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

Arutha's being a stingy bastard and refusing to fund your little research trip. Also, you're traveling with Jimmy now, and we all know what his former occupation was. Fleece 'em for all they're worth.

It's worth pointing out that this sort of thing seems to happen a lot in the books too, heh. The sewer system into Krondor Keep is well-known to Riftwar enthusiasts. Keep in mind, that compared to what Arutha is actually dealing with at that moment (meeting with Pug and Makala), the guards almost certainly think it's No Big Deal for Locklear to have to wait a day in the city proper.

Hmmm, I think that maybe getting tons of money from the stuff you find, rather than buying low and selling high would be the most interesting to me. That way you can buy good equipment, but you couldn't just load up on the most powerful stuff that money can buy. I like seeing all the different weapons and armor in the game since so much is written about them in their descriptions, so not going straight for the good stuff expands on that.

As for which path to take, I'm a little unsure, I guess maybe do the sidequest that Nivek hints at? Or maybe take the path that you're unused to taking...

On a side note, I played Betrayal at Krondor before reading any of Feist's books, so for the longest time, my image of Arutha was of a crazy looking, bearded jackass, rather than how he's portrayed in the boook.

I agree with kaisel - playing maximizing armor day-trader while you're on a mission of no small import would be weird, but hearing that you can get a good deal for the stuff you're coming across anyway in an upcoming town and thus hanging onto it because your warchest could use the funds seems reasonable.

Alright, I'll go ahead and do what I normally do when it comes to selling off equipment, then. I'm taking a bit of a break for now, playing the Das Schwarze Auge: Drakensang demo (yes, I'm playing the demo for a hardcore german RPG based on a tabletop game as a break. I know...), then I'll get back to the gameplay of Ch.2 soon....with a return to the sewers. I think skipping the more repetitive combats is a good plan.

EDIT: Hey, maybe if I really like this game I can go back and find a copy of the Realms of Arkania games (which I think were also Das Schwarze Auge games) and do those....or not. I think IF I can finish this one and I still feel up for another LP it'll be either Betrayal in Antara or Buck Rogers: Countdown to Doomsday.

Ok, I'm thinking about my plan for the chapter while I do a little un-written grinding to up Jimmy's skills (which start out actually a bit lower than Gorath's were when you got him, which is to say craptastic for the beginning of Chapter 2) by doing a few combats in areas we wouldn't normally go, and I remembered something:

You can complete the -entire game- without ever having to go to most of the area around Highcastle (the middle large town/blue dot along the rim of the Teeth of the World mountains that separate the Kingdom from that upper loop of cities in the Northlands, if you look at the map). There's a bunch of stuff in that area loot and combat-wise, but more importantly there's a long-ass sidequest that gets you a fairly significant reward that you can easily miss entirely.

You can do it now or (I think) in Chapter 3, and MAYBE in Chapter 6, but probably not because of [spoilers]. The fact that [spoilers] makes me think it's now or Chapter 3 or never. Chapter 2's main storyline is all between Romney and Krondor, and Chapter 3's is between Romney and Northwarden.

The problem is, damned if I can figure out a good rationalization (in the context of my writing) for Squire James to take the Prince's "it should take you about a month to get to Romney" and say "fuck that, we're going to the other end of the Kingdom!" to do a sidequest ;P. Of course, solving one element of Chapter 3 requires you to go all the way across the kingdom the other way. I'm probably going to rationalize this in my narrative through teleportation even when I'm walking in-game.

Thoughts? Should I tackle this side-quest now, or in chapter 3, or should I leave it as something for people who actually track down and play this game to look forward to? Oh, and I know I could've edited my last post, but I wanted to bump the thread so people who read my last post would see this and weigh in.

Do it now. Also, it's Highcastle, and if I'm remembering the books correctly we can meet Patrus there. And we need Patrus on our team.

Could you take some liberties with the in-game plot - in essence, fabricating an additional fetch quest? I remember you need [the guild seal], but both the fellow you get it from and the [Romney guard] could conceivably send you on a further McGuffin hunt before playing their parts in the actual progress of the chapter.

Nope. All NPCs joinings and partings are determined by the story. I'm not going to go into details, suffice to say that you end up controlling two different parties and following two storylines.

Well, I don't think it'd fit where you suggest because you find those well before you get to that person, but maybe I can come up with something along those lines....*hmms*

Edit: I -will- do it this chapter, BTW. I just need to figure out how to write it in now.

I see a simple solution. Jimmy eavesdropped on Pug and Arutha's conversation!

He heard that Hightower is the most likely target for attack, with Northwarden less likely. He suggests they go to Hightower and discover what the point of attacking there could be, feeling clever and two steps ahead of the Prince. Obviously, there will be lots of enemy activity scouting the area, and it would be easy to find the proof requested of them at the same time.

Krondor



Squire James led Gorath to the central hall, his lips tightening each time he turned back to eye the dark elf. "No, moredhel! Locky may have been right in bringing Owyn along to Krondor but I am not going to have my attention split between watching two potential sources of trouble on the road to Romney," he said, shaking his head sharply as they turned down a hallway that housed both his quarters and Locklears.

"Delekhan employs magic far more commonly than your Kingdom forces do," Gorath said, sighing. "And his mages are trained to fight alongside the rest of his army. Your magicians are few, and most of them are old men and young boys in smoke-filled libraries with less knowledge of the battlefield than I had when I was ten."

"Then we'll just have to be careful to move quietly and avoid attracting the attention of any mages, won't we?" James asked in syrupy tones. "You're a grown Dark Brother, after all, and I'm sure you can move quietly if you don't want your friends to find us."

"Squire-" Gorath began, his composure finally fraying, only to fall silent as a striking dark-skinned woman turned the corner and stopped as she saw them, smiling.

Gamina ((This track just bugs the shit out of me for some reason, and I love the rest of this game's soundtrack. Am I the only one? Also, Katala is supposed to be quite pretty, dark-skinned and dark-haired, and in her mid-to-late 30s at this point, so...not the best actor.))




"You've just missed him," the woman said, glancing back the way she had come. "He and Makala went off to discuss magic someplace and if I know my husband, that means I won't see him for a few days. Even on holiday, he can't seem to take his mind away from the art for long."

"In many ways, he and the Prince are much alike," James said, nodding. "Where is Arutha anyway?"

She smiled. "Out with his twins and the Princess Anita. It seems your famed luck is running thin today."

"Quite the contrary, for I still have your company," he replied in his best imitation of a fawning courtier. "If I may have a moment?"

She laughed, nodding. "As much time as you need. What may I do for you?"



The woman paused, then glanced curiously over Gorath. "And who is your friend, James? He looks like the elves I saw in Elvandar, but somehow..."

"He is not my-" James started to say, but Gorath spoke over him and stepped past him to offer a carefully measured bow. "I am Gorath of the Ardanien and former clan chieftan among the Moredhel. Those you spoke of are the Eledhel," he said, studying the woman carefully. "I do not believe we have met."

"We have not," Katala said slowly, but she smiled still as she reached out to grasp one of Gorath's hands. "I am Katala, Pug's wife. Your people are the ones who invaded this land ten years ago, and yet you come to warn us now? That choice must have been a difficult one for you, Gorath."

Gorath just looked at Katala, and it was nearly a minute before he replied. "Yes. It was," he murmured, stepping back behind James who shot the dark elf a dark look before turning his attention back to Katala.

"So, when do I get to meet this stunning daughter of yours?" he asked a bit too loudly. "I've heard quite a bit about Gamina, but I've been too busy to make the time to meet her."

"I imagine you will see her as soon as I do," Katala murmured, her smile growing a touch wistful. "She's more than likely trailing Pug and Makala about the palace. Any opportunity to hear her father discuss magic and she's immediately at his side. Then too, it may be she's hiding away from Arutha's twins. She's not quite interested in boys yet."

James chuckled. "You've a bit more time for peace and quiet then," he said. Then, glancing down to the strange crystal wand that Locklear had given him and that now hung from his belt, the squire looked back to Katala. "I know that quite few of the artificers in Stardock have begun exporting their goods from the Academy. Are there any good places to buy magical items near here?" He asked.

