The party returns to the Town Hall in the pre-dawn twilight and request the night watchman, standing guard over the fire-damaged sections of the building, to send messages to the council members and ask them to meet as soon as possible.
"I expect everyone will be as much in need of some refreshment as I am if they're awoken earlier than they expected to be. Do you think your mother would mind letting us hold a breakfast meeting at the Wizard's Grace?" Shaserai asks Darla. "We were all a bit crowded in the council's offices yesterday."
"Of course!" Darla replies. "She's always willing and grateful to host any sort of gathering."
"Sounds good to me, as well! A tavern's always more hospitable than a musty council room anyway. And if it comes with breakfast...all the better!"
"And coffee," Alak puts in firmly. "Everything's better with coffee at this hour."
"I can handle the coffee," Darla replies. "My mom's the one with all the cooking talent, though."
Leaving the night watchman with instructions to direct the members of the council to the Wizard's Grace, the party repairs there themselves, leaving Darla to arrange breakfast for thirteen.
"I'll fetch Ren and Warbal," Shaserai volunteers. "They should be here, too."
"I can handle the coffee," Darla replies. "My mom's the one with all the cooking talent, though."
Highness sniffed the air as they moved past the fire damaged portions of the town hall, staring at the residual damage.
"Hmmm? What is coffee?" he asked Darla after they left and started heading for the inn, curious about the unfamiliar word.
"A drink served hot--usually in the morning--made from ground beans," Darla informs the goblin. "Perks you right up! You'll either love it or hate it."
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"Goblins generally don't like it," Alak puts in quickly, imagining a caffeinated Highness. "Beans and, you know ... ground. Very muddy. I wouldn't try it, if I were you."
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Highness looked from one to another as first Darla and then Alak interjected and after a few moments of consideration, nodded sharply.
"Yes, well...We are very benevolent in our respect for other people's cultural traditions, no matter how stupid they are. If you wish to drink dirty bean juice, We will allow it, graciously." Highness said magnanimously.
"Oh, I never touch the stuff myself..." Jonagher adds, leaving it rather ambiguous as to whether he's serious or just playing along with Alak's minor bit of deception. "But everyone's got to eat. And I vastly prefer a well-prepared meal from the tavern than the rations we've been eating during our little forays out to the citadel."
Darla lets the group into the still-darkened public room of the Wizard's Grace. After a quick conversation with her mother, sounds of clattering pots and pans in the kitchen announce that a hot breakfast is underway. Darla lights the oil lamps around the room, and the party pushes several tables together and arranges chairs around them.
By the time the aroma of coffee and sounds of sizzling sausages begin to permeate the room, the rest of the attendees begin to arrive. The first councilor to walk in is Quentino Posandi. Despite the early hour, he is as well-kempt as usual. With a pleasant nod and some murmured greetings, he takes a seat and asks for a mug of coffee.
Shortly thereafter, Trini Sprizzlegig bursts in, barefoot and still wearing a nightshirt with a housecoat thrown haphazardly over it. "This is fun!" she announces eagerly to anyone listening. "We should have random emergency council meetings more often. We could put a map of Breachill on the wall and blindfold someone and see where they stick the pin, and that's where we'll meet!" She orders griddlecakes. "At least this many," she estimates, standing in a chair and holding her hand several inches above the table.
Ren arrives next, with a nervous Warbal in tow; he looks less excited than Trini to have been awakened so early. "Glad to see you made it back," he yawns. "Eliminates the question of assembling a rescue party." Warbal brightens at the sight of Ragna and hurries over to take a place near the warrior woman.
Jorsk Hinterclaw shows up next, closely followed by Melma Ann Sendari. The dwarf appears unfazed by the hour, but Melma Ann looks drawn and tired; her smile at the group is clearly forced for the sake of politeness. "Tea," she murmurs, as she sinks into a chair, "with plenty of milk. And perhaps a corner of toast, very dry."
The council president is the last to arrive. Greta Gardania appears calm and self-possessed, elegantly attired in her usual Qadiran garb, and makes her way to the head of the table. "Miss Uskwold," she addresses Darla, "we thank your family for the hospitality. As the matter we've been called together to discuss is clearly urgent, let us eschew as many formalities as feasible and get underway." She taps the empty mug at her place setting against the table in lieu of a gavel to call the meeting to order.
