“What about Sarah? Wasn’t she just a kid, like me?” the child asked eagerly.
The minstrel chuckled.
“Yes, child . . . but I daresay she wasn’t like you. And I don’t mean that to be unkind; that girl was a bit troubled, and definitely odd.”
“Where did she go?”
The minstrel strokes his chin, then idly tunes his musical instrument, as if considering how to explain.
“Well, you know, at one time there was a lot of speculation about that. She disappeared almost immediately; nobody knew for sure where she went, and eventually people stopped caring, what with everyone focusing on rebuilding. Every once in a while you hear stories; someone’s cousin saw her in the market in Drellin’s Ferry, someone’s aunt heard that she opened a tavern in Marthton, someone else is convinced they saw her walking down the street in Elsircross. But nothing certain . . . it’s as if she . . . just . . . vanished . . . .”
DM Pawn:
"Were it not for these brave souls, victory may have eluded us. Armed with might and magic divine and arcane, the singularly distinctive actions of Sister Eoni Daflin, Taerix the Halfling, Sarah the Rogue, Valthur Ironhelm, and Vaxfar the Elf Swordmage reflect great credit upon themselves and the people of Elsir Vale!" he says.
This is met with a rousing round of applause and cheers from all present. Then, Lord Jarmaath bestows upon each a token of his appreciation, The Benevolent Medallion of the Lion, a golden medallion etched with a lion's head in profile and the highest military honor to be awarded for valorous actions in combat and defense of the city.
He reverently places a medallion onto the party members and pronounces each, hereafter accorded all privileges and benefits of this elite order. Along with this pronouncement, hereafter each are counted among Brindol's nobility and accordingly, addresses as Sir or Dame, as appropriate.
Sarah was plainly uncomfortable with all of the celebration and attention, and she visibly cringed when her name was announced to the cheering throng. As the pronouncements continued and the cheering grew louder, Sarah looked about nervously. Those that noticed wrote it off to a young girl’s natural nervousness at such a gathering, but the nervousness was driven by something else.
Fear.
Ever since meeting up with her companions, Sarah has been in constant fear, looking over her shoulder for the day that seemed inevitable. The day that Munisamy – or one of his henchmen – found her, to either kill her or drag her back to Dennovar.
They found her on the streets when she was practically an infant; they conscripted her, made her help them (they said her small size was . . . useful), and abused her terribly – and yet, she was considered a member of the gang just as much as those walked in willingly. And once in Munisamy’s gang, there was only one way to leave.
And Munisamy’s brother, Natwarlal – did he die, or had he managed to survive the wounds Sarah inflicted as she made her escape? Not that it mattered; either way, she had definitely sealed her fate with Munisamy.
When she first joined with Eoni, Aldara, Valthur, and Marklin, she had figured that being in the company of others would help hide her. Assassins would be looking for a little girl and anticipating that she’d be hiding; isolated. Being with others, particularly people such as them, would draw any attention to them and she, a mere girl, would be overlooked. It was even better that they were heading westward – away from Dennovar. But as time went by, the group slowed its westward travels and actually reversed course, and also became more well-known – thus going in the direction and attracting the attention that were all counter to her needs.
And now this: public proclamations and attention? Honors and titles? Sarah hadn’t heard of the conflict getting as far East as Dennovar, which meant that Munisamy could still be alive. Regardless, she hadn’t survived this long by taking unnecessary chances. And while she has developed a fondness for her companions – particularly Eoni and Valthur, who were present from the start – she hasn’t endured what she has to bask in public and become an easy target.
At an opportune moment during the festivities she slips away to her temporary lodging, and in private examines her possessions – including all of the items that she’s stolen and kept from the others. Some of it is mundane – cookware, tools and the like. But some of it is valuable: gems and jewelry, mostly. She feels a pang of regret at having kept this loot from her companions; she hadn’t done so out of malice or greed, but because she didn’t know when she’d have to cut and run. She just wanted to secure her ability to survive if the need arose -- as it finally had.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, hoping that simple statement is enough to make amends – even though no one is present to hear it.
Bundling up all of her worldly possessions, Sarah gets up to leave . . . and pauses. Resolutely, she heads to Eoni’s lodging. Slipping in unnoticed, she looks at the mage’s possessions, considering and pondering. Then, with resolve, she locates Eoni’s bedroll. There, she deposits the Benevolent Medallion of the Lion that Lord Jarmaath had hung about her neck only minutes before.
"Thank you," she whispers, but once again nobody is present to hear.
Fighting back tears, Sarah leaves; she leaves Brindol and heads west . . . looking for a place that she deems far enough off the beaten path – and far enough away from Dennovar (and now Brindol) – that she will feel comfortable staying for at least a while.
