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

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

As the pair approach Maidensbridge, Hazel breaks her silence.

"Emus? Could ya maybe not mention to Bufer that I was following him?" She grins sheepishly. "He might take it the wrong way, and I know meeting with the wizard is important to him, even if it is fool headed."

"Unless he asks me to my face, I won't bring it up."

As Emus and Hazel approach town, Skeeter starts barking when he sees the commotion in the orchard and races forward toward what he sees as play.

"What the hells?" Emus trots after Skeeter.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Heda Littlelark grabs Hazel by the hands, and begins to tug her in one direction, then the other.

"HAZEL! The constable was looking for you! Where is he? He was over ... but maybe he's ... try at the general store!"

She releases Hazel and runs over to a group of Farrin dwarves who are muttering darkly and pointing toward Green Mountain looming through the trees.

"That's odd. Heda's not one for flustering easy."

Hazel sets off at a run for Kramer's General Store. Constable Bridger stands on the front step, looking grim, speaking to someone inside the shop. When he spots the pair, he bids the person he's speaking to farewell and stumps down and heads toward the bridge, beckoning Hazel and Emus over to him.

"Heda said ... you're looking ... for me," Hazel gasps as she skids to a halt.

"I wish you had been around earlier," the constable growls, watching her pant. "Rutiger and Pentagruel Kramer are missing. Their father says they were going to play in the Tulgey on the edge of the orchard, but they apparently had a nasty argument with their stepmother earlier. I sent Deputy Gallaway to look for signs of them, and he had Emmerson with him, but those two are no trackers. If you and Emus could find them and aid with the search, I'd greatly appreciate it."

He hobbles another pace away from the general store, lowering his voice.

"There's too much in the woods that can make a wee one disappear, never to be seen again. The longer they're missing, the less likely their father will see them again alive."

"You got anything Skeeter can use to get their scent?"

"Ask inside. I'm sure the children's parents would let the dog sniff their bedding."

"We'll find 'em, sir," Hazel says, flooded with guilt. "How long ago did Tuck an' Emmerson set out after them?"

"I don't know. An hour ago?" The constable shakes his head. "I've spent my afternoon listening to panicked parents and sorting out fairy tales when I should have been out in the field myself."

Emus walks inside the store, Skeeter at his side.

"Attention! Constable asked us to help Tucker and Emmerson in the search. I need something of them for Skeeter to get the scent."

Skeeter sits in his hind legs, doing a dignified open mouthed breathing (dignified only because no saliva is dripping on the floor), shaking his tail.

Lars Kramer brings the twins' blanket from their bed at a run, thrusting the somewhat threadbare quilt at Emus and Skeeter in a panic. His young wife looks on, somewhat skeptical of the dog and dwarf shedding leaves and mud all over the store's wood floor.

"Here, of course! Please, Master Dwarf, you'll find them, won't you?"

Emus takes the quilt from the shaking Lars and shows it to Skeeter.

"Smell." Skeeter's nose sniffs up and down the quilt until, with a snort, he announces to Emus that he has the scent. "Track."

Skeeter's eyes shine. Sniffing the air, he runs outside the store.

Outside, the constable claps his hand on Hazel's shoulder.

"I know you'll do your best, Hazel. Deputy Gallaway and young Emmerson set out more than an hour ago, setting out from the orchard. I'm certain you'll find a track left by those two."

She manages to hear Emus's voice as he and the dog run away.

"Hazel! Skeeter's got the scent! Get moving!"

Hazel waves a hasty good-bye to the constable and runs after the dwarf and his dog toward the orchard.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The antechamber of the Black Tower is dark, with closed three closed doors, but little else, save an iron chandelier shaped like intertwined snakes, with candles in their mouths. Only one candle is lit.

"Follow me," says the Wizard of Green Mountain, heading up a staircase to the second level of the tower. His cat watches Bufer until the gnome begins to move, and then darts past him to the next floor.

Bufer resists the urge to kick the mangy cat as it darts past him, and follows it and the wizard up to the second level, struggling a little with the stairs that have clearly been built with only human legs in mind.

As he climbs, he glances up and around at the dark antechamber in the flickering light of the lone candle, his eyes lingering a moment on the snake-motif chandelier.

