Campaigning in South Province

This is the longer version of the write-up about South Province that I wrote for Canonfire, and you can read here: http://www.canonfire.com/cf/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=9224

Campaigning in South Province is for the DM who wants to downplay dungeon crawling in favor of political intrigue and military campaigning. More properly called the South Province of the Great Kingdom until 587 CY, and thereafter known as the United Kingdom of Ahlissa, the South Province is one of the most population-dense areass in the Flanaess, which means it is relatively safe of dangers such as roving bands of monsters, dragons, giants, etc. That is not to say the South Province is safe -- the Herzog of South Province extensively used humanoid troops and now there are many orcs and hobgoblins still in positions of authority throughout the kingdom. The warmongering followers of Hextor are everywhere and they are displeased with a stable, peaceful Kingdom of Ahlissa. The former capital of Zelradton is a hotbed of devil worship, so bad that to avoid their influence the capital was moved to Kalstrand, a city only annexed to the kingdom post-Greyhawk Wars.

The United Kingdom of Ahlissa is much larger than the former South Province, now including the lost Prelacy of Almor and much of what was known in recent memory as the Great Kingdom. However, these areas are not covered in this entry and should be covered separately.

The South Province is in the southeast Flannaess, south of Relmor Bay, bordered to the east by the Thelly River, to the south by the Greyflood River and the Iron Hills, and Dunhead Bay to the west. Its latitude and geography suggest a climate like Earth’s Egypt. While there are no interior rivers within the province, the population density suggests there is no shortage of water, so there must be ample streams and springs, as well as well-fed water. This is supported by the abundance of food prepared in South Province, one of the chief staples of the economy, even though copper, silver, and gold are all mined around the perimeter of the province. In this wet, hot clime, rice is likely a staple of local diets.

The culture, largely Oeridian, is here more like a mixture of Germanic and Slavic. The original Flan inhabitants were decimated by the migrating Oerdians and this long ago act of evil has cast a lingering presence over the Province ever since. Corruption is rampant and the standing army is little more than bandits, brigands, and monstrous races (including a significant number of ogrillons). Much of the history of its Flan inhabitants is now lost, though the Flan name for this land, Ahlissa, suggests some kinship with the legendary Queen Ehlissa of antiquity.  

The “natural enemies” of South Province are the states of the Iron League to the south. Idee, the Iron Hills, the Hollow Highlands, and Sunndi resisted generations of herzogs who ruled South Province before the current Overking, and the unattainable goal of finally reabsorbing those lands, long ago lost to the Great Kingdom, have not been forgotten.   

Country specific resources:

“Developments from Stonefist to South Province” (Dragon #57)

Ivid the Undying (the unpublished Sargent-era supplement)

Adventures in this country include:

lCity/naval adventures along the coastlines, fending off Scarlet Brotherhood-backed pirates.

lPerform a quest for the druids to restore the Bonewood.

lDefend Trennenport from a Sahuagin invasion.

lExplore Icespire, a cursed area on the Dunhead Coast where it is eternal winter.

lExplore the Undercity of Prymp, with its watery caves of deadly monsters and connection to the Underdark.

lAid (or put down?) an insurrection of the slave population.

lOppose the machinations of the Church of Hextor without openly fighting them (since they are inexorably bound to the power structure of the kingdom).

lPolitical intrigue between backstabbing political factions willing to take any steps against each other, up to assassinations.

lQuest for Queen Ehlissa’s Marvelous Nightingale, hidden somewhere in her ancestral lands.

lSolve the mystery of the callings from the Calling Mines.

lTransform the system from within, gradually lessening the hold of Lawful Evil over the kingdom and backing leaders who can change it to Good.

lAfter 400 years, the Yuan-Ti (represented by Graf Reydrich’s ancestor, Reynevar the Snakeheaded) return to Ahlissa. But for what purpose? Do they also seek the Nightingale?

Adventures in nearby areas include:

lCement the tenuous alliance between the Iron Hills and Ahlissa through diplomacy.

lEstablish peace with the Kingdom of Nyrond (and stop their raids!).

Fan-made Resources:

“The Principality of Ahlissa” (Oerth Journal #16)

“Trennenport” (Oerth Journal #21)

“Zelradton: City of Steel” (Oerth Journal #18)

Prymptown Courier v. 4 no. 7

[This was the last issue of the Prymptown Courier. It was discontinued because so much material was winding up on our message board, of which, ironically, nothing survives.]

PRYMPTOWN COURIER

Vol. 4, No. 7 (April 2002)

EDITORIAL

Whew!  A hefty four month delay since my last issue!  Worry not, gentle reader, if you thought you'd seen the last of the South Province campaign.  We've passed our 46th playing session now, and have a healthy crop of 2nd to 5th level PCs to show for it now!  But in some ways it's a different campaign now than it was.  The message boards (which can be found via http://www.geocities.com/southprovboard), that had begun as supplemental to the campaign, is now a large part of it.  So much game play now takes place between monthly live sessions, that the need for the campaign write-ups has been greatly reduced.  Yet, this is no cause for sadness, for I can now be free to revisit the campaign with more literary interest.  I've long wanted, and been encouraged, to flesh out the campaign write-ups into full-fledged fan fiction.  And now I have begun to do so.  Chapter One, taken from our first playing session is done.  How frequently I'll be able to write subsequent chapters, I cannot say.  If it helps, it didn't take me the whole four months you've been waiting for this issue writing it.

Now, I understand that this isn't what everyone may have signed on for when they first started getting the couriers.  You may say, "I've already read all this stuff, so why would I want to read it again only longer?"  And is so, then I can delete anyone from my mailing list.  Likewise, it has been so long that some may have since lost interest in it.  They too, I shall remove if I am so informed.

For the rest, I say enjoy the attached file, and this look back at a game session, long ago, that has spawned my most successful role-playing campaign yet.

LETTERS

The write-up from the last issue of the courier was more detailed than ever, thanks to being composed entirely of material from the message board play.  And I did get e-mails congratulating me on the write-up.  Honest.  Wish I could figure out what I did with them.  Now I can only find two relevant ones to share.

Date:  Wed, 6 Feb 2002
From:  "Merric Blackman"
Subject:  Re: [GREYTALK] South Province Campaign Session 34.62
To:  GREYTALK@MITVMA.MIT.EDU

>Perpegilliam Brown

I haven't mentioned this before, but I'm extremely suspicious about the source of this character's name...

Cheers,
Merric

~Yay, another person noticed!

Date:  Sun, 24 Feb 2002
From:  "Tracy Johnson"
To:  scottenkainen@YAHOO.COM
Subject:  Re: [GREYTALK] South Province Campaign Session 34.57

Request to post your South Province Campaigns on my server.

Although unfortunately, I don't have any of your posts before the subject line reference.
--

Tracy Johnson
Justin Thyme Productions
http://hp3000.empireclassic.com/

~Not the first time he's asked either, but this time I've caved in and given him persmission -- starting with the revised first post attached.

South Province Campaign
"Prymp Keep" - part 1

Cast:
Barada, Neutral male Flannish human mercenary (1st level Fighter).
Vlad Kostitov, Lawful Good male Oerdian human illusionist in service to the guard (1st level
Illusionist).
Hristo Goldmund, Neutral Good male Wesevud ("Central") noniz ex-town watchman and rogue (1st level Fighter/1st level Thief).
Abraham the Radiant, Neutral Good male Oerdian human acolyte of Pelor (1st level Cleric).

Setting: Various locales in the free town of Prymp, along the Ahlissan Coast.

Readying 8, 581 CY.

The day was newly born, and ancient Pelor had not yet climbed into his chariot to cross the heavens, when Abraham the Radiant stirred from his slumber.  The young, idealistic cleric had earned his name's appendage from the curates of Pelor in Almor, who saw great potential in him and the possible hope of spreading the worship of Pelor farther afield into the South Province.  Indeed, it was Cassandra Milnov, a priestess of Pelor whose role it was to oversee Abraham's progress, who was shaking him gently by the shoulder to rouse him from his restful sleep. 

It had not proven difficult for her to win access to the shrine of Pelor in the old part of Prymp, for it had almost single-handedly been her doing in having the shrine constructed.  It was a modest building -- roofless, floorless, with naught but a circular wooden wall between it and the street outside.  In the outer room were the wooden icons of Pelor.  Cassandra had commissioned them, and they were well carved, though not by devout hands.  This would change in time, she comforted herself with that thought.  Here, in the back room, were the extremely modest dwellings of what could only be a pious man. 

This pious man now sat up, rubbed his eyes, and asked, “What is it?  Cassandra?  Back so soon?”

“It is I,” she agreed, “and though my missionary work down the coast is far from done, return I have nonetheless.  I would not have asked this of you otherwise, but the hour is so early that I would not find room at any reputable inn so long before dawn. Would you…be so kind as to give up your room for me just this once?”

Abraham was in no position to refuse her, and so he quickly abandoned his pallet and blanket, and went to lie on the ground in the front room, under the watchful eyes of his idols. 

The second time Abe woke up that day was on his own.  He said his morning prayers to thank Pelor for the blessings of another sunny day, and had barely finished before being visited by a parishioner.  It was the most fervent of all parishioners, a local carpenter named Ned Flandev. 

“Hi diddly ho, Abraham!” he called out cheerily.  “Do you have the time to lead me in prayer this morning?”

Abe could not stand that rampant cheeriness but, as his stomach rumbled, he remembered that Ned did have his uses.  “I would be glad to,” Abe answered warmly, “after you’ve bought me some breakfast.”

Several blocks down the same street was the Tavern of the Grinning Gargoyle.  Above the entrance to the building squat a small stone gargoyle with a wide grin -- hence, the namesake of the tavern.  The tavern inside was a rather plain affair, even a bit of a disappointment perhaps after the ostentatious entryway.  But the tavernkeeper was a friendly man and his food was good.

***

Hristo Goldmund was a queer gnome, or so his neighbors thought.  And he was very lucky that this was all they thought, for many of his neighbors in the seedy Dock District of Prymp were often more inclined to think of people as easy marks for robbing, killing, or both.  Hristo had dreamed of high adventure and fabulous treasures ever since he left the Town Watch to take up
adventuring.  Sadly, not being sure of how to go about finding adventure, Hristo was often forced to content himself with the care of his assortment of laundry.  He looked on his folding and sorting skills with pride. 

This particular morning, for some reason, he felt extravagant.  He collected his meager savings, exited the hostel he called home, and made his way south away from the docks and towards nicer dwellings.  At the Abigail’s Rest Inn, he breakfasted on sausage and biscuits.  He returned home feeling good and full, quite ready to join the washerwomen down by the Beach Stream for his daily laundering. 

Waiting for him outside his room was a human named Gianni the Long.  The gangly man shared with Hristo certain skills that were not laundry-related – skills they had learned together under the tutiledge of that wandering robber and trainer of rogues, Tilwich Tourmaline.  What they shared in common did not make Hristo any more comfortable around this man.

“Hristo!  I was just looking for you,” Gianni said slyly.  Then he waited until Hristo had drawn closer before continuing in a hushed voice, “You know how we’ve talked about hooking up with the thieves’ guild?  Well, I met a contact last night who might be able to help us get in.” 

“Good luck, then!”  Hristo said as he ducked into his room.  Perhaps at one time Hristo had toyed with the notion of joining a guild, but he knew that was not the opportunity for which he’d been waiting.  With a sigh, he started the daily tending of his laundry.

***

Barada rose early to pursue his daily regiment of exercise.  Afterwards, he went out into the town to seek his fortune, as any mercenary fighter would.  Passing by the Old Market, Barada encountered a merchant he knew, Devid the Younger. 

“Barada!” Devid called out.  “Just the man I was looking for.”  Devid proceeded to fill Barada in on some of the details of a business meeting he had that evening.  The other merchants involved needed persuasion that Devid could move merchandise safely through dangerous regions of the province.  He would give Barada two silver Scores for his time if he would just stand there and look persuading.  Barada was accostumed to being used for intimidation, as unusual as it was to see a Flan warrior in South Province.  The pay sounded rather feeble, but Barada had no better offers at present, so he accepted.

***

Vladamir Kostitov had regular employment and was on duty that morning.  He reported to the walled compound known as the Garrison.  While the town watch was based out of Prymp Keep and answered to Laird Seron Tapinov, the town guard was based out of the Garrison and answered to Graf Lopozos Cranden. Vlad was the only illusionist in a small group of invokers and general magic-users who assisted in patrolling Prymp and the surrounding county. 

Vlad made the normal rounds through the Old City of Prymp that morning.  He encountered nothing more unusual than a puppet show in the Old Market.  To think that, had he remained in Hexpools with his talents, he might have been a street performer himself!  But here on the coast he was considered a valuable asset for defense!

