“It is not the function of our Government to keep the citizen from falling into error; it is the function of the citizen to keep the Government from falling into error.”
5-1: Convincing the Town
Following their visit to Mayor Jamtoes, Brevan regrouped his comrades at the local tavern in order to recount the experience. “Did we get anything useful from Mayor Jamtoes?” He asked hopefully.
“Plenty,” Shuriel said triumphantly with a smirk as he pulled out several documents stamped with the Mayor’s own waxen seal. “These documents are proof of illegal embezzlement on Jamtoes’s part. His contractors probably wanted paper documentation to use for taxation; it records the massive amount of Gullykin funds that Jamtoes spent buying his narcissistic art collection.”
“Also,” Jewel added, pulling several large books from his magical backpack, “We got him on missing persons cases; that place the Mayor wanted us to visit, Goldmeadow Mountain. According to his record keeping, there’s been several groups of people over the past quarter-century that he’s sent off to that place for some reason. The entries are blank, but all of them are listed as missing; assumed dead as their current status.”
“So he’s been sending people off to their deaths in the Lich’s Lair?” Zerrik asked sternly, his brow furrowed in thought.
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Excuse me for keeping us on-track with this crazy plan of yours, Brevan, but aside from Shuriel’s documents, I don’t see how we’re going to get the people of Gullykin on our side. People don’t just up and revolt for no reason, and these people are absolutely hopeless. They’re not going to just rally to your cause.”
“Well, Omar, if you want a more technical by-the-books approach, I just might have a solution for you,” Jewel said as she replaced the dusty tome into her satchel, only to pull out a second, even older book.
“Gullykin is something of a hick town; these halflings don’t care much for politics at all. It’s probably one of the reasons Mayor Jamtoes has stayed in office for so long. Because of this, it’s relatively simple to get the Mayor evicted from his office. All we need is two-thirds of the down to agree on a new mayor, and boom, he’s out on the streets.”
“Thatl’s all well and good, but how exactly do we get the entire town on our side?” Zerrik asked, looking slightly annoyed.
“That’s easy,” Shuriel replied. “Mob psychology. We get all of the halflings together and we pull the wool off their eyes. Get them to see how much of an ass Mayor Jamtoes actually is. Some of the halflings will get mad, and before you know it, the entire town will devolve into an angry mob in favor of Brevan as their new mayor. All we need is a way to get the entire town together.”
“The Autumnwax Festival!” Brevan shouted, slapping his palms together. “It’s a yearly festival that we celebrate here in Gullykin. We used to do it as a celebration of the year’s harvest, before the town lost its farming grounds. Mayor Jamtoes hosts the celebration every year regardless; there’s good, games, booze, everything, and it’s all free. It’s the biggest event of the year; no one ever misses it,” Breven quickly explained after seeming the confused looks on the faces around their table. Slowly but surely, each of his companions began to grin. Not wishing to waste his steam, Brevan continued.
“The festival is in two days. That means we have two days to set everything up for our big reveal. We need to stack as much evidence against Mayor Jamtoes as possible in that time.”
“Shuriel and I can try to talk some of the contractors into spilling their guts about their illegitimate transactions. We could offer to ‘overlook’ them if they agree to speak out against the Mayor,” Omar offered.
“I can head down to the festival grounds and make sure that we keep Jamtoes corralled up after we spring the trap,” Jewel added, her eyes sparkling like her dagger’s steel with excitement.
“I could go around and try to inspire some of the locals. Put them in a hopeful mood,” Zerrik offered, “We could even supply the festivities to an extent and maybe put a logo on it associated with you, Brevan. Drag people on our side by their stomachs.”
Brevan’s face radiated the excitement of a young boy on his birthday, staring at a cherished present in anticipation. After they had finished their meals and drinks, Brevan returned to his parent’s home while the others made camp outside of Gullykin, confident in their plan to swipe the town out from Jamtoes’s wobbly feet.
5-2: Springing the Trap
The next day, the day before the Gullykin Autumnwax Festival, Brevan and his friends were hard at work putting their plans into action. Omar and Shuriel made rounds not only across Gullykin, but to Sigmar as well, inquiring about the various, shady deals that Jamtoes had struck with various merchants and organizations. With a little bit of ‘persuading’ with Shuriel’s silver tongue and Omar’s lead bullets, the pair were able to dig up all of the confessions they needed to burn Mayor Jamtoes at the stake.
