(Roleplay): Hear Ye, Hear Ye!! Heroes Needed!!

[Guest]

The guards were vigilant inspite of the monotony of their post. Not that it mattered to Yearn, but had they been less watchful he'd consider simply slipping past them. He'd seen how the guards inside were far less alert, leaving him to wonder if this spoke well or ill of the Captain. Many a strict, disliked officer has been discovered in their bed with their airway opened from a blade. If Captain Jasper did not fear his men, perhaps they did not need to fear him to follow him as well. Or, perhaps the lax guards who barely glanced at the Cleric had orders of their own? Yearn stopped himself. These were thoughts for the decoy to ponder, not him as he had to be at his best. Focus on the two in front of him, then perhaps his curiousity concerning the other guards will be next satisfied.

Yearn approached them directly and announced, "I have an appointment with Captain Jasper."

This was not what the guards were expecting to hear having spent their day rebuffing would-be heroes.

"Your summons?" The guards were wary of a ruse and their training called for one to monitor the area for surprise threats as the other worked quickly to verify the visitors credentials and usher them in, dismiss them, or decide to detain them for questioning in the garrison under armed watch.

Yearn pulled a rolled parchment from the hidden pocket on his cloak, bearing the Captains personal seal still unbroken.

"How do you know it's a summons if the seal is still intact and the message unread?" The guards were in unfamiliar territory with their sense screaming something was wrong but unsure what to target or even exactly why.

"Because he is going to want it back from where I took it. That being, his desk this afternoon. And before you draw weapons on me or call out consider what that means for your own sakes. If I walk in on my own, this will find its way back onto his desk and no one the wiser that it took a little walk. You make a fuss, and you'll be telling the Sergeant at Arms how you managed to capture someone who offered themselve to you openly with a letter they took from the Captain's desk. Under your watch. Besides, I have the feeling Sir Fletcher is needing more than just muscle and quick reflexes for whatever he has planned."

[_honorentheos]

Was it to their credit they let him in or a mark of their overvaluing their own worth? Yearn wondered as he walked through the gate opened by the two guards, who had only paused briefly and without verbal conference before nodding and letting him pass. But he shook his head to exercise his mind of such thoughts. It would be a fool who didn't value their own hide enough to have recognized their situation offered little upside for choosing valor while risking potentially fatal consequences were the Sergeant at Arms to believe they had failed in their duty as guards.

Honor of a kind that would lead a man, woman or beast to sacrifice themselves for another person who was close to them Yearn understood very well. But loyalty to a banner, cause or even a god? Such things seemed tinged with darkness whenever he let them occupy the center of his mind. Best to not dwell long on why some let their lives be taken so cheaply when they were obviously esteemed as little value by those to whom they were given. Yet why then did most choose to lead lives under a banner? Nature, when She came to him in dreams, offered no answers for these questions. She simply let him see. The fox killed the rabbit to survive. The rabbit ate the grass to survive. The owlbear ate anything including the fox, rabbit and grass but in time would pass to be eaten itself by the smallest of Nature's charges. The grass grew greenest where the owlbear, fox and the rabbit's remains had been taken back to Nature. The rain fell on good men and bad. The wind blew for nobleman's vessels and pirates, and at other times becalmed them as well. The dragon took life and gold and brooded always over its horde. For this in spite of their strength and magic they became forever the object of hate and attack until even the mightiest were found and killed. While the meekest of birds in the forest was left to live it's life to its natural end. These things Nature showed Yearn. And he learned from Her the arts needed to live like the bird, the grass, and also the owlbear, fox and the rabbit.

When he had flown into the compound that afternoon as the Jay, it had been boiling with activity and noise. Now, with the approach of evening the soldiers had changed their tasks from those of combat to those of care. The animals were being fed and groomed, swords wiped of the grime that came with training, and a multitude of other mundane but necessary tasks were underway. Guards armed with arrows remained vigilant at their towers and the watchfires were being well supplied for the coming night but otherwise the overall noise and bustle of the day had broken like a wave on the coming dusk. The setting sun still provided sufficient light that Yearn found his way back to the captain's tent with ease though the surroundings leading to it looked quite different from eye-level compared to when seen from the height of a bird and understood as a bird understands the world of human objects.

