#fantasy rpg

The walls were lined with thick tapestries and the floors covered in sheepskin rugs. A small fire burned fitfully, domesticated by the surrounding hearth. Either side of the fire stood two high-backed leather armchairs. Both were occupied. In the left sat a matronly woman with pale skin and dark hair tucked neatly beneath a wimple. In her hand she clutched a sewing hoop covered in white linen, but although she also held onto a needle and thread, there was little evidence of her industry; her lack of progress only accentuated by the worried expression haunting her face.

A man in loose fitting robes rose from the right-hand chair as the adventurers and chamberlain entered the room. Narrowed eyes and strained features tugged on a long grey beard, giving the impression of a scholar disturbed from his studies or an irate librarian, rather than the lord of the manor.

           ‘My lord,’ Casalran began. ‘May I present...’

‘Never mind that now,’ Lord Zariel snapped. ‘Have the guards found Alarne yet?’

‘I'm afraid not, your Lordship, however, there have been several breaches in the manor walls. He may have used them to escape the fires.’

Although the chamberlain's words were conciliatory, his tone suggested otherwise. The woman in the armchair paled further, her sewing falling to the floor, completely forgotten.

‘Oh Eammon,’ she whimpered.

Lord Zariel turned to his wife. 'We'll find him, my love, I promise.’

‘Um... excuse me,’ Prism said, after theatrically clearing her throat. ‘But who is Alarne?’

‘My Eldest son,’ the nobleman replied. He whirled around and looked at the party, as if only just noticing them for the first time.

‘Just who in the nine bells are... Casalran, what is the meaning of this?’

‘As I was saying my lord,' Casalran said in a weary tone of one used to this kind of response from his master. ‘This is the Lady Ayelen, acolyte of Lliira, and her retinue.’

‘And what a motley band they appear to be.’

Prism choked back a comment as Ayelen stepped forward and presented herself.

‘My lord,’ she said inclining her head.

‘Well, some manners, at least.’ The nobleman looked at the cleric and the rest of the party, appraising them like jewelry, as if trying to decide if they were precious gemstones or just cheap baubles made of coloured glass. ‘Out with it then,’ he commanded. ‘But I warn you, if you're here begging for alms, you will be most disappointed. As will I.’

‘We're not here for your charity, milord,’ Ayelen explained. ‘We came to warn you about the outlaw mage, Bargle, and the grudge he has out for you and your family.’

Though, some sort of reward would be nice, thought Prism.

Ayelen went on to explain the events that had led them here, framing the party as lawful citizens on the trail of a dangerous criminal. Despite herself, Prism was impressed with how well the cleric could spin a yarn. But… it also made her wonder how much truth Ayelen had told her back in the ruins of the castle.

‘Bargle!’ Lord Zariel exploded. ‘I might have known he was behind this attack. It all makes sense now. I dismissed that charlatan months ago.’

‘Why was that?’ Ayelen asked.

‘He was supposed to be finding a cure for my son's ... illness,’ the nobleman replied. 'But instead, his experiments only succeeded in burning a rather large hole in my coffers.’

‘What’s wrong with your son?' Ancelyn asked.

‘Nevermind that now,’ Lord Zariel replied, directing his answer at Ayelen. ‘Forgive me, my lady, you have done me a great favour by bringing me this information and at a great cost to yourself, and your servants. You will be rewarded.’

He paused to look at his wife. She gave him a wan smile and nodded slightly. ‘However, first it would seem I need your aid again,’ he continued. 'Not only to help fend off the menace invading my estate, but also, to find my son.’

‘Well, if the money's good…’ muttered Prism. Ayelen threw her a filthy look before addressing Lord Zariel. ‘Of course, we would be honoured to help in any way we can.’

‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Lord Zariel. ‘Then it's settled. Repel these invaders and find my son, if you can. And should you encounter Bargle in the course of these duties, I would be extremely grateful if you could give him my regards!’

As he spoke, Casalran moved forward and began to usher the adventurers back out of the room.

‘What is the matter with his lordship's son?’ Prism asked the chamberlain as they entered the hallway. Casalran glanced back at the heavy oak doorway.

‘A grave illness no apothecary or mage has been able to cure,’ was his only reply.

‘But what are the symptoms?’ Prism insisted as they all descended the main stairway. Though inwardly she shuddered at her own question, imagining the boils, pustules, and welts that had once covered her own body.

‘I should say that it is not my place to discuss the lad's malady.’

‘You're probably right,’ Prism agreed, 'but we might be able to help. Or, if that's not the case, it might provide us with a clue to his present whereabouts.’

The chamberlain wore a conflicted expression. He opened his mouth to speak several times, but on each he appeared to change his mind. Before he could make up his mind, however, all hell broke loose. The barricade against the main doors exploded, sending lethal shards of wood and metal in every direction. Guards screamed as the shrapnel tore through flesh and armour alike. Orcs poured through the smoking hole, weapons held high and screaming their warcries as loud as their lungs would allow.

To be continued…

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