"Cozy," he remarks, slightly out of breath.

At the top of the stairs, Khenemet-Apep gestures for Bufer to turn right, into a large parlor facing a fireplace with no fire burning. A pair of great divans, one covered in unidentifiable fur, the other buried beneath layer upon layer of blankets, form a small space facing the fireplace. The walls of the wizard's parlor boast floor to ceiling shelves, each full of books, scrolls and assorted mementos, including a several small gold statues of faeries. A bowl on a small chest between the two divans has chunks of broken chocolate in it -- Bufer's gnome twitches at the scent; gnomes have adopted the treat from the Distant South as their own -- and it too seems to be broken pieces of chocolate statues once shaped like faeries as well.

"Sit, Ebuferpaly." The wizard seems to be posing beside the fireplace, toying with an ornamental scimitar hanging over the mantle. "I have news of great importance to impart."

Bufer does as the wizard bids him, and clambers up onto one of the divans, looking up and around the room as he does so in curiosity.

"Quite a library ye've got here," he remarks. "Oktav would probably faint dead away from sheer ecstasy if he saw it. Whoo-wee, this is more books than I ever saw in my entire life, much less been in the same room with! I imagine ye've read them all, too. You know, my ex-uncle's half-sister's cousin's former flat mate holds the world record for most books ever read in a single sitting, as we gnomes record these things. Not on purpose, mind ye, it was just a really bad crop of apples that month, if ye catch my drift, and a body's got to keep himself occupied somehow, after all. Ye wouldn't happen to have any first editions by Dergunswoon on hand, would ye? I've been told I ought to be reading up on him, and the only one I ever come across got bundled up and carted off to Middleborough without me so much as glimpsing the table of contents, ain't that always the way? Not that I ever been much for book learning, mind ye, but it still would of been nice to ... you know, I really like your fairy collection, too, I got to say. It's, um, kind of eccentric, but it works for ye. Really. Say, if a man has a fetish for faeries, does that make him a faetishist? Ye mind if I help myself to some chocolate?"

Bufer's gaze finally lands on Khenemet-Apep, and he finds both the wizard and his mangy cat staring at him with identical expressions of bemused irritation.

"Sorry," he says. "Ye were saying something?"

"Please," Khenemet-Apep says, "Feel free to occupy yourself with as much chocolate as you wish; anything to keep you from talking. Now, as you may have heard, Flavivirus is dead."

Bufer, his mouth full of chocolate faerie, gives him a blank look.

"Flavivirus," the wizard repeats, putting his hands together and making a flapping motion. "Flav. Iv. Irus. The dragon? The Lord of the Floating Cave? Oh, honestly, I'm surrounded by ignorant hill people.

"Flavivirus was a black dragon who lived in the swamp east of Erish-aga, before some Delvers -- the Order of the Ancient Egg -- decided they wanted his treasure and that he was in the way. It was quite an impressive feat. In any case, they've chopped him up and have been selling off all the parts as they make their separate ways back to Ptolus. His blood has been sold off, his hide has been turned into armor, his wings have been made into boots and gloves, his teeth have been used for a magical staff of some sort, and so on.

"His entire corpse, as I understand it, is gone or spoken for at this point, all except for a single scale. The swashbuckler Valerius has let it be known that he will be passing through the Duchy of Southerly on his way to the Low Road and a ship to the Sea Kingdoms. He should be at the Graywall in a week.

"I mention this, of course, because the Children of Tiamat's plan relies on five dragon scales, one for each color of Tiamat's heads. The green scale, of course, they will get from within Glangirn at some point, and they already have their red scale. According to a particularly talkative member of the Blackbones, the Dragonlord is sending the five champions of Tiamat south with a chest full of jewelry taken from Glangirn to buy the scale from Valerius, whom I doubt will have any problem selling it to them. This will put the Children of Tiamat two-fifths of the way through their plan and destroying the barony and Wit's End. I imagine you'll want to stop them from getting their hands on it."

The wizard pauses, enjoying the reaction the chocolate-stuffed gnome has had during this speech. Khenemet-Apep can plainly see the gears of his little gnomish mind turning behind his eyes.

