# "The Promised Land" - An Aquerra Campaign (Last Updated 1/23/04)



## Rastfar (Feb 21, 2003)

Below is the ad I put up at the Compleat Strategist (and up on the web including the Gamers Seeking Gamers forum here), and was able to find one player to join up with me, three friends and another acquaintence.

_________________________________________________

If home is where the heart is, then the village of Kendrick has not been home to its people for a long time.  It is not only this tiny hamlet that suffers; all of the Principality of Rhondria has dealt with famine, banditry and oppressive taxes since they lost the war against the neighboring Kingdom of Menovia.  Rhondrians have always had it the worst of all the people of the Little Kingdoms, occupying the harshest and most mountainous land of this conquered portion of Derome-Delem, the so-called Isle of Dwarves, and neighboring not only the Set-worshiping Menovians, but the borders of the undead infested land of Dralmohir.   But, how much and for how long do the common people have to suffer in a place until they are no longer obligated to remain loyal to its government and crown?  For some, it has been long enough.  

But who will make the treacherous journey through dangerous and unknown lands to find a new site for the hamlet of Kendrick? It would have to be far enough from the borders of Rhondria to not have to worry about interference, but close enough to move an entire village, whether they be old, young or four-legged, to make the exodus.   Who can be trusted to determine if the place is safe of monsters, has fertile soil, area for the flocks to graze and access to fresh water?  The future of an entire village would rest on the shoulders of whosoever would take up this secret and harrowing task, and yet they would forever be remembered as those who brought the village of Kendrick from darkened Rhondria to _the Promised Land…_ 

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

The Promised Land – is a D&D 3E campaign for 4 to 6 characters of first level, set in the world of Aquerra, with emphasis on role-playing and story, still with plenty of dramatic tactical combat.  For more information about Aquerra, check out:   
www.aquerra.com  

_________________________________________________ 


And a bit about me:  I have been friends with Nemmerle for a number of years now, and among the many wonderful times that we've shared and enjoyed, Aquerra was one.  Possibly the greatest gift that he has ever given me is the trust to run autonomous campaigns within the world that has been near two decades in the creation.  Though this story hour is my first, it marks the beginning of the fourth long-term Aquerra game that I've begun.  I endeavor it to be my best yet.  I will enjoy watching the stories unfold as I hope you do too.


----------



## Metus (Feb 24, 2003)

Well hey, I'm game!  Post away!


----------



## Rastfar (Feb 24, 2003)

*Session 1*

Here begins Chapter One: Beginning, Again

Enjoy 

*session #1*

*Anulem, 21st of Syet– 564 H.E.*

From the edge of the sparsely wooded hillside the woodsman squatted, surveying the procession on the black-stained earth below.  The remains of several other funeral pyres marred the land and dandelions struggled to grow between them.  It was obvious to him that yet another of the dwindling number of the town’s residents had died, and was to be sent to the _duat_. (1) The young man could see that more than five score (most of the hamlet’s citizens) were in attendance - the large turnout was customary for the loss of one of their own.  Knowing this would delay his day, he stood and turned heading back from whence he came.  Tyrus would have to see Gus a little later than expected. 

	The crackle of fire broke the silence of the early morning as John Fisher’s funeral pyre began to catch ablaze.  Ephraim Little spoke his few indecipherable words and threw the final torch onto the funerary.  With the moans of the newly-widowed Maryanne Fisher as a dirge, a slow procession of Kendrick’s citizens approached the blaze in an orderly line.  Those who remembered the simple and honest man’s life offered words of praise in passing, or tokens of affection as they walked by.  One of these was Wrenchard Valinson – a middle aged family man and the closest thing to nobility that Kendrick had to offer.

“Farewell my friend may the rivers of Osiris’ Realm run clear and bountiful for you.”  

	Turning to the widow he offered his condolences and she collapsed into the man’s caring embrace.  As was custom in the small hamlet, many of the Kendrits did not undertake their normal responsibilities that day, rather they retired to the public house where much of the time would be passed in mourning and remembrance.

The pub quickly filled and an air of melancholy pervaded the room.  The oft-maligned Jonas Fawkes pulled a bench toward the hearth and struck up an appropriate mournful tune.  Sisters, Ali and Meg Hartigan served watered-down drinks, steeped herbs, and food, as Gus Sweeney the proprietor cooked away in the open kitchen behind the bar.  Most everyone was present, by the time the widow and war hero arrived.  (2)

Amidst the retelling of fond memories and childhood stories involving the deceased, another topic of conversation began to surface; one that was brought up more and more often these days.  The miller, Mahlon had again begun to gripe about the decaying land.  At first, others were reluctant to join in this taboo subject, yet they understood the sentiment.  The threat of the Menovian presence, fallow land, a putrid river, tribute and taxation, the ever-present and encroaching menace of the walking dead all served to wear on the nerves of the man.  

Sturgis Cronk, the steel-haired and bearded sheriff, eyed the miller warily knowing all too well that heated words and liquor could always lead to something more drastic.  However, while most seemed to be paying attention to Mahlon, Black Adair (3) struggled to impress the apple of his eye, Hazel.   

Jesse, the tanner, a sandy-haired, freckle-faced, young man nodded in agreement as the miller insisted something be done.  Above the din, Wrenchard Valinson heard a noise, apparently Pollack Zigler, the cooper, heard it too.  The thick-armed craftsman seemed to suddenly be struck by the thought that perhaps he had forgotten something and elbowed his way through the crowd towards the door.  Jonas, spotting the ornery middle-aged cooper in his haste, quickly changed tunes attempting a comical accompaniment to the man’s heated walk.  To his dismay the man’s stuttered and jerky movements made no such task easily achieved.  
Ignoring this, Wrenchard rose from the table.  Ordinarily the sound of hammering would not be peculiar, but on this day, at this time, it struck him as odd.  Excusing himself from his wife, the widow, and their children, he proceeded outside and toward the south end of the hamlet – from whence the sound emanated.

Pinpointing the origin of the hammering was not hard for the canny man, who was surprised to find that strangers looked to be squatting in the Stilwell’s old home.  Calling a greeting out to the young man who stooped by the side of the house, re-nailing a slipped shingle, he received no response.  A travel worn, yet comely young woman, barely more than a girl, leaned on the open doorjamb surveying the handyman’s work.  A tie-hobbled donkey attempted to graze on the weeds struggling for life in the brown square of earth that was the front yard.  Again Wrenchard called out to no avail, as he stepped towards them.  He was beginning to wonder if he was being ignored, he threw up his hand and waved to the girl while raising his voice, resolute to get their attention.  She looked at Wrenchard in silence as the man with the hammer stood and turned.  A hunch seemed to overtake the mangy haired, bushy eye-browed stranger, yet despite this he still stood somewhere between 13 and 14 hands high. (4) Whether intentionally or not, the man obstructed Wrenchard’s view of the girl. 

“Hello,” he said, accepting Wrenchard’s extended hand.

“Welcome to Kendrick!” came the reply.  “I am Wrenchard Valinson, and who might you be?”

“I am Jebediah Groomer,” stepping aside a little the slouched man gestured to the girl still leaning behind him. “And this is my sister, Constance.  Well met.”

“What brings you to our small community?” queried the native.

“Well you see good sir, my sister and I have recently fled Menovia.  We were but lowly serfs who worked indentured land, and until recently we could not enjoy our freedom.  As we hurried to leave the kingdom we joined with a caravan headed north, not really caring what direction it led, as long as it was away from there.  Unfortunately, one morn as we prepared to break camp, we were set upon by orcs.  Slightly more foul than our old captors, and slightly less cruel, they quickly tore into us all, killing everyone they could find.  I am not proud to admit that we hid amongst the dead that lie littered by the wagon.  By the luck of Bes we were spared.  For days we wandered, leaving the track and eventually found a river.  Knowing civilizations to generally lay near running water we followed it upstream until eventually finding a bridge.  Crossing it, we figured it’d be best to at least be on the opposite side of the Menovians, again we followed upstream.  It must’ve been at least three days or more through the hills until we finally caught sight of the large sails of your mill.  Noticing the abundance of abandoned homes, we chose this one, and, well, went to work fixing it up.”

“Hunh,” grunted Wrenchard. He was obviously none too surprised by the man’s tale.  Waiting for a response, Jebediah could see that his new neighbor seemed to still be taking this all in.

Finally, Wrenchard answered, “Well, consider me the welcoming committee. But this story of yours just won’t do.  We may have to lie a little, and tell people something else.  You see, folks around these parts ain’t takin’ too kindly to any Menovians.”

Wrenchard noticed now that Constance had slowly closed in on the two men while they were talking.  Turning to acknowledge her presence as well as include her in what he was about to say, he began again.  “I’ve got an idea.”

Jebediah turned to his sister, interrupting.  “Constance, though I hate to, we may have to tell a lie,” he intoned.  

“Okay, Jebediah,” came her almost derisive reply.

Unphased, Wrenchard continued, “You are both from Black River Bridge.  Now that’s a small town just a few days north of here on the western bank of Black River.  Here let’s walk as I talk.” 

He motioned forward.  “Let’s go to the pub, first round of drinks are on me.” (5)

The two pilgrims followed as Wrenchard continued on, “Where was I, ah yes, Black River Bridge, so you’ll need to know a bit about it.  I am something of a worldly man y’know…”

Meanwhile, the miller had succeeded in achieving what the sheriff hoped he wouldn’t.  Just being generally ornery and succumbing to a bit of the root tonic, his zeal was beginning to get the best of him.  Arriving at the back door as always, Tyrus greeted Gus and came inside, checking his blades and bow by the inside corner of the doorway.  As Gus continued to monitor a small crock-pot that hung in the fire, the young man hung his catch on the usual hooks that were now all empty and deposited two clay jugs of root tonic on the chopping block.  The young woodsman and his uncle brewed the moonshine. 

“Those guinea fowl look nice, Tyrus,” the portly, ruddy-faced barman said, with a big smile.  He seemed to always be smiling.

“Thanks.  Only three today, sorry.” Tyrus noticed the raised voices from the common room.  “What’s goin’ on out there?”

“Well, as I’m sure you know, or’ve heard, John Fisher passed on yesterday.  You know how it goes.”  Knowing the boy’s disinterest in the town’s affairs, Gus quickly turned to business. “Now, what can I getcha fer those?  What d’ya need?”

Tyrus caught the smell of some of Gus’ skillet potatoes, “Well how about we start with a big plate of food.  I’m starved, huntin’s getting to be more work.  And then the usual, whatever you can spare.”  He laid down the recycled burlap sack they used to transport their bartered goods. 

Gus quickly moved to mound a plate with food.  Potatoes, roast leg of venison and an assortment of root vegetables were piled up beneath some oatbread.  Taking the plate, Tyrus asked for some water, knowing full well the effects of his uncle’s homebrew.

“No root tonic Tyrus?” Gus joked.

“You know I don’t touch the stuff.  Mind you water that now.”

“Yeah, I know”

Tyrus gladly accepted the fare and headed towards the back of the bar, and thusly the common room.  “Mind if I say hello to the girls, Gus?”

“Nah.”

Taking his plate and nodding a greeting to the still pretty, while busy, Ali and Meg, Tyrus made his way past them, to the end of the bar.  Half sitting, half standing with his back to the wall, the hearth and gangly Jonas on the left, he dug in.  Tyrus couldn’t help, as everyone else here, but listen in on the hubbub.  He noticed also that not too far away, Motie, a small shifty-eyed man, whose short bowl-cropped black hair was pasted to his forehead, also seemed keen on paying special attention to the trend of the dialogue.  Perhaps the only other member of the community who lived a private life, Motie, was generally disliked, causing even Tyrus to get goose-bumps.

Just as the debate seemed to be reaching a crux, Wrenchard returned with his new guests.  All fell silent as the newcomers suffered myriad eyes to fall upon them - surveying them, judging them.  They felt the discomfort of attending a party at which they were not invited.  A favorable verdict was rapidly reached.  Wrenchard’s presence did much to alleviate suspicions. 

Sturgis, interested in the strangers, stood and moved to intercept them on the way to the Valinsons’ table.  Though diminished somewhat, Mahlon again resumed his oral exasperation.  Sturgis was introduced to the Groomers and Wrenchard quickly began an explanation of their story.  

Mentioning that they’d have to discuss their occupation of the Stilwell home at length, some later time, the sheriff cut his interrogation short, taking his leave to return to the vicinity of the rabble-rousers.  Wrenchard curious as to Mr. Cronk’s parting, followed close behind, beginning to get the gist of the conversation.  Avoiding more awkwardness by sitting down, Jebediah led his sister to the further end of the bar, closest to Tyrus.  Meg, the shorter and more full-figured of the Hartigan’s, acknowledged their arrival with a look before hustling further down the wood-bar’s span to service priority patrons.  Soon she reappeared, wiping her soiled hands on her smock.  Jebediah could see that beneath the sweat beaded on her brow and the thin film of grime on her skin she was a young attractive woman full of life, most unlike anything else about this place that he’d yet witnessed.

“What can I getcha?” she prompted, cocking an ear while still in motion.  

“A Silgar spirits and a rouge wine, if you please,” he replied.

Stopping, she stared at him blankly lost in thought for a second before repeating his request aloud; doing so as if for her sake as much as his.

“A wine and spirits.” She hurried off.

Briefly they waited, trying to take in all the sights. Jebediah fingering his laden money pouch before the barmaid returned with a cloudy brown liquid occupying an unadorned wooden goblet and a nostril stinging odorless tawny lucent liquid in a similarly styled cup.  She bustled off.  Jebediah passed the goblet to his fair haired sister, Constance.   He eyed it curiously, before studying his own beverage.

A dramatic strum of strings carried over the clamor as the Fawkes boy now invited his elder to the impromptu forum.

“C’mon up here, Mr. Miller,” he invited, beckoning as he stood on his stool.

Isaiah Fawkes, the would-be musician’s adoptive father slapped his own head in patient incredulity.  The miller earnestly made his way through the parting crowd to where Jonas had provided him a stage.  Sturgis settled in, silently hoping that his deputy Harden Speck, who was on militia duty was not too far away.  In a commanding tone, Mahlon grasped the attention of everyone in the common room.

“Something must be done!”  Many in the crowd nodded.

“John Fisher got it easy.  He doesn’t have to wait here like the rest of us, waitin’ to die.”

This didn’t seem to capture much sympathy, but no one dared interject knowing the penchant for the miller to have a hot temper since his son’s death, especially now that he was full of the morning’s worth of root tonic.  However, the widow Fisher did let out a terrible sobbing, and was quickly accompanied out by Kelize Valinson, Bette Kerswill, and Ida Cubitt.  Their children all followed.  

“How long can we last?  How long can we endure fallow lands, putrid waters, waning food supplies, the Menovian presence, and the threat of the walking dead?  The prince has forgotten us. (6)  The no-good aristocracy doesn’t care.  How long must we suffer?”

The crowd stirred, “Yeah.”

The miller could now feel that the crowd was with him. “Well, I, for one, say we do something!”

There was a glimmer in Wrenchard’s eye as he moved through the crowd towards the hearth.  Finding his cue, with delight Jonas filled in fitting gaps with the dramatic plunk of his lute strings.  Suggestions emanated from the townsfolk, bordering on debate.

“We’ll send someone to Blacktop!”

“I’ll leave!”

“We should kill those Menovians!”

“Let’s go to Scales!”

“What about Gothanius?”

The miller grabbed at the most appealing, “I’m sick of the Menovians. What do we owe them?  What do they provide us?  I say, next time they come we give ‘em somethin’ else from Kendrick!”

Noticing the war hero close at hand, Mahlon looked to seal the deal and invited Wrenchard to stand beside him.  “What say you, Wrenchard, will you take up arms against the Menovians?” 

Avoiding the man’s clasping hand that reached for his shoulder, Jonas found himself flanked between his two elders.  “I’m opposed to the taking of arms” he interrupted, thrusting his arm into the air.

Wrenchard, taken aback, looked down upon the lad. “Aren’t you in the militia?”

“So?” came the reply, which was quickly stifled as the crowd burst into laughter and much of the building tension was swept from the room.  Sturgis smiled and shot a wink at the younger Fawkes, though this did little to mitigate the wound to his pride.

Minutes later Wrenchard began, “Mahlon has a point.”  The crowd being drawn in again, nodded.  The miller beamed.  “We can’t just do nothing, something should be done.  It’s been nearly half a season since we’ve had any contact with the outside world.  We need to take matters into our own hands.”  The crowd hung on the war-hero’s words.  Mahlon wrung his hands in anticipation.  “Perhaps it is time for us to carve out our own land.  We don’t know what lies beyond the Little Kingdoms, but there we might be able to found our own land.”

“I know of towns with dwarves and stuff,” proffered the lutist.

“I propose that we send a small group to scout out a more hospitable land,” continued Valinson.

With this, the quiet woodsman lay down his fork and walked up to the front of the crowd. For the first time ever, he addressed the collective community.

“I am Tyrus.  I know many more of you than you do me.  I’ll guide you wherever you need to go.”

Wrenchard nodded approvingly at the young stocky man who was built like the hills he prowled.  He returned to eating as another argument ensued about the status of the Alderman.

“He’s dead!” the cynics offered.

“No, he’s left us all here to die!” suggested the pessimistic.

“He’s rotting in the prince’s dungeons!” another claimed.

It was minutes before Wrenchard could once again recapture their attention.  Avoiding the subject, he continued, “I would be willing to leave my family’s land; to abandon it, not for my own good, but for the whole town.” (7)

Jebediah and Constance noticed that the pot-bellied loner, Motie, was keenly interested in every detail of this conversation.  While surveying the room for replies to Wrenchard’s admission, Jonas’ own wandering eye stopped on the young female pilgrim.  Curious as to whom she could find so much more appealing than he, he followed her gaze to land upon the button-nosed Motie.  He didn’t like this one bit, and neither did the sheriff it seemed - who was ever-observant.

“Y’know this kinda talk is seditious.  It puts not only you in jeopardy, but this whole town.  Now I’m not sayin’ that you can’t do somethin’, or that if you were I could stop ya.  But we’re forgettable alright.  So much so that this oft-overlooked hamlet could easily become just the sort of example that the Menovians could use to set a precedent amongst the rest of Rhondria.”  The sheriff’s words commanded respect and attention from everyone.

Well, almost everyone, while the sheriff spoke Jonas stood, whispering in Wrenchard’s ear.  “We should do this in secret.”  With that he blurted out after the sheriff, “You’re right.  This is all a joke.  All just a joke, see?”

He broke into song and strummed his lute some more, playing a joyous tune.  A bit confused, but feeling to some degree that a resolution had been made, people began to return home or dance the local jigs.  Jebediah and Constance joined in the revelry, dancing in unison as their tandem steps carried them in long loping circular strides around the outside of the high-steppers.  

Mr. Valinson made the rounds in the pub, stopping to talk to several individuals the rest of that afternoon.  One among them was the ‘Black’ Adair, the sharecropper who had recently begun as apprentice to Wrenchard.  Following in the tradition of which he had come to learn his craft, Wrenchard had now taken to training the boy in the making and writing of maps as well as surveying the land.  Adair was bright, and Wrenchard would value his point of view at the dinner he decided that he must now plan for tonight.  Adair was an average shepherd boy predestined for an average Kendrit life.  He left with Hazel, so charmed by her that he hardly noticed when he walked into Motie, bumping the smaller man aside.  Before proceeding into the chill air and darkening sky of late fall, Tyrus, Sturgis, Jonas, Constance, and Jebediah had all been invited as well. 

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

Wrenchard returned home with what he hoped was more than enough time to warn his house attendants of the large dinner party.  Gravis and Noelle, seemed annoyed, but did their best to comply.  

The few hours before dinner passed quickly and Tyrus made a point of arriving early.  Gravis answered the door, “Good evening young sir” and welcomed the youthful woodsman into the foyer.  Taking the freshly killed rabbit offered by the hunter as a gift, he suggested the man leave his arms in the assembly hall.  Doing so, Tyrus was shown into the comfortable dining area, dominated by a large long table.  A warm fire made the room seem very comfortable and inviting.  Wrenchard greeted the early arrival.

“Welcome Tyrus, I’m glad you could join us.”

“The young master has brought a gift sir.”  Gravis informed Wrenchard holding the offering at arm’s length, before turning to leave by yet another door.

“Thank you, Tyrus.”

Minutes later, as Tyrus, Wrenchard, Kelize, Maryanne, and the kids John Jr., Annabelle and Dian made niceties, the majority remaining guests arrived.  The Groomers, who coincidentally had chosen to adopt a house adjacent to the Valinson’s, found it a short walk to his front door where they met the black-haired Adair.  Having arrived moments before, the Groomers allowed his rap on the solid pine door to suffice for them as well.

“Hello, I’m Adair,” the third eldest son of the Bannon home introduced himself, noticing the darkened beauty of the pilgrim girl even in the low-light conditions.

“Jebediah Groomer, and my sister Constance.“  She looked as if to curtsy, but kind of stalled.  Adair could see that she had just saved herself from awkwardly stumbling.  Before he could react, they all turned hearing the approach of people from behind them.  

“Hello, Adair, Jebediah.” called the squinty, blue-eyed sheriff, signaling their approach.

“Hello, Mr. Cronk” answered Adair.

Adair could see that Sturgis was being accompanied by two other individuals, neither of whom was at the pub at any point earlier in the day.  As a result, neither Jebediah nor Constance recognized either of the men.  The younger was a tall man standing over six feet high adorned in iron studded leather accoutrements that had seen much wear.  He wore a scabbarded short sword and carried an oiled-smooth club bound with rings of iron.  It was hard to make out the features of the deputy’s face below his partial faced cap helm and above his large rectangular wooden shield.  To the sheriff’s left paced a much different individual.  An unarmed, unarmored, older man of average height that wore naught more than comfortable amber-brown robes below the immense golden ankh draped from a braided leather thong about his neck.  His clean-shaven head identified him as devoted to Ra, his face was cracked like water-starved earth.  Jebediah accepted his well-calloused hand as they reached the doorway as well.

“Hello Ephraim. Hello Harden,” Adair acknowledged.

Gravis opened the door and welcomed the visitors inside. Proceeding into the foyer, they made introductions all around, exchanging handshakes.  With familiarity, the sheriff and his deputy laid up their arms, and Ephraim entered the dining room.  His annoyance overlooked, Gravis quickly shuffled off to the kitchen to inform Noelle of two additional guests.

“Wrenchard, how are you?”  Sturgis asked with a slight nod to the widow Fisher.  “I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of inviting Harden and Ephraim.  I’m sure you would have, had they been around earlier.”

Politically savvy Wrenchard answered with a big smile, “Of course, thank you! Ephraim, Harden, welcome!” He moved to shake their hands.  

Gravis laid in two unplanned place settings as everyone was finding seats to their liking.  One still lay unspoken for, as idle chit-chat was offered and passed around the table.  Ephraim chose a seat next to Maryanne and Kelize doing his best to console the widow in her time of grief.  Wrenchard and Adair spoke with Sturgis, as Tyrus, unaccustomed to such formal gatherings listened in.  And Harden took the opportunity to quiz Jebediah and Constance of the details of their tale.  Constance could now see that Harden was a striking young man, presumably in his early twenties with a hard-lined jaw, well-defined high cheekbones and softly dimpled cheeks, which nicely accented his smile.

“So I hear that you’ve come from Black River Bridge?” he asked rhetorically.  “And I assume you came by way of Split Mountain Bridge. (8) How long did it take you?”

“A few days” replied Jebediah guardedly.

“And why’d you come here?” queried Harden raising an eyebrow.

But just then, all heads turned as the sound of heavy knocking carried in from the foyer hall.

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

In the meanwhile, Jonas too had returned home to freshen up.  Having some spare time before dinner he figured that he could squeeze in some juggling practice.  Grabbing three torches, flint and steel he quickly made his way through the small house.

“Where’re ya off to boy?” asked his father.

“Militia duty, Pop” he replied and scuttled out the door past Isaiah’s judging eye.

Once outside and a good distance from the house, Jonas lit up his torches and began to work.  After diligently practicing for the better part of an hour and singed forearms as proof, the lanky kid figured he had just enough time to squeeze in a nap before dinner.  It would be a long night.  Moseying over to their family’s barn he found his regular comfortable pallet of straw and hay and dozed off.

Some time later, Jonas awoke with a start and the all too familiar feeling of having overslept.  Doing his best to straighten his perpetually disheveled clothes and flatten his constantly tousled hair, he broke into a run headed for home.  He threw open the door and began to scurry about frantically.

“What’s the matter boy?” his father asked.  Evidently he’d been shirking his duties again.

“Goin’ to dinner, Pop.”

 “Oh yeah, where?” The elder Fawkes was surprised by the response.

“Mr. Valinson’s,” the lad replied curtly as he pulled a belt from atop a cupboard.

“Oh really….” Isaiah was incredulous.  “Now listen son, you’re getting’ older now, in fact, you’re a grown man, and, well, I like to think I done a good job a rearin’ ya.”

“Ya have, Pop,” the boy interrupted, while ducking to look for something under a table.

Exasperated, Isaiah continued, “Just don’t lie to me son.  Please don’t lie!” 

“Okay.  Can you pass me my sack of juggling balls?”

Isaiah held out the burdened burlap bundle, Jonas snatched it and was off.  He called back through the open door and Isaiah heard the chill night air whisper, “Love ya, Pop.”

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

Being shown through the foyer by a somewhat irritated Gravis, Jonas was a bit surprised to see that everyone else had clearly arrived early, gotten comfortable and already finished most of their mulled-wine.

“Thanks for invitin’ me Mr. Valinson.”

“Just call me Wrenchard, Jonas,” the host half-stood, half-sat at the head of the table.

Jonas took up the only remaining empty seat at the end of the table next to Harden, across from the Groomers.  He shot Constance a wink.  No sooner had he done so when the meal arrived.  A fairly generous display of roast fowl, assorted root vegetables, braised cabbages and oatbread was laid before the guests.  Forgetting his earlier topic, Harden was quick to bring up the subject that was on everyone’s mind.

“Well, Mr. Valinson, I hear that you’d like to lead an expedition.  I’d be curious to hear more about the idea,” he queried. 

This breach of etiquette apparently annoyed Mrs. Valinson, as her face contorted in reply.  She forced herself to choke down a bit more wine and distractedly turned to Ephraim and Maryanne, eagerly striking up idle chatter.  Constance too seemed a bit confused by Harden’s prompting, and Wrenchard finished swallowing his mouthful before speaking.

“Well, yes, Harden I do, but in due time.  We’ll discuss it all at length in due time.”

With that he ended the issue and the rest of the meal passed pleasantly.  After the dinner plates had been cleared, drinks refilled and bread pudding served, a fine nectar was brought for all to enjoy.  The transparent ochre hued liquor sloshed viscously in the funny bowl-shaped stemware.  Tyrus eyed his warily and surveyed the tables’ reactions.

Jonas seemed just as curious as he asked, “What is this Mr…, Wrenchard?”

“Brandy, Jonas.”

Everyone else seemed delighted including Jebediah who Tyrus could see cupped the bowl of the glass in the cradle of his palm and fingers, slightly swirling its contents in a circular motion.  As Tyrus opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted.

“What are you doing, Jebediah?” Constance enunciated.

Drawing attention to her brother, he was obviously embarrassed.  Pulling his nose from the vessel’s depths, he replied.

“Uh, nothing…?” He quaffed the entirety of the container.  

The women were now dismissed and the men adjourned to Wrenchard’s study.  The eight of them were a bit crowded in the otherwise comfortable room.  Half sat and half stood amid the sheaves of parchment, map-adorned walls, bottles of ink, quills, coal markers, and funny looking instruments; one of which Jonas thumbed casually, causing it to rock in its wooden cradle.

“Now as you inquired, Harden, I do indeed think that something should be done as Mahlon suggested earlier today.  That’s why I’ve invited you all here tonight.  You all appear to be just as interested or may offer some insight into the undertaking of such an endeavor.  As Jonas suggested though, we should keep this quiet.  Sturgis may be right when he says that such talk is seditious and dangerous.  Word of this getting out may cause problems for us or the town.”

“I don’t pretend to know the law,” admitted the sheriff. “Especially under Menovian rule, but I imagine that they wouldn’t take too kindly to it is all.  Besides, how would you even move a town?  You can’t move a town.”

“No you can’t move a town, but you can move its people,” suggested Wrenchard.

“Besides” offered Jonas “it’s ridiculous to say that _all_ Menovians are evil.  It’s not like they’re dwarves.”

“No, but they do worship the god of power.  They build foul shrines to him,” reported Jebediah with contempt.  “They are even building a temple to honor the snake-headed one in Black Top.”

“A temple to the serpent god on Rhondrian soil? Unbelievable!” exclaimed Ephraim.

“But true,” Wrenchard confirmed.

Excitedly, Jonas grew louder, as if coming from deep thought and not having heard any of the recent conversation. “If we’re gonna keep this secret we’ll need a cover story!”

No one listened to him.

Wrenchard rifled about his desk and produced a small rolled parchment.  Untying the ribbon used to keep it compact, he unfurled the map and spread it flat across the wooden desk.  Securing it down with stones, he beckoned everyone around and began to point out landmarks.  They surveyed the lands of Dralmohir, discussed the Black River, argued over directions, kingdoms, politics, and potential destinations.  Ultimately, a general plan was accepted.  A group was to head north along the river in John Fisher’s now unused canoes, hit shore before Black River Bridge and take a land route through the hills westward toward Black Top and then continue in that direction into Gothanius.

Gravis entered the study and more brandy was poured. 

Talk turned now to whom and how many should comprise such a group, how many it should be.  Tyrus again volunteered his services, as Wrenchard declared that he’d help lead the group.  Adair, though quiet, kept it no secret that he was interested.  Briefly, Harden considered it as well, but was quickly reminded of other duties by both the sheriff and the priest.  Jebediah volunteered his cooperation, and that of his sister.

“I don’t think that a woman’s place is on the road, just like I don’t think a woman’s place is in the study,” offered Wrenchard.  “Perhaps your sister could stay here and help work my lands, or help my wife about the house.”

“No,” replied Jebediah curtly, and the matter was left at that.

Having heard enough, Tyrus got up to leave.

“You’re going?  We still haven’t talked about the cover story” Jonas said.

Tyrus, unconcerned, replied, “I’m not literate.”

Jonas, ordinarily not at a loss for words, paused and smirked.

Tyrus continued, “I don’t know anything about taxes, laws, Menovians or anything like that.  I know about the woods and those hills.”

Harden also made to go.  Sturgis and Ephraim feeling the effects of the late hour coupled with the alcohol did too make ready to go.  As farewells and handshakes were exchanged, Ephraim pulled Wrenchard out into the hall with him for a bit of privacy.

“Wrenchard, you say that the Groomers are new to town today.  Are they acquaintances of yours?  Do you know them?”

“No,” Wrenchard didn’t quite know where this was going.

“And you trust them?  It seems a bit odd to me that they happen upon our sleepy little hamlet today, this major idea comes to fruition today, and they are all too willing to aid in our endeavors today.  Hadn’t they just come here to take up residence?  Fixing a house in disrepair as if to stay?  Why leave now?”

Wrenchard had no answer, but the cleric could see that the war hero was now in thought.  Having achieved what he’d desired, he bade Wrenchard pay him a visit before going anywhere, and took his leave.  The host returned to the study as the sheriff and his deputy were wrapping up their good evenings.

“We hope to see you on the breach tonight, Jonas,” said Harden to the militia man.  “Noticed you’ve been absent lately.”

Jonas flushed a little, speechless, and Wrenchard turned again to see out the two lawmen.

Returning to his guests, he found the room much more spacious now, and comfortable.

“We have nothing to lose and everything to gain,” remarked Jebediah.

Wrenchard could only speculate as to what they’d been discussing.  The musician was obviously still stand offish about undertaking this quest.

“I’ll only go if my father says that I can.”

“Jonas, you’re a grown man, you can make your own decisions,” replied Adair.

“Yeah I know but my father needs me, I mean, he can’t tend our crops without me.”

“You said yourself that someone should chronicle our exploits,” continued Adair.  “I can think of no one more suitable than you.”

Jonas balked.  “We’re not rich like Mr. Valinson, my father needs me.”

“Perhaps your father could come help work my land, my wife will be needing help with me gone.”

“But we have our own land, he just needs me to work it.”

Jebediah had a thought.  “Could your father use a donkey?  Perhaps that could do to make up for his loss if you join us.”

“An ass for an ass!” Tyrus interjected, highly amused.

“At least I don’t smell like one!”  Jonas retorted.

“Listen we can’t tell anyone about what we’re planning to do.  The less people that know the better,” said Wrenchard, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Well, I have to ask my dad, or at least tell him,” Jonas whined.

“What about Motie?” asked Tyrus, leaning on the desk.  “I saw him listening in at the pub.  I don’t know what he heard, or knows, or suspects.”

“Ah, I’m tired of Motie,” sighed Wrenchard.

“Well, what do you want to _do_ about Motie?” whispered Tyrus, leaning in closer, a sinister glint beginning to shine in his eye.

Jonas, taken aback, protested, “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going.”

“Maybe you should leave the room,” suggested Tyrus, a sardonic smile began to work its way across his face.

“Nothing,” Wrenchard said.  “We can’t touch him.  But he’s not to be trusted.”

Another brief debate began in which the facts, circumstance, and rumor about the dubiously reputed Menovian sympathizer were scrutinized.  In the end, it was decided that nothing could be done to or about him.  Even if he were the worst of what everyone suspected him to be, Motie would never go unnoticed.  

A cover story was developed (with Jonas’ help).  The group decided to say that Wrenchard had received a large surveying job requiring the assistance of the other conspirators. A pact was made swearing them all to secrecy except where absolutely necessary. With that everyone seemed to be winding down, the end of the evening drawing nigh.  They had talked into the wee hours of the morn and plans for the morrow were briefly discussed.  It was agreed that Jonas and Jebediah would examine the canoes in the morning.  They also needed to start hunting, gathering, and preserving food supplies.   Adair and Tyrus would concern themselves with this.  As everyone rose to leave, Jonas cocked his head slightly toward the shuttered window, hushing the conspirators with a finger to his lips.

“Do you hear that?” he asked.  “It sounds like a cow being choked to death.”

“I guess that I am not the only one light-headed from the brandy,” Jebediah chuckled.

“No!” Jonas admonished.  Not to be made the fool, he lunged to the window and cast open the shutters.  They could all hear it now.  A terrible guttural drawn-out moan bellowed in with the cold night breeze.  Jonas dove headlong out the window in an attempt to clear the bush below.  He landed most ungracefully, scuffing his face, shoulders, and elbows.  Everyone else quickly moved through the house.  Tyrus was the first to reach his weapons and the front door.  He was followed closely by Adair, who accepted the bow and quiver passed to him.  The black-haired young man could see a look of mingled anticipation and animosity that lay just beneath the hunter’s calm countenance.

Wrenchard ducked into the sitting room and made straight for the fireplace.  He called back to Jebediah who was visibly confused.

“Jebediah, perhaps you should retrieve your own blade.  I think you are about to be introduced to Kendrick.”

Pulling his own quiver down from the mantle place, Wrenchard hurried back to the hall ushering the Groomer out.  Wrenchard dashed off in the direction of the wailing, hard on the heels of the silhouettes he assumed to be his pupil and the woodsman.  A soiled Jonas caught up to the war hero and within minutes they found themselves at the southeastern-most edge of town.  Where the breach (9) met the cow byres marking the town’s outermost perimeter, Tyrus slowed his sprint.  He cautiously approached the animal shelter from whence the offending sound emanated.  Further down the wooden palisade, Adair could barely distinguish the sight of figures holding aloft torches, thrusting spears down into the trench below.  The waning moon provided little light and Tyrus squinted into the dark byre.  It appeared as if indeed a man squatted over the form of a downed cow, throttling it.  Both long and short blades drawn, he moved forward to confirm his suspicion.  Without pause he thrust the shorter of the swords into the offenders back, just below the nape of the neck.  Adair pulled the bow, ready to sink an arrow into any horror that might emerge from within.

The first assault upon Tyrus came quickly as the smell of putrid flesh filled his nostrils.  The animated rotting carcass of a man stood, leaving the cow laid out to bleed violently.  It rounded on its new assailant with jerky, laborious movements.  A low murmuring moan not unlike the bovine death rattle issued from the monstrosity’s remaining bowels.

Reflexively the hunter let forth with a wide sweeping arc of his second longer sword, but he was unable to find its mark in those close quarters.  Wrenchard and Jonas arrived, spreading out to the flanks of the poised Adair and the small hut.  Guardedly, Tyrus began to back out.  Wrenchard, not far from Adair, pulled forth from his quiver a large dart.  Jonas moved past the byres closer to the breach, looking for any more of the abnormalities.  Jonas too could see the frenzied combat that was taking place down the line.  Following its prey from the byre, the zombie lurched forth after Tyrus.  Both Adair and Wrenchard’s missiles hit their marks, burying into the creatures leather-like flesh.  Unchecked, it still came.  Now able to swing freely, Tyrus stood his ground.  Wrenchard and Adair continued to circle around the melee, careful not to injure their friend, finding their target as often as they missed.  

The zombie seemed unaffected by the warriors’ weapons, only the greater of Tyrus’ two swords proved especially effective.  It continued to lumber on, arrows and darts sticking from it in every direction. Jonas spotted what looked like someone who may be in need of help just beyond the breach.  Gathering up his strength, he climbed past the palisade, approached the edge of the eight foot deep trench and leapt across its near ten foot span.  From this vantage he could discern the silhouette of what looked like a smaller, long-haired person cradling something in his arms.  Wary of anything emerging from the direction of Dralmohir, he alerted the others.  Jebediah who had stole home to collect his blade, rallied to the call.  Picking his way past the first aberration he caught sight of what Jonas had seen.  

In an act of courageous stupidity, the acrobatic Jonas, fearing for the safety of his acquaintances used the only weapon he had.  He set his jaw, lowered his head, squared his shoulders and sprinted with all the might his legs could muster, straight into the baby-laden undead mother.

Not being the most nimble target, Jonas collided hard.  He barely managed to maintain his balance after pushing the zombie back.  It was at this moment that the lute-player realized he knew the victim.  Lou Ann Crowley and her enfant terrible, Morgan, had died two years prior.  Jonas was frozen in momentary horror.  Beneath her now glassy glazed eyes Jonas would’ve never known that the woman was once fond of him, she swung hard a clenched fist.  It was brought to bear across Jonas’ eye and ear, bringing him back to the present.  Jonas looked up.  The baby’s worn teeth were stained brown and it’s once chubby skin now hung like drapery from its withered form.  Unchecked by the reality of this situation, Jebediah dug his heels into the ground and unsheathed his mighty hand-and-a-half sword, calling for Jonas to withdraw.  Obliging the pilgrim’s desire to fight, LouAnne hurled her malicious toddler at the man.  The child flew past landing in the dirt, rounding to gnaw at Jebediah’s calves.  Mrs. Crowley shuffled forth.  

By this time Wrenchard, Adair and Tyrus had finally finished the initial offender.  Tyrus continued to pierce and slash the downed corpse certifying the cessation of its unnatural movement.  Adair and Wrenchard both, quivers light, moved to flank Jebediah, searching for opportunity to strike this second target.  Looking down now, Jebediah noticed the smaller, more immediate assailant.

“Argh, it’s a baby!” His scream echoed through the still night air.  “Kill it!  Kill it!”

With several repeated blows of the unconventional blade he cleaved the thing in twain.  Tyrus moved forward to form a line with Jebediah.

“Stay back!” Jebediah called to the less well-armed combatants.  Jonas obliged and nursing a headache, crept back toward the byre.

Inspired, he called out in song, “And the mighty warriors fought the living dead that came across the breach…”

Wrenchard spotted another such creature, a young girl, emerging from the darker lands beyond.  Quickly the two swordsmen dispatched LouAnne, ending her fitful unrest, but not before Jebediah suffered stinging gashes and lacerations from her claw-like nails.  Closing the line, flanked by the palisade, Wrenchard and Adair waited with the swordsmen for the next threat.

“…and the mighty warriors formed a line to keep the undead from penetrating the town,” the sounds of Jonas’ song came to them as he stooped near the cow byre quickly patting down the first felled zombie, in search of weapons or anything of value.  Within seconds of the mindless automaton approaching the line, consumed with bloodlust, they cut it down.  

The danger averted Wrenchard and Adair paused to quickly salvage any darts or arrows they could.  Tyrus looked none the worse for wear.  No stranger to pain, Jonas clenched a cool rock to his eye in an attempt to alleviate some of the sting and heat of the swelling growing there.

Jebediah, still excited, asked loudly, “Are there any barbers in town?”

With the threat passed, crickets slowly began to chirp again.

“Healers,” he clarified after lack of response “anyone who can aid me?”

