Sal Kadarshe

Available Ready Made PC

Current Player: None

 

TYPE: Thaumaturge, KINDRED: Hobbit

DESCRIPTION: male, 2’10”, 43 lbs, olive skin, curly hair which has gone white prematurely, age 43, scholarly appearance

ST: 6, IQ: 15, LK: 15, CON: 20, DEX: 20, CHR: 16, SPD: 10, POW: 18

ADDS: -3 + 3 + 8 = 8

LEVEL: 3                                ADVENTURE POINTS: 3784

WEIGHT POSSIBLE: 600 weight units, WEIGHT CARRIED: 272 units (equal to 27 pounds.)

 

SKILLS: Engineering 6, Drama 6, Thaumaturgy 14

LANGUAGES: Mediterranean r&w 14, Atlantean r&w 9, Porker 5

MAGIC: Thaumaturgic Enchantment (cost 1 range --)

EL1: Will-o-wisp (cost 1 [D] range 100’), Circle of Darkness (cost 1 [D] range 100’), Take That You Fiend (cost 6 range 100’), Detect Illusion (cost 1 [D] range 100’), Detect Magic (cost 0 range 10’), False Dweomer (cost 2 [E] range 10’), Tricks (cost 2 [D] range sight), Knock Knock (cost 2 [E] range --), Lock Tight (cost 1 [D] range --)

EL2: Omnipotent Eye (cost 5 range --), Preserve (cost 6 range --)

 

NATIONALITY & PLACE OF RESIDENCE: Palasgea, Athens

 

ARMOR/SHIELD: Total Hits 3. Quilted Silk (Weight 48, Cost 14, Hits Taken 3.)

 

WEAPONS: Crude Stone Tipped Spear (3d6, weight 50, Requires ST of 7 and a DEX of 9 to use)

 

EQUIPMENT: Off Gray-White Shirt (wt 1), Belt (wt 2), Plain Light Drab Trousers (wt 3), Brown Shoes (wt 10), Delver's package (cost 20 wt 20), Dagger Sheath (cost .06 wt 3), Wool Blanket (cost .5 wt 40), 8 Torches (cost .8 wt 80), Pipe (smoking cost 2 wt 3), Small Vial with 3 doses of Magic Oil (prime ingredient for thaumaturgy wt 2), Small Pouch with 7 doses of Philosophical Sulphur (powdered, another critical ingredient, wt 3), 2 doses of Universal Antidote (cures any poison, wt 2), Dryad’s Tree Sprig (an enchanted wood, useful for some thaumaturgic reactions, wt 5).

 

TREASURE: 13 Gold

What Sal Knows:

 

Sal grew up in the Palasgean village of Athens within the tribal territory of Peloponnesus (pronounced pel-o-po-nee-sus). Palasgeans are a pastoral people herding goats and cattle. The Mogothes family has helped raise the standard of living within Athens importing goods and craftsmen from Ogyrus. Athens architecture is a stark relief between the buildings the Mogothes family have financed and the original stone and thatched roof buildings.

 

As a people, Palasgeans have olive skinned complexions with long dark hair, tying it into a single queue or pigtail with a leather thong. Their civilization has not yet advanced to the point of metalworking, but their stone implements are of good workmanship and quality.

 

Tosal Thoth, Sal’s master, came from Tharshesh (pronounced tar-SHESH). He has raised Sal, and taught him just about everything he knows including reading and writing. Sal’s education is close to what might be received in the finest Atlantean colleges.

The Adventure:

 

Sal Kadarshe is something of a renaissance man, interested in many studies, none the least of which is thaumaturgy, having studies under the human thaumaturge Tosal Thoth. His long apprenticeship has lasted for as long as he can remember. Old Tosal Thoth has been a fixture in Sal’s life. Tosal Thoth has served the Mogothes family for nearly three generations. Life in Palasgea (pronounced pa-LAS-jee-a) has been peaceful almost idyllic.  The Mogothes family encourages their thaumaturgical practices hoping to bring forth new exotic animals and plants to export back to their home isle of Ogyrus.

 

One morning the old Tharshi summons Sal. “You have learned all that I can teach you. You are needed elsewhere. You are to leave our little Athens and travel towards Galecea. Return to your room I have packed your things already. You are to leave immediately.”

 

This understandably confused Sal, but, fearing retribution from his master, he has begun his journey. Being sent away so quickly is strange enough, especially since there are no ships down at the harbor. That leaves Sal with a long overland trip through Peloponnesus, Arcadea (pronounced ar-KAY-dee-a), Otesium (pronounced (o-TES-ee-um), and into Aragana (air-a-GON-a). Just to reach Galecea (pronounced ga-LEE-see-a), a very long trip.

 

A day away from Athens and Sal continues to think about his master’s decision. A few of Sal’s friends asked where he was going, and they looked very confused when he explained his destination was Galecea. Last night, Sal spent a long time staring at the lights flickering from the village pondering and asking himself, -Why did Tosal Thoth send me away? Why to Galecea? Galecea is a land of exiles and outlaws, common haunts to ferocious creatures.-

 

Stopping for a break, Sal chews his bread for answers when he spies a great deal of smoke rising from near Athens. He would have to hike back almost half a day to see if the smoke comes from Athens itself.

 

There is no choice, Sal back tracks to Athens. Something is up, and he cannot just turn a blind eye to his home. His legs ache as hurries back. It just doesn’t feel fast enough. By dusk, Sal crests the hill where he camped just last night. The smoke is less now, but it is unmistakable. Athens is on fire. The large warehouses are burning. He see sthe lights of several smaller fires. Evaluating the situation, Sal must rest tonight. Traveling through the mountains is treacherous at night where one misstep leads to a long fall.

 

His sleep is restless and when Sal sleeps nightmares creep in.

Helpless to interfere, red men of fire walk through town setting fire to everything in their wake. Tosal Thoth tries to bar their way only to explode in a shower of sparks.

Fire mad goats stampede Sal kicking him to death…

Sal awakes inside his old room sleeping when he hear a sound. Looking up the ceiling’s timbers are in flames. The burning timbers begin to break…

 

Jumping awake, Sal cannot sleep more. He ends up watching as the sky lightens. At this point there are only a few fires left. Before sunrise he starts off again. Sore and stiff muscles complain in the cold morning air. After several hours Sal no longer feels his legs. They move almost with a will of their own. He eats as he travels taking breaks only when exhaustion becomes a hazard.

 

Getting closer to Athens Sal begins to show more caution. A nagging thought, -Why didn’t anyone fight the fires? Sure most of villagers would be out herding, but the Mogothes family and their retainers rarely leave Athens except to travel home.-

 

Taking advantage of natural cover, Sal slowly creeps forward. No mistaking it. Only a few houses are still standing, and only the original buildings. None of the newer buildings are intact. Some even have large holes knocked into the stone walls. Smoke rises over the village. Guttering flames can be seen from the nearest warehouse.

 

His heart sinks when Sal notices the body. A charcoal covered villager walks out toward the body, and begins to drag it back into the village proper. Another Palasgean man wearing a rough red dyed uniform with a leather hauberk holding a spear and shield stands at the edge of a building. He is both supervising the villager and scanning around alert and ready for trouble.

 

Sal approaches the villager whom he quickly recognizes a childhood friend, Master Mason Vitula Athen’s finest mason. He is dragging the body of Hori Mogothes.

 

The moment Sal breaks cover, the soldier in the red uniform stands more alert, “HEY! I FOUND THE ABOMINATION! OVER HERE! QUICK!” He levels his spear at Sal clearly shaken by his presence.

 

Vitula, looks over his shoulder, “Sal! Get out of here, They’re here because of you and Master Thoth!”

 

Shouting and a great commotion erupts from the center of Athens.

 

“Master Vitula, what does he mean, the abomination?”

 

Vitula quickly goes back to dragging Hori’s lifeless body up the hill ignoring the question, actually ignoring Sal. As the noise of more men approaching gets louder, the soldier gains enough courage to move closer. The look of hatred tinged with fear is unmistakable. He is a stranger.

 

Another soldier in red comes into view. He wears a leather helm as well as a leather hauberk, and his spear has a brightly polished metal tip! “Good eyes Dimetrus!” He briefly takes his eyes off of you, “Quick! While it is confounded! Grab it so that we may cleanse this place!”

 

Looking toward the helmeted soldier Sal asks, “What did ‘Dimetrus’ mean by ‘the Abomination’?” 

 

Vitula pales considerably as he lets go of Hori’s body and retreats to the edge of a scorched building. Sal gets a very bad feeling.

 

In a moment, a handful of soldiers charge past the helmeted soldier. They all wield ordinary stone tipped spears. Two of the soldiers drop their spears as they lunge for Sal, pinning his arms, and lifting him from the ground. The other soldiers crowd around. One pokes his spear into Sal’s back. Someone from behind grabs his legs as Sal is carried up the hill. The helmeted soldier sneers, “Take it to its master! Dimetrus run ahead and tell Captain Amiaz what we bring.”

 

“Yes Sergeant!” Dimetrus looks relieved as he turns and runs to the center of Athens. The Sergeant leads his captive back into Athens with the tight gripped ‘escort’.

 

The fire damage is tremendous. No new building escaped the fire. The only older houses that burned were the ones that resided close to a newer building. Master Thoth’s three story tower can no longer be seen towering above the other buildings. The top two stories have collapsed, probably due to the missing key stone. Some villagers are digging through the rubble.

 

“What’s going on?” Sal asks.

 

The Sergeant twirls around, backhands Sal, and snarls, “None of your sorcery speak, Thing!” [TAKE 1 CON DAMAGE, SAL WILL HAVE A GOOD SIZE WELT ON HIS FACE UNTIL IT HEALS.]

 

The Sergeant leads the ‘escort’ into the busy village square. There Tosal Thoth is crucified on a ‘X’. His once fine clothes are bloodied, soiled, and fire damaged. He is not in good shape. Tosal Thoth looks up, his eyes widen when he sees Sal.

 

The Sergeant proclaims loudly, “Captain Amiaz! I have caught the sorcerer’s creation!”

 

The entire courtyard quiets. There are maybe a dozen or so soldiers that stop to look. Several villagers stop dragging or carrying corpses to the large bonfire to the left of Tosal Thoth. In the sudden silence Sal’s sharp ears catch Tosal Thoth mutter, “I’ve told you we are thaumaturges not sorcerers.”

 

A man stands up from a field bench. He wears the now familiar red uniform, but with gold colored trim around his leather hauberk and helm. He smiles, “Behold people of Athens! The cause of your misery will be destroyed once and for all!”

 

Some soldiers move aside revealing another finished ‘X’ lying on the ground to the right of Tosal Thoth. Sal tied securely to the ‘X’. One soldier takes his kukri. They raise the ‘X’, and secure it so that it is free standing. “Magic is plague on our land! We will cleanse our land, and destroy all those who create unnatural creatures and play with powers that were never intended for mortals! We will hunt down and destroy their creations! Magic shall be purged from the land!” A cheer rises from the soldiers, but not the villagers. The villagers seem tired and heart broken.

 

"No, you cannot have him," croaks Tosal Thoth. Then in Atlantean and much louder, "Close your eyes Sal!"

 

A dazzling light etches itself even under Sal’s closed eyes. He hears someone cry out, "Kill them now!" The rope loosens to give way restoring Sal’s circulation.

 

Sal rushes to Tosal Thoth to aid him. More soldiers are moving closer uncertain. Those soldiers closest, including Captain Amiaz, are moving around blindly. As Sal unties Tosal Thoth he continues in Atlantean, "My young apprentice, you must live. I am old, and you will naturally live many times longer than me. There is nothing you can do to save Athens. I thought I might be able to, but didn't wish to gamble your life. Go, fly from here. If only for an hour, you will flee faster than these mindless killers. It is your life and mine they want. It is the Mogothes family that suffered."

 

Sal feel beneficial magic wash over him. His body lightens as the earth releases its tyrannical grasp. As if he could just push off from the confines of the earth like a bird. Tosal Thoth passes out with his final exertion.

 

"Kill Them BEFORE THEY DESTROY US YOU FOOLS!" Screams out Captain Amiaz.

 

Sal pauses to find his dagger. The soldier that took it is waving it around madly in a panicked effort to hit anything that might attack him. A novice fighter would stand a poor chance at recovering the weapon even from this blinded soldier. At least Sal still has his magic for protection. Plus there is Tosal Thoth’s spell.

 

A spear slams home to the ground just as Sal springs into the air, gaining altitude quickly. A few more soldiers throw their spears, but none strike him, most falling short. From above Sal gets a good view of what remains of Athens. Indeed, every single new building has been fired. Several have been further tore down. There are maybe 20 to 30 men wearing red through out the town and few villagers. Maybe less than half the normal number. Thankfully, most should still be out herding their goats.

 

Some soldiers are quickly stringing bows to shoot Sal out of the air. He speeds off and shortly order is skimming across the mountains. At first Sal flees back along his original trail. Then realizing there may be trackers among the soldiers, he veers off to the north. Sal turns a little more northward and fly closer to the ground to make it harder to be seen. Sal has covered almost a days walk when he feels the earth pull. Sal’s feet are tired, but he only has a day’s advantage. These soldiers are better rested, and have much longer legs.

 

The hike through the mountains is very peaceful. It gives a lot of time for reflection. Master Thoth must have put up a great fight to have exhausted himself that much. Sal has never seen his old master tired from working magic. He always claimed his strength flowed from the land.

