Meeting at the Three Rings Tavern

ROLL 1 DIE.

Score: 2 – Bad Omen – Lose 1 Blessing.

Upon leaving High Therys, Cedric headed west toward the main highway again, knowing that it would lead him back to Trefoille and eventually Marlock City. He knew that if he followed the Stinking River for too long, it would take him to Yellowport, which would extend his trip farther than he wanted. As he and Hector had before, he spent a couple of days trading labor for shelter before heading to the metropolis. The day before he arrived in Marlock City, the sole of one of his boots wore thin, and he could feel the dirt and gravel poke through. The bard would need to take them to a cobbler to be repaired, and ultimately walked barefoot the rest of the way.

Which ended up being the first place he stopped, instead of the House of Priests. He didn’t want to arrive barefoot and looking as pathetic as he felt. After all, he had to tell Ysolt what happened to Hector, and he didn’t know how the dark priestess would react. As he waited for his boots to be repaired, he sent Ysolt a message to meet him at the Three Rings Tavern.

Early in the evening, she received the missive after she finished her studies and prayers. In fact, it was the last day of her training, and she was getting ready to treat herself to a meal out on the town. The Three Rings Tavern was the place she went instead of any other establishment.

Cedric had just finished soaking in the bath and changing into fresher clothes when the priestess entered the inn's common area. He waved his hat to her and smiled brilliantly when he managed to catch her attention. However, her vibrant teal eyes kept wandering around the troubadour, hoping to catch sight of the dark-hooded rogue. Her warm smile soon turned into a frown of concern. Cedric could read her thoughts. Gesturing for her to sit with him at one of the smaller tables, the barmaid served them a couple of ciders and bowls of stew with hot, crusty bread. “Where is Hector?” Ysolt asked, her use of the common language having improved thanks to the month of lessons. Cedric gulped down the excess of saliva that had pooled up in his mouth from nervousness. The bard rarely grew nervous, as he was a professional performer. She then noticed his mandolin was missing. “What happened?” Her voice and furrowed brow showed her growing concern.

His right palm rubbed his chin and cheek as Cedric sighed. His eyes locked with hers, his expression respectfully apologetic. “Hector picked up a job from the temple of Sig here,” the troubadour started. “Back when you started your training. Then he lost some money at the gambling den, got beaten up by the local militia.” He watched Ysolt’s concern shift to frustration as her eyes narrowed. Cedric bowed his head, subtly sulking over what he had to reveal next.

“We went to Caran Baru, so he could complete the job. He was caught and sold into slavery to the mines near there.” Cedric’s eyes widened in shock and amazement as he watched Ysolt’s teal eyes blaze brilliantly with instant anger. He raised his hands before she could speak. “I didn’t hear that he got captured until the following morning. He kept me out of his plans, so no one had a reason to suspect me. I left as soon as I heard, because I knew there was no way I’d be able to earn enough money without an instrument,” he rambled, his tan face growing flush with embarrassment as he scrambled to keep the priestess from yelling out her frustrations.

“Your friends should be returning soon, right? Mayb-” Ysolt’s husky voice instantly cut Cedric off at the mention of her two other traveling companions. “They split at Yellowport,” she explained, pulling out the message the bird had delivered. He glanced it over as she continued, “Trystan trains with Druids. Miss Dewin travels with another." She paused, remembering what Hector said when he started traveling with her and Trystan. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes. The priestess steadied her breath as she silently meditated and calmed her emotions. “Lord Sig tempted Hector. He failed,” she said solemnly before opening her eyes to meet with Cedric’s gaze once more. “We will discuss with Trystan when he returns.” The bard posed no argument. 

Return to Shadar Tor

 Once Gyneth felt well enough to travel, she and Lyonesse departed from Yellowport, taking the main highway to Trefoille. Passing many merchants and military patrols, they spent little time on the road distracted or in conflict. The blind mage was thankful for the uneventful days, as she quietly prepared for the overwhelming, windswept, wave-sprayed cliffs the Shadar Tor towered over. She wasn’t sure she could do it, but deciphering the Tor would be their greatest asset in recovering the golden net.

They stayed with her mentor, Oliphard the Wizardly, after arriving in Trefoille. Gyneth marveled at how quickly the city's repairs, restructuring, and rebuilding were progressing. A hearty workforce of skilled craftsmen and able-bodied laborers was a marvel to learn from during the handful of days the two women spent helping, as Lyonesse’s mentor required, in exchange for rooms and meals at his manor. Immersing herself among the clatter and banging of the blacksmiths and stonemasons helped Lyonesse train herself to tune out the disruptive noises and hone her focus.

Days passed as they took to the road again, and Lyonesse could sense the turbulence in the air and sea as they neared the Shadar Tor. Seagulls screamed high above them, adding to the wind and water’s efforts to overstimulate the blind mage. She asked that Gyneth take her veil and give her time to trace her sensitive fingers along the course stone carved with ancient runes. The warrior woman doubted how helpful the archaic stone would be, but she understood this was one of those moments when she had to put faith in someone else’s skills. Battling the pillar would offer no solutions, anyway.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11

Lyonesse’s Magic Score: 6 + 6 + 1 = 13 – PASSED!

Lyonesse steadied her breathing and meditated on the air currents above and turbulent water below. When she felt completely at peace with the elements around her, she pressed one hand to the stone and traced the text ingrained on her grimoire's pages. She concentrated for hours on the differences and similarities she felt between the stone carvings, and soon realized what the Tor contained was a spell! “Gyneth!” Lyonesse called out to her companion, excited. The platinum-blond woman had begun to doze off on the boulder she sat on, and the mage's call pulled her back into the waking world.

Looking around as she stood and stretched, she saw nothing to panic over. “What is it?” Gyneth called back as she made her way over to the Tor to see how her blind companion was doing. She found Lyonesse sitting on the ground, using a glass pen to scratch and carve into the paper pulp. “The high priest was right!” Lyonesse gasped, then raised her head, giving Gyneth the impression that the blind woman could lock eyes with her. “The Tor was the key! There’s a spell carved into it! A spell to help someone breathe underwater!” Dark, stormy grey eyes widened with astonishment over the revelation. “Seriously?” Gyneth asked, disbelief coloring her voice at their luck! Well, not quite luck, but still! It sure felt like it! The mage nodded before continuing, “I’m going to cast it on you. So that you can go and fetch the golden net.”

“Whoa, what?! How?” The trained, former soldier started to object to the plan. “I don’t know how to fight underwater. I barely know how to swim!” Which wasn't a proud thing for anyone to admit, though; when one thought about it, one didn’t necessarily need to know how to swim if drowning wasn’t as big a risk thanks to the spell. But still! “I can’t go. Water numbs my senses and my ability to navigate,” Lyonesse insisted respectfully. “I’d be of no use down there. You’ll be able to breathe and see. You’ll be able to find the sunken city.” The mage sure knew how to make a point; Gyneth would give her that.

The taller woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I hear you. I understand what you’re saying,” Gyneth began to object again before the mage reached up and gripped her hand. It was a firm yet tender grip, a gesture of comfort and certainty. Dark eyes gazed down at the sitting woman once more. “The gods are testing you. Just like Yanryt the Son. This will bring you closer to defeating the Black Dragon Knight,” Lyonesse said earnestly with an encouraging smile. Gyneth smirked back, unable to oppose any further. “Very well. Let’s head down to the beach first, and see if there’s a good place for you to take shelter and rest. Trystan expects me to keep you safe, and I can’t do that while we’re not together,” she insisted, taking Lyonesse’s hand to help her to her feet. The mage smiled brilliantly, agreeing wholeheartedly with an affirmative nod.

