Mandala Group: Oasis Recap, The Rescue of Gorthag (Again)

The group stood a few yards away from The One-Eyed Ranger. It was a very large, dark log structure. Along the front, it was almost entirely lined with windows, some of which had been throw open to let in the summer breeze. A few women sat in the window sills, languidly fanning themselves with ornate fans, their bright silk dresses dancing around their legs and allowing glimpses of the smooth flesh beneath. There were many tables full of patrons and a long bar. The party watched as Ceffyl sidled up to the bar and flashed the bartender a cheesy grin. The plan was that Ceffyl would be inside the bar, just in case the exchange went sour. Blacklock's men did not know that he was part of the party, so he seemed the most obvious choice.

Parke emerged from the entrance to stand guard with another. It was time to make their move. The party walked toward the entrance and stopped about twenty feet from the door.

"We've come for our friend," said Arantxe.
"You keep strange bedfellows, miss," said Parke with a grin. "Well, come on in."
"No," she said. "we do this outside."

Parke scowled. He motioned to the other guard to stay there and went inside. Just then they could hear Ceffyl laughing loudly through the open window and pointing at the group. He had an arm around a pretty auburn-haired woman. "Look dear! And they say I'm a walking freak show. Elves and orcs and fancy ladies! I'd like to see that show..." and he finished by whispering something in her ear. She shrieked with laughter.

The guard leaned out away from his post at the door so he could see who was talking. "Heh. Just you wait, Ceffyl. The show is about to get freakier." Ceffyl raised his eyebrows and smiled. He drew the woman closer and whispered in her ear again. She took his flagon and moved off to the bar. Ceffyl crossed his arms and and watched the scene with an expectant expression.

The leprechaun emerged from the front door along with a couple other men holding a bound and gagged Gorthag. They threw him to the ground. One of the men was a massive brutish looking person.

"Gorthag. We're here to save you," said Arantxe.

The leprechaun took a long pull on a jug and wooped loudly. He regarded Arantxe for a moment and then said, "Hello there, pretty lass. I see you got rid of some unwelcome company. Well, I wouldn't worry about those maggots. Where they're headed, they'll find nothing but agony and death."

Arantxe shrugged, "It's what I would expect."

He flashed fake smile, more ferocious than friendly. "Well, I was just checking in on ya. I asked the apes here to pick up a bogger. I guess I should have asked for one who's head isn't a marley." He condescendingly patted Gorthag on the head. "No matter, I found out what I sought. The Dragon will never see the light of day. The serpent brothers will get you nits soon. BWAHAHAHA! And you poppies are walking right into their lair," he belched. "Those strange serpent brothers!"

He took another long pull on the jug, shuddered, and howled. He then looked for a moment at Arantxe and said, almost sadly, "Tis such a pity to lose such a fine bird." Then he vanished. Millicent thought to herself, Skin and hang it, I wanted to talk to him!

"What in Saros Balls?" said Parke. "He promised us loot. No matter, we found out that YOU have something interesting," he said, pointing at Nim'ohtar. "Hand it over to ole Parke, now."

"How much money were you promised, Parke?" asked Artanis, stepping up next to Arantxe.

"He said that you were sitting on a lot of gold and that trinket you got is worth a fair coin to the right people," said the man.

"I know nothing of trinkets," said Nim'ohtar. "I'll give you 100 gold right now."

Blacklock's men laughed. "If you want your idiot back, you'll hand over the trinket right now." Parke said. He and the big brute moved towards the group. Five other men came from around the building with long swords bared.

Millicent peered at the large man focusing all her mind to his. All she felt was greed. She turned her thoughts to Gorthag and had an immediate craving for buttermilk. Well, that's at least reassuring, she thought. Millicent watched as Arantxe moved towards her, shuffling protectively to the back of the group and out of harm's way. As she passed, Millicent touched her arm to stop her for a moment and whispered, "We need to negotiate with them."

"What's up with the freak redhead and her girlfriend?" asked Parke. The men laughed.

"Bring the half-Orc forward and we will bring the trinket forward," Nim'ohtar ordered.

The big man and another roughly dragged Gorthag forward. Parke smirked, "Let's not have any rash moves, now. We just want all your gold and the trinket."

Arantxe, feeling sick and tired of this whole thing, threw down a purse. One of the men slid over to retrieve it. Nim held out an ornate plate, "This is what you want." The large man stepped up and grabbed the plate and then handed it to Parke. The decoy plate was a great idea, but they were taking a chance. Their hopes rested on the fact that none of these players actually knew what the mandalas looked like.

Parke stared at the plate, then smiled to himself. "This is good but, but not enough. All of your gold. To me. Now."

Nim and Girt both begrudgingly threw down their purses. The men hastily counted the coins. "225 gold?" said Parke. "Not enough, surely you have more."

"Do we look rich?" asked Millicent. She was idly wondering if she should try to disarm these men with her new spell.

Artanis was motionless except for her lips which subtly moved in silent prayer. She closed her eyes...

Parke tossed his head in frustration, "Shit! That freak told us these people were rich," he said to the big man. He waved he hand carelessly in there direction, spun on his heel and started walking away, calling, "Take your idiot and get out of here." He men exchanged bewildered looks, then dispersed shaking and scratching their heads.

Arantxe moved over to Gorthag, drew her rapier and cut the ropes on his wrists. He drew the gag down from his mouth and looked up at her with simple adoration. Then he stood and looked at the rest of the group and smiled broadly, "I like friends. I like happy." He began to sob. "I not get stolen, again. Will stay with friends, forever. Gorthag promise."

The Minotaur Isles.

’Twas granted me, though,
to pierce the monster with point of sword,
with blade of battle: huge beast of the sea
was whelmed by the hurly through hand of mine.

Located off the Rygge/Court peninsula, roughly 1,000 miles at sea, lie the three Minotaur Isles of Tohyilhal, Naelahi and Bahasahm, known collectively as the Seiskeyah. On these three small islands is the entirety of the minotaur population of Saros, a community of 20,000 individuals.

The minotaurs, or dehnastsosi, as they call themselves, are of uncertain provenance. Their creation myth tells of the deity Ne’ol, who, upon seeing the imperfect beings of other deities, scoffed, and molded an ideal race from the flawed creations of his peers, demonstrating his ability to improve upon the work of others.

The minotaurs of Saros, although a successfully seafaring race, are otherwise confined to their islands and are almost never seen on the mainland. This is due in equal parts to their distance from the mainland and their universal disdain for the humanoid races, along with the unwillingness of men, elves, dwarves and halflings to deal with such a difficult race. Because of their rarity on the mainland, the very existence of minotaurs is often relegated to legend, and among the residents of Saros, minotaurs are not uncommonly the villains of bedtime stories and fairytales, bogeymen that frighten children into behaving.

Minotaurs are large and well-built, standing close to 7 feet tall. Their heads, shoulders and upper chests are furry, with bovine snouts (although with forward-facing eyes), long muzzles and pronounced prognathism. Below the neck, minotaurs are similar to muscular humans. Both males and females sprout short horns as adults, and both primary and secondary sexual characteristics are similar to that found in humans, requiring adequate clothing for both sexes.

The Seiskeyah is a tropical region, in which food is plentiful. Minotaurs subsist on a mixture of hunting, fishing, gathering and rudimentary horticulture, the majority of the subsistence work being performed by the females or by slaves.

Society
Minotaur society is a loose theocracy, founded upon the teachings of Ne’ol. Within this system, minotaurs are the select and sole perfect race on Saros, an elite group whose domain should, ideally, include the entirety of the world and its lesser residents. Anything and everything done to accomplish this goal is fair game; legend says that after creating the minotaurs, Ne’ol left them to their own devices, trusting that they’d be smart enough, strong enough and ambitious enough to work his will without—as opposed to the case of most deities—constant interference. Why tinker, after all, with a race that is already flawless?

In that sense, religion plays both a major and minor role in minotaur society; while all minotaurs strive to take advantage of the perfection granted to them by Ne’ol and their rightful dominion over lesser races, they’re also unbound by conventional religious obligations and devotion. Ne’ol says nothing about interpersonal behavior, morality or ethics, allowing his race to figure it out for themselves, and there are no temples of Ne’or nor books of his teachings.

Minotaur society is organized as a collection of regional tribes who answer to a larger tribal council. Within each tribe is a number of family groups, each being a harem of females bound to a dominant male. Such a male might have as many as 15 wives, and has earned this through a series of ceremonial bouts, bloody and usually fatal battles. In many cases, a male may assume a harem by challenging and besting a superior male, often killing his predecessor’s offspring as part of his new standing. In minotaur culture, only the strongest and most dominant are allowed stature—and with it, breeding rights.

Because of this, the Seiskeyah are overrun with males devoid of tribe or family group. Some of these submissive males form itinerant tribes of their own, groups of submissive males who bide their time until they are able to strike at a vulnerable dominant male and take over his harem. Most, however, take to the sea.

Minotaurs at Sea
Minotaurs have a vibrant maritime culture and are skilled shipbuilders, sailors and navigators. This arose as a necessity for contact between the three islands of the Seiskeyah and has resulted in a thriving pirate culture in which minotaur crews prey on ships sailing from one Southern city to another.

The rise of the Southern Empire and the resultant explosion in trade only honed the skills of minotaur pirates, who have since refined their knowledge of shipping routes as well as their talent in naval warfare. Minotaur ships, well-built and staffed by a small crew, are fast and very nimble, able to outmaneuver and outrun Southern merchant galleys and warships.

