DM Note: A full house, unexpectedly, thanks to the wonders of Skype which allowed Aimo to speak to us across thousands of miles of buggerall. This necessitated some slight cheesy fudge to fit in with events that had been chronicled.| DM Note: A full house, unexpectedly, thanks to the wonders of Skype which allowed Aimo to speak to us across thousands of miles of buggerall. This necessitated some slight cheesy fudge to fit in with events that had been chronicled. |
Méabh strolled into the library just after lunch, intending to check on Setram but not expecting to find anything different from the previous days. It was something of a shock, therefore, to discover the transformed dragon storming up and down, surrounded by scattered books, furniture and papers, raging to himself. When he saw her, he whirled towards her and raised his hands - not clenched into fists as a real humanoid would do, but open and clawed outwards. His face was strained, not expressing clearly, as his learned familiarity with his new form deserted him under stress, but the depth of his rage was unmistakable.
"Change
me back!" he snarled, "I have been robbed again - my hoard has been disturbed again!" For a few moments he was incoherent. "I must return and see what has happened! Change-me-back!"
Méabh blinked in surprise. "Of course," she said, "but perhaps not here?" She gestured to the heavy stone walls and small, mullioned windows of the library. By gradual stages, she calmed him down to the point where he could absorb and understand her advice, and got him to agree to being Teleported somewhere where the sudden appearance of an immense dragon was less likely to be noticed.
Laying a hand on his shoulder, she cast her spell, and a moment later the pair appeared in the ballroom at Southwold.
Setram was burning with urgency to be transformed and on his way, but Méabh insisted on taking a couple of minutes to 'check something'. Still stuck in human form, Setram really didn't have a choice, and waited with ill grace while Méabh tore through the rooms of the manor looking unsuccessfully for Gorfang and Lynien. A nasty suspicion was forming in her mind, but she gave no sign as she returned to the ballroom, putting on an unconcerned face. "All ready; off we go," she said, and Teleported them both back to Amberlan.
Setram and Méabh appeared on the citadel mound of the ruined city, looking out over the tumbled, scorched rubble. Méabh's sharp eyes caught sight of movement across near the remains of Gimeth's tower, and from the motions of the distant figures she was pretty sure they were Slitheren ratmen. Casually, she directed Setram's attention in their direction. "Could they be the culprits?" she asked conversationally. Setram stared at them, and she could hear him grinding his teeth.
While he was distracted, she cast her Message spell and tried to contact Gorfang and Lynien, whom she had a sinking feeling were somewhere in the vicinity. Rather to her relief, she got no response. She reached out to Setram and touched his arm again. "What are you going to do next?" she asked as she Polymorphed him back into his awesome natural form. Setram didn't bother with a verbal response; he snapped his wings open and hurled himself into the air, leaving Méabh fighting for her balance amid a whirling cloud of dust, small pebbles and bits of vegetation. As he rocketed out and downwards from the mound towards the tower, the ratmen scattered in total panic, desperately seeking for cover from the oncoming monster.
Now seemed a splendid time to be somewhere else, and Méabh lost no time in Teleporting back to Southwold, leaving the dragon to his fury.
This time, she could hear conversation coming from the direction of the parlour. Walking through, she found Gorfang and 
Lynien, eating lunch wearing the most blithely innocent expressions they could manage while at the same time being covered in mud and dust. Méabh eyed them for a moment. "Been somewhere?" she asked. "No." said Gorfang cheerfully, in the face of all the evidence. "All right," said Méabh, "if - hypothetically - you might have been and visited a certain place, would there be any hypothetical proceeds you might want to share with me?" Gorfang shook his head again, but Lynien placed a large, heavy, leather-bound book on the table and pushed it over towards Méabh. She picked it up; on the cover, in Krultac, was written Setram - my spellbook.
The aasimar nodded to herself, suspicions confirmed. "The, ah, hypothetical dragon you may or may not have robbed knows that it's happened," she pointed out. "He made me change him back and send him home. He thinks it's the ratmen at the moment, but once he's calmed down a bit he may reason things out." Gorfang abandoned his cunning concealment of the truth. "Did you have plans for him then?" he asked, "we were considering doing away with him while he was weaker in human form." Méabh shrugged. "I was considering a possible partnership with him," she admitted, "but also bumping him off if things didn't work out." She looked around. "This might be a good time to leave town," she opined.
The next day, Lynien dug out her "noblewoman" disguise and borrowed Gorfang's coach to ride down to Guild Venter. There, she deposited all the gold and most of the magical items from the hoard in her safety deposit box, still packed into the Bags of Holding to reduce any chance of the dragon smelling them out should he come to Lossal in his natuaral form. She drew a thick pouch of gold each for her and Gorfang - made up of different coins - and secured the letters of guild credit the orc had asked her to obtain. Her gloves she stowed in her own, newly made black leather Bag of Holding.
