Audric resurfaces from the Undercity a few hours later,
his face pale, with a wan smile that marks at least a partial success. He catches us up on the encounter between
Corenar and Thrur, and of the tentative peace that was made before Audric withdrew. While “success” is perhaps too strong a word,
we count the task of delivering news of Corin’s demise complete and settle upon
a few final arrangements that will take a couple of days before we head back to
Dagger’s Deep.
“This would be my offer to you—1,000 gold to hire you on as archguard of the voyage. Assuming you fulfill that which you promise, when we reach Fireshear, the entirety of the crew will winter aboard the ship. There will be suitable accommodations for all.
While I cloister myself away in my room with Ethelenda’s
tome of arcane recipes, Audric leads the rest of the crew to the other side of
Mirabar to revisit Detrius’ Armory and determine the armorer’s disposition on
the suit of hide.
On the way, however, the band witnesses the construction
of a large vessel, and having heard whispers of what locals are calling
“Mirabar Run,” Audric decides to investigate.
The vessel is to be manned by adventurous individuals who intend to push
through orc-controlled lands downriver, all the way through the ruins of Illusk
and into open waters. Ultimately, the
vessel is bound for a city called Fireshear in the far north, due for arrival before
the waters become too dangerous and full of ice to traverse.
Audric and the others are brought to a captain of
mercenaries in charge of recruitment for the voyage, and they negotiate rates to determine if it’s a venture worth consideration. The man introduces himself as Dame Azurris,
revealing that he’s more than just a mercenary captain—indeed, he’s to captain
the vessel! “Assuming we make it through
Illusk alive, and assuming we reach our destination, most likely we’ll winter
over in the Frozenfar.” He explains how
the return voyage becomes more treacherous due to the change in seasons, and
discusses some of the options they’ve considered, including sailing south to
Neverwinter once the snows pass.
There is a discussion of the skills we offer and how they
might benefit such a trip, and the conversation is left open should we wish to
return and pursue the venture more seriously.
Audric thanks Dame for his time.
Upon returning to the armory, Detrius greets Audric and shares his
assessment of the task, to make a truly quality suit of mail. The agreement he offers is to produce a
single suite of scaled mail in return for the leftover pieces of hide, which he
believes can be used for other, smaller items.
Based on his workload, he feels that the task might take several weeks
to months, potentially quicker if the project is funded so that he can work on
it exclusively.
When we convene later that night, we talk of many things
but keep finding the conversation steered back to the Mirabar Run. Audric catches me up on the details, and the
voyage does indeed have an appeal; after some deliberation, we decide to pursue
Mirabar Run instead of a journey to Longsaddle and points south, as we had originally
planned. It satisfies our desires to
pursue new lands and new opportunities, with the potential to perhaps learn
more about the parchment and the strange figure that preceded us on our visit
to Thrur.
We return to Dame the next day and explain to the man our
intention to appeal to sign onto his Moonmaiden. Dame looks us over again, asking several
details about how we came to know one another, what sorts of deeds we have
accomplished together, and what skills we have that would be of benefit to the
Run.
Audric, Lom and Zargon introduce themselves, each sharing
their various experiences and talents.
Bonie is stoic in her own introduction.
“Born and raised in Mirabar, learned the ways of the sword from my
father in…Wes…Mirabar.” She falters,
nearly mentioning Westtower (which does not yet exist), before quickly vouching
for the rest of us and our abilities. I
step in when she falters.
“I am Zeb, sworn to Malar.” At a raised eyebrow, I continue. “I’ve ripped the tongue from a high priest of
Malar and slayed the black beast in his service. I’ve torn the throat from a priest of Talos
with my bare teeth, and together we have slain a 40-foot serpent in the tunnels
below Dagger’s Deep.” I deliver my
credentials flatly, without boasting, and bear trophies as proof of my kills
that dissuade any doubt.
Finally, Selben steps forward. “I’m Selben,” the mage introduces himself, a
creepy smile visible from within his black cowl.
Dame asks our price, clearly satisfied with our
credentials. Remembering that the
land-based expedition to Icewind Dale commanded rates of 50 to 200 gold and was
of comparable danger, Zargon and Audric discuss rates and present an offer to Dame
of 250 gold for each of us.
“What cargo do we carry?” I ask, before negotiations get
too far. Dame explains that the ship
will be carrying weapons and arms, winter furs and supplies, the
types of things that the north needs in abundance.
“This would be my offer to you—1,000 gold to hire you on as archguard of the voyage. Assuming you fulfill that which you promise, when we reach Fireshear, the entirety of the crew will winter aboard the ship. There will be suitable accommodations for all.
“We want 1,200 and we each want our own room aboard the
ship,” Zargon responds shrewdly. Dame
counters, offering us a private quarter for our company—which is a suitable
compromise.
Audric questions the title of “archguard,” and what
responsibilities and privileges that title assumes. Dame explains that there will be additional
guard aboard the ship, and all will report to him. We would be considered
elevated in terms of rank.
“Any other priests?” I ask flatly. He replies that there are not, at least not
as of this moment.
“1,200 gold is fair,” he replies, “to be paid upon
arrival.” He explains that this term is
non-negotiable, and that prior to departure a contract will be signed and
pledged to ensure his side of the bargain.
Dame is requiring that everyone return to Moonmaiden on
Midsummer’s Day, just over a month away.