Jewel and Zerrik, who had both opted to stay in Gullykin, found that their task was no less time-consuming. Zerrik made his way around town, from tavern to inn to town square, stirring up public interest by proclaiming that, “change is coming.” Jewel, on the other hand, stayed at the festival grounds and helped the halflings set up their festival; building stages and raising tents. While she was there, she offered the advice that small railings be placed along the stage where Jamtoes would give his speech; the workers agreed to do so for safety, but Jewel was thinking of everything but the Mayor’s well-being. She hoped that with her modifications, shuld Jamtoes try to run, he would have nowhere to go.
When they had finished their tasks, Zerrik, Jewel, Shuriel, and Omar each returned to Sigmar City at Brevan’s request. Having magically sent them directions to a local inn, all four of them were shocked by what Brevan had accomplished during the day. Brevan had bought a large wagon and several horses to pull it to the festival. Inside of the wagon, various merchants were quickly running about, filling it with food, ale, and other party supplies. There was easily more food in the one wagon than all of Gullykin, and the deliverers kept coming.
“Excellent,” Brevan said excitedly as each member of his team recounted their activites to him. “We’ll easy win over Gullykin; nothing Jamtoes could possibly do could ruin our chances at pulling his office right out from under him!”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Zerrik wandered. "You wouldn’t want to get full of yourself and insult your people on stage.
“I agree. We’ve done all we could to help you in this task, just like you asked of us, but once you get up on that stage, there isn’t anything we can do or say that’ll make good on an idiotic remark,” Jewel added.
“I’m not worried at all,” Brevan responded. “No one made any mistakes. We have all the cards in our hands. Nothing could possibly go wrong tomorrow.”
5-3: The Great Show
The five adventurers loaded up their wagon and set off for Gullykin at midday, knowing that the trip would get them to the festival at sunset; exactly when Mayor Jamtoes was set to make his big speech. As they traveled, Brevan used his magic to mark each and every box, crate, or jug that the wagon held with his personal symbol; hoping to stir an extra fuss by branding everything, including the wagon, with his image. Shuriel even spent the day crafting potions, allowing Brevan to brand a set of healing equipment so that Shuriel could further promote Brevan’s cause by bringing good health to the town.
They arrived perfectly on schedule; their hired help drove the cart directly into the middle of the Gullykin festival just as Mayor Jamtoes was in the middle of the driest, most arduous portion of his yearly speech to the people of Gullykin. Brevan stood up among the various carts and boxes on the wagon and called out to the halflings of Gullykin.
“Hello, people of Gullykin! I bring you tidings of a better time, and promises for a better tomorrow for yourselves, your children, and your children’s children! However, we can talk about this later,” Brevan said quickly, keeping his speech as brief as possible for effect, “like, after we’ve had the best Autumnwax feast in recent memory!” Brevan lefted up several bottles of the finest dwarven ale in Sigmar and lightly tossed them out of the wagon, to several of the younger halfling men in the crowd; scarely younger than Brevan himself. The two lads stared blankly at Brevan for several seconds before turning to one another, grinning wildly, and clanking their bottles together.
Within moments, the people of Gullykin crowded around the wagon, reaching out for boxes, barrels, whatever they could grab. Omar and Jewel hoisted the crates from the wagon and got them to the cooks of Gullykin, wide-eyed at the quality ingredients that were being handed to them while Zerrik and Shuriel pulled out kegs of elven wine and dwarven ale, handing mugs out to every man and woman. Brevan was pulled from the wagon and pushed around from person to person, having his hair rustled, his back patted, and even his cheek kissed by a fair dame or two; and plenty who weren’t fair at all. All the while, Jamtoes stood on his stage, lost for words and looking completely bewildered as Brevan Kindlebrin literally stole the stage from him.
After about an hour of merriment went buy including drinking, eating, and dancing. The kegs started to get lighter, which prompted Shuriel to seek out Brevan.
“I hate to interrupt your pleasantries, Brevan, but it has occurred to me that, given their smaller statures, the people of your village may reach levels of intoxication within the next thirty minutes that could hamper the decision-making process to the point where their opinions on electing you Mayor of Gullykin may be invalidated.” Brevan, who had already partaken in a few drinks, started quizzically at Shuriel.
