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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1147235" data-attributes="member: 143">*ego mollified* Thanks guys!  We authors are a fragile lot <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f609.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=";)" title="Wink    ;)"  data-smilie="2"data-shortname=";)" />* * * * * Chapter 49Arun Goldenshield drained the last dregs of ale from his tall mug, wiping the foam from his jaw—his clean-shaven jaw—before dropping the stein noisily on the table before him.  The tavernkeeper shot him an inquiring look from where he stood behind the bar, polishing the bottles and mugs lined up in neat rows on the shelving against the wall.  Arun shook his head, and ran his fingers across his jaw.  The stubble was starting to itch; it was time to shave again.  The thick, full beard of the dwarven tavernkeeper seemed to mock him, but the man was a good enough chap.  Shield dwarves and gold dwarves didn’t always have the best of relations, but the tavernkeeper had come even farther from his own home than Arun had, and he showed respect to the symbol that the paladin wore about his neck.  Respected the symbol, anyway, if not the man. Arun harrumphed, refusing to indulge himself with self-pity.  It had been a long tenday for him, after returning from the Malachite Fortress.  Unlike Zenna he had not spent that time with regrets and soul searching; the line between Good and Evil had been clear down there, and he’d unleashed his share of righteous smiting of the latter in a cause that had been both honorable and just.  The captives had been freed, and the corrupted half-dwarf behind it slain.  Of course, he’d fallen before Kazmojen had been finally defeated, but at least he’d weakened him enough for his comrades to finish the job...The paladin harrumphed again, his armor creaking as he adjusted himself.  The metal plates fit him like a second skin, now, and he rarely left his room, even just to come down here for an ale or three, without it on.  He admitted that the Helmites—or more accurately, whoever they’d hired out to do the work—had done a fine job with it.  Kazmojen’s armor had taken a pounding in their battle, and burned to boot when Mole and Fario roasted the regenerating brute, but it had been restored lovingly to service, and further etched with the design of the Soul Forger, right across the front of the breastplate.  Arun had been rightfully honored when the clerics had presented him with it, and his old battle-scarred suit of scale armor had quickly found its way into the discard bin.  The tavernkeeper shot him another glance, followed by a not-so-subtle look at the single window high along one wall of the common room.  Arun refused to rise to the bait.  He knew it was early, that another whole day lay out there in wait.  Dwarves had nothing against spending time in dark, crowded place under the earth, and he himself enjoyed time spent in prayer and contemplation, but even he had to admit that he was mostly hiding here, enjoying the company of fellow dwarves, strong drink and songs.  No one knew him here.  No one knew what he had done. Abruptly he pushed the bench back from the table and rose.  What was he doing here, anyway?  There was no evil to be confronted in the dingy depths of a dwarven tavern.  He harrumphed again, but his heart wasn’t in it.  Where else could he go?  He turned to head back to his room, but even as he left his table the outer door burst open, and Mole charged in, almost colliding with him in her rush.   * * * * * The morning sunlight had been replaced by thick gray clouds that had gathered overhead as the companions gathered at the northern gate of the city.  Not dark enough yet to promise more rain, they nonetheless encouraged them to haste as they rode through the massive stone arch that formed a tunnel through the thick city wall.  The reinforced doors at each end of the tunnel were open, and the guards paid little heed to their progress as they rode through.  Beyond the city lay a winding, sometimes steep road that would take them down the mountainside into the foothills beyond, and further yet into the plains that formed a narrow belt between the Alamir Mountains and the vast Forest of Mir.  Near Cauldron, the foothills and the creeping edges of the wood came close together, enough so that the easy ride across the plains would be the shortest and easiest part of their ride.  First, they had to get down from the mountains.  Zenna glanced back at Arun, who looked ill at ease on his horse.  Mole said that the dwarf had readily agreed to accompany them, but he’d barely said five words to Zenna, and a storm having nothing to do with the inclement weather seemed to hang over the paladin.  Still, she was glad to have him with them, going into a potentially dangerous situation like this one. Illewyn, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity.  The woman was in her mid twenties, fit enough if hinting slightly toward a pudginess that would probably grow more developed as youth retreated into middle age.  Her shoulder-length black hair was tied neatly back into a knot, but even though she now wore a chain shirt over her clerical robes, and a light horseman’s mace hung at her belt, she definitely did not radiate the martial air of a battle-priest.  In some ways, she reminded Zenna of Ruphos, who similarly had been forced to take up a role for which he had not been prepared.  Mole was riding behind the cleric, chattering on about some random topic.  Zenna didn’t bother to listen in, instead turning her attention back to the road ahead. As they reached the first bend in the road, the first of many as it switchbacked its way down the mountain upon which Cauldron perched, Zenna caught sight of a squat column formed at the next bend, a jumble of boulders stacked haphazardly in a pile.  Beside that natural pillar there was a horse and rider, apparently waiting for them.  A suspicion grew in her even before they drew close enough for her to identify the rider, who simply sat there on his mount, waiting without greeting or hail as they approached. “Dannel,” Zenna said, finally reining in a few paces away, the others close behind her. The elf looked much the same as when he’d taken leave of them an hour before, although now he carried a considerable composite longbow across his lap, with a quiver packed full of long shafts jutting out from behind his shoulder.  His horse was a powerful roan, looking like a Shaar breed, perhaps, with its muscular shoulders and hindquarters.  It snorted at the other horses, and it sounded like a challenge. “What are you doing here?” Zenna asked, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. The elf lifted his palms, as if to place her at ease.  “I was looking to get out of the city for a time, and would share the road with you, if you are willing.”“Hey,” Mole began, but Zenna cut her off.  “I think you’d better be straight with me, starting right now,” the tiefling said.  “You want I should tie this fellow around this pillar?” Arun growled.  “He certainly looks stringy enough for a few knots to hold.”“Peace, dwarf,” he said, but his eyes were like shards of glass, hard and edgy.  But he shifted his gaze back to Zenna.  “Very well, Zenna, I will be honest with you.  There are two reasons that I wish to accompany you.”“The first is as I said before.  The urgency of your departure, your weapons and the manner that you carry them, and the presence of the cleric of Helm, tells me that the nature of the High Priest’s situation is serious.  I meant what I said, I wish the cleric no ill, and if he is in danger, I would offer my aid to his cause.”“And the second reason?” Zenna prodded. “I’ve been asked to watch over you,” he said. Zenna nodded to herself.  So Esbar Tolerathkas had more than a passing interest in her, it seemed.  Part of her felt a surge of fury at the presumption of it, setting a... a guardian over her, as if she was some possession to be monitored.  But she also had to admit that the road ahead might be dangerous, if the threat was something that the High Priest of Helm could not handle.  “We ride swiftly,” she said.  “You’ll have to keep up as best you can.”He smiled at her, that same enigmatic smile as before, as she kicked her mount forward again.  The others followed behind her, with Mole already engaged in a new conversation with the elf as he fell into the line.  Arun brought up the rear, and Zenna could already hear what was sure to be a long day of grumbling begin from that direction.  She urged her horse into a canter, and they continued as quickly as was safe down the side of the mountain.* * * * * I'll post Dannel Ardan's stats in the Rogues' Gallery thread shortly.</blockquote>

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