Umber

A retired bard-turned-innkeeper hears the adventurers’ story from a passing Greyhawk traveler, and recounts it to a group of children and an old friend.

What some had taken to calling the Time of Isolation had ended, and the ruined city of Greyhawk was beginning the long process of rebuilding. Perched on the boundary between one of the larger and now mostly repaired residential and commercial districts stood the Grey Kingfisher Tavern and Inn. Its proprietor had arrived shortly after the restoration of the multiverse, constructed a handsome three-story building out of a pile of rubble more quickly than many would have thought possible, and equally quickly established an island of calm in the midst of what was still a chaotic and dangerous region.

There were many whispered theories as to why this was so. The more level-headed of the locals insisted it was the influence of the innkeeper himself, a genial man who could defuse many conflicts with a laugh and a quiet word, and most of the rest with the strangely haunting lute he sometimes played. Some murmured that the grim, silent elf who visited him at irregular intervals had been seen weaving powerful protective magic around the area. Everyone agreed that his semi-permanent lodger, a scholar-mage known only as Starton who occupied the entire third floor, was not a man to be trifled with. On the very rare occasions when a boisterous encounter threatened to turn into something more ugly, he had been known to emerge and escort the combatants off the premises. Manny Ogden, a hard-working but temperamental man who had one night been the object of the scholar’s undivided attention, insisted that the hand tightly gripping his shoulder as he was tossed unceremoniously out the door had sprouted claws, but everyone laughed and agreed that he had been so deep in his cups it was a wonder he hadn’t drowned in them, and the incident was quickly forgotten.

The tavern was popular with both travelers and residents, and the innkeeper especially encouraged the presence of the local children, for whom he had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of cider and sweet buns. It was rumored that in his younger days he had traveled widely, singing songs throughout the multiverse. Now he seemed mostly to listen to sagas recited by others passing through the inn, but on many an early evening he could also be found, by the outdoor firepit when weather permitted or inside by the hearth, telling a quiet story to a knot of enraptured children.

It was on one such occasion several years after the inn had first opened that he sat by the fire with a dozen or so young people gathered around him. Erik, Anna, Jasper and Kirin had pride of place in front, as they usually did. So quick-witted that they often half-told his stories for him, so close-knit that they seldom appeared without one another, to his practiced eye they had the look of wanderlust about them. Some day, he was sure, they would stop by the tavern to make their goodbyes, strapped into armor and bristling with weapons. But for now they were content to absorb the lessons of adventurers who had gone before them.

“So what would you like to hear tonight?” he asked.

“A pirate story!” Jasper shouted.

“Do you know,” the innkeeper said, “you’re in luck, for a traveler passing through last week just happened to tell me a new one. Let’s see, can I remember it?”

As the others moaned in dismay Kirin, the serious one of the group, frowned and waved a finger at him. “You know that you always remember everything everyone tells you.”

He shook his head and smiled. “Caught in the act. But sometimes I like to start the suspense before the tale even begins.”

She wrinkled her brow in thought. “But that doesn’t make any sense, you should – ”

Before she could finish her sentence, Jasper and Anna shouted over her, “The story, Hanen! The story!” Kirin sighed, but fell silent.

The old bard winked at Kirin, and she grinned back, knowing they would finish their argument after the other children’s appetites had been sated. After all, he never forgot anything anyone told him. “So during the Time of Isolation, as you know, the world was a dangerous place,” he began. “Some places were more dangerous than others, but none were what you’d call inviting.” Erik, the oldest, shuddered; his family had remained in Greyhawk during the rampage of the archdevil Moloch, surviving on their wits and an informal network of like-minded residents, never staying in one place for long.

“The city of Irongate still had something resembling rule of law. And it was to that seaport town that six individuals, displaced from various homes of their own, made their way. Mark their names well, for they’ll be famous someday, I warrant.” The youths’ eyes gleamed brightly, dreaming of the day someone would say that about them. There was Basil, the cleric of Olidammara, a – ”

“Crook,” Erik muttered.

“You know what they say about judging books by their covers,” Hanen replied mildly. A loud snort erupted behind the children, and they turned to see that Starton had pulled up a chair nearby. Instinctively, the children edged a little distance away from him. He was never anything but unfailingly polite, if very much remote, but beneath  his velvet paisley smoking jacket lurked an aura of something dangerous that they all dimly felt. “Admittedly,” the innkeeper went on, “Basil possessed a streak of self-interest common to most Olidammarans, but he was a kindly fellow for all that, and hated to see lives thrown away to no purpose. Also at the meeting were a pair of rangers, Carignane and Quensel, a sorceror named Krunk, a dwarven fighter called Yzzof, a barbarian known as Pan, and the sole woman of the band, Tenebrae, of roguish talent.”

“Another crook, no doubt,” Erik grumbled.

“And they came to Irongate to become pirates?” Jasper asked eagerly before the bard could reply.

“Actually,” Hanen said, “they were mostly just looking for jobs.” Another collective groan, and then he added, “But armor-clad, rapier and axe-wielding individuals aren’t very well suited to shifting cargo from ship to shore, so they answered the call of one of the most powerful merchants in the city, a man named Varrus.”

“For pirates?” Jasper shouted.

Anna smacked him, and Erik reached over and clapped a hand over his mouth. “If you don’t have something sensible to say,” she hissed, “keep quiet.”

Jasper pried away the older boy’s hand and glared at Anna indignantly. “You didn’t slap Erik when he kept repeating himself.”

“Why must you always argue?” Kirin asked in exasperation.

The three erupted in violent protest, and several of the other children began to take sides. Hanen watched them with amusement. Sometimes he got no farther with a story than this, but the children were entertainment enough for him. Tonight, though, Starton’s gruff voice growled, “There are dozens of alleys for fighting in. If you’d like, I’ll find you some ruffians to practice with. For myself, I’d like to hear the tale.” The young voices silenced themselves so immediately and completely that several adult patrons looked over in surprise, but seeing nothing amiss returned to their ale.