Katala looked thoughtful, glancing down for a moment and humming to herself before her eyes returned to James' face. "The most notable one that's close is a little place called Stardock Annex at the Abbey of Ishap at Sarth. There's also a fellow by the name of Dabeh who buys from us, but he lives a long distance from here, out north of Romney if I recall. Does that help?"

"It does, yes, my lady," James said, smiling. "But now I'm afraid we have to be going. Take care, and tell Pug that I said hello."

Krondor

The room they entered a few minutes later was a mess, and Gorath was surprised to see James grin. In the few hours he'd known the squire he'd struck Gorath as a rather humorless man, or at least a man deeply unhappy with his assigned task and the company he was forced to keep.

"Locky, Locky, Locky," James muttered, looking through the Seigneur's personal effects piled in disorganized heaps. "You may be a fine swordsman, but your personal organization leaves quite a bit to be desired."



((This is how you get the stuff you want from Locklear's inventory before your party is split. It's nice, but there's a point later on where you don't have this luxury and if you're not paying attention you can end up with one party or the other lacking important items for awhile like whetstones and so on. To avoid this, I'm just making sure that he has a full stack of all the useful stuff like a shovel, rope, etc, etc, etc, so I can have the guys who will be split off later carry that kind of stuff for the next few chapters. I'm also giving him the good gear because by the time we have control of him again he'll need it more.))

Under the City

Adamant that they not be seen leaving the palace, James led Gorath back into the sewers. Both wrinkled their nose at the wave of stench that washed over them when the trap-door was lifted, and they descended slowly into the reeking blackness.

The sewers were as unpleasant as ever, and they moved slowly. James forced Gorath to move in front, as if half-expecting the moredhel to trip some ambush or trap set for them. Then, as they turned a corner towards the broad, long passage that led to the exit, a shadow moved. James and Gorath both drew their swords, stiffening as they prepared for attack, but instead of a nighthawk or one of the strange rogues they had met on their last trip through the sewers a young, robed man with an oak staff approached them, grinning.

Ch.1 Introduction, Part 2




Owyn blushed. "Well, after Seigneur Locklear dumped me off after we got here and told me I could go home, I got bored and decided to check out Krondor," the young noble began. "Unfortunately there's nothing much interesting going on here, so I decided I would come back to the palace. I tried to pay Gorath an unexpected visit last night, but discovered that the guards had been doubled with orders that no one could see him. I might have fallen for it if I hadn't heard someone snoring in his cell..."

"Gorath doesn't snore, I take it?" James asked, though he knew the answer.

"Not a sound," Owyn agreed, smiling at the dark elf. "When I realized that something was in the air I went to find Locklear and discovered that he was mysteriously absent, despite a tray of food delivered to his door just moments after I slipped away. Finally, I came down here and talked to Limm who told me you had been down here earlier this morning. At that point, I realized Arutha meant to slip Gorath out of Krondor for some reason..."

James laughed and shook his head slowly before giving the young mage a grudging nod of appreciation. "Are you sure you're not a thief by profession? You think unnervingly like a Mocker I used to know."

Owyn grinned. "So, are we ready? We should probably get moving. Where are we going anyway?"



James blinked, surprised to hear Gorath take the position he had argued against before, but he cut the moredhel off. "Quiet. I'll handle this," he muttered before stepping towards Owyn.

Owyn talked faster, raising his free hand. "But I could jeopardize your mission!" he said, blurting out his argument before the Squire could order him back to the palace. "Who knows who might take me captive between here and Tiburn? And if I go back to the palace now, I might accidentally talk to someone. Besides, I'm from the eastern part of the Kingdom. I know the area and I might be able to help..."

The squire sighed. "For better or worse, you seem determined to hitch your fate to catastrophe. But if you want to get yourself killed at a tender young age, who am I to naysay it? I used to pull the same stunts when Arutha wished to pull out of Krondor..." James paused, then smiled wryly. "I suppose turnabout is fair play, and serves me right...All right then squire, you can come along, but these are the ground rules. One, I am in charge and you do whatever I say without question. Two, under no circumstances do you reveal anything about Gorath or our mission to anyone. If someone asks, we will continue what Seigneur Locklear suggested - Gorath is an elf. Thirdly, and lastly, you don't wander off on your own. I don't care if you're watering the trees, you ask me first. Is all that clear?"

"Absolutely," Owyn said, putting on an innocent expression that couldn't hide his excitement. "Whatever you say."

"Stop smiling," James said, though his lips were beginning to twitch as well. "You're going to earn your keep. I know I'm going to regret this, but let's get moving. We have a long way to go and no time to get there."

Ch.1 Introduction, Part 2

"Except none of ya's going anywhere till you tell me what you think you're doing down here," came a voice from the darkness.




"Same thing as kept every Princes Krondor from doing that very thing," Said Limm, grinning. "We'd know a week and a day before and have time for a nap in between. While they was tromping about down here, we'd be looting their houses and their barracks and be all the richer for the expedition."

James laughed. "Fourteen years away and the Mockers are just as I left them," He said, then turned serious in a moment. "I want you to send word to the Upright Man that Seigneur James needs access to the sewers, just for a few hours."

"Seigneur James?" the young thing asked, eyes widening. "Well now, that's different. You've been all the talk about Mocker's Rest for the better part of a month! The Nightmaster's been right straight that we assist you in whatever manner we could."

"Why is that?" James asked, frowning. "Are things that bad down here that they're willing to suspend the usual rules, even for an ex-Mocker?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Limm said, shrugging elaborately. "I just do as the Nightmaster says. He also said we were to answer any questions you might have."

"Mmm, in that case, have you taken anything off the men who are posing as Mockers?" the squire asked.

"They're not much for carrying treasure, but yeah, I've found a few nice bits," Limm said cautiously. "Tumbled a corpse I found near the seagate just this morning..."

"If the price is right, I might be interested in buying the booty from you," James said, rubbing thumb and forefinger together and raising an eyebrow.

"That so? Well then, my price is a hundred gold." Limm said, smiling.

"A hundred gold? You said they don't carry anything of any value!" the squire said, scowling at the thief.

"Seems it's of value to you and I say it's worth a hundred sovereigns if it's worth a pence. Besides, you know the daymaster will take the guild's cut. So, Deal?"

"It's robbery," the squire sighed, "but we'll take it."

"Good then," Limm said and grinned again at the disgruntled former thief. "I'll get my satchel for you."

The lad returned in a few minutes and handed over the contents. Most of it was junk, but there was a small note slipped into a pouch of lockpicks, and James frowned as he read it in the faint light that filtered down from the sewers' exit.



"Here, boy," James said, smiling thinly as he handed the young thief the note. "The Upright Man will want to see that."

Limm squinted at the paper, making a show of scanning it over and making little "oh"s and "ah"s and "hmm"s before tucking it in a pocket. "So he will. Be seeing you," the boy said, disappearing back into the tunnels.

"What was that production about when he was reading the note," Owyn asked as they climbed the stairs leading back to Krondor.

"He wasn't reading it," James rplied, sighing. "He can't read, and didn't want to admit it in front of us." The former Mocker paused, then smiled slightly. "Still, if he shows talent, he'll be taught to read and write and even do some figuring. Better chances with the Mockers than he'd have doing 'honest' labor in the city."

Gorath frowned. "If the intelligent and the talented are forced to live outside your society's rules..." he murmured, "then your Kingdom is being wasteful and stupid."

James bristled at the dark elf's words, but a look from Owyn and a moment's consideration forced him to calm himself. "Yes...we can be wasteful and stupid sometimes," he said. "Still, I started where he was and damned if I'm not going to be Duke of this damned city before I'm through. It doesn't always work, but sometimes it does..."

Gorath nodded. "And Delekhan would not improve things. You do not like or trust me, Squire James, but you should understand that even if I do not love your Kingdom or your kind, I do not wish to see Delekhan ruling you."

