The Three Cells, part 1

Written Jan 17-Feb 5, 2015
10 / 10

“At least we had dinner already,” Elf said leaning against the wall. He looked at Jak on a short pile of straw. “Remember the bowl of gruel they had here the last time? It tasted wretched.”

“That wasn't gruel,” Jak blandly stated from the floor. “That’s why I didn’t have any.”

Elf went into one of his thinking moments. The end result was a mixture of embarrassment and sickness. The moments passed as his eyes danced about their shady surroundings. Elf leaned over at a half-whisper, “What was it then?”

Jak’s head was buried under his cloak. He kept only a small opening towards the cell across the walkway. Jak’s eyes had been silently studying their two attackers. As his name indicates, Elf had some Elven blood. Jak’s lineage was less diverse and did not grant keener eyesight in such dim setting. He scratched at his bruised ribs only half-aware that his cellmate said something.

Ample torchlight was a luxury seldom found in dungeons. Still, Jak sat staring at the stirring shadows in the other cell. Dirt and grime were grinding between soft leather and the stone floor. The low murmurs and moans barely rose above the rats sharpening their teeth.

“What kind of spell was it?” Jak muffled from under his shroud, “the one she cast on me.”

Elf glanced at the hollow steps drawing Jak’s attention. He slid down the wall next to Jak. “I don’t know,” he whispered softly. “I didn't even see her cast it. It must have been some kind of charm magic. What was it like?”

The two shadows whispered something in the dark for a moment. The walls seemed to swallow most of the conversation. All went silent again. “I knew there was something wrong the whole time,” Jak whispered. “Her eyes didn't look right. I kept staring at them.” Jak lowered his voice further to keep the walls from hearing. “I felt like…only a few more seconds. A few more seconds and I would know why. The feeling only got stronger the longer I stared.”

“That…is sick!” Elf’s voice bounced off the walls. “Why would someone put that in a bowl?” Jak turned to the vague ash outline of Elf’s face. Jak understood the sudden shift in demeanor.

“Well now you know,” Jak played along. He tried not to grin, just in case their neighbors could pierce the darkness better than he could.

***

The half-elf watched his companion pace back & forth in the small cell. She took tiny steps, unsure of how far she could wander within her confined area. She was also unsure of what her boundaries had growing on them and crossed her arms to keep from accidental investigation.

“You know, Pridg,” he said from under his hood, “if you just clean a spot on the floor, you can sit down.”

The darkness lay too thick for her to connect a reprimanding gaze. She glared at the darkness, nonetheless. Her calf-high boots scuffed the loose dirt atop the stones. “Do you think she’s playing for time?”

He shrugged the darkness off his shoulders. His eyes looked towards her and surveyed the other cells. His lips twitched, but decided on other words, “I don’t think it matters now,” he sighed. “We’re in here. She’s out there. It’s not a thing here we can do, not without trouble again.”

“They deserved it, though,” she retorted. “You saw what happened to those peasants. I was planning on waking up. There was no knowing if we would with them in the same cell. They practically confessed last time.”

“Pridget, just relax this time.” His words had a steel sternness. "We got lucky last time." He added softly, “Please.” He glanced up at her hugging herself.

Pridget’s hair coiled in the thick air. She produced a small ribbon from the unseen recesses of her garments and began a frustrated braid. A professional rope-maker would have instantly recognized that sound in the dark and scoffed at the poor handling of such quality material.

“It doesn't figure. Who else could be looking for it?” her voice cut through the air. The rest of the jail went still. Even the invisible scattering of muck designs on the walls allowed her voice to crisply carry. Her voice lowered again. “Why else would anyone be looking for it?”

“People do strange things in strange times,” the swordsman replied. "We're not the first ones in town to notice it." He pulled back his cowl and looked across at their neighbors. He wasn't too surprised when he locked eyes with the other half-elf. He wasn't as surprised as Elf’s eyes were.

“That’s sick,” a voice cried. “Why would someone put that in a bowl?” Elf's voice would have been convincing enough on its own. His eyes just didn't match the enthusiasm. The swordsman leered at him.

“Oh, Lady of Flame,” Pridget trembled with disgust. “Give me strength.” Her companion watched as she covered her mouth. Her other hand held onto the half braided knot. She managed to compose herself.  The air made it slightly harder. The stench felt damp on her skin. That only made focusing harder, or trying to focus. It’s hard convincing someone to think of a cool breeze while sitting in a sweat lodge.

