Aaron glanced around the crowded room, trying to see through the smoke to the bar where Kirk was supposed to be getting their drinks. They had been trying to get into the Green Dragon for several days and had finally managed. The Dragon had a reputation for being a source of information and gossip for adventurers and as a result was immensely popular. Though it wasn’t every day you could find out something that would lead to the next great adventure and fame, several notable heroes had gotten their start here. There were several drawings and paintings behind the bar (they were probably safer there) of Gord the Rogue, Zagig Yragerne and the now infamous Tasha of the Company of Seven, even Otto of the Circle of Eight - who still lived in the city.
They were sitting at a small table next to the stairs that led up to the rooms above. He finally spotted Kirk who was at the far end of the bar speaking with the barkeep. Presumably ordering their drinks. He glanced around the room at the other patrons being careful not to meet anyone’s gaze for too long lest they think it a challenge. Their main reason for being here tonight was to relax and drink, and if they picked up on anything, then that was just a bonus and good fortune. Then he spotted a large man with dark hair with a tinge of silver and steel gray beard seated across the taproom at a table next to what must be used as a stage. His eyes met the stranger’s and they stared at each other for a moment before Aaron lowered his own gaze back to the table and his now empty flagon. He dared not look back in the stranger’s direction too soon, but he could still feel the man’s eyes upon him. From what he could see through the smoke the man was over six feet tall and, judging from the grayness of his hair and beard, was likely in his middle age. He was leaning his chair back, resting it against the wall, while taking long draughts on his pipe. A full flagon of beer being set under his nose brought his attention back to his own table.
“Here you go. Sorry about the wait” Kirk said.
“I knew I should have gone instead,” Aaron replied. “You can’t just go and simply order, can you? You have to strike up a conversation with everyone. I would have been back in a quarter of the time it took you.”
“It’s called ‘showing an interest,’ and it’s a good way to earn trust and get information.”
“And did you?” Aaron asked.
“Did I what?”
“Get any useful information?” Aaron said that with a touch more sarcasm than he had intended.
“As a matter of fact yes.” Kirk paused for effect. “He said the blonde ale is particularly good this season.”
With that Kirk raised his mug in a mock toast. Aaron raised his, tried to resist the urge to smile, then took a long drink.
Kirk watched his friend for a reaction either way and when he saw none asked, “And?”
“He’s right. It’s not bad.”
“I’ll make an ale drinker out of you yet. You’ll be the most knowledgeable half-elf in the Flanaess on the subject of ales and beers” Kirk boasted.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For now, I think I’ll just focus on the blonde ale.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “Speaking of focusing on things, have you noticed the gray-bearded man sitting across the room next to the stage? He seems to be paying us more attention than anyone else in here.”
Kirk turned completely around in his seat and looked over in the direction of the stage. Aaron grabbed him, “Don’t turn around and look. Could you be any more obvious,” he asked urgently.
Kirk turned back around and smiled. “I think you take things too seriously. Relax. Enjoy yourself a little. After what we’ve been through the past few months we’ve earned this and should enjoy the break.” He turned his attention back to his ale and drank deeply.
He was right. The past few months traveling from Oldred to Greyhawk City had been bad luck followed by worse luck. Aaron’s father had been killed in Oldred by two hired assassins. The investigation by the town guard determined it was due to a case of mistaken identity. Aaron placed his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. It had been his father’s, and it was all that he had left of him now. Then, after losing their horses and having to walk a quarter of the way they were both lighter than when they had started out. Both in actual weight and in coin. They needed to find adventure or employment soon or they would exhaust their funds within a month.
The inn was filling up now as more and more people came in. It was quite a mix. A group of halflings had taken over a large table near the center of the room and the smoke from their pipes hung in the air like a low, thick fog. By the time they finished their current round, you couldn’t see from one side to the other.
Kirk took a deep drink then nodded in the direction of the bar. “I’m going to be up there one day,” he said matter-of-factly.