A typical minotaur pirate vessel is equipped with trebuchets or catapults armed with pairs of massive iron weights strung together with steel wire, designed to destroy the masts of their prey and prevent them from moving. Once a merchant ship is dead in the water, the minotaur crew will board, raiding the merchant ship’s wares and often executing the highest-ranking of the crew. Common sailors are often captured, later sold as chattel, who become fieldworkers, personal servants or, in the worst case, food. Then, payloads of flaming tar or oil are thrown, sinking the merchant ship.

The city-states of the South responded to minotaur piracy by increasing the capabilities and number of warships, which prowled the coastal waters and often chaperoned merchant vessels from port to port. Despite this, dozens of ships were attacked every year, most of which were vessels who did not adhere to Merchants Guild guidelines or operated outside of governmental oversight. Vessels of the Southern armada, and those they escorted, were usually avoided by minotaur ships, being large, well-armed and well-crewed. Instead, pirates took their pick of the many smaller, unescorted ships—one or two masts being easier to topple than three or four. This translated to an increased danger for non-Guild commerce by sea (and yet another incentive for Guild membership).

The minotaur threat came to a head 30 years ago, when a well-armed pan-Southern armada cornered a fleet of the best-known, most-feared and largest minotaur ships around the Seiskeyah. This armada, numbering several dozen Southern ships, faced off against hundreds of smaller minotaur vessels, with the intent of wiping them out and then invading the Seiskeyah, forever ridding the South of the minotaur threat. The attack was aborted, however, when a particularly horrible storm blew in, sinking most of the armada and most of the minotaur ships. Piracy has been nearly nonexistent since, and the South has not seen any reason to take action against the minotaurs.

Goals
Minotaurs desire the subjugation of every non-minotaur on Saros and are aghast at how little credence is paid to their race among the inhabitants of the mainland. Because their maritime dealings are mainly with humans, it’s with that race that they have the biggest quarrel, but they are aware of and hate equally the dwarves and elves, the halflings and orcs and amazons. They’re shocked that even the centaurs, a lesser, less intelligent and weaker race but one that is most similar to themselves, fail to notice them and recognize their place.

Despite the inability of the mainland races to acknowledge their superiority, the minotaurs are indeed feared, albeit trapped on the Seiskeyah, vastly outnumbered and far-flung. Ironically, their least respected members, the submissive males, are the ones who have forged a reputation for the race.

Sub Rosa Recap: Aboard the Amity, Part Two.

ABOARD. Inside or upon a ship; the act of residing afloat; to hug the land in approaching the shore.—To fall aboard of, is for one vessel to run foul of another.—To haul the tacks aboard, is to bring their weather clues down to the chess-tree, or literally, to set the courses.—To lay an enemy aboard, to run into or alongside.

CAT'S-PAW. A light air perceived at a distance in a calm, by the impressions made on the surface of the sea, which it sweeps very gently, and then passes away, being equally partial and transitory. Old superstitious seamen are seen to scratch the backstays with their nails, and whistle to invoke even these cat's-paws, the general forerunner of the steadier breeze. Cat's-paw is also a name given to a particular twisting hitch, made in the bight of a rope, so as to induce two small bights, in order to hook a tackle on them both. Also, good-looking seamen employed to entice volunteers.

Their second day at sea dawned clear, and despite the lingering effects of the jiu, the crew and the group were in decent spirits. Rapchil, who’d spent most of the voyage so far above the deck in the riggings, was becoming proficient with his fishing, pulling in a few fish to give to the pleased Harry to prepare.

Constant noticed Cragge poring over the map of Trowe he’d bought at the Nordock market.

“You’re getting off in Trowe?” he asked. “Why? What are you going to do when you get there?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Cragge snapped.

“Don’t you have a sermon to give somewhere else?” said Rydley.

“Like the acrobat said, it’s all about money,” said Cragge.

“Money?” said Constant. “My purse is getting a little light.” He looked at them pointedly.

Ennecus pulled Cragge and Rapchil aside. “This preacher seems interested in money,” he said. “I think it might not be a bad idea to make him an offer. He’s a healer, and obviously we’re getting ourselves into trouble.”

Rapchil, especially, had problems with this, and Cragge pointed out that their employers, the companions, seemed to not get along with the Eldroite.

“Well, even if they dislike the man,” he said, “We could use someone who could heal us. Even they would see the wisdom in that.” The others nodded. The fight in Courte had, after all, been brutal, and they could only expect more bloodshed. They decided to broach this idea to their employers.

The group found the companions, who were busily fending off the advances of Danne, one of Reed’s crew who was particularly taken with them. “Can we speak to you?” asked Ennecus. Bisha nodded, glad to have an excuse.

“You’ll excuse us,” she told Danne.

“No problem at all,” Danne said, winking. “I’ll catch up with you ladies soon.”

Danne walked off and Scarlet looked to the group. “What is it?” she asked.

“The dwarf and I were talking, and we were thinking that we should bring the cleric along with us,” said Cragge. “We know you’ve got your problems with him, but he’s already done a lot for us, and you saw what kind of danger we got into back there. He could be a lot of use to us. Do you want to find this Edulf or not?”

Bisha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not joking,” said Cragge.

“Do you know what he stand for?” asked Bisha.

“I don’t.” said Cragge. “But is that more important than finding this guy?”

The companions went silent.

“You saw how easily those thieves tore us up back in the city. We’ll need him to help patch us up,” Ennecus insisted.

“You realize that, in the East, the priests of Eldro would have us sold, or burned at the stake. We’d be indentured or dead if he had his way.” Bisha said.

“I don’t want to be indentured to anyone,” whined Scarlet.

“Do you want to lose all of us?” asked Ennecus. “You might have noticed that we’re lacking anybody that can help us keep on fighting.”

The companions looked at each other, and excused themselves to talk. Although the group couldn't hear what they were saying, the conversation seemed animated, and when they returned, both companions were red in the face.

Bisha tossed her hair, and said, “If he comes along, you realize we will not give a single gold piece to the Eldroite. We simply will not.”

Rydley looked up, suddenly paying attention. “Do you want me to kill him?”

Bisha couldn’t tell if he was serious behind those half-lidded eyes. “No,” she said. “Not yet.”

“It seems to me that all this cleric wants to do is wander and preach his word,” said Ennecus. “If we provide him a vehicle to do that, he might come along, and he might help us.”

“He’s getting away from something,” said Cragge, shaking his head, “But he’ll come along. He’ll jump at the chance.”

“Either way,” said Rapchil. “Either way, he’ll come along.”

“If you want him to come along, he’s your responsibility,” said Bisha. “He’s your charge. If he’s to be paid, he’s paid out of your pockets, not ours.”

The group agreed to this, and decided that it should be Rapchil that approached Constant. He wound his way down to the hold, Cragge in tow, and found Constant in his bunk, reading. Constant sat up immediately.

“Hello, Rapchil, Cragge,” he said. "What a pleasant surprise."

“Rapchil has a proposition for you,” said Cragge, nudging the half-elf forward.

“So,” said Rapchil, “We’re going to be heading out of the city once we hit the port, and we were wondering if you’d like to come along. We could use the company, and we think you could use the company, as well.”

“I’m positively honored to be asked,” said Constant, “And, to be honest, I’d be quite relieved to get off this boat. I’d very much—”

“Of course,” said Rapchil, interrupting, “we’d want a little money for our protective services.”

Not missing a beat, Constant said, “Failing that, you could take it out in services that I provide to the group. And,” he said, looking at Rapchil, “to you, personally.”

Rapchil drew back, and Constant continued. “May I interpret this as an interest in the way of Eldro?”

“We’re really looking for just your help,” said Cragge. “In all fairness, I should tell you that there might be some danger, the way we’re going. We could use your expertise if one of us is injured.”

Constant thought about this for a moment. “I’d certainly be interested in lending a hand where I could,” he said, looking pointedly at Rapchil. “But I’d also be interested in speaking with each of you more about the way of Eldro, because you seem like people who would benefit from it.”

“One thing, first,” said Cragge. “How do you feel about the women with us, the companions?”

Constant took a breath. “Well,” he said, “while I can’t condone the profession that they’ve chosen or the life that they live, I believe that the way of Eldro is the path to true salvation, and that path is open to all. I look forward to speaking with these companions, and perhaps, if they are willing, sharing my love of Eldro with them so that they, too, can find the way of Eldro.”

“The more pointed question, preacher,” said Ennecus, “Are you going to cause problems with these two women? Because that’s something we can’t have.”

“We won’t allow you to hurt them,” added Cragge.

Constant was taken aback. “Why, I’d never hurt anyone. I would never hurt any of you. I am not here to hurt—I’m here to help. And I vow, I will endeavor to be respectful of the choices those two have made.

“But, I can’t emphasize enough that the path of Eldro, the path of purity and righteousness, is the true path. And, while I can’t say that these companions will ever find that path, I can say that I mean them no harm. There’s a saying among those who follow Eldro. It says that if you grasp the hand of salvation with absolute confidence, you’ll be embraced by truth, and by goodness. If you grasp my hand, I’ll grasp yours.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Cragge, growing weary of the Eldroite’s sermon. “You’ll disembark with us at Trowe.”

Constant nodded, smiling as the group left him.

Their second day was as calm as the first, favorable winds and calm seas treating Amity well. The late-summer sun was pleasant, and Rapchil, having escaped to his place in the rigging, caught more fish to give to Harry. The crew was pleased by the ease of the voyage, they sailed on through the second night.

