The Kingdom Mine - Let's Play Betrayal at Krondor!

((Bingo. It's funny, #8 stumped me for a very, very long time, but that one I figured out immediately. I'm curious, Mazian, how many of these are you actually remembering? Oh, and I should have more posts today))

There was little snow left in the foothills they moved through, but the ground was still cold and hard, and the landscape showed the effects of a lingering winter. Owyn shivered, pulling his robes tighter around him under the armor and feeling absurdly grateful that less metal was used in the Tsurani design. They followed the trail north, passing the occasional hunter's camp, eyes scanning the rocky slopes.



James seemed lost in his memories the further north they traveled, and so Owyn asked Gorath for more details of the Northlands. The dark elf resisted at first, but eventually began to tell the young mage stories of his home. He refused to discuss his family, his language, or his culture, but was willing to tell Owyn about the harshness of the Northland winters and the beauty of the short but intense summers. Owyn began to realize that at least one part of the moredhel's constant raids to the south and west was that despite the attrition from their constant infighting there were simply too many dark elves for the Northlands to support.

On their second day in the foothills, Gorath stopped an explanation of the uses to which certain northern plants could be put and suddenly left the path, saying only "Here, I'll show you". He offered his companions a rare grin as he examined a series of bushes, running a finger over the dull leaves. He pawed through the thick limbs of one of the bushes, crushing a small berry and instantly recognizing their potential when the familiar tingling warmth spread over his fingertips. The moredhel called the others over, "Help me see if there are enough berries here to fill one of Owyn's spare vials. These can be used for restoratives, and some of these other berries can be used to supplement our rations..."



They gathered enough berries for five or six days' rations and three or four vials of restorative, and then Owyn was pointing to something else that was hidden behind the bushes: Three moredhel lock-chests. Gorath smiled again, nodding to the bushes. "My people planted these here," he said. "This is a place where scouts pushing south can resupply, and the bushes provide a regular source of food and healing."



They puzzled over the locks, eventually settling on 'bottle', 'horseman', and 'gauntlet' and revealing several sets of equipment. They stowed them away for sale at Highcastle but Owyn was more interested in a small scroll tucked into one of the breastplates. "Steelfire," he murmured, carefully studying the words on the parchment. "With this I can sheathe any blade in magical fire as if it had been dipped in naptha. It should come in handy."

Has anyone suggested an answer for wordlock #11? I'm tempted to say [SCABBARD].

They pressed on towards Highcastle, and the day after the moredhel cache they began to come across small farms growing winter rye, carrots, cabbage, and the like. Occasionally they would catch glimpses of movement around outbuildings, but each time they passed a farm they seemed deserted save for the streams of smoke from chimneys.

"The people around here are less hospitable than further south," Owyn said, frowning.

"They get raided every year by goblins and moredhel," James replied, glancing to Gorath. "And then there's the matter of trolls."

"Trolls?" The young mage asked, blinking. "I've heard of them, but I thought they were stupid, not much more dangerous than a bear or other large predator."

"Trolls hunt humans and moredhel and anything else on two feet," Gorath said, scowling at the hills. "Most other animals won't. And they're not entirely animals. They make crude clothing out of untanned hides, they make tools out of wood and stone, and they'll sometimes hunt in packs...and with Delekhan marshaling the clans for a push south many trolls will be driven ahead of them and down into the foothills here. We should be careful."

The next day Gorath's warning was borne out. As they entered a bend in the road a strange call echoed off the hills. James turned and saw shambling, loping figures closing on them, huge manlike creatures that moved sometimes on two feet and sometimes on four.

"Trolls!" Gorath shouted, drawing his sword. "Owyn, their wills are weak and they hate and fear fire! Use your magic!"

((Trolls are a pain in the ass. They almost never carry anything useful, they have a ton of health, and they have very high defense ratings. The good news is that they take 150% damage from most magic, but the bad news is that they tend to come in packs large enough that it's hard to keep your mage clear of melee. Later in the game I'll probably stop fighting them entirely and just drive them off with tuning forks.))

It's a Trap



James' crossbow bolts went wide of the closing trolls, but Owyn's spell did not. The crackling orb of sooty flame struck the foremost creature in the head, wrapping its body in flames and making it howl in pain. The other two checked their advance momentarily, but only momentarily. Still, it was enough time for James and Gorath to flank the still-burning troll, hacking at its incredibly thick hide until it finally stopped thrashing and fell silent.

Owyn cast again, and again a troll writhed and screamed, and again the dark elf was there to bring his blade down into the creature's body again and again even as the final troll finally closed on the mage. A hairy arm nearly knocked Owyn off his feet, and his staff made a creak of protest when the young mage swept it up to block the clumsy but incredibly strong downstroke of the troll's crude wooden spear. Then James was at the creature's side, his thin elven blade biting into its hide again and again in a series of shallow gashes that caused the troll more pain than true injury. Still, it was enough to turn its attention towards the squire and to buy Owyn time to scramble up and back.

Gorath moved in warily, his eyes flicking between James and the troll as he timed his approach. Then when the creature whirled to meet one of the squire's lunges the moredhel struck, lowering his own blade and putting all the force behind it that he could muster, driving it into the troll's back and forcing the creature to its knees. Gorath leaned forward, twisting his sword viciously even as James brought his own down in a series of hissing blows that half-decapitated the troll before it finally stopped struggling.

DODONGO DISLIKES SMOKE

Roughly half right off, but I'm not sure if those are remembering the game specifically or remembering similar puzzles in general. Some of them, especially the answers like NOTHING or STRANGER, are fairly common word puzzle setups. (SECRET is mean, though: two people is one too many!) A few are definitely game memories, because I do remember beating my head against TRADE MARES for a while.

Having just re-read Magician: Apprentice (one of, if not the only, place trolls are described), I can tell you. Those things are not trolls.

Who are you going to believe: Raymond E. Feist, or the instruction manual?

((Heh, what can I tell you, Ringworm, that appears to have been the best they could do (and yes, those are officially trolls in the game, labeled as such). I tried to incorporate some elements of the Magician: Apprentice description in the bits I'm writing. ))



The day after the short battle with the trolls they began to climb steadily, following a winding trail higher into the mountains proper. There was still no snow, but the chill in the air began to bite deeper each night, and each morning the sun seemed to warm them less. Owyn continued his ritual of scrying throughout each day, and twice he discovered caches.



The first was a marvel. Its lock was by far the most complex they had yet encountered, taking James hours of careful labor to crack. Even then it might have been impossible to open without the assistance of the Amulet of the Upright Man. Still, eventually the squire popped the lock, and they all gasped as they inspected the chest's contents.




James inspected each of the gems in the mid-sized pouch, grinning at his companions when he was done. "I think there are well over a thousand sovereigns of stones here, perhaps even two thousand, if we sell them in the right place," he said. "We should hold onto these in case the stories about Romney's guild war are right."




The second cache, near the place where the road branched and led up to Highcastle and Cutter's Gap, was a trio of moredhel chests. This one, however, was not unguarded.

