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    This was deleted in the thread purge, and I've resumed work on it, so reposting.


    The Tale of Lord Gaheris Trollbane of the Church of Tyr

    Despite what some may think, justice is in a way universal. It chooses its agents; they very rarely choose it. Oh, in the end they make the choice to allow themselves to be vessels of justice, its bringers and executors. But before they ever get to make that choice, justice makes the way, finds the path, and fates them to be where it can make use of them. One can strive for a lifetime to bring justice to a particular villain and simply never receive the chance, while another might bring about a just end completely by accident. And it isn’t particular about whom it chooses, either. Justice might be brought by sorcerer’s spell or rogue’s dagger as easily as by the righteous blow of the mightiest of warrior-paladins. And many of those paladins are from the most unlikely backgrounds. They, or we as I should say, are called. No one chooses to be a paladin; we are one and all chosen by the Triad, or the Morninglord, or even Sune on occasion. I myself was a foundling; were it not for the Tyrrans in Selgaunt, I know not what I would have become, and even they did not make me a paladin. The souls of all who take up that calling are forged pure, with an inborn desire and hunger to serve and bring justice. Even while lost, or even while denying their calling, they are notably different in deed from others.

    This is the tale of one such unlikely champion of justice, Gaheris of Westgate, called Trollbane, my sometime ward. May this account ever serve as an inspiration to all those who would bring justice to the face of Toril.

    Randal Whytstone, Captain of the Chapel of Resounding Justice

    Chapter One
    The Night of Knives

    Myrkeer’s Dry Goods, Westgate, 9th of Ches, 1362 DR

    The latch on the delivery hatch finally clicked as Gaheris’ pick found the last pin and turned. The young street urchin allowed himself a brief smile before slowly pushing the heavy wooden doorway inward. The top-mounted hinges groaned just a little bit, causing him to freeze. Propping a dagger into the hatch to keep it from slamming back down, he pulled a small bottle of grease from his belt, which he quickly applied to the hinges, snaking his arm through the propped up hatch to reach them. The hinges silenced, he slid through the hatch, elevated three feet above the alley level, consciously keeping his breathing shallow as he slid into the dark storeroom.

    He landed lightly on a crate below the hatch and quickly swung his feet around to the left, lowering the door slowly as he descended into a crouch in the shadow of that day’s deliveries. He scanned the back room. No one around, just boxed foodstuffs, clothing, tools, and the like. Shalush Myrkeer was known to sell anything and everything legal, and some things that weren’t, after all. Gaheris wasn’t interested in the trade goods, though; they were too easily traced, and now that the Night Masks had won out in the decade-long shadow war to dominate Westgate’s underworld, they were squeezing the fences to only work for them.

    Accordingly, Gaheris stole into the front of the store and made for the lockbox built into the wall behind the counter. Crouching down before the safe, he withdrew his picks from his belt pouch once again and examined the steel door’s workings.

    An extra catch at the bottom caught his eye. It wasn’t part of the lock, and indeed seemed designed to simply move outward when the door opened. Trap trigger, then. Probably an alarm to the owner, sleeping in his room above the shop.

    ‘Can’t have that,’ thought Gaheris to himself as he set down his picks and removed a fine-toothed saw from his case of tools. The safe opened outward, so placing pressure on the trigger inward shouldn’t…

    He froze at the sound of the lock on the front door clicking open. The young rogue slid his hand down toward the long dagger at his belt as the shop’s front door slowly swung open. Muffled footsteps entered the shop. Two men, it sounded like, doing their best to remain unheard.

    Gaheris slid the short sword out of its well-oiled sheath and turned to face the entrance, still crouched behind the counter. They didn’t seen to see or hear him, and oddly enough weren’t even making for the safe.

    Instead, they padded past the counter towards the stairs leading to the upstairs apartment. Then one spoke in a low voice.

    “So how are we going to do this, then?”

    “How do you think,” whispered his comrade with a slight chuckle. “We have our orders from the Faceless. Just follow my lead.”

    A feeling of dread rising in his chest, Gaheris began to move out behind the two. “Wait,” the second man said. The street urchin froze. “Trap on the stairs. Don’t take another step,” he continued.

    Gaheris relaxed a little as the man knelt and gingerly tugged upward on the second stair, which oddly enough came upwards a few inches. Reaching in, the Night Mask (for that is what he was, if he was taking orders from the Faceless) reached in and fiddled with the workings of the pressure plate. After a moment, he lowered the stair back into place. “Safe.”

    The two men continued upward. After a moment’s hesitation, Gaheris followed, despite his every instinct screaming at him to turn around and get back out the delivery hatch before anyone ever knew he was there.

    They didn’t pause at the top of the stairs. The Night Masks proceeded directly to the second door on the left as Gaheris watched, down on all fours peeking over the last stair.

    They weren’t concerned about stealth anymore. After rapidly checking the door the second man motioned, and the first one simply kicked it in with a loud bang and they rushed in, drawing weapons as they went.

    A scream issued from inside. “Oh, so do you wish you’d made your protection payments now,” came the mocking voice of the second Night Mask, accompanied by a menacing chuckle from the first.

    Myrkeer seemed to recover a bit after the initial shock, or so it sounded like. “And what right have you to demand them, thief,” he spat at the intruders. Gaheris heard a rush of feet followed by a great clatter of steel as a short sword came flying out the door.

    “Now now Myrkeer, we’ll be having none of that,” chuckled the second man. “Lashan here is well versed in parting blades from their owners, so I wouldn’t try that again.”

    Gaheris could wait no longer. He got to his feet and padded forward, pausing to pick up the discarded short sword in his left hand, which had clattered down the hallway after being thrown out the door, and slid a dagger out of his wrist sheath into his right.

    Surprise would be essential. Stepping around the doorframe, he cocked back his right arm and hurled the dagger, planting it into Lashan’s back as he stood over the shopkeeper’s cowering form. As the Night Mask fell, Gaheris tossed the sword from his left hand to his right and lunged at the second man as he turned in surprise.