As Adair approached Jebediah, looking him over, he explained that the first Adair, eldest of the three bearing the name in the small town, was a fair substitute.  The sounds of footsteps, much more rhythmic than those of their fallen adversaries, approached the group now.  Two men bearing torches and cudgels were led by Harden Speck.  One of the men was Jesse Tanner, the second Gerald the broad-shouldered, full-bearded carpenter.  Gerald let loose his hound, Motar, and headed to the cow byre.

“Well done,” Harden commended.  Jesse stood eyeing the darker lands beyond the breach.  In a hushed voice the deputy leaned in on Wrenchard, “We’d better get moving along before anyone suspects anything of your odd group out here together so late.”  He again raised his voice, “Well we’d better see how Edwin’s faring up on the north end.  Glory-a!” (10)

Harden turned back from whence the way he came.  Jesse diligently fell in behind.  A loud whacking sound came from the animal shelter and the low moaning ceased to issue from within.  A bloodied Gerald emerged, nodded in the war hero’s direction, and then joined in step.

“Motar, c’mere!  Here, boy.  Come!”  He called, in procession.

Safely out of earshot, Tyrus voiced his true feelings about the militia and their inadequacies.  Unable to abide by the slander, Jonas took offense.

“Why are you saying that?  They were fighting too.”

“Well, you’re a part of the militia and you look like you got a good ass-kicking” remarked Tyrus.

“Well, I’m used to it” Jonas conceded.

“No, your valor was acceptable” Tyrus vindicated.

“I’m glad you think so.” Jonas’ sarcasm was lost on the social neophyte.

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

*Notes:* 

(1) – _Duat_ is the name of the state of the soul while in Anubis’ Realm.  It is a calm emotionless state where there is neither pleasure nor pain, simply being, until judgment by Osiris.  It is also used as the name of the actual “place” where the souls are found.
(2) Wrenchard Valinson is considered a local war hero due to his brave actions and inspiring words at what would be called “The Battle of the Mill”.
(3) There are a few ‘Adair’s in town, as it became a popular name due to the respect earned by the oldest Adair in town, a healer and herbalist of no small skill.
(4) – One hand is a measure of height commonly used in the kingdom to determine how tall men, women, children and livestock (most notably horses) stand.  One ‘hand’ is based upon the width of the actual sovereign’s hand and this can oft times lead to confusion, whereas one ruler may succeed another whose hands were either more or less wide. 
(5) – Gus Sweeney, owner/proprietor of the Kendrick public house has never asked anyone for as much as a copper for a drink from his bar.
(6) – Crown Prince Melguen Yearnall is the current ruler of the principality of Rhondria.
(7) – Wrenchard Valinson is easily the wealthiest landowner of the hamlet of Kendrick.  He is the only man to employ house servants, and he share-crops his lands.
(8) – Harden is referring to the only other bridge which crosses Black River.  Split Mountain Bridge is in Menovia, to the south.
(9) – _The Breach_ – Ever present on the mind of those who live in Kendrick is the close proximity of Dralmohir to where they live.  The breach is easily the most dominant feature of the town, a long palisade wall of sharpened stakes jutting outward to the east.  Just below this wall is dug a long trench, running the entirety of its length.  No one knows when this wall was constructed or for how long it has stood, but the townsfolk repair and improve upon it wherever they can.  Some of the older citizens remember it being hardly necessary, almost comical, but now it is often the only deterrent to those who’d seek the living as a meal.  The attacks by foul undead creatures have become much more frequent in the past years, beginning to unnerve several of Kendrick’s citizens.
(10) - The pride of the religious community of Kendrick is a large amber-bronze piece of glass. The 10’ tall, 6’ wide rectangular ‘window’ stands propped upright between two sturdy wooden support posts where the more pious and devout worshippers of Ra gather at both dawn and dusk for small services to bask in his ‘Glory.’  The sun that radiates through wave-rippled glass emanates an almost unnatural warmth upon those who gather in its glow.  At other times throughout the day, others will stop by and bow to the Glory, and thusly to Ra, or stop and beseech with a few prayers.  The ‘Glory’ of Ra has been in Kendrick so long that many of the older members of the community have actually begun to weave it into their common colloquialisms.  Through time the faithful have taken to calling to each other in passing that they would meet or see one another later at the ‘Glory’ of Ra.  In hurried passing, greeting, or farewell this eventually got quickened to ‘Glory-Ra’ which ultimately became what is now today, just ‘Glory-a.’  This is not a common saying among all Kendrits but popular among the older, and more devout of the community.


----------



## Cyronax (Feb 25, 2003)

That was definetely a good read Rastfar. I'm familiar with nemm's story hour, and I'm glad to see another Aquerra campaign. I'd like to read more!

C.I.D.


----------



## Jonas Fawkes (Feb 25, 2003)

Well that a mighty fine story there Mr. Rastfar, sir.  One worthy of a story-teller such as myself. . .  I _do_ know my letters.  Or, at least most of them, and I can sound out the rest. 

But you are doing a fine fine job, but I am warning you.  I'm here to keep you honest and make sure you paint all our actions in the proper light (especially mine, which are oft-misunderstood).

Now someone was telling me something about how this magic box can tell me a tale of some other adventures in Aquerra?  It boggles the mind!


----------



## Pillars of Hercules (Feb 25, 2003)

*More Aquerra!*

As Nemm will tell you, I'm a big fan of his Story Hour.  I'm looking forward to yours in a big way!  So far I'm very impressed.


----------



## Cyronax (Mar 13, 2003)

Bump! 

Hope there's more!
C.I.D.


----------



## Rastfar (Mar 21, 2003)

*Session 2*

*session #2*

Afterwards, the small group gathered under the star-flecked sky, discussed a few tentative plans and then went their separate ways.  

Wrenchard had a short walk home, skulking inside, careful as not to wake his wife and children.  Adair slipped in through his own bedroom window, unnoticed.   Tyrus quietly picked his way through town, noting that the faint unmistakable light of candles flickered on the inside of the shuttered windows of Motie’s house.  Not bothering to slow, he quickly found himself on the northern rim of the pyre grounds and headed up into the hills he called home.  Jonas also crossed town.  In the distance he could see the faint glow of John Fisher’s smoldering funeral pyre, it radiated stubbornly, continuing to burn defiantly into the dark of night.  It threw firefly-like lights into the starry sky, and Jonas' gaze lingered there for a while as he almost mindlessly trekked home.  Somewhere in the imagery, he found inspiration for a song.  

Jebediah found his walk home to be the quickest.  After sharing a few paces with Mr. Valinson, he bade the map-maker good night, patted Albert the donkey on the head, and entered the still cold old Stilwell home.  Constance had waited up, and he could see that she was visibly concerned.  Picking up her cherished black-lacquered wood and ivory comb from the sideboard, she pushed back the hair from the right side of her head.  She turned and looked at him.  Her perusal continued down to his chest and his open wounds there.

“What happened?” she asked, maternally.

“The undead,” Jebediah’s responses always seemed short.

“No, after dinner,” Constance was doing her best to clean and dress her brother's wound, but not to hide her annoyance.  "I was rudely dismissed.  You've been gone awhile."

He nodded in silence, as she forcefully pressed hard on a particularly deep gash.  He felt that he at least owed her an explanation.  He tried to elaborate on the woman’s place in society in Kendrick, or at least the Valinson home, and how she might have to at least _appear_ to willfully take that role.   He then explained to her the seed of the conspirators’ plan.

“You have no opinion?”  Jebediah encouraged her to express herself, hoping it’d curb her mood.

 “I _always_ have opinions,” Constance disparaged.  “I don’t like it.”

Jebediah knew Constance’s capacity for unrelenting umbrage all too well.  She was a strong-willed young woman.  He tried to change the subject knowing her feelings would not be easily assuaged.

“Perhaps we should get ready to sleep.”

“There are no beds here,” she groused.

Doing his best to avoid the argument that she seemed to want to start, Jebediah proceeded to their packs.  He unfurled their bedrolls and did his best to make the area comfortable.  She laid down to sleep with heavy silence, her attitude doing more to annoy her brother than her harsh words could. 

*Ralem, 22nd of Syet– 564 H.E.*

Morning came as morning does, and Tyrus was on the move with Matet, (1) early as usual.  The sturdy woodsman tended his camp and still, before proceeding towards town.  Arriving at Gus’, he used the back entrance to the kitchen.  Gus was hard at work as he was every morning.  Huge sides of beef hung from his hooks, and bundles of various cuts were strewn about any flat surface that could hold them.

“Mornin’ Tyrus,” the sleepy-eyed barkeep smiled at the sturdy young man.  “Want some beef?”

Tyrus, wary of the sudden abundance of such a rare commodity for Kendrick refused, “No thanks, Gus.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m not gonna be needin’ much fer a little while.  Sorry.”  Gus’ perpetual smile seemed to fade a little, but quickly his spirits livened.  “I could still use that tonic though,” he exclaimed noting the jugs in the hunter’s hands.

Tyrus left the jugs and bid Gus a good day.  He took his leave and proceeded down the bank of the river on the westward edge of town.  He knew that hunting to the south of Kendrick was still somewhat more prosperous.  He also knew that Adair led his family’s sheep to Wrenchard’s land out this way, too.  Not much for company, Tyrus did occasionally tolerate the black-haired boy’s company.  With Tyrus, Adair was for the most part quiet, attentive, and not too inquisitive.  For these reasons, the woodsman was frequently able to find time to bring the shepherd boy with him on hunting trips.  Adair also proved to be a natural with the bow.  

Finding Adair down in the fields that still grew grass in the vales nestled among the hills, Tyrus invited him along.  As usual, the shepherd had risen early and having now led the sheep to pasture, found himself with nothing to do for the day.  With the increasing absence of any large predators in the area, his presence was rarely missed.  Enjoying the skills and knowledge that Tyrus was willing to impart, he eagerly accepted.  Together they continued south, occupied with the hunt for the rest of the morning.

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

Jebediah sat up slowly.  For the past two years or more he hadn’t been afforded a good night’s rest.  His back was starting to bother him, and had long since developed an irremovable crick.  Habitually, he tried to crack it.  The popping vertebrae woke his sister close by.  Jebediah could see that she too was annoyed with her fitful sleep.  He wished he could offer her more.  He knew that she was looking forward to finding some comfort in this small hamlet.  Constance collected herself, and Jebediah offered her privacy, leaving to collect water from one of the communal wells.  He returned shortly to find that Constance was dressed, her long raven hair pushed back with her comb.  The Groomers did their best to wash up, and they proceeded out into the crisp morning air.

Jebediah picked up where he left off and continued to reshingle the house.  He handed his sister a broom, which had obviously been long forgotten inside, and asked her to sweep.  She accepted it with a look of astonishment, but wordlessly began to half-heartedly clean up.  Satisfied with the structural integrity of the outer walls, it wasn’t too long before Jebediah got the notion to check the roof for any serious damage.  If only he’d had a ladder.  Remembering that he’d seen one prominently displayed on the side of a house closer to the commons (2), he set down the hammer and set off to ask a favor of his new neighbor.

Within minutes he arrived at the cooper’s house and rapped on the door.  An imperceptible smell permeated the area.  A loud holler came from inside, and was followed immediately by bumping sounds.  The shouting continued, the door was flung wide, and a man’s stubbly face was thrust violently into the air before Jebediah’s chest.

“Damn kids, I’ll getcha!  Rats, I’ll catch ya!” The cooper continued to scream unprovoked.

He suddenly realized that he’d been hollering into the chest of an adult, and a stranger at that.  “Oh,” he uttered, taken aback. “You must be the new guy.” 

The cooper seemed mildly suspicious, but happy to have someone to rant to.

Jebediah introduced himself.  “Jebediah Groomer, I was wondering if I might borrow your ladder?  My sister and I are fixing up…”

“…the old Stilwell home.”  The ornery man finished.  “Yeah, I know.  Got any kids?”

“Hunh?” Jebediah was confused.  “Uh, no.”

“Good, I hate kids.  They’re rats, all of ‘em.  Here to curse me, I tell ya.  Especially that blasted Fawkes kid.  Oooh, he’s the worst.  Caught him once though, I did.”  A sickeningly twisted smile seemed to creep over the balding man’s face. “Broke his wrist and everything.  Ha!”

“The ladder…?” Jebediah hesitantly interjected.

“Oh.  Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said, and then introuduced himself  “Pollack Zigler.” 

The cooper shook Jebediah’s hand.  “C’mon.”

Pollack quickly shut the door behind him and looked up at the eaves of his roof.  Finding this odd, Jebediah did so as well, but saw nothing.  Pleased with what he seemed to not see, Pollack left the threshold and stalked off to the left side of his house.  Again, Jebediah thought this odd, as he knew the ladder to be lashed to the opposite side.  Pollack thrust his head abruptly around the corner, his body tense with anticipation.  Jebediah waited by the door and watched as the man’s knuckles turned white, gripping the wall joices.  Again, pleased with what he seemed to not find, Pollack returned to his neighbor and led him around the opposite side of his home.  As if expecting to surprise someone, the cooper suddenly dashed around the corner, but once there quickly drew up short.  Glancing around, the wide-muscled cooper removed his worn ladder from the side of the house.  Jebediah attempted to help, but Pollack intentionally moved to disallow him to do so.  Ladder in hand, Pollack followed as Jebediah turned to lead the way back to the Stilwell home.

Pollack quickly bent the pilgrim’s ear, taking the opportunity to rant about the malevolent nature of Kendrit children and their constant malicious behavior.  Jebediah quickly tuned him out, adding only the polite nod and cursory “uh-huh” every now again, when conversation prompted him to do so.

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

In his family barn’s hayloft, Jonas awoke with a start.  Casually, he climbed down and headed in for some mid-morning fare.  He quickly found the oat muffins that his father often made, as a few were still left out.  Resolving to be more prepared in the future, the shaggy mullet-haired boy went to dig around the storage area that was his room.  Quickly he found his militia-issued studded leather armor and dusted it off.  Flicking off some patches of mold, he strapped it on.  It fit.  Grabbing the remaining muffins, his balls, lute, and military fork, (3) he headed out.

The walk took a few minutes and the trouble-maker was sure to scoop up a fresh sheep patty along the way.  As he drew nearer the cooper’s house he slowed his pace.  Oddly, it seemed that Pollack was not around and his ladder was gone.  This was almost too easy.  Not to be denied his pleasure; Jonas went ahead and threw the patty up into the eaves of the cooper’s roof. (4) Before too long he approached the new Groomer home.  

Promptly spotting the cooper’s back, he could see that Jebediah was up on the roof taking his time to inspect its durability.  Mr. Zigler seemed to be rambling upward to the man out of his view.  Stifling a chuckle, Jonas moved wide to circumvent the elder man’s view.  Rounding the opposite side of the house, Jonas found Constance quick to cease her sweeping as he approached.

“Good morning,” Jonas beamed and threw out a wink.  He still had an ear bent for the likelihood that he may have been spotted by the cooper.

“Good morning,” Constance leaned on the frail broom.

“Have you had breakfast?”  Jonas asked, moving toward her and inside to relative safety, away from Pollack who still droned on in the background.

“No,” the girl replied as anxious to indulge him as quit her menial chores.

They entered the still dusty home that was naught more than a three room shack.  The smell of must and age still pervaded the home.  Jonas noted the two sleeping bundles close on the floor and the lack of any other amenities.  He set down his pack, rifled through it, and produced a fistful of somewhat squashed oat muffins.  Taking one for himself he tossed one in her direction.

“Here ya go.”

Constance deftly caught it, and took a bite remaining more focused on the strange mannered boy than the less threatening muffin.  Awkward moments passed in silence, before Jonas offered, “Ma faszher makesh zheeshe,” through a mouthful.  Jonas noted a nefarious patch of green flecks not dissimilar to the color of the fresh sheep patty on Constance’s muffin.  Dexterously, he snatched the spot away, as Constance recoiled from the sudden attack towards her mouth.  She put aside the muffin.

“It was, I saw, it may have been a bad nut,” Jonas apologized.

Constance, put off, let the muffin lay, “I’m not that hungry.”

Jebediah thanked the cooper who left for home in a hurry, and came into the house.  He could read Constance well, she felt uncomfortable.  Not taking too kindly to Jonas’ unannounced arrival he turned to his guest.  

“Good morning, Jonas.”  Jebediah moved intentionally between the two.

“Mornin’ Jebediah, want a muffin?”  Jonas offered up another, innocently to Jebediah who accepted.

“Careful, they may have bad nuts,” Constance quickly warned.

Pausing to inspect the confectionary, he asked, “Are you ready to go see the boats then?”

“Yup.” Jonas continued to munch away.

Jebediah satisfied with the freshness of the muffin, coolly took a bite.

“They’re much better with goat butter,” Jonas continued.

Jebediah put the muffin down and gestured the crumb-faced visitor toward the door.  “I’m sure they are.”

Intentionally, he waited for Jonas to leave first.  Turning to Constance, “Please, behave yourself.  I don’t want any more trouble here.”

Wordlessly, she followed as her brother caught up with Jonas.   

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

Wrenchard rose to the sounds of his children playing in the crisp morning air outside below his window.  He looked down and saw his wife, and little Dian (her mother’s spitting image) clinging to Kelize’s skirt.  Annabelle, the five year old, had already become soiled by grass and mud.  She ran in circles about the yard with a stick, dragging it in the dirt as two blue-grey cats chased it.  He sighed heavily.  After cleaning up, he made his way downstairs with several matters on his mind.  The most heavy of which was perhaps the one he least looked forward to.  He had not yet conceived of how to address this concern with his wife.  Letting the heaviest fall to the bottom with gravity, he ate a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs, before setting off to his tasks of the day.

Wrenchard, deep in thought, found himself standing before the deputy’s door without even realizing he’d walked there.  Returning to the here and now, he briefly reflected on the startling quality of the body to be able to pilot itself when necessary.  He rapped lightly on the door.  The soft sound of movement emanated from inside and the door was opened.  Wrenchard realized that he had disturbed the young man’s peace, but he considered his reason worth breaking Harden’s routine.  Harden invited him in to his snug home.  The two men sat, enjoyed steeped herbs, and discussed at length the credibility of Voldish Mezger.  Wrenchard sought to glean what he could of the well-traveled limner.  He thought more of his questions might be answered by the venerable educator.

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

Tyrus and Adair ended up spending not just the rest of the morning, but also early afternoon on the hunt.  Successfully, the woodsman was able to lure and snare a large turkey.  Together they field stripped the bird and cleaned it, while Adair practiced mimicking the expert hunter’s turkey calls.  They split the meat and before heading home.

After parting ways Adair decided to visit the eldest of his namesake in hopes of obtaining a healer’s bag.  They bartered awhile; ultimately ‘Black’ Adair traded the turkey (once smoked) for a small kit of healing supplies.  The shepherd boy left and proceeded to the butcher, Edwin Kerswill, to negotiate smoking the meet.  Invited into the man’s proud smoking house, Adair noticed the vast amount of food supplies already hung there, ‘in progress’ (5).  It was agreed that the butcher would smoke some game for the young man.  In exchange he expected Adair would enlist the aid of his woodsman friend to secure a good quantity of mushrooms with which Edwin could experiment.


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

Meanwhile, Jonas and the Groomers found their way to the steep sides of the river.  Climbing down the drastic two-foot drop to where the boats were lashed to protruding roots, the young men climbed in one.  Jonas took the other oar from the older of the two vessels.  Neither of the men had any particular experience with boating, it was obvious to Constance who suppressed a laugh, observing them begin to circle and drift down stream with the slow current of the waters.

Taking charge from the back, Jonas instructed Jebediah.  “Keep your rowing in time with me.”

“I can’t see you.  How do I do that?” Jebediah stated the obvious.

“Oh, we’ll sing a little song.”  And Jonas let out a tune.  “Row, row, row yer boat…”

They carefully and doggedly picked their way across the 100’ wide river, only ending up about 150 yards or so downstream from their starting position.  They worked their way back.  Upon doing so, they’d decided that they’d practiced enough for one day.  As the prow came to touch the river’s edge, Jebediah reached out for an extended root.  Jonas noticed Constance watching with interest from above.  He deftly leapt up onto his feet, held his oar aloft above his head and attempted to twirl it circularly in an impressive display.  The boat rocked violently.  Jebediah sat back low loosing the root.  The boat slowly began to drift back and Jonas barely maintained his balance and his grip on the oar.  Constance looked unimpressed and Jebediah glared at the clownish boy.

“I just wanted to test the boat out under dangerous conditions,” he excused.

They came ashore and spilt up.  

The Groomers returned home and ran into Wrenchard who invited them to share his home for the duration of their stay.  They filled the rest of the afternoon and early evening with packing their belongings, Albert, and making preparations to leave.  Jebediah asked Constance to pack a lunch for them to eat on the following day.

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

Jonas walked to the widow Fisher’s home.  He found the woman distraught and melancholy though hospitable.  As hurriedly as possible he steered the conversation towards the topic of her deceased husband’s boats.  Knowing that the Valinson’s coffers were open to him, he unabashedly began generous negotiation.

“You name a price and I’m sure that Mr. Valinson will pay it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sobbed.

“Well why don’t we say uh…thir…fif…seh…uh…”

In a moment of clarity, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.  I was just saying that Mr. Valinson would be glad to pay you 60 pieces of silver for both.”

Deflated the widow collapsed into Jonas’ arms sobbing, “Just take them.  I can’t use them.”  She bawled.

Doing his best to console her, “No, he’ll give you 60…maybe even more…”

The young militiaman spent a few more minutes with the widow in his embrace before excusing himself.

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

After finishing his chores in town, Adair headed to the Valinson lands south of town in order to bring in the sheep.  Though still early, it was getting dark sooner due to the weather and he wasn’t taking any chances.  As he crested the nearest hill, he happened to peer further southward as movement there drew his eye.  Shielding his eyes from the glare of Matet’s fading glow, he noticed erratic movements atop the hills; about a day or so away was his best guess.  A small, barely perceptible wisp of smoke rose skyward from the center of the action.

Not bothering to count the heads, the shepherd boy herded the flock home in time for dinner.  He arrived just in time for the fray.  As his parents and four siblings aggressively maneuvered to fill their plates, he narrowly avoided flying elbows and deftly ducked reckless fists.  Soon the meal was over, and Adair was thankful for it.  He excused himself.  Slipping out the front door, shirking his cleaning chores, the second son Bannon dashed out of earshot before slowing in town.

A slight spring in his step, the observant young man halved his pace as was habit when nearing Motie’s house.  Keeping both eyes on the nefarious dwelling, Adair witnessed even more peculiar behavior.  Suddenly, violently, the door to Motie’s house opened inward and wide.  Light poured out into the rapidly darkening path.  Yet Adair could see no cause for this.  He stopped.  Not wishing to be seen and curious as to how the diminutive man perhaps knew how he was nearing the house, though still well over 100 paces away, Adair shuddered.  There door stood open, invitingly so, Adair dared not move, or even flinch.  For what seemed like hours, he waited.  Then as suddenly and forcefully as the door had been pulled in, Motie’s distinguishable face was thrust out into the night.  Adair froze.  The small recluse gazed about in every direction, as if searching for would-be offenders.  Finally, as if satisfied, Motie disappeared back into the threshold and the door fell softly shut, silently.

His curiosity got the best of him, Adair resumed silently approached the building.  The low flicker of candlelight danced on the inside panels of the shuttered windows.  Nearing the front door, Adair noted a few crimson strands of thread trodden into the ground.  He was only three paces away when he heard more shuffling inside.  Without hesitation Adair sprinted (the long way around) to his teacher’s house.  He didn’t know if he’d been spotted or not, but he did know that he didn’t want to stick around to find out.

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

It was mid-afternoon when Tyrus noted the overcast skies.  Following the western edge of town via the riverbank, he noted the Fishers’ boats lashed to the embankment; neither Jebediah nor Jonas were to be seen.  

Sometime later as evening drew nigh, Tyrus crept back through town, stopping briefly to converse with the carpenter.  He knocked at the Fairbourns’ door.  A basso bark bellowed from within.  Tyrus could hear Gerald approaching as he told his hound to calm himself.  The broad-shouldered man opened the door still wielding a large fork spitted with a brussel sprout.  Motar heeled just behind his master, a low growl issuing his warning.  With an extended hand palm out, Tyrus squatted slightly in an effort to empathize with the Kennan-hound.  The hound backed up as Gerald moved forward.  The large man’s silhouette filled the door frame allowing little light to escape into the night air.  Sensing the disturbance that he’d caused, Tyrus was quick to get to the point.  He facilitated the exchange of labor for root tonic and supplies.  Handing the much smaller woodsman an over-sized jug, the bearded craftsmen slammed the door.

Tyrus took the jug and moved on.  Promptly he arrived at Wrenchard’s.


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

Once outside of the widow Fisher’s gloomy home, Jonas crossed town to the Valinson’s.  Arriving there in high spirits, he proceeded to rap at the door in a fast rhythmic series.  Gravis answered.

“Stop,” the butler said, he was noticeably annoyed. 

The manservant led Jonas to Wrenchard’s study.  Wrenchard spotted Jonas following closely behind  as they drew near, performing a remarkably accurate impression of his stodgy elder’s walk and mannerisms behind the man’s back.  Wrenchard concealed a grin.

“Hello, Jonas,” Wrenchard greeted.

“Hello, Mr….Wrenchard.  I’m hungry, can’t you have your butler _fetch_ us something to eat?”  Jonas called after Gravis who had just left the room.

Immediately outside, out of view of his employer, Gravis leaned backward to scowl at Jonas.  The malcontent glowered right back.  

“Gravis has been very busy as of late,” Wrenchard claimed.  “I can get something myself.”

He returned before too long to find the inquisitive boy nosing about he over-sized mahogany desk.  Distracting the ever-curious Jonas to the chaise with apples and fresh salted beef, he resumed conversation asking about the scribner.

“I learned to read from the limner, Mr. Mezger.”  Jonas proudly capitulated.

“Really?  What’s he like?” asked Wrenchard.  Voldish Mezger was one of the few individuals in town who the middle-aged father had never really had cause to come in contact with.

Sensing the importance of this conversation, Jonas puffed up.  “Oh, he’s a great man.  Very kind.  Very patient.  He often told me, ‘Jonas, I have to use all my patience with you’.”

They continued to talk for a while, Wrenchard having to use a little patience of his own, before Adair arrived.

Gravis and Jonas again exchanged contemptuous looks.  Adair engaged in pleasantries only long enough to tell of the ‘things’ he noted approaching from the south.  As the three speculated, Tyrus arrived.

Again Gravis had to explain to the woodsman why proper decorum dictated that he part with his weapons.  Comfortable with knowing where they were in the event of danger, Tyrus too was shown to the study.

Jonas mocked Gravis’ grave grimace as the older servant left.

Shortly thereafter the Groomers arrived.  An excited Kelize accompanied Constance who took her leave upstairs to get settled in.  Jebediah joined the other men in the study.

The five conspirators talked awhile of their respective endeavors of the day before the discussions to more important matters, Jonas – always one to speak his mind, began.

“I don’t think Constance should come.”

Jebediah was quick to reply, “After what I saw last night, I don’t want to leave her here.”

“Where we are going will be more dangerous…or likely will be,” claimed Jonas.

“I _don’t_ want to leave her.”  Jebediah stressed.

“I think winter is coming early.”  Tyrus changed the subject.  “There was hard frost on the ground out of town this morning.”

With this proclamation on their minds, they again looked at Wrenchard’s unmarked map and discussed travel plans.  The idea of relying on an unlabeled map, which was only decipherable by its creator did not sit well with all of them.

“We’ll stop five or ten miles south of Black River Bridge,” confirmed Jebediah.

Jonas interjected.  “How will we know when we are five miles south of there?”  Before Jebediah could answer, “…oh yeah, you are from there.  You’ll recognize the terrain around there.”  Jonas did little to hide his cynicism.

“Uh, yeah,” Jebediah stumbled.

“And I’ve been there before,” Wrenchard added with a look to Jebediah.

After more discussion, Wrenchard agreed to mark the map, labeling far away Scales in Menovia,  Black River Bridge, it’s namesake river, Kendrick and the capital city, Black Top.  A lonely point of interest still remained.  It too was labeled, last, the Temple of the Black Serpent.

Jonas suggested that Jebediah have Constance dress as a boy.

Jebediah looked at Jonas, “While we are on the subject.  While we are on this journey you should all keep your hands to yourselves.”

“What does that mean?” Jonas feigned innocence.

 “Don’t try to get romantically involved with my sister,” the thin veils hiding threat were soon parted.

Jonas was almost too accommodating, “Of course not, someone would have to be a fool to do such a thing.”  He paused, “However, in all the epic tales it is during stressful and traumatic times that people are drawn together.”

Close to Jonas, Adair could see Jebediah’s ire beginning to rise.  “Shut up, shut up, shut up…” the shepherd muttered under his breath, hoping that Jonas would hear.

Jonas got the hint and allowed Tyrus to redirect the conversation to their short supply of arrows and more importantly provisions.  It was agreed that they would have to concentrate their efforts on securing these items and that they would do so as quickly as possible, wanting to leave at the end of a week’s time.  Adair recapitulated the odd occurrences that he’d been witness to at Motie’s house and while bringing in the sheep.  Jonas told Wrenchard that the boats would cost 70 pieces of silver.  The conspirators gave Wrenchard the go ahead to confide in Voldish if necessary and then made their way out into the night to find their ways home.  

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

All the while Constance was happy to find an excuse to let her hair down.  She was brushing out the long straw-colored locks as Jebediah came in.  She could still smell the brandy that he and Mr. Valinson had been drinking after the other guests left.  He did not relish what he now had to do.  He crossed the room to where she stood before a mirror-backed bureau, her prize ebony and ivory comb lay on its surface.  It was hard not to admire her beauty.

“What would you think about dressing as a boy?”

“What?”  Just the reaction Jebediah expected.  “Why?”

“It may be safer if we were to encounter anyone, easier for us to stick to our cover story.”

She held the ends of her hairs length, she surveyed them through the brush.  Jebediah could see that they were badly frayed, mismanaged.  He knew that something would have to be done to disguise her endowments, loose fitting shirts and pants.

“And you’d have to cut your hair…” he added.

“No.” Her reply was short, curt, and full of derision.

Jebediah knew to leave it alone, “What if you were to say that you were my wife.  This would be more plausible, it’d be easier for me to protect you.”

She balked slightly, “…er.”

“We could pull that off, nothing romantic would ever really come up, and we could always just peck if necessary.”

Constance didn’t seem to take too kindly to this idea either.  She pulled her hair back into a loose knot and moved to sit on the bed.  Jebediah could see that she was much more comfortable here in the Valinson estate, color had begun to return to her face, and she enjoyed more of the amenities.

“I think I like being your sister,” she pulled back the bedspread, caressing its downy softness.

Jebediah changed tact, “Well, so be it then.  Can you please try to keep your distance from the others?  You know how you have an effect on men.”

Entirely unaffected, “Yeah,” Jebediah could hear the conceit in her tone, happy and cocky all the same.  He was reminded of his mother.

“I’m serious.  We don’t need such complications on such a dangerous journey.”

Noelle entered with a basin of fresh washing water and a bedpan.  Jebediah knew that he’d get no reply and took his cue to exit the room.  As he did so he heard from within, “Oh, Noelle, would you be a dear and pack us all four lunches tomorrow?”  It was as much of a command as it was a request.  Jebediah winced and entered his room, “Pa, always said she learned quick.” 

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

Jonas returned home, the elder Fawkes was still awake.

“Evenin’ Pop.”

“Good evening, Jonas.”

Jonas moved into the room and took his usual seat across the hearth.  He stretched anxiously, knowing what he was about to do, but not wanting to do so.  Isaiah pulled a poke from his pipe.  The smell was one Jonas always associated with comfort, stability, home.  It didn’t make this any easier.

“Would you be able to use a donkey, Pop?  On the fields?  To help with the plow?”

“Well, sure, I reckon I could.  But son, you know we can’t afford to buy no donkey let alone feed it.”

“Yeah, I know…” Jonas hated this moment.

“Well, you know Mr. Valinson is putting together an expedition, and those new folk are going along, and they have a donkey but can’t bring it, ‘cuz it’s gonna be in John Fisher’s boats, well, they’re Mr. Valinson’s boats now, and…” Jonas knew he was rambling.  He felt awkward and sorry.  The last thing he wanted to do was let his father down.  “…I’m goin’?”

His father was noted in town for two things, diligence and patience.  Jonas never fully understood or appreciated why.

“Hmmm,” Isaiah exhaled the sweet smelling smoke.  “I imagine donkeys eat oats then?”

“Yeah,” Jonas waited.

“I guess we could take him in.  Not much use now though with winter on the way.”

“Mr. Valinson invited me.  He wants me to go.  He said a militiaman should go.  That’s me.”  Jonas was desperate.

“This isn’t about the Jingle Jangle thing again is it?” (6)

“No, Pop.”

“When are you coming back?”  Isaiah measured the young man sitting across from him.  “I’ll be needin’ ya come plantin’ time.  You’ll be back by the season?”

“Of course, Pop.”  Jonas was mitigated.

Encouraged he changed the focus, “But you know Pop, Mr. Valinson has this idea about leaving…?”

“I know, I heard it,” his father interrupted.  Jonas could tell that the 44-year old man didn’t think too highly of the idea.

“I’m just trying to say that if we should come across something…”

“Come now!”  Jonas knew the idea of starting over vexed his father.  “You know we should not talk of such things in the house.”  The air of relaxation was thinning.

“Come _on_, Pop!  How long are you going to avoid the truth of our surroundings?  The land is drying up. The water is foul.  You see this welt?  LouAnne Crowley crawled out of the breach and did this to me.  This season we took in half the crop of last season which was half the crop from the year before.  We’re losing everything we have.”

“Yeah, but it’s ours.  We have something.  I can’t afford to leave it all and have nothing.  I don’t have time to be beginning, again.”  Isaiah was frustrated with his boy, his land, his life.

Jonas saw it in his father’s eyes, for the first time he detected a flaw in the pillar of strength that had always been his dad.  He got up and gave the man a hug, “I know, dad. I know.”  Isaiah remained resolute and Jonas mindlessly juggled some cups, his thoughts elsewhere, as he left to the barn.

While Jonas practiced his Gravis impression, pacing the length of the worn barn floor, not far across town Adair was having a much similar conversation with his father.  The difference was however, that Adair’s father thought it to be a fine idea.  His son would be learning new skills, not eating from an already crowded table, and back in time to tend the sheep come springtime.  He could think of nothing finer.  The conversation was short and Adair vowed to spend more time with the preoccupied man before leaving on his journey. 



*Isilem, 23rd of Syet– 564 H.E.*


A sheet of mist-like rain permeated the air, serving to slowly saturate all who walked beneath it.  Tyrus rose with the sun as he did most days.  He checked in with the jovial pub owner who still needed no meats, having mounds of beef, and left the oversized jug full of root-tonic outside of the carpenter’s door.  He snatched a handful of brussels sprouts from the laborer’s small, struggling garden and headed out of the sleepy town.  That morning he intentionally sought more avian prey.  Before beginning his hunt, he tapped a tree for pine pitch setting it to flow into a jug.  The woodsman killed a pair of doves by midday.

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

The Valinson’s enjoyed a healthy breakfast of steak and eggs, with some oatbread.  Kelize was thankful for the company that afforded her the practice of etiquette, which some from higher courts would say she needed.  The host and hostess entertained their guests for the duration of the early morn while they awaited Jonas’ arrival.  Adair showed sometime after breakfast.  Gravis answered the door, allowing the young man to enter the foyer area.  Behind he could see Constance descending the staircase, he hardly recognized the beautiful girl in the flax-woolen dress that stood there, leaning on the banister for support.  Not entirely sure that they’d been formally introduced; he waved off Gravis and took the opportunity to do so.  Still three steps up, Constance stopped, noticing the boy’s approach, her look of glamour reflected in his eyes.  She folded her hands atop each other on the large ball at the rail’s end.  Adair bowed deeply, and gave his name, making excuses as to why they had yet not spoken.  She extended her hand, which he gladly accepted, kissed the back of, and held to escort her down the last three steps.  No stranger to courtship or chivalry, she followed his lead, tucking the same arm through his as they made their way to the sitting room.  Wrenchard, Kelize and Jebediah rose as the two entered to take seats.  Only Jebediah noticed the slightest of gestures, her arm at his side, but it was enough for him to remember.  They all sat down, Adair next to Constance on the couch.

Mid-morning, Jonas arrived tousle haired and his clothes wrinkled.  While Constance went upstairs to change, the men waited downstairs.  Wrenchard excused himself briefly returning with a large sack of coinage, giving it to Jonas who carefully judged its weight.  Wrenchard, uncertain as to the wisdom of his decision, reminded Jonas how much the widow needed the money.  Not needing to delay any longer, Wrenchard escorted the three young men outside.  They began to pack Albert the donkey, bidding farewell to Wrenchard who headed off to visit with Voldish Mezger.

It was a short walk through town to the limner’s, as most walks in Kendrick are.  Voldish opened his door to Wrenchard and invited him into his humble abode.  They enjoyed steeped herbs and spoke of the elder man’s traveling days, Derome-Delem in particular.  Wrenchard was utterly shocked to find that Voldish, after coming from Verdun, in Herman Land – the capital of the world –was escorted to the little Kingdoms by dwarves.  This small tidbit of information shattered everything that he thought he knew either about dwarves or the old man sitting before him.  Assuming that the scribner was still lucid, he found this curious.  As the morning passed and they talked some more, Mr. Mezger, who stroked the loudly purring cat on his lap, could see that Wrenchard was troubled.  As the family man stood to leave, Voldish offered some meager words of encouragement.

“Don’t strain yourself.” It sounded simple enough.

Reaching the door, Wrenchard turned, “Oh, by the way, Jonas Fawkes says hello.”

“Oh yes, he’s about three weeks late for his next reading lesson.”

Wrenchard felt that he should explain what might amount to an exceptional tardiness, “He’s coming with me.”

Voldish, not noticeably surprised, answered in turn, “Oh, well, good luck to you then.”  He picked up his porcelain cup and drained its contents.  Wrenchard admired the craftsmanship of the foreign drinking ware.

“Oh he’s a good kid and we needed a member of the militia, since it’ll be dangerous.”  Wrenchard believed that he’d created the perfect opening to begin spreading his cover story.

Voldish was surprised, “He’s in the militia?!” The cat, Aslan, leapt to the floor.

“Yes,” Wrenchard thought it a bit odd that Voldish was unaware of this fact.  The long-haired feline padded towards Wrenchards legs. It leaned into the man, weaving between his ankles.

“He’s no Harden Speck.”  Voldish apparently held the deputy in high esteem just like his contemporaries the sheriff and the priest of Ra.

Always the politician, Wrenchard knew just what to say.  “Well, few are.”

And he left, crossing town to the old smithy and the smelts where it was agreed that he’d meet Tyrus later that afternoon.

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

Constance closed the door behind her after bidding their hostess a fond ‘Good day.’  The four of them, Albert in tow, walked to the Fawkes stead.  By the time they arrived they were all already wet.  Jebediah could see his sister’s spirits beginning to sour.  They walked Albert into the barn, where Jonas pointed out his favorite loft.  The Groomers patted the reliable companion’s head and they left.

Adair shouldered the bundle that Noelle had provided, Jonas led and the Groomers trailed behind speaking to each other in low tones.  At the riverbank, Jonas and Jebediah took their time descending the now slippery slope.  Adair and Constance watched from shore, huddled in the slight rain, as the two men again practiced rowing back and forth between the two river banks in the up till now untested boat.

Jonas struck up a tune to keep time and rhythm, “Turkey in the straw, haw, haw, haw! Turkey in the sea, Hee! Hee! Hee…”

Already churlish Constance murmured to herself, “How rural.”

After two such runs they felt it to be sufficiently stable.  They moored and helped Adair and Constance down.

Jonas helped Constance into the center of the boat, “Here, Constance, you can represent the load of equipment.”

She didn’t like the analogy, “So, I am baggage?”  

Adair sat down beside her, “No.”

Jonas couldn’t resist.  Leaning forward to Adair’s ear, he whispered, “Do you need a crowbar to pry your lips off her ass?”  A hint of jealousy tinged his voice.

Adair turned about and smacked Jonas fraternally across the head.

An only child, Jonas took exception to the attack, “Do that again and I’ll be smacking you with an oar.”  He brandished the clumsy implement as menacingly as possible while sitting in the rear of the boat.

All conversation ceased, the four of them went up the river about a mile and a half and rowed back.  They gauged the river to be navigable and not too hard to negotiate.  They’d made decent time.  Jebediah exchanged places with Constance, much to her protest, and the two surly boys sat in the middle.  She let out an exaggerated whining grunt with each stroke of the paddle.  Jebediah ignored her complaints.  

Again, Jonas could not resist, “Oh yeah, she should come along.”

She said nothing under the strain, but Jebediah stuck up for her, “I have faith in you, Constance.”

Jonas’ mood soured as much as that of the girl, “I’m glad someone does.”  

