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<blockquote data-quote="Cinerarium" data-source="post: 944959" data-attributes="member: 9349"><p><strong>Hammer 7 - Many Meetings with the Harrenguard</strong></p><p></p><p>Toth and I returned to the Tourney Tavern along the snow-covered Pennantfields. The massive Harrenhal castle rose to our west, and the sun hung overhead. The day was bright and windless, but bitter cold nonetheless. I blew into my cupped hands and stomped my feet as we waited for the two guardsmen. Toth suggested we wait inside the tavern, and agreeing to his practical wisdom, we went inside.</p><p></p><p>Mott arrived shortly thereafter. Sitting, he spoke plainly and quietly. “I’ll be collecting payment for both me and Rikard. He’s on duty.” The stout guardsman pulled a rolled up sheaf of parchment out of his belt as I fished for the coin I’d promises him.</p><p></p><p>“It seems your woman Marigold did consult the guard about her son, but she left before we ever told her that we’d help or not. Didn’t seem too interested in his whereabouts, at least that’s what I was told.”</p><p></p><p>Mott ordered some soup, and I followed suit. The soup came in large, dug-out bread loaves, such that you could peel off a piece of bread and dip the bread in the soup. By the time the soup was gone, so was the bread. It was simple and delicious.</p><p></p><p>Mott slurped down a few mouthfuls, and continued. “That piece of paper confirms the identity of the undead you fellows kicked up. Most of them were sailors, and their captains had thought they’d deserted. We still can’t identify some of ‘em, but we’ve got some Tyrian priests trying to find out who they were. None of those unidentified ones, however, had blond hair like your Opulio supposedly did. Personally, I think they were probably bums and such.” He shrugged.</p><p></p><p>“Your Opulio wasn’t among them bunch o’ ghouls. I got a buddy who says he remembers a fella by that name being killed nearly two years ago, somewhere here in the Old Ward. He thought it odd because he ain’t never heard anyone named that other than this guy who’s been dead two winters now. Opulio Street was named after some old Formyrian Duke and I ain’t never heard of any o’ them nobles down that way being called such, and that be where I grew up, so if they not be naming their kids that, probably not too many folks are.”</p><p></p><p>I nodded impassively, not sure where this information placed Marigold. “And your friend’s name?” I asked.</p><p></p><p>Mott thought for a moment, likely seeing if he could get any more crowns out of us. “S’pose it’s no harm in tellin’ ya that, eh? Hell, he may make a bit o’ coin if you pay him to answer easy questions like you done me and Rikard.” Mott smiled. “Sergeant Sheptin. He works outta guardhouse up near Caran Plaza, in the Coinsward.”</p><p></p><p>Now I truly was beginning to be perplexed. Opulio, dead several years? What did this mean? Was Marigold in league with the slavers? Or just mad? Or had she been thrown in our paths to throw us off the scent of the enemy?</p><p></p><p>I gave my thanks to Mott and bid him adieu. Back at the Temple of Deneir by early in the afternoon, I found Kazir in our cell, studiously poring over his newly acquired spellbook. He paid me little heed as I filled him in on my conversation with Mott.</p><p></p><p>“Well then,” he began. “Marigold Thatch is either mad or working for the goblins. Fascinating.” Kazir spoke in an even more deadpan than normal, and I sensed that he was holding back a scathing bit of sarcasm at my expense. “Would you mind fetching another candle for me? This one is almost out. Thanks.”</p><p></p><p>Kazir was seriously beginning to try my patience. Much as I respect the stoic monk, his wit as of late was at my expense, a situation I was used to seeing from the other side. I could see his point of view, though. He must think me running off on a childish quest, though I simply do not wish to see the woman suffer any more. Fuming a moment, I grabbed the candle Kazir had waved at and used it to light another.</p><p></p><p>“Marigold’s either mad, or working with the goblins – or there’s even more going on! Lest you forget my good friend, Sergeant Sheptin’s name is one of those on the Halfling note we found. Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to find out what happened to Opulio.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t want to make any enemies with the guard here, and I could really care less if this Sheptin is a crook. But, assuming Marigold’s not crazy, I still feel bad for her. I think I’d like to talk with this Sheptin. If his story sounds sincere, I’ll assume the connection with the Halfling note is a coincidence, and that Marigold’s off her rocker.