# The Center Cannot Hold - Graveyard Shift (Updated 2/15/07)



## Ed Gentry (Jan 31, 2007)

This is a fictionalization of one of the tabletop games I currently play. We've been playing since last fall and so far it is, without a doubt, the best game I've ever played in. The game is set in the custom world of the DM, a placed called Arva. The world is pretty thick with original terminology, concepts and organizations so I will do my best to clarify things as the story continues through a combination of in-story explanation and footnotes where necessary. Also, hopefully the DM and other players will add their input.

In the game, the characters are currently 5th level. We began at 1st. The story hour actually begins a short time after the characters first met (around 3rd level) and then flashes back to the beginning and continues from there. I chose to do this as an experiment in writing and because I particularly enjoyed the game session that will begin this story hour. I think it nicely embodies the tone of the game and the characters.

I expect to post a new segment at least once a week, likely twice. When I have returned my current novel to my editor I should get some more free time and posting will likely increase at then. So far I've really enjoyed writing this story hour as it's very different from the writing I normally do. While fantasy is definitely my main genre, translating a D&D game into fiction is very, very different than writing a fiction story. I'm finding that I really enjoy both and am getting the opportunity to explore different styles of writing. This story hour is much more casual than my usual fiction, written much more quickly and loosely. I find it relaxing, really, so I hope to continue it for a while if the response is good. 

I find it important to note that this story will be done from the perspective of my character and I fully expect to get some things wrong as I rely mostly on my memory with some scattered notes for this retelling. I also reserve the right to change things ever so slightly for creative continuity.

But, on to the point. Below are the characters as they are now class-wise. I'll get full stats and such soon. Also, two of the folks listed in the first few tales left the game so I am not including their information here as I will be trying to minimize their role as much as possible in the write-up. The names here are as the citizens of our city, Kingsbridge, know them, not necessarily by the true and given names.


Lesarius Groth - human barbarian/scout/fighter
Edward the Cursed - human paladin of Ymris* (my character and the SH's "star")
Ruthen Fastfingers - dwarven rogue 
Idril Surion, the Iron Maiden - half-elf cleric 
Kelsenellenelvial Galanodel - elf duskblade
Comolaan the Mad - human cloistered cleric of Tzaluth**
Arilan Nameless - elf sorceress (will join game later)
Lulu Ludaika - halfling rogue (will join game later)

Comments are very, very welcomed and appreciated! I probably don't write fight scenes as well as Lazybones, character interaction as well as Delemental or keep up the gripping pace of JollyDoc, but I hope folks enjoy. Here we go...


Book 1, Chapter 1:

	The gray stone walls surrounding the courtyard glowed white hot even in the midday’s sun. Overgrown grass around the perimeter wilted brown from the heat before simply melting away. The stone and mortar of the walls cracked with a loud crunch and then shattered into millions of pieces as the Sisters Militant entered the property atop their magical golem-steeds. Designed to look like an armored defender of the faith, the golems whirred and buzzed with mechanics and magic, each bearing a member of the Sisters’ order on its back where they worked levers and buttons. The Sisters’ eyes all glowed visible even at a distance as they sang out prayer songs, sinking their magic into the golems. Each golem’s arms glowed with the same intense white heat that had disintegrated the wall as they shambled farther into the courtyard. The earth itself sprang into flames before them, the powers of hell in metal, stomping legs. The wererats pouring out of the asylum in the center of the courtyard charged the women and their steel mounts, their hairy flesh melting from the radiating heat as they approached. The infestation would end, the sisters would see to that. Every wererat hidden in the asylum would soon be ash.

        “What in the name…” Lesarious muttered.

         “If they see us here…” the elf Kelsen started, looking to the far side of the courtyard toward the Sisters and their steel steeds.

         “They’re the least of our troubles,” Edward said.

         “Here!” Ruthen shouted. The dwarf grunted as she yanked hard on a heavy metal lid leading to the sewers. Lesarious dashed to her side and straining together they made short work of heaving the heavy cover aside revealing a stench-filled hole beneath.

