Letter Six—Tree of Woe

Dear Pino,
The Skunk River makes its way from east to west through this part of the woodland proper as the land slopes down into a boggy mire. In the dim murk we saw two ruined structures in the near distance. Two aged creatures waited there. “Some sort of outpost?” Lev wondered.

“For lack of bread the dog is dead,” Kelm declaimed. “For lack of meat the dog is eat!”

“What?” someone muttered. “Should we be writing this down in case it comes true?”

I could only shrug as I cautiously pulled out my sword, Blind Justice.

Sizzles smelled something she didn’t like, holding back. Cane lagged with her, bow at the ready.

Emerging from the muck came a giant boggard, pale, old. “Truce! Truce! Truce! Truce! Truce!” It pleaded in a thin high voice, huge bulgy eyes regarding us with alarm. Imagine that one of the frogs Little Billee loves to slip past your collar weighed 200 pounds. A slurk lurked behind him and it was even more disgusting, stewing in its own rancid slime. Kobolds often use them for mounts but no other creature can stand to be near them. 

“Speak your piece!” Kelm called over, readying his crossbow.

“You go! Hungry,” it said, pitiably.


“What do you need?” I asked it.

“Boggard, slurk hungry,” it repeated. “You go. Me die!”

“Don’t die,” Kelm pleaded, sounding worried. “That’s crazy talk.”

“Slurk die. Hungry.”

“Maybe we should feed these guys,” I wondered.

“We’ll give them some rations.”

“Bug," it repeated dismissively. "Go. You go. Truce.”

As you’ve studied in Mrs. IIrkle’s class, boggards usually live in large tribes, but we detected no others nearby. What, if anything, they were guarding they were the last of their kind.

“Bug,” he repeated. “Snake.”

“You know, those tatzlwyrm carcasses we killed are an awful lot like a snake,” Cane mused. “We’ll come back and bring food,” he told them.

Back at the river Lev fished while the rest of us packed what remained of the tatzlwyrm carcasses onto one of the horses. The poor thing laid its ears back with disgust and we made it trail us at a goodly distance as we returned.

Once more the boggard came out to shoo us off. “Go. Die. Slurk hungry,” it called as we approached. We left the vermin infested carcasses there and backed off. Cane and I took the packhorse aside to wash the stink of death from her as the slurk dragged the bodies back to the smaller structure.

“Why are you here?” Cane called over to them after the sound of ripe flesh tearing had subsided.

“Hungry. You go.”

“We go ruins.” I said.

“You go. Truce. Me hungry. You go.”

“You eat, we’ll go.” Lev finally decided.

“Me die. Me die.”

“No die. No die,” Lev pleaded.

“Let’s explore this later,” Kelm said returning to the horses. “After they die they die.”

“Truce. Truce,” it called after us and we replied in kind. “Maybe you should make an edict restricting this area,” I suggested to Lev as we rode away.

We traveled west of the Skunk River through the forest. The rhythm of Autolycus’s gate was soothing, the air smelled of the woods, sweet and good. It was quiet except for the buzzing of the insects, unscathed by the harsh hand of man’s retribution. In a glade of sorts, amongst the shrubbery, we found a tall dim shape overgrown with brush, vine and tall grass. Nearing it I could see it was a statue long disused, the forest slowly reclaiming it. It was of a man with a fierce stag’s head. “Erastil,” I gasped.

“That’s nice,” Cane echoed.

The closer we approached the more certain I felt. Surprisingly, I noted that Sizzles wanted no part of the effigy. Cane stopped beside his friend as the rest of us slowly approached it.  I felt deep peace

“What is it, girl? What is it?” Cane asked the wary canine, but she merely nosed at some rather flamboyant scarlet lupines, refusing to go further.

The statue had not been attended in a very long time, but I was struck with the notion that there had been worshipers here at one time. This land has not always lain fallow, or been as wild as it is now. There was once civilization and order and people living in harmony with the world. I vow that it will be so again.

Kelm accompanied me to the base of the statue. “I’ll help answer questions,” he said seriously, “because you’ve got the magic sense of a bug.”

It was nearly 15 feet tall, vines growing up its sides, tough tendrils grasping the stone like a child grasps its toy. Tall grass grew along the pedestal as a bunny started away at the sound of our approach. I heard Sizzles’ thin whine. Hesitating, I raised my hand to the stone, which was warm and reassuring, alive with the power of Old Deadeye. Flowers, blue as the air, grew by its base.

Finding no reliquary, the others wanted to leave immediately but I insisted on paying Eristal the honor of cleaning the detritus from his statue. I also cleared out a large area about it, kneeling to give Him His due. The statue glowed with inner fire as Erastil’s power flowed from it into our weapons, anointing them with a keen edge spell. Unfortunately, because of his wolf’s reluctance, Cane did not share in our blessing.

“I don’t need that,” he sniffed.

“Haw-Haw!” Kelm mocked while pointing at him, like Little Billee does when he sees Grandpa Roy trip and fall.

Finally, we reached our border through the forest. To our surprise we found a journal lying there, as if thrown in distress and abandoned. When we opened it there was an even greater surprise when we recognized the handwriting of our spymaster, Skot Skevins. A spymaster’s business is his own but we read it anyway as we continued southeast through the woods. A goodly portion of the document was devoted to his attempt to write a national anthem. This is the only part I can report to a little girl:

Let Tuskland be blessed 
Land of the free
Our land is the best
It's got lots of trees

Let Tuskland be blessed 
Land of the free
Our land is the best
Can I sleep with ye?
© Copyright 4708 AR Tuskgutter Music LLC.

A work in progress, as they say.

The deeper we penetrated the forest the quieter it became. Soon even the birds had abandoned the sky. We came to a stagnate body of water, a foul odor rising from a miasma of filth.

In the muck we found the body of a long-dead unicorn, strangely uncorrupted, as if everything around it had rotted in its stead, leaving it pure. Its eyes stared milky white. Even so, someone had dared desecrate it, removing its horn. Suddenly, Kelm began shaking like a tubthumping cleric taken by vision of apocalypse. With doom in his voice he told us of “how powerful crazy fey creatures of the first world can leave their victims marked in a way that sheds a strange aura of repulsion of natural life,” he tolled like a bell ringing at midnight. “It’s as if the animals can sense the anger of the powerful fey and know better than to involve themselves with such a victim!”  

We left the incorruptible unicorn there as we found it. There are many fey in our country and we’ve always tried to treat them fairly, but the thought of such a powerful being running free through our woods sent shivers down my spine.

The trees thinned out and we could see the beautiful rolling hills climbing out of the valley. We came upon a wild patch of zong. Praise Erastil and his bounteous land! While I’ve never acquired a taste for it myself I believe that it helps people become one with their deity.

We reached the wooded extreme southwest part of our territory but there was nothing to be found there. My colleagues relieved their boredom by discussing the design of our standard.

“Our flag should be a bunch of rivers coming together,” Kelm suggested.

“That’s nice,” Lev agreed. “A bunch of rivers with a tusk, a skunk, some emblems. . . .”

“And me slashing some guy’s throat as he sleeps,” Cane ended the discussion.

We soon came across “a peaceful forest glade. A small pond lay placidly in the dappled sunlight at the roots of an enormous oak tree, a scattering of leaves floating upon its surface. Birds twittered in the branches high above.”

Trusting his instinct Cane called out in Sylvan and was answered with a beautiful melodic voice that we followed to a scene of recent violence, where a dryad sat weeping over a fallen satyr.

“I have to say that the fact that there’s a bunch of fey in our kingdom freaks me out!” Kelm whispered hoarsely.

“No way!” Cane protested.

“I hate the fey!”

“You hate gnomes, you hate fey, you’re just an anti-everythingite,” Lev lectured.

“That’s not true," Kelm protested. "I love machines.”

The dryad's tears fell into the pool creating tiny ripples in the still water reminding me of a song the bards of Restov sing:

“Ripple in still water,
When there is no pebble tossed,
Nor wind to blow.”*

The satyr lay unconscious but not dead. “There’s a tree,” she gasped out between sobs. “Rotten heart! It’s become sentient. Malevolent. It attacked my friend, who was protecting me. It is too strong.”

“Help us help you,” Lev coerced her gently.

“How can I help you? I fear that once the tree finds my grove all will be lost. It will kill me. And devour me.” She sat weeping as the rest of us watched helplessly.

“Slay it and I will reward you,” she finally stammered.

“Let’s go kill the freaking tree!” Cane growled.

“He lives in a blind hollow just a few miles south,” she pointed despondently.

“It’s outside our charter,” Kelm said.

“Not if it’s disturbing our land,” Lev tersely replied.

So we traveled southeast, across the border.

Eventually we came to a wooded clearing about 50 feet in diameter. There was decay there, like the decay surrounding the unicorn, and the horses snorted nervously. A gloomy place with little sunlight breaking through the canopy overhead. Sickly trees, their branches knotted like the hands of grandmother Barnes, lined the perimeter as if something was sucking the life out of this spot. Vegetation grew fitfully in ragged clumps, and bones—some human—were strewn about haphazardly. We had dismounted and were proceeding cautiously when Sizzles lifted her leg to do what dogs do to trees only this tree would not suffer the indignity. With a roar it lashed out at the hapless wolf, clubbing her senseless to the ground.

“Sizzles!” Cane and Piea shrieked. I hurried to stabilize the stricken canine as Piea raised her great axe and power-attacking the tree of woe, twice missing in her haste like an angry crosseyed woodsman. Kelm plunked it twice with his bolts but the monster barely noticed the inconvenience. Cane followed and took a hard shot in return.