It's a Trap



((I'm not going to bother describing traps anymore unless we run into a particularly complex one. After the first few and my earlier OOC explanation there's just not that much to add.))

The trap was simple, and once it was bypassed they found another trio of moredhel wordlocked chests hidden in a mossy depression covered by a mat of woven fir branches. The chests yielded another of the strange powder bags and a large and nearly flawless emerald as well as several more sets of moredhel weaponry after the companions entered 'bark', 'breath', and 'yesterday into the locks.

The equipment stowed and their feet back on the path to Highcastle, they turned north and began the final zig-zagging ascent the old fortress city.

Chapter 5 Intro




They made their way through narrow streets lined with overbuilt stone buildings, climbing steadily towards the castle that dominated the walled city. At the castle gate James exchanged a few words first with the sentry and then with the sergeant of the guard before they were allowed inside.

Following the swirling tail of the man's white tabard, they were escorted into a well appointed study with large windows overlooking the marshalling yard of the castle. Seated in the casement just below it, a large man was watching the activities below with an absorbed fascination, occasionally scribbling down notes on a piece of parchment at his side.

"Baron Kevin, these men asked to be shown in," the soldier announced. "Shall I leave you?"

The red haired man nodded, motioning for them to take seats a little more conventional than the one he currently occupied. "What can I do for you gentlemen? I am afraid Baron Troville isn't here."

"That is quite all right. We were looking for insights about a possible attack on Highcastle," James said. "Have you seen anything unusual recently?"

"Have I?" Kevin said with a laugh, his blue eyes twinkling. "I see unusual things every day. You don't work in a frontier fort and lead a boring life you know."

After relating several amusing stories, the Baron mentioned that an important bridge had collapsed to the north of Cutter's Gap, possibly stranding several goblins on the Kingdom side of Highcastle Gorge. "They are likely to begin attacking travelling merchants for food. If you are heading in that direction, I'd advise watching my step if I were you. And if you happen to stumble across those goblins, I'd appreciate it if you brought us back some evidence they were around."

"We might be passing that way," James said with a shrug. "But we came to see you for a reason. Lord Lyton sent us. He's in a great deal of trouble and is calling in his markers..."

The Baron sighed, lifting a hand to his eyes and rubbing them fiercely for a moment. "I see," he finally said, looking back up. "Troville and I both owe Lyton, but this is a bad time for him to come to us for aid. Most of my men are scattered half-way across the Teeth of the World looking for the Moredhel's main force. He needs men and needs them quietly or he wouldn't have come to us, but I can't spare any for as long as a journey through the Dimwood would take."

James nodded back. "He anticipated that, and said that we would be able to pass a company or so of men through the mandala at the Temple of Dala-" he began before Baron Kevin cut him off.

"Not right now you won't. The high priestess is dealing with a supply shortage of some kind and all the temple's efforts are being directed towards solving it," he said. "You can speak to her, but unless you can solve that problem for them I doubt you're going to be able to call in Lyton's debt, and without her services I can't afford to have a full company of my men diverted south."

The three exchanged a series of long glances, and James finally shrugged. "Then we'll have to speak to the high priestess," He said. "I hope that we'll be back soon, Baron. Thank you for your time."

The Baron favored Gorath with a doubtful look as they turned to go. "Be careful in your journeys..."

How do you put out a casting call for that? "Wanted: extra to be digitized for computer game. Preference given to those with own manboobs and lion's mane"?

Once they were down the pass they turned west and moved towards the tiny farming village of Eldpoint and the temple of Dala. Low buildings with stone foundations, insulated with layers of freshly cut fir and juniper thatched and tied to their sides passed to either side of them. They stopped at a large building, and as James pushed the door open he noted the lack of a door latch, a sign the inn was likely chartered by the local lord to ensure the safety of travellers. Hopefully, it would also mean the inn's furnishings would be suitable.

Inn



James paid for their rooms and meals, and was moving to take a seat at one of the common tables near a flushed and overweight man when fire leapt from the man's fingertips.

Feeling sure the man meant to attack them, the reached for his weapon and surveyed the exits, his gut knotting as he dreaded the possibility they would have to fight in the confined space. But rather than unleashing some hellish spell on them, the bemused looking fellow merely withdrew a pipe from his belt and lit the embers with his magical flame.

"I really hadn't intended on frightening you," the man said, drawling heavily. "For some reason, this happens with unnerving regularity."

"You could do everyone the common courtesy of warning them," James snapped, shoving his sword back into its sheath. "It's not quite so commonplace it won't go without notice."

The magician puffed, then said, "Rather like your breath."

James snorted, and his grip tightened on his sword hilt once more before Gorath put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Let it go," the moredhel murmured. "We do not want attention."

((More inn dialogues.))




West of Eldpoint the road was nearly deserted again. They passed only two farms in a day of travel, and one was obviously deserted, its fir insulation half-rotted and its roof holed in half a dozen places. The second, however, was larger and better cared for. A friendly woman answered their knock, grinning as she looked them over. She introduced herself as Larissa Halfgate, daughter of Flendel Halfgate. After a short conversation she further revealed she was on her own and was having more than her share of trouble with a rusty barn door.

"I would be ever so grateful if you could help me open it!" she said with an honest smile.

"We'll certainly look into it, ma'am," James said, smiling back. "It won't delay us too long to have a go at opening it up.



James pushed on the barn door. "This door is jammed," he said to Gorath. "Come here and see if you can help me open it."

Together the two men pushed, first with steady pressure, then with sharp pounding thrusts. Finally, after several minutes of effort the door began to give. Then with a grating metallic shriek the metal hinges gave way and the door swung open into the barn. The squire grinned at Gorath and slapped his hands together.

"Well, that's that," he said. "Now to see just how grateful that young woman is."

Larissa greeted them with a warm smile.

"Come in, come in," she said. "Have you solved my problem yet?"

James nodded. "It could hardly be compared to slaying dragons, but it was no easy task I assure you. The hinges had apparently become quite rusty and seized up."

"Thank you so much! I just wish I had some way to pay you," she said with a slight scowl. Then she brightened, "You know, there are a few items that my sisters left behind when they moved a year ago and they never came back to retrieve them. They're just taking up space here and perhaps they will do you some good. Let me see if I can find them."

"That won't be --" James began, but the woman had already retreated to a far corner of the house. When she returned, she handed him a tuning fork, a shell and an herbal pack. They exchanged thanks and then she bid them farewell.

Owyn frowned as he stowed the tool. "Still, I'm not quite sure what use it'll be to us," he said.

"You never know," James said, shrugging. "We may come across someone who will want it in exchange. And if nothing else I've heard that trolls have exquisitely sensitive hearing. It might distract them in battle if you strike it against something hard."



They turned south, following a cleft in the foothills that twisted and turned, finally showing them a far view of the temple of Dala just as the sun was beginning to set ahead of them. It was that setting sun, its glare blurring their vision, that kept them from seeing the ambush. As they passed by a lightning-scarred but still living fir, blue cloaked figures rushed them, a full half-dozen moredhel warriors closing rapidly and holding their swords high.

