The sound of a heavy fist knocking against his door so abruptly shook Kestross out of sleep that he jumped, bunching his blanket against his chest in tight fists. Pynn was going around from room to room, waking up the party he'd arrived with, though it took a few seconds for this to sink in. The recognition then provided enough relief to calm him back down.

He had been dreaming about his mother, something that happened very rarely even at most. It was a surprise; he hadn't thought about her or the rest of his family for many years. Forgotten memories had come back to him the night before with a vengeance; her sharp voice still pounded in his head, relentless in intent and without kindness. How he'd hoped to have forgotten.

Kestross set the blanket down, sat up, and ran his hands across his face and forehead. He felt like dog meat; perhaps a good breakfast would take care of everything later. After properly straightening out his thoughts and mind, a process which didn't take much longer than a minute, he rose himself out of bed and headed towards his basin to wash up.

---

As the party ate their breakfasts, courtesy of the half-orc bartender before them, Kestross could feel his head clearing. The eggs were just what he needed, and they tasted excellent with the dark bread. These he ate ravenously, and energy flowed back into his blood and brain. Amidst joking with his fellowmen and inquiring about the day to come, he often stole glances at Zilvra, who still kept her head low.

"Mayor's office is just down the street and to the right," Pynn told them. "Can't miss it, it's a four story building, big sign out front saying what it is. Glad that someone out there was willing to take this job."
The last part, in truth, might have been somewhat strange to some. Kestross, however, took it to face value. "Well, these kinds of jobs aren't given to the faint of heart, mister. We're just happy to help."

With that said, he and the party stood from their tables and bade the inn goodbye. It was time to head on to the office, where the briefing would take place and where Arvin was likely to be found. To Kestross' disgust, however, the roads were filled with just as much muck and mire as before, though were not quite as slippery. He was in better sprits anyway, as it wasn't raining, and the walk to the office was not as arduous as the walk to the inn the previous day. Once or twice, tried to catch the eye of Zilvra with a juggling trick, with the hope of at least making her smile.

The office itself, however, was not nearly as cheerful as he was. Every window, disturbingly enough, had been boarded up, and the guards standing in front of it looked as dour as the skittish townsfolk they'd passed. Kestross looked at the building critically, then trotted ahead of the others towards one of the guards, intending to ask a question. The question was never asked; almost instantly, Arvin flew out of the office and ushered him and the others inside.
"Come come, we must hurry. The Mayor is waiting for you!"
Hurry? For what? Is he going to run away? Kestross thought with a bit of a scowl, impatient with being shoved.

Once Arvin had let them go, Kestross found himself, with the others, inside a large room in terrible disorder. Akin to the outside of the building, the windows here were barricaded with boards and bookshelves, whose books lay strewn across the floor and on top of a desk around the room's centre. Then, out of nowhere, a voice sounded.
"Welcome! Welcome!" It was the mayor himself. A pudgy little man, he approached them hurriedly, speaking even faster. "I thank you all so much for heeding our call. As you've seen, Dalhurst is not thriving right at this moment. We've had many problems you see, many, many problems yes! And you've come to help solve them! Oh joyous days lie ahead!!"

He was babbling- obviously something terrible had happened to him, though there was no time to fit a word in edgewise. "You've seen our windows boarded up, the fear and exhaustion in everyone's eyes, the empty streets!? Of course you have, you walked them to get here, oh silly me. Oh! Oh my oh my! My manners, I simply forgot my manners! My name is Oswald Wurz, or Mayor Wurz to my citizens! Now, Dalhurst's problem, oh yes our big big problem!"

Here, he approached them, and his voice lowered furtively. "The dead walk here in my town. We don't know where they came from, or why they only come at night. But we can't leave our town, oh no we can't do that at all! We tried to get help, yes we did, but no one ever made it down the mountain! Then Arvin volunteered to go, we thought he died too! But now look! He brought you here and my town is saved! It's very easy yes!? You stop the undead, you save our town, I give you gold! You're heroes in Dalhurst! Surely folk such as yourself like the sound of that!? So will you help me? Will you save Dalhurst!?"

