As the travellers question the StableMaster, Jhaele grimaces and motions toward the scrubroom... her own private 'office' of sorts.
"Boys", she begin as she throws her dirty apron into a pile by the washbasin. "I apologize, but I'd rather not have word of this spread throught the Dales and beyond." She glances around the corner to make sure Brynn is keeping the taproom secure, then continues, "A week or so before ye left, Taxman Delahi passed away. Now I don't know about you, but I lose no sleep o'er a dead collector, but Delahi was only doing his job, and he was at least polite and fair. Well, his replacement, MISTER Lucas, has been running us inta the ground with weekly collections fer a
"Private Defense Tax". At first we just accepted it, thinking it was ordered by Lord Mourngrym, but friends I ask ye this... When has Mourngrym ever sent for weekly collections ever in his sixteen years of Lordship? Never. And what is a Private Defense Tax? There be no threat of invasion that I've heard, nor any word of uprising in the cities. In fact, since this defense tax began, we be havin' fires nearly every night. Old Luth lost his outshed just three days ago, and he says he seen the person who done it, only it weren't a person at all. It was the scarecrow from his fields. Now I don't put much truth to a firebuildin' scarecrow story, but Luth ain't one to hit the bottle, so who knows?"
She pauses to tie on a clean apron, then continues her story while washing some dishes, "And I'll tell you what else. You remember that farmhand who was staying with Borst Bestil out on her farm? I hear tell that he stood up to Mr. Lucas and his thugs, telling them he wasn't gonna pay no defense tax when he could well enough defend himself. Well she come running in here last week a-cryin' and saying he up and disappeared that night. Well, I don't know about you, and I know farmhands move from town to town, but I think he met with foul play."
Jhaele pulls a few utensils from the washbasin and wipes them dry. "So the menfolk get all tensed up aboot it and ask the Town Watch what'll be done aboot the fires. Well, they start right off by forbiddin' any fires other that the one I use here at the Inn to cook m'stewpot over. Then they tell the men to go on up to talk with Mourngrym. They sent their womenfolk and chil'drn all down here askin' to stay where they can keep
warm, so I've been heatin' bed irons and sheetrock so they don't freeze whilst they sleep."
Finishing her drying, as well as her tale, the InnKeeper looks up. "I need to get back to my customers, what few be out there anyhow. Yer usual rooms are open fer ya' upstairs, boys. I'll have Brynn take care of your hunt and the horses. If you'd like the work, I could use a bit of timber split off the woodpile out back. I have enough to get by a few days, but in the morn if you want the work..." And with that, she nods and slips back out toward the taproom.
Cord listens intently as Jhaele tells her story, casually scratching at the several days of beard which he had allowed to grow during the trip back to the inn. It was actually a story Cord had heard many times before. It was really a standard thieves guild operation, extortion of money from innocent
people for protection, protection from accidents and fires usually. It also was not that unusual for a representative of the government to be involved in such activities.
But this wasn't some city in the heart of the realms. Certainly there were farmers, shop keepers, and such, but there were others here like Cord and Laethral, men of action who were not easily frightened by fires and thugs. Why had nothing been done or was it simply that they cared little for the affairs of some farmer and his tax collector. And why had the town watch
banned fires, rather than find who was causing them. Especially at the start of the winter season. Did they fear this Lucas also?
Cord's eyes take on a cold appearance, his facial muscles tighten and his jaw clinches slightly. After a moment, Cord regains his normal control and his facial expression takes on a familiar, unreadable mask. Cord places his hand gently on Jhaele's shoulder to stop her from leaving. "I know you're busy, but we stopped by Silas' farm on the way in. Is his
family here or did they disappear like Borst's farm hand? And what of the men who went to see Mourngrym? When did they leave and have they returned with news?"
Laethral remains quiet, his elbows proped up on the bar, and sips his meade from his tankard. His face is thoughtful as he takes in all that Jaerhle has to say. Of course he didn't know as much about thieves guilds as his stalwart companion; actual politics of the land did not hold much interest for him... yet the people of this town were involved. This did hold interest for him... the town, it's people and welfare. The humans there had always been accepting of the elf and he had been careful to adopt their ways, not flaunting his obvious capability.