Charge into Battle



Gorath charged to meet them, hoping to buy Owyn the time he would need for his magic. The first moredhel warrior reached him, and Gorath hissed with pain as he barely parried a lunging thrust that slid in between segments in his armor and gouged a bloody furrow in his bicep. James charged as well, screaming at the top of his lungs even as Owyn began to chant. The moredhel faltered, moving to flank James but cautiously, taken aback by the squire's aggression. Then the young mage was ready, and his outstretched hand cradling a ball of flame larger than his head before he hurled it towards the clustering moredhel, hoping against hope that the press of their bodies would shield James from the heat and the blast.

They did, but not by much, and as James stumbled backwards and frantically slapped at places where his clothing had been set to smoking his eyes watered at the sudden cloud of smoke and the searing light of the spell's explosion. One moredhel was dead already, and as James dispatched another Owyn cast again, almost screaming with the effort of two spells cast so close together. Gorath heard the spell and dove to the earth, not even bothering to retrieve his sword from the rent he'd opened in the armor of a staggering moredhel, while James had just enough time to finish opening the throat of his opponent before he too flung himself prone. This time the blast washed over them with painful intensity, and Gorath had to roll frantically as his wool cloak was set ablaze. The dark elf thrashed, attempting to grind out the fire even as he wrenched at his cloak's fastenings, ripping the wool free of its metal clasps and finally rolling away.

While the moredhel doused himself, James stood and gaped, momentarily stunned. Owyn's second blast had accounted for another three of the enemy, and the final moredhel staggered towards the mage, blistered fingers clenched tight around a the hilt of a blackened but still dangerous sword. The squire blinked once, twice, then realized what he was looking at and sprung forward. While Gorath was still gathering himself James was on the last moredhel, lunging out and driving his sword downward and through the dark elf's spine, sawing the blade this way and that until the warrior collapsed and the squire could finish him.




Owyn was breathing hard, shuddering a little as he gathered his energy and looked over his handiwork. Gorath kicked dirt over the smoking remnants of his cape in the vain hope of salvaging it, while James moved to one of the bodies and picked up a broad, curved sword. "Heavy, but I think I can use this. Gods only know how a moredhel ended up with a blade from the other end of the Kingdom."

"Do you think they were deliberately blocking the temple?" Owyn asked as they approached the temple, glancing only momentarily to the brush-filled fissure in the hillside opposite the building's entrance.

"Unlikely," Gorath replied, shrugging as they climbed the steps. "I suspect the foothills are filled with scouting parties like that one, perhaps operating in even greater strength. We must exercise caution."

Temple



James asked to see the high priestess. The attendant priest escorting them rattled like a great knight, a broadsword belted at his hip and his head covered in chain link underneath his hood. They passed other priests in the temple who were similarly attired, the whole of the religious order seemingly geared for a great battle.

When at last they entered a small room, the burly priest nodded towards a large paper triptych which stood near the rear wall. "High priestess Risa will see you after she has attended to the sick one. I will return after your business is finished."

A small whimper came from behind the shadowed screen but was quickly shushed by the high priestess. After a few moments, a lightly robed figure moved out from behind the screen, a bowl of gruel clutched between her small hands.

"High priestess?" James ventured.

Seeing James's surprised look, the woman smiled. "Let me guess. I am not as you expected. Many of my faithful think I have talons, eyes of fire and a sword sheathed at my hip." Moving to a small table, she set aside her wooden bowl and spoon, snatching up a towel to wipe broth from her hands. "People misinterpret Dala's role in the balance of things. While she guards those in battle, she also guards travellers as they sleep and looks after those in need. At the moment, I would value far more a bag of grain than I would all the martial skill in the world."

James blinked. "Why is that, high priestess?"

"Our stores are nearly empty," she replied. "What food we haven't given out to the poor has been stolen by thieves who have taken advantage of our generosity. If we cant get any grain to be milled so on, we will have to turn away children who have no other source of food."

"We might be able to bring you rations..." Owyn suggested.

The high priestess shook her head. "You can't store rations, not for long. We need a bag of grain. In exchange, I think Dala might bestow you a boon, though I can't presume upon the goddess' favor without consultation. I would speak to you more, but I have others I need to see today. Until we have grain I doubt I will have time to attend to any other business."

"I understand," James replied. "Thank you for your time."

Elvandar

This time, as they left the temple, Owyn stared across the road to the low hill. The fissure was occupied. Standing away from a clutch of bushes, Squire Phillip impaled them with an flush faced glare while he refastened the cinches of his pants. Deciding that his dignity was not irretrievably beyond repair, he politely tucked in the tail of his shirt while he addressed Owyn.




"I've narrowly avoided some myself," Philip said, grimacing. "Fortunately they didn't pay much attention to me. I don't think father would have been too pleased if I'd ended up ransomed."

Owyn nodded. "Did you ever find that chest you were looking for?"

Philip returned the nod, sighing. "A bit of a disappointment. Soon as I had the lid up, I found it was empty. I should have expected that someone else would get there before me. Likely our bandit friends plundered it."



James interrupted, eying the other squire curiously. "I don't suppose you would know where we could pick up a bag of raw grain?"

"Why on earth would you want any?" Philip asked, blinking. "You can't eat it, you know, or at least not without doing disgusting things to it." He glanced to Owyn and winced extravagantly. "Please don't tell me you're developing a taste for pottage."

James chuckled. "No, nothing so horrible as that. The priests of Dala have had more of the deserving poor this season than they can handle and need grain for the miller. We thought we would lend a hand."

"Sounds worthy to me," the other squire said, shrugging. "You might try Hailey Betencourt who lives south of Highcastle Cross. I've done business with him on father's behalf before. He might be willing to work an exchange."

They turned back east, stopping just long enough to investigate a ravine southeast of the temple of Dala, finding a trio of moredhel chests that yielded another thieves' amulet and a pair of light Tsurani crossbows in addition to assorted other prizes.

"We'll look south of Highcastle," James said as they traveled, "but first I want to see if those goblins the baron mentioned are still in the area, and to see what's going on in Wolfram."

"Why Wolfram?" Owyn asked, frowning as they passed the Halfgate house and turned east towards Eldpoint.

"Because when Locky was serving up here he wrote me that there's a shop there with some of the best prices on arms and armor in the Kingdom. They have some sort of arrangement with the Temple of Tith," James replied, smiling. "Most of it is battered around, but since Gorath's a whiz at mending I think it would be worth our while to stop there before we return to Sethanon and the road to Romney."



Over the next two days, they returned to the rolling, rocky valley near Highcastle and this time turned north towards Cutter's Gap. The ground beneath them rose while cliffs climbed to either side, dropping them into cold shadow except for those few hours in the middle of the day when the sun was high enough to cast some illumination into the high, narrow pass. Sheltered by the high faces of the pass, patches and even drifts of snow survived nestled against rocks and under trees.

Only Gorath seemed untroubled by the increasingly bitter cold, and it was the moredhel that noticed the tracks ahead of them. He raised his hand in a gesture for them to halt, and was drawing his sword when short, lanky figures sprang from behind rocks to either side of the road and charged them.

