Travels through the Wild West: a Forgotten Realms Story

[Broccli_Head]

I like parties! I agree, you still have to develop Lok. However, his taciturness makes it difficult. Maybe some insight into what he is thinking?

 

[Lazybones]

Part 19

“Welcome,” the slightly chubby-faced young man in the white surcoat said to the four companions in greeting. “My name is Bolin, and I have been assigned to assist you this evening.”

“A chaperone?” Delem said in an aside to Benzan, who shrugged in response.

“Probably here to keep us from pocketing any of the silverware,” the tiefling muttered under his breath as they were escorted into the grand foyer of the central keep.

After just a short time, however, even Benzan had to admit the utility of having the young guide. The large central hall of the keep had been transformed into a grand ballroom for the occasion of this gathering, the hard lines of the cold stone softened by numerous woven tapestries, thick plush carpets, and other expensive decorations. Numerous heavy candelabra along the walls supplemented the light that shone down from the dozens of candles in the large chandelier above them. A blazing hearth in the rear of the chamber provided warmth, and a seemingly endless string of young men and women in Dhelt’s white livery darted through the maze of people carrying heavy trays piled high with food and drink for the guests.

If the surroundings were impressive, the people that filled the room were doubly so. Even Benzan was taken a bit aback at the opulence of the hundred or so guests that had already gathered, men and women draped in varying layers of silks, brocaded wool, furs, and even the occasional suit of highly decorated armor.

Delem commented that he hadn’t been aware that so many nobles lived in such a small city as Elturel, and Bolin replied that many of those in attendance were leading figures of the merchant class or the top clergy of Elturel’s major churches, and that there were even a few representatives from other cities present as well. It was a swirling maze of personalities and interests, difficult for them as outsiders to keep straight, and they welcomed the insights that Bolin was able to give as they made their way through the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a powerful voice from above echoed through the room. Instantly the attention of everyone present was drawn to the balcony that overlooked the room from the wall across from the entry, where a man had appeared.

None of the companions needed Bolin’s prompt to know that this was High Rider Lord Dhelt himself, the paladin of great renown who ruled over the city. He was dressed in a long vest of silvery mail-links that shone in the light of the chandelier, partially covered by a tabard of purest white marked with the symbol of Helm’s warding hand. His mighty sword, Fangor’s Bane, was visible from behind his shoulder, its long hilt ready for use if evil threatened. He was flanked by two companions, an elven man in the attire of a senior priest of Helm on one side, and a slightly plump, balding man in the rune-laden robes of a wizard on the other.

“Thank you for coming,” the paladin continued. “It is good to see all of you so hale and hearty, and I would like to extend my wishes for a safe and prosperous winter season.”

“Hear, hear!” came a loud voice from the audience.

“Ah, I see that Lord Mandragon shares my thoughts,” Lord Dhelt said. “In any case, I offer you the blessing of Helm’s peace, and hope that you find the favor of the Vigilant One, or whichever deity offers you personal solace in the cold months to come.”

“On the morrow, as you know, I travel to Berdusk for the semi-annual parlay between the lords of the west. I know that all of you have felt the pressures of the trade disputes that we have been experiencing with our neighbors, but I assure you that we will do all that we can to smooth out the differences that divide us, and assure success for the coming year.”

“I leave you content that the city, and those villages under its protection, are safe from the dangers that lurk in the wilds of this region that we call home. The Hellriders, as always, will remain vigilant in defense of what we have struggled to erect from the wilderness that was here before our ancestors came along to claim it. While there are still threats out there, we stand a little safer today than the day before, thanks largely to the efforts of a few brave souls who volunteered their aid when a noble scion of our friend and neighbor city of Iriaebor was placed in grave peril. Let us offer our warm thanks to those heroes in our midst today, whom we gather to honor.”

Lord Dhelt gestured down to where the companions were clustered, and all eyes turned upon them. As a wave of applause swept through the gathering, Cal smiled and waved, Lok stood there as unflappable and unreadable as ever, Delem flushed and looked uncomfortable, and Benzan beamed while grabbing a flute of sparkling wine from a passing attendant.

“Maybe this hero business isn’t such a bad deal after all,” he said, drinking in the adulation as he downed the sweet wine in a single gulp.

Cal stepped forward to address the crowd, but their attention had already returned to the High Rider.