The pair of women explored the beach and cliffs for some time before finding a ledge to set up camp on. It was late in the day, and Gyneth insisted she didn’t want to swim so late into the night if she could help it. She had gone skinny-dipping in the lake where she grew up and knew full well that the water could be just as dark, if not darker, than the night sky. At dawn, they shared a light breakfast before heading down to the shore. There, as they felt the cold waves lap against their ankles and shins, Lyonesse cast the spell found on the ancient pillar upon Gyneth. As the spell took effect, gills formed on her tingling cheeks. They were sensitive and tickled at the warrior’s touch, and after swimming away from shore to test how well she could breathe, she called out to Lyonesse to assure the mage that all was well. The blind mage waved back before returning to their camp on the ledge as Gyneth dove beneath the sea’s surface.

An Annual Haunt

 Gossip spread like wildfire throughout the streets of Caran Baru. Someone managed to disarm one of the golems at the temple of Tyrnai. The second golem, however, pummeled the fool to near death and had been sold into slavery as punishment. Cedric quickly deduced that they'd been talking about Hector, especially when he hadn’t returned to the Blue Griffon Tavern. They hadn’t discussed what to do if this had happened. But the troubadour understood the burglar had only wanted to complete the job to kill time before Ysolt finished her priestly training.

Knowing he couldn't raise the money to buy Hector back on his own, Cedric started to pack his gear. As he left the tavern, he overheard a pair of guardsmen questioning local patrons. They suggested possible accomplices and that the slave might have been staying at the tavern. While he was no wayfarer, he thought it best to head toward the inhospitable Coldbleak Mountains instead of taking the southbound road. From there, he figured he could find his way south, especially if he followed the Stinking River.

For days, he journeyed southward, using his sense of smell and the tales Hector told him of the rancid aroma of the Lake of the Sea Dragon to determine how close he was to the lake. He stopped only at the market in the fishing village of Cadmium to restock on supplies before continuing onward, following the southern yellow, sulfur-laden flow of the Stinking River.

As the river cut through higher ground, the weary bard climbed above the chasm the bubbling water had created and found himself in a small village called High Therys. To his amazement, it seemed as though he had arrived in time for what he assumed was a festival or feast. A pig roasted on a spit, and a table set with a spread of fruits overflowing from bowls, wheels of cheese, freshly churned butter, and steaming loaves of bread. Cedric approached a man who came out of the inn with huge bottles of wine. “Good morrow and happy feasting,” the bard said with a delighted grin, flourishing his feathered hat as he gracefully bowed to the innkeeper. “Please, may I join your gracious hosts in a fine meal? I promise, I would happily sing a ballad or two for my supper,” Cedric then offered in a rich, baritone voice as he rose from his bow, only to realize that the other man had hustled off toward the table. He turned to follow after, confused and curious about the innkeeper’s haste.

Sensing that he was being followed, the innkeeper turned with a start and waved his hands dismissively at the younger fellow. “Begone! Begone! This is not a feast for the living,” the innkeeper stated abruptly, nearly knocking Cedric over as he rushed to return to the inn. “Out of my way,” another voice huffed and puffed from behind the stumbling bard, making Cedric flail and animatedly change course to avoid colliding with a wealthy merchant carrying a heavy chest full of silver. Dipping back and forth, barely able to process what he had heard, he quickly saw the villagers who had been filling the table with food and coin rushing home to lock their doors and shutter their windows.

Daintily pinching the sleeve of someone before they were able to retreat, Cedric asked, “Pray tell! What is going on here?” His captive looked deathly pale. “This is a banquet for the dead,” the older man explained. “Seven years ago, three travelers lost their way during a storm. They fell into our millpond and drowned. If we do not placate their hunger, then they destroy our crops and herds.” This was an interesting story! Threats of hungry ghosts, though why all of the coins? Did ghosts eat coins? Surely the dead had no use for such wealth. “How do you know that they’ll ruin your crops and herds?” Cedric asked, looking back toward the table. “Old Megan told us,” the other fellow called back, having loosened the bard’s hold on his arm enough to rush home.

Who was Old Megan? How did she know of such things?

Unable to find anyone else who would answer his questions, Cedric decided he wanted to witness this spectacle of ghosts. He hid himself behind some hedges that offered him a clear view of the feasting table. Some time after twilight, just as he stifled a yawn, he caught a glimpse of three figures shuffling across the green. He assumed they came from the millpond, though he didn’t know the village’s layout well enough to be certain. They were pale, likely as ghosts would look, and cried out with glee at the sight of the feast. They quickly sat down and devoured the food with immense pleasure.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11

Cedric’s Magic Score: 4 + 6 + 6 = 16 – PASSED!

Under the moon's dim light, the gluttonous ghosts feasted until they were full. Then, with loud groans and grunts, they hefted up the chest of coins and shuffled away from the table. Then, because of the treasure's weight, Cedric noticed something in the grass. Footprints. Deep footprints. Ghosts were incorporeal. They shouldn’t be able to leave behind footprints.

SCOUTING DIFFICULTY – 10

Cedric’s Scouting Score:2 + 6 + 6 = 14 – PASSED!

The troubadour carefully eased himself from his position behind the hedge while the ghosts’ backs were to him. He waited until he could barely see them, then emerged from his hiding spot and quietly followed. Their footprints were easy enough to follow when he feared he had lost sight of them. He found himself approaching the village’s mill, where he saw two men and an old woman brushing flour from their clothes. “Another year’s successful haunting,” the woman cackled, and both men grinned in agreement.

Cedric quickly retraced his tracks and returned to the village. When he roused someone enough to open their door, he quickly revealed what he had seen. “Your ghosts are no apparitions at all! They are two men and a woman coated heavily in flour! They’ve been fooling you all!” The news spread quickly, and the villagers gathered and followed the bard to the mill to see his claims for themselves. When they burst into the mill and found the old woman and three men counting out the coins, the villagers quickly seized them!

Apparently, Old Megan had concocted the scheme and convinced the two other men to help her swindle their neighbors. It was ultimately decided that all three of them would be hanged in the morning. Cedric was awarded eighty shards, a free stay at the inn, and a hearty meal with fresh provisions for his journey.

The Temple of Alvir and Valmir

 “We should probably be making our way back to Marlock City,” Lyonesse said to Gyneth as they were passing through the temple square. “Especially if we want to arrive in time to meet up with Trystan, Ysolt, and Hector,” she added, then realized her stalwart companion was no longer beside her. “Ser Laoch?” She said, pausing to determine where the warrior had gone. Unfortunately, several people chatted and walked about, making it difficult for the blind mage to pinpoint the platinum-blond swordswoman. Thankfully, Gyneth heard her name and called out to Lyonesse, “There’s a notice here stating that the high priest of the temple of Alvir and Valmir is looking for some help.”

Lyonesse’s veil billowed around her, making it easier to sense obstacles best avoided. Gyneth held out her hand and gently hooked arms with the mage so they wouldn’t be inconveniently separated again. “Weren’t you saying that the priestess you traveled with is looking to help out the other temples?” Gyneth asked to confirm she remembered some of the stories the blind woman told correctly. Lyonesse nodded. “Yes, she would definitely insist that we head in and find out what the problem is,” the mage agreed, and let the warrior lead her inside the temple shaped like an upside-down galleon.