I stabilized Sizzles and ran to flank the tree as it savaged Piea, missing with a weak shot from my bow. Lev hit as Piea groggily slashed at the tree to no avail, dodging its attacks in her heavy armor.

Imbuing my bow with flames of the faithful I buried an arrow deep in its wood. With a scream of frustration it erupted into flame. We watched until we were sure there was nothing left of the malevolent lumber. 

We found amongst its roots:
•    3 pieces of amber worth 100 gold apiece
•    a folded up bundle of cloth that unfolded into a robe of bones

Though distasteful Kelm said he has uses for it, modeling it as if he was on the main stage at the Garment Festival.

We returned across our border to Tiressia, for that was the dryad’s name, and Falcoas, her satyr friend, who had awakened but was still too weak to do little more than flirt with Piea and Cane.

Tiressia gave us each a feather token in gratitude and one for Sizzles. We offered her our continued protection, prohibiting loggers and hunters from coming near this part of our realm, a reservation, if you will.

She also gave us:
•    a wand of cure light wounds, which Kelm took
•    scroll of summon nature’s allies, which went to Cane

Finally, she offered to act as our eyes and ears in this region as we bid her farewell. It’s good policy to make friends with the fey. It serves the balance of Erastil. Besides, “No society stands easily when based on injustice.”

We stopped at Melianse's arbor to plant five of the feather tokens as we'd promised. This earned us a kiss—even Sizzles—and we celebrated that evening at a fey cotillion by the sparkling waters of the Skunk River. Its waters somehow sweet in the dappled light of the waxing moon. The dancers were sparkling with St. Elmo's Fire as they made their rounds. Melianse asked me to dance and I said I could not but she insisted and—you will be amazed—I finally gave in. You would have laughed and applauded if you had seen me there in Melianse's arms; I was floating in air like the moon and the stars.

Even so, Tuskland never looked more beautiful when we finally returned and, once my duties had been completed and Autolycus given a good rubdown, I hurried to your home. For your Mother I had a silken purse, to replace the one stolen from her on the road from Restov. Little Billee got a book of the Parables to see him through his adolescence, and for you, little one, I brought a dress I’d admired on one of the nixies, who immediately took it off to give to you—I blush to think of it, but to them it’s a simple act of friendship.

But the warmth of family was soon replaced by the cold of evil. While we were away a murderous rampage had begun outside of town where first animals were found slaughtered in their pens, then a young maid picking berries by the light of the moon. Most recently, a shepherd boy and much of his flock, were found soaking in their own blood.

“Not the little sheep!” Piea cried despondently.

At the ceremony for the Tree of Life, where we planted Sizzles' feather token, I saw you there in your new dress with little Billee and soon after was thwacked on the head by a bean. Fortunately for Billee I did not have time to investigate the matter for immediately after the ceremony we began our investigation of the murders. People told us that they have been hearing an eerie howling at night, but not like that of any wolf they had heard before. Only one old man nodded his head saying that he recognized the sound from when he was a boy as that of a werewolf! "Woe betide ye!" he bespoke with satisfaction.

Next we examined the bodies. I won’t describe their condition but it was frightful. 

“Watch this,” said Kelm, eyes rolling back in his head as he placed a hand on the bloodied head of the dead shepherd boy, Bevin. What killed you, boy?” he intoned.

A horrible gurgle issued from the poor boy’s throat. “Wolf.”

Next he turned to Saki, the berry-picker girl, her thin form ghostly pale except for clots of gore at throat and breast. “Was it a wolf that killed you?” Kelm asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Outside of town we found wolf tracks leading into dense shrubbery. Emerging from the other side were the footprints of a human leading back into Tuskland. We lost the trail in the confusion of city streets.

At Fangberry's Inn we were told of a young barbarian tribesman new to town by name of Kundel. No one knows anything about him except that he keeps strange hours and mostly to himself. Since he was not in we asked the innkeeper to unlock the door for us, citing our authority and the large whip I was carrying. Inside, the room was almost as disgusting as Little Billee’s. There was a partially eaten tomato-cheese-hog pie and, under his bed with a soiled pair of underwear, a girl’s dainty ear, its golden earring matching the one on poor Saki’s other ear.

As we were leaving the inn an improbable and unrelated thing happened. Do you remember Sneed, one of Kesten Garess’s troops, the one who deserted? As we were leaving the inn we overheard one man say to another, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Sneed.” With shock we recognized the man he was talking with as one of the Stag Lord’s followers who had escaped our judgement. We quickly collared him—he was meek as a kitten—hustling him straight to Garess, who kept his word, giving us the four masterwork weapons he’d promised. How stupid must Sneed be that he would visit the very town where both Garess, his former commander, and Akiros, his former bandit colleague, live? It shows you, Dear Pino, that the weed of crime bears bitter fruit.

The night was to be the last of the full moon, perhaps our last chance to catch the werewolf, for he would probably move on afterward. We baited our trap with Kelm and Piea—pretending to be lovers, entranced with themselves, oblivious to danger.

At first I had trouble recognizing Piea, who had shed her armor and was wearing a filmy white dress. Only the battle-tattoos on her biceps gave her away and these she kept covered with a thick woolen shawl.

For his part Kelm was dressed as a young fop without a care in the world, which means he dressed as himself. “Oh we’re so in love and so unarmed,” he sang offkey.

“We’re so drunk,” Piea tittered, lifting her dress to show off her smooth supple legs. “Our inhibitions are lowered!”

“Let’s play this out and get naked!” Kelm suddenly bellowed with glee.

“Woo-hoo!” Piea agreed, pulling the dress over her head, revealing for a moment the tattoo across her belly that reads, “Heartbreaker” in green, red, and gold. (I know you’re young for this kind of information, Pino, but you need to know of the world as it is, not some fantasy concoction of merchants and clerics that will lead you astray.) “All the way!” she hooted. “I’m not pretending at all . . . I’m really virile!”

“I will cast a spell on you,” Kelm giggled.

“An aphrodisiac spell?” she whispered.

“No,” he stated matter-of-factly, “a spell of protection to replace your armor when we fight the werewolf.”

“Oh,” she replied, disappointed. "You're playing a part."

"And you're being silly."

Tomruen: Lunar Libration with Phase

They quieted down some after that, making noise only whenever a passerby happened upon them. Around midnight—full moon deep in the sky—a subtle movement passed as shadow as the half-man/half-wolf loped into town. We quietly applied silver sheen to our weapons.

“I’m so drunk!” Kelm hollered.

“Oh, yeah,” Piea echoed.

The shadow ducked between two buildings, ignoring the “lovers.”

“Tarnation,” Piea grumbled. “I didn’t think we were that bad.”

Then a woman screamed in the next block over, I suddenly realized, your block. Then the scream of a child. "My god, no!" I cried running toward the sound.

“Forget it,” Kelm called after me. “They shouldn’t be out after curfew. We have to set an example.”

“I say thee nay!” I’d recognized your voices—the werewolf had you and your Mother!

Piea reached him first, still in her skivvies, but not in time, for he had already ripped Pirna’s throat. I called for justice in despair, cutting him across the buttocks.

With a snarl, the lycanthrope turned on me, taking a chunk out of my arm with his great axe. That’s when I overheard Kelm casually say to Piea, “Oh, by the way, I didn’t get you that spell of protection yet because you were running.”

She hesitated incredulously as she realized that she was protected only by her underdrawers (admittedly linked mail). “What did you just say?”

Fortunately for Kelm, the werewolf lunged at him and he had an excuse to move on to help your mother, Pirna. “I stopped the gurgling,” he called proudly a moment later.

Despite her vulnerability Piea wailed on Kundel again, but I was distracted and missed him. I saw you there crying in terror beside your mother. I vowed the creature would soon be weighed on the scale of justice!

Cane, also eager, reached out to stab the werewolf, overextending his arm. With a move straight out of the Swordlords' academy, the werewolf’s axe lashed out, slicing Cane’s hand off like a round of Aldorin baloney!

“Noooooooo!” Piea cried as we all watched his hand fly off and the blood gush forth with each pump of his great heart. Sizzles picked up the hand by the palm, returning it to her companion with tail wagging. He looked on it with disgust as I helped him apply a tourniquet to the stub of his arm.

“You can get a hook hand,” Piea said encouragingly to him. “That would be cool!”

“How am I supposed to use a bow?” Cane replied incredulously, ignoring the pain. “Everything I do is based on two hands!”

Meanwhile, Lev had continued plinking at the werewolf from afar with his crossbow. Then Kelm stepped forward and simply touched the ravening creature in just the right manner.

With a gasp it froze unmoving, eyes bugged out comically, half-human, blue. He fell to the ground with a thud. I rushed to you and Pirna’s side, joining you in your tears.

As Cane continued waving the stub of his arm around like a frustrated Sunday-school teacher my colleagues stripped the werewolf of his possessions:
•    +1 Great Axe
•    potion of remove fear
•    11 gold pieces

Before I cauterized the end of Cane’s arm I had him dip the stub into warm zong tea to somewhat anesthetize the wound before I applied the searing heat of my brand. Cane barely flinched as the smell of searing flesh filled the room (although he quickly drank the rest of the tea).

The next day, after seeing to it that you were studying your lessons despite the previous night’s uproar, I walked to the citadel to confer with the others over our nation’s monthly report. Now that the werewolf is gone there is no apparent discontentment in our realm (except for Cane). Consumption is balanced with what we produce and we have an 11 rating on the New Stetven Hitpoints index. Our first order of business was to claim the area we are lumbering—the better to oversee operations—and we also began upgrading the strategic southeastern corner of our realm. We have twelve good, safe, roads and new farmland east of town.

