One
Life’s Bazaar
It had been a long evening at the Tipped Tankard. Lauryl was feeling the beginnings of the ale and wine she had drunk throughout the evening. It was a necessity, she told herself. Tenor and Ielenia’s flirtatious bickering required ample amounts of ale or wine simply to put up with at times. As it was, the two were presently singing a song about dragons and maidens and whether virgins tasted better or not. Off-key. Badly.
Never mind that it was raining hard enough to have small rivulets running through the cobbled streets, or that the blackness of the night sky was like a lid on the bowl-shape that was Cauldron. The black stone buildings, only the occasional lit lantern shining through a window, and the ever-so-rare lamp of a street light on a corner made the cool evening a miserable trek across the city, back to their accommodations at the Golden Griffon. She had forgotten to bring a cloak, and the wet was slowly burning its way through the pleasant, warm feeling the combination of drinks had finally managed to provide. She was about to ask them to stop their butchery of an otherwise good song when they each, quiet clearly, heard a muffled cry for help in a nearby alley, followed by the crash of a crate tipped over.
Without stopping to think, Tenor, being the youthful knight fresh from training that he was, shot straight into the alleyway, holy symbol of Heieroneous jangling as he ran. Ielenia, all trace of drunken stupor gone, unslung the leather-wrapped bow she habitually wore over one shoulder and nocked it with an expertise that belied the drink she’d imbibed throughout the evening. Before Lauryl could react, they were into the alleyway entrance, and a fight had erupted.
“Back off!” she heard as she reached the edge of the building edging the passage. It was dark, dank and sounded of echoing rain falling from drain spouts all about, the sharp decline of the alley toward the center of the city making footing treacherous. Ground water reflected what little light there was from the city in an inconsistent sheen. Lauryl’s elven eyes picked out figures midway down the passage; two men beating a fallen third. Another figure was visible in the mass of crates and barrels that lined the alley, a short sword out and pointing at Tenor’s midriff.
For his part, Tenor reacted as he had been taught. A threat was perceived, a man was down and being beaten. Clearly, the weak needed tending to. Grabbing the first thing that came to mind, he tossed a crate at the fellow with the sword, following it up with a crushing right hook that sent the fellow crashing against the wall. When he recovered, the other two who had been accosting the third on the ground had backed away, drawn blades ready. At the sudden silvery light erupting in the middle of the passage from seemingly nowhere (Lauryl’s whispered prayers answered at last), the three men bolted.
“Well then,” said Tenor, turning to the fallen fellow and offering a hand, “It would seem you are in need this eve, good sir.”
“He is safe because WE deem it so,” a feminine voice called from above. Looking up, the trio was favored with a shadowy shape against the dark clouds beyond, only partially lit by Lauryl’s moon-like radiance. “Take this back to your temple, priest,” she spat. “The children are gone and best you cease your meddling, lest you find yourself in worse condition next time!”
She disappeared a moment later, as if she’d never been.
“Och,” said a blustery voice from further down the alley, “Lasses on rooftops, fights in alleys, and glowing nothin’s floatin’ about! I knew I needed ta come listen at this place!” Standing at the base of the alley, war axe in hand, stood a stout dwarf, horned cap and furred cloak making his shape seem almost barrel-like in the half-light.
Lauryl spun about as another individual stepped into the light near her and smiled, nodding and then sweeping into a bow. “Herodotus Forgeborn, Milady,” he said, straightening and setting his cap back on his head. The holy symbol of Boccob the Uncaring rattled on his chest as he straightened. Noticing Tenor nursing a growing bruise on his head, he swept easily to the young knights side, whispered a few words, and then tapped the growing bruise.
Before Tenor could mutter a complaint, the bruise faded and he was left staring at the fellow. “Eh… Hello?” he said by way of greeting.
Herodotus smiled and offered another bow.
“Wonderful,” snapped Ielenia. “Somebody throw a party and not tell us?”
“That…” said the fellow on the ground, “would be me, I believe.” Finally accepting Tenor’s hand, he stood and straightened his robes, smeared with refuse and wet with runoff. The sigh he offered a moment later when Herodotus whispered another blessing and touched him spoke volumes and he carried himself ever so slightly more upright.
“Where’s Davik?” asked Ielenia. “He was here a moment ago?”
“He was?” asked Tenor, looking around.
“I’m here,” said a quiet voice from the shadows. With a glare at the glowing silvery luminescence, a gnome in a black cloak stepped into view before disappearing once more into the darkness.
“I hate when he does that,” Tenor muttered. “I didn’t even know he was with us.”
“Let the man talk,” suggested Lauryl, not unkindly. “Who are you, sir?”
“My name is Rufus Laro,” said the young priest, eyeing the troupe gathering around. “Priest of St. Cuthbert.”
“Lot of priests out,” said the dwarf. Stomping up the inclined alleyway, he offered a hand to Tenor. “Ivan Hammerfist of the Hammerfist Clan.”
“Tenor of Heieroneous. Let the man speak.” Tenor smirked at Lauryl and turned back to Rufus. “And what were you doing in an alley at night, alone?”
“I was returning from the Temple Street Orphanage, actually,” said Rufus. Whispering a soft blessing of his own, he healed the last of his bruises and bumps and then shook off a bit of the muck from his robes. “The temple has taken an active role in the disappearances of late.”
“Ah, it’s about time one of the temples took interest,” offered Herodotus.