Shaserai, who entered with Ren and Warbal, slips into the last seat as Alak clears his throat. "I suppose the first order of business is to report that your Heroes have accomplished the mission I tasked them with. Here," he sets the signet ring on the table in front of his plate, "is my Great-Uncle Alceister's ring. It was in the vaults of the citadel but apparently overlooked when the Hellknights decamped for Varisia. So whatever needs to be done to certify these people as having completed their task should be done -- and my thanks to them and to Breachill."
As Darla delivers coffeepots around the room, she can't help but give a quick, "Hear, hear!" in support of her new comrades, Breachill's latest Heroes. Then she's back to the kitchen, returning moments later bearing the first platters of eggs, bacon, and sausages.
"The griddlecakes should be ready in a minute or two!" she assures Trini Sprizzlegig.
"The second order of business concerns additional information we came across in those same crypts," Jonagher speaks up as Alak finishes, "It appears someone conducted a magical necromantic ritual there, and...in Alak's own words...it seems to have triggered some undead Hellknights to rise in defense of the honored members of their order that were laid to rest. There were footprints in the dust of whoever conducted this ritual and they both emerged and fled back to a secret passageway with an underground tunnel that led to no other destination than the cellar under Voz Lirayne's bookstore...which was also hidden under a rug-covered and heavily trapped...trapdoor. As a result, we also investigated Voz's business and private quarters to better understand what transpired."
"From our observations, Voz is apparently no longer there, but we did find a few items in her workroom that suggest she could have been the very necromancer who conducted the ritual. To what end? We're not sure. But, we did find a map of Breachill and the surrounding area among her possessions...which had Guardian's Way pretty significantly circled. Given the troubles your local farmer was having in that region, we fear the other band of Heroes may have wandered into something potentially more dangerous than bandits occupying the outpost again. With your permission, we'd like to offer our assistance to ensure their...and your...safety from whatever Voz may be pursuing there. Or, if she's innocent in all this...we'd like an opportunity to prove that as well, and ensure her safety."
"And finally, while we're about the business of keeping everyone safe, we'd like to send word back to the goblin tribe living in the ruined citadel that they should avoid the crypts with the awakened remains of those Hellknights. The tribe gave us a considerable amount of help in fulfilling our Call with Alak here. We'd hate to see any of them run afoul of such danger. I'm sure our friend Highness here...and no doubt, Warbal, feel the same. In fact, if Warbal would be so kind as to deliver that warning, Highness has agreed to accompany us as a sign of goodwill toward Breachill in dealing with Guardian's Way."
Jonagher nods to Highness as a sign of respect and even a bit of encouragement to add his own words rather than speaking purely on his behalf.
Highness stood up on the seat of his chair at Jonagher's words, sausage gripped firmly in his hand as a mighty scepter.
"You stand a juncture in the Tale. You here. You who make decisions for the town of Breachill." he began, his voice slipping into the cadence of a goblin tale.
"A simple act of affirmation will redirect the fate of two people. Does the town look toward the Citadel and think, "We have neighbors there..they may be small, but they work with us against the greater threats, so we can stop those threats before we are eaten, or squished, or ground up to little bits, or made into sausage..."", he paused to shove the sausage into his mouth, then wiped his greasy hand on the tablecloth.
I can't use my normal inspirational story of a wildfire burning down a whole forest, he thought sadly, going to need to mix it up...let's see...
"Time, water and sunlight make the trees grow. The Brumblebashers need time to grow, the water of your support and the sunlight of your friendship. Then they will be able to stop the lizards and birds and things from creeping out of the Citadel from wherever to invade the region."
"Give this to my people, and We will continue to work on your behalf to stop whatever threatens this region."
"So We say, Highness, King of all Goblins." he said, then gave a thumbs up and a very large grin to Warbal before tucking nosily into a plate of eggs.
