Mathew_Freeman
First Post
KidCthulhu said:
Whereas Ernie would just use it to provide the Greatest. Meal. Evar!
Sagiro's Story Hour Returns (new thread started on 5/18/08)
Whereas Ernie would just use it to provide the Greatest. Meal. Evar!
Joshua Randall
Legend
*shakes head sadly*
That's just how my father went.
*sniffle*
That's just how my father went.
*sniffle*
KidCthulhu
First Post
Joshua Randall said:
Did you at least inherit the loot?
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 280b
Meow Down Before Him
Posada’s Boundary may now be fully permeable, but the actual distance in miles is such that a normal teleport is insufficient. Since Aravis is the only mage with greater teleport, he is obliged to take the spell three times and ferry the Company in shifts. As he prepares to cast, he remarks, “We should visit Lord Dafron in Mirj while we’re over there.”
“Why would we do that?” asks Ernie, making a face.
“Because it will make him feel very uncomfortable,” says Aravis with a wicked grin.
A minute later, the party is standing outside the massive gates of Djaw – no special magical rope needed, and with no perilous dashes through the Delfirian Arch. It’s early March, but still warm. Some of that is geographic – Djaw is warm most of the year – and some is because, while it was mid-morning when they left Charagan, it’s mid-afternoon in central Kivia.
A short line of trader wagons is ahead of them in the line to enter the city. The air is filled with unfamiliar smells that bring back the wonder of Djaw, greatest city in the known world and the seat of culture, commerce and military might in Kivia. But just ahead of the Company is a reminder of the civilization’s darker side; a dwarven slave attends a wealthy spice-merchant, a red iron collar clamped around his neck. Kibi glowers.
Ernie is still chomping at the bit to enter the city gates. He’s been lusting after the spiced chicken sticks sold in many of Djaw’s outdoor markets, and is so excited at the prospect that he asks the gate guards if they happen to have any -- you know, just maybe sitting around.
“I haven’t seen you this happy since Yoba went home,” observes Dranko.
Kibi frowns, watching the dwarven slave ahead get led into the city. “How can you like this place so much?” he mutters.
The guards don’t stop him as he pays for his visiting papers just like everyone else. Still, when they look at him askance, he gives them a withering glare in return, almost daring them to say something. Morningstar puts a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll take care of it,” she says, referring to the Guild of Chains. “But the best way to do that is not to draw attention to ourselves.”
Kibi shrugs his shoulder out from beneath her hand. “I’m just walking around,” he says angrily, “minding my own business.”
They emerge into the city proper, glittering white buildings lining the clean streets, urbane locals in their gauzy robes going about their daily business. Kibi notes that while dwarves are scarce, the few he sees are all slaves.
“You’re the only free dwarf in sight,” says Morningstar, pressing the point. “That’s calling attention to yourself. I understand that your pride is...”
“I am not wearing a collar,” snarls Kibi.
“I would never suggest that,” says Morningstar. “But, we can make you look like a human...”
“Or I can look like a free dwarf,” says Kibi, “which maybe is something they should get used to around here.”
“And if anyone has a problem with it, they can go through me,” says Ernie.
“And me,” adds Grey Wolf.
“And me,” says Aravis.
Morningstar sighs. “Getting bogged down fighting these little battles isn’t going to help the dwarves in the long run.”
“Let’s just go to the Church of Kemma first," says Ernie. "They can tell us whether it’s okay for dwarves to walk around free these days. Maybe it’s not a problem at all.”
Morningstar sends to One Shining Mirror, the High Priest of the Sun Goddess Kemma and leader of One Certain Step’s church. They’ve spoken with him in the past, and hope for wisdom on Shreen and Dralla, as well as insight about the dwarves. The answer comes back that Mirror is indisposed for the rest of the day, but that he would be pleased to meet with them tomorrow. That leaves them free agents for the remainder of the day.
“I think we need to celebrate,” says Ernie suddenly. When the others look at him curiously, he continues: “That we can teleport across the sea. And that time is restored...”
And here he can’t help but grin widely, as he spills some beans from his last trip to Evergreen.
“...and that Yoba agreed to marry me!”
There are hearty and exuberant congratulations all around, though Dranko can’t help leering.
“So,” says the half-orc, “Did you... you know...?”
Ernie just stares. When Morningstar gives him a burning glare, Dranko backpedals a bit. “I mean, how did you ask her?”
“It’s kind of personal, Dranko,” says Ernie.
Dranko gives him a pat on the back. “Well, I’m proud of you.”
Ernie smirks. “Well, I figured, if you could get married...”
“Go ahead,” dares Dranko. “Finish that sentence.”
Ernie doesn’t say anything, but Flicker’s happy to jump in.
“If you could get married, then even a blind weasel could get lucky and tie the knot!”
A deft wrist-flick later and Flicker is lying on his backside, a whip curled around his ankle.
“So,” says Ernie, ignoring this last exchange, “I say we stay in the finest inn in Djaw!”
It’s the consensus of several passersby that the finest inn in Djaw is the Golden Goblet, located in the ritziest part of the city, not many blocks from the immense limestone and marble palace of the Emperor, One Supreme Intellect. Aravis is keen to visit the Court of Cats en route, so they take a meandering route, admiring the architecture and breathing in the exotic scents. Ernie eats about a half-dozen spiced chicken sticks.
The Company is approached just outside the Court of Cats by a Falcon – one of the omnipresent and imposing city guardsmen of Djaw. The Falcons are rumored to be able to see into men’s souls and note the guilt or innocence reflected therein.
The Falcon walks directly to Kibi.
“You’re not wearing your collar,” he says flatly.
As Kibi flourishes his papers, Ernie steps forward.
“He’s not a slave. He’s a free dwarf.”
“Are you aware that Posada’s Boundary is down?” adds Morningstar.
“I shared the same dream as everyone else,” acknowledges the guard.
“In Charagan,” says Morningstar, “dwarves are a free people.”
The Falcon smiles. “Very well. His papers are in order. If you can vouch for him, that’s good enough for me. As you were.”
He walks off.
“We have to do something about the Guild of Chains,” says Grey Wolf.
“Don’t worry Kibi,” adds Ernie. “I know we’ll find a way to free the dwarves of Kivia.”