“I think he’s trying to tell you to get your tail up their on stage and become this town’s mayor already!” Jewel responded as she pushed her way past several halflings, both of whom were nearly sent toppling over by her attempts to reach Brevan and Shuriel.
“Oh? Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Brevan asked as he dropped his mug onto the soft, damp ground and made his way to the now-vacant stage.
“My fellows!” Brevan yelled out to the ground, the noise and festivities slowly dying down to accommodate the party’s man of the hour. Omar, Shuriel, and Jewel dispersed themselves across the field in case something went wrong and Zerrik stood at the base of the stage to guard Brevan if needed. Several armed human guards watched Brevan with concern, no doubt were worried for the safety of their charge; the Hand of Sigmar. They had no need to worry, Brevan smirked to himself as he continued his speech.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves tonight. How was the party?” Brevan was answered by the satisfied cheers of his village, growing louder and louder by the moment. “I’m glad! We deserve a night of merriment, an oasis of blessings among the desert that has been the past two decades of life here in Gullykin. And my friends, I can tell you with certainty that, come next Autumnwax, we can together throw an even larger festival; one the likes of witch none of us has ever seen in their lifetime!” Brevan paused for a moment, content to let the cheering die down. In the crowd, Jewel and Shuriel were surprised by how rowdy a group of people so small could become; objects were accidentally spilled, knocked over, and smashed in the process of the halfling’s cheering.
“All we need to do,” Brevan began as the cheering dwindled, the halflings of Gullykin clinging to his every word at this point, “is figure out what is causing us from moving forward, from progressing and making life better for our children than it was for ourselves. But what, or should I say, who, could be the cause of this? Well, I’ll tell you who; your Mayor!” All eyes turned to Mayor Jamtoes, who sat in the middle of the festival grounds under one of the pavilions, a large piece of meat in his hand. His eyes darted around from accusing face to accusing face, clearly beginning to panic. Surprisingly, the stout man worked up his nerve and, as Jewel had hoped, darted up to the stage and hopped onto the stage.
“That’s preposterous! I have given my life to making this town prosper!”
“Then why hasn’t it, Jamtoes? Things have only gotten worse since you sold our land to Duke Sigmar! We, the halflings of Gullykin, have followed you to near oblivion and have nothing to show for it, while you line our streets with surreal statues of yourself, sculpt busts of your own hideous face for your home, and line your walls with the most elaborate luxuries known on this earth.” Not expecting such a remark, Jamtoes became silent as he twiddled his thumbs. Shuriel saw his chance and began inciting the halflings around him, throwing out remarks like, “Yeah, he’s right!” and “Where’s our prosperity, Jamtoes?” into the crowd. Within moments, the once happy party-goers had devolved into a mob, screaming wildly at Mayor Jamtoes.
Mayor Jamtoes was not completely out of tricks yet, however. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper and started screaming wildly. “Look! Look at this document! Brevan is a no-good crook! He had one of his allies forge a government document and he left it in MY desk to try and frame me!”
“You can’t prove that I or any of my companions wrote that,” Brevan said with venom in his voice. “Besides, we don’t need to plant false documents to prove you’re a crook. All we had to do was go around and speak to the various people whom you hired to sculpt and paint you. We have your tax information as well, and according to that information, the people of Gullykin are entitled to a silver piece each a year in tax refunds. Where’s that money, Jamtoes?” Mayor Jamtoes started sweating as the more intelligent members of the mob figured out what Brevan was implying.
“You mean that no-good two-timing cheat built that ugly statue with OUR money?”
“He’s supposed to give us silver every year? He owes us each nearly two gold a piece now!” Jamtoes quickly was turning white as his people rebelled around him.
“I think I have heard enough.” Almost immediately, the halflings silenced themselves as Donald Dubell, the Hand of Sigmar strode to the stage where Brevan and Jamtoes were standing. Dressed in fine clothing, his bodyguards bowed as he signaled for them to move aside. Donald joined Brevan on the stage, clearing his throat twice before speaking.
“As the Hand of Sigmar, our lord Duke Sigmund, it is my sworn duty to enforce the will of Sigmar’s people. Mayor Jamtoes,” Dubell’s voice was a hammer striking an anvil; Brevan flinched at the strength behind the older man’s voice Mayor Jamtoes nearly fell over from his conviction.
