Black Bard
First Post
What the heck??!!! Page 2???!!!
Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks for the bump; it seems I must post daily to keep this story on page 1...
* * * * *
Chapter 62
The next morning came swiftly. The storm broke sometime during their rest, leaving scattered gray clouds strewn across the sky in its wake. The world outside had been reduced to greenery and mud, with some rock scattered in between for flavor. At least the beasts that had attacked the bandits the night before had departed; they found little more than the shredded remains of several of the rogues in the space outside the kitchen doors.
Their reinforcements from Cauldron had not yet arrived, so they gathered up their possessions, including the body and head of Sarcem, and prepared to depart. Their horses were still in the stable where they had left them the night before, which was a relief. Shensen elected to come with them rather than stay behind; while she stated her intent to rebuild the shrine at the Lucky Monkey, and help restore the roadhouse to working order, she said that she needed to first report to her superiors in Cauldron. Zenna offered to let the half-drow woman ride double with her, but Shensen spent most of the journey on foot, and proved quite able to meet their pace even with the rest of them mounted. The others seemed to accept her presence, distracted as they were by their own thoughts, but Zenna observed Dannel casting several covert but intent glances at Shensen during the trip. From what she understood of their culture, the moon elves had a deep abiding hostility toward the drow, although Dannel did not make any overtly hostile gestures toward the woman. They fastened Sarcem’s body to Illewyn’s mount, and Mole shifted to ride behind Dannel.
They met the column from Cauldron shortly after noon. The riders included a squad of armed and armored city watch, a full dozen with extra mounts. Riding at their head was a familiar face: Morgan, the cleric of Helm. The cleric reacted strongly to the news of Sarcem’s death, and he did not even try to hide his emotions as Illewyn related what else had happened.
“I will ride back with you, and deliver Sarcem’s body to Jenya personally,” Morgan declared, when they had finished.
Illewyn shook her head. “No, Morgan. There’s nothing that can be done now, and we can bring the news ourselves. The roadhouse must be secured; we left some nasty apes in the inner courtyard, and there were some other hostile beasts in the area as well. A few of the bandits may have escaped us as well, though I doubt they would linger behind there.”
Morgan mastered himself with a bit of effort, but it was clear that he wasn’t fully convinced. He made a gesture toward the side of the trail, away from the others. “We should not argue in front... of these people,” he said. He didn’t specify, but it was clear whom he meant by the way that his eyes settled first on Zenna, then on Arun.
But Illewyn didn’t take the bait, nor did she move to follow him. “We must all cleave to our duty, now more than ever, Morgan.”
The cleric reined in his mount, drawing the animal back a pace, and it was clear from his face that the words had stung. He brought his horse roughly around to face back down the road to the Lucky Monkey. “We ride on, lieutenant,” he said, putting his words into action as he spurred his mount onward, the rest of the patrol falling in quickly behind him.
“That man has a lot of things going on inside him,” Dannel commented.
“Yeah, what a jerk,” Mole added.
“Morgan is... complicated,” Illewyn said. “He’s not all bad, but he tends to let his emotions catch him up and carry him headlong, rather than letting reason guide his steps.”
“Aren’t all men like that?” Mole asked, too innocently to be credible.
“He has suffered a great loss too,” Shensen reminded them. “People respond to such in different ways. Perhaps the young man’s anger is the only way he knows.”
Perhaps, Zenna thought to herself as they set out again, starting up the steep and winding road that led back up to Cauldron. But Morgan had made it quite clear how he felt about her, and after all of their encounters she found herself reciprocating his feelings quite readily.
* * * * *
Cauldron was much as they had left it, if rather wetter. The city was in good spirits, with preparations for the annual Flood Festival in full swing, but as they rode down Obsidian Avenue toward the Temple of Helm Zenna could sense the undercurrent of unease that hung in the air. She supposed she understood the reason; living in a big bowl, one had to be worried that the storm that they’d just experienced was just a precursor of a wet winter to come. That, and with the memory of the recent abductions still fresh on the minds of most Cauldronites... Certainly once the news of what had happened at the Monkey became public knowledge, the nerves of the people would not likely be eased any.
As they arrived in town, with the sun already half-gone beyond the western horizon, Dannel left them. The elf dodged their queries, saying only that he would see them again in the coming days. With the duty of Sarcem’s body still weighing upon them, they had no choice but to let him go on his way. Shensen left as well, thanking them for their help and promising to return after she reported what had happened at the Lucky Monkey to her superiors.
Zenna watched Dannel depart with hooded eyes, her feelings about the elf still mixed. There was no doubt that his role on their mission had been crucial, and he’d shed his blood freely for their cause, but there was something hidden about him that still worried at the tiefling’s thoughts like an unscratchable mental itch.
Jenya received them instantly, dark circles under her eyes betraying her concern for the fate of their mission. She took the news of Sarcem’s death stoically, drawing upon some inner reserve of strength. Illewyn offered what comfort she could, and she related what had happened. As the story drew on, the expression of the new High Priest of Helm darkened.
“We must find those wands,” Jenya said. “This first storm is just a precursor, I can feel it. Without the wands of control water, half of the city might be destroyed in the floods.”