***

Constant tossed and turned, sweating through his hammock. Eldro was peeling away the layers of darkness, revealing, as he sometimes did, events yet to come. The vision was cloudy, but Constant could see wind, and waves, and thunder—and, though the murk, the dull shine of exposed teeth.

He awoke with a start. It was morning, and the ship still cut through calm seas. He splashed water on his face and climbed the stairs to the deck, where he saw Reed and Bull at the wheel, consulting a map. From above, Rapchil, the half-elf, cast another line into the ocean, already fishing for his breakfast.

Constant dallied for a moment, talking to Rydley, who seemed remarkably relaxed.

“What’s your name again?” asked the assassin.

“Constant Miscagive,” said Constant. “And you are Rydley, yes?”

“Miscavige? Sounds like ‘mischievous’,” slurred Rydley. “I don’t like mischief. Mucks up plans.”

“It can, yes,” agreed Constant. “Where’s the captain?” Rydley, slumped against the gunwales, waved his hand laconically toward the bridge. Constant nodded and headed that way, seeing Reed and Bull near the wheel.

“Captain,” said Constant. “I don’t want to pry, but what does the weather look like today?”

Reed regarded him for a moment, wanting terribly to yell but deciding to tell him the truth. “Bull here,” said the captain, “says he doesn’t like the look of the skies.” In the west, a tinge of black smudged the horizon. “Why?”

“I just have an inkling that there might be some bad weather on the way,” said Constant. “Do you think maybe we should—do you think there’s something blowing in? Is there a different route to take?”

“This is the only route,” said Reed. “We’re on the Sucurrent. We’ve got a tailwind. Much as you and Bull don’t like things, we’ve got no choice but forward.”

Constant nodded and retreated back to the deck, where crew muttered and the group watched. By now, the clouds on the horizon had drawn everyone’s attention, and Constant began to preach, invoking his vision and the gift of sight that Eldro had provided.

“We’re in for bad weather, you say?” said Rydley, still reclined. “My god,” he said, pointing to his eyes, “told me that, too.”

The clouds were moving in quickly, and as they did so, an argument erupted, with Cragge defending Constant and Rydley mocking the Eldroite. Constant, shouting above the noise, said, “I came to the captain early! Eldro showed me this!”

The storm hit.

The storm was strong, and it was violent. Even with everything belowdecks secured, the group were tossed about like rag dolls. Many of the crew, too, were below, praying and mumbling litanies to themselves. Some of them began to gather around Constant, who prayed to Eldro to keep them safe. Looking up the stairs to the deck, they saw Roz, who had lashed herself to the mast, staring intently ahead and seemingly unbothered by the rain and the winds.

Suddenly, the heaving ceased. All noise surrounding the ship stopped, and all that could be heard were the drips of rainwater falling from the sails and the creaking of the Amity. Many of the crew embraced each other, or cheered. Some looked to Constant with newfound respect.

The group emerged from the stinking hold to find Bull and Reed involved in a vigorous discussion. To the cheering crew, Reed snapped, “Shut your mouths. How long you been sailing? Not long enough to know that this is even worse. We’re dead in the water!”

And indeed, as the storm moved eastward, there was no wind in its wake. The ship floated, completely still, in the water, the sea in every direction like glass.

Bull grunted again and nudged Reed, pointing to the south. There, a tiny speck moved toward them. Reed paled.

“What it is?” asked Ennecus, craning his neck.

Reed swallowed. “Sea cows.”

Burning of Markindale Part 2, Act III

Richard, Pearson and Sionel left the clerics to their squabble. As they were leaving from the east, Richard turned to look back over his shoulder across the market and into the town hall square. The peasants had resumed beating the door with a battering ram. Excellent, thought Richard.

The general store was just a block away from the market. A couple of young men darted out carry a large crate. When the three adventurers entered they found it already looted.

"Hmm, well, all we really need to do is get the fire started," said Richard.

Sionel looked around at the inside of the store. There were many wooden crates with packing straw. "Maybe we should start by burning this place down," she said.

The door banged open and a peasant woman ran into the store. She dropped to her knees and started pulling on Richard's cloak. "Please, sir, please! Strange men are raping my sister! Please help! Help!"

Richard looked at her in with disdain, "I don't have time for this."

Sionel's nostrils flared. "The Amazon will not abide the violation of any woman." She drew her dagger. "I must go take care of this."

"My house is down here," the woman said through her tears, and she led the way out the door and into the street. Richard and Pearson followed.

"In there!" The woman pointed to a modest one story dwelling. The door was ajar. There were shrieks coming from within.

Sionel entered silently and cat-like. On the floor a man was holding a knife to a woman's throat while another man was forcing himself on her. She was screaming. The man suddenly recognized that they were not alone and jumped up, alerting his friend to Sionels presence. They both turned on her with dagger drawn. They were scrawny and unkempt and had the look of Xain addicts.

Sionel tossed her own dagger aside and drew her two handed sword. The sword blade descended in a heavy downward stroke through one rapist from shoulder through sternum. He wobbled and blood gurgled up and out of his mouth. He sank to the floor. He companion screamed in horror as Sionel grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the floor with one hand while holding the point of the sword to his neck.

"What in Saros Bowels is going on, here?" she asked the man.

"I-I don't know," the man cried. "I just lost control of myself."

"I need information," Sionel demanded. "What has happened in this town."

"We were looking for some easy scores," said the man. He was sweating profusely and he reeked.

"Do you know a woman named Farroe?" asked Sionel.

"We're just from a village in Courte. We were wandering north looking for easy money, you know," he tried to shrug. "This was just the next town--"

Sionel skewered him and tossed him on the floor. She extended her hand to the woman on the floor who stood sobbing and holding herself.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Sionel said. The sister came running into the house. She was pawing at Sionel's clothes and thanking her over and over. Sionel began to feel uncomfortable.

"Can you pay us for our trouble?" Sionel asked.

"Yes. Yes!" the woman said. She ran to a room in the back and returned with 7 silver pieces and 16 copper pieces. "This is all we have."

Sionel took it.

**************************************************************************************************************

Richard and Pearson were waiting outside. Richard was growing impatient and wondering why he had taken up with these people. They saw Sionel emerge from the house. She looked unusually pensive.

"Are we done ridding the world of loathsome men?" asked Richard in a patronizing manner.

Sionel ignored him and started walking back to the general store.

As they neared the general store they saw the Clerics of Andro coming from the market. They were down to five clerics. The paladin was of course still among them. Richard motioned for Sionel and Pearson to head back to the market. "Search the bodies," he whispered.

One of the clerics of Andro caught site of them and approached, "What do you know about our shawl?" he demanded. Richard noted that like the witch, he wasn't quite looking at him but over his shoulder.

"I thought the Hro Clerics took it," said Sionel and she sauntered towards the market.

The Androites eyed her up and down and then kept walking towards their temple, muttering to themselves.

After finding nothing on the bodies in the market the threesome returned to the general store and set to work, making it as flammable as possible.

***************************************************************************************************************

"...the town is being swallowed by blackness and it blinds them like the sun," finished the mad-woman. She had been trying to describe to the lesser beings the remarkable events currently going on in Markindale.

"Yeah, sounds bad," said Farroe, turning to Zagros and spinning her finger around her temple. "But I already know it's a dangerous place. I watched my friends get murdered there."

"That was death by flesh and desire. How banal. Now there is death by cosmic fear and the people howl," the mad-woman explained. "But I care not for these soul filled beings. I like this tree better. It dies and returns, dies and returns." She began to spin around the tree.

"Watching a bunch of Markindaler's get murdered sounds great to me!" said Zagros. Like the guy who took my saddlebag and the kids who tried to get me to give them pony rides....

"You need a plan!" said Farroe. She had been harping on the need for a plan for the past hour. "You don't seem to like Markindale much. Why? Or does Markindale have something against you?"

"Well, there is that thing where the Mayor sent us to kill some people for money," Zagros said slowly.

"And!?" asked Farroe. "What about it?"

"Well, we didn't kill them so well," Zagros said. He shrugged.

"Who was it?" said Farroe.

"Remember those guys that just cut you down from the tree?" said Zagros.

"Oh," Farroe recovered quickly from this. "Well, even better reason to have a good plan."

"I can gallop really fast," offered Zagros.

"That's great," said Farroe, sarcastically. "I'll go with you. You obviously need a fighter. You are both pathetic. Hammers for brains over here," she pointed at the mad-woman. "And the door to door salesman."

"I know this gravesite nearby we can loot. You see, there was this dryad..." Zagros continued the story as they headed towards the town.

***************************************************************************************************************
Back at the mayor's residence, Khiyra was getting bored. The townspeople were bashing away at the door with slow progress. They had not heard anymore from the mayor. The window in the tower from where the bolt of fire descended was dark, the curtain blowing in the breeze.

Khiyra decided to take a look around. He walked to the back of the building to survey the structure more carefully. The ground floor was windowless stone and about 8 feet tall. The second floor had windows, but these were all barred. At the very top and center was a tower with either two small rooms or one large room. Khiyra could not be sure. At the very top was a belfry like structure with no bell. It was open air beneath a peaked roof.

Khiyra rummaged through his pack and pulled out a length of rope with a grappling hook on one end. He knew he could not hook the belfry, but he could definitely get to one of the barred windows, and from there make his way to the belfry and why the hell not not? This was high adventure, right? Waiting for things to happen wasn't much different than sitting in prison rotting, and he had experienced too much of that already.

He tossed the grappling hook. It landed with a click of steel on iron. Solid.