***

It was around noon, and Hristo was chatting with a washerwoman when he saw a bard and his entourage stroll past.  The bard was a lightly-tanned man of good bearing and fine countenance.  His light brown hair fell to his shoulders, and he wore a beard very short and neat.  He wore a long, fur-trimmed green cote with long, drooping sleeves.  His hose was tan, and he wore a red feather in his green cap.  He wore a short sword at his side, but held and played a lute in his hands.  The bard and his entourage continued past, like a parade.  At first, Hristo gave it little thought and went back to his laundry. 

***

The bard happened to be on his way to the Tavern of the Grinning Gargoyle, which Abraham was just leaving after a full morning of hearing the carpenter's problems.  The cleric and the bard literally bumped into each other. 

“Pardon me,” the latter said.  “it was all my fault.  Please, allow me to introduce myself.  I am Heironymous Nodd.  Though I had come here only to speak to my friend, the tavernkeeper, and that business is done, do come back in with me and I shall endeavor to compensate you for the jostling with one of the finer beverages that can be found within.”

This was a boon opportunity for the young acolyte, for Abe was eager for news of quests or adventures on which he might go.  “I happen to be an adventurer,” Abe brought up quickly.  “You are a well-traveled bard, no doubt.  Might you know where adventures can be had?” 

Nodd smiled.  “Indeed I do.  Have you ever heard of ...Skull Keep?”

***

Hristo had second thoughts, parted with his laundry, and decided to see where the bard
went.  He tracked the bard by following the sound of his lute playing.  The bard always remained just a few blocks ahead of him.  The more difficult the task proved, the more resolute Hristo was in staying on his trail.  The noniz even paid the toll to enter the Old City.  Finally, he wandered into the Grinning Gargoyle, and found the bard there.  The man was about to begin a tale.  One of the patrons listening to the bard called Hristo over to his table.

***

Abe had mistaken Hristo for another gnome he knew, but covered the embarassing faux pas by inviting the stranger to sit near him anyway.

The bard’s tale was long and lyrical, but the story behind it went as follows:  A century ago, the sorceror Zenopus built a tower on the low cliffs overlooking Relmor Bay.  The cliff face was carved to resemble a giant skull, and it has been rumored since that extensive cellars and tunnels were dug behind the cliff face.  It is also rumored that Zenopus found ancient treasures within the ruins of the old city under Porton that helped him build his tower and carve the cliff face.      Fifty years ago, on a cold wintry night, the wizard's tower was suddenly engulfed in green flames as the top half of the tower blew up.  Several of his servants escaped the explosion, saying their master had been destroyed by some powerful force he had unleashed.  Not long after that, rumors began to circulate that the tower's remains were haunted.  Ghostly blue lights had been seen in the windows, ghastly screams had been heard, and shadowy figures had been glimpsed skulking about the grounds.  No one but adventurers have since gone to the tower. 
    While the bard spun this tale, Vladamir and some of the guardsmen to whom he’d been assigned entered.  They were off-duty, and eager to whet their whistles.  Vlad was known to Abe because Cassandra Milnov was Vlad's sister.  Abe eagerly gestured for Vlad to come join him.  The story of the keep was momentarily forgotten as Abe spoke.

“Vlad, did you know your sister, Cassandra, was back in Prymp?” Abe asked in a hushed voice, so as not to disturb the bard.

“No...I did not,” Vlad replied.  He was sorely puzzled by why his sister would return home and he would only be hearing this from one of her fruity religious friends.  Vlad offered lip service to Pholtus when necessary, but was far from a religious man.  His sister Cassandra was a dear, but her devotion to Pelor made no more sense to Vlad than it did to the rest of the Kostitov family.

***

Barada decided to check out the location for Devid's business meeting before it occured, and the location happened to be the Grinning Gargoyle Tavern.  While Barada was circling around the back, Heironymous Nodd was inside telling how he was once on an expedition of adventurers into Skull Keep.  They had fought giant rats and spiders on two underground levels below the ruins of Skull Keep.

Barada entered the tavern just as the bard was finishing his tale.  Abe, Hritso, and Vlad agreed that they were interested in exploring this keep, but they wanted a strong fighter with them.  Everyone recognized Barada, as he was the only Flannish mercenary in town. They agreed to approach him and ask him to join their expedition for equal shares.

“Sure,” Barada said cooly.  And how!  Equal shares was the best business offer he’d ever been offered.

Nodd had heard this all.  “I wish you luck,” he told them, “and suggest only that you first go talk to the Laird of Prymp, Seron Tapinov, for more information before you go.  Tapinov had been the
magic-user in our party back then, not long before he was elected to office.”  

***

Hristo and Abe agreed to see the laird at once.  Town Hall was a two-story stone building bedecked in large banners bearing Prymp’s colors.  It was the most impressive non-fortified building in town.  The pillored entryway was patrolled by six watchmen.  Frescoes in the hall detailed the town’s humble origins as a fishing village.  After dodging past couriers, courtiers, and assorted businessmen, Abe and Hristo were able to succor an audience with the laird's advisor, Nemis Coraz.  Nemis Coraz was past middle-aged, already with a full grey beard, and almondine eyes.  After hearing them recount the bard's tale, he told them to return the following afternoon to see the laird.

***

Vlad returned to the crowded home of his extended family to find his sister still hadn't been there.  “Out gallivanting about with that fool, Abraham the Radiant,” Vlad's crotchety old mother replied to his enquiry.  “Trying to convert people back to one of the old gods when she should be trying to find a new husband.  And I don’t mean for it to be a cleric, gods forgive me, but she should have a proper husband with property AND profession!” 
His mother’s rants were nothing new, and Vlad listened to them with an unattentive ear.  He saw in the face of his brother, Demetrius, that he too shared some concern over their sister’s whereabouts.  As soon as it was possible to escape from their tempestuous mother, they agreed to look for her at the shrine of Pelor. 
It was not far to the shrine, and sure enough, Cassandra was there.  She wore her white robes with a matching headdress that left only her face visible.  She was with a young woman, dressed poorly, whose features betrayed orcish blood. 
“Cassandra!  What are you doing?”  Demetrius sounded concerned.  As a guardsman for Graf Cranden, his experience with orcs was that they were all murdering mercenaries. 
Vlad’s concerns were still on Cassandra not coming home.  “Where have you been?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” Cassandra began, “but I have been preoccupied here with the shrine, especially since Abraham has not been here since early this morning.  She related the tale of how she had helped a young half-orc woman named Mora who was poor, homeless, and seeking help.  Upon Vlad's beseeching, Cassandra agreed to come home when Abe returned to monitor the shrine for more such troubled souls.  "In the meanwhile," she concluded, "I must console this poor creature that Pelor has seen fit to send to me."

***

Barada attended the business meeting in a second floor private room in the Tavern of the Grinning Gargoyle.  Devid was speaking with two merchants from the river town of Ilahzdruk. 

"You understand, Devid," one of them said, "that we came here out of concern, and not confidence.  The promises you sent us via messenger were unsatisfactory.  If you wish to renew our contracts -- or see any long term trade outside of Prymp -- you're going to have to start showing you can guarantee safety!"

"Gentlemen," Devid cooed, "do not let isolated events elsewhere in the Province worry you about Prymp.  Prymp is the very bedrock upon which the financial --"

"Razivon was not just an isolated incident," the other merchant interrupted.  "That town fell to Provincial forces just last year after earning the wrath of the herzog.  I can show you some of the rubble from their trade hall..."

"Which is precisely why you need me," Devid countered.  "The guild halls are vulnerable to over-taxation, and even retribution.  You need the flexibility of non-sanctioned merchants like me, along with the stability that can be acquired with suitable..." and here he waved to Barada behind him, "...protection."

The merchants seemed to take notice of the fierce-looking Flan for the first time.  One of them
nodded at Barada and asked, "How many Flan mercenaries do you have?"

"Enough," Devid answered cooly.

When the meeting was over and the two men from Ilhazdruk had left, Devid slumped into his seat and wiped his brow.  Barada stopped posing.

"I hope that bluff holds," Devid said.  "Here is your well-earned fee," he said, giving Barada the handful of silver Score he'd earned.  "Make sure you're around in case I need you again soon."

***

Abraham returned to the shrine soon thereafter.  Cassandra seemed cool, but not upset over his absence.  "Abraham, this is Mora," she said instead, introducing the hideous but waif-like creature huddled by the wall.  She related Mora's story, and what comfort Cassandra had been able to give her in the past half-day. 

Abe, ashamed to take the veiled admonishment from his superior, made the mistake of overcompensating.  "Allow me to atone for my absence, then, by giving this Mora my room here at the shrine.  She may stay here while I am away."

At this, Cassandra grew hot, and scolded him thusly, "You would even think of turning the shrine over to a stranger like that?  What would possess you to think you will need be away from here so long?"

"Forgive me, but I crave to see more of the world, and to find adventure."

"Ah, so that's it, is it?  I will, hesitantly, leave Mora here in your care, so you may see about finding a boardinghouse that will take her.  When I return, we shall talk more of this desire for adventure you claim to have."

Abe did as he was told, though his mind was not in it.   While Mora silently followed him about, his mind was far away, dispatching monsters and claiming their magical treasures in the name of Pelor.  After finding no vacancy at several such houses, and with night approaching, Abe gave at last simply handed Mora two electrum Nobles and sent her off into the night.

Abe returned dutifully to the shrine, but Cassandra did not.  So Abe simply went through his standard evening rituals, ate a small supper alone, and laid down in the back room of the shrine to sleep.  But once again, Abe’s sleep would not go uninterrupted.  This time he was awoken by a
parishoner -- a mercenary by the name of Nicolo.  Nicolo had been to the shrine much of late, seeking advice on whether he should keep looking for mercenary work in a scarce market, or
take regular employment and long commitment in the town watch.  Half-asleep and slightly irritated by the interruption, Abe suggested a third alternative.

“Come with me.  We will see what perils lie on the open road, and vanquish them each in turn.  Fabulous adventure awaits the bold and daring.  Monsters and treasure, adventures both outdoors and underworld -- how could the drudgery of garrison duty compare?”

And to all this, Nicolo stood there looking horrified.  But then his features relaxed, and he said, “Oh, I understand you now!  You were merely testing me.  I see that you have exagerated the dangers of mercenary work to show me which path I should take.  Thank you, Abraham!”

Nicolo left, content.  The acolyte, having lost nothing for the effort but some sleep, sought to remedy that situation with renewed slumber.
 
Readying 9, 581 CY.

Barada was an early riser.  He walked all around the Old City each morning, and passed many a tradesman, laborer, and traveler on its winding streets.  This morn, he crossed the path of a traveler he recognized -- Estophon, the wandering druid of Obad-Hai.  He wore a light brown robe, instead of an embroidered vest as men typically did, and walked with a staff.  His forehead was tall and well-tanned, and his large, expressive eyes were surrounded by deep wrinkles.  A black beard hugged his round face.

“So good to see you again, Barada!”  Estophon greeted him.  “I did not think to meet anyone of the druidic faith so soon today.  This is a boon no doubt placed in my way by Obad-Hai himself.  Just two days past, I was in the village of Vecheld Gesto, and there I encountered a shepherd in
need of a warrior's assistance. And now here I am in the presence of a warrior and, I think, the very one for which this situation calls.”

But Barada was offended, so when he responded he said,“Then your wisdom has fled you this morning, druid, for I am not such a warrior.  I would slay dragons and rescue maidens.  Livestock is not important to me.  Tell your shepherd to arm himself.”  And with that, Barada trudged off.

Afterwards, Estophon clicked his tongue and mused outloud, “Yes, he’ll make a fine candidate...”

***
 
Hristo again left his hostel in the Dock District and payed the toll to enter the Old City.  In the Old Market, he found a traveling weaponseller.  The short, squat old man had a bundle of short swords, but no broadswords.  Hristo had long been looking for some time for just the right broadsword.  He always imagined himself as a daring treasure hunter and explorer, and all he needed to start -- he imagined -- was just the right broadsword.

Hristo sighed.  “I’ll take however many sling bullets you have,” he told the man.

***

Cassandra Milnov had kept busy since returning to Prymp, perhaps purposely avoiding the return home.  But her reunion with siblings at the Kostitov estate was a joyous one that had lasted late into the evening.

Vladamir was glad to have her back, despite his long-held misgivings about her “finding religion” after her husband died.  But there was little time for such ruminations that morning, for Vlad was soon due to join his patrol.  It was a group of many of the same faces Vlad had gone out on patrol with before, though they all remained practically strangers to him.  It was another walk down the same streets, encountering much the same people.  His life, he knew, was dull routine; but he was a patient man, and expected more opportunities in life to come his way eventually. 

Vlad's patrol ran into a band of loitering mercenaries in the street.  The patrol leader was a soldier named Otez, and Vlad knew Otez did not like mercenaries.  It was not uncommon, but this lot looked particularly rough and unpleasant.  Their steel was naked, though at least at the moment they weren’t threatening anyone with their weapons. 