* *
The Court of Cats is a huge open-air plaza surrounded by cafes and shops. It is filled with fountains, benches, and numerous tables and chairs. It is also the home to hundreds of cats, prowling the place for attention and scraps of food. Built right into the flagstones are numerous small bowls, and the human denizens of Djaw make a ritual of keeping these filled with meat and milk. It’s no wonder the place is such a feline hot-spot.
As happened the last time, Aravis becomes a cat-magnet the moment he arrives. Dozens of felines start milling around his legs, rubbing against him and meowing loudly. One even jumps up on Aravis’s shoulder, but Pewter chases her off.
“Only one familiar per wizard!” he hisses. Then, to Aravis, he adds: “The cats don’t seem to know exactly why you’re so interesting, just that you are.”
All of this inspires the party to learn more. Encouraged by the success of legend lore in revealing the cause of the Mystery Rash, Kibi casts the same spell on Aravis himself over the course of the next few minutes. When the spell is over, Kibi’s eyes bulge and his jaw drops. Already a bit jealous of Aravis in the wizarding department, Kibi grumbles: “Does Aravis have to hear this?”
“Why?” asks Aravis.
“Well, just don’t let your head get more swollen than it already is,” says Kibi. The spell produced the following:
He, a Prison Guard
He, a Wizards’ Bane
He, a Feline God
He, a Universe
A feline God?!
“If you want to get a swollen head,” says Pewter, “I wouldn’t blame you one bit.”
Ernie can’t help but laugh. “I, for one, will not be worshipping you. I’m spoken for.”
“But we can add a shrine to you back at Longtooth Keep,” says Grey Wolf.
“Hey!” says Flicker. “If I worship you, will you grant me spells?”
“I don’t know,” says Aravis. “Do you truly believe in Me?”
“Sure!” assures Flicker. “All hail the almighty Aravis!”
“Your first follower,” sighs Morningstar.
“Actually,” says Grey Wolf soberly, “This would explain why the rats are so concerned about you.”
The cats continue to swarm around Aravis’s feet. “I’m sorry,” he tells them. “I don’t have any miracles for you at the moment.”
* *
The Golden Goblet is the very epitome of posh. Its main three-story edifice is surrounded by numerous outbuildings scattered over a several-acre property. The landscaping is impeccable, with lush green lawns that are a rarity in Djaw, fountains, marbled walks and colorful flower gardens. Private guards are discretely placed, implying safety without making the place seem like a fortress.
Ernie takes a deep and contented breath as they approach the main doors.
“It’s a whole week I don’t have to cook!” he says happily.
“I thought you loved to cook,” says Dranko. “Isn’t cooking like praying for you? Are you saying you want to go a week without praying?”
“Ernie didn’t say he wasn’t going to cook,” says Flicker. “Just that he doesn’t have to cook. Don’t you see? When you have to do something you love, it can start to feel like a job.”
“Whoa,” says Aravis. “That came from Flicker?”
“Yeah,” says Flicker sheepishly. “I guess that was my flash of insight for the year.”
“It comes from worshipping Aravis,” says Grey Wolf.
“That’s right!” exclaims Aravis. “My first miracle!”
An elegant (if slightly rotund) commissionaire greets them at the door.
“Welcome to the Golden Goblet,” he says expansively.
“I would like to reserve rooms for me and my friends for a week,” says Ernie.
“Of course. And how many of you are there?”
“Seven,” says Ernie.
The doorman does a quick headcount and only gets to six.
“One of my companions is a free-born dwarf,” says Ernie, keeping his voice polite and formal. “From the Kingdom of Charagan.”
“Charagan?” asks the doorman.
“As you may know,” says Ernie, “Posada’s Boundary has fallen, and the Uncrossable Sea is now crossable.”
“Yes, I know,” says the doorman. “There has been much speculation about the lands beyond.”
“That’s where we’re from,” says Ernie.
“Such an honor!” exclaims the commissionaire. “And it is a special honor to meet you, master dwarf. Seven of you then. And you’d like a week? That will be 700 Miracs.”
From their previous visit to Djaw they have some miracs rattling around in their bags of holding, enough for a downpayment on the rooms. They get seven rooms in total; with Dranko and Morningstar sharing a bed, the seventh will serve as a smoking room for Dranko and Flicker.
“Please make yourselves comfortable, while we prepare your rooms,” says the doorman. “If you have any needs, our serving staff will attend to you without delay.”
“And you are...?” asks Dranko.
“My name is Balthazar,” says the man, bowing.
“You’re not “One something something?” asks Dranko.
“I’m not originally from Djaw,” says Balthazar. “But I find it much nicer to be here than Mirj.”
This elicits great sympathy from the Company.
The waiting area is gorgeous – wonderful padded sofas and chairs arrayed around a fountain and illuminated by colored lanterns. A huge platter of honeyed dates is brought in, along with perfectly-brewed tea. Morningstar turns to her husband and asks, “When you were renting from Berthel, did you ever imagine you’d be staying somewhere like this?”
Dranko just grins at her. “Say, think anyone would mind if a stripped down and bathed in that fountain?”
Especially given that there are half-dozen other patrons in the lounge, the rest of the party talks him out of it.
“Let’s try not to get thrown out on the very first night,” suggests Grey Wolf.
That sets off a minute or two of fond reminiscing about inns around the world that have suffered serious damage during Company stays. They count at least four: The Eye of the Storm in Het Branoi, the Singing Sickle in Mirj, the Victory in Tev, and the Shadow Chaser in Verdshane. The other guests glance over nervously at the conversation.
A pretty serving girl approaches after a few minutes of this.
“Your rooms are ready,” she says. “Will you be dining with us tonight? And if so, would you prefer a private dining room?”
“We’ll dine in the public room tonight,” says Dranko. “But let’s plan on a private room tomorrow night.”
“Is there a dress code?” asks Morningstar.
“I would expect you to look clean and presentable,” says the servant. “According to your own custom, of course. Do you wish any refreshment sent to your rooms in the meantime?”
“Yes,” says Dranko immediately. “And a bottle of wine would be nice. Whatever your wine steward thinks good – I’m sure he has impeccable taste.”
The servant leads them outside and along a shaded stone path to an outbuilding surrounded by perfectly-manicured hedges. Inside – oh, the rooms! Each is enormous, with a full-sized feather bed, complete furnishings and magically-heated bathtubs. They have carpets so thick you could comfortably sleep on them were anything to happen to the beds. On bedside tables are pitchers of lime-flavored water next to plates heaped with sweet grapes.