“Enjoy yourselves,” Lord Dhelt told the gathered guests, “and until the High Festival of Winter, may Helm keep you safe.” With that, he and his companions vanished back into the interior of the keep.

“Well,” Cal said, a little put out that he didn’t get to make his speech, “that was rather abrupt.”

“The High Rider is quite busy,” Bolin said apologetically. “There are many preparations to be made, for his journey on the morrow. He may come down and say hello later, though.” The young man’s expression didn’t suggest that he thought much of that possibility.

“High folk run in different circles than us commoners,” Benzan said, punctuating his statement with a big bite from a crab cake that he’d gotten from somewhere. “And he’s as high as they come, at least from what I’ve heard.”

“Yes, well, why don’t we see if we can get some more of that food,” Cal said, not wanting to start any trouble by getting into rumors of the Lord whose castle they were occupying. But their chaperone had other ideas, as he gestured toward the crowd. He swept the four companions up, drawing a dangerous look from Benzan as he urged him in the opposite direction from the dessert table he’d been eyeing.

“It’s the Secretary, Lord Podranus,” Bolin said, the gravity of his tone conveying the message that the companions should be impressed. “He wants to speak with you.”

The Secretary of the City Council was talking with a pair of elderly men as they walked up, who excused themselves when he turned to greet the companions. “Ah, I’m so glad that you could make it tonight,” he told them. “Lord Dhelt wanted to honor you for your bravery tonight.”

“I wish he hadn’t forgotten Telwarden,” Lok said. “He sacrificed much more than us.”

Podranus was nonplussed. “I assure you, Lord Dhelt is quite aware of the bravery of Sheriff Telwarden,” he said. “Now, I know that you would like to eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves, but if you don’t mind, there are a few people who would like to meet our city’s newest heroes.”

There was no escaping, although Benzan tried to slip away once or twice into the crowd as they made their circuit around the room. Between Podranus and the ever-watchful eyes of Bolin, however, they had no choice but to be ‘poked and prodded,’ as Benzan had put it. Their young guide hung back in the background, and his whispered comments before and after each meeting gave the four companions some insights into these people, the true elite of the city.

They met Lady Rowene Eberon, an elderly woman in her sixties who possessed a powerful presence that all of them could sense upon meeting her. Her gray eyes seemed to weight them like scales as she looked upon them, as if judging how valuable they might be to her. Bolin told them that she was one of the largest landholders in and around the city, and a powerful ally to Lord Dhelt in the Council.

Lord Horvik Mandragon was a stark contrast to the regal old dame. He was the stereotype of the brash, elitist aristocrat, his snobbery evident in his first look upon the companions. His query on what manner of creature Lok might be was clearly in bad taste, although Podranus covered for him by quickly changing the subject. Bolin revealed that Mandragon was the current head of one of the oldest families in Elturel, and that he had powerful connections in Sembia and Westgate as well.

“I guess that’s why he can afford to be such a jerk,” Benzan said after they left him, too softly for anyone around him to hear.

Lord Evan Rathman seemed too young at first to be a great nobleman, perhaps in his early twenties by the look of him. Once they interacted with him, however, they could recognize the hints of elvish blood that showed in his features, and Bolin later revealed that the young lord was in fact in his thirties, having come into his inheritance just a few years back. Rathman was charming and even a little self-deprecating, laughing at some apparently inside joke with Podranus over some vague matter before the Council. He shook hands with each of the companions in turn, and showed no bias toward any of them in particular. Bolin said that he had his hand in several mercantile activities in the city, including the town’s largest importer of expensive luxury foods like eastern tea, spices, and wine from the Dalelands.

Bodran Cobbledon was not a nobleman, but Bolin whispered that he was one of the richest men in Elturel, owning the largest barging company on the River Chionthar. He was in his early fifties, more than a little overweight, and looked completely harmless until one saw the sharp look in his eyes when he turned them upon you. He was talking with a woman of like age, dressed in a simple white robe marked with a carved wooden symbol of a blank scroll around her neck. Padronis introduced her as Lady Darine Palintz, the head of the church of Oghma in Elturel. The companions already knew that the Lord of Knowledge had a strong following in the Western Heartlands, and were taken in by the way that the cleric’s eyes seemed to sparkle with merriment as she talked. She showed interest in all of them, commenting that she’d rarely seen such a diverse group as the four of them traveling together. On learning that Cal was a bard, she invited him to come and share his tales of their travels, at his convenience.