“You there!”  Otez cried out.  “There is to be no loitering in the city streets with drawn weapons.  In the graf’s name, I order you to disperse!”

The mercenaries bristled.  “Is your precious graf going to help you disperse us?  Or did you plan to try it alone?” a particularly brave, or rude, one said. 

“We have you outmanned, outclassed, and we have a magic-user,” Otez responded.  “You can give me an excuse to clap you in irons or cut you down, or just move along.”

The standoff was as tense as it was short-lived.  The mercenaries were not willing to risk the challenge, and backed away.

Vlad had hung back and watched the whole time.  It was his role to lend magical support if a fight had broke out, but he knew his particular talents did not make him a popular choice amongst his fellow officers.  It was invokers they wanted.  Battle mages.  Vlad’s illusions seemed trivial to them.  Again, he reminded himself that he was a patient man.  His chance to shine would come.

***

Cassandra left that morning to check on Abraham at the shrine.  Abe reported how he had left Mora with enough money to get by on.  He left out the detail of leaving her to find her own shelter for the night.  Cass was satisfied with the report and once more left him to tend the shrine alone.  He spent the afternoon cleaning up the shrine, and sweeping out the loose dirt from the packed dirt floor.

Late that afternoon, Abe was kneeling before the altar -- not so he could pray, but so he could dust off the wooden altar and the icons sitting on it.  Just then, a rock sailed through the doorway and struck the altar just over his head.Abe wheeled about in surprise, mixed with anger.  The shrine had suffered vandalism problems several weeks earlier.  The Town Watch had looked into it, but had resolved nothing.

“Pelor willing, I’ll resolve this myself,” Abe said aloud through a fearsome scowl and gritted teeth.  He immediately bolted out the door after the scoundrels.  Abe was angry and determined, but also not quite ready to take on multiple vandals by himself, so he hedged his bets by shouting for the Town Guard every step of the way.  There was only one man fleeing the scene that he could see -- a man in padded armor running at a good head of speed.  Abe ran down the paved street in pursuit of him, dodging the scattered pedestrians in his way.  The chase had proceeded south no more than a half block before the chasee turned down a dirt side avenue.  Abe was hesitatant to leave the busier thoroughfare for the quieter side street, so he stood there and did the only thing he felt safe doing.

“Help!”  he yelled.

***

As luck would have it, Hristo was just north of there, hanging out near the brewery, at the time.  He heard screams and came running to investigate.  He spotted Abraham, the man he’s met at the nearby tavern, acting hysterical.  Hristo, recalling his experience in the Town Watch, put on his most authoritative face and asked, “What seems to be the trouble here?”

“Shrine vandals!”  Abe cried.  “This way!”  An armed gnome wasn’t what he had in mind, but at least he wouldn’t be going it alone if this Hristo followed him.  Hristo, feeling he had nothing better to do anyway, decided to go along with it.  And so the two of them ran down the side street, nearly knocking over an old man. 

“Young hooligans!”  the old man called out after them. 

A ways down the street, they were confronted by three club-wielding men in padded armor who ran out of an alley yelling, "Get the cleric!"

Abe did a mental inventory of his person and realized he did not have any armor or weapons on him.  Discretion became, in his mind, the better half of valor, and he turned and ran. Hristo was non-plussed.  Still, since he couldn’t possibly run as fast as the long-legged cleric, there was nothing to be done but stick it out and try to make the best of the situation.  He produced his sling from his belt and a sling bullet from a pouch at his side.  The three men rushed towards while he was winding up.  Hristo was forced to release too soon and the bullet ricocheted off some walls back the way he had came. 

The annoying old man had followed Abe and Hristo intent on yelling at them again.  He saw Abe run back and pass him.  He was just about to say something when an errant sling bullet hit him in the head and knocked him unconscious.  The three thugs ran over his body, in pursuit of Abraham.

Abe made it back as far as the main street before being struck from behind and sent reeling.  This surely would have been the end of him if not for two amazing coincidences.  Barada just happened to be nearby, and at the same time as Vladamir’s guard patrol was passing by.  Before anyone else could react, Vlad appraised the situation, grabbed a handful of colored sand from a belt pouch, intoned magic words, and made magic signs with his free hand.  Seconds later, a fan-shaped burst of rainbow colors spread out over the three thugs as they hovered over Abe, and stunned all of them. 

“Good work, Vlad,” Otez told his subordinate.  “You lot,” he called to the other guards, angry with them for their slow reactions, “let’s see if you can pick up these three and hold them -- sometime today!”

Barada stepped forward to check on Abe.  He was seriously hurt, but still conscious.  Refusing help, Abe pulled himself up on his feet.  He clasped his holy symbol, called on Pelor, and asked the sun god to heal his wounds.  After that, Abe seemed fine.  Then Abe walked over and asked Pelor to help the old man as well.  The old man got up, with help, and then batted Abe away.  “Get away from me, you trouble maker!”  the old man yelled, and then stormed off.  Barada chuckled at Abe’s expense.

Meanwhile, Hristo had already walked past, trying to look as innocent as possible.  Barada shot him a suspicious glance, but didn’t ask him what he was doing there.  And by then, Vlad’s patrol was already taking their three prisoners back to the Garrison for interrogation.  The three novice adventurers stood there looking at each other. 

“Do you want to go see the laird now?”  Hristo asked Abe.

“Sure.  Why not.”

“Can I come too?”  Barada added.

At Town Hall, Laird Tapinov spoke with them privately.  Seron Tapinov was nearly six feet tall, with reddish-brown hair, a moustache, but no beard.  He wore the fur-lined robes of his office, despite the warm spring weather. 

“I am am fairly sure,” Tapinov continued, “that Skull Keep has little treasure left in it to offer.  But, there was one place we never explored.  The pit.  The pit was in close proximity to the keep, was deeper than we could ascertain, and had never been explored to my knowledge.”

“That sounds promising,” Barada said.

“Do you remember what kind of monsters you had to fight?”  Abe asked.

“Over-sized vermin, mainly,” Tapinov answered, thinking back.  “Rats and spiders.  Nothing of great interest.”

Hristo sat there quietly, thinking about how the laird had his robes washed.

***

Vlad was present as his fellow guardsmen roughed up the three prisoners.  Abel Olsta, one of the officers, finished beating the last of the three prisoners with a sap, yanked him back by his hair, and yelled in his ear, “Confess!”

“Alright, I’ll talk!  We were hired to harass the shrine to Pelor.  He had long black hair, but I don’t know anything else about him -- no, wait!  He always paid in gold, and always came to us, whereever we happened to be when he wanted us.”

“Not very useful,” Abel complained.  “Well, they admitted to the previous vandalism at the shrine...”

“Did you want me to summon the Castellan?”  Otez asked.

“Bother Belkos with a trivial matter like this?  No.  Just give these boys two days in the stocks, followed by exilement from town.  They’ll think twice before they bother a church again.”

Vlad quietly took it all in.  If he had any opinions on how justice was meted out in Prymp, he kept them to himself.

***

That evening, the four adventurers all supped again at the Grinning Gargoyle Tavern.  They were discussing what to do next. 

“The Big Burrow sounds interesting,” Hristo said, using the name he’d coined for the pit.  “And is anyone else here besides me think it’s odd that people have been trying so hard to convince us that there’s no profit to be had in exploring Skull Keep?”

“Those were warnings,” Vlad replied, “and are probably accurate.  Exploring Skull Keep would not be worth our time.”

“Look,” Barada added, “the keep is only a day’s hard march to the west, so it would not be a long expedition to find out is there’s anything to this place or not.”

That night, an adventuring company was formed. 

“What should we name it?”  Abe asked.

“Why don’t we name it after this place,” Barada asked, “since we’re founding it here?  The Band of the Grinning Gargoyle.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that!”  said the tavernkeeper as he passed by.  “I’d wager daring deeds and the like should be good for my business.  So I’d be most pleased, and would gladly spread the word of this company.”

And so it was decided.

Prymptown Courier - v. 4 no. 6

PRYMPTOWN COURIER


Vol. 4, No. 6 (Dec. 2001)

EDITORIAL

This will prove to be one of the most unusual issues of the Courier yet.  Like last issue, there will be no summary of a game session.  Rather, everything below was edited from the campaign's message board prior to the 35th session.  The board was created by the player of Vladamir Kostitov.  It was an experimental thing at first, meant for his character and Perpegilliam Brown while they were adventuring separately in the Sud Graufult region.  However, the board quickly proved so useful that it has been busy since.

At this time, the campaign was approaching the deaths of some of the PCs.  For those non-players lurking, see if you can guess which ones based on the clues below.  Oh, and spoilers continue for "Nightshade" from DUNGEON #7 below, in addition to some from CEREBUS #3...

SOUTH PROVINCE CAMPAIGN (Between) SESSIONS 34-35
Continuing Chapter 3:  SEPARATE JOURNEYS
PC Role Call (of those present):
Maldrik Moonharvest, Neutral Oerdian male aspirant of Beory (1st lvl druid).
Vladamir Kostitov, Lawful Good Oerdian male trickster (3rd lvl illusionist).
Enlock Nightshade, Neutral Good Oerdian male prestidigitator (1st lvl magic-user).
Alexander Petrok, Lawful Neutral Oerdian male protector (2nd lvl templar - variant paladin).
Perpegilliam Brown, Chaotic Neutral Hobniz male robber (4th lvl thief).

Planting 3, 581.  Moonday.  Sporadic drizzle. 
Outside Shargallen, Ahlissan Coast.

Maldrik Moonharvest had found a nice, quiet spot, with a tree stump he can rest on, where he could observe both the curtain wall of Shargallen and the docks on the beach, neither far away.  Here he sat for some time in quiet meditation, wondering about what to do next.  Finding Andel Mooriv would prove difficult from here, as Shargallen was larger than he had guessed.  It was slightly larger than Porton, and over half the size of Prymp.

Maldrik had new plans now, which unfortunately required doing much backtracking.  It was then that he noticed the sound of music approaching.  A long-haired man wearing a feathered cap and fancy clothes was strumming a lute and heading his way.  Upon seeing the stranger approach, Maldrik rose to greet him.

The man walked up to 20 paces away and stopped.  He had stopped playing his lute, and it hung in one hand at his side.  His other hand crossed his slim waist to his sword scabbard, but the sword remained sheathed.  He looked Maldrik up and down, and then smiled before speaking, "Greetings, traveler.  I too was about to wander from this city, when I spied you out here.  When two strangers chance upon the open road, there may be a story behind it.  But when one stranger is seen sullenly sitting on a stump, that means there surely must be a story behind it.  My name," he said, tipping his hat, "is Heironymous Nodd. My business in Shargallen is at an end, and now my wanderings must take me back east along the Lantern Road.  Tell me, are you coming or going?  From where do you hail, and what events have led you to sit here alone like this, so deep in thought?"

"Greetings to you, Mr. Nodd!" Maldrik responded.  "My name is Maldrik and I hail from Azhenk.  At present, I am neither coming nor going, though it seems to me that I shall soon be doing one or the other.  My patience grows thinner with every passing moment as I await the arrival of a companion whom I was supposed to meet in Shargallen.  His name is Andel Mooriv, and he is a man of the cloth...if a bit overzealous.  Have you met such a man in recent days?"

Heironymous Nodd gave the matter just a moment's thought before speaking again.  "Could this clergyman belong to the Church of Pholtus?  I ask, for there is a monastery devoted to the Lawgiver just south of town in the hills.  Mayhaps some events have kept him there past the time for your meeting.  I certainly hope that is helpful to you.  I always lend my aid where I can."

"Indeed," Maldrik replied, "the one I mentioned is a clergyman of that house of worship."  Maldrik paused for a moment, eyeing the friendly wanderer.  "Perhaps you have heard about recent events involving the Herzog, or anything concerning a sieging army around Prymp Town.  I wonder, what stories have *you* to tell a young traveler such as I?"

"No joyous tale is this of the free towns of the Ahlissan Coast, and its ending looks grim.  Since you know of the Herzog's forces, then you must surely heard of Prymp's heroic stand against them and the repulsion of both the Herzog's army and navy!  Such an epic tale would require longer for the telling, yet more movements have the Herzog's troops made since, and now they hold neighboring Porton.  And there is worse still in the west, for Dargvonessa and Dargveto have succumbed to the pressure of Chelor's pirate navy as quickly as Porton fell to his army.

"Now only two towns in the entire province remain free.  Prymp, as far as I know, still endures.  I have just come from Shargallen and learned that Prince Devid Darmen will resist as well.  But these two allies are cut off from each other, and the forces arrayed to oppose them are overwhelming.  I pray this news is not too bleak for your ears."