“What? Stuffed and mounted you mean.” Aaron smiled at his friend’s modesty.
“No. Remembered in song and story. Mark my words.”
Aaron took another drink then replied, “Consider them marked. My money is on stuffed and mounted.”
Kirk set his half-empty tankard down. “I believe next round is yours. Might want to get an early start.”
“Now I know why you offered to buy the last round. With all these people it’s going to take forever just to make it through to the bar much less order.” Aaron looked about the room and began trying to strategize a path from his seat to an empty space at the bar.
“Good thing your kind lives long then. Better get a move on since I don’t have your longevity.”
Aaron stood and started winding his way through the crowd and almost tripped over a pair of gnomes who were having a contest to see who could balance their drink on the end of their nose the longest. It took him several minutes and a half-dozen pardons and excuses to finally make it. While he waited for the barman to make his way over, he happened to glance back over at the table next to the stage. The large man was no longer seated there. Instead, what appeared to be a rather fat merchant and several dwarves were having a discussion and trying to discreetly sell some gems. Aaron was relieved. There was something in the man's gaze that caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end, but he supposed he was reading more into the situation than there was.
“What can I get for you?” The rough voice brought his attention back to the bar.
“Four of those blonde ales.” Aaron flipped a gold crown to the man who caught it and, with one massive hand, grabbed four tankards and filled them one by one under a stream of honey-colored beer from a large barrel. He set them down in front of Aaron who took them and started picking and winding his way through the crowd back to his table.
“Perfect timing,” said Kirk setting his just-emptied tankard down. He caught sight of the four beers in Aaron’s grasp. “Oh, and I see we’ve learned to plan ahead.”
“No, I just didn’t want to risk dying of thirst if I had to wait on you to make your way there and back for the next round.”
Kirk smiled. “Good man.”
“Elf,” Aaron replied.
“Half-elf.” Kirk corrected.
They took their time finishing their drinks. For most of the evening they were silent, choosing instead to listen in to the other conversations and stories being told. Considering the diverse group of races in the place, everyone was getting along remarkably well. No fights. No arguments. A few outlandish boasts were made which were immediately challenged by the crowd, but beyond that, it seemed everyone was intent on having a good time.
Kirk looked at Aaron. “This never could have happened in Oldred,” he said.
He ought to know. He had been a captain of the guard in Oldred until Aaron, and his father had arrived. Valandil and Aaron had been on their way to Greyhawk City when they were attacked. During the skirmish, Valandil was killed while saving one of the city guards who wandered into the middle of the fight. Kirk decided to help make sure Aaron at least made it this far. The half-elf didn’t have anywhere near his father’s experience.
And Kirk also knew what it was like to lose a parent. He had grown up an orphan; his own parents killed when he was only a few years old. He was passed around until a someone in Greyhawk had tracked down an uncle, and he was sent away to Oldred. Kirk told himself that he wanted to make sure Aaron made it because of his own experience after his parent’s death. But the truth was, he was curious. From the moment the two showed up there was something that didn’t quite add up. It also provided an excuse to return to the city of his birth.
Kirk was observant and a good judge of character. He often noticed things others missed, and that enabled him to make it quickly through the ranks of the city watch. When Aaron and Valandil arrived in Oldred, they said they were from Sunndi, but Valandil still had traces of an accent Kirk recognized from Rangers of the Gnarley Forrest. And Aaron, being a half-elf, was not half an elf from the forest of Sunndi. He didn’t have a lot of experience with elves in general, but there was something about Aaron that just didn’t seem quite right. One thing was for certain, Aaron definitely could handle the sword and bow. Kirk’s curiosity to see what would happen once they arrived in Greyhawk was also a motivating factor. It was his first time back in the city since being sent away after his parents died. He was surprised how much he still remembered and how little the area around the Green Dragon, where he learned to pick the pockets of drunk patrons as they stumbled home, had changed.
