(art by Romy Jones)
15 Uktar, Year of the Banner (DR 1368)
After finishing Melly’s outfitting in the Boareskyr Bridge market, Amra and her companions set forth with the blessing of Threskul and the community’s other defenders. Night falls, and with it, the temperature, as the winds of approaching winter give a lonely sound to the landscape....
After more than an hour spent on the unfamiliar trails, the small town of Soubar appears. The silhouette of an old stone ruin -- once a temple or abbey, perhaps, and if so, an unfriendly one -- looms above a ramshackle camp makeshift cabins and heavy tents. A few campfires shine, and smoke rises from a vent in the roof of a dilapidated wooden building that could be the tavern. Rough talk echoes from the campground area.
Amra gives the ancient ruins an unfriendly look, then heads towards the tavern. “Keep both eyes open. This sort of place has all manner of rogues,” she cautions the others.
“Does it have anything *besides* rogues?” Firnous asks. Unconsciously, he pulls Melly a little closer from her perch on horseback behind him.
“Answers, I hope.”
“We’ve been doing soooo well obtaining those,” Imoen said, frowning. “Well... new people to browbeat.” She puts on a bright smile and urges her horse forward.
Amra smiles and continues on.
The party draws a number of unwelcome looks as they ride into the cleared area, dying grass jutting up from spaces where, in summer, merchant tents must have sprouted. “You can bed down here for the night!” comes more than one “friendly” offer.
Amra fixes any such hopeful speculators with a stern look.
“I’ll still be here!” “Me, too!” (Imoen rolls her eyes. “Boys.”)
Amra grins a little.
It’s not hard to identify the likely tavern building, based on the raucous, drunken baying coming from the dilapidated wooden structure on one side of the campground. “Do we all go in?” Melly asks. “What about the horses?” She bites her lip as she looks around.
Amra considers it as she dismounts. “Auravahinue will see that no one bothers them.”
Melly looks to Amra’s equine companion with renewed respect. “All... all right.” Firnous helps her dismount.
A tavern-goer, stinking of homemade alcohol, is knocked out through the door as the others are heading in.
“Have no fear.” Amra deftly steps out of the path of the drunkard. “For the horses,” she adds in an undertone.
Firnous chuckles. The interior of the Winding Way is crowded, noisy, and thick with smoke. Hilts of daggers are visible on many belts. The clientele seems to be made up more of out-of-work caravan guards, rather than the merchants who would lead the caravans. A middle-aged woman tends the busy bar, while most of the patrons lounge, wrestle, and drink at benches and long tables.
Amra surveys the tavern and its patrons, then heads for an empty table near the back.
Imoen, Firnous, and Melly follow, squeezing through the crowd to cluster around the table. “Trying to get the lay of the land?” Firnous asks.
“Yes. Wait here and keep an eye out. I’ll get our drinks.”
Firnous nods and, taking a cue from more than one fellow patron, puts his feet up on the table -- before Melly knocks them off.
Amra hides a smile as she heads for the bar.
At first, it appears Amra will have to wait, but her appearance draws enough interest from some of the men leaning on the bar that a small path is cleared for her, just to see what she’ll do. “Looks like you’re up,” the heavyset woman on the bar’s far side declares. “What’ll you have?”
“Two ales and two waters. And a favor.”
Spewage occurs in varying degrees at the mention of “two waters.” “Did you bring your babies?” one man asks, guffawing.
The tavernkeeper waits for the laughter to die down before responding to Amra’s other request. She goes about getting the drinks. “Show your coin,” she said.
She passes the tavernkeeper a silver piece.
The silver piece disappears, replaced by four mugs.
Amra turns and looks at him. “It’s for you, actually. You look like it’s about all you can manage.”
“Give me half a chance, and I’ll show you what I can manage,” the man leers.
“You’d need more than half a chance to manage anything, I suspect.”
The other men around burst into laughter at their companion’s expense. “She knows you too well, she does”!
“What’s the favor?” the tavernkeeper leans in to ask.
“I’m looking to speak with someone named Mag. Perhaps you can help.”
“I’m Mag,” the woman said. “You must be new here if you don’t know that... although it’s pretty obvious that you’re new.”
