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As the sun was dipping toward the horizon, the party bid the townsfolk farewell, and, following Rynn’s lead, they ventured out towards Oldkeep. “Not big on original names, are they,” Amara had said as the set out. She and Jenika had laughed at that quip before Khaska had shushed them. Orensland had grinned at the two of them behind the cleric’s back.
As Rynn had suspected, following the trail to Oldkeep was easy, and the ettin’s trail seemed to match up with it quite frequently. It was obvious that few had traveled between the old hamlet and the new one the past few years, and the ettin wasn’t making a straight path, but after an hour it was clear that the two paths were roughly the same.
It was a little bit after the sun set when Rynn brought them to a halt. He leaned down over the main trail to Oldkeep and brushed the ground with his hand. “Blood,” he said. “Fresh, too.” He looked down the trail. “It’s quite fresh, in the last hour or so. Heading in that direction.”
“Is it human blood?” asked Khaska. “All of the villagers are back in Newkeep.”
“No, it’s not human blood.”
“Could it be the ettin?” asked Orensland.
“Could be,” the ranger said. “But looks like something smaller. Humanoid, though. Maybe a goblin, or an orc. A bunch of them, actually,” He said, surveying the ground more thoroughly. “And not just a few are injured. Looks like they lost a fight.”
“What kind of humanoid?” asked Jenika. “Humans?”
“Orcs,” said Khaska. He pointed something out in the ground to Rynn, and the ranger walked over, took one look and then nodded.
“That’s an orc track. Looks like they’re moving their entire clan.”
“Oh that’s good news,” Orensland said sarcastically. “So what’s big enough to make an entire clan of orcs pack up and leave?”
“An ettin,” said Amara. “I think it is good news.”
“She’s right,” said Rynn. “I’ll bet that they got into a tangle with the ettin. If it really is coming from Oldkeep, then their entire clan is in its claimed territory. It would have come after them. And if they’re still bleeding,” the ranger stood up and pointed in the direction they came from, “then it was pretty recent. I think our best bet would be to follow their trail backwards and pick up the ettin’s trail from wherever they fought with it.” He looked around at the group.
“You’re the ranger,” said Jenika. “I just want to catch it quick.”
“Then let’s move,” he said, striding off into the bushes. Khaska was the first to notice a change in Rynn, but the others picked up on it as well. Now that the trail was more precise and clear, Rynn began to move with more of a purpose. Whereas before he had been generally following the trail to Oldkeep, now he was plunging through the forest with speed and determination.
The ranger was on the hunt.
Barely half an hour later, Rynn stopped abruptly. The orc encampment was just ahead. At least, what was left of it.
Bodies were strewn about the campsite. It was obvious that the orcs had tried to resist, but whatever had attacked them had killed at least five of them, their broken bodies having bled out onto the forest floor. Lean-tos and other crude shelters had been smashed, the branches and trees making them up shattered. Wood chips lay all around the ground.
Orensland gave a low whistle. “Ettin?” he said.
Rynn put fingers to his lips while he scanned the area. Nothing moved. The camp had truly been deserted. He stepped forward, moving into the camp, and looked intently at the ground. He pointed. “There. An ettin track. Pretty fresh, too.” The ranger was whispering, and he quickly moved from place to place, searching for the final trail of the creature.
“This was no temporary camp,” Khaska said. “The orcs had lived here for some time.”
“So if it was the ettin, he only recently attacked? That doesn’t make sense,” said Amara. “They’re pretty territorial, aren’t they? Why wait?”
“They are territorial,” said Rynn. “I don’t know why the delay, though.” He paused, hearing something. A small whimpering sound was coming from one of the destroyed huts. Something was trapped. It sounded like a small dog. It barked once or twice, a harsh, tired sound. Rynn moved over to the ruined hut and began pushing aside the broken timbers. It didn’t take much before he came across a dead body of a small wolf pup. “Help me,” he said. Orensland moved to help him, as did Khaska, but Amara hissed at him.
“Do we have time to waste on this?”
“I’ll not leave an animal to die. Won’t take but a minute,” he said. Jenika helped him move the pieces as well. Working quickly, the four of them managed to uncover several more pup bodies, as well as the larger body of what must have been their mother. Rynn knelt by the adult wolf, his fingers touching the numerous scars and wounds. More than had been caused by the ettin attack and the collapse of the hut. A chain collar connected the mother to what must have been the central pillar. “They must have kept her here. Tortured her for sport.”
“Rynn!” Khaska said. He had just moved aside another piece of wood and a small wolf pup came crawling out. The animal, just between puppy and juvenile, was clearly injured. It had a scar running down its face from just above its eye to below its jawline. It was able to walk, though, and when Rynn reached out a hand, the small tail wagged once or twice.
