Sarien scowls. "So since you have all the answers, milady, what's your brilliant idea? What do you have to contribute to this conversation aside from that sharp tongue and your oh-so-clever insults?"
Freya smiles sweetly at Sarien. "Don't forget my pretty face and sparkling personality," she reminds him. "I'm just saying, the bandits themselves are nothing. Besides, it sounds like they're local Wiscrani criminals, which means we have to consider their sainted grandmothers and maiden aunts if we so much as bruise them." She shoots a sour look at Arael. "They're pawns. This woman? She might be the queen; she might be nothing more than an Asmodean bishop, but she's guaranteed to have more answers than a bunch of illiterate thieves." She shrugs. "If we just want to knock some heads together, we could get the jump on the bandits, but it won't stop her from hiring more. We could make working for her a job that no amount of money can compensate for, but that would take some time," she glances at Arael, "and a certain willingness to get one's hands bloody that seems to be in short supply in present company."
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Hardin looks at Freya. Considers.
"Are you in this because you want to leave a trail of mutilated corpses behind you, that were wearing the wrong uniform, or are you in this because you want to throw off the rule of Thrune?"
"When you kill someone simply because he belongs to the other side, you send a message to them. The message is "We cannot afford to lose. The other side takes no prisoners, offers no quarter and will simply kill." It stiffens their resolve, yes...but can you be absolutely certain that the person you killed wore that uniform because they believed in the cause, rather than taking up the clothes and the uniform to earn a steady income to feed their family and children?"
"There is enough death and misery in the world that we need not go adding to it...needlessly."
"That said, banditry has its own penalties, away from the cities. Enforcing a few of them may send a message. Making sure that it's clear that we're enforcing them, rather than the duly appointed authorities, sends three messages."
Freya gives a short laugh. "Look around you, holy man. These are our assets. This is 'the rebellion.' A bunch of outcasts and losers and freaks. And you're talking about 'throwing off the rule of Thrune?' The most we could ever aspire to, is to be a grain of sand in Abrogail's oh-so-stylish sandal, something that makes her pause and shake out her shoe before going on with her day and completely forgetting about the mild inconvenience. And that's if we're successful beyond even this group of loons' wildest dreams." She shakes her head. "If you seriously think our escapades in Westcrown will even make the list of news to mention back in Egorian, you need to stop breathing the incense at that temple of yours."
"Well to be more clear, I'm suggesting that we show an interest in hiring on for work in order to get closer to the mystery woman and learn more. I have no interest in wasting time pretending to be a bandit or actually hitting any caravans."
Sarien stretched out his legs in front of him. "If we can give the impression that we're looking for the work that she's offering, we could meet with her under the pretense of getting hired and then see about getting our questions answered. It might require getting rid of her bodyguards at the same time and taking her prisoner, but she's likely to have some of the answers we're looking for."
Janiven shakes her head, and briefly covers her face with the palm of her hand before continuing.
Look, each of you has good points, but you're not seeing the forest for the trees. A woman with guards? That sounds like a noblewoman of some type, no? And if so, what are we going to do against the nobility, as we are currently comprised? I'll tell you what - nothing. It cannot fall on us to do so.
Indeed, it wouldn't. And I feel that I need to correct one misconception right here and now. This - He says, gesturing about him - is NOT the "revolution". This is a seed which, when planted in fertile soil, will grow into a mighty oak. We aim to succeed, in short, where Galt has failed. We cannot cause the downfall of Thrunish control of Westcrown directly, but we CAN cause the people of Westcrown to realize that what is theirs by right is available for them to take back! And then, only then will the nobility quake in their shoes, and the infernal influences be cast out forever. THAT, my friends, is our goal. Empower the people.
Now, to that end, if my advice is looked-for (and you need not take it, mind you, but I will give it nonetheless), I would suggest that we deal with the problem in front of us - that of the bandits. They are causing confusion and disarray among the populace, and that cannot be tolerated. In my heart, I don't believe they are Wescrani - and if they act against the interests of Westcrown, are they Wescrani at all, regardless of nationality? I don't know. But they must be dealt with. Let me find what I can over the next day - speak with the goblins, if you've found one that can be trusted farther than he can be thrown physically - and let's talk again on this soon.
