by Drew Hayes
Gabrielle was an adventurer, a barbarian, a being driven by fury and destined to bathe herself in blood. She wasn’t a monster, however. She wouldn’t kill if she didn’t have to; especially not someone she didn’t know deserved it. Better to stun and save than do something that could never be undone.
Besides, as Elora had pointed out just before they all took their positions, none of them had the spells to interrogate the dead.
* * *
Thistle didn’t run when he saw Grumph’s second throw strike near the final guard. It was a good shot; not quite as specular as the first, but there was little point in getting greedy for miracles. Eric was already visible, and farther way Timuscor’s charge was beginning as well. They would both reach their targets long before Thistle could even get close, as Timuscor’s armor wouldn’t slow him enough to reach the speed of a hobbled gnome.
He hadn’t said it out loud yet, but Thistle knew this was beginning to be a problem. No, it had been a problem for some while: the others simply compensated well enough to keep it from becoming an important one. Having range helped—his daggers moved far faster than even their swiftest member—however, the more fights they got into, the more it became clear that Thistle’s mobility was a hindrance. It would have been bad enough if he were just a gnome whose short legs were simply unable to keep up with the others. Adding his body’s twisted bones and a suit of armor to the mix made his best pace downright plodding. If he were an archer or a mage, it would still have caused trouble, but he was a paladin. His place was near the front line, wounding the wicked while healing his friends. A paladin at the rear pushed past even the boundaries of curious; it was downright senseless.
Whatever plans Elora had for helping them get equipment before the Grand Quest, Thistle had a priority of his own. He’d have to spend any gold he could make between now and their deadline on a magical item to increase his speed, perhaps even one that could allow teleportation or flight, though that would almost certainly be out of his price range. He’d made peace with his physical limitations many decades ago, but this was different. To fulfill his role in the party, to do right by the mantle Grumble had bestowed upon him, Thistle needed to find a solution.
Part of him wondered if he’d be able to talk Grumble into paying for some part of it if he pitched it as a paladin necessity.
Moving forward as quickly as he could without breaking into a true run, Thistle watched as Eric attacked the nearest guard. Grumph’s throw had doused the man in purple gas, but he’d taken a lucky turn and gotten clear quickly. Already his eyes were clear, and he yanked a rapier free from his belt just as Eric swung his sword, blocking the blow, albeit barely. Coughs still shook the guard’s body as he tried to call for help. Eric danced in and out, striking desperately to bring his opponent down before the alarm could be sounded.
Unfortunately, the guard was no rookie to either ambushes or melee. He fended off the attacks, even going so far as to press an offense of his own. All the while, Thistle kept moving, swift and sure, yet never going so far as to run. To an onlooker, it might have seemed as though Thistle were taking his time, hoping the battle would end before he arrived. What that person would not have understood, however, was that it was nearly impossible to throw daggers with any accuracy while at a full charge.
Thistle’s first throw went wide, nearly clattering into the side of the stone house. He waited a few more seconds, getting precious steps closer, and then tried again. This time, his aim was true, and the blade cut through a small section of the guard’s calf. It wasn’t much, really, more pain than injury, but it was enough to distract him. That was all Eric needed, slipping in and driving his short sword between the enemy’s ribs. Then he was gone, back a sword’s length away as the guard realized he’d been stabbed and tried to return the favor. It was no use. Eric glided between the strikes now slowed by pain and fear, opening up a few more wounds in return for the trouble.
By the time Thistle arrived, the guard was down, blood staining the grass. Eric was crouched over him, taking vitals.
“I’m sorry. I tried to keep the wounds shallow, but I think the first one went too deep. His pulse faded so quickly…”
“Such is the cost of a battle. Others will manage to save theirs, and we’ll get what we need. Carry no guilt; I saw the lunges he made, and he’d have killed you if given the chance. This was not your fault,” Thistle told him. It wasn’t, either. It was Thistle’s fault. If he’d only been faster, he could have used a touch of healing magic to keep the guard stable.
