moment's consideration, "let's take a walk, us three -- sorry, 'us four' -- an' go find the Constable. I done think I seen and heard enough to swear out warrants against both of ya, at least until we get this settled. We'll all tell our stories, and leave it to him to decide what happens next, and who goes where. Since both you fine gentlemen want oh-so-badly to get to the bottom of this, I'm sure you'll oblige."

Bufer wrinkles his nose at the irony of the situation: Just under an hour ago, he'd been lecturing Emmerson about clinging too tightly to the precepts of order. Now here he was, effectively binding two men by law.

Garl has a funny sense of humor sometimes.

Shaking his head, Bufer heaves a heavy sigh, and gestures for the two wizards to precede him out of the graveyard, back towards the center of town.

"Garl save me from the machinations of wizards," he mutters under his breath.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Emmerson closes his eyes and tries to concentrate despite the din in the tavern. He opens his eyes and finds Hazel still looking for Bufer.

"I seem to recall him being close to Renraw, Katadid and two humans I've never seen before. Perhaps they know where he is or where he went," he says loudly.

"Well, Kat and Renraw aren't here," Hazel says, as she elbows her brother so he'll stop staring at the constable's scar. "What'd the other folks look like and are any of them about?"

"One human had a dark cloak and a green shirt. The other one I didn't get a good look at, but Tock was standing next to them, so you may want to find him first. Tock should be around here, since it's close to the contest's starting time."

"Thanks, Emmerson." Hazel threads her way through the crowd toward the bar, spotting the bard there. "Hey, Tock, you seen your cousin Kat around? Maybe with Bufer and some stranger?"

Reed takes advantage of his big sister's distraction to climb onto a recently vacated barstool and gulp a half-finished ale. He knocks the mug on the bar to get Milos' attention.

"I'll have another one of these."

"I saw Kat outside. He was running around or mumbling or whatever it is he does." Tock looks down at Reed. "Whiskey for me and the boy here."

Hazel counts silently to 10 before turning around and yanking her brother off the barstool.

"No whiskey for him, thanks. Good luck in the contest, Tock."

As she drags Reed out the door, Hazel attracts a few curious stares from bar patrons catching a word or two of her constant muttering.

"... nice frilly lace hat ... get some chains from the store ... try climbing rooftops in those ... hope she sticks you with a thousand tiny needles ... build a sturdy cage in the yard ...."

Once outside, she searches for Kat and Bufer, stopping various townsfolk and asking if they've seen the white-haired Leach boy or that gnome cleric who can talk a cask of ale dry.

Stotch belts back the remaining whiskey. He pulls a piece of parchment from his bag, a quill, and some ink. After several minutes, he folds the parchment, takes a candle from the bar top, seals it shut, then puts it in a fold in his cape.

"Tock, I need a hand, if you will."

"What do you need, new guy?"

"I need to borrow some clothes. Nothing much: a vest and a hat, perhaps."

"I keep some nearby," Tock says. He leans over and whispers some directions into Stotch's ear. As the other man excuses himself and slips out of The Cat & The Fiddle, Tock turns back to Ragglus. "Hey, Rags. Interested in some fun and maybe seeing another tussle?"

"Always in the mood for a scrap," Ragglus answers, pausing to down the rest of his mug's contents then burp. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Well," Tock replies, "Help me spread a rumor that Argus Glangirn is braggin' on his plan to play a song that makes fools of all the rival dwarves?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely." Ragglus grins. "I can do mah part, but if your plannin' on lighting a fire under them Farrin arses, best if the rumor comes from anyone but me. A couple of them Farrin boys got themselves a big beef. Their kin ain't likely in a mood to listen to anythin' I gots to say."

"Don't worry: I have a plan." The bard beams and, despite knowing better, Ragglus leans forward to listen.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

As the wizards and gnome set out, the Wizard of Green Mountain groans and holds up one finger.

"Tsk, just one last thing." The wizard begins casting a spell, a blank look on his face.

"He's doing something sinister, isn't he?" Renraw hisses to Bufer.

"Hey!" the gnome shouts in alarm, leaping forward and reaching up to grab the older wizard's wrists. "What do you think you're doing?"