 

Sal’s sleep at night is full of nightmares about home. Soldier in red leveling the city in the name of righteousness and with a fear of change. Even repeating dreams of faceless soldiers come upon Sal while he sleeps.

 

Sal’s bruised face heals. He has little trouble finding fresh water, but after four days of walking Sal worries about provisions. Foraging scrounges up some nuts and berries. Alas, Sal’s education has not made him much of an outdoorsman. After a half day without eating his luck improves again. Sal spies several goats and a goat herder.

 

Sal think, -I must be getting close to another settlement. No one from Athens would be found so far away.-

 

Approaching the goat herder cautiously, Sal hails him, “Good ‘morrow! Do you have some food you’d be willing to share?” A few goats bleat nearby.

 

The goat herder shifts his weight to the other foot. Briefly looking over the sheep he turns his attention to Sal. The goat herder doesn’t act surprised by his presence, “Ah, fair one! You have finally caught up to me.” Clucking his tongue, “I am always glad to offer a gift to the Sidhe.”

 

Stories of the Sidhe are pervasive throughout Peloponnesus. Even though Sal has never seen any of these enigmatic beings, he too knows the stories. Sidhe are masters wherever they go. Their youth-like playful manner often befuddles many humans. They entertain themselves with tricks, but have been known to help those who need help. Occasionally, humans are able to pull their own pranks on the Sidhe, but tricking the Sidhe is risky business indeed. Those gaining the ire of the Sidhe have created many tragic stories as these cursed individuals live out the rest of their lives in misery. From the stories there are several rules to remember to safety interact with the Sidhe.

1)       Do no accept anything without payment. To accept a gift allows the Sidhe to lay claim to something of equivalent or greater value.

2)       Likewise, the Sidhe never accept gifts. They will always provide payment.

3)       Restitution for cruelty or theft is common practice for the Sidhe. Beware anyone who cannot pay the price for their actions.

4)       True names have power for the Sidhe.

5)       Never consume their fairy food. Their food is bewitchingly powerful and addictive to the mortal kindreds.

6)       The Sidhe are immortal and often bored. Good entertainment is highly valued.

 

This goat herder is wearing a simple gray wool robe with leggings. His brown beard is neatly trimmed, and his hair is bound back in the traditional Palasgean way with a brown leather thong. He carries a stout quarter staff and a simple stone dagger is tied to his robe. A gourd hangs from his shoulder belt with a good sized leather satchel. Clearly he mistakes Sal for one of the Sidhe having never seen a hobbit. It is equally obvious that this goat herder has been aware of Sal’s presence far longer than Sal has been aware of his.

 

The highlands of this valley are quite beautiful. Sal feels his destiny hanging in the air like the scattered clouds. The grasses are quite green, but sparse over the rocky terrain. The nearby goats roam through the patches of grass.

 

“Sir, I am a hobbit. My people are not related to your Sidhe. We are a mortal people like yourself. Just of shorter stature and slightly tougher. I have come from Athens.”

 

Disappointment flashes across the man’s face, “Athens, you say? I have heard stories of that tribe. They say in Athens, people have sold their souls for tools made from the Bane-of-the-Fair-Folk.” [HE IS PROBABLY TALKING ABOUT IRON.]

 

Sal does not respond to the slanderous remarks, and not making any aggressive moves he continues, “I am still interested in some food. I cannot pay much, but I am willing to exchange my services for some provisions.”

 

“Not much to do here, but help me herd my goats. Can you handle goats?” The goat herder gestures to his goats.

 

“No, but I am a thaumaturgist.” The man’s blank face causes Sal to explain more, “I know how to create potions, healing remedies, and ointments.”

 

“Ahh, a herbalist.”

 

“Close but a little different. Perhaps when you bring the goats in, I could join you, and then earn some food creating a potion or two.”

 

“Might be worth it. Tell you what, you help me keep an eye on my goats and I’ll make sure you have a good meal each day. Then you help me bring the goats in, and we discuss at home how these potions may help me. You may call me Oliphus. What should I call you?”

 

“Call me Sal.”

 

The next few days are pleasant enough. For the most part, the goats are easy to keep track of. An late afternoon rain storm brings heavy rains. At Oliphus’s direction, he and Sal hurriedly drive the goats up the mountain.

 

“Sal! There’s a goat missing!”

 

Sal turns and clambers down the hillside, furiously searching out the goat. Sal’s heart sinks as a thunderous noise reaches his ears. Within seconds a flash flood rips through the valley, dragging Sal along. Caught up in the ice cold water and swimming furiously, his head bobs under the water all too often [TAKE 5 HITS DAMAGE]. The raging torrent is uncontrollable. With incredible perseverance Sal swims desperately to solid land. Mud slides through his fingers as he scrambles for a perch. Grabbing a shallow rooted plant, Sal almost falls back into to the frothing water. Coughing up water, Sal drags himself up. His natural nimbleness is all that keeps him out of the torrent. Once he stops sliding, Sal lays on the ground coughing uncontrollably while rain continues.

 

Eventually, Sal notes that the rain has ceased. Raising his head and looking around, the terrain is totally unfamiliar. Surprisingly, Sal still has his pack; even though it is heavily soaked with water. There won’t be any fire tonight. Night falls as Sal watches the water level drop. The menacing clouds blot out any light from the stars and moon.

 

The night proves to be cold and very dark. Sal creeps along carefully trying to find some suitable shelter. Eventually, exhaustion forces Sal to huddle within the relative safety of an outcropping of rocks. At least wind chill will not add to his discomfort. Sleep comes quickly even though it is fitful.

 

Darkness abounds and Sal finds himself in some underworld. A gigantic shadow hovers threateningly near Sal, but he knows he is safer with the shadow than without it. The great cold is suddenly replaced with an incredible heat. Something only thaumaturgy would be able to create as this reactive heat would destroy any ordinary alchemist. The sudden intense light outlines white lions and black bull dogs. Laughter and screams of hatred wash over Sal.

 

He awakens with a start, shaking from both the nightmare and the cold.

 

The morning proves much more peaceful. The foothills are sparsely populated with trees, many of which have been brought down by yesterday’s flash flood. Many large boulders rest on new perches. Off in the distance is a large forest that stretches across the horizon. The mountains are farther away, but are within a day’s hike. A light morning mist hangs in the air.

 

Uncertain about the rapid flash floods of the mountains, Sal hikes down to the forest below. Sal reasons that it should be easier to find shelter in a forest. As he draws closer he realizes this must be the infamous Black Forest. There are several stories in Peloponnesus about the Forest. It is said the Black Forest denizens all live in mortal fear of the Erlking. This being commands obedience and holds sway over the entire Forest with the threat of unleashing his massive goblin horde. Within the Forest, humans have found a precarious peace with goblin kind. A peace held more through the might of the Erlking than through any desire to coexist peacefully.

 

The trees tower over Sal and each compete for all light. Inside, the daylight becomes a soft gloom. There is little foliage below the trees. Some lichens and moss have found a home in the near perpetual darkness. Occasionally, Sal spies some rugged plant growing. Travel is easy and little bars his approach. That night Sal stops, his head is beginning to get light from lack of food. Sal sleeps hard once he is able to ignore his grumbling stomach. Sal is awoken to an incredible roar. All sounds of the Forest cease in the wake of this awful sound. Sal reasons it must be huge to make such sound. He does not sleep well for the rest of the night. A brief daytime shower helps relieve Sal’s thirst. Although pooled water is not the cleanest, Sal has little choice, but to drink deeply to slake his thirst and hide his hunger. He spies a campfire late at night, but is too exhausted to chase it in the dark. Besides following a light in the darkness could lead to a fatal encounter as will-o-the-wisps are known to lead the unwary into bogs and dead falls. In the morning, he quickly finds the campsite. It almost looks as if a battle happened here. The campfire is quite cold, but Sal finds no one. The only signs of thinking creatures being the cold campfire and three stone spear heads. The spear heads are of fabulous construction. Much better quality stone heads than what any Palasgean could craft. These spear heads have been fashioned by magic. The functional magic is very faint having kissed the stone to fashion them, but not to enchant the spear heads.

 

Sal gathers up the three stone spearheads. Looking around Sal sees a straight branch that might do. The bark has been recently peeled off. Taking a chance that the branch is not rotted, Sal nimbly climbs the tree. Getting a good hold on another sturdy and tested branch, Sal concentrates. He envisions the impurities he knows hang in the air. Gathering them in a million tiny shards he lets loose his tiny missiles feeling the gathered magic slip easily through his fingers like a bar of soap. The fine needles fly through the air imbedding themselves into his chosen branch [COSTS SAL 5 POW]. Then striking the weakened branch with both feet while hanging onto his solid branch, Sal is rewarded with the crack of the branch and feeling it yield beneath his feet. The branch crashes to the ground. Jumping down, Sal finds to his delight that the branch not only broke cleanly, but split just enough to wedge a spear tip into it. In the end, it is a crude spear. Sal was forced to use the lacing from his shirt to secure the spear tip, but it is serviceable enough [DOES 3D6 DAMAGE].

 

Sal pushes onward deeper into the Forest. A day later he finally finds a foot worn path. The path leads directly to a village. The gray morning mist has long since burned off, but it is not quite noon. The woods around the village are thinner and well timbered. The buildings are simple and crude wooden structures. An occasional stone house leans precariously. Looking around, Sal does not see anyone. Trying a couple of doors, Sal finds them shut tight.

 

Picking a door, Sal tries his luck at trusting the occupants of the village. After several hard knocks, Sal is contemplating how he will break open the shutters when the door creaks open.

 

“Tonw Aktahwa?” Sal is taken aback by the obviously female goblin at the doorway. The gray black goblin is half again taller than Sal. He has heard of their black eyes and white pupils, but until now has never seen a goblin. The woman’s breasts attempt to spill out of her disheveled clothing. Wisps of black wiry hair sprout from her head at every angle. “Ahck uyo t’hok,” the goblin woman stops mid sentence and sighs. “Uyo t’nodden eunot kras, oed uyo?”

 

Sal shrugs his shoulders and says slowly, “I don’t understand. Might you speak Mediterranean?” Hoping to convey his lack of understanding.

 

The goblin woman pinches the bridge of her prominent hawk like nose, “Ahck, yi soon creepers don’t cha knew it’z nearly noon? Sum of us have gotto got sleep yi know.” She stilts out in a crude Mediterranean.

 

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you, but I am starving…”

 

The goblin woman interrupts, “Ahck, a beggor! Do yi goe way new. Try the drunken place ‘cross the rood. Scaps they may had.” She slams the door in Sal’s face.

 

Sal figures that 'drunken place' refers to a bar, and that is something he wishes to avoid for now. Going to the next house he knocks on the door several times. Sal’s hopes are high. This building is definitely of a better construction. It has mortared stones, but the thatch roof could be of better repair. The building seems to be designed around an old black iron tree. Branches sprout from the roof and form a protective canopy. Must be nice during good weather, but a miserable hole when storms come in.

 

Eventually, the door opens. Sal’s senses are assaulted by a wave of functional magic. A large black robed goblin is the primary source of magic. Sal has not felt someone knowledgeable in magic since leaving Athens. The goblin’s sleepy black eyes quickly widen as recognition dawns on him, “You! Oh, the Er….” Looking around outside, the goblin motions Sal into the pitch black room. “Come in, come in, you can call me Icxtus.” The absolute darkness of the room fades to a deep gloom as Icxtus waves off a spell.

 

Without entering the house Sal offers, “I am a Thaumaturge. I do have useful skills I am willing to barter for food.”

 

Icxtus moves out of sight, but sounds of rummaging can be heard. “Yes, yes, I know. I mean… it is apparent you are a spell weaver. A Thaumaturge you say… now where did I put those candles…” The sound of a chest slamming shut echoes through the room. A small mote of light blossoms in the darkness as Icxtus lights a candle. “Come on in! I would never dream of harming you.”

 

Sal enters the abode asking, “How can I help?” It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of heavily filtered sunlight and a solitary candle.

 

The inside remarkably bare. A few chests line the walls. A single chair and a very short crude lectern sit off to one side. A table sits next to the bed which dominates the center of the house. The rafters are made from the tree itself, but the branches are tightly crowded together as if formed by magic. Where there are spaces in the rafters, tar pitched straw has been crammed in except for one hole. This hole is above the cold open pit fireplace near the foot of the bed.

 

“Well, I am a magician of small power, but I have been commissioned to create a machina. Well as you know, that would be a little out of a magician’s realm of knowledge.” Sal is well aware of machina. They are metal constructs given life via aqua vitae, the waters of life. Only an alchemist or thaumaturge may create enough aqua vitae to animate a machina. Icxtus continues, “There is much for me to learn before I can attempt such a task. What I offer is a trade of knowledge. I teach you what I know of enchantments and illusions and you in turn teach me what you know about thaumaturgy. I will also insure you have good food and drink while you stay here.”

 

Looking over Sal closely, Icxtus adds, “Here as a gesture of good will, let’s go over to the Fermented ‘Shroom for a meal. It should be close to a midday meal for you day creatures.” The hooded Icxtus blows out the candle and walks out the front door. Sal follows and watches as Icxtus locks his door. Then the duo heads straight for the ‘drunken place’ that Sal avoided.

 

Approaching the tavern, two drunken goblins stagger out into the light. Icxtus just pushes past them with Sal following. Entering the gloomy tavern, Sal quickly notes that the place is virtually empty. A small troll, a nethermen, and three goblins sit at two tables shoved together. The nethermen is of some scholarly interest to Sal; that kindred was created by ancient Atlantian Thaumaturgists. Nethermen are a fairly successful creation with only a 25% sterility rate.