"Oh, and you might want to mention to your paladin friend: The cleric of Tiamat apparently gained quite a bit of status from killing him. She's been promoted to the ranks of the five champions. She'll be leading the group to purchase the black scale."

After a moment, Bufer grimaces and struggles to swallow down the chocolate in his mouth.

"Emmerson and me can raise a party of six or seven in a right hurry, if need be," he says gravely, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "I expect the baron knows about this, and was probably him what suggested ye send for me. I expect he'll disavow it if he's asked, but is our mission to be securing the scale itself, or just keeping Pick and her crew from getting their claws on it?"

Khenemet-Apep toys with the scimitar hanging over the mantle.

"I told him I had news. What you do with it -- and what you are capable of doing with it -- is up to you. For myself, I'm paying attention to how many scales the kobolds get, because I have no illusions that the Children of Tiamat will want me around once their plan has come to fruition."

He seems to suddenly realize he still has his burlap sack in one hand, and with forced casualness, tucks it behind his back, under one armpit.

"Is there anything else? I have work to do besides telling the baron's errand-gnome information Wit's End should already know, if your people have any real interest in not sharing in the fate of the Treeline gnomes."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer's eyes linger a moment on the hand Khenemet-Apep has pressed into his armpit, the embers of curiosity fanned by the wizard's attempted nonchalant manner. At the mention of Wit's End possibly sharing the fate of Treeline, the burlap sack and its contents are forgotten as the gnome glances up sharply into the wizard's face, his eyes tightening somewhat at the corners.

"What Wit's End knows or don't know, and what it plans or don't plan to do about it, is their own business, I'm afraid," he says. "While it's true I did spend a few days there recuperating for a spell, I ain't on the best of terms with my kin at the moment. If I can be said to be here on anyone's behalf, it's Emmerson Grant and the heroes of Maidensbridge, and nobody else's. If I'm anyone's 'errand-gnome,' it's theirs, and a proud one to serve, at that."

Pushing away the half-eaten bowl of chocolate -- half-formed notions in his mind making him slightly queasy at the sight of it -- Bufer hops off the divan and strides towards the fire and gazes into the flickering flames, pointedly not looking at the hand Khenemet-Apep has casually shoved up underneath his armpit.

"I understand ye're busy, sir," he says politely, "but I wonder if ye'll indulge a question or two more..."

Before the wizard can reply, Bufer rounds on him, takes a deep breath, and begins peppering him with a barrage of queries that would make Katadid Leach very proud, indeed.

"Who or what is this Dragonlord? How much support does he have in the warrens? Is there any manner of dissent we can exploit there? What about outsiders -- druids, exiles, outcasts and the like? Any hope for assistance from that quarter? What's the composition of Pick's party like to be -- clerics, wizards, soldier-types, what? How can we expect to find them kitted out? When do they leave, or have they left already? What route are they like to take, and what's the best way to head them off? What do ye know about this 'Order of the Ancient Egg,' and how apt are they to deal with us if we get to them first? How about if we get to them second, and explain the situation? Any hope in hell that they'll take our side? Will the baron be amenable to providing funds to buy the scale outright if it comes to that? Will this 'Order' be amenable to giving it up for a good cause if he ain't? Do ye happen to have any spare maps, scrolls, wands, potions or some other hocus-pocus doodad that might come in handy that we could borrow, maybe? And finally, even though I know ye're going to look down yer nose at me for it, I got to ask: Is there even the faintest glimmer of hope that all this could possibly be resolved in some sort of diplomatic fashion, huh?"

Bufer stops and blinks for a moment as he mentally reviews the last few moments, to see if he forgot anything.

"Also," he adds with a frown, as something else occurs to him, "Do ye not want to hear how that parable ends? 'Cause I'll tell ye, the suspense would be killing me!"

The wizard raises an eyebrow, but has no other response to Bufer's barrage of questions.