“You stand before your people as not only a crook, but a tyrant. People of Gullykin, it is up to you to decide. Are the Mayor’s crimes great enough for his office to be forever stripped?” Dubell was greeted almost immediately with a resounding burst of outcries, all of them screaming for Jamtoes to be removed from office.
“I believe your people have made their choice, Jameson. As the Hand of Sigmar, I hearby strip you of your rank and title not only within this town, but throughout Sigmar City as well as the entire nation of Sigmar.” Mayor Jamtoes collapsed, sobbing wildly into his grubby hands, still stained from the meat he had been eating not five minutes earlier.
“But … but you can’t listen to him! He’s tainted! I know he is! He used magic on my boy!”
“Get this pathetic man off of the stage,” Dubell waved his hand and his guards obeyed, lifting Jamtoes by his forearms and tossing him off of the stage, where he landed in the soggy mud with a splash. His fine clothes were ruined, and much to the enjoyment of his former subjects, the ground was noticeably dented where he had landed. Jamtoes got up and sulked away from the festival grounds, the people of Gullykin paying him no heed.
“With Jamtoes gone,” Dubell continued, “There comes the problem of whom will represent your town in the Sigmarian government. Do the people of Gullykin have a canidate?” There were murmers throughout the crowd. With no definitive answer, Dubell continued, “Let the will of Gullykin’s people be heard!”
“Brevan Kindlebrin,” Every face in the crowd turned towards the person who had called out Brevan’s name. It was a young halfling man, one of the very same whom Brevan had originally given the first bottle of dwarven ale to. His friend looked at him, surprised, but soon replied, “Yeah! I pick Kindlebrin!” Slowly, the entire crowd murmered his name, their whispers growing into statements, their statements becoming exclamtions and then bolstered further still to cheers and yelps, until all of Gullykin had affirmed its choice for their next Mayor; Brevan Kindlebrin.
The people of Gullykin lifted Brevan off of the stage and chanted his name. Brevan found his parents, who, for the first time in nearly 12 years, embraced him and smiled, telling him over and over again how proud they were of him. This was heaven for Brevan, and it hardly seemed fair when Donald Dubell approached Brevan with an air of urgency.
“I’m afraid you and I must return to Sigmar City at once, Brevan. We need to make this official; fill out all of the paperwork and whatnot.”
“Paperwork? Can’t it wait until tomorrow? I kind of have a victory party going on here!”
“I am afraid not, we have standards for such events, Mr. Kindlebrin.” Brevan sighed deeply.
“Very well, I will accompany you.”
“Excellent!” Dubell exclaimed, clapping his hands for emphasis. “I will round up my bodyguards and we’ll leave at once. Is that man in the suit of armor your bodyguard?”
“Something like that,” Brevan smirked.
“Ah, I see, well, gather him up and let’s be off.” Debell then left, gesturing to his men and no doubt informing them to get their carriage ready. Brevan, meanwhile approached Zerrik, who was conversing nonchalantly with Shuriel.
“Excuse me, Zerrik, but the Hand of Sigmar has just informed me that I need to step away from the party and get things in order down in Sigmar City for us to take over Jamtoes’ responsibilities and estates. You’ve been invited to come, are you interested?”
“I … well, alright,” Zerrik said sheepishly.
“Very well! Let’s head out; Shuriel, can you handle things here with Jewel and Omar?”
“I … uh, yeah. Sure.” Shuriel watched as Brevan and Zerrik headed off, the irony of a party of halflings been left to an elf and two drow not lost to him.
Not an hour had past before Shuriel’s original predictions had proven true; the halflings, not used to the delicacies that now lay before them, overindulged in the festivities, and quickly many of the halflings gathered themselves up and left the festival grounds; those who remained and quickly set about lighting fires and torches so that one could see in the encroaching darkness. The halflings had taken to dancing, and while they were invited to join, neither Shuriel nor his drow companions felt comfortable dancing among people half of their height.
It was Jewel, with her healthy paranoia and Underworld-accustom eyes that spotted danger first; a small figure, a halfling, was running quickly towards the festival grounds. It ran towards the grounds from the Jamtoes mansion, but Jewel barely had time to feel dread before the halfling ran past here and shoved her into a stand; the shoddy wood gave way and sent Jewel to the ground, covered in the various food and drink that it had been holding beforehand.