“So says the priest of the Uncaring One?” Ielenia asked.
“The Uncaring One has no temple to take interest, young waif,” the priest replied, turning and grinning at her. “One man alone doth not a temple make.”
“One man can make all the difference in the world,” Tenor replied. “Are we going to let him talk?”
“I thought we were?” said Ivan.
“Shush,” said Ielenia.
Rufus grinned. “You seem a capable lot. I thank you for rescuing me. I know not what they had planned for me, but when they neglected to demand my purse, I felt it had to be more than just a simple robbery.”
“Did they say anything?” asked Lauryl quietly.
“They did. They told me to stay away from the Orphanage, just as that last one seemed to suggest. I think they may have something to do with it.”
“What would a bunch of thieves have to do with an orphanage?” asked Davik softly.
“A good question. One I would like to ask the acting head priestess of my order. Will you do me the favor of escorting me back? I am afraid that I have learned my lesson not to go about alone at night in the rain.” Rufus smiled faintly.
“We would be pleased to,” said Tenor. He looked about at the others curiously. When they each agreed, he nodded approvingly.
Ielenia rolled her eyes. “But what were you doing at the orphanage to begin with?” she asked.
“I spent the day there trying to calm the fears of the children.”
“What about the children?” asked Herodotus. “Is there something wrong?”
“Four children disappeared from there three days ago,” Rufus answered quietly. “From locked rooms with barred windows. I was trying to calm their fears. I neglected to beware of my own, I suppose.”
“Do not worry. There is strength in numbers, friend,” Ivan rumbled, gripping his axe.
“You might want to put that away,” Ielenia said playfully. “Might hurt yourself.”
“I’ll hurt ya if you suggest that again, lass,” Ivan grumbled. Still, he slung it over his shoulder. “Never can tell,” he added, looking up and down the street as they emerged. “Guards in this town are awful picky about how ye store yer blade.”
“There shouldn’t be a need for them again, I hope,” Rufus said. “If you will follow me, Priestess Urikas will likely wish to speak with you.”
---
The temple of St. Cuthbert was a massive white marble affair, two armored figures done in matching marble to either side of the front entrance, massive maces held high. The words “In Law Lies Hope” had been carved into the architrave. Inside, the echoing main hall was bustling even this late at night, acolytes going about the daily work of cleaning the temple and polishing its walls and floors now that the public had gone home. Candles and lanterns glowed throughout the large space, lending the otherwise stark chamber a hint of homely comfort. Once they had been let in at Rufus’ request, blankets and warm tea had been offered, and the troupe moved to a small sitting room to one side of the temple itself.
“Alright, so who are you folks and why did you butt in on what we were doing? I already had things well in hand.” Tenor was seated in a comfortable chair facing a large fire, warming his hands. His tea sat steaming next to him on a small end table. Ranged around the room stood the rest of the troupe, excepting Ielenia. The youthful elf had taken up residence in the other chair, seated across the seat, her legs dangling off one arm while she leaned half against the other and into the seatback. Her long blonde hair was bunched behind her head, giving her a golden halo that caught the firelight and reflected it back. Her calf-length boots left a length of thigh visible up to the bottom of her bodysuit beneath the bizarre floor-length leather jacket she wore and he found his eyes continually wandering in her direction.
“I heard a scuffle and came to investigate,” Herodotus replied, shrugging. “Would-be knights are not the only ones with a kind heart, you know?”
“I thought Boccob didn’t care what happens in the world,” opined Ielenia.
“If he truly did not care, what would be the purpose in worshiping him?” Herodotus answered, grinning. He saluted her with his tea. “All things happen for a reason. Including your and my encounter this evening.”
“And does he explain mine, then?” asked Ivan. The dwarf had taken up residence near one side of the fireplace, his thick hands held out toward the flames now that his oversized gloves had been removed. “Feel like I’ll never dry out,” he mumbled.
“One never knows the workings of the most sublime master of magic,” Herodotus answered, grinning mysteriously.
“Fine. Don’t answer the question,” said the dwarf.
“I thought you went off to find some overly wealthy merchant to steal from,” Tenor asked. For a moment, Lauryl wasn’t certain who he was speaking to, and then Davik spoke.
“I changed my mind. The wealthy of this town are inevitably linked with the nobles. Nobles have access to magic that can find me.” The gnome was standing near one corner of the room, all but invisible save for his faintly bulbous nose poking out from his hood.
Ielenia gasped. “Even you can’t hide from magic? I thought you were the master of shadows!”
“Just because you can’t find me doesn’t mean no one can find me,” the gnome replied softly. “Even I cannot avoid magic.”
“He has a point,” offered Herodotus.
“You haven’t answered my question,” said Tenor. “What were you doing out there?”
“I thought I told you,” said Herodotus. “Someone was being assaulted. It was only proper to offer assistance if it was possible.”
“Alright,” Tenor said thoughtfully. He massaged the growth of dark beard just beginning to grow in around his jawline. He thought it made him look more masculine. Ielenia just liked to tease him about it. “And you?” he asked the dwarf pointedly.
“I don’t answer to you, boy,” Ivan replied huffily. “Yer jes’ old enough to be put over me leg an’ paddled fer bein’ inconsiderate to yer elders!”
“I certainly hope that is not necessary.” A middle-aged woman walked into the room with Rufus at her side. Her smile was pleasant, and the premature gray in her hair gave her a sense of gravity that belied the youthful eyes and friendly smile. “Rufus has told me all about your efforts this evening. I should hope not to see a troupe of heroes such as yourselves trying to… well… let us just say that I should hope you would all wish to work together, as you apparently did with Rufus earlier.”
