As of 6/20/98


TURN 10: A Political Plot Uncovered



"Look!" Ysoltre called out suddenly, drawing all attention first to his wide-eyed countenance, then to the misshapen ogre-orc at which he pointed.

Before their eyes, the creature seemed to shimmer and lose substance, dissolving into a pool of what appeared to be water; only a pair of spiked, leather gauntlets and a bone scroll case scattered amidst the huge puddle gave evidence as to the strange being having ever existed.

"Dirion's breath!" Rogmund spat. "Here I thought the creature was strange enough before, now it up and disappears like that dark-garbed rogue at the inn." The armored swordsman turned toward Karissa. "Any idea on what in the nine hells this misshapen monstrosity is, or was?"

Karissa shrugged, her own eyes traveling from the puddle to Rogmund to the open doorway. "At first, I believed it might be an ogrillon, though the miscreant appeared much larger in stature and more powerful by far than was inferred by the writings of any tome mine eyes hath perused on such denizens. Now, evidence suggests our foe was a different creature altogether." Karissa moved toward the temple's open doorway, and peered out furtively. "Perchance this watery being possessed the ability to assume a form other than its original, and so created a visage for itself based loosely 'pon orcs and ogres."

"So you're saying that any of its fellows who happen to be loitering about might look the same, or look entirely different and possess different capabilities, is that about it?" Rogmund asked of the woman.

The Theavian closed the doors to the temple, enclosing the group within the building. "The hobgoblin sentries still lay where they fell, secure in the bosom of blissful slumber. Let them think what they will when they awaken, seeing only closed doors as before. Mayhap fear will delay any inspection of the carnage that hath been wrought on our account, and provide us a tactical advantage."

Karissa walked back toward Ethan, whose movements appeared to remain lethargic and laborious. "This beast disintegrated into a pool of water; the rogue at the inn collapsed inward 'pon himself as if he was little more than shadow," the brunette remarked, her brow furrowed as if in pensive thought. "Given those two occurrences, 'tis possible that what we viewed was the true form of neither. If 'tis a truthful account, then 'tis possible that such beings might be able to manifest as creatures ne'er before viewed save for the fevered dreams of nightmares."

Badrevec'c tied the sling to his belt, then trotted over to the where the Dervatear stood next to the liquid remains of their one-time opponent. The Havanathe shook his head, a look of utter seriousness plastered on his face as he studied the damage to Hroknar's helmet. "I do be being quite shocked that you thought I was throwing you something. In the future, I be thinking it best not to be trying catching things with one's head!"

A broad grin once again split the smallish figure's face, accompanied by a giggle that made his short, chubby frame bounce.

"In the truth though, sire, my apologies float freely and full for my errant stones path to thy pumpkin." He punctuated his sentence by falling over sideways, collapsing into a fit of sudden laughter that went on for several moments. "But - hee, hee - one must admit that it was quite funny! Can ye be not seeing some poetic bard in the far future? 'The mighty Badrevec'c Knapfoot loaded a rock the size of own body into his sling and twirled it above his head, releasing its full and mighty force to fly and slay the 20 spans tall beast. The air roared as the missile approached it target, a sure sign of impending death. The world stood still. BLAM! A hit that would slay a titan. But the beast stood yet. How, you ask? Why, it's quite simple. For, even though the rock found a mark, 'twas not the mark it sought! 'Twas the brave and doughty Dervatear who withstood the blast of the stone!'"

The halfling doubled over in laughter yet again. "Ah, but ah do be fergittin' mahse'f. Ah'm bein' Badrevec'c Knapfoot, o' the 'avanathe type o' folk. But ya pro'lly be seein' thet already. Hee! My friends be a callin' me Badger though. Not sure why; I ain't got no 'air on mah back!"

With that, Badger jumped up and bowed deeply, embellished with a rich, courtly style. "I'm afraid I can't tell you what I'm doing here . . . wherever here is. I've most recently awakened as a bird, or so my 'hosts' in this place thought of me. I was strung up in a bird cage down that way," he said, pointing to the curtained portal from which he had entered this room, the two hobgoblins hot on his trail.

"I seem to have taken a strong blow at some point, though; the last that I remember prior to that was serving my master in Aarenki." Badger's eyes went glassy for a moment, and his face showed a myriad number of emotions: fear, hate, love, in rapid succession. "I be a court fool by nature; actually, I be just a plain fool! Weeee!" Before return introductions could be made, he promptly turned and did several cartwheels, imperiling all those who stood in his path.