 

A goblin bar maid groans when Icxtus and Sal approach the bar, “Ahck! Icxtus t’don oyu wok’n tsi ydadim?” Her wiry black crest of hair is bound back with a stained  leather thong.

 

Icxtus responds and apparently orders up some food. The bar maid storms off hollering in the kitchen. Within minutes she returns and practically throws two plates of bread onto the bar. Two steins of beer quickly follow. She barely waits for Icxtus to pay. Scooping up the coins, the tired goblin maid returns to the kitchen.

 

The bread is good black hard roll, but the cheese is going hard. Sal is surprised to find a couple of scraps of unidentifiable meat. The beer on the other hand… well Sal is not surprised this place is called the Fermented ‘Shroom. It is a thick, dark, and bitter bock.

 

Icxtus stuffs the black hard roll bread into his mouth, and takes a slam from the stein. “What’s yer name anyways?” He asks with his mouth much too full.

 

“You can call me Sal.”

 

“Ah, good Atlantian name, or so I’ve been told.” Icxtus swallows, “I figure we can start with the basics. Both magicians and thaumatergists use the same spells. The difference is all a matter of perspective and application.”

 

The two magic users talk about the nature of permanence and substance within the universe. The five only other patrons leave; some complaining bitterly about how bright it is outside. Then the owner of the Fermented ‘Shroom comes out and yells at Icxtus who remains very calm, casually showing him a medallion that Icxtus pulls out from his robes. The goblin grays, says something hurriedly and proceeds to lock up leaving the key on the bar.

 

Icxtus chuckles, “Having some influence can be fun. Although it does come with a grave responsibility. This commission can make my career or end it quickly, brutally, and painfully.” He shudders, “But I am willing to share some of the rewards if you are willing to help take on some of the risks.” Yawning he continues, “But we can talk about this in the evening. I need to get some sleep.” Icxtus grabs the key and guides Sal through the door. Squinting in the bright daylight, Icxtus calls forth elemental darkness to help shade him as he locks up.

 

Walking back across the way to his home Icxtus keeps a patch of darkness nearby to help him see in the bright sun light. Once inside, Icxtus pulls out some wolf pelts and hands them to Sal. “Find a comfortable spot. I only have one bed, but you are still welcomed to sleep on the floor.” Yawing more Icxtus climbs under the covers of his bed and quickly falls asleep. Sal gets a good look at his face. The hard angular edges of a goblin with a couple of broken teeth is emphasized by his hooked nose and wisps of singular black hairs sprouting irregularly across his scalp. Putting the furs down in one corner, Sal does his best to fall asleep.

 

Feeling of unease strikes him as the troll is no where to be found. The heat of bellows blows hot air across Sal’s face. The rock walking by his side is still unformed, but is eager for help. “All rocks just want a good home and a fine mate. The simple life without unnecessary strife,” it says. Sal thought he was ready for anything after dealing with the dragon, but talking rocks are just plain weird. The carved rock floor suddenly falls apart.

 

Falling head over heals, Sal wakes up with a start. The moon is shining through the hole in the thatched roof.

 

“Good evening Sal, I thought you might sleep through the entire night,” says Icxtus. “Have you given any thought to the proposition I made yesterday?”

 

“What is the machina going to be used for?” asks Sal

 

Icxtus looks taken aback, “I am not sure. Never thought to ask. It will be a great flying device! With such a thing we might soar through the skies and explore the lands!” His eyes remain shadowed by the hood as he spreads his arms..

 

"Very well then, it seems like an interesting project. I shall do what I can to help. We’ll need a lot of supplies.”

 

Waving his hand, Icxtus wanders over to a chest, “Never mind about supplies. We can get almost anything we need. Except for a blacksmith. That’ll be a tough one. I know of only one blacksmith, and he is not exactly in a convenient place. We can worry about him later when we finally get to the point of actually constructing the metal frame. Now what do I need to learn first?”  Icxtus brings out a large clear glass sphere. He places it on the table and casts a spell. The sphere does not roll away. Icxtus conjures light, the sphere begins to glow.

 

Sal begins with the basics of Thaumaturgy. The theory and application of magic to mundane objects. Much of it, Icxtus picks up readily, the similarities between magicians and thaumaturgists. The primary difference lies in permanence. Thaumaturgy forms stable magic matrixes suspended within fluids and solids. While magicians rely on the fickleness of illusion and infusion of magic into solid objects. This loose way of magic is too unstructured for Sal’s tastes. The spells are easy enough to learn. Icxtus teaches him how easily two objects are bonded together and the counter spell of breaking these magic forged bonds. They are simple spells working off the principle of attraction and repulsion. When Sal releases the crystal ball from the table both he and Icxtus laugh as Icxtus dives for the ball, keeping it from shattering on the floor.

 

Unfortunately, Icxtus has a hard time with Thaumaturgy. He is too impatient. Finally, Sal decides to teach him by example. Perhaps the goblin mind is does not well for lectures and research. Much of the equipment is already at hand. Icxtus has been very well equipped for his task. Gathering the needed herbs, plants, flowers, barks, metals, stones, and fluids is a painfully slow process. Sal cannot communicate with most of the locals. Even the few humans he runs across understand Dark Tongue better than Mediterranean. He is very dependant on Icxtus translating. As they gather various ingredients, Sal and Icxtus set up the equipment. Gradually, the single room house transforms into a proper appearing laboratory filled with the basic ingredients for proper creating thaumaturgic reactions.

 

Philosophical sulphur seems to be a good place to start. It is a difficult preparation, but also the key to most products. If Icxtus can grasp this product; the rest of thaumaturgy will fall into place. As each ingredient is cooked, Sal casts Thaumaturgic Enchantment aiding the breakdown into baser components. While cooking the organics, the flowers catch fire across the room; Icxtus improvises and pours the wine on the fire. The flash of blue fire catches his hood on fire. Sal hurries over and quells the fire letting Icxtus deal with his more personal fire. He hastily enchants the batch to try and save it. Scowling like Tosal Thoth, Sal returns to the organics. Icxtus spends the early morning hours teaching Sal how to freeze the decay of time on any object [THE SPELL PRESERVE].

 

The dried essences blend well with the burned flower/wine mess. With a little of luck, it may still be salvageable. Icxtus casts Preserve upon the flowers. Furious, Sal explains that the mixture stills needs to undergo heat reactions. Ixctus stops Sal and casually dismisses the spell.

 

As the calcination nears completion, Sal trusts Icxtus to finish the process without destroying anything. Sal begins the careful mixing of the calcinated products into the solution. Icxtus finishes up well and carefully observes Sal. It goes better than expected. Sal cannot have Icxtus help with the temperamental separation of the solution. This process requires extreme care and judicious application of magic. Through luck and skill Sal produces 2 gallons of philosophical sulphur, and he skims off the surface a meager 16 fluid oz of magic oil. The oil is a smoky brown color, contaminated by the burned flowers. Magic oil is terribly useful for multiplying the contents of non-magical non-healing liquids. Almost as useful as the crucial philosophical sulphur, but easy to produce. Just about all difficult products produce magic oil.

 

Icxtus begins to grasp the basic concepts. Sal decides a lesser small cook might be appropriate. Magic base is a handy tool for crafting simple spell potions. Cast a spell into the magic base and it stores the spell. Unfortunately, the magic base evaporates quickly after absorbing a spell. Lasting only days as the spell itself breaks down the potion.

 

Days are spent struggling with the structured and rigid laws of Thaumaturgy. It takes a painfully long time for this small cook. While Sal created the Philosophical Sulphur by the beginning of the third day, Icxtus has yet to finish eight days later. During boiling times, Icxtus teaches Sal how to focus his magic sight to read the essence of any object [THE SPELL OMNIPOTENT EYE]. Very useful for determining the object’s properties and magic powers. Interesting enough, a false dweomer works by mudding up an object’s essence. Sal cannot tell that the false dweomer he imbues into the crystal sphere is not a true enchantment.

 

Sal reflects on what he has learned. These spells are the real treasure here. They are natural tools for thaumaturges. Clearly, Icxtus convinced his benefactor he knew more by using these spells. Often late afternoons are spent pouring over the incomplete diagrams Icxtus says his benefactor  supplied him. Icxtus assures Sal that the raw metal can be found around here within the village.

 

“There are plenty of weapons and tools that may be purchased. Only the metal has to be re-forged. Which brings us back to the blacksmith. There is a dwarf over in a barony within Broceliande. Like most of his people, he is a good smith, but a lot more accessible than those normally reclusive folk.”

 

Broceliande is on the other side of Draconea, a savage land of dragons and haven to First Age Atlantian creations. Borceliandeans are a very private people. They are said to be refugees from Atlantis itself dating back to the days of the Great Cataclysm. They made their home on the coast of Draconea. Forging their home over the centuries and slowly pushing back the borders of Draconea.

 

One late afternoon, Sal wakes before Icxtus and goes to check out the diagrams; removing them from the chest, he spies more diagrams. Excited, Sal pulls out the missing diagrams. Sal is reviewing them when Icxtus wakes and checks on the progress of his first thaumaturgic creation. The diagrams show the machina’s ‘head’ and ‘legs’. It appears to be a metal dragon complete with the ability to breath fire using thaumaturgic fire oil. Sal replaces the diagrams before checking on Icxtus’s progress.

 

The magic base is coming along nicely. Icxtus may be starting to understand thaumaturgy. Sal watches as Icxtus adds a quart of philosophical sulphur. The resulting boiling is just right. It has taken over twelve days, but Icxtus actually creates one quart of the magic base.

 

As the weeks pass, Icxtus is thaumaturgic skills improve. Under Sal’s watchful eye, he creates seven doses of the Universal Antidote. Encouraged by Sal’s tales about the Waters of Regeneration and the Elixir of Life, Icxtus scours the town for rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds (actually finding few). Sal’s own expertise in Thaumaturgy improves with the near constant practice.

 

Months later Sal is eating breakfast with Icxtus when six goblins walk into the Fermented ‘Shroom. They all wear good hard boiled leather hauberks and carry blades at their sides. The largest carries a bastard sword strapped to his back. They approach Icxtus glaring menacingly at Sal. Icxtus talks with them in that harsh sounding Dark Tongue. Clearly, the goblins are agitated. When Icxtus shows them his medallion, their eyes narrow, and they stop glaring at Sal (most stop looking at him all together).

 

The largest goblin turns to Sal and says in halting Mediterranean, “So’s u dat ‘humanbit’. If u’s hears with care, we’s can lead ta dirt dwrf. I’s Khattan.”

 

Icxtus clears his throat when he sees Sal’s confusion, “Well, we need to get started working on the machina’s body. One of us needs to get that dwarf smith in Broceliande, and the other continue working. Since I know Dark Tongue, and the Broceliandeans will give you a much warmer welcome than a goblin… Well… you are the obvious choice to cross Draconea. I did hire this gang to escort you to Broceliande. They’re experienced at crossing the dangerous terrain. They’ll keep hidden while in that kingdom, but are willing to escort you and the dwarf back here.”

 

“We go ta place at first dark.” Khattan barks something to the others, and the six goblins leave.

 

“They’ll only want to travel at night, and the Blades of Terror are adamant about that.” Smiling Icxtus adds, “They are the only goblins I could find who are willing to cross through Draconea. If we had started earlier I might have been able to convince the Death’s Cross company to help, but they already headed off north again.”

 

Sal tries to nap during the day. Even though he altered his sleep habits to work with Icxtus, he still spends some of his waking time in daylight. Now he will be off into the wilderness again with six body guards that refuse to travel by daylight. Icxtus provides him with a week’s worth of provisions: cheese, hard tack, jerky, and a 1 gallon water skin. He also gives Sal some fresher clothing and light travel boots. The quality is lacking being crudely sewn from wool, but Sal accepts it anyway. Icxtus jokes that Sal looks closer to a goblin now, wearing the proper clothing. Sal rolls his eyes while taking three doses of the magic oil, 7 of philosophical sulphur, and at Icxtus’s insistence four doses of the Universal Antidote.

 

The goblins of the Blades of Terror are a quiet lot. Of all of them, only Khattan knows any Mediterranean, and his loose understanding of it is trying. The shrieks Sal listens to on the march through Draconea is blood chilling. Even the roar of the Nemian Lion is meeker than the calls of dragons.

 

No fires are lit throughout the journey. A couple of the goblins start sniffling after a few nights in the rain. Near midnight, a goblins scout returns with a report. When Sal inquires about what the scout said, Khattan says, “He’s seen a broken down plce. No, no good be too near Atlanti rocks.” After they camp, Sal has a look around, sure enough he finds a large structure, more or less nothing but ruins. It looks like Atlantian architecture. A goblin yells out something, Sal turns and sees the goblin on guard duty waving Sal back to the camp.

 

That night is one directly out of nightmares. The forest clears some, and the full moon provides ample lighting. The group is marching along, when a terrible baying sound wafts over them, directly ahead and coming closer. Khattan orders the goblins back toward the trees, but more of the frightening sounds cuts them off. The goblins surround Sal and Khattan. They all draw their blades.

 

Khittan whispers through clenched teeth, “Pale Teeth keep ‘round oos.”

 

The baying quiets to a low rumble, an alien growl. Four of the six goblins each wield two blades and Khittan stands ready protectively hovering over Sal. The tall goblin is twice Sal’s height. The surrounding grass waves in the breeze. Then the night breaks open. Large canine shaped creatures burst forth, the moonlight reflecting off their bone white bodies. They lope into the goblins, blades flash, and blood flies.

