# Orean Adventures - Circus of Destiny



## Lwaxy (May 18, 2012)

The players requested for me not to post character info right now, as they are still tweaking them and because they believe readers should discover the personalities and their relationships little by little, much as they themselves do. 

This campaign is based on the world Orea, as seen first in this story hour. Happenings in this campaign may refer to the events there, as this campaign is seen to happen some time in the future. 

Next installment will give all the names and some more background. 


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In the dead of a new moon night, the city of Orem looked forlorn and deserted. There were no lights in the windows anyone could see; the few houses and fewer mansions with residents still in need of light had their shutters closed despite the stifling heat that did not even let up at night in the Valley of Demons. Where the rest of the desert would be almost too cold at night, the heat of the day was caught in this place and lasted until the early morning hours. Usually, all windows would be open, albeit often barred, to allow the few gusts of wind to enter and to cool the rooms down in the two or three hours the heat would finally let up. It was said that living in this place was like living in the devil’s frying pan. 

But tonight was new moon, and new moon nights caused the considerable population of almost 3000, slaves and visitors not included, to lock themselves up and make sure their presence was not noted by any evil thing that might be passing through, and that included staying inside and leaving the lights out. There were ancient stories about things going around abducting or killing folks, and many a man had never come back after just wanting to check on the animals or any other foolish reason to leave the supposed safety of their homes. Even the outhouses were no outhouses around here, but could be accessed easily without having to take one step outside. And if slaves, animals and goods vanished those nights, too, it was taken as a loss that just happened. Sometimes, expensive things even vanished from houses, but there was hardly ever any sign of a break in, and so the people made a sign against bad luck and evil and went about their daily business, trying not to mourn their lost goods. After all, everybody knew that mourning inevitable losses brought bad fortune, not only for oneself but also for the family.

Orem had started out as part of an expedition to explore the area. The camp had developed into a trading base, and from there, the settlement had grown. The original expedition had long been forgotten when the first people started to disappear. But by then, the inhabitants didn’t want to leave their homes. After all, most days and nights weren't any different than everywhere else. And the opportunity for business was just too good. 

Very few people knew that the group of werejackals, the reason for the disappearances, had been defeated decades ago. Nowadays, people disappeared for more normal reasons. Including being taken as slaves – an illegal practice, of course, as slaves either had to be hereditary, sentenced criminals or people taken outside of Thelitia. But the driving force behind the ongoing fear didn’t care. If there was someone with exceptional abilities, he would find a buyer far away, and if someone far away was looking for a particular sort of slave – say, a good cook, a dancer of the more exotic type or even a girl for a private harem – chances were that one such individual could be found in Orem eventually, either among the slaves coming through here or among the visitors. Very rarely, residents were also taken. 

Daliem Oseman, one of the leading merchants and owner of a famous circus troupe which traveled the country part of the year, would have been successful enough without resorting to criminal activities. But honesty was just not in his blood. He came from a family of assassins, thieves, bandits, illegal slavers and other unsavory natures and could smell an opportunity for black money, as they called it around here, where others would not even suspect. There was always more fame to be gained, more power to be had and more riches to be gathered as far as he was concerned. And asides, life would be boring without the thrill, even if he was rarely directly involved anymore. 

This new moon night, he was probably the only one not sitting behind closed windows. He was resting on his balcony, his legs popped up on a gilded chair and expensive pillows, and sucked on his water pipe. The night was young, still, and he hoped it would prove profitable. The last few new moons had been rather disappointing, but this night, he had sent his best group of acquirers, as he called them, to retrieve a set of matching jewels from a newly arrived merchant’s wife. Supposedly, they were even magical, although this didn't concern him as it was a fixed price order. Any crook – or opportuist as he would call it – worth his weight knew that you never betrayed your customers. You might steal back from them later, but you'd otherwise deal with them honestly. That was about all the honor those who dealt with him admitted he had. 

The acquirers he thought of were well into their current mission. Being slaves, they had little choice but to do what their master said, especially since Oseman had resorted to employing the outlawed tattoo of obedience on all of those he did not dare to lose. His rivals often wondered about the freedoms he gave to some of his slaves, not knowing that it came with this downside. Those not following their master's wishes or trying to escape would suffer the consequences spelled out in the tattoo, though none of them knew what exactly it would be, or if it would even be the same for all of them. Only death would free them from this peril – or a very skilled mage or priest, but would they seek help it would be taken as trying to run away. Not all resented the tattoo, as it did indeed give them more freedom, and some were fine with being slaves as opposed to being jobless, homeless or even outcasts. The gods knew enough people died in the streets, and there were many who asked to be taken as slaves instead of taking the chance to die. However, most rubble from the streets was useless for anything but monster bait. 

The very opposite of bait were the two muscular figures, a stocky man and a tall woman, standing under a tree on the outside of a 4-story house. The bronze skinned woman and the albino man were posed as sentries, just in case someone was fearless enough to brave the night despite it being a new moon. They had impressive swords at their side, and the man had smeared ash into his face and on his arms to be less visible in what little light there was. 

"Are you sure the spell will hold?" the man hissed to someone sitting in the red leafed tree. 

"It always holds. Why do you even keep asking that? Do you think the master would give me a faulty item?" A pair of eyes in a pale face appeared between the leaves, pointy ears barely visible. "Have I ever made a mistake with it? No! And I hardly could, it is foolproof. It's..."

"Will you two let up." The woman's voice was almost bored. "They have a whole mansion to search, no one knows where that fat matron is sleeping, or if she even has the loot in her room. We can be here a while, and I really don't need your bickering." 

The albino threw her an angry look, but kept quiet, and the face of the half-elf vanished between the red leaves again. Somewhere in the mountains, a desert wolf howled, a short sound as if the animal was depressed by the absence of the moon. And then laughter came from the second story of the mansion, making the half-elf almost fall out of the tree while the other two half drew their swords. 

A cat-like face appeared in one of the middle windows above the large archway that lead inside the courtyard. "Found it. That was so easy. The fatty batty was sleeping with it on." In a fluent motion, a dark felinoid body with a long, muscular tail climbed out of the window and down the bare wall as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 3 small humanoid figures followed in a heart beat.

"You took it off her in her sleep??" A second face popped out of the tree a good bit higher than the half-elf had been, spouting even pointier ears. "Girl, I swear, you are mad." 

"What's the difference?" The lone figure of yet another with pointed ears, this time female, appeared from under the archway, stowing away the spell components she had held ready just in case. "They were all sleeping the magic slumber, anyway, you could probably haul them out of the house and they would not notice."

The red tree shook as the two occupants came climbing down, the half-elf stowing a silver amulet in the form of a cloud back under is loose black tunic. "That's true, but still. Yeah, but, figure you had little chance, huh?"

A really small halfling ran around the corner of the house, having stood sentry on the other side. "Are we all done?" he wanted to know. 

A dwarf girl, a gnome boy and a half-halfling man assembled behind the feline and grinned, showing several small pieces of loot. Their master usually allowed them to take some things for themselves, to keep them interested enough in the job as to have a to be at their best. In this case, there was a silver dagger, a small copper amulet showing an exotic bird and a small carpet. They never overdid it, and usually took things which would not easily be missed. 