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you though, Kazir, for providing a sounding board,” I continued, sounding as sincere as possibly while smirking behind his head. “I know you don’t think this quest of mine is worthwhile, but I appreciate your counsel nonetheless. I’ll take Toth with me to see Sheptin, and leave you to your studies.”</p><p></p><p>At last, Kazir finally stopped his scribbling and put his quill down. He took a deep breath, perhaps a sigh, and looked up at me. “Master Goetryn, my apologies. Yes, I do think this missing boy is a fool’s errand. However, I do not mean to belittle your effort to ‘do good.’ I am not so generously inclined but your considerable efforts are admirable. Pursue them as you wish. Should you need my assistance, I will do what I can.”</p><p></p><p>Kazir picked up his quill and returned to his work. “I must say,” he said over his shoulder, “the coincidence that this Sergeant’s name you mention is also written on that note does intrigue me. Please keep me updated.”</p><p></p><p>With that, Begeth and I left. I think I am beginning to understand this Aradeeti better, and I find that while more cold-hearted than I, his demeanor is pleasing and his natural curiosity meshes well with my own. His stoicism tempers my gusto at times, and for now, at least, I count him as a valuable ally.</p><p></p><p>Once again I found myself plodding through the slush with Toth at my side, the night now fully black. Toth grew frustrated with our slow pace and tossed a few coppers to a young half-elf with a rickshaw, and soon enough we were bouncing along pleasantly enough on our way to the Coinsward. </p><p></p><p>Finally we arrived at Caran Plaza, and Toth spotted the guardhouse in the dimly-lit blackness. He instructed the rickshaw lad to wait for the two of us, and we approached the door. I clanged a run against the metal, and was pleased to hear its resounding echo inside, followed by the sounds of scurrying feet. A peephole slid open in the door, and a pair of beady, bloodshot eyes peered out. “Names and business!” said the voice belonging to the eyes.</p><p></p><p>I nodded. “I am Tryn, and this is my fellow, Toth. We seek Sergeant Sheptin.”</p><p></p><p>The eyes narrowed as they studied us. “Odd hours to be lookin’ for the sergeant, eh? And a half-orc… don’t know if I should be openin’ the door for the likes o’ you two.”</p><p></p><p>Toth sighed ponderously, and I forced a friendly smile. “Sir, we but wish to ask the good Sergeant a few questions. We are friends of his friends – Mott of the Gap and Rikard d’Cymeria. It may be worth his while.”</p><p></p><p>“Indeed?” The peephole closed, and I heard more footsteps, and the sound of voices. The door opened shortly thereafter. A man stood, silhouetted in torchlight, his features dark in the shadows. He was somewhat large, draped in a heavy fur robe and wearing the crimson of the Harrenguard. He left the iron portcullis still separating us closed. His voice was smooth, and somewhat menacing.</p><p></p><p>“I am Sergeant Sheptin. What is it you want?”</p><p></p><p>“Well met, Sergeant! I am Tryn d’Cymeria and this is Toth. Your fellow guardsman, Mott of the Gap, told us you may be able to help us… and we’d gladly make it worth your while. If you’d let me tell you our story, I promise not to take up too much of your time, and I may be able to compensate you for any… information you might have.” </p><p></p><p>Sheptin folded his arms over his chest, and nodded impassively.</p><p></p><p>“My associates and I were recently involved in the incident at the Orchard Guard Memorial, and helped to bring the necromancer there to justice. We wound up there in the first place because we were looking for a man named Opulio, whom we thought might have been captured by that fell wizard. He wasn’t there, but Mott let us know that you might know something about this Opulio. Sergeant, can you help us?”</p><p></p><p>Sheptin reached upward and pulled a torch from a sconce on the wall. He proceeded to open the gate separating the guardhouse from the outside, and held the torch upward between himself and the two of us. </p><p></p><p>At first, his face was etched with suspicion, but softened a bit after he studied our countenances. I suppose my boyish charm has not yet faded for all the stubble on it. He replaced the torch and wrapped his fox fur robe about himself. “Let me think on it…”</p><p></p><p>I studied him while he frowned, eyes downcast. Broad-shouldered and clean-shaven, with unruly black hair, he seemed somewhat unremarkable. But his eyes seemed to hold more intelligence than the normal guardsman, his manner more professional, and I could detect no malice in him.