A new arrival in Hlint

[Pseudonym]

*The Trelanian guard checks to see if anyone is approaching. Six hours into his shift and his back is aching under the weight of his plate armour. Finding the road largely empty, he leans his shield against the palisade wall for a moment and indulges in a long stretch. He cannot help but let out a stifled groan of pure pleasure.*

"Excuse me, Suh"

*The guard does not exactly jump a mile but does give a sufficient jerk that an observer could see where the common expression of 'jumps a mile' must surely come from. Snatching his shield back up, the guard resumes the stance of readiness he had diligently maintained for 5 hours and fifty-nine minutes. His momentary fatigue forgotten, the guard's gaze upon the newcomer is wary.*

"Hold traveler! You approach the township of Hlint. Have you not heard? The town is beset by plague."

*With the 'p' word he covertly makes the sign known to all peasant folk (and scoffed at by adventurer folk) to ward off evil/plague/misfortune/poor-weather and the like. Two other guards approach from their posts only yards away.*

"I know where I am. Are you saying you are denying entry to those who offer ... succor for those inside suffering?"

*A shake of the guard's head*

"I am not saying that. I'm telling you there's plague in there ..."

*looks up and down at the man's stained and rusted chain armour*

"... and you don't look like one of those Sisters who is in there looking after folks. What I am telling you is that you walk in there ... you aren't walking out again."

"I understand your warning. Yet, I'd still be goin' in, if I may."

*The guard gives a little shrug and exchanges a 'Get a load of this guy' look with his fellow guards.*

"Go right ahead, but check in with Sister Moonriver to see what ah ... you might be able to contribute."

[Pseudonym]

*Stepping through the gate, the newcomer takes but two steps before he is confronted by a less martial looking, but no less vigilant looking, elven lady. Her once-white robes are stained grey at the hem and her eyes are red-rimmed, be it through weariness or grief or a combination of both, it is hard to say. Nevertheless, she carries herself with a dignity and grace that belies her current situation. As she regards the newcomer, her gaze narrows slightly, a barely perceptible tightening around the eyes. Her nostrils flare as if confronted by an odor even more offensive than the stench of death and corruption that already hang so heavily in the still air of Hlint township.*

"You ... you are not welcome here."

"I am unwelcome? You would turn away skilled healers in this time of need?"

*An arched eyebrow is her only reply. The newcomer speaks again.*

"I shall tell you no lie. Your beliefs are ... "

*a pause for thought*

" ... inconsistent with my own but this ... "

*makes a vague hand gesture to the township of Hlint before him*

" ... is not how any person deserves to die. A man or woman should, at their end, leap into the great unknown with sword or axe in hand ... not wasting away in a bed, too weak to draw breath, too weak to march to eternal glory beside the throne of the Battle Father. This abomination is why I am here."

*He pauses again*

"Sister, in this we have common cause. I beseech you, in the name of the Battle Father, I would seek entry to help you and your sisters redress this wrong."

*The lady stares at the newcomer, long and hard. Minutes pass.*

"You may leave your things in yonder Walburn household, it is empty now anyways. I hope your faith is strong ... you'll need it."

[Pseudonym]

Time passed, as time does, in pretty much the sequence you'd expect. The newcomer was there for hours, then days, then weeks. Then, a month.

Truth be told, there wasn't a whole lot of talk about him at all amongst those who named Hlint home. People had their own worries without devoting time for idle gossip about the newcomer.

"A farmer he is, knows the land" said one.

"Not much of a talker but a good listener" said another approvingly.

"He's creepy" said a little girl, who, if she lives through all this, will one day grow up to be a priestess of Aeridin herself.

"Bandaged Sissy's sores he did, clean as a whistle too!" said one impressed townlady.

"A strong back, helped moved them barrels left at the gate for us" said one resident to his neighbour.

These are not even random selections of observations, they're just about the sum total for the newcomer's first month in Hlint, believe it or not. The newcomer kept a pretty low profile, helping where needed, never saying much.

[Pseudonym]

*Early morning in Hlint, still an hour or more before sun-up. Two men, both dressed in the coarse spun clothes of farmers, walk through the dark streets.*

"Hope. She says it's our beacon. She said it's our ... How'd she say it?"