"Let's go, then," the small halfling hurried them on. 

One by one, they hurried over the dark street. Those of them who could not, by their heritage, see in the dark had been given a ring to be able to do so. Of course, as with the amulet of restful sleep, they would have to give them all back upon their return. As much as they could do a lot of things other slaves could not, keeping magic items was not part of the bargain. 

On the other side of the street, they split up in pairs. There would be less suspicion if someone would dare to look out on the streets and spot them, as opposed to see a whole group of dark robed folks screaming robbery. From the south west of the city, they moved up to the north east as fast as they could. The sooner they were home, the more sleep they could get. After all, just because it was a new moon night, they could not sleep in the next day. It would just raise suspicion. None of the acquiring groups of their master knew of the other, and none of them talked to anyone outside their close knit group about it. That was the rule. 

Each of them arrived home without problem. No guards were posted on new moon night, no patrols on their way, and most likely none had even seen as much as a glimpse of them. However, sneaking into the quadratic palace-like estate with the large courtyard reserved for the residing circus troupe was not without problems either. None of the other performers were to see them. Despite new moon night, there were always some around who knew about the hoax, or who trusted in the supposed powerful magical protections of the grounds. But worse than that, there was Shasta. 

Shasta was the only guard dog of the estate, belonging to the dwarf cook Ramuel. The black beast was larger than the dwarf, a mastiff bred by giants, so the caller of the circus would claim when she was presented to a gawking audience. Fact was, though, the dog had fallen into a magical potion as a pup and never quite shrunk back to her supposed size after the effect was to be over. A side effect of the sometimes unpredictable magic in the desert. 

Shasta also didn't like cats of any kind, and to the annoyance of their feline companion, this included sentient, felinoid races. No matter what Ramuel had tried, Shasta stayed resentful of the thief and there had been many a times when the proverbial and the real cat had been chased up the tree and Ramuel had had to trick the dog away from her intended prey. 

While the others rushed over the yard to their respective tents, the feline's whiskers twitched, and she sniffed the air in anticipation. Last new moon night, she had barely escaped behind a pile of firewood and been glad not to have been discovered by the cook who, luckily in this case, didn't fear new moon either. The month before that, she had almost made it to her tent and had to be rescued by the amulet's sleep spell, which had raised some suspicion later the next day as the dog almost slept the whole day. And a few months before Shasta had managed to tear her clothes off completely, including some of her fur. 

"Tenelli?" Now that they were back home, they were allowed to say each others' names again. "I can see her, she's sleeping right next to the camels." The thin voice belonged to the halfling ranger. "Want me to go and distract her?" 

"Please." Tenelli almost squeaked. "Sometimes I wish that dog was dead."

"Now now, she's otherwise a great dog!" Small feet moved away, and then a soothing voice could be heard talking to Shasta. 

The felinoid took the chance and ran as fast as she could. Her tent was one of the closest to the archway, and she was nimble and silent, but that was not enough. A few seconds later, Shasta had heard her footsteps and jumped up with an annoyed growl. The halfling's voice rose, trying in vain to keep the dog in place a bit longer. Tenelli sped up, and out of breath she dove into her tent just when Shasta jumped at her. 

Shasta jumped with the halfling still clinging to her chain harness. The young man was thrown around like an oversized dog tag. The tent could not withstand the impact of both, and the canvas came down on Tenelli as the ropes snapped. With a whine, Shasta tried to untangle herself, but got stuck even more, a gasping ranger under her. 

"Shasta!" The cook's voice, sleepy and annoyed, came from the kitchen doors. "Seriously, now you hunt Tenelli even by night? And who did you catch there?"

"Tried...stop her," the halfling gasped. 

The dwarf grunted and dragged the dog off the heap of tent, feline and halfling. "My apologies. Dhai?" he then shouted, clapping 3 times. 

A muscular male figure in blues and greens solidified out of smoke in front of Ramuel. "Yes, my friend? Oh I see." With an amused look, the djinni, main reason for the cook's gained freedom, took in the ruined tent and the angry dog. "One of these days, Shasta will either cause you to be a slave again, or she will be killed by your boss."

"Yes, maybe," the cook sighed, helping the halfling off the tent. Tenelli stopped struggling, hoping to be helped as well. "Can you fix this mess?"

"Ah, sure." Putting a finger to his chin as if to think, the djinni grinned again and then snipped the fingers of the other hand. In a rush of wind, the demolition of the tent seemed to run backwards, putting it all upright and secure again. "There you go. I suggest you talk to a druid about that dog, though." 

Shasta, having forgotten about her arch enemy for a moment, wiggled her tail at Dhai. "See, she is the nicest dog ever. If not for the cat..."

"I'm not a cat," the insulted voice of the thief could be heard. "The same way you are not a monkey." 

"Yeah yeah, fine!" Ramuel threw his arms up in the air and let out an exaggerated groan, then he led the dog back to the kitchen. "I swear, she's just waylaying poor Tenelli." 

Back in the tent, Tenelli sat on the straw mattress on the floor, crying without tears. It wasn't that the dog was out for her, or that hardly anyone but Aventhin, the ranger, dared to stand between her and Shasta. It was that everyone was calling her a cat if they didn't use her name. She was not a cat. Her race must have its own name, and it was probably something proud and fearsome. But having been found as a baby in a place unknown to her, no one knew anything about her origins. One day, she would have to go and find out. Somehow, she would find a way despite the dreaded tattoo. If she was like a cat in any way, it was her desire to be free and about. 

"One day," she mumbled. "Hear me, gods of the world. You brought me into this mess, now get me out. It is all your fault!" 

If any cleric had heard her, she might have been in for a good talking to. But no mortal heard her, and what the gods thought of the matter was not for any mortal to know.


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## steeldragons (May 19, 2012)

Great intro! Loving the flavor.

You have quite the diverse bunch, there. Look forward to hearing more.

I can't believe Orea is now a franchise! lol.

Hope it's a great time for you and your players.

Cheers.
--SD


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## Azkorra (May 20, 2012)

That is a very nice beginning! 
Very interesting city to start your adventures in and (quite literally) flavorful troupe of characters - at last someone with a love for catfolk!
Waiting for the next entry!


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## Lwaxy (May 24, 2012)

Early mornings in Oseman's courtyard were usually dominated by the calls of the camel boys and girls calling out to their mounts to get up and ready. Then they would feed them and check them over and the caravans or, occasionally, single riders, would be on their way to gather and deliver the special goods of their master. While they were getting ready, other sounds would mix into the soundscape, including the prayer beggars going from door to door offering to pray for the welfare of those giving them their morning meal, angry shouts from Ramuel waking the kitchen slaves and the message runners arriving, announcing the expected caravan arrivals from the stables just outside the city. All those sounds overshadowed the singing birds and other wildlife, including the howler lizards. Or maybe the lizards just kept far away from a busy place like this one. 

Most mornings, one could also hear the nagging voice of the master's wife, the mirror mage Dasina, complaining about whatever came to her mind. Most people thought she was complaining just for the sake of it, and everyone in the whole city knew they were only married because of the many advantages the marriage had, not because of any feelings for each other. On the bright side, she only complained once per day. But why, Tenelli thought, did it have to be so early in the morning?