Eloy had met up with Gorfang at the Blue Knight, and gleaned enough information to know that the dragon was back in his own form and out of Lossal. Muttering, he returned to the assassins' guild and cancelled his contract on Setram, retrieving his money. He needed another way to appease his capricious and unpredictable divine patron, and it occurred to him to attempt to found a temple. Maybe, if he could learn enough about Sabath's rituals - maybe from the Book of Gennen via Méabh - he could recruit some potential clergy and convert them to the faith. He made some enquiries, and after some consideration found the perfect property - for a knockdown price. For some reason, the owner was desperately eager to sell the place....
On their return to their respective lodgings, each had found a letter awaiting them, along with a hand-written note from Governor Linril asking them to visit him before they left the city. The letter ran as follows: Discussing it, the companions all admitted motivations for going to Vorsand, but all had things to tie up before leaving. It was agreed they'd set off once Gorfang's smithing was completed.
Gorfang 
continued to work at his smithcraft. The saturnine smith Sanano was finding his arrangement with the orc an increasing benefit. Gorfang, never inconspicuous, attrached attention even from those few citizens who didn't know him by sight. The clamour of his working added to the the forge's air of industry, and Sanano found he had more customers by the day. The steady, heavy, muscle-wearying work pleased the orc; he fell into a daily rythmn of labour and took satisfaction from the slow process of creation, so different to his normal destructive trade. Slowly, the steel khopeshes took shape, huge, heavy and brutal - just as he'd wanted them.
At sundown on the 16th, when he emerged from the forge, the masterthief Darnivarn was leaning against the fence opposite the shop, waiting for him with a wry grin. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to say something; then she changed her mind and linked her arm through his. "Pub!" declared the orc loquaciously. She grinned at him, and they set off.
Lynien spent a fair amount of time with the rebuilt Guild. The number of properly-trained roofwalkers and alleybashers was sadly low, and most of Darnivarn's thieves were little more than local rough boys who'd stumbled in off the street. Many of these looked askance at the slim redhead who turned up to train them, but a few object lessons and a glimpse of her eyes when seriously annoyed was enough to convince them of her credentials. A couple of days' teaching, and they were hanging on her every word and demonstration.
Six days after their return to the city, Gorfang and Eloy were sitting having breakfast in the Blue Knight when Nashruf, city constable and head of the Watch, entered along with four guardsmen. Approaching their table, he wished them a good morning in the manner of a man with something else on his mind, and, turning to Eloy, asked him if he would accompany them back to their headquarters to assist with some enquiries.
Eloy, unsure where this was going but not confident it was going to be good, agreed, and he and Gorfang set off with Nashruf. The militia barracks wasn't far away, and before long the three were seated in a plain room with two burly guards just outside.
Looking even more uncomfortable, Nashruf explained why they were there. He had receieved, he said, an anonymous tip-off to the effect that Eloy was the person responsible for the murder of one Shade, a dwarf and Lossal's only master clockmaker. Obviously, given Eloy's position as a former government officer, a nameless person's word wasn't much to rely on, but he said he wanted to ask some questions in any case in order to complete his investigation. He admitted that the Watch had purchased a casting of Speak with Dead from one of Lossal's few temples, which had yielded a description nothing like Eloy's and the name Morazesh, which of course had no connections to Eloy.
He proceeded to put a succession of questions to Eloy, checking his whereabouts on the relevant dates, trying to catch him out. Keeping his cool despite occasional heckling from Gorfang, the assassin deflected or answered the questions as appropriate, leaving Nashruf no nearer tracking down the culprits at the end than he had been at the beginning. Finally, Nashruf collected his papers and announced that he was releasing Eloy, but would be keeping the case open against the appearance of more evidence.
Eloy took offence at this; reacting exactly as an innocent man would, he demanded what evidence Nashruf had for 'insulting' him by implying that he, Eloy, actually had committed the crime, and that Nashruf expected to be able to prove it one day. "It could have been someone trying to frame him for it. Nashruf regarded him coolly. "I'm quite sure you do have enemies," he said dryly, in a way that made it quite clear where his personal susicions of Eloy tended. He did agree to completely clear Eloy's name from the current investigation, although hanging over this statement was the given assumption that were different evidence to surface, things could change. Eloy swept out in a fine display of injured innocence, with Gorfang grinning all over his face beside him. The orc was pretty sure he knew who had killed the dwarf as well.....
As requested, the group headed up to the palace to see Governor Linril. On arrival, they were met by assistant Governer Cordwin and escorted immediately to the audience hall.
As they walked through the palace, they noticed ongoing changes from the place they'd known before. Gone were most of the ornate and expensive flourishes and decorations Bardrum had favoured; in their place, more secure windows, more guards, better security, and a style best described as utilitarian. Linril was clearly a man to learn from recent history.