*his voice rose in pitch to mimic the priestess's tone*

"It is our torch illuminating the darkness of despair."

*a snort of derision, followed by a long swallow of whiskey*

"The only torches I can see are those in the hands of the guards up on the bloody wall, heh. You wanna know something? I had hope. I did. I had hope right up until she died. I prayed. I got down on my two knees in the mud and I begged Aeridin to spare her. I had hope. I had faith. I had belief, you know?"

*another long swallow from the rapidly emptying bottle*

"Hope didn't get me nowhere. My praying and my hope and my belief in all that Sister's preachin' and ... and ... she ... it didn't make no difference at all ..."

*His voice trails off and the two men walk in silence for a stretch.*

"I tell you something pal. If there weren't my two kids who now just got their Daddy to look after 'em, I reckon i'd just accept that hope got no place in Hlint and i'd just ..."

*gives a helpless little shrug.*

"... I dunno what i'd do. I never imagined life without her and I still can't, you know? I don't want to imagine life without her. I shouldn't have to imagine life without her."

*The other man, a newcomer to Hlint, speaks for the first time.*

"Friend, I know exactly what you're sayin'. I lost my own wife years ago. Still carry the ... how do I say? ... The emptiness of it inside me to this day. I know hope got no place in life no more. But ... I endure."

"You endure?"

"I endure."

"How?"

"I eventually found something new to fill the emptiness."

"You did? What was that?"

"My friend, I found this."

"This? You mean, us talkin'?"

"Well, not so much this, I mean more this."

*The dagger flashed an arc in the dim light. The spray of blood, black in the night, covered the wall of the nearby barn.*

*The emptiness within was filled ... for a little while.*

[Pseudonym]

The cottage was not a big 'un, just a big room where we did spend most of our time and another room where Ma' and Da' did sleep. Calling that room a room ain't no lie but sure, maybe it was stretchin' the truth just a wee bit. More of a cupboard some fancy folks might've called it. Didn't matter none what no fancy Missus or Mister said about nothin', the house was big enough to hold all five of us and it was small enough that Da' didn't owe no man and no bank no money on it. That was something Da' was mighty proud of it was. Da' always said to us that to be free o' debt to all men was something that shouldn't be scoffed at, no way. It was something a man could be proud of Da' said.

More than all that put together was something else that matter'd even more, that place was home.

I know'd every square inch of it, I did. I know'd its feel. Its smell. That smell you get from hunnerds of pies and hunnerds and hunnerds of fresh loaves that Ma' did cook. Ma' could cook all sorts o' things but them smells kinda just seeped in after a while. Sometimes I'd get home after playin' outside for a while and I'd ask Ma' what kinda pie she'd cooked cos' o' the smell and she just laughed at me and told me I was being hopeful and it was stew or somethin' like that for supper.

There was a big ol' fireplace that Granda' did build when he was the Da' and Da' was just a boy. All made out of river rocks it was, special chosen like cos' Da' said you couldn't choose just any ol' rocks cos' sometimes when they got hot then they could just go pop and everyone knew that was how Farmer Kale lost his eye even though he told everyone it was from fightin' gobbies we all knew that it was from a rock he musta used that had no business bein' used in any fireplace.

Just near the fireplace that my Granda' did build all out o' rocks that did rightly belong where they did find their home was my cot. That was where me and my big brother and the baby been sharin' ever since she was old enough to join us and not be squished if we rolled over wrong and forgot she was there too! I never did mine sharin' that cot with Erek and Libby, even if Erek got some shameful pleasure out of stinkin' it up with his bum burps after Ma' and Da' went to bed and he thought he could get away with it without Da' takin' the strap to his stinky behind. That's boys for ya, laughin' fit to split at things girls stopped findin' funny when they hit about five or six.

Over on the other side o' the room was the little stove where Ma' did all the cookin' an' washin' and next to that there was a table where we took our meals at. Real nice table it was too. Another thing it was that Da' was mighty proud of. No nails he'd point out to folks that visit, pointing out to some fancy way the legs did fit into the top. Never knew why havin' no nails in a table was a thing to point out to visitors, like they'd much care.