“That’s questionable,” muttered Ielenia. “It was taken care of by the time they arrived…”
“In any case, you have Rufus’ as well as my own thanks. I am Jenya Urikas, acting high priestess of the temple of St. Cuthbert, here in Cauldron.” She touched the silver holy symbol at her neck, the rubies at the points in the stylized cross glittering in the firelight.
“Acting high priestess?” Herodotus asked quietly.
“Indeed,” the priestess responded, nodding. “Our high priest has recently left for Sasserine on a mission vital to the church. In his absence, I have been tasked to act in his stead. As such, I am grateful to you for your bravery, earlier this evening. Had it not been for you, Rufus might not be standing here.” At her side, the youthful acolyte smiled sheepishly.
“It was our duty to help a man in need,” spoke Tenor.
“Speak for yourself,” Ielenia replied, grinning. “I was just curious.”
“Either way,” Jenya answered, “You have our thanks, and if you are willing, I would like to ask of you a boon…”
“You have but to ask,” Tenor offered.
“As Rufus may have explained to you, there has been a rash of disappearances over the past three months. People are disappearing from locked homes in the middle of the night. Nothing stolen, no violence taking place. Just… vanished. It has caused quite the stir in Cauldron of late, but the City Guard were investigating and it seemed just another thing to deal with. And then, four children went missing from the Lantern Street Orphanage. Since several of our acolytes were raised there before joining the holy orders of St. Cuthbert, we take some interest in the happenings there. Who knows what could be done with children, but none of it is something I wish to sleep at night worrying about. Thus, I sent Rufus.”
Jenya moved to a nearby cabinet, where a large crystal bottle held a supply of brandy. Offering it to the party, she poured into snifters before offering a silent toast and sipping. She began pacing again while the others enjoyed the drink in silence. “As you have seen, Rufus did not return safely, and while his efforts were likely helpful to the children, I would rather not see the acolytes of this temple harmed in the pursuit of their duties. Since you seem a capable band, I was hoping to engage you in a bit of… service…”
Tenor began to bow but was stopped by a hand on the back of his collar. When he looked back to see what had taken place, he looked into Lauryl’s glittering eyes, and the grin she offered. A moment later, she shook her head to ask him to wait, at least until they had heard what it was the priestess was asking. With a sigh, he subsided.
The priestess took note and smiled privately before continuing to talk. “Four children were taken from within two different rooms. Two boys. Two girls. The doors to each dormitory are locked at night, and the headmistress has the only key. There are bars on all of the windows, and none of the children report seeing or hearing anything the night the other children were abducted.”
She took a moment to watch the thought processes working through the gathered would-be heroes and then took a sip of her brandy. With a moment to let it slip down her throat, she continued. “Fearing the worst and knowing that the city guard have been unable to accomplish anything regarding capture or even identification of the kidnappers, I took to the only recourse I could think of. The temple is home to an artifact – the Star of Justice. A holy weapon once used by one of St. Cuthbert’s most ardent followers, it offers those who are properly beholden to the saint, the ability to ask of Him a question, which he will almost inevitably answer.”
Reaching into her robes, she produced a slip of parchment, upon which she had written a short passage. “This is what I learned. It says, ‘The locks are key to finding them. Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron. Beware the doors with teeth. Look within the malachite hold, where precious life is bought and sold. Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long.’”
Offering the parchment to Tenor, she began pacing slowly. “I have reason to think that the first part mentions something about the locks, given that the orphanage is equipped with locks of rather high quality. More than that, I am afraid, I cannot say.”
She stopped, her back to the fire, the party spread out before her. “If you are willing to accept this duty I am about to offer, you will have the thanks not only of the temple of St. Cuthbert, but the people of Cauldron itself. I ask only that you investigate this clue, and if possible, return the missing children to me.”
“Of course,” Tenor spoke without thinking. “No reward is necessary!”
“Speak for yourself,” Ielenia and Davik spoke nearly simultaneously. Around the room were a chorus of interested agreement.
Jenya smirked. “I thought as much.” Turning, she nodded at Rufus, who went to a cabinet nearby and produced a coffer, which he offered to the priestess. Producing a small key, she unlocked the coffer, opening it to reveal a number of small glass vials, wrapped about with a pewter icon of St. Cuthbert’s encircled cross. “Each of these is enchanted to heal considerable injury, but only once. I offer one of these to each of you, in return for accepting this request.”
”Done,” Ivan said. Stepping forth, he held his hand out and waited while the priestess laid the vial in his hand. “Aid for those who aid your charges. Done and done again,” he proclaimed.
“I accept,” Herodotus spoke next. He too, took the vial when offered, slipping it into a pouch on his belt.
“You know I will…” Tenor began. He fell silent at Lauryl’s humorous glance and accepted the vial, examining the pewter before slipping it safely into a safe place. Moments later, Ielenia, Lauryl and Davik had each accepted their own potion.
“Then it is done. I entrust upon you that you will return the missing children, or at least word of their location before this is over. If you can stop the disappearances in the process, then so much the better. Saint Cuthbert’s blessing upon all of you.” She raised her glass in a toast, echoing the call for cheers and drinking the rest of her brandy in a gulp. “Rufus will see to it that each of you is seen safely to your abodes for the night. I look forward to hearing from you when you have found something. For now, however, I have a temple to attend to. If you will forgive me…”
Bowing, the priestess left the room with Rufus, leaving the party to speak among themselves.