Captain Jasper was in small conference with a few of his officers when Yearn arrived at the door of the tent. The two guards at the entrance had changed since that afternoon, but appeared no more inclined to harass him other than to ask him to wait while one stepped inside to ask if Captain Jasper wished to allow him to enter or wait until he was done with the other officers? The ranger eyed them warily, wondering again if their apparent indifference was a mark of their own confidence that anyone approaching unescorted from inside the camp must have passed the test of the first guards? or if this was a sign of something else?

"Let him enter." Yearn heard the Captain through the door himself but waited to be gestured to by the returning guard before doing so.

The three officers sat in chairs in front of the large table that were the main furnishings in this room of the tent. Two of them turned in their chairs as Yearn entered while the third stood with obvious intention to freely access his sword were the need to arise. Captain Jasper remained seated. Even still Yearn could see he was a large man, almost inhumanly large though not quite the size of a troll or small giant. For a hunter of the unnatural it was enough to leave Yearn more on edge than even his normal discomfort being indoors could explain. As he focused more Yearn made out from the Captain's expression something that surprised him - relief?

"State your name."

"Yearn."

"Yearn. You are here to answer Sir Fletcher's call I presume though I question that you bested the guards through strength with arms like the wings of a roasted chicken such as yours. I'd ask how you managed to best them but given your cloak, sword and bow I'm going to guess you either bewitched them or they have no idea you are here." Jasper gave a dry smile. "I'm hoping it's the first."

"They let me enter." Yearn's eyes were unfocused looking roughly between the officers and over the Captains shoulder as he answered, allowing him to take in as much of the room as possible and see any movement made in his direction though it did not allow him to focus on any detail. That the Captain guessed he had used cunning rather than strength to gain entrance did not surprise him but he didn't intend to be caught off guard if this news offended the Captain.

Captain Jasper appeared to wait for Yearn to expand on his answer until it became apparent that was all Yearn intended to share.

"Well then. I'll do the talking. You're skilled in hunting and tracking?"

"I am."

"Do you prefer the sword, bow or some other weapon when you hunt?"

"The bow when hunting or if I've been seen. The sword if otherwise."

This answer led Jasper to nod. "I think we understand one another then. I suppose you're wondering about the party you'll be joining? I'll tell you more now but frankly there isn't much to tell. A devotee of Pelor is the other occupant of the quarters you'll share and..."

"You presume I'm here to join. I've not confirmed this is my wish to you, nor to myself." Yearn was aware both of the seated officers were preparing to stand now, and took the measure of the room. The tables size was to his advantage if they chose combat as it meant the Captain could not engage easily. But three against one, with two guards at the door was not the kind of situation Yearn entered into intending to pick a fight. "It's not my wish to offend. It's just, I value many things over the promises of gold and fame Sir Fletcher might offer. Had your guards been letting anyone with a sword enter, I'd be on my way back into the forest this very evening. It seems you are both desperate for help yet can't afford to accept just anyone for whatever purposes you have."

Captain Jasper had been taken aback by the ranger's sudden interruption though he did not show it. He had not risen to his rank nor earned this trust by being easily antagonized but he was perplexed by the ranger's words.

"You've found your tongue. And you are right in what you say. Sir Fletcher's needs aren't for an army or adventurers more eager than experienced. I'm not able to say more now as the nature of the business requires it be shared with the party as a whole. I should tell you that we can ill afford a stinking forest beggar whose curiosity is bigger than his balls. But you know that is not true. So I'll ask instead what it is that you suspect you may hear that may sway you?"

Yearn shifted his pose slightly to expose the hilt of his short sword to the Captain's view. "For most of my life I've hunted the unnatural beasts of the forest that murder and hunt our kind and those allied with us. My own life was almost taken when I was a child but for Nature's chance glance that felled one such corruption, and while I can't say why I feel it is so I sense that your need has also caught Her eye. Perhaps there is something in your purpose that you recognize in this that enlightens you why I am here if it is still dark to me?"

Captain Jasper let Yearn's words sit in the room as he contemplated what this ranger may already know. Had he been hiding here before and overheard a whisper of a rumor and was playing this card to see how Jasper would react? Or was he sincere?