</p><p></p><p>After a few moments, he snapped his gloved fingers and looked up at me. “Tryn d’Cymeria, did you say? Been down that way myself. Take my wife and kids, I do, when I get leave once a winter. Skirt the roads so as to not stir up the Lorries, but otherwise t’ain’t a bad trip.”</p><p></p><p>He hooked both thumbs in his belt. “I won’t be needin’ yer coins, sirrah. I do recall the name, though. Opulio. Aye…” Sheptin drifted into silence as he frowned, once more in thought. “Opulio. Lanky guy. Lorrie, if I recall correctly. Lived down in the slums with his mom. He died about two, or three winters ago. If you knew him, I’m sorry.”</p><p></p><p>I attempted to maintain my composure. Again, what could this mean? Was Marigold insane? “Died?” I croaked. “Two or three years ago?”</p><p></p><p>Sheptin nodded matter of factly. “He was caught trying to steal some scrolls, if I recall, from some Dread Wizard up in the Newcity Ward… or maybe it was potions.” He shrugged. “Anything else, friends?”</p><p></p><p>“Well, Sergeant, that just about does it then. I thank you for your time, and if you ever have need of a priest of Deneir, please come to the temple and ask for me. I’m sad to know the tale of Opulio ended, and so long ago at that.</p><p></p><p>“I suppose we’ll be going… but, ah,” I grinned somewhat sheepishly, and looked at my shoes, “this Dread Wizard… do you know if he’s still alive? And, just out of curiosity, do you know if he was a necromancer?” With this last question I was really fishing, but perhaps if I could find a link between the necromancer from the cemetery and Opulio, I would at least have something to show that my search was not in vain.</p><p></p><p>Sheptin shrugged. “Necromancer? I’m not sure, Cymerian – I prefer swords over spells.”</p><p></p><p>With this, we said our farewells. Sheptin seemed like a fair enough fellow – and someone I hope I can count on in the future, should the need arise. I found nothing that made me think he was involved in any nefarious plot connected to the list of names in Halfling, and he also indicated that Opulio was long dead.</p><p></p><p>Head heavy, having failed to find out any more solid information, I joined Toth in the rickshaw back to the temple. Tired from the travels of the day, I find myself barely able to hold the pen as I finish writing this.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Cinerarium, post: 944959, member: 9349"] [B]Hammer 7 - Many Meetings with the Harrenguard[/B] Toth and I returned to the Tourney Tavern along the snow-covered Pennantfields. The massive Harrenhal castle rose to our west, and the sun hung overhead. The day was bright and windless, but bitter cold nonetheless. I blew into my cupped hands and stomped my feet as we waited for the two guardsmen. Toth suggested we wait inside the tavern, and agreeing to his practical wisdom, we went inside. Mott arrived shortly thereafter. Sitting, he spoke plainly and quietly. “I’ll be collecting payment for both me and Rikard. He’s on duty.” The stout guardsman pulled a rolled up sheaf of parchment out of his belt as I fished for the coin I’d promises him. “It seems your woman Marigold did consult the guard about her son, but she left before we ever told her that we’d help or not. Didn’t seem too interested in his whereabouts, at least that’s what I was told.” Mott ordered some soup, and I followed suit. The soup came in large, dug-out bread loaves, such that you could peel off a piece of bread and dip the bread in the soup. By the time the soup was gone, so was the bread. It was simple and delicious. Mott slurped down a few mouthfuls, and continued. “That piece of paper confirms the identity of the undead you fellows kicked up. Most of them were sailors, and their captains had thought they’d deserted. We still can’t identify some of ‘em, but we’ve got some Tyrian priests trying to find out who they were. None of those unidentified ones, however, had blond hair like your Opulio supposedly did. Personally, I think they were probably bums and such.” He shrugged. “Your Opulio wasn’t among them bunch o’ ghouls. I got a buddy who says he remembers a fella by that name being killed nearly two years ago, somewhere here in the Old Ward. He thought it odd because he ain’t never heard anyone named that other than this guy who’s been dead two winters now. Opulio