# Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"



## Whizbang Dustyboots

_"The realm of Man is narrow and constrained; always the forces of Chaos press upon its borders."_
Gideon Midwood, first Baron of Midwood​
Chapter 1: Into the Woods
Chapter 2: A Meeting in the Woods
Chapter 3: Little Hamlet in the Big Woods
Chapter 4: Once Upon a Time
Chapter 5: The Abbey in the Woods
Chapter 6: Beneath Blackberry Ridge
Chapter 7: The Shadows of Kem House
Chapter 8: The Dark Waters of Moss Pond
Chapter 9: The Shadow of the Great Tower
Chapter 10: Flavivirus the Black
Chapter 11: The Night Cliffs
Chapter 12: Night's Dark Terrors
Chapter 13: The Voyage of the Melann
Chapter 14: Vilustuminen the White
Chapter 15: Fiddler's Green
Chapter 16: Ra'ad the Blue

No comments in this thread, please. Questions or comments should go in the thread on the Talking the Talk board.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 1
Into the Woods*​
It is sundown on Birth 2 in the 721st year of the Imperial Age. The Tarsisian Empire is in the midst of a bloodless civil war, with a trio of would-be emperors claiming to be the successor to Empress Addares XXXIII, and each has claimed a city in a different corner of the empire as their seat of power.

The Barony of Midwood on the Prustan Peninsula is closest to Tarsis itself, where the nobleman Segaci Fellisti sits on the Lion-Guarded Throne as one of the claimants to the title of emperor. But a recently ended barbarian invasion and rebuilding Tarsis have occupied much of his attention of late, and he has mostly ignored the high mountains of the Prustan Peninsula, despite the men of Prust originally founding the empire.

So in Midwood, life goes on much as it has for the past decade. The green dragon Gax, who ruled the neighboring Green Mountain for more than 500 years and whose kobold servants wiped out the native gnomes of the Tulgey Wood and drove the dwarves from the mountain fortress of Glangirn, simply flew away one day 10 years ago. Where she went, and why, no one knows. In the absence of their mistress, the Green Mountain Kobolds fell to fighting among themselves and no longer raid the barony's settlements, nor do the wandering Black Reaver goblins. Although the dwarves have not yet been able to retake Glangirn -- five centuries gave Gax ample time to prepare numerous surprises for would-be invaders -- peace has settled on the barony.

Baron Nicodemus Midwood, the ninth baron of Midwood, diverted the Eastern Horde barbarians from his barony when they invaded from the Grey Mountains to the east of the peninsula, concealing Hangman's Pass with illusions with magic he learned at the Redhurst Academy of Magic. Since then, things have been calm, although rumor has it that the kobolds have at last united under a new leader and that change has come to the Black Reaver tribe as well. Although no one yet knows it, peace is at an end in the lands under the shadow of Green Mountain.

It is the second day of the new year. Two days of cold sleet have kept everyone indoors for the most part, and if the kobolds were intending to restart the tradition of the Blood Roast, when the kobolds and goblins would once hunt and kill the humans and dwarves of Midwood, dumping their remains into a pot for a ritual feast, the icy weather kept the cold-blooded humanoids inside instead.

At The Cat & The Fiddle in Maidensbridge, everyone is huddled around the fire, warm cups of cider warming their hands and discussing Blood Roast, kobolds, the weather and the future.

Maidensbridge is the smallest community in Midwood, only a small fringe of trees separate Maidensbridge from the lower slopes of Green Mountain to the west. The hamlet is named for the bridge that straddles the Moss River as it heads south, then southeast and downstream towards the larger community of Foxton on Moss. Although it is close by fast-moving water, by land, the hamlet is distant from both Foxton on Moss and Middleborough beyond it: It is more than five miles on the Baron's Road through the dark Tulgey Wood before travelers reach the safety of Foxton on Moss.

The road is nothing but dirt long before it reaches the hamlet, and Maidensbridge itself is simply a slightly muddy clearing on either side of a bridge, with a small number of buildings facing in toward the common area. Children, dogs, cats, chickens and ducks tend to be the only people in the middle of the hamlet during daylight hours; everyone else is working, many of them off in the orchards.

A merchant from the lowlands has said that the town of Goblin Falls, at the bottom of Hangman's Pass, was hit during the monstrous "holiday" of Blood Roast. A force of trolls, giants, ogres and wolves attacked the town. They were repelled, but at the cost of many lives lost.

Seemingly blissfully unaware of the gloomy mood, Fibber Bridger throws open the door, letting the cold wind blast in off the glittering frozen road outside. Patrons yell for him to shut the door, and he slams it shut behind him with one hand. Looking around the room, he spots a group of friends near the fire and makes his way towards an unoccupied seat with a grin, a leather sack with something inside dangling from one fist.

He drops in the seat and puts the sack on the thick oaken table beside him. Something in the bag makes a loud clank.

"Buy me a drink," he grins. "I've got something you lot will want to see."

The thuggish Ragglus Chaplin drains the rest of his cider, burps loudly, and grabs his crotch.

"Some of us're bigger than others Fib, best keep yours hidden." He laughs at his own joke, not noticing he's the only one.

Fibber turns bright red at Ragglus' comment, but says nothing.

"Eh, lad, yeh don't have to tease us with fancy tales to be able to drink wit' folk in a tavern," says the dwarf Emus Graymullet. A berserker, he's seen as an unkempt dullard by others of Clan Glangirn. "Jes' find yerself a seat and the conversatin' will happen."

Near the bar, the bard Tock Chandler finishes singing "I Thought She Was a Gnome for Honest" -- Tock knows a seemingly inexhaustible supply of ribald songs -- and wanders over to hear what Fibber has in his bag.

"Aye, Fibber," he says. "How's that cousin of yours? She's not still sore at me, is she?"

"No, Tock, but her pa is. You better watch yourself," Fibber says.

The son of the  Maidensbridge's leatherworker's real name is Hans Bridger, but no one calls him that. Ever since he could talk, he's been "Fibber" to the others in town, much to his father's consternation.

Fibber is not strong or wise -- in fact, he's perhaps a touch slow, and he is certainly clumsy, sickly and weak -- but he has an active imagination and a winning-enough way that he has been mostly insulated from the consequences of that imagination running wild and coming up with the tall tales and lies that gave him his unfortunate nickname.

Fibber is in his late teens, and is a mass of acne, elbows and greasy hair. His leather clothes are well-made, if plain, and when not telling wildly exaggerated stories, is theoretically capable of helping his father with the family business, although Fibber never works when telling a story. And he's always telling a story.

He waits for the mug of warmed cider to be put down in front of him. Keeping a firm grip on the bag with his left hand, he drains half the mug before saying more. He puts the mug down on the ancient stained table and makes an appreciative noise.

"Thanks!"

He reaches into his bag and pulls out a helmet and drops it on the table. It wobbles a moment before settling down. It's a half-helmet, but not in a style that those at the table have ever seen before. The nose guard is shaped to look like an owl's beak and a circular spray of feathers extend out from each eye slot, forming a circular face. The rest of the helmet was once covered by smaller feather designs, it seems, but time has taken its toll on the helmet: It's pitted and rusted, with holes showing right through it. Despite that, Emus can see some shinier metals in part of the feather designs. It appears that, once upon a time, this helmet was decorated with precious metals.

"You lot think you're up for getting rich?"


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

Ragglus' leans forward eagerly at the prospect of making good coin.

Without missing a beat, Tock grabs a chair from a nearby table, wedges it next to Fibber, and sits.

"I always knew you were smarter than they all said."

Renraw Kem, the bookkeeper for Maidensbridge's bailiff, rolls his eyes at Ragglus, then immediately perks up when he hears Fibber's question. He had been skulking quietly in the corner, so he says nothing, but pays close attention.

Glancing over from his place by the fire, the gnome cleric Ebuferpaly's eyes go wide for a moment as he catches a glimpse of the helmet. Quickly surveying the group surrounding it, he nods to himself, takes a sip of his ale, and wanders over nonchalantly.

"What's this, then, Fib my boy?" he asks with a smile. "You haven't been 'borrowing' things from Therut's stores again, have you?"

Although Gax wiped out the gnomes of Treeline centuries ago, gnomes have recently resettled in the barony, erecting the forest mansion of Wit's End, and then promptly hiding it behind layer upon layer of illusions nine years ago. Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Potentloins is a junior cleric of Wit's End.

Hazel, the daughter of woodcutter Jack Sawyer, takes a swig of cider and casts a suspicious eye on the helmet from across the table.

"Since when have any of Fibber's schemes made anyone rich? They're more likely to turn you black-and-blue than fill your pockets."

"So is Tandia Brown," Tock says. "But that won't mean it ain't fun trying."

"That's certainly true," Bufer nods. Receiving strange looks he receives from the rest of the assembly, he adds, "Ahem. Or so I've been told.

"Seriously now, son, where did the helmet come from? If'n your pa finds out you've been thieving from Therut again, he's like to be even harder on you than he was last time."

Fibber looks at Bufer, picking up the helmet, turning it around and around in his hands, the firelight glinting off what looks very much like the glint of gold in the lines of one molded feather.

"My dad was skinning this stag he found off in the woods. It had been dead for days and it smelled horrible, but he thinks he can salvage some leather from it. Anyway, before he could ask me to help, I scarpered on out of there. I couldn't go any of the places I usually go, since my little sister has figured them all out.

"So, anyway, I follow this deer trail through the snow and found myself at the Tulgey Barrow. I didn't know it at first. I just found a big overgrown hill. It was only when I found the cave that I knew where I was.

"Well, I stuck my head in to see what was what, and I saw this here helmet and snatched it. Further in, it gets pretty dark, but I saw what looked like gold. But I also heard things moving around, and got out of there before some spook could stick me with his spook sword.

"I headed back to town, stuck the helmet in a bag so my sister wouldn't see it, and waited for my dad to go to sleep before coming in here.

"I figure I draw you a map, you go get the treasure, and you give me a cut. The barrow's too big and has too many cairns -- some empty now, some full of dangerous stuff -- and few enough that are opened but unexplored for this to be worth something.

"Sounds fair, right?"


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

"It sounds ridiculous. You don't even know what you saw in there," blurts Renraw. He awkwardly tries to drink and hide behind his mug when he is glared at. "I mean ... you know ..."

"Well, it's true you've been known to run away from honest work, Fib, I'll give ya that much. Excepting the helmet," Hazel reaches over the table to feel the tarnished metal, "I'd say the rest is something you dreamed up sleeping off a skin of hard cider."

She pulls her fingers back before Fibber gets too possessive about his prize.

"Then again, I've never needed an excuse for a bit o' wandering in the woods."

Emus takes the helmet, trying to determine if it's an artifact from Glangirn before the fortress within Green Mountain fell to the dragon.

"Dangit, son, yeh shouldn't have spent as much time in that place as yeh did! The tales of what dwells in Tulgey Barrow is more than just tales!

"None of yehs should start gettin' any notions about going down in there. That place just ain't natural! Best to jes' stay indoors on a night like this and do what yeh can to stay warm."

With that, he tosses the helmet down, raises and drains his mug, and then signals Ella the tavern girl for more.

"Someone get m'friend here a blanket, he feels a bit of a chill," Ragglus calls out, chuckling as he slaps Emus on the back. "Stories told to keep children out of th'forest, that's all them tales is. Save some ale for my return, Graymullet. I'm in."

"I wouldn't be too hasty if I were you, lads," Bufer says, eying both Fibber and the helmet with equal skepticism. "And, er, lass. This still looks an awful lot to me like one of Therut's infamous 'under-the-counter' specials. And Fibber, here, isn't exactly famous for his forthright nature. Tromping out to some grassy knoll in the middle of winter on his say-so sounds like a waste of a perfectly good Fireday, if you ask me."

"And I think I'd agree with that," adds Tucker Gallaway, dropping his hand on Fibber's shoulder, his fingers reaching across the boy's throat nearly to the other side. While everyone's attention was on the helmet, it had been easy for the constable's deputy to approach unnoticed. He isn't trying to choke the kid or hurt him, but he does squeeze his shoulder hard enough to startle him and keep him from squirming away.

"The constable's gotten reports on you, boy. A common name only grants you so much slack, and you've taken in enough townsfolk.

"Boy's been in here every few days for years, flashing some lump of iron or a few painted river pebbles around and peddling a map to anyone who'll listen. Few enough pay him any attention, but those who do find themselves on a cold trek to nowhere, going in circles through the woods until they lose interest and turn back.

"So far no one's filed a formal complaint, since you've only grifted them of a few copper, but the barkeep's tired of hearing his customers grouse about it. Go home, Fib, or your father won't be the only one tanning hide."

The paladin Emmerson Grant finally manages to get the helmet in his hands, and he frowns as he turns it round and round in his large hands, puzzled. He looks up at the sharp words the deputy has for Fibber, ready to defend the boy.

"Ever since I got here," he said, "I've heard rumors and tales about Tulgey Barrow."

He takes a sip of ale -- his father, a brewer in the baronial seat of power, Middleborough, brewed it himself -- and continues.

"One thing or another has prevented me from going there. And now, the opportunity presents itself."

He puts down the half-empty mug.

"If you're truthful, I see no reason why we shouldn't go there, find if there is treasure or not -- and give you your fair share if we find anything. But if you lie to us, I'll have no choice but to take you to your father so he can dispense the proper punishment.

"So I ask you, Hans. Is there anything you're not telling us?"

Fibber jerks himself away from the deputy's hands on him, and flails one hand for his helmet, then decides finishing off his free cider first makes more sense, although he scowls at the helmet, keeping an eye on it.

"No! If I had a weapon, I would have gone poking around, but there's only one of me, and there's," he starts counting, but gives up, the hard cider already having an effect on the teen, "More of you."

He finishes his drink and thumps it down hard.

"I just want an equal share for showing you the way in to this cairn. The entrance is hidden by some brush, and it's hard to find on your own.

"If you don't want to do it, I'll just go wait at the Way Inn and some adventurers will eventually come by and they'll pay me instead."


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Relax, Fib, nobody's telling you to take your toys and go home." Hazel glares over at Tucker. "Ease up, Tuck. Just 'cause you joined the town watch doesn't mean we all forgot the scrapes you got into as a kid.

"Besides," she says, tipping her chair back on two legs, "If he's lying, what do we really lose? We're paying nothing up front." A hard edge creeps into her voice. "Right, Fib?"

Bufer cocks an eyebrow at Hazel.

"'What do we really lose?'" he repeats with a smirk. "Good grief, child, do you have any idea what happens to people who tempt fate by asking loaded questions like that? The last person I knew who asked that question was my great-cousin Brenaedoryam, right after he invented a clockwork machine for chopping vegetables. He pees sitting down now, if you catch my drift."

Glancing again at the helmet, Bufer heaves a heavy sigh of resignation.

"I still say this is pure folly ... but fortunately, watching the freakishly tall do incredibly stupid things is one of my favorite pastimes. When do we leave?"

"I've no great need to hurry up and do this tonight. How about anyone who's interested meets back here early tomorrow, say, 10 a.m.?" Tock drawls. "Oh, gods, 10. I haven't gotten up that early in ... Fibber, if there be no profit in this, I'll take the profit out of your hide. Or your sister's."

"Ah, Gods! Yeh kids is jes' stupid I tell ya!" Emus blurts out. "Fine. Fine! If yer gonna go do this, I'll make sure that yeh come back alive. Or don't burn down the forest. Or whatever. What the hells happened to my damned drink?"

The dwarf pushes himself away from the table and goes in search of his drink. As he leaves, the gnome Tosh Bergin enters The Cat & The Fiddle and slips into Emus' vacated seat.

"My apologies, my father had me haggling with a fellow over goblin furs and ... what's with the ugly old hat?"

"Hans has told us a somewhat enticing tale, about lost treasure and adventure at Tulgey Barrow, friend Tosh." Emmerson says, draining the last bits of the Grant Old Ale from his mug. "If we're leaving tomorrow, I barely have time to do my work between vespers and matins. I will see you all tomorrow."

Hazel rolls her eyes at her elders' caution, but drains her cider rather than respond. She's too busy thinking up a tale to tell her folks, since treasure-hunting isn't a Sawyer-family approved vocation.

She's already on her feet when the empty mug touches the table.

"See you gents tomorrow, then."

Hazel slips out through the crowd with a nod of greeting to Tosh, cheered by the prospect of adventure.

"Howdy, Tosh," Bufer nods at his fellow gnome, and gestures towards the fire. The Bergins are a strange clan of gnomes unto themselves, living on the fringes of Green Mountain, where they trade with those living in the forests, the Black Reavers and even the Green Mountain Kobolds in the last few years. "Stay and have a drink with me. I'll fill you in."

Bufer cranes his head around, looking for blacksmith Therurt Glangirn in the bar. He spots the dwarf on the far side of the tavern, the golden hair on his shoulders, back, neck and arms glistening with melting snow as he hoists an enormous mug he made himself. He is gesturing a great deal, and seems to be describing a weapon.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

Fibber looks between the gnomes, grinning nervously.

"I drew you this map, Bufer." He pulls a soft, well-worn piece of calfskin from the leather sack. On it is drawn a long oval shape, apparently meant to represent the barrow. He has marked an X at one point, and an arrow showing what direction is north. In a scribbled hand, the leatherworker's son has cut into the leather a description of the landmarks to look for, and then lightly stained the cuts to form a more or less indelible record.

He slides the map across to Bufer nervously.

"I'm not going in there. It's too dangerous and I'll catch hell if I'm not at work two days in a row."

Ragglus slaps his knees playfully as he stands.

"I'll see you lot tomorrow, then. I best go spend the night in prayer." Laughing, he turns and makes his way to the bar, aiming to steal Ella's attention from Emus and perhaps talk her into lifting up her skirt in the hallway upstairs.

Bufer spares a farewell nod for Ragglus, then cocks an eyebrow at the map that Fibber has handed him.

"Well, Fibs, a cartographer you're not," he says, as he studies the crude markings on the worn piece of calfskin, "but I think we'll be able to manage."

He looks up at Fibber, then, with a glint in his eye.

"Take it under advisement, though, that while I've been known to appreciate a friendly prank at my own expense every now and again, some of these other folks take themselves a might serious. If this isn't on the level, Bridger, then the worst lickin' you've ever took from your pa wil seem like Ciderfest morning compared to what they'll do to you."

Rolling the map up and tucking it into his cleric's vestments, he turns and winks over his shoulder at Tosh.

"Have a seat and order us a coupl'a ciders, Tosh, on me. I have to see a dwarf about a horse."

With that, he walks across the tavern toward Therurt.

"Evenin', Therurt," Bufer says, as he sidles up to Therut's table. "Sorry to interrupt yer quaffing time, but can I ask you somethin'?"

"Looks like luck is smiling on you tonight, Fib, though only Lothian knows why," Tucker growls. "Now come along -- I was charged to keep you in my sight until I put you in your father's, and the night is dark enough already."

With everybody else already gone or going, Tucker leads Fibber out the door and returns the barkeeper's nod as he exits. He lifts a torch from the wall near the door to light the way back to Fibber's house, and leads the boy back without incident.

Fibber sputters a bit in protest, but lets himself be led to the smithy through the muddy snow. His sister spots him as he approaches, and runs screaming to get their father, anticipating some fun seeing her brother get dressed-down.

His task finished, Tucker reports back to Constable Bridger. Since it's not illegal to go into the barrow, the constable can't stop anyone from doing so. However, he puts Tucker in charge of the party -- since he failed to convince them not to go, then he was to join them to make sure no one got hurt.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back in The Cat & The Fiddle, Therurt pauses, his thick calloused fingers pressed closely together, describing the edge of a blade. He blinks at the gnome's interruption.

"What's yer question?"

"Actually, it's more of a favor, one that stands to benefit us both," Bufer says, leaning in closely to Therurt and lowering his voice, so that only the dwarf can hear him.

"Call on Mother Bridger tomorrow morning, and let her know that Fibber's ... 'borrowed' something from the smithy again, and that you overheard Fibber bragging to some of us tonight that he had it hid in his bed. Tell her you don't want to cause no trouble for the boy, but you need it back, on account that you've already done sold it to someone.

"She oughta bring you a helm -- a right fancy-lookin' helm, what with feathers and such engraved on 'er -- but older'n sin. You're welcome to keep it ... clean it up and sell it as you like ... but I wonder if you'd mind takin' a look at it for me, lemme know what you think it is, and where you think Fibber mighta gotten his hands on it, that sort of thing. I'll drop by the smithy tomorrow 'round 'bout half past nine.

"And, uh ... this is kind of a hush-hush type'a thing, if you catch my meanin' ... so if you could keep this strictly 'tween us, there might even be an ale in for ya."

Therurt scratches his nose, assembling what you said in his brain. His finger leaves a black streak of soot on his skin. Then he nods.

"Aye, I can do that, I guess."


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

The morning of Birth 3 is gray, damp and cold. The sky is a lightless gray, the sun invisible behind layers and layers of cloud. A weak light filters down from the sky and the world below is cold. A sticky wet mist clings to everything. The weather isn't quite cold enough to snow, but instead seems intent on merely being cold enough to threaten snow.

Despite this, Maidensbridge is busy. The sound of hammering comes from the smithy, carts create muddy tracks through the snow as they follow the Baron's Road to Foxton on Moss and Middleborough with more cider, passing carts coming from Foxton carrying supplies of heavy woolen blankets and clothing. On a morning like this, the whole world smells like wet wool.

The center of town smells like the dregs of the pots poured out of The Cat & The Fiddle, which were all summarily licked up by stray dogs. A few small children, too small to work but too large to be kept cooped up inside, race after the dogs, spattering mud and slush as they go, the sound of their laughter (and sneezing) a counterpoint to the burbling of the Moss River, which is unfrozen except for icy margins on each shore.

It's a quarter past nine when Renraw Kem crankily arrives in front of the pub. He'd wanted to be there for nine in order to have a full hour to gear up for this much social interaction, but he'd had to evade his young cousin Rando's questions and assure him that he wasn't doing anything interesting. And make sure the little twerp didn't follow.

He alternates between frantic pacing and huddling among some old casks to try to keep himself warm while he thinks of things to say.

Anyone watching could easily mistake him for a mumbling lunatic. It's not something Bridgers find hard to think about his family: The Kem family has been the bookkeepers for the Maidensbridge bailiffs for more than a century, but have never been fully trusted. Things got worse when Khenemet-Apep, a true Kemite, moved to Green Mountain a decade ago, becoming known simply as the Wizard of Green Mountain. The first time someone pointed the family out to the dark-skinned man from the south, he sniffed derisively, and that was all the townsfolk needed to know: The Kems were not from Kem and their vague threats of magical powers were even less real. Renraw's father, Rogren, vanished soon thereafter, leaving behind him only unbalanced books.

Despite that, Rogren's brother Ronco took over, and soon righted things, or so it seemed. Renraw was sent off to St. Feldin's College of Abjuration in Tarsis, the happiest day of his young life. Six months ago, though, Ronco and his wife Priscilla were brutally murdered, only their young son Rando escaping. In the course of the investigation into the as-yet unsolved murder, Constable Ward Bridger uncovered that Ronco, too, was dipping into the baron's apple profits, using them to send Renraw to St. Feldin's. He was recalled from Tarsis, but given his uncle's otherwise stellar reputation, the bailiff saw fit to give the Kems one last chance: Renraw was to pay off his family's debt to the baron by serving as the bookkeeper.

Renraw is not grateful, however, and loathes bookkeeping, Maidensbridge and the baron. All he wants is to return to his aborted studies as an abjurer. The thought of the treasures of the Tulgey Barrow means only freedom to him.

Having awoken at dawn, and spent a quiet hour in quiet "conversation" with Garl Glittergold, as is his custom, Bufer wanders toward Maidensbridge through the forest from the hidden gnome estate of Wit's End, carrying his father's mace on his hip. He arrives in Maidensbridge at a half-past nine.

Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Potentloins is the youngest male of a truly enormous family of gnomes, and has eschewed a life on the open road in favor of service to his faith, and to a somewhat optimistic agenda of forging a peace between the Green Mountain Kobolds and the new gnomish community of the Tulgey Wood. 

The senior cleric of Wit's End, the anti-Lothianite "seditionist criminal" Boddynok Barennackle, has charged Bufer with keeping tabs on the Church of Lothian in the barony. Despite its sinister origins, the young gnome has struck up a genuine friendship with the paladin Emmerson Grant.

Nodding genially at the townspeople who pass him by, ignoring their questioning stares at his mace and shield, he makes his way towards the smithy, where he finds Therurt to be hard at work.

"Morning, Therurt," Bufer calls out loudly, straining to be heard over the sound of Therurt's hammering. "Did you have a chance to call on Mother Bridger, yet?"

Hazel Sawyer strides up to The Cat & The Fiddle with her hood lying slack over her backpack and her cloak pushed back to reveal the axes hanging at her hips. She's warm despite the cold; two hours spent splitting logs for firewood has already heated her blood this morning.

The plain-faced lumberjack's daughter has followed in her father's footsteps, leaving more girlish pursuits to her younger sister, Aspen.

Hazel's licking the fingers of her right hand and rolling her head from side to side when she catches sight of Renraw near the tavern. He's never been particularly friendly, but then Hazel's never been the personable sort herself. So long as they're going exploring together, though, she figures it's best to at least try. She hastily wipes her fingers on the edge of her cloak and raises her hand in greeting.

"Crick in m'neck," she calls out to him. "Want some applecake? Mum baked it fresh this morning. Still warm." She holds the bundle up and waggles it. "Bit o' honey drizzled over the top, too."

At the mention of "applecake," Tosh Bergin slips up to the group out of the concealing mist.

"Morning." Tosh could almost be Bufer's shadow, dark where the other gnome is light, quiet where the other is boisterous, shy where the other is gregarious. And unlike the Potentloins clan, the Bergins' trading post clings to the side of Green Mountain, and the gnomes are outsiders in the barony, watched by shopkeepers and the Watch alike. "Barrows, huh? I hear they're haunted."

Emmerson Grant wakes after sleeping the sleep of the just. Before dawn, he's about his chores, ignoring the cold and preparing himself for the day. Having left his family's brewery in Middleborough when he joined the church, he's currently living with the Stone family in Maidensbridge, whose tithe this year takes the form of room and board for the young paladin.

He prays in the rundown Maidensbridge Chapel, the building open to the elements and the pale light of the winter sun. At twenty to ten, he rises and makes his way to The Cat & The Fiddle.

"Good morrow, friends. Ah, I see fair Hazel has brought applecake. May I take one slice?"

Over at the smithy, Therurt Glangirn glances back over his shoulder at Bufer a second before continuing to hammer on the horseshoe. Once finished with it, the smith puts it aside, puts down his hammer and tongs, and turns back to the gnome.

"Aye, I did." He pulls the helmet down off a dwarf-height shelf. "That boy's not going to be very happy with you."

He turns the helmet around in his grimy hands.

"This helmet is old."

He looks up, squinting at Bufer.

"Men were here, long before dwarves came from the north. They were wizards, refugees from the Wars of Fire. And like their forefathers, wizardry was their downfall."

Therurt gives the helmet to Bufer.

"The only place I know to get something like this is the Tulgey Barrow, although that boy's lucky to get this and come out alive."

Bufer narrows his eyes at the mention of the Barrow, and nods.

"Yeah, I was afraid of that. I guess the boy was actually telling the truth, for once," he says. "Hopefully the lickin' he takes for this will finally convince him once and for all not to poke his fool nose into where it don't belong ... though, as Garl is my witness, I tend to doubt it."

Bufer sighs and shakes his head, then looks up at Therurt and smiles.

"Oh well...at least without the helm, he won't be able to inspire any other idiots to go poking around in there. Speaking of which, I have an appointment to keep.

"Listen, Therurt, I've only got a few minutes here ... but I'd appreciate it if'n you could share with me any other insights you might have about the barrow, and what's in it. It could be important."

At the same moment, the distinct sound of vomiting escapes echoes around the side of The Cat & The Fiddle, causing a slight stir among some of the townsfolk. Some turn, some rush their children away, others try to ignore it completely and go about their business.

Ragglus Chaplin steps out moments later a tad off-balance, but with grim resolve steadying him as he approaches the group, wiping his mouth with his forearm. Abandoned by his parents, thrown out of the church before he could take his vows as a paladin, Ragglus is used to disappointing those around him. Sometimes, he responds with violence, this morning, it's with studied indifference.

Despite his disheveled appearance, he appears to be suitably armed, protected, and fully prepared for their journey, if a bit off-color. He foregoes any verbal greetings and gives a general nod, occasionally wincing and rubbing his temples as he joins the others.

Hazel unknots her bundle and shares out slices of applecake.

"Might as well take two, Emmerson. Mum made more'n enough, and it won't keep long."

The gangly paladin's size is a bit intimidating, and Hazel doesn't know him all that well, but he certainly makes a better impression than Ragglus. She eyes the fighter skeptically, and can't quite bring herself to approach him and offer cake.

Renraw takes a break from his hurried pacing.

"Applecake?" His face lights up for a moment. The smile is surprising and unsettling to the group. "Oh, yes, I'd love some applecake. And then I'll wash it down with a nice flagon of apple cider, won't I? For lunch we'll have apple sandwiches, apple chips, and applesauce! But we'd better make sure to save room for the delicious cobbler I've heard The Cat & The Fiddle is famous for! What flavor is it again? Raspberry, right? I do SO love a good raspberry cobbler! Oh, that's right, where's me head at ... it's not raspberry, is it? No, it is not.

"IT.

"IS.

"APPLE."

Renraw takes a breath and realizes he may have been slightly out of line, and so begins frantically digging in his sack pretending to look for something while muttering about everyone making sure they're ready. His other hand white-knuckles a crude club his cousin Rando had found in the woods.

"You don't like the crop, Kem, you're free to abstain," deputy Tucker Gallaway drawls. He approaches the group from the south end of town, obviously struggling slightly as the mud sucked at his boots. "You get that debt of yours set right, you can eat whatever you want -- until then you should probably count yourself lucky the baron doesn't have you out picking apples as well as counting them."

Tucker's shield is slung across his shoulders, pressing his backpack close to his body, and the handle of his flail was just visible. The studs on his leather armor -- standard issue for the town watch -- are slightly dull with age, but the gently clanking manacles that hang near his waist seem particularly bright on this cold morning.

"So Fibber had enough sense to stay home this morning, I take it. Don't suppose I can convince the rest of you to ignore this little errand? That boy's probably just waiting for you all to hike out of town so he can nick a few choice items from your homes while you're gone."

Tock Chandler comes strolling up, surprisingly eager to get on the road. The bard has always felt that he's smarter than everyone else in Maidensbridge, but more than that, he's always been terribly bored. He can recite every song he's ever heard -- he's actually taught himself to retch convincing when someone requests "The Town Where Heroes are Born" -- and has a knack for making more up on the spot, but he's always felt stifled in the hamlet, a feeling he's tried to douse by bedding every available female -- and even a few unavailable ones -- within 10 miles. He knows that plunging into the Tulgey Barrow is a foolish thing to do, but at least it won't be boring.

Emus Graymullet wakes up a few minutes before 10 a.m., half-covered in the straw from the stable of The Cat & The Fiddle. While he was grateful for warmth from the fire, last night, he just doesn't feel comfortable sleeping on no fancy common room floor.

He takes a piss in the corner of an empty stall, and then straps on his scratched, hide armor. Next, he picks up a huge, metal-banded club that's nearly as tall as he is. Swinging it up to its usual resting spot on his shoulder, he walks out from behind the inn to join the others, the heavy encumbrance of his gear apparently not seeming to slow him down one bit.

"Ooo-wee! It's colder than a hag's nipple out here! You kids best be careful. If there's any ice on the roads, it's like to be slicker than otter snot."

The half-wild dwarf -- a complete mystery to nearly every other Grailwarden dwarf -- sniffs the air.

"Is that applecake I'm smellin'?"

Back at the smithy, Therurt shrugs as he picks the tongs back up.

"My people, your people, men, all keep fooling about there." He grabs a malformed horseshoe with the tongs and plunges it into the forge, and the horseshoe begins to glow orange. "It's about like throwing rocks at a bee hive. You ever do that, gnome? Sometimes ..."

He pulls out the blazing horseshoe. The heat makes Bufer's eyes water.

"Sometimes you get stung something fierce."

He begins to hammer the horseshoe fiercely.

Bufer watches silently as Therurt hammers on the horseshoe, waiting for him to elaborate. When it becomes clear that he's not about to, Bufer glances down at the ancient helmet in his hands and sighs. Then he walks behind Therurt and, standing on his toes, places it back up on the shelf.

"Thanks, Therurt!" he says loudly, fighting to be heard over the ring of metal striking metal. "Much obliged! I appreciate the trouble you've gone to!"

Without stopping, Therurt merely glances partway over his shoulder, nods curtly, and returns his attention to the horseshoe, flipping it over with the tongs to hammer on the other side. Bufer watches him for a moment longer, then nods to himself and heads back out into the chill of the morning, heading for The Cat & The Fiddle.

"All right then," he mutters to himself. "Let's go pitch rocks at a beehive."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Fibber's map leads the group through wet scrub and heavy undergrowth -- disturbing a boar along the way -- before Hazel finds the parallel deer track to follow, which Fibber apparently drifted on and off of during his wandering.

It eventually winds its way towards a dark hill, covered in thorny bushes and trees with jagged bark, painful to the touch. If the group hadn't known there was a cave at the end of the track, they wouldn't know what to look for, but they soon are able to pull aside the brush that Fibber has apparently placed in the mouth of the entrance.

Long ago, this was a sealed up entrance of finished stone, with dirt piled around the outside, covering all but a single extrusion of stone. A shaft of rock, now too worn by the elements to discern much from, lays broken off to the side, only a trace of mortar showing that it once was anything other than natural stone.

This entrance has been opened for years, to judge from the wet rotting leaves visible at the tunnel's mouth. The bushes on the barrow hill shielded the entrance from the snow. Sunlight is likewise mostly blocked, if there were any direct sunlight today. All the group can see from here is dark worked stone, with a black layer of dead moss coating it. The tunnel appears to go straight into the darkness.

It is quiet all around the barrow mound.

"Interesting," says Tosh. Throwing caution to the wind, he takes one, two, three steps into the opening and begins scanning the walls and floor and ceiling for anything interesting. But he's careful to occasionally glance further into the depths with his low light vision while searching, of course.

Emus squints into the gloom. The tunnel is 15 feet wide and 10 feet high.

At least three clusters of four slim columns are visible with darkvision. To either side of the columns are 15-foot wide tunnels going left and right. How far they extend, and what's inside, he can't say.

His darkvision doesn't see a far end of the passageway, just more gloom.

Tosh's boots squish on wet, rotting black leaves. The darkness within is almost total, and he does not see anything more than Emus can.

Hazel shifts her backpack higher on her shoulders and peers futilely into the tunnel entrance.

"Welp, I can light a torch, unless anyone's got some magical powers to make us all see in the dark like Emus, here."

"YOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!" Bufer yells into the darkness suddenly, startling his companions. "Boogidy-boogidies! Glittergold's Witness calling! Have you accepted Garl as your personal lord and savior?"

He listens carefully, straining to hear any reaction in the blackness beyond the threshold.

"I have pamphlets!" he adds.

Emmerson tries to stifle a laugh, but fails. His deep, booming laughter echoes inside the tunnel.

"Good one, Bufer. I would have gone with 'would you join the Legionnaires of Lothian?' speech. My father and I knew a cleric that liked to start any speech with that piece."

He takes a careful step inside and keeps his hand right over the hilt of his short sword. He looks down a bit, trying to find Hans's footprints.

"But guessing by the sound of our voices, this place must be enormous."

As the echoes from Bufer's yelling die away, very quietly, just at the edge of hearing, there's a soft sound, too quiet to properly identify.

Emmerson looks up from the ground and peers at the vast nothingness in front of him.

"Did anyone else hear that?"

Hazel, in the midst of lighting a torch, stops to tilt her head and listen.

"Your god protects y'against rats, right, paladin?" Ragglus says with a sneer, hefting his shield and unsheathing his longsword. "I didn't trudge all this way just ta be balked at the entrance by what may or may not have been a sound. Sooner we get in, sooner we get rich."

"Or dead, Ragglus." Emmerson says, his hand still on the grip of his sheathed sword. "A little caution can be the difference between a grand reward or an unmourned death. We may be nine, but this place can hold numbers that would swallow us whole in seconds. Now, like in every other circumstance in life, we need light to guide us."

Renraw, barely leaning forward, making sure to keep both feet firmly planted outside the barrow, clears his throat.

"I think we ought discuss how we're to divide this potential treasure before you lot go in. More specifically, my cut in particular for standing guard out here. Standing guard being, in the main, the most essential, and not to mention the most dangerous, responsibility in endeavors such as these. Let's all keep these facts in mind before we poo-poo the idea ..."

"Son, if you ain't in there to help carry the loot out, then I don't see how you think you can claim yer fair share of it," Emus snaps. "Git in there!"

Hazel shrugs.

"I don't hear anything. Let's get a move on before we waste the whole day."

She finishes lighting the torch and tucks the flint and steel back into her pack. With the light held aloft in her left hand, she hefts her battleaxe in her right and steps up next to Emmerson.

"After you."

Grateful for the light, Emmerson is able to see more of the passageway.

He walks in, alert. His feet sink a bit in the accumulation of rotten leaves. His step is slow, but sure.

As the group walks further down the tunnel, the leaves end and they find themselves walking on dirty, and then merely dusty worked stone floor.

The flickering torch light shows a wide alcove to either side of the group, just as wide as the 15 foot tunnel they're walking down, but only 20 feet deep. To each side, a pair of steps go up to a slightly curved platform. Atop each platform is a carved sarcophagus. Behind each stands a statue holding a sword, point down, into the floor. The statues depict massive bare-chested muscular men with the heads of fierce owls. Their eyes glittery ominously, and after a second, they group realizes the statues have mirrors for eyes.

Before the group in the tunnel are a cluster of four small columns, then what appears to be another set of alcoves. How far this series extends, no one cannot tell, either by torchlight or darkvision, although darkvision shows at least two more sets of alcoves.

"Ah, this must be the creepy room," Bufer says as he glances up and around. "And here I was worried they wouldn't have one. My mistake."

Smiling at his own joke, Bufer drops his eyes and begins to scan the dusty stone floor in the flickering light of Hazel's torch.

"Can anybody make out Fibber's footprints anywhere?" he asks. "It might give us a good idea of where to start."

Hazel glances dubiously back at the gnome.

"If Fibber's feet are leaving imprints in stone these days, I'd like to know where he got his boots." She drops to a crouch. "But I'll see if I can track him in the dust. This place looks mighty big, though: Why don't one of you keep some chalk handy?"

Tosh moves around slowly searching the floor and walls for anything seemingly out of the ordinary, when a thought occurs to him.

"I'm not sure what to look for, I mean, what would be considered unusual in this place?"

Nonetheless, he continues on with his search.

"In this place with statues of hawk-men? We are what is unusual," Emmerson replies. "Burial grounds, sacred room, I have no idea what this place is. But we should be on guard for traps."

Renraw examines the sarcophagi very closely, seemingly fascinated with the almost non-existent details in the carving.

"Yeeeeeeeees," he drawls, "I know the people that left these very well."

He pats one sarcophagus very sullenly.

"Oh, weary pilgrims, at last you have your peace."

He then turns to face the group, explaining.

"This structure is definitely elven. It's non-traditional, I know. But the Hounds of Paelelon were a well-known nomadic sect, and it's not uncommon to find these sorts of burial tombs where they've adapted what looks to be -- I don't know -- maybe human or something -- symbolism for their own purposes. Now, ordinarily, I'd agree with you when you said, 'But Renraw, Midwood is well outside the Hounds' usual stomping grounds!' So I don't know if we might be seeing an offshoot of that group or perhaps something altogether unknown, possibly not elvish at all."

Renraw notices that the group seems unimpressed.

"The swords pointing downward would seem to indicate that whoever is entombed here is at rest. We may have an easy time of this, after all. The owl heads, on the other hand, tell me that they are a vigilant guard. If you listen closely, you can almost hear them: 'Whooooooooo goes there? Whoooo? Whoooooooo?' No, I wouldn't want to mess with these fellows, not at all. Would you, Chandler? The mirrored eyes, those are more difficult to interpret. The Hounds of Paelelon were a very introspective people, I think -- very vain, perhaps. Yes, we are clearly dealing with a bunch of dead sissies. All the same, everyone stay close."

Emmerson points at the sarcophagi.

"Whatever lies inside them, rotting flesh or priceless gem alike, we will not touch. We are not grave-robbers." In a low voice, Emmerson says a prayer to Lothian for the souls of the departed.

"Grave robbers are among the filthiest scum world could ever imagine," Tock agrees. "Mirrored eyes, hmmmm. To look is to be looked upon, to look upon is to see oneself. Very elven, yes."

Tosh looks up from his search and eyes the two warily.

"Principles," he mutters under his breath.

"You know, my third cousin's great uncle by marriage was a grave robber," Bufer says conversationally, as he continues to search for Fibber's footprints in the dust. "Well, not so much a robber, really. More like a grave borrower. He'd always put back what he took, albeit not always in the right graves. Hell of a necromancer he was, by all accounts, but his memory was for crap."

Bufer glances up and around at the assembly.

"Well, unless Hazel can turn something up, I vote we let our resident expert lead the way. Obviously Renraw knows the most about these 'Hounds of Paelelon,' was it? If anyone's like to lead us safely through this mess, it's him."

He smiles up at Renraw, the flickering light of Hazel's torch making it seem almost like an evil leer.

"Sound good, lad?"

"Would these Hound-folk by any chance leave gnome-sized tracks with their clawed feet?" Hazel gestures at the dust. "Because that's what I'm finding here, and I don't think Fibber can magic himself into a claw-footed gnome."

She stands and brushes the dust from her trousers.

"Something was here, and it went in but didn't come out. Can't say how many, but ..." Hazel trails off uncertainly. "My knowledge is, of course, no match for our esteemed wizard's. If he wants to lead, by all means, let's get our expert out in front."

Having nothing to add to the conversation, Ragglus yawns loudly and surveys the room out of boredom.

Renraw suddenly flushes.

"I -- I hardly think ... I'm just an academician. If these halls have been disturbed, if there ARE disgusting gnome things down here ... We really ... Let Chaplin go on ahead."

"Renraw, a man as educated as yourself should know that 'disgusting gnome' is repetitive," Tock corrects him. "Come on, Rag. Let's head on down there and see if there's anything worth liberating. Those too scared can just stay here."

"No offense, girly, but that's nuttier than a squirrel turd," says Emus. "Put brainy here up front? A stiff breeze would knock him over! Footprints like them's like to be kobold tracks. Everyone knows that they're all over the place in Midwood. I'll go first. Any of you armed with something longer than a gnome's attention span is welcome to join me, but we need someone to bring up the rear in case Brainy gits cold feet, again."

Emmerson follows Tock and Regglus.

"Stay close to me" he says to Renraw. "I'll make sure you're safe."

"'Disgusting,' eh?" Tosh drops in behind the leading group. "Say Tock, exactly how many times did you have to visit the clergy in the last year or so to get rid that annoying 'drip' you seem to pick up so easily from the local doxies? You can use your toes if your fingers don't go high enough."

"Thirty five," Tock says almost proudly. "If there was cleaner to be found here, I'd visit them."

"By the by," Tosh continues, ignoring the bard, "It seems that we shouldn't be too worried about being grave robbers, unless we're happy with sloppy seconds. Seems a couple of these sarcophagi have been opened and closed back up recently."

"Not by the folks occupying them, I hope," Bufer says as he gives the sarcophagi a last wary glance. Turning to look at his departing party, he shakes his head. "Right, heading off in a random direction with no plan whatsoever it is, then," he sighs as he falls into step behind them. "Rocks at a beehive, indeed."

Hazel falls in line just behind the front ranks, holding the torch high so those in front of her can see down the passageway. She keeps alert, hoping to spot any enemies lurking in their path.

"Well, if Emus is right and the tracks are kobold, and Tosh says the sarcophagi have been opened," she pauses, thinking it through, "Maybe they aren't tombs at all. Maybe they're tunnels and the kobolds use 'em to travel in. The tracks show up in the dust near the alcove and head inward ... doesn't mean they couldn't double back on a parallel passage."

She peers back over her shoulder.

"Maybe we should have a strong rear guard, just in case."

"There's always the possibility that that's as far as Fibber got, y'know," Tosh says. "I bet if we opened one of the unopened ones we'd find a helm much the same as he.

"Oh, and on the topic of kobolds... don't expect a stand-up fight. Sneaky little buggers, they is. Murder holes and what-not. Swarmers. Um, sorry, thought it best that you know."

"Good point, young gnome," Tock says. "Maybe we should pop open these other baskets and see what beauties might be hiding. Less, off course, some of you'n're scared, in which case we'll split the boot betwixt ourselves alone."

"Eh?" Bufer cocks an eyebrow as he looks up at Tock. "Weren't you just the one who said 'grave robbers, bleah?' Granted, all you tall folk tend to look alike from this angle, but I'm pretty sure that was you. And where I come from, prying open a sarcophagus with the intent of stealing its crunchy center pretty much fits the definition of 'grave robbing.'"

"Grave robbing would be a horrible sin against Lothian or whatever it is you things worship, Buffy," Tock snaps. "But as has been pointed out already, and, as I'm sure, the learned Renraw can confirm, this is not a grave. This once was a grave, but the other little devils are using it for storage and as a drop-off point now. Probably in some dark deal with even worse devils. As a musician, I've heard tales like these."

Emmerson mulls over the information.

"We will not steal anything from the sarcophagi, if that is what they really are. But if they are, as Hazel mentions, concealed entrances of tunnels, then they most certainly are not sacred ground. And whatever treasure is in there, would not qualify as gifts to the entombed," he says, stroking his chin. "I propose we return there for a more adequate examination of the sarcophagi and statues and see if it is convenient -- or folly -- to keep going into the unknown".

"So if we're disturbin' what others've been disturbin', it's OK?" Ragglus asks. "Sounds fair to me."

Bufer narrows his eyes at Tock, his lips turning up into a lopsided grin.

"Any occupants of them sarcophagi might not agree with that there assessment, Rags," he says. "But please, be my guest. Just don't expect me to do much more than point and laugh if somethin' comes lurchin' out at ya."

As the majority of the group hovers around the tombs and argues semantics, Tucker eyes the statues. Using the handle of his flail, he tries to poke gently at one of the mirrors, but finds them too far from reach without climbing atop a sarcophagus.

"Does it look to anyone else like these eyes are supposed to move?"

"Seems like a bad idea to go on without making sure we have a clear path out when we do run into our claw-footed friends," Hazel says. "If the sarcophagi really are what they seem to be, we close 'em back up and keep moving. If not, well, we all have weapons to hand, right? And there's the door," she waves her torch toward the entrance, "If we need to run. So how 'bout some strapping lads step up and get these things open afore we all die of indecision?"

"Friend Tosh, would you point us to the sarcophagus that has been disturbed or moved the most?" Emmerson asks. "Tucker, would you lend me a hand opening the casket? Ragglus, Tock, if something leaps at us from it, you'll be free to skewer it as you see fit."

Ragglus grins, long sword and shield at the ready.

"These two." Tosh gestures and steps back a bit further into shadow and draws his rapier.

Emmerson pushes the sarcophagus lid.

As Emmerson begins to push the sarcophagus lid away, he feels it moving with him from beneath. Before he can react, a sword is swinging at his arm, glinting in the torchlight and narrowly missing.

A skeleton, clad in pitted chainmail armor and an owl-face helm, hops to its feet inside the sarcophagus and attacks.

From the west and north come the scraping sounds of more lids being pushed off of more sarcophagi. Skeletal figures stalk their way into the circle of light towards the group, swords at the ready.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tosh backs against a wall and goes onto the defensive. Realizing that his thrusting blade would be of little use, he prepares to block the first attack coming his way and use slashing attacks to counter, looking for any openings to attack. The skeleton from across the passageway lunges at Tosh, but the blade comes nowhere near the nimble gnome. His return jab misses as well.

Emus roars and charges a skeleton, swinging his massive club.

"NNNNYYAAARRHH!"

The club whistles through the air, but the skeletons from down the passageway had approached more slowly than they had initially, appearing to size up the situation. They now turn towards the dwarf berserker, three in the first rank, and at least two more skeletons behind them.

Ragglus attacks the skeleton that came out at Emmerson, but misses.

"St. Daris guide my hand," Tucker says quietly, eyeing the approaching skeletons. He adjusts his grip on his shield, kisses the handle of his flail and moves between the creatures and the healers. "Attack their legs! Even an enchanted skeleton can't swing a sword if it's face-down in the dirt!"

Tucker's flail swings in a wide arc, the iron chain and iron smashing into the hip of one of the skeletons turning on Emus. The skeleton goes down with a clatter and does not rise again.

In response, one of the skeletons bearing down on Emus turns towards Tucker.

Emmerson thanks Lothian for whatever reason He decided to spare him from the first skeleton strike. He takes out his warhammer and will attack the closest skeleton at the earliest available opportunity, but it glances harmlessly off the skeleton's chainmail, sending out a puff of rust.

Figuring the wizard only needs one hand free, Hazel thrusts the torch at Renraw.

"Hold this."

Then she raises her battleaxe in both hands - hoping to overcome a slashing weapon's disadvantage by adding power to her blows - and steps into the melee. If possible, she'll attack the nearest skeleton from a flanking position to deal more damage. Hazel's axe slams into the side of the skeleton that attacked Tosh and her blow shatters it.

"Oh, for the love of--the exit!" Bufer cries out, shouting to be heard over the din of battle. "Watch the exit! Don't let them get between us and our only escape route!"

That being said, Bufer grabs hold of the gold nugget fetish hanging around his neck, holds it aloft, and uses it to channel the energy necessary to turn the undead assailants away.

The skeleton in the sarcophagus cowers, trying to hide behind the statue of the owl-headed man. The four skeletons north of the party in the corridor turn and shuffle quickly away, their bones clanking, their armor jingling.

Renraw quickly checks his pants to ensure they're still dry, and gets very angry that he even had to check.

He opens his palm and glowing orb of acid appears, casting a green glow up at his scowling face. He sends it towards the skeletons fleeing from the doors, hoping to hit one before it can change its mind and come back to block the exit again. The acid orb strikes one skeleton in the back, sizzling exposed bone. The skeleton does not stop fleeing.

Tosh watches the undead bag of bones drop in front of him. He looks up to Hazel with a wry grin on his face and brings his rapier up to his face in a quick salute. He then slips up to the middle of the passageway, keeping his back to the exit and his eyes on the retreating skeletons. He reaches out a short left arm to his fellow gnome and slaps him on the back.

"Nice goin', Buffer. How soon you think they'll figure out to turn around and come back?"

"A moment or two, at most," Bufer replies, watching intently after the retreating skeletons. "Of course, they might wind up bringin' some friends back with 'em. Garl only knows what else is in here."

Relaxing his grip on his gold nugget fetish, Bufer turns and fixes the rest of the party with a disparaging gaze.

"Well? Can we leave now, whilst we still have all our parts about us?" he asks sharply. "Or was that not enough of an object lesson for you idiots?"

It's not enough for Emus, for one.

"NNNNYYAAARRHH!"

He charges after the retreating skeletons, swinging his club, Ragglus barely jumping out of the way in time. The greatclub hits the cowering skeleton, and it explodes into unmoving chips of bone encased in chainmail. The helmet rolls free.

Tock and Renraw follow the dwarf, bearing their quarterstaffs.

"Wizards," Emmerson mutters under his breath, amused. Grabbing his warhammer and shield, he runs after Renraw, hoping to keep him out of trouble.

Hazel sighs and likewise follows after the wizard.

"He's got my torch now, and he's like to get himself killed, so ..."

Renraw chases after the retreating backs of the skeletons and takes a swing at the one with the faint scent of acid still lingering about it. The club swishes harmlessly through the air. The skeletons continue in their retreat.

Panting, Emus picks up the helmet from the destroyed skeleton and plops it on his head, and follow the party's lead.

"We don't want these critters to leave the Barrow and start choppin' up the woods outside," he drawls.

Renraw is now between the second set of alcoves. To the west, is another statue and sarcophagus (opened, which one of the skeletons apparently came out of). To the east, something has smashed the sarcophagus that once laid there at the feet of the owl-headed statue. Something shines among the rubble in the torchlight.

The skeletons are disappearing through another set of columns and moving between what appear to be a third pair of alcoves.

Hazel catches up to Renraw and snatches the torch back from the wizard.

"Hold up, Ren. We don't know what all's in this barrow."

Satisfied that the skeletons are still retreating, she turns to the alcove and searches with her eyes only, wary of touching anything.

"You see that shine?" She nods towards the glimmer in the ruins of the sarcophagus.

"All I see," Bufer says as he comes running up behind Hazel, "Is an idiot would-be wizard who apparently left his brain back at college! You're lucky I'm not tall enough to smack you upside the head, Kem. Didn't it occur to you that maybe I made the skeletons run away for a reason?"

Bufer glances up and around at the party and scowls as he brandishes his mace at them.

"Listen to me, all of you: The next one of you to touch anything earns himself a mace-sized poop chute for his trouble, you understand me?"

"Whatever we're doin', let's decide it quick," Ragglus grumbles. "Who knows what they'll bring back with 'em? I'd rather them skeletons were dead at our feet than runnin' away."

He pauses.

"Er, more dead."

As he says this, the skeletons shuffle out of sight. With darkvision, Emus can see them parting around something on the floor between the fourth set of alcoves. It might be a dead body or bodies.

"I did not come here to cower at the presence of a few undead," Emmerson says. "Especially not when we outnumber them. They shall be back a few seconds from now. We can take them, two fighters per skeleton. One misses, the other connects. They are not smart enough to fight on two fronts. And now that I'm convinced that those are not tombs for the dearly departed, but traps for the unwary, I most certainly think we are entitled to whatever treasure we can find."

"Yeah, we outnumber 'em all right, lotta good it did us, too," Ragglus retorts, rolling his eyes. "Alls I was sayin' is we best be ready for them t'come back, and hope the lil' feller din't send them off with invitations fer their friends."

"Well, we did come here to investigate something, didn't we?" Tosh asks. "I say we investigate a bit."

"Now jes' wait a second! Bufer already said they's comin' back, afore too long. If we don't deal wit' 'em, they might catch us unawares or leave the Barrow. We take 'em down, and then we go about our business," Emus says. "'Sides, there's something interestin' up ahead."

"They'd better return, gnome," Renraw admonishes. "Accursed bone man. I'll have his pelvis as a hat. How dare he make me look foolish?"

As the others look eastward toward the shiny object, the wizard thinks of nothing but revenge.

The tunnel is silent as the last scraping, shuffling footsteps of the skeletons fade away.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Shiny object here and what appears to be fallen bodies over there. All the while the skeletons flee for a few seconds more," Emmerson mulls. "I say we find out what the shiny object is, then go towards the fallen bodies. Over there we can fight the skeletons when they return."

Curiosity piqued, Ragglus steps to the ruined sarcophagus to look at the mysterious shiny object.

This sarcophagus has seemingly been smashed long ago. The bones of the skeleton are rotten splinters. The chainmail shirt the skeleton presumably once wore is now little more than disconnected chunks of rusted metal. There is no owl-faced helmet visible.

Tucked in amidst the debris appear to be broken pieces of mirror.

"Bah, nothing," Ragglus mutters, brushing aside the aged armor and debris to get a better glimpse at the broken pieces.

"Seems likely that whoever built this place wouldn't have left the valuables right out in the entry hall," Hazel says, as she takes two steps further into the passageway. "We should keep moving, dispatch those skeletons before they run into some friends."

She listens for any hint of returning foes.

"Might be a good idea to check out that heap they ran 'round, first," Bufer says, squinting in the flickering torchlight at the prone shape on the floor. "If it's bodies like Emus suspects, it'd be good to know what made 'em. There might be fouler things afoot'n ambulatory corpses."

Bufer glances over at the party's other gnome, and chews his lip thoughtfully.

"I'm still all for leavin' post haste," he says after a moment, "but if we're set on continuing this fool's errand, 'less he objects, I'm gonna suggest we send Tosh up ahead to get the lay of the land, as it were."

"I can do that, just keep the torch back about 30 feet or so." Tosh moves quickly and silently up to the heaps on the floor, hoping the darkvision kicks in before he gets jumped by anything in the dark.

There is no sign of the skeletons as Tosh reaches the third set of pillars.

A group of small reptilian humanoids lay huddled between the pillars, three close together, a fourth further off. All have been hacked to death, long ago. The bodies look to have frozen sometime after death.

Just beyond the pillars is the fourth and final set of alcoves. Beyond it, stairs ascend into the barrow mound.

Back at the second set of alcoves, the broken mirror pieces seem to, indeed, be just broken pieces of mirror.

Tosh turns and signals for the others to move up to the dead kobolds on the floor, then slips a bit further down the passage to the fourth alcove, glancing occasionally up the stairs for movement.

"Guys, if you don't mind," Tock says, "I'd like to stick with these poor kobolds for a bit. Maybe say a few words. I met a kobold fiddler once who taught me about their religious beliefs."

"I kin respect what yer trying to do, son, but it's more than they woulda done fer you," says Emus. "But go ahead; I'll wait with ya."

Tock kneels over the bodies, straightening their clothes and muttering quietly.

"A broken mirror?" Emmerson ponders. "Who would put ... or why would a mirror be placed in the sarcophagus? Say, are any of the statues missing one of it's mirror eyes?"

Ragglus looks to see if any of the statues missing any of their mirrored eyes as he makes his way back to the majority of the group, but none of the statues in the alcoves seem to be missing their mirrored eyes.

"Yes, well, these elves I was educating you all about," Renraw says. "What did I call them? These Hounds are clearly very reverential of mirrors, so how fascinating that we should find one here, broken. Mightn't it be possible that the broken mirror was what put the verve in those ossified wretches to begin with? I understand disruption of the sarcophagus would be the most obvious cause for necrotic ambulation, but perhaps there is an underlying enchantment. I am a wizard, after all. I do know what I'm talking about. How much magic do the rest of you know? Not much, between you. What is it? Stop looking at me that way. I've been to university."

Meanwhile, Tosh moves ahead of the rest of the party. The stairs ascend 40 feet to a landing. What is up there, Tosh cannot see.

Tosh briefly searches the final alcoves and the first few steps for anything out of the ordinary: The alcoves are like all the others: Two statues of owl-headed men with swords, two sarcophagi, both open, the skeletons that had been inside them somewhere north of the party in the darkness.

Tosh moves cautiously up the stairs with the intent of getting to the point where his eyes are at floor level of the passage or room at the top, so he can get the lay of the area without being within reach of anyone or anything standing at the top.

The next room is an octagon, 45 feet wide and 45 feet deep. There are 15-foot wide staircases on the northwest, north and northeast walls, rising further into the mound.

There are four columns in the middle of the room, along with what look like rotting, well-chewed animal carcasses. There is also the faint air of old feces.

Tosh turns and gives a whisper down the stairs that the rest should come on up. Then while there's still no torchlight to interfere, he moves quickly to the base of the northeast stair and looks up, then the north stair, and then the northwest, doing the same thing, before returning to the top of the south stair and waiting for the rest to join him.

Emmerson catches what Renraw says, and it strikes him as odd.

"Renraw," Emmerson looks the wizard in the eye, his expression clearly readable on the flickering torch-light. "This party is based completely on trust. I trust their blades, their senses and their abilities."

He points at Renraw.

"I trust your knowledge and your power. And I trust your sense not to get us into more trouble than we can handle.

"So, why are you lying to us?"

The wizard's face becomes flushed.

"Er, that is ... uh ... did you say 'lying?' 'Lying' is a very strong word, wouldn't you say? Maybe just 'guessing incorrectly?' I'm just spit-balling, here. The Hounds, it's not that they don't exist, per se. They could exist, I mean, theoretically. It's not as though I'm just trying to appear smart to everyone to justify my place in the party, it really isn't that. Why would I do that? I mean, honestly, and what place do YOU have questioning MY motives, anyway? Aren't you the one that let loose those calamitous calcium contestants on us back there? And then FAILED to dispatch them?"

"If that trap wasn't triggered on the way in, I am very sure that it would have sprung on the way out," Emmerson responds. "And we may have been injured or weakened and thus, unable to fight past it. My hit wasn't effective? Sure. And so it was your attack. Nothing is certain in combat.

"You have a place of value in this group, do not question that. But if you do not know what the markings or runes say, do not attempt to weave a tale just to amuse us. That sort of game could very well end with us being the old hacked up corpses the next party of unwary adventurers find."

From the top of the stairs, Tosh clears his throat quietly.

"Mind your voice, I may have heard something. No point in announcing our presence unnecessarily."

With a final glare at Renraw, Emmerson moves quietly up the stairs, followed by the rest of the party.

Hazel follows Tosh's warning to keep the torch back, waiting to follow until after the gnome has disappeared into the darkness. She pauses at the kobolds' bodies, expecting to feel satisfaction -- after all, Da always called 'em "thieving vermin" -- but finds herself instead eyeing the bodies with a more pragmatic concern.

"Can anyone tell what kind of weapons killed 'em? Or how long ago they died?" She glances ahead, hoping Tosh hasn't found trouble, adding quietly, "Or if their killer's looking for more prey?"

"Schmothing schmis schmertain schmin schmombat," the wizard mutters under his breath. "This isn't over between us, Grant," he whispers, very careful not to be heard by anyone in the group as he sulks up the stairs.

Tucker sticks with the group, but his mind is still on the bodies.

"Is it really cold enough in here for those bodies to have frozen?" he asks, quietly. "Yes, it's winter, but a barrow like this would be insulated from the weather like a root cellar. There could be snow piled high outside and a warm body would still decay before it froze. And if it did get cold enough in here at some point, we'd still feel the cold now. There's a chill in the air, but I'd hardly call it freezing."

"Actually, Gallaway, it's right around freezing," Renraw lectures the deputy. "Remember there's an open tunnel mouth and if it's hovering around freezing this far in during the day, it's significantly colder at night. Maybe it would be better if you kept your mouth shut like the gnome suggested and leave the theorizing to those of us more equipped."

"Watch yourself, seed counter, lest a stone in the ceiling gets loose and bonks you on the head," Tucker snaps back.

Ignoring the admonition, Renraw is struck with a sudden inspiration. Stepping over to Emus, the wizard pulls him aside.

"Look here, dwarf," he whispers in Dwarven. "These stairs are very high, 30 feet or so. If we have to make an expeditious retreat, a spot of grease at the top of the stairs would have a good chance at incapacitating anyone following. Do you catch my meaning?"

The dwarf strokes his chin whiskers, blinking.

"If we're forced to run, stay behind with me a short moment so I can lay the trap. Then we'll hightail it for the exit. Is this acceptable?"

"Heh heh! Sure I kin help with that."

Turning back to the pile of kobold bodies, Emus mumbles something to Tock and grabs his arm to push him forward. Tock, having completed his business, and not wanting the dwarf to tell the others what he was up to, complies.

"Lemme take a looksee," Bufer says as he draws up beside Hazel. "If there's one thing a Potentloins knows his way around, it's a gash."

He glances up at Hazel with a mischievous grin.

"On account of all the time we've spent in battle, I mean," he adds innocently.

Chuckling to himself, Bufer kneels down to inspect the corpse of the nearest kobold.

Hazel smiles at Bufer, holding back a laugh.

"Be my guest - looks like sword damage to me, but this one," she gestures with the torch toward the body away from the main group, "seems to be missing an organ or something."

Bufer pauses and looks over at Tock, his expression suddenly dour and pensive.

"This isn't apt to disturb anything you're doing, is it lad? My people generally don't hold with kobolds, but far be it from me to befoul anybody's death rites."

"The kobolds are a pious people in their own way, but they believe the have no use for their bodies after their deaths, finally able to rest from their ceaseless toil," Tock says. "Examine away, and mayhap we can bring some justice to these poor fallen souls."

Bufer watches Tock for a moment, thoughtfully, as if seeing him for the first time. He nods once, then turns his attention to the kobolds.

"Hmm. And the prize goes to the lady who guessed sword damage," he says as he examines the corpses. "These poor buggers were all hacked to death, like by the swords those skeletons were carryin', or ones just like 'em. If I were a bettin' gnome, I'd say they're our culprits."

Bufer frowns deeply as his eyes dart from one corpse to another, then leans in closer to the one closest to him, squinting as he prods at it gently with his fingertips.

"Now that's odd. You see this? These three here, the ones in the leather, they've all got some sort of odd cyst growin' in their torsos." He shakes his head, the creases of his knotted brow deepening. "In, not on, mind you. It's like somethin' is growin' right inside of 'em."

Bufer sighs heavily, and looks up gravely at Hazel and Tock as he gets to his feet.

"If this is some kind of affliction," he says, "it's like none I ever seen afore. Which means I got absolutely no idea how catching it might be."

He glances back down at the corpses, pressing his lips into a tight, thin line.

"In fact, we might all well be comin' down with it right now."

Hazel takes a quick step back.

"Very reassuring, Bufer. Let's catch up with the others. If we're lucky, we can all die at swordpoint before the chest-worms get us."

She gives the gnome a wry gin and sets off toward the stairs.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The group ascends to the octagonal room.

Whatever purpose this room might have once served, it was now filled with long-rotting animal carcasses, along with very large (and dry) droppings and the faint smell of urine. Brown fur could be found on four columns near the center of the room, which look as though something large rubbed up against them.

The four columns here were carved with strange patterns and were hollow near the top, and had cut-out sections letting one see in.

"Wonnerful," Ragglus growls, breathing out his nose more heavily than in. "It's a big-arsed demon's earth-closet. I'll kill that Fibber ..."

His curiosity getting the better from him, Emmerson approaches the closest column and examines it, peering inside the column through the openings. Renraw attempts to jostle the larger man out of the way, but has to satisfy himself by examining the column from the far side. Tosh stands on tip-toe, peeking inside the open portions of the column.

It appears to have some sort of smooth cup formed just below the cut-out area. A long-dried -- ancient, even -- residue stains the inside of the cup.

"Blood, maybe?" Tosh ventures. "A place of ritual or some such. I suppose we could fill them up and see what happens... "

Bufer shoots the other gnome a withering look.

"... or not."

Meanwhile, Hazel examines the fur and the droppings, hoping to identify the creatures that left them behind - and whether the carcasses were supper for the beasts, or the beasts themselves.

"Smell's not that bad, Rags," she says. "Least it isn't fresh."

"I'm betting Fibber never made it this far," says Tosh. "He grabbed the helm from the broken casket and ran. Might have been the smart move, but then nobody ever accused me of being real smart."

"Maybe a bear," Hazel muses softly. "No ... not a bear ... something like a bear. And big. Real big."

"I'd like to find out what it is. We don't need something unnatural running around these woods," Emus responds quietly. "And we still ain't found those dang skeletons. They's bad news for this area, also."

"Word to the wise," Bufer says to the others. "If something big and bear-like do decide to turn up, I'm not gonna be able to make it turn the way I did those skeletons."

He glances over at Emus as the dwarf opens his mouth to protest.

"Not arguin' the point, Emus. Just wanna make sure everyone knows what they're gettin' into. Undead soldiers I'm good for, but big hairy beasty things, not so much. We pick a fight with somethin' like that, we're committed to finish it, one way or the other.

"Now, that having been said, Hazel, you think you might be able to track it?"

"Hmm, gimme a bit o' time to look. This isn't exactly my natural habitat." Hazel brings the torch near the floor and begins a sweeping search for tracks in the octagonal chamber. She briefly raises her head to look at the dwarf. "Any chance you've some special underground know-how that could help, Emus?"

"Eh, if the bear knows how to set up traps involving moving blocks of stone, I might be able to help out. Otherwise, I ain't spent enough time worryin' 'bout such things," Emus replies. "'Sides, I'm all fer just raising the biggest ruckus you ever did hear, and drawin' that critter out to us. If it's a natural type of beast, it will just run further away, and then we can get back to takin' care of them skeletons."

"I might have heard something up there," Tosh points toward the northwest stairway. "If we're finished here, and no one objects, I'll give it a look see?"

"That noise yeh heard is probably them skeletons. Once Bufer's spell on 'em wears off, they's like to be heading back this way," Emus says. "I don't wanna fight them on the stairs where they'll have the higher ground. We should either wait for them here, or head up soon and find a good place to take 'em on. We might find that bear, too."

"Whoever chiseled these pillars was a miserable sculptor," Renraw whines as he turns away from the column he was studying. "There is not a single trace of anything even remotely identifiable here. The only thing I can figure is that they were carved with eyes closed. Or that the sculptor had no hands. Or was otherwise touched in the head, or a dwarf."

He notices that people seem to have stopped paying attention to him.

"We should move up the stairs, gnome first."

"Blood or not, I would wager that it had dried long before either men or dwarf walked around here."

Emmerson flexes his fingers, wiping the traces off his fingertips.

"Up the stairs makes best sense, Emus. I'll follow our scout."

The sound of jingling chain shirts and bone toes clicking on stone flooring echoes down the north stairway, and grows steadily louder.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Incoming skeletons. Might I suggest standing them off from the south so our exit is handy?" Tosh hurries over to the top of the south stairs, with his rapier at hand.

Ragglus takes a position near the columns, shield up and gripping his flail tight.

"Help me find the one I've burned," Renraw bellows. "We're going to pulverize it!"

Emus stands off to the left of Ragglus, preparing to charge the first bag of bones that reaches the fighter and those that stand with him.

"All right, boys and boylike females, I happen to know a tune that'll really get your blood going," Tock says, dropping to his knees and raises his arms. A beautiful banjo appears, glowing faintly with magical power. Tock adjusts the tuning and does a couple of runs up the scale. "THOSE KOBOLDS WILL BE AVENGED!"

The bard begins a rousing claw-hammered banjo tune entitled "Bone Smashing Breakdown" from behind the combatants.

"About time those sacks of bone returned," Emmerson mutters as he equips his shield and warhammer and stands to the right of Ragglus, preparing for the fight, his foot tapping to the beat of Tock's playing.

Hazel takes a position to Emmerson's right, hoping to outflank any skeletons moving in that direction. She slides the torch on the floor behind her and grips her battleaxe in both hands.

Jumping up and down behind the melee combatants, Renraw tries to identify the skeleton he splashed with acid, his club in his hand.

The skeletons step down into the room, initially three abreast as they leave the north stairs, but then spreading out to four across as they shuffle across the room towards the intruders, swords at the ready, the torchlight flickering off the ornamental gold accenting the feather designs on their helmets.

They shoulder through the columns and cross the space toward the adventurers. With a scream, Emus bursts from the group of adventurers, his greatclub clutched in both fists. There is an explosion of bone and armor as he destroys the skeleton he charges.

Tucker takes a small step to the left, so his flail won't catch on a column, and swings at the center of the skeletons' line. It's a solid hit, scattering the skeletons bones across the floor in a clatter.

Emmerson swings at a skeleton with all his strength, but his blow glances off the skeleton's armor, sounding out a puff of rust.

"Renraw will never let me live this down," Emmerson mutters.

The skeleton lashes back at him, its sword bouncing off his scale mail.

"At least we're on equal footing, hellspawn!"

Ragglus does no better than the paladin, his flail whistling through empty air.

Hazel swings her axe with both hands at the nearest skeleton, but misses. It turns towards her in response, lashing out with its pitted long sword, slashing her cruelly. The sword digs in deeply.

Hazel bites back a scream when the blade cuts into her. She's felt this blazing pain once before, when childish inattention buried an axe blade in her calf, but Da's not here to carry her to Mother Bridger's this time.

With a scream, Renraw swings his club at the skeleton attacking Hazel. Unfortunately, his eyes were closed, and the club swings through empty air.

Emus looks back on the others, shattered bones all around him, one of his feet on the skeleton's chainmail shirt. The helmet rolls until it hits the base of a column, where it stops, with a protracted ringing.

"More misses here than a gnome at a swing party!" Tock yells, strumming furiously. "Get on it, people! FOR THE KOBOLDS!"

Ignoring the skeleton that just struck him, Emmerson swings his warhammer at the one that hit Hazel.

"Third time's the charm."

Renraw breathes heavily through his nose, the smell of Hazel's blood sickening him. He stumbles away from the fight, preparing to cast a spell to cover the party's retreat if the battle goes against them. 

"HAZEL!" Bufer races past the wizard, praying frantically to his god, while clutching his gold nugget amulet and reaching out with a hand toward the ranger. The healing energy pours into Hazel's body, and there is the painful, yet wonderful feeling of feeling her wound knitting back together instantly.

"You wanted noise for the bear and blood for the pillars?" Tucker snaps. "Seems this fight is providing both. Now let's finish off these rattle-traps. Hey, Seed-counter! I think this one's got your acid on it."

Tucker turns slightly, lashing out with his shield, and striking the skeleton with a clatter of bones.

The skeleton's jaw works with a silent scream of pain, and it turns back from Emmerson to launch a vicious cut at Tucker's head. The slash slips past the top of Tucker's shield, drawing blood from a cut delivered to unprotected skin on his neck.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAA!"

Emus crashes back into the midst of the group, into the other skeleton, his greatclub coming down on the skeleton's helmet and slamming down through the body, arms and legs and ribs scattering everywhere. When he's done, the dented helmet bounces down the staircase behind them and the rusty armor at his feet contain a handful of unbroken ribs and vertebrae.

"Thanks awfully!" Hazel gasps to Bufer, pulling the gnome cleric and herself away from the fray, even as she double-checks and find her wound has closed.

Ragglus tests the handle of his flail by tapping it on his head to make sure it's a real weapon, and not some phantom weapon he's just imagining he's holding that doesn't actually work. Satisfied, he swings once more. The flail connects with a clatter and the last skeleton collapses, its bones scattering into the shadows of the octagonal room.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Great job, everyone," Renraw brays. "What a team! Just a superb, superb effort! Now to find the treasure and bugger out of this abominable inhumation."

He motions to a still somewhat shell-shocked Tosh to move up the stairs.

"Quickly, now, get to it. We'll follow."

"Very nicely done, large people," the gnome says quietly, moving toward the northwest stairwell. He listens carefully. Satisfied the noise of battle has not brought any other inhabitants of the cairn, he returns to the octagonal room, ignoring Renraw's glare.

"Might I assume that since the dearly departed were so recently trying to relieve our gizzards from our guts that searching the remains may not fall into the category of grave-robbery?" He asks, looking up at Emmerson.

"Search away, Tosh," the paladin says, putting away his weapon. "Traps are not considered 'dearly departed.'"

He picks up one of the owl-faced helmets.

The seven formerly animated skeletons each possessed in unlife a decorated half-helm, an antique long sword and antique chain shirt. While none of them is in exemplary condition, they have held up surprisingly well over the course of, at least, centuries.

"Seems that most of this stuff might fetch a few silver if we were to lug it back with us," Tosh says, finishing his examination of the skeletons.

Therurt Glangirn in Maidensbridge is forbidden to make new weapons and armor -- the baron has rented that exclusive right to a smithy in Middleborough -- but the dwarf does a good business in restoring and reselling older gear.

"If we're going to continue on, I suggest just leaving it here at the top of the stairs and picking it up on our way out," Tosh continues. "No sense having it drag us down, and it's not like it's the crown jewels or anything. We also might think of checking to make sure everyone's OK? Need a bandage, Tucker?"

Before the deputy can answer, Renraw claps his hands together, attempting to take command of the situation once more.

"Er, yes, quite. Everyone all right, then? Good, good," Renraw says. "Might I suggest we send someone to pile the booty at the bottom of the main stairs? If we leave it here, it may be forfeit if we find ourselves in a hurry to leave. With the goods at the bottom, I'll have a chance to lay my quite ingenious grease trap, which could buy us enough time to gather the stuff and escape. The trap could utilize these other stairs, but they do not appear tall enough to do sufficient damage to the kind of powerful assailant or assailants from which we would find ourselves fleeing.

"It would be a mistake not to listen to me. I assure you I've thought it through."

"So if, say, a bear the size of an outhouse is chasing us, it would be better that we pick up the booty at the foot of these stairs so the bear can slip in the grease and fall 30 feet down the stairs upon us as we're gathering things?" Tosh asks. "For what it's worth, you may be right. But that would be more up to you big folk, seeing as how one of those pig-stickers would be enough to slow me down to a crawl."

"Really, gnome, if you'll just slow down and think it out, you'll realize the truth," Renraw replies. "Leaving it down there, we have a better chance of collecting it on the fly than we would up here. I'm not suggesting we leave it directly at the foot of the stairs so the creature falls atop us. But we've a better shot at grabbing it and running from a wounded bear than one at full health.

"I'm only considering the good of the party. It would truly be a shame to leave here with absolutely nothing."

Renraw delivers a harsh glare in Tock's direction.

"As far as I'm concerned, the noble kobolds were avenged," Tock says piously. "Were we to find further monstrosities, of course, I would do my best to help, but I feel my mission here is done. We should just distribute the wealth of the bones evenly, except for my small performer's fee."

As the others argue about the booty, Bufer examines Hazel's leg to make sure it has healed properly, muttering and shaking his head to himself about his own foolish impulsiveness. Satisfied she is unharmed, he looks up to give her a reassuring smile, then turns to the bleeding Tucker.

"Hey, Gallaway, kneel down here a second, would you? Lemme get a look at that wound." He unwinds a spool of linen from a leather satchel, preparing a bandage for the deputy.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"What, this? It's merely a flesh wound! Barely a scratch; why, I've had worse while shaving and I," Tucker takes his hand away from the gash on his neck and, seeing his palm completely red, kneels. "Yeah, OK, why don't I just do that?"

Tosh carefully mounts the stairs, which rise another thirty feet into the barrow mound.

The room at the top is 25 feet wide and 45 feet long and smells heavily of urine and musk. A hole has been visibly clawed through the rocks on the northwest wall of the room by something with massive claws.

Two statues face each other in this hall, one of an owl-headed man kneeling in fealty before the other figure. All that remains of the other figure are sandaled feet and a hint of a robe on the floor. The rest has been broken off ages ago and the rest of the statue is gone, with no hint as to its whereabouts.

The hindbrain kicks in and Tosh's first instinct is to leave, gooseflesh and all. But, it would be remiss of him to leave a potential threat behind without any investigation at all. Summoning up all his courage and skill, he moves to the right wall, hoping the shadows are deeper there to hide him, and moves as silently as he can toward the opposite end of the room and the gouged-out hole.

The tunnel is narrow, and has clearly been clawed into existence, first through stone walls, then through soft soil beyond. But the earth does not smell wet here: This is not a recent dig, and the earth is dry as it winds out of sight, lightless.

But what it does smell like, to the sensitive gnomish nose, is fur and musk and sweat and feces and urine.

There is a low groaning noise somewhere down the tunnel and the sound of something large shifting followed by the unmistakable sound -- and smell -- of something very large releasing a loud blast of flatulence.

Tosh is satisfied that his stealth is successful enough to give the area in the room a decent search by darkvision, avoiding the mouth of the excavation as much as possible.

Meanwhile, the others consider the spoils of war.

"I'd like to keep one of the long swords, if that's all right with you folks," Emmerson says. "I figure Therurt would be delighted to put it back in shape. In the meantime, I think Renraw's idea is a good one. I'll move the gear out of here and place it over the second alcove's casket lids. Easy to grab if we have to run past them."

"It is?" Renraw blurts. "I mean, of course it is!"

"By the by, would it make sense to find and light a torch here?" Emmerson ignores the wizard and continues. "Because I'll need either a torch bearer to help me get to the second alcove or else the heavy lifting has to be done by someone with darkvision."

"Hmm, all right," Bufer murmurs. "Let's see, here."

The gnome priest casts about on the floor around him, and finally picks up a long, splintered femur bone from one of the fallen skeletons. He turns it from side to side, examining it, then nods to himself and digs into his spell pouch, withdrawing a small piece of phosphorescent moss.

Holding it and the femur up in front of him, he closes his eyes, breathes in deeply through his nose, and quietly offers up the prayer to Garl Glittergold.

Magical light from the bone illuminates the room about as well as another torch would. There is something strange about the way the shadows from the magical light and Hazel's torch jump around the room, but what exactly it is, none of the group can say.

"That's an easy spell," Renraw huffs.

"Probably not as fancy as them taught at your fancy college, I'll concede, but it'll do in a pinch," Bufer says as he hands the glowing femur up to Renraw. "Here you go, torch-bearer. You've got about 10 minutes before it goes dark again. Best you and Emmerson get a move-on."

"Light's with us, Renraw," the paladin says. "Could you take the swords while I carry the armor? I figure we can carry two each on every trip."

"Huh." Emus leans his greatclub against the nearest wall. He spreads his feet slightly and squats as though he's lifting something heavy and thrusts his arms out in front of him. "'Kay. Load me up."

Renraw looks at the glowing bone in his hand as though it's composed of live bees. 

"How DARE you, sir!" he scoffs. "I'm no one's beast of burden! And ... and besides, I believe you'll find my hands are quite full with my staff here and my sack. I really couldn't trust the rest of you with my -- my sack and my things. I've food in here, for pity's sake! I'd leave you lot for a few moments and the dwarf would have done with it! No, find someone more able-bodied, anyway. I've a cold in my bones. It's the season, you know. I'm no good to the--"

As the wizard speaks, Bufer gently pries his sack and his club from his hand while Emus loads him up with swords.

"Well, all right," he concedes as he starts towards the stairs, "But I'm only going because it's so vital to my plan. A plan I daresay could be the critical, life-saving factor in..."

He trails off as the trio lumber down the steps.

"Why, Renraw, we may have found your calling!" Tock calls after him. "You're an excellent mule!" 

Bufer waits until Renraw is out of sight, then opens the wizard's sack and begins rummaging around in it.

"He did say he had food in here, didn't he?" He looks up and around at the others. "Anyone else hungry?"

Everything is quiet as Bufer rifles through Renraw's pack and the others drop off the last of the chain mail, swords and helmets in a pile below the stairs.

"Nothin' in here but some stale bread and moldy cheese," Bufer mutters, wrinkling his nose at the offerings in Renraw's pack. He pulls out a stick of butter, turns it this way and that as he examines it, then shrugs and takes a bite.

He glances up and around at the others as they watch him with amusement, disgust, or some combination of the two. Oblivious, he offers the stick of butter out to them.

"Anybody want some?" he asks. "Plenty to go around!"

Hazel pulls out her water skin and takes a swig before tucking it back in her pack. She stretches her legs a bit, pleased to discover not even a scratch where the sword struck, just a rip in the leg of her breeches, easily mended at home. The gnome's a fine cleric, but watching him chew on a stick of butter is enough to make her queasy. Hazel shifts to lean against one of the pillars in the room to watch for Tosh's return -- and block out the sight of Bufer's repast.

Emus, Renraw and Emerson return from downstairs just in time to stop Bufer from finishing off the last of the butter.

"What? What, I brought this with me! Wait, wai--ah!"

Bufer grunts as the wizard and the paladin pry the remains of the butter away from him, and wipes the back of his hand across his lips. He spies Hazel leaning against the pillar on the opposite side of the room, pointedly facing away from him, and cocks an eyebrow.

"Oh, don't you look all disgusted over there, miss," he chuckles, and jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "If you think I'm bad, I don't envy you the first time you catch a glimpse of the dwarf chowin' down."

Renraw wonders how many times he could stab the gnome before the others stopped him. Eight or nine? Then he stops to wonder what types of objects he could stab him with, and which would be the easiest to use repeatedly. He also thinks about the blood and the pleasing splatters it would make. Would it be like his young cousin's finger paints? _Do gnomes even bleed normally?_ he wonders.

Then he forgets which gnome he was angry with and begins daydreaming about the bear disemboweling Tosh, about the party leaving his body in the barrow, and about how he would have to practice faking sadness back in town.

Meanwhile, Tosh's inspection of the room finds nothing beyond the two statues -- one ruined, one otherwise -- the feces, dried urine and hair. Carefully peeking into the tunnel mouth, he sees it meanders too far, and twists too much, to see what the cave at the far end -- if there is, indeed a cave at the far end -- looks like, or what it contains.

Tosh decides that it's time to rejoin the others and recount his findings. After all, there are two more stairwells to consider. When Tosh returns from the upper chamber, Renraw meets him with a crazed grin.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"OK, listen up, there's something big up there, in a tunnel out of the room," Tosh says, recounting his findings. "I figure it's a big animal of sorts. If it's a meat eater, I don't particularly like the idea of having something like that roaming around these parts free. On the other hand, we have two more stairways to check out. So, what's your pleasure, folks?"

"We cain't look for more busted-up helmets if'n we're cowering over some bear," Emus drawls. "Plus, there might be other critters like these skeletons about. We should see if this bear's riled up or not before we take on anythin' else."

"Judging by the animal carcasses in this room, I'd say it's a meat-eater," Hazel says, "But that doesn't necessarily make it a threat to us. The bear's not 'riled up' right now. It hasn't shown any inclination to come after us, and we did just make a fair bit of noise dispatching these skeletons. Could be in hibernation. And I think we'd all be mighty riled if someone came along and tossed us outta our warm beds in midwinter.

"We best check the other staircases first. I have no issue with killing skeletons that attack us, but if you folks wanna go about killing a dumb animal that hasn't posed any threat to us, I'm gonna have to part company here. You show me it's evil and a threat to the town, that's one thing, but I'm not about to kill an animal just for it maybe being in the way of our profit."

"I'm with the lass," Bufer says. "Judging by the mess it left in the other room, it's been here awhile. If it was apt to make a nuisance of itself, I reckon it woulda done so long before now. Heck, it didn't even come far enough out of its den to eat those poor kob--"

Bufer breaks off suddenly, frowns, and looks thoughtfully over his shoulder as he remembers the odd cysts growing in the torsos of the kobold corpses.

"On second thought," he amends after a moment, "It might not be such a bad idea to take a peek at the beastie, after all."

"Now jes' hold on a second, girly!" Emus says, shouldering past Bufer to face Hazel. "I ain't saying that we should kill it! I'm jes' saying that we should check it out! I don't aim to go killin' somethin' jes because it snuffled at Tosh, here.

"Hell, I like a lot of them animals. They don't judge a dwarf or tell him where ta go, or what's right and what's wrong. They's got the same basic needs as the rest of us. Huntin'. Screwin'. Sleepin'. And a lot of 'em are furry and fuzzy and, well, jus' plain cute. Heh. The way they look at ya with big, brown eyes, why, it jes' makes ya wanna ... Ahem. That's all I'm sayin'."

Emus picks up his club and goes to wait for the others at the bottom of the stairway. He intently studies the path ahead, the stairs, the walls, his fingernails, anything but his fellow adventurers.

Renraw scrunches up his face in deep contemplation. After a long, overly-theatrical sigh, he speaks.

"Our path is clear to me, gentlemen. There is possibly a very large bear in that direction." He points to the stairs Tosh just descended.

"In this direction," he turns and gestures towards the other staircases, "There is possibly no bear."

He pauses for a moment and clears his throat.

"I generally try to choose whichever path affords me the least bear interaction possible."

Ragglus snorts and spits to the side.

"No profit in bear killin', if it is what that is."

"We know there is a bear there," Emmerson points. "That is, if there is only one bear. And we have no idea what is beyond those two stairways. I say we let the sleeping bear lie and go inspect the other places."

"Did anything look valuable in there with the beastie?" Tock asks. "Otherwise, I say we move to somewhere that might have something valuable. On the other hand, the bear might not be so big. Big to a gnome's eyes is often small to a real person's."

"You may want to retract that slur lest you find yourself with a steel enema, 'big man,'" Tosh says quietly. Everyone always agreed that the Bergins were a little creepy, and Tosh was no exception. "Accidents do occasionally happen in the dark. Besides, your mother wasn't complaining about any lack of 'reality' last night."

Tosh pointedly turns his back on the brash bard.

"So, I figure we go for one of the remaining stairs, aye?"

He eyes the two stairwells thoughtfully, and rather than go for the center one, he decides to go a bit further right and check out the northeast stairwell. Once again, the quiet gnome slips up into the darkness, just far enough to get a floor's level view of the area.

The staircase rises 20 feet before emptying out in a long, straight corridor, extending beyond the 60 feet Tosh's darkvision allows him to see.

There is a dampness on the walls, floor and ceiling of this corridor -- not enough to actually make the corridor slippery, but it reflects slightly in the torchlight glimmering up the staircase from below. A soft watery echo periodically pings from the northeast.

Moving at a safe quiet quarter speed, the gnome slips up into the corridor and moves forward. Tosh only has to move a few feet further before he can see that the tunnel opens into a room. From his distant vantage point, he can see something low laying across the middle of the room, perhaps a dias, perhaps a large basin. From this angle, nothing else is visible.

Not seeing any light, nor hearing any sound but an occasional drip, Tosh slips up to the mouth of the next room, peering around with darkvision.

It is a strangely shaped room, with the tunnel entrance being on the right side of the longest wall, of which there are five. The walls to the left and right are the shortest, and then two long walls on the north and east sides complete the sloppy pentagon.

In the center of the room is a raised stone rim. A pool of liquid is held within the large pentagonal basin, still rippling slightly from the last drip to hit its surface. The liquid is dark and a little fetid, but it is an almost perfect reflective surface, like a grimy liquid mirror.

Water drips from above here, from a carved bas-relief of storm clouds above. It appears that, once, the drips would come at a steady rate of flow, but now, whatever mechanism powered this reverse fountain have all but worn down, and drops only come fitfully from one or two nozzles.

There are no signs of life and the room appears to be empty of anything else.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Satisfied for the moment that the odd room is safe, Tosh turns on his heel and heads back to the others to report his findings.

"I think the room bears exploration. But how about I go ahead and see what is at the top of the center stair before we set out?"

"Go right ahead, friend Tosh," Emmerson says.

The gnome slips up the stairs, finding the largest room within this cairn at the top.

This room is massive, a 65-foot wide semicircle with the tunnel mouth angling out to meet the diameter of the semicircle. The room likewise arches upwards, the ribbed ceiling reaching a height of 30 feet in the middle of the room.

Debris at the top of the stairs suggests a great stone seal once stood here, locking off this room, but it was long ago shattered inwards.

Five alcoves, the size of the ones lining the Hall of Guardians, are equally spaced along the edge of the semicircular wall. Each statue depicts a robed figure holding a different mask to its face.

In the middle of the room, atop a tall stepped dais, rests a single ornate sarcophagus carved in the shape of an enormous nesting owl of singularly sinister aspect.

Tosh returns to the group and gives them their options.

"I believe that the big semi-circular room would likely be the place we're looking for, if indeed we're actually looking for something. I also think that, considering the previous sarcophagi, it's likely we'll find another bag of bones there.

"So, eaten by an animal, killed by the undead, or one from the mystery room? Personally, I'd like to go check out the room to the northeast with some light. Might be something interesting that darkvision doesn't reveal."

"I still think that we should head down the first tunnel, so's that we at least know what's down there instead of turning our backs to it," Emus says. "But we don't wanna split up, so if we decide to go down one of the other two tunnels, I don't care which one."

With a wordless whine, Renraw makes it known rather loudly that he'd like to go up the stairs with no bears, skeletons, or anything that might hurt him.

"As long as the bear's not a threat to the town or us, then we might as well let the damn thing sleep," Tucker agrees. "Or at least, have the sense not to expect to win when we're fighting it in its own bedroom. And despite what this gash on my neck might say, the skeletons we've seen so far haven't been too tough to take apart. I say we check out the storm room, then return for the larger semicircle."

"I'm not altogether convinced that bear-thingy isn't a threat, though," Bufer says. He quickly explains to the others about the weird cysts he found growing in the bodies of the three dead kobolds, and the organ that appeared to be missing from the body of the fourth. "Now that mighta been caused by some kinda malady they'd come down with, albeit one I done never seen before, in which case, I hope it isn't catching. Or, it mighta been the result of somethin' been done to 'em."

He nods towards the stairs that lead to the creature's den.

"Yonder animal might be the cause. Or, on the other hand, it might be the effect, if you catch my meanin'. Either way, I find it mighty odd that it done left those bodies alone long as it has, and I reckon it bears investigation."

"The bear does NOT bear investigation, gnome," Renraw snaps. "Not barely, not at all. If it IS spreading some type of disease, shouldn't we do what we can to avoid catching it? It only makes good sense to me."

Hazel shrugs.

"You all know how I feel about the bear. What say we check out the other two rooms first? If the bear does wake up, we'll hear it coming. Doesn't much matter to me which room we start with."

"We've got a bunch of sharp, pointy swords, now," Tucker says. "Why don't we hold off on the hallways for a bit and -- being entirely respectful of the fallen, of course -- take one of our newly won swords and go see what's inside those lumps on the kobolds' bodies?

"We cut one open and find nothing but tissue and water, then we leave the rest alone. But we give it a nick and some kind of crazy egg-laying bear-baby falls out, then maybe we'll have a better idea of what's waiting down the end of that burrow.

"In fact, while everyone grumbles back and forth about which door to take, I think I'll go do that. Either of you torch-bearers care to come with me?"

"So, you want to go back and possibly create a new threat between us and the running-away door?" Hazel firmly shakes her head. "That sounds like a bad idea to me."

"Cut open the cysts? What?" Tock goggles at Tucker and Bufer. "Are either of you a trained physic? Because I don't recall you going on at length about it at any point. I refuse to be a part of cutting open any innocent, fallen kobolds. Medical examination by Glittergoldian 'priest' is one thing, but hacking and slashing by way of bloodthirsty redneck deputies is another!

"I'm with Renraw on this one. Even if there is some sort of MAGICAL BEAR that GIVES PEOPLE DISEASES, that's not what we're here for. There's no treasure in that, right, Ragglus? Let's leave the living and the dead as they are, and see what, you know, inanimate objects we might find."

"Tock, I understand how you feel, but we could be looking at the beginnings of some kind of plague, here," Bufer says. "Even if it only affects kobold-kind, I should think it's worth lookin' at.

"Now, I'm not one 'a your fancy human physics, but my grandfather's sister's niece was the best gnomish healer ever did live, and I spent a goodly part of my childhood helpin' her tend to the sick and the dyin', so I know a thing or two about it.

"And while a rusty sword ain't exactly the right tool for the job," Bufer says, glancing up at Tucker, "if somebody thought to pack a knife, or a dagger, or the like, I could certainly take a look."

"Count me out. You want to play doctor and get your little head diseased, do it on your own time with other folks more suited to the task," the bard replies. "I'm going to go search that room. You folks can either come with me or let me take whatever's in there myself. You want to stay with Doc Asshigh, feel free. I'll be getting rich."

"I'm going the disease-free route, thank you," Renraw says, appearing by Tock's side as if by magic.

Ragglus nods at Tock's comments.

"Come back with'a set of priests n' magisters n' whatever some other time. They's ain't goin' nowhere."

Bufer's nostrils flare at "Doc Asshigh", but he quickly relaxes and lets a smile spread across his lips as he looks from Tock to Ragglus, and back again.

"Typical humans," he says, shaking his head, "always thinking with your purse or your pud. Fine, I can examine the corpses later. Let's go get rich, and return to town, and infect our friends and neighbors with the plague we may be carrying now, for all we know, but are so anxious to remain ignorant of. I'm sure they won't mind all the sickness and death, long as we come back with a shiny bauble, or two.

"Oh, and bard, if any of your innards happen to get spilled in the next few minutes, I hope for your sake you can manage to hold 'em in 'til we get back to Maidensbridge. Y'know, when you can get a real doctor to look at you."

"You speak like we have friends in the town," Tock says placatingly, "And don't worry, Doc, I know you're a real healer. I just don't think the rest of us have any business examining diseased corpses. Ragglus is right. Bring in other people better-suited to the task. I haven't learned a song yet that could cure disease."

Ragglus scowls a bit at being scolded.

"Whatever we're doin', let's do it. Sittin' here arguin' about pokin' dead folk while waitin' for bears or more o' them other dead folk that fights to come up on us ain't doin' no good. Someone decide." He sneers suddenly. "My pud has spoken."

"Seems to me that the most are in favor of going to the northeast," Tosh says quietly. "Anyone with a big scary sharp object and a torch want to lead the way?"

"If the kobolds are contagious, we are already infected," Emmerson says, unsheathing his warhammer and equipping his shield. "I see no reason to backtrack all the way there just to make sure. Let us go exploring up there. Afterwards, we can let the corpse examining to Ebuferpaly and decide if we are fit to return to town.

"Let's go upstairs."

Bufer exchanges glances with Tosh and Emus, mutters something in Gnomish under his breath, and follows the party up the northeast stairs, chuckling and shaking his head all the while.

"_What was that, Doc?_" Tock calls back in perfect Gnomish.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The torchlight and magical illumination shine on the damp floor. Black mildew coats the cracks between the stones in the walls, floor and ceilings. The room is just as Tosh described it. Even with the light sources, the group cannot see what, if anything, is beneath the water in the large basin.

Renraw pokes the end of his club in the water, half from being idle, half to see if he disturbs anything.

The club doesn't have to be dipped in far before it touches bottom. When it comes up, it is covered in a dusty film. The muck on the surface of the water is briefly disturbed as the club is removed, giving a glimpse of a basin bottom that is also carved in a bas-relief. Swirling shapes carved in the stone, perhaps of waves or of strange sea creatures, are visible in the flickering torchlight before the murk closes over the clear space once more.

The spell on the bone finally expires soundlessly, the light contracting to a single bright point a second before vanishing.

Tosh looks about in the brighter illumination of the torch.

"Nothing? This simply will not do," he sighs. And with that, he begins a thorough search of the room. But in the lengthened shadows of the room, Tosh finds little, not even rat droppings, just ancient dust and layer upon layer of black mildew.

"Huh," says Bufer, as he looks up and around in the flickering torchlight, "my mistake. Now I can see why it was so damn pressing to come up here, rather than investigate the potential plague."

"Well, I'm sure that something dangerous will turn up, here," Emus grins. "And then we can take care of it when that bear decides to tear into us from behind!"

"Hey, Fancypants, I'll give you half a copper if you drink all that water," Tucker says, nudging Bufer with his elbow.

"Nobody here's got keener eyes than Tosh, right?" says Hazel. "If he says there's nothing here, then it's pointless to stand around and gab about it." Hazel starts heading back down the stairs, carrying her torch. "Might as well check out the next room."

The group mounts the stairs to the semi-circular room. By torchlight, they can see a few more details, specifically regarding the five statues. Each is 9 feet tall, and while they were painted centuries -- or more -- ago, the darkness has meant that most of the paint has remained intact.

Going from left to right, the five statues depict a robed man holding a screaming owl mask over his face, followed by a statue of a woman holding a two-handed curved sword before her face. The blade is so wide, it totally conceals her face. Then comes a statue of a robed man holding a perfectly smooth mirrored mask over his face. After that is a statue of a robed man holding both his hands over his face, concealing it entirely except for a pair of yellow eyes visible through the cracks in his fingers. The eyes appear to be some sort of precious or semi-precious stones. Finally, there is a statue of a robed woman holds an owl chick’s mask over her face.

Renraw awkwardly attempts to climb the fourth statue and knock the jeweled eyes out with the end of his club.

"Two coppers say the statue blasts him" Emmerson mutters to Ragglus.

Ragglus grunts in agreement.

"I bet the bear'll enjoy a cooked meal fer a change."

After a few clumsy taps, Renraw squeezes his legs tightly around the statue, grasps onto its fingers, and looks down on the rest of them, breathing heavily.

"That's fine then, I'll just take these gems for myself ... when I can ... pry them loose."

The gem eyes suddenly flash an icy blue and unearthly cold rips through Renraw, knocking him to the floor, convulsing in pain. His hands are encased in a thin layer of frost.

All around the group, nasty laughter booms, as though from the five unmoving statues.

"Cuh-cuh-curse you all, DO something!" Renraw spits, clutching at his wrists and rubbing his hands, unsuccessfully sloughing off the frost. "Wuh-whatever it is is luh-laughing at us. You'll be next if you don't do something!"

Seeing Renraw fall to the ground, Emus springs into action and walks past him. Greatclub at the ready, the dwarf looks for something that poses a danger, using his native knowledge of stonecraft. But there is nothing that Emus can spot that looks any odder than the rest of the statue.

"Well, when yer wrong yer wrong," Ragglus mutters as he spares a glance at Renraw trying to rub away the cold. Holding up his shield, flail still in hand, he prepares for whatever may come. "Oi! Wha'so funny?"

The statues lapse into silence as the echoes of the laughter die away.

"Renraw, if you want to survive this trip, you have to stop thinking with your wand," Emmerson scolds. "You are very lucky that that strange basin you poked a while ago did not zap you with something worse than this frost bolt."

Hazel glances around the mostly empty room.

"Seems there's nothing here to loot but the statues. Might be we should gather the swords and helms and head on home. Ought to have known any idea of Fibber's was bound to come to little profit." She shakes her head, already anticipating objections. "I know, I know, y'all want to go kill a bear, on the off chance it's got a bellyful of rare gems, and you," she waves her torch toward Bufer, "Want to go cut open some kobolds, in case we've all got a lungful of plague.

"So, which'll it be, gents?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"I have a feeling we're missing something from this room," Emmerson says, nodding meaningfully toward the sarcophagus

"I thought we decided we weren't grave robbers," Hazel says, looking at the owl-shaped container. "And that one seems different from the ones near the entrance. Might be a real grave, might not, but if it is, that's grave robbing, and if it ain't, might be someone pretty angry about losing his skeleton guards."

"S-so ... cold ..."

"If we're openin' it, should w'cover our mugs?" Ragglus asks, glancing over his shoulder at the alcoves. "Far be it fer me not t'trust gigglin' statues, 'specially ones that know when they's gotta wizard crawlin' up their noses."

Tosh wanders over to the statue that did a job on Renraw. Something had to trigger that response, he thinks. Maybe if he searched it over real good, there might be a trigger in evidence. The flickering torchlight moves subtle shadows across the upper surfaces of the statue. Tosh can just barely see runes very lightly carved into its surface. It might be possible to carefully -- very carefully -- fill the runes in with grit from the statue and perhaps temporarily disable the trap. Maybe.

"Gnome!" Renraw, his teeth chattering, plead with Bufer. "I beseech thee, gnome. Heal me. Return my strength so that I may retain my usefulness to the group. Minister my wounds and you have my sacred troth that you will not regret it."

Bufer raises an eyebrow at the injured young wizard, then sighs and begins to dig his healer's kit out of his pack.

"If I'm to heal you, human," he says pointedly to Renraw, "It'll be on condition that, before you touch, poke, prod, examine or even look at anything else, you will ask my permission. Do we have an understanding, Kem?"

Bufer pauses as he opens his healer's kit, looks up at Renraw thoughtfully, and raises one index finger at him.

"Oh, one more thing," Bufer says with a wry grin. "From now on, you're to call me 'sir.'"

"Ah, just poke him with the torch, he'll be fine," Tucker says, rolling his eyes. "Any of you mystic types want to scan the sarcophagus, or should we just open it and get ambushed again?"

"That's it! I cuh-couldn't place it until now. When my young cousin was but an infant ... you, gnome, your cuh-countenance ... it bears a striking ruh-resemblance ... to what he used to ... evacuate when he'd got some bad applesauce in him." Renraw adjusts himself so that he's sitting more upright and winces when he tries to put a bit of weight on his arms. "But that's neither here nor there, is it? No, the r-real issue at hand is that we've now uncovered the party has a 'healer' who only does so on his own terms. Many of us here are aware of the patronizing t-teachings of your so-called divinity, gnome, but we 'foolish humans' n-never imagined they might actually impact us in this way. Leave me in pain, if you will, servant of Glittergold, but I'll not be made to bow and scrape to an asshigh. I'm not sure it's b-bodily possible to get that low."

The wizard turns his head to the group.

"The rest of you ... are you capable of learning from your own lapses? Or will you wait for this baseborn mongrel to decide when you've been foolish? Of course I'll be c-cautious when clambering up any forthcoming statuary, does anyone here doubt this? I prithee, do not s-sustain injury in this gnome's company ... those injuries will find themselves compounded with threats to thine own dignity."

And with that Renraw feebly makes his way to his feet.

"Here, give me the torch - I'LL poke him with it," Tucker says, thrusting his hand at Hazel.

"It seems we have a statue covered with runes of some sort," Tosh says as he begins gathering up loose statue detritus. "Probably the magical sort that protects the statue from being climbed upon by human wizards, I can't be sure. I can probably cover them temporarily. Hazel, would you happen to have any of that sticky applecake left? I can probably make up some goop from the erosion off the statue that'll stick in the runes. Provided, of course, it doesn't blast me too."

Hazel digs into a pocket and pulls out the crumpled cloth.

"About half a slice left, I expect. Probably more honey clinging to the cloth than the cake at this point." She hands the bundle over to the gnome, giving him a broad smile. "If this works, maybe mum can sell her cake as protection against magical traps."

"Ah, a healer that refuses to heal and an unthinking murderer as muscle. It's a wonder the rest of us have lasted this long," Tock says as he puts himself between Renraw and Tucker. "I've long known the Gallaways to be craven gluttons, from my experiences with their women. But sadists? We'll, even in the shallow end of a pool there can be dangers, I suppose.

Tock switches to Gnomish.

"_How's the trap dismantling going? I'd have for your kinsman to refuse to heal another of us._"

"Aye, and if ever there was a Chandler born who could carry a tune, you wouldn't have to rifle through dead bodies' pockets under the pretext of prayer," Tucker shoots back.

"I find your lack of taste ... disturbing," Tock says in a monotone. "Still, were my music to be appreciated by a redneck fool, that is when I'd worry. And worry not about kobold traditions. They are a pious people and their monies are to be given back to the tribe. With so many kobold-haters around, I feared for the sanctity of the belief."

Tosh seems oblivious to the row going on behind him as he graciously takes the remainder of the pastry from Hazel.

"It'll have to do," he says. He begins mixing the honey with a bit of water and some grit, creating a sticky paste of sorts

"_I have no idea_," Tosh replies to Tock. "_I find the thought of testing it to be slightly less disturbing than the implications of 'us' and 'them,' however._"

Tosh carefully begins applying the paste to fill in the eroded runes. Mutters a prayer to the 53 Gods of Chance. But the gems glow suddenly once more, and there's a sizzling noise before the nasty laughter booms through the room again. Tosh snatches his hand away quickly, uncoated in frost, but pale with cold.

"Well, that puts end to that. Unless you folk were spoiling to open the sarcophagus there? Might be some kobolds in need of looting, er, last rites or something."

Tosh sits with his back to a statue-free wall and pulls out some linen to bandage his damaged hand.

"This bickering is pointless." Emmerson approaches Renraw. "I would heal you if I could, friend, but I'd have to admonish you the same way. We cannot afford to lose our collective strength, not this deep inside the barrow.

"I think trying to open this sarcophagus would be the height of folly, considering we have one injured wizard and one zapped rogue."

The paladin turns toward the sarcophagus, clutching his crucifix and prays for guidance. 

Bufer looks from Renraw to Tock, and back again, then shrugs nonchalantly.

"No skin off my back if you value your Garl-damned 'dignity' more than your very life, Kem," he says. "I'll be sure to tell your loved -- well, any mildly interested parties, at any rate -- that you went to your grave with your pride intact. If you do happen to change your mind, though, me and my patronizing teachings will be over there. Let's hope nothin' breathes on you in the meantime."

Bufer glances up at Tock.

"And I guarantee you, Chandler, that if you ever had attempted to had congress with my mother as it were, she would have taken one good look at your 'instrument,' such as it be, and collapsed into giggles. It's true what they say about gnomes, after all: We're built like tripods."

With that, Bufer turns his back on them and walks over to crouch next to Tosh, and examine his frost-covered hands.

"_Tsk,_" he says in Gnomish, as he takes over the bandage from Tosh. "_Listen, lad, I know this looks bad, but I figure I've only got one good heal left in me. It's yours if you insist to me you need it, but we're a long way from this being done, and that boy's on death's door already. All things bein' equal, I'd like ta hold it in reserve, if you're apt to humor me._"

"_It's all right, Bufer_," Tosh says. "_I figure even with a bit of frostbite I have a better chance of getting out of here then the big'uns when the spit hits the fan. I'm not likely to try disarming any more traps, though, and you know what they say about hungry bears and th' like. All's I got to do is run faster than the other guy. Help the young'un_."

"_Well, not just yet_," Bufer says, casting a sidelong glance at Renraw as he ties the bandage off at Tosh's right wrist, and begins tending to his other hand. "_Boy needs some sense kicked into 'im, along with a strong dose of humility. That's Garl's will, I do believe. Whether it's by my hand or his own foolish stubbornness makes little difference._"

Bufer cocks an eyebrow at Tosh.

"_Besides,_" he says, "_I think it's be really funny if I got him to call me 'sir', just once._"

Curiosity gets the better of Tosh as he considers the other statues. Levering himself to his feet, he carefully inspects each one, avoiding touching them as he does so.

"It appears that our yellow-eyed adversary is the only one with the ability to defend itself," he says finally. "And apparently the only one with anything to defend. I've a feeling that if we leave them alone, they'll be inclined to do the same for us."

He eyes the sarcophagus critically.

"Of course, if another bag of bones hops out of there, I'm going to stay well out of its reach. I couldn't do it no harm anyways."

He moves off to the top of the stairwell and looks down into the darkness, flexing his injured hand a bit to get back the feeling, wincing all the while.

"Friends," Emmerson starts as he slowly backs away from the sarcophagus. "There is an evil presence inside the sarcophagus. Not only it still lives, but is keenly aware of our presence.

"I would not back away from a fight, but I do not know if we can face whatever is inside and survive. Also, I do not know if the 'guardian statue' will come to life to defend whatever dwells within the sarcophagus if we engage him in combat.

"What say you?"

"Did you happen to ask Lothian if the sarcophagus had anything valuable?" Renraw asks the paladin.

"Goll darnit! I told you kids that comin' in here was a right stupid thing to do!" Emus snaps. "Whatever's in this stone slab ain't hurtin' anyone as long as it's in there, an' it looks like it's jes' fine stayin' there. Sure it ain't natural, but we can't be responsible for lettin' it out if we can't keep it reined in."

"Emus has the right idea - best to leave well enough alone. We don't need to stir up a hornets' nest." Hazel glances at Renraw, then Tosh. "We've already seen they can sting."

She walks up to the statue, staying a respectful five feet back, and cranes her neck to look around it.

"If the magic uses the eyes to focus, then maybe a couple of us working together could topple the statue from behind while the others stay out of its line of sight. Of course, the statues might be part of whatever's keeping the evil trapped in its box, and then we'd feel mighty foolish the last few moments before we died."

"I would touch it, were I to do it over again," Tosh says loudly, startling the others. "How do you intend to topple it without touching it? With a rope, perhaps? You'll understand if I decide not to participate, won't you?"

"And what's to keep the entombed evil from opening its own sarcophagus the instant our backs are turned? Come on, leave the laughing statue alone. Luck and Lothian favor the bold." Tucker approaches the sarcophagus, unnerved by his own bravado. Being extra cautious, he comes upon it from the direction the owl isn't facing. Rather than push the lid off, leaving himself open to an easy attack from within, he attempts to pull it backwards, then pauses. "Lothian also favors the swift, so be ready to bolt."

Tucker feels a chill run down his spine as he realizes his back is to the now-silent statues. There is an air of waiting watchfulness in the darkened room.

"Evil as our host might be, he is still badly outnumbered, so we can hit him eight times to his one," Emmerson says, preparing his warhammer. "Renraw, I'd rather have you standing far from the sarcophagus and out of harm's way. Fire a spell, if you are able, but leave the hand-to-hand fighting to us.

"I am ready, Tucker."

"I'll protect the wizard, if no one else will," Tock announces, taking Renraw by the arm and walking with him toward the shattered seal, "If only to keep the asshighs from bringing up their mothers again."

"You needn't worry about me, Grant," Renraw coughs. "I'm this close to finding my own way out of here, anyway. Perhaps to find someone who'll heal me without requiring I service their ego."

Tosh draws his rapier as the two humans approach, Tock's remark about gnomish mothers clearly having stung.

"There's a very nice bit of shadow a bit down the stairs that should hide you both. Don't let me keep you, now, hurry along." He turns toward the group surrounding the sarcophagus, then turns back as though in an afterthought.

Tock puts Renraw behind him in the doorway and draws his bow and readies an arrow.

"Shadows can't hide this handsome face, rogue."

Hazel sighs and readies her battleaxe.

"Fools rush in ... "

Emus moves far enough away to charge if anything comes out of the sarcophagus.

Ragglus squints at the sarcophagus as he lifts his shield up just so that his eyes peek over the top, sticking with his theory from earlier.

Bufer grabs hold of the gold nugget hanging round his neck as he watches the Tucker intently as he makes to pop open the lid.

"Hey, anytime you feel the need to start servicing my ego there, Kem, you go right ahead," he tosses over his shoulder. "Just remember: Lots of spit, lots of tongue."

"Yes, you do the priesthood proud, don't you?" Renraw turns to Chandler, muttering. "I clearly just told him I would not be doing that. I'm not sure how I'm even to respond to that kind of 'banter.' Vulgarity for vulgarity' sake only. Crude even for a subhuman."

After a moment, Renraw realizes Tock is ignoring him as well.

"No offense, friend Tock, but I do hope you're not the only one to leave this place with something of value. I'd hate to think I wasted my time with these fools."

"Eyes front, ladies," Ragglus barks, still watching as Tucker opens the sarcophagus. "Cut the bickering; we've got somethin' evil to be ready for."

The stone lid scrapes back across the opening of the sarcophagus. By the flickering torchlight, Hazel notices that it appears to be filled with a large stone object and then the torch dims in her hand as the lid comes off, loudly slamming on the floor and Tucker grunts as he backs into solid stone.

The room is darker than it was, and colder, and then the darkness opens its eyes and screams, the sound like a dying child. The eyes are yellow and burning with anger. The creature spreads its wings, wider than a man is tall, still screaming through its black beak.

The other adventurers are dimly visible through the shadowy creature as it flies at Emmerson, black talons outstretched.

Through the shield, Emmerson feels his arm grow cold, but he jerks it back before any lasting harm is done. The return swing of his warhammer hits nothing -- it's difficult to see where the creature is in the dimmed light and given its translucency.

The sound of the creature's scream gets almost drowned out a moment as Emus races forward, howling, his greatclub whistling as it comes. The club strikes something, although the dwarf could not say what, exactly.

Hazel steps forward from her vantage point and swings her battleaxe at where she thinks the creature is, her blade striking home silently.

Tock lets an arrow fly, and it soars into one yellow eye of the beast, which screams even louder.

Ragglus lowers his shield and swings with his flail, the heads slamming one after another into the thing.

The thing's scream reaches an ear-splitting pitch and suddenly, at its loudest and highest point, stops altogether and the torchlight suddenly returns to its full brightness, seemingly almost blinding after the gloom of a moment before.

Tock's arrow drops to the ground with a clatter, the wood shaft pitted and ruined. Tosh is the first to notice that Emmerson's shield likewise bears the marks of the beast: Great black streaks where its claws scrabbled at the metal shield stain it now.

Of the beast itself, there is no sign. It's simply gone.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel slowly turns in a circle, wondering if the creature has just slipped into one of the room's dark shadows. She peers up at the ceiling to check there, too, and conceals a shudder at the thought of the winged creature dropping down on them. Seeing nothing, she cautiously steps toward the open sarcophagus and look in without leaning over it, trying to catch a better glimpse of the object inside.

Muttering a blessing in Celestial, Emmerson drops his scarred shield to the ground.

"Well done, everyone," he says. "Father will be pleased to hear his son has a future as a meat-shield."

Bufer blinks in the sudden brightness and hesitantly looks around at the others.

"I'm sorry," he says, "But did we actually just win?"

"I'm not quite sure if holding a nugget in your little paw did much, but some of us at least seem to have won," Tock sneers.

"Tsk," Bufer mutters as he releases his hold on his fetish. "Unappreciated in my own time, that's what I am. Kem, you still with us? Haven't succumbed to your injuries or your own stubborn pride, yet?"

"I'm here," Renraw answers weakly. He pokes his head around the stairs and takes a few meek steps out into the room. "Pride still in tact, thank Io. If only one could say the same of your integrity. I'm still attempting to determine what kind of twisted morality could account for exposing someone so near death as I to the heinous evil to which we were just witness. Would you really rather I die than let me continue without calling you 'sir?' Or did you honestly expect me to prostrate myself before you?

"'Oh, wise gnome,'" the sarcasm drips through, "Truly you've taught me the folly of my ways.' I honestly only half-believed all the old stereotypes about you creatures. But you're teaching me to reexamine those doubts, aren't you?"

"Renraw, you may want to consider keeping an eye out on those stairs," Tosh says, looking up from inside of the sarcophagus. "That thing made enough noise to wake a bear."

In response, Tock fits a new arrow, watching down the hallway.

"Oh, yes, I'd love to watch the stairs for an angry bear," Renraw wheezes. "I'm in the perfect condition for that, or hadn't you noticed?"

He sees the brutes fooling about with the sarcophagus and once again cowers pathetically behind Tock.

Inside the sarcophagus is not a body or bodies, but a stone slab, carved with scenes of robed men served by larger, owl-headed warriors. As Hazel moves the torch, it becomes obvious that it's not one stone slab, but a series of them, stacked top each other, were kept inside an object that only appeared to be a coffin from the outside.

As Tosh peeks over the edge, he can see what appears to be a subtle hinge line around the edge of the top slab, and a small hole on the side that might be a keyhole.

Where the creature rested inside the "sarcophagus," they can't see -- it must have either laid very, very flat or somehow not taken up space with the lid on.

Tosh examines the inner lid and hinge line and keyhole, trying to discern whether or not he'll get another nasty surprise in meddling with it. The keyhole pulls him like an obsession, an itch that must be scratched, a challenge that must be met. But he's also quite aware that he's injured and a trap could well be the end of him. Patience and care is the order of the day here.

Feeling reasonably secure that there are no immediate threats to his safety, Tosh reaches into his backpack for a small folded leather case. He opens it carefully and looks critically at the "keyhole." He selects a couple of narrow implements with odd crooks and prongs and inserts them into the opening and probes about for resistance.

The ancient lock is built a little differently than modern ones, but once Tosh understands how, the lock scrapes open and the top slab is unlocked.

"There you go." The gnome thinks the shadow thing and lack of space for it to hide in and steps away from the slab, just in case. He slips his tools back into their case and draws his rapier. "If one of you folk wearing the tin cans would be so kind as to open that?"

"Want to do the honors, Tucker," Emmerson asks, picking up his scarred shield, "Or shall I?"

"Paladin, I think you should do it," Tock offers from the hallway. "The task requires someone literate."

Tucker nods to Emmerson.

"I'll do the lifting, you do the raining down of holy vengeance," Reassured that the Paladin's attempt to detect evil proved the box safe, Tucker begins to open the lid, then stops. "There were no traps on this thing, right?"

Tosh shrugs.

"I didn't see any."

Tucker finds the slab harder to open than he at first expected -- these stone hinges were shut before Aventus sank into the Southern Sea, before Lothian ascended to godhood, before the Tarsisian Empire was formed -- but with a grinding creak, the hinges turn and the slab opens, revealing a large antique mirror with a heavy decorative bronze frame inside.

Overcome by curiosity, Tock abandons Renraw to guard the hallway alone. The wizard whimpers before following a moment later.

"Hmmm. Many songs have been sung of magicians who use mirrors, or mirrors that are magical themselves," Tock says. "If one of the brutes could take that mirror out, we could all benefit from a closer study of it. I have a cousin that is very knowledgeable of these things. Between he, Renraw, and I, we should figure out what's going on here."

"Mirrored eyes in the entryway, a mirror mask on the statue over there and a big mirror in a box?" Tucker says. "Whoever built this place was more in love with their own reflection than even Tock."

"They probably had less reason, though," Tock replies. "kidding aside, Tucker, could you and Grant set it up here?"

"Wait. I imagine it'll take at least two to pull it out of there, and I think it might be wise to have a look in case whomever put it there didn't want it removed," Tosh says. "Hazel? The torch if you would."

"I'll proceed to the lifting after it's been checked," Emmerson says.

"Yes, well, as I said before, mirrors are often very important in the arcane," Renraw lectures, ignoring the physical labor going on. "Some wizards use them to scry. It requires powerful magic, but it's even possible to cast spells on different times and places viewed using a mirror."

Hazel stands behind Tosh to give him direct light for his search. Her gaze darts between the gnome's hands and the statue's eyes. Her axe is tucked back in its sheath so she has a free hand to grab the gnome if he springs a trap.

"There doesn't seem to be anything tricky about it," Tosh says. "But it's going to dreadfully heavy, with that frame. Go ahead and try to get it out of there."

"Ready when you are, Tucker," Emmerson puts away his warhammer and shield and grabs one end of the mirror. He gives it a small pull to size up how heavy it is.

The pair carefully lift the heavy mirror out of its stone box. The backing of the mirror is also solid bronze, and also decorated; it was clearly meant to be viewed both back and front.

Emmerson picks up the side that could be interpreted as the top, so lifts his side of the mirror higher and motions to Tucker to lower his.

"We can hold it upright with a bit of effort. Or do you folks want us to set it against the wall or on the floor?"

Ragglus' face falls as he looks on the mirror. Emus, coming down from his adrenaline rush, says what's on both their minds: "A looking glass? That ugly beast was guarding a looking glass? There's gotta be somethin' more interesting that that!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emus, looking into the sarcophagus, peering down at the rest of the stacked stone boxes inside.

Tosh clambers over the edge, his legs hanging limply in the air as he examines the next box for traps. He grunts once, having confirmed that the boxes all seem to have the same locking mechanism and reaches for his tools.

Hazel peers past the gnome, trying to get a better look at the boxes.

"How many are there?" She looks around at the statues, noting the mirrored mask over one's face. "You think each statue has its own matching box? There's that one with the smooth face, and the mirror y'all hauled out. And the statue with the screaming mask ... that thing we fought was definitely screaming."

Tosh grunts noncommittally, gesturing for Emus and Tucker to help lift the remaining boxes out of the sarcophagus.

Meanwhile, Bufer examines the mirror Emmerson holds erect. The back portrays more of the robed and hooded men, with their owl-headed guardians. The men appear to be weaving mighty spells, all centering on a large frame much like the mirror's frame. Later images portray the hooded men standing within the frames, the owl-headed men standing guard.

"Hmm," Bufer says, stroking his chin as he examines the back of the mirror. "I'm not gonna pretend I know exactly what this means, but if I had to guess, I'd say Kem's guess about these bein' used for some kinda magic was right on the money."

Bufer frowns as he peers more closely at the depictions of the robed figures standing inside the frame. A sudden thought strikes him, and he carefully walks around Emmerson to closely examine the glass.

"It's a bit awkward, but I can get this one out by myself," Tucker says, wrestling the next slab out of the sarcophagus. "Probably going to need some help with the rest, though."

Emus puts his club down and climbs into the sarcophagus to help lift the stone slabs out. The four closed stone cases appear more or less identical to the opened one that had the mirror in it. The carved scenes vary slightly, but are functionally the same.

As each emerges, Tock opens the case, and Emus and Tucker pull out the mirror from inside. Five stone slab boxes, five ornate mirrors.

Bufer ponders his reflection in the first mirror.

"Huh," Bufer says to no one in particular. "I am a handsome, handsome gnome."

Bufer reaches out to touch the surface of the glass, to see if it feels any different from that of your average, garden-variety mirror, but it is resolutely glassy and reflective.

Shaking out his sore fingers, Tucker surveys the line of mirrors.

"There's no way we're going to be able to get all of these out here in one trip. Even if we load the rest of you down with the swords and armor, Emmerson and I will only be able to carry one of these back to town, maybe two if we stack them carefully, but the whole lot? That's a recipe for broken glass. Failing any way to float these things behind us, can one of you clever types tell if any of the mirrors is more vital than the rest?"

"Why, if I didn't know better, I'd think you was tryin' to make me cry!" Emus flexes his biceps in the classic bicep-flexing pose. "Look at these! Look at these guns! These are my guns! Why, I could carry any of them mirrors faster than you could carry just one!"

Emus lets his arms drop, and then suddenly brings them back up to flex them again.

"BANG!"

Bufer cocks an eyebrow at Emus' reflection in the mirror.

"Bang, indeed." He snorts in frustration as he finally removes his hand from the mirror. "Well, so much for that idea. When I saw the robed figures inside the frames on the back of this thing, I thought maybe it meant they used 'em as ... I dunno, magical doors, or something? To other places, like Kem said? But it's just a mirror."

Bufer shakes his head at his own perplexed reflection.

"I don't understand," he says. "Everything else in this place has zapped us, laughed at us, or let loose evil beasties that tried to kill us, but the mirror it's all protecting is just a mirror? It don't add to a proper sum, if you ask me."

Still shaking his head, Bufer moves from mirror to mirror, examining each from back to front as he did the first, making note of any significant differences amongst them. Each is essentially the same, however: Robed men attended by owl-headed men, casting spells on objects that resemble the frames of the mirrors, at least one image per frame of a robed man standing inside a frame.

Likewise, the boxes are much the same, although they do not depict the mirrors, but rather show the robed men and owl-headed men in combat -- the robed men using spells, the owl-headed men using large curved swords -- against featureless humanoids.

Bufer pauses in his examination of a mirror as a sudden thought strikes him.

"A recipe for broken glass," he mutters, repeating Tucker's words from moments before, then looks up at the others. "What do you think might happen if we did break one?"

"Yes," Renraw agrees. "The broken mirror, from earlier. Could that have housed the shadow creature we just faced? I don't suggest smashing these until we're a little more certain. In fact, I don't suggest smashing them at all. If they do contain more of those tormented spirits, we'll only be releasing them into our world. And if they don't, we'll have smashed some perfectly fine seeing glass. No, better to bring them to some authority for answers."

Kem thinks about what he's just said and amends his statement.

"Or sell them to the highest bidder."

Ragglus frowns in confusion.

"But th' broken mirror pieces was down'err," he says, thumbing over his shoulder toward the entrance. "Why was th'beastie up'ere wi'the other ones? Missed bein' trapped?"

"The only broken mirror earlier was smashed statue's eyes. Wait, eyes?" Tucker pauses. "Why did the guardian statues just have mirrored eyes, while the one in here is covering its entire face? Is that symbolic? And I'm not entirely sure the bird was ever in the box. Remember when Everpuffy slipped his bone to Renraw and they lit it up? The shadows were moving around us in a most peculiar way. Though it only seems apparent in retrospect, it's possible that thing was following us since we got in here, and only attacked when we got to what it was guarding."

"Could the mirrors by themselves be nothing, but assembled in a certain way be made to 'work?'" Emmerson ponders. "Perhaps they are meant to be hung or held by the statues?"

"Be nice if these bird folks had left some instructions," Hazel snaps. "Any luck deciphering those illustrations, Bufer? I don't think we should be breaking anything, or setting them up in a circle and waiting for their owners to step out, until we know what they really do. Why don't we take one back with us and get an expert opinion before we unleash a host of flying shadows?"

"Don't forget, there may be a non-hibernating bear wandering around these halls, now," Tucker says. "We'll need to be careful as we leave."

Renraw sits on the floor, leaning his back against the statue with the screaming mask, obviously still in pain but also deep in thought.

"I expect we'll have no luck bringing these to that charlatan Leach," the wizard wheezes. "No offense meant, of course, Chandler. The boy was asked to leave university."

Tock nods.

"So if we've no other recourse, I do know of a man who may be able to help. An instructor at St. Feldin's. Actually, he's a dean there and the, ah, the chair of the disciplinary committee. We've had some contact. Nothing like Leach's situation, I assure you. The dean is specialized in anti-thaumaturgy, but keeps an extensive personal library on planar magic. Just a hobby of his. He also enjoys vexillology, I understand."

Renraw pauses, painfully aware of everyone staring at him.

"Ahem, at any rate, should we be unable to scare up anyone local with the requisite knowledge to tell us just what the devil these things are, I believe chances are quite good that the dean would take personal interest in our tale were we to write him. Provided the group could come together on the cost for the post, I would be more than happy to draft an appeal. It would be necessary to store the mirrors at a central location while we waited for an answer, of course. Kem House is bar none the most secure, for what it's worth. I realize I'm a little ahead of myself. It's the chills. I'm not able to think straight. You all have my apologies."

Tosh clears his throat softly.

"We have a lot of options here, you know. We can try to experiment with the mirrors in the area. I'm curious about the five statues and five mirrors coincidence, combined with the fact that each of the statues seems to be intentionally averting their gaze. Well, all except for yellow eyes, there. Then there's the interesting fact that the last room had five walls. You know, the room with the water basin." Tosh scratches his chin and considers it a bit more. "You know, there might be some configuration we could set them up in to get a response, either in this room or the other. And heck, we haven't even done a thorough examination of the occupied room, either. Bear or no, we might find a clue there, as well."

He stalks back and forth, thinking aloud.

"And of course there is then also the more practical choice: Take what we can now and come back for more later. We could put the mirrors back in their cases and I could lock them back up. Indeed, if we were to transport them in some way, I'd suggest using the cases as protection. I'd take the cases along as well, because if we do decide to market them at the max, it occurs to me that the best market would be in the collectors' arena, and collectors tend to like the idea of having the complete package.

"But I'm wandering on again. Personally, I think we should exhaust all possibilities of the mirrors here first, which may include evicting yon beastie from its lair. Then lock the mirrors up and come back for them."

He looks cautiously from one to another of the group in turn.

"That is, assuming we can trust each other enough that we can expect them to be here when we get back ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"It would be clever," Emmerson says, lowering the mirror to the ground, "To store the mirrors away from the 'activation' place, if that's what it is. Makes you wonder how safe it would be reassemble them.

"But I am concerned. I do not like the battle scenes depicted in the mirror frames and I certainly do not like that a statue that predates the ascension of Lothian still holds power to attack. Nor do I like that owl-thing.

"Knowledge is power, friends. We need to know what those symbols mean, because if we fiddle with those items the way a child would with a siege weapon, I'm certain we will not live to see Maidensbridge again. We need someone to interpret the symbols accurately."

Hazel nods in agreement.

"Yeah, those battle scenes don't inspire trust in the owl-folk or their magical friends." She stoops down to pull another torch out of her pack. "But if someone wants to hold onto a second torch, I'll head over to the water room with Tosh and see if those walls hold any clues for the mirrors."

Tosh and Hazel head down the stairs and towards the room with the pool. Unnoticed by them, the air coming from the entrance to the south is colder, and a wind may be picking up.

In the other room, there don't appear to be any obvious ways the mirrors could be used here -- there are no holes on the wall, no spots where they could be mounted on shelves and no obvious marks on the floor where they might have once rested.

Tosh pulls out his waterskin and takes a long pull, then empties on the floor. He then proceeds to fill it up with water from the basin.

"Let's rejoin the others, Hazel. I see nothing of importance here."

"It's the images of the robed figures standing inside the frames that have got me bugged," Bufer says to the others, as Tosh and Hazel return. "What does that mean?"

Bufer glances up at Tosh and Hazel as they approach the rest of the party, and raises an eyebrow in askance. Tosh simply shakes his head.

"It is in my learn-ed opinion," offers Renraw, now almost flat on the floor with head resting on the base of the statue, "That whoever these robed figures were used these mirrors for planar travel. Whether the five of them connect with each other, or with other mirrors in other locales, I cannot guess. But at any rate, we're not going to crack the case milling about in here. If the room with the bear provides no further clues, we'll need to get these mirrors out of here and back home so we can seek the aid of experts."

Tosh uncorks the waterskin and pours the water on the face of one of the silver mirrors. The water rinses the mirror clean of the dust of ages, but although it restores it to a sparkling clean, it seems to have no other effect.

"All right then," Bufer says, "I guess it's on to the room with the bear-thing in it, right? Hazel, are you still resolutely against fighting it? Because if that beastie's at all territorial, it's liable to come down to that if we all go tromping in there."

"Whatever it takes to get us moving again!" Renraw dramatically thrusts his finger into the air, still lying quite flat. "Would anyone mind carrying me?"

"I think it's foolish to rouse a sleeping bear, and cruel to kill it when we're the ones invading its home." Hazel's voice is quiet, but resolute. "And I can't even be certain it's a bear at all -- it could be something I've never seen before."

She rubs her free hand over the head of her axe.

"But if you're asking will I let it kill y'all if I could stop it ... no. If you truly believe we'll learn something in the last room that we haven't already learned from these two rooms, then let's go. But might I suggest that if we sense no specific evil from the creature, we leave it be. Run, rather than fight, I mean. And do our best to move quietly and avoid disturbing it at all."

"Well, quiet is what I do best," Tosh grins, "So I suggest we just go over to the top of the stairs, enough to shed some light and allow me to scout on ahead into the tunnel and see what indeed we face. Perhaps Emus would care to follow me part way and watch my back. He has good enough eyes to make out if I were to get mauled."

Tosh turns and heads toward the last stairwell, the one with the excavation, once again.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"If it's just a normal bear that's made this place its home, then we're gonna leave it be," Emus says. "But with all of these skeletons and shadow birdies running around, you also gotta be prepared for the possibility that it ain't right in the head. If that's the way it is, we really don't want it runnin' around these woods makin' this place even more dangerous."

Hazel gives Emus a tight smile and a nod, then follows the gnome and dwarf toward the final chamber. 

The trio troop quietly through the cold corridors.

Hazel lags behind a bit at the stairs to keep the light from reaching the bear's tunnel, and listens intently for any sign that the creature is waking.

In the previous room, Renraw's head is now flat on the hard stone floor.

"So, the rest of us are going to stay in this room, is that right? And wait for the three of them to be killed by the bear and for our exit to be blocked? So we can all be ripped to bits and digested like so much carrion? Do I have that correct, then? Just checking."

He rubs his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

"But if we DO decide -- for whatever reason -- that ISN'T what we want to do, shouldn't we do as we did with the skeleton swords and helmets and move the mirrors downstairs? Anyone want to get started on that? I can't help this time. Pity. And if I could get a hand getting myself down the stairs, that would be great. Any takers? We should probably get moving."

Seeing no one leaping forward with absolute enthusiasm to aid Renraw, Ragglus sighs, slings his shield onto his back, and gently yanks the wizard up by the collar.

"B'ready t'be dropped like a bag o'dung at th'first sign a'trouble."

"Oh, sure. Now that the 'bang, bang' fellow has gone, now we move the mirrors," Emmerson sighs. "Need a hand here, to carry the other end."

"No point moving 'em downstairs just yet," Bufer says, as Ragglus hoists Renraw up on his shoulder. "After all, if we do find some clue to their use in that room, and we decide we want to test it out, we'd just have to haul 'em back up again, right?"

Bufer glances in the direction in which Tosh and the others departed.

"Besides," he says, "I do believe I feel a very stupid plan coming on."

"All I mean to say is," Renraw begins, before scrunching up his face and giggling in fits, "Good God, Chaplin, is that your armpit making that odor? I mean, thank you for helping me up, but come on!

"We can leave the mirrors here. I have no problem with that notion. Would it have killed you, Ragglus, to sprinkle on some talc or something? We can always come back for the silver if need be. But right now, the group of us in this room, we're just human jerky waiting to happen. Think of it, the bear creature tears through the three of them up the other stairs, and then comes for us up here and blocks the exit. We need to, ugh, the stench! We need to find ourselves in BETWEEN bear and exit. Someone else see reason, here, please! And find me a nose plug when you do."

Ragglus lets go, dropping Renraw to the ground.

"Oops."

Bufer winces in spite of himself as Renraw hits the ground, then shakes his head and addresses the others.

"Kem's got a point: we're cornered if we stay here. But this is where Tosh, Emus and Hazel are expecting us to be when they return. And I'm pretty sure Tosh can move quietly enough not to attract attention, as long as the others keep quiet. I reckon we ought to stay, at least 'til they get back."

Bufer walks over to the fallen Renraw, and gets down on one knee to speak to him.

"Kem," he says quietly, "Forget about the 'sir' stuff. Just promise me you'll think before you act, all right? If I heal you now, I can't heal anyone else later if something you do, something you touch, brings ruination down on the group. And that could mean somebody dies. I don't want anyone's death on my conscience, and I'm sure you don't either. So can you do that for me?"

Renraw vigorously tries to rub the newly acquired pain out of his tailbone. The jolt from the drop has snapped him out of whatever bizarre state of euphoria he was in. Or perhaps its because he's been released from Ragglus' musk. His face is a mask of frustration.

"I see what this is. You tried before to strong-arm me before, but I didn't oblige. And now it's time to talk to me as you would a child. This despite the fact that I'm the only one in this hole with the sense to fully appreciate our situation. That bear could come up those stairs at any second, and yet you would sit here with your miniature thumb up your miniature arse. Before today's events, I would have left the decision to heal me to your best judgment. But now I know what a grave error that would be." Renraw wills himself to his shaky feet. "Save your healing for someone who needs it, gnome. We'd better get downstairs. And, oh, I see you've decided to listen to me about the mirrors, as well. Wise decision."

Renraw makes his way with the group down into the room with the columns, using the wall for support the whole way.

"Think for a moment, people, difficult as it may be," Tock snaps. "Moving the mirrors to the room with the columns makes sense. We can put them in any of the rooms at that point."

Bufer shrugs.

"All right, good point. Let's shut the mirrors up inside their cases first, though, so nothing gets broken."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tosh, Emus and Hazel mount the northwest stairs. Tosh motions for Hazel to stay where she is.

"Emus, when we get to the excavation, stop and let me go ahead of you," he whispers urgently. "If it appears that I will go around a turn and you lose sight of me, move up _quietly_ until you can see me again. Hazel, when you can no longer see Emus, move up to the excavation but _no_ farther."

Tosh and Emus begin moving again. With a hand gesture, Tosh indicates Emus' watch post. With a nervous sigh, the gnome slips into the tunnel, moving painfully slowly to remain as quiet as possible, carefully picking his way around the loose debris on the tunnel floor. Every dozen feet or so, he pauses, getting a good look at what's ahead of him.

The tunnel is narrow, only about five feet wide, but not shaped for humanoids to walk through comfortably. Old and dry root tips poke out of the dirt sides. The tunnel veers in a westerly direction at first and then bends north. Standing at the turn, Tosh can see it turns again, northwest, almost immediately. The sound of whatever is in the den ahead is louder here, and the smell much more pungent. The creature beyond groans, low and loud, its breathing slow and steady. Tosh turns and waves to Emus, pointing to the floor at his position. Then he moves quietly up to the next turn.

It's less than 10 feet after the turn northwest that the tunnel turns north. But from here, Tosh can see into the den. It's a larger room than the tunnel might indicate, probably a cave carved out by a long-gone trickle of water ages before whatever creature found its way into this cairn and clawed that particular wall. Irregularly shaped, it is approximately 25 feet wide for 25 feet, then gets five feet wider to the west and wider still around a steep corner to the east. The north wall is roughly angled toward the northeast.

In the northeast corner of the room, amidst feathers and fur and thick musk, something sleeps in its nest. It appears to be a bear -- and not a small one -- but its face and paws are not visible, as it's curled up into a ball, possibly for the winter. But perhaps it's not a bear: A fringe of what look like feathers are visible along one edge of the sleeping form.

In the northeast corner, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tosh recognizes the mauled and half-eaten form of three adventurers, two human, one dwarf. They are long dead, probably killed shortly after the first frost of the winter. But there is the unmistakable gleam of coin in a split leather sack near one corpse's feet, 30 or 40 feet away from where Tosh now stands.

Tosh quietly turns and meets Emus and indicates that they should rejoin Hazel. They make their way back down to the center room where it appears that the rest of the group has finished up re-crating and stacking the mirrors next to the columns. He then recounts in best detail the scene he's taken in.

"Whatever that thing is, one thing is for certain: It's a man-eater. Therefore it's a menace to the locality. I'm sorry, Hazel, but you know I'm telling the truth. I'm not sure we'll get as lucky as with the last thing. It'll be a major risk, for sure. Me? I can go either way. I'd just as soon it not be here the next time I, er, we come back, though."

"The beast dies," Emmerson says in a soft but forceful voice.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Right, then," Tock says. "Those of us good at killing nasty things should sneak up on the thing and slay it while it sleeps. No need to risk incurring further harm to the rest of us."

"That's what I like ta hear, Tock!" Emus grins. "Maybe you kin put another arrow through this beastie's eye, too!"

"It didn't sound like those tunnels made for easy traveling for you talk folk," Bufer says, glancing from one member of the party to the other. "Not a lot of room to move in there, either: Y'all might just wind up getting in each other's way. Might be easier to lure it out of there and ambush it once it's out in the open."

"There is that brute approach, yes," Tock says, "Or Tosh and our barbaric friend could try to sneak up on it, bash it apart, and, if it lives, lead it out to our carefully-laid ambush."

"I betcha it's hibernating," Emus says. "If it eats men, and it hasn't come after us after all the racket Renraw keeps makin', then it's obviously got somethin' else on its mind."

"The battleaxe," Renraw interjects. "The strongest here should creep up on the thing and bring the girl's axe down on its head while it sleeps."

"I take it you've never been hunting, Seed-counter," Tucker drawl. "I've seen animals go for an hour or more, even with a sure killing wound on 'em. We send someone in there, they'll need speed and fortitude more than strength, or else they'll be snack food for a birdbear with an axe in its forehead. Bufer, your plan sounds good to me. Seed, you still have your butter? We can still lay your grease trap if things get too rough."

"I don't care where you've been hunting," Renraw snaps back. "There is no creature that will continue fighting with a severed spinal column. There may be some minor death spasms, maybe even a slim chance of one last deadly flail, but no beheaded animal will fight. Tell me the shot would be too difficult, tell me there's not enough leverage the way the beast lies, tell me there's no way to be certain where to make the cut, but do not try to tell me an axe cannot kill a sleeping bear with one blow."

Hazel, who has been listening with a pained expression, finally speaks up.

"If we lure it out here, it's got four options to dodge past us, and one of those leads it outside. We have no idea how fast it moves or how sharp its claws are," she says. "And despite Renraw's simplistic notions about combat, if we could simply end its life with one blow, that would be for the best.

"Since we can't, however, we either need to lure it to the chamber at the top of the stairs, or move silently into its den. The den itself is wide enough for the job; it's just the tunnel that we don't want to be trapped in."

Renraw rounds on Haze, stabbing toward her with an outstretched finger.

"And you, woman, do not get to tell me what's simplistic! You, who has been whining since the start about letting the thing live. Disagree if you must, provide an alternate strategy if you can, but you will not condescend. You haven't the right, you whom the gnome healed, no questions asked. No 'why didn't you dodge better, Hazel? You're so foolish!' No 'you're endangering the party by being a woman, Hazel!' Just 'oh, I see someone is hurt, I shall use my healing gifts to restore them in the name of my god. Simply because it is the right thing to do.'"

Renraw's imitation of Bufer is poor but clearly recognizable.

"Boy, if the beast comes out here goin' on about account balancing or something, or whether it's better cast an acid spell or use a club, then we'd all be happy to hear yer expertise," Emus snarls. "Until then, I think it's high time you shut the hell up. I'm tired'a listening to yer whining."

"Renraw, do not forget that the condition you are in was the result of your own foolishness," Emmerson says. "Twice you meddled with things you did not comprehend and one of them swatted you like we would a bug.