Asking for assistance, the duo were led to the high priest’s office, where he ushered them to sit with him at his desk. He wore gossamer robes, draped and layered like a toga, adorned with pearls and opalescent seashells. His long, dark hair was braided in cornrows that looked like the waving, branching corals often found under the sea’s surface. Another man came in with a pot of aromatic tea and several cups. Once he served his guests, the high priest explained what he needed. “We are in dire need of assistance,” he began with a sigh, taking a long sip of tea to steady his nerves. “Are you familiar with the beings called the Repulsive Ones?”

Gyneth slowly shook her head, though Lyonesse looked as though the title had conjured up a memory of sorts. “They live in the sea, right? In one of the lost cities of ancient lore,” the mage thought aloud, uncertain of the specific names. “Yes,” the man before them said, clearing his throat momentarily before continuing. “Recently, they infiltrated our temple and stole the Golden Net of the twin gods, Alvir and Valmir. We believe they have taken it to the Sunken City of Ziusudra. If we are unable to retrieve it, they will likely use it against the twin gods in the name of their horrific fish-god, Oannes.” “How do we find a sunken city?” Gyneth asked, her confusion and frustration already building as she tried to figure out how to reach such a fantastical site. “Go to the cliffs of the Shadar Tor. From there, you will find a way.”

After they left and made their way through the streets to the Gold Dust Tavern, the warrior expressed her thoughts on the quest they had picked up. “How are we supposed to find a city that’s underwater? We won’t be able to hold our breath long enough,” she argued a bit louder than she had intended. “I’ve been to the Shadar Tor. If the high priest believes we will find our way from there, then there must be something on the Tor that will help us. I simply need t-” Lyonesse wasn’t able to complete that thought when Gyneth stopped walking.

“What you need to do is hand over your purses, ladies,” a thug stated firmly, his voice gritted by years of thieving and bullying his way around. The warrior’s stormy grey eyes glanced at the knife he held, pointed at them aggressively. “Do you seriously think you’re going to steal from a pair of armed combatants?” Gyneth asked with a low growl, her face sneering as her free hand deftly drew her sword.

Thug: COMBAT 4, DEFENSE 7, STAMINA

Gyneth’s Combat Score: 6 + 1 + 5 = 12 Total

12 – 7 Defense = 5 < 6 Stamina = 1 – Thug Attacks!

Lyonesse peeled away from Gyneth as the warrior swung her sword and struck the thug’s hand. He dropped his knife, reeling back momentarily before his embarrassment fueled his anger. Clenching his fists, he charged at the swordswoman, who quickly deflected his attack and swiftly slashed his arm, leaving a severe gash on his torso.

Gyneth: COMBAT 6, DEFENSE 8, STAMINA 9

Thug’s Combat Score: 4 + 1 + 6 = 11 Total

11 – 8 Defense = 3 < 9 Stamina = 6 – Lyonesse Attacks!

Ignoring the searing pain, the thug lunged at Gyneth and punched her square in the jaw. Dazed, she then took a kick to the stomach and lost her grip on her sword when she was tripped to the ground. He then pinned her under his girth and began to swing punch after punch at her face. His tunnel vision was so narrow that he forgot Lyonesse was nearby and may not even notice she carried a sword.

Gyneth: COMBAT 6, DEFENSE 8, STAMINA 1

Lyonesse’s Combat Score: 2 + 1 + 6 = 9 Total

9 – 7 Defense = 2 > 1 Stamina = Thug Slain!

The blind mage quietly drew her sword and listened to the commotion around her. Judging by the sound of Gyneth’s pauldron hitting the ground and the clattering of the sword, her friend had fallen on her back. The sound of flesh punching flesh confirmed it. Carefully, Lyonesse approached; her honed senses picked up the man’s movements. She raised her sword high, blade down, and thrust the tip into the man’s back! The pain shocked him; his body coughed and convulsed, and then he fell dead on top of the warrior.

Screams rang out at the end of the alley as a passerby witnessed what happened. Lyonesse pushed the man’s lifeless form off of her companion and eased Gyneth to her feet. As more people gathered and the authorities came to assess the situation, both women were found protecting themselves against a thief. His body was looted, and the fifteen shards found on him were awarded to the two traveling companions. They spent three days at the Gold Dust Tavern so Gyneth could recover from her injuries before leaving Yellowport.

A Drawing of Hector

 

A Reprieve

 Taking this week off to organize my notes, and determine the approach to the characters' continuous diversions.  😅 Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying the story thus far.  It's been a thrill to be inspired by Dave Morris and Jamie Thomson's game.

The Temple of Tynai

 Caran Baru was small compared to Marlock City, yet it felt like it had twice the militia population. Hector and Cedric thought it best to stay away from the market, as it included the selling of slaves. The last thing they wanted was to be mistaken for one, especially the rogue who would have become one if not for Trystan and Ysolt rescuing him back in Venefax.

Believing the bard’s flamboyant attire made him stand out, Hector left Cedric at the tavern so he could earn some wages entertaining their patrons. People strangely appreciated it, and it earned him enough for each night’s stay. Each day Cedric performed, the burglar went out to case the city, the barracks, and, most importantly, the temple of Tyrnai, dedicated to the god of battle, chaos, and strife. Caran Baru was a crossroads between the merchant cities to the south and the military outposts to the north and east. Soldiers went there on leave, though it maintained strict military discipline. It only made sense that the deity soldiers would praise so highly would have a temple built like a mighty fortress.

Hector made sure his presence and movements were so mundane that none of the warrior priests would suspect him of surveying the temple. He noted the iron bull-headed, club-wielding figures flanking the heavy wooden doors, their craftsmanship eerily flawless, as if they were identical. Inside, he listened to the prayers and offerings made to the god’s stone idol: a jaguar-headed warrior wearing untarnished gold chainmail that gleamed by the candlelight.

For days, he scouted the temple and memorized the various windows, doorways, and layouts, as well as the patrol and prayer routines. Hector silently visualized the best places to enter, the best times of day, and how to avoid detection. Yet. Something nagged him in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure exactly what, but he didn’t dare discuss his plans with Cedric. Plausible deniability, so long as the bard remained at the inn performing. The troubadour had gained some popularity as regular patrons spread the word about his voice and verses.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 11

Hector’s Magic Score: 5 + 6 + 2 = 13 – PASSED!

It then hit him. One of Oliphard’s lessons detailed how golems were crafted! The iron bull-headed figures were golems!!! That changed everything about his intended plans! He would need to disable them first by removing the plugs that kept a magical fluid- their lifeforce from pouring out. He would need to climb to the temple roof to reach those plugs. Hector sighed in dismay at that thought. He so hated climbing. More specifically, falling. Closing his heterochromatic eyes, he steadied his breathing as he considered the feat he had accomplished thanks to Trystan and Ysolt. With their help and encouragement, he climbed Devil’s Peak. The obsidian cliffs were sheerer than those of the temple’s walls. It was also lethally taller. He survived the peak; he could climb the temple.

THIEVERY DIFFICULTY – 11

Hector’s Thievery Score: 8 + 2 + 2 = 12 – PASSED!

Late into the evening, after the temple’s doors closed and were secured following the day's final ceremony, Hector steeled his nerves. He kept to the shadows as he wove through the alleys. His keen eyes and ears tracked the pedestrian and patrol movements. When all was silent and motionless, he climbed the temple battlements and crept along to the gables above the entrance. Carefully, he positioned himself behind one of the golems. For a brief moment, he could have sworn he felt the terrible wind from the storm demons battering him from head to toe. He closed his eyes, steadied his breath, and reminded himself he wasn't hanging from the peak. Reassured of his footing and grip, he dipped down and tugged the large, ceramic plug from the golem. Putrid-smelling, tourmaline-green fluid spilled from the gaping hole. The construct twitched briefly before falling deathly still.