 

The goblin in front of him is knocked off his feet, his armor nearly shredded. Khattan leaps between Sal and the white fanged monster. Looking around Sal begins to collect his thoughts, feeling the fluid power of magic slip through his fingers, soft as silt. The night air is thick with humidity. In his mind’s eye, Sal watches a pane of particles collect behind him. Turning and trusting the warrior Khattan to do his job, Sal is quite detached. Watching the fearless goblins attack the great dane sized beasts. He watches as a goblin’s arm is torn off and savaged. This beast focuses Sal’s attention. He thrusts out his hand through the pane of particles, the shattered shards fly into the beast [5 POW used]. Its skin is shredded as the particles fillet the beast. It is blasted onto its hind legs before it falls. Steam from its warm blood rises into the air. Sal steps back as a goblin lets a beast by only to jump on its back stabbing with both sword and dagger. The beast collapses at Sal’s feet, a wild look in the goblin’s eyes betrays his blood lust. The battle crazed goblin beheads the beast to make sure it is dead. Looking around, Sal sees two goblins for every beast still standing. The remaining two beasts fall quickly to the fury of goblin blades.

 

Grinning Khattan strides toward Sal, “Good fight! Nice bits-o-majike! Only one no more goblin and full hand o’ dead Pale Teeth!”

 

The name White Fangs comes to Sal’s mind. These white reptilian canines are not natural. Their long fangs glisten a pearly white. Each beast was healthy and strong without the signs of age. A hint of magic lingers around the dead White Fangs. Despite Khattan’s boasts  Only two goblins appear to be in good shape. Khattan has a scrape on his arm and the other is unhurt. One lays on the ground, his hauberk torn. The other two are still standing, but their wounds must be tended to. The last goblin died of blood loss after losing his arm.

 

Despite Khattan’s boasts, he does take more care during the march. Two scouts always run ahead to check for danger. As provisions run low, more time is spent hunting. The region itself is quite beautiful. The old trees are huge and healthy. Within clearings can be found clusters of pale blue and violet flowers. When Sal spots a dryad’s tree he pauses to collect a sprig. When Khattan scolds him for lagging behind Sal just says, “An enchanted wood is a rare thing. Rarity is part of the power of thaumaturgy.”

 

“Crazy ‘humanbit’ we no get sticks. We go Broceliande. They gots lots o stick for ya’.” Khattan just shakes his head at the incomprehensible hobbit or ‘humanbit’ as he calls Sal. Sal ignores him casting Preserve upon the sprig [Costs 6 POW]. If he had the proper product he wouldn’t have to use magic. Maybe Icxtus will have enough gems to create the Waters of Regeneration when he returns.

 

Three weeks later the goblins are even more surely. Since the attack, they rest little keeping double guard duty during the day and hunting on the move during the night. Sal hasn’t slept well since entering Draconea. “Sleep near dragons and wake up a snack,” was a saying Master Thoth would often repeat.

 

The lush greenery stands out even more as they hike through some hills. Cave openings can be seen from time to time. The caves are wet and unsuitable for a campsite. The underbrush is thicker here where sunlight gets through the light forest. Khattan leads everyone through animal trails and the evening hunts yield better fare.

 

Sal is relieved when a scout finds a secure and dry cave to rest in. The goblins will be able to get their rest and hopefully will quit looking at him like he is dinner. When the three hunters return with a small deer the goblins celebrate. Everyone eats their fill, and the goblins watch in fascination as Sal eats until he is full.

 

After sucking out the bone marrow, Khattan throws an empty bone into the fire. Laughing he says, “Nevers sees any so small pack food like ya ‘humanbit’. Ya’s oe-kay fer a little guy. Giant stomach little guy!” As Khattan translates for the other goblins, they let out a roar of laughter.

 

This is the most relaxed the Blades of Terror have been since entering Draconea. The next night is spent smoking the remains of the deer. A bear is drawn by the smell of cooking meat, but the Blades are not easily chased off. They clang their blades roaring as loudly as they can. Realizing the strange goblins will be a tough fight; the bear gives up and wanders away for an easier meal. When the bear moves off, the goblins laugh, shout at the retreating bear, and generally pat each other’s backs.

 

The following night is very dark. Clouds have moved in blocking the moon. Sal moves cautiously trusting the goblin in front of him to he a reliable guide. A bolt hisses through the air and with a sickening thud impales goblin in front of Sal. He is dead before he hits the ground. Khattan grabs Sal from behind and yanks him into the brush. The lead goblin dodges behind a tree. Khattan lets out a piercing whistle calling back the two scouts. He hisses toward Sal, “’Humanbit’ we’s gots Broceliande bad times. ‘Nother dark time and we’d be where’s we go. They’s got battle men outs here. Must means ta kills goblins. We’s kills them first!”

 

Sal hears the sounds of the scouts returning, another bolt hissing through the air, and as the clouds part the moon provides just a hint of light. Two goblins are facing away from him with their blades drawn. A tall figure, much taller than Khattan, crashes through the underbrush behind the focus of the two goblins’ attention: a short, thick, muscular form taller than Sal, but shorter than the goblins. This figure is quite possibly a dwarf! A glint of light shows the dwarf is armed with an axe. A bolt sticks in the tree the third goblin took cover behind. Looking around Sal sees a nearby cave in the direction the crossbow bolts flew from.

 

The dwarf stands his guard, and motions for his much taller companion to do the same.  "We are searching for a lost companion, and have no quarrel with you unless you have something to do with it.  I ask that you let us pass to continue our search, or if you know something of a group of men passing this way with a female captive, I ask that you would share your information with us", The dwarf addresses the goblin closest to him.

 

The goblin seems confused for a moment before another quarrel flies out from the darkness narrowly missing the goblin. The angle is all wrong. The dwarf is in the crossfire. Only the most incompetent archers would risk hitting their own side. The goblin raises his sword to attack. Sal doesn’t hesitate as he hisses to Khattan, “Call him off! There are two groups of men out here.” Sal climbs out from his cover, “Hail Dwarf. Take cover! That bolt is meant for us all!”

 

Khattan shouts out something, and the Blades of Terror retreat toward Sal. The dwarf quickly shouts to his companion, “Hurry there’s a ridge over here we can take advantage of.”

 

As the dwarf and human hurry to the ridge Khattan speaks to Sal, “Humanbit, we goes to rigg as well. If they friends we all save, if they enemies no bowmen kill us while we kill those two.” With that, he signals the other goblins to follow. They keep Sal in the middle. Another bolt hisses over Sal’s head. Had he been a goblin, he would be dead. They make it behind the ridge. The Broceliandean squats with his sword in hand clearly worried while the standing dwarf’s head barely rises above the ridge. The dwarf watches the Blades of Terror approach with his battle axe in hand, and the dwarf is guarded and unreadable.

 

Sal steps out in front of the leading goblin. Khattan keeps close to his left with his bastard sword likewise ready. “You can call me Sal. This is Khattan and his goblins,” Sal says.

 

“Well Sal, I am Greth, and this is Gontier.” The dwarf indicates his human companion and continuing,
“Thank you for preventing a misunderstanding. Khattan, would you join us in checking out the cave? I don’t like being shot at by snipers in the dark.”

 

The uncomfortable pause makes Sal a little restless, but he knows Khattan is busy figuring out what has been said. The other goblins just calmly wait for their leader’s signal. Finally he grins baring his teeth, “Yes, kill bowmen good! We’s do well works as one.”

 

Greth continues, “But if these men are the scoundrels we are looking for, they will have a woman captive. She will not be harmed.” He stares at Khattan. “What happens to the men is of little consequence. I prefer at least one is left alive for questioning. It will be quite a challenge.”

 

After another quiet pause, Khattan nods in agreement grinning even broader as if party to a private joke. Greth curiously looks over Sal almost as if they have met before but when?

 

Khattan takes a moment and says something to the other goblins. Khattan turns to Greth, “Whats thinkings have you ‘bout getting’ to bowmen?”

 

Greth turns to Sal, "You look quite familiar to me. Have we met before?  And, if I may ask, what are you and a bunch of goblins doing wandering around in this forest, and being shot at by an unidentified person or party? I think that any information would be quite helpful at this juncture!!"

 

Sal looks taken aback, “No I don’t believe we have ever met. We are out here looking for a dwarf, I assume you. More specifically, we need a decent black smith. These goblins are my escort to get me through Draconea alive and intact. As to the shooter, who knows? We are too new to the area to have made enemies.”

 

"Why are you looking for me if you don't know me?" Greth asks.

 

Sal grins slightly, “Well… I was told there is a dwarf in Broceliande, a smith to be exact. We need a smith to help build a machina. So I am assuming you are that dwarf, unless you are not a blacksmith...” Sal lets the sentence hang waiting for Greth’s confirmation or denial.

 

Khattan’s face hardens steering the conversation back to matters at hand, “Not ‘zactly be first time to Broceliande. This good route.”

 

Sal turns to Khattan, “Do you know who is shooting at us?”

 

Khattan replies, “No, no we’s don’ts know. Easy to think they be human killer men though. Who else shoot so bad in darkness.”

 

Turning to Khattan, Greth asks, "Can you tell me what the lay of the land is, for instance is there a way

to approach this cave from behind and remain unseen? It would also be helpful to know what the skills of this group are, weapon skill, etc., if we end up facing an armed party inside that cave. Do any of you have anything that we might be able to use as a diversion?"

 

“Who, who rock man! Me speeches only so fast with ugly human tongue.”

 

Greth asks again slower this time. Khattan holds himself up straight and quietly says, “We be the Blades o’ Terror! No better killer gobs you find. Two o’ us stand here and be shotted at. Rest o’ us,” including Greth and Gontier, “Circles ‘round und jumps down fronts o’ cave. Humanbit gots majike too.” Indicating Sal. “He majike up sumethin’ good. What go wrong?”

 

Greth surveys the goblins evaluating them and Sal. He pauses, appearing deep in thought, when another crossbow bolt buries itself in the base of a small tree directly above his head.  He turns to Sal and Khattan and says, "OK, We need to act, and we need to act now!! Your idea has a lot of merit, Khattan, and is a great credit to your toughness and bravery, but I think we are going to need everyone alive and intact.  We are not sure exactly what is in that cave, and I won't unnecessarily risk any lives trying to find out!"

 

"Sal, is it true what Khattan is inferring; do you have magical abilities?"

 

“I am a thaumaturgist, and yes I know some limited spells.”

 

"Here is what I propose: Sal will create a distraction. The rest of us will grab that fallen tree over there, carry it like a battering ram, and charge the entrance.  The branches will give us some cover from the

crossbow bolts, and hopefully Sal’s spells will distract or even disrupt the archer's attacks. Sal, when we get close to the opening hold back.  We will charge inside and directly into the archer, or whatever is in

there.  We should be able to see more of the inside as we get closer, but it may involve a quick change of direction so follow my lead.  Whether it is one man or a group, we will thrust the tree directly at them, and then use our weapons to fall upon any that are left standing."

 

Khattan nods his head, “That sounding good fights.” He turns to the other three goblins and explains the plan while Sal creeps out over the ridge.

 

Sal moves slowly but very stealthily easily blending into the surroundings. As he moves he ponders what kind of distraction can he create? The night is dark, but not completely black.  The moon’s light illuminates the forest. His goblin allies prefer the dark, but also need some light to see. Most living things need at least a little sight to see. Well how about making the cave completely black? Then as the others approach the cave, the crossbow man will be unable to target anything. Sounds like a reasonable plan. When he gets close enough Sal lets his thoughts spread out. The land holds the magic necessary. Light and darkness are intertwined and interchangeable. Without one the other does not exist. Sal gathers the darkness fleeing from the moon light. He focuses on the mouth of the cave. After a moment the area around the cave darkens even more until no light exists around the cave.

 

Khattan and his goblins let out a blood curdling scream and race for the cave entrance. Greth and Gontier hurriedly clamor over the ridge and up the slope after the goblins. The goblins race past the fallen tree without hesitation. The dwarf appears irritated at the goblins’ rashness. As they approach the cave, Sal releases the darkness allowing it to behave normally. The light eager to restore the balance gives Sal an idea. He waits for Greth and Gontier to get closer then, Sal traps the moonlight and brings forth a globe of light behind the goblins, dwarf, and Broceliandean. In the light, the cave opening is larger than it appeared. Plants hang down over the lip of the cave. It is easy to imagine the occupants of the cave being momentarily blinded by the sudden darkness flipping instantly to light. The land itself seems eager for more mischief. Unfortunately, Sal’s own night vision is ruined by the light. He leaves his cover and approaches the cave opening.

 

Sounds of combat reach out to Sal. Within, Sal finds a beheaded corpse still holding a fired crossbow. The head looks very surprised. Sal tries not to look at it.

 

Sal hears an unknown voice shout, “Greth leads the attack! Kill Lady Oriabel NOW or our FAILURE will be COMPLETE!!”