Shaserai, who entered with Ren and Warbal, slips into the last seat as Alak clears his throat. "I suppose the first order of business is to report that your Heroes have accomplished the mission I tasked them with. Here," he sets the signet ring on the table in front of his plate, "is my Great-Uncle Alceister's ring. It was in the vaults of the citadel but apparently overlooked when the Hellknights decamped for Varisia. So whatever needs to be done to certify these people as having completed their task should be done -- and my thanks to them and to Breachill."
Melma Ann Sendari fixes the recovered ring with an unimpressed glare, clearly feeling that the completion of a standard Task does not constitute an emergency requiring her to be awakened before sunrise. Fortunately, Jonagher embarks on his explanation before she can protest.
Jorsk Hinterclaw frowns with concern at the mention of undead in the citadel. "Undead are trouble we want no part of in Breachill. They're a danger to anyone they might wander up to."
"No, they won't wander, Mr. Hinterclaw," Alak assures the dwarf. "They're charged with protecting the dead. They won't leave the vaults and pose no danger to anyone but trespassers."
Jorsk scoffs at the reassurance. "You seem to know a lot about this, Mr. Stagram. Why is this the first I'm hearing about this method of security? What were those Hellknights thinking, going off and leaving a passel of undead just outside of town without a by-your-leave? Was Breachill made aware of this at the time?"
Alak smiles coldly. "The guardians of the honored dead were far from the most dangerous things we encountered in Citadel Altaerein, councilor. The whole complex is unsecured and open to anyone or anything that chooses to move in and make use of it -- much like your Guardian's Way, apparently. Perhaps if Breachill had put the slightest effort into maintaining what was at one time a valuable structure, trespassers wouldn't have been able to saunter in and awaken the last line of defense the Hellknights put in place to protect their fallen."
"The lad has a point," Quentino Posandi puts in before Jorsk can respond. "My family's business built that citadel, but since the Hellknights decamped, Breachill hasn't paid it the attention it deserves. Never quite sure what to do with it, by my understanding, but kicking the can down the road has only exacerbated the problem. No, there's no point placing blame now, but it's clear we can't ignore the issue any longer."
"Why not give it to the Bumblebrashers?" Trini Sprizzlegig asks guilelessly, drawing a smiling face with a bit toothy maw on her top griddlecake with syrup. "They're living there anyway. Let them fix it up and take care of it, and we can all be neighbors."
"That's a valuable piece of property," Quentino objects. "I hardly think a tribe of goblins... I mean, yes, very welcome and all," he smiles at Warbal a little stiffly, "but we can't just give it away for nothing."
"Actually," Greta Gardania replies, "I believe we can't do anything with it at all, legally. From what I've read in the Archives, the town doesn't officially own the citadel property. I suppose it still belongs to the Order of the Nail, but that's the main reason nothing's been done about it for so long."
"Excuse me, sir," Ren addresses Posandi, "but you say your family firm built the citadel? Would they also have built the tunnel leading to the basement between Voz Lirayne's bookstore?"
"Erm, I ... I couldn't say," Quentino responds with a frown. "I'd have to have a look at the original schematics, if I can find them."
"What about the elf portal all the animals came through?" Ragnhild asks. The warrior makes sure to sequester a large amount of maple syrup for Warbal. Young goblin ladies need lots of sugar, or so she assumes. She is still cross at Jonagher for killing all the big game for himself. "We should find the portal and hunt the animals that come through. The exotic hides and stuff could make us silver, as well." Ragnhild isn't sure why she's the only one that cares about the weird animals. More interesting than 'good' (apparently) undead or the legal ownership of some castle nobody wants.
Despite her general aura of unflappability, Greta is beginning to look a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of complications which has resulted from a single Task. "After so many years, it seems that Citadel Altaerein has suddenly become the epicenter of a number of dangerous threats. Perhaps Councilor Posandi and Mr. Stagram are right: we should have paid more attention to the place in the past, and now the bill for our neglect is coming due."
"There appear to be two immediate problems to be dealt with: One is the danger inside the citadel, and the other is the possible connection to Guardian's Way. I'm afraid that there has still been no communication from the other group of Heroes and we must conclude that their Task is unfulfilled." She looks around the breakfast table. "May I suggest that you divide into two groups, one to contain the dangers at the citadel and protect the Bumblebrashers and the other to investigate Guardian's Way? Leaving either location unguarded at the moment would seem to be unwise."