"I'll take your presence and prescience as an omen. I can't promise that what you will hear of the mission when it is time will be to your liking. But I believe it will both satisfy your curiosity as well as perhaps make more sense to you than to me why you may be compelled to join."

He looked hard at Yearn's face for several moments and then appeared to yield slightly. "I'll offer you this much. You may leave now without consequence or stay to hear the briefing when it is time. But if you do stay and then choose to not join, I must compel you to remain here in the compound in the cells under guard until such time as I am assured your knowledge will not be a danger to the others. Do you agree to these terms?"

As he heard the Captain's words, Yearn's thoughts were gathering around a vision from the past, of trolls, of death, of fire, of one person's voice calling out...

"Agreed. And yeah, I'll stay."

[_Some Schmo]

After the ranger left the tent, Jasper and his officers sat in silence briefly before the Captain asked, "Do we have a mole?" He didn't look at anyone directly. He focused straight ahead as his words settled over the room.

The other officer's were stunned. Where had this come from? What had the stranger said?

Finally, one of the lieutenants found his voice, but had little to say with it. "Sir?"

"You were both standing right here, and I pray you were both listening with earnest. How did he know about the rift?"

Fearing the Captain might think he was not paying attention, the other lieutenant said, "He never mentioned the rift, sir. I'm... sure of it."

"Does a man need to say explicit words for you to understand an explicit message? Have you ever heard of an implication, or perhaps an inference? He said he thought this mission was related to a concern of Nature, as though nature were a goddess. As he put it, our mission 'caught her eye.' If there is one thing a rift is, it's a concern of nature. If she's alive, she's likely pretty angry right now."

The first lieutenant was beginning to understand, but not completely. "But sir, you've already said there is nothing we can do about the rift. It's not the mission."

"It's not inconsequential to the mission either. In fact, without the rift, there is no mission. At least, not a mission in need of a special team. A small dispatch of soldiers could handle it if there wasn't the spatial displacement to worry about."

"True, but bowman was only asking. He might be crazed, for all we know. Even a blind squirrel can find a nut occasionally." The other officers were regaining their confidence. They didn't like to anger the Captain, but this didn't look like one of those times. Both lieutenants knew they were keeping the mouths shut about the mission, so why should they fear? Neither was a mole. They just had to keep their feet on the ground and remember what was real... unless the Captain happened to go on one of his rare irrational tirades...

The lieutenant's words did seem to calm the Captain somewhat, although it was always hard to tell. The Captain was a still water running deep.

"Yes, I suppose it could have been a lucky guess, or perhaps even a suspicion borne out of his profession. Occupational hazard, if you like. Let me ask you this, though: do you think a man like that is often wrong on matters concerning the forest, or the dirt, water, flame and wind, for that matter?"

His officers were puzzled. "Just what kind of an bowman do you think he was?"

Jasper couldn't contain his laughter. "You think he was just a simple archer? You are a bright young man with a promising future, but you have much to learn, son. Much indeed. He was just a bowman like the rift is just a little rough weather."

[_honorentheos]

For most of his life, Boden had ridden everywhere he could possibly wish to go, and did everything he could possibly wish or be required to do on horseback. He had once decapitated an entire band of kobolds from horseback with a single move of his arm, the grip on his normally two-handed sword as strong as a black smiths was on their tongs as they swung their hammer with the other. The slight shifting in his saddle it required was done with barely a thought given to the actions involved.

But that, THAT was a life boring old men told of to their boring young grandchildren when the winter fires made the shadows that brought these stories to life appear far grander than the reality turned out to be. War, eh?...by the gods, what for was it to benefit? The fear in the anxious faces preceding it, the distant stares in the eyes of many that survived it, the cold eternal distant look of those who didn't,...bah. It was hardly worth the effort of putting on armor these days.

None of this could compare to the fire that rose in one's belly when one stood before a crowd holding a lute and bewitching them with song. Now THAT was exciting! That was a life Boden could find reason to keep living for and tell his own grandchildren about someday when not only the winter winds but his own lute and drums would make glorious his legend put into song. It was the will of the gods that he take up the lute, surely. Why else did his pulse quicken when he thought of song in ways he no longer felt when striking down a dark knight or carving through columns of orcs? Why else had the crowd at the inn cheered and laughed when the sour old elf declared Boden's song a sure sign he was destined by some god to give up his daily labor for the life of the lute?