It was getting late, and Kirk could see the drink was beginning to take effect on his companion. He reached over and grabbed Aaron’s forearm to get his attention.
“Best we keep our wits about us. Probably time to head back and get some rest. Doesn’t look like much is going to happen here tonight, but it has been interesting.”
He was looking in the direction of the table of halflings where one of them had gotten up on the table and was dancing along to the other’s singing all while spilling most of the contents of his half-pint.
“I suppose,” said Aaron trying to suppress a yawn. He stood up and drew his cloak about him. They squeezed their way through the crowd and made it out the double doors and on to Cargo Street. It was late and but there were still quite a few folks in the lane coming and going from an evening’s entertainment. There were a few half-orcs hanging around the doors of the Dragon, probably waiting for space to open up so they could get a table. Aaron shuddered involuntarily at the sight of them. They weren’t the most attractive race, though still better than full orc he thought.
It was cool, but pleasant in the River Quarter of the city. There was a light fog rolling in from the river, which was not far. They had secured lodging a few streets over at a hostel on Horseshoe Road. The Dragon was nearly in the middle of Cargo street, so it didn’t matter if they went left or right, but if they went left they could cut through Reef Alley and avoid The Strip and shorten the walk.
They started off toward Reef Alley walking past the closed shops and import-export merchants who handled cargo from the river and across the Nyr Dyv. There were several other inns along the street which benefited from the Dragon’s popularity as the customers who couldn’t get into the Dragon would settle for a drink at one of the other establishments.
The fog became thicker as they got closer to the river and they nearly passed the turn into Reef Alley. Aaron caught Kirk’s arm and guided him left into the way. The road was fairly deserted as most people preferred to stick to the main streets this time of night, but the alley connected to Horseshoe Road right next to where they were staying and so was the shortest route.
Reef Alley continued straight for a short distance and then made a sharp, left turn. The fog was thicker in the alley than it had been on Cargo Street. As soon as Kirk and Aaron rounded the corner three large, armed men stepped out of the shadows and blocked their way.
Kirk recognized one of them from the Green Dragon. He had been standing next to him when he was speaking with the barman about the different types of ale and which region made the best.
“Pardon us. Didn’t mean to block your way. By all means, we’ll step to the side and allow you to pass,” said Kirk with light-hearted sincerity and more than a hint of sarcasm. He was trying not to escalate the situation unnecessarily, but at the same time he moved his right arm and with his hand released the strap securing his sword in its scabbard.
The three brigands looked at each other. This was definitely not the reaction they had anticipated. The one from the Green Dragon stepped forward.
“Pardon us, but we did. We’re humble protectors of the way. Guarantor’s of folks safe passage through. If you take my meaning,” said the small man with an equal measure of sarcasm.
“Ah.” Kirk glanced at Aaron and winked. That was the pre-arranged signal that he should be prepared for a fight. “And just what does such a guaranty cost in Greyhawk these days?”
“Well, there are two of you. Your elf friend…”
“Half-elf.” Kirk corrected him.
“Sorry. You and your half-elf friend could be safely escorted anywhere in the city you choose for, oh let’s say your half-elf friend’s fancy sword there. After all, with the three of us around you, he wouldn’t be needin’ it.”
“I’m afraid I’m rather attached to it. Sentimental value.” Aaron replied matching the small man's sarcastic tone.
The small one stared at Aaron. “That’s most unfortunate. For you.” With that, he drew his dagger, and the two larger men readied their short swords.
Kirk’s sword was out in an instant and Aaron stepped back to have room to draw his own. Suddenly, the two larger brigands grunted and fell unconscious to the ground. Another large figure was moving in behind the would-be-robbers. At the sudden change of circumstances, the small man with the dagger decided on a change of plan and darted past Kirk and fled down and around the bend towards Cargo Street.
Kirk glanced at Aaron, “That was unexpected.”
Kirk and Aaron watched the small thief until he could no longer be seen through the fog, then turned their attention to the towering figure partially hidden by the mist. Both had their swords drawn and at a low, ready position. “Be you friend or foe?” Kirk called out.
