Ophyllia and Rasor chat/grunt about old times as they saunter to the Temple of VE. They both notice that many of the continual lamps have been destroyed or removed, leaving the town awash in dim greys. Tonight, the town should have been filled with drink and song, as this night is known as Tipplefestmas. The Holy holiday starts on the evening of first blue moon of the year and continues for one week. This night, however, is very quiet. When they turn down Holy Lane, they view a goose-bumping sight. All lanterns along the beautiful Lane have been ripped from the street. The Temple, which stands at the end of the Lane some 50 yards away, is silhouetted black against the dim lights of the town. Nothing stirs ahead and only the wind is heard as it sweeps down the cobblestones. The pair step cautiously forward, pass the empty scribe and servant quarters, and make their way to the huge fountain in front of the Temple. As they approach the Temple steps, the distinct infra-colour of body heat emerges from one of the outer buildings. Rasor immediately tucks Ophy under his cloak and draws the hood around his face. He grins and whispers,
"Special gift from contestant."
Several humanoid figures march pass only a dozen paces away. When the figures move off, Rasor tosses back his hood and gently removes Ophy from the folds of his cloak. Ophyllia sighs. For a great big, hairy lummox, he sure could be gentle.
"Psssst." A voice makes Ophyllia jump.
They glance to a side street and see a humanoid figure squatting next to a building. The figure motions them over. As Rasor and Ophyllia draw closer, they recognize the face of Danidar, a young elven priest of VE.
"What are you doing here? What's happened?" Ophyllia tapped her foot impatiently on the cobblestones.
The brown-haired elf grinned at the bard. "I'll explain on the way. Follow me."
Rasor, ever quick with his tongue, rumbled,
"Where we go?"
"To the Meeting."
Danidar told them that the Temple had been overrun and boarded-up by a large group of gnorcs just this afternoon. During the fray, two more priests were abducted and the Temple's Holy Ale and Miraculous Mead stolen, but a group of priests had managed to sneak out the kegs of Wondrous Wine. The remaining clergy decided to continue with the meeting but move it to a secret location.
The three arrive at the secret meeting house, Suzy Q's Sewing Circle, and make their way to the basement. There they recognize several prominent citizens and adventurers amongst the crowd. Priests and scribes number the greatest and are grouped in their factions, the dwarven Ale Keepers, the elven Wine & Mead Preservers, and the human Forte L'coores Garde d'Honneur. Poor Suzy is trying her best to serve everyone refreshments and cookies.
"People of Bottomburn..." The wizened human priest, Almokian, brings the room to a hush.
Almokian points to a tall thin man at the back of the room,
"that there is a small army of gnorcs and brigands just to the northwest of Lake Deepbottom. Our plan is to sneak into the camp, abduct their captain, and return him here for questioning. As to the rest..."
He smiles and shrugs his frail shoulders. Several people laugh knowingly.
"Whatever we do, we must NOT cause a ruckus here in town. There are many more of them than there are of us. There are too many old folks, women and children, who are unable to defend themselves. We don't want to give them a reason for slaughter."
A dwarven female pipes up, "Won't they be suspectin' us when thar cap'n is nabbed and the others killed?"
Almokian waves his hands at the vocal crowd.
"Maybe and maybe not. They don't have any way to prove it. Besides, they're just a reinforcement group. From what we've been told, they haven't been in contact with the town bullies for several days."
While the crowd gets good and worked up, Ophyllia nudges Rasor and Danidar.
"See that man Almokian pointed out?" They nod. "He's one of IR's goons. I know him. Tried to take something of mine that wasn't his t'take."
She raises an eyebrow. As they watch, the tall man slips around the side and up the stairs.
Almokian gained control of the crowd once again.
"Now, if I can get everyone who wants to help out with this mission, to step forward and sign this waiver we can get down to business and pass out the details of the mission."
Meanwhile, later that same night in the foothills of the Windpipe Mountains., Torner has patched himself up from the orcs' attack. That long draw from his skin of Dwarven Ale put a warm glow in his stomach and on his cheeks as well. Though the sun had not yet risen, he and his mount had made good time through the rocky hills. Torner had ridden these paths more than once in the dark, this would probably not be his last. While he rode, he pondered the meaning of the orc's ambush and how they came about having a keg of Dwarven Ale. Dwarves never sold their fine ale to any of the goblinkin.
After a short breakfast, just after sunrise, Torner mounted up once again and headed for Bottomburn. Not far down the path, Torner spots a large area of upturned earth. Even though he was in a hurry to get to the town, his keen instincts told him that this was unusual for the area. He trotted about 100 yards from the path to the spoiled ground. As a fighter from many campaigns, he quickly recognized the signs of an encampment. Blackened campfires, the trodden ground from horses and foot soldiers, and flattened grasses from tents. It looked like they might have been pulling wagons too. He couldn't be sure, nor could he be sure of their numbers. The path they were taking lead off to the west into the Emerald Forest. With this extra worry on his mind, he spurred his horse forward into canter; he made Bottomburn in record time. Just before high sun.
The day promised to be another warm one as Torner trotted into town. Strange, but he hadn't seen any guardsmen at the gate. Not that Bottomburn really needed guards. It had always been a peaceful town. Mostly because of men like him who kept the mountains clear of ruffians - be they man or beast. As he pulled his horse back to a walk, four burly gnorcs hefting spears moved down the street towards him.
One of the gnorcs looks at Torner and elbows his buddy.
"Oi. Look at 'em. Like a bloomin' tin cup, 'e is."
The four gnorcs slap their legs and laugh.
"Oi tin man. Whut you lookin' fer? Wouldn't be trouble by chance, would it?"
The four gnorcs level their spears.
Across the town, an old man and his granddaughter manage to get to Ophyllia's Outhouse without further incident. Unfortunately, the good bard is not at home. After waiting around for a short time, the two get a bit peckish - it is almost high sun - and they walk back into town to the Shadetree Inn & Tavern for a hot beef pie and a wedge of cheddar cheese. As they enter the inn, they see signs posted in several places:
"Hey you old Coot."
Myrna the barmaid sashays up to the old man and tugs playfully at his tangled hair.
"Dearie, you takin' good care of this ole man fer me?" Myrna winks at the girl. "I'll get ya a table."
The inn is mostly packed with farmers and merchants. One table has a group of sour looking young men; they seldom talk to one another and give the customers harsh glares.
The barmaid leads the two to a table. She begins to take your order when she leans over and whispers,
"You here to sign up?"
"...at this meeting we will discuss how to rid our fair town of this 'M' , whoever he is, abolish his unjust rulings, and run off his brutish cohorts."
The people shout :
"The next two days we will be asking for tough, bold, adventurers to join together and help us put a stop to this nonsense once and for all. We've had word from one of our citizens,"
"Should see when one o' those-uns falls t' the ground - squirm 'round on their backs wit their feet stuck in the air like a bug."
there will be no Dwarven Ale for sale.
However, wine, mead, and l'coore are still available.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
Management.