Ysoltre laughed out loud at the outlandish introduction of the Havanathe rouge. "Badger, is it?" the bard inquired, smiling broadly at the brightly-dressed halfling. "It appears that we share a common enemy, which makes us friends. Friends, at least, for the present."

Hroknar peered closely at the Havanathe as the fingers of one hand explored the dented metal of his helmet. The Dervatear's eyes dropped to Badger's waist, where the stone-slinging weapon tucked into the halfling's belt was clearly evident. "YOU! You're the one who brained me! I ought to lay you out on Tseld's Anvil and flatten you with his Righteous Sledge!" Hroknar's face turned red as he closed his eyes, breathing through his nose with such force that it seemed akin to a maddened bull.

"Good thing for your helmet," Rogmund said as he moved across the chamber toward the curtained portal, "given that obvious dent, it would have been your head split open otherwise." The armored swordsman positioned himself as a sentry to the left side of the alcove, his sword at ready.

Ysoltre offered Badger another smile as he bowed, then rose and swept his hand toward his fellows. "My name is Ysoltre Illmak'r, wanderer and minstrel of Western Glashia. These are my friends," the bard said, as he gestured to each in turn, "Hroknar of the Second Warren; Ethan de Nomestra; Aulkarissaleigh N'Qol'Terris - you should call her Karissa, we do," he added, reading the expression on the halfling's face, "and Rogmund Malatreides."

Hroknar's eyes popped open suddenly, accompanied by a deep and heartfelt sigh. Earthen eyes studied the Havanathe. "Forgive me my temper. Sometimes it gets the best of me." A soft chuckle suddenly issued forth from the Dervatear. "I, of all people, should know that sometimes in battle, things don't always go as planned. Allow me to introduce myself. I am, as friend Ysoltre has said, Hroknar of the Second Warren, Akmatar Initiate. Pleased to make your acquaintance. However, please keep edged weapons out of your hands when around me, if you will." He then extended a hand to the little person, offering a warriors handshake.

Ysoltre, examining his sword and dagger, bent down to clean both blades by wiping them on the leather armor of a fallen hobgoblin. "So, Badger, you say your captors are behind yonder curtain? Then it goes without saying that we should investigate." His attention lingered hesitantly on the sword, then he tore his gaze away to speak to his friends. "What say the rest of you?" With that, the half-elf turned the conversation over to the battle-plan-making battery of the group and focused again on the long sword, his brow furrowed in pensive thought.

"Prudence suggests we first tend to those of us who weathered the battle less well than others," Karissa offered. "Rogmund hath set a guard 'gainst surprise from yon portal. Still, we should not delay o'erlong. This cathedral 'twill likely be a place of greater traffic than other more secluded spots."

Karissa turned toward Ethan. Her gaze studied the ranger, apparently seeking some clue as to the nature of his affliction. "What be the tale concerning the summoned beast thou didst battle whilst Rogmund and I made our way into Dirion's shrine, and how did thy strange malady come about?"

"Somebody should examine the effects of our foes, both the hobgoblins and what remains of the strange ogre-orc monstrosity," Rogmund announced from the portal, before Ethan could manage a reply. "Since somebody is likely to be coming this way like as not, and since those hobgoblins Karissa's magicked outside are not going to sleep forever, we should move with deliberation modified by a certain degree of haste."

"Aye," Karissa said, "for the one who did summon the strange beast in the street hath not yet been encountered. These," she remarked while sweeping the chamber with one hand, "be naught more than sentries and servitors, 'tis almost certain." Karissa noticed the Dervatear's hand move to his chest, his face contorted in an expressive wince of obvious discomfiture. "Hroknar, art thou well?"

Rogmund shifted his body from its guarded stance near the portal. "Your armor is rent. Did you take a hit from our blades when you were used as a shield by the beast-man?"

The Dervatear shook his head. "It happened outside, in battle with the strange creature summoned by the dark-robed blackguard. The animal was no normal creature, to be certain. Its tail was barbed, and sliced through my splint mail with surprisingly little effort. Also, it seemed to convey some type of poison with each strike, of which I suffered two. I felt a burning sensation each time, which seemed to emanate outward swiftly, then dissipate."

