“The Baron will want to hear all about it. He, uh, ‘requested’ your company for dinner.” Joshua almost rolled his eyes at the pronouncement. “At least your should be well fed.” He smiled at Lenelle. “I’m glad you came back safe and sound.”

"I've not yet met him.  But based on what Cela and others have told me, I've been expecting something like this." She shrugged. "So be it.  I am hungry. And, he's got to be a better host than Granny was. I hope."

Just before they left to meet this Baron, Lenelle kissed the tip of an index finger, and placed it lightly and briefly on Joshua's cheek.

"Well, we should go," said Tara.  "Besides, if these are his lands, someone really ought to tell him what's been going on."

She hoped that it was going to be a pleasant conversation... it certainly didn't have to be, sadly.

"All we know of this Baron is that he is a useless fop.

If we must report to him, I suggest that Sister Mercion be in attendance, and perhaps Laredon as well. These are the people the villagers trust.

And while I was suspicious of Mercion, the hag's book has confirmed to me that she was noble in her intents.

I will owe her an apology," the warlock adds sheepishly.

The delicate touch of Lenelle’s fingertip nearly made Joshua melt. Lenelle saw a blush spread from underneath his beard to his cheeks. Sputtering, Joshua motioned Laredon over. “Sir, can you see Phoebe back to her folks? I’ll walk Lenelle—and her friends—to the Baron.”

Laredon nodded. “Aye. The girl’s mother and father will be grateful for her safe return. Though Miriam…I don’t know if she’s fit to care for Elise after what happened.” He frowned at Connie’s true form. “Who is that?” He looked closer at the pale green skin and warts, the ratted hair and claw-like fingernails. “Sweet Pelor, have you people brought a Hag among us?!”

Both men clearly agreed with Simon’s assessment of the Baron. Joshua laughed, and Laredon stifled a snort, trying not to think about the challenges of holding onto a Hag in their stockade. Simon commented about owing Mercion an apology.

“You brought the children back safely, so I will happily accept that as an apology.” Sister Mercion walked up in her full armor, bearing a gleaming mace. She looked through the group, happy to see them all back, but particularly relieved that Sundos was safe. She threw her arms around his neck. “I was about to come after you.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:58, Wed 29 Dec 2021.

“The Sun-Father smiled upon us today,” Sundos said, as he held Mercion in a tight embrace. While Sundos hadn’t known Mercion for long, he couldn’t deny feeling the beginning of a bond with her. Sundos ended the hug and looked into her eyes as he shared the group’s request. “Mercion, we think it might be best if you and Laredon joined us. Whatever the Baron wants, we’ve difficult decisions to make. First, I would urge the Baron to officially clear Sheila and Jason…Blackthorn…of any lingering charges or accusations.

The people trust you two the most.Your voice should be heard in any decisions we make. I would also gently remind the Baron of such.”

Mercion nodded. “I’ve persuaded the Baron when the occasion called for it before. I will join you to show our solidarity in these matters.”

Lenelle pretended not to notice the blush Joshua sported.   Though of course she did, and was gratified by it.   And glad he wasn't leaving them just yet.

She smiled slightly, sidelong, at Mercion and Sundos, her observations having told her that those two were merely a matter of time.

And she nodded in concurrence as Sundos spoke, agreeing with all of his points.

"Thank you, sister," she acknowledged Mercion, with an inclination of her head.

She then glanced to the seemingly reformed cynic, Simon, and smiled "On the subject of apologies, I'd say you probably owe Pockets a drink.   And, indeed, if you do buy him one, I think I'll be there too.  A friendly dialog between you two is something I wouldn't want to miss!"   

“Hey! Hey, Hey, HEY!” Pockets sidled up between Lenelle & Simon. He jerked a thumb up at Simon. “If he’s buying, I like the Dwarven stuff!”

"I should probably explain the contents of the book to His Lordship," said Tara, quietly.  "The whole plan is... monstrous, but it also will serve to show the truth of what's been happening.  He should know.  It's his lands."

Simon waited for Sister Mercion and Sundos to ned their embrace. ~When did that happen?~ he thought.

"Sister Mercion, I want to apologise for my behaviour in the past few days...I was suspicious of your motives and I made no attempt to confirm my concerns before acting on them...that was wrong.

And, it is the Hag's Book of all things that provided the clear proof that I was wrong.

It's amazing how having your tongue burned out of your mouth makes you reconsider your actions."

Simon scowls at the halfling, "You've got to be joking!"

The warlock's face twists from a frown to a smile, to laughter.

"Pockets, I still do not appreciate you picking our pockets or planting items on us...but I know that it came from good place.

But..." he gestures with his head at Sheila, "I don't think we are ready to visit the Sulphur's Spit at the moment."

Lenelle's expression darkened when Tara brought the conversation to the book, recollecting what had been revealed.   Monstrous was one word...

"This Baron strikes me as having no great wisdom, nor an abundance of compassion, exactly." she said softly.   "I only hope he'll truly listen, and be open to advice from those who understand more than he does.  And not try to use any of it to his advantage, in some ill way."   

“Simon discerned the Baron’s nature—he’s indeed a useless fop.”

 Sheila chuckled bitterly, but with an appreciative smile for Simon. Sheila gently caressed his cheek with a tender smile. “Young man, you may have a sparse handful of apologies to make, but you question authority, and your keen wits kept you alive. I trust in the ability of you and your companions to impress upon the Baron that he will act in his own best interest by heeding you.”

Another bitter chuckle. “Perhaps you could sweet talk him into arranging an official pardon and apology for me? Seems like the good people Deadwater owes me one in light of what Tara discovered.”
This message was last edited by the player at 22:56, Thu 30 Dec 2021.

Skye, silent as always in town, looked dead o  her feet. The dried blood of battle still on her body and armor, and the boar (she affectionately called 'Spit') at her side drew less attention than usual due to the reunions and the hag. The halfli g thought the boar would return to its own plane, being a magical summon, but as of yet it still remained

 ..she would talk to blackthorn about that in time.

She walked behind pockets, and when he insisted the good stuff, she clipped his head with a quick (and harmless) slap. "Be grateful your alive rogue, and with what you've got."

She knew the meeting was important, but she wanted it to be quick so she could eat and rest.

She looked at the two guards. "Pass on that no one is to hurt Spit.....anyone does and they deal with me." her tone wasn't harsh or a threat - just  observation that it was the truth. The boar had helped save hem.

...it deserves respect

"I should check with Laredon that the supplies we need for the ship are ready."  Cela says  "Maybe we can go on our way tomorrow, unless the Baron has other ideas."

"I will eat the Baron's food and drink his ale. I am famished!

Perhaps he will meet the expectations of his position once he hears our story.

Unlikely but we can hope."

Lenelle nodded, and voiced her own support at Skye's words.

"That boar is our champion!  And is to be treated as one.  If a gilded trough is possible, he deserves one."   

Cela's words struck her almost like a jolt.

Deadwater had begun as a bit of seeming ill luck; the caprice of the elements, and the ever untamed sea.

Not so long ago, she'd been chomping at the bit to re-board a repaired ship, and be gone from here.    But, now...leave? Tomorrow?

If Cela, and any of the others did, she would be sad to see her and them go. But she realized right then, her own plans didn't include any impending departure...

The party were invited by Mercion to wash and drink of the sacred Well before the dinner. Laredon ensured Skye that her Boar would enjoy a private sty of his own cleared away by one of the farmers. Sheila collaborated with Simon to brew a sedative powerful enough to knock out Connie. They left her chained and gagged in the only jail cell in town, under the watchful eyes of a dozen volunteer guards.

Soon, the group walked uphill to the Baron’s home. It was easily the largest home in Deadwater, and the most fortified. Guards stood watch outside the small gate. A guard with an enormous mustache greeted them. “You’re here at last. Baron Lederborn awaits you inside.” He led them up a cobblestone path toward the manor. Once they reached the door, a middle-aged man and woman let them inside. “Welcome. Dinner will be ready soon. You may join the Baron in his parlor.”

