Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

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Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

CHAPTER ONE – The Intruders

The patrons of the tavern gave a roar of approval and laughed heartily as they rose from their seats. The bard bowed appreciatively and settled down on a rickety chair against the wall. Someone flipped a silver coin and it rolled to a stop against his boot. Another mimicked the undead character in the bard’s performance, pretending to tear out his own rib and throw it across the floor. His companions slapped the fellow on the back and wiped tears of laughter from their faces as they returned to their drinks.

The bard pulled off his ragged costume and stuffed the two smooth sticks he had used for rib props into his pack. He threw the costume inside as well and dropped the load onto the floor beside his chair. Footsteps approached as he snatched the silver coin from the floor and tucked it into a pouch.

“Here ye go, then,” the barkeep announced with a broad grin as he placed a hard biscuit before the bard. Next to it he set a rough hewn bowl of steaming venison stew. He added a large tankard of ale and placed a hand on the bard’s shoulder, guffawing suddenly as if he had been holding the laugh in with great effort.

“You don’t come off as mean, he says! Haw, haw! Imagine, a holiday in the Mere. Oh, that’s a good one.” He gave the table a solid smack with his hand and turned back to his other customers.

Ladellon heaved a sigh and returned approvingly to his meal. He hadn’t eaten since that morning and certainly had not enjoyed anything as good as venison in days. He immediately began dipping the biscuit into the stew and, using a small knife, brought pieces of meat to his mouth. Just as he was about to reach for the tankard, he heard the scrape of a chair on the floor and watched as a tall, thin man approached and sat at the table opposite him.

The man wore a wide grin behind a scraggly beard and his bright eyes belied the hard life his worn frame could not hide. He was clearly in a rare mood at the moment, enjoying himself – perhaps he hadn’t enjoyed himself in ages – but morning would bring the drudgery of daily routine as it always had before.

“Bard,” he began, leaning on the table, “that was a memorable performance.” Ladellon nodded curtly and continued eating, slightly annoyed that the man felt his comment, and the ones that were sure to follow, were important enough to disrupt his meal. “You’ve brought a good amount of needed cheer to the folks hereabouts. With the winter early this year, it’ll be a miracle if we can all be here to welcome the spring.”

“Name’s Finelal, but everyone calls me Fin. I’m the mason. Oh, I know I don’t look as such,” he scratched his gaunt midsection, “but we’re all a bit leaner these days.” Fin seemed to peer into Ladellon’s eyes as if searching for something, then continued, “This may sound strange, but you bear the distinct likeness of someone that used to pass this way many years ago. Wouldn’t be from the Daggerford area, would you?”

Ladellon wiped his mouth with a sleeve and with an air of disdain, scowled, “Daggerford, you say? Been there once. Once again’d be twice too many times. What a load of uncouth brigands. More unglorified lot I’ve never met in all my travels.”

He then stood with a flourish and bowed to his guest. “Ladellon at y’service, Finney, old chap. Straight from the courts of Cormyr. A true gentleman in all respects, except when it involves a good scoff, eh!” Ladellon bowed again and sank back into his chair, tearing off a large piece of biscuit with feigned ferocity.

Fin’s smile broadened as he stood. “No, I suppose you couldn’t be related to the fellow I’m thinking about anyway. Well, it was a good show and you’ve earned that meal.” He left Ladellon and returned to his own table of friends, who stood with smiles and, imitating the bard, bowed low as he walked toward them.

Ladellon finished the stew and leaned against the wall to enjoy the remainder of his ale. Although he had never been this far north in his life, he knew the man of whom Fin had spoken and did, indeed, bear his likeness. The man was likely his own father, Lafontaine. His father had died many years ago, but must have often passed through the very village that now played host to an apparently simple, wandering bard.

Ladellon was raised in tiny Tiras, just a few miles east of Daggerford. His mother had died there last year, leaving him without any parents. Before her death, she had told him that his father was a great warrior that died battling drow near Silverymoon. His whole life, he had thought his father a modest caravan guard. His mother had protected him from the truth for fear that he would leave her and follow in his father’s noble but dangerous footsteps.

Ladellon continued to ponder his parents’ fate, sipping his ale mutedly, when a sudden crash startled him. The tavern door flew open and a rush of cold and snow swept in along with two rough-looking men. Without bothering to close the door, they stood within its frame and surveyed the room. The gathered crowd had gone instantly quiet and stared wide-eyed at the intruders. Ladellon saw one fellow along the far wall duck his head and sink low into his chair.

The two men must have seen him too for they strode over to the figure, shoving others aside. One shouted coarsely, “Git up, Lufgood! You owe us gold!”

“We don’t need any trouble in here,” the barkeep stated nervously from behind the bar.

“You want us to take ‘im outside, do ya? Wadda ya think o’ that, Tunek?” one of the brutes snarled.

