Chapter Nine: All's Fair in Gloves and War (working title)

Sir Terrin of the Shining Tower, Bandit-Slayer and Hero of the Township of Su-lain, Righter of Wrongs, Doer of Good and Adjudicator of the People's Justice of the Township of Fallior, Protector of the Royal Line of the Kingdom of Crystalis, Holy Knight of Pelor massaged his wrist, having just finished writing down his entire title three times on the overly-legalistic legal documents documenting the sale of a warehouse to the company "Terrin, MacLeod, and Calain Adventurers, Incorporated." The new town constable of Fallior, while refreshingly less corrupt than his predecessor, was also far more obsessive-compulsive (though William and Calain would've put it less politely, probably in a manner involving the southern end of the human digestive tract and the word "retention") when it came to documentation of anything and everything. Calain the Unstoppable of the Iron Mountain Clan and William MacLeod also had to sign the forms in triplicate, but they had less writing to do when asked for "official titles possibly bestowed by monarchs, magistrates, or officially sanctioned public officials."

Terrin didn't mind the paperwork too much, however, as the current town administration's admiration for such things had kept William and Calain relatively under control due to the fact that the amount of paperwork resulting in one punch thrown in a tavern to punctuate a point of view was reported to require an entire inkwell to fill out. Thus, the two tavern terrorizers had been on their best barroom behavior for the better part of two weeks.

Terrin had recently hung a sign on the front of the building proclaiming "Terrin, MacLeod, and Calain Adventurers, Incorporated" in large letters with the words "No Job Or Foe Too Large" printed undeath. They had thrown out the idea to print "No Reward Too Small" on the sign, largely because this was a for-profit business and while public service was good for publicity, it didn't pay for tavern repairs or whatever other expenses the lads might accumulate. Calain had joked about adding the reward line and reversing the amounts--"No Job Or Foe Too Small, No Reward Too Large"--but Terrin thought it a bit too roguish even for their known-to-be-heavy-handed-and-short-tempered adventuring group, which had grown in number from the initial three names listed on the sign.

First, they'd come in contact with a well-known bard "named" Monsieur Du Pont Du La Pont Du La Pont DeLeon, whom they dealt with on a case-by-case basis partially because he was often booked for command performances by local monarchs or constabularies, and partially because they couldn't always stand being around him for more than about five minutes.

Secondly, they'd made business arrangements with an elven cat burglar named Leah Galanodel, or, as Terrin so eloquently worded it on the list of chartered employees, a "stealth reconaissance and resource recovery expert." She also had an overly flirtatious sister named Elysia who, while also being somewhat inclined to acquire things in a less than legal manner, was not on the official list of employees due to the fact that she and Calain (and, to a lesser extent, William) did not get along very well.

Realizing that their group consisted of three warriors, a bard, and a thief, Terrin put an ad in the weekly Adventurer's Guild Gazette that the group sought the services of a supreme sorcerer or wise and wily wizard to round out the group with some magic power. Also, it would be handy to have someone on staff with pertinent knowledge when strange and magical things happened, such as soul-trapping mirrors being stared into. Things could get messy when they had to hike two days back to town with a soultrapped or otherwise ensorcelled comrade because he fell in a trap in the first room of a bandit hideout.

The bell over the door chimed as a man dressed in fancy orange robes sporting a hairdo that could only be possible in a world where magic was commonplace walked in, holding a copy of the aforementioned Gazette in his hand. Before Terrin could greet him, however, he began the conversation.

"Your worries are over, my good chum! No longer shall you blunder through mysteries magical and maladies mysterious! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nash, Sorcerer Supreme!" the man spewed forth like a veritable fountain of very verbose verbiage. "I have come to answer your advertisement advocating arcane assistance." he quipped flamboyantly, suddenly producing a comb from seemingly nowhere and adjusting his shock of hair.

"Um... pleased to meet you, Nash. What... er... qualifications do you have for the job?" Terrin asked, somewhat flabbergasted.

"Well, old chum, I wield the most potent of magicks, concoct the craziest of potions, and was voted Most Constantly Immaculate Hair by Magic Combs Monthly this past year." he explained, adjusting his hair once more with a comb that appeared from nowhere and returned there once its job had been completed.