As Padronis was finally about to release them, one more notable made his way to them.

“Ah, Lord Fariq. I was not aware that you were back in town,” the Secretary said.

“Just returned this morning,” the man said in thickly accented Chondathan. His skin was dusky, and he wore a thin beard carefully trimmed almost to a point. He was dressed in fine fabrics in an unusual color scheme that emphasized reds and oranges in rippling layers.

“Lord Fariq is a visitor from the far south, from Calimshan,” Padronis said by way of introduction. “He travels the Western Heartlands, making himself known at most of the major courts of our land, bringing news and information from the south. And how is the Pasha Persakhal doing, these days?”

“Ah, he is well, may the gods preserve his reign for a thousand years,” the Calie said with a bow and a flourish. “I just wanted to meet these heroes, of which the gracious Lord Dhelt spoke with such favor. An unusual group of companions, to be sure—meaning no disrespect, sirs.”

“None taken,” Benzan said, sipping another glass of wine he’d pilfered from a passing tray.

“We have many of the plane-touched in our own land, master warrior,” the Calie said to Lok. “Perhaps you will visit the south some day?”

Lok shrugged. “At the moment, we’re finding the west quite enough to handle,” Cal said. “Perhaps some day, though—who can tell where the road may lead?”

“Ah, true enough,” Fariq said. “Perhaps we will meet again, then?”

The southerner headed into another group of chattering nobles. Padronis left them as well, with a suggestion that they enjoy themselves and eat heartily.

“Been trying,” Benzan muttered as he left.

“Just who was that guy?” Delem asked Bolin, once they were again at least relatively alone.

“Fariq? Informal ambassador, merchant, spy—no one’s really sure, and everyone has at least a few guesses. He’s an interesting fellow, though, and according to some accounts, he possesses some fairly potent magic as well.”

“Let’s get something to eat,” Lok suggested.

Time had passed more swiftly than they had expected, though, and the party was already beginning to wind down. Benzan liberated an entire platter of small breads stuffed with meat paste against the protestations of a server, and they were able to at least enjoy something as they followed the little clusters of nobles, merchants, and other people of power as they began making their way out of the keep to their waiting coaches. The companions stopped off at the cloakroom, where they’d had to leave their weapons as well as their outer garments, and with their various accoutrements of death-dealing secure on their persons, they made their way out into the outer bailey of the keep.

“I’ve ordered you a coach, to return you to your inn,” Bolin said.

“You’re a good kid, Bolin,” Benzan said, slapping a gold piece into his hand. Shaking his head, Cal wished the young man well and joined the others in the carriage as it took them through the quiet streets back to their inn.

“Well?” the gnome asked his companions as the coach rattled through the cobblestone streets.

“Let’s talk about it tomorrow,” Benzan said, leaning his head back against the padded rest of the coach. “I need about a week’s worth of sleep.”

“That’s probably because you had at least a week’s worth of wine,” Delem pointed out.

But the tiefling, already asleep, did not respond.

“We’ll be in our beds soon enough,” Cal said.

He did not know just how wrong he was.

 

[Broccli_Head]

I wonder if what I think you are planning next would actually work with a party of advnturers. They tend to be so paranoid and think (probably rightly) that there are enemies around the corner. I doubt that they would consent to leaving their arms and armour in the 'closet'. I wonder how you could pull it off. However, I definitely like your story. It makes sense and the adventures are more about story and not about stuff. I argue this point with one of my players a lot.

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks for the feedback.

I hope it was clear that they had to check their weapons when they went into the party, and recovered them as they left. Not that their weapons will necessarily help them with what comes next (muwhahahaha).

Your point is a good one, and I think it depends on what sort of game you are playing. I wouldn't run a "hack-and-slash" group through a city adventure, unless the bad guys were clearly identified from the getgo. I think if a DM made it clear to players what the rules were in a high-society gathering (and let them know in advance, maybe from a character with Diplomacy skill), then the players might be more likely to go along with checking their weapons at the door. Still, I once had a group (younger players--I was in college, and most of them were in HS) that went into a nice "peaceful" town where they were just supposed to get supplies and learn a few rumors about the local dungeon. They immediately started flashing their weapons threateningly at everybody, started a few fights, and finally tried to knock over a jewelry shop. That was one session that never made it to the dungeon (although it was fun in a weird sort of way, with six 1st level characters ending up taking on an entire town... ultimately three of the characters ended up at the end of a hangman's noose, and the rest had to flee for their lives). Next time we played I just let them go right into the dungeon and slay monsters.