In old business: Lev announced that he had had a promising response to his marriage proposal from House Lebeda who were proud to offer a cousin of their grande dame, “Waltzing” Matilda.

Afterward, Cane and Sizzles immediately set out to find a sorcerer to reattach his hand. He says he hopes it will feel “softer” to the touch than his previous hand, which he intends to bury beneath the statue of Erastil.

Finally, I want to tell you that on my journey I met little Billee’s father, who, it turns out, did not die of his wounds after the bandits’ attack, although I regret to say his mother did. Big Billee Weaver will be coming to your home soon to pick up his boy. He says he’s going to live in Tuskland so you’ll still be able to see your playmate and he’ll have a father to severely chastise him the next time he hits the Inquisitor with a spitball.

Your loving uncle,
Marquand

* Lyrics by Robert Hunter, Ice Nine Publishing Co., Inc.
.

Letter Five—Fangberries

Dear Pino,
I can’t begin to tell you how wonderful it is that you and your mother have come to live with us in Tuskland. I regret that I can’t be with you more often but duty, as always, comes first.

While Baron Lev is back in Brevoy looking for a wife we decided that it was past time to gather old comrades and finish exploring our charter.

“If he gets married he’ll become incorrigible, you know that, right?” murmured farseeing Kelm to no one in particular.

The citizens cheered us as we left, and why wouldn’t they? This prosperous little town has sprung from the ruins of a bandit’s fort, all because of our exertions. I saw you waving from the sidelines with your little friend Billee but I couldn’t acknowledge you, having to keep a stern face for the crowd. You know that in my heart I was embracing both of you.

Outside the gates we were joined by Cane—who hates crowds—on the road west. During the last year Cane has befriended a huge wolf named Sizzles. Sizzles could swallow you in a gulp, little one, but I’ve never seen him get cross with a child yet, even when they pull on his ears. Of course he’s never met little Billee.

Tuskland

As we had stopped momentarily, I looked back on our little town and couldn’t help but feel a momentary pride in what we’ve accomplished, praise Erastil. Beneath the towers of our citadel—which occupies the very spot where the Stag Lord had founded his empire—there are houses and places of industry leading down to a waterfront where we’re starting to trade with our downriver neighbors. Oh, there is much left to do. I would like to see a school and library, and we also need a stout wall to defend when the inevitable raiders notice our wealth, but creation, as Erastil says, is pleasure, not burden.

“Let’s try northwest,” Kelm said when we came to a fork in what no longer a road but a muddy trail. The land was flat and arable. It felt good to be out exploring again, especially after a year of wrangling with constituents, bullwhipping miscreants, and placating congregants. “Responsibility should never be sought and never refused.”

Once again I saw a large black crow circling overhead. I could not tell if it was my old friend but I saw no red mark on its wing.

In a long slender valley we found one of the quests that have been eluding us for so long—Bokken’s fabled fangberry patch. It was in a woods that had somehow died and decayed, what was left of white trunks stuck out of the earth at crazy angles. Surrounding them, like a crown or thorn, the fangberry patch crowded out all other plants. We quickly dismounted our horses, noting a thin gossamer webbing stretched between the thorny bushes. Cane, who kills with as little thought (and similar results) as he gives to shaving, was suddenly querulous about harming the delicate plantlife. We promised to be careful and slowly eased ourselves in single file behind him, for the thorn of the fangberry is as sharp as the blade of the surgeon. When we reached the center of the patch, where the sweetest of the berries are said to reside, we started to fill our packs. If only we’d known the cost of those little morsels we would have steered clear. Let this be a lesson for you—what looks at first sight like the easiest route usually is not.

We had not been harvesting long when I noticed two dark shapes running across Piea’s powerful back. I cried warning, but it was too late. To my horror I realized that I, too, was infested with the denizens of a spiders’ swarm!

They were quick and my big fat sword was little use in destroying them, although Cane did better with his knife. That’s when I was sent reeling into the fangberry patch thanks to a blow from Piea’s mighty axe, “I’m really sorry, I’m drunk!” she cried in distress as gouts of blood erupted from my back. “I can’t see the difference!”

“You can’t see the difference between me and a spider?” I said incredulously, wishing I'd listened to Cane and brought stronger armor.

“Oh my god, you’re killing him!” Kelm lamented as fangberry thorns tore my flesh like so many slivers of lox.

Piea continued her assault, shouting, “I hate bugs! I hate spiders!” Swinging for all she was worth.

“Full-out hatred for Marquand!” Kelm laughed his oracle’s laugh, which Piea denied. I hope she's being straight with me because if I ever brand her heretic I won’t survive the encounter.

Speaking of branding, Kelm suddenly flung a large fireball that scorched all and sundry. Sizzles, living up to her name, let out a yelp and I started worrying, but miffed as well. I had survived bandits, mites, and creatures with nary a scratch, but here, in this berry patch I was dying! I changed my judgement to healing, little good as it did—like trying to stop a tub spilling with your hands.

“We need to find new friends,” Cane muttered under his breath as he cleared off the last of his spiders. Then another blast of heat as Kelm finished the rest of them with a second flask of alchemist’s fire.

 “Thank the twelve raging gods!” I thought, crawling on my belly beneath the wicked thorns, bleeding from every exposed part of my body. Even so, a short time later we had started picking fangberries again—just to leave this place all the quicker.

“I was trying to help,” Piea apologized later. “And then I just got so angry—full-out power-attacking!”

We rested that night far away from the patch, heading north to Bokken’s hut. “They better be clean,” he groused, gnawing on a stale donut as he inspected our hard-won cargo. “I guess a deal’s a deal,” he allowed disdainfully. “I’ll give you 25% off all potions for a month.” We ended up replacing the potions of cure moderate wounds we’d used surviving our encounter with his fangberry patch. No one was very happy with the deal and I can only hope Lev brings an economic adviser with him from the north along with his new bride.

We returned to near the fangberry patch and began exploring further, the edge of the plain leading into the southeastern edge of forest. There was an unnatural calm here that I could not place at first. Cane looked tense and alert when most times he’s dozing, and Sizzles darted back and forth nervously. Even my mount Autolycus was skittish. Then I realised why things were so quiet. There was none of the noise of the critters that usually inhabit a forest. Even the winds were hushed. We found a hollow underneath a fallen pine tree, the branches creating a natural shelter. Something lived inside. “Daddy?” Cane called piteously (like little Billee the day he came in from the forest) before realizing, to his horror, that he’d spoken out loud.

“Hreeegah!” came his answer as the Tuskgutter—who else?—stepped forward to deal with us as it had dealt with all the other hunters and woodsmen. I prepared a judgement for him as, with a roar, he took a piece of Piea. “Damn You!” she roared in pain.

Suddenly Lev fell out of a tree. “Just surveying the territory,” he shrugged as Sizzles eyed him like a wolf judging dinner. “I dropped by Oleg’s and heard you were heading this way. Looks like you can use some help.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cane muttered as he bloodied the ’Gutter while Lev put a ray of frost up the wild boar's backside. I missed my shot as the creature charged towards me before veering off to bite Cane, tearing a veal-like strip from his right calf. “That’s not very nice,” Cane grimaced before putting his blade deep in Tuskgutter’s side, as, with a mournful sigh, the great beast expired. “There ya go, pal!”

We made stew of Tuskgutter that night and he was surprisingly tender. The next day we took the head back to Oleg’s, where we had a reunion of sorts as we waited for Vekkel Benzen to show with his reward. He stumped in with genuine emotion, smiling one minute, and erupting into tears the next, hugging us all in turn, although only Piea had to force him to quit.

His reward:

•    masterwork longbow
•    6 +1 animal bane arrows
•    Tuskgutter head cheese

This time we went southwest of Tuskgutter’s lair. We had not seen Cane or Sizzles for some time when in the distance there came the faint yip of a dog. We followed the sound to where the hunter and his familiar stood looking down into a deep pit where the snarls of a trapped animal could be lewdly heard. “Come no further,” he cautioned. “It’s an animal, a thylacine, I think, but it’s been in here a long time and is desperate. I need to save him.”

“All you ever talk about is killing,” someone jibed from the back.

“We kill people, we save animals,” he shrugged as if it was obvious. That’s when Fate lavishly intervened and the rotten, undermined ground they were standing on gave way and they rolled down to the feet of the enraged beast. Try as he might Cane could not befriend the beast and he had to kill it. He brooded all that evening while preparing the hide for transport. “It gives me no pleasure,” he said before hieing into the woods with Sizzles to spend the night out there.

The next day we came across a river—the Skunk if I can trust my nose—and heard loud cursing nearby. A small wagon lay mired in the stream below us. Two ponies hitched to the wagon were in danger of drowning in the deep channel where eight gnomes were struggling unsuccessfully with the wagon while a larger one uselessly cursed them.

“Push! No, pull! Push on this side! Pull that—you guys are idiots!” he screamed.

“Save the ponies!” Cane cried anxiously, starting towards the water.

Baron Lev immediately started giving orders, which were largely ignored. Kelm nonchalantly wandered off to gaze at a stand of flowering weeds while Cane raced to rescue the ponies.

“Why are you always plotting against me?” Lev muttered.

Piea shrugged. Her armor is too heavy to risk going into the water wearing and she's too modest to doff it. “Why don’t you like gnomes,” she suddenly asked Kelm.