However, the other bull-headed figure shifted its stance.

COMBAT DIFFICULTY – 9

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 1 + 2 = 7 – FAILED!

Try as he might, the burglar was too slow to swing over and remove the construct’s plug! Instead, the golem reached up and grabbed Hector’s arm. He gritted his teeth as it yanked him down and tossed him to the ground. Tumbling to prevent injury, the blond rogue quickly assessed his surroundings. No alarm bells had sounded for the priests, soldiers, or nearby civilians. Desperate to prove his worth and skills to the deity Sig, he drew his mace and leaped into battle.

Golem: COMBAT 5, DEFENSE 10, STAMINA 10

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 5 + 3 = 12 Total

12 – 10 Defense = 2 < 10 Stamina = 8 – Golem Attacks!

Stubborn as Hector was, a mace against an iron golem was not the most effective choice. Not that using daggers would have been any better. He managed to dent the bull-headed construct’s leg before it swung its club down at him.

Hector: COMBAT 4, DEFENSE 6, STAMINA 9

Golem’s Combat Score: 5 + 2 + 5 = 12 Total

12 – 6 Defense = 6 < 9 Stamina = 3 – Hector Attacks!

The sheer force of the golem’s attack made it impossible for Hector to deflect or block. He stumbled back from the club’s strike. His eyes teared up as he realized his mistake. Already, he doubted he would survive. He should have stayed by Ysolt’s side. Still, he kept swinging.

Golem: COMBAT 5, DEFENSE 10, STAMINA 8

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 3 + 4 = 11 Total

11 – 10 Defense = 1 < 8 Stamina = 7 – Golem Attacks!

Well, that was an even less effective strike on the golem’s other leg. It left Hector wide open for what would likely be the construct’s final strike!

Hector: COMBAT 4, DEFENSE 6, STAMINA 3

Golem’s Combat Score: 5 + 6 + 5 = 16 Total

16 – 6 Defense = 10 > 3 Stamina = Hector Slain!

With a crack to his head, the rogue fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The clanging of his mace against the iron construct caught the attention of some nearby priests of Tyrnai. One of them knelt down and recited a prayer of healing. He placed his hand on Hector’s temple and revived him enough to rouse him. He was terribly weak, and pain coursed through his limbs as a reminder of his stupidity.

By morning, Hector was stripped of his money and possessions and sold into slavery.

Name: Hector Athair
Profession: Rogue
God: -none-
Rank: 1
Defense: 5
Charisma: 5
Combat: 4
Magic: 5
Sanctity: 1
Scouting: 2
Thievery: 8
Stamina: Max – 9/Current – 1
Money: 0
Possessions – Max 12: -none-
Resurrection Arrangements: -none-
Titles: Outcast
Blessings: -none-

Infiltrating the Rat's Nest

Marking each corner they turned with a piece of chalk, the two companions scoured the dank tunnels, avoiding rivulets of sewage and looking for signs of the ratmen they were sent to find. The sewer tunnels branched through the city of Yellowport, and it took them several days to fully explore each possible twist and turn. They mapped what they could before returning to the surface to rest at the Gold Dust Tavern, then set out the following morning to explore and scour some more.

SCOUTING DIFFICULTY – 11

Lyonesse’s Scouting Score: 5 + 6 + 2 = 13 – PASSED!

Suddenly, the blind mage’s sensitive hearing picked up an unexpected sound echoing off the cavern walls. Quickly, she covered Gyneth’s mouth and tugged her aside. The sound was a click, suggesting a secret sliding door. With Lyonesse’s heightened senses and quick thinking, they managed to be on the defensible side of the door, out of sight of the creature that emerged through the newly opened passage.

What stepped forth was a short, bipedal humanoid with features eerily similar to a rat. Ears, nose, and muzzle; fur covering its body; and a scaly tail lined with fine, stubby hairs. With a swift swing, Gyneth struck the ratman with the glowing pommel of her sword, knocking the grotesque creature unconscious. From within the passage, a guttural voice cried out as a second ratman emerged to attack the woman who pommelled his friend. Gyneth quickly raised her sword to defend herself!

Ratman: COMBAT 3, DEFENSE 6, STAMINA 6

Gyneth’s Combat Score: 6 + 5 + 6 = 17 Total

17 – 6 Defense = 11 > 6 Stamina = Ratman Slain!

The platinum blond combatant deflected the ratman’s charge and quickly sliced through his gut. She then tripped the creature and stabbed her blade into his back. He fell dead, and Lyonesse quickly ensured that the first ratman was dead as well. After looting their bodies of fifteen shards, Gyneth found a note written phonetically. “Parti! Kitchuns. Tonite. Rank and file rats only. No offsirs and no king allowed!” Gyneth recited to her blind companion, who smiled brilliantly. “Sounds to me there might be some dissent among the nest,” the mage suggested, indicating that the timing of the party might be to their benefit.

Through the secret passageway, the two women found themselves in a cleaner section of the underground tunnels. No longer in the sewer system, Lyonesse felt the walls’ texture shift. “These feel like carvings,” she said to Gyneth, who tilted the enchanted pommel of her sword to get a better look at what the mage felt. “You’re right,” the warrior murmured, looking to see how much of the stonework was scribed. “Do you think Yellowport was built over another city?” Gyneth asked, to which Lyonesse nodded slowly. “Likely built over a city of the Masked Ones,” the mage said. “The Masked Ones?” The warrior wasn’t as familiar with the land’s ancient and sordid history.

“Yes, the Masked Ones of Uttaku, long before the people of Harkuna overthrew them,” the blind woman answered in a hushed tone, feeling ill at ease around such ruins without a proper guide to sniff out traps or lingering enchantments. Though in truth, if the ratmen had turned the area into a nest, they likely triggered and disabled everything the Masked One had left behind.

As they reached a T in the corridor, two wooden doors confronted them, already starting to rot. One door was carved with the phrase ‘Thrown Rum’. The other said ‘Kitchuns’. “Oh, wow,” Gyneth said quietly, letting out a raspy chuckle. “Party in the kitchuns, right?” Lyonesse nodded in agreement. “Offsirs and king not welcome?” “That would be correct,” the mage answered with a bemused smile playing on her lips. “Here’s hoping we can make this quick before the others hear,” the warrior said as she applied rat poison to her sword blade.

Carefully, Gyneth opens the door to a curtained alcove, gradually revealing what used to be a grand, ancient Uttakin temple. On top of the altar sits a cheap wooden chair upon which an extremely large and terribly ugly rat sits. A tacky-looking amulet hung around his neck, and a rusty iron hoop rested on his head. Likely meant to be a crown. Four other rats kneel before him. As the pair of adventurers drew closer, they overheard one of them say, “But, Skab-” “That’s Great King Skabb to you, dung-breath!!!” the rat on the so-called throne interrupted, his voice echoing deep through the cavernous temple.

Lyonesse gripped Gyneth’s arm and gestured for the warrior to hold her attack. The mage then grabbed her book and began to whisper an incantation.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 12

Lyonesse’s Magic Score: 6 + 6 + 5 = 17 – PASSED!