There is a knock on Dranko’s door; a servant has arrived with his wine.
“Your wine, sir. Tevian vintage.”
The servant uncorks the bottle, and Dranko makes a show of smelling it, pressing one nostril shut while sniffing with the other.
His finger sticks. Try as he might, he can’t remove it from his pushed-in nose. It feels like something has glued it there. The servant looks at him curiously. Dranko turns a bit red before dismissing her with his free hand.
“Flicker!”
Flicker and Morningstar come rushing into the room.
“Finger stuck to nose!” says Dranko. “Very annoyed!”
Flicker tries hard not to laugh. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asks.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” asks Morningstar.
“And remember,” says Dranko. “Before you answer, you shouldn’t be thinking of me as good ‘ol Dranko who’s having a practical joke played on him, but as a man whose wife can cast firestorm."
“I swear!” says Flicker. “I don’t know why your finger is stuck to your nose!”
“Can you find out for me?” asks Dranko. “I’m thinking Grey Wolf, but I have to consider Aravis or Kibi too.”
“I’ll make some inquiries,” says Flicker, who can’t help laughing out loud at this point.
“That would be great,” grumbles Dranko. “I’ll...uh...just stick around here then.”
With his free hand, Dranko casts detect magic, but neither the bottle nor cork are radiating enchantment.
Flicker finds Aravis eating grapes in his room. “Aravis, Dranko’s finger is stuck to his nose. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“His what?” asks Aravis, not sure if he heard right. “His finger is stuck to his nose?”
“Yeah,” says Flicker. “And he’s going to blame me unless I find out who did it!”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“I didn’t do it, I swear!”
Aravis puts his own finger to his nose and walks into Dranko’s room. Kibi hears the commotion and comes along as well.
“You too, huh?” asks Dranko, seeing Aravis.
Aravis casually removes his finger, prompting a growl from Dranko.
“How did this happen?” asks Aravis.
“Was he picking his nose?” asks Kibi.
Aravis casts dispel magic on Dranko, and the finger comes free. Dranko opens his mouth to thank him, but notices that Kibi has a huge smug grin on his face.
“Hello, Dranko!” says Kibi brightly.
“Kibilhathur...”
“What seems to be the problem?” asks the dwarf.
“My finger... became stuck to my nose. What can you tell me about this?”
“Oh!” says Kibi. “It, uh, might have been a side effect of the gloves I made you.”
There are gales of laughter from the rest of the Company, who have now all gathered in Dranko’s room. Dranko looks down at his fingerless gloves of dexterity recently crafted for him by the dwarf.
“Will this happen often?” asks Dranko.
“Well, I intended it only for when you picked your nose, but I guess being next to your nose was good enough.”
“Will this happen every time my finger becomes close to my nose?”
“Well, maybe it’ll be every time you press your nose hard with your finger,” says Kibi. “But I did design it so that it can become undone.”
“And how might that happen?” asks Dranko, each word filled with a flat menace.
“You just have to say the command word. Well, more of a phrase, really.”
Dranko lunges forward and grabs Kibi’s beard. “You know, my religion forbids me from using bladed weapons, but I’m pretty sure there’s no rule against razors and beard-cutting. And I can’t help thinking that what you did was inappropriate among those whose lives so often depend on mutual trust!
Kibi looks indignant. “Oh, and you’ve never put some wacky side-effect on a magic item you made for someone else.”
Dranko can’t help but take a quick look at Ernie – whose plate mail emits a loud fart when the left gauntlet’s pinky is pulled.
“Yes,” admits Dranko. “But I did that years ago, when I was younger and immature.”
Morningstar looks serious. “What if his finger stuck to his nose in the middle of combat... when he’s trying to heal you?”
“Well,” explains Kibi, “I thought it would only happen when he was picking his nose – which I figured wouldn’t be when his life was in danger.”
“You’ve effectively made these gloves something I can’t depend on,” says Dranko. “I can’t be in a situation where I might be in combat, and end up with my finger stuck to my nose. I just can’t. Which means I can’t use them.”
Kibi is taken aback by Dranko’s lack of humor. “You’re serious,” he says.
“Oh, I’m absolutely serious,” says Dranko.
Awkward silence.
“Unless there’s some way you can remove the curse from the gloves,” adds Dranko. “Then it would be okay.”
Dranko does find that just touching his nose isn’t enough to trigger it, but pressing again causes his finger to re-stick. He sighs.
“Ok, so, what’s the command phrase?” he asks.
In a smaller voice, Kibi says: “Kibi is a genius.”
This elicits more laughter, and Dranko can’t help but chuckle himself. “Well, I guess I have to give you bonus points for that.”
“I’m sorry, Dranko,” says Kibi. “I figured this side effect wouldn’t happen as often as the one on your other magic item.”
What? This is news to Ernie and Flicker, at very least.
“Ah, yes” explains Dranko. “My dear, trusted friend here has informed me that, when I turn invisible, someone who can see invisible people we observe something... amusing.”
“Really?” asks Flicker. “But we can’t see him when he’s invisible.”
“That’s the problem,” says Kibi. “It’s too obscure. You can only see it when he’s invisible, and you have see invisibility cast."
“See what?” asks Ernie.
“See that the his sash of invisibility says ‘Miss Charagan’ on it,” says Kibi, and that sets Ernie and Flicker to rolling on the floor, helpless with mirth. Kibi does agree to remove the ‘curse’ from the gloves at his next opportunity – it should only take a couple of days.
“In the meantime,” says Flicker, “Just don’t pick your nose in combat. How hard can that be?”
“So!” says Aravis. “Dinner!”
Dranko and Morningstar hang back for a moment while the rest head depart for the main dining room.
“I have two choices,” says Dranko. “I can take the high road, and forget this whole thing... or I can think of a good way to get him back.”
It’s not hard for Morningstar to guess which one he’ll choose.
...to be continued...
Meow Down Before Him
Posada’s Boundary may now be fully permeable, but the actual distance in miles is such that a normal teleport is insufficient. Since Aravis is the only mage with greater teleport, he is obliged to take the spell three times and ferry the Company in shifts. As he prepares to cast, he remarks, “We should visit Lord Dafron in Mirj while we’re over there.”
“Why would we do that?” asks Ernie, making a face.
“Because it will make him feel very uncomfortable,” says Aravis with a wicked grin.