He needed to be faster, to keep up with his party. As it stood, they couldn’t truly count on him, and Thistle would sooner die than see such a situation continue.
* * *
Timuscor had chosen the guard who’d been struck first as his target. Gabrielle’s was down before he’d halfway crossed the divide between the forest and the battle, and Eric accompanied by Thistle would be more than enough for the other. That first guard, however, was still standing in spite of the gas that had bloomed from his chest and a few bolts in his upper body from Elora. It was only thanks to Grumph’s spectacular throw that the purple cloud had lasted so long; even a hit at the feet would have dissipated by now. Still, it was beginning to clear, and once it did, Elora would be in danger, to say nothing of the risk the guard might call for aid.
There was little love for Elora in Timuscor’s heart; he didn’t care for the way she smirked and seemed to always be playing at one angle or another. In a different situation, he’d have been tempted to hold back, to allow things to play out as they would. But today, if only for a few hours, she was a member of his party, and that meant Timuscor would throw his very life away if it meant keepings hers safe.
Without slowing down to properly assess his opponent’s condition, Timuscor ended his charge across the plains with a mighty slice of his blade, directed at the guard’s torso. While his enemy’s sight was still compromised, it wasn’t so bad that he’d missed the gleaming armor storming up at him. The guard leapt nimbly back, managing to draw a short sword of his own between bouts of coughing.
Timuscor deflected the first blow easily, along with the several that followed. The guard was nimble and swift with a blade; however, his technique revolved heavily around capitalizing on an opponent’s weak spots, of which Timuscor had few. As a trained knight, he had been taught to be a bulwark, an obstacle surmounted only by sheer force. Of course, his education had also enlightened Timuscor of how to surpass obstacles of his own.
When a gap in the attacks presented itself, Timuscor pounced, pushing away the guard’s blade and thrusting his own weapon toward the man’s stomach. With his longer sword, more expansive armor, and superior tactics, it was only a matter of time until he wore the guard down. Unfortunately, the coughs were growing less and less frequent, which meant soon a scream might manage to find its way to freedom, drawing untold numbers of the enemy forth. Timuscor didn’t relish the idea of ending someone without offering the chance to surrender, but it seemed he might not get the opportunity.
The guard lunged for Timuscor once more, although this time, his graceful steps faltered. He managed one more shaky movement forward before his legs gave out entirely and he tumbled forward, revealing a pair of crossbow bolts sticking out from the center of his back.
“Thanks for keeping him busy,” Elora said as she made her way over. “With all that smoke, it was hard to land a good shot, and when it cleared enough for me to see, he started dodging.”
“I... you shot him in the back,” Timuscor said, staring at his downed foe as blood pooled beneath the corpse. “That sort of tactic is frowned upon by knights. And paladins.”
“I’m sure it is, which is why, if there are any survivors, I’ll handle the interrogation with just me and Eric.” Elora stooped over the body of the guard, checking his pulse and then rummaging through his pockets. “Rogues are less concerned with methods and more occupied by results. For example, are you dead?”
“Clearly, I am not
,” Timuscor replied.
“And from what I can see, neither is anyone else. Honor or not, I’d call that pretty successful,” Elora told him. “I’d advise you to keep that in mind as we push forward. Something tells me that’s far from the last thing I’ll have to do today that you might disagree with.”
As Timuscor watched more of the blood slowly seep out from under the corpse, he found it hard to imagine that Elora was wrong.
Chapter 28
“Look, short of magical healing, this guy isn’t waking up anytime soon.” Elora yanked open the guard’s eyes to prove her point, failing to so much as even stir the sole surviving enemy of their attack. “And as someone who is about to plunge into the unknown with you all, I’d really rather save as much of the paladin’s magic as possible. Besides, even if we did wake him, we’d have to drag him off to the woods in case he screamed before starting the interrogation. Don’t get me wrong: with a day and a quiet place to work, I could get this guy to tell us where his mother hid the silver, but the longer we wait, the more chance of some other guard coming for a change of shift.”