The Baron sipped from a goblet of pale wine. He wore a scarlet waistcoat over a white satin shirt with a ruffled collar and dark gray pants with black boots. Dark hair spilled in soft waves to his shoulders. Baron Lederborn’s face and manner showed impeccable breeding, but also the insouciance born of luxury. “I understand that you are the travelers who have caused quite the stir in Deadwater.”
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:15, Thu 06 Jan 2022.

Cela is not dressed for a meeting with nobility, still wearing the same clothes she's worn since leaving the ship.  At least they're somewhat clean at the moment.
 "It's more that we stopped the stir.  The town is no longer haunted by the dead every night, yes?"

The Baron reminded her a lot of home.  The place she used to know as home, rather.

Very minor nobility herself, she was acquainted with the type.   And had to suppress a roll of her eyes, once they were in his presence.   That was easy.   She had developed a real knack for artfully suppressing a lot, when in this kind of company.  For someone who so prized truth, she had, by necessity, become quite an adept liar.   Mostly by omission, which felt a little cleaner than outright fibs.

Still, there was no wisdom in pre-judging.  And so she would try not to here, though bearing in mind Simon's and Sheila's assessment.   Certainly it wasn't at variance with what she saw.

For the moment, Lenelle said nothing.

The Baron raised his goblet to Cela. “Indeed. I hear that you stood in the forefront of Deadwater’s defense that night. Well done.” If Lenelle hoped that her silence would deflect attention, she found that it instead had the opposite effect. Baron Lederborn glanced her way, then arched an appreciative eyebrow when he actually noticed her. “I invited you & yours tonight so that I could properly thank you,” he said to Cela, although his eyes were fixed on Lenelle.

He strode toward Lenelle. When he stopped, the Baron smiled pleasantly and with no shortage of curiosity. “What is your name, Milady? I am Adrian.”
This message was last edited by the player at 21:09, Thu 06 Jan 2022.

"Lenelle Toreth, sir."

It was the sole time she'd used her surname, since arriving here.

Her relationship to her family was all but meaningless, now.   They didn't like what she was, and she didn't like who they were.   Though, traced back far enough, there were several paladins in her line, who were known for their noble hearts as well as their deeds.

Toreth was an old name, and definitely an outland one here.  And it emphasized she was outside what he ruled.    As did:

"Sorceress; chosen to wield magics arcane and divine in defense of those who have the heart, but not the power."   

Also, the only time she'd introduced herself as a sorceress. Ever. Just lately, it felt like less of an ill fit than it once had.

Tara knew full well that her social rank was distantly far below that of the others, unless, perhaps, her training in magic somehow made up for her humble birth.  She wasn't sure that that mattered.  But so far, it appeared that she wasn't being expected to act in a particular way, so she stayed quiet... watching the Baron's conversation with Lenelle with amusement she sought to conceal.  Men never really changed, no matter the rank, did they?

Simons eyes rolled, involuntarily, as the Baron eyed up Lenelle. ~What an uncouth swine!~ Simon thought.

"It would have been easier to defend the town's wall if there were some trained guards there, instead of having to depend on simple villagers...but I suppose trained guards are hard to come by in this part of the world." Simon noted in a pleasant, neutral tone.

"I am famished, when is dinner?" Grog asked, ignoring the Baron's interest in Lenelle, and Simon's commentary.

Skye was pleased at the reception that the boar recieved - almost a reaction of a hero in the form of a tucked pig. When she left, Skye actually a smile on her face.

That smile quickly faded meeting the Baron. She all but bit her togune, wanting to call the man a fool, fop and waste of air. She instead stood by the side, leaning against the wall, unarmed other than a dagger, and still in her leather armor (though cleaner than when in the mud)

When simon spoke, the halfling suppressed a smile. "Not many garrisons out here Simon - Villagers often train to be guards." She looked at Grog and his simple statement and she nodded at his less than subtle wisdom.

She kicked herself off the wall and walked over beside Lenelle. "As for thanks - decent people protect those who need it. Hells, even Pockets stepped up and had a big part of it" She crinkled her nose as if the phrase tasted bitter in her mouth.

She continued towards the food. "...but a decent feed is a start - lord"

Mercion interjected with a cautious smile. “Adrian, May I respectfully remind you that you summoned these brave heroes after a harrowing few days ending the threat against the village that you were charged with governing.” Her tone and demeanor were civil, but also clear that she agreed with the Fighters.

“Grog and Skye are right. They and their friends must be famished after their journey, and none of us have any patience for coyness. May we continue this discussion over dinner?” In her gilded armor, Mercion looked more authoritative and not as meek.

When Mercion addressed him by his name, Baron Lederborn bristled for a moment. However, he caught himself and fixed the bland smile back in place, “Yes, yes, Sister. I’d forgotten how much adventurers can be driven by their…appetites. Very well.”

He clapped his hands, and a servant rushed to attend him. “Our guests are ready to eat. Tell Bettina and Robb to serve the first course.” Within minutes, everyone took their seats in a long dining hall. The Baron sat at an elevated table, joined by Mercion, Sundos, Laredon, Pockets, & Lenelle. The Baron sat first, then his guests followed. Everyone else sat at an elaborately decorated dining table two feet below. They could make eye contact and hold conversation, but the arraignment established an undeniable hierarchy.

Plates of freshly baked bread with whipped butter were served first. The Baron enjoyed the first bite, then motioning everyone else to eat. Lenelle and Mercion had apprised everyone of the etiquette before the dinner. The entire affair was like a dance, and everyone needed to know the steps. The courses that followed showed competence in flavor and presentation, tasting of spices local, and a few that could only have been imported from far off lands. They tasted pepper, salt, cloves, rosemary, cinnamon, ginger, and curry in select dishes that included soups, fresh and chilled fruits, pork pot pies, roasted vegetables, fish, pheasants, ham, and turkey. Wine and ale accompanied the meal.

Despite his snobbery, Baron Lederborn still sought to ensure that his guests were well fed and well-treated. When everyone had the first course, he dispensed with the small talk. “Enough idle chatter from me,” he said with a feigned laugh. “Your group marshaled a hearty defense of the walls against the ghouls. Not only did you defend Deadwater, but you defeated the Undead Warlock who led them. I was already impressed, but then you found the true power behind these nuisances—a Coven of Hags. You rent their Coven asunder, and captured a Hag who had infiltrated the village.”

Adrian swept the group with his eyes, regarding them as if truly seeing them for the first time. “I would not see your accomplishments go unrewarded. You all demonstrated the kind of skill and heroism that I have not seen since Sister Mercion and Pockets first graced our humble village. Nay, not even since the days that I lived in Waterdeep.” He raised a golden chalice. “First, I toast you all for your valiant aid!”

After the toast, the Baron’s lips drew up in a smile. “I would also like to offer you an opportunity to earn more gold.”

Skye was not one for formalty, but she knew the 'pomp was nessessary, so when Mercion schooled them in the 'dance', she listened (with some rolled eyes and disgusted looks).

when it came to the actual dinner, Skye knew her place and hid the eye rolls, but still had a serious look on her face bordering on irritation of the politics - she was one for nature and the wild, events for indoors were limited to taverns for her.

Despite this, she enjoyed the meal. the heartiness of the meats and soups, tied with the freshness of vegetables frits and cheeses, along with the spices helped her mood - as well as the ale.

When he issued the thanks of the group, she stayed quiet, sipping the ale. She'd let one of the others speak. She was, after all, not of the original group of the ship, and though they offered a place, she would let them decide

Grog had listened carefully to Mercion's instructions about etiquette, most of which he found ridiculous. Nonetheless, he waited patiently until the Baron gave the signal for everyone to begin eating.

The minotaur picked up the closest loaf of bread, tore it in half, handing one section to Azatch. He then slathered his piece in butter and began eating.

As the new plates were placed on the table, Grog tried everything, some were hideous, but some he had to admit were extremely tasty. Best of all, was the server who ensured his mug of ale was never empty for long.

When the Baron toasted the group, Grog clanked his mug against those sitting near him.