"You sound like a Jecture freshman," he says. "The Dragonlord is the kobold who has seized power in the caves and is a violent zealot devoted to Tiamat. His party rules the kobolds currently, but their control is not complete. The traditionalists still cling to the worship of Kurtulmak, although that will likely change once the Dragonlord has led their armies to wipe out the gnomes -- again. The Blackbones are necromancers who worship the Night Dragon, and would likely be the first to move against him, although I suspect it would go even worse for the barony if they were to achieve power. Apparently there are a few who worship other dragon gods, including a small cult that insists Gax has become a goddess herself. The true outcasts, like the sexually confused friend of your bookkeeper's father, the kobolds have a nasty tendency to hunt down and kill, so unless you're going to impress the dead into service, they're not likely to be of much help.

"If the Dragonlord has any weaknesses, I don't know of them; I'm not some stupid gnome to ask a kobold to his face about the possibility of assassinating his leader.

"Pick is riding with the Champions of Tiamat. If you didn't pay attention during your religious studies to guess at what that should mean, I'd be wasting my breath on a dead gnome telling you about them. If they haven't left already, they'll be doing so soon.

"The Order of the Ancient Egg are a tedious group of Delvers from Ptolus who fancy themselves dragon hunters. I've only had the displeasure of meeting the improbably named Gleep Wurp the Eyebiter back in school. Like most Delvers, they're mostly interested in glory and gold. If there's anything else they understand, I imagine it's ale and whores. I suppose you could slip into a dirndl and try your luck.

"And any magical items and artifacts I have would be too expensive for you to purchase, although it might be amusing to see you set yourself on fire with them.

"And as for diplomacy ... it's funny, but the Treeline gnomes asked that very question, as the kobolds tell it.

"Now get out; I have work to do."

"Begging yer patience, Mister Wizard, sir," Bufer says, making a great show of looking wounded by the wizard's casual dismissal of him, "But there is one other small matter fer discussion: my apprenticeship, sir. You offered once to have me come up here and learn the ways of the kobolds from ye, ye'll recall. And the last time we spoke, ye indicated ye were still willing to make good on the offer, in exchange for a show of good faith.

"I wonder, sir: Is this thing with Pick and her champions what ye had in mind? Or is there something else ye might be requiring of me to prove my worth to ye?"

At this, Khenemet-Apep is finally brought up short. He opens and closes his mouth several times before his cat makes a noise and the wizard slams his mouth shut while he thinks, a calculating gleam coming to his eye.

"If you survive a second encounter with Pick and her fellow champions, come see me again. I will have something for you to do, Sir Gnome. Complete that, and I will happily teach you more about kobolds in general and this tribe in particular.

"Do keep an eye on your paladin this time."

Bufer blinks at the wizard's reaction, then glances curiously at his mangy cat, wondering for the first time if it isn't truly the brains of the operation. The cat notices him watching, and with an air of smug superiority and general indifference, it slowly raises one hind leg and begins grooming a rather intimate portion of its anatomy. Bufer cocks an eyebrow before looking back up at the wizard, and affecting a crude bow.

"I shall, sir. I'm sure Emmerson appreciates yer concern. Thanks awfully fer the tip-off about Pick and her crew. I'll return as soon as I'm able, I promise."

Wearing a mischievous smile, he glances up and around at the library again.

"Ye really do have an impressive collection here," he observes. "I'll have to tell Lord Rubik about it all the next time I see him; I expect he'll be interested. Heck, he may even wanna come down and see it for himself."

He glances at the wizard's face to catch his reaction, then quickly at the cat to catch its.

"I'll see myself out," he says then, more to the cat than the wizard.

With that, he turns and heads back towards the stairs, but stops suddenly just short of them.

"Oh!" he says, snapping his fingers, then turns around and addresses the pair. "'Do not despair for me, sirrah, for I dost ride side-saddle!'"

He returns their blank stares with a wink, then turns and heads back down the stairs and out of the tower with a particularly gnomish bounce in his step.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The bounce in Bufer's step has all but disappeared, along with his smile, as he exits the Black Tower, replaced by a pensive frown. Heading in vaguely the same direction as he came, he watches his boots as he strokes his chin, deep in thought.

"Hmmph," he mutters aloud. "Well, that was distasteful."

"No doubt. Eating greasy wizard would make for bad poops." Bufer looks up to see Storm walking next to him, looking over his shoulder at the wizard's tower. He catches Bufer watching him, then shrugs. "Would probably eat him, anyway, just to make point."