“It’s not that bad,” he said with a slight smirk. “The perfumes on your cloak will keep the moisture out. Try to sit down before you fall down.”

Pridget eventually conceded. She removed her cloak, folding it lengthwise on the floor. Carefully making out the edges of her filth barrier, she sat down. The stretch of cloth gave little solace as she hugged her knees.

***

Ralph felt around the bars and stone. As a military scout, he prided himself on noticing the finest of details. His instincts, however, had always fared on the safer course of action. To this end, he noticed as much about the enemy from outside the striking distance of a trebuchet. Capture was not an experience he possessed. It was also not one that he wished to get accustomed to.

“You can do something besides lay there,” Ralph didn't bother to glance too long behind him. He was vaguely aware the guards had tossed someone in the cell with him. The small individual lay on the floor in plain breeches, a bright tan vest, and a freshly crumpled hat.

“I’m fine thanks," Migi replied. "just a little dry. Wouldn't have a cup of tea, would you? A few crackers would do me right.” Migi wasn't exactly in the merriest of moods after the last day and a half. This week had been busier than most. He’d been beaten, captured, robbed, chased, followed, robbed again, mauled, blown across a room into a liquor shelve (the kind with glass bottles of spirits and liquor, not wooden casks), and thrown in jail. The excitement exhausted his ambitions to move further.

“These locks are old enough,” Ralph scratched loose pieces of rust away with his fingers. “We can get them open. I only need something to work the lock. Do you have anything I can use?” Ralph’s voice almost rose above a whisper. It was hard for him not to get excited. He had ambition.

Migi always got ahead by thinking ahead. Planning saved him time and time again. Ralph seemed to live more, moment to moment, and it showed. He was like a kid at a carnival with attention swiftly changing from side-to-side. The only thing that kept his head from rapidly falling off, Migi figured, was the lack of substance making it extremely light.

Ralph’s Plan seemed simple enough: Spring the lock. Walk down the passage past the cell with the sorceress that attacked them. Open the guarded, most likely locked, door to the jailer’s office. Sneak past at least five armed guards. More likely, have to fight them without any weapons. The likely result: death, or back in the cell after adequate pummeling. It wasn't a perfect plan. Indeed, it had several visible and apparent flaws.

Migi’s concocted his own plan with a number of unknowns, but requiring far less effort: Wait until morning. Talk with the guild representative. Chance getting bailed out from prison. The end result: release from prison or charged with…with being blindly attacked in a tavern. The worst penalty was a minor fine either way. Migi only had to survive the night with cat woman in the cage next door. He could worry about the troll when he came to that bridge. The morning hours would be far enough away to prepare.

Migi left his fetal position searching around his waist belt. “Would something like this help?” Ralph turned and groped in the darkness for Migi’s hand. He held something small with two flat circles. A thin collapsible metal rod attached to each side.

“What is this?” asked Ralph. There was a small snap. A small shard rang lightly as it hit the floor. “Oh,” Ralph shrugged and eagerly went to lock. “These might work.”

Ralph was perfect in every aspect. He preferred carving his own destiny. Migi remembered betting someone to try lighting a candle in a bonfire. The man won. He lit the candle, along with his beard, and his arm. Ralph didn't need the same amount of liquid courage. Some people just needed a certain level of adrenaline and ignorance regarding the rest of the world. Ralph, unfortunately, would have to serve as an example for others.

The Bakersfield Band

Written Dec 4, 2014
10/9 Meanwhile…

Solaera walked under the arches of the Temple of Gond. The acolyte guides her through shelves of manuscripts. He holds a lantern up to the earthen rainbow of spines, slowly scanning titles. After a few minutes wandering the passages he looks satisfied.

“Here they are,” he motions to a row of books. “These contain the historical records of Forge Valley. Granted, they are limited. We’re still expanding the tomes. The temple in Palosen may have more. We can send for them…”

“This is fine for now. If you could,” she motioned to the shelf above her head. He handed her the lamp. She lit the way to the reading table. “It will take weeks for them to send anything, if they have anything else.” She pulls out the chair behind the ragged stack of books. “Is there anything else on the Erythnul temple near here?”

“I’ll check, miss.”

Solaera pulled the first book off the stack. Prinn’s Pass, A History. She thumbs through looking for the date. The temple was sealed 50 years ago. Local tales attest to the long battle between the priests of St. Cuthbert and the evil god. Solaera’s peers taught how dangerous Erythnul followers were, but it didn’t explain the crusade by St. Cuthbert. A full clergy rarely sets out on a hunt, even against the vile-hearted. Dust plumed from the table as she closed the book. She examined the stack with a sigh. “This could be a while.”