James paused before the door that led back to Krondor proper, and the light from the barred window set in the wood cast stripes of light across his face. "That much I believe...Gorath," he replied after a long silence. "Let's get going."

Krondor




They stopped at the Rainbow Parrot in the Keshian District first, and the squire bought three hot baths and laundry service. They were led into a series of small, dim rooms with large wooden tubs in their centers already full of steaming water, linen towels arrayed along one wall, and and a glass vial of a golden oily liquid with a strong herbal scent set beside a bucket half full of pumice dust. Each of the three stepped into their bath, and after a moment Gorath's voice reached James and Owyn through the high windows that connected the rooms and allowed light in from the outside.

"What is this concoction?" Gorath asked, and James grinned.

"Soap, Gorath!" the squire called as he stripped down and tossed his clothing outside where a servant would collect it. "You have seen soap before."

"Yes, but thicker, cloudy, and fuming to sting the eyes. Ashes and tallow, mostly, not like this," The moredhel said, and the sounds of splashing came from the far room. "Is this a Kingdom refinement, or a Keshian one?"

"Keshian," James answered, "though the soap-makers here and in the bigger cities of the Eastern Realm are picking up the knack. Apparently a real Keshian Bath is an entire building separated into multiple rooms, but this is quite fancy enough. Now be quiet and get clean."

Owyn grinned as he listened to the two talk, quickly working clean his own body before the heat left the water. He splashed, lathered with the soap and rubbed with the pumice indulgently, and the water was nearly cold by the time he was drying himself off. He met the others in a dim corridor on the far side of the small bathing chambers, and they waited there with towels wrapped about them until the servants came to tell them that their clothing was clean and and dry.

Owyn slipped into his robes while the others dressed, then blinked. He paused, sniffing at his robes and then sneezing. "It smells as if these have been rolled in ashes."

"They dry clothes using the exhaust from a forge nearby," James said, smiling. "It lets us dress soon after bathing, and kills most any little beasts that might have taken up residence in our clothing."

Owyn nodded slowly. "Well, at least we're clean and dry and not smelling of human waste," he said, shrugging.

They returned to the common room, just in time for a slightly unsteady man with the monacle to accost James, grinning. Owyn recognized him as the same one who had spoken with Locklear on their last visit. Nivek.




"The ledgers are balanced," sighed Nivek, "but I daresay my thirst suffers a deficit of catastrophic proportions. Though I handle thousands of sovereigns a day, I fear I haven't the command of more than a handful for my own use at the moment. I don't suppose you might be in a position..."

"What do you say, Owyn?" said James, turning to grin at his two travelling companions. "Do we buy a drink for the honorable Lord Minister of Finances of the Western Realm, or do we allow him to expire of thirst?

Owyn smiled. "I suppose it's our patriotic duty," he murmured. "By all means..."

"Bartender, a drink for the tax collector!" called James. "Drink up friend and tell me what you know. You've always had a good ear for the happenings in and out of the Kingdom."

"Rumors?" Nivek asked, shaking his head in mock-dismay. "My goodness me, I'm not the kind to consort with the rumormongers. No sire, you should know that. Of course, I do occasionally hear a few facts that are of interest to people. Accounting is a...UHRUP...fascinating business you know, all the figures and such."

"Something a little more lively if you please, " James said, gesturing for the bartender to keep the rounds coming and slipping him several sovereigns when he returned to refill Nivek's tankard. "Stolen cows, cheating wives, dishonest traders - that sort of thing."

Nivek grinned. "The prurient and the scatological, eh? Hmmm. Well, let me think on it. I believe I heard something last week - at least I believe it was last week. Maybe it was the week before that. Couldn't have been before that annexation in Malac's Cross ---"

"If you please, Nivek. We would like to get out of here before tomorrow," said James, his smile starting to get a little strained as the tax collector began to ramble.

"I would be most pleased to accommodate you, but it seems that my mouth has grown a bit dry. What do you say to buying me another...well, isn't that capital," Nivek said, blinking as he realized another full mug was already in front of him.

"Ahh now. That's much better," the tax collector said a moment later. "What was I saying? Oh yes, about this story. Th-ere was...UHRUP...this fellow that lives near Sethanon that has filed three new claims on land in the past year. Thr-ee, ya understand that?"

"Is there something suspect about his purchases?" asked the squire, his smile fading as he leaned forward to catch Nivek's word.

"Oh, his selections of land are nice enough. Prime pieces of land matter of fact, but he's without a...AAHHHP...ti-tle! How'z a person of ignoble birth manage to buy three prime estates? Tell me that!" Nivek thumped his nearly empty tankard on the table down for emphasis with the last sentence, and the recoil up his arm nearly sent the thin man to the floor.

"What was this fellow's name?" Owyn asked, frowning and glancing towards James. "Perhaps we should look into it."

"What kind of ques- RUCHH*- question is that now? Ya think I carry my ledger about in my head? I mean you might as well ass me the name of Prince Arufa's---Arutha's wife..."

Owyn blinked at the tax collector's response, astonished to see the man more than half incapacitated on just two tankards of ale. "You mean to tell me that you can't remember Princess Anita's name?"

"No..." Nivek said, blinking slowly as he peered at Owyn, "Hmmm...what is her name?"

"You were telling me about the man near Sethanon," James said, reaching out to steady Nivek. "What else do you know about him? Tell me about the man."

"...Ahhhh...I fink his name was Fibber..." the tax collector mumbled. "NAH, that's not right, not right at all... Fleeber...Monk's Finger...Map's Flipper...Fever... FEEBER! Maxie Feeber! Thatsss it! Ya know, I'm really, really getting tired now and maybe I should go home."

"There's still a few things I need to know. Think you can hold out for a just a few more minutes?" Asked the squire, smiling even as he gestured the barman for another mug.

"Sure...RUCCHH...I kin do it," Nivek mumbled. "Need something else ta drink though. You buy-UHRUP-ing? Ohyeah, that hit the... the ahhh... What?"

"I suppose you mean that your drink hit the mark," James offered, holding Nivek's arm steadily now. "Why don't you tell us a little more about this Max Feeber character?"

"NAHnahnahnahh...that's bori--UHRUP-ng..." Nivek said, his eyes heavily lidded now as he leaned in towards James. "Let's talk about the last year. Did ya know that for every cow in Midkemia, we get a golden sovereigns a year alone just for their manure... Did ya know that? BETCHA didn't! An for every duck..."

"Max Feeber," James said, enunciating each word clearly. "I want to know about Max Feeber."

Nivek nodded, his head flopping over like a rag doll's at this point. "Dokay. Moxie Flipper. Ahm, I know that gee was tryging to buy up some of the propurtee left in Sethanon a few years back from Jared Lycrow but Jared wouldn't sell to no one, so Moxie co-AHRUP-cooked up this idea... Sure you don't want to hear about the ducks?"

James sighed. "No. Just tell us about Max. What did he do?"

"Ee gots him selk a shovel and dug...to try to skeer Jared," Nivek mururmed. "Corse Jared wasn't skeered of nuthin but it shore fri-teened *UHRUP**-Nia..."

"What was he digging up?" Owyn asked, frowning as he tried to follow the drunk's rapidly deteriorating speech.

"...Goin ta slep now... Gnite..." Nivek muttered, the words almost bubbling up through his ale mug as his face descended into it before James' free hand closed around the tax collector's collar.

"Maybe I could buy you another drink?" the Squire suggested, shaking Nivek.

"What, you haven run outta mon...mon...yet? Oh, in that case I'll have nother...if you're buying?" Nivek said, smiling happily at nothing in particular. "Grabeyurd neer Sethnon. Dats whur he wusss diggin. Up---ERRRRUP--- Frait o gosts n Jer-rud whatnt. Not at ull. Jes Nia. Littl o Nia..."

"Where do you think he got the funds to buy the land?" James asked, having to repeat the question twice more before Nivek managed any sort of reply.