He easily climbed to the barred window. Holding himself steady with elbow hooked into a wrought iron bar and one foot on the window ledge, he tied the rope to his wasit so as not to lose it and tossed the grappling hook again. He missed the belfry ledge and the grappling hook went swinging to the ground, making a disturbing clanking noise as it hit the side of the building.

Khiyra hauled up the length of rope and tossed again. This time the grappling hook landed true. Satisfied with his skill, he slithered confidently up the rope. He was nearing the belfry. He looked down, redistributed his weight and hand over hand took the next couple feet to the top. As he looked up, feeling particularly pleased with himself, he was dismayed to find the faces of two men looking down at him.

But Khiyra was quick and he hadn't got this far just to give in. Setting his face in his most earnest expression possible he said, "I hear the mayor needs my help. Take me to him immediately. I have important information."

The two men looked at each other. They were both in their late 20s. One had a steel helm and one a leather one. The one with the steel helm pointed at Khiyra and said, not too kindly, "Climb over."

"Of course, of course," said Khiyra very politely.

"Drop your weapons," the steel headed one continued.

"Of course, absolutely," Khiyra said. "I would have come through the front, but as you have probably noticed, that is not the easiest route to take at the moment."

"Stay there," said the man in leather and the two guards went walked a little off to the side and started whispering to each other fervently.

Khiyra picked up that the steel helmed guard was all business and did not like the looks of Khiyra. The leather helmed guard was very nervous about the crowd.

"I don't know," muttered steelhead.

"That's my uncle down there," said leatherhead urgently, pointing at the front of the building where the mob was busy at work.

Khiyra interrupted. "Look, I have news that the Mayor must hear immediately! They are going to breach the gate any minute. There isn't time!"

"We better take him down," said steelhead.

"Ok, Jackson," siad leatherhead. "But I don't know. I think we should just get out of here."

Jackson opened a trap door in the floor that revealed some stairs leading down into the manor. He pointed from Khiyra to the stairs. "After you mister," and he drew his weapon to demonstrate how serious he was about his job.

Khiyra sighed. "Well, if I must enter like a common criminal, I must." He descended the stairs with his hands above his head.

Sub Rosa Recap: Aboard the Amity, Part One.

The Amity crept out of Courte Harbor at dawn. The group were gathered abovedeck, watching the city disappear. After their long night, the thief attack, the drunken dwarves, the insane Bound woman, and the two bits of disturbing news they'd heard at the docks, none were particularly sad to be leaving. “She’s a pretty city, Courte, ain’t she?” commented Captain Reed. “Not my hometown and she’ll never be, but a good place for a furlough.” Reed motioned to his first mate, a massive, bald, shirtless half-orc at Amity’s wheel. “You meet Bull? Bull, meet stowaways. Stowaways, Bull.” Bull looked at the group and grunted. Reed grinned. “My favorite thing about Bull is that he’s a good listener. You know?” Bull grunted again.

Reed waved his hand at the rest of the crew. “And that’s the rest of the crew. Not good for much, most of ‘em, but they keep Amity more or less afloat and me in girls like your Aileen back there. Most of ‘em running from something—and you met the cleric already, so you see what I mean—but who isn’t these days?”

Reed recommended they stake their quarters in the hold, a corner of which his crew had cleared and hung hammocks in. Making their way carefully due to the unfamiliar motion of the ship in the water, they tromped to the hold. On the way, they brushed by a striking woman, clad in leather boots and a torn, sleeveless silk shirt. On her hip was belted a cutlass. “Out of my way, lubbers,” she said. “You think just because you have gold you can come aboard and stink up our works?” She shoved by them rudely, stalking to confer with Reed and Bull.

In the hold, as they stowed their belongings, the cleric Reed had referred to, the odd, earnest man who had repaired Ennecus and Rydley, approached them. “I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but I was wondering. Do you know Eldro?” he asked. The group demurred, and the man introduced himself. “I am Constant Miscavige,” he said, looking the group up and down.

“Hi,” said Ennecus.

“Hello,” Constant said, shortly, barely looking at the dwarf, and turned his attention to Rapchil. “What’s your name?” he said, softly. Rapchil immediately felt uncomfortable and scurried out of the hold to climb the rigging.

Constant watched him go. “A pity,” he said. “So where is it you’re heading? Would you like to learn about the Way of Eldro? I have much to tell you, if you’d like to listen, and to pray with me.” The group was silent, and Constant changed tacks. “What is your story?” he asked Cragge.

“I don’t have a story,” said Cragge, already feeling a little sick from the motion of the ship.

“What’s your name?” Constant asked.

“Cragge,” replied the ranger.

“Cragge! What an interesting name!” Constant exclaimed. “Where are you from? What brings you here?”

“I’m from around,” said Cragge.

“I’m Ennecus,” volunteered the dwarf. “I’m just a wanderer.” He hoped he sounded mysterious, too.

Constant ignored him. “And who is this?” he asked, looking to Rydley, who looked terrible, pale and increasingly seasick, scowling in the shadows of the hold. “He’s not very sociable,” volunteered Cragge.

Bisha and Scarlet were comfortable at sea, but the stink and clutter of the hold were new to them. They also did not like this Constant, this priest of Eldro, whose eyes skittered across them. As ladies of Karre, they had no love for Eldro or his people.

“How did you find yourselves all together?” asked Constant.

Rapchil poked his head into the hold, grabbing his staff and a length of twine with which to fashion a fishing pole. “Money,” he said.

“Why, what a delightful little comment!” Constant exclaimed, beaming. Rapchil shuddered and left for abovedeck again.

Constant sighed. “I’ve always dreamed of being in a group like yours, all those brotherly bonds, a shared goal, working together. What is your objective?”

“I don’t think we’re at liberty to say,” said Ennecus. “What brings you aboard this boat?”

“I am spreading the great, good and righteous word of Eldro through the world,” Constant replied. “Making for the Way of Eldro among the peoples of Saros.”

“You’re a long way from home,” said Bisha coldly, addressing the cleric for the first time.

“That is true,” said Constant. “But as you know, the worshipers of Eldro are scattered throughout the world. And those that wish to know him are, too.”

“Maybe you should go back,” snapped Bisha. She turned on her heel and stomped up to the deck. Scarlet followed her.

“Well, that was rude,” said Cragge. “Do you want some wine?”

The cleric nodded, and Cragge poured two cups from the barrel of wine she’d bought at the Nordock markets. They drank a while, Cragge trying to battle his queasiness with alcohol, Ennecus stumbling clumsily around the hold and Rydley watching them with half-lidded eyes.

“Are you people of faith?” Constant asked them.

“Nah,” said Cragge. “That never helps.”

“I’ve travelled long and far and have seen many peoples,” said Ennecus. “I find it hard to believe there is only one true faith.”

“Well, you would,” said Constant. He turned back to Cragge. “The Way of Eldro might surprise you,” he said. “If you have emptiness in your life, a place that, shall we say, needs to be filled, I’d be happy to speak with you.” He looked to the pale young assassin, whose wounds he’d healed earlier and who watched them silently.

“And how are you faring?” he inquired gently. Rydley shrugged. “Do you follow a religion?” Rydley shook his head.

“Well, one of my roles on this ship, and one of my greatest joys,” said Constant, “is that I hold regular services in the name of Eldro. I’d be happy to minister to any of you.” He raised his voice, calling to abovedecks, where he could see Rapchil casting a line from the rigging. “And that goes for you, too,” he shouted. “No matter what you’ve heard, I am interested in ministering to all races!”

Rapchil looked down. “Not interested in ministering!” he called back. Constant smiled.

The group spent the day battling their seasickness; although the waters were calm, none but the companions had spent much time asea. As they watched, land receded and the Amity caught the Sucurrent, the westerly shipping lane that ran along the Southern coast and expedited trade between the cities of the South. It was, except for some nausea, a pleasant late-summer day, with the sun beaming, favorable winds and smooth waters.

In the early evening, when the sun was dipping below the horizon, Reed called to them. “Everyone abovedeck!” The group gathered on the deck, where the entire crew was massed, opening bottles of jiu, the fiery rice-whiskey of the South, and pouring themselves cups, toasting.

Reed was himself drinking, and raised his cup as the group arrives. “Best thing about the Amity is, first night at sea, we’ve got Harry there to put together a good meal. Can’t fix rigging to save his life, but Harry can cook up a storm. Got some mudbugs from Courte and spices from the East, thanks to the cleric there, and I intend to start this trip right. So dig in!” The crew cheered.

Harry, a grinning, slight man, dumped out the contents of several pots onto makeshift tables, a steaming concoction of mudbug, fish, rice, herbs and vegetables that smelled delicious and made the stomachs of even the seasick group rumble. The crew of the Amity descended upon the food immediately, everyone digging in and making appreciative noises. Harry slapped backs and performed a bit of impromptu food-themed comedy, pulling eggs from the ears of the delighted Companions, who were in much better spirits now that they were away from the creepy Eldroite.

The crew ate and drank and sang, everyone passing around bottles of the jiu, which even Cragge wrinkled her nose at. Ennecus, who’d had a bad day due to Constant’s snubbing and the unfamiliar rocking of the ship, took a proffered glass, downing it. It tasted like lantern oil and burned his throat, but it improved his mood considerably. The companions began drinking, chatting amiably with Reed’s, crew, enjoying the chance to flirt and the pleasant evening.

As the evening wore on, Reed became more loquacious, the jiu loosening his tongue. Reclining comfortably on a barrel, he began to tell them about Trowe, where he’d grown up, where he’d attended the Four Walls, the famed military school, and in whose militia he’d served.