	“Go!” Edward yelled with a grunt as his axe bit into another of the attacking wererats, dropping the creature at last to join its half-dozen dead compatriots. As that one fell two more of the beasts leapt from the third story window of the asylum to land hard on the ground mere feet from the armored axeman’s position. Kelsen shouted arcane words and leveled his rapier toward the newcomers. A flash of flame erupted along the weapon’s hilt, soared down the blade and launched into the face of one of the wererats.

	The robed Comolaan, bald pate glinting with sweat, scrambled to the sewer entrance and began lowering himself delicately into the foul darkness when Ruthen huffed and kicked him inside. The cloistered cleric bit off a yelp as he splashed into the muck below. Ruthen nodded across the span of the hole to Lesarious before diving in herself. Lesarious motioned for Kelsen to go next which the elf did without a sound, making the drop into the darkness look easy with his lithe frame and agile form. The largest golem-steed bearing the Prioress Victoria of the Sisters’ order, crashed into the far side of the asylum. The white heat began to radiate throughout the side of the structure before the first bits of stone had even hit the ground.

	Edward’s axe cleaved into another of the filthy rat-men as Lesarious dove for the prone body of Idril and pulled her away from the fight. The huge ex-mercenary swooped the unconscious Sister Idril into his arms, and gave a nod to Edward before dead-falling backward into the open hole to escape the blast of heat emanating from the now-crumbling asylum. Edward hacked through the neck of another wererat opponent and turned to join his comrades in the sewer. Another of the assembled wererats sent its claws along his back as the paladin turned but could not maintain a grip on his heavy armor which was starting to glow with the ambient heat. Edward rumbled across the final few feet, his armor clattering like pots and pans, and dove head-first into the open hole shouting, “Go, go, go!”

	Edward splashed into the fetid water of the sewer as a wererat was blown apart by the explosive heat above him. He watched the beast’s innards melt as though time had stopped. The blast passed and Edward pulled himself to his feet to find his comrades, their chests heaving, nodding at his arrival before they began to make their way through the pipe away from the asylum. 

	“Well done, people,” Edward said as he took a step after them. His foot slipped and his heavy armor dragged him to the ground to splash face-down in the filth yet again. His comrades snickered, though less than he might have imagined. As he propped himself up once again he wondered how he had come to find himself in this place with these people. It hadn’t been that long that he had known them but he already felt connected to them and mused that the feeling must have come from the stressful way they had all met and come together.

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Notes:
*Ymris is one of the Triune (three god-heads) of a religion called Ymrisism. Ymrisism is very complicated but it basically believes that divinity is not constrained to one single god but that divinity appears in all things and has many faces. In fact, it has as many faces as their are people in the world. However, it is represented by three gods: Ymris, Arva and Kalak. More to come on that as the story develops.

**Tzaluth is the "one true god" of the people of the Kingsbridge region. Catholocism would be the closest real-world analogue to this.


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## Ed Gentry (Jan 31, 2007)

Book 1, Chapter 2:
Three weeks earlier…

	The ground beneath his feet shook and shards of shattered stone bit into the exposed flesh of his face and his ears exploded in pain before everything went silent. Edward groped along the walkway for balance as he stumbled. A ringing grew steadily in his ears as he wiped his eyes clean of dirt and smoke. For the little good it did trying to see through the smoke, his eyes finally came into focus. He coughed and shouted for anyone nearby. He did not hear his own words, the ringing in his ears drowned out any other sound. As he scrabbled along the walkway atop the wall, he recoiled in horror as he crawled near someone’s leg, torn from their body and laying on the stone before him. He lifted his head to look around and saw pandemonium. People were shouting, though no one appeared able to hear their words. People bearing the badge of the City Watch on their arms scrambled through the area carrying the bodies of the unconscious.

	“…penetrated the wall,” Edward heard someone say. The ringing was subsiding so he stood, still hunched over, and went through the smoke and dust toward the voice.

	“That cannot be,” he heard another say in a lilting, melodic tone.

	“Blowing it up seems to have done the trick!” shouted the first.