"E...Ee sait that he gots it in na hole! Alz the monkeys...ARRAH...moneys in na hole! Jus got go...to get it... Ain't frait no gooset...Ya nu... Zaa unturducktur key urdn skeywers...trite to sulit tome but...UHRUP...I no crumiminal...oh gles mr...AAAGH. O Ghats! Imna be sich! Ha- ho!"

"What? I don't understand." James said, blinking as he leaned in closer towards Nivek's face.

"I sait, mna be SICK!" Nivek managed to choke out, and James had just enough time to jerk his head back before the tax collector made good on his threat.

"Okay, okay," James said, slipping off the table's bench and patting Nivek's back with one hand while the other checked to make sure none of the mess had spattered on him. "I think I've abused you enough for now. Sleep well, Nivek. I think we know all we need to know."

Krondor



They stopped at the smithy, entering beneath the carved eagle that flapped in the wind, clacking against the other beams of the building's awning. The young mender was working carefully over a wickedly curved Tapir, the broad keshian blade seeming to ripple as light from the forge played over the patterns in the steel.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" The owner asked, his grin nearly lost in a bristling beard burnt ragged by stray sparks. He eyed James and lifted one thick-fingered hand to mop sweat from his forehead.

"We need three fitted suits of armor," James said, smiling as he watched the ruddy-faced man puff and mop, his heavy leather smock and streaked with a mix of sweat and scorched pockmarks, both from the heat of the forge. "I had heard that you've been experimenting with the designs the LaMutian garrison came up with."

"Oh, that we have, that we have," agreed the owner, grinning widely as he led them away from the mender and the forge to the cooler air at the shop's front, gesturing towards several sets of brightly colored armor. "Uses smaller pieces of steel at all the right spots and a mix of that damnably clever laminated, glazed wood and leather the Tsurani thought up, all held together with more leather and horn. You end up with a suit that's more than a third lighter and protects even better against most blows."

"Excellent. We'll take three sets, fitted to us, and repainted grey if you can manage it," James said.

"Oh, I can manage it, but why grey," the smith asked even as he guided Owyn to the nearest set of armor, produced a knotted length of string from a pocket, and began to take measurements.

"That's our concern, master smith," James said evenly. "Now, let me see to your payment."




Gorath hmmed appreciatively several hours later as they left the city behind. "An impressive invention," he murmured. "But I am also curious about your choice of color."

"Two reasons," James replied as they reached the crossroads and turned east. "First, I've heard that the Grey Warriors who make it to this side of the Rift sometimes repaint their armor grey or brown to mark that they've severed any bonds with their old houses. Second, the entire point of getting us new armor, aside from protection, is to escape notice. We might be mistaken for grey warriors at a distance on the road in grey Tsurani-style armor, but in the colors the rest of the Tsurani favor we'd be the talk of towns for days after we passed."

The road lead east. Halting for a moment to ponder their options, James stared off in the direction of the Kingdom's populated heartland. "It's a few days to Darkmoor, and then another day or so to Malac's Cross. Hopefully your former friends are still squatting on the roads between here and the Inclindel."

The landscape flattened as they traveled, and as the days went by the hills and trees began to thin, far more sparse in the grassy midlands of the Kingdom. Soon they saw the grasslands to the north fade to a darker green, and each morning mists hugged the ground in that direction. "That would be -the- 'Dark Moor'," James said when Gorath asked. "The marshes that lay between Darkmoor and what's left of Sethanon."

They passed south of the wetland that marked the edge of the Barony of Darkmoor, and soon the road took them winding through vineyards, acre upon acre of trellised vines as far as the eye could see, most of them just starting to bud.




They entered the outskirts of the town of Darkmoor on the afternoon of their fourth day out from Krondor. It was quiet, and near a communal well they stopped to refill their water pouches. The well was shuttered, however, with heavy boards laid over its top and a sturdy iron padlock keeping them in place. After a few moments' deliberation James went to one of the larger houses and knocked at its servants' entrance. While they waited, James stood back to survey the house and its surroundings. "Darkmoor seems friendly enough," he said.

The door swung open and his attention shifted to a smallish woman who greeted him with a hug. "Oh my. Aren't you a dear? My name is Caroline, what's your name?" Before James had a chance to answer she ushered them all into the house.

Inside, amidst a collection of knick knacks and odds and ends no doubt collected over three quarters of a lifetime, they introduced themselves. They talked for several minutes as she refilled their water pouches with a pitcher sitting on a small wooden table in the corner.

"Have you seen the crazy old hen that lives down the road?" she queried, breathlessly. Only comes out at night. My sister Elizabeth thinks she's a witch or something. I just think she's crazy. Can't really blame her -- husband and son were both killed by evil spirits. That's what they say." Their pouches full, they managed to work their way to the door. The woman was still talking as she closed the door behind them.

"If we've time, I'd like to take a moment to speak with this old woman," Owyn said, glancing down the road towards the small and ramshackle cottage that Caroline had pointed out to them. Weeds filled what had once been a small garden, and dead tendrils of grape vine wound up the small hut's sides.

"All right," James said, "we'll be staying overnight here anyway. Meet us in the common room of the Darkmoor's Rest when you've finished.

Fifteen minutes and several bouts of knocking later, Owyn had just about concluded that nobody was home. Just as he was preparing to leave, a shuffling sound inside the house caught his attention.

"Hello! Is anybody there?" he shouted.

For several more seconds he heard nothing but silence and again he was about to leave. This time a hoarse whisper stopped his exit, though he couldn't make out what the voice on the other side of the door was saying.

"You'll have to speak a little louder. I'm just passing through but I would like to talk to you," Owyn said, leaning in to put his lips near the door's jamb.

"Come back when the sun is no longer in the sky," said the same voice, intelligible this time but still hoarse and ragged, "and I will tell you about the Rusalki." Hissing emphasis was placed on this last word.

Owyn tried to get some further information but he was greeted with nought but silence. "I'll be back tonight then, I suppose. Take care, ma'am."



At the inn, Owyn shared his experience with the other two.

"You think this is worth losing sleep to investigate, Owyn? Really?" James asked, frowning slightly. "To be honest this sounds like another cracked old woman to me,"

Owyn shrugged. "There are supposed to be an unusual number of spirits in this part of the Kingdom," he said. "I've read of periodic sightings of Rusalki downriver from Romney, and of course there's been all the talk of the haunting of the ruins of Sethanon after Murmandamus..." he paused, shifting in his seat and glancing towards Gorath.

"That was...a strange battle," the moredhel said, his face unreadable as he stared out a window at the moon, its pale light lost in the wash of illumination from the common room's fire. "We damaged the city, yes, but the force that devastated it so completely at the end was not our doing, not even Murmandamus' or that of his Serpent Priests' magic. It was..." he paused, and Owyn was startled to see the dark elf shudder for a moment, "something else."

There was silence for a time, and then James nodded. "Alright," he said, gesturing towards door. "Best we do it quickly. Soonest begun, soonest done, and soon enough up in the morning to get back on the road."

The cottage seemed totally dark when they arrived, and for a time it seemed that the widow was already asleep and that they'd wasted the trip. Then the door creaked, sliding slowly open to reveal a hunched figure almost totally shrouded in ragged and dusty black. "Come in," she said, and as they followed it became clear that the only reason the cottage seemed dark is that heavy cloth had been nailed over the windows and even rolled into the chinks of the door.

The room was lit by close to a hundred candles, and shadows danced crazily on the walls, a sight so distracting it took James several moments before he noticed that the strange old woman had already sank to sit cross-legged on the floor. No words were exchanged, but they walked across the room and sat on the floor in front of her.

"I shall speak of the Rusalki." As the woman spoke she began to rock gently back and forth, her gravelly voice taking on a songlike quality. "Innocence lost. Lost. Spring blossoms robbed of carnal bliss, the Goddess of death their first kiss. Their first kiss." Candlelight flashed in the wetness of her eyes as she continued. "They will shrink away from her touch, they hate her so. Hate her so. Find the Magic Touch or you too may feel her icy kiss."

The woman's head dropped to her lap and James got up to leave. He started to speak, but thought better of it. They left the house as quietly as possible.