Anyways, that was the cottage. Home. That was where Ma, Da', Erek, Libby and me was on the night I died.

For my birthday, not last year, but the year before it was, Da' did buy me just the sweetest and bravest dog there ever was. I reckon there was never born a dog with a sweeter nature than that fella. Garent was what Da' called him, after some old fella that must've impressed Da' from some reason or another. Doesn't matter, was a good name for the best ever of dogs.

That night, we was inside, not far off bed time it was. Ma' had already put Libby to bed, she was all tuckered out like only real little kids get. I could hear Garent give a little whine he did. He gives this little yelp he does when he gets himself all tied up in his rope. He never liked that rope but Da' said it was for his own good. One day, early on, before the rope, Garent went a wanderin' and somehow got all the way outside the town gate. He was missin' for two whole days! We thought for sure some gobbie did get him, we did. Anyways, since then, Garent gets tied up outside the door to stop him from wanderin' off and gettin' himself eaten by some gobbie.

Dopey dog, how many times does a dog need to get himself all tangled before he stops turnin' and turnin' before he goes to bed himself and instead just plops down? Normally me or Erek goes out and sorts him out, untangles him and gives him a pat before bed. Kinda makes you wonder if Garent be smarter than all of us and gets himself all a'tangled just to get another cuddle in before bedtime.

That night, Garent gives his little yelp and I looked over at Erek to see which one of us was gonna go give Garent his cuddle and unwrap the rope from wherever that dopey dog did manage to wrap it around himself. Erek was whittlin' somethin' with his little knife and I reckon it must've been a fiddly bit cos he didn't even look up. My turn I figured and wasn't no hardship anyways, I reckon I liked them cuddles as much as Garent did.

Goin' outside, I pulled the door shut behind me, just like always. Da' says I can only let the heat out when I am big enough to go outside and wrestle it back in. Typical Da' humour I reckon. Me and Ma' just roll our eyes at him and give him that look that girls been givin' boys since forever.

Outside I never even seen the fella that killed me. I dunno if he was real well hidden or if he was one of them wizards that can be there right in front of you but you don't even know. Whichever it was, I didn't see him none. All I heard was this fella's voice sayin' to me,

"Don't you listen to the bard's stories little girl? You never go outside to see why the dog was making a noise."

Next thing you know ... well, that was it.

[Pseudonym]

"I know, I know - I was meant to be home hours ago. You know how it goes. One drink led to two, two to three and then it was my shout and the next thing ya know three had turned into half a dozen ..."

*the newcomer spreads his hands a little helplessly*

"I'm sorry, truly I am."

*silence*

"What? I'm getting the silent treatment am I? I said I was sorry already. C'mon, half the town was there, it would have been odd if I'd left early. I ended up telling that joke, you know, the one about the fisherman and his son*. Remember it? No? Well, it got a good laugh."

*the flicker of candlelight reveals the recipient of his apology, her face set in grim and distinctly unamused lines*

"Would you still be mad if I said I'd got you a little present?"

*no answer, her expression remained unchanged*

"I'm optimistically going to take that as a 'maybe not'. I think you'll like it, I get the impression you've been wanting some more company down here."

*the newcomer reached into the lionskin bag at his waist, gently removing the freshly severed head. He placed it beside the other head on the floor.*

"There ya go, a friend to keep you company when I'm not here."

*The newcomer stands and stretches, arms reaching for the cellar ceiling.*

"Well, I'm gonna say my prayers and then hit the hay. You two keep the noise down if you please, I know how you gals can be, gigglin' and gossiping the whole night and a man needs his sleep."

*His soft smile robs his admonishing words of any sting.*





*

A father and son went fishing one day. As they sat in the boat for a couple of hours, they did not have much to do. The son started thinking about the world around him. He began to get curious. So, he asked his father some questions.

"How does this boat float?"

The father thought for a moment, then replied, "Don't rightly know, son."

The boy returned to his contemplation, but soon came up with another one, "How do fish breathe underwater?"

Once again, the father replied, "Don't rightly know, son."

A little later, the boy asked his father, "Why is the sky blue?"