 

Six Broceliandean men battle Greth, Gontier, and the goblins. One man is down barely moving. One goblin is likewise down, but motionless. The Brocielandeans seem demoralized as they go from being on the offensive to defending themselves to buy time. With a snarl Khattan brings his sword down hard on a spear wielding man. The spear man deflects the overhead blow, but the bastard sword still connects as it drags down the man’s leg. A sword man faces off against one of the other goblins, both defensively circling each other probing their defenses. Likewise, a spear man and the last goblin jab at the air looking fiercer than their defensive postures indicate. Gontier presses forward now focusing on his spear bearing opponent. His sword deflects off the shield and scrapes the man’s spear arm. The spear man’s blow is knocked downward and stabs into Gontier’s upper thigh. A wounded sword man watches carefully and picks the right moment to lunge forward using his good leg. Gontier deflects the blow, the sword man falls, but manages to leave a nasty scrape along Gontier’s hair line. Greth pushes forward aggressively to quickly cut through his opponent. Fending off Greth, the sword man slashes out wildly and strikes Greth’s shin. Greth’s axe draws across the man’s belly drawing no blood. The group is outnumbered and much too wounded. Feeling the land teasing the darkness and light, Sal reaches out gathering the promising power. Physically, Sal thrusts out his arm and opens his fist. Light dances out from his fingers. Sparkles stir up the liquid darkness as the hobbit makes the two opposing forces twirl around each other in response to the Tricks spell [SAL HAS USED 4 POW FOR A LEVEL TWO TRICKS SPELL. THE LAND ITSELF FUELED SAL’S OTHER TWO SPELLS].  Looking over to the battle, Sal is happy to note most of the Broceliandeans have seen the pyrotechnic display and now stand entranced. That joy fades some as he notes the Gontier has also seen it. The goblins are taking advantage of the bewitched men and proceed to slit their throats. Relief floods through as he sees Greth run further into the cave, not looking back. Khattan barks out a command and follows the dwarf when a dwarf battle cry echoes through the cave.

 

“Stop it!” Sal yells to the two goblins. They look up and to his satisfaction are caught in Sal’s spell as Sal transforms the light motes into glowing butterflies, something goblins have probably never seen. Sal quickly takes a moment to find some rope. He ties up three of the Broceliandeans. The fourth being too wounded to offer resistance much less escape. Sounds of weapons clashing echoes through the cave. The sound of metal hitting rock ends those sounds.

 

Sal lights a torch before his Tricks spell fades. He then proceeds to keep the goblins from slaughtering the now helpless and bound Broceliandeans. Once it is clear to the goblins that the Broceliandeans are under Sal’s protection they back off and wait for Khattan to return. Sal asks Gontier to keep an eye on the prisoners while he investigates what happened to Greth. Sal gives Gontier one of his torches for light.

 

Sal walks toward the back of the cave. A concealed light source provides some additional illumination to Sal’s torch. The Broceliandeans have clearly not been here long. Bedding lies on the floor, but provisions are still packed away. He spies Greth and a Broceliande woman tending him. Another dead Broceliandean lies at Khattan’s feet. Khattan is busy checking out the woman, his baser thoughts obvious on his face.

 

Greth looks to Khattan, “How good are you at extracting information from those unwilling to talk?  I need to know what those men wanted Lady Oriabel for, and I need to know it now!! I am sick and tired of feeling caught in the middle of someone else's mad schemes!!  Do whatever you need to get all the information you can, just don't kill them until they've talked." 

 

Khattan starts to walk away with a grin forming on his face.  "Hold on, Khattan", Greth gasps, "I want to hear what they have to say, but I want to talk to Sal first."

 

"Greth, you're overdoing it!  You need to rest after what you just went through.", Lady Oriabel says as she places a restraining hand on the dwarf's shoulder. 

 

"I'll rest later, don't worry.  I haven't been much of a protector have I?!" 

 

"Greth, you must not blame yourself for what has happened.  Everything will be all right in the end, you'll see.  We'll go to my father, and he'll get to the bottom of this." 

 

"NO!", Greth says firmly, "I'm going to get to the bottom of this NOW!!"  He stumbles to his feet and staggers after Khattan. The dwarf is hunched over; his breath shallow and rapid.

 

Sal adds, “Greth you must rest. Your wounds are sever. Your shortening breath makes you weak.”

 

As he passes Sal he says, "You did well out there! Your distraction was perfect, and even provided us additional cover. Thanks!!  Was there something else that you did right at the end?  All of a sudden the kidnappers stopped fighting, but they were going to kill Lady Oriabel to keep her from being rescued so I couldn't afford to look. Come along with Khattan and me and fill me in on what happened? I would also be interested in hearing more about your ‘mission’.”

 

The smell of blood hangs in the air. Two of Khattan’s goblins sit by the entrance, glaring at the three bound kidnappers. The bodies of the two goblins remain where they fell along with a dead Broceliandean. The fourth prisoner lies groaning unbound except for blood soaked bandaging. A wounded Gontier, his head and right thigh bound, stands between the goblins and the prisoners. Khattan heads toward his surviving goblins.

 

Next to the goblins lies the body and severed head of the first Broceliandean to die. The two goblins do not look much healthier than Greth. They both suffer from multiple wounds. Three crossbows lie discarded, one still wound. The bolts are now scattered , some broken, by the short melee.

 

“I cast about some simple tricks of light and shadow. Quite pretty and mesmerizing for most folk. Likewise, I kept the goblins from doing more harm.” Sal looks down in disgust, “While so distracted I bound the three healthiest Broceliandeans. I’ve done what I could for the other, but his wounds are bad.”

 

Greth feels winded from his short walk. Lady Oriabel touches his shoulder. “You must rest Greth.” Breathing comes uneasy in short rasps. Greth hunches over a little more.

 

Khattan walks away from his surviving goblins, “They’s no likes leaving livin’ folk, but they’s no crossin’ orders. So you’s tell fighter man ta walk away, and I’ll gets down ta work.” He draws his long dagger grinning.

 

“Gontier! There’s some questions I have of these men! Come and keep Lady Oriabel company. Ladies shouldn’t be witness to the necessities of interrogations.”

 

Gontier nods toward the goblins, “Aye Greth if you’re sure they won’t kill the men before tongues loosen.” He hesitantly limps over to Greth keeping a sharp eye on the goblins.

 

Kattan laughs, “We’s dark killers, but no be stoopid. The Erlking skins those who no listen ta orders.”

 

“Come Lady Oriabel such unpleasant business should not be witnessed by an innocent.” Gontier gently guides Lady Oriabel back into the sub-cave.

 

Halfway to the prisoners Greth is forced to sit, too winded to keep walking. His belly feels cold. Greth keeps heavy pressure on his stomach wound. The sharp pain in his chest slows his breathing down more.

 

Khattan notices Greth faltering, “Dwarf Greth, you looks moon white.” He brings his ear close to Greth’s face. The goblin smell is awful, unbathed and a strong smell of rotting animal fat. “Hmmm, you’s may got blood chest.” The goblin pokes at Greth unintentionally hitting a broken rib. Khattan’s feted breath and the pain causes Greth’s eyes to water.

 

At this point one of the silent and tied up Broceliandeans speaks, “DWARF! You’re dying. I can help! Let me help my sword brother and release us. I’ll tell you what I know and help you live.”

 

"And what makes you an expert on the health and constitution of Dwarves?  Why should I trust a HUMAN who stoops to kidnapping and abusing innocent women?!!", Greth snaps, and spits in the direction of the Broceliandean.  Almost immediately, he coughs violently and doubles over holding his stomach.  Khattan grabs Greth, and lays him down on the ground, not too softly. 

 

The Broceliandean sits up as straight as his bindings allow. “We Broceliandeans have more noble blood than the dirt born humans. You are right, I don’t know dwarf anatomy, but I bet your own poisons course through your belly, and I do know how to treat a punctured lung: Aman, Stag, Dwarf, Human, or Otherwise,” he nods toward Sal.

 

Sal steps forward and stands between the wounded dwarf, Khattan, and the Broceliandean prisoners.

 

Greth croaks, "Leave him be!  He was just following orders, no matter how base and immoral those orders may be.  I can respect that as a soldier.  I don't like this man at all, but I don't hold any animosity towards him.  I want his boss; I want the coward who sits back and pulls the strings that make me and my friends, as well as this soldier, jump. I think it is time to start telling him, whoever he is, to jump and how high!!  I hope that this man will see the advantage of putting aside differences, stop allowing others to play him like a puppet, and work with us to turn the tables." 

 

Turning to the soldier the dwarf continues, "You are very astute sir, I think I might be dying!!  I am interested in hearing about your aid, but I also desire your aid in putting an end to the strife and chaos in this fair kingdom.  What say ye?!"

 

The Broceliandean’s fear can be felt, “For life and freedom for myself and my sword brothers, I will help.” Looking directly at Sal, “Shortling untie my bonds.”

 

Khattan springs forward and puts himself between Sal and the Broceliandeans, “Humanbit no risk it. I untie killerman. If he be lier, he be dead sooner than rockman.” Glaring at the Broceliandean warrior Khattan expertly flicks out his bastard sword slicing the rope and nicking the man’s chin. “That’s to remembers who kills no good liers.”

 

The Broceliandean prisoner glares back at Khattan but remains silent putting pressure to his chin to stop the bleeding. Glancing over at Sal, “I hope you can control those monsters little man. They will be your undoing.” He moves to the wounded soldier, repositions the bleeding man, and treats his wounds. The night drags on. After his comrade’s wounds are all bound the man asks for some water. Drinking deeply from the water skin Sal hands him, he rests for a moment.

 

Khattan pokes the man with his sword, “What now ‘bout Rockman?”

 

“Haven’t you ever heard of rest Goblin?” The man retorts.

 

Khattan just glares. It is easy to assume he didn’t understand the man.

 

The Broceliandean sighs and moves toward Greth. “I’ll need a knife, preferably, or dagger. The Dwarf will drown in his own fluids without a it.” With Khattan’s dagger in hand, the man rolls Greth onto his side, slides the blade in between the dwarf’s ribs, and holds it there letting the bubbly bright red blood bleed out. The extra pain is virtually unnoticed.

 

Greth makes terrible small sounds as if gasping for air, sweat breaks out on the dwarf’s forehead. The Broceliandean soldier props the dwarf up and adds, “Now the body must do its job and fight to live.”

 

As Greth struggles to breath, Sal watches over him and the Broceliandean prisoner. “I am working with a goblin named Icxtus. He is smart and a capable magician. He was hired to build a flying machina. The pay appears to be a lot, but the work is a bit out of the magician’s league. When we met I offered him my thaumaturgic skills in return for some food and shelter. He quickly brought me into his confidence. He made me a partner in the project. He has taught me a few spells and I have taught him the basics of thaumaturgy. In time, we will be able to create Aqua Vitae. Icxtus told me he knows of no local blacksmith capable of building the actual body of the dragon machina. So he sent me, along with the Blades of Terror, here, to Broceliande, where he claimed a dwarf lived who does have the necessary skills. I admit, I have assumed that dwarf to be you.”

 

Sunlight creeps into the cave, the goblins move to the dark end. Two of the prisoners get as comfortable as they can and sleep. Greth pain stabbing gasps finally calm to short hard breaths. The Broceliandean removes the dagger and binds the dwarf’s wound. “You need to rest for a couple of days. You still are full of poisons, but there is nothing I can do for that.” [GRETH HAS HEALED 10 CON].

 

Khattan and only one other prisoner haven’t fallen asleep. Lady Oriabel and Gontier are still in the other cavern. The sun shines bright into the main cave. The almost exhausted Broceliandean sits back. The man looks at Greth and Sal, dark circles rim his blood shot eyes. “You both have remarkable constitutions I am impressed. Now, for our freedom. We are expensive mercenaries, the best. Once we have our freedom we are gone. There is no amount of gold that can keep us in this mad campaign.” He pauses for dramatic effect, “A Sidhe pays us in gold and silver from the Baron’s treasury itself. What else do you want to know?”

 

Greth slowly sits up, and speaks in a voice that is more like a gasping whisper, that not only has to be concentrated on to hear, but almost has a mesmerizing effect on his audience, "I want to know why someone with such a noble character as you claim, and have demonstrated in the past few hours, is working for such an ignoble creature as a Sidhe?!”

 

“Most do not know who they work for. Until I met our employer I thought we were working for some Broceliandean lord. I recognized the creature the moment I laid eyes on him. I have a small talent for seeing the truth. I also knew I couldn’t refuse this assignment once I recognized him. To do so would risk the Sidhe’s wrath.”

 

With a gasping whisper Greth continues, “I understand that your reputation is very important to you, and I respect that. It is very difficult for a man to make his way in this world.  Sometimes you have to hang on to every hard-won step!  But I would respect you more if your reputation was based on some pursuit worthy of this great struggle of life, worthy of your noble character and lineage.  Don't you ever stop to wonder what it is you're really fighting for? Are you really in control of your reputation, or even your life?  Are you fighting for survival? Then face each challenge as it comes, but do not be so foolish as to seek them out.  Are you fighting for monetary gain?  Think about who is really gaining; are you straining to fill

your life with earthly pleasures of momentary satisfaction while your erstwhile employers gain in power and profit?  What kind of reputation can be gained by kidnapping an innocent woman?  Is your reputation gaining and growing in your own eyes or the eyes of those who use you like a surgical tool? And when it has finally reached its limits will it stand as a noble legacy, or a top-heavy tower that comes crumbling down around you when those who seek to use you to further their own schemes bring it crashing down

because you've become a threat to them?  I asked for your help before, not out of force or to threaten you, but because I sincerely meant it.  There is a great scheme of evil occurring here, and you have become drawn into it. I could really use the strength and noble character of you and your fellow soldiers to help me

bring an end to it!!  You were created for a greater purpose than to be a puppet of those who care little for your well-being.  You have the ability to choose your own destiny, and I ask you as a fellow being on this earth to choose wisely, for your own sake as well as everyone else who is a helpless victim in the schemes of power-hungry men or creatures!!"  With the last word uttered, Greth's head slumps forward and he passes into an unconscious sleep. 