"More gold? But we don't have any gold yet!" he said to Azatch, puzzled at the Baron's use of words.

Simon stoically bit his tongue upon entering the dining room. While this sort of hierarchical seating was not new to him, he was seeing the world through different eyes.

~Is this much different from when my sisters would serve the men before sitting to eat in the kitchen?~

The meal itself was most excellent, even if the host was not. Many of the dishes reminded Simon of the spices his mother would so expertly mix, of course they weren't that good!

Simon's eyes narrowed at the Baron's offer. He did not trust the man, but perhaps their exploits had at least proven their competence...and luck.

"What sort of opportunity do you have in mind, Baron?"

It struck Tara that he was talking about future, possible rewards, rather than distributing them... well, a small thing.  She had more knowledge; that was what she treasured most of all.

"What exactly do you mean by that, your lordship?" she asked in a quiet voice.  "Are there more threats troubling you here?"

The obsequiousness for a prancing fool too fascinated with his own title bored Azatch. He’d considered grabbing up an armful of food and just walking out. However, he decided that it wasn’t worth breaking the bones of guards probably too underpaid to risk their lives for an ass like Lederborn. After he bit a chunk of turkey off a drumstick, Azatch asked, “Tell us about the reward for saving your town first.”

“Ah, yes,” the Baron chuckled mirthlessly. “Your payment. How would 450 gold pieces for your group sound? To be divided equally, of course.”

He couldn’t quite take his eyes off the spectacle of Grog and Azatch eating. Although he tried to maintain a polite facade (for him, anyway), his eyes riveted back to two mighty warriors chewing with their mouths open. Luckily, there were questions from Tara and Simon to help him refocus his attention.

“Yes. It has come to my attention that you encountered the hostile Lizardmen when you first arrived in my domain.” Baron Lederborn laced his fingers together and fixed Simon with a meaningful look. “The tribe of Lizardfolk have long been a source of my misery. They sabotage our efforts at making this wretched land livable and cultivating any trade.”

His eyes narrowed. “I would pay you an even more handsome sum if you…resolved this problem with the same efficiency that you demonstrated against the ghoul horde and the Hags. Gold or land. Perhaps even a station of importance here, if such is your wish.”

At the mention of the lizardfolk, Skye's demeanor again coldened, stopping eating to look at him. "Begging my pardon sir, but you want us to get rid of a species from tehir own home? These swamps have been theirs since before humans came, and because they defend their land you want them gone?"  she dropped the turkeyleg on her plate and looked at him.

"Don't get me wrong - i have no love for them, but what your asking is to destroy a species.....not only men, shamans, hunters and warriors bred for this land, but their families too. Women, children." She crossed her arms, frowning. "Monsters are monsters - even the hag's were bent on destruction on this place. The lizardfolk just want to live and survive. You take them on, and you'll be fighting them on their terms, by their rules. My advice - you want this place to survive, maybe see if a truce can be made - have an army of hunters protecting you instead of attacking you"

The Baron smiled at Skye, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.“My dear. You misunderstand me.” He sipped his wine, then continued talking. “I did not order the elimination of the Lizardfolk tribe. I merely want their attacks on our woodsmen, hunters, and fishers to stop. I am willing to pay your group good money to ensure that outcome.

1200 gold coins if you stop the Lizardman attacks. If you meet with their chief and negotiate a treaty, then the reward is yours.” Adrian extended his hands out toward Skye in a benevolent flourish. “Now, given the…feral nature of the tribe, there may likely ensue violence. If that happens, and your party emerges victorious, then the reward is yours. Perhaps even more for your efforts.”

The halfling looked at the Baron with an even glare, but nodded. "I suggest you make your intentions clear, lord. When you pointed out the ghouls and hag coven, you eluded at a similar outcome - which was my thoughts was to destroy them." She allowed a smile, but like the baron, it did not reach her eyes. "Please forgive my misunderstanding - i'm a simple hunter by trade. "

She sat back and looked at Grog, Azatch and Simon - no doubt her thoughts mirrored theirs.

“Certainly. Merely a misunderstanding between us,” Baron Lederborn said with honeyed tones. “Now, what say the rest of you? I understand that we need a trial for the Hag. We must decide what to do with her.” He waved his hand airily, as if the matter were a mere trifling.

“While you discuss trials, see about arranging a hanging for Benny! Tara Inkfingers found evidence that he conspired with the Hag against my poor Robert, and nearly framed me for the plagues!” Sheila stood and stomped over toward the Baron’s table, wagging her finger in righteous indignation. Two burly guards stepped before her, although one looked nervously at her finger as if hexes might go off.

The Baron sighed. “Sheila Blackmoor. Sister Mercion and Pockets insisted that you join us.” He looked down with a bored roll of his eyes. “This is neither the time nor the place for your complaints. My staff will arrange a meeting where you can formally file your accusation.”

“We stand face to face in the same room, you dithering dilettante! Why shouldn’t we discuss this now?!” Sheila’s voice rose, and the guards held her from stepping onto the platform.

Sister Mercion rose and approached. She shook her head at the guards. “Please let her go. Her temper only comes naturally from her own near brush with death. The Hag Coven attempted to frame an innocent woman and stir this town into a violent mob, tried to goad the people you govern into murdering this woman for crimes she didn’t commit. Surely her voice can be heard this night. Let it be a moment that moves us toward returning Peace to Deadwater.”

The Cleric spoke truths that the Baron couldn’t deny. He sighed and nodded. “Very well. Again, I am overruled in my own home. I would settle my business with these travelers, but I offer my word that Goody Blackmoor’s concerns shall be addressed in timely fashion.” He looked at the group. “First, though. I need an answer from your guests, Mercion. Will they accept this job?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:20, Mon 10 Jan 2022.

"There are markers in the swamp.  Masks on trees.  The lizardfolk only attacked us when we were in their territory.".  Cela says.  At least the food is good.

"They were likely here before this town was founded.  Why should we interfere?"

“Yes, although I know a scholar in Demihuman races that questions whether or not Lizardfolk even use such markers.” Lederborn sipped his wine. He wiped his lips with a gold-embroidered napkin. “Whatever the masks mean, Lizardman raiding parties have struck some of our lumber sites that are most certainly not in their territory.”

Laredon nodded, although he appeared a little reluctant to side with the Baron against heroes that he’d come to respect. “It’s true. Their strike slowed down my men, else I wouldn’t have needed so long to provide the lumber you purchased.”

OOC:

Everyone who saw the mask can roll Intelligence or Nature checks.

Simon's attention snaps to Sheila, as she moves toward the Baron. ~This could prove interesting,~ the warlock thinks as he puts down his mug, freeing his hand for casting.

Once the Baron agreed to deal with that matter, Simon took another sip of tea.

The Baron's words echoed in Simon's mind as he thought back to his years in the library, and whether he had seen any similar information.

"It is a matter for each of us to choose as individuals, Baron. We are companions...and friends...we are not a mercenary company.

I will take up your offer, if others also join, and as long as the goal is coexistence not extermination. I have no love for the lizardmen, they attacked us and we retaliated...but I still would not commit to mass slaughter.

And, of course, we will need time to recuperate and to prepare."

---

Simon rolled 3 for INT check.
Simon will also try to use his Researcher Feature from his Sage Background:
When you attempt to learn or recall a piece of lore, if you do not know that information, you often know where and from whom you can obtain it. Usually, this information comes from a library, scriptorium, university, or a sage or other learned person or creature.

Skye, her gaze still cold at the baron, sat back. "I'm with Simon on this one....We TRY and broker a coexistence between you and the lizardfolk, as long as you give us the power to negotiate farely for the town and for them."

“Very well. What say the rest of you? If you refuse, I could always send a summons for mercenaries from back West.” He smirked over the rim of  his goblet. “While they would not arrive for weeks, even months, they would resolve this situation to my complete satisfaction.”

"We should certainly investigate the situation," said Tara.  "It's important that we stop the raids, regardless of what else is going on.  Of course we'll go.  This land should know peace."