    Gaheris didn’t hesitate. Hesitation was a sucker’s game; fighting fair an invitation to death. Unfortunately, the Night Mask knew that too. He leapt and rolled to the right as Gaheris brought the sword up in a low sweeping motion, grazing the Night Mask’s armor but failing to bite.

    The other man swept out his rapier, but from the clumsy and panicked swipe he made, the man was clearly not accustomed to fighting hand to hand. He had planted the dagger in the right back, then. Good.

    Their blades crossed as Gaheris took a low swing at his opponent, going for the knees. Foiled, Gaheris slid his blade up the Night Mask’s rapier, catching at the hilt and forcing him into a high guard. Unused to crossing blades or not, the man was older and larger than he was, with a reach advantage with his weapon to boot. This had to end quickly, or it would end badly. While their blades were still locked high, Gaheris went to one knee and rolled toward the Night Mask, pulling a dagger out of his boot as he moved. As his sword released the rapier, the guild thief smirked in triumph and moved the point of his weapon to bring it down... and then screamed as a foot of cold steel slid into his right kidney.

    Gaheris stood as the other man went down. The gambit had worked. Now to shut him up before the noise attracted neighbors, or worse the Watch. Myrkeer’s short sword went into the back of the whimpering man’s neck, emerging through his trachea. He issued a short, gurgling gasp and then fell silent.

    Gaheris turned to the terrified Shalush Myrkeer, who was cowering on his bed, hands over his mouth at the spectacle. “You’ll want to call the Watch, sir,” he said in as kind a tone as he could muster. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. Farewell.” With that, he bolted out of the room and down the stairs, making for the delivery hatch.

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    Chapter Two
    Into the Night

    Gaheris wrenched the delivery hatch open, panic mounting as he tumbled through and rolled to his feet, looking around the alley. Night Mask enforcers operated in teams of at least three. He could only hope that the lookouts didn’t already know what happened to the toughs inside. If they did, he thought as he began jogging toward the end of the alley, he probably wouldn’t get to the next street alive. The thought sent him into a full run.

    * * *

    Marcus Ravenlock sat atop the rowhouse behind Myrkeer’s shop, twirling a dirk in his hand as Jankin boredly fiddled with his impressive array of crossbow bolts. ‘Why’s it always my turn to babysit the lookouts on the easy ones,’ he thought to himself as he cast his eyes down to the alley.

    His gaze lit on the fast-moving form of a boy diving out of the shop’s delivery hatch. “Oi, Jankin,” he said softly, poking his companion.

    The sniper took one look and jacked a wickedly barbed bolt into his crossbow. “Should I take him,” he asked as he sighted down the bolt’s shaft to his potential mark.

    Marcus considered for a moment before the boy looked back behind him, affording a view of his face. “No,” he replied. “It’s just some street rat from the Shore. Garis or something like that. Must’ve taken one look at Lashan ‘afore ****tin’ hisself,” chuckled the thug. “Anyways, goin’ to th’ Watch is the last thing he’d do.”

    “Leftover from the Shore Patrol?”

    “Nah, just some kid. Must be gettin’ a little big for his britches if’n he’s lifting stuff from uptown shops, though. Somebody might have to have a talk with him ‘bout joinin’ up now.” Both men chuckled as Gaheris tore out of the alley into the street.

    * * *

    Two Watchmen gave Gaheris a surprised glance as he bolted across Westgate Market Street, but he didn’t slow even a hair. He was slightly amazed that he didn’t find arrows protruding from his back yet.

    He skidded into another alley across the market square and ducked behind a midden heap. He had to evaluate his options. The Night Masks would discover what had happened to their toughs, sooner rather than later. In the short term, he had to seek shelter, but he had little doubt that in the (not too) long term, he would have to flee the city or die. But in the immediate term, he had to clear the area. Not only would there be other Night Masks, but the Tower was just up the street from Myrkeer’s shop, and if the merchant heeded his advice, the guards would be running. As he thought it, he heard the merchant himself yelling behind him. That would alert the Masks for sure, he thought as he moved out. He would have to take a circuitous route to Westlight Walk and the Water Gate to return to the Shore. But he’d have to stop by Castle Thalavar on the way. Kaele just might be able to help him…
    Last edited by Renegade Paladin; 2009-05-14 at 04:22 PM.

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    Chapter Three
    Whether High or Low in Station

    It was nearing morning by the time Gaheris crept across Sword Lane and up to the postern of Castle Thalavar.

    At least one cell of the Night Masks was already looking for him. He’d had two narrow escapes in the city since fleeing Myrkeer’s Dry Goods, and had spent hours carefully working around the alleyways. Now, in the grey light of the predawn hour, he waited for the kitchen servants to toss out the waste from the previous day in preparation for breakfast.

    He hoped Kaele was here. The wastrel cousin to the Thalavars liked to disappear into the seedier portions of the city, sometimes for three or four days at a time, which was how Gaheris had met him, but it would be inconvenient now for him to be gone or hung over. The boy nervously fingered the hilt of his dagger as he tried to keep an eye out for approaching Masks while simultaneously watching for movement in the castle-turned-manor estate.

    He didn’t have to wait for long. The postern leading from the kitchen opened and a servant started to throw out scraps.

    “Sylvie,” he whispered. The young woman jumped before seeing him.

    “Oh. Good mornin’ to ye, Gar, didn’t see ye there,” she said, hurriedly regaining her composure.

    Gaheris couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s the idea. No, I’m not here to beg food this time,” he said, waving off her move to reach for the leftovers she was about to throw away. “Is Master Kaele here?” She nodded. “If he’s awake yet, could you have someone tell him that the boy who, um… ‘pulled his fat out of the fire’ at the Black Eye awhile back needs him to return the favor.” He crossed his fingers behind his back as she raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll see if he’s about,” she said. “But no promises.” She gave him a last questioning look before tossing the scraps on the midden heap in the alley and turning to go back inside.

    Gaheris didn’t have to wait very long. The young cousin of the Thalavar noble family appeared, rather obviously freshly woken, and probably with a hangover from the way he shielded his eyes from the rising sun.

