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By Brian Flood
Chapter 26 - Audience with Jadale
The Inner Gatehouse
Kendall Keep, Kingdom of Cormyr
Early Morning, 19th Day of Mirtul; Year of the Tankard (1370 DR)
The sun has barely risen when the band of adventurers begins to gather at the base of the Inner Gatehouse. The bi-level structure looms over the small group and its open sally port offers some respite from the spring rain that falls from the cloudy early morning sky. Standing in the shelter provided by the sally port, the travelers patiently admire the vast vegetable gardens that populate the expanse of the inner bailey from the inner gatehouse to the barred double doors of the fortress. They note that the gatehouse is completely open, allowing free access to the inner bailey; none of the structure's gates are closed, nor is its portcullis lowered.
The Silver Claws arrive with most having taken advantage of the dawnfry provided by the One-Eyed Cat. Malk, however, was forced to abstain from breakfast. The bard is apparently still a little queasy from the previous night’s revelry. The original seven members of the group further note that Cob is absent. Then they realize that since the hunter was not at the previous evening’s table, he is most likely unaware of this day’s rendezvous.
All of the adventurers except Nathan arrive wearing only their clothes, armor, and a peace-bound weapon or two – much as they were clad the night before. The newest member of the group, however, has a rucksack slung over his back. Apparently the young man is not staying in a rented room, as are the others. Noting this, Declan informs the others that their rooms, as well, are not rented for the evening – he merely left a small deposit with the Innkeep to cover the cost of the rooms for the morning. The party will have to either make new reservations or vacate the rooms by highsun.
The spellcasters in the group confirm that they have all prayed for or memorized their arsenal of spells for the day. As well, Velgardrin reports that Baulin regained consciousness this morning. The dwarven priest has arranged for Jess to bring the stricken warrior some breakfast in a short while to help him regain his strength.
Salik pats Declan on the back heartily. “So Declan, I hope that ale hasn’t addled your mind and made you forget that detect magic spell? Shall we retreat to our rooms to cast this wizardry in private?”
Malk groans quietly. “Salik, my friend do you have to shout so loud? Declan is still in Cormyr! Though I seem to have some of his brethren hammering rocks from my head.”
“I didn’t drink that much,” Declan says with a smile. “And I do have the divination memorized. Whenever you want me to cast it, I will.”
Velgardrin remembers that Father Abercrombie agreed to accompany the group as they report so he says to Amiel, “Wait just a bit and I’ll be right back.” He hurries over to the chapel to seek out the priest.
Giving his rapier a slap, Alain begins fidgeting with his clothes. When he begins straitening his tabard for the fourth time, it becomes obvious that the warrior is more nervous now than when in combat. Lifting his hat, he adjusts the feather and runs quick fingers through his hair. Rapid long strides propel him to Amiel, “It’s a shame you left so early, Malk was in fine form last night.”
Looking over his shoulder to the gatehouse, a faraway look crosses his face. A grim smile on his face, Alain turns back to Amiel, “Have we made an audience or are we going to just appear at Lieutenant Jadale’s door?”
Amiel grins knowingly at Alain. “I saw the results of his ‘form’ upon his return to our quarters last night,” she says with a broadening smile. “I dragged Tiron off before he too got sloshed … he was well on the way,” Amiel seems much more relaxed this morning. Her eyes are clear, focused and the sparkle that was evident before Baulin’s injury has returned to her eyes. A good night’s sleep and a warm bath seemed to have done wonders for her mood.
“No, we do not have an appointment,” she says in answer to Alain’s question. “I thought it best that we behave like irresponsible adventurers and just land on her door step. As soon as Vel returns with Father Abercrombie, we’ll go in to report our findings to date.”
Standing slightly apart from the party and wincing despite the lack of bright sun, Malk seems restless and unable to settle, a little shaky perhaps. “Does anyone have a water flask? I really need a drink. I feel quite dehydrated. Perhaps the food was over-salted last night,” he suggests with a weak smile.
Amiel turns to the suffering bard. “I take it friend Malk, that there are a swag of local ladies that you’ve made appointments who are going to be disappointed when you don’t show up for a couple of days?” she says impudently. “We’re leaving for the Caves today, remember?” she continues mercilessly.
Snapping alert and eyes opening wide as with the shock of a cold bucket of water, the bard gives a strangled cry. “What! ‘Going to the 'Caves' today? B-b- but what about Baulin, what about battleplans, what about Cob, what about storage … what about my picnic?”
