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The sheriff takes a deep draw on his pipe, then answers. Half submerged, at least. It sank - a judgement o' the gods, they say. It's a place where evil festered, long ago. It was a holy place, at one time. Protected folks fer miles around. Then - somethin' bad happened, and - I dunno. The sheriff turns toward the bar, and signals for another ale.
The sheriff nods, looking Nala over. They been talkin' 'bout it fer a few days now, at any rate. I ain't been over that way since I was a kid.
Meeting in the common room brings the attention of a friend. If yer gonna head out ta that abandoned monastery...I ain't gonna try ta scare ya off...but...yer gonna need a boat. It's stuck out in the water, ya know. The sheriff looks over the group, then loads his pipe. Ain't nobody been there in ages, far as I know. Supposed ta be real haunted.
Ok, rewind in time - Auric does hit, and the sword sinks in deep. The patriarch wavers, then collapses ponderously. He's not breathing. Nobody really knows that he came just that close to getting away - except for Jun. Speaking of Jun - the moment he comes around, Manton and the sheriff are about to give up, Miriam is running to the scene, crying her eyes out - and suddenly the man starts breathing easier. The sheriff, feeling the crushed shoulder starting to heal, looks up at Jun, holding out his holy symbol, and his jaw drops. Just in time, son. I thought he was a goner. Miriam almost drags Jun out of the saddle, trying to hug him. Now, only the centipede is an issue.
The sheriff suddenly stretches, and looks around at everyone. I'd suggest some rest before this all goes down tonight. I'm gonna be hidden behind the barricade at the road - I'm pretty sure I can take one down pretty quick, iffn' I get the jump on 'em. With that, he heads for the door. I got the youngbloods on duty now, but the old hands'll be takin' over later.
Ain't no 'lowly farm girls' back here. She's a trained wizard, fer cryin'out loud. Just humble is all. Sheriff Perton shakes his head. He seems to be gaining a new respect for elves. For some elves, at any rate.
...don't look like no dwarf. The sheriff finishes Manton's sentence, looking Auric up and down. He turns to the young farmhand - Best get back up to the road.
Should be easy enough. The sheriff takes a mental note.
In the meantime, while you were out bein' heroes, we set up a buncha barricades, with spears...er...pointy sticks...stickin'outta the front ta make it harder ta get to folks, an' archer stands - mostly hidden inna trees, higher than a ogre kin reach. We ain't got many real archers. Maybe a couplea you might take a stand? The sheriff looks everyone in the eye.
Well, we should definitely have a conversation. I can't think of a better place, neither. The sheriff heads for the 'Mug, then pauses. Dwarf. I don't think I know you. The sheriff stands there and loads his pipe. Even more to the point - there's a couple dwarves here in the village. One's a merchant. Stingy, but he trades some damn fine steel. The other is his bodyguard. I doubt either one would wanna give up their armor fer a stranger, but I have heard the merchant say he can arrange ta have armor made, iffin' ya got the time...an' the money. He ain't quick, an' I hear it's his father that does the work, an' he ain't here. He does fix the stuff.
The sheriff steps out from behind a makeshift barricade as the party arrives. I'm hopin' fer some good news. What's the situation? If even possible, his expression is more taciturn than usual.
The sheriff comes back after a while to report...Thet ring, the guy wants 2500 gold fer, but says he'll bargain. The funny-lookin' hat ya kin get fer 900 gold.
While Hortense is there, the sheriff mentions that he's heard of a couple of items available in the festival grounds - There's this guy what has a magic hat. He says it makes light, and this other feller that has a ring he's been tryin' ta sell. He claims that if ya wear it, ya ain't gotta eat nor drink...but ain't nobody been wantin' ta not eat, ya know. I could check on prices. Sheriff Perton looks at everyone, waiting for a reaction.
As the discussion winds down, there's a knock at the door, then sheriff Perton slips in. Thought ya might be int'rested in this. He drops a bag on the table which thunks and jingles loudly. There's more, too. That dwarf merchant says he'll give the group any two of his weapons. My swords were a bargain at six hunnerd gold.
Yeah. Sheriff Perton looks hard at Varuk, evaluating him carefully. I'm guessin' this here is all past deputies' duties. Lots past. The sheriff then turns and walks slowly toward the 'Mug, shoulders slumped.
They all gone? The sheriff is nursing some shallow wounds, twin swords in hand. He also looks at Alyra with suspicion...
Sheriff Perton raises an eyebrow...Antonio...yer a good kid. This is a lot to ask, but it looks like you done took it on yer own shoulders. I want ya all to come back...whole. Now...I ain't got a whole lot to offer ya, but if ya could wait...fer a bit...in the mornin', I think there might be some merchants that'll pony up a reward fer yer bravery...an' I ain't just talkin' gold. My swords were made by that dwarf merchant's daddy...an' the day I die, it ain't gonna be 'cause they failed me. Now...Hortense can be a miser an' a half, but he wants the road clear...maybe more than the others...an' he carries healin' potions. I dunno how many... The sheriff shrugs...hands still on the pommels of the twin shortswords he carries, and turns to Falcon. It's like this. Swear you'll protect the village...not with yer life, or nothin'...don't need no more deaths on my hands...an' help ta keep the peace...deputies ain't never had ta deal with no ogres before...just sayin'.
Moving his gaze to Aya...We haven't had a chance to talk about it yet...but...if there ain't no livin' claimants to the house...standard practice is it goes to the village. If the house was taken from villianous sorts in the first place, it's pretty much the same deal. Seein' as Manton is Mayor, an' all, it's up to him...but I can pretty much say...anything you wanna claim from the property is yours. Could ya use the house, itself? I can likely swing that, too...
