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