“Picnic?” replies Amiel, one eyebrow raised quizzicaly. “And which picnic would that be, old friend? Is it possible that I don’t know about it as I am not invited? Could THIS be even possible?” she says smiling sweetly at the bard.
Before he has a chance to reply, she says, “I meant that we would set out for the ‘Caves today. The caves get tackled tomorrow. The longer we tarry here the more likely another caravan will get attacked. I don’t have to remind you of the woman that Cob reported as being impaled on the tree at the ambush site. That’s something I’ll never be comfortable with witnessing.”
The smile has drained completely from her face as she continues, “We’ll seek Jadale’s advice on Baulin because she may be able to help, then organize a plan for him. You and Vel can go talk to the quartermaster to hire storage space and stow your gear, along with whoever else needs storage. As to Cob: where IS he? We’ll just have to go rouse him from his bed. Finally, there’s the battleplans. I’d like to head out of town a bit to discuss and maybe even PRACTICE some drills. Our weapons are peace bonded in town so it’s a bit pointless to do it here. Our first night’s camp on the road will be an extra early one to give us enough light.”
Addressing the entire party, she says in a calm but firm voice, “I’m well aware of the risks you are all taking in following orders. I am well aware of the risks you are all taking in following MY orders. This is something I don’t take lightly.” It looks like this subject been on Amiel’s mind for awhile. “Any comments?” she asks.
“Right Declan,” Salik announces, “let’s see this wizardry at work shall we? Hopefully we’ll see some nice sparkly bits on this earring. Is there anything else that anyone thinks may be magical? If so, give them to me and we’ll find out.” Salik looks around the group expectantly.
“I’d prefer you to get to your magics after we present our report to Jadale, lads,” Amiel says to Declan and Salik. “Unless there’s a specific time of day that’s best suited to your spell casting?”
In the wake of Amiel’s response to Salik, Velgardrin returns to the group with Father Abercrombie in tow. The human priest is clad in dark crimson robes and nods a wordless greeting to the gathered adventurers.
“So yer thinkern that they salted yer free ale last night Malk?” Velgardrin asks by way of rejoiing the conversation. “Mehaps yer practicin’ a drum this mornin’ er is that just yer head that's poundin'?” Velgardrin chuckles as he looks Malk up and down. “I’d lend yer me skin but hit’s back in ther room. Merbe Nathan has one fer ye. And merbe a few less ales at night might make the mornin’ a wee bit better. Yer did do well in the singing last night. Know any dwarven songs by chance?”
Turning to Abercrombie, Amiel smiles, “Welcome Father. Thank you for coming to assist us in our chat with the Lieutenant. If I may, I have a potion here that I wonder you could identify,” she says, pulling out the tiny bottle she rescued from the birdwoman’s lair. “I’m not entirely sure but, I believe that healing potions are one of your areas of expertise?”
Abercrombie frowns as he examines the bottle in Amiel’s hand. “I’m afraid you may need a mage or an alchemist to identify your bottle there, miss,” he says. “I can create and recognize simple water blessed by Torm – or another diety – but I have no skill when it comes to discerning magical concoctions.”
“Thank you,” Amiel says simply, before handing the bottle to Declan. “You wanted some items to identify as magical?” she asks the mage.
Declan takes the bottle and then carefully places it in his bag at his belt, “I will try ter determine if it is magical, but chances are I won't be able ter determine its capabilities. Yer need an alchemist for that. But I will let yer know wot I find out.” Declan pauses, “Anything else?”
Malk slumps on the floor with his back to the wall, in the shelter of the sally port. He struggles with the conflicting emotions of youthful curiosity, and the wish to close his eyes and seek release from his thumping head. He compromises by listening with his eyes closed.
Tirondalin bounces over to Malk and rubs his hand over the bard’s hair. “Up you get!” he exclaims, not understanding that his tone could possibly sound like the beat of a drum to Malk’s sensitive ears.
“Are we off to see Jadale, Amiel, or do we stand here and waste the day sleeping in the castle grounds?” the half-elf then asks the leader in an almost irritatingly enthusiastic manner.
“Aaaaagh,” Malk moans in response to Tiron’s nudging, “those weren’t healers hands. Alright! Alright! I’m awake and with you. Please don’t do that again.” And with that, the bard makes his way to his feet – slowly.
“Maybe I should have let you drink yourself into a Malk-like state,” Amiel growls to Tiron in response to his enthusiasm. “Then you’d not be as disgustingly perky as you are now and you’d truly appreciate Malk’s condition.”