 After making Constance practice for the better part of an hour, they again returned to shore for lunch.  They enjoyed sandwiches of roast beef and oatbread, apples, and water.  After eating, the men were able to bring the older of the two boats up to dry land.  Holding it aloft, they looked for any obvious leaks.  Unable to see any, they agreed that the boat must take on water due to minor seepage via the weakened integrity.  Tyrus arrived with the pine pitch just in time as Jebediah did his best to dry the inside bottom of the craft.  He layered the mucilaginous liquid on thick, spreading it evenly across the entirety of the base.  Turning the boat over, the same procedure was repeated.  This used all of the pine pitch, and they decided that it’d be a good idea to get more for the sake of resealing the other boat as well.

Tyrus took his leave to continue south to the better hunting grounds there and Adair preferring the woodsman’s company joined with him.  They two, hunted for mushrooms, tapped more trees for pitch, and located wood sufficient to be crafted into oars and arrow shafts.

The Groomers returned to Mr. Valinson’s taking refuge from the Kendrits and the rain.

Jonas returned to the widow Fisher’s.  He found her to be much the same as when he’d last left, forlorn and melancholy.  She echoed the mood that permeated the day.  He gave her the sack of coin, sure to tell her that 60 pieces of silver was a lot of money; she should be well taken care of.  He didn’t tell her that it actually contained 70.  After leaving Jonas hoped to find a reprieve from this sourness that was welling inside him.  He headed to the pub.

He spent the rest of the afternoon playing what could only be considered mediocre pieces at best on his lute.  Several patrons actually left.  Disheartened by the cold reception as well as his lackluster performance, Jonas decided to grace the militiamen with his presence that night.

Adair gathered the meager handful of mushrooms and brought Tyrus to reign in the sheep.  While crested on a nearby hillock he showed the woodsman of what he spoke of the eve prior.  They had arrived to see the end of what looked to be a column dipping into a gulley below; six mounted riders trailed behind the speculated advancement of who knew how many.  The riders flew no standard and bore no crest.  They did not move fast, but were not moving slowly.  At the woodsman’s best guess they were only a half-day away.

As evening drew nearer Tyrus turned for home, carrying arm loads of wood atop which his pitch filled jug balanced.  He passed though town to deposit the raw materials with Gerald, and check on Wrenchard at the smelts.  

A belabored Wrenchard was hard at work attempting to figure out a way to create makeshift molds for arrowheads.  He had already stoked fires in the tall circular cones of packed earth, using his hearths bellows to keep them hot.  Sweat, rain, and soot all served to make him an ominous site in the fading minutes of daylight.

In the waning light Wrenchard spotted Tyrus’ approach.  He hoped the woodsman knew how to locate raw ore.  As it turned out, he didn’t.  Wrenchard was exhausted and welcomed the break.  They realized that without the proper tools, supplies, and equipment, despite lack of know how, they weren’t going to forge any arrowheads.

Tyrus gave up,”This is not gonna work.”

Wrenchrad frustrated with the young man, who’d not even worked at it, for lying down so easily, lashed back, “It was your idea.”

Tyrus either didn’t care or didn’t agree.  “Let’s make arrow heads from shale,“ he flatly suggested.

The hill dweller walked away wordlessly to the pub where he sought to find tendons useful for tying tip to shaft.  Wrenchard stood in the wet night air, following the silhouette, wondering what the ranger’s capacity for cooperation was going to be; and if perhaps, he’d made a mistake accepting the enigmatic man’s aid.

He was tired.  The map-maker threw down his stoking rod and headed for home.  He knew he was late for dinner.  He assumed Kelize would be upset.  He guessed they’d have waited to begin eating.  He entered the dining room and found he was right on all three counts.  Kelize scowled at him, the children were rammy.  Annabelle jumped up and crossed the room to embrace her father’s leg.  Not to be deterred by grime, she wrapped her arms around and squeezed tight.

Jebediah cut through the social graces and looked over his shoulder to his host, “How goes the project?”

Wrenchard looked up from the smiling face that beamed at him like a beacon through a cloudy night.  To be young and innocent, so full of life, he reflected.  With a heavy sigh he explained, “It’s a wash and so should I.  I shall return.”

He scooped up his daughter, kissed her forehead and set her at the table.  He bade them begin their meal lest it get any colder.  The tension was only slightly relieved as he left to clean up.

Later that evening, after the kids went to bed, Jebediah tried not to overhear a heated conversation down the hall.  It was brief and ended with Wrenchard storming past Jebediah’s room; a slam echoed in the corridor.  The guest was not as quick as Kelize in his closing his door.  Wrenchard drew up in front of it, placing his hand out and slowly pushing it in.  Jebediah and Constance looked at him, expectantly.

“I’m out of practice.  I was wondering perhaps if you’d like to spar.” He directed towards Jebediah.

Wordlessly Jebediah rose, brushed past his host, and headed toward the room where his equipment was secured.

Wrenchard glanced at Constance in her housedress, her hair brushed out, the right half pushed back from her head with her precious comb.  It served to half veil her face as the long locks draped down over her left eye and the corner of her lips.  Innocently, she crossed her legs, briefly revealing her perfectly soft thighs.

Unaware of what he’d been doing, but sure he’d lingered too long, he quietly turned, closing the door behind him.  Had he not averted his eyes, he might not have missed Constance’s knowing smirk.

The two men met outside, in the shadow of the house.  The ambient light from the hearth poured through the windows.  It was sufficient.  Jebediah approached in his full regale.  An ornate breastplate of unusual design was fitted atop his studded leather body wear.  A nose guarding cap helm covered most of his face.  Wrenchard feigned and danced, avoiding the man’s precise thrusts.  The bastard sword was large, much larger than the war-hero’s own short sword, making it much harder to parry.  Folding his left hand into the hem of his cloak, Wrenchard weaved using the cloth as an appendage, making his body movements less predictable.  For minutes the only sound was that of exerted grunts.

As they drew up, nodding to each other, sweat began to bead on their brows.  Constance joined them, unexpectedly.  She laid down the bundle beneath her arm, twisting to let the lithe blade hanging at her side remain unobtrusive.  Wrenchard noticed the similarity between Jebediah’s leather armor and that which Constance now donned with expert precision and speed.  Tying her hair back into a loose knot, comb pushed back tight from her forehead, she drew the fragile flexible foil and advanced on Wrenchard.  Jebediah tucked the helm beneath his arm and looked on amused.  Left hand counterbalanced behind her head, she stepped towards her host.  He was initially caught unawares as the two Groomers’ styles were so drastically different.  But as they two exchanged play, thrust, parry, stroke, swing, weave, a dance ensued, both competitors evenly matched.

Wrenchard bowed low, respecting the heretofore unknown skill of Constance, and watched as Jebediah came at her, mace held high.  It was a clumsy display, but good practice nonetheless.  Jebediah instructed more than sparred with his sister, as he blocked blows that fell on his shield and encouraged her to dodge his heavy blunt implement, rather than parry it as she was naturally inclined to do.

The exercise did them all good; though Jebediah’s wounds tore open slightly causing them to cease their activities sooner than expected.  Constance helped her brother up the stairs to redress his injuries, leaving Wrenchard alone in the house below.

He sat by the low amber glow of the hearth in his favorite comfortable chair and propped his legs up on a stack of firewood.  He routinely stroked the cat nestled on his thighs, lost in thought as he enjoyed his brandy and the warmth of his home.  He’d be leaving it all soon. He didn’t know if he wanted to, but he knew he was ready.  As he watched the flames of the hearth mingle, spitting greeting s to one another, his mind turned over the past few days events.  He now understood why Jonas had earlier mentioned that he had ‘a sinking feeling’ about the Groomer’s.  The Fawkes boy was much more observant than the Kendrits gave him credit.  They seemed to be full of surprises.      


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


*Notes:*
(1) – Matet is Ra’s chariot, the blazing ball of fire that arcs across the sky daily.

(2) – Typical of any small community there is a clearing close to the center of it.  Here at the heart of the hamlet lies the commons, an area where most residents gather to trade their wears, barter, and haggle for what they and their family need.  There are no set trading days since the commons are close enough at hand, that if someone stands out there with their goods in no time everyone in town knows that there is something up for trade.  The exchange of coin is rarely, if ever, necessary.  As outside trade has become less and less common, the commons have become less frequently used (though individuals do still set up there) as one can go to another’s house and trade just as easily.  In the center of the area remains a rough hewn stump of what must have once been a ‘ginormous’ (to the kids) tree whose roots were obviously too big to dig up.  This 4’ high natural podium has served many purposes in the past, including crier’s stand, religious pulpit, and political stage among others.  At times the commons is also used for festivities, celebrations and funerals, the Festival of Isis being the most notable of them. 

(3) – That military fork was something Jonas had been fond of ever since he had found it at the site of Battle of the Mill. Luckily, he had been sleeping somewhere close by and was awoken by the remaining officer and soldiers who fled the encounter.  After he crept away, Jonas led Mr. Valinson and the Rhondrian regulars to their location where they were promptly dealt with.  Among the remains, the boy found the military fork.

(4) – Most of the older kids (a tradition for younger ones to inherit) throw dung up onto the ornery middle-aged bachelor’s roof.  This is a continual effort to pile it high, to bake in the sun, causing an awful stink.  As a result Pollack has taken to leaving his ladder lashed to the side of his house, ever vigilant to clear his eaves of the invading refuse.

(5) - One of Edwin’s favorite things in the world is to smoke meats.  The smells from his smokehouse often change as he tries new woods, leaves, nuts, and herbs with which to infuse flavors.  He often begins his day by walking to the smokehouse and spending a few minutes inside ‘breathing in the progress.’

(6) – Jonas was a foundling, abandoned by the traveling troupe the Jingle Jangle Players. He was adopted by Isaiah and raised as his own.  Jonas has always been curious to find out more about his real parents.


----------



## KinCross (Mar 21, 2003)

*Oh yeah...*

Tune in next time, when you'll hear such gems as:

"Do you know how much alcohol is in here? (with hand gestures) BOOM!"

and

"Frick. What do we do now?"

*Adair*


----------



## Wrenchard Valinson (Mar 21, 2003)

*it's all so familar*

great job buddy, It's like I was there or something.  i never caught that the limner's cat's name was Aslan (good reference).  

Next week's installment is gonna be a killer, with lots of time in the outhouse.


----------



## Black Bard (Mar 27, 2003)

I'm still stuck in the beginning of session 2, so I'm in no position to make any comment, except that you have some good writing skills...

But, I would like to make you a question out of curiosity... "Rastfar" is the name of Escher's goblin aide in Nemm's campaign, isn't it??


----------



## Rastfar (Mar 28, 2003)

*Hmmm....*

Black Bard,
    Why, yes, it is.  Though it was mine first.  That is a whole other story (Nemmerle's idea of an inside joke).  Thanx for reading.

BUHRAD-PUHN RASTFAR


----------



## handforged (Mar 28, 2003)

I love the story, and it is definitely worth the reading time(something which might scare away people looking for all out action).  I love the characters and the mundane aspects of their lives which are about to change.  Good writing as well.  Hopefully, once some more of the character secrets have been revealed in story, we can see what the classes are for everyone.  Keep up the good work.

~hf


----------



## Black Bard (Mar 29, 2003)

I really like the way you depict the character interation, you do a great job in fleshing out the characters...

BTW, how many sessions you guys played so far??

Oh, and don't be offended by the goblin story, I remember that the goblin's name was given as a homage to the deceased Rastfar, which I assume was a character of yours...


----------



## el-remmen (Mar 30, 2003)

Black Bard said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Oh, and don't be offended by the goblin story, I remember that the goblin's name was given as a homage to the deceased Rastfar, which I assume was a character of yours... *




Actaully, Escher has no idea that the original Rastfar and the rest of his companions are dead - so it was a "living tribute".


----------



## Rastfar (Apr 11, 2003)

*Session 3*

*session #3*

*Osilem, 24th of Syet – 564 H.E.*


Tyrus woke with the sun as was customary for him.  Trusting Gus’ food supplies to still be ample, he decided to forego his usual morning hunting expedition.  Rather he chose to dedicate some time to shaping some arrowheads for the up-coming journey.  He crept from the old Stilwell home where he’d squatted for the night and headed north to where he knew out-croppings of shale could be unearthed.  Though still overcast, Osiris (1) had granted a temporary reprieve from the rain.  The hillman knew it was still too warm for snow.  But soon, soon a cold snap would come as it always did – welcoming winter, ushering snow, sleet, and ice.  It would seem relentless in those dark months.

Enjoying the last days of autumn, the outdoorsman found one of his favorite places to think and relax.  A small brook could be heard playing through the rock, not far away, running to meet its end at Black River.  A large moss-padded rock emerged from the hard earth as if still being sculpted by tree roots, which clung to its sides in unyielding embrace.  In the shadows of the birch trees, atop the stone he folded his thick legs and leaned his back to the wood, letting the cool sounds of Shu’s (2) whispers and Tefnut’s (3) babbling resound melodiously to the whistles of Osiris’ faithful.  He found comfort in the solitude and eased his mind as the rest of the morning slipped away, broken only by the occasional rhythmic crack of rock.

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

Adair also woke early and dutifully led the sheep to the pastures south of town.  There, he occasionally shared fields with Van Feicht another Kendrit shepherd who leased Valinson land.  Van was slightly older than the popular crop of late teens in Kendrit.  A contemporary of Harden and trapped in between generations, Van often sought out the companionship of those younger, unlike the deputy who enjoyed the company of his elders.  Van, eight seasons Adair’s senior, still enjoyed much of the talk and activities of the young.  On this particular morning they shared adjacent fields.  The two exchanged pleasantries and chatted awhile.

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

Wrenchard awoke his muscles sore from the prior night’s martial training.  It was good.  It reminded him of more exciting days gone by; days of life, of energy, of nerves, of fear; not death, waiting, dying, and wasting.  He felt alive.  Swinging his legs out of bed sharp pains shot from his calves to his thighs.  He had forgotten how much practice could hurt.  It was good.  Outside he heard his beloved Annabelle’s screaming excitement.  A grin barely graced his lips before the sounds of his petulant wife scolding his eldest daughter wiped the proud smile clean away, forgotten.  Wrenchard still had no resolution to the great burden, which he bore upon himself.  Forlorn, he dressed and descended his worn staircase to seek out a late breakfast.  Passing Jebediah’s room, he noted a raspy cough rumbling therein.

He joined Constance at the table for steak, eggs and oatbread with fresh whipped goat-butter.  She greeted him warmly with an affable smile, rising as he moved to sit down.  When he inquired as to her brother’s whereabouts she reported her sibling’s sudden bout of illness.  Jebediah had come down with a light variant of the bog flu and would be requiring rest for the day.  She alleviated any fears that Wrenchard may have had about the seriousness of the condition, reassuring him that it was quite common amongst those who’d taxed themselves while traveling and it was not contagious.  

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

The Fawkes boy rolled over in his half-sleep still struggling with his clothes and clutter for position on his bed.  The military fork it seemed had led a mutiny and Jonas flopped onto the floor awaking with a start.  He looked bleary-eyed at the victors up on the bed and sat up to avoid the light that poured in through the window shutters.  Whether his father had let him sleep, or whether Isaiah had been waved off by Jonas or the mattress revolutionaries, he did not know.  He shambled to the kitchen where he washed down some old oatcakes with goat’s milk.

Jonas figured that he’d go to visit his favorite avuncular figure, Van Feicht, and headed out toward the grazing grounds just south of town.  Arriving there he found his friend to be stretching in the field.  Unable to resist the opportunity, Jonas tumbled over the awkwardly positioned man shouting a greeting as he temporarily eclipsed Van’s view of the sky above.  Coming up from a forward somersault, Jonas embraced his tutor’s hand.  Van often spent time in the pastures teaching himself to juggle, tumble, walk on his hands and fall from trees.  They were kindred spirits and Jonas had spent many days with Van Feicht learning similar skills.  The shepherd would annually perform shows in the commons for the town during the Festival of Isis (4), and included the younger Fawkes into his routines.  Van unconditionally encouraged Jonas in everything he did and truly believed in the young man.  Van Feicht was Jonas’ best friend.

They shook hands, and from afar Adair could see the two chatting, laughing and sharing stories as well as challenges.  It was a common sight to the young shepherd boy, but he was somewhat envious of the deeper friendship.  Adair turned his gaze back to the sparsely crowned hills southward.  Only a few hours before he’d seen the tail column of about a dozen men cresting a hill two small valleys away.  Judging now by the roiling dust to be seen just beyond the most immediate hill, the last one between the riders and Kendrick, it’d be an hour now, no more.

Jonas and Van approached the base of the barren deciduous Adair rested in, whittling away the time.  From his slightly better vantage he called down what he’d seen.  His report had struck a sense of urgency in Jonas who sprinted back to town.

Minutes later the youngest militia member arrived at the sheriff’s house/office, leaning in the open doorway he drew up, catching his breath.  Mr. Cronk waited patiently for the boy, assuming he knew what was coming next.

“Sturgis!  A dozen armed and armored riders are heading to town from the south!  I think we should alert the militia, but not everyone so they won’t panic.”

Sturgis armed himself with a heavy crossbow from a meager cache of weapons in the office and did just that, urging Jonas to keep a cool head upon returning to his post in the south fields.  Before leaving, Jonas took one last deep breath, swiped a light crossbow from the wall mounts, a quiver of bolts and adrenaline fed muscles carried him at full tilt back to where his friends waited.

The clatter of Jonas came stumbling by the Valinson home disturbing those without and in.  Tyrus had just emerged after leaving his fistful of arrowheads with Wrenchard who’d be fletching the shafts supplied by Gerald.  The hillman would have laughed at the sight if he didn’t realize the seriousness of the situation.  He moved around behind Wrenchard’s house to holler at the bumbling young man.  Jonas didn’t hear Tyrus as he attempted to scoop up the bolts that kept obeying gravity, all the while continually tucking the slippery crossbow over his shoulder, as he ran in an awkward bent position.  Unresponsive to the ranger’s yells, Jonas grabbed what composure and equipment he could and kept running.

Wrenchard opened the sitting room shutters and called out to Tyrus who was now chasing after the man.  The two attempted to hold a loud conversation over the 300-foot distance.  Neither could discern much of what the other was shouting.  Constance, drawn to the commotion, entered the room able to see the futility in what Tyrus and Wrenchard were attempting.

Inquisitive, she could not resist, “What is going on?  Jebediah is fast asleep but he might not be for long with all this noise.”

“There is some trouble by the pasture.  Jonas is running, going to shoot himself or something.”  Wrenchard realized the nonsense of the statement, silently hoping she didn’t.

“Wolves among the sheep?”

Wrenchard now realized that Constance had been left uninformed as to what had been transpiring.  “I doubt it, Adair mentioned men approaching yesterday.”

Wrenchard closed the shutters and began to outfit himself with arms and armor.  Constance, naught else to do, asked to tag along.  Wrenchard nodded his assent, suggesting that she make the same preparations.  Thinking better of it, the Groomer girl just waited for her host.

The two trotted out to the edge of town.

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

Jonas near collapsed from exhaustion once he got back to Adair’s tree.  As it turned out Van too had left shortly after Jonas; Adair minded the sheep.  Shortly thereafter Tyrus arrived handing four bolts that Jonas had dropped back to him.  Wrenchard and Constance caught up to the group in time to hear Adair’s report.  Tyrus ran off almost immediately to do an end-around via the river, wanting to come up behind the riders.  Jonas turned on the two newest arrivals.

“What is she doing here?”  He asked Wrenchard with incredulity and then turned to Constance.  “What are you doing here?  This is no place for you.”  

“What do you mean?”  Constance seemed genuinely confused.

“Those could be a Menovian raiding party.”  Jonas gestured with a fistful of bolts towards the nearest hill.  Dust billowed from behind it.

“So?” came her reply.

“You know what they do…” Jonas thought his suggestion was enough and distractedly eyed the hilltop warily.

Constance only returned a blank stare.

Now more anxious, “…to young women, uh, old women, _any_ women.”

Wrenchard motioned Constance to join him over to where he’d located a secluded hiding spot amongst some low-lying brambles and scrub.  Standing out in the open to welcome trouble would be no good.  Constance hustled to him, and a thoroughly frustrated Jonas hid behind Fatty Lumpkins (5) in the flock of sheep.  Not to be too conspicuous Adair climbed down from the tree and acted as a shepherd boy, not a very hard feat for the young man.

Time stood still and the ominous heralding quiet blanketed the fields.  The four remained still, silent, three not daring to budge, peek, shift or speak – to be discovered attempting to hide would surely raise unwanted questions.

A stone’s age later, the companions all felt it: the resonating rumble rising through the earth.  The shod horse hoofs thundered.  Yet they remained unseen.  The companions all heard it: the thunderous gallop of heavy burdens borne by swift mounts, steeds of strength, endurance, and speed.  Yet still they remained unseen.  It was almost unbearable for Jonas.  Wrenchard and Constance froze nearly holding their breath.  And suddenly it all ceased.

Adair saw what the others could only hear.  A single man led his mount to the pinnacle of the hill.  He paused, leaving the mount, and slowly, methodically paced the entirety of the peak.  Eyes intent upon the ground, for minutes he’d squat, listen, examine, peer at the town and pace some more.  Only the sounds of creaking leather from the shifting horse broke the silence.  It was obvious that the tall blonde man was searching for something.  Adair had seen this behavior in Tyrus before.  The lightly armored stranger did not even give Adair a second glance, focused he looked back to the town, eyed the ground and remounted.

As if in answer to Adair’s curiosity, he could now see the lone man for what he really was – lead scout of half score men who now came riding up behind the tall, loose pony-tailed, tracker.  The ten riders spread across the hill’s crest.  All seemed eager as they shifted in their saddles below the weights of their mismatched armors and helmets, adjusting all manner of weaponry and shielding.  These ten men lacked uniforms, standards, tunics or heraldry.  The only quality Adair could see that they did share was their lack of standard outfitting. 

As they fanned across the hilltop, two of the ten men rode forward to speak with the only unhelmed individual, the blonde man adorned in a chain shirt who rested a heavy crossbow with some odd box-like attachment that jutted from its belly at an odd angle, in the elbow of his bent arm.  A morningstar and shield were secured to the side of his mount.  The scout half-turned his mount at the approach of the two men.

The first to approach started to speak though Adair had no means to tell what they were saying.  He was an athletically built and well-defined man laden in scale mail and a side-burned helm that boasted protective leather flaps for the ears and neck.  He wore a sheathed longsword and what must have been an ornate dagger. This gleaned from a decorative scabbard it was in.  A red bordered shield broken into three black fields hinted details of silver across the distance.

Just behind the speaker a smaller, pear-shaped man in chainmail nodded his agreement to what the first man must be saying.  This man’s reactions were obscured beneath his point-tipped cap helm.  He held aloft a heavy lance, positioned at an awkward angle so as not to disturb the half spear lashed to his back.  Adair could make out the shape of an ankh painted in black on the man’s small ovoid shield.

The sundry mix of men, arms, armor and mounts waiting behind echoed down into the valley.  Tell-tale sounds of metals and leathers escaped into the still clammy air.  The conversation atop the hill broke and with a slight gesture from the scale-armored man, the patchwork band poured down the slopes quickly closing the last gap to Kendrick.  As Adair stood enrapt in some horrid from of wonderment and awe he relayed what he saw, loudly, to his hidden companions.  Confirming all suspicions, he was sure these were Menovians.

Whether he was too loud or the lead scout had exceptional hearing the shepherd boy did not know.  But it was enough for him to give pause, reigning in his mount.  Adair clamped his lips so tight, all color faded from them.  He had been noticed.  In an instant he was examined and judged; the scout in the chain shirt rode on.  The more well armored warriors followed in suit one of which spat in Adair’s direction in passing.

The flock of sheep disturbed by the horses thundering past moved as of a single mind, trying to distance themselves.  Jonas duck-walked, precariously balanced, in motion while struggling to keep his secrecy intact.  Within hour-long seconds the column had passed the sheep pasture where all were ensconced, leaving the Kendrits to their speculations.

Time flew forward, doubling to make up for the pace it had lost.  Adair spotted Tyrus coming over the hill the riders had just descended.  Jonas hopped up and hurtling fleeced backs sprinted towards town.  Wrenchard trotted up the hill, passing Tyrus quietly, while Constance walked to where Adair stood still absorbing the action.

Tyrus continued past Constance and Adair, hustling after Jonas they presumed.  Wrenchard mounted the hill, shielded his eyes from Ra’s blinding light and scoured the landscape below for any sign of a rear guard.  Satisfied that any such unit must still be far away, for he saw nothing, he returned to the shepherd boy and the mid-teen girl.

In a hushed tone he leaned in on her, glancing about furtively, “Constance, when you and your brother left Menovia did you have any reason to believe that you’d be hunted or followed?”

She seemed to cast about in the long pause it took for her to answer.  “I have no reason to think so.”

Citing wisdom as the better part of valor, the war hero bid Constance to return to his manor and hide his wife and children beneath the home in their root cellar.  Heeding his words she did so and the trio hustled back to town, Adair and Wrenchard continuing to the commons.         

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

Here the riders were dismounting, stowing large weaponry and packs, securing saddlebags, and stretching their legs.  Easily followed, Jonas had caught up to them as they began to move away from their steeds.  Not yet wanting to be spotted he quick ducked behind a house and tried to lean out from the partial cover, spying on the arrivals.  Tyrus started circumventing the warriors, wishing not to be seen, and headed toward the north end of the town - and the back of the pub – skirting the breach.

Wrenchard approached the area where Jonas paced about trying to look.  Adair flattened against a house.  Wrenchard whispered to him, “Jonas, any ideas?”

Jonas was curt, “Ideas about what?”

“Their intentions.”

Jonas was now mildly annoyed, whispering back heatedly out of the corner of his mouth without breaking eye contact with the ground, “They seem to be taking their weapons from their horses.”

The small group of Menovian irregulars made their way to the pub.

Adair and Jonas followed not too close behind, and flanked the front windows, within earshot of the action inside.

Wrenchard quickly picked his way across town, approaching the pub from the rear where he met Tyrus on the way in.  Ali and Meg Hartigan were simultaneously hustling out the back, prompted by Gus.  The two men let them pass then slipped in before the door closed, finding places to hide just inside of the open kitchen.  Tyrus crouched behind a large stack of wood for the hearth.  Wrenchard had an obscured view through the kitchen window from his kneeling position behind the dominating chopping block.  Tyrus began to grow more and more agitated with each passing moment.  He was uncomfortable and his anxiety was beginning to wear on his face, Wrenchard could see it.

With sudden clarity the ranger stopped fidgeting and made eye contact with the war-veteran.  In a hushed voice he spoke across the kitchen’s open door frame.  “Do you know how much alcohol is in this place right now?” he asked rhetorically.  And with an exaggerated gesture, both hands spread wide, he mouthed a single word, ‘BOOM.’

Wrenchard stymied a snort and hung his head low, shaking his head in disapproval of the man’s zeal.

It became readily apparent that the men outside were thirsty and wished to begin their carousing.  Gus entered the kitchen, calling back any and all satiating comments he could.  Tyrus quietly caught his attention.  Again knowing the effects of his uncle’s homebrew, he urged the pub-keeper to serve them all ‘the straight stuff’ in direct contradiction to his usual admonishments.

From the kitchen Tyrus could see a bit of the action as Gus returned and began to pour the root tonic into cups on the bar.  The man dressed in scale-mail half turned to the rest of the crew and addressed them.  Van Feicht had the misfortune of being seated next to where he stood at the bar.

“Let your hair down and enjoy yourselves men.  You deserve it.  But watch out for these country folk, they’re not all kindly mannered.”  He prompted the pear-shaped man, sergeant Malchiah, to get up and begin distributing the refreshments.  With a nod to his captain he did so.  As they were both only little more than ten feet away now, Tyrus and Wrenchard got a good look at the two men.

Captain Sterling was of a taller more athletically muscled build.  His helm now resting on the bar, they could see the thin brown beard that framed his mouth and face, accentuating his brown hair that parted in the center, and pushed back into a naturally curving s-wave.  The man had sunken grey eyes highlighted by long eyelashes, the tiniest dimpled chin, and he tended to squint inexplicably.  He held aloft his own cup with his effeminate hands while his sergeant passed the rest around.

Malchiah was thick-legged and thick-middled.  Stubbly black facial hair patched with white shaded his face.  Sausage-like, stubby, dirty fingers groped the cups, sloshing liquid as he moved about with a heavy nostrily exhale.  The most prominent feature of his face was the noticeable slight dent in his wrinkled forehead.  His greasy mid-length unkempt brown hair did little to hide it.    

All the soldiers drank a toast to the words of their sergeant.  “To Captain Sterling - what every Menovian officer should aspire to be.”

The tension in the room loosened some, as did the men’s lips and the volume in the pub increased.  Wrenchard began rummaging through the catalogues of his mind to find the familiar sounding Menovian officer’s name.  He was certain that he’d heard it once before.  

Captain Sterling set down his own cup and called to Gus to pour him more.  Other Menovian warriors found the tonic to their liking, though some took to watering it down instantly.  While waiting for his refill, Sterling turned to the nearest Kendrit.

“You boy, stable my horses!”  He shouted at Van; silence landed hard in the room like a rock. 

 Foolishly, Van turned slightly away, ignoring him.

“I said, stable our horses!”  And with a pronounced swing, the captain brought up his left arm, bringing his gloved left hand to bear where Van’s face would have been had he not been so nimble.  Though seated, Feicht was still able to sway backward dramatically, locking his legs into the stools’ for counterbalance and support.  Sterling’s swipe went wide.  The Menovians grumbled, a few stood, and steel could be heard leaving its sheath.  Sterling fluidly brought his left arm back up, cuffing Van with a backhand, as the acrobatic shepherd was now returning forward as his maneuver dictated.  The shepherd went sprawling.

Van regained his composure and wiped the blood from his mouth, licking some from his teeth, through which he seethed.  Wordlessly, he crept out.

As the door closed behind him, the Menovians again embraced their revelry, as if nothing had happened.

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

Jonas trailed after Van who started leading the horses from the commons, towards his barn.  Realizing that if his friend had to stable all of the Menovian steeds then Van’s sheep would be forced to remain out of shelter for the duration, Jonas offered his own father’s barn for half of them.  

“I’m gonna take a couple now, but could you bring the rest to my dad’s place for me when you are done bringing some to yours?”  Jonas asked.  

Van Feicht nodded, sullenly.

The would-be entertainer mounted one of the horses, and leading another, he cantered across town to his home where he grabbed up his lute and some other entertainment necessities.  He left one of the horses there.  Sack and instrument in hand he rode back and made his way to the pub.  

In the meantime, duties needed to be tended to and Sturgis arrived to do his.  Trailed by his deputy, the sheriff entered in rare form.  Wrenchard recognized it immediately, when he had to do so Sturgis could fill out to an impressive size.  The sheriff puffed his chest beneath his old banded mail and his already basso voice lowered two octaves.  A peace-knot tied his long sword to his belt.  Shield in hand, he crossed the entryway, trailed by Harden who, as always, was cool and collected.  The Menovians stood in unison.  Their reaction was not of greeting.  They gripped hafts, hilts, handles and shafts.  The mere sight of other armed and armored men seemed to set them at the ready, as barely tame dogs chomping at the bit.  Sterling held out a hand to stave off their aggressions.

Sturgis introduced himself and his deputy, politely.  If he was nervous it was hidden well.  Harden draped a heavy crossbow - loaded - across his right shoulder casually.  The deputy inquired as to the nature of the visit.  Citing routine patrol, Sterling announced his plans for their estimated duration of stay.  With the approach of _Welcome Winter_ (6), a mere three days away, the Menovians would stay for the festivities before moving on.  Not wishing to linger too long or stir up any suspicions, Sturgis absorbed what information he could and left, followed by Harden who grudgingly nodded at the sergeant.         

Neither Tyrus nor Wrenchard could see the entirety of the action within the common room, but they had heard enough.  So too did Adair who ran off to warn the townsfolk to hide away their loved ones and secure their doors.  He got a bit held up at the miller’s where he was forced to endure the man’s ire toward Menovians.

“This is perfect,” the glimmer of malevolence radiated from his eyes, “we’ll give them what for this time.”  Mahlon seemed to stare right through young Adair.  “Go get Sheriff Sturgis and bring him back here.”

Adair was thinking of doing that very thing and graciously accepted the excuse to escape the man’s lunatic ranting.  He wasted no time, passing the rusty old stocks to the sheriff’s office.  By the time he arrived Sturgis and Harden were there discussing matters.  Adair compounded their problems by informing them of the miller’s bravado.  He then left to complete his rounds and return to the pub.

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

Jonas tumbled in ready to begin the festivities for the Menovian irregulars.  He boldly crossed the room and pulled a chair to his usual place by the front of the hearth.

“Hey!  Welcome!  Where you all from?”

After receiving the expected response, he struck up a song.  “Old black water, keep on rollin’.  Menovian mud gonna keep on risin’…” The men seemed to enjoy it.

After a few more tunes and a couple witty jokes, one involving the shortcomings of a Friar of Nephthys, Jonas misstepped.  He had made a comment about the malevolence of Menovian officers and Setites.  Sergeant Malchiah called him out.

“Fool, are you mocking our captain?”  This squat man seemed eager to defend.

Always quick in wit and reply, the sly-tongued Fawkes never faltered.  “Why would I do something like that?  Anyway, I could only mock him if he were evil.  And he is obviously an honorable and upstanding man.”

Jonas had Malchiah on the ropes; his head reeled unable to keep up with the flow of logic.  The sergeant was mitigated; at least he thought so, “That he is.”

Jonas executed the verbal coup-de-grace, “Anyway, what do I know?  I’m just a fool.”

And he played a light-hearted tune, displaying his mouth full of teeth.  Across the room he noticed for the first time the scout that had led the Menovian party there.  Only he seemed to have kept up with the banter and nodded at Jonas, smiling politely.  He tossed a few silvers to the minstrel.  Jonas recognized the handsome quality of the man instantly.  He was pretty to the point of being almost detrimentally good looking. It put one on guard.  Jonas noticed Gus secure away a sack of coins, presumably the tracker had paid for the Menovian soldiers’ fare. 

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

Wrenchard left his hiding place in the kitchen, coming around to enter the pub properly from the front.  Tyrus trailed behind, waiting outside for an appropriate amount of time to pass before following in.  They did not wish to be construed as entering together.

Wrenchard crossed the short distance from the door to the bar under heavy scrutiny.  There he found engaging Captain Sterling easy.  The two struck up conversation as the Kendrit waited for a mulled wine.

“Valinson, eh?”  The old war-hero had introduced himself properly, and Sterling now looked up and to the right, accessing his own library of names.  “Pleasure.”  The captain extended his gloved hand.

“And might you be the alderman of this town?”  asked Sterling.  Malchiah got up and moved to join in the conversation.

“No.  We have no alderman,” admitted Wrenchard.

Sergeant Malchiah appeared amused, echoing the admission, “No alderman?”  He turned to the captain, “No alderman.”

“Well, we can’t have a town without an alderman,” Sterling noted facetiously. He pretended to be concerned. “Can I ask where your alderman is?”  He asked Wrenchard.

Wrenchard thought for a few seconds while savoring his freshly arrived mulled wine.  The conversation bore ill portent.  He wanted to maneuver it to his advantage.  “I was hoping you’d be able to answer that.”

Sterling relented in neither his derision nor his cynicism, “You don’t now where your alderman is?”  

He did not seem to think this was readily believable.

Wrenchard continued flatly, “No he disappeared several weeks ago.  _I_ think he might have been abducted by bandits.

Sterling relished the badgering, “How many weeks ago?”

Wrenchard was glad to lure the man in, confirming the captain’s assumptions of all country folk being simple of mind.  “Well, uh, actually six months ago.”

Wrenchard watched as the look of proud intellectual superiority emblazoned itself on the tall officer’s face.  Sterling was overtly patronizing, “Well, fortunately for you, I am authorized to act as alderman in his absence.”

Wrenchard continued his dramatic display, Sterling too conceited and Malchiah too slow to realize what he was doing. “Oh,” he enunciated with feigned surprise, “why not appoint an alderman?”

The captain couldn’t believe the man was so stupid, snarling, “One has just been appointed.  Me.”  His expression turned to glee again just as quickly, “So, he must have had a stately home.  You will take me there.  But not now…”

Captain Sterling trailed off, forgetting Wrenchard as all the Menovians bristled at the sight of a fully armed and armored man entering the pub.  Tyrus lingered in the entryway of the room, unsure of his direction.  The warriors stood, a few drew weapons.  Malchiah measured the caliber of the man.  All eyes focused on the potential threat, Gus hustled to the end of the bar, calling out loudly.

“Son!  C’mere, boy.  How was the hunting?  Scarce I see.”  The round-nosed bartender gestured Tyrus back towards the kitchen.  A few suspicions were alleviated.  Once behind the bar, Gus ushered the woodsman into the back room.  There the elder answered Tyrus’ questions.  It was obvious that the blonde man was here of his own accord, asking around about a family, and passing out lots of money to Kendrits in the pub.  Among those that had profited so far were Motie and Gerald.

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

Meanwhile back at Wrenchard’s, Constance returned from having just been out to pasture with Mr. Valinson.  There was some slight commotion downstairs and the muted sounds of voices carried up through the floor joices to waken Jebediah from his fevered half-sleep.  Shortly thereafter, the voices faded away.  Minutes later, Constance came in, "How are you feeling, Jebediah?"

"I think I am feeling better," Jebediah responded, trying to lift himself up from the bed. He swooned, forcing him to flop back down onto the bed with a groan.

"Try not to tax yourself, I have a feeling that we are not out of the woods yet."  With uncanny insight, Jebediah could tell that she was proud of the analogy.  "I'll need you rested."

"Alright dear heart, but I really am feeling better," he replied, reaching out for Constance’s hand and placing it on his head, which felt hotter than ever.

"No, you're not.  You're still warm.  Are you thirsty?  Can I get you some water or steeped herbs?"

"Who is Herb? Is he one of Wrenchard's children?" Jebediah asked, before having a wet coughing fit that seemed to last minutes. When he was done he fell back on the bed, exhausted and in pain from the ordeal, his head spinning even more than it had been.

"You need to get your rest, we may yet need you to fight I'm afraid."  Constance trailed off realizing that this was probably the last thing she should have suggested.

"Fight?" Jebediah echoed, and his eyes met his sister's. "What is going on?"

"Er, um..." She dabbed his forehead with a cool cloth wiping the sweat beaded on his brow.  "It's nothing.  I misspoke.  Are you sure I can't get you something?"

"Ugh, everything aches. You look worried sister. I am going to be fine." He coughed deeply and spat into the bedpan.  Jebediah looked up at the ceiling with a dazed look on his face.  Clarity came back into his eyes for a moment and he added, "Put my weapons and armor under this bed. Better safe than sorry as mother always said."

A slight grin creased her lips at the mention of their mother, obviously recalling fond memories from more sedentary days.  "I've already done so."

She stood up, leaving the bedside, crossing the room to the mantle to pour more water from the pitcher there.

"Besides, we have nothing to fear from a handful of Menovians,” she muttered to herself, barely audible enough for Jebediah to hear.

He lapsed back into a fitful slumber, his brow furrowed.

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

Sterling seemed to remember Wrenchard again once Tyrus passed into the kitchen.  Looking down at the man he began anew, “You will serve as my personal aide while I am here in town.  Now make yourself scarce.”  And he waived the simpleton off.

Wrenchard gladly obliged, smiling inwardly, for the Menovian proved to easy to manipulate.  His hubris would be his undoing.

Jonas finished his set, and weaved between the tables collecting a few coppers in the cap helm he held out for donations.  Excusing himself briefly, he headed outside.

Tyrus headed back out into the common room to cozy up to the tracker, who was still speaking quietly with Motie.  Leaning over a cup of water, Tyrus waited for the diminutive loner to take his leave.  Only minutes later, Motie did just that, rising, nodding to the fair stranger, and quickly making toward the door.  Tyrus noticed him secret away a hefty pouch of coinage before he reached the doorway.  Without delay, the hillman slid into the vacant chair which was still warm.  The stranger seemed pleased for the company and offered to buy his newest acquaintance a drink.

After Tyrus introduced himself, so too did the pearly-toothed scout, “I am Canton Myle.”  He extended his hand.  Tyrus noted that besides the well-worn calluses, this man’s hands were a patchwork of scars.  Traces of blisters, healed cuts, sealed skin, and discolored flesh all hinted at tales of trial and effort.  They shook.  Canton’s grip was firm.

He wasted no time in his inquiry, “Do you know of any strangers or visitors new to town?”  He leaned back casually, his left arm draped over the back of the old, wooden chair.  The heavy crossbow he’d brought in with him leaned against the base of the bar, only two feet out of his grasp.

“No, not for a long time.”  Tyrus noticed the nonchalant motion, and redirected.  “What is it you do?”

“I find things.”

“Do you hunt game?” asked Tyrus curious as to the appearance of the bigger man.

“Yes.”  