    “Yes, and what’s this about,” he said crossly, peering at the boy. “Do I know you?”

    “The name’s Gaheris, sir,” he said with a slightly mocking bow. “I got you out of a spot of trouble with Reskal’s toughs at the Black Eye three or four tendays ago, and you said you owed me one. I need a favor.”

    “Ah, I remember you. Yes, what do you need,” he asked, taking a swig out of a flask he was carrying. Gaheris didn’t ask what it was.

    “I’ll make this short. I killed two Night Masks last night.” Kaele spit out whatever he was drinking. “They forced it. Anyway, I need to get out of the city, and I know your family has shipping interests.”

    “Whoa, slow down,” interrupted Thalavar, pale as a ghost. “Night Masks?”

    “Why do you think I want out of here,” answered Gaheris testily.

    “Listen, you did help me, but something like this…”

    “You know, I could just make sure Lady Thistle finds out that you’ve been spending your stipend at the Black Eye and Purple Lady,” Gaheris said impatiently. “I’d love to know what she thinks of that. If I didn’t think you could help me and owed me the help, I wouldn’t be here. Just keep it quiet, put me on as a cabin hand, or better yet arrange for the crew to not notice a stowaway. No one need know I was helped.”

    “All right, all right,” he said nervously, obviously put out by the threat of his noble cousin finding out the specifics of his habits. “There’s a Thalavar ship leaving for Saerloon this afternoon. If you can get to the docks, I’ll tell the captain to overlook you.”

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    Chapter Four
    Of Street Urchins and Sea Rats

    Gaheris was at the docks early in the afternoon, wearing sailor’s garb “borrowed” from the bag of a hung-over seaman he’d encountered that morning on the way back to one of his holes in the Shore. He quickly identified the Thalavar ensign flying off of one of the ships at the north end of the harbor, right where Kaele had said it would be.

    He walked onto the pier, doing his level best to look like he knew what he was doing. Hoisting the near-empty rucksack containing all his worldly possessions over his shoulder, he took in and released a deep breath before moving up the gangplank.

    “Oi, and ‘oo are you, then?” The question originated from a brawny sailor with a whistle hanging around his neck.

    “New cabin boy. Name’s Stedd,” he answered tersely.

    The sailor spat over the gunwale into Westgate’s already polluted harbor. “Th’ cap’n’s expectin’ ye,” the sailor told him. “I be Ander, the bo’sun. Get yer ass movin’ aft; the cap’n don’t like t’ wait.”

    Gaheris nodded, pulled the sack a bit higher on his shoulder, and started weaving his way between bustling cargo handlers, cursing sailors, and the moving cargo and rigging that they were tending to.

    * * *

    In the back corner of a dockside warehouse, the leader of the enforcer cell that Gaheris had run afoul of last night nearly smashed his fist through the card table he stood behind. “WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR, YA MORONS? You let some street rat take out Lashan an’ Travers and then waltz right on out of th’ alley RIGHT UNDER YER NOSES! Th’ Faceless’ll have yer…”

    “Oh, come on, Tyrrell,” Marcus said, hastening to cut off his boss before he managed to work himself into a truly towering rage. “You know wha’ we said; ‘ow was we s’posed t’ know? It looked like ‘e was jus’ robbin’ the joint an’ got spooked.”

    “Looked like he was robbin’ the joint? An’ just what are we supposed t’ do t’ freelancers? You lost yer head, Ravenlock?”

    “We’re supposed to make freelancers join the Masks,” Jankin pointed out in his quiet yet intense voice. “Not just shoot them on sight; you know that.”

    Tyrrell calmed down a bit and lowered himself into his chair. “Well you’ll damned well shoot th’ brat on sight now,” he growled. “I want ‘im found an’ killed. I’ll spread the word; you two jus’ get out o’ my sight and make it happen.” The two thugs nodded and left the room hurriedly.

    * * *

    “Cap’n?” Gaheris approached the man in the uniform greatcoat on the wheelhouse where he stood surveying the deck, presuming that he had to be the one in charge.

    “Yes?” He looked back and his eyes swiftly focused on the boy. “What is it, sailor?” His eyes narrowed a bit as he focused. “Don’t think I’ve seen you on board before,” he added.

    “The name’s Stedd,” Gaheris responded. “I’m the new cabin boy the company sent up.”

    A knowing smile entered the captain’s eyes. “Ah yes, the new cabin boy. Master Thalavar said to expect you.”

    Gaheris wasn’t entirely comfortable with the captain’s expression. It was one that usually announced that its wearer had divined some secret or another and was amused by it… or the attempt to hide it. “Y… Yes, sir,” he stammered out.

    “Oh, don’t worry. I know why you’re here, or at least some of it. We’ll see you safely to Saerloon,” he reassured the boy with a smile. “Go help move those crates into the hold,” he continued, pointing at a stack of boxes that a crew of sailors was just starting to shift. “You can leave your things in the cabin for now. Once we’re underway I’ll see to your accommodations. We shouldn’t be more than two days at sea.”

    Gaheris nodded and scampered off, first to leave his meager belongings inside the cabin door that the captain had indicated, and then to move cargo. He mainly did his best to not get in the way for the next hour while the ship made ready to sail.

    * * *

    “Whaddya mean, ya don’t know where ‘e went,” Marcus snarled at the street urchin as he dealt him a backhand slap across the face. “I know ‘e ‘oles up ‘round here somewhere, now where is ‘e?”

    “I dunno! Last I saw Gar, he was takin’ off towards the docks, carryin’ all his stuff in a bundle,” the kid said in a panicked voice, attempting to back further into the alleyway. There was no hope of the Watch coming along, he knew that. Not this deep into the Shore slums.