***

“She’s over here,” a voice whispered. Solaera flicked the paper in front of her. The intruding lamp revealed the acolyte leading Baron and a woman bearing the symbol of St. Cuthbert. Baron’s expression was somewhat relieved to see her. His expression changed slightly as he saw the haphazard stack of papyrus and parchment on the table.

“Err… hmm. You look busy.”

Solaera stepped off of the chair. “The viscount recorded the battle and sacking of the temple in 2045,” the halfling started. “Of course, there is nothing about what or why. He found it more important to document his brilliant tactics.” Solaera sighed with frustration.  She flicked a few more of the papers as if the answer would levitate to the top of the stack. “Why even build a temple there? Erythnulites are nomadic. Did your high priest provide any enlightenment?”

She pinched her nose. The acolyte excused himself and disappeared down the hall. The two priests of St. Cuthbert stood silent for a moment. Solaera raised her head. Her eyes squinted at the stillness of her company. Baron looked nervous. The woman with him stared intently from inside a battered suit of breastplate. A Large steel shield was slung across her left shoulder. A heavy thud hit the floor.

“She’s clean,” the woman said relaxing a bit. She lifted a mace from behind her to a ring on her waist.

“What…were you?” Aghast, Solaera pointed at the woman. Then she turned to Baron. “Did she just…? Who in the Nine…”

Baron raised his hands in innocence. “This is Bellan. She’s a trusted follower of our Lord. She just had to be sure.”

Solaera dropped her arm to her chest, tapping the holy symbol of Yondalla. “I would have thought it this was apparent enough,” she said cynically, “especially after saving your life.”

Baron searched for the words before Bellan interjected, “Where is the illithid, this Squishy?”

“We haven’t seen him since we left town,” the halfling shook her head. “He’s stays in the river we pass. We didn’t see him on our return. He accompanies us sometimes, but truly he walks his own path.”

Bellan’s sigh expressed her frustration. “Forget it. There are more pressing matters.”

“Bellan and her party went through the gnoll camp,” Baron said. “They completely destroyed it.”
Solaera climbed back onto the chair to sit down. She looked at both of them, “And? What happened? What were they looking for?”

“We didn’t find it.” Bellan pulled a chair from the table. “After the attack we searched through the camp. Baron says your party ran into the stragglers from the fight. That accounts for most of them. We didn’t find any ancient artifact of evil there. The leader must have taken it with him. We only have one lead.”

“Before the attack, they caught a spy coming out of the camp,” Baron added. “He escaped, but they tracked him back here. There’s an Erythnul contact in town. He brought supplies to the camp. He’s somewhere in town.”

Bellan stretched her back. “My companions have tracked him down along with some of his associates. Someone like that can’t hide from us. We’re going to apprehend them tonight in a tavern. Care to give the reading a rest?”

Solaera grasped a handful of unread parchments from the table and dropped them in dismay. “So where are we going?”

“The Toasted Pig Inn,” she grinned. “I just hope nothing starts before we get there.” Solaera glanced to Baron at the comment. “Oh. Well, they can be a bit…impetuous at times. We’ve already had our share of altercations.”

***

The three priests strode down dimly lit streets. Night had already fallen outside the library of Temple of Knowledge. The cast iron lamps illuminated the signs of shops. The murmurs of commoners mixed with cricket songs.

“So what brought you to this quiet little town? Are the gnolls brooding elsewhere too?” Solaera asked.

“We’re investigating a number of disappearances along the Pearl Coast,” Bellan replied. “Our investigation led us high into the mountains. We didn’t expect it anything might be this far. When we came across tracks of a troll pack and a bugbear, we decided to go further. Very unusual for trolls to have a guide somewhere.

“When we saw the camp, our curiosity grew. We spotted a gnome going into the camp with supplies. We grabbed him and bound him for questioning. Then we got a closer look at the camp. There were two humans among the gnolls and bugbears. These two commanded great respect. The camp was in an uproar as they disappeared.

“When it was over, we found our prisoner had escaped. We tracked him here. We heard rumors an illithid has been spotted in the area once we reached town. If an illithid colony is nearby, that is a severe threat. Nobody would be safe. That’s the connection we’re looking for. After we take care of this loose end, we’re going after it.”