“Is anyone else curious how she knows enough to tell he won’t wake up or bleed to death?” Gabrielle asked, keeping her voice soft in spite of the small ruckus they’d just raised.
“Necessary tool of interrogation. It’s much cheaper to question the living, so you don’t want to question them so hard that they cross over.” Although Elora seemed unbothered by her own explanation, Eric seemed to go a shade or two paler. Evidently, they hadn’t yet reached that part of rogue training.
“While I’m growing somewhat more concerned every time I have to say this, Elora is right,” Thistle told them. “As it stands, time isn’t on our side. We were fortunate the guard change happened when it did, but sooner or later, this fight will be discovered. When that happens, any surprise we still have will be lost, and our task becomes more difficult. Better to press on now, while we have the choice, before some stray enemy makes it for us.”
“Going into an enemy stronghold blind isn’t a great option,” Grumph pointed out.
“Sneaking into an enemy stronghold blind,” Eric corrected. “Which I like a lot better than fighting our way past everyone inside once they’re armed and ready. Those guys were tough. Not the hardest thing we’ve ever fought, but even half-blind and choking, they didn’t go down easy.”
As Elora rose from the unconscious guard’s side, Thistle contemplated how to proceed. That they had to move forward was a given. This window of opportunity was miraculous in itself; it would be sheer foolishness not to take advantage of it. And Eric was right: there was a large difference between sneaking in and bursting through the doors. Unfortunately, the more Thistle turned the situation around inside his mind, the more apparent it became that in order to execute their next strategy to the fullest, he would have to do something he deeply didn’t want to. As he and Timuscor both wore plate armor, they were easily the loudest party members, which meant they stood the least chance of being noticed when at the rear of the formation. And since Elora and Eric were the quietest, they would be at the front, more or less putting the entire party at the mercy of a rogue Thistle still wasn’t sure how much he could trust.
Thistle knew too well how easy it was to get lost in indecision, mentally bickering with his own judgments until the situation changed and he no longer had to solve the issue. It was tempting, even being as aware as he was, but it wasn’t an option he could allow himself. Better to make a poor choice than none at all. Despite certain unsavory aspects of her character, Elora had yet to betray them or go against her word. Perhaps she still would—this might all be setting up to some grander trick—but that didn’t change the fact that when it came to infiltration, she stood shoulders above them all. If she tried to stab them in the back, Thistle would deal with it then, but until such a time arrived, there was no sense in not utilizing her skills to the fullest.
“Elora and Eric, take the lead. Grumph and Gabrielle will follow at a safe distance, in case you need help. Timuscor, Mr. Peppers, and I will take the rear to prevent anyone from sneaking up behind us. And, hopefully, to not give away our position. The goal is to find the rider that Elora saw and get information. If the chain ends with him, we want to know why he’s attacking the church. If it goes up higher, we need a name and a location. Unless the next link in the chain is also in there, we take a quick retreat as soon as we’ve got what we need, and then hightail it out. Any objections?”
“None from me.” Elora rummaged about in her pockets, pulling free a small set of eyeglasses and handing them to Eric. “In case they keep it dark inside. The rest of you will have to make do; I only keep the one pair.”
“Grumph’s eyes will manage, and if need be, I can conjure light,” Thistle said. “Let’s just hope they aren’t so committed to security that they live in constant darkness.”
He’d meant to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t really sound jovial. Dealing with darkness was also becoming troublesome. Fritz had aided them with a magical solution in the catacombs, but the trader wasn’t around this time. Another issue Thistle filed away in the back of his mind as something to sort out in the event they survived this and completed a quest that would actually get them some much needed gold.