Hroknar pointed to Ethan. "Our young ranger was also hit by the creature's tail, only it appears he weathered the poisonous effect less well than I. We killed the beast, only to watch it disintegrate into a pile of dust and earth, much the same as the misshapen ogre-orc dissipated into a puddle of water."

Karissa turned toward Ethan. "So thy current affliction was caused by the bizarre beast thou didst battle in the street." Her brow furrowed in pensive contemplation.

"How badly are you injured?" Rogmund asked. "Do you require Karissa's assistance, either mundane or mystical?"

Hroknar's lips curled into half a smile. "As an Akmatar Initiate, I am not without abilities in this regard," the Dervatear replied. "Let us save Karissa's magicks for a later time, when another might have need of them."

Moving out of the way of the others, Hroknar went to a corner of the room. He set his battle axe against the wall, then lifted the damaged splint plate of his armor to get a better look at the wound. "A most fearsome beast, our foe in the street." Hroknar gently eased a hand directly onto the slowly oozing wound. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, seeking that special mode of thought and devotion which had given him comfort so often in the past. "Celestial Tseld. I humbly ask you to lend me your health, so that I may continue my quest and spread the word of your greatness." From beneath the armor, a faint blue glow appeared and lingered for several moments.

Feeling a little better, Hroknar took another look beneath the armor. "Not completely healed, but at least the bleeding has stopped." The Axemaster picked up his axe, then moved to the hobgoblins, where he stooped and wiped off the blade using the cloak of one dead humanoid.

"Water for the ogre-orc, shadow for the figure encountered at the inn, earth for the beast summoned in the street," Karissa mumbled absently, her thoughts still introspective. "All aspects of the elemental planes or demi-planes. Ethan's affliction seems almost magical in effect, yet the method of delivery was physical in nature, akin to the poisonous venom of insect, snake, or spider." Violet eyes rose to regard first Ethan, then the pool of water. "Celestial Theavia teaches us that many things magical are merely the manifestation of extra-planar energies given form and function in the earthly realm. Yet always there exists an order to each, if it can be discerned. Hardened earth can be softened, altered in structure and consistency; be that one possible solution?"

The Theavian gently grasped Ethan's arm and guided him toward the watery remains of the ogre-orc. "I possess no dweomer suitable 'gainst poisonous venom, and many of the healing arts will not function properly lest the cause be eradicated first. Yet, despair not, Ethan de Nomestra. 'Tis possible the remains of one magical beast might offset the effects of another, when the former now is water, and the latter apparently hailed from the Elemental Plane of Earth." Karissa bent down, cupped one hand to draw forth a portion of fluid. This she began to rub onto Ethan's arm.

Hroknar gave silent thanks to Celestial Tseld, then moved from the corner to the outer door that Karissa had closed a minute before. He jerked his head, indicating the hobgoblins who remained prostrate outside. "What do we do about these scum? I wouldn't feel right just killing them while they sleep, but neither do I think we should just let them wake up to continue their evil ways, perhaps confronting us once again."

"Unless we want to slay them outright, there's not much for the situation," Rogmund answered. "We might bind them, but that very act may cause them to awaken, from what I've seen of Karissa's spell in the past. That would place us in immediate danger, both from the hobgoblins and any of their allies who might catch sight of us. Our best bet may be as Karissa said: leave them, let them awaken, and see that the temple appears as it did before, trusting to the hobgoblins' apparent fear at entering without the approval of the dark-robed man who we saw command them."

Silence reigned momentarily as Hroknar mulled over Rogmund's words. Ysoltre stood transfixed, his attention focused on the sword he held, his lips moving in a rhythmic chanting so soft that whatever words were spoken could not be heard by any other. The brightly clad Havanathe - who had called himself Badger - moved around Ethan and Karissa to scuttle through the large puddle of water, gathering up the spiked leather armlets and bone scroll case that had been left behind by the fearsome ogre-orc.

Badger hummed a light tune as he examined the scroll case, looking for signs of needle traps or other more devious poison-delivery methods - not really certain why he did so, merely heeding some inner voice that seemed to insist he take such a cautionary approach. Satisfied that he could detect no such devices, Badger popped open the stopper and drew forth a piece of parchment, which he unfurled and began to read.