Street was named after some old Formyrian Duke and I ain’t never heard of any o’ them nobles down that way being called such, and that be where I grew up, so if they not be naming their kids that, probably not too many folks are.” I nodded impassively, not sure where this information placed Marigold. “And your friend’s name?” I asked. Mott thought for a moment, likely seeing if he could get any more crowns out of us. “S’pose it’s no harm in tellin’ ya that, eh? Hell, he may make a bit o’ coin if you pay him to answer easy questions like you done me and Rikard.” Mott smiled. “Sergeant Sheptin. He works outta guardhouse up near Caran Plaza, in the Coinsward.” Now I truly was beginning to be perplexed. Opulio, dead several years? What did this mean? Was Marigold in league with the slavers? Or just mad? Or had she been thrown in our paths to throw us off the scent of the enemy? I gave my thanks to Mott and bid him adieu. Back at the Temple of Deneir by early in the afternoon, I found Kazir in our cell, studiously poring over his newly acquired spellbook. He paid me little heed as I filled him in on my conversation with Mott. “Well then,” he began. “Marigold Thatch is either mad or working for the goblins. Fascinating.” Kazir spoke in an even more deadpan than normal, and I sensed that he was holding back a scathing bit of sarcasm at my expense. “Would you mind fetching another candle for me? This one is almost out. Thanks.” Kazir was seriously beginning to try my patience. Much as I respect the stoic monk, his wit as of late was at my expense, a situation I was used to seeing from the other side. I could see his point of view, though. He must think me running off on a childish quest, though I simply do not wish to see the woman suffer any more. Fuming a moment, I grabbed the candle Kazir had waved at and used it to light another. “Marigold’s either mad, or working with the goblins – or there’s even more going on! Lest you forget my good friend, Sergeant Sheptin’s name is one of those on the Halfling note we found. Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to find out what happened to Opulio. “I don’t want to make any enemies with the guard here, and I could really care less if this Sheptin is a crook. But, assuming Marigold’s not crazy, I still feel bad for her. I think I’d like to talk with this Sheptin. If his story sounds sincere, I’ll assume the connection with the Halfling note is a coincidence, and that Marigold’s off her rocker. “Thank you though, Kazir, for providing a sounding board,” I continued, sounding as sincere as possibly while smirking behind his head. “I know you don’t think this quest of mine is worthwhile, but I appreciate your counsel nonetheless. I’ll take Toth with me to see Sheptin, and leave you to your studies.” At last, Kazir finally stopped his scribbling and put his quill down. He took a deep breath, perhaps a sigh, and looked up at me. “Master Goetryn, my apologies. Yes, I do think this missing boy is a fool’s errand. However, I do not mean to belittle your effort to ‘do good.’ I am not so generously inclined but your considerable efforts are admirable. Pursue them as you wish. Should you need my assistance, I will do what I can.” Kazir picked up his quill and returned to his work. “I must say,” he said over his shoulder, “the coincidence that this Sergeant’s name you mention is also written on that note does intrigue me. Please keep me updated.” With that, Begeth and I left. I think I am beginning to understand this Aradeeti better, and I find that while more cold-hearted than I, his demeanor is pleasing and his natural curiosity meshes well with my own. His stoicism tempers my gusto at times, and for now, at least, I count him as a valuable ally. Once again I found myself plodding through the slush with Toth at my side, the night now fully black. Toth grew frustrated with our slow pace and tossed a few coppers to a young half-elf with a rickshaw, and soon enough we were bouncing along pleasantly enough on our way to the Coinsward. Finally we arrived at Caran Plaza, and Toth spotted the guardhouse in the dimly-lit blackness. He instructed the rickshaw lad to wait for the two of us, and we approached the door. I clanged a run against the metal, and was pleased to hear its resounding echo inside, followed by the sounds of scurrying feet. A peephole slid open in the door, and a pair of beady, bloodshot eyes peered out. “Names and business!” said the voice belonging to the eyes. I nodded. “I am Tryn, and this is my fellow, Toth. We seek Sergeant Sheptin.” The eyes narrowed as they studied us. “Odd