by Drew Hayes
As Elora slipped through the crowd at the Hall of Adventurers, she found herself unsurprised that the group was already waiting for her. Even with a whole night to prepare, they were the type to sleep on it and see how everyone felt in the morning. Their caution was a curiosity, as most adventurers treated their lives as casually as a wealthy gambler treated a few spare coins. This lot was careful, though, always expecting danger and willing to listen to one another’s hunches. Their constant communication made it nearly impossible to manipulate or turn them against one another, not that she hadn’t searched for opportunities. Whether it was friendship or simply the bond of being on the run together, the group was tightly knit, which meant Elora’s only strategic option was to continue making sure she stayed useful while wringing out as much information as possible.
“Good morning,” she called, helping herself to an open seat at their table. With a quick motion, Elora signaled a waitress for ale and breakfast, noting that the others were already halfway through their own plates. “Shall we have a quick bite, and then go consult the clerks to pick a quest? If you’re open to listening, I poked around and found a few kingdom issues that might be very lucrative to solve.”
“Kind an offer as that is, I’m afraid we’ve already accepted a quest this morning,” Thistle told her.
This move, Elora was braced for. Their trust in her was fleeting; it was no great shock they’d decided to choose a quest without her input. Keeping her face stoic, she gave a solemn nod as she appeared to take in the news.
“I do wish you’d waited to take my counsel; whatever you might think of me, I always keep my bargains. I would have delivered a quest within your range of skills that got us the gold you needed. However, it is ultimately your choice, so I will simply do the best I can to help.”
“Believe it or not, our decision to accept the quest had nothing to do with our trust in your advice,” Thistle replied, very clearly not buying her humble act. “In the course of the last day, I learned of an issue threatening the temple of Grumble, and as a paladin, I was compelled to take up their cause.”
“Oh? A temple quest, you say? Perhaps you made a good choice after all; clergy usually pay well for whatever tasks they want performed.” It was immediately clear that Elora would get nowhere by disagreeing or arguing with Thistle about finding a more lucrative quest. Where he led, the others would follow, and swaying a paladin from their god’s path was a notoriously futile effort. Better to feign some enthusiasm and stay in their good graces.
“According to the clerk, they were able to offer a reward of twelve gold,” Thistle said.
“Please tell me you mean twelve hundred.”
“Twelve.” Grumph didn’t seem particularly ecstatic about the number either—as near as Elora could tell, anyway. Like most half-orcs, he was tough to read; their naturally stoic faces seemed to taint everything with boredom or dislike.
“Twelve,” Elora repeated. “Well then, since it seems like this is a smaller, more personal task, I think I’ll go ahead and take my leave.” She rose from the table, digging about for a few coins to pay for the breakfast and ale she wouldn’t be around to enjoy. “I owe you help on one quest, and since I assume you’d rather use that marker for one with a real payday at its end, I’ll check back in a week to see if you’re done doing the gods’ dirty work.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we need your help.” Gabrielle’s expression, unlike Grumph’s, couldn’t be blamed on her heritage. She loathed spitting those words out and sat there glowering at Elora, just daring the elf to make an issue of it.
Giving up her search for coins, Elora slid back down onto the bench, curiosity once more piqued. “You want to use me in the one, and only one, quest I agreed to help with for a reward of twelve gold? Two gold apiece, once it’s split all around?”
“I wouldn’t say we want to, but the truth is that we need your help. This isn’t a task of brute force or quick thought. What we need requires a light touch, and someone accustomed to working in the shadows. Were Eric here, he would be invaluable, but without him, we have little hope of success. Without your help, that is.”
Unlike Gabrielle, there was no bitterness from Thistle at this admittance. He was a gnome well-acquainted with his limitations, and he easily put aside his pride to ask for help when it was needed. That, more than anything else, was what set Elora’s nerves on edge around him. Thistle was wily, but she’d dealt with smarter. Being intelligent and genuinely humble, though, that made for a dangerous combination.
“I see,” Elora said. “Why don’t you fill me in on exactly what this quest entails then? Seeing as I’m so essential to it, I’d like to at least know what I’m dealing with.”
“Before that, we want you to tell us about Eric.” Gabrielle had clearly been impatient to pursue this line of questioning; it was impressive she’d held off for as long as she’d managed. “Is he okay?”
“Your friend is fine,” Elora assured her. “He made it through yesterday’s training relatively unscathed, and this morning, I left him doing a standard introductory exercise, one all the rookies deal with. Very boring stuff, really. Now, tell me about this quest for the temple. I’m curious what service we can offer the gods.”
* * *
A ping, a clatter, and a curse.
Eric stared at the small target, no larger than a silver coin, with unmitigated hatred. He hadn’t paid much attention to it or the repeating crossbow in the corner when he’d come to bed last night. After chasing Elora, surviving the traps at the entranceway, and then hours of sparring, he’d been physically and mentally wiped. This, perhaps, was why he hadn’t realized how little food and water he’d been offered throughout the day. There certainly wasn’t much to see in the place Elora had led him to: just a few empty rooms, some rusted weaponry, and a couple of cells with small mats for sleeping. They hadn’t laid eyes on anyone else, though more than once Eric had thought he saw the flutter of a cloak or heard the scuff of a shoe. Even those glimpses grew rarer the more the day had worn on, and by the time he hit his mat, he’d barely had enough brain power left to strip off his boots and armor.