"The feud you and Ebuferpaly have going on is both tiresome and dangerous. I cannot force him to heal you more than I can force you to recognize your mistake and be healed. I see his point about our limited healing resources and that we cannot squander that talent. But what I'd like you to understand is that if the creature wakes and somehow gets past us, it will need to do nothing harder than breathe down your neck to kill you. Mourned you will be, and -- if we're lucky -- I will carry your corpse back to town to give burial."

"Fine, ya great bloody nitwit! The thing's sleeping curled up in a ball, not with its neck stretched out on a chopping block," Tucker joins in on Renraw. "Most people wouldn't need that spelled out for them, but while we're at it, grass is green and fire is hot! Oh, and after you breathe out, don't forget to breathe back in again. Anything else you need us to hold your hand and walk you through? Or maybe they were going to cover all that in your _second_ year of schooling."

"You doltish oaf!" Renraw explodes. "You've not been in the den with the bear, you don't know how its neck is oriented, and you haven't the slightest clue whether or not the chop is possible. Your first answer was that it couldn't be done. Now, upon me reminding you that, yes, it could be done, you've tried to make it sound as though that isn't what you said.

"I don't mind if the group doesn't want to use my plan, if you believe it to be too difficult, or if you believe the dwarf hasn't the fortitude. But don't tell me it's not possible when clearly it is. I don't know what magical woodland creatures you all spend your time hunting, but I've studied anatomy. And I've killed enough small animals to know. When you separate a thing's brain from its body -- unless it's a chicken -- you don't get 'thrashing,' you get a couple of minor, easily avoidable spasms. I'd do it if I had the propensity for axe-swinging that some of you have, or if the gnome, the, er, sneaky one, told us how its head was oriented.

"Now, I get the idea that the group is starting to become irritated with me," he says, suddenly taking on a pious air, "And Lothian knows I'm not one to rub people the wrong way, so I just have one request before I still myself. Please choose your words more carefully before you dismiss what I have to say."

Hazel has been flipping her axe in the air and catching it by the handle over and over as Renraw has gone on and on. Now that he's wound down, she flips the battleaxe around in her hand and offers him the haft.

"Perhaps you'd like to strike the killing blow, then? It's apparently quite simple: Just sneak up on the sleeping animal, determine where its spine is, and sever it with one strike. Then leap back to avoid any unpleasant disemboweling as it thrashes itself to death."

"All right, all right," Bufer says loudly enough to be heard over the din. He puts one hand on the outstretched haft of Hazel's axe, and shakes his head softly at her before the wizard has a chance to reply. "Kem's cast his vote, as is his right: he wants to beard the animal in its den as it sleeps, along with Tock and Hazel, and Emus I believe. Tucker and I lean more towards luring it out into the open and ambushing it. Anyone else want to speak up?"

"Yes, I've something to say, now that I think about it." Renraw is clearly still angry. "Your plan, gnome, is not a bad one. And I've no problem using the ingenious grease trap I devised as a back-up, if the need arises. Lothian knows that I am not one to hold a grudge. I can and will let go of all the various wrongs done me today. So I just want the group to know that if the birdbear kills one or more of us because we didn't use my plan, I will still mourn them just the same as if we had made the correct decision instead."

The group stares at Renraw in silence and, feeling awkward, the wizard busies himself brushing his clothes clean.

"Well said, Kem," Bufer says, with a raised eyebrow, before turning to the others "Ahem. Now, does anyone else -- anyone who isn't a squirrel-molesting bookkeeper -- have anything to add? Rags? Emmerson? Tosh? You lot haven't weighed in on the options before us, yet."

"I have no problem with the luring idea," Tosh says softly. "Indeed, I think I could easily hide in the den and wait for it to get into the tunnel, thereby having an ample opportunity at its exposed hindquarters.

"Of course, that leaves me a bit separated from the rest. Not an optimal situation in my condition, but still good for a decent amount of carnage on my part. I suggest if we try this particular tactic that we wait until it reaches the non-excavated area. Footing for our people will be better there and we'll be able to put more on attack, and keeping it in a more confined area.

"Yes, yes, I think the idea is sound. I suggest that Bufer provides the illusion, as I may compromise my hiding if I were to do it. What I can do is wake it with a rock, and then quickly hide. The rest will be up to you in the luring, as I'll be cowering in the deepest of shadow. I only hope it can't smell fear."

Ragglus yawns, switching from his flail to his longsword, then turns and spits.

"Bring it out here n' kill it."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"We'd best make sure our lure is a damned good one," Hazel says. "Last thing we need is the creature to go snuffling around its den and find a snack while the rest of us are still waiting in the other room."

Tock begins tuning his banjo.

"I remember a good song. 'In Fairer Times With Thee (And Fairer Still with She).' When the bear arrives I'll play the breakdown to accompany the beat down."

"I agree with luring the creature out," Emmerson says, preparing his sword and shield. "I am uncomfortable with doing battle against a sleeping creature. If we need a lure, look no further."

"Hmm," Bufer says, stroking his chin. "My illusion will have shape, and make sounds, but it won't have a smell. If this beastie we're dealin' with tends to follow its nose -- or beak, as the case may be -- our lure may not prove terribly effective."

He looks over at Tosh.

"It's a risk, lad, but it's mainly your risk. Still think it's worth trying?"

"Yes, I do, especially having live bait in the form of our redoubtable paladin standing in plain sight at the mouth of the cave. If it takes the bait, you lure him in, if he doesn't and comes for me ... well, let's just say I'm not the most cooperative meal it could wish for and I dare say I could stave off his advances till help arrives." Tosh nods his head. "Yep, that's the way I see it. In fact, I'd be more worried about Emmerson trying to take the heat off in a rescue attempt were he by himself." 

"All righty then, sounds like we got ourselves the makings of a stupid plan," Bufer nods. "Unless anyone has any objections or fine-tuning, I suggest Tosh here shows us where he reckons the ambush should be set up."

"Aye, strap it on, let's do this." Tosh leads the way up the northwest stair waiting for the torch so everyone can see before whispering more instructions. "Should we light another torch? Or conjure more light? Emmerson might need to illuminate himself, and I'd hate the group be left in darkness."

He then indicates the far wall, with its crude cave.

"I suggest the warriors arrange themselves in an arc about the entrance. You may not all have room to fight, but there it is. Just be sure to give Emmerson an escape route. Plenty of room for the wizard, cleric and the bard to ply their trades in the middle of the room." Tosh nods at Emmerson. "When everyone is ready, I'll lead the bait to the end of the tunnel and situate myself and hide. You'll know when all hell breaks loose."

"The light will make more of an inviting target," Emmerson says. "I also plan to scream a couple of verses in Celestial. Who knows, perhaps the beast is a believer."

"Emmerson, if yer fancy song don't work, try using this." Emus hands the young paladin a rock.

"We're all going to die and I'm never going to find out how much those mirrors are worth," Renraw moans quietly.

"Don' piss yer nethers jus' yet," Ragglus says with a sneer, taking his position near the wall. "Hope y'brought 'nuff talc f'yer britches."

"Right enough, lads," Deputy Tucker Gallaway says, a military swagger to his step as he inspects everyone getting into position. "Let's get Renraw and the rest of the delicate flowers over by the door for a quick retreat, if need be. Those of us who can take a hit will keep our backs to the corner. With any luck, we'll all walk out of here under our own power."

Tucker begins to ad-lib, calling upon a similar speech once given by Sheriff Thoric Glangirn.

"Remember, we fight to defend the village. As Lothian teaches us, to defend one's home is to defend the empire, so today we will serve our glorious empire well. For years we've all lived in the Emperor's favor and in Lothian's; together, they've given us everything we need. Today is the day we give back!

"Fight now, fight!" He raps the handle of his mace against his shield as he takes his position, confident that if the bear hasn't woken up yet, this isn't going to be what does it. "Fight for fortune and the brilliant dawn!"

Hazel ignores Tucker as she silently prays an urgent prayer that Estanna will see the entire group safely back to hearth and home. She settles her axe in her hand and takes up a position on the left of the heavy fighters to wait for the creature to appear.

"While I've no quarrel with Lothian himself," Bufer says, his hands raised to summon the illusory figure to draw out the beast, "His church and the empire can suck it."

He glances quickly up at Emmerson.

"No offense."

The gnome closes his eyes and concentrates on generating a shimmering, humanoid-shaped mass of light, which sounds like a small party of hunters none too concerned about moving quietly. As an afterthought, he uses a last bit of magic to make his illusion smell like Tucker.

"Well said, gnome," Tock says. "In the future, perhaps we should leave the speeches to people with more than three score words in their vocabulary."

Emmerson drops the rock Emus gave him and takes a few steps into the tunnel, surveying his route. Satisfied on what he saw, he returns to the group.

"I need someone to carry the torch and stand behind me. After that, I am ready for the attack, friend Tosh."

Hazel hands off the most-used torch to Bufer. Tosh quickly and quietly moves into the rough tunnel, with the paladin close behind and the other gnome and his luminescent creation tagging closely in the rear.

"Here," whispers Tosh, pointing at the widening entrance. He slips to the left and finds a suitably dark niche in the irregular wall, about halfway down toward the nest, and silently draws his blade. Whispering a silent benediction to whichever of the 24 Gods of the Hours governs the current moment, he readies himself for the tricky part. "Oh well, I never wanted to live forever ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

In the darkness, Tosh weighs a rock he's picked up from the loose stone and earth of the tunnel. He raises it, preparing to throw and hopes he's right about this plan. And he throws.

The stone hits hard owlbear skull with a heavy thunk and Emmerson takes that as his cue, belting out a hymn in Celestial, "The Path of the Illuminated Warrior."

"_Guide, oh Lothian, our hands and swords and in our fight, let us see Light_" he sings. The young paladin is many things -- devout, kind, tender-hearted -- but a good singer is not one of them.

Bufer winces at the badly off-key Emmerson in the flickering torchlight.

"Don't quit your day job," he mutters under his breath. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Bufer positions the vaguely man-shaped projection directly in front of the creature, causing it to dance wildly in time to Emmerson's singing.

"C'mon, c'mon," he mutters to himself. "Take the bait, you great ugly lummox."

The den echoes with the sound of the rock bouncing off the beast's skull, and for a moment, it seems like nothing is happening, other than a tin-eared paladin singing in an archaic language.

And then the creature shudders, releasing another blast of flatulence as it shudders and awakens. With a start, it seems to realize that it's not alone and begins to quickly shake off the haze of hibernation. Its head snaps around suddenly, golden eyes with black slit pupils gleaming in the light of the magical figure shimmering in its den.

The beast stands and stands and stands, rising up hugely before Bufer's magical creation.

The beast, as big and as broad as a bear, roars with anger, attempting to frighten off this intruder, the roar tearing free of its beak, its mixture of feathers near its face and shoulders and fur quiver as muscles that have remained still for most of the winter rippling with rage, shaking dirt and dust free as it does. Then it drops forward into a half-crouch and swings a set of massive talons at Bufer's evocation.

As if his singing weren't an act of war on its own, Emmerson bangs his sword against his shield, to further call the attention of the beast.

"_And lo, and behold, a sword is worth more than gold!_"

"Gotcha!" Bufer hisses as the beast swipes its massive paw at his glimmering illusion. He waves frantically at Emmerson to get his attention, then jerks a thumb over his shoulder towards the tunnel, indicating that they should begin making their way towards the ambush point. Moving as quickly as possible without making undue noise, Bufer begins moving into the tunnel, drawing his brilliant capering figure after him a few feet at a time, attempting to lure the creature out of its lair.

The owlbear's talons rake through the figure harmlessly, and it snorts in frustration, lumbering quickly after it as it recedes before him, towards the tunnel.

Bufer and Emmerson pick up the pace as they make their way through the tunnel in the flickering light of the torch, Emmerson singing at the top of his lungs all the while. Bufer continues to draw the projection along, well behind them, at a speed even with their own.

The enraged beast follows into the tunnel, still roaring in frustration and making ineffectual swipes at the luminescent figure. Tosh figures this is about as good as it gets, and detaches himself from the shadows of the cave wall, following at a discreet distance.

As he goes, he allows a suppressed shudder to rip through his body after having silently breathed in a massive amount of owlbear flatulence.

"Phew."

He wrinkles his nose in disgust and wonders what crawled up inside the owlbear's ass and died...

Moving their feet carefully to avoid roots and loose soil, Emmerson and Buffer move backwards, inching closer and closer to the ambush point. Emmerson finishes his first hymn and now frantically tries to remember the words to "In Your Light We Shine," earning himself a sharp look from Bufer.

"'Light' this, 'light' that. Remind me to teach you some proper hymns when we get out of this," he says. "At least 'The Pantsing of Mithra' has a proper pie fight in it."

The owlbear lumbers on all fours through the tunnel, the path clearly having been formed by years of him using this lair, shaped by his massive shoulders, the ground marked by his wicked talons.

Half-running, half stumbling, Bufer and Emmerson burst from the mouth of the tunnel into the room beyond as though shot from a cannon, each dodging to the opposite side of the opening.

Still singing as loudly as he can, Emmerson skids to a halt directly to the left, and turns to face the oncoming beast, sword and shield at the ready.

Bufer breaks right and sprints several yards towards Renraw, the smoke and flame from the torch trailing behind him as he positions himself between the frostbitten young wizard and the mouth of the tunnel, then spins round to face it.

"C'mon, c'mon," Bufer mutters as he watches the dark tunnel, mentally reeling in his trailing projection.

For a few tense moments, there is no sign of it, or the horrible beast chasing it, and Bufer begins to worry that, in his haste, he actually got too far ahead, and caused it to wink out. Fearing for Tosh, he begins to inch ever slightly towards the mouth of the tunnel, ice water running in his veins ...

... and then there is a flicker of blue light visible just beyond the first turn, and suddenly the shimmering humanoid figure comes running into view. And just beyond it, barely audible over Emmerson's warbling, is the sound of a very large and frustrated animal advancing very, very quickly.

The party tenses. The projection emerges from the tunnel. Bufer holds one hand out in front of him and brings it to a halt. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he commands it to bend over and drop its illuminated drawers.

"HA!" he shouts, his voice echoing sharply. "KISS THIS, YA GREAT FEATHERED DUNGHEAP!"

The owlbear bursts through the glowing figure, its roars echoing even louder off the hard stone of this room, its rear talons shrieking as they claw at the floor below it as it attempts to stop itself.

Now partway through the figure, the owlbear locks eyes with Emmerson to his left and lashes out with one heavy paw, long talons gleaming in the torchlight. The talons connect, sinking through the gaps in the scale mail and, to judge from the small pieces of metal bouncing off the statues and floor, creating a few more. Emmerson groans loudly as the bloody talons sweep back out, spattering the ground with red drops.

Tock plays "In Fairer Times With Thee (And Fairer Still with She)" loudly, but the owlbear does not even seem to notice.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Emus bursts forward, swinging his big club, but it bounces off the owlbear's heavily muscled feathered shoulders harmlessly.

Hazel's battleaxe connects, though, biting into fur.

From behind the owlbear, Ragglus' stabs forward with his longsword, sinking it into the rump of the beast.

Beside him, the deputy constable swings his flail, striking the beast on the hip.

Near the statues, Renraw shoots out one finger, pointing it at the owlbear, and a pale blue ray of ice and frost instantly traces its way between man and beast.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood and his eyes burning with holy zeal, Emmerson swings his short sword at the monster's face, but the blade glances off the creature's beak.

Tosh disengages himself from the shadows at the tunnel's mouth, launching a sneak attack with the needle-like gnomish rapier in his hand. But it's no good, and he's unable to find a way in through the matted fur and feathers.

A red fog of pain clouds Emmerson's eyes. His instincts scream for him to flee, to escape and save life and limb. He blinks slowly as he watches his companions strike at the beast.

He blinks away his surprise. His pain. His doubts. His fear. His anger.

If this is his day to die, so be it., just as long as the beast takes no one else with him.

The fight suddenly accelerates back to normal speed and Emmerson grips the short sword harder, trying to find an opening in the beast's defense, so he can bury the sword up to the hilt.

Renraw's mouth gapes just a bit when he sees what the creature's done to Emmerson, momentarily forgetting all the lecturing the paladin does and focussing on the very real danger before him. He prepares to cast another spell.

Bufer hisses through his teeth as he's spattered with Emmerson's blood. Concentrating on his projection, he backs it up a few feet and has it begin to dance wildly directly in front of the great beast's face, in an attempt to distract and disorient it.

At The Cat & The Fiddle the day before, Emus saw the youngsters get all bright-eyed and excited at the chance of exploring the unknown. Not heeding his own words of caution, Emus took it upon himself to go with them, and to protect them, if necessary. Seeing the owlbear rake Emmerson's side, he realizes just how close he is to losing one of these kids.

Angry at himself, angry at the owlbear, and even angry at these kids, Emus loses the conditioning that he's worked so hard to build up, and instead looses the rage that he constantly keeps in check.

No more tactics, no more battle cries, just violence.

The owlbear hits Emmerson with a massive paw once more, and this time, there is a wet crunch. The paladin slams against the wall and when he collapses to the floor, he leaves a red streak along the stones before laying still.

With the singing knight down, the owlbear snarls and turns to its right, lashing out at Hazel, her battleaxe dripping with the owlbear's blood. Its talon connects, a spray of blood from her midsection spattering the statue beside her. The owlbear's attempt to bite her misses, though, as Hazel staggers back a half-step from the blow.

Renraw roars something unintelligible, and his spell takes form: A shimmering dart flies from his outstretched hand without being thrown, arcing towards the owlbear, twisting through the air to avoid the wizard's comrades and stabbing the beast in the ribs.

Emus' eyes burning with an almost incomprehensible rage, the dwarf berserker swings his massive club with two knotty fists. The club hits solidly, and there's a cracking noise as he breaks at least two of the owlbear's ribs.

Ragglus stabs again with his sword, aiming for the wet gash he previously created in the beast's flank.

Tock's banjo clattering to the floor, his bow and arrow are already in his hands, and an arrow twangs forth, but it goes wide, striking the wall above the fallen paladin's head.

Her lips dripping blood and a touch of vomit, Hazel slashes her battleaxe at the owlbear's golden eyes.

Tosh stabs forward with his rapier once more, and this time, it sinks into the beast's flesh.

With a strangled cry, Tucker brings his flail down on the owlbear's back, and the creature's muscles spasm in pain.

The world seems to stop a moment, and later, Hazel will swear she saw the beast's black slit pupils turn a shimmery gray a moment, and she can see her own distorted reflection in the creature's eyes before they close, and the owlbear collapses to the floor beside Emmerson, their blood mingling together on the ancient stone floor.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the owlbear falls, so does Emus' greatclub. Emus leaps over to Emmerson and eases him gently into a lying position on the floor. The combined effects of the adrenaline wearing off and fear make his shout raw with emotion: "BUFER!"

Hazel drops to her knees, her axe clattering to the stone beside her. The torch flickers in her shaking hands before it, too, is released.

She blanches at the remnants of Emmerson's mail, and she moans quietly through clenched teeth. Fearing her healing skills won't be up to the task, she tries anyway, pressing her hands to the paladin's chest to staunch the blood.

"Bufer!" Her voice seems overly loud to her own ears. "He's out of it! A little healing wouldn't go amiss!"

She leans harder on the gaping holes in the armor, watching wide-eyed as the blood wells out around her fingers, soaking her knees and the dwarf's leggings.

Ragglus drives an extra blow into the owlbear, partially to make sure it's dead, partially in outrage that the paladin has fallen. If this is the kind of protection you provide, Lothian, the fighter curses inwardly, I'm thankful I failed your precious trials.

"Help'im, dammit," Ragglus barks to no one in particular, suddenly feeling quite useless.

Tosh rushes to the paladin and presses his hands in a compress near Hazel's try to staunch the flow.

"Had to make yerself the best target, didn't you?" he hisses.

Bufer drops the torch behind him, and he rushes forward and elbows his way through the crowd surrounding the fallen paladin until he can lay a hand on Emmerson's shoulder. Grasping the symbol dangling around his neck with his other hand, he hurriedly whispers a prayer to the god of gnomes, channeling positive energy through the fetish and into Emmerson's wounds.

The paladin's wounds close, although he remains coated in the blood shed so far. Although his eyes do not reopen, his breathing, which had been ragged and shallow, returns to normal.

"Good work, Bufer," says Tucker, stowing his mace and shield. "And everyone else, as well. Dry and brittle skeletons are one thing, but this was quite another."

He stoops to examine Emmerson, but since his medical knowledge doesn't go much beyond pulling a splinter or resting a strained muscle, he doesn't bother pretending he knows any more.

"Is it safe to move him? It won't be an easy walk, but I can likely carry him back to town -- but that means the mirrors will be staying here until we can make another trip."

Hazel pulls her bloodied hands back from the unconscious paladin, grateful for the cleric's quick intervention. A twinge from her abdomen as she moves reminds her of the owlbear's talon, and she probes the slice in her leather armor with her fingers.

"Err, Bufer?" She looks up with a wry half-smile. "Could you slap a bandage on me before we get moving?"

"Hang on, hang on," Bufer says absently, still concentrating on the unconscious paladin. "One patient at a time, please. Nobody's carryin' anyone outta here, just yet."

Still clutching his ersatz gold nugget, the young gnome closes his eyes and murmurs a second prayer to Garl Glittergold, once again channeling his faith through his holy symbol and into Emmerson's prone form.

A bit more color returns to the paladin's cheeks, and his eyelids flutter as he begins to wake up.

Bufer smiles and lets out a heavy sigh of relief as the fallen paladin begins to wake. He releases his hold on Emmerson's shoulder and his holy symbol, and brings both hands up to his face, finally allowing himself to process his fear of what almost happened. He breathes in and out a few times to get a hold of himself, then drops his hands to his sides and looks down at Hazel's wounded abdomen.

"Tch," he mutters, and reaches for his healer's kit. "All right, listen up, the lot of you. As far as divine healing is concerned, as my aunt's niece's step-mother was fond of saying: The muffin shop is now closed. You're all gonna have to settle for the more rudimentary kind from here on out. Bandages, needle and thread is about all I got left. Understand? Anyone who doesn't want to be stitched up by 'Doc Asshigh' better watch themselves."

With that, Bufer sets about winding bandages round and round Hazel's injured midriff.

Emmerson's eyes blink open for a second, then they shut close. He wets his lips and forms a question in a raspy voice.

"We got him?"

"Damn straight," Emus smiles.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Right, then, fantastic," Tock says, clapping his hands together. "Let's go see what untold treasure the beast slept with. Shall we?"

"A few silver, I'd wager. But yes, I think a quick look-see is in order," Tosh says. He glances at Bufer and catches the cleric's disapproving look. "There wasn't anything else in there, Bufer. I'd have seen it. Besides, it might be a good idea to see if that tunnel leads out. After we finish that up, we can check this room for the riddle of the mirrors. I believe we still have plenty of torchlight left; it's only been a hour or so."

He looks at the rest of the party.

"I hope we weren't considering taking those mirrors back to Maidensbridge by hand. We can get a wagon or cart and come back for them. I'd say just leave them in the center room where they lay.

"On the other hand, we shouldn't have any trouble carrying out the weapons and what not we gathered from the bones. What d'ya think?"

Emmerson slowly stands up, his mind half-refusing to accept that he's still alive despite the extensive damage his scale mail suffered. He moves one hand over the broken area, slowly feeling what minutes before was a deadly wound.

"I thank you for the ministering received. I would not be alive now if it wasn't for you. And for that, I am deeply in your debt," the paladin says, wetting his dry lips. "I think we are not in shape for another sortie. Renraw and I are incapable of sustaining another blow and I doubt Bufer has more healing spells left. That said, I agree with Tosh. We can do some light exploration to see what else was there in the areas we know are safe and then return to Maidensbridge to rest, heal and recover."

Bufer chews his bottom lip, considering Tosh's argument. He glances from his fellow gnome to the others, then sighs and nods reluctantly.

"All right," he says, shaking his head. "But let's make it quick, yes? I'd like to start the journey back to town while the sun's still relatively high in the sky. Gettin' set upon by wolves and such in the dark on the walk home is the last thing we need."

Bufer turns around and bends over to scoop the torch he'd been carrying up off the floor.

"Listen, while you lot ransack that thing's cave, I'm gonna head back and take a closer look at those corpses. I don't think the beast had anything to do with those odd-lookin' cysts I saw, after all, and I'd like to be sure we're not bringin' a plague back with us to Maidensbridge. Anybody got a knife or a dagger I can borrow?"

"Here you go." Tosh hands Bufer a dagger, sheath and all. "Might be a good idea for someone hale to go with him. Just, you know, to keep an eye on his back."

Hazel stiffly rises to her feet.

"Thanks for the patch job, Bufer. I see anymore creatures, and I'm jumpin' outta the way." She stows her axe and grabs her torch. "I'm up for taking a look at the owlbear's den, though."

Bufer, Emus and Tucker head back downstairs to examine the slain kobolds.

Tosh looks off into the darkened tunnel.

"Let's get this out of the way, shall we?" He motions for the others to follow and heads off into the tunnel.

Hazel examines the size of the animal's teeth, paws and claws to help her recognize an owlbear in case she ever runs across signs of another one, then follows Tosh's group.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tock bursts out into song, strumming his banjo as he follows, high-stepping like an imperial soldier on parade.

"Off we go a looting,
No more growl-hooting,
For the owl-bear has been slain
By men without a brain
And a wizard frozen cold
And a fair bard, he was so bold.
So we'll take the dead thing's stuff,
Because we're so very tough,
And I'll leave this crappy town
All the ladies will surely frown
Their eye a winking brown
Will get no more good pounds
From their beloved Tock.
They'll settle for an asshigh Doc
His arm will do just fine
Garl's gold shoved in their mines.
But that's not here nor there
Let's just all prepare
To take our deserved crap
After the deadly scrap."

Hazel gives the bard a look as though she's going to smack him, but rolls her eyes and says nothing.

The contingent heading for the owlbear den stops ate the mouth of the enlarged area and looks around for any signs of movement. Satisfied that it's pretty clear, they head toward the obvious focal point: The dead bodies.

"Their scent is even worse than the dwarf's," Tock gags. "My gods."

Tosh kneels beside them and does a quick visual search without touching them.

"What do you think? Roll 'em over and check 'em out? I mean, I know it'd be poor form to just loot 'em and leave 'em, but I'm figuring we probably don't have a lot of options for doing the proper thing for them in our situation. Maybe we could make a point of getting them back to town after we bring a wagon back?" Tosh looks over to the glint of coin. "And it seems a waste to just let that lay there."

"Can anyone recognize them?" Emmerson asks, "Because if they are Bridgers, I'd like to give their silver back to their families"

Tosh looks at the wounded paladin with a pained expression.

"Ah, but you see, dear Emmerson, we can't be sure that this bag actually belonged to these poor folk. We cannot even be sure these poor folk knew each other. In which case, who's to say who the bag belonged to begin with? Indeed, if we were to take the bodies back, and found no one to recognize them, I assure you that the constabulary would be happy to charge us for dropping them in their laps." Tosh begins searching in earnest now. "It may be for the best, considering the deplorable condition of the remains, to try to find some sort of identification that may be recognizable, and inter the bodies ourselves when we come back. You could even send them off with a few words from Lothian, if you would, Emmerson."

The bodies are in bad condition indeed. Whenever this trio encountered the owlbear, it was not recently, and it went very poorly for them.

The first, probably male, wore a now rotten robe. Beside him is a quarterstaff with a leather hood cinched around one end, a leather tie around the hood, keeping the hood on, but able to be whisked off easily when needed.

The second, probably female, wore now moldy and much-chewed leather armor. Still clutched in one hand is a longsword still in its scabbard.

The third body is not human and is shorter and somewhat frailer than a dwarf, but larger and stockier than a gnome. Whatever color its skin once was cannot be discerned, as rot has turned it mostly gray. An ankle sheath and a dagger stick through the rotting woolen trousers on its remaining leg.

Each also has various small pouches at their waists, and three identical metal flasks. The sack nearby is almost entirely split open along one seam, and there is the glint of gold and a little bit of platinum within.

Tosh reaches for one of the flasks, intent on examining it for any conspicuous markings.

"Emmerson, on second thought, it might be as well to just give them their rites on the spot. I'm not sure moving them would be such a great idea. But then again, I'm not real big on religious formalities, you know."

Hazel kneels beside the bodies and tries to carefully shift the rotting clothes aside to check for any cyst-like formations in the bodies, figuring Bufer would want to know.

"I think Tosh is right, Emmerson. Perhaps you could say a prayer for them here, and lay them out nicely?" She glances around the cavern. "I suppose we could create a small cairn to keep vermin off the bodies, but they don't seem to be in any shape to move easily."

Tosh inspects the flask -- which has a thin wax seal covering a cork stopper, fat enough to be jerked out easily and a metal toad engraved on the bottom of flask -- as Hazel gives the bodies a once-over. Not only are the wounds different from those on the body of the kobolds, there do not appear to be any cysts in these three.

Tosh hands the flask to the bard.

"Anything familiar to you?"

Tosh takes the longsword, staff and dagger and places them apart from the bodies. He removes the belt pouches one at a time and examines the contents.

"Poor souls," Emmerson sighs. "If they were Bridgers and we wanted to sell or repair their gear, Therurt would likely recognize it and that would raise a lot of questions."

He gets down to one knee, grabs his short sword and places his forehead against the handle and crosspiece, as he recites a prayer for the dead.

"Great Lothian, hallowed Saint Daris, you are the warriors, you have ridden alongside my friends here into battle, you have also felt their love and caring when you were wounded or lonely; ride alongside of them, for now they are in this the hardest battle for their life, the battle for inner peace. Now is the time for you to care for them. Great Lothian, from your heart all spirits have come; when they return to you, cradle them gently in your arms and allow them to join their friends in the skies. If they want to hurry themselves to you, tell them you are not ready; and they must wait, for now they can pass on peace to others." He sheathes his sword and stands. "There, I pray souls are at peace."

Tosh holds up the pouches. All three of the dead have various personal effects in some of their pouches -- a lucky rabbit's foot, a plug of long-ruined chewing tobacco, a copper coin stamped with an obscene image instead of the emperor's face -- but one belt pouch from the robe-wearing man contained what were likely once spell components, including various spices, small pinches of sulfur, bits of fur and the like. A belt pouch off the shorter person contains a rusted-to-uselessness lockpick.

"And here we have possible means of identification," Tosh says. "Not that I'm optimistic that a rabbits foot or lewd money is a great identifier."

He holds up the spell components.

"Renraw? This may be up your alley." With that, he tosses the pouch to the mage. He then takes the other two flasks and hands those to the bard. "Those look the same?"

"Yes, the toad on the bottom, see?" Tock says. "The flasks may have come from the House of the Transformed Toad, over in Middleborough."

Tosh goes to the owlbear nest and looks around in it. He gently picks up the remains and dislodges the tube from the hand. He walks over and places the hand with the robed figure and the tube with the small pile at their feet. He takes an empty sack from his backpack and tosses it to Ragglus.

"I don't think that old sack will be much use in the carrying of the coins."

Renraw picks up the spell component pouch from where it dropped when the wizard was unable to catch it. He examines the contents very superficially and mindlessly stuffs them in his own bag.

"I divine nothing from these spell components. Worthless, worthless. But judging by those queer vials, I do believe these fools knew more than we. They were here with purpose beyond increasing their personal wealth. Perhaps the liquid within the vials has to do with the fouled kobolds downstairs. The cause of -- or cure for -- their pestilence, perhaps?

"On the other hand, it could to do with the mirrors and the shadow creature, as well, or perchance both. Let us quickly get what can be gotten from here and return to the outer room and the mystery of the mirrors."

Ragglus kneels and begins filling the sack with coins, grinning.

"Next round at The Cat & The Fiddle's on them, eh?" He laughs a bit.

"Their folly is our jolly," Tock says grinning at Ragglus. "You want to go steal from an owl culture, you best be able to at least kill an owlbear. They didn't have a bard."

While the rest of his party search the area around the dead, Emmerson goes to the other side of the lair, intending to use his shield to dig a makeshift grave for the corpses.

"If those three were not Maidensbridge citizens, but a party of adventurers from another city, I wonder how they heard about Tulgey Barrow. Are there songs about it?" He selected a spot, sifted the dry dirt with his hands. "We all came here, without the guarantee of treasure because it's close to Maidensbridge, barely a walk from our everyday lives. But what made those three come here from greater distance? What were they seeking? Were they certain there was treasure to be found? Were they after knowledge of great import? And I also wonder if they were killed somewhere else and dragged here, or were they surprised by the owlbear and killed here.
If they were killed here, what is the importance of this dug-up den?"

He sees the looks on the other party members.

"I know. I talk a lot. Brother Kenan said I tried the patience of the order too much."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Meanwhile, Bufer leads Emus and Tucker back to the corpses of the four fallen kobolds. Motioning for them to halt before they get too close, Bufer hands the torch to the dwarf.

"Stay well back," he tells them, as he fishes a tourniquet out of his healer's kit, drapes it over his nose and mouth, and ties it around back of his head as a makeshift mask. "I don't need the torch too close to be able to see, and if anything spatters, I don't want it getting on you."

That said, Bufer heads over to the black-robed kobold laying apart from the others to examine it more closely.

"Hmm," the gnome mutters, narrowing his eyes as he examines the robed kobold corpse. "Aside from being cut to ribbons by those skeletons, everything looks to be in order here. I guess Hazel was wrong. I wonder what gave her the idea that something was missing?"

Bufer glances up and around at his companions.

"Looks like someone gave this poor soul a right thorough going-over, though. His robes have been rifled through but good, and it looks like something was taken from this pocket here, something long and skinny to judge from this here indentation.

"I wonder what it was," Bufer says, as he straightens up, and makes his way over to other cluster of bodies. "I guess we'll have to ask Fibber about it real nicely when we get back."

He pauses in mid-step, then cocks an eyebrow over his mask and looks at the others.

"Or maybe Chandler."

Shaking his head, Bufer bends over and examines the three leather-clad corpses, one at a time, paying particular attention to their torsos, and the cysts growing within.

"Hmph, I suspected as much," Bufer mutters as he examines the other three corpses. "These three have been ransacked too, by the looks of it. This one here had a short sword taken right out of his scabbard."

Comparing the cysts in each corpse, he discovers the cysts appear to have grown on random organs in the torso, one per kobold. When he prods them with the dagger's hilt, they appear to be firm to the touch.

Satisfied that there is no danger of them rupturing, Bufer prods each gently with his fingertips. From the feel of them, each appears to be filled with some kind of congealed liquid. Confounded, Bufer frowns beneath his mask and exhales sharply. This is unlike any malady he has ever encountered.

Flipping the dagger over, holding the blade close to the tip for better control, Bufer leans over the nearest of the corpses and brings the point down onto the cyst. He hesitates before breaking the skin, and turns around to look at his companions.

"Keep back there, all right?" he says. "No matter what happens, stay the hell back."

Turning his attention back to the cyst, Bufer wipes his free hand across his forehead, surprised to find himself perspiring in the chill, winter air, and licks his lips beneath his mask. He glances momentarily at the face of the dead kobold.

"I hope you and Kurtulmak both will forgive me, lad," he mutters softly. "I truly mean no offense."

That said, Bufer presses the tip of the dagger into the cyst and carefully makes an incision, leaning well back in case it should spatter.

The cyst is indeed filled with a congealed liquid. Time and cold have made it an inert goo that does not leak from the cyst when its skin is cut. Frowning, Bufer scoops a small amount of the goo out of the incision, being careful not to touch it, and examines it closely, attempting to determine what it might be, and if he's seen the like before.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back in the owlbear's den, Hazel steps back from the corpses, deep in thought.

"Not from Maidensbridge," she mutters. "At least, none of my neighbors was a goblin."

Tosh helps the paladin drag the remains into their shallow resting places and then, while the tall man shifts dirt over them, he moves about to heft a few rocks for building a cairn.

"A lot of work for nothing, you ask me. I figure they'd be happy enough lying right where they were. But sooner done, sooner out of here."

As Emmerson shovels dirt over the bodies, the gnome slaps his hands and clothes clean.

"So, anyone want to see what's around the bend to the north?" he grins. Without waiting for an answer, Tosh heads off into the darkness and around the corner from the nest, Tock following a few steps behind. Tosh slows a bit and moves cautiously forward, stopping at each turn to get a better view of the tunnel ahead, but discovers the north corner dead ends a few paces further.

"So can we go now?" Tock asks. "Let's gather up anything we can carry and sell and get the hell out of here. We can come back to study the mirrors later. I'm getting hungry."

"Yeah, yeah, we can go now. But don't you find it odd that we have this natural cavern, which appears to only have entry through a man-made area?" He turns and looks quizzically up at Tock. "Aren't humans even the least bit curious?"

Hearing Tosh and Tock move out, Emmerson stands up, gets his waterskin from his backpack and uses some water to clean the dirt in his hands and the blood off his body. As hurt as he is, he grabs his short sword and shield, just in case.

Tosh walks back out to the main area and pulls out his second empty sack and stuffs the dagger, flasks and the odd tube inside.

"I don't think those two things will fit." he says, pointing to the staff and longsword. He slings the sack over his shoulder. "Are they laid rest yet, friend Emmerson?"

"Yes, they are. An undertaker I am not, but it is a much better resting place than they had. So, did we explore the whole place?"

"As far as I can tell, we have, unless there's a hidden door in here somewhere. The dwarf might have a better chance of telling me I'm wrong, but he's not here. And anyone's free to give it a shot searching if they've a mind." Tosh reaches down and picks up the three remaining pouches and tosses them to the paladin. "In case your conscience about those poor fools gets in an uproar, you can use the contents of these to occupy yourself. Maybe someone will recognize their junk, who knows."

"I'll ask Therurt, but if they are not local, that's as far as I'll take it." Emmerson stores what he can in his backpack and follows Tosh. "But I agree with you: barring an empire-wide inquiry, I seriously doubt we can trace the owners.

"After Therurt's response, the pieces will be part of the loot."

"I could use another belt-pouch, I suppose. But I seriously doubt there's much luck left in the rabbit's foot. And that lock-pick? Pfah." Tosh snorts.

"I meant the weapons."

"I was afraid of that," Tosh mutters under his breath.

The looting crew returns to the chamber with the owlbear. The smelly heap has begun to smell even worse, having loosed its bowels on the stone floor. Tosh slows near the head of the thing and looks among the long feathers growing there. He selects what he considers the cleanest and most perfect example of owlbear plumage and yanks it off the corpse. The gnome looks it over and with a satisfied nod, sticks it in his hair securely behind one ear.

He waits for the torch to get near enough, and then puts down the sack and gets busy scouring the room for some possible clues. After a few minutes of detailed searching, Tosh gives up.

"Tock is right. I'm starting to feel like I could use a bite to eat. What say we join the rest of the group?"

"I'm curious how much this is worth," Tock mutters.

"Good point, Tock. I'd rather we get to the other three before we count it, though. For some reason, people don't like leaving large sums of money in my presence without supervision." He grins. "Go figure."

"Why, Tosh! That's dreadful," Tock exclaims. "It's these small-town bigots, you know. But I tell you what. I will serve as your noble and dutiful witness. Together, I'm sure we can come to a decent account of things. Hell, we can even ask the bean-counter himself."

"And then Emmerson can shake the extra coins out of your pockets?" Hazel eyes the owlbear's corpse, wishing she had a skinning knife. The pelt would make a nice covering for her bed. Slaughtering the animal without making use of it seems a waste, but her handaxe would make a shoddy job of it.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

The groups meet at the bottom of the stairs at the end of the entrance corridor, where the armor and weapons from the skeletons has been piled.

"If anyone has anything they got from the barrow here, put it in that pile so Emmerson can see if anything glows," Tosh says. He opens his sack and puts the dagger and sheath, the tube and the three flasks in the pile with the swords, helms and suits of chainmail. "Who has the staff and longsword from the den? Oh, and Emmerson, you can toss the pouches in if you wish; it couldn't hurt."

Renraw noisily chomps on the bread and the cheese he brought with him and looks on at what Emmerson is doing with a bored expression. He strongly doubts the items will be found to be evil, but his growling belly takes precedent over proving everyone wrong once again.

He takes one more bite from the cheese and stuffs what's left of the food back into his sack. Unfortunately, the last of the crumbs go down the wrong pipe and the wizard must frantically dig for his water, hoping to do so nonchalantly enough so no one notices. When he pulls out his waterskin it ruptures, splashing Ragglus' legs.

Ragglus glances down at his legs. His eyes narrow as they turn on the wizard, but nothing comes of it. With a louder than normal exhale, he returns his gaze to the loot pile.

"HORKKK!" Renraw cries, trying desperately not to cause a scene. "Sorry -- about that -- Chaplin," he whispers through almost blue lips. "Say -- old friend  -- have you any -- ACK! -- water to spare?"

Tosh hands Renraw the remainder of his waterskin.

"So, my fine wizardly compatriot, have you perhaps a _detect magic_ spell up your sleeve?"

"Gehhhhrahk! Hraaaa! Ahem. Thank you," Renraw says, his eyes watering. "No, no such spell prepared this day. I could do it tomorrow, but I'm not confident we'd find anything. It's the vials and especially that tube that interest me most. Would you allow me?"

Renraw reaches toward Tosh's sack, which the gnome holds just out of reach.

"If we've all decided to head out, I can examine it on the way back. I don't mind carrying it with my things here," Renraw says.

Tosh considers it a moment, then reaches into his bag and pulls out the tube and hands it to Renraw.

"Just don't forget to pick something else out of the pile as well, if you don't mind," Tosh says. "It appears that the pile was a wasted exercise, then. So do we wait to get all this back to town and have someone _detect magic_ on it? What of the coin? Anyone count that?"

Tosh walks over and picks up the small items and puts them in the sack again. He swings it over his shoulder and then picks up one of the skeleton's helms and situates it jauntily on the back of his too-small head.

"Well, that's about all I can carry."

"I can take all the swords and maybe two helmets," Emmerson says.

"We cain't carry all of this back to town in one trip," Emus says in exasperation. "What say some of you escort the injured back to town, and come back with a wagon? Maybe Fibber can rustle one up. Do more to earn his share. Some of us can also stay here, and watch the loot. Assuming we can trust each other."

Bufer smiles slightly beneath his mask at the mention of Fibber. He looks up at Emus and opens his mouth to tell him how he conspired to have Therurt relieve the boy of his helmet, and likely had him tanned within an inch of his life in the process. After a second's hesitation, he closes it again. Better that the others don't know about that, he decides. Plausible deniability.

Exhaling heavily, he removes his makeshift mask from his face, and uses it to clean the inert goo off of Tosh's dagger.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," he reports. "The good news is that, if whatever these three had was catchin', time and cold seem to have rendered it otherwise. I think we're safe to return to Maidensbridge without worryin' about bringin' a plague home with us.

"The bad news is that whatever is was has me baffled. I can't tell if this is some kind of affliction they picked up here, if they came in with it, if it just affects kobolds, or what have you. I can't even tell why it's affected these three, and not Mister Fancy Pants in the robes over there, unless Tock can lend some insight into who or what he mighta been. And even then ..."

Bufer shakes his head as he sheathes Tosh's blade, visibly frustrated by his ignorance.

"There's some tests could be done on this here goo, I s'pect, but I don't have the equipment -- or, frankly, the know-how -- and no way of taking a sample intact back to those what do." He heaves a ragged, exasperated sigh, and runs his fingers through his hair. "This is gonna have to remain a mystery for another day, I think. Just like those bloody mirrors."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"If my Da's not using Twig for hauling today, I can maybe bring her out here with a pack saddle, but I dunno if we could balance the mirrors on her back, and I doubt we wanna haul 'em over the ground," Hazel says as she studies the pile. "I could stuff a chain shirt or two in my pack, if we're gonna try to take it all at once. Or if somebody suitably intimidating wants to join me, we can go see about a wagon. If Fibber can't rustle one up, we could ask Therurt, and let him take a bigger percentage of profit on the swords and chain shirts, if we're offloading those on him."

"Well, you know my kin run a trading post on the other side of town near the mountains," Tosh says quietly. "Perhaps, just perhaps, we might find a teamster willing to rent his services out to us?

"I'm certain we could do the hire with the merest of coins in that pouch before we divvy up the rest. I'd go along with Therurt if he could do it for a sane fixed price and keep his mouth shut, though."

"I suggest we go to town with the carry-on items, conduct our business with Therurt and then return here, with the cart, to pick up the mirrors," Emmerson says. "Two people would need to come here, with a cart I might add- the second we leave here to take the mirrors. Highly unlikely."

"Let's hoof it, grab a bite to eat and see if we can get back here and loaded up before dark. If nothing else, we can wait until tomorrow morning," Tosh says, but then looks around at the walking wounded and then at his own bandaged hand. "Or next week, whatever works."

"I hear you," Emmerson agrees. "Renraw and I will need either a couple of day's worth rest, the services of a healer in Maidensbridge today or ask Ebuferpaly tomorrow for a healing spell."

"Yeah, I could use a few days' rest, too." Hazel grinds out her torch, kicking dirt over it to be certain the flame is out. Kneeling beside the loot pile, she stuffs two of the chain shirts in her pack and carefully hefts it to her back. "Let's get moving."

She takes a few steps away from the barrow, waiting for the others to continue into the forest. As Hazel steps away from the cairn and the scrub that obscured the interest, her eyes readjust to the bright light of the snowy outdoors. It takes her a moment to realize what she's seeing, so used as she is to the dark of the torchlight tunnels: It's snowing. Hard.

"Someone up there's having a nice laugh," Hazel murmurs as she gazes at the sky. "Gents! We best get moving if we're gonna go. It's snowing something fierce, and it's gonna take us longer to slog back to town in this storm. I wouldn't expect to get a cart back today, either, so we best forget about leaving anyone behind."

Tosh and Emmerson each grab loot from the pile and set out into the snow. A moment later, Emus grabs as much as he possibly can, grinning at the horrified expressions of the others to his heavy load. Hazel turns to Tosh, the cold snow stinging her face.

"Pass the message along to stick close: I don't want to lose anyone. If visibility gets too bad, we might have to rope the group together so no one wanders off."

She pauses for a weather check, hoping the storm will slack off soon. 

"Of course, of course," Renraw wizard groans, hanging back a bit. "I just have to rearrange my things for carrying. Go on ahead and I'll be right behind. Just a quick moment."

Once confident no one is watching, Renraw furtively darts back into the mouth of the barrow. In the gray flat light of tunnel mouth, the wizard breaks the wax seal on the tube and finds a scroll inside. Unrolling it, it takes a moment to identify it as being covered in magical runes for one or more arcane spells. It will take _read magic_ to identify them back in Maidensbridge. He rolls it back up, caps the tube as best he can, and stashes it in his sack once more before following the group, running with  knees high to avoid being left behind.

The tracks the party left on the way in are already filling in. The path remains visible, but if the snow keeps going at this rate -- and from what Hazel can tell, there's no reason to think that it won't -- it's entirely possible that the snow will fill in the tracks entirely in the most open glades within an hour or so.

"I like that we when we got here, the most trouble we had was a scared boar. Now that we want to go, the sky conspires against us," Emmerson says. "If the whole trail is covered with snow, we'll still be able to return to the Barrow from Maidensbridge, right?"

"Fib drew us a map, din'he?" Ragglus calls, raising his shield in attempt to block the snow from driving directly into his face. He darts a quick glance back at the wizard in anger, his legs still moist from the broken waterskin now meeting with the cold and snow.

"Aye," Bufer nods, wincing his eyes nearly shut against the stinging wind and snow. "It's an extremely crude one, though. There's a good chance that most of the landmarks on it'll be buried by morning."

"We'll worry about that later," Emmerson says. "In any case, if the landmarks are completely buried, we can always return when the snow melts. Onward to Therurt's."

"And Lothian will doubtlessly light the way," Bufer smirks. "All right, onward. Hazel, I think it might go easier on the wounded, the encumbered and the short if we struck out for the main road rather than making our way back overland."

"Yes, onward!" cries Renraw. "Onward, onward!"

"Snow's gonna get deeper faster in the open areas than it will here under the trees, but we'll give it a shot." Hazel stops to orient herself, then alters course to take the shortest route to the main road.

"Does anybody know the words of 'Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers?'" Emmerson asks brightly.

"No," Tock scowls.

As he slouches along in the rear, Renraw counts the moles on the back of Emus' neck. When he reaches double digits, he stops counting and begins naming the prominent constellations. He wonders if they'll ever make it back to town and curses whatever fate or deity it is that extends his journey so.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

By the time the party reaches the snow-caked road, much of the party is wishing they'd brought cold weather clothing. Ice and slush cakes everyone's armor and the seams of their clothing.

The least-hardy of the group to begin with, Renraw feels the magical chill of the statues sinking into his bones, making each step painful and stiff.

The days are growing longer, but sundown is still coming soon, and as the party tromps west along the Baron's Road, the gray light of the sky begins to slowly shade towards black.

Hazel tugs her cloak closer, wrapping her arms inside with one hand resting on her axe. She walks more slowly than usual. Pain ripples through her abdomen with each jolting step.

She breathes slowly, attempting to focus her mind through her senses, and peers through the snow at the sides of the road. She hopes the animals, unlike adventuring folk, are tucked safely away from the storm, but she keeps a close watch in case some desperate predator should make itself known.

She hesitates to light a torch, even in the deepening twilight, afraid a spark won't catch or the snow and wind will douse the flame before she takes five steps.

"Stay to the center of the road," she calls back to the party. "And give a shout if you hear or see anything moving out there besides snowflakes."

"My belly's movin' something fierce!" Emus barks. "Let's git back home fer some grub!"

The group crunches through the falling snow in silence for a while, the only sounds Emus' stomach and Renraw's occasional whimpers that someone should carry him back to town.

Darkness is falling when Hazel casually slows her pace to fall in step with Tosh. She leans in close, keeping her voice low.

"Weapons ready. Eyes to the side. Something's tracking us."

With a jerk of her head, she indicates he should pass the message along to the next in line, then resumes watching the woods. Her fingers fumble with her axe beneath her cloak, easing off the blade cover and sliding the haft out of its loop on her belt. She holds the weapon easily against her thigh, hoping she won't have to use it.

She shakes her head, letting her hood fall, and immediately feels the wind bite into her face. But she'd rather have better peripheral vision and hearing than warmth. She listens intently, staring into the trees as she walks.

When the message gets back to him, Bufer stops short and blinks, then looks up at the sky.

"YOU ARE SERIOUSLY TESTING MY FAITH, HERE!" he shouts angrily.

Walking last in line to ensure he could fulfill Ward Bridger's order to guard the adventurers and get them home safe, Tucker was the last to hear the relayed message.

"Whet stone heading? Ice slide? Crackling nuts?" the deputy snaps. "Renraw, what the hell are you talking about?"

The snow begins to slacken as the sun dips below the mountains to the west, sending a long shadow over Midwood, even as the sky overhead still remains lit.

Ahead, the group can see lights being lit in Maidensbridge, visible through the leafless trees around a bend in the road.

"Praise Lothian," Emmerson murmurs.

Bufer blinks again as he catches sight of the lights in the tapering snow, and looks back up at the sky.

"THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!" he shouts.

Hazel grins and stifles a laugh at the exuberant shouts, trying to keep an authoritative bark in her tone.

"Stay sharp, gents. In sight of ain't the same as in," she says, "Time to relax is when our butts are by the fire at the Cat, with a mug o' warm cider in our hands, and Therurt countin' out our coins."

"Pick up the pace, Seed," Tucker says, putting his hand between Renraw's shoulder blades and shoving him forward. "Sooner we get back to town, the sooner we can find you a healer that won't make you do backflips before he sees to you."

As the party approaches the hamlet, it appears that no one is around. A stiff cold wind springs up, causing a shutter somewhere to bang against the side of an unseen building.

But then the party draws even with Kramer's General Store, and sound and life suddenly returns to Maidensbridge all at once. Ella stands outside the Cat & the Fiddle, banging a filthy mud-caked fur rug clean with a stick. Therurt is banging noisily away at his anvil. A pregnant mother nods to the group from the doorway of the Maidensbridge Chapel, trailed by four small children.

The party turns and looks back at the Tulgey Wood and darkness and night have seemingly already arrived, making the shadows inky black, the snow bone white.

Hazel does a quick and silent head count. She nods to herself, relieved that she hasn't left anyone wandering in the woods at night.

She starts to tuck the axe away, but, startled, nicks her finger on the blade. Her eyes distractedly scan the edge of the woods, certain something was out there, but the feeling disappears before she can get a handle on it.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The group heads to Therurt's smithy upon their arrival, triumphantly carrying the armor and weapons they recovered from Fibber's Cairn. The dwarf smith squints across his anvil at the group as they approach, working the orange-hot metal with his hammer and tongs and sending up sparks as he bends it into the shape of a horseshoe.

As everyone piles their loot on the counter, Tucker examines the swords. He selects one that's not in the best shape, but not in the worst, either.

"I need to report in to Constable Bridger. I think everyone's trustworthy enough -- or rather, that there are enough trustworthy people to outweigh the shifty ones -- that I won't get shut out of the rewards. Let Therurt know that he's got one more sword coming, after Bridger takes a look at it. Even if he doesn't recognize the style, Sheriff Glangirn might."

He picks up one of the flasks, as well.

"And either of them might remember a party of adventurers who passed through here on a one-way trip. This shouldn't take long -- I'll meet you at The Cat & The Fiddle in a few minutes."

Therurt finishes with the horseshoe and comes over to the counter, wiping his filthy hands on his filthy apron. His eyes roam over the weapons and armor, analyzing them in detail before ever laying his thick fingers on them.

Bufer winces and begins hopping from one foot to the other.

"Could we please hurry this up?" he grouses. "Some of us have pressing business to attend to!"

Therurt picks up a sword, turning it over in his hands, sliding his calloused fingers down the ancient blade. He then whirls it over his head, assuming a fighting stance, taking some test slashes and stabs at the air. With a nod, he puts it down with the others.

He picks up a chain shirt, running his fingers over it, poking his finger through a hole created by ancient age.

"Mmmm, could stick a mole through there."

Taking it by the shoulders, he gives it a shake, eyes low, watching a few ringlets and flecks of rust drop out the bottom. Then he returns the jingling armor to the counter. He grabs a slate and an irregular piece of chalk, mumbling some numbers to himself.

He examines each of the weapons and chainmail shirts in turn, finally picking up the staff. He looks at the leather hood, and then at the adventurers, who look blankly back at him. He shrugs and pulls off the hood, and suddenly the room is filled with firelight, centering around the tip of the staff. Therurt blinks in surprise before tilting his head quizzically.

"Not consuming the wood." He moves his hand towards the flame, testing it before finally grasping the wood with his bare hand. "No heat, neither."

He swings the staff in a wide arc, bright flames trailing in its wake.

"That's a handy bit of magic."

He slips the hood back on the staff and places the staff on the counter. He picks the slate and chalk back up.

"Seven antique chain shirts. Six, no, seven antique longswords, right?" The chalk squeaks on the slate. "All in need of some refurbishment and repair."

"Th' longsword," Ragglus grunts, turning momentarily to spit. He gestures to a masterwork longsword Therurt has set aside. "Th' fancy one. I'll give 'er a good home, an' count it as m'fair share."

Meanwhile, Tosh, with Tock looking over his shoulder, examine the coins they found in the owlbear's den. The sack contains hundreds of gold coins, stamped with the image of Segaci Fellisti, the would-be emperor who now holds court in Tarsis north of the Prustan Peninsula. There are also platinum pieces of an older minting, bearing the face of the late Empress Addares XXXIII.

Renraw is looking very sickly at this point. The wizard has found a footstool made from a tree stump in one corner of the smithy, and meekly dragged it nearer the forge and plopped himself in it to try for some warmth, ignoring the dirty looks shot him by Therurt.

"I'll have the glowstick," he says, rummaging through his belongings. "And I'll trade you this fine, shining lantern ... and my magical club. I know it may look like a stick that a child found in the woods, but I assure you, this weapon has been wielded by a powerful wizard in battle undreamed of, especially in this little burg. It's faced the undead armies of the Hounds of Paeathon, raging shadow beasts from the Plane of Screaming Mirrors, and sinew-rippingly eager winged behemoths hungry for human flesh and it's come through all of that with nary a scratch. Yes, it's obvious that powerful magic indeed protects this implement."

Therurt glances over, scowling to see the wizard on his stool.

"Five coppers for the lamp and the club I'll use for firewood," he turns back to the others. "Now, finish this up." He waves a grimy hand at the assembled loot. "I got things need doing."

"We could all use a good night's sleep," Hazel says. Her abdomen has settled into a dull throbbing pain beneath Bufer's bandages. "Some more than others."

As the loot is split up, Emmerson approaches the smith.

"Master Therurt, I'll leave you the longsword and armor for refurbishing. Oh, and this short sword, hardly used, for sale."

"My maiden aunt weren't hardly used neither when we sent her back to Mocharum for reforging," the smith drawls, "But no one called her new. I'll give you half."

Bufer scoops up his share of the coins while doing an odd little jig, hopping from one foot to the other.

"All right, now that we've settled that, I'm gonna head outside and consecrate some bushes. I'll meet the lot of you at The Cat & The Fiddle, and we'll figure out what we're gonna tell Fibber. Oh, hot fire below!"

Before anyone can respond, Bufer runs outside at a dead sprint.

Renraw mutters to himself that Kem House would still be the best place to keep the loot, but exhaustion has changed his usual peevishness into a quiet crankiness. He shuffles on home with the scroll tube and staff recovered from Fibber's Cairn. He gently pulls off the leather hood on his staff in order to light his way home.

"Ooh, glowy!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As Bufer blesses the bushes and snow outside, he hears a somewhat uncommon sound in Maidensbridge: a horse nickering in the stables of The Cat & The Fiddle. Most riders in the barony ride a dwarf-bred pony, not a horse, which means someone from the baron's staff is at the tavern, or someone from down below the Anvil Plateau is inside.

Then the rest of the party tromps by, either heading to the tavern or heading back to Kem House. The wizard mutters quietly to himself, playing with the magical flames on his staff as he goes.

As the door opens, the group finds Emus, Tucker and Constable Bridger inside waiting for them, mugs of warm cider in front of every seat. The constable glares a bit at Ragglus and Tock, but smiles and beckons Emmerson over to sit beside him.

"Young Tucker and Graymullet were just telling me about the day you all had. A lot more exciting than throwing apples back at kobolds, eh?"

"Exciting indeed, constable," Emmerson says. He sits and grabs a mug of cider, drinking half of it slowly. "There were some troubled moments, but through steel, spell and courage we made it through them."

Ragglus smiles innocently in return to the constable, downing a mug of cider in one pull, breaking his silence only to let loose a reverberating burp. He remains standing as he claps the mug back down on the table.

The constable drinks deep before putting down his mug.

"Any of you want to add to what Emus and Tucker have told me? The sheriff has standing orders to collect reports whenever anyone enters the barrow."

"Not so much an addition as a question, constable." Hazel looks up from her mug. "You ever remember seein' a party of adventurers with a goblin come through town?"

"No, but there were some troublemakers in Middleborough of that description. Was a squabble at the alchemist's shop, the House of the Transformed Toad," Bridger scowls. "Not sorry to hear they're dead. They were most likely former bandits, to hear the description of them."

"Well, they got their just rewards," Emmerson said. "They will not plague anyone anymore."

"Foul bandits indeed! This world is better to be rid of them, I say, just like our fair-minded constable," Tock proclaims, sitting next to Ragglus with a flourish. "A death warrant to them, I say, a death warrant!"

Hazel slowly nods. She sips her cider and wonders whether to mention the small tube and three flasks. Since the items weren't traded at Therurt's, she wouldn't be shorting the shares of loot any by suggesting they be returned to the Transformed Toad, although Renraw might disagree. Of course, they might not be stolen at all; who's to say?

She looks across the table at the paladin, certain that he would mention the items to the constable if he shared her suspicion.

Tosh plays around with the dagger taken from the dead goblin in the owlbear's lair and he considers that damned statue. He knows he can beat it. He just knows he can.

Meanwhile, satisfied at having spread the word of Garl Glittergold (having written in the snow, and everything), Bufer looks carefully over his shoulder to make sure he isn't being watched, then slips back into the smithy.

"Hey Therurt!" he says, just as the dwarven blacksmith has raised his hammer. "Sorry to bother you again, but I just remembered something I wanted to ask ya about: Has anybody been about peddlin' kobold weapons to you lately?"

The smith sighs with irritation at the new interruption.

"No."

He continues finishing the horseshoe.

"Ah, I see," Bufer shouts over the ringing of the hammer, undeterred. "Well, if anyone should happen by, say in the next day or so, and tries to interest you in something koboldian -- Koboldian? Is that right? Kolboldic? Koboldish? Kobold-enac-ick? -- Whatever, something made by kobolds, you know what I mean. Anyway, if someone does come around and try to sell you something --"

Bufer reaches up and slaps the dwarven blacksmith heartily on the back.

"-- I'd consider it a sincere favor, both to myself and the gnomish community in general, if you'd let me know, old friend."

Therurt mutters something under his breath in Dwarven, but Bufer cannot make it out over the ringing of the hammer.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back inside The Cat & The Fiddle, Emmerson has been thinking.

"About those bandits," Emmerson says, "Would there be any more information? I'm especially interested in knowing if they are responsible for stealing anything from Middleborough."

The constable shrugs.

"There weren't no warrant out for them, so I think they just had some words before the deputies were called." He looks pointedly at Ragglus and Tock. "Some folks spend all their time evading the noose, but Lothian guides them onto the gallows in the end, more often than not."

"All hail perfect Lothian, the Infallible Light Amongst the Darkness!" Tock mock-prays loudly. "Let him be a bright lantern that shall show forth all meanness and treachery and magic and warts upon the penis, vagina, and whatever it is that dwarves have!"

"Both of those, only with more hair and fewer warts," Emus grunts after a belch.

"Well, blessed be to Garl for only giving we gnomes one set of privates," Bufer chimes in, as he makes his way towards the group from the entrance. "Otherwise I might never leave my room.

"Evening, Constable," he says, with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't let on that I told you this, but your last letter put Master Barennackle in quite the state. I expect he had plans for that rook. When I left him, though, he was staring at the board and cackling to himself, so I don't think you've whupped him just yet. I'd watch your flank, if I were you."

The constable excuses himself from the table and goes over to a man sitting finishing dinner at another table who wears the colors of the baron -- a black tree on a green field -- who pulls out a quill and some paper. The constable writes a message, and the courier prepares sealing wax, which the constable then seals with his signet ring. The courier stands, finishing his dinner, which the constable pays for, and with a disinterested glance at the adventurers, heads outside, followed by Ella, the tavern girl, who helps him with his horse. A moment later, everyone can hear the horse heading off at a gallop down the dark Baron's Road towards Middleborough.

"Be careful going home, Master Potentloins, if you're headed back to your people this evening." The constable nods to the rest of party before indicating for Emmerson and Tucker to follow him outside into the snow.

"'Your people?'" Tock gasps in horror. "What a racist."

Emmerson stands up from the table and follows the constable outside.

Hazel leaves her mug half-full on the table, shoulders her pack with a grunt, and heads home for the night. She nods to the constable, Tucker and Emmerson as she passes.

"Hey lass," Bufer says, grabbing Hazel's arm as she passes. "You watch that wound, all right? Keep it clean, don't get it wet. I'll take another look at it 'fore we set out in the morning."

With that, Bufer catches Tosh's eye, and jerks his head towards the door.

"Time we were leaving, too, Master Bergin," he says. "It's gettin' on late, and we got a long road home ahead of us."

As the gnomes reach the door, he turns and waves to the remaining members of the party.

"Night, all."

Outside in the snow, the constable leans heavily on his crutch, placing his other hand on Emmerson's shoulder.

"Boy, one of the proudest days of my life was when you took your vows and became a paladin. But you show remarkably little judgment. Young Tucker here followed those folks into that hole on my orders. If you are to associate with the likes of that ruffian and the bard, it needs to be to bring the light of Lothian to them, not to let them drag you down with them. Their days are going to end with them dancing at the end of a rope; don't let them pull you into the dance with them.

"Having said that, I'm glad you both did so well in there. As those bandits showed you, not everyone could have survived what was within. Go home, both of you, and get some sleep. Tucker, depending on if the sheriff replies to me, I may have work for you in the morning.

"Good night."

Emmerson sighs and nods.

"You have my vow that I'll do better, Master Bridger. Have a good night."

He gives his farewell to Tucker and heads to the Stones' house. A couple of chores remain undone before it is time to sleep, and there is much to ponder.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Dawn has not yet fully broken and the night birds are still on duty in the glen surrounding Wit's End when clockwork figures gently rouse Bufer and Tosh. They lead the pair through a twisty maze of passageways, all alike, before finally arriving in the study of Rubik, Lord of Wit's End.

The senior gnome was today joined by High Priest Boddynok Barennackle, and from the looks of it, neither of them had gotten much sleep since hearing the two junior gnomes' report the night before. The study was strewn with open books and scrolls held open by various paperweights and keepsakes Rubik picked up during his adventures.

A steaming pitcher of hot chocolate and four ceramic mugs sit on a tray nearby and Rubik gestures for one of the two juniors to pour while he speaks.

"It seems to us," Rubik says, pulling on his white muttonchops, "That the Tulgey Barrow is not a barrow after all. Its purpose does not seem to be the burial of those ancient men, but the mirrors, and this concerns us quite a bit."

"The skeletons you found there," Boddynok says, rubbing his thumbs against his red eyes before accepting a cup of hot chocolate, "Were likely just guardians, poor unfortunates doomed to keep curiosity seekers away."

"The relative lack of guardians in this barrow probably means the mirrors you discovered weren't the most important ones," Rubik continues, "But even if the other 'cairns' within the barrow hold more important ones, I want to obtain these mirrors to see if we can discover the truth of them. The bookkeeper is right: Mirrors can be used to travel to a world on the other side of the glass. It is seldom done, as there are dangers there, including some who call themselves the rulers of that realm. If the ancient men visited there often, it might explain what happened to them in the end."

He glowers as he drinks his hot chocolate and the high priest speaks up once more.

"Return to the barrow. Secure the mirrors and bring them back here. If you must, promise the others payment, up to 100 gold pieces per mirror, we will pay the money. But we need to know what is in that barrow and what danger it poses to gnome, dwarf and man. You have another long day ahead of you."

"Aye, that it'll be. I dreamed of the damned things last night," Tosh says softly. He sips the chocolate and considers it for second. "Crazy stuff, of people made of mirror and the realm they inhabited.

"We'll need an ox cart or a team and wagon, with driver, if possible. And I'm not quite whole as of yet, and I'd hate to run into another small contingent of 'guardians.' Oh, and about that rune trap. Any idea on how I could safely fill in those impressions?"

He stops and looks about him.

"Sorry, lack of sleep makes me talkative for some reason."

Rubik nods.

"We'll send a cart behind you. The first thing to do is to secure the mirrors themselves. As for the trap, I would dispel the magic on it if it were me, but I don't believe such a thing is within Young Master Bufer's capabilities at this time."

"Not as yet, no," Bufer says, then breaks into a smile. "Don't worry about a thing, Master Rubik. Tosh an' I will get those mirrors, by hook or by -- oh, who am I kidding: given it's us, it'll almost definitely be by crook."

Bufer winks mischievously at his friend, then sobers somewhat as he turns to address his mentor, High Priest Barennackle.

"Master, what of the illness that appears to have beset the kobolds that permeated the barrow? Surely we mean to investigate this, as well?"

Barennackle picks up a leather bound book, open to a fairly disturbing spread of images. With a grimace, he turns it around, showing it to Bufer.

"A tumor like this, yes?" When the younger gnome nods, the high priest takes the book back, closing it with a sigh. "It's not a naturally created tumor. This book, and others we have confiscated over the years, tells a necromancer how to create such things. Whatever its purpose, it is not a disease meant to spread through the kobolds or any other community. Someone did it to those kobolds."

"If you can find out more, do so," Rubik says, putting down his emptied cup, a trace of chocolate on his whiskers, "But bad things happening to kobolds is less important to us than retrieving the mirrors. Now, go. The humans will be awake before long and it won't do to have them fooling about with the mirrors."

Bufer frowns slightly at Lord Rubik's easy dismissal of the sickened kobolds, but he nods and bows deeply before him and the high priest nonetheless.

"We'll leave immediately, sir," the young apprentice cleric says. "Rest assured, as Garl himself is my witness, once that cart pulls up to the barrow, we'll have the mirrors well in hand. You can count on us!"

Seeming a portrait of boundless optimism, Bufer tugs on Tosh's sleeve and leads him towards the door, where they once again follow a pair of clockworks into the seemingly endless labyrinth of endless corridors.

"Well, have you got any bright ideas?" Bufer whispers to the rogue through his forced smile. "'Cause I got nothin'."

"How many gnomes do you know that'd spend that much on a delivery trip?" Tosh whispers back.

"Do you have any idea how we're going to get hold of the mirrors?" Bufer whispers, frowning. "We might be able to win the paladin over, and Hazel and Emus we can probably get to see reason, but Ragglus and Kem? Forget it. Plus, I guarantee you Tucker's going to want to keep the mirrors for his bloody sheriff. And I'll bet my left nut that the second we offer any money for those things, that bastard Chandler going to smell just how valuable they are, and try to talk the others into holding out for a better deal."

Bufer shakes his head as they follow the clockworks, then sighs.

"Guile and trickery, old friend. That's what it's going to come down to: guile and trickery. Fortunately -- I think we're just the two gnomes for the job."

"Point. I noticed one other bit that got me. Rubik was pretty clear that he thought there might be caches of mirrors in the other cairns in the Tulgey Barrow. That kind of gets a fellow's curiosity up, y'know?"

Bufer nods again.

"Agreed. My first instinct was that we keep that to ourselves, but let's face it: You and me were not built to haul big, heavy, stone-encased mirrors around. Plus, there's a goodly chance of more 'guardians' like that shadow-bird from yesterday. One way or the other, we're gonna need help." Bufer puffs out his cheeks, blowing out slowly as he considers the problem at hand. "All right, the way I see it, Chandler and Galloway are our biggest obstacles. We manage to get them on our side, and Bimblenompkin's your uncle. The question is how? How do we appeal to both greed and duty?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

When Emmerson exits Stone House, Deputy Tucker Gallaway is there waiting for him. When the paladin notices him, Tucker holds up a sealed letter. 

"A new letter from your parents apparently arrived from Middleborough while we were gone yesterday. Thought I'd run it out here since you're not too far out of my way." He hands Grant the letter and gestures toward the town. "Now come on, we've got business to attend to. We can talk as we walk."

Emmerson takes the letter from Tucker.

"My thanks," he says, opening as they walk. "Good news. I am to be an uncle yet again. My sister Alexa is with child. Father thinks he'll be as rotund and red-faced as my brother-in-law."

He folds the letter, intending to read it more carefully later.

"So, Tucker, we never got time to exchange thoughts on yesterday's adventure. What do you make of it? For my part, I think we need to be very careful of what we get out of the barrow and who handles it. I don't think the mirrors should be held at Kem House, but rather at the constable's. We could see if he has among his acquaintances someone who can decipher them properly".

"I trust the Beancounter about as far as I can toss him. I notice that the tube he volunteered to carry seemed to disappear before the bounty was split last night, and that's when he was injured and we were all with him. What he'd do with those mirrors without supervision and the threat of imminent death is terrifying to ponder.

"But I don't think they'd be best served all lying around Constable Bridger's house, either. It might be a better idea to split them up; if they work in concert, then putting some distance between them might keep any more invisible owls from bursting out."

The town center is just starting to come into clear view, the sounds of early morning life carrying over the snowy ground, when Tucker stops.

"Before we head to The Cat & The Fiddle, I have some things to take care of. You mind a slight detour?"

* * *

Meanwhile, Hazel tackles her morning chores with less enthusiasm than usual, taking care not to aggravate her injury. Sunlight is already rolling through Maidensbridge by the time she makes it to Bridger's Skins & Hides.

She steps inside with her torn leather armor in hand, looking about for Fibber's father. Lars Bridger is busy scraping the hide of a skinned bear when Hazel enters his shop.

"HANS!" He roars, not stopping what he's doing. "CUSTOMER!"

Fibber sticks his head through an open doorway, chewing something, which he almost chokes on when he sees Hazel.

"What -- How can I help you?" He says, flinching away from his father when he fails to greet the ranger properly at first.

Hazel lifts her leather armor, showing Fibber the slice across the front.

"Wondered if you might have some studded leather armor in my size. Barring that, how long you think it'd take to fix this?"

Hazel smiles at Fibber, tipping her head lightly toward his father and shaking her head once, slowly. She won't tell his dad what he's been up to unless there's no way around it.

Fibber carefully swallows his breakfast, his Adam's apple bobbing wildly, and slowly nods at Hazel. He takes the armor, running his eyes across the gash and the dark stain surrounding it, his expression a little wild. It takes him a moment to remember Hazel's questions.

"Twenty-five gold for a suit of studded leather," Fibber says. He runs his tongue over chapped lips. "This is one straight cut, it looks like. Two gold to repair it."

"Think your Dad will knock down the price of the studded leather down some if he can keep the damaged armor? Sounds like ya'll could repair it quick and resell it."

"Yeah, sure. Deal."

Hazel fishes around in her pockets for 15 gold to cover the rest of the cost for the studded leather armor. She holds onto the gold with one hand and waits for Fibber to hand over her new armor before dropping it in his palm.

"Thanks, Hans." She pauses, casting a quick glance at Fibber's father, and continues in what she hopes is a good imitation of her sister's snagging-a-boy voice. "You gonna be working all day? Maybe stop by the Cat for a cider after supper, yeah?"

Fibber goggles at Hazel and mumbles something unintelligible.

Hazel stares at Fibber for a long moment before she realizes that the indirect approach isn't going to work on the teen. She shrugs, hoping he'll stay out of the party's way without the need for legal trickery and that he'll show up at the tavern tonight to collect his share.

"Right. Thanks for the gear. See you later, then."

She heads up the road to The Cat & The Fiddle with her new armor slung over her shoulder; no sense putting it on before Bufer has a look at yesterday's wound.

* * *

Katadid Leach coughs and holds his chest as he walks out of the apothecary. His neck aches from having fallen asleep hunched over a table again, but he rapidly forgets this looking at the packet of pungent powders in his hand. Still walking, he dips a finger inside and tastes the concoction. Satisfied, he continues walking to The Cat & The Fiddle, stumbling over unnoticed obstacles as he runs his free hand through his hair and muttering.

Before he gets there, he realizes he doesn't know the exact number of tombstones in the cemetery. This has to be rectified. He walks past the tavern and makes his way to the gates.

A pair of girls around 12 years old, out walking the family dogs, stand in the slush, watching Katadid crunching around through the iced-over snow of the cemetery, giggling to themselves as he counts.

Finished, Katadid leans against a tombstone of a Bridger and coughs again, seemingly not even noticing the giggling children. After he recovers, he turns around and makes his way to The Cat & The Fiddle, opening the door and peering inside to see who hits the tavern this early. An annoyed Milos Fordham jerks a thick thumb toward the stairs and upward when he sees the apothecary's son enter the tavern.

"She's upstairs. She has work to do."

Katydid blinks rapidly as he suddenly becomes aware of Milos' presence. He nods and mutters something unintelligible. Before walking up the stairs, he walks to each trophy head and touches the base of each one. After finishing with the hasenbock, he looks over to the innkeeper's glare.

"There are 79 tombstones in the cemetery," Katadid says, trying to break the ice. Lars says nothing, so Katadid walks past the bar and up the stairs to listen for potential yodeling.

* * *

A distinct shiver forces Ragglus awake. He raises his head, peeking through a single eye from behind an altar inside the chapel. His bones creak as he lifts himself up, stretching and grunting.

A hushed voice nearby grabs his attention. Ragglus opens his eyes instantly.

Kneeling on the other side of the altar, a wide-eyed young boy stares up at Ragglus, frozen. Closing his eyes quickly for a hurried prayer, the boy then suddenly leaps to his feet and breaks toward the exit, flinging open the doors and escaping across the terrace, away into Maidensbridge.

Ragglus steps out from behind the altar about to give chase, but then decides to burst out into laughter instead.

"Hope ya weren't prayin' fer a miracle," he mutters over his shoulder to the altar, its flat surface adorned with various icons dedicated to Valarian and Bahamut. "I certainly ain't it."

His chuckling ceases as his eyes cross to the other side of the sanctuary, where the more distinct altar dedicated to Lothian stands. He sneers, about to speak, but then waves it off. If Lothian was good for nothing else, at least he'd provided a roof over his head when Raggls needed it. Ragglus, even at his most blasphemous, could find no fault with that, no matter how hard he looked.

The ex-paladin makes sure his unused belongings are safely stored away behind the altar, tucked behind a hanging tapestry depicting a light from above shining down on a white doe, then turns and makes his way toward the chapel exit. His newly acquired masterwork longsword feels different at his side, though he could not discern any differences in weight when testing it the previous night. He hopes, not prays, that it will make a difference in any upcoming battles.

Rested, though not comfortably, he ambles toward The Cat & The Fiddle.

* * *

Tock Chandler sneaks quietly out of a house occupied by a family whose name he's not sure he remembers. He neatens his hair and walks over to Master Therurt. He's finishing a transaction for a repaired chainmail shirt, dropping the last of the coins into Therurt's short, thick hand, when Tucker and Emmerson enter the shop.

"Glad to see you didn't have to spend all yesterday's earnings on companionship for the night, Tock," Tucker barks. "Provided anything can ever find its way past those arrows of yours, that shirt should serve you well."

The bard, mentally composing an ode to his new armor, doesn't immediately respond.

"Constable Bridger wants me to check up on Renraw, make sure a night's rest has him feeling better, and he figured Grant could provide the Beancounter some of Lothian's comfort and reassurance," Tucker continues, snapping his fingers to get Tock's attention. "As for you, he was hoping you would grace him with your presence at The Cat & The Fiddle, sooner rather than later. I'm sure you won't mind."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

His mace and shield gleaming like new -- more due to the fact that they haven't actually been used yet, rather than anything he's done to them -- Bufer finally arrives at The Cat & The Fiddle, eager for a hearty second breakfast after the long walk through the snow. He's almost knocked aside as a fuming Tock Chandler slams open the door to the inn with a theatrical flourish.

"Constable Bridger! You dare send your flea-bitten retriever to fetch me?" the bard rounds on the older man, eyes blazing, his every gesture larger than life. "The seed counter wasn't feeling well, and rightfully didn't trust the Glittergoldian to heal him properly, so he told me he'd be heading to bed. He went ahead and gave me that tube so that it could be opened for all to see today."

Constable Bridger glares at the bard.

"I bet. Hopefully Tucker can find out what you've done with the bookkeeper."

"Bridger, am I to understand that you believe me guilty of some sort of non-carnal crime? Let's go straight to Kem House now. My honor cannot stand for such base accusations! The light of Lothian will surely show Renraw Kem there and recuperating from the wounds your deputy failed to prevent and the Glittergoldian failed to heal. Now, if you're done puffing your chest and speaking of that which you know little -- done for now, at least, for that last part may take a long while -- let us move on so that you might get on to something more useful, like telling your daughter she's too young to go to pubs late at night."

"No, you'll stay here. Tucker has orders to round you all up and bring you here for further questioning." The constable glances over at Milos, the party reflected behind him in the bar's mirror. "Something hot to get their brains working, barkeep."

"Further questioning?" Hazel gingerly takes a seat. "I thought you said Tucker gave you a full report last night. What do you think we can add?"

"Perhaps Constable Bridger needs help maintaining his reputation amongst the townsfolk, Haze," Tock says. "He let those awful, dastardly adventurers through, he was unaware of the danger of the burrow, and then we take care of it for him. So, clearly, something must be wrong with _us_."

Tock rolls his eyes and walks to the rest of the party.

"I brought the tube Kem kept. I dropped by his house this morning and he said to bring it to you all. He didn't have a chance to open it or see what's inside. Anyone care to take a look? Kem'll be sleeping or something all day, I guess."

"Anyone mind if I take a look at it?" Bufer asks, gesturing to Tock with an outstretched hand. "If it's that long skinny thing that robed kobold was carrying around -- which I suspect it might be -- it might answer the question of what those cysts were, and how they done got there."

"Fine with me," Tock says. "Just don't try stealing whatever it is."

As Tock hands over the tube, Bufer raises an eyebrow in response.

"Hello, Pot," the gnome says, "I don't believe we've met. I'm the Kettle."

Shaking his head, Bufer examines the tube carefully before he opens it to see if anyone has tampered with the wax seal or the tube's contents in any way.

"Pardon? I assumed you were talking to the other gnome, priest. I sing. I perform. I impress. I seduce. Look to others for thievery. Now what's the damned thing say already?"

"Hold your horses, hold your horses," Bufer mutters as he examines the tube.

Genuinely surprised to find the wax sealing the tube to be unbroken -- apparently neither Kem nor Chandler thought to open it, as the bard said -- Bufer makes to push his thumb through it to see what's inside. He pauses suddenly with his thumb hovering over the seal, and looks up at the bard with a suspicious frown.

"Wait, what's what say?" he asks. "I haven't even opened it, yet. What makes you think it says something?"

"Come now, Bufer. You've never seen a parchment tube before? Every time I've seen one of these, it held some documents or scrolls or what have you. Not exactly a giant leap of logic to think that this one is probably much like the others. If there's some ale in there, then I will surely be embarrassed by your gnomish wiles."

"There's ale in it?" Emus perks up. "Hand it over, here. I ain't had breakfast yet."

"Chandler, the day you're embarrassed by anything, I'll eat my nugget." Still eyeing the bard warily, Bufer breaks the seal and peers inside. Inside the tube is a single curled piece of parchment.

The constable makes an impatient noise, and the party becomes aware that Milos is watching them from behind the bar and his wife Jana leans against a post marking the beginning of the staircase to the second level. All is quiet, except for the creak of a floorboard on the second floor.

Tock looks around and pauses for a second.

"What?" he blurts out.

Oblivious, Bufer tugs the piece of parchment out of the tube and unrolls it on the table in front of them for all to see.

The constable looks down at the parchment and frowns.

"I can't read that."

"How surprising," Tock mutters. More loudly, "What language is it, oh learned constable?"

Constable Bridger holds up a hand to silence Tock and forestall the others from speaking.

"Since you all are so good at leaving out important information, I think it'd be best if an outsider translated that. Those look like Draconic runes. Jana, is the apothecary's boy upstairs?"

As the tavern keeper's wife heads upstairs to look, Hazel drums her fingers on the table.

"You keep implying that we're hiding something from you, but you won't say what you think it is. Surely you could give us some idea of what you're looking for, so we don't have to spend the entire day shut up inside these walls."

The constable turns towards Hazel, his peg leg thumping on the wooden timbers of the floor.

"Last night, after I sent off the messenger, he came tearing back a few hours later, with a message from the steward himself, asking if you lot had brought back mirrors. He was quite sure there were likely mirrors in that barrow, but strangely, none of you lot mentioned it."

"Would your curiosity have been aroused enough to ask what he was going on about?" Tosh asks. "Mirrors aren't exactly the kind of furnishings you'd find in a burial mound. Didn't it occur to you that it was an odd question?"

"I am the baron's man and the steward is the baron's right hand. If he wants to know something, I will find it out." Ward's eyes turn on the gnome rogue, his white scar particularly bright this morning. "Your people were wiped out here, when the dragon came, because you did not know the value of working together with your neighbors. This barony shall not pass into history like Treeline did."

"_Racism is a horrible thing_," Tock says in Gnomish.

Bufer looks up at the constable with an upturned eyebrow.

"A curious analogy, sir," he remarks. "These supposed mirrors pose a threat of dragon-sized proportions, do they?"

"You are not the first adventurers to explore a cairn in the barrow," the constable says. "If the steward is this concerned about them, I daresay there's reason. The baron is a powerful wizard, praise Lothian, and knows things none of us do or perhaps can.

"So no, I do not find the analogy curious, especially when your party still has not told all that you know about the mirrors."

He looks over at the stairway, wondering what's taking Jana and Leach's son so long.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Kem House is dark and silent as Tucker and Emmerson approach. But then, Kem House is almost always dark and silent. It's no coincidence that the house, one of the oldest in Maidensbridge, sits smack in between the homes of the constable and the town bailiff.

Emmerson watches the few remaining winter birds soar over the apple orchards to the north toward Green Mountain in the far west, wondering what kind of omen they bring. He is lost in thought when Tucker mutters something ugly about the house and snaps him out of it.

They knock the enormous clapper on the sturdy oak door, but there is no immediate response.

They wait for a few moments, frustrated. Tucker breathes a heavy sigh and grunts that they check should elsewhere in town. As the pair turn around, they are met by Rando Kem, a gangly child with messy hair, no shirt, missing teeth, and wild eyes.

"He says to say he's sick," the boy utters. "He says to say he's not to be bothered."

Tucker and Emmerson glance at one another, eyebrows raised.

"He says to say I'm to keep you 'otherwise occupied.' He says to say I'm to have a candy if'n I do it right."

The pair's eyes go wide.

* * *

Across town, at Kramer's General Store, Renraw drops some gold into the Lars Kramer's open hand.

"The rest when I return," the wizard says. "I may require the, uh, steed overnight."

"Steed, ha," Kramer laughs. "Right this way to the 'steed.'"

The stable is relatively neat, but there's enough straw that Renraw's fear of hay kicks in. Thus his eyes are clenched tightly when they reach the stall containing the shaggy dwarf pony he's just rented. Kramer's young son Rutiger gives the pony a couple of loving strokes with a brush before shooting Renraw a look that says she's all his and to bring her back none the worse for wear.

"His name is Applesauce," the small boy says.

Renraw peeks one eye open long enough to grab the reins and lead the pony out of the stable, flinching at the occasional crunch under his heel.

He clumsily throws a leg over the top of the animal that, despite being physically able to carry much more weight, seems to balk at her new passenger. Renraw still feels the ache in his bones with every movement.

"Beast!" Renraw cries as the pony wobbles, "Steady, beast!"

Rutiger shudders and worries for his friend, watching Renraw wide-eyed in horror.

"Forward, animal! Forward to the Baron's Road!"

It was in this way that Renraw and Applesauce left for Middleborough.

* * *

"Oh, for the love of Lothian! Emmerson, around the back, quickly!" Tucker orders, as he brushes past Rando and bursts through the unlocked front door.

"He says to say he's not to be bothered!" Rando calls out in protest.

The pair sweep through the rooms, both upstairs and down, but find no sign of the wayward wizard. Rando, a finger firmly entrenched in the upper reaches of his nose, still stands slack jawed on the front lawn when the two unwelcome guests emerge from the house.

"Kid, I'll give you two candies if you know where your cousin's gone. Three if we catch him before he gets there."

Rando offers no response, other than to offer his newly extracted finger to the pair. Declining this fine display of hospitality, they begin following the footprints in the snow. When they near the town proper, however, the track becomes too muddled to discern.

"It looks like he was headed toward the stable, but that has to be a feint. He'd never go there, not with his fear of hay."

Emmerson stops dead.

"Fear of hay? The stuff they put in mattresses? Who's afraid of hay?"

"Oh, Renraw is. Come on, let's get to the tavern; I'll tell you the story on the way.

"See, it all started when we were all kids ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker finishes the story just as the two reach The Cat & The Fiddle.

"And thus," Tucker concludes, "His fear of hay. Simple."

"Amazing," Emmerson breathes, shaking his head in disbelief. The pair step inside. "Good morning, folks.

"Constable," he bows his head slightly in salute, "I'm afraid Renraw Kem is nowhere to be found."

"What? He told me he'd be recuperating today!" Tock squeaks, whipping his head around in shock.

The constable gives Tock a bland, skeptical look.

"Come in, gentlemen. These folks were just waiting for you to arrive to explain all about the mirrors you found in the barrow." He turns toward the stairway. "LEACH! GET DOWN HERE, BOY!"

Having been kicked out of Ella's room, Katadid is immersed in the task of touching each handle of the doors on the second floor of The Cat & The Fiddle when the constable bellows up the stairs after him. Jana Forman sticks her head up the stairs a moment later, jerking her head angrily down at the common room. Katadid blinks at her and races down the stairs, coming up short when he sees the mass of people waiting for him below.

"Did ... was ... you or I?" he asks, his mouth opening and closing like a trout in the bottom of a rowboat.

Tock is immediately angry.

"Why is my cousin here? He's done nothing, gods damn it! Why is he here?"

Katadid flinches, and runs one hand through his thinning hair while the other taps against the banister in patterns of five. The constable sighs, his body language suggesting that, even though it's not yet even 9 a.m., it's already been a very long day.

"Leach, come here and read this scroll, if you can."

Katadid taps five more times and slides his way past Jana, his eyes on the piece of parchment in the gnome's hand. Never taking his eyes off the paper, he twists his way past the dwarf at the table, between the deputy and paladin, takes a long step over the ranger's knee and reaches over to take the parchment from the gnome, navigating his way past the bodies seemingly without looking.

"Ella was simply having some feminine troubles. Father mixed some St. Ecaterina's Root and kinksberry bark. Should do the trick." His eyes shine as he scans the parchment hungrily.

"Come on, nerd," Tock says, "And tell the people what I can already read."

"What you can read? Ugh!" Grunting in frustration, Bufer leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and tucks his chin into his chest, muttering just loudly enough in Gnomish for the others to hear him. "_I think we might as well be up front with him. No doubt the paladin and the deputy have already told them what they know, or will soon at any rate. Might as well look 'neighborly' and play along, I figure, at least initially. Any objections?_"

"_Sounds fine to me, I suppose,_" Tock replies. "_The local rats will sell us out anyway. May as well find a way to get something out of this, even if it means giving something else to this ass. Sorry about not translating this document, but I feared retribution from Constable Dickweed. Rest assured it's not of much interest to anyone that can understand me now._"

Bufer looks sharply up at Tock, his eyes flaring. Leaning forward, he slams both palms on the table and shouts at him angrily in Gnomish.

"_No hard feelings! Besides, all may not be lost, yet! There may yet be an opportunity to keep the mirrors out of the constable's hands and make a tidy profit, besides! Play along for now, and I'll fill you in when we can talk more freely!_"

As he shouts the last word, Bufer makes an exceedingly rude gesture at the bard, and flops back into his seat, glaring at him.

"Easy now, folks," Emmerson says soothingly. "No need to get all bent out of shape."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd understood what he just called your sister," Bufer mutters.

"They are just words, friend Bufer. I give them no power to harm me or mine," he smiles.

"I didn't mean no offense," Tock shrugs. "You've lived with her."

Bufer rolls his eyes and mutters in Gnomish again, almost under his breath.

"_Tosh? Hazel? Does this sound amenable to you? Reckless and the dwarf will take some convincing, I reckon, but we can always fill them in later._"

Katadid's hand stops twirling the tube and sets it on one of the tables. He looks up suddenly and turns toward the northern wall of the inn, his eyes narrowing.

"Seventy-nine. Plus one. Perhaps."

Katadid pushes his way past the crowd toward the entrance. He exits out into the bright winter morning and makes his way to the northern wall of the building. He speaks over his shoulder to those following as he begins taking measured paces toward the cemetery.

"Bring a shovel," he says.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The group follows Katadid outside, confused as to what the apothecary's boy is doing. Emmerson bounds off with long-legged strides to the Stone House to borrow a shovel.

"Wait, is that related to this scroll, or has he just gone all elfshot again?" Tucker asks, glad the constable doesn't have time to dwell on all the things his deputy had forgotten to mention in his report the night before. "You know, I'll never forget the night he was standing out in the center of town, trying to count raindrops as they fell. Took four of us just to drag the boy inside."

"Damn your eyes, Kat, don't go digging up the town! We don't even know what inn they're talking about!" Tock says, chasing after his cousin.

The constable races after the group, making surprisingly good time with a missing foot, although the effort is visibly straining.

"What did that note say, Leach?" he calls after the boy.

Hazel lags behind, holding one arm close to her body and places a hand on Bufer's shoulder.

"Say, Bufer, if you get a chance, I'd appreciate if you'd check the bandages again when all this 'excitement' is over. No sense getting an infection, eh?" She leans in closer, speaking more quietly in Gnomish. "_Don't see the fuss over mirrors, myself, but you've been a friend to me. I'll follow your lead on this one, so long as it doesn't get me in trouble with my folks._"

Bufer nods and the pair hustle after Tock, who spots them and slows just enough to be able to listen.

"_We arranged for a cart from Wit's End to meet us at the barrow_," Bufer says hurriedly. "_We were going to tell y'all about it at the Cat, but with the Constable pokin' his nose in, I didn't get the chance. Rubik's a collector, always has been -- you should see the room he's filled with trophies from his own adventuring days -- and he's offered to pay handsomely for them. I doubt he even cares if they're magical or not. It might not be as much as we'd get on the open market, but it's a damn sight more than we'll see from Bridger and his sheriff, that's for sure._"

Katadid stalks on at a feverish pace, eyes flickering between the parchment and the road. Emmerson rejoins the group, shovel over his shoulder. Katadid stops suddenly, having counted out the number of paces apparently described in the note.

"Here," he says quickly. His eyes manically dart across the page as the paladin begins to dig. "Constable, have there been any artifacts or relics missing from holy temples as of late? I realize it may be hard to notice a missing piece but apparently one has been stolen and buried two hundred strides away from an inn where the thieves met someone by the name of Tiberius. Any help or information as to who that name belongs to would be useful, of course."

Katadid's lips stop moving long enough to bring the parchment to his nose and inhale deeply.

"Less than a year old. Ink hasn't begun to flake yet. There may be some time. Where did you find this? We apparently have 11 days until someone comes to collect the hidden cache. The next step would be to find these 'Owlish Caverns,' of course, which sounds positively EXCITING!"

He looks up to find everyone but Emmerson staring at him.

"What?"

"You guys are all assuming that these thieving delvers met Tiberius or whoever at our inn," Tock says, getting increasingly agitated. "Constable, care to strain that mighty head of yours and try and remember someone named Tiberius?"

"No. And it's wonderfully convenient such an issue has arisen, instead of you all telling me of the mirrors you found in Fibber's cairn. But if you want to do it in the snow instead of a warm tavern, that's fine with me," the constable says. "Tell me, bard, since you can't seem to keep from talking, about the mirrors in the sarcophagus."

"Well, sir, since you put it so delicately, I can indeed tell you some things about those mirrors. They are reflective surfaces, which is to say that they give off such a sheen as to reflect the image of that which is placed afore it, producing an optical effect that would seem to be a duplicate of everything in front of the mirror. Now, scholars have debated for ages about the possibility of 'mirror dimensions' wherein these images we see are just as real as ourselves, but I frankly think that's poppycock, like Ella's so called 'fairies' -- when you and I both know the only fey folk in Maidensbridge reside under the Bailey roof, if you catch my meaning." Seeing the constable's temper about to boil over, Tock gets back on topic. "But we are not here in the snow to speak of buggery, we are here to speak of mirrors. Yes, there were some old mirrors hidden away in the caverns. They looked rather valuable so we intended to sell them for more transportable measures of wealth. Transportable being the very nature and crux of the problem here, as in, transporting heavy mirrors and transporting myself out of this gods-forsaken town. The mirrors, you see, are large and heavy. They also have some sort of carvings on them, avian-themed, owls to be specific.

"Now, before you ask why I didn't mention this before, the answer is really rather simple. First of all, you didn't ask me about any mirrors. Second, after your two bumbling lackeys Grant and Gallaway went and gave you their report, I stupidly assumed they would inform you of the sort of details that we are discussing right now. Surely, were I under your employ and guidance, and if I were the type to run and tell the constable every damn detail of everyone else's life, that's something I would have included in my report. Alas, for whatever reason, your boys didn't tell you. I assumed they did, and that I therefore had nothing of import to add. My mistake. We all make them, from time to time. Just some less often than others."

Katadid pauses and looks up.

"Mirrors?"

"Yes, Kat," Tock sighs, "Mirrors. Cousin Tock and some other folk found some big mirrors in a place not too far from here. We were going to bring them back and sell them, but Ward here seems dead-set on being scared of a bunch of inanimate objects with owls on them."

"Ah. Well, we'll have to have a look at them of course," Kat says sagely, now exhausted after his earlier mania. He walks over to the cemetery gate and taps it three times before walking back to watch if the dig reveals anything. The ground is frozen, as it's been a long winter, and the digging is slow and difficult.

"Can the rest of us please go do something else while you fools dig up the whole town on a hunch?" Tock asks.

"We should check with Ella," Hazel says. "No doubt she'd remember strangers in the tavern. At least that way we'd know if we're digging in the wrong place."

"Right, I'm going back to the pub," Tock says. "If anyone else needs me, that's where I'll be."

Emus ambles after the bard.

"Seems to me the main concern is why Bridger and his bosses are so concerned 'bout some mirrors that don't belong to none of us. We didn't take 'em from the barrow. They're still there if they want to go haul 'em outta there themselves."

"It's enough to make a fellow think about the virtues of a criminal career," Tosh says, walking along in the dwarf's shadow.

Hazel stands watching the digging a moment. Emmerson, to everyone's dismay, has begun to sing. She turns to the apothecary's son.

"Hey, Kat? What was it the parchment said about 'Owlish Caverns'?"

"What? Oh, right. Simply that there was to be a meeting there on the 15th of Birth to exchange the artifact. I would be rather interested to see that. Perhaps if we can procure an invisibility spell. Then, again..."

He trails off again.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back at The Cat & The Fiddle, Ragglus sits near the fire and waits for his breakfast to arrive, confident his companions would have come and gotten him if anything important was going on.

A man taps on his shoulder. A look up at the man's face shows he hasn't had much sleep: It's the messenger who has gone from Maidensbridge to Middleborough, Middleborough to Maidensbridge, Maidensbridge to Middleborough and now Middleborough to Maidensbridge once more, all in the space of less than 12 hours.

"Where's the constable got to? Message from the steward."

He pats the saddlebag thrown over his shoulder, and Ragglus is sure he hears the clink of coins.

"Sworn t'secrecy, I was," Ragglus says, looking up at the man appraisingly. "You look like an' official sort, I suppose he won't mind me tellin'. I sure am hungry tho', feels likes I only ate dinner evening last! I'm sure i'd remember much better if one o' Milos' fine deluxe breakfasts was in my belly..."

* * *

Wincing at Emmerson's singing, Constable Ward Bridger leaves the graveyard, herding everyone but the paladin back to The Cat & The Fiddle. He seems unsurprised to see the messenger, who has collapsed into a chair, looking as though he's ready to lay his head down on the table and fall asleep right there. But instead, the messenger hands the constable a sealed note and the saddlebags, which jingle again.

The constable breaks the seal, eyes scanning it quickly, then glancing up at Ragglus and the other adventurers trickling into the room. He snorts and then shrugs.

"Just after dawn, the sheriff, the constable of Middleborough and several deputies visited Fibber's cairn and retrieved the mirrors, which they have taken to Midwood Hall for safe keeping."

He puts the saddlebag down on the table and opens it. Reaching inside, he pulls open the drawstring on one of the leather sacks inside.

"For your voluntary service to the baron, the steward has sent along a sum of 500 gold pieces to be distributed between you as a reward."

He hands the five leather sacks to Tucker to distribute.

"You take care of this. I can't handle any more of this in one day." He turns and faces the adventurers, clicking his heels together, the wooden peg knocking against his boot. He stiffens and shoots off a half-salute. "You have the thanks of the barony."

As the constable leaves the tavern, Bufer lowers his head and shuts his eyes tightly.

"Argh!" he mutters. "_Rubik and Master Barennackle are not going to be happy_."

Ragglus eyes the sacks and grunts.

"Anyone else feelin' like a blind whore kicked out of the barracks with a pouch full a coppers instead of silver?"

Tucker dumps the coins on the table and starts making nine piles. 

Emus scoops up his share and goes back to eating his delicious breakfast of apple cider, applesauce, apple sausage, and an apple omelet with gusto.

* * *

Meanwhile, Renraw and Applesauce bounce along the Baron's Road toward Middleborough. Despite the discomfort of the journey and the terrifying smell of hay about the beast, the wizard is grinning from ear to ear.

He and Tock had done a masterful job peeling off the original wax seal from the scroll tube, taking the scroll of wizard spells from inside, faking up a note involving imaginary bandits and a nonexistent rendezvous and sealing it up once more. There was no point in having the scroll taken out of his share of the loot when he could get it for free. Selling the potions from the cairn at the House of the Transformed Toad would mean even more gold in his pocket he wouldn't have to share.

He was sorry he was missing seeing all the good little soldiers and crucifix-kissers whip themselves into a frenzy over the fiction Tock cooked up last night at Kem House, but he was sure the bard would be able to recount the joke in hilarious detail later.

"A fine joke indeed," Renraw laughed.

But it would prove to be much more than a simple joke.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 2
A Meeting in the Woods*​
Morning breaks on Birth 15. The spring thaw is not here yet, and the wind still blows icy and hard, but it's been snowing less and less. Dark patches of earth show through where there had only been snow two weeks before, although the ground is still frozen hard.

The gnomes' trading post on the slopes of Green Mountain has seen no customers recently, as the Wizard of Green Mountain has been away, presumably off in Kem. The kobolds have been little-seen, as the cold weather has kept them in their lairs except during the warmest days, when the little creatures wear broad-brimmed hats and scurry about their business quickly, the bright sunlight bouncing off patches of snow and ice dazzling their eyes.

In Wit's End, preparations have begun in earnest for this year's Tootenfest, and they have ordered a number of machine parts from Grail Keep, which now sit in Kramer's General Store, waiting for the gnomes to arrive and pick them up.

The Moss River is still frozen over, but the ice in the middle has gotten thin, and the water can be seen and heard rushing by beneath it. The residents of the Barony of Midwood have begun taking their tools out of winter's storage and oiling them for the new year and spring clothes have begun to have their moth holes darned in the hopes that soon, the heavy clothes of winter can be shed for another year.

The worshippers of Valarian, including Ella at the Cat & the Fiddle, have been leaving out small wooden cups full of milk or small sweet foods for the faeries, whom Ella says have been starving all winter. Certainly some residents of the Tulgey Wood have been enjoying the gifts: Sparrows and other birds have been seen picking the cups empty.

This morning, though, a cold wind blows from the southeast, and for the adventurers who entered Fibber's Cairn two weeks before, the wind brings a faint whiff of those ruins to mind.

* * *

Hazel Sawyer slips out of her house before her family wakes, snatching a cold breakfast from the remains of last night's supper and munches as she walks. Maidensbridge is still quiet as she passes through; she nods to a few early risers, but doesn't slow to chat. She enters the woods where the party began its journey to the barrow, and slows her steps to find the deer trail she followed then. She double-times it down the trail, delighted by the smell of the wet greenery and the fresh, cool air against her face. Eventually her enthusiasm settles into a more sedate contentment, and her pace follows suit. Once she reaches the hill leading up to the cairn, she begins to scout around for a concealed spot overlooking the entrance.

* * *

Katadid Leach didn't want to touch the moss on the tree, but he had to, no choice in the matter. But when he turned around he found himself lost. The fevered focus that had gripped him as he marched through the melting snow and frozen ground has dissolved and fragmented into spurts of coughing as he tries to orient himself. He is certain that the cairn must be close by, as well as those he was supposed to meet, but he now realizes he never asked if they should meet in town or at the cairn's entrance.

Renraw Kem approaches Katadid from behind, hoping not to startle him but unable to think of a way to prevent it.

"Er, hello!" he says, bracing for the other wizard's jump. "Did you know you're facing the wrong direction? And you're, well, about 300 yards away?"

Katadid's jump is a coughing fit by the time he returns to earth once more.

"Ah, yes, thank you." Katadid seems unsurprised at Renraw's appearance, despite his leap a moment ago. "So, this way? Meetings ... dates. Yes, well, I am perhaps interested."

He begins walking in the opposite direction.

"As am I, Leach," Renraw replies, smiling to himself, "As am I."

He follows Katadid deeper into the Tulgey Wood toward the barrow.

* * *

Emmerson Grant has been thoughtful since the Tulgey Barrow affair. He has had regular conversations with Constable Ward Bridger, regarding moral and upright behavior, and bringing the light of Lothian to those still lost in the dark.

Stepping outside in the morning air, he spots Deputy Tucker Gallaway bustling around Maidensbridge and hustles after him.

"Sorry, Grant, I'm not going," Tucker says as the paladin approaches. "Too much to be done here in town right now, and a vague note on a liar's body isn't enough to get Ward's dander up: With the weather turning warm, he's been up in his tower more frequently, keeping an eye on the slopes of Green Mountain. That leaves me down here on the ground to keep the peace.

"Right now I'm off to find Ella at the tavern; apparently she's got a complaint to swear out against someone. But best of luck. Shine in Lothian's light."

"I shall. I'll keep an eye on them and report my findings," Emmerson says. He turns and jingles off at a brisk pace toward Fibber's Cairn.

* * *

Hidden from view in the forest, Hazel hears Bufer long before he comes into sight over the crest of the hill, his boots crunching through the snow as he approaches the barrow from the general vicinity of Wit's End. In one hand he carries a pack, slung over his shoulder. Clutched in the other is some gnomish breakfast delicacy, looking for all the world like a flapjack wrapped around a sausage and a stick of butter. Wrinkling her nose, and ignoring her stomach's lurching, Hazel prepares to stand up and wave him over, and then realizes with a start that he's walking right to her.

"Morning," he says, once he's within a few feet of her. He offers the end of his gnomish concoction. "Want a bite? It's not all that hot, anymore, but at least there's no apples in it."

"How did you?" Hazel asks, incredulously. "How could you?"

Munching on his breakfast, Bufer points to a rabbit hole not five feet from where they stand.

"Got word from the underground," Bufer explains as he sets down his pack. "You might be invisible to the naked eye, but not to their noses. Don't worry, we're well hidden, otherwise."

"Rabbits." Hazel squints at the burrow, imagining she can see twitching noses. "I'll be darned. Good to know."

Reaching into his pack, he pulls out a largish jar of muddy brown liquid and hands it to Hazel. She finds it surprisingly warm to the touch.

"Here, I brought us something to drink, brewed from some kinda beans my pa brought back from the other side of the Whitewind. He swears by the stuff, got barrels of it stashed away back home. It's a bit on the bitter side, but it'll keep us warm and alert."

Hazel eyes the jar dubiously and passes for now as Bufer rummages around in his pack with his free hand.

"I've also got a pair of dice in here, somewhere, in case we get bored. We're like to be waiting awhile, I figure, and it's pretty entertaining the way Katadid always manages to guess," he breaks off suddenly and looks up at Hazel in alarm. "Oh bugger, where's Kat?"

"Haven't seen him yet. Didn't run into him on my way through town," Hazel says, peering through the branches toward the partially concealed mouth of the cairn.

* * *

The thorns rip into Katadid's clothing but he hardly seems to notice as the two wizards make their way to the side of the hill. He walks around a shrub twice and holds his chest while coughing. It's not until Renraw points toward some hastily piled brush across the opening that Katadid eyes lose their normal glaze.

"Ah, excellent," he says and begins walking toward the entrance.

Hazel bursts out of her hiding place, grabbing Katadid by his sleeve, checking his forward progress. She does a double-take at Renraw, surprised to see him here.

"You went to Middleborough?" she bursts out as she gently steers Katadid to the group's hiding place, carrying a fir bough to erase their tracks with afterwards. "What was it like?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tock wakes with a slight pain in both his back and at the base of his skull. The slight back pain is an improvement on the previous night spent "camping." Two days previously, he had decided not to call on Ella anymore. Physical needs of multiple varieties changed that decision quickly. He quietly sneaks a glance to the other side of her bed to find she was already gone. That makes the morning easier. Tock stretches and climbs out of the bed. On a plate and under a bowl is a breakfast she had made for him. One day, Ella would make a better man very happy.

Tock eats hungrily, washes himself off and headed downstairs to main room of The Cat & The Fiddle.

"What day's it?" he asks.

"Fifteenth of Birth," Milos Fordham says, glaring at him.

"Aw, hells," Tock sighed.

* * *

Ragglus loiters outside the entrance of the tavern, his face wrinkled in thought. He vaguely remembers someone mentioning something to him about Birth 15, but can't for the life of it remember what was said. Perhaps if he had been more attentive, perhaps if something bright and shiny hadn't brightened and shined to steal his attention, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Was it even Birth 15? Confused and hung over, Ragglus enters the tavern, intent on finding some answers.

"Ragless, my friend," Tock calls out happily. "Good to see someone I don't loathe! You're not joining the fools on their crusade are you?"

_Crusade_, Ragglus thinks to himself, until it finally hits him like a sack of rocks. The barrow!

"Yeah, promised ... one of 'em. They ain't left yet, have they?"

"Can't say as I know, Ragless, I've avoided any mention of it. I've got no interest in digging up moldy artifacts of that religion. As long as those others are around, there'll be no profit in it. Sit, have a breakfast ale. If you're lucky, Ella might make some of her delicious egg concoctions." Tock looks over to the bar and sees the barmaid distracted. "Ella, darlin? What's wrong?"

Tock and Ragglus follow Ella's disgusted gaze to Emus, who has just sauntered in while digging around in one nostril with a thick finger and a satisfied air. Realizing Ella's eyes on him, the dwarf grins broadly.

"Mornin', Ella! Whatever you got on tap for breakfast, and git me one of your egg doodads, too!" He wanders over to the table with Tock and Ragglus. "Mornin', ladies. What's new?"

"I heard those Druids taught you to read," Tock says. "Maybe they're not completely useless after all."

"Eh," Emus shrugs. "Book learning's nice and all, but it's not so great. You spend too much time with yer nose buried in a book and the rest of ya suffers. I mean, just look at Renraw and that cousin of yers. A stiff fart could knock the both of 'em over."

"Did the two stiffs go with 'em," Ragglus asks, through a mouthful of food, "Or are they plannin' on talkin' things to death?" Ragglus lifts his hands and waggles his fingers in poor imitation of spellcasting.

"What's this, now?" Emus says. "I thought we'd cleaned out that whole cairn. And those kids went back there by themselves? Dang it."

"Rags and I were just talking about the idiots going back to the barrow to catch the whoever stole whatever from that stupid church," Tock says. "I know my gods damned cousin was going with the Glittergoldian and Renraw was going, too. I thought better of him. I don't know about the others. Screw 'em, I say. What you say we figure out a better way to earn some coin?"

"I got as much use for coin as I do for books, as long as I have enough of it to put some food in my belly," says Emus. "I guess I'll head out there after MY BREAKFAST GETS HERE and see what sort of trouble they've gotten into. But if it's coin you're after, it seems ta me that if'n they do find anyone out there, they won't take too kindly to church-thieves. You've had pretty good luck with finding stuff off of corpses so far!"

Emus cackles at his own joke as his breakfast arrives.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

After repeatedly stopping and reorienting himself, Emmerson finds himself approaching Fibber's Cairn at last. He's careful with his footprints, trying to step on protruding rocks and logs. He is also trying to walk silently, but with the armor and gear he carries, it's not working well.

He pauses near the barrow entrance, looking for the others.

"Damn you, paladin, we're trying to be clandestine, here!" Renraw hisses from nearby hedge. "Come back to the hiding spot with the rest of us, or you'll scare this Tiberius character off!"

"Hail, folks," Emmerson blushes as he carefully moves to the hiding spot. "Lothian willing, I did not break your cover. Anything to report so far?"

"Nothing but all of us making enough noise to wake the ..." Hazel stops suddenly. From the mouth of the cairn, there is a very quiet but distinct scraping sound audible over the sound of the wind. "Did you hear that?" 

She eyes the Emmerson and his gear, which is still rattling softly, and points a finger at the group.

"Stay out of sight and be quiet while I check this out, yeah?" Hazel sidles up to the mouth of the cairn, peeking around to see if she can spot anything and listening intently, trying to get a better idea of the sound. It could be a sarcophagus lid opening, it could be a shovel clanging on valuable relics. She squints into the darkness, wishing she had Emus' cave-sharp eyes.

The wind has caught a crumpled piece of paper, which scrapes back and forth in the wind, and is partially hidden behind the shrubs by the entrance.

Surprised, Hazel reaches down and unfolds the paper, finding a note written in Imperial: "_Tiberius, our contact at Wit's End has informed us that our meeting place has been compromised. Re-meet at the pub in Goblin Falls on the 21st. The item will be there, as will the sacrifice, thanks to the gnome_."

Hazel carefully tucks the note into an interior pocket of her cloak, frowning.

Back at their hiding spot, Bufer looks at the crouching pair of wizards to his right and sighs. This is going to be a long day.

"Katadid," he says gently, placing a hand lightly on the wizard's arm, "What did you think that you saw in the cairn before Hazel led you away?"

"Something small, yes," Katadid says, craning his neck to watch Hazel's progress, "But light colored. It could be an animal, or something ... other. Or perhaps someone's familiar, in which case our mystery merchants may already be here, and aware of our presence. It would be prudent to investigate while others watch the entrance."

Hazel returns to the group, apparently frustrated.

"Whatever the sound was, it's gone now." She settles to the ground with a thump and stares out through the branches.

"Familiar," Bufer repeats sourly, then wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Which means a wizard. Terrific."

Watching the cairn entrance, the gnome heaves another sigh. _I wish Tosh were here_, he thinks to himself. _A rogue who could move right silent-like and see in the darkest of darks would come in real handy, right about now_.

"All right," he says aloud instead, "I reckon Hazel's the most able scout of us, here, but I'll be damned if we're sending her in alone. No offense, lass, but I just weren't raised that way. Why don't the rest of y'all wait here and keep watch, and the two of us will go in a ways, see what we can see?"

Katadid seems alarmed at the prospect of not being one of the group walking into the cairn.

"Wizard ... heplful with the ... er ..."

"Yes, you're very helpful with the stammering," Renraw scolds. "Now be a lad and keep quiet. Remember, we want to be able to hear their screams so that we'll know when to run."

Hazel nods at Bufer.

"Pop in and pop out at the first hint of anything suspicious. If anything gives chase, Emmerson and the boys can give it a whack and a zap after we run out," she says. "Probably need a light, though, and I don't fancy firing up a torch for a little look-see."

"Just one more thing," Emmerson says. "Hazel, do you see any prints leading into the cairn?"

"Ground's too cold," Hazel says. "Won't hold prints when the mud's frozen solid. Could be I'll be able to pick some out in the dust further in, but out here, no. If you hear us yell, be ready to give something a solid thrashing."

"Ready," Bufer nods, putting down his sack and accepting a lamp offered by Emmerson. "We'll be back in two shakes. And Kem's got the right idea, for once: You hear anything untoward comin' from that cairn, the lot of you bolt. No sense in all of us ... Anyway, let's go."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel leads the cleric into the cairn, staying toward the wall to avoid scuffing any marks in the dust, but she doesn't hold out much hope of finding useful tracks: The cairn's a regular thoroughfare, what with kobolds and Fibber and the party and the baron's men collecting the mirrors.

She walks at half-speed, moving as silently as she's able, until she reaches the first set of alcoves. She keeps a firm grip on her battleaxe as a precaution, but her nerves are twanging like Tock's banjo.

As Bufer and Hazel move into the cairn, the gnome recognizes immediately that one of the reasons he had wanted to come back was missing: At the edge of his low-light vision, it's clear that the kobolds' bodies are gone.

"Garl's golden nuggets," Bufer hisses under his breath. He grabs Hazel's arm, drawing her to a halt, then holds up one finger to her as he strains his hearing, listening for any indication of movement.

Unsure why they've stopped, Hazel nonetheless heeds Bufer's warning, listening as well, but as the silence stretches, she opens her mouth to whisper to the cleric. Bufer shakes his head sharply as Hazel begins to whisper, and motions for Hazel to lean towards him.

"The corpses are gone," he explains, in a barely-audible whisper. "There may be kobolds afoot. Shhh!"

That said, he closes his eyes and listens intently for the telltale sound of clawtips clicking against stone. After a moment, Hazel drops to one knee beside him and begins whispering in fits and starts, her voice shaking slightly.

"So, these holy relics the thieves have taken, I figure it's not likely you'd care much about their religious significance, seeing as how your prayers aren't meant for Lothian's ears." She stares at the floor as she talks, the words tumbling out in a rush. "You an' Tosh are the only gnomes I know more than in passing, an' y'all are both right good sneaks. But I'm askin' ya for truth now: Did y'all tell anyone about today's meeting? About the note, an' the relics an' all?"

Bufer tears himself away from straining his ears for sounds of kobolds in the barrow and looks up at her with his pale blue eyes.

"Master Barennackle," he says in a barely audible whisper. "I told him, just as I tell him everything ... well, most everything. Though I doubt he cared overmuch: We don't, as you say, spare much thought for Lothian or his holy trinkets. He gave me leave to accompany you an' Kat, but I expect he considers it an affair for you big'uns, not really our concern. He might have mentioned it to Lord Rubik in passing, but so far as I know, it ain't gone beyond that."

"I think it has. Gone beyond that, I mean." Hazel reaches deep into her cloak and pulls out the crumpled sheet of paper, nervously smoothing it before tilting it for Bufer to read. "The noise near the entrance wasn't any folks inside the cairn, it was the wind whippin' this about in the undergrowth. Now, maybe I'm making a mistake, trusting you, maybe not, but I figure if there is some kind of spy running about your house, you need to know about it."

Bufer stares at the note in Hazel's hand in open-mouthed shock, looks up at her, then back down at the note. After a moment, all thought of caution plainly forgotten, he lets out a steady stream of gnomish invective which makes Hazel blush to the heels of her boots.

"Hazel, you have my word, as a gnome of the cloth, and as your friend, that I knew absolutely nothing about this!" He gestures uselessly at the note with his free hand. "I appreciate you've no reason to take that word. Like you said, both Tosh and I have demonstrated a certain propensity for, well, being gnomes, but I'm asking you to believe me. Of all who've partook of this damned fool adventure, you're the only one who I trust implicitly, save Tosh."

"The note says there's a sacrifice, but it doesn't say whether the gnome is bringing the sacrifice or is the sacrifice," Hazel says. "What if Tosh overheard something he shouldn't? Goblin Falls is a ways off for a backwoods Bridger like me. My dad's going to have a fit."

"It's not time to panic yet, lass. We've got time to decide what to do next. As it is, I think I'm going to have to present this to Master Barennackle and Lord Rubik, unless you object. I believe I can trust 'em -- they're both old friends of my pa -- and if we've got a snitch in the family, they'll want to know."

"That's your business -- gnomish business, I mean -- and you'd know better who you can trust than I," Hazel says, tight-lipped. "But if they're the only folks you told before, then maybe you ought to make sure ya don't have eavesdroppers when ya tell 'em, yeah?"

Bufer glances at the note in her hand again and shakes his head at it in disbelief.

"I'll leave it to you to decide whether or not we tell the others," he says, after a quiet moment. "I'd prefer to keep it between us, at least 'till I've hand a chance to talk with my people, but if it'll make you feel more secure ...

"Emmerson's OK, as servants of Lothian go, and hardly anyone takes a word Kat says seriously, anyway. But Kem I trust about as far as I could throw him uphill against the wind with my left arm. Granted, no one puts much stock in what he says, neither, but if he can see a way to profit by this, I reckon he'll take it."

"You're spot-on about Kem an' Kat, sure enough," she says, "But Kat'll babble in front o' Tock, and he's right clever. While we might want him along later, he might go haring off to the Falls on his own if he hears about this. And Emmerson, I like him well enough, but you know he'll feel obligated to tell the constable, and then we'll end up sitting on our duffs again while the baron's men have all the fun.

"I don't like keeping secrets, Bufer. This meeting's near a week away. If your folk can't turn up anything in four days, I think we should tell the others and see who'd be willing to go."

"Now, that said, if there's no bandits or kobolds about, we should probably get a move on and get back to the others," Bufer says. "If you've got the note, there's a good chance this Tiberius ain't seen it yet, which means he might still be on his way. If he does show up, well, maybe this whole expedition weren't for nothing, after all."

"Right. Let's check out those missing bodies and get out of here."

"Yeah, I'd appreciate a quick peek," Bufer says. "Let's get a move on, though. The suspense is like to be killin' the others by now."

Outside, Emmerson remains vigilant and Renraw is still at times and at others he fidgets. But Katadid, on the other hand, looks like a cauldron about to boil over. He has already counted the creaks of each branch on the tree in front of him by the time he speaks.

"You realize ... the message was in Draconic. If the people being met use that as their primary language then perhaps someone who understands them should walk in to overhear anything," he says, waiting for a response from the others, who seem to be ignoring him. "Just saying ..."

He taps out another pattern of five, then reaches over to touch Emmerson's nose. The paladin sighs and brushes the finger away. Katadid fidgets and turns toward Renraw.

"So, St. Feldin's," he says, trying out this "small talk" thing his cousin talks about. "Does that gnome still teach Divination there?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"And so then," Tock continued, laughing, "We were both singing along, dancing, over there at that booth, right at the top of our lungs."

Something had gotten Tock nostalgic and he was regaling them with story after story. Ragglus was laughing along and so was Ella.

"So who was this lady love?" Ragglus finally asks.

Tock sighs and comes back to earth.

"Some local tramp," he said. "It's a metaphor. A symbol. Don't worry about it, it's song stuff."

But Tock's mood has turned, and he glowers into his drink.

* * *

Hazel smiles, leading Bufer deeper into the barrow.

"You think Kat's started counting the links in Emmerson's chain shirt yet?" She slows just before where she'd expect to see bodies, and begins searching the area for any signs of disturbance. "Maybe something dragged 'em off? It's not like they could just up and walk away, is it?"

Bufer freezes and stares at Hazel.

"Not usually," he says hesitantly. "I think this has been a wild goose chase, lass. Unless you're able to find some sign of how them corpses done disappeared, we'd best get back to the others."

Hazel gestures for the cleric to lead the way out; she throws the occasional glance back over her shoulder as she trails after him, but the barrow is silent and still.

The sunlight stings her eyes as they exit, and Hazel blinks rapidly to dispel the spots in her vision. A bit dispirited by her lack of discovery, Hazel is nonetheless determined to wait all day if she must.

"So, you said you had some dice in your bag?"

Relieved to see some activity, Kat practically pounces on the pair.

"Well? Anything? Describe to me exactly what is inside. Was anything different? How did it smell? Did you locate what may have made the sound? Was there any indication of activity? And those mirrors! When do we go in? Perhaps another trip is in order, yes?"

Hazel stares at the wizard with a dumbfounded expression before replying.

"Er, no. Stone and dust." She ticks off her fingers with each answer, her eyes darting upward as she works to remember each question. "Yes. Musty. No. Yes and no. Didn't see 'em. You don't. No?"

Her lips move soundlessly as she reviews each answer, then nods firmly.

"Yup, that's about it."

But upon hearing the words "you don't," Katadid had turned around and sat down in the snow in the previous hiding spot staring ahead angrily.

Bufer sighs heavily and rubs the bridge of his nose to forestall the headache threatening to build behind it.

"Kat, be reasonable, all right? We don't want to get caught with our pants down in the barrow if and when these people show up, do we? Let's be patient for the time being. The barrow ain't goin' nowhere."

"THAT'S-" Katadid blinks. His next breath turns into a coughing fit, leaving him red-faced and breathless. "Actually, that's ... a reasonable point."

He begins clearing a circle of snow in front of him and then separate the rocks beneath into discrete piles.

"Indeed, our vigil has not even started," Emmerson says, sitting on the ground, placing his sword to the side and locking his eyes on the cairn's entrance. "Barely a full day in contemplation, nothing to it."

"Well," Bufer says to no one in particular, "it seems like all we've got left to do is wait."

With that, he opens up his pack and pulls out his holy Glittergoldian tome of proverbs, psalms and knock-knock jokes. Opening it to a dog-eared page, he settles it in his lap and begins to read, chuckling softly to himself almost immediately.

Hazel sweeps away any tracks she and Bufer made going to and from the barrow, then settles down with the others to wait.

And so the group waits. As the day wears on, they hear some of the trees in the Tulgey shrug off their winter's coat of ice, which comes crashing down through the underbrush in the distance.

* * *

Having grown up hearing his father's tales of adventure with the Imperial Army, Tucker has long dreamt of a more exciting life than the one he had in Maidensbridge. And truly, that's all they had been -- idle dreams -- until he ventured into the Tulgey Barrow and fought the creatures there. Now that he's experienced real excitement, the weight of his ordinary life rests heavily upon him. With nothing of interest or import going on in town, he heads to the small chapel for late afternoon prayer before Lothian's altar.

A hand drops on Tucker's shoulder as his foot is on the first step leading into Maidensbridge Chapel.

"Warm weather," Constable Ward Bridger says. "There are kobolds moving on Green Mountain, heading east towards the forest north of us. Do you have any friends capable of shadowing them without being heard?"

* * *

Katadid was up to eight piles, one coughing fit, and counting.

"And the one-legged paladin says," Bufer reads aloud to the others from his book, "'Do not despair for me, sirrah, for I dost ride side-saddle!'"

Emmerson puts closes the leather-bound book with St. Chausle's portrait on the cover around a finger to hold his place. He's about to ask a question when Renraw interjects.

"I never had much use for women, myself," Renraw expounds. "Of course, I could scarcely keep them away from me at university ..."

Hazel pulls a piece of jerky from her pack and chews silently. With some difficulty, she tunes out the constant jabbering of her companions and listens for the crunch of feet on snow or the rustle of movement against branch.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Fourteen piles of rocks. Two piles of twigs and leaves. Two coughing fits.

Emmerson looks up again at the barrow, then at the road, then at Katadid's rock-piles, tunes into Renraw's current monologue and Bufer's recitations.

"So much for a silent vigil," he murmurs, opening the book to continue reading the tale of a former Knight of St. Chausle and the Toruk-Ruk orc babies.

Hazel looks over her shoulder at the rest of the group.

"With all the noise you've been making, half a dozen bandits could be out there and we'd never know it."

"Indeed," Emmerson says pointedly. "Silence from now on."

* * *

"No," Tucker says. "No silent friends."

The constable snorts.

"Make do, then. Find out what the kobolds are up to. Don't offer violence first, but I don't like them wandering around freely. The dragon's gone; this is our land now."

* * *

"-- and then I said to her," Tock says, leaning over his drink, "if it didn't fit before it sure will now!"

Ragglus snorts a slight laugh into his beer and the dwarf just sort of keeps drinking.

"When it comes to sex," Tock winks, "honesty is the best policy. Usually."

Tucker enters The Cat & The Fiddle just as Tock is finishing his story.

"Does that mean you're ready to tell everyone where you really spend your nights, or why you keep sending those letters through the general store? That sort of honesty?"

"I didn't realize you could speak without the constable's arm up your arse, deputy," Tock sneers.

"Stow it. I need a tracker, now. Have any of you seen Tosh around?"

"Not recently. But the other ass-high's gone to sit in the snow outside the barrow in case that note turns anything up. I think he's got the wizards and your boy Grant out there, too."

Without waiting for any more, Tucker grunts, turns on his heel and leaves, not hearing Emus trying to talk to him urgently through a mouthful of breakfast. The dwarf swallows and looks up at Ragglus and Tock.

"I'm gonna catch up with Tucker and head to the barrow. You two might as well come with us," he says, tossing some coins for his meal on the table. "You're not going to get rich in a tavern. And they might have found somethin' interesting at the barrow."

He's about to get up when his second breakfast and the next round of drinks arrives.

"I'm going to catch up with Tucker after I finish this, though."

* * *

Heading north along the frozen banks of the Moss River, Tucker crosses the kobolds' path through the snow within half an hour and then turns, following them southeast. The kobolds appear to be wearing heavily bundled rags or shoes around their feet, instead of going barefoot as they normally do. They are making bad time as a result, and leaving a clear path for him to follow. How many there are, he cannot guess, although as he continues to trudge through the underbrush after them, it becomes clear that they are heading for the Tulgey Barrow.

With the kobold's destination clear, Tucker strikes out at an angle, hoping to get around them unnoticed and warn the stakeout party of what's headed their way.

* * *

Still reading his holy tome, Bufer unscrews the cap off the top of his bottle of brown liquid, takes a sip, swallows, and then jerks as though physically struck.

"Whoo-waah!" he says, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he shakes his head as though trying to jerk something loose, then smiles offers his jar to the rest of the party, who look at him and the jar skeptically.

A loud crashing noise in the underbrush, north of where the adventurers are huddled, suddenly grabs their attention.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker forces his way through the brush on the north side of the clearing He's about to head for the entrance when a loud cough draws his attention to one side. Renraw has his hand clamped over the Katadid's mouth, although the younger wizard is mumbling a greeting through the older wizard's fingers.

"Emmerson, up!" Tucker barks. "Kobolds are coming!"

Hazel rises smoothly to her feet.

"How far back are they? Did they see you? Have you no sense at all?" Hazel keeps her voice to a low hiss, in the hopes that the kobolds are far enough back not to hear it.

She shakes her head and points at the gap Tucker's made in the brush.

"If we're lucky, they'll think it's some dumb buck crashing about. Hurry up and hide, or we'll never hear what they're after."

She gestures at Emmerson to stay down.

"Be ready to spring if you must, but at least let's see what they're doing here. We'll likely learn more if they speak freely amongst themselves than we will if you and Tucker go rushing in with weapons." She smiles slightly. "We can save that for a backup plan."

As Tucker piles into the group's hiding place, Hazel steps out, a branch in her hand, clearing away the deputy's tracks before returning to hiding. Back inside, she crouches down in front of Kat and sets a light hand on his shoulder. She speaks softly in a tone she might use with her little brother.

"You wanted some excitement, eh? If Tucker's kobolds show up, listen careful to anything they say, all right? We might need to know their exact words if they're the ones we've been waiting for." She tilts her head, considering; normally she'd offer her brother a prize of some sort for helping out. "We'll see about making sure the barrow's safe so you can explore a bit yourself later, yeah?"

As Hazel finishes speaking, she hears a soft cough and looks up. Six kobolds, wearing wide-brimmed hats and black goggles, as well as being bundled up to avoid the snow, stand in a semicircle around the group, having just now quietly stepped out of the brush. Five of them bear loaded crossbows aimed at the adventurers. They seem especially unhappy to see Bufer.

The sixth, wearing a necklace with a stylized five-headed dragon around her neck, gestures at the group with her large -- and apparently very sharp -- pick.

Her voice sounds a little bit like a dog's bark as she speaks.

"You surrender, yes."

It's not really a question.

Emmerson leaves his sword on the ground. He crosses his arms and speaks at the kobold-in-charge.

"We mean you and your party no harm." He nods at his companions. "We're looking for a man named Tiberius, whom is supposed to be here this day. You can go about your business in the barrow, if you like."

Renraw stands and speaks to the kobolds in fluent Draconic.

"_Illustrious brethren_," he begins gratefully, "_Many thanks for your timely arrival. There's no telling what this band of gnome-sympathizing ne'er-do-wells was just about to coerce this simple young man and me into doing._" He looks at Katadid sadly. "_Something we would have deeply regretted, no doubt._

"_You see,_" he gestures, explaining, "_Some days past, these and several other disreputable types attempted to loot this barrow of its contents, with me as their unwilling guide and magical expertise. Inside, I am sorry to report, we found three of your number deceased. They carried what they could from this place and now force us to return, to what foul end I do not know. What I do know is that I simply wished to leave your friends' resting place in peace._

"_I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have, but please allow the two of us passage from here_," he pleads. "_With these others you may do what you wish._"

Hazel narrows her eyes, irritated at having wasted the entire morning in a stakeout only to be surprised by a haughty group of apple bandits. She keeps her hands far from her weapons, though, unwilling to give the kobolds a reason to shoot. She listens, uncomprehending, to Renraw's lengthy speech, with a growing sense of unease. Surely "I surrender" wouldn't take so long to say. When he finally comes to a halt, Hazel addresses the kobold leader.

"To whom would we be surrendering?"

One of the kobolds holding crossbows on the groups licks his lips. All the kobolds seem to have coated their scales with some sort of oil, which glistens in the midday light.

"_Are they too stupid to understand 'surrender?'_"

"_They die now or when the Queen arrives, either way ..._" another interjects.

"_Shut up, you idiots! I'm in charge!_" the kobold with the pick shrieks before rounding on Hazel, tiny form shaking with fury. "You surrender now! No more questions, corpse-robbers!"

"_Listen to me!_" Renraw shouts in Draconic. "_Truly, these here ARE too stupid to understand and comply. They're thoughtless brutes, defilers, and they have no respect for your traditions. The boy here and I, on the other hand, we'll do exactly as you wish as long as we're allowed to go free. The only fault of ours in this heinousness was being too physically weak to say no to them!_"

Renraw's wild eyes dart back and forth, insane with worry.

"_We'll tell your Queen whatever she needs to know! We'll put our magic to her service! We'll do whatever it takes so that you let us live! We're innocents, the boy and I! Spare us, and kill the others for their crimes!_"

Renraw turns to the group and yells at them angrily.

"Get down on the ground! What are you waiting for? They're going to kill you! There's more on the way and if you don't do what they say I shudder to think what they'll do to you."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker moves between Pick and Hazel, hands still held about shoulder high, palms out. His sword is stuck point first in the ground, but his mace is still tucked away between his back and his pack.

"Tock Chandler. He's the only one who stole from your ... brethren? Comrades? He's not here, although I don't think we'd have much complaint about giving him to you if he was. The six of us took nothing from your deceased, so you have no complaint with us."

"'Corpse-robbers?'" Emmerson looks at Renraw, his eyes shinning with fury "What in Lothian's name are you saying to them? Speak in Imperial, Renraw! I suddenly have the idea that you being the sole way of communication would benefit you and you alone."

The paladin turns to the kobolds' leader.

"We have not stolen anything from kobolds. We have no problem with you and your group today. Go tend your matter and leave us to our affairs."

"You people," Renraw laughs, awkwardly, running his hand through his lank hair. "You're REALLY straining the limits here. If you do as they say, there's a chance we'll live through this."

"Our chances were severely depleted once you opened your mouth," Emmerson snaps. "Kat, could you translate for us what Renraw said? Just to be clear on his intentions to the group?"

"Leach!" Renraw glares at Katadid furiously, "_If you want to live long enough to have access to my library at home, honesty is not the best policy here! There are HUNDREDS of books to read and count and categorize! If you tell them the truth, you'll never see the inside of my house. Tell them that I'm negotiating our release! It's partially true, anyway._"

"Renraw," Hazel says in  pins her gaze on his face. "I may not speak the language, but I know a liar when I see one." She raises her voice slightly, just enough to feel certain the kobolds are listening. "And whatever else these folk are, they're clever enough not to be taken in by your pathetic scheming."

Renraw leans in to whisper angrily to Hazel.

"Yes, I'm lying, you imbecile! Do you honestly believe they're just going to let us free without some finessing? More of them will be here at any moment. Complying, for now, is the best solution. If the situation becomes intractable, I can try to put them all to sleep!"

"I think we'd all rather you put yourself to sleep," Hazel mutters. "At least then your lying mouth would be silent."

"Nothing angers me more than a craven coward," Emmerson snarls at the wizard. "Renraw Kem, when the time of reckoning arrives, you shall be dealt with."

"A coward I may be, Grant," Renraw replies coldly, "But you'll be dealt with sooner than I, especially if you don't use your head and do what I say. These lizards are playing for keeps."

"All I know is that after talking to you, suddenly we're corpse-robbers," Emmerson whispers between gritted teeth. "As much as you'd like to distance yourself from us, you will share our fate."

Renraw's eyes bug out an unhealthy distance as he strains to keep his voice a whisper

"I said nothing of corpse-robbing! They must've already known about their fallen kin. By Blurrah's tears! You're going to get us killed, you self-righteous turd. I'm working in our best interests, now leave me be!

"_Honored sirs_," Renraw says, turning to the kobolds, "_I beg of you, these men will kill the boy and me because we aren't like them. We hold your people in only the very highest regard. He and I are the only ones that have bothered learning your language, understanding your culture. Go on, Kat, tell them. Please tell them, Kat. Remember the library, and all the books._"

"I told you to be quiet," Emmerson growls. "Each word you say in a language I don't understand pollutes whatever remaining trust I have in you."

The kobold leader looks at Renraw, baffled.

"You remember I speak Imperial, softskin?" She gestures with her pick. "Get on your knees and put hands on head. You try and cast a spell, we shoot you in face."

She beckons to Hazel, urging her away from Bufer and the rest of the group.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"There won't be a next time, Kem, at least not with my participation, but next time, let the diplomat sort things out," Emmerson whispers at Renraw as the wizard very carefully gets on his knees.

"And how would you have us negotiate?" Renraw snaps back. "This one barely understands Imperial. Lothian would want you to live, wouldn't he? Let's make them comfortable communicating with us so that can happen."

"She understood you pretty well, Kem," the paladin replies, "Hence our current situation."

"Did I, heh, did I mention how much I love the kobold people?" Renraw grins hopefully at their captors.

Hazel turns away before she gives into temptation; bad enough the group is arguing in front of the enemy, it'd be even worse if she gave the wizard the slapping he so deserves. She looks at the kobolds' crossbows, weighing her options, then follows the kobold's order. She prays her family won't be picking out her burial dress by nightfall.

The kobold makes a big show of putting her pickaxe away as she walks off a dozen yards or so with Hazel, toward the mouth of the cairn.

"Chatty one, he wizard, yes? He no good to you, wants to trade your lives for his, but I think you and I, we can make deal, softskin."

Hazel sends a glare Renraw's way, then nods her head in acknowledgement of the kobold's words.

"I'd like to know who I'm dealing with, first." She's careful to keep her voice cautious, almost respectful, and her hands open and relaxed. "But what do you have in mind?"

The kobold hisses a little at the insistence for a name.

"My people do not like giving dragon names to softskins. You call me," she pauses and looks around, thinking. "Call me Pick, OK? What you name?"

"My apologies, Pick. I meant no offense. You can call me Hazel."

"Hazel like tree? OK." Pick glances disdainfully at the groups eyeing each other before looking back at the ranger. "We not here to fight you, I not think you here to fight us. So we both do what we want, but no interfere, OK?"

Even though Pick's light-sensitive eyes are hidden behind the dark glass of her goggles, Hazel can feel the female kobold scrutinizing her.

"But to make sure, we do a trade, OK?"

"I think we can all agree not to interfere with you and your group, Pick," Hazel shoots a stern look at Tucker and Emmerson, in case the men are spoiling for a fight. "I would hope that our word on it would be enough to satisfy you, though I can certainly understand why you feel it might not be." Scowling at Renraw, she adds, only half-joking, "Those who can't keep their word can be trussed up and carried back to town like a fine Theoday supper, if need be.

"But I can't agree to a trade without knowing the terms."

Pick, to the extent that Hazel can read the reptilian facial expressions, seems unconvinced that Tucker and Bufer won't attack her men at the first opportunity.

"We tie up your talky-talk wizard, and you tie up one of my idiots, like the talky-talk Wormy, and we each take with us as hostage. We go do what we want in cairn, you do what you want here. You take Wormy back to Apple Town, we take wizard back to Green Mountain. When everyone safe and sound, we send wizard back to you, and you let Wormy go.

"Fair trade. Everyone behave themselves because otherwise hostage go krrrrrk!" Pick makes the universal sign for having one's throat slit with a mitten-covered thumb across her own throat. "You friend with gnome. This is only way we can trust. OK, sounds fair?"

Hazel clamps down the desire to pull some rope out of her pack and ask which one's Wormy.

"Frankly, I'd prefer nothing more than to rid our party of this grasping hanger-on. You've heard him: His mouth's open so often it's practically a breeding ground for flies." Hazel bites her lip and shakes her head with regret. "But I just can't do it. He's a real troublemaker, true, but problem is, he's a big enough troublemaker that the baron's taken notice. Paying off his debt to the community 'n' all. So he goes missin', it gets round to the constable, and I'm the one in trouble, see?"

Hazel looks at the group, wishing she had a diplomat's way with words.

"Perhaps we could simply send our loudmouth back to town with an escort." She gestures at Tucker. "That one's unsuited for silent contemplation anyway."

"Mmmmm," Pick growls to herself, thinking. Hazel gets the distinct impression she's as eager to get rid of Wormy as the ranger is to get rid of Renraw. "We need security. Gnomes are tricksy, can't take their word or word of their friends. Gnomes only understand threat of krrrrrk!"

She makes the motion across her throat again.

"OK, maybe we tie up Wormy, tie up wizard, have one guard from softskin group, one guard from our group, take Wormy and wizard away together. Any funny gnomey or kobold business and krrrrrk. Sound OK? Your baron don't mind if wizard go krrrrrk, I'm sure."

Hazel nods along, weighing the proposal, opens her mouth, closes it, and looks perplexed.

"That does sound like a good solution, Pick, but if we send Wormy and our idiot off with a couple guards, how will the guards know if anything goes wrong? Seems like the trade requires 'em to be in earshot at least, yeah? Better still if we can see 'em: That'd be a clear reminder to be on good behavior.

"Of course, best of all ... " Hazel peers into the kobold's eyes as best she can through the goggles, her face honest and affable. "Well, best of all would be agreeing to abide by the non-interference agreement without the need for threats.

"Beause I'm pretty sure the baron wouldn't see it the way you 'n' I do, and I'd hate to land in trouble on account of that idiot." She jerks her thumb toward Renraw. "Even if everything worked out fine -- which no doubt it would, since we're both honorable folks -- he'd go telling tales to the baron and stir up a hornet's nest. Best just to send him home with nothing to tell."

She looks over at Bufer and sighs softly; he'd no doubt have some sneaky way to slip out of this situation with ease. Hazel's got nothing but logic and patience.

"But it's not the wizard that's the problem, right, Pick? We both know he's an idiot -- and between you and me, I wouldn't want to inflict him on you any more than I enjoy listening to him myself -- but he's an easily contained idiot.

"But the gnome ... Sometimes it seems like they're all pranksters, ignoring the laws of order and common sense when it suits 'em, eh? This one, though, I'd vouch for him: He's a decent sort of fellow, most of the time. But I can see how you, not knowing him, wouldn't feel the same.

"So maybe he agrees to head back to town, too, have a pint on my coppers at the tavern." She looks over at Bufer, then back to the kobold. "Would that suit you, Pick?"

Pick shakes her head.

"I take word of gnome-friend, new big boss make me into pair of boots. Need deal so I can say I get better of gnome." She shrugs helplessly. "I don't want to fight you. You don't want to fight me. But I need to show proof I not risk mission. If you worried about your boss and wizard, how about you be our hostage instead, Hazel-like-tree?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel freezes as she turns the idea over in her mind.

"Well, maybe," she says, scratching her head and gesturing toward the cairn. "How long you think you'll be in there? My da'll raise five kinds o' hell if I'm not home at suppertime."

Pick shields her face -- even with the hat and the goggles, she's clearly uncomfortable in the sunlight -- and looks at the shadows on the ground.

"Near high sun now. We go inside before gets too cold. Bad for kobold." She pats Hazel on the arm, an oddly familiar gesture from the creature. "You pick your volunteer, I pick mine. We go with first plan, but not wizard if you don't want."

She steps away from the ranger, back to where the two groups are still facing one another.