    “Th’ docks, eh?” Marcus chuckled. “’E knows we’re onto him. Must plan on tryin’ to stow away somewheres.” He nodded to Jankin, who relaxed on his crossbow. “Ya done good, kid,” he said to the young beggar. “Jus’ talk faster next time an’ I won’t hafta convince ya t’ spit it out.” The two thugs turned and left, laughing to each other as the transient rubbed the side of his dirt-smudged and stinging face and glowered at their departing backs. If only…

    * * *

    Gaheris, of course, didn’t know that the Masks were mobilizing enforcer teams to the docks at that very moment, with the ship ten minutes from sailing, but he had a sinking feeling in his gut. This was too easy.

    The feeling of impending doom continued to follow him as he went about the unskilled labor that Ander the bosun kept giving to him.

    It was several minutes later when the resulting distraction caused him to trip over a rope, thereby saving his life. A jagged crossbow bolt whizzed through where his head had been a moment before and lodged in the mast.

    “Wha’ in th’ name o’ the Bitch Queen!” Ander spat out the exclamation as he caught sight of the bolt still quivering, buried an inch into the mast. “BATTLE STATIONS,” the bosun yelled as Gaheris sprung and rolled away halfway through rising to his feet, having only just realized what had happened.

    * * *

    “Beshaba’s brats,” Jankin spat as he took his eye away from the crossbow sight and started loading a new bolt into the weapon.

    Marcus snarled as his own shot missed as well, though more from his own mistakes than a lucky fall. The ship had already started to cast off before he’d recognized Gaheris’ face. They’d never stop it now. The gangplank was already up, and the final two lines were cast back to the pier as sailors grabbed for their own crossbows and wheel-lock smokepowder pistols.

    Jankin snapped his reloaded crossbow back to his shoulder, only to catch sight of Gaheris diving down an open hatch past a surprised-looking sailor rushing up from the armory. “He’s below. Can’t get him now.”

    “Let’s scoot, then,” Marcus answered. “Find out where that ship’s off to, an’ see if someone can beat it there.” The two men seized their weapons and faded back into a nearby alley as Watchmen started running towards the pier.

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    Chapter Five
    Two Days Before the Mast

    Merchant ship Thalavar Trader, 11th of Ches, 1362 DR

    Vomit flew over the gunwale as Gaheris’ seasickness finally got the better of him the next morning. He spat miserably over the side, and only avoided bringing up more because he’d eaten so little to begin with. He resisted the urge to dry heave, and sank down to sit on the deck, holding his stomach.

    “’Ere,” he hears from somewhere above him. He looked up to see a rough-looking sailor standing over him, wearing a vaguely pitying expression. The man was holding what looked like some sort of crackers and a canteen. “Ye’ll get yer sea legs soon enough, but this’ll ‘elp a bit.”

    “The last thing I wanna see now is food,” Gaheris moaned in response.

    “Arr, jus’ trust ol’ Reeves. I know me business, lad, an’ that business is the sea. This’ll set ye straight, fer a little while anyways.”

    Gaheris nodded weakly, and reached up to take the brown wafers. Expecting some form of bitter medicine, he was surprised to taste ginger when he bit into one.

    “Ginger ‘elps, it does,” Reeves said, handing him the canteen next. It contained plain water, Gaheris found to his relief as he took a swallow to accompany a second ginger snap. He was surprised to find that he did feel slightly better, though not by much.

    “Give it time,” Reeves told him, as though he knew his thoughts. “Th’ cap’n wants ye in ‘is cabin; s’why I came lookin’ for ye.”

    Gaheris nodded weakly and stood shakily before making his way aft, not quite compensating for the pitch and roll of the ship as he went. His steps weaved a bit as he ducked a rope and walked up to the cabin door.

    “Enter,” Gaheris heard from the other side of the door when he knocked. He opened it and stepped in, slightly stumbling in the doorway as the ship rolled in the surf.

    “You wanted to see me, sir?”

    “Yes… Stedd, wasn’t it?” The captain wore an amused expression as he motioned Gaheris to sit down.

    “Aye, cap’n,” he said nervously, sloppily standing at attention.

    “You catch on quick,” said the captain with a chuckle, “but not that quick. Stedd – if that’s really your name, which I doubt – if you’d ever set foot before the mast in your life, you did a splendid job of hiding it yesterday.”

    “Captain,” Gaheris started to respond before the man cut him off with an upraised hand.

    “Now, the orders to take you on came from House Thalavar, so don’t worry about getting a stowaway’s treatment,” he said with a spark of amusement in his eye. “In fact, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion except for one thing.”

    He put a hand behind the rolled chart on his desk and withdrew it holding a barbed crossbow bolt. Gaheris involuntarily took in a sharp breath.

    The amusement was gone from the captain’s face. “Yes, this,” he continued. “I don’t like it when my ship’s shot at, and this was shot at you. There are only a few people in Westgate who have the balls to pull something like that in broad daylight but not the authority to simply march aboard and arrest you, and they’re all bad news.” He placed the bolt on his desk, steepled his fingers, and fixed Gaheris with a penetrating stare. “What’s gotten the Night Masks so riled up?” Gaheris opened his mouth only to be interrupted one more time. “And don’t bother lying. I’ll find out one way or the other.”

    The street urchin was visibly deflated by now. “I killed two of them,” he said simply. Saying it brought the realization home; he had been too busy fleeing for his life to sit down and think about what had actually happened. He suddenly wanted to retch again; he had carried weapons for a long time (only a fool didn’t on the streets of Westgate), but had never killed before.

    The captain’s stare had turned into a look of mild shock; whatever he’d been expecting, that clearly wasn’t it.

    “Well… That’d do it,” he said slowly. “Now I think this story had best come out of you quickly,” he said with an edge in his voice.

    The captain’s meaning was clear: He’d have no dangerous killers aboard his ship, and Gaheris had best convince him that he wasn’t one, and fast.

    So the whole story of two nights past came out. Gaheris was visibly perturbed as he recounted the events. As he finished, the captain stood.

    “Sounds like you did what you had to do, son,” he said, and clapped Gaheris on the shoulder as he came around the desk. “We’ll get you to Saerloon and set you on your way. I don’t know that the Masks will bother to chase you across the Dragon Reach, but they know which ship you were on. Won’t take ‘em long to find out where we’re going, so I wouldn’t stay there if I were you.”