He liked Jhaele, kindly woman that she was... looking after those less fortunate. What did take him off guard were her words of a scarecrow. This he found odd and most unnatural. It was the unnatural that troubled him. Perhaps it was someone disguised as a scarecrow, meant to give those onlookers
fright. Either way, the occurences were taking away from a most honored celebration. The Gods would not be pleased.
As Jhaele mentions chopping wood, Laethral gives her a solemn wink. "I'll be glad to help you in the morn." he tells her and turns his attention to Cord. "Friend, I get the feeling those men have not returned yet, if they are returning at all." He says unobtrusively and casts another concerned glance
at Jaerhle, hoping his words did not upset her. He is interested in finding out, however, where Silas was, so he remains quiet and listens thoughtfully. Once she's answered, the elf looks to Cord. "I suppose in the morning we should speak with whatever town folk are available. I would like to see what Old Luth has to say about the scarecrow... and what Borst says about her husband's disappearance."
Jhaele glances out at the near empty tap room and shakes her head nervously. Waiting in the pantry, she continues, "The men left three days ago, but haven't returned yet. Now you boys know it's only a few hours ride to the tower, so we don't know what's keeping them. The night they left though, the town Watch came in full force, so we suppose they gained Mourngrym's audience. The Watch makes their rounds every hour day and night, and they banned fires supposedly so they can keep a better
lookout for new fires. I'm allowed to keep mine smoldering so's to heat bedstones and cook meals. All womenfolk an' young'uns are here, including Silas' wife Marta and the boys. I just told ev'ryone to pick a room and make themselves at home." She shrugs and drops her eyes, saying, "Don't know what could be keeping them though."
"But", she continues, perking up a bit, "there hasn't been a fire since the Watch began patrols, so mebbe they done scared off whoever it was." As she speaks, several voices can be heard out in the taproom. "Ah", she says gesturing toward the front. "Sounds like Meyhan and Reed, Sergeants of the Watch. I'd better get back to the tap. Their boys'll be thirsty." She turns again to leave the kitchen washroom and enters the taproom.
Not much liking much what he has heard, the Avariel ponders the meaning of it all. "Who appointed this Lucas the Taxman? Who backs him and what gave him power?" he murmers to Cord, a frown upon his dark features. His eyes stray toward
the where the Watch Guard's voices are heard, holding those in contempt who placed these people in fear.
His hand goes to pat the bow, leaning against the bar next to him. Then louder, JUST loud enough for the Watch Guards to hear, he says to the half elf. "I would like to start a grand fire of my own right in the center of town and wait for them."
As Cord responds, Laethral looks toward the Guard, listening to his friend. He will respond to Cord in turn. For all intents and purposes he maintains the appearance of *not* looking directly at them, but all the while scrutinizes them within his peripheral vision seeking any words or reactions they might
have.
Cord smiles a thin, weak smile at Jhaele as she completes answering his questions. Adding briefly as she leaves, "We'll take care of the wood in the morning."
Cord remains still for a moment and then quietly returns to his customary place at the bar. Taking a long drink from his ale, Cord stares into space for several long moments. It finally registers that Laethral has spoken to him and he turns to look at his friend. Cord keeps his voice low so as to not be easily over heard. "I know you are frustrated by this, so am I, but we must move very carefully until we know more about what is going on."
Despite the softness of Cord's voice, Laethral could sense a certain intensity in Cord's eyes. Laethral knew from experience that Cord was a patient, nearly relentless man. A man who had spent years hunting down the orcs who killed his family. A man who still hunted for another that had wronged him. Cord didn't do anything half way.
Continuing, "We have many more questions than answers and we must find those answers before we act. I would not antagonize the town watch just yet. I am not convinced that they are directly involved with the root of the problem. Certainly the ban on fires is a poor idea, but they may simply be unable to deal with the situation as it stands. They may not be in the wrong, simply inept. As for Mister Lucas, it is most likely that his position is backed by some legal documentation. Tax collectors are generally appointed or approved by the ruling party. That is not to say that he didn't bribe his way into the
position. It's even possible that he arranged for the old tax collector to vacate the position." Cord grows silent for a moment, taking another long drink from his ale. "This scare crow is another matter entirely, but for the moment I am more
concerned that the men have not returned from going to see Mourngrym. They should have returned in a single day. I wonder if they even actually met with Mourngrym at all..." Cord grows quiet, not finishing his current thought.