“What’s wrong with being happy?” asks Tiron, looking around at the gathered companions. But then he merely shrugs in answer to his own question and decides to make a study of the ground at his feet.
Turning to the group, the lady ranger says, “Alright. We don’t have a great deal to report to Jadale. The main points I feel we should cover is that there’s several active bands of potential foes in the area – the humanoids, the bandits and others. Similarly, the presence of the undead near the Caves is a source of concern. Who raised them and for what purpose may be linked with the attacks. Or it may not. Perhaps she may know of necromancers in the area that are capable of such deeds. I also wish to inform her as to our next course of action – an exploration of the ‘Caves and the trail that Salik and I followed into the forests to the north of the gravesite. Does anyone wish to add anything to this?”
Tiron looks up after several moments of silence. “There's nothing more I can add, except that we should enlighten Jadale to our group’s new identity, as I believe she requested it for the charter of operations,” he states matter-of-factly to Amiel.
Declan speaks up. “And the amount of monsters that seem ter be about. I don’t know about the scarcity of monsters in the area, right, but I fink killer zombies, giant bloody mosquitoes, and mad owl-bears are a wee bit much for one twenty four ‘our period.”
“Hmmm,” Amiel announces, “no one seems to have any further comments about what information we should lay at Jadale’s feet. Let’s go talk to her then,” she says as she heads for the bailey.
Finally ready, the Silver Claws walk through the sally port of the inner gatehouse and make their way across the inner bailey by following the footpath through the rows of vegetables that now occupy the former parade grounds. At this early hour, there are no workers tending to the gardens.
As there was during the adventurers’ first visit, a guard, armed with a short sword and shield and dressed in chainmail and tabard bearing the heraldic crest of Kendall Keep, stands in front of the closed double doors in the front of the fortress.
“Good morning Father,” the young man says, addressing Abercrombie first. “And good morning, strangers,” he says next to the adventurers, apparently rather bemused to have visitors this early in the morning. “What business ‘ave you in the fortress?” he asks.
Tirondalin, forever quick on the initiative, is first to answer and he does so in a business-like tone, his former jovial manner dispersing in response to the task at hand. “We seek an audience with Jadale, the Castelan of the Keep,” he states.
At Tiron’s announcement, the guard smirks slightly while Abercrombie simultaneously winces. “Ahem,” the priest interjects, clearing his throat to get the guard’s attention. “The lad is new, forgive him his misnomer,” Abercrombie tells the guard. “They – and I – wish to see Lieutenant Jadale, not the Castelan himself. And we do not have an appointment … ”
“Hrrmph,” the guard replies. “Why didn’t he say that the first time? Alright then, Father, bring your friends and I’ll see if the lieutenant is awake as yet. If she’s not, you all will just have to wait. Follow me then.”
The guard nods curtly and spins on his heel. The band of visitors passes through the double doors and into the main fortress. They follow the familiar route through the torch-lit passageways to the Hall of Justice. The guard instructs the adventurers to wait in the room while he goes to fetch Jadale.
Once again, the party finds themselves in the small, twenty-foot by thirty-foot room known as the Hall of Justice.. Besides the door in the southern wall through which they entered, there are two other doors in the room – one each in the west and east walls, set near the northwest and northeast corners, respectively. A large, wooden desk dominates the northern wall; a single chair sits behind it and faces south into the room. An ink vial, a quill, and a handful of scroll tubes rest on the desk. Behind the desk hangs a large tapestry of the heraldic crest of Kendall Keep. The only other decoration in the room is a large mirror that hangs on the eastern wall.
As the silence settles and the opportunity for comment arises, Tiron smiles to himself and tries to hide a ruddy face from view of the others, seemingly intent on his oaken ring. Salik, however, decides to break the silence.
“I hope Jadale isn’t going to be annoyed at our lack of progress,” declares the rogue. “I don’t think Malk’s head will survive any shouting at this hour of the morn,” he says grinning at his friend. “Still, hopefully the ‘Caves will yield some answers.”
Several long minutes follow as the party waits in the silent stone chamber. With a polite clearing of his throat, Father Abercrombie whispers, “Perhaps in the future you should consider making an appointment.”
A short while later, the western door opens and Jadale appears. The warrior lieutenant is clad in her familiar chainmail and tabard. Her dark hair is pulled back hastily into a ponytail. She stifles a yawn as she closes the door behind her and then turns to the party with eyes wide and a smile set on her face.