“Really? I thought I was blending in rather well,” Amra said, dead-pan. “I’m told you can aid me in meeting a certain dealer in the arcane.”
“Is that what you’re after? You don’t waste time, do you?”
“No, neither yours nor mine.” Another coin edges its way up between two of Amra’s fingers.
“You don’t lack for the kind of charm that carries weight around here,” Mag said. This coin also disappears. “I’ll put out the message tonight. The one you want to talk to, she’ll find you -- if she wants to. If she doesn’t, you still don’t get the coin back. Where are you staying?”
“I understand,” Amra said. “We’ll be camped on the road beyond the old temple.”
“Take your time. It’s still a bit early. And have someone you trust watch your back while you sleep.”
“Sleep?” Amra asks with a grin.
“You are smart.”
“It’s my gift. I don’t think you lack in wit yourself. Thanks for the drinks.” Amra hoists the mugs and nods, then heads back to the table.
Mag nods, and Amra manages to clear a path to her table near one wall.
“I didn’t get into any fights while you were gone,” Firnous declares. He sounds almost disappointed.
“The night’s young,” Amra notes.
“That went well,” Amra tells the others as she sets the drinks down. Before anybody can take them, she chants a quick prayer over them.
Firnous smiles. “Are we going to stay here? It *is* warmer.”
“No. We’ll camp down the road. It’s more private.”
Drinks are slowly consumed. There’s the usual interest expected from bored men confronted with three (apparently) young and well-accoutered women out with only a single male companion. But otherwise, the revelers seem more intent on reveling.
Once everyone finishes their ale or purified water, Amra shifts. “We should be on our way. We have yet to make camp.”
And so camp is made. Hours pass uneventfully, and it’s actually possible for a few of the group to sleep in the small hours after midnight. When dawn is still at least two hours away, a stray stone skitters into the midst of camp, rattling across the hard ground before settling to a stop.
Amra looks up and over in the direction of the stone’s path.
There are only shadows outside the range of the few smoldering fire-embers. But the direction of the stone’s throw is clear.
Standing, Amra peers into the shadows for a moment, then turns to the others. “Wait here,” she said before heading that way, stopping at the edge of their campsite before continuing.
Auravahinue looks up. Firnous and Imoen stir, quickly reaching for weapons. Melly half-rouses.
“You want to do business?” comes a man’s voice from somewhere in the shadows ahead.
“I do. Who do you speak for?”
“My mistress. She trades in rarities and lore. You must either have something of value to exchange, or coin in plenty.”
“Coin I have, but even more lore.”
“Trivia and lore of worth are not the same thing.”
Amra raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure your mistress would find my lore of worth. Is there a test I should be put to to prove myself?”
“There is no need. If you are not what you claim to be, you will not bother my mistress for long.”
“No doubt.”
“Go to the ruined temple if you wish to continue,” the voice said, before fading into the night.
Amra bows in the direction of the voice, then returns to the camp. “The meeting is arranged. I think perhaps you should wait here...”
“... so you can walk into a trap? All right then.” Firnous makes a play at going back to sleep.
“There’s that factor, yes. But I doubt it. I’ll be back in an hour or so, with any luck. Imoen, keep watch.”
“If you’re not back in an hour, your horse and I are coming after you,” Imoen promises.
Auravahinue nods his agreement.
“Thank you, sister, brother.” Amra smiles, then heads for the ruins.
The temple is a foreboding place, despite the fact that it appears to have been abandoned for years. In fact, two of the walls have been partially collapsed and picked over, robbed for stones to make foundations for Soubar’s few permanent buildings. The main vault is open to the sky. At first glance, the temple is devoid of other occupants.
Amra tries to identify what deity – if that – it was sanctified to.
Inspection of the surviving stoneworks reveals a handful of grim, violent designs. Amra can recognize them as symbols from Bane’s cult. The poor workmanship of the Bane carvings seem at odds with the sturdy construction of the building itself, however, so it’s possible that Bane followers took it over from previous occupants.
Amra also finds a concealed stairway in a dark alcove, leading belowground.