“Hey there little one,” Rynn said. The ranger and the wolf pup stared at each other for a long while.
“Come on!” Amara snapped, though quietly. “We don’t have time for this. He’s safe now, let’s go!”
Rynn raised a hand and the sorceress fell silent. Then the ranger pulled his pack slowly off and found a piece of jerky in it from one of his rations. The pup came forward slowly, but eventually took it. Rynn moved towards it but spooked the small creature. It scampered off into the woods quickly. Rynn stood. “Poor thing.” Then he put on his pack and shouldered his bow. “Thank you. This way now.” The ranger was all business again.
Oldkeep lay open in the ruins of a village. Clearly it had been several years since anybody had lived here. Most of the huts were overgrown along their bases or had fallen into disrepair or wood rot. The keep itself stood out in the purplish moonlight of two of the other Pressen moons, a red moon and a lighter blue one. The party grew quiet as they approached.
The ettin’s trail had led straight back here. From what Rynn could gather, the attack had happened a few hours ago, probably just before the sun had set. The ettin had attacked, been driven off (there was ettin blood now, too), and the orcs had hastily left, clearly wanting to move away from the creature’s territory. The ettin had moved back to the keep. The group thought it best to go in together. Even though sending Orensland ahead might be better, if the rogue were caught unawares by the ettin, it would spell almost certain doom for him. The group moved quietly into the rotting keep itself, Rynn and Khaska leading the way. The Maha’i was slightly disappointed that his new armor made so much noise, but he did his best to minimize it.
They entered a room not unlike the entrance to Lord Yellman’s mansion. It had fallen on harder times in the last few years, a few pieces of furniture here and there, now overgrown or rotting down. Double doors at the opposite end of the room lay partially open.
They were about twenty feet into the keep when Jenika snapped her fingers and pointed to the walls. Everybody looked around. Scrawled on the walls were various words. It looked like they had been written using a piece of burning firewood, or something similar. But, yet again, it looked like someone had come afterwards and destroyed them, rubbing and smearing the writing. Only a few words here and there could be made out. “… HEADS … AVENGED … MASTER … PUNISHED … REJECTED … ONE HEAD.”
“Clearly the same riddle,” Amara whispered.
“But someone does not want it written down,” said Khaska, also whispering.
Rynn held out a hand abruptly, and the group fell absolutely silent. Rynn put an emphatic finger to his lips, then pointed at the door to enter the next room. The could hear faint humming. Rynn and Amara exchanged a look of incredulity. It sounded like a lullaby.
He motioned for Orensland to take a look, and the rogue snuck forward, testing his footing with each step. The group waited tensely. Amara caught herself literally holding her breath, and had to exhale slowly to avoid simply expelling the air in her lungs with too much force and then sucking a new breath in.
Orensland poked his head around the door, trying to be careful and move slowly, so as to not attract attention. His low-light vision let him immediately see what lay beyond the doors. The next room had been completely wrecked; there were even gaping holes in the ceiling. It looked like a large hall of some sort. Pieces of furniture were everywhere, and the walls were scorched with fire marks. A tapestry hung to one side, half consumed by fire, half faded and water-damaged. A bookcase sat at the far end of the room, but a few of the shelves had fallen, their contents, a series of scrolls and books, had scattered on the floor, where they had collected dust.
Off to the side was the giant form of the ettin. It was sitting on the ground, and its left head was softly humming; the other was fast asleep. In its right hand was a small tree that had been uprooted. It looked to Orensland like it had several broken branches. He guessed the ettin had used it as a club, probably against the orcs. No wonder they had had a hard time of it.
The ettin stopped humming, well, the left head stopped humming, and the elf froze. However, it didn’t look like the ettin had seen him. Instead, the left head looked at the right, then got up, its huge bulk obviously difficult to move from a sitting position, then knelt down, and clasped its two hands together. If Orensland didn’t know any better, he would say that the ettin was praying. He strained to hear, but the creature was muttering. The only word he caught was “Heironeous,” which was uttered several times. He crept back and whispered his findings to the others.
“What do you want to do?” he asked Rynn. The ranger frowned. He was unsure.
Khaska, however, was not. “It appears you were right Amara, but we must sill be cautious.” The Maha’i whispered a quick prayer to Teresh, and then slowly moved over to the door. He pushed on it, and it creaked a little on its hinges.
The left head turned to look at him. The cleric stared at the head, and the head stared back for a moment, then looked at the right head. Satisfied that it was still asleep, the left head turned back. “You can come in, if you’re quiet. We don’t want to wake him.” It was whispering, but the words carried in the silence of Oldkeep. “If you do, you’ll have to run. He’ll kill you.”