A look of deep concern slowly took its place on Maldrik's face as Heironymous revealed more about the dark cloud that seemed to be spilling over the Ahlissan coast.  "This is indeed bleak news, friend.  Though the victory at Prymptown will surely fuel success in the future for those yet untouched by the Herzog's forces." Maldrik hesitated to ask further into the friendly stranger's business.  Hesitant, but undaunted, Maldrik pressed on.  "If you don't mind me asking, I was curious to know what, exactly, your business in Shargallen was. After this ostensible meeting with my compatriot Mr. Mooriv, I am hard pressed to meet up with others still, though my memory is lacking slight detail of where." Maldrik stroked the modest beard on his chin accompanied by a smile and a hint of confusion. "Furthermore, if all of my plans are lost, then perhaps you wouldn't mind a friend on the trail." It was merely a whimsical suggestion giving a ray of hope to a rather gloomy forecast.

"I had come to see what allies I could win here for Prymp, and perhaps lead them back there myself. It was an unexpected boon to find Devid Darmen. The Mad Prince had been deposed from Dargvonessa, and he is here in Shargallen like royalty in exile, and with half of Dargvonessa's treasury! Since I had once performed him a favor, I sought to have it repaid by his personal intervention in Prymp.  But, alas, he is fixated only on repelling the occupying forces of his own little town so that he can have it all to himself again.

"I return alone to Prymp now," Nodd continued, "unless you would accompany me. I have much left to learn about you, and why you are encumbered with the gear of a long-distance traveler, yet with no retainers or pack animals. Surely -- are you a bard as well?"

"Ahh, a protector of Prymp you are. A good man." Maldrik smiled kindly. "I am doing whatever I can to see that this darkness sweeping over the Ahlissan coast is dispersed.  Though I cannot fend off the entire army of the Herzog myself, my allies and I are taking measures to make sure that these lands will not be consumed easily," Maldrik said, speaking confidently.  "As for my travels, perhaps it would be best for me to make my way to that temple of Pholtus you mentioned.  Perhaps you would accompany me so we could talk more, lest you need make haste to Prymp." Heironymous' mention of pack animals had made Maldrik suddenly realize he had not been concerned about such things recently, not even to note the local fauna the Oerth Mother had blessed this region of the coast with. "Nay kind sir," Maldrik continued on another thought. "I am no bard as you are! The city life is not for me. I am a man of simple means that lives a decreasingly simple life. I do enjoy the open road and performing tasks for the Oerth Mother." Maldrik turned, tilting his head down slightly in respect for the deity.  Nodd thought about the offer for a moment, and then said, "I will show you the way to the monastery, so that you don't miss it. And on the way, you can tell me about these allies you have."

"Ahh, thank you for showing me the way, good sir." Maldrik outstretched his arm and gestured to the trail. "After you."

The route to the monastery circumvented the town of Shargallen entirely. Maldrik and Heironoymous circled the curtain wall clockwise, until they came to an opening in the wall where homes spilled out of the south side of town around a wide trail heading south. To the south, the Ahlissan Plains were grassy and slightly hilly, moreso to the southwest. Along the road ahead and to the southeast were some farms, so that most of the land looked cultivated. Trees were few and far between, no doubt having been long ago sacrificed for the building of Shargallen.

For the next hour, the two travelers shared the trail, once crossing paths with some farmers and at another time seeing a goat herder on a hill. The background noise of the town had long since been left behind. Aside from it being warm, it was a pleasant day for such a walk. Nodd continued to listen to what Maldrik had to say along the way.

The young druid continued as the two ambled along the trail, "I hope that Shargallen itself will not succumb to this threat rushing across the Ahlissan plain. Perhaps you, my allies and myself should band together in the defense of this land and its honest, hard-working peoples. Now, you want to know more of my allies, so I shall say this -- I have scarcely met but two of this band working together, although I believe there to be at least three others in this 'band' I speak of. Of the two I mentioned, one is called Peri for short, and the other, you already have heard his name -- Andel Mooriv, the acolyte of Pholtus. The one named Peri is quite happy to see his pockets grow ever deeper. Though I will say this about him, he has determination and prowess in battle. Andel is human, while Peri..." Maldrik trailed off, trying to remember if he'd heard Peri's full name, "... is a Hobniz I believe, though I have not had much experience with his kind before, so I may have erred. As for the others, well I have yet to meet them, but Andel has told me little about his comrades. I do know that they alone were able to stave off the certain destruction of Prymp. I cannot say how, though on that day I saw an embodiment of pure light covering the battlefield, and from afar, it appeared as though this 'light' was swooping down and up, again and again, dispencing of the Herzog's forces. If I did not know any better, I would say some greater power was at work."

"There can only be two bands I know of who fit what you describe, though I do not recognize these names. One would be the Ahlissan Fist, and the other would be the Band of the Grinning Gargoyle. In either case, I think you would find yourself in good company."

Heironymous Nodd pointed down a side trail to the east up ahead. "Here is where you shall turn to reach the abbey.  However, it is not my destination, and it would slow me too much to go any further in this direction. I must backtrack to Prymp with all haste, for the tales you have told me are startling indeed, and I curse myself for not having been there to see such things myself."

The abbey could not be seen anywhere down the trail, but could easily have been hidden by the next rise. Maldrik thought about what the traveler had said and replied, "Perhaps it is the Band of the Grinning Gargoyle that I am to meet -- yes, they must be the ones.  Now it is time for us to diverge from this path."

As the two travelers departed Maldrik continued, "Fare well, my new friend. I shall hope we meet yet again in our travels, and may the Oerth Mother smile down upon you and yours."  With that, Maldrik and Heironymous picked up back onto their respective trails. Now a sense of urgency was laid thick upon the light-hearted poet cum druid.

***
Planting 11, 581.  Godsday.  Partly cloudy.
Prymp, free town of.

After the last two weeks, it was good to be home -- and the chapel of Pholtus in Prymp had become a second home to Andel Mooriv.  After showing what he was made of in front of the congregation (when he beat up that insolent guardsman at the curate's command), the clergy and laymen alike looked at Andel with respect. When he came back to Prymp after his encounters with the demon dog -- worn, frazzled, burnt, and broken -- everyone just seemed to assume he had given better than he got.  The curate, Kentol Ahkpov, was even taken aback when Andel told him that he had failed to reach Shargallen.

"WHAT? You need to train here?  I am afraid that is impossible.  All would-be adepts have always been sent to the abbey from whence you came.  I am sorry to bear such hard news, acolyte." Ahkpov then placed one of his beefy arms around Andel's back and led him to the vestry to speak in private.  "I'm afraid you also returned at a bad time for training.  We fear our city leaders, urged on by the Zilchites, might cave in to Provincial rule at anytime.  Since before the seige, we have been secretly moving our relics and other sacred valuables to places of hiding, and our copyists work near round the clock scribing copies of our bible. Should the Ahlissan Coast fall to the herzog, as it seems ready to do, our religion will likely be oppressed and we may have to move underground.  Are you prepared to aid us in any of these matters?"

Andel just stood their with a sleep, glazed-over look on his face.  The journey back to Prymp had been exhausting. 

The curate sighed and said, "You seem tired. Perhaps you should rest, and we shall speak on this again later."

***
Planting 12, 581.  Waterday.  Clear and warm.
Rel Deven, city of.

Under the silvery dome of the small cathedral, Alexander spoke in a low voice with the prefect, Tri Cholakos.  Lom Bemitel, a senior-ranking templar, stood nearby.  The hushed voices echoed about the chamber, but one word seemed to resonate a bit more than the others.

"Nightshade?" Tri said.  "Are you mad?  Wizards are trouble, and crazed wizards are even worse."

"Alexander makes a point that a wizard would make a useful ally on his...mission," Lom interjected.

"Which House Cranden might support, but this church will not."

It was suggested by a passing priest that their conversation had best move to more private quarters, so they adjourned to the prefect's small office.

"I personally find this mission a folly." Tri began again.  "However, Cranden is the law here, and if they ask the aid of our templars we must comply.  But the clergy is free of such secular constraints, and we must worry about how it will look for the Church if we backed this overthrow of House Torquann and it failed.  Plus, common sense alone tells me that having a cursed wizard along would be simply more trouble than its worth.  And this talk of curing him?  I understand it happened in a wizard's duel, and it's unlikely that even our patriarch could dispel a wizard's curse.  And would you pay the costs of having it done?"

Alex, disappointed that the Church would not back his plans to support House Cranden, prepared to leave after speaking in a regretful tone.

"I am sorry that you do not share my view of the threat that Benkend and its ruling House, Torquann, pose to this Church in their open alliegences with the war-bent Herzog Chelor and their combined reverence of the divine yet unscrupulous brother of Heironeous.  The Church of Hextor has the momentum of war and oppression to feed their bloodlust and line their pockets with the money of our worshippers by pillaging them and oppressing them at every road and settlement from here to the western coast.  That money will go into Hextorite war chests instead of reaching our coffers in tithes to Zilchus from thankful and prosperous worshippers, merchants and nobles.  What will we then possess to aid in his divine pursuit of economic prosperity through trade?  If worshippers feel that Zilchus does not answer their calls for prosperity and we do not give them support in trying times, we will have fewer worshippers and less money to pursue Zilchus' will."

Lom noticed that Alex's ears flushed with redness as he became rather involved in his adamant beliefs.  Alex managed to keep his voice calm and respectful, though.  Lom Bemitel appeared a bit edgy, believing his underling was on the verge of going too far.

"The Herzog Chelor will not stop until he takes Rel Deven and every other community on the South Province's borders to expand his holdings and line his pockets.  I will not let him spit upon our Lord's divine mission and endanger this Church by inaction.  If I can stop him, I will, even if it means taking the bread off his plate before he sits at the table.  I would much rather have that bread on the plate of our allies in House Cranden than that of the blasphemous Hextorites they call enemies."

Alex retreived his armet from the small table by the door and shoved it underneath his left arm, then turned sharply back to the Prefect, standing at attention.

"I accept your decision, honorable Prefect.  I will not ask for the Church's assitance in this matter any longer unless I can pay for its services.  I only hope I can afford to pay the price to keep the best intentions of the Church within the hearts of its followers.  Good day to you."

Lom opened the door to let Alex leave, then stepped out into the hallway to pursue Alex.

"Wait, young templar.  I have a word or two for you as well.  I admire your courage and amount of conviction, as I'm sure Tri secretly does, but I would caution you to be careful openly speaking thus against the Herzog Chelor here in Rel Deven.  Though we are safe from his clutching hands here, still are we not invulernable to his economic strength -- as you have guessed.  It is through neutrality that we hope to endure, possible until the appointment of a new and better herzog.

"But with that said, know that I am not personally opposed to your cause against Benkend and the House of Torquann.  Should you wish, I will send one of our best lesser templars to aid you."

Alex paused a moment and the slowly turned around to face Lom.  With his head low, in a gesture of submission, Alex let slip forth, "I am sorry my emotions got the better of me in the Prefect's presence.  I did my best to contain them and I realize I may have said too much.  If you wish, I will apologize to the Prefect.  As for your offer of assistance, I am very pleased that you believe in my abilities enough to entrust me with the assistance of another of Zilchus' fine servants.  I would welcome the help."

Alex then raised his head and looked Lom straight in the eye, with a look of somber determination chiseled into his handsome features.  "I have seen the war come to the front steps of my home, Lom, and I cannot ignore the dishonorable acts of evil and tyranny which were used by the opposing forces.  We were fortunate to have successfully defended our home.  We were outnumbered more than 2 to 1, and our victory was soured when we heard the remenants of the Herzog's army, still well over 1000 men, moved on to Porton for easier pickings.  I will be surprised if we don't hear that the Herzog has taken control of Porton within a week.  The war is spreading, and it will come here.  I am only trying to warn those who can do the most to stop it, and I will do everything I can to save my church and my home."

"To that end, I need to do one very important thing.  I need to train.  I will pour every last drop of blood and determination I have into my service to Zilchus.  I just need to cover the costs.  I have this potion, claimed by rights in a deal I struck with a man, who while posing as a minor noble, attempted to pass me false coin for services rendered.  I wish to sell it to the Church in order to cover the costs of my training, and use whatever monies remain to fund my expedition to Benkend.  That is of course if it is of consequential worth.  I only suspect that it is magical, as I picked it up from the Mage who made it.  Is this possible, sir?"

"Is Zilchus not the Great Borrower and Lender?"  Lom took the flask from Alex and looked at it.  "If you like, I shall see what the clergy make of this item, and what price they might pay for it.  And in the meanwhile, maybe you would like to talk about taking out a loan for training expenses?  Our clerks in the Treasury Wing could help you with that."

Alex politely took the potion back and smiled.  "Excellent - I'd like to go with you to see the clergy.  This way I'll know who to go to in case you aren't here at the temple on a day when I have something else like this to barter or sell.  I would appreciate it.  Then based on their offer, I can decide on whether I need to see the lenders.  Okay?"