It's a Trap



Owyn cast his first spell even as Gorath and James moved apart to clear his line of fire, their blades arcing up to ring from the goblins' swords. The mage's blast of fire enveloped the center of the goblin party, but they kept moving. Gorath snarled, dispatching his first opponent with a quick deflecting blow that turned into an arcing underhanded stroke biting deep into the seam of the goblin's thigh. The creature collapsed howling and was dead even before Owyn's second spell wrapped James' opponent in a column of blue-white fire.

After that, it was pure melee, Owyn's staff joining his friend's swords as they engaged the humanoids. They were short compared to humans, but strong and experienced, and it took all three of the friends working in concert to take down each of the Goblins in turn. When the final creature fell, its head opened by a crushing blow from James' new tapir, Gorath immediately began to search the bodies and was quickly rewarded. The moredhel stood, glancing at james as he unfolded a sheaf of parchment and read the top sheet.

Delekhan:

We have studied the defenses of Highcastle in anticipation of your planned assault and have discovered three weaknesses which may be exploited before the attack: The trolls that live nearby may be used to disrupt the flow of supplies to the castle without raising significant suspicions about our interference, many of the guards within the castle appear to be suffering from the wounds we have inflicted on them during our continual raids of the last few months, and it appears there has been some problem in the delivery of the pay from Rillanon and many within the castle are beginning to grumble about their situation. We shall report again when we know more.

James sighed. "I have no idea if this is reliable, but we need to get these notes to Highcastle at once," he said. "Come on."

Ch. 5 Introduction



Baron Kevin met them at once, and after exchanging pleasantries they followed him as he lead them towards the kitchens where he had been originally bound. Turning a wide corner, they entered a small galley.

"So?" he asked, slicing open a large wheel of cheese and and ripping handfuls from a loaf of bread, handing food to each of them. "What have you discovered in your travels?"

Wordlessly, James retrieved the note they removed from the dead goblin and handed it over, watching carefully as the Baron read over its contents. At last he crumpled the parchment into a ball as he spoke, "Delekhan will have to do better than putting such an obvious plant over the bridge. He is trying to convince us to take a force across the river since we so obviously outnumber the meager forces there. We won't be falling for that trick," he said resolutely. Taking a large bite out of a joint of beef, he mumbled around his food. "Reminds me of the tactics the Tsurani used while I was serving the Lady of the Acoma on Kelewan."

"I'm sorry the information we brought back wasn't of more value," James apologized.

Baron Kevin straightened, "No need to be sorry. The message you brought back tells us that Delekhan is operating in this area -perhaps has his sights set on Highcastle. At any rate, you deserve to be recompensed for your efforts. Before you leave here I shall see to it that 200 gold are given to you."

"That is most gracious, but-"

"Please, no false modesty," interrupted the Baron. Breaking into an eager smile, he slapped Locklear's back. "It's not as if I'm giving away my own money anyway. I don't think Baron Troville would have minded."

At last they agreed to take the money, and said their goodbyes.

They turned east as they left Highcastle this time, heading towards the small town of Wolfram and the temple to Tith there. The journey was easy and short, and that evening as they approached the outskirts of the town they passed a small but well-kept farm.

James's knock was greeted with a giggle. The door was pulled open cautiously from the inside by two women. They seemed very nervous and giggled frequently as they introduced themselves.

"I'm Gena Halfgate and this is my sister Andrea," the eldest began. Stifling another laugh she continued, "I hope you haven't come to hear us play."

"Play?" inquired James.

"My sister and I used to play our violins for all the lonely soldiers passing through, but of late we haven't had many guests and our instruments have gotten out of tune. Say! Do you have a tuning fork? If you had a tuning fork we would be ever so grateful."

Seeing James's doubtful expression she said, "We don't have much money we could offer, but a soldier left behind some leather leggings we have no use for. Will you trade us a tuning fork for some leather leggings?"

The three exchanged glances, then James shrugged and withdrew the tuning fork that Thea Halfgate had given them for forcing open her bardn. They both gave excited little titters and retreated into a different part of the small house, returning a few minutes later with a leather pair of leggings.

The trade completed, James thanked them for their hospitality and left.



((Yes, this is one of those "Get item A from Person X, swap A for B from person Y, swap B for C from person Z" quests. Don't worry, we're almost done.))



They passed through Wolfram, cutting between the now-familiar wooden buildings with their fir bough insulation and thatched roofs. One house, however, was different, built in the more traditional Kingdom fashion, and Owyn felt himself drawn to it, sensing a familiar power.

"Owyn, what-" James began, but was cut off as there was a sudden and blinding flash of light. When his vision cleared, the squire gasped as he saw a band of moredhel and goblins standing between them and the house!

Fight to the Death



The fight was short and ugly...and strange. Neither the moredhel nor the goblins fought particularly well, but at the same time their sword blows seemed to do little damage and even when their enemies crumpled to the ground their movements were not quite right. Then, as the last turned to flee, he flickered and vanished. Gorath gasped, spinning around to see the "corpses" disappear in the same fashion.

James growled and strode quickly to the strange house's door, pounding on it repeatedly with such force that when it finally did open he nearly struck the old man behind it in the face.

Elvandar




The old man scowled. "Never mindin' the fact I didn't invite you! But if'n you got hurt, I wasn't meanin' for innocent folk to get involved. It's just that the only guests I receive these days come from the Northlands."

Gorath frowned, eying the old mage suspiciously. "You have friends in the Northlands?"

"No, not as such," the man admitted, letting out a rough laugh and grinning nastily at them. "The visitors I receive are never welcome. Goblins mostly, sent from ole Belly Khan to pinch my spellbooks and formulas. They don't much care for me interfering with 'em, working spells and such for Baron Gabot at Northwarden."

He shrugged. "I was hopin' these illusions I was makin' would be more effective, but 'parently they ain't worth a gnat's spit. Need to work on 'em more. Let me give you somethin' so you can get yourselves fixed up..."

James sighed, shaking his head. "That won't be necessary. We're fine."

"Who said anything 'bout you?!" snapped the old mage, half dragging James into his cluttered living room. "Baron gets wind I went 'round inflicting grief on innocent bystanders, I'll be dicing taters with the kitchen boys or singing duets with old mash brain Tamney. You'll find a pouch of two hundred gold in that little chest over in the corner. If'n you go north from here a bit, you'll run across the Temple of Tith. I imagine they can put you to rights again. But a word of advice, you see buglies in fronts of you in the future, insteada' fightin' em, run the other way!"

Patrus looks less like a wizard and more like some old guy getting ready to go to bed.

James glanced around, looking them over. "I think we're fine," he finally said, sighing. "Let's see if this shop is all Locky claimed it was."

The Mercantile





The shopkeeper looked more like a Knight-Sergeant than a merchant, his face battered and heavily scarred. He was missing the first two fingers on his right hand, and his left ear was a mangled cauliflower.

"What can I do for you gents?" He said, reaching out to crush James' hand in a powerful grip.

"We'll see," the squire answered, smiling as he eyed the amazing wares on display. "Elven crossbows and greatswords, dragon plate...You're in a little town on the frontier of the Kingdom, man, how do you stay in business?!"