"Nothing," Ysoltre said aloud, his voice and gaze both possessing a far-off quality. He sheathed the sword, then moved toward Rogmund. The bard smiled at the tall human, giving a nod of recognition at the warrior's self-imposed sentry duty. Ysoltre's brow furrowed slightly as he leaned in toward the curtained portal, his head tilted almost flush to the barrier, obviously listening for any tell-tale sound that might herald some new, potential threat. One moment passed into another, then still another. Ysoltre straightened, smiled, and shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he had heard nothing out of the ordinary.

Across the chamber, Ethan pressed his index fingers against his temples and took in a deep breath. "I tthhiinnk the effects from tthhaatt beast's sting . . . have passed."

Slowly, the ranger rose to his feet, shaking his head slightly before checking to ensure all his weapons and gear were in order. "Nasty business, if what's on that scroll is to be believed. Although I'm not much for court and kingdom politics - I leave that to my father - I do know a thing or two about Arvandus and its ruler, King Tearsac of the Plains. Some say he was a Guardian of a House on Jahhne's Council of Twelve before the Fpathen kicked his backside out of the Tempec, some sixty years back. From what I saw the few times I was up north in Arvandus, Tearsac treated the Arvandian Dervatear about as nicely as he would a plague-carrying rat."

Ethan glanced quickly toward Hroknar, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly. "No offense, friend Hroknar. Tearsac's hatred for the Dervatear is somewhat well known. Criminals in Arvandus at least get a trial before being put up on the slave bloc, yet a captured Dervatear is saved the injustice of Tearsac's courtly trial."

The young ranger spat on the ground as he rubbed the back of his neck. "But while Tearsac's hatred of the Dervatear is something to make your stomach turn, the envoys mentioned in the scroll - royals, most likely - raise a handful of questions, and they've all got me worried some. Seems a hornet's nest has been rustled since last I was home."

Karissa nodded. "Always there exists a semblance of distrust 'twixt rulers of differing lands. When bound by the shackles of judgment and good sense, 'tis a cautionary approach that helps ensure continued security of a realm and its people. Yet cause such caution to escalate into fear-fraught paranoia and 'tis a weapon that can bring down e'en the most mighty ruler, for paranoia favors certain actions o'er others, and the looming threat of invasion or war can set a course than any miscreant can determine easily."

"In strife there exists opportunity," Rogmund said suddenly, his gaze drawn to Karissa as the woman inadvertently stiffened at the words. "There are those who have tested the truth behind that belief, to great effect."

Silence reigned for several moments. Ethan looked at Karissa. "As you say." The ranger's eyes took on a faraway look. "There is this Narwich you mentioned. I've never heard of it, but it sounds like a few of my questions might be able to find themselves answer there."

Ethan shook his head, as if the action might clear it of disturbing thoughts and visions. "Although a conflict between Arvandus and Langington has me worried, the thought that this Raejik thinks it a simple distraction has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. If there is increasing friction between Arvandus and Langington - no matter the reason - the last thing needed would be a surprise from up here. The lands north of Jahhne, but south of the Northlands, are of little concern to the rulers of Langington, and that I sure of. I'm not privy to certain things, but one hears quite a bit when one gets around as much as I. I think I can safely say that Langington has very, very few - if any - royal spies within the courts up here. Which means that King de Angelosis wouldn't know of any trouble, say from this Raejik or Narwich, until it was too late."

Ethan's hand returned to the back of his neck. "Damn, I hate that," the ranger remarked quietly as he gripped the back of his neck before dropping his hand down to the hilt of his sword. "Since we don't know if that scroll is a ruse or not, we should assume that it isn't, and that this Raejik is indeed working against Langington. And if we are to assume that, then there is a good chance that our paths must part from here on out. While the rest of you don't have an obligation to Langington, I'm an officer of Orr-Natel - a royal jail - which means I'm an officer of the court. Not to mention my father's political relationship with the king."

Rogmund could not resist a smile. "Ah, the truth comes out. Our friend and comrade, Ethan de Nomestra, hob nobs with royalty, or at least royal advisers."

Ethan smiled as he scratched his brow. "Makes me wish my parents were farmers. Be that as it may, I have an obligation to the safety of Langington. That means that I need to follow up on this Raejik, and this Narwich. If possible, I need to return to Gideon with any information I can. None of you are obligated as I, so I can't ask you to join me." Ethan's eyes fell on those of his companions.

Karissa studied the face of the young ranger as she hefted the scroll. "Aye, all hither must decide on whate'er path each must travel. Yet 'tis a decision that may be mulled o'er still, for this scroll bespeaks that Raejik's agent will not be in Narwich until the last day of the month, a period of time nearly three weeks distant."