    Gaheris nodded, a strange sense of relief coming over him. He’d never been so open with anyone in his entire life, yet here he’d spilled one of the most earthshattering events ever to happen to him to a man whose name, he now realized, he didn’t even yet know.

    “Cap’n…” The captain paused on his way to the cabin’s hatch. “I just realized I never even caught your name. Everyone’s just called you Cap’n.”

    The captain smiled. “I’m tempted to say, ‘You first,’” he said with a wry grin. “But you could easily find out anyway. Rowan Tallstag, though it’s still Captain to you.”

    Gaheris nodded. “Gaheris, as long as I’ve told you everything else,” he answered. “Though I’d like to keep being Stedd for awhile; wouldn’t want the whole port knowing who I am an hour after we land, and the crew’d talk if I suddenly changed names halfway there.”

    Captain Tallstag nodded as he opened the door out onto the deck. “Well, I’m going to go take the helm,” he said. “And as long as you’re cabin boy, get to work. I want that cabin cleaned and tidy by the time I’m back, but don’t touch the charts,” he growled back inside as sailors passed by on their way to their duties.

    Gaheris nodded as the captain closed the door and set about doing as he’d said.
    Last edited by Renegade Paladin; 2009-05-29 at 02:18 PM.

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    Chapter Six
    Dark Plots…

    Westgate, 10th of Ches, 1362 DR, after nightfall

    “The Thalavar Trader’s bound for Saerloon,” Tyrrell said with satisfaction. “And you two jokers are gonna be there before it.”

    Marcus looked surprised. “How, boss? She left hours ago. ‘Less you got a wizard up yer sleeve, there ain’t no way we kin get there first.”

    “Shows what you know, rothé-for-brains,” answered the enforcer cell’s leader. “She’s a big ol’ merchant ship, and accordin’ to this,” he said, holding up a copy of the ship’s manifest, “she’s loaded down with so much cargo that her hold’s fit to burst. Meantime, the captain of the Blackheart’s Fury owes ol’ Happy a favor.”

    Tyrrell chuckled as Jankin flinched. If Happy Gorender was taking a personal interest, then it would be bad news if they failed. “Yeah, that’s right. The Fury has some issues with entering the port, so there’s a boat waiting for you where the Shore meets the harbor wall. And you won’t be going alone,” he added menacingly. As if on cue, a dark figure stepped out of the back room and approached the enforcers.

    * * *

    Merchant ship Thalavar Trader, 11th of Ches, 1362 DR; late afternoon

    “Sail ho! Three-master off the port bow!”

    The lookout’s cry prompted the captain to hand over the wheel to Ander. “Hold her steady,” he instructed the bosun.

    “Aye, sir,” Ander answered as Captain Tallstag produced a spyglass from his coat and raised it to his right eye.

    He studied the distant ship for a moment before speaking. “She’s a Blue Dragon frigate, the Indomitable,” he said. “They’re signaling pirates sighted in the area.” He snapped the spyglass shut and put it back in his coat. “We’ll be safe in port in a few hours.” He raised his voice. “Unmask and string the ballistae, and get some bolts on deck,” he ordered.

    Gaheris had been swabbing the quarterdeck all this time, and nearly dropped the mop in surprise when Ander started executing the captain’s command. “STEDD! Stow that an’ get to the magazine!” He cast an eye about the deck, seeing whose duties weren’t critically important. “KERRECK! REEVES! JORDAN! You too! Tarsk, man the deck crane!”

    A chorus of ayes rang out as the indicated sailors dropped what they were doing and ran for the main hatch. Tarsk, an amazingly burly man who may well have been a half-orc, wrestled the cargo crane into position while the other four scrambled down the ladder into the hold and started making their way forward between the piles of lashed down crates.

    “Feelin’ better, lad?” Reeves smiled as he asked the question.

    “Aye,” the boy answered as they reached the forward armory.

    “Good,” Reeves said as he took an end of one of the bundles of ballista bolts stacked against the port bulkhead. “Get th’ other end o’ this, would ye?”

    Gaheris nodded and bent to grab the bundle. He grunted and nearly dropped it when he lifted.

    Reeves chuckled. “An’ I even let ye have th’ light end,” he remarked, and sure enough, he was holding the end with the large iron heads of the bolts. “Back up out th’ door, there’s a good lad. Th’ sooner we get to th’ hatch, th’ sooner ye can put that down.”

    Gaheris heartily agreed, and backed down the narrow corridor between the stacks of cargo. “So, what brings ye t’ seafarin’?” Reeves spoke with ease even as Gaheris continued to strain. “Unless I miss me guess, ye’re no sailor.”

    “Needed to get out of Westgate,” Gaheris grunted out before all but dropping his end of the bundle underneath the hatch. There was no point lying now. “I’m just on for this voyage. The captain already knows,” he assured the sailor.

    Reeves’ voice dropped to a near-whisper as a look of concern crossed his face. “The Masks?”

    Gaheris nodded slowly.

    “Don’t stay in Saerloon,” he advised in a low, intense voice as he began securing the bundle of bolts to the crane’s rope. “Westgate’s harbormaster is in th’ guild’s pocket; if they’re serious about getting’ ye, they already have th’ manifest an’ our charted course.”

    Gaheris nodded as he looped the rope back around for Reeves to tie into a knot. He hadn’t planned on staying anyway, but this leant extra urgency to his flight.

    “Heave!” Reeves’ cry prompted Tarsk to start working the crane’s pulley mechanism. The ballista bolts rose rapidly to the deck as Kerreck and Jordan approached with their own load.

    * * *

    Saerloon Harbor, 11th of Ches, 1362 DR; sunset

    The gangplank fell to the pier with a thud.

    “Now hear this,” Ander called out over the assembled crew. “Offloading the cargo will commence at daylight. Crew is granted shore leave for the night. Return to the ship at daybreak tomorrow. That is all.”

    The news instantly put the crew into high spirits, and they started moving towards the gangplank and the city beyond.

