NPCs (19 page)

“I must, sadly, agree,” Sierva said. “I’d hoped that a key to understanding the attacks would be buried in your observations, yet it seems this mystery remains unsolved. All we can do is continue searching for answers. I do thank you for your time, at least. I’m sorry to have imposed on you and not delivered results.”

“Dinner was thanks enough,” Grumph said, rising from the table. The others followed his lead and the room became a bit chaotic as hands were shaken and formal goodbyes exchanged.

When Thistle went to bid farewell to Sierva, she handed him a small bundle wrapped in burlap.

“What’s this?”

“A gift, as a way to say thank you and good luck,” Sierva said. Most of the others had headed into the hallway, stretching their legs after such a filling meal. The elf and gnome were all that remained in the room of nearly-empty plates.

“I cannot accept it, you’ve already been too generous,” Thistle objected.

“Please, I insist. You’ve shown us a great deal of trust when you weren’t obliged to; this is merely a token of my appreciation. Besides, we have to look out for others of our kind.”

Thistle tilted his head a few slender degrees off center. “Our kind? We’re clearly not of the same race, so I take it you mean you’re actually a paladin?”

Sierva said nothing at first, merely standing back to her full height and looking down at Thistle with a smile.

“Your story hangs together well, but remember that real adventurers would brag more about the kobolds they slayed, adding detail and embellishment whenever possible. Don’t fault yourself for making a misstep; it takes practice to get accustomed to such deception.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Thistle alone in the room, gripping his gift with uncharacteristic intensity as he watched her gather up the rest of her party and head back toward the stairs. Were one exceptionally perceptive, they could make out a few muttered words passing his lips just before he left the room.

“Aye.
Our
kind.”

* * *

Russell stretched his back, a series of small pops echoing from his vertebrae. He took a moment to remove his glasses and wipe them on his shirt. They were ill-fitting, and his eyelashes would begin smudging them the moment they were donned. This resulted in the Sisyphean task of endlessly cleaning them, an annoying activity that Russell privately regarded as excellent training for dealing with tabletop players. Minor comfort and vision attended to, he resumed his role as GM and began the narration.

“After many hours of pitched battle, you finally manage to tear through the last of the ogres in the encampment. I’ll roll up loot later tonight and let you all decide amongst yourselves how to disperse it. Your characters can take a rest in the now corpse-filled enclosures, and we’re going to call the game here for the night.”

“Come on, just roll us loot now. We want some of that sweet, sweet gold,” Terry egged on. His plump hands clutched a mechanical pencil, one that was practically vibrating in excitement as he spoke. He loved loot like the rogue he’d rolled; any delay in receiving his payout was deemed unacceptable.

“Calm down, it’s not going to be a lot,” Russell informed him. “This was a watch post, filled with scouts and messengers, not guards. Why do you think you were able to beat them so easily?”

“Because we know how to bring the pain!” Glenn leapt up from his chair, thrusting his fist into the air to illustrate his point. For someone who’d only managed to throw a few paltry sleeping spells in the battle, he seemed to have no problem laying claim to what he considered his share of the glory.

“That’s bullshit,” Mitch piped up. Russell had been wondering how long it would take for him to find something to object to. “You’re just trying to keep us gear-starved by nerfing the loot. We took out a whole ogre post, there’s no way they don’t have at least a few magical items.”

“If they had powerful items, wouldn’t they have used them on us?” Tim’s eyes studied the map, a serious expression on his slender face, replaying the battle in his head with exceptional detail. “We’re not that high of a level, and we tore through them without taking much damage, so it sure seems like they wouldn’t have very good equipment.”

“Stop being a GM kiss-ass,” Mitch snapped. “Clearly, the good stuff is hidden away, awaiting conquering adventurers to find it.”

“Yeah! There has to be a cache of items somewhere. Maybe we could all roll our own independent searches and see what we come up with.” The greedy glint in Terry’s eyes spoke to the discrepancy in what his character would find versus what would be reported to the party.

“If not weapons, then maybe a few more ogres still hiding from the fight that we could finish off,” Glenn suggested.