“Well, well,” she says, as she takes her seat behind the oaken desk, “a good morning to you, good Father! It would seem that my band of investigators has returned in your company. And I see that the band's ranks have been adjusted. I recall that you had two of the stout folk in your party; as well, I do not recognize that young blond man, there.”
Father Abercrombie bows in reply. “And good morning to you lieutenant. Torm’s blessings upon you. As for why we have come, I will let this group of stalwart adventurers explain.” With an expectant smile, Jadale turns her gaze to the party.
“One of those stout folk, Baulin, has been badly injured,” Amiel says, relieved that the Lieutenant isn’t too upset at them arriving unannounced at her doorstep. “I have taken over as party leader, with the support of Tiron,” she adds as she flashes grin in the half-elf’s direction.
With a deep breath Amiel begins, “Baulin is currently resting in the Green Man Inn. We took him to see the good Father here, but alas, his arts are not sufficiently complete to help Baulin. We ask your aid in this matter. We feel the best course of action is to send him to a temple or other such place of healing on the first available caravan. We would, of course pay for as much of the transport expenses and the temple’s healing costs as possible. Can you help us? Are there any healers close by?”
The lieutenant frowns as she considers the request for information. “The nearest Cormyrean city is Arabel. I am sure there are powerful healers there.” As she speaks, Father Abercrombie nods his agreement. “However,” Jadale adds, “I do not know of anyone in the Keep that is heading west through the Hullack Forest. Perhaps we should consider sending him eastward with the caravan that is in town?”
Abercrombie nods again. “I agree. The best course is to send him eastward toward the Thunder Pass. He will pass into the lands of his own people, then. They should be able to help him.”
“We have formalised our company,” Amiel declares, moving swiftly on. “We have chosen the name The Company of the Silver Claws in honor of the pitched battle with an owlbear that brought Baulin low. This,” she says, indicating the young blond man, “is Nathan. We have joined him to our fellowship. Please include him in your records.”
“Very well,” Jadale says simply and gestures for Amiel to continue.
“As to our mission,” Amiel says even more briskly. She is obviously try to get all this out of the way and be back on the road as soon as possible – a ranger, through and through. “We investigated the site of the ambush. Someone had removed all the bodies. To what purpose, we could not ascertain. We found several tracks that indicated that several parties had visited the site BEFORE we got there. Obviously, Cob’s footprints were there, but there were also humanoid tracks and two different sets of human tracks. Unfortunately, the tracks were too old to discern numbers and the age of the prints.”
Amiel looks at the lieutenant square in the eye. “At this stage, I’m afraid we cannot make any conclusions as to the slayers of the caravan. It could have been bandits or a band of humanoids.” Her dark hair swishes to and fro as she shakes her head forlornly. “WHO took the bodies away, and WHY is also still a mystery. A practitioner of the dark arts comes to mind as soon after we discovered some gravesites near the Caves. When we investigated the graves, we found that they were occupied by zombies! We slew them and sent them back to whatever dark hell they belong in. They seemed to have been once guards, farmers and merchants from what was left their clothes.” Amiel’s sea green eyes cloud over at the memory.
Shaking of the dark thoughts, with a shrug she continues, “We also discovered a trail leading from the graves into the forest to the North. We followed it well past the tree line and it may lead us to whoever ‘planted’ those zombies there. Lastly, there was evidence of barefoot tracks in and around the gravesite. Who made them is still unknown.”
Looking around her companions, she asks, “Have I left out anything?”
A weak voice from the back suggests that Malk is still functioning following Tiron’s earlier wake up call. “When I first came to the Keep I saw a young man called Aseneth, I believe. I was told that he had an interest in the dead. I was going to ask Jess about him on our picnic – if she ever speaks to me again. Do you think he may have anything to do with these matters, Lieutenant? There may be a contact for the band within the Keep.”
Jadale raises her eyebrows at the bard’s announcement and assessment. “Have you heard of this young man, Father?” she asks the Tormtar.
Abercrombie frowns and shakes his head. “I believe there is a young woman staying at the Gree Man with a rather dark taste in clothing, but I know of no young man as they speak.”
Jadale nods and thinks for a moment. “It would sound that you may have some investigating to do in the Keep, then as well,” she tells the party.
“Yes,” Amiel responds, her eyes narrowing as she remembers her speculation on this at the site of the ambush.