“Didn’t mind the military life so much. It suited me well, in some regards, as long as I was the one giving the orders. But you’ve got cases like Bound there, born officers don’t do their due, folks who’ll send men to die without knowing what it’s like to draw blood. Listen: I was at the Walls with your Petrus, your to-be Inquisitor, he has his way. Wants to kill all the orcs, the centaurs, the Easterners.” Constant looked up from the prayer service he’d been trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold. “Wants to because he can, because ain’t his blood being spilled. Easy to send a man to die if it ain’t your man.” Reed spat. “Garbage.”

“Captain Reed?” said Constant. “May I just say a few words? It seems wrong to eat without saying a few words in honor of Eldro.”

“Do what you want,” said Reed, motioning dismissively. Over the din, Constant intoned a prayer. A few sailors watched as he spoke. “Eldro is the source of all justice,” Constant began, “Wishing to have us join him in his pure land, showering his light upon us in order to make us grow in wisdom, and to become conscious of sinfulness and falsehoods, whereby we might come to imitate the desire of being born into a land of truth and righteousness.”

One of Reed’s men listened intently, and as Constant finished his prayer, said. “My grandfather followed Eldro.”

“Oh? Do tell? Are you a worshiper? Have you been to worship recently?”

The sailor thought for a moment, quite drunk. “He was run over by a calvalryman.”

Cragge, deep into his barrel of wine by now, burped and wiped his mouth. “And that’s what happens when you believe in the gods.”

The sailor continued, softly, “It took about eight months for him to die. That horse did a number on him.” Constant began to approach, but was interrupted by Reed.

“That reminds me! Did I ever tell you about Gayle? This girl Gayle I know? She was run over, too! You think she would charge less, with just the one leg, but she managed to have a line of men out the door, and at such prices you’ve never seen.” Reed then launched into a long and disgusting story about the One-Legged Whore of Haddon, which managed to divert most of his crew’s attention from the Eldroite.

Beneath the roars of laughter, Constant attempted to speak, first with Cragge, then with the assassin, who had emerged from the hold sweaty and weakly smiling. He brushed aside Ennecus, who was trying to tell him something, and was in turn brushed off by Rapchil, who scrambled back up into the rigging to drink and escape Constant. This would be a lot of work, bringing these motley people around to the Way of Eldro. But such are the mysteries, and the challenges, of Eldro, and he must never blink in receiving them.

Serenity Part 2, Act I

The Companion and her friends left the Temple of Karre. It was indeed a beautiful night, marred only by Arantxe's irritability and three scruffy men leering at them as they walked down the street. Millicent felt greed and malice coming from the men. She shifted her hand under her cloak and rested it on the hilt of her dagger. Arantxe said under her breath, "Let's hurry back to the inn."

Once they were out of earshot of the men, Artanis said, "We should not return to the Temple, later. I do not have a good feeling about that course of action." Arantxe reluctantly agreed.

They reached the main road and had the inn in sight. A well-dressed man carrying a sack collided suddenly with Millicent. They could hear glass shattering as the sack made contact with the cobblestones. The man looked mortified. He quickly bent down to pick up the sack and revealed nothing but a collection of shards. He face turned red and he glared at Millicent.

"I thought elves had more grace! That was an antique worth over 100 gold pieces. You idiot!" he said.

"You walked into me," Millicent very calmly replied.

"Did you even look where you were going?" he demanded.

Arantxe whispered into Millicent's ear. "This is a scam. I've heard of this happening to tourists in Courte who go through the Warrens." At that moment, two garrison troops in full Courte regalia came around the corner and started wading through the crowd towards them. People stood aside for them, some with a nod and smile of recognition, others with contempt and scowl. Encouraged by this sight, Arantxe drew herself up to her full graceful height and turned to their accuser.

"Exactly whom do you think you are talking to?" she demanded.

"I'm Pennington. A respectable businessman in this town," he said. "I'm very well known."

'Well, I have never heard of you!" said Arantxe, haughtily. The soldiers came up behind Pennington. By this time, there was a large crowd encircling the party.

"What's the problem, here," one of the soldiers inquired.

"This stupid wench broke my vase," said Pennington, pointing at Millicent. "I was walking along the street - Tabart? Isn't it?" said the little man to the soldier. The soldier nodded. "Please continue, Mr. Pennington," said Tabart.

"Well, I was walking along the street and these drunken fools ran into me," Pennington said.

Tabart turned to Millicent. "Is this true?" he asked.

"No!" said Millicent, indignantly. "He ran into us. This is absurd!"

"Mr. Pennington, here, is a respectable antique dealer," explained Tabart pointedly.

Arantxe bristled. "Who are you? What are your names and ranks?" she demanded.

Tabart chuckled. "I am Legionnaire Tabart, and this is legionnaire Eas," he said very condescendingly.

"Who is your superior?" Arantxe asked, not put off at all by their behavior.

"That would be Commander Stan Gofton," Tabart replied.

"I know Gofton well," Arantxe lied. "We go way back."

Tabart rolled his eyes. "Look ladies," he snarled. "I don't have time to play these games. Pay Mr. Pennington for the damage to his goods, or it's the stocks for all of you..." Tabart got a dreamy look on his face and slumped to the ground, Eas going down with him. They began to snore loudly. Millicent brushed a strand of hair behind her head and looked around at the crowd that had gathered around them. "Wow, I guess we shouldn't be drinking the water around here, huh?" she laughed, nervously.

Pennington began to point at Millicent with a look of accusation, but Artanis moved between them. Gazing into the man's eyes she said quietly, "Pacify."

Pennington blinked, looked around and said, "What was I doing?"

Artanis said, "Oh, you dropped your packaged on the street."

He turned around and walked off with the package muttering to himself. The crowd started to disperse, occsasionally glancing at the sleeping soldiers and shaking their heads. Fortunately for Millicent, the people of Serenity know magic when they see it and generally give users a wide berth. There were a couple of men leaning against the lamp post watching the females, closely. Girt looked right at them and simultaneously caressed the handle of her axe.

"Let's cut down this alley by the Greystone and go in the back way," said Artanis. They followed her. As they neared the stable in the back they heard a shout, "Helloooo, ladies!"

They stopped and turned back toward the voice. The handsome centaur from earlier in the evening was leaning his human torso against the stable door. The lamplight made his hair glitter and his teeth sparkle. He took a swing from a large stein and nodded at them, "Pleasure seeing you again. Have you seen that elf friend of yours? The grumpy guy..."

"No, we are not aware of where he's at right now," said Artanis hastily. "But we'll tell him you are looking for him." Arantxe was not looking well and she thought perhaps she should get her upstairs and give her tea. Little did Artanis know that what Arantxe really wanted was a cognac and a bubble bath.

"Do that!" he said cheerily. "And come on back if you want to have a drink!" He winked at her. Artanis took that as a signal for immediate departure.

When they entered the inn, Millicent went directly to their room. Arantxe sat down at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. Artanis sat down beside her. Gorthag was sitting at the bar as well and greeted them heartily.

"Gorthag so happy to see you!" He belched loudly. Korrigidor then stumbled out of the crowd to stand next to Gorthag. "We learn so much, me and Korrigidor!" Gorthag said throwing his arm around his human friend.

"Can I buy you another, Gorthag?" asked Arantxe. "I'm sure the barkeep could mix some spirits and buttermilk--"

"NOOO!" said Gorthag, if possible turning greener than he actually was. "That make Gorthag sick."

"Tell us what you learned," said Artanis.

"Gorthag learn that war brewing in desert tribes in west. They come to attack Courte," he said. "Famine in Courte. Harvest is very bad. They are going to ration food."

"What else?" asked Arantxe, intensely.

"We heard the attack on Courte is somewhat imminent," Korrigidor said. "Now or in a couple of weeks. Easterners are plotting a coup on Courte."

"Well, that's not a surprise," Arantxe sighed.

"Gorthag think Courte no place to be right now." Gorthag shook his head, made himself dizzy, lost his balance and did a face plant on the bar.

Nim sauntered up. "There's nothing we can do about that right now. Best thing is to stock up and get out of here," he said. Then hesitating, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Look, I do know the centaur and I need to go talk to him. I will discuss this with you later." And he walked off to the back of the inn.

Sub Rosa Recap: One evening in Courte, part 1.

Courte was quiet the day after Chariot Day, even in the Warrens—even at the Slattern’s Quarrel, one of the Warrens’ most horrible taverns, where two young women sat and waited. The Quarrel, with its filthy tables, watered-down drinks and hordes of unconscious patrons, was clearly not the watering hole of choice for Bisha and Scarlet, but they had an appointment to keep, and here they were sure to not be overheard.

“Do you think they’re coming soon?” asked Scarlet, picking nervously at her smeared glass of wine. “This place is disgusting.”

“They’ll be here,” said Bisha. She, a few years Scarlet’s senior—although both had reached dao shi—was confident in her information network and certain that her letters had been delivered, and that their recipients would show.

Right on time, the ranger swaggered in. He’d clearly had a few drinks elsewhere before showing up, swaying just a little as he shouldered his way through the crowd, but he’d do. Gods, he’s seen better days, thought Bisha, but she waved him over nonetheless. Just after came him the sickly young man from the Guild, a little pale but still confident, earning a wide berth from the drunks who rightly recognized him. Bisha fingered him, as well, and the barkeep made a show of wiping their table, albeit with a filthy rag. Several patrons looked on, including an unusually wide-eyed dwarf, sitting alone, and what looked like a circus performer, a mixed-race man whom Bisha had seen around Courte, busking.