Lom Bemitel shot Alexander an angry glance for a moment.  "Very well, you may accompany me.  Perhaps things are so different in Prymp that templars there cannot trust one another.  Regardless, to find out that which you seek, we must leave here for the Grand Cathedral.  Come."

"Please, do not mistake my curiosity as mistrust," Alex said to Lom.  "You are right, though.  My nerves are on edge and I am sorry."  Alex looked ashamed as he ran his right hand through his hair, shaking his head in self-digust at his own behavior.  "I have been imprisoned, assaulted by a crazy mage, and nearly duped by a would-be thief.  You took the potion a bit too hastily, and I got defensive, forgetting that I am in good company.  Please accept my apologies."

Lom stared at the young templar with a puzzled look for a moment then took Alex's extended hand in apology.

Alexander had not had much time to marvel over the Cathedral of the Orthodox Church of Aerdy while chasing his employer/attacker into it, but it truly was an amazing sight.  The roof vaulted to about 80 feet in height, with spires soaring up over 150 feet above the ground!  The cathedral combined the finest marble Alex had seen outside of the Wizard Nightshade's home, intricate wood carvings, brightly-painted murals, and gorgeous stained glass windows.  Everywhere seemed to be some iconography bearing the form or symbol of Zilchus!  Other gods were shown as well, and some of the images seemed ghastly to Alex -- such as one mural showing Zilchus, the Great Merchant, trading arrows for a bag of gold to a six-armed warrior in platemail who could only be Hextor, god of war!

Alex followed Lom as he entered.  "I really am curious," Alex said, making conversation.  "We don't have the luxuries of magical items in Prymp.  Such things are rare.  To have lost one item to a thief in noble's garb and only stumble upon another is a new experience. I would like to see how such things are unpuzzzled!  The mystery and anticipation excites me!"

The interior of the cathedral was just as awesome as the exterior.  Incense burned in silver braziers that belched smoke up into the rafters of the vaulted ceiling high above.  Three levels of solars encircled the main chamber, with statues and murals on every floor.  Lom and Alex's footfalls echoed throughout this grand space.  A cleric with the rainments of Zilchus, accompanied by an armored templar, intercepted Lom and Alex.  After exchanging quick greetings and pleasantries, Lom asked to be shown to Erlandius. The cleric nodded, and personally led the way through the great hall and to a side passage.  Mounting a narrow, spiral staircase, the parade ended shortly thereafter, on the second floor, outside an unadorned door.  Lom entered, and the cleric bade Alex do the same.  Inside was a workshop or laboratory, and washing some glassware with a rag, sat a short, old man with a grey beard.  The man wore the rainments of a clergy Alex was not immediately familiar with, as well as a pair of spectacles upon his round nose. Pushing up his glasses, the man looked up and said,  "Well, well, what brings the templars of Zilchus to my door on such a fine day?"  Alex was so lost in the grandeur of the place that he was startled when the short, bespectacled man began to tug at the potion Alex held in his hands.  "Well boy, what have you there!  Give it to me if ye want me to do anything with it!  I imagine ye want this thing to be examined.  I can hardly tell ye if it is worth anything if I can't look at it!" the old man exclaimed.

Alex, once again coming to his senses, nodded and handed the potion to the small man.  Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Lom holding back his amusement at the greenness of his fellow guardian.  "I would indeed like to know what the contents are," Alex said, "and if it would be worth anything to the Church.  I suspect it may be magical, as I obtained it from a wizard."

Erlandius looked over the flask, unstoppered it, and smelled its contents.  Without looking up, he added, "It may be a day or two, but I will now everything there is to know about this potion."

"The templars of Zilchus thank you," Lom said.  With that, he motioned for Alex to follow him out.  A minute later, in the stairwell heading down, Lom asked, "Well, what is your next move, Alexander?"

***
Planting 13, 581.  Earthday.  Clear and warm.
Rel Deven, city of.

In the morning, Enlock Nightshade left his family home so he could go see his grandfather.  His mother and brother both bade him not go, but Enlock would not hear of it.  Despite his near death at his grandfather Nightshade's hands, Enlock had seen both good AND usefulness in the elder Nightshade.  So it was that he reached the same odd alley, and looked in the back for the same magic door.  Sure enough, a knock on the door produced the black-robed figure which had once been a man, who ushered Enlock inside.

Nightshade was inside waiting for his grandson with an uncharacteristic hug.  Perhaps his madness was not so bad after all?  He was eager to continue Enlock's training.  A small table and two stools had been set up against the balcony, and here they sat eating a light breakfast of eggs and bread, while going over magical theory.  Nightshade supported what Asheron had taught Enlock -- that spells inhabited blank spaces in the mind until their release during spell casting, and that training and practice would in time increase the number of allotments Enlock's mind had.  He added, however, the idea of magic auras which everyone had.  He called them dormant auras, to distinguish from what a Detect Magic spell would detect, and explained how one such aura makes a person's possessions a part of the person himself, as far as a spell cast on that person is concerned.  Nightshade promised to explain more later.  Afterwards, he tutored Enlock in the use of the Write spell, giving him tips on penmanship, to conserve the ink on the quill to make the expensive ink last longer, and to write with smaller strokes.

Unfortunately, Nightshade excused himself before lunch, and upon returning looked more sternly at Enlock than he had been.  "It is time, I think," the old man said, "to discuss my fees.  You will owe me 30 pieces of gold at the end of each day of training.  Will you be able to pay that, young man?"

"Thirty gold pieces?," Enlock repeated.  "That is a far greater cost than the 10 gold that we discussed yesterday.  Either way, I do not want to squable over money.  Thirty gold pieces is more than reasonable. However, I planned on paying you upon the completion of the training.  I do not carry such coin on my person unless I have to.  I will need to return home this afternoon to retreive the money.  You are more then welcome to accompany me home.  Mother would love to have you over for supper..."

Grandfather had brushed aside Enlock's offer, saying, "No thank you, I am much too busy to be dining out."

Enlock quickly found an excuse to leave for the day, hoping to find his mad Grandfather more open to training him on the next day.  Enlock had other errands to run, regardless.  He was anxious to acquire the new spellbook promised him by Asheron.  Yet, at Asheron's suite, the spellbook remained just out of reach. Asheron promised it again to him -- in another day or two.  Luckily, Enlock was a patient man.

Enlock's mother and brother were both amazed to see him return home without bleeding this time, and pressed him for details throughout the evening.  "Does Grandfather seem to be coming back to his senses?" asked his mother during dinner.  Kerrick and her both stop dinning for a moment as they waited for his response.  Enlock was so preoccupied that he nearly forget to answer.  “Grandfather,” she repeated. “How is he? May we visit him anytime soon?”

After an uncomfortable pause, Enlock was able to compose himself enough to speak.  “He is very standoffish," he responded. “A man who has been reclusive for over 20 years does not come out of his shell easily.  He has a good heart, however, but for now he must alone.  With time things may be different…”

After another uncomfortable pause, Enlock quickly turned the conversation to another topic.  He felt he had said too much already.  He did not need to bother my family with Grandfather’s madness.  The family spent the rest of supper discussing more mundane topics.  Enlock excused himself from the table before desert, saying, “My studies for the day are not yet complete."

That was a lie.  In actually, he retired to the den so that he could scheme in private.  There was a lot of planning to do…and not enough time to do it.

The den had been his father’s office.  Enlock and his brother stopped calling it “Father’s office” about a year after he passed.  Each time they referred to it, they could see the pain in Mother’s eyes.  By calling it “the den” it seemed to make things easier on her.  In the middle of the den sat Father’s desk.  With the exception of ten years of layered dust, the desk remained the same as the day he died.  It was as if Mother expected him to return someday.  In the last four years Enlock had spent nearly every day in this room learning his craft - yet he had never touched that desk until now.  He pulled out the chair and took a seat.  He turned his thoughts to the matter of his grandfather.  How can an apprentice cure a curse set by mage? He would need help.  Asheron had powerful allies, but could Enlock let them know of his grandfather’s madness?  They would use such information for political gain.  For that reason, any wizards of power within the walls of Rel Deven were out of the question.  Even a wizard from Prymp might have ties back to Rel Deven.  Where did that leave?

Enlock's thoughts turned to the Band of the Grinning Gargoyle.  Alexander’s politics bothered him. However, he was a good friend and had been there to save his hide.  He could trust Alex to help.  However, Enlock was concerned about corruption even reaching the templars of Zilchus.

Devoid of other ideas, Enlock began to ruffle through the heap of documents on his father’s desk.  The flying dust choked him.  Near the top of a stack was a piece of parchment with large, bold writing at the top: “Follow the one true path!”  It appeared to be some sort of posting for a church function at the Chapel of Pholtus in Prymp.  His father must have brought this back with him after delivering a caravan of armor and weapons to Prymp.

Andel would help!  That zealot was always looking for a cause.  All he needed to do was convince Andel that Grandfather received the curse from an evil source and he’d spend a lifetime trying to lift it.  Perhaps the Abbey of Pholtus that cured Enlock when he had that sea-wolf curse would help again.  There would still probably be a monetary cost, though, and it might cost a dragon’s horde to remove such a powerful curse. Enlock hatched a scheme to take advantage of Grandfather.  During his pleasant spells, Enlock would ask Grandfather for loans.  Assuming that he wouldn't remember, Enlock could milk his coffers to pay for his own cure.  Besides, the coinage would give him some breathing room the next time Grandfather wanted payment.

The last matter to plan was how to get Grandfather to the abbey.  His temperament prohibited simply asking him to come along.  Enlock would have to force him somehow.  Physical means were impossible thanks to the dark, hooded figure which constantly guarded him.  It would hand Enlock his throat before he could make it to the door.  He wondered if the entire Band of the Grinning Gargoyle could bring down such a monster.  No, he needed a more refined approach.  During his studies, Enlock had heard rumors of young apprentices turning on their masters through the use of powerful charm magic.  Perhaps he could convince Grandfather or Asheron to teach him such a spell.  His lapses in memory could give Enlock numerous opportunities to attempt the spell.  However, each attempt would be a chance with his own life.

There was one problem left to solve.  An apprentice mage and a madman hardly make an adventuring party, and Enlock was nearly killed traveling with Alex.  He would need help in his travels.

Enlock spent the next few hours drafting a letter to Andel.  He nearly run out of parchment and candles before finishing an acceptable version.  The family crest had not been stamped upon a letter since his father’s death.  Enlock found the Nightshade seal and wax in one of the desk drawers.  As he was melting the wax, Kerrick enters the den.

"What are you doing?" Kerrick said with alarm.  Clearly, it upset him to see Enlock disturbing this until-then undisturbed shrine to their father.

“Kerrick, allow me to explain!”  Enlock told his brother.  "What I am about to say to you must remain private.  Not even Mother can know of this.  Grandfather Nightshade is worst then you know.  He needs help.”

It took Kerrick a moment to settle down.  He always had an explosive temper.  He closed the door behind him, pulled a chair from the table, and sat.  “I am listing," Kerrick said.
Enlock continued with his explanation.  “Do you remember Grandfather suddenly disappearing when we were children?  I was too young to remember much of the details.  He didn’t simply disown our family. Long ago, while we were still babies, he was placed under a powerful curse.  This curse has forced him to become so violent and reclusive.  I am making arrangements to take Grandfather to a place that can help. I can help him, however, I can not do it alone.  I need your help - you are the only one I can trust.  Come with me to save Grandfather.”  Enlock knew he had just overwhelmed Kerrick with information.  After a few moments of uneasy silence, he asked, “What do you think?”

Kerrick replied with a hateful glare.  He stood up and left without saying another word - slamming the door behind him.  Not sure if he had made a mistake or not, Enlock retired to his room for the rest of the night. 

Planting 14, 581.  Freeday.  Cloudy.
Rel Deven, city of.

Enlock started the day by skipping breakfast and slipping out of the house unnoticed.  Avoiding his brother for a couple of days might be the best thing to do. 

The first order of business was to find a messenger.  His hope was that Andel would have time to reply to his message before Enlock was prepared to leave.  Time was a problem.  Enlock figured he would have a problem finding anyone he could trust in Rel Deven, and he needed to be discreet. 

Enlock decided that, with his funds limited and wishing to avoid politics, his best bet would be to visit all the taverns and inns.  After looking at all the possibilites, or at least the ones Enlock knew of, he decided his best bet would either be to fine a messenger at the Barefoot Peddler's Tavern or the Plucked Goose Inn. At the Plucked Goose, there was little conversation to listen in on.  Not so at the Barefoot Peddler's, where several travelers were discussing their plans.  One was going the wrong way -- east towards Jalpa -- and another one was heading the right way, but only as far as Razivon.  Then a third man, a merchant, spoke up, saying that he was heading to Benkend in two days.  That was the most promising lead Enlock heard, although Benkend and Prymp were still not close.