By the end of all this, Kestross' eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Undead, in Dalhurst- so the rumours were true. However, he didn't want to frighten the man, so he shook off his discomfort and flared his bravado.
"That's right. We're here to lift Dalhurst from its sorrow, rid its streets of fear and malaise, and bring its people back their cheer." He spun around on his spot and stopped before the mayor, bowing low and swishing off his hat. "We are here to help you!"

---


((OOC: Does Kestross need to make a diplomacy check? Basically he is accepting the mayor's offer.))

A sudden racking of the door caused Zilvra to leap out of bed. Grabbing her Warhammer, she faced the wooden door. Had the bandits found her?

Shaking off the confusion brought on by sleep, she remembered. She was in Dalhurst, here to solve a problem. Coughing a bit, she remembered the events over the last couple of days. Perhaps she had slept too deeply. Well, at least Zilvra wasn't dead. She relaxed momentarily. This must have been the wake up call.

After taking a couple minutes to change into her heavier armour, Zilvra trudged down the stairs. They were each served free food. Had Arvin paid for this too? The man was generous. They must have really needed help if they were treating a group of adventurers and sell swords this well. Keeping her head down, Zilvra ate all the food on the plate. Nothing fancy, but it was much better than the trail rations she had been living on for months.

They were quickly ushered out of the inn, and to the Mayor's Office. Today was gloomy and dark, but not rainy. That was definitely nice. Zilvra walked determinedly towards the Mayor's Office, noting some villagers darting into their houses. Were they not the first to come here? Were they not seen as the good guys? The rest of the walk to the Office, Zilvra became completely focused in watching the villagers hide.

They entered the office, in it's complete disarray and glory. Zilvra hung around the back of the group, standing completely motionless at the back of the group, listening. Undead? She had heard stories of them, but had never actually encountered any herself. Whatever. It wasn't anything that her blade couldn't handle. It wasn't the undead that scared her, it was whatever caused them. The dead did not rise on their own.

As soon as the mayor finished speaking, Kestross immediately decided to help the mayor. Zilvra added, " I don't know about the other's here, but I swear my blade to purge this undead menace!" She folded her arms across her chest, and waited for the other's responses.

Takrome slowly stirred from slumber, vowing that if it was Zarzuket wanting to create new boots for her she was going to harm him.

Her thoughts quickly changed however when it was Pynn hammering on her door. Quickly getting ready the elf went down, ate quickly and quietly before following the party out.

Once in the mayor's office she looked around the office tilting her head at the untidyness of it all. Slowly focusing her mind back to the task at hand she quickly spoke up, "I too will help any way that I can."

Zarzuket stared at the rest of the group unbelievingly. "You're serious? He asks, and you all jump to do it? Are you all compulsed? Or perhaps concussed? Any recent head injuries?" He shook his head. "Sure, lets just go fight the undead of unknown strength and number. No need to get more information or strike a better deal. Yee-haw." Zarzuket grumbled to himself for a bit, then looked around again. "I'm a cordwainer! I'm just here to study boots!" He sighed again. "Not that I can just abandon my proj-, er, friend. Count me in, I suppose," the gnome finally concluded with a sorrowful glance at Takrome's footwear.

And if in the back of his mind he was designing footwear for zombies, vampires, and ghouls, why, nobody needed to know that but him.

Delacard's morning was met with groggy sickness. The ale had been good, but as always, it stung him profoundly the morning after. Penance, he imagined as always, for what else could it be but retribution for a pleasant evening?