The one called Tunek lifted Lufgood from his chair, slammed him against the wall, and said, “Maybe he’s not done wid ‘is ale.” He snatched the man’s tankard and tossed the contents into his face, laughing.

“I . . . I’ve got what you want,” Lufgood sputtered fearfully. “In my . . . my pouch. Just take it.”

Tunek pulled a leather pouch roughly from Lufgood’s belt and tossed it to the other ruffian who dumped its contents on the table. Several coins spilled out, including a few gold ones, and he began scooping them all into a small bag of his own. “Looks like there’s plenty in ‘ere for us too, Tunek. He won’t miss a few more coins.”

“Take what we came for and leave the rest, Portes.” Another man said sternly from the open door. He had appeared unnoticed from outside and wore a deep green cape with a hood pulled up to hide his features. “Put the poor fool down and let us go.”

There was something about this new person that made Ladellon lean forward. He recognized that voice – had heard it before – but couldn’t recall where. He watched as Tunek dropped Lufgood into his chair roughly and Portes dumped the coins back onto the table, taking just two gold ones.

The mysterious figure turned to exit the room as the two thugs followed and Ladellon caught a glimpse of the face within the hood. He started and his eyes widened with recognition. “Racarai,” he breathed softly.
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Re: Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

CHAPTER TWO – In the Footsteps of an Old Friend

Ladellon sat back in his chair, too stunned to move. Racarai had been a childhood friend from Tiras. They had shared many adventurous evenings together and Ladellon had learned from him several useful tricks on how to get about unnoticed. Racarai had also taught him the covert skill of picking locks, much to his mother’s dismay. While he had never used it for any mischievous purpose, Ladellon had nonetheless become somewhat proficient with continued practice.

Believing Racarai to be a bad influence on her son, Ladellon’s mother did not approve of their friendship. Being young, though, he had not shared his mother’s critical opinion. He came to realize her wisdom and his own poor judgment, however, when one summer evening Racarai was caught trying to steal a local merchant’s ring. He had been publicly flogged, set in irons for three days and, after his release, banished from town. Ladellon had heard no more of him since that day many years ago.

But he had now seen him at a tavern in a remote town far north of their home. What his purpose was here, Ladellon had no guesses. The gruff appearance and behavior of his two companions bestowed no confidence that his intentions were noble. Still, perhaps Racarai was only enforcing a legitimate debt owed by Lufgood. Perhaps Racarai had left his delinquent past behind and now pursued some honest, if not praiseworthy, trade. Ladellon had the sudden urge to discover the truth.

Reaching behind the chair, he grabbed his longsword and strapped its scabbard to his belt. He then secured his rebec to his satchel and threw the bundle over his shoulder. After draining the remainder of his ale, he strode quickly to the door, but found his path blocked by Fin.

“You’re not going after those oafs, are you?” the mason asked with a look of concern. “They don’t usually get that rough and, anyway, its no reason for you to risk your neck.”

“Oh, not to worry,” Ladellon smiled. “I just remembered that the foul smelling one owes me money and now I know he’s two gold richer, I aim to collect.” A few men near the door chuckled supportively at the joke and he stepped around Fin, pulling the door open.

He was met with a blast of wind as it blew the drifted snow into the tavern behind him. Quickly closing the door, he pulled his cloak tightly around him against the chill night air. There was a clear sky above and the moon was full enough to light the white landscape with a dim glow.

He searched the ground carefully and soon identified what appeared to be footprints that had been made more recently than all the others. As he followed them a bit further, three sets of prints stood out clearly and he knew they belonged to Racarai, Portes, and Tunek. He hurried his own pace as the tracks led him along a narrow road leading north from the tavern.

After a few moments, he could see three dark shapes in the road ahead. The figures were traveling at a fast pace and he followed them from a safe distance. After what seemed like half an hour, the path turned sharply ahead and one of the men glanced backward as they followed its course. Ladellon froze in mid stride and remained that way as they all disappeared around a stand of trees. He then hurried to catch up, the trees concealing his approach. As he neared the spot where the road turned, he saw that it also dipped into a shallow gully and realized the three men had stopped near a frozen stream at its bottom. They were now just yards from the trees and his position.

Ladellon dropped to the ground and quietly scurried over the snow to the biggest of the trees. He slipped off his satchel and instrument then slowly rose behind the tree until he was peering over a low branch, keeping himself completely concealed. Tunek and Portes were discussing something or, rather, arguing from their loud tones.

“I told ya to put the gold in yer puch!” Portes cuffed Tunek across the side of the head and Tunek grunted in pain. “But naw, you had to hold it in yer grubby hands! Now it’s gone!”

“I musta dropped ‘em on the road,” Tunek offered, rubbing his head. “We can go back and look for ‘em.”