Of course the young thief had to get up in any case. Being the only one of her kind brought a lot of troubles other than being called a cat. For example, the first people Tenelli saw when she pushed her black and red colored fur out of her eyes, left the tent and stretched with more of a howl than a yawn, were Maskin, the swordsmaster, and Ylva Anor, the elven bard who was part of her acquirer group. Maskin had been given orders from their master to teach her sword fighting, or to be more exact, the dance of the sword. He thought it would make a great addition to have a feline perform among the other sword dancers. Ylva had been ordered to train her voice for performance, so Tenelli could add even more to the troupe. Now the two of them were fighting over her time, sometimes ignoring that she also had other duties, like training for her regular appearances and caring for her performing group's equipment.

"I've started with you yesterday," Tenelli said to Maskin before they could speak. "Today it is Ylva."

Maskin frowned and then nodded, leaving the area and thus the stage to the bard. The elf chuckled silently. "If he ever finds out, he will be so angry." He struck a few notes on his banjo and Tenelli recognized the first notes to one of his self made songs. The feline had been pitch perfect from the beginning and only had had to learn how to modulate her voice and some other minor things. But pretending she still had to learn was one way for the two of them to get some free time, as they were supposed to train away from the courtyard so they wouldn't distract anyone. Usually, they vanished into one of the many parks, sometimes just spending time with the few druids the city employed to keep the groves alive. 

While Tenelli still struggled with the toga she was supposed to wear for the supposed sake of decency – it wasn't so easy to pull any clothes over rough fur and make them sit right – the elf already gathered his instruments in a bundle to carry them over his shoulder. In addition to the small banjo, he had a flute, a small lute, a set of finger bongos he often used to make the sound effects to the troupe's performance and a trumpet he had used a few times to sound alarms. 

When Tenelli was finally done and half stumbled, half jumped after him to catch up, the albino and the gnome who had accompanied them last night followed them with their eyes. "She's growing so quick, Nashab," the gnome said to the gladiator. "And her temper rows right with it. She almost tore my head off a few nights back when I casually mentioned she is the best cat burglar I ever saw, and that means something."

Nashab chuckled. "You did explain to her, I hope, that it was just a figure of speech?"

"Sure, and she apologized. But I can see the day coming when the master, despite being so fascinated by her, will lose his temper at her, and then we'll probably get blamed as well." Folding his arms, Dyonmur Flapplegirk, the factotum and part-time priest of the group, leaned back against a wagon wheel taller than he was. "We are together only for a few months and I already see the problems coming." 

Nodding, Nashab thought of the day when they had been told of their new extra profession and started training for it. Some of them, like Flapplegirk, had had their reservations, but there was nothing they could have done, of course. If they were ever caught and the illegal tattoos would be found, no one in the city would blame them. But they might be killed anyway unless their master would be found, and as they would die if they revealed him, they would be in a real pickle. "We'll need to become close," Nashab finally said, stretching his short stature. "Otherwise it may not end well."

"Yeah." The gnome blinked, the remembered something. "Hey, today is your big fight, right? With that brute from the gem merchant, what was his name?"

"Yoskov the Barbarian." The gladiator chuckled. Supposedly he is from "across the sea" as they keep saying about me. Our masters made a whole crazy show out of it. Supposedly, our people are at war for centuries or some such." 

Dyonmur burst out laughing. "Even if that were true, how would any of you know about it? You grew up a slave, and likely did he."

"People are gullible, that's all there is to it. I better go and prepare now." With a nod, the albino turned to gather his gear. The fight was in the afternoon, but he would need to study his opponent and go through all the usual warm up moves. And, as he supposed, he would have to make a performance for the audience, too, so they would get their money worth. Usually, the overseer for the gladiators would drop them a few notes with what they were supposed to say. Most of the event was, in fact, rehearsed. Just the actual fight was mostly real, although in their class they didn't fight to the death. It would have been way too expensive to waste gladiators like that. 

Orem did not have an arena anymore. About a decade back, there had been a massive earthquake originating right under the mountains. Such earthquakes were, as the sages claimed, rare and would happen only every few centuries, and they were the only reason there were any mountains like these in the middle of the desert to begin with. But rare or not, it had devastated the northern and southern parts of the city. The northern part was now a large park with the satrap's mansion in it. The south of the city, where the arena had been, looked much the same way, except that Castle Starmight had not even been damaged. The magically protected stronghold now housed the gladiator games and several other entertainments. Of course, the garrison was also still there but there was enough space. And the audience preferred to have a roof over their heads both in the short rain season and in the stifling heat – the castle was the only permanently cool place, which was why some people spent a lot of time in the equally present coffee and tea houses. 

Thinking about how long it might take him to get into the next upper gladiator class, Nashab made his way to the castle without anyone watching over him. He liked being a gladiator. Not only was he a natural with most weapons that didn't have to be shot, the excitement and the want for victory during each fight made him feel alive and free. It was not too bad being a slave if you were given work you loved, and being recognized on the streets wasn't too bad either. Of course, people mostly remembered him because of his appearance but that didn't diminish it for the fighter. 

His albino appearance, so the rumor among the dwarves who knew about his true origins, were a curse from Valeran because his mother had gotten pregnant by a human. It was a notion his gnome friend laughed about, saying that Valeran was not vengeful. Nashab didn't know anything about dwarf culture, so he took the factotum's word for it, after all, his friend was regularly praying to and getting favors from several divine entities. 

But in any case, his birth was a rare enough occurrence, and one the traditional dwarf community to which his mother supposedly belonged didn't take well to. Nashab had been told instead of killing the white bastard, as she had been ordered to, she sold him to the only people who would take him. Oseman's slave buyers. He guessed that being in a circus troupe was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. And if he would one day get a chance to win his freedom, he could take it being famous and not made fun of. 

As he neared the inner city walls, he noticed a commotion at the gate. There was smoke and noise, including people retching and calling for the guard. A small figure ran away from the scene, throwing what looked like pebbles left and right. Some exploded in smoke, some in stench, and some in bright colors painting words as they spread. "Time for a change" or "down with despots" and "back to the true way" were some of the slogans he could make out. Obviously, someone had gone to great length creating a magical mess. And he had a pretty good idea which group the escaping halfling belonged to. This disturbance smelled, in the truest sense of the words, like the Uprooters had a hand in it. A bunch of foreigners claiming to be against slavery, but their true motives seemed to have something to do with hindering trade. And a good way to do that was to interfere with slaves first, as they were not only traded but also used in trades. Plenty of the caravans could not properly function without them. And properly in this case meant cost effective. 

The half-dwarf only hesitated a moment, then he spun into the way of the perpetrator, his short sword drawn. As with all slaves allowed to carry weapons, he was supposed to step in and assist unless his life, and thus his master's property, would have been in danger. He saw no danger from this halfling. 

The trouble maker tried to shift to the right and dodge under his legs, but he had misjudged the position of the albino and crashed right into him. All it took for the half-dwarf was to grab the man's collar and keep him there until the upset guards arrived. Some of the color bags had hit them, and parts of letters now spoiled their uniforms and armor. "Thank you for your assistance, gladiator," their captain said. That was one thing about the guards in this place, they were almost always polite, even to beggars and slaves – unless you ended up on their bad side. Like the halfling, who found himself lifted up on a pack mule to be hauled to the prison. One of the junior guards quickly tied his hands and feet with leather shackles. The captain waved for them to move on, then grinned at Nashab. "I know you, you are to fight this afternoon, right? My son's gone to see the afternoon games. Your master will hear about your assistance today. Oseman, right?"