The morning did not last nearly long enough.  With little time left other than to speak to a single merchant, Enlock had to hasten to his Grandfather's enchanted alleyway.  The door was not there again, but the upper window was.  Using the ladder from home, and much knocking, Enlock managed to bring Grandfather Nightshade to the window itself.  The old wizard threw open his shutters, glared at Enlock, and then softened only slightly as he seemed to recognize Enlock.  "Ah, my apprentice.  Good of you to finally show up! You know, in my day, when an apprentice was committed to his training, he..."

And so the lecture went for a good ten minutes, during which Enlock was not allowed to move from the spot.  Finally, Grandfather said that Enlock could come in, as soon as he went to tell his servant to open the door.  Sure enough, the door appeared at the back wall of the alley.  It opened, and the thing in the black robe appeared.  Upon entering, Enlock found Grandfather, who appeared startled to see his grandson walk in.  "Intruder!"  He shouted.  "Get out! OUT!"

Enlock voiced no protest as his grandfather's servant creature shoved him out the door and back into the
alleyway.  The door was slammed shut behind him.

***
Planting 17, 581.  Moonday.  Warm, light rain.
Olvanstaadt-am-Graufult, Sud Graufult.

Vladamir spent most of his day cooped up in the common area of the Comeback Inn.  The hordes of townsfolk reveling in booze, women and song did little for him.  His mind was consumed with his mission. He had not expected to come across the Inn so soon into his journey, but now that he had found it he needed to speak to the Countess at once to discuss the matters at hand.  Unfortunately, he had to wait for her to summon him to the Dreamlands and had no assurances that she would do so on this night.  He would have to remain here until he met with her.  And if the Inn was not the spawn of Acererak's destination then every day he spent there was a day lost; wasted.  It put the demon one day closer to accomplishing its goals.

These thoughts bogged down Vladamir's mind all day as those around him feasted.  It had grown uncomfortably hot in the crowded inn throughout the day.  Dancers, driven into a wild frenzy by the frantic music and the intoxicating wines, sweated and stank but did not seem to mind.  As the day wore on, more lanterns were lit around the perimeter of the main room, making the place hotter and smokier.  Still, the atmosphere remained throughout the day as festive as the Grinning Gargoyle Tavern had only been on its best days.  Clearly the people of Olvenstaadt Am-Graufult knew how to party!  Or perhaps, it occurred to Vlad after supper...they merely feel safer here behind the enchantments of this strange inn...

Vlad purposely went easy on supper, and drank little throughout the day.  Pretty young wenches kept approaching him with veiled offers he turned down.  There was no telling how long he would have to remain there, so it would be wise -- he assumed -- to conserve his cash.  Others tried to start conversations with him during lulls in the activity, but Vlad was loath to give away too much information about himself in case the Agent was among them.

It was in this state -- hot, thirsty, worried, and guilty -- that Vlad found himself until evening had turned to dusk.  Then Vlad slipped upstairs early to retire for the night.  Before sliding into bed, the normally non-religious Vlad said a quick prayer to Boccob, that when he awoke it would be in the magical Dreamlands.  He stretched out on his bed and waited for sleep to overtake him.

Planting 18, 581.  Godsday.  Warm, light rain.

Vlad was sorely disappointed to discover that it did not.  He lay awake in bed for some time, his mind far too active to allow his body to rest.  Other worries came to his mind.  He needed at least 400 gold pieces to receive the training he desired.  Even more if it was to be with the suddenly greed-stricken Countess.  The Countess concerned him a great deal.  If she really felt his success on this mission was so vital, why would she not do everything in her power to help him train?  She clearly wanted to make it impossible for him to afford to train with her, but for what purpose?  Vlad was getting angry.  He practically leapt out of bed and his mind raced with furious thoughts.  Blast the Countess and blast her stupid quest!  She had said that she would summon him to the Dreamlands once new information had reached her, but had it not occurred to her that he might have uncovered some news?  After all, he was the one out here on this quest.  Risking his life and the lives of his friends.

His need for funds was so great that he had taken to casting spells on rich strangers; making them invisible for substantial quantities of gold.  Though he had tried to tell himself it was none of his concern, he could not help but worry that those he had enchanted might cause trouble or harm to others.  Often now he found himself having to choose between what was lawful and what was for the greater good.  And he was not alone in this.  Several times he had felt Alexander Petrok having the same dilemma.  As he lay there Vlad decided he would continue casting his invisibility spells until he had the gold he required.  The good gained from his training and from learning of his magic items would outweigh the chaos caused by the enchantments.

Vlad felt some relief after partially resolving his moral dilemma and his mind eased a little.  He took a long deep breath, sat down on the bed and began pulling on his boots.  Looking around the room, he found both his companions still asleep on the floor.  His head filled with thoughts again, but plans of a more constructive nature.  Vlad knelt down beside Godrum the dwarf and gently prodded him until he woke.  Vlad knew Godrum was disappointed with his assignments for the last few days and intended to give the dwarf something with more purpose.  A task the dwarf would find worthy of his dwarven heritage.

"Godrum, I need you to stay here today and guard the Inn." Vlad nearly laughed at how inane that duty sounded, but thankfully was able to suppress himself and continue, as it truly was an important job.  "It's possible that the fiend we are hunting is headed for the Comeback Inn.  If he arrives, I need you to get word to Peri and I as quickly as possible.  And do everything in your power to oppose the creature.  The safety of the whole village may rest on your broad shoulders." 

The dwarf nodded, a proud smile creeping across his face.  "Aye, you can count on me."

Vlad nodded and patted the dwarf on the back.  "I knew I could.  Now get some rest.  You can take the bed if you'd like."  Vlad moved away from the dwarf and on to the halfling.  He shook Peri awake and bid him come downstairs, as there were matters that he wished to discuss over breakfast.

***
A loud bang arose Peri from his slumber.  Was that the door?  Peri sat in his bed rubbing his eyes.  The warm comfortable feel of the alcohol was gone, but the blinding headache that remained reminded him of the good times he had the past few days.  Were they good times?  Smacking his gums and tasting stale sleep he gazed about the small room trying to restore the memory of the good times he had had, but only questions came up.  Was someone just in here?  Where am I?  Whose panties are these?  Too many questions to answer at just that moment.

Pulling his sore muscles together, Peri got dressed -- as usual, taking careful inventory of his possessions. He frowned at the meager savings he had remaining.  The thought of returning to pick-pocketing was dawning on him for the hundredth time, but he shoved it aside.  He had bigger fish to catch. . . .Well, maybe just a pocket or two.

Peri left the room and heading to where he smelled food.  Fresh pastries, fruit, and pudding should be wonderful for breakfast, he thought.  On entering the dining area, Peri spotted Vlad.  The man looked as he always did, impatient.  The poor fool needed to relax and settle down a bit instead of always jumping from here to there.  Ah well, humans are an anxious breed...

"Good morning, Vlad.  I see you slept well.  I have some questions for you."  Peri began to ask Vlad to recount everything that had happened over the last few days.  Vlad couldn't help but frown at the halfing, for the barrage of questions being thrown at him were ridiculous.  Either Peri was joking or he had drank more than Vlad thought.

"I need you to find out all you can about anything suspicious going on in the city," Vlad said, after recapping.  "If any important events have transpired recently, if anyone in town is acting odd, if any evil seems to be afoot and if anyone knows more about this inn -- I need you to uncover it.  I'm confident that, with your skills, you'll discover anything that is hidden from us."

After finishing his meal, Vladamir tossed an electrum coin through the magic doorway and was pulled through by a commoner standing outside.  He then made his way through town and up the steep hill to the Walgraf's Keep.  He was to have an audience with the Walgraf this day and also wished to have an opportunity to speak with his wizard, if there was one.  The climb up the slope was as long and arduous as he remembered.  Eventually, he reached the top and took a minute to sit and compose himself before going further.  Once his breath had been caught, he walked forward and approached the entrance.

Although he recognized one man-at-arms from the morning before, Vlad was still subjected to a surprisingly lengthy interrogation at the gate to the castle.  It was most surprising because of the warmer reception he had received as a first time visitor -- as if to say, yes, we know you're here now, so what could you possibly want this time?

Satisfied that he was in fact Vladamir Kostitov of Hexpools, and that he had further matters which required a continued audience with the Walgraf, he was finally escorted inside.  However, he then hed to wait 10 minutes idle in the courtyard before being admitted into the hall.  Five minutes later, Taras Cranden-Guarhoth entered.  As fine-featured as the Graf of Sulzdorf had been rough-featured, Taras sat almost daintily in his wooden throne and asked, "What matters bring you back before me, Vladamir Kostitov?"

Vlad did his best to suppress a frown, for the Walgraf should have know full well why he was there.  This did not bode well and Vlad started to worry that things were not going to go as smooth as he had hoped.  "My lord, when we spoke yesterday I inquired about any ruins, caves, holy places or the like in the area.  You stated that you would compile some information and bade me come back on the morrow.  I have returned as requested and humbly await any information you can provide.  Also, if possible, I would like an opportunity to speak with you most senior wizard."

 ***

By the time Peri finished his breakfast Vlad had already left.  Peri had never done the kinds of jobs that Vlad was asking to have done.  Oh sure, on occasion information happened to come his way, but Peri had never actually struck out with the intent to gather information. Well, almost never.

Peri sat in the bar for some time drinking berry punch and flirting with the lovely ladies of this magical place. The whole time thinking hard on where to begin and who to talk to.  There was the trick of thieves' cant, and the occasional sign to be recognized by the major guilds.  Yet those symbols my be different here than in Prymp. 

It was almost noon by the time Peri decided on a path of action.  The poor often knew more about the politics of a town than most gate wardens.  Those poor wretched souls got to see the rich in all their pomposity and thieves in all their wicked glory.  All the time going unnoticed.  Peri purchased several loaves of bread and cakes before he left the inn.  The poor generally treated food the way many others treated gold.  He would have to explore the city before he could approach them.  In some ways, just walking around town could tell it's own story.  With the food snug in a large sack, he trudged off to explore the town and hopefully fulfill Vlad's expectations of him.  Oh, and of course he had to remember to act like a thief.  A devious grin etched its way across Peri's face as he spotted a fat purse. 

***
The Walgraf Taras Cranden-Guarhoth gave Vlad a hard stare for another minute, and then his features relaxed.

"I hope you will forgive me, but I was trying to gauge your character better.  Clearly, you are a man of action, and one who will not tolerate delays in your quest.  These are admirable characteristics.  Now, as to your questions.  Speaking to my senior wizard may be difficult, and we will save that for later.  As for your request from yesterday..."  Taras pulled a book up from beside the arm of his throne.

"Now, I want to make clear that my personal library is not a free service -- and this time I am not testing you. I have information here about some ruins your enemy might be interested in, but it will cost you 5 gold Ivids just to read what I have."

***
The fat purse Peri had spotted was, sadly, stuffed with twine.  Peri did find the chance to pick up a silver Score later from an idle shopper holding it too lazily in his fingers.

Bribing the poor with food was something of a fun game for Peri, but it was slow to bring information.  It was supper time when Peri lucked onto something.  A skinny, scruffy man with hollow cheeks, sleepy eyes, and missing teeth was licking his lips and drooling at the sight of the quarter-loaf of bread Peri waved in front of him.  The man knelt before the Hobniz, to reach eye-level, and spoke.

"Ohh, how I miss nice fresh bread....Yes, I can tell you about thieves.  I was once a thief and stole to put bread...just like this...on my table.  But then I saw how the Walgraf deals with thieves.  He decided to make an example of someone who had stolen a pie -- a pie! -- by having the man drawn and quartered.  That was ten years ago, and I've taken to begging ever since.  The Walgraf doesn't mind no beggars.  I'm sure there's no guild of thieves in town.  The Walgraf is a sorceror and would have found them out long ago."

***
The Walgraf's long pause and hard stare had not helped Vlad's uneasiness.  He had already begun readying his Invisibilty spell in his mind by the time the Walgraf spoke.

Vlad's nervous thoughts quickly vanished once he heard the Walgraf's proposal, a slight smile even crept across his face.  He let his pack slide off his arms and set it down in front of him. Vlad knelt as he opened the bag.  "A fair price, my lord."  He retrieved five gold coins from his money pouch, stood, and returned the pack to it's normal resting place on his shoulders.  "A fair price indeed."

Vlad approached the Walgraf with the gold resting in his outstreched palm, prepared to learn all he could about the surrounding area.

