The Man Who Was Too GoodThe Man Who Was Too Good |
A month after the orc raid, Galaecien, Neidric, Lothalla and Lotheemas were in the marketplace one morning, having inspected the foundations of Redcliff's planned keep, when a middle-aged woman, wearing an expression of worry and determination approached them. They recognized her as Goodwife Dalius, wife of the village's glasscrafter. She'd brought gifts - a cake and a small keg of her home-made cider - in exchange for help and advice. After they'd settled her on a bench outside the Tiger's Wheel and she'd poured them a drink, she unfolded her story.
"It's my son, Kerrigan," she began. "He's a good boy, but there's something wrong, something bothering him. It all started when he joined that militia." She shot a glance at Neidric, half as if feeling him responsible, and half as if she felt she shouldn't criticize. "There's some men in it that I wouldn't let past my front door, let me tell you - no offence to y'lordships." She paused in case they took issue with this, but Lotheemas gestured her to continue, sipping at the excellent cider. She shifted, clearly relieved to get the story started.
"Now, all of a sudden, he's a terrible temper; and he always was such a good boy. Always off 'training' or 'sparring', never helps out at the workshop any more, and his father's getting no younger, neither. He's even broken his troth with young Daisy, and they were to be married next month! The poor girl's heartbroken. Then he moved out to that barracks with the others and now he doesn't even come to see us any more." Lotheemas put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for your trouble," he said, "but what do you want us to do?" Hope lit her face for a moment. "You're in charge," she said, "I thought you could, you know, have a word, find out what's wrong with him?"
"Is he the only one acting strangely?" Neidric asked, and Lotheemas took the chance to cast Detect Magic and Discern Lies. "I don't know all the mothers well enough to say, but Widow Crumby's son Karl still lives at home and comes back for his dinners." (true) "He was ever so proud to be doing his part by joining the militia, proud of his new spear and armour. He's a good boy." (true) Lotheemas coughed, and delicately aluded to the possibility that Kerrigan might have discovered a preference for men after joining up. Goodwife Dalius blushed and looked embarrassed, and insisted that her son wasn't on 'the other team' - "a mother knows these things!" - and again was telling the truth - as far as she knew, anyway.
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Lotheemas promised to look into the matter, and Goodwife Dalius bustled off, full of grateful thanks. Although this might be no more than a young man spreading his wings and getting off his apron strings, they decided to investigate and Lotheemas arranged to 'accidentally' bump into Kerrigan in the village an hour or so later.
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He still had Detect Magic running, and scrutinzed the lad with it, discovering no more than the tiny traces left where someone had been magically healed at some time in the recent past; a training injury perhaps. Stopping the youth, the priest explained that he was doing a review of the militiamen's progress and seeking their feedback on how the training was going. He made a very good job of this story, to the point that Kerrigan began to speak enthusiastically, warmly praising his commander and giving a thumbnail review of the progress of his comrades.
Lotheemas thanked Kerrigan and moved on, locating several of the others and having the same conversation. He gained an impression of a loyal and well-knit group of strongly motivated men, proud and glad to be 'doing their bit' to protect their village, respectful of the party as their overall lords, but most of all loyal to their captain, Cherm.
 DM Note: DM note - it was Ben bought the belt buckle, so Steve's character didn't know Daisy ahead of time. |
Meanwhile, Lothalla the sorceress had gone to visit Saypon the silversmith to check on the broken engagement story. After all, if Daisy was ugly or a shrew, this might help explain why he'd broken troth with her! Pretending to be seeking some suitably mystic jewellry, the young Nhasedan sorted through the silversmith's wares, chatting easily about all manner of pieces of village news. Finally she worked around to asking after his family, including his daughter.
"Oh, poor Daisy," said Saypon sadly, "I suppose you've heard? Her betrothed broke off their engagement a week gone. Young Kerrigan; and he seemed a good lad - I rather liked him. She's heartbroken." Daisy, it seemed, was something of a catch - Kerrigan Dalius had beaten off stiff competition from several other suitors to win her - but now had abandoned her without explanation.
Lothalla selected a piece of silverwork, paid and left, deep in thought.
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Galaecien the bard and Twenty Ocloth the sorcerer had decided to go and take a quiet look at the barracks. Prepared with Cat's Grace, Invisibility and disguises, the pair slipped into the new barracks and secreted themselves in the rafters where they could see the training floor and awaited developments.