"That's... er... great." said Terrin, weighing his options. Either he could sit here and wait for another spellcaster willing to follow three warriors notorious for breaking most everything they came across, or he could put up with the stranger personality quirks and let Nash join the team. Figuring that most spellcasters were probably inherently quirky anyway (judging by his previous experiences being transmuted into a stereotypical devil by the vampiric transmuter "The Great Gandalfo" and his delivery from a soul-trapping mirror by the discount magic shop owner and master taxidermist "Bob the Astounding, Transmuter, Evoker, and Taxidermist Extraordinaire"), "Nash, Sorcerer Supreme" and his immaculate haircut seemed a small thing to put up with to reinforce their otherwise lackadaisical knowledge of magic.

Once he'd had Nash sign all the appropriate forms (of which there were far less for admission into T. M. C. Adventurers, Inc. than there were for anything pertaining to the city) and giving the mage a tour of their warehouse (which was still mostly just an empty warehouse), he sent Nash off to procure some healing potions from a local shop and returned dutifully to his desk by the front door. Not quite an hour later, the bell above the door chimed again as a mammoth hand pushed the door open.

"William?" said a booming voice. Terrin managed not to let his jaw hang slack as a bare-chested eight-foot man-mountain with what looked like an entire polar bear pelt for a cape stooped to fit through the door.

"Verily, MacLeod is out on an errand." said Terrin quickly, trying to seem officious as the man towered over him. He had the windblown pallor of the far north, and a large spear that he used as a walking stick.

"Aha. The tavern, I imagine." the man said simply in his booming baritone.

"Er... yes, that would be correct. And you are...?" asked Terrin politely.

"My name is Quinn. I am the lord of the land you call the Northern Wastes." the man-mountain replied. "I come seeking aid--my people are being plagued by attacks from troops clad in black chainmail carrying standards of a black dragon on a red field." he explained. "William MacLeod traveled through my land once and helped me fight the very bear whose fur I wear on my back."

"I see. Let us go fetch William and our other companions. We shall come to your aid, sir, without hesitation." Terrin said, straigtening to his full height and still feeling dwarfed by Quinn.

"Lead on, sir knight."

The Mithril Flagon was in an uproar when Terrin and Quinn entered, with barstools flying through the air only slightly more often than those who would normally be their occupants. Arian, the erstwhile bardic companion of TMC, was fending off brawlers with an empty barrel from atop the stage while a young woman in wizard's robes cowered behind him. Calain was sitting on top of a pile of three or four half-orcs, drinking a pint of stout while watching William, who had one man on his shoulders, one man under his foot, and a third suspended in midair by the scruff of his neck, which William was holding onto. Eskar, the bartender, was hurriedly rushing to and fro attempting to secure various dishes, pieces of furniture, and wall fixtures from the arms of various combatants before they could cause damage to said objects by employing them as weapons of opportunity.

"I see they're at it again." said Terrin, bouncing a spitoon off a nearby drunk as he charged the newcomers.

"William! I need to talk to you!" Quinn boomed over the ruckus. Suddenly, the clamor stopped dead, with all eyes on the eight-foot man in the doorway. A smile broke across William's face.

"Quinn!" he said, tossing aside the ruffian he'd been holding by the neck and shrugging off the one that had clambered onto his shoulders like a sodden garment. He and Calain walked over to the door to meet Quinn, an action that the bard soon repeated with his female friend in tow.

"Good sir, I thank you for ending that debacle." said Arian, glowering at MacLeod, whom he no doubt blamed for the entire fiasco. He attempted to begin to continue explaining how he'd been playing for tips when either William or Calain told a particularly funny joke that sent the two of them laughing loudly over the music, and how when asked to be quiet by a nearby patron (apparently a "fan" of the minstrel) because the music was so beautiful, William simply shrugged and said he preferred the sound of his brother tuning up his bagpipes over "that twangy thing," and how the affronted fan had then taken the first swing, but Terrin cut him off before he could launch into the whole thing.

"Quinn has come seeking our aid in the name of his people, who are being plagued by attacks from an army of unknown origin in their northern home." spoke the paladin. "I have offered him our services to rid his land of this troubling problem." he explained further. Arian, if anything, was even more upset by having been volunteered to trek across the continent into the freezing north than he was at William having somewhat inadvertently started a bar brawl while he was playing, and voiced his opinion thusly.

"What? While I understand that this is a noble undertaking, one can hardly be expected to simply forget everything one might have underway, pack up, and traverse most of our expansive continent at the drop of a hat." he complained.

"Well, ye don't have tae come along, lad. Y'weren't much help with clowns, and a dark army is a bit larger than yer average circus troupe." cut in William. At this, the bard begrudgingly agreed, mostly to save face.