Still, upon hearing Pynn offering out eggs breakfast, the dwarf found himself lifting his head from the bar top, his fiery beard half matted in drool and whatever was left of the previous night's last mug. For most, it would have been a rather humiliating realization, but for him, it was simply what it was. There was no shame in enjoying one's self, after all, and certainly none in being the one who obviously enjoyed it more than the rest. Smiling kindly, despite the headache, Delacard accepted the meal, showing his appreciation by digging in ravenously in traditional dwarven manner until the rest of the party seemed ready to head out. Hopping down from the stool, he gave a slight bow to Pynn, saying,

"We be thankful for yer charitable ways, half-orc. And we'll be doin' our best in whatever venture this be ta pay ya back."

Grinning through his now egg-speckled beard, the short-legged hero moved off to follow his comrades.

_______________________________________________

Delacard had made up his mind as soon as the word 'undead' was muttered. Nothing in this world was worse than walking corpses. Not even goblins, if only by a small margin. Eyes twinkling in delight at the group's seemingly unanimous consent to help, the dwarf was the next to step forward, his hammer and axe clanking slightly as they did with every movement.

"The Paladin of Creht, Delacard Mackarrel, the whispering Dwarf, and servant of Tulis, shall see these monsters destroyed, and this town safe!" He pronounced, pounding a plated fist against his chest. "And I be needin' no price fer it, mark me. Give me share to the others here, when we be finished."

((OOC: Assuming Vesper's character agrees with the Mayor's offer as well.))

As the party spoke up one after the other agreeing to help the mayor, his head perked up higher and higher until his face was beaming with joy. "Oh joyous days! Joyous days indeed! Dalhurst is saved! Oh my intrepid heroes your names will be sung throughout the lands! Yes yes! Now I must send you off, send you off!" Mayor Wurz turned towards his table and started shifting through the papers and books with a hurried pace. With a boisterous laugh he held what appeared to be a very old tome up above his head. This book will have the answers you require! The history of Dalhurst is in here, everything that has happened is in here! They say a wizard founded our town! Yes indeed, a wizard! His home is still in the mountains! Take this book, take it and discover what has caused this plague of undead!"
The mayor shoved the book into Kestross's arms. Turning him around, he pushed Kestross towards the door through the rest of the party. Standing outside the mayor's door stood Arvin. "From the sounds of it, you accepted the mayor's offer. That is most pleasing to hear. Come, let us return to the Grey Leg Inn. We can have a drink and you can explain what you're going to do to help us here in Dalhurst." With that being said, Arvin turned and started walking down the stairs to the main floor.

A short pause set in as Kestross awaited a response from anybody, either to support or refute his offer of assistance. Surely most all of them would think this a good decision; he could see no real reason to turn one's back upon a plea for help, especially not one so desperate. It was only short seconds after this that Zilvra spoke up behind him.
"I don't know about the others here, but I swear my blade to purge this undead menace!"

Such conviction, thought Kestross, his smile broadening slightly. From what he understood of Zilvra, she had a lot of courage and, it seemed, a streak of justice. It would be interesting to see her in combat, where a side of one's nature that was never made known generally was given the chance to appear.

As he began to stand up, intent to turn to the others, another voice sounded behind him. "I too will help any way that I can." It was Takrome. That was good- an experienced hunter was always helpful, and Kestross had fair respect for Takrome's clever skills.

By now, Kestross had replaced his hat, and was facing the others. Only three votes to go. He placed his hands upon his hips and cocked his head slightly. Zarzuket, his expression one of disbelief or surprise, was staring at them, one by one. "You're serious? And you all jump to do it? Are you all compulsed? Or perhaps concussed? Any recent head injuries?"

The response caught Kestross' notice, and he was about to speak. Shaking his head, however, Zarzuket continued before he could open his mouth. "Sure, lets just go fight the undead of unknown strength and number. No need to get more information or strike a better deal. Yee-haw."

Now, to most any seasoned adventurer, Zarzuket had a very good point. Undead were nothing to sneeze at. To fight them was gruellingly difficult, and to delve into whatever secrets lay behind their source or animation was only asking for trouble. In truth, he might have had the most sense out of all of them. Kestross, however, wasn't so mindful. Zarzuket continued. "I'm a cordwainer! I'm just here to study boots!" He paused briefly to sigh, then added, "Not that I can just abandon my proj-, er, friend. Count me in, I suppose."