Then he’d been woken by a small beam of sunlight streaming in from a hole in the rough stone wall of his cell. Trying the door, he’d found it unmoving, locked solid. At first, he’d assumed it was a lock-picking test, but scouring the door had revealed not so much as even one hole where a key might go. It was only when Eric noticed the crossbow that his eyes traveled higher, taking note of a small red target at the very top of the doorway. From there, it didn’t take much effort to understand his circumstances: he would have to shoot his way to freedom. Of course, understanding the task and executing it were proving to be very different levels of difficulty.
“She could have at least taught me how to use one of these,” Eric muttered into the near-darkness. When he’d first woken, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d fired a crossbow, and never one fancy enough with the reloading function. After what he estimated to be nearly two hours of missing shots and reloading bolts into the bow, he was fast becoming an expert on the tool. Mercifully, the bolts seemed to be made especially durable, with blunted heads; they weren’t breaking even after repeated use. Eric knew that couldn’t last forever, though. Already they were showing signs of wear. If he didn’t make the shot soon, he’d begin losing ammunition. And once all the bolts were gone, he’d either have to attempt scaling the smooth metal door—a tactic he’d already tried and failed—or he would hurl the broken remains of the bolts and hope to hit the target. The one option Eric was certain he didn’t have, however, was calling for help. Assuming it really was morning, that meant Elora was off meeting with the others, and even if she had been there, he had a feeling this was something he had to solve himself. He’d been provided with the tools for escape; now, he either learned to use them, or resigned himself to spending the rest of his life in this cell.
Another shot, another miss, and another swear.
>
Eric pushed the lever to drop the next bolt into place and adjusted his aim. While he was still stuck, his bolts were getting closer to the target. Once or twice, he’d even hit the side of the red circle, but it was clear that nothing short of bullseye would open the door. Turning slightly to the left of where he’d last fired, Eric let another bolt fly. It clanged uselessly off the metal and clattered to the ground. Failure, yes, but failure a little closer to success. Changing his position as little as possible, Eric dropped the last of the five bolts into place. After this shot, he’d have to go collect and reload them, which meant that by the time he fired again, he would be close to starting over at square one.
Tilting the crossbow a touch higher and several more degrees to the left, Eric felt like he wasn’t even aiming for the target anymore. Some half-buried instinct wanted to jerk his hands, move them so he was marking the dead center of the red circle, but he resisted. Aiming straight for it wasn’t working; he couldn’t trust what seemed like it should work. All Eric could believe in was the truth laid out before him: the path that his bolts had been taking. Wrong as this felt, it could work. Perhaps not perfectly, not yet, but it would get him closer. Dropping a silent prayer to the gods, Eric let the last bolt fly.
It sailed up and through the air, its blunted head striking the target head on, pressing it inward and eliciting a loud clunk from somewhere inside the door. The massive metal barrier opened a few inches, and that was all Eric needed. He jerked it open the rest of the way, unsure how long he had until the lock set back into place. Though he hadn’t been thinking about what would lay on the other side, his eyes immediately swept the area, ready to dart away from whatever trap Elora had left to catch him off guard in his moment of triumph. While nothing sprang out at him, Eric did notice a small metal box on the ground three feet away from his door.
He began to step toward it, then stopped. Eric backed up and hurried through the cell, scooping up every one of the crossbow’s bolts and keeping an eye on the door for the slightest hint of movement. Once they’d all been collected, he stepped outside once more, but still didn’t approach the box. Instead, he carefully reloaded the crossbow, making sure a bolt was ready to fly if the need was there. Just because he’d passed the first test didn’t mean he wouldn’t need the tool again, and he’d be foolish to cast aside something so useful.
Only then, with a crossbow in hand and eyes peeled for any signs of trouble, did Eric approach the box. Hanging lanterns throughout the area cast a dim light on it, sending shadows scurrying along its reflective surface. Resting on top of it was a small piece of parchment with a single word written across the top.
“Breakfast,” Eric read out loud, turning the paper over to make sure there weren’t any secret instructions or warnings scrawled along the edges. Seeing nothing, he folded the page and tucked it carefully into his pocket. He could afford to take nothing for granted, and even things that seemed useless might prove vital later on. With the parchment gone, he gave the box itself a proper examination.
The metal rectangle was wider than it was tall, though it did have some height to it. Aside from the material, it was largely mundane, except for the fact that it had five different keyholes lined up along the front. Five individual locks, and that was if Eric was lucky and they weren’t somehow interconnected. Five obstacles to get through if he wanted to eat. Though she wasn’t there to confirm it, Eric knew that if this wasn’t done by the time Elora returned, he would simply go without until whatever challenge she gave him to earn lunch. Every action required him to prove himself, it seemed. He dearly hoped that the puzzle or challenge guarding the chamber pot would be a simple one.