"Easy," the merchant replied, grinning and displaying the gaps in his teeth, his hazel eyes sharp under bushy brows as he appraised Owyn and Gorath. "I have a deal with the Temples of Tith and Dala and a couple of sergeants at Highcastle and Northwarden who owe me favors. I offer better prices for their plunder than the Battleworks or their quartermasters and in return I get first pick. You'd be amazed at the things some of the patrols come back with."




Gorath examined the armor, then nodded. "I can mend this well," he said to James, who turned to the proprietor and smiled. "Do you have three sets of this?"

"Indeed I do if you've the coin," The man said, smacking his hands together and then grinning once more as James began to stack thick sovereigns on the counter. "That's more like it. And tell you what, I'll take that Tsurani stuff off your backs for about a quarter more than I'd usually pay seeing as you're being good customers. Same deal will go if you want to trade up your swords."







Gorath selected one of the elven greatswords, testing its balance and then smiling grimly. He placed the long blade on the counter, then followed it with a heavy Tsurani bow. The proprietor chuckled, raising an eyebrow. "Going Dark Brother hunting, are you?"

"Something like that," Gorath murmured, keeping his face expressionless only through great effort. He knew the reaction his heritage would elicit in a region regularly raided by moredhel.






James, meanwhile, selected the lighter and more accurate elven crossbow, then smiled as he traded the broad Keshian blade for a long rapier. "This is more like what I've trained with with...Arthur," the squire said. "I'll do much better with it."

((It also has the best accuracy bonus in the game when thrust. Ditto accuracy and the elven crossbow. James' skills lag behind for the rest of the game, so I'm gearing him up now. The Tsurani crossbow is a good mix for Gorath until much later in the game when he can get his hands on a Bessy Mauler, and the sword will keep him for some time as well.))

They turned west once more, turning south as they followed Philip's instructions towards the Betencourt home, arriving just as the sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains to the west. A pretty woman answered the door. After the appropriate introductions, she allowed them entry to her small but well-decorated home. They discovered her name was Sara Halfgate and that Hailey, her husband, was at Northwarden negotiating for a contract to provide food to the garrison there.

"We've come looking for a bag of grain. Perhaps you could help us?" inquired James.

Sara seemed hesitant. "Well sirs, I have several bags of grain here, but my husband would be very angry if he found them missing upon his return. I could perhaps spare a single bag if you could help me find a present for the Midsummer festival."

"I'm not sure how we could help," said James.

"He's been talking about wanting a pair of leather leggings, if you could find such a thing I will give you a bag of grain. Do we have a deal?"

Owyn smiled, reaching into his pack. "Not only do we have a deal, we can conclude the deal here and now," he said, drawing the leggings out and presenting them to the woman.

"Ooh, I'm so glad!" said Sara. "My husband will be thrilled with his gift."

She went to the corner of the room and pulled a bag of grain off the stack. Gorath joined her, "Here, let me help you with that."

She thanked him, and followed him back to the others where the exchange was made. They quickly said goodbye and she told them to be careful as they walked out the door and returned to the road.




Temple



The grain slowed them down, but they returned to Dala's temple as quickly as possible. The trip was without incident, and when one of the priests saw them struggling up the steps with the the heavy bag of grain, a particularly burly acolyte named Vabon hurried to their assistance, taking the weight upon his own shoulders. "The high priestess will be most pleased to see you," the priest grinned. "Do you remember the way to her private garden?"

Nodding, James turned through a small arch, holding up a woven curtain for Owyn and Gorath to pass through. Together they entered Risa's contemplation glade.

Glancing up from where she was trailing a hand through the gentle waves of the pool, she smiled warmly at them. "You've brought the grain."

"How did you know?" James asked, a little startled by the surety in the high priestess' green eyes.

"There are certain advantages to living in the presence of a goddess," she laughed. "I knew this morning when I awoke that I would be seeing you. I also know that she will bestow upon one of you the boon of her blessing."

"Blessing?" James asked, intrigued.

Standing to assume a more priestess-like posture, she folded her hands in front of her stomach. "To the one you choose, she shall, for the rest of his life, watch over him to protect him from harm. This is Dala's Will."

James gaped. "The goddess will make him invincible?"

"Not as such, no," she said, smiling slightly. "But her favor will see to it that it is very difficult for him to be injured by those who seek to harm him. Who do you choose to receive this blessing?"

((This buffs your defense skill by 25% or 37%-ish if you have it selected. BUT, if you don't choose any one person...))

They were unable to choose. For a quarter of an hour, they discussed the issue at length, each indicating someone else as more deserving of the blessing. Amused by the debacle, Risa intervened. "Very well," she said, interposing herself into the good natured argument. "As you seemed to have all come to the conclusion that one man alone is not fit for Dala's blessings, I shall bestow her blessings on you all. Please go now, modest men. The gods love you truly."

((Everyone in the party gets a 10-15% buff, which is the avenue I usually take.))

"Before we go," James said, "There is another matter we must discuss with you. We've been told that you owe the Lord Lyton a great favor?"

Risa frowned, but nodded. "Yes, he has given generously to our order and performed...other services in the past," she replied, her eyes searching James' face. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Lord Lyton is in trouble," Gorath replied, cutting in. "His town and his people are beset by a band of mercenaries, and he lacks the men to drive them off. Baron Kevin is willing to provide men but only if they can be moved through the temple mandalas to Lyton and returned quickly to Highcastle."

The high priestess sighed, shaking her head. "I understand, and it is a worthy task, but Pug provided us with the magic of the Mandalas with the agreement that we would prevent their casual or mass use precisely because he feared that they would become a tool of war," she said, holding her hand up as James opened his mouth to speak. "I know that this is not war, but it is too close for my comfort. Still, both you and the Lord of Lyton have aided us now, and the Goddess' blessing is on you...do I have your word that these men will free Lyton and return immediately?"

"You do," James said.

"Then the temple will help," Risa sighed. "Tell Baron Kevin he may march his men here to use the Mandala for transport to the temple of Lims-Kragma near Lyton. I will speak with the high priestess there."

*cheers for this LP*

How difficult are these combats? Obviously you've known to hit side-quests for the boosts like that last one to defence, but I recall them being bloody affairs requiring days of rest after each one usually. Are the side-quests or other 'twinking' of gear necessary to not have to reload saves before particularly disastrous combats, or are you really winning that easily?

...then again, I never used fireball into a pile of friends and foes alike when I played. Foolish me.

First, sorry I haven't been updating. I will this week, honest. A mix of being back to school and a bit of other, personal stuff that's left me not feeling terribly creative.

Second, the first time I played this game, it kicked my ass up one side and down the other. The second time, I struggled through with a great degree of difficulty. Since then I've had a much easier time. A lot of the secret is knowing when/how to train your skills, tagging them appropriately, and front-loading the grinding of stuff like haggling and barding and lockpicking. I think the game is simultaneously quite hard if you make mistakes, and relatively easy if you don't and don't get a run of bad luck. That said, yes, you have to rest a day or two after every fight. One of the things you're not seeing is that Owyn is usually ending fights with only 20-30 health in many cases. I like to cast flamecast maxed out as it kills the enemy it hits directly most of the time for the early game (and all the way to the end of the game for enemies weak to fire), but the downside of that is if I ever let Owyn get cornered by fighters he's dead meat. Figuring out how to move to keep your spellcaster alive makes a huge difference.