"_I need a volunteer for hostage exchange! Volunteer for the glory of tribe, step forward ... NOW!_"

As one, four of the five remaining kobolds step backwards in lock step, leaving one baffled kobold -- one of the two who had spoken earlier -- looking around in shock and horror.

"_Very good, Wormy. You will be our volunteer in the hostage exchange with the gnome-loving humans. We will remember you in our prayers if they betray us, butcher and eat you. Now, hand over your weapons so we can get on with this already_*"

Wormy quakes in fear as his fellows disarm him and push him forward. Pick turns and smiles the sort of smile a crocodile would make if it was trying to be ingratiating.

"You tie him up now, OK?"

At the beginning of the chaos, Katadid found himself overwhelmed by the constant demands and quick changes between languages. But as the conversation wore on, a calm came over him. As everyone made their demands, human and kobold, he saw it all stretching out in front of him, simply another puzzle to solve.

"Thank you Hazel," the rest of the party jumping at the sound of his voice, his manic silence being long ago forgotten. "It's obvious that you would be the best candidate to symbolize our trust.

"And thank you, Renraw, for doing your part to negotiate our release."

Kat puts his hand on Bufer's shoulder and shakes his head while squeezing surprisingly tightly as he passes by, hoping the gnome gets the message. Kat turns to Pick and bows slightly.

"Madam," he says. "I see you are as devout in your duty as you are in your faith. I admit that I know little of what occurred here, but rest assured that I am just as interested as you are in this matter. Mysteries intrigue me. I won't waste your time with lengthy speeches, but perhaps we can both exit this day satisfied. I promise you that as long as no harm comes to our companion, none shall come to yours. And I hope that you shall show us the same respect."

Hazel stares dumbfounded at Kat. She shakes her head once, to clear her nerves.

"Right. Right." She uncoils some rope from her pack and reaches for her hand axe, announcing as she does so, "Just need to cut a couple lengths for tying."

She keeps her hands in plain view as she cuts two sections of rope, and sheathes the axe before approaching Wormy.

"Um, arms behind your back, please." Pick roughly pulls Wormy's arms behind him and supervises as Hazel ties a series of knots sturdy enough to hold a lumberjack in a tree overnight.

"One of you lot want to take charge of Wormy?" Hazel asks the group, holding the other end of the rope like a dead snake.

"Uh, hi, Wormy," Tucker says unsurely, taking the rope. "Not your best day, huh? Tell you what: You get hungry, let us know and you can eat the wizard who didn't know when to shut up."

Hazel keeps laughs nervously, looking more pale than usual in the winter air.

"Don't let Renraw do anything stupid, all right?" she says, as she walks over to Pick and holds out the rope.

"So," Renraw says, visibly relieved. "Right, of course. I'll just be standing up now, yeah? No sudden moves."

He climbs stiffly to his feet, his knees audibly popping along the way. As he dusts himself off, he shoots a wry glance at Emmerson.

"Exoneration. No hard feelings, paladin."

Wormy moans in fear.

"_Now, if they do eat you_," Pick says, "_It's your duty to give them heartburn. Remember that._"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Hazel, wait," Bufer says, finally speaking up. He's been uncharacteristically quiet up until this point, painfully aware that one wrong word from him could have fatal results for his friends. But now he turns and, making sure to keep his hands where the kobolds can see them, addresses the kobold known as Pick.

"Priestess of Tiamat," he says, as formally and respectfully as he can manage under the circumstances, "I ask you, as one holy servant to another, to take me as your hostage in Hazel's place. Though both brave and wise beyond her years, she's still practically a child as her folk reckon things, and I have been charged with her safety. With all their safety."

He spares a narrow glance at Renraw.

"Even his," he adds wryly.

Before Pick can respond, Bufer holds up one hand to forestall her -- at which several crossbow strings creak eagerly -- and continues.

"I know our peoples don't have much reason to trust one another -- Garl knows if'n you were in my shoes, and me in yours, I don't know if I'd be able to trust you -- but I swear on everything I believe to be holy that as long as the big'uns aren't harmed, I won't be 'tricksy.' You have my word, such as it is."

With that, Bufer reaches up for the rope dangling around his neck and -- with deliberate slowness -- pulls it up over his head, removing his holy symbol. Careful not to touch the gold nugget itself -- which could be interpreted as a hostile act -- he extends his arms and offers it to Pick, hoping that she understands it for the olive branch he intends it to be.

It's fair to say that everyone, kobold, dwarf and human, all stare a moment at this, mouths open in unison.

"Bufer," Katadid says, before turning to the kobold priestess and raising a hand in apology. He continues on in Gnomish. "_I think it would be a very bad idea if you are with them. The kobolds will keep their word, but I sincerely doubt you would come through this entirely intact. Their hatred toward your kind overwhelms any ethics they have. I can't stop you, but I would strongly urge you to reconsider. Hazel is the least offensive to their sensibilities. You are, perhaps, the most._"

Kat turns to the kobolds and returns to Draconic.

"_My apologies. I wasn't plotting anything in secret. I was simply reminding the gnome of your two races' ... history. I leave the decision up to him, but it's acceptability to you._"

"I know the risks, Kat," Bufer says in Imperial, without taking his eyes off the kobold priestess. "What's more, she knows I know 'em. But I took responsibility for these idiots the second Fibber gave me that map, and I ain't backin' off from it now.

"It's a priest thing, Kat. You wouldn't understand." He takes a deep, trembling breath and returns his gaze to Pick. "But I'm hoping she does."

Katadid all but vibrates in place.

"You. Will. Get. Hurt. This is a fact."

Pick seems to be breathing shallowly, her head tilted back, hands twitching around her pick.

"Is he your ... volunteer?" she whispers. "For sure?"

"For sure," Bufer says firmly, before anyone else can speak up. "Right and true, so long as you promise the girl ... and these other sorry excuses for humans ... walk free."

The other kobolds seem to sense what's going on and collectively appear to be holding their breath. A small shudder of some intense emotion ripples through Pick.

"While you under my wing," she says slowly, deliberately, "No harm will come to you."

She suddenly reaches out, snatching the holy symbol from Bufer's outstretched fingers. She looks at it a moment and then stuffs it into a pouch around her waist.

"We take gnome," she says to Hazel, "Go do our task. You take Wormy, do your task. We home before nightfall, and let gnome go then. You let Wormy go.

"Any gnomey business ..." She looks at Bufer. All the kobolds grin widely. "Turn around, gnome. We tie you now."

Kat's mouth opens and closes in frustration. His hands and fingers begin vibrating and he makes no effort to stop them from picking up wet leaves to tear apart. Despite himself, Bufer smiles kindly at the wizard's open frustration. He must remember -- if he survives this -- to buy the wizard a drink at The Cat & The Fiddle, sometime. Exchanging glances with Hazel, he nods at Pick and turns around.

"All right," he says, his voice trembling as he holds his hands behind his back. "But I'll have you know I usually make it a practice to have the lass buy me dinner before I let 'er tie me up."

The kobold priestess ties Bufer's hands behind his back roughly, hands uncomfortably bunched at the small of his back.

"_He is under my wing and will come to no harm while he is. I will not hurt a hair on his thieving, lying, murdering head,_" Pick reiterates to Katadid, then smiles sweetly and shoves Bufer forward, toward the black mouth of the cairn. The other kobolds, minus Wormy, fall in behind her, walking backwards, crossbows still in their hands, watching the party to make sure they have not changed their minds. They disappear into the dungeon, leaving the party alone in the snow with a whimpering kobold captive.

"So, hey," the party hears Bufer say faintly, just before he is dragged out of sight, "None of you happens to be named 'Tiberius', do ye?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Watching the group disappear, Katadid works himself into a fury of tics and jolts.

"That ... the gnome ... that ..." He spins around and shouts at no one in particular. "That makes NO SENSE!"

Hazel sighs, turning and pointing the wizard back at the group's erstwhile hiding place. If Tiberius is truly coming today, and the arguments and interspecies standoff hasn't already scared him away, it's going to take a lot of work to cover all the evidence that the barrow is being watched.

Tucker, however, has other things on his mind. He wraps the loose end of rope tied to the captive around his arm so Tucker's hands are both free, and walks back toward his abandoned sword in the middle of the group. He follows after Katadid, his kobold hostage in tow.

"Kat, apologize to Wormy for me," he asks, as he slips something from his belt. "And make it clear this is neither a punishment for him nor in any way his fault."

Before anyone can react, Tucker reaches out and grabs Renraw, clamping a manacle on the wizard's good arm, then attaches the other half of the restraint to Wormy.

"You may not be our sacrificial hostage, Beancounter, but that doesn't mean you're free to scurry off to save your own hide. I don't speak lizard, but we can all recognize a rat, and Lothian help me, if you don't sit down, shut up and generally behave yourself until this is over, I'll tell Wormy he's free to go home with the new snack we've just given him. If you're needed, act. Until then, don't."

With that, Tucker leads the bound pair to a tree and helps Wormy sit down gently. Tucker offers his pack, warmed by being pressed against the deputy's back during the hard hike out here, as a cushion, so the cold-blooded creature doesn't have to sit on the icy ground. The cold-blooded wizard will have to fend for himself.

Hazel turns a pine branch over and over in her hands, watching the mouth of the cairn. Her hands shake slightly, and can't seem to pull her thoughts together. Then, certain of a task that she can do, she methodically clears every trace of tracks, leaving the forest's carpet of wet leaves, muddy ground and snowy patches as seemingly undisturbed as she can make it. After wiping out her own tracks, she backs into the cramped space and tugs a pair of branches across the entrance.

She looks over the party, giving Renraw and Emmerson a hard glare.

"Be quiet this time. And if you can't manage it, I'm sure the deputy will happily drag you back to town by your boot heels." She peeks out through the bushes. "I need to watch for this Tiberius fellow. Tucker, are you taking responsibility for Wormy, then? Make sure he stays in the shade. Kat, be sure to ask him -- quietly -- every so often if he needs water, all right? We want to send him back as the best-cared-for kobold in the barony."

She shifts until she finds an acceptable break in the branches for peering out at the clearing and settles in, turning back once and reaching an arm out to touch Kat's sleeve.

"And starting tomorrow, you're teaching me Draconic, yeah?"

"Yes, certainly. I think it will soon prove to be a most useful language to know," Katadid says vaguely.

* * *

Half-running, half-dragged through the unlit cairn, Bufer looks over at the kobold priestess of Tiamat.

"You're here for the bodies, right?" he asks, as he stumbles over an uneven stone on the floor. "The four corpses that Chandler told you about?"

She ignores Bufer's question, just as she had ignored his first. She holds up a hand, now that the kobolds are well inside the dungeon, and they pause. She pulls her goggles off her eyes, as do the rest of them, and they blink, bleary-eyed after wearing the goggles so long.

Now totally out of earshot of the party, she looks at Bufer and makes a comment in Draconic. Another kobold, whose name she apparently mentioned, looks up, looks at the gnome, and nods, smiling.

Another barked command, and the party is moving again, down the line of sarcophagi where animated skeletons once hid. For the first time, Bufer realizes the lid is back on one sarcophagus, and the group stops beside it. Pick keeps one hand on the gnome's leash, but the kobolds drop their gear and encircle the sarcophagus, deft fingers slipping under the lid. With a grunt and what sounds like a good deal of swearing by the kobolds, the lid is lifted off. Two kobolds spring up onto the lip of the sarcophagus and then drop inside and begin lifting out their prize: The bodies of their fellows Bufer and his companions had found two weeks ago, concealed here at some point after that.

Pick makes another comment, this time for Bufer's benefit -- or at his expense -- but it's a clipped comment in Draconic and it brings smirks to the lips of her team.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Outside, the forest is cool and silent, save for the sound in the distance of yet more trees losing their winter coats of ice and snow. Wormy fidgets a little, but does not attempt to get away. He clearly is anxious and wants something, but seems perplexed as to whether to ask or not.

Emmerson has been staring at the opening of the cairn silently, his mind racing. He gestures to Katadid furiously, as if one hand held an invisible parchment and the other an invisible pen. Kat lends him a piece of paper, ink and a pen and the paladin writes at a feverish pace. He hands a note to Renraw.

"Moron," it reads simply.

Renraw crumples up the note and turns to the kobold he's been shackled to.

"_So, Wormy,_" he pats the confused, frightened kobold on the shoulder, "_What's your crime? Probably too smart for the others, am I right?_"

Wormy recoils from Renraw's touch.

"_When are you all going to start a fire, please? It's cold in this shade. Or is this your filthy plan, to let me freeze to death?_"

"_I ... I'm sorry, I don't think they'll start one,_" Renraw says, taken aback. "_They're supposed to be lying in wait for a criminal. A fire would only alert him to our presence. But I'll see what I can do._"

Tucker gets Renraw's attention and nods questioningly at Wormy.

"Fire," Renraw answers quietly. "He's cold. I told him no, but has anyone got a blanket, or some spare clothes we can bundle him in?"

* * *

Bufer blinks in surprise as the kobolds begin lifting their dead up and out of the sarcophagus.

"You hid them here? Why? Why wouldn't you just take them back to Green Mountain?"

Frowning, his curiosity overriding his fear, he looks up at Pick.

"Those cysts in their chests," he says, inclining his head towards the three leather-clad corpses, "What are are they? Some kind of affliction? I'm a healer, of sorts, but they aren't like anything I've seen before."

The kobolds make wry comments in Draconic as the gnome continues to question them, but they never respond in Imperial. Putting the bodies down, the kobolds unfold a set of wide stretchers from inside bags carried by two of the kobolds and pile the bodies on them.

Pick stands in the corridor, looking deeper into the dungeon, considering, but then shrugs and pulls her goggles down and goes around, doing the same for the other four kobolds.

They troop back outside. Pick peers at where the adventurers are hidden, nodding in their direction and points at Bufer with a wide grin, as if to show he's still intact. The group then heads north through the cold and damp of the Tulgey Wood.

"How 'bout a traveling song, then?" Bufer says as he stumbles along with his captors. "Does anybody know the words to 'Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers?'"

Hazel watches them disappear, torn between wanting to trail after them quietly and waiting for Tiberius, certain Bufer would want to know whatever she could learn about him.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"...and the one-legged paladin says," Bufer says, "'Do not despair for me, sirrah, for I dost ride side-saddle!'"

He glances around at the kobolds jogging along side him, a wide grin on his face. He actually veers a little closer to the nearest one, and elbows it gently in the ribs.

"Huh? Huh? Sidesaddle, get it? Huh? OK, now you tell one..."

* * *

Tucker helps Renraw and Wormy up, their shackles jingling quietly. The deputy moves with them to the area Katadid indicated.

Emmerson follows, leaning in to mutter in Katadid's ear: "Question him."

"_Wormy_," Kat says to the shivering kobold. "_I have been asked. The paladin requests questions. I will now do so. I'm not particularly interested in what he wants to know, but I am interested in what I want to know. In return I will answer any questions of yours._"

Katadid has made a box of sticks in the ground in front of him. He begins arranging lines inside with smaller sticks, and his eyes focusing on his task.

"_Shall we begin?_"

Wormy, who seems a little warmer in this spot of sunshine, turns towards Kat, tilting his head curiously.

"_Ah, the interrogation! Do you intend to torture me, too, or is that saved until later?_"

Kat's lips purse and his brow furrows.

"_If I have anything to say about it there will be none. However, the rest of my party is currently operating under the assumption that treating you well will guarantee their friend's safety._" Kat's eyes narrow. "_Contrary to popular belief, I am not that naive. As far as I am concerned the gnome knew the risks and reprisal would be hypocritical, but it is very possible the others may not see it that way when Bufer returns missing fingers after your priestess has conveniently transferred the gnome under someone else's 'wing.'_"

Kat sets a long twig in the middle of the square, bisecting it before speaking again.

"_So I suggest we do this quickly before what is left of him finds his way back. First, what was your task in the barrow?_"

Emmerson watches the interrogation begin, but his attention continues to shift to where Bufer and the kobolds disappeared.

"I cannot remain here any longer," he says, gnawing his lower lip. "I'll check on Bufer."

Tucker shakes hands with the paladin before he leaves.

"Don't get too close, and don't let them know you're there," he says. "Someone shadowing them might be taken as a violation of our treaty, and you don't want to be the one responsible for Bufer getting hurt. Lothian protect you both."

Without another word, Emmerson sets off at run after Bufer and the kobolds.

Wormy keeps whipping his head from Kat to Renraw to anyone else he can see, so that he can see the flaming hot poker -- or whatever other torture implement -- coming.

"_We were picking up the bodies of our fellows. The scouts who found them hid them so that they would not be more disturbed by filthy grave-robbing gnomes and their friends, but they did not have what they needed to bring the dead back home to Green Mountain. I suppose you just eat your fallen comrades._"

"_I see. Is that your question, then?_" Katadid smiles slightly at Wormy's befuddled look. "_You gave the supposition that we eat our dead. Would you like to know if we do? Remember, it is now your turn to ask me something._"

Kat picks up a stick and looks at it before holding it out to the cringing kobold.

"_This is not an interrogation, Wormy. This is simply an exchange of ideas. A question for a question. It would be insulting to not give you something in return for your answers. Ask, please._"

Kat folds his hands and places them under his chin as the kobold looks thoroughly confused at the twig in his hands.

"_There is much to learn from each other,_" Katadid says.

"_The dead can learn nothing from the dead,_" the kobold scoffs.

Kat shakes his head.

"_Neither of us are either yet. Very well, the answer is no, we do not eat our dead. We tend to bury them. Some burn them in a ritual fashion. Perhaps other humans do it differently, but that is what we do. You can even see stones over the buried in our town if you looked._" Kat puts another twig on the pile. "_Do you know anything of a Tiberius who was to meet at these caverns?_"

Not understanding a word of the conversation between Katadid and Wormy, Hazel turns to Tucker.

"The kobolds have gone; why don't you head back toward town with Wormy and wait for Bufer? We'll all feel better when he's safe." She peers at the shivering kobold. "Probably shouldn't take him into town, though; it might cause trouble if anyone sees a kobold and gets the wrong idea."

"As soon as Katy's done with his initial line of questioning, I think I'll do just that," Tucker nods. "Renraw's behaving himself so far, and I don't think a bit more minor hardship will do him harm.

"Do me a favor? You know what will burn best around here: Get me a decent bundle of kindling that will last through the night, if necessary. We don't know what time Bufer will be released, and I don't want Wormy to freeze to death if we're out in the woods all night. There's no way I'm taking him anywhere near town; we'll head to the north side of the orchard and wait there."

Renraw overhears Tucker speaking with Hazel about the possibility of being out "all night" and suddenly grows very uncomfortable.

"No," he says. "No, there's no need to stay out here all night. I don't care what this Tiberius character has got, if anything. It's cold and I'm shackled to a thing with scales. In fact, I'm done with this, right now. This 'stakeout' was a horrible idea. That blustering, holier-than-thou Grant probably ruined it, anyhow, just like the half-wit's going to ruin the deal with the gnome. I hope you all enjoyed knowing him. Gods know I didn't have much use for a healer who didn't heal."

He turns to Wormy and Katy.

"Continue this in transit. We're returning to civilization."

* * *

Pick says something and the other kobolds slow their march and begin looking around until she hisses something else, at which point they stiffly look straight ahead. She drags Bufer along faster than the rest of the group, looping his leash around the belt of one of the marchers, who loudly growls at Bufer before Pick slaps him on the snout. She then steps off into the underbrush and vanishes at the other kobolds keep marching.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Renraw tugs on his chain in an effort to get Wormy moving back in the direction of town. Katadid blinks in agitation, snapped out of the comfortable pattern he had established with the kobold.

"Um, wait. The cairn ... my questions," he stammers. He turns to Wormy. "A moment. Just a moment."

He walks up to Tucker, pulling at his sleeve.

"Th-the cairn. I want ... Well, I haven't," He sighs deeply, obviously flustered. He turns, finding Hazel. "Lessons, you'll need lessons."

"Kat? I know you really want to investigate the barrow, but Bufer's life could depend on you going with Tucker and translating," Hazel says, ducking down and trying to catch the young wizard's eye. "You're right, though, I do want those lessons. And you can start teaching me Draconic tomorrow while we hike back out to the barrow so you can investigate. I'll keep you company all day long in that place if you like."

Renraw whines, jerking the chain again, which yanks Wormy, drawing a fierce look from Tucker.

"We're not waiting for Tiberius, we're waiting for Bufer," Renraw snaps, "Which is why we're not waiting here. Now Wormy, I and your right hand are going to go the orchard. If you want to come with us, then fine; if not, get chewing.

"Care to come along, Kat? Your linguistic skills will be valuable, and like Hazel says, the cairn will be waiting for you tomorrow. Half of today is already wasted; come back tomorrow and you can spend the entire day exploring. It'll be fun."

Staring intently at the ground, Katadid nods.

"_Sorry,_" he mutters to Wormy as the group begins to move. "_Distractions. So, Tiberius, yes. Is he familiar to you? Oh, and think of your question. Things must remain even. Can't have any odds, no._"

"Leach," Renraw interrupts, "_You are, of course, free to go where you wish, but don't for a minute believe that this lawman has your best interests at heart. If you would have preferred to stay back with the girl, explore the barrow, and perhaps get to the bottom of this 'Tiberius' puzzle, you should have said so. I would have been more than happy to ask the kobold your questions. If, on the other hand, you actually wanted to come with us, of course, I offer no argument. I just want to make sure you know that the choice is yours, and definitely not his. You're not the one in shackles._"

Renraw takes a breath and continues on in a sober tone.

"_Sometimes, I find, when someone like that one wants you to do something, it may be the best thing for all parties not to cooperate. I'm not saying that's the case in this instance, of course. I'm sure you're well aware, those in power rarely have the same interests as you and I, and in most cases they actively work against those interests. Those who would pursue knowledge are dangerous and frightening to people in positions of power because such investigations could reveal just how tenuous their authority really is. Our Gallaway here is a small man, a small man with a small mind. Do not allow him to limit you._"

Katadid sputters, trying to process all of this.

"Please, just let us ... Please." He turns back to the kobold with a desperate expression.

Wormy looks between the two wizards, listening intently.

"_No, I do not know a Tiberius. That sounds like a human name. The only one I have ever met before today is Khenemet-Apep,_" the kobold says, referring to the Wizard of Green Mountain. He thinks a moment, then turns back to Kat. "_A question for a question. How many constables and deputies are there in your town?_"

Katadid looks as though he were struck.

"_Ah, I was expecting we would get to that. Disappointing, but not unexpected._" Kat looks toward the constable and back to the kobold. "_I don't care about such things. And, it's ... it's insulting ... to both of us. That isn't the purpose of this conversation. At least not for me. You can ask another question. I won't ask you any questions that will hurt your people._"

Wormy snorts.

"_The dead will learn nothing from the dead. Any more questions you have, you will have to torture me for the answers, servant to a gnome._"

Katadid boggles at this. He looks from Renraw to Tucker and back to Wormy.

"_Are-are you sure?_" Kat asks quietly. "_Who is the 'she' Pick mentioned? The new 'big boss?' What do you eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? How do you go to the bathroom?_"

His mouth opens and closes helplessly, like a trout pulled from the Moss River and now lays gasping on the shore.

Renraw laughs. It's not a pleasant laugh.

"_And what if I answer instead?_" he asks, addressing Wormy. "_Could we continue our little question-and-answer game then?_"

Renraw sees his face reflected in the dark glass of Wormy's goggles.

"_That depends on how my question is answered._" the kobold replies.

"_Why, truthfully, of course. What use do I have for those hayseeds? You've seen me betray some of them once already; imagine how I must feel about a whole town full of them?_"

"It's not a game," Katydid pleads in Imperial. To calm his agitation, he begins knocking on the trunks of passing trees.

"_Then answer, wizard,_" Wormy replies to Renraw, keeping his voice even and calm. "_And know that my tribe watches Apple Town closely. If you lie, you will need to begin your much-delayed torture._"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Elsewhere in the woods, Bufer's group of kobolds mutters something, and then ducks under a knot of wood where multiple fallen trees have crashed together, forming a small shelter with an opening less than four feet high, but relatively deep. The kobolds do not seem happy to be in such a cold space, but as Bufer watches, they test its depth with their short spears, and seem satisfied anyone taller than themselves would have a great deal of trouble reaching them or their hostage.

Several hundred yards away, Emmerson continues to race through the forest, his armor jingling, and his breath coming in labored gasps -- his armor was not made for prolonged running. Pick has to clear her throat twice before he hears her, and he has to look up to find her, standing on the thick branch of a denuded tree. She has some strange small items in her hands. Although the paladin doesn't recognize them, he knows what they are: components for some spell. She fingers the holy symbol around her neck with one mitten-covered hand.

"What you think you doing?"

Emmerson carefully keeps his hands to his sides, palms open and facing upwards.

"I wanted to speak to you again." He works to control his voice and breathing "The gnome you hold as hostage saved my life in the cairn a few days ago. I am honor-bound to see that debt repaid. I've come here to offer myself as the hostage in his stead or, if that is not possible, to be held as he is, for until the time our debt is squared, his fate shall be my own."

He unhooks his sword from his belt and offers it up to Pick.

"From one honorable person to another, I surrender my weapon to you."

Pick gives a barking laugh.

"If I not back with my group in five minutes, they slit gnome's throat. We not make new deals now, alone in woods with no witnesses. You go back home to Apple Town and pray for forgiveness and mercy, boy knight. We don't need you making more noise and attracting your guards to us. You follow us again, and you will have broke deal we made with Hazel-like-tree and gnomey blood be on your hands. Now scat!"

Emmerson hooks his sword back to his belt.

"I pray that honorable beings can understand each other," he says. "There is no profit in death, kobold, gnome or human. Perhaps if I offered a gift in gold, to pay you for being Bufer's keepers, say, 50 gold coins?"

Pick snarls.

"You do not understand sticking to terms of deal, boy knight? You are KILLING the gnome!"

"I apologize. " Without another word, Emmerson turns on his heel and runs away.

Cruel barking laughter follows him through the forest.

* * *

Hazel doesn't waste time watching the deputy and his group leave; she's already busy brushing out tracks for what feels like the fiftieth time today. The forest floor is practically clean enough to eat off of by now.

Instead of entering the party's hiding spot again, she searches the perimeter of the clearing. Now that she's just hiding one person, she doesn't need such a large space. A trio of stunted evergreens provides just the room she needs.

She pulls her waterskin from her pack before tucking the bag beneath the boughs at the base of one of the trees. Then she settles in a prone position, hands resting beneath her chin. Her right hand is lightly clasping her hand axe's haft, and her waterskin lies near her left elbow.

_All right, Tiberius. I know I'm at the right barrow. But where are you?_

* * *

"_It is curious you would ask a question to which you already know the answer, but I don't mind answering honestly regardless_," Renraw says, waving a hand dismissively. "_I hope you'll understand I require certain assurances before I do. If your tribe decides to act on any information I divulge, I need a guarantee that neither myself, nor my home, nor my possessions will come to any harm. Nor_," he makes a face, "_Nor any of my immediate family. In fact, not only do I want a guarantee that we won't be harmed, but in exchange for this vital defense intelligence, I would ask to fall under the aegis of your tribe's protection insofar as it is possible. If my person or my home were to be threatened by vengeful townspeople or by gnomes or anyone, I want to know that I could count on the aid of you and your tribe, again, insofar as is possible._"

The wizard stops dead for a moment, holding a finger under his nose. At first it appears he is deep in thought, but it soon becomes clear that he is only stifling a sneeze.

"_I realize, Wormy, that you may not have the authority to make this decision on behalf of your tribe, that you and Pick may have to consult with your queen. But I think you know exactly how valuable what I'm about to tell you is to your people, and you at least have an idea of the likelihood that they'd accept. So what say you?_"

Wormy seems amused at something Renraw said towards the end of his offer.

"_I cannot promise anything on behalf of ... the queen, especially since I do not know how we could identify you or your family. I was merely honoring the deal your fellow made and has backed out on. If you would like to make a new deal, I would first need the original one honored._"

A shiver goes through Katadid at Wormy's words and he lets out a low whimper. His eyes bug out wider than even Renraw's and he begins running his hands through his hair and tapping patterns of five on each tree he passes, slowing the party's progress considerably. As he walks, his upper torso rocks as he mutters to himself.

"It's not even ... not even ... not even ... not even ..."

* * *

Emmerson stops running as soon as Pick's laughter ends, turns around and gazes at the horizon.

At a loss for what to do, he prays to Lothian.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Ducking beneath a stray root as he is led into the kobold's makeshift hidey-hole, Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Potentloins glances around the damp, gloomy depression, and realizes this is likely where he is going to die.

Surprisingly, the realization fills him not with fear, but bitter regret. He'll never get to see his sister, Ellyjojobell, grow up into the righteous paladin she longs to become. He hates the thought of High Priest Barennackle finding out his most promising apprentice allowed himself to be captured by 'kobold filth,' as he'd call them. The thought of the pain and grief his death will cause his mother makes Bufer's heart ache deeply.

Mostly, though, it's the failure of his mission that puts the taste of ashes in Bufer's mouth. Although he's never shared this with anyone, not even Elly or Master Barennackle, Bufer has long wished and prayed for an opportunity like this, to be this close to one of the kobolds of Green Mountain, to talk to them, listen to them. Learn from them, and hopefully, have them learn from him, to make the first tenuous steps towards understanding and, maybe someday, peace.

And now, here he was, closer to a kobold than any gnome he'd known had ever been, and he was blowing it! Making stupid jokes and "clever" remarks, the way he always did when he was frightened or nervous. All of his carefully planned, exhaustively-rehearsed-to-the-mirror speeches had abandoned him. Much to his disappointment, instinctual smart-ass remarks were about all he had left. It looked like his father had been right about him all along.

Sighing heavily, feeling the full burden of his failure settle firmly on his shoulders, Bufer looks up and around at his captors.

"_All right, so maybe y'all don't understand Imperial,_" he says, "_But I'm betting at least some of you have been taught to understand Gnomish, bastard language though you think it might be. I know some of our more militaristic types have learned Draconic, as a means towards ... well, you know._"

Bufer shakes his head softly at the sheer idiocy of it all.

"_Look, does anyone have some water, or something? I'm suddenly feeling a little parched, and I'd hate to die of thirst before you lot can think of a more clever way to off me._"

The kobolds look at Bufer, surprised. One has his mouth open to say something when Pick returns, sticking her head back in.

"If your friends loved you any more, gnomey, you be dead right now."

She barks a short sentence in Draconic, and the group marches back out. Pick takes Bufer's rope in her hands and yanks him after her. The gnome cleric catches one of the kobold soldiers looking at him once, but that's all.

The group moves into the darker portion of the woods, and Bufer can feel the damp as they approach the Moss River. Bufer smiles despite himself, and glances over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of his would-be rescuer.

"You can't blame them for trying, really. They're only humans, after all." He glances up at Pick curiously. "The girl, or the young man with the hammer? Garl knows it wasn't the wizard, that's for damn sure."

Pick says something in Draconic, and all the kobolds laugh unpleasantly. Bufer frowns.

"Oh sure, now you laugh?" He glances over at Pick. "Why do you hate us?"

He switches to Gnomish.

"_Seriously, what have my people done to you to make you hate us so?_"

Pick never breaks stride.

"Your god attempted wipe out infant kobold race because he jealous. He makes 'little joke' of collapsing great cavern of Darastrixhurthi and almost wipe us out, and only Io saved Kurtulmak and us. Necklace you wear symbolize golden keystone Garl Glittergold pulled from roof of Darastrixhurthi in attempt to wipe out kobolds." She turns, walking backwards a moment, and spits a sticky glob of spit onto Bufer's face, then turns around and keeps walking. "Your god start war. We finish it."

Bufer sputters, and attempts to wipe the spit off by rubbing his face awkwardly against his shoulders. He is only partially successful.

"_PBBLLTT! Ugh! No, no, no! That's why kobolds hate gnomes,_" he says, shaking his head vigorously, trying to dislodge more saliva. "_Forget all that for a second; aside from that, why do you, the people of Green Mountain, hate us, the people of Wit's End?_"

He makes to raise his hand to tick off his fingers, grimaces as he remembers they're tied painfully behind his back, and has to settle for bobbing his nose back and forth on each point.

"_Look, we've never fought, to my knowledge. We've lived in relative peace for years. We've even respected each other's borders, for the most part. I mean, sure, there's been the odd spy, an' some occasional saber rattlin', but that's just what kobolds and gnomes do with each other, it's practically sport. Ignore the whole ancient blood feud goin' on, an' to the untrained eye, we actually look to be pretty good neighbors, albeit really self-involved ones that never talk to each other, an' tend to glare over the hedges a bit._" Bufer twists his head to the side a little, this last bit delivered to the kobolds behind him as much as to Pick. "_But that can change! I mean the self-involved bit. Just because we've all been told since we were younglings that 'gnomes is bad!' and 'kobolds is bad!' don't mean that's the way things be, not in the here an' now. Why, if you stop and think about it, the humans are a bigger threat to both of us, if they ever decide to kick us out of 'their' barony. If anything we should be allied against them!_"

Bufer takes a deep breath, some of his practiced-to-the-mirror oratory finally coming back to him.

"_You see,_" he says passionately, "_I have a dream ..._"

The kobolds stop to gag Bufer.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson finishes his prayer, screaming into the air in despair.

"Lothian, if I can help Ebuferpaly, please send me a sign!"

"Hmph. Ye can start by telling me what the Hell is goin' on," Emus says, stepping out of the bushes.

The paladin almost chokes, unsure whether to scream, laugh or cry.

"Emus! Thank Lothian," he finally gasps. "The kobolds have Bufer. I'll explain as we follow." 

* * *

"_Your deal was with this one,_" Renraw nods to Katadid. "_You asked a very simple question to which there is a very simple answer, one which he failed to provide. As far as I can see, that deal is off. I'm asking you for a new deal, a deal in which you would not only receive what he failed to give you, but so much more. You asked for one number. I can give you that number, I can give you locations, names, schedules, and anything else that you might be interested i-i-in_ -- oh, excuse me ..."

The wizard begins waving his hand frantically underneath his chin. The sneezes have nearly caught him before they subside again.

"_I understand how important Maidensbridge is to your people, Worm. If you ever want to make your move on Wit's End, you'll either need the humans gone from there, or somehow sympathetic to you and your cause. Either way, having an agent there can only benefit you._"

Renraw is trying to pace as he usually does during his speeches, but he's finding it quite difficult what with being chained and all.

"_As for identifying me, if you've been watching our village as you say you've been, you know my dwelling and I can tell you which it is. Perhaps we could develop a special code or wear identifying items of some sort. We can solve any problem if we exercise a little imagination. Please, think it over and tell me what you think what I can give you might be worth to your tribe._"

* * *

As Emmerson explains the situation, Emus' expression grows stormy, and his expression continues to darken until the dwarf finally explodes.

"SUNUVABITCH! IDJIT! DAGNABBIT!" Emus then lapses into Dwarvish, the meaning of which Emmerson can only guess. "You know they'll kill him, right? Even if the lil' bitch keeps her word, there is no way in Hells all them other kobolds is gonna let him walk outta there! And y'all just turned him over to 'em! He walked right up to the choppin' block! Stupid!"

Emus' face is redder than molten metal and his anger nearly as hot. He looks like he's about to hit something. But not yet.

"Let's go. We're gonna rescue the half-sized, half-wit piece o' crap. Take down the leader, first." Emus sets off at a trot, carrying his greatclub in both hands, mumbling to it.

With a nod and a grim smile, Emmerson sets off after him.

* * *

Katadid's anxiety increases, rocking back and forth as though he's being bounced between two invisible walls. He looks manically between Tucker, Renraw, and the kobold. His mantra has now changed.

"One and one. One and one. One and one. One and one. One and one ..."

Beside him, Deputy Tucker Gallaway looks at the sky.

"Hmmm, looks like a storm is coming."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The sound of the angry dwarf's and jingling paladin's approach makes one kobold turn around, and he barks something in Draconic. The other litter-bearers drop the bodies of their dead. Three of them grimly draw short swords and approach to meet the charge. The one who sounded the alarm backs up quickly, pulling out his light crossbow and trying to get a bolt loaded.

Pick, though, grabs Bufer by the hair and drags him behind three kobold warriors standing shoulder-to-shoulder, swords at the ready. She tugs back on the gnome's hair, exposing his throat and slashes it open with a wavy bladed dagger.

"YOU HAVE KILLED THE GNOMEY, BOY KNIGHT!"

The gnome collapses face-first in the snow, blood gushing from his throat into the snow.

Emus finishes his mumbling and his greatclub now seems somehow stronger, mightier, more oak-like than it was a moment before. As he begins another spell, Emmerson charges past him, his longsword glinting in the sun.

The paladin's slash misses the middle kobold, who snarls angrily. All three kobolds turn and attack the paladin.

A wolf appears beside Emus, shaking itself as though wet, but instantly turns towards the kobolds, bristling with anticipation of a fight. Emus, following the wolf's gaze, sees Pick finish casting a spell. She vanishes into thin air, her barking laugh echoing.

The kobolds slash at Emmerson, but their short swords bounce off his shield or are parried away by his sword. In the rear, the final kobold has his crossbow loaded and fires a bolt at Emmerson. The bolt flies past the shield, striking the paladin in the armpit, the bolt finding a gap in his armor and digging deep into flesh.

Hissing in pain, Emmerson looks at Bufer, and tries to fight his way to the gnome's side.

* * *

Meanwhile, several hundred yards away, Renraw continues his negotiation with Wormy, as they, Katadid and Tucker tromp towards home.

Kat's body is a mass of vibrations.

"Oneandoneandoneandoneandone," Kat rants, his body vibrating in his frenzy, "ANDoneANDONEANDONEANDONEANDONEAND ..."

"_No new deal,_" Wormy snaps at Renraw, ignoring the other wizard. "_You must honor the old deal before making a new one. Or do you think me stupid, softskin?_"

Katadid grabs Wormy, whipping the kobold around to face him.

"_ONE AND ONE!_" he screams into Wormy's face. "_ONE CONSTABLE! ONE DEPUTY! ONE AND ONE! THE DEAL IS DONE!_"

Before anyone can reply, the group as one stops: In the distance, they can hear the unmistakable sound of combat.

"They're ruining everything," Katadid moans. "Kem, what spells do you have prepared? Never mind, tell me on the way. They'll have probably killed each other but maybe Pick will live long enough to talk to if she hasn't run off already.

"Deputy, come with us or unlock Kem from the kobold. He'll need his hands. Oh, and I gave important military information to the kobold. That'll have to be addressed at some point. HURRY!"

Kat runs off, leaving the others to blink in surprise at the young wizard's sudden shift from manic to lucid.

"I'll be damned," Renraw mutters, astonished. "Unfasten this shackle, Gallaway, unless you intend to keep me from helping."

* * *

The sounds of an invisible Pick casting a spell fill the air, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, and all the kobolds seem somehow emboldened for the combat.

Then, as one, the two adventurers and the wolf crash forward.

Emmerson hacks at a kobold between him and the fallen Bufer, and the creature screams in pain and rage as the paladin opens a huge gash across its chest.

Beside him, the enraged Emus swings his mighty club overhand. For a moment, it looks like the kobold will dance out of the way, and then the club comes down with a sickening crack, bones splintering loudly and the kobold collapses to the ground, neck snapped, skull fractured, compound fractures causing his blood to mingle in the snow with Bufer's blood.

"RRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Emus screams. He's as much of a wild animal now as the wolf beside him.

The wolf leaps forward at the third kobold on the front line, fangs going for its throat. But the kobold gets his short sword up, swatting at the beast's snout, turning it away and allowing the small humanoid to duck and attack.

Pick invisibly shouts something, and the two remaining front line kobolds both stab at Emmerson, ignoring the dwarf and the wolf, stepping over their fallen comrade. The paladin's shield turns one blade away, but he opens his defenses up too far in doing so, allowing the other kobold to sink his blade into Emmerson's unprotected ribs.

The crossbow bolt in his armpit does not dull Emmerson's senses, at least not yet, but the wound to his ribs causes spots to dance in front of his eyes a moment. He's not close enough to Bufer, not yet.

"You did not accept my sword in peace," he screams at Pick, "You will now feel it in the heat of battle!"

There is a twang of a crossbow string as the kobold beyond Bufer's body fires again, once again targeting Emmerson, but the bolt whistles by overhead.

Pick invisibly finishes casting another spell and then almost immediately screams something in Draconic, sounding panicked. The two kobold foot soldiers turn as one, clearly terrified, toward the berserk dwarf.

Emmerson swings his sword at the kobold who stabbed him, but his swing is wild, missing him.

"RAAAAGRHL!" Foam speckles Emus' black beard.

This time, the kobold Emus aims at does sidestep the club, sending a spray of snow, mud and gore spraying across all the combatants and the fallen. Likewise, the wolf's jaws snap on empty air.

Then the kobolds attack.

A crossbow bolt thuds into the thick meat of Emus' shoulder. He avoids a stab from one kobold, but the other gets him, but the weak kobold cannot thrust it far through thick dwarven flesh.

Emmerson, seeing his opening, plunges toward Bufer.

* * *

Tucker quickly unlocks Renraw's shackles. It's a moment before he realizes what Katadid has just confessed to.

"Wait, you what?"

But Katadid is gone, and Renraw is close on his heels. Before he follows suit, however, Tucker tosses the free end of Hazel's rope over a thick branch of a nearby tree, hoisting Wormy a few feet into the air and ties the rope off at the base of the trunk. He glares at the kobold, and hopes body language will be enough to get the message through to him.

"Stay!"

* * *
Emmerson almost isn't aware of the sound of Pick's spell casting as he drops to his knees and attempts to cut Bufer's bonds, a job more suited to a dagger than a sword. But he's snapped back to reality as a translucent pick lashes down through the air at him, biting into his thigh and then jerking back up, preparing to stab down again.

Emus, through the red haze of his rage, is vaguely aware that Pick has reappeared and is heading towards him, her namesake weapon gleaming in the sunlight as another crossbow bolt flies at him, whistling past his head. Then two kobolds stab him at once, driving in their short swords.

"NNNNGGAAAAAAAARRRH!"

He lashes sideways with the club, hitting a kobold squarely in the chest. The beast is stunned, and there's a trickle of blood leaking from between his scaly lips, but amazingly, he still stands. That is, until the wolf buries its jaws around the kobold's throat, which it tears free with a wet ripping sound. The body collapses into the snow a moment later, just as Emmerson manages to cut through Bufer's ropes.

Pick barks something to the crossbow-firing kobold, pointing at Bufer and Emmerson as she closes on Emus.

Emmerson whispers a desperate prayer to Lothian and St. Chausle as he cradles the gnome in one large hand. Light spreads through Bufer's pale form, and his throat wound heals, although the gnome is still soaked in his own blood, as is the snow all around him. Bufer gives Emmerson a grateful look as the paladin gets to his feet.

And then a crossbow bolt hits Bufer in the chest, knocking him backwards in the snow. The phantom pick stabs down at the paladin again, again stabbing him deeply in the thigh.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!"

The conjured wolf returns to wherever it came from at last. Emus rounds on the last of the kobold footman, swinging his mighty club. There is a crunch of ribs being shattered, followed by a soft noise of those same ribs tearing through internal organs and the burbling cough of blood filling kobold lungs. The last of the footmen lays still.

Pick steps over the body of her comrade, but instead of swinging with her weapon, she says a word in Draconic and touches Emus with her mitten-covered left hand. Black energy and a spike of pain flashes through the dwarf, and he feels something within him urging him to lay down and die, but he shakes off most of the effects of the spell.

A second crossbow bolt streaks across the snow, this time penetrating Emmerson's neck and flying on through. It has missed the major veins and arteries, but still, it was all his body could take, and he tumbles slowly backwards and lays still.

Bufer climbs to his feet and struggles with his gag, pulling it down around his still-tender throat.

"Emus! Look out!" he screams hoarsely.

The kobold cleric's hand glows with dark energy again and she swipes her mitten towards Emus. The gnome's warning was in time, though, and the magical spell dissipates before she can lay her hand on the dwarf berserker.

The payment for Bufer's warning comes with a sickening thud, though, as another crossbow bolt hits him, striking him in the gut.

The shimmering pick stabs down at Emmerson's unconscious body one more time with a wet sound before vanishing.

"CRAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Emus takes his momentum from twisting away from Pick's touch and spins, his massive club whistling through the air as it comes, but just as it seems about to strike the kobold, there's a flash and a shimmering field of energy flashes into visibility for just a second, and the club bounces back, sending a shockwave up Emus' mighty arms.

As Emus blinks away the bright spots dancing before his eyes, he sees Bufer laying back in the snow, a second crossbow bolt protruding from his chest.

"Just you and us now, dwarfy," Pick grins.

The kobold crossbowman barks something to Pick, who scurries to the side, giving the other kobold a clearer shot. It's enough: A crossbow bolt streaks at the dwarf, catching him in torso somewhere, buried beneath his beard. Through his haze of rage, Emus wonders if it struck bone somewhere, since it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it should.

Pick growls a prayer to her savage goddess and swings her gleaming pick, sinking it into the dwarf's meaty upper arm, poking it all the way through a moment before whisking it back out.

"NOOOOOOOORRRRAAAAAARRGGH!"

Everything goes red for Emus as he throws her back a half step, blood spurting from his bicep. His rough hands grip his blood-slicked club and he brings it up in a two-handed swing, but the blow goes wide, Pick dancing back out of range.

As she does, Emus sees something getting larger and larger in his field of vision. He suddenly realizes it's another crossbow bolt.

And then it all goes black.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker and Katadid can barely hear the sound of Renraw casting a spell as they run toward the sound of the fighting. A moment later, he sprints past them, his eyes watering, his feet spraying them both with mud and snow. The magic keeps him just as sure-footed as he would be normally, and he finds himself running through the Tulgey Wood alone, icy wind whipping past his face and then suddenly, he's bursting into a small clearing painted red with gore.

At the far end, he spots two kobolds stopped over the fallen bodies, the cleric Pick and a male. While Pick roughly searches Bufer, the male leaves off going through his fellows' belongings and stands. He points at Renraw hurtling toward them and Pick looks up. Renraw is too far away to hear their words, but the bottom line is plain: Pick makes an obscene gesture with one hand and the forearm of her other arm. And then both kobolds run.

Renraw could catch them, he knows he could, but when he arrives at the scene of the battle, all such thoughts leave him.

Emus and Bufer lay in the snow, surrounded by red slush, into which they continue to pump new steaming hot blood.

A look at Emmerson tells a different story: While he, too, is surrounded by red slush, no more blood pours from his body. His face is white and pale, his eyes colorless as they stare at the sky.

Renraw drops to his knees in the bloody snow and begins digging through Bufer's pack for his bundle of bandages, needle and thread.

He bandages Emus, yanking them tight around a thick dwarven bicep with a rough jerk.

"You can't die yet, you stupid dwarven bastard."

Over his shoulder, Bufer makes a wet gurgling noise.

"And you, chum," Renraw says, "You can seep mongrel ooze until you've no more to seep. I hope you're in agony."

He glances up, strangely surprised to see Kat and Tucker further off, still running his way. Renraw curses under his breath and moves to help Bufer.

"You don't know it now, gnome, but it won't be long before you're wishing I let you die this day."

A minute later Katadid runs up and collapses on the wet and bloody ground. His body wracked with coughs, he looks toward Renraw, whose hands are covered in blood as he gives a shaky nod.

Kat launches into a coughing fit that lasts a full minute. His clothes getting wet and bloody from the ground, he looks at the carnage around him. He's surprised by the dwarf's presence, but he's unsurprised to see Emmerson in this state. Kat surveys the gnome's barely breathing form and at the reptilian bones, organs, and shattered limbs around him.

"Idiots."

He mutters to himself softly as he searches the area and the kobolds' bodies, finding them picked clean of coins. Later, the group discovers the same has happened to Emus, Emmerson and Bufer. The gnome is also missing his weapons as well.

Kat is still breathing heavily as he turns one set of protective goggles worn by the kobolds over and over in his hands. He holds them up to his own eyes, finds himself barely able to see, and pulls them down. While Renraw finishes bandaging Bufer, Katadid looks to the cold paladin.

"Tombstones eighty. Everything's even, can't have ..." his voice drains away and his face turns back the way they came. "Any odds ..."

He leaps to his feet, only to slip on the blood and fall to the ground again, igniting a new coughing fit. He flails a pointing finger helplessly back in the direction they came from.

Renraw has no idea what has Katadid so agitated, nor does he care. He bundles up the healer's kit and shoves it into Kat's arms.

"You did this. Not a word."

He sprints off before the deputy arrives.

Katadid's coughing fit has finally subsided as Tucker arrives.

"Wormy," Kat gasps, his eyes running after the fit. He climbs to his feet and heads back the way in the other direction at a run, but he soon slows to a brisk walk. There's no reason to run: He already knows what he's going to find.

The ropes that tied the kobold now swing in the cold wind. Scraps of rope litter the ground. The tracks around the base of the tree are a mess of old and new footprints, and where they lead off to, Katadid cannot tell. But Wormy is gone.

He holds the scraps of rope and sighs. The ropes look like they've been both chewed and cut. Kat can picture Wormy twisting around frantically, pulling out a hidden dagger and cutting his way free.

One hand holds the goggles. The other holds torn ropes.

"Bodies," he mutters as he walks back to the cairn, tapping the goggles constantly and touching trees and branches as he walks. "Will need ..."

* * *

A sound. Another. Hazel listens keenly, her body tensing beneath the pines. Her eyes track the edge of the clearing.

_C'mon, Tiberius, show yourself._

But the figure stepping into the clearing isn't a stranger. Hazel tries to peer past him, looking for Tucker and the shackled pair, ready to ask the deputy what the hell he's thinking, bringing them all back to the cairn.

And then the dangling rope and goggles catch her eye, and she sighs. Their captive escaped.

_My fault. The knots must've been weak._ Her hand tightens on the axe. _Now we have nothing to trade for Bufer._

There's barely a trace of any of the party's tracks in the snow before the cairn, at least not to Kat's untrained eye. He's not sure where the ranger is either, so he simply stops in the middle of the clearing and speaks loudly.

"The paladin is dead."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Pine branches whip at Hazel as she jumps to her feet.

"He's what? Emmerson? How?" Frustrated, she snaps branches off left and right as she bats them away, forgetting her desire to not leave signs of her presence. "Kat, where? Show me."

She snags her pack strap with a boot and drags it out from under the pines, tossing the bag onto her back, ignoring the needles and sap smeared across the surface. The waterskin gets dropped inside, but the axe she keeps in her hand.

Hazel gestures for the young wizard to lead, her head full of questions.

* * *

In life, Emmerson was mild-spoken, quick to attempt to break up an argument, the first to dry a child's tears and sometimes a figure of fun for Tock Chandler and Renraw Kem for his tendency to help others by beating rugs, carrying water or gathering firewood for near-strangers.

In death, though, Emmerson is anything but peaceful.

One hand still holds his sword. His shield, caked with mud and freezing slush, is still held in the other. Crossbow bolts jut from his body and the raw open wounds in his thigh no longer steam in the crisp air. Soon, frost will form on them.

And his face is locked in an expression of rage, as though still fighting that last battle.

* * *

Katadid's mumblings are essentially inaudible as he accompanies Hazel toward the clearing.

_He's mistaken, that's all_, she thinks. _Just Kat being Kat. He means something like dead, but not._

They pass a tree with more shredded rope lying near its trunk, but the wizard doesn't stop, and Hazel gives it only a passing glance.

_Wormy got out of the rope, but what about Tucker's manacles? Is Renraw in kobold claws now, too? How did Wormy get past Tuck?_

Hazel steps up her pace, slightly outdistancing the wizard. She breaks into a run at the first sight of blood on snow. The bones and viscera splashed across the ground look nothing like a hunter's kill; they're too messy, too wild and wasteful. Even in the cold, the smell is enough to make her gorge rise. And the bodies ...

The paladin, pale and still. Not a mistake, then. The dwarf, that was a surprise.

_He wasn't even with us!_

But it's Bufer that sends Hazel hurtling over shattered kobold bodies. She drops to her knees in the bloody snow at his side, noting the bandages hastily applied to his neck and the crossbow bolts rising and falling ever so slightly as he breathes.

_Breathing. He's still breathing. Keep breathing, Bufer. I'll fix this, I promise._

She clasps his wrist, hoping to find a steady pulse. A boot appears in her peripheral vision, and her eyes track upward, finding not the wizard she expected but the deputy.

"What happened? Is Renraw their captive? How did Wormy get loose? Where were you?" Anger brings her voice to a near-shout, but it's not Tucker she blames.

"I don't know what happened. We were headed to the orchard when Kat and Renraw heard the sound of fighting. Katadid took off, and I unlocked Kem, who ran behind. I tied Wormy in a tree -- fat lot of good that did -- and followed. By the time I got here, Kat had patched these two up, Kem was nowhere to be seen and Emmerson," he kneels next to the fallen paladin and looks at his friend's seemingly enraged face. "Emmerson was already dead."

He stands up and kicks a kobold in frustration, flipping it from the awkward position in which it had been laying and onto its back, then spits on it and turns back toward Hazel, reacting to her angry tone.

"Of course, I can't follow the damn things. Maybe if someone who knew the woods had been more interested in keeping an eye on Bufer than laying in the mud all afternoon, this could have been prevented! And unless Tiberius showed up before you came over here, then you've really failed at two things this afternoon, haven't you?"

"And maybe if someone had disarmed those kobolds back at the cairn, your friend wouldn't be -" Hazel stops in mid-shout, shaking her head. "This isn't useful."

She shrugs out of her pack and unclasps her cloak, spreading it on the ground beside the gnome. With an arm under his knees and one cradling his neck and shoulders, she lifts him cautiously onto the thick fabric. The whistling of his breath seems unchanged, and she quickly tucks the cloak around his body, taking care not to jostle the bolts in his chest.

"Wait here." She doesn't bother to see if Tucker is listening. "I'll send someone back to help you bring Emus and ... and the body."

Leaving her pack in a heap beside the bloody snow, Hazel lifts the gnome and rises to her feet. She can't see the wizard, but assumes he's somewhere within shouting distance.

"Kat! I'm taking Bufer to town. You can come with me or stay here with Tucker, but don't wander off." Quietly, her voice grim, she adds, "We don't know who's still out here."

She moves off toward Maidensbridge at a hustle.

Katadid, hidden in the shadow of the trees, watches her go, mumbling in assent. He flips the kobold goggles over and over in his hands, staring out across the snow at the bodies, his entire demeanor one of profound disappointment.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Her hands full, Hazel throws The Cat & The Fiddle's door open wide with a solid kick, ducking inside before the door can slam back on her. She gives the tables a quick glance without stopping; her quarry isn't seated there. Striding past the bar, she calls out to Milos.

"I need some strong backs. Ragglus Chaplin? The constable? Smithy Glangirn? And a cart, maybe a wagon, long enough for a paladin." As she disappears up the stairs, her voice floats down to him. "And parchment and ink!"

She carries Bufer into the bedroom across the hall from the parlor and settles him into the oversized bed, stripping her bloody cloak from the gnome's small body and tossing it around her shoulders. Her arms and face are numb, though whether it's from the cold trek back to town or her fear for Bufer, she can't say.

As Hazel deposits Bufer on the bed, she feels a gentle tug on her elbow. Turning, she looks down to find the gnome minstrel Heda Littlelark looking up at her with large eyes.

"Is he dead?"

Beyond her, Hazel can see another of the inn's rooms open; Heda has clearly come back to town to get a jump-start on performing in the springtime various festivals.

Hazel blinks rapidly to clear her gaze; a thin smile on her lips.

"No, not dead," Hazel whispers hoarsely. "He went in my place."

The ranger fidgets a moment, thinking.

"I need ... Rags first. Can't leave them out there alone." She stares down at Bufer. "Wit's End second. Bring Master Barennackle. He'll fix you right up, I know it."

Heda's not sure who Hazel is speaking to, but she looks down at the younger gnome's face and nods.

"OK. The master will know what to do."

Hazel hears the gnome pull on her cloak, lace up her heavy boots and lock the room she's staying at in the inn. Heda all but tumbles down the stairs, yells something unintelligible to Milos and then the front door slams and she's gone.

* * *

Ragglus sits on the lower steps outside Maidensbridge Chapel, in what could only be called quiet contemplation (his serious face offset by an odd belch or a rumbling fart, disturbing more than one visitor as they pass in or out of the chapel). He could have sworn he'd seen Hazel rushing about in the direction of The Cat & The Fiddle, but he wasn't in the mood to follow or test Milos' patience.

* * *

Heda's departure registers in the back of Hazel's mind; she'll have to thank the minstrel later for the kindness.

"Help's on the way, Bufer." Hazel quickly checks his wounds to make sure nothing has re-opened on the trip into town. Reluctant to let him out of her sight, she backs step by step toward the door. "I need to get help for Emus now, Bufer, but I'll get somebody to sit with you until the cleric arrives."

She darts down the stairs, her brow furrowing in confusion as she realizes that the tavern owner has not assembled a collection of strapping young men to help. She stops at the bar, her words tumbling out in a rush.

"Well have you seen them? Rags, at least? I was sure he'd be in here. Never mind the parchment, though, Heda's taking care of it. Can Ella or Jana sit with Bufer upstairs until she gets back?"

Hazel sags heavily on the bar; her hands leave bloody smears on the surface. Milos seems unmoved by Bufer's plight, but he makes eye contact with his wife and nods toward the stairs. Jana thumps up the steps, and a moment later, Hazel hears the sound of a chair scraping across the floor in the room she placed Bufer.

"Threw Rags out," is all of Milos' explanation as to the location of the rescue party he was asked to assemble.

"Thank you." Hazel stalks out without another word.

_If I were a frequently drunk, lecherous sod banned from the tavern, where would I be?_

She ignores the looks from the people she passes; if they aren't stronger than she is or toting a cart, they're useless to her. As she crosses in front of Kramer's General Store, she catches sight of the slumped figure on the chapel steps. 

"Rags!" She calls, crossing to him and stopping at the bottom of the chapel stairs. "C'mon, I need your muscle."

As he smirks, Hazel hastily corrects herself.

"I mean, your arms, for carrying. Not me, for Emus, he's hurt."

"Saw hm this mornin'," Ragglus rises slowly, chuckling. "What'd he go an' do, trip on his beard?"

"Took on a pack of kobolds to save Bufer's life. I'll explain on the way. But we need to hurry. I don't know how bad he's hurt or if there are more kobolds coming." She turns and sets off at a run, Ragglus close behind. Hazel gasps out the story as they go.

Ragglus stays quiet, and when they arrive at the scene of the carnage, he stays focused on why he was brought here, even though ever fiber of his being wants to rip the head off whatever idiot decided to do this second expedition without him. They had clearly paid for their bad decisions with blood, and then some. Executing sound judgment he knew he'd never get credit for, Ragglus switches into good soldier mode and does what's been requested of him, kneeling to lift Emus into his arms.

With Bufer and Emus in relatively good hands, Hazel silently approaches Emmerson's body and examines his wounds.

_How did everything go so wrong?_


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

By the time the party returns to Maidensbridge, the sun is going down, but the hamlet's muddy streets are ablaze with light.

An expedition from Wit's End has arrived and the members are placing Bufer into a covered carriage decorated with painted forest creatures. Hazel hovers nearby, watching and chewing her bottom lip. The gnomes catch the human girl watching them, and murmur a comment quietly under their breath. Hazel notices a surprising number of small animals are also in the carriage, sniffing at Bufer and his wounds, but despite that, the interior of the gnome-scale carriage is immaculate.

The driver of the conveyance is bundled from head to toe in layer upon layer of clothing, so that not even an inch of skin is showing. Once all the gnomes are aboard, what appears to be a senior gnome reaches out, thumps the top of the carriage and says a word to the driver. Without looking back, he gives a precise snap of the reins and the shaggy pony pulling the carriage sets off at a trot for home, carriage wheels crunching through the mud and snow.

Meanwhile, the constable has found a cart of his own -- or rather, commissioned one in the baron's name from Lars Kramer -- and is putting together blankets in the back.

When he sees the party arrive, the constable stands up in the back of the wagon, steady despite his wooden leg, and begins barking orders.

"Get the dwarf inside. Mother Bridger and some of the Glangirn are waiting on Emus. They took over one of the rooms upstairs and are going to patch him up there." The constable's face is a stony mask when he looks down at Emmerson's body in Tucker's arms. "And put him in the cart, lad. We've got a spot of traveling to do."

Ragglus nods and enters The Cat & The Fiddle with Emus, intent on finding those mentioned by the constable.

"Make way, ya rabble," he calls as he hurries through the common room, not caring who is in his way as he makes his way to the stairs.

"You need to talk to Katadid Leach before we go," Tucker tells the constable. "Just before he ran off toward the fighting, he said something about giving away military secrets -- and this was none of his craziness."

"Find him," the constable replies. "We'll bring him and talk on the way."

Finding the young wizard isn't hard for Tucker to do: Although the streets are full of villagers, people tend to give the boy a wide berth. He's in the center of Maidensbridge, walking in a tight spiral, flipping the cracked goggles over and over in his hands, mumbling quietly to himself. Tucker has to put himself directly in the young wizard's path to get his attention.

"What? Oh."

"Kat, I have a question for you," Tucker says, putting a hand on Kat's thin shoulder. "Do you know how many times a single spoke on the wheel of an average-sized wagon -- like, oh, that one over there -- goes around when traveling a straight league? If it starts at the top, how many times does it go all the way around before the end of the distance?"

Kat looks toward the wagon, then back at Tucker. He opens his mouth wordlessly, then pauses, confused. He looks at the wagon again, then, with a frown, wanders over in that direction.

Tucker puts two fingers in his mouth and lets a shrill whistle, waving at the constable.

"Load up!"

Upstairs in The Cat & The Fiddle, Ragglus darts back and forth across the hallway of The Cat & The Fiddle's upper floor, shouldering his way through most of the doors as he looked for those awaiting Emus.

"Ma!" he calls out in frustration, tiring of the surprised and furious glances behind said doors, not to mention the dead weight in his arms. Seeing Mother Bridger's head pop out from a room further down, Ragglus charges down to the last room in the hall, boards creaking beneath the combined weight.

The Glangirn contingent peppers him with questions as he passes through the open doorway, laying Emus down on the pallet.

"Shut up!" he cries in return, rounding on them. He's been accustomed to dwarves in Maidensbridge for as long as he can remember, but never managed to pick up a word. "I don't speak rockmuncher!"

"Ragglus Chaplin!" Mother Bridger exclaims, outraged. She immediately tends to the gravely injured Emus, but that doesn't stop her from chewing out the fighter over her shoulder. "I was just done telling these fellows how nice it was for you to carry poor Emus all the way here to safety, don't make me regret my words, foolish boy!"

"Sorry," Ragglus offers instantly, flushing. Following her gaze, he rolls his eyes and faces the dwarves, mumbling a reply. "I'm sorry."

Downstairs, now that the carriage taking to Wit's End is finally out of sight, Hazel wanders into the tavern and drops into a chair. She thinks she saw Rags heading upstairs when she was dropping the gear, so she picks a spot where she can see both the main door and the stairs, and waits for news on Emus.

One weary hand dips into a pocket and pulls out a silver coin.

"Milos," she calls toward the bar. "Hard cider, if you please, and some for my friend when he's done upstairs."

After watching Rags carry Emus through the woods without complaint, Hazel's a bit more inclined to overlook his more unsavory habits.


* * *

The wagon rattles into the gathering dark of the Tulgey Wood, the Baron's Road visible by a pair of swinging lanterns mounted on poles at the front of the wagon. 

The constable keeps the ponies going as fast as he dares. Without taking his eyes off the road, he clears his throat, a puff of warm air leaving his chapped lips.

"What's this about the kobolds and Kat, then?"

"Damned if I know," Tucker replies. "Damn lizard-speak sounds like a bunch of barks and gulps to me. Kat had been freaking out about something, then grabbed Wormy, screamed at him and told me he'd let secrets slip before running off to help the shorties."

"Kat, is this true?"

"Yes," Katadid says quietly.

There is a long pause before he speaks again.

"One," he says, his voice a little above a whisper, "And one. It was ... an agreement, a question for a question. He asked ... he asked how many people guarded the town."

Katadid's voice trails off, and he taps nervously on Emmerson's armor. The paladin doesn't complain.

"I had to answer. I tried ... not to, at first, but I had no ... I made a deal."

Kat stares straight ahead at the road.

"Wormy is Kem, the dangerous one, the one they wouldn't mind losing, the one who had nothing to lose."

Tucker is suddenly very conscious of the black silhouette of Green Mountain staring at his back as they ride through the forest.

"But he-he knew my answer before I gave it. Or said he did," Katadid says, turning and looking at Green Mountain himself, and then at Tucker. "They're watching us."

"Well," the constable says finally, "This appears to be the day of paladins being put to the test when it comes to honoring oaths. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with you, Kat."

"Neither am I."

* * *

Hours pass, but Emmerson is unaware of their passage. Later, he found it hard to recall what he was aware of during those dark hours, and could only recall figures walking him away from where he was, back to where he came from. The entire thing filled him with a degree of regret, but he understood his duty.

There is no dramatic transition. Emmerson merely finds himself laying on a cold stone slab, his body a mass of aches, which he would later realize were the sites of his various injuries, healed now, but still badly bruised. His face is even colder, though, and reaching up, he finds his face is wet.

"You're awake." The accented voice takes Emmerson a moment to place. Even after opening his eyes, his vision is a blur for a long moment before resolving itself to a heavy man holding a silver basin full of water. _Holy water_, Emmerson realizes.

"Yes, your holiness." The paladin tries to push himself off the altar and down to the floor to kneel, but in his weakened state, he succeeds only in falling to the floor in a heap. As he struggles to get back up, he hears Bishop Jurgen Lehmann put the basin down and feels strong hands stand him back up. "Thank you."

"Lothian is not done with you yet, son, and neither am I."

Lehmann inspects Emmerson, taking each hand and arm, inspecting them, rubbing the flesh with his thumbs and nodding as he feels warmth returning to formerly dead limbs.

"Maidensbridge is drifting away from the church and is home to all manner of pagans. Lothian has granted you a second life. You gave your first life as a paladin. You are born again as his instrument here in Midwood. You will study under me and become the priest of Maidensbridge and the church's agent in the shadow of Green Mountain."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

At about that same moment, back in Maidensbridge, the Widow Kellogg is occupied when she notices someone rattling her doorknob. With exasperation, she grabs a blanket from the bed, makes her way over to the door and yanks it open.

"No Kems allowed." She slams the door.

Renraw is startled, and it's a moment before he begins pounding on the door, leaning his face close to hiss through the wood without being heard by the rest of Maidensbridge.

"Chandler! Cease your endless fornicating and get out here! It's important."

"This is important, too," comes Tock's muffled response.

"It's about Tiberius!"

There is a pause and the muffled sound of a quiet argument. A moment later, the door opens and Tock hops out, pulling his pants on, glaring at the wizard.

"Don't throw that name around, idiot!"

"Fine, fine!" Renraw stalks into the woods a short way, Tock following as he dresses himself. The wizard whirls to face him. "I freed the kobold, cut him free! We're to meet at Treeline at midday on Wind 9. It's ... it's ... I need your help on this!"

Tock's face appears black in the darkness, and is only visible as a silhouette against Maidensbridge behind him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Military intelligence. Political capital. What I'm about may just save this town from the brink of annihilation. And think of the potential reward in that. My debt lifted ... my college tuition paid ... At the very least, it'll help us save our own skins when the time comes."

"Now that's more like it," Tock smiles. "But you'll need more than my help. Have you talked to Chaplin?"

"I did. He's out."

"He said no?"

"He said yes."

Tock suppresses the urge to throttle Renraw.

"If he said yes, why is he out?"

"Because," Renraw says, his tone suggesting that he's speaking to a small dull child, "Anyone who would agree to help us without knowing what he was agreeing to do is too stupid to be useful. In addition, I don't know that he wouldn't just turn us in to the constable when he did hear what we were about."

"What about that sneaky little bastard Bergin?"

"He'll be perfect, and my brother as well," Renraw says, nodding. 

"Scim?" Tock perks up. "I haven't seen that no-good in months! Great idea."

"I'll need you to ask them," Renraw says quietly, searching his pockets for something.

"What? Your people skills aren't the greatest, but your own brother?"

"He won't do it for me. We aren't speaking," Renraw admits, embarrassed.

"OK, Ren," Tock says, placing his hand on the wizard's bony shoulder. "Back up and tell me everything."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The Tulgey Barrow is silent and unvisited for the next few hours.

The silence is disturbed several hours after dawn on the next day, Birth 16.

Hazel's eyes have dark circles under them, and yesterday's events seem to have left their mark on her. Beside her, Katadid lurches along, now seemingly untouched by Emmerson's death or the danger they all faced almost at this very spot.

As Hazel scans the brush for kobolds and bandits, the wizard speaks out loud in Draconic.

"Kat? You know I can't speak the language yet, right?" Hazel says finally. "If I could, I wouldn't need the lessons."

Katadid's eyes widen as he considers this thought. Finally, he switches to Imperial.

"Of course, yes, immersive perhaps not the best approach. Hmm, strange, quick ears for birdsong, yes, not languages, odd. Another approach," Kat nods violently, as though concluding a long vehement argument with an unseen and unheard contemporary. "I shall set you written lessons, beginning with the Draconic alphabet, and you will complete assignments on time, no laziness. Now, tell me again of the sarcophagus and the mirrors. Leave nothing out."

Clearing her throat, Hazel begins her story once more, lightly grasping the wizard's arm to keep him moving in the right direction, her axe bared in her other hand.

At last, they arrive at the entrance to Fibber's Cairn. After the last two trips, she no longer needs the boy's map to find her way here. She scouts the entrance for fresh tracks, finding nothing of interest, and pauses to light her lantern before continuing.

"Stay close, Kat. We don't know what else the kobolds were up to in here."

The pair enter the cairn, and a ripple of pleasure going through Katadid's frame.

"And try not to look with your hands," Hazel says as they reach the first set of alcoves and Katadid reaches toward a sarcophagus. "Not everything in here likes being disturbed."

The wizard pulls his hand back, nodding. He remembers the story of Renraw and the statute.

She waits silently at each alcove, alert for threats, as Kat, eyes shining, explores with rapt fascination.

They mount the stairs silently. Hazel pauses near the top, letting the lantern light spill out over the floor as she peers into the large room. A search turns up little more than the footprints of kobold scouts, a few days old.

Kat immediately begins circling the pillars. He directs Hazel to bring the light closer as he examines the writing and makes notes on his parchment. He's quite focused, his chatter much more intense and lucid than Hazel usually hears, although much of what he says mean little to her.

He casts a spell and then expectantly examines the pillars again. He sputters in frustration before finally explaining the spell has revealed that the bas-relief, carvings and hollows are not a written language.

"That's interesting," Hazel murmurs, turning from her latest scan of their surroundings. "Is it -- What are you doing?"

She pulls the wizard's arm back from the column. His fingers are coated with an oily residue, which he calmly cleans with a small cloth before folding it and tucking it away.

"Testing," he says shortly. "Please don't interfere with the testing."

Hazel drops his arm and grinds her teeth before responding, mimicking his tone.

"Please don't stick your hands inside the columns. For all we know, the walls in here have a zapping thing like the statue upstairs."

Kat jots more notes on his parchment.

"Yes, the statue. That room next, please."

"Just don't touch anything this time," Hazel mutters as she leads him up the stairs.

Kat peers very closely at each statue and inside the coffin, but keeps his hands well back, taking seemingly endless notes.

"Interesting. And you say only the one statue contains a defense mechanism?"

"I think I said only one went 'zap.' And then they all laughed. Maybe. It sounded like the statues were laughing. And Renraw's hands were frozen."

"So you didn't check the others for traps?"

"I didn't go near them. Did you hear the part about Renraw's hands? Being frozen and all? I like my hands nice and toasty, thank you very much."

Kat sighs and scribbles on his parchment.

"We'll have to test them, then."

"Fine." Hazel shrugs. "But neither of us are going anywhere near them to conduct these 'tests,' because I'm not explaining to your dad why you have blue hands when I carry ya home."

"Not a concern," Kat mutters as he tucks the parchment into his belt and pulls bits of string and wood from his pack. "I will test them magically."

Still, Hazel pulls the young wizard toward the stairs and positions him behind her crouched form before allowing him to complete the spell.

Hazel cannot see any effect produced by Kat's spell, but the boy concentrates and grunts for a protracted period. After several minutes, she clears her throat.

"Well, did it work?"

"No effect." Kat unrolls his parchment again, pressing on Hazel's back as he writes. "Hold still, you're mussing my letters."

Rolling her eyes, Hazel complies. When Kat's finished, they move on to the other rooms, turning up nothing of interest. It takes several hours and more parchment before Kat is satisfied with his findings.

As they depart, Hazel again scans the entrance for tracks, but finds no evidence of Tiberius or anyone else.

The young wizard is unusually animated and lucid on the walk home, tossing out theories and responding to them himself as Hazel attempts to decipher the magical terminology with little success. By the time they reach Maidensbridge, his talk has turned to mumbling and he taps complicated patterns with his feet as he walks. Hazel drops him off at his father's shop before heading home herself.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

By Wind 4, Tock Chandler can put it off no longer: He has to go to Skunkbottom Flats, north of Moss Pond, the source of the Moss River.

He grimaces and strains to pull his foot, which has sunk nearly two feet, from the muck of the semi-frozen marsh. Unfortunately, when he does, he is reminded how the area got its name: The bard is treated to a loud "poot," followed by an invisible cloud of noxious vapors enveloping his head, sorely tempting him to plug his foot back in the hole he's just made. Not that it would help, that's just the natural reflex. He's lucky, he knows: The smell is even worse in springtime, or in summer. He's just finished gagging when he feels a chill and realizes his foot is now bare, the nearly sentient mud claiming his boot.

"No, damn it," he moans. He notices the hole left by his foot slowly starting to fill in over top of his boot and in a panic, he thrusts his arm down after it. This causes him to lose his footing, though, and he plunges face-first into cold, smelly ooze.

He screams a string of obscenities, gradually sinking further with no solid ground in sight to halt his descent. Thinking quickly, he mutters a frantic incantation, and a majestic celestial monkey materializes at the edge of the muck. He looks at Tock inquisitively, an iridescent halo of innocence and purity encircling his monkey features.

"Help me, monkey!" Tock yelps. "Grab my hand and pull me free!"

The creature, without hesitation, grips Tock's outstretched hand, its mighty grasp and intense gaze reassuring the bard that everything will be OK, giving a mighty tug.

The monkey tumbles right into the mud alongside its summoner. From his expression, it appears in whatever celestial jungle he normally swings through, in search of celestial fruit, it has never heard the things that Tock Chandler says next. The bard insults the monkey for the remaining six seconds of the spell's duration. Six seconds, it should be noted, that would be better spent somehow trying to get free, as the intervening time lapse only serves to worsen the bard's plight, immobilizing him in the putrid, frosty sludge. His cries as he struggles are not unlike those a wounded deer might make. Perhaps a bit louder and with a bit more profanity.

The mud has almost claimed him fully when he hears a wretched sound coming from out of his line of sight. Something terrible slogs through the mud towards him, and he's even surer he's met his end than he was just a moment ago. He spits as much of the acrid mud out of his mouth as he can and begins singing what he believes must be his swansong.

_"Lothian, you rotten ass,
I will not fall for this.
Let me sink, let me pass,
Your ring I will not kiss!

"You and your dumb believers,
You murder and restrict.
Like butchers with their cleavers,
Such pain you do inflict.

"I will not fall before you,
Even if here I die.
I'll find a path far more true,
For my dearest one and I.

"So Lothian, your test can rot,
Your warped mind is sick!
You're not the toughest I have fought,
So you can suck my --"_

"What the hell?" exclaims the terrible slogging thing, now in close proximity, shocked to hear the downed antelope singing. "Tock Chandler?"

"SCIM! BLARGH!" Tock screams, his face only barely visible, "Scimitar Kem, you scumbag! Pull me up!"

Roebello "Scimitar" Kem considers this for a moment.

"All right, maybe. But first, what're you doing out here?"

"Gods damn you, Scim, quit joking arou--!"

Scimitar makes several gas-releasing squelches forward and, steadying himself, reaches into the mud for the scruff of Chandler's neck, hefting him out as much as he can. The bard gasps for breath, choking on bad vapor.

"I didn't steal anything from you, Tock. I wouldn't do that," Scim says, indignant. "I don't know where you live."

Tock fights to get an arm free, and when he does it latches onto Scimitar's forearm tugging on it with the kind of strength only the adrenaline of a dying man can grant. It's more than Scim expects, however, and now the rogue takes a slight spill, one knee bending, foot moving sideways and slipping to the mire. Tock frees himself from the waist up, and now the two of them face each other, both sinking, but upright.

Tock coughs away tears.

"How in the hairy Hell do you live out here?"

"Got used to it," Scimitar shrugs. "Figgered nobody'd chase me out here. Got a little place on more solid ground over yonder."

"Well, what do you do when you get stuck?"

"Never happened before now," Scim shrugs again and shakes his head, frowning.

"What AM I doing out here?" Tock half-screams in exasperation.

"Hell, I don't know," Scim answers, befuddled. "I just asked you that."

"Your brother needs help with some kobolds," Tock says.

Scimitar looks back at him, confused.

"He'll pay you if you come along," Tock finishes.

Roebello Kem perks up, suddenly interested.

"Let's get out of this mud!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

It's mid-morning on Wind 9 when Tock Chandler, Tosh Bergin and Renraw and Scimitar Kem set out for the ancient gnomish ruins of Treeline. Gax and her kobold armies wiped out the native gnomes of the Tulgey Wood five centuries ago, even as she evicted the dwarves from the city of Glangirn within Green Mountain.

Renraw is visibly nervous as they tromp through the woods. His brother Scim is outwardly flippant about the whole affair, but Renraw knows better: He's worried, too. As expected, Renraw had to pay both him and Tosh, and ordered them to shadow him from a distance, and above all, not be seen unless he and Tock are betrayed and attacked.

Treeline, today, is so ruined that one has to know it exists, and where, to even notice it. The gnomes of old built homes that blended almost seamlessly into the natural environment, and when it was laid to waste, the ruins became almost impossible to find.

But the Green Mountain kobolds remember, as do the gnomes of Wit's End.

As Renraw and Tock approach, they see Wormy standing in a sunny spot surrounded by a low line of ruined stone. From the size of it, it was likely once an important building in the ancient gnomish community. The kobold is again wearing the black goggles. Nearby, a heavily armed goblin lounges astride a large black wolf. The goblin holds the reins for an enormous weasel the height of a pony and the length of an oxcart.

Renraw smiles woodenly, stepping into the pool of sunlight.

"_Ho, there, Wormy! Hello! Do not be alarmed, I've brought an associate with me. He also has business with your tribe and wishes to pay his respects._"

Wormy looks blandly -- to the extent that either Tock or Renraw can read the expressions of a reptile -- at the pair of them.

"_You wanted this meeting, softskin. Speak quickly; we have more important things to do than talk to the likes of you._"

Renraw clears his throat, nodding.

"_For Wit's End to fall, so must Maidensbridge,_" he says, carefully enunciating his Draconic. "_The humans recognize this, and this is why they've begun unmitigated hostilities. They do not even feel shame for what they do. They kill your people out in the open and make no bones about it. What happened out there is the talk of the town right now. If they had any sense or decency, they would do what my colleague does now: He, as a peace-offering, has brought you the possessions of those lost in the barrow along with heart-felt regret._"

Renraw nods to Tock. The bard unveils stole off the slain kobolds in Fibber's Cairn. He offers them to Wormy.

"_Has your leadership been made aware of my offer?_"

Wormy nods for the items to be placed on the ground.

"_The constable is the one-legged man with the bell tower on his house who spends most of his day watching us through a lens. The deputy is the man who shackled me. Insult me again, softskin, and see how I pay you back._"

Renraw blanches, unsure what he's said wrong. His eyes dart to the goblin nearby, and he licks his suddenly dry lips.

"_It is true, when we strike, the constable and deputy are targets,_" Wormy continues. "_You cannot handle the constable, so you will kill the deputy. If you agree to do this, the kobold troops will ignore you, although you will still be in danger and need to leave area as fast as possible._

"_If you agree to this, we will need to have another meeting, where we make preparations._" Wormy looks at Tock and the goblin murmurs something, nodding past the duo into the woods, to where Renraw hopes Tosh and his brother are still with them. "_They will need to be prepared, as well._"

"_Kill the deputy?_" Renraw asks, smiling, "_Of course we can do that!_

"_And I don't mind leaving the area, either. I'll need to make arrangements for my family ... home,_" Renraw pauses, realizing something. "Of course," he finishes, in the Imperial tongue. "_Let's arrange another meeting, then, shall we? To discuss the specifics of the attack, yes? What works best for you?_"

"_A message will be sent with you for the time and place,_" Wormy answers, waving his hand as through brushing away an invisible object.

"_Thank you, good sir. We eagerly await it._ Let's go, Chandler," Renraw says as he bows, whips around, and begins scurrying away.

Tock's brow furrows in confusion, but he smiles, dips his head in respect and follows.

Renraw trots, dancing a bit as if he has to empty his bowels. Tock is about to whisper an admonition for the wizard to settle down when movement above them draws his gaze.

A tree branch dips, swaying under the weight of three kobolds above them. One of them waves excitedly at Renraw while another checks the sight on his crossbow and smiles a wicked reptilian smile.

"Oh, gods," Renraw mutters, his awkward trotting picking up speed.

Tock nods and smiles an uneasy greeting at the kobolds as he passes underneath them.

When they are far enough away, Tosh and Scim quickly rejoin the other pair.

"So what the devil happened back there, Kem?" Tosh hisses.

"Honestly," Renraw says, white as a sheet, "I've no idea."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 3
Little Hamlet in the Big Woods*​
It is the 24th day of Wind, in the 721st year of the Imperial Age.

Frost no longer coats the ground at dawn in Midwood, and humans, dwarves and gnomes have spilled out of their homes to celebrate barefooted throughout the barony, in the Feast of Frost's Leaving. Everyone seems to be wearing green in celebration of the coming spring and food and drink dyed green can be found on every table.

But while most of the commoners set aside these four days for revelry, serious work to prepare for the new planting season is already underway.

In Middleborough, the past month has been spent in preparation for the coming season. The commoners have been pruning and staking the baron's grapevines and plowing the fields of Midwood Farm, with the baron's strips of land being fertilized with manure.

In Foxton on Moss, most of the last weeks have been spent ripping out shrubs and other plants that have snuck onto the sheep meadows since the end of Moons, and shepherds are watching over their flocks as they give birth to the new generation of lambs. Likewise, the dwarves of the community have young colts being born, watching over the sometimes difficult labors of the mares.

And in Maidensbridge, where chicks follow their mother chickens around the muddy streets, Bailiff Russell Bailey is seemingly everywhere, with Renraw Kem in his wake, scribbling notes furiously at his master's command, tallying up seeds and the stores of dried apples, noting the supplies of remaining cider and whether all such supplies have made it through the winter intact. They roam the orchards, noting which trees will need special attention and jotting down who will be responsible for doing so. Katadid Leach trails behind them, taking down orders for this insecticide and that fungicide and frequently being distracted by interesting blossoms or bird calls.

Through the trees, Renraw can see the bright green mountain watching him. The long-awaited response letter from St. Feldin's College of Abjuration sits in the ledger like a bookmark, still unopened, as the bailiff had dragged him out of the house to work at the same time as he delivered it to the bookkeeper.

Later today, The Cat & The Fiddle will play host to a musical tournament, and the bailiff has announced the winner of the competition will receive a masterwork instrument, to be made especially for the musician and paid for by the baron. Tock Chandler watches as his competition warms up.

Already the gnome Heda Littlelark can be found on a barrel outside the tavern, playing her concertina and dancing a little jig, quaffing green beer between songs, to the delight of some of the orchard workers. Ebuferpaly Potentloins, in his first time back to Maidensbridge since he was so gravely wounded outside Fibber's Cairn, has been put to work by the bard, keeping her mug full and periodically lowering the number of coins in her hat, so that no one feels that they don't have to be too generous as she plays.

The head of Clan Glangirn, Argus Glangirn, and his thick-necked sons are in the hamlet as well. Argus sits on a bench in front of the smithy, bare-skinned where the straps of his overalls expose his thick shoulders, tuning his banjo and speaking quietly to Therurt Glangirn. They are eyed suspiciously from across the street by several dwarves from Clan Farrin. Constable Ward Bridger and Tucker Gallaway keep an eye on them both.

The kobold Fiddler has not shown up yet, and no one expects him to until closer to sundown. Although the Fordhams deny it, everyone agrees the music tournament's start time was pushed back to allow the kobold to attend, thus increasing interest and the numbers of the hungry and thirsty crowd filling the tavern.

Emmerson Grant listens to the music and revelry from the chapel across the muddy square. He has been informed the bishop will be visiting Maidensbridge sometime this week, and at the constable's suggestion, has been at work scrubbing away years worth of moss and mud, although the lichen between the stones and growing on some of the sturdier timbers resists all effort at removal.

Hazel Sawyer keeps an eye on her little sister and brother while her mother prays in the chapel quietly. Aspen has been acting especially distant lately, although she still put in a great deal of effort into her appearance this morning and has been rewarded with rather more attention from the local boys -- and young men -- than Hazel is comfortable with, even if Aspen seems to be doing little to encourage them. Reed, on the other hand, has gotten into a mock axe-fight with some of Tosh Bergin's seedy relatives, and the boy keeps asking the gnomes if he can play with their weapons. The gnomes always glance up at Hazel watching before refusing.

Emus has wandered back inside The Cat & The Fiddle, followed by his new friend, having drained his bladder of green beer off in the trees with Ragglus Chaplin a moment before. He's a bit too tipsy to notice -- or care -- that Ragglus has not returned with him.

At this moment, Ragglus is sober and getting more so by the second. A pair of beefy hands holds his wrists behind his back and blood is pouring down his nose and from his split lip. Erilon Farrin, the brother of the dwarf holding him, Dalarn, brushes the dirt from his split knuckles as he prepares to hit Ragglus again.

"Once upon a time, you bucket of crap, you had a lot to say about our sister's appearance, didn't ya?"

His fist sinks into Ragglus' stomach.

"I reckon it was Ciderfest," Dalarn volunteers.

"I reckon it was." Erilon hits Ragglus across the jaw with a double-fisted club. "Got anything smart to say now, boy, or is you only brave enough with a crying girl?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The town center is crowded with rambunctious festival-goers, but Tucker has been doing his best to keep an eye out for pickpockets, a task made much easier by the fact that Chandler was in plain sight, showing his instrument to any young lasses who wandered near enough. Sometimes he let them touch it.

In even the best of situations, keeping track of dwarves would be no easy task -- it's easy to disappear into a crowd when you're only shoulder-high -- but with two fruitful clans milling about, he was having a hard time with an accurate head-count. From his position on the path to the cemetery, the deputy had a good view of the dwarves gathered in front of the smithy, and the clans were obligingly staying well away from one another, but even then it was hard to tell "That One With The Beard" from "That Other One With The Beard" and "The One With That Other Beard." Despite that, one side seemed to be, well, a bit short.

There had been a pair that was never more than an arm's length apart from one another, and they had seemed agitated about something ever since they arrived that morning. Not quite shifty, but definitely more tense than any of the others -- and that was saying something.

Making his way through the crowd, Tucker moves east toward The Cat & The Fiddle, looking for the wayward pair. He sees Hazel watching over her siblings and apparently threatening to tear someone a new axe hole. His uncle Russell is leading Renraw around, and though the seed counter looked to be engrossed by his ledger, he doesn't seem to actually be writing anything down at the moment. Emus stumbles out of the woods, adjusting himself, and calls something inaudible over his shoulder before heading for the door of the Cat.

Pausing a moment, Tucker looks in the direction Emus is coming from, then toward the Cat. He scans the crowd once more, then heads for the trees.

* * *

Ragglus gives a raspy chuckle that resembles a coughing fit more than anything. He blows his nose heavily to clear a path to better breathing, blood spattering the dirt around him. Raising his head with no small amount of difficulty, he stares Erilon straight in the eye.

"Girl?" Ragglus mutters in mock disbelief. "Could have fooled me."

He trails off, jerking his head forward suddenly to spit in the dwarf's face.

The taste of his own blood trickles down across his lips, Ragglus struggles in Dalarn's grip. For a moment, it looks like he'll be able to break free, but the dwarf's hands are like a vise on his wrists.

"Keep laughing, you piece of crap," Erilon snarls, wiping off his face and beard. He punches Ragglus in the face again, eliciting a spray of blood from his nose.

Struggling to no avail and fighting a losing battle with consciousness, Ragglus decides a change of strategy is in order. If the cowardly rock-munchers weren't going to play fair, neither was he.

"I DON' CARE HOW MUCH GOLD YOU TWO 'AVE!" he cries at the top of his lungs, hoping to draw some attention. "I AIN'T TOUCHIN' YOUR WEE DWARVEN WILLIES! I LIKES WOMEN!"

With a groan of irritation, Tucker double-times it through the trees toward the sound of Ragglus' shout.

Erilon punches Ragglus in the gut, driving the wind out of him, and nearly his breakfast.

His brother hears the jingle of Tucker approaching through the trees and suddenly releases Rags, letting him fall forward into the mud. Both dwarves step back, doing their best to look innocent as the deputy arrives, Erilon tucking his split knuckles beneath his thick brown beard, glaring silent threats at the human sprawled on the ground.

"Oh, hello, Deputy Gotaway," Dalarn grins. "We was just about to help our clumsy friend Rags here up out of the mud what he done tripped and fell into."

"Oh, give it a rest, you're not fooling anybody," Tucker says, glaring down at them. "Just because you're both three-quarters-tall doesn't mean that the pair of you get to pick on one guy."

The deputy offers a hand to Ragglus, who grips his wrist and pulls himself up.

"Now get your butts back to the party," Tucker says, jerking his head toward Maidensbridge proper. "Everybody's here to have fun today, and it'd be a shame if it were to turn out that all the gold you brought along for entertainment had to be paid out in fines. That's your father's wagon you rode in on today, isn't it? Maybe while you're playing around out here in the trees like a couple of elves, it'll turn out that you're parked a bit too close to one of the buildings, or that you're improperly hitched. There are a lot of laws it's easy to forget when you roll into a new town with nothing but a festival on your minds."

The dwarves murmur something darkly among themselves, then smile brightly, heading back to town.

"Don't worry, Rags," Erilon calls back, "You fall down again, we'll be right there to take care of you."

"Take care, fellas," Rags calls after the departing dwarves. "Say hello to that lovely sister of yours fer me!"

Ragglus turns and spits. He mutters something that sounds like thanks as he stalks past the deputy, his mood foul as he walks back toward town, intent on searching out Mother Bridger.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"LEACH!"

Katadid Leach starts at Bailey's shout, and finds himself looking into the bailiff's angry face. Kat looks down and sees his hand clutching a flower just about plucked free of petals. He didn't even remember it getting there.

"What did I say earlier?" Bailey sighs, when he only gets a mumbled response from the apothecary. "I said to check with your father to make sure we have enough Undermile Moss on hand. It's been an unusually long winter and Mother Bridger thinks that may mean a wet spring. We don't want our crop to rot as soon as it hits the ground after a storm.

While Bailey's attention had been on Kat, Renraw has broken the wax seal of the envelope with his envelope and scans the letter as furtively as he can.

"Do you want me to make you write this down?" Bailey asks Katadid, trying to keep his frustration in check.

Kat shakes his head.

"I can remember."

A skeptical look on his face, Bailey turns and goes back to barking directions to Kem. Kat simply tears the last petal off the flower. The petals number six; they used to number nine.

Kem's job requires a great deal more attention then Kat's. Renraw has a constant stream of numbers being rattled off toward him whereas Katadid is only needed after this data was collated and if a special problem becomes apparent.

Bailey was currently walking up to the Coopers' place, where the eternally drunken Miles Cooper lined up his barrels filled with apple seeds with a red-faced sulk and bleary eyes. He hands his tally to Bailey and they confer for a bit.

Katadid's attention soon wanders, spotting Hazel with her brother, and realized he has another set of notes to give her. And nearby, he sees a group of gnomes, and idly wonders if Bufer is among them.

He taps his foot while knocking on one of the barrel's rings, and peers over Renraw's shoulder, as he finds the ordered rows of numbers comforting. His eyes fall on the letter Renraw has surreptitiously opened.

"Anything?" Kat whispered. He cranes his neck forward and reads reads:

"_Renraw:_

"_I suppose I should be shocked that you have the temerity to write me, particularly given your outstanding debts, both monetary and potentially criminal (the magistrate still wants you to appear before him, and should you return to Tarsis, it will certainly happen), but by now, I know better than to expect good taste or sense to check your hand._

"_In answer to your question --_"

"HEY!" The bailiff barks. "You two, get back here and get back to work. If you sneak a peek at that letter again, Young Kem, I'll just confiscate it until we're done."

In a fit of silent righteous fury, Renraw shows Bailey the note, crumples it in his hand, and crams it into a pocket.

"Now, then," he says, making a contemptuous show of readying his quill to resume his duties. "Where were we?"

Instantly, Katadid is bored again, and begins tapping the barren trees. He looks across the river past the cemetery and to the revelry starting to warm up at The Cat & The Fiddle. Normally, Kat would avoid large crowds but he finds the music and knowledge his friends are in Maidensbridge tugging at him.

The constable and Renraw begin moving again, and Katadid follows after them, dragging a stick through the wet earth behind him.

"There, we're done," the bailiff says finally, at the end of a row of apple trees. "Now, mind sharing what's so important about that letter, Kem?"

"It's nothing," the bookkeeper tersely answers, then thinks better of stonewalling the bailiff. "At least, it's nothing now. It looks like returning to university is a long way off. It's very frustrating, you know. And so I think, if we're done here, that I'll go drink myself to the brink of death."

Katadid wanders over with a raccoon skull he found in one furrowed row, hands covered in wet earth.

"Yes, the answers ... I think ..." Katadid looks toward Bailey and shrugs. He wanders after Renraw, playing with the raccoon skull. 

Once out of earshot of the perplexed bailiff, he whispers loudly to Renraw.

"School? Sorry."

"It's about more than just school, Leach," Renraw replies in a normal voices as he  slowly ambles towards town. "It's about a different life. One away from here."

"There are things here," Katadid replies, realizing that the answer won't satisfy the older wizard. "The Letter? Statues? Questions, maybe."

"Tell you what," Renraw sighs. He reaches into his pocket, fishes out the crumpled letter, and holds the balled-up paper for Kat to see. "I'm feeling strangely generous. Buy me my alcohol for the day and this letter is yours."

Katydid nods eagerly and fishes into his pockets. Herbs and other crumpled notes spill out to the ground below. Finally, he retrieves what he was looking for and pulls out an entire gold piece Renraw wouldn't have bet Katadid had.

"Five pitchers of ale, five pitchers of cider, five pitchers of cheap wine, five shots of vodka or one bottle of brandy," he rattles off.

"Brandy, now there's a thought," Renraw says as snatches the money from Katadid's muddy palm. "Do let me know if you find anything interesting, old boy."

Taking the crumpled letter from Renraw's hands, Katadid eyes dart across its contents eagerly as they walk. He continues from where he left off:

"_In answer to your question, in ancient days, Kem was perhaps the greatest magocracy the world has ever known, but in time, their rule grew cruel, and they made pacts with beings wise men would avoid. Eventually, they and the Cthorn made war upon one another, and the world still bears the scars of these Wars of Fire. Had you paid better attention in class, none of this would be news._

"_What is not discussed in most classes are the theories that some of the ancient Kemite mages survived, or at least, some of their 'lost' magics may have. _

"_Of the Great Lost Crafts, three may have survived the Wars of Fire and the destruction of Kem. It is possible that more pre-destruction crafts, of which we have no record, may have also survived. _

"_According to legend, the Wars of Fire were foreseen by the greatest of the Kemite and Cthorn seers, and three great exoduses out of Kem occurred before the wars began in earnest. Two of them, whom we know only as the Namers and the Binders, went south across the sea, settling in Uraq or perhaps the Distant South. What their magic entailed and what happened to their practitioners are both unknown._

"_A number of the Shadow Mages, however, are known to have traveled north, along with their owl-headed servants, into the still-wild Prustan Peninsula. Being as close to Kem as they were, the Shadow Mages sought to research new magics that would hide them from their fellows and the Cthorn and prepare new defenses against them, should the coming wars sweep northwards and seek to draw them in._

"_Turning away strictly from the study of shadows and shadow magics, these mages began experimenting with mirrors and mirror magics. Eventually, it is said, they made some great discovery, unlocking the doors inside every mirror, enabling them to travel to unknown destinations and hide from their countrymen and the Cthorn. The few references to this splinter magocracy refer to them as the Invisible Kingdom for this reason._

"_But it is said they also enslaved those whom they found on the far side of the mirrors and sought to bind them as guardians and soldiers of their own. It is unknown how long this state of affairs lasted before their mirror-servants rose up and turned on the Shadow Mages, killing most of them and driving the survivors and servants into hidden places, shattering their mirrors behind them._

"_Or so it would seem._

"_The cache of mirrors you found are likely tied to locations that the Invisible Kingdom used as refuges of some sort, although I doubt they reach the lairs of the Shadow Mages directly. More likely, they lead to another catacomb, almost certainly better protected and guarded, which in turn protects another set of mirrors._

"_Researchers of the modern age from St. Feldin's, the Inverted Pyramid and Redhurst have all found suggestions that some knowledge of the shadow magics still exists in the ruined lands of Kem. It may be that you can find the means to unlock the mirror doors there, and thus begin the dangerous task of pursuing the shadow mages through their mirrors to their hidden fortresses._

"_But beware: The mages of Kem did not resign themselves to death. It is likely that, even now, some have survived that war thousands of years ago. In what form, I cannot say, but I doubt the years have been kind to their sanity, and they were cruel and half-mad, even in life._

"_I look forward to future correspondence on this matter in future and would urge you to recover the mirrors –- or discover another such cache -– for study by university scholars. This is not a task for apprentices not yet halfway through their training._

"_I await your response. Go Ermines!_"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As Emus Graymullet wanders back into The Cat & The Fiddle, he notices Mother Bridger off to one side talking with some of the other ladies from the town as well as the wives of the farmers who live more than a day's ride away. From the conspiratorial tones interspersed with peals of laughter, it's obvious they're gossiping.

Slightly drunk, Emus ambles over to Mother Bridger and politely butts in.

"Mother Bridger, ma'am, I just wanted to thank you again fer patchin' me up after that incident with the kobolds a few weeks back."

Mother Bridger, clearly a little uncomfortable with the praise, inclines her head in acceptance of the kind words.

"Why, you're welcome, Emus. Thanks for stopping by to say hello. Are you doing all right?"

"Yes'm. Also," he continues, digging a small pouch out of his pocket, "I've collected these fer you. I thought that they might help to replace some of the herbs and rarer plants that I might've caused you to use."

"Oh, Emus, that really isn't necessary, but thank you all the same!"

The conversation lulls at that point as Emus looks off to one side at the wall, and Mother Bridger looks around to see if her friends are still behind her. The uncomfortable silence lasts until Mother Bridger notices the unusual carving at the end of Emus' greatclub.

"That's a very ... interesting decoration, there, Emus."

Emus looks up at the end of his club, considering it.

* * *

_"That doesn't look anything like me."

"Hee! You've never seen yourself when you've gotten really angry."

Bobbil Sue Glangirn passed her brother his greatclub. Carved into the "hittin' end" were twin images of a dwarf, supposedly Emus, gritting his teeth in rage. The faces were on opposite sides of the club, and the tip of the club and the areas around the faces were carved to look like dwarven hair and beards flowing into each other, connecting the two carved faces. The beard below the faaces didn't go down very far, to allow for future carvings.

"I can make the relief deeper, if you want."

"Nah, I don't want anything breaking off when I'm hitting things with it."

Bobbil Sue took the club back to finish her handiwork.

"Um, does this have anything to do with that?" Bobbil Sue pulled Emus' shirtsleeve up a bit to reveal part of a tattoo. Emus promptly pulled it back down.

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

"Are you going back to ... them?"

"Heh, naw. Vered wondered the same thing when I asked him to ink me. He was real disappointed to learn otherwise."

"Then what's this all about? Your tattoos, and this totem and that dog. Emus, you've been acting all weird since you woke up from that attack, and I'm worried about you!" Bobbil's words spilled out in a rush. "You say you're not going back to your old friends, but I don't understand all this druid stuff you're getting into! And now you're going around in old burial mounds and getting yourself involved with the gnomes and humans."

Emus sighed.

"Look, I know you don't want me to go back to the way things have been. But I'm learning things about m'self, and I don't think I'll ever entirely get rid of who I was. But Theran and the other druids, they're teachin' me things, and it's helping me control the rage. Not just stampin' it down, but to use it when I need to.

"And then those fool kids went and almost started a small war with the gnomes and kobolds here in Midwood. Those kobolds would have killed Bufer, and then the gnomes would have had their contraptions all over the woods. And the humans wouldn't have stayed idle, either. But the way things is right now, it's all balanced. Everyone stays apart, and the Tulgey Wood don't get too torn up.

"And my fightin' and what the druids are teachin' me, they're helping me keep everything balanced."

"Balanced? Emus, you almost died? Your friend DID die!"

"Yeah, and then they brought him back. That was something else. That boy ain't exactly got his priorities straight, but he's got this faith that ya can almost see. His people recognized that. Heh. It's not like anyone would have done the same for me." He chuckled.

"You know, I think Daddy was really proud of you when he heard what you did. And Granny actually cracked a smile."

"Heh, say goodbye to everyone fer me. I gotta git back to Maidensbridge. SKEETER!" Emus called for his dog. The coonhound's head popped up out of the hole he was digging and he came running, ears and tongue flopping wildly.

"You leaving already?"

"Yeah, I owe Mother Bridger some things."_

* * *

Emus looks up at the end of his club as if considering what is carved there.

"My sister carved it. Pardon me."

Emus turns from Mother Bridger and heads over to the bar.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Father Emmerson Grant has scrubbed the moss and the mud off the stone steps leading into Maidensbridge Chapel every day and has yet to see signs of improvement.

He has considered going to Heath Leach and ordering any type of alchemical concoction that could remove it, but he is not too interested in having words with Katadid (or Renraw, for that matter). He will have to, once his ministry begins, but for the time being, he's trying to remove decades of moss and mud by sheer force.

He looks around the chapel. It took him a while to clean up the area where Ragglus had been squatting. Hopefully, the cots Emmerson is building at the forge to tend to the sick and infirm will be ready soon. Not willing to separate the man from the house of Lothian, he plans to give Ragglus one cot and a small cupboard for his items every night, should he come back to the chapel and ask for it.

A bit more scrubbing and he'll be done for the day. A quick cider at The Cat & The Fiddle will serve him just fine.

* * *

Hazel Sawyer watches Reed play at fighting, waiting for a break in the action to show him a better grip. Aspen's laughter floats over the boys around her, and Hazel glances over to check on her sister. One of the Bridger boys has his hand on her shoulder; Hazel catches his eye and slowly drops her hand to the axe hanging at her waist. She grins.

She waits for the boy to step back before returning to her brother. The mock fight pauses when Reed's axe slips out of his hand; Hazel is glad to see her brother move away rather than trying to catch the weapon. If he's learned nothing else, at least he knows not to reach for a falling blade.

Hazel takes a few steps forward and nods at the Bergins.

"You reckon Tosh'll be in town tonight for the music?"

The Bergin gnomes just shrug in response to her question, and begin juggling their hatchets, which gets her little brother dangerously excited and eager to try the trick for himself.

Hazel snorts in exasperation. She's not so oblivious as to think the gnomes just like the music; if they're at The Cat & The Fiddle in such a large crowd, no doubt some folks will go home with lighter purses than they thought. But Tosh is a ready wit, and she hasn't seen him in weeks.

She catches a glimpse of Bufer over by the tavern already; once her mother's done praying, Hazel hopes to talk to the gnome, just to reassure herself that he's healed up. If she wasn't on baby-sitting patrol, she would have been over there by now, listening to Heda play and waiting for the contest to start.

* * *

Bufer absent-mindedly hands a full tankard up to Heda as the crowd surrounding them bursts into applause. He scans the faces in the audience, as several of them step forward to wish Heda luck in the evening's competition. After a moment, he sighs in disappointment, then raises his own mug of green ale to take a swig.

He can feel the object in his pocket burning a hole straight through, egging on the dire butterflies that appear to have hatched in his stomach.

_Patience_, he tells himself. _It'll all be over soon enough._

Lowering his mug and licking his lips, he glances up at Heda.

"You think Fiddler's actually bound to show this time?"

"Probably." Then she grins, shaking the stiffness out of her fingers before playing her next concertina tune. "If the kobold wants to keep being humiliated, I'm glad to oblige."

* * *

The weather has improved slightly, and snow no longer covers the ground, but a chill still lingers in the air.

The chapel's stone floor has sealed the cold up within itself, and as Emmerson scrubs and scrubs, he feels it in his bones.

He'll evaporate the wash water off with some fire and perhaps he'll finally go to the Leaches' for some drying herb powder. A coat or two of whitewash and the chapel will be as good as new.

As he washes his hands, he goes over the list of things left to do.

"Lothian and St. Cuthbert mantelpieces are already on order. Icons ... commissioned as well. Perhaps a new copy of the Word of Lothian? I shall write Middleborough for one."

In the chapel, as Emmerson cleans himself up, Rosalind Sawyer finishes praying, saying a few quiet words to the small idol of Estanna placed in the chapel this day, garlanded with the first flowers of spring as well as green sprays of pine branches. She nods wordlessly to the small idol of Valarian placed beside Estanna before her husband helps her up. He uses one hand to shake out his magnificent wolf's pelt cloak.

Jack has spent the morning cleaning it, getting it ready for the celebration. There's to be a dance in the orchard this evening, under lanterns hung from the trees and after a long winter at home, and he's uncharacteristically vain and excited about the event. He looks oddly at the paladin going heavily armed and armored on a feast day, but shrugs to his wife. They have other things on their mind.

On the way out the door, Emus' new dog, Skeeter, greets Emmerson in the traditional dog way, with a nose to the crotch.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hearing the chapel door open, Hazel turns with an expectant smile, but it's just Emmerson coming out. She nods to him as he passes, but finds she has little to say to him these days. He's been different since the forest. Her mind supplies a picture of his body laid out on the forest floor, and she hastily finds something else to think about.

"Reed, c'mon." She steers him away from the juggling, shaking her head at the gnomes even as she glances back for another peek at their smooth motions. "Da wouldn't want you getting any ideas."

_Although it's more the thievin' than the fancy tricks_, she adds silently.

She keeps one arm firmly around his shoulder and walks over to the crowd around Aspen, who's near half a dozen boys, but none are the boy she's mentioned to Mama lately.

"Lining 'em up for the dancing already, Aspen?" Hazel eyes the preening lads, glaring at one or two who seem a bit old to be courting her little sister. "You should save a turn or two for Da and Reed, don't ya think?"

Reed hops about and swings his feet in the dirt, raising dust that clings to everyone's finery.

"I ain't dancin' with any girl. Dancin's for courtin', and courtin's fer makin' kissy faces, and tha's where babies come from."

"He's got the finer points down, that's fer sure," one of the young men says as the other boys chuckle. "So I'll be seein' ya for that dance then, Miz Sawyer."

Aspen's answering smile is thin.

"Well, I suppose I might --"

"If she gets tired of boys her own age and wants someone past his prime, she'll be sure to come runnin' to you, Jacob. Until then, she's got family affairs to tend to." Hazel jerks her head toward the chapel, where Jack and Rosalind Sawyer are emerging after prayer.

Jack's smile turns stern as he takes in the crowd of boys appreciating Aspen's dress. He was certain she'd had a cloak on when she left the house, but her neckline is clearly visible clean out to her shoulders. Leaning down brings his mouth to his wife's ear.

"I don't recall that dress looking like that last year, Lindy."

Rosalind lightly squeezes her husband's hand.

"I told you not to worry, she's fair settled on the Cooper boy. You 'n' Hazel just keep the wolves off 'er tonight, an' she'll get that boy's mind on a proper wedding." She grins at him, her eyes glittering. "Worked for me, didn't it?"

Aspen, following Hazel's gaze, gives the boys an apologetic smile and heads toward her folks. Hazel grabs Reed around the waist and flips him over her arm; when his hands reach the ground, she shifts her grip to his ankles and helps him balance upside-down. She suspects he's sticking his tongue out at the older boys as they depart, but she's too busy keeping herself from stepping on his hands to notice.

"Thought I might head over to the Cat, say howdy to some friends," she calls out as her parents approach. "You need me to keep an eye on this possum, here?

She waggles Reed's feet a bit, sending the boy into a fit of giggling.

Her father nods.

"Aye, keep him out of trouble, if you would. Your sister insists on showing us the new dance step that 'everyone' is doing in Tarsis this season before tonight."

Aspen's expression suggests she had intended to show the step to her mother, not her father, but she goes with her parents, scowling all the way.

* * *

"Are ya nervous?" one big-eyed brunette asks Tock. He's pretty sure he should remember her name, but that's not one of the parts that interest him.

"Nah, I'm not," he says, looking up from his banjo. "I ain't really here for some prize or contest or nothing of that sort. I'm here for the music. These little things, they build their fancy machines to make music for 'em, but I like hearin' a man or a woman or a dragonchild just make music from their very souls."

"Y'mean the Fiddler? My pa says his type is killers." This one is a different brunette, with green eyes and freckles. _Jenny Linn? Paula Sue? Damn it, how come they all got two names?_ "Your pa wouldn't know a dragonchild from a dire weasel. He ain't left his house further than 10 yards long as he's been alive. Otherwise he might have seen something a few nights ago."

The girls giggle, especially the freckled one in question.

"What about the ones that killed the Emmerson boy and nearly killed that dwarf and the gnome?" This one had a sharper look and he remembered her as Lucy Middleborough.

"Listen, you don't back out on a deal with the dragonkin. They got old blood and old ways. You don't lie to no dragon and you don't cheat no kobold. Doc Asshigh'd not suffered a scratch hadn't those damn fools tried to get killed. Damn Emmerson always was a self-satisfied prick." Lucy looks like she knows something more so Tock changes the subject. "But this ain't no night for talkin' about uptight guys who could just use a bit of attention from one of you lovely girls, if'n they weren't so damn stupid about ya. This is a night for music. Would you girls like to hear a new song?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson scratches Skeeter's head.

"Hail, Skeeter. Your master around?" The paladin looks around and spots Emus at the bar and Tock holding court on one side. He turns to the gnomes by the front door. "Master Potentloins. Mistress Heda, I hope the competition is yours by the end of the night. Those other bards are not even in your league."

"How now, lad," Bufer says to Emmerson, looking over the paladin's armor and sword with a smile and a crooked eyebrow. "It's good to see you again. Looks like your people done fixed you up right well since the last time we saw one another."

He pauses before continuing.

"I understand in return that the Bishop's tasked ye with restoring the chapel and saving all us heathens from ourselves," he continues. "That's an awful big job for one b -- I mean, for just one man, lad -- and an awful big building for just one god. I was wondering if maybe we could talk, later, about a way you an' me might be a help to one another, and our kin, one novice priest to another."

"Big job is right. I am deeply honored by the task," Emmerson smiles "However, I am at a loss on how to proceed. The bishop said he'll be in Maidensbridge within the next few days. I'm certain I'll get my orders from him then, but I hope there can be an understanding between our faiths and even help each other like Bahamut and Barchiel the Messenger did when Lothian ascended."

Emmerson takes a seat.

"Bufer, I wanted to tell you about that day: I regret that things got so out of hand the rescue damn nearly killed us all, but I had the feeling that Pick was not going to let you out of Green Mountain alive. I know she brokered a deal with Hazel, but just as Emus and I were not part of the deal, the rest of the kobolds in Green Mountain were not part of Pick's deal. You could have died by kobold hands that day and she would have kept her word intact. I was unwilling to let that fate befall upon you."

"I've never doubted you an' Emus had the best of intentions," Bufer says, straining to be heard over the din of the crowded tavern, "But for an aspiring cleric, you have a thing or two to learn about faith, lad. Don't ever think I don't appreciate what you tried to do, but if you'd had just a thimbleful of faith that I knew what I was doing, I expect things might turned out better for you, at least, if not for me.

"As to the other thing: Well, it ain't never been a secret how I feel about 'The Church,' capital T capital C, that's for sure, but it's not every priest of Lothian who would talk about an understanding between faiths, least not without a dagger hid behind his back. And it's good that you're already thinking that way, lad, because take a look around."

Bufer turns and gestures expansively toward the throng that's gathered in anticipation of the tournament to come.

"Humans, gnomes, dwarves. Even a kobold, likely as not, come sundown. Maybe even more, some day. This is your flock now, lad, even those who'd balk at the idea. Hell, especially those. The world ain't like it used to be, back when the Empire was whole, and Maidensbridge ain't no different, even if it's been a little slow to catch up. It's gonna take a broader view of things than Bishop Lemon possesses to minister to this rabble. An' that's why I want to propose somethin' to ya that you're like to find a little _cosmopolitan_ but hear me out."

Bufer leans forward eagerly, his eyes dancing with excitement, and brings his hands together, steepling his fingers.

"What if we brought it all together under one roof, you and me? Lothian, Glittergold, Yurabbos, Hanseath. I'm sure if we get Emus and Therurt to put the word out, we can find ourselves a dwarven cleric who's lookin' to stake a claim. We have services for all of 'em, anyone who'll come, even the kobolds, if they have a mind to. We make our chapel the real, honest-to-Garl, beatin' heart of Maidensbridge as it really is, instead of some blasted humans-only club for the 'saved'. I could move down here permanent, help you put the place back together, the way Maidensbridge needs it, instead of some glockenspieled monstrosity that Lemon's bound to inflict on ye."

Emmerson waves to Ella for a round of ciders and maybe some food.

"You have an interesting idea, but I need to know what the bishop's thoughts are."

Seeing Bufer's face and recognizing the debate to come, Heda is grateful when a cat paws at her ankle. She hops down and follows it inside The Cat & The Fiddle. There, she meets a man at a table, his back against the wall, and he leans in to speak quietly to her. After a moment, she begins picking out what is clearly a tune she's not entirely comfortable with, and the man sings in a foreign language. The difference between the sunlight outside and the dark tavern inside keeps Emmerson and Bufer from seeing any more.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"We'll come find ya'll later, Da." Hazel lifts a hand in a parting wave, leaving Reed's foot flailing about in the air. The boy wriggles his other ankle out of her grasp and manages three "steps" on his hands before flopping down in the mud. He grins slyly and raises an arm to his sister.

"Help me up!"

Hazel makes a show of leaning over to examine the offered hand.

"Hmmm, you're on your own, mister. Didn't we just dump you in a washtub this morning?"

"Back to normal now!" Reed jumps to his feet and wipes his muddy hands across the front of his tunic. "I was too clean anyway."

"Mm-hmm. Wouldn't want any pretty lasses gettin' the idea you were the dancin' type."

In unison, Hazel and Reed scrunch up their noses and stick out their tongues: "Dancing, yuck!"

"Let's go, wee beastie. If we head over to the tavern, we'll pass the dwarves." She nods her head toward the smithy. "Might even see more exciting weapons."

Hazel catches her brother by the collar before he can dash off into the crowd.

"I said see, not touch. You stay by my side like a familiar or I'll turn you over to Da for the night, and ya know he won't be happy if he has to miss a dance with Mama because he's busy tanning your hide."

A slightly more subdued Reed shadows his sister toward the tavern -- subdued meaning his bouncing, bobbing and weaving through the crowd is confined to a five-foot radius. Just past the smithy, Reed's bouncing orbit stops. Hazel half-turns her head, knowing a quiet a Reed is a dangerous one, and thus isn't knocked completely off-balance when his weight thumps into her back and his arms lock around her neck. A moment's juggling -- _oof, he's getting too heavy for this_ -- and a small foot digging her axe into the side of her leg later, Reed is secure in his new perch.

"You're lucky I haven't got my pack on under my cloak today." Hazel dodges to avoid stepping on a wandering toddler whose mother is trailing after her. "This had better not be some secret plan to smear mud all over me."

Fingers swipe across her cheek in response.

"I don't get a matching one for the other side?"

Reed obliges with a swipe across the other cheek.

"Now that we're both fashionably attired, what say we find a seat," she says as pushes through the crowd outside The Cat & The Fiddle, Reed's feet swinging against her hips and occasionally delivering an accidental kick to folks too slow to clear a path, "And say howdy to some friends."

"I shall ask the bishop to grant us an audience," Emmerson is saying as the Sawyers approach. "We'll need to discuss matters with great care for it."

"Of course, of course," Bufer says with a sly wink. "'Great Care' is my third-from-middle ... oh look, it's Hazel!"

Waving them over, Bufer kicks out the chair opposite his, in what he probably thinks of as a gallant manner.

"Afternoon, lass!" he says brightly, raising his mug as they near the table. "Good to see you again! I hate to be the one to break this to ye, but you appear to have a mud demon of some sort growin' outta ye."

"It's a terrible, terrible affliction, Bufer," Hazel nods solemnly. "Thankfully I have the cure for it right here."

She sets to tickling behind Reed's knees with single-minded intensity. Her brother squirms and squeals, trying to protect himself without losing his perch, but finally drops to his feet.

Hazel takes the chair Bufer offered, leaving the neighboring one for her brother, who promptly flops into it and tries to balance it on two legs. Hazel keeps an arm ready to catch the chair in case it tips too far.

She nods affably to Emmerson, but her eyes are scrutinizing Bufer.

"You look well, that's good. That you're better, I mean. I'm sorry about," she shifts her eyes toward Reed before continuing, "Um, that thing."

Bufer blinks in surprise, then shakes his head at Hazel.

"Seems to me I should be the one apologizing to you, lass. Heda told me what you done for me. Couldn't have been easy carryin' 60 stone all the way back to town on yer back. I'm grateful. Thank you." He bites off the rest of what he was going to say, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the presence of Reed and Emmerson. 

_It'll have to keep until later_, he thinks, fiddling with the object in his pocket.

Instead, he turns his head and scans the crowd for Heda, trying to see if she's still playing for the stranger who makes her uncomfortable.

"So Tiberius never showed after all, huh?"

"Tiberius," Tock snorts, walking up. "I told you not to waste your time with Lothianite crap. I'm surprised at you, gnome. I thought you at least had that much sense. But I guess you had your reasons," Tock says, shooting a glance at Hazel. "I hope you guys enjoy the competition. I don't think I'll win, I'm no Fiddler, but I wrote a song especially for you all. How's the High and Mighty treating you, Grant?"

"Kindly do not address my god that way," Emmerson says, glaring back at the bard.

"I try to address him as rarely as possible, and never kindly."

"Except when you're in front of the constable. Then your bowing and scraping knows no limits."

"Of course, dear dead one, it's fun to lie to idiots."

"Not as much as watching hypocrites contort."

"Oh, dear, the Lothianite is upset. Please, please, don't die on me. Or, you know, burn me at the stake. If there's one thing Lothian hates, it's someone with a brain and an independent will."

"Hardly. Lothian hates cowards. And it is true, I have died," Emmerson says, his hand touching his neck reflexively. "And that was because I preferred to risk -- and give -- my life rather than let evil triumph. I would have done the same for anyone in Maidensbridge. I'm sorry you cannot comprehend what that means. If you have business with this table, state it. If not, go somewhere else. Kindly or not."

"You endangered the gnome's life, and your church persecutes anyone it can. Lick your bishop's boot, boy, and bring further shame to your fine family. Enjoy the song. It's dedicated to you three." Tock turns, and spots Renraw at the bar with Katadid. He stalks off to greet them. "Ren!"

"Tock, wait!" Bufer calls after the bard, but Tock either doesn't hear him above the din, or chooses not to. With a sigh, Bufer turns and fixes Emmerson with a look. "Hardly the reaction of an aspiring priest, there, lad. Tock was just stirrin' up the pot, same as he always does. If you get your nose all out of joint every time someone questions your faith, you're gonna have a tough row to hoe. 'You get more converts with honey than a mace to the head,' Master Barennackle always says."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer gets up and starts to follow Tock to the bar. Heda shrugs at him as she leaves the table where she'd performed for the greasy haired older man, jingling her money pouch she keeps on a cord around her neck significantly before tucking it inside her blouse.

At the table, the man puts down a ceramic cup, smacking his lips with satisfaction and reaching towards a small clay teapot. His dark eyes meet Bufer's.

"Excuse me, Master Gnome, is that Renraw Kem at the bar?" He holds up a silver coin with one hand as he pours hot water into his cup with the other. "Let him know I bear a message from some mutual friends."

He tosses the silver coin to Bufer, the man's black cat watching with slit eyes as it twirls through the air.

Bufer catches the coin out of reflex, then looks from it, to the man, and back again with a puzzled frown. He opens his mouth to say something about not being a messenger, then cocks an eyebrow, shrugs, and tucks the coin into his pocket.

"OK, I'll let him know," he says to the stranger.

The man then looks to his cup, sprinkling in what appear to be dried red flower petals and no longer seems to be paying him any attention to Bufer.

At the bar, Katadid's lips form the letters as he reads the crumpled note from St. Feldin's once more, at which point Dalarn and Erilon Farrin jostle him aside to get to the bar.

"Excuse me, you bearded filth," Tock says to the rowdy dwarves. "There's ale enough for everyone here, especially since half of you people are half-sized. Shove my cousin another time and I'll cut you down further."

"Watch yerself, princess. It'd be tough to play the banjo with all yer damn fingers broken between hammer and anvil," Dalarn sneers. "Why don't you go find your husband, Rags, to defend you?"

"Howdy gents," Bufer say, pushing his way into their midst. "Hey Kem, y'see that old stranger over my shoulder, the one drinkin' tea? He just tossed a silver piece at me so I'd tell ye he was lookin' for ye. Says he's got a message for ye from a friend you got in common."

Bufer turns his head to the side slightly, just enough so he can see the old man in his peripheral vision.

"I ain't never seen him 'round these parts before--but he's a big spender, an' he's got a cat with him," he adds. "I ain't no expert, but that says 'wizard', to me."

Bufer looks back up at Renraw with narrowed eyes.

"You in some kinda trouble we should know about?"

"I don't think ... I can't," Renraw strains his eyes trying to make out the stranger. "I hope ... Oh, oh, hellfire, this brandy has just started kicking in, hasn't it? I stuttered like Leach there for a moment. Bufer, did he seem friendly? Can one of you gentlemen please go see what he wants?"

"Calm down, calm down," Bufer says quietly. "Don't make a scene. He didn't seem unfriendly; in fact, he just tipped Heda right well to play for 'im. He just seems a little _haughty_ is all. Got airs, know what I'm sayin'?"

Bufer sighs in resignation.

"All right, stay here," he says sourly. "I'll go see what more I can find out. But if he gets pissed off and turns me into somethin' unnatural, it's on yer head, boy."

"I'll go too," Katadid adds hastily, eager to walk away from the glowering dwarves. "I had. I'll ... yes."

Bufer looks up at Katydid and blinks.

"Great," he says flatly. "Just let me do the talkin', all right? Please?" With another look at the flummoxed Renraw, and ignoring the brewing confrontation between Tock and the dwarves, Bufer shakes his head and makes his way back to the stranger's table, with Katadid in tow. The cat eyes them as they approach, which Bufer finds unnerving.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but we don't often see strangers in Maidensbridge, and Master Kem's understandably a might anxious, you might say. If you could be so kind as to let us know who you represent, or simply relate the message in question to me, I'd be more than happy to relay it to him."

The olive skinned man looks up at the gnome and his bodyguard, bemused.

"I am Khenemet-Apep, the Wizard of Green Mountain, and my message is for Mister Kem alone. Those that gave it to me told me he was expecting such a message."

Kat walks back to the bar, leaving Bufer standing by Khenemet-Apep's table, the gnome clearly puzzling over the meaning of all of this. Katadid taps Renraw on the shoulder.

"The kobolds are calling Mister Kem," Kat whispers into his ear. "And I think now the gnome knows that they are."

"Holy hell!" Renraw cries. "Why now? When I'm just -- I'm just..."

Renraw looks over in the direction of the stranger to find the man staring right back at him. Their eyes lock, and Renraw jolts off his perch and tumbles backward onto his feet. He takes another frantic look over his shoulder and tries to back away from the man, from Katadid, and from everyone. Unfortunately, behind him are Tock Chandler and Dalarn and Erilon Farrin. He bumps into Tock roughly, but Tock is able to keep his balance and does not fall into the unruly dwarf brothers. He flails and turns to see what's impeding him.

"WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE MOVE THESE UNHOLY MONGREL DROPPINGS OUT OF MY WAY? LOTHIAN'S BLOOD, NON-MONSTERS NEED TO GET BY!"

He then pushes off Chandler and Leach as best he can and makes for the door at best possible speed.

Bufer turns back to Khenemet-Apep.

"Told you he was anxious."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Wuh?"

Over at the bar, Emus somehow instinctively knows Renraw's outburst refers to dwarves. Looking to see if he knows the _Haurdir_ in question, he quickly sizes up the situation. He's drunk and he's not too bright, but he's been in enough bar brawls to know what some Farrin lowlifes and that Chandler loudmouth are brewing.

He stalks over to Emmerson's table and hoists Reed out from under Skeeter and onto his chair. He hands Reed his greatclub, and as an afterthought, his half-finished drink.

He points at Reed.

"_Skeeter, guard._"

While enjoying watching the dwarves argue in the corner, a slight man notices the drunken, frantic man in the scholar's robes stumbling through the crowd for the door. Never one to miss an opportunity, Stotch moves to intercept him; drunk and frantic are the best things for a man to be, if you're looking for an easy mark.

"Hold, brother! Are those robes not the colors of St. Feldin's College? I have a cousin attending that fine institution. It's amazing to see a man of obvious learning in orchard country!"

"WHAT ARE YOU?" Renraw explodes in a panic. "Aside with you, boob!"

Renraw swings a fist at the stranger, and shoves his way toward the tavern door.

"Kran's teats!" Stotch easily dodges Renraw's blow. His dark eyes take in Katadid at the bar, Khenemet-Apep watching from his seat and the worried expression of Bufer. Curious, he decides to follow Renraw outside.

Back at Khenemet-Apep's table, Bufer can't hear what's being said at the bar, but even so, watching things unfold, he has a sinking feeling about what's going to happen next. It's not unlike watching one of his idiot brothers' sheep-shearing machines blow itself to pieces, but in slow motion.

"Ugh, everywhere we go ..." Shaking his head, Bufer turns to the dark-skinned man sitting behind him, still calmly drinking his strange tea as he watches the developing hostilities with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mister Wizard, sir, but I think it might be prudent if we presently vacated these here premises. Things look like they're bound to get rowdy. I'd be happy to show you the back way out, if ye like."

With that, he turns and calls to his friends still seated on the other side of the room.

"EMMERSON! HAZEL! GRAB THE MUD DEMON! WE'RE LEAVING!"

The Wizard of Green Mountain scowls and snaps something in a language that Bufer doesn't recognize. The mangy black cat leaps onto his shoulder, and then leaps, all four paws spiky with exposed claws, toward the doorway. By the time the cat lands, the doorway has been cleared in a panic.

"After you," Khenemet-Apep says to Bufer, slouching out after him.

Emmerson hears Bufer's scream over the din of the tavern and stands up to scan the place. He stands up and looks at the source of the commotion.

"Hazel, take Reed outside. Notify the Constable and Tucker, if you'd be so kind."

Hazel grabs Reed by the hand and starts threading her way through the crowd away from the Cat & Fiddle. The errand is about as successful as walking directly into the wind during a storm. For every two steps she takes, the crowd pushes her back a step as heads turn to see what's going on inside the tavern. She barely takes notice of Skeeter trotting purposefully alongside Reed until the hound wiggles its way forward and begins nosing legs out of their path.

As she pushes her way out of the Cat & the Fiddle, she can't help but notice Tosh's cousins pushing their way, grinning at the confusion and mayhem to come. One of them winks at Reed.

Emmerson approaches Tock and he can see him speak to them in words he can't hear, but he can definitely guess their meaning.

"Hail, gentlemen," he says, addressing the dwarves. "I just came to tell you all that I have crossed words with Tock Chandler and, without a doubt, they are responsible for his soured disposition tonight. I may have angered him enough so he's taking it out on you. Leave him be tonight with my compliments and a few tankards of The Cat & The Fiddle's finest."

The dwarves look from Tock to Emmerson to Tock to Emmerson, weighing their choices.

"How many drinks, exactly?" Erilon finally asks.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Having given up on tracking down Mother Bridger amidst the revelers, Ragglus settles for a wash bucket and cloth, courtesy of some old, toothless man on cleaning duty out and about Kramer's General Store. He was Kramer's new father-in-law, Ragglus thought. He had taken pity on the young fighter, but Ragglus colorfully suggested a particular orifice where said pity could be stuffed. The old man, in no hurry to finish his duties, shrugged and set off on other chores. Ragglus, left alone, pressed the damp cloth to his face. The water was cool, but soothing all the same.

Finishing off as best he could, Ragglus catches sight of some dwarves lingering outside the smithy across the way. One didn't have to be an expert on dwarves to know that any gathered around Therurt's place of business, relaxing even, had to be of the Clan Glangirn. Clan relations being what they are, Rags would wager the smith wouldn't abide any Clan Farrin dwarves loitering about his shop.

Maidensbridge was no stranger to Glangirn versus Farrin drunken brawls; they were among the very finest that Ragglus could remember. The square wagon wheels start to turn in his unfortunately sober brain, thinking back to those rock-munching brothers who'd jumped him. Erilon and Dalarn ... Farrin.

For the first time in hours, Ragglus starts to smile.

"Therurt," Ragglus begins, walking up to the dwarf near his smithy. He speaks low, but loud enough for anyone to hear, especially the other Glangirn dwarves close by. "You seen Constable Bridger? A mate of mine jus told me 'bout how them Farrins, Elorin n' Dalarn, they've been mouthin' off, saying Glangirns is less gifted in the pants than other dwarves, if you take my meanin'."

Ragglus turns around to see the other dwarves staring at him, frowning. He leans in a bit closer to Therurt as if to keep his speech private and not bother the eavesdropping dwarves, but continues speaking at the same volume.

"A fight's brewing, mark my words. The constable ought to be warned."

Nothing about Ragglus' manner appears at all convincing to Therurt or the other Glangirn dwarves, but from the murmured comments and dark looks toward the bar, it doesn't seem like most of them care whether the story is true or not.

Argus Glangirn stands up and, in an exaggerated loud voice, stretches, slinging his banjo over his back.

"Well, I'm off to unload some of this here green beer. I won't be here to keep an eye on you boys while I'm gone, but I know I can trust you all to not throw the first punch, should those Farrin lads start flapping their gums ..."

As he wanders off, the Glangirn dwarves grin, finish their beers, and head for the bar en masse.

"Guess i'll keep lookin' for the constable then," Ragglus says, strolling away with a spring in his step.

* * *

As soon as he's certain the Farrin dwarves are backing down, Tock turns back around to Renraw and his cousin, only to find they're gone, as is pretty much everyone but Emus.

"Oh, for crying out loud." He looks down to Emus. "Good to know some folk don't run at the first hint of scuffles. Tell Ella your next ale's on me, Emus."

Tock walks to the door and calls out.

"Oh, you cowardly sheep, get back in here! I'm going to go on in a bit! There's no fight, there's nothing to run from!"

He sees Renraw sprawled in a mud puddle, having fallen in his haste to escape the Wizard of Green Mountain. The bard bursts out laughing.

"Laugh now, Chandler," Renraw snarls, attempting to wipe the mud from his face with a muddy sleeve. He carefully pulls himself to his feet and totters over to Tock, whispering urgently in the bard's ear about Khenemet-Apep and what he guesses he wants to speak to the younger wizard about.

In the midst of the whispered conversation, Stotch strolls over.

"For a man of letters, you seem awfully prone to fits of violence and clumsiness," he smirks. "Perhaps you should take a moment and compose yourself. A jug of cider, and a breath of air will cure any troubled soul, yes?"

By now the Wizard of Green Mountain has apparently given Bufer the slip and appears in the doorway, his eyes blazing, clapping a hand on one of Renraw's bony shoulders.

"Wow! Sir," Tock blurts out, ignoring the panic on his friend's face, "It is truly an honor to even be in your presence. I would be humbled if you were to stay for the performance."

The dark-skinned wizard glances at him and then turns his attention back on Renraw.

"Enough. I have business with Mister _Kem_ and it is business I must conduct with him alone. Now."

By now a small crowd has formed around the muddy wizard and the much more dignified wizard. Kat is leaning over trying to catch his breath and waving the crumpled remains of a letter in one hand toward the pair.

"Questions," he wheezes toward Khenemet-Apep. "Shadow mages! Mirrors ... key to ... K-Kemite ... locations?"

Khenement-Apep steers Renraw around the edge of the crowd, away from both the bar and crowd in the town square.

Tock and Stotch are left behind, watching them go, listening to Katadid mumbling questions to himself.

"Huh," Tock says finally. "I wonder what he wants. Hey there, new guy. I'm Tock Chandler. Here for the festival or for the music? It's not for the atmosphere, I assume."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

In life, many problems are caused by what amount to misunderstandings.

Take the word "drink." Humans of the Tarsisian Empire speaking the common tongue of the empire think they know what it means.

Unfortunately, it means something very different to dwarves.

In Dwarvish, the Imperial word "drink" translates to "sip." Dwarves do not sip.

In Imperial, the Dwarvish word "drink" translates to "quaff." Dwarves quaff.

Quaffing, for those who have never seen it, consists of hurling all the liquid in a container at a dwarf's open mouth. If most of it gets in, this is considered honorable to the clan, respectful to the brewer and, most importantly, tasty.

When Emmerson put down his 40 silvers on the bar, he thought he was agreeing that the dwarves would be sipping the ale he purchased for them.

In contrast, the Farrin brothers agreed to quaff.

So it was that, less than a minute later, the pair barreled out of The Cat & The Fiddle, Erilon colliding with Tock from the side, tackling him into a mud puddle. His brother, right behind him, had a similar idea until he spotted the Glangirn dwarves headed toward the bar.

Screaming a dwarven war cry that boils down to threatening to have enthusiastic and somewhat unpleasant sexual relations with the mother of the victim, Dalarn slammed into the Glangirn. This, of course, brought the rest of the Farrin dwarves in the square into the fray.

On the periphery, Argus Glangirn climbs up onto Therurt's anvil and begins playing a rousing song on his banjo, roaring out a tune with gusto. Heda Littlelark shrugs, climbs up onto a barrel by The Cat & The Fiddle, and joins in the tune.

One moment, Hazel Sawyer thinks she has her little brother under control, and then a moment later, she spots Reed and two of the Bergin gnomes leaning out of a window on the top floor of The Cat & The Fiddle, pointing to the fray below and apparently discussing how to get onto the roof.

Khenemet-Apep grips Renraw with his bony fingers, fingertips sinking into shoulders like talons. 

"Now, while these fools are preoccupied," he hisses and shoves the younger wizard towards Maidensbridge's graveyard.

Standing a safe distance from the fray, but close enough to watch with vivid interest, Ragglus laughs heartily, and more heartily whenever he spots Dalarn or Erilon on the receiving end of a Glangirn blow.

He turns to catch an outraged woman's glace as she covers her small boy's eyes.

"Ain't life grand?" Ragglus asks rhetorically, grinning wolfishly.

* * *

Emmerson stops in his tracks as dwarven battle cries, cheers and epithets fill the air. He turns from looking for the constable to see the square exploding with beards, fists and feet. Among the quarrelers, he could definitely see Tock Chandler pinned by a dwarf. It wasn't pretty.

The constable and Tucker were needed now more than ever.

He tries pushing his way through the crowd to find them, but everywhere he turns, there's a wall of fists, mud and whiskers. (And in a few cases, body blows have led to puddles of vomit here and there, avoided by the combatants as best they can.)

* * *

Hazel freezes at the sight of her brother throwing a leg over the sill of an upstairs window at the tavern, then lets out a furious oath and starts running, dodging festival-goers and fighting dwarves as best she can, and throwing an elbow out when she can't.

"Get the hells out of my way!" Under her breath, she mutters continually. "Should've expected it. 'Oh, sure, Da, I'll keep an eye on him. No trouble at all. When has he ever not caused trouble?' Damn gnomes just egging him on ..."

She pauses to take a breath about 20 feet from The Cat & The Fiddle, and cups her hands around her mouth.

"REED SAWYER! You get that skinny leg back inside that window right now! A tavern is not a tree!" Absolutely furious, she points a finger at the gnomes beside him. "And you! You just stay right there!"

If Reed can hear Hazel calling up to him, he gives no sign. Instead, he and the gnomes have discovered a cache of what appear to be rotten apples and pass the basket onto the roof, where they will have an unobstructed firing line into the melee below.

* * *

Emus has been waiting patiently at the bar for the drink that Tock bought him. He was watching it being poured when he heard the scuffle start outside. He takes a step towards the door, but then he remembers his drink. He steps back to the bar and starts bouncing like an antsy child.

"Ooh! Come on! Hurry!"

No sooner does his ale hit the counter than Emus picks it up, quaffs it, and then charges outside to join the fray.

* * *

As the fight boils around them, Erilon straddles Tock's chest, pummeling him with his meaty fists, grinning broadly.

"Not so pretty after I get through with you, boy!"

And then Katadid's spell takes effect and Erilon's eyes cross and he falls forward, onto Tock Chandler. Two more dwarves nearby also fold to the mud beside them.

* * *

Once in the graveyard, Renraw wrests himself free of Apep's grasp.

"All right, wizard, you've got me. And I am suitably chastened for attempting to flee. But you'll have to pardon me for being a trifle nervous; I wasn't expecting my message to be delivered in the middle of a crowd." The implications of what he's just said set in and Renraw's normal prudence vanishes entirely. "What are you thinking, chancing compromising me like this? Did the kobolds tell you that our pact was a SECRET one? Most of the bumpkins here may not know your face, but they know who you are and with whom you associate. What POSSIBLE reason could you have to meet with me? What am I supposed to tell everyone?"

A chunk of mud slides off the bookkeeper's nose.

Khenemet-Apep slaps Renraw across the face, sneering and raking one hand back through his greasy black hair.

"Shut up, you idiot. If you had not panicked like a fool, we could have conducted our business quite calmly, and no one would have wondered why two wizards were discussing the mysteries of the ether among themselves.

"And I was not hired to deliver a message, I was hired to ensure you live up to your part of the deal."

He looks Renraw up and down with a skeptical eye.

"Do you know what a _geas_ spell is? No, of course you don't. Sit on that gravestone and we'll begin."

"Don't take me for a fool. Of course I know what a _geas_ is, and it isn't necessary. I said I would have no problems doing what was asked, and I won't. I'll do it under my own volition or so help me one day you'll regret it." The words are no sooner out of his mouth than Renraw realizes his error and goes pale, stammering in fear. "So, um, who do you like in the music tournament? Well, Fiddler, of course. Obviously. He's quite a talent. What's your favorite Fiddler song, Khenemet? May I call you Khenemet?

"Honestly, there's no need for the spell. I give you my word, one wizard to another."

Khenemet-Apep sneers and his vile little cat makes a noise that sounds like it, too, is scoffing.

"The word of a traitor?" He shrugs his bony shoulders. "I do not care either way. I do simply what I have been hired to do. If the kobold's new leader is intending to do what I think he is, I will be well away before the plan comes to completion.

"Now, if you interrupt me again, I will be forced to paralyze you until I am finished." He fixes Renraw with glare. "You face a true wizard of Kem now, boy."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Finding an unlocked room proves to be a challenge for Hazel: Some of the rooms are normally occupied by the staff, and during the festival, merchants and other visitors have occupied most of the others. Finally, she finds one door ajar, which the Bergin gnomes seem to have picked the lock to open. None currently remain in the room, having all disappeared out the open window, and she can hear her brother and the gnomes jeering at the crowd and hurling rotten apples down at the drunken dwarves.

Hazel grasps the window frame and leans her head out, looking upward. She studies the handholds and the roofline; she ignores the apples sailing past.

_C'mon Hazel, you can do this in your sleep. He's a foot and a half shorter than you; if he can climb his scrawny butt up there, so can you._

She pulls her upper body back into the room and unclasps her cloak. The long fabric could hamper her movements, so she leaves it lying near the window.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself -- _Remember, he's nine. You did stupid things when you were nine. And if you toss him off the roof to teach him a lesson, you'll regret it later. Probably._ -- Hazel steps out onto the window sill. It creaks ominously under her weight, and below, someone whistles and yells a comment about the view of Hazel from this angle, but she's able to get a grip and pull herself onto the shingles on the roof.

"Want an apple?" Reed asks, grinning his head off.

"Thanks much." She plucks the apple from Reed's hand and cautiously sits down on the roof, using her heels to keep from sliding anywhere. She casually tosses the apple in one hand and surveys the brawl. It's hard to keep her voice jovial, but she does her best. "So, who came up with this brilliant plan?"

She casts a sidelong glance at the Bergins, who don't seem to have halted their apple-throwing since her arrival.

"Because once you explain it to Da -- and you _will_ explain it to him -- he's gonna think it was their idea. And then he's gonna go have a chat with Constable Bridger about gnomish tricks and impressionable boys."

Hazel pitches the apple back into the half-filled basket and wipes her hand on her trousers.

"And then, I suspect, you'll be spending your days till Blessing playing pincushion for Aspen." She eyes her brother from head to toe. "You know, I think you'll look mighty fine with a wedding dress hanging off your shoulders."

Standing near the doorway of The Cat & The Fiddle, Vonmora Farrin scans the brawlers, making a note of which Glangirn dwarves are swinging arms and connecting fists with the Farrin dwarves.

"Oh, ho, ho, they won't fight for the mountain," Vonmora mock-flexes her arms in a macho pose, "but theey fight over cider."

An uppercut to the chin sends Dalarn sprawling on the ground, a small cloud of dust briefly billowing out on impact. Dalarn wipes the blood from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand and kicks both of his feet forward, using his weight to propel himself back upright. He cracks his knuckles, roaring as he charges back into the commotion. Vonmora nods with approval and raises her green beer in a toast and offers a brief prayer that he might find glory in battle.

Stotch treads lightly into the mud to help Tock up.

"Hurry!" Kat waves his arms and tries to get Tock and Stotch's attention. He begins pointing toward the nearest path of exit from the mob scene cleared by the now sleeping dwarves.

Stotch looks up, and grins.

"Kran's warts! I thought today would be dull!"

And then a beefy hand grabs him by the wrist and yanks him backwards, out of the fray. As he goes sprawling, he spots Deputy Tucker Gallaway wading in, frustration written all over his face. A moment later, with a squeal, Katadid comes hurtling out of the melee, landing on Stotch. Then, finally, both of them looking somewhat surprised at finding themselves in the situation, Tucker leads Tock Chandler out of the chaos.

In their wake, Dalarn Farrin suddenly fights with renewed skill, his fist connecting with Glangirn nose after Glangirn nose as Vonmora Farrin looks on, visibly pleased with herself. Dalarn's next target: Emus Graygullet.

