The Story So Far - Part 13 - "Crisis & Callbacks"

"The Story So Far" is an ongoing series recapping the details of a Dungeons & Dragons campaign that I've been running since 2002. Links to the previous entries can be found here:  

Prologue                    Part I                    Part II                    Part III              Part IV  

Part V                        Part VI                  Part VII                 Part VIII            Part IX 

Part X                        Part XI                  Part X11

I've "fictionalized" the session reports in a likely-vain attempt to make them more "entertaining."   

And now, our story continues...

Earthday, Earthlife 1st, 1492-supplemental

Later, over drinks at the Rambling Rogue tavern, the Fellowship decried the arrest of local farmer, Stefan.

“Itsh iddy-ottic!” Lorelei slurred.

Noticing that she’d drawn looks of annoyance and curiosity from other patrons seated nearby, the druid made a conscious effort to adopt her indoor voice before proceeding.

“Look, I can unnerstan' Stefan bein' ang'ry 'bout the town spendin' money on us instead of a wall arroun' his farm..but that’s ain't no motive to kill someone!”

“I know what I saw, dammit,” Roman muttered, his gaze lost at the bottom of a nearly-empty flagon of ale. “And what I saw was Duran with those orcs. And, as soon as he saw me, he turned tail and bolted out of there.”

“Sadly, it doesn’t matter what you saw,” Pol replied, throwing her meaty hands down on the table in a sign of frustration. “Denneth is convinced that the note is in Stefan’s handwriting.”

“Well, I don’ truss, Denenth!” Lorelei enunciated, her voice a slushy and scarcely-audible hiss.

Once again, the druid was distracted by the sight Veronique, the barmaid, flitting around Barant. When the wench "fell" into his lap and giggled, the druid immediately became incensed.

“Ugh, are you guys seein' thish? She’s suppos' to be workin'! That is not profeshnal behavior...what does he see in that twit?!?”

“Focus, Lor, ” Roman scolded, finally noticing the number of empty glasses clustered around her with vague alarm.

The druid tore her gaze from the spectacle and took a healthy quaff of cider before proceeding.

“Tha Mayor’s prolly in cahoots with Duran! If he said the note was written by the phreakin' King o' Allamain, we still coulddent say nuttin'!”

“Actually, that’s not quite true,” Bria said, from out of no-where, instantly earning herself a monopoly of eyes.

A few beats passed as the thief took an extended sip of wine, relishing the universal attention.

“Well, shpillit!” Lorelei shouted, clearly bereft of patience.

Bria swirled the dregs around in her cup before answering.

“Sure, Castebridge is corrupt, but they still have to prove that Stefan wrote that note in court.”

Lorelei immediately seized upon this.

“Yer right...if we can get our mitts on some papers dat Stefan, Duran and Denneth wrote, then we can compare 'em it to tha note we found on those friggin' orcs.”

“Nice,” Pol chimed in. “That way, at the very least, we’ll know if Denneth is lying to us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Roman returned, swaying slightly as he got to his feet. “We’ll hash out the details tomorrow...but now we all need to get some rest. Some more than others.”

He looked down at Lorelei, who was preoccupied with shooting invisible daggers out of her bleary eyes and into Veronique's perfectly-coiffed skull.

“Yeah, I’d better get ‘miracle boy’ over there back to Legacy Tower before he burns this place down,” Pol responded.

She vaguely gestured towards Rincewind, who was standing on a chair and intensely studying a hanging lamp in the corner of the pub. Just as he started batting it around like a cat, Pol jumped up to prevent a possible fire.

“Goodnight all!” she said to her companions as she hastily ushered the “WIZZARD” out the door. 

“Hold up!” Roman said, tossing some coins down on the table. “I’m going to go back to the abbey and check on Giran.”

After they’d left, Lorelei and Bria sipped their drinks in awkward silence together until the thief suddenly performed a poorly-mimed stretch.

“Wow, I’m totally bushed, too!” she announced. “I’m going to go straight to the guild and get some much-needed shut-eye.”

Lorelei took another big gulp of cider and snorted her derision.