"That's the spirit, O cordwainer," laughed Kestross. "It'll do you good!" Then he looked past Zarzuket to the remainders of their party. Only two to go...
And these two, both, would answer in kind. A brief agreement with the plan to help was given by Kerhast, who'd remained generally quiet throughout their adventures so far; and the last one, the dwarf known as Delacard, regarded them with spirit in his eyes. He strode forward, about to where Kestross was standing, and brought an armoured fist to his chest. "The Paladin of Creht, Delacard Mackarrel, the whispering Dwarf, and servant of Tulis, shall see these monsters destroyed, and this town safe! And I be needin' no price fer it, mark me. Give me share to the others here, when we be finished."

Kestross grinned at Delacard's words. No doubt, he would like to get to know the man better and learn some of his story along the way.

The vote had been unanimous, and he was liking the mix behind it. This was going to be a story told for generations- he could feel it- indeed, this was going to be the team that would liberate Dalhurst of all its problems, the team that could venture beyond those places where others before had failed. He turned back to face Mayor Wurz, who was now quivering with near-manic delight.

"Oh joyous days! Joyous days indeed! Dalhurst is saved! Oh my intrepid heroes your names will be sung throughout the lands! Yes yes! Now I must send you off, send you off!"

As soon as he finished talking, he trotted back towards his table and began sifting through the mess of papers upon it, searching for something. In seconds, with a most gleeful laughter, he produced a book, likely very old, and brought it above his head. He continued to babble to the party as he strode towards them. "This book will have the answers you require! The history of Dalhurst is in here, everything that has happened is in here! They say a wizard founded our town! Yes indeed, a wizard! His home is still in the mountains! Take this book, take it and discover what has caused this plague of undead!"

Directly in front of Kestross by the end of it, he shoved the book into the taller man's arms. The action was unexpected, and Kestross fumbled with it, uttering small noises of surprise. As soon as his grip was caught on the book, Wurz clutched his elbows, wheeled him around in the opposite direction, and began pushing him in the direction of the door.

"It... seems like we are, uh... finished here, then..." Kestross mused, somewhat embarrassed. The rest of the party paused behind him, observing the amusing spectacle before proceeding to follow once he and Wurz where a good few paces in front of them. As Kestross and the mayor slid pas the door, they found Arvin waiting in the front hall for them.

"From the sounds of it, you accepted the mayor's offer. That is most pleasing to hear. Come, let us return to the Grey Leg Inn. We can have a drink and you can explain what you're going to do to help us here in Dalhurst," he said. With that, he began walking towards the exit. As he did, Wurz had finished pushing on Kestross, leaving him just outside his office. Kestross turned his head to watch the little man dart away from them back into the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"...Right then." He cleared his throat. "I think you're right, Arvin-- we have a lot to discuss." He turned to the others, shrugged his shoulders, and strode towards the exit, swinging the book widely in his arm as he did.

As soon as Zilvra had finished proclaiming her intent, others followed suit. The gnome in their group seemed a bit reluctant to engage in the endeavour, but even he quickly chose to join them. Apparently he was a cordwainer? Whatever that was. He seemed to have an interest in boots though. She glanced down at her banged up articulated steel boot. Those probably weren't what he was referring to. The next person who spoke up was a surprise.

"The Paladin of Creht, Delacard Mackarrel, the whispering Dwarf, and servant of Tulis, shall see these monsters destroyed, and this town safe!" He pronounced, pounding a plated fist against his chest. "And I be needin' no price fer it, mark me. Give me share to the others here, when we be finished."
Zilvra nearly spun around to look at Delacard. This dwarven man was a Paladin? That would definitely be some use against undead. But Tulis was a strange choice, at least from what she knew.