"Ugh, please don't talk to me about eating," Bufer grimaces, as he absently strokes his protruding belly. "I think I'm in for some bad poops, myself."

"What you eat?" Storm frowns curiously at him. "Stoopid cat?"

"Oh, only about one-and-a-half magically transmuted faeries," Bufer says. He grits his teeth as his stomach gurgles in response. "Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Hmmph," Storm says, clearly impressed. "Tinkle-bugs be good eating, if can catch 'em. Tasty wings."

"Ugh!" Bufer groans as his stomach gurgles again. He scowls at the kobold walking next to him. "Ye're disgusting!"

"Me?" Storm blinks. "You be the one who ate a tinkle-bug and a half --"

"Where in th hell did you go, anyway? Ye suddenly remember ye had something better to do?" Bufer snaps, desperate to change the subject. "Right as I'm walking into the bear's cave -- poof! -- away ye go! For a guardian angel, ye sure leave a hell of a lot to be desired, I'll tell ye that!"

"Storm no 'go' nowhere," the kobold sneers at him. "Just because gnomey no see Storm, don't mean he no be there."

"Well, what'd ye disappear for, then? It's not like he could see ye!"

Storm wrinkles his snout.

"Stoopid cat could, I think. Looked right at me." He shudders. "Gave Storm the heebie-jeebies."

Bufer snorts.

"I don't know what's funnier: the idea of a fearsome kobold spectre like yerself being given the willies by a mangy old cat, or hearing the same say the word 'heebie-jeebies'."

"Why that funny?"

"That's a gnomish word if I ever did hear one."

"If it be gnomey word, that only 'cause tricksy gnomeys steal it from kobolds."

"Oh, whatever. OK, I think we're far enough out of sight of the tower now," Winking at Storm, Bufer draws himself up to his full height, cups both hands around his mouth, and calls out: "All right, Lil' Big'un! Ye can come out now!"

"What you think you doing?" he asks.

"It's Hazel," Bufer chuckles. "She's been following us ever since we left. Ain't that right, Lil' Big'un? We know ye're there, ye might as well come on out!"

"Storm not notice nobody following."

"Of course not; neither did I!" Bufer says, as though it were obvious. "That's the whole point! She wouldn't be much of a tracker if a gnome with no woodcraft and some out-of-practice druid who's been dead longer than she's been alive could pick her up that easy, now would she? C'mon, Lil' Big'un! The jig's up!"

"But didn't you leave note plainly telling her not to come along?"

"Well, of course I did!" Bufer says. "I always tell her not to come along! Then she comes along anyway! It's a system we got! Hazel, c'mon! Give it up! The gnome found you out! Ain't no shame in it! Get on out here, already!"

Bufer and Storm wait together in silence, their eyes darting from bush to bush to tree, hearing nothing but the mating calls of distant birds.

"Hazel?"

For a moment, nothing. Then, somewhere in the distance, a frog croaks in response.

"I don't think she's out there."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, how do ye like that?" Bufer says indignantly, placing his hands on his hips. "Can ye imagine? Letting me walk all the way out here, on my own! With clearly no idea of where I was going, how I was going to get there, or what was going to happen to me when I got there!"

"It practically insane. You did have the dwarf ..."

"Oh, screw the dwarf! Ye heard him! If that damned wizard had taken it into 'is head to transmute me into something like one of his precious faeries, Emus probably would have just pointed an laughed!

"I could have been killed! He could have killed me!"

"Storm should be so lucky. Of course, day still young, and if gnomey insists on standing here and yelling guts out, something bound to come along and kill him eventually."

"Oh, crap!" Bufer snarls. "I was counting on Hazel to get me home! I have no bloody idea how to get home from here! I wasn't paying attention on the way in; I was too wrapped up in relating that parable."

"Gnomey god chooses priests wisely."

"Listen, are ye going to stand there an' make jokes, or are ye actually going to be helpful here, and yes I appreciate the irony implicit in me uttering that sentence, so just wipe that look right off yer face, thank ye very much!" Bufer says. "Ye were a druid, right? Ye think ye could guide me the way back to Maidensbridge?"

"These not my woods," Storm says, after a moment. "But me think me remember the way. Come."