He storms off, obviously agitated.
Janiven grins, before following the half-elf.
It's good that you're here - I haven't seen him that motivated in some time. THAT'S the fire that drew the rest of us in. Thank you for stoking it.
She follows Arael, quickly and quietly.
"Goblin negotiations it is then. I suppose it's as good a place as any to get started. We ready to head out?"
"Relax, Hardin," Freya says with a touch of true sympathy, as she sees him racking his brains. "You're not going to think your way out of this one. 'Mummy and Daddy,'" she motions after Janiven and Arael, "want us to find the bandits, because they're afraid of the nobility. If they want us to muck around at the bottom of the food chain rather than go straight to the source, it's no skin off my nose. Besides," she picks up her crossbow, "we have it straight from the horse's mouth that 'Wiscrani who work against Westcrown's best interests aren't really Wiscrani.'" She pauses and shakes her head. "It must be difficult being having ideals and having to draw all these moral boundaries," she says dryly.
The rest of the day passes somewhat uneventfully, with the only news of note coming from Gorvio. In the late afternoon, he emerges from the side entrance obviously drenched with rain, only to relate an interesting occurance:
Good to see you're all here - I wanted to mention a funny bit to you. It seems that master Ulvauno returned his horse to my father's stables this morning very much annoyed. Apparently, his horse kicked the "princess" in the production he was putting on, causing quite a stir and disrupting the play somewhat. He was sorely vexed when he returned the beast, and blamed you - he gestures at Freya - for the beast's surly disposition. Cursed da' up and down, he did, before taking his leave. Da' was laughing the whole thing off, but if I was you, I'd be on the lookout for angry baritones.
He meanders off to get dry, laughing all the way.
The next day, the party accompanies Hardin to the largest local temple of Iomedae, called the House of Balances. The scales of justice are prominently carved on the front doors, which are attended (though not strictly guarded) by two young and handsome templars with shining mail. The rightmost guard inclines his head in greeting.
Inheritor's Blessings upon you, Master Clegane. These friends of yours?
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Hardin nods at the acolytes. "Her Blessings to all, Armin." He gestures to the people behind him. "These are my associates. Has anyone come forward asking for Dogface?"
Stevin, the other attendant, looks at Hardin for a moment. "Not yet."
Hardin is wearing the family surcoat, but, it not obviously being a combat situation, he's not geared up for fighting - he's got the padding from his chainmail under his shirt and isn't carrying his shield. He's got the maximum length legal weapon at his belt.
Hardin nods. "Someone may come asking. You might be tempted to turn them away; please do not."
"I'll be in the seats to the east side of the Temple waiting for them."
The temple has dressed stone walls, with the main doors facing the south. Inside, there is one large space with walls of 30' high, with a balcony running around at 20', and windows that are practically arrow slits at 25'. The ceiling has three oil fed chandeliers on a pulley system, designed for someone to be able to rotate them around to the North balcony and refill and light them - they're currently unlit.
The dais for the preceptor is at the North wall, and there are pews on the northern two thirds of the floor. The southern third is kept open for people to move around in. There are tapestries illuminating the Deeds of Iomedae on the Western and Eastern walls...and the walls themselves appear to be of dressed stone.
The balcony at the top has a number of decorative plastons on the railing - it is not coincidental that they could also serve as cover for kneeling archers, geared to take shots at someone coming through the door...and a second look makes it clearer that the space in here would be easy to defend against an outside force.
From the back yard, there are the sounds of wooden swords clacking on pells, and the "heep-heep-heep" of sergeants overseeing 'morning devotions' that sound like a lot more work than simple prayers.
The actual living quarters are separate buildings from the temple, including the classrooms and the dormitories for acolytes, and the occasional soldier or lay follower sent here to recover from wounds - or taking in some charity between contracts.
