"I think I've... got a friend whose curiosity might be piqued by the tiara. He may stop by later today." From long hours spent appraising plunder and sorting magical items from worthless family heirlooms, Henry Southgard knows that the magical hats cost far more than what the party can afford, even by pooling their money. But Sheog's distinctive appearance was the party's best chance for tracking her in the city.
The hats would have to be removed from the shop before Sheog could steal one of them.
He counts out five gold pieces of far-from-recent denomination and smiles at Halda's puzzled expression. "I shall see you first thing tomorrow morning, then."
The crossbowman gives a polite nod and leaves the store, looking about for his compatriots.
The haberdasher folds the parchment and hands it to the customer, and follows Henry out. “I’ll be out for a bit collecting the horsehair, and a few other crafting supplies. Tell your friend not to come for an hour; I should be back by then.” She closes and locks the door behind her. “I will wait for you to return before taking refuge. Even if you say you will help, I’m not turning over my keys to you.”
Glancing up and down the road, she stops by the rope and leather cart vendor before proceeding further down the road. Henry finds his companions in the alleyways behind the haberdashery.
Henry Southgard nods and waves for Quick to join them. "Found her. She's holed up in the basement, waiting for nightfall. Has the proprietor scared something terrible."
He pauses for a minute to gather his thoughts. "I'm of two minds. If we fight her here, we can count on property damage. Ignoring the very real danger of destroying an innocent businesswoman's livelihood, assaults are illegal in Redstone. If Sheog escapes, we have tipped our hand, become wanted criminals, and must track a wary foe and evade the law at the same time. On the other hand, Halda has magical items on display. Among these items is a hat that can disguise the wearer. We got a lucky break finding her, and we're sure to lose her if she can pass herself off as just another Elf."
"We need to alert the town guard, get them in on this."
"No!" Quick blurts too loudly. He flushes dark with embarrassment and continues in a softer tone. "If we involve them we'll have to explain. They may insist on keeping the scale. We can't. let. that. happen."
"The Scale is a curio of primarily historical value, and is the property of the Andel family. We are retained by the Andel family, and thus it is our duty to return stolen property to the rightful owners. Worst case scenario, the Scale spends two weeks in an evidence box before being handed over to us."
"You say that, but who can know the hearts of men? I have seen every humor from supreme benevolence to wrath and greed to rival the nefarious Armaag himself. I do not just to hope where the sacred relics of my faith are concerned."
"You are a mercenary, do something sneaky and get this done without the guards."
"Sneaky? Speaking as a mercenary, my first instinct is to flood the basement with armored men and sharp swords or lock the exits and set the building on fire. That second solution results in property damage in a city that I am not in the process of taking by force. Therefore, not an option."
"And to be frank, I have no clue who Armaag is, but I'll quote from Sarenrae: 'You shall know the good by the fruit that they bear.' Look around you. Refugees are being accepted with open arms. The Orc invasion is being met with calm preparation, not panic nor apathy. Hell, your brethren are still serving in the city watch! That's all solid evidence that this town is led by good, law-abiding men. Men who will return stolen property to its rightful owners."
The exasperation melts away from Henry Southgard's tone as he turns to Gwath. "Halga has... er, I didn't actually bring the subject up with her. I just said that I knew someone," he indicates Quick and Gorim "-who might be interested in magical items. She'll return in an hour, and we can discreetly discuss the safeguarding of magic items then."
"Fine." Quick says resignedly. This guy has an answer for everything... "Can we at least utilize the guard as little as possible? Have them block exits and the like. The more of this we do ourselves the more bargaining power later, right?"
"Aye, alert the guards for sure, but let's take point", agrees the Dwarf, fiddling with his beard in thought.
"And I'd indeed be keen to see these magic items of Halga's."
"Right. You two go talk to Halda and see if you can get the items removed to safety. If she has any doubt as to your affiliations, mention that I contracted her for a helmet liner made from a seven layer weave of horsehair. Gwath and I will seek out the captain of the guard, see if we can get him on our side."
"Do we have time for all that? It'll be dark soon enough. Isn't Halda's being held hostage enough for us to intervene? Not to mention she is a thief. If the guards are as understanding as you claim, why not get her now and explain later?"
Henry Southgard sneaks a skeptical look at the sky before replying.
"It's just common courtesy to seek out a man's blessing before you kick up a ruckus in his jurisdiction. And, again, this will save us from wasting time explaining who we are if the Drow gives us the slip. We have time now. We may not have time later."
Quick rolls his eyes with an exasperated sigh and wave his and as if to say Well go on then...