Storm sets off in an apparently random direction. Bufer grins in relief, then falls into step behind him.

"Wow, this brings back memories. Just like old times, eh?"

"Gnomey not shut up then, neither."

"I'll tell ye, the first thing I'm going to do when I get back is find Hazel Sawyer and Emmerson Grant, and give them two children a piece of my mind. Just where the hell to they think they get off listening to me, anyway?"

"Clearly, system needs work."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

And so it is, as Hazel and Emus trail Skeeter at a rapid jog through the Tulgey Wood, they all but run down the gnome cleric, wandering in the wood and talking, apparently, to himself.

"OH SURE, NOW YE COME RUNNIN' TO FIND ME, HUH?" Bufer explodes. "IF IT WEREN'T FER ... MY INNATE SKILL WITH NATURE ... CRAP ... I'D PROBABLY BE DEAD BY NOW, NO THANKS TO YOU! WHY IN GARL'S NAME DID YE HAVE TO CHOOSE TODAY OF ALL DAYS TO START LISTENING --"

He breaks off as he realizes that Emus has charged right past him. Bufer blinks.

"All right, what now?" he asks wearily.

Hazel face widens into a huge grin, yanks Bufer to his feet with more force than is needed, and embraces him in a fierce hug.

"Glad you ain't dead, crazy. What're you doing wandering around out here? Last I, uh, thought, you were visiting the wizard. Never mind, got to run. Kids are missing."

She sets off again at a jog.

"Wait, what?" Bufer asks as Hazel hurries after Emus and Skeeter. "Hey, hang on! I got some important news we got to dis-- wait, what kids? Hazel? Hazel! Oh, hells."

Bufer grimaces and hikes up the hem of his threadbare robe, and starts running to catch up to the trio.

"Should have eaten him when I had the chance," Storm mutters, then glances up at the sky. "This no way to run an afterlife!"

After an endless period of fruitless investigation -- the floating shoe floated out of reach time after time before Emmerson was finally able to slip Judgment's tip through its open top and sling it to Tucker on shore -- the paladin's teeth are chattering violently.

He hears something move at the edge of the pond and turns to find Hazel, Bufer and Emus looking on him with concern. Skeeter, though, knows what's going on -- a game! -- and dives into the pond, swimming out to greet Emmerson.

At the improbable sight of Emmerson dog-paddling in the midst of Moss Pond, Hazel realizes two things: one, he's not out there for his health; and two, if the two children are out there, they're probably dead.

"Oh, no." She turns to the deputy with a sense of dread. "Are you sure the tracks end here? Did you search all around the edge?"

"We did," Tucker says, "But that doesn't mean anything: We'd be lucky to find water if we fell off the dock. Feel free to take another walk around the shore."

Hazel eyes the dripping shoe in Tucker's hands.

"Might have lost it getting away from something, maybe ran without thinking bout direction." She lays a hand lightly on his arm as she passes him. "Ya'll did good to track them this far."

"Lass, ye think ye could find me a rabbit or a badger or something around here?" Bufer says, tugging on Hazel's sleeve. "If any of them saw the kids, I ought to be able to find out what happened."

Hazel begins examining the shore and the foliage near the pond's edge for signs of disturbance - footprints, snagged cloth, broken branches and the like.

Emmerson gets out of the water, shaking like a newborn. He can barely control his hands as he reaches for his backpack, hoping he packed an extra set of clothes. He pulls out his cleric vestments. He dries himself the best he can and gets dressed.

"Thank Lothian you're h-here, friends. We've t-tried everything. No s-sign of them. Perhaps they followed someone."

"The two of ye did the best ye could manage on yer own, beanpole," Bufer says, reassuringly patting his cold and soggy friend on the shoulder. "Lil' Big'un will pick up their trail now, don't ye worry."

Feeling useless, Bufer worries the end of his threadbare sleeve as he watches Hazel's search, then glances up at his friends.

"How come nobody else from town's here?" he asks. "Why's it always us? I'll tell ye, I really can't wait for the day that Heda gets to sing 'The Heroes of Maidensbridge Took A Much Deserved Day Off, And Someone Else Picked Up The Slack For Once'.

"It'd be catchy," Bufer insists.