Hardin takes a seat on the pews next to the Eastern wall - the morning sun coming through the high windows puts that area in dimmer light than the rest. And he waits.
Time passes - enough time that the area that Hardin is seated in is in danger of falling within the beams that cascade through the window set high up in the wall. A few worshippers filter in and out throughout the morning, paying their respects to the Inheritor, but no services are taking place today.
Just as the morning is giving way to afternoon, a startled cry rings into the temple from the doorway outside.
What the...!
Followed quickly by a more chastened...
Yes, he's right...inside... I never thought I'd say this, but - you may enter. Leave your...weapon...such as it is...here.
Stevin enters the temple, hand on his sword hilt. Behind him is a short, bedraggled goblin. Before Stevin can make an introduction, the Goblin speaks in halting Common:
Dogface! There. Grib done with you now, ugly-tall-one.
Stevin looks as though he is of a mind to backhand the thing, but he instead gives Hardin a curt bow and heads back to his post.
As Grib approaches, it's clear that he has not bathed since your meeting in the sewers. A fish bone is matted in his hair - from what type of fish, you hesitate to guess - and he reeks to the high heavens.
Well, human. What you say? Grib risks much coming above-ground under the hateful sun. Good thing humans stupid, they not see Grib in shadows. You say you have more work for Grib? Grib likes gold.
The pitiful creature starts eyeing the alter service appraisingly.
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Hardin smiles, and gestures Grib to a small area at the side. The smile wavers a bit at the reek, but it's there nonetheless.
"First, how's the nest? You led the armigers on a merry chase?"
Hardin pulls out a gold piece. "You and your tribe can go places we cannot. And there are parts of the cities that have been abandoned."
"I will pay you for information about people - I'll give you descriptions..." (He gives a description of the woman Sarien saw, and the name of the bar) "and I need to know where they're staying, and who they're talking to."
"I may also ask you, mighty Grib, to make sure that your tribe is not in the abandoned area. There are things afoot that may cause Hellknights to go into those spots, looking to cause trouble. We may ask you to evacuate them for your safety...or, if you're bold and tricky enough, to lay traps for them."
He hands the gold to Grib. "That is for trusting me enough to come here today. There is more to be had for reliable information."
Diplomacy for Grib
The rest of the day passes somewhat uneventfully, with the only news of note coming from Gorvio. In the late afternoon, he emerges from the side entrance obviously drenched with rain, only to relate an interesting occurance:
Good to see you're all here - I wanted to mention a funny bit to you. It seems that master Ulvauno returned his horse to my father's stables this morning very much annoyed. Apparently, his horse kicked the "princess" in the production he was putting on, causing quite a stir and disrupting the play somewhat. He was sorely vexed when he returned the beast, and blamed you - he gestures at Freya - for the beast's surly disposition. Cursed da' up and down, he did, before taking his leave. Da' was laughing the whole thing off, but if I was you, I'd be on the lookout for angry baritones.
He meanders off to get dry, laughing all the way.
"If he 'blamed me' for anything, it was for not being at the stage door with a vacuous smile and crotchless pants," Freya fumes under her breath. "Hey, foofy," she calls to Rauno, "you hadn't 'accessorized' our do-gooder uniforms with masks yet at the time. Guess that means he saw my face and we'll have to kill him."
Hardin nods at the acolytes. "Her Blessings to all, Armin." He gestures to the people behind him. "These are my associates. Has anyone come forward asking for Dogface?"
Stevin, the other attendant, looks at Hardin for a moment. "Not yet."
Hardin is wearing the family surcoat, but, it not obviously being a combat situation, he's not geared up for fighting - he's got the padding from his chainmail under his shirt and isn't carrying his shield. He's got the maximum length legal weapon at his belt.
Hardin nods. "Someone may come asking. You might be tempted to turn them away; please do not."
"I'll be in the seats to the east side of the Temple waiting for them."