Zilvra was unable to ponder this much longer. Kestross was handed a book on the history of the town, with the mayor babbling on about a wizard founder, and was pushed out the door. Kestross' fumbling with the book and embarrassment was enough to draw her attention momentarily. She smiled a little bit. Helmet carried under her arm, Zilvra followed the mayor and Kestross.

Once outside, they were immediately greeted by Arvin. It was a bit creepy, but Zilvra doubted he'd do them any harm. He already had better opportunities to do so multiple times. They apparently were heading to the inn to get a drink and discuss their objectives? Sighing, Zilvra wished that they had been told that ahead of time, so they did not need to waste time discussing now. The town of Dalhurst didn't seem to be doing all that well. The sooner the undead riddance was removed, the better.

As Arvin began to show them back to the inn, Zilvra positioned herself beside Delacard. "A Paladin, eh? What brings you all the way up to here?" Zilvra asked as the walked back towards the inn.

"A Paladin, eh? What brings you all the way up to here?"

Delacard heard from behind, or rather, above him as the party made their way from the mayor's office, and turned to look apon the darkened elf. He has seen the creature multiple times, but as was his way, hadn't bothered to assume as to her heritage. Now, however, the elf stood just this close to him, asking him about his title. Still, he supposed, all would be revealed in time.

Smiling kindly, the dwarf replied, "Why, I come from jus' south o' here, from the dwarven mines. This's always been me area ta protect, though the news o' undead be news to me." Frowning slightly, a bit perplexed, he adds, "I actually be a bit surprised I ain't heard o' this before a group assembled... But I suppose I only been known to drive off the occasional goblin pack here'n there. And yerself, she-elf? A warrior no doubtin', but can't say I know o' yer kind... a darker breed, fer sure..."

Smiling kindly, the dwarf replied, "Why, I come from jus' south o' here, from the dwarven mines. This's always been me area ta protect, though the news o' undead be news to me." Frowning slightly, a bit perplexed, he adds, "I actually be a bit surprised I ain't heard o' this before a group assembled... But I suppose I only been known to drive off the occasional goblin pack here'n there. And yerself, she-elf? A warrior no doubtin', but can't say I know o' yer kind... a darker breed, fer sure..."
"I meant no harm, Paladin Mackarrel," Zilvra responded. "From what I was aware, Paladins often are tasked for protecting certain areas. You must have had some reason to take the light to the darkness, no?" Pausing for a moment, she continued, "True, I am a darker breed of elf. I am a half Drow." Zilvra smiled, trying to mitigate the effects of admitting that. " Don't worry, I know nothing of my parents, save that one was Drow and one was human. I lack much of the vindictiveness of the Drow."

Delacard flinched slightly at the word 'Drow', but otherwise seemed uneffected, willing to take the woman's words at face value. Having heard the most common of tales, and little more, it was as if hearing someone was half orc. From his experience, half-breeds rarely acted as their pureblood stereo-types, at least when the type was notably evil. And he felt he could trust Zilvra, else she would not be here.

"I suppose the same as any true warrior of good, I wanted ta help people. Raised under the light of Tulis, protectin' the weak and smitin' the wicked be the values I known all me life. I'd meant to go out, to adventurin' and helpin' the world as a whole, but ne'er could I o' guessed the world was so big. I settled to stan'n help those in the lands me and me kin've called home fer so long, wagonin' me goods to help the poor'n sick as oft as I can, and crackin' goblin skulls wherever it be needed. Happy as I be to be fightin' true evil, can't says I e'er fought undead afore.... Still, I been trained fer this, an I be glad to put me hammer to real use." He admits, pleased for the company. Rarely did the Dwarf find himself in a position to talk about himself with anyone actually caring to hear it, and he found the words flowing through his lips as quickly as he could form them.
Zilvra chose to ignore Delacard's flinching when she told him she was half drow. It was nowhere near what other people had done when they had discovered it. "An honourable cause, Paladin Mackarrell. And the same with me. I have never encountered undead before. I'm sure it's nothing that your hammer, and my blade, " she gestured at the Falchion strapped to her back, "can't handle. I've fought plenty of bandits before, particularly the Grimm's. Have you come across them in your travels?"