So, finding a lute at a shop that had been left in place of money but never reclaimed, he purchased the lute for what he was certain was a fair price and began a new life. He wasn't sure, but since he did not recall ever seeing a bard on horseback he decided his new life demanded he also go on foot as well. It never occurred to him that he couldn't recall seeing a bard anywhere but when they were singing in a town square or at an inn for entertainment, and that perhaps their lack of mount was circumstantial. But then again, few things naturally occurred to Boden that weren't obvious. And often those had to be explained to him as well.

The day was winding down as he came into the town. He did not know it's name but the compound at it's center suggested it catered to soldiers and those who supported them. Boden knew a thing or two about such towns having spent much of his boyhood as a squire running errands for his knights among their buildings, fighting other squires to prove their knight was the strongest and their banner's colors the boldest. As he had grown older and sent squires of his own to run those errands while he and the other knights ate and spent time with the women of the establishments in their occupation, he thought fondly of those times. There had been promise in his future then, promise not turned to dry ash from repetitive existence. Promise he had forgotten existed until he took to song and took up the lute.

Of course the first place to stop would be the tavern near the compound. It was here he was most likely to find an opportunity to strum his bardic instrument in front of all, to entertain and make merry, to...find the tavern empty of all but the keeper?

The tavern keeper looked up at the promise of a second customer on this, the most bewildering of days. The gold coin left by the ranger had been a shock to him, scores over the value of the stew and ale he had consumed and making up for the strange hex he had seemed to have brought on. It was odd he could afford to spend so wantonly though by all appearances his needs were few. Perhaps giving up the coin was of less cost to the ranger than it was of value to the keep? Perhaps. He suspected that the normal patrons would have ordinary excuses for why they had not came in from their labors to enjoy his ale, and that it would be merely coincidence that all had such excuses on this day. Yet...the keeper was a man for whom coincidence was just an excuse for failure to anticipate the ebb and flow of business so it was not something he could let alone. His best guess was perhaps the proximity to the compound and the unusual call for heroes had left the normal towns folk wary of getting too close to the guards on duty, especially since they appeared unusually inclined to strike out without warning or provocation. It didn't quite settle his mind completely, but for the keeper it did offer some explanation and one that he could live with.

The man in front of him was perfect for this day of days. His golden hair, steeled oxen muscles and two-handed sword swung over his back proclaimed him to be just the sort of hero Sir Fletcher sought. Yet he had a used basic lute of a kind typically given to a child first learning to play slung over his other shoulder and appeared to carry no more belongings than fit in a saddlebag he had refitted for his own use slung to his side and strapped to his thigh to hold it close. It made no sense to the keep, and normally he'd not ask as it was bad for business to be too nosey. But on this day that had left too many questions unsatisfactorily answered already, he decided he would risk offending the guest rather than add to the weight and bewilderment his mind carried already.

"Welcome, good sir, to the Gryphon's Roost. I'd guess what business brings you to our town, but I must say you present a puzzle I can't unravel. I'll bring a stein of ale, a gift of the house, if you'll be straight with me in your answers."

"I'm no fool who would turn down the houses' ale to share what I'd gladly give away for free. Even more so as I'm looking to entertain and your tavern seems exactly the place where my playing could improve your business." Boden gave a meaningful sweeping look around the room with its many unoccupied tables.

"Ah, yes. I assure you, most days the Gryphon's Roost would be the center of activity in town as the town's folk congregate here knowing they can not only enjoy themselves but have the soldiers a mere shout away if they are needed. Yet because the soldiers are forbidden drink of the, eh, spiritual kind, there is little risk of real trouble. Today, though, is not most days. So...you are a bard, then? I must say, you carry your sword at least as comfortably as your lute so I was unsure."

Boden beamed as he knew his sword carrying was so comfortable the comment was the first time in hours he'd thought of its presence, speaking even more highly of his lute carrying by the tavern keepers own mouth without having even heard him play though it's presence on his back was practically the only thought on Boden's mind.