Solaera and Baron exchanged a subtle glance. Could they have been under its control the whole time? Nobody knew how illithids dominated people’s minds. It remained a possibility.

Glass shattered a few streets away. The normal murmur of night broke into commotion ahead. A figure stumbled to his feet. Two guards hurried amid the flickering light.

“Oh no,” Bellan muttered under her breath. “Please, no. Not again.” The three rushed up to the building. The noise grew under the hanging sign displaying a pig roasting over a spit. “The Toasted…Pi…”

Another man dove out the broken window. He staggered to his feet trying to discern the dark surroundings. Baron shouted, “You there! What’s going on?”

The man backpedalled into the street. “They just started fighting. They’re going to kill everyone! I’ve got to… got to…” The man dashed out of sight. The view through the open window was evidence enough of that. Bellan drew her mace and strode into the inn. The others followed her lead.

The clatter of steel was deafening. People shouted over rolling wooden tables and breaking flasks. Two guards stood at the door. They looked confused. Bellan shoved a guard’s shoulder. He turned around and looked at the three of them.

She gestured to the brawl, “What are you waiting for?” The guard pointed across the room. A large man with a massive blade swung wildly. A half-elf voraciously defended against him with a longsword. In front of the fray glowing orbs spun around a woman. With a flick, light sprang forth at various people. Another man moved around the room firing a crossbow. The guard had a point. Where to start?

Bellan stepped forward snarling. She thrust her mace at the center of the room. Her lips moved, but not enough to break above the mayhem. The air rippled like a pebble disturbing a pond. Everything grew dead silent. Not even the thrumming of a heartbeat could be heard. Even the fire seemed to dance slower. The crowd continued for a moment, then paused.

Eyes eventually all turned towards the doorway. The new arrivals to the inn lacked spatters of ale and blood. Bellan lowered her weapon. The flames crackled again. Leather squeaked. The fighters panted for breath. The innkeeper poked his head above the bar.

Bellan crossed her arms as everyone shouted explanations. Weapons pointed this way and that. Two more guards stepped through the door. The innkeeper’s voice joined in. The overall volume escalated again. Bellan’s face turned sour. She looked at the guards behind her.

“Just take them all in,” she said exasperated. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. It’s too late in the evening for all of this. I’ll take those two. You two, take them. You two… them.”

The room cleared out amid lavish protests and disgruntled sighs. All were led down to the jail house. The noise dissipated as the door closed behind the priests.

Bellan looked at the guard. “Don’t bring them anything. Don’t check on them. Don’t feed them… and no visitors. We’ll be back in the morning.” She pushed her hair back. Turning to the other priests she asked, “So, how about a drink now?”

The Good, the Cat, and the Lovely

Written Oct 28, 2014

10/9 ...later that evening.

Migi walked into the Toasted Pig Inn. He peered through the veil of lingering smoke. Patrons crowded the few tables beneath the grey mist. He slowly strode to the bar looking at every table in turn.

As he ordered a mug of ale, that feeling returned. Someone was watching him. Someone with a malign gaze had fixated on his back. Migi calmly turned, lifting the foamy drink to his lips. His vigilant eyes darted over the rim of the mug. From table to table, left to right, they passed over each patron. The mug lowered. The cool stout taste forced a bitter, yet satisfied smile.

Most eyes were too busy with stories, drinks, or card games. Very few looked his way, but reverted back to their distractions. One set stared his way. The pupils were wide, unwavering. A small pair of yellow irises leered around a fur covered face. The cat lay statue-still across a table in front of a woman. She gently stroked the feline’s fur. Her chiseled features radiated, almost glowed. She was simply enchanting; exceptional quality, even for a human. Migi had to pull his eyes away.

His tiny eyes resumed their scan of the room. Ralph and Elf were sitting further down the bar. Migi took another gratifying sip of ale. He turned his back to the bar. Another interesting figure sat alone at a corner table. His slouch posture looked genuinely innocent, but his eyes moved in an intent fashion. He was intent on something besides his solitary drink.

Another familiar form scurried past. It gave Migi a passing glance as its padded feet carried it to the other feline atop the woman’s table. It glanced around the room atop its new perch. Its neck craned as the woman gave it a scratch under the chin. Migi turned, asking the barkeep for the latest gossip. The rotund man leaned against the bar while cleaning a tankard. He spouted off the recent events better than a town crier.