Finally managed to catch up with this. You're doing a great job, Brer.

Ooh, Buck Rogers: Countdown to Doomsday was a great use of the license and the gold box engine. Unfortunately, the sequel wasn't nearly as good because many of the battles and areas were just boring and repetitive.

Feist maintains the same general quality throughout his books. None that I've read are ever bad, though some are quite by-the-numbers.

That said, the Serpentwar Saga is very good. The first two books are in a different style than a lot of his books in that they focus on things outside the typical fantasy adventure stuff. The second book in particular does a good job of showing Krondor's move into more of a renaissance era. I remember being a bit disappointed that the fourth book was only okay, but the the first three are good and I quite enjoyed them.

((And we're back on track, sort of!))

Ch. 5 Introduction



The troops were waiting when they arrived back at Highcastle. Two companies of Highcastle skirmishers assembled in loose ranks, their dark green brigandine patched and stained from long, hard use. James glanced them over and considered their gear: the bundled blankets on their packs sewn to strips of burlap and bunches of jutte that they used for both concealment and shelter, the short swords and daggers at their belts, the cloth-covered bucklers and oversized quivers for the longbows they carried. These were some of the best light fighters in the Kingdom, used to long weeks in the mountains and running battles with goblins and moredhel raiding down across the Teeth of the World.

"I'm impressed," James said when he finished walking past the first rank of lean, weathered men. "Thank you, my lord. I'm sure that Lyton will consider the debt paid, and we'll have these men back to you as soon as possible."

"I hope so, squire," the baron said, his brow furrowing as he looked over the three hundred picked men. "I have a feeling I'll be needing every one of them I can get soon enough. Captain Taft!"

"Milord!" said one man standing at the head of the formation, pivoting smartly to face Baron Kevin.

"March the detachment to the Temple of Dala, there to take passage to Lyton and proceed along the lines of our earlier discussion at your discretion."

"Yes Milord!" replied the captain, nodding sharply before pivoting to face the assembled men. "Sergeants! Form column of march on the front gates and prepare for movement!"

There was surprisingly little of the haranguing and abuse James remembered from most sergeants whipping men into a new formation. The individual soldiers needed little guidance, with one company inclining neatly right towards the gates while the second company moved to fall in behind. When a sergeant found a man out of step, rather than screaming of striking him, a few harsh hissed words seemed to correct the problem.

Baron Kevin smiled as he watched the now-silent formation begin to move. "We lose men, squire, but the ones we keep alive are the good ones. Not the ones you have to beat over the head to keep pointed at the enemy like those damn Eastern levies. Real soldiers."

James nodded, catching a strange expression on Gorath's face before he turned his full attention back to Baron Kevin. "Thank you for all your help, my lord," he said, "but we should be following them."

"No, you shouldn't," the Baron replied. "Captain taft and his lieutenant are more than capable of accomplishing the mission required, and unless you're willing to subject yourself to his orders and discipline I suspect you'd get in the way." He smiled when James bristled visibly, lifting a hand. "I know Arutha trusts you, and I don't doubt your competence. But I also know enough of you to know that you wouldn't do well as part of any formal military action. So I am asking you to return to Lyton via the temple of Tith near Wolfram. That'll put you a bit behind the detachment and preclude any urge on your part to interfere in my captain's plans."

James looked as if he were about to argue, but then he just shrugged and offered a resigned chuckle. "Well, I can't really argue with you on the issue of military discipline, my lord. Very well, we'll head for Wolfram first thing tomorrow. And yes, thank you."



The trip was surprisingly quiet, the only moment of interest just north of Wolfram when Owyn spotted several bushes of the same restorative berries that Gorath had introduced them to when they left the Dimwood. They gathered a good two dozen doses before they were done and ready to tackle the final leg of the journey to the temple of Tith.

Temple



Battle standards floated over their heads. Escorted into a room which looked more like a king's banquet hall than a sacred chamber, James feasted his eyes on the hundreds of war banners and shields which were hung on the walls. The room's most prominent feature was a long table which stretched the length of the torchlit hall and was covered with statuettes which looked like soldiers.

A priest sat at the far end of the table, rearranging a cluster of the bone figurines that were before him. Larger than even Gorath across the shoulders, the Father Patriarch looked as menacing a figure as any that James had ever seen.

"This looks like a war council," James observed, noting many of the figurines lay on their sides.

"Of a sorts," the Patriarch said without looking up. Scratching at his grey streaked beard, he moved another piece, but seemed unsure of its placement as if he were moving it on someone else's advice. "Here, however, I merely observe. Others plan this battle."

"Whose battle?"

The Father Patriarch glanced up, his wolfish eyes fixing on them. "Hmmm? This battle? It unfolds in the south of Kesh, near the Confederacy. I fear that the Empress Lakeishas forces are far superior. Her dog soldiers will crush the rebellion soon, I should think."

James nodded as he looked over the lay of the battlefield. "How do you know where everyone is? Does Tith tell you?"

The priest shook his head. "If the war god wished to tell me, it would take all the enjoyment out of making my guesses. I have messengers arriving daily to tell me how things transpire." Thumping the hardwood table with his fist, he looked at another group of figurines and moved to rearrange them as well. "Sometimes I am surprised."

"I see. I don't suppose you could tell us about what the moredhel plan in the North, could you?" James asked, a little nervous about the presumption.

"No," the priest replied. "I would be greatly interested, but all those messengers of mine that I have dispatched to check have been killed. Since I have less priests than I have curiosities, I decided to wait until I had either more of one or less of the other."

Suddenly another priest appeared at the door to the chamber and hurried over to whisper in his superior's ear. Cursing, the Patriarch thumped the table again. "I have other things I must attend to," the priest said gruffly as soon as the other priest had scurried away. "I would offer you some Redweed Brew, but I have none to offer you, so you will have to find some elsewhere. Baron Keven informed me that you were coming, by the way, and the acolyte is already prepared to see to your needs. Good day, men."



A priest approached.

His dark robes rustling as he crossed into the meditation chamber, he came to a halt behind James. "I sensed that someone studied the mandala. Am I to assume you wish to call upon the powers of the Temple?"

"Yes," James said, glancing back towards the map that someone had hung beside the mandala. "We need to travel to the temple of Lims-Kragma between Lyton and Malac's Cross."

"Certainly," the priest replied. "The price will be one hundred twenty four sovereigns, and the required brethren stand ready now. Once you have paid, simply join hands with your travelling companions and concentrate on the mandala of the temple you wish to reach."

James paid quickly, and then Owyn and Gorath were there placing hands on his shoulders. "Well," the squire said, smiling over his shoulder at them, "here goes nothing."