They all slept fitfully that night, and were up well before dawn. By unspoken agreement none of them spoke, simply packing their gear, donning armor and packs, and slipping out into the thin pre-dawn mist that cloaked the town and the vineyards around it. It wasn't until several hours later when a pale red sunrise began to bring color back into a dim grey world that Owyn spoke, and when he did it was the words of a spell. James blinked, twisting to watch the young mage in some puzzlement before Gorath moved to take the squire's shoulder.

"It is a scrying spell. Eyes Of Ishap I believe he called it," the moredhel explained. "It served us well on the trip to Krondor for spying out caches of moredhel chests and the like. Delekhan's assassins may be clustered along the King's Highway as you hoped, but his spies permeate your entire Western Realm, and so even here we may find something of interest."

Owyn sighed, then slowly opened his eyes. "You're right, we did. There are two chests in that stand of trees," he said, gesturing north of the road. "And something else, I think...there might be a trap."

James nodded. "Still, it's worth checking out," he said, turning from the road, boots rustling through the dew-slick grass. They'd gone no more than fifty yards when a familiar sensation pricked Owyn.

"Stop, it is one of their traps," the young noble said, gasping as half a dozen of the crystal-topped poles rose from carefully concealed holes in the ground.



It took only a moment for Gorath and Owyn to explain what understanding they'd gained of the enemy's traps and the apparent paths through them before James chuckled. "Stay where you are then. I have a bit of experience dealing with this sort of thing, but it's been years since I had a chance to practice, and damned if I'm not going to take the opportunity to now," he said, flashing them a grin that seemed to take years off him. "I've been playing too much Squire James the Prince's loyal advisor and too little Jimmy The Hand."

It took only a moment to see the way out. A single push to the floating crystal to block the strange fire-spewing device and they were through, inspecting a pair of heavy moredhel chests, their wordlocks beaded from the morning's mist even as it burned away in heat of the rapidly rising sun.

((It's that time again. Have fun with these while I prep for the next chunk of updates. I have one question for you all in the meantime: There's an interesting cache in the ruins of Sethanon. However, Owyn's comments about the unhealthy and unnatural goings-on in the region are not kidding. Tell me if the party should try to make it to Sethanon to see what's there.))

Riddles and Locks

Pretty easy bunch this time. I'll guess at the first half.

#1: MILK
#2: RUST
#3: CHEST, and there is no way that works if it's "translated" from Moredhel
#4: KNOCKER, another entry in the "puts the answer in the clue" division

answers:
6.) wind
7.) blood

Wow, at first I thought you had made a typo, Brer, then I realized THE GAME made a type (Locklear instead of James there).

Highlighted for irony, and nope, I'm just lazy. If you look at the file name you'll see that's an image from Ch.1, taken when Locklear was in the party. There are a couple typos I've noticed (mostly stuff like its/it's and the like), but I'm sure I've made many, many more. I'll be honest and admit that you're pretty much getting pure first draft stuff from me. It's tempting to sit down and edit and revise, but honestly I'd never get this LP done if I did that.

((Ok, normally I'd like to get a few more people in on the guessing, but I'll admit that I'm sort of anxious to get as far in this LP as possible before I go back to school next week.))



The two chests yielded their contents to 'Milk' and 'Rust', and the three quickly parceled out the supplies. James raised an eyebrow as the second chest revealed a set of elven armor and a vial filled with a bright yellow liquid.

"Fadamor's Formula," Gorath murmured, eying the vial. "It dramatically increases strength for a short time. I have heard that the aftereffects are unpleasant, however, like a hangover for the muscles."

They moved east, and in another few hours a path to the north led to a small temple. "Wait," Gorath said, reaching out to grip James' shoulder. "We should stop and view the temple's Mandala."

The squire thought for a moment and then nodded. "Mmm, yes. I've never used them myself but I heard something about Pug giving that magic to the temples."

Temple



As an hour passed, James seethed. Four times they had asked one of the temple's golden robed priestesses to send for the high priestess, and four times they had been left waiting in the alcoves of the temple's central courtyard. When at last it became apparent that their repeated summons were not going to be answered, James shook his head. "We don’t have time for this. Let's get going."

They returned to the road, and the sun was beginning to dip behind them now, casting their shadows further and further ahead of them. The three spoke occasionally as the moved, but for the most part the hours passed in increasingly comfortable silence. Then, as they approached a bend in the road, Gorath held up one hand while the other dropped to his sword hilt.



James nodded, his own hand moving to his sword hilt, but by then it was too late. There were other shadows on the road, carefully woven mats of grass and twigs tossed aside as dark figures moved to block their path. Owyn gasped as a lucky flail with his staff deflected a light crossbow bolt, sending it spinning off behind him. "Nighthawks! Real ones!" James cried, drawing his sword and trying not to show fear as he saw the grace and speed with which these ones moved, far more impressive than the imposters in the sewers beneath Krondor.

It's a Trap



More bolts whistled from the treeline where other ambushers had apparently been positioned, but the fire ended as the nearer nighthawks closed on them and the melee began. James had just enough time to grab one of the vials that Locklear had given him. Closing his eyes, he quaffed some of the bitter, rusty fluid. It tasted vile, but as he moved in to block the first of several strong blows aimed at his vitals he found his arms moving faster and more surely than he would've expected. The redweed brew was doing its job, helping to compensate for the past few years in which James had spent most of his time learning the ways of the court and not enough retaining and honing his more practical skills.

The nighthawk facing him seemed almost arrogantly slow at first, as if expecting his opponent to fall quickly. But then he noted the strange crystalline glitter along James' blade and he stepped back, realizing that the short wand in the squire's belt had already been used. James lunged forward, and as his blade skittered along the assassin's it left a rime of frost. The squire used the magical cold to his advantage, making the nighthawk flinch and then opening a broad, shallow gash across one shoulder. The black-clad figure screamed in pain as the edges of the cloth were instantly stiff with ice, the blood in the wound crystallizing. The cold stiffened the assassin's side, stealing most of the force of his next blow so that James was able to escape with a light gash across his side that his armor stopped, The squire grunted, then struck again, and this time the magical cold of the enhanced blade bit into his opponent's throat, literally freezing his dying cry as he crumpled.

Meanwhile, Owyn and defended while Gorath attacked. The young mage was overwhelmed once again, blocking frantically and only occasionally able to lash out and make a nighthawk grunt as his staff's head jabbed into a stomach or cracked across a knee. The dark elf was faster, spinning between no less than three opponents, sometimes lashing out in great two-handed blows, sometimes using one hand to grip a nighthawk's wrist to force his blade aside while his own bit home, sometimes just kicking hard at ankles and shins. The moredhel dropped one enemy with a sweeping gash that opened the guts of one assassin, and he was still spinning with the blow when his sword crunched deeply into the spine and side of another.

The two remaining assassins focused on James, forcing the squire back away from Owyn. Gorath came to his aid, and suddenly the young mage found himself in the clear. He blinked, gasped, then began to summon his magic, focusing his will and pouring it through the magical structure his words and his gestures created, lighting the ball of flame that he sent winging into the nearest nighthawk. That one was sent flying, and though both his companions were scorched by the magical fire at least one had experienced these near misses before and was ready to take advantage of the disorientation the noise and heat and pressure created. Gorath recovered first, and James followed his lead as both their blades rose and fell, cutting down the final assassin and washing the dirt of the roadside with the man's blood.

They searched the bodies, and this time Owyn found that the grisly work required came easier to him. Hearts were removed and then set on a small fire to smoke and char while they went through their enemies belongings. James sighed as the pouch of one nighthawk revealed a collection of hollow glass beads. “Silverthorn antidote,” he muttered. “Which means one or more of these bastards are using the stuff. I swear, one day Arutha will have to call up all the garrisons from LaMut to Highcastle and march up to Moraelin to destroy every last patch of the stuff. We'll have to be careful from here on out.”