Freya, looking surlier than usual in the morning sun, gives the templars an unfriendly glance as she follows Hardin into the temple. "Couldn't have cast a better pair of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, all-Chelaxian boys with a week's worth of auditions at the toniest theater in Egorian," she grumbles. "Is everyone here good-looking and cheerful?"
The temple has dressed stone walls, with the main doors facing the south. Inside, there is one large space with walls of 30' high, with a balcony running around at 20', and windows that are practically arrow slits at 25'. The ceiling has three oil fed chandeliers on a pulley system, designed for someone to be able to rotate them around to the North balcony and refill and light them - they're currently unlit.
The dais for the preceptor is at the North wall, and there are pews on the northern two thirds of the floor. The southern third is kept open for people to move around in. There are tapestries illuminating the Deeds of Iomedae on the Western and Eastern walls...and the walls themselves appear to be of dressed stone.
The balcony at the top has a number of decorative plastons on the railing - it is not coincidental that they could also serve as cover for kneeling archers, geared to take shots at someone coming through the door...and a second look makes it clearer that the space in here would be easy to defend against an outside force.
From the back yard, there are the sounds of wooden swords clacking on pells, and the "heep-heep-heep" of sergeants overseeing 'morning devotions' that sound like a lot more work than simple prayers.
The actual living quarters are separate buildings from the temple, including the classrooms and the dormitories for acolytes, and the occasional soldier or lay follower sent here to recover from wounds - or taking in some charity between contracts.
Hardin takes a seat on the pews next to the Eastern wall - the morning sun coming through the high windows puts that area in dimmer light than the rest. And he waits.
Freya folds her arms as though she is chilly -- or perhaps merely uncomfortable in the grand stone structure; her centipede pokes its verminous head out of the collar of her shirt. "It's like a prison in here," she mutters. "Reminds me of the Sisterhood -- except at least they had windows." Still looking about her warily, she settles down on a pew behind Hardin and stretches out full-length; she had been forced to wake up far earlier than her usual this morning to keep this appointment and despite the discomfort of the hard pew and her own unease, is soon asleep. The centipede, however, maintains its vigil.
The uproar when Grib enters the temple rouses Freya. This is much more like her normal hour to rise. She sits up to watch Hardin's interaction with the goblin over the end of the pew. Her centipede runs up the side of her neck and hangs dangling over her right ear. "You're right," she murmurs as if in response to an unheard remark. "He's not good-looking and cheerful."
Sarien examines the interior of the temple with interest, having never been inside one so ornate as this. He notes the defenses and the way the tapestries are hung, thinking idly of means of escape should it be necessary.
He keeps silent and fairly unobstrusive to the side as they wait and doesn't speak when the goblin finally arrives. The whole negotiation was mildly offensive to him and he regretted his part in it.
"First, how's the nest? You led the armigers on a merry chase?"
Grib snorts derisively. Nests are where birds sleep, human. Goblins have dens. We move our den after you bother us. Grib not know "armigers". We led guards away from you, yes. They still chasing, Grib thinks! He erupts into peals of delighted squealing.
Hardin pulls out a gold piece. "You and your tribe can go places we cannot. And there are parts of the cities that have been abandoned."
"I will pay you for information about people - I'll give you descriptions..." (He gives a description of the woman Sarien saw, and the name of the bar) "and I need to know where they're staying, and who they're talking to."
"I may also ask you, mighty Grib, to make sure that your tribe is not in the abandoned area. There are things afoot that may cause Hellknights to go into those spots, looking to cause trouble. We may ask you to evacuate them for your safety...or, if you're bold and tricky enough, to lay traps for them."
He hands the gold to Grib. "That is for trusting me enough to come here today. There is more to be had for reliable information."
Grib snatches the gold piece, and immediately bites it. He seems satisfied, and grunts as he places the coin deftly into a small satchel that hangs at his side.