“Dirt for brains!” Portes shoved Tunek this time, sending him sprawling into a drift of snow. “How are we gonna find two liddle coins in all this snow?”

Tunek pulled himself up and threw a dark look at Portes. Racarai walked up to the pair, looking less confident than he had at the tavern. His hood was down and his eyes shifted nervously between his companions as he pondered the situation. He licked his lips several times before speaking.

“We’ll just have to tell him that Lufgood could not be found.” He looked hard at Portes and Tunek in turn and continued, “We’re late anyway, as if we had spent time searching for him. So, it’ll have to be that Lufgood couldn’t be found. Can you two remember that?”

They both looked dumbly at him and replied, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Racarai pulled his hood back up and turned to continue down the road, “Well, let’s get going. No need to hurry now as our tardy arrival will add to the ploy.” Portes directed another blow to Tunek’s head as they fell in behind Racarai.

Ladellon let them ascend the other side of the gully and disappear before he stepped around the tree. So Racarai was working for someone else, he thought, and this someone made all three of them nervous. With impetuous fealty for his old friend, he gathered his belongings and resumed his pursuit.

It was some time before they finally arrived at their apparent destination. Ladellon was hidden behind a clump of bushes and had let them cross an open field to what appeared to be a ramshackle hut made from earth. A flickering light from within pierced several spots where the earth had separated, casting fiery pools on the snow. A wooden shed stood collapsed near the hut, protected from the harsh winter by the outstretched boughs of a large pine.

Racarai motioned the others to stand back from the door of the hut as he approached and rapped on it tensely. The door opened slightly and a short figure appeared, surveying them. Tunek and Portes shuffled nervously with their heads to the ground. Ladellon strained to see the figure as it exchanged words with Racarai, but the light within the hut revealed nothing but a dark silhouette.

After a moment, the figure retreated into the hut and Racarai turned to Portes, who passed something to him that looked like a pouch. Racarai then entered the hut, closing the door behind him. Seeming relieved, the other two trudged over to the shed and sat against the pine trunk, pulling their cloaks tightly around them. They were now clearly only interested in getting and staying warm.

Ladellon, however, was interested in the hut and its occupants. He needed to get closer to tell what was happening yet he knew, in the moonlight, he might easily be spotted crossing the bare, white field. He would need to climb a low hill to his left and approach the hut from behind the large pine, sneaking right up to the shed where Tunek and Portes sat.

It was risky, but his worries were overcome by the need to ascertain the motives of his old friend. Perhaps it was to vindicate the lingering feelings he had always held – that Racarai was just misguided and not really a bad lad. After all, he thought, he had never really had the chance to question his friend about the merchant incident. Perhaps he was innocent in the whole matter. There was only one way to discover the answer.

Ladellon shifted his pack and instrument on his back and, crouching low, headed for the low hill.
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Re: Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

CHAPTER THREE – The Meeting

Ladellon climbed the hill quickly and crouched near the top behind a group of boulders to survey the scene below. He was nearly a hundred yards from the large pine. The hut could be seen beyond through the low, thin boughs. He could still see the huddled figures of Portes and Tunek leaning against the base of the tree. He would be most exposed on this side of the hill and knew that to be the most dangerous part of the approach.

Taking a steadying breath, he hurried down the slight slope, keeping a careful eye on the pine trunk. Any movement and he would either drop to the ground or flee, if noticed. He soon reached the bottom of the hill, however, and slowed his pace. Walking more carefully, he made his way to a small tree near the tall pine.

Reaching it, he crouched low and remained motionless, listening attentively. Neither of the two thugs made a sound. In fact, they were not moving at all. He waited a few more moments until he heard a snort and sigh as one of them began snoring softly. ‘Perfect,’ he thought, ‘they, or at least one of them, was asleep.’

Ladellon darted between trees and shrubs while circling the hut so he could not be spotted if one of the men woke up. This meant he could not see the door, but there were many cracks in the hut’s chinking. He crept up to a larger one and peered into the structure.

A fire was blazing to one side and near it stood a short figure facing away from him. It appeared to be the same figure that had greeted Racarai at the door. A cloak and hood veiled the figure’s face, but he could see a short, thin sword hanging from his belt. Racarai sat dejectedly on a stout log next to the fire. His eyes were downcast and the fingers of one hand tapped nervously on his leg.

Suddenly, the crack went dark and Ladellon inhaled sharply, jerking backwards. Then the flickering light reappeared and he realized someone had walked by the hole. His heart continued to beat quickly as he put an eye to the hole once again. To the left, a rasping voice spoke.

“The plan must be altered,” the voice declared with a slight reticence.

“Forgive our tardiness, master,” Racarai began, but he was cut off sharply by the speaker whose voice now resonated with confidence.