“Wow, you gotta be tha' realm’s worst liar,” she said.

Now sporting an ear-to-ear smile, Bria winked, added a pair of coppers to Roman’s contribution and scooted out of sight.

With no other distractions available, Lorelei settled her gaze on the far corner of the bar. She watched in disgust as Veronique finally extricated herself from Barant’s lap, lifted the warrior’s chin and kissed him deeply. She retrieved her empty serving tray, turned on her heel with a swish and immediately caught Lorelei’s furtive glance. The druid quickly looked away and cursed as the barmaid sashayed over to her.

“’Ello, my dear,” she purred as she drew near. “Can I get choo anudder cider?”

“Yeah,” Lorelei heard herself say.

“Tres bien,” Veronique replied. Before turning to leave, a thought seemed to occur to her and a sly smile suddenly lit up her features.

“I don’ believe I ever properly t’anked you, Lorelei,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?” the druid replied, suspicion dripping from her voice. “Wha' for?”

“For coming 'ere, to Castebridge. If not for dat, I would never have met Barant, ze love of my life!”

With a wink and a flourish, the barmaid spun about and headed towards the bar. Half-way there she paused, turned back towards Barant, and blew a kiss. Lorelei stared in disbelief as her former bodyguard and travelling companion mimed getting hit in the cheek by the invisible gesture.

As Lorelei ran-staggered out the front door of the Rambling Rogue in a failed bid to find a reasonably-close latrine, she told herself that it was this sickening display, and not the six ciders she’d put away, that caused her to get sick. 

***

“You seriously don’t remember anything? The dragon, the floating, the rocks...nothing?” Pol quizzed as she effortlessly opened the heavy iron front door of Legacy Tower.

“I remember the dragon,” Rincewind said, sounding slightly dazed and very tired. 

“I remember seeing the dragon getting to its feet and flying away. I wanted to do something about it, but I couldn’t remember what I wanted to do...or how to do it.”

“Weird,” Pol replied, making a beeline for the spiral staircase.

Before the pair reached the steps, they were interdicted by a somber-looking woman in her late thirties, her hair arrayed in a long, elaborately-braided ponytail. She was clad in blue and grey flowing robes which were covered in white mystical shield symbols.

“Greetings, Rincewind,” the magic user said. “The sight of your safe return is a balm for my heavy heart.”

At this, the WIZZARD leaned over to Pol and whispered loud enough for everyone within earshot to hear.

“HEY, POL...WHO IS THIS PERSON?”

Pol was quick to assuage the woman’s vaguely hurt look. 

“My apologies,” she began. “Rincewind experienced an...incident at Kiras Toth that seems to have affected his memory. In fact, I as kind of hoping that you might be able to help him...”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” the female mage replied. “I suppose some introductions are in order, then? My name is Layah Tremaine, I’m the head of the school of Abjuration here.”

“I’ve seen you around when I was here before with Rincewind,” Pol replied. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”

Pol and Layah exchanged hand-shakes, followed by an awkward moment where Rincewind also offered his hand. Clearly thrown by the implication, Layah hesitated a moment before taking his hand in hers. She then turned and began to lead them up the steps.

“I’m afraid I have some dire news,” she said, glancing back towards the duo.

“Well, that’s a pleasant change,” Pol muttered under her breath.

“The morning after you left town, we found Marlak dead in his chambers.”

Pol halted in place and Rincewind looked expectantly back and forth between the two of them. Seeing this, Layah put a hand on her friend’s arm.

“You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

Rincewind shook his head, his expression now distinctly fearful.

“He’s our leader here. You two were...quite close.”

“What happened?” Pol demanded.

“There was no sign of a struggle,” Leyah said, continuing their ascent. “Berowne seems to think that he was poisoned.”

“Let me guess,” the amazonian fighter replied, “Andred is missing and so is the cloak we recovered from the Hanan family crypt?”

The sorceress didn’t reply, she just turned and nodded with grim confirmation. Upon seeing this, Rincewind suddenly put a hand up to his brow.