Gorath nodded, but his attention was focused on his own nighthawk. The removal of the hood and scarf revealed a face like his own, angular, dark of hair and eye, and with pointed and lobeless ears. He glanced down at the sword in the corpse's hand and sighed. “Take this, James. It is better than your own,” he said, tossing the weapon to the squire.

James blinked, looking the sword over before glancing back to Gorath. “It is, yes, but why don't you carry it?”

“Because that particular blade was made by one of the eledhel communities near the border of Elvandar,” Gorath answered, sighing. “This one no doubt took the blade as trophy from some eledhel warrior during a raid. I have no wish to carry such a thing.”

James nodded. “I think I understand, Gorath,” he said, watching the moredhel carefully. “You know, I've only ever spent a little time with the elves, but I heard that sometimes one of the Dark Bro...the moredhel would come ba-”

“Yes,” Gorath said, and his voice had an edge to it that killed any desire James had to pursue the matter further. For now, at least.

They finished packing up the rest of the gear and pressed on, and the last of the day's light had nearly deserted them when the road forked north and south. James halted them at the crossroads. He pointed south where the road rose and fell, winding this way and that and descending to a large town several miles away. “Malac's Cross,” the Squire said, “Let's get going.”

Malac's Cross




Owyn smiled as he walked with Gorath and James through the broad streets. "It's getting late, and I know an inn not too far from here. The students at the Collegium use it."

James nodded, "We'll stop there for the night, and I think we should make a brief stop at the Abbaye Ishap and the Collegium tomorrow."



"Mind the door!" cried a man who seemed to be nominally in charge of the chaotic common room. Owyn blinked and stopped the swining door just before it struck an inebriated young man in student's robes. The thin man approached, eying them all as they closed the door behind them.




The innkeeper stared at them. "You're in the Queen's Row and you can ask that question?" He asked. "A chess match of course. It was wondrous. Jamie Tiller was defending his title against that snot nosed prat from the Abbaye, Kyle Fischer. Jamie opened, moved his queen's pawn to fourth rank. Fischer opened with Abbar's Gambit - arrogant cud - but Jamie actually maneuvered into it with his knight. I was thinking that he was going for the queen..."

"...But he sacrificed his King's rook and took the priest," James finished, grinning. "It's a brilliant move, but it left his own queen vulnerable didn't it?"

"You've got a good head for the game, Seigneur," The young man said, eying him with new respect as he mopped at cheeks and brow flushed from the heat of the room and the effort of riding herd on the chaos of the common room.

"The P...A friend likes to play, but we don't always have a board handy. Once you learn to play in your head, a board almost becomes redundant," the squire said, still smiling. "I have to admit it's tougher earlier into the game. More pieces to keep track of."

The man nodded. "True enough, but it's still fun to watch and watching is what brings in a lot of my custom. That's why the Queen's Row is here. Perhaps I can relate the rest of the game over ale, assuming you gents are buying. The name's Ivan Skaald and I'm what passes for an innkeeper. What can I get you today? Oh, and just a few quick rules for the place: No drawing steel or killing people unless they really deserve it, no pets, and never EVER try to use an En Passah here."


Malac's Cross



James hmmed as he turned to look at the tables where inset chess boards were studied by pairs of robed students from the Collegium. “Of course, now your rules have piqued my curiosity,” he said as he watched one student carefully isolate and remove his opponent's knight. “What is an en passah? I've seen quite a few variations of chess but I don't think I've ever heard of that move.”

“It's Keshian,” said Ivan, scowling. “One night I was playing this fellow from Durbin. I had my game swinging on one particular pawn and the game was in my favor. So what does he do but move his pawn to the square directly behind mine, then claim to have captured my piece!”

“That's an illegal move,” said James, frowning along with Ivan as he pictured the game.

Ivan nodded emphatically. “So I said. He goes on to tell me it's one of the most fundamental moves of the game! We argued about it for three hours until a student ran from the Queen's Row to the Abbaye to dig up an old book. And there it was. Back of the text, written in Keshian, the original rules to the game. En passah cost me two diamonds and very nearly the Queen's Row itself. Needless to say, I don't allow that rule to be played in here anymore. Last fellow that tried to use it on me was a fellow named Navon Du Sandau and I set him straight, though he showed me an incredible move he invented called Sandau's Retreat. Can't quite remember how it worked now, though....” The innkeeper trailed off.

James nodded, “About that game you mentioned,” he said as he slipped Ivan a few royals for four tankards of ale. “Isn't there another move like Abbar's Gambit but a little different?”

“Aye, there's Abbar's Turn,” the innkeeper agreed. “That's a brave man's gambit. In the right place it's about the most powerful structure a man can put out, but in the wrong place it can cost you dearly...”

“How does it work?” the squire asked, grinning.

“Oh, I'll not be teaching you that play!” exclaimed Ivan, holding up his hands. “If you knew how to use it, I'd have to give up playing chess against you. That you even know about that move tells me you know the game altogether too well.”

Elvandar

Their discussion of the ins and outs of the game was suddenly interrupted by a stooped old woman who shoved Owyn aside with a surprisingly strong elbow before she turned to face James. The young noble let out a surprised curse and turned on his attacker. "Hey now, ma'am-" he started before she thumped his knee sharply with her cane, eliciting another curse.

"The name is Gran Petrumh, young man, and you'll keep a civil tongue in your head around your elders, that's a good boy," she said, eyes lifting to James' face.




"James is it?" Cackled the thin woman, clacking her cane against the floorboards and making Ivan wince. "Ha-ho, of course it is! And I'm not your gran Petrumh either, I take it. You're masquerading again! This isn't like that time you ran about Malac's Cross for a month begging and chewed up soap is it? Oh, but you made some fine sovereigns with that act! With all that foam coming out of your mouth, a body would think you had the creeping mongus and they'd pay a pretty coin just to have you away from them! You've always been a wily one, Lysle. Did you pinch any bread for me?"

The squire winced as Petrumh's nails dug into his wrist when he tried to step back. "Why can't you buy your own bread?"

"Who pissed in your pot, eh?" Snapped the woman, apparently forgetting her instructions to Owyn the moment before. "You know perfectly well that I haven't had nothing since Jack died...unless... What are you doing with an elf, boy! Don't you know they bring bad luck?! They're the ones what killed Jack and are stirring up all that trouble in Sethanon! What's got into your head? Have you run mad?"

"What trouble in Sethanon are you referring to, madam?" Asked Owyn, stepping forward and trying to keep his voice calm and friendly.

Petrumh stepped back, alarmed, and after staring hard at James for a few more moments she began to look more and more confused. "You're...you really aren't Lysle, are you then?" She asked, her entire form seeming to slump further. "But you're his mirror image, you are. How could this be unless...some kind of faerie evil isn't it? That's what it is! Some kind of faerie magic and you finally come for me! Took Lysle's form!"

James gaped as the woman lifted her cane and jabbed at his midsection, stepping hastily back and raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We aren't brothers of the dark path, miss. Please, trust us. Perhaps I may bear some resemblance to this Lysle character you're talking about, but we're just ordinary folk. I would like to talk to Lysle, however. He sounds like...like he might be a relative..."

Petrumh made one final jab with her cane, then cracked its tip back down against the inn's floor once more. "Hmmph...I guess you don't look like evil faeries... Leastways, none I've ever heard of. So, Lysle might be your brother?"

"I don't know," James said, shaking his head. "I never knew my father and my mother never mentioned a twin, but when I was taken captive in Krondor a few of the men who were guarding me kept asking about places I'd never been to and about people I'd never met. At first I wanted to dismiss what they were saying, but then I got to thinking about some of the events that happened before the battle of Sethanon. Someone tried to slip in a double for Prince Arutha. Maybe the moredhel are repeating their old strategies..."

"This is all very interesting, but I haven't had a bite to eat in days," said Petrumh, and once more her "crazy old lady" demeanor had disappeared. "Do you think you could spare something for me?"

The squire nodded, reaching into his pack. "I've got several days' rations here," he said, lifting the bundle. "They're yours, providing you tell us a little more about this Lysle."