The slave nodded and smiled back. "My duty to help," he said the common phrase. It had been the first time for him in such a situation, and he was a bit proud of himself. As he watched the guards leave and the city stewards – poor people who preferred to work for food rather than to beg – beginning the difficult clean up of the mess, he wondered if he might one day be known beyond the city walls and the next two waterholes.




At the same time, Evina, the brown skinned dwarf of the acquiring team, sat at her master's feet, waiting for him to finish his studying of last night's loot. "So nothing went wrong? You didn't see any other people either?" Oseman inquired. 

"If there was another team close to us, master, we didn't see them. But I thought no two teams were ever sent close to each other. We could have easily done another location or two." Last night's activities had included 5 homes, with the last one having been the most important. 

"Not one of my teams, no." The merchant scratched his beard thoughtfully. "But I have a feeling someone's been watering their camels at our oasis. The rumors this morning mention a holy statue missing from a merchant's private altar not far from where you were last night. If it had been just one incident I'd suspect servants or slaves, but there are two reports about missing money and jewelry from the northwest area. None of my teams was there at all."

Of course not, Evina thought. They never took money, because the robberies needed to look random and mysterious, and neither monsters nor ghosts nor demons usually cared much for money. Gold and silver, even copper, maybe, and certainly gems. But not this new invention the bureaucracy tried to enforce on everyone. Money, that was small baked earthenware plates in various shapes, covered in different colors in glass and stamped with the seal of whatever regional satrap issued them. They replaced payments in real coins for caravans out longer than a day. One could exchange them at official exchange bureaus, or with some street vendors who offered a worse course. The real gold, in the meantime, was taken by the buyer, who had paid for the goods, to the exchange office in his area. Every now and then, the tadips, the treasurers of Thelitia, would send some of their own with gateways or teleports to other offices to redistribute the money.

Supposedly, this was to stop raids and prevent caravans to accidentally spend too much of money they didn't own, such as in increasing the so-called hospitality allowance caravan owners gave their crews for stops at inns or taverns. A lot of caravan drivers could drink like a sinkhole and from what was whispered, up to 10% of all income ended up illegally in someone's digestive tract or the pockets of loose women. There was hardly ever proof and so the losses would usually be blamed on accounting errors, pickpockets and misplacing valuables. No inn or tavern or place with entertainers was allowed to take this money, nor any shop selling clothes, food or drink,  weapons, magic of any kind or books. This limited its use for robbers as well as for those overspending their lord's or master's money. 

While this reasoning had a point, everyone knew the more important reason for all of it was bringing more money into the pockets of the emirs and satraps. After all, raids still did happen as there were other things to be stolen. And usually, the raiders still took the money plates, either to try and exchange them with little success or to smash them somewhere when they found out what they had taken. This in turn meant that the caravans had neither the money nor the coins. For the caravans, nothing changed, but the coins were now in the pockets of the treasuries. The common folk did not like money, they wanted coins, not only because it was easy to break the plates. Supposedly, there were some people forging them, too. But who had ever asked the common folk?

The dwarf twisted a strand of her black hair. "Do we need to hunt them down for you, master?" 

"As soon as I find out who they are, yes. Maybe you can help me with that, too. Your team is the freshest and most variable in skills." Oseman tapped his fingers on the armrest of his expensive darkwood chair. "With any luck, they do not know about my teams and found out by some other means that the legends are not real."

Evina despised her master, for what he had turned her into and for the way he always talked of the teams as his. While this was technically true, the dwarf wished he would once say "our teams" to include the efforts of both the acquiring slaves and their shady trainers. But that would probably never happen, the man was way too egocentric. "Master? May I go now? Jashuad is expecting me to start selling tickets for the evening show sometime soon or he will get angry at me." That was her official job – selling tickets, trinkets, and picking up behind the camels if it was needed. And there were a mass of other things they would usually find for a young dwarf girl like her. Her mother, who was also a slave here, was often telling her how lucky she was not to have to be doing the really hard work. If she would only know...

"Hmm..? Yes, yes, be away already. I will call on you if I need your services in this moon-copy matter.*"

Evina bowed deeply and rushed out as quick as she dared without being disrespectful. Then she sighed. At least, selling tickets would take her out in the streets. At times, she could not see the palace of her master any longer. 




* moon-copy = copy cat, called so because the moon mirrored in water can be mistaken for the real thing unless you make waves.


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## Lwaxy (Jun 15, 2012)

"No, no, no, no!" Jumping up and down, the halfling with the throwing knives pointed a finger at the girl standing next to the rotating target in the middle of the tent. "How often do I need to tell you to turn the wheel in a steady pace? You count to slowly and give it a push every 2 seconds. Not more. Not less. Not a bumpy push either! How, in the name of all gods everywhere, am I supposed to hit what is pinned on there if you are elsewhere with your mind?"

The girl, younger half-sister to the knife artist, blushed a deep crimson red, struggling to say something not making her look completely foolish. But she was given no chance. Aventin the Dark, star of the nightly performances, walked over to collect his knives – most of them still close to where they were supposed to hit – and snorted at the blushing girl. "I bet I know who you were thinking of. Nashab, that's who. I don't know why you fancy him, really. I mean, him being an albino and all is not the problem, but him being a half-dwarf is. You are a half-hairfoot, in the name of all gods everywhere! Imagine that! What would happen if you two would actually pair up? A quarter-hairfoot-quarter-dwarf,  the master forbid? But then, the master would not forbid, he always wants the strangest mix in races. Asides, I don't think you are quite old enough to harbor thoughts of romance and..."

"Now now!" Dyonmur entered the tent from the front entrance and chuckled. "Even if she's fancying him, there is no harm in that. Young people do such things. I know, I was young once."

Aventin, never one to anger for long, burst out laughing. "You are barely 25, you rogue misfit. Ylva could be your father."

"Hardly." Eating a gumu fruit – a sort of mix between an apple and a fig – the gnome casually walked over to Jaswen, who was slowly regaining her normal color. "I mean, he's an elf. And I'd not want to be adopted by an elf. All sorts of bad things happen when elves adopt gnomes. Or any other race." 

"Is that so? Like what?" The halfling inspected the target wheel and frowned. His performance was getting old, he would have to think about something new soon. 

"I am not sure and I don't want to find out." The factotum giggled again. "In any case, I came here to tell you the news. Unless, of course, someone else was quicker and you already know." Expectantly, the gnome looked at his two person audience. 

"What news?" Jaswen asked, her eyes growing wide with curiosity. She was only 16, always hungry for news and very easy to impress. 

"The master's ill begotten son has been arrested in Relorn," Dyonmur explained. "Last night, in fact. Been at a party for the wine merchant's eldest daughter's wedding... what's his name again?"

"Ralmur?" the halfling asked.

"Yeah, that's it. Anyway, he's been given a bunch of harem girls for the night – you know how he is. But he kinda accidentally," – he stretched the word – "ended up in the bed of the merchant's favorite new acquisition. In a locked off part of the harem."