“Tomorrow at dawn, then,” Tenor said firmly.
“Dawn? Give me at least nine bells!” Ielenia whined.
“I told you that you were drinking too much,” the paladin replied, grinning.
“I was not!” came the reply, followed by a yawn. “It’s just getting late is all.”
“I thought elves didn’t sleep,” asked Herodotus.
“Don’t ask,” Lauryl quipped. “She’s awfully lazy for an elf.”
Ielenia’s response was a raspberry that caused the newly formed troupe to laugh.
“Nine bells, then,” Ivan confirmed. “Meet at the orphanage. I’m goin’ home!”
“Until tomorrow, then…” said Lauryl.
Her bed felt somehow less secure that night, the tree outside her bedroom window rattling about kept drawing her back to this world, wondering if that rattle was the sound of a tree branch, or a kidnapper in the night…
---
Lauryl awoke from her Reverie and stretched, enjoying the peace of her room for a moment before moving. Unclothed (or ‘skyclad’ as she liked to refer to it), she stood and walked to open the heavy curtains that hung across the doors that opened onto the balcony. Morning light poured in, greeting glacial blue eyes that crinkled in a smile before they turned away and found a place in the center of her room where she could perform her morning ritual. A short dance followed, the whispered words of her daily prayer spoken to the glowing air. An urgent request followed upon completion; a request that Eilistraee continue to bless her priestess as she had in the past while she went about trying to find the children the priestess had spoken of. Finally, finished with her morning ritual, she washed off and toweled dry.
Then, for reasons she had never been able to explain to anyone, she moved to the floor-length mirror as she had whenever one was available, and stood there, staring at herself. It was as if she needed to see herself as she truly was, unclothed, unhidden, brazen in her white hair and dusk-gray skin. People were quite often frightened of her, seeing in her only the reminder of those ebon-skinned, white haired villains they heard of in their nightmarish tales of hatred and racial enmity. The very word “Drow” brought forth images of hate-filled glowing red eyes, savage butchery, and fear of the dark.
But Lauryl was not a Drow. “Half-Elf” was the derogatory term for an individual born of a Human and Elven union, neither fully Human, nor fully Elven. Thus, they were perpetually caught on the fringes of both societies, accepted in neither, appreciated nowhere. But she was not “Half-Human” as snarky elves frequently called such individuals. She was fully Elf. Only, her father was of the surface world, and her mother was Drow. Lauryl had the blue eyes of a surface Elf, but the white hair of a Drow. In place of the charcoal dark skin of her mother’s race, she had the ash gray of an early night, a true mix of her father’s pale skin and her mother’s night dark flesh.
Caught up as always in the image that was reflected before her, she recalled the faces of her parents to mind, smiling immediately at the warmth and love that had emanated from their eyes the day she had left them to find her own way. “Go with the blessings of the Seldarine,” her father had urged her. “Go with Eilistraee’s guidance to light your path,” her mother had said.
Many years before, such words would have brought spite and hatred to that beautiful face. Her mother had been a victim of her own upbringing – a lesser priestess of Lloth in a family that served the Spider Queen. She had been sent to the surface on a slave-hunting raid, to test her mettle.
She had failed. During a surprise skirmish, she had been knocked unconscious and was then slowly… ever so carefully… brought around from the twisted hatred of the Drow of the Underdark, to the care and love of those Elves who live in the light. Her conversion to Eilistraee had been powerful, effective, and immediate. Within a fortnight, her daughter was conceived. Many of Lauryl’s father’s family felt that Lauryl was a blessing, destined for great things. Lauryl’s mother felt only that she was the consummation of her conversion, a living breathing proof that the Drow and the Elves of the surface could live in harmony, if they only tried.
Lauryl had set forth to help spread that word. By the silvery moonlight of Eilistraee, she had traveled far and wide, eventually finding her way to Cauldron, where she had fallen in with Tenor and Ielenia. From there, the story had yet to be fully told…
Turning away from the mirror at last, she slipped into the clothing and armor she habitually wore while out in the World Above (as her mother had called it). With a last glance at the peacefulness of her room, she slid her hand-and-a-half sword into its shoulder hilt and headed out once more.
Downstairs, the half-elven tavernkeep started as he had since they’d first met, still somewhat uncertain as to how to go about dealing with a daughter of his elven parent’s racial enemy. With a reassuring smile, Lauryl hoped to remind him of her first conversation with him – that not all Drow are evil, and that there can be a meeting of the minds, but only if both sides are willing to come down from their millennia-enforced hatred of one another. Nodding and swallowing, he proved to have remembered her plea and asked if she wanted breakfast.
With a nod and another friendly smile, she turned and scanned the room for her companions, finding them in a sunny nook on the street side of the tavern room. Tenor was halfway through a trencher of ham and eggs, a large chunk of bread being taken apart bit by bit as he used it to sop up the gravy. Across from him, Ielenia ate sparingly, as always, a sprig of grapes, a slice of cheese, and a slender hamsteak being all she needed to function for most of the day. The morning sun dappled through the thick glass wall facing the road, and the elven girl’s laughter rang lightly. As Lauryl approached, Ielenia threw a grape at her friend, her laughter rising in pitch as it bounced off his temple and fell onto his eggs. Nearby, Davik sat eating his own small repast, sitting at a separate table so as not to get caught up in the ‘waste of time’ that was breakfast when the other two were at the same table.