Then, Jadale changes the subject by saying, “We will forward a new copy of the charter to you at the Green Man before highsun. We will include your chosen company name on the charter. As lady Amiel here seems to be your chosen leader, we will indicate her as such on the new document. As well, we will add young Nathan here and delete your fallen friend – Baulin, was it? – from the list of members. I will remind you that this charter is only good in the lands immediately surrounding the Keep. Should you choose to continue your adventuring careers in Cormyr, you will have to apply for an official royal charter.” At this, Amiel nods in thanks.
“Now then,” Jadale continues, “I thank you for the report. It would seem, however, that you have much to do before we can make a determination as to whom – or what – attacked those caravans. If there is nothing else, you may feel free to go. Return to us when you have more information.”
Jadale stands from behind her desk. “And, by the way,” she adds, “I believe you would find it much more efficient next time to make an audience request prior to coming here. This is not the only issue I must deal with, you understand.”
“Err...sure. That was my decsion,” Amiel says carefully. “We will leave for the ‘Caves today. Hopefully we’ll return with much more information.” With that, she bows briefly to the lieutenant and strides outside. Her entire attitude is brisk and seething with the need to get on with their mission.
Tirondalin has remained silent but intently listening to the interchange between Amiel and Jadale. He stands upright and strides toward the door, with little to say but, “Well, let us get going,” to his companions. And with raised eyebrows and an inclination of his head, he opens the door with the measured practice of someone who is unused to the concept of a handle, and invites the others out.
Nathan, who has also been standing quietly at the back throughout the morning, finally speaks. “Is the adventuring to now begin, or was Malk’s battle with a hangover already the start?” Grinning from ear-to-ear, he quickly steps through the door, bowing to Tiron as he does so.
The half-elf returns the human’s wide grin in kind. “Just like any enemy, ale is weak on its own but strong in numbers!” he states, white teeth showing in mirth as he recites one of the many verses of wisdom that his grandfather shared with him.
When the group has returned outside, Amiel turns to Abercrombie. “Father, I presume that you know of the caravan that’s headed towards Thunder Pass,” she asks, placing a hand on the priest’s shoulder. “I wonder if you’ll help us with arranging passage for our injured friend, and if you’d like to accompany us on our expedition to the Caves. We leave the Keep as soon as we find Cob, deal with Baulin and some other odds and ends. That is, as soon as possible. I fear that dealing with a necromancer is something that we will need the help of a Faithful of Torm,” she finishes smoothly.
Abercrombie’s eyes light up at the prospect, but then he pauses as the exitement fades. “Alas, I must stay here to tend to the residents – I am the only Tormtar here in residence and I must see to the upkeep of my chuch, as well. Should you find some evidence of dark forces at work, be they necromancers or dark priests, then I would most assuredly return with you. A force such as that is a threat to the Keep and that I will not tolerate!” the priest’s eyes smolder with righteous fire. He is obviously torn between wanting to join the expedition and his duties to the Keep.
“Well many thanks for your help, Abercrombie,” Tiron replies. “Doubtless you shall see us soon! We will indeed enlist your help if some sort of the forces of darkness are working against us here, whatever they may be. I did not enjoy the rotten stench of those living dead,” he utters with a grimace.
Tirondalin breathes in the fresh morning air. “As much as I’m bored within these walls, do you feel it best we run off to the ‘Caves today, Amiel? It seems that we have some investigating to do within the Keep and I am not sure that everyone is ready for such a foray,” he states with a hand on Malk’s shoulder, looking at Amiel with a cheeky grin playing upon his features.
With an unusually long face the bard turns to the half elf and says in a serious voice, “Thank you Tiron, it is true that a bard often suffers for his art. In this case, should our leader command, of course I will follow. However I would certainly be more use on the morrow. Plus, as Lieutenant Jadale suggests, there are investigations to be followed up here.” With a sudden brightening, he adds, “I could preside over a trial by picnic.”
“What is this picnic you mention often, Malk? I doubt you would have much luck getting Miss Amiel to sit still long enough for a picnic!” Tiron whispers audibly in reply to the bard with a smirk on his face.
The bard blushes a little and says, “Sorry, I arranged a picnic with Mistress Jesse this lunchtime. That’s if it stops raining. I was also going to ask her about some of the people here at the Keep.”
Velgardrin snorts at Malk’s mention of Jess and the picnic. “ ‘Tis a bit of a surprise that yer remembers her at all. I almost had ter carry yer to the room. I hope Amiel just left yer on the floor to sleep it off so’s yer ken remember how bad mornin’s feel afterwerd and maybe stay a bit less drunk. Look at Declan. He was there longer but seems to be just fine terday.”