Above her head, Reed Sawyer gives a full-body sigh in the way only a small child can, and mumbles something. Hazel can't hear his reply over the noise of the dwarves below, but her little brother seems willing to come inside. She gets him back in the inn first and then follows, shooting a dark look at the gnomes capering up on the roof as she does. They seem oblivious, talking excitedly in Gnomish and apparently trying to bean the deputy at the edge of the fray with apples. Then they spot something and quickly follow Hazel back inside with their bushel of rotten apples.

"Constable's coming! Gotta go!" one of the Bergins squeaks out as they push past. Hazel checks her possessions to make sure they're all still with her, which they seem to be.

At the smithy, Constable Bridger suddenly stops beside Emmerson, who shoots him a "follow my lead" look and then hands the paladin his crutch. Balancing with one shoulder against a support beam of the smithy, the constable unslings the rifle from his back and fires a round into the air.

The booming echo sends the birds flying from the trees and brings the melee to a muddy, bloody, beer-soaked halt.

"ALL RIGHT! BREAK IT UP! GLANGIRNS, GET TO THE SMITHY! FARRINS, OTHER SIDE OF THE SQUARE! EVERYONE ELSE, GET TO ANOTHER EDGE! NOW!"

As Constable Bridger's voice booms across the square, Emus reluctantly lets go of Dalarn's beard at the same time that Dalarn lets go of the shoulder of Emus' armor. Both lower their right fists and turn to reluctantly obey the constable's orders. Emus turns to call Skeeter but sees him near the front door of the inn, standing protectively over his greatclub and half-finished drink. Reed is nowhere to be seen.

"Dumb dog," Emus grumbles. He picks up his club, finishes his drink, and gives Skeeter a scratch behind the ears and a "good dog" before heading over to the smithy with the other Glangirns. He gives Vonmora Farrin a mocking salute as he walks past.

Hearing the constable's booming orders over the throng of voices coming from the brawl, Ragglus decides being anywhere but his current location is the best course of action. He walks leisurely toward the back of The Cat & The Fiddle, intent of looping around to the back of the stables, and out of casual view. With any luck, he'll get a jump on the rest when Milos starts pouring again.

Not surprisingly, the dwarves that got hurt in the fracas shrug off their injuries, muttering "falling rocks hurt more than their fists" and return to their neglected tankards, slapping those knocked out by Katadid's spell before they do.

After the last dwarf leaves, Emmerson turns to the constable.

"Sir? I wanted to ask your advice about something. It's about the bishop's desire for me to serve as the priest in Maidensbridge. You see, I spoke today with Ebuferpaly Potentloins and we had this discussion ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back in the graveyard, Renraw Kem casts a spell.

"I would've helped you willingly, you bastard!" Renraw shouts like a petulant child.

Before he can complete his spell, however, the unpleasant black cat leaps on him, sinking its claws into his thigh as it runs up his leg and bites a very sensitive place.

The pain breaks Renraw's concentration and interrupting his spellcasting. As he attempts to dislodge the cat, he barely notices Khenemet-Apep casting a spell until it's complete. True to the Kemite's word, Renraw finds himself unable to move.

The Wizard of Green Mountain opens a sack at his waist and pulls out a rope. He touches it to Renraw, saying a command word, and the frozen wizard feels the rope snake around him, wrapping tight and then tying itself around his wrists and ankles.

Reaching back into the sack, Khenemet-Apep pulls out a filthy rag, opens Renraw's mouth, shoves the rag most of the way in, then closes his mouth again.

He mutters something in disgust and sits down on a gravestone, eyeing his prisoner. He then begins the lengthy process of casting his _geas_.

* * *

Bufer had been torn. On the one hand, Renraw had been led away, into the graveyard of all places, by a powerful wizard he was obviously frightened to death of -- and who appeared to be an ogre's backside, besides. On the other, he'd left Hazel and her brother behind in the middle of a brewing bar fight.

On the one hand, there was a good chance Renraw deserved whatever was coming to him. On the other, Hazel and Reed were with Emmerson.

On the one hand, though, when all was said and done, Hazel could take care of herself -- and her brother and Emmerson, too, if it came to that -- while on the other, Bufer wasn't so sure he could say the same about Renraw. A pitiful example of a human he might be, Bufer couldn't in good conscience let Renraw face Khenemet-Apep alone, at least not until he had a better idea of _why_ he was facing the wizard at all.

So now here he is, holding his breath as he creeps though the cemetery, moving as quietly and deliberately as possible as he creeps ever closer to the two wizards, ducking low to the ground and using the tombstones for cover. Neither appears to be aware of him yet, nor does Apep's mangy cat -- so far, so good. Just another yard or so, and he'll be close enough to hear what they were saying.

Approaching the pair from Apep's rear, Bufer pauses a moment to slide a dagger from his sleeve. He hopes he won't have to use it -- he's fairly certain things won't end well if he does -- but it never hurts to be cautious ...

In the graveyard, Khenemet-Apep finishes his spell. Bufer doesn't know a thing about spellcraft beyond the spells he can cast himself, but the Kemite spelled it out with his final words, which were in the Imperial tongue, presumably so Renraw would understand them: "When the attack comes on Maidensbridge, you must kill Tucker Gallaway."

The Kemite wipes his face with a dirty sleeve. The spellcasting apparently took a lot out of him. His cat wraps itself around his ankles, purring with approval and then makes a small noise of surprise: It's seen Bufer. It makes a small unintelligible noise, but the wizard apparently understands it, because he turns and his eyes lock with Bufer's.

"Do not run. Come here, gnome."

Bufer blinks in surprise, more at the wizard's reaction than at his actually having been caught in the act of eavesdropping. He hesitates, silently reviewing his options. It only takes a second -- he doesn't really have any. He carefully slips his dagger back up his sleeve before he stands up and steps around the tombstone he'd been hiding behind.

"I feel it only fair to inform you, sir," he says as he calmly saunters towards Khenemet-Apep and the captive Renraw, "That I be the apprentice of High Priest Boddynock Barennackle -- a good friend of the constable's -- and that my pa's an old, dear friend of Lord Rubik, who's a right powerful wizard in his own right, and a school chum of the Baron, besides. I'll also remind you that at least a dozen gnomes, dwarves and men-folk witnessed us leavin' The Cat & The Fiddle together, an' me pesterin' you about kobolds in the street outside. If anything unfortunate were to happen to me -- say, I didn't come home tonight, or got turned into a chicken, or something of that nature -- I reckon there'd be some pretty uncomfortable questions in your future, sir. To start."

Bufer grins good-naturedly at the wizard and he halts well beyond the Kemite's reach.

"And I am a personal friend of the baron," the Wizard of Green Mountain smiles. "We play chess and spellflag and gossip about classmates of ours."

"Fair enough," Bufer replies, his smile flickering for the briefest of moments. "That all said, what say you untie my friend, here, and explain what in the Glutton's name is going on, eh?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Outside of the town square, and away from the chaos, Stotch introduces himself to the fair-haired wizard.

"Some call me Stotch," he says, stretching a hand out to Katadid. "Many thanks for leading the way out of the madness!"

Katadid just looks at the hand with a lack of comprehension, and Stotch shrugs and turns to Tock.

"What terrific rage you managed to raise in those Bearded Folk! They were positively in a lather!" he grins. "Now what good could come from a town full of angry dwarves? Financially speaking, of course."

"Angry dwarves are often quite distracted, but alas most of their coin is already spent in ale," Tock replies, brushing himself off. "I must wash up before my performance; the ladies may enjoy the down and dirty look, but mud rarely suits me."

"Fair enough," Stotch says. "I wonder what ever became of that fellow with the flailing arms?"

"Apep," Katadid says, almost burping the word out. "That ... Where? Them both ..."

Katadid spins around in place, looking for the Wizard of Green Mountain or Renraw.

* * *

Constable Bridger looks at Emmerson, dumbstruck. The pair have retired to a table in The Cat & The Fiddle. The constable is drinking child's beer (a dwarven beer with low alcohol content made for children -- by human standards, still plenty alcoholic) and thinking.

"Well, I don't know what the bishop will say. No, that's not entirely true. I know what he'll say, I just don't know what epithets he'll use along the way. But me? It sounds like you're doing Lothian's work. Maybe."

The constable looks around for Ragglus again; he'd heard enough that he wanted to talk to the younger man, but hasn't yet laid eyes on him.

* * *

Emus and the other Glangirn dwarves are in considerably lower spirits after a thorough tongue-lashing by Argus.

"Do you idiots not want me to win the top prize this year?" he snarled, chewing tobacco speckling his whiskers. "I've been practicin' until my damn fingers are bloody. You lot can save your need to pull the beards off the Farrins' face for a few more weeks. Ruin Tootenfest instead, there's no chance for the clan to win honor there. Now get out of my sight."

The dwarves, mumbling to themselves, have cut back to quaffing a single drink at a time. Others have been drawn off by women-folk to prepare for the dance later in the evening, which means brushing the mud and other debris out of beards, cleaning up cuts and so on.

The Farrin clan, who have no one participating in the competition, are still somewhat rowdy in comparison, but have contented themselves with the idea of heckling and booing Argus when it's his turn.

One young Farrin stable hand has begun taking bets as to which bard will end up winning this year. The odds at this point, as always, favor Heda Littlelark.

* * *

Ragglus strolls into The Cat & The Fiddle, cheerily making his way to the bar.

"Watchin' a fine brawl like that makes me thirsty. Help a man out Milos, won't ya?"

"Rags, ol' boy!" Tock says. "Let that drink be on me. How you doing? Did ya see the tussle? Dwarves," he snorts, rolling his eyes. "Hey, I'd like you to meet this fella here. His name's Stotch and I've got no reason to hate him yet."

"The day's still young, we might find a reason yet," Ragglus replies to Tock, accepting the drink with a wink. He nods to Stotch and downs half of the mug's contents in one pull, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "In town fer th' tourney?"

Stotch nods and pays for the drinks with the money lifted from the pockets of the sleeping dwarves.

"So tell me, y'all," he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Are ya bettin' men? I hear that there's a book being made on tonight's contest."

"Well, Stotch, I try not to bet unless I know I'm going to win or if I've got good reason to lose," Tock drawls. "Who they favorin'? Probably the little gnome harpy right?"

"Well, gambling is not always a game of chance," Stotch says, laying a finger beside   his nose. He finishes his drink, and steps off of his stool. "We can talk more later. Let me mingle and see what the little people are saying."

* * *

Hazel keeps a sharp eye on Reed as she settles her cloak into place.

"Your friends seem awful keen to get you into trouble and scamper away without a share of the blame." With a hand clamped firmly on Reed's shoulder, she steers him out of the guest room and down the hallway. "If you give me your word you'll stay out of mischief for the rest of the night, I won't march you straight back to Da."

As they come down the stairs, Hazel looks about for friendly faces. She catches sight of Tock and Rags by the bar (hardly better influences than the Bergins) and Emmerson deep in conversation with the constable (guaranteed to get Reed bored and looking for mischief in minutes) but no sign of Bufer. Frowning, she scans the room again, figuring she just missed the gnome behind some burly dwarf, but she still can't seem to locate him.

She heads toward Emmerson's table with a sulky Reed tromping along behind.

"Happy festival day to you, Constable Bridger." She bobs her head in greeting, grinning slightly as she hears Reed's indrawn breath. "Quite a ruckus, wouldn't you say? If I might interrupt for a moment, have y'all seen Bufer lately? If he's buyin' Kat a drink, he sure went a long way to get one. Any idea where they might've gone?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Feel free to untie Mister Kem here," Khenemet-Apep says coolly, smiling at Bufer. "I will be more than happy to discuss everything that occurred today with the baron and sheriff, if he wishes to. I'll be more than happy to tell the authorities everything I know.

"As for you, little gnome, the kobolds have mentioned you to me. You do have a knack for wandering into the bear's cave, don't you? Go ahead and untie him while we talk. I'd like the rope back when you're finished with it, please."

The wizard sits down on a tombstone and pulls out a rather bedraggled cigarette out of his sleeve. He says a word and it lights. He puffs it as he watches Bufer.

Bufer grins widely, then actually reddens at the mention of the kobolds, and his distinction among them. Given that the only distinction kobolds usually bother to make of gnomes is between live and dead -- and even then, only grudgingly -- he figures must speak to just how much of an impact he must have had on them.

"Well, I am a Potentloins after all, sir, with all that implies," Bufer says. "And as my great-great-grandfather's third nephew by marriage was fond of saying, we didn't get the name by having soft, squiggly bits that crawled back up inside at the first sign of trouble, if you'll pardon the imagery. Allow me to assure you -- and if you could pass this on to your neighbors, I'd be right obliged -- that the 'rescue' attempt and assault on the party that, er, accompanied me was not my idea, an' had I known it was comin', I would have told 'em to bugger off. I had every intention of honoring our bargain with the priestess of Tiamat right to the end, as I believe she d-- OW!"

Grimacing, Bufer rubs the sore spot on the side of his head where an impatient Renraw has elbowed him. He glances up at the young wizard, who glares down at him over his oily gag with bulging eyes, jerking his head frantically towards the rope binding his hands.

"Oh right," Bufer says, immediately seizing the knots at Renraw's wrists. "Sorry. Er, you said you could explain why Mister Kem here is trussed up like a prize hog?"

"Oh, I think Mister Kem should share his story first." Khenemet-Apep looks at the still-gagged younger wizard. "And if there's any doubt about the story, we can certainly go find someone at Middleborough Chapel to place us in a _zone of truth_.

"Only if our stories disagree, of course."

As soon as his hands are free, Renraw disgustedly yanks out his gag and hurls it at Khenemet-Apep's face.

"Bufer, there's no time for games. If you heard what he's ordered me to do, you know the most important part. I'll be happy to tell you how it got to this point. But you've no reason to trust me, so I'm taking his suggestion. I only want to tell my story inside a _zone of truth_. He may have a way to counteract the effects of the zone, but I do not. You will know what I say is true."

"Good. Then it's agreed." Khenemet-Apep stands up, pocketing his rag. "I chose to try and talk him out of the agreement he'd made with the Tiamat faction of the kobolds, and to tell him the only way out of his deal was to make sure that faction did not remain in control, with its plans of genocide. But I will be perfectly happy to air the rest of this in front of the sheriff inside a zone of truth, so they can hear exactly what he planned on doing and with whom he agreed to do it. There's an excellent tree just outside the cathedral, perfect for a hanging afterwards."

Renraw rubs at his wrists where his bonds were and scowls at the older wizard.

"You know what you just saw, Bufer. I'm not saying anything until I'm inside that zone and protected."

Bufer glances from one wizard to the other, his frown deepening by the moment. Even as he does, he mentally files the phrase 'Tiamat faction' away for future reference; he wasn't aware the kobolds on Green Mountain even had factions.

"All right," he says after a long moment's consideration, "let's take a walk, us three -- sorry, 'us four' -- an' go find the Constable. I done think I seen and heard enough to swear out warrants against both of ya, at least until we get this settled. We'll all tell our stories, and leave it to him to decide what happens next, and who goes where. Since both you fine gentlemen want oh-so-badly to get to the bottom of this, I'm sure you'll oblige."

Bufer wrinkles his nose at the irony of the situation: Just under an hour ago, he'd been lecturing Emmerson about clinging too tightly to the precepts of order. Now here he was, effectively binding two men by law.

_Garl has a funny sense of humor sometimes._

Shaking his head, Bufer heaves a heavy sigh, and gestures for the two wizards to precede him out of the graveyard, back towards the center of town.

"Garl save me from the machinations of wizards," he mutters under his breath.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson closes his eyes and tries to concentrate despite the din in the tavern. He opens his eyes and finds Hazel still looking for Bufer.

"I seem to recall him being close to Renraw, Katadid and two humans I've never seen before. Perhaps they know where he is or where he went," he says loudly.

"Well, Kat and Renraw aren't here," Hazel says, as she elbows her brother so he'll stop staring at the constable's scar. "What'd the other folks look like and are any of them about?"

"One human had a dark cloak and a green shirt. The other one I didn't get a good look at, but Tock was standing next to them, so you may want to find him first. Tock should be around here, since it's close to the contest's starting time."

"Thanks, Emmerson." Hazel threads her way through the crowd toward the bar, spotting the bard there. "Hey, Tock, you seen your cousin Kat around? Maybe with Bufer and some stranger?"

Reed takes advantage of his big sister's distraction to climb onto a recently vacated barstool and gulp a half-finished ale. He knocks the mug on the bar to get Milos' attention.

"I'll have another one of these."

"I saw Kat outside. He was running around or mumbling or whatever it is he does." Tock looks down at Reed. "Whiskey for me and the boy here."

Hazel counts silently to 10 before turning around and yanking her brother off the barstool.

"No whiskey for him, thanks. Good luck in the contest, Tock."

As she drags Reed out the door, Hazel attracts a few curious stares from bar patrons catching a word or two of her constant muttering.

"... nice frilly lace hat ... get some chains from the store ... try climbing rooftops in those ... hope she sticks you with a thousand tiny needles ... build a sturdy cage in the yard ...."

Once outside, she searches for Kat and Bufer, stopping various townsfolk and asking if they've seen the white-haired Leach boy or that gnome cleric who can talk a cask of ale dry.

Stotch belts back the remaining whiskey. He pulls a piece of parchment from his bag, a quill, and some ink. After several minutes, he folds the parchment, takes a candle from the bar top, seals it shut, then puts it in a fold in his cape.

"Tock, I need a hand, if you will."

"What do you need, new guy?"

"I need to borrow some clothes. Nothing much: a vest and a hat, perhaps."

"I keep some nearby," Tock says. He leans over and whispers some directions into Stotch's ear. As the other man excuses himself and slips out of The Cat & The Fiddle, Tock turns back to Ragglus. "Hey, Rags. Interested in some fun and maybe seeing another tussle?"

"Always in the mood for a scrap," Ragglus answers, pausing to down the rest of his mug's contents then burp. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Well," Tock replies, "Help me spread a rumor that Argus Glangirn is braggin' on his plan to play a song that makes fools of all the rival dwarves?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely." Ragglus grins. "I can do mah part, but if your plannin' on lighting a fire under them Farrin arses, best if the rumor comes from anyone but me. A couple of them Farrin boys got themselves a big beef. Their kin ain't likely in a mood to listen to anythin' I gots to say."

"Don't worry: I have a plan." The bard beams and, despite knowing better, Ragglus leans forward to listen.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the wizards and gnome set out, the Wizard of Green Mountain groans and holds up one finger.

"Tsk, just one last thing." The wizard begins casting a spell, a blank look on his face.

"He's doing something sinister, isn't he?" Renraw hisses to Bufer.

"Hey!" the gnome shouts in alarm, leaping forward and reaching up to grab the older wizard's wrists. "What do you think you're doing?"

Bufer's body blocks Renraw's view of Khenemet-Apep, preventing the younger wizard from discerning what spell the Wizard of Green Mountain was attempting to cast.

"I have corns, young gnome! It's simply a spell to cushion them for the walk ahead," the Wizard of Green Mountain says in a hurt voice. "Honestly, all of this mistrust and nervousness disappoints me, especially since Renraw has done nothing to be ashamed of. Why, in my homeland, he would be hailed as a hero. I simply sought to council him in his secret task, including warning him of the risks."

He looks at Renraw beseechingly.

"I think your gnomish friend will be proud of you when he knows what you've committed yourself to: Nothing less than saving Maidensbridge and Wit's End single-handedly! Of course, he beards the dragon in its den to do so, by making the rulers of Green Mountain believe that he has betrayed the barony. If word got out as to what he was doing -- and the woods have ears, believe you me -- his life would be worth nothing, and the town would be unprotected."

He claps a hand on Bufer's shoulder.

"I tell you this only because you, gnome, are known among the kobolds as a would-be peace-maker, and you should know that the clandestine negotiations Renraw did in the woods, he did for you and your folk. He is a proud man, and reluctant to plunge others into the danger he so eagerly took upon himself, but there it is. If you can keep his secret safe and thus, perhaps, save his very life, then you too may end up being a hero of legend.

"I have my own part to play in all of this, but the kobolds must not suspect either myself or Renraw to have broken from the plan or have entered into an agreement without intention to honor it. They sent me here to magically bind him into their agreement, but I strictly translated their leader's commands from Draconic into the language of the empire. As I had told Renraw prior to you showing up, while I was trussing him up for the benefit of the kobold spies who were then watching, so long as the condition of the spell cast on him never comes true, he will never face its effects. And all he has to do is work to prevent the attack from ever happening to begin with -- which is what he was working to do anyway!"

Khenemet-Apep grins ear to ear, beaming at Bufer while puffing on his battered cigarette.

"I was upset that you had shown up, possibly wrecking the clever subterfuge Renraw had arranged, but now I see that you, peacemaker, are the perfect one to bring into the plan. I must caution you, though, not to tell others of what is happening: The kobolds have spies throughout the barony and perhaps even Wit's End. The person you share information with may be the one who slits Renraw's throat later on."

The wizard stands up, smiling, clapping a hand on Renraw's shoulder as well, his cigarette smoke wreathing the younger wizard's face a moment as he does so.

"Excellent, so are we agreed to keep this just between us? As you are now part of our plan, I will be happy to bring you to the Black Tower and educate you about the Green Mountain Kobolds, just as I had previously agreed to tutor Renraw about some of the spells he will need in the coming days if he is to heroically prevent the kobolds from casting their great summoning spell."

"A noble effort," Renraw smirks. "Truly. That was weaseling almost on par with my great grandfather Ronklin. But you're found out. Bufer? Let's do that _zone of truth_ thing, shall we?"

Khenemet-Apep looks bewildered.

"So ... you want to stand in the cathedral, with the sheriff, baron and bishop there, and tell them that you agreed to betray Maidensbridge and Wit's End, knowing that they will only wait long enough to get you out of the church to execute you? Because, Renraw, that is exactly what you'll be forced to tell them in the zone of truth. Have you suddenly been consumed with a death wish?" The wizard looks despairingly at Bufer. "I will go along with whatever you decide, cleric. But I think Renraw has taken leave of his senses. Would I tell you all that I have, and risk my life, and his, if it were not true? What benefit is there to me in losing my own life in this way?"

Katadid is out of breath as he runs up to the edge of the graveyard. If he has any idea of what he's interrupting, it doesn't show. The letter in his hands has become soft from sweat and constant crumpling.

"Kem," he gasps, stumbling toward Khenemet-Apep. "Mirrors -- hidden ... cairns? Tips on ..."

Kat seems to just about be able to catch his breath when he notices where he is. His lips quiver and he looks back and forth between the trio and to the stones of the graveyard.

"DAMNATION!" he says, and runs off to quickly count the tombstones.

Khenemet-Apep blinks as he watches Katadid turn to go count tombstones.

"This is the strangest town ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Stotch slips into the Tulgey Wood just outside of Maidensbridge, following Tock's whispered directions. Sure enough, several changes of clothes hidden inside a leather satchel in the hollow of a dead tree. Looking through his choices, Stotch takes the nicest doublet, hat and gloves.

He folds them up nicely, puts them in his own bag. On the way back to town, Stotch stops on the bank of the chilly Moss River. He washes himself and pulls his hair back and ties it with a ribbon. He folds up his old cloak and scarf, and puts them away in his satchel. With great delicacy, he then ties on the doublets and gloves, and puts the hat on at a jaunty angle. Finally, with a charcoal pencil, he softly darkens his eye sockets and lips.

At the end of this, he looks like a very serious, respectable individual.

Heading back to town, Stotch opens the letter he had written before, making sure to break the wax seal, so that it is unrecognizable.

He proceeds to the stables, looking for the Farrin bookie. He spots a young boy, shoveling manure.

"Someone here is taking bets?" The boy nods in response and motions with his head to a stall at the back. Stotch winks and throws him a copper as he moves into the stable, avoiding manure as he walks to the back.

In the last stall he sees a young dwarf, sitting on a milking stool and making notes in a small, handmade ledger and chewing on the end of a corncob pipe. He looks up as Stotch approaches and puts the small book away quickly.

"Easy, lad. I'm here about the contest. Are you still taking cash on the wagers?"

The dwarf nods slowly.

Pulling the forged letter from the quilted doublet he borrowed from Tock, Stotch begins his speech.

"My name is Goya Bowyer, and as you can see from my papers, I have been sent from the Baron's Council of Games-of-Chance, Sporting and Lottery. As this little contest is being sponsored in an official capacity, the council has seen fit that any wagering be done under an administrative watch.

"I understand that you've been book-making, which under normal circumstances we would turn a blind eye to. But in this case, I will need to review the odds, officiate the spread, and distribute the winnings.

"Now the truth is, I always trust the 'local book-maker,' especially if the happen to be a dwarf. This is your home, you know these folks, and dwarves, as a rule, are a trustworthy, stalwart folk. So as long as you let me inspect the numbers and do what I need to do, there's no need to involve the authorities, and you can continue running the book. In fact, I will pay you for your time, as you are making my job that much easier."

He reaches out with his arm, extending a traditional dwarf handshake.

"I'm sure that we can work together, and then I can be on my way, and in the future the council can look to you for help. Your name?"

The Farrin boy shakes Stotch's hand, getting it filthy and decidedly aromatic. Having finished cleaning up after Boots' pony, he walks outside of The Cat & The Fiddle's stable, an interested pool of Farrins around him, listening.

"Marbin Goldaxe. What does the baron have to do with a friendly little wager?"

He looks up at Stotch suspiciously.

"Ah yes. You see, the baron is providing the prize for tonight's competition, which makes it, according to the Vast Codex, a baronal event. Thus it falls to the Council Of G, S, and L to regulate any wagers, to make sure that money is handled in the best interest of all parties involved. 'Friendly little wagers' have been the root of several devastating wars, truth be told. If you recall, several decades ago, hundreds of men and Litorians were slain in Istoma over the matter of six silvers in a friendly game of Dragonscales. So it is sometimes best to make sure the scales are tilting properly, as the bearded-folk say. This letter from my superior says it all."

Stotch holds up the parchment, and continues.

"Also, and I say this in the trusted confidence of righteous, gods-fearing Farrins, there are some contestants entered who might not be altogether trustworthy. I don't want to name names, but let's be honest, some dwarves have been 'too long from the mountain,' and other folk need an extra eye on 'em, so the council feels. All in the interest of fairness.

"As I said, I'm not here to interfere, and I can pay you for your services. But I do need to regulate the odds and keep an eye on the proceedings. it seems silly to me as well, but it's how I feed my family.

"Let me also add how encouraged and grateful I am to find a Farrin running the books. I said to myself, 'Bowyer, there's a dwarf that knows his stones.' You can always trust a Farrin, we always say."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer smiles as he watches Katadid rush back and forth, compulsively counting the tombstones. Though he'd never admit it out loud, he's secretly relieved to have a friend close at hand. One who won't cut and run on him at the first available opportunity, at any rate.

"You get more converts with honey than a mace to the head," he says with a knowing grin, without taking his eyes off of Leach. "You make a tempting offer, Mister Wizard, sir. The opportunity to learn the secrets of the kobolds in the Black Tower, a chance to apply my considerable training towards matters of intrigue an' secrecy, an' come out the other side a hero. Throw in Heda Littlelark in a charitable mood, or possibly a blindfold, an' it'd be everythin' I've ever wanted out of life. But there's just one thing that bothers me..."

Bufer fixes Khenemet-Apep with a look and jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

"Kem here's many things, sir, but 'selfless' and 'heroic' ain't even in his vocabulary. The only way he'd even consider an undertakin' as you've described would be if someone paid him a right goodly sum, and even then, I believe he'd be apt to take the money an' run." He glances over his shoulder at Renraw. "No offense."

Bufer turns back to the olive-skinned wizard with a cocked eyebrow.

"So if you don't mind, sir, I do believe we'll go with your original suggestion, an' find ourselves a body capable of conjuring a _zone of truth_. I reckon the constable is the body to see. What say we all go find 'im together, bein' sure to keep all our hands where everyone else can see 'em, right genial-like?"

Khenemet-Apep leans down, smiling, and murmurs quietly in Bufer's ear.

"Certainly. But dear gnome, don't think for a moment I ever intended to harm you. If I had, you'd already be dead, as well as these other two here." He straightens back up, snapping his fingers at his cat, who is digging at a hole beneath a nearby tree, attempting to pull some small animal from its den. "The constable it is. I've got a cold in my bones from sitting in this graveyard, and the cold gives me the piles."

Renraw claps his hands together in a mixture of delight and relief as the trio begin heading back towards the festivities, leaving Katadid to catch up after he finishes his count.

"Oh, that's the spirit, Bufer! I knew you'd do the right thing."

Bufer nearly stumbles, Renraw telling him he's done the right thing now giving him second thoughts. Shaking his head, he looks over his shoulder.

"We're off to find the constable, Kat!" he shouts to the white-haired wizard. Then, as an afterthought, he adds: "Find as many of the other roughnecks as you can, and ask 'em to meet us there!"

Katadid looks up and nods his assent and goes back to counting.

"Wizards," Bufer sighs.

* * *

Back in the graveyard, Katadid counts rapidly, using outstretched fingers to count two tombstones at a time.

"Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine!"

He closes his eyes and lets out a ragged breath. Now able to think more clearly, he looks over the tombstones toward the bustling town square. The muddy ground has been well torn up by the drunken dwarven brawl, so the townspeople now find their feet slurping with every step as they avoid freshly worn grooves caused by cracked skulls and stiff beards. Kat scans the crowd for Khenemet-Apep's olive skin tone, but finds nothing. He looks toward the Maiden's Bridge in case the group began walking across it to the warden's house, but either they haven't gotten there yet or had already crossed. Kat bites his lip in frustration. The town square is buzzing with the familiar hum of excitement before the Frost's Leaving music contest, and the crowd is clinging together, leaving little room to see anyone inside it.

Katadid squeaks with excitement when he spots Hazel Sawyer on the outskirts of the crowd, muttering and dragging her sullen brother in tow. Katadid from out of the graveyard to the ranger, arriving panting and out of breath.

"Them ... the gnome and ... the Wormy wizards ... they're ... Where's the constable? They said that. And so do I. Since ... well, that's where they ..."

Almost without realizing it, Kat's hand shoves the crumpled letter in one pocket while he reaches into his other pocket to pull out a neatly folded piece of parchment. He hand it to Hazel, who recognizes it as a graded worksheet from her Draconic lessons. Judging from the red ink that has bled through, she missed more than half of the questions again.

"Yes, terrible," he says, following Hazel's gaze to her homework. "Oh. And now you're a roughneck."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Kat, excellent! I was just looking for you and Bufer." Hazel tips her head to the side and glances behind the babbling wizard. "But he's clearly not with you."

She unfolds the paper Kat hands her and grimaces at the corrections.

"If this stupid alphabet made any sense, I'd be making much better progress." Hazel points to a rare line free of red ink. "But, hey, at least I can ask kobolds if they'd like an apple. Or possibly if they are an apple."

Reed, tired of standing still, repeatedly tries to dangle his full weight from his sister's arm as she reads.

"Cut it out, sprout. I'm trying to -- wait, Kat, did you say the constable? He's over at The Cat & The Fiddle. Is Bufer headed there?" Hazel shakes her head and tucks the homework into a pocket. "Always comin' and goin', but never meetin'. I've gotta drop this one," she raises her arm with Reed attached, "with my folks, but I'll meet y'all at the bar after, unless it's important.

"You do seem more agitated than usual, Kat. Don't worry. I'm sure your cousin will do just fine in the competition. He was in high spirits when I saw him last."

"Contest," Kat mutters. "Yes, yes, you should be there, it's important. Just meet them. Us. Find them with Bridger. And tell others. Bufer ... Bufer wanted more of us, I think."

Kat lets out a long suffering sigh as he takes out the battered letter and looks at it again.

"I just need to ask him about this. He could know..."

Khenemet-Apep squelches his way through the square, trailed by Renraw and Bufer.

"Well, there's the man with the answers," Hazel says, from across the square. "Who's he following, though?"

"I need more tea," Khenemet-Apep tells Renraw and Bufer. He pushes his way into the tavern, with the younger wizard and gnome scrambling to keep up.

Hazel eyes Reed, then the tavern as the trio disappears inside. Her shoulders droop as she lets out a long sigh. She bends down to look her brother in the eye and grasps his chin in her fingers.

"No drinking, no questions, no playing tricks of any kind, no acrobatics, and for the goddess's sake, keep your axe in its sheath. Stay right beside me unless I tell you otherwise, ya hear?"

Reed pulls away from Hazel's grip.

"I hear ya. I'm not a baby."

Hazel opens her mouth to respond, then reconsiders. She starts toward the tavern, tugging on Kat's sleeve to distract him from counting dwarves.

"Well, c'mon then. Bufer wants roughnecks, we'll give him roughnecks. Put some swagger in your step, boys."

Inside The Cat & The Fiddle, the Wizard of Green Mountain heads toward a lightly occupied table that is empty by the time he arrives. He pulls out a pouch of dried red flower petals and signals Ella.

"More hot water and a cup, please." Khenemet-Apep spies Emmerson and Constable Bridger talking at the bar. "Constable! A moment of your time, please?"

As Hazel pushes open the tavern door, it seems the whole crowd is staring at something near the bar. She can't quite catch a glimpse of what's happening, but Renraw and the stranger are standing near Emmerson and the constable, so she heads that way with Reed and Kat. A break in the crowd reveals Bufer between them.

"So I guess you're finally getting that drink, eh, Bufer?" Hazel raises a hand in greeting. "Found Kat wandering in the square again. Care to get him a drink and a chair before he starts counting lines in the wood grain?"

"You have no idea the day I've had, lass," Bufer says, grinning with relief, even as Katadid attempts to get the attention of Khenemet-Apep. "Listen, I'm glad ye're here. Stick around for a bit, would ye? Kem's gone and ... well, I can't say rightly what he's done, but he's in it up to his ears, this time, an' he's like to drag the rest of us down with him, from the sounds of things.

"Besides," he adds, as he reaches up and fiddles with something in his pocket, "I'd-I'd appreciate a quiet moment or two with ye after all this is done, if you can bear to take yer eyes off the rug rat. There's, uh, somethin' we need to talk about."

Hazel's eyebrows go up, and she nods at the gnome.

Reed Sawyer is eyeballing the small glass on the bar, trying to figure out if he could surreptitiously take it while his older sister is talking to her friends. It's about half-filled with a thin, golden liquid that looks like the stuff Tock ordered earlier and he never got to try. As he reaches for the glass, it seems to slide away from him with a loud scrape. It takes the boy a moment to realize that he was the one who moved: Deputy Gallaway has just pulled his stool back a few feet, moving the bar top out of arm's reach.

"Sorry, lad, that stuff's not for you." He leans between Reed and the rest of the group, flicking the glass back toward Milos with two fingers. "At least not while yer sister's right here.

"The dwarves are all taken care of, constable. The two clans are keeping their distance, and the three who got knocked out in the brawl are propped up against the wall of the bar."

The door to The Cat & The Fiddle bangs open and a tiny, cloaked figure the size of a gnome pushes its way inside. From the squeals of people leaping out of the way, the figure seems to be stomping on toes of any who refuse to move of their own accord. At the bar, Milos leans across, exchanging a room key for some coins and beckons his wife over to take the visitor's belongings. The small figure throws off his cloak and lifts the dark goggles from his eyes. He looks around, a sneer spreading across his reptilian snout.

Fiddler the Kobold has arrived.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer blinks as he gets his first good look at the kobold bard.

"Damn," he says plainly, ignoring the look Hazel gives him for cursing in front of her little brother. "He would choose to show up right this second, wouldn't he?"

Having restrained himself from touching the mounted heads of rams and deer on the walls of The Cat & The Fiddle, Katadid leans over the table, trying to get closer to the Wizard of Green Mountain.

"Do you know," Kat tries to whisper to Khenemet-Apep over the din, his voice getting lost in the din. "Where one ... could find in Kem a way to ... unlock ... the mirrors of the Shadow Mages?"

Bufer glances around the table from Khenemet-Apep, Katadid and Renraw, to Emmerson, Tucker and Constable Bridger as they approach the table, and then back to Fiddler at the bar. He's obviously torn between duties, again. Finally settling on a course of action, Bufer reaches into his other pocket and nudges Reed with his foot.

"Hey there, boy, how'd you like to make a chunk o' change for doing near squat-all?" he asks, as he produces the shiny silver coin that Khenemet-Apep threw at him earlier. "I'm like to get a might distracted in the new few minutes, so keep an eye on the kobold for me. If anyone -- gnome, dwarf, man, whoever -- approaches him in a less-than-friendly manner, I want you to get my attention right quick, you hear?"

Already reaching for the coin and bobbing his head enthusiastically, Reed pauses at his sister's quiet cough.

"Stay within sight of me, Reed," Hazel says warningly. "And no going upstairs again: If Fiddler looks likely to leave the main room, you tell us, you don't follow."

Reed obnoxiously adjusts his chair this way and that until he can clearly see the kobold musician, and shoots Hazel a look that plainly says "Satisfied?"

Bufer spares a last glance for Hazel as she glares down at him disapprovingly.

"I don't care what done transpired lately," Bufer says to her quietly, nodding towards Fiddler, even as he absently strokes his own throat. "Kobold or no, he's got a right to perform. Ain't gonna be no reprisals tonight, come hell or high water, not if I have anything to say 'bout it. So keep your axe handy, yeah?"

"Sure hope it doesn't come to that," Emmerson puts in. "My score is to be settled with Pick and her two lieutenants. Unless Fiddler starts to swing an axe around, I think folks will let her be."

While Kat momentarily has Khenemet-Apep's attention, Renraw turns to Bufer, gripping his arm.

"I think you'll find I've done nothing you yourself wouldn't do. Why else would I be so forthcoming with the truth? Hmmm?" With that, Renraw folds his arms and turns away as though he's through. But it's only a moment's pause until he angrily uncrosses his arms to shake a finger at the gnome. "I know what you're thinking, gnome: You're thinking that this is some kind of stalling tactic, or that I've something else up my sleeve! Let me assure you, man, if we had a _zone of truth_ right here and now, I'd step in it. What you saw with your own eyes and heard with your ears is precisely what happened. This man Apep is a paid mercenary."

Renraw stops, and his eyes grow large for a second.

"In fact," he says loudly, attempting to be heard over the sounds of the busy tavern. "Constable Bridger, this man, Khenemet-Apep -- the Green Mountain Wizard as he is called -- has laid a terrible curse on me. He's forced me, with something called a _geas_ spell, to try to murder your deputy at a certain future date. I demand this curse be lifted at once, and I demand this man be made to pay for the crime of attempted murder. Ebuferpaly Potentloins and I here are willing to provide all the testimony you need ... under the effects of a _zone of truth_. In fact, as I understand some here may not be able to take my word, I insist I must testify inside a _zone of truth_, right alongside the criminal Khenemet-Apep."

"Really!" Kat whips his head around, interested. "Fascinating! Which kind of _geas_?" he asks, looking both to Renraw and Khenemet-Apep. "Exactly which methodology did you use? Ooo! Also, what were the physical effect you felt DURING the casting?"

"It was a standard _geas_ enchantment, Leach," Renraw sighs. "Very standard. But as Bufer here will attest, I was bound against my will and unable to resist. And if the people of this community do not band together in order to find a way to lift the enchantment, the day will come where I will be forced into either killing Gallaway or dying myself. This must not be allowed to come to pass. Apep must be made to pay for what he did."

The constable's eyes blaze with rage. He snarls something incoherent that Tucker recognizes as "shackles," and points to both Renraw and Khenemet-Apep.

"You'll want a pair for the simpleton wizard as well, constable," Khenemet-Apep says, smiling ingratiatingly. "May I suggest all three of us be trussed up against the possibility of spell-casting and taken before the bishop and the baron forthwith? There is, as I'm sure you can guess, quite a bit that the bookkeeper has left out, including his willing collusion in a plot against the baron -- both of these young wizards, in point of fact. It would be a shame if either were able to cast a spell and escape the punishment coming to them under Imperial law."

Constable Bridger makes a croaking sound, crimson with fury. Getting control of himself, he leans forward, gripping the edge of the table.

"Khenemet, Kem, Leach. You will get up. You will follow me outside. You will wear the shackles. We will ride to Middleborough. If any of you so much says a single word in a language other than Imperial Common or moves your fingers even to scratch your nose, Tucker will run you through. There will be no tricks as we get to the bottom of this."

He looks at Kem.

"I should have known that birds of a feather flock together, but I guess you'll be beating the bard to his appointment with the hangman. Up, now, and out."

As chairs scrape and everyone gets to their feet, Renraw catches sight of Khenemet-Apep's mangy cat. Something about the way the cat is looking at him, he can't help but feel the animal is snickering.

"Emmerson, guard them until Tucker has them in chains and we've loaded them into a cart," the constable continues. "While I'm gone, I want you and the trustworthy handful of your friends to keep an eye on things here."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Marbin Goldenaxe looks torn, not sure as to what to do. Meanwhile, dwarves and humans continue to attempt to place bets with him.

"I don't know ... I'm busy here. Tell Boots what you told me. What he says, I'll do." He jerks his head towards a knot of dwarves heading into the bar for the contest. Stotch turns and looks at the crowd: Boots Farrin is apparently one of the heads disappearing through the door.

* * *

"Constable, it's _vital_ that the Potentloins gnome accompany us to testify. He witnessed Khenemet's foul deed firsthand! Go on, Bufer, please speak up! You're the only one that can corroborate the truth!" Renraw gasps out frantically.

"I know when you're lying, Kem," Emmerson snaps. "It happens every time your mouth moves. I don't know what you're not telling us, but the _zone of truth_ will fill in the gaps in your story. And, if I recall the Vast Codex correctly, it'll be damning enough to end your treacherous existence."

The constable scowls at Renraw. Without taking his eyes off him, he growls, "Bufer, stay here. I'll be back to question you in a moment. The rest of you, outside, now."

* * *

"--just can't believe it," Tock continues talking to a man loudly near the table full of Farrin dwarves. "I can't believe that dwarven bard plans on making such fools of the Farrin clan. I haven't heard the whole song, but what I did hear was just unbelievable. The honor of all the Farrins will be damaged by the song. And, oh, how he boasts. It's just not right, the way the constable looks the other way for his precious Therurt and friends. If I were the Farrins, I'd do something about this before the contest starts."

"I'm tellin' ya," Ragglus says conversationally to a nearby man, perhaps too casually, "That there Glangirn bard's gonna piss all over them Farrins, he told me them song words himself! Nasty stuff, that. I'd tell all my friends I was you, 'specially them Farrin dwarves. Eh? Why's ya pointin' t'yer ears and shakin' your head like that? Can't you hear me? What? Oh, you're deaf? Bah, get outta here then."

* * *

"Well, my day just got more interesting." Tucker quickly does as he's been told, chaining everyone's hands in front of them, so they can't try to hide any casting gestures. "The last time I rode into Middleborough, we made the trip riding the whole way with a dead body. Don't think we're unwilling to do the same again.

He starts putting the shackles on the deeply frowning Katadid, then pauses and turns to the constable.

"Are you sure about Leach, sir?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet to avoid undermining his boss' authority in front of the new prisoners. "He is rather simple, after all, and the odds of him being directly involved in ... well, anything are slim. He's useful as a translator, but only if we can keep him clear-headed."

"We knew he'd given information to the kobolds, but I chose to gave him the benefit of the doubt because he's ... not right," The constable murmurs back to Tucker. "This has gone further than that, though, and the sheriff and probably the baron will need to know about it now. It's out of our hands."

* * *

Stotch returns to the square, having completed his costume change back to his normaly appearance, he spots Marbin speaking with an older dwarf who must be Boots Farrin, and looking at the piece of paper Stotch thrust on him together. He's too far away to tell how the conversation is going.

Stumbling into the cat and Fiddle, he sides up to the toughest-looking Farrin at the bar, and orders ale.

"_It's a real shame what that Glangirn is gonna do tonight_," he drawls in dwarvish. "_The Farrin are too stout a folk to have to listen to such a slanderous song. It's a cryin' shame, it is._"

He then takes his ale, and meanders skulkily through the crowd, looking for Tock. Cold, sudsy foam drips from his nose, as he drinks deep from the tankard, smirking.

* * *

Hazel gawks as the revelations fly, completely confused by the accusations and confessions. When the furor dies down, she leans over and nudges Bufer.

"Renraw's gonna kill Tucker? Because of some kobold plot? What in the hells have y'all been doing today, Bufer?" She shakes her head, trying and failing to clear it. "I need to get Reed back to my folks before I do anything else; he's had just about enough excitement today to last him through summer. I had been hoping to hear the music, too."

"Just keep the peace while they cart the traitors off to see the baron," Emmerson replies, keeping his eyes on the manacled wizards. "I don't expect trouble, but then again, this has been a pretty strange day so far."

Kat stares at the shackles on his hands. He looks horrified, as if they simply grew out of his skin.

"I didn't ... I didn't do any ... I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" he screams.

As Tucker leads the wizards outside, the constable points a finger at Renraw.

"Keep him quiet and calm, or I'll gag him." He turns to Bufer. "Come upstairs with me. We'll find a quiet place to talk."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Over at the bar, Tock's head whips around toward the door.

"Kat?" His eyes narrow as he takes in the manacled wizards being led away. "Oh, by Destor, what did they do now?"

Stotch follows Tock's gaze and works his way toward him through the crowd.

"Do you know these mages? Every single one is tied up like an angry goblin. It's like an old-time Lothianite witch-burning!"

"The mumbling fool is my idiot cousin, and the other one is one of the few people here I don't hate still. See if you can find out what's going on. Nobody who would know trusts me."

* * *

"Kat, shh, calm down," Renraw says soothingly. "Everyone knows you didn't do anything. We'll just go and prove it, OK, just as we'll do for me. We'll get through this; it's just going to take a trip to Middleborough to sort through it all."

That said, Renraw whirls toward Emmerson, his chains clinking as he thrusts a bony finger at the paladin.

"PRESUME GUILT IF YOU WISH, SELF-RIGHTEOUS FATHEAD! ONLY KNOW YOUR GOD JUDGES YOU FOR IT!" The wizard's narrow chest heaves with fury, and his face is blotchy with the excitement and exertion. "I go willingly into the _zone of truth_. I make no attempt at escape. I explain everything, without omission. I only ask that this nefarious magic be undone, and that this man Khenemet-Apep's actions be scrutinized alongside mine."

"My God is righteous and his word is law and he can see through your lies and deceit. You did something that day, Kem. You had a rather lengthy conversation in Draconic with the kobolds and Katadid was completely reluctant to translate." Emmerson's piercing blue eyes bore into Renraw's brown ones. "That puts you on very shaky ground, and the last place you want to be when your neck is adorned with a hangman's noose is shaky ground."

"I think you may have a very basic misunderstanding of Lothianite scripture, Grant: There's nothing wrong with talking to kobolds. Murdering them, on the other hand ..."

"Of course, there is nothing wrong with talking to them," Emmerson laughs, "But you are bound to Middleborough to see the baron because you're the assassin that is supposed to kill Tucker in a future date. And on the kobold's orders. I'm sure that plan did not hatch out of nowhere."

"Are you dense? Did you hear what I said earlier? I'm no assassin; I had to be mystically coerced into this. I walked into this tavern knowing full well what would probably happen, all so I could PREVENT MYSELF from committing this evil. No, this plan didn't hatch out of nowhere, but it sure as hell didn't come from me. Why would I want to be cursed? And, if I'm so horrible, why would I NEED to be?"

* * *

"I can tell you what's going on," Stotch grins, elbowing Tock in the ribs. "Loud, anxious people are being arrested in a very public place. In short, a diversion! Now we have a chance to find that kobold, and make the contest that much easier for you to win!"

Tock watches his cousin being escorted out and his frown lingers a moment.

"Idiots. He's not capable of anything that would get him convicted." He turns back to Stotch, forcing himself to grin once more. "Never rely on the intelligence of anyone in this dump but me.

"Right. We've got the kobold and the gnome left."

"Fiddler is in this inn somewhere," Stotch says. "Order a jug of the stoutest, strongest dwarven brew they have and two jugs of fresh water, then meet me in the back, by the stairs."

Stotch then slips off the stool, and slips silently over to Reed Sawyer, who has slipped away from his sister and back inside. Stotch crouches down beside the boy.

"Hey, son. How'd you like to make a shiny gold Imperial?" Stotch deftly rolls a coin between his fingers. "Just run over to the stables, and lay a bet for a friend. Twenty gold on Tock Chandler in tonight's contest. Tell no one what you're doing, and it's three Imperials for you."

He presses a coin into the boy's hand and slips away again.

* * *

"Plan? PLAN?" Katadid flings his hands up in the air, the shackles clanking loudly. "Pick trusted Kem about as much as you do! She would never make ANY plan with HIM! And she didn't! She would with HAZEL."

Kat points toward Bufer, on the stairs across the room.

"You're an idiot for jumping into danger, but you made your choice. And every way I think through it, it still would have worked, although I'm not sure-" Kat shakes his head to refocus himself. He does his best to point fingers at Grant while shackled.

"YOU, however, imposed your moral certitude onto another's decision and where it wasn't needed and YOU caused your own death. Blaming me or anyone else for YOUR choice shouldn't surprise anyone given that genocide is a reasonable option for your faith." Kat shakes his head and begins to quiet down. "Wormy is Kem: That was all the translation anyone should have needed ..."

"Quiet now, Kat," Renraw pleads, "Lest they gag you."

* * *

Mounting the stairs behind the clomping of Constable Ward Bridger's false leg, Bufer pauses and looks back down into the common room of The Cat & The Fiddle and at the manacled wizards in its doorway. He doesn't flinch when Katadid yells and points at him.

Hazel glances up at him, and recognizes the expression on his face: She's seen it many a time, lit in flickering firelight as he sat by the tavern's woodstove, working through one of his gnomish clockwork puzzles from Wit's End.

Seeming to feel the weight of her gaze, Bufer blinks and looks down at her, his normally grinning face as dour as she's ever seen it. He shrugs gloomily and follows the constable up to the quieter second floor of the inn.

"Constable, I'll be more than happy to tell you everythin' I know," he says, "But first I think I oughta warn you that I'm beginning to suspect there's a kobold attack on Maidensbridge in the offing, possibly as soon as tonight. I suggest we start makin' some quiet preparations, just in case I'm right."

"I guessed that," the constable says, "That's why I'm leaving folks behind. I'll also send back help from Foxton on Moss and Middleborough. And once the baron knows what's what, we'll be under his watchful eye and I suspect some of Rubik's men as well.

"Now, tell me what you know."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer tells his story as quickly and plainly as he can, starting with watching Heda play for the dark-skinned stranger drinking the strange tea, and ending with the constable's own appearance at their table following the standoff in the graveyard. Bufer barely manages to control his impatience when Bridger asks him to slow down, or repeat key points of the story.

"Had 'im trussed up like a prize hog," Bufer repeats. "And Khenemet-Apep's exact words were 'When the attack comes on Maidensbridge, you must kill Tucker Gallaway.' I don't know anything about wizarding, sir, but if he'd been a cleric, I'd sa he was laying some kind of quest on him. ..."

"... No, goin' to Middleborough, the zone of truth, that was all his idea," Bufer replies to another question. "Khenemet-Apep's, I mean. But when Kem started to go along with it, he seemed to back off a bit, tried to sell me some song and dance about he and Kem bein' in on some secret mission together to save Maidensbridge from the 'Tiamat faction.' Tried to bring me in on it, too. Seemed like he was actually tryin' to give Kem an out, but then Renraw called it crap to his face, and Apep went back to his original story. I don't mind tellin' ya, sir, it all made my head hurt. ..."

"... Nah, like I said, Leach didn' have anythin' to do with any of this. He done showed up after I'd untied Renraw, and we were leaving the boneyard t'come find you. I asked him to gather as many of the town's -- well, roughnecks, for lack of a better word -- just in case things went south when push came to shove, and we needed some muscle to help contain the situation. I don't why Apep mentioned him, maybe to get him outta the way when this Tiamat faction attacks? I dunno. ..."

"... Near as I can tell," Bufer sighs, after having recited his story for the third time, "The only reason Apep and Kem both want to go to Middleborough so badly is 'cause they wanna be elsewhere when the hammer comes down. It ain't gonna be nothin' at all for a wizard with Apep's power to get free once he's on the road -- even I know a spell or two I could use while bound an' gagged, if I had to. To me, that says the attack's comin' pretty damn soon. ..."

"... Now, if'n that's settled," Bufer says, settling his sackcloth robe around him, "I'd appreciate hearin' yer orders, sir. I may not be a citizen of the empire, but Maidensbridge's been as much a home to me as Wit's End's ever been, and some of its folk are closer to me than kin. I'll defend her with my dying breath if need be, although you'll forgive me if'n I hope it don't come to that."

The constable's face is hidden in the shadows, in the corner of the upstairs hallway.

"No, unfortunately, you're wrong about Leach. I know for a fact that he's given intelligence to the kobolds before. Which lends credibility to what Khenemet-Apep said about Kem, too, to my mind. And that means this is all partially my fault for letting it get this far instead of telling the sheriff what I knew."

He turns his back on Bufer and marches heavily down the stairs, his wooden leg thumping loudly with each step.

"Take care of my town for me."

Bufer blinks, then rushes down the stairs, past the constable, then stops and turns to face him, standing directly in Bridger's path.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," he says harshly, nostrils flaring, "But if I'm to stay behind and help engineer the safety of y'all's town, I'll ask ye to return the favor: I want some assurance that Kem and Leach will be treated fairly, within reason, and will be subject to a fair and equitable trial, as you folk measure these things, if things should come to that. The Glutton take Khenemet-Apep for all I care, but Leach and Kem ..."

Bufer trails off, then sighs and continues.

"The Leach boy ain't right, sir. You know that for a fact. And Kem, yes, he's a goat's ass, but he's our goat's ass. I don't think he'd willingly ... The boy was trussed up for a reason, sir. Maybe neither you nor I can wrap our heads around it, but the fact remains: Apep felt he had to truss the boy up and feed him some magical command for a reason. That don't sound like an accomplice to me.

"Look. if a gnome's to be judged by the company he keeps, then I got plenty to be judged by, I ain't denyin' that. But if the reverse is also true: If a man's to be measured by the quality of those that call him friend, then I hope y'all will take my character into account when you judge Renraw and Katadid. And Master Barennackle don't teach just any fool, sir. I don't hoodwink easy."

* * *

"I turned myself in so that you might live, cretin," Renraw snarls at Tucker. "Don't make me regret it."

"No, I saw how effectively you fought those skeletons," Tucker scoffs. "My safety has nothing to do with you turning yourself in. This is just the end result of you trying to be too clever for your own good; you may not believe it, but you have friends in this town, despite your best efforts.

"Instead of trying to be all sneaky, maybe you should ask for help when you need it."

The sound of Ward Bridger clumping unevenly down the steps is distinct, even above the hectic din of the bar.

"And trust me, you need it," Tucker finishes. "For what it's worth, Seedcounter, I'll say that nothing bad will happen to you or Kat without full proof. This may end badly, but it won't be simply because of heresay."

The constable spares the gnome cleric one last look.

"My god is the Daybringer. It's my abundance of mercy that has Leach in this mess. Now, keep this town safe in my absence, if your word is worth anything."

And with that, he's gone, barking an order to have the prisoners loaded up into the cart for transportation to the highest authorities in the barony on charges of treason.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Standing alone on the stairs, Bufer continues to stare after the departed constable, the gears in his head turning faster and faster. Cursing under his breath, the gnome cleric practically flies down the remaining steps to the first floor of the tavern, and casts his gaze about the crowd.

"Bloody humans," he mutters impatiently under his breath. "Why do you all have to look so ali-- Ah! TOCK! TOCK CHANDLER!"

For the second time today, Bufer elbows his way through the crowd -- although, this time, he finds it parts a might easier for a gnome who's just been in close contact with the constable -- towards the bar, and the town's ne'erdowell bard. He spares only a glance at Tock's unfamiliar companion before reaching up to grab the bard's arm and spin him around.

"Tock," he says, as Chandler glares down at him in annoyance. "Your cousin and Renraw are in deep, deep sheep droppings, lad. Constable Bridger's bringing them to Middleborough on charges of treason, something about conspiring with kobolds, feeding them military information. He is right pissed, lad, and he's not like to take mercy on Kat for bein' strange this time; he seems to think bein' kindly to him in the past is what's led to this mess."

Bufer glances up again at the stranger Tock's with, noticing that the unfamiliar man seems to be hanging on his every word. Scowling, Bufer shifts himself around Tock so that his back is to the stranger, and lowers his voice.

"Tock, if they make it to Middleborough, I don't think Kat or Kem are apt to be long for this world. I don't know what Kem's gotten himself into, this time -- frankly, I don't wanna know -- but a treason rap ain't the kind of thing you walk away from."

Tock looks down at Bufer curiously. His new friend says something and he's not entirely sure he listened.

"Kat," he says simply and sighs.

He looks around the room, to Stotch, to the other bards, to Ella, and back down to the gnome.

"I've rescued Kat from everything his idiot self got himself involved in since he was born. I'm afraid that if the Lothianites have decided to persecute those with arcane or draconic leanings, it's simply beyond me to help at this point.

"You'd have me risk my own neck? You, a gnome, would beseech me so? It is your race's unrepentant hatred of all things dragon-descended that most likely started this entire mess. Were you so concerned, you'd do something about it yourself. Instead, perhaps you thought to eliminate four birds instead of three with one stone? Know this, gnome. If harm comes to Katadid Leach, there will be a large number of people I hold responsible, and a small number of gnomes. Rescue is out of my hands at this point, but vengeance will not always be."

* * *

Emus watches the cart leave Maidensbridge and disappear into the darkness of the Tulgey Wood until it vanishes in the trees.

Swaying slightly, he turns, looking for his clan leader, Argus Glangirn. Clearing his throat, he salutes, painfully slowly.

"Sir, shorry to interrupt your practicin', but if'n I kin have a moment of yer time?

"With your permision, I'd like ta go with the constable and hish deputy. Some of them in the group 're friendsh of mine, 'n they might could use my strength if'n the wizard triesh somethin' funny." Emus looks back over his shoulder. "The Wizard of Green Mountain, I mean.

"Oh, and there'sh talk of a kobold attack on the town, today. I ain't no stra-tee-jist, but I'm thinkin' thash a bunch a hooey, what with all the _Haurdir_ around. The kobolds surely know who's already in town," Emus glances meaningfully over at Fiddler. "But if thish does have anythin' ta do Gax'sh turds, I think we should have one o' us to shee how things turn out."

Argus looks annoyed at stopping his practice and scratches at the bare shoulder exposed beneath his overalls.

"And if the Farrin start something again, boy, you want to be in a different town entirely? You got a yellow belly under that beard? That it, boy?"

Emus turns bright red beneath his beard. All traces of his slurring are gone. His salute is crisp and steady this time.

"No, sir! If you think it's best, I'll leave an old man, a boy, and two shackled weaklings to the mercy of that dung heap kobold-friend in the middle of the woods, sir! Never let it be said we Glangirn won't pass up a fancy music contest when the health of the barony is on the line! Sir!"

Emus gives another quick jerk of a salute and turns his back on Argus. He scans the crowd in Maidensbridge, his anger making him feel genuinely hot as he thinks.

"Screw this."

* * *

As the three wizards are loaded into the cart, Kat stares straight ahead blankly, his shackled hands jangling as he taps out even numbers on the side. He repeats snatches of the letter from St. Feldin's almost without being aware of it.

"... a number of the Shadow Mages, however, are known to have traveled north, along with their owl-headed servants, into the still-wild Prustan Peninsula. Being as close to Kem as they were, the Shadow Mages sought to research new magics that would hide them from their fellows ..."

"Yes," the Wizard of Green Mountain says as he adjusts himself on his seat, his cat sitting between his feet, "I've seen ruins with owl-headed statues in the north of Kem, in the shadow of the Great Tower."

He elbows Renraw.

"Your kobolds friends have been by there as well."

Katadid blinks as his mind snaps dizzily back to the present.

"Ah, really?" Kat taps his feet on the bottom of the cart. "About ... about how far is that?"

Khenemet-Apep reaches up to scratch his neck as the cart jerks forward, his manacle chains clanking.

"Hmmm, 20 or 30 miles beyond Southerly. Most avoid the area because of the tower, of course."

"And they avoid the Tower why?"

The older wizard just laughs.

"When you can see the tower, you'll know why."

Katadid nods, silent now, and thinking. Renraw looks from Katadid to Khenemet-Apep, snorts in disgust, and remains silent.

There's a quiet sound from behind the cart that gets louder and louder. At the edge of the lantern light, the sound resolves itself into a running Emus and Skeeter. The dog, his tongue lolling, catches up to the cart and leaps inside. A moment later, the dwarf clambers aboard as well.

Constable Bridger looks back, says nothing, and then turns back toward the road.

"Emus Graymullet!" Renraw grins. "As I live and breathe! It's good to see you."

He gratefully extends his hands out for a shake, barely realizing they're shackled. Emus gives a curt nod, his face still a mask of anger.

"Uh," Kat looks decidedly uncomfortable with the dog eagerly pacing aorund and trying to lick his face, "There's ... a dog ... "

Emus gently thumps his dog's hindquarters, and Skeeter sits, gazing up lovingly at Katadid.

"Just along fer the ride," Emus says finally.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back in Maidensbridge, Ragglus is still attempting to spread the word of the Glangirn's upcoming musical entry "Farrins Is Stupid, Fat, and Stupid" (he was quite proud of the title), he cuts himself off in mid-fib as he notices Bufer and Emmerson putting their heads together and murmuring. He knows them both well enough to recognize the worry on their faces.

Across The Cat & The Fiddle, Bufer catches Ragglus' eye and smiles grimly at him, beckoning him over with one hand, then turns back to Emmerson.

"I think we're in for a rough night, beanpole," the gnome says. "The constable's gone, the deputy's gone, the wizards are gone, most of the town is here or at the orchard, likely drunk an' unarmed, an' there's every possibility that the kobolds are crouchin' in the bushes outside, just waitin' to attack."

He sighs, heavily.

"I hope ye said yer prayers this mornin', lad. We're gonna need 'em."

"Lothian's blood!" Emmerson exclaims. "Are you certain? Would they risk an attack with Fiddler in our midst? That would be clever. Fiddler could use his bardic knowledge to weaken us."

It is at this point that Milos begins to bang a wooden spoon against a pot.

"We'll be getting started with the contest shortly. Please clear this area here!" he says, indicating the area before the stairs leading to the second floor.

"Confound it! Of all the hours in the day, now the contest begins," Emmerson grimaces. He looks back, seeing Ragglus standing with them, seemingly sober and alert.

"Ragglus, seek the leader of the Glangirn clan and tell him of this, so he keep his fighters ready. I'll seek out the Farrin leader and tell him the same. Bufer, tell Tock Chandler to keep an eye on Fiddler. If Fiddler's part of the conspiracy, I hope he can counter his songs, but if he's not, I'd like him to keep him safe. Also, is there any way to alert your fellow gnomes at Wit's End?"

Bufer hesitates.

"I'll see if I can find some'a the Bergin lads, see if they'll run back an' get word to Master Barennackle an' Lord Rubik, but if there's an attack in the offing, the kobolds are like to be watchin' the roads. It may not be safe.

"I'm through tellin' Tock Chandler anything, though, boy," he continues, sadly glancing over his shoulder at the bard. "I don't recokon he'd listen to me right now, anyway.

"Listen, while we spread the word, let's be careful to avoid spreadin' panic along with it, for Garl's sake. Stick to the facts, tell only who you have to, and make sure we're not overheard. All we know for sure is that there's an attack planned; we don't know for certain that it's happening tonight."

"Indeed," Emmerson nods. "Our comments are for leaders only and with an emphasis on 'expected.' I'll speak with Tock. Lothian and Garl Glittergold be with us all."

* * *

The sparse crowd near the orchards and his wolf's pelt cloak make Hazel's father easy to spot. She speeds her steps even further, adjusting her grip on Reed as he stumbles.

"You're really gonna tell 'im, Haze? It was just playin'. There wasn't no danger in it. Didn't you never-"

"Try to bean dwarves on the head with rotten apples? No, I never did that." Hazel reluctantly smiles. "It was a fair sight to see, though."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" Reed's cocky grin returns. "Them Bergins is full of ideas and such."

Hazel comes to a dead stop and leans down to look her brother in the eyes.

"Just don't mention that name in front o' Da, yeah? He won't like ya hangin' out with 'em. Now c'mon."

She can tell the exact moment when her mother notices their approach: Rosalind's mouth drops open and she takes three steps forward, patting Jack's arm to get his attention. Hazel winces as she gets within earshot.

"-two clean children and I get back two mud-covered monsters."

"It's not that bad, Mama. Leastaways we're not covered in green beer, eh?" Hazel looks about and sees Aspen standing a little ways off with the Cooper boy, a blush high on her cheeks. "An' you've still got one pure child. For a while yet, anyways."

She earns a swat on the arm for that remark before Rosalind begins fussing over her youngest.

"Da?" Hazel motions him away and nods meaningfully up at the black silhouette of Green Mountain. "There was some trouble in town. Nothing's certain, mind, but seems it might be best to stay with a larger crowd. If we hurry back, I think we can still catch part of the bards' contest."

* * *

Emmerson approaches Tock Chandler, trying his expression as neutral as he can.

"Something may go down tonight. I ask you to keep you eye on Fiddler and let no harm come to or from him." Without waiting for a response, the paladin goes to look for the leader of Clan Farrin.

Behind him, Stotch tugs on Tock's elbow, cutting off the bard's response to Emmerson.

"Friends are hard to come by, Tock, and can be as precious as gold. If your friends are in trouble, you should help them. I haven't known you long, but I think that deep down you know that this contest means little versus the lives of your friend and your cousin." Stotch sighs heavily. "Also, I don't think there's any substantial scratch to be won. More fun could be had elsewhere."

He pulls back his cloak to reveal the hilt of his rapier.

"And I have a plan."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Not for the first time this day, Bufer wishes Tosh were here.

It seems as though more than half the town has packed itself into The Cat & The Fiddle as Bufer scans the crowd for one of his fellow gnomes. After several minutes of being jostled back and forth by man and dwarf alike, he catches a glimpse of a pair of Bergins, standing by the stairs, their pockets unaccountably stuffed with eggs they've presumably pilfered from the tavern's larder.

"_Hey, Bufer,_" the younger of the two says with a mischievious grin as he approaches. "_You hear about the song Argus Glangirn's gonna play tonight? We was just about to head back up to the roof an' find a good throwin' spot, before the riot starts._"

"_You're what?_" Bufer asks in Gnomish, then shakes his head sharply. "_No, never mind. Listen, I need to get a message back home to Master Barennackle right quick, but I'm told there may be kobolds on the road who're spoilin' for a fight. You lads know anyone brave, clever or stupid enough who'd be willin' to take it for me?_"

* * *

"But," Ragglus begins, looking from Emmerson and down to Bufer, "But ..."

But neither of them was paying attention anymore. Emmerson walked off to speak to Tock briefly, and Bufer was away hopping up and down trying to see if he could find some Bergins.

Ragglus had lied in the presence of Argus Glangirn earlier, and whether or not the head of the Glangirn dwarves had believed him, he doubted he was going to be taken seriously now. But Maidensbridge is in danger, and while he could take or leave most Bridgers, it was still his town, and he wasn't about to let it fall to any blasted kobolds.

He spies his target just inside the door. With a sigh, Ragglus marches forward to meet him. _Boldly favored are the fortunate_, he thinks he remembers hearing once. Playing it over in his mind, it suddenly occured to him that it didn't sound exactly right. He cursed himself inwardly, hoping he hadn't muttered it in shared company on a previous occasion and sounded stupid.

Lost in thought, the ex-paladin barely stops himself in time from stepping right into the lead dwarf, staring up at him questioningly, hand hovering over his axe handle. Ragglus looks past him to Argus Glangirn, locks eyes, and musters up the most respectful tone he can.

"I need to speak with y'all 'bout a matter of great importance, sir," he says, bowing. A few patrons nearby catch the display and start to snicker, but quickly stifle when they happen to catch Ragglus' glare. "It concerns your clan and Maidensbridge, perhaps all of Midwood. Please, sir, won't take but a moment."

"Are you soft in the head, boy?" Argus Glangirn snarls, eyes shooting daggers -- or more precisely, hatchets -- at Ragglus. "This is just some no-beard scheme to throw me off my game at the contest, ain't it?"

Holding his banjo to his chest protectively, he jerks his head at a figure behind Rags.

"Get him out of here, boys. I don't want to lay eyes on this here 'gentleman' until my song is done sung, ya hear?"

* * *

Emmerson spots Boots Farrin quaffing stout ale, laughing merrily with his clansmen. Taking a deep breath, he approaches.

"Boots Farrin, gead of the Farrin Clan, may your beard grow ever longer, this servant of the barony and Lothian requests a minute of your attention."

"So, boy," Boots Farrin drawls, fishing around in his lip with one fat finger for his used-up plug of chewing tobacco. "I reckon you're friends with that Graymullet yellowbelly, ain't ya? Not even enough pride in his heritage to keep the mountain's name for himself and now he has a pretty little boy with his chin all covered in peach fuzz trying to shoo us out so we won't hear Argus talking trash about his betters. I reckon that's about it, ain't it?"

Emmerson hears a cough by his left shoulder and turning his head, spots Dalarn and Erilon Farrin behind him listening and clearly spoiling for a fight.

"Why don't you just go sit your pretty little behind on down, boy, and let us just enjoy us some tunes?"

Oddly enough, the two dwarves by his side make Emmerson relax.

"I am clean-shaven because I made a vow to Lothian. When my vow has been fulfilled, I'll grow a beard that would put Richard Grant, the brewer of Middleborough, to shame," Emmerson smiles. "I do not mean for any of you to miss the festival. I just wanted to tell you to alert your warriors. There are rumors of an attack floating on the breeze. By your leave, sir."

Emmerson bows and departs.

* * *

"Lindy, love, we mustn't miss the musical competition. Hazel tells me one of her young friends is entering this year." Jack Sawyer might be a touch more watchful than usual, his back a bit stiffer, but he gives no overt sign of the news his daughter has brought. "Let's head over to the tavern, shall we?"

Rosalind herds Reed along with her, calling back to Aspen and her beau.

"Come on, you two. There'll be time enough for dancing later." More quietly, to Hazel, she adds, "Make sure your sister doesn't linger too long with the boy, please. But don't scare him off, either."

Jack and Rosalind head back into town with Reed running, jumping and tumbling alongside, a steady stream of patter accompanying him.

Young Matwin Cooper steals a kiss from Aspen once her father's back is turned. He casts a half-guilty, half-defiant look toward Hazel, who shrugs and jerks her head toward town.

"Why don't y'all hit the Cat, OK? Just keep yourr hands to yourself, the two of you. Mostly."

She winks at the boy and gestures the pair ahead of her. With one last look at the mountain, Hazel steers her sister back towards the bar. Aspen keeps loitering on the edge of the woods instead of allowing herself to be guided.

As they approach the tavern, Hazel hears the first sounds of Heda Littlelark warming up. From the sound of it, the gnome is atop a table, clomping with heavy boots that will allow her to accompany this year's song with a bit of percussion.

The bar is packed and the air hot inside as they push their way inside.

* * *

Tock and Stotch approach Ella at the bar.

"Ella, darlin', come here," Tock says quietly. "We don't want a panic, so don't say nothin', but all this commotion's got to do with a kobold attack tonight. Don't let on, but whatever you do, don't let folks outta this tavern. If you gotta, say that I stepped out to prepare for a huge amazing song that'll be the stuff of legends, but do not let them out of this tavern. We're going for help."

"We think it's imminent," Stotch nods. "Let no one leave. We are riding for help now."

As Stotch emphasizes this last point, a dark-clad gnome male slips past him to the door. He runs in place a moment, getting his traction and then shoots off, the sound of his footfalls loud and wet, even over the din of the crowd.

"They call him 'Swifty,'" Bufer volunteers to a reveller.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the wagon rocks its way through the darkening Tulgey Wood, Emus begins to cool down. His eyes sharper in the darkness than the others, he watches Khenemet-Apep intently for a long time before speaking.

"Hey, constable," he says finally. "Mind if I ask this 'un a question?"

Constable Bridger shrugs and says nothing.

"So, wizard, when's this supposed kobold attack coming, eh?"

Swaying back and forth with the motion of the cart, Khenemet-Apep looks down at Emus, his dark face split by a wide grin.

"Hmmm? Well, I have an idea, but I think that's a matter for the baron, not a dwarf covered in sap and fleas."

"Yeah, that's sorta what I figgered you'd say," Emus says, leanining back against the edge of the cart. After a moment, he self-consciously picks a flea out of his beard.

Katadid looks at Emus. He looks at Apep. He then looks at Emus again. Alarm and confusion darts across his face.

"Kobold attack? There's a kobold attack? When did this happen? Or start to happen? Or will happen?"

Emus shrugs.

"Eh. It's just a rumor I heard goin' around the tavern. Figgered he'd know somethin' about it. Ain't gonna happen today, though. Too many dwarves around.

"And if it were gonna happen tonight, I figgered this 'un, would've mentioned it now, seein' as he's about to talk to the baron and all. It's not nothin' to worry about, son."

"Emus, truly," Renraw interjects, his voice spilling over with sincerity, "It means quite a lot to me that you joined us for the journey. This will not be forgotten."

The Wizard of Green Mountain ignores Renraw's comment, looking back and forth in the darkening twilight between Emus and Kat.

"Why, Young Master Leach, what did you think the kobolds wanted the military information you gave them for? To send flowers?"

In the darkness near his feet, it sounds like the cat is snickering again.

Kat looks stunned for a moment.

"I-I didn't ... I thought they just wanted to be prepared ... in case."

"But the dwarf is correct. The kobolds' attack requires the successful completion of a complex ritual. They still have numerous parts to collect before they can begin, as well as piecing together the rest of the ritual itself."

"Don't you dare," Renraw snarls. "Leach didn't give them any information they didn't already know. Neither of us have any reason to feel guilt, Kat."

"Yes, but-" Katadid starts to reply.

"Which the boy could not have known and," Khenemet-Apep peers at Kat through the remaining light, "I suspect he would have given them the information no matter what. A fair trade and all of that."

"Well, yes, but I had to, I didn't want-"

"'The boy' is touched. He was compelled by his own personal demons. He's no more guilty of treason than I am. You, on the other hand, did your damnedest to have Deputy Gallaway killed. I'm quite eager to see how you manage to avoid that while you're within the _zone of truth_."

"'Touched?' But ... treason? Wait, the deputy will be kill-"

"Oh, I don't know that the baron would rule him guilty, or that he would impose a harsh sentence if he did, but you and I both know what you agreed to do."

"That's what we're going to the Baron for? A-"

"Of course, of course. And everyone took me at my word, didn't they?" Renraw grins with tight lips.

"Wormy is K-"

"Light a lamp, Tucker," the constable says, ignoring the debate between the wizards three and slowing the cart. He nods in the gloom to the trunk beneath the bench seat and the poles for lanterns at the front of the cart.

"MORE LIGHT! I NEED TO THINK!" Kat shouts, causing everyone to jump in their seats. The cat hisses and its fur bristles. Skeeter, meanwhile nuzzles further into Kat's armpit. Kat holds his head in his hands, breathing heavily and trying to calm himself from the flurry of words around him.

"I-I just need to think for a moment," he says into his shackles. Katadid mutters to himself for another minute while hiding his head, his feet tapping sporadically. When he finally raises his head, he looks directly into Apep's eyes. "Ritual. Parts. They need time. And pieces.

"So tell me what it is. And tell me where I can find them before they do."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As worried as he is about his cousin, Tock Chandler finds himself unable to completely let go of his scheme:

He makes his way into the middle of town. To humans and gnomes he shouts, "Contest is starting! Contest is starting! Everybody to the Cat!"

To Farrin dwarves he mentions, "Argus is about to go on with that dreadful song, boys. Don't stand for it."

To Glangirn dwarves he says, "Them Farrin boys have been cheating and plan on interfering with the contest. It's not right! Even I'll admit Argus is the best bard this year."

He jots something down on a piece of paper and when he Fibber moving toward the tavern, he gives the note to him. "Hey, bud, give this to Ella after the contest tonight. Not before. Y'hear me? Free drinks all night tomorrow if you do it."

Meanwhile, Stotch runs for the stables. When he is sure that no one is watching, he begins to untie the horses. Leading two of the finer geldings out of their pens, he hands them off to Tock.

"I freed the rest. No innocent animal should be hurt." Stotch then pulls a lantern from a sconce in the wall, and hands it to Tock, taking back the geldings' reins. "This hay is dry enough; I reckon you won't need any extra lamp oil."

He leads the horses out quickly, pulling up his hood as he goes.

* * *

Bufer waits until he can no longer hear Swifty's footfalls before turning his back and reentering The Cat & The Fiddle, now packed to the rafters with the bardic contest almost underway. Hopping up and down, he strives to catch a glimpse of Emmerson or Ragglus.

In the process, his eyes land on a female dwarf with elaborately braided hair whom he's never seen before, nibbling idly on her nails as she waits for the show to start. A silver amulet of a hand gripping a gemstone hangs around her neck and gives him pause -- clearly, she is a cleric of Yurabbos and Clan Farrin. He blinks in surprise and curiousity, and then pushes through the crowd towards her, his mission momentarily forgotten in his eagerness to recruit a dwarf cleric to his agenda of a 'cosmopolitan' chapel in Maidensbridge.

"Evenin', Priestess of Yurabbos," he says once he gets within earshot of the dwarven cleric, shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd. "My name is Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Potentloins, cleric of Garl Glittergold. I don't recall seein' ye 'round, before. Are ye new to these parts?"

"Well, depends on how you define n --" Vonmora Farrin looks up after a moment, realizing the question must have been aimed at her due to the long silence and lack of forthcoming reply from anyone else. She barely gets a glimpse of the gnome before the crowd surged in panic. The smell reaches her a moment before the cry goes out.

"Kramer's store is on fire!" someone outside yells.

Ella screams in terror, and the mass of dwarves inside all attempt to get out at once, flooding into the dark and muddy square. The Fordhams seem almost paralyzed, dragged outside by Ella, staring back at the inn, dumbstruck.

Vonmora surges outside with her kinfolk: The two clans may not like each other -- may even hate each other -- but this is their mountain and when fire threatens, they know what to do.

A couple of buckets land at Vonmora's side. She carefully pushes through crowd, bucket in each hand, moving to her place along the coast of the Moss River. One human male behind her knees her repeatedly in the back in panic, obviously only concerned with his safety. After the third sharp jab in her back, Vonmora turns and head-butts him in the jewels.

* * *

Thundering down the Baron's Road, Tock turns in the saddle, looking back behind him. There's Stotch, black hair silhouetted against the growing yellow flames in the distance. There's Kramer's stable, quickly being eaten by fire.

"I'm comin', Kat, I'm comin'," no one hears him say. Tock takes an arrow and cuts his cheek and musses his face with dirt as well.

"Sing a song as we ride!" Stotch yells at him, pulling up alongside. "Inspire your friends as we try to save them! Use your talents for more than winning contests!"

He reaches into his bag, and pulls out a small black bag, and reaches over with it, holding it out to Tock.

"Just in case! Pray you don't have to use them!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

While the dwarves seem to know what to do without even speaking about it, the humans and gnomes of Maidensbridge aren't quite so lucky.

Struggling against the panicked mob like a salmon swimming upstream, Bufer grabs hold of the bar and clamber atop it. Kicking aside several half-empty tankards of green ale, he calls out to the surging mass of people as they bottleneck in the doorway, threatening to crush one another in their eagerness to escape.

"EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!" Bufer shouts. "PANIC IS ONLY GOING TO GET PEOPLE HURT, OR WORSE! WOMEN AND CHILDREN OUT FIRST, THEN I WANT EVERY ABLE-BODIED GNOME, DWARF AND MAN TO FIND THEMSELVES A BUCKET AND FORM A CHAIN 'TWEEN THE RIVER AN' THE STABLE! QUICKLY NOW, FOLKS! WE HAVEN'T A MOMENT TO SPARE!

"EMMERSON, RAGS, HAZEL, TOCK, GET THIS RABBLE MOVIN'! I'LL BE ALONG IN TWO SHAKES!"

With that, Bufer hops down behind the bar and charges into the kitchen, searching for as many buckets as his two little hands will carry, not taking note of the fact that Tock Chandler was nowhere to be seen.

As the crowd empties out the bar, Jack Sawyer herds his family to a now-vacant corner table. He drops his cloak over a chair and seats his wife, planting a kiss on her brow. With a few sharp words to Reed about minding his mama, Jack leaves the boy with Rosalind and Aspen.

"Wait here till I come back for you. Kramer's store is a goodly distance from the tavern, so the fire's not like to spread this far, and I don't want you walking home alone in the dark."

Rosalind hauls the squirming Reed into a chair beside her and gives her husband a smile.

"Be careful. We'll be just fine here." She looks around the tavern's main room. "If you see Jana, will you send her in? I'm sure she'll be wanting to start fixing a meal for the fire crew."

Hazel and Mat fall in behind Jack as he heads out the door and toward the fire line.

"Mat, run by your dad's shop and get some buckets and half-barrels, as many as you can carry." Jack eyes the growing flames. "Looks like we'll be needing them sooner rather than later. Hazel'll help ya carry."

The two dart off toward the cooperage as Jack joins the dwarven bucket brigade.

Emmerson hangs back in the tavern a moment, considering.

_Is this the kobold attack? Fire would be a good distraction. A coordinated attack that would involve Fiddler would already be on the way._

With the fire to one side, and dazed by Fiddler's magic from the other, the kobold attack would make short work of the firefighters and the exposed throats of the dazed patrons at the inn. But around town, the only sounds Emmerson hears are of men, dwarf and gnome calling for buckets and water. No one is attacking.

Something doesn't add up.

Emmerson leaves the inn and runs to the chapel to get the few buckets there are, perhaps even the cast iron baptismal, if there's enough strong arms to lift it. After the fire is doused, there will be a time for questions.

Outside, Bufer curses as he gets his first real look at the fire -- already having fully consumed the stables, and one wall of the store proper -- then casts his eyes around in search of the others.

He can't spy Boots or Argus anywhere, but he hears a steady stream of dwarvish invective erupting from somewhere in the distance, and assumes they're at the river, probably arguing over how best to cut through the ice. He rolls his eyes, and briefly considers heading down that way, but stops short as he catches sight of Emmerson and Ragglus, now both fully armed and carrying a small bucket each. He hurries towards them, shoving his buckets at the first pairs of empty hands he sees in the line.

"Hurry lads, pass those down," he mutters, as the two men approach. "Rags, you're faster than I am; get on down to the river, would you? Start crackin' the whip down at that end. Kick some ass if you have to. We need to get these buckets movin' if we're going to save the store! C'mon, Emmerson, let's get 'em organized at this end."

He grabs hold of Emmerson's elbow, and they jog towards the fire, shouting at the line as they run along it, more and more townspeople running up to join it every second.

"PASS THOSE BUCKETS DOWN, LADIES!" Bufer howls. "THAT'S RIGHT, THAT'S RIGHT! LOOK ALIVE, NOW! I HEAR THE GLANGIRNS SAY THEY CAN PASS FASTER THAN ANYONE. ARE YOU FARRINS GONNA STAND FOR THAT?"

Bufer glances up at Emmerson as they take their places in the chain closest to the fire, both their faces already covered in sweat as they wait for the first of the water-filled buckets to make their way down.

"I lost track of Fiddler in all the confusion!" he shouts, grimacing against the heat. "You ain't seen 'im, have you?"

"No, I haven't," Emmerson shakes his head, scanning the crowd. "But I told Tock to keep an eye out for him."

"THOSE DOWN THE RIVER! HURRY UP WITH THE WATER OR THERE'LL BE NO STORE LEFT TO SAVE!" Bufer roars once more. Smoke and shouting will leave his voice a ragged croak tomorrow.

Accustomed to taking orders in times of crisis, there's barely a pause in Ragglus' steps as he hears Bufer's words and turns to run through those loitering among the crowd, darting between the mill and the smithy, and making haste for Moss River.

Hearing the sounds of raised voices at the end of the people chain -- frustrated folk in the line yelling for action -- Ragglus wastes no time and wades through those arguing, grabs one of the fallen heavy axes, and begins moving toward the ice.

"Less arguin' an' more ice breakin', you horses' asses!" Ragglus brings the axe down, cracking at the ice, over and over.

Whether by his words or by his example, by the time the third blow has fallen, people have moved into action. A few more take up the axes and hammers and began to help.

"Stand by with the buckets!" Ragglus calls again, seeing the anxious faces in the chain. "Won't be long now!"

Hazel and Mat burst out of the cooperage, having grabbed everything finished enough to hold water. Buckets stacked high in their arms, they run for the riverbank. There's the sound of cracking ice as they descend toward the bank of the Moss River.

"Rags!" Hazel cries out.

Ragglus is knee-deep in the frigid waters of the Moss, tossing an axe aside with a proud grin. She wades out to him with a bucket, shivering violently. "Let's get to filling these buckets!

"Leave the rest here and run up the front of the line, Mat. As soon as they start getting empties, bring 'em back here. If you can organize some of the little boys to do the running, go on and join the fire line, yeah?"

Hazel feeds the empty buckets to Rags as fast as he can fill them.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As he rides through the dark of the Tulgey Wood, Tock Chandler sings.

He had intended to sing "The Ballad of Tiberius" in the competition, but that seems unlikely now.

"_Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited a lot.
Oh the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited for naught.

"Upright adventurers set out on that cold morn,
Weapons they were carried and armor it was worn.
They had but one mission, they had but one thought,
To wait for some Tiberius and wait till he was caught.

"Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited a lot.
Oh the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited for naught.

"The ranger she was quiet, the wizards they were loud,
The cleric he was not human, the paladin was proud,
The dwarf was deftly hiding, silent as a breath,
Then the noble kobolds came and scared them half to death.

"Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited a lot.
Oh the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited for naught.

"The ranger talked to dragonkin and a deal was made.
A bland female for a shifty kob’ was to be the trade.
But the gnome had other plans, he wanted to impress.
He volunteered himself instead, wanting in her dress.

"Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited a lot.
Oh the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited for naught.

"The dragonkin were keeping faith, but the others were unjust.
They attacked the kobolds without cause, because they had no trust.
Kobolds murdered left and right, two more fought and fled.
If it weren’t for Katadid, they would all be dead.

"Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited a lot.
Oh the fools, oh the fools,
They waited and waited for naught.

"Paladin with head of stone was brought back from the grave.
He now licks the bishop’s boot and might be his love slave.
The gnome, he almost died, and, yes, the dwarf, too!
Their treachery bit them back, don't let this come to you.

"Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
Tried to kill all kobolds.
Oh the fools, oh the fools,
But dragonkin are noble.
Oh, the fools, oh the fools,
Try to keep your word!
Oh the fools, oh the fools
Or you’ll be interred._"

Spotting their quarry, Tock and Chandler gallop after the wagon ferrying Renraw, Katadid and Khenemet-Apep to Midwood Hall and the baron's justice.

"STOP THE CART!" Stotch roars. "MAIDENSBRIDGE IS BURNING! THE DWARVES ARE RIOTING! CONSTABLE! YOU'RE NEEDED IN TOWN URGENTLY!"

Renraw hears the riders before he sees them and his face flushes with anger and frustration.

"Wha-?" Katadid looks up, dumfounded. Manic tapping ensues. "Is Heath ... How is ... I mean ..."

The constable murmurs something to Tucker as the two riders approach, and both he and his deputy place their hands on their weapons as the cart comes to a halt.

"Why, young Mister Chandler, I had no idea you owned a horse. And how interesting that two of you would ride to find us down this one road, instead of staying in town to help."

"Bridger, dammit, we don't like each other, I know," Tock spits back. "But do you really think I'm better prepared to handle a dwarven riot -- not a brawl, mind you, a real riot -- than you are?"

The constable spits a blast of chewing tobacco onto the hard ground.

"Well, I don't see that I have a lot of choice here. I need you two to dismount. Tucker will pull out another pair of shackles out of the trunk here, and clap you in them and put you in the cart. I don't know whose horses those are, but they aren't yours, and you'll stay where I can find you until that's straightened out.

"I'll take the horses and ride back to Maidensbridge and see what's what. Tucker will take you all on to Foxton on Moss and wait with the constable there for me. If there's a riot, I'll be a little while catching up to you all, but I'll be by soon enough, and the constable in Foxton has a sturdy stone house with a roof that don't leak none while you wait."

He eyes the horsemen expectantly.

"Off the horses, boys."

Stotch dismounts quickly, snarling.

"We grabbed the first horses we saw, and came for you as fast we could. This gelding is fast, so make haste!" He shoves the reins at Constable Bridger. "Shackle me if you must, but hurry! Innocent people are at risk!"

In the relative dark, Tucker brings out two more sets of shackles.

"One for Tock, one for ... wait, who are you?" He shrugs, and binds the stranger, then helps the pair into opposite corners of the wagon. "Emus, if they act up, tell the dog he can eat them."

As the constable climbs up onto one of the purloined horses, Tucker takes his place on the wagon's seat.

"In fact, anyone wants t' act up, we'll loop your chain through the wheel and see how long you can keep pace walking."

He cracks the reins and the dray lurches forward with a creak.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Standing side by side at the head of the line, Bufer and Emmerson watch the growing blaze helplessly as they wait for fully-laden buckets to be passed their way. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Bufer casts his gaze around the town square, searching for Fiddler.

A ragged cheer erupts partway down the line, and Emmerson elbows him in the side, pointing to where the first full buckets of water are slowly making their way towards them.

"Attaboy, Rags!" Bufer grins. "I knew he'd get it done! As Garl's my witness, if I ever hear anybody call that boy a good-for-nothin' again, they'll have earned themselves a kneecappin' from yours truly, they will!"

Turning back to the line, he cups his hands around his mouth, and shouts hard as he can to be heard over the roar of the flames.

"PICK UP THE PACE, LADIES! EVERY SECOND COUNTS, SO LET'S LIGHT A FIRE UNDER, uh, I MEAN, LET'S PUT OUR BACKS INTO IT! GLANGIRNS, THEM FARRINS ARE MAKIN' YA LOOK BAD! WHATCHA GONNA DO ABOUT IT, HUH?"

Bufer licks his dry lips as he watches the first bucket seem to crawl toward him as it's fumbled from one set of hands to another, then looks back up at Emmerson.

"All right, beanpole, the trick now is t'get 'em all workin' in a common rhythm," he says with a wink. "Follow my lead."

And taking a deep breath, he begins to belt out the only song in Imperial Common that immediately leaps to mind:

"_Though the sky be black as coal,
Though still hours 'til break of day,
Still we march towards our goal,
Lothian's truth shall light our way!

"Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers!
Onward 'til the break of dawn.
Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers!
For the glory of Lo-th-ian!_"

Grinning widely at the shocked look on Emmerson's face as he passes him the first bucket, Bufer turns and yells to the others behind him.

"WELL? IS THIS A BARDIC CONTEST OR NOT? LET'S HEAR SOME VOICES OUT THERE!"

As Bufer works the line, he continues scanning for Fiddler, finally spotting him fidgeting in the doorway of The Cat & The Fiddle. His prize fiddle has been hidden away, presumably locked in his rented room, and his goggles have been taken off, and hang around his neck, his reflective eyes blinking at the diminishing fire.

Finally, some inner battle is resolved, and he hustles forward to the line, cursing and snarling as he forces the dwarves to make a spot for him and he passes a bucket uphill, his foot tapping in time to the Lothianite hymn as sung by a gnome.

The slap of his claws on the frozen mud is ever so slightly faster than the tempo Bufer sang at, and the gnome is singing faster, and the line is passing buckets at a faster cadence, before anyone realizes what's happening.

Bufer blinks in surprise, then breaks into a grin and nods respectfully at Fiddler. Tearing his eyes away from the kobold, back to the fire, Bufer sings with even more gusto than before, evoking a wince even from his tin-earred companion.

"I think we got this one beat, beanpole," he grins up at Emmerson between verses. "No matter what may happen tomorrow, Maidensbridge ain't burnin' down tonight!"

"Not on our watch, Bufer," Emmerson agrees, half-coughing his reply. He takes the bucket and throws the water at the fire with all his strength. He drops the bucket to the side and receives another. He splashes the water on the fire and drops the bucket to the side. It's an endless cycle, receiving, throwing, dropping, all the while his heart filled with joy at the fire brigade singing his favorite lothian hymn.

Half a dozen soot-faced boys drop empty buckets near Hazel's feet at a regular pace; she tries to give each a nod and a smile for their efforts without losing the song's rhythm.

The pile of empties never seems to dwindle, no matter how quickly she sends the buckets on to Rags. Smoke hides the line snaking across the town square toward Kramer's General Store.

"Ya reckon it's havin' any effect yet?" she asks as she tosses the bucket to Ragglus.

Ragglus dips the next bucket in and hands it off, giving an ever-so-slight shrug to Hazel as he accepts the next from her.

"Either some horses is burnin' alive an' screamin', or i'm hearin' some singin'. Not sure which."

Giving a final, defiant sputtering hiss, the last stubborn embers of the blaze are extinguished as Emmerson douses them. Bufer pauses in mid-verse as he watches the paladin stomp on them with his boot, then turn and nod silently, a wide grin splitting his soot-streaked face.

Bufer returns the grin and drops his bucket to the ground, cupping his sore and calloused hands around his mouth as the twists 'round to address the line.

"HOLD UP, EVERYBODY, HOLD UP!" he shouts, straining to be heard over the fire brigade's singing. "PAT YOURSELVES ON THE BACKS, FOLKS, AND YOUR NEIGHBOR'S BESIDES! THE FIRE'S OUT! WE DID IT!!"

"Well done, everyone," Emmerson says, his voice raw from smoke and singing. "Bufer, we need two things: Find out the cause of the fire and get everyone in Maidensbridge accounted for."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel continues passing buckets along until a grime-smeared grin appears in her peripheral vision. The grinning boy isn't carrying a bucket.

"Fire's out!" he shouts before dashing off again.

"Hold up, Rags." Hazel scans the water-passing line and sees the word heading their way as men gratefully drop buckets to the ground and congratulate one another on a job well done. "Looks like we're in the clear."

Reluctant to slap him on the back without warning, Hazel smiles and adds, "You did nice work."

She turns and heads up the line.

Unused to compliments, Ragglus nods briefly in reply. Stretching his arms and rotating his shoulders, he begins a slow walk back to the square, hoping that if the kobolds attack they'll wait until much later to do so, or at least until he's well-rested and his feet are dry.

* * *

Bufer ponders the sodden remains of the stables, and frowns.

"There's not likely to be many clues left in this mess, but I'll give it a thorough goin' over and see what I can find. In the meantime, I suggest we round up Boots and Argus before they start hurling accusations and denials at each other. If we include 'em in the investigation straight off, they're more likely to be reasonable, and less likely to put up a ruckus later, I figure. Just remember to take everythin' they say with a salt lick, huh?"

A sudden strikes the gnome.

"Oh!"

Blinking, he turns around and seeks out Fiddler in the meandering crowd of firefighters that still fills the town square. It's only when he looks away from the crowd that he spots the kobold, shifting from foot to foot impatiently, clearly thinking. He sees the gnome looking at him, and hisses nastily.

Nearby, the two dwarven clan leaders stand together, talking, and glaring at Fiddler, muttering darkly, united in suspicion.

The rest of the town mills around in confusion, wondering what happens now. Finally Fibber asks the question so many have on their mind: "Does this mean the festival is over?"

Bufer blinks, then turns to exchange a silent glance with Emmerson, both of them apparently thinking the same thing: It will be much easier to account for everyone in town if they're all in the same place.

Off Emmerson's nod, Bufer smiles and gestures expansively to the crowd filling the square.

"Over?" he shouts incredulously. "What, you think all of Maidensbridge is gonna turn in over a little ash and soot? No! There's still a contest that needs winning! And green ale that needs quaffing! And a hard-won victory needs celebrating! Frost's Leavin' ain't over yet, boy! Why, it's barely begun! Let's everyone get back to The Cat & The Fiddle, and get this party started!"

Grinning, Bufer walks across the square, slapping backs and shaking hands of man, dwarf and gnome alike, tossing out thanks and compliments as he heads in the general direction of Fiddler, without looking directly at him. Once he's sure he's within earshot of the kobold, he stops and bends over to pick up a discarded bucket, and turns it this way and that, examining it intently.

"Listen," he says conversationally, without looking up, "It might not be safe for you to stay. Some of these folk are already thinking your kin were behind the fire, and once they get some ale into 'em ... well, it might not be pretty. The knight'll do his best to keep 'em in line, but ..."

Bufer shrugs as he pretends to find the bottom of the bucket intensely interesting.

"I understand your honor's on the line, though, so if you do stay, I wonder if you'd be willing to put aside differences enough for me to buy you a round, in appreciation for all you've done tonight. If it helps, you can tell yer folk that you picked my pocket." He smiles. "Wouldn't be the first time a kobold got the better of me, as I'm sure you've heard."

With that, Bufer drops the bucket to his side and, without looking at Fiddler, strides back across the square towards Emmerson.

* * *

By the time Hazel finds Mat in the crowd, he's already got a gang of youngsters toting buckets back to their rightful places and seems quite happy in his supervisory role. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her father giving the boy an appraising look. She quickly fakes a cough to hide her smile, waving off Mat's assistance when the fakery turns into a real cough as the lingering smoke irritates her throat.

"See ya back at the Cat," she rasps out. "Gotta few things to take care of before I catch up with the family."

Hazel had planned to look for Emmerson's head bobbing above the level of the crowd, but she hadn't counted on Bufer's penchant for grand speeches. His voice drowns out the chatter of curious folks; as the crowd lumbers into the tavern, Hazel spies her quarry heading away from the kobold musician. She sets out to intercept him, but only manages to catch him as he reaches Emmerson's side.

_At this rate, I'll never find out what he wants to tell me._

With a soft sigh, Hazel greets the pair.

"So, the fire," she looks over her shoulder at the water-soaked remains of the stables. "You figure it was deliberate? If it was a diversion, it's a poor one: The kobolds ain't taken advantage of the confusion to attack, anyway."

"I dunno," Bufer says with a sigh. "I'm fairly certain the kobolds weren't them what set it, unless it was just some random mischief. If they were gonna attack, they would have done it by now, and if they were trying to burn down the village, that fire woulda been a lot harder to put out. Plus, Fiddler was in the line, hauling buckets along with everyone else. That doesn't sound like a conspirator t'me."

"Indeed," Emmerson rumbles. "The fire was a pretty weak distraction. For the time being, we need to ascertain how and indeed who started the fire. That means looking around the store trying to find out anything useful.

"I'll buy a few rounds here and there to keep the main troublemakers in check, and hopefully once the music contest restarts, they'll let go of this situation."

Bufer nods.

"Good idea. I'll stay here and go over the debris, see if I can't find some clue in this mess. You mind lending a hand, lass? Two pairs of eyes are better than one."

"Don't mind at all, Bufer," Hazel drawls. "Come to think of it, who loosed the horses? They would have panicked, sure enough, so why ain't we looking at a stable full of burnt horseflesh?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel gingerly picks her way across the ground to what used to be the stable's main door, peering at the gutted interior without quite stepping inside just yet. She eyes the remaining support beams warily, disturbed by the occasional groan as the debris shifts and settles.

"Don't see any bodies," she says finally. "Don't hear any horses squealing."

One glance at the churned-up mud and ash is disheartening, as frenzy of footprints obscure the hoofprints that must have once been there. Hazel looks over at Bufer, shaking her head.

"This ain't gonna be easy."

"You ain't kidding," Bufer says as he begins a thorough search of the burnt-out remains of the stable. "If we find anything in this mess, it'll be a miracle."

They work in silence for a bit.

"Listen, lass," Bufer says, as he sifts through the sodden debris, "The real reason I asked you to stay behind was because I wanted to talk to you about ... that day. I ain't had a chance to explain why I did what I did. I know there's been ... idle speculation, I guess you'd say. At least I know there has been in Wit's End, and the look Tock gave us this afternoon makes me think there's been some here, too. I just ... I thought I oughta set the record straight, is all."

"N-nobody wants to talk about what really happened," Hazel growls quietly, failing to keep the angry edge from her voice. "And Tock's good at spreading rumors."

She crouches down beside Bufer, busying her hands with the search for clues and casting sidelong glances at the gnome.

"I didn't get there until after ... after everything was over. If you don't want to ... I mean, if it's ... Look, you don't owe me any explanations, Bufer, but I'd sure like to know: Did Pick break her word?"

"No, Pick didn't break her word," he says with a heavy sigh. "Not even after she doubled back and caught someone -- Emmerson, I reckon -- following us. She even let me run my mouth off for awhile, about how I thought it was stupid for we shorties to nurse a grudge just for the sake of nursing it, when we've lived in relative peace for almost 10 years."

Bufer flushes in embarassment at the memory.

"And then I started to get carried away. I don't if you've noticed, but I'm prone to speechifying whenever I'm ... well, talking. If I was her, I probably woulda gagged me, too.

"No, lass, I think Kat was right in what he said: stupid as it was, I think it would have worked. Pick would have held up her end of the bargain, at least right up until the moment when she turned me loose. Then she could have gone back to her people, and said 'Hey, this gnome trusted me.' And I could gone back to mine and said 'Hey, this kobold was trustworthy.' And then maybe the two would have looked at each other a little bit differently, you know?

"Instead, it all turned to crap, and now things are even worse off than before," he says bitterly. "Some peacemaker I turned out to be."

"Well, even if this don't turn out to be part of the kobold plot, we know they're still planning something, right? So I reckon you're likely to have a whole lot more chances to give peacemaking a whirl." She elbows him in the ribs. "They can't all go as badly as our last attempt, right?"

"They better not," Bufer chuckles ruefully, "Or else Kat's going to have a lot more headstones to count.

"I just wanted ye t'unnerstand that I didn't tell Pick to take me because I thought you weren't capable of handling yerself, lass. Or because I was trying to get under your, well, because I had, uh, ulterior motives. It's just that ..."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence as they shift through the burned remains of Kramer's stable.

"Did I ever tell ye I've got a little sister?" Bufer asks after a bit. "Ellyjojobell. She's about Reed's age. Beautiful little girl, but a bit of a hellion. They'd like each other. Smart as a whip, too. She wants to be a paladin like Emmerson when she grows up, Garl help her. Spends all of her time running around with a wooden sword, protecting Wit's End from whole armies of imaginary kobolds.

"When I look at you, I see Elly, or at least the girl I hope she grows up to be. Not quite so tall of course, but otherwise ..."

Bufer trails off again, fishing for something in his pocket. As Hazel watches, he withdraws a thin strip of cloth, which appears to have writing of some sort embroidered on one side.

"I guess this is as good a time as any to do this," Bufer says, flushing slightly as he fidgets with the band.

"Back when my pa, Master Barennackle and Lord Rubik were part of the Laughing Blades in Tarsis, way back in the day, it was customary to write your name on a strip of cloth, and wrap it around the pointy finger of the friends you trusted most, the ones you knew would always watch your back, and whose back you'd watch, without question, no matter what. It's a symbol of trust, respect, I dunno, that goes beyond normal friendship or family."

Bufer awkwardly holds the band out to her.

"Anyway, this is mine," he says bashfully. "I want you to have it."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The constable gallops off on one of the two horses brought by Tock and Stotch, leading the other behind him. As the hoofbeats fall silent off in the trees, Tock begins singing a tune in Dwarvish.

"_Emus we don't want
To hurt anyo-o-o-o-one.
But they're going to kill Kat,
Bridger's always hated us.
You can keep this mountain wizard,
But if we throw Tucker off,
Please don't kill us.
I can always cast a charm on you,
So you'd have
Plau-au-au-au-ausible
Deniability._"

Emus and Skeeter simultaneously cock their heads in confusion. The dwarf raises one bushy eyebrow and glances at Katadid before looking back at Tock.

"No, they don't!" He hisses quietly. "That's jes' paranoid!"

"_They put Katadid-did-did-did
In chains.
You know he's harmless,
You've known him all your life.
Bridger's always been wanting
My neck in a noose.
He's said so himself.
We're getting these two out of here.
With your help we can avoid hurting Tucker._"

"Putting the lad in chains ain't the same thing as killin' him," Emus whispers back, patting Skeeter to keep the dog calm. "He sorta turned himself in, anyways. Hell, Renraw exactly turned himself in! Neither one of them want you to be their savior, lad. Don't do nothin' stupid."

Remembering Renraw speaks Dwarven, Emus turns to the wizard, still whispering in Imperial Common.

"Son, you listenin' to this?"

Katadid has sat listening to the song in what appears to be some sort of trance. Finally, he snaps out of it and turns to Khenemet-Apep, who appeared to have been listening to the song with rapt interest.

"There are components needed for the kobold's ritual before this attack. I need you to tell me where we can find them. Before they do," Katadid says. "Please answer quickly. We may not have much time."

Renraw flings himself across the cart, his chains swinging heavily as he grips Tock's collar.

"_What are you doing? Apep has to be made to pay for what he's done! If I don't give testimony, he could escape justice!_" The wizard loosens his grip on Chandler, his eyes darting back and forth in contemplation. "_Of course, they by now have a fair idea of his crime ..._"

His hands let go of Chandler and he whips around violently, pointing all his fingers at Khenemet-Apep.

"Wizard!" he shouts, interrupting Kat and Apep. He then remembers to speak in Draconic. "_How do you plan to dodge the effects of the zone of truth? Tell me now! Your future depends upon it!_"

"Quiet down back there!" Tucker shouts. "No more of those heathen tongues, in song or in speak! No offense, Emus."

"Or WHAT, Gallaway?" Renraw screams back. "You now cart five prisoners, four of whom are innocent! What more abuse will you dole out to the blameless?"

He turns back to Khenemet-Apep.

"Apep! _Answer me now!_"

The Wizard of Green Mountain smiles sweetly at Renraw.

"I am going to tell them the truth, Renraw. The power of truth is something they apparently don't teach at St. Feldin's College for Slow Children."

Khenemet-Apep turns to Kat, smiling slowly.

"For the answers to your questions, you will have to wait until we are before the baron. I will tell him what he needs to know."

He turns to the others, well aware that Tucker is listening.

"It seems you all have a decision to make."

"I hope the constable gets there in time," Tock says in Imperial Common now. "I hate the bastard, but I don't want Boots and his boys to do to the rest of the Glangirns what they did to poor Argus. We were coming here anyway, but we really did need to get Bridger to stop that carnage. Argus was calling for you, by the way."

"I don't doubt it," Emus says, leaning back the side of the cart.

"It's true," Stotch nods. "Argus was screaming your name there, and doing some sort of chant everyone seemed to be taking very seriously."

* * *

Meanwhile, on a rocky island of the Ethereal Sea roughly corresponding to the Anvil Plateau, two little dwarves pop up on Emus' broad shoulders. One dwarf looks like Emus, except that he's well-groomed, wearing spectacles, and is sitting comfortably in an overstuffed chair reading a book and smoking a pipe. The other dwarf also looks similar to Emus, except that he's wearing ratty overalls and looks like he was recently sitting comfortably in a puddle of mud.

The first dwarf looks up from his book.

"Emus! Do not fall for this ruse! If Argus had really summoned you, these two rogues would have mentioned it right away. Obviously, they just want you to leave so that they can go about whatever foolish notions they've concocted."

The other dwarf takes his finger out of his nose and wipes it on his beard.

"Yep, that sure sounds reasonable to me, Emus! Don't let 'em fool ya!

"But ... what if he's telling the truth?" Ethereal-Emus asks slowly.

The first dwarf suddenly leans forward in his chair and begins talking excitedly.

"Oh, damn! Emus, they _might_ be telling the truth! You should check in with Argus before you get in even more trouble! Hurry, Emus! HURRY!"

* * *

Back on Praemal, Emus looks panicked. He and Skeeter scramble out the back of the cart.

"Tucker! I need to check in with Argus! I'll be right back!" Emus gives one last pleading shake of the head to Tock, Renraw, and Kat, and then he and Skeeter sprint back to town.

Tucker glances back as Emus and his dog tumble off the back of the wagon, but thinks nothing of it. He's not a prisoner, or even needed for questioning. In fact, it's not really clear why the dwarf had been there in the first place. With a shrug, Tucker keeps driving.

Kat stares at Apep for a long moment.

"I'll see you there then." He turns to Tock and speaks in Dwarvish. "_We should go._"

Stotch stands and draws his rapier, as his shackles drop to the floor of the cart, and plunges his rapier at the lawman driving the cart.

Tock lifts his hands, and his shackles fall as well. He begins making a complicated series of gestures, mumbling a spell softly, a strange expression on his face as he watches Stotch's blade move toward Tucker's broad back.

Renraw and Katadid's jaws drop open in shocked unison.

"NO!" Katadid screams, leaping toward Tock, attempting to foil his spell. Renraw squawks wordlessly and attempts to grab the junior wizard before he can reach the bard.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Inside The Cat & The Fiddle, Heda Littlelark squeezes her accordion and begins to sing.

"_Have you heard the Gnomish band?
With a bang
With a boom
With a bing-bang bing-bang boom!
Ah, have you heard the Gnomish band?
With a bang
With a boom
With a bing-bang bing-bang boom!_"

* * *

Tucker is just about to turn around and find out what all the noise in the back of the cart is when the rapier suddenly juts out of the shoulder of his armor a moment before being whisked back out.

It takes him, and Stotch, a moment to realize the sword tip simply scratched its way across the meat of his shoulder but failed to penetrate.

* * *

"_Human folk songs and Elvish ooh-la-la
Can't compare with a Gnomish oom-pah-pah!
I'm saying …
Have you heard the Gnomish band?
With a zetz, with a zap, with a zing ...
Dwarven polkas, they're stupid and they're rotten!
It don't mean a thing if it ain't got that
Schweigen-reigen-schone-schutzen-schmutzen sauerbraten!_"

* * *

Katadid finds himself on the floor of the cart, face down in what smells like half-rotten burlap and the unmistakable smell of something related to apples. Everyone seems to be standing around him except for Renraw, who is on a pile atop him, all elbows and knees, preventing him from getting up and forcing his face into the old burlap sacking.

* * *

"_Big finish!
I'm sayin' ...
Have you heard the Gnomish band?
With a zetz, with a zap, with a zing ...
It's the only kind of music
That we gnomes and our honeys
Love to sing!_"

* * *

Before Tucker can take action against this attack, he's momentarily overwhelmed, as though a bright light just flashed in his eyes or a loud noise just filled his ears. Although he can see and hear, he's disoriented for a moment ...


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Tock!" Stotch shouts, "I am poor at swordplay! Really abysmal! I should have mentioned it sooner!"

"I am sorry, Katadid," Renraw mutters into the other wizard's back, "For whatever it's worth. But I've begun to think our chances are better with your cousin than they are with the law. We shouldn't interfere."

Kat looks up at him frustratedly from the bottom of the cart. Renraw realizes he's pressing a little harder than he probably needs.

"My, but these shackles are uncomfortable, aren't they?"

"No!" Katadid cries out, spitting out rotten burlap. "We don't ... He can't! It'll ... STOP! Tock, don't!"

"Stop struggling!" Renraw hisses. "What's done is done! And with any luck, maybe they'll break my curse!"

"Settle down, Kat, this is for you!" Tock takes out his shortbow and, in stepping back a bit, attempts to strike the deputy from the other side.

A number of things happen at once:

Stotch pulls back his rapier and stabs forward again, missing once more. As he does so, he locks eyes with the deputy, who visibly seethes with rage.

Khenemet-Apep's vile cat leaps onto Renraw's back, pushing off that bony surface, claws out, and vanishes over the side of the cart, into the night.

The bard looses an arrow, which likewise goes wide of Tucker, who seems ready to explode.

Which makes the eruption of profanities he lets loose as he bounces off the side of the moving cart, into a muddy ditch, quite understandable.

"Damnation! Lothian smite you both!" He roars, before moving into stronger language, some of which include the sorts of prayers unlikely to be heard in St. Yessid's in the Woods.

The Wizard of Green Mountain steadies himself after kicking the deputy off the side of the cart.

"Amateurs. Now, when I appear before the baron, the deputy will tell the sheriff how I saved his life from Renraw's band of fugitives, making my version of events all the more plausible. The question, young ones, becomes who kills you first: Imperial soldiers, the kobolds or me."

He says a single word and vanishes from the wagon.

"Oh, gods," Katadid whimpers.

Stotch turns, watching where the deputy has fallen and flings a sticky, oily green bag after him and then tumbles off the back of the cart.

Renraw, still atop a struggling Katadid, suddenly becomes very aware that he, Kat, and Tock are now riding in the back of a dilapidated apple cart, accelerating out of control with no driver. He glances up at the unsteady Tock, who is looking out the back at Stotch and Tucker.

"Jump for it! We'll be right behind!" Renraw yells, then takes his knee off of Kat's chest and makes his way up off the floor of the cart and over to the edge. "Come on, Leach!"

"What? Oh, right."

Renraw looks down at the ground speeding underneath them. If he were more religious, he would say a little prayer, but as it is he steels himself and jumps.

A moment later, Katadid stands up and casually walks off the edge of the moving cart.

Tock gets ready to cast another spell but he finds himself standing on a stray apple core. His foot suddenly flies out off the back of the cart and falls headfirst on the ground with a loud crack and lays still.

Stotch turns and sees Tock laying still. He whips his head back toward Deputy Gallaway, stuck fast in the tanglefoot bag, but for how long, he cannot know. Choosing to exercise the better part of valor, he turns and runs into the dark of the Tulgey Wood. A moment later, there's a sound like the roar of a bear.

"It's enough to convince you of the power of prayer," Tucker growls, tugging at his bonds. Suddenly Renraw shuffles over and, without saying a word, starts rifling through the deputy's pockets. Despite the fact that Tucker is thrashing about quite violently, struggling with whatever it is that's grabbed him, Renraw doesn't get stuck and finds what he's looking for: the keys to his shackles.

"Renraw!" Tucker shouts, rolling around on the ground, trying to break free of the gooey mess. "Attempted escape isn't helping you. Hey! What are you doing?"

Renraw clamps the shackles tight onto Tucker, one end on his right arm, the other on his left leg. He locks them and then, waving the key once in front of Tucker's face, tosses it into the woods, in the direction opposite of Stotch's flight.

"You blamed idiot! What are you doing? You haven't done anything wrong! It was all Tock and his idiot friend -- until now!"

But Renraw isn't listening. He walks over to the prone body of Tock Chandler. Tock: the lovable scamp. Tock: the incorrigible ladies' man. Tock: one of the wizard's only friends in the world. Renraw kicks him in the head.

Flipping the body over, Renraw scoops up the remnants of the bard's shattered banjo -- Gertrude as he'd called it -- and brings them back over to Tucker, who looks likely to have a rage-induced stroke at any moment.

As Tucker struggles with the goo, it's clear that he's close to ripping himself out at any moment. As Renraw is approaching with the banjo string, he does so.

Renraw purses his lips, furrows his brow, and drops the banjo string. He talks over his shoulder to Katadid.

"Fetch the cart, Leach. We'll need it if we're all to come away from this unharmed." Renraw turns back to Tucker. "There are a few different ways this can go, Gallaway, none of which will be good for you. It's up to you to choose your humiliation."

He counts on his fingers.

"One, you get up off the ground, dust yourself off as best you can, and hobble back to Maidensbridge right now.

"Two, we can maybe save a little face for you and use Kat's shackles on you, as well, immobilizing you. You can then make up whatever lie you wish when the Constable picks you up.

"Three, you can charge me like a buffoon and I will either be forced to kill you or harm you and then escape myself, leaving you to return to Maidensbridge, now shackled and injured.

"What say you, deputy?"

"You were in the clear, you idiot! The Constable may act gruff, but the only person actually in danger of seeing a rope tonight was the wizard. Not you, and certainly not Kat! And with those idiots fled or dead, you had a chance to look the hero, before this," he says, indictating his shackles. Tucker has drawn his sword, and has been jabbing at the chain, trying to break it.

"Now what? You run off, those bears will eat you, too. Neither of you know how to handle a horse, let alone work a cart, but you threw the only key away before unlocking Kat! Now come back to town and we'll get this curse of yours lifted!"

Katadid is aware of nothing. Not Stotch's sudden egress toward the woods. Not Renraw's speech, nor Tucker's predicament. He stays standing, dusty and scratched from his face-first pratfall off the cart, just above Tock's body. He's staring at it, with no visible reaction on his face. His body is statue still, and remains so as the cart rolls to a lazy halt some ways off as the horse decides he is bored with all the madness.

"I'm afraid I don't share your faith in the justice system, deputy," Renraw sneers. "Especially now that Khenemet-Apep has vanished. That will put the focus back onto me and my alleged crimes, although I do appreciate your trust in my innocence!"

Renraw runs over to the seemingly comatose Katadid.

"Kat," he says tenderly, "Tock did not die in vain so long as you and I are free. I know some part of you is listening to me. It's very important that that part of you gets you up off your knees and follows me to the cart."

Renraw leans in closer, whispering in Katadid's ear.

"I have the key to your chains in my pocket."

Nothing.

"Southerly," Renraw whispers urgently. "And beyond, the Great Tower. I'm going there, and I'll need your keen intellect to help me sort it all out. Follow if you will."

With that, Renraw quickly rummages through Tock's clothes, grabbing what belongings he can. When he is finished, he picks up Tock's bow and arrows and bolts for the cart.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

There is a thunder of hooves in Maidensbridge and people scatter away from the panting pair of horses, heat radiating from their bodies. On the back of one, Constable Ward Bridger looks around wildly, taking in the scene quickly, doubt etched across his face.

"Emmerson! Come here!"

Emmerson races over, confusion writ large on his face.

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't see a riot here," the constable says, eyes sweeping the drinking, listening to the sounds of Argus Glangirn, singing a song that mostly seems to be about gold, which even the Farrins seem excited to sing along to, coming from inside The Cat & The Fiddle. "Tock and the other were lying, then."

He glances at Emmerson, clearly hoping to hear that he's wrong and that a huge riot has just been put down moments ago.

"No riot here, sir. We suspect we may be attacked by the kobolds any day from now, but so far tonight we've only dealt with a fire -- and a small fire at that -- but everyone helped extinguish it. Even Fiddler lent a hand."

Over at the stable, Hazel taps Bufer's shoulder.

"Heads up, Bufer. The constable just rode in." She surveys the wreckage. "At least we know where the horses are, now. But I'd sure like to find out how the constable got 'em, and where Kat and the others are."

"Constable!" Bufer stumbles to his feet and hurries out of the stable's remains into the street. "Why are you back already? What's happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm afraid I may have left Tucker in terrible danger. Is Swifty around? I might need help from Wit's End or Foxton."

"I already sent Swifty to Wit's End, shortly after you left," Bufer replies, "On suspicion that there might be a kobold attack in the offing, so I expect help may already be on its way. So far we ain't seen nothing but the fire, though."

"Tucker's in danger? Did something happen to the cart, sir?" Hazel considers the possibilities - a broken axle could have left the deputy stranded on the road, his shackled prisoners little help against a band of kobolds or a pack of wolves. She almost asks after Kat, but figures the constable's not likely to be in a charitable mood toward the boy. "Is ... I mean, are the prisoners in danger?"

The constable shakes his head, indicating that he does not know.

"Saddle up and come with me," he says, wheeling his panting horse around, back toward the Baron's Road.

Emmerson mounts the spare horse.

"Hold on, sir: Tock? He warned you?" Emmerson looks at Bufer and then at Hazel, genuinely puzzled. "I told him to keep an eye on Fiddler."

"Chandler?" Bufer goes pale beneath his coating of black soot as he looks at the horses Emmerson and the constable sit astride, then over his shoulder at the burnt-out husk of the stable. "Garl's golden balls, I should have known."

He looks up at the constable.

"You'd better bring me with you, constable, in case there's healing that needs doing," he says, holding out his hand so that Bridger can pull him up and onto the horse. "And it might not be a bad idea for Hazel to tag along, neither. We just might have need for a tracker, as I expect you've already guessed."

"Tock? You think he did this?" Hazel breathes, dumbfounded. Under her breath, she mutters, "There must be a woman involved. There always is, with Tock."

She swipes her hands on her cloak, getting the worst of the ash off her fingers, and reaches up to grasp Emmerson's left arm.

"Give a girl a lift, Em?"

"Certainly," Emmerson says, pulling her up behind him. "We could use your keen eyes."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

For reasons known only to him, Katadid Leach, covered in dirt and his face streaked with tears, tugs the lifeless ankle of Tock Chandler, dragging the bard's body toward the cart.

"I-I'm sorry," he tells Tucker, still chained and glaring. "I didn't ... I have to. .. Tock needs to live ..."

"If you say so," Tock groans, yanking his ankle back, then wincing and gripping the back of his head. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow."

The bard opens his eyes, and looks at the blood and dirt on his hands, taken from the back of his head.

"Ow." He winks at his dumbfounded cousin, then winces in pain. "Cousin, we leave. Now."

Katadid squeals with joy, blinking away tears and grinning broadly. He helps Tock to his feet and they climb into the cart.

"When you've got thousands of ladies praying for your crotch, that's a lot of divine intervention," Tock says, slapping Katadid on the shoulder, then turns back to Tucker. "Gallaway, I didn't want you dead, I just didn't want my cousin dead. We're leaving now. Maidensbridge will never be troubled by the likes of us again. Go in peace -- and utter humiliation -- and live to shackle troublemakers another day. Give your sister my best."

Tock climbs past a grinning Renraw and reaches for the reins.

"Remember who bested you, Gallaway!" Renraw thumbs his nose at the shackled deputy as they pull away.

Once Tucker has vanished in the darkness, Renraw clears his throat and climbs onto the seat beside Tock.

"Er, your things are there in the back," he says, motioning to the cart. "I was going to keep them as momentos. And, you know, to sell."

Renraw looks reluctant to continue speaking, but ultimately does so, in a kind of a mumble.

"Also, the whole head-kicking thing. Sorry about that. Had I known you weren't dead ..."

Katadid thrusts his head in between Renraw's and Tock's, his exprssion wild.

"I-I thought I heard Apep on the wind. I couldn't quite hear ..."

"Shaddup and sit down, Kat!" Tock snaps.

"Okay," Kat shrugs and sits back down on the cart. After a moment, his eyes grow large, and he stage-whispers loudly in Gnomish. "_I just figured out what spell Apep cast. It was a dimensional door. It may have been the Redhurst shunt technique, I'm not so sure. But at most he can only move less than a thousand feet from where he left, so there's a good chance he may still be nearby. I just hope he doesn't speak Gnomish if he can hear us._"

"He's got no quarrel with you nor I," Tock says, not sparing a glance for the dark Tulgey Wood on either side of the moving cart. "Not as far as I can tell. We ride."

Renraw peers back at Katadid and fishes in his pocket, then pulls out the key he lifted off of Tucker and shakes it over his shoulder.

"I'll unlock those shackles if you promise not to speak Gnomish anymore, Kat. Come on. One for one, an even exchange."

Tock looks over and glares at Renraw.

"You'll unlock him right now if you know what's good for you."

"Settle down, Chandler," Renraw grouses. "I was going to give it to him anyway.

"I can't tell you how satisfying it was binding that clod," he says as he watches Kat unlock himself eagerly. "We showed him for picking on you all those years, didn't we, Kat?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker waits in darkness for what seems like forever before the two horses return, bearing the constable, Emmerson, Bufer and Hazel.

Bridger says nothing about Tucker's predicament, but tosses his keys to his deputy.

"They took the wagon towards Foxton, then?"

"Don't plan on catching up with them," Tucker says. After unlocking himself, he tosses something small to the constable. It flickers in the torchlight as it flips through the air.

Bridger snatches the item in mid-flight, but reacts with a small wince of pain. He looks at the piece Tucker threw him. It's a four-pronged piece of steel, with each end sharpened. Caltrops.

"Damned if I know where he was keeping them, but Tock was pitching these all over the road as they went. It's too dark to effectively clear them out, and if we just ride through it'll cripple the horses."

Sitting astride the constable's horse, wedged between Bridger and the saddle's pommel, Bufer sneezes violently and rubs his watering eyes.

"Dambed allergies," he mutters. "I albays fergid how buch I habe ribing horbsback. Ugggh."

He sneezes again, twice, then wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve as he looks down at the deputy.

"Whab'd Khenebet-Abeb say before 'e disabbeared, Ducker? Anyding imbordand?"

"Nothing to me," Tucker says. "He'd run off before I could see the cart again."

Emmerson sits in silence on his horse, fuming with rage. He says a prayer under his breath to calm himself, then dismounts carefully, trying not to dislodge Hazel.

"If we're not chasing, we need to remove the caltrops from the road. I don't want anything else going wrong tonight."

"Goob ibea, lab," Bufer snuffles from the back of the constable's horse. Raising his hands and muttering in Gnomish -- and struggling to enunciate -- he summons three bobbing globes of light, one each for Emmerson, Bufer and Hazel, which circle their charges in a slow, lazy orbit.

That done, Bufer half-hops, half-falls off the horse, then moves forward to help Emmerson pick the caltrops up off the road.

He pauses in the act of bending over to pick up the first one, and casts his gaze down the road into the darkness, in the general direction of Foxton on Moss.

"Garlspeed, lads," he mutters quietly with a smile. "May the wind be at your backs."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The cart rolls down the Baron's Road as fast as Tock judges that it can do so safely.

"Just a little while longer and then we'll ditch," Tock tells his companions. "We want to keep as low a profile as possible through Foxton. An apple cart ... Hold on, what's this?"

A strange floating light grows larger as the cart nears. Whatever it is, a cloaked figure shambles along underneath. It's a man, carrying an enormous, apparently heavy, load. Renraw glances at Tock, one eyebrow raised. Tock shrugs.

As they approach, Renraw realizes the lamp is actually fixed to the top of the man's staff. And it isn't a lamp at all.

"I-isn't that?" Katadid stutters.

"Hold on. Stop the cart, Chandler!" Renraw begs an annoyed Tock. "You there, halt!"

The hooded man stops moving and drops his burden. Though the group cannot see the man's face, he appears relieved to have a moment's rest, stretching his back and stepping closer to the cart, using the staff to prop himself up.

Renraw is more than mildly annoyed.

"Where did you get that staff?"

"Well, that is," the stranger stalls, clearing his throat.

"Speak, damn you!" demands Renraw.

"Hi, Renraw," the man says, pulling down his hood, revealing a weather-worn face, long straight brown hair, and and a pair of wild eyes quite similar to, but older than, the pair staring back at him.

"Roebello!" cries a shocked Renraw.

Tock is visibly gladdened.

"Scim! Scimitar Kem, you reprobate! It's the middle of the night! What do you out here, on the way to Foxton on Moss?"

"To Goblin Falls, actually, eventually. It's a long way, though, without a horse or a ..." he says, leaving a pregnant pause as he gives the party's conveyance a wistful going-over.

"Why do have you my staff?" Renraw insists of his older brother.

"Oh, this?" Scim asks, holding out the magic staff Renraw and company found in the Fibber's Cairn. "I found this."

"In my house! You found that in my house! I left it in my house! What else are you carrying? What's in that bag?"

"That bag? That's nothing," he answers innocently.

Renraw is shaking with rage as he clambers down off the front seat of the cart. Tock grins and shakes his head.

"Did you rob my house during the festival?"

Roebello "Scimitar" Kem is, for some reason, wounded.

"Not JUST yours," he says petulantly.

"That's your house, too!" Renraw shouts, exasperated. "You grew up there! You robbed your own home!"

"That's not my house. That's never been my house."

Tock is amused for a moment until the creeping sense of urgency returns.

"Fellas, let's continue this on the move. Scim, let's load your booty up in the cart. We can take you as far as Foxton. We've got quite a tale to tell you."

"Fair enough!" Scim smiles as he throws his bag onto the back. "I wasn't really enjoying skulking about in the night like some kind of criminal, anyway!"

"You ARE a criminal!" snaps Renraw, having reclaimed the shotgun position, clutching his beloved staff in a white-knuckle grip.

Katadid peers into the sack as Scim jumps up next to him.

"Oh, I see you brought all my things, as well."

"Not JUST yours," Scim insists as the cart rolls on.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Meanwhile, back at The Cat & The Fiddle, Ragglus Chaplin is polishing off another mug of green ale, listening to the competing bards perform.

Emus Graymullet suddenly crashes into the bar, covered in leaves and mud, scratches and sap, having taken a more direct route back to town than the Baron's Road.

"Ragglus!" Emus begins in a near-panic, "Why isn't everyone up in arms? What's the emergency? Where's Argus?"

Ragglus' thick eyebrows go further up and up his forehead with each question spat at him. Eyes wide, he looks off to his left at Argus Glangirn, still picking at his banjo, and jerks his head in that direction.

Emus darts around the table and runs up to Argus. Ragglus can't hear the conversation, but he sees Argus bark a mocking laugh before berating Emus. Emus stands motionless but gets visibly redder. With a final glare at Emus, Argus starts picking at his banjo, again. Emus turns on his heel and stomps towards the exit.

He stops to point an accusatory finger at Ragglus.

"I reckon your two new buddies have probably done something right stupid. Finish your damn ale and come with me, although I expect it's probably too late."

Ragglus looks down at his ale to find it empty. Sitting right next his seat, Skeeter gives the plainative whine all dogs use at the table. Ragglus' eyes narrow as he sees the suds on the dog's muzzle.

He's about to protest Emus' accusation, but just shrugs.

"They ain't buddies of mine; I didn't know the other one except to say he looked like a right sneaky bastard. Tock told me your chief's song was gonna make them Farrins mad, tha's all I know."

Emus sneers and waves a dismissive hand before heading toward the door.

Skeeter thumps his tail on the floor once, still looking up at Ragglus.

"Fine," Ragglus says, his chair scraping against the floor as he stands. "You owe me an ale, mutt."

* * *

Katadid watches Scimitar with uncertainty, but the arrival of his spellbooks comforts him somewhat.

"Heath!" he says with a start. "The dwarven riot! We have to-"

Renraw snorts with disdain as Tock shakes his head.

"Ah, Kat," Tock says with bemusement, in the tone he always uses to explain things to his cousin, "I kind of made that up."

"Ah," Kat says, still somewhat confused. "Oh, well ... "

He sits quietly in the darkness as they trundle along. After a while, he searches in his bag and pulls out a piece of parchment and quill and begins writing. The ink spills over his hands often. He looks back to the road behind him and sighs.

The cart rattles into Foxton on Moss. If the fugitives had been expecting resistance here, they're disappointed. All they meet are dark houses and a sleepy community smelling faintly of sheep settling in for the night. The shops are closed and the only sign of life in most buildings is a bit of light peeking through the shutters.

"Tock," Katadid says, with obvious embarassment. "How well do you remember my mother?"

"I remember her hair, Kat," Tock says as he unhitches the horse from the cart. "It was always longer than Ma's or any other Chandler's. Honestly, she seemed a good sort, even if she was kin and even if she was from our town. She laughed good and hard when I'd do something to make her laugh. How come?"

"Our mother was blind," Scimitar Kem interjects as he unloads his festival swag from the back of the cart. "Oh, the tricks I used to play on her."

Renraw glares at his brother and forcefully grabs his staff and other items from him.

"Good luck on your journey," Renraw growls as he extracts the belongings of his that his brother is still trying to make off with. "If you head back to Maidensbridge, see that Rando is looked after."

"I already looked after him more than you ever did," Scim answers. "Did you even notice he wasn't there most nights?"

"Just look after him," Renraw mutters.

"I appreciate the ride, y'all," Scim says as he hefts his bag over his shoulder again. "Keep your noses clean and perhaps we'll meet again someday. Of course, dirty noses may have our paths crossing, too."

Katadid whimpers a little as Scimitar turns to walk away. He points a finger at the other's back and begins to say something.

Tock touches his cousin on the shoulder.

"What is it, Kat?"

Renraw stops his brother.

"Come back here and give him back his things!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

This time, when Emus sets out from Maidensbridge, he and Skeeter do it at a brisk walk. Between running from town after the cart and from the cart back through the woods, he and the dog are both panting a bit. He and Ragglus talk as they walk down the Baron's Road in the dark, relying on Emus' cavern-ready eyes to guide them.

"So now I'm thinkin' they've gone and done somethin' dumb," Emus continues. "Tock and Renraw never liked it here, and sure as a bear craps in the woods, I can't blame 'em. They never really got a fair shake from the constable or the town priest or nobody. I think they're planning on makin' a clean break with the town. And I can't blame 'em one bit."

* * *

Frustrated at the prospect of picking up Tock's caltrops in the dark, Emmerson does the only thing he can: He prays.

After a moment, Hazel pokes the kneeling paladin with her knee, displaying a double handful of caltrops.

"Thank you, Lord," Emmerson whispers before rising. "Constable? I think we're ready to proceed."

"No offense, Bufer, but I'm gonna need more light," Hazel says, walking over to the gnome, "And it's gonna need to last longer if I'm gonna track anything, especially if they've hightailed it into the woods. Besides, I can't do it from horseback, and riding double will slow our pursuit anyway.

"I reckon somebody ought to ride ahead and see if the cart's been ditched. If not, it should be simple enough to follow the road into Foxton. If you see the cart by the roadside, y'all can swing back to get me and I'll sweep the area for tracks.

"I'm still gonna need a light, though."

"Hmm," Bufer mutters, stroking his chin as he considers. "Why don't the constable and I push on ahead, and you two follow? I ain't heavy enough to slow him down much -- hell, the two of us together probably weigh less than the armored beanpole, here. If we find the cart, hopefully at least one of the torches will still be on her. If not, we can go on ahead to Foxton to grab one, then double back to find ye."

Bufer glances up at the wry expression on Bridger's face, and has the good grace to look sheepish as he realizes he may be overstepping his bounds just a tad.

"Er, assuming that's all to yer liking, of course, sir."

Constable Bridger is only half-listening, however.

"They won't stay in the barony," he murmurs. "They know we'd catch them. North is Rivenoak, they'd be fools to go that way. West is the mountains, and they're too soft for that. The duchy, then, but which way? Kem is a wasteland with no foolish girls for Tock to manipulate. East is only the sea and barbarian lands. And north towards Grail Keep puts them along the heliograph route ..."

He breaks off, nodding to Bufer in agreement before the sound of others approaching stops him short and he turns in the saddle to see who is coming.

Emus, Ragglus and Skeeter jog-run up to the group, nodding to all assembled.

Hazel takes advantage of their arrival to pull Bufer aside.

"_Kem might be a wasteland to Tock, but it's a safe bet Renraw's itching to go there, and we both know Kat will go anywhere if there's something to study._"

"What happened?" Emus asks Tucker, looking perplexed and a little frustrated.

Bufer sneezes twice dramatically, then winces and brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Uh," he mutters under his breath, barely audible. "_No profit in it for the bard though, lass, and make no mistake, he's the one callin' the shots now. If I were him, I'd be doing the exact opposite of what old hoppy here would expect, and frankly I think the bard's a lot smarter than me._"

Hazel nods slightly, then turns back to the group.

"I'm always late to the party," she says. "Tucker's got the details, but basically, Kat's missing, and Tock and Renraw, too, and the apple cart they was riding in. Oh, and I'm not real clear on what happened to the other fellow going to the baron."

She digs in a pocket, winces, and carefully displays the metal to the dwarf.

"But we did get some nice shiny caltrops to play with."

"If we're all here," Emmerson says, clearing his throat, "Who is watching Maidensbridge?"

"Fifty-odd dwarves who are a might disappointed that there ain't no kobold attack on the town tonight," Emus says. He looks back at Tucker, jabbing him with one thick finger. "So, what happened?"

"You and your dog both suck, that's what," Tucker snaps.

"Ah," Emus says, turning to Ragglus. "It's _my_ fault."

"After y'all are-you-en-en-oh-eff-tee, the horse thief Tock had with him tried to skewer me, and the oily wizard kicked me off the wagon. Now the whole lot of them done lit out while you were apparently rolling around in a pile of brambles."

"Wait," Emus says, holding up a hand, "Which oily wizard?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

In Foxton on Moss, Renraw and his brother argue in angry whispers in the darkened street. Katadid takes advantage of the situation to continue pressing Tock.

"Heath told me a story once," Katadid says, referring to his father. "It was the first Frost's Leaving after they had been married. I wouldn't be born for another three years. 

"There were ... bets about my mother. Most of them had her cheating on Heath within a year. Some of the townsmen even put themselves up as the ones to do it. By the time Frost's Leaving came, many people were beginning to get nervous that their money would be lost.

"Heath was away at Foxton on Moss and for the first time since being wed. Helga didn't go with him, she wouldn't miss Frost's Leaving. She drank more green ale then most of the townsmen combined and hung on men and women alike as she always did. But this time, she seemed to be paying special attentions to one man in particular. I think it was Richard Crippin, who was one of the frontrunners in the betting pool apparently. Well, my mother was well drunk and stumbling and Richard was matching her. She apparently danced on tables and flashed anyone who came by, saying that Richard would get a more intimate demonstration later.

"The day wore on. The music contest had just finished and most of the town started to filter back to their homes. My mother was leading Richard Crippin down the middle of street toward my parents' bed. She turned around and ... apparently kissed Crippin deeply for the entire town to see. Money started to exchange hands outside The Cat & The Fiddle. Crippin apparently smiled, thinking about all his winnings and the night ahead.

"And then my mother broke his nose with her forehead.

"There she was, standing over an unconscious Crippin in the mud with his blood running into her eyes and glaring at every townsperson she could see and obviously having been sober all along. She then hiked up her skirt, squated over Richard's face ... and defecated into his mouth."

"The rest of the night apparently entailed of my mother knocking down every door in town and screaming at people to mind their own business from then on out."  Kat looks blandly over at Tock, who has his fist stuffed into his mouth, to keep from laughing out loud. "Frost's Leaving, it's always eventful for our family, isn't it?"

Tock and Katadid unpack the cart in silence outside Foxton a moment. Renraw comes marching back to the group, after firing off an obscene gesture to his brother, who returns it twice-over.

"Here's the thing," Tock says, getting something sharp out of Scim's loot bag. "Folks will be lookin for us, without a doubt. So we got to be someone else. Which includes shavin' off our beautiful locks, in me and Kat's case, as they're a bit distinctive, and me shedding some of my flashier clothes. Story is as this: We're travelin members of a religious order. You two took vows of silence. Understand that? We're in town, you two don't say a gods damned word to no one. I do the talkin here; it's what I'm good at. You got somethin to tell me, tap my shoulder three times for a warnin and we'll find a spot. You two are on one horse and I'm your guide. Let's get to shaving."

Kat opens his mouth to say something and then quickly closes it, already doing his best to get into character. He folds the parchment he was writing on into his pocket and eyes the knife in Tock's hands warily before sitting down for his haircut.

"Now, Chandler," a mildly agitated Renraw begins, "I don't really think there's any need for a 'vow of silence.' I can answer for myself if someone asks something of me."

"Ooo!" Kat looks excited. "Was talking a needed part of the _geas_? Because ... right, sorry, cutting hair ..."

"Just till we get out of town, Ren," Tock says, working on Katadid. "Foxton's another small town. We stick out enough just entering at this hour. Break character and the game is over, we all swing. Nobody bothers with religious types because they don't want to be bothered with. And you can't lie any better than Emmerson can stay alive."

"I can lie just fine," Renraw mutters.

"Soon enough I'll start teaching you the ropes," Tock says, beginning to quickly shave his own scalp with his knife. "It's my favorite pasttime. Or second favorite. It's hard to decide."

The trio climbs onto their horses and ride into town, toward the Way Inn. Katadid cranes his neck, taking it all in, his eyes settling on the unusually ornate fountain in the middle of town.

Envying Middleborough’s famous glockenspiel, a previous bailiff of Foxton on Moss decided to build a spectacular fountain 30 years ago in a bid for regional fame for his town.

It did, but not in the way he foresaw: In a village on a river, a fountain is only decorative, and the bailiff’s project was seen as an impractical waste of money by Baron Abidah Midwood, the father of the present baron. The bailiff was dismissed and the fountain was never completed. Today, it is vaguely embarrassing to residents, whose simple homes face an elaborate gilded fountain that would fit more naturally into Tarsis than Foxton on Moss.

"This place is too clean," Katadid mutters.

Tock motions for Kat to shut it.

"Right, shutting up," he mumbles, almost inaudibly. "I hope they aren't still chasing us ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Let's press on," Constable Ward Bridger says, bringing an end to the recounting of the incidents of the evening. "Those on foot, assist Hazel and then follow as best you can. I need to alert the constables in Foxton and Middleborough."

He digs in his heels and Bufer squeals in fear and clutches the saddle pommel as they set out down the dark road, leaving the others standing on the Baron's Road in the midst of the Tulgey Wood.

"Either of y'all think to bring a light?" Hazel looks at Emus and Rags skeptically. "Otherwise, we might hafta rely on your eyes to find tracks, Emus. You find 'em, I'll follow 'em. Assuming there's any ta find, that is."

"Shame we put out the fire in town; we'd be able t'see from here to Foxton like it was day," Ragglus chuckles with forced humor.

Emus blinks in surprise, not having remembered how dark the woods must look to human eyes at this hour. He slips one of his two torches out of his ever-present backpack, ignoring Skeeter as the dog perks up, thinking a game of fetch is about to start. He lights the torch with his flint and tinder and passes it to Hazel.

"Thanks," Hazel says, accepting the torch with a smile. She begins scanning the road for signs of the fugitives. "Stay sharp, gents. We dunno where the Green Mountain wizard's gotten to, and no doubt he'd be able to do a lot more damage to us than Tock and Ren."

Skeeter continues to look expectantly at Hazel and Emus for a few minutes before getting distracted by smells and sounds, and he wanders off to mark as many trees as he can before his bladder fails him.

Hazel moves slowly forward, her eyes fixed on the road as she crosses from one side to the other more times than she can count. She finds little more than the expected hoofprints and wheel ruts the cart left behind, but continues her methodical search toward Foxton.

Suddenly, there's a crashing noise in the brush, followed by the sound of someone swearing and cursing. After a moment, a figure stumbles out of the brush, his threadbare robe covered spiky seedpods, his skin scratched by thorns.

He raises a pair of shackled wrists towards the surprised group.

"Hello. I've come to turn myself in for questioning," says Khenemet-Apep.

Hazel takes two quick steps back and motions Tucker forward.

"I think that's more your area of expertise than mine, Tuck," she says, eyeing the wizard nervously.

"We've got a bit of a mystery that you could maybe shed some light on. These tracks here," she gestures with the torch toward the edge of the road, "Tell me somebody popped out of the woods and maybe hopped into a cart. See how they disappear here, by the cart track?"

She crouches down for a closer look.

"Deep, too, but not too large: I'd guess a human carrying something heavy." Hazel stares at the wizard's chest, not willing to meet his eyes. "You see anybody join the fugitives?"

"No," the wizard says, as his cat detaches itself from the darkness and rubs against his ankle. "I was, perhaps, a little overly enthusiastic with my _dimension door_ in my haste to escape the murderers who set upon the good deputy -- I am pleased to see you alive, sir, and only wish I could have been able to help you myself -- and ended up in what appeared to be a vacant bear's den. Such was my haste to escape it before the bears returned, I did not see or hear anyone else on the road."