The Theavian's eyes strayed from Ethan to Hroknar. "Our noble Dervatear likewise hath reason for discovering the meaning behind this cryptic missive, given his tales from last eve' and earlier today. For myself, I believe the scroll's contents to be genuine, and not a ruse. 'Twas not placed for purposeful discovery; 'twas taken in battle with a most fearsome opponent, an opponent who seemingly knew naught of our presence 'ere we braved this temple on matters far removed from any thoughts of courtly intrigue 'twixt Langington and Arvandus. Why leave a missive deliberately for us, when we ourselves knew naught of this seeming plot? 'Tis far more likely that the misshapen ogre-orc was a guardian entrusted with the safekeeping of scrolls 'twixt one plotter and another, or perhaps several others. That leads to further conjecture-"

"Like why was the message sent here, to this hamlet?" Rogmund interjected.

"Aye," Karissa replied. "Is the mystery surrounding this hamlet related to some larger plot? 'Twould appear that there is more to the exodus of people from this village than Bowen the Warder did know when he requested Rogmund and I journey hither."

Rogmund nodded toward the armored Dervatear. "Looks like you might have been right, friend Hroknar, when you surmised earlier that this Yeth Hound might have been set loose at the behest of some mysterious master, to drive off any prying eyes who might learn what is going on here. Yes, that makes sense, especially when you throw in the hobgoblins and those dark-garbed men who seem to command the humanoids. But the key question remains: what exactly is going on here?"

Ethan glanced down at the floor. "Three weeks. Three weeks should give us more than enough time - I hope - to figure out what's behind that scroll, and the creatures set to protect it." The ranger's eyes drifted upward, fixing on each of his companions in turn. "I say we go on exploring the hamlet, especially the twin towers. However, we should make sure we leave ourselves at least a tenday to get to Narwich and do a bit of exploring there. Two weeks would be better on my nerves, though a tenday should be time enough. After that, we could make our way through the Tempec to Langington with whatever information we've gathered."

A fleeting smile drifted across the young ranger's lips. "The Fpathen of Jahhne should be more than willing to assist us in our journey southward. I've a few friends in Vallalia. What say the rest of you?"

"I do not know what to think of all this," Hroknar remarked, though it was obvious to all that the Dervatear's interest had perked up at the mention of his homeland and the Arvandus situation. "I am certain that there is great evil loose in the land, and that only confirms my suspicions."

The Axemaster's brow furrowed. "I agree with you, Ethan. We should continue to investigate this hamlet, perhaps finding out why the Yeth Hound has taken up residence here, and also maybe finding out why the hobgoblins are here as well. I say we either stay here until we find out these things or until one week has passed - then we go to Narwich. If we are then required to go to Langington to warn your king and ruler of this threat, then go we must."

"Narwich?" Ysoltre interjected. "Never heard of it. Still, for a purveyor of fine civilization such as myself, one town is as good as another, as long as it provides the promise of a warm bed and social interaction."

He sighed deeply. "I am in debt to you three," Ysoltre said, gesturing toward Hroknar, Rogmund, and Karissa, "perhaps with my very life. I know not the ways of politics and warfare, but I am no welcher or ingrate. I will lend you my blades when the need arises, and a song and dance for those long nights."

The bard grinned. "Ethan, I have known scores of people in my life. Some I have considered friends, but none have taken a blow like the one you took for me and Hroknar out in the street. I am in your service as well."

Ysoltre bowed to the ranger, a smile plastered upon his face. When he straightened, the minstrel's expression hardened. "Could Ancilicus be the man behind the curtain - the one we saw commanding the goblinoids, I mean? If so, we should schedule an audience with him immediately." Ysoltre chuckled. "Should we send forth his former 'guest' to herald our approach? I am sure he will be happy to see you again, Badger." Suddenly, the half-elf's face lost all sense of joviality. "But perhaps he is the letter's author - Raejik was it? And our beautiful puddle here was his messenger."

"Caught the message on the way out, rather than the way in, eh?" Rogmund interjected. "That's a distinct possibility."

Karissa nodded. "Aye, 'tis a truthful account. In addition, let us not o'erlook that we know less of this Raejik than the one called Ancilicus. The latter's name was preceeded by the term, 'Most Reverent'. 'Tis a title given to those of the priesthood in most cultures, and may provide a clue as to the latter's nature and abilities. At the very least, 'twould appear that this Ancilicus likely will be a foe consumed with fervor for whate'er anointed task he undertakes."

