I left off my last entry because I though that Pince and Sprig were approaching. I was incorrect; it was merely two of the sailors who occasionally cone to the Grass Pipe for evening drinks. Although we remained in the dining room all evening, the pair never showed up; we passed the night introducing Urik to orombo as he had never eaten lemons before. This spectacle was slightly more compelling that the prior experiment with oranges, but I am wondering how long this fruit theme will last.
Stuckey shrugged off his colleagues' missing their appointed arrival, saying that they were busy and had undoubtedly already become cognizant of us and would appear at their leisure; he frightened Zinna who for a moment thought they were invisible spirits who might materialize at any moment. It did not take overlong to calm her down. And so we went to our separate beds.
In the morning, Stuckey prepared us a hasty breakfast and then bade us depart; he was once again calling a closed house as he had errands to run. We each made our separate ways to spend the day. I shall relate our adventures as narrative here, although naturally I had no knowledge of my comrades' activities until we regrouped at night.
I went first to the town center to see about securing a small cottage for a workshop and domicile; I was turned away for reasons of my birthright: apparently homes and enterprises within the city are reserved for citizens - human citizens, if I understand correctly. It was a bit comforting to feel such prejudice leveled against me, as it confirmed in my heart the banal wretchedness of my existence: our pleasant life in the Grass Pipe was, it turned out, an anomaly after all. I feel that Nackle Tarren may find us foreigners useful, but Grelsh may not have much use for us at all.
At least the clerk was kind enough to direct me out of town to another inn, the White Widow, which he said had larger rooms. I found it a short walk south of town, at a crossroads that held a thriving market. The proprietress was a peaceful woman, who was willing to rent me a large space, suitable for both living and crafting, and expressed confidence that I could join the market as a seller. I reserved the rooms for a goodly time and told her I might bring her more residents. After this exchange, I made leisurely walk back toward the Grelsh market.
As I was so occupied, Zinna, prompted by the ever-suspicious Urik, had taken to following Stuckey as he left on his errands. She observed him head toward the dock and board a craft, a distinctive-looking yellow and black boat we had seen earlier called the Blessed Bee. He stayed a short while and emerged with two companions; the three stopped at a merchant for what appeared to be provisions and weapons and then trekked far north and east out of town. Zinna followed for as long as she was able, but they were making haste and she was unfamiliar with the territory and so lost them after some time. She made her way warily back to town for a dinner at the market.
While we were thus diversely busy, Rorick was burying himself in some arcane study, and Urik and AppleRabbit had taken to the woods to scar each other with lemon tattoos. When I saw the final artwork, each looked more like a depiction of a diseased eye or perhaps a misshapen egg, but I was too polite to mention this, and my opinion was not asked in any case.
We all met up again in the market at dinnertime, and conversed easily, sharing news of our activities and discoveries. Eventually, we noticed that the Grass Pipe seemed active again and returned "home" to find not Stuckey but a beautiful human woman behind the bar.
It turned out that this was the notable Sprig, running the inn while Stuckey was away. She was more than beautiful; she charmed everyone she met. Watching her work made us realize just what a callow boy Stuckey was. He ran the bar with puppyish enthusiasm; Sprig with grace and elan. It was the liveliest and most companionable evening we had spent at the inn. Towards the end of the evening, we met Pince - a strapping man obviously completely smitten with Sprig. Both of them seemed to know Zinna by reputation; it seems that if we are to make any headway joining the Stealers' Guild, it will be through our forgetful Sandey.
Eventually, Pince revealed to us why Stuckey was absent from the Inn: the young man was working his way up the ranks of the Guild, and he was on a mission with his two elder brothers to intercept one of two great logs sent downstream by the Wood Elves. To feed the constant construction in Grelsh, Nackle has a treaty with Ipiphan, the Woody leader, for routine deliveries of timber. The Guild occasionally re-routes one of the logs for their own disposal. The adventure usually takes only a day, and Pince and Sprig had begun to worry that something had gone amiss, since the runner, a fourth party serving as lookout and communicator, had not arrived.
Urik immediately volunteered to head upriver and search for the missing thieves; whether this offer sprang from a desire to make the Guild more fond of him, or out of genuine concern for Stuckey, or from some perverse desire for danger, I do not know. In any case, Sprig advised us to wait until morning, as there was likely just some technical delay and no cause for alarm at all. So we drank some more and then went to bed.
The next morning Sprig prepared us breakfast; the runner had still not arrived and her concern was growing greater, so my comrades and I immediately set off with her directions to try to find these errant timberjacks. We followed the coast to the mouth of the river, and then followed the river upstream, looking for a peculiar triad tree that Sprig had described. It was near this tree that the log would have been diverted from its course down to Grelsh. If there had been misadventure, it would have been near there. As it turned out, there had been misadventure of the worst kind.