The halfling darted towards Omar, who pulled his blunderbuss from his back and cocked it, ready to shoot. Omar wasn’t quick enough, however, as the figure ran up directly in front of Omar and kicked up hard, sending the blunderbuss flying into the air. Before Omar could reward, the halfling dripped Omar and sent him tumbling to the ground as well. Shuriel rushed in, grappling a broken bit of Jewel’s stand to use as a club, but the halfling jumped on top of him and forced him to the ground.
“Where the hell is Brindlekin?” The halfling stammered, the stench of alcohol saturating the air he exhaled.
“I’m afraid I’m quite puzzled; I don’t know any man called Brindlekin,” Shuriel smirked. His cunning earned him a punch to the face, his noise shattered on the impact and began gushing blood all over himself and his assailant.
“You fucking know what I mean, elf. Fuck if I care what you call him. Brindlekin, Kindlebrin, some gods-damned thing! Where in the Nine Hells is Brevan?”
“You won’t find him here,” Jewel chimed in. “He left for Sigmar City. He’s gone to make his new mayor-ship official, and when he gets back, he’ll see to that your ass rots in jail for attacking us.” The halfling smirked and got up off of Shuriel, kicking his makeshift club aside.
“Girlie, I don’t care about whatever titles that little shit’s gotten. He’s had his ass set for a kicking for a long time, and after twelve long years, it’s finally time for him to pay his dues in blood.” And with that, the halfling races off towards Sigmar City.
“Jewel, I think you just might have given him a little too much information.” Omar said as he collected his gun.
“Who was that, anyway?” Jewel asked as she pulled bits of splintered wood from her hair."
“That was the town drunk, Joppy Jamtoes,” one of the halflings piped up; a youth who had watched the entire exchange with wide eyes. “Ma and Pa always said that he was bad news and a good fighter, but I had no idea ….”
“Kid, why does that guy hate Brevan so much?” Shuriel asked quickly, looking worried.
“Well, the grown-ups say that wen Brevan was little, he zapped Joppy real good. Lost his temper or something and ended up in jail for a long time for it! Joppy never got over it, though. He never liked magic to begin with and Brevan almost killed him. He got real sad when he found out that Brevan wasn’t here, and that’s why he’s the town drunk.”
“Shit,” Shuriel cursed under his breath. “We need to go to Sigmar. Now. Brevan’s in trouble.”
“Why?” Jewel asked. “You heard the kid, Brevan beat him once before.”
“Are you serious? Did you SEE Joppy back there? Maybe if we were all there, we could take him but it’s just Zerrik and Brevan. They’re dead if we don’t get there soon. Then all of this work will have been wasted.” Shuriel gathered his supplies quickly and rushed out into the field, Jewel and Omar close behind him.
“What on earth do you plan on doing, Shuriel?” Jewel asked, completely out of breath.?
“There!” Shuriel pointed. Off in the distance were two horses, stabled off of a nearby tree by some local merchants who made the annual travel to Gullykin. “We’ll take these now and give them back later. There’s no time!” Shuriel hopped onto a horse and Jewel onto the other. Omar began to climb on back of Shuriel’s but the elf pushed him back.
“It’s not big enough for two people, Omar.”
p, “Then what the hell am I supposed to do?” Shuriel reached into his satchel and pulled out a potion, throwing it at Omar.
“It’s a potion of expeditious retreat. Have fun running!” Shuriel smacked the whips of his steed and road off, leaving a confused and angered drow behind him.
5-5: Mayor Melee
Several hours later, night had completely crept up on Sigmar City as Brevan and Zerrik left the office of the Hand of Sigmar. Dubell had bored both men nearly to tears with what had seemed to be a near-endless stream of paperwork and explanations for each document. Brevan slipped a large stack of papers into his satchel as the two started walking down the dimly-lit streets, passing the time with a bit of a chatter.
“I hope you never drag me to anything as dull as that again, Kindlebrin,” Zerrik grumbled.
“I agree that it was pretty boring, Zerrik. But look on the bright side; they gave me this awesome mayor’s hat!” Brevan enthused as he slipped the small, black velvet cap onto his forehead with a grin.