"I don't know," said Lenelle, having been silent up to this point.

"I was empowered to intervene against evil, like the hags and the undead.  This is different. And we are, to re-emphasize, certainly no mercenary company. Though I argue not at all, the raids must end. But, in some ways, I'm more of a liability out in the swamps, and the sort of diplomacy I was schooled in won't be helpful with primitive reptilians." She was silent a moment.

"I'll have to think on it.  I might opt to remain here, and instead serve as defense for the lumber sights.   In any case, I plan to ask certain questions around town, before making my decision.  I hope that doesn't bother you?"   

“If you don’t feel comfortable venturing into Lizardfolk territory, I could join you at the logging camp.” Sheila stared back ar the Baron through the heated dark slivers of her eyelids. “After his Lordship settles my grievance against Benny, of course.”

Azatch gnawed the turkey leg with a grunt. When he was satisfied, he tossed the bone on his plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his thick forearm. “Our troubles started with the Lizardmen. Seems fitting that they end with them, too.

I think I’ll take the gold for dispatching the Witches.” He looked at Sheila & Tara, then quickly added, “I mean, the Hags. Might take a stroll through those woods again on my own, though. See for myself if they’re trouble like you say.”

“Lady Toreth. If you don’t care for further peril in the Swamps, you would be welcome to remain here as my guest. I cannot bear the thought of a sublime woman like you sullying her feet in that swamp.” Adrian cocked his eyebrow and smiled almost playfully. “Your feet should be adorned in silken slippers, not mud.”

The flirtatious smirk dissolved into a puzzled frown when he looked at Jennet. It seemed as though the Baron almost recognized Jennet, but the moment passed. “And what about you? You enjoyed my food and wine. Would you enjoy my gold after a little honest work?”

"Aye," Lenelle said to Sheila, "your company would be welcome. And if I can help smooth your re-introduction here at all, it would bring me joy to do so."    To the Baron:

"You're too kind, sir.  But I should tell you, my reluctance isn't because I think my smooth behind is too good to slog though a swamp, with these esteemed allies.  But simply because I don't wish to hamper them in any way, when my talents may be better used elsewhere.   And Midwife Blackmoor is practicing understatement, in saying she has a grievance with Benny.  I could think of stronger words for conspiracy in murder."

For a moment, Jennet's cultivated thoughtlessness slips and he focuses on the Baron very intently: "It was a very lovely meal, Lord Lederborn, thank you. I have a keen interest in helping secure Deadwater's economic interests," Jennet begins, before pondering for a long moment. "And my own, of course. I'll go with the delegation to negotiate with the lizardfolk for you, and do my best to broker an advantageous peace." He glances briefly at Simon, and Skye, and Lenelle, and carefully smooths down his bristling anger at the Baron's condescension and veiled threats.

"Of course, my Lord, we cannot possibly promise to satisfy your interests as completely as a whole troupe of sellswords would," He raises his own goblet in a silent toast to the Baron as he concludes, "... but I think my friends and I will satisfy your subjects and estates a lot less completely, too."

"His Lordship sets a remarkable table for a barony so far removed from the capitol. I think I'll be looking forward to enjoying His Lordship's hospitality again."

The moment passes.

"Oh, this fish soup is delicious!  How did the cook keep the knucklehead roe so fresh?"

The Baron snapped his fingers at the woman who’d helped greet the party earlier. She dashed over with a meek urgency. “Bettina, send word to Edwin that his efforts are most appreciated.” Bettina nodded and left the dining room, while Adrian stared at Jennet. “You speak as one familiar with the Capitol. While I confess that I find myself curious about how you found yourself so far removed from civilization, as my aides informed me that you did not arrive with these people…I am afraid that particular conversation must wait for another time.

Enough of you seem interested in my offer. I will arrange payment upon proof that you accomplished the task. Robb will pay the reward for capturing the Hag…and Laredon will assemble a unit to bring in that tavern owner for questioning. Laredon, Robb will also send two of my guard with you.” Robb brought a paper and quill so the Baron could write the warrant for Benny’s arrest.

“Now, we’ve a dessert course of pastries, roasted pecans, and chilled fruit to enjoy. Unless you have any pressing questions, let us enjoy the treats that my cook so lovingly prepared!” Baron Lederborn clapped his hands, and got the last trays out. He flashed quick grin at Lenelle, encouraging her to partake.

Lenelle listened and looked as Jennet spoke.

Azatch was what she would expect in a half-orc. Albeit with a pronouncedly heroic heart.

And Jennet was not.  Jennet was a cipher.  She didn't understand him. Or the peculiar magic she'd seen him work.  The latter which didn't mean a whole lot; she wasn't the arcane scholar that Tara or Simon were.

He was more articulate than she'd have supposed. In a way that suggested some birth status above commoner; especially one possessed of orcish blood, and the stigma it tended to carry.

Where it came to the food:  "Oh, I'm so sorry. But I just don't think I can.  A touch of the swamp flu, you see.  Several of us got touches of it, not having been exposed before."   

The color drained from the Baron’s face when Lenelle mentioned “swamp flu”. He struggled to keep that genteel smile in place, but only managed a queasy grimace. “Swamp flu, you say? Oh…well…Robb, Bettina, our guests clearly need their bed rest. At that inn down the hill.”

Adrian hastily stood, motioning the group to do the same. “I shan’t keep you any further. Rest and recover. When you all regain your strength, you may undertake your mission. I will supply a week’s rations, and any traveling supplies you may need. Good evening.”

Simon stands, "Our compliments to the chef and serving staff, Baron."

He starts chuckling as the pompous noble leaves. He holds his arm out to Lenelle, as if at a formal occasion. "On that rather malodorous note...my lady, will you do the honour of accompanying me to the Inn? We can, of course, make a stop at the jakes if you have the need of clearing your bowels!"

"Thank you, M'Lord," said Tara.  Well.  She ought to talk to Sheila, once she was done with her complaints about Benny... and also copying those spells into her book.  Luckily, her magic was good for that kind of thing.

Skye, wordlessly, stood up and walked out behind the others, her face a mask of seriousness. Though the food was good, the company of the host was not worth it. Hearing simon, the halfling allowed a wry smile. "I think our host spoke enough of that to cover that area." she muttered

Away from the manor and Baron, she snorted. "Pompus blowhard thinks that killing things is the only option. Not an ounce of creativity there. Probably never fought a fight in his life, or he'd never suggest that."

"His da, maybe his grand-da or his uncle, commands enough soldiers to clear this swamp in less time than it takes them to walk here. On a wink and a nod. The Baron has to hire thugs--" he mock-curtsies "-- and then threaten to hire more thugs to keep his thugs in line."

"Imagine you're some kind of high and mighty liegelord out West, even your stablehands sleep inside the house. Now imagine what kind of son you'd force to sleep in this outhouse and make him buy his own pinecones."

As the group left the manor house, Simon responded to Skye. "I think you have a good measure of the Baron. Too many nobles who are born into their wealth and position rarely understand the weight of their choices.

He sits in that house, eating the finest foods and drinking the finest wines with no thought to the hazards the people of Deadwater were facing only days ago!

I hope that we can come to an amicable solution with the lizardmen, but don't forget we fought them not that long ago...they may hold that against us or they may just want Deadwater to be gone."

Pockets remained strangely quiet during the dinner. His silent observation and passiveness seemed largely out of character. He didn’t even flirt with Skye. As the group. walked, he followed them with his head low, a thoughtful frown darkening his face.

When Jennet offered his opinion of the Baron, Pockets hustled over beside him. “For a newcomuh, you sure got an accurate fix on the Baron.” The Halfling smiled up, but with only a tenth of the gregariousness the party came to know. “It wasn’t exactly a promotion for that guy, if you know what I mean.”

Jennet shrugs. "Nope. Sounds like you do, though."

"I just know the difference between what he is and what he thinks he is. I've seen the real thing. And the world would be better off without both kinds."

“Yeah, the Realm would be a lot bettah without people tryin’ to lord it over us ‘Commoners’.” He stepped a little closer. Jennet felt a small lump in his belt pouch.