Khaska looked back at the others, and then motioned them to come in, and then quietly stepped through. “I am Khaska, of the Mawkhavi Maha’i, and these are my friends.”
“Come to kill me?” the ettin’s left head asked.
“We were unsure what to do,” the cleric responded. The others filed into the room quietly. Rynn had his bow out and an arrow nocked, Orensland had drawn his sword, and Jenika looked ready to spring into action. Amara hung back, but the sorceress looked no less prepared. Even Kirza was unusually silent. “It seems that your attacks and the riddle at the shrine were connected, but we could not see the connection.”
“I can explain,” the ettin’s head said. “I am Kyrnyn, a cleric of Heironeous. Several years ago my friends and I came here to rescue the town from the evil wizard Stondylus. We fought him in this very room, and were victorious, but at a great price. Three of my friends perished, and I was turned into this monstrosity.” He lifted his hands. “I killed them myself, with these very hands. My other friend, the rogue Hartmund, managed to kill Stondylus. After that, my mind was my own again, but my body remained like this.
“Hartmund helped me bury our companions and went to go get help.” He stood up, slowly, watching his other head the entire time. “But he never returned. Ever since then, I’ve lived here, trying to stay out of the way.”
“Attacking the local village is staying out of the way?” Amara asked.
“That is Muck, my other head. At first, the other head was just another set of eyes and ears, but in the past few months it’s, well, it has taken on a life of its own.” He looked down at the floor. “I cannot control him when he is awake. When he is asleep, I can control the body.” He smiled, a big grin full of crooked large teeth. “Luckily he enjoys the lullabies my mother used to sing to me.”
“So you are the one that wrote the riddle on the shrine in Newkeep?” asked Khaska.
“I am. After Muck began to attack people and assert his independence, I was praying to Heironeous for help and guidance. I had given up hope, but redoubled my efforts with others’ lives at stake.
“The riddle was given me in a vision by Heironeous. I wrote it down here to keep it fresh, but Muck destroyed it when he saw the writing. So, one night, when he was sleeping, I snuck to the shrine to pray. In desperation, I wrote the riddle down there so that I might meditate on it.”
“Why would Heironeous give you a riddle?”
“I know not,” he said. “But I do know that if I can solve it, the Invincible One will grant me a dispel magic spell, even without my holy symbol. That was clear from the vision granted to me. This spell would release me from Stondylus’ spell. I could be human again!” He sighed, then moved his bulk back to where he had originally been sitting, and sat down again slowly. “But I know not why my God toys with me so. Why does he not simply grant me the spell? He grants me other spells, but not the one that will restore me.”
He looked at the group. “I fear that if you cannot help me to solve the riddle,” he paused, then rushed forward, “then I ask you to kill me now, so that Muck will harm no more innocents.”
“The line about Hextor is what I’m most concerned about,” said Amara. “A priest of Heironeous that turned away. A cleric maybe?”
Her point was not lost on Kyrnyn. He was emphatic. “I always served my God as I should. I never heeded the call of Hextor, and I don’t know anybody else the riddle could refer to.” He said it loudly enough that Muck snorted, but didn't wake up. Kyrnyn looked at the other head worriedly for a moment, then turned back. “I was very zealous in the service of Heironeous.”
“So then where did Muck come from?” she asked. “The polymorph spell would not have created a new personality.”
“Would this Stondylus have worshipped Hextor?” asked Khaska.
“I don’t know about Stondylus’ religious beliefs.”
Jenika stepped forward. “If Muck wakes up,” she cracked her knuckles, “I’ll try to stun him. Give us a fighting chance.” Kyrnyn sunk the ettin’s body down a little more, putting the sleeping Muck about the right height. Jenika nodded, ready for action. “No idea about the riddle, though. It doesn’t concern your companions?”
“I do not think so. Zimmian was a wizard, mostly interested in expanding his power and knowledge of the arcane, but an honorable man. Gordell and Thorvald were fighters, but used their battle prowess to serve good means. The rogue Hartmund was in it for the adventure and the money, but he was not evil. I do not think the riddle pertains to any of them. Heironeous gave it to me in response to my pleas, but I am failing to learn the lesson my god is trying to teach me.”
“If there is nobody else the riddle is talking about, perhaps there is some action in your past that you need to repent of,” Orensland said. Though he grinned shortly after, quietly drawing his sword. “Not that I know much about such matters. Perhaps we should just bisect Muck’s head.”