	“The Wardstone* should have prevented…” the second began but was cut out by another crash, this one closer and smaller in size.

	Edward coughed, his lungs resisting the dust and debris, as he walked into a clearing. A huge man wielding a long, wide sword with scars looping his forearms was standing near the edge of the high wall, his gaze tracing upward. Beside him a man, a woodsman by his clothing, fired an arrow into the smoke beyond the wall into the sky. Edward craned his neck to follow the shot in time to watch the missile impact into the body of an elf clad in white robes who stood with half a dozen other elves in the carriage of a siege tower that was rapidly approaching the wall.

	“Breach! Tower coming in!” shouted the larger of the two men. 

	A small, lithe woman darted to the side of the woodsman, adding an arrow of her own to the fray. For the first time, Edward noticed an elf wielding a rapier to the left of the large human. Dressed in a rust-colored knee-length jacket and leather armor, the elf shouted some phrase Edward did not know but recognized as arcane and pointed his rapier toward the wooden siege tower. Red magical energy coalesced into a bolt of flame that shot out from the sword into the tower. The long-haired elf seemed unperturbed by the spell’s failure, instead simply moving forward to stand next to the tall man, his weapon at the ready.

	“Here!” came another voice. Edward turned to see a female dwarf with long hair crouched behind the enormous basalt bulk of the Wardstone. Built into the wall, the stone usually glowed with energy but now appeared dormant. Edward took her words as an invitation and loped toward her and crouched behind the stone. It was large enough to provide them both cover which was fortunate as arrows began raining down from the elves riding the tower. The dwarf snarled as one of the missiles skittered across the stones at her feet.

	“The Wardstone…” Edward said.

	“It’s broken,” the dwarf replied. Her eyes scanned the edge of the wall as the planks of the tower clattered their connection with the stone. She drew out a crossbow, though Edward could not have said from where, and shoved him aside to move to the edge of the stone. She took her aim and fired, scoring a hit on a disembarking elf.

	“What are Ahashtyns** doing here?” Edward asked.

	“What now?” the dwarf asked as she took another shot.

	The nimble elf with the rapier tumbled out of the way as a pair of the attackers landed hard on the wall, weapons ready. Their clean, white robes glowed in the day’s light, seeming incongruous with their cropped hair, blank faces and empty eyes. No malice rode their faces, only serenity.

	“It is strange, indeed,” said the rapier-wielding elf as his tumble landed him near the Wardstone.

	“What’s an Ahas…whatever you said?” the dwarf said.

	“Reborn elves,” Edward said. The elf with the rapier rose to his feet and gave a nod before rushing back to the fight. 

	The dwarf eyed Edward for a moment and then shrugged. “Whatever. Talk less, shoot more!”

	The reality of the situation sunk in at that moment shaking him from his ponderings and Edward delicately removed a short bow and quiver from the body of a nearby fallen Watch member. Edward said a prayer, invoking the forgiveness of the Triune and took the bow in hand. The enormous sword-wielder roared a battle-cry as he sliced cleanly through one of the attacking Ahashtyns, severing the serene elf in two. The woodsman and his wild-haired female companion continued to fire their bows while dodging the incoming barrage. Though they sought no cover, neither had been hit. They moved in tandem as though they had fought together many times. Edward fired high into the tower striking his target as the swordsman and the long-haired elf each took down another attacker. The walls beneath his feet began to moan and creak. The dwarf ceased her firing and crawled beyond the safety of the Wardstone as though the walls had cried out to her dwarven sensibilities. 

	“Get off the edge of the wall, now! It’s going down,” she shouted.

         The rapier-wielding elf heard her warning and leapt back from where he fought another of the attackers. The swordsman seemed not to care, instead running toward the siege tower. He leapt from the edge of the wall and grasped the tower, dangling several score feet above the ground below. The tower lurched forward returning the man’s feet to the wall, his weight actually dragging the tower’s plank down fully. 

        “It’s crumbling!” the dwarf shouted without interrupting another shot at the attackers from her bow.