Migi’s eyes and ears may have been on the news, but his attention was everywhere. He glanced at various reflections on the shelves of bottles. The locals next to him chimed in an opinion once the bartender brought up goings on. Gossip always got people talking. Migi was in the center of a discussion now, steering the topics left and right. Once on Mrs. Burrows’ missing turnips, he half-turned for another survey of his surroundings.

Migi spied for the less rowdy occupants; the ones trying to avoid attention. Yes, there seemed to be a few. None caught his eye more than the woman though. Calling her attractive would be an insult to her suave beauty. Then Migi noticed the man sitting opposite her. It took him far too long to notice the swordsman. His back faced Migi, but the sword against the table rose above the owner’s head. Only one man in the area carried a sword over five feet long. It was Jak.

Migi’s agile pupils darted around the suspect table. Jak, a lovely young woman, and two staring cats made a crowd. Both of them were peering now, trying to pierce his cover. Then, like a sentry post changing guards, the first cat hopped off the table and out the door. The second sat there, unblinking. Its eyes only slightly squinting as the woman caressed its neck.

Migi had to turn back to his conversation. Something bothered him about looking. His eyes would linger longer than normal. And yet he couldn’t remember what she was wearing after he looked away. There was something about her green eyes that shimmered. Something warned him from the back of his mind. He tried to shake the feeling as best he could.

‘There is no need to worry, though,’ he thought. ‘We’re going to meet with the Captain of the Guard, a high priest, and the chief arcane defender of the town here. At any moment they should be walking through the door.’

No sooner than that hope formulated did the door creak open. Migi twirled his stool to see a youthful halfling stride in. Her long wispy sideburns floated around a mischievous smile. What a surprise. What a blunder. He nerves were rising. He never expressed such an eagerness to meet someone. The halfling went the nearby card table. As Migi turned to his neighbor again, he noticed a slight turn of her head. At least, he thought he did.

She sat with her back to him, squeezing in a seat at the table. Maybe it was nothing. He returned to the turnip talk, most likely being stolen by oversized moles. If she was trying not to be noticed, she was failing miserably. She had one of those bubbly personalities, those that believe nothing in the world could be worse than a dead puppy. Her random, wide laughs rose at things that weren’t even funny. She twirled her fingers through her hair to an obnoxious degree. Still, there was something too overt about her.

A few hands passed. Migi tried to drown out the excited open-fingered claps accompanied by her high, squeaky giggles with every winning hand. The whimpering moans every time she lost were just as annoying. Migi tried pressing his agenda with the locals. He asked about the river lowering the last few days. Were there any rumors regarding the mountains to the east? He was about to mention the temple when she appeared right in front of him.

She leaned forward over the bar and ordered a Frost Brandy. She drank it as fast as it was placed in front of her. “Thanks,” she said tossing the cup back to her server. The bartender juggled it, exasperated. “I hope you had enough sleep. It’s going to be a Wild Night!” she said with two emphatic slaps against Migi’s vest. She turned and went back to the table. Before she even reached the table, her attention took another turn. “OOO! A KITTY!”

She picked up the cat that Migi had tried to forget. Rude, loud, and obnoxious; this girl had it all. He reached for his coin purse to drown out the noise. His head tilted down to his belt. His face wrinkled. He had fallen for it. His eyes flicked upward. His coin purse dangled limply at her waist.

It wasn’t easy, but he suppressed the rage. He ensured the last from his mug was empty and casually walked over to the girl. Peering over the brown fur, she whispered something into its triangular ears. They both watched as he approached, trying to show a charitable face.

“Well, you are a wild one?” he said. “Jak. Glad to see you made it back.” Jak didn’t respond. In fact, Jak hadn’t moved since Migi first noticed him.

“Aw, look Mable. The grumpy gnome is upset,” she cautiously petted the fur, but the cat did not seem the least bit passive. Its eyes never moved from Migi. Its ears had turned back. Migi could now hear its low grumbling. “Do you want to pet the kitty?”

“No thanks,” Migi insisted. Jak was conversing in a low tone just an arm’s length away. Migi was sure he would lend a hand if he needed though. “I want something else.”

“Oh, no,” the halfling’s eyes narrowed mischievously. She rubbed her chin against the soft fur. “You should pet the kitty.”

Arms extended, hurling the mass of fur. The cat landed on his face. It clawed and raked at his wide nose. It turned left and right at any appendage dangling enough to latch onto. Migi and the feline exchanged twisted screams of pain and rage. With a screech, Migi pulled it away from his face. It clawed at his arms as he threw it across the room. It hit a few bottles and dropped behind the bar.