Russell took a deep breath, then gathered every scrap of composure he could muster and addressed the group. “Listen, we’ve been over this again and again: the module is a realistic setting. That means, among other things, no random loot rolls. If you want to find gear from a fight, it’s going to be used against you first. These ogres didn’t have much; they were a paltry scouting outpost that likely would have surrendered if you’d even tried a bit of diplomacy. They had little and you killed them, so now that little belongs to you.”

“What about the tournament we could have gone to?” Tim asked, his voice filled with genuine curiosity rather than wheedling discontent, a rare and wonderful change for the GM.

“Yes, the Appleram tournament had lots of gear, not to mention gold you could have won,” Russell confirmed. “But you all decided to ignore the invitation and go a different path, set on hunting in ogre lands.”

“Oh, whatever. Like the tournament would have been any fun,” Mitch said, adding a derisive snort at the end of his sentence. “You said it was all competition, no killing. Why the hell would we go in for that?”

“How about you just give us the loot we would have gotten from the tournament?” Terry suggested, nodding his round head enthusiastically at the mere thought of the idea.

“Forget it. This is the path you chose, and these are the consequences of that choice. You find what you find. End of discussion.” Russell might have been a bit more forgiving if he hadn’t so been looking forward to running the tournament. It was, hands down, one of the coolest parts of the module he was using. But instead, the party had decided that competition without killing was stupid and had gone off in a whole different direction.

It really was a shame. He had hated having to scrap the tournament.

17.

Mayor Branders might have been a cunning politician, and a bit ruthless when it came to organizing tournaments, but no one could say he didn’t keep his word. When Eric rose two days after the tournament, a little ahead of the others as habit from his old life, he found the mayor already waiting outside their door. The sizable man had a single bag slung over his shoulder, one with arcane runes etched into the fabric. With him were five attendants, all still rubbing sleep from their eyes while trying to pretend they were wide awake and ready to go. Eric felt for them; they must have risen hours before dawn to be waiting when he emerged.

“Mayor,” Eric greeted, clasping the rough hand of the town’s overseer and shaking it. “Pleasure to see you this morning.”

“Pleasure is all mine.” Mayor Branders took care not to press too hard on the smaller man’s fingers. He wasn’t so arrogant that he thought he could easily injure an adventurer; however, he didn’t want to give insult by trying. “If you’d be so kind as to rouse the rest of your friends, I’ve come by to deliver the goods you requested.”

“Certainly.” Eric headed back into the storeroom where the others slept and quickly pulled them out of their dreams with gentle, yet firm, shaking. In moments, he had everyone more or less up and ready to greet the world, though Gabrielle retained a grumpy expression even as the mayor and his attendants entered.

They took a seat at the table where breakfast would be served while the party stayed on their beds. Seating in a place like this was a matter of finding a spot to plop down at; there was no sense of formality to be found.

“I won’t beat around the bramblebush,” Mayor Branders announced, undoing a clasp on the strangely-designed bag and pulling open the top. “As you all know, I’ve come to make good on my promise and equip you with suitable gear. My attendants are here to help everyone get into their armor, as well as provide any other assistance you may need. Now, the bulk of your supplies and transport are outside being watched over, but I wanted to bring in the weapons and armor personally to make sure everything fit.”

“Very kind of you, Mayor.” Thistle avoided pointing out that the attendants would also serve as witnesses to his good deeds, no doubt with instruction to spread word throughout the town. He did this because it would have been in bad form to say something, and, more importantly, because the equipment they needed had yet to be doled out.

“First, the axe-wielder,” Mayor Branders announced. He reached into the rune-covered bag and pulled out a small round shape. It was like a ball of fog clutched in his mighty hand: indistinct on the edges and shifting through the center. The mayor set the ball onto the ground and then quickly backed away. A loud
pop
filled the air, startling everyone save the mayor, who’d clearly been expecting it. Suddenly a set of armor was sitting where the ball had formerly been.

It was gorgeous stuff: red scales woven together to form interlocking plates. As Gabrielle studied it, she was struck by just how familiar the red color was. She’d seen it recently. It was associated with a memory that would haunt her until the day she finally died and perhaps for some while after.

“Is this… demon scale from the giant?”