Hanen shot a reproachful glance at the scholar, but took advantage of the quiet to continue the story. “Varrus himself was not there, but his subordinate Lucan saw something promising in these six, and hired them on. Their task: to board Varrus’ ship Osprey, and make themselves a target for the – ” he waved an encouraging hand toward Jasper.

“Pirates!” the boy shrieked with delight.

The bard laughed and went on, “- who had been marauding throughout the shipping lanes. One man in particular, a pirate named Ramis, had been making a positive nuisance of himself. Many of the merchants had suffered losses; Varrus himself had been among the hardest hit. But somehow the ships belonging to the mayor of the town, a trader himself, always seemed to escape completely unscathed.”

“That’s strange,” Anna interrupted.

“Very strange,” Kirin concurred.

“The mayor was probably a crook,” Erik put in.

“Or a pirate!” Jasper crowed.

“Or Varrus could have been plundering his own ships,” Kirin remarked thoughtfully. “Did he have any kind of insurance?”

“Was the mayor well-liked by the residents? How did people feel about Varrus, for that matter?” Anna asked.

“Excellent questions,” Hanen replied. “And although they were expected to be aboard the Osprey by dawn, the adventurers spent some time that evening trying to find answers. They fanned out and visited dockworkers, sailors, the cartographer and the harbormaster, and of course those centers of all useful local gossip…” he waited expectantly.

“The pubs!” the children cried in chorus.

“And discovered that the mayor was much-beloved by his people. Although there was one oddity concerning him.” He paused for effect, waiting until his audience, save Starton of course, was squirming with anticipation. “No one they spoke to could even remember a time when he hadn’t been mayor.”

Erik and Kirin exchanged puzzled looks, then filed the information away for future reference. Perhaps it was important, perhaps not. “What did people say about Varrus?” Erik asked.

“No more than they could help,” Hanen replied. “He was a relative newcomer in the town, and had grown very successful very quickly. More quickly, perhaps, than one could reasonably expect, but he had broken no obvious laws, and in Irongate the law was paramount. Still, the adventurers felt a need to be as much on their guard against their employer as anyone else they might encounter. This pirate Ramis’ actions lacked whimsy; somewhere behind him an invisible hand guided the sails. The question was: whose?”

“If they couldn’t trust Varrus,” Anna said, “why didn’t they turn down the job?”

The bard shrugged. “The pay was good, and Lucan told them they could keep any plunder they might come across, as long as it didn’t belong to Varrus.”

“So they were common mercenaries,” Erik grunted.

Jasper grinned widely. “Almost pirates themselves!”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Starton interjected. “If you ever let the man finish more than two sentences without interrupting him. Although,” he added, “you’d think the fact that Varrus was so free with other men’s property might have been suggestive to them, if ethics were on their mind.”

“I believe it suggested that they had better keep a close watch on their pockets, if nothing else,” Hanen said.

“They don’t sound much like heroes,” Anna ventured.

“Did I ever use the word ‘hero?’” the bard asked innocently. “All I remember saying was that they were looking for a job.”

“So did they finally sail off after the pirates?” Jasper said impatiently.

“Indeed they did. And shortly after they set out, they discovered a pair of unwelcome passengers. Surly, distant men, who teased Pan about his illiteracy and would say only that they were on assignment for Varrus as well.”

“How many things did Varrus need done?” Erik asked suspiciously.

“Also a very good question, and also very much on the adventurers’ minds. Tenebrae contemplated searching their room, but both Carignane and Quensel counseled that unpleasantness wasn’t precisely a criminal offense.”

“I would have searched it anyway,” Erik declared.

“Perhaps it might have helped, perhaps not,” the bard said. “In any case, they had an answer as to the nature of Varrus’ other employees soon enough. The expedition encountered an island, a cove, a ship, and a campsite so well guarded that it was difficult to believe whoever inhabited it was up to anything legal. Even so Carignane hoped for some relatively peaceful resolution, but he, Quensel and Tenebrae made a little too much noise creeping up a rocky rise. One of the guards heard them, and in an attempt to silence him Quensel impulsively drew his bow and fired. The entire camp was roused, as were Quensel’s companions waiting some distance away. A bloody battle ensued; at the end of it nearly all of the island inhabitants lay dead or dying, and Carignane had collapsed to the ground.”

Jasper’s eyes were wide. “And were they the pirates?”

“To all outward appearances, yes.”

“Outward appearances?” Kirin looked doubtful.

The bard nodded his approval to her. “Call it intuition if you will, but something about the situation didn’t sit well with the adventurers. This feeling was intensified by the, shall we say, non-appearance of a mysterious individual who whispered in Basil’s ear as he surveyed the carnage, ‘You have no idea what you’ve done.’ Concerned at what the man’s message might portend, Basil rushed to stabilize the wounded but not yet dead, motioning to others with any small medical knowledge to do the same.”

For the first time since the story began, Anna smiled. “And did they save them all?”

“They might very well have been able to,” he said. “But Varrus’ ‘other employees’ revealed their true intentions.”

“Assassins!” Erik exclaimed.

“Of a form,” Hanen said soberly. “Where others sought to heal, that pair sought to silence. Tenebrae drew her sap and warned them off. Yzzof, the dwarven fighter, swung his axe and took sterner measures.”

“Did he kill them?” Jasper asked eagerly.

“Somewhat less bloodthirsty heads prevailed, and they bound both so-called enemies and ersatz allies until they could get the whole mess sorted out.”

“And what did they find out?” Kirin said.

“That they had no idea what in the Nine Hells was going on.”