"Either way, we should be on the move," Ethan said as he shrugged his right shoulder, allowing his longbow to slip down his arm and into his waiting hand. With his left hand, the ranger retrieved a flight arrow from its quiver, nocking it quickly. He held both bow and arrow in his right hand, his left resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword. "Same marching order as before, then?"

Hroknar nodded his agreement. "Where to then? Back outside and on to the towers, do we finish looking through this building, or return to the stone circle to rest up?"

"Not back to the circle," Rogmund interjected quickly. "I don't fancy giving our foes the opportunity to regroup, especially if we must then make our way through the entire village once again. We're already in the temple here, and we know the dark-robed one entered. Maybe we'll run in to him, have the opportunity to get a few answers to our questions."

"One of the first things I'll need to do once we reach some sort of civilization is to get my armor repaired," Hroknar said absently, his gaze studying the metal plates that had been ripped asunder. "That beast had a vicious tail."

Badger bounced up from investigating the fluid and items on the floor. "I'd gladly put metal to metal and heal thine armor, friend Hroknar. I'm afraid, however, that with my skill, you'd have naught but a clump of pots and pans upon the end of my workings. Hee!"

The Havanathe's daggers appeared in his hands. He pulled forth an oiled cloth from somewhere on his person, and began to clean them almost lovingly. "Oh, and I be not ta knowin who most o' these folks be that ye be talkin' about," Badger announced, a look of unabashed wonderment on his face. "But, I'm afraid that the shadows of my mind hold too many mysteries for me to bother discovering." A snort of laughter signaled the end of his sentence.

"I say we go after the dark-garbed man," Ysoltre said as he glanced to the curtained portal and back to his comrades. "He probably has some answers that would prove most valuable to this mystery. Besides, he knows we exist - he did summon that strange beast from beyond and he knows we know about this letter. If we let him get away, each of us may have a price on his or her head. I, for one, don't like the idea of having bounty hunters and hobgoblins after me at every turn around." The bard drew a breath. "If we hurry, we can still catch him. He couldn't have gotten far."

Ysoltre's words caused the Havanathe to end his brief bout of laughter. "Oh, and yes, yes. Let's do be going! That would be nice. For, as wonderful as the accommodations are here - chortle - I do be thinking that we might find better. I would simply hate to force my gracious host to spend effort on finding better for me. Yes, that would be most unacceptable, wouldn't it?"

Ethan looked at the Havanathe, a slightly perplexed expression on his face, which seemed to be mirrored by several others in the chamber. Not knowing what else to say, the young ranger nodded his head. "I agree. Let's be off to find this dark-garbed man."

Finishing up the polishing of one dagger, Badger switched his attention to the other. "Yes, the dark-garbed man! Let us be after him! . . . errr . . . who is he?" His face contorted into a questioning grin. "If 'twer the owner o' thees eer 'ouse, theen I bee a wanteen ta thank 'im for 'is 'ospitaliteee! Oh, yes, yes. You most certainly do, Badger, most certainly." A truly scary look descended like a mask across the Havanathe's face, staying only for a moment, to be immediately replaced by the jovial serenity of a very friendly fellow.

Hroknar nodded toward the curtained portal. "Was that the last place that robed person was? If it is, let's get after him before he can regroup and get together some sort of guard for himself."

Karissa shrugged. "When Rogmund and I did force our way hither, only the ogre-orc and a hobgoblin stood within, moving toward the doorway in apparent response to the noise of thy battle outside with the strange beast the robed one summoned. 'Tis likely that their master did flee through yonder portal. Howe'er, neither Rogmund nor I could lay claim to that conjecture as fact."

"Then let's play the odds, and see if our dark-garbed friend is behind curtain number one," Rogmund spat, his face settling into a look of grim repose.

"And let's find him before his hobgoblins outside wake up," Hroknar offered, stepping to the portal and sliding the curtain back a bit, peeking around the heavy cloth barrier. "Looks like a hallway," the Dervatear announced as the others settled in behind him - Rogmund following directly behind, the Havanathe next in a response to a gesture from Karissa, then the Theavian, followed by Ysoltre, with Ethan bringing up the rear.



Return to the Mystery of the Malgwaith Main Page.

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page