Rel
Liquid Awesome
Jon Potter said:
Why thank you sir. Your check is in the mail. BTW, I don't think I've seen you post in the NC Game Day III thread. You should correct that.
A Fellowship Formed
Speaks donned the wooden mask that he often wore in town and confidently approached the gates of Glynden with Scipio close at heel. There were a handful of guards atop the wall but none challenged the Druid as he passed through the gates. He did notice a couple of them with their jaws slack at the sight of his companion.
Making his way up the main road into town, he could tell that there were more people about than usual. With the lands across the Fodor now considered “friendly” territory and with Aquae Sulis having recently been reoccupied by a force of miners and guardsmen, Glynden was regaining its status as a crossroads instead of a dead end. Several people screamed at the sight of the huge cat that walked beside Speaks and even more stared in astonishment. Speaks ignored them all from safe behind his mask.
As he strode up to the front door of Nan’s Tavern, Speaks spoke firmly to Scipio, “Stay outside and don’t eat anybody.” He entered to see Nan perched near a window with a scowl on his face.
“That cat is NOT going to be good for business!”
Speaks chuckled and quipped back, “Don’t worry, Nan. He’ll keep a few people out but he’ll keep some in too.” He glanced around the common room to find that he spoke the truth. Several patrons were looking outside at the enormous mountain lion who lay outside the door. None seemed inclined to depart via that route. Another knot of people caught his attention by the fact that they were looking at him and not out the windows. The group was eclectic in composition but it held at least one familiar face.
“Lazarius! Good to see you again. I thought you might have headed back south by now.”
The Imperial War Wizard rose to greet Speaks. “I found that I had further business that kept me in Glynden for the balance of the summer. And now I have business that will take me away, but not back to the south. This matter is one that these other gentlemen and I wish to discuss with you.” Lazarius gestured at the others gathered around a table and Speaks also noticed another man dressed in the garb of one of the tribes of the Fodor approaching them. Introductions began.
The first to step forward was a gregarious seeming chap of slender build with the slender blade of a rapier hanging at his side. His clothing was well made but built for the outdoors. “I’m Marius Flavius of the Imperial Explorers Society. I’ll get right to the point: I am looking for a place that you may have heard of in legends – The City of Endless Summer. My understanding is that you have traveled extensively among the lands of the b…” he caught himself as he glanced at the nearby tribesman, “lands across the Fodor. Lazarius here also mentioned that the Orcs who attacked those lands may have originated from the very place I seek. I’d like to see if you are interested in accompanying me to that area to see if what the legends say are true.”
Speaks regarded him for a moment. He had been intending to investigate the City of Endless Summer himself now that he had secured his hold on his forest home. But this young man spoke of walking into very dangerous lands with a light-hearted tone that sounded more appropriate when talking of a stroll in one of the well tended parks of the Empire. His thoughts on the matter were broken as the other gentleman at the table broke into the conversation.
“My name is Marcus and I am in the service of St. Cuthbert. I hail from Oar and my brethren have reported that there is corruption that lurks in the mountains to the west. I mean to root out this evil and expose it to the Justice of St. Cuthbert.”
Everything about the young man spoke of action and there was little doubt in the mind of anyone present that “the Justice of St. Cuthbert”, as Marcus understood it, was to be found somewhere around the business end of the heavy mace that hung at his side. Those who had spent time with him for the last several days knew that he spoke seldom but that his focus on the foes of his church was always on his mind.
“If some remnant of the Cult of Bane is behind the Orcs who assailed the Western Wilds then I shall see to it that they are eradicated. To that end, I would ask that you assist me as you assisted the Inquisitors that preceded me.”
Speaks was glad that he still wore his mask for he knew that his expression would betray his true thoughts about the “assistance” he had rendered to the Inquisitors of St. Cuthbert. At least this Marcus fellow seemed to know where the true evil was to be found and was not making any implications that Speaks himself was the origin of it. Marcus took a small but discernable step back away from the table as if to signal that his speech was done and he would resume his vigilant guard against any evil or corruption that dared rear its head in Nan’s Tavern.
A new voice took Speaks somewhat by surprise as it came from the periphery of the conversation where his vision was blocked by his mask. It was also notable in that it spoke Fodoran rather than Imperial. “I am Cathal (*pronounced “Ca-hall”, like alcohol without the “al”*) of the Brigantes. It is an honor to stand beneath the same roof again, Speaks With Stone.”
Speaks turned and looked at the man for a moment before recognition set in. This was one of the men who made up the other harrying force that had helped to slow the Orcish advance on Hrongar’s Hill, buying enough time for the men of Glynden and the tribes of the Fodor to complete their fortifications. He had briefly met Cathal in the aftermath of the Winter War when he, Krase and Rhys were honored in the mead hall of Urdrax, chieftain of the Brigantes. “Well met, Cathal. You are far from home.”