The conversation was not proceeding as Tyrus had expected.  He didn’t know what to expect, but he knew this wasn’t it.  “Do you hunt men?”

“Do you eat men?”  Canton replied cynically.

Tyrus asked rhetorically, “So you aren’t a bounty hunter?”  He continued, “I thought you might be looking for someone who had done something wrong.”

Canton smirked a bit making Tyrus shift slightly in his seat.  “Now, why would you say something like that?”  Tyrus began to feel a little uneasy.  The tracker now slid his right hand below the table, out of sight.  Tyrus tensed ready for action.  Canton’s hand came into view once more, cupping something above the table.

“Well, sometimes people pass through…drifters,” Tyrus offered.

The scout’s hand moved away revealing a small purse of coins, leaving it on the table top.  Tyrus looked down at it.  Canton watched the teenager do so and prompted, “But you said none for many moons…” 

“That’s true,” Tyrus droned automatically still surveying the pouch.  He reckoned that there had to be more coins in there than he’d ever seen.  He was curious; he knew the value of coins.  He wanted it.  He resolved to get it.

Canton pressed the young ranger, “I found tracks at the top of the southern hill coming into town.  A _couple_ of tracks, that suggest otherwise.”

Tyrus looked up and was caught in the elder man’s stare.  Again he felt uneasy.  “Two tracks?”

There was that perfect smile again, “I never said, _two_” Canton emphasized shooting a wink at Tyrus who was now trying to figure out if he’d inadvertently given something up, or at least why this man was now acting as if he knew something, and what it was.

Tyrus quaffed his water.  Frustrated by the verbal battery, Tyrus changed tack yet again.  “So, are you from Menovia?  Scales?  What’s it like there?”

Canton seemed happy to allow Tyrus resume control of the conversation.  “Well, I can take you there if you like.  You could see for yourself.  You know…with the right amount of money, you could start a new life there.”  Canton sounded genuine.

 Tyrus was confused.  Not knowing what to do he stood up and excused himself.  He quickly crossed the common room, bumping Valinson along the way, exited the pub and turned the corner, headed to the outhouse.

“Wrenchard!  Where are you going?”  Sterling hollered. He had noticed that his personal aide seemed to be taking leave of his own without permission.

The war-hero informed his new boss of his necessity that he needed use the facilities and made for the door.  Wrenchard crowded into the small refuge with Tyrus.  The two of them did their best to ignore the foul stench of festering feces.  They spoke quickly in a hushed tone, Tyrus retelling as much as he could remember of the conversation he’d just escaped.   The young hillman had determined that the tracker had only led the Menovian Irregulars to Kendrick and was operating independently on his own agenda.  Wrenchard absorbed it all nodding, without interjection, so that the lad would speak hurriedly.

“He must be seeking escaped slaves or something,” Tyrus conjectured.  “What else do they want people for in Menovia? And it has be Jebediah and his sister – who else is new in town?  No one.” 

Wrenchard did not reply, but merely rubbed his chin deep in thought.

“So, whaddya think?  Should we turn him in…?” Tyrus asked, referring to Jebediah, “…and make our lives easier?  Then maybe these guys’ll go away.  At least this one and we’ll have less trouble.”

“Well, that may be so, but somehow I don’t think it’d be so easy.  Besides, slavery is not legal in Rhondria, despite Menovian law and neither of the Groomers deserves to be returned to that.”  Wrenchard lapsed back into thought.

“Well, I don’t know about all that, but I’ll tell you what I do know.  Motie took quite a bit of coinage from Myle; and you know that _he’s_ gonna turn them in.  And _this_ guy…this guy…well, he’s definitely smarter than I am.  I’ll tell you that.  It is only a matter of time before he tracks them to your place.  So, I don’t know what you wanna do, but I like that crossbow he’s got.”

Wrenchard shook his head and proceeded to convince Tyrus that it wouldn’t be prudent to engage or provoke incident with either Canton Myle or any of the Menovian Irregulars at this time.  The conspirators knew too little of what to expect or what they might be up against.  Wrenchard wanted two things: more time and more information.  He asked Tyrus to engage in a simple rouse in his next encounter with the man, and the ranger agreed.

Tyrus was the first to leave the outhouse returning directly to the pub.

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

Jonas ran into Adair in front of the public house and quickly pulled the young shepherd boy into the nearby abandoned home where he had earlier stashed his gear.  The Tatem house.  Wrenchard, returning from the outhouse, spotted them and hurriedly joined them inside.  Adair was briefed by both of the others as to what had been happening.  Jonas was uneasy and broached what was on everyone else’s mind.  He suggested trapping all of the Menovians in the Alderman’s house where they could be locked in and burnt alive in a raging inferno.  With subtle manipulation, he figured that Wrenchard could coerce them there easily.  Adair voiced no disagreement, but Wrenchard found the idea both extreme and heartless.  

Uncharacteristically, Jonas recanted, “No you’re right.  I think we can shelve the idea because once they rape and murder a few people you’ll come running back to me saying, ‘Jonas, what was that idea again?’”

Exasperated, Wrenchard only asked them to bide their time and trust in him.  Then he left.

“Adair,” Jonas was unusually somber, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever killed a man?”

“No.”

“Neither have I.”  The mere suggestion seemed to burden the already thick and stifling air of the musty old house.

“And, I don’t want to start now…” Adair trailed off and headed to the pub himself, leaving Jonas to his thoughts.  

The young shepherd boy entered the common room and proceeded to the bar where he inconspicuously spoke with Gus for a while, getting as much of the story as he could.  

Jonas, rolling over various scenarios in his mind, returned home to inform his father of the horses that he’d surely find had mysteriously appeared in his barn.  To his chagrin he received only admonishment for accepting ‘dirty’ Menovian coinage.    

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

Like a courtier wishing to be wooed, Wrenchard leaned on the bar, continually glancing in Canton Myle’s direction.  Accepting the Kendrit’s invitation, Canton sidled up to him, laying the expected stack of silvers towered beneath his dirty fingers on the bar.

“You were obviously glancing at me,” He opened.

Over Canton’s shoulder Wrenchard could see Tyrus attempting to retain a relaxed composure at a table near a small fireplace on the opposite end of the room.  He dared not let his gaze draw recognition nor linger too long, he feigned to swat at a passing fly.  “Well met.  My name is Wrenchard Valinson.”

“Yes, I know.  I have ears.”  Canton seemed to wish to dispose of most pleasantries and get right to the heart of the matter.

Still playing at the game Wrenchard tried not to admire the man’s striking good looks, perhaps another characteristic with which he could capitalize.  “Then you have the advantage…”

“I am Canton Myle.  I understand that you are to be Captain Sterling’s personal aide while he is in town.”

Wrenchard nodded.

Canton smiled his signature smile, like a cat that ate the canary.  “I do not envy that position,” he admitted.

The two continued to tap-dance around their true desires for some time.  Both content to let the other steer, maneuver and manipulate the conversation for sometime.  They discussed foul waters in the region and how travelers to town are susceptible to its ill effects.  Myle received nothing concrete before Valinson’s attentions were drawn away.

As the evening was closing, Captain Sterling deemed it time to be shown to his new quarters.  Wrenchard led both he and Sergeant Malchiah the short distance to the Alderman’s old home, where Sterling was thoroughly disappointed with the lack of amenities and luxury.  The lithe man dismissed Valinson, after being certain to inform him to report back here just after first light in the morning.  As Wrenchard dropped his head dutifully, the slam of the door sent him on his way.

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

A few minutes after the officers’ departure, Tyrus rose to fulfill his part of the plan.  He took a seat next to Canton at the bar.  He saw that the tower of silvers still stood stacked high, waiting to be captured.  It didn’t take long for him to take down part of the tower, as he informed Canton of Wrenchard’s knowledge of strangers in town.  The capitulation quickly turned to a beating as Tyrus let slip that two such individuals were indeed staying at the Valinson home.  Naively, Tyrus walked away feeling satisfied and stuffed the ten silver pieces reward for the information about the Groomers deep in his pocket.

The ranger noticed that Wrenchard was now entering the pub again.  Unsure of what to do, he hurried to leave, nudging Wrenchard and prompting him to secrecy again.

“Wrenchard, may we use the outhouse?”

As dusk crept across the sleepy hamlet, Adair too left.  He had to retrieve his forgotten sheep.

Tyrus wanted to make sure that Wrenchard knew at what stage of the plan they were now at.  After the short briefing Wrenchard returned to the pub to clarify matters with Canton.  Tyrus lingered behind in the outhouse for its intended use.

No sooner did Sterling’s aide enter than he was dragged away from his would be destination by a couple of the less intoxicated Menovian soldiers.  The four of them invited him to sit down and felt it their duty to proceed informing him all about themselves.  The map-maker could see the amusement on Canton’s face, as he leaned at the bar talking to Gus; both men watching him trying to slip away.

The other table of men seemed to be becoming more ambitious and finished their drinks, staggering out into the night air.  Wrenchard attempted to disengage, but was pulled down by a wide hand with a strong grip.

“…and let me tell you shumshing about Capshin Shhterling.  He may look like a poofta, but he’sh not.”

Wrenchard thought that this one’s name was Morgan, but he couldn’t remember exactly.  There was no recognition in those glassy glazed eyes that seemed to focus 100 yards behind the cartographer’s head.

Tyrus emerged from the privy with a bit more spring in his step.  Ever alert he noticed as four of the Menovians exited the pub and moved toward the closest house.  They began to yell inside through the latched shuttered windows.  These men obviously wished the company of whatever poor unfortunate soul waited inside.  

There was no response.  

The men, not to be deterred, moved to try the door at the front of the house.  Tyrus crept along behind, keeping his distance.  He ducked between the shadows and alleys of the other houses unconcerned for any noise he might possibly make.  The Menovians were loud.

The Menovians reached the front door of Ida Cubitt’s house and found it barred.  One of them, Alex Tyrus heard them say, forced open a shutter that shattered beneath his heavy mace.  No windows in town had glass panes.  With the wooden slats removed, the Menovian clambered in unhindered.  Tyrus crouched low behind them to their right, by the side of a building.  Even at this distance, approximately 100 feet or so, he could see that the men were still armed and all armored.  He waited.

It didn’t take long for Alex to get the door open and the remaining three men entered the house.  The last, the largest of the group carrying a long spear, closed the door.  Tyrus heard what he guessed to be a bar, fall back into place inside the door.         

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

A scream caught Wrenchard’s attention.  It did not seem too far away.  It was enough to give him an excuse to slip away from his present company and out into the chill night air.  As he stood there transfixed, wondering which way to go, and as if in answer to his query there came another scream.  

Circling around Ida’s house, he moved to where he knew the forty-some-odd year-old woman’s bedroom to be and tried the shutters there.  They were latched shut.  However, above the grunting, someone heard his attempt at breaking and entering.  Raising the Menovians’ suspicions, Wrenchard overheard them dispatch ‘Karl’ to the front to ‘check it out.’

Wrenchard knew he was caught.  He didn’t want to leave poor Ida to the whims of these men, but he knew that he couldn’t defeat them all in a fight.  With lightning speed he explored the few options available to him in his mind and decided on one.  The war-hero moved along the outside of the house to where he knew the front door to be.  He waited just around the corner from the front door, assuming that anyone emerging to inspect the perimeter of the building would inevitably turn around it and thusly directly into him.  It was just then that he spotted Tyrus across the patchy dirt thoroughfare, squatted next to a building, short bow ready in hand.  Tyrus nodded in Wrenchard’s direction and then towards the door, as he brought up an arrow to nock it in place.  The cartographer heard the door open and with his left hand drew his cloak up over the lower half of his face, revealing only his eyes to shine in the dim cloud-obscured moonlight.  He held his right hand aloft, poised at the ready, with one of his signature darts. 

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

On the way to militia duty that evening Jonas wrote a note before leaving the house.  In a simple scrawl it read only two words: _‘frum teyerus.’_  He neatly folded the piece of parchment and stuffed it into an empty sack.  As he passed through town, he grabbed the most savory, juiciest, freshest, fattest sheep patty that he could find and slopped it into the sack with the note.  Passing by the cooper’s house, he methodically looked about.  Secure in his relative privacy, he lobbed the sack up onto the roof – a good toss, right into the crook of the eaves – and continued to his nightly chore at the breach.

Arriving there, Harden had no trouble finding the man for duty.  He stepped forward, a hand extended.

“Jonas, two nights in a row.  There may be hope for you yet.”  He sounded genuinely pleased, as opposed to the mocking which the Fawkes boy was used to from others.

“Well, it is my job.”  Jonas replied accepting the shake.  Motar barked out into the dark at the south end of the breach.  Only two nights before, there was an attack in one of the cow byres there, and Gerald stared out into the darkness as if the hope before the encroaching doom.  Jonas admired the view of the broad, bearded man and his enormous leashed hound, finding inspiration for a song.

“Yes it is.”  Harden replied and clasped him about the shoulder, returning to where Gerald stood ever-vigilant, not mentioning the faint odor of refuse that he now wiped from his hand onto his trousers thigh. 

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

It was over before Karl ever knew what happened. 

As Wrenchard had predicted, the Menovian turned the corner right into him.  The war-hero’s first dart fell off of Karl’s shield harmlessly.  Still the man was unable to register the full scope of what was happening.  Tyrus let loose with an arrow aimed directly at the man’s back.  It went high.  The young ranger stood and began to cross the clearing, flanking the warrior from behind.  His second shot went slightly to the right, clear away from both men, but he was now closing the gap.  

Karl noticed neither missed shot and was still attempting to focus on the veiled threat standing ten feet in front of him.  He prepared to bring his half spear down too late.  Wrenchard was faster, reaching for a second dart and launching it.  It found home, lodging directly in Karl’s throat.  

Blood sprayed the elder man’s mustache and shirt.  Wordlessly, the Menovian fell forward.  With the weight of the fall the dart was pushed through the back of the man’s neck, crushing his Osiris’ apple.  Wrenchard backed up a step as a pool of blood began to well and collect from Karl’s gaping puncture wound.  Tyrus crossed the open area to lean against the side of the house with Wrenchard.  Both men stared down at Karl, bewildered.

It had only taken seconds, but now they had to act.  They were returned to the present situation by another scream that emanated from inside the house.  Apparently, no one missed Karl yet.  

The conspirators grabbed the dead man’s arms and legs and hustled to the nearest abandoned house.  Wrenchard wished that he’d picked up his failed dart but there was no time for that now.  He had to think.  This was just the sort of imbroglio that the savvy old war-vet had hoped to avoid.  As Wrenchard concentrated on his options, Tyrus took it upon himself to state it most succinctly.

“We killed one.  We’re in deep now…we’re in deep.  We have to kill them all.” 

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

*Notes:*

(1) – Osiris is the god of nature and the judge of the dead.

(2) – Shu is one of the twin gods, a nature god, of air, sky, and avian creatures.

(3) – Tefnut is Shu’s twin.  She is a nature goddess, of water.

(4) –Isis is the goddess of magic, the moon, love, family and fertility.  The High Festival of Isis is celebrated on the 28th of Onk.  This holiday is the most commonly celebrated one.  Families throw parties to celebrate the coming year and to thank Isis for good fortune in the past year.  People look forward to this with great anticipation .  Families and friends exchange gifts at midnight and before dawn local priestesses of Isis leave gifts at the doors of certain households (usually poor ones), and everyone gives toys and sweets to children.  No one works on the following day, which is full of day-long feasting (and sleeping off the previous night’s dancing and drinking).

(5) – Fatty Lumpkins is Van Feicht’s biggest, fattest ram.  He has a large black spot over his left eye and ear that covers half of his head.  This is Jonas’ choice sheep for finding prime patties worthy of lobbing onto the cooper’s roof.

(6) – _Welcome Winter_ occurs on the 28th of Syet every year (which also happens to be the first day of the Great Fast of Ra).  Priests of Set hold elaborate ceremonies that include drinking blood, sacrificing a fatted calf, drowning kittens and babies.  Some common folk also sacrifice a calf this day to appease Apep.


----------



## handforged (Apr 11, 2003)

Great update!

I am very excited to see what happens with the Menovian Irregulars and their sweet-tongued guide.  I like that the various characters have distinct fighting styles in addition to their various personalities.  Tyrus's lack of tact with the guide was excellent.  Can't wait for the next one.

~hf


----------



## Wrenchard Valinson (Apr 12, 2003)

*We have to Kill them all . . .*

I forgot how many great lines were said in that session.  You are doing a great job of representing our characters on the page.  just keep letting me know when the next one's up, budday.


----------



## "Black" Adair (Apr 15, 2003)

Great Story Hour, Rastfar.

Can't wait for the fourth one.

"There are no Menovians in Kendrick! They are all outside the hamlet where we will crush them!"


----------



## Jonas Fawkes (Apr 22, 2003)

Don't ya worry none. . .  I'm gonna do my best to fix this awful mess they've gotten us into. . .  As long as they follow my plan and can accurately _count_ - we should be out of trouble in no time at all. . .


----------



## Rastfar (May 19, 2003)

*Session 4*

*session #4*

Karl’s lifeless body produced a muffled echo as it thudded to the dusty floor in the abandoned Fallstick home.  Tyrus crunched the dead man’s foot as he hurried to the side window, concerned with only one thing.  He listened at the shutters.  All outside seemed quiet enough.  The woodsman hoped that they’d have some time before the missing Menovian was noticed.  While Tyrus crouched at a kitchen window, readying bow and arrow staring at Ida Cubitt’s front door from a nicely covered flanking position, Wrenchard still stood over his victim.

A plan began to formulate in his mind.

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

Adair ushered the last of the Bannon herd into their pen and washed up for supper.  He hadd arrived just in time for the evening’s dinner melee.  This event, he knew, would proceed with or without him, or any of his siblings for that matter.  Despite an elbow to the eye, he enjoyed the meal.  Beef was such a rare treat, he soon found himself forgetting its origins.

Jonas found himself at the middle of the Breach, whiling away the time by openly discussing ideas for a plot to a play that he had just decided he should write.  Gerald was not interested, Motar didn’t care, and Harden was merely listening politely.  For the second night in a row, Jonas realized why he loathed these late night watches.

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

Still hobbled by the bog flu, Jebediah awakened to a quiet house with no activity.  He sat up.  He noted that his door was ajar; there was no light from the hall beyond.  Without concept of time, he stood.  Forced to rely on the headboard for support, his legs still resisting his commands, he knelt down.  Under the bed he found exactly what he had expected.  True to her word, Constance had left his things under his bed frame.  Unfortunately, the foul festering bedpan was still there too.  Catching a mouthful of fumes, Jebediah swallowed bile hard and tumbled backward onto his rump, clasping his hands over his mouth as he considered reaching for the receptacle to again vomit into.  Choking down the reflex, he dragged forth his unusually heavy equipment and with great effort slung it up onto the bed.  Wiping the darkened sweat now trickling down from his hairline, he flopped back next to the bundle.  At least in the dark no one would ask why his sweat had a gray shade.

Minutes later, he was collected and suited in his breastplate-dominated armor.  Hand-and-a-half sword drawn, he proceeded along the wall to his door.  Relieved for the support, he continued into the vacant hall.  Both his sister and hosts’ doors were ajar.  A quick inspection of both rooms revealed the beds all made up and empty.  Approaching the last room, the children’s, he discovered the same scene.  Standing now at the top of the somehow taller, steeper, staircase, he girded up his loins and steeled himself.  His exertion began to become evident in his raspy exhale.

Jebediah proceeded downstairs to the rest of the living areas.  Clearing first through the sitting area he noticed Wrenchard’s quiver of war darts missing from the mantel.  The house felt cold and vacant.  As he proceeded to sweep through the larder a lonely light led him to the kitchen.  Ultimately his search ended at a dead-bolted cellar door there.  As he jiggled at the handle, the faintest squeak of paranoia emitted from behind.

Confused, he had not much time to ponder his precarious situation before he felt the press of cold steel at the jaw-line below his right ear.

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

A large armored man, hefting a long spear emerged from Ida’s open doorframe.  He called out for Karl, urging him to not ‘miss his turn.’  Tyrus pulled his bowstring taut and reflexively began to slow his breathing, taking aim.  Only Wrenchard’s hand on his shoulder gave him pause, preventing the hunter from doing something rash.  The war veteran had developed a plan and he relayed Tyrus’ part in it to him.

Scant minutes later, the Menovian, Grant as his companions called out to him, re-entered the house.  Wrenchard took his cue and left Tyrus to his wiles.  The wealthy cartographer circled north of the Cubitt house headed towards the Breach.  There he hoped to find the Fawkes kid to enlist him in the impromptu plan.

Tyrus moved through the small house looking for large linens.  He found an old horse blanket in which he rolled Karl’s body, now stripped of all equipment.  Still not big enough, he emptied an old burlap sack of fermented grain.  Using the bag, the ranger tied it about the man’s exposed feet and knees.  Satisfied that the body was covered enough, the ranger dragged it to the door and resumed his position at the window to watch while waiting for Wrenchard’s return. 

Jonas called out to the familiar figure, “Halt!  Who goes there!?”, approaching with the lantern-light on the town side of the palisade.

The younger Fawkes had stopped, peering into the darkness beyond.  Harden, Gerald, and Motar caught up to the young man who’d been walking in front.

“It’s me, Wrenchard.”  The figure called out, continuing its approach at a hurried pace.

“Wrenchard who?” Jonas replied, lowering his military fork and setting it to defend against the imminent charge.

Harden clasped the crouched militiaman’s shoulder and drew up next to him, “Jonas, it’s _Wrenchard_.”

Jonas let his guard down as the war hero approached.

“I appreciate your newfound zeal for your duties.”  Harden offered an accolade.

Wrenchard’s face did little to belie his predicament.  “Jonas can I talk to you for a minute?”  He gestured away from the Breach and the two other men.

“What’s wrong?”  Jonas asked.

“You were right, Jonas.”

“Already?!”  He replied with incredulity.  The other two militiamen turned in their direction.

Wrenchard lowered his voice, prompting the co-conspirator to do the same, “Don’t let me doubt you again.”

“What did you just say?  Say that again…”

“Don’t let me doubt you again,” Wrenchard repeated deferring to the boy’s wisdom. He knew he was risking causing Jonas’ head to swell, but he didn’t have time for games.

“Wow.  No one has ever said that to me before.”

“It’s happening…” Wrenchard hinted.

“What’s happening?”  Jonas asked for clarity.

Wrenchard only cast his gaze downward, nodded and began to explain the sudden predicament he and Tyrus had found themselves in.

Jonas interrupted before Wrenchard could finish. “Go back!  We _need_ to stop them!”

Wrenchard couldn’t calm the excited militiaman, “We can’t take them all.”  He tried to elaborate, “There are three of them, we killed one.”

Jonas was not listening too closely; he was developing his own plan.  “We don’t have to take them all, just the two in Ida’s house.  Go back and be ready.  If what I am about to do does not draw them out, be ready to go in after them.  The rest should be distracted.”

Wrenchard had to trust in Jonas’ mental acumen to read his mind and called after him as the young man ran off in his frenetic way.  “You’re going to tell Harden?”

He only saw Jonas wave non-commitedly as he rejoined the others at the south end of the breach.  Before Wrenchard turned to dash back, he noted Jonas running in the direction of the alarm.  Wrenchard picked up the pace a bit.

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

His armor had betrayed his presence; Jebediah realized too late.  The all too familiar voice that commanded him to freeze, hinted at gloating.

Taking the risk he slowly turned as Constance lowered the foil from covering position.  He noted the darkened hall behind her that he had failed to scan.  It was obvious to him that she had been hiding in there, strategically the most advantageous location in the middle of the house for her to do so: darkened with several exits.

“The Valinsons are down in the cellar, hiding.”  She answered his unspoken query.

“What are you doing up here?”  He berated, forgetting his illness.

“I heard noises.”  She was smarmy, noting his weakened features.

Jebediah only rolled his eyes in reply and stepped aside to lean his weight back against the kitchen counter as Constance gave a secret knock on the locked door.  Of course he would not have rolled his eyes if he could have seen what his sister saw, and for that she was thankful that he stood behind the door out of view of the stairs below.  His face was streaked with dark ashen lines that descended from his scalp, where his hair began to take on another lighter shade.  His eyebrows did now not seem somehow effected as bushy as they usually were and several small eyelash-looking hairs dotted his cheeks.  Jebediah looked very much unlike himself in that twilight hour.

Gravis emerged poker in hand while Noelle and the rest of the Valinson clan still cowered below.  Jebediah insisted that Constance rejoin the family in the cellar.

His sister protested vehemently, “I’m not going to leave you.  You are sick and delusional.”

She turned on Gravis, shooing him back down into the safety of the houses recesses with the waggle of her foil.  Jebediah was left no alternative.

“Fine.”  He turned to prepare defenses for the manor.  “Go to the dining room and get chairs to put in front of every window.”

Here eyes alight with success, Constance stifled a smirk, “OK,” she replied and sulked off into the dark of the large room.

With his sister’s help, Jebediah propped chairs against the windows and drew tables across all of the doors.  He emptied the wine rack (1) and including pots and pans, he cluttered all the potential entrances both above and below the tables and chairs.  Finally satisfied with his preparations of the manor’s defenses, the Groomers were left with nothing to do but wait.   

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

Jonas had finished his mad dash to the southernmost end of the Breach and weaved his way past the long forgotten construction of the longhouse.  The alarm was located not far from the sheriffs office/house and the young entertainer remembered hearing its sounding only twice before in his life.  He traded his fork for the long heavy-ended mallet that leaned against the gong.

Drawing in breath he counted, “One…, two…, three…, four…, five...”  He set the pole in motion, punctuating, “That should be long enough,” as the mallet smashed metal.

‘Bong, bong, bong.’  The deep echo of percussive iron resounded through the sleepy little hamlet.  It resonated in the entirety of the valley. 

Affecting a deeper voice, Jonas yelled aloud, “Undead at the Breach!  Undead on the Breach!  All able bodies to the Breach!”

After dinner, Adair resumed the recent habit of visiting Wrenchard’s manor.  It was then that he heard the alarm and he changed heading to charge in the direction of the rallying call.  Along the way his path coincided with Jonas’ who was seemingly doing the opposite: running from the muster.

Without hesitation Jonas only slowed his pace and shouted hurried instructions at the wayward shepherd boy.  “You need to go back to the gong and convince the others that you saw undead on the Breach.  And then sneak away quietly and come to Ida Cubitt’s (2) house.”

With that, he hurried off.  Stunned with the bizarre orders, Adair joined the congregation at the gong and soon joined their procession to the Breach, fanning out to search for the impending threat.

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

Unfortunately, Wrenchard never quite made it back to the abandoned Fallstick house to tell Tyrus of the change in plan before Jonas had sounded the alarm.  

The Menovian named Grant stepped outside and cocked his head at the sound, as the war hero was in the vicinity of the pub.  He charged the rest of the way to find safety in the original unseen corner where he had watched the men first enter the house.  For a second, Wrenchard thought perhaps the Irregular would go investigate the alarm, but he returned to Ida’s house, allowing Wrenchard to pass by unseen. 

Once inside, Tyrus was quickly apprised of the new situation and the woodsman gathered his resolve for what he knew would be coming battle.  Wrenchard pulled Karl’s wrapped body into the back bedroom with him and took up a position flanking Tyrus’ window, on the right.  From his window Valinson could see the spot where he had originally stood to ruthlessly assassinate unknowing Karl, as well as the back half of Ida’s house.

The gong ceased to sound and a mildly disturbed Grant again emerged from Ida’s house in what Tyrus assumed was an effort to investigate the commotion.  He did not care to ask.  The ranger’s opening salvo left much to be desired, as his target, the Menovian in chainmail armor, continued to peer about in the waxing moonlight, unaware of the nearby threat.

Jonas was now closing the gap and approached the rear of the Cubitt house, which faced the Commons.  Here he slowed, spotting a silhouette in the neighboring abandoned house.  Jonas crept closer to Ida’s home to see what else he could see.  Just then Wrenchard called out from the closer window.  Surprised, Jonas didn’t know how he had not spotted the canny veteran earlier.

“Come out with your hands up!”  Wrenchard demanded in an authoritative tone uncommon to his voice.

Jonas almost mistook the command as directed at him until he saw what he now recognized as Tyrus loose another arrow in the direction of Ida’s front doorway.  The missile did not sound to have hit its mark.  He paused as he heard wordplay from the opposite side of the structure.

“William, get out here, archers!  In this closest house; I’ll move to flank the front.”  The Menovian, Grant was quick to respond to action.

No sooner were these words spoken did the Menovian who must have been William emerged battle-ready from the house, scanning the Fallstick structure where Tyrus and Wrenchard watched from cover of darkened windows.  Wrenchard saw Grant to be moving out of his threat range, he hopped up and made to the kitchen with Tyrus and another open window facing the front.

Enraged by the Kendrits demand and noting the movement, William called out, “I got ‘em.  In the window.  Grant, go through the front.”  Turning his head back toward Ida’s open doorway he added, “Alex, you take the back.”

Grant moved out and away from Ida’s house, flanking towards the Fallsticks’ front door.  William loosed a volley into Tyrus position, but the young woodsman enjoyed the cover offered by the window frame and shutters.  A soldier with a heavy mace at his belt, Alex, Jonas presumed, kicked his way out of another of Ida’s shuttered windows, javelin in hand.

Jonas charged the man in matching studded leather armor and helm, as he emerged not so far away.  Lowering his head and his fork, Jonas thrust forward.  The Menovian proved too nimble, stepping aside as the militiaman’s pole arm sunk deep into the wooden wall.

Realizing the folly in his miss, Jonas was quick to exclaim, “Oh!  You’re not Ralph!?”

His eyes met those of his intended target.  All the young man saw within was loathing and sadism.  Alex did not seem convinced.  Taking full advantage of the sidestep that he had expertly performed; the Menovian hurled his first javelin at the assailant, missing.  He pulled forth a second from the long narrow quiver on his back.  Jonas wrenched the military fork out from the lumber.  Splinters snapped as he turned it on Alex again, thrusting at the more experienced warrior.  Alex avoided Jonas’ predictable strike, again sidestepping away to hurl another javelin at the upstart boy.  

“No, look I thought you were this guy Ralph that was trying to get with my girlfriend,” Jonas said with an affected shrug, never moving his fork from its defensive position.  “This is all a misunderstanding.”

The younger Fawkes howled out in pain as the spear-like missile pierced his bicep drawing blood before the sheer weight of the weapon bore it to the ground, violently tearing the fresh wound open more.  Alex grinned and loosed the heavy mace from his belt.           

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

Back at the front of the house, Tyrus and William traded shots through the window, neither able to connect.  From the adjacent window, Wrenchard launched a dart at the advancing Grant, but also missed.  As the man with the long spear steadily advanced, one of William’s arrows finally sought home in Tyrus’ right shoulder.  This caused his shot to go astray.

Like chess pieces the four men maneuvered about the house, outside and in, vying for opportunity and opening.  Tyrus wheeled on Grant taking a final shot at the predator through the other kitchen window, before the well-armored warrior closed on the wall, passing from view.  Capitalizing on Tyrus’ distraction, William peppered the ranger’s position with a continuous barrage of missile fire, again letting blood flow.  Tyrus, moderately wounded, shrank away from the window into the depth of the room, upending a table for more cover.  Anticipating Grant’s approach, Wrenchard retreated to the main room where he positioned himself by the bedroom door, ready to throw a deadly dart at Grant upon his entrance into the room.

Sure enough, Grant kicked open the door, which tore from the rusty old hinges with a screech of protest.  He was rewarded for his efforts with a deep piercing wound to the abdomen.  He gritted his teeth in an effort to bear the pain as he looked down to see the Kendrit’s dart protruding below.  So now also moderately wounded, Grant looked up and focused his glare on the war hero who gingerly stepped backward, a defensive posture composed between his cloak and drawn short sword.  Still with the reach of the long shaft weapon, Grant was able to give as good as he got, burying the piercing tip in Wrenchard’s chest.

Wrenchard continued to fall back into the bedroom, thus forcibly removing Grant’s spear tip from what felt like his newly punctured lung.  Critically injured, Valinson felt blood begin to flow violently from his chest.  He became light-headed; the room began to lose focus.            

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

Behind the house, Jonas again attempted to dispatch his opponent, failing to catch any of him with his pole arm.  Alex switched tactics and bore down upon the young minstrel as he protected himself with a wooden shield.  The two continued to trade ineffectual blows until Jonas was first to profit from opportunity.  

As he blathered about how he wished not to fight ‘Ralph’, Jonas scanned the man’s defenses.  Finally he was able to thrust his fork through, piercing Alex in the gut.  As the younger warrior pulled back his odd weapon, blood streamed from the three neatly placed puncture wounds.  Alcohol addled and adrenaline amped, Alex ignored the critical wound as Jonas saw the color virtually wipe from his face.

Unfortunately, Jonas had left himself open after attempting the intended incapacitating blow, and Alex, no stranger to combat, was quick to capitalize.  He brought his heavy mace down hard into Jonas’ chest, smashing the ribs there into his left lung.  Jonas forcibly drew in a deep breath.  It was painful.  Now seriously wounded, Jonas resumed his defensive posturing, as both men squared off again.  They circled probing one another’s defenses once more.

More poorly made strikes were either misplaced or blocked.  Ultimately, it must have been the clamor of combat that brought Ida to her window.  Wild wisps of wiry hair strayed in defiance from her head, as she leaned forth from the window frame.  Her strong forearms taut, she held herself out while waving a heavy cast iron pan in hand.  Over his left shoulder, Jonas half saw her and maneuvered to step in front of her too late as she emerged, seeking vengeance from the Menovian ‘animals.’

“No ma’am, go back inside. It’s dangerous,” Jonas implored. 

“You bastards! I’ll kill you!” she cried.

She flailed wildly at Alex with her pan.  He ignored the new threat.  Jonas and Alex resumed their less than thrilling display.  Infuriated, Ida lunged forward, bringing the heavy metal vessel to bear across Alex’s cheek.  Blood flowed from his face, his right eye instantly started to swell.  For the first time he seemed to recognize her for what she was – another potential threat.  Jonas failed to take advantage of the Menovian’s momentary distraction and Alex turned on Ida to dispatch her once and for all.  

With a precise blow from his mace, he swung upward into the woman’s head.  A loud crack carried across the night air, and Jonas witnessed as Ida’s feet left the ground due to the force of the blow.  As she sailed through the air, he saw her face take on an impossible contortion, her jaw slipped up near her right ear, before she disappeared from his sight, back through the window from whence she came.  Only her ankles and feet could be seen still propped on the sill from inside.  The cast iron pan landed with a heavy thud in the dirt.  It was the reminder necessary to focus the young militiaman who began to feel sick.

Fortuitously, he turned in time to dodge another of Alex’s well-placed blows.  

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

Feeling claustrophobic, Tyrus quickly crossed the small kitchen and burst out the front window.  He slid sideways to view the front door, where he gained a clear view of Grant’s backside.  William’s thought process was quite similar.  Now that Tyrus had disappeared from sight, the Menovian archer sidestepped, circling to flank Wrenchard through the open bedroom window.  William loosed an arrow into the room where Wrenchard was retreating into his view, back exposed.  He missed.  The arrow struck the support frame just shy of the map-maker’s skull.  Almost simultaneously, Grant again stabbed, this time unsuccessfully.

Wrenchard realized what little chance he had for survival in his current predicament, if he didn’t flee.  He gritted his teeth at the risk, squinted hard to focus, and ducked back into the common room, darting for the door behind the Menovian spearman.  It was a bold and unanticipated move; but Grant was not without his training.  Reflexively, he thrust the spear in Wrenchard’s direction as the Kendrit dared approach within the area threatened by his pole arm.  He grunted with success as he struck what he mistook for the cartographer.  Too late he realized the inaccuracy as the nimble Valinson continued through the room and out the door, tearing his cloak from the pull of Grant’s long spear as he did so.

Witnessing Wrenchard’s successful escape from the house, Tyrus bolted to the southeast.  He didn’t wish to linger around any longer than he had to.

Grant and William both pursued Wrenchard out of the house, striking at him with spear and arrow, but ultimately unable to hit the wily war veteran.  Wrenchard hustled westward, skirting the Commons, from the house along another forgotten home.  He had the advantage of knowledge of the local area, but yet was unable to shake the spearman well enough to truly turn tail and run.  William too, it seemed, was fleet of foot (3) enough to continually harry Wrenchard as he tried to break.

Exasperated, Wrenchard finally decided to try for an all out dash but was rewarded for his efforts with a tripping blow from Grant’s long spear.  The Kendrit felt sudden shooting pain issue from his shins.  It overtook him, his vision narrowed, tunnel-like.  The last thing he saw was the ground swiftly rushing up to meet him.

A solitary figure skulking in the darkness across the Commons saw Wrenchard fall hard, face first into the dirt. 

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

Angered by the Menovians’ treatment of his fellow Kendrit, Jonas gave up trading careful, yet ineffective blows.  Abandoning caution, he aggressively lunged with a foolhardy all-or-nothing strike.  To his surprise, Bes (4) blessed him as he skewered Alex’s thigh.  The additional sudden loss of blood was too much for the Menovian man who toppled like a hewn tree.

The tousle-haired youth stared down into the glossy eyes that seemed to pierce through him.  With no idea of whether Alex was alive or dead, the realization of his act took the form of a lump in his throat.  Jonas felt his stomach gurgle.  He doubled over, retched and spat bile.  The acidic yellow liquid coagulated the blood pooling at his feet.  The sight of it made him sweat and vomit some more.

Long seconds passed before Jonas could muster some composure to deal with the situation at hand.  Leaving the battle scene, Jonas ran to the front of Ida’s house and entered to find her in certainly worse shape than the man he had just left.  The seamstress was still alive, her pulse weak.  He tried to avoid looking at the maelstrom of features that was once a face, knowing it would restart his already queasy stomach.  Doing his best to aid the helpless woman he bound what he could and gently lifted her onto a comfortable settee.

Satisfied he returned outside to deal with Alex’s body.

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

Once on the move, there was not much that Tyrus stopped for.  As he hustled his way through town he met one thing that would give him pause.  Adair was rapidly approaching, as fortune would have it, directly along the rangers retreating path.  The young shepherd had finally broken from the posse seeking out undead on the Breach.

Reality, courage, or stupidity must have set in for Tyrus at the sight of reinforcement, whichever it was it was enough to bolster his resolve.  He turned and wordlessly began to run back in the direction of the seamstress’ house.  Adair had only enough time to make out some blood-stains on his peer’s clothes, unable to tell if it was from Tyrus’ wounds or someone else’s.  With little more information to act on, he quickly followed.  

They closed on Ida’s house in time to see Jonas struggling through the open window.  A pair of ankles and feet remained propped on the lintel as the militiaman ran back around to the front and out of the archers’ view.  Not too be distracted, they left him to whatever chore he was about and loped between the cover of houses towards the sounds of voices in debate.

“Hey, I recognize this guy,” said the spearman looking down.  “This is Sterling’s personal aide.”

The other Menovian bent over Wrenchard’s crumpled form, “Hey, where’s Karl?  What’d you do with Karl?”

Grant looked at William, amused, “He can’t hear you…” It was apparent there was no reasoning with the archer. “…he’s bleeding to death.”

William never took his eyes off the Kendrit, and both Tyrus and Adair watched as the Menovian checked a booted kick aimed at Wrenchard’s brainpan.  “This sunuvabitch prob’ly killed Karl.  Let’s kill ‘im.”

Finally, he looked to the taller spearman for confirmation, expectantly.

“No, he’s Captain Sterling’s _aide_.”  Grant emphasized the last word hoping to make his point.

The point of William’s own knife was pressed to the prone Kendrit’s neck now. “Sterling is only gonna kill him,” he mused.  “We might as well do it.”

Not too far away Tyrus proposed to Adair, “You wanna take the bastards?”

 “Sure.”

Adair stood and left the cover of the buildings shadows, drawing an arrow and pulling his bow - slightly askance as was his signature. (5)

Grant looked down at the would-be murderer, continuing his condescending explanation, “No.  It would be criminal, we could be charged.  I’m sure that if he wanted to, he’d find some way to make an example of us.  We should bind this bastard and then bring him to Sterling to make…”

No more words issued from the Menovian spearman’s mouth, only the spittle spray of blood rained over William’s bowed head with a labored gasping of breath.

William looked up to his companion, “What the…?”  Grant was falling forward over Valinson, an arrowhead protruding from his sternum.

Dropping the knife to be used for the blood-letting, William snatched up his own bow and fired a shot back at the shepherd boy from his crouched position.  Adair was struck in the arm, and it stung like fire through his bicep.

Tyrus and Adair chased William across the Commons with a rain of arrows.  Jonas had climbed out into the area in time to see the Menovian begin to run, fleeing his two attackers, and joined in the chase.  With longer range Adair harried the soldier’s retreat as Tyrus closed the gap at full sprint.  Jonas unleashed bolts too.  The man reached the outskirts of town, critically injured, before Fawkes broke off pursuit to see to Wrenchard.  Adair and Tyrus pressed on.

