spyscribe
First Post
A year already?
Part the Thirty-First
In which: an old plot thread rears its ugly head.
Reyu wakes before dawn the next morning. Looking east across the city to face the rising sun, she conducts her daily prayers. She takes her time, soaking the morning light, measuring each breath. Once finished, she deliberately orders her things, makes her bed, and at last, prepares herself to descend among the humans once more.
She is still easily the first resident of the boarding house down to breakfast. Not that this is at all unusual. The humans sometimes seem inordinately fond of their slumber.
Still, Thatch and Lira are usually also rather fond of their breakfasts.
Mrs. Blackburn is clearing the last of the breakfast dishes when Thatch comes barreling down the stairs, barely in time to scarf down a cooling bowl of porridge under his landlady’s watchful eye.
“Have you seen Lira?” Reyu asks him.
Thatch shakes his head, then leans down and whispers conspiratorially. “Someone broke into my room last night.”
“Who?”
“Um… I woke up in the middle of the night, and someone was in there… And um…” Thatch glances over at Mrs. Blackburn, and lowers his voice still further. “And then I moved my chair to block the door, but when I woke up, it was back against the wall again.”
“Does anything seem to be missing?”
Thatch shakes his head. “Everything seems to be in order. Would you mind… umm… taking a look?”
“Certainly.”
Thatch finishes bolting his porridge, and he and Reyu return to his room--thoroughly inspecting it for signs of a break-in. Although Reyu carefully inspects the windowsill and doorjamb, there are no signs that someone forced either entry. Indeed, aside from Thatch’s own testimony, Reyu can see no evidence that anyone aside from the young fighter has been in the room. However, Thatch’s word has always been good enough for her, and she is sure, at least, that Thatch believes what he is saying.
After several minutes of careful searching, they abandon the effort, and, already running late, hurry to join the others at the Temple of Justice.
On the way out, Reyu knocks on Lira’s door. No response. She tries the knob. Locked.
**********
When Thatch and Reyu reach the temple, they find the others (including Lira) already gathered and waiting for them. Anvil stands at the head of the small meeting room, with an air of someone about to say something of great importance. Of course, Anvil often looks like that before he orders lunch.
Lira looks across the room and sees Reyu giving her a puzzled look. The druid comes over and whispers as Anvil clears his throat. “We missed you this morning. Were you called away early?”
Lira nods and whispers “yes” as Anvil begins to speak.
“We must prepare ourselves,” Anvil informs his companions, “Kettenek will soon call us for a great and important mission. I suggest you all go and ready yourselves in you own way, now.”
“But what are we preparing for?” Reyu asks.
“I do not know.”
“Then how are we supposed to get ready?”
“That,” says Anvil, “is the challenge before us.”
Although Lira is always game for a challenge, no one else is particularly inspired by Anvil’s pronouncement. Soon, they have something else to think about as Essela knocks on the doorframe.
“Excuse me, Justicar,” she says, stepping into the room, “but there may be a more immediate challenge before us.”
Anvil blinks. “What do you speak of? Have you discovered new evidence related to Amelia’s case?”
Essela closes the door behind her. “For her sake,” she replies, “I hope we have not.”
Anvil frowns. “Explain yourself.”
“Last night, some hours after prayers, I received a summons from Immobile. The body of a dockworker by the name of Randal Cheswick had been brought to the Temple of Justice. Immobile asked me to view the corpse and confirm his suspicions.”
“Which were?”
“At some point last night, Randal Cheswick was bludgeoned to death. To all appearances, this was done in a very similar manner to the attacks upon Amelia’s late owners whist she was enslaved in Dar Aego.”
(Note: and this, dear readers, should be taken as a caution to players everywhere: ignore at your peril a clever little plot set-up by your DM.)
Oh, and Fajitas, Happy Birthday.
Part the Thirty-First
In which: an old plot thread rears its ugly head.
Reyu wakes before dawn the next morning. Looking east across the city to face the rising sun, she conducts her daily prayers. She takes her time, soaking the morning light, measuring each breath. Once finished, she deliberately orders her things, makes her bed, and at last, prepares herself to descend among the humans once more.
She is still easily the first resident of the boarding house down to breakfast. Not that this is at all unusual. The humans sometimes seem inordinately fond of their slumber.
Still, Thatch and Lira are usually also rather fond of their breakfasts.
Mrs. Blackburn is clearing the last of the breakfast dishes when Thatch comes barreling down the stairs, barely in time to scarf down a cooling bowl of porridge under his landlady’s watchful eye.
“Have you seen Lira?” Reyu asks him.
Thatch shakes his head, then leans down and whispers conspiratorially. “Someone broke into my room last night.”
“Who?”
“Um… I woke up in the middle of the night, and someone was in there… And um…” Thatch glances over at Mrs. Blackburn, and lowers his voice still further. “And then I moved my chair to block the door, but when I woke up, it was back against the wall again.”
“Does anything seem to be missing?”
Thatch shakes his head. “Everything seems to be in order. Would you mind… umm… taking a look?”
“Certainly.”
Thatch finishes bolting his porridge, and he and Reyu return to his room--thoroughly inspecting it for signs of a break-in. Although Reyu carefully inspects the windowsill and doorjamb, there are no signs that someone forced either entry. Indeed, aside from Thatch’s own testimony, Reyu can see no evidence that anyone aside from the young fighter has been in the room. However, Thatch’s word has always been good enough for her, and she is sure, at least, that Thatch believes what he is saying.
After several minutes of careful searching, they abandon the effort, and, already running late, hurry to join the others at the Temple of Justice.
On the way out, Reyu knocks on Lira’s door. No response. She tries the knob. Locked.
**********
When Thatch and Reyu reach the temple, they find the others (including Lira) already gathered and waiting for them. Anvil stands at the head of the small meeting room, with an air of someone about to say something of great importance. Of course, Anvil often looks like that before he orders lunch.
Lira looks across the room and sees Reyu giving her a puzzled look. The druid comes over and whispers as Anvil clears his throat. “We missed you this morning. Were you called away early?”
Lira nods and whispers “yes” as Anvil begins to speak.
“We must prepare ourselves,” Anvil informs his companions, “Kettenek will soon call us for a great and important mission. I suggest you all go and ready yourselves in you own way, now.”
“But what are we preparing for?” Reyu asks.
“I do not know.”
“Then how are we supposed to get ready?”
“That,” says Anvil, “is the challenge before us.”
Although Lira is always game for a challenge, no one else is particularly inspired by Anvil’s pronouncement. Soon, they have something else to think about as Essela knocks on the doorframe.
“Excuse me, Justicar,” she says, stepping into the room, “but there may be a more immediate challenge before us.”
Anvil blinks. “What do you speak of? Have you discovered new evidence related to Amelia’s case?”
Essela closes the door behind her. “For her sake,” she replies, “I hope we have not.”
Anvil frowns. “Explain yourself.”
“Last night, some hours after prayers, I received a summons from Immobile. The body of a dockworker by the name of Randal Cheswick had been brought to the Temple of Justice. Immobile asked me to view the corpse and confirm his suspicions.”
“Which were?”
“At some point last night, Randal Cheswick was bludgeoned to death. To all appearances, this was done in a very similar manner to the attacks upon Amelia’s late owners whist she was enslaved in Dar Aego.”
(Note: and this, dear readers, should be taken as a caution to players everywhere: ignore at your peril a clever little plot set-up by your DM.)
Oh, and Fajitas, Happy Birthday.
And yes indeedy, happy birthday! 