Petrumh snatched the food and nodded slowly after unwrapping it and sniffing over the contents. "Last I saw of him, he was heading towards Lyton. Said something about wanting to meet some gentlemen there. More than likely he'll be staying away from the main roads. Try as he might, he does have a tendency to get into trouble now and again."

"Thank you, miss," James said, nodding and offering some approximation of a bow. "Watch out for yourself."

Malac's Cross

James turned back to continue his conversation, but found that Skaald was across the room, heaving two more of the collegium's students to their feet. The robed young men were obviously drunk, and had apparently come close to exchanging blows over some point of philosophy or theology. Neither looked able to tell who had been on which side of what argument at this point, but both were still willing to continue, and they flailed as Ivan tugged them towards the door. Gorath and James moved to help, and had quickly tossed the students into the street.

“Thanks,” Ivan said when he'd shut the door again, breathing hard. “The noble-born pups at the Collegium always have coins to spend but they tend to bring an awful lot of hassle along with their gold.”



James chuckled. “You're only young once, Ivan. Now, we've been speaking for awhile. Do I look familiar to you?”

“Can't say you do,” Ivan said, frowning. “Should I know you?”

James shook his head. “Not me, my face. I want you to take a close look at me. Are you sure you don't know of anyone with a face like mine?”

“Didn't say I've never seen anyone with a face like yours,” replied the innkeeper, smirking a bit as James made a face. “I just said I've never seen you before... The man you're after is named Lysle Rigger. Is he related to you?”

“Not sure,” the squire said, shrugging. “I don't know anything about my father and my mother died when I was young. It's possible either of them could have had another child. All I wish to do is talk to him, find out if we have any common history.”

Ivan nodded, pursing his lips. “Good enough... He's been running some sort of errand, though he hasn't told me what it was about or who hired him. He said if he should drop out of sight for any length of time, he would be hiding in Darkmoor, probably in the common storage bins there. If you get near there, call out that Ivan has sent you. He'll make an appearance. I'll warn you though, he attracts enough trouble for ten men. I'd be prepared for a rumble.”

“Sounds familiar,” James said, laughing. “If he's no brother of mine, he's at least a close cousin. Just a few more questions, though. I don't suppose you keep things that people have lost here?”

Ivan nodded. “Sometimes, if it interests me or if it seems like they would be coming back for it. Why, have you lost something here before?”

“No, I was just wondering if there was anything interesting you've found that you think it's unlikely the original owner is going to come back for,” the squire said. “If so, I might be interested in taking them off your hands.”

“Probably wouldn't do me any harm to clear out the area beneath the bar.” Ivan smiled, stroking his chin. “I believe there are probably a few things. Tell you what, I'll sell you the lot of them sight unseen for...say...fifty sovereigns. Deal?”

“Sold, barkeep. I'll take it all,” the squire said, offering a hand.

The innkeeper took it and squeezed, pumping twice before letting go. “I'll have to gather them up first. I'll give them to you before you leave and put the sale against your bill.”

“Fair enough,” James agreed. “With all the trade moving back and forth through here, I imagine you talk to quite a few traders."

"I talk to my share," Ivan said. "Mostly the Queen's Row is a haven for the students from the collegium, as you might have noticed while we were bouncing a couple of the fools off the cobblestones outside."

James chuckled, nodding. "Anything unusual going on that someone making a long trip should know? Bridge out somewhere? Bandits attacking?"

Ivan looked throughtful, frowning as he looked back over the past few days' gossip. "Only thing odd I've heard recent is that Lord Lyton's got a batch of tax collectors stopping folk trying to get in and out of Lyton. He's basically shut down the road east. They demand some ridiculous high amount of gold, and if folks don't have it the collectors just direct them the other way or end up splitting their spleens for 'em. Of course the merchants around here wouldn't make a pence if they stood for it. They've apparently found some way to sneak around the guards."

((We can challenge Ivan to a game of chess for an emerald, but we don't have an emerald or the knowledge needed to win yet. I leave where to get knowledge of either Abbar's Turn or Sandau's Retreat as an exercise for the audience.))

Malac's Cross

They slept well once the commotion on the lower floor finally subsided, and all were ready to pay the collegium a visit.



"The Abbaye is at your service," said a large man with a broad smile under a mass of greying hair. His deep, smooth voice echoed off the walls as he gestured around him to include not just the Abbaye but the collegium as well.

Inn




"Welcome gentlemen," the abbot said, still smiling as he approached. "What brings you to the Abbaye Ishap?"

"My young charge here wished to visit your famed school of nobles," James said, returning the smile. "I don't think he would have let us leave Malac's Cross without paying a visit."

"Well, well, well," the abbot murmured, folding his thick fingers across a broad stomach. "I am pleased to see that our reputation precedes us. Am I to assume you are interested in becoming a new pupil, or are you visiting from our estimable rival, the Academy of Magicians at Stardock?"

Owyn smiled slightly, but it was a wistful expression. "My father would never allow me to study magic formally," he said. "Even though he more than has the financial resources to send me to Stardock, he thinks it's a waste of a young noble's time to spend ten and twenty years with his nose stuck in a book and yet be hardly capable of doing anything else. If it weren't for a magician named Patrus that I met once, I wouldn't know anything of magic at all."

The large man nodded slowly. "It is true that magicians study for longer periods of time with fewer visible results, but no course of study is a waste of time. And while magic is not a primary staple in our directed studies here, magician Pug is kind enough to occasionally send instructors from Stardock to lecture on issues that involve magicians. If you would be interested in enrolling..." he trailed off, raising his brows.

Before Owyn could reply, James shook his head. "I regret that we don't have time for that kind of detour. He is on crucial business that takes him elsewhere."

"Ah, I see," the abbot said, nodding slowly. "What about you, Seigneur? Is there anything in our curricula that interests you?"

"Books and scrolls?" James asked, shaking his head again. "I'm a bit too old for that sort of thing now, I think."

"Really? How unfortunate for you. And here I was preparing to offer you a chance to attend a lecture on tactics that is being taught by one of our guest instructors..." the abbot murmured, looking suddenly sly. "Now that I think on it, you probably wouldn't be interested. It's being taught by this, well, odd fellow, a one eyed gentleman who goes by the name of Bas-Tyra."

The squire started, eyes going wide. "Bas-Tyra? You mean Guy du Bas-Tyra? King Lyam's First Adviser?"

"Yes, I believe that's his title..." the abbot said complacently, his grin reappearing. "It's part of the Abbaye Ishap's arrangement with King Lyam. In exchange for setting aside part of our facilities here for the purposes of education, the King occasionally will loan us some of the finest minds in the Kingdom. It works to our mutual benefit. I can still arrange to allow you in if you're still interested for a small donation of twenty sovereigns. What do you say, Seigneur?"

James matched the grin with one of his own, nodding. "I think we can make time. Where do we need to go?"

"In town, near the Queen's Row, there's a small hall that we have reserved for Guy's speech," the abbot said. "Simply present this ticket at the door and they will admit you all. I believe you will be in for a stimulating evening."

"Thank you," James said as he exchanged a handful of sovereigns for the folded and sealed document. "We are looking forward to it."

Malac's Cross



A man took their ticket at the door. Waving smoke from his face, James was surprised by the number of young nobles seated in the lecture hall, most looking as if they would rather be drinking ale in the tavern across the street. Despite that, they made friendly company as they offered up seats to James and his companions.

"All rise for Guy of Rillanon, First Adviser to the Throne of Kingdom of Isles," a page announced from the rear of the room.

After an uncomfortably long wait, a pair of men dressed in purple tabards advanced to the foot of the rude stage and took up station, the looks on their faces stern and watchful. Quick behind them was a man dressed all in black, from tunic to trousers to the patch over his left eye. Mounting the stage between his escorts, he looked out on the assemblage as if they were all his soldiers in the field. Seeing James, a smile touched the First Adviser's face.

"It seems I'm not the only first adviser here, James of Krondor," Guy said, motioning for everyone to take their seats. "I am surprised Prince Arutha could spare your company." James shrugged and covered with a quick lie that seemed to satisfy all in the room, as anxious as the rest for the lecture to begin.