"Do you think the lizardfolk will listen to us?" Cela asks.  "Azatch tried last time and it didn't go well.  And if they worship that croc we killed..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:51, Wed 12 Jan 2022.

“Who told you that the Lizardfolk worshiped a crocodile?” Mercion stared at Cela with a near-incredulous expression. “Most of the Lizardfolk worship Semaunya. There are a few factions who still revere older gods, and fewer still who follow the demon-lord Sess’innek.

But I am not aware of any Lizardmen worshipping a crocodile,” she said with a soft chuckle.

"We may have misinterpreted what the masks meant.  Talking didn't last long in our last meeting."

“I meant no disrespect, Cela. You and friends protected Deadwater, and deserve nothing but our respect. I was just a little taken aback, but a I suppose that some habits of the Religious scholar never truly die,” Mercion chuckled again, this time a more self-effacing gesture. “I think I have a book that includes a passage or two on Lizardfolk religion. You’re welcome to study them before your meeting with the tribe.”

Then, Mercion glanced at Simon and Lenelle. “What will happen to Connie…I mean, the Hag? She was always…divisive a personality, under the feigned smile. I should have suspected something.”

"Yes, I would like the chance to read that."

Skye, quietly fuming over the baron and his casual comments on the irradiation of the lizardfolk had Skye thinking. She liked this group, even the town....but while the baron ruled, they would suffer.

She chewed her lip all the way to the inn, and just before going in she spoke up. "When Azatch goes into the swamp to scout, I'll be going with him. The barons calous remarks make me believe that he will be deceptive, and while the lizards hold no love for me, they don't deserve death if their protecting there land."

She looked at the group with a smile. "I'll still be around, but Azatch and I have a better chance together - someone's gotta watch his back out there."

She sighed as she looked at Cela. "As to will they listen....who knows how a lizards mind works. bit if we get the chance to speak, assuring them if they don't bargain, they will die might help us. Lizards are about survival, and with a army baring down, they may choose us. Maybe with the orc and myself as forward scouts, we can convince them to at least listen."

The halfling sighed....this wasn't goodbye.

When Skye announced her intention to leave, Pockets’ face drooped. He slowly walked over to the Ranger with whom he’d alternately flirted and bickered. “Hey. I know yer a valiant Ranger, but…be careful in that swamp. Okay?” Pockets tried to force an optimistic smile as he playfully slugged her arm.

Lenelle accepted the arm. "Of course, good sir.  I appreciate your understanding in such a, er...potentially unsettling matter?"   

Lenelle nodded understanding at Skye's words.  Gladdened that Azatch wouldn't be going alone.   The pair would be formidable together, and should be safe enough.

Poor pockets... she thought, glancing sidelong.  His fondness for the tough minded rangeress had been plain for some time.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:08, Thu 13 Jan 2022.

"I...was hoping you might be the one to decide on that, sister.  Or at least have some thoughts?  She and the others were responsible for much evil, and are not human." Lenelle shook her head, frowned. "Summary justice could be easily argued, couldn't it?  Yet, there has been so much pain and death, already.   I hate to think of more...even for her.  I don't want to decide; don't want any part of the decision.  I admit it."   

Mercion’s smile held the warmth of the Sun God she worshipped. “I understand, Lenelle. Tho’ I do not know you as well I would like yet, I already know that yours is a gentle soul. You shed blood of necessity, and I, for one, will not demand that you shed more in an execution.” She gently touched Lenelle’s arm, then her hand fell away.

“My God blessed me with the means to banish the Hag back to the Feywild. I could do so right now, if I called upon his aid.” The blonde priestess sighed ruefully. “Yet, as you say, Connie perpetrated evil most malicious against people that I know and care for. Miriam may not be an easy woman, but hers has not been an easy life. A life made harder by the capricious cruelty of the Hags. Sheila holds different beliefs, but I still respect her as my Sister in the Healing Arts. I thank Pelor that the Hag scheme against her didn’t come to fruition.”

She met Lenelle’s eyes again. “The people of Deadwater deserve Justice. We will hold a trial and decide Connie’s fate.”

Skye smiled at Pockets, and hit him back (a little harder). "Don't worry rogue....I'll be around. And it'll take more than some lizards to take me down."

She looked at him. "I'll be back - gotta make sure you stay out of trouble."

"That's it!!" Simon exclaimed suddenly. "Cela you're a genius. The book...not Mercion's book...the Hags' book!

Tara that book looks like it records everything that has happened in this swamp...we need to see if it mentions that masks. Granny Grim's plans might have included inciting the lizardmen against the village and maybe the masks are part of it.

And maybe there is mention of this Abbatoir?"



"I would see her executed.

Her crimes range from the death of Sheila's husband to the death of Miriam Greaves' baby to planting her own offspring Elise with Miriam to the death of Adele Redfern and the exile of Jason Redfern.

Her death will not bring the dead back, nor right any of the wrongs hse perpetrated...but there must be consequences for actions.

Lenelle is right, though...the decision is not for us but for the people of Deadwater...hopefully that does not include that idiot Baron."

“Simon is right. The old bitch should hang.” Azatch sighed. “Too bad I won’t get to see it.” The Barbarian shook his head regretfully.

“Not one for weepy goodbyes,” Azatch grunted. “You fight well. We will fight alongside each other again.” He gave a terse, but respectful, nod. “Grog, tell the Captain I’m not coming back.”

Azatch gathered up his gear and motioned to Skye. “Come along, Little Scrapper.” Then, Azatch turned and left.

Skye smiled at the others. "A night sleep woyld've been nice, but at least we fed."

She looked at the group. "Keep each other safe and for gods sake, watch pockets - keep him outa trouble."

She shouldered her pack. "We gotta stop for Hock - three is better than two." She waved as she followed the orcish warrior

“You’re a Ranger, ain’tcha? Sleep in the woods.”

“Farewell, Azatch. It was an honor to sail and fight beside you.” Sundos didn’t forget Skye. “I was also honored to meet you, lovely one. Your courage and spirit outweigh the giants themselves. May the Sun Father protect you both!” He waved at the friends he’d made as they walked off.

When they were gone, Sundos turned to Simon. “For a time, I…was not certain I could trust your judgment. However, you proved my doubts wrong when you showed unflinching bravery, resourcefulness, and skill against that foul Coven. Your pleas for Justice—for the people of Deadwater—will not go unheeded. This I vow.”

“If there’s Justice to be had, why don’t we start with an arrest? Since the Baron appointed me Sheriff, I’m deputizing you all. Wanna join me for a reckoning that’s long overdue?” The older man sounded glib, but his words held a righteous anger. He’d known Benny as long as Sheila. What the revelation about an old friend must have meant suddenly dawned on the party.

The clenched fists and resolved face showed that Laredon would not shirk this diet, though.

Skye snorted at Azatch's comment as they trailed off. "...this is gonna be fun"

Lenelle waved her farewell to the departing halfling and half-orc, silently wishing the pair good fortune and safety.   And then:



"Moon and stars!  That is brilliant!  If it's in there, we might save a lot of time! And be spared much confusion."  It wasn't hard to imagine Granny having had some contingency plan.  Or planting some seeds of evil, so to speak. To grow, even if she should fall...

Lenelle looked to Laredon, nodded, understanding how he likely felt. "Aye, very well."   She turned to look toward Sheila.

"I very much think he should look again on the face of the woman he bereaved of a husband, and then sickeningly tried to take for his own.  And I'd like to see if he has enough of a spine to be shamed and silent, and accept the consequences of his actions.  Or, if he's going to spout a bunch of pleas for the same compassion and mercy he didn't give." 

Aye. I would very much like to look Robert’s murderer in the eye one last time.”

OOC:

If you want, you can say goodbyes to Azatch & Skye, then jump forward to Benny’s capture.



The burly Laredon called upon Joshua Redfern first. He allowed Tara to share the secrets that she’d uncovered. Joshua’s face wavered as he took these revelations.

