The Peacekeeper

The brisk fall morning was almost refreshing to Jiang An Na. This frost is nothing compared to Korhira, he thought.

After breaking down his campsite, he hopped onto Clover and continued his journey eastward. The next stop on his return home was Orrenstead, a Lord’s Hold he had passed through on his way west. I’ll have to get some supplies there, the folk at Switchrun didn’t have much left to offer me. The hold was quite prosperous at the time he passed through before, so Jiang had no doubts he would find plenty of provision there. Perhaps word of his deeds had preceded him and someone would provide him with some aid.

Around midday, he pulled through the gates, briefly flashing the humble contents of his Bag of Colding to the guards before they could stop him. He easily found the stables nearby the gate and left Clover in the hands of a small stable girl. “I’ll be right back, don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone!” he scolded, to which Clover replied with a brief whinny as the stable girl begin ushering him to the stable.

“Hey, one moment! Where can I get some food around here?” Jiang asked the little girl.

She looked back and said, “My favorite’s the Happy Hoboblin. Food’s cheap, portion’s good, an’ the owners’re lovely!” before she hurried the horse along.

He had no trouble finding the Happy Hobgoblin – a simple but impressively large establishment with a grinning Hobgoblin face on a large wooden sign. He pushed the doors open and entered.

“Greetings, friend!” a short, green figure shouted. Jiang looked down to see a well-dressed Goblin with a monocle smiling up at him. “Welcome to the Happy Hobgoblin! You look weary, traveler, can I interest you in a meal and perhaps an overnight?”

“Just food is fine for now,” he replied as he sat down at the fourth bar stool of eight. “May I see a menu?”

“Sure can!” The Goblin ran around to his own stool behind the counter and placed a two-sided menu in front of him. “May I suggest a meal today, sir?”

“Hmm.” Jiang mused, glancing over the contents of the papyrus menu. “Do you have any specialties or local food? I’m in the mood for something different today.”

“Might I propose my famous Hobgoblin Hummus, then? It is certainly my specialty, at least, and I promise you’ve never had anything like it!” The Goblin’s demeanor had become much more enthusiastic.

Putting down the menu, Jiang said, “Sounds great! And can I have something to drink with that?”

“Of course, of course, can I interest you in our special Hobgoblin Ale? It’s a one-of-a-kind brew made by yours truly!”

“Ah… I was thinking more like-“

“Or maybe my wife’s famous Hexelspreck’s Fizzbomb? Though I warn you, it is rather spicy going down!”

“Oh, all I want is-“

“Or how about-“

“May I please just have some water?” Jiang finally cut in.

The Goblin looked slightly abashed. “Oh, sorry, sometimes I get carried away,” he laughed nervously. “I’ll get you that hummus and some water right away!” Without another word, he hurried to the kitchen. I hope that wasn’t too mean… I just wanted some water.

He returned with water quickly and then some hummus shortly thereafter. “Hope you enjoy!” he exclaimed.

“Thanks! Ah, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Minlar Hexelspreck, at your service!” Minlar replied.

“Thank you, Minlar!” Before taking a bite, Jiang examined the contents and structure of the hummus before determining that the cooking method was beyond his expertise. Maybe next time.

The Guardian

“I am truly sorry, but I cannot identify it.” The young scholar handed the towering figure back his crystalline fragment.

Though the Warforged had become used to the apologetic looks and empty words, he was nevertheless disappointed by this man’s lack of information. “Very well,” he replied solemnly. Without another word, he about-faced and left the small library.

The nameless man looked to the sky, as if seeking an answer from Lok. Orrenstead has been unhelpful, too. Will I ever find out what I am? The bustling city around him didn’t help to improve his mood. Desiring some solace, he began to search for a quiet park bench on which to ponder his next move. Passersby shot quizzical looks up at the man, his dominating height affording him a rather daunting presence.

After a moment’s search, he found an empty bench with few around to disturb his thoughts. The West is proving just as barren of information as the East. Was it really worth traveling this far? I do hear of a grand library in Wayside, though. Perhaps that is my next destination. But the question is when should I-

“Hey!” Came a shout from behind him. The man glanced over his shoulder, but saw no one. Curious he looked forward once more. That is odd… BONK!

“Down here!” The youthful voice called once again. Standing now, the man turned to see a small Elf girl and a leather ball rolling toward her. She bent over to pick it up and, righting herself, raised an eyebrow at the man. “You’re pretty tall!”

The man paused, momentarily stunned by the rare situation. No one ever talked to him. “Yes. I am,” he responded flatly. He then added confidently, “You are small.”

The little girl smiled. “I am! But not for long, I’m gonna be as tall as Mommy some day!” Several meters behind the little Elf girl stood who the man assumed to be her mother, who was about one foot shorter than he stood.

“I am sure you will. Now run along, I am a stranger and I believe your mother is worried.”