As Henry and Gwath leave, the homeless man across the alley mutters something about not wanting to be around when the law arrives and ambles down the dirty walkway. The half-orc mage and the dwarf bide their time in the alleyway, waiting for the hat-maker to return. By this time, the beggars John and Michael, who were watching eagerly from around the corner, hoping to see a fight, become bored and less interested. Still, they seem to have nothing better to do, so they lean idly against the walls.
About ten minutes pass when a man in a ragged and stained dark blue overcoat wordlessly passes by the two beggars, approaching the dwarf and half-orc. As he gets closer, it is clear that he has not washed in some time. He waves a hand with a fingerless glove, and the other palm has a wrapped wound, the cloth strips since soiled from a grimy lifestyle. A worn, soft leather cap mostly covers greying brown greasy hair. He offers a yellow, sweaty-toothed grin. “Sally-tayshuns. You gents in need o’ some, ah, ailmints for yer problems? Perheps they’re be a man, or woman, who’s in need of a solid, sound sleep?”
By the inflection of “a solid, sound sleep”, it is likely that this person isn’t selling sleeping aids. Poison might closer to what this unwashed peddler offers.
------------------------------
It takes some asking around, and following directions from people who are not native to the good town of Redstone Keep, but in half an hour, the privateer and the mercenary find the guard barracks. In no time at all, they are directed to a door said to be the guard captain’s office.
Inside, they find a small, wood paneled room furnished with a desk, a tall narrow bookshelf, and four chairs, one of which is at the desk, facing the door opened by Henry. A middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard in splint-mail does not look up from his cluttered desk, intent on the papers and quill in his hand. A few polearms lean against the corner behind him to his right, and the wood desk obscures any armaments on the captain’s belt. By the furrow on his brow, it is plain that the guard captain toils against his least favorite aspect of his station: paperwork.
When the first footfall crosses the threshold, he speaks with a bored and practiced tone, not bothering to look up. “Guard recruits report to the left end of the hallway, not the right...”
Henry Southgard gives the office a quick look before stepping forward and clearing his throat.
"We are not here to volunteer for the patrols. Not at this juncture. I am Henry Southgard, son of Micheal, son of Samuel, currently in retainer to the Andel family. I have come here because I am searching for the Drow who raided your stables last night, and I believe I have located her."
The mercenary stops before the desk and stands with a respectful sort of rigidity.
"I felt that I should consult with the town guard before attempting to apprehend her."
The guard captain sets the writing tool aside and looks up with a skeptical expression. His gaze hardens when he sees the half-orc behind the man addressing him. But he keeps his attention on the matter at hand. “‘Attempting to apprehend’? I appreciate your enthusiasm, but further involvement from you won’t be necessary.” He stands, the chair legs scooting loudly over the wood floor, and begins stepping around the table. “But if you would be so kind as to direct us to the whereabouts of this person, and if that direction aids us in her apprehension, I’m sure we will be able to compensate you and your ...associate, for your time.” Casually pulling a halberd from the corner, he turns and moves for the door. “I will look into this personally. Wait outside the barracks while I gather a few men. Then you will lead us to the drow in question.”
"Before you charge into that cellar, there are two things you should know" Henry Southgard says, perhaps a little too quickly. "Firstly, she is a thief, and we are chartered with recovering a small item of heraldry from her person. Secondly, she slew the object's previous keeper with a dark form of magic. 'Tore his soul from his body' was the way I heard it described. If you know a priest who can ward your men, you will want to call him in."
"No thanks. Been sleepin' just fine".
"Quick, I'm gonna wait for Halda up front, comin'?
Quick shrugs and follows the dwarf.
The strange inquisitive alley-loiterer shrugs as the half-orc mage and the Irori priest make their way to the front of the store. By now the only familiar faces are those of the shopkeepers and the cart vendors. The guards have moved along in their patrol of the town, and those walking the streets are different than the fine folk first seen on this road. The smells and sounds of grilled, seasoned meat waft from the young man’s cart who cooks on the corner of the butcher’s shop. Observing a few transactions tells the two spellcasters that customers go inside the butchery, purchase a handful meat, and bring it out to the boy to grill. The street vendor supplies bread rolls and seasonings, and cooks the meat for two mere copper.
Another thirty minutes pass uneventfully, before a familiar face emerges through the crowd: Halda. She carries an armful of horsehair. The elven business owner smiles when she sees the unlikely pair standing just outside her shop. “Sorry to keep you waiting, things were slow earlier so I ran some errands.” Halda struggles with full arms to retrieve a rings of keys from her pocket. “I hope I did not keep you waiting too long?” She turns a winning smile to the dwarf and half-orc, assessing garb and head size and shape with quick glance.