The new Sheriff solemnly looked away when Joshua wept, as Sheila held him. The woman rubbed his back, comforting him in a soft murmur. “Hush, dear boy. We’re going now for a reckoning with the bastard who opened the door and welcomed Sorrow into our lives.”

Laredon clapped Joshua gently on the back. “Aye, lad. These heroes broke up the Coven, and they exposed the crimes that Benny hid for years. We’re paying a visit that’s long overdue. Come with us. Come help us make him pay for his crimes.” Joshua wiped his face, nodding, suddenly looking much older as he smoldered with the same quiet anger.

Soon, Laredon and Joshua walked into the Sulphur’s Spit, flanked by the band of heroes they’d come to know. Benny’s face brightened as he saw the group across a full tavern. “Laredon, you’ve brought some esteemed guests! Welcome back!” The curly-haired man laughed, holding up two mugs. “I suppose I’ll be owing you all a round of ale for what you’ve done for us all!”

"Haven't known ye long, but take care," said Tara.  "And if you have need of some magic, find me.  I'll help you."

"Safe journey Azatch. I look forward to our next meeting. Keep your head down, Skye."

---

"You were not wrong, Sundos! These last few years associated with Hazim...no, it was not just Hazim...it was the pompous ass I was even before...all of that.... Let's just say that if you ever have your tongue burned out of your mouth your perspective changes...as does being thrown off a cloud.

I hope that I will eventually be someone that will make my mother proud."

---

Simon laughed heartily, "I have my moments!"

---

Simon silently marvelled at the strength that Sheila Blackmoor displayed. Her life had been run roughshod, her husband murdered, and yet she had it in her to comfort Joshua.

~By the gods, I have much to learn again about humility and humanity.~

---

As the group entered the Sulphur's Spit, Simon's hand clenched, and he began to shake with rage.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" the warlock screamed, unable to contain himself.

Lenelle felt her own heart shatter, once Joshua broke.   It was too much to see...his mother had been a rare, special sort of soul.  The kind of parent she wished she'd had.   And too, his brother...who was alive, but considered his former self dead, and would likely never be the same...

She walked to stand near the enraged Simon.  Lenelle's own outrage didn't explode like his.  It was there, but banked. 

There was nothing fearsome or imposing about Lenelle.  But, in her blood was the essence of Celestials; she was a scion of the Upper planes.   And the direct and level look she turned on Benny could have been that of an avenging angel:

"It's over," she said, calm counterpoint to Simon.  "Your lies have all been exposed, now.  It is - at last - time for you to face justice for all that you've done." 

Benny flinched when Simon yelled with all the rage he could force out of his lungs. The patrons all around them stopped talking, with the exception of a few drunken ramblers oblivious to the drama unfolding. The man they sought tried to force another smile. “Simon. What upsets you, my friend?”

But Lenelle’s calm and restrained demeanor unnerved him. He stared into the face of the Sorceress. The desire to Justice called to blood even older than the Elves themselves. It illuminated her skin with a faint glow that made her beauty even more preternatural, and fearsome for it. Benny stared at her, bewildered, perhaps even bewitched. “What is this? What’s happening?! What kind of Witchcraft is this?!”
This message was last updated by the player at 07:44, Thu 13 Jan 2022.

Pockets stepped forward with a heavy sigh. He shook his head sadly. “Hey. Hey. Stop lying, Benny. We know what you did. Just give up, huh?”

“Pockets, what are you talking about…?” Benny laughed awkwardly, until Grog stepped aside and he saw her.

Sheila stepped out from behind the Minotaur. Several gasps and a shout or two were heard from the crowd. “Sweet Selune, it’s Sheila Blackmoor!” The wronged woman walked arm-in-arm with her former pupil, Tara. Her head held high, her eyes defiantly staring down Benny as she approached him, followed by Laredon and an equally furious Joshua. Despite the hardship of the years, and life in the Swamp, Sheila carried herself in that moment with a fierce dignity that showed a glimpse into the beauty that Benny coveted for his own so many years ago.

“You.” Sheila pointed at Benny. “Murdered. My. Robert!!!” In the next moment, the floodgates of her heart opened, and the pain and hate for the man before her poured out in a primal howl. Several patrons reared back, covering their ears, looking away. Many more watched in fearful awe.

When the howl died, Sheila pointed, and then the  fingers curled and uncurled as if she would twist his head off. It looked as if she might cast the Hex that many feared was at her command. For a heartbeat, it looked as though she would strike him dead with what Magicks she commanded.

However, Sheila lowered her hands. Staring with the hot embers of her dark eyes, Sheila said, “For this rat trap of an inn, you killed the man who gave my heart life, who promised me the world, showed it to me, and would have given it to me before the sunset of my years.” Sheila looked around, and then spat on the floor. Next, she spat on him!

Then, she slapped him! By that point, the tavern had fallen quiet. The smack resounded as sharply as the accusations. Sheila stared at Benny again, shaking her head in disgust. “You betrayed my man, and me, and the people of this town to a Coven of Hags!”

Sheila faced the people who drank Benny’s spirits, ate his food, paid his livelihood. “Yes! It’s true. It’s all recorded in the Book right here, that the heroes you’ve come to admire took when they foiled the Coven. Benny bargained with a Hag who turned out to be one of your favorite buddies for drinking and fucking. Connie.”

Several men cried out in horror, revulsion, and disbelief. Sheila laughed bitterly and nodded. “Oh, yes! Some of you who accused me of the troubles that devastated our people slept with the CREATURE who was actually responsible for them! And this son of bitch threw open the door and welcomed  her!”

Benny saw the disapproval in Laredon and Joshua’s eyes. This time, he didn’t have Miriam Greaves to help drive a wedge between Sheila and the people. The news of Elise’s true nature and her birth daughter’s grisly fate drove her mad. He saw the powerful heroes who’d defeated Lizardmen, Undead, and the Hags who’d benefited him. In that moment, they stood there for him.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He knew the end was near for him. “Aye. I thought myself so clever, that I hid away this secret for none to find. But you’ve undone me, Sheila.” He looked down. “Just as I was undone all those years ago, when I knew I couldn’t have you.”

Benny chuckled bitterly.

Joshua sprung with a growl that became a yell! He punched Benny, then punched him again! “My mother! All those people! They were our friends!”

When Joshua punched him, Benny flailed to protect himself. He couldn’t hold off the much younger and much stronger man. Not against the rage being unleashed. So, he did the best thing he could.

Benny grabbed a mug and smashed it against Joshua’s head! That hurt Joshua and stunned him enough to release his grip. Benny squirmed out from underneath and tried to flee out the back! “I’ll not face the gallows!”

OOC:

He’s fair game for the players to capture!

 

The old man is likely not faster than Cela, who rushes after him, attempting to hold him back.

Cela leapt over the bar and slammed into Benny with one leap! The spry Monk barreled into him, knocking him on the floor. Naturally, Cela landed on top.

There was something wholly satisfying about seeing a feline pursue and pounce on this sad shell of a man, who was far less than any honest rodent.

But, Lenelle paid him no further attention; more than happy to wash her hands at this point.

She was instantly at Joshua's side, placing her arm around him, on her knees with him, if he'd been unable to stand after being struck.

She spoke the soft words of her healing incantation, and rose, dawn-hued light pulsed, mending whatever injury had been done him.

"It's alright," she soothed, not letting go, "It's alright now.  Scream, break things if you must, get it all out -- and then let it go.  Waste no more of yourself on the likes of him. This is over.  The past can't be undone, nor the dead brought back. But you can live, Joshua Redfern -- and have a future that will honor all of them.  I know this for fact.  And I will be here to help you find it. I promise."   

While everyone in the tavern—and an amazed Laredon—praised Cela’s magnificent prowess, Joshua clasped Lenelle’s hand. The nasty bruise already forming faded before her power. He quickly got to his feet, reinvigorated by the divine power of the woman who’d fascinated him from the moment he saw her. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said with a grateful smile.