“But I wanna play a game! You’re tall, so you can probably run fast enough to catch me!” Before he could react, the girl reached out and lightly shoved his leg. “You’re it! Come catch me!”

“Little girl, I have no time for your games. I must be moving-“

“What, are you too slow? You’ll never get me!” She hurried away from him, darting behind trees and deeper into the park. The looming metal man looked to the girl, to the ground, and then to the Elvish woman standing off in the distance. Laughing behind a hand, she nodded her approval. For the first time in a long time, he felt an emotion he never remembered feeling before.

Amusing.

Looking toward the girl once again, he took off.

The Performer

“Thank you, thank you!” Sheva Oldran shouted over the roaring applause of the growing crowd gathered around him. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to stay tuned for the real show coming soon! Look out for the masks!” And after a few more bows and blown kisses, he bounced off the stage and vanished into the throng of people moving quickly about Orrenstead.

Another successful act. What a thrill! He mused to himself. Rushing past excited people left and right, Sheva finally made it back to his room. With a sigh, he quickly removed the makeup and adornments for his costume and stripped his mask. Staring at the vanity mirror before him, he smiled a tired smile at himself. “I wondered if that would ever get old, and it’s starting to!”

He sighed once more and began changing his clothes, blowing his long, shimmering hair out of his face. I think it’s about time for a new ‘do, too. Sheva wasn’t one to stick with anything for very long. His home, his hair, even his choice of companions changed as the seasons do. While he loved performing with The Finale, he still felt like something more was out there waiting for him.

Donning his “casual” clothes, Sheva descended the steps of the Happy Hobgoblin once more. “Minlar!” he proclaimed, waltzing into the common area. “I’m parched. And bored! Can you be a darling and please get me something to spice things up a bit?”

At the sound of the word spice Minlar perked up. “Oh, I would be delighted to spice things up a bit! Can you handle hot okay?”

“Have you seen me?” Sheva replied confidently.

Minlar smiled deviously. “But of course, Master Oldran.” He cleared his throat. “Oh, HELENA!!” A scrambling from the kitchen, a few bangs and clangs of pots, and an “OW!” later, a slender Gnomish woman emerged from the kitchen. Eagerly, she looked to Minlar and asked, “Did somebody order one?!”

“Why yes, my dear, someone did! You know what to do!”

Just as soon as she emerged from the kitchen, the Gnomish woman returned, followed by more violent movement.

“I promise you, Master Oldran, the Hexelspreck Fizzbomb will do nothing for you if not… spice things up.”

“All right! That’s what I like to hear!” Sheva enthusiastically replied. Anything called a Fizzbomb must surely be exciting!

A moment later, Helena emerged with a glittery red drink. A smoky cloud was formed above the it, as were a series of small, fizzling bursts of light. “Here ya are, sir! An authentic Hexelspreck invention, my beloved-” she paused, setting the drink down to accent her next word with explosive hand gestures. “Fizz! Bomb!”

“Thanks!” Sheva replied, taking the drink in his right hand. Not one to ask questions, he quickly moved the drink to his lips.

“WAIT!” Both Helena and Minlar shouted in unison. “You should be careful! Don’t-!”

But the drink was already down the hatch, and Sheva hadn’t the slightest clue what was coming. “Huh? Did you two say something?” He asked the couple.

“Er, ah, never mind!” Minlar sheepishly responded. Helena’s mouth was agape.

“They were telling me that the drink is quite potent,” a voice from down the bar piped in. Sheva turned to find a simply dressed Human chomping meditatively on what appeared to be hummus. “Better you than me.”

“Oh? And what exactly happens when you- unnggghhhhhh!” Sheva’s hand only barely caught the bar counter before he fell to the ground. “What’s in this?!”

“Family secret!” Helena perkily replied, having regained her composure. “Normally, you’re supposed to sip it, not down it one go ya twit! Ya know, enjoy it?!” Her tone shifted to agitation.

“Now, now, my beloved, our guests are free to do as they please, remember?” Minlar placated. “I’m sure he enjoyed it just fine, didn’t you?”

“Well I don’t kno- ohhhh!” Suddenly, the feeling in Sheva’s gut subsided from an angry hurricane to a peaceful meadow. “Wow, that is goooood stuff! Can I have another?”

As Helena’s fainted body fell to the ground, a scream echoed throughout the city.

The Fugitive

“Ah!” The shackled man woke with a start. The wagon had stumbled over a rock in the road, jarring him awake.

“Oh, good! You’re finally awake!” A deep voice to his right exclaimed. “You’ve been out since they threw you in here with us. I’d never seen you before, what block were you in?” He continued.