“Take that filthy hat off of your head, Kindlebrin!” Neither Zerrik nor Brevan had time to react before a shadowy figure jumped down from a roof, landing in between both men, the force of his jump knocking Brevan’s hat off of his brow with a fairly strong breeze. The halfling reeked of alcohol, and he stared at Brevan with utter loathing.
The halfling, for Brevan and Zerrik could both see their assailant’s height now, wasted no time in pleasantries. With a quick motion, he spun his lead around and bashed Zerrik in the knee, sending the armored giant toppling to the ground. He then pushed Brevan up against a wall and began pounding his face in with blow after blow; Brevan didn’t recognize the man at all.
“Who … are you?” Brevan asked between punches to the face and gut.
“You fucking have the gall to forget who I am?” The halfling roared as he toss Brevan to the ground in a heap. Zerrik braced himself with the hilt of his great ax and pushed himself back up into a standing position.
“Jamtoes. Joppy Jamtoes. That guy whose life you wrecked twelve years ago!” A flash of understanding followed by a surge of anger entered Brevan’s eyes.
“Me? Wreck your life? I got sent to prison for ten years!” Brevan yelled as he pulled himself back onto his feat.
“I hate to cut this argument short,” Zerrik said as he swung his ax at Joppy, striking him in the back and leaving a trail of blood down his spine. “But your attack was a mistake, Jamtoes.” As Zerrik gripped his ax, the wound on Jamtoes’ back suddenly started oozing black lightning with flicked like darkness even against the night sky’s backdrop. Jamtoes screamed in pain and backed away from Zerrik with fear in his eyes."
“Screw you!” Jamtoes retorted as he gathered his body’s strength in his hands. A small amount of concentration allowed him to fire that physical and mental strength as a beam of fire, drenching both Zerrik and Brevan in its flames. Several seconds earlier, Brevan had taken Jamtoes’s distraction to cast a spell of invisibility on himself, hoping to support Zerrik from afar. However, his plan backfired as Joppy’s fiery wrath descended upon him, the pain so overwhelming that he collapsed on the spot. Zerrik fared little better, his armor scorched and his face badly burned. More than anything, however, Zerrik was amazed that Joppy could still be standing after his last, powerful attack.
“And now, you’re going to die here today, you and Brevan,” Joppy sneered, hiccuping between every few words. He slowly made his way towards Zerrik, again pooling his ki into another burst of energy, when suddenly both combatants heard the sound of many people running. Armed men and woman in various degrees of armor rounded the corner. Their eyes were obscured by visors on their helmets, but both Zerrik and Joppy knew that they were staring right at both of them. Joppy let out a wheeze of a laugh.
“Heh, now you’re fucked. They’re the Mage-Slayers.”
“You’re under arrest for breaking the Anti-Magic Act!” One of the Mage-Slayers said, by his frame and stature, probably a muscular human. Looking at the crowd, Zerrik could make out Jewel, who was watching from the shadows. Zerrik didn’t dare to allow any relief into his heart; what good could one drow do against half a dozen armed Mage-Slayers in addition to the likes of Jamtoes?
“Wait, good sirs and madams,” Several members of the Mage-Slayers turned around, and with their movement, Zerrik could make out Shuriel, huffing and wheezing. He had obviously darted to the scene, though Jewel appeared to have gotten their sooner.
“What do you want, civilian?” The human, who was probably the captain of this patrol, asked gruffly.
“Nothing much, it’s just that man over there,” Shuriel pointed towards Zerrik, who lowered his ax partially in respect but equally in fatigue from his battle with Jamtoes. “He’s not using magic at all. I’m an alchemist by trade, you see, and he was using one of my potions tonight when I assume that this cur,” Shuriel then gestured fleetingly towards Joppy for emphasis. “No doubt attacked him. Now, since there is nothing illegal about using potions in Sigmar …,”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The captain said, clearly annoyed by Shuriel’s talking. “We’ll see about that. Holland, scan the area for magic.” The captain gestured to one of his subordinates, clearly a mephian by the merit of his large, bukly tail alone. The Mage-Slayer called Holland saluted to his captain and began scanning the area for magic, ironically, with magic. After about half a minute of scanning the street, he turned back to his commanding officer to report.
“No signs of magical energy on the man, sir, but the halfling is covered with magical energy. Looks like something big; the whole street is covered with residual evocation and illusion magic!”