Jaswen stared and got slightly red again. Aventin coughed and shook his head. "Had to come to that, eventually, no? When he's drunk or high – or even when he's not – he keeps causing embarrassment for the family. A wonder his father has not yet disowned him."

"It's his only son... in fact, his only child," the factotum explained what they all knew. "You know the rumors about the master's fertility. In any case, the master is not happy about it, especially as we all know what fate is likely to befall the son, powerful father or not."

"What fate?" Jaswen asked. "Can't the master just buy the young master out of it, as always?"

"Ralmur refused to allow that, so I heard. Maybe they even set him up. Who knows? Anyway, men being caught with their pants down in the closed off section of a harem usually get their pearls cut off," Flapplegirk explained. 

"You mean...?" Again, the girl blushed. 

"Yeah, that's what he means." Aventin scratched his head. "And the master can't allow that, as he needs his line to continue."

"Which means," a female voice said from the audience area, "he'll send one of the acquiring groups to deal with the issue. Which means, it will be us." 

Everyone turned to stare at Afha Hiddi, the pale elf who had watched the doors to their last house to break in last night. "What, may tell," the halfling said, "makes you think that? Not about one of the groups having to pull the camel's tail, but why would it be us? The other groups work together longer and probably have the better mix of skills." He wished he would knew who they were, but he didn't dare say that. 

"I've been in the kitchen, mending the dessert cook's favorite pot again. I saw the young master's men arrive with the news. The Mistress got agry with master, of course, saying it was all his fault and then he said he'd send us."

"He just said that out in the open?" Jaswen gasped. 

"No, of course not, silly." Afha threw her one of those looks that so often made her feel even younger and dumber. "I  set my eavesdropping spell on them." Afha had a lot of cantrips making her useful in many ways, but the lack of more powerful spells was grating on her. Oseman was carefully controlling what spells his few magically capable slaves learned. Even for Afha, who had learned to make do without a spellbook, it was difficult to sneak new magic in without anyone who shouldn't know noticing. 

"Maybe," Aventin growled, " he just thinks we are the easiest to replace in case we are caught."

"Nonsense!" The gnome wiggled his finger at them. "Someone would notice our tattoos if we'd get caught and Oseman would never risk it. Not even for his only son. No, I believe he picked us because Tenelli is with us. Sneaking in and out somewhere or stealing keys is right in her well, so to speak."

"And we have several people capable of some kind of magic and thus able to use the stuff from his magic things collection." Afha pointed out. "I guess this will be another long night with little sleep for us, then." 

"One night?" Jaswen frowned. "Relorn is two days of traveling with fast camels, at least. We've been there last year, shortly before the sandstorm hit, I remember."

"I'm sure the master will have a much quicker method of transportation for us, this time around," Dyonmur said, waving his hands. "A teleport, maybe, although that would require someone to know about us. Or a flying carpet."

Aventin paled visibly. "I'm not going on any of those."

"Not like you'd have any say in it, my friend." The gnome patted the halfling's back. "Best we let the others know right away, no?"



Bibhi Ashar took off her light armor and shook her long hair. The heat was already unbearable even before noon was here. Though she was used to it for most of her life, she still wished there would be more cool days. Something in her physique disagreed with the heat, no matter how long she lived under it. 

Selma, an older gladiator also belonging to Oseman, came over to congratulate her. "You are getting better and better, dear. The master will be happy."

"Thanks, but the master won't care for the morning fights, as usual." Getting rid of the rest of her clothes, Bibhi stood under the baskets with water and pulled the rope. The shower wasn't cold, but at least it took away sweat and dust. "This is your last season, isn't it?"

Selma nodded. "I'm getting too old for this game. I will accompany one of the next caravans as a guard, probably even before the season is over. Maybe I'll be of use for a few more years before I am allowed to retire. If I do not get killed first."

With a sigh, Bibhi grabbed one of the old towels supplied to them. Their master had a tendency to avoid caring for his elderly slaves. To go around the law that clearly stated the duties of slave owners to take care of the sick, wounded, young and old, Oseman rather sent them on dangerous missions before they became incapable, or, pretending it was a generous gesture, freed them when they were of no more use. And while the laws of the land were trying to take all possibilities into account, setting a slave free was allowed at any time, unless it was a sentenced criminal. There was a passage about providing the freed slaves with appropriate provisions and money, but it had never been established what appropriate was, and Bibhi had seen Oseman kick out an old, blind man with only a piece of stale bred and a copper. It would have been better to put the poor chap out of his misery right there and then. 

"You think Nashab will beat this barbarian one?" Sitting on an old carpet, Selma cleaned and oiled her weapons. "Nashab seems to be a favorite, especially now that the story of his early morning heroism made rounds. They played it up quite a bit, too."

"He only stopped one of those idiots trying to make the city unsafe. There wasn't that much to it." Getting into fresh clothes, Bibhi watched the kobold slaves carrying her old ones to the laundry. Then she grabbed her armor and began cleaning it, sitting next to the older woman. 

"Ah, anything to make the audience happy, I guess." Selma pointed to the exit of the women's changing rooms. "Look at that, they arrived last night. Freshly caught, so I heard." The tone of the woman now had a hard edge. 

Two huge humanoids were led past the woman's area, each of them spouting tusks and orc-like noses, yet they were different in their build, with almost black skin, and their eyes gleamed strangely. They made no sound, but from the way they moved, it was clear they were dangerous. Not someones easy to be enslaved in any case. "What are they?"

"Don't know. No one knows. Supposedly, a ship from across the ocean wrecked and those are the survivors. You know the story."

"Yeah." Bibhi finished with her armor and started on her sword. "But they really look like it could be true."

"I doubt we'll ever find out. Unless, maybe, if the master buys them. They will be in the auction before the afternoon fights."

"Those, the master won't buy!" That was clear to the younger gladiator. "He's always out for presentable sensations, and that's not ever going to be presentable."

"True that. Ah, well, I need to get going training the young ones." Vaguely pointing in the direction of the training complex, Selma got up and ready. "The next generation to replace me, you know."

As Bibhi watched her leave, she made a decision. For the longest time, she had considered taking up one of the fortune tellers on his offer to show what it held for her. Her dream of a glorious life as a gladiator had just gotten a serious kick, and for the first time the woman realized she would not always be young and pretty and able to fight. And maybe she would never be famous. Bibhi finished her cleaning and stowed her stuff away for later use, then ran as quickly as she dared to the vast rooms of the fortune teller section of Castle Starmight. 

As usual around this time of day, there were not too many customers. Mostly parents asking about the futures of their children, or brides and grooms to be to find out about right matches. Fortune telling did not come cheap, and so only the upper class could afford the service. For a slave, it would be impossible if not that about a year ago, Bibhi had prevented a robbery on Toran, the man she was now visiting. And as always, Toran was already expecting her. 

With a wide grin of an almost toothless mouth, the small, slim man bowed to her and pointed to the pillows opposing his knee high table with the cards. "I knew you'd come today, my dear, and have prepared everything already." 
"No wonder people avoid your profession if it is impossible to surprise you," the gladiator joked to get over her nervousness. 