Tucker approaches the wizard, who offers his bound hands expectantly. Rather than taking the shackles, however, Tucker delivers a swift punch to the gut, driving the air from Khenemet-Apep's lungs.

"I may have fallen on my head when you kicked me off the cart, but I'm too dumb for it to have done any damage," he spits, patting the wizard down for any potentially dangerous items. Which, being a wizard, would pretty much be anything at all in his possession.

"You could have just as easily poofed yourself out of harm's way without that little feat," Tuck says, indicating to the footprint on his leather armor. "So the spell you cast on a citizen of the Empire? It pretty much pales before aiding and abetting a criminal and attempted murder of an agent of law, no matter who you went to school with."

"Emmerson, you have your sword?" The paladin nods, drawing his steel. "Press it here, against his chest. Ragglus, you want in on this, too? He moves his hands or opens his lips even slightly -- at all -- skewer him."

Ibliss hisses angrily as he melts in and out of the darkness.

"And Skeeter, eat that hell-spawned cat."

The wizard raises his eyebrow quizically, clearly wanting to speak, but weighing the odds that he'd be run through if he spoke up.

Emmerson keeps his sword-hand steady and his eyes meet the wizard's.

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Ragglus asks, drawing his sword and chuckling.

The wizard very deliberately clears his throat, his eyes moving between Tucker and Emmerson.

"No. If I intended to harm you, deputy, I would have done so from the cover of the forest instead of surrendering myself. And that kick was intended to get you off a cart full of fleeing fugitives. If you wish to execute me for attempting to save your life, I can only hope this young servant of Lothian will say a prayer over me as you bury me in some unmarked grave."

Tucker shoves the wizard, harder than might be necessary.

"Don't care, don't care, don't care." He jerks his head down the road toward Foxton. "Less talk, more walk."

Emus curls his bearded lip up in annoyed disbelief. He looks at Tucker, Emmerson, and Ragglus and then at their swords. Hoisting his greatclub to its usual resting place on his shoulder, he heads on down the path towards their destination, taking a lead position, even in front of the torch he gave Hazel.

"No wonder the others skipped town," he mumbles just loud enough to be heard.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Meanwhile, back in Foxton on Moss, Renraw shifts from one foot to the other, looking nervously at the quiet town.

"I'm still unsure about staying the night here. It seems we're too close."

"Trust me," Tock says with a wink, heading toward the Way Inn.

As the fugitives continue their discussion, they hear the unmistakable sound of someone relieving himself into against a wall of the inn. As they come around a corner, they see it's the back of a deputy, wearing the baron's colors. His partner, around the corner, holds a lantern with a bored look on his face.

The deputy with the lantern looks up as Tock approaches, expression shifting from boredom to excitement at the prospect of something to do.

"Papers, please."

"Yes, sir," Tock says, offering his identification papers papers. "My name is Tock, and this is Renraw and Katadid. Just looking for lodging for the night on our way elsewhere. Is there a good pub around here? I could use a drink!"

"No good pubs," the deputy says, inspecting everyone's papers. "Just this place. Have a good evening."

Impatient, Katadid brushes past them and on into the inn's common room before anyone can stop him. Once inside and away from the deputy's eyes, his hands begin shaking and tapping the nearest table. After a pattern is knocked out, his hands ball into fists and his vibrations settle slightly. He nods toward the bouncer lurking by the door. He opens his mouth, and closes it as he looks questioningly toward Tock when he walks in.

Ignoring the bouncer, Tock heads toward the wide counter where the innkeeper handles the merchant traffic in and out of Foxton on Moss, which produces much of the wool in the southern half of the Prustan Peninsula.

"We'd like a room, please," he smiles. "And where would we stable our horses for the night? Katadid's horse gets nervous when alone."

The pinch-faced woman behind the counter looks him up and down with distaste, clearly calculating how much he'll be able to spend in her head.

"Stables are outside. Pay the stablehand for that. Five silvers for a room."

She picks at a scab on her face with one fingernail as she holds the other hand out, palm upwards, waiting.

Tock hands her two gold pieces.

"We don't want to be bothered. Is that understood, ma'am?"

She grunts and whistles. A small boy with bright orange hair dressed all in wool appears and shows the fugitives to a well-appointed room. The room has shutters that lock on the inside and a stout lock on the door.

He hands the key to Tock, his other hand levitating upwards, palm outstretched.

"Just let me know if y'all need anything, sirs. Just ask for Dieter."

"In fact, maybe there is, Dieter," Tock smiles.

A little while later, Tock heads out of the Way Inn past the guards and tips his head pleasantly. He walks to the cart and grabs the supplies Roebello gave them and takes them back to the room, where he deposits the bundle before heading back out.

"Having an all right night, boys?" he says to the guards.

Whistling a happy tune, he heads back to the cart and takes the horses to the stable. He walks up to the stableboy and hands him the reins.

"Hey, kid ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"... amb de one-leggeb paladin says, 'Do nob desbair for be, sirrahb, for I dobst ribe sibe-sabble!'" Bufer grins and wipes the back of his hand across his runny nose as he twists around in the saddle to see the constable's reaction. "I cab'd beleib dobody's eber tolb you dad one beforb!" he exclaims. "Ah, id's fuddy 'cause id's drue ..."

"I will take it as a blessing that I could not understand the joke," the constable says, riding hard for Foxton on Moss.

The journey causes Bufer no end of alarm as he holds on to the saddle pommel for dear life, wincing against the sores that are already forming on his loins. Combined with the number his allergy to horsehair is already doing on his sinuses, it's not turning out to be his best night ever.

"Nnngh!" he says through a firmly clenched jaw. "Coulb we slow dowm a bid, sir? Id cam'd be safeb d'ribe dis fasd in d'darg!"

Bufer blinks and frowns at the unfamiliar trees that rush past him on either side of the road.

"Howb clode are be, abyway?"

The constable says nothing. Having one leg wrenched off below the knee in his youth by a vicious half-dragon has inured Ward Bridger to what he considers minor complaints.

He points with a raised chin at the lights of Foxton on Moss ahead.

"We'll stop at the watch tower by the inn first and tell them to be on the lookout."

When the duo arrives, however, they find only one deputy in the tower, the other saying there had been commotion at the inn.

With a growl, Bridger spurs the horse and soon spots one of the causes of the commotion: A partially torn rope made of bedsheets dangles from one window, above the inn's small attached stable. (A larger stable for carthorses is separate from the inn, as is a field for merchants' carts.)

"They're gone," the constable says with certainty.

"Hmm," Bufer sighs knowingly. "Thad's Tog's worg, alrighd. See how th'sheeds are double-knodded, so they don'd come apard? Thad's his sigdature, thad is ... Oh, hod fire below!"

Bufer hisses through his teeth as his squirms uncomfortably in the constable's saddle, then sneezes twice.

"Ugh," he groans miserably. "Whad dow, sir? Asg around? See if'd adyone saw which way they wend? I'm up for adythig, so log as id geds me off thid damb horse, sir."

The constable's posture suggests he's aware gnomish snot is making its way down his forearms in a sticky snail's trail.

"Yes. Down is good." He turns the horse back towards the guard tower after Bufer slides off. "I don't have much hope they saw anything, though."

Walking slightly bowlegged, and constantly wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve, Bufer questions every deputy he can find about the fugitives, furnishing a description of all three men in hopes of discovering which way they were headed.

He then wanders into the inn. Looking around to make sure the constable is out of earshot, Bufer questions the innkeeper and every member of her staff he can. Some things the constable doesn't need to know about.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the group escorting Khenemet-Apep through the Tulgey Wood makes its way along the Baron's Road, they are anything but silent:

"Emus, they were en-route to meet with those who dispense justice in a _zone of truth_," Emmerson sighs. "Their actions in there would save them or condemn them. No one wanted to execute them on the spot. They escaped because they knew their misdeeds would be uncovered."

Hazel's disbelieving snort comes out a bit louder than she intended. With an apologetic shrug, she peers back at Emmerson.

"If Kat did any 'misdeeds,' y'all know it was only cause he didn't realize they were wrong. Dangling a mystery in front of his nose is like jingling a purse in front of Renraw or putting a pretty gal within three miles of Tock. Can't help but cause trouble."

"What Katadid did or didn't do is now irrelevant," Emmerson says with conviction. "They had their chance to tell their side of the story to the bishop and baron of the land and be cleared. Instead, they chose escape. How does that benefit their situation?"

And with that, they have arrived in Foxton on Moss.

"You sure they were running off, Tucker?" Hazel asks. "Maybe you just weren't driving fast enough for them. Seems y'all ended up in the same place anyways."

"Why would they stay on the road?" Emmerson interjects, not seeing the sharp look he earns from Hazel. "If I were running away, I would have left it immediately. Perhaps send one of their number ahead with the cart to throw us off the right scent. I doubt they are here."

"Well, I'm just the tracker, what do I know?"  Hazel snaps, throwing up her hands. "Maybe they grew wings and flew over the mountain."

She stalks off to the Way Inn. Before Emmerson can open his mouth to ask why she's upset, Tucker hustles off after a uniformed deputy, dragging Khenemet-Apep by his shackles.

"Soldier! Which way to the jail?" Though he can't hear the reply, the deputy points, and sends Tucker off in the right direction.

The building was easy enough to find, with its huge wooden door and a plank that reads "gaol" nailed to it. Even without that, the smell was unmistakable: Even the Chandlers' pigpens didn't reek like this. The guard inside jumped when the door opened; despite the ruckus outside, he'd been sleeping on the job.

"This man disturbed the baron's peace," Tucker reports, indicating the now-gagged Khenemet-Apep. "He put an illegal spell on one of our citizens back in Maidensbridge, then tried his damnedest to murder an agent of law. Oh, and y'all will need some way of keeping a magician bound; this one can jump himself through space at will, so bars don't mean much."

He thinks for a moment, remembering the pile of the wizard's possessions he left lying by the side of the road.

"Plus, he's not carrying any identification papers."

Outside, Emmerson finds himself outside the Way Inn, standing with Bufer and the constable, examining the sheets-turned-ropes dangling from a window.

Ragglus leads the horses to the Way Inn's stable with a yawn. He knew Tock Chandler as well as anyone, and there was no way he would've let his party stop in Foxton unless it was to throw people off the scent.

They were gone. Ragglus was somewhat relieved, if for no other reason than it meant he could get back to the business of getting fall-down drunk again as soon as possible.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Previously, back at the Way Inn ...

A small boy with bright orange hair dressed all in wool shows the fugitives to a well-appointed room. The room has shutters that lock on the inside and a stout lock on the door. Tock barely notices the boy and quickly moves to open the window to get a good look outside.

The boy hands the room key to Katadid, his other hand levitating upwards, palm outstretched.

"Just let me know if y'all need anything, sirs. Just ask for Dieter."

"In fact, maybe there is, Dieter," Tock smiles.

Dieter looks alarmed as Tock begins chanting, but it isn't long before the boy's face is pleased and relaxed and looking up toward Tock with admiration.

"Dieter," Tock says, handing over a silver piece. "Been practicing your alchemy? How would you like to make that silver into a gold?"

Dieter nods eagerly.

"I did that spell last week," Renraw mutters to Katadid. "It was simple."

Tock ignores the others and begins his instructions.

"First, grab us a bottle of brandy. Here's the gold for that to give the lovely lady up front. Second, be quiet about it, but get us some food, enough for a few days. A backpack or two would help also, but try to be slick about it, which I just bet you are. But the biggest favor you can do for me is to get those stable hands out of there for a few minutes. Tell them whatever you need to. I'll see you soon, pal."

Dieter nods and darts out of the room, grinning wildly.

Tock spins and begins pointing and barking orders.

"Right. Renraw? Kat? Exchange clothes. We need that fresh mud. You'll be sneaking out the window. We're too high: Tie the bed sheets in knots and shimmy down on them. Can't hurt to cast an _alarm_ spell on the door, after the kid gets back. We'll be too far away to hear it but we may as well let them think we were expecting company.

"After you're out, Kem, you cast that running spell you have and run through the forest southeast. Your tracks, along with the mud, should provide a decent trail to throw any trackers from Maidensbridge off. When the spell's about halfway done, run back northeast to the road, where Kat and I will meet you. We'll ride on then. And grab the bed sheets before you go. Kat might be getting naked before we hit town.

"Katadid, leg it out that window in about 10 minutes. You'll know for sure when to go when you hear the laughter from the tavern. We'll join up at the road.

"OK, get going with the clothes-switching. I'll be right back."

And with that, Tock stamps out of the room, leaving a bewildered pair of wizards to stare at each other.

"I'm confused as to why his plans always require someone or multiple someones to remove their clothing," Renraw sighs as he begins stripping. "And I'm not too keen on being told which spells to cast and when to cast them. When did we put your cousin in charge again?"

"Well, he knows ... he's always ..." Katadid mumbles, trailing off as he begins unbuttoning his shirt.

The sound of Dieter's argument with the stable hands cuts off Renraw's next complaint. It sounds as though the boy eventually wins.

Downstairs, Tock heads out of the Way Inn past the guards and nods his head pleasantly. He walks to the cart and grabs the items left by Scimitar Kem and takes them back to the room. He takes the still-dressing Renraw aside and whispers to him.

"Listen," he murmurs, "My cousin couldn't lie if he were on fire. We'll both need to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't say _anything_ for the duration.

"Now finish up with the sheets. We gotta go _soon_ And remember to lock this door and put an alarm on it. And Kat, laughter in the tavern, then bring our things and meet me at the road."

He shuts the door behind him.

Renraw makes a face and minces around the room in what is meant to be a parody of Tock. He then joins Katadid at the window and begins turning the woolen bedsheets into a makeshift rope.

A minute later, Tock returns to the stable, now missing the stablehands. Spotting Dieter outside, he calls him over and hands him the reins.

"Hey, kid, good job with the stable hands. How would you like to have a little adventure? Walk these horses up behind those trees and wait for us. You've got our food and all that? Bring it over there. May even be some more fun later. And it'll earn you some decent gold at that."

Eager as a puppy dog, Dieter takes the reins and horses.

Exchanging pleasantries with the bored and chilly guards, Tock makes quickly for the room, having changed his mind.

"Never mind on the laughter, Kat," he says, flinging the door open. "They must share the sticks Bridger and Gallaway have inside them."

He snatches the sheet rope from the two wizards.

"Who tied these? I swear, you two ..."

Renraw, muttering darkly, casts his spell on the room's door as Tock opens the window and drops the sheets out.

The room is only on the second floor, but a high cellar and a brambly hedge line make for a bit of a drop. Katadid is the first out, examining the re-tied knots closely before pushing off the wall and hitting the soft ground. Tock comes next with the group's belongings and moves quickly, beckoning Renraw to do so as well. Renraw throws his leg over the windowsill and begins climbing, but stops above the hedges and looks down at Tock only a few feet away.

"What is that on your boot?" he demands in a loud whisper.

"What?" Tock asks, taking a quick look at his feet. "It's hay from the stable, why?"

"Oh, hay," Renraw repeats, frozen on the windowsill. "Nothing, no reason."

"Come down now," Tock pleads, visibly restraining himself from screaming at Renraw.

"I'll just need a moment," Renraw hisses, shutting his eyes tight.

An infuriated Tock makes a short jump into the air and lays his hands on Renraw's shoulders, yanking him down into the hedges and right on top of him. The bed sheets tear off in Renraw's hands. The pair roll a bit, a tangle of limbs and bed sheets and curse words, before both immediately stand and straighten their clothes. Renraw starts to dust himself off before Tock slaps his hands away, leaving the mud on as a disguise. Conveniently, they both note, the scuffle has knocked the offending hay off Tock's boots and out of sight.

"Now," Tock says impatiently, "Into the woods. Idiot."

"Yes," Renraw says slowly, "About that."

"Go, gods damn you! Cast the spell and go!" Tock waves his arms with urgency. "We need you to throw them off! We'll meet you on the road, I swear!"

"It's not that," Renraw continues, "It's the woods. There are grizzlies around here. Grizzlies that will do ... _things_ ... to a person."

Tock opens his mouth in surprise, shutting it when he realizes he's told Renraw some of those stories himself.

"Oh, yes. Well, you cast that spell and you should be able to run clear of any of that stuff. Boy, I know what you mean, though. Listen, I'm sorry about that. But we need you now, man. Run fast and you probably won't get raped by a bull grizzly. Probably," he says, relishing the way Renraw's face drains of color.

But the wizard stands, casts his spell and, with a last furious glare at the bard, races off into the Tulgey Wood.

"Finally, now, Katadid -- Katadid?" Tock whips his head back and forth, but Katadid is gone. "Weirdbird! Katadid Leach!"

Just as panic threatens to overtake him, Tock thinks he can hear voices in the distance. He bolts in their direction and finds himself running to the secluded knot of trees where he asked Dieter to wait. The voices grow louder.

"I see. Very good," Katadid says, nodding as he scrutinizes the horses' shoes. "And were you able to procure any satchels?"

"Kat, w-what are you ... ?" Tock starts.

"Ah, there you are," Katadid says without looking up. "It's time to mount up and ride now. We've undoubtedly aroused suspicion in the local authorities."

Tock suppresses the desire to scream and flings himself onto the saddle of one horse. Katadid, more calmly but even less gracefully, does the same a moment later. They look down and see an expectant Dieter looking up at them.

"We'll use him at least until the charm wears out," Kat says, signaling with a rigid finger for Dieter to jump on Tock's mount. "He rides with you, along with our things. When Kem rejoins, our weight will be more evenly distributed. Hi-ya, Applesauce."

"You know that horse's name?" Tock asks, when he can finally choke out another question.

Katadid rides motionless and upright, but Applesauce seems to sashay past as Tock and Dieter look on. Kat simply smiles before tapping the top of the saddle three times.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The fugitives ride quickly toward Middleborough in the dark.

Tock takes swigs from the bottle of apple brandy and asks Dieter about himself, his job, his family and other pleasantries. Katadid mentions the House of the Transformed Toad and Renraw seems lost in thought after that.

After less than an hour, the group sees the lights of Middleborough appear before them through the trees. Atfter a moment, Tock leads his horse off to the side of the road, jumps off and begins to remove his shirt.

"Right," he says, taking a deep pull of the brandy and spitting it to the ground, "I'm going to play a drunk from Foxton and get my way inside. I'll have conveniently 'lost' my papers. I'll grab another horse, get some forged papers and maybe some stuff for a disguise and then walk out the other side a new man. Dieter? Help these two lead their horses through the forest. I'll meet you there."

"A-am I supposed to get naked now?" Kat asks nervously.

"No, Weird Bird," Tock laughs, "I was messing with you. That'll be me. Let's move."

Dieter's head bobs so much, it seems like it must be ready to snap off entirely. He begins leading the wizards toward the forest.

Or, at least, he attempts to. Tock looks up and meets Renraw's scowl.

"Come on, we have to go. Hurry it up."

"Chandler, we're all exhausted. Furthermore, it's urgent we depart the barony at once. A more straightforward approach might do us better right at the moment."

"Oh?" Tock asks, a frustrated edge creeping into his voice.

"Look, there's plenty of time for fun with disguises and play-acting when we aren't in immediate danger. You know I've a fondness for that sort of thing as well. But now we need to get in, get what we need, and get out. And the quickest way to do that is with -- and it pains me to say it -- a straightforward and honest approach."

"So much sense from one with so little!" Tock snorts. "Weird Bird, you feel the same way?"

"I-it isn't to say that," Katadid says, looking shocked at being consulted at all.

"Wonderful, just wonderful," Tock growls.

Dieter violently shakes his head in disagreement and points a finger at Renraw.

"Mr. Chandler's not steered us wrong yet! Y'all will see! He'll get us all out of this here pickle, whatever it is!"

Tock sighs and drops a hand on the boy's thin shoulder.

"No, Dieter, it's OK. They're right."

Tock digs through their bags, then hands Dieter a sack of coins.

"All right, Dieter, I'm trusting you to do something very important. Get to the stables, apologize to the owner for rousing him so early, and buy a horse. There should be enough for saddlebags too. If they ask, just tell them it's for a very important client at the Way Inn who needed to ride at dawn and he insisted that Middleborough horses are the best. Come back out the way you came and once you're away from the guards walk around the town and meet us on the other side. Don't take too long now, pal. If you get all that done in 40 or 50 minutes, I'll have another sack of gold for you, more if under half an hour. Now go on."

"Hold, boy!" Renraw blurts out as Dieter turns to head into town. He pulls out a pen and paper and begins writing. "Just give me five minutes."

Everyone stands in annoyed silence as Renraw writes his note in the dim light coming from the town. Finally, he hands Dieter a carefully folded note with a name, "Telgen," written on the outside.

"Boy, please deliver this to the proprietor of the House of the Transformed Toad before you visit the stable. I understand it's early. Just stick it under his door if necessary."

"It's OK," Tock shrugs, "Just hurry!"

The bard watches the boy race off, thining.

"Here's hoping the promise of gold will keep him going if that charm wears off."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Maidensbridge, the gnomes' celebration has only begun to die down, after Heda Littlelark has won the festival prize once more. There was much drinking and revelry, and endless drunken telling of complicated jokes that Vonmora found herself losing interest in halfway through.

She had noticed, while distracted, that Fiddler seemed to be in furious temper at losing to the gnome once more and had packed up his goods and met another kobold at the edge of town, where they rode together on the back of a single huge weasel, riding off towards Green Mountain and muttering darkly.

She sipped her green beer, listening with half an ear to a clanmate complaining that dwarves never won the contest, and relaxed.

* * *

Soon enough, Dieter returns to the wood's edge with a new pitch-black horse.

"His name is Anvil," he says.

"Dieter, You're a better man that most in these parts. Here's something for your trouble." Tock presses gold coins into the boy's palm. "Now, we have to go. Walk on back to Foxton. We'll be heading into the woods now and going to the far north. If you're ever in Grail Keep lad, look us up! We'll be glad to see you."

Tock bows with a flourish and leads the horse into the depths of the forest.

"Chandler," Renraw coughs, "I know I used the word 'straightforward,' but did that have to include paying the boy so much? Or at all? He's only a child. What could he have done?"

"He can trust us," Tock says, smiling. "Now keep yourselves mum. We have a ways to go yet."

They creep into the woods, long shadows of black trees dancing in the spectral flames of Renraw's torch-staff. The wizard begins to whimper softly, looking over his shoulder, trying to catch sight of the huge and awful thing he's sure is following them.

_Did that bastard Khenemet-Apep do this?_ Renraw wonders. _If I didn't leave St. Feldin's before finishing my education ... I'm sure I remember Piggy Gebauer mentioned a bear-attracting curse ..._

The horses don't seem much happier about being in the dark woods than he does, and several times they stumble over unseen obstacles. Should one, or more, break a leg, it would be a perfect time for the bear (or bears) to attack.

And, of course, there's the matter of Hangman's Pass ahead. It's safe, of course: Merchants travel up and down the steep path on a regular basis. But few do so at midnight and there are too many stories of spectral bandits stringing up the living from the hanging tree for him to ignore.

Katadid clears his throat.

"Are we sure we're going the right direction?"

Everyone else pauses. The answer, of course, is no.

"Son of a ..." Tock glares at Renraw in the darkness. "Right. Get what we need and get out. _That_ worked well."

"Don't lay this on me!" Renraw screams, his voice shrill with terror. "I wanted to go around the outskirts of the town, not into the thick of the woods! We're lost because of your flair for the dramatic!"

Tock opens his mouth to reply and Renraw claps a hand across his mouth, holding up a finger and listening.

Straining to hear the sounds of would-be rapist bears approaching, Renraw realizes he can hear the sound of the Moss River in the distance to their left. Closing his eyes, he can see the map of the barony is his mind, as Scimitar once unrolled it on a table at Kem House, long ago.

_If the river is on the left ..._

Renraw opens his eyes and takes his hand from Tock's mouth.

"I know where we are. Where do we want to go?"

Tock blinks and then slowly smiles.

"Back to the road, on the other side of that damned town if you please."

Renraw smiles a smug, self-satisfied smile, slapping Katadid on the back so hard, he almost sends the younger wizard tumbling headlong into a bush.

"Never fear, young Katadid!" Renraw says as he marches past his friends in the direction of the pass. "As long as I'm upright, my staff will light the way to our freedom."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back in Foxton on Moss, Hazel stands atop the hill in Midwood Green, surveying the darkened town. The Festival of Frost's Leaving was apparently not as raucous here, or ended early, as most of the town is dark and quiet. Looking southwest through a fringe of trees and across the Moss River, the Way Inn complex is one of the few  areas still lit. Below her on the hill, Emus and his dog are snuffling around the base of the hill, where Skeeter is beside himself over the smells left behind by all the currently absent sheep.

She tilts her head toward the black sky, her eyes tracing the familiar outlines among the stars: the Wolf Pack, the Climbing Bear, the Horse and the Rider. South of the Archer's heel, the Traveler climbs into the sky with walking staff and bulging pack. Hazel grew up listening to bedtime stories about the Traveler journeying to the moons; he could never walk fast enough or far enough to catch either of them, but every night he set his feet upon the road.

With a furrowed brow and halting speech, Hazel whispers in Draconic.

_Good journey, Kat. Goddess speed steps of yours and home safely bring you._

She drops a hand into her pocket, her fingers clutching a crumpled sheet of parchment.

Back in the Way Inn, the hatchet-faced woman -- the innkeeper's wife -- has all but bitten Emmerson's head off, taking her frustrations out on him, and she seems to have had a lot of them. Bufer, recognizing the better part of valor was called for here, had done an about-face, speaking to other members of the staff instead, hearing, after some inquiries, that the tavern boy Dieter had been acting strangely and went missing for much of the night after the fugitives had arrived. Ragglus has gotten into a very loud game of darts, seemingly unconcerned by the entire notion of pursuing their erstwhile friends, although the familiar edge of anger and frustration is visible to the gnome's sharp eyes.

Outside, at the watch tower, Tucker watches with satisfaction as Khenemet-Apep is shackled to the wall, his hands held far enough apart to impede his ability to cast spells. But two of the Foxton deputies are arguing over whether or not it's legal to keep him gagged when Constable Ward Bridger slams the tower door open, followed by an exhausted deputy Tucker doesn't recognize.

The red-faced deputy catches his breath, stretching out -- he seems to have ridden hard and fast from somewhere.

"The wizard ... alerted the baron!"

Bridger's eyes slide to the wizard bound to the wall.

"He did?"

"... with magic!" The Middleborough deputy takes a proferred mug of water and gulps it down. "He raised the alarm with magic. Soldiers are spreading out from Middleborough and heading to the pass. The sheriff wants all available deputies to join the search and to bring trackers. The baron says he will hold court at noon, and wants all involved present for imperial justice."

The constable points at Khenemet-Apep.

"Unshackle that man, and put him on a horse, hands bound behind him and bring him to Middleborough. Tucker, round up the tracker and find that gnome who overheard what happened in the graveyard." He turns to the Foxton deputies. "Get your fat oaf of a constable up and requisition some horses: We're the baron's men, and we ride for Middleborough!"

The innkeeper's wife is just winding down her diatribe against poor Emmerson when Bufer walks up and grabs the young paladin's elbow, dragging him away in mid-stammered apology.

"We really should go," Bufer says to Emmerson as he leads him away. He glances up at the hatchet-faced woman and smiles. "Thank you for yer time, madam. You've been most helpful.

"They were here, all right," Bufer says, still walking slightly bowlegged as he leads Emmerson towards the darts game to collect Ragglus. "But they're long gone now, and it sounds like they weren't considerate enough to leave us a trail of breadcrumbs, if you catch my meaning. Unless Hazel or Emus's pup can pick up their trail, I think we're sunk."

The last word comes out almost like a yodel as he yawns widely, then groans and rubs his eyes.

"Hell of a day, huh, beanpole?" he says, smiling wryly up at the paladin. "What say we find the others and see about heading home?"

"Others yes, home no," Tucker says, as the trio exits the inn. "It seems we're lunching with the baron."

"What's that?" Bufer asks, suddenly keenly aware of his empty and rumbling stomach. "Bit of a reward for good efforts?"

"Uh, I'll fill you in once we find Hazel. Any idea where she is?"

"I thought she was safe with you all. After everything that's happened tonight, I'd think you'd have more sense! Y'all better hope Emus's watching out for her, else I'm gonna have to find myself a box and start kicking some sense into y'all!"

"She ain't a squealing runt," Ragglus growls. "If she wanted company, she would have asked."

"Right as usual, Rags," Bufer says, sighing heavily. "Sorry. It's been a long day, I'm hungry and tired, my nose won't stop running and I got sores in places ain't meant to have sores. I've been barking orders at the lot of y'all all damn day, and y'all have been right charitable in not telling me to go soak my head in the river. Lead the way, Tucker."

On Midwood Green, Hazel smiles at Skeeter's antics and walks down the hill.

"Never had a dog of my own," she says to Emus as she approaches. "My Dad had an old hound, though. Used to pillow my head on her belly by the fire and listen to Mama's stories. He never got another after the old girl died. I musta been four, maybe five.

"He a good tracker? Seems to pick up scents easy enough. Reckon the baron'll ask you to run down Kat and the others?" She pauses and continues more quietly. "How much trouble you think they're in?"

"Enough," Emus says simply with a frown. He reaches down to thump Skeeter's side affectionately. The dog pauses long enough to look round and smile at him with his tongue hanging out, then goes right back to his in-depth investigation of the unfamiliar odor of sheep, his tail wagging furiously behind him. "Skeeter could probably track 'em, given something to pick up their scent with, but getting him to do it on command is a stone of a different color. Honestly, even 'sit' and 'stay' are a bit of a challenge for him, some days."

Squinting down the hill, he grunts to himself.

"Don't look now, but I think your nursemaid is coming for you."

"See, she's right there," Tucker grumbles, as his group approaches, waving an arm at Hazel impatiently. "Now you can stop worrying about nothing."

"I was just --" Bufer trails off in frustration and assumes a bright and cheery demeanor. "Well, it seems like we're not likely to see a bed before we see the sunrise."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Despite Renraw's boasts, the fugitives soon enough find themselves surrounded by the blackest of the Tulgey Wood, trying to lead increasingly reluctant horses through hills and gullies. They can be slowly pulled around the obstructions in the darkness, but clearly want no part of traveling through the thick of the Tulgey Wood in the middle of the night.

The rushing sound of the Moss River is now audible to all the fugitives and is perhaps 200 yards away.

"Fellows," Renraw says, terror evident in his voice, "I'm sure I saw something just now. I'm convinced we're being followed. Look in that direction there," he says, pointing toward a patch of blackness that looks identical to every bit of blackness around it.

"What should we do? Can we shoot a flare in that direction?"

Tock's grip on his bow tightens.

"Did I mention I hate the woods yet?" Tock listens to the babbling of the river for a moment. "Kat, shoot that flare and see if Kem is being a baby. If something is there, maybe we can blind it for a bit. Stay behind the horses and get ready to bolt toward the river."

Tock approaches Renraw, muttering softly.

"Get ready to give up a horse as a snack if we need to. Just make sure we save the ones with our stuff."

Tock readies his bow and positions himself between the horses and the sound of the river.

The _flare_ spell creates a bright flash of light, revealing only tangled logs and still-barren bushes and small trees.

But the space it briefly illuminates would have been big enough for a wolf as big as Renraw thought he saw, and he could swear he sees the tree limbs swaying during the flash of light, as if whatever had stood there had leapt out of the way before the spell could be cast, although that would require it understanding Imperial Common.

As the flare fades away, Tock and Kat slowly turn their heads toward Renraw. Kat looks mildly embarrassed, Renraw's overactive imagination having been exposed for all to see.

"Well, that was smart idea," Tock snaps. "That is, if the idea was to give the baron a great idea where to find us. If we're done jumping at shadows, let's get these horses to the river where they won't give us any more attitude."

Eventually, the first light of false dawn begins to creep through the trees, and there's a lull in the sounds of the night creatures as they begin to bed down in their dens in advance of the day creatures awaking to replace them.

The sound of the river seems far louder than before in the silence. If the fugitives strain their eyes, they can see -- or think they can see -- the Baron's Road off to the left a few hundred yards away.

"C'mon, guys, let's go," Tock says. "River's that way. We can maybe get ourselves on a boat, or, barring that, we'll just follow it to Goblin Falls. There's a wonderful tavern there where I think we'll be safe. We can contact Scim's pal, too."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The riders -- minus Ragglus Chaplin, who quietly slipped away from the others back in Foxton on Moss -- reach Middleborough in the gray light of the false dawn and find that the baron's soldiers and staff are all awake and on the move, and have been for some time. Whatever Khenemet-Apep told the baron, it got his attention: Armed guards are on the cobblestone streets and pairs of soldiers are moving up and down each of them, peeking into pigpens, sticking spears into the hay of stables. Commoners are standing in the street, bleary-eyed, as soldiers search their homes for the fugitives.

The constable reins up at the Shady Dragon Inn and, making eye contact with Deputy Gallaway, points at the door.

"Take them inside. Get them a room if need be; the gnome will need to be fresh when the baron summons him to court. I'm going to speak with the sheriff and see where we're needed."

With that, he gives the reins a jerk and gallops off towards the sheriff's station, sending commoners scrambling to get out of his way.

The group tumbles off their horses, with Bufer grumbling something about being called "the gnome," but no one can understand him, and after the night they've had, they don't have the energy anyway.

Half an hour later, Emmerson steps out into the street, intent on his belated prayers, when the realization of where he is hits him like a thunderbolt, his eyes falling on St. Yessid's in the Woods, where he first took his vows when he joined Order of St. Chausle as a paladin.

Even at this early hour, the doors are open and lower-ranking members of the clergy are preparing for the day, sweeping the front step, lighting candles and setting out clean linens on the altars.

Somewhere inside, the bishop is waiting.

Upstairs, Tucker leans out the window of a rented room, staring at the streets of Middleborough. He's made few journeys to the biggest town in Midwood, and none of them have turned out well. He's not happy to be here.

Bufer is behind a screen in the corner of the room, splashing about in the basin of water they had sent up.

"I don't know about gnomes," the deputy says, "But when you're little, human mothers are always after you to wear clean underclothes, in case you're run over by a horsecart. Never understood that, really. If I was about to be run over by a horsecart, I don't think my underclothes would stay clean for long. Anyway, point is, you'd better clean yourself up real well: If the wizard is as good a friend of the baron as he claims, this meeting might not end very well for anyone who's not him."

"Hmm, I'd considered that, yeah," Bufer says, suppressing a yawn as he dries himself off, then wraps the towel around him. "Frankly I'm not expectin' my word to be worth much, even inside the _zone of truth_. I'll be right surprised if Khenemet-Apep don't wind up walkin' outta here with an apology and a handshake from the baron for his trouble. I think the best we can hope to do is listen sharp and learn as much about this 'Tiamat faction' as we can."

The gnome comes out from behind the screen, water still dripping from the ends of his hair, which stick up at random angles from the sides of his head. He pads over to the chair over which his undertunic and sackcloth robe have been laid, and clucks to himself as he picks them up to examine them.

"Wish I'd had my pack on me when we left," he says, poking his finger through a moth-eaten hole in the side of his robe. "Would have had my fancy dress with me, then. Appearing before the baron and his holiness like this ain't gonna help matters."

He heaves a sigh and turns to Tucker.

"Oh well, can't be helped. Listen, I'm gonna pray on things fer a bit, then try an' snatch a couple winks before we head off to court. Remind me later to take the lot of you down to my brothers' place, out by the mill, see if we can't scare ourselves up a decent meal before we all head home."

After Tucker lets himself out, Bufer drops his towel, pulls on his undertunic and breeches, then sits cross-legged on the floor next to the bed, gnome-style. The soft light of false dawn filters through the slats of the shutters on the window, as he closes his eyes and prays.

_Are you there, Garl? It's me, Bejik.

Please, gimme the strength to get through today! It's going to be a long one, I figure, even longer than yesterday, if that's possible. I know I ain't never been one afraid to talk -- always shooting my mouth off where angels fear to speak, as my pa used to say -- but testifying before the Baron against one of his oldest friends, and a right powerful wizard besides, is enough to set even my guts to quivering, Garl, and a little divine courage wouldn't go amiss right about now. I ain't got no doubts about what gots to be done, Garl, but for maybe the first time in my life, I'm beginning to worry about the consequences. Even if he walks -- and I'm expectin' he will -- I suspect Apep'll be a might peeved at me and mine. And this 'Tiamat faction' ain't likely to be none too crazy about us, neither.

I ain't worried 'bout me, Garl -- I'll do as thou shalt have, same as I always done -- but please, if wrath's to be had for this, let it spare my friends. They're just humans, most of 'em, but they're good folk nonetheless. Even Chandler and Kem got their hearts in the right place, most of the time -- they're tricksters, Garl, you know how it goes -- and Katadid's one of the kindest souls I ever did meet, even if his head ain't screwed on right. Keep an eye out for them, would you? And Hazel, and Master Barennackle and the beanpole. An' Elly, of course.

Help Lemon to see the sense in what me and Emmerson are plannin' to do, even if he don't like it none. If the wind's blowing the way I think it be, then the best thing we can do is to bring all the Bridgers together under one roof before the storm hits. The town's been divided for much too long, even if they ain't seen it. Big'un or smallfolk, Farrin or Glangirn ... it ain't none of it gonna matter if the kobolds decide to make war on Maidensbridge. And they got to be made to see it, before their lives depend on it, or it might be too late.

Help me to keep the kid on the straight and narrow, no matter what Lemon's plans for him are. Beanpole's got a stout heart, and a good head. If men like him were running the church instead of Lemon and that rat-bastard Rehoboth Ylestos, I think I could almost make my peace with it. Almost.

Please see if you can talk Bahamut inta cutting the constable a break today. It's going to be a rough one for him, too. Hoppy's kind of an arse at times, and he ain't got no sense of humor to speak of, but he means well. And Emmerson and Tucker seem to think he's all right, which is good enough fer me.

And finally -- just like always -- help me find the courage and the wisdom to mend the rift between us and the kobolds, at least the ones worth mending with. This 'Tiamat faction' might wish harm on Maidensbridge ... but maybe that means there's an opposing faction that don't? Maybe ... maybe there's an opportunity there? If only I knew how to find out. The enemy of my enemy's my friend, after all, even if he is a dirty, tricksy gnome ...

Hmm. I'll have to ponder on that, huh?

Anyway, thanks, Garl. I know I'm asking for a lot, so I appreciate any help you see fit to send our way. I promise to do the best I can with whatever the day brings, right and true. I remain your humble servant, sir, always and forever, right up until the day you decide to call me home.

...

Oh, yeah, and if it ain't too much trouble, no more horses today, huh? Hot fire below, and my poor tuchas just can't take anymore ..._


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The soldier put his hand up as Tock, Renraw and Kat approached.

"Halt!"

The trio refused to halt, and Tock grinned in what he hoped was an ingratiating way.

"It's hard to stop a boat; just a moment ..."

The small stolen rowboat knocked up against the grill that cut the Moss River in two, preventing boats from going off the side and down the rapids to Goblin Pond, far below.

Renraw tugged on the bard's sleeve, his eyes pointing meaningfully to their left.

"Soldiers, lots of soldiers. And they're looking this way," he hissed.

Tock shrugged off the nervous wizard's fingers, turning his attention to the soldier standing above them. He held out his hand for help, and the other man responded automatically, grabbing Tock's wrist without thinking and hauling him up onto the wet wooden walkway.

"I don't see any goods for you to transfer to a cart," the soldier began, before Tock unceremoniously shoved him into the Moss River, upstream of the barricade.

"Quick! Haul the boat up!"

Renraw and Kat clambered out of the boat while Tock bashed at the soldier's fingers with an oar whenever he tried to climb into the rowboat.

"Swim for shore, you! Go!"

"The soliders are coming, Tock!"

"Shut up and pull the boat up!"

The soldiers were at the side of the walkway, which was only wide enough for one at a time. Unfortunately, that one had a longspear, and was advancing slowly on the trio as his fellow flailed towards shore, other soldiers holding out the butt of spears for him to grab onto.

"Oy! What do you think you're doing?" The soldier gave a warning thrust of his spear, meeting empty air.

"Leaving!" Tock grinned, as the boat dropped on the far side of the barricade, and he piled in after the wizards. "Shove off!"

"You know," Kat said, as the boat leapt away from the barricade, caught in an ever-faster-flowing current and the sound of roaring water grew ever-louder, "I'm not sure this is a good idea ..."

And then they were in the rapids, leaving open-mouthed soldiers watching from atop the barricade.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer tumbles out of his rented bed at the Shady Dragon Inn, landing on the floor with a thud. Still half-dreaming, he looks around, wild-eyed, for Pick and Khenemet-Apep and the magical mirror they had come through for him. The thump-thump-thump sound of his dream turns out to be real, though: Someone's at the door.

Muttering to himself about kobolds and Fibber's Cairn, Bufer opens the door. On the other side of the doorway, Emus and Hazel stare at him blankly.

"Uh, good morning to you, too," Emus says with a frown. "Tucker sent us to come get you. It's just about time for us to head to the castle."

"Oh," Bufer says, reaching up to rub his eyes in an attempt to dislodge the cobwebs. He suddenly feels guilty for what little sleep he managed to get. Judging from the looks of his friends, they weren't afforded the same luxury. "OK, let's go."

"Throw on a robe on first, maybe?" Hazel suggests. "I dunno how your folk do things, but we tend to frown on witnesses testifying in their underwear."

"Underwear?" Emus asks with a cocked eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Ah, right," Bufer mutters, glancing over his shoulder and trying to locate robe and boots. "Just give me a second."

Hazel grimaces as she watches Bufer wander away from the door and begin to pull his sackcloth robe over his head.

"I wonder if they'll lemme open with a joke?" Bufer throws back his hood, then settles his holy symbol around his neck. "All right, then. Let's take this show on the road!"

The constable meets everyone outside the Shady Dragon Inn. He's gotten a change of clothes from somewhere, and his face has been washed. But he still has a drawn look that seems to be a combination of stress and lack of sleep. He looks over the group with a critical eye.

"Is this everyone? We're wanted at Midwood Hall."

He leads them through the streets of Middleborough, which is bustling at this time of day. The chimes of the glockenspiel at the church echo across the cobblestones as the clockwork figures act out scenes from life in the barony.

Bridger's back is straight, his muscles taut as though he is preparing for combat. As the group enters the Hartwood and leaves the town behind, he stops on the road, out of earshot of the guards at the curtain wall surrounding Midwood Hall.

"Resist the temptation to speak out of turn. The baron is a good man for what he is, but he is noble-born, and those speaking out of place in the presence of Imperial officials or nobility are beyond what most of that sort will tolerate. Speak plainly in response to his questions."

His eyes move to each adventurer's in turn.

"The sheriff will argue for prosecution to the letter of the law. He's a hard one, and a bad one to cross." Ward's guarded expression suggests that he has felt the lash of the sheriff's tongue in the past. "The baron has supplies of mercy in him and, I suspect, may have been lenient on Katadid if he had appeared before him."

He begins walking up the road toward the main gate.

"Khenemet-Apep has been brought ahead of us, in chains, by cart, but he is being held in private and will not be questioned until we are present and the bishop has brought Lothian's light to the proceedings."

He's silent a moment.

"There are things going on here that are beyond the understanding of folks like us, so do not be surprised if things do not go the way we expect." He glances back at Tucker. "That goes for all of us."

Bufer sighs as he follows the constable, and looks up at Hazel beside him.

"Sounds like things are going to go exactly how I expected 'em," he mutters. 

Hazel looks down at her cloak, frowning, and attempts to casually brush road dust and mud spatter from the fabric as she walks.

"Do you even know how to resist the temptation to speak?" she whispers back at him with a grin. "Because I'm pretty sure I've never seen you do it."

The guards nod at the constable as he leads the group through the curtain wall. For the first time, everyone can see the ivy-covered halls of Midwood Hall from here.

Unlike the hyper-militant dwarf fortress of Glangirn or the baroque, even whimsical gnome hall of Wit's End, the human castle of Midwood Hall splits the difference between practicality and beauty, achieving neither in the eyes of the non-humans in the group. Early barons created a small but serious little fortress in the first days of the barony, when Gax still lived in her mountain and kobolds and goblins regularly assaulted Middleborough and laid siege to the Hartwood.

But over time, as the barons' power grew, and the threat receded from the Tulgey Wood, the need for vigilance here at Midwood Hall receded as well, and Midwood Farm was built inside its walls and then luxuries like a brewery and beehives and a dovecote were constructed. Newest of these buildings is a wooden house with a domed roof, from which the end of a telescope extends.

Likewise, in the hall itself, potted plants grow in some arrow slits, while windchimes tinkle in others. One story for the most part, with only a central keep portion rising to a second story, the hall has started to take on the appearance of the palaces in the safer lands like Ren Tehoth or Palastan.

A pair of topiary lions guard the great wooden doors of the hall, and Skeeter whines and presses himself against his master as they pass between them.

"Let the dog come with us," Constable Bridger says to one of the two guards inside the doors, as they open their mouth to object. They shrug and one points to an open door on one side of the room. The group pads its way across a threadbare rug, observed by portraits of previous barons.

A guard closes the door behind them as the group waits inside a room that apparently exists for just such a purpose: Wooden benches line the walls, and the stone floor here is shiny and smooth, worn smooth by hundreds of years of petitioners pacing here, waiting on the baron's justice. Tapestries on the wall depict life in the Tulgey Wood.

Emus sits on a bench and scratches Skeeter behind the ear as he waits for things to happen.

Hazel studies the tapestries, smiling at the familiar scenes and peering more closely at the less familiar. Feast days in Maidensbridge, sheep shearing on the Foxton green, marriages on the Day of Joining: all equal on the baron's walls. She spies woodcutters at work in a lower corner of a larger woodsy scene, and marvels at the weavers' skill in capturing the play of light on leaf and axe. The threads fall short of the real beauty of the forest, of course, but they also leave out the summer heat, the sweat trickling down the neck, the insects eager to nip at exposed skin.

Hazel lightly scratches her neck, remaining politely silent, but wishing the baron held his audiences out under the lovely old trees dotting the grounds.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Eventually, the group hears voices behind the door in the other corner and footsteps coming closer. A guard opens the doors and, with a jerk of his head, indicates they should enter.

Although previous barons created this room as a throne room, over time, it has been adapted to the needs of a succession of rulers. The Oak Throne, carved in the shape of a spreading tree, is still located at the center of the far wall, atop a small series of stone steps. But behind it is a huge tapestry depicting the baron's sister, Baroness Talitha Midwood, praying before an altar to Lothian, with the light of her god shining upon her and, dimly depicted beyond the doors of the church in the tapestry, all her subjects. Desks line the far wall of the room, many of them covered in books and scrolls.

And, indeed, Baron Nicodemus Midwood has a large book open in his lap, which he reads while listening to his steward murmur something in his ear. Neither looks up at the group when the doors open. A step down from the Oak Throne, a disgruntled dwarf dressed in a fur robe watches the group approach, his arms crossed, his glare hard and sharp enough to split a log, puffing away furiously on his pipe. On the floor beside the dias, Khenemet-Apep stands, his hands shackled to a chain belt around his waist, his feet manacled together. A guard stands behind him, vigilant, eyes never leaving the Wizard of Green Mountain.

The constable nods to the sheriff and takes a seat on one of the benches that occupy the near half of the room. The wood has been polished smooth over the years. He gestures for everyone else to be seated.

A door on the right wall opens and the heavy-set Bishop Jurgen Lehmann enters the room, fingering his ankh-crucifix. His eyes meet Emmerson's a moment before he sits on one of the upholstered chairs at a desk near the baron, but away from the chained Wizard of Green Mountain.

The guard who let the group in leans over, whispering quietly, but loudly enough to be heard by those on the bench: "Should just be another moment now. Good luck."

Bufer smiles and nods kindly at the guard, then looks round to his friends and opens his mouth to crack a joke. The warning glare he gets from Constable Bridger causes him to shut it again without so much as a peep.

Sighing heavily, Bufer sheepishly rolls his eyes at the amused glances he receives from Hazel and Emus, then settles back to wait in silence, picking self-consciously at the frayed and threadbare edges of his travelling robe.

The Oak Throne commands Hazel's attention from the moment she steps into the room. The man seated in its carved boughs, and those near him, are little more than nuisances in the way of the exquisite woodcraft. _Da would love to see this,_ she thinks.

Hazel sits slowly, drinking in the sight of the throne's spreading canopy, and is only reminded of the group's purpose for being there when the wizard's weight shifts and his chains clank against the floor. Afraid she might have missed something, she nods sharply at the guard's whisper, then has to look down to hide her grin at Bufer's penchant for speaking out of turn. She'd wager a month of firewood that the gnome will find some inopportune moment to pop up and spout off words of wisdom, which, when they come from Bufer, aren't much different from wisecracks.

Emmerson takes his seat with martial discipline. Back straight, hands laced together over his stomach, eyes fixed at some spot between the floor, the baron and the bishop.

The baron says something else to Steward Eule Wood, to which Wood makes a face, but he stands, clearing his throat, and points to the constable.

"Is your deputy here? The baron would like him to step forward and explain the charges he is to consider today."

It would be hard to tell any of this from the baron, who is continuing to read the heavy book in his lap and has, in fact, picked up a slate and is jotting notes on it with a piece of chalk.

There's an elbow in Tucker's side before he realizes he's holding up the proceedings. He expected the constable would be called first, being the senior official in the group, but thankfully Bufer was already prodding him before the steward had to repeat himself. The deputy stands uneasily and takes a single step forward.

"Lord Midwood," Tucker says, perhaps a bit too loud for the stone room. When his voice comes echoing back, the deputy pauses, sheepishly, before continuing at a more appropriate tone. The baron doesn't look up from his book. "The accused was being transported to Middleborough on charges of conspiring against the barony. Once on the road, he aided and facilitated an escape by his fellow prisoners and attempted to murder an official of the empire, my lord."

The baron looks up from his book at this, raising one eyebrow. He looks from Tucker to Khenemet-Apep and back.

His hair has chalk in it, and there is chalk on his coat sleeve and a dotting of ink on the white shirt cuff beneath it. Despite this, he is suddenly every inch a baron, and his brown eyes bore into Tucker. His fingertip still rests where it stopped in his book, marking his place, but he hands off his slate and chalk to the steward, who places them on a nearby desk.

The bishop jumps up from his chair, which creaks with relief, as though he were a marionette on strings and begins casting a spell at the foot of the steps leading to the throne.

A gold ring glints in the light streaming in from the narrow windows as the baron reaches forward, beckoning Tucker into range of the bishop's spell.

"Explain, deputy. In detail."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker, having nothing to hide and not actually knowing much, steps forward as commanded.

"There was a brawl in Maidensbridge, my lord. After we had gotten things settled down, Bufer -- er, that is, the gnome here with us -- he led this man and one of our citizens into the inn. The citizen was Renraw Kem, accountant for our orchards and a wizard-in-training.

"As soon as he saw the constable, Renraw pleaded for help. He said that the accused had placed a spell on him, to force him to murder me at some unspecified point in the future. Ren desperately seemed to want the spell removed.

"The wizard Khenemet-Apep then accused Renraw and another of our citizens, Katadid Leach, of conspiring against against you, my lord. The constable ordered all three bound, and we set out for Middleborough."

Tucker pauses for a moment, saying a silent prayer to Lothian before continuing. In doing this, he looks not to the bishop who stands immediately before him, but to the large tapestry of Baroness Talitha on the far wall.

"Once on the road, we were delayed by the bard Tock Chandler and a stranger, probably in town for the Frost's Leaving festival. The stranger claimed the dwarves had started fighting again, and that the town was on fire. Constable Bridger made all haste back to Maidensbridge, while I continued toward Foxton on Moss, now with two more prisoners: horse thieves.

"It wasn't long after that the stranger, whose name I never did learn, first attacked me. Both he and Chandler took their shots, but it was Khenemet-Apep who was actually the biggest threat. Before I could respond to my attackers, he purposefully kicked me off the runaway horsecart, doing more to put my life in danger than either sword or arrow had done.

"Because of his actions, the prisoners escaped to Foxton on Moss and from there to parts unknown. It was only Khenemet-Apep's inability to mount an effective escape that brought him here before you today, my lord," Tucker concludes. He looks up at the tapestry once again. "And it was only Lothian's mercy that kept him him from being executed as an enemy of the barony on the spot."

Sheriff Thoric Glangirn snorts loudly at Tucker's final statement.

"Judgement is rendered by his lordship, not some beardless pup." He puffs on his pipe, chewing the stem fiercely and glaring at the deputy.

Bufer frowns, repeating "inability to mount an effective escape" in a skeptical whisper.

"But why would he want to get caught?" Bufer mutters to himself, not loudly enough for the baron to hear, but just loud enough for Hazel to elbow him in the ribs. Or where ribs would be if she were sitting next to a human: She actually jabs the gnome in the side of the head. Flinching, Bufer winces up at her reproachfully before turning his attention back to Tucker and the baron, ignoring the glare he receives from Constable Bridger.

Bufer looks up to see Khenemet-Apep looking at him, and looking very, very pleased with himself. They stare at one another a long moment before the Kemite smiles and turns back towards the baron, still listening.

"Thank you, deputy," Baron Midwood says, dismissing Tucker. The baron frowns and he taps an ink-stained finger against his lips while his eyes roam those in the room before settling on Bufer. "Master Gnome, please give us your name and step forward into the _zone of truth_ and tell us what you know of these matters."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Yes, your baronship," Bufer nods, eliciting another snort from Sheriff Glangirn. He hops down off the bench and steps towards the _zone of truth_, giving Tucker a reassuring smile as they pass each other. He can feel Khenemet-Apep's eyes on him the whole way, making the hair on the back of his neck begin to creep.

Stepping into the _zone of truth_ is an odd sensation, the likes of which he can't quite put his finger on, but it's unsettling nonetheless.

"My name is," He hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking towards Hazel before he resumes. "I'm known in Maidensbridge as Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Potentloins, although to be perfectly honest, the name is somewhat of a misnomer, and I am hardly gifted by any means, even by gnome standards. Most of my friends in town know me as Bufer."

He glances towards the wizard in chains as he continues.

"I first noticed the wizard, Khenemet-Apep, when he hired my friend and fellow gnome Heda Littlelark -- who I've been in love with since I was about eight years old, by the way, not that that's here nor there, and I can't believe I just told you that - -to sing for him in The Cat & The Fiddle -- uh, that's the tavern in Maidensbridge, your lordship.

"Anyway, I didn't like the look of him, being a stranger and all, and Heda looked downright uncomfortable, so I thought I'd casually sidle past the table on my way to the bar, get a good look at him and make sure she was all right. He noticed me looking at him, and flipped a coin at me to deliver a message for him to Renraw Kem, who was standing at the bar: 'Let him know that I bear a message from some mutual friends,' he said. I thought about telling him off for treating me as some kind of common servant, but as I had been heading over there to invite Kem and his companions to sit with me and my friends anyway, I figured I might as well do as he asked and keep the silver. The robes he was wearing, and the fact that he had a cat with him, in the back of my mind, I was already beginning to speculate that he might be a wizard, or at least a user of arcane magic of some sort, especially since it was Kem he was looking for. I thought Kem might be in some kind of trouble with that wizarding school he'd been away to.

"I gave the message to Kem upon arriving at the bar, and he practically had a fit at the idea that some stranger was looking for him. Kem asked me, and our friend Katadid Leach, to return to the stranger's table and find out who he was, and what he wanted. We obliged, and asked the stranger, who gave me his name -- Khenemet-Apep -- and told us his message was for Kem alone, and that Kem was expecting it. He asked that we fetch Kem for him, and when Katadid went to do so, Kem took off like a shot through the door.

Now Kem might have his shortcomings, your baronship -- several, in fact, not the least of which are pride, greed, a seeming inability to be truthful, an altogether too-high opinion of his own intelligence, and some very, very questionable personal grooming habits -- but I would not classify him as one prone to undue cowardice. I've seen Kem face down undead soldiers and rampaging owlbears, and try and talk his way out of a kobold ambush. To see him run out into the street in terror as he did, well, then I knew for certain that something was amiss.

"Around this time is when the brawl started -- Tock Chandler had characteristically picked a fight with some local dwarves, probably over an unkind and most likely lewd remark about one of their sisters, mothers, or quite possibly a grandmother (Tock isn't all that discriminating, you see) -- and although I certainly didn't trust the stranger at this point, I offered to shepherd him safely to the rear exit of the inn, if only that I might keep a close eye on him. To make a long story short --"

Bufer can barely make out Emus muttering "too late."

"-- the wizard and I caught up with Kem at the front of the inn, where he'd been caught up in the ensuing meelee as it spilled out into the street. Khenemet-Apep grabbed Kem by the shoulders and led him away, towards the cemetary. I admit that I hesitated a moment or two before I followed -- my good friend Hazel Sawyer was still in the inn, you see, and while she's smart as a whip and extremely capable as humans go, she's still barely out of diapers by gnome reckoning, and I feared for her safety. Eventually, I made my way to the graveyard, and preceded to creep stealthily towards them, that I might overhear what the wizard wanted of Kem, and possibly render aid should things turn violent. As I got closer, I noticed with some alarm that Kem had been bound and gagged, and that Khenemet-Apep was evidently casting some form of enchantment on him.

"Now, I admit to being fairly ignorant of arcane spellcraft, your lordship, but as I came within earshot, I distinctly heard Khenemet-Apep say to Kem: 'When the attack comes on Maidensbridge, you must kill Tucker Gallaway.'

Bufer looks over his shoulder at Tucker as he says this, and frowns as he notices that all of his companions -- including the constable -- are staring at him open-mouthed. He blinks at them in askance, then shrugs and turns back to the baron to continue.

"Of course, this is when Khenemet-Apep's familiar spotted me. The next few moments were extraordinarly tense, as I feared the wizard might elect to immolate me where I stood. Instead he bade me to come forward, and not seeing any alternative, I did so, and invited him to explain. After some inconsequential verbal fencing, he asked me to untie Kem, so that he might supply his version of events first, and then volunteered to come to St. Yessid's in the Woods and be placed inside a _zone of truth_ in case their stories differed. Kem seemed enamored of the idea, and suggested we all come to Middleborough so that they might both have the benefit of the spell.

"Oddly enough, though, Khenemet-Apep began to volunteer his explanation anyway, suggesting that he was attempting to talk Kem out of a bargain he'd struck with -- and I believe this part is of utmost importance, your lordship -- 'the Tiamat faction of the kobolds,' which apparently aspires to genocide, and that the only way out of this bargain was to ensure this 'Tiamat faction' did not remain in control. He declined to explain what precisely the bargain Kem had struck was, or with whom, until he was testifying before the sheriff in Middleborough, although he suggested that Kem would likely be hanged as a result.

"At this point, I thought it prudent to find the constable, if for no other reason than I was beginning to feel a little out of my depth, that I might swear out warrants against both Kem and Khenemet-Apep based on what I'd witnessed, and arrange for the trip to Middleborough. Although they both agreed, Apep attempted to cast a spell -- the likes of which I'm afraid I cannot say, although he claimed it to be a simple remedy for corns -- before I interrupted by grabbing his wrists.

"He then suggested that Kem should be hailed as a hero for what he was attempting -- that he was actually saving Maidensbridge by allowing he kobolds to believe he'd betrayed us -- and that he wished only to counsel Kem and warn him of certain risks of his 'secret mission.' He claimed he had bound and gagged Kem only for the benefit of spies who might be watching, and that the kobolds had hired him to bind Kem to their agreement, although he had used a strict interpretation of their instructions from Draconic to Imperial Common to provide Kem with what you might call 'wriggle room.' Warning me that I must keep all this secret, lest those selfsame spies catch wind of Renraw's intended betrayal, he then offered to bring me -- as a co-conspirator in their plan, now, apparently -- to the Black Tower, where he would educate me in the secret ways of his neighbors, the Green Mountain Kobolds."

Here, Bufer glances wryly and unafraid at the Kemite.

"I won't lie to you, your lordship -- it was an offer I found extremely tempting, but one I declined without hesitation. I finally managed to usher the two wizards out of the graveyard -- exhorting them both to keep their hands where I might see them -- and back to the inn, where things were now back in order, Constable Bridger having put an end to the brawl. We found the constable -- or, rather, he found us -- and Renraw swore out charges against Khenemet-Apep, who in return accused Kem and Katadid Leach of conspiring against the barony, which led to all three of them being shackled and piled into an applecart bound for Middleborough, accompanied by the constable and Deputy Gallaway, leaving the safety of the town in the care of Emmerson Grant, myself, and the trusted associates you see seated behind me now.

"At some point during their journey, I'm led to understand that the prisoners engineered an escape -- I wasn't present for that, as I was back in Maidensbridge at the time, helping to put out the fire that had erupted in the stables of Kramer's General Store. All I know for certain is that, shortly after we'd gotten the fire extinquished, having been told there'd been a riot in his his absence, the constable rode back into town. Seeing the ruse for what it was -- and suspecting that the fire had been set as a diversion by horse thieves -- we doubled back along the baron's road, accompanied by Emmerson and Hazel, only to find the prisoners gone, the cart missing, and poor Tucker trussed up in the middle of the road. After removing some caltrops that had been scattered onto the road to discourage pursuit, the constable and I rode on ahead to Foxton on Moss in an attempt to catch up to the fugitives and raise the alarm, while the others followed along behind. In Foxton, we learned that the fugitives had indeed gone there ahead of us, but left before we got there, setting out for parts unknown. At some point -- I'm not sure of when -- Khenemet-Apep was recaptured by Deputy Gallaway and his companions, and the lot of us rode on here to Middleborough, where we arrived early this morning."

Bufer walks back to his place on the bench, his worry that he left something out showing on his face. He climbs up next to Hazel, who gives him a reassuring pat and a smile.

From the bench behind, Emus leans forward and whispers loud enough that only those next to Bufer can hear:

"Bufer's got a giiiirrrrlfriend ..."

The baron turns towards his sheriff.

"Kem is ... ?"

"Th' bookkeeper for the bailiff of Maidensbridge, my lord."

"Ah, yes. That business with the murders last year."

"Yes, my lord."

"We have a hard time keeping that position filled." The baron glances towards Khenemet-Apep. "'Kem.' There's no relation to ..."

The Wizard of Green Mountain and Constable Bridger both shake their heads, indicating there is not.

"So the bookkeeper went to school to become a wizard, did he?"

"Yes, my lord. He dropped out when his uncle's financial double-dealings became clear," Bridger says. "Came home before graduation."

"Pity. Some of the best years of my life were spent at Redhurst." He twists the gold signet ring on his finger, the golden ram's head set in a field of red. "Well, then, let us hear from Khenemet-Apep. Start with why you wanted to speak to the bookkeeper."

The Wizard of Green Mountain pulls himself up to his full height, his cat emerging from where it had been hiding between his feet and rubbing around his ankles as he shuffles forward, bowing deeply before Baron Midwood.

"It would be my pleasure, my lord ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The mangy black cat does tight figure eights around its master's ankles, seemingly smirking at the group assembled on the benches.

"As your lordship well knows, I have lived on Green Mountain for almost a dozen years, since my ... departure from my homeland. Seeking solitude, I erected a tower in the shadow of Gax's lair, trusting that her presence would ensure my privacy.

"When the dragon left, the kobolds made contact with me, demanding to know if I knew anything about her departure, if I was responsible somehow. And shortly after kobolds began coming and going from the Black Tower, your constable and sheriff paid me a visit and invited me into your presence."

Khenemet-Apep's tone is light and casual, as though he and the baron did nothing more than sip tea.

"Since then, I have had periodic contact with the kobolds, who were thrown into disarray by their mistress' departure. Once it became clear that Gax would not be returning, the various factions she had nurtured in their community turned on one another. An important kobold lieutenant I might deal with regularly would suddenly vanish, and his replacement would refuse to speak to me about what happened or why. Some kobolds would come to me and treat me as an equal, others would flatter me in an obvious attempt to turn me against their rivals and still others would treat me with thinly veiled hostility. But when it became clear that I am my own master, we settled into an agreeable business relationship all of the factions appear to find comfortable.

"Recently, a new leader has emerged among the kobolds. I have not yet met him, nor do I know his name, but he appears to be a worshipper of Tiamat, Mother of Father Claw and Queen of Dragons. In keeping with his faith, his goals appear to be the annihilation of the gnomes of Wit's End and, beyond that, the destruction of your barony and the wholesale slaughter of your people, your lordship."

The wizard sneaks in a smirk back at Tucker before continuing.

"All of this, you know."

From where he watches on the bench, Bufer blinks, looks up at Hazel in shock, then turns back to the baron and Khenemet-Apep, red-faced and wide-eyed.

"You KN--"

Reacting faster than anyone not expecting this sooner or later possibly could have, Hazel clamps one hand over the gnome's mouth and smiles apologetically at the baron.

"Sorry about that," she says sweetly, as Bufer murmers loudly and struggles against her hand. "Please go on."

The baron stares at Bufer until he quiets down.

"I studied under Jecture himself," Nicodemus Midwood says mildly. "There is very little that happens in my barony that I do not know, and praise Lothian for that." He murmurs a quiet word to soothe an outraged Sheriff Glangirn, who is silently apoplectic with anger at the interruption. "Now then, if there are no further comments from Master Potentloins, let us hear about your meeting with the bookkeeper, Khenemet-Apep, and what transpired after."

Bufer stops struggling against Hazel's restraining hand, and after a few hesitant moments, the young ranger removes it from his mouth. For his part, Bufer barely seems to notice as he glares from the baron to Khenemet-Apep and back again, quietly seething. He says nothing, but the grinding of his teeth is plainly audible.

Khenemet-Apep hunches over and raises his hands to wipe a stray hair from his face, his chains clinking as he does so.

"About a month ago, a representative of the Green Mountain tribe came to visit me in Baraj Al-Aswad, my Black Tower. She was seeking information about where the tribe could find dragonscales, one of each of the colors of Tiamat's scales, for a ritual that will somehow enable them to destroy the gnomes and the barony. They will be entering Glangirn to try and recover one of Gax's green scales, and apparently have purchased another scale from the Black Reavers, but still need three more beyond that."

The baron snaps his fingers and points at the slate, which his steward hastily brings him, along with the chalk. The baron begins jotting notes as the Kemite continues to speak.

"In addition to asking about various ancient ruins in Kem, as well as inquiring how difficult it would be to board a ship to Uraq and visit some ancient temple of Tiamat there, the young priestess wanted to ask me about a pair of wizards living in Maidensbridge," Khenemet-Apep continues. "According to her, both had conspired to assist the kobolds in their plan. She claims one, a simpleton, had given her information about what sorts of military forces were stationed in Maidensbridge. The other, the bookkeeper who calls himself Kem, had made a deal in which he agreed to kill Deputy Gallaway on the night of the ritual, when the kobolds attacked.

"But the kobolds do not trust outsiders, a situation which has only gotten worse since their new leader unified the factions. So she paid me to cast a spell on the bookkeeper, as they did not believe he would follow through on his deal."

The baron looks up, puzzled.

"What? A _geas_?"

"Yes, my lord."

The pair grin at each other, chuckling. Even the cat seems to snicker. The baron waves for the other man to continue, but his mood has considerably brightened.

"I went to Maidensbridge during the festival. I had planned to 'enchant' the bookkeeper," and here the Kemite makes the universal sign of quotation marks with his fingers, "But it seems the kobolds were right about his intentions and he fled my presence. I have reason to believe the kobolds have a spy in Maidensbridge, so I was determined to cast the spell for their benefit."

For the first time, Steward Eule Wood seems bothered by the testimony, and he begins pacing before the Oak Throne.

"The gnome overheard the proceedings and interfered," the Wizard of Green Mountain continues. "I know what the Vast Codex demands as a sentence for treason, and did not want things to become any more complicated, and tried to get the bookkeeper to get his friend to leave us alone, but he seemed perversely determined to find himself with a noose about his neck, or so I thought.

"On the ride to Middleborough, a group of young men I assume are the bookkeeper's co-conspirators rode up to meet us and tricked the constable into leaving. Once he was gone, they drew their weapons and attempted to kill Deputy Gallaway. None of them are experienced criminals, though, and the cart was still heading down the road. I did not want to be seen as conspiring to help kill an Imperial official -- I know the sentence for that, as well -- and knocked him out of the cart before opening a _dimension door_ and fleeing into the woods. My thought had been that the bookkeeper and his friends would continue to flee instead of risking a delay. The rest, the deputy has told you."

Khenemet-Apep stands proudly a moment, but as the baron's silence continues, he shrugs awkwardly, his dusky skin darkening as he blushes.

"That's all, my lord."

"Very well, then ..."

"My lord, may I speak?" Constable Ward Bridger asks as he stands.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The baron seems surprised at this.

"Yes, constable?"

"Do you intend to pass sentence on Renraw and Katadid and the rest, without them here to defend themselves, and without the benefit of an advocate who knows the Vast Codex and can speak on their behalf?"

The sheriff initially bristles as his underling speaks up, but as he listens, his expression changes, softening, and he puffs on his pipe, considering.

"His lordship is free to render a sentence in their absence, with them being fugitives and all."

"Yes, sir, he is," the constable says, bowing stiffly towards his superior before facing the baron again, "But my lord, these are not experienced criminals and I had told you all of Katadid's betrayal previously. It was agreed then that, as he is simple, I would keep my eye on him henceforth and he would not swing for this crime.

"As for the others, I don't think they have the wit to escape Imperial justice for long. We will turn them up in the woods, hungry and dirty and, if I know Renraw, scared to death, before long.

"I pray, my lord, that you will hold off on rendering a verdict until such time as they are back in our custody and can defend themselves as the law allows. And, if I may, I can think of a number of ways they might serve their sentence and be of aid to the barony beyond just stretching out a piece of rope, although I know that would make my deputy happiest."

The baron taps the chalk against his pursed lips, considering a moment before speaking.

"In point of fact, before you were let in, I just received word that three of them, including the bookkeeper, went over the falls. It is likely the rapids have already reached a verdict and meted out punishment on them, but I have instructed some of my men to search Goblin Falls for any sign of them," the baron says, handing the slate to his steward once more before standing. "But your point is well-taken. If they live, they will appear before me and defend themselves to the full extent that the law allows."

"Followed by a short drop and a sudden stop," the sheriff says quietly, but loudly enough for all to hear.

"Perhaps. As for Khenemet-Apep, who is here before us today, I think we can dispense with a full trial. He cast a spell that, if the bookkeeper had the benefit of a full wizardly education ... er, he's not a Redhurst man, is he?"

"No," the constable answers. "St. Feldin's, I believe."

"Ah, that explains it. Had the bookkeeper had the benefit of a proper education, he would know that a _geas_ spell does not work indefinitely. Khenemet-Apep's spell will last a matter of days before expiring. Since it seems unlikely that the kobold's ritual will be ready during that time -- a voyage to Uraq and back alone would take longer than that -- the spell will harmlessly dissipate long before the attack, and there will be no compulsion to kill Deputy Gallaway, who of course could not be expected to know a detail like that. But Khenemet-Apep certainly did, as would any Redhurst man.

"Therefore, I find him not guilty of the crime of casting an enchantment on a resident of the empire without their consent. He was merely play-acting. Likewise, the bishop's _zone of truth_ -- thank you, your holiness -- proves that he intended no harm against the deputy himself, although he may well have acted rashly in his actions. Release him, if you please. Khenemet-Apep, you will return home and continue to pass along any information you obtain from the kobolds to me.

"I will seek to discover more about this ritual the kobolds are planning and will work to prevent it ever being completed." He brushes his hands together, chalk dust puffing out in a white cloud, and he looks shrewdly at the Maidensbridge group sitting on the bench together. "I expect I know where I can find some unofficial agents to help me do just that without tipping my hand too obviously.

"But these are things to discuss at a later time," the baron says, as Khenemet-Apep's shackles and manacles are unlocked and the wizard's cat leaps into his arms, rubbing his greasy face against his master's almost nonexistent chin. "If there is nothing else, this baronal court is adjourned pending the capture of the bookkeeper and his fellow fugitives. May Lothian guide and protect the Empire and its Emperor."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer turns and glares at his companions the very moment the baron has dismissed them.

"The first one of you to breathe a word of this to Heda Littlelark gets to spend the rest of his life sittin' down to pee!" he hisses. "I mean it!"

"But I already--" Hazel giggles.

"And if you don't wanna find yourself growin' somethin' unnatural, you'll keep yer mouth shut too, missy! Don't think I won't do it, either! I know people: Things could happen!" Bufer points at her sternly and holds her gaze until her grin mostly subsides, then exhales sharply and looks up at Constable Ward Bridger. "Constable, I owe you an apology. I misjudged you somethin' fierce, yesterday, and threw a pretty harsh fit at ye as a result. That was right charitable what you did for Katadid and Kem, and we appreciate it greatly. Well, most of us, anyway. Emmerson and Tucker have always spoke right highly of you, and now I see why. If you ever need anythin', sir, I'm your gnome."

"Well, I may be the baron's man, but I serve the law, and the law says that even Tock Chandler gets a proper defense," Bridger says simply, and Bufer nods in agreement.

"If you'll all excuse me," the gnome says, "Before we all get thrown outta here, I gotta see a wizard about a kobold."

With that, Bufer hops off the bench and marches off towards Khenemet-Apep. Feeling himself being watched, Bufer looks up just in time to see the baron's eyes flick back down to the slate in his hands, a look of bemusement playing across his features. Bufer wrinkles his nose and wonders for a split second what he's on about before drawing himself up to his full height before the Kemite wizard.

"Excuse me, sir," he says as gently as possible, trying to draw the wizard's attention, "But I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. And to say that I hope there ain't any hard feelings. I hope you understand that, from where I was standing yesterday, I believed I had a duty, sir, to Maidensbridge as well as to Kem. If you've been injured by any of this, I apologize."

The Wizard of Green Mountain half-opens his mouth before something apparently occurs to him, and he shuts his mouth, choosing his words carefully.

"Thank you for your apology, Master Potentloins. I feel certain we will be seeing more of each other in the future. Now, I will take my leave; I have not slept except for a few minutes on a jailhouse bench earlier."

Carrying his cat in his arms, Khenemet-Apep walks to the door to the antechamber before turning, looking back, and bowing in farewell to the assembled party.

Hazel moves toward Constable Bridger and lightly clears her throat.

"Sir? I just wanted to thank you for speaking up for Kat and the rest. Do you think ... I mean, who's going to tell their families? About the falls, I mean."

The constable scowls, turning Hazel and himself away from the baron and sheriff.

"When I see the bodies, I'll be the one to tell them. Don't start burying them until then, Hazel."

"Not until then, sir," she agrees, giving a tight-lipped smile.

Bufer watches Khenemet-Apep and his cat make their way out of Midwood Hall, blinking in surprise at having been brushed off so easily.

"Bugger," he says, making up his mind, then hikes up his robe and runs through the door after the wizard. "Mister Wizard, sir! Begging your pardon, sir, but there was somethin' else.

"You see, after hearing your testimony, I found myself wondering -- and I appreciate this is kinda awkward given what we just been through, but as you say, I have a knack for the dangerously stupid -- I was wondering if you might allow me to reconsider your offer to apprentice with you in the Black Tower and learn the ways of the Green Mountain Kobolds, so that I might --" Bufer breaks off and looks over his shoulder to check for potential eavesdroppers, then leans forward and lowers his voice. "So that I might find a way to make peace between them and the folks of Midwood and Wit's End.

"It might be a fool's errand, I know. Lord Rubik and the baron both would probably tell me it is, right after they slapped me upside the head for even considering it, but on the off-chance it succeeds, it would prevent a rather messy and inconvenient war in your backyard, not to mention get both this Tiamat faction and the baron off your back as far as helping them do the other in is concerned."

Khenemet-Apep stares in astonishment a moment, then his face slowly twists into a smile.

"Perhaps, perhaps. I can certainly sketch out what I know for you and perhaps make a few introductions," he says. "But you will forgive me if, after the experiences of the last day, I will need a gesture of good faith on your part. But that is a matter for another time. I am to bed. I will be in contact with you, Master Potentloins."

And with that, Khenemet-Apep and his cat march off to the Shady Dragon Inn. Bufer waits until the wizard and his cat are out of sight before heaving a sigh of relief.

"'You do have a knack for wandering into the bear's cave, don't you?'" he mutters to himself, quoting the Kemite from the day before.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the stolen boat begin to bump its way down the rapids, Katadid Leach looks from the astonished guards toward their destination.

"Oh, dear."

He rummages through the saddlebag and grabs his spellbook and after a moment, grabs Renraw's as well. Tossing them into an empty sack, he wraps the burlap around the precious tomes tightly before wrapping the ripped bedsheet around it as well. He tosses the bundled books into the leather saddlebags and seals it as tightly as he can before being almost bounced out of the boat by a sudden drop.

"KAT!" Tock yells. "Some help rowing would be nice!"

"Ah," Kat coughs and picks up an oar. "Um ... shore soon?"

Before anyone can answer, the entire boat is suddenly dumped under the water as it drops down a steep set of falls before landing in a fast-moving pool. Aside from bloody knuckles, bruised limbs and, of course, being nearly drowned several times, the fugitives are in relatively good shape.

The boat spins as it approaches another series of rocks. The trio cling to their possessions, the boat and each other, eyes wild, exhausted yet oddly exhilerated.

"I can't believe it," Renraw sputters, his hair plastered to his head, "We're going to make it."

"Maybe," Kat says ominously. The other two look to see where he's staring. Pointed rocks jab up at them, forming a stony barricade before a foaming spray beyond. Kat says something else, but the roar of water beyond the rocks gets louder and louder as they approach.

The boat slams against the rocks, shattering into splinters. The current yanks the fugitives past and over the edge of a tall, tall waterfall dropping hundreds of feet into Goblin Pond below.

"I HATE YOU, TOCK CHAAAAAAAAAAAANDLER!" Renraw screams as the trio plummet towards the dark water, far below.

Katadid find himself counting the seconds as they fall. He's dimly aware of his lungs burning, their ability to breathe hampered even under the best of circumstances. His world is full of bursts of intense sound, rushing air, and pounding water. He wonders if he could even tell when he hits the pond with everything so muddled already. It wouldn't do to die yet: There are too many things to do.

Yet, as Kat falls, he realizes that he isn't afraid to die if he has to. It's an interesting revelation. He contemplates it quietly as the pond rushes up to greet him.

Beside him, Tock Chandler grips the edge of the boat, staring wide-eyed at the approaching pond.

Unnoticed, Renraw has hit his head on something, and falls, unconconscious, along with the boat, his forehead bloody.

_Renraw Kem is a child of 8 again. He kneels in the corner of his bedroom, rocking himself calm. The small table he kept is overturned; his things are scattered. In the next room, he can hear his mother moaning loudly, in her private place again. She begins to sob, but here and there come intelligible words, something about the books.

The books ...

Why did he think he could get away with it this time? What made him think now would be any different?

He raises a hand to his face and winces. There's blood, but he could hardly be surprised about blood anymore. But there, under his eye, something moves. A piece of bone, loose above his cheek. Floating.

He closes his eyes and gently nudges the fragment with a fingertip. The pain he expected doesn't follow; it's buried somewhere deep. His rocking slows, and he thinks about the skull underneath his face for the first time. Is the little shard still a part of it? He wonders if the bone will slide around inside his face if he pulls his finger away. Should he let it? Or should he keep it where it is?

He is startled to hear his mother address him, still in the other room. She must imagine me nearby, Renraw thinks. Finger still to cheek, he opens his eyes and looks to the direction of the sound.

"Don't read the books, Renraw," she pleads, "Don't try. It isn't for us."

It wasn't the first time she'd warned him about the library. And it wasn't the first thrashing he'd caught from his father after ignoring those warnings. He understood (almost) all the words in the books now, though he still had a great deal of trouble putting meaning in their order. Roebello only mocked him when he asked what something meant (but even at a young age, Renraw knew that was because his brother didn't know himself). Even Uncle Ronco begged him to stay away from the books in the family library, promising him all the books he could ever want in Middleborough.

At the time, Renraw believed the books must have some secret contents, some forbidden knowledge his family wanted to keep from him, but now something his father had shouted has the boy beginning to suspect the truth: The books themselves are worthless. It's just that Rogren wants them to himself.

"You are to stay here. Stay here. STAY HERE."

The memory of it frightens young Renraw and stiffens him. His finger goes white, tightly pinching his eye socket.

That day he held his face together in his hands for hours until he decided to (badly) improvise a bandage. But, this time, something is different. This time, he relaxes his finger and pulls it away slowly.

What will happen?_


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Although still hours from sunset, the sun is hidden behind the rooftops of Middleborough as an acolyte greets Bufer and Emmerson outside St. Yessid's in the Woods.

"Lothian bless and keep you both," he murmurs before leading them inside the cool darkness of the church. They wind their way behind the pews and up one side of the building until he opens the door and lets them into an antechamber. Excusing himself, he ducks through a door on the far side of the room. A quiet conversation is audible from beyond, and after a moment, the acolyte opens the door, ushering the pair into Bishop Jurgen Lehmann's private office.

The Bishop of Midwood is going through some paperwork, sucking the grease of his late lunch off his fingers -- a thoroughly picked-over chicken carcass sits on a silver plate nearby on his massive wooden desk -- as he does so.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. I understand you had a proposal for me?"

"Your excellency," Emmerson says as he enters the room with Bufer. He approaches the bishop, kneels on his left knee and kisses the bishop's ring. Behind him, Bufer remains where he was, bowing slightly. "Let me present to you Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Potentloins, cleric of Garl Glittergold and apprentice of High Priest Boddynock of Wit's End."

"A pleasure to meet you, your worship. Father Grant and I most appreciate you taking the time out of your undoubtedly full schedule to meet with us."

Bishop Lehmann acknowledges Bufer and Emmerson's greetings and gestures for them to take a seat.

"It has not been that long since your Excellency gave me the mission of ministering to those living in the shadow of Green Mountain, and I've done some work in that regard."

"One would hope so," the bishop says, his voice even.

"I started by cleaning up the chapel, built some cots for the sick and infirm and gave invites to the services, but so far, my efforts have been fruitless."

The bishop remains silent.

"I have seen the registered Lothianites go to church and participate of the services, but the non-believers and the flock of dwarven and gnome gods go more willingly to The Cat & The Fiddle than to the chapel."

Bishop Lehmann begins to visibly grow less interested. Emmerson flushes, remembering his father's admonition that important people have little time for small talk.

"Your Excellency, as it stands today, Maidensbridge Chapel is a place for Lothianites, but hardly anybody else ventures there. If folk want to gather, they go to the nearest tavern. If they want to unburden their souls, they turn to the bartender. Master Potentloins and I wish to make Lothian's chapel a beacon for those around Maidensbridge. We propose to open up the chapel to also hold services for the dwarven and gnomish gods."

The bishop's steely blue eyes are fixed on Emmerson. The young priest feels his voice quaver and beads of sweat start to form on his forehead. Bufer smiles kindly and lays one hand gently on the boy's forearm.

"Your worship, Emmerson and I have long lamented this state of affairs," Bufer begins. "And when you granted him leave to assume the ministry of Maidensbridge, we saw an opportunity to restore Maidensbridge Chapel to its rightful place as the beating heart of the village.

"What we propose may seem somewhat ... cosmopolitan at first, especially given that church doctrine has not always looked favorably on other religions, but we respectfully ask that you hear us out, and reserve judgement until we're finished."

The bishop remains silent, but nods in assent as he sits back and steeples his fingers beneath his chin. Bufer glances up at his companion, and Emmerson, his face white as a newly laundered sheet, nods for him to continue. Bufer nods back in return, and turns back to the bishop wearing a grave expression.

"Your worship, although it may not seem so on the surface, the people of Maidensbridge stand deeply divided, by race, by culture, by religion. Just yesterday, a riot nearly broke out between members of Clan Glangirn and Clan Farrin, which might have consumed the entire town if not for the quick actions of Constable Bridger, Deputy Gallaway and Father Grant, here. This simply cannot be allowed to continue, especially now that the various factions of the Green Moutain Kobolds have been united against the people of Midwood. It's long past time that all Bridgers, be they gnome, dwarf or tallfolk, be made to see that only united can we weather the coming storm, as Lothian the Lightbringer would undoubtedly have us do.

"Father Grant and I propose that Maidensbridge Chapel be the means through which we unify the town, by rededicating it to serving all of Maidensbridge's sons and daughters, including those -- especially those -- who do not walk Lothian's path."

As expected, the bishop visibly bristles at such a bold pronouncement, but before he can open his mouth to object, Bufer plunges forward.

"Please understand, your grace," he says in a rush, "That the chapel will remain a temple primarily devoted to the worship of Lothain, as most of Maidensbridge's residents remain faithful in their devotion to the Lightbringer. That is not in any way in dispute. But in an effort to appeal to the gnomish and dwarven popluations of the town -- as well as those tallfolk who have elected not to follow the Lightbringer -- we plan to hold services devoted to Garl Glittergold, Yurabbos and Hanseath. I personally plan to permanently relocate to the chapel from Wit's End to oversee the Glittergoldain rites, and Master Grant and I have a dwarvish cleric in mind -- although we have not yet approached her, pending your worship's approval -- to take on the rites of Yurabbos.

"Although unprecedented by church doctrine, your grace, in taking such a 'big tent' view of religion, Maidensbridge Chapel will take on a special relevance to everyone, even those who aren't Lothianites."

"Indeed," Emmerson says, his voice cracking slightly out of nervousness, "Not only that would be a good way to bring back those who have strayed from Lothian's path, but an excellent way of bringing to Lothian those who have never walked with him before."

"Your Excellency, I am but a humble tool for Lothian to use as he sees fit, but I pray that perhaps you will look upon this plan with sympathetic eyes. Master Potentloins and I will place our hearts and souls into the project and, if in one year's time, the number of faithful has not significantly increased, we will leave it to your Excellency to decide its fate."

"Your grace," Bufer says, "As has become most evident this morning, there are indeed troubled times for Maidensbridge ahead, which Father Grant and I believe can only be survived if we overcome our prejudices and differences, and stand shoulder-to-shoulder, as the Lightbringer would doubtlessly have us do. Although a Glittergoldian, I have always held a healthy respect for --"

Bufer pauses and chooses his words carefully.

"-- for those who walk the true path of Lothian, as I believe Father Grant does. And I would be most honored to partner with him in bringing this most noble and holy endeavor to its fruition."

Bufer glances again at Emmerson, then exhales quietly and bows again to the bishop, a little deeper this time.

"This concludes our proposal, your worship. We thank you for indulging us, and eagerly await your decision."

The bishop says nothing for a long time, instead standing up and opening one of the thick windows of his office, letting him peer through the small gap at the tree outside. He appears to listen to the birds singing outside and breathe in the wet scent of spring as he thinks.

Finally, he turns.

"If, as you say, your aim is not to tear down the faith of Lothian, but rather to bring those who have strayed back into the light, Master Gnome," Lehmann's eyes drop to Bufer, "Then you would not be adverse to proving your willingness to further the glory of Lothian before I agree to such a ... novel suggestion."

Bufer raises an eyebrow, bemused.

"A gesture of good faith, your grace?" he asks. "Within reason, of course. I am still a Glittergoldian, after all, and not a --"

Emmerson pointedly clears his throat.

"-- most honored and holy servant of Lothian. However, as the aims of our respective deities are not altogether dissimiliar, I imagine Garl would be only too pleased to give me leave. What did you have in mind, your worship?"

"Surely all who live in Maidensbridge know the story of Maidensbridge Abbey and what happened there with the Sisters of the New Dawn. It is time their pain was ended and the unquiet dead there are sent to their final rest." The bishop looks up at Emmerson. "Gather the clergy of whatever faiths you hope to share the chapel together, and bring them to Maidensbridge Abbey and lift its curse. Lothian will come to greater glory, the people of Maidensbridge will walk through the forest unafraid and your commitment will be proven.

"I will have an acolyte gather all the information the church has on the abbey and the Sisters of the New Dawn and bring it to you, Father Grant, in Maidensbridge.

"Let us not see another Brightfather's Day with the abbey still under the shadow of its tragedy." The bishop's face darkens, and he looks towards the window again. "The sisters deserve peace."

Emmerson stands straighter, smiling broadly and with tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"Your Excellency, it shall be done."

His expression completely blank, Bufer slowly turns his head to stare at his overjoyed partner.

"Or, you know, we'll die trying," he sighs in resignation, then turns back to the bishop and shrugs. "Either way."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The baron's soldiers stomp around the edge of Goblin Pond, stabbing at the dark water of the shallows with spears, watched dubiously by Southerly soldiers who clearly had no intention of getting wet and muddy themselves.

"You're not going to find anything," snaps a young ducal soldier, his voice breaking in mid-sneer. "They died when they hit the water and like as not, Old Grandfather ate them."

The giant catfish is a legend around Goblin Falls and is known as far away as Stonecrown. No one knows of anyone actually eaten by Old Grandfather, but everyone is sure the massive beast has done so at some point.

The soldier's complaint was a refrain that had been going on all day, but after this many hours searching the pond for signs of the fugitives and circling the muddy waters looking for tracks that were not created by the soldiers themselves, the baron's men have had enough.

"Right," says the senior man, which is obvious because he is the least muddy of the bunch. "Unless this bunch turned into wee little birdies on the way down, they're fish food. And good riddance; Chandler cheated at dice. I'm for a pint, lads, come on."

Both groups of soldiers stomp off to the Goblin's Head and the pond is quiet for a long time.

A muddy patch of reeds well away from the shore begins to move slightly, sending out ripples across the brownish waters. Two heads erupt from the water before a pair of hands lashes out, holding the faces -- but little else -- just above the water line.

"Careful," Tock says, spitting out a hollow reed, "One of them could still be watching."

"Don't be stupid," Renraw says, snatching himself out of Tock's muddy grasp, and standing up in the chest-high water, caked in mud. "They don't want anything to do with this damn mudhole."

Katadid spits his reed out and sat straight up, wiping glop from his eyes with his fingers.

"How did you know to do that, Tock?"

"Nergle did it in a song," Tock says, his chin still underwater as he looks around. "OK, I know of a barn we can dry off in and wait out the soldiers. We'll nip over to the Goblin's Head and see Petra after that."

* * *

It was three days later, on the 27th day of Wind, in Maidensbridge Chapel.

"Scim," Ragglus Chaplin growled, his sword bared. "I knew it."

Roebello "Scimitar" Kem bolted for the front doors of the chapel, throwing his full body into them to expedite his retreat. The doors refused to budge and he bounced backwards onto the floor, coins spilling out of his pouch, scattering across the chapel floor.

"Barred from the outside," Ragglus snarled. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

"Ragglus, my friend," Scimitar began, "Let me explain."

"Nothin' to explain, except how I'm gonna run you through."

"That's enough, Ragglus," Emmerson said, stepping in through the now-unbarred front door.

"I weren't gonna kill 'im," Ragglus says through clenched teeth, "Much."

"I couldn't see in here, it was dark," Scimitar says, speaking quickly, frantically, "I came to pray, I must have misjudged the location of the altar."

"This is no time for lies, Roebello!" Emmerson says, leaping to grab Ragglus before he can lay hands or sword on Scimitar. "He might not kill you, but you may just find yourself wishing you were dead!"

"Killed?" Scimitar answers, in what's clearly meant to be an innocent tone. "Over a few paltry coins?"

"Not just coins!" Ragglus roars.

"Wait, th-that was yours?" Scimitar squeaks, his hair now gripped in Ragglus' left fist. "My d-dear Ragglus, I didn't know! It was so pretty, I-I never would have ..."

"Where is it? WHERE IS IT?"

"It's ... Renraw! Yes, Renraw took it!"

"What?" Emmerson snaps, as he tries to pull the pair apart with Scimitar's scalp intact. "Renraw is many things, but a thief is not one of them."

"H-he didn't steal it, I did! But Renraw took it, I swear! That's wh-why I've been taking things, h-he needed traveling money! Items for trade on the road! I've been working for him!"

"He's been gone more than two days," Ragglus spits, eyes blazing. "You're still stealin', why?"

"Because ... because he left without giving me my cut! Why, I've half a mind to track him down myself and give him a good thrashing for all the pain he's caused!"

"Oh, don't worry, when I find him, he'll be getting all he deserves," Ragglus says, shaking with anger.

"Don't bother: My brother is dead."

"Huh?"

"You're better off trading in that sword for a fishing pole if you want to find Renraw. Haven't you heard? Those fools went over the falls in their haste to escape Midwood. They're in Old Grandfather's belly in Goblin Pond."

"If there ain't no body," Ragglus spat, "There ain't no death!"

"Where is he off to, Roebello?" Emmerson interjects. "Goblin Falls, certainly, but they'll be looking for help. A thief such as you surely knows some of the shadier characters in Goblin Falls, who would they attempt to contact?"

"Kujau," Scimitar sighs, shoulders slumped, beaten. "Petra Kujau."

Ragglus relaxes.

"Good. That's a start. I'll get it back or take it out of your brother's hide."

"What is this all about?" Emmerson asks.

Ragglus glares at him in stony silence a long moment before exploding.

"My blasted ankh-crucifix!" the former paladin roars, face dark red. "It was my uncle's."

"The priest," Emmerson says quietly, nodding.

"Happy now?" Ragglus snarls, shooting a look that tells Scimitar to keep silent if he knows what's best. "It's all I got. And I'm going to get it back."

As Ragglus throws his remaining goods into a backpack, Scimitar quietly wonders in which of his stashes in and around the Tulgey Woods he's actually left Ragglus' crucifix and how quickly he'll be able to sell it after the larger man leaves town.

* * *

Leaning on a mailbox that apparently stands in the middle of nowhere, Bufer watches his cousin Swifty race off through the forest.

"Petra Kujau," Bufer repeats to himself. "Thank you, Emmerson."

The silence behind him in the forest is deafening.

"You don't approve," he remarks, without turning around.

"Of course I don't approve," High Priest Barennackle replies calmly, suddenly appearing on the road as if he'd been there all along. He steps up next to Bufer and joins him in watching the settling dust. "When has that ever stopped you before?"

"You're tellin' me you never exchanged words with them on the wrong side of the law in your day?" Bufer scoffs.

"Things were different, then," Barennackle says. "Baron Midwood is going to be most incensed if he learns you've been aiding the fugitives, and it will reflect poorly on all of us. Lord Rubik will not be pleased."

"Yeah," Bufer snarls. "I've learned I can trust a human and a dwarf a damn sight more than my own kin. When -- if ever -- were you gonna tell me about this damned Tiamat faction?"

"It was not your place to know, apprentice," the high priest replies calmly. "Lord Rubik and I are not obliged to share everything with you."

"I've been like a son to you," Bufer says quietly, his frame stiffening. "You've meant more to me than my own dad. How dare you hide behind this 'master-apprentice' crap over something this important?"

"Ebu," Barennackle sighs, looking at his apprentice sadly, "Be reasonable. You know how uncomfortable Lord Rubik gets over your radical view of the kobolds. I've always tried to be understanding, but --"

"UNDERSTANDING?" Bufer shouts. "Really? Then call me by my real name!"

Barennackle blinks in surprise.

"Ebu ..."

"CALL ME BY MY REAL NAME!"

Barennackle recoils as though Bufer has struck him, but he remains silent and stone-faced.

"Right then," Bufer says as he hoists it over one shoulder. "See ya 'round, Master Barrenackle. I'll be sure to let ye know how things with the abbey turn out."

Bufer turns his back on the mailbox, and his mentor, and faces the road.

"Bejik-Caesin," the high priest calls, before he can take two steps, "You are making a mistake!"

"Of course, I'm making a mistake," he replies, "But when has that ever stopped me before?"

And with that, Bufer sets out on the road to Maidensbridge, leaving Master Barennackle and Wit's End behind him.

* * *

On the slopes of Green Mountain, a man with white hair sits casually on the edge of a cliff, his feet dangling over the edge. Next to him a dwarf sits cross-legged; he looks out over the trees of Tulgey Wood, but he's not really seeing the view. Behind the dwarf a dog sits folded in on itself with one leg in the air; he is noisily licking his crotch.

The man's name is Theran, and he is silently observing Emus Graymullet as the dwarf relays the events of the past few days. Emus is stripped to the waist because he is still hot from the exertion of climbing this far up the mountain. It is the first close-up look that the old druid has seen of the tattoos spread out over Emus' tattoo-covered body.

"And this religious junction that they're forming at Maidensbridge Chapel that you mentioned," Theran says, scratching his beard.

"Yep." There is a pause. "Go on."

"I think it's a real bad idea."

"That's what I thought you had said."

* * *

At The Cat & The Fiddle, Ella re-reads the note. The courier hadn't known it was from Tock Chandler, but she had, the moment she'd seen it.

In Middleborough, Telgen Mythander stands tip-toe on a stepstool inside his alchemy shop, The House of the Transformed Toad. Frowning, he plucks a note tuked between two bottles. He hadn't put that there, perhaps a customer had. Removing it, the gnome opens it, and his impressive eyebrows crawl up his forehead when he realizes it's from the fugitive, Renraw Kem.

* * *

In Midwood Hall, the vision fades and the mirror returns to normal, revealing Steward Eule Wood watching from a discreet distance over Baron Nicodemus Midwood's shoulder.

"Well, they're alive," the baron says, closing the steel shutters over the mirror and locking them, then closing a pair of decoratively carved wooden shutters over those. "Bring me blank warrants and stationery. We'll see if they can outrun the heliograph."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 4
Once Upon a Time*​
"Whatcyadoin', Bug?"

Katadid Leach looked into his hands and watched the mud slide through his fingers to reveal rocks, not insects. He was confused to say the least, as his name wasn't Bug, so the voice behind him must have been referring to something near him. Maybe the water bugs darting across the surface of the ...

Kat was shoved roughly from behind and found himself slipping down the muddy bank and falling face down into the shallow water under the Maiden's Bridge. He came up sputtering and flailing, despite the lack of danger. This made the moment even more hilarious to the group of children laughing behind him. One of the larger children made his way down the banks and roughly pulled the flapping child out to the road, dragging Kat a good portion of the way.

"That was AWESOME!" Edgar Russell laughed. He was pushed aside by a larger child and glowered at. The other boy took off, which was a very good idea, given that the boy who shoved him and rescued Kat was Tucker Gallaway.

"What did you have to fall in for?" Tucker yelled. Kat shivered and looked panicked as the giggling children surrounded him. Tucker bit his lip, feeling a moment of guilt. "You gotta look around sometimes Kat! Otherwise Edgar's going to keep on pushing you in!"

Kat began stammering and running his hands through his thin hair.

"I ... well ... stones and ..."

"He's probably counting ROCKS again!" Bree Russell said, running a dirty hand under her nose. Kat promptly knelt to the ground and began to turn around in a circle, tapping his feet as he did so. He had to whenever the word "rocks" was mentioned, and the children knew it. Tucker sighed and turned to chastise Bree and the other children, when a rock ricocheted off his skull.

"Ow!" Tucker bent over holding his ear. When he stood up, he was red-faced and growling at the young blonde boy with a sling shot standing on the railing of the bridge.

"I'm telling your mom, Tock!" Tucker screamed.

"Fine!" Tock laughed. "She can ask your mom about your real dad!"

Tucker advanced a few steps. The other children began whispering among themselves, eager to witness some entertainment.

"Don't you say nothin' bout my dad," he growled.

"What?" Tock hopped off the bridge in front of Tucker. "Like he's green and ugly and smelly and lives under a bridge?"

Tucker blinked.

"My dad doesn't ..."

"Your REAL dad. I saw your mom come down to the bridge and have the troll stick his thingy into her. And after it was done it ..."

Tock cried out and hit the ground, holding a bloody nose. Tucker shook his hand and brought it up to his mouth to suck on the already swelling knuckles. Lidda Ward rushed over and knelt over the swearing Tock, all too eager to coo over her latest crush. Bree looked like she wanted to join her, but reluctantly stayed by the other boys, who were disappointed by the fight's duration.

Tucker turned around and put his hand on Kat's shoulder.

"Come on. My ma's got some clothes that she ..."

All Kat saw was Tucker going down, Tock's tiny fists pummeling his back. The kids screeched like bats as they surrounded the pair. Tucker pushed Chandler off easily and took a few wild swings, which Tock seemed to dodge easily.

"_Smelly Gallaway!
Why don’t ya go away!
Take your troll daddy and smell some hay!_"

"SHUT UP, CHANDLER!" Tucker's face went red as his next swing went wide and the nimbler boy danced around him, slapping the back of his head.

"Make me troll baby! Make ... OW!"

The children scattered as they saw the adult grab Tock's shoulder and yank the boy back enough and grab his shirt with the other hand. Only Tucker stayed put, although it looked like he wished he could run as well. He looked to the ground with clenched fists as Heath Leach stared at the boy. Heath looked to his wet and miserable son and sighed.

"Tock, did you push my boy in the river, again?"

Tock struggled in the adult's grip but only succeeded in twisting his shirt around Heath's fist.

"Tucker did it! I saw him! It's why I was fighting, Uncle Heath!"

"This true, Tucker?" Mister Leach asked the boy, whose face had gone red.

"No, sir. It was Edgar Russell."

Heath nodded.

"All right, then. Why don't you go run off and play with that Grant boy? He's looking mighty bored sitting in that cart while his father's talking with Bridger. And I don't want to see you fighting no more!" Mister Leach yelled as Tucker shot off to the town square. Heath scowled to the boy he held. "As for you, Tock Chandler ..."

He sputtered as Tock simply slipped out of his shirt and took off bare-chested toward the bridge.

"I hate you! I hate this town!" Tock screeched angrily. To emphasize his point, he turned around and stuck his rear out to fart toward Heath. Heath shook his head and started to fold up the shirt to take to his brother-in-law.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Cute kid," a voice came from behind Heath. He turned around and smiled at his companion, who had managed to remain unnoticed behind Heath's size. The gnome was young, with wild hair and the meager beginnings of a mustache dotting his lip. Heath laughed and bent down to his son, who had remained shivering and wide-eyed the entire time.

"No surprise he was Helga's favorite, is it? Kat, you all right?"

Kat nodded once and then twice as he realized it would have been an odd number. His father sighed and lifted up Kat's dripping arm.

"We gotta get you some dry clothes. Again. It's in the pharmacy, Bufer. Won't take any time."

"Don't worry, Heath," the gnome said. "Where I come from, kids pushing each other into a lake is necessary for their development. I'd be more worried if they didn't. Although that brings up an interesting theory, as my great-great aunt Ihaliabop was this conjurer who thought that children multiplied when they got wet." 

The trio stopped as an apple core dropped in front of them, as the passed between the mill and the old chapel. They looked up to see a filthy girl smiling as she pulled another apple from her pocket and leaned back into the tree branches far above the ground.

"Hazel," Heath warned, "You better be careful up there."

Her face fell as she began to climb down,

"Sorry, Mister Leach."

Heath shook his head and smiled.

"Now, I didn't say you had to come down. Must be a great view. Just be careful, hear? Your father will burst if he finds out I left you there and you break your arm soon as I leave."

"Oh, I don't think we need to worry, Heath," Bufer said. "Looks more like a squirrel to me. And squirrels don't fall easily." The girl giggled and Bufer winked at her.

Heath shook his head and ushered his son forward. 

The gnome continued on with his story as if nothing had happened.

"Of course, she ended up thinking that dogs were telling her to take off her clothes and run through Wit's End, which sort of put an end to seriously considering her theories. I'm honestly not sure if was the actual scientific disproving of her ideas or the sight of her bits flapping around like caught fish that -"

"HEY!" Heath shouted. A sullen young boy was using a hand axe to chip away at one of the gravestones in the cemetery. He looked toward the trio with an impressive mixture of hostility and disinterest.

"Boy, " Heath growled, "I don't care if you're St. Yessid's mascot or not. You leave those stones alone."

"Ain't gonna matter to dem issit?" the boy slurred. "Bethcya cleanin' mold offa moldies ain't anythin." The child tossed the hand axe to the ground and grabbed a stick to start tearing away the moss off the tombstones. Heath stared for a moment to make sure the kid didn't try any other vandalism and shook his head as they continued. "That boy is touched in the head."

"Now, where was I?" Bufer muttered after they passed. "Where was I? Oh, yeah! My great-great aunt's-"

"We're home!" Heath said quickly, before running inside the apothecary. Bufer chuckled and looked across at the twitchy child.

"Never thought your dad queasy about public nudity what with your mom and that one, ah ..." Bufer closed his mouth rapidly and looked to the town square awkwardly.

Milos was tossing a drunken dwarf (Graymail? It was hard to keep track of them) out of The Cat & The Fiddle and elicited another chuckle.

"How do gnomes go to the bathroom?"

Bufer's head turned very slowly to the young boy, whose head was posed quizzically.

"Ah, well," the gnome began.

"Tock says that gnomes have to pee in foxholes because no other hole will take them. Is that true?"

"Er, no."

"Where's Wit's End?"

"Um ..."

"How come no one can find it? Do you use spells? A special artifact?"

"How's a boy of eight know the word arti-"

"What do these gnome words mean? _Clockwork? Wonder? Daft?_"

At that moment, Heath came out with a new set of clothes, saving Bufer from further interrogation. Heath snickered at the gnome as he removed Kat's sopping wet shirt.

"He start with the questions again?"

Bufer nodded slowly and Heath laughed.

"Yeah, he does that sometimes. I'd just answer them or find someone who can or you'll never get any peace. Now Kat," Heath lifted his son's eyes to meet his own after he had been redressed. "This'll have to do till I get to the washing tonight. PLEASE, try not to dig anything up till at least dusk, OK? Now, Mister Potentloins and I have to go in and discuss this order for his ma, so I want you to stay close by."

Kat nodded and Heath rustled his son's hair, which caused a string of apologies as Kat started moaning as his hair became messy. After adjusting it and an almost wary look from Bufer toward him, Kat was left alone outside of the apothecary.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Katadid started counting the number of stones that touched the outer walls. He then figured out the average between all four. He was beginning to get worried, as he could feel an odd number coming, when he heard a hiss from behind him.

Kat turned to see a young boy with greasy black hair and bulging eyes across way, behind the mill. He beckoned toward Kat. He hesitated. He vaguely recognized the boy, but couldn't remember from where. The boy hissed again, this time angrily, and Kat walked tentatively forward.

"Why did you take so long?" the boy snarled. He started at a snapping branch and pressed himself against the wall, but when nothing happened, turned back around.

"Remember what we were talking about? About machines?"

"Um ... Well, not-"

"Yes, we did! Don't be stupid!"

Kat didn't like to be called stupid, as he heard it often and knew it wasn't a good thing.

"OK."

"Look," the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out an oily rag. He took his time unwrapping it. Inside was a golden pistol; intricate script written across the hilt and a dragon's head whose mouth was open and ready to belch flame.

"Wow," Kat said as he reached out. The pistol was pulled back and testily wrapped.

"I didn't say you could touch it!" the boy said.

"How does it work?" Kat asked, his eyes wide. Renraw opened his mouth and thought for a moment, mouth wide.

"It has this fairy inside. It's a fire fairy. And when you pull this little thing here, it shoots the little ball you put in. I've seen it done hundreds of time. It's so easy. For me, I mean."

"Can I see it?" Kat asked.

"Sure," Renraw said. He threw the rag down and pointed the dragon pistol at the young boy's head. "Now, I'm going to pull this thingy JUST a little. Not enough to make it go off, but you should be able to see the fairy peek out. Now look close! I don't want to have to do this again!"

"OK!" Kat squealed. He put his eye against the dragon's mouth. Renraw looked nervous and started to open his mouth to say something.

Kat fell back and screamed as Renraw was lifted off the ground and slammed against the wall. The dragon pistol fell to the ground and snapped as the hammer clicked against an empty chamber, the metal ball rolling uselessly out of the barrel. Kat looked up to see an older version of Renraw holding him off the ground.

"What the HELL are you doing? I come to visit and you're pulling this crap?" 

"Let me go, Scim! LET ME -- AAH!" Kat flinched and backed up as Renraw's head was bounced against the wall.

"Are you an idiot? Do you have any idea what he'll do if he catches you with-"

"ROEBELLOOO!" A voice bellowed across the square. Both of the Kem boys froze, eyes wide with terror. Even Renraw's fear during his brother's beating paled in comparison to what this voice engendered in him.

"Damn it," Scim picked up the gun and stuffed it inside his pants. He shoved Renraw against the wall and held him there. "You are meeting Uncle Ronco out in the orchard for this. DAMN!"

And with that, Scimitar ran off.

Kat moaned softly and banged his head against the wall as Renraw sniffed and wiped his eyes. Renraw looked at Kat with hatred twisting his features.

"What did you have to do that for? You STUPID MORON, you messed everything up!"

Kat cried out as Renraw kicked him in the shin and ran off, tears streaming down his face.

It was a long while before Kat stood back up, and only after he counted to 224. Still nervous, he tapped the corners of the mill and looked across the river to the orchard. Realizing that counting the trees and touching the branches would sooth him, he started walking and soon crossed the bridge.

Before going to the orchard, however, Kat had to stop by Constable Bridger's tower. It was a rule. He HAD to touch each of the large stones behind Bridger's house before walking to the orchard. Kat began getting nervous when he saw the cart parked outside, which on the sides beheld a crest of something called "Grant Old Ale," but no one seemed to be in it, so Kat walked around toward the back. He touched each of the stones and immediately felt better. Kat sighed and started to walk back around the long way toward the orchard when he heard a noise.

Looking up, he saw a brown tail flap back and forth from the window above. Kat watched as a kobold, holding a torn white puffy shirt jumped down to the ground. The kobold looked hurt, with minor cuts and bruising on his scales that made his skin a darker brown, and one side of his face seemed swollen. In one hand, he held an apple and in the other a pair of dark goggles, which he tried to put on one-handed as he sloppily ate the apple. After a moment, the kobold succeeded and sighed.

And that was when he noticed Kat.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The boy and the kobold stared at each other for a long moment, the kobold nervous and obviously ready to bolt. Katadid, on the other hand, looked fascinated.

"You're a kobold, right?" he asked.

"Ah, yes?" it said, although it didn't sound used to the name for his race in Imperial Common.

Kat nodded.

"Why aren't you up in the mountain?" The boy jerked his chin in the direction of Green Mountain, looming over the orchard.

"They ... do not. Do not like I."

Kat nodded again.

"Yeah. No one here does either."

Seeing this human unafraid, the kobold did something unusual for his species. He smiled.

"Boy nice. Want ... um..." the dragonkin held out another apple but obviously didn't know the word for it.

"An apple?"

"Apple? I-is apple?"

"Yeah. What is it in kobold?"

"Ah, don't. No 'apple.' Called, _softskin baby-head_. Because look."

'What's your name?"

"Um, hard."

"Is it 'Flower?' You have a tiny one painted on your glasses."

At this the kobold seemed very enthusiastic.

"What? Is what?" he said, pointing at the crude pink flower painted onto his goggles. "What called?"

Kat felt happy for some reason. He wasn't sure why.

"Flower. You have a flower."

"Flower," the kobold said, mulling the word over. "Yes! Flower! Boy nice!"

Suddenly, the kobold looked up to the sky, his tail darting around frantically.

"Go. Have. Boy nice!" He looked to Kat and pointed to the sky and Kat looked up, confused. The kobold stamped his feet in frustration. "Boy nice! Boy ... _hide! Just hide! I don’t know the word!_"

"Hide?" Kat said. The kobold looked blankly and Kat walked over to the tree line to crouch down. The kobold jumped and down, squealing with glee. "Boy hide! Boy nice!"

The pair crouched in the underbrush. Kat spent most of the time looking at the kobold. Watching him breathe, watching his tail move, thrilling at something entirely alien and new. There was a brief moment when the kobold's movement stopped and for some reason that was when the sky went very dark for a moment, but when Kat looked up the sky was clear again. And all he heard was a repetitive noise fading away in the distance. After a moment, the kobold relaxed. 

"Boy nice," he said.

"Kobold nice." Kat replied. The kobold broke out into a wide grin.

Kat heard his name being called and looked away. It was then that he heard other cries in the distance coming from town. He went to ask the dragonkin, but when he turned back the kobold had disappeared. Kat blinked and after a while got up from his hiding place. He heard some noise coming from the front of Bridger's house and went around to investigate.

"Richard, get back to town and alert the baron," Kat heard the constable say. "I need to stay here and -- what the?" Ward Bridger started at the sickly boy who peeked around the corner. In the cart was a large man with a large black beard with twinges of grey. Next to him was an awkward and gangly boy with serious eyes. Bridger's face turned red. "LEACH! What are you ... Do you have any idea what just happened? Get back to town to your father, NOW!"

Kat took off running. As he approached town, he heard the cries and screams increase. The town was in chaos, with people running every which way. Some families had started packing carts, whereas others were trying to keep the families from doing so. Mothers were calling frantically for their children. Over the din, Kat heard his own father's voice. 

"I'M COUNTING! TWO! KAT? THREE!"

Kat rushed out toward his father. Whenever Kat was in trouble or doing something wrong, his father would threaten to count to five -- knowing full well the effect that odd numbers had on his son. Kat would always appear or stop what he was doing by either two or four, rather then end the count on that horrible number. By the time Heath had reached four, Kat ran up to his father and prepared for his punishment. Instead, his father hugged him so tightly it prompted a flurry of coughs.

"What did I tell you? WHAT DID -" Heath let his son go and wiped his brow. "Son, Mister Potentloins is going to take you home. I have to run to Bridger's and see what we're going to do now that-"

Heath stopped himself short and instead unsheathed a hand axe as well as a whip that Kat had never seen before.

"Heath," Bufer said frantically. "No offense, but I got to get back to Wit's End pronto. If Gax is out then -"

"Bufer, if Gax is out then Rubik probably knows already. And if Gax is heading that way, you certainly aren't gonna beat her there. PLEASE, just take my boy home."

Bufer looked annoyed, but nodded. Kat's father bolted toward Bridger's tower and Bufer grabbed Kat by the shoulder and led him home. The gnome began speaking, more to himself than to his charge.

"I swear, kid, we're all going to kill each other by the time this is over. Stupid, STUPID! Never even occurred to them that maybe it ain't what it looks like. No, the kobolds have to be evil bastards on the warpath."

The pair reached the front door of the apothecary.

"I think some of them can be nice," Kat mumbled.

Bufer was already about to break out into a run when he heard Kat. He stood there for a moment before turning around.

"You really think so?" Bufer asked quietly.

Kat stared at his feet.

"Um, yeah? I mean ... th-they can't all ..."

Feeling Bufer's eyes stare at him, Kat tried to articulate himself better.

"I mean ... m-maybe we just have t-to talk ... to them. To them, I mean."

The town in full-fledged panic mode behind him, Bufer smiled. He nodded and patted Kat on the shoulder.

"Yeah. Can I tell you a secret, Katadid?" Kat's eyes lit up and he nodded spastically.

"I think so, too," Bufer whispered. "But why don't you keep what you told me to yourself right now. I think everyone is a little too scared to really hear exactly what you're saying, OK? You promise?"

Kat nodded and Bufer smiled.

"Now, you get inside and don't come out till your pa tells you, OK? I'll see you soon, Kat."

Kat spent the rest of the day watching the town through the apothecary window. People cried and held their children tight, while carts were overturned in hysterics. The hammering of boards being placed over windows was a constant accompaniment to the smell of watch fires being lit for the guards in preparation for a kobold attack. It would be weeks before the truth would be believed: Gax had truly left Green Mountain.

But for now, Kat looked across the town square and up into the great mountain in the distance. He began to think about the creatures inside and smiled. He had seen something new and learned something. It had been a good day.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 5
The Abbey in the Woods*​
It is the 4th day of Rain, in the 721st year of the Imperial Age. It has been 111 years since the abbess of Maidensbridge Abbey went mad and murdered her fellow Sisters of the New Dawn and 10 days since Emmerson Grant and Ebuferpaly Potentloins agreed to lift the curse on the haunted abbey.

It is raining in Maidensbridge when the young man rides into town atop a shaggy pony, his hooded cloak plastered to his body. He rides to the chapel and calls, but receives no answer over the sound of the pounding rain.

He urges the miserable pony away from the shelter of overhanging trees back toward the center of town. Dismounting into a mud puddle outside The Cat & The Fiddle, he yells something, but the sound is lost in the rain.

He forces the door open -- it has swollen shut with the damp -- and squelches inside, pulling back his hood. Beneath it, his black hair is stuck to his skin, and he wipes water and hair from his face.

"Lothian bless and keep you all. Innkeeper, could someone see to my pony and bring my saddlebags inside? I could use a warm room and some hot food. And if someone could find me Emmerson Grant, I would be most grateful."

Hearing his name, Emmerson swallows his food quickly and stands up, sliding his chair back from the table.

"Lothian keep you," he says. "I am Emmerson Grant. How may I be of service?"

From where he sits next to Emmerson's vacated chair, Bufer glances from his partner's back to the sodden man in the doorway, and thoughtfully chews his goulash. Subtly, so as not to be noticed, he slips the page of Draconic letters he's been studying, written in the hand of one Katadid Leach, off the table and into his lap.

The rain-bedraggled young man flashes a smile at Emmerson, and then gestures towards the door, where a miserable Ella is leading the man's pony through the rain and mud to the stables.

"Those saddlebags contain packages for you. I'm half-drowned, my friend, could I trouble you to get them?"

"No trouble at all." Emmerson gives him the mug of hot cider he had just ordered. "Put some fire in you while I go fetch them. I leave you in the company of my friend Ebuferpaly Potentloins."

Emmerson hurries out the door.

Inside, the young man sits down across from Bufer with a squelch, and his wooden ankh-crucifix swings forward, knocking against the table as the acolyte adjusts his chair, gratefully wrapping his fingers around the warm clay mug.

"Ah, much better."

After a moment, a muddy and soaking Ella and Emmerson return. The barmaid shoots the acolyte a dirty look before heading up the stairs to dry off and change her clothes.

The acolyte nods at the oilskin-wrapped objects Emmerson drops on the table before sitting down.

"His Excellency, Bishop Jurgen Lehmann, sent me along to go over these records for you before you visit the abbey. I suggested that tomorrow, Godsday, would be an auspicious day for such a mission, and he agreed, sending me out into the rain and wind to deliver these books to you post-haste."

"Tomorrow?" Emmerson's eyes open slightly in surprise. "Certainly."

Godsday, the fifth of Rain, is a holiday set aside to revere all gods, and the holiest in many religions. Although not the holiest of days in Lothianism, it's still an auspicious day, when many believe the gods pay extra attention to the affairs of their mortal worshippers.

"May I?" Emmerson gestures toward the packages. 

The acolyte noisily sips the cider and nods.

Emmerson and Bufer untie and unwrap the packages, which turn out to be books and scrolls discussing the history of the barony, a sketch of the abbey in its heyday and one volume of a multivolume series about the orders of monks and nuns of the Church of Lothian.

Emmerson unrolls a scroll that appears to be the log of a paladin who previously explored the abbey after its fall. His other hand holds the sketch of the abbey as he scans the log of Artos Nachtmann.

Seeing what Emmerson is reading, the acolyte leans forward, wiping the cider from his lips with the back of his hand.

"Yes, Nachtmann's journey into the abbey in IA 670 was well-documented, since he had learned from previous failed attempts. After each sortie, he left to camp outside the abbey and left his journal in a waterproof scroll tube hung on a tree limb. When he finally disappeared, we at least had the details of what he had seen and heard -- or thought he did -- and what appears to be his descent into madness."

The acolyte leans back in his chair, looking for the staff of The Cat & The Fiddle, radiating a great deal of pleasure that he's not going into the abbey himself.

Emmerson pauses on an entry marked "IA 670, Toil 7."

"_I have found the abbey easily with the directions from the innkeeper and his wife. The main building is in good repair despite the weather and lack of care, although black ivy threatens to choke it, covering much of the building save the doors and windows. Outlying buildings, such as the chapel and work sheds, have not fared as well, and are almost a complete shambles. The chapel in particular is in poor shape, with the roof having caved in, taking the primary ceiling braces with it, giving it a folded-in appearance._"

The next entry is a day later.

"_I have completed my investigations of the outlying ruins, and confirmed that there is nothing to them save the ivy. Not even birds or small animals have made nests there. Whatever is wrong with this place has kept them away as well. But the time has come for me to face up to my sense of unease and investigate the main abbey tomorrow._"

Emmerson skips ahead two days.

"_I have been unable to find any evidence of it, but I feel convinced when I explore the abbey that there are rooms and hallways not ruined by time, inhabited by something other than memories. I can all but hear the soft footfalls of the nuns walking and quietly working. This must be my imagination, I know, but the notion has taken a hold of me, and I cannot shake it._"

Four days later:

"_I woke again last night to find my campfire had gone out. The whispering that fills my dreams was helpful for once, I suppose. As I was relighting the fire -- there are great worgs in these woods, and it would not do to let them come up on me unannounced at night -- I felt convinced there was a woman in one of the abbey's windows, watching me, but when I looked up, the afterglow of the sparks from my flint and tinder blinded me, and I could see nothing._"

Emmerson frowns. There have been no worgs in the Tulgey Wood in his lifetime, but he remembers the stories his father used to tell late at night.

Nachtmann's journal for IA 670, Toil 21: "_Every waking moment is filled with the damned whispers. I pray that Lothian will drown out their voices, but I cannot pray loudly enough for him to hear me. At night, when I am able to sleep, I wake up sobbing like a child, but unable to remember what has driven me to despair. At the same time, I am filled with a dread of the Tulgey Wood and am afraid to leave my camp. Even by daylight, I feel the eyes upon me._"

The final journal entry is marked IA 670, Harvest 12, in a crazed hand, unlike the neat penmanship of the first entries: "_She's right, I know. All I try to accomplish, all any of us try to accomplish, is as meaningless as the games of children in the face of a coming plague. When I close my eyes, I can feel them, moving beneath the surface, like maggots beneath the skin of a fruit that's rotten to the core. It would be a blessing for me to return to Maidensbridge and put them all to the sword before they can see the horror that is to come. But I know now that I am a coward, and am just as afraid to return there as I am to stay. I know I would beg for the High Priest to lie to me, to tell me that everything will be fine. I wonder if they have always known. Their Empire, their religion, it's all whistling past the graveyard. Night is falling for us all and lighting a lamp against it does nothing but point us out to the things that wait in the dark for us. I will not bother with a light this night -- they know where to find me._"

"These notes will serve us well, brother," Emmerson says. "Tell me, what do you think of the abbey? Do you think Nachtmann really went insane from what was inside?"

Ella now at his elbow, the acolyte orders a bowl of onion soup and black bread. He carefully considers before answering Emmerson.

"If it had only been Nachtmann, I would have had my doubts. But there have been other disappearances over the years, including some that appeared to have been suicides or murder-suicides by exorcists and explorers. Even if Nachtmann disappeared for a reason not related to the abbey -- perhaps a bear or a worg -- his journal certainly paints a frightening portrait of his mental state."

Emmerson mulls over what the acolyte has said. He looks at the oddly silent Bufer holding a sheaf of papers.

"We're going to need help," Emmerson says, and stands. "Emus told me how to contact him should we require his assistance, and it certainly looks like we do. Please, enjoy your food. I shall return shortly."

Cold rain blows in a moment before Emmerson shuts the door behind him, squelching off into the rain.

"Tell me the truth, son," Bufer says quietly to the acolyte, once he's certain Emmerson is out of earshot. "Does his Excellency actually believe we can succeed where these men failed? Or are me and the beanpole hiking off a cliff, here?"

The acolyte takes the book on nuns and monks and begins flipping through the pages carefully as he answers.

"For 111 years, everyone who has attempted to lift the curse has vanished, died or gone mad. Some have done more than one," the acolyte says. He finds the page he's looking for and tucks a purple silk ribbon between two pages to mark his place and then closes the book. "But truthfully, most who have gone have gone alone, or nearly so. If you were to go in force, it might be that you could succeed where the other have failed.

"As for what his Excellency seeks, I imagine if you and the dwarf cleric were to die or vanish, it would make his life less complicated. But if you were to succeed, it would increase the glory of Lothian and his standing in the church.

"His Excellency does not take gambles that he feels he can lose. No one plays Three-Dragon Ante with him twice."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer's chair creaks as he leans back and strokes his chin in consideration. He stares at the table for a moment before glancing back up at the acolyte and favoring him with a smile.

"Well, at least you're honest. I appreciate that, lad," he says. "Listen, I ain't never had the patience for book learnin' -- I always been more of a 'learn by doing' kind of gnome, much to my master's chagrin."

He gestures to the various books, scrolls and maps strewn across the table.

"Any way ye can sum up the more relevant parts of this for me? And maybe give me a clue as to what you might know that's not in here?"

The young acolyte sputters in horror at the notion that someone would eschew book-learning, but after a moment, he composes himself and begins grabbing various books and flipping through them rapidly, opening them to select pages and turning them around toward Bufer.

"The Sisters of the New Dawn were an order of nuns established by a grant by a pious merchant's wife living in Grail Keep who feared the decline of learning and knowledge. The order's founder felt the same way, and claimed to have received an apocalyptic prophecy from Lothian himself."

The acolyte unrolls a scroll and reads it aloud.

"_Night sweeps across the land,
And you cannot stop it.
Shadows grow,
And you cannot beat them back.
The sun is setting,
And you cannot raise it up again.
Darkness is coming,
And all you can do
Is light a candle
And pray for a new dawn._"

The Cat & The Fiddle has grown silent, with Milos Fordham listening with arms crossed and brow furrowed by the bar.

"Ahem, well." The acolyte flushes a little with embarrassment. "The abbey was intended as a place where the sisters would collect the knowledge of the present age and store it away in advance of the coming time when learning and reason would vanish from the world. Even before the abbey was finished, books and scrolls and works of art were being brought to the abbey, and the sisters spent a great deal of time summarizing them, creating archives of knowledge that would let the people of a future time reconstruct the learning of today."

The acolyte stops, considering what to say next.

"Some in the church felt the sisters were not particularly discriminating in what sorts of books they brought beneath holy walls for study and preservation. At the time of the ... incident, the Holy Emperor had called for the abbess to appear before him in the Holy Palace in Tarsis to defend some of her more questionable decisions, but before the messenger arrived in Midwood, she and her sisters were already dead."

He spreads out the drawing of the abbey.

"In its heyday, the abbey was a two-story building of timber and stone, but it has fallen into disrepair. Parts of the second floor have collapsed and black vines choke much of the rest of the building. The perimeter buildings have all but vanished at this point."

The acolyte puts a watertight scroll tube on the table but does not open it.

"The bishop also had me bring this series of scrolls along for you. If you succeed in ... whatever is necessary, reading this spell will sanctify the ruins, and should keep whatever it is from coming back again. But it's not of any real use until then."

He goes back to his soup, slurping noisily.

Bufer nods, steepling his fingers against his chin as he absorbs all this.

"Good, that's what the books say," he says. "Now: rumors, supposition, wild speculation, whatever it is you all whisper to each other in the dead of night at Scripture Camp, I want to hear all of it. What is it y'all think killed them all?"

The acolyte looks at Bufer as though speaking to a very slow child.

"It was the abbess, Mister Gnome, the abbess."

Bufer cocks a bushy eyebrow and throws the acolyte's patronizing tone right back at him.

"I mean what drove her to it?" he asks. "Can't tell me you've got all this, and ain't nobody never made a guess. Or has it just never occurred to you to wonder?"

At this moment, Emmerson opens the front door and stomps inside, soaking wet.

"Ella, a hot cider, please." He reoccupies his seat, dripping on the floor. "I left the sign for Emus. Lothian willing, he'll see it by tomorrow."

He looks between Bufer and the acolyte, the mutual irritation palpable.

"What did I miss?"

The acolyte blinks in frustration, blushing with embarrassment and anger, his eyes tearing up a bit.

"I'm just a librarian, Mister Gnome. If anyone knows what caused the abbess to go mad in the first place, they never wrote it down and they certainly never told me. I rather thought that's what the bishop wanted you to take care of."

"No need to get flustered," Emmerson says mildly. "We will take care of it."

"Thank you, sir." The acolyte gets up and walks to the bar, speaking quietly with Milos, and exchanging coins for a key to a room upstairs.

"Panty-waisted academic," Bufer scoffs, rolling his eyes. He glances at Emmerson, who glares at him disapprovingly. "I got a bad feelin' about this, beanpole."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"If it was easy, someone else would have done it by now," Emmerson says, sitting down and picking up at the papers, which he tries to keep dry. "Emus has been contacted. We need to locate Vonmora if she is to accompany us. Then we need to familiarize ourselves with the papers here to see what we're up against and if there's something we need to do to end it."

He sips the mug with the cooling cider.

"Did he give you any pointers?"

"Nothing we hadn't already learned on our own, anyway," Bufer says, waving his hand dismissively. "My guess remains the same: The sisters took too close a look at something they shouldn't have looked at to begin with, although we still ain't no closer to knowing what that something might be."

The gnome cleric huffs in frustration and shakes his head.

"I was hoping his Excellency might have some kind of theory as to what it might be, but if he's got one, it appears he ain't shared it with the panty-waist, there."

"So reading these documents is of vital importance. If we don't go fully prepared, we will end up as a footnote on the next package the bishop sends, and our unified church idea will be nothing more than that." Emmerson frowns. "What happens if Emus misses the signal? I mean, he told me that he'd check the tree every other day. What if he checked it today and won't be around well after Godsday?"

Bufer raises a curious eyebrow.

"I'm reluctant to bring in someone else before we know what lies ahead," Emmerson continues, "But do you think we could use Hazel's help?"

Bufer fiddles with the green friendship band wrapped around his index finger.

"I suppose we could but I ain't exactly eager to involve her," he stammers. "There ain't no doubt she's up to the challenge, it's just ... you didn't see the look on her face that day with the kobolds. I don't want to put her in a position where she's carrying home friends wrapped in a bloody cloak again. Or worse."

"Very well. Unless she flat out asks us where we're going, we won't involve her," Emmerson says. "All right, let's see what Artos Nachtmann wrote about the abbey."

The pair fall silent, listening to the patter of the rain in the mud outside and the crackle of the logs in the fireplace as they read.

"Not lighting a campfire," Emmerson murmurs, reading Nachtmann's scroll, shaking his head.

"If he didn't light a campfire, then it's like as anything he was dragged away by those worgs he was worried about earlier," Bufer puts in. "That's a mistake we won't be making."

"Unless worgs whisper day and night, I don't think that's what took him."

"Fat lot of good his log was," Bufer says, waving a hand at the scroll in Emmerson's hand. "If he'd spent more time telling us what he actually saw instead of what he didn't see or almost saw, we'd be a lot better prepared. Ours will be better; it'll be written by a gnome, after all!"

"I think his mistake was thinking he couldn't die undertaking his mission. We go in there armed with the knowledge that a mistake could do us in."

Bufer looks down regretfully at the cold remains of his goulash, plucks his napkin up off his lap and dabs his mouth with it.

"All right, I'm off to find Vonmora, let her know we're on for tomorrow. Why don't you see if you can find Tucker? If there are worgs to be worrying about, another pair of eyes and a strong arm couldn't hurt. We can all meet at the chapel tonight, go over supplies and sift through this stuff, see if we can glean anything more from it."

"Tucker, of course! How could I forget him? Aye, I will tell him our plans and tell him to meet us there." Emmerson closes the books and carries his share. "I have to much to pray on between now and then."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Evening brings no relief from the rain spattering Maidensbridge with mud. The Sawyer house is no exception.

Inside, the family has gathered around the table for dinner: Hazel and her father are intent on their meals, Hazel's sister Aspen and their mother are happily chatting about a bolt of fine fabric that they found in town yesterday and young Reed sits at the table continuing his losing battle with boredom that rainy days bring to all young boys.

Three loud knocks at the door give everyone pause. Each wonders who would be out in such a heavy rainstorm. As Hazel starts to head for the door, the deep "woof" from the other side makes her smile. That smile turns into a look of annoyance as Reed barrels past her yelling, "Skeeter!"

By the time Hazel and her family have reached the front door, Emus Graymullet stands in the middle of the room, dripping water onto the floor. Behind him, Reed and Skeeter reunite as only a boy and a dog can, but fortunately not too close to the shelf that holds some of Rosalind Sawyer's more favored porcelain.

"Hazel, sir, ma'am," the dwarf rumbles, hair and whiskers plastered down flat with rain and mud.

"Emus! What are you doing here?" Hazel grins, but before he can reply, she turns to her father.

"Oh! Da, this is Emus Graymullet. One of my friends that --"

"I know who he is, Hazel," Jack Sawyer begins, clearly steeling himself for an argument. But he's cut off by his wife, who steps before him with a smile and obvious attention to the puddle forming at Emus' feet.

"Welcome to our home, Emus. Would you care for something to eat? Perhaps we can dry you off some?"

The dwarf looks down, seemingly realizing how wet he is for the first time, then steps closer to the door and away from the Sawyers' seemingly ancient carpet.

"Ah, sorry. No, thank you." Behind him, Reed laughs as Skeeter shakes the water off of his fur all over the entryway. "I just came by to talk to Hazel for a minute."

"How can we help you?" Jack Sawyer gazes directly at Emus, but Emus directs his answer to Hazel.

"I asked Emmerson to let me know when he's ready to go into Maidensbridge Abbey. They're going go soon, and I'd like for you to come with us."

"What?" Jack Sawyer explodes. "Hazel, we talked about your little adventures. Ask your friend to leave."

"With as many people as we should have that are gonna go in," Emus continues, his voice remaining level. The angriest human is nothing to the rage of a dwarf. "We should be fine as long as we can keep from arguing. You're the calmest, and most level-headed of us all, Hazel, and more than anyone, you can keep us focused, especially now that Chandler and Kem are gone."

"Hazel! Ask your friend to leave!"

Emus looks up at Hazel's father.

"Sir, what happened in that abbey ain't right and it ain't natural. We have a chance to put them ladies to rest, and Hazel keeping us together is our best chance of gettin' it done; she's the only one everyone listens to."

Jack Sawyer looks down at his daughter, simmering with fury. Hazel gives Emus a slight nod before turning to her father.

"Da, you've always said 'best done soonest.' Leaving something to fester ain't right, and whatever's in that abbey's been festering something fierce longer than I been alive, I know you don't like letting me go, but I can't sit by and let my friends head off into danger. You taught me better than that, Da."

Jack Sawyer sighs deeply and closes his eyes for a moment.

"I should've let your mother keep you in the house, make a proper girl out of you. Didn't know you were going to take to the woods like a fish to water."

"It's a little late for that now, dear," his wife says quietly, her hand touching his shoulder lightly. "And I'm sure Emus will take good care of her."

"To be sure, ma'am. Won't a thing happen to her that I can stop."

"Go on then, Hazel," her father says, slapping her shoulder somewhat roughly. "But we're not done with this subject."

"I know. I'll be careful." She grabs her cloak from its peg by the door, the folds swirling around her as she pulls the hood up and stoops to pick up her pack. "Let's go."

Reed watches forlornly from the door as Skeeter bounds away into the rain, Hazel and Emus following behind.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The rain has slackened off some, but Raddashin's Eye still looks down on Midwood, pouring seemingly endless amounts of rain on the barony as the group gathered in Maidensbridge Chapel plan the next day's expedition.

Wind and rain blow in as the chapel door creaks open. Bufer squishes inside, followed by Vonmora Farrin, their hoods drawn up against the rain.

"... stockpiling holy water since we done got back from Maidensbridge," he says over his shoulder to the dwarven cleric. "It ain't much -- we can only bless about two flasks a day between the two of us -- but it'll hafta do. Also picked me up an altar case, an' a few aspergillums for sprinkling the water --oh!"

Bufer stops short as he turns and spots of Hazel. Reaching up to lower the dripping hood of his robe, Bufer glances meaningfully up at Emmerson, who merely shrugs and mouths Emus' name. Bufer rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he sighs in resignation.

"Evening lass," he finally says to Hazel, "I guess you heard. To be honest, I was hoping you wouldn't find out until after we'd gone, but I suppose I ought to know better."

Hazel looks from Bufer to Emmerson and back again.

"You don't want me to go?" She gestures toward Vonmora. "Is there a one-woman limit on do-gooding in this town? Because I'm pretty sure I'd lose an axe-fight with a dwarf, cleric or no."

Hazel rises to her feet, clutching some of Nachtmann's journal entries.

"Maybe you won't have to face worgs like Artos, here, did since they ain't been around Maidensbridge in years." She pauses briefly, thinking. "Well, except for the Black Reavers' mounts, but they ain't gonna go running off on their own, because the goblins -- never mind, I'm getting off track here."

She tosses the papers onto the table.

"Point being, even if you ain't facing worgs, there might be other beasties in that abbey, and who's gonna watch your backs while you're all mumbling an' praying and cleansing evil?" Hazel shakes her head, staring hard at Bufer. "Don't even think you're going in there without me. If you don't find trouble, trouble finds you, and I ain't about to let it sink its claws in."

"Well, that settles it then, I guess," Bufer sighs. "But watch yourself: If you die, your father will kill the rest of us."

Before she can reply, the door slams open and Emus marches in, a broad grin on his face.

"Howdy, all! I swear, I just took the longest piss ever!" His cackle is cut short when he notices Vonmora sitting with the others at the table that Emmerson has set up as a staging area. Helping himself to a tankard of mead, Emus joins them, studiously ignoring the dwarf from the rival clan.

"Now, holy sprinklers are all well and good, but the way I figure it," Emus begins after being caught up on the discussion, "We're gonna need lots of explosives. Maybe barrels of gunpowder. It will be hard to get them from the _Haurdir_ in Middleborough by tomorrow, but maybe old Therurt has some lying around. But that might not be enough. If we'd had more time, we could have been stockpiling it. But we'll have to make do with whatever we can scrounge up, I guess. Then, I was thinking that maybe -- what?"

Everyone around the table stares at Emus in silence.

"Emus," Emmerson finally says, "Why do we need so many explosives?"

"Ah-ha!" Emus points knowingly at the priest. "I was thinking the same thing! But we can't just burn it all down. I did the research, see, and the abbey is mostly stone, right? And even if stone burned (which it doesn't), with all this rain, any flames we start are gonna go right out.

"So, we explode all the buildings, and any ghosts and such haunting the place won't stick around without a place to haunt, see? And if, by chance, anything tries to escape the devastating wreckage, we can use them holy sprinklers -- you can't bless rain clouds I don't think -- to finish 'em off! Problem solved!"

There's another awkward silence, broken this time by Bufer.

"Ah, Emus," he says awkwardly, "As much as I can appreciate the, um, efficiency of your plan, I think the main goal is to remove the undead threat from the grounds of the abbey, without destroying it. And also to try to find out what happened to the nuns who lived there."

There's another moment of silence as Emus chews his beard, thinking about this.

"Well, that's just plain stupid."

"Indeed," Bufer says, grateful that this line of conversation appears to be at an end. "Blessing rain clouds ... I wonder if that's ever been tried."

Still thinking, he attempts to climb into a seat around the table. Once he's fought his way onto his chair, Bufer realizes he can barely see over it. He looks flatly out over the surface for a second, only his eyes and bushy eyebrows visible beyond the edge, before glancing sourly at Emmerson and getting to his feet on the chair.

"Stop smiling, beanpole," he snaps. "This table is speciesist. Anyway, I know we're still waiting on Tucker, but I figure there's enough of us here to get started. Why don't you fill us in, Emmerson?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson and Bufer go over what they've learned from the church's documents relating to Maidensbridge Abbey with the others. 

"We need to know what we face or there'll be another attempt to find our remains 110 years from now," Emmerson concludes. "Sure, we go in, check every room carefully and keep our eyes open for the slightest movement. But I'd feel safer knowing that we are prepared to face what has killed everyone who's gone there. Bufer, did the acolyte tell you how are we going to cleanse the abbey once and for all?"

"With an exorcism ritual," comes a voice from the doorway. It's the rain-bedraggled acolyte, who ducks inside to get out of the wet. "You can find it in the Chapter of Angels in the Book of the Brilliant Dawn."

He glances at Bufer and Vonmora.

"I assume other faiths have a similar ritual in their holy works," he says, looking for a place to sit down. "The ritual is a dangerous one, however, as it will force whatever is haunting the abbey -- if it is indeed something undead -- to manifest, and it will attempt to kill the exorcist and thus interrupt the ritual. If you defeat it, you can complete the ritual and remove the presence entirely from the site. After that, the bishop has asked you use the scroll I gave you to _hallow_ the site once more, to prevent something like this from happening again, and to give those who died there the peace they deserve."

Emmerson shows the acolyte the chair he reserved for the still-absent Tucker.

"Have a seat, brother," Emmerson says. "We thank your counsel and I wonder if I could ask for a little more of your knowledge."

He shows the acolyte a list of questions he and Bufer have drawn up. The acolyte scans it, frowning.

"Hmmm, I don't know that records survived of most of that. The abbey has not been very kind to those trying to document things after the fact, and the sisters never shared a list of their inventory. I believe there were about two dozen nuns living in the abbey at the time of the incident, however."

"Great," Bufer says flatly, "Two dozen boogey-boogedies. We're gonna need a lot more holy water."

He looks up sharply at the acolyte as something occurs to him.

"Hey, while we're on the subject, we can count on his Excellency to reimburse us for our expenses when this is all over, right? My friends an' I've spent a small fortune on powdered Dwarven silver over the past couple of weeks, not that that's made Therurt any happier to see me at all. So, how about it?"

"I don't know. The bishop only had me deliver the records that might be of use to you." The acolyte leans forward. "But if you get the constable or the sheriff to suggest it to the baron, the bishop might have to compensate you."

Hazel gets up and heads toward the chapel door. She rifles through the pockets of her cloak, taking care not to slip in the growing puddle of water below the coat rack Emmerson provided. She counts quietly to herself as the group at the table peppers the acolyte with questions.

A search of her pockets turns up the handkerchief she often carries lunch in; Hazel dumps a handful of coins in and knots the ends before rejoining the group. She tosses the bag on the table in front of Bufer. At his curious look, she explains in clipped tones, still miffed by his lack of trust in her abilities.

"Fifty gold. For more holy water."

Bufer glances from the bundle of coins to Hazel, and nods.

"Thank you, lass," he says evenly. "I'll run out to Therurt, and we'll bless up a couple of batches tonight. If Vonmora could talk him into obliging us with an extra dose on credit, that'd give us -- well, still not nearly enough, but it'll have to do.

"That being settled, I think we've accomplished about as much as we can tonight. Unless anyone has any more questions for Mister Fancypants, here, I think the best thing we could do right now to prepare for tomorrow is get a good night's rest."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Skeeter thumps his tail against the floor and stands as the chapel door opens. He attempts to leap up and greet Tucker with muddy paws, but the deputy blocks the dog, and scratches his head while looking up at the assembled group.

"I got nothing. How's everybody here?"

"Constable Bridger didn't have any advice?" Emmerson asks as Tucker closes the door, shutting out the rain once more.

"Same thing he says every time you people decide to go on one of your adventures: 'stay home.' But you've never listened before, so I don't know why you'd start now."

"The reason they do not stay is that they are charged by Bishop Lehmann himself, with the holiest of missions," the acolyte offers. "The devotees of Lothian deserve their final peace!" His last word squeaks out, as Tucker rounds on him.