“That remains to be seen,” the shape replied in a deep voice, thick with a Greyhawk accent.
The figure stepped out of the mist, and they both recognized him as the tall man who had been smoking his pipe by the stage in the Green Dragon.
“But for now, call me Rarsirrien.”
Rarsirrien looked the pair over and Kirk and Aaron lowered their swords. “We need to have a chat. However, this isn’t a conversation that should be had in an alley. Come.”
He walked past them and headed back towards Cargo Street. Aaron and Kirk looked at each other. Finally, Kirk broke the silence.
“You heard the man. Follow him.” He started off in the same direction.
“Follow him?” Aaron asked incredulously. “You do know he is the same guy who was staring at me in the Green Dragon.”
“You have a better idea right now? He just took out two large armed men without a sound or drawing a sword. I’m willing to hear the man out.” With that he turned and disappeared around the bend after Rarsirrien.
Aaron sighed. Then he noticed Kirk was out of sight. Aaron started off at an easy run to catch up with the two men.
Rarsirrien walked through the city up to the gates leading into the Garden quarter and led them to a large stone and wood building on Welkwood Boulevard. As he entered, both Kirk and Aaron stopped and looked at one another. This was no slum dwelling. They were in a very affluent area of the city full of artisans, diplomats, and high society.
“Not at all what I expected,” Kirk said softly.
“Yeah…,” muttered Aaron still trying to take it all in.
“Come in gentlemen. Have a seat, please.” Rarsirrien gestured to a pile of thick pillows that lay spread out on the floor around a brazier with burning coals.
The pair found a seat and both loosened their swords from their belts and laid them on the cool marble floor next to them. Rarsirrien watched Aaron remove his sword and stared at it for a few long moments before addressing them.
“I don’t normally invite fools who try and get themselves robbed on the way home from the pub into my home. But,“ he paused and looked each of them over before continuing “in your cases I’m prepared to make an exception.”
Kirk’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Why don’t I invite fools or why am I making an exception?” He didn’t give Kirk a chance to answer before continuing. He waved his hand dismissively and walked over to a small table with wine and glasses. “No matter. It’s a good question either way and one that has a longer answer than you may expect. Drink?” He held out two glasses of wine. They took them, slowly and with eyebrows raised and waited until Rarsirrien took a sip from his own glass. “Feel better? It’s not poisoned. I didn’t save your skins just to kill you myself. Certainly not here in my own home. The mess, after all. Much neater if I had killed you in the alley.”
“So why did you help us?” asked Kirk.
“Because I was curious. About your friend at first,” he said nodding in Aaron’s direction, “but then about you as well. I think I know you. If I’m right your parents had a shop not far from Cobbler street. As I recall, the two were murdered by an extortionist named Gaxhaj and you spent your early years here getting in a bit of trouble before a relative was found and able to come and take you.”
Aaron, who had been looking around the room at the various artwork, now glanced at Kirk who made no indication whether Rarsirrien was right or wrong. He didn’t have time to focus on Kirk long as he suddenly found himself the topic of the conversation.
“As I said, your friend is the one who initially attracted my attention, and I’m sure he’ll attract more the longer he remains here.”
“Why’s that?” Aaron was immediately suspicious and more than a little uncomfortable at being the focus of attention.
“Because you’re what I’d call…a paradox. Oh, half-elves are common enough around the city. You couldn’t swing a dead gnome and not hit one, but not one with olive skin, green eyes, a Sunndi dialect and a sword with the markings common of the Rangers of the Gnarly Forrest. No, I’d say your mixed parentage includes an elf mother and a father who was a Ranger. How those two came to meet would be an interesting tale in and of itself, but then there is the dialect. So how does an Elf and a Gnarley Forrest Ranger manage to have a half-elf child who grew up Sunndi?”