    The captain had ordered shore leave for the night to give Gaheris cover to “desert,” and the street urchin was taking full advantage of it. He dodged down the first alley he came to and started zigzagging through the byways randomly.

    It wasn’t enough. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye as he passed a dark alley entrance and went for his dagger, but too late. A fast-moving short blade batted his own aside, and the boy dropped it in panic as a second one slashed across his field of vision, leaving a shallow cut leading up the left side of his face. A second later, he found himself against the wall, a pair of crossed dirks over his throat.

    “Garis, isn’t it?” Marcus Ravenlock had a steely glint in his eye as he looked at the urchin over his crossed blades. “The Faceless sends his regards.”
    Last edited by Renegade Paladin; 2009-06-07 at 11:33 AM.

  7. - Top - End - #7
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    Default Re: Trollbane

    Okay, I know that not all 358 views on this thread are from me, so people must be reading this. Nothing to say?


    Chapter Seven
    …and Dark Deeds

    Gaheris’ mind raced. Try as he might, he couldn’t figure a way out of this. Fortunately, the Night Masks (he now saw another behind the one that had him pinned to the wall, this one holding a loaded crossbow) didn’t seem to be in any hurry to dispatch him.

    “Now lessee. What’d you do to Lashan an’ Travers? Dagger all the way inta the back for Lashan, I knows that. Now what else? Left kidney for Travers?” He kept the dirk in his left hand over Gaheris’ throat while shifting his right hand. He reversed his grip and jammed the pommel of the weapon into Gaheris’ left kidney. The boy grunted in pain. “An’ then ‘is neck. Nasty way t’ go, don’t ya think? Sittin’ there on the ground, pinned to th’ floor with a bit o’ cold steel, can’t talk nor scream ‘cause that steel’s through yer windpipe… Yeah. Nasty.”

    Gaheris squirmed, having more room to do so now that there wasn’t a blade on one side of his neck. Marcus noticed and the other dirk was back crossing the other over the boy’s throat at once. “Oh, don’t think you’re gonna get away. Nobody but nobody does that to th’ Masks an’ lives. But it won’t be quick. Oh no, you’re gonna be an example. So, Jankin, where do ya think I should start?” He chuckled menacingly.

    Jankin cracked a smile and was just about to answer when a dark shape rose up behind him. A belaying pin came down on the back of the crossbow sniper’s head and he went down.

    Marcus turned to face the new threat, one of his dirks drawing a shallow cut across the bottom of Gaheris’ chin as he turned. He twirled his weapons in his fingers as Reeves stepped over Jankin’s slumped form.

    “This ain’t no business o’ yours, sailor,” Marcus said. “Turn around an’ get out now an’ I may let ya walk away.”

    Reeves dropped the belaying pin…

    “That’s better,” Marcus said. Now…”

    …and uttered an incantation in Celestial.

    A glowing cutlass appeared in midair next to Marcus and immediately took a swing at him.

    “Wha’ in the Hells?”

    Reeves’ own cutlass came out as he advanced. “The Cap’n o’ the Waves don’t take kindly t’ yer kind roughin’ up his crews,” Reeves coldly informed the enforcer. The magical weapon did not stop attacking as he spoke, leaving Marcus trying to defend himself from it and pay attention to Reeves at the same time.

    “Crew?” Marcus laughed as he asked the question, ducking under a swipe of the spectral cutlass. “He ain’t nobody’s crew. This kid’s nothin’ but a… AUGH!”

    The spell-crafted blade had finally found its mark, gouging an ugly but shallow slash across the enforcer’s left side.

    Reeves lunged at the same moment. Marcus barely turned aside the blow with his left-hand blade and stabbed out with his right.

    Gaheris, meanwhile, took full advantage of his attacker’s distraction, edging towards his own weapon, lying forgotten on the ground.

    He reached the long knife and seized it, whirling to face Marcus and Reeves just as the enforcer ducked the wrong way while trying to avoid the spiritual weapon and wound up under the sailor’s physical cutlass. Marcus howled in agony as the weapon bit solidly into his left shoulder, striking nearly to the bone.

    Gaheris’ eyes caught sight of three new sources of movement in that moment. First, Marcus dropped the weapon in his left hand, sending it clattering to the ground. Then Gaheris noticed Jankin starting to stir on the ground, and took a step toward the other Night Mask.

    Before he took a second stride, he saw it: A shadow rising up out of the dark behind Reeves as the sailor menaced Marcus. “BEHIND YOU!”

    Reeves spun, swinging his cutlass ahead of his turn, but too late. The shape’s dagger stabbed into his left shoulder. The sudden movement had thrown off the new assailant’s aim by just enough; the weapon struck shallow over the shoulder blade instead of lancing into the chest cavity. Reeves’ cutlass slashed straight across the newcomer’s belly as he realized the danger too slowly to leap back. A solid crunch and scrape made clear that the stranger was wearing armor; sure enough, the blow cut a hole in his tunic, revealing the glint of chain mesh in the sparse light coming from the alley mouth.

    The third Night Mask leapt back and then literally ran halfway up the wall of the warehouse on one side of the alley before pulling a small crossbow from his cloak and firing at Gaheris.

    The shot missed as the boy ducked. Reeves muttered some words that Gaheris couldn’t make out and touched the wound on his shoulder; the flesh started to knit together.

    The assassin raised his crossbow again, but as he did so, Reeves picked up the dropped belaying pin and threw it, striking the crossbow and triggering it wildly. The bolt buried itself in the ground twenty feet from Gaheris as the newcomer snarled and then abruptly vanished from sight, still clinging to the wall.

    “’E’s not gone. Move,” Reeves instructed. Gaheris didn’t need to be told; he was already running full tilt toward the end of the alleyway. Reeves followed right behind.

    * * *

    The figure reappeared and dropped lightly to the ground. He tossed a small bottle to Marcus, forcing him to let go of his slashed left arm to catch it. The assassin laughed softly at the enforcer’s hiss of pain.

    “Drink up,” he told Marcus as he moved over to Jankin, who was by now propped up on his elbows and holding his head.