 

Khattan jumps forward, thinking the soldier might take advantage of the helpless dwarf, but the Brocelaindaean just sits there with a very thoughtful look on his face.  Then, he utters a curse under his

breath and slowly wanders off towards his companions.

 

Come morning, Greth is still semi-unconscious. The Broceliandean Lady Oriabel dabs the dwarf’s forehead with a wet cloth. He moans occasionally. The cavern smells of blood and bile. The corpses begin to gather flies.

 

The Broceliandean who helped Greth speaks up, “You! Little man! Are you going to help keep the dwarf’s word?”

 

Although tired, Sal retains his composure. “You may call me Sal. Not ‘Little Man’. You have done what he asked, so I don’t see a reason not to let you go. What name do you go by?”

 

Khattan jerks up at this, “Hoomanbit! We no let killer men leave! They can come back an’ kill us all. No, no, that’s no good. Why not lies down and lets them kill us now, huh?”

 

Lady Oriabel adds, “How could we be sure you wouldn’t return with more mercenaries?”

 

The Broceliandean looks perturbed, “We were hired to kidnap you nothing else. In four days I was to turn you over and receive our payment for a job well done.” Looking at Sal, “I am Captain Elie.”

 

“Let’s just kill them,” mutters Khattan. “They’d go to Baron and says we founds gobs fer you ta kill.”

 

At this Lady Oriabel laughs, “Goblin, this man would be held until my father, the Baron, could verify the story. After I tell him what happened, my father would return to hang the man.”

 

Sal adds, “How about letting them leave without any weapons? It doesn’t sound like they can return with reinforcements.”

 

“Hmmm, they’s might still try somethin’.”

 

Captain Elie responds, “Keep me prisoner then. My men are loyal to me. We are blood bonded sword brothers. They wouldn’t risk my life if they knew I would be safely released latter.”

 

Lady Oriabel says, “With everyone’s oath to never return to the Hardwood Barony, I could concede to their release without weapons. As long as Captain Elie stays.”

 

One of the men quickly responds, “WITHOUT WEAPONS! We wouldn’t last long enough to leave Draconea by any other path than through the Hardwood Barony.”

 

“That it your problem. You should never of kidnapped the Baron’s daughter! I am being generous. I could insist that Greth’s promise holds no power as he is MY bodyguard. Then you would have only the hangman’s gallows to look forward to.”

 

Captain Elie quiets his men, “I’ll stay to secure my fellows’ release. Keep their weapons. A chance at life is worth more than a definite chance of death.”

 

Khattan just mutters as Sal releases the prisoners. The goblin joins the other Blades of Terror and they all glare as the Broceliandean mercenaries gather their bedrolls and food to leave.

 

“Not all foods,” states Khattan standing between them and the exit. The Broceliandeans grumble but leave some of their food behind. “And we no want killed bodies. You takes them out.” The Broceliandeans remain sullen glowering, but they remove the bodies under the goblins’ watchful eyes. “Gets them good and away. We’s no want bigger problems.” By late afternoon, the Broceliandeans have finished removing the corpses and have buried even the bloody soil. The goblins are showing their exhaustion and snap at the men in their native Dark Tongue. Khattan looks smug as the defeated men leave.

 

Sal turns to the dwarf and helps Lady Oriabel clean his wounds. He removes his universal antidote from his pack, “This might help Greth. It’s a universal antidote for all poisons.”

 

Lady Oriabel looks surprised, “I did not take you for an alchemist. Thanks if Captain Elie spoke true, this will help.” She puts the liquid to the dwarf’s lips and slowly pours some down his throat. She gives the antidote back to Sal.

 

“Actually, I am a thaumaturgist,” Sal says as he puts away the antidote.

 

Lady Oriabel looks over Sal with a growing respect, “I did not know anyone outside of Atlantis practiced such skills. I am surprised you are in the company of goblins. They usually don’t have the foresight to employ a thaumagurist.”

 

The next day is quiet waiting for Greth to recover. The goblins rest up enjoying the break. At one point Greth calls out, “White Fangs! No!” Before lapsing back into unconsciousness. The dwarf occasionally lashes out with a grasping hand or a fist. Whatever nightmares the dwarf experiences leave everyone wondering.

 

By the next evening, Sal has adjusted to waking during the morning leaving the night under the watchful scrutiny of the three remaining Blades of Terror. Currently, Khattan is in the back sub-cave, but his two goblins remain by the cavern entrance. The goblins sit watching everything. They have healed well during the last two days.

 

Gontier tends the fire as the spring nights are still cold.

 

Captain Elie motions for Sal. As the hobbit joins him, “So Sal. What are you? You look weaker than the average human, but clearly have the constitution of a dwarf. Not to mention those big feet.”

 

Lady Oriabel watches Captain Elie and Sal’s exchange then turns her attention to tending Greth’s wounds.

Greth awakes as Lady Oriabel changes his dressing. Greth sits up. “Greth! You ought to remain still. You are not completely recovered.” Lady Oriabel attempts to push Greth back down, but the dwarf’s strength is returning.

 

Sal leaves Captain Elie ignoring his rude comments for now, “How are you feeling Greth?”

 

"Ungh! I feel like a hill giant has been using my body to beat his rugs with. How long have we been in this cave? I'm having a difficult time piecing recent events together to make any sense.  How long have I been resting?”

 

“Only two days, thanks to Captain Elie,” gesturing back toward the Broceliandean kidnapper, “you are rapidly recovering. How do your lungs feel?”

 

“I see our new ‘friend’ over there with Gontier.  What's his story, and what happened to the rest of his group?"  Greth slumps back down in a resting position and listens to Sal.

 

“I kept your part of the bargain with him. We released the others. Khattan didn’t like letting any of them go, so Captain Elie offered to stay as hostage for his men’s continued health. He is a very perceptive man.”

 

Lady Oriabel looks quizzically at Sal over his much abbreviated story.

 

"Help me up, Sal.  I need to try to walk some – get the muscles limbered up, and the blood flowing.  See if you can find Khattan; I'd like to talk to him."

 

Sal and Lady Oriabel struggle to help Greth stand. Greth tries to take a deep breath and coughs lightly. He can stand straight and his belly wound seems to be healing very well. Greth wanders from Sal and Lady Oriabel walking around the cavern.

 

Sal goes back into the sub-cave for Khattan, “Greth is moving around more. He would like to speak with you.”

 

“Rockman still alive? Well humanbit, let see what he want.”

 

Greth and Lady Oriabel have paused by the cavern’s entrance. A soft breeze wafts into the cavern. Khattan saunters up and keeps a respectful distance behind Greth and Lady Oriabel during the dwarf’s walk around the perimeter. He is still hurt, but is nearly healed. It may  take a week of rest before the dwarf has his full strength back. Perhaps a month or two before he feels back to normal.

 

Khattan’s two goblins chatter among themselves, and quiet as Greth, Lady Oriabel, and Khattan pass by. Circling along the edges of the cavern, Greth reaches the back sub-cave. He walks by Sal and toward the back of the sub-cave.

 

As Greth passes the Broceliandeans’ remaining gear, he stops to examine the weapons, armor, and foodstuffs. Greth kneels messes around with the ground. A confused Lady Oriabel bends over and touches Greth’s shoulder, “Are you alright Greth?”

 

As Greth stands he casually handles his money pouch. He spies Khattan leering behind Lady Oriabel. The goblin just smiles as she straightens up and looks back at Khattan. Greth moves between the goblin and Lady Oriabel. He motions Khattan out of the sub-cave.

 

Watching Captain Elie, Greth asks Khattan, "How is your band holding up?”

 

“Mooch littler not like when we come here. Useded be this many of us,” He holds up six fingers.

 

“They look like they are recovering very quickly. If one or two of them are fit enough, I would like you to do a quick scouting of the nearby area - make sure there are not any more surprises headed our way, like maybe this Sidhe is wondering where his ‘prize’ is!!  We also could use some more food and water, so ask them to do a little foraging/hunting while they are scouting.  Khattan, I must be honest with you and say that I have never had much love for goblin-kind, but I am very grateful for the aid and loyalty you have already offered and demonstrated.  I just want you to know that I would be honored to fight by your side again, and owe you and your band a life-debt. If ever you need my aid, I will be there!!"

 

The goblin grins, “If we need it, you bet we take you up on you owing us. You’s have good ideas. I send one o’ my gobs to find out other killer men.” Khattan moves off toward his goblins.

 

Walking by the fire, Greth pauses by Gontier and says something. Sal moves in closer and sits down by the fire trying to casually listen in without being obvious. "… is travel-ready, we should be heading back to the castle as soon as Khattan's scout returns.  Or at least sending someone back to meet up with the search and tell them that the Lady Oriabel is all right.  I'm wary though of further ambushes, or even traps, that may delay our return." 

 

Khattan talks with his two remaining goblins.

 

“Greth, we have been here for two days and no sign of the Baron or any search party. We practically ran into the forest after Lady Oriabel. It was only a few hours before nightfall and we encountered the goblins after dusk.” Gontier spits out “goblins” like it is a foul tasting word. “Why would it take them over two days to track us here?”

 

Greth turns toward Captain Elie, "My friend, I am glad to see you still here! Have you decided to stay with us?  Do you think this Sidhe of yours has any more nasty surprises up his sleeve?"

 

Captain Elie looks up, “I am here to safeguard my fellows’ safety. So the goblins won’t track them down and slaughter my unarmed men. I don’t pretend to understand the mind of this particular Sidhe. As to the Baron’s search parties.” He clucks his tongue, “We left an obvious trail on purpose. Twenty soldiers were to be positioned to ambush any pursuers. Clearly the men were not ready when you two chased after us. Or they let you through to kill us.” He shrugs his shoulders, “I am not sure which. My help comes with a cost. I am supposed to meet up with this Sidhe in the Headman’s Glade in two days. There I was to turn over Lady Oriabel and receive my pay. After I help, will you allow me a head start to flee the Barony so I can avoid arrest?”

 

“Why are you so intent on saving your hide, when you could serve the greater good?”

 

“My hide is all I’ve got. You may not have noticed, but a civil war is brewing within Broceliande. Some nobles see the young king as an incompetent fool. He requests ever increasing taxes pushing some baronies to the brink of ruin.”

 

“There is no honor in fleeing!!  The last thing this Sidhe would expect is to be stood up against.”

 

Captain Elie nods his head, “Kidnapping a noble woman doesn’t do much for honor. Trying to execute her does even less.”

 

“You might feel that you and your men have lost honor in this endeavor, and you are wanting to regain it.  I say to you that there be no greater and honorable cause than to rid the world of such an evil as the Sidhe.

To them we are just playthings!!  I would grant you the honor of the agreement we made - I will allow you free passage if that is your wish.  But, I say to you once again that I see a stronger more durable character within you than that which you are so dead set to display.  It matters not what others think, but you must be true to your own heart and soul!”

 

Captain Elie sighs before responding, “You are absolutely correct Dwarf. This Sidhe clearly sacrificed me and my men to slow you down. I am glad to hear you will honor our agreement.”

 

From behind Greth, Lady Oriabel speaks, “Captain! I trust Greth with my life.” She looks to Greth, “A trust that has never been misplaced. He makes a good argument.” Looking Captain Elie squarely in the eyes, “You may not wish to follow an outsider. So serve me. I will see to a pardon if you aid us in protecting my lands. We as a people have fought too long against Draconea to watch the Sidhe reclaim our home lands.”

 

Captain Elie seems stunned, “Have your kidnappers serve you? How could you trust us?”

 

Oriabel coldly smiles, “With Greth at my side, you would see a quick death for betrayal. You will be guaranteed to retain your freedom and your life by serving the greater good. You risk death and slavery if you don’t.”

 

Captain Elie sits quietly, pondering.

 

Greth adds, “And by the way, the goblins are more honorable than you give them credit.  They do not spend their time going around and killing humans on a whim.  They have given me their word that your men are safe, and their word has been as stone - more so than any other beings I have known!!"

 

Captain Elie stands. Khattan looks up from his conversation with his two goblins at the man’s movement. The captain walks toward Lady Oriabel before kneeling on one knee before her. “I pledge my sword to your service for payment of a pardon for my crimes against the Barony of Hardwood.” Looking up at Lady Oriabel. “I will retrieve my men and present them with the choice.”

 

“Stand Captain, I accept your pledge of service, and will record your service as free aid in a time of crisis. Your guild dues will be paid. Your shame discreetly side stepped.”

 

As Captain Elie stands Greth says, "Anyway, on to business.  What do you know about this cave?  I have been thinking about all I know of the Sidhe, and this cave has a Sidhe feel to it.  I cannot readily explain it, but dwarves and Sidhe share a long and troubled history so maybe I am more sensitive than others."

 

The captain looks around, “I wasn’t aware of it. A touch of magic does indeed cling to the walls like lichen.” He looks at Greth with a growing respect. “Probably why the Sidhe sent me here.”

 

“When you accepted this mission were you provisioned by the Sidhe? They are notorious for their fairy water which is very controlling and addictive!  I noticed just now that all of the labels on your water flasks have conveniently been removed.  I fear, my friend, that your actions of late may not have been entirely your own, which could explain why I see such a discrepancy within your character!! Sal, do you have anything with you that could combat such a potion?  Maybe the fresh water and food Khattan's scouts return with will be helpful."