Amra recoils from the unholy scratching and fingers the holy symbol of the grey lady hanging from her neck. Then she eyes the stairway for a moment before heading down it at a careful pace.
The stair is in better shape than the pillaged walls above. The descent is deep, but the course of the stair stays true, ultimately landing upon a cold flagstone floor. The extent of the crypt is hidden behind a thick curtain, the only apparent exit from the landing.
Amra pauses a moment and, again fingering the holy symbol, chants another prayer.
An ill feeling arises, its source lying somewhere beyond the curtain.
Amra nods, not all that surprised. “I was told this was a place of business,” she calls out.
For a moment, there’s no response, and Amra’s voice echoes off the cold stone. Then a man steps through the curtain. When he speaks, Amra recognizes his voice from the darkness outside her camp. “There is a degree of discretion to be maintained,” he sighs.
“I understand,” Amra said. “Lead on.”
The man returns through the curtain. As it is passed, a view of the crypts ahead opens up. There is a substantial subterranean delving, for storage, burial, or some more sinister purpose. Whatever the case, Amra’s guide takes her down an arched hallway to turn into a side chamber. A slight young woman, dressed in dark garb, sits in a plush chair, picking idly at some out of season fruit.
Amra nods politely to the petite woman.
“You’re new here,” the woman announces.
“Indeed I am. Amra Amariya, at your service.”
“Somehow I doubt the latter.” The woman tosses the fruit aside. “Too ripe,” she tells her watchman. “Go fetch some more. Don’t hurry back.” The man nods and departs.
“Perhaps. At your business, then?”
The woman smiles thinly. “We shall see. You are out of place here. You did not stumble into this blindly. Why have you sought me?”
“I’ve been lead to believe merchandise of interest to me has passed through your hands of late.”
“I hope that all the merchandise that passes through my hands is of interest to someone.”
“Elf gear.”
“Ah, that.” The woman starts to say something, then gives Amra a closer look and stops. “The elf was not your kinsman, I suspect. His goddess is most beloved of moon elves, not those of the sun.”
“You’re quite learned. But one’s cousin may still be dear.”
“And salvagers’ prospects are sometimes dearer still. But you will tell me that is not the noble elven way.”
“It is not.”
She yawns. “Of... of course. I sold what items I was able to obtain.”
“I would be interested in knowing how you obtained them.”
“*I* did not obtain them. Those who work for me did -- or, they attempted to. They encountered difficulty.”
Amra stares.
“Some curse hangs over the area where the items were found. My men got away with what they could.”
“What area? What curse?”
“It is in the wild lands northeast of here. And if I knew what the curse was, I could defeat it. I am not without resources of my own. But from the way my retrievers told it -- and I made sure they were not lying -- all their efforts went awry. Causeless accidents happened. Injuries were suffered. When other parties were sighted nearby, my men decided to retreat....”
“They did not believe they could hold their own against any opponents. And so, not all the elf’s possessions were claimed, I suspect.
“What other parties?”
“I do not know, and it embarrasses me to say it. My reputation is that I am well-informed.”
“How sad for you. Your men saw them, did they not? They must have gleaned something.”
“They described a party of opposers, possibly humanoid in form. They stayed in tree cover, and my men kept their distance. I have been unsure how to prepare them to make a return trip. Sending them to fail would also be an embarrassment.”
“Let’s cut to the heart of it. I’ll go and seek these mysterious assailants out.”
“You will, of course, demand some price for your services.”
“I’m sure you still have a few of my moon elf friend’s items.”
“I have sold all that I received. But you will be in the place where they were found. Perhaps there are more -- if you bypass whatever curse haunts the area.”
“We shall see.”
“When you have seen what is there to see, you will return to me and give your report.” This is not stated as an option.
Amra smiles briefly at the woman’s attitude. “Have no fear. I’ll have better luck uncovering this mystery then you and your... associates.”
“See that you do. And do not waste time about it.”
Amra smiles again, then bows. “I trust I’ll find you here waiting.”
“Or I’ll find you.”
“We shall see.”
Another excellent chapter :)
(Imoen rolls her eyes. “Boys.”) XD XD XD