He drained his glass, poured another and then sat across from them and pulled his pipe from a pocket inside his robe and a small pouch of tobacco leaf and began repacking it. Both Kirk and Aaron sat and watched in silence. Their guest was very observant and evidently well traveled or had encountered enough people to be able to pick up traits giving him clues to parentage and origin.
Kirk glanced at Aaron. He knew the half-elf was different but he never really paid attention to just how different. He assumed Aaron’s darker skin was a result of hours spent outdoors. He knew he was from Sunndi and they had met in Oldred. That was a journey of several weeks. Under the sun. He just assumed.
Aaron noticed Kirk’s gaze, “What’s that look for? You’re starting to make me uncomfortable.” He turned to Rarsirrien, “Yes, my father was a ranger, but he never mentioned the Gnarly Forrest. I don’t know much about his past. He never really spoke about it. It’s true though, my mother is an elf. She was captured by orcs from the Pomarj. My father was hired to help guard a caravan that was passing through when they came upon the orc raiding party and killed them. They freed my mother and several other prisoners who’d been captured. I always thought she wanted to get as far away from the Pomarj as possible. “
“How do you know so much about us?” Kirk interrupted.
“Oh. I’m a collector of sorts and I like to observe people as a hobby. I deal with traders and merchants from all corners of the Flanaess. I collect,” he paused, “special items. And information. Knowledge is also power. More wine?” He held out the crystal decanter to Kirk who took it and refilled his and then Aaron’s glasses.
“You can learn a lot through observation. For example, I can tell you’re right handed. I have the advantage of having known your parents and I knew that after their death you spent time here in an orphan’s home before a distant relative came and took you back with him to Oldred. I can see you were once a Captain of the guard there.” He paused, “the sword. It’s standard issue for the Oldred City Guard and I guess that you were at least a Captain because they are the only ones allowed to keep their issued weapon after they leave or finish their service.”
Aaron took the glass and set it beside him. He removed the glove from his sword hand and tucked it into the pocket of his cloak and picked his glass up.
Rarsirrien noticed the small silver ring on Aaron’s pinky finger for the first time. “That’s a nice piece of work,” he waved his hand dismissively, “fine craftsmanship though otherwise unremarkable.”
“What?” asked Aaron.
“Your ring. Silver strands interwoven with that small piece of turquoise stone inset. Not worth much I’m afraid, but then I’m not much interested in rings. No, I’m more interested in swords. Yours in particular.”
The ring belonged to Aaron’s mother, Ondoher. She had given it to him when he had left. Something to remember her by, she had said. Aaron was slightly tenser now and drew his sword closer to him. Their host had a remarkable eye for details. Aaron wasn't sure what his game was just yet, but he didn’t want to get caught unprepared.
Rarsirrien evidently sensed Aaron’s apprehension. “Have no fear. I don’t intend to rob you of it. As I said, I could have just as easily killed you and taken it in the alley.” He paused and took another sip of wine. “Just out of curiosity, have you noticed anything peculiar about it?”
Aaron’s brow furrowed, “What do you mean, peculiar?”
“I mean anything out of the ordinary about it. Do you notice if your senses seem more attuned, or understand things more clearly, does it react to the presence of any type of animal?”
Aaron was even more suspicious of their host and his motives now. “No, nothing. Just an ordinary sword. It was my father’s.” He lied. He had noticed some odd things when holding the sword, but he had chalked them up to his imagination but now that Rarsirrien had asked he began to suspect that perhaps there was more to his father’s sword than he knew.
“Hmph.” Rarsirrien took a long pull on his pipe and exhaled slowly, the smoke drifting slowly upward to hang above him like a low cloud. “I’m considered a rather knowledgeable person in regards to magical items and in particular swords. Especially ones with special abilities. It’s a hobby of mine. Perhaps passion is a better word. I thought I recognized the markings on yours. I might be wrong and could be just a copy of another sword.”
“I’m sure that must be it,” said Aaron now resting his hand on his sword.