Shaserai nods. "I will return to the citadel with Warbal," he volunteers. "We know that there are undead there, and my connection to Torag may prove useful."
"I will go, as well," Ren adds. "I am far from an expert on aiudara, but I have at least studied the topic."
Highness once again stood on his chair and nodded as regally as the goblin could, first to Shaserai and then Ren before finally turning to Warbal.
"Warbal, I send you back to the Citadel as I go forth as representative of our people...to succeed where the longshanks have failed. Shaserai and Ren are great warriors and will help keep the tribe safe. I charge you with first, protecting the tribe; second, using goblin cunning to help the longshanks contain any dangers that lie in the depths of the Citadel; and last, growing and protecting the tribe in my abscence." he ordered, with all the authority he could muster.
"I will return to check on your progress as soon as I am able."
Highness then turned to the assembled town leadership. "If We do this for you, then the Brumblebrashers should be recognized as a part of the story of this town. No longer apart, hidden, but woven into the main story. If things don't go well while We are off dealing with the issues of the lost adventurers, then the Brumblbrashers will be safe retreating with Shaserai and Ren back to the town...right?" he asked pointedly.
"Warbal, I send you back to the Citadel as I go forth as representative of our people...to succeed where the longshanks have failed. Shaserai and Ren are great warriors and will help keep the tribe safe. I charge you with first, protecting the tribe; second, using goblin cunning to help the longshanks contain any dangers that lie in the depths of the Citadel; and last, growing and protecting the tribe in my abscence." he ordered, with all the authority he could muster.
Warbal's eyes grow larger with every responsibility Highness places on her shoulders. Words fail her, but she nods her head so emphatically that her ears flap.
Highness then turned to the assembled town leadership. "If We do this for you, then the Brumblebrashers should be recognized as a part of the story of this town. No longer apart, hidden, but woven into the main story. If things don't go well while We are off dealing with the issues of the lost adventurers, then the Brumblbrashers will be safe retreating with Shaserai and Ren back to the town...right?" he asked pointedly.
"Well, of course they can," Trini replies stickily from behind her plate of griddle cakes. "There's plenty of room."
Quentino Posandi frowns almost imperceptibly, and Melma Ann Sendari inflates with disapproval, but Greta readily backs up the gnome's response. "Absolutely. Breachill was founded on the principle of kindness to strangers. We've been strangers to the Bumblebrashers too long and intend to start being neighbors." She looks around at the rest of the council pointedly, raising her mug of coffee. "Lamond Breachton, and the kindness of strangers," she stresses the words of the traditional local toast.
Darla's facial expression is closer to those of councilors Posandi and Sendari when the idea of having the goblin tribe as neighbors is first floated, but when Greta Gardania speaks the magic words, Darla instantly and genuinely echoes the toast, "The kindness of strangers!"
And why not? the young woman thinks. They've been in the citadel for a while now and have offered no threat to the town. True, they hadn't proven themselves as an actual asset yet, allowing evil to stir in the keep's depths, but the tribe seemed to at least be earnest in their desire to live in peace with their neighbors. They deserved a chance to prove themselves....
Highness looked around for a moment, trying to figure out what they were doing, before picking his now empty plate up and raising it up to mirror the others. "The kindness of strangers!" he toasted with a toothy grin.
He set the plate down and peered around at the others at the table.
"When do we leave?" he asked, eager to get started.
The other councilors also echo Greta's toast, though Quentino's and Melma Ann's expressions display a singular lack of enthusiasm.
"I suggest leaving as soon as you can equip yourselves and be ready for the road," Greta replies to the goblin-king. "The silence of the other group of Heroes is even more concerning given what you have discovered at the citadel. The sooner you can locate them, the sooner we can deal with the problems at Altaerein. Be sure you pick up your Hero medallions at the town hall; they'll entitle you to a discount with any merchant in town. Oh, and you'll need your reward, as well."
"I'll take care of it," Jorsk volunteers, wiping his mouth with a napkin before pushing his chair back from the table. "I'll head over to the town hall now. You can come with me or meet me there when you're ready."
"Happy to come with..." Jonagher announces, clapping Jorsk on the shoulder, "Lead on..."