------------------------------
The captain nods with a half smile at the sound of the suspect’s confined whereabouts, but it fades as he listens to the rest of Southgard’s account. He frowns at the crossbowman’s recommendation to seek priestly aid. “Yeah, I do,” he answers Henry, pausing in the hallway near a closed wooden door, “but it isn’t going to be cheap...” When Gwath pipes up, the captain winces with a glance to the end of the hallway. “Well, as I said before, volunteers will need to report to that office over there,” he points further down the hall, “Until we get your proper paperwork in order, and have you sworn in as temporary help, and loan you a badge of office, I cannot condone any participation from you that might put you in harm’s way. I appreciate your offer; seldom do I see one such as you eager to uphold the law. But I would rather not risk waiting for you to read and sign the documents when my men and I can catch her now. You have already done your civic duty by reporting this drow criminal, more so if you lead us to her. Now, if you’ll excuse me a few minutes, I will gather a few guards and we will go.” The captain gestures to the entrance to the barracks down the corridor, indicating that the two should keep going, and he exits the hallway through the door at his side. Before it closes behind him, the din of quiet conversation spills into the corridor -the sound of perhaps six to eight voices. The brief glimpse of a corner of that room suggests that it could be a mess hall of sorts.
Poking a head into the room for the volunteers shows a large, quiet rectangular room. At the far end is a desk where an older woman sits, sorting through sheets of written parchment in a few stacks varying in height. Behind her left shoulder stands a guard at attention, close the wall. Behind her right shoulder stands a man garbed in priestly robes. The man of the cloth sweeps a watchful gaze over about a dozen volunteers in the room. Seven of them stand in line a few feet away from the desk, waiting for the old woman to gesture the next forward, while five more remain seated in the chairs that line the large room. The five hunch over a handful of papers, reading the small and thorough contract of temporary hire for the city watch of Redstone Keep. By the sleepy expression on the guard’s face, the impatient shifting of weight by those in line, and the slow, deliberate movements of the woman clerk, lookers-on know that the application process to volunteer as a guard would be a slow one.
A few minutes later, the captain steps out of the barracks followed by three other guards of lesser rank. A sizeable cloth pouch of most likely coin is clutched closely by the captain’s gauntleted hand. “I am Captain Waldemar, by the way. And these are Privates Austin, MacGowan, and Jenkins. You may lead the way, Southguard. If we do not happen across an Abadar priest along the way, a detour to a church might be in order.”
"Not too long." Quick says rushing to help the woman. He takes whatever she will allow and carries it where she wishes. He blushes slightly at her smile and looks to Gorim for help.
Henry Southgard looks over the paperwork and decides not to waste everyone's time. If Sheog eluded them and fled the city, it was best not to be tied to guard duty with binding agreements. And if she put up a fight, well, Captain Waldemar would be unlikely to refuse help.
"As I said, we're not here tonight to volunteer," Henry says as he shakes hands with each of the watchmen. "I'm already contracted by the Andel family for this job. A man cannot serve two masters, right?"
"There's just one thing I have to pick up before the fight. I'll brief you on the way there."
The mercenary and privateer head back toward Halda’s Haberdashery. Along the way, Henry is easily procures a few preparations for the raid. The guard captain and the guards listen carefully to the crossbowman’s debriefing, interjecting clarifying questions when appropriate. Fortunately, after the second turn the six nearly walk right into an acolyte priest, garbed in the cloth of Abadar’s holy men. A brief word involving a promise of payment with Captain Waldemar has the cleric in-tow, and in twenty minutes, the seven see the hat store a few blocks away.
------------------------------
The elven businesswoman thanks the kind half-orc youth, and has him leave the raw materials on the counter. She stoops to a shelf behind it and produces a few tools of the trade, as Quick and Gorim take in the abundant supply of headwear. The most notable of the merchandise are the magic items displayed in a locked glass case. Inside are three silver tiaras, one of them glittering with small orange and green gemstones. Next to the tiaras is a headband of braided brown leather, unremarkable in comparison to the jewelry alongside it.
“Anything catch your eye?” Halda beams, setting down her tools. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Master Dwarf, but you have the look of one who travels frequently. There are a few wide brims over here that will protect your head from the worst of the coming winter snows, the spring and autumn rains, and the harshest of summer’s sun…”
Quick makes some general small talk, constantly watching the window for Henry and Gwath to return.
"Master Dwarf?" the priest chuckles, "Gorim's just fine, thanks", he says while leaning closer to inspect the cased items.