Taras took the gold from Vlad, and carefully placed each coin in turn on the arm of his throne.  Then he pulled a long sheet of parchment out of the book and handed just the parchment to Vlad.  It was titled, "Tale of House Toshna," and was a disturbing read about the town of Torvald, and its mysterious destruction...
Vlad's smirk vanished and his eyes opened wide as he read the grim tale transcriped upon the Walgraf's parchment.  Vlad quickly read the tale a second time immediately upon finishing, wanting to memorize as much of the detail as possible before returning it.

Once finished Vlad raised his head and met the Walgraf's gaze.  "A truly horrible fate my lord.  As I'm sure you can imagine, I have many questions.  How long ago did this happen?  Where is this house?  Do you know anything of this tragedy apart from what's written here?  Is there anyone living in the house now? What manner of house was this?  And who or what is the Hater of All Life?  Please my lord, any information you can give me will be most appreciated."

***
"Very well old man," Peri said, "here is some bread.  There may even be some wine for you if you can tell me some interesting information about this little village of yours.  You say that you have been here for over ten years now."

Peri took a small flask of evelerry from his belt pouch.  He had another quarter loaf of bread in the other hand.  If this man was who he claimed to be than he'd been around for a good long time slinking about, and possibly seeing what Vlad wanted to know.

There was only one way that Peri could think of to confirm that the old man was once a thief.  In a low hushed voice Peri began speaking in thieves' cant.

"I'm looking for the suspicious.  If there are no thieves as you say there are then surely there is something else.  In the ten years of your lurking you surely must have seen the abnormal, and evil side of this city.  At this moment that is what interests me."

"Slow your speech!" the old man sputtered.  "It has been too long since I last used the Cant, and these words sound yet strange to mine ears."

After asking you to repeat a few things, the man hunkers down and scratches his head.  After two minutes of hard work, the man apparently had produced a memory he felt would get him his bread and wine.

"It is said that the cliff beneath the Walgraf's castle is combed with tunnels and caves where fell monsters lair.  At night, when strange noises can be heard in the streets, it is said that Taras has let his beasts out. Could this be evil, in the sense that you seek?"

Peri gave the old man a side long, doubting look.  "No, it is not.  The beasts and the caverns you speak of are already known to me and my associates.  You'll have to do better than that."

The old man ground his hands together in anticipation of a crust of bread and some wine.  His eyes were glued to the small hobniz before him.  His mind raced with the visions of all the vile filth he had witnessed, and heard about over the past ten years.

Peri leaned closer to the old man, and met his eyes gaze to gaze.  In a slow, hushed voice Peri used the Cant to whisper "The evil I seek is far stronger, far older than than the beasts under the Walgraf's castle.  Or for that matter, older than the castle itself.  I, however, doubt that you would know the tale of vanquished demons."  Peri stepped back with a sigh.  "What do you know of the Comeback Inn?"

Peri was surprised.  He wasn't sure if the old man looked more horrified at the mention of a demon, or that of the Comeback Inn.

***
The Walgraf Taras Cranden-Guarhoth smiled.  "Here's what I can tell you for free.  There's no way to exactly date the fall of House Tonsha, but I am fairly certain that it was 200-300 years ago.  This is the only written information about what happened I have ever found.  If there are Tonshas left out there, they have not circulated any memoirs, or I can only guess would be lying low out of shame.  This was a royal house of Aerdi, like Naelex, Cranden, and others, but they had fallen out of favor with the Overking and banished to this corner of the realm.  Too much non-Oerdian blood was entering the family from marriages with Suel, or so an eddict from the throne dated 551 once said.  And as for this Hater of Life, I've discovered nothing, but suspect it may have been a demon of some form.

"Now, as for where, I can show you where for an additional two gold Ivids."

Vlad suspected that the Hater of All Life might be Acererak.  Adrenaline was pumping through his veins and Vlad was nearly trembling as he retrieved additional gold coins from his pack.  He had come so far and he could feel that he was finally getting close.  The excitement was almost too much for him to bear.

Vlad did his best to calm himself as he handed the walgraf two gold coins.  "That information would be most helpful, my lord.  I have a map of the region on which we can mark the location."

***
The beggar spat on the ground.  The look contorted on his face had been one of disgust, and not horror, after all.  "Bah, I hate that place!  I was never a rich man, but I had enough to get by on until I went to see this new inn.  Everyone had been talking about it since it first appeared a month ago, but it's nothing but a trap!  Go in and you can't get out without help, and they charge heavily for that, I assure you!  Now I'm back to begging on the streets because of them."

"I've had about enough of you!" Peri said as he put the flask of ale back into his pouch.  "I am not an ear to empty your misfortune on, but a seeker of that which goes unnoticed.  If you still have some other knowledge of this town, those caves, or this demon I seek then say it now.  If you have nothing of interest for me then good day."

***
Vlad marked the location of Torvald on his map.

"Now, as to your other matter," Taras continued, "I must sadly inform you that I employ no wizards.  I do my own dabbling in the mystic arts, however, so perhaps I can aid you in that regard as well?"

Vladamir returned the map to its scrollcase and from the same case produced the letter from his uncle Boris.  He unrolled it before the walgraf.  "Have you ever seen this rune, my lord?  It was found melted into a magical stone.  I am not familiar with it, but am hoping another mage may have seen it in his research or travels." 

It was almost embarassing how tattered the letter had become, yet Taras handled it with the delicate care of a professional book collector.  He looked at the drawing of the rune, glanced up at you, turned the page and squinted at it from a different angle.  He "hmm"ed about it for a minute or two, and then said, "I am almost certain I have seen this glyph before in one of my books, but I cannot remember the title.  It may take me a few days to find it.  In the meantime, I trust you will be remaining a guest in my humble town. If you like, there are two others who might be able to aid you in identifying this.  One is a visitor to Olvenstaadt-am-Graufult who will be staying with us through the summer.  His name is Henrot, and I believe he is staying at the Foot of the Cliff.  The other is our local scholar whom I was mentioning to you the other day.  His name is Petar Cek, and he lives in a house on the south side of town."

"A thousand thanks for all your help, my lord," Vlad said.  "I will attempt to seek out these scholars today, but with this information you have provided me on the House Toshna I fear I may set off on the morrow. However, after I have completed my business there, I will return to your fair town.  If you have found information on the rune in your books by then, I will gladly compensate you for your considerable troubles.  Now I must bid you farwell.  It has been a pleasure doing business with a wise and fair ruler such as yourself."

After being escorted out of the keep, Vladamir sighed to himself as he realized that he would once again have to traverse the steep slope.  Vlad took his steps slowly, as he had always been more fearful of climbing down then up.  Though he tried to concentrate on putting one foot safely in front of the other, he couldn't help but reflect upon his audience.  He could not believe how well the audience went.  He discovered a likely destination of the agent of Acererak, made some headway on discovering the secret of his Uncle's rune, and created a good tie with the walgraf of the city.  Things had almost gone too well.  He half-expected demons to burst out of the ground at any moment or to trip and break his neck on the blasted hill.

After finishing his decent, Vladamir pondered his course of action for a few moments.  He quickly decided that he would head to the south side of town to visit the scholar, Peter Cek.  By the time he finished with that it would be closer to eveningfest and he could head the Foot of the Cliff Inn for a meal. While there he would try and meet this Henrot.  And so, Vlad headed south in search of the scholar's home.  He had to ask a few commoners to assist him with directions, but in the end it was not hard to find.  Vlad once again produced the scrollcase from his backpack before appraoching the house.  He rapped it against the door and anxiously awaited a reply.

The plaque on the door read "Petar Cek," a detail the illiterate locals had left out in their directions.  Other than that, it was still a typical one-story, timber-walled building with a slate roof.  Finding the place had been as easy as everything else was turning out to be that day, and Vlad expected no trouble here. That was why he was so startled by the sound of horrible screaming he heard from inside as soon as he was close to the front door.  As the screams reached his ears, Vlad instinctively dipped one hand into his belt pouch containing colored sand.  With the other he opened the front door and burst inside.  The front door was closed but not locked, and it creaked open on iron hinges.  Inside, the building was divided evenly into four rooms.  The entrance was in a sitting room, with pillow-covered benches sitting on nice rugs before a double hearth that warmed the sitting room and the kitchen both.  Open doorways led to the kitchen and a room to the left, and it was through this second doorway that Vlad could hear the horrible screams.  There was still no one visible to cast his spell on.

Moving to the open doorway, Vlad could see a black-haired man in brown clothes fall hard to the floor. The man did not move, and the house fell silent -- except for the squeak of iron hinges coming from the kitchen.  After hearing the noise, Vlad quickly made his way to the kitchen.  Dashing through the doorway to the kitchen, Vlad found spartan furnishings, pots and other dishes that seemed in order, a fine oak cabinet, and a back door which creaked on its hinges as it hung open. Outdoors, there were a few scattered homes, gardens, and no sign of anyone. After finding no one, Vlad returned to the room with the body.  He approached it cautiously, and then knelt beside the body to check and see if he was still alive and what wounds he had.

The room clearly belonged to an artist, and one with unusual tastes at that. One wall of the room had been covered with the mural of a swamp scene. At a glance, the subtle variances of green, brown, and blue looked mundane.  But it was clearly a well-detailed scene upon closer inspection. A snake slithered down a tree trunk; flies buzzed around something dark floating in the water.

An easel with a canvas on it was sitting in the middle of the room, with a small table and paint tray sitting next to it. The object of the painting looked like a human skeleton siting upright.

The man laying on the floor appeared too good-looking to have painted such macabre subjects, yet the paint on him suggested otherwise. He was a clean-shaven man, save for a well-trimmed mustache, and his black hair was slicked back and short. He was dressed in a simple fullcloth, suggesting that he had no immediate plans to go outside.

And he was very much alive. In fact, he was sound asleep.  Vlad let out a long sigh of relief upon finding the man alive. He sat quiet for a minute, waiting for his heart to stop racing, and listened for any more strange noises.  Once he was fully composed he went about trying to rise the sleeping man. But while trying without success to awaken the sleeping man, three guards burst in on Vlad.  They wore ringmail armor, light helms, long tabards bearing the local heraldic device, and carried spears.  They told Vlad to step away from the body and identify himself. Although Vlad protested his innoncence, the guards insisted on bringing him along for questioning.

Back up the winding switchbacks, the narrow trail hugged the steep rise up to the top and the walgraf's castle. There, Vlad was lead into a tower in one corner of the curtain wall, and told to sit in the room at the base of the tower.  Shortly, a thin, hairless man in bulky clothes entered and began asking Vlad about his involvement in the enchantment of Petar Cek. When Vlad again answered that he was innocent, the man grew angry and promised to return shortly with a torturer.

The man did not return, however, in the twenty minutes that followed. Instead, more guards came and went, while Vlad's two original guards continued to stand by his side.  One of them had the hiccups.

At the end of 20 minutes, the door opened to admit a man in bandedmail armor, with a backward sloping forehead, bushy eyebrows, squinty eyes, a short grey-brown beard that projected straight out from his chin, and hard, well-lined features on his tanned face which seemed twisted into a permanent snarl.

"I am Tavar Gnollbane, Castellan of this keep," the man growled. "As a suspect in the enchantment of a legal citizen of Olvenstaadt-am-Graufult, you will now turn over your spellbook for investigation."

Vlad's mind raced through his options, considering all the possible scenarios. He could hand over both spellbooks, his and his uncle's. If the the higher-ups here were just, then this was his best solution. If they were not then he had just given up his own spellbook, which, while unfortunate, was something he could live with. But losing his uncle's book was another matter. This was something he could not bear to be responsible for.

His second possibility was handing over just his book.  It would work as long as they didn't search his backpack.  They probably wouldn't. After all, why would they suspect he had a second book?  But they might do it as just a precautionary measure. And if they found he was hiding a book it would make him look even more guilty.

The last option was to turn himself invisible and get out of there.  Vlad was fairly certain he could escape the tower and the town, but in their minds he would be confirming his guilt.  Such a thing could come back to haunt him down the line.

It all boiled down to how much Vlad was willing to trust the local authorities. After a few seconds of deliberation he decided that trusting them was in his best interests.

"Very well, Castellan. I wish to cooperate in any way possible. I have two spellbooks which you may inspect."  Vladamir produced the books from his backpack and presented them to the banded-clad man.

The Castellan snatched the books away, looking disappointed that Vlad hadn't put up a fight. "Until the Walgraf is done examining these," he snorted, "you will remain our guest.  Take him to the dungeon!"

The two guards began to follow the Castellan.

"What are you doing?" he bellowed.

"We're coming with you."

"NO! I said, take HIM to the dungeon!"

With that, the guards obeyed, and escorted Vlad out of the tower and to a side door in the main hall.  This side door led to a spiral stairwell going down under the cliff.  Down into the darkness, Vlad descended, though soon he saw flickering torchlight below.  The dungeon reminded Vlad in many ways of Skull Keep. He was led to a cell where the only light would come through the barred window in the bolted door.  There was a straw cot, and some loose straw on the floor.