On the edge of the hamlet, as the three archers ran for the hills, the Kendrits were forced to stop their furious pace.  William continued on to the base of the sparsely wooded hills.  Finally, unable to see his pursuers, he stopped to rest, hands on his knees, panting for breath.

Tyrus, now in his element, easily found the man’s track.  To the young hillman, a rampaging bear exercised more stealth.  Adair continued forward cautiously in the dark of night, keeping his keen eye on the unaware Menovian.  Tyrus hustled around to the Menovian’s left, picking a silent path to flank the invader.

The young shepherd skulked forward, first loosing one arrow that missed undetected, then another.  He focused hard for the second volley, tuning out all else around.  It missed at cost to him, as he stumbled, slipped, and fell over a slimy rotten log.  Falling backward, the boy lay stunned.  William turned and looked hard in Adair’s direction, weapon at the ready.

Hidden twixt brush and bramble, Tyrus continued his silent advance, from William’s right now.  Fortuitously, the Menovian began walking forward, back towards where Adair lay.  As the Bannon lad regained his full senses and cautiously rose to a squat to see William approaching from 150 feet away, Tyrus finally found himself in an enjoyable position to rush the Menovian from behind.

The slow methodic pull of both long and short swords from well-worn leather sheathes let no sound herald warning to William of what was coming.  Blades in hand, Tyrus burst from cover, his thick muscled legs clearing a low briar patch.  Through the rushes he plowed head on like a boar, his tusks poised for the kill.  No chance to turn, Tyrus skewered William through the spine, lifting the man with the force of the charge, and hurtling him forward, blade and all.  The ranger pounced on the crumpled form like a cougar, wrenched his long sword free and brought the short sword to bear across the Menovians neck as he knelt on Williams back.  Awed, Adair looked on in astonishment.  Somewhere deep in some part of Tyrus’ psyche he wished to succumb to his feral instincts.  Just then he looked up and met his young prodigy’s stare across the dark.  He gave pause.

Adair waited, curious.

“We should cut off his head so he doesn’t come back as undead.”

Adair walked over to join his companion; he could see that the ranger relished the idea.

“Then again, I may want to kill this bastard again,” continued Tyrus as he spat on the bloodied, muddied corpse.

“We have to burn him,” protested Adair.

The two, not wishing to leave the body in the hills, set off with it to Tyrus’ far away hut.

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

Jonas doubled back.  He wanted to start cleaning the mess, lest it attract more Menovian attention.  Besides, Wrenchard was in dire straits.  After tending to his employer’s wounds, Jonas also found Grant to be made of sterner stuff and did his best to secure the Menovian’s weakened life-thread.  The militiaman then went to retrieve his victim’s body.  Dragging Alex’s corpse to the house where Grant and Valinson still lay, he set about the laborious chore of moving them all.  All alone with no one to offer advice, Jonas did his best.  He stowed the Menovians away in the same house and ran off to fetch ‘first’ Adair, the healer/herbalist to help him.  He awakened the elder man, with bangs on his door and then dragged him to the scene of the melee.   They carried a stretcher between them. Along the way back they encountered Jesse Tanner returning from the Breach and enlisted him to their aid.

With great care, the three men transported the hamlet’s nobleman back to his house where Jebediah was finished making preparations for its conversion to fort.  After scant little explanation, beyond the sight of his injured host, Jebediah dispersed his precautions allowing them entry.

Wrenchard was moved upstairs to his own bed where the ‘elder’ Adair could better care for him.  Jesse departed to return home to ensure his wife’s safety.  Still consumed by a sense of urgency, Jonas told Adair about Grant in the abandoned house before leaving.  Once downstairs, Jebediah searched for answers.

“What’s going on?”  He asked Jonas.

“I don’t have time, either come or don’t come.”  Jonas offered no insight, ignoring the bottle-laden table pushed aside in the foyer as he headed back out into the nights mysteries.

Jebediah, armed and armored, and Constance similarly so, headed after him.

They didn’t make it far before Jebediah turned to her.  “Go back to the house.”

Continuing pace, “Where are you going?”  She asked.  “You’re sick.” hoping that he would realize his need of her.

Jebediah sighed.

The trio stopped as Jonas turned on Constance.  “Can you do me a favor?”

Constance only looked at him quizzical.  She knew it would be another effort for them to ditch her.

“I forgot to tell Adair, the healer, that the seamstress, Ida, is in her house and in desperate need of help also.  I don’t have time to go back.”

To the relief of both men she obliged complacently, not wishing to call Jonas’ bluff on chance of another’s life.

As Constance returned to Fort Valinson, Jonas and Jebediah picked up the pace a bit.  Jonas began to offer an abridged explanation, as he knew it, while they began the search for Tyrus, Adair, and the last of the Menovian combatants.

“You know what this means,” Jebediah paused for effect, showing that he understood the full scope of the situation, “we’ll have to kill them all.”

“Or capture them and put them all in gaol.”  Jonas had other ideas.

Jebediah looked bewildered at Jonas’ intention.

“What if more Menovians come?”

“They won’t check the gaol.”  Jonas excused.  “I can’t kill someone in cold blood, nor will I sit by as someone else does.”

Beginning where Wrenchard had nearly met his end, the pair headed off toward the hills following a blood-trail that far before losing it.

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

As Jonas and Jebediah were searching for them in the southern hills, Tyrus and Adair returned to the hamlet and searched for the remaining bodies.  Finding two of them, Alex and Grant, in the abandoned house where Jonas had left them, Tyrus delivered the coup-de-grace to the recently bound Grant, by slitting his throat with a hunting knife, after explaining to Adair that it was necessary and earning assent by silence.

Gathering some material from Ida Cubitt’s house, Adair brought it back to the abandoned house where he and Tyrus wrapped up the two bodies (and all of their gear), in order to haul them back to the hillman’s hut.   They then returned for Karl’s body (the first Menovian to be killed) and brought it back to the hut as well.

There they spent the next few hours stripping the bodies of their gear and burning them in a secret place away from the prying eyes of the hamlet.  In a shallow pit covered in stones all evidence of the night’s undoing was purged.  Adair and Tyrus endured the stench of burning flesh that carried into the ranger’s hut on a chill nocturnal breeze.  They dressed one another’s wounds and rested as much as they could for what remained of the night.

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

Returning back to town, Jonas and Jebediah were unsuccessful in their search and soon parted ways.

Jebediah returned to Fort Valinson to get something for his bog flu from ‘first’ Adair and to stand post.

Jonas sought out Harden to inform him of what had transpired.  After doing so, they woke the sheriff to discuss their options.  Reluctantly, Sturgis agreed to allow the bodies to be brought to the gaol until they could be disposed of properly.  With that plan in mind, Harden and Jonas set out to retrieve the fallen Menovians.

Upon returning to the scene of the crime, there was some puzzlement as to the corpses disappearance.  In fact had it not been for the bloodied mess of battle, Harden might have thought that Jonas was playing at tricks again.  They determined that the incriminating scene was too much to be left as is, so the two resigned themselves to spending much of the next few hours washing down the blood with well water, churning up the ground, and retrieving various arrows, javelins, and darts that had been left strewn about the land; leaving the solving of the mystery of the body snatchers for another time.  While they worked they had detailed out a cover story at Jonas’ behest.  The sheriff agreed that it would be plausible that the missing Menovians had met their end at the clawed hands of undead from beyond the breach; as long as the bodies did not turn up, of course.

When all was done, the deputy continued his nightly patrol.  Jonas returned to Wrenchard’s manor, where he woke Jebediah who was sleeping, feet propped on the Neergaardian. (6)  Jonas explained the cover story to Jebediah, who absorbed it.  Exhausted, Jonas bedded down in Constance’s room.

Jonas fell asleep to the blissful scent of the beautiful girl; with glee he buried his face in her pillow.

Jebediah passed the story on to ‘the healer’ Adair who busily minded his attendees and Constance who was forced into the cellar’s refuge by her brother’s incessant pleading.

As the house grew quiet and cold, also feeling taxed, Jebediah also longed for bed.  As he passed his sister’s bedroom he heard murmuring within.

“Zzz…Mmm…Constance…your brother will catch us…zzz…”

Jebediah ignored the fools’ fantasy and closed the door.  Just as he reached his own and entered the room, Constance’s door re-opened.  Jonas must have been wakened by the sounds.  Muttering something he had thought important that he had forgotten to say, Jonas stood stark in the frame.

Jebediah’d had enough.

“Don’t walk around like that.”  He scolded the young Fawkes.  “Go back to bed.”

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

*Thoem, 25th of Syet – 564 H.E.*


The overcast sky opened up allowing fat droplets of rain to fall to the earth below, saturating the ground and the day.

The next morning, Adair woke later than usual; understandably so.  Tyrus stirred as well.  For a while they both just lay there in pain.  Still committed to taking the sheep out as usual, ultimately Adair sat up and began to collect his things.  Tyrus propped himself on an elbow, prompting pain from his lower back.  He ignored it with a wince.

“You are welcome to come back” he began, “but alone.  And don’t tell anyone where my place is.  I don’t care who they are.”

Adair could see the true lonely state that Tyrus lived in.

“I’ll be here,” he continued.  “I need to rest as much as possible.”  The ranger daubed at a cut that looked to him in danger of infection.

Adair nodded and slinked out.  He passed the still he assumed that the infamous root tonic came from.  Somehow, he thought it would be bigger.

On his way home he passed through town, the shepherd boy noticed that the Menovian officers had risen early and were already about their business.  The Irregulars’ disappearance had not gone unnoticed for long.  Keeping his distance, he saw Captain Sterling wagging a finger in Harden’s face.  Sergeant Malchiah looked on, contemptuously.  Avoiding the scene Adair hurried on.

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

Some time later activity in the Valinson home began to return to normal, or what could best be described as normal under the circumstances.  Kelize was surly about being kept in the cellar, as was Constance, and the former continually let everyone know about it.  She did not portray Wrenchard as a kind man, citing misogyny and his treatment of his infirmed father as examples of his faults.

Jebediah sought escape from the self-imposed prison of familial obligation in Jonas who refused to get out of bed.  With servants, children, and women continuously under foot, Jebediah found himself biting his cheek.  Gravis volunteered to awaken Fawkes with a pail of water but was stayed by Jebediah.  Jonas was spared the watery fate as there was a pounding at the door.

Jebediah got to experience Captain Sterling’s ire directly as he prompted Gravis to open the door.  The man-servant did so but quickly found himself overwhelmed by the Menovian officer’s bullying and badgering.  The questions were too much for Gravis to handle and Jebediah could see that he was about to falter in the web of lies that they had created, so he stepped in.

Humbling himself, and maintaining a low slouched posture, Jebediah warned of the illness that had overtaken his master.  Sterling not to be troubled by these sycophant servants waved Jebediah off, demanding to see his aide.  Jebediah protested and continued, offering the bottle of Wrenchard’s finest brandy (1) as a token of apology.  Sterling accepted it, looking it over, noting its worth; he seemed a bit startled as to how the rural Valinson might have secured it.

Captain Sterling turned to leave, bumping into Malchiah who stood behind him in the doorway, trying to come in out of the elements.  He redirected his anger at the Sergeant and berated him for not knowing the location of his men as he exited into the rain.  Before Jebediah could close the door after them, Captain Sterling turned, almost as an afterthought.  

“I will return this afternoon,” Sterling’s words rolled off his tongue.  “I expect to see my aide up and about then, sick or not.”

A few hours… 

 A few hours was all Jebediah had to try and conjure up some sort of plan.  He needed a cover story and knew exactly who to ask.  The immediate threat passed, he reset the safety measures in the foyer with Gravis’ help and marched upstairs.  He threw open the guest room door and confronted Jonas who rolled over in bed lazily.  Jebediah pulled back the sheets in an attempt to rouse him.  Jonas only lay there naked, the light crossbow loaded in his hand, resting on the mattress.  The young militia man unloaded the weapon and put it back down beside the bed.  He ignored Jebediah and returned to his lazy slumber.

Frustrated Jebediah stormed out, slamming the door behind him.  The effects of his tantrum only earned him a sound shushing from Adair, down the hall in the infirmary that was Wrenchard’s bedroom.  He knew that he had to leave and find someone else, anyone else, of the cabal.

Adair was the easiest to find, found in his habitual spot with the sheep in the pasture.  There he was finally able to procure some answers.  The shepherd boy went about his daily routine, nonchalantly taking refuge from the rain under the boughs of some low-lying wisteria branches.

Adair, gifted with the practiced eye for movement of the shepherd, easily spotted Jebediah’s march across the plain.  He waited, whistling out to him.

They briefed one another on the most recent events, Jebediah asked about the Menovians.

“We burned the bodies.”

“How many were there?”

“Four.”

“Did you find the one who was wounded?”  Jebediah referred to Grant.

“He’s not wounded anymore.”  Adair appeared a bit sullen, disenchanted.

Knowing that at least the Menovian versus undead cover story would hold credibility now, Jebediah began to flounder for ideas about their most recent predicament.  Adair offered no great insight.   Unable to come up with no new solutions on their own, the pair decided to return to town, maybe speaking with the sheriff would help.

It did not.  As they neared the office, Adair’s keen ear gave them cause to hesitate.  Around the corner he could overhear the distinct voice of Captain Sterling.  Daring to peek out, the two saw part of the action underway.  The young shepherd relayed the conversation of heated tones to Jebediah as they peered on.

Captain Sterling was irate, “All I know is that _your_ deputy claims _my_ men were abducted by something that emerged from this _breach_.  But unless I can see some bodies as proof, you are all suspect.  I _will_ raze this town!”

Sterling ignored the rain that rolled from his nose; Malchiah looked on gleefully, his grip tight on the spear he leaned on for support.  The biggest figure of the trio was a tall, well-muscled Menovian in ringmail.  He stood off to the sheriff’s right flank, greataxe in hand.

Sturgis did his best to calm the captain, who was obviously not satiated with whatever excuse he received.

Sterling spun on his heels and trudged through the mud, beckoning Malchiah and ‘Grinder’ with him.

As to appear inconspicuous, Adair and Jebediah quickly switched the topic of their conversation to studding sheep.

The Menovians traveled in the opposite direction.  

When the coast was clear, the duo popped into the sheriff’s office.  He was visibly rattled.  They told him enough so that he would understand the situation, though he did adopt an attitude of some denial in ignorance.

“I’ll ask you no questions.  You tell me no lies.”

“Fair enough, but we’re still going to need your help.”  Jebediah replied.

“Perhaps we may beseech Ephraim for advice.  I know no one wiser.  Though I’m sure he’s not going to appreciate the situation too much.”  Sturgis suggested.

Having agreed, the three of them did just that.  They quickly found their way across town and to the open doorway of the lay priest.  He invited them in out of the downpour and poured them all steeped herbs, offered them a seat by his hearth and warm blankets to ward off the cold and wetness.  Adair did much of the explaining, with the sheriff and the pilgrim adding details here and there.

The priest thought long and hard.  He had no immediate ideas.  He suggested that they all meet at Wrenchard’s in half of an hour, and excused himself.  Jebediah and Adair returned to the manor house, Sturgis to his office.

They waited in contemplation.

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

*Notes:*

(1) – Except for one bottle of 411 H.E. Zootsburg brandy, which he knew to be of exceptionally fine character, and put it up on the mantel.  Internally, he wondered how Wrenchard would have secured such a rare gem way out here in such a remote rural location.

(2) – Jonas pronounces Ida’s last name wrong.  He doesn’t say Cubitt, he says Cuebitt.

(3) – *DM’s Note*: The description of the http://www.matantisi.com/aquerra/rules/feats.htm#fleetfooted_Fleet-Footed_ feat can be found on the http:[url]www.Aquerra.com[/url]Aquerra Online website.   

(4) – Bes is the God of Luck and Gambling.

(5) – Due to the length of the long bow – anywhere between 6 and 7 feet – and Adair’s shorter stature, he has adapted his personal style to holding the bow at an angle.  Though unorthodox, it works for him, though some of this compromise may account for his reduced range and damage with his arrows. 

(6) –  *THIS* is what I love about _Aquerra_!  A simple throw-away line or trivial fact will become world-changing in the course of seconds as players’ dictate.  There is no Ottoman Empire in Aquerra, but there is a Neergaard.  Simply put, an ottoman would not exist therefore, but a Neergaardian (close enough) would.  And so it goes, that in all of Aquerra, at that moment of game play, the Neergaardian (a cushioned rest for one to prop one’s feet on) was retroactively created.


----------



## handforged (May 23, 2003)

Nice update.  I can't wait to see what else is going to come up with the Menovians.  As the characters emerge into their own, I see the interaction becoming quite intriguing.  I think that right now I would pick Adair as my personal favorite followed by Tyrus.  We'll see what happens next time though, that might change.  Can't wait.

~hf


----------



## "Black" Adair (May 23, 2003)

*Coming up...*

Just wait till Adair starts turning into the Minister of Misinformation.


----------



## Jonas Fawkes (Jun 11, 2003)

Seems to me that this story has not been updated in quite a while, and yet I have been having heroic exploits that need to be recorded for the annals of history!

What's going on?


----------



## "Black" Adair (Jun 11, 2003)

Good. Bad. I'm the one with the bag.

To Black Bard, some 2.5 months ago, we will be playing Session 8 this weekend.


----------



## Rastfar (Jun 30, 2003)

*session 5*

*session #5*

Both men stooped to shield their unfocused stares from the fat droplets that doused them.  One’s slouch was more pronounced due to hunch natural to his stature, yet he remained taller than his younger counterpart.  Upon returning to the Valinson home, Jebediah had indeed begun to solidify a plan in his mind, which he now relayed to ‘black’ Adair as they shook the rain and cold out of their cloaks in the foyer.  From the sitting room they heard a ‘thud’ as Gravis threw another log onto the fire on his way into the kitchen.   

They sat down in the comfort that the warm sitting room still offered.  Jebediah figured that with the aid of a disguise he could make himself appear as Wrenchard.  In discussion, the tentative plan changed to Jebediah posing as a sick and weakened Wrenchard.  Ultimately, they’d decided to say that Wrenchard was indeed ill but conferring all his authority and responsibility to Jebediah for the duration of the period.  This would be passed in a forged letter.  Adair took issue with the final part, but liked the sound of the plan as a whole.

“I’d probably skip the letter because if you were really sick – could you write a letter?”  It stood to reason.

They retired to Wrenchard’s study where, with Jebediah’s guidance, Adair took dictation.  Gravis followed in with mulled wine.  Jebediah rifled the desk and found a copy of Wrenchard’s signature.  He began practicing the unique loops and hesitations of the characters.  He copied it over and over again while spewing the letters content.

Finally, it read:

To the honourable folk of Kendrick,

	Please extend all my privileges and responsibilities to my manservant, Jebediah Groomer, for the duration of my illness.  This is most important when I am putting all my available resources at the disposal of the new alderman.

Sincerely,  
Wrenchard Valinson

Adair blew the ink dry.  Jebediah left the young pupil to peruse the letter and went upstairs to harass the resting militiaman some more.

The door hinges squeaked as if in pain, responding to Jebediah’s forceful kick, the door flew wide.  Jonas rolled over lazily.

“I know you’re too _tired_ to do anything today, but I wanted to let you know that if this plan doesn’t work, we’re probably all going to die.”  Jebediah sneered at the sleepy-headed Jonas.

“Well,…” Jonas opened an eye and yawned, stretching his arms wide.  He didn’t cover his mouth.  “Somewhere between the not working part and the killing part,” Jonas fluffed his pillow, rolled over on it and closed his eye, smacking his lips.  “Come and wake me if it comes to that.”

Jebediah recoiled, disgusted.  He slammed the door behind him as he exited.  He earned a sound ‘shooshing’ from the elder Adair at the end of the hall by Wrenchard’s bedside, for his efforts.

There was a firm knock on the door.  Gravis attended the duty, Jebediah hearing the noises moved down the hall to the top of the stairs.  Adair poked his head from the study.

The manservant showed in the sheriff and the clergyman.  Sturgis looked up to the pilgrim descending the staircase.

“I have an idea.”  He spotted Noelle down the hall in the kitchen with a tray of empty dishware.  “Maybe we should retire to the study.”

They did so.  In the relative privacy, Jebediah first explained the plan that he and Adair had been working on developing.  The shepherd handed the cleric the letter.

Ephraim read it aloud.

Jebediah and Adair waited expectantly.

“Hrerm.  That’s kinda like my idea.”  Sturgis said.  “But I was thinking that someone could masquerade as the alderman.  Who better to depose Sterling’s authority, and I’d be certain that he’d never met our alderman.  We’d just need someone familiar with a bit of pomp and circumstance, the qualities of nobility, and Rhondrian and Menovian law.”

Ephraim nodded in agreement.

Jebediah and Adair looked at one another.  The idea registered in their eyes; why hadn’t they thought of that.  Following this possibility Jebediah added.

“I have a disguise kit.”

Baffled, Sturgis asked, “Really?  Why?”

Jebediah’s admission raised a few eyebrows and induced skeptical looks.  He offered explanation, “Uh, for minstrel shows.”

Sturgis’ communal duties took hold, “You don’t look like a minstrel.”

“I’m not, but I have done some acting.”

“Where did you learn that?”  Sturgis may have been rural but knew such talents required time, money, training, and skill.

“From actors…” Jebediah remained vague.

“Were you part of a troupe?”

“I used to be,” Jebediah offered.

“Oh?  The Jingle Jangle Players?”  Sturgis drew on his only knowledge of such a group.

“I think time is short for this,” Jebediah veered, feeling the growing frown of Ephraim’s penetrating gaze.  “I will be glad to tell you the whole story at some other time.”

The conversation shifted, Jebediah’s angst eased, he continued, “If I am going to pretend to be the alderman I will need a servant to shine my armor…”

Adair put his left index finger to his lips and pat his right hand on the speakers arm, bidding him pause.  He had heard footsteps hurrying away in the hall, just outside.

“We were overheard.”  He explained.

Jebediah stood and opened the door.  There he saw Gravis hurrying off down the hall toward the kitchen.

“Gravis!”  He hollered reprimanding the faithful servant.

“…uh…I don’t know how to polish armor, sir.”  He called over his shoulder and turned around the corner.

The task fell to Constance and Adair who found space for the chore on the dining room table.  Jebediah set about his façade, applying oils, powders, coal and resin.  Ephraim and the sheriff waited and sipped mulled wine.

It occurred to Jebediah that the alderman would have a contingent of men, and thusly he would too.  Jonas was still sleeping upstairs and he figured this would be a good place to begin acquiring retainers.

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

Jonas cringed from the light that persisted in creeping through the minute cracks and imperfections of the shutters covering the windows.  Water began to collect below on the floor.  His respite was the soothing harmony of the soft patter of rain on the roof, until the door opened.  The figure standing in the frame was not Jebediah Groomer.  The silhouette at least was not the wayward traveler that Jonas knew; though there were similarities.

The taller man entered the room surrounded by an air of regality.  He stood erect, towering over the bed, boasting the full measure of a nobleman.  Jonas cracked an eyelid and found his focus on the hilt of a sword.  The pommel he recognized.  He turned his ogle upward.

Full silver-speckled sideburns covered the man’s cheeks and jaw line.  A long moustache stretched over his upper lip and ran down the corners of his mouth to meet them near his chin, which remained exposed, though stubbly.  His hair was not as dark and was pushed back from his rutted brow, behind his ears.

Jebediah looked down at the lazy militiaman.  He kicked the bedpost, hard.

“Get up.  I need you.”

Jonas recognized the voice and became defensive, surly.  Though the stoop and hunch had vanished, the recognition was there.

“What?” He whined.

“You need to pose as a retainer.”  There was a natural tone of authority and command in his voice.

“What?”

“I’m now going to pretend to be your alderman and I need retainers.”

“What?”

Jebediah glowered.

“Sterling will recognize me.  I played for them at the pub last night.  Besides, you look nothing like the alderman.”  The excuses came hard and fast.

“That may be, but the Menovians won’t know that.”

“That plan is stupid.”

“Do you have a better idea?”  He asked rhetorically.  Jebediah’s patience was wearing thin.

“It’ll never work.”

“Look, if you’re not going to help, then you can’t stay here loafing about.  This is not your sanctuary.  You’ll have to leave.”

“You just got here three days ago, how’d you get in charge?”  Jonas griped.  Gravis looked on from the hallway, smirking.

Jebediah waited.  Jonas, annoyed, looked to Gravis for confirmation.

“Well, as the master is infirmed, Mr. Groomer, his formal guest and only other capable man of the house, yes.  Yes, he is.”  The manservant reported dutifully with relish.

The Fawkes boy balked and pulled the covers up to his neck.

Jebediah ignored the action of defiance and began to outline his plan.  Jonas shook his head disagreeably.

“Why are you shaking your head?  It must be muddled.  Get out of bed.”

“My head is always muddled.”  Jonas conceded.  “I’m not getting out of bed, I can’t help you.”

“What would you have me do?”  Jebediah asked.

“Why don’t you tell them Mr. Valinson’s sick?”  Jonas shook his head, patronizing, and rolled over.

“It’s too late for that; they’ll demand to see him…”

Jonas interrupted, “Not if he’s ill.  Grievously sick.”  His tenor was condescending; this new plot registered on Jebediah’s wizened face.  Jonas continued, “Fatally ill.  A plague.”

From behind his back Jonas could feel the man’s hesitation.  His muscles again began to relax.  His breathing slowed.  The silence signaled his momentary victory.

Jebediah realized his inaction, hovering there by the bedside.  “Well, you’ve bought yourself some more sleep.”  He intentionally spoke loudly to be cantankerous and pulled the door closed on his way out.

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

Minutes later Constance, ‘elder’ Adair, Kelize, ‘black’ Adair, Gravis, Ephraim, and Sturgis were all gathered in the downstairs dining room where ‘alderman’ Jebediah summarized the new plan.  Time was running short.  They’d hang the black curtains in warning and claim a wasting disease had beset them: the red one. (1)

The group broke, everyone attending to details.  Sturgis and Ephraim crept out the back way while there was still time.  ‘Black’ Adair remained behind to help out, breaking down some of Fort Valinson’s defenses.  Jebediah shed his current disguise and returned to normal, though with some makeup assistance to make his skin pallid.  Gravis gathered some of Wrenchard’s bloodied sheets and piled them in a basket, which was conveniently placed by the front door, for removal.  ‘Elder’ Adair concocted a brew, mostly salt and water, to induce vomiting.

As the expected arrival drew near, Jebediah found himself down in the sitting room with the young shepherd hanging the last of the ominous drapery.

“Do you believe in times of war that men have to do thing s they might not do otherwise?”

Adair was a bit confused by the question, but was used to listening.  For some reason people always felt comfortable opening up to him.  “I guess.  Why?”

“Because if this plan succeeds,” Jebediah finished hanging the last curtain. “And we succeed in getting them to leave us alone for a little while, we may need to find a way to block the exits of the alderman’s house with them inside.  And burn it down.”  He sipped from a cup, which held the herbalist’s briny potion.

Adair was frustrated, “Why does everyone wanna burn down the alderman’s house?” 

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

Elsewhere, Constance tried to take refuge in her appointed guest.  She was only mildly surprised to find her room occupied.  Jonas, expecting another visit from her sibling, regained modesty.  He flushed as she sat on the bedside and poured him some more water.  Peering behind, he noticed that she had pulled the door closed behind her.  She wiped his brow with a clean cloth.  Noting the crossbow, she loaded it for him and slid it under the sheets.  He tensed with anticipation.

“Uh, don’t you think you should leave that door open some?” Jonas said to her, nervously.

“Oh, why?”

“Uh, uh…`cause your brother is gonna be mad at me,” the young fool chirped weakly.

“It will be fine,” she replied, smiling broadly and batting her eyelashes.

After some idle banter (most of which consisted of Constance’s self-deprecation and need of stalwart protectors), she left.  Jonas was agog.  He was curious as to her sudden interest and fawning.

Constance crossed the hall to her brother’s quarters, closing doors along the way.  Inside the room ‘black’ Adair waited, listening for any sign of action downstairs.  Constance’s wiles and feminine charms began to weave across the room.  Snared in her web, he drew near, as she perched on the foot of the bed.     

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

The heavy curtain flopped back into place, Gravis nodded and Jebediah tilted his head back and finished the cup.  He stepped out into the pouring rain only halfway.  He lowered his head and threw his arms open wide.

“We have Red Death here!”  The sheer audacity of the proclamation was enough to give Sterling, Malchiah, and Grinder pause.

“The healer wants no one coming in.”  Jebediah continued.

Not to be fooled by such a ruse, the Menovians closed several paces.  Jebediah regurgitated a watery spew.  Sterling stopped in his tracks.

“We have plague…” Jebediah added.  The rain did not wash the smell of bile away fast enough.  The acid burnt his nostrils.

Malchiah spoke to his captain, inaudible to Jebediah at this distance.  They had obviously noticed the curtains.  “Get me the healer.”  Sterling commanded.

Jebediah’s stomach churned.  He heard Gravis going upstairs behind him.  The Menovains waited, saturated.  Jebediah was reminded of wet gutter rats.

‘Elder’ Adair was summoned and drilled.  After a satisfactory confirmation, Sterling ordered the house to be quarantined and no one was to come in or out.

“If I see any of you outside, we’ll have to kill you on sight.  It would be…”  Sterling paused and a smile began to creep its way through his lips, “…in the best interest of the hamlet, after all.”  With this decree the new alderman turned to seek refuge from the rain elsewhere.

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

Constance abandoned her protector.  Adair, deflated, returned to the window to see the Menovians retreat.  His perception may have been exceptional, but the young man’s memory left something to be desired.  It was only now that he remembered the curious sight he had seen earlier that day.  He made excuses for himself.  It was busy, there was a lot going on, it was easy to forget.

The young shepherd crossed the hall to Constance’s room; she was nowhere to be seen.  Jonas’ grip loosened on the crossbow.  Adair, ignoring his peer, peeked out of the curtain through the shutters.  There was no sign of activity at the Stilwell house.

“Whatcha doin’?  Are they still there?”  Jonas asked.

“Huh?  No.  I mean, earlier I saw Cricket and Trance.” (2)

“Huh?”  Jonas knew them well, but not the relevance.

“Outside, I was coming here this morning, and I spotted them talking to Canton Myle over at the old Stilwell house.  I don’t see them now though.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, they’re gone.  I don’t see him either.”  Adair let slide the curtain back into place.

“Ergh.”

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

As the dark blanket of night fell over the house tensions began to build.  The members of the cabal began to simmer in their own time, stewing over what lay in wait for them outside of their self-made prison.  Constance returned to Jonas’ bedside, pandering to his whims.

‘Black’ took the opportunity to use cover of night as an excuse to sneak away.  Gaining Jebediah’s permission, he used the service entrance in the rear of the house, and stole out into the night.  He quickly crossed the grounds and found his way home for the usual nightly melee of dinner.

It was his intention to find Tyrus later that evening and tell him what was going on.  A few hours later, he did so.

Jonas, too, was active that night.  He awoke in the wee hours of the morning and silently slipped from beneath the sheets. The floor was cold, but he'd rested long enough.  The house was quiet, but for a snore from across the hall.  He dressed in silence, grabbed his things, and plodded downstairs.  In Wrenchard’s study Jonas found a piece of parchment and scribbled out a note as explanation to Jebediah.  In rudimentary scrawl it said, “_Jebadyuh, went home.  We will figgur out signals soon.  Jonas._”

Feeling much better, the invigorated militiaman reported to the Breach where he quickly found Harden and Edwin on patrol. The deputy noticed him coming.  Instantly, Jonas knew that something was wrong.  Harden wore a mask of concern.  The low lantern light illuminated his worrisome features, serving to exaggerate Harden's look of distress. 

“Jonas,” the Breach commander’s normal greetings and pleasantries were gone, “have you seen Jennie Murrow?”

Jonas’ spirits were crushed.  He held his head low.  He shook it in response.  

“She's missing.” 


*Balem, 26th of Syet – 564 H.E.*


And the day was rainy still, though not as bad as the previous one. The air grew colder, and the wind a bit stronger while the ground seized up, a bit more resistant.  Winter would be coming.

In the morning, Adair awoke; something taxed his mind, though he was not sure what.  As he rose and dressed to attend his daily routine, he realized what it was.  Hurriedly he skipped through the kitchen where the rest of the Bannons devoured breakfast.  He knew there would be none left.  Throwing open the door and disregarding the rain he trotted out to the barn.  It appeared that although he had forgotten to bring the sheep in last night, someone else had not.  Thankful to his unknown benefactor, he suspected Van Feicht, he followed the necessary routine returning the herd to pasture.

Adair returned to town to hit the pub for some breakfast.  Four of the Menovians ate at a table nestled between the fireplaces where they had been sleeping.  They seemed to pay him no mind as he approached the bar.  The weary shepherd boy sat down finding some comfort in Gus amicable, bold face.  The bartender brought him a stout breakfast and drink, chatting with the boy as he ate. Adair was disheartened to hear of Jennie Murrow’s disappearance.  He slightly turned his head to ascertain the mood of the remaining Menovian Irregulars.  Although a bit grumbly and of a generally surly nature, they did little to belie a plot of kidnapping if they indeed were the conspirators.  With this news Adair became much less talkative and consoled himself in the food, which was now suddenly seemed bland.

Jonas awoke late, of course, and made his way to the pub, where he found Adair still.  He sidled up to the bar next to his peer.  Gus brought him a fresh plate of the breakfast, which was still warm.  One of Menovians noted the boy's entrance and recognized him as the minstrel who had played for them the night before.  He insisted on a tune as they finished their own breakfasts.  Having no desire to please the Irregulars requests and feeling a bit anxious, Jonas succumbed to his ego and flatly denied the proposal.  Adair braced for the worst.  To the young men's surprise, the Menovians swallowed the denial and did not press the issue.  Gus was flabbergasted.

As Adair waited for Jonas to finish eating, Gus talked incessantly.  Obviously the amount of time he was forced to endure the company of the Menovians had begun to weigh on him.  He unloaded on the boys.  Finally, the weight unbearable, Jonas choked down the rest of his bread and stood.  The duo left, unmolested.  Outside they separated to search for Jenny.

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

Jebediah awoke to the still sounds of sanctuary.  Donning his arms and armor he set forth to patrol the perimeter.  Nephthys would be proud (3).  He first found ‘the healer’ Adair tending to his wards.  He wished to develop a plot in which he could use herbs to make people sick.  Adair quickly nixed the plan, explaining that he had no such products on hand in the manor.

Jebediah retired downstairs to continue his preparations of the houses’ defenses as well as wait word from Adair.  He would wait a while longer than expected.  

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

Jonas started with a visit to the Murrow house.  A knock at the door produced the weeping mother.  Amidst the sobs and throes of emotion loosed upon the young Fawkes lad, he was able to discern some details of the girls’ disappearance.  It seemed that she had left the house, the previous day, with the intention of collecting water from one of the local wells.  She had disappeared some time thereafter, mysteriously.  He left the mourning mother and began his hunt at the well. 

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

Adair instead searched about town, beginning with the Breach.  His search did not continue for long.  Daring to venture just beyond the safety of the wooden palisade, about 100 yards out his keen eye spotted a dirty, naked body beneath some brush.  Only slightly surprised, he returned to find Sturgis.

Briefed, the sheriff stopped along the way to collect the burly carpenter and his dog before heading to the Breach, young shepherd in tow.

The trio hiked out to the location.  Sturgis kept the others about 20 paces back while he approached the brambles. Gerald and Motar kept a vigilant eye for any would-be assailants.  Even in daylight it was not unknown for the broken lands of Dralmohir to spew forth some of its nefarious denizens.  While the sheriff handled the actual delicacies of wrapping the body up, Adair did his best to divert his curious glance.  Still, out of the sidelong glimpse he gleaned what appeared to him as if Jenny had been badly beaten and left, stark naked.

With a grunt the sheriff scooped the shrouded corpse, cradled it and stood, wordlessly turning back towards town.  Word spread quickly as they passed through.  Gerald returned to his duties.  Adair followed Sturgis who sent him ahead to Ephraim.

The murmur of rumors swept through the hamlet; Jenny had been found.  Out beyond the Breach, she had been abducted, dragged, killed.  It was the undead.  Some were despondent, others thankful; at least she had been found, allowed a proper funeral, never to return and haunt the land of her death.

Adair heard the whispers and was still full of suspicion and doubt.  The sheriff remained stoic, thinking it prudent not to contradict any of the Kendrits’ beliefs.  The young shepherd followed the lead.

Sturgis lay the body before the Glory.  Ephraim arrived soon after, accompanied by Adair.  He delivered prayers for her soul and warded her body with faith.  He returned with her to his home to make preparations for the pyre the next day.  Sturgis patted Adair on the shoulder and offered condolences in his avuncular fashion, before departing.  The young girl’s peer stood there in shock and gazed into the amber glass.  It was all so surreal.  Was it Ra’s will that his world should seem to be crumbling all around him? Alone in the ominous haze of the overcast day he was left to ponder.

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

Meanwhile, Jonas was about finding answers to his own queries.  With little in the way of clues at the well, he decided to turn his search towards the alderman’s house: his number one suspects, Captain Sterling and Sergeant Malchiah.  He rapped at the door and waited fro response.  The sergeant-at-arms responded and grudgingly showed the minstrel into the comfortable sitting room. It paled in comparison to Wrenchard’s.

All the while Jonas’ wandering eye roved about, searching, peering, scouring, leering, for any sign, clue, or indication of a scuffle or anything that might lead him to connect the girl’s disappearance to the Menovians.  Nothing.  As Sterling played the host, Jonas attempted to ingratiate himself on them, offering his services.  Though amused at the idea and flattered by the entertainer’s kindly remarks, he did not oblige.  Sensing the futility of the act, Jonas again stole a fleeting look about the room before being shown out.

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

His anxiety had gotten the best of him.  Paranoia clutched his judgment and began to run rampant with it.  For the better part of the day, Jebediah had little else to do but to satiate the tension running through his veins with a constructive outlet.  He got creative.  The sitting room was cleared of all unnecessary furniture or amenities; that is, anything not already contributing to the forts defenses.  Jebediah piled wood by the hearth.  Some pieces he began to laboriously saturate in lamp oil in an effort to make it more combustible.  In a large barrel he poured the contents of the Valinsons’ wine rack.  The great volume of alcohol would be utilized to some degree in one of his plans later.  Already he had run through several offensive, defensive, piercing, assault, and flanking scenarios in his head.  Currently he concentrated on contriving one for ambush.

The other denizens of the house, by now, understood to give him wide berth.  It was not until later that afternoon that finally someone dared approach.

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

Adair received no glorious insight from his de-facto patron deity.  Realizing the lateness of the hour, he rose from his kneeling position and collected his thoughts.  Jebediah would surely need something by now.  He crossed the commons on his way to the Valinsons.  It was empty as of late, no one felt the need to frequent the area anymore.  It struck him as sad how the center of the town, which used to be teeming with life was now so cold, vacant.  Though it was indicative of the current Menovian presence, he knew that this change was not sudden, but progressive.

He shook his head and hummed a tune.  So much philosophizing was not good for him.  He vowed to think of finer things.

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

Adair’s voice came stifled through the curtains; Jebediah used the fireplace poker to pull the heavy dread drape back ever so slightly at arms length.  Indeed he recognized the young shepherd standing, waiting outside.

“Hello…?”

Jebediah proceeded to the front door and opened it, barely ajar.

Adair noticed and called out.  “Hello?  Do you all need anything in there?”

Jebediah was careful not to stand within noticeable sight of the small opening.  “Yes, hold on, the healer needs some things,” He called out and closed the door.

The door reopened and Adair caught the small sack, which was suddenly hurtled at him.  Jebediah’s voice rang out, “There is a list of goods he needs in the bag.  _Hurry back._”  The door closed again, sealing them inside.

Adair cast a glance in the direction of the Stilwells’.  He saw no sign of the tracker.  Proceeding to his namesakes’ house, he was greeted by the healer’s wife who opened the door and invited him in.  She queried as to her husband and what he would need.  Adair gave her the short list, finding a second note in the sack.  It read:

_We are waiting to hear from the healer to see how treatment progresses.  We should get together to discuss the situation as soon as you think it is prudent.  _

The woman returned with the collection of herbs, oils, and salves, startling the young man.  Reflexively he crumpled the note, and concealed it in his balled fist.  Thanking her, he rose, stuffed the goods into the sack and left.

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

Jonas returned home, having heard news of the recovery of Jenny from the butcher.  He visited the barn to work on his play.  Yet the usual passion that accompanied his favorite distractions was absent.

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

Adair would return to the Valinson home only one more time that night, but still it was at a longer interval than Jebediah would have liked.  The shepherd returned to the pasture to bring in the sheep.  He then returned home for dinner.  Afterward, he finally found the means and time to scrawl a reply on the same piece of crumpled parchment.  It read:

_Tracker watching house.  Should talk by messages, if can.  Do you need anything?_

Jebediah found this note most disturbing, as well as the boy’s lacking sense of urgency.  He wanted details, information, Menovian numbers and positions.  For all he knew they were already gathered outside, ready to storm the building.  It was quickly becoming evident that he would need to be more blunt.

