| |
The adventuring party gathered together a short distance from the wagon. They’d pulled off of the road less than a mile from Shorn Spearhead. Some farmers were in the fields. They were too busy weeding with hoes to pay attention to the stopped travelers.
The female driver remained with the oxen, and the spearman, the henchman of the thief that died in the magically summoned gelatinous glob, sat in the wagon, keeping an eye on the bound, gagged and blindfolded scarred thief. Next to the thief rested a pile of armor and weapons scavenged from the battle.
The sentinel, partially healed of her wounds, stood a few steps from the huddled group, keeping watch.
Snix thought the party leader’s concern was legitimate. He’d already made mental contact with his master, informing him of the success, and the capture of the scarred thief. His master was very pleased, but concerned about the party’s ability to get the man back to Three Hills City. If they did, wonderful. If they didn’t, it remained Snix’s job to secure the Wand of Foe Detection.
Snix hid behind a pile of horse manure. It’d been dumped in the narrow strip of weeds between the road and the bean field. He had to be careful. The sentinel was more alert than the entire party put together. If she accompanied the party back to Three Hills City, the chances of him remaining unnoticed weren’t good.
“We are unable to renew our spells until sunrise,” the druid said. My suspicion is that the magic user is of Black Alignment, and will be able to renew his Transport Spells after sunset.”
“His spells are way better than mine,” the elf said.
“Don’t matter much,” the half goblin said, “Either way, we’re screwed.”
The half-goblin kicked at a dandelion, then tipped his head up, staring at the sky in thought. “Magic user dude cast two Transport Spells. Means he’s at least tenth rank. And I bet his evil cleric buddy is tough too.”
“Even if we buy a set of horses with the rubies,” the big warrior said, “and drive them to death, it’s still four days to Three Hills City.”
The half-goblin nodded. “More than enough time to recruit more guys and set up an ambush.”
“Do we have to stay on the road?” the gnome asked. “Can’t we go into the swamp and throw them off?”
The elf, wearing her new cloak, stared down at the gnome in disbelief. “Ewww, I hate that place.”
“The swamp ain’t exactly a safe place,” the big warrior said. “It’s a bad idea. Plus, we’ll lose out on selling the armor and weapons for gold.”
“Yeah,” the half-goblin said. “That magic user guy might be able to find us in the swamp anyway. With a crystal ball or an Enchanted Search Spell.”
The big warrior said, “Enchanted Search is fifth rank, thief. Would take away one of this Transport Spells.”
“He probably used that to bip in on us in the first place,” the half-goblin countered.
“Kalgore and Gurk, your observations have merit. Yet we should not dismiss Jax’s suggestion just yet.”
The gnome sighed. “I’d rather get ambushed on the road than in the swamp.”
The elf threw up her arms in frustration. “Can’t we just let him go, and they’ll leave us alone?”
The big warrior and half-goblin simultaneously said, “No.”
“Events in an RPG generally are not resolved in that fashion,” the druid said. “In this instance, our party will likely be considered middle-men, and not held responsible.” He held up a finger, forestalling what the elf might say. “Our remaining a target of retribution, once the individual in question is turned over to another interested party, becomes a remote possibility. Until that comes to pass, we remain in danger.”
The gnome said, “You’re saying NPCs don’t hold a grudge?”
The druid shook his head. “On the contrary, NPCs often do. However, most NPCs are unlikely to pursue actions related to that grudge unless precipitated by an outside influence.”
“Like Creepy GM Dude,” the half-goblin said.
The sentinel stepped closer to the huddled group. “Might I offer an option?”
The big warrior looked up from the group. “Sure.”
“I am acquainted with Major Disaster, and he owes me a favor.”
“We’ve heard of that dude,” the half-goblin said. “He’s a warrior, so he wouldn’t have spells, like a Transport.”
“That is true, my friend, Gurk. But he does have friends, and I believe one is capable of performing the spell that you seek.”
“That’d be cool,” the half-goblin replied. “Is it that big of a favor owed?”
She shook her head. “I imagine it will cost you the rubies Lysine carries in his pouch.”
“Your willingness to utilize an owed favor on our behalf is appreciated.” The druid’s hand went to the gem-holding pouch tied to his belt. “The acquaintance of your associate, Major Disaster, would not have a problem casting a Transport Spell upon us, and an individual bound and gagged?”
“Major Disaster knows a lot of people.” Her normally happy face frowned in disapproval. “If the man I am thinking of is still in town, he won’t have a problem with it.”
The guards on Shorn Spearhead’s palisade didn’t appear to notice or, if they did, care that the party in their wagon had returned. The sentinel directed them to a limestone structure, a two-story residence, with a guard seated in the shade of a small maple tree.
After the sentinel inquired if Major Disaster was in, the guard directed her to the stables, where Major Disaster was having his favorite mount re-shod.
Snix heard the half-goblin whisper an explanation to the gnome that introductions to an NPC from another NPC happened all the time in games, but that you had to really trust the first NPC. That told Snix they trusted the sentinel. That made sense, although he didn’t know why she showed up in the plum orchard in the first place, let alone inform the party—complete strangers—of their conversation in a bar being overheard. It sounded like something a paladin might do.