As he passes by Ren, he nods to the wizard. "Let's compare notes on aiudarra when we get back. I'm curious about your thoughts...
Ragnhild stretches, groans, and stands, taking Warbal's hand. "Once the shops open up, we should go shopping to celebrate the alliance between Breachhill and the Bumblebrashers. You deserve something nice for all your bravery, Warbal."
Warbal looks intrigued at the mention of shopping. She readily takes Ragna's hand and follows the others out of the tavern.
Jonagher and Jorsk walk across the road to the town hall. Up and down the street townsfolk are now getting out and about as the morning dawns, opening shops, doing chores, walking children to school, and so forth. The dwarf leads the way into the council offices and opens a cabinet on the wall with a small key. "There's supposed to be a bit of speech," he confides a little sheepishly as he counts out five golden Hero coins. "You don't mind if we skip it, do you? I'm not much for public speaking, and as it's just us anyway...." He gestures around the empty office.
"The coins will speak louder than words," Jonagher agrees as he pockets them, "And I'll see that everyone receives theirs. We're all a bit busy preparing for that foray up to Guardian's Way right now, but I'll hand them out before we set off."
He pauses as he regards the dwarf with a bit more contemplation. "You know, between the two of us," he remarks, "I have this sense of foreboding...like we may have stumbled across something far more sinister about to take place here in Breachill. I think the citadel is just the beginning. But necromancy? And whatever Voz is searching for? Keep your eyes and ears open, Jorsk. Make sure the council looks to the safekeeping of the townsfolk. I'd recommend posting some kind of guard or at least keeping an eye on that bookstore in case anyone returns. In the meantime, we'll look into all this a bit further, and hopefully come back with a better sense of what we're dealing with..."
Once they're done with the ceremonial bits and any additional niceties, Jonagher heads back to the streets, looking to catch up with his companions.
Highness skipped the award ceremony and wandered off into the town to go and shop with Ragnhild and Warbal. His curiosity furiously active, he wandered with his subject and party member, taking in the sights and sounds. It was only after a he saw a child watching him with curiosity, but not running away in fear that he realized what was different about this moment that made it so special.
I am not being treated like some sort of vermin! he thought, chest puffed out a bit as he marched along proudly.
The two goblins shopping in company with the red-headed lumberjack draws a great deal of curiosity from onlookers. Since Warbal's arrival in town the previous day, word of the Bumblebrashers and their residence in the Citadel has spread, and everyone seems interested to catch a sight of their new neighbors. Simply by following the excited children, Jonagher is easily able to locate Ragna and the goblins and to deliver the medallion that will entitle her to a discount on her purchases.
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”That Warbal,” Highness announced, pointing, ”That is what we need.”
Excited, he grabbed her shoulder and nearly shook her with excitement, his eyes wild.
”That is what we need to set us apart, while bringing us together!” he said, a wide grin erupting from his face. Warbal however, slightly dizzy from being shaken, did not have the same instant appreciation for the object in the window as Highness.
”I see you don’t understand.” Highness began, seeing that Warbal had not caught on. ”We are goblins. Look around you and see the way that they stare and point at us. We are the outsiders, the wild creatures, the barbarians. The longshanks don’t understand the simplicity and complexity of our people…the freedom that being one of us holds.”
”So we need something to change that view. Something that may make us more like longshanks without losing what makes us goblin…our tribes…our families. Well, more like longshanks in how they look at us.”
”But that something needs to add to Us, make us better, but not less of who we are.”
”We aren’t ever going to live in towns or have houses like the longshanks. We aren’t builders like the dwarves, and our creations are far more likely to explode in interestingly mutilating ways than the gnomes.”
”So it has to be something that can fit where we live, in castle, ruin, cave or beneath the stones of the town. But recognizable…so if a longshanks sees it, they think: “these are civilized goblins!”.” he continued, gesticulating wildly.
”Imagine it Warbal! One per family, everyone together. Each family can carve and decorate their own to make it reflect their family. If there are too many goblins piled into one, then they buy a new one and start a new family! Tighter families, tighter tribes! Families will each be responsible for their own, and each tribe will keep a small one for the King, me, when I visit.”