“Gnomes suck,” he replied.

“Can’t they work in the mines?” I wondered as I prepared to enter the cold water.

“No, that’s dwarves!” he groused, offended I would even ask.

“No, no,” Lev insisted. “They have plenty of uses.”

“Gnome skulls make nice candleholders,” Cane called from the bank while rolling up his trousers. He then joined the excited group trying to push the wagon, soothing the ponies and getting them unhitched.

Kelm stolled up to the leader of the group as he fumed on the bank. “We got this under control!” the gnome barked at him.

“No we don’t have it under control” the ones in the water squeaked. “We need your help!”

Lev took control, shouting louder than the rest as I reached the wagon and Cane finished unhitching the ponies and hurrying them to shore.

Meanwhile, Kelm eyed “old grumpy” (as he called him) disdainfully. “How the hell did you get here?”

“Look, right now my concern is getting my wagon out of the river," old grumpy replied. "I don’t have time for idle chit-chat, my friend. Why don’t you help? I can’t swim.”

“I can’t swim, either,” Piea sadly replied, while Kelm sniffed, “I’m too pretty to get muddy.”

Lev turned on the charm and soon ropes were running to us from shore and everyone was working together, rocking it back and forth the current nearly pulling it from our grasp. Finally we got it back to shore.

“Hooray for the strange people,” the little ones cried.

“We are kings of the realm and you are now my subjects,” Lev informed them  triumphantly, thrusting his birdlike chest out like a banty rooster.

“Oh, okay," they replied, a bit confused. "Please, you must eat with us!” They led us to their nearby camp, which had been set up a short distance away.

“I’m sorry I was standoffish at first,” old grumpy extended a hand. “My name is Jubilost Narthropple. We’ve been mapping out the Greenbelt. Then these kobold’s attacked us, scaring the ponies into the river." He said they were looking for an ancient dwarven outpost. "You haven’t seen it have you?”

Admitting that we hadn’t, Lev expressed interest in their maps and after some hemming and hawing we forked over 1000 gold (I’m uncertain why we’re carrying such treasure into bandit country). Lev then offered him a job working for us but Jubilost seemed disinterested, at least until he finishes his survey.

While munching our headcheese he filled in the map. “East of—Tuskland is it?” he rolled his eyes, “and south you’ll find a ford across the Gurdin River. To the southwest, on the lake, is Candlemere tower, it’s said to be haunted.

“Ooo,” my compatriots eyes lit up.

Northwest of Candlemere there’s a crazy hermit living there in a hut. . . “

“Bokken, Jr.”

“Southeast by east of there is an abandoned ferry station, deteriorated wooden buildings stand on each bank. South of that is a crazed hill giant. He was drunk out of his mind. Too drunk to fight, we ran away. Between Candlemere tower and your town, Tuskville, there is the hut of one very crazy witch. She not only eats kids, she tans their hides and makes doll furniture out of it, or at least that’s what they say.”

So you see dear Pino: say your prayers, obey your Mother, always think before you act, and don’t trust someone just because they’re offering you sugar.

Shortly after leaving the gnomes to their own devising we headed further east into the forest. The Skunk River bends like an elbow through here. The current scouring a deep backwater where lilly pads floated amongst waving reeds. A warm breeze blew in from the direction of the plains. Several large trees had been recently felled, leaving a gap of warm sunlight. Two lumberjacks stood as a guard looking both angry and bored as six others stood with their foreman nearby in an apparent standoff with a woodland nixie. It was like a Peace Day rally in New Stetven.

“What seems to be the problem?” Lev asked the foreman as he rushed up to us.

“This nixie over here has charmed my workers,” the man complained. “We’re trying to make a living here. She won’t let me clear this lumber out.” She is beautiful, it's true, a bit larger than you are and tinted the lightest shade of green glistening in the delicate whirl of her scaling. She also looked very angry.

Lev turned to her, questioningly.

“I politely asked them to leave,” she sniffed. “These trees have been growing for 200 years and they deserve a far better fate than serving as some grubby peasant’s slop table!”

The lumberjacks immediately started arguing amongst themselves. Some agreed with her, some wanted her gone, and some wanted her in ways I cannot describe to a little girl. Lev waited for the noise to die before hopping onto the top of a stump and proclaiming grandly, “Here is the solution!”

The noise erupted again as everyone renewed their arguing. Kelm finally managed to shush the crowd as the nixie’s musical voice began weaving enchantment over us all.

“I want them to leave the glade and provide reparations for the trees they’ve already felled,” she sweetly sang.

“I want my men freed and I want the lumber!” the foreman hotly replied. How would you judge this situation, little Pino? Write it down to send me and then read what we did:

“There must be other timber around here you can cut,” Cane said. That’s when I remembered the stand of coachwood trees we’d passed on our way to this place. Perfectly good wood for building and they grow like weeds. Lev then gleefully “wrote them a writ” for the timber in exchange for planting five trees for every one they’d desecrated. Once he realized he’d be able to keep the wood they’d already cut, the foreman quickly agreed, ducking his head to us in a deferential way I find displeasing. May you always stand tall and uncowed, Pino!

“But,” the nixie added, “You must place a tree feather token at the base of every tree you felled.” When she saw our puzzled looks she added, “There’s a naiad just north of here who sells them.”

By the way, the logging foreman’s name is Corax. Lev read him his rights and obligations while in our realm and then sent him to Cane who told him what would happen if he didn’t, all the while scratching Sizzles, who growled helpfully, behind the ears.

“You can depend on us,” Corax replied hastily directing his men away.

The nixie was called Melianse and she watched us hash out an environmental plan for our realm. Very boring. “We’ll find a balance,” Lev proclaimed as Cane demanded areas of our realm be protected from all development. “I believe in making all the people in this realm happy,” Lev boasted, “and making sure that they all have good lives.”

“Oh, gag me.” Piea retched.

We headed northwest after assuring Melianse we would find her naiad as soon as we finished exploring our land. I was happy that for once we managed to solve a conflict without violence.

We soon came upon the Skunk River again, coming to a ford across it. Perhaps we’ll name it “Pino’s Ford.” Thick piles of refuse blocked the river’s flow. Behind it was a large pond of water. We poked around the detritus for a time before coming upon the dead bodies of a band of dwarves. The shock of that had barely registered when we realized that we were being observed by two scaly, aggressive, dragonlike creatures.

I concentrated on shooting one with my longbow, while the sight of Piea sickened the other. She thwacked them both hard. The sickened one turned to escape, taking a second solid hit from the fighter before disappearing in the water. The remaining creature then grappled her.

Cane chipped away at the creature with his bow more successfully than I. Kelm stood watching with rapt awe before healing Piea of some of her wounds. Lev, meanwhile, had leaped to a small island in the stream before using his wand of magic missiles to shoot the fleeing creature dead.

“Damn, you stink!” I heard Piea shout with disgust as the beast grappling her belched an anesthetizing gas, then curse as it bit her. (While I don’t normally condone young lady’s using such language, Pino, in the case of fighters in the midst of battle, I think it can be allowed.) Then the creature disappeared into the murk as Cane quickly leaped into the water to finish it off.

“Wheee!” Piea hollared.
 
Amongst the remains of the creature’s victims we found:
•    a set of +1 scale mail made in Janderhoff
•    38 gold and 520 silver
•    a pewter drinking stein worth 12 gold
•    silver ring worth 35 gold
•    jade carving of a nude female Elvin monk worth 85 gold
•    watertight scroll tube with a complete map of the northwest corner of the Greenbelt

We buried the remains of the creatures’ victims then moved upriver to set up camp for the night. I gave Autolycus a good rubdown before retiring for the night.

Give your kittycat Bundles a hug for me,
Uncle Marquand

Letter Four--The Stag Lord

Dear Pino,

We rested until the camp settled down for the night and then went to work, huddling quietly planning our attack. Of course the first thing we did was get into an argument—Lev hoping to talk Akiros, and maybe Auchs, into joining us—Cane arguing to slay them all. I backed Lev on this, wanting to extend amnesty to anyone who would join us, but for the most part my colleagues wanted no part of it.

“Do we really need to kill Auchs?” Lev asked.

“Oh my god!” Cane grumbled, disbelieving.

“Live enemies make armies, dead enemies make graves,” Kelm added with feeling, although without guidance I would imagine Auchs would have trouble making a passable washer of dishes.

“We’re not offering these guys an alternative,” Cane went on. “We don’t have time to dicker with them.”

Lev stared at him for a moment. “Auchs listens to Akiros," he answered stiffly. "If we can convince Akiros maybe we can do this the easy way, and slit the Stag Lord’s throat while he sleeps, then kill the anyone who disagree. Look at it—this fort is on our southern border. We’ll need it and we’ll need men—these men have combat experience, they know the lay of the land . . . “

“They are bandits,” Piea grimly reminded him.

“I like the idea of using this as the southern border post,” Kelm finally allowed, “but if we get men from Kesten won’t they be more reliable?”

“We’re going to need men to go out and break kneecaps for us,” Lev replied, practical to a fault. His generation calls it Realpolitik. In a past life I would have had him drawn and quartered without qualm.

“I’m not against your trying,” Cane said unconvincingly. “Why don’t I sneak upstairs and be ready to give Auchs the old coup de grace if your little palaver with Akiros goes south."

We waited quietly as they departed. Through all this an enormous owlbear sat watching us glumly from its jury-rigged cage nearby. Where the Stag Lord found this fearsome creature, how he captured it, and did he have unnatural relations with it as has been debated for years—now we'll never know these things.