“Your bumbling was to be expected! In fact, your assignments were not likely to achieve the desired result even should you have carried them out efficiently.” The shadow passed the hole again and the voice continued, closer to the fire. “No, it is the weather. The snow will fall sooner, I think, and heavier than expected. Then even Rashnac may not be able to maneuver so easily. While the weather, indeed, may yet provide me the opportunity, it may also prove the death of Rashnac and his band if the plan is not accelerated. At any rate, he will not sit idle for long.”

The voice paused for a moment and Ladellon saw a dark robed figure move from the left to stand by the fire. A shadow seemed to cloak the entire room. Without turning to face Racarai, the voice continued, “The time has come for a test of your loyalty.”

Racarai shifted uncomfortably on the log and glanced upward with obvious hesitation. “Loyalty, master? I am, of course, your loyal servant.”

“Loyal to the opportunity or loyal to the one who shall seize it?” The voice demanded loudly as the taller figure spun abruptly, startling Ladellon. The figure’s shaven head was pale white with deep set eyes peering over a thin, flat nose. The fire behind seemed to flare momentarily, creating the impression of a skull shrouded in flames.

The eyes turned to glare at Racarai, who was now cowering in his master’s shadow. “You are a petty thief and interested in your gain alone.” His voice then took a more soothing tone, “but even the weakest of heart may yet demonstrate unknown strength. I shall endeavor to uncover that strength tomorrow. After performing a final task, you will be free to go wherever you will.”

Racarai spoke without lifting his head, “Name the task and I shall . . .”

A loud crack sounded from the other side of the hut suddenly and Ladellon dropped to the ground on instinct. Forgetting those inside for the moment, he crept to the corner and peered around. Tunek was prying boards loose from the shed and piling the pieces by the pine tree.

Portes remained seated, shaking his head. “You won’t git a fire going wid no tinder. Stop making so much noise and sit back down, will ya?”

“We gotta try sometin,” Tunek replied. “It’s cold and he could be in there all night wid that madman afore . . .”

Portes leaped to his feet and cut his companion off sharply with a hiss. “Careful, you fool. If ‘e hears you we’ll both soon be warm enough, roastin’ over ‘is own fire.”

‘I’m growing more dimwitted just being near these two,’ Ladellon thought as he brushed snow from his trousers and sleeves. He turned to locate the crack again, but instead froze in fear. From around the other end of the hut appeared the short, dark figure from within that had stood next to Racarai. Swirling snow blew across his path and Ladellon dropped to the ground, concealing himself in the shadows.

The figure tried to pull its hood closer against the wind, but a sudden gust snapped it back, revealing a grotesque face beneath – a goblin! Matted hair grew long down the side of its dark, greenish head. Its face appeared to be marked with pocks or scars and a large ring pierced the center of a bulbous nose. A new fear spread through Ladellon as he contemplated the mention of ‘Rashnac’s band.’

The goblin went to a nearby tree and, after apparently relieving itself, turned and went back around the hut to the front. A moment later, Ladellon heard the door open and close, then open and close again. Someone else had come out!

Unnerved by the close encounter, Ladellon gathered his things and moved back behind several of the larger pines at the back of the hut. He could see now that it was Racarai that had joined his cohorts by the shed, sitting quietly by himself while Tunek continued to break and pile wood. Portes was now helping him by attempting to light a fire with some flint and steel.

Ladellon cleared some snow away from the pines, gathered some loose needles, and sat with his back against a trunk, wrapping his cloak about him. He pulled a small flask from a pocket and drank a portion of its contents. ‘Nothing to do now but wait,’ he thought as he stoppered the flask. ‘It won’t be long until I have the chance I need.’
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Re: Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

CHAPTER FOUR – Reunion

Tunek and Portes soon gave up on their attempt to warm themselves by a fire. The wind was too brisk and the bits of tinder too damp and frozen to allow any spark to catch. Both of the men eventually settled resignedly against the shack and pulled their cloaks about them.

As before, the two were soon sleeping. Ladellon peered occasionally from his own hiding place to check on them. Racarai continued to sit upright – it was hard to tell if he was also asleep with the hood over his face. Eventually, though, Racarai arose and made his way to the trees near where Ladellon had secreted himself. This was the moment.

He crouched low and made his way to Racarai’s left, keeping his friend between the hut and himself. Racarai found a spot away from his creeping companions and relieved himself. When he had finished, Ladellon quickly advanced from behind and placed a hand across Racarai’s mouth, shoving his rib stage prop into the shocked man’s back.

“Rashnac has come to collect his gold,” Ladellon proclaimed in a hoarse voice. “You better have plenty!” Racarai went rigid with fear and inhaled sharply. Before he could react, Ladellon shoved him forward roughly and ordered in the same false voice, “turn around.”

Racarai lifted his hands in defense from an expected blow as he turned, then lowered them cautiously as he realized the ruse. He peered at Ladellon in wonder and then spoke, hesitantly, “Laddy? Is that really you?”