“We will do what we can,” Zenna promised. But as they departed, she didn’t feel so certain. There weren’t many leads, but they had the description provided by Shensen, of the woman cleric of Bane that had led the attack.
As they left the Temple, Zenna looked up at the clouds gathering once more in the darkening sky above. Flood season was here, and she suspected that they weren’t done, not by a long shot.
* * * * *
Chapter 62
The next morning came swiftly. The storm broke sometime during their rest, leaving scattered gray clouds strewn across the sky in its wake. The world outside had been reduced to greenery and mud, with some rock scattered in between for flavor. At least the beasts that had attacked the bandits the night before had departed; they found little more than the shredded remains of several of the rogues in the space outside the kitchen doors.
Their reinforcements from Cauldron had not yet arrived, so they gathered up their possessions, including the body and head of Sarcem, and prepared to depart. Their horses were still in the stable where they had left them the night before, which was a relief. Shensen elected to come with them rather than stay behind; while she stated her intent to rebuild the shrine at the Lucky Monkey, and help restore the roadhouse to working order, she said that she needed to first report to her superiors in Cauldron. Zenna offered to let the half-drow woman ride double with her, but Shensen spent most of the journey on foot, and proved quite able to meet their pace even with the rest of them mounted. The others seemed to accept her presence, distracted as they were by their own thoughts, but Zenna observed Dannel casting several covert but intent glances at Shensen during the trip. From what she understood of their culture, the moon elves had a deep abiding hostility toward the drow, although Dannel did not make any overtly hostile gestures toward the woman. They fastened Sarcem’s body to Illewyn’s mount, and Mole shifted to ride behind Dannel.
They met the column from Cauldron shortly after noon. The riders included a squad of armed and armored city watch, a full dozen with extra mounts. Riding at their head was a familiar face: Morgan, the cleric of Helm. The cleric reacted strongly to the news of Sarcem’s death, and he did not even try to hide his emotions as Illewyn related what else had happened.
“I will ride back with you, and deliver Sarcem’s body to Jenya personally,” Morgan declared, when they had finished.
Illewyn shook her head. “No, Morgan. There’s nothing that can be done now, and we can bring the news ourselves. The roadhouse must be secured; we left some nasty apes in the inner courtyard, and there were some other hostile beasts in the area as well. A few of the bandits may have escaped us as well, though I doubt they would linger behind there.”
Morgan mastered himself with a bit of effort, but it was clear that he wasn’t fully convinced. He made a gesture toward the side of the trail, away from the others. “We should not argue in front... of these people,” he said. He didn’t specify, but it was clear whom he meant by the way that his eyes settled first on Zenna, then on Arun.
But Illewyn didn’t take the bait, nor did she move to follow him. “We must all cleave to our duty, now more than ever, Morgan.”
The cleric reined in his mount, drawing the animal back a pace, and it was clear from his face that the words had stung. He brought his horse roughly around to face back down the road to the Lucky Monkey. “We ride on, lieutenant,” he said, putting his words into action as he spurred his mount onward, the rest of the patrol falling in quickly behind him.
“That man has a lot of things going on inside him,” Dannel commented.
“Yeah, what a jerk,” Mole added.
“Morgan is... complicated,” Illewyn said. “He’s not all bad, but he tends to let his emotions catch him up and carry him headlong, rather than letting reason guide his steps.”
“Aren’t all men like that?” Mole asked, too innocently to be credible.
“He has suffered a great loss too,” Shensen reminded them. “People respond to such in different ways. Perhaps the young man’s anger is the only way he knows.”
Perhaps, Zenna thought to herself as they set out again, starting up the steep and winding road that led back up to Cauldron. But Morgan had made it quite clear how he felt about her, and after all of their encounters she found herself reciprocating his feelings quite readily.
* * * * *
Cauldron was much as they had left it, if rather wetter. The city was in good spirits, with preparations for the annual Flood Festival in full swing, but as they rode down Obsidian Avenue toward the Temple of Helm Zenna could sense the undercurrent of unease that hung in the air. She supposed she understood the reason; living in a big bowl, one had to be worried that the storm that they’d just experienced was just a precursor of a wet winter to come. That, and with the memory of the recent abductions still fresh on the minds of most Cauldronites... Certainly once the news of what had happened at the Monkey became public knowledge, the nerves of the people would not likely be eased any.
As they arrived in town, with the sun already half-gone beyond the western horizon, Dannel left them. The elf dodged their queries, saying only that he would see them again in the coming days. With the duty of Sarcem’s body still weighing upon them, they had no choice but to let him go on his way. Shensen left as well, thanking them for their help and promising to return after she reported what had happened at the Lucky Monkey to her superiors.
Zenna watched Dannel depart with hooded eyes, her feelings about the elf still mixed. There was no doubt that his role on their mission had been crucial, and he’d shed his blood freely for their cause, but there was something hidden about him that still worried at the tiefling’s thoughts like an unscratchable mental itch.
Jenya received them instantly, dark circles under her eyes betraying her concern for the fate of their mission. She took the news of Sarcem’s death stoically, drawing upon some inner reserve of strength. Illewyn offered what comfort she could, and she related what had happened. As the story drew on, the expression of the new High Priest of Helm darkened.