"People avoid us to avoid themselves," Toran corrected. "Now, please, let's see what the future holds."

"I haven't even asked..."

"That, my dear, is not necessary. I always know what people will ask, what they really want to know and what they need to be told. Now, shall we?" With quick motions, he shuffled one of the many packs of cards in front of him. Bibhi knew those fortune decks were all somewhat different and wondered why he had picked this particular one. And if he knew so much, why would he need cards at all?

The first card he turned showed the image of a young woman, sitting naked in a red lotus blossom, crossing her arms in front of her to cover herself and to push her long hair outward. Some sort of plants grew like wings from her back. Some buildings could be seen in the background, and behind that were the moon and the stars. "Is that to represent me?"

"Oh yes, that is you. Full of desire and wishes you think would never come true, growing wings from the fertile soil of your imagination." He turned another card. It showed a well with a fig tree, the tree growing inside the water. From behind the tree, streams of water were filling the well, in the front, the well let the water run to whatever. "There will be a constant flow of challenges and rewards in your life, you'll give as much as you take" Toran said, sounding satisfied. "I draw this card very rarely. It is a good sign."

"But the tree stands still, no? Only the water moves. Does that mean I'll be stuck in this city?"

"Oh, no, it means you are steadfast and hard to kill, just like the fig tree. Now, let's see..." The third card showed a young girl in white robes holding up a multicolored banner while riding, full gallop, on a female lion over some fertile lands. A large bonfire was seen in the back, with many figures dancing around it. "There will be a messenger, at a time of celebration or performance. She – or he, I can't be sure despite the picture but it matters not - might bring good news, but not only. And it will change your life as you will have to leave wherever you are at that point. Not too far in the future, this, I think." 

Another card was turned. It showed, unmistakenly, an evil spirit riding on a goat or ram, it was hard to say as the picture was all in black and white except for the blood dropping from a chalice the figure held. "This is your master," Toran sneered, never having made a secret out of his dislike for slavery. "He will try and control you all the time, but you will find a way for you and your friends to escape his clutches for some time, although it will be a painful process. I do not quite understand the meaning of it, but that will be up to you to discover." He looked at her with a sort of worry she had never seen in him before. 

Bibhi frowned. She was used to pains, every few weeks she had to take a break due to wounds she got in the fights. "Anything else?"

The next card showed a man dressed like a fancy dancer in the theaters, but instead of batons or balls, he held two swords while jumping in the air. One sword was pointed up, the other one down. Behind him was a broken prison from which flames were dancing. "Oh, this is your immediate future," Toran exclaimed. "The prison is to be taken literal, as are the flames. You all need to be careful. If you make the wrong decision, you can fall." He pointed to the down pointed sword. "Or you can shine." He pointed to the other sword. "But you in particular might despise yourself for it when the time comes." He pointed to the face of the dancer who, as Bibhi only now saw, was a grimace of what might be self loathing.

"That is all for now, dear. If the events in this card have transpired, please come back." He took the cards back up and shuffled them into the deck. 

"Very well." She knew better than to argue with him, and asides, she had a lot to think about already. With a bow and a smile, she retired from his rooms. 




Mirmon was making his way through the city library, refiling the shelves with the volumes people had brought back today. He was grumbling under his breath loud enough for the custodian to hear. His master had a debt to pay and he had been the payment, so to say. For the next few weeks, he would have to assist the custodian of the library, one Mehman Farsif, doing all the boring tasks. Farsif, a fat man with little inclination to move or even climb ladders, was more than happy to watch him stride off with a cart of books after making sure the half-elf would know what he was doing. 

He continued his grumbling until he was out of sight and earshot of the custodian. Then a smile spread over his face and he began to hurry up, sorting in books with amazing speed with the help of a handy little spell he had learned from a friendly outlander a few days ago

. It was rare that he had access to so many books. The master's library didn't hold nearly as many and had no works about magic. In the last few days, Mirmon had managed to finish his work quick and hide somewhere with volumes about magical theories and spell research. Not that he had had access to any real spells, of course, those were in the locked section and his master had made it perfectly clear that he shouldn't go there. But he might eventually think of a way to sneak in. Farsif had a thing for alcohol drenched chocolate and tended to fall asleep. Eventually, he'd manage to make a copy of the keys, maybe with help from Evina or one of the others good with their fingers and knowing where to get copies for keys.

Like the other days, he was quick to finish and then sneaked off to a corner behind a statue of some sort of hero or the other, where he had hidden a copy about the effects of elemental spells on elementals themselves. He quickly lost himself in the volume and finished the last few dozen pages before he realized something in the library had changed. 

It was, of course, always quiet in here, but the silence had taken on a new quality. The faint sound of Jonk, the imbecile in charge of keeping the library floor clean and the shelves free of dust, shuffling around and quietly mumbling to himself was gone, the silent exchanges over returned books or books about to be lend out had ceased. The door must be closed, because even the sound of traffic, already dampened by the anteroom, was no longer audible. No pages turned, no books were opened or closed. 

Considering what to do now, he carefully placed the book on a sall reading table and stayed behind the statue. He might have simply been locked in as it happened that slaves were forgotten, but it could not be that late yet. Judging from the sunbeams on the ground, coming in from huge, multicolored windows, he had not been sitting here more than an hour. More and more he was convinced something sinister was going on. 

Before he could get himself to decide on anything, he heard familiar steps – and unfamiliar ones. One of the people coming closer was the custodian. The other feet must be attached to someone less heavy and much more agile, which was none too surprising. He could see either of them from where he was, but now he could hear them whisper to each other almost inaudibly. Given his half-elf senses, he could still hear at least some of the conversation. 

"..sure everyone is gone? That oaf..." "...sent him to the barber... closed early, just the... why I took a slave, they do as..." "...sure of that? Some slaves are..." "...will be busy in the travel section... taking his time, lazy as he..."

Mirmon frowned at being called lazy, but the fascination with the unknown man's voice made him forget about it quickly. There was a raspy quality to it, the accent was outlandish as far as he could tell. He himself, not having been born a slave, still had a slight accent even after a decade of speaking the language. This person seemed not to be used to talk in this tongue, it sounded like it was a scholar using his book knowledge. That was not too surprising, considering all the scholars coming here. But why the secrecy?

The feet of the custodian appeared, as usual covered in soft sandals that wouldn't squeak on the wooden floor of the library. The feet of his visitor appeared a moment later, following the custodian closely. The footwear was curious; some sort of soft leather colored in strong greens and blues, in the style of the crackows of the north eastern part of the land, just that in this case the beak, as the long toes were jokingly called by those nor wearing them, was rolled up and fastened to the top of the shoes somehow. The owner had very hairy legs and short robes, because from his point of view Mirmon could barely see the green hem. Odd energies surrounded the stranger and made him shiver. The two men passed him by and vanished in the direction of the closed off section. 

Waiting a moment longer, the half-elf decided to follow. Carefully, on his hands and knees, he crawled out from behind the statue and crouched behind the nearest shelf. He could barely hear them anymore. Ducking from one cover to the next, he tried to keep up without being seen. 

"So, this is it, then," the stranger's voice suddenly said all too loud and all too close. Mirmon dove under a table as he saw the backs of the two men not in front of the door to the spells and items section, but in front of the large mirror with the edge in flower design Mirmon found so fascinating. Did they close the library just to look at it? Was there something special about the thing?