26 Diplomacy for Grib
Grib tell you what, human. Grib like you. Dogface a good nickname. You uglier than most humans, but you not bad to Grib. Grib and Grib's tribe will ask around about this female. Grib stays away from abandoned above-ground. Other goblin warriors live there. They worse fighters than Grib, but they have many more numbers. They not like Grib. Grib bed chieften's daughter! He not like Grib at all. Grib not like him, either. If stupid human guards go into goblin den, they get dead. Grib not care about this. Grib will ask around. You got anything more for Grib?
He figits nervously, as though he's unaccustomed to being above ground, in a temple no less. Which, in fact, he clearly isn't.
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Grib snorts derisively. Nests are where birds sleep, human. Goblins have dens. We move our den after you bother us. Grib not know "armigers". We led guards away from you, yes. They still chasing, Grib thinks! He erupts into peals of delighted squealing.
Hardin grins at this. "Good work."
Grib snatches the gold piece, and immediately bites it. He seems satisfied, and grunts as he places the coin deftly into a small satchel that hangs at his side.
Hardin nods, not insulted in the least. He makes a mental note to find other things that might appeal to Grib and his tribe. Soap, for instance...or find a baker who can be induced to lay out some bread for the Goblins to "steal" after Hardin pays for it in advance.
26 Diplomacy for Grib
Grib tell you what, human. Grib like you. Dogface a good nickname. You uglier than most humans, but you not bad to Grib. Grib and Grib's tribe will ask around about this female. Grib stays away from abandoned above-ground. Other goblin warriors live there. They worse fighters than Grib, but they have many more numbers. They not like Grib. Grib bed chieften's daughter! He not like Grib at all. Grib not like him, either. If stupid human guards go into goblin den, they get dead. Grib not care about this. Grib will ask around. You got anything more for Grib?
He figits nervously, as though he's unaccustomed to being above ground, in a temple no less. Which, in fact, he clearly isn't.
"This weakling goblin in the abandoned areas? What name do you insult him with? If we want to have him pissing his feet because you sent us, we need to call him out by name."
"Beyond that, not yet. Meet you here in two day's time? I should have something for you then."
Clan chief named Golmak. Gruk not know human word for what Gruk calls him. Humans probably do not have a word. Human language feels dirty.
He looks as though he is going to spit on the ground, but then reconsiders his surroundings and thinks better of the idea.
Meet at night, can we? Gruk not like hateful sun. Two days.
Gruk abrubptly turns on his heel and stalks toward the entrance.
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After Grib leaves, Hardin will wipe up where Grib was sitting, and then talk to Stevin and Armin for a moment, telling them to pass the word that Grib is to be admitted - but only if Hardin is there to receive hi. If Hardin is not there, they're to tell him to come back in two days - and to let Hardin know.
He will then ask to see the Preceptor (the person who gives the sermons) if he's available, or the 'second in command' if not.
If one or the other is, Hardin is going to talk about the logistical aspects of buying a spy network with loaves of bread.
"I'd like to try something - I'd like to see if we can get Grib to inform for food. I sincerely doubt that he can walk to a bakery and buy loaves of bread or pies, so they likely steal them when they can be had, or eat out of the middens."
"This will probably require setting them out where the loaves can be "stolen" - he'll not like the idea that we're helping him directly. His pride demands that he 'put one over on the stupid tall-ones'. It also probably keeps him at the top of his tribe."
"Battles are won as much by wits and knowledge on the ground as they are by strong arms and stout hearts.
"Can we be flexible enough to do this?"
"This should go over well," Freya murmurs to the others after Hardin has left them to pitch his idea to his superiors. "'Hey, Mr. Proper-Authority Rule-of-Law Place-for-Everything-and-Everything-in-its-Place, how about we make an alliance with a tribe of sewer goblins? No, they haven't promised to stop killing and stealing, but this one followed me home; can I keep it?'"
Sarien barks a short laugh. "Truly. I wonder at the tears he'd weep if it turned out that he gets this tribe wiped out. Or, failing that, how far his conscience will take him if these payments allow the little bastard the means to take over neighboring tribes and enough power to start stealing wee children from the streets."