"This young lady, here, would accompany us as well. She, I believe, might be the answer to our troubling lack of magic power and what little arcane knowledge falls outside my own, being a wizard of note." Arian said, presenting his companion who, at no point in this or any story I am aware of, spoke even a single word.

"Er... I actually found us a sorcerer. He's off restocking our supply of healing potions." said Terrin. Before Arian could act too put off, though, he continued. "She is, however, more than welcome to join us in this escapade. Perhaps there is a lasting call for her, as well, in our organization."

"Anyway, if you've all finished, let's get ready to head out." said Calain, saving Terrin from having to try to appease Arian any more.

"William and I will strike off ahead of you to meet with the army that one of my lieutenants is currently raising. Get what gear you need and travel north to Pander. I will send one of my agents there to guide you to where you need to go." Quinn said.

"Aye. We'll meet ye up there, lads. And, er, lassie." agreed William. And so it was that William and Quinn set off on foot, both being of stout fortitude sufficient to allow them to travel farther on foot in a day than the average horse, and certainly farther than a laden wagon invariably needed to carry supplies for the rest of the group.

Back at their headquarters, Terrin was putting all their affairs in order for a lengthy absence at his desk in the front room when Leah, the group's thief, entered.

"Ah, Leah. Glad you came by. We're..." began Terrin, about to explain the situation.

"I know, going off into the North to fight an army of evil or some such. It's all over town. You want me to come along?" she asked.

"Well, er, your... 'talents,' while useful in some situations, might be of less assistance on the field of battle..." he said tactfully, not wishing to lead her into danger if it could be avoided.

"I'm not too bad in a fight, and I make a good scout when I'm not, y'know, doing 'resource recovery' or however you so eloquently put it." she replied with a grin.

"Very well, then. Be sure to bring warm clothing, as, well, the North is, well, the North." he said.

"Sure. No problem. By the way, a couple people were looking for you at the bar... one's a pretty lady and the other's her bodyguard. Barbarian from the highlands... not the same highlands as our friend the Scot, though." she said. "You might wanna check them, they might be 'of some assistance in this, our time of need.'"

"You're not bad. I probably would've said "Of tremendous assistance in this, our heroic endeavor to rid the land of the blight of an unknown evil and to deliver the people of the land from hardship." he replied without really trying. "I could probably add in something about bringing the light into the darkness..."

"I get the idea." she laughed, heading off to collect gear for the trip.

It wasn't much later that the two persons seeking Terrin found him, still busying himself by packing his gear in the front room of the warehouse. Being that the whole town was filled with the rumour that those noble heroes who'd saved it from the violent guild of thieves were embarking on another dangerous mission for the good of the common man, it didn't take long to get directions to T. M. C.'s conveniently-located warehouse amidst the bustling town center, right next to Bob's Discount Magical Crap and Taxidermy Shop and the Mithril Flagon, the bar that Calain's brother Eskar the Ale-Pumper owned.

The bell chimed over the door, Terrin looked up, and the aforementioned paladin-seekers strode into the room. First came a big man, roughly the size of William, with fresh scars on his arms from some recent altercation and a large sword strapped across his back. Following him in an interesting meek yet regal way was a young woman, clad in a plain brown traveler's cloak, carrying no visible weapon. A hint of redness came across Terrin's face as he recognized the woman.

"Your highness, I, er, was not expecting you. Would you like to have a seat?" he asked hurriedly, snatching up a chair and bringing it forward.

"Thank you, sir knight, though I wish my identity to remain a secret." replied Princess Gwendolyn Montane of the Kingdom of Crystalis. "I would not expect my savior to wait upon me hand-and-foot when my debt to him can never truly be repaid."

"Think nothing of it, my lady." said Terrin respectfully, still holding the chair. She politely sat down, thus relieving Terrin of the burden of the mannerisms ingrained into him at an early age for dealing with royalty. Turning toward her companion, he spoke again. "You, sir, I'm afraid I am unfamiliar with. I am Sir Terrin of the Shining Tower." he said, omitting the larger part of his title because he didn't want to seem overly proud in the presence of the princess and this man didn't seem the type to be impressed with long titles.

"Loctar's the name. I come from the Evermere Highlands in search of news of my father, Zaxtar. I met the princess, here, on the road and offered to protect her." the man replied, taking Terrin's hand in a vicelike grip that felt like it would crush boulders. Or possibly crush whatever else would crush boulders. A mighty handshake indeed.

"Pleased to meet you, Loctar. It's not often in this day and age that one finds someone worried about the well-being of others."

"Terrin, is it true that you're going north?" asked the princess.