Highness, an enormous grin on his face, turned away from Warbal and stared with rapturous attention at the sanded and polished, quilt covered, four poster bed in the display window of the store.
Jonagher observes the goblin antics before the store's display window before finally offering the medallion coin to Ragna. "Here you go," he says and then explains its potential use in town for discounts, "We're certified heroes now. At least in Breachill. It may not say 'dragonslayer' on it for you yet, but maybe it puts you one step closer..." He adds that last part with a friendly, encouraging wink to show he's just half-joking with her.
The half-elf then points back down the street. "While the rest of you get prepared for the trek to Guardian's Way, I'm going to go have another conversation with Calmont. Maybe the jailor's gotten something out of him. If not, I'll see if I can motivate him to share a bit more about Voz and whatever she may be after..."
Following that, Jonagher searches for any of the town authorities who can grant him access to Calmont.
"Beds are too big and heavy to move around, Highness." Ragnhild says, looking across the street at a clothing shop. "What about big hats instead, so everyone knows you're in charge? What do you think, Warbal?"
"No, no. You miss the point. The bed doesn't go with me. I am the king of all goblins, I need to be able to go tribe to tribe so they know who I am and I can deal with any issues that need to be resolved. The bed stays with each tribe. It reminds them that I am a part of the tribe, but above it. The bed stays open and only the King sleeps in it...me!" he finished pointing at himself.
"Warbal needs a big hat though. People need to know that she is in charge when I am not around."
Highness, an enormous grin on his face, turned away from Warbal and stared with rapturous attention at the sanded and polished, quilt covered, four poster bed in the display window of the store.
"Pib and Zarf have something like that," Warbal ventures, staring at the bed. "Not near as big and fancy, though."
"What about big hats instead, so everyone knows you're in charge? What do you think, Warbal?"
"Warbal needs a big hat though. People need to know that she is in charge when I am not around."
The little goblin looks intrigued by the idea of a big hat.
Meanwhile, Jonagher heads back toward the town hall where the guard, fortunately, is headquartered in an end that didn't receive any direct fire damage.
Ragnhild takes Warbal to a few clothing shops once they open up to try on some appropriately large hats. She suggests the little goblin buy an oversized, sunflower yellow sun hat, the brim easily wide enough to fully shade the young leader. "But you can pick whichever you want." She encourages Warbal. "It's important that the hat matches your personality, so no one but you can tell you which one is the right one."
"Ragna, do you know anything about where the lost longshanks went? Is it a swamp or forest? I am trying to figure out if there is anything that I should get that might help." Highness asked as they ambled past another shop.
Warbal tries on several hats, somewhat to the consternation of the woman behind the counter, before agreeing with Ragna that the yellow hat is the most impressive. She bounces proudly out of the store, holding her hatted head higher than before and admiring the lacy pattern of light in shadow cast on the ground as the sun shines through the wide brim.
As they head toward Quarters and Bits, near the town's western wall, Ragna informs Highness that Guardian's Way is located in a forest clearing at the foot of a hill. It consists of three platforms built in the trees, so the foliage provides cover for archers firing from a higher vantage point, a log cabin, and a cave dug into the hillside. It is relatively low-tech but easy to defend when occupied.
A halfling with an eager glint in his eye, wearing a smart suit and a jaunty hat which Warbal instantly admires, greets the trio as they walk into a door under a sign reading "Bits." "Ah, visitors to our town, I see, no doubt drawn by rumors of the endless variety and incredible prices available in this humble storefront. Whatever you have heard, I assure you, reality surpasses the report. Crink Twiddleton, at your service."
Jonagher explains the purpose of his visit to Captain Wilford Lavendil, the half-elven head of the town guard. Like Jonagher's, Captain Lavendil's human parent was his mother, a direct descendant of one of Breachill's founding pioneers, but the soldier is decades older than Jonagher and his mother long dead.
"I haven't been able to get much out of him," the captain admits. "He's quite angry at being locked up without a clear charge against him. Can't say I'm happy about it myself, but between the arson and the disappearance of his employer, the council feels he might be a danger to the community if he were free. Anything you can do to get to the bottom of all this would let me rest easier at night."