"I don't know you."

"Oh," the acolyte stutters, "I-I'm--"

"I didn't say I _wanted_ to know you." Tucker takes a step back, giving the young man room to breathe. "I assume you're the bishop's man."

"I serve in the light of Lothian, creator of --"

"Yes, but unless Lothian himself came down and signed the papers to send you here, you're the bishop's man. Will you be going with them to the abbey?"

The acolyte nearly has a convulsion at the suggestion.

"Sir, I'm, I'm ... I'm a _librarian_."

Bufer blinks as he looks from the acolyte to Tucker and back again.

"That works. I understand they had lot of books at the abbey that need taking care of." He glances back over to Tucker. "I assume you got the authority to conscript him?"

"You know, I believe he's right," Tucker grins. Before the acolyte can protest, the deputy produces a folded sheet of paper and holds it up between them. "By power of Lord Nicodemus Midwood, and as witnessed in the light of Lothain, I hereby charge Acolyte ... say, what was your name, anyway?"

The young man opens his mouth to answer, but Tucker cuts him off.

"Doesn't matter. I hereby charge you, acolyte, as a defender of the Tarsisian Empire and the church. It is your legal and spiritual duty to protect both body and soul of all legal, law-abiding citizens, to render unto them whatever aid is within your power, even unto death. Do you accept this holy vocation?"

Before the librarian can refuse, Tucker continues.

"Good man, I knew you had the steel in you. Lothian will be pleased! He'll surely welcome you directly to his side in the afterlife."

"A-afterlife?" The word comes out as a squeak.

"Oh, yes," offers Bufer. "I understand martyrs are always given a special place in the Heavens. That's right, isn't it, Father Grant?"

"Martyr?"

"Indeed it is, Brother Bufer. And the more horrible the manner of death, the more honored the soul."

"Horrible death!" offers Bufer, testifying, waving his hands and waggling his fingers.

"Why, I'd imagine Lothian is clearing a space in his court for you even now. Possibly right next to him."

"Horrible death!" repeats Bufer, and he begins to hum.

"Next to him, Emmerson? With what we're going to be facing tomorrow," Tucker throws an arm around the acolyte's narrow shoulders, more to keep him standing than to console him. "I wouldn't be surprised if Lothian offered you his own chair when you arrive in his holy presence."

"Horrible, mutilating death!" Bufer seems, clapping his hands in time to the song he hums.

"Ah, you're probably right, good deputy." Emmerson lifts the pile of papers on the table. "You've read of the way the abbess killed her nuns, haven't you, acolyte? The _things_ she did to them." In unison, Emmerson and Bufer cross themselves. "Who knows what may happen to us when we venture there?"

"Horrible death," offer the rest of the group as one, before Bufer can get it out. He shoots them a dirty look.

"Oh, now, if I thought it would be that bad, I wouldn't have conscripted the librarian, here," says Tucker. "And acolyte, don't fret: even St. Daris was a simple man before he took up his hammer. In Lothian, you shall find greatness."

The acolyte looks slightly relieved.

"Find it, of course, when we go to face horrible death," Tucker finishes.

"Now see here!" The acolyte shakes off the deputy's arm, and steps away from the three who have been badgering him. "I am a librarian, and a messenger for the bishop, nothing more! I have brought you your message, and I will wait in town until your expedition is completed, one way or the other, at which point I will report back to Bishop Lehmann."

He turns toward the exit, only to find Emus leaning against the door, his great club leaning next to him.

"I am no soldier!"

Tucker rattles the paper he held up earlier.

"There are other ways to serve your duty once conscripted," he says. "There is more to a battle than fighting."

"Such as?"

"You arrived just today and presented us with an incredibly brief timetable. It leaves us almost no time to prepare for this quest or to ready our equipment. Though another set of hands would not be turned away if you did want to come, what we really need now are supplies and the gold to buy them.

"Now, a simple rural priest may rely on the kindness of strangers when traveling, but I've met the bishop, and seen his public rooms. No man who loves opulence as much as he does would ever think to send an acolyte on a journey this far into the wilderness with no provisions. You bring us any supplies you brought with you, and any coin you have, and we can consider your conscription fulfilled. We'll make sure your room and board are taken care of for the next few days until your return to Middleborough, and you'll have an official, successful service marked on your record -- a great boon to one who wishes to advance his standing in the church.

"So tell me, acolyte, how would you like to fulfill your charge: with gold, or with steel?"

"_By Garl, I do believe the boy's onto something_," Bufer mutters in Gnomish.

As the acolyte sputters, Bufer looks up at Emmerson and gestures for him to lean closer.

"Does he really have the authority to, you know, extort money from folk like this?" he whispers to the young priest.

"I assume so," Emmerson whispers in return. "Tucker's a law-abiding soul, and I've never known him to lie. And he is the deputy, after all."

"Wow," Bufer says, looking at Tucker in a whole new light. "For the first time today, I'm glad I'm penniless!"

The acolyte sputters with fear and outrage.

"I am subject to church law before all else and thus under the bishop's rule before the sheriff's! And, in any case, I have only what I need to stay at the inn. I am merely an acolyte, not a curate or high priest!"

"Ah," Bufer nods. "Steel it is, then?"

"Steel." Tucker draws his sword, then offers the handle to the acolyte. "Have you ever had any training with one of these? Time is short, but I'm sure we could at least teach you how to not lop off your own legs when you swing it."

"As I said before, I am bound to church law, not the sheriff's."

"Ah, true, you did," says Emmerson, tapping a prayer book with a knuckle, "But that's not entirely accurate. It is Lothian's law that is be your highest calling, not the church's. And while the temporal church may not fault you for leaving us to our fate, I do not think Lothian approves of broken vows.

"We are not asking you to serve a mere sheriff above his holiness the bishop: We are asking you to serve Lothian himself. It takes more than the Order of the Dawn to defend the faith: It takes all of us, every day, in the choices we make. The times we choose to stand for our faith, rather than sitting quietly. I ask you now, here in the house of Lothian, will you stand for our lord and god?"

"Look, nobody's trying to get you killed, lad," Bufer adds, suddenly serious, "But I already told you, I ain't much on book-learning. You've got more'a this stuffed into you noggin than all of us combined are gonna be able to absorb in one night. To me, it's pretty clear: bring all of this, or bring you. And I don't want be wasting time paging through a book in a life or death situation. You might very well be the one who keeps us all from an early grave, tomorrow.

"Besides, ain't there at least part of ye filled with a healthy academic curiosity about the place? If we succeed in this, you'd be the only scholar to have had a front row seat at the proceedings, and the first to catalog just what happened at the abbey in the first place. At least a couple books gonna be devoted to that, I figure. Someone's gonna write 'em. Why not you?"

The acolyte miserably nods.

"I'll come with you, may St. Gustav preserve me."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Good man!" Emmerson says. "As long as I draw breath, you shall be safe from harm. Incidentally, brother, would you happen to have -- or know -- of the abbey's layout? I'd like to know how many rooms are there and spread over how many floors and the like."

The acolyte sighs.

"I'm told there's a church on one side, but that the whole is built around a large courtyard where the sisters did their exercises, gathered for dinner and so on. There are dormitories, libraries, reading rooms and so on, all wound around the central cloister."

"Ah," Emmerson says. "I hope we can find the map among that mass of paper. But if not, we go in by the first opening we find and keep our eyes and ears sharper than a dwarf's axe blade."

"Chapel's on the north side, all tumble-down now, though," Hazel interjects, still looking through the papers. "Best head for the door to the west, I think, unless Emus has been by and seen a better way in. It's been a bit since I wandered out that way. Animals don't like it there, and the plants are all twisted."

"Do we have a plan once we get in there?" Tucker asks. "Or is it just 'try not to die?'"

"If Nachtmann's notes are anything to go by, whatever it is gets inside your head," Hazel continues. "I'd say 'stick together, get the hell out before dark, and don't turn on each other.' Which means trusting each other to watch all our backs."

"You mentioned the exorcism ritual and the hallowing after, did you not?" Emmerson asks the acolyte.

"Aye."

"Tell us more."

Some color returns to the acolyte's face.

"It's a 24-hour ritual and will re-sanctify the abbey in Lothian's grace. His blessing extends to a magical effect tied to the location for the next year."

"If we're using the spell, it would serve us best to cast it as close to the abbey's center as possible."

"Twenty-four hour casting time?" Tucker says. "I hope your arms don't get tired."

Vonmora slowly tilts forward until her head hits the table with a loud thunk, and then she begins to snore. After a moment, she leans back up, waving a hand dismissively.

"Blah blah blah! Let's goooooooo."

"What?" Emus glares at her in outrage. "We need to go over the strategy for this one! We need to know what we're going to face or they'll be lookin' for _our_ remains a hundred years from now! Sure, we go in, check every room real careful and keep our eyes open for the slightest movement. But it'd be better knowing that we're prepared to face what killed everyone who's gone there afore us."

The acolyte coughs.

"I know these records as well as anyone alive does. If anyone knows what's at the abbey, they haven't written it down."

"In that case, I think we're ready to assemble our plan," Emmerson says. "Is there anything else we need?

"Gunpowder!" Emus roars.

"We leave tomorrow at first light," Emmerson continues, ignoring him. "We carry our gear and the materials for the exorcism ritual and cleansing. We go in the abbey by the west entrance. We clear a space and begin the ritual."

"Refectory would be good," Bufer interjects. "Cloisters even better."

"Agreed. We start the exorcism and fight whatever it is that haunts the place," Emmerson nods. "Hopefully, searching the abbey beforehand will uncover supplies from other expeditions that might be helpful I don't think Nachtmann went there with just parchment, pen and ink."

"I still say we should use gunpowder."

"I think that covers it," Emmerson finishes, his jaw clenching and unclenching the only sign he's heard Emus. "If anyone has anything else _constructive_ to say, speak now."

"So, first light?" Hazel says, scooping up her gear and pulling on her cloak.

"First light it is. May Lothian watch over and keep us safe in what once was his house."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Dawn is just breaking on Godsday when the adventurers begin to congregate outside Maidensbridge Chapel.

The acolyte sent by the bishop is there, looking miserable in a chain shirt he clearly begged Therurt for, despite it being made for a much broader man than him. His red woolen sweater sticks out of the gap at the shirt's neck and he holds a footman's mace like it might turn and bite him without warning.

But the weather is better today, although the fast-moving clouds overhead might still bring rain.

The hamlet is quiet, the only sound other than the adventurers being a skinny yellow dog inspecting every corner of every building and marking it as his own.

Hazel absent-mindedly spins her quarterstaff as she approaches the chapel. She nods affably to the acolyte and takes a seat on the steps to wait for the others.

"Good morning, friends. I trust you are well rested," Emmerson greets the pair as he opens the chapel doors for the day. He's been up for more than an hour, praying for guidance and preparing his equipment for the expedition. "I picked up some of the items we need, but I will require assistance taking the rest of the holy water and the items Bufer purchased."

He looks up at the overcast sky.

"I hoped today would not be so cloudy."

Emus arrives at the chapel, greatclub on his shoulder, pack on his back, and Skeeter trailing along behind. Skeeter seems to notice a change in his master's demeanor, however. Instead of his usual casual swagger, Emus walks a confident soldier's step. He knows that battle is not too far in his future. Reflecting his master's mood, the dog seems similarly grim.

"Morning, folks," Bufer says from the doorway of the chapel, peeking out behind Emmerson. "Happy Godsday, if it ain't out of keeping with the situation."

Unusually, the little gnome cleric is dressed not in his usual brown sackcloth robe, but in the freshly laundered and pressed vestments of his order. The white robes and gold embroidery practically gleam next to his dark skin. His normally unkempt hair has been neatly combed and slicked back away from his face, and even his holy symbol looks as though a fresh coat of gold lacquer has been applied to it. Bufer reddens at the looks of surprise he gets from his friends, and scratches his nose self-consciously.

"Yeah, I know, I know," he mutters. "These ain't proper adventuring clothes, but I ain't got no armor or anything anyway, and today just seemed to demand _more_, somehow. Anyway, just so's y'all don't think I've gone too fancy on you, I still got my crapkickers on underneath."

With that he raises the hem of his robe to reveal his father's battered and dusty old leather boots.

"So listen," he says, "Once Tucker and Vonmora get here, if it ain't too much trouble, I-I'd appreciate it if y'all would let me lead you in a prayer. I know ain't none of us share a common faith, except for Beanpole, Tucker and the librarian there, but that's kind of the point of today, ain't it?"

Before anyone can answer, Bufer sets down his pack and the folded-up altar case, and squats down next to Hazel on the chapel's steps.

"You and me ought to talk before we leave, lass," he says quietly. "I don't want to head out there today with you not looking at me the way you've been not looking at me since last night."

Hazel scowls at him in silence. But Bufer's composure doesn't change, and no more words are forthcoming from the typically chatty gnome. Hazel sighs. She casts a sidelong glance at the others, grateful for Emmerson, who's struck up a conversation with the acolyte about Godsday celebrations across the barony.

"We're friends, Bufer. But next time you try heading off somewhere dangerous without telling me, I'm going to stuff you in a sack and hang you from a branch." Her fingers pluck a few worn threads from her cloak, letting them drift in the breeze. "I have a Da already, and I don't need a second one. You think something's beyond my skills, you tell me. You and Em don't get to just decide for me."

Vonmora had intended to enter quietly, but she ended up tripping over a wagon rut with her knee breaking the fall. She grimaces and then straightened up, adjusting her ample chest beneath the chainmail, mentally taking note of how many had arrived.

Upon noticing Bufer and his fancy threads, she lets out an appreciative whistle and enjoys his obvious embarrassment.

"Good morning, everyone," Tucker says, a moment behind the dwarf. "Are we all ready to go face horrible death?"

There's a slight squeak from one side of the group, and the acolyte nearly drops his borrowed weapon.

"Ah, good to see you again, brother," Tucker grins as Emmerson helps the scared young man up. "I half expected you to skedaddle overnight. Obviously you've got the steel of Lothian in you, er ..."

Tucker pauses, thinking back to the conversation the night before. The acolyte fidgets with the bit of crimson sweater that is poking out of his armor and irritating his neck.

"What's your name, anyway? Just because you're the newest random member on this little adventure, it doesn't mean it would be right for us to spend the day calling you 'Red Shirt.'"

"Why would --" he stops, looking down at his sweater, realization spreading across his face. "My name is Oktav Grosskopf. Thank you for asking."

"Wow, when they were handing out names, were you holding the door, Redshirt?" Bufer asks. "We'll get underway in just a minute, folks, but before we head out if y'all wouldn't mind standing in a circle and joining hands ..."

Emmerson grabs Hazel's other hand and joins his with Oktav's. As he bows down to pray, he is intrigued by the enormous disparity between them: Hazel's hand is strong as an oak tree and Oktav's shakes like a leaf on a tree.

As the others close the circle by joining hands -- Emus and Vonmora eye each other warily before Tucker interposes himself between them -- Bufer closes his eyes and begins.

"O almighty gods," he intones, "We pray to you on this, the most holy of holy days, to seek your blessing, for it is only through your divine grace that we shall succeed in our holy mission this day. Almighty gods, hear our prayer.

"Almighty gods, hear our prayer," Emmerson repeats, with the others joining in halfway through.

"Lothian, Lightbringer, we pray you guide us and shepherd us. Keep us on the true path, and correct us should we stray. Lend us your light when the path is darkest, that we might find our way. Help us bring peace to those of your servants who have earned their rest, and restore order whence reason has fled. Lothian, hear our prayer."

"Lothian, hear our prayer," the others mutter in response, the priest and the acolyte the loudest.

"Garl Glittergold, Watchful Protector, we pray you keep watch over us this day. Protect us from evil, from those who would trespass against our cause or visit harm upon us. Grant us sanctuary when evil doth surround us, and lend us your guile that we might have cunning enough to survive the trials to come. Garl Glittergold, hear our prayer."

"Garl Glittergold, hear our prayer," comes the response.

"Yurrabbos, Runecarver, we pray you lend us your will when the spirit is weak, to bolster our conviction, and to resist doubt and temptation. Aid us in fulfilling our oath to cleanse this land, and steel us for the sacrifices we may be called upon to make to rid it of evil. Yurrabbos, hear our prayer."

"Yurrabbos, hear our prayer," the others reply, Vonmora's voice drowning out those of the others.

"Hanseath, Bearded One, we pray you grant us freedom from restraint and inhibition in the battles ahead. Gift us with the strength, the courage and the will to overwhelm our enemies, though they number many and we be few. Hanseath, hear our prayer."

"Hanseath, hear our prayer," the others repeat, and this time it is Emus' booming voice that dominates the response.

"Estanna, Hearthtender, we pray you give us the wisdom to put aside petty mortal differences for the sake of the greater good. Lend us your divine grace that we might return to our homes and our families once our appointed deeds are done. Estanna, hear our prayer."

"Estanna, hear our prayer," returns every voice but one. Stunned into silence, Hazel looks at Bufer with surprise, for Estanna is not often called upon -- and, in fact, is frequently forgotten -- in situations such as this, and she knows that he's included the goddess strictly for her.

"Bahamut," Bufer continues, "the Platinum Dragon, dragon saint, we pray you assist us in our struggle against the evil that has tainted this land, and to aid us in shepherding those helpless souls who have succumbed to it to their final and deserved rest. Bahamut, hear our prayer."

"Bahamut, hear our prayer," the others answer, and here Tucker and Emmerson share a smile, for although they worship Lothian, both men have long been tutored in the ways of the Platinum Dragon, through their close association with Constable Bridger.

"O almighty gods," Bufer resumes, "We beseech you, set aside your quarrels and your strife on this holiest of days, and join together to assist and protect these what pray before you, this company of your most devoted agents in this land. For our quest is just, our motives are true, and no matter how the envoys of your adversaries may test us, we shall not rest until it is done. No, not even if forced to march into the infernal fires of the Hell itself, we few -- we happy few -- vow that we shall not waver in this, your divine cause, so long as even one of us draws breath. So pledge we, your most humble servants and defenders of faith."

"Almighty gods, hear our prayer," the others respond, without being prompted.

Bufer keeps his head bowed and remains silent for a moment, listening to the sound of the wind blowing through the trees, before looking up with a wry grin.

"I think that just about covers it, folks."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Although spring is well underway in the Tulgey Wood, the weather seems colder and bleaker as the group approaches Maidensbridge Abbey. It is not really chillier, Emus assures everyone, although not even he seems to truly believe it.

The lack of animal life as the group approaches makes the forest as quiet as it would be at the dead of winter. The plants are also barer than they should be at this time of year, with stunted little leaves trembling in the wind, barely clinging to life, and no flowers to continue the cycle of life. By the time the group reaches the abbey, they are under open sky, with no canopy overhead, just the bare branches of half-dead trees.

The abbey itself was once a complex of several buildings, some built up against the walls of the main building, in the days when goblin and kobold attacks were the norm, and others built a bit further away, such as a small tannery. The buildings not erected right against the main abbey are ruins now, with only faint lines of gray stone peeking up from the mud and yellow grass showing where they once stood.

The abbey and adjacent buildings might be in better shape, but it's impossible to tell: Everything is now covered in black vines that cover almost every inch of the building, with only a bit of gray stone peeking out here or there in the dark holes where windows once let in light from the outside. The leaves of ivy sound brittle when the wind blows, clicking together like millions of teeth.

But a large ivy-covered steeple stands above the entrance to the abbey's church, forming the tallest structure of the complex, even without the tall spire, its ankh-crucifix long-ago choked with dark leaves. A dark space, wide as two men walking abreast, reveals the dark wood double doors leading inside.

As they stand in front of the ruined abbey building, Emmerson feels a chill going down his spine. He takes out his lamp from his backpack. Hazel and Tucker are near him to see that someone carved an ankh-crucifix into the lamp shutters.

"Emus, Hazel," Emmerson says as he checks his gear and weapons one more time, "Is this the west entrance?"

"Mebbe," Emus shrugs. "I guess. Who cares? Let's go."

Hazel eyes the vine-encrusted ruins with faint disgust. She stoops to light her own lantern.

"Yes, it's the west door." When she stands again, she carries her lantern in her left hand and her axe in her right. "Are you ready with the holy water sprinklers?"

"Oh, my!" comes a voice from behind a nearby tree. "Oh my goodness, hello! What do you fine people do at this terrible place?"

A nervous kobold steps out into the clearing, smiling uncertainly.

Hazel takes two quick steps to put herself beside Bufer and begins scanning the tree line for more kobolds.

"_No offering yourself up like a pig at a roast this time,_" she whispers in Gnomish.

Tucker steps forward with his mace at the ready.

"What are you doing here, kobold?" He tries to remember if this is one of the kobolds from Pick's group, but he doesn't think so. This one is smaller, and the green of her  -- or perhaps his -- skin seems less robust. Still, the deputy isn't about to take any chances. "Isn't it a little bit bright out here? Why don't you scurry off back to your caves and we'll forget we saw you skulking around our town."

"Tucker, wait a second," Bufer says quickly as he makes to step forward.

Hazel grimaces as Bufer hurries to interpose himself between the deputy and the kobold.

"Good morning," he says amiably to the strange kobold, then bows somewhat formally. "Allow me to introduce myself: Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Bearscave Potentloins, at your service. Please excuse the big ones, here, but we've had some, uh, misunderstandings with dragonkin in the past. Totally our fault, of course."

"You mean your fault," Vonmora interjects.

Bufer looks daggers over his shoulder at her.

"What?" she asks. "You think word doesn't get around?"

Bufer takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before turning back to the kobold, all smiles.

"If I may so observe, you speak excellent Imperial Common for one of the dragonkin," he says. "Are you from the Green Mountain, or from parts elsewhere?"

The kobold is visibly frightened of Tucker, and as such it makes him nervous when Bufer addresses him. He doesn't actually need his sun-goggles yet, but for comfort's sake he fiddles with them a moment and slides them on.

"I-I do come from Green Mountain, though until recently I made my home in the Tulgey Wood. Th-thank you, sir." Slowly, timidly, the kobold meets Bufer's eyes. The glint of unexpected kindness in them instantly restores the vibrant lizard smile. He clasps his hands and prances nearer. "Oh! You're so adorable! Such pretty robes! And, oh: Look at your chubby cheeks and cute little moustache! But, Ebuferpaly, where is your hat?"

"Er," Bufer says uncertainly, quite taken aback. Never in his wildest dreams did it occur to him that a kobold might find him 'adorable.' Attractive, maybe, in the 'good enough to boil alive and eat' sense of the word, but adorable? Never. "My ... hat?"

"Yes, your gnome hat, silly! Conical-shaped with the point at the top? Like a..." the kobold pauses for a moment, clearly unsure of whether to continue. He looks down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. "We were taught that was where the humans got the idea for the dunce cap."

"I must've left it home," Bufer says dryly.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Oh, you!" the kobold giggles. After a moment, he becomes aware of the awkward silence and the Bridgers staring at him with a mixture of bemusement and horror. "So, what brings you all out here? And may I be of any help?"

"We're goin' in there to kill things that's already dead," Emus says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at the abbey behind him. "How long have you been wandering around here? Have you seen anythin' goin' on in there?"

"Um," the kobold hums as he thinks, holding a finger to his mouth, "Not that I remember! This place does give me a very bad feeling, though! I would feel much better if you all didn't go in!"

"We'll not only go in there, but crawl into the maw of evil and shut it down forever," Emmerson says emphatically. "If you want to be safe, I recommend that you leave the premises until we complete our task ... I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"You can call me Flower," the kobold answers shyly. "And I'm out here gathering fungus at the behest of Heath Leach, the apothecary of Maidensbridge. And I don't want to leave. And neither does Dinky."

At the mention of Dinky's name, a nearby bush begins to flail and growl.

"If you're going to go in there, you could need our help!" Flower continues, oblivious to the fit the nearby flora seems to be experiencing. 

Bufer and Hazel exchange frowns at the mention of Heath Leach's name. The gnome raises his eyebrows quizzically, to which Hazel shakes her head slightly in response. While it wasn't unheard of to trade with the Green Mountain Kobolds in Midwood --even Tosh's father had done so on occasion, albeit always through a carefully chosen neutral intermediary -- the elder Leach had never mentioned to either of them that he apparently had one in his employ.

"Not that we don't appreciate the offer, and all," Bufer says uncertainly, "But, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but are you sure that's wise? I mean, don't get me wrong, but if it got back to your people that you -- and, uh, your bush -- were helping out a stinking gnome an' his friends, particularly this stinkin' gnome, as I'm led to understand I got a bit of a reputation with your kin ..."

"Yurrabbos' stony garters!" Vonmora explodes. She turns to Emus. "Does he ever stop with the 'blah blah blah' and come to the point?"

"Eventually," Emus shrugs.

"The _point_," Bufer continues, louder and more emphatically, "The point being that ain't it bound to go pear-shaped on you if your kin get wind of you helping us?"

"Pear-shaped, perhaps," Flower murmurs. "Is there a fruit shape that describes when two things no longer speak? My kin is the whole of the wood. And certain others!"

"And what's a Dinky?" Hazel asks, eyeing the snarling and thrashing bush dubiously.

"Must be some local type of flailing shrub," Emmerson mutters.

"Dinky, come here, boy!" Flower chirps.

A festering and pus-oozing rat creature finally frees itself from the bush and wobbles over to everyone, drooling and panting the whole way.

"There's my baby! There he is! There's a good boy!" Flower squeals, kneeling and nuzzling. Dinky seems to enjoy the attention and the kobold is completely oblivious to the group's horrified reactions.

Emmerson blinks in confusion before finally tearing his eyes away from the disgusting Dinky and the grotesque spectacle of Flower cuddling a creature that looks half-dead and almost certainly disease-laden.

"Flower, I must warn you that we're here to cleanse the abbey and the abbey might strike back. If you want to come with us, stay close, keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and be ready to react without warning."

"We will be accompanying you," the kobold insists.

"Bufer," Emmerson says, sighing despairingly, "Let's pass around the aspergillums and have the holy water at the ready. Are we ready to go in?"

"Good Garl, I think I liked it better when I thought it was a flailing bush," Bufer mutters, still eyeing the albino dire rat.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer sets down his pack and throws open the flap. He digs out the three aspergillum -- they look like short-handled maces with heads perforated with dozens of tiny holes, which allow the internal reservoir of holy water to be sprinkled out with a vigorous shake. He hands the two larger ones to Emmerson and Vonmora while keeping the smallest of the three for himself. He then hands out flasks of holy water to the entire the company, keeping two flasks for himself.

"There's enough space for three flasks in each of these," he explains, demonstrating for the others how to fill the aspergillum's reservoir, "But I'd like to keep some in reserve, and make sure everyone has their own as we head in, just in case. Be stingy with the stuff though, folks, because it's all we got."

Bufer looks up and around at Flower, and nods to the strange kobold.

"You're welcome to tag along, but make sure you stick close tome." He glances around at the others. "In fact, I'm gonna suggest we all pair off. Everyone sticks with their buddy at all times, keeps 'em in sight, and gets their backs together if things get hairy. Last thing we need is some boogedy-boogedy sneaking up on us."

"You ain't suggesting we split up, are you?" Emus asks, aghast. "Because I can't think of a dumber strategy for going in there."

"No no no, just saying it'll be easier to keep track of everyone and keep people from wandering off or getting in to trouble if we all got someone looking out for us. I'd like to avoid a repeat of Kem touching the statue, if you follow me."

"Right, Bufer an' Emus have a point," Hazel says, nodding. "We all stick together as best we can, but pair up to make sure the strong folk have religious protection and the religious folks got bodyguards, I reckon.

"Bufer's already volunteering to partner with the kobold," she shoots him an exasperated look, "So might be Oktav sticks with Emmerson, and Tucker with Vonmora, and Emus with me, if that'll do for everyone."

"So, who wants to open the door?" Hazel asks, with a "not me" wink at the end. She moves closer to the abbey, studying the vines without touching them. The vines' texture looks eerily similar to the burned timbers in the town's stables just before they crumbled. Nothing suggests to Hazel that they're anything more than typical woodland varieties, though, other than the texture and the blackness.

Emus stalks past her with a purposeful air.

"I'll do it." He tenses up, and looks like he's about to make a sudden movement, but he pauses for a second and then relaxes. "I'm gonna kick the door in, make a loud ruckus on purpose to let 'em know we're here. They're gonna find out sooner or later, anyway, and if we have to fight, it'd be better done out here in the open."

He pauses to let everyone digest the plan.

"Double doors, Emus," Tucker says, clapping the dwarf on the back. "You kick the right one, I'll kick the left. On three: one, two ...

"THREE!"

The doors crash open, although the sound is strangely muted. Within, the church is dark, and it's hard to tell from outside in the sunlight what lies within. There is a faint, disturbing smell wafting from within, although those outside cannot immediately identify what it is.

"YOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!" Bufer yells into the darkness, startling his companions. "Boogidy-boogidies! We're here for the revival meeting!"

He listens carefully, straining to hear any reaction in the blackness beyond the threshold.

"We brought a bundt cake!" he adds a moment later.

"Don't be silly, Bufer. We Bridgers tempt our enemies with apple pie," Hazel says, tapping Emus on the shoulder. "So, partner, your eyes see anything but darkness in there?"

"Ain't nothin out of the ordinary," the dwarf says, squinting inside. "There's a mess of ivy over each of the windows, so it's plenty dark. The pews haven't rotted away, yet, so there's plenty of hiding places. That's about all I can see."

Nodding to Tucker, Emus steps through the doorway into the abbey. Behind him, Flower removes the tinted lenses that allow his sensitive eyes to see in sunlight and steps across the threshold after the dwarf.

"Steady on, Redshirt," Bufer says, patting a plainly terrified Oktav on the back as he passes. "That's good lad."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Stepping into the abbey church is like stepping from day into night. There seems to be nothing supernatural about this -- the few high clerestory windows in the church have had their stained glass depictions of saints overgrown with the black ivy outside, and light only trickles in fitfully, barely illuminating row upon row of heavy wooden pews between two rows of pillars, leading down the nave. The crossing and the apse beyond with, presumably, the high altar, are lost to the darkness.

"Where do we have to go to, again?" Emus growls. He points at two dark spots in the corners of the church. "Those are doors."

"Any place 40 to 50 feet into the abbey," Emmerson replies quietly. "Cloisters, library if we can find it."

"Well, everybody get with your partners," Tucker snaps. "Does someone with decent eyes want to go first?"

Emus cautiously moves down the left aisle, keeping the wall to his left and pews to his right.

Hazel stays close behind Emus, her lantern sweeping the area around him.

As the group spreads out into the church, they notice the floors are strangely clean -- there are no dried leaves, no dried mud, no sign that anyone has been inside for decades, not even a heavy layer of dust.

Emus discovers the door in the corner is locked and stuck fast, with no light showing below the door. He grunts as he tugs and shoves the handle a moment before giving up, then knocks on the door with the butt of his club. The door sounds solid, with no hint of a hollow space beyond it.

His lantern in his hand, Emmerson notices the pews could use a good going over with polish, and that the wood seems dark, as though it had briefly been exposed to flame at some point, but the pews are sturdy and services could resume tomorrow.

And then he shines his lantern up at the ceiling. Once, the sisters had painted scenes of Lothian ascending from the crucifix he had been nailed to by the worshippers of the false god Castain, into the heavens to rule among the stars.

Now, the heavens are some scene out of a nightmare and Lothian is now a dark prince ascending, or perhaps descending, into a Hell full of rape, murder and torture. The victims -- their faces are all painted with exquisite clarity and are meant to be portraits of someone the artist knew, perhaps the Sisters of the New Dawn -- are being degraded in almost unimaginable ways. Blood, gore, feces and more are spattered about the tableau in perfect detail. And beyond Lothian, with his black bat wings and massive bestial phallus, huge shadowy figures watch from beyond the fiery clouds of the heavens-as-Hell, hinting at even worse things waiting to unleash even greater horrors.

At the sudden sharp intake of breath behind him, Bufer spins around to see that Emmerson has stopped dead in his tracks, staring upward. Frowning in confusion, Bufer looks up, then blinks and cocks his head to one side.

That's just wrong, that is," the gnome says. "All kinds of wrong. If it weren't for the wings, I'd imagine he'd tip forward ..."

Emmerson doesn't respond to the joke. Bufer lays a hand on the young priest's forearm.

"Hey, beanpole," he says quietly. "You all right, lad?"

At last, Emmerson chuckles and smiles, looking down at the gnome.

"I thank Garl Glittergold for the humor he bestowed upon you. "

"It's a good thing Tock ran off," Tucker says dryly. "This stuff seems right up his alley, so to speak.

"Don't dwell on it, Emmerson. It's just paint, and the church employs the best artisans in the world; once we sanctify this place, they'll have an army of painters descend on the abbey to glorify our lord once more."

"Aye," Emmerson nods. "Aye."

"Emus ain't having much luck with the door," Hazel says, consciously shielding her eyes from the ceiling. "Sounds like maybe something's pressed up against it."

Hazel brings her lantern in close and looks for any locks or weak points in the wood.

"Might have to break it down. Hope the bishop's giving you a right good pile of coin for door replacement."

"Nah, I think this door, and the other across the way, just lead to the outside," Emus says,  "They're for people who don't want to have to look the preacher in the eye when they walk out. There shouldn't be nothing but those damn vines on the other side.

"Let's keep moving and stick together."

Emus heads east, keeping the wall of the building to his left, and the pews to his right. Hazel follows the dwarf closely, certain each step must be the one that will reveal an end to the pews and an altar beyond.

"Could fit the whole chapel into tiny corner of this church."

The abbey church's interior was originally divided into a number of spaces, the lay sisters' nave, a pair of chapels, the retro choir for the aged and infirm nuns. Tiered wooden stands with bookstands once were home to the nuns' choirs.

As with most Lothianite abbeys of the period, Maidensbridge Abbey was designed and built with little ornamentation. It was designed with pointed barrel vaults and solid dividing walls. The aisles have rib vaults, which create an open effect. The piers are molded with an undulating outline, resembling bundles of separate shafts.

Emmerson takes all this in, breathes deeply, and aims his lantern light toward the altar. The church is too long to see all the way, but the lantern does show something large on the floor in the crosspiece of the church, just at the edge of the light.

"Have I mentioned that I got a bad feeling about this?" Bufer breathes nearby.

The building is quiet as the group approaches the crossing of the church. Emmerson's lantern eventually reveals the object to be a large ruined bronze bell that apparently fell from the tower above.

A series of steps along one wall head up to where the tower once was, but shining the lantern up, it becomes obvious that the tower collapsed years ago. Light would flood into the church if not for the black ivy that has formed an almost completely opaque net blocking out the sky.

From here, the transepts to the north and south are accessible, as well as the presbytery with the altar and three alcoves with smaller altars to each side of the main altar area. The lantern can't quite pick out the enormous crucifix of Lothian above the altar from here, but the group can see that the altar's altar cloth is missing and the stone appears to be heavily stained with something dark.

"Well, there's no way I'm going to suggest we split up," Tucker says, "But do we want to poke around these nooks and crannies or skip over them and keep looking for our more central point?"

"Probably be good to check everything out before starting the ritual," Hazel says. "Less chance of interruption then. From living things, anyway."

"Well, as long as we're sight-seeing," Bufer says, "I'd like to get a closer look at those altars, if the rest of you wouldn't mind."

"I sure hope that dark stuff over it is not Natchmann's blood," Emmerson says.

"I'm guessing it ain't sacramental wine," Bufer replies.

"Well, let's start on the left, here," Tucker says, "Then around the bell to the space on the right, and then we'll check out the altar for you, Bufer."

Seeing several nodding heads, Hazel cautiously leads the group toward the left transept.

Each transept features three small chapels beneath deep arches. Once each held statues of saints with small altars and pews. Today, the statues of the saints have been so badly vandalized that it's impossible to recognize whom they once depicted.

Tucker tries the door on the southwest wall of the south transept. It opens with a loud creak, but without noticeable resistance, affording Tucker a view of the dead grass in the cloister.

From the other end of the building, there's a loud boom. A moment later, everyone realizes the double doors they used to enter the church have slammed shut.

"Oh, my!" Flower exclaims. "That was certainly unexpected!"

Emmerson shines his lantern back toward the now-closed double doors.

"Stay alert," he says.

"Just the wind and jumpy nerves," Hazel says with a shaky smile. She takes a deep breath and begins moving toward the altar, nudging Emus lightly as she goes. "Does Skeeter smell anything coming from the stain near the altar? Hopefully it's too old and dried, but if there's a chance it's recent, I'd like to know before we get too close."

"I'm sure that there's plenty of new smells in here," Emus says, frowning. "Should've made him plenty excited. But look at him; the mutt's heeling better than I ever seen him. He's nervous just like the rest of us.

"We should move along quickly and start the ritual, before 'they' start affecting more than just our nerves."

Nodding, Hazel walks briskly to the altar, lantern shining, and stops about five feet back.

The altar cloth is gone; the bright blue and white fabric would be wildly out of place in this abbey. Whatever the altar is caked with now is old, in various shades of brown, some formerly thin and liquid, some thick and viscous, the latter painted on the altar in streaks.

The light of Hazel's lantern just barely touches the bottom of the crucifix, and Vonmora reaches over, pointing it upwards. The ankh-crucifix is as it was at the abbey's height, except for one thing: Lothian is gone. The nails used to crucify him still remain, but of the figure itself, there is no sign.

"Well, if that ain't disconcerting, I don't what is," Bufer says.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Sins against Lothian, sins against nature, sins against the church," Emmerson recites quietly, staring at the empty crucifix. "There is much work to be done here."

Beside him, Oktav nods.

"Let us move on," Emmerson says after a moment.

The cleanliness of the place disturbs Vonmora most of all. She feels as if she's entering the home of giants while they sleep somewhere nearby. She keeps an eye out for discarded objects such as a paper, book, candleholder, what have you, anything that could be a piece to a bigger puzzle.

Her gaze falls upon the rows of candles, still neatly arrayed before the depictions of the saints.

"Hey, think you guys can light up some or all of these candles so we can get a better idea of what we're looking at around here?" she asks. "Let's see if there's another door."

She nudges Bufer ahead of her.

"Gnomes first."

The group obtains the candles from the side chapels and behind the main altar and they shed a little light, although they do nothing to dispel the darkness beyond the small circle the group stands within. It's enough to reveal that while someone has hacked the statues of the saints into unrecognizable hunks of wood. But no other doors are revealed.

"Y'all know what's weird?" Bufer asks. "Except for the tower done caving in, and the ivy on the windows, and some of the odd redecorating choices, Beanpole and I could conduct mass here this afternoon, if we wanted. Ain't this place supposed to have been abandoned for over a hundred years?"

"Maybe they reserved the truly bad things for other parts of the abbey," Emmerson says. "If they did this to the church, I can't help but wonder what they did to the books in the library."

"There ought to be dust and dead leaves and such about is my point," Bufer says. "And at least a few of these pews ought to be rotted by now, what with them being partially exposed to the open air where the tower's come down. Shouldn't they?"

He shrugs.

"All right, I guess we head for the door, then. I guess Flower an' me will go first, as long as that's all right with him ... her ... uh, as long as Flower's OK with it."

"I ain't," Emus says, his voice like a rock dropping into a quiet pond. "Me or Tucker, our buddies, and then the rest of you. The Farrin's got hefty armor; she can put it to use watchin' our backs.

"You, Emmerson, and Red Shirt stay in the middle of the group. And give your voices a rest for once. We'll need them nice and pretty when you perform that ritual."

"Just because you don't like the Farrins, rough stuff, doesn't mean you get to throw her at the end of the line by herself," Tucker says, shoving Emus. "She's either up here with us or I'm back there with her."

"Suit yourself," Emus shrugs. He extinguishes his torch and cautiously opens the door.

The door opens onto the cloister of the abbey. Although the abbey is clearly in ruin -- the black ivy dangles over the roofline, framing the entire common area -- the cloister is still open to the sky. If the grass on the green grows fitfully, with many yellow patches, there are still green blades.

The ivy-covered roof overhangs all four sides of the cloister, making it difficult to see the doors to other chambers from this angle, but aside from a bit of dirt and the vines, it all looks very similar to how it must have looked when the abbey was fully operational. It's not hard to imagine the sisters moving about their errands, going from prayers to restoration rooms to the library.

Hazel breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of open sky, but keeps a wary eye on the black ivy.

"We should scout the perimeter first," she says, as she starts moving along the wall to the left.

"I would also recommend to stay away from the dry patches of grass," Emmerson says, following her. "Lothian knows what's keeping them that way."

The party moves along the wall, and here, the effects of time and the elements are more visible: Small rooms are now guarded only by rusted hinges, their doors long since rotted away and gone, food for sickly weeds that grow between the paving stones of the walkway.

The first room the group comes to may have once been a library, as it has stone shelves which now hold unidentifiable debris that was likely once scrolls and sagging hide covers around pages turned into a gummy mess.

Oktav looks hungrily towards the ruins of the abbey library.

"If no one minds, I think I might take a look in here ..."

Hazel lays a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't go nowhere without Emmerson. Next thing you know, you and Bufer are buried in books and spouting theories and we're out here with dead nuns eating our brains."

"Oi!" Bufer barks at Hazel. "What's this about lumping me in with Redshirt here, Little Miss Big'un? As I was explaining to the young man earlier, I ain't some namby-pamby academic who puts all his apples on the book-learning cart, thank you very much!

"Although, you know, if they got a first edition of the Loresong Faen Sutra, that might be worth a look-see. Ooh, and I wonder if they got a copy of Dergunswoon's Death Rites and Practical Jokes. Say, listen, why don't you lot go on ahead, and me and Redshirt will catch up in a tick, huh?"

Oktav's eyes go large when he scans the spines of the books.

"I'd heard they collected rare works, but my word, some of these were thought to be lost entirely," he says, his tone suggesting that, in some cases, these books may still be lost, unless magic can restore them. He reaches out for one book, then pulls his hand back. "Is it safe to touch them?"

"Best to just make note of the titles," Tucker says. "Even if nothing jumps out to bite you, you don't want these things to crumble into dust before you can take a look inside."

"Overwhelming evil," Emmerson murmurs, pressing a finger to his forehead, attempting to block out a growing headache. "The books will survive the exorcism and then we will be able to tell friend from foe. I think Tucker's suggestion is a wise one."

"Hmmm, there are some strange titles here," Oktav sighs, pulling his hands back from the shelves with obvious disappointment. "The sisters were supposed to just be cataloging the knowledge of the empire, but it looks as though they began researching mystical subjects as well."

"What do you mean, brother?"

"Well, the volumes I expect to see are here," Oktav says. "There's an almost-complete set of the Fables of Burdock, although it appears they've turned to mush from exposure to the elements over the years. But there are some books that I would have expected the church would have, er, frowned upon until recently, although it seems to stop just short of actual necromancy and demonology."

He stands up, stroking his chin.

"That said, if the abbey had continued operation, I would say this was the basis for a very broad library of history, myth and arcane lore, including quite a bit of information that would get you burned at the stake in some more provincial regions, even today."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"A very good idea, Hazel," Emmerson says. "Brother Oktav, can you see a book about exorcisms and the like?"

"Oh, let's see," the acolyte says, craning his neck and squinting at the obscured titles on the spines. "Well, that looks like it'd be a copy of Thrakharaktor, the Book of Dark and Restless Souls, but I don't read Dwarven, myself."

"How about you, Emus?" Emmerson says, as Oktav hands the book back. "Could I trouble you for a reading?"

Bufer reaches up and snatches the book from Emmerson's hands before Emus has a chance to reply.

"Oi, beanpole! Given what we already suspect about what's happened, here, I'm pretty damn sure we don't want anybody reading anything subtitled The Book of Dark and Restless Souls, at least not until we've cleansed the place! That there's the quickest route to our brains being eaten, if you ask me."

And then, things get strange.

Everyone else sees Bufer go into a trance and walk out of the library, onto the yellow and green of the cloister lawn, mumbling to himself.

For Bufer, things are very different ...

_"Mother Superior?" A voice calls to him. "Sister, a messenger is here with a delivery he insists on giving to you."

Bufer turns, and sees the abbey as it once was, a bustling, thriving community of scholars. The buildings are in good repair. Sisters in wimples move quietly around the abbey, fingers stained with ink from recopying texts, dust on their clothes from filing away books and scrolls into the archive.

"A messenger?" The voice comes from Bufer's mouth, but it's that of a mature human woman. He finds himself following the sister acolyte. "What book is so important that I must take it from him myself?"

Bufer finds himself walking onto the lawn, where a bedraggled dwarven courier stands with the awkward stance of one unused to life outside the saddle. In one hand, he holds out a leather-bound bundle, the dimensions of a book, bound with a leather thong._

"Damn it, Grant! Weren't you the one who said not to touch anything?" Tucker quickly leads Vonmora out the door in pursuit of the ensorcelled gnome.

Halfway across the grass, he grabs Bufer's shoulder, shaking him and saying his name loudly. Bufer merely shakes him off, and continues mumbling his way along. He tries again, only to pull his hand back in surprise.

"The little git bit me!"

Hazel follows Bufer closely.

"Oktav!" She snaps at the acolyte, thrusting her lantern at him as he approaches. "Hold this."

Bufer still mumbles to himself, and Hazel strains her ears trying to make something of it: the language, a word here and there, anything that might explain his behavior. But the book still clenched in his hand is the obvious answer. Hazel slides her quarterstaff from its loops on her pack. She lengthens her stride, moving alongside the gnome.

"Sorry about this, Bufer."

She brings the staff down on the book.

_"I was told to deliver it to you by hand, Mother Superior," the dwarf tells Bufer. "A nobleman from Ptolus was donating this book to your cause. Rare it is, I'm told."

Bufer begins to unwrap the book, revealing a black leather cover ..._

And the book he had held in his hand lands by his feet.

Disoriented, Bufer blinks and looks round at the others.

"How--? Where'd they go? Where'd you all come from? Wasn't I just holding a book?" He frowns in confusion as he looks from his empty hands to the faces of his friends. "Where am I? And why do I have the taste of rotten pork in my mouth?"

"Mister Ebuferpaly! Are you all right?" Flower asks, concern registering on his scaly face. "Why are you biting people?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Yeah, are you all right, Bufer?" Hazel's head slowly turns away from the gnome and her words trail off into a mumble. She looks curiously at the ivy-covered walls of the courtyard. Emus follows her gaze, half-hoping to find something staring back instead of having another person seeing things that aren't there.

He gets his wish.

Large ravens silently dot the ivy overhanging the edges of the cloister. Although it's hard for Emus to put his finger on what it is exactly, something about them seems wrong and unnatural.

"Why are they all staring at us?" Hazel whispers.

"Those birds ain't right," Emus mumbles to Hazel. "Those claws and eyes seem ... Them birds are more like wolves watching prey than ravens waiting for something to die so they can feed on it."

"I agree. They're not natural," Hazel keeps a wary on the ravens, especially those near the recovering Bufer. "I wonder if 'dark, restless souls' might be inhabiting the birds, or something _else_. Something definitely hostile."

"I don't like the bad birdies," Flower pipes up. "We should try to get away from them!"

"Again, I agree." Hazel raises her voice to make sure everyone can hear. "It might be best to find a room with a roof and door to put between us and this mob of angry not-animals."

The acolyte looks at the group in bafflement, then down at the book, lying on the grass.

"I can't believe you people! Treating a book of such antiquity this way!" Oktav reaches down and grabs the fallen copy of Thrakharaktor from the lawn.

"No, wait!" Bufer cries. "Don't--"

Oktav looks up angrily.

"You people have no idea of how to care for a book!" It's clear this is a huge sin in his mind. He carefully pulls open the gummed-together book. "Yes, a few pages are legible enough. Thrakharaktor is said to have been dictated by Mocharum himself, to better instruct his followers in practical measures in combating the undead."

Bufer blinks at the acolyte in confusion.

"B-but it ... when I ... why didn't it?" He looks around haltingly at the others. "It _took_ me. Into the past, I think. There was a dwarf, with a book. And I was a nun."

He grimaces and shakes his head as though trying to clear it.

"Where's Ptolus?" he asks.

Oktav looks up at Bufer.

"Ptolus? Far end of the empire, on the Whitewind Sea. It's home to the Emperor of the Church. It's becoming famous for the ruins beneath the city and, of course, its spire. What about Ptolus?"

The birds shift on the ivy.

"That's where the dwarf said it was from when it gave it to me. Her. Whoever," Bufer says, waving his hand impatiently. "Some high mucky-muck there was donating it to the sisters. Black book, leather-bound, about yeah big. Supposed to be rare. Damn it, I wish you'd have seen it instead of me; you'd probably know it by sight."

Oktav looks at the book in his hands. Despite its age, it's clear that it was never bound with black leather. He looks up and opens his mouth to speak and a strangled squeak of terror comes out.

The ravens have left the ivy and are flying towards the party, cutting them off from the doors back into the church and library.

"Circle up," Tucker calls, pushing Vonmora behind him, readying his mace and raising his shield. "Fighters on the outside, protect your squishy buddy on the inside!"

"Not natural ravens, but they might still bleed like 'em," Hazel mutters, raising her her quarterstaff into a guard position, her hands evenly spaced along the wood. "This spot is too open! The flock will mob us. Tucker, we need to defend on the run."

She risks a glance behind her, toward the courtyard's far wall.

"Must be more rooms over there, maybe something we can use."

"Confounded ravens might be pushing us into bigger threats," Emmerson growls, as the black wings blot out the sky overhead.

"If it's a choice between that and having my eyes pecked out, I'll take the chance!" Bufer says. "Come on, let's skedaddle while we still can!"

As the group breaks for the west wall, they see a pair of double doors still intact, if somewhat worse for wear, after all these years.

The party thunders into the dark and dusty room, slamming the doors shut behind them.

"Bar the doors if you can!" Emmerson screams after he enters, throwing Oktav inside by the scruff of his neck.

As a bar is found and hastily put into place, the doors shake as the otherworldly ravens screech and pound themselves against the wood, their talons clawing furiously.

Emmerson grabs his lantern and raises it, illuminating the room.

In its heyday, this long room was the dormitory for the Sisters of the New Dawn. In death, it has different residents: Skeletons in armor and clutching weapons lay on the dusty beds, composed as though laid to rest in the room.

As the lantern light moves across them, there is a quiet clattering as the skeletons rise, raise their weapons and approach. There is a dry coughing noise that it takes the adventurers a second to realize is the dead laughing as they approach.

"Great, this again," Tucker sighs. "Do no one's bones know how to lay down and stay there?"

"No," one of the skeleton replies. A moment later, his greatsword begins to glow with a spectral blue light, and the party can see he's dressed in the armor and rotting vestments of a paladin of Lothian.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel places her lantern on the dusty floor and grips her quarterstaff in two hands as she eyes the approaching skeletons.

"You served Lothian once. Why do you betray the light now?" She nods toward Emmerson and Oktav. "And why attack his servants?"

"Because he lies," the undead paladin says. "This whole world is damned and you will soon learn the truth, as we have."

The undead fan out around the group. They're a motley group, and include the remains of dwarves and kobolds along with humans: Clearly, more than a few adventurers have met their ends in the abbey.

"If the world is damned and we'll soon learn it, why not just leave us be until we do?" Tucker asks, readying his mace.

"Runecarver, preserve us." Vonmora draws her morningstar and her fingers twitch, waiting for the first swing of the blade from either side.

Emus shoulders his way past Hazel and Bufer and adopts a battle stance in front of the party, then waits for the skeletons to come to the party.

Under his breath, he begins to pray in a strange language the others do not recognize, other than Flower, who seems a bit startled to hear him speaking it.

"_Those outside of creation may take no part in it_," he snarls. "_Those outside of creation may take no part in it._"

"The dwarf speaks for us all," Bufer retorts, grabbing hold of the lacquered wooden holy symbol hanging from his neck, and presenting it to the encroaching undead like a badge of office. His eyes dart around the room as he takes a quick estimate of the odds. "Uh, I think."

There appear to be eight undead spreading out around the party, including a pair of kobolds with skeletal tails lashing, a pair of dwarves and four humans, led by what remains of Artos Nachtmann.

As Bufer looks back and forth, he sees that more than just Artos' greatsword has begun to glow.

"Artos Nachtmann, is that you among the dead?" Emmerson asks, his weapon raised in challenge.

"Put down your sword," Artos responds, "And we will make this quick."

"Put down yours and we will make it quicker. May Lothian have mercy on you, because if you attack us, I shall show you none." 

Artos says a word in some vile language none of those gathered understand, and, as one, the undead attack.

Vonmora calls out to Yurabbos to protect them all, and her goddess seems to have heard her plea: The entire group feels blessed by the Runecarver.

Artos, laughing, his cloak billowing out behind him, steps forward, swinging his mighty greatsword at Emmerson, and the blade bites into the young priest's armor with a sickening sound of metal piercing armor and flesh, but remarkably, the blow is a relatively minor one. Artos was seemingly testing the paladin's defenses.

With a cry, Flower lets a sling stone fly free, but it bounces harmlessly off a far wall, ricocheting into the shadows. In response, one of the kobold skeletons darts forward, stabbing with a shortspear, but Flower ducks back, just in time.

A dwarf skeleton with a white beard still hanging from its few remaining patches of skin swings at Emus with a glowing dwarven waraxe, but the blow glances off his armor.

An undead human wizard, its spells gone along with its soul, swings at Vonomora with a quarterstaff held between bony hands, but the blow knocks loudly against her wooden shield.

A human warrior swings a glowing long sword at Tucker, and the blade bites into his shield, but does not penetrate.

Bufer first realizes that he's under attack when one of the kobold skeletons is withdrawing its short sword from his side, the gnome's blood reflecting in the lantern light.

Oktav screams in terror as a dwarf skeleton, its beard only a few stray hairs, swings a heavy mace at him. Oktav breaks and runs, the dwarf missing him as the acolyte leaps over the dead nuns' beds to avoid the attack.

Hazel opens her mouth to say something to him, but her words turn into a cry of pain as a long sword bites into her thigh.

Outside, the ravens still scream and beat themselves at the door, eager to join the battle.

Barely reacting to the pain, Emmerson grabs the ankh-crucifix dangling around his neck and screams at the top of his lungs: "FOUL BEASTS OF THE NETHERWORLD! YIELD IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHTBRINGER!"

Artos pulls back, hissing with rage, and steps back, his hand up to shield himself from the crucifix, backing his way down the dormitory. Four other skeletons simultaneously turn and flee in the same direction, breaking off their attacks on Flower, Vonmora, Tucker and Hazel.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Dinky the rat releases her hold on the skeleton's ankle as it hobbles away. The rat spits out a chip of bone.

"Same damn leg," Hazel mutters, wincing.

A chanting Emus swings his mighty greatclub at the undead skeleton, dealing a mighty blow, shattering the skeleton, which collapses into a pile of decayed armor, whiskers and bone, its glowing waraxe sliding away beneath a bed.

Nearby, Hazel's quarterstaff whistles through the air over Bufer's head, harmlessly passing through the air near the skeleton attacking the gnome. Tucker, also attacking the same skeleton with his flail, has no better luck.

"GODS DAMN IT, THIS IS MY BEST OUTFIT!" Bufer shouts, grimacing from the pain in his side as he swings his father's mace at the undead kobold that stabbed him. The mace thwacks satisfyingly against the skeleton.

Vonmora raises her wooden shield higher to cover her head so she can briefly assess the condition of the folks around her. She sees the tuft-haired gnome resting his hand on his side, wincing as he swings away with his mace, but not before she also observes a deep wound on Hazel's thigh, thick blood dripping into her boot and the ground around her.

Trusting that Bufer knows when to tend to himself, Vonmora turns her attention towards the ranger. Once her hand reaches the injured leg, she heals Hazel.

Tucker swings his flail at the kobold skeleton once more, but with no more effect than before. This time, Bufer has a comparable lack of luck with his swing -- the kobold skeleton darts back and forth, and it may be a trick of the light, but it appears the undead creature is actually enjoying itself.

One end of Hazel's quarterstaff strikes nothing but air, but in ducking from that blow, the kobold's skull backs into the other end as it comes whistling forward, shattering its skull. The creature collapses into dozens of rotten bones, its short sword dropping point-first into the floor, vibrating slightly.

Emus tears after Oktav and his pursuer, racing across the beds, sending up huge clouds of dust as he goes, followed closely by Emmerson. But he's unable to reach the skeleton before its heavy mace connects with the back of the weeping acolyte with a crunch of breaking bone. Oktav collapses across one bed and lays still.

Emus' greatclub smashes the knob off the bedpost, sending it flying, but he misses the dwarf skeleton with the bloody mace. The creature turns just as Emmerson arrives and stabs the skeleton. But skeletons are made of bone, not flesh, and the blade does little damage.

Flower's sling stone also goes wide, thunking into one of the wooden ceiling beams, embedding itself there. Likewise, Dinky's fangs meet only empty air.

Back near the door, Vonmora's hand lands on Hazel's wound, and she channels the power of her goddess into the body of the ranger.

Artos and the other skeletons disappear together into the darkness.

"Son of a bitch!" Bufer snarls as he eyes the limp form of the acolyte. He glances up and around at his companions. "Dog pile on that mother-loving skeleton. Then we go after the others."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement from the others, Bufer turns and charges towards the dwarf skeleton, brandishing his father's mace, intent on knocking the ever-present grin clear off its skull.

"FOR REDSHIRT!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.

Hazel flashes Vonmora a smile and a nod of thanks as the bleeding slows to a trickle and the pain eases. Then she follows Bufer, limping slightly.

As Emmerson drops his sword and pulls his warhammer, the dwarf skeleton attacks, swinging its own mace at him, but it thunks loudly off the paladin's shield. Emmerson fares no better, as the undead dwarf parries his blow.

Tucker doesn't miss, though, and his flail shatters the dwarf into small bits.

Emus drops his greatclub to the floor, just narrowly missing Bufer's toes, and hops across the bed, looking to the fallen acolyte Oktav. Murmuring a spell, there's the sound of at least one rib snapping back into place, and the boy's ragged breathing is a little easier, but no color returns to his face and he does not wake up.

Hazel slows her rush as the skeleton collapses. She leans on her quarterstaff and carefully stretches her injured leg, satisfied that it will bear her weight. As Emus works on the acolyte, she straightens up and taps Tucker's shoulder with her quarterstaff.

"Ought to let the healers take care of him and get on with our business before the skeletons find a spot for ambushing. Care to take a little walk?"

"Work to be done," Tucker says, wiping his forehead and raises his flail once more. "Let's get to it."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel heads further into the room, snatching her lantern from the floor and moving about 30 feet from the injured acolyte.

Tucker gives a sharp whistle, and nods toward the far end of the dormitory. 

"Emmerson. We've still got more skeletons to smash."

Satisfied that the skeleton has been dealt with, Oktav has been stabilized and Hazel's injury mended, Emmerson heeds Tucker's words and follows.

"We can't let our superior numbers fool us," the priest murmurs. "Artos is a threat all by himself."

"If we can take out his friends first, we'll be able to take him down together," Hazel says, eyeing the darkness. "Keep him off-balance and fight him on all sides, like a wolf pack."

Bufer watches Hazel and the others walk off, torn, but finally turns away towards the unconscious Oktav. Laying his mace on the bed, he crouches down and palpitates the acolyte's head, attempting to determine the extent of his injuries.

"Well, at least he's still breathing," he says to Emus. "That's half the battle right there. You did good, lad. Real good."

He nods in the direction of Hazel and the others.

"Flower and me can take it from here, if you want to catch up with your partner, there. Although, uh, if you'd be willing to leave Skeeter with us to stand guard until we can join you, I'd be much obliged."

"Sure thing, son," Emus places on emphasis on the word "son" before turning to Skeeter. He points at Oktav and says a word in Dwarvish. "_Guard_."

The hound thumps his tail against the floor once in acknowledgement and Emus rubs the dog's head before departing.

"Hmph," Bufer snorts to Flower. "Try to pay him a compliment, and he gets all tetchy about it. Somebody needs to pull the shillelagh out of his butt, I think."

Hazel moves forward another 20 feet and looks toward the far end of the dormitory as Emus joins them.

"Emus, if I cover my lantern a moment, can you see anything moving down there?" she asks.

"Try it, and I'll tell ya what I can see."

Hazel turns to face the opposite direction and shields her lantern with her cloak.

"You'd think with the laughing and the glowing, they'd be easy to spot," she snorts.

Emus squints down through the dusty dormitory, then motions for Hazel to uncover her lantern.

"They ain't there. They're either hiding under the beds, or they've left the room. I don't see any ... hold on. There's something on the ceiling. Maybe a hole or a trapdoor they could've gotten through."

"Under the beds?" Tucker looks uneasily at the floor around them. "I don't like the idea of that."

Hazel uncovers the lantern, glad for the light but discomfited by the thought of the skeletons lying in wait somewhere ahead.

"Ought to be certain there ain't nothing else here, and then hunt down the bones an' send them to their gods," she says, shining her lantern around the dormitory, including under the beds.

For the most part, the beds are in good repair, with even the bedbugs and ticks dying off long ago, with no warm bodies to feed upon. The chests at the foot of each bed feature simple belongings: Prayer books, wooden crucifixes, changes of clothes and so on.

The axe that skidded under one of the beds has dimmed, its glow all but a memory.

"Ain't nothing under the beds but an axe one of them dropped."

Back by the door, Oktav spits up some bloody saliva and sits up with a groan. He's bruised, but alive, and he smiles weakly at Bufer, pale lips still unable to form words of thanks at the moment.

"Ah, there's a good lad," Bufer smiles as he helps Oktav sit up. "Of course, you do realize that being healed by the cleric of a heathen god means you're going straight to Hell now, right?"

"Or it means that the light of Lothian can shine even through surprising vessels," Oktav whispers hoarsely.

Bufer blinks in surprise at this response, then chuckles.

"Well played, Redshirt, well played," he says as he helps the acolyte to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you up and get caught back up with the others. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be split up in this place."

"Skeletons should be returning any second now," Emmerson says, as they arrive. "Let's hear your idea, Flower."

"Well," Flower says quietly, walking quickly to meet the others at the end of the room, "I have this, um, thing I can do with plants. And I can do it at range. Provided nobody from our side steps into it -- that would just be dumb -- I can keep the bad guys all tied up for us to clobber on one by one!"

"Hmm," Bufer says, scratching his chin with the top of his father's mace. "It's a good idea, but frankly I don't know if I can be counted on not to do something dumb."

He glances up at Oktav.

"Hey, you still got Thrakharaktor handy? You said it was some kinda undead-fightin' manual, right?"

Oktav nods, fumbling around with his belongings until he is able to fish out the book from his bag.

"The Grailwarden dwarves have fought many undead trying to steal the White Grail from them and compiled practical methods for battling the undead in this book." He carefully pulls apart two gummed-together pages. "The book is somewhat worse for wear, but perhaps someone who can read Dwarven runes can find something of use here."

"Give it here," Bufer says, reaching up for the damaged tome. Bufer frowns at it as, puzzled, Oktav drops the book into the gnome's hands.

"I hope this thing has an index," Bufer mutters, then closes his eyes and mutters another prayer.

The book begins to knit itself back into shape in Bufer's hands, water oozing from the pages as they dry out and shed the mold and mildew of the years. Although Thrakharaktor doesn't appear quite as new, it does appear readable for the most part.

"There," Bufer says as he shakes off the newly restored book. "If nothing else, at least we've got ourselves a dwarven relic to take back with us, although the two of you are going to have to arm wrestle to see which clan gets first dibs on it."

He holds the book out to Emus and Vonmora.

"Either of you inclined to take a peek? We might find something useful. I'd do it myself, but as I was explaining to Vonmora yesterday, I thought it better if I didn't understand what certain dwarves were saying about my parentage."

"She's more the book learning type, I reckon," Emus says, jerking his head towards Vonmora.

Vonmora snorts as she accepts the book from Bufer. She licks her thumb and scans through the pages quickly for major points of interest first. Then she rereads sections that caught her eye, muttering half-sentences to herself. The passages were filled with no-nonsense practical advice about hunting down and killing the undead.

"Hoo-kay!" Vonmora raises the open book higher, indicating that she was now ready to translate.

"This is what we need to know about them and what they can do. First of all, the undead can see in the total darkness. However, they are vulnerable to holy water.

"Secondly, the skeletons are mindless and easily controlled by other beings, living or undead. Blunt weapons work best on 'em. However, a word of caution: Not all bony creatures are actually skeletons. It says here that sometimes a great evil can create even more powerful skeletal creatures."

Vonmora looks up, glancing around for bored or confused expressions. Finding none, she continues on.

"Third, there are also ghostly creatures that only partially exist in the physical world. They will be a little more difficult to fight as only spells or magical weapons can touch them. But even so, magical weapons can only do so much. The ghostly creatures will not feel their full impact unless the weapons are specially created with transmutation magic, which will touch the ghosts every time."

Vonmora hands the open book over to Emus.

"Just in case I didn't read it properly, you probably should double check, too."

She then shrugs at Bufer.

"There's some more stuff about killing different breeds of vampires and ghouls if we wanted to delve into that some more or just deal with it as it comes."

Bufer considers the new information for a moment as the gears turn in his head.

"Wait," Bufer cocks an eyebrow, "Vampires have different breeds?"

Emus grunts, stroking his hairy chin, finding the section Vonmora indicated.

"Aye. Apparently, dwarves, gnomes, elves, halflings, and humans all create their own breeds of vampires."

Flower blinks as he briefly entertains an absurd notion.

"What are the gnome vampires going to do? Bite us in the ankles?"

Bufer turns and narrows his eyes at Flower.

"Maybe they just stab you with their pointy hats," he says dryly.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The room remains quiet.

Emmerson points the beam of his bullseye lamp to the ceiling, where Emus said he saw a dark spot. His lantern illuminates an open trapdoor in the dorm ceiling. Two brass grooves look as though they held a ladder at some point.

"The undead went up a ladder?" Emmerson says. "I've heard of folks getting spry in their old age, but that's ridiculous."

"Nimble enough to swing a sword, ain't they?" Hazel grins, shaking her head. "Before this year, I wouldn't have thought dead folk could do anything at all. Now if you told me they could grow wings and fly out the ceiling, I'd have to at least consider it."

Chuckling, Emmerson crouches by the beds, shining his lantern beneath them, looking for the axe Hazel said she saw beneath one of them. Reaching down, he pulls out the dwarven waraxe dropped by one of the skeletons.

The axe is unwieldy and clearly made for a dwarf's wider hands. Emmerson knows the axe would likely sprain his wrist if he used it to any great extent. The blade begins to glow, subtly at first, and then as brightly as a torch, albeit a soft blue light.

"Emus, I believe this should be wielded by you."

Emus takes the axe. He holds it with a familiarity that implies he's used one before, but is visibly wary of its enchantment. He looks down at the greatclub he set down to carry the axe.

"I hate to leave it behind. It's just as good as a waraxe, and I can cast a spell on it. Do we have any idea what this glow actually does?"

"I don't see a need to put down your club now," Emmerson says. "Blunt weapons are needed now and you can use yours for the time being. We'll carry the axe with us."

"That kobold skeleton dropped a weapon, too." Hazel waves her hand in the direction of the bone pile. "Short sword. Bufer or Flower maybe could use it."

"Sure, I'll be happy to take the pigsticker," Bufer says. "Unless, of course Flower wants it for hi-- her-- I mean, unless Flower wants it."

The kobold shakes his head and Bufer smiles and bobs his head in thanks as he scoops up the short sword dropped by the kobold skeleton.

Hazel stoops and begins digging through her backpack, frowning.

"Y'all think we can tempt those things back down?" she asks. "I got a rope we could maybe climb up with and drop the ladder down, if there's even a working ladder up there, but I got to have something to tie the rope off with, and I ain't carrying a grappling hook."

Tucker stares at the ceiling and then at the beds.

"How high would you say that hole is? Ten feet? Twelve?"

"Beats me," offers Emus, taking a few practice swings with his new axe, "Anything over four feet is wasted, I say."

"Yeah, anyway. Ceiling's about twice as tall as we are. Even a basic bed's longer than a man, right? If we tip one of these bed frames up on end, I could probably stand on it and see what's upstairs. Of course, I'd have to borrow a lantern, or lift someone who can see in the dark up with me."

Vonmora clears her throat and holds a finger in front of her lips, another finger pointing at her ear and then the ceiling: There's a soft scraping sound above them, like bone on wood floor.

It's difficult to tell exactly where the sound is coming from: right above them or further away. The entire dormitory serves as an echo chamber for the soft sounds.

Outside, the ravens have finally gone quiet.

Sighing, Hazel crouches down next to Flower and points toward the trapdoor.

"You think you could hit something as it's coming down? Figure a skeleton can't really be dodging stones and still concentrating on not breaking a leg falling, can it?" She looks up, as though trying to stare a hole through the ceiling. "Let's hope they don't got a mess of bows up there, eh?"

Bufer reaches up and grabs hold of Oktav's cloak. The acolyte lets out a small squawk as Bufer tugs him back with him away from the trapdoor.

"C'mon, dragonkin," Bufer says to Flower, "Let's the three of us get out of the way. You can ping them off from range as they drop down, and I can keep a proper eye on the professor, here."

From above their heads, the party can hear Artos ordering the skeletons in whatever debased language he's speaking. There's a great deal of shuffling of bony feet in response.

Bufer points up at Oktav sternly.

"Now you listen good, Redshirt: Anything untoward happens this time, you stay put! No screaming and running like a stuck pig; you stick with me and Flower, got it? Ain't nothing getting through the two of us. We might be small, but we're damned cagey."

"My boyfriend's a Lothianite, too, Oktav," Flower reassures him as he loads his sling. "No harm can come to us, when we bathe ourselves in his luminous splendor."

"'Your boy--?'" Bufer says, smiling brightly. "Ah ha, so you _are_ a girl! I thought so, but I wasn't altogether sure. I ain't had a lot of experience with dragonkin females, excepting this one time that ended up with her slashing my throat, so I think it's fair to say I had other things on my mind at the time. Well, that's certainly a relief. Dancing around the pronouns was starting to chafe me something fierce!"

"No, silly!" Flower says. "I'm obviously a boy! I'd tell you why it's obvious, but that would be highly untoward!"

"A boy, eh?" Bufer says, scratching his head and reconsidering everything he thought he knew about Heath Leach. "Now I've seen everything."

Something pale moves past the open trapdoor. Below, Tucker grips his mace and shield more tightly, running his tongue across his dry lips and Emmerson shifts the lantern he's set up on a nearby bed to better illuminate the trapdoor.

"ARTOS NACHTMANN, COME DOWN FROM YOUR HIDING HOLE," Emmerson bellows, "OR HAS UNDEATH ROBBED YOU OF YOUR COURAGE?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson's challenge is met with the sound of Artos laughing somewhere above them. The undead knight says a few words and there's the sound of something scraping across the floor. A moment later, a pile of moth-eaten old blankets drops to the floor below the trapdoor, a cloud of dust exploding from it.

As the dust clears, the adventurers can see a bony figure dropping onto the blanket, and rising back up, coming toward them, glowing long sword at the ready, as another skeleton appears at the trapdoor, ready to follow.

The skeleton slashes at Emmerson, as it approaches, cutting him deeply.

Tucker's flail goes wide, but Emmerson's warhammer does not, and it shatters the skeleton, just as the next skeleton tumbles down and approaches, banging its long sword against its wooden shield as it comes at Emmerson.

Another pale figure appears at the trap door, apparently preparing to drop.

"Tucker, watch the line," Emmerson says, hissing between his teeth. Eyeing his wound and steps back, reaching for the ankh-crucifix around his neck with a bloody hand and murmuring a prayer.

"If I keep swinging wide like this, 'watching' the line is about all I can do," Tucker snaps.

He and Hazel move toward the next skeleton as it lands on the pile of blankets and advances on them.

Tucker lashes out with his flail, catching one of the approaching skeleton's leg bones before it can reach Emmerson. He yanks the skeleton off its feet with a clatter of bone on stone floor.

Hazel makes a wordless grunt, lashing out at the skeleton with one end of her quarterstaff, and then the other, each blow slamming against the helpless skeleton. Whatever it was that animated the long-dead adventurer dissipates, and shatters into a mass of bone and semi-decayed gear.

A third skeleton drops to the floor and as it rises, it feints with both ends of its quarterstaff, as though mocking Hazel as it moves towards Emmerson.

Over by the door, Bufer, Vonmora, Flower and Oktav all look up as they hear something thump loudly, like a door that has not been opened in a very long time being slammed open.

"Well, _that_ can't be good!" Bufer observes.

"NACHTMANN, WILL ROTTED UNDERLINGS DO YOUR DIRTY WORK?" Emmerson roars, reinvigorated by his prayer. "COME DOWN AND FACE ME!"

"AND IF YOU HAPPEN TO NOTICE A BLACK LEATHER BOOK WHILE YOU'RE UP THERE, BRING IT WITH YOU!" Bufer adds.

Oktav forgets to be frightened just long enough to look down at Bufer in surprise.

"What?" Bufer shrugs. "It can't hurt to try!"

"They're going to come in the door," Flower says nervously.

Tucker kicks at the bones on the floor, scattering them around a bit. Since the approaching skeleton has a longer reach than he does, he makes sure his shield is up as he again strikes at its ankles.

"There must be an exit on the second floor! Emmerson, push one of those beds across the door!"

"This one-at-a-time crap is just a distraction!" Emus barks, heading for the door. "The kobold just saved us an ambush, I'm betting."

"Well done, lad," Bufer smiles grimly at Flower. "If we get out of this alive, I owe you an ale. Keep an eye on the professor. And you," he jabs a finger at Oktav, "Don't go nowhere!"

Back at the trapdoor, Tucker neatly sweeps the advancing skeleton off its feet with his flail, just as he did the last skeleton.

Flower's sling stone spins to a stop harmlessly between the deputy's feet. The kobold's filthy dire rat darts through his legs a moment after, biting frantically at an exposed bone. Amazingly, this seems to have some small effect on the undead wizard.

Hazel finishes off the skeleton with another one-two blow from her quarterstaff.

Over at the door, the group can see a thin-bladed steel dagger sliding up between the double doors where Artos is trying to pry off the bar. His bony shadow is visible beneath the door and in the crack between the two doors and the very air around the entrance seems to radiate despair and hopelessness.

"Emus, you got your flask of holy water handy?" Bufer asks as he watches the dagger blade sliding up the seam between the doors, a sudden idea coming to him. "There's a variation on an old practical joke I want try!"

"Not so brave now, little paladin?" Artos growls through the door. "I had no idea there was a window in the attic until you sent me and my servants up the ladder with your trick. But there was."

Outside, there's a renewed sound of the ravens flapping and cawing again, but this time, the sound is carrying through the trapdoor at the end of the dormitory as well.

"Oh, look at that: The birds have spotted the open window."

"Oh, damn!" Emus yells, throwing his backpack off of his shoulders and starts digging around inside. "Emmerson! Tucker! Hazel! Close the trapdoor!

"Get all the birds in one place, and then see how they like _this!_" Emus pulls a small bomb out of his backpack. "I told you gunpowder was a good idea!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson and Tucker move one wooden bed frame across the doorway. Tucker draws his sword and, following the paladin's lead, jabs it into the wood of the door above the cross bar, hopefully preventing Artos' blade from lifting it from the other side.

"Those damnable birds aren't inside yet, but they will be soon," Tucker says. "And it won't be long after that until they're coming down that trapdoor. We need to be ready. Emus, can I see that gunpowder boomer of yours?"

Emus tosses the bomb to Tucker, who turns it over in his hands.

"This is just a tiny little thing. Shouldn't be too bad, but it might do the trick for those birds. Still, better safe than sorry. Em, help me turn a few of these beds on their sides."

Meanwhile, Hazel studies the trapdoor and the landing pad below it.

"Don't think I can close it, but I got another idea." Dropping to her knees, she digs through her backpack, triumphantly pulling out an extra pint of oil. The sound of the flapping birds carries through the open trap door, and she peers upward, heart hammering, before dousing the blankets with oil. She quickly cuts a thin strip of cloth with her hand axe for a wick, and darts 10 feet back to her lantern.

"C'mon, c'mon," she mutters, her fingers fumbling to lift the hood. She lights the wick with the exposed flame, carrying it carefully back to the blankets. With a prayer to Estanna - _it may not be a hearth, goddess, but I need it to burn_ - she casts the burning cloth atop the oily blankets.

The flame springs up quickly, and Hazel tumbles back with a giddy smile. She hoists her pack onto her back and sends her quarterstaff skidding across the floor toward the group at the barricade, scrambling amid the bones to grab any weapons or other gear the skeletons dropped.

As Hazel throws the dropped weapons, including the glowing long sword, ahead of her, from the corner of her eye, she spots a faint bit of movement between two beds near the end of the room.

The ladder to the attic, which had apparently fallen after the skeletons had escaped up it, is moving. At least, most of the skeletons had made it up the ladder. A small kobold skeleton is attempting to lift the ladder off him, but given the way the ladder (and apparently the skeleton itself) fell, it's partially hooked beneath one bed and the skeleton was pinned in such a way that it can only lift one arm.

With the heat growing, and sweat trickling down her back, Hazel picks up her lantern and heads for the beds piled near the door.

"Hope the smoke will slow 'em down some." She glances around at the group, noting the careful grip Tucker has on a small object. "What you got there?"

"Emus wants to see something explode," Tucker replies. "I was a bit worried about lighting the fuse, but I don't think that'll be an issue any more, thanks to your cookout over there. Now we just need to hope the ravens come inside before it burns itself out."

Tucker moves as close to the fire as he can without inhaling the smoke that is pooling against the ceiling before it flows up through the open flap. He watches for any sign of movement - winged or otherwise.

And then the sound of wings goes from a quiet whisper to overwhelming in a second. Through the thick smoke, ravens explode into the room like a black cloud, screaming with rage at the smoke and the deputy nearest the trap door.

Tucker throws the bomb into the burning blankets and runs, dragging Hazel with him as they race for the far door.

The explosion is almost deafening in the enclosed space. There's a blast of black feathers and kobold bones, and the nearby beds and bits of flaming blankets are blown in all directions.

The birds, smoky, fewer in number, but now undeniably angry, race after Hazel and Tucker.

Hazel dives for her quarterstaff, hoping to grab it and roll to face the ravens before they swarm her.

From the other direction, Emus screams and charges at the ravens with his greatclub, Emmerson and Vonmora on his heels. Emmerson leans down and grabs a glowing long sword tossed toward the door by Hazel a moment before, and carries it into the swarm of black feathers.

The world goes black around the adventurers other than those at the door. They see several ravens go hurtling from the swarm, Vonmora's morning star batting them away like toys.

Hazel lashes out at the ravens as they engulf her. But despite feathers and talons everywhere, they somehow seem to elude the blows from her quarterstaff. Emus fares no better, feeling the birds tug at his beard and their feathers beating against the thin hair of his scalp.

Tucker, though, feels his flail connect against something, and the squawks of outrage suggest that it's multiple ravens.

Unable to even see the glowing long sword through the dark mass of feathers, Emmerson strikes nothing, and just swings through empty air.

Meanwhile, the four engulfed have the horrifying feeling of the ravens crawling over them for brief seconds as wings and beaks and claws batter at them. What's worse is that the birds seem to know of the frailties of their species, and soon their faces are a mass of bleeding cuts as the birds seemingly attempt to pluck out their eyes.

The others hear Vonmora, Tucker and Emmerson scream as claws and beaks pierce the soft flesh of their eyes. Blood runs down their faces as they scream in horror.

The birds disperse in a panic, the survivors flapping their way back up the trap door and away, the sounds of their flight now nothing beyond the normal sound of a flock of birds.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Friends!" Emmerson calls out, blood pouring out of his eye sockets. "Is everyone all right?"

Vonmora hears the sudden quiet of the fading birds and her hands go to her eyes, wincing. She places her hands over the squishy goo where her eye sockets are begins to pray. The faintest of her scratches begin to close but, more importantly, her slashed retinas knit back together. Blinking the blood from her eyes, she can see again.

Beside her, Emmerson mutters a prayer to Lothian, blinks away the blood and torn bits of eyelid and can see again.

Hazel wipes her arm across her face, leaving streaks of blood behind but clearing her vision. She shudders at the sight of her companions' faces and lays a hand on Tucker's arm as the others' eyesight returns.

"Stay calm, Tuck, we'll get your eyes fixed right up." Louder, she adds, "Bufer, is the door holding? We might need you over here."

"Uh, yeah -- ow -- I don't think I'm going anywhere," Tucker says, trying to keep his voice steady. He's cheered by what he can hear and feel, though: The mangled corpses of the unholy swarm of ravens crunch under his boots like large pinecones.

"Coming, coming!" Bufer calls as he rushes over, still grinning widely despite the horror of the last few moments. "I tell you, I wish Tosh or Heda were here!"

"Why?" Hazel asks, aghast. "So they could have their eyes plucked out, too?"

"What? No no no, so they could see the brilliance of the joke I'm about to spring on that boogedy-boogedy out there! Even with all your eyes mended, none of you big'uns are like to appreciate it! Oh, tsk, I'll bet that smarts, don't it? Come here, Gallaway. Bend over, would you? I ain't about to climb you like a tree."

He's silent a moment, bowing his head in prayer, his hands on the deputy's ravaged face.

"I'll tell you, Gallaway," he says, patting Tucker on the cheek, "I'm a comedic genius unappreciated in my own time."

Tucker blinks rapidly, rubs his face, and looks at the bloody goo on his hands.

"Thank you, Bufer. I'm glad Garl doesn't hold grudges against unbelievers."

"Shhh!" Emus hisses, over by the door. "Can anyone hear Artos on the other side of the door?"

"Emus, we missed a ladder and a kobold hitting the ground on an enclosed space," Emmerson says dryly. "I don't think we'd hear Natchmann even if he was singing 'Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers' at the top of his lungs."

"Yes," a voice says from the far side of the door, "Open the door. I've seen the error of my ways and want to embrace the truth path of Lothian again."

"Hey Artos!" Bufer yells back. "Pull the other one, why don't ya? It's got bells on!"

"Cut it off and slide it under the door and I'll pull it all you like," Artos replies through the door. "I know a secret about gnome souls. Put your ear to the door and I'll tell you."

"Oh ho, an ambling corpse with a sense of humor, eh?" Bufer shouts back. "I'll have to remember to keep your funny bone as a souvenir after we've smashed the rest of you into dust!"

"I'm sorry, Bufer, but you won't get to keep it," Emmerson says, sheathing his newly acquired long sword and taking out his warhammer once more. "Once we have defeated him, I have plans for Artos Nachtmann."

"Let him in so we can beat him down," Emus whispers.

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Bufer grins, brandishing his sword with relish. "Let's play along, let him in, and --"

The gnome cleric breaks off and blinks as a sudden thought occurs to him. Twisting around, he looks up over his shoulder at the open trapdoor, and frowns.

"You know, it suddenly occurs to me that we don't rightly know what else might been up there in that attic ..."

"I'll give it a look-see," Hazel says. "Y'all don't need me to hold the door shut."

At the other end of the room, Emmerson finds he can slide the ladder into the trapdoor grooves with little difficulty. The ladder itself, as well as the mouth of the trapdoor, is somewhat worse for wear from the bomb, and the ladder is a little wobbly as he puts it back in place.

Hazel stows her quarterstaff on her pack and carries her lantern over to Emmerson and the ladder. She tests each rung on the ladder before setting her weight on it, pausing at the top to cautiously peer over the edge into the attic. 

"Just a bunch of dusty boxes so far," she calls down softly. "Gonna take a closer look."

She vanishes up the ladder, Emus at watching up as she goes.

Artos lowers his voice, all but whispering through the door.

"Bufer, I will make you a deal."

"Don't," Emmerson says, grabbing Bufer's shoulder.

Artos continues whispering, too quietly for any ears but a gnome's.

Judging where Artos's head could be, Emmerson slams his warhammer against the door.

Laughter echoes from beyond the door.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Climbing into the attic, Hazel hauls herself over the edge with a grunt and holds the lantern aloft in her left hand. With the right she eases her axe from her belt.

Moving as silently as she can, alert for the faintest hint of a threat, she slips across the attic floor toward the open window. She sets the lantern down before its circle of light can spill outside and walks the last 20 feet without it, pausing beside the window. As quietly as she can, she peeks her head around the window frame and peers into the courtyard.

She finds her view of the door -- and presumably the thing that was once Artos Nachtmann -- obstructed by the overhanging roof. Hazel frowns and eyes the area around the window, studying the thick ivy and nodding to herself.

As she turns to remove her pack, the surrounding darkness gives her reason to reconsider. Stepping lightly, she returns to her lantern and carries it back to the trap door. Emus lifts his head at her approach, and she grins down at him.

"You weren't worried about me, now were you?" Hazel gestures for him to come upstairs. "Come here, I could use a hand with something."

As Emus climbs up, Hazel pulls a section of rope from her pack and loops it around her legs and waist, knotting it to create a secure seat and leaving several feet of rope free.

"Take a quick look around, would you?" she asks as she makes a pile of her pack, quarterstaff and cloak by the trap door. "And then come on over to the window, quiet as you can."

She heads over to the window with her lantern as before, trusting Emus's dwarf eyes to help him follow. She carefully tests the windowsill and motions the dwarf to stay silent. She hands him the free end of the rope and mimes him holding it tight as she descends.

As Hazel pulls out a flask of holy water, Emus grimaces and mimics placing a bar across the window and then points down through the floor to the area where he thinks Bufer and Emmerson are talking to Artos through the door.

And then the trap door slams shut.

"Oh, my," Flower gasps downstairs. "I should've seen that coming."

Emmerson leaves the door and Artos' almost inaudible whispers and climbs the ladder, slamming his shoulder against the trapdoor from beneath. It doesn't budge, and it feels as though something heavy is resting on top of it.

Even as Emmerson slams against the trapdoor again, there's a matching boom as Artos thunders against the front door.

"Give me your answer, Bufer; I'm coming in!"

"You gonna flirt with every evil son of a bitch we run into, Bufer?" Tucker snarls. "What's he saying out there?"

"Something is blocking the trap door," Emmerson calls from the ladder. "I need your help."

Bufer turns toward Tucker, his face ashen. Then he breaks into a humorless smile, turning toward Oktav.

"Hey Redshirt," he says conversationally, loud enough for Artos to hear through the door. "Artos here has oh-so-charitably offered to let one of you go free while he slaughters the rest of us. You want I should give him your name, or do we tell him we true vessels of Lothian don't make deals with rutting no-skin has-beens?"

"HE DID WHAT?" Emmerson roars from the ladder, half-climbing, half-tumbling to the floor. "OPEN THE DOOR, SO I CAN SHOW THAT TRUMPED-UP SKELETON WHAT BEING A PALADIN OF LOTHIAN REALLY MEANS!"

No one would have thought it possible, but Oktav goes even paler than before. He looks from Bufer to Vonmora to Skeeter and back.

"Well, I ..." he starts. Then he turns and vomits his breakfast up onto the floor by the nearest bed.

Bufer slowly closes his eyes, and waits for the retching to stop.

"Should I take that as a 'no?'" he asks patiently.

Before Oktav can answer, the double doors thunder against the bar, the swords wedged in to further block entry vibrating a moment afterward.

"Make your choice, gnome!" Artos calls. "I'm going to keep my end of the bargain in a moment!"

"You'll have my choice when I'm using your moldy skull for a chamber pot, you festering bastard," Bufer growls back. He grabs hold of one of the swords barricading the door, and nods for Tucker to do the same.

"Beanpole, priestess, get up here! Dragonkin, take the professor and the animals and find a shady spot you can ping him from!" He glances up at Tucker. "Pull 'em and back off on the ready, lad. On three, now. One ... two ..."

He locks eyes with Emmerson, now standing behind him, warhammer and shield at the ready, staring at the door with one eye angrily twitching.

From the other side of the door, the group hears Hazel and Emus yelling, their voices descending suddenly to ground level. There's a sound of glass or pottery shattering against the door.

"DIE!" Artos yells.

Tucker and Bufer finally open the door and Emmerson races out.

Hazel lays on the ground beneath a swaying end of rope, half on the walkway, half in the yellowing grass, unconscious, blood pooling in the mud. She has been cut almost in half.

Artos whirls and his bloody greatsword meets Emmerson's warhammer just in time, and Emmerson's blow slides away harmlessly, although Artos is now flanked between the paladin and an enraged Emus.

"I hope you weren't going to choose her, gnome!" Artos yells at Bufer, seeing the gnome's face fall. "Choose quickly now!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

With a pained glance at Hazel, Bufer hesitates a moment, then raises his sword and saunters towards Artos as if he has all the time in the world.

"Just how stupid do ye think I am, Nachtmann?" he growls, almost nonchalantly. "Shove your deal, you poor damned fool. As far as I'm concerned, you and whatever fell abomination you're serving now can suck it."

Flower's sling stone pings off Artos' greatsword as the undead knight's armor blocks Dinky's filthy mouth from locking on bone.

Emus's greatclub slams into Artos' armor with a loud crash, but fails to knock him off his feet.

Alas, Emmerson's divinely powered swing of his warhammer goes wide, as does Bufer's sword thrust, prompting more laughter from Artos.

"St. Daris is waiting to meet you, Artos." Tucker swings his flail menacingly, while keeping his shield held high. "And he's going to crack your head in two!"

The undead knight meets Tucker's blow with his sword, shoving him back.

"Then Daris should have chosen a better vessel than you fools!" Releasing his sword with his left hand, he lashes out, touching exposed flesh through a gap in Emmerson's armor. "DIE!"

Searing pain rips through Emmerson, but he manages to shrug most of it off through willpower.

Standing at a reasonable distance behind Tucker to avoid the swing of his flail, Vonmora retrieves a silver chain tucked away in her belt. From it dangles a silver hand clutching a gemstone, and thrusts the symbol at the undead paladin.

"By the light of Yurabbos, be purged!"

Presented with Vonmora's holy symbol, Artos pauses a moment, but does not break and run.

"That's not enough to work against me, you filthy groundhog!"

There's a noise behind the adventurers and Skeeter woofs a warning: Oktav has panicked and runs past the group, running for the cloister door, tears rolling down his face.

The moment seems to last an eternity: Artos turns from Vonmora, both hands on his greatsword, and swings his blade at the fleeing acolyte. His sword continues cleanly on through, blood and bits of organ spraying across the yellow grass of the cloister. The acolyte goes down in a wet heap.

Tucker's flail lashes around Artos' shin, but the fallen knight is stronger than the deputy. Artos jerks his leg back and the flail shoots out of Tucker's hand.

"I'm killing you next, boy," he snarls, meeting Emus' greatclub with his sword, and turning the blow away. Skeeter attempts to get underfoot on Artos and trip him up, but succeeds only in having his big paws stepped on by heavy-soled boots.

Flower, aghast at the fate of his charge, conjures up a wolf, his dire rat companion attacks, but Dinky's teeth close on boot leather and nothing more. The conjured wolf's attempt to trip Artos also fails, but its teeth close on a bony elbow and the wolf shakes with vigor, before fading back to whence it came.

Seeing Vonmora's outthrust holy symbol, Emmerson does the same with his silver ankh-crucifix.

"FALL IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHTBRINGER!"

"The spirit of Yurabbos compels you! BE PURGED!"

And Artos catches fire, a burst of flame dancing across his body a moment, his ancient tabard burning off like a dry autumn leaf in the bonfire.

"I told you to DIE, boy!"

The undead knight's bony hand closes over Emmerson's, and the young paladin shrieks in pain. Emmerson collapses to the ground, his eyes staring at nothing, his face a ghastly gray.

"TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Bufer's voice echoes across the cloister as he reaches for the skeleton's arm with his free hand.

With a yell, Bufer grabs the undead knight's wrist and Artos yells in pain and -- for the first time -- fear.

The gnome jerks back as Vonmora and Tucker press the attack, but both Vonmora's morningstar and Tucker's shield go wide.

With a grunt of satisfaction at Nachtmann's scream, Bufer does his best to avoid the skeleton's greatsword as he charges past him toward the dying Oktav.

Emus sheds his self-control and flies into a rage, lashing out with his club and screaming wordlessly.

As Bufer darts past Artos toward the fallen acolyte, the knight raises his greatsword to slice the gnome in half, just as he did Oktav, when Emus' club hits him.

Only Artos' armor keeps the skeletal figure from totally exploding when the greatclub hits. As it is, his skull goes flying and the rest of him collapses into a heap of bone and metal.

At long last, the abbey is quiet again, except for the sounds of the Bridgers' heavy breathing.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Swaying with exhaustion and the ebb of adrenaline, Bufer glares at the fallen array of bone and metal. It takes him a moment to work up a properly contemptuous glob of saliva and mucus, and then he spits it squarely at Artos' skull.

He wobbles over to Hazel and digs out his medical kit, dropping his sword into the yellow grass, and falls to his knees beside her, tending her wounds in silence.

The club tumbles from Emus' hand and he drops to his knees by Emmerson. It takes a moment before the haze clears from his eyes and he realizes his friend is injured. Placing a hand on Emmerson's chest, Emus closes his eyes and prays quietly in Dwarvish and Emmerson's wounds no longer seep blood.

Bufer flinches as he sees an unfamiliar pair of hands reach for the bandages he's wrapping around Hazel. He looks up in surprise as Flower sets about assisting him in earnest, his reptilian eyes filled with concern. The confidence with which his claws move demonstrate the kobold to be easily as capable a healer as Bufer has trained to be, if not more so.

Despite his somber mood, the corner of Bufer's mouth twitches upward as he reflects that it may be the first time in recorded history that a gnome and a kobold have ever willingly cooperated in anything. The unselfconscious ease with which Flower initiates it amazes even him, and buoys his heart a little.

As Flower looks up to pass the bandages back to him, Bufer holds his gaze a moment, then nods once in silent thanks and appreciation.

As Emmerson returns to consciousness, the group examines the belongings of the skeletons for anything that might help.

The skeletons all had armor, in tatters, and most of their weapons are in lousy shape, but in addition to the glowing long sword and dwarven war axe, the short sword Bufer was using has held up well, and was clearly made by a master kobold craftsman.

The long sword glows with a yellow-white light when held. Although finely built, it is simple in design and decoration, other than the imperial seal being molded into its cross-piece.

The dwarven war axe doesn't glow at all until Emus reads the weapon's name, written in runes along the haft: Urak, "the Skull-Cutter." Then it glows with a redly, like a forge.

Artos, in life, had come well prepared to the abbey. His half-plate armor was likewise made by a master craftsman, as was his dagger. A loaded dragon pistol is still in a boot holster, although time and damp weather have made a mess of the gun's workings.

Untouched by the flames of Emmerson's turning is a fine cloak that feels vaguely warm to the touch, keeping out the chill when Flower runs his hand along it. Flower also finds a flask marked with the ankh-crucifix of Lothian. When he uncorks it, though, it's not holy water or something meant to be drank, but an oil that smells like metal.

Finally, Emmerson and Tucker examine Artos' greatsword. Its bluish glow has stopped for now. The blade of the fine sword is decorated like a church steeple and St. Yessid stands before the door. Emmerson has to turn the blade around to read it, but the sword's name is spelled out in Celestial on the blade, woven into the pattern of the church steeple.

"What does it say?" ask Tucker, vaguely irritated at being unable to translate the runes.

"Judgment."

"'Judgment?'" Tucker echoes, and the blade begins to glow. Tucker eyes the sword, then turns it around and offers the hilt to Emmerson. "I think it likes you."

"This sword has been tainted, it must be cleansed," Emmerson says. The full color has still not returned to his cheeks after Artos' attack. "I hope that I'm Lothian's worthy vessel and bring honor to this weapon once again."

"Yeah, sure, fine, keep it," Tucker shrugs. "You might need it, because we still ain't alone in here. We need to get everyone to a safe place, 'though I dunno where in this hell hole that could be."

"When Hazel and I was up there," Emus jerks his head toward the attic window, "I saw one of them damned nuns, or the ghost of her, anyway. She closed the trapdoor, and from the sounds of the pounding on it, I reckon she was keeping y'all out.

"We need rest, but I don't reckon we want to rest in here. Didn't this one hear voices when he tried to bed down for the night?" He aims a kick at Artos' remains.

"Artos ain't the worst thing we're gonna find in here, not by a long shot," Bufer says, the creases in his brow deepening as he looks on what was once Artos Nachtmann. "If anything, he was just the opening act."

"I was thinking we should just leave the abbey for today, and come back tomorrow," Emus replies. "Of course, they seem to be good at locking us into places, so that may not be an option. We should also decide on the safest place inside of here to rest up."

"If we're forced to stay here, I think the library's our best bet at a safe haven," Bufer says. "Aside from that book that possessing me, it seemed relatively safe."

Finishing her prayers over them, Vonmora steps away from Oktav and Hazel, washing her face with water from a skin.

Oktav looks at the brutal slash across his sweater and the bare flesh beneath in shock. Looking around, he sees his own blood all over the grass as well as pieces of flesh that were once parts of his internal organs. If he had anything left in his stomach, he would be losing it now, but as it is, he merely dry heaves a bit before weakly thanking Vonmora and heading into the middle of the group, huddling between the armored warriors.

"Brother, do not be afraid," Emmerson says with as much confidence as he can muster. "Yes, we are a bit worse for wear, but watching each other's backs and fighting when the other is unable to has kept us alive."

"Where are the skeletons that attempted to undo Lothian's work?" Emmerson points at the ground. "We are currently divvying up their former possessions."

"Where is the blackguard that threatened us? I currently hold his sword. They are deciding who will wear his armor." He tries a winning smile.

"Breathe deeply, trust in Lothian and relax. We shall see this through. But next time, stay between us."

Hazel's recovery is gentler than Oktav's, and is a transition from dream to waking. The pale yellow grass and nearly white sky seem less real than her dreams, and it takes a long moment before she's fully back with the adventurers once again.

"Did we win?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"No," Emus says, offering her a beefy hand. "Not yet, anyway. Artos is down for good, but we know that there's more than just him to deal with. Sorry to ask this of you, girly, but we need to keep moving. Can you stand?"

Hazel grabs Emus' forearm and grits her teeth as he hauls her up. She leans on him for a moment until the lightheadedness abates.

"Looks like."

Flower is still playing around in the newly acquired cloak when Tucker approaches him.

"I don't think that fits you, Tiny. Can I see it?"

Tucker spreads it on the ground, piles the loot on it and begin to drag the whole thing over toward the library.

Behind him, Emmerson clears his throat in what he intends to be an indignant manner.

"And leave partially complete skeletons, so they can raise them again? I don't think so. Everyone, pick up a hip bone."

Carrying strategically chosen bones, the group makes its way across the dry yellow grass toward the library. Bufer catches up to them a moment later, tossing away Artos' helmet having liberated the fallen paladin's skull from inside it.

"Told the bastard I was going to use his skull for a chamber pot," the gnome says simply. "I mean to keep my promise."

Inside the library, they spread out the cloak and pick through the gear. Hazel tugs at the cloak, sending the haul rolling slowly off one side, clanking as it goes.

"Think I can borrow this one?" Her cheeks warm as she sheepishly smiles at Tucker. "I kind of left mine in the attic."

Hazel pulls the cloak tightly around herself, feeling warm and comfortable inside it. She curls up under the cloak with her back to a shelf full of crumbling parchment and is asleep within moments.

"Try the armor on, Tucker, and take one of the glowing weapons," Emmerson says. "I have nothing else left to do. I hope we can take a few hours' rest and pray that on Godsday, our strength is renewed. I suggest those of us in more need take some rest and impose upon those who are hale and hearty to watch over us."

"I'm not touching anything until someone can guarantee that it's not going to possess me," Tucker mutters. "I feel pretty good, so I'll take the first watch."

The sun continues to rise in the sky as he stands watch over the others, although it's lost behind a hazy sky.

As the day wears on, the silence grows oppressive. There are no sounds of birds, no chirp of insects, only the sound of a light breeze rattling the brittle leaves of the black ivy together.

The deputy becomes convinced there's a woman in the library with him, but no matter how he whips his head around, he can never spot her. He practically jumps out of his skin when the others finally begin to awake.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker's unease doesn't wane as he watches Bufer, Emmerson, Emus and Oktav praying after they wake.

"Thanks for the nap time," Hazel says quietly as she joins him. "So, all quiet?"

"I ... don't know. Emus said he saw a nun in the attic over there, right? Do you think they're likely to be on our side, what with their Mother Superior going nuts and murdering them? That they might want revenge on her?"

"She closed the attic door to keep y'all out!" Emus snaps, as he climbs to his feet. His tone suggests Tucker has taken one too many blows to the head.

"Maybe that was the abbess herself," Hazel muses out loud. "Did you get a good look at her, Emus?"

"Yep, sure did," Emus says, counting off on his thick fingers. "She looked like a human female; she was dressed like a nun; and she slammed the attic door shut and DISAPPEARED!

Now finished with their prayers, Bufer watches as Emmerson casts a spell over their collected booty.

He stares at the pile of loot collected from Artos and his minions a long moment before pushing the cloak, greatsword, long sword and dwarven war axe aside.

"Not the oil?" Bufer asks, uncorking it and sniffing it.

"No. The long sword and war axe are the same sort of magic. The cloak and the greatsword are different, but I'm not sure how."

"Well, I hope the girlie-ghosts don't get offended, but ..." Tucker pulls off his studded leather armor and picks up the half plate. "I'd say it's nothing they hadn't seen before, but they were nuns, after all, so there's a whole bunch they'd never seen before."

Re-armored, he compares his antique longsword to the magical one claimed from the skeletons, and chooses the latter.

"Let me see that stuff, Bu-"

"No names, Deputy," Bufer chides. "We dunno who -- or what -- might be listening. I think Shillelagh's right: We ain't likely to find ourselves any allies in this godsforsaken place.

"Listen, I've been thinking and praying on what I saw when that book took hold of me yesterday, and what I keep coming up with is this: Somebody from Ptolus sent that black book to the Mother Superior knowing it woud corrupt her. That's what led her to kill the others, and that's what drove Artos and them what attacked us yesterday, even after death. Whatever taint holds sway here, I'm betting that's the source of it, and if we really want to cleanse this place for good, we gotta find it, and cast the spell right there, where it's taint is strongest."

He looks up at Oktav, who sits across from him on the library floor, hugging his knees tightly and rocking slowly back and forth, his face pale, his eyes wide and wild.

"That sound about right to you, Redshirt?" Bufer asks.

"That sounds right to me," Oktav sighs. He looks 10 years older since the morning. "Do you see the book anywhere in the library?"

"You said it was black leather, right?" Hazel says, searching the shelves. "If we don't see one here, it might be in one of the boxes in the attic. Didn't get a chance to go peeking about in them."

"I doubt it's either, to be honest," Bufer says, even as he joins Hazel in scanning the shelves for the volume he saw in his vision. "If I were a betting gnome, I'd lay money that the Mother Superior kept it close, or more accurately, it kept her close, if you catch my meaning.

"I think we're more likely to find it where she bided most of her time, or where she'd feel the most safe." He glances up at Oktav again. "Where do you think that'd be, if ye had to harbor a guess, lad?"

"The church?" Oktav rubs his forehead viciously. "The library? Her quarters?"

"Well, that narrows it down, some," Bufer sighs. "Well, we've been in the church, and we been in the library. How about it, beanpole? Did Artos' journal give you any directions? Could we find the Mother Superior's quarters and make a beeline for it, if we wanted to? Or are we going to have to blaze our own trail, here?"

"We need to collect the gear Ha-- Lumberjill and Shillelagh left in the attic across the way before we move on," Tucker interjects. "It's going to be dark soon, and even if we move fast we're going to need that lantern." 

He starts walking across the open grass toward the dormitory.

"Artos's notes are maddeningly sparse," Emmerson says, following. "But if abbeys are like priories, the abbess could have very well had her quarters away from the nuns' dormitory. We'll need to carve our own path."

The rest of the group follows them across the cloisters, peering into the shadowed halls overhung by the black ivy.

Although the shadows are dark, it looks as though there are at least six doorways or doors tucked into the shadows of the east and south walls, three in each wall.

The black ivy conceals the roof of the abbey completely, but guessing from the height of the ivy, it seems likely that, at one time, every wing of the abbey once had an attic area.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel misses a step as they pass the bloodstained ground near the dormitory and catches herself on Tucker's pack as the deputy stops.

"Sorry."

Tucker holds up a hand for silence and draws his flail, listening at the doors standing open in the late afternoon sun. Hazel joins him and listens as well. After a moment, she turns and waves the group on, pantomiming lighting a torch.

"Just need a moment to snag my gear," she whispers, "If the trap door will open. But it'd be nice to have someone holding it open, just in case. Don't think I'd care to repeat that leap."

The dormitory is dark and quiet as the group steps inside. As the daylight begins to wane, it's colder than it was, but is otherwise is as the Bridgers left it; at the far end of the room, the ladder still leads to a closed trapdoor.

"It ought to be one of us priestly types," Bufer says, as he brings up the rear, leading Oktav along by one arm while Flower holds the other. "If there is some kind of oogedy-boogedy up there, we can at least try to chase her off long enough for you to grab your stuff and scurry back down. And if not, there's always the holy water sprinklers."

He lets go of Oktav's arm, and with a meaningful glance at Flower, steps forward and unhitches his aspergillum from his belt.

"Trap door can't be that heavy. I'd be happy to tag along, unless somebody's got a better idea."

Hazel follows Tucker over to the ladder, with Emmerson's lantern lighting the way. Eyeing the closed trap door, she begins climbing the ladder and stops at the top to listen, pushing lightly against the door. The creak of it opening is loud in the quiet dormitory.

Hazel pushes the trapdoor open with a thump and stretches her arm out, feeling for the gear she left beside the door.

"Heads up, deputy," she says, tossing it down.

She takes the lantern from Tucker and shines it around the attic, then sets the lantern beside the trapdoor and pulls herself up.

"Come on up, Fancypants." The name almost makes her chuckle, despite her fear of the attic. "Hold this open while I grab my lantern."

Leaving Emmerson's lantern next to Bufer, Hazel aims the light toward her own lantern and darts across the attic to retrieve it.

The room seems longer than she remembers it being as she races through the darkness, and the sound of the group behind her grows quieter and quieter. When she reaches the lantern in the dim pool of light from the open window, she finds she's reluctant to run back through that black expanse back to the trapdoor.

She is gripped by knowledge that someone is going to slam the trapdoor on her and trap her alone in the dark with them. Heart racing, Hazel stares across the attic at the open trapdoor.

"Hello? Buf-ancypants? Are you still there? M-maybe the deputy should help you with the door. Anyone for a rousing verse of 'Onward, Onward Brave Soldiers?'"

_She's here, I know she's here._

Hazel grips her lantern with white knuckles.

"I'm right here, Lil' Big'un," Bufer says as he leans on the open trap door. Hazel's voice sounds strangely far away, but the fear in her voice is palpable. "Just follow my --"

At that moment, Emmerson bursts out singing.

"_Though the sky be black as coal,
Though still hours 'til break of day,
Still we march towards our goal,
Lothian's truth shall light our way.

"Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers
Onward 'til the break of dawn!
Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers,
For the glory of Lothian ..._

"Now, EVERYBODY!"

"Oh, good Garl, not this again," Bufer mutters. "Next time we camp, remind me to teach y'all The Pantsing of Mithra. At least there's a decent pie-fight in that one!"

Hazel takes a deep breath and adds her voice to the song in a jarring, staccato rhythm as she runs toward the trapdoor. The light and the awful, awful singing seems a very long way away, even after she is sure she's more than run the distance between the window and the door.

Then, she feels it: Women's fingers, clutching at her arms and legs, unseen fingernails clawing at her as she yanks herself away from their grasp.

And then something dark comes between her and the trapdoor.

She's about to scream when she barrels into Bufer and Emmerson, half-falling down the ladder with them.

"Easy there, Lumberjill," Emmerson says, clutching at her. "You can't risk the fall."

Hazel nods as she gulps in air and shakily descends the ladder. But for Emmerson's steadying hand, she would have missed the last rung entirely. As she turns to thank him, her eyes sweep the room and her whole body shudders.

"Like hogs on butchering day." She swallows rapidly to stop the bile rising in her throat. "Those poor women."

Hazel kneels and relights her lantern, grateful for its warm glow. She silently rolls her old cloak into a bundle and tucks it into her pack before slinging it across her back. With her lantern in her left hand and her quarterstaff in her right, she heads for the door to the courtyard.

"We should hurry."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"There are six doors that open to the cloister: three on the east wall, three on the south wall," Emmerson says, pointing. "I do not know which one could lead us to wherever the root of this problem is."

"Bear right when you get out of the dormitory, and we'll check the first door we come to," Tucker says, scratching his chin whiskers and preparing to move. "If we don't die, we'll continue on in that direction."

"Lass, slow down for a second," Bufer says, laying a hand on Hazel's arm. "I know you're frightened, but we can't go off half-cocked. We've got to be more careful than we've been, or we're all like enough to wind up like Artos. What was it that spooked you so bad?"

"The women. Nuns, they're-" Hazel clears her throat and begins again, her voice a little stronger this time. "They were in the attic with me, and they didn't want me to leave.

"It's not some parlor trick - I could feel them trying to pull me back. An' then-" She glances at Oktav and lowers her voice, hoping the frightened acolyte won't bolt. "The first floor, I didn't see it like that before. Blood everywhere.

"I seen stock butchered. I've skinned my own catches for years. But those nuns -- she bled them like hogs. Slit their throats in their beds, and the blood pooled around them and ran down to the floor, and her bloody handprints covering their faces. Some of them knew what was coming. They must have woken up, and she held them down.

"How could the church just let them suffer here so long?"

She squeezes Bufer's shoulder in thanks, and moves with group toward the south wall.

The door leading to the first room hangs in the doorway on hinges that are all but rusted away. A poke with a morningstar knocks it off its hinges, revealing long-cold stone ovens and a large stone vat.

Walking east along the south wall, the party comes to a set of double doors, which are intact and closed.

"First door is a kitchen," Emmerson says. "We can explore it, if you all want."

"Have to start somewhere if we're going to find that book," Emus nods.

"OK, let's rule out the kitchens first." Emmerson says as he heads back to the broken down door of the kitchen.

"Where did the head nun sleep?" Emus grunts as they poke around the dusty kitchen.

"Well," Oktav says, licking his bloodless lips, "Abbesses and mothers superior sleep in the same quarters as the nuns in the smaller abbeys. In one this size, she almost certainly had her own quarters, though."

"Instead of searching the kitchen for the book, how about we head our way there?" the dwarf replies, having discovered nothing of interest in the kitchen. "The day is mostly spent, already."

Oktav rubs his arms through the wool of his sweater and nods nervously.

"Unless we're looking for a cookbook, I don't care about the empty kitchen," Tucker says, heading out and to the next door along the south wall. "Come on."

"For all we know, the abbess hung herself in the kitchen," Emmerson says. "But all right, there can be time later to return to this spot. Lead on, deputy."

Tucker opens the double doors, exposing a long room stretching 100 feet or so to the south. Simple tables and benches line the east and west walls. Wooden cups still rest at some places, and a pottery ankh-crucifix lays shattered on the floor, just visible at the edge of the light streaming in from the doorway.

"Probably the dining hall," Bufer says as he leans in between Tucker and Emmerson to take a peek at the room. He glances up at his partner. "Keep going, I guess?"

"Keep going," Hazel confirms before Emmerson can answer. "If we can't find the book in the most likely spot, we'll backtrack an' search the others."

Just a little further along the south wall to the east is a small door that the humans have to duck slightly, should they enter it.

The room is small and square, with benches built into the wall along all four walls. The southwest corner of the room contains a large ceramic stove built into the wall, and the entire room is covered in tile. A door in the southeast corner seals off a room or a passage to the south.

"Let's check the last of the doors off the courtyard before we go poking further in," Tucker says. "There were three on the east wall, right? And one of them is the library? Just two more chances for something to surprise us."

"This one looks promising, with the door and all, but we should give them all a look-see first," Hazel says. "Don't want to get trapped betwixt something behind the inner door and something coming from one of the doors we ain't looked in yet."

Bufer follows along with the others, humming "Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers" as they head for the next door.

"I've got that damned hymn stuck in my head now!" he grouses.

The purpose of the first room along the east wall is lost to history. Its door is entirely absent, only rusted hinges remaining and within, the bare square room is empty, its ceiling torn away save for the vaulted stone arches that now only hold up the black ivy.

"Don't look like a likely hiding spot for a book to me," Hazel sighs. "What's behind door number two?"

The group moves to the last unexplored door on the east wall.

Ragged tatters of holy vestments hang from wooden pegs. Like the room to the south, the roof here is long gone, and apparently enough of the elements have gotten in through the black ivy over the years to rot away what were once intricately embroidered garments.

Shining the light room into the recesses of this chamber, no doors are visible, nor are other ways out.

"OK, now we know what's what," Tucker says. "Back to the bench room and see what's beyond."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Low ceiling," Hazel comments as the group enters the bench room. "What do yo think they used this for? It's like a warming hut, but they ain't ice fishing in an abbey."

"My father tells stories about his time in the baron's army," Tucker says. "I forget where he was, exactly. Down in the lowlands, I know that, in the west, maybe. Anyway, they met these elves, who would all gather in one tiny room and light a fire, and when they'd pass out or start seeing things from the heat, they took it as a sign from their gods. They picked leaders, dealt with problems; pretty much anything important in their society, they left up to hallucinations. It doesn't seem like a very nunly thing to do, though."

"Back when my kin first came to Wit's End, Lord Rubik sent scouting parties out into Tulgey Wood, looking for evidence of the gnomes who used to live there before Gax moved in. We couldn't make sense of everything they found, but it sounds like they had a similar sort of ritual," Bufer says, sticking his head under one of the benches curiously. "But like the deputy says, that's probably got nothing to do with anything, and I'm just running off at the mouth again, as usual. Stop talking now? Sure, OK!"

"It could be a buttery, a pantry or even the circuitor's room," Emmerson says. "We've yet to see the punishment cells, the cellar or the guest's quarters. An abbey of this size must surely have expected the visit of high level church and lay visitors."

Oktav clears his throat as he sits gingerly on a bench.

"Well, the abbey wasn't around terribly long. It could be that more construction was planned that was never completed, or that some of those buildings were outside the main structure and are now in ruins."

"Short answer, 'no magic books in here.' Got it," Tucker says, as he opens the door on the far side of the room, revealing a long dark corridor.

As Emmerson holds his lantern aloft, Hazel ducks to peer beneath his arm, looking for doors or passages leading off from the hallway. The light from the lantern disappears into the darkness. There might be a door on the west side of the hall, at the very limit of the light's range.

Having learned the hard way that open doors in this place don't tend to stay that way, Bufer makes a point of leaning on the exit door with all his weight, attempting to keep their avenue of escape open. While this might seem a futile gesture, given that gnomes are barely the height of a human toddler, it should be noted Bufer never met a pie he didn't like, or a mug of ale that he didn't want to get to know much, much better. As he leans against the door, its hinges do not so much groan in protest as they cry out for mercy.

Hazel smiles and shakes her head at Bufer. Bringing her lantern close to the exit door he leans upon, she studies the hinges and the thickness and quality of the wood for a long moment.

"With all the broke-down doors around here, don't suppose a few more would make much difference. If you hold the door open, I can cut notches out around the hinges and the muscle boys can pull it down. Maybe the inner door, too."

Hazel gets to work on the doors with her hand axe. A few moments later, Emus, Tucker and Emmerson have removed the doors and theoretically prevented whatever haunts the abbey from locking them inside.

"Now, we'd best get to finding that book," Hazel says, picking up her lantern.

Tucker moves down the hallway, trying to stay out of the path of Emmerson's lantern light. As the party advances forward, they discover a door on the west side of the hallway, and the passageway continues beyond that.

"We'll make our way to the end of this hallway, so we know the entire layout," Tucker says. "Shillelagh, stand guard by this door. Once we get the light out of your eyes, you'll be able to keep watch and give a shout if anything tries to come out it. Once we figure out where the far wall is in this place, we'll come back and open it, find out what's behind."

Emus nods to Tucker and leans against the door frame, scratching Skeeter behind one ear.

"If the nuns were slaughtered in their sleep where are their corpses?" Emmerson asks quietly.

"Oh, I know the answer to that," Oktav says. "The abbey stopped communicating with the outside world, and after a week, the bishop sent a group to see if they had fallen prey to goblins or kobolds. They discovered what had happened. The nuns were brought back to Middleborough and given a proper burial there."

"Maybe once this is over we can all go there and pay our respects," Tucker says, leading the way further down the passage.

The lantern eventually reveals the passageway coming to a dead end about 10 feet beyond the door to the west. Where it ends, there's a door in the east wall.

"East or west, lads?" Hazel asks. "One's as good as the other, no?"

"I don't want to open the east door with the west one still unexplored behind us," Tucker says, returning to Emus' side at the door they passed on the way down the hall. "You ready to see what's behind door number one, Shillelagh?"

Emus grunts in the affirmative.

Hazel stands behind Emus and raises her lantern, spilling the light into the room as Tucker pushes the door open. He finds himself at the end of a 100-foot long room. At the far northern end, past all the benches and tables, he can see the light from the double doors the group left open previously.

Tucker pulls the west door closed, and the group shuffles over to the east door to repeat the process. He and Emus exchange nods, Hazel and Emmerson raise their lanterns, and the clerics keep their aspergillums at the ready. The deputy opens the door.

Tucker gets a glimpse of a bed, a bookshelf and other elements of a well furnished, if simply done, bedroom. And then there's a flash of light as something large and very heavy strikes him in the face.

As he reels back, blood pouring down his broken nose, the statue of Lothian missing from the chapel's ankh-crucifix fills the bedroom doorway, staring at the group with its sightless painted-on eyes and raises its wooden hand to strike Tucker again.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Oh wow," Bufer mutters, his jaw hanging open. "Somebody is definitely going to Hell for this."

"Fall back into the dining hall!" Emus' voice is like thunder in the close quarters.

Vonmora slaps her hand on Tucker's back and steadies him as she murmurs a prayer to Yurabbos.

"Ow, muddahFUH!" Tucker spits, spraying blood on the statue. His eyes water from the blow, but it's hard to miss the towering, creaking pile of lumber right in front of him. 

"What is it with statues?" Hazel snaps, as she pushes Oktav ahead of her, back into the dining hall. "First, the owlheads want to zap us and now we got a god coming to life and trying to kill us." 

Oktav whimpers in fear and dances from foot to foot in controlled panic behind a table as the group turns and prepares to fight.

"Stay with us this time," Flower pleads and clutches Oktav's wrist tightly.

The statue of Lothian slams its way into the dining room through the open door, and heads for Tucker. It meets Emus' waraxe and turns it aside with one massive wrist. Tucker fares no better, with the statue's other hand slapping aside his blade.

"Face the Judgment of Lothian!" Emmerson shouts.

Emmerson swings Judgment, but the blade meets only empty air; the statue has moved to attack Tucker once more, dealing a blow that almost drives him to his knees, but his shield and bones both hold.

"Lothian's judgment comes and right soon," Emmerson sings.

Hazel mouths a prayer as she sees Bufer head into the fight; the gnome seems positively tiny beside the towering image of Lothian.

She sets her lantern on the table and grips her axe in two hands, taking a stance a few feet in front of Oktav and Flower.

As Bufer darts through the statue's legs, Vonmora casts a spell, intending to put the fear of vengeful ancient dwarf spirits into whatever animates the figure, but the statue betrays no response.

The dwarf priestess grips her morningstar and prepares to put the fear of living dwarves into the statue instead.

Flower shakes his head at the futility of it and loads his sling, readying a shot at the animated Lothian figure and hoping Rogren never hears of this.

"Lothian's judgment comes and right soon," Emmerson sings.

"You going to yodel at that thing all day or are you going to kill it?" Tucker snarls.

Now behind the animated statue of Lothian, Bufer draws his short sword from his belt and thrusts with it.

"Master Barennackle is never going to believe this," he mutters.

Vonmora swings with her morningstar with a grunt but misses and Flower's sling stone goes wide as well, falling on a table somewhere in the darkness.

The statue turns Judgment away with one hard wood forearm, but that opens it up to Tucker's blow, and the blade bites deeply, sending splinters flying.

And then Emus strikes with The Skull-Cutter, dealing a devastating blow with the axe. The wood cracks as the axe cuts into a seam in the wood along the statue's abdomen and in a second, it splits the figure both up and down, the two parts shearing away from one another, the legs tumbling away as Bufer dances to get out of the way, the torso falling forward onto Vonmora and Emmerson.

The statue collapses to the floor and lays still.

"May your clan always sing your praises, Emus," Emmerson breathes, visibly impressed.

Emus holds the waraxe in front of him, eyes wide as he looks at it in a whole new light.

"Urak," he mutters. He lowers the axe and gives a satisfied grunt when he notices that nobody's guts are spilling on the floor this time.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"In any other set of circumstances, we'd have a hard time explaining to the bishop why Lothian's statue has been rendered twain," Emmerson says as he examines the statue. "Shall we go back down the corridor?"

"Yeah, I think I saw a bedroom in there before getting pounded in the face," Tucker says, taking point again and heading for the open door at the end of the hall.

The door is silently ajar as the group approaches it.

Emmerson can see Tucker walking toward the door, but as he follows, a piercing headache threatens to split his skull in two. He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the pain, but it increases every step he takes.

"That room," he winces. "The evil is almost overwhelming."

"I'd imagine," Tucker says, sniffing up a rivulet of blood back into his nose. "But after getting punched in the face by my god, not much else is going to surprise me today."

Despite Emmerson's feeling, the bedroom is unassuming. There is a wide, simply made bed, a bookcase, a large desk and worktable for the restoration of manuscripts and there's an upright clothes cabinet.

The room is dark: The small high windows leading outside are completely covered with black ivy.

"This is about as defensible as we're going to get," Emus says from the doorway, his axe in his hand. "Is it where she hanged herself?"

Looking up, Emus can see a series of wooden beams perpendicular to the floor, beneath an arched roof. It's not hard to imagine that the abbess hanged herself from one of them.

Behind him, Hazel raises her lantern over the dwarf's head, scanning the room.

"Anyone see the book?" she asks.

The group glances around at the books in the room. None of them appears to be the black book from Bufer's vision.

Behind them, Emmerson makes it to the doorway before throwing up his breakfast in the hallway, along with a few flecks of blood.

"That's good enough for me!" Emus barks. "Cast that spell, y'all!"

Bufer slips his pack off his shoulder, sets down the altar case and sets about preparing his portable altar for the ritual.

"All right, I'm going to be doing this in Gnomish, so unfortunately it's going to sound like gibberish to most of you, but I'm hoping that'll hold true for whatever I'm exorcising here, too; maybe it won't tumble to what I'm doing until it's too late. Yes, I know it's probably a vain hope, but it's better than nothing.

"Now, if I'm wrong," he says, lighting candles, "Then once I get going whatever it be holding sway here is going to show up right quick and do its best to convince me to stop, most likely by ripping my entrails out and showing them to me, and that's just to start. I need to be able to finish the ritual and that's where you lot come in."

Oktav Grosskopf nods absently at Bufer's remarks as he attempts to tug free of Flower's claws.

"Where is the book, though?"

Tucker checks the shelves, then under the mattress.

The mattress, full of long-rotten straw, yields nothing but dust and shreds of blackened straw. The bookshelves contain books that would likely have sent Katadid into fits of ecstasy, but none of them appear to be the book that Bufer described after his vision.

Bufer hesitates, and looks from Oktav to Emmerson and Vonmora.

"What do y'all think? Keep looking for the book, or start now and hope just being where the evil's strongest is enough? The book did seem pretty important, but if we can't even find the damned thing ..."

"The abbess must have had a hidden drawer or something where to store items for her eyes only," Emmerson says.

"Well, search the room, then!" Emus barks. "We're too close to be worrying about making a mess, now!"

The group throws themselves into the search, checking behind furniture, pulling themselves up to look atop the beams and looking under furnishings.

Beneath the bed, Emus finds it: A trap door, set in the stone floor. A tarnished brass ring appears to be the means of opening it. The bed turns out to be hinged, and it lifts easily up against the wall.

"Wow, I can't believe I didn't see that," Tucker says with disgust. "Can we get some light in there?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel stares at the brass ring with concern.

"Maybe we don't need to open it. Maybe we could just cast the spell on top of it without opening it at all." From her tone, it's clear she doesn't believe that would work, as much as she'd like to.

"Nah," Emus says quietly. In contrast to Hazel, there's a gleam of anticipation in his eye.

With the bed up against the wall, He reaches for the brass ring. With a tug, the trapdoor scrapes open. A once-sturdy wooden ladder leads down into darkness, but the wood seems to be covered in a layer of black dust, as is the underside of the trapdoor.

Emus, with eyes adapted to the dark of mountain caves, can see a small room below, a small storeroom of sorts.

"Huh," he grunts. "Wish I had another bomb."

"So, who's for crawling into the nun's dirty root cellar," Tucker asks, ignoring Bufer' snickering a few feet away, "And who's for staying up here?"

Emus squats, looking at the ladder. The black substance he first thought was dust appears to be flaking off of the ladder, as though wafer-thin layers were being chipped off slowly.

Looking down into the storeroom, he can see that other objects down there also have a strangeness to them. Angles are off on a large table and it's close to falling over. The tabletop is buckled and ruined books are spilling out of a small bookcase that looks as though it has turned runny.

Atop the table there's another object, but without being closer, it's hard to figure out exactly what it is -- or what it once was.

Hazel crouches beside Emus, aiming her lantern down into the room. She shakes her head. She points a finger toward the table.

"Is that what's causing the ivy to turn black, too?"

"Let's find out!" Emus barks. Holding Emmerson's lantern in his shield hand and Urak in his other, he jumps down into the hole, ignoring Emmerson's and Bufer's cries of alarm.

If anything, the room is worse when fully lit by the lantern. Not only are the angles of the room all wrong, but the stone and earth of the cellar seem to be degrading into the black powder on the ladder. Roots that have pushed through the wall have likewise turned black and almost seethe with unnatural life.

Every surface of the room has been painted red with disturbing symbols. Emus recognizes a dagger and a crescent moon, but the symbols overlap to such a degree -- and were apparently put down with such ferocity -- that it's impossible to tell what most of the tangle of images are supposed to be.

Atop the rippled table surface is a small wooden chest. Its hinges are no longer anything but black powder and the grain of the wood is twisted into images suggestive of screaming mouths.

The room is warm and moist, like the inside of a feverish mouth.

"Oh, Hell," Bufer groans angrily. "Redshirt, get your big brain over here and take a gander down there; I want to know what it is I'm looking at. The rest of you stay back, just in case. Lil' Big'un, better get your rope ready in case we need to pull Shillelagh back up right quick."

Oktav detaches himself from Flower and edges over cautiously, trailed by the kobold. It takes him a moment to sort out any individual images. He looks flustered as he tries to work out what it is he's looking at.

"I've read descriptions of iconography like that. If it's the same thing as I read, this would be the Cult of Chaos, but that doesn't make any sense ..."

"Why not?" Emmerson asks, peering over his shoulder.

"Because this was an abbey dedicated to Lothian! These women weren't cultists! From all accounts, the abbess was a well-respected woman whose faith was unquestioned, not some mad beast! And the cult is in the west, on the frontier of the empire, not here in its heart!"

"West?" Emmerson looks at Bufer. "As in Ptolus?"

"You grow up next to an orchard, you learn pretty quick that an apple doesn't have to be brown and mushy to be rotten, and that they can grow on any tree," Tucker says with a sagely tone.

"You all right down there, partner?" Hazel calls down.

"So far, so good!" Emus shouts back with a grin. "There's a bunch of blood all over the walls! And there's a creepy chest on a table! And the room reeks with an ancient evil not meant to be understood by any sane mind! Also, it's kind of humid!"

"If I were a betting gnome, I'd lay money that someone in this Cult of Chaos was them what sent the book to the abbess in the first place, and it all went pear-shaped from there. The church is a pretty attractive target to take down a peg or two, believe you me."

Emmerson clears his throat very softly, and Bufer continues brightly.

"Misguided sons of bitches, the lot of them. I don't what the rest of the empire's like, but from where I'm sitting, the Church's got a lot to recommend her.

"Shillelagh, don't touch nothing! I'm coming down!"

With that, Bufer turns and jumps down into the hidden storeroom. Emus stretches out his arm to steady the gnome's landing, then gestures with his axe toward the chest on the table.

"I'm thinking we smash it to dust."

Above, Hazel stands near the edge of the trapdoor, the remaining rope coiled over her arm.

"Say the word and we'll haul y'all up."

"Tell us more about the Cult of Chaos," Emmerson says. "If they had a book that corrupted the abbess and turned that place into a madman's dream home, the church should have some information."

"This isn't what they do, though!" Oktav says, his voice a whine. "They like to skulk about in the sewers and sacrifice animals and poison wells and such-like. I've never heard of them doing anything like this. And a book couldn't do this, anyway! There has to be some other explanation."

"Besides books, what else do they trade in?"

"Nothing! They're not merchants, they're nihilists. Something else happened here."

Below, Emus and Bufer examine the chest without touching it. It essentially is just a pile of chest-shaped parts, at this point. It can't be opened so much as cleared away from what's inside.

"It don't look like it'll require much in the way of smashing," Bufer says, "But go ahead. Just watch you don't smash whatever might be inside in the process."

"No smashing," Emus snorts. He lifts his axe and makes a show of carefully scraping the sides of the chest away from whatever it contains. "Wouldn't want to break the pretty, evil baubles the crazy dead nun's got stashed under her bed."

As he scrapes away at the wreckage of the chest, Emus slowly exposes a black book.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Why couldn't a book do this?" Hazel pats Skeeter's head as the dog paces beside the trapdoor. "I mean, if it had a spell on it or something to make the abbess want to turn to chaos. Or maybe after the book, they sent more gifts."

"No!" Oktav responds, fear making his response almost a scream. "Historically, they've been seen as sort of malevolent idiots, incapable of anything beyond being a nuisance. Church records don't record more than a dozen deaths caused by them in the past century. They're not considered any sort of major threat to the church or empire."

Below, Emus brushes the chest scraps off the book as best he can, and exposes a small book bound in some sort of black hide. A silver crescent moon is embossed into the cover. Looking at the book from several angles, Bufer can see what appears to be a piece of paper slipped between two of the pages jutting out the top.

With a glance at Emus, Bufer runs back to the ladder and calls up to the others above.

"I think we might have found it," he says, "But we need a way to get it back up there. I ain't none too eager to touch it, and I don't think there's room enough to do the ritual down here, and fight whatever it's gonna conjure up. Anyone got any bright ideas?"

Emus grunts and reaches into his pack. After a moment he pulls out a small cloth sack.

"We can give this a try." He casts a doubtful look around the storeroom. "Wouldn't want to trust anything for long, though. Whatever the book is, it seems to warp everything around it. I'll hold open the sack, and you use the flat of that fancy new short sword to push it into the bag."

"I ain't got any better ideas," Bufer says, then calls back up the ladder. "Scratch that -- sounds like Shillelagh might have figured it out. Get ready to pull us back out!"

Tucker his aspergillum into his belt, Bufer draws his short sword, then heads to the ruined table. As he sets the edge of his sword on its surface, the flat of the blade just a few inches behind the book, Emus stands at the end and holds his sack open.

"Just be careful not to let your thumbs brush it when you catch it," Bufer warns.

As Emus nods with a grunt, Bufer pushes his blade against the book, sliding it slowly and carefully towards the waiting sack. The book drops gently inside, its pages opening a little as it's deposited within. The piece of paper tucked between two pages becomes dislodged and almost falls out of the book. Emus can see some handwriting on it as he closes up the bag.

"All right, we've got it! Get ready to haul us back up!" Bufer calls up to the others. He examines his sword for any deformities, then tucks it back into his belt.

Hazel leans over the trapdoor and beckons.

"Start climbing, boys."

"Potentially deadly artifacts before beauty," Bufer says to Emus, gesturing toward the ladder.

"I reckon she'd skin me if you got stuck down here," the dwarf snorts, lifting Bufer with little effort. "Up you go, Fancypants. Best get to climbing."

Bufer squeals and wriggles in Emus' hands. Grabbing hold of the rope, Bufer shrugs out of Emus' grasp, and ineffectually kicks at his head.

"If you tell anybody I'm ticklish, you'll wake up one morning with your beard shaved off an tied into a neat little bundle on your chest, with your eyebrows keeping it company."

Bufer snatches the sack off of Emus' belt the second the dwarf has cleared the edge of the trapdoor, and carries it back to where he had set up his portable altar.

"All right, so we got the book," he says, setting it down next to the altar case. "Redshirt, what am I doing with it? Is it enough that it's here? Or do I need to use it as a focus for the ritual somehow?"

Oktav rubs his head, while not too subtly moving as far away from the sack as he can.

"Well, it seems to be connected to whatever happened here. Maybe try to exorcise it? Or maybe something in it ... I don't know. This isn't something that was in my books."

"We ought to look at the extra paper what's stuffed inside before you go mumbling and praying over that book." Emus scratches his chin. "Mighty fancy writing on it, in Imperial, I think. Could be it'll tell us something."

Grabbing hold of the bottom corners of the sack, Bufer lifts it up and shakes the book out onto the floor next to the altar case. Setting the empty sack down behind him, he then reaches up into one sleeve and produces one of his daggers. He uses the tip to flip open the cover, then one page after another, until he's reached the page that's bookmarked with the slip of paper.

The piece of paper is not a bookmark, per se. Instead, it appears to be a note written on extremely expensive stationery from the book's donor:

_Dearest Sisters:

In distant Ptolus, I have heard of your mission and agree that the end of the Empire may be fast approaching and that Chaos and Darkness will follow in its wake. Your goal of preserving the knowledge of the Empire against that day is both wise and farsighted.

Please accept this contribution from House Vladaam's library. The Book of Ascendant Night is a rare and ancient book but it specifically discusses the coming darkness and its harbingers. I trust that you will find it enlightening.

Yours truly, Iristul Vladaam_

As for the book itself, it is not written in the Imperial Common tongue.

"Westron," Oktav mumbles, looking over Bufer's shoulder. "I can't read it, but it's what a lot of the church's older books are written in."

One of the pages the book opens to also contains a woodcut of robed figures dancing under a moon hanging low in the sky.

Bufer frowns and glances up and around at the others, then reads the letter aloud for all of them to hear.

"Seems to me that the abbess got more enlightened than she bargained for," he says once he's finished.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"The title ring any bells for you?" Tucker asks, elbowing Oktav.

"No, but the church doesn't keep these sorts of books, they burn them. If there is a list of such books, it's not for the eyes of an acolyte to see."

"Is it just me, or does that look like a happy-dance?" Tucker points to the woodcut on the open page. "Who'd be happy about 'the coming darkness?'"

"This Cult of Chaos for one, I'd imagine," Bufer replies. "Member they ain't the malevolent idiots the professor's making them out to be. Or at least not any more. "How about this 'House Vladaam,' Redshirt? You think they knew what they were doing when they sent this thing?"

"I don't know anything about Palastani noble houses," the acolyte says with a shrug.

"You said they hand-delivered it, right, Fancy-tickle-gnome?" Hazel asks. "I'd say they knew what they was about."

"Seems like them as want chaos would be joyful about the chance to destroy a center of knowledge and learning," Emus nods.

"Well, what say we return the favor?" Tucker says, rolling his head around, neck joints popping loudly as he limbers up. "If you're ready to cast your spell, I'm ready to watch your back."

A cold iron fist seems to close around Bufer's heart, causing him to realize that in asking all these questions, he has merely been putting off his casting of the rite. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then nods soberly at Tucker.

"You're right, deputy. Let's get started." He glances up at Oktav. "You best stand back with Flower now, lad. He and the animals will take care of you. Don't be frightened: Whatever it is that's going to manifest itself is going to be coming for me. You just hang back away from the fight, and it'll be over before ye know it."

"You're coming home with us," Hazel says, cutting Bufer off before he can launch into one of his speeches. "Don't think any different. Besides, what'll I tell that pretty little minstrel lass at the Cat if I don't bring you back?" She clasps her hands over her heart with an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, the love that almost was."

Emus snorts and pulls Urak from his back. He tightens his grip on the haft and whistles to Skeeter. Pointing to Oktav, he orders the dog to guard the acolyte.

Tucker takes up a position to Bufer's left, and gives his new sword a practice swing to make sure it doesn't clang against the wall.

"Lothian is with us, friends." Emmerson unsheathes Judgment and places its tip on the ground. "And may his Judgment be kind to us."

"Listen, I'm mainly gonna be calling on Garl for this, naturally," Bufer says, "But if the rest of you want to pray to Lothian or Hanseath or whoever, and kind of ask them to help us out, I think we'd both me much obliged. Garl's an amiable sort, and not one so proud as to turn away a helping hand, as it were."

"All right, everybody ready?" Off the nods of the others, Bufer smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile at each of them in turn. "Right, then. May Garl be with us all."

Bufer takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins to intone the exorcism ritual of his people, as written in The Pseudonomicon:

_"Demons and devils, we chuckle at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
Ghosts and goblins, we chortle at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
Wights and witches, we guffaw at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
Bodaks and boogidy-boogidies, we snicker at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
So laugh the blessed of the Loresong Faen.

"Before me, GARL GLITTERGOLD, the watchful protector,
Behind me, CALLADURAN SMOOTHHANDS, the hidden whisperer,
At my left hand, SHEYANNA FLAXENSTRAND, fey blessed princess,
At my right hand, RILL CLEVERTHRUSH, harmonious artisan.

"For about me flames the accumulated wisdom of the FAEN LORESONG,
For above me shines the accrued whimsy of the LORESONG FAEN.

"Let us pray ..."_

Over the sound of Bufer's laughing and Emmerson and Vonmora praying in their own ways, it's hard to hear at first, but everyone's attention is slowly drawn upward, where they can clearly hear the sound of a body hanging from a rope, the hemp sliding back and forth across the ceiling beam as the body twists. Although there's nothing visible there, air moves across their faces, as the mother superior's invisible body twirls to and fro.

Meanwhile, the Book of Ascendant Night slams itself shut and then open again and an invisible hand begins to furiously flip through pages, stopping on one woodcut after another, showing a quick succession of images, from the ritual sacrifice of a king, to cultists dancing beneath the moon, to the very ground tearing open and gigantic obscene figures pulling their way out of the earth and feasting on terrified mortals.

The bedroom door slams shut.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Finally, something to hit," Emus grins wolfishly, Urak in his hand. "Show yourself!"

"Be rebuked and depart," Emmerson prays aloud. "Be afraid, come forth, and depart from the abbey, the abbess whom served the Lightbringer. Depart to your own darkness. His worthy servant commands you and all the power which work with you to remove yourself from those who have served Lothian the Lightbringer, Lothian the Protector, Lothian the Good, Lothian the Lawgiver and the Lawbringer, for he is the one True God ...

"Be gone from this place and release your victims! Evil and unclean spirits hidden and lurking. Be gone into nothingness! Spirits of error, terror, evil and idolatry! Leave this place, fiends of utter darkness or be dispelled by Lothian's Light!

"In the name of Lothian, we rebuke thee!"

Something begins to take shape above the group's heads, more of a shadow, or a series of shadows, than an actual body, but not cast by any visible body. The abbess' body twists from the noose only in silhouettes painted across the ceiling.

"Keep reading," Tucker tells Emmerson and Bufer. "We'll take care of this."

"You sure that's something we can hit?" Hazel asks skeptically.

"Let's find out." Emus swings his glowing axe at the shadows forming above him. But Urak meets only empty air. Even to his improved vision, the room is getting darker by the moment, with the shadows growing almost pitch black.

His eyes wrenched closed, his brow knit in concentration, Bufer ignores all else but his own intoning of the rite.

"_Garl Glittergold, the Sparkling Wit, expose this pathetic trespasser for what it truly be.
Reveal to us its droll countenance, that we might point and laugh, and rightly so.
Make audible its feeble discourse, so that we might mock and ridicule it, as is our wont.
Proclaim its motives and intentions, that we might heap our scorn and derision upon them.
Make known to us its true name, that we might tease and taunt it with singsong rhymes that sound like naughty body parts.
For this be the way of the Loresong Faen._"

Emus curses at the shadows, growing angrier as his weapon has no effect on the threatening darkness.

Hazel stiffens her shoulders, breathing slowly and deep to avoid the panic that nearly overtook her in the dormitory attic. She'll keep a watchful eye on Bufer as long as the darkness allows.

"Free those souls whom you stole from their rightful place. Be rebuked and leave this place forevermore. The power of Lothian compels you. THE POWER OF LOTHIAN COMPELS YOU! THE POWER OF LOTHIAN COMPELS YOU!"

And like the mind suddenly seeing a different image inside an optical illusion, without warning, the abbess is there.

She hangs from her noose, looking down at the adventurers, her entire body dissolving into nothingness around the edges. It is only near the center of her mass that any details are visible, whether they're the bloody and rent vestments she wears, or the crazed pale face with wide bloodshot eyes.

She drifts downward, the noose dissolving into nothingness -- although her neck still bears the rope marks -- and she opens her mouth, urgently trying to tell the adventurers something, but it comes out in a mad babble: "skinfullofpuspushingout climbingontoskintearingitaway thekingisdeadthemoonisbackwe'realldyingnow"

The babble cuts through everything else, forcing all other thoughts from the party's mind as the abbess floats down towards the group, flailing at Bufer, seemingly desperate to get him to understand.

Tucker and Hazel grow slack-jawed from the babble, trying to make sense of it.

"It's time for Judgment!" Emmerson roars, leaping up and drawing his sword.

The abbess' nearly invisible hands slap at Bufer's face, but have no substance, sliding through his skin harmlessly. But as they pass through him, a change comes over him, and his eyes begin to fill with madness.

"NNNNNGGHH!!" Bufer grunts, as he grits his teeth and struggles against the madness that threatens to consume him. Breathing in sharply through his nose, he glares wildly at the Abbess, then pulls his aspergillum from his belt and shakes it at her, spraying holy water in her direction.

"_Garl ... Glittergold ... Priceless Gem ... expel this sad and ... most wretched creature ...from our midst.
Drive out its influence ... and ... i-its essence from this place.
Banish it ... to whence it came ... never to return.
For we simply ... d-do not ... find it amusing any longer.
So prays the blessed of the Loresong Faen._"

Oktav tugs at the shut door of the bedroom in a panic, sobbing as it refuses to open.

Vonmora's eyes grow wide as the madness consumes Bufer and she shrinks away from the abbess. She thrusts the carved hand clutching a gemstone that is her goddess' holy symbol at the abbess, but it has no effect on the babbling vision.

Emmerson swings Judgment at the abbess as she flails at Bufer. Although her hands seem unreal as she slaps at the gnome, the greatsword strikes her as though she were fully solid.

Sweat breaks out on Bufer's forehead as his chanting takes on a manic tone. He shakes holy water at the abbess. The drops fly through her, but steams as it flies through her form.

Emus chortles with glee as he sees his axe swing a devastating blow against the abbess, but his expression turns to dismay as he can't find anything solid to connect to, despite feeling the tickling of almost-physical clothes as his axe and hand pass through her.

Tucker continues to gape.