Again, the father replied, "Don't rightly know, son."

Worried he was going to annoy his father, he said, "Dad, do you mind my asking you all of these questions?"

His father immediately assured him, "Of course not, son. If you don't ask questions, you'll never learn anything!"

[/SIZE]

[Pseudonym]

Alberto Oddone was no rookie. A veteran of innumerable skirmishes, countless battles and a handful of wars for near on twenty years Alberto had seen, if not just about all of the evil mankind was capable of inflicting upon others once or twice before, then certainly the great majority of it once or twice before. He'd fought in campaigns across deserts, jungles and (once only and he swore he'd never do it again) in the snowy north. He'd won more than his share of battles over the years, lost a few as well and had learned to pick which cause was more likely to end up the former. He'd been married four times though was yet to meet the woman he loved more than the warrior's life.

Broad shouldered, thick of neck, thick of waist, thick of wrist and bow legged from years on horseback, his was not the physique that sent women swooning, his was the physique that allowed a warrior to swing a heavy broadsword for an hour ... and then an hour more when the enemy was swarming around you and the blood flowed ankle deep. He was living testament that the greatest asset by far a man could possess on the field of battle was unflagging strength and finesse was a vaguely remembered training ground nicety of little to no worth when the ravens feasted.

The Queen's True don't come much easier than searching the houses of this little town for some skulking cutthroat said Alberto to the rest of the swaggering veterans in the makeshift mess outside the walls of Hlint. Strong as an ox and twice as well hung am I laughed Alberto when some naysayer warned about the plague within the town. A murderer? Well, I dealt with murderers before scoffed Alberto, clenching fists the size of hams.

All this man's experience, all this man's strength, all this man's courage availed him little when, along with the three other men of his search crew, he finally confronted the newcomer.

The spell has been called many names over the centuries since the first priest called it down upon his sworn enemy. Vorax's Vise. Aragen's Anger. Rofirein's Revenge. Prunilla's Pummel. Perhaps fittingly and certainly more generically (though with less alliterative appeal) it was the name Hammer of The Gods that eventually found commonplace usage.

The newcomer's first Hammer felled all three of Alberto's companions and left Alberto himself him a ringing head. Even the second Hammer he managed to shrug off, afterall, as we've already noted, no rookie was he. It was the third Hammer, the one that hit just as Alberto had managed to finally draw his sword that was the one that knocked him into unconsciousness. Three Hammers to overcome our newly met hero. No shame in that really ... if anyone had been judging.

... time passes, our hero eventually awakening in an area he (groggy though he remains) recognises as somewhere underground. The smell of rot and corruption, presumably rising from the severed heads he can see placed about the area, may have caused a man other than he, maybe one less experienced in the odorous aftermath of battle, to choke and gag in disgust. Alberto however was no stranger to the smell of death. He tested his bonds. It felt like (and was) wire twisted around his wrists and ankles ...

"You're awake? Finally sleepy head. I was starting to think you were going to snooze the whole night away."

Alberto could just make out the newcomer by the light of the flickering candles. Didn't recognise him. Looked like a farmer or a carpenter or a cobbler or some such thought Alberto. Didn't look like a killer. Though, how would you suppose a killer looks exactly? Wearing a black cape and sporting a jagged scar down his cheek? The newcomer had neither black cape nor wicked facial scar. He did however, hold a rusty skinning knife with a look of menacing intent that exactly matched the stereotype.

Alberto would not beg for mercy. He wouldn't give this freak the satisfaction.

"You won't get away with this! Your own end awaits soon enough dog!"

The newcomer regarded Alberto with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that so? You actually say that with quite some conviction, like you believe it to be true. Why ever would you think that?"

"They're hunting for you even as we speak. It's only a matter of time before you're caught ... caught then hung!"

"Yes, yes. I understood what you meant when you said my end was awaiting soon enough. What I asked was why do you think it is only a matter of time?"

"They're hunting you, you cannot hide!"