Hastily, he scrawled out a return note.  It was passed with the same sack and practiced paranoia that had been exercised heretofore.

_Well the servants’ entrance is not seen from the Stilwell’s.  Wait until night.  What is the news from the town and the Menovians? _

Adair took the sack and, growing tired, returned home.  Certain that everyone was safe and secure inside the Valinsons’ for now, he figured that he would return first thing in the morning, after taking out the herd, of course.  He went to bed without reading the note.

*Teflem, 27th of Syet – 564 H.E.*


Jenny Murrow was put to the pyre in the morning.  Dandelions wilted, struggling for life amid the cold cracked earth and approaching season.  The funeral fields were cold and sour as the mood of the Kendrits who now filled it.  Perhaps wisdom had prevailed in the Menovian camp for none dared show their face at the ceremony.

The townsfolk gathered at the pub as was per custom, though their mood was much more subdued than the one following John Fisher’s passing.  While the crowd was somewhat diminished on this melancholy morn, the common room once again belonged solely to the Rhondrians.  Jonas suspected that Captain Sterling had assigned his remaining Irregulars some duty away from flared tempers.  Both ‘Black’ Adair and the young Fawkes spent less time lingering here this morning than on that of any similar occasion.  There was still work to be done.

Adair took his leave to bring the flock out to pasture.  He noted that Van’s flock was not out today. This was not unusual.  Here he spent much of the day in solitude, reflecting, pondering, philosophizing.

Jonas looked for answers at the bottoms of ale mugs.  He found none.  Not being fond of a cloudy mind, he ended his search earlier than most other Kendrits and returned home to catch up on some long overdue naps.

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

The air of the Valinson home was stifling.  The tension was thick like fog rolling into Haffar’s Port after an attack by Stinging Wind during Elfin summer (4, 5, 6).  With still no word fro Adair, Jebediah was growing insufferable.  The family took their meals in the cellar; Constance confined herself to the upstairs.  Only Gravis seemed to understand the pilgrim, to endure his quirky behavior.  Still he was forced to wait, contrivance his only respite.  
---------------------------------------------

Later, as evening drew near Adair herded up the sheep and began to drive them home.  This was an almost effortless task as their conditioning had been ingrained over myriad days.  He simply followed, as he did most days, when he would get them home, his only chore was to secure the barn door behind them.

Yet, on this afternoon, he drew closer to town than usual, straying from behind the flock.  They continued without their warden.

Not far from the Valinson home he spied an amusing sight.  Drawn by the potential he closed the distance quickly.  It seemed that Cricket and Trance Miller had their eye on the Stillwell home.  He approached from behind, as quietly as he could.

The girls were cowering behind the corner of a nearby house and kept poking their heads out around the corner.  They would recoil with a start, giggle, and point to one another.  They seemed to be having some debate amongst themselves, in once hushed tones.

“What’s going on?”  Adair asked, startling them.

Cricket was not amused.  “Adair!”  She berated, “don’t do that!”

Trance was alarmed but amused.  She always enjoyed when her older sister lost her composure.

“Well,” he asked.  “What is it?”  He peered around the corner.  They had a clear vantage point of the Stilwell home.  Smoke emanated from the chimney.  He knew who was inside, but was still a little confused.

“Have you seen the new stranger?”  asked Trance rhetorically.  “Isn’t he cute?”

Cricket nodded her agreement.  Adair was overwhelmed.  He suppressed the urge to laugh.

“He’s gorgeous,” added Cricket.

Adair understood that the tracker was good-looking, but couldn’t quite understand the appeal.  Was it the mystery?  It dawned on him how simple these girls must really be.  Weren’t they talking about the same man?  A Menovian, one of the ilk who had been responsible for their older brother’s death.  

Adair was lost in thought.  The girls did not wait for any contribution on his part.  They continued without him, ignoring him, as they mostly always did.

“He likes me better,” boasted Trance.

“No he doesn’t.  You’re still too young for him.  I’m more his type, prettier and older,” Cricket responded.

They heckled each other, the volume steadily increasing, occasionally daring to venture another glance.

“Why don’t we ask him?”  Adair finally offered.

Both girls gasped.  They now teamed against him.  “No, no, no, no, no.”  Their unison was perfect.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Cricket scolded.

“Don’t.  You’d better not.  Please…” Trance begged.

A devilish grin crept across the young shepherd’s lips.  “Oh no?  Why not?”

They were without response.  He boldly stepped out from their clandestine corner and started towards the house.

They waved him back.  He could not hear them as they once again whispered, but their squeamish flailing and embarrassed expressions were enough to give him sadistic pleasure as he drew near Canton’s temporary refuge. 

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

A knock at the old Stilwells’ door produced the expected.  Canton Myle opened the door and beamed, offering a firm handshake to the young shepherd boy.  The dominating figure properly introduced himself and cordially offered Adair a seat.  He poured steeped herbs into a tin travel cup for the boy.

Adair was a bit taken aback by the man’s pleasant nature.  He sipped his beverage.  He let his guard down.  In the corner he noticed an impromptu perch of some sort, a leather thong-like sling suspended from its branch.

“That’s for my falcon.”  Canton offered.

“Oh?  You have a falcon?”  Adair was curious.  He had never seen one up close before.  Tyrus generally avoided hunting the birds of prey.

“Sure.  He’s a companion of sorts.  Kinda like your companions,” he gestured with a nod out of a half-shuttered window, “but mine happens to be a bird.”

“Oh, that’s neat.”  Adair was genuinely interested.  He still wondered what the leather string-sling was.

Canton sipped his beverage and waited.

Adair noticed the silence.  “Oh, yeah.  They uh, I guess they think you’re cute.”

“How charming.”

“Yeah.”  Adair was a little confused as to how he had gotten himself into the awkward situation that this was now turning out to be.  He cursed his drive to always impress the girls.

“Do you have any other companions?  You seem to keep strange company.  Not just your peers I see.”  Canton was cool and coercing.

Adair offered nothing.  He began to think, ponder his answers, consider what he did and did not know, think Canton knew, or wanted to know.

“Have you heard the names Pritchard, or Horatio, or Minerva?” (7)

“Nope.”  Adair was honest; he focused on what he had come here for.  “So, do you think that I can tell them which one you think is cuter?”

Canton was happy to oblige.  “Well, Adair, both of the young women are adorable.  Though I’m afraid that in my line of work I would find it an inopportune time to pursue any romance that is to truly endure.  You can let them know that I am flattered and would be lucky to share company with either one of them.”

“Um, OK.”  Adair rose.  Canton Rose with him.  He towered over the young Kendrit.  Adair noticed the man’s full musculature as he leaned forward to open the door for his guest.  He was impressed.  He was sure that Canton, broad-shouldered as he was, might have even bested Gerald at a bout of wrestling.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Canton called after the young man.  “Stop back any time.”

Adair nodded and walked to where the girls waited anxiously.

They dragged him around the corner as soon as he was close enough to reach.

They interrogated him thoroughly.  For the sake of mischief, he did so enjoy being in control of the situation, he parlayed the conversation into a coy twist.  He wished to keep the two girls competitive with each other.  Adding a bit of his own embellishments to the conversation that he had had with the tracker, Cricket and Trance became more argumentative.

He left them there, bickering and stealing furtive looks around the corner at their would-be suitor. 

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

Adair returned home.  He closed the barn door behind the flock.  Having been so close to the Valinson home he remembered that he had not had any word from Jebediah today.  He hurriedly scrawled out a note on the crumpled parchment, which he now read.  If he were quick, he would be able to make it back home in time for dinner.  He recalled the plan that Jonas had been working on in the pub earlier that morning.  The young militiaman had acquired a bullseye lantern in his duties and intended to use that as his signal to the Valinson house.  Adair now knew that he had no indication of the intricacies of Jonas’ plan.

He stuffed the note into the delivery sac and bolted from the house.  Within minutes he was hurtling it towards the unlocked entryway of Fort Valinson.  Adair watched as a hand reached out to drag it into the door, which closed again just as quickly.  And he was off, realizing that he hadn’t eaten a thing all day.

During his dash home he happened to run into Jonas who was on his way to an early militia detail.  They exchanged few words.

“If you see Crick and Trance, tell them to get inside before any Menovians catch them,” Adair warned.

“Yeah,” Jonas understood. “If anything happens to them their father will totally lose his sh*t.”

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

Jebediah opened the sack, muttering to himself about the immaturity of children.  He was sorely disappointed with Adair’s lack of responsibility.  He cleared the papers scribbled with his sketches and battle-maps off of Wrenchard’s desk.  He sat in the chair and read the note.

_Can’t come too often.  Too risky.  If you see bullseye lantern on curtains, we are found out.  Suspect Menovians killed Jenny Murrow.  Put her on pyre this morning.  Menovians are surly._

Jebediah slammed his palm down into the desktop, the parchment crumpled beneath it.  He stood seething.

“What is this _boy_ thinking?”  He couldn’t help the outburst.

There were too many questions now racing through his mind.  He only received more questions, no definable answers.  Who was Jenny Murrow?  Why is it too risky to come by?  Why do you need to use a lantern for signaling?  And what does it mean that the Menovians are surly? More or less so, or the same, or was it an observation? 

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

After dinner, Adair went to visit his very dear friend Hazel Tatum.  He had been ignoring her for too long already.  He knew that she lacked the romantic interest in him that he reciprocated towards her.  He secretly hoped that by agreeing to undertake this mission of Wrenchard’s, his love for her would no longer go unrequited.

She was glad to see him, as was her mother, who always seemed fond of ‘Black’ Adair.  They enjoyed some time together, though sad, as Hazel remembered Jenny to the young shepherd.  He hadn’t realized how hard she would be taking the girl’s death.  Adair did his best to console her.

Time passed quickly, as it always seemed to whenever Adair could find time to spend alone with his love, and Mrs. Tatum ushered the boy out the door and towards home.  He bid them farewell and slipped out into the night.

Adair did not go directly home as the responsible mother had implied that he should.  Instead, he crossed town towards Wrenchard’s house.  Skulking around back, he rapped at the servants’ entrance and was allowed entry.

Once inside, Adair learned of what Jebediah had been working on, learned of his plan to ambush the Menovians in three different places simultaneously.  He called it the ‘trilogy attack’ and contrived of uses for all his preparations in its implementation.  Due to the assault of information, Adair was overwhelmed.  He barely managed to explain the details surrounding the disappearance of Jenny Murrow.

“Um, Sturgis is not gonna like this,” the young man dared offer a contradictory opinion.

“Well, we’ll see if he has any other plans for protecting the teenage girls of this town.”  Obviously, Jebediah too must have seen Cricket and Trance at their tomfoolery none too far away.  “Or, whether he is willing to sacrifice _them_ as well.”

Adair could see that Jebediah was heated.  He swore that he could see the man’s veins pulsing at the temples of his forehead.  He too realized that _Welcome Winter_ was tomorrow, but still had no indication as to what the Menovians may be plotting, if anything.

“Well, I thought that Welcome Winter was just a day to sacrifice some lambs and chickens to Apep.  Y’know, thanks for the good harvest and all that.”  He admitted that his lack of knowledge on religious matters and concerns was overwhelming.

“Aarfgh!”  Jebediah was at his wit’s end.  Everyone in Kendrick constantly proved to be a simpleton.  “*Setites* don’t sacrifice _lambs_!  They sacrifice _people_!”

Adair recoiled from the spray of spittle spewing from the corners of Jebediah’s mouth.  He only nodded his understanding.

With no further arguments, Jebediah led Adair into Wrenchard’s study.  It had been converted into a tactical headquarters, a bastion of military thought.  Spreading his design plans about the desk, Jebediah began to elucidate.  Adair nodded at the necessary intervals.  He was certain that none of this was going to work.

Some time later, Adair snuck out to find the others of the cabal.  Though he expressed misgivings, he agreed to inform them of the plan.  Jebediah could not stress enough the need for a sense of urgency.  There was not much time left until dawn.

Adair was able to find only Jonas.  Truthfully, he did not desire to wander into the hills in search of Tyrus well after dark.  He knew that he might not ever make it back.  Jonas absorbed what he could of the plan, Adair’s details proved to be a little sketchy, if not miscommunicated.  Agreeing with Jebediah’s sentiment that the Menovians may yet be up to no good, Jonas began to develop a plan of his own.

Jonas made off in the direction of the alderman’s house, unable to as of yet inform Adair of the plan he was still conceiving.

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

Adair, fraught with questions, was confused, overwhelmed and above all, suddenly very lonely.  He found himself drawn in the direction of the Glory.  Softy, he approached Ephraim’s door.  Inside lay the one man who he suspected may yet be able to yet offer him some comfort.  The young man knocked gently, he was feeling guilty for disturbing the cleric’s peace.

A few minutes passed.  He shivered with the waft of the chill wind.  This was stupid, he should leave, he thought.

As he turned his back to do so, a muffled cough and a soft plod of feet emanated faintly from inside.  Adair’s ears ever attentive, he turned back to face the door in time to see it slowly open.  Ephraim rubbed the dust from his eyes.  Adair waited.

Ephraim required a minute for clarity.  He then stood aside and gestured the boy in.  Adair welcomed the invitation.  They sat in the simple room, closely by the hearth.  Ephraim offered the young man a warm blanket to ward off the cold.  He produced a kettle from the fire and poured his ward a warm cup of mulled wine.

“What ails you my boy?”  He finally asked when he could see that Adair was feeling a bit more comfortable.

That was it.  That was all it took.  Adair’s defenses were down and he opened up to the priest, completely.  He found himself talking, a lot.  The wine helped.  It felt good to be heard for once, listened to.  He had so many questions, so little faith, or knowledge, or wisdom.  Finally he collapsed into Ephraim’s arms, sobbing, not completely able to understand the cause of the outpouring of emotion, but knowing that it felt good.

Four cups later, he felt a little better.  He was relieved.  He now understood Welcome Winter to be a holy day committed to Apep, as well as Ra (8) and that he should have no fear.  It occurred to Adair that faith was a powerful instrument, a great gift, and an ultimate blessing.  

Though it was late, Ephraim was glad for the company.  As Adair left, the older man was sure to invite the boy back to attend services in the morning.  Adair thought that maybe he would do just that.

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

Elsewhere, Jonas situated himself about midway between the alderman’s house and the Tatum house.
He had a plan.  It was his contention that if he could discern whether or not the Menovians were in the alderman’s house, then he may be able to conclude that they may or may not be plotting some nefarious acts.  Due to the proximity of the Tatum house to the alderman’s, Jonas assumed it to be likely that Hazel, being the closest young female, would be their likely candidate for sacrifice.  It was a stretch.

He needed to know if Hazel was still safely asleep in her bed.  He procured a few small stones from the ground and lobbed them at her shuttered bedroom window.  There came no response.  Not to be dissuaded from his brilliance, he elaborated on it instead.  

He unslung his lute, took a knee and began to serenade the young woman’s window, loudly.  In dramatic motions and crescendos he lilted his head sideways, in the direction of the alderman’s house, hoping to disturb any foul rites that may already be underway within.

“How can I tell you that I luh-uh-uh-uh-ve you? I luh-uh-uh-uh-ve you, I luh-uh-uh-uh-ve you, but I can’t think of right words to say.  I long to tell you that I luh-uh-uh-uh-ve you.  I luh-uh-uh-uh-ve you, but the words just blow away; just blow away…”

As expected, he did receive attention.  Unwanted attention. He had foolishly forgotten how close his shenanigans were to the cooper’s house.

Pollack bellowed out into the night air, “*FAWKES!*  I’m gonna getcha this time Fawkes.  This is the last straw!”

In an instant Jonas was up and on the move.  He could outrun the cooper, he knew, for this wouldn’t be the first time.  And contrary to popular opinion, he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.  Fueled by rage, Pollack was quicker than the minstrel expected and he skipped a few beats as he circled the Tatum house.

Adair, returning from his cathartic session with Ephraim, heard the commotion.  He hurried in the direction of his love’s house.

Jonas circled the house two more times, both of which still failed to bring Hazel to the window.  He was beginning to suspect the worst, except when Adair arrived.  Jonas came barreling around the corner as the cooper continued pursuit, and was surprised to see Adair approaching just as fast, with what looked to be as much rage.

Jonas, while continuing his serenade, redirected his path to avoid both his old pursuer and his new one.  His course took him around the alderman’s house instead.  If not winded, he would have chuckled at his dumb luck, his brilliance.  Obviously something was already afoot, this way he had a more excusable reason to disturb the evil rituals he was sure were going on inside.

Only one pass about the alderman’s house was sufficient to produce results.  And for it Jonas was glad, he was beginning to tire.

Sergeant Malchiah stood in the open door of the alderman’s home.  His armor glinted in the waxing moonlight.  He leaned on his spear and commanded them all to, “HALT!”

The action stopped.  Jonas was triangulated between Adair, Malchiah, and Pollack.  In the open between the buildings, he felt exposed.  He was sure that this might indeed be the end of him.

His salvation emerged at the window.  Hazel cast open her shutters now that all was quieted outside, and peered out into the night.  Jonas spotted her instantly.

“This song was from Adair,” he sang out as loudly and melodically as he could, before taking his exit cue and sprinting off while everyone else distractedly looked at the girl.

Her eyes fell on Adair in a whole new light.

He blushed.

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

*Notes:*

(1) – One of the three catastrophic plagues that roam Aquerra is the red wasting disease.  The other two of its siblings are the black and yellow strains.  There are rumors of a blue variety, but these are heretofore unconfirmed.

(2) – Mahlon and Doris Miller had a 17-year old son, Cort, who was killed by the Menovians when they first arrived in Kendrick during their incursion into Rhondria.  Cort, who was betrothed to the daughter of the kennel-master, put up a terrible fuss and started his last brawl.  The Millers’ two daughters, Cricket (now 16) and Trance (now 15), had to help their mother restrain Mahlon from getting himself killed as well.  He has been outwardly spoken against the Menovians ever since.

(3) – Nephthys is the goddess of bravery, freedom and courage.  Temples, called sanctuaries, dedicated to her are generally forts, impregnable fortresses designed to discourage those who’d seek escaped slaves from pursuing them within these holy hiding places.  As a rule, any who seek asylum within a sanctuary are awarded it.  
.  
(4) – Haffar’s Port is an independent isle geographically situated between Herman Land and Thricia.  Thusly it is an ideal port of call for sea-goers traveling between the two countries.  Haffar’s port has an infamous reputation as home to pirate, ne’er-do-wells and slave-traders.

(5) – Stinging Wind is perhaps the most well-known if not only dragon active in Aquerra.  She is at best guess, a mature white dragon that is presumed brilliant in her attacks on sea going vessels; few of which have ever left survivors to tell the widely varied tales.  She is known to claim the waters surrounding Haffar’s Port between Herman Land and Thricia, reaping tribute from them between late Ese and early Prem each year. 

(6) – Elfin summer falls in late Ese to early Sek.  It is the unseasonably warm period that marks the last days of autumn.  Rarely is it more than a few days long, but it does cause curious effects on local weather conditions and foliage. 

(7) – Pronounced Miner_w_a.

(8) – Coincidentally, Welcome Winter, the last day of Syet also happens to mark the beginning of the Great Fast of Ra.  On these nine days priests of the Sun god fast (only drinking liquids) to mourn the coming of winter.


----------



## handforged (Jun 30, 2003)

YAY!!

Another update soon I hope.  I can't wait to see what happens next.  I love the fact that the characters all act on their own plans and not necessarily as a group.

~hf


----------



## Jonas Fawkes (Jul 1, 2003)

handforged said:
			
		

> *YAY!!
> 
> I love the fact that the characters all act on their own plans and not necessarily as a group.
> 
> ~hf *




That's because my brilliant plans are unmatched!  And the others, not have the devio. .  uh, I mean, strategically clever mind that I do cannot see it as clearly.

Don't take me for a fool. . .


----------



## mofos21 (Jul 19, 2003)

*Great Story Hour!*

This story hour is very well written and I've enjoyed reading it greatly.  The players do a great job of making their characters come to life, although I think some of that is from the quality of your writing, Rastfar.  Looking forward to reading future installments of this storyline.  Don't keep me waiting too long!


----------



## Rastfar (Aug 1, 2003)

*session #6*

*session #6*

“I, erm, just wanted to tell you how I feel.”  Adair felt stupid.  He was sure he must’ve looked it too.  Only the dark of night could save him from witnessing the embarrassment that was surely exhibited on Hazel’s face.

The cooper gave chase, but was too many steps behind.  The ornery man grumbled as he raced off after his nemesis.  Malchiah seem pleased with quelling the debacle and returned inside.

Adair turned to realize he was alone with Hazel.

“Really?”  She asked, aflutter with romance.

“Uh, yeah,” he stumbled.  “I have for quite some time.”  His shirt was suddenly itchy.  He wriggled in place.

“Ohh, Adair,” she mused. “I, I….”

He hoped.  ‘Oh, please,’ he hoped.  If Jonas had messed up all these years of wonderful friendship he would kill him.  But, what if?  What if, somehow the fool had opened a portal through which access would now be granted him: entry to her heart.  ‘Oh, please,’ he hoped.

“…You’re so…so sweet.”  She finished.

And there it was.  Jonas was a dead man.  Adair bowed his head, and drew invisible lines in the dirt with the toe of his boot.  “Thanks.”

“Well, it’s late.  I should get to bed and you should get outta here.  I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.  C’mere.”  She beckoned.

He came.

She gave him a warm embrace.  He closed his eyes; he did dearly enjoy this exchange.  She let him go and closed the shutters.  Adair heard the latch slip shut softly.  He turned for home.

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

Jebediah could hear the clamor outside.  He could tell that it was coming from town, though he had no idea where.  He could not help but wonder what was happening.  He remained vigilant.  Even after the ruckus died down and dissipated, he stayed alert.  When he could last no longer in the wee hours of the morn, he rose from his post and sought out Gravis.  The manservant had agreed to watch for the rest of the evening and took his turn in the comfortable chair.  He flopped his feet up onto the Neergaardian.  He set comfortably, the loaded crossbow laid across his lap.  He was asleep before Jebediah’s door closed upstairs.

Jebediah retired to bed.  There he wilted onto the covers not bothering to remove his armor.  He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


*Anulem, 28th of Syet – 564 H.E. (Welcome Winter; Day One: The Great Fast)*


A gurgling, choking cough startled the ‘elder’ Adair awake.  Laboriously, Wrenchard stirred.  His caregiver was quick to wipe is brow.  Aided, Wrenchard was able to sit up a bit, receiving a potable medicine.  Swallowing hard, the manor’s lord clutched his chest.

“Who…found…me?”

‘First’ Adair did his best to provide a rough update, “Jonas.”

Wrenchard recalled the last of the prior day’s action.  “Did he come…” he coughed, “…with the militia?”

Unable to provide all of the details that Wrenchard was anxious to hear, the healer summoned Jebediah.

The pilgrim Wrenchard knew as Jebediah was not the man who arrived.  The man that now stood beside him was much taller in his full and natural height, seemingly younger, broader, and more full-figured.  He was dressed in his finer armour, studded leather grieves and an ornate breastplate.

Whatever he might have thought of the change, Wrenchard listened closely to the newcomer as he was briefed on what had transpired over the last few days.

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

As usual ‘black’ Adair rose with the dawn to take the sheep to pasture.  He knew that he would not be doing it for too much longer, so the lack of sleep from the night before did not bother him much.  As he brought the flock out of town, he noticed that he was a few head short. (1)

Out in the fields he chatted a while with Van Feicht.  Despite it being Welcome Winter, all seemed as normal as possible.  He couldn’t help but wonder if Jebediah had been wrong.

Jonas had awoken earlier than usual, still expecting the worst.  With no sign of trouble afoot, he too began to doubt the validity of Jebediah’s paranoid assumptions.  The dilettante spent the earlier part of the morning practicing in the barn.  He then headed out to the pastures to look for ‘black’ Adair.

Jonas found the shepherd boy there along with his good friend Van Feicht, who was eager to chat.  Jonas begged off.  Explaining that he had more important things to attend to, Jonas turned back towards town with Adair, leaving the older shepherd in the field.

“How’d things go with Hazel last night?”  Jonas had to ask.

“Eh?”  Adair was always a bit coy, or flighty, Jonas couldn’t decide.

 “You know,” he pursued, “I softened her up for you with that song.  Did you at least get a kiss or whatever?”

“Eh?”  Jonas thought maybe Adair was hard of hearing.  “She seemed okay.  I don’t know…” Adair offered.

“Don’t squander this chance I tried to give you.  Look, we’re either going to be killed by Menovians or about to go off on a dangerous journey, and I know for my part I plan to try to…_you know…_”  He insinuated with a raised eyebrow.  “…before I go, not that I haven’t before (2)…I mean.  I want to do it again.  You know, before I go.”

Adair just nodded his head knowingly, “Uh-huh.  Yeah, I know.”

The two teenagers, continued through town.  Jonas did most of the talking.  As they neared the commons they parted.  Adair headed towards the pub; Jonas had spotted something that peaked his interest.  Motie, always a suspicious character in Jonas’ mind, was out and about.  It appeared as if he was headed out of town.  Jonas decided to investigate.

Being certain to stay back a bit, Jonas used the houses as cover as he tailed Motie to the edge of the hamlet and out into the surrounding hills north of town.  As he pursued, it proved a harder task than he initially had suspected.  Motie proved to be somewhat crafty himself.  The diminutive Kendrit had heard a suspicious cracking of twigs behind him and began to duck and run for cover.  Jonas afraid of being spotted also hid.  The two of them engaged in a quiet battle of wits and subterfuge as they attempted to sneak up on, hide from, and follow one another.  Ultimately, Jonas lost track of the sneaky little man.  All attempts at recovering the trail failed.  The fact that he was alone out in the hills did little to assuage his defeat.  He quickly hustled back to town.

Adair was still curious about the Menovian situation.  He first decided to pass by the alderman’s house but couldn’t hear any sign of the captain or sergeant there.  Not wanting to push his luck too much, he instead continued on to the pub, where he was sure he would find some action.

Entering the long hall, he moved directly to the bar, using the pretense of getting a snack for lunch to observe the four remaining Irregulars.  Sure enough they were here, and it appeared as if they were fully suited up and preparing to leave.  From their rumblings he was able to derive that they had indeed been given the order to do so.

At the bar, Adair sat next to Lee Hoeberg who was busy warming his hands on a cup of steeped herbs.  The two chatted idle Kendrit chat for a while.  Gus kept himself busy in the back.

Minutes later, Adair had what he’d come for and left to mitigate the rest of his concerns about the present Menovian menace.  He figured that if he could find Sterling and Malchiah, then he would be well-informed as to how the rest of the day may play out.  Passing by the Commons once more, he found that all ten of the Irregulars horses had been saddled, and packed.  They stood waiting, tethered in the commons, unguarded.  Adair briefly entertained the idea of approaching, mischief on his mind, but quickly thought better of it and moved on.

He found them, eventually, leaving the alderman’s home.  Nonchalantly, he stayed away, wanting to investigate the home as they left it and headed towards the pub.

He entered the house.  He had never been inside before so he did not exactly know what to expect.  The interior was not unusual: comfortable, neat, clean; all looked to be in order.  No nefarious dealings, shady dais with altar for sacrifice or blood-soaked walls; Adair now had to assume that although Sterling and Malchiah were dislikable, they were not the omnipotent evil Setites that Jebediah made them out to be.  He involuntarily chuckled to himself.  He exited, pulling the door closed behind him.

Adair decide to follow them to the pub.  Upon re-entering, Lee was still there, he quickly ascertained that the Menovians would indeed be riding out that day.  It became clear that their Captain saw no need to linger around a hamlet where the plague was present. 

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

“That long,” Wrenchard asked.  “How could I have been unconscious for so long?”

“You were on the brink of Anubis’ Realm.”  Jebediah explained.  Nodding toward the herbalist he continued.  “You owe this man a great debt.  He nary left your side for days.”

Wrenchard twisted his head slightly; his neck was sore.  He saw that his benefactor was  tired, haggard, and nearly emaciated.  Yet the grim visage was softened by his smile, a beaming mask of success.  He had never known the spirit of this man to be so strong; forcing life to grow from where there was little or no hope.  It made Wrenchard realize the strength of his people; of Kendrits; of their sheer hard fought willpower.

Wrenchard nodded towards the healer, who was now drifting off to sleep.

“I can also tell you that your family is safe and well.”  Jebediah assured. “And I want you to promise me that you’ll stay in bed and rest.  Though we need you, you can do no good to anyone now, not in this condition.”

Wrenchard nodded agreement and smirked, “Where am I going to go?”         

Jebediah explained a bit more about what he knew to be going on in the town.

Wrenchard, strained by the effort of remaining awake, realized the gravity of the situation that he’d narrowly escaped.  He admitted, “I did not expect to awake.”

Jebediah recognized that he had stayed too long.  “Would you like to see your wife?”

“Uh,…”  Wrenchard paused.  He knew he was not yet fit enough to endure the verbal assault he knew he had coming, “…I need my rest.”

“Very well,” Jebediah understood full well Wrenchard’s hesitation.  “Before I go, one last thing.  You have also lost something that I am sure was very precious to you; but like I said your family is safe and I’m sure that you will take solace in that.”

“What have I lost?”  Wrenchard asked unenthusiastically.

Jebediah explained the incident involving the brandy.

Wrenchard nodded, “I understand, it’s for the good of the town.  Probably wouldn’t have been able to transport it anyway.”  He dozed off.

Jebediah left the two men to their rest, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

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

Leaving the pub after the soldiers, Adair watched them head toward the Commons.  He paralleled their path, heading toward the Valinson manor himself.  Before long he heard the tell-tale sign of riders, thunderous hooves pounding the ground in dissonant rhythm.  The earth trembled below his feet.  He was reminded of the power of the band riding down the hill into Kendrick for the first time.  His arm hairs prickled.

Not far away, Jonas was near re-entering the hamlet and also heard the exit of the Menovian threat.

Inside the Valinson home, Jebediah heard the commotion.  He briskly walked to the kitchen and peered out the rear window.  To his pleasure, he monitored the exit of the Irregular posse.

Adair drew near the Stilwell home, still watching the roiling dust whose locus was somewhere on the other side of the butcher’s house.  As he passed by, the shepherd noticed the door was open.  Smoke issued forth from the slender chimney, warmth invited from inside.  He saw no sign of the huntsman.

Slightly curious he approached the doorway.  Inside he saw the man’s belongings, including his pack, was left half open.  At this proximity he could tell that Canton was nowhere inside.

Adair paused, ogling the backpack.  It was full.  The straps for the bedroll still lay unbuckled.  The top flap was only buckled on the one side.  He thought to himself how easy it would be just to slip in and grab it, or at least undo the remaining strap and just look inside.

After a few long seconds he shook his head and moved on.

It took Adair a few minutes to get Jebediah’s attention, drawing the refugee away from his post.  After a bit of an exchange at the front door, he managed to get pulled in through the back door.  The pretense of the plague was markedly diminished.

Once inside Adair told Jebediah of the Menovians egress.  Excited, Jebediah conveyed that he knew and asked Adair for more information on the tracker.

Adair explained all that he knew, adding the names Pritchard, Horatio and Minerva as an after thought.  This did little to appease the larger man’s thirst for knowledge.  Jebediah, quickly learning to cope with the shepherd’s questionable memory, merely grunted with disappointment. 

“When did you last see him?”  Jebediah asked, wondering if perhaps the bulky man had left with the Irregular troop.

“Yesterday,” Adair replied.

The pilgrim’s spirits lifted.  Adair thought that he might have even seen an unfamiliar smile beginning to eke its way across Jebediah’s lips.  “Well, okay then.”

Adair smiled too.  “Yeah, his stuff is still there.  I could have taken his pack on my way in here, but decided not to.”

The inkling of relief vanished.  “What?” Jebediah moaned.

“Yeah, I have no idea where he is…” Adair continued, still smiling broadly.

“Ergh.  I hope he’s not hiding somewhere.”  Jebediah interjected, contemptuous of the short-sighted boy.

“Look,” he added, “if he knows about you coming in and out of here, then it might be dangerous for you.  So you have to decide if you want to stay here, and we’ll say that you got too close, or you can go out and take your chances.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll take my chances.”  Adair was quick with the reply.

“Very well then.  You should get going before he comes back around.”  Jebediah, disappointed, ushered the boy out.

Adair left unceremoniously, and circled the house as if returning from the pastures.  As he passed the Stilwell’s he couldn’t help but notice the figure dominating the open doorway.  Canton flashed his teeth.

He called out to the young man.  “How do they fare with the _plague_?”

Adair waved, trying to ignore the sarcastic tone.  “Uh, as well as can be expected.”  It was a question as much as a statement.  Not wishing to linger any longer, he hurried off to tend to the rest of his chores for the afternoon. 

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

Not far away, Jonas had wound his way back into town.  It was good to know that the Menovians had finally gone.  He found himself bopping along with an involuntary spring in his step.  Jonas wound up at the most unlikely of places.  He rapped at the door of the Tatum house.  Realizing that he had never come calling before, he didn’t quite know what to expect.

Mrs. Tatum opened the door.  Jonas knew that this was not it.  Not to be discouraged, he gained his full stature and composed himself.

“Hello, Jonas.”  She greeted the young man, standing in the doorway.

“Hello,” he attempted to sound authoritative, “I just wanted to let you know that the Menovians have left and things should be returning to normal.”  He attempted to peer over her shoulder nonchalantly, scanning the sitting room beyond for Hazel.

Her eyes never left his.  “Thank you for the update, Jonas.”  Hazel’s mother emphasized the last word, calling him back to attention.  “That’s very good to know.  And why are you telling me this?”

“I’m in the militia, ma’am.”  Jonas proudly declared, “It’s my duty.”

“Oh, really?”  She looked at him in amazement.  “I didn’t know.”

“Yup.”  Jonas lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

“Well, shouldn’t you be going to tell everyone else?” 

Jonas, always quick with wit replied, “Nope.  This is my last stop.”  In the room beyond he could see Hazel poking her head around a corner to investigate.

“Mother…?”  Hazel called out, coming into the room.

As if she had forgotten her manners, she stood aside somewhat and gestured to Jonas, “Well, I guess we should invite you in.  You must be tired and all.”  She gave him the once over.

Jonas felt her scouring glare.

“Thank you, thank you,” he obliged and brushed past quickly.

Hazel eagerly motioned for him to sit down on a comfortable couch.  Jonas did so leaving plenty of room next to him.  He looked from her to the space and back again.  She started across the room.

Mrs. Tatum closed the door and crossed the floor.  “Hazel, dear, Jonas must be thirsty from all the work.  Why don’t you bring us drinks?”

Hazel doubled back.  Mrs. Tatum took the empty seat next to Jonas on the couch.  “So Jonas,” to him it almost sounded as if his name was a curse on her lips, “I heard all that commotion last night.”

“Uh…”

Hazel was quick to return with the beverages.  She offered steeped herbs around.

Jonas took his graciously and stood up.  “Well, I do still have duty on the Breach.  I shouldn’t stay too long.  There is of course still the matter of Dralmohir, lest we forget.”  He could feel Mrs. Tatum’s glare upon him.  “So it might not be safe to, I don’t know,” he met Hazel’s stare, giving her a surreptitious look, “hang around a barn after sundown.”

Hazel smiled.

Mrs. Tatum stood now too.  “Well, thanks for stopping by.”  She said as she practically shoved him out the door.

Jonas wore a crescent moon smile all the way home as he raced to his barn to wait.    

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

 Jebediah’s mood grew graver.  This turn of events did not bode well.  He realized that he now had to confide in Wrenchard: the only other man of ostensible intelligence in this hamlet.  He proceeded upstairs to seek an audience with the cartographer.

As per Jebediah’s request, ‘elder’ Adair exited the room, trusting the stranger’s best intentions.  Behind closed doors the two discussed plans and speculation at length.  The healer waited just outside.  He could hear not more than low tones from inside.

When finally Jebediah emerged, Adair could see that Wrenchard was still awake, a look of consternation upon his face.  He only caught the tale end of what Wrenchard had said, aloud as much to himself as anyone else.

“This is something that I’ll have to muse.”

Jebediah brushed by the man waiting in the hall, and without explanation or recognition continued downstairs.

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

Sometime later, a call came through the cracked barn doors.  “Hello…?”  It was Hazel.

Jonas jumped up with anticipation.  This was it, the moment he had been waiting for.  Surprisingly, his stomach was all-aflutter.

“Hello!  Come on in!”  He called from the loft eagerly, not wanting her to go away.  He quickly tried to brush the hay from his hair.

Hazel slipped through the crack in the oversized doors and peered about for her admirer.  

Jonas crossed the loft to the ladder and waved to catch her attention.  Noticing that she saw him, he decided to attempt an impressive move.  Continuing to hold her attention with his gaze, he slid down the ladder.  In an effort to do so quickly, he rapped his knuckles on every rung going down.  Jonas bit his lip to stymie the pain.

“Hey,”  She said as she drew near.

Jonas tucked his hands behind his back.  He dared not venture a look, sure that his fingers were broken.

“You’re a pretty good musician,” admired Hazel.

“Thanks.”  The pain began to fade.  “I have a song I’d like to play for you.”

“Really?  You wrote a song for me?”

“Um,”  Jonas hesitated.  It was evident that Hazel had expected him to have one prepared already.  Jonas again became suddenly aware of the pain in his fingers.

“Here, let me play it,” he floundered.

Given the familiarity of his lute, and his creative nature, Jonas did a fair job of creating an impromptu tune dedicated to the young woman.  Sitting atop a hay bail, she looked on longingly.  Jonas was encouraged.  He finished the tune and scooted closer to her on the seat.

“You’re really good,” she offered.  She tilted her head a bit to the side.

Jonas leaned in a bit closer, expectantly.  His heart raced.

“And you don’t smell like sheep sh*t like everyone says,” Hazel continued.

“Huh?”  Jonas’ heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.  He reeled back with the involuntary reflex of the smack.

“Patty Boy.  That’s what we, uh… _they_ all call you,” she added.

Deflated, Jonas didn’t know if he could salvage the situation.  “Really?  Uh, thanks, I guess.”

As Hazel stood to leave, Jonas did little to prevent her from going.  He was disenchanted.

“Well, I don’t wanna stay too long.  Mother will be wondering after me.  Thanks, you’re really sweet.”  In a glimmer of hope she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

As she ran off, Jonas thought to himself.  ‘Well, it was a start.’

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

That night Kendrick was calm.  More lights filled the valley almost as if an ominous shadow had finally passed.  The Kendrits, though always aware of the creeping presence of Dralmohir, slept well.  A soft snow drifted from the sky, raw fleece that padded softly to the ground.   


*Ralem, 1st of Oche – 564 H.E.*


Most of the snow had melted before dawn, what little remained served only as a reminder of the weather to come. 

‘Black’ Adair awoke with the sun.  If not for his routine, he would have considered attending services at the Glory.  For some reason he had never gone, and was now curious as to what exactly happened there.  What was so appealing to the pious of Ra?

Instead he took out his wards for their final days in the meadows.  He knew that the snow would come hard and fast soon.  Winter cracked like a whip across the small valley.  Soon the sheep would be cooped up in the barn for most of the season.  He decided to remain the day, mulling over his own thoughts.   

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

When Jonas awoke, later than usual, which was usual, he headed right to the Valinson manor.  Entering via the servants’ door, he found the house in disarray.  Kelize apparently just had discovered the same thing.  She appeared to be adding to the confusion.  Obviously news of the Menovians passage had spread throughout the house, allowing its denizens to once again roam free.

Jonas entered the kitchen where Jebediah and Kelize were already arguing about the need for maintained secrecy.  Constance chased by in a blur, pursuing Annabelle who relished the chaos, taking the opportunity to decorate the walls with a coal pencil.

Kelize turned on the young militiaman as he came in.  As it this was the event that finally resulted in her loss of patience. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but only huffed and stormed out.  Jonas felt the tension follow her from the room.

Upstairs, Wrenchard awoke from all the commotion.  Feeling a bit better, he dressed.  He then proceeded to the end of the hall towards the stairs, anxious to hear what all the hullabaloo was about.

Jonas noted the open cellar door.  With one quick look at Jebediah, he could tell that the man was in no mood to talk.  Rather than engage the surly pilgrim, he decided to just poke his head downstairs.  An odd grunting noise seemed to be coming from below.

Jonas descended halfway down the rickety old wooden stairs.  Below him he saw a makeshift living quarters.  Lanterns suspended from floor joyces, cast a dim light throughout the entirety of the cellar.  A few cots lay cast about, as well as some strewn children’s clothes.  A well-worn rocking chair rested near a low-burning brazier in one of the corners.  A comfortable looking, shabby, blanket lay crumpled on the seat.  He caught the distinct odor of feces in the air.  The grunt came again, from directly below him.