He laughed again. "I wonder what that would do for the image of our company?"
"Can we be flexible enough to do this?"
Preceptor Nestor smiles gently.
I'm not sure how keen I am on this idea, Hardin. Rather than encourage petty theft, why not pay the creature openly and fairly for his services? Our Mistress, Bastion of Fairness and Light Unto the Unenlightened that She is, would surely rather that these goblins be brought into Her fold and taught to live as civilized creatures ought to rather than have them feel that they are forced to steal from us in order to make gains. If you give Grib gold, and he decides to purchase bread, we will sell it willingly at at a fair price, you have my word. If, however, he decides that his clan's needs are more in line with other commodities, then let him buy those instead! After all, bread will sustain a man - or a goblin, I suppose - for a day, but it is only through Her might that the true path to civilized life is attained.
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Preceptor Nestor smiles gently.I'm not sure how keen I am on this idea, Hardin. Rather than encourage petty theft, why not pay the creature openly and fairly for his services? Our Mistress, Bastion of Fairness and Light Unto the Unenlightened that She is, would surely rather that these goblins be brought into Her fold and taught to live as civilized creatures ought to rather than have them feel that they are forced to steal from us in order to make gains. If you give Grib gold, and he decides to purchase bread, we will sell it willingly at at a fair price, you have my word. If, however, he decides that his clan's needs are more in line with other commodities, then let him buy those instead! After all, bread will sustain a man - or a goblin, I suppose - for a day, but it is only through Her might that the true path to civilized life is attained.
"While I see the doctrinal basis of your position, I have two concerns."
"The first is that paying him openly could get him killed by outsiders. He's cunning, but I do not see much evidence of thinking on long term strategy. He would flaunt it."
"The second is that in order for the seed of civilization to take root, he has to accept that it is not just he and his against a callous world that would spit him on a gibbet to feed crows as look at him. I'm not sure he's at that point yet."
"While I have hopes that he'll prove useful, I expect his loyalty to reach only as far as his hand grasping for gold. Not that I won't take the opportunity to present him with options to exceed my expectation."
"Before I meet with him again, I will think on things his tribe might need, and see if we can offer to sell them to him, or give him them in payment for services rendered."
"He has already given us the name of the Goblin warchief of the abandoned area, and some dispensation of his forces. I hope to learn more from him."
Hardin walks back from his meeting, and accepts the Precepters blessing. He pauses just long enough for the others to do so if they wish, but does not expect it of either Freya or Sarien.
"I'm surprised he came. That's the second time he's surprised me."
He looks at Sarien for a moment, reading his face. "I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him. Perhaps not even that far. His interests align with ours for now, and they're easy to read...and if anyone's going to get hurt or killed keeping an eye on that woman, I'd rather it be he than you."
Sarien barks a short laugh. "Truly. I wonder at the tears he'd weep if it turned out that he gets this tribe wiped out. Or, failing that, how far his conscience will take him if these payments allow the little bastard the means to take over neighboring tribes and enough power to start stealing wee children from the streets."
He laughed again. "I wonder what that would do for the image of our company?"
Freya laughs with him, with real enjoyment. "Better yet," she responds gleefully, "what would it do for the image of Her Inheritorship and her temples?" Glancing aside, she meets his eyes and seems suddenly to realize that this is Sarien she's sharing a moment with. Her face quickly goes dark once more, as she straightens her vest and sidles away as Hardin returns.
Hardin walks back from his meeting, and accepts the Precepters blessing. He pauses just long enough for the others to do so if they wish, but does not expect it of either Freya or Sarien.
"I'm surprised he came. That's the second time he's surprised me."
He looks at Sarien for a moment, reading his face. "I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him. Perhaps not even that far. His interests align with ours for now, and they're easy to read...and if anyone's going to get hurt or killed keeping an eye on that woman, I'd rather it be he than you."
"Sounds like you're getting a promotion," she tells Sarien with a smirk. "Your life is officially worth more than a goblin's now."