“If you were to slay Muck’s head, the wounds would eventually kill me as well. Obviously my one head has been bisected once, but I know not why it says ‘twice.’ If it had happened twice, I’d have four heads!”
“Perhaps you murdered someone who didn’t profess faith in Heironeous.” Khaska said.
“I never murdered anybody. But in a world filled with evil, I did my duty to serve the Invincible One. Yes, that means I killed people sometimes, but none who were good. No worshipper of Pelor fell to my longsword. All truly good clerics must do this to serve their god. I did nothing more than you all will be called upon to do if Muck should awaken.”
“There are other ways of heeding Hextor than outright following him.”
“I never did such a thing!" Kyrnyn raged, quietly. "Muck destroys everything. I only served my God and killed those that deserved it." The ettin clenched his left hand as he finished his statement.
“And how do you know that they deserved to die?” asked Rynn.
Kyrnyn opened his mouth, then shut it. “They were evil. Evil must be punished, as quickly and decisively as possible. Is that not what Heironeous would want? Should I not joy in serving my God by punishing them?”
“It’s clear you’re far from perfect,” Amara said. “Why do you bother pretending if you really want to be free of this?”
From outside the keep, the party heard barking. Then a yelp. The sounds of a group of people entering the keep reached their ears. It sounded like many people. The doors swung open, and a man stepped through, dressed in silver plate armor. In his hands was a large two-handed spiked mace. His cloak bore the trappings of the Knights of the Silver Dragons, and behind him came Malwick and several of the militia members from the village. The Knight looked at the situation, and realized that there was no immediate danger.
“Amara Palladia,” he said. “I came to help with the gnomes, but will now help you slay this ettin!” Malwick and several men drew arrows and pointed them at the giant’s figure.
“Shhhhhh!” the sorceress snapped waving her hands up and down to quiet them. Everybody froze. Muck had not woken up, but was stirring. “Only one of the heads is evil. The other is a cleric named Kyrnyn, trapped by a polymorph spell from the wizard Stondylus.”
“Kyrnyn,” said Malwick. The left head nodded. “I remember you. I am sorry that it has come to this, but this good Knight has convinced us that it must be this way.” He looked at the Knight, who nodded, and then advanced towards the giant.
“We cannot afford any more lives,” the Knight said. “I’m sorry.”
Malwick took aim, and fired. The arrow flew through the air, but bounced off of the wall behind the ettin. He had missed, but the other militia members were preparing to fire as well.
“Stop!” Amara hissed. “We know how to change him back!”
“We can save Kyrnyn and insure everybody’s safety!” Jenika said.
The Knight paused and looked at Amara. “How?”
“He must atone for the slaying of a man he misguidedly killed in the name of Heironeous,” replied the sorceress.
“And how long will that take?”
“It will depend on the strength of his pleas for forgiveness.”
“We don’t have time for that.” He began to advance again.
Rynn whispered fiercely to the Knight. “You are a paladin! You are honor bound to help those in need. Kyrnyn is in need. He was a cleric of Heironeous. If you don’t at least try to help, you risk losing your powers and will be useless if the other head takes control.”
“We have until dawn!” Amara snapped, her voice whipping through the silence. The militia members looked from the Knight to Amara, then back again, clearly unsure what to do.
The Knight was undeterred. “We definitely do not have time for that. I must help all of those around me, including those threatened by the other head.” He looked at the left head. “I take no joy in this, but I cannot risk the threat. Too many have died already.”
Kyrnyn nodded. The Knight advanced.
Amara whirled and took two steps towards the entrance, where the militia members were crowding in the doorway. They were not spreading out, and were readying arrows. Chanting quickly, she invoked her arcane powers, spreading her hands in front of her. A blast of multicolored light flew forth from her hands, and most of the militia members shied away as the Color Spray washed over them.
Half of them, including Malwick, collapsed to the ground in a clatter of weapons as Orensland burst out loud laughing. Restik came through the door. “What are you doing?” he blurted out, astonished at what had just happened.
Amara turned back to the Knight. “We have the …” Amara started a sentence.
“Whu …” came a deep voice.
Amara’s face paled.
“Muck Kill!”
“… time,” she finished. She shot Restik a withering glance, but had no time for a sarcastic comment.
The other head had awoken.
Jenika moved in lightning quick and punched Muck right in the face, her entire body tensing as she poured all her strength and training into the blow.
Muck recoiled from the hit, but then roared at the monk.
