Vermillion stayed behind in Darilei, to follow-up on some loose ends following the fight, and all the others made their separate ways to the road leading out of Darilei, towards Wyndham and the Fifth Redding beyond, to find Duran where he waited with their horses. Even at this hour of the night, wagons and riders were coming and going, and the group simply mounted and set out without much talk. Maeva, a year older and taller, settled in behind Athron without comment to the others (what she and Athron discussed before neither would say), but even in the darkness Boeden could tell she had not eaten well for days (with Thand locked up, how could she be?) and she had probably cried some before the party rejoined.

She remained silent when they camped, and silent again for the final few miles the next morning to Jord, the next sizeable town north of Darilei, one surrounded by lush farmland. There, she lingered outside while Cassick and Athron made arrangements for rooms at an Inn –one with the ability to accommodate Jotunn, who were known to stop there on their journeys between Farolan and Darilei – and Duran saw to the having the horses stabled and cared for.

“May I sit with you?” Boeden asked tentatively, praying with all of his heart, that Maeva would not flinch back reflexively, or look at him differently. “If you want to talk, about anything, I would be honored to listen.”

Maeva shrugged, and scuffed at the dirt with the toe of a worn shoe. “I’m worried about Daned,” she said softly. “And I wish I could go home.”

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The next morning, sending the others on ahead, Vermillion headed back to Gilford’s office to see him again, waiting patiently in the outer office until the lawyer was available. Once in his office, Vermillion placed a pouch of 100 gold coins on his desk. “A hunnert to get someone outta jail as soon as possible.”

Gilford looked at the pouch, then back at Vermillion, and set aside the tome he had been reading. “Who, and why is this person in jail?”

“There was a notice in the Vind Hall about a man wanted for kidnapping a ten year old girl. A man named Daned Thand. The notice was a lie, but a Vind here in Darilei caught Thand. There was a tussle and a Captain Maddock threw both Thand and the Vind – Robby something? – in jail until the person who posted the notice shows up to clear things up. Thand can’t be here when that happens.”

Gilford frowned slightly at the first sentence, but let Vermillion get all the way through without interrupting. “You are sure he did not commit this crime?” That was his first question, and the only one. Though the lawyer’s face was expressionless, Vermillion could sent it might have been the most important one to him. The pouch lay on the desk, untouched and ignored.

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Upon their arrival in Darilei, Vermillion recommended that the party hire rooms at the Chattering Ass, where he had stayed during his previous visit and which has some space on the ground floor to house a Jotunn. After some initial discussion, the party agreed that Cassick – using the hat of disguise taken from Damiano – should go to the Vind Hall to uncover whatever information might be available there about the notice. Vermillion in turn says that he “knows a guy” who might be able to get information for them as well.

[someone want to summarize whatever conversation Athron, Broc and Boeden had while waiting for Cassick and Vermillion to come back?]

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Before the group leaves Tarrish for Darilei…

Athron had mentioned an idea in passing that Vermillion had toyed with – Antazos is messing with us and those around us, why don’t we do the same thing? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the idea had some merit.

Ginko the Sly ought to have his current political situation in Sa’iph, the rogue thought, heading to the waterfront and the Broken Hagfish where Ginko had set up shop.

The Sly was sitting at his usual table outside, though when the full force of winter hit, he would move to his inside table. There was someone at his table, leaning in to talk when Vermillion arrived. Ginko’s eyes flicked towards the street and away, registering everyone who passed, not pausing on anyone. He leaned forward as well, expression serious. After a few words, he leaned back and waved a hand dismissively. The other man was not happy, shoved his seat back and stalked away. Ginko merely took a sip of the mug in front of him and waited for Vermillion to sit down.

“Ginko, “he greeted. “Nice day,” the last said blandly due to the complete overcast. “Waddaya got on the political situation in Sa’iph, especially as it relates to Antazos?”

“You have no subtlety about you, do you?” Brown eyes considered Vermillion’s face. “One might wonder why you have such and interest all of a sudden in the Sajeem’s emissary to the High Council.”

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Daned Thand ducked out onto the rooftop after urging Maeva to shut and lock the window behind him, and not to reopen it until he returned. He took a roundabout route even here, on the narrow plank walkways that connected roof-to-roof in the Crews section of Darilei before dropping to ground level to move towards the central market.

Even this early in the morning, the market place was crowded; a kaleidoscope of bleary-eyed late-night revelers, and early morning shoppers. The only thing lacking was the dust and thick layering of aromas that would come later in the day, but there were enough booths grilling food for breakfasts that few noticed his own heavy odor as he moved from booth to booth. His purchases included cheese, dried meat, three loaves of fresh-baked bread, and a skin of freshly squeezed juice. All of which, except for the skin, he stuffed into a large canvas bag. It would be enough to hold them for several days more, if necessary. If the message he had left had not been picked up, if no response had arrived.

Along the way he bought himself a sausage wrapped in a thin crust of dough, which he rapidly ate, only the heat and the grease keeping him from inhaling the food. He stopped at the edge of the square, seemingly to wipe his greasy hands on his pants legs, and allowed his brown eyes to sweep over the bead-stringer’s booth. The strand he had ordered still hung on one of the wooden hooks , and a quick scan of the others confirmed what he had feared – no response.

Had their contact been found? he wondered worriedly. Or just delayed?

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After the delivery of Damiano to the Temple of Hamal, Boeden told his companions that he would meet up with them later, as he wanted to take the opportunity to check on his brother and find out how the Jotunn work on ships for Torei had progressed. He arrived at the covered docks to find security much tighter than before. The guards at the entrance told him he had to wait to be cleared, and he had to cool his heels for a while until Savarne herself stepped out of the doors. Her blue eyes studied him coolly, and then she waved him past the guards into the construction shed.