Bisha, not wishing to waste any more time in such an awful place, told the ranger, “It was I who left the summons for you, ranger, because when I heard you were in Courte I knew we could come to you for help. I am from Leye, in the Loc Forest, and grew up hearing of the legendary Cragge, the ranger who prowled the South and protected us from harm.”

The ranger squirmed, choking back his drink. Scarlet piped, “I’m a Courte girl, born and bred. But she’s said a lot about you. You look, um, older than she said, though.”

He did look older, and much less heroic than Bisha had hoped, but she continued. “Two weeks ago, one of our friends, Ilia, serviced a client named Edulf Bound. He’s rich—his father is the quaestor of Trowe—but he’s unpleasant. Companions before Ilia warned her that his tastes were unusual, but she was young and trying to reach dao shi, so she took him regardless.”

“We didn’t hear from her for a few days,” said Scarlet, “but that’s not unusual, since the Bound boy is rich and keeps a house here and the rich ones often retain us for a period of days and not hours. But she never turned back up, even after four days, and we—Bisha and I—sent someone to the Bound house to find her.”

Bisha said, “Our messenger said that she wasn’t there, and then Ilia turned up near the Buldocks. Her throat was cut and her purse was still tucked into her dress, and she’d been ravaged.” Ravaged wasn’t the least of it. Ilia had been defiled, her throat slashed, her belly cut up, her groin torn apart. There’d been bruises on her neck, marks all over her, even after some time in the water. This simply wasn’t tolerated among companions.

The ranger and the other, that young and unhealthy assassin, didn’t blink, so Scarlet continued. “Normally, in a case like this, when somebody does a companion violence, our matron will deal with it. She’ll bring in the Assassins Guild. But when we got Ilia’s body and asked our nu she jian how she would go about justice, she ignored it. We brought a formal complaint against the Bound boy but were rebuked, told he’d done no wrong. We tried to convene a council of the dao shi, but the matron squashed it.”

Bisha looked at Rydley, the assassin about whom she’d heard so much recently. “Which is why we’re coming to you. We don’t know why the nu she jian won’t act on this, and we can’t go the Assassins Guild because they’re obligated to get approval from her before taking a contract. We were told you might be open to taking a contract on the side. I know it’s not the way the Assassin’s Guild normally does things, but this just isn’t right. The Bound boy needs to be brought in. If we could just produce him, we know he’d be brought to justice.” She paused, hoping for more of a reaction. Instead, the ranger simply looked into his drink and the assassin stared at her.

“So, my question is, will you help us? We can show you where he is.”

The assassin, Rydley, laughed, a hopeless bleat. “Why would I want to do that? The Guild doesn’t allow it, and they’ll come after me. This is ridiculous.”

Bisha leaned forward. “From what I’ve heard—and believe me, my network of people rivals yours—you’ve got ample reason to help me. It’s only a matter of time for you. Your clock is ticking.” Rydley leaned back, thinking about this.

The ranger, Cragge, who was slurring by this point, waved dismissively. “I don’t need your money. I don’t need any of this.”

“Yeah?” said Bisha. “Where’s your next drink coming from?” The ranger scoffed and turned his attention back to his mug, and Bisha, frustrated, looked to the busker.

“I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?” she asked. “Would you be willing to earn some money?” And then to the dwarf: “I don’t know why you’re alone, but you seem like the type who’s looking for adventure.”

The busker stood and leaned over the table. “I’d definitely be interested in making some money.” In the light, his almond-shaped eyes and pointed ears made clearer that he was of mixed elven stock.

The dwarf jumped at Bisha’s voice, surprised at being addressed. “I’m just traveling,” he said. “I’ve been on the road a long time and came to Courte to see something new. I might be able to help.”

Bisha turned to the ranger. “What about you? If these two, whom we don’t know at all, are willing to help out, why aren’t you?”

Cragge burped, and said, “It would just go wrong. Everything goes wrong. I don’t know what you heard, lady, but that was a long time ago.”

Scarlet pushed her wine away. “But don’t you care about doing right? This boy needs to be brought to justice.”

“It might have been a long time ago,” said Bisha, “But I’m sure you’re still the Cragge I heard about as a girl. I’m sure you still want to help people.”

Cragge weighed this for a moment. “If I do this,” he said, “And I’m not saying I will. But if I do, I want to do things my way.”

“Of course,” said Bisha. “That’s why we came to you. We can’t do this by ourselves.” She looked to the assassin, whose expression was dark. “What about you? Can we count you in?”

“You don’t leave me much choice,” he said.

“Of course there’s a choice,” said Bisha. “It’s just a choice that offers one, much easier path.” The assassin glared. “So it’s decided, then. Another round of drinks, and then we go after the Bound boy.” Bisha waved the barkeep over, and Scarlet clapped. Her enthusiasm was not echoed around the table, and everyone drank silently while Bisha wrote out a note of credit to the party they’d just hired. Cragge broke the quiet.

“Someone needs to check out this house first. Someone needs to go first and let us know what’s going on. There must be a tavern or something where we can hang out while somebody—I think that guy”—he pointed to Rydley—“figures out what’s going on.”

“The Bound house is on Cairn Island,” said Bisha. “There aren’t taverns in the neighborhood.”

“And don’t you have a flask or something?” asked the dwarf.

“Of course I have a flask,” Cragge said. “It’s just stupid to walk up to the house together.”

The dwarf chimed in again. “The ranger brings up a good point. The four of us trekking in a straight line to one of the richest neighborhoods in town is going to draw attention.”

“Normally, yes,” said Bisha. “But this is the day after Chariot Day.”

“This is the best day to go anywhere in Courte and not be noticed,” Scarlet agreed.

There followed much discussion about strategy, all agreeing that the Bound house wasn’t to be approached lightly but parties disagreeing on how retrieving Edulf would be accomplished. Everyone spoke at once, describing strategies ranging from a juggling distraction to burning down the house.

Rydley broke in, irritably interrupting the din. “We know where we’re going and we know how to get there. We should go if we are really doing this. Why are we wasting our time here?”

The companions agreed, laying down coins for the drinks and ushering the motley group out of the Quarrel and onto the street. The night had grown dark while they met, and even on such a sedate day as the day after Chariot Day, the Warrens were teeming. Here, unlike most of Courte, the streets were dirt rather than cobbles, and the narrow lanes were populated equally with those still sleeping off last night’s festivities and those who lurked in the shadows.

The group, making their way south toward Cairn Island, navigated through the Warrens, Rydley impatiently in the lead.

Out of the grimy shadows, two thugs suddenly appeared, one striking out at Rydley with a shortsword and slipping in the mud of the road. Three more emerged from behind, caging the group in the narrow road. The other in front swiped at Rydley with a club, making a wild swing and missing. All members of the gang bared their teeth, shouting for the group to give up their purses. The companions shrieked and clung to one another, terrified.

Rydley, no stranger to the streets of Courte, stepped forward and drew his sword. Likewise, Cragge, unhappy at being boxed in but reluctant to fight, turned and pulled his sword from its sheath. The thugs in the rear brandished their weapons—a knife, a battered old sword and a chunk of wood used as a club—and advanced, yelling all the while. The two in front moved closer, one making another ineffectual poke at Rydley and the other standing back.

Rapchil, the half-elf, then slashed out with his staff, catching one of the thugs across the face. The thug stumbled and shook his head, backing off. Emboldened by this, Ennecus, the dwarf, summoned the energies of the Body and caused a line of fire to streak from his finger, engulfing the heads of one of the thieves in front. The thief shrieked, his hair burning away, and made a blind slash at Rydley. His sword caught him on the shoulder, biting deep. The other thug in front, shocked, took a swipe at the dwarf who’d just burned his friend’s hair off, stabbing him in the neck with a dirty dagger. Ennecus howled. This was the adventure he'd been craving all this time? He should have stayed in Gildas.

This sudden bloodshed caused the thieves at the rear of the group to draw nearer. Cragge shook the cobwebs from his head and finally lashed out woozily, easily striking one of them down. Well, at least his muscles still work. Kind of, thought Bisha.

At the front of the group, the lead thug, singed, suddenly seemed to recognize Rydley for who he was. “Oh, no—I didn’t mean to—” he began, but Rydley, bleeding heavily and regretting ever having gotten himself in this situation, sent his sword deep into the man’s gut. The thug buckled, falling into the dirt of the alley. His mates, seeing their leader fall, scattered, leaving their dead friend behind. The leader began to crawl away, leaking blood and moaning, trying desperately to escape. Rydley, grim-faced, let him get a few paces before following, leaning over and slitting his throat.

Bisha and Scarlet looked at one another, wide-eyed. This is not what either of them had expected, and this scene, with blood and mud and an alley reeking of offal, was a far cry from the satin comfort of the Companions Guild. Rydley turned and looked at them, sneering. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, and limped away, toward Cairn Island. The rest of the group followed.

Burning of Markindale Part 2, Act II

With the potions securely stowed in Sionel's pack and the crazy witch bound and secured behind the counter, the group began to plan their next move. Khiyra mentioned their encounter with Farroe.

"Ah, so how long had she been mounted on the tree?" Richard asked.

Khiyra and Sionel recounted the strange meeting to Richard and Pearson.

"Curious how a common bandit would find out about the location of the mayor's gold," pondered Richard. "Well, let us worry over her later. I must proceed to the Mayor's residence. You two should shadow Pearson and I for a while, in case we need you assistance."