“Slept well, I take?” Lauryl asked, approaching the table and smirking at the trio.
“Well enough,” Davik answered, not looking up from his plate.
“I dreamt of shiny knights and dark alleys,” replied Ielenia.
“That was last night, you twit,” replied Tenor, plucking the grape from his eggs and setting it to one side. Smirking, he dodged another grape and then caught a third in his open mouth when she did not stop.
“Try not to make a mess?” Lauryl asked, exasperated. The innkeep followed, a plate of breakfast held in one hand, a pitcher of warm milk in the other. He set it down on the table with Davik and then returned to his place behind the counter.
“She started it,” Tenor said, grinning. He popped the last piece of bread into his mouth and then sat back, crossing his arms behind his head. Ielenia tossed a piece of egg at him, giggling as it stuck on his breastplate. He wiped it off irritably.
“Uh oh,” Ielenia said, filled with mock horror. “I’m in trouble now!”
“You should not defile the symbols of our gods, regardless of who they are.” Tenor’s voice took on the scolding tone the others knew well. “Respect should be given to those who act in their stead!”
“Respect needs to be EARNED, big boy,” Ielenia replied, shrugging. “Just because you graduated from some high and mighty knightly order and spent the night praying not to fall asleep on your sword…”
“I spent the night meditating on the mysteries of Heieroneous!” Tenor shot back. “If you fall asleep, you fail the test!”
Ielenia shrugged again and Lauryl sat down and turned away, hunching over her food and praying that no one came in and saw them sitting close enough together to be thought of as a group.
“Okay, so you swing a sword, sleep on the hilt one night, read a bunch of boring treatises on some puffed up god of chivalry…” Ielenia was on a roll now. Her smile was insouciant, her words heavy with sarcasm.
Tenor was turning red. “That is blasphemy!” he said, barely controlling himself. “Ielenia, just because you are a friend does not mean you can simply go about disrespecting Heieroneous! Are you crazed to think you can insult the gods and go unpunished?!”
“Oh? And what are you going to do about it? Turn me in?”
“I have half a mind to do so!”
“You have half a mind,” retorted the elf. “That’s why they let you in!” She giggled.
“Enough already,” said Lauryl, turning and glaring at Ielenia. “Tenor, she is pulling your leg and playing at your expense. She does not mean any of it. Do you?” The last was directed at Ielenia, who turned and offered a raspberry in response.
“You take away all my fun.”
“When your idea of fun has your best friend fuming and ready to strike you…” Lauryl paused and nodded meaningfully at Tenor, who was glaring dangerously at her.
The young elf eyed him for a moment and then relented. “Oh, stop! I don’t mean any of that! What are you thinking? That I’m crazy enough to actually MEAN that sort of thing?”
Tenor’s expression relaxed and then became perplexed.
“I’m sorry. Okay? You stayed up all night praying to your god and I’m proud of you. Now stop. I’m PROUD of you.”
Tenor’s scowl turned into a faint grin and he nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome,” the elf replied equally quietly.
“Thank you,” Davik said, meaning it.
“No problem. Perhaps we can eat in peace now.” Lauryl turned back to her food.
Behind her, Ielenia threw a piece of bread at Tenor. Both smirked.
--
The orphanage rang with the sounds of children playing, echoing from the walled enclosure that wrapped an open courtyard and separated the building from the street. Lauryl, Tenor, Ielenia and the others met at the predetermined time, greeting one another as if for the first time now that the sun was up and they were not in unusual circumstances. Unlike the night before, when their attention had been diverted elsewhere, the heroes were able to actually examine one another.
For his part, Davik was hunched into his dark cloak, glaring at anyone who came down to his level, daring them to say something about his near pathological dislike of being out in the open. A history of eons of time spent underground was hard to overcome, and Davik, while different from the majority of his forebears, was still distinctly uncomfortable when under bright light, particularly the open sun. Cauldron’s bowl-like shape seemed to focus the light into its depths, the flecks of mica and malachite in the black stone the city had been built out of seeming to glitter brightly, blinding his sensitive eyes. Still, he was prepared to do what needed to be done, and his friendship with the two elven women and the human warrior had been steadfast and solid, ever since they had come to his defense against a drunken half-orc several years before.
Herodotus had dressed lightly for the day, a long jacket over woolen trousers, with knee-high boots to protect his clothing against the filth that had been washed into the streets the night before completing his outfit. The symbol of his god done in metal shown from his chest, and he bore no weapons. His smile seemed sufficient, and his outgoing welcome of the others when they approached drew smiles and nods. He was, if anything it appeared, a morning person.
Ivan was dressed as they had seen the night before. Horned helmet, furred cloak and banded armor covered his stout form, his war axe securely bound against the pack on his back, but still within reach. He had plaited his mustache into his beard this morning, and the effect was almost of a dandy, excepting the thick profusion of dark hair all about his head where not jammed into his helm. His armor and axe gleamed, freshly oiled in the morning sun. He was still eating a massive turkey leg when he appeared, wiping his hands on a fabric apron hanging from his kit belt.
Assembled, the troupe re-introduced themselves and then stepped back to watch Tenor knock on the door. After a delay, in which the shouting of the children momentarily lapsed and the chanting sounds of children counting could be heard from the open windows upstairs, a slide flew back at waist level and a Halfling madam looked out.