    Marcus did as he was told, downing the potion in one gulp. His wounds began to bind together, a faint blue light shining from the gash in his shoulder for a moment before fading, leaving the wound partly healed and scabbed over.

    “As for you,” their companion continued, yanking Jankin to his feet, “what in all the Hells made you think you needed to cover the kid when he was already against the wall with two blades at his throat? He wasn’t going anywhere. You let that sailor march right up behind you and hit you in the head; he wasn’t even that quiet.”

    Jankin grunted something about wishing someone else would be quieter. Marcus cut in. “Yeah, that’s nice ‘n’ all, but shouldn’t we get after ‘em?”

    The assassin chuckled. “Oh, I don’t think they’ll get very far.”

    * * *

    Gaheris and Reeves had only been running for a block or so when the sailor started to slow down. A block after that, he could only manage a rapid limp and was clutching his sides.

    “What’s wrong?” The urgency was evident in Gaheris’ voice.

    “Not sure,” Reeves gasped. “Think ‘e paisoned ‘is knife…”

    “Come on,” urged Gaheris as he grasped the sailor’s arm. They were near one of the dockside taverns, and he hoped to find some of Reeves’ shipmates there.

    “Go on. If’n ye stay with me, they’ll kill ye…”

    “And you’ll just die out here if we don’t find help. It isn’t far.” He started to pull Reeves along.

    Then, without warning, a crossbow bolt flew down the street and lodged in Reeves’ back on the right side, where his body had come between Gaheris and the shot when the boy had draped the sailor’s right arm over his shoulder to better help him along.

    Gaheris let go of Reeves as the sailor went limp, realizing to his horror what had just happened. “Go,” Reeves gasped out hoarsely. The corners of his mouth were starting to froth pink.

    He went. Gaheris looked back behind him as he ran around a corner, to see Reeves ripping the jagged bolt out of his back as the Night Masks advanced on him. He heard the clang of steel as he ran on into the night, tears mixing with the blood from the cut on his face.

  8. - Top - End - #8
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    Chapter Eight

    The footsteps were close behind him, and he didn’t know these streets. He hoped the Night Masks didn’t either, but there were no guarantees.

    He dodged down another side street, making for the tavern he’d tried to drag Reeves to. Reaching it, he barged in the front door, nearly bowling over a drunken gnome that was starting to stagger out as he came in.

    He’d been right; some of his erstwhile shipmates were still here. He was relieved that he’d seen them making for the sign of this building before splitting off to try and escape.

    “Ho, and there’s our cabin boy!” Kerreck motioned him over to the table he was sharing with several other sailors with a wide grin. “Where ye been, Stedd? And wha’ happened to yer face?” His eyes narrowed as he took notice of the pair of cuts.

    “No time,” he gasped out. “Street thugs… They’ve killed Reeves!”

    “WHAT?” Tarsk nearly upended the table shooting to his feet, cursing. “Where?” The rest of the crew members in the tavern reached for their weapons as they also stood.

    “No weapons!” The barkeep’s indignant shout was quickly stifled by a look from Tarsk.

    “A couple blocks from here,” Gaheris answered. “They were chasing me.”

    “Come on,” Anders growled from his place standing at the next table over. The bo’sun marched towards the door, the rest of the sailors behind him. Gaheris quickly darted ahead and out the door. As he’d suspected, Marcus and Jankin were coming down the street.

    “There ya are,” Marcus growled as he advanced down the street. “Thought you could run, did…”

    The sailors barreled out behind Gaheris before the enforcer could finish his sentence.

    “There they are!” The street urchin pointed at the two thugs, wondering all the while where the third one was.

    “Get ‘em!” Anders’ growled command set his men charging towards the two thugs.

    “Beshaba’s brats,” Marcus growled as he started backpedaling, dirks in his hands. Jankin was in no hurry to stick around either, and was ahead of Marcus, fairly running down the street.

    Gaheris wasn’t any more eager to stay and watch than they. He took off the other way down the street, trying to put some distance between himself and the fray before the Night Masks managed to extricate themselves (if they could, he thought, but best not to take chances) and come after him again.

    He looked back as he rounded the next corner. The sailors had caught up with his pursuers. As he glanced back, the third assassin jumped down off of a warehouse roof. Two of the sailors screamed and dropped their weapons, and then the black-clad figure was upon them. Gaheris didn’t stay to discover the outcome.

    * * *

    It was past midnight before he managed to find what he needed in the caravan yards: An encamped wagon train, looking like it was fully loaded and prepared to leave at dawn. The pair of guards were almost comically inattentive, and it was with ease that Gaheris stole his way into the small caravan’s ranks and found a place to bed down between some bales of cloth.

  9. - Top - End - #9
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    Default Re: Trollbane

    Argh. I just discovered that the original thread wasn't deleted in the purge; it just didn't show up because the search function is useless now. It's here, if anyone's interested, but I'm going to keep posting chapters in this one.
    "Courage is the complement of fear. A fearless man cannot be courageous. He is also a fool." -- Robert Heinlein

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    Default Re: Trollbane

    Chapter Nine

    Saerloon caravan yards, 12th of Ches, 1362 DR, sunrise

    Gaheris awoke before first light, startled awake by a nearby ox shifting on his heavy hooves. He looked around groggily before remembering where he was. Shaking himself awake, the boy noted the lightening sky in the east and rose to a crouch, taking stock of the situation. There was a guard near the pile of goods he’d hidden himself in, but her back was turned. He slowly stole out of his place between the large bundles of linen and ducked out of the caravan’s place in the yard before the guard decided to turn around.

    If he was going to join the caravan, he’d need to pay his way. With that in mind, he trotted off towards the city’s open air bazaar, knowing just how to get what he needed.

    * * *

    Gaheris casually leaned against the wall of the last house on a street called Coinpurse Cut before it emptied into the bazaar, watching the people going to the open-air market with a practiced eye.