With one hand firmly holding her book, Lyonesse raised her free hand to her lips and gently blew through the O formed by her thumb and index finger. As her remaining fingers fanned out, toxic green vapors clouded the air around the ratmen. They coughed and choked as they breathed in the spell. Their eyelids grew heavy, their heads swayed with dizziness. Before the women’s eyes, the ratmen slumped over and started to snore. The king’s iron crown fell from his head and shattered once it hit the ground. Gyneth smiled and asked, “You sure you need someone to protect you?” Lyonesse smiled and nodded. “I trust Trystan’s judgment on how dangerous the world can be,” she said in response before they set forth to quickly keep the ratmen from ever waking again.

Gyneth yanked the copper amulet from the dead king’s neck. While listening to the echoes in the air currents, Lyonesse found a chest tucked away in a corner. She crouched beside it and sensed it was booby-trapped. Taking a deep breath and flipping through the special grimoire that only the blind mage could read, she attempted to disarm and open the chest.

MAGIC DIFFICULTY – 9

Lyonesse’s Magic Score: 6 + 3 + 1 = 10 – PASSED!

With a satisfying click, the chest’s lid sprang open. Gyneth smiled at the sight of sixty shards, a mandolin ( Charisma +1 ), and a potion of healing ( One use. In or out of Combat. Restores +5 to Stamina ), and an ancient-looking scroll. Neither woman could read the text, but by feel, Lyonesse believed it was a scroll of Ebron. “What does that mean?” Gyneth asked, amazed at how sensitive the mage’s sense of touch was. “These types of scrolls often depict the gods of the Uttaku. I’m familiar with how the names feel when written. Ebron was widely depicted as having fourteen angles,” Lyonesse said. “Angles?” The warrior was confused by the description. Her companion shrugged and shook her veiled head, unsure how to explain the symbolism.

Believing the scroll would be of some value, Lyonesse tucked it away in her gear, split the shards with Gyneth, who took the healing potion, and stored the enchanted mandolin as well.

When they finally returned to Guildmaster Vernon’s office, he was not too pleased to see them. Mostly because they reeked of sewage and had taken what felt like far too long to report back. That was until Gyneth dropped the copper amulet on his desk and declared King Skabb was good and dead. Neither of them felt the need to mention the extra bit of loot they found. The portly man clapped his hands together with glee, howling with joy before he threw a pouch of their reward money on his desk. As they stepped out of the merchant’s guild, a bird fluttered to the blind woman and perched on her veiled head. A tiny scroll was attached to its leg. Gyneth beamed when she read it. “Trystan will be training with the druids, and says we should all meet up at Marlock City in a handful of weeks,” she explained to Lyonesse. “Then we should see what more good we can do here in Yellowport before we depart,” the mage suggested, though they both agreed to wash up at the tavern first. The message they attached to the bird simply stated, 'See you then.'

Traveling to Caran Baru

 It had been a week since Ysolt had heard anything from Hector and Cedric. She was due for another day of rest from her training when a bird arrived with a message from Trystan. The priestess smirked quietly as she read that the wayfarer would be spending a few weeks on the Isle of Druids, and that Lyonesse was traveling with another woman named Gyneth. When she read that they would all meet up in Marlock City again by the end of the season, her reply simply read, ‘Agreed’.

When she later arrived at the Three Ring Tavern, Ysolt learned that Cedric and Hector had left the day before. “Oh! I am so sorry! I forgot to deliver this to the House of Priests,” the barmaid said as she handed the note over to the priestess. As she read it, her teal eyes narrowed in confusion. Instead of approaching her to let her know they would be traveling to Trefoille to help rebuild the city, they left a note. They wrote that they didn’t wish to disturb her unnecessarily. She knew they would have a place to stay with Oliphard the Wizardly, but she wished she'd had the chance to see them off.

In truth, Hector told Cedric about the job he picked up from the temple of Sig, and they both agreed that earning a bit of cash on the side would be easier elsewhere. They traveled along the main highway so they wouldn't get lost in the wilderness, though they kept their discussion of the job very limited when militia patrols were around. Or other travelers, for that matter. “You do realize that the temple of Tyrnai will be heavily guarded,” Cedric mentioned at one point in their travels, about halfway between Marlock City and Trefoille. “Which is why I want to take my time to see if there’s a routine to their patrols and watch,” the rogue explained, since understanding the layout and how it’s used day-to-day would help him figure out how to get the golden armor.

ROLL 1 DIE.

Score: 1 – Bad Omen – Lose one Blessing.

A storm picked up just before they reached Trefoille. None of the caravans with cover would let either man hitch a ride. They reached the city gates before dark and took shelter among the work camps instead of seeking out Oliphard’s manor. They spent the following day helping the workers rebuild what would become the city’s market area. The following day, they departed via the northern gate toward Caran Baru. Thankfully, they were away from any more rain and terrible weather.

After several nights camping under the stars, both men were eager to sleep in more comfortable accommodations when they came upon the Weary Pilgrim Tavern. There, after paying for their rooms, Cedric bought a round of drinks for the other patrons. Mostly so they would be good and drunk while he warbled and sang a good song or two that didn’t require more than a percussive beat, since he'd lost the one instrument he used to carry. The ditties were good and lively, and when things had quieted down, he settled next to Hector at the bar.

While they each were enjoying some mulled cider and a bowl of hunter’s stew, a trader who had traveled from the far north began to tell them a tale. Once, a great wizard known as Targdaz the Magnificent lived. Legend had it that a shaman of the Horde of the Thousand Winds, up north on the Great Steppes, tricked Targdaz by imprisoning the wizard in a giant ruby. Scoffs echoed around the bar; even though magic existed, some feats seemed improbable to those who did not practice the art.

The story continued, though, despite the disbelief. The shaman began looting the mighty wizard’s tower. Quite foolishly, he opened Targdaz’s Casket of Imponderables. By doing so, the shaman unleashed a terrible storm that swept across the steppes and scattered many tribes far and wide! The shaman was ultimately killed, but no one knows what became of Targdaz. It’s believed that he still remains trapped in the giant ruby. “Would it even be safe to release him?” Hector asked, wondering exactly how long ago the events took place. Cedric took notes, silently weighing the tale's accuracy. After all, many stories evolved over time, across regions, and through political influence.

ROLL 1 DIE.

Score: 3 – Nothing Happens.

Hector and Cedric could tell they were nearing Caran Baru. The bard had especially heard word that the town was bustling with soldiers and militiamen stationed to protect the northern borders from the hordes of the Great Steppes. The road became congested with caravans and patrols, and people not paying attention to where they were going were struck across the head by soldiers too impatient to offer a word of kindness. The troubadour and rogue nimbly slipped through the crowds and avoided being struck, but it added tension to Hector’s plans.

“If the town and temple are crawling with patrols, I don’t see how I would be able to get to the armor,” the burglar said to his musical companion. “A distraction often goes a long way,” Cedric suggested before changing the topic of conversation as more troops marched past them. Once they arrived at Caran Baru, they quickly went to the Blue Griffon Tavern to secure a couple of beds or a room for the night.

In Need of Pest Control

 As stated earlier, Lyonesse had overheard a rather insightful conversation while she and Gyneth were meandering away from the docks. They passed the merchant’s guild when someone ran out and grabbed the warrior’s arm. “You,” the middle-aged gentleman said eagerly, which startled the armored woman and made her flinch away. Her mage companion turned her head toward the commotion. “What’s the matter?” Lyonesse asked, a hint of confusion gracing her tone and expression. The man quickly bowed to both of the women.