"So my friend it seems we have several places we could start. We can ask around about this scarecrow and about the missing farm hand. We can go up to see Mourngrym, find out if he spoke to the men and whether Mister Lucas' credentials are valid. While we are about that we can try to find out what happened to the men after they met with Mourngrym." Glancing over his shoulder briefly, "Or we can talk to the town watch to see what, if anything they have discovered."
Jhaele swats at the Avarial with her dishtowel and grins a half-hearted smile at his boisterousness before carrying the steins out to the watch. Four footmen wearing Mourngryms crest on their tunics have taken a seat at a center table. When Laethral speaks up, one soldier looks his way but just shrugs it off as another comment. The travellers only recognize one of the four at the table; Guardsman Berkely, a swordsman under the command of Sergeant Yothgdim. Berkley is a frequent guest at the Inn after his rounds on the watch.
As Jhaele serves the drinks the doors open again to reveal another group of Guardsmen, close to a dozen in number, followed by the towns men. Voices aplently fill the taproom and Jhaele's expression softens to one of much needed relief. "Turko? Durman? Come and help me fill mugs!" she calls up the stairs.
The women and children all hurry downstairs to their husbands and fathers, adding to the commotion. Turko, Jhaele's cook and assistant, begins serving ales, and Durman (the bouncer) takes his usual seat at the door. Morale is high as the men sound upbeat and optimistic...
Cord watches with interest as the men and the guards enter the common room. Speaking slightly louder in order to be heard over the activity, "I guess that solves the problem of the missing men. If all of our problems solve themselves so quickly, well we will be done here by the third round of drinks." Cord smiles briefly.
"I think the answer to my question about where to start has answered itself. If we keep our ears open, we will likely hear the whole story of what happen to the men as they tell their families and friends."
The Avariel gives an uncharacteristic wink . . .one that is only reserved for Jhaele. He turns back to his tankard, every once in a while, looking at Cord and nodding in silence. For the most part, he was a subtle fellow except when his ire at a situation was aroused. At least the men were back and seemed in
good spirits.
"You are right Cord." he says in low tones and whispered so that only his friend can hear. "I remain quiet . . .observation, at this point, I agree is best. At least they are back and the mood is not quite as down as I first thought."
Laethral every once in a while glances up at the men, nodding in greeting at each if they look his way. He keeps his pointy little, elven ears finely tuned to find out what is being said out of the normal human range of hearing. He takes particular note of tone and gesture of the returned men.
As the pair sits, listening and observing the sudden influx of people, bits and pieces of the mystery begin to unfold around them. "...she holds the throne...," says one man. "...told her about the scarecrow...," says another, and "...gave us weapons...," comes from a third.
The noise and clatter brought about by the multitude of voices, clanking steins, and random joyful bellows makes discerning detail very difficult. As the pair consider questioning someone, Jhaele comes around with another jug of ale and mentions, "The Captain'll make an announcement here shortly." As she fills the mugs, a deep baritone voice calls out, "Heare Ye! Settle down men..."
Marcum of Tasseldale, Captain of the Guard, stands and calls again, "Heare Ye, fellows all. Word from Ashaba comes threefold." The voices quiet, and all eyes focus on the Captain Marcum at the far side of the bar. "First," he begins, "we the Watch are to continue a constant patrol of sixteen men as four groups of four. Let it be known that I personally will patrol on two shifts, one by light and one by night. Unfortunately, even with the extra patrols, I would ask that you keep househearth fires unlit until further notice."
The Captain pauses to the audible groans of the crowd. The townsfolk are obviously discouraged and tempers are short. Taking a moment to finish his draught, Marcum continues. "Next, though the townsmen have been armed by sword and by sling, Lord Mourngrym requests, nay, REQUIRES, that the arsonist be captured alive and brought to fair trial. The culprit is dangerous and a nuisance, but has cost no life and therefore keeps his own. Five thousand silvers to the person who brings this vandal to me." At the mention of reward, a large war-whoop goes up through the crowd, and spirits seem to forget any frustrations for lack
of hearth-fires.