“Um, I don’t feel so good...”  

In an effort to steady himself, the magic-user reached for the stairwell railing but missed it completely. Mercifully, Pol and Layah were there to catch his fall as everything went black.

***

“Thanks for staying with Giran, Elster...how’s he doing?”

The dwarven cleric looked up from his ministrations as Roman entered the infirmary. His morose countenance did not look promising.

“That good, huh?”

“Moira says she’s done everything in her power to help him,” the dwarf replied, exhaling his frustration. “But, to be honest, he seems to be in worse shape now than ever. I really don’t know what else to do.”

Roman put a reassuring hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I’ll talk to Moira. I’m sure she has some ideas.”

Roman was barely out the door when his fellow priest ran to catch up to him.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Roman,” Elster gravely intoned. “I’ve seen this sort of thing before and I think he’s close to giving up. For us dwarves, it’s in our nature to pass on rather than languish.”  

Roman nodded soberly and immediately went in search of the head abbess. Her found her in her cell, immersed in prayer.

“You might as well come in,” she said. “I can feel you skulkin’ around out there.”

Roman sheepishly crossed the threshold into Moira’s chambers. In spite of her direct invite, a cleric’s cell was a private place and entering someone else’s room always made him feel ill-at-ease.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just talking to Elser and he says that Giran is hanging by a thread.” 

Moira blessed herself, stood up, removed the devotional stole she customarily wore in prayer and hung it up in her small wooden closet.

“He wasn’t felled with simple poison,” she said, puttering around the room, seemingly avoiding eye contact with Roman at all costs. “It was something truly evil, truly fiendish that did this to him. So, it’ll likely take something equally extraordinary to counteract it.”

Upon hearing these words, a realization struck Roman like a thunderbolt.

“Bless you, Moira!” Roman said. “I think you’ve given me an idea!”

“I’m glad I could help,” she intoned, still not bothering to look at him.

Noting her dour countenance, Roman felt the demon of worry bite into his stomach.

“Moira, are you okay? I know I haven’t been around much lately, but I didn’t know what else to do. The town asked for my help and I really couldn’t refuse...”

When the abbess finally met his gaze, Roman was taken aback. Moira could be caustic and ill-tempered at times, but he’d never seen her look so tired and world-weary.  

“It’s fine, lad. Nothing for you to be concerned with,” she said, patting him on the arm as she resumed her preparations for bed. “I’m going to try and sleep...and you should too. By all accounts, you’ve earned it.”

Roman wandered out of the room in a daze. It was wildly uncharacteristic for Moira to give him a compliment and to touch his arm. It was even stranger that she'd encouraged him to rest. Normally she’d be getting him to dust the scriptorium or scrub the parlor floor by now.

He soon settled into bed, but the mystery of Moira’s mood, and his recent epiphany, kept him tossing and turning late into the night.

***

With cat-like skill, Bria scaled the side of the town hall, opened the shutters to Denneth’s office and crept inside. Even though her eyes were particularly adept in low light, she kept the shutters open to ensure that she didn’t bump into or break anything. Besides, she needed as much reading light as possible for this particular caper.

She made her way over to the Mayor’s desk and, within a few moments, had the lock on the main drawer jimmied open. Feeling fairly confident that the building was unguarded, the young footpad took her time rifling though the reams and reams of parchment contained inside the desk. 

Eventually she found the documents she was looking for. Feeling a rush of surprise, she rolled up a select few papers, put them into a scroll case, re-secured the desk drawer, tip-toed across the floor and then slipped back out the window.

***

The Rambling Rogue was bustling with the breakfast crowd the following morning. This gave the Fellowship a sense of anonymity as they openly discussed the events of the prior evening and pored over the documents that Bria had “liberated.”

“Sorry, guys, but it really looks as if Stefan wrote these letters to council and the note we found on the orcs.”  

Lorelei groaned, blew on her spoonful of scalding-hot porridge and took a tentative bite with her teeth. The facial expression that resulted suggested that she was trying to choke down a mouthful of wallpaper paste. Gingerly she set the spoon back down on the table.   