Richard and Pearson mounted their horses and rode at a slow pace so Sionel and Khiyra could keep up. The chickens still followed. Sionel was not inclined to gather these fowl for a meal. As they neared the mayor's residence, they could hear shouting and the roar of a riotous crowd.

The Mayoral Residence was a large building almost completely surrounded by a circular wall except for a 20 ft gap that allowed a road to enter the grounds. Lining the inside wall, were town administration buildings and the mayor's residence was opposite the gap. There were three stories to the building and a watchtower at the top. A flight of 10 steps led up to the large double door that served as the front entrance. There was a large mob of peasants on the steps and pouring out into the courtyard. They were shouting and throwing rocks at the residence. "Come on out!!" they shouted.

Richard and Pearson dismounted and drew their horses into the shadow of the wall where a watering trough stood. As the horses quenched their thirst, the four discussed the new development.

"Well, this indeed changes our plans. The mayor is not going to be in the proper disposition to entertain a nobleman," said Richard. The chickens mechanically kept moving around Richard like a Dwarven wind-up toys.

"Let's just go to the Moon," Khiyra said. "If we can't find anything of value, we'll just burn the town down. People are acting crazy, enough that I think we could get away with it. We could send the Centaur through town, with me riding on his back and I can fling explosives at all the flammable looking areas..."

Richard was lost in thought. Suddenly he looked at Khiyra and said, "You are a thief, correct?"

Khiyra nodded.

Richard continued, "It is inevitable that the townspeople will storm the mansion. This would be an excellent opportunity for you to attempt to steal the Cyclops' Eye. We need the Cyclops' Eye if we want to bring about Hell on Saros." He clenched his fists tightly and little beads of sweat stood out on his pasty brow.

Khiyra fully understood. "Fine. I will stay and seize the moment when it comes. Let us form a two-pronged plan, however. You three will go collect combustive materials. We shouldn't need much. This place will go down like a tinderbox once the flames get going. After you get supplies, travel back to the Centaur and let them know of the plan."

They began to hear someone in the crowd shout, "Come on out here, Mayor Briargate. You swindler! You want to sell us out! Givin' jobs to the Easterners!" A chorus of shouting went up after this. Pitchforks were being raised and shook with menace. The unofficial orator continued, "Easterners were seen just a few miles out of town. HE told us not to worry about it. But now, those Easteners are burning down farms. They killed the wizards! Briargate, you bastard!" The crowd went wild with anger. Sionel, Richard and Pearson took this opportunity to depart, the chickens wobbling in a macabre procession behind them.

**********************************************************************************************************
Under the apple trees,
The worms eat and eat.
With purpose they consume.
They have a vocation in the universe,
Their guts telling them what to do...
what to do...

But in the ring of stone,
Where the living dwell,
Minds are veiled by old black rot
and guts are gnawed with false uncertainty.
**********************************************************************************************************************

The mad woman flinched and picked a green worm off of her gown.

"What's with you?" asked Farroe.

"Your friends are in danger," she said bluntly.

"That's what I've been trying to say," said Farroe, with frustration. "How do you know they are in danger?"

"I'm a magical creature," she said with amusement. "But unlike a worm, I don't know what to do and I care to do nothing," and she squashed the worm between her fingers.

*******************************************************************************************************

Khiyra continued to watch the crowd with interest. Thus far, his presence was entirely unnoticed. The crowd had hastily assembled a battering ram that consisted of a log with metal spikes driven into it. Khiyra casually walked up to the back of the crowd and began to participate. "Yeah, let's kill 'em," he shouted raising a fist in the air in mock defiance.

A loud voice began to boom through an upper story window. "People, please, go home! This is insanity. Rogues and villains are stirring up trouble and causing this riot. Come to your senses, people!" Instead of blunting the crowd's anger, this speech induced an absolute fury. Suddenly, a huge stream of green and orange fire blasted from one of the upper story windows. It struck the battering ram, sending the people carrying it sprawling and screaming. In the confusion, they began to fight each other. Great, Khiyra thought.

Khiyra shouted to the crowd, "Look he has magical powers! We need to storm the building and kill him now! Get in there! Beat the door down!"

The mob rallied and focused their ire on the mayor again, but this time with more caution.

*******************************************************************************************************

Meanwhile, Richard, Sionel and Pearson were on a mission to find supplies for torching Markindale. As they came to the edge of the market, they witnessed a very interesting and unexpected encounter.

Four red robed clerics of Hro entered the market from a side street to the south. Simultaneously, five clerics of Andro entered the market from the east, accompanied by a strong looking Adroite paladin in full plate metal. The cleric of Andro at the head of the group stopped and pointed at one of the Hro clerics and said, "Stop right there, Randel. In the name of Andro and the people of Markindale, I arrest you. You and your pernicious crew will no longer plague this town with your foolishness! Now, where's the shawl?"

"Handley! You and your Andro-worshipping do-gooders had better go home before Raul thrashes you! And as for your precious shawl, I pissed on it before I burned it," Randel said.

"You Monster!" shouted Handley. "You'll pay for this! You think Raul will protect you? Where is Raul? Where is he, Randel?! I hear reports that he fled town. I think he finally understands that Hro is finished here. Hro could never appeal to the people. He can only corrupt minds through drugs and money."

Randel laughed and then sneered. "Handley, you are a fool. Don't you see what's happening here? This isn't the work of Andro. Hro will reign over all gods soon."

An Androite behind Handley replied, "That's like your opinion, man."

Randel pointed at Handley, "Remember who runs this town, Handley. If you touch us, you will pay when Raul gets back."

Handley shook with rage. "Give us the shawl!" The Androids drew there weapons, and the Hroites reciprocated. They began to fight.

"I say we let them fight and step in when there is a clear advantage," said Sionel. "They may have information useful to us. In the meantime, let's look for some oil." So amid the clashing of steal, the sounds of rocks hitting heads and grunts of pain, they searched for oil. The search was fruitless, however. The clerics of Andro were clearly getting the upper hand of the battle. The paladin overpowered the Hroites considerably. One of the clerics of Hro was lying in a pool of blood on the market cobbles.

"My the people of Markindale have turned out to be far more cooperative than I imagined," said Richard. He was sitting on a hay bale tucked under a sagging and torn vendor's awning. Sionel watched the paladin with interest. I could take him, she thought. But I mustn't get distracted. "I think I remember seeing a general store near here. Let's go check it out," she said.

Serenity Part 1, Act III

The four friends continued to the Temple of Karre. As they passed the Fortune Teller's Academy, Arantxe rolled her eyes. Millicent looked at Arantxe. "Are you not curious about the Fortune Teller's Academy?" she asked her. "Do they use real magic there?"

"Uh, no," said Arantxe. "Millicent, believe me. You have more magic in your pinky than that entire building."

"I know you are looking for mentors, Millicent, but this is not the place to seek them," said Artanis.

The Temple of Karre was a simple round stone structure. There were no sharp corners on the building anywhere. The windows were shaped like the symbol of Karre. Inside, there were soft mats on the floor surrounding a round indoor pool. The pool has many flowers floating on the surface and in the center of the pool stood a statue of a naked Karre rising from the water. A priestess of Karre was sitting by the pool. She was an older woman who appeared to be in her late fifties. She was tall and handsome with large bones, deep ebony skin and curly salt and pepper hair that she piled elegantly on her head. The priestess exuded strength, grace and wisdom. She extended her hands to the party and said, "Welcome. I am Constancia, priestess of Karre and keeper of her worship in action in Serenity."

"Salutations, Sister," said Arantxe, and lifted the priestesses hands to her lips.

"Salutations, Sister. I have not seen a Companion in these parts for many years," Constancia said with surprise.

"Why is that?" asked Arantxe as Constancia led the party to a mat by the pool. They all sat.

"There are not many reasons for a Companions to come to Serenity. There is no real power or wealth, so they stay in places better suited to their position in society."

Arantxe noticed that Constancia's mannerisms gave her away as a Companion. "When were you last at the Academy?" Arantxe asked.

"It has been 20 years since I was last in Courte," she said with a smile.

"You are not practicing in Serenity?" It was more a statement than a question.

"No," Constancia replied. "I take care of the women in town. They are whores, not Companions, but I train them and teach them what they need to know. You could say I am the dao shi for these women, a mentor and educator" she said.

"I have not seen a half-orc in my temple before, " she said to Girt, smiling warmly. "How are you and from where do you come?"

"Maybe we can talk another time, lady. First, I think our friend needs help," she nodded towards Arantxe. Arantxe smiled at Girt. "Girt is a great lady. I have high hopes for her. May she find Uztarri," said Arantxe. And she touched Girt's hand.

"Yes," said Constancia, her eyes glittering. "May Urgoth help you bring the halves together."

Millicent looked around. The place was very neat with little ornamentation. It seemed the sole purpose of the temple was to provide comfort.

Arantxe hesitated and then asked Constancia, "Can you explain what is happening to me? You see," continued Arantxe, in a rather embarrassed manner. "I have been in odd circumstances recently and away from Courte and the Guild. My normal devotions to Karre have been disrupted. I am confused. I believe I am on the right path and doing the right thing, but I don't know why or what shape this path is going to take. As dao shi, can you help guide me a bit in this?"

Constancia paused and gave this some thought. Then she said, "You have been under duress, sister? Has someone harmed you?"

"No! No one has harmed me, at least, not that I remember," said Arantxe, feeling a little awkward.