        A great groan emanated from the wall and the swordsman stumbled, falling prone as the stone beneath his feet began to fall away. A young woman dressed in the robes of Tzaluth, an acolyte, who had been bravely tending to the wounded rushed forward clasping wrists with the enormous swordsman. Her tiny frame shook with effort as she heaved, loosing a grunt. Her effort was rewarded when the swordsman managed to scramble up the wall and moved past her to safety. Before the young acolyte could turn and follow him, the wall gave way. She screamed as she fell, a piercing sound that caused a hurt in Edward’s ears that he knew, even in the turmoil, he would not soon forget. The swordsman watched helplessly as his savior disappeared over the edge of the wall, falling to her doom.

       The crumbling stone pushed the siege tower back and several of those elves who had been climbing the device were flung out in the air to fall to the ground. Even as they plunged to their deaths, their faces never changed, the serenity still shining through. Shouts of retreat were heard as the attacking forces withdrew, dragging their damaged siege tower with them. The woodsman and his companion continued firing into the fleeing enemies as the swordsman stared blankly down the side of the wall.


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Notes:
* The city of Kingsbridge is surrounded by several Wardstone, magical stones that shield the city from attackers. They were thought to be flawless.

**In Arva, a certain set of elves discovered that they lived too long and they realized they were going mad with longevity. So, the Ahashtyc rituals came into being ages ago. The ritual strips memory from an elf so that he/she may start life over. It's considered a great sin to mention their previous lives to an elf after the ritual. Any past transgressions are utterly forgiven and the elf is treated as a newborn.


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## Lesarius (Jan 31, 2007)

So far so good Ed. I suppose I should be thankful you left the real reason Leasarius went over the wall out of the story. It sounds much more... cinematic the way you wrote it. Leaping out in a fit of rage only to slip and fall in a puddle of blood (natural 1) is hardly epic. I have to admit though... that really put things in perspective, his rage resulted in the clerics death, which had a profound impact on him. I think you captured that well. I'll keep my eyes on your work. 
Best,
Jeremy


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## Carpe DM (Jan 31, 2007)

Howdy!  Great story so far!

I just wanted to provide a link to the Arva website, in case anyone needs to look up terms or places.  

The site is www.arva.wetpaint.com.  

(Arva's my homebrew world, and I'm the GM of this piece.  That said, I claim little credit -- as every GM knows, fantastic players make the game.)

best,

Carpe


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## Ruthen (Jan 31, 2007)

There's little that's more fun than _knowingly_ walking into a trap, which, as I recall, is what happened at the asylum! 

_Unknowingly_ doing so only adds to the adrenaline rush, of course... but we don't talk about when that happened to Edward and me.


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## Ruthen (Jan 31, 2007)

An intrusion from real life...  The cleric who fell to her doom was played by the DM's wife. Yes, folks, this guy's so tough he killed off his wife's character _in the very first session_!


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## Ed Gentry (Feb 1, 2007)

Book 1, Chapter 3:

	The dust and debris in the air settled, motes of the stuff still limiting visibility along the wall. The attackers had pulled back, their numbers paying a heavy price as defenders along the wall claimed victory and revenge at once. The air stank with some sort of odor Edward had never smelled before. It was as though there was some invisible miasma clawing its way up his nostrils. The air felt like a thin layer of fluid, sticky and clammy to his skin. Edward stood from behind the Wardstone and walked toward the wall, stepping over numerous corpses as he went. The rapier-wielding elf was watching Mayfair’s troops as they retreated, some sort of calculations clearly happening in his mind. The large swordsman took his eyes from the ground far below and turned to face Edward but said nothing.

	“You fought well,” Edward said.

	“You fought behind a big rock,” the man replied.

	Edward ignored the barbed comment but nodded. It was true, he had fought from behind the Wardstone. There was no shame in taking shelter during a storm of arrows.

	The swordsman began wiping the blood from his blade and moved towards the dwarf. 

        “Thank you,” he said.

        The dwarf looked up from the Watchman’s corpse she was checking. “For what?”

	“The warning about the wall,” he replied. 

	The dwarf shrugged.