“What do you want?” she asked simply.
“We come on behalf of the Temple of St. Cuthbert,” said Tenor.
“What proof do you offer? You are not the first to come visiting.”
Herodotus drew forth the potion bottle Sister Urikas had offered the night before, presenting it at the level of the opening in the door. “We were given these,” he said quietly.
The eyes in the doorway widened and withdrew, the slide closing. A moment later, a slide bolt was shot and the door swung open, revealing a Halfling lady in her later years, care lines worn into her face. “I apologize for my abruptness,” she said, gesturing for the troupe to enter. “The city guard and representatives of the Lord Governor have come to visit lately and I do not wish to intrude upon the children any further if I can avoid it. Still, Sister Urikas did say she would send help. Is Brother Rufus well?”
“Well enough,” said Ivan, stepping inside and looking about. “Bit of a bruise on ‘is ‘ead.”
“What happened?”
“He was attacked on his way back to the temple,” Tenor replied. “Apparently, the thieves’ guild of Cauldron is involved in some way.”
“Or they were paid to cause a distraction,” offered Davik thoughtfully. The gnome was appraising the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary – locks, in particular.
“Or that,” Tenor nodded. “Either way, he is in good condition now, but we have been sent by Sister Urikas to investigate on the temple’s behalf. I hope you do not mind?”
“Of course not. Though the activities have been distracting for the children. We were quite thankful for Brother Rufus’ efforts yesterday. I am sorry to hear that he was not able to return safely from his work.”
“Would you mind if we asked a few questions?” inquired Lauryl softly. “We do not mean to intrude, but there are some clues to the mystery that can only be found here, from what we understand.”
“What clues might those be?”
“’The locks are key to finding the children’,” quoted Herodotus. “From a divination Sister Urikas attempted last night, I believe. We believe it may have something do with the locks here.” He gestured toward the door, where a slide bolt held the door closed.
“Davik here is something of an expert at locks,” offered Ielenia. She was leaning against the wall near the door, watching Davik inspect the sliding bolt.
The headmistress shrugged. “Feel free to look around, but please, do not interrupt the children. I would have them at least try to return to a normal life?”
“And ignore the fact that several of them happened to disappear into thin air one night?” offered Ivan. “I’d think they’d have a reason ta be worried!”
The headmistress sighed. “We are trying to keep them from worrying about such a thing happening again,” she said. “They barely rested the next day and only started sleeping at least somewhat last night. To rouse their fears again would serve no one any good.”
“We will do our best. Davik, if you do not mind, I would like you and Ielenia to go upstairs?” Tenor was eyeing the glass windows that looked out onto the garden area. A young woman sat in a grassed area, playing with babies and the very young wards of the orphanage. In the bushes surrounding the small courtyard, a dwarf pruned the bushes and collected the remainders in a small pouch at his side.
“Of course.” Davik moved toward the stairs and began climbing, several of the others following.
Tenor stayed, watching the main area and taking it in. There was a large room with several tables spread about it, chairs surrounding them. A door on the far side opened into what looked like a simple kitchen, an elderly human working on preparing whatever meal the children ate for breakfast. A half-orc with a patch over one eye mopped the floor. Upstairs, a teacher’s voice could be heard making the children recite their numbers. The recitation cut off abruptly, replaced with shouts as the others appeared at their doorway.
“How many staff work here?” asked Tenor. He nodded, realizing Lauryl had stayed as well.
“Six, counting myself. The cook, the groundskeeper, the nurse, the teacher, and Patch, along with myself.” She nodded at the half-orc at the mention of the patch on his eye, smiling gently. The half-orc looked up and smiled back before going back to work.
“And no one noticed anything unusual before the disappearances?”
“No… Should we have? The orphanage has been here for years, and no one has ever bothered us.” The headmistress eyed the ceiling with a frown, listening to the bedlam breaking out. Children were asking if the people at their door had come to adopt them, what this was, why someone’s hair (likely Ielenia) was so long… She shook her head, smiling faintly.
Tenor grinned as well, humored by the thought of the rambunctious elf rogue getting a taste of her own medicine for once. “You said others had come to visit. Might I ask who?”
“I told you. The city guard, and the Lord Mayor. The Lord Mayor sent a pair of half-elves, who poked about and asked questions without offering anything in return. Are you going to do the same?”
“I hope not,” Tenor answered solemnly. “I have sworn to aid the Temple of St. Cuthbert in this matter and will not rest until the children are found and returned if such is possible.”
The headmistress eyed him for a moment before nodding. “I hope you do,” she said quietly. “Their presence is sorely missed.”
“How many children do you care for here?” asked Lauryl.
“Sixty, before the disappearances. Two from each room upstairs. They are locked at night, you know? The dormitories? Boys in one, girls in the other. It helps to cut down on the shenanigans after hours. The elders take care of the younger ones until we unlock them in the morning. None of the children report hearing or seeing anything, either. I daresay I do not hear how this is possible.”
“Magic,” Lauryl whispered. “There is no other explanation. They were likely invisible and silent through magical means. How they gained access, however, is the question.”
The headmistress looked curious. “Could magic have opened the doors, perhaps?”
“Such is possible, yes,” Lauryl answered thoughtfully. “But such is not a silent procedure. Doors opened thusly tend to explode…”
Tenor’s eyes widened. “I don’t think that is what we are looking at, in that case. The doors are still in good condition?”