The ettin began to get up, but Kyrnyn clearly was fighting back. The two heads were at war, the two sides of the body, the legs and the arms fighting each other as the cleric fought the evil head. The right side grabbed the small tree, but the left hand disarmed it by yanking the tree away and throwing it aside. To add to the confusion, the militia members that had not fallen unconscious opened fire, their arrows flying through the air at the flailing ettin, but not a single one hurting the ettin. The creature’s tough hide protected it. Muck landed a vicious blow on Kyrnyn’s head, but the cleric was unphased and continued to fight, attempting to choke Muck’s neck. The arms swinging wildly, the legs flailing and kicking, the giant was a sight to behold. Even the Knight paused, unsure if he should enter the combat.
Amara seized the opportunity. “You seem to have a history of thoughtless overzealousness Kyrnyn. Is it not so? How many times have you sought vengeance instead of genuinely seeking the will of Heironeous?” Amara practically screamed at Kyrnyn, watching the ettin’s body flail about.
“If you have any repenting, do it quick,” said Orensland, drawing his sword, but not wanting to get within range of the ettin’s flailing limbs. Only Jenika was brave enough to stand in that area. She weaved back in and threw all she could into another blow at the right head. This time the entire room resounded with a sharp crack, and the monk’s fist left a large red welt on Muck’s head. He was not stunned, however.
“You have this one last chance for survival and forgiveness,” Rynn said, stepping back and firing two arrows rapidly into the ettin. The first embedded itself in the right arm, but the second flew wide. The Knight finally got up his courage and waded into the fight, swinging his glowing mace and carving a chunk out of the ettin’s belly, the spikes tearing at the flesh.
Khaska, however, was the one that reached through to Kyrnyn. “One does not earn favor with Good by indiscriminately killing all that might disagree; that is not the way to sow seeds of light. May you understand now what you professed to serve all along, and repent! We are now giving you the chance that you did not give. Pray now, before we must slay you!” More arrows flew into the ettin from the militia. Only one hit.
“Heironeous!” cried the left head. Muck was gaining the advantage. “Forgive me.” Muck pummeled Kyrnyn. A large bruise was forming on the left head. “I heeded the six-armed king, even while in your service.” Two quick blows split Kyrnyn’s lip. He was now slurring his words a little, and wasn’t as clear in his prayer. “I realize now the lesson you have given me. Reject me no more, and grant me the spell that I may return to my form and serve you properly.” Muck laughed and hit him again. A purple bruise was forming on Kyrnyn’s forehead. “With no double-mindedness.”
Muck smashed the other head one more time, and Kyrnyn stopped talking, dazed. The ettin laboriously got to its feet and looked toward the Knight, a roar of rage and delight issuing forth from his mouth. But Kyrnyn’s head gasped, and he muttered some words quietly.
The ettin had barely taken one step when a pillar of light enveloped him. The cry of delight turned to a howl of pain, and everybody had to shield their eyes as the room grew brighter and brighter.
Abruptly the light disappeared. It took them all a moment for their eyes to adjust back to the relative darkness, but when they could see a new figure materialized next to the tall form of the ettin, a figure clad in metal plating, a shield in one hand, and a longsword in the other.
“You have saved me from myself!” Kyrnyn cried out. Then he crouched into a fighting position. “Now, adventurers, help me slay my demon! My unwitting, evil, bisected head!”
He charged at the form of Muck, which had recovered now from the bright light. The two screamed as they clashed, the giant attempting to smash the figure of the cleric—human once more.
The group converged on them. Throwing caution to the wind, Orensland ducked around the back, stabbing the creature in the leg with his longsword. The Knight of the Silver Dragons cried aloud the words of a spell before attacking again, holy light again blazing from his weapon, but the blow swung wide. Rynn began pelting the creature with arrows as Jenika moved like lightning around the creature, hammering it with her fists. Khaska also drew his scimitar, charging into the melee, yelling a Maha’i battlecry. Amara raised her hands and blasted fire at Muck, the poor creature now beset on every side and now on fire from her Burning Hands. The creature, however, was almost exclusively focused on Kyrnyn. His hands swung at the man, once, and he missed. The second time, though, he managed to catch the cleric with a vicious blow that knocked him back. Restik rushed forward, casting a quick healing spell on the staggering human.
“Your holy symbol,” the cleric cried out. Restik looked down, and then quickly jerked the sigil of Heironeous off the cord on his neck. Kyrnyn took it, and advanced back on the group as arrows from the militia continued to fly into the melee. He uttered the words of a spell and touched Muck’s leg as Muck hit Orensland with a glancing blow. The rogue managed to roll with the blow, whirling to slash the creature again with his longsword. Jenika cracked its knee with a well-placed blow, and the creature howled with pain.
It whirled on the monk, a vicious backhand catching her across the face, but from several steps back Amara readied a crossbow bolt and fired it right into Muck’s right head. The creature sagged, unsteady on its feet, and both the Knight and Kyrnyn hit him with vicious blows. The ettin stumbled, and collapsed. The fight was over. Muck was dead.