“There are many magical weapons in the world,” said Rarsirrien. He stood and walked to a wall where several swords, shields, daggers, and maces were hung. “Most aren’t all that special because the spells used to create them, or the spell caster, weren’t all that powerful. However,” he took a longsword similar to Aaron’s off the wall and held it, “there are a handful that are legendary. Ancient relics that were forged by great craftsmen and enchanted with powerful spells for a special purpose. Those are very, very rare. Many have been lost to the ages. Take the Five Blades of Corusk for example.” He hung the sword back on the wall. “Five ancient blades created by barbarian magic and now lost. Their own magic blocks any attempt to use magic to locate them. Many believe that they are no longer in this world but are lost on some other plane of existence. Of course, some less scrupulous spell casters have tried to create fakes. Hoping to sell them to some unwitting fool who would be willing to believe that anyone could truly put a price on, or part with, such an item. Others hidden deep in dungeons are illusions. Traps to lure foolhardy adventurers and treasure seekers to their doom. Some say there are still ancient magical relics hidden in the depths of the ruins of Castle Greyhawk.”
Rarsirrien walked over and stood before Aaron. He held out his hand and Aaron could see he was wearing a ring with a stone that seemed to be filled with blue smoke. “May I see your sword? I give you my word I have no intention of stealing it from you.”
Aaron glanced at Kirk who merely shrugged. “I don’t see what harm it could do. Might be interesting to know if your father’s sword is enchanted.”
Aaron stood and handed the sword to Rarsirrien who took it and held the ring against it.
“Well?” said Aaron.
“Interesting. The hilt, crosspiece, and pommel appear to be made of adamantine. My ring has a detect magic spell cast upon it so that if it touches a magic item, the stone should change color.”
“Did it?” asked Kirk.
“So it’s not enchanted,” said Aaron.
“No, that’s not what I said…interesting. The detect magic spell was dispelled.”
Aaron’s brow furrowed again, and his eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your sword just dispelled the magic in my ring to prevent detection.” He drew the sword from its scabbard and studied the blue steel blade for a moment. He turned the blade in the candlelight trying to see all the markings clearer. Then his eyes widened, and he hurriedly sheathed the blade and handed it back to Aaron.
“What’s wrong?” asked Aaron.
“I think you should keep this hidden as best as possible. Better would be to try and disguise it.”
“Why? What is it?”
“I’m not positive, but I have an idea. The less you know, for now, the better,” Rarsirrien told them.
Suddenly there was the sound of glass breaking against the front door followed by a sudden sheet of flame and searing heat. Aaron and Rarsirrien turned to face the only other exit, an arched doorway leading out to a stone patio, while Kirk jumped to his feet. They saw several shadows pass before another sheet of flame spread across the exit to the terrace.
Trapped. Or so it appeared.
Rarsirrien moved to the wall with the swords and took the long sword he had been holding just minutes ago off the wall. Then he placed the tip into a small gap near the bottom of the wall and turned the blade. There was a click, and then the sound of stone on stone as a section moved slightly inward. Rarsirrien pushed it the rest of the way open.
“Had this made years ago. Never had to use it.” Then motioned Aaron and Kirk to go through before following them and then pushing the section of wall closed behind him.
It was pitch black at first, and neither Kirk nor Aaron could really see anything then suddenly a series of torches began to burst into life. Rarsirrien pushed past the pair and led them down a set of stairs. Aaron sensed that they were about twenty feet below ground level when the stairs ended and they were in a stone tunnel almost four feet wide.
“This way. Quickly. It’s not going to take them long to figure out we must have another way to escape once we don’t come running outside.” The trio ran along the tunnel for several minutes. It was hard for Aaron to keep his bearings through the twists and turns. Eventually the tunnel they were in ended in what appeared to be a dead end. Rarsirrien felt along several stones near the top, then paused and pressed one of them. There was a groan as a section of wall moved outward and the tunnel they had been in merged with another series of tunnels. These were different in construction. Older and out of brick, not the smooth stone like the one under Rarsirrien’s home.