Toward mid-afternoon, we did find the tree, and began to make our way closer to the riverbank to investigate. Most of us approached on guard and wary; Urik, for his part, began strolling toward the water as if on a walk through downtown Grelsh. From the cover of the brush, some of us saw a man impaled on a tree at the far edge of a small clearing, hanging some few feet off the ground; we took pains to be cautious and vigilant, for this alerted us to several figures hiding in cover on the other side of the clearing, and we feared ambush. This assessment proved grimly correct when Urik was fired upon from the far river bank. That arrow missed its target, but the battle was on.
Urik and Zinna were set upon by several hobgoblins in an open area near the river's edge, at the same time taking the archer's fire from across the river itself. For our part, AppleRabbit, Rorick, C'hallah, and I had but one foe; however, he was an enormous Bugbear with massive strength and murderous intent, and I feel we actually bore the brunt of the battle. I had readied a magic stone and managed a sure hit on the creature as he charged me; I was sure I dealt him as much damage as I had ever done in battle before, but it barely slowed him down, and with one swipe of his enormous club he nearly took all life from me.
The rest of the battle is a little hazy; I know Rorick conjured a magical dog from the aether and the poor animal was summarily crushed by the Bugbear. I felt AppleRabbit's magic restore my strength, only to see her go down a short time later, unconscious from wounds. Rorick and I continued to engage the massive creature until ultimately it fell - onto AppleRabbit, as our luck would have it.
Zinna and Urik seemed to have had better luck besting their foes - when I could check, two lay dead and one had fled into the river along with the archer, beyond pursuit. Urik used some of his cruel healing on AppleRabbit before I could help her in any gentler way. With the threat gone, we were able to take stock of the situation, and this was the grim inventory:
∆ The poor soul impaled upon the tree was our friend Stuckey. This escapade had clearly been the highest rung he would climb on crime's ladder.
∆ The creatures who had set upon us were, by their weapons, members of the Seven Pillars, the mercenary group. It appeared that they had interfered with the timberjacking and, apparently wanting to cause further mischief to the Stealers' Guild, had waited in ambush for any investigators or rescuers.
∆ There were clear tracks showing where the log had been diverted. Following them, we came upon a camp and found the bodies of Stuckey's companions - his brothers - both of whom had been killed where they lay.
∆ We found the log further along in a grassy clearing, and saw what we presumed was its eventual destination - a small structure which could easily house a makeshift timber-cutting operation. Upon investigation, we found two corpses within: one appeared to be the woodworker and the other a rogue, most likely the missing runner. The Pillars had been efficient as well as brutal.We completed our gruesome task mechanically, gathering all the bodies into the shed and investigating the scene as best we could. There was little to find except horror and a dinghy, which we used to navigate down the river back to Grelsh.
We made our weary way back the The Grass Pipe. We gave our sad news to Sprig, who was once again working the bar; she was overcome with grief and disappeared sobbing. Apparently her concern for the boy Stuckey went beyond simple affection. Pince joined us to hear our tale, holding his own sorrow in check long enough to tell us that we must meet Cavendish (the leader of the Guild?) to apprise him of this situation. Cavendish abode on the Blessed Bee and Pince assured us that Zinna could provide us safe passage to him. Then Pince left us to go comfort his woman.
Weary, we nonetheless made our way to the docks for our late night interview. A guard on the gaudy boat did indeed recognize Zinna; although he made us leave our weapons outside, we were allowed into the cabin with little trouble, being in her company. There we met Cavendish, who seemed a man of some presence and power, although it was so gloomy in the cabin I am not sure I would recognize him in the daylight. We duly ran though our tale again and the thief-master seemed troubled and at a loss. He assessed rightly that the situation was confusing: we knew not who the villain was that had hired the Pillars - Ipiphan? Nackle Tarren? DuChamp? Rashemi? - nor who their intended target was - the Guild? Nackle Tarren? Grelsh itself? All we knew was there was trouble brewing. Cavendish's counsel was that we seek out Iris, some sort of local oracle, and investigate this further.
I fear we are in this up to our necks now, like a rakunmi caught in iyepe. We work for the caliph Nackle but now it seems also for the Guild, and we must keep these cross purposes untangled as we would the reins of a mount. I would rather go home and make baskets but I fear I need to serve Sinifere a bit more before returning to Tannit's bosom. I should be asleep already but felt a need to record this, though I know not who might be interested in the plight of a poor displaced jangwa mkuu.
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