Racarai stood bewildered and Ladellon didn’t give time to react. He placed a finger to his lips for silence and grabbed Racarai by the arm, leading him from the hut and to his hiding place behind the trees. He sat down and motioned for his friend to do the same.

“Yeah, it’s me, old friend.” He removed the flask from his pack and offered it to Racarai, who accepted and took a long draw from the small bottle. “Whoa, Rac, I think we’ll have some time to finish that in a bit. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

“You have questions?” Racarai stammered, clearly still shaken from his imagined encounter with the goblin chieftain. What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“Okay,” Ladellon answered, “fair enough. I’ll answer yours first. I’m only here because I saw you back at the Spitted Toad when you came in with your two associates.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of Portes and Tunek and continued, “Really, Rac. You have sunk quite low to be working with such rabble.”

Racarai’s head drooped sullenly, but Ladellon proceeded in a comic voice, “Not to worry, old chap. ‘Ol Laddy’s here to put things right, eh.” Racarai seemed to smile slightly at the sound of a voice his friend had often used in their younger years.

Ladellon continued in a more sober tone. “Much as I’d like to admit I tracked you down over all these years, I must confess that you fell into my lap by the purest of chances. I was simply passing through town and in you walk, interrupting a well-deserved meal, I might add. Of course, I finished up before following you three – never left a bowl half empty in all my life, eh.” Racarai smiled again as Ladellon asked concernedly, “What happened to you after Tiras?”

Racarai sighed heavily, looked nervously at the hut and spoke softly. “When I was sent away, I had nowhere to go. I wandered north and somehow landed in the city of Neverwinter. I knew no honest trade and soon took to stealing just to survive.”

“So, you hooked up with this lot and became organized?” Ladellon interrupted. “Why this little hamlet?”

“Misfortune is a good friend of mine and she was with me often in Neverwinter.” Racarai reached again for the small bottle before continuing. “She was present the morning I saw a shabby street waif enter the alley in which I had lain for the night. The lad searched frantically about, finally tossing a small bundle onto a porch roof before racing down the alley and into the street. I huddled against the wall as another set of feet thumped by and a green-robed man chased after the boy.”

“I was alone for the moment and did not pause to consider the consequences. I quickly climbed to the roof, snatched the bundle, and raced up the alley in the opposite direction. When I had gone a fair distance, I examined the bundle – it was a velvet pouch with a gold-braided draw string. My heart leaped at the prospect of riches within, but I found only a leather-bound book. It was just a diary.”

“Who’s diary” Ladellon questioned.

“I’m not sure exactly,” Racarai admitted. “I don’t read much, y’know, Laddy.”

Ladellon reached out expectantly, “Well, why not let a true scholar have a go at it then, eh?”

Racarai shook his head slowly. “That’s not the end of the tale – only the beginning. You asked how I came to this town. It was that diary that brought me here.”

“All the more reason to have a glance . . .”

Ladellon was cut off as Racarai put a finger to his lips and jerked a thumb toward the hut. “He has it.”

“He?” Ladellon looked puzzled.

“Melchemist. He caught me trying to pick his pockets in Neverwinter. While the velvet pouch alone provided coins for several meals, it wasn’t anything lasting. For some reason, I had kept the diary with me – feeling almost compelled to do so. Melchemist discovered the book on me and it as obvious he had seen it before.” Racarai paused before continuing, “He said he would take me to the city watch if I didn’t swear service to him right there in the street. I had no choice.”

“So, the old man got his diary back,” Ladellon concluded. “Why keep you around as a servant? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Racarai peered at the hut again nervously, as if reassuring himself they were not close enough to be overheard. He leaned closer to Ladellon and continued in a hurried, but hushed voice. “I’ve had to piece a lot together over the last few months, but I believe it wasn’t his diary, Laddy.”

“The green-robed man in the alley – he must have been some sort of wizard. Apparently, he had discovered the location of a magical talisman and the diary must have laid all that information out for the reader. After Melchemist took the book, he began making plans to come to this village, sending me out regularly for supplies and information for the trip. I’m sure he even had the other wizard killed. He’s a wizard too, you know, and he wants that talisman for himself.”

“Is that his final task for you, then,” asked Ladellon, “to steal the talisman and bring it back here to him?”

“Oh, no,” Racarai said quickly, checking the hut again for signs of movement. “He needs gold. I’m to steal what he needs from the tavern tomorrow night. He needs gold for the goblins. He’s in league with a band of goblins in the foothills. One of them is in the hut right now.”

“I saw that one,” said Ladellon, taking a drink from the flask himself as he recalled that disturbing moment. “Why goblins? What does he stand to gain with them?”