"Indeed, and your tavern would please me greatly if I could advertise, let us say a two week's residence with performances at times you see most fit? Knowing your clientele does two performances a night seem enough or should we plan for more?"

The tavern keeper chided himself for putting his nose in his guests' business and resolved to return to his old ways. Who was this man who came in, unknown and for all appearances a soldier making a poor attempt to pass himself off as a bard, bargaining for privileges even bards of local renown would blush over if they felt to request them? Certainly he had angered some god for this day to end even more bewildering than what had come before. He must have missed leaving an offering at a shrine while walking along a forest road or unknowing pissed in a ring of mushrooms at a stop along the way while purchasing firewood.

"Forgive me, but I don't believe I've heard of your, ah, infamy sir bard. By what name are you known that honours the Gryphon's Roost with a residency and on such terms as you suggest?"

This hadn't occurred to Boden that he could choose his bard name. Boden was short for his knighted title - Sir Francis Boden of Havenshire, Champion of the Felled Tower, Deliverer of Quidwarf, Mercy of Archtemple, Sword of the Lost King. But like most soldiers who found courts and ceremony even more boring than battle he was known to most by his family name only and this had been enough. But that name, Boden, it was the name of a boring life. Certainly he could choose one better suited to the exciting life of a famous bard? He thought of the sour elf who had inspired him to take up the lute.

"Elvish. My name is Elvish."

"Elvish? As in something pertaining to elves?" The keeper stopped thinking the day couldn't get any more bewildering.

Boden hadn't thought of that, and this put him on his heels which was a surprising feeling itself. "Er, I mean I go by my elvish name. Boden." It was probably best to keep his name anyway. He wouldn't have to remember the new one this way. And without time to think he was at least self-aware enough to recognize he couldn't come up with one better before the keep would recognize he was making it up. And that might hurt his chances at being given his residency that would begin his legacy as he had sensed the keep was not as excited about the opportunity as Boden was himself.

The keep had heard enough of the elven tongues to know Boden was not elvish but he'd learned his lesson when it came to asking questions this day.

"Well, Boden, while we have no guests perhaps you could entertain me as I get you some stew? I'm sure once I've heard your song I'll recall hearing of the famous bard known by his elvish name, Boden. The stew is a copper for the bowl in advance if it pleases you. I'm sure the guests that get drawn to your song will more than compensate you for your talents as well, which will please us both to be sure."

The keep took the coin Boden had pulled from a side pocket on his saddlebag, appearing unsure how to interpret the keepers words but not seeing any reason to read more into them than their straight meaning. As the keep headed to the kitchen, Boden unslung the lute and began to tune it. Or, that is what his actions suggested he was doing. The notes from the lute itself suggested he might have met his match in this task. At a point that seemed no different in the instrument's tuning than when he had begun, Boden seemed to satisfy himself and coughed, signaling he was about to sing. In spite of his misgivings regarding the bard, the keeper stopped to watch.

The noise that came from Boden's throat was startling. The keep felt a moment of vertigo as his stomach seemed to drop into his bowels and a local dog took up with a suitable howling chorus in accompaniment. The chord that the lute emitted in response left little doubt in the keeps mind that the sooner he could stop this Boden from performing the better.

"GOOD GODS!!" The keep shouted, surprising Boden with his enthusiasm. Encouraged, Boden made to hit his next chord but the keep had moved across the room with unexpected speed and stopped his hand. "I just remembered! The captain has ordered that any visitor to the town must report at the army's compound first as there is a...ah...well, to be honest our Lord, Sir Fletcher is in need of people of special talent for a special task. And for this reason the guards are to judge all who arrive if they are worthy of a mission sure to bring fame and great fortune to all who are accepted. Had they heard your playing and singing before you had reported, I'm afraid it would cause us both trouble that I can ill afford with the guards. Perhaps you could first visit them and, if they are obliging, then feel free to return and we can resume with your song and my stew?" The keep was catching his breath between words as he spoke, so urgently he felt the need to stop Boden's song.

Fame? This was all Boden could hope for, and if it meant a chance to perform for the lord of this land he had wandered into then all the better.