Sarien arches an eyebrow. "Even on my worst days, I've been worth more than a goblin. My father's piss is of greater value."
"Are we done here, priest?" Freya asks, hugging herself uneasily. "All the 'holiness' around here is starting to give me the creeps."
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"We can go, Freya."
He then sets a course away from the Temple of Iomedae, tangental back to the Temple of Aroden, buys a bit of bread (which he splits with his companions) and glances back for evidence of a tail.
Perception
Along the way, he recounts a story that was likely old when Aroden was making mud pies, with a punchline of
"How the hell do I get out of this chicken sh** outfit?"
"You have to fu** up."
"Fu** up? THAT'S what I've been doing wrong. I've been trying to fu** off!"
Along the way, he recounts a story that was likely old when Aroden was making mud pies, with a punchline of
"How the hell do I get out of this chicken sh** outfit?"
"You have to fu** up."
"Fu** up? THAT'S what I've been doing wrong. I've been trying to fu** off!"
Freya regards him with raised eyebrows and a slightly amused expression. "Do you whisper sweet nothings to Her Inheritorship with that mouth?"
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"Indeed I do. Think about humanity." He pauses. "Not that I have any greater insight...but one would expect a deity that deals with us, en mass, would need a sense of humor to avoid the temptation of erasing us and starting over."
"Indeed, most of the deities of Opposition seem to take it as a given that they'd remake creation without us if they won."
"Unless they just get their kicks by watching us screw up," Freya counters, "like children laughing at the puppets beating each other and acting like fools."
Sarien snickers. "That's always been my view of religion. The gods, one and all, watch our sad lives for their own pathetic amusement, only occasionally stirring to favor a particularly enthusiastic bootlicker."
He then sets a course away from the Temple of Iomedae, tangental back to the Temple of Aroden, buys a bit of bread (which he splits with his companions) and glances back for evidence of a tail.
Hardin watches closely for a tail of any nature, but feels fairly confident that the group's progress is not being observed.
Everyone arrives back at the temple to Aroden safely and without incident, other than Hardin receiving a few abashed glances from housewives out cleaning their stoops.
Back home at the Temple, Janiven has some news.
Good morning! I hope it's been a productive one. We've been busy here. I have put a few feelers out - aided by Yakopulio, I should add - as to the identity of the woman you saw, Sarien. I expect to hear back any time now. Additionally, Arael has set up a sort of red herring convoy designed to lure any would-be bandits into attacking. It will leave tomorrow at sunrise, headed North. If you care to, you'll be the guards, although perhaps you'll stay out of sight until the time comes - one of our wagons is covered, and is big enough to hold at least three of you - probably four, if one isn't you, big man. she says, gesturing at Tao at the end of the statement.
Anything interesting come of your activities this morning?
Good morning! I hope it's been a productive one. We've been busy here. I have put a few feelers out - aided by Yakopulio, I should add - as to the identity of the woman you saw, Sarien. I expect to hear back any time now. Additionally, Arael has set up a sort of red herring convoy designed to lure any would-be bandits into attacking. It will leave tomorrow at sunrise, headed North. If you care to, you'll be the guards, although perhaps you'll stay out of sight until the time comes - one of our wagons is covered, and is big enough to hold at least three of you - probably four, if one isn't you, big man. she says, gesturing at Tao at the end of the statement.
Freya groans. "What is with you people and sunrise? Are you afraid you'll miss all the good bandits if you sleep in a little?"
Dear Freya, you can go back to sleep in the wagon once we are underway if you prefer. I know that is what I intend to do.
"That's a roundabout way of propositioning a girl," she responds. "Just because we're 'sleeping' 'together' doesn't mean we're 'sleeping together,' but I guess you can make it sound that way when you brag about your exploits." She returns her attention to Janiven. "Anything interesting? Hardin's trying to get the temple of Iomedae to sponsor the local goblin murder-n-mayhem team. Maybe we could get some little vests embroidered, get Her Holiness some free advertising," she suggests to Hardin.