While that obviously described his injury, perhaps Joshua’s meaning ran deeper. Although he still had tears left to cry for his broken family, Lenelle saw something else in his smile. The beginning of hope. “Thank you,” he said, as he gently kissed her forehead.

Cela sits on top of Benny, claws bared and growls.

A stream of urine trickles on the floorboard underneath Benny. He hung his head low, whimpering in fear of the fierce Tabaxi. “I’m done for,” he muttered.

Lenelle nodded, smiled as well, still pressed against him.

The sorceress - the woman - feeling hope for things she had all but given up on.

Grog walks to where Cela has Benny trapped.

"Remind me not to anger you," he quips to her. He reaches down and grabs Benny by the shirt, and if Cela allows, he lifts him up with one hand and brings him face-to-face with Laredon, "All right, Sheriff, bind him and let's put him in a cell."

Tara gave a half-smile.

"Do let me know if you need assistance with him," she said.  "I have... ways of dealing with him."

Laredon nodded at Tara with an agreeable “Harrumph”. She thought that if he wore a cap, he would have tipped it to her. “If you and your friends wanna accompany me, I’m locking him up.” He tugged Benny by his shirt. “Away from ‘Connie The Hag’, just so you two don’t brew any new conspiracies!” He motioned for Grog to bring him. “If you’ll cart him along, I would be mighty grateful to you, Grog.

And don’t worry about being gentle with him. I’ve a mind to dump him in the river and be done with him if what you’re all saying is true.” Laredon shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out the whole truth when we question him. Sister Mercy has ways of ferreting out lies from truth.”

Hey! Bathsheba!” The Tiefling barmaid looked up from Joshua & Lenelle’s table, where she’d fussed over the previously hurt-but-now-healed young man. “You’re in charge of the Spit now. Although we guess we should see if Sheila wants it back. Work out the arrangements with her for the next few days.”

Bathsheba looked delighted at the thought. She rushed over to Sheila, skirts held just high enough so she could navigate the crowd quickly. When she reached Sheila, she clasped her hands with tears of joy in her eyes. “Oh, Missus, I’m so glad you’re back! I never believed the awful things they said about you. It…hasn’t been the same since you left.”

Laredon spared a moment for satisfied smile at Sheila’s return. Then, he turned around and proceeded to cart Benny off to the jail, joined by any of our heroes who accompanied him.

After Laredon locked up Benny and tripled the guards on Connie, he led those party members who escorted him back to The Sulphur’s Spit. The tavern filled up after the news of Benny’s disgrace, in part because word also spread of the proven injustice against Sheila. A nervous Clo and her husband tentatively approached Sheila and apologized. The tears in Clo’s eyes displayed genuine remorse. Sheila was cautious, but a glimpse of a hopeful Lenelle softened her. “It means a great deal,” she said softly.

The women hugged, Clo kissing Sheila’s cheek. At that, Sheila laughed with a slightly easier heart. The breach was not yet entirely healed, but it would happen in time. “You and everyone in town will hear the truth in full in the days to come. Tonight, though…let’s celebrate the promise of a new day, and happier times ahead.”

She waved Bathsheba over. “Sweet Bathsheba, if I am to help you run this place, may we christen this change of ownership with a party!” Sheila took Laredon and Connor’s hands, stepping up onto a chair. “Yes, I’m back, Deadwater, and that dastardly Coven will trouble us no more! Sheba, let’s break open that Elvish Summer Wine and the cordials from Zakhara! I know you hid Robert’s good stuff for safekeeping…and tasting!” The locals who knew the late Robert Blackmoor laughed happily at Sheila’s joke, another promise of the healing taking place. It soon became clear to Lenelle, Simon, & Tara that so much of Sheila’s anger not only resulted from her husband’s murder, but a betrayal of the love she’d once felt for the people of the town.

Hopefully that love would bloom again.

“We’ll have no further drinks before a toast!” She waved her arms for everyone’s attention for silence. “No, I mean this. I owe a debt that I cannot repay in a thousand lifetimes. A debt to the brave men and women who saved not only my life, but those of everyone here tonight. A toast then, to Tara, Simon, Lenelle, Cela, Sundos, and Azatch & Skye, who could not join us. To their friend who they liberated from the Coven, and I hear gave them Hell back!”

The tavern roared with cheers that nearly deafened the group! Hands reached out to clap backs, heart handshakes, and grateful pats on shoulders. “Bathsheba, give our heroes whatever they want. On the house!”

“Yes, ma’am! There’s also a new Bard, and he’s so much better than the last one! Play some songs for us, cutie!” The Tiefling barmaid waved her hand to rev up the unfamiliar Elf near the fireplace.

"I am honored, Mistress Blackmoor," said Tara, bowing her head.  The accolades were embarrassing!  She almost wanted to hide under a table... but no, no, that would be awkward for everyone.  She wished that she could be more like the outgoing companions that she had...

"No, luv: I'll play them for you."

The long, teased, platinum-haired elf had just finished tuning his bandore and blew a kiss to the tiefling. The little elf looked like he was barely taller than 5 feet and couldn't have weighed more than 110lbs soaking wet. He wore leather breeks dyed green above high laced moccasin boots. A loose flaxen shirt covered his shoulders and arms, but was left open down his chest and abdomen. That was covered only by necklaces, tattoos, scars, and a bright blue silk vest buttoned low across his belly. The elaborate guard of a shining rapier stuck out from his hip, but he shifted his sword's frog around to the side and took a position to play.

His proportions were remarkable: his chin long and narrow, as were his neck and his ears that poked out of his hair covered in gold and jeweled earrings; large eyes above slight cheekbones; a too-broad smile filled with narrow teeth. His long, thin, and sun-kissed arms ended in hands with spider-like and bejeweled ring-bearing fingers that crawled across and plucked the strings of his instrument.

Music didn't begin to sound from the stringed instrument so much as it felt like it arrived from far away. What began as gentle chords played on a summer's breeze took firmer hold in ascending scales between the dominant and the tonic, to begin again at the subdominant and the third. Rising sternly rounded to settle down again in a spritely snapped rhythm, his playing brightened as he shifted keys.

But always, oddly, the seventh was flat.

At first it seemed an amateur's mistake but repetition gave it meaning, for as the rest of the scale brightened and enlivened, the seventh flattened and grew in dynamics and value, threatening the composition.

Furious at the dissonance, tempo begat tempo; strings combined in chords combined to progressions to assault the holdfast of the seventh, rebuffed time and again until what had once been bright became dull. The seventh was victorious, it seemed.

The music stopped and his rich baritone took up the melody. It cut through the thick tavern atmosphere and semitone by semitone hedged around the seventh. By and by his hands reintroduced the harmony from the bandore.

[Translated from the Sylvan]

• Turning to the right I saw Craigellache,
  the “Rock Of Alarm”
  gleaming purple in the autumn sunshine.
  
  I remembered its meaning,
  my right hand was filled with the sword of perseverance
  Craigellache told me: "stand firm”
  
  I bid adieu to groveling materialism,
  it can never quench my aspirations
  render obscure my remembrance of the days departed.
  
  The spirits of the mist and the mountains
  have awakened me to better things,
  and indicate to my heart that I must not be untrue to myself
  
  Nor forget my paternal heritage,
  but let this music sound with sweetness
  in the ears of a Faerie people to whom it belongs.

The elf returned to an instrumental, rising from the tonic in hesitant half-steps and retreating in nearly as many, again pushing towards the seventh in hope and in fear of what remained. But fear was unfounded. The tentative ascent became a triumphal celebration upon arrival at the previously elusive leading-tone, and his fingers traversed faster and faster through what had before been the source of such discord.

His voice rejoined his bandore and his eyes held Bathsheba's at the climax.

[Translated from the Sylvan]

• Come with me then
  'cross glen and burn
  to a hill under which we feast and dance
  
  A summer's moment or a lifetime
  Both the same
  As time becomes a forgotten dream!

As it started the piece finished: not stopping so much as always having been a memory. The bard let the moment linger, holding the maid's eyes in his, before breaking from her and launching into a series of jigs, hornpipes, and reels accompanied by the stomping of the crowd's feet.