    After a few minutes, he caught sight of a likely prospect, an extravagantly dressed man wearing colors no doubt belonging to one of the Sembian merchant houses, bearing a fat coin-purse strapped to his belt. It was so fat, in fact, that he would likely miss the weight immediately, mused the young cutpurse. Fortunately, he had a cure for that.

    Hefting the leather pouch of rocks he had gathered for this purpose, the red-haired youth moved out into the crowd. Weaving his way through the crowded pedestrians heading for an early start to their shopping, he got in front of his target and walked towards him. When they were just a few feet apart, he turned his head to look off to his right, the illusion of not paying attention to where he was going. He then walked headlong into the merchant.

    “Here now, lad, watch where you’re going,” exclaimed the man as Gaheris steadied himself by grabbing his target’s arm, apparently dropping his own purse as he did so.

    “S-sorry, sir,” he responded, hurriedly bending over to retrieve the dropped money bag. The merchant hurriedly checked his own belt, and, finding his own heavy purse there, relaxed noticeably.

    “Now don’t you go just running into people like that,” he admonished the street urchin. “It’s no wonder you’re stuck out ‘ere in the street if that’s all the attention you pay to your doings,” he continued, eyeing Gaheris’ ragged clothes with distaste. “Now run along and get out of my sight!”

    Gaheris bowed slightly and hurried away, quickly losing himself in the morning crowds, still clutching the purse he had gathered from the ground.

    He would be long gone before his mark noticed that the purse at his belt was, in fact, simply hooked over the sliced remains of his own purse-straps, thought the pickpocket in satisfaction, slipping his dagger back up his sleeve.

    * * *

    He hurried back to the caravan yard as the sun climbed higher in the sky, having used some of the money to buy himself some better clothes and a bath. This still left him enough to buy or bribe his way into the caravan, while making him look at least remotely civilized, enough so that they’d probably let him in, at any rate. Spotting the caravan he’d surreptitiously bedded down in starting to form up at the gates, he hurried forward, approaching the man he took to be the caravan master. At least, he was the one shouting orders.

    “Excuse me, sir,” he said politely as he approached the taller man.

    “Yes, what do you want?” The caravan master’s voice was irritable, clearly annoyed at having been interrupted from ordering his wagons.

    “Sorry to bother you sir, but I’m leaving town for the north, and I’m looking for a group to travel with, at least for a while. Can I join your caravan?”

    The man looked down. “We’re headed for Archenbridge. That about the right direction for you?”

    “Yes, that’ll do fine,” he said.

    “Well, the guards don’t come cheap, y’know,” the man told him. “Cost’ll run to five silver ravens for the trip, if it’s just you on foot.”

    “Done,” Gaheris said, not wanting to bother haggling. He dug into the “borrowed” pouch and counted out five silver coins, handing them over to the caravan master.

    “Good,” he said, somewhat taken aback by the failure to try and bargain him down, but not about to argue. “We go out the gate at highsun. Either you’re with us or not; I’ve not the time to run about gatherin’ folk that can’t be bothered to show up on time.”

    “I understand. I’ll just wait around here, then.”

    The caravan master nodded. “Here then, sign the register.” He grabbed a roughly bound book from the wagon seat he was standing next to, opened it to about the middle, and held it forth along with a quill.

    Gaheris hesitated for a moment before signing “Stedd Cormwyn” on the sheet of paper. He almost immediately kicked himself for using the same alias as he had on the ship, but there was no taking it back now.

    “All right then, Master Cormwyn,” the caravan master said to him. “Just fall in wherever you want. If you’re lucky, one of the merchants might let you ride in his wagon. On mine, it’ll cost extra.”

    Gaheris nodded and hurried back into the main body of the caravan, not wanting to stay in sight any longer than necessary.

    * * *

    It wasn’t long before the caravan rolled out of the gates wagon by wagon and started on the road north towards the Dalelands. Gaheris walked along next to one of the carts in the middle of the wagon train, slowly relaxing as Saerloon faded behind them with no sign of pursuit.

    The day wore on quickly as the caravan continued on the road northwest, making for Saerb, where they would overnight before crossing the River Arkhen to Archenbridge. They would reach the city an hour after nightfall.

    The crossroads town of Mulhessen provided a stopover point for a short while before continuing on the Belduuk Road, but the crossing with the Way of the Manticore, upon which the town stood, was well behind the caravan by the time the sun began to set.

    Selûne rose in the east as the sun set in the west, accompanied by her Tears. Toril’s moon was nearly full that night, but storm clouds were starting to blow up from the south off of the Sea of Fallen Stars. The wagon masters quickened the caravan’s pace, eager to reach Saerb before the night wore on too long.

    But it had worn on long enough. A bullseye lantern suddenly shone down on the lead wagon from a small hillock overlooking the road. “Belay there! Stand and deliver, your money or your lives!” The figure holding the lantern shouted out his demand in a booming voice, startling the members of the caravan even as the mercenary guards coolly drew steel and readied lances.

    Gaheris pulled out his own long dagger as he slipped behind the nearest wagon, mind racing. “We’ll deliver naught to you but steel and spell,” answered the leader of the caravan’s guards, a wizard judging from the arcane light already dancing at his fingertips. “Get back over that hill, or you won’t live long to regret it.”

    The bandit simply laughed. “Hear that, boys? They want some fun!” He then switched to a guttural tongue that Gaheris didn’t recognize, but made one or two of the guards go pale at the sound of, unless the torchlight deceived him. More bandits crested the hill, and came up out of the grass on the other side of the road as well. Shots flew from crossbows as targets presented themselves, but soon the defenders’ attention was taken by another sight.

    A great green shape, hunched over with its arms hanging nearly to the ground, lumbered over the hill behind the bandits. Its long nose stood out prominently in the features of its warty face, starkly lit by the moon’s light and the guttering torches. Its claws flexed as it regarded the wagons with an expression somehow displaying both stupidity and contempt simultaneously.

    The troll roared out a challenge in the giants’ tongue and charged the caravan.
    "Courage is the complement of fear. A fearless man cannot be courageous. He is also a fool." -- Robert Heinlein

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