Kyrnyn collapsed to his knees, clearly winded from the fight. After a moment he dropped his longsword and his shield, and held his gauntleted hands up. He began to cry. “Thank you, Heironeous,” he said, the tears streaming down his face. The Knight stepped forward to inspect the body, but it was clear that the ettin was not going to recover. Khaska stepped forward and put a hand on Kyrnyn’s shoulder.
“Thank you, kind sir,” the cleric said. “It was your words that brought me the understanding my god wished me to have.”
The Maha’i squeezed, and Kyrnyn touched his hand. “They are not my words, but the gods; to give them your honor.”
Kyrnyn nodded, and then looked at the others in turn. “You have helped me fine my way back to the true path of good. I am in your debt.” He turned to Malwick. “And I am sorry for the things that I did as Muck.”
“Well, I’m not sure I’m qualified to judge you on that matter,” said Malwick. “That seems something you clerics and paladins will have to help us decide. What I do know,” he said, turning to Amara, “is that you deliberately attacked my men.” He stepped forward. “I’m placing you under arrest.” The other militia members nocked arrows and stepped forward.
“Arresting me for accomplishing what you couldn’t?” she said, while smirking. “I see why the ettin caused such a problem for your militia.”
Rynn stepped between her and Malwick, holding his hands out to both. “With all due respect, Malwick, I’m not sure that stunning your men in an attempt to save lives—including theirs—should qualify as an attack.”
“You know not how many lives her action, though unusual, would have saved,”
replied Khaska. He sheathed his scimitar, looking around at all the others. “The danger is passed. We do not need our weapons anymore.”
Orensland paused for a moment, looking at Malwick with a peculiar grin on his face, but then sheathed his sword. Rynn took his bow and looped it around his arm. Jenika was already quite relaxed.
Malwick was unmoved. “I’m sorry, but I do have the authority to arrest those in Newkeep. I am the constable in the town, and with this Knight lending his strength,” he said, “I decided that we should kill the ettin. We had a chance to end this, and made our decision to save lives. You should have respected that decision once we arrived and helped us!” He looked at the Knight.
The Knight was cleaning off his mace, wiping the blood off with a dirty rag. He shrugged. “Malwick is right, you should have respected him and his decision to kill the ettin, but I cannot fault you for your actions now that we know what was going on more fully.” He stood. “This is a matter for the local magistrates. As a representative of the Knights, now that the ettin is dead, my role here is over. I cannot pick sides.” He looked right at Malwick. “But her spell was non-lethal. We Knights use it when non-lethal force is in everybody’s best interest.”
“We were acting under Lord Yellman’s authority,” said Khaska. “His supersedes yours. We had the right to act as we saw fit.”
Malwick drew his sword. “I’ll arrest you all if you keep up this impertinence!”
Amara scoffed. “I doubt Lord Yellman will would thank you for arresting a friend of his daughter and the party he sent to help you with the ettin! You’ll have a delightful time explaining to him the necessity of my imprisonment when your men wake up completely unharmed in a few moments.”
Kyrnyn and the Knight both stepped forward. The Knight held his mace up, slightly menacingly. “I will have no more violence, however,” he said. “We are all friends here.”
“Nobody was hurt,” said Kyrnyn.
“Hey!” said Orensland. He pointed to his bleeding face and gestured to Jenika.
“Nobody was permanently hurt. And I have been restored to my human form. This is unnecessary, Malwick.”
“They should have deferred to me!” the constable said. The stunned men behind him were beginning to stir. He paused, and the sheathed his sword. “I am still placing you under arrest,” he pointed at Amara. “But just so Lord Yellman can decide how best to conclude the matter.”
“Fine,” she said. “A dead ettin, a cleric redeemed, your town saved, I’m sure he’ll be very disappointed in all of us.” She held her hands out as if to be put in irons, but he turned simply scowled at her and motioned for her to come with. His body language brokered no argument, so the sorceress began to move that way.
“I will go to Lord Yellman and beg your release,” Kyrnyn said.
“Oh, we’ll not let her be locked up for this,” said Orensland. “At least not for long.” Then he winked at Amara.
Rynn was moving towards the awakening militiamen, helping them to their feet, explaining the situation. The Knight also helped the men up, and Kyrnyn just seemed once again, enamored with his human hands.
“So,” said Orensland, “no loot lying around in this place?”
“I haven’t been upstairs since I was changed into an ettin,” said Kyrnyn. “I had to smash through the floor to get out.” He pointed to the biggest of the holes in the ceiling. “And I know that Hartmund made of with at least some of the gold.”