hours to be lookin’ for the sergeant, eh? And a half-orc… don’t know if I should be openin’ the door for the likes o’ you two.” Toth sighed ponderously, and I forced a friendly smile. “Sir, we but wish to ask the good Sergeant a few questions. We are friends of his friends – Mott of the Gap and Rikard d’Cymeria. It may be worth his while.” “Indeed?” The peephole closed, and I heard more footsteps, and the sound of voices. The door opened shortly thereafter. A man stood, silhouetted in torchlight, his features dark in the shadows. He was somewhat large, draped in a heavy fur robe and wearing the crimson of the Harrenguard. He left the iron portcullis still separating us closed. His voice was smooth, and somewhat menacing. “I am Sergeant Sheptin. What is it you want?” “Well met, Sergeant! I am Tryn d’Cymeria and this is Toth. Your fellow guardsman, Mott of the Gap, told us you may be able to help us… and we’d gladly make it worth your while. If you’d let me tell you our story, I promise not to take up too much of your time, and I may be able to compensate you for any… information you might have.” Sheptin folded his arms over his chest, and nodded impassively. “My associates and I were recently involved in the incident at the Orchard Guard Memorial, and helped to bring the necromancer there to justice. We wound up there in the first place because we were looking for a man named Opulio, whom we thought might have been captured by that fell wizard. He wasn’t there, but Mott let us know that you might know something about this Opulio. Sergeant, can you help us?” Sheptin reached upward and pulled a torch from a sconce on the wall. He proceeded to open the gate separating the guardhouse from the outside, and held the torch upward between himself and the two of us. At first, his face was etched with suspicion, but softened a bit after he studied our countenances. I suppose my boyish charm has not yet faded for all the stubble on it. He replaced the torch and wrapped his fox fur robe about himself. “Let me think on it…” I studied him while he frowned, eyes downcast. Broad-shouldered and clean-shaven, with unruly black hair, he seemed somewhat unremarkable. But his eyes seemed to hold more intelligence than the normal guardsman, his manner more professional, and I could detect no malice in him. After a few moments, he snapped his gloved fingers and looked up at me. “Tryn d’Cymeria, did you say? Been down that way myself. Take my wife and kids, I do, when I get leave once a winter. Skirt the roads so as to not stir up the Lorries, but otherwise t’ain’t a bad trip.” He hooked both thumbs in his belt. “I won’t be needin’ yer coins, sirrah. I do recall the name, though. Opulio. Aye…” Sheptin drifted into silence as he frowned, once more in thought. “Opulio. Lanky guy. Lorrie, if I recall correctly. Lived down in the slums with his mom. He died about two, or three winters ago. If you knew him, I’m sorry.” I attempted to maintain my composure. Again, what could this mean? Was Marigold insane? “Died?” I croaked. “Two or three years ago?” Sheptin nodded matter of factly. “He was caught trying to steal some scrolls, if I recall, from some Dread Wizard up in the Newcity Ward… or maybe it was potions.” He shrugged. “Anything else, friends?” “Well, Sergeant, that just about does it then. I thank you for your time, and if you ever have need of a priest of Deneir, please come to the temple and ask for me. I’m sad to know the tale of Opulio ended, and so long ago at that. “I suppose we’ll be going… but, ah,” I grinned somewhat sheepishly, and looked at my shoes, “this Dread Wizard… do you know if he’s still alive? And, just out of curiosity, do you know if he was a necromancer?” With this last question I was really fishing, but perhaps if I could find a link between the necromancer from the cemetery and Opulio, I would at least have something to show that my search was not in vain. Sheptin shrugged. “Necromancer? I’m not sure, Cymerian – I prefer swords over spells.” With this, we said our farewells. Sheptin seemed like a fair enough fellow – and someone I hope I can count on in the future, should the need arise. I found nothing that made me think he was involved in any nefarious plot connected to the list of names in Halfling, and he also indicated that Opulio was long dead. Head heavy, having failed to find out any more solid information, I joined Toth in the rickshaw back to the temple. Tired from the travels of the day, I find myself barely able to hold the pen as I finish writing this. [/QUOTE]
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