He continued to the bottom.  Here he found an old man, squatting over a bedpan that had been positioned away from everything else, beneath the steps.  With sweat on his brow, the man looked up at Jonas and winked.

Jonas cringed, “Uh, er,…” 

The old man nly looked back at him and replied with another grunt.

“Yeah,” Jonas said, “I’ll be going now.”  And he bounded up the steps two at a time.

Suddenly, Jonas cared little for what sort of mood Jebediah was in.  “Do you know that there’s an old man down there?  He’s taking a crap…”

Jebediah turned to him, “Uh, yeah.  Listen, that’s not important right now.  What is important is what’s going on outside.”

Wrenchard descended the staircase.  He was shocked to find his living room in shambles.  It looked nothing like what he’d expected.  Dread curtains darkened the whole house.  The furniture was a mess.  The man of the house eyed the wine rack, or rather the outline of where it had been.  He noticed piles of wood and a bucket brimming with some mysterious liquid.  The acidic smell left him suspicious.  Drawn to the noise in the kitchen, he continued down the hall, ignoring the barracks state of his dining room.

“Who is that guy?”  Wrenchard heard Jonas ask as he entered the conversation.

“That’s Wrenchard’s father.”  Jebediah answered.  “Wrenchard, hello.  Good to see you up and about.”  He addressed his host.

“Wrenchard keeps his father in the basement?”  Jonas continued the questioning, while looking around for something to nibble on.  Seeing Wrenchard he turned to him, “You keep your father in the basement?”

“What happened to my wine collection?”  Wrenchard asked Jonas.

“Well, what’s his name?”  Jonas continued the line of questioning.

“What happened to my wine collection,” Wrenchard turned and asked Jebediah.

“I told you, some sacrifices were made for the good of the plans,” Jebediah offered as explanation.

This did not seem to satisfy Wrenchard as an excuse.  Nor did it please Kelize to hear as she re-entered the kitchen, also drawn by the rising noise level.  “Will you just look at the state of my house, Wrenchard?”

“What matters now is that the Menovians have left town, yes, but that tracker is still skulking about.”  Jebediah thought to make his point.

Jonas waved off the past, “Listen, never mind, it’s getting late in the season…”

“What?  Sacrifices?  What are you talking about?  What’d you do get ‘em drunk the whole time?!”  Wrenchard’s familial inheritance was vanished.  Twenty years of collecting was gone.  

“Wrenchard?”  Kelize tugged at her husband.

“…and I think that we ought to get going soon.  Winter will be coming up soon, very soon.”

“What? Going where?  Wrenchard?”  Kelize badgered her husband.

“Did you know that a 13 year-old girl was raped and murdered?”  Jebediah drove a stake into Wrenchard with his words. “Some people had more important things to worry about than alcohol.”

“I’m not talking about alcohol, I’m talking about…” Wrenchard became livid at such disrespect.

“I’m talking about getting our things prepared for our trip,” Jonas added, picking up on Wrenchard’s cue.  He raised his voice audibly so as to not be ignored any longer.

“Wrenchard!”  Kelize demanded her husband’s attention.

Wrenchard lashed back at Jebediah.  “Winter is coming.  My family will need…”

“EXACTLY!  Winter _is_ coming, and _we_ need to get out of here,”  Jonas added, stepping in front of Kelize, trying to drown her out.

Jebediah seemed to hear Jonas for the first time, “We’re still being watched by the hunter.”

Wrenchard, not quite finished, hesitated, “… and I…”

Jonas tried to appease his host, “Oh, just ignore him.  That’s what I do.”  He half jested, gesturing to Jebediah.

Kelize refused to be bullied aside, especially in her own house.  “Wrenchard!  This house is a mess!  What do you plan to do about it!?”  Her voice grated in his ears, clawed at the inside of his skull.

Jebediah was losing composure.  He turned on Jonas, “What do you mean, _ignore me_!?  I do not appreciate you being snide.”

Jonas changed tact, addressing both men now that he had their attention.  “All I am saying is that instead of arguing about what you have already done, and instead worry about what we still have to do…”

“_Wrenchard!_”  Kelize was infuriated.

Jonas lost his patience with Kelize, “Ma’am, _please_!?”  He begged.

If there was one thing that Kelize could not stand it was being sassed, “Don’t you _‘Ma’am’_ me!”

*”EVERYBODY QUIET!”*

The house went still as Wrenchard licked the foam from his lips.  He was shaking with fury.  He pulsed up and down with hard, labored breathing.  The blood had run to his cheeks and his eyes were bloodshot.

Wrenchard flicked the foam from his mouth and pointed to his wife.  Some fell on her shirt.  She paid it no mind.  “You!”  He commanded.  “Begin cleaning.  Put everything back the way it was.  Get the servants to help you.  If you need anything, tell me.”

“You two,” he pointed at Jonas and Jebediah. “Continue preparations for the expedition.  We’re leaving.  Tomorrow.”

Jonas had suggested that the ‘plague’ curtains stay up.  Kelize overruled him.

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

Jonas decided that the rest of his chores could be conducted outside of the now crowded Valinson home.  He explained that he would secure the foodstuffs from the butcher and notify Adair of the cabal’s intentions.  Exiting the rear of the house, he passed the Stilwell’s and saw firelight flickered on the walls within.  Jonas took the opportunity to have a chat with Canton Myle.

Quickly crossing the ground between the two houses, Jonas gave a hearty knock at the door.  Expectedly, the hunter answered, graciously inviting the young militiaman in.  Jonas was obliged.

“Hello.”  Canton opened the door.  Jonas realized how handsome the young man truly was.  “How are you?”  

Jonas frowned and introduced himself.  They shook hands.

“Herm, is something wrong?”  Myle had noticed the expression.  “Ah, yes, I remember you.  The minstrel from the pub a few nights back.  You’re fairly good.  Though that frown won’t do, you should smile more.  I’m Canton Myle.”

“Eh?”  Jonas was not comfortable with the man’s openness and hospitality.  It did not help what he was trying to accomplish.

“I’m just saying that you have a pretty smile.  You have nice dimples.”

“Eh?”  Jonas was caught off-guard.

“Well, I’m being so rude.  Here,” he gestured behind him, stepping sideways  and back into the room to allow Jonas to enter. “Won’t you come in?”

“Um, yes.”  Jonas entered and paced about a bit.

The two engaged in a brief conversation where Jonas disguised his visit as militia duty; explaining to the newcomer that he would certainly need to speak to the sheriff about squatting in the Stilwell home.  He also insinuated that he knew what Myle was ‘up to’.  For all Jonas’ pretense and implication, Canton seemed unaffected and only genuinely responsive to the company.  The Menovian’s reactions further agitated the young Fawkes.

“Well, would you like to sit?”  Canton offered.

Jonas crossed the room to the table, briefly looking about for any weapons.  He noticed a curious looking crossbow that was propped against the wall just behind his left arm.  The conversation became more cryptic as Jonas began to make threats and veiled comments to the man, suggesting that ill would befall him if their group were to be followed.  The Kendrit suspected that Canton feigned ignorance, nodding his head, smiling in a way that looked like a leer. 

The two sat down and shared a cup of steeped herbs, Jonas noticing a tall branchlike stand of some sort, erected in the corner of the main room.  A long leather thong was draped over one end of the thickest, top-most bar.  Canton had obviously noticed him, noticing it.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, almost as afterthought, giving Jonas a start.

“That reminds me, I have yet to feed my falcon.”  Canton stood up and crossed to the stand, his back to Jonas.  He removed the leather.

“Would you like to see?”  Canton asked, and gestured Jonas toward the door.

Jonas stood and exited first, suspicious.

Canton closed the door behind him as he exited.  He pulled the leather thong at length, and loaded a sling-like cup with something that Jonas was unable to identify.  The larger man began to slowly, andmethodically spin the cord, gradually expanding the circumference of the circle.  Jonas found the low whooshing sound of the leather in the air discomforting.  He stepped back as Canton continued to require more area for the procedure.  All the while the hunter explained.

“Ah!  Such magnificent birds.  I do love them.  Osiris’ purest hunter, if you ask me.  Solitary, fast, quick-witted, precise.”  Canton admired.

Jonas couldn’t help but think that he didn’t ask, but listened anyway.  “Where’d you get a hawk?”  He figured he’d play along politely.  There was no reason to upset the man.

Canton winced and looked at the lad, offended.  “A _falcon_,” he enunciated, “is not to be confused with a hawk.”

“Ooohh, _sorry_.”  Jonas did little to hide his sarcasm.

“You see,” Canton decided to explain. “When hawks hunt they attack their prey on the ground.  Falcons, however, will actually attack and kill their prey while still in mid-air.”

Jonas yawned.

The whooshing was lower, slower.  Jonas stepped back three more paces.  

“Watch now…” Canton had forgotten the offense. “Any minute now…”

Sure enough, a small brown bird had appeared high in the sky, circling overhead.

Jonas craned his neck, occasionally losing sight of the predator in the sun.  As it descended rapidly, disappearing and reappearing in intervals blocked by Matet, the militiaman was almost left with the impression that the bird was approaching at an exponential rate.  It loomed above, large now; still high in the air, Jonas half-ducked, reflexively.

The whooshing built into a crescendo that broke with a smack like that of a whip. Jonas watched as the leather lariat snaked upward from Canton’s hand, shooting some small hunk of dense material into the air.  With a high screech, the falcon dropped like a rock, instantly smacking into the foreign matter, eclipsing it from Jonas’ view.  The minstrel began to see the significance in this relationship.  The bird continued its descent to light aloft the large hunter’s upraised hand.  Even at this distance, Jonas could tell that had Canton not worn a thick leather glove, the birds claws would be digging deep in to his flesh.

“Say,” Jonas asked drawing a bit closer, “So you could use that thing to hunt?”

“Yes,”  Canton preened proudly.

“Or say, track something.  From way up there that bird could see everything, huh?”

Canton stroked the back of the bird’s neck.  It was now finishing choking down something.  “Jonas, say hello to my friend Reed.”  He gestured Jonas over.

“Erm, hello, uh…Reed.”  Jonas awkwardly obliged.  “You talk to him?”

“Yes, of course.  He’s my friend.”  Canton answered, turning back to admire his companion.

Jonas was skeptical, “…and, uh…he talks back?”

“Well, no, of course not,”  Canton looked at the teenager quizzically. “He’s a bird.”

“Right,” closed Jonas.” Well, I should be going.”

“Alright,” Canton chased as Jonas began to meander off. “Thanks for stopping by.  Come again anytime.”

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

Wrenchard hunted down Annabelle.  After seeking solitude in his study, he found many of his maps improved upon.  Crude likenesses of kitties were molded from mountains, snakes were once rivers, and hills became sheep.  Valinson was exasperated.  

“Annabelle!”  He called out.  His paternal tone rang throughout the house.  The soft pitter-pat of small feet ceased suspiciously upstairs.

“Annabelle, do you have any idea who may have drawn all over the walls of the house?”  Wrenchard tried to coax the truth from his oldest daughter upstairs in the children’s bedroom.

“Uh…?”  She hesitated, obviously ashamed, tracing with her feet on the floorboards.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna yell.  I just wanna know the truth,”  Wrenchard encouraged.

“It was…” Annabelle paused. “It was Constance!”

Wrenchard shook his head.  “Noooo…” he drawled.

“It was…” Annabelle paused. “It was Dian!”

Wrenchard shook his head again.  He made droopy eyes like a sad puppy and lowered himself onto one knee, looking up into Annabelle’s face as she fidgeted on the bed.  “I’m a very sad daddy.  You don’t want daddy to be sad do you?”

Annabelle shook her head.  “No daddy, don’t be sad.  I told Dian not to do it.”  She beamed hoping her father was convinced.

“Well, Annabelle, if I knew the truth then I wouldn’t be sad…”

“Um, it was the kitty!  Yeah, the kitty did it!”  She averted his gaze, and fumbled about with the bedspread.

“Annabelle…” Wrenchard lured, and stuck out his lower lip. “Now you know that’s not true.  I just want to make sure that this will never happen again.  That was naughty.  Do you understand?”

“It won’t, daddy.  I’ll make sure!”  Annabelle stood on the bed, elated that she didn’t have to confess.

“Well, alright.  Will you help to clean it up then?”  Wrenchard asked as Annabelle nodded and bounced towards him.  “Good.  Well, give daddy a hug.”

His daughter flopped into his arms, reaching up to grasp fingers behind his neck.  Wrenchard hugged her back, warmly, wondering when his next moment like this might be.  

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

Once he left the tracker, Jonas sought out Adair in the pastures.  Van Feicht momentarily waylaid him.  The latter man was rather quickly shooed away, looking nettled, and Jonas proceeded to talk to his peer in hushed tones.  After quickly explaining to the Bannon of the resumption of expedition preparations, he diverged from Adair who was off to find Tyrus.  In the meanwhile, Jonas would retrieve the smoked meats fro Edwin. 

Fawkes found the butcher in his smokehouse with his little baby girl, Corley, ‘breathing in the progress.’  With the aid of the Valinson wheelbarrow, he loaded up the rations and paid for the smoker’s efforts with a couple hundred Herman-Land silvers drawn from the Valinson coffers.  While there, Jonas had an idea.  He suggested to the Kerswills, mainly Bette, that they go and welcome Canton to the hamlet.  She seemed receptive, thanking him for the suggestion as he left.

 Uplifted, Jonas continued about his tasks to the Tatum house.  Maybe he could steal a few minutes with Hazel again.  He knocked on the door.  Again her mother answered barring the entryway with her body, a protective badger guarding the lair.  She smiled at him politely. 

“So Jonas,” There was the curse again. “I wasn’t aware that you and Hazel were friends?”  It was a rhetorical question.

He answered it anyway.  “Yup.”

The interrogation continued, “Well how come you’ve never been around before?”  

He had no time to answer as she continued before he could start.  “You do know that Adair and Hazel are close don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“Does Adair know you’re here?”  She prodded.

“Uh…”

“You and he _are_ friends aren’t you?”  Mrs. Tatum was ruthless.

Jonas thought that he would rather be dispatching fiends from the Breach right about now.

Backpedaling he made a suggestion.  “Actually, I was coming to see you.”

The statement caught her unawares.  “Really?”

“Yes, I was thinking that since we’re welcoming all these newcomers to town, it would be nice of you to stop by and say ‘hello’.  The new man is staying at the old Stilwell house.”  He was certain that she would be much more charitable now.

She grinned, he saw her guard lower somewhat, just long enough to glimpse Hazel silently waving at him from inside the house.

“Oooooh, and we could have a party.  At the pub.  We could invite those other two staying at Wrenchard’s and everyone could meet, mingle, and talk.  What a great idea, Jonas!  I’ll bake a pie.”

“Yeah.”  It took a minute for Jonas to register fully the implications of what Mrs. Tatum had just suggested.  She didn’t seem to be paying him any mind.  The opening was there, as she turned to head back into the house and presumably towards the kitchen.  Hazel smiled at him.  He drifted closer.

“Uh, er, no, wait!” He called after the elder woman.  “That’s no good,” he added, realizing what he’d committed the Groomers to.

“Oh?”  Mrs. Tatum turned back, eclipsing Hazel from view.  “Why not?”  She bore down on him swiftly.  He took a few involuntary steps backward, recoiling from her tone.

“Well, uh….” He was in the doorway again.  “The pilgrims are in the house with Wrenchard.  Y’know, plague and all.  We don’t want to get the whole town sick.”

“Oh.  You’re right,” conceded Mrs. Tatum.  “Well I guess you’d best be running along now.  You must be busy with your militia duty and all.”

Jonas cringed.  “Yeah.”  

He left, unable to see Hazel.  

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

While Jonas was conniving behind his back, Adair dutifully humped out to Tyrus’ hut and updated the woodsman on the situation with the Menovians and the resumption of preparations for the expedition.  The shepherd took an inventory of the confiscated gear that had been stripped of the dead Irregulars and headed back to the hamlet to complete an errand for the hillman.  Besides that, he didn’t want to get caught up in the hills after sun down.  Tyrus might be able to handle himself, but he wasn’t so sure.

On his way back to the Valinson manor, Adair stopped by Gerald’s to find out the price of the paddles and arrow shafts that Tyrus had commissioned, coming away with a figure of 30 coppers.  The shepherd took this figure with him to the manor, entering via the front door.  He entered the sitting room where he spoke with Wrenchard who was taking down the last of the heavy black drapery.

Wrenchard had an unusual spring in his step; he was full of vim and vigor.  “Sometimes you need to be brought to the brink of death to know what you are truly made of.  I am eager for this journey.”

Adair nodded.  “I guess you decided to drop the plague façade.”

“Yes.”  Wrenchard thought of Kelize’s incessant nagging.

“Well, the oars and arrow shafts are ready.  Gerald just needs 3 silvers.”  Adair notified their benefactor.

“Surely, let’s just go to the study.”  Wrenchard led the boy down the hall.

From the study they heard a knock on the door.  Gravis responded.

“You have a visitor, sir.”  Gravis called from the hall.

Wrenchard and Adair moved to the sitting room where Canton Myle had already been seated, making himself comfortable in Wrenchard’s favorite chair.  With their appearance, Gravis bowed and took his leave.  Canton rose as the master of the house entered the room.

With an outstretched hand he took Wrenchard’s, who could tell that the larger foreigner was trying to gauge his strength.  He nodded at Adair.  

“You’re looking well.”  He beamed at Valinson, not letting go of the firm grasp.  His teeth caught the firelight, gleaming.  “You’ve done a good job getting rid of the smell of plague.”

Both men stared at him.  Canton sat down, not seeming to mind.

“Yes,” Wrenchard finally spoke up, not knowing what to make of the situation.  He had no weapons near at hand.  “The ole zombie rot.”

Outside the room, Gravis secretly slipped up the stairs.

“Zombie rot?  I’ve never heard of that.”  Canton eyed him quizzically, surveying his face.

Adair sat away from the older men, at the far end of the couch.  He watched the interplay.

“Yes, I got it during the last undead attack.”  Wrenchard added.

The manservant slipped into the room where Constance had been staying.  Both of the pilgrims were here now, quietly speculating as to the noise that they’d heard downstairs.  Gravis confirmed their suspicions.

“Well,” Canton gave a hearty laugh. “Good thing for you.  I heard that you had the Red Wasting disease; and that’s fatal.”

Wrenchard continued to engage the hunter in a contrived story involving the intricacies of attacks staged by the living dead, and the missing Menovian Irregulars.  All the while Canton listened in rapt attention.

“Don’t try to open this door until I come to get you, not for anyone.  Not even me.  Arm yourself.”  Jebediah crossed the hall after sealing in Constance with a turn of the key.

He quickly began to make preparations of his own, beginning by affixing his antiquated breastplate to the studded leather underlay and securing his sword-belt.  He sat vigil at the foot of the bed.

Wrenchard seemed to realize that he’d been droning on.  “Who said I had the Red Wasting disease?”

Canton sat up on the couch and leaned forward.  The smile vanished, unnerving Adair.  The large silky-blonde man looked Wrenchard dead in the eye.  “Everyone but you.”  He stood up abruptly.

Wrenchard recoiled slightly, using the momentum to spring to his feet from the couch. 

 “Heh,” He sounded unaffected. “Rumors…”

Canton proceeded towards the door.  “Well, I should be going.  Just wanted to see how things were faring over here.  Now with the curtains down and all.”

Wrenchard and Adair exchanged genuine pleasantries and close the door behind him.  They watched through the shutters as he took refuge from the drawing night sky in the old Stilwell home.

Adair took his winter cloak from the wall lined with hooks.  It was starting to get much chillier at night.  “Why don’t we bring him along with us?  He’s got a falcon and everything.”

Wrenchard opened the door and looked down into the young man’s innocent face.  “That’s an interesting idea.”

Wrenchard closed the door behind the young shepherd, who proceeded to retrieve the paddles and arrow shafts.  He took them home with him, arriving just in time for dinner.

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

Upstairs Jebediah absorbed every word.  He was agog.  He waited to hear the front door close down below.  As the sounds of movement carried further back into the belly of the house, Jebediah slowly, methodically rose.  As quietly as possible he crossed the hallway and unlocked Constance’s door.  He entered, pulled the door closed behind him and locked it again.  She looked at him quizzically.

“Pack your things and be ready, then get to bed as soon as possible.  You may need all your rest later tonight.  We may be getting out of here.”

Dawning comprehension registered on her face.  Instantly, she did as instructed.

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

*Notes:*

(1) –  The Bannons pay tribute to the Valinsons on the first day of winter and the first day of summer.  This includes wool and head of sheep in exchange for the use of the Valinson fields and properties.

(2) –  He hasn’t before.


----------



## Jon Potter (Aug 1, 2003)

*Re: session #6*



> *“I know for my part I plan to try to…you know…”  He insinuated with a raised eyebrow.  “…before I go, not that I haven’t before (2)…I mean.  I want to do it again.  You know, before I go.”*



...and...



> (2) –  He hasn’t before. [/B]




That made me giggle. Apparently teenage boys are the same all over.

This story hour is light on action, but it has a strong, almost claustrophic sense of paranoia running through it. You've really created a solid mood that I enjoy.

As always, I wish that the updates were more frequent, but given each update's length, I can understand why they come only at extended intervals.


----------



## el-remmen (Aug 1, 2003)

No action?

Well, compared to some games I guess, but the character interaction alone makes this game worth playing in - and later when some of Rastfar's rat bastardliness really begins to become obvious you will groan as we all did around the table.

I loved this last installment the most - the chaotic "discussion" in the Valinson kitchen was just precious!


----------



## handforged (Aug 1, 2003)

once again, I enjoyed every word.

You might think of releasing these in smaller, more frequent installments.  As it is, I have to schedule time to read the whole thing.

~hf


----------



## "Black" Adair (Aug 1, 2003)

*Paranoia*

It's amazing how much stuff happens when you're not in combat, isn't it? I love this game for it. It makes the action all the more important when you run across it, because it ends up being A Big Deal.

Being without a healer in the party, it makes it even more of a big deal when combat occurs. Certainly, we have to be a little more careful.

The best part, though, is that each character has his or her own unique aspects, not to mention personal agendas. Sure, the adventuring party is lumped together, but everyone's in it for a different reason and who's to say that any or all of those reasons have to mesh with the others?

Rastfar, congratulations to you for putting together such a great game. Kudos, also, to the other players for the wonderful characters they made (however messed up some of them may be). It really revealed D&D to me in a whole new light, the D&D beyond the dungeon crawl.

*whew*

Glad I got that off my chest.

Blackada-I-RRR-1


----------



## "Black" Adair (Aug 1, 2003)

*Collected Story Hour Volume #1*

Intro and Sessions 1 through 3, collected in a handy Word document. Let me know if you guys prefer PDFs, instead.


----------



## "Black" Adair (Aug 1, 2003)

*Collected Story Hour Volume #2*

Sessions 4 through 6, collected in a handy Word document. Let me know if you guys prefer PDFs, instead.

Unfortunately, ENWorld's attachment size limit prevents me from collecting them together in more than three-session blocks.


----------



## Rastfar (Sep 17, 2003)

*Session #7*

*session #7*

 Adair returned in time for supper at the Valinson home; discussion erupted.

Jonas was first to broach the subject, “Are we leaving tomorrow?”

Wrenchard looked down the table at the young militiaman.  “I recommend that we do before winter comes too thick upon us.”

“Are we prepared?”  Jonas queried.

“Leaving?  Where?” Kelize piped in.  She was ignored.

“We are going to need some supplies from Tyrus,” Wrenchard looked to Adair.

Jonas followed Wrenchard’s direction, “Yes, where has he been?”

Adair answered succinctly, “He’s been holed up in his shack.”

“Is he okay?”  Jonas asked.

“He seems okay, now.”

Wrenchard was unconvinced.  “I don’t like that, one fight and he’s lost his nerve?”  He spoke to the table as much as any one person.

Adair replied, “I don’t know.  I can find out.”

The smell of a hearty meal was carried in from the kitchen as Gravis entered bearing a tray laden with glasses.  “I have…wine medley for everyone.”

The manservant proceeded to disburse them around the table.  Both Constance and Jebediah swirled their glasses before dipping their noses below the rims.  Gravis eyed Jonas fuzzily as he passed a glass to him.  Kelize accepted hers quietly.

“Hey Adair,” Jonas whispered, one eye on Gravis. “Do you want to trade drinks?”

“No,”  Adair replied without looking.  The smells were beginning to make his stomach rumble.

Jonas pestered, “C’mon!  Let’s trade drinks.”

“No!”  Adair scolded.

Constance added, “It’s….wine medley.”  She was hard-pressed to remain resolute.

Jebediah drank slowly, savoring the moment.  “What a happy accident!”  He looked to Wrenchard encouragingly.  “It’s a wonderful meritage.”

Wrenchard’s face was sour grapes.  “It’s very…grape.”

Gravis excused himself, “I’ll bring supper now, sir.”  And he dipped his head slightly as he backed out of the room.

Jonas called after him, “And don’t skimp on the gravy!”

Jebediah looked to Jonas, “You’re not drinking your wine.”

“Er, uh, no.  I don’t drink.  I want to keep my head clear, y’know,”  Jonas explained, tapping his temple.  

Constance muttered to herself, cradling the stemware, “Did you ever stop to wonder where all these glasses come from?”  She continued to muse the mystery silently.

Gravis brought a late meal of beef stew, oat bread, goat butter and roasted root vegetables.  The perfume of wintergrass filled Jonas’ nostrils as the platter of vegetables was laid in front of him.  His mouth watered.

“Shzhat Noelle iszh szhome cook,” he exclaimed, a mouthful of vegetables already on his tongue.  He breathed out, to let the heat escape so as not to burn his tongue.  

The table lightened as all gave a chuckle.  They discussed Canton Myle.  Jebediah made it abundantly clear that there was no way that they would be traveling together.  This understood, they instead decided to focus their efforts on a plan to delay any pursuit by the man.  They considered many options, the most sound of which seemed to be un-shoeing his horse.  Ultimately the task was given to Jonas to complete as he had been most forthcoming with ideas on the matter.

As they finished their meals, Jonas was again curious.  He looked to reiterate.  “Where are we going?”

“Yeah?”  Kelize tried again, searching for answers; her frown creased in anger. 

Constance was quick to answer, “Black River Bridge.”

Jonas looked at her, “Why?”

Constance replied with the air of someone explaining to a child, “Because that is where my brother and I are from.”

“No, you’re not.”  Jonas eyed her warily.  Jebediah sighed from further along the table.  Constance clammed up.

Wrenchard looked down the table to Jonas, “We’re past that.”

The plates were cleared and more wine medley was enjoyed.  The map was spread on the table.

“I just want it to be known that I will not be going into these hills.”  Jebediah pointed his finger to a larger spot on the map.  Everyone knew it to be Black Top, capital city of Rhondria.

Wrenchard looked him in the eye, “Why?”

“Because I am known there.”  Jebediah was curt, shooting Wrenchard a glare in an effort to stymie this line of questioning.

Jonas, with pointed interest, jumped on the line of questioning.  “I thought you were from _Menovia_.”

Constance poured herself another glass of the Valinson meritage and offered some to Adair.

Jebediah was insulted at the sarcastic tone.  “Who said I wasn’t?  There are bounty hunters there.”

Jonas was doubtful, “Oh.”  He let it drop.

Adair and Jonas cast each other furtive glances.  Obviously, they’d both been harboring the same suspicious thoughts, which they now confirmed with each other.

Supper was cleared.  Everyone agreed to meet at the boats at moonrise.  Suddenly, the Kendrits were all short on time.  Kelize stormed away from the table, marching loudly upstairs.  Against his better judgment, Adair went out to see Tyrus.  He loathed the idea of skulking the hills after sundown.  Jonas was to execute his plan.  Jebediah and Constance followed upstairs to pack and get some much-needed rest for the trials to come.  Jebediah left instructions for Gravis to awake him an hour before departure.  Wrenchard helped to clear the last of the dishes to the kitchen and proceeded down into the cellar.

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

“How are you, father?”  Wrenchard lowered himself to one knee, head bowed before the withered man rocking in the chair.

“Oooohhhh….” He moaned, showing no signs of recognition.

“Father,” Wrenchard placed a hand on the quilt covering the man’s lap, “it’s me Wrenchard.”

Feldon jerked reflexively, “Ooohhhhh….,” he muttered.  He looked into his son’s eyes, recognizing him for the first time now.  “My ass is bleeding.”

Wrenchard ignored the declaration.  “I’ll be leaving soon, father.”

“Oooohhhhh, why did Ra have to take Hornrick?”  Feldon lamented.  “Why couldn’t he have taken you instead?”  Feldon condemned his only remaining son.  There was no sympathy.

Wrenchard was used to such barbs; he continued to try and explain.  It was useless.  The sight of his only remaining son had set Fldon into another fit of depression.  Wrenchard could only watch in sympathy and misery.  He cared deeply for this shell of a man, longed for his respect and appreciation, yet he knew he would never measure up to the shadow of what might have once been – Hornrick.  He stood, kissed his old man on the forehead and left.

He called down as he climbed the creaky old staircase, “You’ll see, father.  I’ll make you proud.  Proud for all of us.”

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

Jonas left to take care of Canton's horse.  He knew that it had to be stabled in Van Feicht's barn as it was not in his.  First, however, Jonas knew he would need the appropriate tool to slay the animal. Not wanting to use one of his own weapons, he proceeded to the miller's barn to fetch their scythe. Before he got there, though, he ran into Trance, cowering in a bush.  He questioned her. She tried to shoo him away.  Finally she relayed that Cricket was inside with Lee Hoeberg. 

Jonas sent Trance home and decided to barge into the barn himself.

With his air of militia authority he burst open the barn doors.  “Alright!  What’s goin’ on in here?!?”

 He found no one. After a little searching around, he gave up, grabbed the scythe and went back to his original task.

In his best friend’s barn, he tied the horse up by pulling its reins taught and securing them to a post directly across from the stall.  This pulled the horses neck out from the stall, not allowing it to retract inside.  Seeming to sense what was about to happen the steed began to frantically try to break free.  It kicked at the stalls edges and kneed the door as if it had clear knowledge of its impending doom. 

 Jonas cleaved it in the neck with the scythe, though he wasn't strong enough to do it cleanly. The horse struggled mightily and it would be a few more whacks of the blade before the struggles turned to reflexive convulsions of muscles. In the end, Jonas had completed his task, but was covered in blood. He washed himself off at a well across town, as well as washing the scythe, and then went back to the miller's to replace it in the barn. 

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

Meanwhile, Adair returned to the woodman's hut in the wilderness to see him.  He collected the gear that Wrenchard had requested of the loot that had been gleaned from the slain Menovians.  He then sat down to ask the most relevant question of the woodsman.

“Are you coming with us?” 

Tyrus, ever thoughtful, asked what was to be done with the tracker. Upon hearing of the plan of delaying Canton by doing something to his horse, the young moonshiner suggested that he stay behind to keep a watch on the bounty-hunter. Tyrus would delay Canton or race ahead to meet the party further upstream, for he could travel faster alone and was familiar with the hills in the region. Bidding farewell to the woodsman, Adair returned to Wrenchard's manor with the gear, noticing both coming and going that a little fire had been lit in the Stillwell home. 

On his way home, he stopped by the Tatum house and rapped on the shutters of Hazel's room.

Her sweet voice instantly resounded from within, “Jonas?  Jonas?”

Adair was hurt.  “It’s Adair.”  

“Oops!”  She winced as she opened the shutters.

Adair explained to her that he would be leaving on the expedition and assured her that he would be back for the Festival of Isis. A look of concern crossed her face.  They shared a tender moment, Hazel quickly furnishing her suitor with a lock of her braided hair, which he took to cherish on his journey. She allowed him a kiss on the cheek and gave him a firm hug before he departed for home to pack, make good-byes, and rest.

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

Upstairs, Wrenchard collected his things.  Kelize looked on, dumbfounded.  She ticked her teeth, annoying Wrenchard.

Finally, he could ignore her no longer.  “Kelize, I’m leaving on that expedition tomorrow.”

“What expedition?”  She queried.

He was sure that she was feigning ignorance.  Overlooking her attempt to bait him into argument, Wrenchard only asked that she respect his father and treat him well.

“Uh-huh.”  Kelize was upset.  She stood sideways next to the bureau, casting him a nasty look.

“I can find another wife.”  Wrenchard thought of other women, like Constance.

 “Uh-huh.  Good luck.”  She practically snarled.

Wrenchard stopped packing and gave her his undivided attention now.  “It’s a larger world than you know.”

“Oh, I _know_,”  She insinuated.

“Well,” Wrenchard was livid. “I’m leaving.”

“You won’t be missed.”  Kelize crossed the room to point a finger into his face.  Her long nightgown trailed behind her, swishing like the tail of a cat.

“Well, neither will you.”  Wrenchard wanted to inflict more pain than she could.  He looked down into his wife’s heaving bosom.  He felt the warmth rising between them.

“My bed is cold with or without you,” Kelize jabbed.

They continued to bicker, viciously.  She insulted Wrenchard’s nobility, or lack thereof, and condemned his irresponsibility at going out to play ‘war hero’.  It was clear that the man’s home life was nothing like the perception of him in the town outside his doors.  Kelize baited him expertly, pushing the limits of his patience.  Wrenchard, unable to control himself any longer, slapped his wife.  Blood welled from her lip.

“I hate you!”  She spat.  “You ruined my life!”  Kelize’s eyes burned holes in Wrenchard’s skull.

“I hate you too!”  Wrenchard admitted loudly.

He fell onto his wife.  She capitulated.  The floor was soaked in sweat.  The sounds of the throes of passion emanated throughout the house.

Later, having had his fill of her, Wrenchard arose.  Kelize lay disheveled and cast a spurious glance upward at her husband.

The bitterness still there.  “You’re a bastard!”

Wrenchard bowed, “And you’re a bitch.”  He collected his things and closed the door behind him, not bothering to look down at his wife as he left.

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

Jonas packed his things and moseyed back into town.  He stopped by the canoes and stored the equipment there beneath them.  A new idea on his mind, he proceeded to the Tatum house.  He rapped on the shutters of Hazels’ room.

Her sweet voice instantly resounded from within, “Adair?  Adair?”

Jonas was hurt.  “It’s Jonas.”  

“Oops!”  She winced as she opened the shutters.

They had a brief chat, which didn’t go quite as well as Jonas had hoped.  When he tried to clamber through the window, she stopped him by giving him a hug.  As he leaned in close they brushed cheeks and the young man sang her a song.  She smelled to him of everything he wanted a woman to smell like, particularly at that moment like bacon.

This seemed to have some effect, as she pushed him back outside.  Hazel returned moments later, rewarding Jonas with a lock of her braided hair with which to cherish her while on his journey.

He accepted it graciously and waited until she closed the shutters.  It was drawing near time.  Jonas figured that he’d wait at the boats.

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

The time had come for Gravis to awaken Jebediah, which he dutifully did, having developed some affection for him.  The younger man set about his preparations to leave, including the cooking of a warm breakfast, likely the last warm meal for some time.  Constance joined him in the kitchen minutes later.  She was chipper.

“That Gravis is so efficient.”  She seemed to be lost in memory.  “I shall miss him.”

She accepted a plate and joined her brother at the dining room table.  They ate in silence.

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

Wrenchard expertly slipped silently down the hall and creaked open the door to his children’s room.  They were both asleep.  Knowing it would be useless to disturb Dian, he gently pulled the hair that had collected in the corner of her mouth and tucked it away behind her ear.  Her brushed her forehead and cheeks with the back of his hand and kissed the top of her head, whispering a prayer to Isis.

He crossed the room and knelt beside Annabelle’s bed.  Gently he nudged her awake.

“Annabelle?  Annabelle?”  He coaxed her softly.

She awoke.  She shook the sleep from her eyes.  “Yes, Daddy?”  She was innocently curious.

He patiently explained to her that he would be going to find them a new place to live.  And that Kelize would be taking care of the house while he was gone.  He asked her to mind her mother and be good.  She of course agreed.  Wrenchard hugged his first-born and he kissed as he stood.

Admiringly, she looked up at her idol as he turned to leave the room, one last question ion her sleep-addled mind.  “Poppa?”  

Wrenchard turned in the doorway.

“Does this mean that strange men are gonna have to come over to take care of business?”  She asked.

Wrenchard paused.

Annabelle rolled over, asleep before receiving a response.

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

Shortly before moonrise, Adair awoke and said good-bye to his family, gently rousing them from sleep to do so.  His mother was tearful of his departure, of course, but his dad encouraged him to learn from Wrenchard and make something of himself.  It was a rare opportunity for a young man to be apprenticed for free to such a noble skill.  Adair could tell that his father was proud.  Emboldened, the youth stepped out of his house, looked back, and took that first step on his new adventure.    

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

Done with Hazel, Jonas started to go to the boats when he suddenly remembered his dad and ran back to say farewell to him.  Jonas was encouraged knowing that his father at least had Albert the mule to help him in his work while he was gone.  Isaiah was getting old after all.  Afterwards, he went straight to the canoes to await the others.

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

‘Black’ Adair and Wrenchard met Jebediah and Constance at the table.  The four ate and then hitched up their gear to head down to the waters edge.  Jebediah and Constance went ahead with their gear while Adair and Wrenchard maneuvered the Valinson wheelbarrow with all of the supplies.  Jebediah and Jonas loaded the boats, distributing the food.  Initially it was decided that the Groomers and Wrenchard would row one boat while Jonas and Adair the other.

While they were packing the boats in the water, a skeletal figure emerged from the dark, shuffling down the embankment towards them.  Jebediah noticed it first and called out, while drawing his sword.

“Jonas, look out!”

Chaos amidst the darkness ensued.  Jonas, reflexes tuned from nights on the Breach, was quick to pull forth a hammer and lay into the encroaching doom.  Yet, in the moonlight he misjudged the swing and missed the thing.  Constance screamed and began to frantically string her bow.  Her brother stepped nobly in front of her, and unsheathed his large sword in a slashing arc, narrowly missing his attempt to cleave the offender.  

Jebediah yelled at her, “Constance!  Get back!”

Adair circled around behind the skeleton, drawing his dad’s old short sword the while, and took a stab at it.  The blade slid between yellowed old rib bones, piercing where a living mans lung would have been.  The incarnate death was seemed unaffected.

Wrenchard wheeled about, producing a dart from beneath the folds of his long cloak.  He held it aloft, taking aim.  Jonas noticed the map-maker readying to throw the dart, obviously toward his head.  He dared duck a bit in anticipation of the attack, though was still wary of his skeletal assailant.  The throw was well-placed.  It found its target past the young militiaman’s cheek and rebounded off of the hip of a second skeleton which now was scrambling from the waters edge, clawing its way up the river’s bank.  Wrenchard was surprised to see the dart was not as effective versus these undying remnants as it was the Menovians.

Jonas sprang up from his haunches and laid the hammer down as gravity brought his weight to rest.  Shards of decayed bone were embedded in the frozen earth; the skeleton did not reel.  It retaliated with a flesh rending slash of its claw-like hands, Jonas gritted his teeth in pain.  Wrenchard spotted two more of the monsters clawing their way from the water’s edge now, ascending the embankment where the second did.

Jebediah spun about trying to stop gap the area of encroachment, taking advantage of his vantage and swinging his blade low to slash at the closest skeleton.  The blow, which would have severed a man’s shoulder muscles, barely slowed it.

Adair continued his ineffectual attacks.  Having drawn the attention of the second skeleton, Wrenchard felt its vengeance as it reached out, clawing him.  The map-maker, avoided further blows and leapt down the embankment into the boats in search of a more suitable weapon.

Jonas continued his assault on the initial skeleton and felled it with a mighty clamor.  Unnoticed, a fifth skeleton reached up from the waters darkened depths and tore at Jonas’ calf.  He yelped in pain and surprise.

Jebediah, unable to stop the advancing skeletons, now stood to face them both as they clawed at him.  One drew blood.  Constance stood back still fighting her fear.  She fired an arrow at the skeleton closing on Wrenchard, missing.  Jebediah returned the courtesy, again slashing at the time-hardened bone of his assailant.  Again the might of his blow was displaced by the lack of flesh.

Frustrated, Adair dropped his sword, and ran to the wheelbarrow.  He lifted the end and pointed its prow in the direction of the skeleton between Wrenchard and Constance.  Unaware of his intention the skeleton instead turned to help bring down Jebediah.

Now surrounded by three skeletons, Jebediah slashed in broad arcs.  Constance screamed.  In the boats below Wrenchard found two light hammers. He threw them both into the fracas around the large pilgrim.  The first projectile missed, the second found its mark in the whittled bone assailant, felling it.

Constance fired into the fray, scoring a hit.  The arrow lodged in the spine of the skeleton, feathers protruding through the cavity, emerging from between the ribcage.  Still the skeletons closed on the largest of the group.  Jebediah fended them off, losing the grip on his sword as they grabbed at it.  It fell to the earth and he pulled a flail from his belt.  The sounds of clinking chain echoed into the night as he began to swing it around his head.