"C'mon pal. You disappoint me. They're gonna find me? How exactly? You think right now you're being kept under where I am living? You think this knife is to be stashed under my mattress, waiting to be discovered? You think I'll go out tomorrow and some keen eyed observer will notice the single drop of your blood I failed to wash out of my clothing? You think I'll slip up and kill some hapless townie in full view of the Queen's mages who search for the monster in their midst with their enhanced sight? You think i'll try to take down someone they send out awanderin' as bait? You think I haven't prepared this room and the sound of your screaming might just carry to someone who cares? You think this is a game? You think that it's only a matter of time before good will triumph? Only a matter of time before the big baddie slips up and makes his mistake which is discovered by the shining hero? You think this story has a happy ending? I tell you something pal. I'm only getting started. The nightmare is only beginning."

[Pseudonym]

*The newcomer regarded his latest house guest with an amused look*

"What a strange question to ask. Though, I suppose, in a situation such as yours, any desperate attempt to try to distract and delay me from the task at hand is to be understood. You little rascal."

*waves an admonishing finger*

"You've heard of a Holy symbol haven't you? A token. A ummmm ... how would you put it? A representation of your faith? No, not really of your faith, I suppose. A representation of your God. That's better. Something that represents everything that your God is and means and wants. Yeah. Well, that's part of it. Still doesn't quite encompass it all. It's a thing, an object that you keep that is your reminder, your shackle, your ... desire? Sheesh, it's a hard concept to explain, ain't it?"

"How do I explain? Okay, let's see. You've seen these Sisters of Aeridin around the place haven't you? Now I ain't tryin' to convince you of the merits of what they do or don't believe in but to understand their symbols you gotta have at least a basic understanding of what they're all about. Aeridin is all about the circle of life right?"

*the newcomer makes a vague hand gesture, representing a circle*

"The circle of life ... healing ... preserving ... ummmm, purity, I guess. They believe in the sanctity of life .... the body and the soul, right? You keepin' up? As I was saying, they're all about these ideals. As such, their symbol is something you might look at or hold which brings to mind all these things that Aeridin governs. So, they go about sporting a gold leaf. A leaf that brings to mind growing and nurturing and living and all that stuff, get it? A leaf, what else do you think about? A leaf comes from a tree. What do you get from a tree? Food, shelter. See what I'm sayin'? Their leaf is a symbol of what their God is all about."

*As he patiently attempts his explanation, the newcomer tenderly caresses his own symbol, the very object of his guest's question*

"Same with Vorax. What's the God of the dwarves about? War, fightin' , battle, honor, duty, bravery, so on and so on, right? Sooo-ooo, no big surprise, they wear an axe around their neck. Not perfect I guess, it certainly covers the battle aspect well enough, dunno about the honor and loyalty bit. Regardless, it's what they've gone with. I'm not here to criticise their choice! An axe it is."

"I don't know them all, there's a whole bunch of Gods and Goddesses and, to be honest, I ain't all that interested. But, I hope you get my point. Now, where was I? That's right, you asked me about my own symbol."

*He holds it up a little closer to his guest. Close enough the newcomer's guest can see each individual stitch. Close enough he can make out the spots of dried blood, brown now with age.*

"I got this off a little girl I killed in Haven. It was her dolly. Still got a little bit of her blood on it, see? I keep this as a reminder of what happened in that town after I took her. The chaos. The grief. The corruption. The insanity. The lost hope. The guilt. Not just one wee life destroyed but the lives of all those around her destroyed. Her mama and papa not knowin' ... assuming the worst. Her brothers and sisters, never again havin' another day that wasn't dominated by what happened to their sister. You know what that does to someone? It destroys everything about them. There is nothing else that remains but for the overwhelming loss of the one you love. Understand?"

*The newcomer places his symbol down and takes up his skinning knife*

"Anyways, that's what I use. It seems to fit."