“The talisman,” answered Racarai. “It is buried beneath the tavern floor in town. The owner and townsfolk were plenty upset when Melchemist all but demanded they allow him to dig up their tavern. They threw us out of town and that put Melchemist in a sore mood. He quickly devised an alternate plan.”

“He recruited Rashnac’s goblin band. I don’t know how he found them or how he communicates with them. Through magic, I suppose. He’s been trying to convince Rashnac that the town is full of gold and ripe to be plundered. Wants to hit the place just as winter sets in so nearby towns won’t be alerted for all the snow. Winter is here sooner than normal, though, and Melchemist didn’t expect that.”

“But the goblins haven’t attacked,” Ladellon reflected. “I take it Rashnac isn’t all that convinced by Melchemist’s claims? What is he going to do with the gold you’re supposed to lift from the tavern?”

Racarai was looking even more uncomfortable. He had been gone quite some time and even Ladellon was concerned that Portes or Tunek would notice and come looking for him. “He’s had the three of us collecting protection fees from the locals – protection from the goblins. Even convinced Rashnac to stage a small raid on a farm to scare the town. But winter is coming too fast. Melchemist needs gold for Rashnac’s full support. He doesn’t have enough and, if he waits much longer, Rashnac will retreat into the hills and the opportunity will be lost. That’s why I go tomorrow night.”

“Well, that’s the answer then,” exclaimed Ladellon suddenly with a grin. “I’ll meet you in town tomorrow, we’ll warn the folks there and head north together, away from this mess.”

Racarai looked shaken by his friend’s suggestion. “You don’t know Melchemist. He’s deadly and will never release me without the talisman.” Racarai stood, his head hung low and despair in his voice, “Winter is already here so it’ll do no good to warn the town now.”

Racarai took a step as Ladellon grabbed at his cloak to stop him. Then they both froze in horror as two shadows loomed from among the trees and the voice of Portes boomed out, “You ain’t warnin’ no one!”
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Re: Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

CHAPTER FIVE – The Weakest of Heart

Ladellon pushed his friend into the snow as Pontes raised a large club and swung where Racarai’s head had been. He lifted his own pack from the ground and brought it hard into Pontes’ face, causing him to twist and drop to his knees. Tunek was coming around the tree toward him, a short knife in his hand.

“Up, Rac!” Ladellon yelled at his dazed friend as he brandished his rebec before him, hoping to fend off the larger man’s initial attack. He caught a glimpse of Racarai stumbling to his feet and shaking his head, then Tunek lunged. Ladellon deftly stepped to the side and brought his instrument down on the knife hand. He drove a knee into Tunek’s midsection, stifling the scream of pain that had just begun to form.

Ladellon turned around and was bowled over by Pontes who had recovered and charged headlong at the bard. They both crashed to the ground, rebec falling into the snow. Ladellon scrambled to reach it as Pontes pulled his own blade from a belt sheath and raised it to strike.

Instead of driving the blade home, Pontes dropped it into the snow beside Ladellon, then toppled over in a heap. Racarai stood just behind him, Tunek’s bloodied knife in his hand.

“Let’s go, Laddy!” Racarai offered a hand and lifted his friend to his feet. “Tunek’s gone to raise the alarm. There’ll be goblins about soon!” Ladellon quickly gathered his rebec and pack and they both stumbled from the trees.

“We’ve got to move fast, Rac. They can track us in this snow, so it’ll be our speed against theirs.” Ladellon didn’t look back but lowered his head and ran through the snow toward the hill and the meager cover it afforded. They were exposed in the open and could hear the commotion of their pursuers gathering behind them. They had to reach the hill before . . .

Racarai suddenly screamed in pain and fell to the ground awkwardly. Ladellon bent to help him and saw a bolt protruding from his leg. He turned and saw a goblin at the edge of the pine trees, stooping to reload its crossbow.

Ladellon pulled Racarai’s arm over his own shoulder and struggled to assist him toward the hill and the outcrop of boulders. They would have to make a stand there once they reached the top. Another bolt whizzed past as they reached the base of the hill and began to climb the final fifty yards. There was another voice behind them now, shouting words of command but in a strange tongue. They did not turn to determine its source but continued up the hill.

At last, they reached the rocks and, slumping against them, realized that the goblin had not used its crossbow as they ascended the hill. Racarai tightened a belt around his leg to slow the bleeding and Ladellon leaned over a boulder to peer back at their pursuers. His eyes went wide with dread.

There were six dark figures gathering at the edge of the pine trees near the broken shack. Nearby stood Tunek and among them, another tall human in dark robes – Melchemist!

Ladellon’s eyes darted to the landscape around them. There was no cover better than these rocks, he surmised, and the town was at least three miles away. With Racarai’s wounded leg, they could never hope to outrun the goblins. Melchemist must know that as well, because he was taking care to plan an assault on their position.