“Well, I think I’ll go poke around upstairs then!” The rogue said.
Malwick stood impatiently and Khaska put a hand of reassurance on Amara’s shoulder. Rynn followed the two of them outside, and watched as Malwick bound her hands with rope. The constable knew that he was being watched, and the ropes weren’t that tight. To Amara, it seemed more a perfunctory gesture than anything else.
Rynn could hear a slight whimpering off to the side. The ranger’s face grew concerned, and he looked to the side. It was still decently bright out, In the shadow of the one of the buildings, the ranger’s sharp eyes spotted a small shape. He moved closer, and was able to see the wolf pup from earlier. Apparently it had followed them after the orc village. It was injured, whimpering softly. But its tail wagged as Rynn approached it.
“Stupid think started to bark as we approached,” Malwick said. “One of my men kicked it to shut it up.”
“Yes, because the yelping of an injured wolf pup is going to keep the ettin asleep,” Rynn growled. His sarcasm kind of surprised him. Perhaps Amara was wearing off on him. He took off his cloak and picked up the pup. He guessed that several ribs had been cracked, but the small creature seemed otherwise okay.
Malwick and his party were getting ready to leave, the soldiers having assembled. The Knight was also mounting his horse, and Kyrnyn stood in the entrance to the keep, unsure which way to go.
“You go on ahead,” Orensland said to him. “Make sure Amara is not mistreated. We’ll be along shortly. I want to see what, if anything, Hartmund left!” With that, Orensland moved up the stairs to see what he could find, taking care to step lightly on the dilapidated steps leading up to the top. Jenika and Khaska followed him.
The stairs led to a long hallway, and the three of them poked their heads in each of the rooms. The room Khaska looked into had the look of a bedroom. A bed sat to the side, as well as some various clothing items. As he opened a window, he saw that it had been borded up from the outside. Instead, a small shrine had been set up around a gold statue of Boccob. Khaska picked up the statue, feeling the heft of it. He smiled and nodded. It was a good find indeed. The large central room that Orensland investigated had the look of a laboratory. Bookshelves lined the walls, but a cursory glance at most of them revealed them to be singed and charred. A battle had taken place here. The hole in the center of the room attested it to be the place that Kyrnyn had broken through, rather than be trapped upstairs, his bulk unable to squeeze through the tight hallway. “This must have been where they killed Stondylus,” Orensland muttered to himself. He began to leaf through the books and scrolls, looking for something worthwhile.
Jenika joined him shortly after he began, the monk having found nothing of value in the remaining rooms. A chest had been emptied of whatever was in it, presumably the gold the wizard had on hand that Hartmund had taken. Together, their search turned up a few scrolls, though nobody could tell what spells they were of, and one of the unsigned books turned out to be a spellbook, but had been damaged in a fire. It looked like about half of the pages were still legible. Khaska and Rynn finished looking through the upper level of the keep. Rynn was carrying the pup, which occasionally whimpered, but seemed to be doing better. It occasionally would lick at him as opportunity presented itself.
“I see you have a new friend,” the cleric said, as they investigated a final room.
“I think I’ll name her Ranna,” Rynn said.
“A gift,” Khaska said. “We have rangers among our own people. To have found an animal companion is the mark of approval from the gods of nature. Ehlonna smiles upon you.”
Rynn looked at the wolf pup, which again licked at his face. “Gift or not, I’ll take care of this little one.”
“I have seen such devotion many times before. It will be reciprocated by the animal.” The Maha’i reached out a hand and ruffled the small wolf’s head. “Your skill as a ranger grows, indeed.”
The rest of the top floor turned up nothing worthwhile, and the downstairs part of the keep had been so hammered by Muck that there was little to even investigate. However, Orensland’s keen eyes saw three graves as they left the keep from the back way. “Must be Kyrnyn’s friends,” he said. Khaska stopped momentarily to pray to the spirits of the departed, and inform them of their success and Kyrnyn’s transformation, but soon the party left, Oldkeep fading into the background of the forest.
Rynn was able to lead them back to the village with no trouble. Just outside Newkeep they caught up with the militia. Amara looked none too happy, but was pleased to hear what they had found while looking over the place. “Let me cast Read Magic, and I will be able to tell what the scrolls are and which spells are readable in the spellbook!”
“No spells!” Malwick said.
Amara rolled her eyes at him again. “What, you think I’m going to attack the entire town and make my escape. I’m just rather looking forward to Lord Yellman’s reaction when he realizes what a dolt you are. That will be worth the trouble.”