	“I am Lesarius Groth,” he said.

	“Ruthen.”

	“I am Kelsen,” the rapier-wielding elf chimed in though he had not previously been in the conversation.

	Ruthen looked to Edward and raised an eyebrow.

	“Oh, I’m Edward,” he said.

	The woodsman and his companion offered their names as well. Edward realized that he and these few people were all that had survived from that section of the wall. He bent over to examine the body of a Watchman that he believed had groaned but the man was too far gone. The last of the air leaking from his lungs, perhaps, Edward thought. He took the badge from the Watchman’s upper arm and examined it closely. Though he was new to Kingsbridge and cared little for its fate in the grander scheme of things, he recognized duty and honor when he saw it and felt a pang of loss for the stranger that he had never known. He whispered a prayer to Ymris to take the man’s soul into the flame, into the light, so that he might know joy.

	“You bunch, come with me,” an older man with a mangy beard and matted hair said from the closest stairwell leading to the city below.

	“What?” Edward said as the other defenders quietly fell into line to follow the man.

	“Where are we going? Who is he?” Edward asked Kelsen.

	“He is a Watch commander by his badge insignia. To disobey him would be a mistake,” the elf replied.

	Edward nodded and joined the exodus. They descended the stone steps that curled around and around until they emerged in the belly of the city of Kingsbridge. Smoke and dust rose from every side of the city. Apparently the attacks hadn’t been confined to the wall they had just left. Harald Mayfair’s forces had surrounded the city and cut off the some of the trading routes several days before and the lack of contact with the outside world was already showing in the city. Merchants who sold food from carts were dwindling in numbers and most of those who still operated had hired guards during their business hours. Edward imagined most of those hired to protect the carts and the sellers were former sellers themselves who had run out of product. 

        Theft was rampant, people stealing what little others had in the middle of the day with no fear of being caught. The Watch was spread too thin to concern themselves with domestic disputes or someone making off with someone else’s last piece of bread. People were killing for food, killing for space to sleep and killing simply because they felt trapped by a city they could no longer safely leave. Mayfair had turned Kingsbridge into a prison that would tear itself apart from the inside. The siege could go on for months. Surveying the trouble around him as he walked through the city, Edward was not hopeful about its odds of surviving that long. The attack perpetrated by Mayfair’s forces had only made matters worse.

	Passing through the town, they approached St. Mary’s. The tall, thin structure seemed emaciated when one thought of how high its spires were. It was from there that the Sisters Militant, faithful servants of Tzaluth and keepers of the sacred order, worked their healing magics to care for the citizens of Kingsbridge. They did much more than that, Edward knew. Their name did not include ‘Militant’ for no reason. The Sisters were the final line of defense against any civil threat facing the city. Mass fear, hysteria, curses and disease were their domain and the Sisters brooked nothing in their pursuit of their holy goals.

	More than forty citizens were huddled around the entrance to St. Mary’s, cries of pain and desperation came from the midst of their mass of bodies crammed into the tiny courtyard. A young Sister of the order stood on the far side of a gate that prevented entrance to the church shouting for order. The people ignored her and pulled hard on the gate trying to bring it down. A fat man near the rear of the crowd was red in the face from screaming as he seemed to agitate the crowd to further action. The Watch Captain scowled at the scene and drew a club from his belt as he waded into the crowd. He shoved people away as though they were tall weeds through which he was strolling. He reached the front of the gathered throng, pulled a young man from his perched position climbing the gate and threw his arms up for silence. A wash of quiet fell over the crowd for a moment but not long enough. Before the Captain could speak, the fat man renewed the vigor of the crowd with shouts of rage. The massed people surged forward, drowning the Captain in their bulk.

	“Should we…” Kelsen began to say but stopped short when the woodswoman with whom they traveled dove into the crowd and shouted loudly enough to be heard.

	“Cease this instant! You are assaulting a Captain of the Watch. You are not criminals…” she was saying before her words caught short in her throat. The fat man stepped away from her as the crowd parted, a bloodied knife in his hand. The woodswoman crumpled to the ground, shock written across her face. Before her companion the woodsman could react, the fat man dropped his knife and dashed out of the crowd. 