On entering Akiros’s room Lev saw that he lay quietly on his cot in one corner, which was near full with crates and mounds of ill-gotten gain. A lamp guttered dimly nearby as the heavy sound of the Stag Lord's breathing came from the behind a door.

“Step backward real slow friend,” Lev heard Akiros say quietly, without emotion.

“Good evening,” Lev smoothly replied. “There is something I wanted to talk with you about. . . .”

We stood fidgeting outside the door.

“Your master has many enemies,” Lev continued in his wheedling way, “and we're here to end his nefarious career. You would do well to join us lest you fall with him, blah, blah, blah. I'm sure you've heard it all before. Oh, and your Mother sucks eggs.”

Unsure about his strategy, I tensely gripped my sword. Suddenly, the night was pierced by a scream upstairs as Cane disemboweled Auchs, who bawled like a child, calling pitiably for his mama. “I like killing people,” Cane would shrug later in explanation. Immediately Dovan the rogue, who had obviously been biding his time this while, stood dramatically and slashed Piea. “You look good in red, m’dear,” he said with a leer, licking his lips with excitment.

From the back room came a sudden roar. “Raowlerghh!  What are you doing out here?” The Stag Lord had awaken from his drunken stupor and was murderously lurching after Lev. To the Stag Lord it must have seemed like just another violent dream.

Lev turned to run, the crates and stacks of ill-gotten gain blocking his path. He felt the wind from a well-aimed dagger brushing his face as it hurtled towards the Stag Lord—Akiros! Et tu, so Lev’s instincts had been right even if his technique was lacking. Let this be a lesson for you, little Pino: "Man’s motivation springs from his heart, not from his head."

I struck a bandit who reeled away while remaining upright, glimpsing Dovan shoving one of his “brothers” into the path of Kelm’s blade. I then heard the creak of the fearsome owlbear’s cage opening behind me as Piea engaged Dovan in combat, having no luck as the wily rogue dodged her attack with a delighted laugh, which quickly became a yelp of pain as Lev—who had left Akiros to the gentle ministrations of his Stag Lord—juiced Dovan with his new wand of magic missiles.

Suddenly Lev slapped his forehead with disgust. “What an idiot!” he moaned. “Once a day I get to reroll a diplomacy check!”

“Suck it up,” I cried frantically. “Look, it doesn’t matter.” We glimpsed Akiros in the next room desperately stabbing at the Stag Lord who reeled lethally towards him, like the infamous Drunken Master of lore. No going back for him, then.

Invoking holy justice I slew the bandit before me just as the fearsome owlbear emerged like a parasite from its cocoon, grappling Kelm (who had been trying to shut the cage) in its fearsome beak, gnawing on him like Auchs would a pork chop. I know, Pino, that your owlbear doll, Fliffety-Fluffers, is cute and cuddly, but believe me the real thing is a bloodthirsty beast, standing well over eight feet tall and weighing three-quarters of a ton.

In the back, Piea was whiffing like a spinball player with heat stroke. Turning on his heal, Lev ran back into the other room, making an unexpected leap past the Stag Lord (as if he thinks he’s the Cordobles of legend), but the Stag Lord wobbled into his path unexpectedly, striking with a ferocity that belied his state, leaving Lev as staggered as his foe. He then whipped out his bow and hit Lev again, but thankfully missing his second, probably lethal, shot.

“Help me,” I heard Lev plead in a weak voice while, nearby, Kelm was more vocal. “Kill it!” he wept from the slavering maw of the beast. “Oh god, you have to kill it!”


Cane, who had finally joined us after dispatching Auchs upstairs, responded to Kelm's plea by striking the owlbear violently with his blade.

In the next room Akiros stood above Lev, hesitantly.

"Kill him!" the Stag Lord slurred. He probably wouldn't have even remembered this in the morning, or Akiros's betrayal. “Eep!” I heard the fetchling squeak in alarm. Has he turned again? I wondered as the owlbear approached me, swinging Kelm like a rag doll. 

I struck it with all my strength, giving it a fearsome wound. It realized for the first time that it too can die. Cane wounded it again. He had the distracted look of a surgeon removing an infected limb.

The entire scene was chaotic and I lost track of the action that wasn’t right in front of me. Even so, I was startled by the Stag Lord’s angry slurred voice coming from the next room. “Damn you! Kira-thatsnew gimmin dal hell skonk!!” he roared.

I struck the owlbear again as, with a sigh, its eyes lost focus and it fell grotesquely to one side. Cane lowered our barely conscious friend gently to the floor.

“Thus will justice prevail!” I heard myself say unnecessarily. Tradition must be maintained.

“Old reliable,” Kelm gasped in gratitude, but none was needed. I do what I do to honor your father, my friend Jaquizz, whose dream it was to save this land for Brevoy, for Issia, and for his beloved Erastil!

“Sweet life,” Kelm sighed before hoisting himself up to help Piea in her battle with the wily rogue Dovan, who was no longer sneering or rotating his hips lasciviously.

“Damn you Akiros!” the Stag Lord cried from the next room as Akiros made his decision, plunging his blade deeply into the Stag Lord’s side. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he gasped, vomiting gouts of blood. “Grahhurrgh. . . .” Cheers filled the room.

“I surrender! I surrender,” Dovan cried just as I was about to judge him most foul. I hesitated, then commanded him to drop his weapons. “Holy crow!” he exclaimed with surprise.

“What do we want to do with him?” Piea scowled, holding her damaged leg.

“That depends on him,” I answered.

“Are we going to take him hostage? Otherwise I’m going to kill him!” she growled. No denying that her blood was up. Ignoring me she looked to the others where there was no mercy for the unrighteous. So be it.

“Akiros joined our side,” Kelm summed up, “and so Akiros lives. Donovan . . .”

“Dovan, chump!” the helpless rogue cursed. "Dovan of Nisroch!"

“. . . hit us with his weapons and that’s why Donovan dies.”

“He did,” Piea agreed. “He hit me a lot. I don’t like him,” with a swift blow from her axe she knocked him senseless. “I wanted to kill him!” she complained bitterly when she saw that he still breathed, if raggedly.

“Not to worry.” Kelm leaned over, matter-of-factly slicing his throat. The battle was over.

“I couldn’t be sure when you first showed up,” Akiros was saying to Lev as they approached. “You seemed pretty green to me.” He looked up at us. “I was wrong.”

Our bounty—

the bandits:
•    7 leather armor
•    7 short swords
•    7 longbows
•    105 arrows

Auchs:
•    1 leather armor
•    2 potions of cure moderate wounds
•    1 potion of lesser restoration
•    1 club
•    8 pieces from a Knights and Dragons game (maybe Little Billee will like these)
•    45 gold

Dovan:
•    masterwork studded leather
•    +1 rapier
•    3 daggers
•    silver Stag Lord amulet worth 20 gold
•    2 turquoise ear rings worth 130 gold each
•    28 gold
•    2 platinum

Lev suddenly appeared with an angel food cake he’d found in the bandits’ kitchen, still warm from the oven, and we shared it hungrily.

The Stag Lord:
•    2 potions of cure moderate wounds
•    +1 leather armor
•    masterwork longsword
•    +1 composite longbow (+2 strength) (to Marquand)
•    17 arrows
•    +1 amulet of natural armor (to Cane)
•    horned helm of the Stag Lord
   
2 chests, where we found:

• 1 bolt of burlap
• old clothing (which I think we’ll donate to good Will, the cleric)
• iron ring (Marquand)
• 3 very old crudely stitched leather masks

A third chest contained:

• 141 gold pieces
• polished azure crystal, 9 gold
• carnelian, 80 gold
• hematite, 13 gold
• shard of obsidian, 14 gold
• red garnet, 100 gold
• pewter belt buckle depicting entwined succubi, 30 gold
• silver charm bracelet, 60 gold

(I expect you to find out about all these jewels and minerals and describe them for me by the next post.)

Will we be sharing any of this with Akiros?” I asked naively.

“No!” Kelm and Cane said as one. “He gets to keep his life, that’s enough.”

“But his help was the balance,” I said, not really understanding why I was pleading for him. “If he hadn’t changed sides they would be the ones stripping our bodies.”

“Or we’d have his gear as well,” Kelm sneered, turning to go.

“Thanks, friend,” Akiros said to me as we followed. “But it’s unnecessary. My life has always been in forfeit to someone.

“Not so fast fellows,” Akiros called to my colleagues departing backs. “There is still the crazy old coot in the basement.”

“What?” they asked incredulously.

“The Stag Lord keeps him down there. I don’t understand it at all.”

“Let’s go down,” said Piea, wearily.

“Behind a large rock we found a passage. “Be careful,” Akiros said. “He’s dangerous. He’s a druid and an insane devotee of Gozreh.”

“I feel that way, too, sometimes,” Cane muttered darkly.

The cellar was as murky and creepy as you might imagine. Piea and Kelm continued arguing, as they had for most of this day.

“Watch out he’s a sneaky bastard,” Akiros hoarsely whispered.

We peered into the dark space below the keep, wishing our torches reached further into the murk. It was cold and damp as the nighttime air blowing off Lake Reykal the summer you visited my chateau with your family. Your father’s wit was sharp as the air that first night. “Marquand,” he said while staring out over the water, a crescent moon hovering red above the horizon—an improvident omen we ignored at our peril.