“It is.” If Mayor Branders felt any shame or strangeness at presenting her with the flesh of a monster that had turned fellow adventurers into corpses, it wasn’t evident on his bearded face. “It’s tough, pliable, and damn hard to hack through with anything short of a blessed object. The crafters in town have already been snatching up every bit of the scale they can get their hands on. Trust me, that armor will keep you safe.”

“I do like the color,” Gabrielle admitted, lifting the heavy gift from the ground to study it more closely. “Definitely adds a bit of intimidation.”

“From what I’ve heard about you on the battlefield, you hardly need the addition.” Mayor Branders allowed a rare smile to fall on his lips with that statement, then immediately turned stoic once more. “If it’s acceptable, my attendant can help you get into it.”

“Yes, yes, I think I’d like to try it on.” Gabrielle’s own face wore a sly, understated grin as one of the attendants hurried over to assist her. The blonde in blood-red armor. She rather liked the image that evoked in her mind. If reality could come close, she’d be quite content with her new ensemble.

“Next, the wizard’s request for a weapon.” Mayor Branders pulled out another misty ball from the bag, although this time, he set it on the table rather than the ground.

The popping sound was far more diminutive, a pleasant break for the adventurers’ already abused ears, and then a blade sat on the table. It was somewhere between the length of a dagger and a short sword, bone-white in color and slightly curved toward the tip. Grumph rose from his seat and ambled over, studying the weapon with intense scrutiny as he did.

“Small demon’s tail blade,” he announced, picking up the weapon and turning it over in his hands.

“Quite right. You’ve seen firsthand how sharp and deadly those tails could be. Thought you might like to be on the giving end of that instead of the receiving,” Mayor Branders explained.

Grumph gave a noncommittal nod, still turning the blade over in his hand. After a moment’s more examination, he gripped the handle carefully and raised the bone-blade overhead. With one mighty swing, he brought it blazing down on the corner of the table. It passed through easily, seemingly without effort, and a small chunk of wood tumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

“Good blade,” Grumph announced, pleased with the gift. “Thank you.”

“It was well-deserved,” Mayor Branders assured him. He reached into the bag once more and produced a sheath, which he handed to Grumph before turning his attention to Eric. “Now, you were a bit trickier.”

“Do I not get demon armor, too?”

“I thought about it, I really did. The hide from the clawed ones is darn thick; it will make excellent armor. However, that material gets a touch inflexible when dried, and you wanted movement above defense. Thankfully, the glut of adventurers in my town means the tannery had been stocked to the brim with every kind of hide one can imagine.” Mayor Branders pulled another mist-ball from the bag and put it down on the ground in front of Eric. “That included veilpanther flesh.”

The ball popped away, revealing a thin, grey set of armor. Eric picked it up, shocked at how soft and pliable the fabric was. It felt more like cloth than armor, which wouldn’t do him much good against more demons.

“Soft as it is, veilpanther hide is roughly as strong as toughened leather,” Mayor Branders informed him. “Not useful for anyone who prefers chainmail or stronger, but a fair sight better than just the tunic on your back. Besides, veilpanther armor still holds of a bit of the monster’s magic. It blends with the shadows perfectly and makes no more noise than a whisper when moving about. Perfect for someone who likes to get into places without being seen. Places like the tournament storage sheds, for example.”

Eric jerked his head up in surprise, but the mayor gave him a small wink of reassurance. It seemed he knew Eric was the one who’d broken into the site, and he wasn’t going to hold it against him. It was a small kindness, given what Eric’s unlawful entry had accomplished, but it was still one he was grateful for.

“Your kindness is greatly appreciated. I’ll try it on right now.”

As Eric was set upon by a single attendant, Mayor Branders looked at the central reason for his outpouring of generosity, the small gnome who had been sitting there patiently while the others received their equipment. The mayor had trouble getting much of a read from Thistle, though whether this was due to the trademark stoicism of a paladin, or the slightly misshaped nature of his face, Mayor Branders was uncertain. What he did know was that the unassuming body this gnome had been given belied the courage and intellect housed within it. In another time, under different circumstances, he’d have tried with all his might to convince Thistle to stay and work as his right hand. The mayor didn’t know it, but his mind and courage were among the set of traits that had endeared Thistle as a minion to countless other wielders of power. He was also loyal, capable, and small enough to kick if he got uppity.