The man, regaining some composure, surveyed the scene around him. They were in a caged wagon that was approaching a city. “They,” in this case, meant himself, the blond Northerner to his right who possessed the deep, interrogating voice, a Half-Orc, surprisingly fit for a prisoner, sitting across from him, and a Dark Elf woman, who hadn’t even passed a glance at him since he came to.

“I was… pretty deep. I don’t think the cell had a ‘block,'” the man eventually responded after a moment.

“Ah,” the Northerner replied flatly. “Well, if you were that far into the dungeon, you must’ve done something pretty bad, huh? As for us, we were all part of a gang of-“

“I didn’t do anything,” the man cut in harshly, seething. It was all coming back to him. The malnutrition must be getting to me. He shook his head once to clear his mind.

“What?” The Northerner replied almost dumbly. “What do you mean you didn’t do anything? What, you mean you were framed?” He laughed the last word.

“You could say that,” the man responded, then continued, “I would call it back-stabbing myself.” The memory of his betrayer’s face flooded his mind, along with all the emotions. Fondness. Shock. Anger. Sadness. Hopelessness.

Revenge.

“Quiet back there, you miserable lot!” The bailiff shouted from his seat. “We’re approaching Orrenstead now. We’ll make a short stop to feed you wretches, and then we’re off once more. The Coliseum is eager to receive it’s shipment! Har!” He laughed.

The Northerner merely lowered his voice. “Right, well, in any case, we’re all off to Salta. I guess fightin’s better than what we had. At least we could be famous.” The man didn’t get the sense that this Northerner really looked forward to the life ahead of them all.

And neither did he.

“I’d sooner die,” the man replied, and said no more.

A few minutes later, the wagon parked by what appeared to be a garrison for the local guards. The bailiff unlocked the door and, with the assistance of three more guards, begin escorting the prisoners – who the man realized were all chained together – toward the tower.

The bailiff turned toward the Half-Orc and began, “Now, listen ‘ere, Gru’ush. I don’ wan’ no funny business from you, ya hear? Just keep your ego in check, and ‘oo knows? Maybe you’ll-“

SMACK!

The Half-Orc, allegedly named Gru’ush, came down on the bailiff with a brutal headbutt that seemed to have broken his nose. Gru’ush, on the other hand, was left with only a bloody spot on his forehead and a crude, toothy grin.

“Why, you miserable little..!” The bailiff rounded on Gru’ush, but an Orrenstead guard – perhaps a higher station than him? – pulled the man off.

“Enough, Churm. Need we remind you that they aren’t yours to maim anymore? They belong to the Saltese Empire now, and we don’t need to deal with them should their ‘goods’ arrived damaged, hmm?”

“Hmph,” the bailiff named Churm exhaled, and then rushed toward the tower. Gru’ush let out a deep “Heh heh,” and the other two just smiled and laughed with him. Even the fourth prisoner couldn’t help but smile. He noted that the Dark Elf’s voice sounded shot, and he noticed some wounds on her neck for the first time.

Inside the tower, the four chained prisoners shared a meager meal of hard, stale bread and water. The other three picked at their food ordinarily, but the man couldn’t help but scarf down the first real meal he had seen in years.

“Woah, slow down there, friend,” the Northerner commented, amused. “You’ll be dropping solid bread tonight if you ain’t careful!” He laughed at his own joke.

The man ignored him, devouring the small chunk of bread in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly, an agonized scream echoed through the city. A guard came into the room and shouted for the other two to come, and the four prisoners were suddenly, miraculously alone.

“Well, what say we get out of here, comrades?” Gru’ush said after a moment, raising his hand. From a lazy finger dangled a large, iron key.

“Gru’ush! But how- oh, you sly dog!” The Northerner exclaimed. “That stunt back there was just to grab the key, was it?”

“No,” he responded, unlocking his own shackles. Then he said “I also wanted to smash his bloody skull in.” Gru’ush then dropped the keys on the table and began walking toward the doors.

“Well, how ’bout that?” The Northerner said, then, turning to the man, added “You say you don’t belong here, right? Well, here’s your ticket to freedom!”

Without hesitating, the back-stabbed man leapt up and grabbed the key. Asking questions and missing opportunities is what got me here. I won’t make that mistake again.

The man unlocked his own shackles and then helped the other two out of theirs. As he was preparing to dart after Gru’ush for freedom, the Northerner called out to him.

“Say, we never gave proper introductions. I’m Erik, you’ve met Gru’ush, and this fine lady’s name is Mavrolyn. We call ‘er ‘Mav’ for short.” Gru’ush turned and nodded, smirking, and Mav gave a simple, halfhearted wave. “What do we call you, friend? Besides ‘trash chute,’ I guess!” He laughed again at his stupid joke.

The man thought for a moment. Trusting a friend landed me in the dungeons. Who knows what a couple of thugs might do to me if they knew who I was? Better stay on the safe side.

“You can call me… Montenegro,” the man finally answered. Without another word, he was off.