          Edward took a step as to pursue but stopped when the massive swordsman burst past him towards the assailant. Edward had never seen anyone move as fast as Lesarius and puzzled over how the older man could move so swiftly. Though still in his prime, Lesarius looked to be at least ten years older than Edward. The swordsman’s great strides ate up the head start the fat man had and within a few moments, Lesarius was dangling the attacker two feet in the air from one hand. The fat man tried to speak through his surprise but never got the chance as Lesarius sent an elbow flying into the man’s mouth. The corpulent dangler went limp hanging there in the air, his consciousness gone.

         Silence fell over the crowd and all eyes were on Lesarius who dropped the knifeman and spoke loudly. “Leave here now! The church is closed.” His booming voice made an impression and the rabble dispersed immediately.

         “Thank you!” the Sister behind the gate said. “Thank you so much. Please, bring your friend over here. I can help her.”

         The woodsman carried his companion to the gate and laid her gently on the ground. The Sister Militant knelt beside her and applied several salves and herbs to the knife wound. The woodswoman’s eyes fluttered open and she nodded that she would be okay.

         “Thank you, Sister,” the woodsman said with a bow.

          “Penny. My name is Penny. Well, Sister Repentance*, actually.”

          “Thank you, too, Captain,” Penny said, turning to the Watch Captain. “The people just need help. They need food, water, shelter and healing but we are full-up. We’ve already used most of our magical healing and now we’re running out of our herbs and salves.”

          “Aye, Sister. It was no trouble,” the Captain said. “Now, we should be on our way.”
The wall-defenders bid their farewells to the young Sister as well as the two woodfolks who insisted they had other matters to attend to**. The rest followed the Captain once again. It was not longer after that they arrived at the Cathedral, central authority of Kingsbridge. All public offices were housed there, including Bishop Barnard, the head of the Tzalite church. As they passed through the front gate Edward felt the scrutinizing eyes of the guardsmen and thought certain he would find trouble there. Ymris was not welcome in the houses of Tzaluth. His order had told him to avoid the Cathedral when he had first accepted the mission that brought him to Kingsbridge. Finding himself in the custody of a high-ranking officer in the Watch, however, had given him little choice. Declining the man’s command to follow would have provoked questions. Questions Edward could not, would not answer.


Notes:
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* The DM should correct me on this, but I believe that the Sisters Militant (not all) as well as the Brothers of the Order of St. Ignatius name themselves after their greatest sin so that it may not be used against them as leverage by their enemies.

**The two woodsfolks were players who only made the first session before deciding they could not make the game every week due to scheduling conflicts. I don't even recall their names (characters or players), hence...woodsfolks.


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## Lesarius (Feb 1, 2007)

I belive the druid was Emma and the scout was T(h)omas. 

I cannot recall Ed, didnt you guys have to leave for this particular part of the campaign? This was one of the sickest assisted low-level intimidates ever. When I snagged the fat guy, I think I rolled a nat 20, plus 5 or so intimidate, plus a 18-20 assist (can't recall). Suffice it to say he released his bowels and the crowd ran off in a hurry. I guess that set the stage for things to come. 

Awesome job so far. I'm excited to see how you handle some of the more... interesting parts of the campaign and still salvage Ed's dignity... for instance, that which shall never be spoken of again... can it be written of so long as it is not spoken?


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## Carpe DM (Feb 1, 2007)

The priests of the Order of St. Ignatius (don't be fooled by the "priest" designation -- they're arcane casters in the service of the Church) do indeed name themselves after their greatest sin or flaw, so that it is already out in the open, and cannot be exploited by the dark creatures they sometimes confront in Tzaluth's name.  So, you'll meet Brother Avarice and Father Arrogance soon enough.

The Sisters of St. Mary's (the Sisters Militant) have more aspirational names since they are supposedly figures of purity and inspiration -- names like Repentance, Victoria, and so on.


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## Ed Gentry (Feb 15, 2007)

Book 1, Chapter 4.