 

Sal simply states, “If it were a poison, yes, but Sidhe food is a product of magic, not toxins. It is truly food that feeds not only the body but the soul as well.”

 

"We need to move soon!  I do not like staying here, even though it is a very defensible position.  The fact that the Sidhe may have been involved in providing this sanctuary for Captain Elie and his men makes me very uneasy!!  We need to assess our supplies and move back towards the castle.  I am anxious for the safety of the Baron's search party, and would see to the situation back at the castle before planning a confrontation with the Sidhe at Headman's Glade. We definitely need more men if that creature is to be faced!! I'm sure that you men have not traveled so far that we could not catch up with them.”

 

As Khattan saunters up his two goblins head out, “What happen Rockman?”

 

Sal responds speaking in clear concise words, “Captain Elie has pledged his men to serve Lady Oriabel. We need to find his men. Then we plan to return to Lady Oriabel’s castle.”

 

The goblin rubs the back of his neck, “Ahhh, hmmm, well, I go get my gobs. They’s can help better than hooman Killer. But my’s gobs goin’ ta need restin’ ‘fore we go. We dark folk you know, not sun stalkers last’s ya’s. Well, I go gets my gobs.” Pointing to Captain Elie, “You Killer, gets yer stuff, und catch up.” With that, Khattan runs out into the daylight pausing in the sun light to get his bearings and moves off at a trot.

 

Captain Elie mutters, “Trust a goblin like I trust a rat…” He retrieves a spear, “Both’ll shit in your food.”

 

It is amazingly quiet without the goblins’ near constant murmurs. Lady Oriabel sits next to Greth, “Greth,” Lady Oriabel’s voice echoes. “I hope you are right. We are risking a lot mixing Broceliandean mercenaries with goblins. In most of Broceliande, mercenaries are hired to combat goblin raiders.”

 

Sal puts another dried branch into the fire, “Lady Oriabel if you would not mind, tell me about Broceliande.”

 

The Lady proudly responds to Sal, “We colonized the land in the Second Age. The mighty empire of Atlantis had already fallen under its own fire. At that time Draconea reached the western shores.  For many years we battled dragons, fought off goblin armies, and killed the myriad of monsters the ancient Atlanteans had created. By the beginning of this age, we had cleared out a piece of the land for ourselves. The borders of Draconea had been successfully pushed back. Something not even the First Age Atlanteans had accomplished. The great goblin hordes had been eradicated, and those Atlantean monsters fewer in number. The occasional dragon still tests us, but the Order of the Dragon is strong and faces these challenges bravely.”

 

Lady Oriabel pauses to reach for a water skin, but Greth grabs it first and frowns at her, “Remember this may be bewitched.”

 

Frowning back at Greth she says, “Thanks…” Clearing her throat Oriabel continues, “Anyway, our kings have always been good rulers who lead in times of crisis and relax their rule in times of prosperity. We are a free people. Four years ago, King Caslin was crowned king. It was on the way to the coronation that I met Greth. But I digress. King Caslin’s mother, Queen Alazaïs had ruled as regent since his father’s death almost sixteen years ago. Since his coronation, King Caslin has been raising taxes every year. There is talk against the King, but most of us are Loyalists.” Oriabel discretely coughs, “I am parched. Sal, tell me about yourself. I am not familiar with any people of your stature. I hope I do not offend, but you look too healthy to be a misfit, and frankly too small to be a dwarf.”

 

Sal blushes lightly, “I am a hobbit. I don’t know much about my family. I have been apprenticed to a human thaumaturge, Tosal Thoth, for as long as I can remember. He raised me and taught me everything I know.” Sal stops staring off into the fire. “He was a good man. I miss him.”

 

Khattan and his two goblins step into the cavern grinning. Khattan yells out, “We founds ‘em good and still life!”

 

They are followed a good distance by a frowning Captain Elie and his four men. One man drags a litter with the fourth heavily wounded man. “Sal! Whatever you gave the Dwarf could you give to my sword brother? His blood is poisoned, and he will die without help!”

 

Sal grabs his pack and trots over to the wounded soldier. He digs into the bag and pulls out a clay vial. Almost as soon as the man drinks, Sal pulls the vial away. “That will do. Tomorrow the toxins will be gone.”

 

Captain Elie’s face softens a little. “We’ll keep watch tonight so everyone can rest up.”

 

Khattan wheels around his smile gone, “No! We watch fer killers! Gobs better when sun no there.” He points to the entrance to the cavern.

 

“I’LL stay on watch,” grumbles Greth.

 

“And I can take second watch,” adds Sal. “We are more capable of handling light sleep. Everyone else can rest easy for tomorrow’s hike.”

 

Khattan seems satisfied although when he talks with his goblins, the other two do not seem happy. Captain Elie has his men rest by the sub-cave after retrieving their weapons and armor. As the sun sets loud screeches can be heard, the sounds send chills down Greth’s back, White Fangs. He sits by the cavern entrance checking out the landscape as the sun sets.

 

The moon is high. A cool breeze wafts across the meadow. Sal wakes and joins Greth, “Why were you travelling to the Broceliandean King’s coronation? I didn’t know dwarves would go to such functions.”

 

Greth raises a confused eye brow, “Naw, I was on the run when Lady Oriabel discovered my near lifeless body. She nursed me back to health while she stayed in the capital, Celiande. I was not completely healed by the end of the celebrations, so Lady Oriabel brought me back home. On the way, I was able to partially repay the blood debt when bandits attempted to kidnap the Lady for ransom.” Snorting Greth adds, “Her father ‘rewarded’ me by throwing me into the dungeons until Lady Oriabel convinced him to release me.”

 

“What brought you to Broceliande so wounded?”

 

Yawning Greth responds, “I’ll tell you later. I should get some rest before the morning.”

 

By noon, the small band is ready to leave. A day’s worth of dried ‘meat’ has been gathered. The water skins have been cleaned and filled with fresh water. With the poisons purged from his body, the wounded mercenary is able to walk abet slower than Greth would like.

 

By early evening, the band finds the forest’s edge. The moon is bright, and the tourney glade is empty. No merchants, no tents, no one at all. The usual debris litters the field: broken pieces of wood, discarded rags, lost toys, a horse shoe or two.

 

Greth spies Aubry leaning on a tree to the right of the glade. In the dark most would miss the old charlatan, but Greth would know that profile anyplace. He signals for everyone to hold back and approaches Aubry.

 

Sal trots to catch up, “What do you see Greth?”

 

“Someone I know, an old trickster, a charlatan.  I'm not sure that I trust him, but I need to find out what he's

doing here and what information he has!”

 

As the dwarf closes in Aubry moves away from the tree. Revealing the man’s silhouette to everyone. “I was worried about you, Greth. Baron Fromondin declared you and Guard Gontier outlaws for kidnapping his daughter. What really happened?”

 

"Well, Aubry, this is an interesting place for you to be spending the evening!  You are not the ‘welcoming party’ I was expecting, and neither is your news!!  Did not Rabel return to the castle to inform the Baron of Lady Oriabel's kidnapping?  If the Baron has so little faith in me, why has there been no search party?  Maybe, you should tell me what has been happening since Gontier and I left to retrieve Oriabel!!"

 

“Rabel did find Baron Fromondin. The Baron gathered the his guard, Sir Tutain, his squires, Dame Jehanne, her squires, and many of the visiting knights. An hour within the forest, they were ambushed. The Baron was the only one to escape the ambush. The rest were captured or possibly killed. When Baron Fromondin returned he arrested Lord Landri, declared you outlaw, and closed the Barony to travel. Those of the Town Guard loyal to Lord Landri have likewise been arrested, and the Captain of Castle Guard is, for now, in control of the town.”

 

"If I am a kidnapper, why would I return to the ‘scene of the crime’ with the one I am supposed to have kidnapped?!! If I am a criminal, where is the armed party sent by the Baron to arrest me?!!" Greth practically yells in a near fit of rage. 

 

“No one leaves the castle or the town. Most fear the changes in the Baron. Others fear bandits now control the countryside. Even Aribert the Loud has shut his doors to new guests.” Aubry says calmly. After a pause he adds, “For what it is worth, Greth. I believe you are innocent of these charges. If anything you are a victim of our land’s fear of outsiders.”

 

Greth asks, "What news have you of Red Yon?"

 

“He’s been arrested for his known friendship with you and loyalty to Lord Lambri.” Aubry looks at Sal and then to the goblins. “It looks like you to have had an adventure. Tell me about it?”

 

Greth takes to pacing some, "Look, I don't know what has been happening, but I do know that some ‘force’ has destructive designs on the Barony and maybe even on the King himself. I have discovered who was

behind Lady Oriabel's kidnapping.  She was to be used as some kind of ‘bargaining chip’ in a clandestine meeting to take place tomorrow.  I have gained the pledge of those who originally were Oriabel's kidnappers to stand with me against this threat, whatever it may be.  I have returned to gather more who will stand with me, and I will not turn my back now that the stakes appear to have been raised.  This is the only ‘home’ I have.  It is a good and fair land, and even though I am still an ‘outsider’ to many, I will fight

for my ‘home’, or at the very least defend the honor and the safety of the Lady Oriabel as I pledged to do and have done these past four years!!"

 

“Goblins and humans working together to kidnap the Lady?!?” Aubry’s eyebrow rises in alarm.

 

Sal laughs, “No, the goblins travel with me. We seek Greth’s aid for our own dilemma. I am Sal Kadarshe.” He steps forward with his hand extended.

 

Taking Sal’s proffered hand, “And I am Aubry. You must have a fascinating story yourself. Not too many are willing work with goblins. Unless it is trading at the Goblin Bazaars, that is, and even then…” Aubry lets the sentence hang.

 

Greth retells how he and Sal met, the alliance they and Khattan forged and Captain Elie and the Blue Fox Platoon’s roll. When he finishes, “So now you have heard my story, and I ask you, where do you stand in all of this?!!”

 

“So what is this ‘force’ you mentioned. Something destructive to the Barony?”

 

“The creature that hired Captain Elie is a Sidhe.”

 

Aubry gasps, “Really, they are more than legends?!!”

 

“As real as dwarves are,” counters Greth. “I ask again, where do you stand in all of this?!!!”

 

“I am an old man, Greth! I will keep my ears open, and I can check your wounds perhaps re-bandaging them better than you have. I DO NOT like what is happening here. If the Sidhe are involved, then only disasters can follow! I wouldn’t parade around the Barony with goblins though. They should camp out someplace accessible. Goblins won’t help you convince others you are innocent.”

 

“Thank you for your offer, Aubrey. These wounds were treated and bandaged by Captain Elie in true military form.  He has been continuing to take care of them, so I am in no need of your offer even though it is a most gracious one. I am appreciative of all you have told me, and I could use a good set of ears to help me sort through all this chaos.”

 

"This ambush you speak of, do you know any more details? Who or what was capable of taking out such a large force of men? Do you have any idea where the captives are being held?”

 

“I don’t know, from what I heard the Baron claimed the attackers came out of nowhere within a thick fog. Baron Fromondin barely escaped. The lives of his best men were given to protect their lord. No one ventures out anymore. Anyone traveling between the Castle and the Town are under heavy escort. If anyone knew where the captives are, they would surely have done something by now.”

 

“How did the Baron get away with arresting Lord Landri, and on what grounds?"

 

Aubry says with a disgusted smirk, “Treason to the Barony, what other charge would he need?! The claim: neither Lord Landri nor any of his men participated in the rescue party; therefore, he must have known about the ambush. That would make Lord Lambri either directly involved or complacent at best. With the mayor’s arrest, the Baron is the last noble of any real influence within the Barony. The other nobles are either children or minor dignitaries. And should any of those nobles seek to leave the province, I am sure the Baron would arrest them on suspicion of trafficking with bandits.”

 

After a moment Greth says, "Why don't you and Sal go to the White Lion, see what news you can ferret out, and discover who we can trust; is that OK with you Sal?" As Greth says the last part about trust, he

slowly turns and gives Sal a sly look to hopefully remind him of the conversation they had about Greth's cautious trust of Aubrey.

 

“Of course, it has been a long time since I’ve been to a civilized inn.” Sal sounds almost happy.

 

"Don't worry Aubrey, I am confident that an old performer like yourself can pass Sal off as a cousin or even a long-lost brother!!"

 

Aubry lightly laughs, “Well, I might have to introduce him as a child raised by wolves.” Then growing serious and in an actor’s voice, “Clearly, young master, you have been attacked by bandits on your way home. Your family dead you came back to the Barony hoping to find friendly shelter. Only to have met up with a terrible old charlatan taking a whiz out in the woods. I ‘remember’ seeing you at the tourney your father was even in the Grand Melee event. Your family’s immense fortune should give you the credit you’ll need, and a fortune I hope to acquire by deceit and false promises. Is that roll too difficult?” A sparkle strikes Aubry’s eyes.

 

“Well, I do have some dramatic traini...”

 

“Excellent! All the easier to play ignorant and confused like you have never seen Broceliende before! Ahh yes, the power of a shocked mind, traumatized by the brutality of the bandits’ attack!”

 

Before Aubry and Sal move to leave, Greth waves the others closer and confers with Sal and Khattan, "Do you see any reason why the goblins cannot camp out right here in the surrounding forest?  The Headsman's Glade is not far away, so when we make our move this would probably be the best place to move from. If we need to beat a retreat, we can go back the way we just came from.”

 

Khattan confidently replies, “No tough deal. We’ll melt away until the twice call of the last night bird.”