A minute later, the party is standing outside the massive gates of Djaw – no special magical rope needed, and with no perilous dashes through the Delfirian Arch. It’s early March, but still warm. Some of that is geographic – Djaw is warm most of the year – and some is because, while it was mid-morning when they left Charagan, it’s mid-afternoon in central Kivia.
A short line of trader wagons is ahead of them in the line to enter the city. The air is filled with unfamiliar smells that bring back the wonder of Djaw, greatest city in the known world and the seat of culture, commerce and military might in Kivia. But just ahead of the Company is a reminder of the civilization’s darker side; a dwarven slave attends a wealthy spice-merchant, a red iron collar clamped around his neck. Kibi glowers.
Ernie is still chomping at the bit to enter the city gates. He’s been lusting after the spiced chicken sticks sold in many of Djaw’s outdoor markets, and is so excited at the prospect that he asks the gate guards if they happen to have any -- you know, just maybe sitting around.
“I haven’t seen you this happy since Yoba went home,” observes Dranko.
Kibi frowns, watching the dwarven slave ahead get led into the city. “How can you like this place so much?” he mutters.
The guards don’t stop him as he pays for his visiting papers just like everyone else. Still, when they look at him askance, he gives them a withering glare in return, almost daring them to say something. Morningstar puts a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll take care of it,” she says, referring to the Guild of Chains. “But the best way to do that is not to draw attention to ourselves.”
Kibi shrugs his shoulder out from beneath her hand. “I’m just walking around,” he says angrily, “minding my own business.”
They emerge into the city proper, glittering white buildings lining the clean streets, urbane locals in their gauzy robes going about their daily business. Kibi notes that while dwarves are scarce, the few he sees are all slaves.
“You’re the only free dwarf in sight,” says Morningstar, pressing the point. “That’s calling attention to yourself. I understand that your pride is...”
“I am not wearing a collar,” snarls Kibi.
“I would never suggest that,” says Morningstar. “But, we can make you look like a human...”
“Or I can look like a free dwarf,” says Kibi, “which maybe is something they should get used to around here.”
“And if anyone has a problem with it, they can go through me,” says Ernie.
“And me,” adds Grey Wolf.
“And me,” says Aravis.
Morningstar sighs. “Getting bogged down fighting these little battles isn’t going to help the dwarves in the long run.”
“Let’s just go to the Church of Kemma first," says Ernie. "They can tell us whether it’s okay for dwarves to walk around free these days. Maybe it’s not a problem at all.”
Morningstar sends to One Shining Mirror, the High Priest of the Sun Goddess Kemma and leader of One Certain Step’s church. They’ve spoken with him in the past, and hope for wisdom on Shreen and Dralla, as well as insight about the dwarves. The answer comes back that Mirror is indisposed for the rest of the day, but that he would be pleased to meet with them tomorrow. That leaves them free agents for the remainder of the day.
“I think we need to celebrate,” says Ernie suddenly. When the others look at him curiously, he continues: “That we can teleport across the sea. And that time is restored...”
And here he can’t help but grin widely, as he spills some beans from his last trip to Evergreen.
“...and that Yoba agreed to marry me!”
There are hearty and exuberant congratulations all around, though Dranko can’t help leering.
“So,” says the half-orc, “Did you... you know...?”
Ernie just stares. When Morningstar gives him a burning glare, Dranko backpedals a bit. “I mean, how did you ask her?”
“It’s kind of personal, Dranko,” says Ernie.
Dranko gives him a pat on the back. “Well, I’m proud of you.”
Ernie smirks. “Well, I figured, if you could get married...”
“Go ahead,” dares Dranko. “Finish that sentence.”
Ernie doesn’t say anything, but Flicker’s happy to jump in.
“If you could get married, then even a blind weasel could get lucky and tie the knot!”
A deft wrist-flick later and Flicker is lying on his backside, a whip curled around his ankle.
“So,” says Ernie, ignoring this last exchange, “I say we stay in the finest inn in Djaw!”
It’s the consensus of several passersby that the finest inn in Djaw is the Golden Goblet, located in the ritziest part of the city, not many blocks from the immense limestone and marble palace of the Emperor, One Supreme Intellect. Aravis is keen to visit the Court of Cats en route, so they take a meandering route, admiring the architecture and breathing in the exotic scents. Ernie eats about a half-dozen spiced chicken sticks.
The Company is approached just outside the Court of Cats by a Falcon – one of the omnipresent and imposing city guardsmen of Djaw. The Falcons are rumored to be able to see into men’s souls and note the guilt or innocence reflected therein.
The Falcon walks directly to Kibi.
“You’re not wearing your collar,” he says flatly.
As Kibi flourishes his papers, Ernie steps forward.
“He’s not a slave. He’s a free dwarf.”
“Are you aware that Posada’s Boundary is down?” adds Morningstar.
“I shared the same dream as everyone else,” acknowledges the guard.
“In Charagan,” says Morningstar, “dwarves are a free people.”
The Falcon smiles. “Very well. His papers are in order. If you can vouch for him, that’s good enough for me. As you were.”
He walks off.
“We have to do something about the Guild of Chains,” says Grey Wolf.
“Don’t worry Kibi,” adds Ernie. “I know we’ll find a way to free the dwarves of Kivia.”
* *
The Court of Cats is a huge open-air plaza surrounded by cafes and shops. It is filled with fountains, benches, and numerous tables and chairs. It is also the home to hundreds of cats, prowling the place for attention and scraps of food. Built right into the flagstones are numerous small bowls, and the human denizens of Djaw make a ritual of keeping these filled with meat and milk. It’s no wonder the place is such a feline hot-spot.
As happened the last time, Aravis becomes a cat-magnet the moment he arrives. Dozens of felines start milling around his legs, rubbing against him and meowing loudly. One even jumps up on Aravis’s shoulder, but Pewter chases her off.
“Only one familiar per wizard!” he hisses. Then, to Aravis, he adds: “The cats don’t seem to know exactly why you’re so interesting, just that you are.”
All of this inspires the party to learn more. Encouraged by the success of legend lore in revealing the cause of the Mystery Rash, Kibi casts the same spell on Aravis himself over the course of the next few minutes. When the spell is over, Kibi’s eyes bulge and his jaw drops. Already a bit jealous of Aravis in the wizarding department, Kibi grumbles: “Does Aravis have to hear this?”
“Why?” asks Aravis.