He stood up to meet them, and made a point of shaking hands all around and offering them chairs. Once settled, he got straight to the point. "I believe you have received an invitation to an audience with Lord Skufruss," he said. "Assuming that you go," his tone indicated that anything else was pretty unlikely, "I would like to offer you an honour guard appropriate to your - " he looked specifically at Governor Emeritus Gorfang here - "rank and status." Eloy coughed. "What, guards to make sure we go there?" he said suspiciously. Gorfang was right on his heels; "You think we can't look after ourselves on the road?" he rapped. Linril looked surprised. "No, nothing of the kind," he said reassuringly. "Any important people travel with a ceremonial guard. It's normal." The companions looked at each other. "No thanks," said Méabh finally. Linril shrugged. "Very well. Will you please carry the diplomatic mail for me? Normally I send it with a courier and five guards but with you it'll be even safer." Gorfang was opening his mouth to say no quite emphatically, but Lynien got in first. "Yes, of course," she said obligingly, and accepted the pouch of scrolls from the governer. Surreptitiously touching them, she checked them for magical properties, finding none. She tucked them away in her surprisingly capacious shoulder bag. Linril wished them a good journey, and they left him.
As they left the palace, Lynien spotted Nashruf lurking down a corridor. Falling behind the others, she stepped close to him and muttered, "I'll watch him for a fee." The watchman looked at her in an unfriendly way that conveyed his suspicions of her relationship with the law as well. "I'd have thought, as a former govermnent officer, you'd see it as your civic duty," he commented. Lynien looked at him and shook her head sadly. Such cynicism was so disappointing...
Joined now by Bog the Cook - equipped with another eight flasks of his potent Boom Boom - and Shamlakh the Warg, the party rode out of Lossal along the road leading to Vorsand. Like the city of Lossal itself, it was effectively new, having been built on the fragments of the original when Lossal was rebuilt fifty years ago. While not as good as the Tellaran roads linking the rest of the Northkingdoms, it was a fine piece of work, and the weather was fine; the journey was likely to take no more than seven days.
The 
first day went uneventfully, with few fellow travellers passing them on the way, and just around sundown they came across an inn. It wasn't much to look at, a single building with a partial second storey and attached stable. Some tables had been dragged outside and a fair number of travellers occupied them, eating and drinking. With some doubts, they occupied a table and spoke to the innkeeper when he at length appeared. On hearing that the only accommodation was a single common-room floor, the fastidious Méabh and Lynien declined to stay, preferring to camp out on such a nice night. The inkeeper, Kithain, seemed unconcerned - he was full enough - and served them some adequate ale and food.
As they ate, they looked around at the other customers. Most were of a kind - travellers, merchants or warriors, eating and relaxing. Ten Dragonarmy troopers and their officer entered as the party were eating, and settled onto two nearby tables. A young woman, dressed in travel-stained greys and greens, slapped the face of an importunate local as his friends watched and laughed. Three men sat in a corner as if trying to hide, not talking to anyone and appearing nervous.
Dinner over, Eloy wandered to the bar, to stand next to the young woman they'd seen fending off an unwanted advance. Turning on the charm, he offered her a drink and struck up a conversation. Gorfang did his best to spike his chances by slapping him on the back as he passed and inquiring heartily, "Hello, how's the wife and kids?" but Eloy managed to laugh this off. He found that her name was Marira, and she was heading to Lossal to acquire a hunting dog - the city being famous for quality dog breeding. Eloy gave her directions for Dog-Town (the district on the western edge of the city where the dog-breeders were) and suggested the Blue Knight as a good lodging place for those who could look after themselves. Having made himself useful, he tried his luck for a night's encounter as well, but after looking over at Eloy's companions - and not failing to mark the look in Lynien's eyes either - she declined gracefully, although she did buy him a drink back. Méabh used her Message spell to drop her words in the woman's ear; Is this oik bothering you? Unstartled by the normally quite disturbing phenomenon of voices out of nowhere, Marira mouthed back Not so far. What will you do if he does? Méabh grinned Just let me know if he does and dropped the spell.
Finally, the party left the Serpent and headed a couple of miles up the road, where they found a spinney of trees to pitch tents in. Guards were set, and Méabh cast a Faithful Hound spell to secure her own tent - just her own tent.
The next morning's travel progressed much as before, but after a couple of hours they made out a body of horsemen approaching them from the direction of Lossal. A patrol of twenty Dragonarmy troopers, led by some sort of officer - they weren't clear on insignia. The two groups converged, and as they met, the officer lifted a hand. "Halt, please," he said. "Routine check; who are you please, where are you going, and why." He sounded slightly bored, a condition that evaporated as the party gave their responses. "No." said Gorfang simply. "I'm Bernard," said Méabh. "Woderwick," chuckled Eloy. Gorfang spoke again. "We're peacable travellers," he said in blatant defiance of the apparent facts, "why do we have to be questioned on the road?" The officer drew himself up, "Routine check," he repeated, "it's my job; please let's not have to do this the hard way. My name is Mangeron, I am a captain in the Dragonarmy and I am charged with maintaining peace on this road. We have had reports of bandits, and I have to check everyone."
"Bandits?" rumbled Gorfang, insulted, but at that moment Eloy, judging the moment right, handed the rolled letter across to Mangeron. He unrolled it, and his face began to fall at the first word. It continued to fall as he read on, and when he reached the end of the letter his face was alternating between scarlet and white. He rolled it up and handed it back, and coughed. "Yes, well that seems completely in order," he muttered. "You should have said so at once. Please carry on." He hastily turned his horse and rode on past, signalling for his troops to follow him. They filed past the companions, some impassive, some clearly stifling chuckles or openly smiling.
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