“We must find those wands,” Jenya said. “This first storm is just a precursor, I can feel it. Without the wands of control water, half of the city might be destroyed in the floods.”
“We will do what we can,” Zenna promised. But as they departed, she didn’t feel so certain. There weren’t many leads, but they had the description provided by Shensen, of the woman cleric of Bane that had led the attack.
As they left the Temple, Zenna looked up at the clouds gathering once more in the darkening sky above. Flood season was here, and she suspected that they weren’t done, not by a long shot.
Black Bard
First Post
We are not going to leave you, Lazy!!!
By the way, great work!!! I'm really enjoying how the narrative is flowing, with Zenna's perspective of the adventure and her comrades...
Lazybones
Adventurer
Not a Friday cliffhanger per se, but important matters to attend to nonetheless:
* * * * *
Chapter 63
She still felt a similar feeling three days later. It was late afternoon, and the evening crowd was starting to filter into the Drunken Morkoth, although the noise level hadn’t quite yet reached its full crescendo. Festival was still a few days away; although a few storms had blown through the mountains onto Cauldron, the rainfall hadn’t yet matched that from that first heavy storm earlier in the tenday. But there was still a feeling of anxiety that hung over the community here, for word had filtered out among those with a care to listen that there would be no magical aid forthcoming should the flood waters rise this season.
Zenna, Mole, and Arun were seated at a semi-private booth in a back corner of the common room. Zenna glanced over at the dwarf, who’d taken on that same unreadable expression that she’d gotten used to on him. This was the first time she’d seen Arun since their return from the Lucky Monkey; while she had no idea where the dwarf disappeared to, Mole seemed to be able to produce him upon demand. Although she couldn’t be sure, Zenna though that Arun seemed a bit distracted.
“No Dannel?” Mole asked.
“No, I haven’t seen him,” Zenna replied. In truth, she hadn’t really looked, had no idea where the elf would be found. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had visited Ezbar shortly after returning to Cauldron, and had spent the better part of a morning speaking to him over scones and tea. While he hadn’t been able to answer all of the questions she had, one thing, at least, had changed as a result of that visit. Unconsciously Zenna reached up and idly fingered the amulet that now hung openly on her chest. Ezbar had showed her how to gain some measure of control over the power she’d evidenced at the Lucky Monkey. A part of her still couldn’t quite grasp that she was now a cleric. She didn’t pray to Azuth, really; using the meditation techniques Ezbar had suggested she’d been able to tap into that power she’d used for healing, and even now she could feel the stored power of several spells. She had not yet solved the mystery of the relationship between those spells and the arcane magics she had recorded in her spellbook. They were somehow similar, yet at the same time different and discrete.
Distracted, she realized that Mole was saying something. “What was that?” she asked.
Mole tisked. “You should pay attention... for most adventuring parties, this is the best part!” She lifted her backpack atop the table. She’d gotten quite attached to the magical haversack; Zenna could not remember seeing it out of the gnome’s possession since they’d found it. Mole stood, allowing her to lean over the table, addressing her friends in a conspiratorial tone.
“All right,” she said. She ruined the earlier effect by laughing. “Time to split the loot!”
“I have to admit that I already did some shopping,” the gnome said. “For the good of the group, though. Bag, bolts.”
Zenna couldn’t help but smile as Mole addressed her backpack, but to her surprise the gnome immediately reached in and withdrew a pair of slender wooden cases, the sort used to store crossbow bolts. She would have to give the bag a second look; such a power would be quite useful, especially in the chaotic rush of a battle.
“I traded in one of those masterwork swords that the thugs had for some bolts,” she said. “One box for you, one for me. They’re the best that the fletcher makes, top quality, very expensive.”
Zenna looked briefly in the box. The bolts looked ordinary enough; she shrugged and put them in her bag.
“What about the rest of the swords?” Zenna asked. She suspected that she already knew the answer, as Mole was wearing a new suit of finely crafted leather armor under her cloak. The gnome had complained that the chain shirt she’d found in Jzadirune was too heavy and constricting, despite the good quality of protection that it offered.
“Well, I sold them,” Mole said. “There’s this great magic shop, Zenna... you have to visit! It’s called Skie’s Treasury, and it’s run by a gnome, and she has all kinds of great stuff for adventurers. She gives a discount to ‘official’ adventuring groups, but you have to sell her a lotta stuff first, and have a name. Anyway, I took the money from the extra swords and a few things I found at the Monkey and my share of the gold, and bought this magical armor. I know I should’ve waited to talk to you...”
“It’s all right,” Zenna said. “I don’t think that any of us would begrudge you being as well-protected as possible.” She looked over at Arun, but the dwarf didn’t respond.
“Hey, thanks! This armor is great, at least until I can get my hands on a mithril shirt... Anyway, you should go with me next time, once we have all the gold and stuff sorted out. There’s a healing wand that might be a good investment, now that you’re a cleric too and all...”
“Maybe we should divide the rest of the treasure, before it gets too crowded in here,” Zenna suggested. She knew her friend, and suspected that they would be here until dawn, if she let Mole get a full head of steam.
“Oh, sure! Bag, potions.” She drew out a number of potion vials, laying them out on the table.