“Well, just don’t let your head get more swollen than it already is,” says Kibi. The spell produced the following:
He, a Prison Guard
He, a Wizards’ Bane
He, a Feline God
He, a Universe
A feline God?!
“If you want to get a swollen head,” says Pewter, “I wouldn’t blame you one bit.”
Ernie can’t help but laugh. “I, for one, will not be worshipping you. I’m spoken for.”
“But we can add a shrine to you back at Longtooth Keep,” says Grey Wolf.
“Hey!” says Flicker. “If I worship you, will you grant me spells?”
“I don’t know,” says Aravis. “Do you truly believe in Me?”
“Sure!” assures Flicker. “All hail the almighty Aravis!”
“Your first follower,” sighs Morningstar.
“Actually,” says Grey Wolf soberly, “This would explain why the rats are so concerned about you.”
The cats continue to swarm around Aravis’s feet. “I’m sorry,” he tells them. “I don’t have any miracles for you at the moment.”
* *
The Golden Goblet is the very epitome of posh. Its main three-story edifice is surrounded by numerous outbuildings scattered over a several-acre property. The landscaping is impeccable, with lush green lawns that are a rarity in Djaw, fountains, marbled walks and colorful flower gardens. Private guards are discretely placed, implying safety without making the place seem like a fortress.
Ernie takes a deep and contented breath as they approach the main doors.
“It’s a whole week I don’t have to cook!” he says happily.
“I thought you loved to cook,” says Dranko. “Isn’t cooking like praying for you? Are you saying you want to go a week without praying?”
“Ernie didn’t say he wasn’t going to cook,” says Flicker. “Just that he doesn’t have to cook. Don’t you see? When you have to do something you love, it can start to feel like a job.”
“Whoa,” says Aravis. “That came from Flicker?”
“Yeah,” says Flicker sheepishly. “I guess that was my flash of insight for the year.”
“It comes from worshipping Aravis,” says Grey Wolf.
“That’s right!” exclaims Aravis. “My first miracle!”
An elegant (if slightly rotund) commissionaire greets them at the door.
“Welcome to the Golden Goblet,” he says expansively.
“I would like to reserve rooms for me and my friends for a week,” says Ernie.
“Of course. And how many of you are there?”
“Seven,” says Ernie.
The doorman does a quick headcount and only gets to six.
“One of my companions is a free-born dwarf,” says Ernie, keeping his voice polite and formal. “From the Kingdom of Charagan.”
“Charagan?” asks the doorman.
“As you may know,” says Ernie, “Posada’s Boundary has fallen, and the Uncrossable Sea is now crossable.”
“Yes, I know,” says the doorman. “There has been much speculation about the lands beyond.”
“That’s where we’re from,” says Ernie.
“Such an honor!” exclaims the commissionaire. “And it is a special honor to meet you, master dwarf. Seven of you then. And you’d like a week? That will be 700 Miracs.”
From their previous visit to Djaw they have some miracs rattling around in their bags of holding, enough for a downpayment on the rooms. They get seven rooms in total; with Dranko and Morningstar sharing a bed, the seventh will serve as a smoking room for Dranko and Flicker.
“Please make yourselves comfortable, while we prepare your rooms,” says the doorman. “If you have any needs, our serving staff will attend to you without delay.”
“And you are...?” asks Dranko.
“My name is Balthazar,” says the man, bowing.
“You’re not “One something something?” asks Dranko.
“I’m not originally from Djaw,” says Balthazar. “But I find it much nicer to be here than Mirj.”
This elicits great sympathy from the Company.
The waiting area is gorgeous – wonderful padded sofas and chairs arrayed around a fountain and illuminated by colored lanterns. A huge platter of honeyed dates is brought in, along with perfectly-brewed tea. Morningstar turns to her husband and asks, “When you were renting from Berthel, did you ever imagine you’d be staying somewhere like this?”
Dranko just grins at her. “Say, think anyone would mind if a stripped down and bathed in that fountain?”
Especially given that there are half-dozen other patrons in the lounge, the rest of the party talks him out of it.
“Let’s try not to get thrown out on the very first night,” suggests Grey Wolf.
That sets off a minute or two of fond reminiscing about inns around the world that have suffered serious damage during Company stays. They count at least four: The Eye of the Storm in Het Branoi, the Singing Sickle in Mirj, the Victory in Tev, and the Shadow Chaser in Verdshane. The other guests glance over nervously at the conversation.
A pretty serving girl approaches after a few minutes of this.
“Your rooms are ready,” she says. “Will you be dining with us tonight? And if so, would you prefer a private dining room?”
“We’ll dine in the public room tonight,” says Dranko. “But let’s plan on a private room tomorrow night.”
“Is there a dress code?” asks Morningstar.
“I would expect you to look clean and presentable,” says the servant. “According to your own custom, of course. Do you wish any refreshment sent to your rooms in the meantime?”
“Yes,” says Dranko immediately. “And a bottle of wine would be nice. Whatever your wine steward thinks good – I’m sure he has impeccable taste.”
The servant leads them outside and along a shaded stone path to an outbuilding surrounded by perfectly-manicured hedges. Inside – oh, the rooms! Each is enormous, with a full-sized feather bed, complete furnishings and magically-heated bathtubs. They have carpets so thick you could comfortably sleep on them were anything to happen to the beds. On bedside tables are pitchers of lime-flavored water next to plates heaped with sweet grapes.
There is a knock on Dranko’s door; a servant has arrived with his wine.
“Your wine, sir. Tevian vintage.”
The servant uncorks the bottle, and Dranko makes a show of smelling it, pressing one nostril shut while sniffing with the other.
His finger sticks. Try as he might, he can’t remove it from his pushed-in nose. It feels like something has glued it there. The servant looks at him curiously. Dranko turns a bit red before dismissing her with his free hand.
“Flicker!”
Flicker and Morningstar come rushing into the room.
“Finger stuck to nose!” says Dranko. “Very annoyed!”
Flicker tries hard not to laugh. “What do you want me to do about it?” he asks.
“Did you have anything to do with this?” asks Morningstar.
“And remember,” says Dranko. “Before you answer, you shouldn’t be thinking of me as good ‘ol Dranko who’s having a practical joke played on him, but as a man whose wife can cast firestorm."
“I swear!” says Flicker. “I don’t know why your finger is stuck to your nose!”
“Can you find out for me?” asks Dranko. “I’m thinking Grey Wolf, but I have to consider Aravis or Kibi too.”