 

[Lazybones]

Part 20

The coach dropped the four companions off in front of their inn, a considerable three-story structure named The Laughing Elf. It was late enough that the streets were deserted, although the sounds of talking, and appropriately enough, laughter, could be heard coming from the inside of the inn. Apparently for some, the party had not yet ended this evening.

Benzan had stirred as his companions exited from the coach, and now he was awake, if swaying a little. “What, you guys not gunna call it a night already?” he said. “Lesh go find someplace fun, and have a drink.”

“I think we could all use a quiet night of rest,” Cal said firmly, and he turned toward the front door of the inn.

“Excuse me, sirs?” a voice said, drawing their attention around.

The speaker was a woman, perhaps in her late twenties, thin enough to be almost gaunt. She was dressed in a threadbare cloak that did not fully cover the thin tunic and breeches she wore underneath. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sirs, but could you spare a few coppers for my hungry children? The night is cold, and there is no money for coal for our stove.”

Lok immediately dug into his purse and offered the woman a few gold pieces, but Benzan stumbled drunkenly forward and leered at the woman.

“I’ve got something better for you, sweetie,” he said, reaching clumsily for her. “A treasure beyond all imagining… Why don’t you just come up to my room with me— Ouch!” he said, as Cal stepped painfully on his foot.

“Get away from me!” the woman cried, recoiling in horror from the drunken tiefling. Without even stopping to take the money in Lok’s stony palm, she ran across the street and down the far sidewalk.

“Oh, smooth, very smooth,” Cal said in disgust.

“I’ll catch her, and give her the money,” Delem said, but he’d barely managed a half-dozen steps when suddenly, as they watched, a shadowy form reached out from a darkened alley mouth as the woman ran past and dragged her out of sight.

“Let’s go!” Cal said. Lok was already jogging across the street, his finely crafted platemail making a small clatter as he ran. The others were close behind, Delem all but dragging Benzan with him.

“All right, all right, I’ll tell her I’m sorry,” Benzan said, clueless about what had just happened.

Slowed as he was by his heavy armor, the others caught up with Lok even as he reached the mouth of the alley. Lok and Benzan could see just fine in the dark, but Delem summoned a flickering flame into being a short distance down the darkened corridor, allowing the rest of them to see clearly.

The light revealed two men in black cloaks, standing a good twenty feet into the alley over the struggling form that of the woman. They looked up at the sudden illumination, their expressions clearly hostile.

“This is none of your business, move along,” the first said, drawing a long dagger from inside his cloak to punctuate his statement.

“Delem, if you please,” Cal said.

The sorcerer launched two bolts of fire from his hand, striking the first man solidly in the chest. He staggered back, twin wisps of smoke rising from the charred holes in his jerkin. He dropped the dagger, and along with his companion, ran deeper into the alley and around a corner.

“Should we go after them?” Lok said.

“You and I would never be able to catch them” Cal said as they headed into the alley to check on the woman. “Ordinarily, I’d suggest Benzan…” He gestured toward the tiefling, who was looking around, a little disoriented.

“Did I miss a battle?” he asked.

“It’s all right, miss,” Cal said gently as he neared the sobbing woman. To his surprise, however, she suddenly jumped up, her expression shifting to a rueful smile.

“So sorry,” she said. “Nothing personal, you understand…”

“It’s an ambush!” Delem cried out in warning, as two more shadowy forms slipped into the alleyway behind them, blocking off their escape. As the woman stepped backwards, more armed men emerged at the edge of the light cast by Delem’s flickering flame.

“Hey, what’s up, guys?” Benzan said, as his companions faced off against their attackers, Cal and Delem against the two blocking the alley exit, and Lok against the other two behind them.

For a moment, the two sides faced off in expectant silence, and then, to make things worse, the sound of several crossbows being cocked sounded ominously from the roof above.

“Time to die,” one of the men said.

 

[Horacio]

I hate cliffhangers!
Well, I love them, but I hate them...
The party description was really good, I almost prefere it to the combat scenes... almost.

I'd love to have roleplaying oriented players, it's difficult to find them...

And now an ambush... And it seems rough. Please, continue, now! now!