“Most of these are healing,” she said. “Three of the minor-strength ones, and four of the more potent ones. There’s also this one,” she said, indicating a vial full of a murky red liquid. “This was one of the ones we found on Tongueater. It makes you grow for a short time, if you drink it. Makes you stronger, I guess.”
Zenna nodded; she was familiar with the spell. She for one was glad that they’d faced Tongueater in the narrow confines of the Monkey’s hallways; the thought of an enlarged were-ape was not a pleasant one.
“Arun should take it,” Mole said. “Since he’s the front-rank fighter.”
“Bah,” the dwarf said, his first word of the meeting. “I have no need of such trickery.”
“Oh, but imagine the looks on those evildoers’ faces, when they see a giant dwarf charging toward them! They’d be scared to death for sure, and then you could pound them even better.”
Arun looked hard at the gnome, as if weighing her words to see if they were mocking. Mole, to her credit, maintained an utterly convincing expression, and the paladin finally took the potion. Zenna, meanwhile, divided the healing potions, and they each took two, with the extra going back into Mole’s bag for now.
“I’ll just hold this one for Dannel, for now,” Mole said. Illewyn had already rejected her share in any treasure, saying that the church of Helm had already benefited from help of the companions in defeating the killers of Sarcem. Zenna suspected that there was more too it than that; the cynical side of her knew that Jenya still wanted their help tracking down the mysterious woman cleric who’d been seen during the attack. She looked down at the plain gold ring that circled the third finger of her right hand. It wasn’t a bribe, not quite; Jenya had given her Sarcem’s ring out of thanks for their help.
Zenna felt a sour taste in her mouth. Had she always been this bitter?
“And there’s the gold, of course. I included a share for Dannel, which I guess I’ll hold onto until we see him again. I sold a few of the things we found at the Monkey, and added it to the tally.”
“You know, some of that stuff probably belonged to people staying there, or to the owners,” Zenna said.
Mole looked hurt. “Yes, but they were all killed! You saw me offer Shensen a share of the treasure on the way back to Cauldron, didn’t you? I even offered to make a donation for the families of those who were killed. And we didn’t take everything.” Of course, she didn’t add that some of the things had been too bulky to fit into even her magical backpack.
“I’m sorry, Mole. How much is there?”
“Well, split four ways, it’s seven hundred and thirty gold pieces each.”
Despite herself, Zenna stared, and she saw that Arun had taken a renewed interest as well. That was a small fortune! Almost without thinking she started calculating how many scrolls she could scribe with that amount of money, how many new spells she could add to her spellbook.
“Arun, you could give your share to charity, if you want to... I know paladins like to do that.” The dwarf harrumphed, but didn’t respond to Mole’s offer.
Mole reached for the bag again, but Zenna shook her head. “Maybe we’d better make this transaction in our room.”
Mole nodded, but even as Zenna started to get up, her attention was drawn to the front of the room, where a few newcomers had just entered the tavern.
There were four of them, and even across the room Zenna could see that there was something that set them apart from the common run of patrons, even at a place like the Morkoth. All four were young, likely about her age. They were dressed as adventurers, clad in the diverse raiment one came across in that profession, and even at a distance could see that their garments and gear were stylish and well-tailored. All looked to be human, two men and two women. Their leader appeared to be a tall, attractive woman who naturally drew the attention of the room toward her. As Zenna watched she searched the room in a sweeping gaze, finally settling on her. The woman nodded, and she smiled slightly. Zenna felt a cold sense of foreboding; the smile didn’t reach the woman’s eyes, and there was something in them that bespoke trouble.
The four adventurers headed toward their table.
* * * * *
Chapter 63
She still felt a similar feeling three days later. It was late afternoon, and the evening crowd was starting to filter into the Drunken Morkoth, although the noise level hadn’t quite yet reached its full crescendo. Festival was still a few days away; although a few storms had blown through the mountains onto Cauldron, the rainfall hadn’t yet matched that from that first heavy storm earlier in the tenday. But there was still a feeling of anxiety that hung over the community here, for word had filtered out among those with a care to listen that there would be no magical aid forthcoming should the flood waters rise this season.
Zenna, Mole, and Arun were seated at a semi-private booth in a back corner of the common room. Zenna glanced over at the dwarf, who’d taken on that same unreadable expression that she’d gotten used to on him. This was the first time she’d seen Arun since their return from the Lucky Monkey; while she had no idea where the dwarf disappeared to, Mole seemed to be able to produce him upon demand. Although she couldn’t be sure, Zenna though that Arun seemed a bit distracted.
“No Dannel?” Mole asked.
“No, I haven’t seen him,” Zenna replied. In truth, she hadn’t really looked, had no idea where the elf would be found. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had visited Ezbar shortly after returning to Cauldron, and had spent the better part of a morning speaking to him over scones and tea. While he hadn’t been able to answer all of the questions she had, one thing, at least, had changed as a result of that visit. Unconsciously Zenna reached up and idly fingered the amulet that now hung openly on her chest. Ezbar had showed her how to gain some measure of control over the power she’d evidenced at the Lucky Monkey. A part of her still couldn’t quite grasp that she was now a cleric. She didn’t pray to Azuth, really; using the meditation techniques Ezbar had suggested she’d been able to tap into that power she’d used for healing, and even now she could feel the stored power of several spells. She had not yet solved the mystery of the relationship between those spells and the arcane magics she had recorded in her spellbook. They were somehow similar, yet at the same time different and discrete.