        The Cathedral’s expansive courtyard was green and bright even in the dull light of the early evening. The serenity of the place was a stark contrast to the suffering outside the Cathedral’s walls. Tall but wide and solid, the Cathedral was located in the heart of the City though not at its center. Smooth, unmarred granite and marble climbed several stories before them as they continued toward the front door of the massive structure. Passing another set of guardsman, the Watch Captain leading them did not slow for even a moment. The dwarf Ruthen ran her hand across the smooth stone of the Cathedral as they approached the door and Edward thought he saw the hint of a smile on her lips. The great oaken door closed behind them as they continued on into a grand hall surrounded on either side by tall, smooth arches that led to offices where administration of the city and the church buzzed at the pace of panic. 

	Moving so quickly as to barely get a look at the place, the group climbed three sets of stairs to finally come to a foyer where the Captain they’d been following motioned for them to sit in delicate chairs made of a dark, polished wood. Edward declined to sit, wary of the weight of his armored form in the seat. Lesarius also stood, an impatient countenance riding his face. Kelsen and Ruthen sat, a seat separating them but said nothing. Ruthen’s eyes never stopped taking in everything around her as though she were waiting for something to happen and she fidgeted ever so slightly. Kelsen seemed a statue amidst the white walls of the waiting room. Edward marveled that they had been allowed to keep their weapons. His enormous greataxe still hung on his back, obscured by his cloak but Lesarious wore his large sword openly and the guards had not removed it.

	After what seemed like an hour’s time had passed, nearby doors of a dark, red wood glided open. Lesarius did not wait for an invitation and the others followed him in. Edward went in last. A brightly lit but still dark and somber chamber waited on the other side of the doors. Heavy red drapes covered stained-glass windows and gold braziers dotted the walls. From floor to ceiling nearly everywhere he looked Edward saw bookshelves, heavy with the burden of what looked to be the collected written works of the entire world. He could not even begin to guess how many tomes were in the room. He had spent time in libraries with smaller collections. The marble floor shone in the few spots light hit them but otherwise seemed to project back the dimness of the room. Though not cheerful, the room was peaceful. Edward felt relaxed and at ease until he noticed the Tzalite symbols adorning the long desk before him. He reminded himself that much was at stake and that he was hardly out of danger simply because he found himself in the office of a holy man.

	Bishop Barnard sat behind his desk, a smile on his aged face. His years were hard to determine but wrinkles were starting to form at the edges of his mouth and eyes and his hair was certainly thinning and lightening to gray from what looked to once be a dark brown. He wore the black and red robes of the Tzalite church, the sleeves emblazoned with the crown and sword. Edward remained near the back of his companions and eyed the Bishop but offered a smile.

	“Greetings to you all. First, let me introduce myself. I am Bishop Barnard,” the old man said.

	Edward and each of his companions introduced themselves and the Bishop did not notice or care that neither Edward nor Ruthen offered surnames.

	“Thank you all for coming and, much more importantly, thank you all for your excellent service to the city of Kingsbridge on this terrible day,” he said. He seemed to sink further into his chair as he spoke. “I’ve been told of your amazing defense of the wall today and cannot adequately express the gratitude I, and the city, feel for your efforts.”

	Kelsen offered a bow but no one else reacted. Just as the elf straightened himself, a dwarf in black armor with a long rifle strapped to his back stomped into the room preceded by a puff of smoke from the cigar he was smoking. Behind him came a lithe man in crimson robes, an older, balding man in black robes and a young half-elf woman in armor similar to that of the Sisters Militant. They filed into the room, the latter two taking seats along the wall and the former two moving to stand on either side of the Bishop.

	“Your holiness,” the thin man in red said in a sibilant voice.

	“Aye, how are ye, yer grace?” the dwarf echoed.

	“Gentlemen, thank you for attending me. Please allow me to introduce Father Arrogance of the Order of St. Ignatius,” Barnard said, pointing to the thin man in red who nodded but said nothing. “And Jeremiah Hardheart of the Malleus. They are two of my most trusted advisors. We would like to request that you tell of us what transpired on the wall today.”