The dwarf's hairy face crinkles at the mention of the Grimm's, for it was a name he knew well. "Only by reputation, and the carnage they have inflicted. Though I ne'er came across any o' em, I've had to help pick up the shattered pieces o' innocent lives a few times. Merciless.... It does this dwarf good to hear ye been responsible fer a few o' them monsters' deaths."

He looks at the ground at that, as if to ward off a painful memory before continuing, "Aye, I been wantin' a crack at them fer a while, but it be me place ta help others afore chasin' violence, and there be much sufferin' to aleviate in these lands. But perhaps after this exorcism, ye an' I can go'n shorten their numbers, eh?"
Zilvra smiled. "Yes, let's do that. I'm all for taking each and every one of them down. They have brought harm upon many, and must be stopped! I've had a couple of run ins with them, but have had no luck finding them. Perhaps, you'd have friends who might have some idea where they could be?"


The Dwarf considered this, tapping his fingers against his hammer's head for a moment before shrugging. "Many know of em, but few know where they hide... Still, I be sure we'll track em down easy enough, once we're free to." Nodding to his companion, his eyes turn forward again. "Still, we must survive this fight afore we get too excited. I jus be glad I met a like-minded person ta help. Ne'er would I o' guessed it'd be an elf, but I promise, it be no issue to me." he adds jokingly, his yellow teeth shining from his thick beard as he flashes a smile.
Chuckling slightly, Zilvra said in agreement, "Same could be said about you. But yes, let us find out what Arvin and that book have to say. Then, we purge this undead menace!"

(OOC: Edited, added the combination post Savlator and I did.)

Takrome listened intently to the Mayor, eyeing the book slightly before sighing almost silently. Catching most of what needed to be heard, the elf had almost wanted to change her mind, but the pride within the Ranger held her fast to the task at hand. All too soon they were dismissed, and returning to the inn to await what Arvin had to say and what plans the group as a whole were going to come up with to rid the place of the undead malice.

Zarzuket sighed, though the sound barely reached his own ears. The gnome really hated it when this happened. He just wanted to travel. Study shoes, and perfect his craft. Was that too much for a poor gnome to ask???

But no. Inevitably he found himself drawn into some conflict, fighting for "justice", or "freedom", or "survival". Pah. Sure, he knew the blade of his sword from the hilt, but did that mean he had to go around killing other people's problems the rest of his life? He was just a shoemaker!

But he was committed now. It appeared he'd be, yet AGAIN, studying the effects of battle stress on footwear. Because he hadn't got quite enough of that beforehand, thank you very much.

Still, Takrome's boots were of a new design... And while they'd stand up to any kind of travel, he hadn't gotten around to combat testing. They wouldn't fall apart at the seems; he was a professional. But he held his own work to an exacting standard.

It will be interesting to see where it can be improved, he thought, as he returned to the Inn to await the next step on their "journey".

As the party made their way out of the office with Arvin, once again the bad weather made a return. Within seconds rain started pouring down in waves, and the wind whipped at their clothes and faces. "Pick up the pace young ones! If we stay out here to long we're bound to catch something and then no one will stand to help Dalhurst!" With that being said, Arvin led the party at as fast of a run they could manage in the mud and muck. Pynn was waiting for them in the doorway of the Inn, ushering them in, he closed and locked the door behind them. "I recommend you go dry off before we talk, I'll wait here with Pynn." Taking off his robes, Arvin sat down on a stool at the bar and started chatting with Pynn.


((OOC: Short post but now is the time for some good old RP between the players.))