 

[MasterOfHeaven]

Yes. More! More! Great job, I really enjoyed the party scene, and I can hardly wait for the battle.

 

[Lazybones]

I love to come in to work in the morning, check the web, and find multiple requests for more story! Thanks guys! I'm having a lot of fun writing this story and I'm glad people are enjoying it. Your feedback is really pushing me to keep writing more (and this from a guy who uses the name 'Lazybones'...)

I'll have an update up real soon (sometime today, definitely), wouldn't want to leave my readers hanging...

Lazybones

 

[Lazybones]

Part 21

Trapped in the alleyway, with enemies around and above them, the companions found themselves the victims of a carefully planned ambush.

Something crashed into Lok, splattering open as it hit his heavily armored body. The light revealed the item to be a sack of some sort, which as it ruptured spilled a thick, gooey substance all over the genasi’s upper body. He tried to brush the stuff off of him, but it clung tenaciously to his fingers, working its way into the cracks of his armor as he tried to shake loose.

“Tanglefoot bags!” Cal shouted as he realized what their adversaries were using against them. A second bag missed and splattered against one of the alley walls, and a third hit Benzan on the leg and burst, its sticky contents fixing the tiefling solidly to the ground.

But while the alchemical goo was a hindrance, it was not as dire a threat as the crossbow bolts that lanced down from above. Delem cried out as a bolt sank deep into his shoulder, and Cal was barely able to roll out of the path of a second. Another bounced off Lok’s armor, and stuck in the tanglefoot mixture.

At the same time, the men blocking the exits lunged forward to attack, wielding short but deadly swords. One stabbed at Benzan, ripping through his expensive tunic but failing to penetrate the magical shirt of chain links that the tiefling wore underneath. As the danger of the situation finally made its way felt through his drink-befuddled senses, he drew his scimitar, but looked down in confusion as the tanglefoot goo held him firmly in place.

“What the--? Why can’t I move?”

Lok faced off against two attackers, ignoring the hindrance of the rapidly hardening mixture as he fended the two men off with his magical axe. He’d left his shield in their room back at the inn, along with their missile weapons, earlier that day, but his masterwork armor, crafted by his own hands, turned the attacks of his enemies. His own first attack missed, largely due to the difficulties caused by the tanglefoot concoction.

Delem staggered against one wall of the alley as a sudden wave of weakness, beyond the considerable pain of his wound, flashed through him. Forcing himself to ignore the twisting sensations inside him, he lifted his gaze to the rooftops above, where dark forms were moving around, angling for better shots.

Twin bolts of liquid fire flared into the night, darting unerringly into one of the shadowy archers. The target of Delem’s magic missiles let out a strangled cry of pain and slumped forward, falling the twenty feet to the stones of the alley below, narrowly missing Cal as he hit the ground with bone crushing force.

That was one enemy that would not be getting up.

Cal had not yet been hit, and while his first instinct was to deal with the archers above, he was interrupted by the charge of one of the assassins coming in from the alley entrance. He felt pain as man’s blade sliced along his arm as he dodged back, but responded with a color spray from his wand that sent his attacker unconscious to the cold ground. He barely had time to look up, however, before two bolts slammed hard into his body, staggering him.

“Poisoned,” he gasped, as he too felt the dark tingle of venom entering his veins.

Adrenaline burned away some of the fog of alcohol as Benzan swung his scimitar at his opponent, but he badly miscalculated and struck sparks against the stone wall of the alley instead. The assassin retreated a step, out of his reach, but seemed content to wait there, warding the entrance of the alley. The tiefling couldn’t understand why he wasn’t trying to finish him off, but realization struck a moment later when an explosion of pain blossomed in his back as a crossbow bolt jabbed him hard between his shoulders.

Lok, meanwhile, had taken a hit from one of his two opponents, as the two assassins expertly flanked the hard-pressed fighter. Lok ignored the shallow puncture wound in his hip, however, and instead launched himself hard at the man in front of him. The agile assassin tried to dodge back, but he wasn’t fast enough to escape the sweep of Lok’s axe as it tore deep into his torso. The assassin staggered and fell. His ally sought to take advantage of Lok’s distraction to backstab him, but to his surprise Lok swept his axe back in a sudden backswing, catching him with a glancing blow to the side of his face. The magical axe crushed the assassin’s jaw and froze it into a bloody mess, and he too fell to the ground, dying.