Flower, seeing Oktav safe at the door for the time being, pulls Emmerson's aspergillum from his belt and shakes a plentiful stream of holy water at the shadowy figure, but only succeeds in drenching Emus.

Bufer swipes his forearm across his sweaty forehead, and struggles to hold on to his concentration as he continues intoning.

"_Garl Glittergold, the ... uh ... the, uh ... all right, screw it, I'm gonna paraphrase here. Mainly 'cause I want you and whatever darkness you gave into to know them what finally did you in. We are the HEROES OF MAIDENSBRIDGE, the ORDER OF THE NEW DAWN. You have befouled our land and defiled our sisters for far too long. And you just don't screw with the sister of a Loresong Faen and expect to get away with it, You MURDEROUS, WEAK-WILLED LITTLE BITCH!_"

Apparently losing all semblance of self-control, either to madness or some kind of divine rapture, Bufer shakes the aspergillum at the abbess furiously as he screams at her at the top of his lungs, practically frothing at the mouth.

"BY THE WILL OF GARL GLITTERGOLD, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE ORDER OF LOTHIAN, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE CONVICTION OF YURABBOS, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE COURAGE OF HANSEATH, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE WISDOM OF ESTANNA, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE STRENGTH OF BAHAMUT, I CAST THEE OUT!"

Eyes wild as the ghostly cleric flails at him, Bufer responds by flinging more holy water at her, but it passes through her semi-real figure harmlessly. But her unreal state works against her, as her flailing does not further erode Bufer's sanity.

Skeeter leaps at the abbess, but misses -- judging where she is and where she isn't is just as challenging for a dog as it is the adventurers. Maybe more, since his nose can't help him.

Judgment does what it was intended to do, and slashes at the abbess once more, slicing through her tattered vestments.

Once again, Flower splashes the holy water everywhere but at the abbess.

Vonmora once again thrusts the symbol of her goddess at the screaming apparition, snarling with anger, but the abbess again ignores it.

Or perhaps she doesn't: With wide, staring eyes, she sinks into the altar and then the floor beneath, murmuring to herself.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Skeeter's snarling turns into a confused whine as he scratches at the floor where the abbess sunk into the ground.

"What?" Emus explodes with frustration. "Dang it! We can't hit her if she ain't here!

Throwing himself at the trapdoor, the dwarf sticks his head down into the cellar. He spots the bottom of the abbess' form dangling through the roof by a few inches. What he presumed to be a tattered dress looks more like tentacles from this angle.

He's about to say something when the abbess' face, hand and arm emerges from the floor, and she reaches out for Bufer once more. The gnome cleric stifles a scream as a wave of suicidal despair rips through him.

"You will not claim him!" Emmerson roars, swinging his sword at her arm.

Bufer bursts into tears, his body wracked with heaving, gasping sobs, as his mind begins to buckle under the crushing weight of the utter hopelessness of his meager existence. Nothing he's ever done has mattered, nor will ever matter. He sees that now, beyond any shadow of doubt. Garl Glittergold has utterly abandoned him. His family and his people have shunned him. And Heda Littlelark will never, ever know the truth about how he really felt about her ...

He is alone. A failure. A joke, that not even the Sparkling Wit could find amusing. An empty box.

But just as he is about to drop his aspergillum, and collapse on the floor next to it to await the sweet release of death, he hears Emmerson's voice, as though from far away.

And then, from the very depths of his soul, the last little bit of defiance left within him bubbles up through the nauseating waves of despair and loneliness, and bursts to the surface. Despite the chocking sobs, he somehow breaks out into a manic grin. Gripping his aspergillum with a white-knuckled fist, he shakes it at the abbess one last time with all his might.

"YOU HEAR THAT, YOU MEALY-MOUTHED WHORE? YOU WILL. NOT. HAVE ME. I AM BEJIK-CAESIN, PEACEMAKER OF MIDWOOD, SERVANT OF THE WATCHFUL PROTECTOR AND CARETAKER TO THE HEROES OF MAIDENSBRIDGE. IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, I CAST THEE OUT! GO BACK TO THE GLUTTON AND WEEP, YOU FEEBLE, PATHETIC WRETCH, AND NEVER, EVER RETURN!"

Emmerson slashes at the ghostly arm reaching towards Bufer. With so little of her exposed, though, it's hard for the paladin to get a clear shot at her in the crowded room, and the sword strikes only stone.

Bufer, Emus and Skeeter encounter the same problem, with the dog scrabbling at a wet floor where the abbess was a moment ago, before she pulled back further into the floor for another attack on the gnome cleric.

Flower tries one last splash of holy water before moving back in Oktav's direction. Unfortunately, Flower is no more successful than his compatriots.

Sensing Bufer may be fading fast, Vonmora begins chanting a dwarven exorcism ritual loudly.

Emmerson pulls Bufer away from the abbess and Emus and his dog leap at the shade, but she is still ensconced in the floor, and their blows meet stone and rotted rushes.

Bufer slips deeper into madness and barely notices he has moved aside, or that his aspergillum has run dry, as he continues shaking it furiously at the distant abbess.

"_Skin full of pus pushing out climbing onto skin tearing it away the king is dead the moon is back we're all dying now,_" he intones passionately, seemingly without any awareness of what he is saying. "_Skin full of pus pushing out climbing onto skin tearing it away the king is dead the moon is back we're all dying now ... Skin full of pus pushing out climbing onto skin tearing it away ..._"

Moving Bufer does not keep the abbess from lashing out at him again, but it does force her further out of the floor when she lashes at him, her fingers clawing at his face. They don't leave a mark on his body, but they do have an effect: The gnome collapses to the floor, eyes staring in terror, tears running silently down his face.

The abbess turns and screams at Emmerson.

"BUFER!" Emmerson screams, whirling Judgment at the abbess.

Both Emmerson and Emus miss the abbess, but Skeeter somehow finds something in the wisps of darkness, biting down and shaking. The dog whines afterwards, its tongue covered in black dust. It will take him days to fully remove the taste from his mouth.

Flower's latest attempt with the holy water goes no better than the previous attempts. Later, others would question whether the kobold actually understood they were trying to hit the abbess with the holy water and not, as in this case, Bufer.

Emmerson climbs atop the large desk, hoping to lure the abbess out of cover.

"In the name of Lothian and St. Yessid, I cast thee out!"

On the other side of the room, Tucker blinks for the first time in he doesn't know how long. He remembers clearly everything that has happened.

The abbess appeared. Or her shadow did, at least. The party's lights seemed to throw a shadow cast by no body on the ceiling of the room. The room grew darker, and the abbess' body seemed to melt into existence from nowhere. Her head was bent to the side at a sickening angle, but she lifted it to look at him ...

... and then everything jumped. A second before, the ghostly nun was suspended in the air, descending slowly toward the group. In an instant, she was buried chest-deep in the floor. Bufer, who had been kneeling next to his portable altar, suddenly transformed into Vonmora. Or, maybe not: Vonmora popped into the spot Bufer had occupied, and he seemed to fall a few feet backwards toward Emmerson, who had somehow managed to teleport himself onto a rickety-looking desk. Skeeter had lunged forward, and Flower looked like he'd wet himself. And all this had happened in the time it took Tucker to blink once.

Tuck's not much of a thinker, but sometimes that can be a good thing: He attacks without thinking, deciding to be distracted by all the changes later. He swings his new sword low, aiming for the half-exposed abbess. The tip scrapes against the wet stones, sparking slightly as it zips toward the apparition.

Tucker connects with the abbess with his sword, slicing away at something before feeling the blade slip through her misty form once more.

Hazel's quarterstaff slides through the empty air where the abbess, it seemed, threatened just a moment before.

"Can anybody see where-" Hazel turns, confused, unsure why Flower is flailing about with an aspergillum while Emmerson shouts from a desktop. "What the-"

It takes another second for the silence to register. A hearty feminine voice calls out in Dwarvish, but the laughing gnome's chants are conspicuously absent. Grim certainty falls over Hazel.

Her staff clatters to the stones.

"Bu-!" She slides to her knees beside him, frantically searching for a wound. "Where's the blood? What hit him?"

The gnome seems oblivious to her prodding. Spying the worktable, Hazel lifts Bufer and slides him atop it, sending books and tools tumbling. She stifles a sneeze as dust drifts to the floor.

"Oktav, lantern, now!"

Dinky takes a break from the pair of the rotten old slippers he'd been enjoying and finally sees something worth attacking: The part of the abbess peeking out just above the floor. He leaps at her with a manic glee.

Emmerson clangs the sword against the side of the desk, trying to call the abbess' attention.

"Come and get me, pathetic wretch!"

He slashes at the abbess once more and she shrieks in horror as her form rips like a curtain, tatters dangling from Judgment. The paladin raises the blade in confusion, only to see the black remains of her garments fade away like smoke.

The room is silent and it's a silence that goes all the way to the bone: For the first time in 111 years, the abbey is truly at peace.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the abbess is torn asunder by Judgment, Tucker's sword slices down through her fading body like a hand through campfire smoke, its tip clanking against the stones. The three magical weapons fill the room with an odd light, their glows reflected in the puddles of holy water that have collected on the floor. The room feels different now, but Tucker is taking no chances: He keeps his sword at the ready, for now.

"Keep chanting, Von. Finish the exorcism, then we'll see what other secrets the ghosts were protecting."

Emmerson climbs stiffly down off the desk.

"Phantom blows that spill no blood but seem to have taken him away? I have no idea what to do for these wounds," Emmerson sighs. "The abbey is cleansed. All that remains is disposing of that book."

Hazel hardly seems to notice the changed atmosphere in the room. Small kobold claws come to rest beside hers on the unconscious gnome, and she sends a startled glance across the worktable.

"Do not worry so!" Flower gives the ranger a sunny smile. "We will find a way to make Fancypants well again."

"You know how to cure him? I can't find a wound anywhere, but he won't wake." Hazel ruffles the gnome's graying hair. "I thought maybe he got hit in the head -- Kat did once, years back, with a stone, and didn't wake up for hours -- but I can't find a lump or a soft spot.

"You give him a going over, then, and I'll grab his gear."

The ranger kneels beside the altar to Garl and carefully stows each item in the gnome's kit before tucking it into his pack. She treats everything with a special reverence. As she works, she composes a silent prayer in Gnomish.

_Goodman Garl, sir? I don't reckon we've ever had occasion to speak before today, and humans ain't like to figure high in your list of folks to help, but if there's anything you can do for my friend Bejik-Caesin, I'd sure appreciate it. He's right deserving of your help, and is doing good deeds in your name most days. Other days maybe the deeds ain't good so much as, um, fun-loving and mischievous-like, but I reckon that's right and true in your service, too. So if you can, please help him heal, sir._

When she's finished, Hazel ties the gnome's pack to her own and stows her fallen quarterstaff.

"Any luck, Flower?"

"No, I fear," replies the tired, but still hopeful kobold. "Perhaps we should return to town with him and let the others continue?"

"Hazel, if you'd like to take Bufer back to Maidensbridge for ministering, I think it's safe to do so," Emmerson says. Behind him, Tucker nods in agreement. "Stay safe, friends."

Flower and Hazel lift Bufer between the two of them and begin their journey back to town.

Dinky follows, to the delight of everyone.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Back in the abbey, Emmerson takes the scroll sent along by the bishop. It seems like a lifetime ago that he had sat in The Cat & The Fiddle, interrogating Oktav about the abbey. He waves the scroll toward Vonmora to get her attention.

"Vonmora, do you know how to perform the exorcism ritual of your people?"

"Aye," she nods. Deep black circles have appeared under her eyes, although her voice betrays none of her weariness.

"Lothian be praised," Emmerson murmurs. "It took all of us to cleanse this abbey. It took more from some than from others, to be sure. If ever there was proof that united faithful could accomplish great things, then this abbey is it. It should be dedicated to all our gods."

Vonmora reads through the scroll, nodding to herself.

"Let's do this," she nods.

"Emmerson, you stay here with Vonmora and Oktav," Tucker says, grabbing a lantern. "Emus and I can go poke around, make sure there's no surprises left here. We'll start with the dining hall, then go from there to the dormitory and the attic."

The pair departs, leaving the priests alone.

"Let's do this outside," Vonmora says, rerolling the scroll. "Do it in the cloisters, spread the blessing to as much of this place as possible. Grabbing her gear, and Bufer's discarded backpack, she leads the way.

The party spreads out through the abbey as darkness descends.

What Tucker and Emus mostly find are sad reminders of what was once here. Some of the sisters' goods have been rifled through, long ago, probably by other adventurers or by thieves before word of the haunting had spread. Other than ruined clothes and worm-eaten wooden bowls and the like, the search of the abbey turns up little.

Oktav finds an old oil lamp and sequesters himself in the library, sorting volumes by levels of decay and whether the books are safe to move. When asked, he indicates that he intends to bring the books back to Middleborough for restoration and cataloging prior to finding them a permanent home.

Seeing the light in the library, Tucker pokes his head in.

"Hey, Oktav. I just wanted to say that you did well out there today. I'm glad you came along with us." He starts to leave, then turns around. "Do you know what the bishop's plans for this place are? Start it up again? Burn it down? Anything?"

"I do not know what the bishop intends for the abbey. It technically still belongs to the Church of Lothian, even if there was a long period where it was unused."

Emmerson crosses the cloister, dry grass crunching beneath his feet as he approaches the library.

"Tucker, if I may interrupt. Brother Oktav, a word with you."

"Yes?" the acolyte asks, clearly impatient to get back to the books.

"About the book that started this," Emmerson says. "While it would be important evidence for his Excellency against the foul villain who sent it, I refuse to allow it to exist any longer. Would burning it get rid of it and its evil? Or is there a sanctioned way to proceed with its disposal?"

"Assuming the book really is the cause of all of this ... I do not know," Oktav shrugs. "No one ever trained me in the methods of destroying books. It does seem a shame not to record whatever ancient lore is in the book beforehand, though."

"That's the same kind of thinking that got the abbey in trouble in the first place," Tucker observes dryly.

"You don't know that, _deputy_," Oktav snaps. He too is obviously exhausted by the day's events. "And more importantly, the sisters were right: Things are being forgotten, more and more each year. And as the printing presses break down and those that remember how to repair them die of old age, the records we have of the past become more and more precious. Destroying a book of this age simply because it makes you nervous is something the sisters would have been violently opposed to doing. Their goal was to preserve knowledge against the coming darkness, not hasten the tide of ignorance."

It's obvious this is the sort of thing that he takes very seriously: His face is getting flushed and he's raising his voice more loudly than the adventurers have previously heard it.

"Very well, brother," Emmerson said. "I just suggested it because last time we were in this library you said the church didn't gather these books, it burned them instead."

"Well, all right. Unless you have another suggestion, we shall take it to his Excellency once the abbey has been sanctified once again. Master Potentloins and I have much to discuss with my lord bishop. In the meantime, the book stays in the abbess' room. No one touches it until the ritual is finished."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The prayer vigil goes all night. The adventurers other than the clerics eventually make a fire in the cloister and huddle around as they listen to the intertwining prayers.

As the night wears on, a crackling noise begins all around them, alarming everyone until they realize it's the black ivy snapping off the vines and crumbling into an ashy dust.

Sitting near the fire, Emus sighs, releasing a tension that he didn't even realize he still carried. Lying next to him, head on his paws, Skeeter also sighs, perhaps for the same reason.

Still praying, Emmerson watches the ivy wither. It works like a balm, taking his aches away.

Dawn comes and Emmerson and Vonmora are still at it, their voices growing hoarse and exhausted after the excitement and terrors of the past 24 hours. The dwarf's stomach rumbles loudly, but she sneers at the suggestion that she take a break and let Emmerson fill in for her.

After spending most of the night in the courtyard, there is almost no patch of earth that Skeeter has not yet marked as his territory. Apparently, he'd been holding it until after the ivy crumbled.

Emus is dozing lightly when Tucker nudges him.

"Hey, look at that." He gestures toward one of the rooftops.

"A bird," Emus says noncommittally, not sure if he's supposed to be seeing something else.

"Yeah, a bird. Life's coming back."

The dwarf considers this a moment, working a tangle out of his beard.

"Hopefully not evil this time."

Both Emmerson and Vonmora are badly sunburned by the time they're done, close to sundown. Emus and Tucker have repeatedly been sent out to bring back water and food, but even so, the clerics' voices are almost gone after 24 hours of exhorting their gods.

But there can be no question now: The abbey feels different, all of them can sense it. For the first time, Tucker finds himself truly relaxed inside its walls.

"Praise Lothian the Lightbringer, Garl Glittergold the Watchful Protector, Yurrabbos the Runecarver, Hanseath the Bearded One, Estanna the Hearthtender, Bahamut the Platinum Dragon. Almighty gods of Praemal, we thank you for listening to our prayer and granting us this boon," Emmerson concludes, his voice almost inaudible. He bows his head and nods at the others.

It is done.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

A short time later, Emmerson emerges from the abbess' quarters, carry a bundle in an old woolen blanket. Returning to the darkening cloister, he drops the blanket and the Book of Ascendant Night near the campfire the others have been nursing.

Oktav brings his oil lamp from the library, where his sorting is all but complete, and puts it down on the blanket beside the book. He would open the tome, but a warning look from Emus scares him off.

"I'm not sure if this is going to work, but bear with me for a while. I'm going to read the book out loud and the ritual's effect should provide a translation of sorts. This may help to determine if this book should be destroyed or taken to the bishop."

Using Judgment to turn the pages, Emmerson flips through the book, past a title page and woodcut to the meat of the book.

Emmerson looks at the book and read aloud. Everyone hears both him speaking in Westron but also finding themselves understanding what he's saying:

"_The Book of Night Ascendant

"From beyond the horizon, they watched as all was formed, and they found it vile. The creators formed the land with cold hands and hung the sky with no joy. Everything is pale and wretched and must be destroyed to make way for something better.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"But when they stepped forward to free all who live, they were betrayed, and found all doors locked against them, while their jealous children laughed, full of hatred and envy.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"So now, they wait, sleeping beneath,'_" and here Emmerson says a word that does not translate into Imperial, "'_as the faithful prepare for their joyous escape.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"Like a river breaking through the winter ice in spring, all shall be a riot of change and release. Blood accompanies death but it also accompanies every birth and blood shall herald the death of the old ways and the birth of the new.

"Hang the moon in the sky! Strike the king from his throne! Prepare!

"They are waking. Look to the sky!_"

As Emmerson finishes the page, he realizes that he feels dizzy.

"You're bleeding!" Oktav gasps, and indeed, blood is gushing from the paladin's nose. But as those assembled look around, they realize that he's not the only one: Everyone who has heard the translated book has blood pouring from their nose, which looks black and slick in the dim evening light.

"Well," Emmerson says as the dizziness overcomes him, "That was incredibly stupid. Forgive my stupidity, friends."

He slams the book shut and bundles it as tightly as he can within the worn blanket.

"We are done here. I shall put this wretched thing in the forsaken pit where it was for the night. Brother Oktav, are you done cataloguing the books? We need to ride tomorrow at first light to Middleborough and ask his Excellency to destroy this once and for all."

Oktav starts to nod and then reacts violently at the suggestion the book will be destroyed.

"We can't destroy it! What if it's telling the truth about some imminent disaster?"

"Who the hell will be able to read it?" Emmerson snaps, exhausted and pushed to his breaking point. "One page! One and we're bleeding! Look no further than what happened here if you dare to read more than what I did."

"I've had enough of this place," Emus says, wiping the blood from his lips. "Let's go."

"Tucker, if I may trouble you," Emmerson says, as the others prepare to leave. "Could you procure two mounts for Oktav and myself for tomorrow morning? I aim to spend the night here, and take the book to his Excellency in the morning. I have no intention of taking the book near Maidensbridge, so if we could meet you half a mile from town an hour past first light, I'd be much obliged."

"I'll see what I can do; we're still pulling horses out of the orchards from when those nitwits burned down the stables. But Oktav's got the horse he rode in on, so it shouldn't be too bad." Tucker hefts his backpack up with a grunt. "Besides, I'm sure it's been quiet at town while we were gone."

"Thank you, friend." Emmerson shakes Tucker's hand and watches the deputy, Emus and Vonmora depart.

Oktav, glaring at Emmerson, helps the paladin move the Book of Ascendant Night back inside the building.

The pair spend an uneventful night in the abbey, with Oktav proving that, whatever else time has done to the building, its beds are still comfortable enough, as he drops into a deep sleep and snores the sleep of the truly exhausted.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The day before, Hazel had carried Bufer as Flower carried Hazel's gear on the way back to Maidensbridge. The shadows were growing long, and even if the abbey no longer posed a danger to them, Hazel is well aware that there are others in the woods with them as they travel.

Mindful of her companion's shorter stature and Bufer's ill-health -- though truthfully he seems unaware of any jostling on the journey -- Hazel kept her pace just shy of a run. Her lantern brightened the path, but not enough that she'd risk tripping on a tree root and dropping her friend.

"Last thing he needs is another knock on the head," she muttered. She scanned the woods around them, but suspected the forest creatures are intelligent enough to stay out of the light.

Despite that, though, she couldn't shake the prickle down her spine that told her something was watching them.

"Best keep Dinky close, Flower," she warned, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Something's keeping pace with us, I think. Could be an animal, but ... any chance it's kin of yours?"

"If you mean 'kobold,'" Flower answered, "I haven't seen any of my 'kin' in over a decade."

Finally, lungs and arms and legs aching, Hazel and Flower stumbled back into town, an unconscious Bufer carried in the ranger's arms. He had not woken along the journey, even when his bearer stumbled over tree roots in the dark, but now had begun to moan and twitch violently, as though in the grips of a nightmare he could not wake from.

Hazel had expected a chilly reception for her kobold companion when they arrived in Maidensbridge, but it was not quite the one they ended up receiving:

"The constable's looking for you," Fibber said, staring slack-jawed in front of his family's shop. "Both of you."

Hazel covered her surprise with a withering glance at the teen before carefully checking Bufer, wincing when his twitching foot struck her still-healing wounds. 

"You all right, Bufer? Can you hear me?" She watched his face for any sign of understanding, but his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

Finally, she turned back to Fibber.

"Constable will have to wait unless he's spending time with Heath Leach. Bufer needs a healer, not a lawman." She paused, her eyebrows drawn together. "And why's he be looking for me anyways? And how does he know Flower?"

"Mister Leach is ... with him," Fibber said vaguely.

Baffled, but clearly getting nothing more useful from Fibber, Hazel set out for Constable Bridger's tower, Flower following closely behind.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 6
Beneath Blackberry Ridge*​
It is the 4th day of Rain, in the 721st year of the Imperial Age.

A cool wet wind blows through Blackberry Ridge, and the shrubs rattle against the wooden barricade outside. But overhead, the storm clouds are blowing quickly across the sky to the west. There will be no rain here today or tomorrow.

Inside the Dented Coin, Gerda Schenker brings the four strangers plates of bratwurst and mushy carrots, setting them on the table with a thump, and casting a dubious eye over the group. It doesn't take much to tell that Renraw, Tock, Kat and Ragglus are running low on funds: The extravagant spending of their first days in town is a distant memory and the four are down to one meal a day.

She leaves the table with a derisive snort, murmuring a quiet word to the tavern's bouncer, who seats himself on a stool by the door, watching to make sure that they don't attempt to slip away without paying their tab.

"Pitcher of wine," Katadid looks meaningfully toward Renraw as he pokes unenthusiastically at the still-pink bratwurst. "Two silver."

"Maybe we should hit the stables," Ragglus sneers. "I hear they're serving grass. Tastier than this, I wager. Remind me why I decided to follow y'all, instead of going home to introduce Scim to his innards?"

"The blackberries?" Kat offers. His answer is interrupted by a violent cough that has followed him since their battle with the Moss River. He contains himself and taps his fork against the table, starting with one corner and moving to the next, reaching over his companions to hit each corner.

Renraw quickly but precisely slices his brat, oblivious to the conversation around him.

"I still can't believe these papers. This name the Kujau woman gave me: It's utterly unpronounceable! Who's going to believe I am who I say I am if I say it a different way every time?" He jabs a slice of meat into his mouth and chews vigorously. "No, it will never do. When we get to Freeport, I'm choosing another."

"Viouesoeri Krieger," Kat says, pointing to himself. "It's ... well ... "

"Exactly right, Leach," Renraw says, pointing his fork at Kat. "Yours at least has some interesting diphthongs in there! Would it have killed her to sneak me an extra vowel or two?"

Ragglus' mood starts to dip further south, seemingly caught in a staring contest with the bouncer at the door. Without knowing it, he begins to compulsively crack his knuckles at a slow pace.

"What we need is some money, real money," Renraw says as he scoops some errant carrots onto his fork with his finger. "I shudder to think what might happen should someone tell our antsy friend Chaplin here he's to wash the dishes. What's gotten into you, Chaplin? Didn't you have your morning movement today?"

"Yeah," Ragglus replies, taking his eyes off of the doorman briefly to toss a sideways glance to the wizard. "You're eating it."

Renraw chokes a moment before he manages an awkward grin.

"Not far from the truth, I fear. Still, I'm glad to eat. Energy to think our way out of this mess, you know. How are you doing in that regard, Chandler? How best to Freeport, in your opinion? And how to make us some traveling money first?"

"_Carter_," Tock reminds Renraw, chewing a bratwurst. "We're sorry about your name but pick a pronunciation and stick with it. We all need to stay in character. Who knows who might be in the employ of the baron. He's a Lothianite, remember, and tricky. So for now remember I'm Dargus Carter.

"But you're right, we need some spending money. Man cannot live on ... whatever this is ... alone. Viouesoeri, did you hear anything about making some money?"

The door of the Dented Coin bangs open, the wind grabbing it away from the young man pushing it from the outside. The guard looks a little sheepish and closes it again, blushing under the scowl of the bouncer.

Looking around the room, he spots the group from Midwood and comes over to them.

"You're the ... " His face screws up as he thinks of the right word. "Delvers? Adventurers? Bailiff Schultheis sent me to find you. Well, after you finish your grub, anyway."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Finish up, Viouesoeri, my old friend," Tock says, slapping Katadid on the back. "You need nourishment to perform your sorcery, as I do to perform my archery. Just a moment, lad. Dargus Carter and his Gentlemen Delvers will be at your service in a second."

Kat nods and begins to mush his carrots into an orange pile before shoveling it into his mouth between coughs. Renraw leans in and whispers something to Tock.

"W-what are we being found for?" Katadid asks. He starts once he realizes he said it out loud. He turns to the young man and awkwardly gestures to him for any help he could provide to this question.

"Er, are you finished then? I believe the bailiff, she wants to talk to you about the burglaries and all."

"The burglaries and all" appears to be a well-known subject with everyone but the group from Maidensbridge: The few people gathered in the Dented Coin all grumble and nod their heads at this.

"Burglars, aye?" Tock says, face concerned. "Foul miscreants, doomed souls, or worse! I cannot abide by a thief, or my name not be Dargus Carter. Come, boys, we've got good to do."

Renraw jabs his fork into what's left of his sausage and throws it into his bag. He watches Ragglus stand and turn away from the table and then does the same with what's on his plate.

The deputy leads the Gentlemen Delvers out of the Dented Coin across the muddy square in the center of town. A cool wind is blowing across Blackberry Ridge, threatening to steal hats from heads and whipping up cloaks.

The group turns not toward Blackberry Hall, but toward the ancient smooth stone of St. Thessina's of the Plains. The door of the small church, smooth and shiny with age, bangs in the wind, and a young priestess runs forward to catch it before it can hammer the wall once more. She smiles a tight-lipped smile at the group and gestures for them to head inside.

It takes a moment for everyone's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the chapel, with its dark wood pews and somber tapestry behind the altar. Even the altar cloth, with its gold thread picking out the ankh-crucifix of Lothian is dim in the gray light coming in from the doorway and the few flickering candles.

A man in his 50s, broad-shouldered and with dark hair combed back severely, stands by the altar, listening to a young woman in the first pew speaking quietly.

As the group approaches, the woman stands and turns. Although the priest is deferential to her, she's young and has a face and body that make her look younger still. But for all that she looks like a child, she has the confidence of leadership, and she steps forward to greet the group halfway, holding out one hand.

"Thank you for joining us. I am Bailiff Arabelle Schultheis."

"A most honorable pleasure, madam Bailiff," Tock bows just deeply enough. "I am Dargus Carter, and these are my Gentlemen Delvers. If there is any service that we, or I in particular, can provide, nothing will stop us from it."

"I am glad to hear it."

The bailiff gestures for everyone to be seated.

"The constable here," she waves a hand toward the priest standing nearby, who glowers as a result, "Has been confronted with a mystery for some months now, and I suggested we ask the Delvers in our midst to try a new approach to solving the mystery."

"I am High Priest Manfred Richter and the constable of Blackberry Ridge, and have been for many years," the priest says, moving to stand behind the altar, although he does not touch it. "Earlier this year, residents began to find their homes burglarized at night, with small, portable goods stolen from them.

"The problem we faced, however, is that at night, the village is barricaded and guards are posted at the gate. There is simply no way in after dark for anyone who would be interested in such minor items.

"We naturally suspected someone in town, and have spent months attempting to catch the culprit in the act, with no success."

"Until," the bailiff breaks in quietly, "We almost caught the thief in the act last week. He was in my very home, and my staff chased him from the house when they heard him knock over my father's suit of armor. The town was dark, and we did not get a good look at him as he fled through the gates of Schultheis House, but we chased him into the center of town ... where he jumped down the well, riding the bucket all the way down."

The constable makes a noise, sucking his lower lip.

"Naturally, we stationed guards outside the well, waiting for the thief to come back up," he says. "We dropped lit torches down, and lowered lanterns on ropes. There are no signs of the thief. We need someone to go down into the well and find the thief and recover the stolen goods."

"We do not have enough deputies to risk them on this endeavor," the bailiff says quietly. "We are too close to Kem to allow any of our deputies to go down into the well. Should they not return, we would be defenseless against the things that sometimes come north.

"So, will you do it?" the bailiff asks, her blue eyes worried.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tock barely affords the constable a mere glance, focusing only on the lady.

"My good madam bailiff, I cannot fathom a request from a lady of your honor and fairness that I would refuse. Of course we shall come to your aid! Are we not the Gentlemen Delvers? Am I not Dargus Carter? And are you not ... you?"

Kat appears to have not heard any of the conversation at all: His mouth moves silently as he tries to decipher the faded and ancient symbols covering the walls of the church and his fingers ran along their soft edges, but to little avail, as they had been long worn to useless nubs.

"What has he stolen?" Kat asks suddenly from the corner, startling those unfamiliar with him and his peculiar mannerisms. "And is he a he, or an it? Quite nimble to ride a bucket down a well shaft, anyway."

"Or desperate," sneers the constable.

"We don't know the sex of the thief," the bailiff says mildly, watching Kat examine the worn writing in Old Prustan on the walls. "It was too dark, so we simply assumed. And lots of little things have been stolen, precious things, like coins, jewelry, silver candlesticks. Things that could be carried away easily and sold easier still, I imagine."

Katadid mutters to himself, turning this all over in his mind.

"Gentlemen Delvers get paid, right?" Ragglus asks Renraw in hushed tones.

The wizard rolls his eyes and tries to ignore Ragglus, although he had touched on a subject of immediate importance.

"Might I inquire as to the method and amount of compensation for services rendered, madam bailiff?" Renraw asks, adopting his least abrasive grin. "Would that we could survive on the spiritual returns of good deeds alone. I assume we aren't to be rewarded upon completion of the task with our fill of blackberries, tantalizing as the prospect may be."

"Ah, m'lady, please forgive the forwardness of my sage," Tock interjects, flushing. "His wisdom is great, but so is his pragmatism. It's a good thing I keep him around, though, as we'd starve if I took every job offered by an attractive woman without payment."

Bailiff Schultheis looks down at her hand, thinking, then back up at Renraw.

"We can afford 100 gold thrones each," she says. "After, that is, the stolen goods are returned. The amount stolen thus far is less than that; I am offering this amount to bring this problem to an end. If there are items you discover in the well that no one here claims, they are yours as well.

"Do we have an agreement?"

"Madam Bailiff, your generosity merely adds to your other charms," Tock says, smiling broadly. "We are agreed."

"Yes," Katadid says, his mumbling clarifying into a list of supplies. "Torches, a healer's kit, in case. Preparations needed, spells ..."

"What?" the constable asks, a bit huffily and startling Kat.

"What my learned friend Krieger means is we are currently ill-equipped to make our way down well shafts," Tock offers hastily. "Our previous exploration of the many old goblin caves in Goblin Falls, while successful, of course, exhausted our supplies. The donation of torches would be most helpful. I understand the need to be careful, however, as I am certain they simply ignite being in your presence, dear lady."

"Perhaps an advance?" Renraw offers, grinning. "If you give us the money now, we can ... buy supplies. Plenty of time to tromp down the well tomorrow, after we-"

"Today is fine," Kat stammers. "Just maybe enough to just to give us light and a kit ... for, um, injuries."

"Or we could have just taken the money and left, you moron," Renraw grumbles, inaudible to everyone but Ragglus, who snorts derisively.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

An hour later, the Gentlemen Delvers are equipped with their gear, and are standing next to the well. The bailiff, constable and a large group of curious residents stand nearby, watching.

A wet wind has sprung up, and it causes the shaft of the well to whistle as it blows across its open top. A thick rope, knotted every few feet, dangles from the crossbeam above the well, with the regular bucket and chain removed and sitting beside the well, allowing an easier descent into the depths.

"Good luck to you, then," Constable Richter says, a wry half-grin on his face as he stands, arms crossed expectantly.

The group stares at each other, uncomfortable as a few expectant coughs emit from the impatient crowd.

"So," Renraw begins, rubbing his hands in front of him while breaking the silence, "A round of Stone, Scroll, Sword to determine who takes the first bold step? Or drop, as it were?"

The sound of metal scraping on stone interrupts them as Ragglus hoists his large armored frame over the edge of the well, giving the rope a safety tug before pushing out to hang. The crossbeam gives a small groan in protest, but holds.

"Play for second," he growls, using the knots in the rope to begin his descent.

Kat shivers in the wind. He watches Ragglus's head dip beneath the well's edge for a moment, then reaches over and grabs Renraw's staff, eliciting a protest. Kat jerks the leather cap off the staff, the tip of it igniting with spectral flames in response. The townspeople take a few steps back and mutter.

"Lea- " Renraw trails off. "How dare you?"

"He needs light," Kat says simply. He loops the staff through his belt so that the burning end remains level with his back. The magical flame tickles Kat's neck as he moves one leg over the edge.

"Viouesoeri!" Tock begins and Kat looks up.

"I shall be careful, Dargus," he says.

"Anything about this well we should know?" Kat asks the constable. 

"It's a well. There's water at the bottom."

The 10-foot diameter well shaft is constructed of fitted masonry stones. The stones are covered in moss and small weeds, but looking carefully, Ragglus can see numerous handholds cut into the side of the well, descending the 80 feet to the water below.

"Madam Bailiff," Tock says, reaching out to take the bailiff's hand. "I fear I must now take temporary leave of you. Worry not, as thoughts of you will keep me warm in this dank well." 

Renraw smiles uncomfortably as he watches Tock descend lower and lower, trying to think of any means possible to delay his own descent.

"Anything noteworthy among your pilfered items to keep an eye out for, good citizens? Constable? Madam bailiff?"

"Bring up whatever you find," Bailiff Schultheis. "We'll use the bucket if need be."

"Right." Renraw swings his other leg over the side of the well and grabs the rope. 

The Gentlemen Delvers find themselves swaying on the line, one above another, above the black water of the well. Above, the constable leans on his elbows, watching the activity below.

"Uh, just water below?" Katadid calls down, his thin arms already beginning to burn from the strain.

Ragglus puts up a finger more polite than the one he normally uses for signaling and shushes the wizard. The big man continues down the rope, pausing every few feet.

The others wait, listening to the sound of the creaking from the crossbeam above and the wind whistling across the open top of the well. In the dark water below, something splashes, perhaps a large frog or fish.

Ragglus notices that the plant growth around the handholds gets dramatically thicker below where he currently dangles. He looks up once again. Past the other two, he can make out Renraw above them straining to keep an eye on his precious staff. With an amused half-snort, he silently motions for Kat to climb down closer. He uses his free hand to direct the glowing end of Renraw's staff down as far down as Kat can reach, giving him a clearer view of the wall of the well.

He grins as he spots a strange shadow cast by the flickering magical flames. A narrow gap in the wall of the well reveals a secret door left barely ajar.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Ragglus snaps his fingers at those dangling above him and then points at the secret door. Slipping his dagger out into his free hand, he puts the blade to door and attempts to open it further.

As best as he can manage, Kat orients the lit end of Renraw's staff to better illuminate the doorway and beyond.

The secret door opens with a groan, revealing a rough stone passageway that looks like a natural tunnel that has been widened and finished -- slightly -- by a stone carver at some point in the past.

Putting his dagger in his teeth, Ragglus slips off the rope and into the tunnel. Kat follows, as do the others. Renraw snatches back his staff angrily.

"You doddering fool," Renraw whispers harshly, his knuckles going white as he clutches the staff. "Did it ever occur to you that anyone pursuing us might be looking for someone bearing a staff exactly like this?"

Equipping his shield, Ragglus turns and glares at the wizards.

"Shhhh!"

The passageway is dusty and damp, but not abandoned: There is a scuffed path through the damp and rat droppings dot the sides of the tunnel.

Renraw lowers his staff to the ground inspects the path before the group.

The footprints unfortunately aren't clear: Something, or several things have gone back and forth across this damp path numerous times, just leaving streaks in the wet dust.

Renraw sighs heavily, then stands back up and jabs Ragglus in the back with the butt of his staff.

"Well, Chaplain? Move on. We'll support you as best we can, but we're counting on you to scotch this scrounger, after all. You in front, Chandler in the back with his arrows, and young Katadid and I betwixt you both."

Resisting the urge to introduce the wizard to an intimate view of his gauntleted fist, Ragglus starts forward cautiously.

The damp and cramped tunnel continues about 40 feet before widening on the left and sloping downward into a cave. The tunnel continues on past, winding past a stalagmite, forming the right wall of the cave.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The cavern is at least 20 feet wide, and extends to the southwest another 40 feet or so. The air is damp and the group can hear the constant patter of dripping water. The uneven floor slopes gently to the south, covered by several large stalagmites, rotting timbers and rubble.

As the party approaches the stalagmite, Kat runs his finger across it and licks it. 

With room to swing a dead gnome, as he thinks it's said, Ragglus puts away his dagger and draws his longsword.

Kat bends down to examine the debris for clues as to what it may have been originally, and how they may have ended up in the cave in the first place.

Tock darts his eyes around, bow drawn and ready.

As Ragglus enters, rubble sliding under his feet, forcing him to move carefully, the light is shined more fully into the room and he sees that some of the timbers are, in fact, desiccated small animals wrapped in some sort of pale fabric.

By the magical torchlight, the group can see something that appears to be made out of silver reflecting between several of the stalagmites.

He looks up to the group and holds his hand out, palm down. He extends his fingers and bends them down, wiggling them menacingly. He then brings his hand up to his face and pushes two fingers down into a phantom object, making sucking sounds.

When he looks up from his pantomime, Ragulus is staring at him, Renraw's eyebrow is raised, and Tock is simply shaking his head and sighing.

"Um," Kat says quietly. "Spider. Big. Maybe."

"My mother would have been deathly afraid of giant spiders," Renraw whispers, pointing the light in the direction Kat scans. "And I imagine they don't much appreciate having their legs plucked off one by one. But more importantly ..."

His voice trails off and he slowly, carefully, walks toward the glinting silver, taking the light with him.

Katadid tenses as he watches Renraw move hungrily toward the silver.

"But, it's BAIT," he hisses. He looks up toward Ragglus and back toward Tock helplessly.

Renraw halts in his tracks, profound disappointment washing over his face.

"Of course it's bait!" he snaps. "You think I'm not aware of that? I-I'm being self-sacrificing! You know how I can be!"

Fairly certain Renraw has never previously used the words "self" and "sacrificing" together in a sentence to describe himself, Ragglus decides to trail the wizard into the cave. He keeps more than a few steps behind, not wishing to steal any of Renraw's newly acquired boldness.

Renraw sees Ragglus moving forward and then quickly ducks behind him, urging him onward.

"I'm right behind you!"

"Keep your light up, at least," the fighter says with a sigh, his own giant shadow looming before them as Renraw cowers behind him. The wizard finally re-extends the staff overhead, and Ragglus continues forward to investigate the silver glint, shield at the ready.

In the flickering light of the magical torch-staff, for a fraction of a second, it looks like the debris moving is just a trick of the light. But before Ragglus can have time to even consider this, the debris near the silver dagger is thrown back, revealing itself to be the top of a crude trapdoor.

A furry gray spider the size of a table at The Cat & The Fiddle bursts out, leaping at him with a screaming hiss.

The beast slams against Ragglus' shield, its fangs making two thick gouges in the wood, but cannot reach his face and it drops back, tensing for another spring.

Renraw leaps back into Kat as the spider attacks. As Renraw spins around, he sees Tock unsheathing his bow to aim for a shot past the crowd, and he saw Katadid looking at Renraw, shaking his head ruefully. 

Spinning back around and hopping to the side like a crazed marionette, Renraw quickly holds his staff out in front of him, preparing to strike if necessary.

Ragglus maneuvers sideways so as to give Tock and the wizards a profile view of himself and the spider. With a grunt, he swings at the enormous spider, but it twitches down, beneath the blade, springing back up as the longsword sweeps past it in a long arc.

The beast squeals in surprise as Kat fires a sling stone that bounces off one of the creature's black eyes.

Renraw steps forward, swinging his staff at the spider with a grunt, but meets empty air just as Ragglus had: The beast has already recovered from its shock at being struck by the sling stone.

At the back of the room, an arrow snaps against stone in the darkness, having flown wide from Tock's bow.

With a squeal of rage and hunger, the spider leaps forward, plunging its two thick fangs into Ragglus' shoulder, the twin sacs at the base of its fangs pumping furiously, flooding his body with the beast's poison.

Renraw squeaks as he suddenly realizes that he's in the middle of close combat with a giant spider and withdraws, keeping his eyes glued on the arachnid for any sudden movements.

"Well then," Kat mutters, watching Ragglus struggle under the creature. He sets down his sling and reaches into his pocket to pull out a small pouch. Opening the pouch, he pours sand into his palm and rubs his hands together muttering an incantation.

The spider slows for a moment, but then, with a motion like it's tearing through a web, it keeps coming, leaping on Ragglus once more. But this time its fangs fail to penetrate his armor, and it slips back, hissing in rage.

Sparing a glance over to Kat, Ragglus can't help but notice that the wizard is no longer casting, leaving him to deduce that whatever spell he was preparing to use, it either failed or he gave up.

Tock's arrow goes wide, bouncing off the stone floor and then splashing somewhere in the darkness beyond the glow of the magical torchlight.

The poison continues to pump through Ragglus' system, but it no longer weakens him; adrenaline seems to burn the rest of it from his body. But his sword thrust at the beast is easily dodged by the spider, leaving everyone in a standoff.

"Its legs! Pull the legs out!" Renraw shouts helpfully.

Ragglus leaps forward, stabbing with his sword, the spider pulling back and avoiding the blade. The arrow flying from Tock's bow flies past as well. But the spider is hit by a small whirling sling stone once more with a wet sound.

The spider leaps on Ragglus again, but it cannot get its fangs through his armor quite so well, and he shrugs off the venom injected into the wound.

As Katadid places another stone into his sling, he finds himself soothed by the repetition of it all. Stone. Spin. Throw. Stone. Spin. Throw. A beatific smile crosses his face and the meaning of the events drop away before him, and he sees them only as tableau.

The spider pounces onto Ragglus, its fangs biting deeply, but it doesn't pump enough venom into his veins to have any effect for the moment.

He shoves it off with his shield, but reeling in pain, his sword doesn't even scratch the beast.

Katadid's sling stone pings off the rock ceiling, plopping into unseen water on the ricochet. But a moment later, Tock's arrow thuds into the beast's body, and it squeals in pain.

"Chaplain!" Renraw screams. "Gods damn it! Making me waste my magics on this ..."

The wizard pulls out his own handful of dust, raises it in the air, lowers his head, and then lets the dust fall through his fingers, all muttering softly. 

"AND NOW, WRETCHED VARMINT: SOMNOLENCE!"

Before it can attack again, the spider slumps to the ground, unconscious, sand trickling down its head.

Renraw angrily tromps over to the prone arachnid and smashes it it with his staff.

The quarterstaff sinks into the spider's head, going all the way through to the stone cave floor below. A yellow goo leaks out of the spider's head and a tremor ripples through its body. Then it lays still, dead.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

"And that, gentlemen," Renraw says, looking pointedly at the group, "is how we do that."

"Now, then, I believe I heard some water around here somewhere." Using his magical flame for light, he begins searching for the water so he can wash the spider goo off of his staff.

"I'll never ... live this down," Ragglus mutters, spitting harshly on the dead spider. He examines the various wounds over his own body, wondering if he looks as bad as he feels.

"Well," Kat shrugs as he looks at the crushed spider's carapace "At least you lived."

He takes out the healer's kit and begins bandaging of the seeping wound in Ragglus' shoulder. Katadid only does that for a moment before Kat's hands drift away from his task, leaving the fighter holding a bloody bandage halfway draped over his wound. Kat is already distracted by the dagger and the debris that covered it. He examines it and also tries his best to search the rest of the area. "Maybe we can get the priest to heal you?"

Renraw, at his knees near the source of the water, scrubs the end of his staff. He talks over his shoulder to whomever will listen.

"Yes, someone will need to heal that sack, Katadid. If we're to continue, we'll want to have our blind, spastic meat shield at full strength, won't we? We really could've planned this whole foray a little better. Or at all. Don't fret about fumbling the _sleep_ spell. It's not an easy one. Happens to a lot of beginners."

As Renraw scrubs the phallic object with so much importance to him in the water at the lowest edge of the cave, the others look around the cave. There are coins scattered here and there, totaling up to 52 silver pieces and 11 gold pieces when gathered up. The shiny silver object was a beautifully made dagger with a blue gem on its pommel, bereft of its scabbard, but just needing a bit of care with a whetstone and some oil to return it to good repair.

Seen only by Renraw is a gourd with one end sealed shut by wax bobbing at the edge of the small pool of water. He shoves it under his clothes and then turns, gasping with naked avarice when he sees the pile of coins.

"We'll need to divvy this equally, of course," he says, sagely. "Except for this dagger. I think it only fair I claim it as my prize for finally killing the thing. What do you say? I could use a bit more of an offensive edge, at any rate."

"Well, I imagine the townsfolk above will be happy to help us break it down a bit more evenly," Renraw says before his eyes fall on Ragglus, who leans against a wall, writhing gently and trying to finish bandaging himself. He quickly jogs over to his comrade, concern showing on his face, leaning in and whispering to him. "I was just giving you a hard time before, Chaplin. I didn't mean anything by it. I only wish you'd tried a little harder not to get bitten like that."

"Rags, take the coins up and leave the dagger here," Tock snaps, not wanting to let Renraw launch into whatever scheme he's currently brewing up. "The Gentlemen Delvers are adventurers trying to help people out. They are not a group of folks that resemble wanted men that steal things. We are too close to get greedy."

Renraw, clearly conflicted about something, throws up his hands.

"Wait, wait! Come here, Chaplin." The wizard rifles through his bag and produces the wax-sealed gourd, still damp from the cave pond he fished it out of moments before. "I picked this up in Goblin Falls in case we had an emergency. I didn't want to admit it, but this qualifies. We just can't afford to lose valuable time. Come here, I said. It's a healing elixir."

"That spider isn't a thief. A thief-eater, maybe," Tock says. "We need to get to a corner we can defend just in case, stay quiet, and let the big man take the loot up."

Ragglus attempts to snatch the item out of Renraw's hand, but it comes off as a clumsy, drunken gesture. He eyes the wizard with some skepticism, but raises the gourd.

"To your health," he mutters, opening the seal to take a precautionary look and sniff at the contents.

"OOO!" Kat's eyes sparkle and he gets up from the bones he had been playing with. "May I?" 

"Katadid, what do you think I am, crazy? You think I'm going to poison the brute that's attempting to keep us alive?" Renraw snaps. "The chemist told me it was a healing potion."

"No, no," Kat waves off Renraw's accusation. "I'm simply curious as to the method of distillation, or if it's a suspension, or steeped, or ..."

Shaking it in his hand, Ragglus guesses there's enough of the sweet-smelling potion for more than one gulp. He brings the gourd to his lips and takes a swig. As the drink runs down Ragglus' throat, the rest of the party can see his cuts begin to close and bruises begin to fade.

"FAS-cinating," Kat gasps. He pokes his finger into what is left of Ragulus's shoulder wound, eliciting a warning hiss from the larger man before he pushes the wizard away. Kat coughs for a moment and looks up, hardly noticing the warrior's glare.

"Thanks," Ragglus says, resealing the gourd and pocketing it, cutting off Renraw's impending protest. "I'll just keep it, since I seem to be doing all the up-close fighting."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Feeling too restless to sit still, Katadid gathers up the spoils of the spider's cave, ties them into an empty pouch, tucks the dagger into his belt and heads for the well entrance.

"That dagger is rightfully mine to keep or sell as I please. I'll have it returned when this is over," Renraw whispers, jogging after Katadid as far as the cave mouth. "It follows logically. I killed the spider."

"But ... the townsfolk," he trails off under the weight of Renraw's glare, shrugs and hands over the dagger as he leaves the cave.

He has done no more than grasp the rope dangling down the shaft of the well when a head at the top of the well partially obscures the light.

"Oi! Done so soon?" The guard looks baffled, but also smiles hopefully. "Got the thief, did ya?"

There's a banging noise and soon a bucket on a rope starts to rapidly descend, forcing Katadid to jump back into the secret passageway to prevent being struck on the head.

"Use this for the swag!"

"Not ... " Kat unties the pouch and pours the coin into the bucket. The guard may have been looking down expectantly, but Kat couldn't help but to count the coins again as they lay in the muck at the bottom of the bucket. Tugging on the rope, Kat watches the bucket ascend and he takes a few deep breaths, working up the courage to shout. "More soon! Still much to ..."

He trails off and turns around, not listening to any response of the guard. Having become suddenly overcome with vertigo from looking into the circle of light above, Kat find himself tapping the ground every six steps to calm himself.

He meets the rest of the party waiting for him at the split in the caves: Renraw preening over his new dagger, Ragglus fuming over the wounds still burning, and Tock simply relieved Kat made it back without getting overly distracted. They begin their walk down the cavern in the same marching order as before.

The passage curves to the left, and after about 40 feet, it comes up short against a rusted portcullis, which prevents further passage.

"Odd well," Katadid says. He carefully examines the portcullis, murmuring to himself as he does, then sticks his face up to the bars, squinting between them to look on the far side of the barrier. "There's a lever just inside. Perhaps ... a rope? We could tie a loop, or maybe a hook would be. ... Just throw it on and pull ..."

"Chaplin, it's your rope," Renraw says, snapping his fingers. "Hop to, man."

"Grappling hook might be noisy if I miss," Ragglus offers, taking out his rope. "Hook or loop?"

"Loop," Katadid says authoritatively. "And a step or two back."

Ragglus makes a loop with the rope, and attempts to catch the lever.

Leaning against the rusty bars, Ragglus tosses the rope and misses.

Again and again and again.

The water dripping in the spider's cave seems to grow louder and louder as the Gentlemen Delvers wait.

Finally, on the thirteenth try, the rope catches the lever and Ragglus pulls it taut before it can slip down off the end. Carefully pulling upwards, he tugs at the lever. At first, it doesn't want to move, and then it flips upward with a loud noise and hidden mechanisms clank and spin as the portcullis slides up into the tunnel roof with a thud.

The tunnel is now open to the group.

The cavern vibrates from the boom of the gate.

"Well, that wasn't quiet..." Kat muses.

Kat briefly examines the mechanism that raised the portcullis, then follows the group as they continue ahead. He touches the lever once as they pass by.

"Fourteen," he mutters.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The corridor straightens out past the portcullis and remains that way as far as the group can see via torchlight.

The Gentlemen Delvers continue down the tunnel.

Ragglus feels a slight resistance against his foot, and the same moment that the word "tripwire" comes to mind, he hears the sound of a bowstring twanging. Fortunately, it's enough time for him to get his shield up, and the arrow thunks into it, the tip staining the wood with some sort of poison.

He growls something practically inaudible, something about sneaky bastards and how he'll be forcing their heads up their own asses.

"Gods save me, what's happening?" Renraw squawks as the arrow shoots past. "Defend me, Chaplin!"

Seeing the arrow was the only immediate danger, Renraw clears his throat and straightens out from where he'd crouched behind Ragglus.

"I thought I saw skeletons for a moment. Must've been some sort of illusion. Let's hurry up and finish this, shall we?"

Katadid pulls the arrow out of Ragglus' shield and sniffs the tip, trying to identify the toxin.

"Slow and cautious, yes?" Katadid murmurs distractedly. "There may be more."

The Gentlemen Delvers continue down the tunnel.

Once again, Ragglus finds a trap by setting it off. This time, it's a double-sided axe pendulum that swings down from the ceiling, but he leaps past it just in time. The axe swings past and back, and then a mechanical winching noise can be clearly heard, ratcheting it up into a concealed stone slot in the ceiling, ready to slice down again.

Kat bends down and peers at the near invisible tripwire running across the bottom of the cavern. He peers up to the hidden gap where the axe swung.

"Well," he says calmly, "I think the most effective method is to perhaps get the axe stuck so that it can not raise anymore. We could use the grappling hook to trip the wire from a distance. Ragglus can throw the spider's body onto the axe as it come down, perhaps during the backswing. The thorax and legs should be enough resistance for the axe to keep from resetting."

"Why don't we just cut the wire?" Renraw asks. "Have Chaplin lower his sword on it from a distance and then back out of the way. Even if the hidden mechanics raise the axe again, the trap's trigger is no more."

"But that still places him well within the path of the axe. A hook to trigger the wire from a distance would be safer," Kat's lips purse. "Although, granted, he still has to throw an arachnid onto a moving target ..."

"Stand back," Renraw says, squinting at the trapped passageway. He lays down flat on the ground, on his belly, and positions himself several feet away from the tripwire. "Just seeing what will happen ..."

He takes the unlit end of his staff and rests it on the tripwire. The axe swings down and back and down and back and down and back as long as the staff remains on the tripwire.

"OK, so much for that," Renraw says, standing back up. "Back to Plan: Wirecutting."

Ragglus presses against the wall, turning his head around to make sure no one is in his way for his eventual retreat. Satisfied, he extends his sword, keeping an eye on where the axe will start to swing. He brings the blade down to sever the tripwire and quickly steps back.

The axe swings down and back and back up into the wall. And doesn't come back down again.

"Ah," Kat says. "Well, that works, too. ... I still wanted to see the spider bisected ... "

The Gentlemen Delvers continue down the tunnel.

As the spring-loaded trapdoor hinge begins to squeak warningly, Ragglus almost stumbles back in time, but finds his feet hanging over empty air. His elbows slam down on the pit's edge, and then he's tumbling down, landing hard in the dark and damp as the trapdoor snaps shut above him, leaving him in darkness.

"Oh, crap," Renraw says.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Renraw taps the end of his staff hard on the trap door Ragglus just fell into, testing to see if it will open again, even for a moment.

"Chaplin! Chaplin, do you hear us up here?"

With sufficient pressure, the concealed trap door groans open, letting in light and slightly fresher air.

"Are you hurt, old boy?" Renraw calls down. "Answer! Throw up your grappling hook if you can! If we're attacked, we'll need you up here to swing wildly at things!"

"Ooh!" Katadid drops to his knees and attempts to peek down into the pit until Tock grabs him and hauls him back out of the way. "What's down there anyway?"

"Give your hook, Rags," Tock says. "The ass who built this crap better not be dead yet. I say Rags gets his neck."

Down in the pit, Ragglus bites back an angered, frustrated scream. He remembers the calming exercises Bufer taught him, and begins counting silently. By the time he reaches six, his breathing has slowed, and has reduced his full-on maddening rage to a mere maddening rage.

He gives a single wave to the faces peering down on him, letting them know he's OK. Hurt, but OK. He takes out the healing potion, thankful that it is undamaged and takes another swig. It suddenly hits him: _I might have been dead if not for this_.

Since he's down there, he makes a quick search of the pit, hoping some unfortunate rich person fell down it at some point, but finds nothing but wet earth and a few curious earthworms.

Ragglus takes out his rope and grappling hook.

"Here she comes!" he calls up.

Katadid barely manages to get out of the way of the hook before Tock manages to catch it deftly in the air. He looks at Kat, who holds his chest painfully, and Renraw, who has also suddenly come down with a bad chest cough.

"Great," Tock sighs. He lays back and jams his feet against the side of the passageway, clutching the hook with both hands.

With a bit of grunting and swearing, both from above and below, Ragglus climbs back up to the main passageway of the tunnel.

"Thanks," he mumbles, motioning for the others to stand aside, backing up to prepare for a run and leap over the trap door. He easily clears the pit, landing on the far side, although it occurs to him that he's now on the alone with whatever waits in the dark tunnel beyond.

"Any of y'all think you can't make it?" Ragglus whispers, just loudly enough to be heard, equipping his sword and shield once again, and keeping one eye on the tunnel beyond. "Ain't too hard."

Katadid leaps, but coughs just as his feet leave the ground, and the others look on in horror as it's clear he won't make the distance, the hacking cough pulling the air from his lungs just when he needed it most.

His chest slams into the wall of the pit, his chin cracking down hard on the stone floor. His hands and one foot clamber frantically at the edge and, as Ragglus races to pull him up, Kat grips the pit edge with all four limbs, determined not to fall.

Ragglus pulls him up by the scruff of his neck and sets him down well away from the edge of the pit. Other than a coating of wet rock and grit and a bloody gash on his chin, Katadid has made it across, safe and sound.

"Oh, honestly." Tock steps back and, with a wink at Renraw, lightly leaps across the chasm, landing exactly on the far edge. He wobbles a second, his expression betraying that this wasn't exactly how he had it planned, but then Rags reaches out, steadying the bard, who steps across. "See? Easy."

Renraw grumpily walks to the edge of the pit, taps the trap door with his staff three times, and purses his lips in an unhappy grimace. With a dramatic sigh, he walks away far enough for a running start.

Just as he's finished preparing himself for the sprint, he stops, relaxed again. He makes sure all the annoyed faces are looking back at him.

"I just want to make one thing very clear before I do this: The rest of you WILL hoist me out of this pit."

Then he runs all out for the jump, knees popping.

Renraw flies through the air, clothes flapping in the breeze, and crashes into Ragglus, Katadid and Tock on the far side. In the end, he made the most impressive jump of them all.

"Perhaps I should learn to embrace my new identity," Renraw crows as the party begins moving again. "Perhaps this moustache and this new name are all a part of a new beginning for me. I'm a spider-slayer and a natural jumper. I find myself positively brimming with confidence now, my fellow Delvers.'"

"Brim a little quieter, Kem." Ragglus admonishes.

Renraw smiles, but does as he's told and lowers his voice.

"It's Cmelak now, Chaplin. Rodger Cmelak."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

After about 20 feet, the tunnel splits in two, going north and south.

Katadid considers both routes. After a moment, he points to the north passage and shrugs looking at the others with a questioning gaze. Renraw smiles and nods sagely, pointing his staff north. Ragglus shrugs, and heads that way, with the rest of the party following.

The corridor widens and splits again. Kat taps Renraw on the shoulder and points toward the northeast. Renraw condescendingly shakes his head "no" and marches northwest. Kat shrugs and follows him. Ragglus mutters under his breath as he takes his rightful spot in the lead.

The tunnel curves slightly to the west before opening on a cave.

The natural chamber is perhaps 35 feet long but only about 20 feet wide. A pair of stalagmites has fused with stalactites to create natural columns. The south wall is a milky white flowstone formation that resembles a stone waterfall. At its base is a clear pool of water trickling into a small stream that flows to the north. The north wall glints from numerous minerals infused in the stone.

The entire effect by the light of the magical fire burning atop Renraw's staff is beautiful and a little unearthly for the Maidensbridge residents, who have never spent time in caves before this year.

"Oh my," Kat says, his eyes gleaming. He walks forward a bit and takes in the scene. Hands trailing across the columns, he walks toward the pond and stares into its crystal surface. "This ... this was a good choice."

Kat proceeds to run one hand across the stone while using the other to dip his hand into the water and bring it to his mouth. Afterwards, his eyes scan the cavern peering into every cranny.

"Never let it be said that 'Glinty' Rod Cmelak didn't take you places, Gentlemen," Renraw beams, admiring the north wall and inspecting it for anything possibly precious, although he is careful not to stray too far from Ragglus.

Satisfied and seemingly rejuvenated after taking in the scenery, Katadid stands up and walks over to the stream by Renraw. Kat uses the end of his staff to trail across the bottom to watch the patterns in the water reflect across it. Dipping down, he cups water in one hand and winces as he washes the blood off his chin. Afterward, he fishes for a rock that he could take as a souvenir.

"A tributary of the Moss?" he asks, elbow-deep in icy water.

"Undoubtedly, Leach, undoubtedly," Renraw says confidently, even though he clearly has no idea. 

Taking one last survey of the sparkling north wall on the way out, Renraw marches with the group back out and into the northeast passage.

Peering down into the water, Katadid realizes what he first thought was a dark rock formation at the bottom of the pond is actually a leather sack. Before following Renraw or the others, he plunges into the icy water, returning, dripping and shivering with his prize in a matter of seconds.

Opening the sack, he reveals a handful of silver sling stones. Hi eyes gleam for a moment looking at what he has found. And then concern crosses his face.

"Wait, this makes no sense ... bags of ammunition don't just float down into ponds with the current against them. Someone hid this here for a reason. But why here?"

Shivering, he almost tips forward as Tock testily nudges him to get moving. Kat gets up and follows Renraw to the northeast.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The corridor ends at a very large chamber about 40 feet wide and up to 50 feet long. The cavern is dimly lit from flickering embers in a fire pit situated in the room's center. Five large stalagmites are scattered around the room, two flanking the entrance, another along the east wall, and a final pair in the northeast corner.

Along the east wall is a large wooden chest with a massive padlock as well as several wooden pegs hammered to the wall, with small items hanging from them. Along the northwest wall is a pile of furs. To the north are several exits, but they appear to be two feet in diameter, rough-hewn corridors too small for humans to traverse.

Katadid glances at the glowing embers and immediately tenses up, realizing someone was here not too long ago. He begins scanning the area for any movement behind the rock formations and quietly loads his sling.

"Nobody touch anything until we check everything for traps," Tock says quietly.

"It's not the traps I'm worried about," Kat whispers back.

"Pay dirt," Renraw says, eyes fixed on the chest and gleaming like he'd just been reunited with his lover. He slowly creeps closer, trying to stay as hidden and silent as he can, tiptoeing and keeping a close eye out for any movement, sounds, tripwires or other traps.

Katadid frantically grabs at Renraw and attempts to haul him behind a nearby stalagmite. Renraw turns and follows Kat, annoyed.

"What is it, Leach? We've a limited time before this thief realizes we're here as it is. For all we know, he's already flown the coop. We need to search this room and find him before he escapes, preferably without setting off any more traps. Now, I suggest we all begin searching right away.

"I'll head in this direction," he whispers, motioning to the chest. "The rest of you fan out and stay sharp. I may require your aid following my audacious penetration of the heart of danger."

"SPIDER," Katadid hisses back, then puts a finger to his lips and points toward the glimmering fire. He points at Ragglus and then the center of the room.

Ragglus shrugs.

"If he wants to go first, let him."

Kat boggles. Shaking his head and holding his hands to his temples, he steps out of Renraw's way.

"Do you want to die?" he asks Renraw quietly.

"All right, all right," Renraw whispers. "Look, we'll go around the long way over to that stalagmite over there. Rags, you first. Hug the wall, now."

Renraw tugs the leather hood over the top of his staff to help prevent detection.

Sighing, Ragglus finally moves forward, taking the lead and keeping close the wall as the Delvers circle east toward the area with the chest.

"I see you bastards!" a thick dwarven accent roars, and an arrow shoots out of the darkness, thunking Ragglus in the chest.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Get to cover!" Renraw, with head ducked, runs to the eastern stalagmite and puts himself between it and the wall. "Come on, Chaplin, suck it up!"

"Giving up, then?" the dwarf calls. "Good! Get your asses on home before I cut you all some new holes!"

"Rest assured, we mean you no harm," Tock responds. "We are vampire hunters by trade, and we chased one into this cave. Have you seen it? Very dangerous."

There's a pause at the far end of the room.

"You're _what?_"

"Vampire hunters. You haven't heard about the bloodsucker plague in this area? Dozens slaughtered. We lost half our party just chasing him here. Wait ... you're not one of them, are you?"

"Naw, I'm not a _vampire_ ..."

From where the Gentlemen Delvers are hiding, they can hear a quiet woodwind instrument begin to be played.

"Just the same, let me check for traces of vampirism."

Huddling between the stalagmite and Ragglus, whose rage was palpable even in the dark, Katadid feels the wall with one hand and turns north toward the stalagmite.

"Logically, he has to be behind the stalagmites," he whispers. "Ragglus, charge as I cast the spell. If he isn't there, we'll see him soon enough. I get the feeling we need to stop this music shortly ..."

Renraw thinks the dwarf is playing the musical instrument, but before he can be sure of it, everything seems to happen at once. Tock begins to sing, Katadid says a word, there's a flash of light, and then Ragglus is roaring forward, squinting into its glare.

Spots are still dancing before Renraw's eyes when the new noises come: There's a snarling sound, like that of a large animal.

"Son of a --" He hears Ragglus yell, and there's another voice, too large and bassy to be the dwarf, but it's saying something extremely nasty about Ragglus' mother in Dwarvish.

The music is a faint memory at this point.

"You're DEAD!" Ragglus rages, clearly attacking something out of view from the rest of the party with his sword.

Hearing the screams and battle, Kat pulls out a piece of wool. Tearing it once quickly, he starts an incantation.

Renraw pulls the hood off his staff, and magical flames illuminate the room once more. Ragglus is fighting with what appears to be a badger the size and proportions of a dwarf, standing on its hind legs, attacking him with massive claws and fangs.

The werebadger shakes his head, confused by Katadid's enchantment for a moment. A second later, magical dart of energy leaps from Renraw's fingertip, striking the creature in the side.

Ragglus presses the attack, but it's no good: The creature's hide is too thick for such a glancing blow to penetrate.

Watching Ragglus' sword seemingly bounce off the monster, Katadid blanches as he loads his sling with the silver bullets he found. As Tock's inspiring lyrics echo through the cavern, Kat purses his lips and begins whirling his sling over his head.

"_Use the silver, hit him hard
Give them to me, you useless 'tard!
Dargus Carter will throw with might
He's not contagious, so Chap can fight!_"

It takes a moment, but Katadid realizes what Tock is saying. With his other hand he reaches into the wet pouch of silver bullets and tosses them behind him to Tock.

As the pouch of silver sling bullets sails into Tock's hand, Renraw fires an icy ray from his fingers, hitting the badger creature, which shrugs off the blow.

A moment later, a rounded disc of silver cracks the badger creature in the temple, and he howls with rage.

Ragglus presses the attack, his finely made long sword stabbing the creature in the gut, but it takes more force than he expected, and the blow consequently isn't as damaging as it should be.

The creature snarls and attacks Ragglus angrily. A slash from his claws knocks Rags off balance, and the creature seizes the opportunity, biting down hard, causing the fighter's blood to spurt vividly.

Renraw, marching in a straight line towards the melee, flanks the creature and tries to thwack it on the head with his staff.

Kat hears Rags cry and sees the blood run down his arm in thick rivulets. He grabs a small piece of butcher's paper containing a small dab of butter inside and tries not to grip it TOO tightly.

Tock continues to sing as he lets loose another bullet.

"_Die, you freak, die you ,
Burn in some infernal pit,
We will take all your gains.
Die soon and please end our pains._"

As the badger creature and Ragglus fight, Katadid and Renraw begin to move, edging around behind the creature, albeit along different paths.

As Tock tries to think of a word that rhymes with "concussion," he lets another silver sling bullet fly, again striking the beast.

Renraw, now almost on the opposite side of the creature from Ragglus, swings his quarterstaff over his head and tries to bring it down on the wide skull of their opponent, but he succeeds in only striking the floor.

"DIE, DAMN YOU!"

Ragglus shoves the sword home again, again meeting the uncanny resistance to the sharp blade, even as it penetrates flesh, releasing blood and gore as he withdraws the blade.

The creature breaks off, its eyes staring in fear. It turns towards the tiny corridors and as it breaks and runs, its form shrinks, its clothes dropping away, until an ordinary-seeming badger crawls from the open neck of the suit of studded leather armor and disappears into one of the small caves.

"Got it!" Katadid stands up with an air of triumph, the creature's fallen panpipe in his hand, before looking around and realizing what has happened.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Tough critter," Ragglus pants, the adrenaline leaving him in a rush. He drops down to one knee, finally using the opportunity to rest and look over the various hits he'd taken, most notably the broken shaft of the arrow still sticking out of his chest.

Kat blows on the panpipe experimentally. A few off-key notes later, he walks past the stalagmites and hands the instrument to Tock.

"Are you OK?" he asks his cousin. Before Tock can answer, Kat's eyes go wide. "NO!"

Renraw looks up, annoyed, poised over the chest. Kat races over, pulling Renraw away from the chest begins muttering divination spells and tracing symbols in the air.

The heavy lock on the chest appears complex, but Katadid's spell reveals no well of poison.

Given the chance to look around, it's clear the dwarf led a filthy existence down here, sleeping on stinking and almost certainly flea-ridden furs. Tiny harnesses for small animals hang from the pegs on the east wall. In the fire pit is a cast iron pot with a stew that's more muck than meat or vegetables, although a few mealy potatoes bob forlornly in the orange-red gunk.

The studded leather armor and equipment the dwarf left behind -- other than smelling like unwashed dwarf -- are nice. His short bow is clearly masterwork and he has 29 arrows left in the leather quiver. A masterwork short sword hangs from the belt scabbard and a small liquid flask is tethered to the belt as well.

Tock looks over the panpipes. Although he's no expert on the instrument, these are clearly expensive and sturdily built. Closing his eyes, he tries to recapture the tune the dwarf was playing, and after a moment, he has it: "Mice of Tarsis." He gives an experimental puff on the panpipes, but nothing happens. It'll be a while before he can master the panpipes at all, much less play that nimble tune.

Katadid gets up and leaves the lock to those stronger than him. Instead he walks over to the wall, eyes the harnesses curiously.

Tock walks over to Rags and puts his hand on the big man's shoulder.

"You OK? You saved our necks back there. Again."

With an exasperated grunt, Ragglus pulls out the remaining portion of the arrow still buried in his chest, letting it fall to the stone floor drenched in blood. Breathing heavily, he reaches for the healing potion, removes the seal, and drinks the remainder.

"Yes, Ragglus, great job! You're so mighty. Everyone loves Ragglus," Renraw mutters quietly to himself while examining the lock. "No one seemed to notice how I risked my own skin back there."

"We need rest," Tock says, ignoring Renraw. "You boys need to get new spells. Rags needs to heal up. The question is, do we camp out here or do we go back to the surface and risk that freak setting up shop here again or even moving his stuff? Well, obvious, right? Still, it'd be nice to somehow get word to the surface of what's going on. Maybe get some help with this chest."

Katadid shakes the leather flask from the dwarf's belt. He opens it and smells it. It's not water, it's not alcohol, but beyond that, he's stumped.

"Hmm." Kat walks over to Renraw and hands him the flask. "Ideas?"

While Renraw investigates the liquid himself, Kat inspects the harnesses. His eyes narrow as he removes one tries to envision what creature it could possibly wear them. After a moment, he shrugs and turns back toward the group.

"Did you see the initial transformation, Ragglus?" Kat asks. "I wonder if the half-form was a necessary state between the two.

"In addition," he says as he kneels down and picks up a bloody silver bullet, deformed by the force with which it hit the lycanthrope's skull. "Why would a creature who is obviously, well, _sensitive_ to silver have a bag of silver ammunition in their home?"

Shaking his head and shrugging, Ragglus gets up and looms over the chest, considering it.

It takes several tries, but the lock on the chest finally shatters under Ragglus' attacks. It takes fast reflexes to keep Tock, Katadid and Renraw from diving in as he opens it.

There are a number of items inside that the group paws over and snatches from one another during their investigation:

There is what appears to be a map of the small tunnels at the north end of the cave. A central path leads to a cave marked with a smiling face. Beyond that is a cave marked with water. A northwest path beyond that leads to a cave with a picture of an ear on it. A northeast path leads from there to a cave with what looks like a crude drawing of a ravine (or, as Tock points out, "it could also be a bad drawing of lady parts"). The only tunnel leading from there goes to a cave marked with a skinny black triangle and then, beyond that cave, a cave marked with a rectangle flanked by what look like a pair of forks. A final blank cave exists east of that one.

An ivory scroll tube with an elaborate sliding lock system is handed back and forth between the Gentlemen Delvers. It will take real work to sort out the puzzle, which a defeated Renraw finally admits after 10 minutes of work and proclamations that he's almost got it.

There is a small wooden rack of six labeled potions, which are said to be potions of some spell called "improved reduce person."

And finally, there's a sack of presumably stolen treasure, including 27 platinum pieces, 212 gold pieces, 6 gems of various worth, a gold necklace and a jade statuette of a tiger from the Distant South.

There is no immediately obvious way of determining which items were stolen from Blackberry Ridge, and which are just the dwarf's own belongings.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Kat holds one of the potions in his hands for a moment, then looks to the holes into which the creature escaped.

"T-this is disturbing," he says.

An odd smirk crosses Ragglus' face, and he turns away from his companions. After half a minute, and a small shake, he turns back around, holding the once empty healing potion container now resealed and filled with his own urine.

"A little present for the runt," he grins, putting it down near the chest.

"I imagine most of this belongs to the townsfolk," Kat says. "Each of these could be easily carried by a small animal of some sort. Training that many, however ... His first instinct was to play the instrument. Tock, could you figure anything out about it?"

"Just a second," Renraw insists, snatching the panpipes from Katadid's outstretched hand. Renraw takes all the items recovered, mutters a spell and stares until his eyes burn.

"Dear gods, that's enough," he says finally, rubbing his eyes. He stands and begins pacing, as though delivering a lecture. "OK, young Leach, it is more or less as we'd surmised. The panpipes are used to summon small creatures, probably to help with the hauling. The potions emit faint auras of transmutation magic, which would be expected, given their labels. We can assume he hasn't pulled a switcheroo as old Chaplin here has.

"The potion the dwarf had on him is transmutation magic as well, but it's got a different aura than the others, leading me to believe it had something to do with his transformation into the badger creature.

"Also, perhaps interesting, the bow is imbued with some sort of transformative aspect. Chaplin, I don't suppose you feel at all transmuted, after having been shot with it?"

Ragglus gives himself the once over, even turning around in place to see if he's grown a tail.

"Er, no?"

"But why have the reducing potions in the first place when you can turn into a badger that can easily fit into those tunnels?" Katadid interjects. "We see the map is obviously in relation to that, so a great deal more exists. Something doesn't quite fit here: We have potions that he doesn't need, and silver bullets that are tailor made to injure him. Why would he possess these things?"

Stumped, the group prepares to return the recovered treasures to the surface. 

As Katadid, Tock and Ragglus load up the coins, gems, necklace and statuette into the bucket in the well -- which follows a careful rediscovery of the trapdoor and circumventing it, one by one -- Renraw casts a divination spell so as to catch all the small tunnels at the north of the dwarf's lair in its radius.

A Blackberry deputy hauls the loot up and yells for lumber to be brought. In the interim, Renraw, satisfied with his contribution to the group, decamps himself to the cave with the fresh water supply with a triumphant flourish.

There's a bit of excitement as some enormous fish or eel at the bottom of the well takes a test bite of the lumber that splashes down into it, but it gives up after realizing it's wood, not flesh, that has entered its domain. Carefully, Ragglus fishes out the lumber and the group forms a bridge over the pit.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Now finally able to fully explore the previously visited portions of the cavern, Katadid squeaks with inarticulate emotion when he discovers, just before the portcullis, a carefully concealed hole about an inch and a half in diameter. Nothing is visible through the hole, but putting his ear to it, he can hear the slight echoing of a chamber beyond.

"Light needed!" Katadid chirps, trying to shove his eye into the small hole. "Quickly!"

His emotions build to a near-frenzy as the others depart to find Renraw. Katadid runs his fingers along the walls and murmurs to himself. He blinks in surprise when he discovers, on the far side of the portcullis, still on the north side of the passageway, evidence of a secret door.

Kat can barely contain himself as he reaches toward the hidden mechanism to open the door when he realizes something: Tock explicitly told him not to explore anything outside of what they had already explored.

But Kat simply HAS TO OPEN THE DOOR.

But Tock said NOT TO EXPLORE.

But Kat HAS TO OPEN THE DOOR.

But Tock ...

Kat leans up against the passage wall and moans to himself softly, banging his head back against the stone and counting even prime numbers.

Meanwhile, Tock and Ragglus find Renraw with his back turned, arms and hands moving at a furious pace at something at his midsection. Ragglus thinks he can feel what little bratwurst he ate this morning preparing for a return trip.

"Ah, Rod?" Tock carefully interjects. "Ah, oh. Sorry, fella, but you're needed up front. Katadid's found something, and we could use some ... er ... light. If you want to be left alone, perhaps we could just take your staff?"

"What?" Renraw blurts, looking over his shoulder in surprise and frustration. He slowly realizes what the others are thinking. "Oh, oh, dear. Well, this is embarrassing. Just, ah, just give me a moment to tidy up here ... Do you think you could turn your backs for just a moment? Terribly sorry."

Tock and Rags gladly turn around for a moment. It isn't long before Renraw quickly walks past, magic light in hand.

"Let us never speak of this again."

The trio rejoins Katadid just as he is about to lay his hand on the door.

"Bird, no!" Tock yells.

"What's this about a hole, then?" Renraw asks, attempting to take command. "Should we try the hole or open this queer door? I think maybe we should all rest and tackle it after that. Should we put it to a vote? Both Rodger and Renraw vote 'rest.'"

"Well," Katadid says, simultaneously relieved the others are back, but worried Renraw's desire to wait will carry the day. "W-we can LOOK through it a-at least."

In the end, the Gentlemen Delvers outvote Kat and decide to bed down for the evening to rest and regain spells. They retire to the cavern where they faced the dwarf. Some of them hold an internal debate with themselves as to whether or not to risk the flea-infested furs in order to have a comfortable rest.

Surprisingly, Renraw volunteers to take the first watch. He assures the others that his spell is still in effect for the escape tunnels to the north, and if the alarm sounds, he will come running. Meanwhile, he will take his magic staff and plant himself at the nearest unexplored fork in the cavern.

The group spends a quiet few hours in the caverns. The guard on duty sometimes thinks he can hear a badger snuffling in one of the corridors leading off the dwarf's den, but the alarm spell never triggers and the sleepers are never disturbed.

The group awakes several hours later, with Renraw and Katadid both irritable and uninterested in discussing why.

Kat slams his spellbook shut after having prepared his final spell. He stands up and starts walking back toward the secret door and its attendant hole, twitching the entire way.

Renraw, irritated that Kat finished preparation before him, gathers his things and follows.

"Come on, you two," he says to Tock and Rags. "He's going to have a seizure if we don't hurry up and explore this place."

"Had me a dream a badger tried to skewer me yesterday," Ragglus yawns, equipping his sword and shield. "Hope today goes better."

The quartet makes their way to the concealed hole before the raised portcullis.

Sniffing at the hole, Katadid detects the smell of decay and rot. Kneeling, he finds some pale cave moss and wraps it wetly around a sling stone. Katadid murmurs a magical word and the stone begins to glow with light. He pokes it into the hole, using a dagger to get it all the way through the wall. It drops on the far side with an audible thunk.

Peering through the hole, he sees some short figures in rusty armor begin to shuffle toward the secret door, and the whole party hears a low groaning.

"Uh, run," he says.

"Grease the spot in front of the door, Leach!" Renraw bellows. "Do it!"

Tock races past the secret door just as it begins to creak open, back across the pit, and beckons the others to follow.

"Never mind, Kat!" Renraw yells, following on Tock's heels. "The pit! Grease the pit! We'll slide them right into it!"

"And hope to hell they don't have bows," Tock snaps.

"In that event, we'll just keep the lid shut!" Renraw says brightly, colliding with Tock on the far side.

The group pulls the boards bridging the pit across with them just as the first figure emerges from the secret door.

It's a dwarf or, rather, it was a dwarf. A blunt object has caved in his head from behind and the moist caves have caused his skin to bloat and begin to slough off his bones. Sightless milky eyes stare straight ahead as the figure shambles forward after the Gentlemen Delvers. Beyond them, by the flickering light of Renraw's staff, more dead dwarves begin to come into view.

"Little folk," Tock says. "Destroy them all."

Four undead dwarves shamble into the light towards the pit, spears held low from listless arms. Their chain mail and metal caps all bear the marks of the fatal blows that murdered them.

Renraw leans in and whispers to Ragglus, making sure the zombies can't hear.

"If they fall into the pit, perhaps one of us could go and get Tock's old bow from the other room. If they're in the pit, we can try to hinder them climbing out by sinking arrows into them."

An arrow thunks into the first dead dwarf's chest, who groans in vague protest, but still keeps coming.

Katadid's sling stone goes wide, ricocheting off into the darkness.

When the dwarves reach the pit, they fall in, one after another, groaning in confusion, vaguely poking upwards at the Gentlemen Delvers above (who keep the trap door open with a spare foot or two) with their spears, but taking no other actions.

"This is awesome!" Tock lets another arrow fly as he begins to sing a song of dwarf-killing.


Kat blanches a bit as the dead dwarves moan uselessly and he backs up a step.

"The d-dead shouldn't move. It's just not ..." Kat looks nervously around and is a little surprised that the others aren't nearly as shocked as he is. He takes another bullet and lets it fly at the dwarf with the arrow sticking out of it.

Renraw runs to get Tock's old bow and arrows and returns as quickly as he can to join in the fun.

And so the Gentlemen Delvers, unable to find flies to pluck the wings from, settle in for a rousing game of "shoot the zombie," betting on who can hit one in the eye or through the mouth or in the crotch.

Eventually, though, the zombies are no longer amusing, and instead are just smelly immobile corpses.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Katadid tosses a copper to Ragglus for the amazing neck shot.

"Let's see: three for Tock, one for Renraw, four for Ragglus. No, three now ..."

"Oh! That one went up his NOSE!" Renraw cheers. "My brother did that to a raccoon once! ... What?"

Ragglus puts the boards back over the pit and Katadid and Tock descend into the pit to examine the bodies of the zombies. One of the spears appears to be magical, but whoever murdered them has stripped them of everything but their unexceptional weapons and (somewhat funky) chain mail.

"Oooh!" Kat passes his hand through the glow that only he can see, under the effects of his cantrip. He takes a few experimental stabs with it, but his arm rapidly tires. Reluctantly, he hands it to Ragglus.

Renraw likewise hands Ragglus the bow and arrows he's finished with, not bothering to check whether or not Ragglus can hold it all.

"Leach! Wait up! I'm coming, too!"

Crossing the rickety bridge of planks, Katadid and Renraw attempt to elbow each other aside to get into the secret room first.

It's an irregular chamber about 15 feet by 20 feet. The room reeks of rotten dwarf flesh. It appears to be a hybrid bedchamber -- there are unused bedrolls and a long-unused fire pit (now growing a bit of cave moss) -- and storeroom -- iron bars, rotting planks, ropes and stonemasonry tools line the east wall.

Renraw goes to look at the hole in the wall, more clearly visible from this side of the secret door. Peeking through, it occurs to him that he could stab someone with a spear if they were attempting to lift the portcullis manually or bend the bars.

Meanwhile, Katadid has found a small scrap of paper, clearly part of a larger document torn to pieces. The writing on it is fragmentary, but appears to be in code. He stares at the paper for a long moment before looking back up again. His eyes burn with their familiar manic intensity.

"More paper ..."

Kat begins tearing the room apart searching for any more fragments. At the same time, he begins moving the letters around in his head to determine their significance.

"Huh," Renraw grunts, "Reminds me of the basement of Kem House. What is that paper, Katadid?"

Kat shoves the parchment into Renraw's hands.

"Help me find more ..."

Ragglus and Tock find the two wizards tearing apart the room and screaming with glee whenever they find another damp scrap of paper.

"Careful! Careful!" Kat screams as he sees Renraw almost tear a particularly moist sheet. He doesn't even notice his cousin or Ragglus enter, let alone the two of them exchanging glances.

Finally, with all the pieces firmly in hand, Katadid reassembles them on a mostly dry plank and begins making notes on a piece of parchment.

"It's a substitution code. Simple, really ..."

The translated message slowly takes shape on his parchment:

"_Work Agreement

This contract is between the Azzak brothers (contractor) and Card Firmer Then (hirer).

In return for the sum of 450 gold thrones, the contractor agrees to provide the following:

1) Construction of an iron portcullis with a concealed lever;
2) A 10 foot deep covered pit;
3) A pair of simple traps.

These services are to be performed at an undisclosed location and shall be completed within 30 days of the start date. The contractors will keep this agreement secret and not disclose the location to any other persons.

Payment terms: Twenty-five percent advance with the remainder due upon completion of services. Contractor provides all raw materials needed._"

He leans back, satisfied.

"Well, that explains the presence of the cavern and traps adjacent to a simple well." He looks up towards Ragglus. "The creature was a dwarf before he changed, correct? It's likely he was the hirer.

"This is a great deal of planning for just simple robberies. I wonder if he has anything else planned ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Kat folds his translated copy and shoves it into the small sack hanging from his belt. He looks sadly at a bit of desiccated herb that falls out before turning and scooping up the paper scraps and keeping them as well.

The party, still in high spirits from their cathartic slaughter and recent discovery, cross the pit (stopping to open it and giggle some more as they remember some of the more amusing shots).

It isn't long before they come to the fork. Ragglus starts to turn north to head back to the werebadger's cavern, but Kat looks south, his lips pursed.

"Bird, what?" Tock asks. "What are you thinking?"

"We haven't ..." Kat points toward the unexplored southern tunnel. "It could be more evidence, maybe? B-but ..."

Renraw rolls his eyes and shoves past Katadid and Tock into the southern passage.

"Come with me if you want light," he says.

The musty southern chamber smells like an animal pen. The walls glisten with moisture in the light of Renraw's staff and the floor looks smooth in this roughly 20-foot diameter cavern. A pair of stalagmites almost reach the ceiling.

There are no other obvious entrances or exits. Shining Renraw's light around, though, the group does see a mass of matted straw and plants in the far left corner of the room, almost hidden by a stalagmite and the curvature of the natural cave wall.

Renraw slowly creeps his way over to the plants behind the stalagmite, careful to watch and listen for any movement. He suddenly stops, stands straight up, and walks back to the group. He tugs at Kat's waist, flustering the younger wizard, and grabs for his sling pellets. He thrusts his hand into the bag and pulls one out.

"Gentlemen, ready your bows. Leach, your _sleep_ spell," he says. "If it looks like it may go wrong, head back for the pit and we'll try the last trick again."

Renraw then hurls a pellet toward the nest. It misses, and he tosses another, ignoring Katadid's whimper.

A four-foot long badger comes tearing out of the nest, snarling and racing towards the group.

It takes all of Kat's marginal will to keep from running. Instead, he takes another handful of sand, and prays that this giant beast is more susceptible than the last. The sand dissolves before reaching the oversized badger, who flops to a halt and begins snoring wheezily.

Kat breathes a sigh of relief, tiptoes around the creature and begins searching the lair. He discovers a wealth of dire badger feces, dried dire badger urine and a nest that looks like a mix of straw, grass and filthy scraps of burlap.

"Rags, put it out of its misery," Tock says, quietly joining the search.

"But, wait, it didn't attack until ..." Katadid begins, clearly unhappy with Tock's command.

"And then it DID attack, and it will again when it wakes," Tock says, raising his voice a little. "And I'm not willing to believe a dire badger and a werebadger have nothing to do with each other. I'd rather we kill it now and send it to dire badger paradise than see it tear up Rags as Renraw runs away."

"Runs away? RUNS AWAY?" Renraw screeches in outrage. "Did you happen to see me in action against the were-creature? I marched right into the face of death with no more than my trusty staff in hand! Ragglus and the rest of you would be dead if it weren't for me. Don't forget how I saved your bacon with the spider earlier, as well! And the hideous dwarf things that were also zombies? Whose brilliant plan was it to use the pit against them? The selective memory on display here is appalling. Next time perhaps I WILL run away, and then we'll see where you all wind up. Dead and justifiably in Hell, most likely.

"Rodger Cmelak doesn't run away from danger. Rodger Cmelak's bravery and know-how in the face of overwhelming odds puts the rest of you to shame. If I ever, EVER, hear another word like that, our partnership is through! Through, you hear me? Running away! Are you insane? Did you take leave of your senses? TOCK CHANDLER, HELLO? Are you still inside there somewhere? Lothian wept!

"I can't imagine where you would get such a notion, running away. Do you want to fight right here and now, in front of this sleeping badger? Because I'll fight you. I'm not afraid, and I think we should. It's the only way to settle this, man to man. Run away! We'll see who runs away!"

Renraw pumps his fists.

"Don't scoff at me, Chandler! Are you afraid? Why aren't you fighting? It's because you're a scared little girl inside of your trousers. You have lady parts, don't you? Let's have it out! I'm tired of this disrespect! Man to man! Put up your dukes, bard!

"Have at thee! Let's see what you're made of! Cowardly stuff, I bet! You don't seem to be answering. Perhaps it's because you know that anything you might come up with would be wrong, just like you always are! Wrong, and stupid! Hey, great idea 'rescuing' us when we didn't do anything wrong! Wonderful, putting us on the run and making us look even guiltier!"

Tock walks to the badger, shoots an arrow in its skull, and then walks back to Renraw.

"Cool it, Rod. I didn't mean anything by it. You think I'd make you my combat advisor if I thought you were chicken?"

"Combat advisor? You think that a ridiculous title could placate me, your combat advisor? I'm a COMBAT ADVISOR, for god's sake, I don't ... Say, what were we talking about again? Good show with that sleeping badger, Chandler."

"The worst part?" Kat mumbles, still sad over the death of the badger, "There's nothing here..."

"What a crying shame!" the badger corpse says to Katadid, the arrow protruding from its head. "Now, if you don't mind, you're in my bed."

Renraw releases the badger's jaws he had been working with both hands and dances away, chortling.

"Let's go, Gentlemen Delvers. We have a map to explore."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Katadid wipes away his tears of fear and sorrow. Soon enough, the prospect of further exploration has driven Renraw's gruesome puppet show from his mind.

Using Renraw's staff, Kat sees if he can determine anything from them. The tunnels are dark, smell vaguely of old dried urine and are too twisty to see far down with the staff light.

"Huh."

Kat looks up and shrugs toward the others. He walks over to the chest and opens it, looking quite empty except for the rack of potions. Taking one of the bottles, he puts it in his sack. He takes another one and uncorks it to sniff experimentally. Looking toward the others, he shrugs again.

"This should be interesting."

"BIRD!" Tock yells. "Don't drink that!"

Katadid smacks his lips and looks around, seemingly unchanged.

"Yum. Tastes like almonds."

And then Katadid has the strange sensation of falling, of everything whirling away. When the sensation stops, he's less than six inches tall and the Gentlemen Delvers are as tall as trees. The two-foot high tunnels the werebadger vanished into are now enormous, far taller than any roof back home in Maidensbridge ever was.

Kat blinks. He looks at his hands and then up at the Delvers, whose shocked faces he can just barely make out.

"Huh." He feels to see if his clothes and equipment shrank as well. "Fascinating."

Ragglus stares down at Katadid in horror.

Renraw's eyes go wide with manic glee when he sees what happens to Katadid. He puts his face down low to the ground and whispers to his compatriot. The onion, bratwurst, 12-days-with-no-oral-hygiene-whatsoever halitosis almost causes the tiny wizard to pass out.

"What does it feel like? Does it feel temporary?" Renraw booms. "How long do you think it lasts? Shuffle your feet or something! Do a cute little dance for us!"

It takes a few moments for Katadid's coughing fit to stop.

"Well ... interesting. Perspective is different. I would IMAGINE it's temporary but ..." He blinks as if realizing something. "You have very bad skin, Renraw."

Averting his eyes from dirty pores the size of a plate, Katadid stares at the tunnels.

"Why do these exist?" Kat motions toward the holes where the werebadger escaped through, "He obviously doesn't need them."

"Bird, my buddy, they exist for the same reason other holes exist: To go into." Tock says as he takes a potion and gulps it down, wincing. "Come on, guys, no going back now. If this ends up permanent, I've heard pixie tail is even sweeter than elven."

Renraw thrusts his potion into Ragglus' calloused hands.

"Drink down, Chaplin! We haven't got all night!"

Before Tock can wonder about Renraw's sudden enthusiasm for going last in the shrinking process, he finds himself collapsing down, down, down, until he and Katadid are the only two normal-sized people in a cave full of giants.

"Huh," Tock says, feeling all his parts, making sure that none of them shrank any more than the others did. "Neat."

"Shouldn't someone stay big?" Ragglus asks uncomfortably. "Just in case?"

"Maybe," Katadid shouts up to him. "But could one of us fit through the holes regular size? Ooh!"

From this position, Katadid can see what he thought were pebbles are dried rat droppings. Lots and lots of dried rat droppings. He runs over and picks up one of the rat droppings, cradling it in his arms. Tock wrinkles his nose and sighs as he massages his temples.

"These are rat droppings!" Katadid yells. "I think the passages are rat warrens, as opposed to badger setts, which means the passages could get much smaller."

"Chaplin, dear man, if those tunnels DO get smaller as they go, the two of them could need someone a good deal brawnier to protect them, don't you think?" Renraw says, reasonably, attempting to guide the potion flask up to Ragglus' lips. "I believe I'm the best choice to remain 'large,' as it were."

Ragglus shuts his mouth and turns it to the side, like a recalcitrant child unwilling to eat yet another spoonful of applesauce.

"Confound you, Chaplin!" Renraw fumes, "Just come here!"

Renraw grabs him by the back of the neck and pours his potion down the other man's open gullet. With a growl that cuts-off just sort of becoming a furious scream, Ragglus drives an elbow into the wizard's nose. Renraw has no time to reel back before he finds Ragglus' potion stuffed into his mouth, its contents cascading down his throat.

And so, sputtering and spitting, the pair shrink down to mere inches in size alongside the bemused Tock and oblivious Katadid.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Blood trails down into Renraw's moustache, making it even greasier than it was before. He stands with his hands on his hips, frowning at Ragglus.

"It had to be done, Chaplin. You were invaluable to the mission."

Ragglus gives Renraw a look conveying that, unless the wizard wants to forcibly be the lone participant in a one-man giant rat turd eating contest, he'll give no further commentary on what just occurred.

Tock, following Ragglus' gaze, realizes in horror that Katadid has been carefully examining an enormous rat turd that the wizard is holding in both hands. Tock kicks it out of his hands, making a frustrated noise as he does.

"So," Ragglus asks, pointedly having turned his back on Renraw, "Which way?"

"Which first?" Katadid says, looking up, as though clutching a massive rat dropping to his chest was the most normal thing in the world. "The smiley?"

"Smiley?" Tock asks, a bit dazed by all that's just happened. "Oh, yes, the smiley."

Renraw, feeling something unusual in his whiskers, runs his tongue along his upper lip and tastes the familiar copper. He is shocked for a moment, but he stifles an outburst and makes himself a mental note about Ragglus.

"Yes," he hisses. "Forward to the smiling face."

He takes a quick, tentative poke the discarded rat turd with the end of his staff and then follows the group.

And so the Gentlemen Delvers find themselves now walking through a cavernous tunnel up to two feet high, picking the middle tunnel in the north wall of the dwarf's cave.

As they approach the first cave marked on the map, a strong animal smell fills the corridor.

The cave, to their new perceptions, appears 40 feet in diameter. Along the north wall is a large pile of straw in which the dwarf-badger lies, his wounds still wet and raw, his breathing shallow. A pair of 12-foot long badgers stands in the center of the room, growling at the Delver's approach, their fur on end.

"Renraw," Kat says, backing up and almost stumbling as he readies his sling. "A _sleep_ spell would be nice ..."

"Nonsense, Leach! We shall subjugate them as our mounts! Chandler, you have an affinity for animals! Get to it!" 

Tock's expression threatens shocking violence of a life-altering sort, and Renraw sighs, looking back at the badgers.

"All right, but before this is through, I want to ride around on _something_ abnormal."

He briefly fumbles with his bag of sand, the other adventurers remaining frozen.

"Hurry, damn you," Ragglus whispers.

"SLEEEEEEEP," Renraw intones, hurling the sand with a flourish and using a deep baritone not quite within his range. "SLEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

One of the badgers slumps to the floor and begins to snore. The other, alarmed by this, begins to back up, until the wounded dwarf-badger barks something unintelligible and the badger advances on the party, snarling.

Simultaneously, the wounded dwarf-badger leaves the nest, straw sticking to a wet wound, also heading for the party.

Katadid pulls out a piece of cotton and tears it, shouting something out, even as Tock takes aim with his newly acquired bow and shoots at the wounded badger.

Katadid casts the spell perfectly and it takes him a second of rapid blinking before he remembers with a groan Professor N'dege in Nammor Hall giving him a gentle rap on the back of the head when he tried casting _daze_ on an animal in class: "It only works on humanoids, foolish boy!"

"Oh, that's right ..."

Beside him, Tock does little better: The bow might be enchanted, but the arrow still cannot penetrate the shapechanging dwarf's hide.

But it's the regular badger that reaches Ragglus first. Ragglus grins when he discovers that his newly shrunken size is much more nimble than before, and he dodges the fangs of the badger easily. But that goes both ways, and the badger pulls back from his counter-thrust with the spear. A moment later, the shapechanged dwarf snaps his badger fangs at Ragglus, equally fruitlessly.

Kat takes a silver sling stone and whirls it above his head toward the werebadger. The silver sling stone goes wide, burying itself in the straw on the far side of the room.

"Crapweasel," Tock says. He begins to improvise a song as he draws another arrow. This time, he strikes the normal badger in the shoulder.

"_Proicere_," Renraw whispers grimly, pointing a finger at the werebadger. A magic missile flies from his fingertip into the creature, which roars in anger.

The dwarf-badger then swats away Ragglus' blow with one claw, snarling angrily before clawing and biting at the warrior. The first claw scrapes off Ragglus' armor, but the second digs into the flesh beneath, as does a punishing bite a moment later.

_Lothian_, Ragglus prays silently, _I know we ain't been on good terms but if I'm about to die, at a size that makes a gnome look like a bloody giant, at the hands of mother violating badgers of all things, you got to admit, this is pretty damned embarrassing. Keeping that in mind, do me a damned favor for once: Make sure that every last damned Kem I ever met dies too. Painfully, if you can arrange it. Thanks._

Kat's next silver bullet bounces off the dwarf-badger's skull, making it wince, and an arrow sinks into the regular badger as it charges at Tock.

Despite favoring his shield, Ragglus manages to poke the enormous dwarf-badger in the nose with his tiny long sword, calling forth a gusher of blood from one nostril.

A flash of light from Renraw's spell sparkles in the werebadger's eyes, but it blinks at precisely the right moment, and it shrugs off the effect of the spell as it leaps at Ragglus again. The warrior bats away the beast's claws with his sword and his shield, but again, the teeth bite down on his shoulder.

The other badger is now upon Tock Chandler, blood mixed with its saliva as it attacks. The bard dodges its first claw, but the second one hits him soundly, almost knocking him off his feet. And then the beast finds Tock's neck with his jaws, sending a gusher of blood out across them both.

"TOCK!" Katadid screams, seeing his cousin shaken about like a rag doll. "NO!"

Tock breaks free and runs. The badger gives chase, snarling with rage at the intruder. A sling stone pings off the badger's skull, and it snorts in frustration, but never slows down enough to let Tock begin to entrance it with his singing.

Renraw squints his eyes at the gravely wounded Ragglus, making a few internal calculations, sneering in disgust. He charges into the melee, thrusting himself between Ragglus and the wounded were-badger and preparing to cast another spell at the creature.

"Out of the way, you oaf! Retreat!" he shouts, attempting to wrench the magic spear from the big man's hands. "But I'll have a poke or two before we go!"

Ragglus is in a daze, simply hears the word "retreat," and pulls back. He figures he must have dropped his spear at some point, not feeling it in his hands.

A magical dart streaks from Renraw's fingertip a second time. He locks eyes with the werebadger for a split second and then the beast collapses, dead.

The tiny adventurers remain in a cave now with one slumbering badger and a second, angry and frothing at the mouth, chasing their bard around the den.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Renraw, now clearly in some kind of insane power fantasy, charges the other badger with the spear, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Good job, Rod!" Tock yells out on the run. "Now let's kill this one!"

Ragglus falls to his knees, grunting in pain as he grabs for his bow. Grip unsteady, hands shaking, he nocks the arrow, draws back, and fires on the badger chasing Tock.

Katadid takes out a piece of wax paper and smears the butter on his palm. Screaming the arcane words, the butter on his palm begins to sizzle as if his hand were heating from within.

Suddenly, the badger finds itself sliding on a greased rock floor, slamming into the wall and now surrounded by an area of slippery slime.

And so the badger is waiting as Renraw races at it, screaming for blood. The badger lowers its head and the spear slides harmlessly across its flat skull, the wizard now trapped against the badger by the slicked-up floor. Ragglus' arrow does no better.

The badger attacks Renraw, clawing and biting into the soft flesh pressed up against the beast.

The moment the spear slid over the top of the animal's head, Renraw felt the kill-frenzy drain right out of him. Then the jaws snapped down on him.

"OH, THE PAIN!" he howls. "THE TERRIBLE PAIN! SOMEONE DO SOMETHING!"

Katadid's sling stone goes whipping past Renraw's ear, but misses the badger entirely.

"Chase me, you disgusting piece of crap!" Tock snarls, firing another arrow.

Despite having to shoot around Renraw, Tock's arrow pierces the badger's eye. It quivers and falls dead, releasing Renraw onto the slippery floor, and he slides on his butt backwards away from the beast, stopping just short of the slain badger's slumbering mate.

"I did it," Renraw whispers to himself, panting. "I DID IT! I'M A HERO!"

He only celebrates a moment until he feels the pain in his raised arm. He lowers it and inspects it, seeing firsthand what it's like to be mauled by an animal. With his good hand, he makes some exploratory pokes at the open wounds.

"Oh, that quite hurts." He breathes heavily through his nostrils for a moment, looking up at the wall at nothing in particular and grimacing. "MEDIC!"

Kat's hands are shaking as he walks toward Tock, opening the healer's kit and wrapping  bandages against his wounds.

"Stupid badgers. Bad badgers ..." His eyes are red as he looks toward Renraw, crying out for help against the snoring badger's nose. "Stupid neck breaking ... "

Tock looks up as his cousin rises, bandages and ointment falling out of the kit as he does so. Renraw looks up long enough from his crying to see Leach approaching.

"GODS! About TIME, Leach! Bring the kit over, yo-"

Renraw's eyes widen as Kat grabs his staff and starts running toward Renraw.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! STUPID! STUPID!"

Kem shrieks girlishly as he dives out the way of the staff, which he finds was not intended for him after all. The staff clunks hard down on the badger's skull and for a moment it looks like it's about to wake up, but there's a crack and then Kat brings the staff down on the badger's skull over and over again with wet, slurping sounds.

"STUPIDSTUPIDBADGERSTUPIDSTUPIDBAGDERSTUPIDSTUPIDSTUPID!"

"Good job, Bird," Tock says, after a moment, in what he hopes is a soothing tone. "I feel much better now. Why don't you help Rags and Renraw now? Afterwards, we have theories to discuss."

Renraw, relieved beyond measure that he's not the one being walloped, takes a strange and obvious delight in Katadid's violent outburst. He stands triumphantly, favoring his good side, and points a menacing finger at the sleeping badger being beaten to death.

"Yeah! And tell 'em Glinty Rod sent you."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As Katadid binds his wounds, Ragglus leans heavily against the wall in an effort to stand. Once up, the comfort of the immediate threat being over and done with seems to raise his spirit, enough to keep him conscious and at least somewhat alert. Campaign mentality takes over, so he moves to collect his fallen weapon, recover the arrow he wasted, and make sure his armor is once again fastened and secure.

"Didn't figure you'd want to deal," he says, spitting at the now-dead werebadger.

Renraw, clutching his side, ambles over to the corpse and plops himself into what looks like a comfortable, chair-sized cranny in the thing's armpit.

"Actually, Card, I'll tell you something," Renraw says breezily, his trauma of a moment before having subsided with Katadid's bandaging. "Although you're of genetically stunted lineage to begin, and although you were revoltingly cursed with some wretched, foul disease, you weren't all bad. I'm sorry I had to kill you, Card. You had a pretty sophisticated operation going here. In another time, another place, perhaps we could have been associates."

The wizard taps on the creature's motionless skull with his fingertips.

"You shouldn't have screwed with me and mine, Card."

As the Gentlemen Delvers search the room, they spot a group of badger cubs huddling together fearfully in a passageway leading off the main cave.

"Oh," Kat looks crestfallen. "Of course."

The four juvenile badgers huddle together and hiss at Katadid as he stares at them. They have teeth and claws, although their fur is still lighter in color and downy. He's no expert in badgers, adult or otherwise, but they look as though capable of surviving on their own, he thinks as he takes a wary step backward and away.

After a moment, he's distracted by the werebadger's potion flask, and he murmurs an enchantment as he stares at it.

Katadid stares at the potion, turning it over and over in his hand as he concentrates. It radiates faint transmutation magic. Uncorking it, he sniffs it, touching a bit of it to his finger and is about to bring the touch of liquid to his tongue when he notices his fingernail is now a little longer and thicker than the others on his hand.

On the other side of the cave, Tock Chandler has continued searching, and there's a quiet noise of pleasure from him as a stone portion of wall clicks and swings forward, revealing a hidden cache of loot in a secret compartment.

The hole contains a beautifully made ivory flute, a silver bracelet, a silver ring set with a pearl, a pair of emeralds and a wooden wand with a silver handle. Something is written on the wand's handle.

"Oooh!" The potion forgotten for the moment, Katadid races over to the hidden stash, just narrowly beating Renraw there. Kat picks up the wand and ponders the writing. Finding himself unable to read it, he casts another spell, reaching into in the pouch at his belt for a powdery mixture.

The magical mist of soot and salt causes the writing to glow in Kat's eyes and he reads it eagerly. Once finished, though, his face falls and he grimaces. He looks torn, and even a bit disgusted.

Finally, he takes the wand and walks over to Ragglus. He begins chanting something in Celestial.

Unfortunately, nothing happens.

Kat raises an eyebrow. He tries saying a single word in Celestial. 

Things stubbornly continue to refuse to happen.

Finally, Renraw has had enough.

"What is that?" he barks, attempting to snatch the wand away. "What are you doing? Give me that!"

Katadid pokes Ragglus painfully in his wounds while chanting both the prayer and the word, hoping physical contact will do the trick. Finally, absolutely stymied, but unwilling to hand the wand over to the grasping Renraw, he shoves it into Tock's hands.

"It's Lothianite magic," he says as he wipes his hands on his sleeves and sighs. "The prayer is 'Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, Lothian, and healing shall spring up quickly.' The word 'Dawn' seems particularly emphasized."

Tock shrugs, repeats the word for "dawn" in Celestial and taps Ragglus with the wand. Immediately, the big man's wounds begin to close with a slurping sound.

"Tock, what?" Ragglus says in confusion. Ignoring the antics of Renraw and Katadid has become second nature to him by now.

"A wand," Kat says simply as he wanders off. "Lothianite, apparently."

"Well, ain't that the cat's arse," Ragglus mutters to himself, savoring the irony.

Kat returns a few moments later, dragging a hunk of meat as large as his torso, speared by his staff like a kebab.

"Well, food's ready."

He motions to the others to come out to the remnants of the werebadger's camp, where a spot of floor has been cleared in front of the near-dead fire. While the others eat, Kat grabs an errant piece of badger fur on the ground and places it under his head and he quickly falls asleep.

Renraw, now full on stew meat, emerges from the badger den with animal blood streaking his cheeks like war paint.

"A nice six-hour nap, perhaps," Renraw yawns, curling up near Katadid.

The embers of the fire are just an orange glow and the Delvers are settling in for a well-deserved nap when it happens: They begin to grow.

Suddenly, each has sprung up to their full height, hitting their heads on furnishings now too close, finding themselves entangled up with fellows who previously had laid an arms length or more away.

A little more than an hour after drinking them, the potions have worn off.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"BWAH!" Katadid awakes with a scream.

Renraw yawns and stretches his aching muscles, unconsciously tightening around Katadid's leg. When he feels it shaking him off, he jolts awake.

"Er, did you hear about that Spellflag match last month, Leach?" Renraw grunts, pulling away from Katadid as quickly as he can. "The Ermines are looking good this year, looking very good. Redhurst had better watch their backs. Of course, it's not like they'll shrink from the figh--"

Looking up at the others, climbing to their feet, Renraw can read it on Tock's face: Now too large for the complex, they're going to leave. Katadid looks as though he might have some of attack when his cousin makes the announcement.

With great reluctance, Renraw pulls the scroll tube with the puzzle mechanism discovered earlier out from his sack and holds it out to his young companion.

"I have a strong feeling this will help us create more shrinking serum," he says before pausing, frustrated. "I ... have not been able to decipher the combination. Perhaps with your help we can open it."

As one, the group turns, looks at the scroll tube in Renraw's hand and silently restrains themselves from murdering him.

Opening the scroll tube by opening it properly involves sliding pieces up down the tube. Unbidden, the image of Tosh Bergen's nimble fingers working a lock springs to the Delvers' minds, but the quiet faen's help isn't unavailable here.

While the group considers the tube, Kat pulls out the dwarf's flask. He takes a drop of the liquid inside and dabs it on his wrist. He then takes a drop of the shrinking potion and dabs that on his wrist as well to see if the two potions interact with each other in any way.

The two drops of liquid fail to do anything interesting, other than serving as dashes of very strange cologne on Katadid's pressure points. For the heck of it, Kat licks the combined mixture to see if there is any effect. They mostly taste like Katadid's wrist. It occurs to him that he hasn't had a chance to properly bathe since falling into Goblin Pond.

"Ew."

Katadid walks over to the glistening scenic cavern and disrobes before diving into the pond. Surfacing enough to cough, he dog-paddles around.

He spots the stream that empties out of the cave pond and looks at the opening that it trickles into. Katadid can slip his hand into the opening beneath the cold water, but after a little experimentation, he realizes he cannot get his elbow in. It takes him about a minute to get his arm back out after learning this fact.

Feeling freshly washed, Kat puts his clothes back on. He walks back to the werebadger cave where the other are beginning to gather their supplies. The Gentlemen Delvers have had no luck with the puzzle tube, passing it back and forth increasingly roughly in growing frustration.

"Wait, I think I just remembered a bard song I could use to open the tube!" Tock exclaims. Rags hands it to him and he concentrates on it. He mutters something in a strange language no one understands. He places it upon the ground, kneels, and bows a couple times making arcane gestures.

Then he picks up a rock and smashes the damn thing to pieces.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

A set of scrolls unroll in the wreckage of the puzzle tube and Renraw dives for the at them, slapping at Katadid's hands.

There are six scrolls, each with a spell on them. Although Renraw can't be sure without magic, it appears they are multiple copies of two spells.

"As I'd suspected," he says sagely. "Two spells, one for shrinking, the other for  reversal of the shrinking process. We can cast them, but we need our rest first."

Renraw gathers the papers to his breast and lies down again, cradling them.

"Don't bother me."

It takes a little while for everyone to get to sleep -- the last rest was so recent, and everyone can't help but think of the beds above their heads at the Dented Coin -- but at last they do. The spellcasters awake, refreshed and their minds clear once more.

Now freshly rested and cleaned, Katadid wanders over to the bundle in Renraw's arms. He slips a few of them out and places them on the ground. The rest of the party doesn't seem to be up yet, and he prefers it that way.

He takes out a small hunk of quartzite and holds it up to his eye. He starts chanting and the crystal explodes with a tiny pop. Kat closes his eyes. When they open again, they ripple like water. He picks up the magic scrolls and starts to read.

"Hmmm, yes, one is the shrinking spell," he says out loud. "The other is commonly called 'Bull's Strength.' Redhurst had it listed as 'Oxen's Might,' but that may be a precursor. It may explain the other potion easily enough. And, well, there's enough scrolls and potions to give us another hour to navigate our way through ...

"Oh, good morning."

Katadid goes back to the scrolls as the others get up and begin to prepare for more delving.

"The spells themselves seem more potent. We wouldn't be studying spells like this until our fifth year at school. Maybe something in the method of brewing or compounding of solutions reduces the durations. Kat shrugs and looks at Renraw. "Two scrolls for you and Ragglus. A potion for Tock and I?"

Kat reads the scroll to shrink Renraw, then Ragglus. He and Tock each drink a potion. Renraw, now anxious to finish this and return to the surface, begins walking back to the tunnels even before he shrinks. When the Gentlemen Delvers arrive in the badgers' den, the juveniles are gone, with no trace of where they went.

"Well, good," says Renraw, relieved. "Less triviality to worry about. Now then, let's. To the water room."

"H-how tall do you suppose?" Katadid ponders aloud as they walk. "I mean us, in comparison? 

He stops dead and his eyes widen.

"Oh my! I-it's ... it's a CIPHER! A CODE!" Kat grips Tock's shirt and screams gleefully. "Asenhigh! ASENHIGH! For gnomes! I GET IT!"

"Slow it down a bit, Bird," Tock says, as he extracts himself from his cousin's grasp.

"Ah, yes, of course ..."

Kat starts walking a bit more slowly and mutters to himself as they proceed down the tunnels.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The Delvers continue a long way -- especially at a few inches high -- before reaching the cavern with water on it. It's far enough that several times they argue over the validity of the map before arriving, but when they do, it's clearly the right place: They enter a 20-foot-wide chamber, dimly lit by pockets of phosphorescent lichen, which cling to the wall and the 15-foot-high ceiling. A slow-moving river bisects the room into north and south areas. The water is clear and appears to be at least several feet deep. Three moss-covered stepping-stones are situated in the middle of the river.

"Huh," Kat says. He scans the river for anything that may pop out and eat the tiny Delvers, while also trying to gauge the distance between the stepping-stones. The small cut on his chin is deterrent enough to want to keep from missing another jump.

Even at this height, the Delvers are all confident that they could make the running jump to the first stepping-stone. The others will take a bit of luck to not end up in the drink.

"Any way we can make a-a bridge?" Katadid asks, unsurely.

"Yes, we'll design and construct an elaborate rope bridge using the spider corpse. It's the perfect solution!" Renraw's mock enthusiasm is punctuated with the jump to the first stepping-stone. Once again, Renraw surprises everyone but perhaps himself by gracefully flapping through the air to land on the first stone.

Tock takes a run and jumps to the first stone, landing neatly beside Renraw.

A really interesting stone on the shore of the stream distracts Katadid just as he's about to leap, and the rest of the Gentlemen Delvers collectively groan when they see the shallow jump that results.

Despite the outstretched hands of Tock and Renraw, Katadid falls far short, dropping into the icy water with a "KER-SPLONK."

On shore, Ragglus is the first to see it: A large fish -- good eating even when the Delvers would be full size -- suddenly breaks from the spot where it hid, camouflaged, and swims towards Katadid's flailing legs, its mouth gaping open.

"Quit being dramatic and grab on," Renraw says, holding out his staff. "OH, DEAR GODS! HURRY, KATADID, AND CLIMB OUT! CLIMB, BOY! MIND YOUR LEGS!"

"Ack! What?" Kat glances back where Renraw is staring. He begins a frantic dog paddle toward Renraw's outstretched arms. "ACK! GAH!"

"Never fear, gents," Tock says, striking a pose. "You've got Dargus Carter on your side."

He begins to sing a sea chanty and a moment later, a beautiful, multi-limbed creature appears in the water.

The octopus seems startled to find itself so far from Gharon, but confronted with a cave trout, instinct takes over, and it quickly grabs the fish in its tentacles and brings it to its hungry beak. When the spell ends a few seconds later, the octopus takes the remains of the trout with it.

"Sweet Hell!" Renraw shouts over the splashing, before smacking Tock's shoulder and pointing at him sternly. "You're going to teach me how to do that."

In the water, Katadid wears a similar expression of awe and wonder.

"I-I can DO THAT," Kat breathes reverently. He swims to the edge of the stone quietly, where his cousin helps him up. Kat keeps darting wistful glances toward the water. "Where do they come from? Has anyone ever asked?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Taking out his rope, Ragglus ties one end of the rope around his waist and tosses the other end to the trio on the first stepping-stone. He's pretty sure he can make the jumps, but the thought of "drowning under the weight of his own armor" is only slightly less a humiliating death than "killed by badgers." With a wary glance at the water, Ragglus backs up a fair bit and then shoots forward, leaping to join his fellow Gentlemen Delvers on the first stepping-stone. He easily makes the jump.

Working together, the Delvers carefully make it to the far side, although not without a return into the drink for Katadid along the way.

Katadid wanders off toward the next destination on the map, muttering to himself, only vaguely aware of the time constraints of the potion. His search as they walk turns up only rat droppings, but strangely, he seems cheered by the discovery.

Following the map, the Delvers discover that the next room, marked with the ear, seems to have no ears at all. It's roughly 15 feet wide. To the west are three round tunnels, wider than the rat warrens. A three-foot-tall pile of rocks occupies most of the chamber. Katadid starts toward the pile when Ragglus catches his arm, shaking his head.

The wizard opens his mouth to ask why, then he hears it: a clicking sound coming from within the pile of rocks. Standing on tiptoes, he can see the mound has a hole at the top, and a moment later, a pair of ants as big as large dogs emerge. They wave their antennae at the Gentlemen Delvers, but do not advance. More clicking comes from the tunnels on the far west side of the room and from within the mound.

"Let's try the Lady Parts Room, instead," Tock says.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The group makes a careful and deliberate retreat through the northeast tunnel, following the map once more.

The next chamber in fact, is not the Lady Parts Room, as Tock has insisted on calling it: This huge area is at least 40 feet wide with a ceiling about 10 feet high. A 15-foot chasm bisects the room, running from the east to west walls. The only exit is on the far side.

A metal spike has been hammered into the floor on the near side. A rope has been knotted to the spike and runs across the chasm, where the rope is affixed to another spoke on the opposite side.

Renraw examines the rope and the knot attaching it to the spike. The rope has a few frayed strands from what appear to be small claws, but it appears strong enough. Without claws, though, the Delvers will have to be carefully as they cross, as the rope wobbles a little even under Renraw's inspection.

"Gentlemen, if I could for a moment," Renraw begins. "I might take young Katadid's turn here and suggest something more complicated than our obvious route: We cross two at a time, using Chaplin's rope tied securely around our torsos and thrown over the top as a safety. Should one of us fall, the other can keep the slack until they can climb back up and continue."

Katadid peers down into the ravine, his brow furrowed. The claw marks bother him for some reason, and he attempts to examine them more closely to see if he could guess from what they came from.

"Or climb down and climb up the other side," he mutters. He hands his desiccated rope to his cousin as Tock and Renraw start arguing. Kat reaches into his sack and hands Ragglus a torch hopefully.

Ragglus lights the torch and edges close to the chasm, trying to gauge its depth. The bottom is visible at the dimmest reaches of the torchlight: It's approximately 35 feet deep.

Renraw seems slightly put out by the decision not to test out his rope idea, but Kat's paranoia seems to win out. The Delvers begin to climb down the cavern walls.

They pick their way down the ravine, but as rough as it is, it becomes clear there are sections they can only pass one at a time, necessitating a few urgent discussions while clinging to the rock face.

As Ragglus descends, he finds his foot finally hanging over empty space: Below him is a cave completely hidden by the lip of the rock above it. He's about to call up that he's going to need a second to figure away around it when he hears something shift its weight in the unseen cavity below him.

He silently signals his fellow Delvers above him, pointing to the lip of the rock, and motioning as if to draw his sword.

"Crap, here we go again," Tock mutters to himself.

Katadid waves to Ragglus and points downward. Kat then points to his eyes. Rags shakes his head and taps his ear. Kat nods. Kat holds up his fistful of sand and then puts his hands together and tilts his head yawning as if sleepy. He points to Rags, taps his own ear and then holds his hands apart with a questioning look.

Once Rags has mimed the estimated distance of where the rustling sounds are below him, Kat takes several steps back and begins to mutter an incantation, ending by throwing the sand down the ravine at the hidden cave.

The spell goes off without a hitch, it seems, and there's the sound of something starting to snore. And then it snaps out of it. There's a hissing sound of something both surprised and scared and then the Delvers watch as a rubbery-limbed creature crawls out of the hidden alcove, glances up at the rope line of Delvers above it, and races down the wall.

About the size of a gnome, it is naked all over, and has a mottled, rock-colored hide. Its arms and legs are all extremely long and don't seem to have bones: Its limbs -- probably more properly described as tentacles -- all end in four digits, with the palm of each "hand" in turn covered in small points. The creature glances over its shoulder with panicked black eyes before racing down the ravine wall, its tentacles each shooting out up to 10 feet at a time.

From its alcove, it could have easily reached out and grabbed one of the Delvers as they crossed on the rope.

A moment later, the beast has vanished into the darkness.

"Good job with the 'make it run away' spell, cousin," Tock drawls.

Katadid watches the retreating figure nervously. Motioning for Renraw to hand down his precious staff, Kat climbs down a bit and peers inside the creature's lair, looking to see if anything of interest is inside.

The choker has apparently been making a meal of slow-moving rats crossing the rope above: There are rat carcasses, chewed harnesses and several bags. Some of the bags are still attached to their harnesses, while others have been ripped off and bitten open, only for the choker to discover there's nothing edible inside.

Katadid can see spilled coins, a snuffbox, a perfume bottle and more.

Renraw kicks Katadid gently in the head, urging him to get down and get into the cave. He's tired of hanging, and he, too, would like to see what the choker kept.

"Ow!" He turns to the Delvers. "Treasure."

He and Renraw enter the cave and begin stuffing the most intact harnesses full of the choker's booty.

"We should take everything here back to the top of the chasm and leave it there until we're ready to leave," Renraw says, shoving Katadid away when the younger man attempts to remove some of the huge coins from his bag. "You're out of your mind if you think we're leaving it."

In addition to a large number of half-eaten rats and a few well-gnawed lizards, the choker's lair contains 88 gold pieces, a crystal perfume bottle, an obsidian game piece, a mother of pearl snuffbox and four gems. The treasure goes easily into all the rats' sacks or into the Gentlemen Delver's other gear.

Below them, noises from the bottom of the chasm remind them that they are not alone, nor is the choker unaware of what they're doing.

"Should kill it," Ragglus growls. "Gonna eat us otherwise."

"I don't think so," Kat says, a fistful of sand in his hand once more, but this batch is dyed. He looks up with unusual lucidity. "Chokers, as they are affectionately called by layman, are efficient hunters, but not very bright. They attack from positions of safety and very rarely otherwise. We scared it enough that it wouldn't trust attacking until it's confident. Hence, I think even if we walk down the ravine and back up it will leave us alone. It isn't smart enough to figure out we were lucky in seeing it first.

"However, it may be bright enough to figure out we want the treasure for some reason. If we leave it here, it very well may use it as bait, much like a fancy dagger, especially if we leave it on the side directly under his home."

After pulling the treasure up the eight feet to their side, the Gentlemen Delvers decide to leave the items there for future retrieval. They then finish their climb down and make their way cautiously across the ravine.  The choker scrambles away from the group as it makes its way across the bottom of the ravine, its black eyes reflecting the light of Renraw's torch-staff as they pass.

The group makes their ascent of the far side of the ravine. Looking back across the rope bridge, they see the treasure they left behind and Renraw makes a sad little noise in the back of his throat as they head down the next passage.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

It twists and turns for almost a thousand feet before opening to another larger cave to the north: The chamber is about 15 feet in diameter with a 10 foot high ceiling. The floor is dusty and covered with fine rock debris only disturbed by the tracks of rats dragging harnesses and sacks. The west wall glints with reflected light from Renraw's staff off of numerous crystals embedded in the wall.

Katadid scans the cavern nervously for any movement or any place that another creature could be hiding.

Renraw scans the area and attempts to ascertain why the map may have been marked with a black pyramid.

What appeared to be the east wall turns out to be a 10-foot high ledge, upon further examination. A chimney appears to lead up above the ledge, leading up, presumably, to the sky. On the north wall is another passageway, leading out of the cave.

Kat taps Ragglus on the shoulder and points toward the ledge. Kat flaps his arms in a bird like motion and points to the chimney.

Ragglus approaches the ledge cautiously from below, keeping an eye out for any obvious ways to rise or climb up.

Renraw finds a nearby rock and chucks it up to the top of the ledge, chuckling to himself.

A voice suddenly booms though the cavern, much louder than could be managed by the shrunken Gentlemen Delvers: "WHO DARES DISTURB THE HIDDEN SHRINE OF KRAN? WHO WILL SUFFER HER INESCAPABLE WRATH?"

"Oh, dear gods," Renraw chokes on his chuckle, his knees beginning to tremble. "Wait, 'her?' Chandler, that's your cue!"

"Shrine," Kat mutters. He grabs Renraw's shaking arm. "Kem! Your books! Does Kran sound familiar in any way?"

"Kran?" Renraw repeats nervously. "Kran?"

"Lady Kran," Tock calls out, "No one of significance disturbs thee, and no one of insignificance does so purposefully. We are simple smallfolk lost in these immense yet beautiful caverns. Know thee, oh holy one, a way out?"

A light of recognition quickly flashes in Renraw's eyes and he leans in to whisper something to Tock.

"Priestess and holy knower of faults, we bow before thee!" Tock continues, nodding at Renraw's whispered message. "Let our faults be known and put upon your altar of knowledge! This one, Cmelak, is full of avarice and anger. My cousin here is feeble of spirit and body and unable to communicate like normal men. The big one is also very angry, and also slow of mind. And I am unable to resist the wiles of femalekind."

"Anger?" Renraw snarls.

"F-feeble?" Katadid gasps.

"Madam, if I may," Renraw says, stepping forward, "Another fault of my companion's is that he speaks out of turn. My spirit harbors no undue anger, oh knower of secrets. If I have a flaw, it's my concern for these others in my company may sometimes hinder my judgment."

Katadid raises an eyebrow.

"FOOLS! RETURN THE WAY YOU CAME, OR FACE THE FULL FORCE OF KRAN'S FURY!"

"May we ask exactly how Kran's fury shall be dispensed? Spells? Webs? Tentacles?" Kat shrugs at the shocked looks of the other Delvers. "What? I'm just asking."

"LEAVE NOW OR LEARN TO YOUR HORROR!"

"Oh, well, _that's_ helpful," Katadid mutters.

"Oh, for," Renraw growls in exasperation. "We have submitted our failings, wise lady, but the feeble one, he has this tic ... if we leave now, we'll be subjected to the gods alone know. We humbly ask what price passage?"

"WHAT LIES BEYOND IS NOT FOR YOUR EYES! MY PATIENCE IS AT AN END! LEAVE NOW OR BE DESTROYED!"

"Actually, there is gold back there," Katadid ponders aloud. "Maybe an offering."

"We're NOT giving her any gold, so just get that out of your mind right now," Renraw snaps.

Kat looks up at the ledge and chimney and tries a hunch. He has had a language banging around in his head for ages, spoken by odd creatures he saw occasionally.

"_W-would you be one of the fey folk?_" he asks in Sylvan.

"I AM BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION!" A voice booms, in Sylvan, in Katadid's mind.

Kat takes a clear step back, blinking in shock.

"See? I mentioned that avarice!" Tock calls out. "I myself am sick of these new gods, like that usurper Lothian. I search for truth in the way only Kran may give. May I please be your servant and student? I offer you all my worldly possessions. And the greedy one."

"Okay, that does it!" Renraw snaps, face red at the number of times he's been called "greedy" in the past minute. "I've had it with the lot of you! This woman is nothing more than the lonesome cave-dwelling priestess of the dead god of crotch rot, and the bunch of you are nothing more than ungrateful, parasitic, glory-hounding rednecks, and you never would've made it out of the barony without me! And now you're going to give me up? Like that? I knew I couldn't trust any of you! Now, I'm going to go see what's at the end of this gods damned cave and there isn't a single thing any one of you can do to stop me. Have a nice day, oh knower of secrets."

Renraw purposefully marches to the opposite end of the cave to the other exit.

"FOOL!"

There is a noise of wings being unfurled and suddenly the other Gentlemen Delvers see something dark take wing, flying between Renraw's light source and them.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Katadid blinks as the dark shape moves across the light. It only takes him a fraction of a second to assemble the silhouette into a full creature, one he'd previously spotted on the shoulder of an alumnus visiting Redhurst when he was a student.

"Oh, dear," he says, the color draining from his face. "DRAGON! PSEUDODRAGON! SCORPION TAIL! POISON! BAD! BAD!"

"Rodger, no! don't summon your powerful hawk!" Tock screams, beginning a magical song of summoning.

"Dishonesty is also among the bearded one's faults, madam!" Renraw shouts over his shoulder. "I summoned no hawk. Now good day!"

The wizard turns tail and runs for the exit.

"'Slow of thought?'" Ragglus mutters.

Looking back over his shoulder, Renraw recognizes the pseudodragon for what it is as it flies at him, although his masters back at St. Feldin's never described them as being quite so dark-scaled or looking quite so vicious.

A cry rips through the air and a celestial hawk flies at the pseudodragon even as a blur of color explodes from Katadid's hand. With a snarl, the dragon resists the effect of the other wizard's spell.

Ragglus' tiny bow fires true, though, and the pseudodragon roars with anger as the tiny arrow embeds itself into the dragon's scaly flank.

"No one strikes Blackspine and lives!"

Its eyes bright with light reflected from an unearthly source, the celestial hawk screeches and attempts to smite the dark-scaled pseudodragon, but misses, buffeted away by the dragon's leathery wing. The bird screams in outrage, whirling for another attack before it vanishes in a moment's time.

"Die, intruder!" Faster than Renraw's wide eyes can follow, the pseudodragon's stinger-tipped tail lashes around, stabbing the wizard in the chest before pulling free once more.

The wizard is about to respond -- probably by begging for his life -- when he finds himself wondering what sort of poison would be in a pseudodragon's stinger. Surely they covered this at St. Feldin's. Why, he can picture the class perfectly ...

The rest of the Gentlemen Delvers see Renraw's face go slack, and he collapses to the ground, asleep.

Blackspine turns towards the others and roars.

"Oh," Katadid backs up quickly behind Ragglus and hopes the hawk can manage to distract the pseudodragon well enough. Ragglus switches to his shield and spear as quickly as he can, anticipating that they'll be next.

Tock begins to sing:

"_The one to slay that dragon
Gets a tasty flagon.
Then the loot we'll all be draggin'
and that bailiff I'll be shaggin'.
The mead bought by the rest,
For proof that he's the best.
Distract it if you can,
So I can heal our cannon man.
And if Renraw is dead,
WE WILL PAINT THIS CAVERN RED
With the blood of that foul beast
Watch out, bitch, we're pissed!_"

The hawk darts at the pseudodragon again in the chamber, a giant roc in comparison to its summoner. But the pseudodragon protects itself by beating its wings furiously to keep the talons away, and when Blackspine looks again, the hawk has vanished back to where it came.

The pseudodragon begins an incantation as Tock sings and Ragglus prepares for melee combat.

"A spell? They shouldn't ... they can't," There's a flicker of recognition on Kat's face. And then terror. "SPREAD OUT, NOW! OTHERWISE HE'LL BURN US ALL!

A spindle of energy streaks from Katadid's fingertip, wounding the chanting Blackspine. More importantly, the spell has the desired effect: the dragon's spell is interrupted and wasted. Blackspine roars in frustration.

"AT LEAST 16 FEET APART! DON'T GIVE HIM ANY GROUPS TO TARGET! HIT FROM A DISTANCE!" Katadid yells out the instructions on the run as he moves further away while reaching for a scroll.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Renraw awakens to find Blackspine devouring Katadid feet first. Tock and Ragglus lay dead in burnt, bloody piles.

"Rodger! Hope! Save! Awesome!" Katadid beams, despite the fact that he is now legless.

The room begins to fill with light as Renraw makes complex gestures with his staff, which now appears double its normal size and burns intensely like a miniature sun. The pseudodragon looks up from its snack and squints. Katadid raises an arm to shield his face.

"Bright. Mighty. Unbelievable ... friend."

"Perhaps I was wrong in thinking I could dispatch you so easily," Blackspine admits.

"Perhaps you were, villain!"

As the rejuvenated wizard begins chanting, the pseudodragon bites off Katadid's other leg and brandishes it menacingly like a club. The beast approaches Renraw slowly at first, attempting to size him up, but before it can glean anything useful, it is slammed into the cave wall by a force it cannot begin to comprehend.

"What magics are these?" it demands, pinned.

"Io the Aloof sends his regards," Renraw smiles.

He calmly and neatly props his staff upright against the cavern wall before strolling over to what was once Ragglus and fishing the fighter's sword from the mess, whirling it in a few warm-up swings. 
"Now, are you going to drop that leg, or am I going to -- yah!"

Renraw throws up his mighty blade just in time to block a blow from his friend's severed appendage. 

"So that's how it is. Have at thee, fiend!" he cries.

Parry and thrust, advance and retreat: It is a fencing match the likes of which Blackberry Ridge has never witnessed. Suddenly, the throngs of villagers surrounding the event roar in delight. Only Katadid seems less than thrilled by what he sees.

"Walking. Problematic."

Renraw and Blackspine's weapons meet loudly at the top of a wide arc, sending the two of them spinning back to back, where their instruments again clash between them. But this time, the wily wizard sees an opening. One devastating swipe sees Blackspine separated from its stinger, and the creature cries in agony.

"Now will you yield, _now_?" Renraw cries, bloodthirsty. Bits of the psuedodragon's tail flesh dot his face.

Blackspine's outward bravery melts away to reveal what the beast has been feeling all along: abject fear.

"Have mercy on me, invincible warrior! I had no idea with whom I dealt!"

Renraw sneers, slipping his foot underneath the severed tail and flipping it into the air with a deft motion. He drops the sword and catches the tail with both hands, driving it directly into Blackspine's eye, thrusting it into his brain.

"Not even a REAL dragon," Renraw grunts, twisting the stinger and killing Blackspine, to everyone's joy.

Women from the town surround Renraw and try to kiss him, but he swats them away impatiently.

"Not yet, ladies! There's still work to be done!"

With a few graceful arm motions, Tock and Ragglus find themselves restored and standing, shocked to be intact and wearing shining white clothing. They clamp arms around Renraw's shoulders. Tock begins to compose a song. Ragglus throws the wizard into the air and props him up on his shoulder for the crowd to see. Confetti blows through the air. Trumpeters find Tock's key and begin to follow along. The crowd chants "SMEE!" and "LAK!" alternating in unison.

Renraw waves to everyone, arms extended gratefully and face blushing humbly.

"Can I?" Katadid asks, tugging on Ragglus' pant leg.

"Eh? What's this, Chaplin?"

"Wants to tell you something," the resurrected fighter grumbles.

"Oh!" Renraw exclaims, just now looking down at his friend. With a wink, magical sparkles surround the younger man, knitting his legs back on and replacing his clothing as well. "I'm sorry that took so long, Leach."

"Not," Katadid says, grateful, but still shaking his head.

Renraw hops down off Ragglus' shoulder, extending his hand out to Katadid.

"Well, what is it then, my friend?"

"I wish I was as smart as you," Kat whispers in Renraw's ear.

And so, even with the psuedodragon's poison coursing through his veins and a gaping, oozing wound in his chest where it was delivered, the prone and unconscious abjurer smiles.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Both Tock' and Ragglus' arrows find their mark, thudding into the dragon's chest one after another. Blackspine's spell is ruined again and he roars with anger.

Katadid completes his spellcasting and the words vanish from the scroll. He watches the words evaporate and looks up. Kat considers the situation carefully, then rushes up behind Ragglus and slaps him on the back before retreating back again, digging out a sling stone with his other hand.

Ragglus feels his muscles bulge with new power as readies his spear. Before he can attack, though, an arrow streaks from Tock's bow, striking Blackspine once more. A stone from Katadid's sling a moment later does not hit the mark, however, flying off wildly, never to be seen again.

Blackspine charges Ragglus, his stinger pounding heavily into the warrior's shield, but the barb is unable to deliver its poison.

"Die, intruder!"

"C'MON, BITCH!" Ragglus roars in challenge, the renewed strength fueling him like adrenaline. Seeing his chance, he stabs with the magical spear, but it slides along the pseudodragon's scales, never sinking into flesh. "That's all you got?"

"Let's not give her the chance," Kat purses his lips and narrows his eyes. He thrusts out his palm and green mist begins to swirl around it, coalescing into a sizzling orb of liquid. Rearing back, Kat prepares the glob of acid at the dragon.

Ragglus jabs at Blackspine with his spear, drawing blood.

"Argh! Enough!" And with that, Blackspine flaps his wings, lifting up and away from the group, flying toward the chimney in the roof of the cave.

As he flies away, his voice getting fainter and fainter, the Gentlemen Delvers hear him ranting as he flees: "You're no match for what lies beyond! I'll let that idiot kill you!"

Ragglus laughs heartily, banging the spear against his shield a few times.

"Damn me if that weren't exciting!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Katadid watches Blackspine fly away in confusion, the orb of liquid dripping away unused around his hand. He thinks about what the pseudodragon's words could mean as he stumbles over to Renraw, mumbling the entire time. 

He is able to stop Renraw's bleeding and, taking the sleeping wizard's pulse and performing a few other checks, he guesses that Renraw will sleep for four more hours, although they could probably slap him awake in another 30 minutes or so.

He abandons the older wizard and begins a manic search of the cave.

Scratching his whiskers and looking up at Blackspine's now-abandoned perch, Ragglus uses his rope and grappling hook to try and make his way up there.

All Katadid finds are the tracks of rats dragging packages between the two exits. It takes him a little while to realize it, but the northern passage is large enough for a man, albeit a man on all fours, to travel through.

Just like the dragons Ragglus has heard about in Tock's stories, Blackspine apparently liked to lay on his hoard. Since he's about four feet long, his hoard doesn't quite look like the emperor's treasury, but it's still a welcome sight to the cash-strapped warrior: There's a pile of assorted coins, including several pre-Imperial antiques, a gold signet ring, a silver brooch, a pair of metal bracers decorated with a design too faded to discern in the dim light and a potion in a flask.

Tock follows up Ragglus' rope. He sees open air in the chimney above Blackspine's ledge, but no sign of the evil pseudodragon himself. The bard then puts his tiny arms inside the bracers. The bracers shudder a moment, as though rattled by an invisible hand, and then contract to fit Tock's miniature wrists. Beaming at his new acquisition, Tock tries putting the ring on a finger, but the ring remains its own size, meaning that he can get his entire hand inside if he wishes.

Kat looks up toward the ledge where he sees Tock hustling about.

"Tock? W-what's up there?" he calls up. A thought suddenly occurs to him and Katadid begins to make frantic noises: The Gentlemen Delvers have less than 20 minutes before the effects of the potions begin to wear off. "Tock! Too late! Ragglus!"

After his frantic half-formed sentences are deciphered, Ragglus and Tock shove the treasure off the side of the ledge and then descend to the ground once more. The group then heads into the northern passageway, which seems huge to them at their current reduced height, Ragglus carrying a softly snoring Renraw over his shoulder.

The next chamber is huge, at least 30 by 40 feet. The ceiling is perhaps 10 feet high and there don’t appear to be any exits other than the one the Gentlemen Delvers used to enter. To the north is a smooth black altar about 10 feet wide and four feet high. A large book rests on the altar. Flanking the altar is a pair of twisted pewter candelabras adorned with black candle stubs, currently lit. Hanging on the wall behind the altar are five human skeletons, arms manacled over their heads. Each wears a rusty chain shirt and carries a long sword at its side.

"Skeletons," Ragglus mutters like a curse, turning to spit as he recalls their adventure at the Tulgey Barrow, back home.

"BOOK!" Kat squeals.

Tock has to physically restrain Kat from trying to clamber up to the top of the altar.

After Rags dumps Renraw off his shoulder and onto the ground, he walks back to Blackspine's lair to drag the treasure back to this room. The sound of Tock and Katadid attempting to slap Renraw awake punctuates his journey.

"Renraw!" Katadid barks, as he slaps the wizard. "Wake up!"

"I'm awake!"

"He's still sleeping, guys!" Tock grins, slapping him again.

"Really?" Kat blinks, slapping Renraw in turn. "He looks like he's-"

Tock slaps Renraw.

"Starting to-"

Katadid slaps Renraw.

"KEEP GOING, BIRD!"

Tock slaps Renraw.

"Right."

Katadid slaps Renraw.

"Enough, gods damn you all, enough!" Renraw shakes off his cohorts, standing up and backing away from them shakily. "What happened? Where are the ... where are the women?"

"They're probably getting themselves ready for m--for us," Tock corrects himself. "Let's finish this."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The top of the altar is too high for Katadid to see except when distant, so he's unable to search there, but as he circles it, he sees the altar appears to be made of obsidian, and spies, near the rear of the altar, just beneath its upper lip, is what looks like a concealed compartment. It's too high for him to reach at his current height, however.

"Hmm."

The candelabras standing beside the altar are twisted in shape and seem to suggest both birds and something more sinuous, like a dragon, but aren't strictly representational either way. Katadid guesses they might be worth some money, if one could find a way to transport five-foot high candelabras easily.

Finally, referring to the map, he locates a secret panel in the wall concealed to look like flowstone. It presumably leads to the next cave on the map.

"Renraw? _Mage hand_?"

"I'll decide what spells I cast and when, thank you, Leach," Renraw huffs, casting _mage hand_. "Now, for a look at that book."

The leather bound book scrapes forward across the altar and then thumps onto the floor near the Gentlemen Delvers, falling open as it does so. The inside pages all appear to be encrypted in the same way as the work order the group found previously. At a glance, the format appears to have both dates and regular text throughout the book.

"Ah," Kat exhales. With a blissful look on his face, he kneels down in the center of the book between the open binding. At normal size, it would only be his eyes, but at this height, his entire body darts across the pages as he attempts to decipher the text. He calls for Ragglus to turn the pages as needed.

It is indeed the same cipher as the work order found earlier and the book appears to be a man's journal. Beyond telling he's someone from Blackberry Ridge, it's not immediately obvious who he might be.

"Should be easy enough," Katadid mutters.

With much turning of pages and Katadid tracking tiny dirty footprints back and forth across the page, he deciphers the journal as the rest of the Gentlemen Delvers listen with bemusement.