“Marquand, surely you see that its the worship of Abadar that keeps us under the thumbs of the ignoble families (he refused to call them noble, despite the penalty). Many of them are incompetent and fools yet, there they are, above us thanks to their birthright alone, not their merit. Think of what our nation could accomplish with the best and the brightest in charge.

"And if society’s at fault," he concluded sadly, "then the deity they worship must, too, be at fault!”

How could I answer? I’d sworn to uphold that society. “What do you expect to find in the Stolen Lands?” I asked him, heart sick.

He sighed, inspecting his glass of Radis de Lune ’04 in the pale moonlight.

“Vindication.”

A sound crept out of the darkness beyond, like a rake over charcoal, and then a deep thrumming as tentacles (covered with tiny parasites about the size of cockroaches) emerged from the darkness followed by one awesome leg after another. An immense head, faceted eyes as stupid as poor old Auchs’s, and fearsome mandible snickering out to bite, sever, and chew, which it proceeded to do to Cane, causing him to bleed like a knackered steer.

Fortunately, it proved easy to dispatch. Then Piea and Kelm bumbled into a spiders’ nest and were swarmed by villianous poisonous arachnids, fast and small, almost impossible to hit. We slapped and punched the two far more than we did the spiders. To top it off  a savage wolverine appeared and launched itself onto Piea, razor sharp claws slashing at her guts. Exhausted by blood frenzy we killed everything

The wolverine transformed into the shape of a man. “Pathetic,” Akiros muttered.

Was he referring to the old man or us? I wondered, wishing we had captured the old devil, but truly, Pino, I never thought of it until it was too late.

We found a tremendous amount of assorted tools and weaponry worth 6850 gold. There was also a chest containing:

•    4500 copper pieces
•    2052 silver
•    894 gold
•    20 platinum

A large bag contained jewelry worth 2900 gold.

That’s when Cane and Kelm flanked Akiros, angrily demanding his allegiance, leaving no doubt the alternative was death. Lev then spoke in his favor, saying he might be exactly the guy we’d need to do our dirty work someday. They call it nation-building, little one, and it dirties everyone who touches it. Never forget the sacrifice your elders make for you! With little choice, Akiros agreed, which strikes me as not the best way to win a man’s allegiance

We spent several days burying the dead, inventorying, and packing our bounty onto the bandits’ horses. We then headed north, back to Oleg's. I rode for a time beside Akiros but he had little to say, except this:

“I watched after Auchs from the time the boy first showed up,” he said tiredly, a man beyond caring. “Sure, he was dumb and he had no chance on his own. He’d run away from home after killing someone by accident—his cousin, I think—due to his freakish strength, not meanness. He was bug infested and starving when he turned up at our gates. I put him to work and made sure he stayed out of the Stag Lord’s way. He was too stupid to use on forays so he mostly watched the horses. He was just a big, dumb, goodnatured farmboy and you slit him open like a pig and left him to die calling for his mama.”

He looked at me coldly as righteous words died in my throat. “It’s the company you keep,” he shrugged, spurring his horse, “and whether or not you’ve got a piece of paper from some rich men saying it’s all right.”

We made only one stop, to honor our promise to a dead man by bringing him another dead man. We dumped in what remained of the Stag Lord into the water at Nettles' Crossing, waiting as, like an old crocodile, Nettles rose quietly and grabbed him, taking the Stag Lord to his deserved hell below.  A +1 ranseur floated to the surface in payment

We proceeded to Oleg’s where we had the pleasure of returning Svetlana’s ring. She hugged us each in turn as Oleg grumpily allowed us 200 gold apiece in credit. We spent much of the day cleaning up, storing our new possessions, taking care of the horses, and dickering with Oleg over the value of our stuff. Happily I saw that Autolycus had returned safely, feeding him several large carrots to his satisfaction. I also presented Little Billee, who looked fatter and sassier than when we left, with the game pieces we’d found.

That’s when Kesten, looking upon us with sublime satisfaction—the cat that had gotten the canary—read a proclamation from the Swordlords granting us our greatest wish—the right to rule this land as our own, underwritten with 50 build points (worth 200,000 gold). You’re father is truly vindicated at last.

We then retired to Oleg’s dining room to hammer out the boring details of our leadership:

• Secretary (Baron): Lev Davidowich
• Councilor: Akiros Ismort
• General: Piea
• Grand Diplomat: Svetlana Leveton
• High Priest: Marquand
• Magister: Kelm Taslor
• Marshall: Jhod Kavken
• Royal Assassin: Kesten Garess
• Spymaster: Skot Skevans
• Treasurer: Oleg Leveton (making the fox head of the henhouse)
• Warden: Cane Alexson
• Mascot: Little Billee Weaver

The very first thing we couldn’t decide was a name for our realm, so we put that aside for the time. Kelm came up with a plan to finance our startup, counting it as a sixth member of our association when we split up our fund, making 2834 apiece, and 8634 gold in our treasury. You may try adding these figures up for me because it makes my head hurt.

After some time we finally agreed upon a name: The Peoples Union of River Kingdoms—PURK, or "The Union" for short. Apparently, we're still in disguise.

Hope to see you soon,
Uncle Marquand

Letter Three--Little Billee Weaver

Dear Pino,

In the morning we took the opportunity to ask Kesten Garess a few questions about himself and his mission here. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, but until he confirms that he belongs to that illustrious family I will pretend not to know.

“You’re the first person we’ve come across who hasn’t asked us to do something for them,” Kelm noted. “That’s very refreshing.”

“Actually there is something you can do for me,” Kesten grimly smiled.

“You want some moon radishes too?”

“If you run across a man called Falgrim Sneed could you pick him up for me?" he continued, ignoring the sarcasm. "He’s a mercenary who was working with our group a while back. Disappeared in the middle of the night with our money. I’ll give you four masterwork weapons for him. The last I heard he was in the Kamelands.”

“What if he’s dead?” Cane asked insouciantly.

“Then it's two,” Kesten replied, looking very bored.

We were preparing to ride when a seedy looking character wandered through the gates. Doffing his hat he showed few strands of dark-red hair plastered over his balding pate. His beard scruffy and untrimmed. “Ahoy!” he called jovially. “I’m Jhod.”

“Jhod?” We leaned towards him for a better look. “Snnneeed?”

“K-Kavken,” he replied, suddenly very nervous. “I’m a simple priest passing through your wild land,” he chuckled. “The game here is bountiful, the land beloved of Erastil . . .”

Holy Erastil had answered our needs. Lev immediately offered him our temple, without even checking his credentials—but it seems to be working out so I won’t complain. And it will give me a chance to work out some fine points of doctrine I’ve been considering.

“I’ve been dreaming of a temple,” Kavken said, still uncertain whether or not we were bandits inviting him along to cut his throat. “I’ve been searching for years. I dreamed of a cliff with a giant bas-relief elk upon its face.”

We showed him our charter—’tis true, just a piece of paper—but enough to convince him, along with Garess’s uniform, that we had the smell of legitimacy about us. Blind faith all around.

Blind leading the blind
Yet Justice, too, is blind
                            —Parables of Erastil

“Are we going to use him for fodder when we confront the Stag Lord?” Cane asked suddenly.

There was an awkward silence. “Sir,” came Jhod’s aggrieved voice. “I’m right here!”

Lev and I smoothed things over by guaranteeing his safety, as Piea and Kelm took Cane away for a gentle word. It gave me a chance to tell Kavken of my own affiliation with Erastil and I found myself traveling along beside him on our journey back to the temple. While we discussed our faith the others listened until they lost interest or duty called them away.

“I was once a devotee of Abadar,” I told him right away.

“What changed for you?”

I sighed heavily, not ready for the sudden rush of emotion that filled me. “Abadar is a wonderful faith,” I replied. “As long as you believe in it completely, as long as it works. But one tiny crack in the facade, one glimpse of what lay behind it—the cruel subjugation that supports it—well, then you either accept the contradiction, the hypocrisy, or you move on. I moved on.”

“Well, my son, Erastil seeks balance in everything. I’m not sure he needs an Inquisitor.”

“Yet here I am,” I replied evenly, “to maintain the balance!”

Jhod was ecstatic when he saw the temple, immediately setting off to clean it up. I helped him after setting up camp outside the Temple area and brushing Autolycus, giving him a carrot for his day’s labor. Later we joined my colleagues by the campfire where Kelm, Piea, and Cane played with dice as Lev kept a wary eye on the perimeter.

We talked about our plans for the temple. “We should talk with Oleg about bringing up a catapult,” said Kelm. “I don’t know why, I have a feeling. . . .”

Meanwhile, Lev was figuring out the logistics of fortifying the place

“But this is a temple of Erastil!” Jhod objected.

We agreed to move our operation a little down the road.

The next morning we bid Kavken farewell, heading northwest into a heavily wooded region. We hadn’t been traveling long when an acorn popped Piea on top of the head. “Hey!” she cried. “It’s those blinking fairies again!”

“I think you made that up,” Kelm replied unhelpfully, too busy staring blindly at his map to have seen a blue dragon bearing down on him much less a fairy.

“We won’t hurt you,” Lev called to the fey in his high, fluting voice. “We just want to meet you. We are friends.”

“I say we kill them,” Cane replied, which seems to be his answer to most things. Lev was incredulous but Cane was just pulling his leg, I think, but it seemed to rile several of our group against the mischievous fey. Still, I agree with Lev and I only wish you were here to act as our ambassador to the fairies.

We heard a distant call for help. Carefully we moved in that direction, watching for any movement. It might prove a good test for my new darkwood buckler. The voice again, closer now but then nothing. A faint piping song, like a lone busker playing flute on Restov commons. Then faint laughter. I guess they’ll have their fun and I can’t say that I blame them. Cane notched his bow with anticipation.