Glancing at the floor next to the box, Eric spied two pieces of metal with different lengths and thicknesses. Hardly a set of master lock picks, but at least she’d left him tools to work with. He had his own set tucked away, but for the moment, Eric decided to stick with what he’d been given. Better to get the actual training.
That was, unless his hunger got the better of him. Part of being a rogue did mean ignoring the rules, after all.
Chapter 22
Mysterious attackers in the night, potential involvement from the god of darkness, and no real leads to follow. It was no wonder they had to call Elora in for such a job, even if none of them were happy about it. She drummed her fingers on the table as Thistle wrapped up his explanation of what they’d found at the temple, soaking in every last detail despite the seemingly bored expression on her face. When he was done, she turned to the remains of her breakfast, spearing a few bites of egg with her fork and then downing them.
“What, exactly, are the quest parameters?” Elora asked when the last of her food was swallowed.
“The temple has asked that we find out who is behind these attacks and stop them,” Thistle told her.
“And that’s the precise wording?”
Thistle dug into his pocket and pulled out a small scroll—their copy of the quest information. He handed it to Elora, who quickly skimmed the document before letting out a soft whistle. “For a paladin, you sure know how to screw someone well.”
“What’s that mean?” Timuscor asked, perhaps a touch more offended on Thistle’s behalf than was strictly necessary.
“Ask the gnome, he knows exactly what it means.” Elora rolled the scroll back up and handed it to Thistle.
“It means that the quest was structured in such a way that the task is greater than it seems,” Thistle explained. “If it simply asked us to stop the attackers, even we could manage to hide ourselves well enough in the surrounding area and attack when they appeared. However, by asking us to stop whoever is behind the attacks, we cannot satisfy the requirements simply by beating up some ruffians. True, that might be all it takes, but they could also be mere pawns of someone smart enough to keep their distance. In order to fulfill the quest as written and accepted, we’ll have to work our way up their chain of command until we discover the source. Only then is the quest done.”
“And that’s the one he wrangled me in for,” Elora added. “Though I should probably point out that if you’re planning to take on the Grand Quest, you’ll need to wrap this up within the month.”
“While I think we’ve all come to realize that participation in it is inevitable, I cannot abandon those in need for my own purposes, especially when those in need also serve Grumble,” Thistle said.
“Besides, for someone like you, it ought to be no problem at all to close this out in a week, right?” Gabrielle’s taunting grin was shameless, and Elora matched it with one so saccharin sweet it threatened to spoil the eggs.
“Gifted as I am, you’re giving me very little to work with. Plus, there’s no telling when they’ll strike next, which means the timetable is unpredictable.” Elora pushed her plate away and rose from the table, pausing only to gulp down the last of her ale. “I’ll need three days to start with. Let’s meet for an early dinner after that, and I’ll bring you up to speed. Come ready to fight, because there’s always a chance I’ll have dug up a lead.”
Everyone at the table was staring at her, but it was Grumph who leaned forward and voiced what they were all thinking. “And what do we do while you vanish for three days?”
“I don’t care. Train, pray, study, whatever you like,” Elora replied. “What I’ll be up to requires the ability to move about unseen and unheard, so any of you who feel confident that you can manage that can come right along and join me.” She paused, looking the table up and down. “No takers? Then I guess you’ll just have to let me do the work you brought me in for, without trying to slow me down.”
“Aye, it seems that is the case,” Thistle agreed. “We shall see you at dinner in three days’ time. May the gods be with you.”
Elora chuckled darkly. “I’m butting into a temple’s business; I think I’d prefer as little divine interaction as possible on this job.” With that, she turned around, swirling her cloak theatrically before gracefully threading through the crowd and finding
the exit.
It was only after she was gone that Timuscor spoke, a small realization hitting him a few seconds too late amidst the eye-catching departure.
“She didn’t leave any money for her breakfast, did she?”
* * *
Mitch, Glenn, and Terry sat around the gaming table, just as Mitnan, Glezidel, and Terkor sat around one in a small tavern. The party didn’t like drinking in the Hall of Adventurers; too many guards and other powerful characters were there on watch. They preferred to be surrounded by the weak rather than equals who might stop them from doing as they pleased. Already, the wait staff of this small tavern feared them. They’d been sure only to use Terrify checks to impose their will so far, so there was nothing for which anyone could call a guard over. As the characters grew drunker, and the players grew bolder, however, that was likely to change.
In the real world, all they had were sodas, as Jamie didn’t stock beer at her comic book shop. Idly, Mitch thought it might not be a bad addition, seeing as she never seemed to have any customers. True, alcohol and costly collectables were a dangerous combination, but at this point, if she didn’t start taking some risks, her business would fold. Not that he particularly cared; it was just that they’d have to find another GM to play under. Plus, he’d asked around, and apparently the module she was running was pretty rare. Most of the internet had only rumors about it. Mitch was not the sort of man who could give up exclusivity or any other status symbol that could be used to elevate his ego.