“Have Boeden come to grade me on your brother’s protection?” she asked. As they took the long walk down the covered portion of the docks, they passed several other Jotunn guards and two other priestesses – Boeden suspected that their orders involved something like “disembowelment” for anyone passing by without a proper escort. With the ships out in the harbor, and at least four other Daughters of Einmar unaccounted for, he knew there must have been other unseen protections both inside and out.

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First, I wanted to say how much I appreciated your guys’ willingness to split up for a while. Although I had an idea of some things that would likely develop (Cassick freeing his sister from the baby-sacrificers, Broc awakening his sword), I knew it was the sort of open-ended “whaddya wanna do next” sort of thing that can make the players feel like deers in the headlight: “Er, what do you want us to do next?” I thought it led to some interesting roleplay, the introduction of new NPCs and the development of relationships with some of those new (and even existing NPCs), and planted the seeds for things that can be drawn upon later depending on how the story goes from here.

A special thank you for everyone’s willingness to not do much during weeks when the focus was on another player’s interlude, or simply on passing notes.

Now, on to the reason for the solicitation of advice. The past couple of weeks, I knew that you guys were struggling with trying to decide what path to take. For the two weeks that ended in the capture of Damiano and the cleaving in twain of Fianmetta, I tried to let the group make a decision on what to do (and loved the “let’s set our own trap” idea), and had the fight prepared and ready to go. I didn’t try to influence one way or the other what decision you made, where to go on the map, etc. I’m used to our group sometimes dithering about what to do, letting each character have his/her say, letting each player have his/her say, talking it over, changing our minds, saying it all over again, etc. And the confrontations with Damiano and Fianmetta were the sort of things that could be fit into whatever plot twist you guys came up with.

Last week, however, I could feel you guys struggling with the … what shall I call it? ... uneventfulness. I have an encounter ready to go, but then dithered about whether it could be adapted on the fly to fit in with the path you guys took to Torei. I concluded it couldn’t be, and ditched it. As a result, you spent a lot of time with me going on and on about, “and now you pass through some more countryside …” In retrospect, a random bandit attack – or a Sa’iph border patrol that has gone too far south and entered into Torei – probably should have been thrown in just to liven things up. And I’m wishing I had thought of that as a possibility – random, not a “plot” encounter, but one that fit into the storyline.

So here are the questions – answer in Comments, via private message or email, or think about it and give me feedback in person.

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Within minutes after the mage disappeared, the party loaded everything and everyone onto horses and the wagon, wanting to be as far away as possible from the campsite before she could possibly be healed and return for another attack. Damiano, still blind-folded and gagged, flinched as Boeden lifted him into the back of the wagon. “Quiet,” the Jotunn told him softly, and then walked behind the cart as they started off into the darkness.

“What happened?” the prisoner asked the next morning, when they stopped for a quick, though rough, roadside breakfast. Athron and Boeden exchanged looks, silently asking each other what they should tell him. After a moment, Boeden shrugged.

“Your traveling companion …?” Athron began, the question in his voice prompting for her name.

“Fianmetta,” Damiano supplied around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

“Came from you last night. We had to dissuade her from overstaying her welcome. We needed to leave quickly – though she was badly wounded,” behind him, Boeden nodded in satisfaction, “we did not know whether she would be able to heal herself and then use another spell to suddenly reappear.”

Damiano thought for a moment, took a sip of water, and inquired, “How many were with her?” When told two (and the two having been described), he continued in a low voice, “she may or may not have been healed.”

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Palderton did not have the type of lush accommodations to which Fianmetta was accustomed, and Sherat had seen immediately that the prospect of spending time in the East Redding town – large for the Redding, but little more than a backwater eddy compared to the Sa’iph and League cities Fianmetta frequented – clearly displeased the elder mage. But at least it was better than a tent and bedroll by the roadside. Here, there was an inn, and even if the Fish’s Rest did not have hot saunas and silk sheets, it did have feather mattresses and clean blankets.

“This better yield something useful,” Fianmetta muttered to Damiano as the three of them dismounted, leaving the guards and servants to take care of their bags. She looked around, glaring at everyone, with the sourest look for Sherat herself. But the younger woman kept her eyes down, lest the Dominta consider a return look to be a challenge, one that would require immediate quashing. Fianmetta would have preferred the trip to Yarrick, perhaps even on Lord Antazos’s own yacht. But that task had been given to Varimer … who, Sherat suspected, would have preferred this journey. And perhaps, she thought, that is precisely why each woman had been given the task she least favored. And why, Sherat knew, she herself had been sent with Fianmetta, when neither could stand the other’s presence.

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Veleno slipped back through the undergrowth, heading inerrantly to her waiting hand. Fianmetta allowed the viper to curl around her wrist and up her sleeve to slip out at her shoulder and nestle around her neck. His hiss was soft, reassuring, and she whispered back to him her thanks. There had been a moment, when her familiar crept through the shadows at their feet, when she and he had both thought he had been seen, and at that moment Fianmetta’s heart had leapt into her throat for fear of what Damiano’s captors might do. But Veleno, having confirmed the segnato lived, returned unharmed.

“I will approach from the east,” she announced peremptorily to the two who came with her. “You two,” she nodded first at the soldier with the longsword and the greataxe, then at the guard so skilled in sneakery, “from the west. I,” she added, certain that it would be so, “will take care of the North Redding beast and the Jotunn,” she sneered at the word. “And then the priest,” she finished, nodding. “Yes, the priest as well.”

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