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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1577619" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 147The village of Redgorge was situated at a bend in the Red River where it descended from the lower reaches of the Alomir Mountains before turning over a series of cataracts and resuming its course to the Shining Sea.  The place had an aura of ancient glory about it, primarily evidenced in the massive walls of shining black basalt that rose nearly as high as those that guarded its larger neighbor, Cauldron.  From the high trail that led down out of the mountains, travelers could see the several dozen stone structures huddled securely within those walls, as well as the massive cliffs on the eastern side of the village, across the river, where red clay had been quarried and shipped down the river to the sea for centuries since the village’s initial founding. But it quickly became clear that Redgorge was well past its days of glory.  For one thing, the mighty walls that shielded it were in a state of advanced decay, with several breaches around the perimeter, including a twenty-foot gap through which a new road had been blazoned.  And many of the structures inside the walls mirrored that decrepitude, with several of them overgrown with vegetation and otherwise showing signs of long abandonment.  The small company from Cauldron approached the village warily, but nothing stirred to threaten them as they approached the village.  The walls loomed over them like sentinels as they drew near, but there were no sentries or other guardians that they could detect.  With night approaching, the black bastions took on a menacing tone as they approached the nearest open breach in the walls. The village itself was quiet, although not utterly deserted; a number of people were visible in the streets, going about their business as they wrapped up their activities for the day.  A number of curious looks were fired in their direction, but no one moved to hinder them, and they were able to quickly get directions to The Redheaded Miner.  The inn was difficult to miss, in fact, a sprawling structure that was mostly stone, with an added wing of wooden construction on the west face a sign of relative prosperity.  A stableboy clad in a simple tunic of brown homespun came out to claim their horses, and after a few adjustments to their gear—keeping weapons and spell components close at hand had become an instinct, by now—they went inside. The common room of the inn appeared to take up the entire front space of the structure, and the bustle within contrasted with the quiet outside.  It seemed as though the people of Redgorge preferred to end their days early, and as they watched a veritable mountain of a man behind the bar, his long reddish hair tied back into two ponytails, laid out a spread of various snacks in deep wooden bowls upon the bar.  “Arr now, ‘elp yerselves, nobody’ll go hungry while Mikimax runs this place!”  A dozen villagers gathered quickly about the bar, and the boisterous innkeeper was soon put to work filling a number of drink orders.  Hodge had reflexively started in that direction, but Zenna held him up with a hand on his shoulder.  “Remember why we’re here,” she said. “Aye,” the dwarf replied, “But me belly’s so empty it be scrapin’ me spine, and it’ll harm our quest not to have it filled!”  “Let him go,” Dannel said.  “We’re all tired and hungry, and we’ll be better able to deal with the Chisel rested and fed.”  The elf kept his voice low, and as he spoke he unslung his bow and removed his pack and cloak, hanging the latter two objects on one of the dozen or so hooks that stood beside the door before heading into the room after Hodge.  The others, after attending to their own gear, followed him.  Zenna turned and strode angrily into a less-densely occupied part of the common area to their right, away from the centrally-located bar.  How had everything gotten so out of control?  Here they were on yet another mission with little in the way of direction or purpose, blundering from one danger into another.  With her lover—ex-lover, she corrected herself sternly—as well as a man who openly despised her, a holy crusader whose idea of “tactics” was to yell loudly and charge, a man for whom “bathing” was an abstract concept, and finally a gnome who would no doubt stick her head into a dragon’s mouth if she thought that there was something interesting to see inside.  At the last thought, Zenna couldn’t help but smile, and she allowed herself to let the rancor go, and turned from her feelings to focus on their current predicament.  She became aware of a man sitting in the shadows on the far side of the fireplace, clad in a cloak of finely-tailored wool that looked rather expensively cut.  He was still in that nebulous boundary-zone between youth and middle age, and there was a bit of a rakish look to him, with a black beard trimmed short and moderately long hair drawn back into a tail at his back.  His profession became evident as he shifted to reveal a small hand-harp held against the side of his body, and he played a soft melody upon it that filled the space between them, but did little to counter the din coming from the crowd at the busy bar on the far side of the room. Zenna felt a pang as the music reminded her of Dannel, but she squashed it with an angry thought.  He finished his peace, and looked up at her, as if expecting comment.  “You play well,” she told him. “I am gratified, lady,” he said with a nod.  “When first you entered, before you smiled, I sensed a storm descending upon me, and I thought perhaps I’d somehow unknowingly acquired another critic.  I am pleased to see that I am mistaken.”“You’re rather forthright in speaking to a stranger,” she said, slightly annoyed. The man smiled, and offered another nod that drew a frown from the tiefling, uncertain if its tenor was slightly mocking.  “That is why they call me the Honest Minstrel, lady,” he said.  Zenna started to turn, but there was something in the man’s look that held her there.  He shot a glance at the bar, where Zenna’s companions had joined the crowd in securing food and drink.  Zenna saw that Mole, despite being smaller than anyone else in the place, had somehow managed to liberate a pair of mugs and a plate of sweetloaves that she balanced in the crook of her elbow as she made her way toward her.  The bard strummed an idle tune on his instrument as Zenna turned back to face him.  “Tell me,” he said, “What can bind with water, sand, and lime?”Zenna’s ambivalence evaporated as she immediately made a connection.  Serious now, she stepped forward.  “Mortar,” she said.</blockquote>

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