Distracted, she realized that Mole was saying something. “What was that?” she asked.
Mole tisked. “You should pay attention... for most adventuring parties, this is the best part!” She lifted her backpack atop the table. She’d gotten quite attached to the magical haversack; Zenna could not remember seeing it out of the gnome’s possession since they’d found it. Mole stood, allowing her to lean over the table, addressing her friends in a conspiratorial tone.
“All right,” she said. She ruined the earlier effect by laughing. “Time to split the loot!”
“I have to admit that I already did some shopping,” the gnome said. “For the good of the group, though. Bag, bolts.”
Zenna couldn’t help but smile as Mole addressed her backpack, but to her surprise the gnome immediately reached in and withdrew a pair of slender wooden cases, the sort used to store crossbow bolts. She would have to give the bag a second look; such a power would be quite useful, especially in the chaotic rush of a battle.
“I traded in one of those masterwork swords that the thugs had for some bolts,” she said. “One box for you, one for me. They’re the best that the fletcher makes, top quality, very expensive.”
Zenna looked briefly in the box. The bolts looked ordinary enough; she shrugged and put them in her bag.
“What about the rest of the swords?” Zenna asked. She suspected that she already knew the answer, as Mole was wearing a new suit of finely crafted leather armor under her cloak. The gnome had complained that the chain shirt she’d found in Jzadirune was too heavy and constricting, despite the good quality of protection that it offered.
“Well, I sold them,” Mole said. “There’s this great magic shop, Zenna... you have to visit! It’s called Skie’s Treasury, and it’s run by a gnome, and she has all kinds of great stuff for adventurers. She gives a discount to ‘official’ adventuring groups, but you have to sell her a lotta stuff first, and have a name. Anyway, I took the money from the extra swords and a few things I found at the Monkey and my share of the gold, and bought this magical armor. I know I should’ve waited to talk to you...”
“It’s all right,” Zenna said. “I don’t think that any of us would begrudge you being as well-protected as possible.” She looked over at Arun, but the dwarf didn’t respond.
“Hey, thanks! This armor is great, at least until I can get my hands on a mithril shirt... Anyway, you should go with me next time, once we have all the gold and stuff sorted out. There’s a healing wand that might be a good investment, now that you’re a cleric too and all...”
“Maybe we should divide the rest of the treasure, before it gets too crowded in here,” Zenna suggested. She knew her friend, and suspected that they would be here until dawn, if she let Mole get a full head of steam.
“Oh, sure! Bag, potions.” She drew out a number of potion vials, laying them out on the table.
“Most of these are healing,” she said. “Three of the minor-strength ones, and four of the more potent ones. There’s also this one,” she said, indicating a vial full of a murky red liquid. “This was one of the ones we found on Tongueater. It makes you grow for a short time, if you drink it. Makes you stronger, I guess.”
Zenna nodded; she was familiar with the spell. She for one was glad that they’d faced Tongueater in the narrow confines of the Monkey’s hallways; the thought of an enlarged were-ape was not a pleasant one.
“Arun should take it,” Mole said. “Since he’s the front-rank fighter.”
“Bah,” the dwarf said, his first word of the meeting. “I have no need of such trickery.”
“Oh, but imagine the looks on those evildoers’ faces, when they see a giant dwarf charging toward them! They’d be scared to death for sure, and then you could pound them even better.”
Arun looked hard at the gnome, as if weighing her words to see if they were mocking. Mole, to her credit, maintained an utterly convincing expression, and the paladin finally took the potion. Zenna, meanwhile, divided the healing potions, and they each took two, with the extra going back into Mole’s bag for now.
“I’ll just hold this one for Dannel, for now,” Mole said. Illewyn had already rejected her share in any treasure, saying that the church of Helm had already benefited from help of the companions in defeating the killers of Sarcem. Zenna suspected that there was more too it than that; the cynical side of her knew that Jenya still wanted their help tracking down the mysterious woman cleric who’d been seen during the attack. She looked down at the plain gold ring that circled the third finger of her right hand. It wasn’t a bribe, not quite; Jenya had given her Sarcem’s ring out of thanks for their help.
Zenna felt a sour taste in her mouth. Had she always been this bitter?
“And there’s the gold, of course. I included a share for Dannel, which I guess I’ll hold onto until we see him again. I sold a few of the things we found at the Monkey, and added it to the tally.”
“You know, some of that stuff probably belonged to people staying there, or to the owners,” Zenna said.
Mole looked hurt. “Yes, but they were all killed! You saw me offer Shensen a share of the treasure on the way back to Cauldron, didn’t you? I even offered to make a donation for the families of those who were killed. And we didn’t take everything.” Of course, she didn’t add that some of the things had been too bulky to fit into even her magical backpack.
“I’m sorry, Mole. How much is there?”
“Well, split four ways, it’s seven hundred and thirty gold pieces each.”