Malk looks over at Vel, thinks of bowing, and thinks better of it. “'Tis indeed a shame that we are not all blessed with the constitution of your race, Vel. Still, a young man has to let his hair down once in a while. As for my memory, that is fine – it's my head that is paying for last night. It was a good night.”
“Alright your holiness,” Amiel says to Abercrombie, bringing the conversation back into relevance. The ranger sports a knowing grin. She too chaffs to be on the road to adventure again. “But what of our friend Baulin? Please say you’ll arrange passage to his people for us,” she asks, her green eyes bright and appealing.
“I will do so,” the Tormtar replies. Then he bows and says, “I will now take my leave of you. May the True God guide your search for the villains.” With that, the priest turns and walks away, headed toward his chapel.
“Well,” Amiel says looking around the group, “I’d like some opinions as to our next actions. There’s no real question that we have to leave for the Caves. But when? That is, what do we want to accomplish here first? Should we investigate further in the Keep as Jadale suggested? This mysterious young man in dark clothes that Malk spotted earlier? Or should we spend this day gathering supplies, resting and leaving tomorrow? You all are well aware on where I stand on the matter...I’m eager to be on our way as soon as possible. That entails gathering Cob up from whatever gutter he’s poured himself into, saying goodbye to Baulin, buying supplies if necessary and leaving.” She pauses and looks sheepishly at her men, “Plus I’m dying to get out into the wilds again!”
Declan snorts and says softly, “Let’s just ‘ope that yor words ain’t taken by the gods as wot yer right want.”
“If there is a general suspicion of nefarious beings at work here in the Keep, I would suggest that we look into this first,” says Nathan. “To me, it only makes sense to protect those here before seeking to slay monsters in the Caves. Mystra knows, they will still be there when we are done with things here.”
Turning to Amiel, Malk says, “You know my preference is to leave tomorrow. Although, like you, I find the restrictions within the Keep too stifling at times. I would like the chance to talk with Jess about this Aseneth who was staying at the inn when I first arrived. I know I had a lot to drink last night, but I don’t remember us paying Cob. If we haven’t, I think we should. Lastly, I have the makings of a plan in mind, but it depends on when the caravan leaves and I need to find that out. Also, as you pointed out, we need to restock our provisions. Euach! After that speech my mouth is as dry as Anauroch! I have to go and find a drink of water as soon as I can.”
Fiddling with his rapier hilt, Alain joins the conversation. “Given a choice, I would leave today. But not at the expense of possibly leaving an enemy at our backs.” As he continues, Alain gives Malk a slow wink, “Besides, if Malk has made plans with a maiden, it would be unseemly of us to force him break his date.”
Stepping forward, Alain throws back his shoulders. “Right then, gather round people. For now, let us assume that we are going to stay the night at the Keep. Malk, get thee hence and prepare for your picnic. Be mindful though, this picnic may be pleasurable, but you still have a responsibility to delve for information. I would be interested in any rumors or any thing else about that missing girl.”
Shifting his gaze over to Tiron, Alain gestures to the young huntsman. “I would like you to take Nathan,” Alain’s gesture and eyes flick to the newest member of the group, “and go find Cob. Bring him back to the Inn. I would like to confirm his continued support of the Silver Claws.”
“Salik, Velgardrin, and Declan,” as Alain speaks each members name he locks eye contact for a brief moment. “Find out what you can of this Aseneth. If you find him, each of you use your unique skills to interrogate him. Between Salik’s quick wit, Velgardrin’s communion with Clanggedin Silverbeard, and Declan’s knowledge of the arts arcane, you all should be able to get some information. If, however you come to the conclusion that he is responsible for the undead attack, try not to confront him directly, but return to the group, that we might in mass overwhelm him.”
“Amiel and I,” Alain points to the party leader then himself, “will return to the Inn and see to the rooms. We will all meet at the tavern when our assigned tasks are completed. Any questions?” Alain’s gaze sweeps the entire party looking for any problem.
“I could see to that,” states Tiron in reply, “so long as Nathan is willing.” And with a look in the mage’s direction, he seeks confirmation. “Does anyone know where I would find Cob? Malk, did he drink himself into the gutter last night?” asks the half-elf.
A sudden grin breaks out over Malk’s face. “Right, that’s fine by me!” With that, and without answering Tiron’s question, the bard heads off to the inn to get a much-needed drink – of water, this time.
The content of Company of the Silver Claws is the property and copyright of Brian Flood, and are not to be published or redistributed without permission.