The new Bard roused the tavern with jigs and reels, as the patrons clapped and stomped their feet in time with his jaunty song. “Beijor, everyone!” Bathsheba gestured at the talented Minstrel, and blushed when he grinned at her. Her red curls bounced with a step made lighter by both Sheila’s return and Beijor’s attention. Beijor received cheers and whoops, masterfully casting a lyrical spell over the crowd that they hoped wouldn’t end!

During the gentle ballad that soon followed, Lenelle leaned against Joshua as they listened. She’d felt weary after the battle, journey back to Deadwater, and an awkward dinner with the Baron. She wanted nothing more than sleep, but couldn’t resist the infectious mood of the celebration. Lenelle even enjoyed a dance with Joshua until her legs cried for relief. Soon, she sat at the corner table where she could still see the performance. Joshua’s shoulder felt nice, more so in the warm tavern.

Lenelle’s eyelids drooped with the heaviness of a full day and good drink. She forced them open, but soon let them rest. Just for a second, the new Bard still had another jig to play, and she didn’t want to miss it…

”Lass, wake up, or you’ll miss his song!” Lenelle’s eyes snapped open as she felt a gentle tug on her sleeve. When she looked up, she saw a woman nearly Sheila’s age. The woman smiled, a full-toothed grin that nagged at her with its familiarity. Light brown hair framed her face in a loose wave. Though her face was care worn, Lenelle knew that the woman had been a beauty in her youth.

The woman knelt beside Lenelle, her head bobbing gently with the music. Then, she looked back at Lenelle. “I just wanted to thank you, Sweet One. Thank you for saving my boys.” Lenelle opened her mouth to say “You’re welcome”, and ask the woman’s name…

Suddenly, Lenelle’s head jerked as she woke up. She looked at Joshua, who chuckled softly. “You fell asleep, Lenelle.” The sight of his easy, boyish grin imparted a bittersweet knowledge of the woman’s name..

Adele Redfern.

Lenelle was left gaping, and blinking.

Even for someone who'd learned to work magic entirely through intuition - who was graced by the touch of some angelic avatar, or unknown godling - this was wholly and utterly stunning.

She wavered back and forth rapidly, on whether or not to tell Joshua.  Ending in the realization she didn't have any idea how she would tell him.  Not right now. Not here...

She wanted to smile and cry.  Through a sheer act of will, she managed only to do the first.   "I -- I had a wonderful dream," she white-lied, just so Joshua wouldn't think she'd lost it, or gotten some bad wine.

Her eyes then cast over and across the room.  Seeking Sheila Blackmoor.  Seeking confirmation, perhaps.  Though in her heart, she truly needed none...

Amidst all that, Lenelle also hadn't missed the much talented minstrel.

Like her father, she was sure.    Not the one who raised her, and given her his surname, if never his love.

No...rather, the one who had given her the pointed ears.

Once Benny was ensconced in the jail, Simon followed the group back to the Sulphur's Spit.

He was able to get a large mug of tea, which he sipped as he thought through the events since arriving in Deadwater. It felt that this time of triumph was also a moment of change.

~It might have been most traumatic for me, but it feels as if the group as a whole is at a crossroads. I wonder how many will turn left and how many will turn right?~

When the bard starts to play, he listens for a moment, before deciding he needs some time to ponder.

He settles at the edge of the water, and methodically pulls a reel of thin line from his pack, and attaches it to his staff with two metal rings. At the other end of the staff another metal ring is slipped on, this one with a small loop through which he runs the line. Selecting a lure and a float from his selection, he casts the line out into the water. And then slowly reels it in.

He repeats the actions over and over. He isn't concerned about catching anything. The simple actions that he learned as a child, provided some comfort as he wondered where his path would lead.

Dealing with the lizardfolk might take a week or two at most, then what?

Cast out, reel in.

With Benny contained, Cela gets the book from Mercion and reads through the parts about lizardmen.

She sits at the tavern table with some of the others - but hoping to discourage the interruptions of the townsfolk uses the transformative powers of the collar.

While Beijor enchanted Lenelle with his musical artistry and Elven pure blood, Cela studied by Mercion’s book by the light of a cantrip manifested by the Cleric herself. Grog shared a huge bowl of prawns with Jennet, and Cela snatched an occasional shrimp for herself. Bathsheba fussed playfully at patrons who got in her way as she rushed about her busiest night in a few years. Tara took a cue from Cela and studied more of the Hag’s Grimoire. Sundos and Mercion just smiled at each other now and then, enjoying one another’s company in contented silence as they listened to the rest of Beijor’s performance.

All through the room, people  drank, laughed, and celebrated new hope for life in The Sulphur’s Spit. Outside, a few patrons stumbled home drunkly…but safely. For the first time since the founding of Deadwater, people walked outside free of the fear they’d known for too long every night. Not far away, Simon sat on the edge of the town's small pier. He savored the natural music of the crickets and bullfrogs as he indulged his most beloved mundane skill.


Back at the Hag’s Lair…

Azatch and Skye secured the portions of the Swamp immediately surrounding Deadwater. They rested when they could snatch naps, eating rations and sipping the divinely blessed well water that Mercion discreetly insisted they take before they left. Eldath’s sacred water healed the remaining injuries from their last battle. Azatch insisted on checking Sheila’s property to ensure that Granny Grimfiddle hadn’t left behind any nasty surprises.

When they left, they returned to the dead tree that housed Connie’s secret hideaway. “A feeling troubles me, Little One. It nags at me like a sand gnat. We must check the Hag Lair one last time.”

As they emerged from the vine-draped trail, Azatch & Skye ran into Blackthorn & Marigold. The Druids kept their word, burning the enormous dead oak. “Azatch, what brings you back here so soon? I thought you & Skye would be celebrating your victory back in Deadwater with my brother and your friends.”

“Neither of us are much for large crowds or your people when they’ve drunk themselves blind,” Skye said with her customary gruffness. Blackthorn’s smirk showed a perfect understanding of what Skye meant. “I’m pleased to see you met your animal companion. He may be even more besotted with you than that annoying pickpocket.”

“The Boar respects my boundaries more and pisses me off less.”

Blackthorn answered with a hearty laugh that they'd not heard when they first met him. As his dour mask fell, Skye saw the family resemblance with Joshua even more clearly. “We came back to ensure that all traces of the Coven’s foulness was eliminated,” Azatch said somewhat impatiently, not sharing the mood for lighter banter.

“Yes. We’ve purged the Lair with fire, and when the sun rises, we will bless the land here. We…”

Blackthorn stopped talking when the surface of the lake broke behind them. His eyes widened as he looked up at the thing that had emerged from the waters. “I did not requessst your blessssing on my Auntie’sss home, Druid!” Marigold screamed behind Blackthorn, who showed none of his usual arrogance.

Azatch leaped between the enormous menace and the others. “I knew it! Run, Skye! Get them out of here!” She shook her head, scrambling for her bow. “No! I won’t run like some scare little kobold…!”

However, the choice was taken from her as the great Boar grabbed her in his snout and charged off. Blackthorn and Marigold shifted into ravens and flew into the trees. Azatch withdrew his enchanted javelin, his tusks jutting as he grinned at the creature. “I always hoped I’d fight one of you,” he said as he transformed with his Barbarian’s rage.

The Boar raced back up the trail with a squirming Skye. When she heard a pained yell, Skye twisted free of the Boar’s mouth. “Either help me or make yourself useful and get my friends!” Somehow, the Boar understood her, but grunted stubbornly, scuffing the dirt in the ground with his massive hoof. “I said, GO,” Skye yelled, as she strung her bow.

She whispered words of primitive magic, tapping into the Flow of Nature as she ran back, hoping she’d be in time to save Azatch. She emerged from the trees, searching for her companion. She gasped when she saw what remained of him. Eyes wide with a terror she’d never known, Skye let the arrow fly. Then, her eyes clenched shut as every nerve in her body caught fire, the welcome blackness of oblivion soon overtaking her…


End of Volume One