(Editor's note: Although this story hour began as a birthday present for Fajitas, he's not the only one of us who has a birthday. For example, today is mine. So, in order to celebrate in good hobbit fashion, updates for everyone!)
**********
Part the Thirteenth:
In which: the party breaks down a door, or rather, gets in position to break down a door, then stops to consider their strategy, then… >sigh< Someone, tell me we’re not the only dithering party out there…
Lira has soon led the party to the building where she and Reyu scryed Jelliana and her cronies.
It's an inn which a faded sign proclaims to be The Lion’s Head. It’s not in the best part of town, but certainly not in the worst either. Behind it, in the middle distance, rise the graceful spires of the great library. Reyu takes up position at the back of the building, where she has a view of the room’s window and back door of the inn in case anyone tries to make a get away. Dennis finds a disused doorway across the street and covers the front.
“So,” Thatch asks, “should we just go in and ask for her?”
Lira seems unsure, “Maybe we should try something more subtle.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know…”
Lira trails off as she notices that Anvil is already striding ahead into the inn, leaving her and Thatch little choice but to run and catch up.
The ground floor of the establishment is a common room and tavern. Anvil accosts the proprietor. "Have you a scutt-boy?" he demands.
The innkeeper stops short, likely wondering what in the world a Justicar could want with his kitchen-boy. "Uh.... Yes."
"Send him for the Watch."
The man sizes Anvil up for a second, then turns and calls over his shoulder, “Annie! Tell Jonas to run for the Watch, and he’d best be quick about it.”
He turns back to the Justicar, “Now what is this about?”
“We come in search of a woman who lodges here--” Anvil holds up a sketch of Jelliana.
“Oh, Lady Jelliana. Second floor, top of the stairs. She in some kind of trouble?”
Anvil gives the innkeeper a once-over. He’s a solid man, and given the tenor of his establishment, it seems likely that he has been called upon to break up a couple of bar fights in his time. Accordingly, his response to the innkeeper’s question is, “Have you a cudgel?”
The innkeeper nods.
“Fetch it, Kettenek’s Justice demands your aid.”
As quietly as possible, Anvil, the innkeeper, Thatch, Lira, and Euro climb the steps to the hall outside Jelliana's room. Euro sniffs about and ascertains that the conspirators are still present. "Everyone ready?" Anvil asks.
Lira whispers, "Not to mitigate a challenge, but there are four of us and four of them."
"So?"
"We might want some slightly better numbers on our side for this one."
Anvil considers for a moment. "Everyone, wait here."
He turns around and quickly descends the steps back to the tavern. Scanning the room, he spots two likely types sitting together at a table with mugs of ale.
Both men are rather startled to find a Justicar staring down at them. Anvil turns to the man on his right.
"What is your name, good sir?"
The man pauses, as though afraid it is a trick question. "James."
"James, are you a man of good moral character?"
"Are you a Justicar?"
"Yes."
"Then, yes."
"Excellent. Kettenek requires your services for the execution of his Justice."
"Execution?!" James starts, but Anvil has already turned to his companion.
"And you sir, what is your name?"
"Uh... Nathan"
"Are you-"
"Good enough, but I don't know about this."
"You will be compensated for your services." Anvil assures him.
The prospect of payment and the force of Anvil on a mission quickly have the two men up the stairs to join the others.
Thatch already has his sword out. "Are we ready to go yet?"
Everyone nods.
“Okay, on three. One… Two…
James breaks in with a whisper, “Wait! We going in the front line, or the back?
Anvil considers for a split second, “It matters not, so long as you smite them.”
Thatch begins again, “One…”
“Err…”
Everyone turns to stare at Nathan.
“I ah… don’t have a weapon.”
As no one immediately steps forward with a spare longsword, Anvil rolls his eyes and reaches into his tunic pocket, doing his best not to let his armor chink too much as he does so.
He pulls out his eating knife and solemnly passes it back to the skeptical bar patron.
“Do not damage it.”
“Err… right.”
“One… Two…”
“What about—?”
“Three!”
With a mighty shout, Thatch crashes through the door, bursting the lock and doorframe, and sending the door spiraling off its hinges into the room.
to be continued…