James recalled the mandala. Like a wheel of fire, it exploded across James' consciousness, vanquishing the world in a searing blaze of white light. For a heartbeat all that existed in universe was a single point of rotating fire, spun by an unseen hand with incredible power. Spun by the hand of a god.

James blinked. As abruptly as it had burst into existence, the mandala was gone, replaced by a simple painting upon a temple wall. A new temple wall. Nearby, a clutch of darkly robed acolytes waited, their faces registering neither shock nor fear at the sudden arrival.

"You knew we were coming?" James asked, stepping away from the symbol. "As a courtesy, we are given some warning by the sending Temple," one of the priests said. "You will likely feel a little disoriented for a time, but the sensation should pass. Be welcome."

Are we going back for the Griefmaker?

This is one of the things I love most about REF's work, the consistency and intricate interconnectivity of the characters.

I just finished A Darkness at Sethanon and started Servant of the Empire (I'm reading the books in chronological order), and Servant is where Kevin, a Midkemian slave, is purchased by Mara of the Acoma. He's a main character of that book and his...actions...will have a rather huge impact on the direction of the Tsurani Empire in a couple of years after the events of this game, even if he is entirely unaware of them.

Man, I can't believe I didn't pick up on that. The Empire books were some of favorites.

Ayup. And then we're finally back to me getting to PLAY the game again. Because I'd forgotten about this sidequest I'd done the sethanon stuff first, and as a result for the past several pages I've been playing catchup, which is must less fun than "Play and post, play and post, play and post".

Interesting. I missed a lot of the little nods in this game, I guess. That said, a lot of the credit for the interconnectivity here goes to Neal Halford. Despite the hype about him being involved, he mainly acted as the final arbiter for what the dev team came up with and didn't actually write the game's plot or text himself.

Yeah, that's right. Feist dedicated the novelization of the game to Halford (and co-designer John Cutter) and mentions in the afterword that he was busy writing a different novel at the time (I believe it was King's Buccaneer) and mostly acted as the world's gatekeeper.

Mostly I was referring less to the nods in the game (which are awesome), and more to the world REF established and Halford and Cutter got to play in. I know you didn't read the Empire trilogy (you should!) so I'm jumping in when I notice the references to point them out and give them context.

Inn



At James' suggestion they diverted west of Lyton and returned to Sethanon, stopping for the evening in Nia's tavern before turning north towards the overgrown path that wound towards the remains of the small city.

"I don't understand," Owyn said as they began down the abandoned road. "What makes you think that the haunting of Nia's shop has anything to do with Sethanon."

The squire and the moredhel exchanged glances, and it was Gorath who answered. "What happened at Sethanon was...not natural," he replied, glancing up the road for a moment before returning his eyes to Owyn's. "It would not surprise me at all to learn that the forces unleashed there linger and disturb spirits for miles in every direction."




They moved slowly, wet grass seeming to clutch at their boots, and despite the lack of any clouds in the sky the road seemed somehow dim, shadowed. Even sounds were altered, their voices rendered flat and muffled until they stopped speaking to avoid hearing the change. Then, perhaps a mile north of the Nia's Tavern, figures began to rise from the ground.

Gorath gasped and then muttered a prayer or a curse in his own tongue while Owyn began to gather the will for a spell. "Wraiths!" James called out, his rapier already in hand. "And lots of them..."

Charge into Battle




The fight was desperate. James soon found himself surrounded even as Owyn's blasts of magical fire made the creatures shriek and shrivel, burning away like mist or flowing back into the ground. The young mage dealt with monsters again and again, blast after blast of fire until he was forced to reach for the restorative potion they had prepared back north, swilling the drink and pouring its energy directly into his magic. Gorath was likewise hard-pressed, and even his greatsword seemed to barely slow the shimmering creatures as it passed through their bodies in arcs of blue fire.

Then the wraiths rushed the squire as one. bolts of sooty black energy struck him, frost rimming his blade and his armor, and Owyn cried out as the squire fell to his knees, barely breathing. Without any time for a better solution the young mage cast another ball of fire into the clustered creatures before reaching for the huge horn that had proved so useful in the sewers beneath Krondor. He blew, and again the strange hounds appeared, loping in from some strange distance to spring at the wraiths. The beasts' magic seemed to give power to their bite, and one actually pulled on a Wraith, tugging it back from Gorath and allowing the dark elf to deliver a quelling blow even as the second hound lunged into another of the shadowy beings again and again.

Owyn found himself cornered by a wraith and stumbled backwards, his casting forgotten even as the creature's cold presence began to steal what little energy he had left. And then Gorath was there, swinging his blade again and again, all but beating the wraith off of him until it fled shrieking, leaving the way clear for a fireball that chased away the last of the wraiths from James' body.

((Yes, that's right, FIVE wraiths. And what's more, this was actually the fifth and last battle in a series of five battles. First one wraith, then two, then four, and five for the last two battles, thus my description of the horde. So as I said earlier in this thread, this took me a couple tries and I actually used up most of the charges in the Horn of Algon-Kokoon. I also chugged a ton of restoratives mid-battle which you don't see here.))

The Northlands



James was still shivering when Owyn and Gorath gathered themselves and moved to his aid. He had almost stopped breathing, and his lips and fingernails were beginning to turn blue even as his skin faded to a chalky paleness that frightened the young mage.

"Restoratives, Owyn. Now." Gorath said as he unrolled a bedroll from his pack and began to wrap James in it. The mage soon produced the vials, and Gorath began to alternate tiny sips of the healing liquid with assisted breathing, seeming to kiss the squire and force air into his lungs until he began to breathe more normally. "That's it..."

"It's no good," the squire finally said nearly twenty minutes and a full vial of restorative later. "I...don't know if I can keep going..."

"You've been drained, nearly to death I think," Gorath murmured, and Owyn was surprised at the gentleness in the moredhel's tone. "It will take a few days rest, but I think you will be fine. In the meantime, night-time is drawing on and we should get to shelter. That means the ruins of Sethanon..."

Leaning on Gorath, James was able to get to his feet, and together they entered the ruined city.



"Did your people do all this damage" Owyn gasped as he wandered into the rubble that had once been Sethanon's keep.

"No," Gorath murmured. "The keep was damaged, but not like this."

James smiled slightly, the expression twisting into a grimace of discomfort as he shifted back against what was left of a stone wall. "Prince Arutha ordered the keep razed and the town abandoned after the invasion," he said. "No one was really of a mind to protest after what happened at the end of the battle..."

At the center of the keep there was a great depression as if the way to the dungeons beneath the city had once opened there. Owyn stared into the crevice and then shuddered as he realized that thousands of moredhel bones had been used to fill the gap. However interested he was in finding out what lay below, he had no desire to burrow through the moldering bodies.

Then something else caught his eye, a half-buried chest that was in surprisingly good condition. He started to move the rubble aside, and in a few moments Gorath came over to assist him. In minutes they'd cleared away the debris, and Owyn retched as the reek of spoiled food rose from the cracks in the lid. "Bah, nothing but food cache long gone bad," Gorath muttered, turning to go.