[Pseudonym]

*The newcomer approached the guard*

" 'Scuse me Suh. A moment? "

*The guard eyed the newcomer warily. It was that scruffy healer fella. At this point in time the guard would eye his own mother warily if she approached him saying " 'Scuse me son. A moment? "*

" Hold there man. What is it? "

" Yes Suh, no closer. "

*The newcomer stopped a few paces short of the guard, holding his hands out, palms up*

" Suh, I got somethin' to say and I ain't sure who I should be sayin' it to. "

*a pause*

" Suh, I know I'm only new to this town and don't got much of a right to offer no idea to the Queen's own on how to do their job ... "

*The guard's expression turned from wary to slightly indignant and only one shade away from ready-to-be-angry-if-you-say-something-critical*

" ... but folks are real scared at the moment. People right jumpy and twitchy and ... first the plague .. now this monster among us. "

*another pause*

" Anyways, my idea was maybe you or your boss or one of them Sisters or someone wants to get everyone together ... you know. Put people's minds at ease? A town meetin' or somethin'? "

*a longer pause while the guard considered the healer as well as his words*

" Maybe. You'll hear if the captain thinks it's a good idea. "

[Pseudonym]

"Another?"

"Uh huh."

"Who is this 'un then?"

"Kinda hard to tell with all them sores on his face. I think it's Amos' cousin. You know, the fella who had the farm out near the Lizard swamp. His wife had red hair. Remember?"

"Aaah, Amos' cousin."

"Uh huh."

*long pause*

"His wife went early on, yeah?"

"Uh huh. First few months, I reckon."

"Small mercies."

"Uh huh."

*long pause*

"He held on for a good long while then. He had plague sores way back when."

"Uh huh, I remember he did."

"He's a *adjectival* mess."

"Uh huh, that he is."

"He had to be here for a couple o' days, for sure. You don't get this messy in a hour or two."

"Nope. A couple o' days, for sure."

*long pause*

"Who be doin' the buryin' today?"

"The new fella."

"Aaah."

"Uh huh."

"Don't envy him this one."

"Nope."

"I guess I'll go let him know."

"Uh huh."

*Later that day, the newcomer finishes digging the latest in a long row of graves for the plague victims of Hlint. He kneels beside the linen shrouded corpse of Amos' cousin. There is no-one else around, the Sisters been and gone, the dead man's family just gone. The newcomer takes from his belt two small pouches, one pouch heavy with coin, the other empty and places them on the ground. The newcomer then takes his small dagger and cuts a careful slit in the linen over the bloated belly of the corpse. Pressing a little harder, he pushes the dagger into the dead and rotting flesh. Pale pink liquid oozes out of the incision. The newcomer retrieves a coin from the first pouch and pushes it into the small pool of escaping putrefaction. Ensuring the gold true has a decent (and by decent, we mean indecent) coverage, the newcomer blows on it a little to dry before he places it in into the empty pouch. Fifty of the Queen's True receive the same process ... job done, the newcomer rolls the corpse into the grave and again takes up his spade. A few minutes more and Amos' cousin is consigned to the consecrated ground of Hlint's graveyard forevermore.*

[Pseudonym]

The newcomer fit another round pebble into the leather cap of his sling. The trick was not just to miss every time, no. That was even more suspicious than hitting every time. The art was in choosing how often to miss and when you chose to miss, to miss just right.

He regarded the raven where it pecked at some morsel to be found atop a cornstalk, a good 30 yards distant. Probably due for a hit given he'd missed the last three attempts but no-one was looking and ... well, it was a raven, one of His birds if some of the other priests were to be believed. Pondering a moment, the newcomer didn't really think He valued any bird, whether it was a carrion feaster or a pretty white swan so, with a quick whirl and release ... the pebble was launched through the still air of another Hlint evening to crush the raven's small, fragile skull. The newcomer remembered to look pleased, as if he took pleasure in a particularly lucky shot. All a bit of a farce really, given no-one was looking but it kept to remain in practice at such charades.

The newcomer continued his rounds through the small grain fields that lay within the walled perimeter of Hlint township. He had taken to scaring off the birds with his sling and even if he was no better than the average teenage boy at such a chore, well, can't fault a fella for helping out where he can, can you?

Nearing the wall, the newcomer fit another 'pebble' to the sling. Hard to see even up close that this pebble was shaped and coloured remarkably similar to a Queen's True that had been dipped in the corpse juices of probably Amos' cousin. Hard to see up close let alone further than a few yards away. A quick whirl and a fired shot towards another bird perched on the top of the outer palisade. A bad miss this time. Missed the bird by a good foot, sailing over the wall and into the wide world beyond.