The journal belongs to someone calling himself "Card Firmer Then," which the author concedes is a silly pseudonym to use, but at the time he chose it, he was "still newly reborn in your secret embrace, Kran."

The author is outraged that, with the death of the previous bailiff, "that stupid girl" was chosen as the new bailiff by the duke, and not him, "despite all I have done for that wretched fop." Despairing, he had found this cave while wandering the hills north of Blackberry Ridge. Within was the dead body of a hermit, apparently a priest of Kran. Finding the secret door in the rear of his cave, the author found the hidden shrine and the cave system beyond. The voice of Kran herself had spoken to him, and he turned away from the church he had always served, but which had failed him in his desire for more power. Finally, Kran sent Blackspine to him as a servant and familiar.

Reading further, Katadid discovers the author jumps around in time: About a year and a half ago, a dwarf trapper named Tarn Tetherknot arrived outside the palisade walls of Blackberry Ridge, saying he needed to speak to the author and the bailiff. But upon revealing that he had been bitten by a werebadger, the soldiers in town drove him off.

Realizing the werebadger could be an asset, the author set off in pursuit of Tarn, eventually finding him and extending an offer of help, including a promise to cure the dwarf. The offer, of course, was a lie. In the meantime, the author set Tarn to robbing the town, using a simple cave system beneath the town that connected to a hidden shrine the author had previously found.

The author brags about hiring the Azzak twins in secret to expand the cave system and install traps and then betraying them, "for the best secrets are the ones that are kept," and animating their corpses to guard the complex.

The stolen goods are transported through the cave system by rats controlled by Tarn, using the author's magical panpipes. These are periodically packaged together and sold in Goblin Falls and Stonecrown. The monies are to be used to hire the Black Reavers to fall upon the town and kill the new bailiff, Arabelle. Once she's dead, Card Firmer Then will rally the troops and the goblins will turn and flee, having been paid well to do so. He knows the goblins can be trusted, since he had previously hired them to kill the last bailiff with a poisoned arrow as well.

This plot, the author is convinced, will force the duke to raise him up to bailiff this time around.

Katadid looks up to find both Renraw and Tock quietly discussing the flaws in the plan and how they would have done things differently.

"Of course! OF COURSE!" Kat babbles as he paces back and forth. "The silver sling stones were hidden in the water in case he ever needed to get rid of Tetherknot. Just north of town would make a dwarven excavation easy to connect to the well, where the moisture would attract rats. And the person whose journal it is: He said he changed his faith. The high priest, Richter, OF COURSE!

The other Delver's jump back at Kat's outburst.

"An anagram! Card Firmer Then is Manfred Richter!"

He pauses, thinking.

"Hmm. The Maidensbridge Abbey nuns, this man. Lothian has poor judgment."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"That means the cave he originally discovered is beyond that door," Katadid says, looking worried. "But something this damning won't be left unprotected. We should be careful."

"What're we doing?" Ragglus asks, yawning after the longest bedtime story in the world was read to him. "Killing Anagram?"

"Killing?" Kat looks shocked. "We could give the book to the girl, I thought."

During Katadid's recitation, Renraw had dismissed the effects of the shrinking spell and had amused himself by removing the hipbones of the dangling skeletons. That done, he casts an abjuration on the nearby passage to alert the Gentlemen Delvers if anything moves through it.

"I have to do everything around here," he grumbles to himself.

As Renraw finishes his spell, Katadid touches the altar, and the half-skeletons dangling behind him suddenly rattle to life, pulling themselves from their shackles. As they are now without legs, they collapse to the floor, but crawl after the tiny wizard with one hand, while swinging their longswords with the other.

"Ah HA! I've saved us again!" Renraw barks, dancing a gleeful jig. "These legless rotters haven't a chance!"

"AAAAAH!" Kat runs away from the giant legless skeletons, screaming the whole time. He ducks under an enormous rusted sword that practically takes him off his feet from the rushing wind. He concentrates on dispelling the shrinking effect even as he begins muttering the first words of a conjuration incantation.

"Couldn't have taken their arms off too?" Ragglus chides, equipping his shield and flail, crossing to stand near Katadid.

"I didn't see you rushing to help!" Renraw scowls.

Renraw blasts the first skeleton with a dart of force, blasting it to bits. Katadid's splash of acid a moment later has a similar effect, even as the wizard climbs onto the altar in a panic.

Singing, Tock tries to grow, preparing to knock a skeleton's head off with his quarterstaff.

Renraw also decides to whack at them, kissing the magical flame of his staff and readying himself for some good bonks.

Ragglus sees everyone starting to pop back up to regular height, and tries to will himself back to the same. He'll attack anything left to hit with his flail, if any.

From his perch, Katadid fires a ray of frost at one of the half-skeletons, but to no avail: It's like the undead warrior doesn't feel cold at all. Below, Tock swings his quarterstaff at one skeleton, but the skeleton manages to parry away his blows. Beside him, Renraw manages to land a glancing blow. A moment later, Ragglus finishes the job that Renraw started.

Two skeletons continue crawling forward.

"Oh," Katadid says with disappointment, pulling out his sling. His sling stone thunks off the skull of the nearest skeleton with a hollow sound.

Renraw, enraged at Ragglus' glory hounding, tries to box him out of the next one and takes another swing as he does. But despite his confident sneer, he misses with both ends of his quarterstaff. Perhaps because of Renraw's elbow in his ribs, Ragglus misses with his flail.

The skeletons lash out at his legs, but Rags easily sidesteps the swings.

Tock's singing gets a little strained as he concentrates and tries to really whack one good.

Renraw sighs and sidesteps, conceding to Ragglus and bowing reluctantly, eyes rolling wildly.

Katadid hears a snicker from Renraw as his sling stone goes wide.

Tock steadies his staff with both hands and tries again to whack one of the buggers, almost forgetting the chorus. His quarterstaff glances off a crawling skeleton's chainmail. This time, it's Ragglus who snickers.

Renraw finds a remote corner of the cavern and sits himself down to watch.

"Call for me if you need me!" he shouts.

"Our dragon slayer," Ragglus murmurs as he catches a glance of Renraw retreating to the corner of the cavern. With a grunt, Ragglus smashes one of the crawling skeletons before it can hack at him again.

The remaining skeleton ineffectually swipes at him, before being shattered with the backstroke of Ragglus' flail.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

With the skeletons gone, Katadid leans over and flips open the concealed compartment, spotting a leather sack inside. Before he can reach for it, though, Renraw's alarm spell activates, and the sound of a frantically tinkling bell fills the air.

From beyond the crack in the door, the Gentlemen Delvers can hear the muffled sounds of a male person casting a spell.

"Ragglus!" Katadid squeaks, leaping off the altar and digging through his bag of scrolls. He looks up at the doorway, listening intently. "It's a defensive spell, obviously ... Richter!"

Kat quickly finishes reading the scroll and slaps a hand on Ragglus' broad back before taking cover behind the altar.

Ragglus whips open the door, his muscles bulging with magical strength, revealing an elf with twisted features, like someone melted half his face. One bloodshot eye stares from a socket that looks as though someone has peeled away the flesh in strips. Half of the elf's head is hairless, while the other half has black stubble like that of a man's beard.

The elf wears a breastplate bearing the Tarsisian Imperial crest and clutches a curved dagger of obviously ancient make and is covered in a shimmering translucent field.

He barks something in a language none of the Gentlemen Delvers know.

A moment later, Renraw's needle of force screams through the air, piercing the elf in the leg. Tock's arrow whistles by a pointed ear.

"Kran will bathe in your blood for that!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Kat is shocked at the horrific elf's appearance, but his threat quickly shocks the wizard back to reality.

"Kem! Take cover!" Kat admonishes.

The elf begins casting a spell as the Gentlemen Delvers attack, Katadid's sling stone going wide, almost striking Ragglus as he closes the distance between himself and the stranger.

Renraw completes his incantation before turning and running to the far cave tunnel, and another bolt of force streaks from his fingertip, striking the elf. Although his face twists in pain, he does not stop casting his spell.

With a grunt, Ragglus stabs the elf, penetrating the energy field around him and sinking his sword tip into the spellcaster's thigh.

But again, the elf's concentration does not slip, and he completes his spell: A wolf with black fur and burning red eyes appears on the altar of Kran. The otherworldly wolf looks between the two Gentlemen Delvers crouched behind it for a fraction of a second, and then attacks Katadid, its jaws closing on his sleeve, but the wizard just misses having the black teeth close on his flesh.

Singing about "the ugly elf" who can do something impossible "with himself," Tock Chandler stands and lets fly another arrow before turning his attention to the wolf attacking his cousin. The arrow goes wide, and the elf yells something again in the unknown language as he proceeds to back down the corridor, out of sight of any of the Gentlemen Delvers but Ragglus.

Ragglus trails the retreating elf, pressing the attack on what he assumes is an advantage.

Tock takes a step back and fires on the wolf while singing,

"_Kill the wolf, it won't take long,
Ragglus will pursue the elf while strong,
I've waited my life for some elf poontang,
And now a male, harrow elf, I find -- dang!
We'll skin him and save the fair bailiff.
(I just thought of a tasty banjo riff!)
Let's do this quick and help the brute.
I hunger for something cute!_"

Renraw appears crestfallen when he believes himself out of options, but when he nervously puts his hands on his hips, he feels something pressed to his stomach, held there by his belt. It's the dagger the group pulled from the spider's trap. He'd insisted it was his, and now he's glad he had: It is to be the instrument of Katadid's rescue. Katadid, perhaps his only friend, despite being lesser in every way when compared to Renraw.

He pulls the weapon from his belt as though it is St. Daris' hammer. His eyes gleam with unhinged intensity. He imagines driving it straight into the wolf's heart and charges.

"NYAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Katadid's sling stone seemingly goes straight up, and drops on the altar with a thunk. But his cousin makes the shot of a lifetime: The arrow pierces an eye of the wolf, burying itself deep inside the creature's brain. The wolf collapses and then, with a quiet sound, it vanishes, leaving a stink of rotten eggs behind as it returns to Hell, leaving Renraw screaming over it, holding his dagger.

"NYAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaarrr?"

Renraw slows his manic charge. Not knowing what to do with this sudden burst of energy, he simply alters course and continues running in the direction Rags and Kat headed, dagger out.

Kat coughs at the stench and turns to his cousin.

"T-thank you," he says, obviously shaken by the close call. He seems about to say something else and then remembers something. He looks around and sees the fighter gone, but hears the shouting from further down the tunnel. "Ragglus!"

Kat darts off into the tunnel, hard on Renraw's heels.

"_Ye best not mess with me or mine,
Yon creatures dark and foul!
Your life will be your wretched fine,
No one will hear ye howl.
If Ragglus hasn't killed you yet,
I'll help him draw your blood.
'Cause we're the best you've ever met,
The Delvers are just that damn good._"

As the elf withdraws, Ragglus takes a swing but misses. The elf is simply running too fast. Cursing, he follows at a distance.

The elf bellows something in the foreign language again, and this time, Ragglus hears a reply, even as he moves into another cave. He sees sunlight coming in from the cave mouth at the far end and then someone moving to stand in the mouth of the tunnel.

As Ragglus clanks after him, the elf yanks a potion from his belt, rips off the seal and gulps it down. He grins nastily as he wipes a wrist across his mouth, his wounds closing almost entirely. He drops the empty container to the floor.

Before the other Delvers can make it into the main cave, an arrow streaks at Ragglus, and then a second a moment later.

The first hits soundly, but the second jabs into Ragglus' neck, and blood gushes down his chest around it. He slumps to the ground and does not move.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The other Delvers careen into the room, and almost trip over their fallen friend.  Katadid goggles in horror at Ragglus dying on the floor.

Tock fires an arrow and strikes the elf in the shoulder. A moment later, Renraw leaps on the elf, screaming, stabbing through his protective magical shield with the dagger.

"Tock!" Katadid yells. "Wand!"

Kat looks into the distance and sees the shadowy figure. Desperately hoping it works, he grabs a bit of cotton and mutters a quick incantation. The silhouetted goblin shivers, momentarily stunned and confused by Katadid's hastily cast cantrip.

In the moment they have to spare, the Gentlemen Delvers look around the room: The cave is dry and slightly warm. It's about 20 feet wide and 35 feet long, with natural sunlight peeking in from a corridor at the eastern end. Along the north wall is a crude bed and wooden writing table, its surface covered with parchment. Wooden crates and bales of straw are situated along the south wall, along with a straw pallet.

Watching the goblin momentarily drop his guard, Kat rushes over to Ragglus and tears open the seal on the potion found in Blackspine's cavern. He find himself in the unusual position of wishing he ever prayed.

The potion gushes down Ragglus' throat and across his face, and for a moment, Katadid is worried he might have drowned his friend. And then Ragglus coughs and opens his eyes.

Katadid's reward for helping Ragglus comes a moment later comes in the form of a black-fletched arrow shrieking across the room, slamming him in the chest, lifting him up into a crouch. A second arrow twists him sideways and all but knocks him to the floor.

Meanwhile, Renraw, marveling over how easy it is to stab a person, takes a step back and casts a cantrip at the eyes of the elven spellcaster, but the elf blinks the effect away harmlessly.

Having been stabbed by Renraw, the harrow elf returns the favor now, slashing at the Bridger with his antique dagger, opening up a red gash across his chest.

Tock Chandler sights down his arrow and releases it, firing it at the harrow elf, still singing, his cadence slower, allowing for a steady shot, but the arrow is unable to penetrate the elf's protective field of force.

"_BIRD, GET TO COVER!
RAGS, WE KILL THEM ALL!
MAKE THE ELF YOUR SWORD'S LOVER,
THE GOBLIN'S HEAD WILL FALL!
ACCURSED INHUMAN FREAKS!
UNWORTHY OF OUR BLOOD!
THEIRS WILL FLOW IN STREAKS,
AND THIS CAVERN IT WILL FLOOD!_"

Lowering his bow, Tock begins humming a song of summoning. A giant beetle with glands that glow like starlight suddenly attacks the stunned goblin. The creature smites the goblin, which squeaks in pain.

Katadid races across the cavern and burrows himself in the hay bales for cover, almost slipping and stumbling on his own blood.

Dropping his sword to the floor and grabbing his spear, Ragglus attacks the elf with fire in his eyes. With the help of Katadid's spell scroll and Tock's song, he just manages to penetrate the elf's protective field, stabbing the spear home.

Roaring in frustration, the elf shrugs off the pain of his gut wound, and lashes out toward Ragglus with a hand coated in a dark energy field. But the fighter slaps the hand away with his spear point, wasting the spell.

"_Press the attack, we've got them now!
We'll get them back with our fierce know-how!_"

Katadid spits out a few strands of hay and cries out as he holds his sides. One of the arrows had broken off during his run, which makes it hurt even worse than the one still sticking out of him. He peeks above the bales in time to watch the goblin shiver helplessly under the influence of the spell. He also sees Renraw running quickly across the line of fire to go for the table. Feeling has wounds burn, Kat quickly puts together just how much a threat the sniper could be.

"Tock!" he shouts over the hay. "Keep him still!"

Perhaps dizzy from the loss of blood, Renraw hesitates with his table barricade a moment, moving it first toward the goblin and then scraping it along the cave floor toward the elf, leaving the papers formerly atop it in a sprawl on the ground.

At the other end of the cave, the celestial fire beetle gives a snap of its pincers, but the goblin has shaken off the minor enchantment spell and the beetle does not draw blood in the moment before it fades back to Heaven or wherever it came from.

Even as it fades away, Tock's arrow comes streaking across the cave at the goblin archer, but it streaks past him, into the sunlight.

In the back of his mind, Katadid notices that these hay bales aren't nearly tall enough to give him full cover such as Renraw's table affords the other wizard, but that fact is filed away in the overflowing section of his mind devoted to bolt holes Renraw has filled over the years. Instead, Katadid concentrates on creating a magical burst of light in front of the goblin's eyes. The snarl of frustration in Goblin tells him that he's succeeded.

Blinking angrily, the goblin's choice of targets is made for him by Katadid's spell. Although not seeing as well he normally might, he can see well enough: The first arrow the goblin fires strikes Katadid in the shoulder, and he's knocked back across the hay bale behind him, his blood soaking the straw.

Once again, the elf lashes out with a hand covered in a black aura, but once again, Ragglus knocks it away with his spear tip, grinning wolfishly. But his spear cannot penetrate the energy field around the elf, leaving them in a standoff.

With a chuckle, the goblin fires across the cave at the archer opposing him. Although not as good of a shot as the one that felled Katadid, it hits its mark, jutting through Tock's right calf.

Tock screams and curses at his wound, but then hears Kat do likewise. He can feel the eyes of the goblin archer on him as he leaps for his cousin, but doesn't care. He drops his bow and arrow between the hay bales even as he pulls out the wand and casts it on Katadid. A light seems to pass into the wizard's flesh and he coughs up a bit of blood before opening his eyes, as though a near-death experience was the most ordinary thing in the world.

The harrow elf, a frantic look in his eyes, tries one more time to strike Ragglus with a hand encased in dark magical energy. And once more, Ragglus uses the tip of his spear to knock the hand aside harmlessly.

Renraw finally drags the table between the goblin and elf and, with a grunt, tosses the dagger at the elf's black cloak. But he's a novice at throwing knives -- his family always threatened to blast those who annoyed them with lightning and hellfire instead of something so mundane as a thrown knife -- so it wobbles to the floor between the elf's feet.

The elf looks down at Ragglus with an expression of contempt, which slowly fades to horror as he realizes that the warrior is lifting him off the ground with his spear, which has been shoved beneath the edge of the elf's breastplate. The elf slides down the shaft with two great shakes before the tip of the spear exits his back.

The elf starts to say something, but finds only blood on his lips. A moment later, his eyes grow dark, and he goes silent. A moment after that, the illusion fades and Ragglus finds himself having impaled Manfred Richter, the constable of Blackberry Ridge. 
Seeing this, the goblin spits a curse in Goblin that Tock memorizes for later use. The archer turns and runs full out, yelling something as he goes. He's answered by the sound of a barking wolf and a moment later, there's the sound of a goblin and his wolf mount scrambling away from Blackberry Ridge and back to the Black Reavers.

"We finally got to kill a constable, guys," Tock chuckles.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Not so tough now, are you?" Ragglus sneers as he wipes the blood from his spear, turning to spit on the recently deceased Manfred Richter.

"Of course!" Katadid shouts. "An illusion to help cover the tracks of the deal made with the Reavers!"

Then Kat sees Ragglus wipe another sentient being's blood off his spear. He turns very pale. He runs toward one corner of the cave, trying to outrace the return of his last meal.

Renraw, who slumps against the upturned table, nods sagely, proud of himself. He rubs his hand on his wound.

"Don't heal it, Chandler. We'll leave the scar."

After ascertaining the goblin is well and truly gone -- and that the cave is about half a mile from town and concealed deep within a maze of blackberry bushes -- the Delvers search the two rooms.

The bag in the altar turns out to have 25 platinum dragons inside, along with a ceremonial adamantine dagger set with small rubies and two flasks marked with labeled "healing."

Under the goblin's straw bed in the final cave, the Delvers drag out a metal strongbox. Not having the ability to pick the lock, Ragglus delicately stomps on the lid until the box breaks open. As he stoops to pick it up, Katadid slaps his hand away, pointing at the needle jabbing out of the lock following Ragglus' rough use. The Delvers carefully open the box and discover most of Manfred's funds to pay the Black Reavers: 222 gold thrones, 13 assorted gems, a silver pin set with citrines, a coral statuette of a siren and a platinum disc studded with tiny emeralds.

Renraw has almost squirreled the papers off Manfred's desk into his bag with none of the other Delvers seeing him do so before he realizes that they're blank.

"OK, guys," Tock says, picking up the strongbox. "You want to keep all this stuff. I want to keep all this stuff. But more than that, we want the Gentlemen Delvers to have been here, and not fugitives from Applopolis. Obviously, we keep the weapons and armor we found here. I've no problem keeping any potions or pseudodragon loot, either. But the rest, I say we present to the bailiff, along with the evidence of Richter's betrayal, and we let the locals decide where it goes. We may or may not be rewarded with some of it. But the more we can do to throw off Midwood's men, the better."

"It is theirs anyway," Kat says, and gets a withering glare from Renraw in response. "We couldn't carry it all into Kem anyway."

"I'm going to keep this short and to the point," Renraw drawls. "I'm an accountant. Or, rather, I used to be. So I know a thing or two about accounting. And I'm willing to wager that Richter and our Reaver friends haven't kept a very careful tally of what they've stolen, nor of their expenses. Save that invoice from earlier, I haven't seen a single shred of pecuniary documentation.

"Do you remember how low our travelling funds have dipped? We simply can't rely on the kindness of the people of Blackberry Ridge. We can take half that money and they won't even be the wiser. We're far enough from town that we could simply bury it somewhere remote and then retrieve it AFTER we've spoken to the bailiff woman. They'll never have the faintest inkling of even a notion. I'm not chancing eating old sausages the rest of the way to Freeport, and I daresay our friend Chaplin here may agree with me. How can we get caught? How, I ask you?"

"We can't carry this much coin or it will slow us down!" Kat bursts out. "We're walking into Kem. Money won't help us there. We've already spent too long here."

"I may be lots of things, but I ain't no thief," Ragglus says pointedly to Renraw over his shoulder, heaving the dead body onto the overturned table. "Lady up in Berry Town said we was going to be paid, and we keep what weren't claimed. Fair deal."

"I know what you're saying, buddy," Tock tells Renraw, "But we can't do it. We can't risk it. We embarrassed the constable and all his Lothianite cronies. They'll spare no expense to find us and execute our arcane asses. We take what they give us. No more, no less."

"Fine, fine!" Renraw throws his hands up in defeat. "Mark my words, though, our reward will be paltry in comparison to what we could take."

Loading up, the Gentlemen Delvers step outside into the sunlight, blinking in the now-unfamiliar light of the sun. Although the Reaver and his wolf mount are long-gone, Manfred Richter's beautiful black horse is tethered to a blackberry bush.

"Let's tie our little sled to the horse," Tock says, nodding at the makeshift sled created from the table and bearing Manfred Richter and much of his ill-gotten gains. "Now how do we decide who rides it? Who almost died most often?" 

"I have a giant gash in my chest!" Renraw shrieks, proudly.

"Ragglus," Katadid says with authority. "Once from the spider, once from the pit, once from the werebadger and once from the goblin's arrows."

"Riding horseback makes you an easy target, and we ain't back in Berry Town yet," Ragglus snorts. "I'm walking."

Renraw enthusiastically clambers onto the rather dubious horse.

Getting out of the maze of blackberry bushes takes a while, but eventually, the Gentlemen Delvers -- dirty, bloody and eager for a bed that's not a cave floor -- begin their trek back toward town.

"See if they'll let you keep the breastplate, Chaplin," Renraw calls down. "It appears to be magical. Also, Chandler's bracers. Nothing else."

Renraw fails to mention, however, that he has placed the spider's silver dagger in his sack and carries Richter's on his belt.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The guards at the wall are surprised when the Gentlemen Delvers ride in, and there's a brief argument as to who will tell the bailiff, before a heavy middle-aged guard rushes off to Schultheis House.

After ascertaining that the adventurers do not need immediate medical aid, a lower-ranking guard escorts the Gentlemen Delvers to the bailiff's house, tying the horse up outside the gate. He clearly recognizes Manfred Richter's horse, but pointedly says nothing, and helps carry in the dead body of the town's constable.

Arabelle Schultheis stands up in surprise when the dead body is brought into her study and laid on a divan. Her face pale, lips almost invisible, she gestures for the senior guard to leave her, although the younger guard remains inside the door after it closes.

"Please," she says, avoiding wringing the scroll in her hands with a visible conscious effort. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun and she looks exhausted. She appears even paler than normal due to the plain dress she wears. "Sit, gentlemen, and explain to me why Blackberry Ridge's constable has returned to us in this state."

"Answers," Katadid says simply, handing Richter's journal to the bailiff.

"Young sir, this book is gibberish. A cipher, I believe?"

Katadid, startled that he's forgotten that the bailiff couldn't read it, nods.

"If this book is as important as you say, I would request that you transcribe the relevant passages. There is a desk with paper, ink and quills in the corner." She stretches out a finger toward the desk. "In the interim, perhaps one of your companions could explain."

"My beautiful lady and inspiration, I am sorry to bring foul news with good," Tock begins, striking a pose. "We have brought back much treasure, some of it surely the stolen items you mentioned. But your constable was engaged in a conspiracy against you. He was furious at your appointment and used his dark magics to steal and to recruit a dwarven werebadger to help him with his misdeeds. His goal was to kill you, and though I am loath to take human life, I am more loath to let beauty be harmed. We faced many travails in the cavern, and without the help of my combat advisor Rod Cmelak, my fellow soldier, and my intelligence maven, we'd be lost."

Bailiff Schultheis looks sadly on the body of her constable and nods.

"I am not surprised, although I did hope my suspicions were wrong." She looks up, taking in Katadid scribbling away furiously and the battered form of Ragglus. "And what of your other companions? They look as though they faced dangers as well.

"Badgers. Fish. Ants. Pseudodragons. Goblins. An octopus saved my life," Katadid mutters as he transcribes. "You may want to address the well. There's quite the complex down there. Also, there's altar to Kran."

Arabelle stands, walking over to Katadid, leaning a hand on his shoulder as she reads what he's writing.

"The goblins have always been our enemy, even when other communities viewed them as mere merchants. Still, my father will rest easier, knowing the one truly responsible for his death has been brought to justice, albeit a rough sort with a sword instead of a headsman's axe."

"A spear, actually," Ragglus corrects her.

"A spear, then."

She turns to Tock, touching him lightly on the forearm.

"And did you recover all that Richter had stolen from us?"

"I can only hope so, my lady." He presents the accumulated loot. "This, along with the stuff we had lifted out early on, is everything we found."

She smiles, moving away from Tock.

"Well, I'm afraid there won't be any reward," Bailiff Arabelle Schultheis says, "At least, not the sort you were expecting."

Her eyes meet Tock's, and he realizes that she's not quite so unworldly as Manfred Richter had thought.

"Our constable was away today when the Sheriff of Southerly's courier arrived with these."

She passes the scroll in her hand to Tock, who unrolls it to discover it's actually three scrolls, each of them a wanted poster.

The first is for Tock Chandler, wanted dead or alive, "for arson, assault on an imperial official, major destruction of property and disturbing the peace." The price on Tock's head is 2,900 gold pieces.

The second is for Renraw Kem, wanted dead or alive, for "crimes against the empire and assault on an imperial official." The price on his head is 2,500 gold pieces.

The last is for Katadid Leach, wanted alive for questioning, "in connection with assault on an imperial official." His bounty is a comparatively mild 100 gold pieces.

The sketches of each of the fugitives, while not perfect, are still clearly identifiable as the Gentlemen Delvers. Their attempts to change their appearances would likely fool some who read the signs, but Tock and Renraw know in an instant that they will be recognized sooner, rather than later, should they spend much time in a place where bulletins like these are posted.

"No one but myself and my brother," the bailiff indicates the young guard still in the room, who is making no overt hostile advances, but who is conspicuously armed and vigilant, "Has seen these as of yet, but I cannot keep them from being posted for long. The sheriff has friends among the guards here, and word will get back to him if I keep these to myself.

"But we can pretend that I did not break the seal immediately, as I was so distraught over the revelations regarding our constable. If the fugitives were to trade their reward for four swift horses and be gone before the sheriff's man were to finish his bath at the Dented Coin, no one could blame me or be the wiser. And as you did not tell me where you were headed, I will be unable to help the sheriff and any bounty hunter seeking to put more than 5,000 Imperials into his purse."

She moves behind a broad table, well away from the armed and dangerous fugitives.

"As I said, I know this is not the reward you were expecting. But four swift horses, a head start and a bailiff ignoring her duty to her duke and emperor is a substantial reward indeed, from where I stand. I trust you will agree."

"Arabelle," Tock says, speaking quickly, "Forgive my boldness at use of your given name. It is reward enough that you do not immediately leap to conclusions based on our tragic circumstances. To go further only places you deeper in my heart. Tock Chandler will not soon forget your kindness and generosity, and your fair nature will inspire many a song that will reach this town some day. I wish time would permit more, I wish circumstances would permit more, but the memory of your beauty will keep me warm on my dangerous journey. You will be with me always.

"Gentlemen, it's time to go."

"We would turn back and face the music, as it were, as lawful citizens should, would that we could," Renraw announces, puffing out his narrow chest. "There is a far more pressing matter awaiting us in, er, our final destination, another grave injustice, such as your town's, that will not be righted if not for us. And, of course, our freedom allows us to help others in need, as well. I will proudly wear this scar I received in my duel with foul Richter. Farewell to you all!"

"I killed that feller for you," Ragglus says, tapping his stained spear. "Me and Midwood is square; I ain't done nothing. Seeing as that, I'd appreciate taking the dead feller's armor. Might be it'd serve me well, since I'm supposing you're lumping me in with this lot. The following days and nights are bound to be trying, I expect."

"You certainly may take the spoils off our former constable, except that which spells out his involvement in my father's murder and the thefts. I hope never to see them again." The bailiff considers Ragglus, pity showing in her expression. "The Vast Codex is clear on the matter of aiding and abetting criminals, however. You and I are both criminals in the eyes of the law, and no mistake. It would be better for both of us if you were to get out of the duchy as quickly as possible so that mortal agencies never find out. We will have enough to answer for when we meet Lothian some day, I suspect."

"Your name won't escape my lips if Lothian comes calling, looking for answers," Ragglus grins as he begins to strip the armor from the deceased constable. "You have my word, one villain to another."

Sighing as he hefts the armor, Ragglus bobs his head slightly in farewell, moving to exit and catch up the others.

As the group runs out of Schultheis House, they find the bailiff has the four horses already picked out. They're waiting, along with tack and bridle and saddlebags with bedrolls and a week's worth of food and water.

Kat hastily loads his gear onto a grey spotted mare and waits for the other Delvers to make ready to depart. After a moment, Kat beckons to the stable boy. He whispers something and hands a folded piece of paper to him.

The sun has just begun to set behind the Hotash Mountains as the Gentlemen Delvers mount their new horses. Conscious that, in the Dented Coin, the Sheriff of Southerly's man will be finishing his bath at any moment and wondering why the wanted posters are not up, they spur the horses and race out of town in a cloud of dust, little richer and very conscious that they will be breaking their streak of sleeping on cavern floors with a bed of hard ground this evening.

They ride south toward Kem. As the world turns dark around them, they can see that the land before them grows less and less green as they ride toward a wasteland so devastated by magic, it has not recovered thousands of years later.

The Gentlemen Delvers can almost feel the eyes of the Imperial army and bounty hunters on their backs as they gallop into the deepening night.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 7
The Shadows of Kem House*​
It is the 5th day of Rain, in the 721st year of the Imperial Age.

Heath Leach watches the adventurers' prayer circle and chuckles. As the group disperses and makes their way toward Maidensbridge Abbey, his smile fades.

"Good luck, kids," he says. Closing the window of his shop, he finishes mixing the smelly compound before him and scrapes the paste into a clay pot before putting a thin, greasy paper over the opening and sealing the pot with a hiss. That took care of Olaf Carter's annual post-winter cold.

The list before him was of fungicides for the orchard, but instead Heath looks out toward the closed window again. After a moment, he walks over to a cupboard and opens the bottom drawer with an angry squeak. He takes out one item, then thinking for a moment, takes two, before stuffing them into his belt and arranging his apron to cover them.

"Good morning, Giselle," Heath nods at the woman walking past him, who smiles in return. They talk about daily pleasantries, with the subject inevitably traveling toward the mission at the abbey. Giselle Trinder's focus was the shameful behavior of the Sawyer lass, which Heath chided her for, citing his own youthful indiscretions. Heath had three more conversations like that on his way, not hurrying.

His destination is a house that most of the town gave as wide a berth to as possible. If anyone admitted its existence, it was only be to spit on the ground or scowl at it as they passed by. Heath does none of these things. He simply stares at the door for a long time. It has been almost 15 years since he walked across its threshold.

Heath reaches under his apron, confirmed the sharpness of his axes, and walks into Kem House.

The heavy oak door opens easily. With both Kem sons dead or incarcerated and Rogren confined to a sickbed, there was no one to bar the door behind the creature once it left on its fool's errand. Heath shuts the door quietly behind him.

The foyer is as he remembered it: open and expansive, yet sunless and uninviting, even in the day. Something about the dark wood paneling seemed askew, enough to make him mildly dizzy. He had given up on determining the exact cause of the feeling during his first visits, but in the interim he'd forgotten about it. 

To his left is a sitting room, seemingly untouched for many years, the antique furniture within caked with dust. Straight ahead lay the main hall, which Heath knew led to the family library, a study, and the kitchen beyond.

He steels himself and makes for the immediate right, toward a wide staircase, which is much the worse for wear. The fine wine-colored rug that once covered the steps is in faded tatters and the finely carved, lion-themed balustrade in serious disrepair. Heath decides stealth is his best option and creeps gently up the first two wider steps. He avoids the railing for fear it might crumble, keeping careful watch on his own bloody footfalls.

Blood?

He spins to face the front door again and lets his eyes adjust to the low light. A fresh trail led from the entryway and down the hall. The immense, gilded mirror now rests on the tabletop that it normally hung above. The glass is shattered, large fragments sitting in a pool of blood on the floor. Heath follows the spoor with his eyes, surprised to see it arc all the way into the study.

And then, from the same direction, comes a strange wet thudding sound.

Heath stands, listening to the noise echo, then pushes back his apron and takes out both of the small axes. He rotates one shoulder and grimaced at the familiar painful grinding of old bones and the chips of the barbed Reaver arrowhead embedded underneath. He suddenly remembers he hasn't used these axes since the last kobold attack 10 years ago.

The blood is a smear, as though something small had been dragged. Heath continues on quietly toward the study, ready to provide medical assistance if necessary, but keeping his axes ready, and is careful to avoid broken glass when passing the shattered mirror. His fractured reflection watches Heath creep past.

The thick, wet sounds settle into a rhythm. Holding his breath, Heath rounds the corner.

Morning sun fills the smallish study from the entry opposite Heath. A child no older than 10 kneels in the middle of the room over a dissected pig, face and arms painted with complex patterns of blood. His hands are fists, pounding the dead animal's insides one after the other, even though the boy is clearly exhausted. Tears pour from his eyes, mixing with the hog's blood on his face and smearing the triangular markings on his cheeks, but no sounds escape his open mouth.

The boy notices Heath and seems to snap out of his trance. Shocked, he immediately leaps to his feet and edges his way closer to an open trap door in the floor. Two broken timbers lay beside a bunched-up rug. Rogren's desk is shoved into a corner, exposing the black mouth of the trap door.

The boy's eyes widen when he spots Heath's axes. So much like the other Kems.

"It's you!" he shouts, terrified, gaze now darting back and forth between Heath and the hog. "Just the way it was!"

"Wait," Heath says, panicked, flipping the axes downward in his open palms to show he'd means no harm. "It's OK. Whatever you think ..."

The boy vanishes through the trap door.

"I don't want to be a Kem!" he shouts as he fell from view.

Heath leans an arm against the doorjamb and exhales, feeling at a loss. He had just decided to follow when he hears two female voices emanating up from the hatch.

"Hello?" a woman asks. "Is somebody up there?"

"Quiet!" the other voice, an older woman, bellows, "None of our concern!"

The women bicker with one another unintelligibly for a short moment as Heath makes his way closer to the trap door, stepping around the fetid hog and the broken timbers. The next thing the pharmacist hears is a blood-curdling scream from the younger woman.

"HELP!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

In any other place, a cry for help would bring Heath running. Here, though, things were different. He stands over the trap door, listening to the silence that followed the scream.

He looks at the swine innards strewn across the floor, his boots covered in offal. But one thing was missing: Even the flies avoided Kem House.

"I hate this place," Heath sighs. He takes both axes in his hands again and tromps loudly down the stairs into the darkness. "Right, every one of you is crazier than a kobold with a gnome inside his sister and if you try ANYTHING, I'll-"

Heath stops short at the bottom of the stairs by the scene before him, his mouth going dry.

"Oh, now this just ain't right."

The stone chamber is surprisingly well lit for a dungeon. The torches mounted in the passageway between six large cells look relatively new in comparison. And those aren't the only new additions: Amidst the implements of torture are doily-covered home furnishings.

Each once-identical cell is now dedicated to its own unique purpose. The first four cells hold a parlor, some kind of anteroom or office, and two bedrooms, each with heavy wooden doors removed from their hinges, and each empty.

Then Heath hears the women murmuring again, the sound causing gooseflesh to rise on his arms.

From one of the bedrooms, he creeps back out into the passage and past a small table with memorabilia and other keepsakes on it. Beyond it is the next room, the kitchen, and again, no one inside, just cooking implements hanging from iron shackles and a torture rack converted to a food preparation surface. Heath turns his head away from the kitchen and stifles a gasp.

Standing in the passage is a ghoulish old woman, emaciated and dressed in tatters, gray hair an oily, tangled rat's nest. Her teeth are yellowed and rotten, and Heath can hear a whistling noise as she spoke.

"Do join us in the tea room, won't you? It's been so dreadfully long since we've had a proper guest."

"You ... you just have to be dead," he says.

"Don't be rude," she hisses. "I just invited you in for brunch after you've barged right into our home."

As she turns and hobbles back into the "tea room," Heath can't help but notice her crooked spine. He feels no sympathy for her, but as a doctor it made him uncomfortable.

"Now, come sit down or show yourself out. Makes no never mind to me."

"Oh, no. You think I'm doing this again? You people twist everything until a man don't remember what he came in with or left without. I had enough of that 10 years ago. I ain't sitting with your kin, not now or ever.

"And I'll tell you something else I ain't gonna do: I ain't leaving until I see that boy Rando. Then I can get back to the business I rightfully came here for."

Heath storms into the tea room.

"You hear me on that?"

The decrepit old woman whirls and slaps a bony hand to his chest. She is strong for her age and condition, but she barely slows him. But Heath stops on his own, realizing there isn't much room for charging, nor much call for it, despite his rage. Behind the old woman is a younger one, around Heath's age, sitting quietly sipping her drink. She sets her porcelain teacup down with a jangle into a mismatched saucer. In fact, the entire set is mismatched. Moreover, everything about this place was hodge-podge.

Rando Kem is nowhere to be seen.

Instead, the cloudy-eyed younger woman shakes her head.

"Please," she whispers, "Don't."

He'd seen eyes like that before, 15 years ago. It was a different woman, but the look was the same. This one, like the other, had once been beautiful, before time and circumstance got hold of her, before decades of hopeless panic had ruined her.

"Afraid I'm going to have to insist you bugger off, now, young man," the haggard old crone whistles.

Heath stares for a moment at the young woman before turning his attention back toward the hag in front of him.

"You damned Kems and your rules. You people steep in this."

Heath backs away from the crone and her obscene grin. He storms back toward the stairs, but turns back around, his foot on the first step.

"Rando meets me at the front door before I leave, 10, 15 minutes. I ain't taking him!" Heath yells as the old woman opened her mouth to retort. "Learned that lesson too well the last time. Just want to say something to him. That's all."

The two say nothing in response; the younger woman too terrified and the older too defiant to do so.

"I ain't ever seen a house in more need of Estanna's tending than this one. I know y'all don't care but I'm going to pray for her to find this place." Heath sighs as he climbs the stairs and opens the trap door to the room above. "But I doubt she will."

Moments after Heath releases the heavy trap door with a slam, the young woman's horrible cry echoes in the study and out into the hall.

"HOW COULD YOU LEAVE M--"

Heath closes his eyes, either not hearing the scream that follows, or ignoring it.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Heath walks back to the stairs, and looks up. The wood is streaked with dust and rotting carpet clings to each step. He climbs the stairs resolutely, determined to ignore any distracting noises. That's the plan, anyway.

It starts halfway up: a low hum, just barely audible. Heath ignores it.

It isn't until he reaches the top of the stairs that he realizes hum is increasing in volume. He looks down the hall at the large wooden doors. Walking past the torn pictures lining the hallway, the hum grows in intensity.

By the time he reaches the door to the master bedroom, it's obvious the hum comes from inside. There is also a faint distasteful odor. Beneath and along the door's edges are the remnants of heavy curtains attached with twine through drilled holes, effectively sealing the door tightly. Heath stares at the door for a long moment before placing his hand on the door. Taking out one axe out, he opens the door.

Heath feels the moist heat first, and then stumbles back as flies assault his face. The hum has become an angry buzz. And with the flies comes the smell.

Heath bunches up his apron and holds it over his nose, trying not to retch. For a moment, he wonders if someone has gotten here before him, but then realizes it isn't a smell of rot. Heath had been on the frozen battlefields of Tulgey Wood when the last baron died, and this isn't it. It's close, but not quite. It's earthier, more like an outhouse.

Heath looks again and discovers he's right: Whatever decorations once covered, layers of caked-on fecal matter now obscure the walls. The bed has collapsed, perhaps from the weight of human waste deposited on it. The corners had piles reaching halfway up the wall. Yellow stains spread out on what's left of the carpet, and Heath catches the acidic tang of dried urine. The floor is also caked with dead flies. Dresser drawers are pulled out haphazardly, the clothes within fouled and rotting. Each of the windows is partially open, keeping the smell away from the rest of the house.

Heath closes the door again.

The bedroom hadn’t actually surprised him, he realizes with sadness. The smell was abhorrent, but somehow not out of place. Not here.

He drops his apron and rounds the corner in the hallway, revealing yet another long hallway. At the end of this hall is the west side of the house and what he presumes are the other bedrooms. His resolve ebbing, Heath wonders if the walk will even be worth it; maybe he had been had. This "Flower" is quite peculiar, but ultimately he is still a kobold, and a little lie like that was nothing for one of them. But the only motive Heath could figure would be some kind of complicated ambush, maybe to preemptively remove one of the town's defenders.

The possible threat to the town concerned Heath greatly, but he'd heard more disturbing rumors of the last few weeks: He'd heard Rogren Kem was back in town, and with a kobold seeing after him, no less. Older Bridgers knew of the Kems' fondness for mating outside their species, so it was at least possible. Heath was either about to be assaulted or he'd find Rogren. Neither prospect polished his apple, so to speak, but it was well past time to take care of things.

Axe in hand and arm extended, Heath makes his way down the hall, eyeing the portraits of the family patriarchs. Most of the other bedrooms in Kem House were unremarkable. One in particular was decorated with a somewhat more rustic sensibility than the others but was covered in the same dust as the others. Heath has started to give up on finding another sign of life when he comes to a bedroom with the door shut: all the other doors, save the master bedroom door, had been open.

Heath slowly turns the knob and pushes the door open. As he does, he hears a loud cough from the next room over. He knows it's Rogren, but it is too late; his actions are not under his control. He steps into the room and forgets the world outside it.

Mid-morning light streams through the windows. On the bed, Heath recognizes Priscilla Kem yawning, kicking her feet under the covers in a deep stretch. He starts to apologize for intruding on her, but no words come out. Similarly, his shocked expletive when he remembered that Priscilla Kem was dead also goes unspoken.

"Good morning," she purrs.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

“And good morning to you, kind lady,” Heath replies, bowing his head formally. “Although it’s almost too late to call it that.”

She sits up and stretches again, this time with her arms. Heath watches this sturdy woman, whom he'd always known as the one of the only Kems with any decency, and deep within him, something screams. But it feels so natural.

She smiles a loving smile to Heath.

“I think the day’s cyphering can wait for me to rouse myself. I’ll bet Old Man Crippen’s seed is still right where we left it yesterday.”

Heath laughs softly, dropping onto the bed. Somewhere inside him, a voice screams this isn't him, that this morning isn't this morning, that it happened long ago.

“I can’t imagine the beating I’d take from Rutar if he knew,” Heath chuckles and idly scratches his nose; a habit that wasn't his.

“That you’ve got a woman tendin’ the books?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“You knew my uncle,” Ronco says through Heath’s lips. “You know my family.”

Heath bucks at that last comment, his mind suddenly reasserting itself with the statement. He'd never had any quarrel with Ronco Kem, aside from who his brother was, but that was the trouble. He didn’t want any part in any dream as any Kem. Heath jumps back from the bed, and feels something tear away from him. He clamps his eyes tight and feels a cold tremor inside his chest.

When he opens his eyes again, the room was empty, dusty and lifeless like the others ... except for a tall, black-haired man in black bedclothes leaning weakly against the doorframe. Rogren Kem examines Heath with hungry falcon’s eyes.

“Leach, what the devil are you doing in my home? And what are you gibbering about?”


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Heath steals a glance back at the empty bed, his heart still racing.

"Heard you been sick. Figured I'd give you a check up just for old times," Heath says, working to keep his voice even. He follows Rogren's eyes downward, to the axe in Heath's hand. "And this here is to impress upon you the necessity of said check up."

The frown lines on Rogren Kem's face are so deep that Heath can't tell if the man was making a face or if it was just Kem's natural expression. Before he can decide, Rogren turns and slumps back against the wall. He is ordinarily a tall man with impressive posture, so the slouch is noticeable.

"I have a caretaker," he says, his back turned. "See yourself to the exit, druggist."

"That'd be the kobold then?" Heath asks. "Right, well, I sent your pet on a little trip to the abbey just now. He'll be back ... unless the sisters get him."

Rogren Kem whirls around, his hand remaining conspicuously buried in the bedclothes at his side. The commotion registers as a vibration in the small curio cabinet nearby. Rogren's eyes threaten to explode as fire on his own cheeks.

"Be careful now, Leach. And think before you answer: Tell me again where Flower is, and why it is you've sent him there."

"Well, you just answered one of mine, Rogren," Heath says after a moment. "It raises a whole mess of others but ...

"He asked me for a job, oddly enough. The ivy at the abbey seems to help stem night terrors if distilled just right, and some of the town's been having a few more of them of late what with the recent kobold issues looming. Seemed fitting.

"Just saw a half dozen kids wander over there, sent by the bishop himself to clear out the place. If 'Flower' ain't no threat, then he's got nothing to worry about."

"'Nothing to worry about?'" Rogren asks, leaning on the curio cabinet. "Nothing to worry about, save soul-rending manic frenzy induced by the centuries-old phantasms of brutally murdered holy women, you mean?"

Rogren begins to cough and shudder uncontrollably and falls to the floor in a heap. In his other hand, the one he had kept concealed, he clutches a dragon pistol.

"If anything has happened to him," he say, prone and hacking, "You'll be responsible. Again. And this time I won't let it go."

Heath watches Rogren convulse on the floor. After a moment, he sighs and leans down, sheathing his axe under his apron. Heath kicks the pistol from Rogren's hand, then picks it up and tosses it into the hallway. Rogren looks up, alarmed, as Heath lifts the man off the floor and places him onto the bed, not too roughly, but none too gently, either.

"Truth be told, Rogren," Heath says, as he adjusts Rogren's bedclothes. "I've yet to see reason why I or anyone should care if a dragonkin joins the sisters. But supposing I did send an innocent creature to his death, I'll just have to add it to the list of things I live with."

Heath rips open Rogren's shirt and shoved the other man back onto the bed as he struggles.

"And if you want me to bring out the axe again, I can. But that'll make this examination difficult."

"You're a mess," Rogren says disdainfully, crusted phlegm at the corners of his mouth. "You don't know whether you're coming or going. Helping people you hate, neglecting those in your care. So many contradictions."

"Don't flatter yourself, Kem," Heath lays his head against Rogren's chest and listens to the rattling inside. "I'm making sure you're really sick. I wouldn't put it past you."

Rogren starts to groan, but it turns into another cough.

"If I'd the strength, I would've thrown you out by now. And I'd be at the abbey, helping those children."

"I'm sure they'd appreciate you cutting and running once you got your little friend back." Heath sighs. "Besides, they ain't children anymore."

"You've missed the point again," Rogren snorts. "The mission the young ones have taken is an important, long-overdue one, one in which every able-bodied, Lothian-fearing man in this village should be helping with. The abbey is a travesty; the sisters there a blight. Frankly, I'm astonished it's taken the bishop so long to do something about it, and astonished he sent our town's children to do it. Did no call go out to the men? Why only six children?"

"Don't make no sense to have the entire town getting in the way and getting killed. You'd need a team of exorcists I wager, and that's what they have now: Damn near four of 'em by my count. They're good kids, and I've known Bufer nearing on 20 years now, so they're in as good hands as Estanna can provide."

Heath stands back up from his crouch. Rogren angrily buttons his shirt back up.

"Well, you've got more fluid in your lungs than is healthy, that's for sure. That answers question number two, so let's move on to the big one.: Just what in the Hell do you think you're doing back here?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"I've as much a right to be here as anyone," Rogren answers, hoarse and wheezy from the activity. "This is my ancestral home. Can you think of a reason I shouldn't be here?"

"Besides the fact that everyone in town was happier thinking that you had died?" Heath shakes his head. "You know what people call your place now? Kobold House. After everything that's happened with this family, bringing one of them with you was the worst thing you could have done."

"Pardon me, but just what has happened with this family that the town hasn't had over a decade to recover from?" Rogren asks, confused. "For that matter, can you explain to me where my family actually is? I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone but my companion."

"You really did just up and cut yourself off from everyone didn't you?" Heath says, a look of awareness spreading across his face. "Your brother Ronco and Priscilla took over after you abandoned your sons. They were good people. We liked them, despite everything.

"They died. Murdered, actually, almost a year ago now, and they died in a bad way."

Rogren is still and silent for a long while. When he tries to speak, he can't, and violently struggles to suppress a coughing fit.

"Who?" he spits out finally.

"Damned if I know," Heath says. "Bridger tore this town top to bottom, and half of the town helped, but we still found nothing. No one knows to this day."

"Were my sons considered?" Rogren asks quietly.

"Why? Do you know something?"

"No, but I know those boys, and I know this town. I wouldn't put it past certain parties to put them up for the crime. This family never misses a chance to take blame, whether guilty involved or not."

"We'd be less likely to place blame if y'all weren't so inclined to earn it," Heath said. "No, Renraw was in Tarsis for school. Roebello's possible, but I don't think the boy has it in him and no one could find him to question him. You'd be proud, Rogren. They're sons of bitches, and they picked up right where you left off."

"Renraw's in school," Rogren repeats quietly, astonished. "What's being done now?"

"Trails go cold after a year. Of course, now that Roebello is serving time at the farm, he'll be easy to interrogate. But he's just a thief, and not a good one at that. Let's talk about Renraw some."

"If he's in Tarsis, he's not a suspect," Rogren snarls. "You said it yourself."

"He ain't in Tarsis. Your brother used apple money to send Renraw to school, so the baron forced him back here to pay it off in your old job. Truth be told, I don't blame Ronco for it and thought the baron gave the kid a harsh deal.

"Renraw festered here, in this House. He was a right son of a bitch, and then he went all the way past that and sold out the town to Green Mountain in secret meetings with the kobolds. It turns out the dragonkin plan on invading Maidensbridge and your son was right in the thick of it. We found out. He ran.

"And he took my son with him."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"You wonder why this town hates you, why we find it a little suspicious that days after this happened, you get dragged into town with a kobold caregiver, why a few of the townsfolk whisper about burning this house. Get rid of 'Kobold House' and let the pus drain out. After the Grant boy died, they ain't willing to take chances.

"I hate you, but I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself before the mob comes. Because they will kill you and torture the hell out of your 'companion,' whether he knows anything or not."

Heath leans back and the chair lets out a squeak of relief.

"I'll let that sink in for a few."

"So that's why you're here," Rogren smiles knowingly. "My imbecile son has absconded with your own imbecile son and now you're upset and taking it out on me. Isn't that just precious?"

He leans forward towards Heath, gesturing with an extended knuckle.

"As for your supposed mob, Flower has already begun seeking full citizenship. Any crimes committed against his person will be punishable under imperial law. Beyond that, anyone who approaches either of us with that sort of ill intent will be shot dead, and I'll be within my rights to do so."

Rogren clears his throat in order to stave off any more coughing fits, throws his legs over the side of the bed and begins to climb out.

"I owe you and this town precisely zero explanation," Rogren says, his back cracking loudly as he stretches to his full height and then sits back down to lean on the edge of the bed. "But there's this: I took ill and came home to recuperate and that's the end of it. If you or anyone thinks Flower may be a spy, you clearly haven't spent enough time with him. Now then ..."

He calmly pulls an identical pistol from beneath his pillow, quickly putting distance between himself and Heath, aiming from his hip from the corner of the room

"You are trespassing. Go now," he coughs, choking on phlegm, "And don't come back."

"We could test which one of us is quicker, but it ain't worth the time. Way I figure it, a man should hang for the sins he has committed, rather than the ones he didn't. And you got more than enough to make you swing eventually, even if you ain't in with the kobolds."

Heath pauses for a moment, his hand on the doorframe.

"If Kat gets hurt -- if, Estanna forbid, he dies -- I will track down your son, I will find him, and I will gladly burn for the all the pain I will cause him before I kill him.

"And that's when I'll think long and hard about finally killing you," Heath says as he walks toward the front door.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Will you now?" comes a voice from the bottom of the steps before the house.

 Constable Ward Bridger stands there, greatsword bared, a bloody and shaking Rando Kem standing behind him. The constable's white scar running down the left side of his face practically glows as the rest of his face is red with fury.

"Drop the weapon, put your hands out before you and lay face down on the porch, "Or I will administer the baron's justice right here and now."

"Son of a bitch," Heath mutters. Shaking his head, he takes both his axes and tosses them to the ground. "Bit of an overreaction for trespassing, Ward. I ain't sure what that bastard Rogren told you, but I was heading straight to your house just now. We can talk plenty there."

Heath kneels down and holds a hand out to Rando.

"Son, no one's going to make you do anything you don't want to as long as I'm around. It's OK."

"Keep 'im away from me!" Rando screams. "Kill 'im, Constable! You kill 'im like y'said y'would!"

"What?" Heath blinks in surprise. "WHAT?"

"Get on the ground, now. You have eluded me for a year, but I have you at last. I will not ask again."

Heath looks incredulously at Bridger and turns to Rando, his expression turning hard. He turns back to Bridger and holds his hands out, palms up.

"Ward, I didn't kill Ronco and Priscilla, no matter what Rando may say. I was in Foxton helping distill some medicine for the flock that year, and there are plenty of shepherds that can account for that.

"Now I know you got a job to do, and I ain't going to keep you from doing it. You take me to the baron and cast whatever spells you need and we'll get this figured out. But I am asking you as a friend and someone you've known for coming on 20 years now, that you let me walk out of this town under my own power. You can put those manacles on me soon as we get on the Baron's Road, but I am asking that you let me walk out of this town like a man."

"He's a liar," the boy howls, crying. "He's a liar and he wuz comin' back fer me!"


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

"You will walk before me, slowly, with no sudden moves, to my tower," Constable Ward Bridger says. "We will wait for Tucker to return from the abbey. Between Bergens and Kems, Leaches and Chandlers, I'm not leaving this town unguarded again."

"Ward, my son is an imperial fugitive for conspiring with the kobolds," Heath says. "You take me away what's that going to look like? If ... _when_ my son comes home, I want as little shame put on him as possible. I can't be adding my own onto his.

"I'm going to walk now, and I'd surely appreciate it if you sheathe that sword and keep things friendly. Town's got enough to talk about with Rando looking a fright. And I ain't going to look back either. I'll trust you to keep to your conscience on this. Everything can be explained there."

As Heath walks, his hands to his sides, he speaks without looking back.

"I ain't ever going to hurt you Rando. I just want to say that even if you don't believe it right now."

Heath hears an irritated noise from the constable, followed by the sound of his sword being slowly sheathed.

"Don't fool yourself -- I can still catch you with a pegleg."

He clumps along after Heath.

"Never thought I could, Ward. I watched you chase down a kobold scout in snow three feet deep. Of course we both would have died from that raiding party if the Caver brothers hadn't found us." Heath smiles tightly as he walks forward. "You ever miss those days? Simpler."

"Save your words until we're behind closed doors. My ears haven't stopped ringing from hearing all of Chandler's excuses."

Despite the situation, Heath laughs.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

A tall figure in a hooded cloak waits by the tower as the strange trio approach.

"Wait here," Bridger says to Heath, and moves to speak with the figure. The taller figure offers to show an object to the constable, who demurs for the moment, motioning for him to wait outside.

"Inside, Leach." Bridger leads Heath inside the small tower, taking him to a room with a steel-bound door and a narrow barred window looking outside. He gestures towards a sturdy wooden bench and waits for the other man to go inside.

Rando has been angrily marching after Heath and the Constable, his scrawny arms crossed in front of him. When Bridger beckons Heath in, the child scowls, exasperated.

"Y'said you'd kill him!"

He picks up a small rock, hurls it at Heath's head, and dashes off to parts unknown. The blow was not a deadly one, but Heath winces and scowls at the retreating child.

"You want to catch him, I'll wait. I ain't got any interest in making this any harder."

"He's a boy," Bridger says. "I know where he goes when he's hungry or sleepy."

The constable locks Heath in and heads outside, closing the door of his tower behind him. Through the small barred window, Heath can barely hear the conversation outside, although he notices the other man's voice sounds strange somehow.

Heath sighs and looks up to the light coming through the window, not bothering to get up. He isn't expecting to stay long. And even if he did, Heath doesn't get bored easily. Having to spend hours crouched down under cover of rotten leaves and mud while staking out a Reaver camp, silent and still for fear of a brutal death, Heath had long learned to occupy himself. Instead, he tabulates in his mind what still has to be done at the apothecary for the next day or two.


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## Whizbang Dustyboots

It is after dark when Hazel Sawyer knocks on the constable's door. Heath Leacher watches from his cell as she enters, followed by a kobold. In her arms is an unconscious Ebuferpaly Potentloins.

She looks confused as to what's happening, but deposits the gnome on a long table as the constable's other guest enters the room, towering over everyone else.

"Hazel," Constable Ward Bridger says, as the other figure pulls back his hood, revealing leonine features, "This is Nargrav. He's a bounty hunter."

"Miss Sawyer," the litorian rumbles, handing her a rolled trio of wanted posters, "I understand you helped in the search for Renraw Kem, Katadid Leach and Tock Chandler."

Flabbergasted, Hazel stares up at Nargrav with a mix of awe and confusion. She momentarily forgets about Bufer as she drinks in the leonine features, bursting with curiosity.

_I bet Kat would love -- wait, what did he say about Kat?_

She unrolls the wanted posters and scans the images.

"Yes, sir, I did, for all the good it done us."

Flower meekly stands in the shadow of the wall, wishing he were invisible. His eyes widen considerably at the entrance of the litorian and the mention of Renraw Kem.

Having spent so long in the cell with nothing to do except make lists in his head and fume over how much work he would have to do tomorrow to make up for the lost time today, Heath is momentarily confused by the sudden rush of people. He is torn between concern for the gnome and concern for whatever the bounty hunter has planned for his son. Ultimately, his field doctor's instincts take over. He looks suspiciously at the kobold.

"Hazel, what happened?" Heath pries open Bufer's eyes and looks at how bloodshot they are. "Was it the kobold? Or the sisters?"

"We cleansed the abbey, but the abbess' ghost did something to him. I don't know what: It seemed like only a second, and then he was out of it. Couldn't get any response from him. Thought maybe you could mix something up to make him all right.

"And the kobold ain't like any other I met. Seems right helpful. Cheery, even."

"Mister Leach!" Flower blurts out. "I would never hurt!"

"You want to count the headstones out there, reptile?" Heath snaps and points angrily toward the cemetery. "Huh? You want to know how many of them were put there by YOUR People? And you wonder WHY I HAVE TO ASK THE QUESTION?"

And just as sudden as Heath's outburst begins, it stops.

"So you vouch for him?" he quietly asks Hazel, his face flushed.

"NEVER WANTED WAS BORN THIS WAY!" Flower yells, his voice catching. "NEVER KILLED NO ONE! NEVER WOULD! ONLY WANTED ... HELP! YOU AND EVERYBODY! JUST WANT PEACE! ONLY! LEAVE ME ALONE, WARD! WITH ROGREN NOW!"

Flower retreats to the corner, turning his back and sobbing violently. He fishes something out of a pouch and clutches it tightly in his claws before composing himself and turning again to the cell.

"The lichen, it helps with night terrors. Please use it to help Mister Ebuferpaly. He's a nice gnome."

Heath stares for a moment before quietly taking the lichen. Reluctantly, he puts his hand on Flower's shoulder.

"Sorry, i-it's been a rough day, although I expect you've had it worse. Let me look at that leg when I'm done, Hazel. If I can get a mortar, I can grind this up and make a tea. It helped Kat when he had some rough ones. I can't find any physical ailments, but Bufer does seem to be having a time of it. He's in a deeper than any natural sleep I've ever seen. We may just have to wait and see if he wakes, but ... Well, let's just see."

"I will pray for him at dawn," the constable says quietly.

"I'd like to sit with him for the night, if it's all right," Hazel says as she fiddles with the band around her index finger. "I expect he'll be right confounded when he wakes."

She steps closer to Kat's father and speaks in an undertone.

"I only met Flower today, but he does seem harmless enough, even helpful, or at least trying to be. So, how come you were in a cell?"

Heath flushes.

"You've heard your father mutter hopes about you growinf out of it, right? Let's just say that sometimes, after you do grow out of it, you grow right back. We'll talk more later."

Heath darts a still wary look at Flower, who seems to be getting his tears under control. Heath dusts his hands off and approaches the constable.

"Ward, I appreciate the fact that I ain't got much call to ask you much, but I would be right grateful if you'd let me send Miss Sawyer out for some supplies. Wouldn't hurt to maybe call Mother Bridger for a look see herself, seeing as she's been doing this longer. If it's all right, Bufer can stay here and we'll look after him. I doubt Therurt would appreciate Bufer snoozing on his anvil given he ain't too much fonder of him awake."

"Now then," Heath looks the lion man up and down. "What's this about my son?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The litorian looks down at Heath Leach with bland gold eyes.

"Your son is a fugitive from imperial justice and there is a substantial reward for his capture." The bounty hunter shifts his weight, and looped metal chains jingle within leather slings at his hips. "I am starting here to see if I can pick up the trail that others have lost."

Heath regards the bounty hunter calmly. He bends down to pick up the wanted posters.

"Did some tracking myself back in the day. Of course, they were Black Reavers; we weren't too concerned about them living after we found them." He looks at the slings and back up to the bounty hunter's eyes. "How concerned are you about them living?"

"I care about the money," the litorian shrugs.

"Let me put it this way: You get paid more for them dead or alive?" Heath asks, keeping his voice carefully level. "Because one way, I'll help. The other, you can go rot."

"I won't need your help," Nargrav smiles, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth, the beaded braids dangling from his chin clicking quietly against one another.

"Neither would I, if it comes down to kicking your ass," Heath says, gritting his teeth.

"They have stand trial, and they ain't doing that if they're dead." Hazel looks to the constable, remembering his promise to help Kat. "Ain't that so, sir?"

"Be quiet," the constable snaps at Heath. "You're still a suspect. Tend to the gnome and that's all.

"Hazel, run along and find Mother Bridger. If anyone from Wit's End is in town, bring them as well; maybe this is something a gnome would know about.

"Nargrav, I don't believe Mister Leach will be of much use to you. Go with Hazel and ask any questions you might have. I've told you what I know. Time for you to get to tracking, I reckon."

"And me, Ward?" Flower asks. "What are my orders?"

"Go home. Rogren needs you."

"Roggy?" Flower's brow wrinkles with concern. He starts to exit quickly, but turns to Hazel first. "Thank you for telling the truth about me! Please see that Mister Ebuferpaly gets better."

He looks once more at Heath Leach and dashes back to Kem House, the exhaustion of the day all but forgotten with thoughts of Rogren.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel leaves her pack piled in the corner with Bufer's, picks up her lantern and hurries out the door in search of Mother Bridger. Nagrav hurries after Hazel, his long legs easily keeping pace.

"Should have sent Fibber for his aunt right away," Hazel sighs, shaking her head in disgust, wishing she'd thought of it sooner.

She studies the bounty hunter out of the corner of her eye as she heads for the Bridgers.

"Have you caught lots of fugitives? You must be a long ways from home."

Hazel nervously awaits a barrage of questions from the stranger.

_Bufer, I hope Garl will lend me your fancy habit of wiggling out of tough questions._

"Yes. Some I have caught, others I have brought back the proof of their deaths. Whatever pays more," Nargrav says. "And I no longer have a home, so it is no problem for me.

"You tracked these fugitives and you knew them, I think. Where will they run?"

"I suppose you noticed already, but it's kind of a small town. Everybody knows everybody." Hazel shrugs. "I wouldn't of figured they could run far anyways. Step five feet into the woods, bend down to tie a bootlace and end up lost, all of them. Stayed on the road into Foxton, at least.

"Why'd you become a bounty hunter? Is everyone you track a criminal? What do you do if they're innocent?"

"I do not decide guilt or innocent, I track quarry for money. That is all," the litorian rumbles. "Do they know anyone in the settlements to the east? Do they perhaps have family in Stonecrown or Blackberry Ridge?"

"None I ever heard about. Ren's family's mostly dead or missing', and you already met Kat's dad."

The Bridger house is dark when Hazel reaches it; she pounds on the door with her fist.

"Open up, we got a patient for Mother!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"I need to send a message to Middleborough about the bounties on the boys' heads and request transport for you while you await trial," the constable tells Heath. "I'm going to trust you will be safe with the gnome and look after him, but I can't risk you running, so I'm going to need to lock you both in the cell until I get back. I've got no time for arguments at this point."

"Good to know my word ain't good any more after a known family of liars says so," Heath says, his face reddening.

Heath walks over to Bufer and proceeds to check over the gnome to see if there was anything he missed. He doesn't look up when Ward leaves.

Heath jerks backwards in surprise as the gnome suddenly sits upright with a tremendous gasp, as though finally breaking through the surface after being too long submerged. His breath comes as rapid, shallow panting, as his eyes, wide and haunted, dart wildly around the room.

"Flesh betrayed the lost moon found barbarians at the gates the pyramid revealed wizards burning in the streets their faces consumed by venom-shaped thrall it is the end the end the end of all--" He breaks off suddenly as he raises his right hand and viciously slaps himself across the face.

"WEAK!" he howls, spittle flying wildly from his mouth. "SCARED LITTLE GNOMEY MEWLING! JUST LIKE FEEBLE-MIND NUN-WHORE! WHERE BE YOU FAITH IN STOOPID TRICKSY GOD NOW, CRYING LITTLE GNOMEY?"

Confused, Heath leans in and reaches out towards the gnome, then flinches as Bufer's snarls at him, then breaks down weeping, his body wracked with choking sobs as he reaches up to gently stroke Heath's face.

"Leach Katyadid's father hard and angry inside but always so kind loved so much his broken little boy already carrying so much hurt so much pain such a burden shouldn't have to bear no more no more NO MORE YOU WILL NOT HAVE HIM YOU EVIL EVIL BASTARDS NOT IF'N GARL TAKES 'IM FIRST!"

And with that, tears pouring down his face, Bufer hurls himself bodily at Heath, hands outstretched and clawing at the apothecary's throat.

"Blessed mother!" Heath leaps back, terrified. "It's all right. You're safe and ... ESTANNA!"

The screaming gnome collides with Heath, but is unable to lock his hands around the startled man's neck, and he's pushed back off.

But there's no place for Heath to run in the small locked cell. It's 10 feet by 10 feet, with a barred window and a locked grate for a door. Two benches are built into the walls. Even if Heath could get under one, the gnome would have an easier time of it.

"Gods damn it, Bufer ..."

"HAW HAW HAW HAW!" Bufer laughs as Heath lunges for him. "NOW MEDICINE MAN KILL YOU, YOU LYING, CHEATING, WEAK-WILLED LITTLE GNOMEY! CAN'T EVEN DO THIS RIGHT!

"No!" he says then, his laughter transforming itself into soul-wrenching sobs. "Like Heath! Save Heath! Kill Heath!"

Moving with a surprising swiftness, Bufer reaches into his right sleeve and produces a dagger. Light glints off its pointed tip as he thrusts it at the advancing apothecary.

Heath manages to slap it away from him and grabs the squirming, kicking gnome.

"Damn it, you ain't making sense. Calm down! WARD! Sawyer! A little -- damn it -- A LITTLE HELP HERE!"

Bufer gnashes his teeth as he struggles against Heath with all his might.

"KILL HIM, MEDICINE MAN! must get free can't let it take 'em KILL THE GNOMEY! KILL HIM BEFORE HE KILLS YOU AND HER AND EVERYBODY ELSE! everybody else kill everybody else kill her kill her kill her before the end HIM SLIPPERY-TRICKSY slippery-tricksy like a fish squrim like a fish escape to the river then come back and kill BUT WEAK AND STOOPID! KILL HIM! Love them save them kill them all!!"

With some difficulty, Heath is able to slam the squirming gnome to the ground and hold him there, closing his knees in time to stop Bufer's boot from meeting his crotch at high speed.

Being slammed into the stone floor briefly knocks the wind out of the crazed gnome. He gasps painfully, sucking in huge, shuddering lungfuls of breath, his face absolutely sodden with tears.

"NO!" he shouts weakly, clearly overcome with despair. "You don't understand you don't know you don't SEE! Why can't you SEE?"

Before Heath can react, a strange, hard look comes into Bufer's eyes, and he sneers up at the apothecary's face.

"KILL IT!" it hisses urgently. "KILL THE GNOMEY! STAB IT SNUFF IT WRENCH ITS FEEBLE LITTLE HEAD OFF REACH DOWN ITS THROAT AND PULL OUT ITS HEART KILL IT KILL IT KILLITKILLITKILLITKILLIT! "

"Ebu! What am I supposed to see?"

Bufer blinks as Heath calls him by his familiar childhood name, and the murderous ferocity seems to fade from his eyes for a moment.

"Don't see can't see shouldn't have to see black giants older than the world bursting from the womb tearing clawing eating through the belly of the earth skin boiling melting blood raining from a fiery sky death is better death is sweeter no pain no fear no--

"NO!" he snarls suddenly, the madness in his eyes returning. "NO TALK! STOOPID MEDICINE MAN MUST LISTEN TO STORM! MEALY-MOUTHED GNOMEY WAS WEAK LIKE NUN-WHORE! NOW WEAK GNOMEY MUST DIE BEFORE HE KILL EVERYONE!"

With a gutteral howl, Bufer renews his struggle to get free, twisting and turning in an attempt to slip out of Heath's grasp. Bufer's changed style of wriggling catches Heath by surprise a moment, but he manages to hang onto the ranting gnome.

Clearly getting frustrated, Heath tries to grab the dagger and throw it to the side of the cell.

"Storm can piss off then! Ebu! I don't need saving from any nightmares! Black or otherwise, now drop that knife already!"

"NO!" Bufer shrieks, as he continues to struggle against the apothecary. "Not a dream not a hoax not an imaginary story pus-filled boils bursting across the surface of the world consuming it drowning it in blackness rot and decay you'll thank me when it's over Katy would know Katy would believe Katy would understand ..."

Heath blanches at the mention of his son. In fact, he almost lets the gnome slip out of his reach, but he holds on and keeps trying to grasp at the dagger to fling it away.

"So? Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Potenloins, you are a damned cleric of Garl Glittergold! You laugh at this crap, you don't lose your damn mind! Snap out of it before I try something drastic!"

Bufer screams, frantically trying to get free of Heath, who suddenly realizes that the gnome could have more than one dagger hidden upon his person.

"WRONG, STOOPID MEDICINE MAN!" Bufer snarls as he continues to struggle. "GNOMEY, HIM WEAK! NUN-WHORE MAKE HIS BRAIN GO SNAPPITY-SNAP LIKE DRY TWIG UNDER CLAW! YOU LISTEN TO STORM NOW -- YOU WANT LIVE, YOU TWIST TRICKSY GNOMEY'S HEAD OFF LIKE BROWN APPLE! ONLY THEN YOU AND HAZEL-LIKE-TREE AND SINGSONG GIRL-GNOMEY BE SAFE! KILLTHEGNOMEYKILLTHEGNOMEYKILLTHEGNOMEY!"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Fibber opens the door, looking lazily at Hazel.

"She's helping with a baby. Now go away, you always get me in trouble."

And with that, he closes the door in her face.

Swearing under her breath, Hazel shoves the door open, just missing Fibber's back. The teen turns around, surprise quickly turning to anger.

"You can't just-"

"Shut up, Fib. You're going to be in more trouble if you don't help me find your aunt. Constable's orders, they are, and I mean to bring her back to the jail tonight." Hazel cranes her neck around and beckons to the litorian. "C'mon in, Nargrav, this'll just take a minute."

Hazel digs into her pockets and pulls out two coins, one copper and one gold, holding them up in front of Fibber. _Bufer's worth the expense, and Fibber ain't like to be moved by noble sentiment._

"You tell me where she is, and I'll give you a copper now for your time and trouble. But," she waggles the gold coin, "You tell me where and you run and fetch her, bring her to the constable's with her healing kit, and I'll give you the gold when you get there." She eyes the scrawny teen. "Should keep you in drinks for a few days -- or maybe get your Da off your back about working a bit."

"FINE!" Fibber explodes, with exasperation. "She's at the Gardner house. Their oldest daughter was having a baby a few hours ago and she's not back yet. I'll go get her."

Hazel tucks the coins back into her pocket.

"Thank you, Hans." She gives the boy a warm, grateful smile. "I'll see you at the constable's."

Hazel ducks back out the door and jogs over to The Cat & The Fiddle to look for Heda Littlelark. The litorian shadows her steps.

"Anythin' else you need to know, Nargrav?"

"You know these men. How seriously did you try to track them? As you said, they are not woodsmen."

"Just to Foxton. Scoured the road for tracks, after picking up those damned caltrops, but they stayed with the wagon. Baron's men took over from there."

Hazel heads for the light shining from the tavern's windows.

"You always work alone?"

"I sometimes work with a partner." Without another word or a farewell, Nargrav turns away and heads into the underbrush. Hazel waits a moment to see if he'll return, but when he doesn't, she shrugs and moves onto the tavern.

The common room of The Cat & The Fiddle boasts a fair-sized crowd, and Hazel quickly scans the tables for any gnomes. Finding none, she waves to Ella and works her way past the tables toward the waitress. Ella delivers a quartet of mugs to a group of rowdy young men with a flourish before turning to the ranger.

"Haven't seen your friends all day, Haze. What can I get you?"

"Nothing for me, thanks, Ella. You seen Heda Littlelark in town today?" The longer she talks, the faster Hazel's words pour out. "Or any Wit's End folk out for Godsday observances? Any healers or religious folk in from out of town?"

Ella nods downwards with her chin at Hazel. The ranger looks down to find herself standing rather closer to Swifty than she might have preferred, especially given the leer on his face.

"You need a gnome, do you? Whatever you need, I'm ready to offer it to you."

Hazel hastily steps backward, knocking into a nearby chair and apologizing to the oblivious occupant. She looks down at the gnome, a slight blush staining her cheeks.

 "And in 30 seconds or less, I've heard," she retorts. "I need a favor, Swifty. For Bufer."

Hazel twines her fingers in the edge of her cloak and crouches at the gnome's level.

"I need the best healer Wit's End has to offer, at the constable's, now. The abbey's cleansed, but Bufer won't wake up, and I don't even know what that thing did to him. Please."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer twists around from underneath Heath. Then Bufer's head falls forward, and it takes a moment before it registers that the gnome is unconscious.

Constable Bridger lifts Bufer off Heath with one hand, slipping his blackjack back onto his belt with the other.

At the door to the cell, Hazel and Swifty look on with concern.

"No," Swifty says as he watches the constable manacle Bufer's hands behind his back and lay him gently face down on a table before checking Heath for injuries. "I've never seen anything like that before."

Without another word, Swifty steps outside into the dark night, replaced a moment later by Mother Bridger, who quickly takes command of the constable's small office and cell.

The constable kicks everyone out but Bufer, Heath (whom he relocks inside the cage) and Mother Bridger, who fusses over the gnome while keeping her distance.

Hazel waits outside, concerned, and growing more concerned when Mother Bridger comes out, badly shaken and at her wit's end. The midwife returns to her earlier patient of the night, where she is on firmer ground.

"Well," the constable says, locking Heath and Bufer in his tower, albeit separately from one another this time, "I will ask Bahamut and Lothian for guidance while we await word from Wit's End. I advise going home, Hazel: Your family has been worried ever since you went to the abbey."

With that, and the weight of the world almost visible on his shoulders, the constable limps off to the chapel.

Bufer's companions, other than Emmerson and Oktav, are standing outside the constable's still-locked tower when the gnomes arrive in a wagon.

High Priest Boddynok Barennackle says a quiet word to the cloaked and hooded gnome driver of the pony cart before hopping down, and a pair of twin gnomes -- each with shocking orange-red hair -- clamber out of the back and hammer on the constable's door.

"He's not there," Tucker says, gently grabbing the senior cleric's wrist. "He's in the chapel."

"Well, get him!" snaps Barennackle. "We're taking him home for a rest. Honestly, Lothianism makes a woman mad and a gnome pays the price for it! Clerics don't grow on trees, you know! Under trees, certainly, but not on them. Go fetch the constable!"

Soon enough, Constable Bridger is opening the building amid a torrent of complaints, insults and, somewhat surprisingly, a stream of knock-knock jokes. The twins place the unconscious Bufer on a stretcher and bundle him onto the cart, covering him in blankets. Not a word is spoken to the shaggy ponies at the front of the cart, but they seem to know what to do, and immediately set out in the dark for Wit's End.

As they disappear from sight, the adventurers hear Barennackle's final admonition: "I mean, HONESTLY."

The constable scratches at his whiskers, contemplating. Without taking his eyes from the dark road the gnomes have just vanished down, he clears his throat.

"Heath Leach seems to have killed the Kems a while back."

"Oh, you want me to fetch him a beer?" Tuck responds, glibly, trying to hide his genuine shock.

"I'm going to trust you to take him to Middleborough tomorrow, Tucker. See that he doesn't escape," Bridger says. He winks at Tucker to soften his words. "The rest of you, go home. I'll want to know what happened in the abbey come morning. As for now, I think we all need the rest.

"And since you have made it back from the abbey, I'm guessing that congratulations are in order. Heda's going to add you all to the song, like as not. You're famous now."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

*Chapter 8
The Dark Waters of Moss Pond*​
It is midday on the 12th day of Rain, in the 721st year of the Imperial Age.

It is warm and sunny, perhaps the first really warm day of the year, as Ebuferpaly Potentloins marches through the Tulgey Wood, on the way to the Black Tower. The dwarf Emus Graymullet and his dog follow after, while the ranger Hazel Sawyer moves through the woods parallel to the other two, concealed by their noise, sure that the gnome is leading them into a trap.

The Wizard of Green Mountain, Khenemet-Apep, has sent word for Bufer to visit him, as he has news of the kobolds' plot to acquire a second dragon scale as part of whatever their ultimate scheme is.

Meanwhile, in Middleborough, Heath Leach sits in a jail cell facing the town center, watching the glockenspiel on St. Yessid's in the Woods act out its little scene every hour on the hour. The baron has been busy for the past week, and he's had to wait on his trial for murder.

In Maidensbridge, Deputy Tucker Gallaway arrives at the front door of Constable Ward Bridger's home as a group of residents scatter, panicked looks on their faces. Emmerson Grant trails him, having seen the nervous looks on villagers' faces while scraping the steps of the chapel clean.

The constable's gaze takes in them both as they arrive and he wastes no time getting to the point: "Two children have gone missing in the woods. We need to find them before dark."

"Whose children?" Tucker asks, instantly all business. "Which part of the woods, and who was the last to see them?"

"It's the Kramer twins, Pentagruel and Rutiger, the children of Lars by his first wife," the constable says. Emmerson and Tucker know them: A pair of tow-headed 7 year olds. "Their stepmother says they were playing in the orchard. When she came looking for them to give them lunch, she just found their toys, but no sign of the children. I'm going to sit down with the parents and see if they might know anything. I need you, Tucker, to go look around the orchard. Emmerson, your help would be appreciated as well."

"Any detail would help us, no matter how trivial. Is there a glade, an underbrush or even a cave where they like to play?" Emmerson asks. The child of a large family, he's familiar with this sort of problem.

"I don't know; that's why I'm going to talk to their father. But while I'm there, I need others looking for them. If they've just gotten stuck up a tree, I don't want to waste time by not looking for them. I'll meet you at the orchard shortly."

"Well, into the woods with us, then," Tucker says, snapping off a salute to the constable, and heads for the door. He knocks one knuckle against Emmerson's armor. "Come on, Clanky. If nothing else, those kids will know someone's out looking for them. If they're lost, then can just move toward the sound."

"Either that or a few bars of 'Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers.' Just kidding." 

"I'll say. We want to get the kids close to us, not run for the Kem border."

"Hey, it's not my fault Bufer hasn't taught us the 'Pantsing of Mithra.'"

Before heading to the orchard, the pair stops by Emmerson's quarters and pick up his backpack and lantern, preparing for anything.

Concerned parents and older children mill around the orchard, and when they spot Tucker, they swarm him, everyone speaking at once:

"... snatched by kobolds!"

"A huge wolf, the size of a pony, I tell ya!"

"... stepmother of theirs, never trusted her ..."

"They always were talking about going up to Green Mountain ..."

"Deputy Gallaway, what are you going to do about it?"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Meanwhile, in the Tulgey Wood, Hazel strides through the wood with confidence and caution. Her careful attention to her surroundings and her quarry distract her from the tangled knot of emotions inside. Sneaking after her friends like a thief heats a spark of shame that she resolutely tamps down.

_It's not Bufer I don't trust. That wizard, though -- a friend of the baron's or no -- he just ain't right. And Bufer being so ill and all, hardly a week ago, he's in no shape to be looking after his own backside._

Hazel's eyes track the gnome as he moves through the trees; she's glad to see him up and about again, but he couldn't have picked a worse direction.

_Why off to the Tower now? Why always walking right up to danger and tweaking its nose?_

The ranger stops walking as Skeeter's head swings in her direction, but the hound seems to have merely been bothered by an insect. Releasing the breath she'd been holding, Hazel reminds herself to keep her mind focused on her task.

_Just try to stay out of trouble and keep Bufer out of trouble._ She frowns, shaking her head. _I sound like Da._

"--'preciate your concern, Shillelagh, but this is exactly why I didn't tell the lot of ye about this in the first place," Bufer says wearily to his dwarven companion as they tromp together through the woods. "Recent events to the contrary, I'm perfectly capable of looking out for myself -- I've been doing it a damn sight longer than any of you've known me. Master Barrenackle and Mother Bridger both done gave me a clean bill of health, and this is a very delicate situation I'm walking into, here! The last thing I need is a bunch of nursemaids chasing after me to wipe my ... nose ... every time I so much as sniffle. I'm a hell of a lot cagier than any of ye ever give me credit for ..."

"Haw! No you ain't! This damn mutt chasing a squirrel up a tree is 'cagier' than you are when you want to know what someone else knows."

Emus lumbers a step or two behind Bufer, not paying too much attention to where he's stepping so long as he's in familiar territory. His usual greatclub is absent, left behind with the druids that he and Flower have recently visited. Instead, he wears a small, wooden shield strapped to his left arm, and the war axe Urak hanging from his belt to the right.

"The only reason I tried to invite Flower along is because I figured he could show me the best way around kobold territory, and maybe teach me a thing or two about his kin on the way. And because I thought he'd keep his mouth shut about it," Bufer adds pointedly. "If I'd known the two of ye were in cahoots, I wouldn't have bothered."

"Haw haw! I tell you I wasn't hiding! I was taking a leak, and when I walk out there you was, trying to get Flower to guide you to Apep's tower. Besides, Flower's gonna be busy for a little while, what with learning some druid lore and taking care of his sick buddy."

The gnome shakes his head in frustration, and sighs heavily.

"At least ye had the good sense not to drag Lil' Big'un along with ya," he mutters.

"Haw haw haw! Because that would be such a bad thing."

"You and the mutt want to tag along, fine, be my guest. But the summons was for one, an' I doubt that crapbird wizard is real amenable to uninvited guests." He shrugs and looks down at his feet. "Don't come crying to me if he winds up turning ye both into something unnatural."

"He right, you know. Storm met trees smarter than gnomey."

Bufer stops short and looks up sharply, into the sneering face of the tall kobold standing next to him.

"How?" His heart in his throat, Bufer turns back around to look over his shoulder, to find that neither Emus nor Skeeter have reacted at all to the kobold's sudden appearance. Understanding crashes over him like a bucket of cold water, and he struggles a moment to get his breathing back under control before meeting the kobold's clearly amused gaze.

"You're not really here," Bufer says firmly as he starts walking again, slowly.

"Haw haw haw haw!" Emus chortles behind him. "Pretend all you want, but it ain't going to change nothing!"

Bufer and the kobold both glance absently back at him, then back to each other. The kobold shrugs.

"Maybe Storm here, maybe Storm not," the kobold says cryptically. "Who knows but the wind and the trees?"

"Me, for one," Bufer mutters quietly. "I saw ye die, remember?"

"So? You see stooped boy-knight die too. Now he gnomey's bestest buddy. Gnomey talks to dead things so often, it almost a hobby."

Bufer blinks at him, then sighs.

"Master Barennackle was wrong. I ain't been cured at all. Clearly, I'm still insane."

"Storm always thought so," the kobold nods, then shrugs again. "Maybe nun-whore knock something loose in gnomey's head that can't be stuck back. Maybe make him crazy, imagine Stormy. Or maybe Stormy always here, and nun-whore just help gnomey see. Who knows but the wind and the--?"

"You are not Bejik-Caesin," Bufer hisses.

"Storm," the kobold says sternly. "You dirty name when you use it."

Bufer closes his eyes a moment and counts silently.

"All right, fine," he says finally, "for sake of argument, let's say ye really are Bej—Storm. Is there something ye want, or is the kobold version of Heaven so bloody boring that ye really got nothing better to do than haunt my ass? Why appear to me now, after all this time?"

"Because you like stoopid crying baybee, lost in woods with goblins on all sides," the kobold's voice replies, "just like first time I see you, only now, goblins are giant dragons with five heads, each one ready to chomp down and rip you to pieces, and you, you still just stoopid crying baybee.

"Thing is, Storm hates dragons-with-five-heads," the kobold says, "even more than stoopid crying gnome-babies. Lucky for you."

"Yeah, lucky me," Bufer echoes sardonically, his eyes still closed.

"Or maybe you right, and you just nuts!" the kobold adds cheerfully. "Who can tell but the wind and the trees?"

"Thanks," Bufer snorts as he opens his eyes. "Y'know, as guardian angels go, ye're not very—"

He breaks off as he realizes he's talking to himself. The kobold has disappeared. Blinking in confusion, Bufer frowns, then turns to look over his shoulder.

"Yeah, stare all you want, Fancypants," Emus says to him. "We're still here, and we ain't going no place."

Bufer cocks a bushy eyebrow at him, opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and faces forward again. He walks in silence for a few moments, staring blankly ahead, then wrenches his eyes shut and wipes both hands tiredly over his face.

"Terrific," he says to no one in particular. "This is just what I needed ..."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Tucker Gallaway puts two fingers in the corner of his mouth, blasting out a whistle that can be heard even over the din of the crowd. Those closest to him clap their hands over their ears to mute the sound.

"What I am going to do about it is go into the woods and find them," he says, nearly shouting, making sure to be heard by the assembled villagers. "What you are going to do is go back to town, and stop tramping all over any trace that the twins were even here."

The townsfolk start to protest, but Tucker cuts them off.

"I know you want to help. I know I'll likely need your help -- but not yet! Father Grant and I will enter the woods, and make sure there are no dangerous beasts lurking around, either of the two- or four-footed variety. The last thing we need is more missing or injured people.

"Go back to town. Eat a good meal, and get your warm clothes. Collect everyone who is able or willing to help in an organized search, and meet back here in two hours. Little ... uh," Tucker pauses, fumbling for the kids' names.

"Pentagruel," offers Emmerson. "And Rutiger."

"Little Pentagruel and Rutiger will be hungry when we find them, so bring something for them to eat. Torches and lanterns, too, in case it gets dark. And at least two big blankets.

"Now, if any of you saw the twins at all between the time their stepmother left them here and the time she came back to find them missing, please stay and answer a few quick questions. Everyone else, go home, and we'll see you back here in two hours." 

"Your cooperation will be invaluable to our search, folks," Emmerson says, as the crowd begins to disperse. "And it will help Pentagruel and Rutiger. Please heed Deputy Gallaway's words and be prepared for their return. We will find them. It's just a matter of time."

Once the Bridgers have left, the pair begins a search of the orchard in earnest. At first, they mostly only find signs that the townsfolk have been trampling around the edge of the orchard.

But pushing into the brush, even the untutored eyes of the deputy and paladin soon spot signs that the children headed north: Here is an apple core, there is a scuffle of tiny footprints, suggesting a game of tag or something of the sort, and there two branches, at chest height to the men, have been tied together to create a tiny archway. A simple gouge in the dirt shows that at least one child dragged a stick with them as they headed wherever they ultimately decided to go.

"So this is tracking," Emmerson says, as he carefully ducks under the arch, "It's not that hard."

Saying a prayer of thanks to Lothian for the clear markers, Tucker follows the children's trail, keeping an eye out to the woods on either side, looking for more evidence of the Kramer twins' passing.

The drag-mark of the stick vanishes in the soft wet soil, and Emmerson and Tucker look around with worry until they start finding marks about a foot and a half off the ground where the child was striking it against saplings as they went wherever they were going.

The pair follows, and eventually finds a path through fallen leaves that leads them deeper into the woods, now well out of sight of the orchard.

"I'm starting to think we should have left some breadcrumbs behind us," Tucker sighs. "What do you think the odds are that these two kids wandered this far off by themselves? There's plenty of stuff to follow that wouldn't leave any track that the two of us could spot."

"One time, Jeroen, my sister Alexa's youngest son, got lost in the brewery. How he managed to climb all the way to the fermenting vats is something we'll never know. We found him skunk drunk on Three Mix-Bitter after Thomas finally thought about looking in the restricted zones of the brewery.

"But you make a good point. Best be on guard."

The trail stops meandering quite so much, as though the children had become firm of purpose -- or at least as firm of purpose as children can get -- and it begins arrowing through the woods northward.

Eventually, it leaves the fallen leaves and damp ground and Emmerson and Tucker have to admit that they've lost the trail entirely. But they are now a long way from Maidensbridge, in the middle of the Tulgey Wood. It would be as easy to go to Green Mountain or Moss Pond from here as it would to return to Maidensbridge. If the children became lost at this point, finding their way home would be difficult indeed for those their age.

"Pentagruel! Rutiger!" Tucker shouts, turning in a slow circle as he does so. "Crap. What I wouldn't give for a real tracker right now."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hazel strains her ears to listen over the sound of the dwarf and gnome bickering. The bushes ahead of them tremble with life, but not in a way that she'd associate with a person.

Unsure why Bufer and Emus have stopped walking, but glad nonetheless, Hazel attempts to circle nearer on an arc that would bring her out far in front of her friends, and behind whatever is approaching their position.

She keep her eyes and ears fixated on the rustling bushes, her mind supplying several harmless possibilities -- rabbit, raccoon, doe -- and others, less harmless -- badger, wolf -- but her thoughts keep returning to the wizard Khenemet-Apep.

_Could be he's sent that nasty-lookin' cat out to check up on Bufer._

Whatever the creature in the bushes is, Hazel knows the instant the gnome sees her, any hope of protecting him is over and her ears will be in for the same blistering Emus has been getting. She's careful to keep her maneuvering well out of Bufer's view.

Still chuckling, Emus nudges Bufer to keep them moving along.

Bufer scowls and shrugs off Emus' hand, but allows himself to be prodded forwards all the same. He frowns at his feet as he shuffles along, muttering in gnomish and apparently lost in thought.

As the gnome begins walking again, Hazel silently swears.

_Sure, ya can take care o' yerself, Bufer. Plannin' ta negotiate wi' the creatures o' the forest, then?_

Hazel slows her approach as an odd sound reaches her ears.

_Are those ... bells?_

Skeeter suddenly begins barking frantically, and the bushes before Bufer and Emus explode with color.

Tiny people, each borne aloft by frantically beating dragonfly wings and each a different vivid floral hue, fill the air, chirping in tiny panicked voices. A slightly larger figure, dressed in leaves and with wings like flower petals, aims a small bow at Bufer and Emus a moment before deciding that discretion is the better part of valor.

The entire assemblage of fluttering fairies flees into the trees as one, their high voices fading into the sounds of the forest a moment later.

"The hell was that?" Bufer blinks, turning wide-eyed toward Emus.

"Looks like we need to start keeping our eyes peeled," Emus says. "They was clearly running from something. I wonder if they're in trouble."

Hoping to give chase, Skeeter gives a playful "woof" while looking at Emus expectantly. He seems perfectly satisfied with a scratch behind the ear, however.

"Trouble, eh?" Bufer turns from Emus, looks pensively after the fleeing fairies, then looks back at the dwarf. "I assumed they were running from us, but if they're in trouble, my first instinct is to help them out. This is more your area of expertise than mine, though. What do you think?"

"I think we could spend a week and a day trying to follow them and never see hide nor hair of them. Skeeter may be a good tracker, but them fey is especially good at hiding. If they want our help, they'll come to us. Besides, the more we worry about them, the less we're paying attention to ourselves. Not a good idea considering where we're going."

"Yeah, ye're probably right," Bufer sighs, then turns back to the dwarf and jerks his head in the direction they were headed. "Onward then, I guess.

"Say Emus, ye seem to know a lot of druids hereabouts. I wonder, have ye ever met or heard tell of any other kobold druids, before ye met Flower?"

"Nah, but that ain't too surprising. There ain't that many of us, I don't even know all of them, and kobolds tend to be a bit more restrictive in what they allow each other to do. Not saying there ain't any. I just don't know about them."

"I met one, once," Bufer says, disappointed. "Long time ago, back when I was just a kid, way before our pa moved us from Kibosh to Wit's End. He was different. Not in the way Flower's different, but definitely not how ye'd expect a kobold to be, you know?

"Actually, it occurs to me just now how much ye remind me of him. He never stopped giving me crap, neither. Ye probably would have got on real famous-like. Anyway, I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him, naturally, and he weren't exactly one for sharing his life history, especially not with me, but he did let on that kobold druids tended to being individuals. Outcasts, I guess the word is. Or maybe self-exiles, I don't know. The point is, a lot of them tended to strike out on their own, leave the clan behind, on account of their differences. Some of them even turn on their own kin over it.

"A few souls like that, either left or been kicked off of Green Mountain by this Tiamat faction, them might be folks worth getting to know, you know?"

As Emus and Bufer consider this, the bushes suddenly part, and a cursing figure emerges. He looks at them in shock before visibly composing himself.

It's Khenemet-Apep, leaves in his hair, red stings from nettles on his hands and thorns stuck in his robes. He carries a burlap sack in his left hand and a heavy walking stick carved to look like a snake in his right.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"Ah, the gnome and his feral dwarf. I didn't expect you quite so soon."

Skeeter suddenly goes mad barking as the Wizard of Green Mountain's cat sneers at the dog from beneath a broad bush too dense for the dog to enter.

"_Down_," Emus mutters in Dwarven. With a final growl at the cat, Skeeter settles down. With mutters about "that flea-ridden dirtbag" starting trouble, Emus looks at Bufer expectantly.

Normally, Bufer would be incensed at being referred to as "the gnome," and would object quite vocally at length. But he is so shocked by wizard's appearance -- both his sudden manifestation from the depths of a bush, and the haphazard, disheveled look to him -- that he actually forgets to be offended. Instead he stares open-mouthed at Khenemet-Apep for several long seconds, until a nudge in the ribs from Emus brings him back to his senses.

"Uh, good afternoon, Mister Wizard, sir," he stammers uncertainly, even as his eyes track up and down the Kemite. As an afterthought, he sketches out what he probably thinks is a polite, courtly bow. "This is quite a, um, surprise. We weren't exactly expecting ye to come out of a bush and meet us in the woods like this."

Bufer looks helplessly at Emus for a second, then grimaces and shakes his head as he turns back to the wizard.

"All right, so maybe this is going to get us off on the wrong foot here, but at the risk of offending ye, sir, I got to ask: Just what the hell happened to ye, man?"

"Nothing happened to me! I was merely out for a refreshing walk in the woods." So saying, Khenemet-Apep pulls himself fully free of the undergrowth, cursing quietly in Uraqi as he does.

Looking around, he spots a deer track and points to it triumphantly.

"Yes! I shall return to the Black Tower to await you."

He glances dubiously at Emus and Skeeter.

"You are coming alone, are you not, gnome?"

"I'm just making sure Gnomenuts here gets to your tower without turning himself over to the kobolds," Emus says, sticking out his chin defiantly. "I might hang about the area for a while afterwards, too. That a problem?"

"It was always my intention to come alone, Mister Wizard, sir," Bufer says, casting a sidelong glance at Emus, "but keeping a secret in a town small as ours is no mean feat, especially when you've recently had yer brains knocked loose by ... bygones.

"Point is, Emus is right: I did need a guide, if' ye ever wanted me to show up at all. I'm afraid that, for a gnome, my woodcraft's a bit on the abysmal side of things. He ain't got no interest in accompanying me into the tower, though, sir," he looks pointedly at Emus, as if daring the dwarf to contradict him, "our business is our own."

"Well, if you wish, you may accompany me back to the tower. Your bodyguard and his dwarf can turn back here."

With a silent nod at Khenemet-Apep, Bufer turns and smiles tightly at Emus.

"I think this is where we take our leave of each other, Shillelagh," he says, reaching over awkwardly to scratch Skeeter behind the ears. "You two take care of yerselves, and Lil' Big'un and the beanpole for me. Tell them, well, it's all in the note I left, really, there ain't that much more to add. Just let them know I got this one, OK? Really. I'll see y'all when I gets back."

He smiles at Emus somberly for a moment, then giggles as Skeeter licks his hand, oblivious to the gravity of the moment. With a final pat of the hound's cold, wet nose, Bufer shakes the slobber off his hand, and then turns back to the wizard and gestures onward.

"After you, Mister Wizard, sir."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Hearing no reply from the kids, Emmerson goes down on one knee at the last spot where he can see the children's tracks. After a moment, he stands back up and points.

"Green Mountain. Moss Pond. Maidensbridge."

He points to himself.

"No clue."

He points at Tucker.

"As a born and raised Bridger, what's the thing to do for kids? Anything they like to do in spring? Any place they like to go?"

"Depends on the kids," Tucker says, looking at the trees immediately around them, and selects one that looks fairly pliable.

Using his sword, he scrapes off a two-foot patch of the dark bark all the way around, revealing the lighter wood beneath. He carves a simple X on the side facing the direction they've just come from.

"We start walking in circle, spiraling outward, to see if we can pick up the trail again. This tree will mark our center. You want to start on the mountain side or the pond side?"

"Pond. I've always liked water."

"Good enough. Go three paces out from the tree, then start north. Keep the tree on your right while you work your way around. I'll keep it on my left. Hopefully by going in opposite directions, we'll increase our chance of spotting something."

Keeping in mind Tucker's instructions, Emmerson walks and searches. In the back of his mind, he recites a prayer to Lothian that asks for missing children to appear unharmed.

Emmerson and Tucker try their spiraling search pattern for a long time with no result. Although Emmerson seems content to continue placidly on, Tucker grows more and more annoyed and is about to call for a change of tactics when he spots a series of small footprints in a muddy deer track. Looking back and forth, he sees it runs almost directly north for a very long time. The footsteps fade in and out -- the deputy curses Hazel for not being here to follow the fainter trails -- but the track seems likely to be an almost direct path to Moss Pond.

Emmerson jogs over to him.

"Found anything?"

"There." Tucker points at the fading footprints.

"Lothian be praised," Emmerson says gratefully.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Genuinely pleased with Khenemet-Apep's joke, Emus emits a deep, if sharp, bark of laughter.

"Fair enough. See ya around, Bufer."

He tromps off into the forest.

"Come, gnome," Khenemet-Apep barks beginning to march down an animal path in the general direction toward Green Mountain. With Skeeter reluctantly departing, the wizard's cat appears beside him a moment later, giving Bufer a poisonous look. "I won't delay myself on account of your short legs."

"Me an' my short legs will endeavor to keep up," he says wryly as he hurries to follow.

"_Hmmph,_" comes a familiar voice from beside him. Bufer looks over to see Storm striding along next to him, glaring at the back of Khenemet-Apep's head. "_Real piece of work this one be. Greasier than slipperiest gnomey. Friend of kobolds? Friend of gnomey? Storm don't think so. Friend to nobody but himself, more like it._"

"Oh good, you're back," Bufer mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes. "And here I was just thinking this here walk weren't going to be near long enough ..."

All the same, he's grateful for the company, even if he is half-convinced that it's a product of his own insanity. Memories of the last long walk through the woods he took with the kobold druid come back to him unbidden, and he finds that he can't help but smile.

"_I means it,_" Storm warns, his dark reptilian eyes boring into the back of the Kemite's head. "_You watch him, gnomey, with both eyes, or mark Storm's words, you's be dead and cold before me have chance to say me told you so._"

"And I'll spend the afterlife hearing all about it, I'm sure," Bufer mutters.

"_Afterlife, pfft!_" Storm scoffs. "_Everyone knows gnomeys ain't got souls._"

"Well then," Bufer sighs, "I guess I ain't got nothing to lose, then. Might as well try and break the ice, eh?"

He looks up at the kobold with a gleam in his eye, which actually makes Storm miss a step.

"_No! You not gonna ... don't be stoopid!_"

"Mister Wizard, sir!" Bufer says boisterously as he lengthens his stride to come up even with Khenemet-Apep. "I was just thinking on how to pass the time as we stroll together, and I was wondering: Have ye ever heard the parable of the one-legged paladin?"

* * *

Hazel remains motionless unless the wizard begins leading Bufer away. Then she rises from her crouch, takes two steps, and pauses.

_What if he's got kobolds at the tower waiting to kill Bufer? Make it look like some crazy attack he weren't part of? Where did-_

And then she sees Emus crossing over her back trail.

"Hsst!" Just in case the dwarf doesn't hear her, Hazel chucks a small branch in front of Skeeter's nose.

The dog gives a happy bark and grabs the branch out of midair. With his tail wagging the entire way, he sprints the short distance to Hazel and drops the branch at her feet. He can barely stand still as he waits for her to pick the stick up and throw it, again.

Emus glares suspiciously at Hazel as he walks over to her.

"What are you doing here?"

Hazel fondly pats the wriggling dog.

"Keeping an eye on Bufer. Same as you." She tilts her head, staring down at Emus with an earnest expression. "I don't reckon I can follow him into the tower, but I can at least make sure there ain't kobolds lurking around and waiting for easy pickings."

She spares a glance in the other direction.

"You coming? I don't want to let them get too far ahead."

"Honestly, I think he'll be fine with the wizard. The baron has vouched for him, after all," Emus says, before shrugging. "But I would like to get a lay of the land, better."

"An' maybe the baron's deceived. But suit yourself." Hazel gives Skeeter a final pat and rolls her shoulders to re-settle her pack. "Call it whatever you like, so long as it's within shouting distance of Bufer."

Her face set in what her father calls the foolish arrogance of youth, Hazel sets off again without waiting to see if the dwarf will follow.

Shrugging his shoulders, Emus follows Hazel. He keeps far enough back so that she's just in sight, so as to not give away her position.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson and Tucker continue north on the deer track. Although they don't pick up an actual trail again -- the ground here is sheltered enough by the thick canopy above to prevent much rain from hitting the ground over the course of the week -- neither do they see any evidence in the fallen leaves and the like that suggests the children have left the track.

They continue northward, the forest getting darker as they go.

"What were Rutiger and Pentagruel following?" Emmerson asks. "I don't think they would have ventured this far without someone or something either tempting them or forcing them. What is in Moss Pond anyway?"

"Water," Tucker says simply. "Surrounded by high, dark rocks covered in moss. Thus the name."

He picks his way around a stand of trees, following the vague trail.

"When I was a kid, we'd still hike out there to fish and go swimming. Not recently, though. A few years back, people started disappearing. Someone would go for a swim alone, and never come back to town. Fishermen would be hours late returning from the pond, and when people went looking for them, their boat would be floating there, calm as you please, with no sign of anyone in it. People stopped going, even in groups.

"Now even the 'official' paths to the pond are nearly overgrown -- heck, we're probably having an easier time following this deer track than if we'd tried to come the 'real' way."

"What happened to the missing?" asks Emmerson. "Was nothing ever found of them?"

"Nothing but what they'd left on the shore or in their boats. It's probably just a combination of factors: someone looking to make a break from town, using a phony 'drowning' to keep anyone from looking elsewhere; a fisherman's line got caught, and he dove in to free it, but then couldn't climb back into his skiff and was carried downstream; part of it's probably just rumor and exaggeration, too."

"But if they were carried downstream, why didn't they just climb out when they got back to town? The river is wide and slow by that point."

"Yes, that's true. But my father tells stories about his time in the baron's army. Once his entire regiment went for a swim in a seemingly safe river. But it had been raining in the mountains above, and the water was deeper, colder, and moving faster than usual.

"You couldn't see it, but there was a spot in the river where the water was flowing differently, much faster than the rest. A corporal wandered into it, and was sucked beneath the surface immediately, before he had a chance to even cry out. The only reason anyone even knew what happened was that three people were looking right at him when it happened. They thought he was kidding around, but when he didn't come back up, they started to worry. Two of the men dove into the stream, to see where it would take them, and the rest got out of the water and started running down the bank."

"Some kind of magic? A spell to speed the water along somehow? Did they find the man?"

"No magic: It's apparently something that just happens under the right conditions. They did find the corporal -- half an hour's march from where they had been swimming. The way the water was flowing, he was pinned to the bottom of the river just by the sheer force of it. If the other two hadn't gone after him, he'd probably still be there now. All three of them were out on the bank by the time my father and the others arrived. The corporal apparently got quite the chewing out from the warrant officer when he got there, and for the rest of the campaign, any time the regiment stopped by a river, stream or pond, the guy was only allowed in the water if he tied a rope around his waist and the other end around a sizeable tree."

They continue to chuckle intermittently as they walk. Just before they reach the edge of the woods, Tucker adds one final theory.

"You know the story of the Maiden's Bridge, right? You've been here long enough to hear the song?" Emmerson starts to hum the tune, nodding. Tucker continues. "When I was a kid, I snuck out of the house with a bread knife, looking under the bridge for the troll. I didn't find anything, of course. Not under the bridge. The rumor is that the troll lived -- or lives, maybe -- here in Moss Pond."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

"-- stable hands just look at each other in a panic, because they know if they actually give him their best horse like he demands, he's going to fall right off the side of it the second it breaks into full gallop, and make the king's army look like a bunch of idiots! But then the first one gets this look in his eye, winks at the other, and says 'Of course, milord, right this way!' And he leads him to the stall of this broken-down nag, see, who leans perpetually to the left --"

"_Ngggh. Bad poops or no, Storm should have eaten gnomey when me had the chance ..._"

Khenemet-Apep's cat yowls in frustration over Bufer's continuing monologue, and in response, the wizard redoubles his pace. A moment later, he, the gnome and the cat break through the edge of the forest and stand before Green Mountain.

Despite himself, Bufer pauses in mid-joke for a moment. Green Mountain stands out like a giant emerald against the snowy background of the Hotash Mountains. And Green Mountain itself is covered in white highlights, like a gem gleaming in the spring sunlight, with edelweiss dotting its slopes.

If Bufer squints, he can see, near the peak, a flat area he knows contains the glacial lake that was supposed to be the impenetrable gate leading into Glangirn: The dwarves of old would lower the bridge into the fortress when enemies approached, once the dwarven army had taken the field. But five centuries ago, they met an enemy who could breathe underwater: Gax had swum beneath the lake and entered the fortress while the majority of the army was in the field, battling her kobold invasion force. The surviving dwarves, trapped outside their home, scattered into the Tulgey Wood, first taking refuge with the gnomes of Treeline before the kobolds came for them as well.

Below the peak, to the south, a ragged scar in the earth marks the caves of the Green Mountain Kobolds.

"Not that way," the Wizard of Green Mountain snaps, pointing around the northern edge of the mountain. "Baraj Al-Aswad is just over that ridge, near the base."

He sets out briskly across the green fields, his brown skin gleaming like mahogany in the sun. Bufer lingers for a moment, staring curiously at the dark scar that hides the kobold warrens.

"_Don't even think about it,_" Storm says, next to him. "_You not even make it halfway up. Even Tosh not near sneaky enough. Traps. Sentries. Hidden. Lots._"

"How would you know?" Bufer mutters. "I thought you weren't from Green Mountain."

Storm snorts, then shrugs.

"_Kobolds is kobolds. Scales different color, but think the same._" The druid's gaze moves slowly over the green slopes of the foothill. "_Probably at least a couple watching you now._"

"Really?" Bufer says, surprised. He breaks out into a grin, and starts to raise his hand.

"_Don't. Wave._" Storm barks sternly. "_You piss them off._"

"Awww, I'm just trying to be neighborly."

"_Trying to be dead more like it,_" Storm snorts. "_Come. Greasy wizard getting too far ahead. You being with him probably only thing keeping you alive right now._"

Bufer nods at Storm, casts one last glance to the south, and then scurries to catch up to Khenemet-Apep and his cat.

"Now," he says, out of breath, "Where was I? Oh, yeah: So then the stable hand takes him to another stall ..."

Hazel stops just short of the tree line and scans the landscape, trying to determine the best way to approach the tower without revealing her presence. She maintains her silence and raises a warning hand to Emus, although she's dying to ask the dwarf if he's ever come here before to gaze upon his ancestral home.

Hazel spends a long moment listening for any sounds beyond shifting leaves in the wind and Bufer's long-winded recital.

_If I hadn't heard him tell that joke before, I'd swear it ain't got an ending._

Hazel and Emus gaze upon Green Mountain.

At first, it looks uninhabited, but they see soon see dark shapes appearing and disappearing around the cleft marking the kobolds' caves. It takes a moment for their brains to translate what they're seeing over the distance, but the shapes appear to be giant weasels, as long as horses, slipping above and below the ridgeline. Kobolds are known to use them for guards and mounts, but at this distance, neither can see any kobolds.

Emus stares at Green Mountain with a blank expression for a long time. He almost doesn't notice when Hazel moves on, but he follows her just in time to continue to keep her just in sight.

"If you miraculously come this way alone at some point," Khenemet-Apep says, interrupting Bufer's joke once more, "Come during daylight hours. The kobolds patrol much of the mountain by night, but they stick to the caves for the most part by daylight hours, although they let their pets run free during those times. At this time of day, truthfully, you are in more in danger in the darkness of the forest than you are on Green Mountain, so long as you give the colorfully named Caves of Chaos a wide berth."

As it stalks through the grass, the wizard's cat meows something that Khenemet-Apep apparently understands.

"Don't blame me: That idiot Gideon Midwood had to frame everything in terms of Order and Chaos. I imagine he took more than one serious blow to the head during his military career."

Bufer smiles to himself at the wizard's assessment of Gideon Midwood.

_Maybe he has a sense of humor, after all._

He turns to remark as much to Storm, then blinks in surprise as he realizes that the kobold has mysteriously disappeared again.

"Hmm," he says, frowning thoughtfully. "Thank ye, that's handy to know. Not that I plan to make a habit of strolling out this way or nothing, but, with all due respect, but I didn't exactly foresee a day when I'd be setting out for the Black Tower, neither. These, uh, pets of theirs ye mention: They'd be those big weasel-shaped things, I'm guessing. Dangerous, are they?"

"It's said during the assault on Glangirn, the weasels would pull down the dwarves' war ponies, tear out their throats and drink their blood while the dwarves were still trapped underneath, helpless until the kobolds came by to slit their throats." The wizard chuckles as he picks up the pace, his voice getting fainter as he strides along the narrow rocky trail. "And, of course, they train them using gnome effigies."

"Of course," Bufer says dryly as he hurries to catch up, no longer quite so sure that he appreciates the wizard's sense of humor.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Half an hour passes, and Bufer and Khenemet-Apep approach the front door of the Black Tower.

Bufer isn't sure what he was expecting from Baraj Al-Aswad, but he's greeted with something that he suspects would look more at home in the desert wastes of Uraq: It's a squat stone tower of dark bricks topped by pale spikes jabbing upwards, like the lower jaw of some beast. The windows, each hidden behind intricately woven grills of cast iron, suggest that the building has three above ground levels, not including the roof.

The front door is in inscribed with what Bufer at first assumes are merely decorative symbols, but if he squints, he thinks they actually look like Uraqi writing, twisted about into decorative shapes. But something about the writing looks older still, and somehow malevolent and a shiver runs down the gnome's back.

Khenemet-Apep says a quiet word before laying his hand on the cast iron handle and inserting a thick black key. It turns with a clank and Bufer realizes that the wizard and his cat were holding their breath until the door unlocked.

The Wizard of Green Mountain opens the door and steps to the side, heels together, hands beckoning Bufer in.

"Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Bearscave Fancypants Potentloins," Khenemet-Apep says, smirking a little to see Bufer's surprise at hearing all his names rattled off with practiced assurance, "You are a guest in my home. Come and share salt with me."

Bufer stares wordlessly at the wizard for a moment, ice water running through his veins as the full litany of his names echoes in the recesses of his mind.

_No, not quite. He didn't use Bejik-Caesin. He doesn't know your true name, not really ... at least, not yet._

Forcing himself to breathe, Bufer actually manages a polite smile for Khenemet-Apep and his mangy cat.

"Thank ye, Mister Wizard, sir," he says, sketching out an awkward bow. "That's most kind of ye. You honor me with the recital of my full name -- part of which, I'll have ye know, was chosen on account of something ye said to me once -- although 'Bufer' is fine from here on out. Oh, I just remembered: I have something for ye!"

Looking down, Bufer mutters to himself as he digs in the pockets of his threadbare sackcloth robe for a moment, then produces a small, metallic cube that sits comfortably in the palm of his hand.

"It's a gnomish puzzle box," he says, displaying it proudly to the wizard. "My Pa makes them, for Tootenfest. I used to love them when I was a young'un. I thought your _luritas_ might be one to appreciate a good old gnomish riddle."

Khenemet-Apep turns the puzzle box over in his hand, looking as though Bufer has deposited a dog turd there.

"Thank you," he says at last, "But the spirits of Green Mountain require rather more to mollify them than a gnomish gewgaw."

Nevertheless, the Wizard of Green Mountain places the puzzle box on the shelf beside the front door.

The heavy door closes behind the wizard and gnome with a decisive thud and Hazel and Emus pop their heads over a gravel-strewn ridge 100 feet below the tower.

"Well," Emus says, picking something between his teeth with a fingernail, "What now?"

"We need to be closer," Hazel scowls. "What if he's casting a spell on Bufer like he did on Ren? And nobody would know what it did but him."

She lightly shifts her weight, grimacing at the miniature rockslide.

"It's too noisy here, and there's no cover. Bunch of kobolds come up the trail and, bam, hit us from behind."

Just as Hazel starts to move forward, Emus places a hand on her shoulder keeping her stationary.

"And what if they're in there just having a sip of tea? Just like you said, there's no way to know. Why don't you tell me your plan before you go skulking all through the wizard's bushes?"

"The plan is to make sure Bufer's safe."

Emus's measured stare flusters the young ranger, eventually flooding her face with color as she drops her head to the gravel.

"I'm an idiot." Hazel crosses her forearms and rests her chin atop them. Her eyes avoid Emus, concentrating instead on the tower door. "I didn't think of anything past Bufer. Not the mountain or the tower. Of course the wizard's got defenses. Living here, who wouldn't?"

Her voice drops to a thin thread; she's almost talking to herself, now.

"But Bufer, he gets hurt. All of the time, like it ain't no never mind to him. Nearly died twice this year and the leaves hardly even on the trees yet."

"For what it's worth, I ain't worried about Bufer all that much," Emus says, shaking his shaggy head. "The baron trusts him more than a little bit, and if that weren't enough, the wizard knows that there's a witness who saw Bufer head off with him.

"And you know, he may be little, but he ain't entirely helpless," Emus says, recalling the fight with Artos Nachtmann. "Let's head back. Now that we know where the tower is, we'll come back and check on him in a couple days."

"Days?" Hazel's panicked outburst is louder than she expected. Her expression holds an apology as she turns to the dwarf. "You think he'll be in that place for days? If he ain't back tomorrow, we ought to just march up to that wizard's door and demand he send him out."

Her shoulders sagging under the weight of Emus' silence.

"Or wait until he's done on his own time," she mumbles.

Hazel lets Emus take the lead; she follows silently for the most part, chastened by the dwarf's calm acceptance of Bufer's decision. Still, she can't help but worry about the gnome.

_You know he's bound to say something offensive. Please, Estanna, let the wizard be the honorable fellow the baron thinks he is._


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Emmerson turns and looks away from Moss Pond, thinking of all his nieces and nephews born to his sister Alexa, and cannot speak.

Tucker looks at the object floating atop the dark waters of Moss Pond, slowly twisting in the gentle breeze.

"Yep," he says at last, "That's a child's shoe, all right."

"Whoever did this, better pray to whatever gods he knows that we find the children alive," Emmerson hisses. "Otherwise I shall cleave them from neck to waist."

Mossy rocks, some taller than a man, many low enough to serve as the chairs for children, surround Moss Pond. Tucker finds a spot he remembers sitting on as a boy not too many summers ago.

He and Emmerson circle the pond, looking for any place the children could be hidden. They find several fallen trees that float half in the water, half out. Time and the moisture of the pond have hollowed out the interior of several.

"RUTIGER! PENTAGRUEL! ARE YOU HERE?"

The paladin's voice echoes across the pond, but there's no other reply.

"Found anything, Tucker?"

"Mud." Looking at this part of the pond, Tucker can see the bottom only about five feet out. After that the water reflects too much of the sky and the surroundings. "Do you know how to swim?"

"With this armor? Not even a decent dog paddle, I'm afraid." Emmerson removes his backpack and takes out his rope. "I'll remove my armor, tie this around my waist and wade in towards the logs, or if I can reach it, the shoe. You take this end and keep me tethered. If anything happens, you pull me out."

Even this time of year, the water is icy in Moss Pond, and Emmerson shudders in shock as he wades in. Tucker smiles grimly on shore -- as children, no one went swimming in Moss Pond until the height of summer had sufficiently warmed the alpine run-off.

The deputy has his mouth open to call out a warning to Emmerson when the paladin suddenly vanishes under the water, only to reappear, sputtering and pale, a moment later.

"OK, I found the drop-off. It's pretty steep. Goes straight down from there."

So saying, Emmerson ducks his head under the water once more.

Emmerson finds himself looking almost entirely at black water, although he cannot help but feel he's staring into a great void stretching out in front of him, full of creatures just beyond the edge of his vision.

"No use," he says, spitting water as he resurfaces. "I cannot see a blasted thing."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

As the pair approach Maidensbridge, Hazel breaks her silence.

"Emus? Could ya maybe not mention to Bufer that I was following him?" She grins sheepishly. "He might take it the wrong way, and I know meeting with the wizard is important to him, even if it is fool headed."

"Unless he asks me to my face, I won't bring it up."

As Emus and Hazel approach town, Skeeter starts barking when he sees the commotion in the orchard and races forward toward what he sees as play.

"What the hells?" Emus trots after Skeeter.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Heda Littlelark grabs Hazel by the hands, and begins to tug her in one direction, then the other.

"HAZEL! The constable was looking for you! Where is he? He was over ... but maybe he's ... try at the general store!"

She releases Hazel and runs over to a group of Farrin dwarves who are muttering darkly and pointing toward Green Mountain looming through the trees.

"That's odd. Heda's not one for flustering easy."

Hazel sets off at a run for Kramer's General Store. Constable Bridger stands on the front step, looking grim, speaking to someone inside the shop. When he spots the pair, he bids the person he's speaking to farewell and stumps down and heads toward the bridge, beckoning Hazel and Emus over to him.

"Heda said ... you're looking ... for me," Hazel gasps as she skids to a halt.

"I wish you had been around earlier," the constable growls, watching her pant. "Rutiger and Pentagruel Kramer are missing. Their father says they were going to play in the Tulgey on the edge of the orchard, but they apparently had a nasty argument with their stepmother earlier. I sent Deputy Gallaway to look for signs of them, and he had Emmerson with him, but those two are no trackers. If you and Emus could find them and aid with the search, I'd greatly appreciate it."

He hobbles another pace away from the general store, lowering his voice.

"There's too much in the woods that can make a wee one disappear, never to be seen again. The longer they're missing, the less likely their father will see them again alive."

"You got anything Skeeter can use to get their scent?"

"Ask inside. I'm sure the children's parents would let the dog sniff their bedding."

"We'll find 'em, sir," Hazel says, flooded with guilt. "How long ago did Tuck an' Emmerson set out after them?"

"I don't know. An hour ago?" The constable shakes his head. "I've spent my afternoon listening to panicked parents and sorting out fairy tales when I should have been out in the field myself."

Emus walks inside the store, Skeeter at his side.

"Attention! Constable asked us to help Tucker and Emmerson in the search. I need something of them for Skeeter to get the scent."

Skeeter sits in his hind legs, doing a dignified open mouthed breathing (dignified only because no saliva is dripping on the floor), shaking his tail.

Lars Kramer brings the twins' blanket from their bed at a run, thrusting the somewhat threadbare quilt at Emus and Skeeter in a panic. His young wife looks on, somewhat skeptical of the dog and dwarf shedding leaves and mud all over the store's wood floor.

"Here, of course! Please, Master Dwarf, you'll find them, won't you?"

Emus takes the quilt from the shaking Lars and shows it to Skeeter.

"Smell." Skeeter's nose sniffs up and down the quilt until, with a snort, he announces to Emus that he has the scent. "Track."

Skeeter's eyes shine. Sniffing the air, he runs outside the store.

Outside, the constable claps his hand on Hazel's shoulder.

"I know you'll do your best, Hazel. Deputy Gallaway and young Emmerson set out more than an hour ago, setting out from the orchard. I'm certain you'll find a track left by those two."

She manages to hear Emus's voice as he and the dog run away. 

"Hazel! Skeeter's got the scent! Get moving!"

Hazel waves a hasty good-bye to the constable and runs after the dwarf and his dog toward the orchard.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The antechamber of the Black Tower is dark, with closed three closed doors, but little else, save an iron chandelier shaped like intertwined snakes, with candles in their mouths. Only one candle is lit.

"Follow me," says the Wizard of Green Mountain, heading up a staircase to the second level of the tower. His cat watches Bufer until the gnome begins to move, and then darts past him to the next floor.

Bufer resists the urge to kick the mangy cat as it darts past him, and follows it and the wizard up to the second level, struggling a little with the stairs that have clearly been built with only human legs in mind.

As he climbs, he glances up and around at the dark antechamber in the flickering light of the lone candle, his eyes lingering a moment on the snake-motif chandelier.

"Cozy," he remarks, slightly out of breath.

At the top of the stairs, Khenemet-Apep gestures for Bufer to turn right, into a large parlor facing a fireplace with no fire burning. A pair of great divans, one covered in unidentifiable fur, the other buried beneath layer upon layer of blankets, form a small space facing the fireplace. The walls of the wizard's parlor boast floor to ceiling shelves, each full of books, scrolls and assorted mementos, including a several small gold statues of faeries. A bowl on a small chest between the two divans has chunks of broken chocolate in it -- Bufer's gnome twitches at the scent; gnomes have adopted the treat from the Distant South as their own -- and it too seems to be broken pieces of chocolate statues once shaped like faeries as well.

"Sit, Ebuferpaly." The wizard seems to be posing beside the fireplace, toying with an ornamental scimitar hanging over the mantle. "I have news of great importance to impart."

Bufer does as the wizard bids him, and clambers up onto one of the divans, looking up and around the room as he does so in curiosity.

"Quite a library ye've got here," he remarks. "Oktav would probably faint dead away from sheer ecstasy if he saw it. Whoo-wee, this is more books than I ever saw in my entire life, much less been in the same room with! I imagine ye've read them all, too. You know, my ex-uncle's half-sister's cousin's former flat mate holds the world record for most books ever read in a single sitting, as we gnomes record these things. Not on purpose, mind ye, it was just a really bad crop of apples that month, if ye catch my drift, and a body's got to keep himself occupied somehow, after all. Ye wouldn't happen to have any first editions by Dergunswoon on hand, would ye? I've been told I ought to be reading up on him, and the only one I ever come across got bundled up and carted off to Middleborough without me so much as glimpsing the table of contents, ain't that always the way? Not that I ever been much for book learning, mind ye, but it still would of been nice to ... you know, I really like your fairy collection, too, I got to say. It's, um, kind of eccentric, but it works for ye. Really. Say, if a man has a fetish for faeries, does that make him a faetishist? Ye mind if I help myself to some chocolate?"

Bufer's gaze finally lands on Khenemet-Apep, and he finds both the wizard and his mangy cat staring at him with identical expressions of bemused irritation.

"Sorry," he says. "Ye were saying something?"

"Please," Khenemet-Apep says, "Feel free to occupy yourself with as much chocolate as you wish; anything to keep you from talking. Now, as you may have heard, Flavivirus is dead."

Bufer, his mouth full of chocolate faerie, gives him a blank look.

"Flavivirus," the wizard repeats, putting his hands together and making a flapping motion. "Flav. Iv. Irus. The dragon? The Lord of the Floating Cave? Oh, honestly, I'm surrounded by ignorant hill people.

"Flavivirus was a black dragon who lived in the swamp east of Erish-aga, before some Delvers -- the Order of the Ancient Egg -- decided they wanted his treasure and that he was in the way. It was quite an impressive feat. In any case, they've chopped him up and have been selling off all the parts as they make their separate ways back to Ptolus. His blood has been sold off, his hide has been turned into armor, his wings have been made into boots and gloves, his teeth have been used for a magical staff of some sort, and so on.

"His entire corpse, as I understand it, is gone or spoken for at this point, all except for a single scale. The swashbuckler Valerius has let it be known that he will be passing through the Duchy of Southerly on his way to the Low Road and a ship to the Sea Kingdoms. He should be at the Graywall in a week.

"I mention this, of course, because the Children of Tiamat's plan relies on five dragon scales, one for each color of Tiamat's heads. The green scale, of course, they will get from within Glangirn at some point, and they already have their red scale. According to a particularly talkative member of the Blackbones, the Dragonlord is sending the five champions of Tiamat south with a chest full of jewelry taken from Glangirn to buy the scale from Valerius, whom I doubt will have any problem selling it to them. This will put the Children of Tiamat two-fifths of the way through their plan and destroying the barony and Wit's End. I imagine you'll want to stop them from getting their hands on it."

The wizard pauses, enjoying the reaction the chocolate-stuffed gnome has had during this speech. Khenemet-Apep can plainly see the gears of his little gnomish mind turning behind his eyes.

"Oh, and you might want to mention to your paladin friend: The cleric of Tiamat apparently gained quite a bit of status from killing him. She's been promoted to the ranks of the five champions. She'll be leading the group to purchase the black scale."

After a moment, Bufer grimaces and struggles to swallow down the chocolate in his mouth.

"Emmerson and me can raise a party of six or seven in a right hurry, if need be," he says gravely, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "I expect the baron knows about this, and was probably him what suggested ye send for me. I expect he'll disavow it if he's asked, but is our mission to be securing the scale itself, or just keeping Pick and her crew from getting their claws on it?"

Khenemet-Apep toys with the scimitar hanging over the mantle.

"I told him I had news. What you do with it -- and what you are capable of doing with it -- is up to you. For myself, I'm paying attention to how many scales the kobolds get, because I have no illusions that the Children of Tiamat will want me around once their plan has come to fruition."

He seems to suddenly realize he still has his burlap sack in one hand, and with forced casualness, tucks it behind his back, under one armpit.

"Is there anything else? I have work to do besides telling the baron's errand-gnome information Wit's End should already know, if your people have any real interest in not sharing in the fate of the Treeline gnomes."


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

Bufer's eyes linger a moment on the hand Khenemet-Apep has pressed into his armpit, the embers of curiosity fanned by the wizard's attempted nonchalant manner. At the mention of Wit's End possibly sharing the fate of Treeline, the burlap sack and its contents are forgotten as the gnome glances up sharply into the wizard's face, his eyes tightening somewhat at the corners.

"What Wit's End knows or don't know, and what it plans or don't plan to do about it, is their own business, I'm afraid," he says. "While it's true I did spend a few days there recuperating for a spell, I ain't on the best of terms with my kin at the moment. If I can be said to be here on anyone's behalf, it's Emmerson Grant and the heroes of Maidensbridge, and nobody else's. If I'm anyone's 'errand-gnome,' it's theirs, and a proud one to serve, at that."

Pushing away the half-eaten bowl of chocolate -- half-formed notions in his mind making him slightly queasy at the sight of it -- Bufer hops off the divan and strides towards the fire and gazes into the flickering flames, pointedly not looking at the hand Khenemet-Apep has casually shoved up underneath his armpit.

"I understand ye're busy, sir," he says politely, "but I wonder if ye'll indulge a question or two more..."

Before the wizard can reply, Bufer rounds on him, takes a deep breath, and begins peppering him with a barrage of queries that would make Katadid Leach very proud, indeed.

"Who or what is this Dragonlord? How much support does he have in the warrens? Is there any manner of dissent we can exploit there? What about outsiders -- druids, exiles, outcasts and the like? Any hope for assistance from that quarter? What's the composition of Pick's party like to be -- clerics, wizards, soldier-types, what? How can we expect to find them kitted out? When do they leave, or have they left already? What route are they like to take, and what's the best way to head them off? What do ye know about this 'Order of the Ancient Egg,' and how apt are they to deal with us if we get to them first? How about if we get to them second, and explain the situation? Any hope in hell that they'll take our side? Will the baron be amenable to providing funds to buy the scale outright if it comes to that? Will this 'Order' be amenable to giving it up for a good cause if he ain't? Do ye happen to have any spare maps, scrolls, wands, potions or some other hocus-pocus doodad that might come in handy that we could borrow, maybe? And finally, even though I know ye're going to look down yer nose at me for it, I got to ask: Is there even the faintest glimmer of hope that all this could possibly be resolved in some sort of diplomatic fashion, huh?"

Bufer stops and blinks for a moment as he mentally reviews the last few moments, to see if he forgot anything.

"Also," he adds with a frown, as something else occurs to him, "Do ye not want to hear how that parable ends? 'Cause I'll tell ye, the suspense would be killing me!"

The wizard raises an eyebrow, but has no other response to Bufer's barrage of questions.

"You sound like a Jecture freshman," he says. "The Dragonlord is the kobold who has seized power in the caves and is a violent zealot devoted to Tiamat. His party rules the kobolds currently, but their control is not complete. The traditionalists still cling to the worship of Kurtulmak, although that will likely change once the Dragonlord has led their armies to wipe out the gnomes -- again. The Blackbones are necromancers who worship the Night Dragon, and would likely be the first to move against him, although I suspect it would go even worse for the barony if they were to achieve power. Apparently there are a few who worship other dragon gods, including a small cult that insists Gax has become a goddess herself. The true outcasts, like the sexually confused friend of your bookkeeper's father, the kobolds have a nasty tendency to hunt down and kill, so unless you're going to impress the dead into service, they're not likely to be of much help.

"If the Dragonlord has any weaknesses, I don't know of them; I'm not some stupid gnome to ask a kobold to his face about the possibility of assassinating his leader.

"Pick is riding with the Champions of Tiamat. If you didn't pay attention during your religious studies to guess at what that should mean, I'd be wasting my breath on a dead gnome telling you about them. If they haven't left already, they'll be doing so soon.

"The Order of the Ancient Egg are a tedious group of Delvers from Ptolus who fancy themselves dragon hunters. I've only had the displeasure of meeting the improbably named Gleep Wurp the Eyebiter back in school. Like most Delvers, they're mostly interested in glory and gold. If there's anything else they understand, I imagine it's ale and whores. I suppose you could slip into a dirndl and try your luck.

"And any magical items and artifacts I have would be too expensive for you to purchase, although it might be amusing to see you set yourself on fire with them.

"And as for diplomacy ... it's funny, but the Treeline gnomes asked that very question, as the kobolds tell it.

"Now get out; I have work to do."

"Begging yer patience, Mister Wizard, sir," Bufer says, making a great show of looking wounded by the wizard's casual dismissal of him, "But there is one other small matter fer discussion: my apprenticeship, sir. You offered once to have me come up here and learn the ways of the kobolds from ye, ye'll recall. And the last time we spoke, ye indicated ye were still willing to make good on the offer, in exchange for a show of good faith.

"I wonder, sir: Is this thing with Pick and her champions what ye had in mind? Or is there something else ye might be requiring of me to prove my worth to ye?"

At this, Khenemet-Apep is finally brought up short. He opens and closes his mouth several times before his cat makes a noise and the wizard slams his mouth shut while he thinks, a calculating gleam coming to his eye.

"If you survive a second encounter with Pick and her fellow champions, come see me again. I will have something for you to do, Sir Gnome. Complete that, and I will happily teach you more about kobolds in general and this tribe in particular.

"Do keep an eye on your paladin this time."

Bufer blinks at the wizard's reaction, then glances curiously at his mangy cat, wondering for the first time if it isn't truly the brains of the operation. The cat notices him watching, and with an air of smug superiority and general indifference, it slowly raises one hind leg and begins grooming a rather intimate portion of its anatomy. Bufer cocks an eyebrow before looking back up at the wizard, and affecting a crude bow.

"I shall, sir. I'm sure Emmerson appreciates yer concern. Thanks awfully fer the tip-off about Pick and her crew. I'll return as soon as I'm able, I promise."

Wearing a mischievous smile, he glances up and around at the library again.

"Ye really do have an impressive collection here," he observes. "I'll have to tell Lord Rubik about it all the next time I see him; I expect he'll be interested. Heck, he may even wanna come down and see it for himself."

He glances at the wizard's face to catch his reaction, then quickly at the cat to catch its.

"I'll see myself out," he says then, more to the cat than the wizard.

With that, he turns and heads back towards the stairs, but stops suddenly just short of them.

"Oh!" he says, snapping his fingers, then turns around and addresses the pair. "'Do not despair for me, sirrah, for I dost ride side-saddle!'"

He returns their blank stares with a wink, then turns and heads back down the stairs and out of the tower with a particularly gnomish bounce in his step.


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

The bounce in Bufer's step has all but disappeared, along with his smile, as he exits the Black Tower, replaced by a pensive frown. Heading in vaguely the same direction as he came, he watches his boots as he strokes his chin, deep in thought.

"Hmmph," he mutters aloud. "Well, that was distasteful."

"_No doubt. Eating greasy wizard would make for bad poops._" Bufer looks up to see Storm walking next to him, looking over his shoulder at the wizard's tower. He catches Bufer watching him, then shrugs. "_Would probably eat him, anyway, just to make point._"

"Ugh, please don't talk to me about eating," Bufer grimaces, as he absently strokes his protruding belly. "I think I'm in for some bad poops, myself."

"_What you eat?_" Storm frowns curiously at him. "_Stoopid cat?_"

"Oh, only about one-and-a-half magically transmuted faeries," Bufer says. He grits his teeth as his stomach gurgles in response. "Ugh. I think I'm going to be sick."

"_Hmmph,_" Storm says, clearly impressed. "_Tinkle-bugs be good eating, if can catch 'em. Tasty wings._"

"Ugh!" Bufer groans as his stomach gurgles again. He scowls at the kobold walking next to him. "Ye're disgusting!"

"_Me?_" Storm blinks. "_You be the one who ate a tinkle-bug and a half --_"

"Where in th hell did you go, anyway? Ye suddenly remember ye had something better to do?" Bufer snaps, desperate to change the subject. "Right as I'm walking into the bear's cave -- poof! -- away ye go! For a guardian angel, ye sure leave a hell of a lot to be desired, I'll tell ye that!"

"_Storm no 'go' nowhere,_" the kobold sneers at him. "_Just because gnomey no see Storm, don't mean he no be there._"

"Well, what'd ye disappear for, then? It's not like he could see ye!"

Storm wrinkles his snout.

"_Stoopid cat could, I think. Looked right at me._" He shudders. "_Gave Storm the heebie-jeebies._"

Bufer snorts.

"I don't know what's funnier: the idea of a fearsome kobold spectre like yerself being given the willies by a mangy old cat, or hearing the same say the word 'heebie-jeebies'."

"_Why that funny?_"

"That's a gnomish word if I ever did hear one."

"_If it be gnomey word, that only 'cause tricksy gnomeys steal it from kobolds._"

"Oh, whatever. OK, I think we're far enough out of sight of the tower now," Winking at Storm, Bufer draws himself up to his full height, cups both hands around his mouth, and calls out: "All right, Lil' Big'un! Ye can come out now!"

"_What you think you doing?_" he asks.

"It's Hazel," Bufer chuckles. "She's been following us ever since we left. Ain't that right, Lil' Big'un? We know ye're there, ye might as well come on out!"

"_Storm not notice nobody following._"

"Of course not; neither did I!" Bufer says, as though it were obvious. "That's the whole point! She wouldn't be much of a tracker if a gnome with no woodcraft and some out-of-practice druid who's been dead longer than she's been alive could pick her up that easy, now would she? C'mon, Lil' Big'un! The jig's up!"

"_But didn't you leave note plainly telling her not to come along?_"

"Well, of course I did!" Bufer says. "I always tell her not to come along! Then she comes along anyway! It's a system we got! Hazel, c'mon! Give it up! The gnome found you out! Ain't no shame in it! Get on out here, already!"

Bufer and Storm wait together in silence, their eyes darting from bush to bush to tree, hearing nothing but the mating calls of distant birds.

"Hazel?"

For a moment, nothing. Then, somewhere in the distance, a frog croaks in response.

"I don't think she's out there."

"_Mmm-hmm_."

"Well, how do ye like that?" Bufer says indignantly, placing his hands on his hips. "Can ye imagine? Letting me walk all the way out here, on my own! With clearly no idea of where I was going, how I was going to get there, or what was going to happen to me when I got there!"

"_It practically insane. You did have the dwarf ..._"

"Oh, screw the dwarf! Ye heard him! If that damned wizard had taken it into 'is head to transmute me into something like one of his precious faeries, Emus probably would have just pointed an laughed!

"I could have been killed! He could have killed me!"

"_Storm should be so lucky. Of course, day still young, and if gnomey insists on standing here and yelling guts out, something bound to come along and kill him eventually._"

"Oh, crap!" Bufer snarls. "I was counting on Hazel to get me home! I have no bloody idea how to get home from here! I wasn't paying attention on the way in; I was too wrapped up in relating that parable."

"_Gnomey god chooses priests wisely._"

"Listen, are ye going to stand there an' make jokes, or are ye actually going to be helpful here, and yes I appreciate the irony implicit in me uttering that sentence, so just wipe that look right off yer face, thank ye very much!" Bufer says. "Ye were a druid, right? Ye think ye could guide me the way back to Maidensbridge?"

"_These not my woods,_" Storm says, after a moment. "_But me think me remember the way. Come._"

Storm sets off in an apparently random direction. Bufer grins in relief, then falls into step behind him.

"Wow, this brings back memories. Just like old times, eh?"

"_Gnomey not shut up then, neither._"

"I'll tell ye, the first thing I'm going to do when I get back is find Hazel Sawyer and Emmerson Grant, and give them two children a piece of my mind. Just where the hell to they think they get off listening to me, anyway?"

"_Clearly, system needs work._"


----------



## Whizbang Dustyboots

And so it is, as Hazel and Emus trail Skeeter at a rapid jog through the Tulgey Wood, they all but run down the gnome cleric, wandering in the wood and talking, apparently, to himself.

"OH SURE, NOW YE COME RUNNIN' TO FIND ME, HUH?" Bufer explodes. "IF IT WEREN'T FER ... MY INNATE SKILL WITH NATURE ... CRAP ... I'D PROBABLY BE DEAD BY NOW, NO THANKS TO YOU! WHY IN GARL'S NAME DID YE HAVE TO CHOOSE TODAY OF ALL DAYS TO START LISTENING --"

He breaks off as he realizes that Emus has charged right past him. Bufer blinks.

"All right, what now?" he asks wearily.

Hazel face widens into a huge grin, yanks Bufer to his feet with more force than is needed, and embraces him in a fierce hug.

"Glad you ain't dead, crazy. What're you doing wandering around out here? Last I, uh, thought, you were visiting the wizard. Never mind, got to run. Kids are missing."

She sets off again at a jog.

"Wait, what?" Bufer asks as Hazel hurries after Emus and Skeeter. "Hey, hang on! I got some important news we got to dis-- wait, what kids? Hazel? Hazel! Oh, hells."

Bufer grimaces and hikes up the hem of his threadbare robe, and starts running to catch up to the trio.

"_Should have eaten him when I had the chance,_" Storm mutters, then glances up at the sky. "_This no way to run an afterlife!_"

After an endless period of fruitless investigation -- the floating shoe floated out of reach time after time before Emmerson was finally able to slip Judgment's tip through its open top and sling it to Tucker on shore -- the paladin's teeth are chattering violently.

He hears something move at the edge of the pond and turns to find Hazel, Bufer and Emus looking on him with concern. Skeeter, though, knows what's going on -- a game! -- and dives into the pond, swimming out to greet Emmerson.

At the improbable sight of Emmerson dog-paddling in the midst of Moss Pond, Hazel realizes two things: one, he's not out there for his health; and two, if the two children are out there, they're probably dead.

"Oh, no." She turns to the deputy with a sense of dread. "Are you sure the tracks end here? Did you search all around the edge?"

"We did," Tucker says, "But that doesn't mean anything: We'd be lucky to find water if we fell off the dock. Feel free to take another walk around the shore."

Hazel eyes the dripping shoe in Tucker's hands.

"Might have lost it getting away from something, maybe ran without thinking bout direction." She lays a hand lightly on his arm as she passes him. "Ya'll did good to track them this far."

"Lass, ye think ye could find me a rabbit or a badger or something around here?" Bufer says, tugging on Hazel's sleeve. "If any of them saw the kids, I ought to be able to find out what happened."

Hazel begins examining the shore and the foliage near the pond's edge for signs of disturbance - footprints, snagged cloth, broken branches and the like.

Emmerson gets out of the water, shaking like a newborn. He can barely control his hands as he reaches for his backpack, hoping he packed an extra set of clothes. He pulls out his cleric vestments. He dries himself the best he can and gets dressed.

"Thank Lothian you're h-here, friends. We've t-tried everything. No s-sign of them. Perhaps they followed someone."

"The two of ye did the best ye could manage on yer own, beanpole," Bufer says, reassuringly patting his cold and soggy friend on the shoulder. "Lil' Big'un will pick up their trail now, don't ye worry."

Feeling useless, Bufer worries the end of his threadbare sleeve as he watches Hazel's search, then glances up at his friends.

"How come nobody else from town's here?" he asks. "Why's it always us? I'll tell ye, I really can't wait for the day that Heda gets to sing 'The Heroes of Maidensbridge Took A Much Deserved Day Off, And Someone Else Picked Up The Slack For Once'.

"It'd be catchy," Bufer insists.


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