"I thank you, keeper of Gryphon's Roost. If the promise of fame is the terms of service to your lord, then I hope we do not meet again this evening as I expect my talent will be more than welcomed by the guards and the captain himself." Boden downed the last of his ale and made straight for the guards. As soon as Boden had stepped onto the road, the keep closed his door and dropped the inside bolt into place. Even the most bewildering of days must have an end, he thought as he made to close up early and put it behind him once and for all.

[_honorentheos]

The guards at the compound's main gate had remained quiet since allowing the ranger to enter. Neither felt inclined to discuss it, instead feeling a greater need to more perfectly perform their duties without sound or movement. Had either been asked why this was so, they might have expressed anger at the suggestion they would perform their duties in any other way. But inwardly they had a sense they had failed in some manner as the ranger's letter had clearly came from within the compound and neither could guess at a means by which this was possibly other than he had somehow made it past their watch. Certainly the guards on the towers would have spotted him attempting to climb the walls, and there was no chance he could have dug under the walls as each of the large trees that had been felled for their timber to construct it's walls were buried a third of their enormous height into the ground. With no other means to react, their steeled determination to not be fooled again was all that was left them as action. And they were men of action, to be sure.

When they spotted Boden striding intently towards them from the tavern across the way, their adrenaline spiked at the promise of just the sort of action they needed to relieve them of the sense of having failed, and the promise of proving they were more than capable at their jobs.

"I understand your captain is looking for those of special talent, seeking fame and fortune. I hope to prove such a talent." Boden waited for them to open the gates. but then jumped back as both without word had drawn their swords and swung in a pincer movement in reply. While intuitively he recognized their intent had been to catch him between the flat of their weapons, likely expecting to ring his bell quite badly had he not reacted quickly, the threat of any form of violence in response to his declaration triggered instincts that overrode his reason.

Boden turned sideways and forward, placing both of the swords to one side of him and isolating one of the guards who he struck hard in the face with his elbow. Fluidly continuing the same motion, he twisted his chest and hips back to center with the sword arms of each guard now crossed in front of him as the guard he had struck began to slump to the ground. Boden grabbed and pushed down on the arm of the remaining guard and kneed the guard in the stomach, doubling him over.

Boden stepped back, slowly coming back into control of his senses and watched cautiously as the conscious guard he had kneed struggled to regain his breath, making sucking noises like a carp left on the bank of a river to die. Before he could decide if he should call for help he noticed the gate begin to open and a third guard stepped out.

"Sir knight, you passed the test. Sir Fletcher will certainly be pleased to have you in his special task force." The guard made sure that his motions were nonthreatening and clearly intended to be welcoming.

Boden nodded and brightened as he seemed to see the vents snap into some form he could better understand. "Ah. I thought it odd that these two would react so but now I see. Fame isn't given to just anyone. Pity the nose of your comrade will not likely mend well, and I do regret not holding back with the blow. I full intend to honor him when writing the song of my saga, this he can at least take some solace in being able to answer when asked that it was due to a blow dealt by Boden the bard at the dawn of his fame."

Bard? the third guard thought to himself, but didn't intend to question this newcomer. "If you please, Sir Boden. Make your way to the tent of Captain Jasper. You'll find it straight ahead as you enter. He is just finishing with small conference so you may need to wait a moment. But I assure you it won't be long." The guard waited for Boden to enter and proceed down the way to the tent before he could turn his attention to the injured guards. Their replacements stood behind him waiting to take their positions while four men with staffs and cloaks set to make stretchers to carry them on stood just behind them as well.

"Thank you. And it's just Boden." Boden thrilled at the good fate and fortune the gods seemed to place before him. Surely his destiny as a famous bard was about to be fulfilled.