As Captain Lavendil advised, Calmont is sitting sullenly in his cell, an expression of deep aggrievement on his face. "Oh, it's you again," he greets Jonagher rudely. "Come to gloat?"
When asked about Voz's demeanor out of the public eye: "She was just as rude in private as in public. She liked people to think she was shy, but she just doesn't care about people. Don't ask me what she was really like. It's not like we were friendly. She just told me what to do and left me to it, went in the other room to do her own thing. Probably putting her feet up and having a bit of a nap while the halfling did all the real work. Honestly, she barely spoke if she could avoid it. Just 'do this, Calmont, do that.'"
When asked about necromancy: "Necromancy?! What's that? Wizard stuff? Not that I ever saw. I bet she'd like people to think she had some sort of powers, all that showing off, mucking around with books and such. Wouldn't put it past her to start a rumor like that herself, get people thinking she's special."
"Guardian's Way? I never saw her go outside the town walls myself. What would she be doing going all the way out there? If she had parcels to post, she always sent me to carry them for her. Honestly, she barely left the shop if she could avoid it."
When asked about Laslunn and the Scarlet Triad: "All I know is in the papers you took from me. I think Laslunn was part of the Scarlet Triad or worked for them or something. Kintargo -- that's where the letters mostly came and went from. I'm not sure where it is, but I guessed it must be far away; it always seemed to take a while for the letters to get back and forth. Wait! Do you think...? Could this Laslunn or someone from them have come to Guardian's Way to collect the ring? But they can't have; I kept the last letter telling them to come and didn't send it. Unless Voz is a wizard and sent a message by some sort of spell. But then she'd know ... know that I took the letter and didn't send it, and she's be after me." The halfling begins to shiver, clearly terrified at the thought of being the target of an angry wizard.
In the meantime, Darla makes a few visits to germane areas of Breachill. She consults Fadelby Vusker, the wainwright, and Kellen Carondil, the priest at the Great Dreamhouse, whose places of business are located at either end of the street where the Reliant Book Company is housed. Neither recalls seeing any unusual comings and goings from the store. It saw, in general, little local custom, though Voz, and later Calmont, often posted and received parcels.
From there, Darla heads to the northern part of town and Lamond's Lament, a charitable hostel where newcomers to Breachill commonly get their start. Renatta Gilroy, a sort of house mother, can tell much more about Calmont than about Voz. "A very troubled little soul," she says of the halfling, "distrustful and secretive. I have the feeling he had some awful experiences in the Goblinblood Wars. I had hoped that he and Ms. Lirayne might have drawn out each other and found a kindred spirit, both so quiet and stand-offish, but I'm afraid it didn't work out as we had hoped."
"No, she didn't spend much time here when she arrived, what, two, two and a half years ago now? She wasn't a refugee, after all, not like so many we used to get in here. She had seed money, I suppose, to start her business and a well-heeled clientele; the parcels started shipping in and out almost as soon as she paid the lease on her storefront. I've no idea what decided her to operate out of Breachill, when it seems she could have set up shop in a city somewhere and had more custom. Of course, she's dreadfully shy. Perhaps the poor thing just got overwhelmed in the city; I know I would, with all those crowds of strangers. And after all, if you can work anywhere, why not choose somewhere nice like Breachill? But you'd think she'd want to make some friends. We did try, you know, all of us ladies: inviting her to tea and trying to get her involved in civic affairs. But she never showed an interest in anything but books. You might try Mr. Blacktusk at the Archives; I believe she spent some time there when she first arrived, looking into the history of the town. Perhaps she opened up to him."
"Yes, she came in here," Jorell Blacktusk tells Darla a little later at the Archives, as he pulls out old town maps and records so she can look up the history of the building presently housing the Reliant Book Company. "A woman interested in books, of course she was interested in the history of Breachill. It's a fascinating subject; I was able to show her all the old town records and manuscripts from the first settlers. She was interested in local geography, as I recollect, caverns and rock formations, but after I told her about the town's founding, she did quite a bit of research into Lamond Breachton. I believe she read all the eye-witness accounts we have, the pioneers' diaries and memoirs, everything from those who actually met him and saw him."