"And on the matter of Mister Lucas," the large man states, suddenly overwhelmed by the boos and hisses of the fickle mob, "messenger has been dispatched to Lord Mourngrym, currently in Waterdeep on matters with The Blackstaff. In his stead, The Lady Rowanmantle has decreed. Until further word, Mister Lucas must be paid as dictated by Official Scrivener Note. So it has been spoken."
The crowd groans heavily at the news of continued taxes, but the women are happy to have their husbands and sons home, so emotions are mixed. The Captain gathers his watch and prepares to begin patrols, while people slowly return to their rooms and tables...
Laethral listens quietly as the scene unfolds around him. The matter of the arsonist concerns him greatly and as this is spoken of, he glances at Cord. A frown again crosses is dark features as he glances from the Captain to his companion. His eyes gaze around the room at all the others gathered there.
The frown deepens as the continuance of high taxes is discussed. At least this is tempered by the homecoming of the men. The Avariel likes the sound of this about as much as the townsfolk. Cord knows of his friend that mistreatment of other beings is a source of great concern to the elven priest.
"I care not for the money," Laethral begins to his friend in a whisper. "but the fire starter should be brought to justice. . . whether he works for this Mr. Lucas to frighten the people or not. At least I would have a few questions for him before turning him in."
The winged elf pauses, looking around the room again. An inborn sense of distrust overtakes him as he thinks of the Lady Rowanmantle. There was no reason to exact higher tax. If there were some service provided, he could understand that. It had taken him a long time in his span of elven years to accept, even trust the race of humans. Through education and travel he
eventually came to know differently. He could *never* fully understand the ways of some humans. Those driven by greed. Greed Laethral could not tolerate as money as it was a worldly thing. The desire for its excesses seemed only create evil and ill-will.
Cord listens carefully to captain give his news. He didn't like the idea of continued taxes, but then Cord was always one to be independent of things like government. Law and order had never really served Cord during his life time, usually just got in the way. As for justice, well that never worked either.
Cord looks at his friend after his comment. Cord expected Laethral to say things like that. Maybe that was one of the reasons Cord liked him. Cord didn't agree with him at all in the matters of money or justice, but that was fine also.
With a sly smile, "Don't worry, I'll take care of your share of the reward." Taking another drink from his ale, "Yes, we will both have some questions for this scarecrow when we catch him. And I suppose I can manage to keep him alive if it is truly necessary." Cord grins at his last comment, but Laethral knows that there is more truth then humor to this statement. Another area that they were unlikely to agree on...
"The problem now is where to start, since the obvious choice has just corrected itself. Perhaps we should buy one of these men a drink and see what they have to say about the trip. I am still a bit curious as to why it took so long to return. A great deal can happen in three days and I am curious as to exactly what did."
As he says this, he begins scanning the men for a likely candidate. Not one of the guards, but one of the civilians. Someone whom Cord had seen before who seemed to enjoy a friendly drink. Someone who was anxious for attention, who couldn't wait to tell the tale of their journey to the tower.
Laethral smiles the ghost of a smile that Cord had become accustomed to ...the one that was marked with the strange somberness the Avariel held within. His hand goes to the silver symbol of the moon that hangs on a thick chain around his neck, grasping it firmly. He bows his head, causing the long
strands of dark hair to fall in front of his face. Murmering softly he whispers a prayer of protection to Selune in his native tongue. His companion can catch bits and phrases, realizing the prayer has to do with the safety of this village.
Looking up again, he takes note of those in the room Cord seems to be looking at. "I have a feeling we won't need to buy drinks, that any would be willing to speak of his adventure."
"At least all are back. Perhaps there is one or two among them who would take to join us?" the elf pauses and looks around at the people, contemplating who would be most suitable to go. "But then again . . .you and I have not needed others before."