“I agree,” Roman said as he scanned through the leafs of parchment. “The note definitely doesn’t match either Denneth or Duran’s hand-writing,” 

“It still doesn’t make any sense,” Lorelei managed to say between gulps of water. “As much as Stefan hates us, it’s the orcs who are raiding his farm! They’re the main reason why he wants the town to build a defensive wall in the first place!

“Could it be a forgery?” Pol asked, scooping a fork laden with sausage, egg and spicy potatoes into her mouth.

“I’ve seen a lot of forgeries...even made a few,” Bria beamed proudly, before the committee of collective frowns spoiled her mood. 

“And, in my opinion, it really looks legit.”

Roman silently took all of this in while relishing every sip of his steaming hot ghava. The dark drink’s stimulating effects and rich aroma were finally beginning to wake him up.

“Maybe we can take a closer look at the note later,” he said. “But right now we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Marlak is dead, Rincewind is in a coma and Giran is at death’s door.”

“So, what do we tackle first?” Pol inquired, sopping up her egg yolk with a piece of hearthstone bread.

“Giran,” Roman declared conclusively. “If we don’t help him soon we’re going to lose him.”

“But how?” Bria asked plaintively. “Didn’t Moira say that he’s under some sort of curse?”  

“Basically,” the cleric conceded. “When she described the effect as ‘fiendish’ and said that we need to find an 'otherworldly' source for the cure, only one thing sprang to mind.”

“The unicorn!” Lorelei gasped, incrementally raising her head up from her makeshift pillow of folded arms. “The one we rescued during our very first adventure together!”

“Precisely,” Roman said, draining his mug. “If Moira thinks that Giran’s under the thrall of some truly evil magic, then the celestial powers of the unicorn might be just what he needs.”

“Might save my life too...” Lorelei muttered, putting her head back down.

“Where can we find this unicorn?” Pol inquired.

 “I can help with that!” a voice declared, cutting through the din of the busy room. 

This nearly caused the Fellowship to leap out of their collective skins. As they turned to face the source, Bria scrambled to gather up the stolen documents that were scattered all over the table. As if under a "Haste" spell, she rolled them all up and tucked them back into the scroll case just as the figure spoke again.

“My apologies,” he said. “I promise that I wasn't eavesdropping. I guess my ears are just a little bit more sensitive than others.”

“No apologies necessary,” Roman said, standing up to properly introduce himself and his peers.   

The bearded, brown-haired stranger made his way around the table, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. During this, the group took note of his leather armor, short sword and double daggers, as well as the impressive-looking composite long bow that was slung over his shoulders.

“My name is Kirbin Thorn,” he said. “I work as a ranger in a lumber camp to the east of town. We actually see the unicorn quite frequently.”

“Unlikely,” Lorelei scoffed, drawing a dirty look from Roman. “They’re highly shy creatures who wisely avoid humans like the plague.”

“That may be true,” Kerbin replied, his brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “But things have been very strange in the camp lately. There’s been an unusual number of accidents, and the woman who runs the van, er, the store, has seemingly befriended the creature. She gets the unicorn to come out of the woods and heal the workers who’ve been injured in these accidents. Needless to say, she charges a tidy little sum in the process.”

"Wow, that's a pretty slick little operation," Bria whistled. 

“You know what?” Lorelei intoned. “That story is so weird I actually believe it.”

“Could you bring us to the camp?” Pol asked, towering above Kirbin.

“Absolutely!” he enthused. “When do you want to leave?”

“Immediately!” Roman shot back.

He hastily snatched up his things, signaled a server over and practically threw some coins at him.

“We don’t have a moment to lose!”

Next time: the adventurers visit a unique logging camp where it’s been 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...day since their last accident!  

***

Image Credits

The Rambling Rogue: https://www.quora.com/How-were-medieval-taverns-and-inns-owned-and-operated

Legacy Tower: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:NS-00091_-_Dingle_Tower_(26678732241).jpg

The Abbey of Pelor: https://pixabay.com/photos/church-stone-architecture-medieval-4764781/