Major Disaster’s name was misleading, unless it was referring to him causing other people’s disasters. He had straight dark hair pulled back from a widow’s peak on his forehead. His dark, deep-set eyes held little mirth. His breastplate and pauldrons were etched with stylistic dragons. The long sword on his hip radiated an enchantment that caused the juices in the homunculus’s stomach to grow cold. It was a subtle magic that creatures of a non-magical nature might not pick up on. The elf must have felt something, as she appeared more standoffish than usual during the sentinel’s introduction and when the druid spoke with the sturdy warrior.
After getting directions to a private residence where the spellcaster in question was staying, along with a scribbled note from Major Disaster and a complicated code phrase, that turned out to be a name, the sentinel returned to the wagon.
The muscular warrior stayed with the wagon, along with the female driver and the spearman named Gurse. The adventuring party was worried about keeping the bound and gagged thief lying under a tarp, and if anyone might try to rescue him.
The big warrior, standing outside the wagon, looking mean, deterred curiosity. Not as much as Major Disaster would, Snix believed.
The two-story apartment building was constructed of bricks and limestone. It had narrow windows whose shutters stood open. Oddly, none of the many birds inhabiting the town were perched on the apartment. Snix didn’t bother wondering why, being thankful that their absence made his job of remaining unobserved easier.
The two half-goblin guards lounging in front of the door to the apartment appeared intimidating in a menacing way. Both stood up straight and eyed the party as it approached. One lifted his short bow and nocked an arrow. The other curled his narrow fingers around the grip of his scimitar, his wiry arm poised to unscabbard it.
“Halt,” the scimitar half-goblin said, his yellow eyes roaming up and down the tall elf. “You hidin’ another gnome under that cloak?”
The short bow half-goblin snickered, causing the tip of his ready arrow to bounce up and down. Both of the guards’ leather armor showed signs of multiple combats and repair.
“My cloak, and what’s under it are none of your business,” the elf said.
“Will be when I shoot you there. Either you’ll squeal or whatever’s under there will.”
The party’s half-goblin thief said to the elf, “He’s just tryin’ to yank your chain.” Then he said to the scimitar guard, “Dude, we’re here to see if the guy you’re guarding is interested in earning some coin.”
The half-goblin thief took a step closer. The short bow guard drawing back the bowstring didn’t seem to bother the thief as he said, just above a whisper, “A lotta coin, dude.”
The druid rested a hand on the half-goblin thief’s shoulder and drew him back. “I bear a brief writ of introduction.” He proffered the page torn from his leather-bound book, written on by Major Disaster.
The scimitar half-goblin snatched it and squinted at the writing. A left eyebrow arched, and he showed it to the short bow half-goblin.
“Watch ’em,” the scimitar half-goblin said. He turned and knocked twice on the thick wooden door. After a long moment, the door opened a crack. The scimitar half-goblin pushed his way in and shoved the door closed.
The short bow half-goblin stood and watched. After a moment he lowered his bow. He sat back down on his stool. “You all stand there and don’t go nowhere.”
“Of course,” the druid said. “Otherwise we might squander our opportunity to meet with the individual you guard.”
After several minutes, the half-goblin thief looked around and said to the seated guard, “Dude, I’m never able to get good guard gigs like this.” He gave a thumbs up. “Good job.”
The half-goblin guard grinned, then said to the elf, “What do you got under that cloak?”
Wouldn’t—,” the elf began to snap back until the gnome stomped his heavy boot down on hers. She grunted and stuck her tongue out at the gnome. “Wouldn’t want to be accused of distracting you from your work,” she said, then offered an almost sincere smile.
The heavy door opened and the scimitar guard stuck his head out. “The guy with the paper and the elf woman can come in. You other guys gotta wait out here.” A wicked grin showed his pointed teeth. “Oh, and you can’t bring in no weapons, and no cloaks neither.”
The elf handed her rapier to the gnome and the druid gave his short sword to the half-goblin thief. They started to step forward.
“No cloak, so you can’t be hiding nothing under it.”
“Whatever,” the elf said. She unclasped the main hook, removed the garment and dropped it into the gnome’s waiting arms.
The short bow half-goblin’s eyes went wide as he whistled.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” the elf warned, balling her right hand into a fist, “or those snarly teeth will’ve done their last whistling.”
Snix left his hiding spot on the front-facing wall near the roof and moved around back. He thought there was a pair of narrow windows in the back. He hoped they weren’t shuttered closed. And that the druid wouldn’t be near one of them. It also reminded Snix he had to be wary of any familiars the magic user inside might have.
Snix managed to situate himself above the window and peek in. A sky full of clouds blocked the sun so no shadow would betray his presence.
The room was rather dark. An old human—very old human—sat at a table in the middle of the sparse room, facing the window. His chair was padded, and papers, rolled-up scrolls, and thick leather-bound tomes filled the long table. A flickering candle sat at each end of the table and a lit lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling.
The old man’s head was nearly bald, except for scattered strands of white hair. He wore heavy black robes and had a gray knit shawl draped over his shoulders. Skin clung to his face and bony hands like it’d been there for centuries, all covered in dark age spots. His eyes, however, were alert as they followed a yellowing fingernail while it traced across what was written. Old didn’t adequately describe the man. Ancient did.
While the homunculus waited for the elf and druid to enter the room, he mentally contacted his master, telling him: Two members of the party are about to see a very old magic user and try to convince him with your rubies to purchase a Transport Spell to take them and the thief they captured to Three Hills City.
His master replied: < Magic users powerful enough to cast Transport Spells don’t respond well to spies. Keep your distance and be careful. >
I will, boss.