Migi twisted around in circles. Everyone in the room was looking at him, laughing… almost everyone. The short wench had vanished in the commotion. The crowd clapped and cheered. A few of them cried out for the victorious cat. Then a silky smooth voice rose above the cheers.

“No one throws MY CAT!” Jak’s body convulsed, as if abruptly awoken from a dream. The woman’s eyes had lost their glint. Her clear voice juxtaposed the contorted rage in her face. Instinctively knowing what was about to happen, Jak staggered to his feet grabbing the hilt of his sword. It was too late. Something, or someone, slammed into his side knocking him to the floor.

Connecting the Lines

(written Oct 27, 2014)

October 9, the afternoon...

It was well past noon by the time Migi stirred in bed. He had allowed himself to rest, presuming all was taken care of. In front of the door lay a folded slip of paper. Migi slid from his covers and picked it up. It was from Farrow. Most of Jak’s party had come in just a few hours ago. Farrow was keeping contacts on all of them. On the nightstand was a small pouch. The distinct metal jingled as he picked it up. He gave it a toss to the other palm and smiled.

Migi dressed in a spare tunic and breeches he packed. He knew where everyone would be by now. Some of them would be selling loot. Jak would be at the weaponsmith checking on his new sword. At least one would be reporting to the guard on where they had been. Migi would also have to make a full report with the town watch. It was a decent place to start the day.

The gnome walked along the bustling streets. The sounds of hammers tapping metal and shopkeepers haggling prices were enough to fade out any worries he had of gnolls. He walked into the guard house and asked to see the Captain. After a lengthy discussion standing on a crate overlooking a map, the Captain was satisfied.

Migi inquired what else he heard from the other side of the lake. The question was the easiest way to glean what Jak’s party had told the guards. But even the party didn't report what happened. They did confirm a huge commotion in one of the main camps last night. Townsfolk could smell the lingering fumes creep into the basin at dawn. But nothing more was known.

Migi left for the shops. He could track people down in a city better than a bloodhound in a fog. As he walked, he began to feel his neck hair bristle. He continued to walk, trying to ignore the feeling. Then he stopped at the hat shop. He quickly picked up the hat near the window display and looked outside. The hatter asked if he could assist him. Diverting his attention from outside, he explained he just needed a new look. After a moment of adjusting the fresh headpiece, he looked around at some other items. He made a quick, yet stylish choice to go with his outfit. Nothing too bold of a buy, just enough to portray genuine interest of wanted something.

He felt a little better exiting the shop. The delay only cost the gnome a few silver pieces, but it gave him something to adjust while making a quick scan as he stepped outside. Maybe it was only his nerves after his capture. Routine paranoia was not always a bad thing.

Migi continued to peruse likely shops for selling large armor and weapons, the type of low quality that the gnoll might have. It was just too late in the day. The shopkeepers confirmed seeing Ralph, Mary, and Jak already. They had sold a number of items, more than usual. As he wandered through town, the feeling of watchful eyes grew. He took a few narrow streets and stopped at the end, waiting. Nobody was following him.

After 3 hours of fruitless searching he returned to the inn. Jak and Elf might have returned to the Erol's Tower. It was likely. He could easily write another message and deliver it to the tower where Jak studied. He stretched his short legs up the flight of stairs. In his room he finds another note waiting for him on the floor. He closes the door and begins to read. Well, speak of the swordsman. It was from Jak. He asked to meet at the Toasted Pig Inn at dusk.

The St. Cuthbert Church, the town guard, and the wizard, Erol would all need to discuss matters. This was perfect. He quickly scribbled a message to the churches of Moradin and St. Cuthbert. They would be at the Toasted Pig at sunset. Undoubtedly, they would all be summonsed for another appraisal of the situation in the mountains. Migi had the real story before the most influential folk of town. It might be worth the lost gold to have this extra card to play. The guild would prove its importance and solidify a place in town’s inner circles.

If only he had found out what they were searching for up there. Perhaps the church had the answers. The priests of Moradin are the ones that sealed the evil away years ago.

Update from the Dungeon Master

Yes, I have been writing extensions to this campaign. These were several campaign ideas that I just didn't get to when the game ended. I have about 6 more posts, but I keep thinking of more. Once I finish, I'll go back to the beginning with an effort to edit and rewrite. I'll also try to clarify the dates as to when they were written and the date in-game.
I'm writing in more of a short story and novel fashion now. It's a lot more fun. Until then, stay tuned and enjoy!