Audric asks if the Axe of Mirabar is to be present, and Dame
explains that this is an independent venture, not sponsored or supported by Mirabar. That, at least, is a
relief. We part on agreeable terms, and
vow to return on the appointed day.
Audric enlists the exclusive services of Detrius to
expedite production of the armor, passing over a weighty purse of coin to seal
the deal. Our business done for the day,
we return to the inn.
Prior to our departure for Dagger’s Deep, I successfully
complete my spell research, and Selben learns a new enchantment as well—though
my apprentice, he is able to master magics that remain arcane to me, coming
from schools in opposition to my own.
The journey between Dagger’s Deep and Mirabar has started
to become familiar, and we reflect on our experiences as we lumber back. Our reflections are
disturbed, however, around midday as we hear the approach of hooves behind
us. We pull aside, making way, hoping
that they are just travelers that will pass us by.
The men are outfitted as the Axe of Mirabar, and a
familiar voice calls out, “Hold!” The
voice belongs to Rale Cotchen and his contingent of guards. Rale pulls to the front of his group and his
men wrap around to the front of the wagon.
He looks down at us maliciously, focusing his glare upon me.
“Mirabar may not hold you accountable to Laerch Strolgam
or Corin Redbeard, but the city does not know you as I have.”
I spit on the ground in front of his horse. “I’ve bled with Laerch, have you?”
Rale dismounts, stepping towards me. “My cousin and I did not see eye-to-eye on many
things, not the least of which his choice of wife…but blood is blood, and I
hold you personally responsible for the death of my kinsman. I intend to settle that debt.”
“Blades or fists?” I ask, still unsure if it will really
come to combat.
“Blades,” Rale responds.
He removes his tabard, handing it over to one of his men. “This is not a Mirabar matter. This is…personal. No spells, no magic…no interference,” he
commands, twirling his blade. He
wears a suit of chain and carries an iron-banded shield.
Surprisingly, Audric offers his sword to me and Zargon
beings to hum a tune, the Ode to Laerch.
After some discussion over the fairness of facing a fully armored soldier,
Rale throws his shield to the ground. “I
understand well the defenses you harbor—this is a fair fight,” he says. With the blessing of my companions, I raise
the maul and with a growl, close ranks and attack.
We square off, and in an instant the mood changes from tense
preparation and threats to real danger, adrenaline flowing as we engage,
looking for openings. I swing hard and
strike, though his armor cushions most of the blow. His sword snaps back in retaliation and I
duck below it, but he lashes out again, cutting a deep wound into my shoulder. He follows through with a third strike, this
one piercing my side, and my lungs begin to fill with blood.
I spit up froth and bright red blood. “You’re skilled with a blade, Laerch could
have used your help while he was being butchered by barbarians and you were
sitting in your castle.” My usual
confidence falters, knowing well that I am outmatched, though I pull myself
back to my feet.
Rale makes no response.
“That’s what I thought, coward,” I curse. I swing the maul again, clipping him, but he
turns aside and my aggregated wounds prevent me from causing any serious
damage. He counters with a brutal slash that
opens my chest and I collapse, immediately unconscious, bleeding out. He stands over my body and holds his sword to
my throat.
“You are never to set foot in the city of Mirabar again,”
he says, addressing the group. With one
quick strike he could end my life.
“Once we are aboard the ship for the Mirabar Run, we’ll
be gone and never return,” Audric says, briefly explaining our contract with Dame.
“No, you’re never to return...under any terms. It’s over.”
He remains standing over me, sword poised at my throat, waiting for any
response. When none follows, he
retrieves his tabard from his man, mounts his horse, and rides off.
Audric stoops down to staunch the bleeding, and once I
recover enough to choke up another gob of blood. The priest of Mystra delivers
me a kick, chastising me for ruining another opportunity and getting us banned from
Mirabar. I’m too bloodied to offer much
of a counter.
Bonie’s concern over my wounds is evident; she doesn’t
seem happy with my choice of action, but seems relieved that I am alive, at
least for the moment. Selben, his face
unreadable, conjures a mount and offers it to me as I’m barely able to stand. With no pride, I accept his help to mount the
beast, and slump heavily over, barely able to hold up my head.
Our procession continues silently, and we eventually
break to camp. I nearly collapse trying
to dismount my horse. Perhegan remains
distant and unreadable, making no comments other than brief statements of fact
about the trip or our gear, and we split up into watches for the night. Bonie spends most of the night by my side or
helping around camp before she eventually passes out, and I fade in and out of
consciousness. Fortunately, there are no
disturbances; my rest is uncomfortable, punctuated by several bouts of hacking
where I cough up clotted blood.
We complete the journey under a somber cloud, mostly
silent, but we make reasonable time back to Dagger’s Deep where we are greeted
by a throng. “Ran into trouble on the
road,” Perhegan explains when my disability becomes apparent, and he leaves
with Kallevir to get the wagon unloaded.
Perhegan’s uncharacteristic silence is a worry to me, though in my
current state, I’m in no position to have a discussion about it.
Though a week has passed since our departure, nothing
noteworthy has happened in Dagger’s Deep since we left. Progress on the village’s structures is
evident, the masons having been busy at their labor. Wearily, we retire to our respective tents to
contemplate the encounter with Rale and what the implications of his exile might
be for our group.