“Eric and I will head in,” Elora declared. “If there’s anyone immediately inside, well, they probably would have come running at the sound of a fight. On the off-chance I’m wrong, I’ll let out a whistle if I need help. Also, listen for some asshole we don’t know yelling in surprise, as that definitely means we need assistance. Otherwise, wait until we come get you.”
With no more warning than that, Elora grabbed Eric by the arm, dragged him to the door without making so much as a footstep of sound, flung the door open, and darted inside. Everyone stood outside waiting, their hearts racing and their bodies tense. So much work to get this far unnoticed, and if anyone happened to be lying in wait, it could all come crashing down.
There was no yelling, which was a good sign, but neither did Elora or Eric pop their heads back out the door, which made the group more worried by the second. Finally, when Thistle was just about to try and make his way in, regardless of what they’d planned, Elora reappeared.
“You all may as well come in,” she said. “I think this is going to take a few minutes.”
* * *
“Not the most glamorous work in the world, but I have to say, I feel surprisingly good about helping that shopkeeper. The fresh-baked bread was a surprising bonus.” Cheri was hunched over, carefully making note of the two still-steaming bread loaves in Chalara’s inventory. They’d probably be gone by dinner that night, but she prided herself on keeping track of each and every one of her character’s possessions.
Bert laughed under his breath as he finished updating something unseen on his own page. “Clearing out a rat infestation in the basement. I’ve done it so many times in video games, but this is the first time I’ve ever had to do it in a tabletop game. Compared to our last two quests, they were an easy fight, even with Gelthorn having an episode.”
“The only enclosed spaces a forest warrior should be in are thickets and heavy brush,” Alexis mumbled softly. “A basement is like a city compacted. She tried to use willpower to push past, but the dice were against her.”
“We appreciate Gelthorn even coming along,” Tim assured her. “And I think the shopkeeper was glad anyone showed up at all. He didn’t think anyone would come fight off rats the size of dogs, not for only a handful of copper.”
“And yet you all did, netting yourselves some bread as a bonus.” Although Russell didn’t actually tell them yet, there was another bonus to accepting such a seemingly unbalanced quest. In a few days’ time, the shopkeeper’s cousin would arrive. Unlike the poor baker just trying to make a living, his cousin was a renowned smith who could craft exceptional gear. And he had a soft spot for those that helped his family, meaning the party would be offered access to great equipment at a steep di
scount.
Russell had to admit, this module packed a lot of depth into the consequences of every choice the characters made. Opening and closing off quests based on the timeframe, creating ripples that would later change the options available to them based upon the actions of the party, it was like a spider web of possibility. A hundred groups playing the module would each have entirely different experiences, which made it all the stranger that they’d put in so much work to only release so few copies.
Thinking of the module, Russell realized his group had elected to head back to the Hall of Adventurers by way of the church district, which triggered a Vision check.
“Everyone, I need you all to roll Vision,” Russell instructed. Four dice hit the table, and he had to resist the urge to let out a sharp whistle. No one had gotten under ten, and Tim had even managed a natural twenty.
“As you all are making your way back in the early morning light, you happen to glance over and notice what appears to be a pair of feet sticking out from an alley. Tim, since you got a natural twenty, Timanuel steps forward to look. He sees a small, unconscious body lying between buildings.”
No one even needed to ask what would come next, and none of them were surprised to be proven right.
“Timanuel rushes over to check for signs of life,” Tim declared, tossing his D20 onto the table once more. “I rolled a twelve on my Medical check.”
“With that, you can easily tell the person is still alive, though they have blood running down their forehead,” Russell informed him. “Also, as soon as you arrive, you realize that the person is a kobold. You don’t know much about their physiology, but with a twelve Medical, you can still figure out that this one took some kind of beating.”
“Probably trying to pick someone’s pocket and got caught,” Cheri said.
Tim looked at his character sheet for several long seconds before choosing his next move. “I’d like to try and Sense Evil.”