“Please excuse my excitement,” he said, noting the sword and book strapped to the mage’s belt, and then the wear on both women’s boots and clothes. “You look as though both might be capable of helping us!” Gyneth narrowed her eyes and asked, “Helping who?” The man’s brow rose in shock, and then his rotund face grew tomato red! “Oh! The merchant’s guild, of course!” He was truly embarrassed for not thinking of how confusing the conversation would be without such pertinent details. “Please, the guildmaster would greatly appreciate it if you would come inside and talk with him,” he continued, bowing again as he gestured toward the door he'd just run out of. Gyneth looked to Lyonesse, who turned her head to suggest their eyes would lock as they discussed the issue.

The mage smiled encouragingly. “It wouldn’t hurt to at least listen to what the problem is,” she said, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword. Both the man and her companion noted the gesture. “No, it wouldn’t,” Gyneth agreed, her gaze shifting to meet the man’s eyes. “And they wouldn’t attempt anything, considering how well equipped we are,” she sneered, her eyes narrowing once again. The man’s skin turned burgundy as he stammered, “Oh…o-of course n-not!” He smiled weakly, holding the door open for the lovely ladies as they sauntered in to meet with the guild master.

If the previous man was rotund, Guildmaster Vernon was downright bariatric. He was also decked out in the finest of garments laced with glittering jewels in gleaming gold and silver. His beady eyes lit up at the sight of the two adventurers, and his chair groaned as he shifted his weight, not so much as to stand but simply to greet both women with as much formality as he could manage. “Thank goodness you are here,” he exclaimed breathlessly, tugging a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiping sweat from his brow and double chins. “Why’s that?” Gyneth asked, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. Lyonesse chuckled silently, sensing her companion would rather get straight to the point.

“Yes, of course,” Vernon said with a cough and more sopping of his handkerchief. “We have a rat problem,” he started, but was quickly interrupted. “Seriously? Are cats and ratters not sufficient to handle the city’s rodent issues?” Gyneth interjected with a snort of disbelief that any adventurer would want to waste their time with pest control. “Ratmen,” the guildmaster clarified with a frown and furrowed brow, finding her impatience and snark rude. “They come out at night and pilfer from our warehouses. The city guard won’t do a damn thing about it, claiming that it wouldn’t leave enough soldiers to man the gates and patrol the defenses,” he said before pounding the top of his desk with his fist. “We need to remove their king. Cut off the head of their nest, and the rest will disperse from lack of leadership!”

Both women raised their eyebrows at the guildmaster’s fervor. Lyonesse reached beneath her veil and rubbed the back of her neck as she asked, “Do you know where these ratmen nest?” “Yes, yes, yes,” he answered quickly, pulling out a map of Yellowport and pointing out the poorer quarters. Gyneth leaned in, pressing her fingers against the dock district before leading them through the outlined streets to where Vernon tapped his plump, bejeweled finger. “Some scouts followed them to the sewers. You should be able to enter through an old well in this district here,” he insisted before speaking of their reward. “We’ll pay you four hundred and fifty shards when you bring back proof of the king’s demise.” Gyneth looked back at the mage, who smiled sweetly and said, “Consider it done.”

“If they’re raiding the warehouses at night, then they’ll likely be resting during the daylight hours,” Gyneth suggested as she guided Lyonesse through the streets of Yellowport toward the well Guildmaster Vernon had directed them to. They made a point to stop by the market first, to purchase a bottle of rat poison. The blind mage felt the sun’s rays were abnormally filtered by the haze of sulfur in the air, deposited down the Stinking River from the Lake of the Sea Dragon. “The sun has passed its pique,” Lyonesse mentioned. “Which means we shouldn’t delay if we want to finish this task before their next exertion.” They both agreed.

As they climbed down the well and into the sewers, Gyneth held her nose and forced herself to breathe through her mouth. “Phew, who would have thought that something could smell worse than those sulfur deposits,” she gagged before looking down through the darkness of the tunnel. “I’m about to ask a stupid question,” she said, dread in her voice. “Why do you phrase it like that?” Lyonesse asked, listening to their voices echo off the sewer walls, ceiling, and…well…sewage. “Because you’re blind and would have absolutely no use for a light spell,” the former soldier responded, her tone becoming increasingly pathetic. The mage smiled and gently said, “It is quite dark down here.” She lifted her hand, and the book chained to her belt rose.

When it opened, the pages fluttered back and forth as if searching for the appropriate spell. She lowered her hand onto the open pages and placed her other hand on the pommel of Gyneth’s sword. Her voice was but a whisper as she recited an incantation she felt through her sensitive fingers. With the light spell cast on her companion’s sword, the pommel radiated a brilliant glow. It was just bright enough for Gyneth to see where she was going, but not far enough ahead to warn others of their presence. “Thank you,” Gyneth whispered breathlessly, amazed at Lyonesse’s skill.

Trystan Returns to the Isle of Druids

 Gyneth and Lyonesse walked with Trystan to the harbormaster to find out the cost and when a ship would depart for the Isle of Druids. They made it just in time to watch him board and depart. After he paid his way, he gave the mage the five remaining smoulder fish they picked up back at the Lake of the Sea Dragon. “You’ll have a better use for them than I will,” he said, remembering the time spent learning how to utilize the fish’s organs for several potions and incantations. As the women made their way back toward the center of Yellowport, Lyonesse overheard a conversation between two merchants. They were discussing the most profitable trading routes between Golnir and Sokara; information that would likely come in handy at a later date, she assumed.

The barque unfurled its sails to catch the wind that headed eastward. Trystan, who didn’t remember the last time he was shipborne, felt ill at ease the entire time, and was more than grateful when they anchored at the quayside of the Trading Post. He was determined to travel back to the mainland by way of the portals and silently wished more portals were available between the mainland and islands. If only so he would never have to sail by ship again.

The wayfarer took quick note of how the mayor of the small yet thriving trading station had positioned himself to greet the ship’s passengers as soon as they arrived on the beach. Trystan kept his head down and face covered by the wide rim of his hat, hoping that the portly fool wouldn’t recognize him. Once he slipped away behind a crewman the mayor ignored, the younger man was thankful to see no obvious signs of harm to the small town. Granted, he hadn’t taken the time to get to know anyone personally, but he recalled his encounter with the wolf up on the hill with the gates.

His vibrant green eyes lifted to the hill for a moment, his hand gripping the willow staff he had been tasked to deliver. The staff was more important than investigating the hill for a wolf’s den. With how much time had passed, the wolf may have already moved on. Trystan turned and started down the nearest gaming trail.

SCOUTING DIFFICULTY – 10

Trystan’s Scouting Score: 9 + 6 + 2 = 17 – PASSED!

It had been well over a month since he last traversed the Isle of Druids' forest. A hot, stifling summer had turned into a moderately comfortable early autumn. The humidity was no longer nearly as thick, and the canopy leaves were starting to shift from lush green to a crisp, diverse array of warmer hues. The wayfarer began to feel at home as he wove through the trees, occasionally recognizing a knot of one tree and the drooping branch of another. What took him the better part of the day to navigate on his first visit took only a handful of hours this time around.