"I... er, that is true, your highness." Terrin replied, attempting to hold his composure after hearing a monarch address him by his given name. Such familiarity was generally unheard of between knights-errant (however decorated they may be) and royalty.

"I see. Please take care on your venture. I..." the princess began uncertainly. "I would wish you to return, perhaps to be entertained at the castle as would befit a hero of your stature." she finished.

"I... I would be honored, my lady." said Terrin, bowing his head.

"That's it, I'm coming along." said Loctar, who'd been quiet up until this point (which was not something he was used to doing).

"I beg your pardon?" asked Terrin.

"I'll come along with you, up North. We'll take care of this problem, and I'll make sure you get back in one piece. Seeing as somebody wants to be sure that that's the case." he explained.

"Thank you, Loctar. To be frank, we can use all the help we can get." Terrin said.

"I could send the army of Crystalis to reinforce you, but they probably wouldn't arrive for several weeks." said the princess.

"Your graciousness knows no bounds, princess, but your armies should stand their ground in case the invading forces head south." replied Terrin. "I shall send news from the warfront by messenger to keep you informed."

"Thank you, Terrin." she said, calling him by his given name again. "However, I would like to send you out with my official sanction, to support Quinn and his tribesmen in the name of the kingdom of Crystalis." she continued, and Terrin stood erect as she stood up from the chair he'd managed to seat her in. "Thus, I name you Knight-Errant of Crystalis, and ask that you carry my favor into battle." she said, taking off the bejeweled silver amulet she wore around her neck. "It is magical, and will help to protect you."

"I... er... I-I..." stammered Terrin at this unexpected and most generous of gifts. The princess laughed, at which point he managed to regain his composure. "Very well, my lady, I shall wear it with pride." he said officiously, taking his longsword from its sheath and kneeling in front of her with it held point-to-the-ground before him so that she could drape the amulet around his neck with anything resembling the normal officious manner in which such things are predominately done. Of course, the setting of a half-refurbished warehouse office with gear strewn about in the presence of a barbarian clothed in the randomly-assembled mishmash clothing he'd acquired in his travels with a princess disguised as a commoner didn't lend much to the official side of things. Still, Terrin did his best.

"Go with my blessing. I shall await news." the princess said, and then promptly left Terrin still kneeling and somewhat flabbergasted by the whole affair.

"Congratulations, buddy. That's something to write home about." said Loctar, clapping a hand on Terrin's shoulder. "Now, about that, er, war..."

Sir Terrin of the Shining Tower, Bandit-Slayer and Hero of the Township of Su-lain, Righter of Wrongs, Doer of Good and Adjudicator of the People's Justice of the Township of Fallior, Knight-Errant, Chosen Champion and Protector of the Royal Line of the Kingdom of Crystalis, Holy Knight of Pelor, having now finished filling out the forms required of him (that took an extra penstroke or seventeen with the titles that had been bestowed upon him that same day) to put the refurbishment and redevelopment of their headquarters on hiatus, massaged his wrist for what seemed like the fifth time of the day. Leah Galanodel and Calain had already finished packing up their gear and were waiting in a wagon parked in front of the warehouse while Nash, aided by a levitation spell, loaded the last of the crates of healing potions he'd acquired for the trip. Monsieur Du Pont Du La Pont Du La Pont DeLeon and his still-silent wizard friend were mounted on horses, two more of which stood waiting for Terrin and Nash.

"That would be it for the crates, good dwarf." Nash said as the last crate moved itself into place. "Still, I wonder about the travel conditions... this dust is not doing very nice things to my hair." This comment brought a snicker from both the dwarf and the elf seated next to him. Suddenly remembering that she was there, Calain snapped back into his default let's-make-wisecracks-about-the-elf mode.

"Don't fall off the wagon while it's moving, we're gonna want to make good time and I won't want to stop for you. The road can get bumpy and you're not tied down like the cargo." he admonished.

"Oh, so you fancy yourself as having better balance than an elf, huh?" she replied mockingly. "Don't you fall off, either. You'd never catch up on those stumpy legs, weighed down by all that armor."

"You won't have to worry about it. I could stay in the wagon at full speed blindfolded while standing on one leg!" he boasted.

"Oh, really? I'd bet that I could stand on one hand and tell you how to steer longer than you could do it!" she hypothesized.

"You're on!"

The sight that Terrin found when he exited the building and locked the door was not the well-organized, stocked-and-ready-to-go caravan of riding horses and a laden wagon that he expected; instead, it looked like he was back in Gandalfo's circus. Nash was upside down in a horse trough while his horse sidestepped around nervously, while the bard's horse had simply run away with him. The reason for all this was that the wagon was racing around in circles at breakneck speed in the middle of the street, driven by Calain while standing on one foot blindfolded while Leah stood on one hand and navigated for the blind dwarf.