 

“You mean the mourning dove?” Asks Sal.

 

[Acht] “You day folk and all day names.” Khattan makes the sound of a mourning dove. “That’s the bird.”

 

Sal removes his quilted padding, “Khattan keep these for me until I return.” He hands his padding, spear, and pack to the goblin.

 

“Ready Sal? The sooner we return the more plausible the story will be.” Waiting patiently for Sal’s acknowledgement, Aubry moves swiftly off with Sal lightly trotting to keep up with the man’s longer legs.

 

As Aubrey and Sal trot off towards the White Lion, Greth has an inspired thought and calls out, "Aubrey, wait! Come back! I have an idea!!"  Sal is the only one who hears Greth's cry, since he was falling behind in keeping up with Aubrey. He stops, and turns to look at Greth who is frantically gesturing towards Aubrey. Sal bends down, picks up a small rock, and with unerring accuracy hits Aubrey in the small of his back. Aubrey quickly spins around, sees Sal, bends down to pick up a rock of his own, and then sees Greth gesturing for them to come back. As Aubrey walks by Sal he mutters, "You had better watch yourself, little man!"

 

Greth says to Aubrey, "Is there a way to deliver a message to the Baron concerning Oriabel's return? I would write it saying that I was willing to return his daughter at a designated time and place. I would also include something written by the Lady, that only she and her father would know, to prove the message's authenticity. If such a message could be delivered, the Baron would immediately want to ensure that his daughter was safe. But with the nature of her kidnapping, the ambush, and his great distrust of me, he would undoubtedly show up at the meeting site ‘armed to the teeth’. And if the meeting site just happened to be the Headsman's Glade tomorrow night, not only could we turn the tables on this Sidhe, but clear my name in the process. What do you think?"

 

Aubry ponders the idea, "Interesting idea. But what if the Baron shows up early? You could end up arrested before the real bandits are revealed." 

 

"And the presence of so large a force could also scare off the Sidhe", muses Greth. Turning to

Captain Elie, "Is there a specific time you are supposed to meet the Sidhe in the Glade?" 

 

"Yes well after dark just an hour past the witching hour."

 

"My lady, you know your father.  He very probably will try to spring any trap he thinks is being laid back onto us, but how early do you think he would show up? What course of action do you think he would choose? If the letter mentions a meeting place near the Headsman's Glade, and a time that is about 20-30 minutes after the ‘real’ meeting time, then the Baron showing up ‘early’ will not be a problem.  And if the Baron finds a piece of Oriabel's clothing on the ground with blood on it, the Baron and his forces would start searching the area. Khattan and his gobs', who are so good at blending into the surrounding forest, can keep a watch on the Baron's progress, and when the Sidhe shows up we can signal them to discreetly reveal themselves - I don't want anyone needlessly killed - and lead the Baron's forces straight to the Glade where the Sidhe will be revealed and opposed by the Baron, especially if we are already opposing it."

 

"Elie, Gontier, Khattan, Oriabel what do you think? Does this strategy appear sound? Are you with me? Now is the time for any ideas, but the time is fast disappearing!!"

 

Listening carefully Lady Oriabel thinks through Greth’s plan before saying, "Your assumptions seem sound Greth. The greatest risk would be for Khattan’s goblins."

 

Captain Elie responds, "Involving Baron Fromondin relies on the Baron being predictable. But a bold move that may be worth trying."

 

Aubry adds, "If you insist, yes I get a message to Baron Fromondin." Aubry produces a small scroll case, and hands it to Greth. "Write your message, there is a pen inside. " He then hands Greth an iron ink bottle. "I’ll come back before sunrise. Have the note written and I’ll find a way to deliver it."

 

"Then while Aubrey and Sal go to the White Lion, I would like to go scout out the area around the Headsman's Glade, and see if I notice anything suspicious. I would like you to go with me, Khattan, but I also need to ensure the protection of the Lady Oriabel. Will your goblins guard her with their lives if you are not here to lead them?"

 

Khattan snorts, “Nope, tha’re goblins. You not smart to trust even me with soft breeder humans. I might just pinch her.” The goblin reveals his horrid teeth in a wide grin.

 

"OK, then maybe you would just like to stay here and help your band set up a suitable camp." Greth turns to talk to Gontier, and mutters under his breath, "Or maybe you would just like to go find some squirrels to strangle while I'm gone! Gontier, I trust that you and the goblins can find a suitable hidey-hole, and set up ‘camp’ while I'm gone!"

 

Gontier grins, "Of course, Greth. I’ll distract them by finding some squirrels." Shrugging he raises his eyebrows and much quieter he says, "They’re goblins, what did you expect."

 

Captain Elie asks, “What do you need my men and I to do?”

 

"Well, I would like you to accompany me to survey the Headsman's Glade, since you are most familiar with the Sidhe and his nature. I know that your men have no desire whatsoever to remain here with the goblins. Could you ask them to go scout out the Spider Cave? They don't have to worry about the spider anymore, it is dead!! It would really help to have them check the cave out, since that is where the Hardwood attack originated from, and I would feel better knowing that there is not anymore mischief that might originate from it! It would really help to maximize our time, which is rapidly running out, to have two groups scouting at the same time." Greth describes how to find the Spider Cave

 

"That won’t be a problem." But Captain Elie does not sound so confident. "I don’t think it is wise to leave Lady Oriabel with just Gontier as sole protector. No offense, but he is no match for them."

 

Khattan listens carefully and then grins, "Yep! We could kill fighter-killer easy. You’d be safe in goblin ba..az.. er.. tradeplace, but we hunter-killers." Khattan sounds proud, but then he sobers up, "Maybe tike soft breeder and fighter-killer with you. "

 

Looking at Khattan Gontier adds, "He’s right. Lady Oriabel and I could hang back discretely and also keep an eye on your back."

 

Lady Oriabel speaks up, “Once he reads the letter, my father will mobilize his forces against the bandits. Responding to an ambush with his own ambush. Hopefully, this won’t cost too many lives. Already our weakened Barony is less able to support the King against a civil war.”

 

Captain Elie gives his men the directions to the Spider Cave.  Although the men mumble, they head off in the right direction. Aubrey and Sal head off towards the White Lion.

 

Aubry and Sal practice their rolls on the way to the White Lion. Sal pretends to be a lost noble child. Aubry encourages him to act bewildered and confused. He claims that folk will not look so closely presented with a quiet child.

 

Men hang out around the White Lion. Several are armed with crossbows. Other fighting men are armed with a variety maces, spears, and axes. “HOLD!” One man commands.

 

Aubry boldly announces himself, “It’s me, Aubry! Although you probably didn’t expect me to return with a child.”

 

“Ho, ho, Aubry how’d you conjure up a changeling! Stand still, I’ll pick it off with a single iron tipped bolt!”

 

“NO!” Aubry steps in front of Sal. “Do not be a fool. This is Lord Ron’s child! Leweth! You fought his father in the Grand Melee, surely you recognize the lad.” Seeing the crossbowman lower his weapon, Aubry brings Sal closer for Leweth to examine.

 

“I don’t know. He does look familiar, but ...”

 

“SEE! The bandits overtook his carriage. This poor child managed a heroic escape. Do any of you doubt Leweth?!” Aubry scans the seven men.

 

“BOY! What happened to your father?”

 

Sal jumps at this sudden question, “Well... I-I don’t know, sir? They swar... circled around. They rode horses! Mum, mum ...”

 

Aubry interrupts, “Do not force the boy to relive the tale by night. Tomorrow! Tomorrow in the sunlight, the boy will be in better shape to relive his horrific nightmare!”

 

Aubry hustles Sal past the guards, past the sign depicting a white lion laying on a field of faded green, and into the inn. The somber place quiets as Aubry and Sal enter. Almost everyone is armed, but most of the weapons are set aside. The rest of the evening consists of Sal retelling his story over and over with Aubry interjecting his own dramatic lines to keep the crowd off balance.

 

The barmaids quickly take to Sal, especially Josiane. She dotes on him the rest of the night, finding treats for him and running a hot bath. She smirks at his modesty when Sal insists on bathing himself. -The roll of a child won’t last long if she bathed me,- he thinks. –A screaming woman in an inn full of armed and nervous men.-

 

Sal sleeps soundly that night. The first time in a bed for months. Aubry has to work hard to waken him. "Com’on now’s the best time to check out the Tourney Glade." Aubry starts coolly into Sal’s eyes letting the significance of the location sink in.

 

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes Sal replies, "Ok, I’ll meet you outside." He nods toward the window.

 

Aubry and Sal return to the Tourney Glade to find Greth in the dawn’s early light. Aubry expertly tracks down the goblins’ camp. They wait silently while Greth reads over the note. Satisfied Greth tucks it into the scroll case and hands it to Aubry. They return to the White Lion.

 

Sal begins, "You didn’t need me to meet with Gr..."

 

Cutting him off, Aubry hisses, "Caution little man, trust is something to be earned."

 

Silently Sal clambers back into his room. Hearing the door opening, he dives under the bed. Josiane enters, "Sal?!?" She calls worried at seeing the empty bed. She looks out the window, and almost in a panic checks under the bed. "SAL! There you are!" The worry is clearly etched on her face. She sighs, "It must be pretty hard to have endured the attack. Not knowing what happened to your parents..."

 

Sal sheepishly comes out, "Well... I am alone in the world now."

 

Tears brimming, Josiane hugs him, "No, no you’re not. We'll get through this together." Pulling back she scrunches up her nose, "But we are going to have to do something about those rags! I’ll find you something better! Com’on down. Let’s get something t’ eat"

 

Breakfast is porridge with  yesterday’s bread and heavily watered down wine. Sal tries to get to know the fighters. He ask them for their opinions about the current state of affairs. Most ignore Sal. Aribert, the proprietor of the White Lion, laughs loudly, "Such BIG concerns for a little boy!! Shows the noble blood in this boy! Spend his thinking TOO hard and no time for FUN!" He smacks Sal on the back almost knocking him off his feet. "Let the adults handle it! You’ve EARNED a rest!" Aribert yells as he goes down into the basement storeroom.

 

Lunch attracts off duty guards fresh from town. Aubry entertains a few getting them to play a shell game for "fun". During the game, a guard examines a folded sheet of paper he finds. The guard looks alarmed and rapidly orders all of the guards to head out. Aubry is left along with some of the guards’ silver. The old charlatan wanders over to Sal, "Don’t fret Master Sal. When this hubris dies down, we'll be able to get notice to your relatives. I assured Aribert, they will be very grateful to him for allowing you to stay."

 

After lunch, one of the younger barmaids secretly takes Sal aside. "Here! Don’t tell anyone, especially Aribert," she whispers as she hands Sal a wood cup of iced strawberries.

 

Sal cannot help but grin, "Thank you very much."

 

"What a proper young man you are." She replies with a broad smile.

 

Josiane returns carrying a package. She excitedly asks Sal to follow her to his room. There she unveils his new outfit: plain light drab trousers, an off gray-white shirt, and new brown shoes. "It’s probably not what you are used to, but it is far better than those hideous clothes. Now get out of those rags, and we can see how well your new clothes fit!"

 

"You are too kind. I cannot accept this! I have nothing  with which to pay you back."

 

Josiane frowns, "Nonsense! It won’t do to have a noble’s son walking around like a beggar! You can pay me back when your uncle arranges to bring you home. Now let’s see how well the outfit... oh! Sorry I didn't get it. You want your privacy." She smiles as she leaves the room. "I’ll be right out here in the hall."

 

The outfit fits fairly well. He makes sure the shirt is tied tightly around his neck so that no chest hair remains visible. The shoes are a little small, but Sal says nothing to Josiane. The rest of the evening is spent overhearing everyone’s thoughts:

 

"The Baron has gone mad!"

 

"Wouldn't you if your only child was stolen! And a lady no less. You know how outlaws can be."

 

"HE’s planning I tell you. Baron Fromondin is no fool. He won't repeat the same mistake twice."

 

"I always suspected Greth. He never fit in, and liked to fight too much."

 

"But why not kidnap Lady Oriabel before? He’s saved her before."

 

"Who knows how a Dwarf thinks. It may make sense in his warped mind. I bet he's leadin’ the bandits"

 

As it gets dark Sal quietly makes his way to his room. He sits in the dark staring at the stars. It feels wrong knowing that tonight is a crucial night and to do nothing. He climbs out through the window and nimbly makes for Greth’s campsite. The air is still, and the sky is almost completely dark. Already some stars can be seen. No campfire burns.

 

Finding the camp he approaches as Captain Elie wakes Greth. When Greth wakes, Sal gets his attention, "Everything seems ready. Aubry slipped the note to a guardsman. He never noticed Aubry. The man looked spooked when he found the note. Then after reading it, he practically ran out to the castle."

 

Khittan and his goblins are already awake sharpening their blades. Greth gets up to wake Lady Oriabel and Gontier. Once everyone is ready, the goblins silently slink off into the woods.

 

With the surviving Blue Fox Platoon, Gontier, and Lady Oriabel Greth heads straight to the Headsman’s Glade. They stay concealed and watch the crescent moon move across the sky. Across the glade movement can be detected. Several men hide in the shadows of the trees. One steps out further into the glade. "Is that you Baron Fromondin?"

 

Captain Elie is relaxed. He whispers to Greth, "Don’t worry, that’s the correct code phrase." He rises from the bushes. "Yes it is I, Baron Fromondin, Ho ho."

 

The other man signals his men, and they move into the clearing. Two clearly carrying a chest, there is no noise suggesting any other activity.

 

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