Trystan soon found his way to the tall hedges that encircled the City of Trees, and he smiled at the ancient oak that stood guard at the entrance. He approached the tree and gently knocked on the trunk to rouse it from his afternoon nap. With a snort, a cough, and a yawn that sounded like wood creaking under excess weight, the old oak owlishly blinked his eyes open. “Who dares t-” the old tree started, but his vision cleared. His eyes widened at the sight of a strangely familiar face. “Oh! Oh! Ah! You have returned!” The tree groaned as he began to lift his roots from his station in front of the entrance and slowly moved with a sweeping bow of his branches. “The Oak Druid awaits you!”

Word spread quickly to the Oak Druid about Trystan’s return, and the young wayfarer was guided up to the old man’s home high in the trees. They embraced and exchanged pleasantries before the younger man passed the willow staff to the older fellow. Blind as he was, his hands traced along the intricate runes carved into the wood. “Interesting,” he murmured, but would not answer any of Trystan’s questions concerning the meaning behind the carvings. Instead, the Oak Druid offered to let the young ranger stay within the city for a month, to learn the ways of the druids. Trystan accepted, expressing his eternal gratitude for all the druids had done for him when he first arrived on the island.

During his stay, Trystan spoke of his travels and adventures, and the handful of people he had met. He had no direct way to contact them and apprise them of his plans. He learned that the druids had a way to transport small slips of paper, if one knew how to read and write. He wasn’t entirely sure how Lyonesse could read, but he trusted that the mage was still traveling with Gyneth, and that the warrior would assist in any way she could. He also trusted that Ysolt was keeping Hector out of trouble, though he asked why he was sent on a mission to deliver the two staves. “Do you honestly believe that a bird would be able to carry such a heavy message?” someone asked in return.

Trystan Increases 1 Rank. Roll 1 Die.

Trystan Increases 4 in Stamina.

Name: Trystan Afon
Profession: Wayfarer
God: -none-
Rank: 2
Defense: 9
Charisma: 2
Combat: 5
Magic: 3
Sanctity: 3
Scouting: 9
Thievery: 4
Stamina: Max – 13/Current - 13
Money: 192 Shards
Possessions – Max 12: Sword, Chainmail ( Defense +3 ), Bow/Quiver of Arrows, Gold Compass ( Scouting +2 ), Lantern,
Resurrection Arrangements: -none-
Titles: Outcast. Commoner,
Blessings: -none-

An Unexpected Run-in

Cedric agreed to stay at the House of Priests with Ysolt and Hector, considering it meant that he didn’t have to spend any of his shards. He found the establishment’s library to be a fascinating source of inspiration for some enchanted tales, but some of the descriptions and details in their accounts were a little dry. The library’s curators quickly banned the troubadour from accessing the books further when they caught him leaving footnotes, suggestions, and crude doodles in the margins of some of their books. Cedric also understood how the rogue had gone a little stir-crazy with the chores they performed in trade for comfortable, warm, dry beds. Some of the chores were clearly designed to teach humility and moderation. Yet, the wanderlust that stirred in an adventurer’s soul could not be tamed so easily.

The bard hooked arms with the shorter burglar and expediently convinced him that they needed a night out on the town. “My tunes aren’t nearly as appreciated by the priests as they would be by the general public, and earlier you mentioned something about evening expeditions,” Cedric said with a wink as they strolled out a side door and turned down an alleyway. “Exploring the city in a group isn’t the stealthiest way to go about one’s business,” Hector mentioned as his companion holstered his loot and began to tune the strings. “No, not necessarily. However, I’ve always found that it’s better to have someone watch your back,” the troubadour countered as he plucked at the instrument’s strings, made an adjustment, plucked again, and then hummed along with the note.

Hector wondered why Cedric wanted to go exploring the city. Surely, if he had been around enough to determine that there wasn’t money to be earned in Marlock City, then there wouldn’t be much more to experience. He wasn’t even sure how Ysolt managed to convince the bard to stay with them, other than the fact that the House of Priests was a free form of room and board. In trade for chores, jobs, and missions. The daily chores were boring enough to make anyone want to leave, both men felt.

“Well, actually,” the rogue spoke as he got to thinking about what job he picked up from the temple of Sig. “Before we me-” he was quickly cut off by the sound of three drunken men stumbling in from around the corner. One of them knocked Hector off his feet, causing him to fall to the ground. The other two were leaning on each other and stopped to look at the taller man carrying the lute. “W-wh-…whazzish?” one of them slurred into his friend’s ear. Cedric stepped a couple of steps back, so as not to be in the way of their swaggering, but quickly noted their uniforms and medals. While Hector was unaware of the region’s hierarchy, the bard knew these men were militia officers. “WATSH WHER YER GON!!!” the one who knocked over the rogue bellowed out, flailing one of his arms in a threatening manner toward the hooded fellow on the ground.

Hector kept his head down; the hood hid his hair, distinct facial features, and the pure expression of anger that was written all over his face. “Good sirs,” Cedric then sang out as he strummed his lute. “Such disregard for your fellow man paints a poor picture of your military’s good character!”

COMBAT DIFFICULTY – 12

Hector’s Combat Score: 4 + 1 + 6 = 11 – FAILED!

All three men turned their heads and gave Cedric confused expressions. While they were distracted, however, his shorter, blond companion rolled onto his feet and barreled into the soldier who had initially knocked into him. The brutish man toppled over from the unexpected charge, yet before Hector could pin and punch him, one of the other two men stepped in to restrain the rogue. Kicking and wailing, he struggled to get away and took a hard punch to the jaw from the third man. Before he could get a second punch in, Cedric bashed the man over the head with his lute. Unfortunately, destroying the instrument in the process, it effectively knocked the drunken fool out and sent him toppling into Hector and his restrainer.

The rogue wedged his feet against the man falling on him and kicked him back. Cedric reflexively stepped out of the way, yet the force from the kick against a falling oaf messed with the other soldier’s balance. He fell back onto the first soldier, which loosened his grip on Hector. The bard quickly helped his dazed companion up, pulled his arm around his shoulder, and the two of them stumbled and tumbled into the back alleys until they were certain the militia officers were not following after them. Instead of heading back to the House of Priests, Cedric paid for a week’s stay at the Three Rings Tavern. He sent a missive to Ysolt explaining that they would be spending the week at the inn to take a break from monastic life. He didn't describe what happened, since those were details the priestess didn’t need to know. Plausible deniability and all.

Another Difficult Decision

 Bodies laid strewn across the road. A gentle wind caused a mage’s robes and veil to rustle about her. The sound caught a warrior’s attention. She raised her dark gaze toward Lyonesse and Trystan, who had lowered their weapons once they learned that the veteran combatant did well enough to dispose of the bandits without their aid. Still, the platinum blond woman wasn’t aware of that. “I-I didn-” she started, only to silence herself when the wayfarer raised his hand in peace. “We know. We saw,” he stated with a solemn nod. “We shouldn’t leave these bodies to fester,” he then suggested. “Of course not,” the warrior agreed.

While they looted and buried the bodies, they learned each other’s names and talked about their travels. Gyneth explained that she was traveling to Golnir to figure out a way of earning a knighthood from one of the baronies. Admittedly, she had been driven by the tales of valor and honor that felt absent from the armies and militia of Sokara. Trystan explained that Lyonesse wanted to experience the world, and in turn they were escorting each other to the Isle of Druids so he could complete a task that had been asked of him. “Afterward, we’ll be heading back to Marlock City to pick up a couple of other companions who stayed behind for training in the priesthood,” Lyonesse said as they finished packing down the dirt over the bandits’ bodies.