"Could you help me out of this, my good man?" asked Nash, having managed to right himself. "I never cared overly much for traveling."

"Of course." he replied, pulling Nash out of the trough as the sorcerer produced two magic combs and started combing two-handed to restore his hairdo to its previous state. "Calain! What in Pelor's name is going on here?!" Terrin yelled, at which point the dwarf stopped the horses, put his foot back down, and pulled off the blindfold.

"Er... that is... um..." the dwarf replied, trying madly to think of an excuse.

"We were testing the stability of the wagon. If we can't manage to stand while it's moving, then we'd never be able to do anything in the midst of a pitched battle." broke in Leah quickly. "Everything checks out. We also worked out a system where I can direct Calain how to drive if he gets blinded by a spell or explosion." she continued, to explain the presence of the blindfold.

"Uh, yeah!" said Calain hopefully. Terrin, however, was laughing.

"Glad everything works. Apparently, you also conducted a readiness test, which Arian and Nash failed miserably when the wagon spooked the horses." he said. "All right! Let's get ready to move out!"

"So, I guess my balance is okay to stay in the wagon?" Leah asked Calain quietly as Terrin mounted up. He gave a noncommittal grunt in reply. "Yeah, I love you, too." she said sardonically.

The town of Pander, far north of the dusty plains of Su-Lain on the other side of the country of Draconia (which was notorious for not liking travelers, and thus the group avoided contact with the Draconians as much as was possible), was roughly fifteen hundred miles' journey for the group. Which is to say, it took slightly more than two months to get there, though the trip was really quite uneventful. They did have one or two encounters with the large lizards of Draconia, but aside from a few flesh wounds and a broken dagger, there were no complications. Calain begrudgingly admitted "that elf isn't too bad in a fight, for an elf" and Leah took it as a compliment. Arian regaled the group with stories he'd heard, finally being "useful" in Calain's opinion in that he kept the boring journey from being downright tedious. Loctar, having joined the party at the edge of town after obtaining a horse (for which he had Princess Montane to thank), corrected the bard on a few points of several legends that had been passed down by his people during one story, which upset Arian somewhat to the point where he sulked for a day and would tell no stories. That is, of course, until Calain, going stir-crazy from sitting in the wagon with an elf, started singing drinking songs hilariously off-key until he relented and started the stories again. Elysia Galanodel, Leah's flirtatious sister, apparently having nothing better to do than traverse the continent with a group of adventurers, joined them at the edge of town as well but didn't participate in the debacle related to the storytelling and thus wasn't mentioned until this point.

This is the untold side of great adventures--days upon days of travel. Many stories feature forbidding castles perched atop distant mountains, and skip over the slogging through the swamps at the base of said mountains for a week before one even gets to climbing. Sure, these parts are boring, but they... well... probably serve to humanize the story. Or something. Perhaps people identify with characters who do the same thing every day and then suddenly break the drudgery by defeating a dragon or some such. Probably because normal people have no dragons to break the drudgery, and thus are more drawn into stories about such things.

Anyway, they traveled, and traveled, and traveled, and traveled. And traveled some more. But, since it was boring and I already explained that it was, I won't go into any more detail than I already have.

When our heroes finally reached Pander, it was late summer. Having crossed the Draconian Desert in the midst of the hottest months of the year was not a pleasurable experience, but the rougher part of the journey now lay ahead of them. Pander Pass was impassible six months out of the year, and the cold mountains surrounding it were equally inhospitable. Furthermore, it was dangerous (as many such surprisingly important passesk were in that day and age) at any time of the year, especially when dark armies were reputed to be in the area causing trouble.

First, however, the group had to rest from their boring journey across the middle of the continent. They obtained lodging at a cozy inn on the edge of town, and went about securing supplies. It was already far colder than they were used to, with ground water freezing in the sun even in late summer. Extra layers of clothing were purchased, as were heavy fur gloves made from the hide of some fell northern beast known for its resilience. Quinn's agent still hadn't contacted them

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©2005-2006 Joshua Thompson, Chris Morgan, and Keith Keydel. Monsieur Du Pont Du La Pont Du La Pont DeLeon is the intellectual property of Neal Schlein, which he's perfectly welcome to keep. All other characters are the intellectual property of whoever played them, should they still remember doing so. Have a nice day.