"Indeed. But many have failed to make use of it, and I don't see you to be any different, no disrespect." The custodian chuckled. "We'd be better off just getting you a copy of the book you want and not waste our time with it."

From where he was now, Mirmon could see the stranger was dressed in robes fitting the color of his strange shoes, albeit they were really short, more like how some female wizards wore them. And a wizard it was, no doubt, seeing how there were silver arcane symbols stitched on said robes, each of them radiating magic even without Mirmon actively trying to detect any. 

"Has she tried?" The strangers voice sounded almost bored, as if he was used to people doubting his skills. 

"Of course she has. If with any success or not, I cannot say, but I believe we would know if she or anyone else has succeeded. Now, come on, I do not want to waste all day on this." They moved again, and this time they did enter the locked room. And to his amazement, they left the door open behind them!

Maybe it should not have surprised him too much, after all, they didn't expect anyone else but him, a lowly slave, to be in here. And Farsif was expecting him to be busy sorting books for a while, unaware that he had a sorting spell doing the work of hours in minutes. He debated with himself, but only a moment. He knew they would probably lock him in, but there were always windows to climb through, he had helped carrying in bookcases once and knew that much. Without reasoning it through, he waited for the two of them to disappear behind a shelf and then slipped in, ducking into the other direction. He was curious what they were up to, but having a chance to be here undetected and probably learn some useful things was much more important than the likely unimportant doings of a wizard from the north. 

Smiling like the cat who had gotten into the milk chamber, he went all the way to the other side of the room and smiled at the volumes. What to read first?


----------



## Lwaxy (Aug 30, 2012)

Right now it is super hard to get the group together, so we did some email sessions which go super slow. But at least we are moving again. 

-----------------------------------------------

Tenelli felt the shadows of the leaves on her and the tickle of soft grass under her as she slowly woke up from her slumber. Overcome by tiredness after last night's endeavor, she and Ylva had decided to take a nap sometimes after their usual discussions of songs and music. She was still tired somewhat, meaning that something must have woken her, even if she could not point out what it might have been. The feline squeezed her eyes shut and listened and smelled the environment. 

She heard angry voices, 2 females by the sound of it. It was impossible to make out what they were saying from where she was laying. Other than that the argument was getting very heated, Tenelli could make nothing from it. 

As she opened her eyes, she could see the bard crouching under some low hanging branches, looking out at the source of the noise. When he noticed her awake, he put a finger to his lips and frowned, then pointing to the disturbance. What it meant was clear. This was not something slaves wanted to be involved in. It was probably not something slaves should hear either. 

Curious, the girl crept up next to Ylva. Now she could see the women not too far from them, coming up the low hill. It was still hard to understand anything, but it was about a man they both had had intimate dealings with. Of course. From the looks, the two of them were from noble houses, wearing fine and brightly colored pieces of finery, and what else would, so Tenelli's thought, lazy pampered noblewomen argue over if not men of status to marry. 

Little by little, they could make out words. Betrayal, blackmail, whoring and a lot of insults Tenelli couldn't quite place flew around, in between accusations about just wanting the man's money because obviously one woman's family wasn't as well-to-do anymore than needed for a noble house. Both of the women weren't the youngest; normally, a woman who wanted to marry for status, money or just to have someone to provide for and entertain her would do so before she reached the middles of her 20s. Those two, however, appeared to be over 30, especially the one doing most of the accusing. Tenelli couldn't be sure but she would have made a bet that the same woman must have had at least one child already, based on the way her breasts were slightly sagging and her hips swung. 

Ylva poked her and then pointed to another set of trees with equally heavy bushes under them. For a brief moment, the feline could see red hair and a green cloak in the bright sun. She moved a bit back, but the elf pointed at the sky, indicating that whoever that was could not have seen them, as the sun was shining directly at his or her eyes. Tenelli looked around further and was surprised that, behind the women in the under-bushes of yet another gathering of trees, there was some movement coming up the hill. She was about to point it out, but the bard just nodded and seemingly had trouble not to burst into laughter. 

The two nobles, unaware that they had attracted quite an audience, began shoving each other, and then the older one slapped the other with such a force that the poor victim of the attack stumbled back a few steps and then landed, rather roughly, on her pretty behind. The older woman stormed off, not without making it clear that she thought the other unworthy of her status. The woman on the ground broke out crying. 

Ylva pulled Tenelli deeper into the greens. "Let's wait a few minutes," he whispered, "and then let's go home. That older woman was the sister of one of the merchant council members. She's had trouble securing a mate ever since the rumors about her making evil pacts with all sorts of creatures came up."

Tenelli nodded, and her eyes went wide. "Evil pacts? Is that just a rumor or..."

"I'm pretty sure it is nothing more than that. Did she look like she commanded power of any sort?" 

The feline thought about that for a moment, then she shook her head. "If anything, she looked rather powerless and desperate to me." 

"Exactly. The world of the free and rich is treacherous, almost more so than being a slave. At least, I'd not want to switch with one of those." 

Tenelli watched the other woman get up and run, still crying. "I guess you'd make a pretty convicing female, though, wouldn't you?" She chuckled. 

"Yeah, make fun of your poor old teacher." The bard imitated a cane walking elder. "I could be your grandfather."

"Only if you had fur and whiskers," she replied. "The other watchers seem gone, too."

"Noble houses always spy on each other. A shame, really. The world could be so peaceful. Come on now, time for you to dance the swords with your less talented teacher."

They made their way around a few park benches and a small pond and then went towards a path leading to one of the main parkways. As they picked up speed, suddenly there was a loud cry of rage in an all too familiar female voice. As the two of them reached the larger path, they saw a green cloaked, red haired small figure dashing downhill, carrying the woman's substantial handbag. Tenelli, who knew the park well, thought it an odd choice to go that way. There was little in the way of cover there, save the demon glade, a small patch of tangled growth where lightning had hit a while ago. The druids would sort it out soon, they said, but they kept shifting it to the next day. Maybe they liked one untidy spot in the park. 

Before they could decide on a course of action, the woman pointed at them. "You there, slaves! Do something. Get the thief!" 

Ylva sighed and poked Tenelli. "You are likely faster than him and you know the shortcut if he's going where we think he's going." 

With a quick nod, Tenelli went after the thief, not noticing the irony that she, a thief for her master, was now after one of her own. Instead of following the whole way down, Tenelli went off the trail a few dozen meters down the hill. To the right there was a well concealed tunnel in one of the hills. It had been dug by one of the druid's dire badgers when the druids had been hunting the person who kept falling trees without permission. A year later, it was still there. The thief, so it was clear, knew nothing about it. He or she jumped nimbly over a tree trunk not yet cleared away after the last storm, over a flower arrangement and then veered to the right. Tenelli was, by then, almost through the tunnel, cutting off half the distance to the demon glade. The thief dashed past her just a second before she got out. After a few seconds, the rogue realized someone was following, and doubled his speed for a moment. But by now, breathing came labored. Tenelli had no problem breathing yet and quite a bit of endurance. As the thief went into the mess of tangled bushes, vines and trees, she jumped at the culprit's back and brought both of them down. 