“We’re in part of the old sewers now,” Rarsirrien whispered. “We need to move quickly. This way.” He started off and took a branch of the tunnel that went to the right as the section of wall closed behind them.
The three moved as quickly and as silently as they could. Kirk and Aaron following their host and now forced to trust him. After nearly half-an-hour and countless twists and turns, there was no sound of pursuit behind them. Finally, they came to a section where there was some faint light streaming down and a ladder of metal rungs anchored into the wall leading up. Rarsirrien started up, and when he reached the top, he paused and slowly lifted the (hatch) open just enough to peer through. The opening was into what appeared to be a dimly lit storeroom. He glanced around, and once he was satisfied, there was no one around he made his way out then turned and reached down to help both of them up in turn.
They were in a small, narrow room full of barrels of beer and wine as well as other foodstuffs. Kirk recognized the markings on one of the barrels. “We’re back in the Green Dragon!”
“Shh.” Rarsirrien was looking out the door to see if the coast was clear. Once he was satisfied it was, he motioned for the others to follow and they stepped into the kitchen which was empty for the moment, save for stacks of dirty dishes and mugs.
Aaron glanced around, “Is there a back way out?”
Rarsirrien looked at the two, “Unfortunately, no. There is only one way in or out of the Green Dragon, and that’s by the front door.”
“Wait a second, you led us into an escape route that has only one exit?” Kirk said shaking his head.
“The owner and operator of the Green Dragon are both friends of mine. They showed me the secret door in the storeroom but I only ever expected to be escaping from the Dragon, not into it.” Just as Rarsirrien finished the door to the bar opened and in walked a middle-aged woman with an arm full of dirty dishes. She gasped and dropped her arms to her sides. The sound of plates crashing to the floor that could be heard over the noise of the crowd out front. Apparently, the patrons heard it too as there was suddenly thunderous applause, cheers, and whistles.
“Sorry, Flo. Didn’t mean to startle you,” Rarsirrien said apologetically. “ I’ll pay for the damaged dishes, but right now do you think you could help us get out without attracting too much attention?” he asked. “Ricard showed me the secret exit in the storeroom. I’d love to explain, but there’s no time. Please trust me.”
Florence was gathering the pieces of broken glass together on the floor with a small broom. She jerked her head towards the back wall, where several baskets of dirty towels and aprons hung.
“Put those on. There are a few empty barrels that need taking out for the morning pick up. Don’t expect anyone would pay much attention to the help carrying empties out.”
Rarsirrien followed her gaze and spotted a sack with the dirty aprons and bar towels. He grabbed three, put one somewhat stained one on and passed the other two to Kirk and Aaron. Then they each picked up an empty ale barrel and placed it on their left shoulder so that they hid their faces.
Florence held the door open so that they could make their way behind then around the bar. “And don’t drop ‘em. We’ve to pay for damaged ones,” she said with a snort then let the door slam behind them.
The trio made their way through the now thinned crowd, which took no notice of them, and out the front door back into Cargo street where they had been just hours earlier. There were already several empty barrels sitting against the wall, and so they stacked the other three neatly and carefully with the others.
Rarsirrien and Kirk looked up and down the street while Aaron scanned the rooftops for anything suspicious.
Rarsirrien pulled Kirk and Aaron close. “Looks like we’ve had a bit of luck and managed to duck our firebugs for the moment. Let’s press our advantage. I know a safe house not far from here near the docks.”
“Who are our ‘firebugs’?” Aaron asked taking the apron off and stashing it behind the barrels.
Rarsirrien followed suit. “First, we make sure we’re safe. Then we ask questions.”
Kirk removed his apron and placed it with the others. The three then headed off down Cargo Street towards the city gate then down to the docks where rows of warehouse stood dark.
© 2020 David Stempnakowski All Rights Reserved. Witch Queen of Perrenland is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.