“The Wardstones flickered off during the defense of the city from Mayfair’s attacks – but it was perfectly timed with the magical explosion targeted at the walls,” Kelsen stated flatly. “Then they attacked. We held the line until the Order was able to turn the tide of battle.”

“I see.” The old man stared down at his desk. “This is terrible. The Wardstones can only be controlled that precisely by someone who knows their secrets.”

Jeremiah and Father Arrogance exchanged a hard glance. “Then I suggest the Malleus begin investigating how northern witches were able to control the Wardstones,” Arrogance suggested neutrally.

Jeremiah snorted. “Not every flinger of spells is a witch, Arrogance – you know that. I suggest you keep your own house in order.”

“Gentlemen, please. We must discern what this could mean,” the Bishop said.

Before he realized he was speaking, Edward heard himself say, “You have a traitor, your holiness. That much is clear. Someone who could access the Wardstones.”

Arrogance snarled at the remark but Barnard simply nodded. “I fear you are right, son.”

“I’ll begin an investigation right away, your grace,” Jeremiah said.

“As will I,” Arrogance replied.

Barnard stood and looked at the companions. He stared at Edward’s belt and nodded. “Son, I see you have the badge of the Watch there. The Third Watch if I’m not mistaken.”

	“Aye, that’s Graveyard Shift’s symbol there,” Jeremiah said.

	“Oh. Oh, yes, sir. I saw it on the body of a dead Watchman who was helping us and…” Edward said, not sure what to say.

	“You’ve shown the courage of a Watchman, all of you, today. Therefore, by the power vested in me, I hereby induct all of you, Kelsen, Lesarius, Ruthen and Edward, into the Third Watch. May you carry out your duties with honor,” Barnard said.

	“What?” Ruthen said, backing toward the door.

	“I don’t think…” Lesarius began.

	“He’s right. We need all the people we can get and ye volunteered yerselves when ye helped the city, like it or not,” Jeremiah said. He stepped toward Ruthen. “Ruthen, I’ve known ye a long time. I know you want to help. Please…the city needs ye.”

	Ruthen held the other dwarf’s gaze for a moment before nodding and moving back into the room. Lesarius watched her and after a moment gave his nod as well. Kelsen gave another bow as his agreement and all eyes turned to Edward.

	“What do ye say, lad?” Jeremiah said. “Graveyard shift are the roughest, toughest sons of bitches around!”

	Edward look at each person in the room and settled on the sad face of Bishop Barnard. He thought about what his people would say and how shocked they would be at what he was about to do. Edward pulled the badge onto his upper arm and gave a nod. “Then we’ve got a lot to learn.”

	Jeremiah banged him on the hip so hard Edward stumbled. The dwarf loosed a rumbling laugh and took another puff from his cigar. Barnard smiled and offered his thanks while Arrogance sat and said nothing.

	“Excellent,” Barnard said. “Please report to Chretian LaVif, constable of the Watch. He will have some important work for you to do. Please accept two of our own for your important mission. Let me introduce Brother Comolaan and Sister Idril Surion of the Sisters Militant.”

	The bald, aging man in black and the young woman in armor rose from their seats and introduced themselves to the companions.

	“Well, then. Be on your way. Do tell the constable I send him my regards,” Barnard said.

	“Hold a moment,” Jeremiah said. He walked to Ruthen and spoke quietly to her. She nodded and thanked the man. “Aye, alright. Be on your ways.”

	Edward looked to Barnard. “Thank you for your faith in our abilities, I hope we…” he started before realizing his companions were already filing out of the office. He offered a bow and fell in behind him.


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## Lesarius (Feb 15, 2007)

More! More I say! 

Ah... the memories. It seems like only yesterday we were fledgling third watch members running around helping the city and doing good deeds. Now we are seasoned graveyard shift, blowing stuff up and unleashing eternal damnation on a perfectly good world. Ah...


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## Carpe DM (Feb 15, 2007)

Wonderful.  How soon The Graveyard Shift come to earn their name!

best,

Carpe


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