“I’ll make some inquiries,” says Flicker, who can’t help laughing out loud at this point.
“That would be great,” grumbles Dranko. “I’ll...uh...just stick around here then.”
With his free hand, Dranko casts detect magic, but neither the bottle nor cork are radiating enchantment.
Flicker finds Aravis eating grapes in his room. “Aravis, Dranko’s finger is stuck to his nose. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“His what?” asks Aravis, not sure if he heard right. “His finger is stuck to his nose?”
“Yeah,” says Flicker. “And he’s going to blame me unless I find out who did it!”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“I didn’t do it, I swear!”
Aravis puts his own finger to his nose and walks into Dranko’s room. Kibi hears the commotion and comes along as well.
“You too, huh?” asks Dranko, seeing Aravis.
Aravis casually removes his finger, prompting a growl from Dranko.
“How did this happen?” asks Aravis.
“Was he picking his nose?” asks Kibi.
Aravis casts dispel magic on Dranko, and the finger comes free. Dranko opens his mouth to thank him, but notices that Kibi has a huge smug grin on his face.
“Hello, Dranko!” says Kibi brightly.
“Kibilhathur...”
“What seems to be the problem?” asks the dwarf.
“My finger... became stuck to my nose. What can you tell me about this?”
“Oh!” says Kibi. “It, uh, might have been a side effect of the gloves I made you.”
There are gales of laughter from the rest of the Company, who have now all gathered in Dranko’s room. Dranko looks down at his fingerless gloves of dexterity recently crafted for him by the dwarf.
“Will this happen often?” asks Dranko.
“Well, I intended it only for when you picked your nose, but I guess being next to your nose was good enough.”
“Will this happen every time my finger becomes close to my nose?”
“Well, maybe it’ll be every time you press your nose hard with your finger,” says Kibi. “But I did design it so that it can become undone.”
“And how might that happen?” asks Dranko, each word filled with a flat menace.
“You just have to say the command word. Well, more of a phrase, really.”
Dranko lunges forward and grabs Kibi’s beard. “You know, my religion forbids me from using bladed weapons, but I’m pretty sure there’s no rule against razors and beard-cutting. And I can’t help thinking that what you did was inappropriate among those whose lives so often depend on mutual trust!
Kibi looks indignant. “Oh, and you’ve never put some wacky side-effect on a magic item you made for someone else.”
Dranko can’t help but take a quick look at Ernie – whose plate mail emits a loud fart when the left gauntlet’s pinky is pulled.
“Yes,” admits Dranko. “But I did that years ago, when I was younger and immature.”
Morningstar looks serious. “What if his finger stuck to his nose in the middle of combat... when he’s trying to heal you?”
“Well,” explains Kibi, “I thought it would only happen when he was picking his nose – which I figured wouldn’t be when his life was in danger.”
“You’ve effectively made these gloves something I can’t depend on,” says Dranko. “I can’t be in a situation where I might be in combat, and end up with my finger stuck to my nose. I just can’t. Which means I can’t use them.”
Kibi is taken aback by Dranko’s lack of humor. “You’re serious,” he says.
“Oh, I’m absolutely serious,” says Dranko.
Awkward silence.
“Unless there’s some way you can remove the curse from the gloves,” adds Dranko. “Then it would be okay.”
Dranko does find that just touching his nose isn’t enough to trigger it, but pressing again causes his finger to re-stick. He sighs.
“Ok, so, what’s the command phrase?” he asks.
In a smaller voice, Kibi says: “Kibi is a genius.”
This elicits more laughter, and Dranko can’t help but chuckle himself. “Well, I guess I have to give you bonus points for that.”
“I’m sorry, Dranko,” says Kibi. “I figured this side effect wouldn’t happen as often as the one on your other magic item.”
What? This is news to Ernie and Flicker, at very least.
“Ah, yes” explains Dranko. “My dear, trusted friend here has informed me that, when I turn invisible, someone who can see invisible people we observe something... amusing.”
“Really?” asks Flicker. “But we can’t see him when he’s invisible.”
“That’s the problem,” says Kibi. “It’s too obscure. You can only see it when he’s invisible, and you have see invisibility cast."
“See what?” asks Ernie.
“See that the his sash of invisibility says ‘Miss Charagan’ on it,” says Kibi, and that sets Ernie and Flicker to rolling on the floor, helpless with mirth. Kibi does agree to remove the ‘curse’ from the gloves at his next opportunity – it should only take a couple of days.
“In the meantime,” says Flicker, “Just don’t pick your nose in combat. How hard can that be?”
“So!” says Aravis. “Dinner!”
Dranko and Morningstar hang back for a moment while the rest head depart for the main dining room.
“I have two choices,” says Dranko. “I can take the high road, and forget this whole thing... or I can think of a good way to get him back.”
It’s not hard for Morningstar to guess which one he’ll choose.
...to be continued...
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Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
Oh, lordy. This game. I as a player was surprisingly annoyed about this, a fact that Kibi's player was also really surprised about; he meant it in good fun. We've never removed that particular "feature" of the gloves. But man, it was awfully embarrassing. Nothing is more irksome than a gloating dwarf.
The Golden Goblet is a simply gorgeous inn. Enjoy it while it lasts.
The Golden Goblet is a simply gorgeous inn. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Mathew_Freeman
First Post
Piratecat said:
Why do you think you were so annoyed about it, particularly as I can't imagine Sagiro is the kind of DM who would unexpectedly enforce this in combat or something?
I can appreciate that I would also find this a bit irritating, but like you I hope I'd manage to see the funny side.
I can't help but think that such a (mostly) cheery update can only mean Upcoming Doom for the Company.
Jackylhunter
First Post
Tallarn said:
Here here!! This is going to be bad, and oh so good...8p
Great to have you back and posting Sagiro!
Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
A really bad day that leaked into the game, I think. In addition, Dranko had trusted Kibi to make him something and the practical joke left him feeling really vulnerable. If my friend could do this, what could my enemies do?Tallarn said:
Not that he did anything about that feeling of vulnerability. We'll be regretting that uncharacteristic lack of paranoia soon enough...
You. Have. No. Idea. The scene you're about to see is one of the most memorable in the campaign for me. Man, Sagiro is a big jerk!