Bufer's body blocks Renraw's view of Khenemet-Apep, preventing the younger wizard from discerning what spell the Wizard of Green Mountain was attempting to cast.

"I have corns, young gnome! It's simply a spell to cushion them for the walk ahead," the Wizard of Green Mountain says in a hurt voice. "Honestly, all of this mistrust and nervousness disappoints me, especially since Renraw has done nothing to be ashamed of. Why, in my homeland, he would be hailed as a hero. I simply sought to council him in his secret task, including warning him of the risks."

He looks at Renraw beseechingly.

"I think your gnomish friend will be proud of you when he knows what you've committed yourself to: Nothing less than saving Maidensbridge and Wit's End single-handedly! Of course, he beards the dragon in its den to do so, by making the rulers of Green Mountain believe that he has betrayed the barony. If word got out as to what he was doing -- and the woods have ears, believe you me -- his life would be worth nothing, and the town would be unprotected."

He claps a hand on Bufer's shoulder.

"I tell you this only because you, gnome, are known among the kobolds as a would-be peace-maker, and you should know that the clandestine negotiations Renraw did in the woods, he did for you and your folk. He is a proud man, and reluctant to plunge others into the danger he so eagerly took upon himself, but there it is. If you can keep his secret safe and thus, perhaps, save his very life, then you too may end up being a hero of legend.

"I have my own part to play in all of this, but the kobolds must not suspect either myself or Renraw to have broken from the plan or have entered into an agreement without intention to honor it. They sent me here to magically bind him into their agreement, but I strictly translated their leader's commands from Draconic into the language of the empire. As I had told Renraw prior to you showing up, while I was trussing him up for the benefit of the kobold spies who were then watching, so long as the condition of the spell cast on him never comes true, he will never face its effects. And all he has to do is work to prevent the attack from ever happening to begin with -- which is what he was working to do anyway!"

Khenemet-Apep grins ear to ear, beaming at Bufer while puffing on his battered cigarette.

"I was upset that you had shown up, possibly wrecking the clever subterfuge Renraw had arranged, but now I see that you, peacemaker, are the perfect one to bring into the plan. I must caution you, though, not to tell others of what is happening: The kobolds have spies throughout the barony and perhaps even Wit's End. The person you share information with may be the one who slits Renraw's throat later on."

The wizard stands up, smiling, clapping a hand on Renraw's shoulder as well, his cigarette smoke wreathing the younger wizard's face a moment as he does so.

"Excellent, so are we agreed to keep this just between us? As you are now part of our plan, I will be happy to bring you to the Black Tower and educate you about the Green Mountain Kobolds, just as I had previously agreed to tutor Renraw about some of the spells he will need in the coming days if he is to heroically prevent the kobolds from casting their great summoning spell."

"A noble effort," Renraw smirks. "Truly. That was weaseling almost on par with my great grandfather Ronklin. But you're found out. Bufer? Let's do that zone of truth thing, shall we?"

Khenemet-Apep looks bewildered.

"So ... you want to stand in the cathedral, with the sheriff, baron and bishop there, and tell them that you agreed to betray Maidensbridge and Wit's End, knowing that they will only wait long enough to get you out of the church to execute you? Because, Renraw, that is exactly what you'll be forced to tell them in the zone of truth. Have you suddenly been consumed with a death wish?" The wizard looks despairingly at Bufer. "I will go along with whatever you decide, cleric. But I think Renraw has taken leave of his senses. Would I tell you all that I have, and risk my life, and his, if it were not true? What benefit is there to me in losing my own life in this way?"

Katadid is out of breath as he runs up to the edge of the graveyard. If he has any idea of what he's interrupting, it doesn't show. The letter in his hands has become soft from sweat and constant crumpling.

"Kem," he gasps, stumbling toward Khenemet-Apep. "Mirrors -- hidden ... cairns? Tips on ..."

Kat seems to just about be able to catch his breath when he notices where he is. His lips quiver and he looks back and forth between the trio and to the stones of the graveyard.

"DAMNATION!" he says, and runs off to quickly count the tombstones.

Khenemet-Apep blinks as he watches Katadid turn to go count tombstones.

"This is the strangest town ..."