Where Have All the Heroes Gone

Written Oct 8, 2014

Oct 9, Early that morning...

Migi’s message would have sent him to one of three possible locations: The Silver Sword Guild hostile, the nearest temple, or the guard shack. The Raven Robber’s Guild has contacts in all three. Within an hour, some payment or parley would have him healed and carried off to a cozy dwelling with a hot bath and soft bed. All the guild ever expects are explanations in return.

“Migi. Migi, can you hear me?” Migi’s eyes peeled back. The director of the Raven Robbers, Martin Farrow, leaned over him. The aging director’s eyes darted to the left and back to Migi’s weak gaze. Someone else was here with him. He went on, “Are you all right, lad?”

Migi attempted to lean forward. A hand held him down from the other side of the bed. “No, no,” came a gruff voice. “You rest easy there. It looks like you've had a rough night.” Migi turned to the robed figure. A peppered beard covered half of his broad solemn face. In the middle of his white robe rose an embroidered fist holding a hammer. The extensive dwarven influence in the city left one possibility: a priest of Moradin. The priests were known for righteous virtues, not so much for sympathy to ones of Migi’s profession.

“The others,” the gnome gasped. “Did the others make it back? Did Jak make it back to town!?” He tried pushing himself back up again. He knew the reaction they would have and accepted the guiding hand back down to his soft pillow. Migi didn't know if the party had made it back, nor if they had been caught in the battle. Innocent sympathy always yielded him more information, .

The door swung open, diverting his audience’s attention. A man strode in, very official like. His head gazed to each man in turn. “Father Stormhammer. Mr. Farrow? What are you doing here?”

“You know me Guildmaster Whavis,” Farrow straightened and gave a casual smile. “I like to stay on top of things happening around the city. This looked important enough to demand immediate attention.”

The guild master’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. He exchanged glances with the priest, who looked just as perturbed with Mr. Farrow’s presence. The dwarf grunted. “He said he knew the lad. He did PAY for the healing spells. I didn't see a problem with it.” The three looked at each other cautiously for a moment.

Migi felt the tension rising around him. The only way to beat a diversion is with a greater one. “Jak. What happened to Jak? The gnolls, did they attack the town yet?” Migi turns his head back and forth trying to gain attention again. He took loud deep breaths as if the air had more answers than his visitors.

“Calm down son,” the dwarf placed a comforting hand on Migi’s shoulder. “Just take it slow. Start from the beginning.”

That brought them back, but where to begin? “We got separated…while I was scouting the gnoll camps.” Migi closed his eyes, envisioning his report. “The bugbear patrols... I left because the trolls arrived. A whole pack of them were to track us all down.”

“Go on,” Farrow blandly stated.

“Then I,” Migi went on. Who was she? How could he explain what he couldn't? “…I was…” He lifted a hand to his bruised face.

“What? Go on lad,” the guild master pressed. The three waited for the climax of the story.

“It was an ambush. I don’t remember. I awoke tied up. Fire in the camp. I…I managed to escape in the confusion. I couldn't stay up there any longer. The gnolls are mounting an attack soon. They’re coming here! Whatever it was, they might have it by now.”

“What were they looking for? What do you mean?” the priest said.

“Never mind that,” the guild master said. “We’re not going to launch a full scale attack and leave the town defenseless. That’s why we had Jak’s party scouting the area. How many are there and where are they camped?”

“East. They’re east at the old temple…raising the temple. Hundreds of them. The necromancer…he’s not the only leader,” Migi rolled over. He had gotten the point across. He made it into the camp. The beastly creatures were up there. He had lost the party somewhere. More importantly, time was now against them.

Farrow looked up at the priest. It was time for the director to get to work. “I trust you’ll inform the Town Watch, Master Whavis,” he said moving towards the door. “Meanwhile I’ll see if Jak and his party have made it back into town,” he preemptively raised his hand. “…and I will inform my contacts that you and the guard wish to speak with them promptly upon their arrival.” Farrow paused looking at the open door.

A thought lingered, as if something had not been asked or answered, then Farrow left the room. The priest approached Whavis. “He should be fine with the night’s rest. I should consult with the high priest about the Erythnul temple. I’ll leave him in your care, if you have no objections.”

Whavis nodded, dismissing the cleric. After it was clear the dwarf was out of earshot he turned back to Migi and asked, “So, how do you really feel now?”