Having barely finished her conversation with Delacard, a violent rainstorm suddenly ensued. It had taken mere seconds, and had made no warning beforehand. Grasping at her shield, Zilvra drew it to shield herself from the rain and water pelting at her. She lowered her visor, trying to minimize the amount of rain that poured on her face. Arvin said something about not being sick again. Shuddering at the thought of being really sick, at least, sicker than the paltry ailment she had beforehand, she quickened her pace.

Practically sprinting in the door when she arrived, Zilvra noted the water pouring off of her armour, taking some of the oil she had used to clean it down as well. That was going to be quite the mess later.

She walked up stair, and removed her full plate armour. Unfortunately, over her travels, she still only had one set of wearable clothes left. She muttered a curse, and pulled on her studded leather armour on. She'd still be soaking wet, but it would dry much faster under the leather than encompassing steel.

She strode back down the stairs, still dripping wet. The wet clothes she wore clung to her skin, and felt like ice. Taking the seat closest to the fire, she sat there, waiting for the warmth to dry her out. It wasn't the first time she miserably tried to dry out, she thought to herself as she stared into the fire. A year ago, she never would have found herself like this.

His embarrassment was only momentary, and in seconds upon stepping back outside, Kestross felt himself feeling excited about the task they had been given. At last, his skills would come to mean something! Surely he could win back their hearts at home if only they could know of what a hero he was to become! Yes, if this mission was to succeed, he would share fame with the others in the party through a story that was to spread across the farthest reaches of Runewen; a story that would be told for generations! Perhaps, if they were to achieve such glory... perhaps even King Chester Runewen himself would take notice! A spot in the nobility might be nice, Kestross pondered briefly. Then he laughed, for his thoughts were becoming more and more fantastic by the second. Sure would show the old man a thing or two at home, though...
In the midst of these musings, he happened to tip his head down somewhat, and was surprised to find a mottling of small wet drop marks smattered across his tunic. He raised a hand, hoping it was just a trick of the light, and discovered that, indeed, it had begun to rain, and was only raining harder by the second. "Come on," he groused in frustration. "Does it do nothing other than rain in this place?"

"Pick up the pace, young ones!" It was the voice of Arvin. "If we stay out here too long, we're bound to catch something, and then no one will stand to help Dalhurst!" He proceeded to dash down the street (Kestross noted he was far more agile than he'd imagined him for his age), and the others followed after him in turn. Eager to escape before matters grew any worse, Kestross took a running start, then stopped abruptly, nearly slipping on the cobblestones.

Curses, the book! The large old tome he held in his hands was sure to be over a century old, and would fare only for a few seconds in the rain if he wasn't careful. He looked around and found a building nearby, as abandoned as the others, with a wooden awning stretching over the verandah. Under this he leapt like a cat, and, finding it dry enough, opened up his tunic. The book was large, and he couldn't close the tunic over it, but it would have to do. He ran back out into the street, clutching it tightly against his chest at a forward lean to shield it, back towards the inn.

The last to arrive, he burst through the door and landed upon the dining-room entrance dripping wet. The warmth of the fireplace across the room beckoned him to take a seat, but it was wiser to get out of his clothes and put the book in a safer place.

"Hey, Pynn," he called towards the bar at his left, "Lay me out some mutton and cheese on a hot plate, will ya? Thanks in advance." With that, he took the stairs towards his room.

It was for moments like this that Kestross made a point of always travelling with at least two changes of clothes, for it was terribly uncomfortable to flick a rapier when you weighed an extra couple of pounds. The soaked silken threads were gently folded after receiving a thorough shaking-out- he would take them to the hearth to dry in a moment- and, once dried off somewhat and sitting in a clean shirt and trousers, he opened up the book and inspected it. The ends of the pages had taken on some water, but the text was still legible. That was all that mattered; as for reading it, he had little interest in books. Reading would come when everybody was back together and the situation could be further discussed in a group.

Satisfied with his protection measures and presence of mind, he placed the book inside his backpack, withdrew a piece of chocolate and a long brass trumpet, and headed back down the stairs.