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Around half-past seven the doors opened and Cherm entered, accompanied by some of his militiamen. After some preliminaries, the training session began, with Cherm supervising, demonstrating and occasionally demonstrating. The pair watched closely, and as they did so, they formed the impression that the training he was giving them was not that required to produce guards, protectors and peacekeepers; it was the kind of training that produced hardened, merciless soldiers. A small group of five were treated as elite or advanced students, and received more sophisticated training.
At this point, a knock on the door announced the arrival of Neidric, Lothalla and Lotheemas, 'come to see how they were getting on'. After some pleasantries, the session resumed, with Lotheemas and Neidric watching the fighting and Lothalla slightly distracted by the agile youths, well-muscled and shining slightly with sweat. Another fact was becoming apparent; Cherm himself was more than a match for any of the students he was training - and some of those were impressively competent fighters.
"Maybe Kerrigan did the right thing," whispered Neidric to Lotheemas, "if they need to be totally dedicated to the job." Lotheemas shook his head. "Too far," he said, "if they alienate themselves, turn into the sort of thing they should be defending the village from." The priest quietly re-cast his Discern Lies spell.
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As the session wound up, Neidric and Lotheemas congratulated Cherm on his work, and commented that the militia were better fighters than they would have expected. "Come the day, they'll do what needs to be done." said Cherm. "What day is that?" asked Neidric sharply. Cherm hesitated for an instant before responding, "The next attack on the village, naturally." Lotheemas knew that he lied.
Galaecien worked her way down to floor level and faked 'coming in through the door'. By the time she entered she had Detect Magic running, and was intrigued to discover that Cherm radiated quite strong magic; not from any item, but the way a person Charmed or enchanted might do.
Neidric declared that he was inclined to stand the men ales at the Slaughtered Tankard, to a general cheer, and the gathering moved convivially off to the inn to celebrate what appeared to be the approval of the village's patron heroes, leaving Twenty Ocloth high in the rafters. Once he was sure they were all gone, he climbed down and began to search the barracks.
Several rounds of ale later, most of the militia were quite relaxed and amiable. When Neidric suggested that they round the evening off with a visit - on him - to Hessil's small but well-run brothel out near the whoregate, the younger members of the force cheered and gathered around. As the bustle was at it's height, Lotheemas cast a Dispel Magic as surreptitiously as possible at Cherm. As he felt the spell fail to break whatever magic Cherm was affected by, the militia captain's head whipped around and for an instant levelled a hot glare directly at the priest. He'd felt it! A moment later he turned away and was all bluff bonhomie again, leaving Lotheemas deep in thought. Cherm and his elite - and a few of the men with wives or sweethearts or stern mothers - declined politely and prepared to depart for the barracks to turn in. Grinning and jesting, the dwarf guided his eager party out down Eastway towards Hessil's.
Slipping into a corner, Galaecien cast a Clairvoyance and tracked the elite as they headed for the barracks.
Working carefully, Twenty Ocloth had searched through the barracks, paying particular attention to Cherm's quarters and office. He found two things that interested him; buried under the other paperwork, an order for weapons and armour - far better than the militia had any right to be equipped with - from a smithy in Raden; and the fact that, of his reasonable selection of clothing, Cherm seemed to only wear one of two nearly identical outfits. The ratman couldn't put his paw on it - clothes were rather less important to his people - but there was something odd about the feel of this.
His head whipped around as he caught the sound of the door opening. Cherm and his elite were returning! Twenty Ocloth waited his moment, and slipped out on stealthy paws as they opened the door, but as he did so he overheard Cherm say "We can't allow the priest to interfere with things," . The ratman was going to try to escape from the barracks, but this changed his mind, and he slipped invisibly back inside to listen.
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Rather to his aggravation, that was the end of the conversation, and the militiamen started the process of turning in for the night. Twenty Ocoloth lurked and watched, until only Cherm was left. As the Ratman looked on, Cherm did his final rounds and finally retired to his own room .. in complete darkness. Twenty Ocloth's mind raced. His kind could see far better in poor light than humans, but even he couldn't see once Cherm had doused the last lantern. Before that, he'd noted the very great precision and accuracy of the man's actions, echoing the meticulous order of the whole place; now, it was quite clear that there was more to Cherm than just a militiaman.
Twenty Ocloth let himself out and headed back to rejoin the others.