“Better,” Migi said with a sigh. He sat up after a moment. He stretched his toes out. "It was a longer walk than I would have liked."

“Let’s get you on your feet then.” Whavis helped the short gnome off the cot. They grabbed the torn garments scattered about the floor that could be Migi’s clothes. As they stepped outside the temple, the cool breeze made Migi shudder.

“I've made sure your room was still available at the inn.”

“I had a feeling it would be,” Migi replied with a smirk. A hot bath still sounded irresistible. A meal would be even better.

“Have you anything else to report?” Whavis' eyes watched the darkness on either side as they swiftly moved through the streets.

“The group seems to be on the level; very promising figures in the guild. Last night, I think they attacked the camp directly. I couldn't be sure.” Migi inquisitively pulled at his beard. “But there are others up there. More than we thought. A woman did this to me.”

“I see,” the guildmaster said as they strode along the darkened dirt road. “Is that a first for you? Beaten by a pretty face?"

"I couldn't vouch for what she looked like," Migi didn't seem too amused by the character jab.

"Well, bugbears and gnolls don’t typically have wives accompany them on raiding parties. I wonder…” He turned towards Migi as they walked. “One last thing,” He lowered voice as he asked, “Does Mr. Farrow know who you really are?”

“Heh,” Migi managed half a smile. “Not likely. I've been very careful about that.”

“But you DO know who he is?” Wharvis whispered.

“He’s a man of many contacts,” Migi said. “…many…less savory contacts. A valuable asset if used properly.” Migi looked up at the concerned expression of master Whavis. “Don’t worry. I've secured the trust of Mr. Farrow. And even if he knew, he wouldn't dare cross me. Everything has been taken care of.”

The Scout Returns

10/8...later that evening

The gnome pushed east through shoulder-high scrub and brush. Stealth and speed played vital allies in his journey. Twilight would be coming soon in the high pass. The high peaks of the Torrent Mountains block daylight’s beams by late afternoon. Undoubtedly that’s why such dark creatures prefer the mountain passes. These peaks are no exception. Hundreds of gnolls and bugbears patrolled the high valley. Escaped goblins and hobgoblins may also be about, hungry for an easy meal. Alone and unarmed, Migi proved easier than a sloth in a lone tree. The plants would keep him from easy spotting, but may reveal him to the keen listener.

Forge Valley meant safety. This mission is over. No further could he hold his mask of deception. Someone had to know by now. Here lies vulnerability and death over a slow fire, if he was lucky. Once at the ridge he stopped. The hair on the tips of his ears bristled in the wind. Nothing but the thin pines stirred in the fading light. Corenia had already sunken behind the spine of Kethdar opposite the wide valley below. The rigid structure of the city lay on the near side of the basin. Down the draw and a through rough grass would only take a few more hours. Jak's company will have to survive the fight and make it back. It will be useful to put together what is happening back there.

The long crawl became more cautious as dark shadows stretched over the rocks. Birds returned to their larch nests. The pines whispered a soft hush as the cold evening wind caressed the slopes. As long as the starlight remained, he could make it. His head throbbed. His spirits grew as the land flattened out in front of him. His pace quickened through the grass. Thirst, hunger, fatigue; these familiar concepts were pushed to the back of his mind. He must go on. He must reach town. A gnome could be worth lunch in the wild world. Migi’s life often determined a dynasty’s survival or fall. To this end he had ensured his ability to blend in with the city. Once within the solid walls, Migi’s unparalleled social skills ensures he sees the next morning.

Looking half-dead, Migi stumbled through the fields beneath the eastern wall. As he approached the gate, a guard called down to him, “Who goes there?” Too parched to answer, Migi stumbled forward. He clasped at his chest for one of his guild insignias. All had been taken. “Hey! You, gnome!” The voice above him bellowed. His audience numbered few, but he had the stage. Migi fell to the ground. His face lay on the compacted road. He clutched with fingernails, attempting to pull his body forward. Two guards rushed over to him. He looked up at the guards with one eye.

“By the Cudgel’s Grace, what happened here?” Migi’s fingers pawed at the dirt, tracing a guild symbol. The simplest thing to draw that everyone knew. “The Silver Sword Guild? What happened man? Can you hear me?” In the middle of the street, with guards watching over him, the exhausted gnome drifted off. This was as good a place as any to sleep. Sympathy was a powerful tool which he relished to exploit.