"What is a Companion doing so close to the wilds of the Cenmenoc? This is not a place for one such as yourself," asked Constancia.

Arantxe sighed. "It is really, really not, but there are circumstances that have led me here and to these people. I believe that I am carrying out the wishes of the Goddess," she said.

"I see," said Constancia. "How can I help you?"

"I honestly do not know," said Arantxe.

"Karre does not speak to me. I would not assume such closeness with her," said Constancia with surprise. "But you honor me by believing that I am so worthy a vessel." She studied Arantxe's face. She asked, "Karre has spoken to you?"

"I do not know what is going on," Arantxe replied cautiously.

"Is there anything you should tell me? Do you need a confessional?" asked Constancia.

"No. You have been very kind but for the time being this must be between me and Karre," Arantxe explained. "And, Andro, maybe."

"Andro," mused Constancia. This was all very strange. She decided that she must continue her role as hostess and priestess. "Would you like to eat and drink with me?" she asked Arantxe and her friends.

"Yes," said Arantxe, relieved that this conversation was over. "I have not shared a meal with a sister in quite some time."

"Aline!" Constancia called.

A young woman with long blond hair emerged from a door way at the back of the room. She carried a tray of fruit, nuts and cheeses. There was wine, water and milk to drink.

Constancia noticed that Artanis was looking at the food nervously. What have these people been through? she thought. She quickly remembered her state manners and ate off the plate herself and took Arantxe's cup and drank long and deep. Artanis looked relieved. Millicent still declined to drink.

Constancia watched Arantxe eat and then asked, "Would you stay here, Arantxe, with us?"

Arantxe took Constancia's hand. "That is very generous, but this is not my home. In fact, I am not sure where my home is now. And my instinct is to press on and let Karre guide me."

"But what place better than the Guild? Surely they can help you?" pressed Constancia.

"Things are complicated at the Guild and not as they should be," said Arantxe.

Constancia lifted a glass of wine to her lips and nodded with raised eyebrows. "They have not been good for a while."

"So where are you from Constancia, certainly not Courte?" asked Arantxe, desperate to change the subject.

She laughed. "I'm from the islands. Klovios, in fact. I came to Courte when I was very young and it was at a time when they still let people into the Academy who were not wealthy. I was grateful for the opportunity and the training, but I saw fit at a certain point in my life to leave it."

"As some do," said Arantxe. "One of the perks of the Academy is it can open doors to other opportunities. Unlike that place on up the street."

"What place?" asked Constancia.

"The Fortune Tellers," said Arantxe.

"OH!" and Constancia started to laugh. "Proiette is not so bad. They do have some fortune tellers there that are actually quite talented. Oh, it is silly when you go in there, but there are good people."

"Well, I know a few card tricks," said Arantxe, with unusual sarcasm.

"Yes, we have all learned our little tricks, well," Constancia said with a playful smile. "We are having a group devotional, tonight. Will you and your friends join us?"

Millicent said, "Do what you need to do Arantxe. If you need to stay here, we will stay with you."

"I think I would like to go back to the inn and take a bath. We may be back later." She lifted Constancia's hands to her lips and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for your kindness."

"I do hope for your return. There is a full moon, tonight. It should be lovely," said Constancia. As they rose to leave, she followed them to the door. "Girt," she said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Do you partake in devotionals to Karre?"

"No. I follow Feix," Girt replied.

"Really!" said Constancia. "Well, we should talk about that some time. I would like to here your story."

Burning of Markindale Part 2, Act I

Khiyra and Sionel entered the village and encountered the same strange sites that Richard had. As they headed towards the herbalist, a chicken started to dart across the road. Sionel impaled it with her sword, twisted its neck and shoved it in her pack. "Lunch," she said in response to Khiyra's questioning gaze.

They looked down the road that led towards the market and saw the man still seated in the street, moaning and holding his head. Khiyra motioned to Sionel and they headed towards the man. "Is this how you remember the town," asked Sionel as they approached the market.

"Not exactly," Khiyra replied.

When they reached the market, a scene of chaos unfolded before them. There were booths overturned and wares strewn about. Glass and pottery shards were lying everywhere. The bodies of twelve cows were piled in the market along with a few dozen chickens. The man sat in the center of the market. His hands were now sagging between his knees.

Sionel cautiously drew her sword and Khiyra his dagger. He approached the man with the dagger hidden in one hand behind his back.

"Kind sir, what has happened here?" asked Khiyra.

"I don't understand," he said. "It was horrible. Chariot Day is supposed to be a festival, but people were crazy. No one was buying or selling. People were hoarding their wares and claiming they were worth extravagant prices. Who would pay 500 gold for a chicken, I ask you?" he looked up at Khiyra with tears forming in his eyes. "Yet all the buyers claimed that the goods were of the cheapest manufacture or poorest stock, worth no more than a few coppers. The Dyer said he would kill the Weaver if she did not except his price. The Brewer attacked the Baker because he would not buy his beer." He looked at Khiyra and Sionel, again and asked, "What do you want? You probably just want to take the little I have left." He had begun to get angry.

"What do you have left?" asked Khiyra, slyly.

The man jumped up and pulled out his dagger, "I have a dagger and I'm not afraid to use it."
Khiyra backed off, hands in the air. "It's ok. We were just passing through for the day. We'll just leave you here with your troubles. No problem." He and Sionel backed away.

"You BETTER leave," said the man. He was sweating and trembling. His face had turned red. He looked around him wildly.

"Who provided your Drink of Sleep and Dreams?" asked Sionel, and whispering to Khiyra, "I've heard of bad batches."

The man turned and ran away fast towards the north wall of the town.

Khiyra looked around for valuable items that he could purloin. There was nothing but grain and smashed pottery.

"Hey Sionel. Can you carry a cow? That would feed us for a long time," Khiyra said, grinning.

"Ha!" said Sionel.

They headed to the herbalist. When they arrived, they saw grotesque, undead chickens running into the porch over and over. One had been smashed into the ground by a horses hoof and all parts that were not ground to mush still flailed, clucked, and twitched.

They entered the shop. Richard was sitting on the floor, conscious but still a bit dazed. There was an old woman slumped in the corner. Pearson was watching her intently. They went to Richard.

"What happened?" Khiyra asked.

"I came to get some herbs and leeches and this insane woman knocked me out with a sleep potion," explained Richard. The woman in the corner moaned.

Khiyra took a look around. He grabbed a jar of leeches and began browsing the potions and herbs.

"What are you doing in my shop?" the woman asked, one eye peering at Khiyra intently while the other was closed and swollen shut.

"Wise woman," said Sionel. "What has happened in this town?"

"People," she said, clutching Sionel's boot. "People want to burn me at the stake!"

"Pearson!" said Richard and to Khiyra and Sionel. "Believe me, you do not want to travel down this path with her. She is insane."

Sionel ignored him. "Who wants to burn you at the stake?"

"Everyone," cried the witch.

"Pearson. Render the hag unconscious, again," ordered Richard.

"No!" said Sionel. Women of the herbs were highly regarded by Amazons. To harm them was quite inappropriate.

The old woman's hands began to crackle and spark with magic. Pearson slapped her and she passed out again.

Khiyra and Sionel collected six healing potions, a love potion and a potion labeled, "Wunderboner." Khiyra drank two healing potions and applied a couple leeches. Sionel also drank a healing potion. They felt immensely better afterwards.

"We must keep one for Zagros," said Sionel, remembering the Centaurs wounds.

********************************************************************************************************

Inside and under the ring of stone,
I hear fleshy lamentations and moans.
There is something evil beneath the ring
turning minds inside out and gibbering.

******************************************************************************************************************8

The mad woman sniffed at the air and stared towards Markindale lost in her thoughts. Zagros was thinking about the dryad and wondering about undead dryads and how pliable they might be. The mad woman stiffened for a moment and then ran to Zagros, and touched her cheek to his ribs and said, "The Page of Swords approaches with coyotes in her heart."

Farroe had not been walking long. As she came to a turn in the road she saw a Centaur standing under an apple tree. A woman with dark dreds in her hair was embracing him. Farroe froze momentarily when she saw that her eyes were completely black.

"Where do you come from?" asked Farroe, trying to remain as casual as possible.

"Well," began the Centaur, "when two Centaurs really love each other--"

Farroe interrupted him, "I mean to say, who are you traveling with?"

"Why do you speak, to me with your coyote heart?" said the mad woman. She looked offended.

"Hey! Do you want to buy something?" asked Zagros. "I have these lovely ceramic unicorns."

Farroe nodded her head, "Ah yes, you are the ones they told me about. The tall lady told me the Centaur would try to sell me something."

"You mean she didn't rip out your spine?" asked Zagros in awe.

"No," Farroe shrugged. "She gave me this dagger. Are you with them?" Zagros nodded.

"What are you plans in Markindale?" Farroe asked.

The mad woman looked bewildered. "We do not stand in the ring of stone... or do we?"

"We are waiting for the others to return so we can make a plan," said Zagros, cautiously.

"Ok," said Farroe. "You got any food?"

"Yeah!" said Zagros, enthusiastically. "we have food for sale!"

Farroe frowned. "How 'bout you?" she said to the woman. "You have any food?"

"This bird is hollow inside. You can't fill it up," she replied.

"Well, your friends will be lucky if they manage to get back," said Farroe. "Markindale has hit some hard times."

"We were just there. It was the same as usual," said Zagros, incredulously.

"Whatever," said Farroe and sat under a tree, staring up at the small, green, unripened apples. Her stomach growled.