"This leather headband's quite nice. What's its story?"
She nods and smiles appreciatively. “Of course. It once belonged to the horsemaster Prestor, a wise and respected instructor of the king’s cavalry. I’ve never seen someone so hale, especially for his age. It’s said that, unburdened, he can run as fast as a horse, but he is not one to show off.” Halda smiles at a memory. “I bought this from him a few years ago. He said it came from the Urlghain Highlands while he traveled, before he settled down here. Made by a druidess renowned for her knowledge of animals, people, and the magic that binds living things together.” Her reverie falters with mild apprehension, “If you’re interested, I must warn you, it will cost quite a bit…”
"Ah, Prestor! Not a better rider than him!" grins the dwarf. "It's certainly quite the item.... perhaps a bit out of my price range, by the sounds of it..." he says, patting his near empty pockets.
"How about that wide brims you mention?"
Halda walks Gorim through her variety of wide brimmed hats. Some of them are fairly inexpensive, the cheapest costing a single gold coin, and the more expensive ranging no higher than twenty. Not surprisingly, the inexpensive headgear appears to be made for fashion rather than function, and the most expensive are made with more durable materials while still maintaining a tasteful appearance. The middle price range mostly offers rugged but nonetheless effective wide brims against the sun and rain. There is are a few exceptions to these generalizations, when the dwarf notices a few very ostentatious headpieces woven with fine silk and other fabrics and dyes that might spoil if ever rained on. The dust on their brims suggest that few rich enough to overindulge with fashion probably do not frequent Halda’s Haberdashery. These especially ornate and delicate wide-brims cost around fifty in gold.
The three inside the haberdashery see through the large window a small company of guards approach the front door, led by Henry and Gwath. Halda excuses herself from Gorim and pushes open the door before any heavy gauntlets have a chance to knock. She meets Henry’s eyes with an uncertain look, not quite sure what to do. Then she sets her jaw and moves to the glass cabinet, where she produces a key and whispers a word, and removes the valuables. The elven woman then turns to leave her store. When she is out of the door, she leans toward Henry and Captain Waldemar. “Whatever you do,” she whispers, “Don’t let anything get stolen!”
Waldemar quietly assures her and asks that she wait across the road, preferably inside. Before he orders the guards to take positions, he indicates that the holy man pray for some protection over the watchmen. The young cleric nods and repeats a brief chant four times, once over Waldemar, Austin, MacGowan, and Jenkins.
Once the prayer is completed, the captain orders the other three to find the rest of the exits to the building. They salute and march around the corners, into the alleys. Captain Waldemar stands at the main entrance, waiting for half-orcs, dwarf, and man to stand aside. By this time, the concentration of guards has drawn some attention from those on the road.
"-suppose the best way to stop her from leaving through the cellar door is to find a cartload of hay and dump it on top, but she'd hear us before we'd even get started," Henry Southgard says as the guards reach the block with Helda's Haberdashery. His next words are quieter. "Just assign two of your men to keep it properly battened."
He falls silent as they get closer to the shop, as if worried that Sheog might hear their approach. As the priest begins his chant, Henry speaks a simple "Godsend" to the guards, and then motions for Quick and Gorim to join him out on the street.
Henry Southgard idly wonders what weapon he should bear into battle, should the guardsmen fail to contain Sheog, the iron falchion or the crossbow. He decides that they are here to met out justice, and have no interest in a fair fight. He'll use the crossbow.
"Gorim, Gwath, would you kindly sneak around back and keep watch on the exits?
Quick draws his sword as the captain and his men prepare. Great Silver Maw strike down my enemies this day and shield me beneath resplendent wings.
The young half-orc sets his jaw, eyes hard, then Henry leads him away and confusion slides onto the boy's face. "What are we doing?" Quick hissed to Henry. "We have to help."
"We will. The captain doesn't want us in the fight just yet, but we'll join in once it starts. Besides, we're perfectly positioned to catch her if she bolts."
Gorim and Gwath follow the guards into the alleyways. When they round the corner to the back of the hat store, Gorim notices the shady overcoat wearer leaning against a brick corner, speaking in a low voice to the beggars, Michael and John. All three riff raff take note of the guards, and the seller of sleeping aids nods a smiling farewell to the impoverished pair and casually turns down an alley and out of sight. Michael and John look at each other uncertainly as he leaves, and then offer wan smiles at the dwarf, half-orc, and the guards who pay them little heed. Well, most of the guards, anyway. “Aye, wot’re ye smoilin’ et, ye penniless grubbars?” MacGowan asks loudly in his thick Urlghain brogue. He waves his armored arm dismissively at them. “Goo off a’fore ye regraet it!”