“A fine reunion you’ve staged after all these years,” Racarai had pulled himself up onto a boulder and leaned against it with a pained smile.

Ladellon knew the situation to be hopeless, but attempted to keep up a cheerful front. “I do believe the blighters’ve brought enough troops to make a decent scrape of it, eh.”

Racarai winced at his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder in support. “You’re a true friend, Laddy. Despite my mistakes and the trouble I might have brought upon you in our youth, you always believed in me.” A sudden twinkle lit his eyes as he continued, “You know there’s only one way out of this mess, don’t you?”

Ladellon knew Racarai was up to something, but could not guess or react fast enough. His friend had dropped his hand swiftly to Ladellon’s belt and drew the longsword from its sheath in a smooth motion. He then leaned against the boulder and leveled the tip at Ladellon’s chest.

“Get going,” Racarai indicated the direction of the town with a nod. “You’ve got to warn them. Melchemist and Rashnac’s band will destroy them all if you don’t get back there.”

Ladellon stared in disbelief. “But Rac,” he began to protest, knowing his friend was correct.

“You’ve got to be the one,” Racarai cut him off. “I’ll never make it with this leg. I can only hope to take a few of them with me.” They both looked down the hill to where the goblins were beginning to climb steadily, dark blades drawn. Melchemist and Tunek followed from behind.

“Go!” Racarai shouted. Ladellon embraced his friend and, shouldering his pack and rebec, spun and ran from the rocks. He had only gone a short distance when he heard the goblins crest the hill and begin their attack. There was a brief clanging of metal against rock and then a sudden quiet.

The prophetic words of Melchemist resounded in his head as he ran: “Even the weakest of heart may yet demonstrate unknown strength.” He lowered his head against the chill air and increased his stride, tears streaming down his face.
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Re: Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

CHAPTER SIX – Vengeance

Ladellon felt icy daggers pierce his lungs with each breath as he labored up the path to the village. His legs were weak with exertion when he finally stumbled to the tavern’s entrance and threw open the door.

There were few patrons in the common room – those remaining were slumped over their drinks – but he quickly spotted the man he was seeking. Fin was sitting alone at a center table and looked up suddenly as the bard and the cold, night air entered the room. Ladellon walked over and sat down, breathing heavily.

“Fin, you’ve got to listen to me,” he gasped between breaths. “The goblin raid on that farm awhile back – it was just the beginning. There’s a band of the vermin gathering to attack the village. You’ve got to raise an alarm, send for help, something . . . now!”

“But that was over two tendays ago,” Fin stammered, unsure of the bard’s intentions. “We chased ‘em off and haven’t seen ‘em since. Why would they try again?”

Ladellon leaned close to the mason and peered into his eyes. “That man, the one you said traveled through here years ago. He was my father, Lafontaine du Laine. If you respect his memory, you’ll do as I ask. I’ve not time to waste with explanations and must go save a friend. Believe my words, Fin.”

Fin’s eyes widened at the mention of Ladellon’s father. He rose from his seat and, in a more certain tone, said, “I’ll do what I can, bard, and pray it’s enough. Come with me.”

Fin led Ladellon out of the tavern and down the main path of the village to a stable. He lifted a saddle from a felled log and threw it over the back of a horse within, cinching it tightly as he spoke.

“Your father did much for this village, bard. More than you likely know or you would not have hesitated in requesting my assistance.” He pulled a bridle over the horse’s nose, then turned to Ladellon, handing him the reins. “Take this horse. She’ll get you there faster and give you a bit of rest as well on your way. I’ll take care of things here. Go!”

Ladellon leapt onto the horse and held tight as it bounded from the stable and galloped down the path and away from the village. The cold air chilled his face as he rode hard past the gully and finally arrived at the hill overlooking the hut.

Ladellon slid from the saddle and smacked the horse’s rump, sending it off in the direction of town. Drawing his dagger, he climbed the hill cautiously, wary of possible goblin guards posted at the top. As he neared the rocks, he saw no signs of movement and sheathed the dagger. Racarai’s crumpled and bloodied body lay near the largest boulder, a dead goblin by his side.

“You’ll not die in vain, Racarai, good friend,” Ladellon swore to the night as he leaned on the rocks and peered down at the hut. A small fire burned brightly within the trees and several dark figures were moving about the flames. Ladellon gritted his teeth in anger and turned back to the fallen goblin. He pulled the cloak from the body and wrapped it around his own, drawing the hood over his head.

Stooping slightly and moving with a deliberate and obvious limp, he descended the hill and shuffled over the field toward the fire. He was just more than halfway across when one of the goblins noticed him. He saw it step to the line of trees and stare in his direction. The others paid him no heed and remained near the warmth of the fire.