Despite herself, Zenna stared, and she saw that Arun had taken a renewed interest as well. That was a small fortune! Almost without thinking she started calculating how many scrolls she could scribe with that amount of money, how many new spells she could add to her spellbook.
“Arun, you could give your share to charity, if you want to... I know paladins like to do that.” The dwarf harrumphed, but didn’t respond to Mole’s offer.
Mole reached for the bag again, but Zenna shook her head. “Maybe we’d better make this transaction in our room.”
Mole nodded, but even as Zenna started to get up, her attention was drawn to the front of the room, where a few newcomers had just entered the tavern.
There were four of them, and even across the room Zenna could see that there was something that set them apart from the common run of patrons, even at a place like the Morkoth. All four were young, likely about her age. They were dressed as adventurers, clad in the diverse raiment one came across in that profession, and even at a distance could see that their garments and gear were stylish and well-tailored. All looked to be human, two men and two women. Their leader appeared to be a tall, attractive woman who naturally drew the attention of the room toward her. As Zenna watched she searched the room in a sweeping gaze, finally settling on her. The woman nodded, and she smiled slightly. Zenna felt a cold sense of foreboding; the smile didn’t reach the woman’s eyes, and there was something in them that bespoke trouble.
The four adventurers headed toward their table.
Black Bard
First Post
A rival group of adventurers, maybe? Or Banite agents?
This is even worse than a cliffhanger, Lazy!!!
This is even worse than a cliffhanger, Lazy!!!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 64
Mole continued to jabber on, oblivious to the four strangers who were clearly headed for their table. Zenna heard a growl from Arun—the dwarf, at least, had the wit to keep his senses alert.
The young woman drew up ten paces from their table, standing in the midst of a knot of a dozen round tables. Some of the guests had taken note of the newcomers, and glanced at them curiously. The woman basked in the attention, piquing the curiosity of the mob, letting her gaze travel across the room before turning back to Zenna and her friends. Her skin was flawless, a dark color perhaps a shade lighter than Arun’s, and her clothing was of sufficient style and quality that she would have had little quality fitting in with a gathering of nobles. Looking down at her own tattered cloak, Zenna felt cheap and ugly. A rapier hung at her belt, and a lute was slung casually over her shoulder, perhaps indicating her profession.
“Ah, friends! Unless my eyes deceive me, we are in the presence of some notable souls! Are these not the very same heroes who freed the orphanage children from the clutches of those vile slavers that were defiling our town?”
One of her companions, a muscled woman with close cropped red hair and a breastplate of polished steel, looked at them with a seemingly bored expression. “I don’t think so, Annah. By their clothes, they look like a couple of unemployed mercenaries to me.”
Annah chuckled. “Now, Cora, don’t be rude. I think that it is indeed them!”
Zenna frowned. The attention of everyone in the room had focused on the developing scene, now, and the buzz of conversation had grown silent. The wizardess noticed that all four of the young adventurers wore a badge on their garments, a brooch shaped in the form of a miniature shield, bearing the sigil of a pair of crossed swords surrounded by a cloud producing stylized bolts of lightning. The badges appeared to be fashioned out of solid silver.
Mole had finally turned her attention from the treasure and her bag, and turned to face the strangers. “Yes, that’s us all right,” she said cheerfully. “What can we do for you?”
Zenna groaned.
The one named Annah chuckled. “It should be us doing something for you, as heroes who have done such good for the citizens of Cauldron. Bartender, a round in honor of Cauldron’s newest heroes, courtesy of the Stormblades!”
Annah drew out a small pouch that clinked as she tossed it onto a nearby table
There was some activity as the inn’s staff rushed to meet a flurry of drink orders from patrons determined to enjoy this unexpected largess, but the attention of the room was still on the exchange between the two groups of adventurers.
One of the men leaned against a vacant chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His clothes were of equal quality to his companions’, but they hung awkwardly on his lean frame. His face was narrow and tweaked, his expression reminding them more of a weasel than anything else.
“Amazing that they were able to find the children, when no one else could,” he said to no one in particular, although his words carried easily throughout the tavern. “The City Guard, the churches, all manner of independent groups... no one could find them. I suppose it was a good thing that you came along when you did, appearing out of nowhere like you did.”
“Well, it wasn’t really that hard, once we put the clues together,” Mole said. “I’m sure that if we hadn’t agreed to help Jenya Urikas find the children, someone like you guys would have figured it out.... eventually.”
Zenna nodded to herself. Mole had figured out what these “Stormblades” were up to, and was responding to their jab in the way she always did... by talking. The wizard glanced around the room, weighing the gathered audience, sensing that more was coming.
“Indeed, Todd doesn’t exaggerate the degree of our good fortune,” the last man said. He was a stark contrast to the unkempt Todd, tall and ruggedly handsome with a finely trimmed beard. Zenna could see that he wore an icon at his throat, possibly a holy symbol, although she could not quite make out the design at this distance.
“An ingenious plot by these scum, using the locksmith who created the town’s locks to gain access to private homes,” Cora said. “Wasn’t he a gnome?” she added, with a not-so-subtle look at Mole.
“I believe so,” Todd replied. “From what I’ve heard, there’s a whole gnome settlement under the city. But the slaver leader was a dark dwarf... much like that fellow over there.”