Cathal stood unmistakably apart from the three Imperials who occupied the table, acutely aware of just how far from home he was. “I have come seeking you to ask that you join me on a quest to aid a friend we share. Ilrath and his party are still missing.”
Word had reached Speaks earlier in the summer that there had been no indication of the whereabouts of Ilrath and the small band of men whom he had led into the Black Peaks seeking the source of the orcish army that had invaded his homeland. Based on the odd dress of the Orcs, that place of origin was presumed to be the same “City of Endless Summer” that Marius and Marcus both sought. Speaks had hoped that, by summer’s end, Ilrath would have returned bringing word of that mysterious place. It seemed that this was not to be.
“I suppose that leaves me,” said Lazarius. “I too would be interesting in joining you all if you intend to travel to The City of Endless Summer. If there are those who still cling to the worship of The Dead God, I suspect that my colleagues at the Imperial War College would like to know of it. And clearly a place steeped in such mystery and legend as a city that remains warm year round despite being located in the mountains of the Northlands deserves my attention.” The intensity of Lazarius’ gaze spoke of a burning desire to seek out the place.
Speaks glanced about at this odd group who all seemed to share a common goal, if for different reasons, and felt an almost palpable sense of fate.
“Perhaps we should sit.” The three Imperials quickly complied but Cathal remained standing, leaning against one of the wooden pillars that dotted the common room. Speaks began to further acquaint himself with Marcus and Marius but it was obvious that he had already committed himself to undertaking the journey west. Cathal heard a noise from outside and moved slowly toward the window.
He saw outside the slender form of Kyndalyn the Younger. The half-elf was one of the local men who made up the Glynden Council and also “captain” of the Glynden Guards. He seemed to be having a stern conversation with the large cat that lay in the dusty road outside. Cathal regarded Speaks’ choice of animal companion as somewhat interesting considering some quiet rumors he’d heard back home.
As Cathal watched further, Kyndalyn stared closely into the eyes of the cat and then abruptly ended the conversation, moving quickly to enter the door to the tavern.
“Speaks!”
The Druid turned to see Kyndalyn standing near the bar looking decidedly unhappy. He spoke again, his words terse. “A word please.”
Speaks excused himself from the table and approached the half-elf who immediately addressed him firmly but in a low voice. “I've been talking to that damn cat for the last few minutes, thinking it was you!" Speaks tried to keep from bursting out in laughter. "You know that you have the gratitude of the town for all you’ve done for us. And you are welcome here any time. I’ve made no comment when one of your wolves was with you, even if one did startle the hell out of Briley Brathwaite when it told him to stop staring. But that…cat is another matter entirely. People are afraid to leave their houses!”
Speaks grinned behind his mask. He had not always been so favorably looked upon by the people of Glynden as he was right now. The notion that they might be scared of his friend Scipio gave him a certain mischievous joy that originated in the less mature part of his soul. But Speaks had great respect for Kyndalyn and wanted to do nothing that would make his job harder or damage their relationship. “You have my apologies. I won’t bring Scipio to town with me next time. But he really is very nice and well behaved, don’t you think?”
Glancing outside, Kyndalyn saw that Scipio was standing up now, rubbing his haunch against one of the hitching posts outside the tavern, purring loudly as he scratched what itched. “Be that as it may, I’m not sure the townsfolk are ready for him roaming the streets. But I’ll guarantee that his appearance here today will keep your woods free from any poachers that may not be scared off by talking trees or wolves.”
Kyndalyn glanced over the Druid’s shoulder. “I’ve had my eye on that group for the past few days. What’s their business?”
Speaks looked over at the table filled with Lazarius and his new acquaintences who were being served drinks by Nan. “Ilrath still hasn’t returned from the Black Peaks. I’m going to go west looking for him and to try and find the place the Orcs came from to make sure they don’t have another army coming this winter.”
Kyndalyn frowned. He had seen plenty of battle during the Winter War and knew that the tribes of the Fodor were ill positioned to withstand another such attack. “Ilrath is a good man. I hope you find him. But I pray you don’t find another army of Orcs.” His brow furrowed in thought. “I’ve got half the Guard in Aquae Sulis guarding the miners against Gnolls or worse.” They both knew that by “worse”, Kyndalyn meant any stray remnants of the Army of the Dead, led by the Dark Druids, which had marched on Glynden in the spring. “But if there’s another army of Orcs, I’ll try and spare some men to help Urdrax. Gods know that he’s short on men after the Winter War.”
It was Speaks turn to frown. “I pray that they have no need of our men again so soon.” He nodded to Kyndalyn and returned to the table where Cathal had now reluctantly drawn up a chair and sat down. “Alright. I can be ready to depart in a couple of days. We’ll need to secure some supplies…”
NEXT: Westward Into Danger (Or “Can I Have Fries Instead of a Salad?”)