From the documents Blacktusk shows her, Darla concludes that the Reliant Book Company was constructed by the Posandi Brothers masonry company in 4638, at the same time construction was underway on Citadel Altaerein outside of town.
Darla frowns as her investigation begins to bear fruit, and that frown deepens the more she learns. The bard blushes in embarrassment when she realizes the outsider scholar likely knows more about Breachill's hero than she--a bard for whom Lamond Breachton is her very muse!
Why have I never bothered to read the accounts of folks who actually met him, rather than just listen to recounted tales passed down through the years? Part of her brain replies, Because oral tradition is important, that's why! And because the people of Breachill are good folk, who wouldn't hero-worship a man who wasn't worthy of their esteem!
Still, that didn't mean Lamond didn't have his secrets--most folk do. Nor did it mean he didn't have enemies...and the enemies of Breachill's founder could still be enemies of Breachill's present...if any still survived.
"May I look at some of those accounts that Voz was interested in?" Darla asks the half-orc with a smile.
"Good morning, Crink." Ragna greets the halfling. Like everyone else in town, many of Ragnhild's posessions came from Quarters and bits. "This is Crink. Crink, Warbal and Highness. Our new neighbors, from Hellknight Hill. You can get pretty much anything you can think of here, dears. Are there any supplies the Bumblebrashers need you bring back, Warbal? I think I'm going to upgrade my armor, and I have a bunch of things to sell if you're interested, Crink."
Upturned wooden fists mounted on the wall and fists wrapped in red and gold cloth drew Highness like a moth to the flame. The gorgeous cloth shimmered in the afternoon light streaming through the shop window. Highness tugged at Ragna’s sleeve, unable to read the writing on the small placard next to the display.
”Ragna, We must have those, whatever they are. They are amazing!” the diminutive monarch said, eyes wide and obvious craving in his voice.
”Please let me know what they are and how much the longshanks wants for them.” he asked, near pleading.
...Honestly, she barely spoke if she could avoid it. Just 'do this, Calmont, do that.'"
"And what kinds of things did she ask you to do exactly?" Jonagher presses.
"...Could this Laslunn or someone from them have come to Guardian's Way to collect the ring? But they can't have; I kept the last letter telling them to come and didn't send it. Unless Voz is a wizard and sent a message by some sort of spell. But then she'd know... know that I took the letter and didn't send it, and she'd be after me."
"All very possible," Jonagher admits, intentionally playing upon the halfling's fears, "Look, I won't lie. There's a very good likelihood Voz was a wizard...and a necromancer on top of it. We found spell scrolls in her room. And signs she performed some kind of undead ritual in the crypts below Citadel Altaerin. She used a secret tunnel under the bookstore to go underground and into the citadel. And if you disrupted whatever plan she had with this Laslunn and the Scarlet Triad and she finds out about it? Well, let's just say I wouldn't want to be you here in this cell where it would be very easy to find you. And I doubt she'd stop at just killing you, Calmont. A necromancer would probably raise your spirit, interrogate it, and then torment you so you never even reach the afterlife."
"So, look...okay? I didn't come here to gloat. I came here for information. Not about you. About Voz. Whatever she's up to will be as much a threat to you as the rest of Breachill. If you can help me stop her, it'll do more than help me. It'll keep you alive and away from her vengeance. So, if there's anything else you can share...like that letter...or even just recommend about how to find her and stop her, anything at all, please tell me now. And, if it pans out, maybe I'll put in a good word for you with the town council. How about it?"
"Good morning, Crink." Ragna greets the halfling. Like everyone else in town, many of Ragnhild's posessions came from Quarters and bits. "This is Crink. Crink, Warbal and Highness. Our new neighbors, from Hellknight Hill. You can get pretty much anything you can think of here, dears. Are there any supplies the Bumblebrashers need you bring back, Warbal? I think I'm going to upgrade my armor, and I have a bunch of things to sell if you're interested, Crink."
"Always interested," Crink replies. "I find Heroes tend to run across some interesting pieces in their ... Heroing tasks." He smiles at Highness. "Your friend has a fine eye. These, my good man," he goes on, addressing the goblin-king, "make you more likely to hit what you're trying to punch, as well, of course, as lending you a sartorial flair."