Sheriff Perton looks closely at the old woman. Oh, Hell, that's old lady Holman. She should be...fifty or sixty by now...impossible. Damn. She was supposed to be dead...some twenty years, now...damn.
The door to the back room opens, and the sheriff's head pokes out...Thought I recognized them voices. Don't wait for no engraved invitation...it ain't comin'. The sheriff opens the door fully, and waits...
Inn: The sheriff looks around again...for volunteers...before going into the back room and closing the door...he hesitates...Nobody else?
Inn: A murmur passes through the crowd...then, just as voices are rising...QUIET! Back room, you two...an'...you, dwarf...you kin fight? Anybody else got any experience with...ah...handlin' monsters? I know alla ya farmers an' such is good folk...an' it's best if ya got spears an' such ta keep 'em with ya...but stay away, if they come to the village. One whallop from an ogre's club, an' I'm moppin' up a grease stain that useta be you. Where are those darn adventurers? I figgered they'd be back from the farm, by now...sure could use 'em.
The sherrif is obviously anxious...nobody has heard this much from him...all at once...in quite a while. He ushers Manton and Tania into the back room...and looks at everyone else expectantly.
He's trying to fatten ya up. The sheriff smiles wryly, as he lights his pipe.
After a while, the sheriff comes down to your triage area, and speaks to whoever he finds, out of the party. Got somethin' for ya. Most bodies, we couldn't identify... the live ones don't know much...but...three of the bodies...the Holman man, wife...and his boy. The Holman farm is maybe halfway between the village and Gotson's. Might be worth goin' out there.
Not long after the triage station is set up, the sheriff finds Liandoli...Here. Mayhaps you could use this. I've had my eye on the boy running the little knife-throwing game, and finally got Manton to let me run him in. It's really an illegal game, and the fine was heavy enough he gave this up rather than spend time doing hard labor...I dunno much about how it works, but I got a feelin' you do. The sheriff hands you a wand, one Antonio would definitely recognize, as might a few of you. It heals. I know that much.
Right! Sound off, deputies...the sheriff starts calling off names, one by one. About half answer, up to the party's names...
Well...I'll leave all that up to you. I think I have funerals to arrange. The sheriff looks over at Gotson, then up at Manton, who nods.
Sheriff Perton quickly gathers you into Manton's sitting room, leaving a deputy at the wagons, and dragging Manton in shortly after you've started with the explanation. Farmer Gotson sits quietly and somberly, and verifies your story. Shame this leader got away. OK...the killin' was justified. Somethin' strange goin' on. Any ideas? The sheriff lights up his pipe and looks at the group...especially those with elven blood.
By the time you're alongside of the Giant's Mug, Sheriff Perton has been notified, and he comes out with a serious look on his face. This don't look good.
Good. Now Gotson's farm is darn near ten miles up the road. I know Edie is a darn good cook, so you'll eat well, if late. If I don't see you all back sometime tomorrow, I'll assume the worst. Within a matter of minutes, the tabards arrive. None are quite big enough for the biggest of you, or small enough for a delicate elf lady, and some are pretty threadbare, but with a little work, everybody is identifiable as a deputy. Oh...yeah...not many rules...most of 'em really don't count until yer workin' the festival. For now, try to not kill anybody... at least...nobody anybody will miss. Damnitt, I'd hate to have to hunt y'all down.
The sheriff calls to one of "his boys" there...Run over to the office and get all the tabards there are there...dig for 'em. Some might be a bit ragged, but they'll work. Snap to it. The young man stammers out a "Yes Sir!', and is off. The sheriff spends a little time sizing everybody up with his eyes. Pay is at the end of the week. Don't make me regret this.
The sheriff puffs on his pipe for a moment... thoughtful... before answering... Gotson... this is festival time. You know I can't leave the village, not for a minute. Half of my boys out there are exactly that...farm boys. Good lads, but they're only deputized 'cause there ain't no way the usual would even get noticed. I got nowhere near the manpower. Maybe after the festival? The sheriff considers again for a moment...then...Wait...I have an idea...Cauis? Maybe...you could get a group together? I know you can handle yourself... maybe the big guy, here...first looking at Cauis... then Doran... Get a group together. I'll deputize the bunch of you...give you a couple silver each, for the week...you can pitch in when you get back...grub will be on me...well...on Manton, really. He feeds my deputies during the festival. With that, he grins at Manton, who smiles and shrugs.
The sheriff emerges from the back room with Manton... What's this, you say? What strange thing?
Blessing the soil...as if it needed blessing. It keeps everybody happy. The sheriff shrugs.
From his usual station by the fire, the sheriff looks up...graces you with a tight smile, and responds...Good. Early is better than late...still a couple days 'till the ceremony.
The sheriff looks over for a moment and chews on a sausage. Hortense does more business than any other merchant here. Over triple what most do. He's got money in that tent...and that makes him the biggest target out there.
Looking back at the big half-orc again...That'll be a name to remember... Hortense... one of the richest merchants to ever set foot in the valley.
Ah, well, if you're looking for work as a caravan guard, you've come to the right place at the right time. There must be a hundred caravans out there...
The sheriff considers the burly half-orc for a moment, swallows some ale, then lights his pipe.
Tendrils of fragrant smoke reach out toward the ceiling, and he watches them.
Nope, just the usual. The sheriff wanders over to the far side of the fireplace and slides into a chair...he is served promptly.
A wiry looking man in slightly more elaborate livery walks in... Your festival stout sellin' well this year, Manton? I hope it's not as strong as last year's. |