“They can be invisible and quite annoying,” Lev protested, “or you can be friends with them. Maybe we should offer them a bottle of moon radish wine?”

Still arguing we headed west towards our border with whoever is taming that part of the wilds. We found ourselves in a huge blackberry patch in which we discovered a cairn of stone that overtopped an ancient grave.

”You want to dig it up?” Cane asked.

“Nope,” Kelm replied.

“I can tell there’s something magic down there,” Lev singsonged.

“Ohhh,” Kelm muttered, licking his lips.

“I have no respect for remains,” Cane added. “I’m totally fine with digging it up.”

“The soul’s left the body,” Kelm reasoned. “What’s the point?”

“What’s the point of you changing your mind once we find there’s magic there?” Cane laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kelm sniffed, eyes more opaque. “I’m an archeologist.”

“Let’s walk the line here,” Lev wheedled. “Dig it up, find what we find, and then make sure that it’s properly restored to its original state.”

“I’m sure whatever spirits are in there won’t mind that at all,” Cane sarcastically retorted.

I already had my shovel out by this point and for the next half hour we took turns digging. What we found were the bones of a long-dead warrior, a few rags clinging to bone. The grinning skull not minding that we were disturbing its slumber a bit, perhaps happy for company after its long sleep. On its wedding finger was a greenwood ring depicting an eel and frog locked in battle—a ring of swimming, which Lev, who swims like a stone, kept.

We then reburied him and I said a prayer to Erastil that he was of the righteous and at peace.

We continued through the briers, finding nothing of interest, although Lev collected a large bag of blackberries along the way that he tied to the back of his horse, soon to be followed by a cloud of frustrated insects.

Headed into a wooded area, Cane stopped suddenly, eyes darting amongst the trees. “Someone’s been here!” he called, dismounting and hurrying over to a large oak tree. “They climbed up here and then leaped to the next tree. . . .” his face dropped and he remounted without another word.

We continued south through the woods for a spell when, in a shadowy glade we found a child’s doll. It was of a king, with a tin crown, like the one you had when you were a small child. Lev warned us away from it for he smelled a trap. Then Piea pointed into the limbs above where a large net full of branches was set to fall as soon as the doll was touched. It was our friends, the fey. Lev carefully disabled the trap and tied the doll alongside his bag of blackberries. Speaking in ancient Sylvan, Lev thanked them for the doll.

Sometime later we found another trap, only this one was already sprung—a trapper caught in his own device, pinned to a tree by a huge spiked log that had swung down. I won't describe more except to say he had been dead for a week.

“Fey did it,” Kelm said with finality. We argued over the meaning of this. Cane agreed with him while Lev was not so sure. When I examined the ropes I saw that they had been severed—it was no accident.

“Original hypothesis confirmed!” Kelm bragged, pumping his fist in triumph. “These things I just know because of the lore of mysteries!”

We buried the hunter before following his tracks east where we found, and disabled, one of his traps. Continuing east we traveled through woodland until we came to an area of thick brambles crossed by many rivulets—the headwaters of Thorn River. Then Kelm was bonked by a tiny pebble.

As he sat rubbing his head Kelm dug through his backpack until finally holding up a piece of hard candy he just happened to be carrying. There was a rustling and suddenly a small horned woman poked her head from around tree. Lev offered her the candy while the rest of us tried to look inconspicuous. Hearing a noise I looked up just in time to see something purple disappear behind another tree.

Finally Lev managed to coax the woman to reveal herself and to our shock turned out to be half a woman and half a cricket, a Grig. I understand they can play their back legs like a fiddle and then you simply must dance to their tune—perfect for the shy boys at your school. Suddenly another creature swooped down from the trees, its wings seeming too fragile to support its weight, a faerie dragon.

With Lev translating we learned that the female’s name was Tyg-Titter-Tut and the little dragon was called Perlivash.

“So you’ve been harassing the trappers,” Lev asked directly.

Perlivash nipped a piece off the candy before answering happily. “Just one.”

“Why him?”

“Bad, bad hunter,” Perlivash frowned. “Cruel-Traps. Set/Forget. Good friends die. We saw that he had accident.”

We offered them assistance in disarming the rest of the traps but they refused. "We’ve been watching you,” he said, giving the candy to Tyg, who shyly bit off a piece. "We saw you at bandit camp. We saw you at moon radish patch. Know hot springs?”

And that’s how we ended up going southwest towards the head of the Skunk River. Sounds appetizing, right? We bade the two fey adieu but could feel their eyes upon us as we approached the edge of the wood. By afternoon we had found its watershed.

“A good place for a fort,” Lev idly speculated.

As we traveled along the nascent Skunk River the smell grew worse until we came to its source the hot springs. We heard something large splashing in the water ahead and quietly slipped our weapons free.

I watched Lev get off his horse, open his sack, crush blackberries on a cloth, tie the sack back onto the horse, throw the crushed berries onto the ground, and tie the still dripping cloth around his face. “To help with the stench,” he said. “I smell blackberries!”

Meanwhile Piea had come back to tell us there were three giant frogs bathing in the springs, “with crazed looks in their eyes.”

Lev’s plan was that we would split up. He and Cane would sneak over to the other side while the rest of us came in frontally, flanking them when they emerged.

As they saw us approach the middle frog croaked its challenge, hopping quickly toward us. Suddenly, its tongue slapped wetly at Piea but she miraculously ducked in time.

Kelm and I both nicked it with our bows as Piea ducked a frog leg and another tonguing as she chopped a piece out of him. Over his croak of pain came an even larger noise as the boss frog angrily hopped our way and Lev and Cane both took the opportunity to miss him.

Piea ducked yet a third attack as I put my bow aside to cast bane on them., which Piea took immediate advantage of. Cane missed twice as a frog leaped upon him, tongue wrapping his head like a warm towel at the barber’s. The largest frog was so angry that it sprained its tongue chasing Piea. Its bulging eyes seemed ready to pop out of his head with frustration. I called down the justice of Erastil on one of them, doing some damage but then it grappled me. Fortunately Piea hit it, and the one next to him, so hard their eyes exploded with a sharp pop. For good measure she then finished off the one that was gnawing on Cane's head.

"I thought frogs didn't have teeth," Cane swore as I staunched the blood flowing into his eyes.

We took the rest of the day off, relaxing in the hot springs before finding a good camping spot upwind. The next morning we started back to Oleg’s. On the way we met a hunter leading a mule burdened with many animal pelts. Could he be Sneed we wondered? He was as suspicious as us, carrying his longbow openly, his short sword within easy reach in the bedroll behind him. Taking a long tug from a skin of sarsaparilla, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ahoy,” he said. “What news do you have from the north? Oleg’s still stands?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lev introduced us. “You are, sir?”

“Skott Skevins. My friends call me Sure Shot—Sure Shot Skott. Do you have some hobbit leaf on you?” That’s when we noticed his guitar case. “I’ve been writing some songs he said modestly. If I’m still at Oleg’s the next time we’re there we can sing a little Kumbaya. ”

He then told us the dead hunter was named Breeg, “He was scum anyway. Good riddance.”

It took us a day to get back to Oleg’s where Kesten had his troops sweating over the catapults. He expected them to be operational in a few days.

That’s when a small child walked in. He was dirty and very hungry.

“My name’s Billee,” he said, sniveling, “Billee Weaver. Ma and Pa are bleeding and sleeping in the road.” He couldn’t tell us much more. His parents had been set upon by bandits somewhere north. Lev handed him the doll we’d found as Svetlana took him inside to clean up and feed. We asked Kesten if he’d investigate but he grandly declined, stating that it would violate his charter and, besides, there were already patrols on that road, although little Billee’s experience would argue otherwise.

We found that two new proclamations had arrived since or departure. The first offered a small fortune, 5000 gold, for the capture or death of the Stag Lord. The second directed us to settle, through fair means or foul, a troublesome tribe of kobolds for 800 gold.

As we began preparing to once again go out we mulled over Garess’s refusal to seek out Little Billee’s family. Then Kelm said, “You do realize that Garess is a knight and one of the royal family of Garess in Restov, yes?” Well, I admit, I had assumed as much. When I was a judge I had more business with the Lebeda’s and the Medvyed than the Garess, but most nobles are cut from the same cloth. We still don’t know what Kesten is about but we can be sure that his interests and ours will not coincide forever.

We immediately confronted him with our knowledge but he shrugged dismissively, “I came down for the fresh air,” he smiled. “Really, I needed to prove my worth to the family so they sent me down here. ‘You appreciate things more when you earn them,’ as uncle says.”

As your uncle, I can only agree, but in his case I believe they’re pretty words meant to divert.

We finished our preparations as Little Billee watched us intently from the corner of a building he was always threatening to duck behind. I admit I thought of you when I saw him. It’s hard to lose one parent, much less two. I want you to write to him in my name care of Oleg’s Trading Post. He’s about half your age. Make sure you tell him that he’s not alone.

We talked with him more before we left. He offered to ride along but in that we had to disappoint him. He’s a fiesty little guy. After he left Cane discovered that the brat had lifted half of the candy he was planning to take to the fey. “I knew that we should have enslaved him,” Cane growled. While I don’t countenance thievery we had been delayed enough so I let it slide. Maybe in your letter you can warn him about what it’s like to face my wrath.