"Wait..." Owyn murmured, feeling a faint but familiar tug from the chest. "There's more than rotten food in this thing." He opened the chest and reached in, wincing as his fingers sank into a foul green-black mash, and then smiling in satisfaction as he withdrew a pouch of oiled leather sealed with a thick layer of wax. "I knew it," the young mage murmured, brushing his fingers off on the wood before cracking the seal and withdrawing not one but three magical scrolls. "I wonder how these got here," he breathed even as he moved back to James and cracked the first roll of parchment open.

While James rested and Gorath tended to their equipment and hunted rabbits and squirrels in the ruins, Owyn studied. The spells all seemed to be defensive or evasive in nature, and each took nearly a full day of study before his full mastery crumbled the scroll to dust. "Dannon's Delusions" would create an illusory double of any target, "Dragon Breath" would fill the area around a caster with fog, and "Grief of 1000 Nights" would cripple a target with grief and despair much as James had been disabled by the moredhel witch in the Dimwood....



When the time came to leave the ghost city, Owyn was ready. He wasn't sure if the magical fog would conceal them from any wraiths that might still be in the area, but it was worth trying.

Gorath watched in amazement. Thick clouds of fog were rolling out of Owyn's mouth, as though some terrible fire was burning away inside his stomach and the smoke was rushing from his mouth in a horrified panic to leave his body. In less than a minute, the area was completely covered with a dense fog.

((One of the biggest missed opportunities in this game is not using this spell enough, which I'm often guilty of. It provides a big boost to your stealth skill, and allows you to get the drop on most non-ambush encounters in the game and to avoid the ambushes if used right. Not that you WANT to avoid ambushes, but you can always sneak back and forth across their triggers a few times to grind stealth before killing them off.))

They moved slowly, every minute expecting dark figures to emerge from the mist and attack them. There was nothing, however, and as the magical fog burned away hours later they emerged just to the east of Nia's store.



"While we're here and waiting for Kevin's men to deal with Lyton's problem, we should look into Nia's problem," James said. "That Griefmaker could come in quite handy, and I don't like the idea of her being deprived of her store."

Owyn nodded and Gorath shrugged, saying nothing as the squire led them to the small cottage that bordered the new settlement's cemetary. The man at the door greeted James with a strange look.

"What were you lookin' for behind my house a week or so back?" He asked, deep-set eyes scanning slowly over the squire's face.

James looked surprised. "I have done no such thing," he said defensively. "Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone else."

"No matter, I suppose," the man grumbled, his look lacking conviction. Escorting them to the door, he shrugged his shoulder. "I got some other things to do, so if you'll excuse me. And don't be wandering around on Hershel's land again, hear..."



As they left the house, Owyn gestured towards the small cemetary. "I wonder what this person Hershel mistook you for was doing. The only thing of interest around here is the cemetary. Shall we take a look?"

Gorath nodded. "Yes. the innkeeper said that she saw the shade of her husband. Perhaps his rest has been disturbed."

Finding the right plot was not difficult. 'Jared Lycrow: Owned a Shop and a Tavern. Never Wanted For More' was nearest to Nia's store and the ground gave way almost immediately when Gorath began to dig. "This grave's been disturbed recently", the moredhel muttered between swings of the shovel. An hour passed...

Covered with grime and grave mold from his turn at the shovel, James distastefully flung back the heavy lid of the coffin to look at its contents. Immediately he retched as a thick ammonia scent billowed up from the coffin's corrupting remains. "Just a body," he gagged, twisting away. "Let's get him covered back up."

"Wait," Owyn said, pointing down into the hole. "Look. Someone's taken his hand. Why would a grave robber steal a body part?"

James shrugged. "I wouldn't have guessed I would be digging up graves myself if Gorath hadn't said that the moredhel use them sometimes as secret caches. Either way, let's get him covered up and be on our way."

((The biggest problem with our detour north is that it's now been days and pages of posts since you guys read the information needed to solve this quest. It's a bit spoilery but I refer you to the conversation with the gambler in Lyton in this post, and the discussions with Ivan Skaald and Gran Petrumh in these two posts.))



"Well, perhaps we know what the person was searching for behind that farmer's house," Gorath murmured, glancing back towards the cottage they had so recently visited.

"Maybe," James murmured, staring further east. "I want to speak to someone else first. Do you remember the conversation we had with that gambler in Lyton? He mentioned that someone named Max Feeber had a farm near here and had been engaged in shady business, including smuggling people into Romney with forged guild seals. It's possible he's involved in this business and even if he isn't I'd like to see about those seals..."

The others agreed, and it didn't take long to find the farm, sprawling over what had obviously been several smaller plots before being incorporated into Feeber's property.

Ch.1 Intro, Part 2




James nodded, still smiling as he glanced about Feeber's property. "Quite a nice little stead you have here..."

"If you like busting sod, I suppose so," Feeber muttered, shrugging. "I've had a mind to sell a few times. Events here recently, I'm liking things less and less. I may just sell everything out like I've been telling everybody else. Course I wouldn't expect a kept boy like you to understand."

James raised an eyebrow but kept his voice light and friendly as he replied. "Probably wouldn't, but this seems like such a nice lot to give up. Why would you want to?"

The farmer shot the squire a dark look. "Everybody knows that something evil happened at the Battle of Sethanon, definitely unnatural. Me myself, I used to live in the center of town before King Lyam offered up the money that I should leave. I didn't think much of leaving, but I thought that the evil would stay there."

"And it hasn't?" James asked, now looking openly skeptical. "It's creeping down the road from Sethanon?"

Max spat, then glared at James Listen boy, I don't care for your attitude. You may be all educated, but it don't mean you know nothing about the world. If you're wise, you'll stay away from Sethanon and take anybody else that'll go with you. There's something evil here abouts and I don't want to be about when at last it gets here...

"So, how much do you want for your land?" James asked, grinning widely and ignoring the farmer's insults.

"I...uh...what?" Feeber asked, blinking as he tried to catch up with the sudden change in the conversation's direction.

"If this evil is so imminent and you're anxious to be away from it, I'd be interested in buying this little lot of yours," The squire said, still smiling. "I'm not afraid of ghosts. What will you sell it to me for?"

"Well I haven't actually decided to make the move as yet..." Max hedged, suddenly looking far less confident. "Don't want to get the cart before the horse you know...It'll likely be a while before I sell, see...Don't want to rush it..."

"Do you know anything about the land that adjoins yours by any chance?" James asked, undaunted. "Is it for sale?"

Feeber scowled. "Uh, no," he muttered, glancing away from James. "Not anymore. I bought it when old widow Petrumh moved out."

"Bought it?" James asked, all innocence. "I thought you said you wished to move?"

"I do and..." Feeber growled and spat again, shrugging almost violently. "Look, I haven't time to stand about talking all day. If you're interested in the land go ahead and look a round - just stay clear of my stead. Now, I got things to do. Good day."

James smiled again and lifted his hand. "And a good day to you too, sir," he said brightly. As they walked away, James muttered "you lying bastard. He's been using the rumours of ghoulies and ghosties to drive away his neighbors and buy the land. Owyn, let me know when he's deeper in the fields. I'm having a look in his house."