The Elven Cleric looks down at himself for a moment. His best defense had always been the art of remaining hidden and the use of his bow. He wondered briefly if perhaps more strength might be required to do what they needed to. Not that either he nor Cord had not been able to survive through skill and wit
alone. "Yes, let us find out what they have to say. Visiting the old man who *saw* the fire-starter first hand would be adviseable once we have gathered what information we can from here."
He continues to sit next to Cord, looking around the room, as well, for one he feels might join them or would gladly talk.
Smiling at Laethral, "You may be right about the drink, these men have had quite an adventure, at least by their standards. They are likely to want to talk it up, but I have always found that a free drink often loosens the tongue quite nicely."
Looking around the group once again, Cord shakes his head, "There might be someone here which could be of help to us, but many of these men are farmers, husbands, and fathers. I don't want to have to watch over someone who can't hold his own in a fight."
Cord thinks about Laethral's words for a moment. They certainly didn't seem to need anyone else. There had been other companions through out the last couple of years, but in the end it always seemed that Cord and Laethral remained together. Cord sometimes tried to figure out why it had happened that way. It certainly wasn't because they shared common view points. The priest and the thief had many things which they simply disagreed on, but there always seemed to be some common ground where the
two could meet, at least on most things. Oh well, they worked well together and that was what really mattered in a crunch.
"I agree that we should speak to the man who saw the scarecrow. We should also speak to the woman whose farm hand disappeared. After that I think we should go see Lucas. Just to see what happens if we ask a lot of questions." Cord smiles broadly.
Nursing their drinks and eyeing the crowd, the pair of adventurers see several local acquaintances. The few who are better known to the two are Beregon Hillstar and his brother Vernon, Tethgar and his wife Senma, and Latha Brannon who owns a boardinghouse.
Tethgar and Senma are picking up their bags to go, but the Hillstar brothers are sitting at a table with mugs of ale, and Latha is talking with the Guardsmen at the center table.
Cord examines the familiar faces that he sees spread out around the inn. There were several likely candidates who would provide a reasonable amount of information. Cord smiled slightly remembering a past associate named Mole. The man could get information out of anyone without them even realizing they had given it. Oh well, Cord would have to rely on his own minor skills and the eagerness of the speakers to get any where tonight.
Watching Tethgar and Senma getting ready to leave, Cord silently eliminates Tethgar from the list of possible candidates. The man had been away from his wife for three days, three days where she had been worried about his safety. They were likely going off to 'celebrate' his return. Asking him questions now would be as effective as speaking to a wall. Cord had never
had a wife and doubted he ever would, but he knew enough not to get between a man and his woman on a night like this.
Latha or the brothers would be good enough choices. Latha was speaking to a guard that Cord did not know. That had potential for additional information about what the guard had been up to in all this, but there was a risk also. Cord didn't know how dedicated this guard was to keeping the guard's activities quiet, if this man kept quiet it could lead Latha to
clam up also.
Cord thought it was worth the risk. Especially since another contact within the guard could always be valuable later.
Rising with drink in hand, "I think I shall go speak to our friend Latha. Care to join me or shall you wait at the bar." Cord waits a moment for Laethral's reply before continuing to the table of his choice.
Arriving at the table, Cord smiles openly, "Hello Latha, mind if I join you and your friend for a drink." Extending his hand to the guard, "Name's Cord. I haven't seem you around, but I've been up north hunting for the past few weeks." Cord settles into some casual comments about how the hunting was for the next couple of moments.
Cord will try to work the following into the conversation.
Sighing, "You know it would just figure that I leave town just when things start to get interesting. I can't believe the rotten luck of it all. Jhaele said you guys left for the tower three days ago. I know I must have missed something, either that or you gents crawled to the tower and back."
Leaning forward to address the guard, "I heard some farmer saw his scarecrow setting the fires. He must have really been drunk to be seeing his scarecrow walking around." Laughing softly, "I remember seeing a whole house move once. Woke up in a ditch the next day, crazy night. You guys got some idea who it is, don't you? Your probably just waiting to make your move and catch them in the act. I won't go prying though, I know you
have to do your jobs." Cord is obviously hoping the guard will either brag about their leads or claim complete ignorance. During his conversation Cord will gladly offer to buy the table a round or two of drinks.
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