Twenty sets of eyes turned to regard Arun, who was watching with eyes that smoldered. Zenna suspected that they were losing control of the situation, though Mole’s cheerful expression hadn’t slipped and Arun didn’t move. Clearly the Stormblades were trying to provoke them, but to what end?
“You should be careful, boy, in applying labels when you don’t know what in the blazes you’re talking about,” Arun said. His voice was a deep growl, low enough so that the audience had to strain to hear. But Todd had heard it, by the way his expression changed.
Annah interjected before either he or the dwarf could comment further. “Friends!” she said, in such a way that it included everyone in the room. “Come, let us not argue! There is no denying that the children are safe, and the abductions have ceased! I’m sure these strangers can offer good reasons for how they, as outsiders to our stately burg, unraveled the evil mystery that so vexed our city!”
The bearded young man nodded. “Indeed. We should not offer disrespect where it is not deserved. Tell us, ser dwarf, of this slaver, this dark example of your race.”
Cora, standing beside him with hands tucked into her swordbelt, added, “If he’s even a dwarf,” he said. “I’ve never heard of a dwarf who shaved his beard. Well, unless they’ve been dishonored and ejected from their clan, perhaps.”
Arun moved so quickly that Zenna didn’t have a chance to stop him. One minute he was seated at the back of the booth, and then the heavy table scraped aside and he was standing before them. A few patrons at tables nearby moved back reflexively at the sudden movement, giving the heavily armored and armed dwarf some space. The Stormblades made no obvious reaction, but it was clear to Zenna’s experienced eye that they too prepared, with hands falling to weapons hilts, postures changing slightly in anticipation of action. The mood in the room had changed, with that collective tension that existed before a situation exploded into chaos. The innkeeper made a quick movement, and one of the kitchen boys darted out the door into the streets of the city.
“Keep speaking, woman, if you want to earn a lesson in manners.”
Zenna pressed her fingers to her brow. She knew how it sounded to the crowd, the dwarf threatening a woman, even one dressed in armor and carrying a blade. These Stormblades were clearly locals, and they would gather the sympathy of the crowd if things turned ugly. A few more people rose from their chairs and moved backward.
“Touchy, eh dwarf? Perhaps a few barbs struck home?”
“Yeah, maybe you’d better explain a few things to the goodly people of our city, dwarf,” Todd hissed. “You’re a long way from the Great Rift. In fact, I heard that you beat up a guy in this very tavern, less than a tenday ago.” A few regulars nodded, remembering the event.
Annah shook her head sadly. “Indeed, the people of Cauldron deserve to know the truth,” she said, as if regretting how the encounter had turned. Zenna wasn’t fooled, but she was at a loss for how to disarm the situation. Annah lifted her gaze to fix on Zenna, and the tiefling thought she saw the slightest tweak of a smile on her face. “After all, a noble man of Helm, our own local cleric Ruphos Laro, gave his life to see those children free.”
Zenna felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. Mole’s forced grin evaporated, and Arun’s hands tightened into fists at his side. To be attacked with insinuation and innuendo was one thing, but to have Ruphos’s sacrifice tarnished...
Cora stepped forward to face Arun. “Well, dwarf?” she asked. “What do you have to say?”
Zenna tensed, suspecting that she knew what Arun’s response would be.
Mole continued to jabber on, oblivious to the four strangers who were clearly headed for their table. Zenna heard a growl from Arun—the dwarf, at least, had the wit to keep his senses alert.
The young woman drew up ten paces from their table, standing in the midst of a knot of a dozen round tables. Some of the guests had taken note of the newcomers, and glanced at them curiously. The woman basked in the attention, piquing the curiosity of the mob, letting her gaze travel across the room before turning back to Zenna and her friends. Her skin was flawless, a dark color perhaps a shade lighter than Arun’s, and her clothing was of sufficient style and quality that she would have had little quality fitting in with a gathering of nobles. Looking down at her own tattered cloak, Zenna felt cheap and ugly. A rapier hung at her belt, and a lute was slung casually over her shoulder, perhaps indicating her profession.
“Ah, friends! Unless my eyes deceive me, we are in the presence of some notable souls! Are these not the very same heroes who freed the orphanage children from the clutches of those vile slavers that were defiling our town?”
One of her companions, a muscled woman with close cropped red hair and a breastplate of polished steel, looked at them with a seemingly bored expression. “I don’t think so, Annah. By their clothes, they look like a couple of unemployed mercenaries to me.”
Annah chuckled. “Now, Cora, don’t be rude. I think that it is indeed them!”
Zenna frowned. The attention of everyone in the room had focused on the developing scene, now, and the buzz of conversation had grown silent. The wizardess noticed that all four of the young adventurers wore a badge on their garments, a brooch shaped in the form of a miniature shield, bearing the sigil of a pair of crossed swords surrounded by a cloud producing stylized bolts of lightning. The badges appeared to be fashioned out of solid silver.
Mole had finally turned her attention from the treasure and her bag, and turned to face the strangers. “Yes, that’s us all right,” she said cheerfully. “What can we do for you?”
Zenna groaned.