Hours passed. After a lengthy discussion of the battles at Deep Taunton and the siege of the Shamata Garrison, the First Adviser finished his lecture and dismissed his boggled students, stepping down from the podium to speak with James. A grave look was upon Guy's face as he grasped the Seigneur's shoulder.

"You are lucky most of the men in this room don't know Arutha," Guy whispered, glancing at Owyn. "If they did, none of them would believe you had been sent to Romney to fetch this puny little squire. I am also curious to know why you are travelling in the company of a Dark Brother." Seeing the fire burning in the Adviser's good eye, James realized the old man was asking the questions in deadly earnest and that his two escorts were standing close for reasons other than show.

Waiting until the rest of the students had been shunted out the door, James quickly began to explain the situation, allowing Gorath to fill in the details which he only partially knew. When he mentioned the Nighthawks and Romney, the First Adviser nodded.

"Prince Arutha is right to send you to Romney," Guy said. "There is a group of Kingdom men there. I had Duke de Sevigny send them a few months ago when we heard about the guild troubles brewing there. We had suspicions the Guild of Death was involved." Grabbing up his cloak, the First Adviser nodded to his escorts to check the streets. "If anyone in the Kingdom can find the Nighthawks, it will be those men from Bas-Tyra. They've been of great help in the cause of the Kingdom over the past few years. I'll warn you, however, that they've made quite a few enemies along the way. Watch your step between here and the Black Sheep Tavern."

Once the guards had indicated that the road was clear, Guy was gone and the building's watcher shuffled them outside.

On the way north Owyn examined the small back that Ivan had sold to James. Aside from a container of aventurine and a light bowstring the main prize was a copy of the Psalms of Dala, and they all took turn reading it as they traveled.

Essentially a book of prayers, most of the psalms dealt with the mythology surrounding the defender goddess and her frequent clashes with the war god, Tith Onanka. It advised which prayers should be said upon waking, which should be used before sleeping, before eating, before entering inns, and most importantly, which should be mouthed before entering battle so that the defender goddess would add her favor to the faithful's ability to defend him or herself. It also mentioned in passing that the goddess would also lend her favor to those that drank the Dalatail Milk sometimes sold by her followers.




They followed the the road as it meandered north and east in wide curves, leaving the path only once the next day when Gorath spotted the glint of metal north of the road in a marshy field. Their boots squelched in a thin layer of muddy water, and the grass rustled loudly as James turned over a dead moredhel to reveal an old chest half-submerged in the soft soil. Working it open rewarded them with more flame root oil, and Owyn added it to his pack before they moved on.

((Gameplay Note: There are basically two types of enhancement: clerical and elemental. Althafain's Icer adds ice damage to swords, which is cancelled by Flame Root Oil on armor. Naptha sets your sword on fire, which is cancelled by using a Dragon Stone on your armor. Silverthorn adds poison damage and a DoT which is canceled by Silverthorn Anti-Venom. For clerical enhancements there's a stronger and a weaker item, and like cancels like (Clerical Oilcloth on Armor cancels Clerical Oilcloth on sword, for example).

That probably sounds a little confusing, and it is a bit hard to keep track of I'll admit. However, the biggest flaw with the scheme is this: enhancements on swords last until the end of the next battle where you hit someone with them. Fair enough, but enhancements on armor last until the end of the next battle you get hit in regardless of whether the weapon that hit you was enhanced. Since these are fairly limited-use items, this makes the defensive enhancements almost useless unless you're playing with a FAQ so you know what to apply when.

I'm not FAQ-ing it up this time around (though if I were, I'd go to the Krondor Help Web, which is awesome.) and so I'm going to go ahead and sell off most of my defensive stuff except for the silverthorn anti-venom and sarigsbane. The anti-venom can protect your armor, but is more useful if just consumed after combats to cure poisoning, and the sarigsbane blocks BOTH clerical enhancements and so is useful in the late chapters of the game where almost every enemy uses a clerically enhanced weapon.

So, was that confusing enough for everyone? Is there a better way for me to explain it?))



As the sun was beginning to set on their second day out from Malac's Cross the three travelers passed what appeared to be a large farmstead south of the road. At Owyn's urging they diverted towards it in hopes of a hot meal and perhaps a night in a warm barn, but as they approached it became apparent that the farm was abandoned. The paint on the house and barn was cracked and fading. Weeds grew among the wheat fields, and a film of scum covered the standing water in the feed troughs. Several crude graves had been dug behind the house, and black ribbons hung from the door and window frames. James took a step back and scowled, staring at the ribbons as though he was trying to decide on the proper course of action.




"Let's search the barn first," suggested Owyn after a moment's thought. "It should be safe even if the house is not, and it might give us some sense of what was being searched for."

The barn was musty and dark. Searching with straining eyes and groping hands, Owyn suddenly called out. "Over here. I think I've found something." Halfway up one wall of the structure, a small "x" had been scratched into the wood, and just below this spot there was a raised area of dirt. Together they began to dig, and several feet below the surface uncovered a rotting wooden box. Inside were twelve silver royals in a small leather pouch.

"Well now," James said, his expression even more troubled as he inspected the handful of silver. "I suppose we can risk it...you have your herbs, and I think the temple of Lims-Kragma is only a few hours from here."

There was the smell of death in the air. Entering the house, it became obvious that someone had indeed conducted a fairly thorough search. Seeing nothing of interest James turned to leave. "Come on, let's get out of here. It maybe too late al-" He stopped in mid sentence as his eyes fell on a discolored floorboard in the corner of the room.

Crossing the small house in three giant strides he carefully used the tip of his sword to pry the board up, then he slipped his fingers under and gave it several hard tugs. The board came free with a splintering "crack." James slowly reached down into the dark rectangular hole and excitedly pulled out a small bag. Spilling the shiny contents of the bag on the floor, he began to count.

"Thirty four gold sovereigns!" he said. Probably the life savings of the unfortunate family that lived here. We will have need of this money, but I'll be sure to give a charitable donation of equal size to Father Tully should we ever see Krondor again. Now, let's get out of here. We may be paying for this small windfall with our lives."

((For reference entering the farm house gives everyone the plagued status at 50%, but to keep things moving along and because I went over that with you last chapter I'm going to skip it. Suffice to say that in the actual game I spent a few days resting and using herbal packs.))



They left the dead farm quickly, putting distance between them and the dark and deserted buildings as fast as possible without actually breaking into a run. It wasn't until an hour later when the path ahead forked and they saw an old stone marker that they slowed to a more normal pace, stopping entirely at the crossroads as Gorath read the marker's inscription.



"Malac's Dragon?" the moredhel asked, turning back towards them with an eyebrow raised.

James stepped past Gorath and turned to squint south. While he was expecting to see the spires of some distant town or the smoke of a chandler's hearth fire at the twist of the road, he was surprised to see instead a greyish lump settled near a clump of young trees. "Have you ever heard of a grey dragon, Owyn?" he asked.

Owyn shook his head. "No, why?"

"Because that's what may be at the end of this road," James replied. "Feeling brave? Let's go and have a closer look."

Revenge





James wiped dirt from the statue. Although he had seen samples of the ancient Kingdom tongue, he still had great difficulty reading the old inscription: Heire, in the yar third of the reign of Delong the Greate in Mortale Combyte slew Malac the Pious the Flamewyrm Rhandra, and from that Terrible Beast forthwith tooke tooth and claw that it lay dead and troubled the land no more.

Gorath walked slowly around the large statue's base, stopping once where he found a small cluster of assorted trinkets and dried wildflowers, tokens for the statue left by superstitious peasants, most likely. Still, it was hard to fault their awe of the thing. The dark elf couldn't help but admire the sinuous curve of the dragon's back, the whole of it covered with beveled scales. Rounding the tail of the creature, he called for Owyn to come and have a look, but was startled by the clouded apprehension in the boy's blue eyes.

"Something is wrong?" Gorath asked.

Owyn gasped, as if to say something, then made a motion to the statue before collapsing to the ground...