Jonas looked down at the forearm extended from the river.  Unable to shake its grasp, he shifted his weight and struck hard with his hammer.  The blow sank just below the surface, smacking hard into what he reckoned the things head must be.  He felt the snap as he connected.  Yet still the skeleton continued its attack.

Adair mustered all of his strength and put all of his weight forward, he ran headlong into the closest skeleton with the wheelbarrow.  The battering ram however, was not enough to fell the deceptively strong creature of undeath.  Its lack of muscle belied its supernatural strength.  Adair had only succeeded in drawing its attention.  It clambered atop the vehicle and foodstuffs and clawed at the shepherd boy.  It drew blood from Adair’s chest as it sank its bony hands into the folds of his cloak.  The young man howled in pain.

Jonas’ attention was drawn by the scream.  He looked over to his peer.  “Adair, you need to use a real weapon!” he called in support.  But he could tell that from the look of things, Adair wasn’t faring well.  With another well-placed crack he shattered the offending arm of the submerged assailant, and hurried up the embankment to help Adair and Constance.  She had since drawn her rapier.

Jebediah continued to flail about with the remaining skeleton, which engaged him.  Wrenchard, out of missile weapons, grabbed an oar and began to clamber back up the riverbank.

In terror, Adair succumbed to reflex.  He pitched aside what was in his hands, the handles.  The wheelbarrow toppled to one side, the skeleton was sent tumbling in the direction of Jonas, who was happy to oblige with a faulty swing of his hammer.  The skeleton returnws a clumsily placed slash at the militiaman.

Jebediah traded blows with the monster.  Each inflicted damage upon the other.  Ever alert of his sister’s situation, he yelled to Constance.  “You need something blunt!”

Obeying, she ran after one of the discarded light hammers.  Grabbing it up, she ran to help her brother.

Jonas swung again and again.  In his eagerness, he overextended himself and slipped on a sausage that had fallen out of the cart.  He fell to his back.  Desperately he regained his feet, before the skeleton could capitalize.  Adair grabbed a real weapon, the closest sack of food.  He swung it wildly.  Jonas continued the assault.  He placed the hammer into the chest of the skeleton, knocking it from its feet.  Ribs flew out in all directions.  Using the momentum to his advantage, Adair brought the bag of root vegetables from over his head and smashed it down upon the monster.  With the sound of cracking whips, it ceased to move.

As if in response to potential threat to his sister, Jebediah redoubled his efforts.  With one well-placed blow he shattered the remaining skeleton.  It crumbled to the ground in a heap.        

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

Not wishing to push their luck, the group bound their wounds, loaded up the rest of the gear into the boats and pushed off, rowing upstream.

“I thought we’d never leave.”  Constance whispered in Jebediah’s ear as they settled into the first boat.

As they were leaving the last vestiges of civilization around the little hamlet, though, some of them heard in the distance, carried on the wind, the Hymn of Amon-Rah. (1)

As they rowed through the night a soft snow fell silently towards the earth.  The fat flakes melted before they hit the surface of the water.

“So Adair,” Jonas was chatty tying to pass the time. “What are you gonna miss most bout Kendrick?”

“Having a good place to sleep every night.”  Adair was already beginning to reflect on the absence of his bed.  He was tired and hurt.

“Heh.  I thought it’d be Hazel.”  Jonas prodded in time with his rowing.  He waited through a long silence for a response.  There was none.

Without further amusement he poked sarcastically, “Well, _that_ was a great conversation.”

*Ralem, 2nd of Oche – 564 H.E.*

With morning, the soft snowfall ceased.  The river narrowed and the embankments on either side grew to heights of thirty or forty feet.  The river began to take on the feel of a channel cut through the earth, rent by water.  Brush and trees clung for life to the rocky sides of the passageway, defying gravity.

Silent for the rest of the morning, they rowed for until about an hour after sunrise, before stopping to rest by tying their boats up to the root of a tree that stuck out into the river from a steep embankment.  Jonas attempted to climb the tree, but found the full nights rowing fatigued his muscles.  Exacerbated by the awkward angle of the foliage, he let Jebediah make the attempt.  Instead he produced a harmonica from his satchel, and began to play.

“Of course your lips still work,” Constance muttered to herself.

Jebediah ascended the barren conifer, hoping to gain some further view of the river, but was unable to see much from within the river’s rut.  He climbed down to rest in the boat.

Opting not to attempt resting in the already cramped boats, they instead all ate a meager lunch, and discussed tentative plans.

“Well boys, I guess this is the farthest you’ve ever been from home.”  Wrenchard seemed to be enjoying his newfound freedom.

Adair nodded in agreement, choking out a, “Yep,” while munching on his mutton sandwiches.

“I been to Black Top with my dad when I was a kid,” Jonas replied, spewing bit of mutton.  Constance did not hide her revulsion.

Wrenchard stretched his arms and inhaled deeply, and ignored Jonas’ answer,  “Aren’t you excited?”

“More like tired,” Jonas and Adair said in unison.

They also spoke about Tyrus’ plans to follow on foot and catch up with them later, what lay in Black Top and what a treat it would be to visit, though Jebediah and Constance would not accompany the group into the city.

After their brief respite they again set about rowing upstream.  The sides of the river grew more mountainous and the current was slightly swifter.  The rivers path became windier, rocks also began to appear cresting the waters surface.  They had to work to avoid the danger.  Eventually the two boat train turned a drastic dogleg and found an eddy on the left bank, that had enough room for them to make camp.  After some debate, the group decided to stop, and use the rest of the day to make a comfortable camp for the approaching night.  Wrenchard referenced his map and estimated them to have rowed roughly thirty miles since having left Kendrick.

The eddy was ringed by large natural stones, which jutted forth from the earth and the river.  A steep gravel slope formed a beachhead nestled between a v-shaped crevasse where two folds of the cliff faces met.  In that wedge Jonas found the climbing somewhat easier as he scaled the fifty-foot wedge to take a look around.  From his elevated position on the top he could see that the river cut right through the decline of a large hill.  It continued on in a similar fashion for quite a distance.

He descended to report while the others pulled the boats up onto the gravelly shore.  Jonas and Wrenchard each climbed back up to collect firewood, anticipating a cold night.

They collected what wood they could for a few hours, never leaving earshot of one another.  Once, while bringing back the fuel, Jonas caught the sight of Constance down below.  She had waded into the frigid waters, her bare back turned toward them, apparently washing herself.  It was apparent that the Groomers had taken pains to make sure Adair was not watching while she bathed.  Wrenchard approached, Jonas dumped the wood and went back to work.  

As dusk approached, Jonas and Wrenchard climbed down, and rested a bit.  They all ate in relative silence; exhaustion began to creep over them.  Afterward the duo ascended again to gather what remaining wood they could in the dying light.  As they searched, Wrenchard spotted something on the high embankment of the far shore.  It appeared to him as a predatory cat, or something skulking low to the ground, crawling on all fours.  He was unable to discern any real features at that distance and the lurker was gone before he could get close enough to tell.

As darkness fell, a fire was made into a pit in dug the rocky earth bed.  Jebediah and Constance were to stay the first watch while the others recuperated some much-needed rest. 


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

Time passed slowly, Constance’s eyelids grew heavy.  At one interval during the duty, Jebediah did hear the splash of water out in the distance from the river; a sound akin to that of a heavy rock to break the river’s surface.  He waited, watched, pondered, but saw nothing.

When Constance could not deny sleep any longer, Adair was awakened to watch the shadowed cliff tops high above, while Jebediah continued to study the dark, rippling waters.  Some time later, Adair did indeed believe that he had seen some movement at the top of the wall, but he was uncertain as to whether it was real or perceived.  The two speculated.  Jebediah finished reciting his long oratory (2) and slept, cuddling up for warmth with his sister.  Wrenchard took up watch over the water.

Adair’s eyelids sagged.  Wrenchard’s shoulders drooped.  A big splash was heard in the river nearby, jerking both men back to alertness.  Suddenly, what sounded to be a rock dropped into one of the boats.  The echoing thud of wood, jerked Jebediah awake, which in turn jolted Constance awake as well.  Adair had to kick Jonas awake.

By the time the second rock fell, the group was alert and beginning to don armor hastily.  Jonas and Wrenchard decided to forego the protection and began to scale the cliff face instead.  They knew that they had to deal with whatever was trying to sabotage their boats, and quick.  As Jonas neared the top, he saw a shadowed humanoid head peek just over the top of the ledge.  It seemed shocked to see the progress made by the men below and quickly withdrew into the dark above.  No sooner had the young militiaman swung a leg over the cliff’s top, when he was bitten by the same strange being.  Flesh tore from his hamstring, and a strange sensation seeped through the muscles there.  Jonas was reminded of the feeling one has when a limb loses circulation, ‘going to sleep.’  He shook it off and stood.

“I need some help up here,” he called out behind him, angling his voice below.  “There is some sort of weird creature trying to eat me!”  He looked about for the humanoid form in the dark.

Wrenchard continued to climb below him.  Jonas stepped back and readied his war hammer for the assault he knew would come.  

It did.  He missed.  A foul-smelling, shell of a man, flesh pulled tight like worn leather over a decaying frame, seeped vermiculate from the edge of the darkness.  Wild, wet black hair fell in small clumps from its head as it writhed forward.  Its two clawed limbs lashed out with rapid speed, seeking to both rend flesh from his body and pull Jonas forward to its open maw, salivating with his own blood.  Again, flesh was ripped from Jonas’ shoulder, again, he felt the muscles there begin to deny his will, as if forgetting their purpose.  He shrugged off the effects, shimmying aside to protect Wrenchard’s ascent.  Only he stood between the flesh-eater and the precipice of the cliff now.

Adair waited, bow pointed at the top of the cliff face above, ready to fire at any assailants.  Jebediah watched the darkened waters as Constance helped him strap the buckles on his breastplate.  Then Adair noted movement from the waters edge, from the corner of his eye.  He quietly alerted Jebediah who ceased his actions.  

“Get everything in the boat.”  He whispered to the young shepherd and his sister.  “We’ve go to get out of here.”

Armor still dangling loosely, Jebediah pulled his bow to watch the waters as Adair and Constance did as instructed.

Above, Jonas now engaged the monster whose hunger had overcome its desire to remain in the darkest of night.  The smell of death heralded its approach as it lashed at the young Fawkes.  Jonas, savvy of its speed, dodged its blows and returned in kind.  The walloping thud echoed within the flesh-eaters frame and elicited a very distinct, “you bastid!”  Just as suddenly it turned to retreat into the shadows of night, allowing Jonas every opportunity to again connect with another meaty blow, which did not seem to slow it down too much as it slinked off into the dark.

“What in hell was that thing?”  Jonas wondered as he massaged his shoulder.

“Jonas, come down here,” Jebediah called from below.  “The boats are almost ready.”

Turning about to Wrenchard who had just cleared the lip of the cliff, Jonas exclaimed, “It’s alright!  Everything’s fine here!”

Down below, though, it wasn’t quite so well.  Jebediah had begun to remove his armor, in preparation to get in the boat.  Then he spotted a second creature skulking round the boat not yet in the water.  It lurked low by the bow, slithering across the gravel beachhead, crawling forward on all four of its limbs.  Its naked flesh reflected the color of the stones and the water.  Its tongue licked left and right, tasting the air.  Jebediah called out to the others.

Adair quickly picked up his bow and stepped out to fire an arrow at the flesh-eater, but its movements proved to be too erratic, making the shot difficult; he missed.  Constance drew her rapier and lunged forward to take a stab at it, but she slipped awkwardly on the sloped rocks and had her blade knocked away by the creature, which now stood to its full height.  It locked its eyes on hers and hissed through it’s the smile of its rotten, yellow, teeth.

“Yesss,” it crept forward, swaying almost rhythmically. “Give ussss the girl and we’ll let you live.”  It offered.  Then, with acuity, it buried one clawed fist into her bosom and pulled her forward into a deep piercing bite at the bicep.  As Constance, felt effects similar to those experienced by Jonas, only sheer will helped her to wriggle free.  She retreated, proclaiming a sensation of cold.

Reacting to the sight, Jebediah stepped forward and drew his mighty sword in one motion.  No sooner had the wide arc begun from its sheathe, did it connect lacerating a wide swath across the flesh-eaters abdomen.  The force of the blow knocked it backward, half into the water and on its back.

Feverishly, it began to rip at the open wound, grabbing up at the swarm of maggots that crawled from the gaping hole there, and gobbled them.  Its rump shuffled its way backward into the depths of the dark waters and disappeared.

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

*Notes:*

(1) – For some reason this Hymn sounds remarkably similar to ‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Sea’.  It is an old Aquerra tune of lament, often sung, whistled, or hummed by those in melancholy.  The original tune was thought to have been written by admirers for an old tribal king, as a funeral dirge after his passing.  Amon-Rah was purportedly the last of the Mibor tribe.

(2) – Jebediah is well-versed in long epic poetry and oratory.  Something of a story-teller himself, he knows the rough length of such orations.  He used this knowledge to mark the passage of time by reciting such a tale to himself, in a low tone.  At its end, he knew that approximately two hours had passed.


----------



## Jon Potter (Sep 17, 2003)

Rastfar said:
			
		

> Feverishly, it began to rip at the open wound, grabbing up at the swarm of maggots that crawled from the gaping hole there, and gobbled them.




Gross!


And wonderful at the same time.


Consider it stolen.


----------



## Rastfar (Sep 26, 2003)

*Temporary Opening*

 

I am currently looking to fill one chair at the table.  I would love to have a player who is a fan of the Story Hour, but realizing that my readership consists of three, I will settle on a solid player who is interested in the same style campaign.  Anyone interested can drop me a line at:

rastfar@hotmail.com

*Thanx*.


----------



## Tellerve (Oct 1, 2003)

Kinda reminds me of the ghouls from Piratecat's game...although not sure exactly why.  Well that and Gollum...I was definetely feeling gollum there as he/it crept out of the water and all the "sss".

Tellerve


----------



## mofos21 (Oct 14, 2003)

Wow.  The party has been out of the town for less than a day and have already met some interesting characters, er creatures............maggot-eaters, maybe?  Anyway, now those things have gotten a little taste of Jonas and Constance, it won't surprise me if they end up coming back for more.  Perhaps for a "bigger" helping next time.


----------



## KinCross (Jan 8, 2004)

Got any more of these coming along?


----------



## Jonas Fawkes (Jan 8, 2004)

I've been waiting for some more of this fine story of my bravery and ingenuity and prowess myself. . .


----------



## Rastfar (Jan 23, 2004)

*Session #8*

*session #8*

Still running high on adrenaline from the fight, the small group gathered together and pondered what to do next.  The light of the fire burned low.  They agreed, it was dangerous to stay, but equally so to go; no one knew when the undead would come back.  Ultimately, they arrived at a decision of practicality; the river was rough, and without light, it would be difficult to spot the rocks.  The group stayed, attempting to stave off fatigue with brief naps before dusk.     

*Tholem, 4th of Oche – 564 H.E. *

They awoke that morning about as well rested as could be expected, having slept fitfully on the rocky wet incline.  They nursed the wounds of the night’s activities and quickly broke camp.  An easy task as most of the supplies still remained in the boats.  A quick survey of the bottoms revealed minimal damage.  They drank the rest of their rapidly diminishing water supplies.  Too late they realized their error in only accounting for food rations.

Jebediah pushed the boats into the water as Adair lifted the bottoms from the rocks with a half burnt log.

“We may need to stop in Black River Bridge,” stated Wrenchard as he covered the fire pit, “to use their well.”

Jonas was bundling his armor.  “Isn’t that place cursed?”

Wrenchard raised an eyebrow and glanced at the young man sidelong, “Isn’t our place cursed?”  From Wrenchard’s crouched position Jonas thought his look sinister.

Of course, that did little to strain his tongue.  “I think they’re more cursed.”

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

Constance sat in the middle of the lead boat as Jebediah provided power in the front, Wrenchard supplementing and steering from the rear.  She’d periodically knead the knotted muscles in Jebediah’s back and shoulders.  Jonas and Adair dragged behind in their wake.  

Catching his breath, Jonas muttered, “brother and sister my ass.”  Adair heard it and chuckled.

The journey for the day was uneventful, save for a few bumps on the bases of the boats. They stopped to change the dressings of their bandages at about mid-day, eating dry tack and meat, drinking sparingly, and scooping snow into the lips of their waterskins.  The respite was brief.  Delicately they traded seating arrangements.  Jonas volunteered to ride with Constance, but instead was saddled with Jebediah and most of the gear.  His chagrin was evident to Wrenchard, who wore his own dismay overtly.

“Mr. Valinson, if we’re going to be traveling together you can’t be giving me that disappointed fatherly look so much,” Jonas capitulated.

Wrenchard had no chance to respond.  Already embittered by Jonas’ constant pestering of his sister, Jebediah chirped in.  “Maybe you should work hard to not be such a disappointment.”

Everyone laughed.  And it didn’t hurt so much for Jonas to be laughed at, frankly he was used to it, often laughing along in his own self-deprecation.  But this was somehow different, less funny, more mocking, kind of serious, perhaps it was the smarmy look on Constance that set his blood to boil.

Flustered he lashed back, “Maybe you should work hard to shut your mouth!”  He looked away.

Muttering to himself Jonas chided, “I’m on to you,” casting an askance glance at the Groomers.

Having heard him, Constance turned to Jebediah, “Huh?  What does that mean, he’s on to us?”

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

The group pushed on in the choppy waters, dodging rocks and flakes of snow.  Though the white powder sprinkled steadily from the sky, it had yet to begin collecting or pose any impediment.  As the afternoon progressed so too did the palisade embankments, offering no shore for the coming dusk.

They paused to rest a bit and consult Valinson’s map.  Intrigued, Constance leaned in close as he unfurled it from its protective leather tube.  Whether it was the weather or perhaps he had already begun to miss the comfort of his own bed, he did not know, but Wrenchard felt the warmth of her fingers make his flesh tingle.  The heady way she leaned in on and over him caused something stir inside.  His eyes met hers.  Suddenly, feeling as if everyone was watching, he recoiled back and jerked the map from her grasp.

“Yup.  Up ahead a little further, the left bank should break.”  Wrenchard picked up an oar and repositioned himself in his seat.

Constance and Adair gingerly switched positions, while Jebediah continued to power the lead boat onward.  They paddled on later and later, hoping against all hope that they might find a suitable place to land and make camp.  Dusk fell; Bes (1) did not find them.

A lantern was produced and affixed to the prow of the lead boat.  The trailing boat was lashed to the first with rope.  Driven, Jebediah paddled fueled by stubborn pride, calling out the positions of visible rocks.  “Right!”  “Left!”  This tactic met with marginal success.

Ultimately, a loud scrape, much more resonant and pronounced than all of their prior bumps proved, gave them pause.

Constance called up to Adair, “Check the outside for a hole.”  She did little to hide the concern, which caused her voice to crack.

Hearing the commotion, Jonas was quick to respond, “Keep your hands in the boat!”

Tired, disgruntled and perturbed, the five endured working their way to the westerly bank, the boats suffering a few more punishing scrapes along the way.  Once secured to the sides of the cliff via outcroppings of rock and withered shrub roots, heated debate ensued.

Jonas was the first to cast accusations, “I told you we needed more practice!”

Wrenchard was just as surly, “Sorry, I was busy almost bleeding to death.”

“Well, whose fault was that?” Jonas stabbed.

Wrenchard knew full well whose fault it was, but bit his tongue giving Jonas a knowing look.  Jonas threw his nose in the air and busied himself securing the supplies.  The tension was high.  Constance engaged her closest companion, Adair, in conversation, hoping to avoid being drawn into any arguments.  The two spoke of the undead and Dralmohir, though it was mostly the shepherd boy attempting to answer her questions.  The boats swayed in the faint light, the noise of the river echoing engulfed them.  It seemed to dawn on Constance then, turning to Adair she naïvely asked, “Can skeletons swim?”

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

Over the course of that night not too much happened.  They established watches as best they could, overlapping at times.  During the interim the boats rocked rhythmically with the water, which muffled most of the nighttime noises.  The crossbow was passed around.  After Constance and Jebediah found rest, Jonas took the middle watch alone.

With the lantern he attempted to scan the far bank.  The river proved too wide.  As he sat, scrutinizing the waters and cliff ledge high above, there came a violent bump at the bottom of his boat.  A single forceful thrust, which he swore, must have lifted the laden wooden vessel.  He grabbed the sides of the runners and braced himself.

Any action he anticipated was delayed in coming.  He sat up and peered out into the dark, straining his eyes.  Five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed, still nothing.  His anxiety eased.  In response there came a loud splash in the water, from none too far up ahead.  Jonas turned just in time to miss it, he was sure the sound emanated from just beyond the visible light.  Again, he tensed, waiting.

Curiosity overcame him, he decided the risk was worth it; he called out.  “Hello…?!”

A similar sounding reply called quickly, “Hello…!?”

He was startled, stunned and amazed all at once.  He couldn’t believe his fortune, or misfortune.  His mind raced.  Perhaps it was Tyrus, caught up to them.  Or maybe Canton Myle had tracked them down and now he had foolishly given their position away.  Jonas clammed up awaiting response.  Too long he waited.

He risked it again.  “Hello.”

That same reply, “Hello,” but was it closer this time?

Jonas looked all about trying to find the voice’s speaker.  No such luck.  He loudly whispered now, sure that anyone far wouldn’t hear him, “Hey…..”

There was a long pause as Jonas strained to listen, careening out over the edge of the boat. ‘Ah-ha’ he thought, ‘no response.’  And then he heard ever so softly, “…..hey…..,” carried by the wind.

He froze up, a bit startled.  The crossbow found mark after mark in the omnipresent dark.  His finger itched, ready to fire at any perceivable threat illuminated by the lantern shine.  Jonas was warm and sweaty, cold and clammy, as the boat swayed he felt his heart pulse, pounding ready to flee from his chest.  He was incensed.

“Hey!”  He called out, not caring who would awaken, “Oooh-wee-oooh!?”

He swung the missile weapon about, ready to fire at the first sound.

And there it was, close, it came back quicker this time.  “Hey!  Oooh-wee-oooh!?”

Jonas, slack jawed, couldn’t help but chortle.  His finger eased from its cramped hook-like position with an audible pop as his knuckle cracked.  He wanted to clarify.

“Boody-booty-boo…”

“Booty-boody-boo…”

“Doodoo?”

“Doodoo!”

Jonas laughed and slapped his knee.  The boat swayed some more.

Nearby Wrenchard stirred.  The time drew near for the avuncular figure’s watch duty.

“Anything happen?”  Wrenchard inquired as he leaned forward for the crossbow.  His spine popped in three places.

Jonas did not eschew the ridiculousness of the situation.  “Well, a stone or something plopped in the water, something hit the boat from beneath, _and_ there’s an echo.”  He accentuated the last bit, proud of himself after all.

“Oh,” Wrenchard was blasé.  “It probably bounces off of the palisades.”  The elder man accepted the lantern and dimmed the light a bit to conserve oil.

Jonas settled as best he could.  The dark concealed the wounded look on his face.  His sarcasm was evident, “I wish I was as smart as you Mr. Valinson.”

The young mop-mulleted militia man swiftly slid into a slumber.   


*Balem, 5th of Oche – 564 H.E.*

The soft snow specks that drifted down from the sky as if reluctant to reach the earth for it knew its fate; destined to melt and fade away before ever collecting, becoming anything.  They drifted downward, almost frozen in time, proving easier to catch on Jonas’ tongue.  Head tilted backward at a most severe angle, the younger Fawkes held his mouth open extraordinarily wide.  Adair knew, of course, that it was wide enough to fit the man’s own fist, though none of the others marveled at this fact.  Instead they primed for travel.

Constance returned the waterskin to Jebediah who noted its weightlessness.  “We’d best get moving,” he prompted Jonas with an elbow, which he didn’t see coming.  The musician bit his tongue.

“Oollww!”  He scowled at Jebediah.

That next morning as they paddled, alternating from time to time to rest the weaker party members, it seemed that the snaking palisades on either side of the winding river didn’t want to let up.  Again this forced them to the side to latch onto some tree roots while they broke fast and quietly ate some lunch.

Jonas hatched an idea and scarfed down the turkey leg in his hand.  Leaving the others behind, he scaled the cliff, the pretense of getting a better look around.  From some 50’ above Jonas had a clearer vantage of the land.  He had noticed that the palisades sloped away up ahead and appeared as if they would finally have a place to beach the boats on the left shore.

This bit of news encouraged the others below.  They waited for him to descend.  But above, Jonas had other schemes.  Though he had not armor or equipment, only his crossbow, he also knew it would be a short walk of a mile or two to the break, and he was tired of rowing.  Feeling a bit liberated, he squatted low, his knee pop echoed in the sparse wood behind him, and he began to scoop fistfuls of snow.

‘Pap.’  Something cold and hard struck Adair, unawares, in the side of the head.  “Oww…” the shepherd exclaimed as he found his assailant.

Jonas hopped from left foot to right, cackling with mirth, holding a snowball aloft in each hand, high above.  “Ooh, hee, hoo.”  He was enjoying himself.

Another such projectile missed its mark, Wrenchard was not amused, “C’mon down.  Let’s go.”  The rest of the group, anxious to be out of the boats, echoed the cartographer’s sentiment.

Another salvo of snow gave them their reply.  “I’m gonna walk.”  He tossed one at Constance; she ducked.  “I’ll meet y’all there.”

Groaning a little, they began to loose the boats.  At least they’d be getting away from the prankster.  

They continued north, Jonas gave a few steps chase as they slowly progressed.  Another tightly packed ball of soft snow struck Jebediah in the back of the head.  The bigger man turned and shook his oar, scolding the buffoon.  The boats slowed.

Jonas stood proud at the lip of the cliff, watching the others doing their best to ignore his tomfoolery.  Then something cold, hard, and wet glanced off of the top of the young man’s head.  Jonas was nonplussed; whirling around he could see no one there.  None below saw it. 

“Hey, there’s someone else up here!”  Jonas called down to his companions, paddling away with his gear.

“HEY!”  He yelled again.

His pleas fell on deaf ears.  “Yeah sure there is.”  Jebediah called back to Jonas.

“We’ll see ya up river,” confirmed Constance as they turned the bend.

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

Jonas spun around, crossbow at the ready.  He suddenly felt very alone, naked and cut off, “Come out of there,” Jonas commanded, affecting his most authoritative tone.

Another ball of snow emerged from the sparse wood and underbrush.

“Hey!?” Jonas ducked.  “Stop that.  Come out here.”

“Come out; while you’re pointing that thing at me?” A spritely voice carried from the cover of brush.  “Do you think I’m stupid?”  The voice was high-pitched and spoke quickly.

“You threw a snowball at me; that’s not so smart.”  Jonas answered.

“Well, I thought we were playing,” explained away the sing-song voice.  Jonas tried to draw a bead on the direction of the speaker.

“Well, I…we were,…You’re not…ergh.  Look, I’ll lower my crossbow.  I’m not gonna fire, you can come out now.”

“OK.”  There was a chuckle, “_I feel safe now._  I’m coming out.”  Jonas didn’t know if he appreciated the sarcasm.

Jonas was anxious.  His eyes fell upon the diminutive figure slowly brushing past the lower brambles.  It must have been a child, standing no taller than the musician’s waist.  What little detail he could glean from beneath the small person’s winter clothes were a large bulbous nose and a well-trimmed white beard.  He focused on these details, ignoring what may have been more important, a small mace suspended from the figure’s belt and a light crossbow.  Jonas only saw size.

“Hey kid, where are your parents?  And where’d you get that realistic looking beard disguise?”

The smaller man tugged at his chin hairs with mirth, “Why this is real.”  His tone was almost skeptical.

Jonas went slack-jawed.  He realized the error too late and now feared for his life.  “OH, by the gods!  There’s no babies here, dwarf!”  He brought his crossbow again to the ready.

The smaller man seemed unphased, standing his ground, almost expectant of such a reaction.  “Dwarf?  What are you talking about?  I’m a gnome.”

Jonas, baffled, did not reply.  Instead, he warily eyed the man as if to ascertain the validity of his claim.  Unfortunately, the Kendrit had never met a dwarf, let alone heard of a gnome.

The smaller man sensed Jonas’ unease, knew he was being measured.  He decided to counter with an examination of his own.  “BOO!”  He yelled and jerked forward.

Jonas flinched, recoiling dangerously close to the cliff edge, and again brought up the crossbow, which had drooped with the weight of conversation.  The bolt rattled in its nock.  The Kendrit was unsure.  “I dunno.  Those dwarves are tricksy.”

Yet Jonas knew that dwarves never engaged their prey in conversation, and thus curiosity got the better of him.  Still he decided to subjugate this stranger with fact.  “I’m a damn good warrior,” he warned.  “You see all my scars?”

The gnome had closed from the refuge of the tree-line, still his left hand lingered behind his cold weather cloak; a fact not unnoticed by Jonas.  “No.”  He admitted candidly.

Always of quicker wit, “That’s how _good_ I am,” Jonas snorted.

“Uh-huh.”  The gnome replied.  He punctuated his doubt with astonishing speed as he brought forth another snowball and hurled it at Jonas’ head.  The soggy projectile struck hard.

Jonas took cover, dropping his crossbow and furiously scooping snow.  Minutes passed as the two chased about in circles, pelting one another.  In quick fashion he learned the gnome’s name to be horrifically long.  This was shortened by the common tongue to Nolbolnam.  Jonas promptly adopted Nolbie. (2)  Inexplicably, the two headed northward toward the beachhead where the others surely waited.  Jonas learned that Nolbie had been traveling alone and was headed north toward Gothanius.        

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

Jebediah pulled the boats in.  Adair hopped out thankful to once again set his feet on dry land.  He aided Constance who was obviously of similar mind.  As it grew late in the day they secured the boats, tipping them upside down on the bank, exposing the damage already done by the rocks.  They all unpacked their belongings.  Jonas’ prolonged absence weighed heavily on Wrenchard’s mind.  Already Adair had returned with two armloads of wood, Jebediah nearly had a fire lit, and Constance had made comfortable sleeping arrangements.  Matet began to reach its final descent.  He notified the others of his intent and headed downstream along the rivers edge to seek out the fool.

Eventually he did indeed find his young friend, though he was shocked to see that Jonas brought a dwarf in tow.  Wrenchard was livid, confused, and most of all tired.  He could not fathom how Jonas constantly proved to be a lightning rod for complication, but knew enough that this was not the time to mull it.  Deftly, a dart was drawn to his hand.

From behind Jonas, Nolbie saw the human’s companion and his predictable reaction.  He couldn’t hide the chuckle.

The dwarf’s glee incited a rage in Wrenchard most uncommon.  The older man advanced around Jonas.  “What are you laughing at babykiller?”

Nolbie was unfamiliar with rhetoric.  “You humans are all so quick to pull your weapons.”

Wrenchard had not forgotten Jonas’ treachery, his anger turned there.  “Jonas, you know what _they_ do.  They use the blood of our babies to bake their bread!?”

Jonas was unconvinced.  “He says he’s a gnome.”  Nolbie stood by curiously awaiting the outcome of the humans’ discussion.

“Gnome, dwarf, what’s the difference?”

Nolbie piped in, “There are lots of differences…”  He was very matter of fact.

Red-faced, Wrenchard spat down at him, “I didn’t ask you.”

“Yes, but, you don’t seem to know…” Nolbie continued in the same patient tone.

Jonas reinforced this.  “You _did_ ask what the difference was, and he’s gonna tell ya.”

Wrenchard could not abide by being made the fool.  He turned back to Jonas.  “Do you remember what I told you before we left?  We can’t let anyone know about our group.  We either have to bring him with us or kill him.”

Still Jonas was unrelenting.  “Who’s he gonna tell?  He’s a _dwarf_, who’s gonna listen to him?”

Jonas’ swift wit only served to further incite rage in Wrenchard.  Steam rose through his cloak.  He lunged at the gnome.  Jonas watched as the two grappled, rolling about in the snow, on the hard packed frozen earth.  Ultimately, the larger man gained the momentum and the upper hand.

Pinned beneath Wrenchard’s knees, Nolbie had no choice but to listen.  “I’m going to show you mercy that your people don’t show.”

Wrenchard let Nolbie up.  Along the way, he began to trust the instincts that Jonas seemed blessed with.  He also recognized that Bes seemed to smile upon the young man.  He could bide his time, for now.  Yet, the politico did not like loose ends.  He had decided that Nolbie knew too much about the group, no matter what his intentions or race.  This fact discomforted the calculator, and thus he coerced (3) the gnome into joining them along their expedition. 

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

Upon the trio’s return to camp, Nolbie was once again misidentified as a dwarf, requiring yet another brief explanation on his part.

Jebediah was surprised to see his two companions return with a third.  “What’s this?”  He asked, looking up from the fire where his stare had vanished.

“It’s a gnome,” Jonas boasted, proud of his newfound knowledge.

“Ugh,” Wrenchard grunted, weary of such efforts.

Adair looked upon Nolbie, forgetting about the spit rabbit he turned over the fire.  “What in Anubis’ Realm is a gnome?”

Nolbie, yet unable to answer, Jebediah confirmed Jonas’ claim.  “Looks like a gnome,” he stated disinterested, turning again to the fire, and whatever thoughts were lost there.

And as quickly as he was introduced and accepted, Nolbie was forgotten as the Kendrits again banded together in their suspicion of the Groomers.  They found it curious that Jebediah should be able to distinguish a gnome from a dwarf.

Constance grew intolerant.  “How come a strange gnome comes among us and we’re the ones falling under scrutiny?”

Jonas deliberated, “Maybe it’s been a long time coming.”

Constance looked to her brother for support, but he did not meet her gaze, leaving her alone to champion their defense.  Outnumbered and defeated, Constance drew quiet, silently stewing about the ingrates.  Again the talk turned to Nolbie.  Though he gave information guardedly, it was revealed that the gnome was indeed lost.  He assumed that he had been following the Tall Twin River northward into Gothanius.  His destination lay somewhere there or beyond. (4)  In fact he’d become misdirected in his flight from Menovian lands, ending up following the Black River into Rhondria. 

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

As night fell and the travelers began to drift off into a well-deserved slumber, a couple remained awake to stand guard.  Hours passed uneventfully until night became stillest, darkest, coldest.  Then at the edge of the wood, just beyond the periphery of light, Nolbie and Wrenchard felt the presence of creatures.  Wrenchard was reminded of the flesh eaters of the previous night.  Perhaps even, he thought, they were indeed the same creatures.

“Give us the small one,” a raspy voice seduced, requesting the gnome for dinner.

Alarm spread through the small encampment and quickly Wrenchard woke his companions.  Without delay Nolbie dashed from the safety of numbers and firelight, seeking refuge in the nearby wood.

While the others readied armor and weapons, they could hear the hunters probing the edge of their camp, hissing, skulking, shadows dancing in the vagaries of light.  Adair wondered why these things had bothered to announce themselves at all, allowing a reaction time.  A strong hunter, like the wolves he knew to steal his sheep, would creep as close as possible and pounce without warning.  One scarcely knew that they were there or attacking before they were gone.  The flesh-eaters seemed intelligent, yet he did not understand what force kept them at bay.

Standing at the forefront of their perimeter, Wrenchard called over one shoulder “We have to go after him.”  He was the first to notice Nolbie’s absence.

Jonas’ fear mingled with suspicion.  “Oh no we don’t.”  He finished loading his crossbow.

“We can’t leave him out there for those creatures.”  Wrenchard pointed out a second threat to Adair who trained his arrow at the tree line.

“For all we know, he led them here.”  Jonas now began wondering how in fact this gnome did survive the wild lands lost and alone.  “Anyway, a few hours ago you wanted to kill him.”

Constance finished helping Jebediah strap on his cumbersome armor, while the others anxiously awaited the imminent attack.  The flesh-eaters probed the perimeter, throwing club-like tree limbs and rocks at the travelers and encampment.

Jebediah boldly headed toward the tree line, tired of the cat and mouse games.  He instructed Adair to follow behind with the lantern.  “Come and get me!”  He taunted, drawing his oversized blade.

The undead things could barely contain their anticipation.  “Yes.  Yesss, send us the big one!” 

A second flesh-eater locked onto Nolbie’s scent and began to pursue him through the darkened wood.  The crafty gnome, his own sight keen in the low light, was surprised at the speed and ease by which the monster stalked him.  Cautiously, he remained at the edge of the wood and the perimeter of light wherein his erstwhile companions clustered.

“Come and get the big one!”  Jebediah called as he lunged into the wood and the closest flesh-eater waiting for him there.

Deftly, it avoided his initial swing, snakelike in its movement, writhing through the bushes.  The flesh-eater’s retribution was swift, judgment harsh.  It lashed out with its two talon-like, clawed hands, finding purchase in Jebediah’s armor.  Though unharmed Jebediah found that he was unable to break free of the maggot-eaters unnatural strength.  He closed his eyes involuntarily and recoiled as the creature pulled him closer to its gaping maw.  Jebediah winced as he felt the press of cold leathery skin at his neck, teeth plunging into his warm flesh, tearing away at it as the monster drew its head back.  Too swiftly, Jebediah felt a cold numbness carry through his body.  A blood borne paralysis seized his muscles, ceasing him in his tracks.

Fortunately for him, the others were nearby.  Adair passed lantern duty to Constance and sprang forth into the wood.

The flesh-eater lapped at the blood flowing from the wound.  “Just let us have this one,” it reasoned.  “And we will leave you be.”  It struggled to carry off its prey, slowed by the large man’s weight.

Jonas’ hurried forward to deliver his answer, a crushing blow with his warhammer.  The cunning creature, however, was able to use his victim’s body as a shield.  Jebediah gave a mental wince as he heard the resounding crack of metal on bone.  Jonas apologized and the flesh-eater hissed pleasurably as they saw the blow land on Jebediah’s right forearm.  Immediately, blood poured.

Wrenchard leapt to Adair’s side and both men secured a hold on Jebediah.  Jonas advanced on the precariously positioned flesh-eater whose companion was still busy hunting Nolbie too far away to coordinate a concentrated attack.  Savvy, the monstrosity relinquished its efforts, bounding away.  They dragged Jebediah back to camp where Nolbie rejoined them, having had enough of his own pursuit.  The creatures did not follow.  It appeared that, once again, the travelers had driven them off.  

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

Minutes later, Jebediah regained his faculties after experiencing a full body awakening, tingling sensation, as his muscles regained life.  It proved excruciating.

“Did we know those things could do that?”  He asked of the Kendrits as much as anyone else.

“We do now.”  Jonas offered with little sympathy.

The group again tried to bed down, while high on the adrenaline from the fight.  Constance nursed her brother’s arm, setting it in a splint and wrapping it with bandages.  Forcefully they made themselves rest, sure that the threat was passed at least for this night. 


* Teflem, 6th of Oche – 564 H.E. *

In the morning they engaged in more important dialogues.  Jonas began his own diatribe.  “Listen, if those things return, when they return, we’d best better be prepared.  We should form a line and stay together and let them come to us.  Or move as a group.  And _anyone_ who has ever had any military training would agree with me.  Right Jebediah?”  He didn’t wait for a response from the surly pilgrim.  “Then again, you’re just an escaped slave from Menovia, so you wouldn’t know.”

Constance was taken aback.  “You know, Jonas, if you weren’t such a fool all the time; you’d be smart.”

Jonas only rolled his eyes, retorting with the usual sarcasm.  “Yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense Constance.”

She let it go, and returned to fawning over her brother’s wounds.  They broke camp after discussing whether to continue on the river or to change to walking over land the rest of the way up toward Black River Bridge and Black Top beyond it.  They rolled over the boats and took to the water, once again paddling upstream.

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

*Notes:*

(1) – Bes is notoriously fickle.  The god of Luck, Chance, Fortune   

(2) – Of course this is pronounced Knobby. 

(3) – Some might read this as kidnapped.

(4) – For more information on the beyond, refer to Nemmerle’s Story Hour – ‘Out of the Frying Pan’


----------



## Tellerve (Jan 26, 2004)

a'ight, an update.  How far are we behind now 

Looking forward to session 14,15, and especially 16.  Although by the time those are up I'll be looking forward to others, *sigh* such is the life of a story hour reader/player

Tellerve


----------



## mofos21 (Feb 9, 2004)

Amazing!  Those flesh eaters have already returned.  And now they have the taste of someone else in their mouth.  Are they going to keep coming back until they eat a little bit of everybody?  Maybe if the group gives them a little something to munch on, the flesh eaters will leave them alone for awhile.  And, no, I don't mean Nolbie.  There has to be something else out there in the wilderness.....right?  I look forward to the next one, Rastfar.


----------



## mofos21 (Mar 28, 2004)

*Any more?*

Hey Rastfar, are there any more of these coming along?  I sure hope this isn't the end.


----------



## handforged (Mar 29, 2004)

I too would like to see more of this story.  I really enjoyed this last bit with the monsters.  It will be interesting to see the Groomers' history come to light.

~hf


----------