[_honorentheos]

The camp cooks and their service boys were at their busiest, rushing pots of chipped game stew around among the soldiers and knights, refilling plates, and dodging the odd leg or elbow brandished as embellishment to a story no one but the teller cared to hear. It was hard work, but one was less likely to take an arrow or lose a limb so Carl didn't mind it. As a fifth son, he had no chance of a better life had he stayed on working the land his father was obligated to farm. His four older brothers and his sister had provided all the extra help needed at a cost to keep fed his parents could barely afford in the best of times. His father almost hugged the squire sent to recruit labor from the serfs and freemen. He needed none of the persuasion usually applied to a serf who wasn't willing to send a needed son to aid the army while leaving the family to carry the load left behind. It was his father's curse, and his good fortune, that Carl's parents had not lost a single child before the age of naming. To have six children reach seven years of age without a single one being stricken down by the cold finger of Incabulos touching their eyes or breathing into their mouths in the night was almost unheard of in the land. Had his father had the rights to the land he worked, as a Freeman he could have claimed hardship and sent the squire elsewhere. Freemen were, by nature, neither Lord while holding themselves up as if they were, but nor were they serf though they had no claim of blood to pass down other than what went into the soil as they worked in hopes their oldest might work it, too, and tend them in their old age...if they were lucky enough to reach 50.

"Boy! Here, more meat!"

"You oaf, don't spill yer slop on my cloak!"

"Run this pot out and be quick!"

Carl's life was not one of ease. But it was not one of danger, either. He found, if not joy, then contentment in this. Unless the fort were ever overrun, he'd have no need to swing a sword or, more likely, cower behind someone else who had one to swing. Though, he mused, if it came to that there would likely be more than a few lying about no longer of use to their previous owners.

An older boy startled him as he gruffly whispered, "It ain't right, this lot sitting on their fannies as we carry them their meat and drink. It ain't like their own legs b'lamed! It would save many a spilled bowl if they came to us instead. But no, they have to Lord over us just as the Cap'n Lord's over them! Why even the new comers act as if it were said by the gods' own mouths that we should have to serve as they sit! And for what? The same food, colder, and a worse bed even colder than the food!"

Carl didn't know what to think about this, though it didn't matter as the boy hadn't waited for a reply. He must have needed to get that off his chest, Carl figured. Which was good since such thoughts might lead one to be unhappy with their lot drawn for them by fate. Besides, what would he do to control the crowds of angry, hungry, violent men who would inevitably throng around the cooks demanding their plate be filled immediately? Fate had made some to serve, and made others to Lord. It created order, and order created peace. And peace suited Carl just fine, even if he had dishes to do until a half candle had burned down that night.

[honorentheos]

As the guards pondered their quiet thoughts they barely noticed the moon slipping away behind the dark clouds appearing from the east. Slowly, patiently, the shadow tickled around individual stars with tendril wisps, luring their tranquil twinkles into a steady, softening dimming of their light until the tendril thickened and choked them out.

I picked the wrong night to leave my oiled cloak in the tent, thought one guard, oblivious to the mass of darkness slowly piling upon itself in the air behind the watch tower where he and his drowsy companion stood staring off in the opposite direction from which only a friend would have approached...

[Some Schmo]

Zandor rarely slept. It was a need relegated to the faithless. He had laid his mace and shield neatly at the foot of his bedroll in preparation for his nightly meditation, then faced the bedroll and kneeled. Communion with Pelor was all the rest he ever needed.

As he began his invitation to Pelor, the worm of a thought wiggled into his consciousness, attempting to block contact with his god. He flicked his head slightly, as though he could shake the thought like a bead of sweat. Focus... Listen... Light... Embrace... Focus... Lis...

Something is not right. The idea came out of nowhere. He knew Pelor's voice, and this was not His. He shook his head again, more vigorously, but the thought was not a physical thing he could discard like a broken shield. It would not leave him, and he knew he was hostage to it until he fully acknowledged it.

"What is not right?" He spoke this aloud, and was almost startled by the tone he heard in his voice. Not fear, but irritation. It would do no good to let his emotions control him now.

He was not alone in these quarters, but he didn't perceive that anyone else was awake. His breaking the silence seemed to stir no one, but it was loud in the large building's silence. Now he was irritated with himself for not maintaining control. Think, don't speak.

He slowed his breathing and attempted to calm himself. The thought will wait. He had to get himself under control to work out this problem. Focus... Listen... Light... Embrace... Pelor wouldn't come to him if Zandor's mind was clouded with trivial issues.