The headmistress’ expression mirrored Tenors. “They are in one piece, aye.”
Any conversation they might have had beyond that was cut short by the clanging of a bell from the kitchen, followed moments later by a roar of approval from all around. In the garden, the children who could began rushing toward the door, while upstairs, the sounds of many footsteps thundered across the creaking boards, followed by a cacophony of orphans rattling their way down the stairs and then jostling for space around the tables. Lauryl and Tenor found themselves shoved against the wall, trying not to get in anyone’s way. The others came down shortly after, Davik nodding with a slight smile on his face when Tenor caught his attention.
“Well, we will not distract your students from their meal,” Tenor nearly shouted across at the headmistress. “We apparently have what we came for. I will return with word as soon as we have anything to report!”
The headmistress smiled and made her way across the room to the front door, unlocking it before swinging it open for them. The troupe tumbled out into the brilliant sunshine moments later, happy to get away from the din of clattering wooden spoons, pewter tureens filled with gruel and children speaking at the top of their voice in order to be heard.
When the door swung shut, Herodotus straightened his jacket, looked around the otherwise empty intersection and smirked. “Well, that was entertaining.”
“Yes. I particularly liked how you turned that one boy’s hair purple,” snickered Ielenia. “Did you see their faces?”
“You wanted a distraction,” the youthful priest said, grinning. “Parlor tricks like that keep children pleased for hours.”
“Will he get his own hair color back?” asked Ivan grumpily.
“In about an hour, I believe. It is but a cantrip.”
“Can you teach me how to pull coins from people’s ears?” asked Ielenia.
“Of course.”
“Could we PLEASE pay attention to the reason we are here?” asked Tenor, rolling his eyes. “Davik, did you find anything?”
“The locks are of excellent quality,” the gnome said once the others had turned to wait for his response. “And all bear the mark of the same locksmith. Since there is but one smith with the capability to make those locks in Cauldron…” Davik waggled his eyebrows.
“Who might that be?” asked Tenor.
“Kheygan Ghelve. Proprietor of Kheygan’s Locks over on Obsidian Avenue.”
“Then we go there.”
The gnome smirked. “My thoughts exactly.”
---
Kheygan’s Locks was a small shop attached to a short tower. The sign outside was nicely made and bars could be seen through the thick glass windows. A small bay window displayed the effects of his trade, locks of all sizes and the keys that went to them. A thick black curtain hid the workshop beyond from the street. A bell rang as Tenor, Ielenia and Davik entered. The others stayed outside but nearby, Herodotus just beyond the doorway where he could hear the conversation within. Davik dropped a small wooden dowel in the doorway to keep it from closing. Lauryl and Ivan struck up a conversation nearby, both watching the priest surreptitiously as they did so.
Inside, the place was homey, with a fireplace, two chairs, a red rug of some exotic make and a mahogany counter. A cabinet against the far wall held what looked to be hundreds of keys on small hooks. A florid red curtain separated the front portion of the shop from the workroom in the back. At the sound of the bell, the curtains parted, revealing what, at first glance, looked to be a six foot tall gnome! While properly proportioned from the waist up, his legs were obscenely long. It took a moment to realize that he was standing on stilts, his pants made to hide them while he moved about.
“Welcome,” the fellow said. He offered a smile at Davik and the others, but seemed particularly intrigued by the dark cloaked gnome. “How may I be of assistance?”
“We are in need of locks,” said Tenor.
“Or at least, information about them,” uttered Davik. Behind them both, Ielenia was looking the place over, eyeing the few locks on display and whether or not they matched that on the single door opening into the back of the building.
Kheygan quirked a brow. “What do you require? There are, of course, some trade secrets, but…”
“Specifically, whether or not you made any specific alterations to keys for the Lantern Street Orphanage,” Davik interrupted.
The unusually tall gnome paused a moment, a mix of emotions crossing his face before he answered. “Not that I am aware of…”
Tenor eyed him curiously for a moment. “Are you aware that four children recently went missing from the orphanage?”
Kheygan looked away and then back, his eyes flicking around the room uncertainly. “I… I had heard of that, yes.” More firmly he added, “but I fail to see what that has to do with me?”
“Did you make the keys for the orphanage?” asked Davik.
“I did. And the locks as well. But if you are claiming I had anything to do with this, I…”
“You’ll what?” asked Tenor curiously. “We have not made any claims…”
“Did you make any skeleton keys for those locks?” asked Davik suddenly. “Do you make them as a habit? Do you have any in your shop at this time?”
“Who… who are you? Why are you asking me these things?”
“We were sent by the temple of St. Cuthbert,” said Tenor. Casually, he set the vial Sister Urikas gave him on the counter.
“You have the symbol of Heieroneous on your chest,” Kheygan said, nodding at Tenor’s holy symbol. “I know they are allies, but why would you be working for another temple?”
“Quit trying to change the subject,” Davik interjected.
Kheygan paused, breaking out in a sweat. After a moment, he jerked his head toward the curtain behind him, eyes going wide. Ielenia, seeing this, smiled darkly and moved to the front door, opening it before looking outside for her companions.
Meanwhile, Tenor frowned and nodded as well. “Alright then. If you have nothing to do with it, how can you prove that your locks can keep others out?” While he spoke, the others moved into the room, adding to the crowd in Kheygan’s small shop. The gnome backed up into the corner behind his counter, out of the way of anyone wishing to investigate the curtain.