The prison guards, who looked far nastier than the two man-at-arms who had escorted Vlad this far, demanded his backpack and any weapons, but appeared uninterested in searching him.  The cell across from his was open to view, with bars instead of stone walls. Inside, a man was chained to the wall. Vlad had an inexplicable sense of deja vu.

***
The beggar jumped to his feet.  His look of surprise quickly turned to one of anger.  "Bite me, pipsqueak!" he spat at the Hobniz he now towered over.  And with that, the beggar trudged off.

After that, Peri found the poor and impoverished tended to avoid him.  Or at least those who asked for the food and drink he carried had no information of interest to trade for it.  Eventually, it was suppertime. Luckily, Peri still had some bread and wine on him which he had not been able to give away.  The Comeback Inn would be an expensive place to go back to, although it was awfully entertaining.  At least, during Peri's circling of the town, he had come across another inn.  The Foot of the Cliff Inn sat near the base of the sheer, mountain-like rise upon which sat the Walgraf's castle.  The winding trail that circled the rise began near the inn's door, in fact.  Peri entered the inn and found its common room half-full of people.  They were a friendly, but not as gay a crowd as the Comeback Inn had boasted.  Peri made his way through the crowd to a small table already shared by a Dwur, and two humans.  At first they seemed a little pretentious of their new guest, but all was smoothed over when Peri bought the three of them a round of Evelerry.

The four newfound friends had a wonderful time getting to know one another.  The two humans were in fact brothers, Amosen and Jared.  They ran a small shop in town and often came to the inn to unwind and let their troubles wash away.  Kurlamos the Dwur was a different story entirely.  He had journeyed from his home within the Sud Grafault to meet his sister in Hexpools, and was just now beginning his return trip home.

"Maid, another round of Evelerry if you please," Perri called.

"I am sorry, but you have drank our last," the barmaid replied. "Would Jalpa Red suffice instead?"

"How much did that Evelerry come to?"  Kurlamos asked.  "Six silver score?" he repeated after the maid's response. "That is a tad steep for us.  No doubt we can split the bill between the four of us," the Dwur commented matter-of-factly.

Peri surpressed a frown while he turned his attention to the two brothers.  "So, like I was saying. I had heard that there is rumored to be some kind of cavern system or something under this very mountain.  Have either of you ever heard of it?"  At this point Peri was aware that he had not only drawn the attention of the friends at his table, but also those from surrounding tables.  Tales of Skull Keep, the battles against the Red Zephyr, and the evil doings of the church of Hextor always seemed to gather the attention of those with more mundane lives.

"What I wouldn't give for a good adventure again.  Why, when my adventuring band went into Skull keep we kicked some major pirate butt, and even came across a goblin or two.  Ahh yes, the traps the pit falls, the adventure!  That's what I long for.  You can never underestimate a good dungeon as a test against your raw skill and courage.  Once I heard that their might be a cavern complex right here literally under my feet, my interest was peaked.  But most of the townsfolk here aren't aware of how to get in.  I don't want to trouble you about it of course.  Just my curiosity getting the better of me I guess.  Ahh, here comes our drinks."

While Peri spun his tale of Skull Keep, he noticed people looking away each time he attempted to bring up the topic of caves under the Walgraf's Castle.  There was one person in particular who took an interest in Peri's tale.  The man was dressed all in black, with tan skin, but a blonde beard.  Peri was sure he had seen a smile a few times concealed under that short but thick beard.  After Peri was done with his story, the man came over to Peri's table.

"Pardon me," the man said, "but I could not help but overhear earlier that the price of your drinks was more than you had expected.  Allow me to cover your costs for you -- on condition that you," and he pointed at Peri, "return to speak with me on a private matter here tomorrow night."

"The tab is not so much for me as my friend here surmised, my good fellow.  Six silver Score is but a trifle that is neither harmful nor extravagant.  The only misfortune here is that we have depleted their supply of Evelerry for the evening, and now I must look elsewhere for such spoils."

Peri glanced down at the Jalpa red ale the barmaid had just served.  And then turned his attention back to the man in robes.

"However, your hospitality is welcome.  Six silver Score saved is six silver Score earned as they say."  Peri tilted his head a bit to get a better look at the man.  A wizard perhaps, or maybe a priest of some sort.  "I will meet with you.  Be it tonight or tomorrow it does not matter to me, so long as you can claim that it will not be a waste of my time.  I have talked to too many citizens today that had nothing better to do than waste my time.  My name, by the way, is Perpegilliam Brown.  By what name should I recognize you by?"

"My name is Henrot," he replied, "and I assure you that ...as long as your tale of your adventures was not just boasts...I shall have an interesting proposal for you tomorrow eve.  But in the meanwhile, I have other matters to attend to.  Good night."

When Henrot left, Peri's new friends let out their held breaths.  "I have heard that Henrot is both a warlock AND cleric to some fell god," the dwur voiced at little over a whisper.  "I am glad he asked no favors of me!"  Peri sat for a while longer listening to what these townsfolk had to say about this Henrot fellow, and drinking a few more pints of the Jalpa red ale.  It was very late when Peri asked the bar maid about a small room for the night.  Though most of the rooms were taken by guests earlier in the evening, the innkeeper was willing to set aside a small cot in the attic for Peri. 

The attic was dark, warm, and dry, though surprisingly clean.  The innkeeper stated that from time to time he and his family would sleep up here if it meant more money for their own rooms.  Peri thanked the man with two silver Score and proceeded to undress once the innkeeper had left.  A small lantern illuminated his space in the attic as Peri meticulously went through his belongings, taking stock of what provisions and supplies he had remaining.  Money, it always seemed to come down to.  He needed more money.  "Ahh well, tomorrow is another day," Peri said as he stretched into bed, his belongings safely packed into the chest at the bed's foot.  Peri snuggled comfortably against his pillow and, smiling in his blissful sleep, clutched the sheathed dagger under it.

Planting 19, 581 CY.  Waterday.  Warm, light drizzle.

He woke the next morning feeling refreshed.  He had the impression that he had dreamt that night, but could not recall the details.  Since the attic was all closed up, Peri had to feel his way through the dark to the trapdoor (his lamp had long since gone out during the night).  The trapdoor let him down a short ladder to the upper floor of the inn, and from here Peri was finally able to see sunlight through a window. It looked to be a hot, sunny day.

Making his way down to the common room, Peri found a few people still sleeping on tables, and only his new Dwur friend was eating already.  "Good morning," Kurlamos said after swallowing a mouthful of sausage.  "I see you too are an early riser.  I fear that a little hot weather makes the humans around here stroppy."  Kurlamos looked around with unhidden disdain.

"Good morning, Kurlamos.  It is good to see a friendly face before breakfast," Peri said as he patted his vest pocket, looking for a tinderbox to light his pipe.  "Is the good mistress of the inn about?  Ahh, never mind, here she is.  Two honey cakes and a bowl of porridge, if you please," Peri said with a smile to the maid.

Once the woman was off to the kitchens, Peri sat down at the table with Kurlamos.  "You were rather silent last night when Henrot was here, my friend.  Yet you seemed to know him, or at least know of him. Seeing we're alone now is there anything you can tell me which will be helpful for my meeting with him tonight?"  Peri sat back in his chair, at last pulling the tinderbox from a pouch. He went to get his pipe and smokeweed from his belt pouch when it dawned on him that he had lost it in his backpack at the mouth of Skull Keep a few months ago.  Suddenly Peri was very aware of what at least some of his dreams were last night.

After Peri was served, the dwarf leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. "I can but say that I have heard his name spoken a few times, and then only in reference to his reputation. It is said that he is both powerful and well-connected in Hexpools, and a dangerous man to cross.  To be honest, I was a bit nervous to learn he was here in Olvanstaad, but my understanding is that he is on a vacation of some sort. Beyond that, I cannot say."

Peri spent much of the day at the Foot of the Cliff Inn talking occasionally to Kurlamos or another patron about any recent festivals of the region, and also asked of the war to the north.  The most recent festivities Peri heard about was the traveling show, which Peri had seen in Sulzdorf before coming to Olvenstaadt-am-Graufult. The show had spent a week in Olvenstaadt before heading west just four days ago.  As for the war up north, few people Peri spoke with knew what he referred to.  Many assumed he meant the fighting in the Iron Hills last year, when Chelor's invasion of Idee was halted yet again by the Dwur of the hills.

The most recent news of the day, which Peri heard while prowling the streets, was that Petar Cek, local magician and artist, was found last night in some enchanted sleep.  Some outsider cursed him, people say.

It was past lunch when Peri made his way to the market place where he shadowed and stalked the more wealthy inhabitants he could find. Peri was fed up with the poor pockets of commoners. He wanted gold. And if that meant following a rich merchant back to his home, than so be it.  So long as he was back to the Inn by nightfall.  It was instead still afternoon when Peri found a mark.  A well-dressed local businessman of some profession, wealthy enough to spend his afternoons out networking instead of working.  Peri determined that the man wore a money belt, but one that Peri could cut off the man if he'd hold still in a crowd long enough.

In an hour, though, he had the opportunity to follow the man home.  It was a modest-looking, one-story home, but the lock on the door suggested he had valuables to protect.  Peri stood across the street from the man's house for a short time watching the comings and goings of people in the area.  He was looking for armed men mainly. Guards, city watch, constables, and the like. Peri could not stay in one location for long so as not to gain any attention himself, and also so he could scout out any side windows or back alleys that could lead to the building he wanted.  Most importantly, Peri was memorizing the area.  He needed to be able to make it back here later on.

The one-story house had no guards. It was on a public street that saw frequent, though not continuous, traffic.  Behind the house was a garden area shared by eight homes.  Wherever the homes did not touch, a three-foot wooden fence cordoned off the garden.

The surveillance took most of the afternoon, leaving Peri just an hour or two to walk around until it was time to meet Henrot.  He saw several opportunities to pick pockets, but only off of people unlikely to carry much of value.  The big score he was looking for continued to allude him.

When Peri did return to the Foot of the Cliff, he saw Henrot, dressed as he had been the day before, standing on the stairs to the upstairs rooms. He beckoned for Peri to follow him, and led him up to one of the guest rooms.  The interior was much better decorated than Peri suspected the room normally was.  The plants by the window, the vase filled with colored quills, the four-foot urn, the wooden cabinet with arcane-looking symbols on it, and the painting that *appeared* to be stained glass with light shining through it, even though Peri was sure it was on an interior wall.

Henrot sat down in a high-backed chair by the vase and in front of the painting. Near him was a chair scaled to Peri's size, which he bade Peri sit in.

"To come to the point, my friend," Henrot began, "I am in need of an assassin."

"I am an accomplished rogue," Peri responded, "an adventurer, a cutpurse, a patriot, and a traitor.  I have fought and killed the goblin leader Demonkos, beheaded the pirate captain Renspa, stolen from the throne room of Prince Devim Darmen, sabotaged the guard headquarters in Prymp, and single-handedly sank a cog and a galleon of the Herzogs' pirate navy.  With that I ask you, am I qualified?" Peri sat there stone-faced and still, staring into the eyes of Henrot. "I am motivated by greed," he continued. "I have no problem admitting that, just as sure as you should recognize your motivated by power. I can see it in your eyes." Peri tilted his head a moment. "I have seen the same light in the eyes of a Templar of Zilchus, and a wizard friend of mine.

"If you still wish me to do this I need the specifics.  Who will determine my price, much more than how and when, but you can keep the why to yourself. If you feel I'm not qualified for this, then we part ways now with me seeking my demons and you looking for yours."

Henrot smiled. "Yes, yes, I need someone with strength, but I am also paying for someone who can be brutal.  The intended victim must suffer before his death.  My herbs, my crystal -- all indicate you are a man -- er -- Hobniz of your word.  And anyone who has slain as many as you say is well-suited for this task. Your target would be one Tanes Feras of Hexpools.  He is a wealthy vinter with lands just east of the city.  If you agree to my terms, your payment will be a sack of Aerdy gold."

"I am not an evil man," Peri said. "I can not be brutal as you say, nor can I inflict the kind of suffering that you would suggest. I have always tried to understand this word and emotion you humans call 'hate'. And try as I might, I have never been able to put reason to it.

"Yes, I've killed many men and goblins, and though it may seem all afoul to someone on the outside looking in on my life.  It has all been done for a reason or two.  Every moment of my life is like a puzzle piece fitting together in perfect form, though I do not know the shapes of the pieces until they lie before me.

"This man and you may very well be part of that puzzle.  Stranger things have come across my path.  What does this man have to do with the Herzog, with the disappearance of my father, with the Fountain of Healing, with the war on the Ahlissan coast, or with the demon Acererak?  These are all questions I must ask myself before I can begin.  If he has no purpose for me to be dead, than how can I kill him?"