The one named Annah chuckled. “It should be us doing something for you, as heroes who have done such good for the citizens of Cauldron. Bartender, a round in honor of Cauldron’s newest heroes, courtesy of the Stormblades!”
Annah drew out a small pouch that clinked as she tossed it onto a nearby table
There was some activity as the inn’s staff rushed to meet a flurry of drink orders from patrons determined to enjoy this unexpected largess, but the attention of the room was still on the exchange between the two groups of adventurers.
One of the men leaned against a vacant chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His clothes were of equal quality to his companions’, but they hung awkwardly on his lean frame. His face was narrow and tweaked, his expression reminding them more of a weasel than anything else.
“Amazing that they were able to find the children, when no one else could,” he said to no one in particular, although his words carried easily throughout the tavern. “The City Guard, the churches, all manner of independent groups... no one could find them. I suppose it was a good thing that you came along when you did, appearing out of nowhere like you did.”
“Well, it wasn’t really that hard, once we put the clues together,” Mole said. “I’m sure that if we hadn’t agreed to help Jenya Urikas find the children, someone like you guys would have figured it out.... eventually.”
Zenna nodded to herself. Mole had figured out what these “Stormblades” were up to, and was responding to their jab in the way she always did... by talking. The wizard glanced around the room, weighing the gathered audience, sensing that more was coming.
“Indeed, Todd doesn’t exaggerate the degree of our good fortune,” the last man said. He was a stark contrast to the unkempt Todd, tall and ruggedly handsome with a finely trimmed beard. Zenna could see that he wore an icon at his throat, possibly a holy symbol, although she could not quite make out the design at this distance.
“An ingenious plot by these scum, using the locksmith who created the town’s locks to gain access to private homes,” Cora said. “Wasn’t he a gnome?” she added, with a not-so-subtle look at Mole.
“I believe so,” Todd replied. “From what I’ve heard, there’s a whole gnome settlement under the city. But the slaver leader was a dark dwarf... much like that fellow over there.”
Twenty sets of eyes turned to regard Arun, who was watching with eyes that smoldered. Zenna suspected that they were losing control of the situation, though Mole’s cheerful expression hadn’t slipped and Arun didn’t move. Clearly the Stormblades were trying to provoke them, but to what end?
“You should be careful, boy, in applying labels when you don’t know what in the blazes you’re talking about,” Arun said. His voice was a deep growl, low enough so that the audience had to strain to hear. But Todd had heard it, by the way his expression changed.
Annah interjected before either he or the dwarf could comment further. “Friends!” she said, in such a way that it included everyone in the room. “Come, let us not argue! There is no denying that the children are safe, and the abductions have ceased! I’m sure these strangers can offer good reasons for how they, as outsiders to our stately burg, unraveled the evil mystery that so vexed our city!”
The bearded young man nodded. “Indeed. We should not offer disrespect where it is not deserved. Tell us, ser dwarf, of this slaver, this dark example of your race.”
Cora, standing beside him with hands tucked into her swordbelt, added, “If he’s even a dwarf,” he said. “I’ve never heard of a dwarf who shaved his beard. Well, unless they’ve been dishonored and ejected from their clan, perhaps.”
Arun moved so quickly that Zenna didn’t have a chance to stop him. One minute he was seated at the back of the booth, and then the heavy table scraped aside and he was standing before them. A few patrons at tables nearby moved back reflexively at the sudden movement, giving the heavily armored and armed dwarf some space. The Stormblades made no obvious reaction, but it was clear to Zenna’s experienced eye that they too prepared, with hands falling to weapons hilts, postures changing slightly in anticipation of action. The mood in the room had changed, with that collective tension that existed before a situation exploded into chaos. The innkeeper made a quick movement, and one of the kitchen boys darted out the door into the streets of the city.
“Keep speaking, woman, if you want to earn a lesson in manners.”
Zenna pressed her fingers to her brow. She knew how it sounded to the crowd, the dwarf threatening a woman, even one dressed in armor and carrying a blade. These Stormblades were clearly locals, and they would gather the sympathy of the crowd if things turned ugly. A few more people rose from their chairs and moved backward.
“Touchy, eh dwarf? Perhaps a few barbs struck home?”
“Yeah, maybe you’d better explain a few things to the goodly people of our city, dwarf,” Todd hissed. “You’re a long way from the Great Rift. In fact, I heard that you beat up a guy in this very tavern, less than a tenday ago.” A few regulars nodded, remembering the event.
Annah shook her head sadly. “Indeed, the people of Cauldron deserve to know the truth,” she said, as if regretting how the encounter had turned. Zenna wasn’t fooled, but she was at a loss for how to disarm the situation. Annah lifted her gaze to fix on Zenna, and the tiefling thought she saw the slightest tweak of a smile on her face. “After all, a noble man of Helm, our own local cleric Ruphos Laro, gave his life to see those children free.”
Zenna felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. Mole’s forced grin evaporated, and Arun’s hands tightened into fists at his side. To be attacked with insinuation and innuendo was one thing, but to have Ruphos’s sacrifice tarnished...
Cora stepped forward to face Arun. “Well, dwarf?” she asked. “What do you have to say?”
Zenna tensed, suspecting that she knew what Arun’s response would be.
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