It was a halfling girl, probably no older than Jaswen, Tenelli guessed. She was breathing heavily for air, looking not only exhausted but also famished. Pale as a rake, it seemed she had little blood in her. Staring up with terrified eyes at the unknown creature that had caught her, she was unable to get any word out except "DEMON!"

With frustration, Tenelli growled, what didn't make it better. There was only one thing worse than being called a cat. Being confused with a rakshasa. Unfortunately, it happened often enough as not too many people had seen their new show yet. "Give that to me," the feline hissed and took the handbag. "Stealing from a lady in broad daylight without making sure first no one could see you, or help her. How dumb." It didn't occur to Tenelli that, basically, she had just somehow admitted to being a thief herself. 

The halfling caught on, though. "Thieves don't steal from each other. If you are not a demon, then get off me!" 

Tenelli did so, holding the bag firmly in her grasp. "I'm a slave," she corrected. "Priced possession my master. And that screeching harpyie up the hill has ordered me to assist her. I am sure you kn ow what it would mean to refuse."

The halfling sniffed. "You could just have said you didn't catch me."

"But well, that would have taught you nothing." Opening the handbag, the feline went through the contents and fished out a small but well filled coin bag. "Here. I'll say we fought and the contents spilled out and you escaped with the coins. But I'll bring back the rest." 

The halfling nodded. "I was a slave. Until last week. Mistress kicked me out," she explained, not whining, just matter-of-fact. "I got accused of stealing from her, but I didn't. She gave me the choice of a whipping and the cage for a month or being kicked to the curb. She said no one would buy me. She's right. She wanted me gone because I have bloodfever."

Tenelli nodded in understanding. That explained the girl's appearance. "And you rather decided to take up the life of a homeless no one wants than being punished and have a chance at life. You don't make a good thief, you know."

"I'll learn!" She sounded defiant now. "I'll have to. I'd not have survived another whipping, or the cages again. It's how I caught bloodfever to begin with. And she would have done it again, and again. She's the devil!" 

"Maybe so, but you need to learn fast, and find a way to get help with that bloodfever. Otherwise, you are dead within a year." Tenelli got up and helped the halfling to her feet. 

"If so, I'll at least be free. But I have someone to help me, I hope. If I come back with some money..."

The Thieves' Guild, Tenelli guessed. Not usually known for their benevolence to wannabes, they had tests for people who wanted to join. The local chapter was especially ruthless and known to kill those not able to live up to their expectations. There was just no good in the world. 

Tenelli thought that this story might also explain the second person in the bushes earlier. Someone to spy on the girl. However, that would have meant someone being close now, too, but there wasn't anyone around. She didn't know how she knew. Nashab called it her feline extra sense. It had yet to fail her. 

"Well, good luck. Be more careful. If you get caught, with your backstory and the disease and all..." 

The halfling nodded. "Life is never easy. Good luck to you, too." 

Tenelli turned around and left the growth, shaking the bag a bit so it would really look like the contents had been spilled. In a much slower pace she went back up the hill.

Up the hill, Ylva was just done helping the lady collecting all the other things that had spilled out of two smaller bags – which of course meant that she had him do it and was just very specific about how to place them back. He kept being cheerful about it, but he liked the arrogant snit less and less. Even the Mistress was not so obnoxious even when she was in a foul mood. At least not to her own slaves. Some of the equipment looked weird to him, more like what a wizard or alchemist would need than a woman's make up and stuff, but he pretended not to notice. 

"There you go, High Lady," he said with a deep bow. "I have little experience with lady belongings, but I hope I did everything just right. I hope you are not too shocked about what has happened. Thieves in the park are rare." While he didn't care about her being shocked or not, the latter was true. The park was a much too open place to see much in the way of crimes. Ylva was sure the thief had been someone inexperienced. 

The lady nodded and only now took a closer look at the unknown slave. "A performer, are you not?"

"Indeed, high lady." With a practiced over-exaggerated move, he took one of the free tickets for their shows he had been given for cases just like this out of his belt pouch. "The Circus of Wonder and Woes. Every evening at nightfall, so the lights and illusions will have their full effect." As he handed it to her, he bowed again, and he couldn't help noticing that there were some dark stains at her shoes. 

"Ah!" Her face lit up considerably. "I have been wanting to check it out. It explains your feline friend, too – quite the extraordinary slave. My thanks to your master. I will definitely pay a visit."

Right then, Tenelli showed up, looking slightly cross-eyed while grabbing the bag very hard. "Got him... stupid gnome," she started the story she had prepared. Bag spilled all out, he ran with your purse, high lady, very sorry. And... and then something else happened. I'm all confused." 

The high lady was next to Tenelli right away, gently taking her by the shoulders while steering her to a bench. Ylva was surprised to see her so worried – maybe it was that she didn't want to be responsible for injuring a rare slave. She waved her hands over the feline, mumbling a few words. Then she frowned. "She has been charmed. I can remove that. I'm sure this wasn't the petty thief either."

"Is she.. is she alright, high lady?" The bard was all in alarm. His thoughts went to the second person they had noticed in the bushes. A lot more was going on than he could see through and he didn't like it. 

"She is fine, now. Tell me what has happened, girl. Slowly." 

Tenelli blinked, shaking the rest of the spell off. "When I came up the hill, some man in weird clothes jumped at me from the tree behind the bend. He wore a monkey mask and a dress suit like the presenters from the high markets. He growled and then he.. I guess then he charmed me because he asked me for the bag and I gave it to him. He searched it and cursed and threw it at my feet, then he left."

The lady nodded. "Monkey mask... that is curious. Well, whatever he was looking for, he obviously got the wrong bag." Thoughtfully, the lady looked down the hill, then checked the bag, her face betraying no anger or surprise about its content. "Never mind the purse, I can make do without a few gold. I don#t think there is any need to involve the authorities, the thieves are certainly long gone."

"I'm so very sorry, high lady," Tenelli started again. 

"Now now, not your fault, magic is magic, and you are, after all, a slave and not trained to withstand it. Well, if you are ever in need of help, find a way to let me know. You know who I am?" She looked at the bard. He nodded. "If you are supposed to be sold, or your master is getting unbearable, I should be able to help. You and your friends. Mark my words." With that, she strode off as if nothing had happened. 

Tenelli still looked a bit cross eyed, so the elf took her by the arm and guided her out of the park. "We'll have to tell the master, and get you out of sword practice so you'll be fit in the evening. This was something else, I'm just not sure what."

The feline just went along for a while. When they were out of the park making their way through one of the smaller roads, she suddenly said "She has noticed the tattoo."

"What!" The elf almost fell over his own feet. "How? Are you sure?" 

"I don't know how. But I know she knows." She shivered despite the midday heat. 

"We'll deal with this later. We need food and some rest, and we sure won't tell that part of her knowing to the master, or we'll be history."

Tenelli nodded. The world seemed once more upside down for her, and she wished nothing better than to do her performance tonight and forget about it all.


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## Lwaxy (Oct 3, 2012)

Just to let readers know that the couple in this group had their baby, which has some medical complications making it necessary for them to be in the hospital a lot, thus we are on break. Baby will be fine, it's just a too stressful time to be RPGing right now. 

Thanks for the patience.


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