Looking around the room, Herodotus mouthed a question – “What is going on?” Ielenia, halfway around the counter at this point, nodded at the curtain and lifted her rapier, which she had just drawn. In response, the priest leapt onto the counter and then through the curtain. With a loud clatter and the popping of several rings from the support rod, the curtain came down, burying the priest in its voluminous folds. As he did, Davik darted through, using the noise as a distraction, but to no avail.
In short order, the cloaked gnome was dropped upon by a figure hiding above, its rapier slipping through the gnome’s body as easily as a knife through cheese. The impact drove the breath from the stricken rogue’s body, and bedlam broke loose.
“Stop!” cried Tenor, hoping to do this peacefully.
He was ignored. In moments, the workshop was filled with flickering blades, the assailant appearing to be chameleon-like against the walls of the room. With a dart this way and then that, his nimble rapier blooded several of the heroes before they could react. Ielenia joined Davik on the floor but was roused by Herodotus’ healing touch, only to have Ivan stomp on her leg as he charged the creature flickering in and out of view. She cried out in pain as the dwarf shouted, “DOWN wi’ ye, Ugly!”
Moments later, the dwarf’s axe crashed through the creature’s defense, sending the rapier skittering across the floor. Before the being could shout, it was beheaded, it’s eyes glazing as its head separated from its neck and fell to the floor, black blood pouring forth from the horrid wound.
“I HAD hoped to parlay!” Tenor said, stepping through the remains of the curtain and looking around. Kheygan’s workshop was centered around three open chests, which contained the tools and items of his trade. Gears, cogs and a variety of bolts and vises were piled seemingly haphazardly in the collection, a work table and a clicking grandfather clock against the far wall finishing the room. A staircase went along the back wall of the shop to his home upstairs.
“Explain yourself,” Lauryl said, coming around the counter and stepping to the now wide-eyed Kheygan.
“They came out from Jzadirune about three months ago,” the gnome babbled. “There are two kinds. Tall and skinny, like this one, and short and cloven-hoofed. They all wear black and speak a strange language I cannot understand, when they speak at all. They took Starbrow! I had no choice!”
“Slow down,” the half-drow priestess said gently. “It’s over now.”
“No, it’s not! They have Starbrow!”
“Oy, and what’s a Starbrow?” asked Ivan, wiping his axe on a rag he’d produced from his pack. He kicked the creature, which had ceased to blend with the walls when it died and was now a pallid skinned, slender humanoid. It wore only a reddish breach clout.
“My familiar,” Kheygan replied, shrugging helplessly. “In my free time, I took up studying magic. Starbrow responded to my call for aid and we have been together ever since. When they first came up from below…”
“Below? Below where?” asked Herodotus, looking around and spying the staircase. “I only see an up!”
Kheygan moved to the wall below the staircase and pressed in on one of the panels. There was a faint click, and the panel popped out and swung on oiled hinges. Beyond was revealed a stone staircase, leading down into dusty, web-lined darkness. “Down there. They came from Jzadirune.”
“What is that?” asked Ielenia. She fingered the hole in her bodysuit and cursed quietly in Elven.
“Jzadirune was an active Gnomish community below Cauldron that closed up 75 years ago when the people there started disappearing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tenor curiously.
“The Vanishing, they called it. After it broke out, people started literally fading away, out of view. Jzadirune was packed up and abandoned, and I am the last and only guardian of its approach. They came up from there. They took Starbrow, forced me to provide them with skeleton keys to the locks of the city and have held my familiar against me to ensure I would not say anything. If I do anything, they will kill him!”
“Have you any idea of where he might be?” asked Herodotus.
“I know that he is hungry and scared and in a dark room. More than that, he cannot tell me.”
“Tell ye? How does he tell ye anythin’?” Ivan had finished cleaning his axe and was now leaning on it, the blades against the floor digging scratches into the wood. Kheygan eyed the damage to his floor, looked at the fallen creature lying in a pool of its own blood nearby, and said nothing.
“Wizards have a connection to their familiars,” Herodotus offered. “They can share basic emotions with one another.”
“You have to rescue him! Now that you’ve done this, they’ll find out the next time they send someone up!”
“How often have they been sending sortie’s out and have you seen them?” asked Lauryl.
“Every couple of days, I would think. I haven’t been out watching the workshop at night very often. I’ve just heard the doors open and close as they went and watched a few from the balcony above.” He gestured at the balcony above the workshop, from which the creature had attacked Davik.
“Then we might have a few days.”
“I would not assume that. We will need to go down there as soon as we can,” said Tenor. “For tonight, we stay here and head down in the morning. Those who need their gear, go get it and come back in the morning. Those who do not will stay and stand guard.”
Ivan, Ielenia and Davik agreed to stay with Tenor. Lauryl and Herodotus left to fetch their things.
“Now, to get rid of this body,” said Ielenia.
“I’ll never get the stains out of that carpet,” muttered Kheygan.
“There are worse things than that,” the elven girl retorted. “Like losing your familiar, or your life.”
“Or your freedom,” added Tenor. “There could be repercussions for aiding them, no matter the circumstances.”
Kheygan straightened to his (albeit short) height. “I will do whatever I can to make up for what I have already allowed to take place. I give you my word. To be honest, this has been bothering me since it started and I am right glad you have come to put an end to it. When I heard that children had gone missing, my heart told me that this had gone too far.”
“Tenor, if you will get the legs,” said Ielenia.