We headed first to our gold mine to prepare it for Little Billee (kidding, don’t mention the candy when you write him), then southwest across the plain of tall grass until we reached the Thorn River coming from the northwest. We followed it for a while as it descended into a deep gulch between the hills. There we found a rickety wooden bridge crossing it but since it was too weak for our horses we turned east to the sycamore tree where we rested, then southeast to an area bordering the Stag Lord’s land. Using the map we’d found in the mites den the previous week we found a cave’s narrow opening into the hills.

There was a wooden cage by the entrance holding one miserable looking mite. Before we could approach it a familiar looking kobold appeared. “Wait wait wait wait wait,” he called. “It’s me, Mikmek! Put your swords away.”

Although Cane was ready to slit his throat, Mikmek was unapologetic, saying that the statue was sacred to his people and he had to get it back to them. How was he to know that he could trust us? "Humans have been exploiting kobolds for centuries!" he huffed.

Lev figured this was the perfect time to befriend these kobolds so he asked for us to be taken to the chief. Mikmek readily agreed saying, “He wants to thank you personally.”

He quickly pulled three ropes then led us down a narrow passage where we passed single file behind him. The walls were smeared with charcoal and blood. I know that we want to befriend these creatures but every ounce of my body wants to bring a judgment of purity upon them. The images scribed in retched offal reminded me of the reptile statue that Mikmek had taken. I choked back my urge to cleanse! We then passed through a foul anteroom where we were joined by two kobolds who escorted us into a large common area where seven more waited with their chief, Sootscale.

Mikmek introduced us. “Ah, then I owe you my thanks. This statue,” he said, gesturing around the room, “is so important to my tribe,” he continued as he carefully picked it up. “We looked for this for a long time when the mites took it—Tartuk’s treasure,” his face soured with sudden contempt. “It has brought us much trouble and I am here to he rid of it!” To our astonishment he violently smashed the statue to the floor.

The shock we felt was nothing compared to the horror that overwhelmed the kobolds in the room, groaning and weeping most piteously.

Grimacing hugely Sootscale then proclaimed, “The curse is over! We’re free from the curse! Let’s kill Tartuk! We must kill the priest!”

That’s when Lev got his attention. “Why?” he demanded.

“He misled my people,” Sootscale replied hotly. “He has brought much suffering upon the Sootscales. You have helped us before—come with us now!”

We followed Sootscale and Mikmek into the priest’s lair. Horsehide cut into banners covered the walls with demonic sigils painted in blood. A cauldron of bubbling red liquid steamed in the center of the room with a large purple kobold hunched over it, a dark crow upon his shoulder. It had no red marking on its wing.

He turned, first surprised, then angry when he saw us. “Who are these people, Mikmek?” he growled. “You need to leave now!”

By this point Sootscale was frothing at the mouth so anxious was he to be rid of his rival. I would have been happy to let them duke it out but Tartuk cast fear on Piea and we were off to the races—literally, in this case as Tartuk scampered down a dark tunnel in the back.

With Piea shrieking in terror of some imaginary creature we went after Tartuk only to be bottlenecked at the head of the tunnel. Cane took a shot at him but missed again. I’m afraid that, despite his bluster, the lad is beginning to doubt himself.

Tartuk had almost gotten away when I commanded him to halt and he did. “Heretic, we have you now!” I cried.

That’s when the Chief reached him, giving him a sound thwack with his club that echoed throughout the tunnel. Tartuk returned the favor, popping him with his wand of magic missiles. The chief was stunned for a second but swung his club savagely again, scattering Tartuk’s brains across the floor.

I hate to compare my comrades to scavengers but they picked Tartuk apart faster than vultures savaging a sick desert hare:

•    wand of magic missiles 28 charges—Lev has the most use for it
•    bracers of armor +2—Lev again
•    journal—Kelm claimed it while insulting our intelligence

We were about to count the pile of treasure that had been stacked in the priest’s room when Sootscale sidled over. “That’s our tribe’s treasure,” he noted, voice rising. “What are you doing?”

Several of our group begged to differ but Lev, remembering why we were here, stepped up and said, “I think we can leave them their treasure,” he turned to the chief, “as long as you agree to . . . work with us.”

“I can give you these old boots.” Sootscale handed Lev two well-worn black leather boots, like the kind street musicians wear.”

Lev looked at them dubiously. “Are they magical?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Lev quickly took them.

“There will be diplomacies all around,” Kelm announced to no one particular.

“And as a sign of my good will and good intentions,” he stuck his hand in a small leather sack, pulling out a small band. We gasped in unison. “The mites took this from one of the human people.” He gave it to Lev, a plain brass ring with a single pearl—Svetlana’s, of course.

•    boots of elvenkind
•    Svetlana’s ring

With the boots Lev had so much of the treasure he felt a little guilty, giving me the ring of swimming. Little did we know how valuable it would soon prove to be.

To top it off Piea realized that we were sitting in a silver mine! All the more reason to slay the kobolds but I won’t be the first to say it.

We quickly made a pact with them. They stay where they are and leave peaceful intruders be as long as they don’t settle on their land, or “hex” as they like to call it. We also sketched out our future interests with the Chief and found much potential for cooperation.

“Near where the Thorn and Shrike (which flows from the northeast) rivers meet there is a low area where you can ford,” he said. “It then flows southwest to the Tuskwater, which is a small lake where lies an old ruined fort.”

We decided that it was time to confront the Stag Lord but, easy does it, crossing into the southeast where he was least likely to be. True to our expectations we found nothing.

“I’m going to go ahead and put on the Stag Head’s necklace,” Kelm announced.

“Maybe I should wear it,” Lev answered.

“Well, ain’t that convenient, Mr. ‘wearing everything already’?” Cane said with a sneer.

“I’m pretty good at lying,” Lev answered truthfully.

We then headed west where we came across five wilding kobolds. “Uurgh!” one of them hollered and suddenly we were in a fight. Two of the little ba . . . dboys got the drop on me and your favorite uncle lost a couple more pieces of flesh.

Lev and Kelm quickly offed one each but Cane missed again. “Can he be ensorcelled somehow?” I thought as I staunched the flow of blood from my leg while Cane fumbled arrows like a novice. For my hubris I then dropped my sword like an amateur. Understand this, Pino, the gods are always watching.

Piea chopped one of them in half, spraying his bowel everywhere, then she took down another, but the rest of us did very little damage, Cane tossing his bow to the ground in disgust. Finally, Kelm polished off the last of them.

No one would bury them so I came out later from our camp while the fish stew simmered and put them in the ground. I didn’t bother to say a prayer for their heathen souls but did say one for mine. While on my knees I saw that a large black crow had landed on their mound. Even in the dim light of dying day I could see that one wing had a brilliant bolt of scarlet. It looked at me reproachfully for, in truth, I had buried its supper.

“I can dig one back up,” I said but it didn’t answer, spreading its large wings and taking again to the sky. I spent the next 20 minutes retrieving the kobold that had cut a piece off me leaving him there as tribute to the scavengers. All praise to Erastil.

Life is making a pig’s foot out of a sow’s ear.
                                                    —Parables of Erastil

The next morning we reached where the river empties into Tuskwater Lake. Across it on a hill there was an old fort, enclosed by a tall palisade. Behind was the remains of a large crumbled tower.

“Who wants a vial of centipede poison on their weapon?” Kelm asked mischievously.

I swam across the river securing a rope to the other side to help the others across. Pairing off the good swimmers with the bad, Piea almost drowned before Cane got her back to the far shore where she vomited lustily onto the bank, then immediately walked back into the water to try again. This time she made it easily.

We had to send the horses back to Oleg’s but they seem to know the way.

Dressed as bandits, with Cane reeking of alcohol, we followed a wide open path winding up the hill to the gate. The palisade was three man-heights high, made of thick forest timber embedded into the ground.

“Who the hell are you,” a guard challenged.

“By the bloody bones of St. Gilmorg who wants to know?” we spoke the passwords. I gipped the handle of my sword reflexively.

“Maybe I want to know.”

“Then open up.”

“You got any hobbit leaf on you?” the man asked.

“What do you think?”

The gate squeaked open regretfully. “The lord’s liquor is here!” one of them shouted. We stepped into a shallow courtyard. Barrels lined the interior of the palisades each with a bucket nearby. A dozen flunkies lounged inside, eyeing us greedily.

Fortunately, we just had to look mean, which is easy for me (though never with you, peachpit).

“Aarrr, where is my liquors?” A large, much scarred man wearing a stag’s head came out.

“We brought you eight bottles of . . .” Lev began.

“Give it to me!” he commanded. “Akiros, pay these men twenty gold each,” and he went off to drink.

“Twenty gold each, eh? Haven’t seen you around much.”

“We’ve been up north by Oleg’s,” Lev said, giving them too much information for my comfort.

“There’s been trouble up by Oleg’s,” he frowned suspiciously. “We haven’t had any word form the Thorn River camp in some time. They say there’s a group of . . . explorers in the region.”

“There was a knight and soldiers,” Lev said quickly. One gangsta, with a large tattoo of Rovagug on a flaming stallion upon his arm, snorted wetly. “You guys, look at you. You don’t think I see right through your little disguise?”

Akiros turned to him. “Shut up Dovan, petulant little skunk!”

A gigantic fat fellow they called “Auchs”  farted loudly. “Huha, Dovan, you’re dumb. And you’re from Nisroch! Way to go Akiros.”

“Thanks, Auchs,” Akiros said without enthusiasm.

We settled into a vacant part of the enclave to find what tomorrow may bring.

Say your prayers,
Your devoted uncle,
Marquand