As his heart slowed, his mind drifted back to his meeting with the Captain. Zandor had thought the man imposing enough, a suitable captain, no doubt. He knew that man had secrets; it was in his eyes. All men's secrets are betrayed by their eyes, if one studied them well enough. There was something he had held back... aside from the mission. What is he hiding?

Now that was an uncomfortable thought, and it broke his concentration. Why would he think the Captain had something to hide? Even if his motivations weren't exactly apparent, why assume his secrets were malevolent? Why call on powerful people to execute a mission if he intended to betray them somehow? It made no sense, but the thought wouldn't leave him.

Without realizing what he was doing, he flopped over on his bedroll and looked up at the ceiling. He had a quick thought about how he wouldn't get to commune with Pelor tonight, but it was quickly lost to contemplations over the Captain. On this night, for the first time in weeks, he actually drifted off to sleep, ruminating on the idea that he would have to pay special attention to the Captain's words and actions the next day. It would not be the normal rest he'd have otherwise enjoyed.

[Some Schmo]

Don't you want me?

The barber sat up in his bed. "Who said that?" He was rightly alarmed. He had lived alone for years in a remote cabin attached to his shop outside of Kingstown, and only had guests when someone needed a cut or a shave. His business was busy enough to keep him alive, despite its location. He had no competition in town. The townsfolk either made the trip to see him or let their hair grow to the ground. Seeing braided locks around town was common. Most of his clientele were the soldier's required to keep a trimmed head.

At first, there was no answer except a light cooing sound. He looked around his darkened bedroom but saw nothing in the shadows that looked out of place. As he scanned the room, however, he noticed a gleam of moonlight bounce off the hammer sitting in the open wardrobe shelf. The tinker's hammer, ah yes. He had almost forgotten. What a happy find that was. He began to wonder if he should return it to the tinker for a reward, or perhaps if he would receive more by having it appraised and sold. He began to smile at the darkness, completely forgetting what had awoken him in the first place.

Take me. I want you to have me. That startled him out of his thoughts. He became frightened all over again. "Is someone here?" His voice cracked, and he realized he was thirsty, but had no desire to leave the safety of his linens for a cup of water.

You are here... with me... He wanted to hide under the covers, and started to do so, but for some reason, that made him feel even more vulnerable. He peeked out, and his gaze fell once again over the shadow of the hammer on the wardrobe.

Don't be frightened. I can protect you. For the first time, it registered that the voice was female, and quite seductive. He shook his head and straightened up in his bed. Why should he fear a mere lass, especially when her tone was so welcoming. "How? Who are you? Where are you?" His eyes wouldn't leave the shape of the hammer on the shelf. Would that be a suitable weapon, should she choose to attack?

He shook his head, suddenly convinced he was still partly asleep, wanting to shake this weird dream. He sat up taller in bed, and waited for an answer. His sleepy head barely processed that if it were a dream, he should receive no answers.

I am your future, when you choose it. Come to me... He flipped back the covers, swung his legs and stood. Someone was in his room, and it was time to ready himself. He was afraid to die, but he wasn't afraid to fight for his life. He ran to the wardrobe, stubbing his toe on one of his bedposts, and yelped as he started to fall, catching himself on the wardrobe door. The pain in his foot was brutal, but he was still more focused on retrieving the only weapon in the room.

As he grasped the hammer's handle, a surge of something powerful ran up his arm, tendrils of energy burrowing through his shoulder, neck, and into his brain. The sensation was both pleasurable and painful, and the ache in his foot was forgotten.

At last... This time, the voice came from within his own head, a foreign voice from his own thoughts. He looked at the hammer in his right hand, and it shimmered with it's own light, no longer reflecting the moon. You are mine and I am yours, till death do we part.

He was alone; he knew that now, although he had an instinct that he would never be alone again. This was a very special hammer, worth much more than the mere reward he expected from the tinker. He was about to put it back on the wardrobe shelf, but decided that he wasn't ready to let it go just yet, and took it back to bed with him. He fell asleep quickly, a slight smile on his face, the hammer tightly gripped in his hand.

He awoke the next day still holding it, but his hand had changed. He rolled up his sleeve and realized his hand and half his arm had turned a deep purple. Not bruised... just a different pigment in his skin. Seeing it made him smile.