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
You're not quite about to see it; the Company managed to dawdle an awful lot before heading over to see their old pal Shreen. Soon, though.Piratecat said:
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 281
Preparations
Dinner at the Golden Goblet is appropriately sumptuous: six courses, all expertly prepared; more excellent wine; delicious desserts. A cadre of discrete servants attends them at all times. The Company shares the main dining room with about a dozen other guests, all in traditional formal Djawish attire.
No one attacks. No one poisons them. The furniture doesn’t animate. It’s simply lovely.
After the meal, Aravis finds something on the floor outside the door of his room. It’s a tiny little altar of stones, on which is balanced a tiny cup of milk – that Pewter immediately drinks. Aravis looks around curiously but there’s no sign of who might have left it there.
Inside his (locked) room is another altar, this one atop the wardrobe, and with a dead mouse instead of milk. Pewter leaps up and gives it a sniff.
“I usually like to kill them myself, but it’s still reasonably fresh.”
“It’s all yours,” says Aravis. He has a strong suspicion as to how it got there. “I’m going to bed.”
That night Morningstar visits each of her friends’ dreams – there is no taint of Dralla in any of them. In fact, the Company seems more relaxed than they have been in quite some time. Feather beds will do that.
* *
The next morning the entire Company is blissfully free of rash. Dranko opines that, since they’re actively moving towards fulfilling their promise to Shreen, the Curse of Dralla has temporarily abated.
“We should consider the possibility that we’ll just have to hand the Maze over,” he says.
“And how do we go about doing that?” asks Morningstar.
“I don’t know,” Dranko confesses.
“How would we even get it out of Aravis’s head?” asks Grey Wolf.
“I don’t know that either,” says Dranko. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”
“I’d say ‘last resort,’” says Grey Wolf.
“And technically we didn’t promise to give the Maze to Shreen,” says Ernie. “We only said we’d bring it to him.”
It remains to be seen if Dralla will acknowledge the distinction.
A servant knocks on the door, asking if the Company would like breakfast in their room, or in the commons. They decide on a private meal, since the topic of discussion will be Shreen the Fair and how to deal with him.
Aravis, wondering if the Crosser’s Maze can be used to increase the accuracy of teleportation to locations only seen in another time line, decides he wants to have a talk with King Vhadish XXIII. When he enters the Maze, the first thing he notices is that something is wrong with it. It’s not disastrous, or even particularly alarming, but the whole thing seems to be – well, vibrating, for want of a better word, and it gives him a headache. Aravis finds Vhadish in his fortress, still guarded by steel-handed golems.
King Vhadish appears before him, looking peevish.
“Young Aravis,” he says.
“Master Vhadish,” Aravis bows.
“I am quite busy,” says Vhadish. “But I can spare a moment or two.”
“I have two questions for you,” says Aravis. “Have you noticed that there is something wrong with the Maze?
“Yes,” agrees Vhadish. “There is. I assume it’s your fault.”
“Probably, yes,” admits Aravis.
“What did you do?” asks Vhadish.
Aravis explains his recent time-travels, as well as the Curse of Dralla. Vhadish has little interest in Shreen the Fair, but listens intently to the Aravis’s accounts of temporal journeys.
“Time travel,” Vhadish says to himself when Aravis is finished. “Interesting that such a thing is possible. I imagine that the Maze is reacting to that in some fashion. Can you fix it?”
“I will try,” promises Aravis.
“Please do. It's annoying.”
“The second question I have,” says Aravis, “is: can I use the Maze to correct teleportation?”
“I doubt the Maze was designed for that,” says Vhadish. “Perhaps you could bend it to your will if you were mighty enough. But I doubt you are. Maybe with sufficient training, you could be elevated to a sufficient level of mental prowess. I could take the time to train you again, though you are already in my debt.”
“Right now I don’t have the time,” says Aravis.
“Very well,” says Vhadish, looking bored. “As it stands, I haven’t even thought of a task for you in regards to your existing debt. Every time I think of some job I want done, I come to the conclusion that it would be easier simply to do it myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have many things to attend to. Good day, young Aravis.”
* *
Before their appointment with One Shining Mirror that afternoon, the Company discusses the Guild of Chains. Dranko decides he’ll spend the morning collecting information about them. He uses his robe of blending to disguise himself (as Turlus, of all people) and presents himself at one of the Guild’s own offices as a bard and historian. He is writing a book about the Guild of Chains and its many glorious contributions to the Djawish society and economy. He desires to know how the Guild of Chains came into being.
He is handed off to a minor functionary who is happy to sit and talk with such an illustrious author, especially since there is no particular secret about the Guild’s origins. What Dranko is told is this:
The Guild of Chains, before it was called that, was actually a branch of the Djawish government, as slavery has been an acceptable punishment for criminals since the city’s founding. Certain humanitarian factions in the noble court eventually became uncomfortable with the close connection, and the government office in charge of administering sentences of slavery was calved off as a separate organization, which named itself the Guild of Chains.
As a separate entity seeking to increase its financial means, the Guild of Chains sent a prospecting team into the mountains east of Djaw. There they discovered a small and scattered tribe of dwarves, who themselves had recently fled from the mountains’ interior from encroaching ogres. The story is that, of the small number of dwarves who actually escaped, many had been inmates in a dwarfish prison. That was making it difficult for the dwarven tribal elders to maintain basic order, let along establish a new dwarvish nation. The Guild of Chains struck a bargain with the dwarves: they would provide the dwarves with the supplies needed to bootstrap their society, and purchase the worst of their criminals to boost their inventory. In return the dwarves would grant limited mining rights to the Guild. So it was that over the course of many decades, the dwarves managed to establish the Kingdom of Gurund.
Eventually, however, there arose a faction within Gurund that felt it was immoral to sell criminals to the Guild, especially since over time the severity of the crimes required for such sales had grown small. Even petty thieves and vandals were being sold into slavery. This schism grew more and more intractable until it led to a civil war. The Guild, of course, threw their weight behind the pro-slavery faction, and that assistance made the difference in the outcome. But the new ruling government of Gurund was now further indebted to the Guild of Chains, and so things began (from the Dwarves’ point of view) to spiral out of control. The dwarves grew ever more surly and resentful, but the Guild had grown so strong that there was nothing they could do about the all-pervasive institution of slavery.
Technically, Dranko is assured, the dwarves sold into slavery are still all criminals and debtors, and the Guild has the full cooperation of the Gurundian government. It’s a shame, truly, that so many dwarves cannot accept the status quo.