Another crossbow bolt glanced from the wall just inches above Delem’s face, but luckily for him his companions had drawn enough fire to leave him unharmed for the moment—and dangerous. He took aim with his wand of sleep, releasing its magic toward a group of bowmen as they reloaded their crossbows. Three of the shadowy forms dropped from view, temporarily neutralized as threats.

But that still left two on the opposite roof, as far as he could tell, and suddenly he felt very vulnerable as they turned their weapons on him.

But Cal, still fighting off the effects of the assassins’ poison, came to his aid. Seeing the effectiveness of Delem’s efforts, he cast his own sleep spell on the other group of bowmen. His low-light vision allowed him to mark them clearly, and one slumped into unconsciousness, while the last resisted the magic and dropped back out of sight.

Lok had come back down the alley to help Benzan and Cal, but the last assassin on the ground, clearly seeing the way that the tide had turned, had already vanished back into the night.

“Help me get out of this damned goo,” Benzan said, adding a few obscenities as he cut at the mixture with his scimitar.

“You’re going to cut your foot off,” Delem protested. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pulled out the bolt from his shoulder, and using his newly awakened clerical powers healed his wound. Across the alley from him, Cal was doing the same with his new wand.

“Is everyone all right?” Cal said. They were all injured, and all but Lok were still feeling weak from the lingering effects of the poison, but they were all otherwise sound.

Benzan managed to free himself, and slipping his scimitar into its scabbard, turned to the stone wall behind him.

“What are you doing?” Delem asked. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Nobody shoots me in the back with a crossbow and walks away from it,” the tiefling growled, his earlier drunkenness replaced by a simmering anger that shone in his eyes. Whether it was directed entirely at their attackers, or perhaps also at his own earlier foolishness, none of them could tell.

“You’re going to break your neck,” Cal warned, but the tiefling started up the wall anyway, using a rain gutter that descended to the alley floor as an impromptu ladder up onto the roof. Near the top he slipped, nearly fulfilling Cal’s prediction, but he recovered and a moment later he vanished atop the roof.

“What are we going to do?” Delem asked his companions.

“Well, we need to get out of here, first thing. We need to rest, and decide how to proceed in the light of the morning,” Cal said.

“What about these bodies?” the sorcerer asked. “Shouldn’t we go to the authorities? Elturel’s supposed to be a safe city.”

“I know,” Cal replied, “and that’s why I’m not going to talk to anyone about this, not yet. Not until we get a chance to learn more, first.” He looked over at Lok, who was crouched over one of the bodies. “Are you all right, Lok?”

“Yes,” the genasi said. They joined him to see that he had ripped away one of the assassin’s black tunics, revealing a suit of well-crafted studded leather armor underneath.

“What is it?” Delem asked.

“This armor,” the genasi said, “and these weapons,” he added, indicating the man’s shortsword. “They are masterwork quality.”

“Such items are commonly available, if expensive, in a city of this size,” Cal said, not understanding what the genasi was trying to say.

Lok looked up at him. “These items—they were manufactured from the same forge as Zorak’s armor.”

“Are you sure?” Cal asked in surprise.

“I will look more carefully tomorrow,” Lok said, gathering up the items he’d collected into a small bundle. “But I believe that it is so.”

They turned as Benzan jumped back down to the ground behind them. His face was a grim mask and his eyes seemed to shine eerily in the night. “Those archers won’t be conducting any more ambushes,” he said. “But we should get out of here. I sensed others, watching.”

“Where are the town guards?” Delem asked. “Shouldn’t they have heard the ruckus, and come to investigate?”

“I don’t know,” Benzan said. “But it would be a good idea if we found someplace safe to spend the night. Lead on, Lok—your darksight will give you an advantage.”

“And you?” Cal asked.

“I will follow behind,” the tiefling said, and as he tugged his cloak close around him, it was as if he was absorbed into the surrounding night. “To make sure that no one follows us.”

“We need to recover our gear back at the inn,” Cal pointed out.

“Fine,” Benzan said. “But we take the back door in, and we leave quick.”

“Won’t the back door be locked, at this time of night?” Delem asked.

“Leave that to me.”

 

[Broccli_Head]

I think the quiet and deadly Lok is becoming my favorite character. He seems to always have something important to say and he doesn't say much. He lets his axe speak for him!