Ladellon stumbled convincingly and collapsed to the ground in an apparent faint. Beneath his body, he gripped the dagger and waited motionlessly for his chance. He soon heard the goblin’s footsteps crunch through the snow and stop near him. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder and allowed it to turn his body over for inspection.

As he rolled to his back, Ladellon brought the dagger upward in a swift movement and buried the blade into the goblin’s neck. Blood spurted from the wound as Ladellon pulled the dagger free and pushed the goblin aside. He ignored its gurgled cry as it twitched briefly in the snow and then lay still. The others had noticed nothing and he crawled to the edge of the trees to peer at those still around the fire.

There were two goblins sitting on the near side of the fire, their backs to him. Tunek was sitting on the other side, casting uneasy glances over his shoulder in the direction of the hut. The goblins were arguing with each other. Ladellon wasted no more time considering the situation. He stood and strode quickly toward the nearest goblin.

The goblin turned at his approach and Ladellon gave it a firm kick to the ribs, sending it sprawling into the flames. He leaped at the other as it reached for the sword it had cast carelessly aside. Ladellon landed on the goblin and drove his dagger into the creature’s side as they tumbled to the ground. He then stood, pulled the goblin’s cloak from his own shoulders, and turned to face the human.

Tunek gasped with dread as the cloak fell away and recognition swept over his face. He stumbled back a step as he took in the terrible scene before him – an enraged, resolute enemy, dagger dripping with goblin blood. He paused for just a moment, then turned and fled toward the hut. Ladellon stooped to lift the crossbow lying near the fire. He raised it quickly, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. He heard a satisfying thud as the bolt struck home and watched as Tunek fell to the ground in front of the hut’s door.

Ladellon threw the crossbow to the ground and stepped around the fire and the smoldering goblin lying motionless beside it. He walked over to Tunek’s body and bent down to ensure the bolt had done its work. The shaft protruded from below the shoulder and Tunek was dead.

“Fine,” Ladellon said firmly through gritted teeth, “now it’s time for Melchem . . .”

Ladellon didn’t finish as he screamed in pain. A sudden force had hit his back and knocked him to the ground. The dagger fell from his hands and landed in the snow a few feet away. Head aching from the unseen blow, he realized his danger and rose to his knees, scanning about quickly for his attacker. By the side of the hut he stood - dark robes billowing in the wind and an evil grin spreading across his gaunt and twisted face – Melchemist!

“Your return has done nothing but to ensure your own death, thief!” Melchemist sneered as he walked toward Ladellon, one hand dipping into a pouch at his side and the other making gestures in the air. Ladellon felt for his dagger and realized it was lying in the snow. He saw Melchemist bring his thumbs together and spread his hands as he uttered a strange command.

Ladellon dove to the side and felt flames wash over his back, searing his shoulder and neck. He landed in the snow and rolled to extinguish the flame on his own cloak. As he stood to face the wizard, he stumbled and fell backward to the ground. He looked down and saw the body of Tunek as well as something familiar on the dead man’s belt – his own sword!

Melchemist was advancing again, one of his hands reaching out for Ladellon. It was crackling with a blue-green fire and Ladellon did not wait to feel its effect. He reached out to the sword and wrenched it from its sheath. Bringing the blade around in a low arc, he severed the outstretched arm of Melchemist at the elbow.

For a brief moment, the wizard looked numbly at the bloody stump and then screamed as Ladellon plunged the blade through his chest. Melchemist dropped to his knees and fell forward into the snow, dead.
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
Ladellon
Dire Badger
Posts: 155
Joined: Tue Jan 13, 2004 1:24 am
Location: just north of Leadfeather

Re: Off the Beaten Path (A Tale of Ladellon the Bard)

Post by Ladellon »

EPILOGUE

The fire gathered strength and began sending sparks into the predawn sky. The rocks on the low hill glowed fitfully from the growing blaze. Moments later, the body laying on the pyre was engulfed in flames and Ladellon took a few steps back from the heat.

He had spent the past two hours gathering wood and arranging the pyre on the hill where Racarai had sacrificed himself. He knew the risk was great with Rashnac’s band still in the area, but he didn’t care. He was determined to give his friend a hero’s funeral, the goblins be damned.

“Goodbye, Rac,” Ladellon murmured. “In the end, you did what was right. I knew you always had it within you.” He looked down at the book in his hand, the diary he had found in the hut with the wizard’s belongings. He tossed it into the flames and turned again to the village, pulling his tattered cloak close against the ever present wind.
Final PC: Regor the Valorious, the ONLY theatrically-inclined half-orc androgyne wandering ALFA, Artistic Director for Cormanthor Stage Productions, one-time stand up pirate and self-educated barrister of the bar.

Former PC: Begor Nightstrummer, Executive Stage Writer and Assistant Director of Planned Gifts for the Roving Entertainment Group of Ruith

Current PC: Sheshe Little Eels
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