“You travel with priests?” Gyneth asked, finding the notion a little confusing. “Just one,” Trystan interjected before Lyonesse could fully explain the situation. “She’s been by my side ever since I first arrived in Marlock City. We completed a job that no other traveling priests had been able to accomplish, so the high priests offered to expand on her training. Before we met Lyonesse here, we rescued a fellow from slavery. He’s been rather helpful.” The ranger wouldn’t say how just yet. The mage next to him pressed her lips together but didn’t elaborate further either. The talk of valor and honor gave them both the impression that the warrior woman before them would likely not take too kindly to rogues. Not yet, at least.

“I overheard a bit of the conversation you had with Yanryt,” Lyonesse said once they started down the road again, away from the buried bodies. By then, the sun was setting, and they would not be making it to Yellowport before the gates closed for the evening. Still, they didn’t want to set up camp too close to the graves, either. “About the Black Dragon Knight?” Gyneth asked to confirm, which the mage did with a slow nod. “Who’s the Black Dragon Knight?” Trystan asked, as his companion’s hearing was far keener than his. He hadn’t heard nearly as much. “Yanryt described him as being a greatly evil man,” their new traveling companion began to explain.

“I need to defeat him, and bring Yanryt his shield as proof of his demise,” she said with a sigh. “He just didn’t tell me where to find him,” Gyneth then pouted and huffed, her expression turning a bit dour. Lyonesse giggled some at the sound, even though she couldn’t see the other woman’s face. “He gave you a quest, like any deity and demigod would rightly expect of us mortals,” the mage expressed in a kind, uplifting tone. “If you like, we can help you find him,” she offered, giving Trystan a reason to object. “Surely Gyneth here wouldn’t want to waste her time traveling with us," his tone didn’t betray any kind of negative feeling toward the other woman, but she still took offense to the statement.

“What are you saying?” Gyneth asked with a furrow of her brow and a distinctive frown of her lips. Her tone sent a chill down Lyonesse’s spine, which was enough to clue her in that the trained sword-wielder was upset with the ranger. Trystan grunted to clear his voice, allowing him a moment to best consider how to clarify what he meant. “I explored the Isle of Druids after I washed ashore. There are only two settlements there. The druids deep in the forest, and a newly established trading post on the bay. I doubt you’ll find a knight of any kind on the island.” He glanced over at Gyneth, whose glare had not lightened in the least bit. “All I’m saying is that you would have a better chance of finding him here on the mainland.” Even Lyonesse couldn’t refute that logic, as seen by a sympathetic smile. “He makes a good point,” she said before suggesting, “Come with us to Yellowport. Maybe someone there will be able to give you an idea as to where to look.”

Gyneth looked ahead of them, further down the road. The city they were walking toward wasn’t anywhere in sight, not yet at least. “You’re probably right,” she said with another sigh, adjusting the straps to her traveling gear so the weight didn’t cause even more discomfort. Yet, she couldn’t openly admit that she hated traveling alone. It made sleeping on the road difficult, as she wasn’t sure if she’d wake quickly enough to defend herself. However, Lyonesse considered some of the stories that Ysolt and Trystan had shared during their stay with her mentor.

“Still, Trystan. You had picked up your original jobs well over a month ago,” the mage said, prompting him to say, “More like two to three months ago.” When one really thought about it. “Ysolt is taking time to train and strengthen her bond with the goddess Maka, which was her reward for saving Elnir’s son,” Lyonesse then continued, only to be interrupted by the shocked Gyneth, “You’ve met and rescued a son of another god?” The thought of which astonished her, considering who gave her the quest to slay the evil Black Dragon Knight. Trystan’s ruddy skin grew dark as he side-glanced toward the mage. “Ysolt specifically. Hector and I were witnesses to the event,” he clarified.

“That has to mean something!” Gyneth wouldn’t let up; her deep voice sounded both excited and hopeful. “The Three Fortunes surely must have ordained us to meet, as kindred spirits blessed to meet the gods and their kin!” Trystan refrained from groaning upon hearing such rubbish. Lyonesse simply grinned, finding such notions amusing and sensing how the wayfarer must be admonishing such thoughts in his head. “The sun is getting low, and the smell of death does not follow us,” the mage declared. “Now would be a good time to start looking for a place to set up camp,” she said with a clap of her hands.

They reached Yellowport the afternoon of the next day, though the acutely sensed mage could smell the noxious aroma of sulfur long before her companions could. “Was it this bad at the fishing town of Cadmium at the Lake of the Sea Dragon?” Lyonesse asked as they passed through the yellow-stained gates into the major port. “Yes. Possibly worse,” Trystan responded. “Though Hector might disagree, considering how he was in the actual lair of the dragon.”

“Incredible,” Gyneth coughed, partially choking from the smell while being completely astonished at the adventures and people Trystan made mention of. “It’s like you’re living out the tales the bards sing about,” she couldn’t help but mention wistfully. “Those stories don’t entirely detail the long nights spent outdoors and the extent of the terrible weather,” he pointed out as they made their way to the harbor master. After stopping for directions on more than one occasion, the telltale signs of seagulls and waves confirmed they were near the docks. Just as Lyonesse made mention of these sounds, the wayfarer stopped both women before venturing further.

“Are you sure you both wish to continue forward with me?” Trystan asked, his expression stern with concern. “The druids of the City of Trees are private people. They have very limited interactions with the trading port on the island. Mostly to keep them from expanding too deeply into the forest. If they reward me with more training to hone my skills, you both may not have much to do in the meantime,” he explained, hoping they would realize that the trip might not be to their benefit. Especially to Gyneth, who had her own quest to pursue.

“You can’t expect us to wait here,” the female warrior countered bitterly, as she was having a difficult time getting used to the aroma of the port. Even the open areas away from the condensed buildings didn’t alleviate the smell by much. The mage listened and slowly nodded, her head shifting to the left and right as each of her companions made their case. She reached out and tenderly gripped Trystan's arm. “You’re worried about imposing too much on the druids’ hospitality. You had done so unintentionally when the Willow Druid invited you to stay in her home,” she said, remembering a few of the details when they shared the story with Lyonesse and Oliphard. She then turned her head and reached out to grip Gyneth’s arm, as the pauldrons of her armor made it difficult to give a firm yet poignant squeeze. “You’re worried that parting ways with another who received a mission from a deity will force you to lose a significant key in your quest,” Lyonesse then said, shocking the militarily trained fighter. The blind mage was far more insightful than the taller woman would have ever expected. “But what you must remember is this: it was Ysolt who initially received and completed the rescue mission. Trystan was simply there to witness the event. You and I could head to Marlock City, if you wished to discuss the matter with the priestess of Maka.”

It was only a suggestion, one that caused the dark hues of the young warrior to dart back and forth between the mage and the wayfarer. Would traveling with those who interacted with the gods improve her chances of finding the Black Dragon Knight?

Before she could respond, Trystan unbuckled the scroll case of the map the druids gave him. “Here,” he said as he handed it over to Gyneth. “Take this map with you. I can find my way without it. You’ll have a better use of it as you ask for rumors and advice from the citizens who know the region better,” he said, as if already making the decision for both her and Lyonesse. He looked to the mage who sensed his gaze and raised her face to meet it. “Protect each other, and return to Marlock City before the end of the season. I swore to Ysolt we would continue traveling together again.” His head then shifted to meet Gyneth’s gaze. “If you haven’t found your knight by the appointed time, we’ll do what we can to find him. Together,” he promised. Both women nodded in agreement, but only the mage had an encouraging smile. Gyneth continued to be apprehensive about the decision, but didn’t see a point in arguing over it anymore.