The wide world beyond where guards patrolled keeping the Queen's peace and enforcing the Queen's quarantine.

The wide world beyond where if a guardsman were to patrol and happened to spot a coin upon the ground, perhaps dropped by some farmer, or merchant, or another guardsman, well, good luck to he who was the finder and bad luck to he who was the loser.

The wide world beyond where the coin might pass from hand to hand, guardsman to innkeeper, innkeeper to merchant, on and on and on.

The wide world beyond ...

[Pseudonym]

The gates are open!

Four simple, little words but really, how can we judge the weight of a word but its complexity?

The gates are open. For the citizens of beleaguered and besieged Hlint, one would be hard pressed to offer another four words that meant as much. Through the open gates came not just trade and assistance but also reunion and hope. Waves of well-intentioned philanthropists ready to aid Hlint in yet another recovery from tragedy and hardship. Thousands upon thousands of the Queen's True pour in to the coffers of the town, hard won by adventurers with heavy purses and heavier consciences. The circle is completed. Hundreds of adventurers looting coin from thousands of monsters who, in turn, had pillaged the coin from an unfortunate elsewhere.

The healing of Hlint begins.



Meanwhile, two days of hard marching away ...

Darkness.

Lying on a hard surface. Maybe stone. No, not stone. Wood. She thinks she can feel the wood pressing through the thin cloth of her dress at her back. Tries to turn her head. Can't. Head bound by something. Can feel it now. Some kind of strap holding her head in place. Over her eyes.

Stop the panic rising in her throat. Okay. The reason for the darkness. A strap covering her eyes and also stopping her from moving her head.

A quick tally. Eyes bound. Her tongue pokes around at the painful spots inside her mouth. Winces slightly as tongue touches the spots where teeth used to be. Teeth missing. Metallic taste of blood in her mouth. More pain from her chest. Felt like ribs. Deep breath. Yep, definitely ribs. She'd had broken ribs before, courtesy of an ogre's club, knew the feeling. Broken ribs, for sure. She tenses the muscles of her arms and legs. Some kind of strap at her wrists and ankles. Feels like leather. Slightly damp. Wet leather, tightens as it dries. Good as iron. No breeze. Quiet. Not completely.

The sound of breathing. A man's breathing. Sounds different to a woman. Subtle, yet distinct. A man breathing then. Her captor was a man. Focusing on the breath now. Slow. Even. Coming from her right. Maybe a couple of feet away. Calm breathing. Good sign? She knew the signs. Fast breathing meant violence was impending. She listens. His is slow and steady. Just watching perhaps.

Ran through the gifts of her God in her mind. Something to help. Mostly healing gifts. A gift to ward against extremes of heat or cold. Gifts of her God, catalogued and dismissed. Not expecting battle, that morning she had asked for gifts of healing. Of course she had. Ever the optimist was this particular acolyte of Katia.

She guessed who he was. The monster of nearby Hlint. Hlint. Two days travel but, up until a week ago, a world away. Still, she knew. Who else? Find out what he wants. Talk. Redemption. Healing. She is a healer. His is an illness that needs healing. He needs to see that. She needs to believe that. Where to start? Where does a conversation ever start?

"Hello?"

A very slight echo. Underground then. Perhaps a cave. She gives it a few more moments before trying again.

"Hello?"

"Hello."

She tenses. Can't help it. Tries to relax. The voice is innocuous enough. Relax. A losing battle against herself. Why does his calm voice frighten her more than if he was screaming at her? Keep talking. Keep him talking. Talking can be healing.

"My name is Radimar."

"Hello Radimar."

A start then. What next? Ask him what he wants? Preach? Beg? Forgive?

"I've been wanting to - ... "

"Look Radimar. I don't mean to be rude. Honestly I'd like little more to have a nice long chat to you before I begin. Really, I would. I've been cooped up for the longest while and I honestly yearn to have a good chat with someone new. That said, it ain't a perfect world and I need to be far away and pretty soon.

But, you know how it is. It ain't all about what I want is it? Sometimes you gotta sacrifice what you want, for what needs to be done."