John, the bigger one who chews clubs, drawls a reply. “We’s just wantin’ tah see the action is oll…”
Something in the homeless man’s voice rings of falsehood, and MacGowan does not mince his words. “Dinnae lie teh mea yoo four-tooth’d gomeril! Goo! Git!” This time, the agitated guard rests a hand on his sword hilt and takes threatening steps toward the two. The beggars scramble and bolt away, down the alley, in the same direction the grimy salesman departed moments ago.
The two beggars John and Michael seemed intimidated by the overcoat wearer. Now they seem very nervous in the presence of the guards, nervous enough to warrant concern. But the guard MacGowan’s boorish behavior seems to have startled them out of any mischief, for now.
Shaking his head, MacGowan joins Austin at the flat cellar door. Jenkins stations himself at the back door, and rests a hand on handle to pull it open and charge in at a moment’s notice.
|
Gwath nods at Henry's directions and heads into the alleyway on the left, getting a firm hand on his falchion's grip before he reaches its end. He finds a small alcove in the masonry of one the buildings opposite the shop's rear, giving him a line of sight to the guards watching the exits without announcing himself.
Gorim joins the others outside, and soon after follows Henry's orders, taking the alley on the right. He takes his holy symbol into his hand.
Captain Waldemar orders the priest to wait outside the door, and after glancing at the crossbowman and the young half-orc, steps inside the haberdashery. His steel-shanked boots make loud thuds over the wood floor, but another sound from under the floorboards reaches the ears of the captain and those near the open door. Metal scrapes against stone, then metal scrapes against metal, muffled by the layer of wood between the hearers and the source.
The captain carefully makes his way around the counter. Given the close quarters, he slings the halberd onto his back, and quietly draws his longsword when he reaches the door leading downstairs. After resolved exhale, he firmly takes the door and boldly pushes it open. When nothing happens immediately, he calls down into the dimly lit cellar. “Dark elf, I am Captain Waldemar of Redstone Keep’s town guard. I am here to arrest you for the crimes of robbery, attempted robbery, and attacking guardsmen. My men have the building surrounded -there is no escape. If you do not surrender immediately, we will arrest you by force.”
Raspy, broken Common drifts up from the shadows. “You go away, I suggest.”
Captain Waldemar frowns at the answer but otherwise seems unaffected.
From where the Irori priest stands in the alleyway, he sees three figures further down the corridor. One of them, in the long overcoat, locks eyes with the dwarf for a moment before pushing a door open and shuffling into one of the buildings.
John and Michael appear to be arguing over something, but their voices are too hushed for Gorim to discern what they are saying. Each of them seem to be clutching a small rock in their hands.
Quick, clearly anxious to be doing something, raises a spell of protection around himself and looks to Henry as if to say Well?
"Fight hasn't started yet," Henry Southgard says, though he's rather pleased to see Quick seizing the initiative. It's an improvement over the fight with the Ogre, so he thinks.
"If you see any spells being cast, let me know."
"Fight hasn't started yet," Henry Southgard says, though he's rather pleased to see Quick seizing the initiative. It's an improvement over the fight with the Ogre, so he thinks.
"If you see any spells being cast, let me know. The ones mundane folk like me can't see are the ones we need to worry about."
Gorim grabs his axe, and continues to wait for city watch to lead the action. His attention to on on-goings around the corner is punctuation by glances toward the two homeless individuals wielding rocks.
The nods a NO at them from his end of the corridor.
The three guards in the alley listen closely, but can only discern mumbles through the wood and stone. When the two beggars notice Gorim’s shaking head, their faces take on remorse. John and Michael stuff their pebbles into their pockets and run away down the alley, away from the scene.
Captain Waldemar reaches below the counter, and pulls up a lantern. He begins lighting it, calling down into the cellar. “This is your final warning…”
The raspy voice in the dark utters a chanting incantation, and a faint tinkling sound, the clear chime of a single metal needle dropped onto a hard floor of a quiet room. More and more of the small noises build and build as the chant continues, as though the drow pours a container of needles or small bits of glass onto the floor.
The drow is magically summoning a creature to her side!
Quick is moving toward the shop even before he realises what has happened. His eyes flash with fear and anger. "Fools! She's summoning allies! Get in there! You never should have given her a chance!"
"I think that's our call, kid," Henry says, only to be drowned out by the sorcerer's outburst. He charges into the store, only a step behind the young Half-Orc.
"Can you tell what she's summoning?"
"No, but it's magic more powerful than I can muster."
"Moenie sê dat hardop!"