“Very good, soldier. Take him away.” The captain said. At his command, the Mage-Slayers gathered around Joppy and cuffed him behind his back. Zerrik noted almost immediately that at least one of the Mage-Slayers was suppressing magic in the vacinity, and sure enough, unnoticed by the Mage-Slayers, thankfully, Zerrik could once again make out one of Brevan’s hands and part of his head. He noted were Brevan was but made no movements, lest to alert the Mage-Slayers of the sorcerer’s presence.
“You, you can’t fucking do this to me! I ain’t no god-damned mage!” Jamtoes bellowed as the Mage-Slayers carried him off. As soon as the Mage-Slayers had rounded the corner, Zerrik groped around where he had seen Brevan and scooped the halfling up into his arms like a small boy. Bevan was breathing heavily, undoubtedly wounded. Zerrik slipped one of his metal gauntlets off and called out to Set, his god, and prayed for the energy to heal Brevan of his wounded. Several seconds of meditation were enough, as he heard Brevan’s breathing become less sporadic. Soon after, Zerrik could feel Brevan rousing in his arms.
“Wait … what happened? Where’s Jamtoes? Did we win?”
“Sort of,” Shuriel said as he and Jewel got closer. Shuriel reached into his pouch and pulled a crimson potion from within the satchel and handed it to Zerrik, who quickly pulled its cork out and downed the contents in one gulp. He immediately felt invigorated as wounds healed and closed across his body.
“Much better. Thank you.” He replied.
“Your welcome. Anyway, the Mage-Slayers came. I think they mistook your invisibility spell for some doing of Jamtoes’s and carted him away.” Brevan snickered at the thought of Jamtoes in the Mage-Slayer’s prison.
“That’s too good for him, but alas, he does have some power of his own. Whatever he did to Zerrik and I back there, it was almost exactly like the scorching ray spell, though at the same time, it wasn’t.”
“It was probably some monk trick,” Zerrik offered.
“Yes, but I fear for the worst. If Jewel hadn’t encountered the Mage-Slayers and inadvertently warned them of your fight, you two might be dead right now.”
“I see. Thank you, Jewel,” Zerrik replied while Brevan looked around.
“Ah, yes. Omar. Well, there weren’t enough horses for us all to get here as quickly as he did, so Omar was kind enough to stay at Gullykin,” Shuriel smiled as he spoke.
“I see. Well, I had several inn rooms lined up for Zerrik and myself, but I suppose I could get another two for you and Jewel for the night. Let’s make haste.” Brevan said, standing up. Zerrik picked up his ax and scanned the street where he had almost died one last time before turning his back to it and following his friends into the night.
5.6: More Revenge
The Innkeeper was, at first, none too thrilled of having to give more rooms to Brevan, but a small offering of gold changed the man’s mind rather quickly. He presented Jewel and Shuriel each with their key and left them to their rooms, content to sleep away the day’s aches and pains in his rented bed. Zerrik slowly removed his armor with Shuriel’s help, stacking it in a heap on the floor before letting himself drift off to sleep. Jewel pulled out her journal and quickly began recording the day’s revelations in it, glad that she had survived another night.
One last surprise was in store for Shuriel, however. He was categorizing and alphabetizing his potion stock, making sure that he had enough potions for whatever catastrophe may come his way next when he heard a light knock at the door. Curious, Shuriel walked to the door and cracked it open.
The barrel of a long blunderbuss protruded into the door and yanked it open, like a crowbar to a crate. In the hall was Omar, covered in dirt, sweat, and hay and looking extremely cross.
“Omar! Hi! Glad to see you could make it.” Omar responded by cocking his gun at Shuriel’s chest and firing. Expecting death, Shuriel was instead greeted by hundreds of small pelts that, while not fatal at all, were extremely painful. He clutched his stomach in pain.
“Salt pellets. Won’t kill you, but’ll hurt like hell,” Omar explained. “That’s for ditching me in Gullykin. I had to play piggy-back with the church of Ra to get here. They’re not very good for conversation; especially when you’re a drow.” Omar turned around and walked out of Shuriel’s room, down the hall towards his own room that he had rented just before knocking on Shuriel’s door. As he left, Shuriel muttered to himself.
“I think I might have deserved that.”
~ End Entry #5