Something - perhaps a tiny sliver of a touch of the love his God had for him - stirred Lotheemas to wakefulness. He blinked and opened his eyes - and then froze. Something was lying on his chest - and it had moved. As he became more aware, he realized that it was slithering and coiling across his chest to the accompaniment of a low hissing.
There was a snake on his chest.
Beads of sweat dotted Lotheemas' forehead. He considered calling to Neidric in the next room for help, but remembered that the dwarf was still happily carousing at Hessil's. Slowly, gently, moving as little as possible, the priest released the power of his God into a Delay Poison spell. The snake moved a little more but the stab of pain he dreaded did not come. He breathed slowly and carefully for a few more moments, then repeated the process, now sheathed in sweat, to cast a Speak with Animals spell. This time his movements were just a little more pronounced and the snake reared up, preparing to strike.
"Hello," said Lotheemas, in its' own language.
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The reptile paused. "What?" it snarled, very bad-temperedly. "I'm a friend," said Lotheemas reasonably. "What are you doing here?" The snake lowered its' head slightly. "I was comfortably asleep under my rock and some human picked me up and dumped me here!" it snapped bad-temperedly. "Who was it?" asked Lotheemas interestedly, despite his peril. "You all look the same to me," said the snake, "boots and nostrils, mostly - but I'd know his scent again."I'll take you back to your rock if you like," offered the priest. "Very well," agreed the snake.
Later that morning, the party gathered to consider the matter. It was agreed that there was something clearly very different - and wrong - about Cherm, recruited from a trade to the militia a year ago, sole survivor of the orc assault by luck rather than skill, and now a skilled and ruthless fighter and trainer, apparently suborning the militia for his own ends. "We must confront him with this," said Galaecien, "how he reacts will tell us more."
Ten minutes later, the whole party was outside the door to the Barracks. Lothalla was preparing a spell of unlocking but Galaecien was in full flight and stepped up to thunder on the door with a fist. Barging past the befuddled trainee who opened it, she stomped in and straight through to Cherm's room.
Which was empty.
Four men - two elite, and two less advanced - were missing from the main barracks as well, with all their gear. Kerrigan was still present, and his declaration that none of those remaining knew where they had gone or why was the truth, according to Discern Lies. The four missing men were generally regarded as Cherm's closest. "Why are you here?" he asked. When the party attempted to explain to the men that their leader was perhaps something of a bad'un, they became agitated and angry, and it took a Calm Emotions to restore order.
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As they left, Lothalla picked up one of Cherm's dirty shirts and took it along. Outside she worked a Summoning. A shimmer of blue light formed into a circle, and when it faded, a warg hulked darkly in front of her. The sorceress held out the shirt. "Can you track him?" she asked. The warg looked a little puzzled, so Lotheemas used another Speak with Animals and explained. Neidric stepped forward. "Oh, yes, he'll be riding along," added the priest. The warg looked at him. "I have to obey, and I can track," it said, "just promise never to tell anyone, ever, that a dwarf rode on me! Orcs ride wargs, and only if they earn it."
An hour or so after setting off, all the party - and especially Galaecien and Lotheemas - felt something subtle shift - and suddenly, the strange spiritual harmony of their adopted home was gone. All felt lessened, depressed, reduced by the absence, and Lotheemas noted with a sinking heart that the trail the warg was following led die-straight towards their temple...
The doors of the temple were open when they arrived. Anxiously, they hurried inside, but apart from a hasty searching the place appeared largely undisturbed. The altar, though, had been shoved aside to reveal a secret compartment - unknown to the party - beneath... which was empty.
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Lotheemas glanced around desperately, and his eye lit on a tiny form moving in a corner. It was a literal church mouse, and he wasted no time in casting Speak with Animals on it. Speaking gently he asked it whether it had seen what happened. "Oh, yes, some humans were here in the night," it squeaked, "made a hole and took something made of that stuff you humans use, what is it? Metal, that's it. Shiny metal." The priest gave the mouse some bread from his pack and the party hastened outside to resume tracking.
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However good a fighter Cherm might have been, he was no woodsman, and even without the warg they were able to follow his tracks. They led away from the Temple and almost due north, into the hills that surrounded the temple's caldera and shielded the village from the Desolation.
Two more hours work brought them to the end of the trail. Silently, they gathered and regarded it. Dark and shadowed, a sense of oppressive evil oozed from its' black maw, chilling the spirits of those who knew they must pass its' arch....
Session Date: 28th Aug 2012