“You won’t be coming to Hillsdale. I’ll go alone and tell Lord Yellman what has happened.”
“I have a right to be present if you’re going to accuse me!” She snapped. They were just on the outskirts of the town now. “Or at least bring a few of your men as witnesses that I did no harm to them.” She turned to Kyrnyn, smiling sweetly. “And you said you would be a character witness for me.”
“The offer still stands, my lady,” Kyrnyn said.
“And what do you think, Sir Nicholas?” she asked the Knight.
“I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure Hammerdinian laws require the accused to be present, or at least send a party to represent them.”
“That could be Kyrnyn!” said Malwick.
“Not if he is a character witness for her,” said Khaska.
“Look,” Jenika said, “we’ll just all go to Hillsdale and talk it out with Lord Yellman.”
Aranda appeared, wrapped in a cloak. The old woman looked expectantly at all of them as she approached.
“We have slain the ettin!” Malwick announced triumphantly.
“Aranda,” Kyrnyn said. “It is good to see you again.”
The woman paused, but then recognition dawned in her eyes. “I remember you. You went to slay the wizard Stondylus.”
“And was successful, but with some minor side effects.” He stepped forward. “I was the ettin. I believe we have much explaining to do. Perhaps it would best be done sitting by a warm fire or indoors.”
“Please, do come all the way into town. Many will want to celebrate the fact that the threat is gone.” She looked at him. “It is gone, isn’t it?”
Khaska nodded. “The ettin’s other head was a representation of Kyrnyn’s lesser attributes. He has now slain them, both metaphorically and literally. The danger is passed. Heironeous smiles on his cleric once more.”
The matron clapped her hands for joy. “Restik, please get Hannah and, well, anybody else. I doubt any of them slept after the militia left anyway!”
Restik jogged ahead into the town as the party made their way towards the new keep.
“And why do you have this young lady tied up?”
“During the course of the attack on the ettin, she assaulted my men,” Malwick said.
Aranda listened, with a bit of incredulity. The party could not tell if her emotion was directed towards Malwick or Amara, however. The old woman had them come into her home and tell their tale.
Orensland walked slowly until he was in the back of the pack, then snuck off to the side, darting behind a house and hiding until they were out of sight. Then he slunk through the town towards where their horse was waiting.
With the red leaf tied to one of the saddlebags.
The town was turning out to see the heroes. Aranda’s assessment of the situation seemed correct; few had gone to sleep, despite the late hour. Or perhaps it was just that they were easily awoken when word of the triumphant return of the militia spread. The people seemed joyous. And they weren’t particularly paying attention.
It wasn’t difficult to grab some of the red leaf and stuff it in a pouch, nor to sneak towards Malwick’s house. Most of the townsfolk who were up were headed towards the new keep. A few ducks and covers made it possible for Orensland to sneak away.
Malwick’s house was deserted. The lock on the door wasn’t really even a lock. Just a small wood mechanism that the rogue’s masterwork thieves’ tools easily bypassed. He glanced around, but nobody was nearby. He ducked in the house, quickly assessing what he saw. There was a fireplace with a few charred logs, but clearly the fire had not consumed them. A pot of cold stew hung over it, Orensland guessed that Malwick had left in a hurry once Sir Nicholas had arrived. The fire looked like it had just gone out on its own, and the pot was still half-full. With a smile and a grin, the rogue broke up the redleaf into small portions, crushing the leaves in his fist, and sprinkled it liberally into the fireplace. He ducked out and left.
He stepped through the crowd around the keep, pushing his way back to the front.
“Lord Yellman,” Malwick snarled at everybody. “will decide this matter.”
“And where were you?” Jenika asked as Orensland entered the keep.
The rogue smiled. “Had to use the outhouse.”
“I will keep Amara with me at the shrine,” Restik was saying. “There is room there, and Kyrnyn can keep me company.”
Malwick looked at everybody present. It was clear that whatever conversation had been going on, he had won no friends. “Fine,” he muttered. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
“Afternoon,” said Sir Nicholas. “It is late, and I for one would like a full night’s rest.”
“Noon. No later.” With that, Malwick stormed off.
Kyrnyn and Restik both escorted Amara to the shrine, but released her from her rope bonds in the meantime. The Knight asked if he could stay the night, and Hannah offered to put him up. The others slept in the new keep with Aranda, making due with the half-finished building as their resting place. Ranna curled up with Rynn, the wolf still warming up to the ranger. Rynn’s last thoughts were of Khaska’s words, that the gods had smiled upon him and sent him an animal companion. Yet his heart still ached for Juliet. He was grateful for this new turn, but saddened that it signaled, to him, another step in his new life-without his wife.
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