* *
In the early afternoon the Company visits One Shining Mirror, High Priest of the Sun Goddess Kemma in Djaw. Mirror doesn’t have much to offer regarding Shreen the Fair or the temple of Dralla – it seems that Shreen has laid low ever since the party’s previous visit, and there has been little activity from the poor Drallan presence in the city.
On the other hand, the party has much information to provide. One Shining Mirror listens to every word they have to say about One Certain Step, as they recount in full his role in their adventures. They make sure to emphasize his honor and sacrifice but don’t gloss over his spiritual wavering and subsequent atonement. Dranko tells of Step’s defiance of the Demon Lord Tapheon, and they finish with his final words and deeds as they entered the Lightless Room. A scribe busily records the entire tale.
Before the Company leaves, an underpriest shows them to the stables, where Thunder’s glowing stall is kept clean and empty. It has been designated a holy site by the church, and a few pilgrims have already prayed at the stall of One Certain Step’s horse.
* *
Back at the Golden Goblet the Company continues to discuss strategy – should they be looking to negotiate? Subdue? Annihilate? Could Shreen be swayed with gifts? Maybe the curse will be lifted in Shreen is killed? And what spells should they prepare, or cast ahead of time? One thing they all agree on: they should ask to meet him on neutral ground, and not at the Plaza of Glory.
One thing is for sure: more information is never a bad thing. Morningstar attempts to scout the Plaza of Glory (site of Shreen’s temple) in Ava Dormo, but finds it protected there by an impenetrable darkness that extends several blocks in each direction.
“Shreen’s subscribed to the Mokad School of Dream Warding,” she tells the others.
Aravis decides to cast vision, with Shreen the Fair as his subject, and this provides an interesting vignette. His vision goes black as he casts, and his feels submerged in darkness. A small glow forms out of the black, a circular pattern on a floor, coruscating with red and gray light. Then Aravis sees the silhouette of a humpbacked humanoid creature, pacing back and forth in front of the circle. There’s no way for Aravis to place the scene, or even tell if it’s indoors or out.
The red light of the circle flashes brightly; Shreen turns to look. A tall beastly humanoid has appeared standing in the circle, a vile creature with snakes coming out of its midsection. The two beings regard each other for a moment, and then Shreen starts to chuckle in his distinctive broken-glass voice.
“This way, this way,” urges Shreen, and the monster steps from the circle, following.
The vision ends.
Whatever else the vision might indicate, it leaves Aravis and the others with an even stronger sense that Shreen would use the Maze to evil ends.
“If it looks like an abomination,” says Morningstar, “it’s an abomination. I think the Vree are the only exception we’ve ever run across.”
The others agree. It looks like the encounter will entail more ass-kicking than calm discussion.
A servant comes by asking if they need any laundry done. The Company politely declines, and Dranko asks if the Goblet could stop sending servants for a while, as they wish more privacy.
“Maybe we should invite Shreen to meet us here,” suggests Grey Wolf, mostly kidding.
“That would make this the most expensive inn we’d have ever destroyed,” says Ernie,
“No!” objects Kibi. “This is the only place in Djaw I actually like.”
A thought comes to Dranko then, and he smiles to himself. He excuses himself from the room for a moment, and once outside he uses his robe of blending to look exactly like Kibi. He sticks his finger in his nose and goes in search of a servant.
“Excuse me,” he says in his best imitation of Kibi’s voice. “My name is Kibilhathur Bimson. As a dwarf, I don’t have very good personal hygiene. And I need a snot rag, because my finger is holding a giant booger inside. If you could get me one please, I would appreciate it. And perhaps one for my bottom as well. Just have it brought up to my room.”
The servant is unflappable. “Of course, sir. Will you require any medical assistance?”
“No, no! It’s actually rather fun. Thank you, though.”
He returns to the rooms and changes back, uttering “Kibi is a genius” to dislodge his finger while savoring the irony. Inside, he approaches the dwarf.
“Kibi, I want you to know: no hard feelings about the gloves. I don’t think we really need to worry about removing the side-effect. They do the job I need them to. Thank you for making them.”
Kibi wonders how suspicious he should be of this change in attitude, but he bows graciously and answers: “I’m glad you like them.”
* *
Ernie casts a sending to Shreen the Fair, requesting a meeting the next afternoon on neutral ground. But the answer is implacable:
You will bring it to me here, after sundown tomorrow. You will hand over my prizes, as requested.
Ernie repeats this to the others, adding: “You will be a big old jerk!”
“We made an offer that would have spared his shrine considerable damage,” says Grey Wolf. “He can hardly blame us now.”
There’s a knock at the door.
“Didn’t we ask for privacy?” asks Morningstar.
Dranko opens the door. “Hi there,” he says.
“Delivery for Master Bimson.”
The servant hands Kibi two clean and folded linens. “As you requested, sir.”
“As I requested?” asks Kibi, but the servant is already leaving.
Kibi gives Dranko a funny look “Does this have anything to do with your recent change of heart?
“Yes. I think it might,” says Dranko. He turns and walks whistling to the other side of the room, where he plucks a grape from a table and pops it into his mouth.
The only additional action of import the Company executes that day is a divination spell, cast by Ernie.
“Will we do well, if we go to the Temple of Dralla to meet Shreen the Fair?”
The answer comes to him:
“They will take what is not given. The darkness presses close, and does not lift.”
“So negotiation isn’t likely,” Morningstar opines.
“I think we should open negotiations by burning the whole place to the ground,” offers Grey Wolf.
* *
Heedless of Shreen’s preferred schedule the Company heads to the Plaza of Glory at noon the following day, having foregone the Golden Goblet’s excessive breakfast for a heroes’ feast. The sun is dim behind a thick cloud layer; drizzle starts to fall soon after they depart. Their trip through Djaw shows them every strata of the city’s social structure – they leave from the wealthiest neighborhoods and travel through genteel residential blocks, marketplaces and parks, then poorer areas, and finally the squalor of a forgotten corner of the city wherein they find the Plaza of Glory.
The rain grows steady as they walk. The Plaza of Glory is as they remember: a little courtyard of broken flagstones and abandoned tenements, far from any thoroughfare and watched by a cracked statue of an angel in the center of a dried-up fountain. Beyond one of the boarded up walls of empty homes lies the Shrine of Dralla, and its Night Master, Shreen the Fair.
In the spattering rain, the angel weeps.
...to be continued...
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