#oc fantasy

With that he begins to explain the events neatly avoiding mentioning anything about the former Stouvanian and making it as far as to restoring the water flow once more before Campbell holds up a hand.

“You undid the orcs’ work in a moment? How?”

“Black powder,” Anvindr explains, “got it from...a friend.”

He’s noticed the warning looks from his friends just in time but so has the mayor who looks from one to the other before softly nodding for the genasi to carry on the tale to it’s very end. Then he sits quietly for a moment before taking a swig of the ale.

“An orc with a magical hammer...that could be Borgan but he is supposed to be even further north,” the mayor contemplates. “But then again...things are strange so who knows?” Finally zeroing in with his gaze on the trio, the man shakes his head. “Borgan holds grudges. I’d have liked to have sent you out on more quests but I fear that would be beyond reason.”

“There’s no reason to invite calamity,” Zilvra agrees.

He smiles kindly. “Guess I owe you, though.”

He produces a small pouch of coins for them to divvy up as they please but also explains that he is having something made for them – three sets of footwear: sturdy boots with thick soles which he explains are made for mountaineering. With them, they will be able to keep pace even in the rough terrain.

The trio thank him profusely for the useful gift, then Zilvra pulls out the Orcish book and scoots it over to the man.

“Thank you for lending me this. It was...more informative that the initial pages led to believe,” she admits. “Do you, uhm, are there maybe more?”

“Funny you should ask,” Campbell smiles, accepting the book back, “I went through my holdings and found two more, one of which seems as if it was made with you in mind.”

From an inner pocket, he pulls out to books – one considerably thinner than the other: Undercommon and Primordial.

Just then, the door slams open revealing a guard who’s out of breath.

“Mayor,” he salutes. “Trouble at the southern gate.”

“Orcs?”

Campbell is alert right away but the young soldier shakes his head: “A platoon of the Alloy Order, sir.”

Getting up with a sigh, Campbell barely excuses himself before following on the heels of the guard, leaving the trio to look at each other in confusion and dawning alarm.

“Alloy Order...that’s the Tower special operatives,” Anvindr recalls.

Zilvra nods. “Kirkland’s in charge of them.”

Morella rushes upstairs, muttering under her breath about the stupid cloak, and her friends follow.

Up in the room, the druid stuffs the white rain cloak with Kirkland’s initials under the mattress of one of the beds. The chance that anyone would know about it is minimal but seeing as it isn’t impossible, the paranoid side of the young eladrin seems to have won over for a moment.

Looking out the window, Zilvra and Anvindr first hear the sound of marching people before the platoon comes into view.

They are big guys, all wearing heavy armour in white and silver, perfectly polished but still clearly having seen some use. The paint job on their shields is scratched, their armour is dented in places. It is impossible to see their faces as their helmets cover completely, but somehow Zilvra imagines that they all wear the same expression of determination.

“Look,” Anvindr mumbles, “there are breaks in the formation...they must have lost people.”

And it’s true: here and there an empty spot in the marching order indicates where a man should have been.

Campbell is stalking along the leader, clearly agitated but seemingly getting little to nowhere in terms of explanation.

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” he asks.

“We’ve been ordered back to Stouvania,” is the simple answer.

Sighing, Campbell stands aside, allowing them to march onward to the northern gate unhindered.

“They looks badass,” Morella admits, joining her friends in the window.

As if he heard it, the leader of the platoon halts his men and looks up, eyes glittering in the recesses of the helmet as he spots the druid who shies away.

“Eladrin,” he says with a smokey voice, cocking his head.

It doesn’t appear to invoke any sort of resentment or confusion on his part, it is more as if he is simply stating the obvious – which he is the first to do correctly in all the time Zilvra has travelled with Morella. Then the captain whistles briefly and he and his platoon set out again.

As the forces clear the space, the people of Silver Keep begin to swarm Campbell, worriedly asking what this means for their safety. Are the going to expect trouble from the south? Will the trolls and ogres start to encroach too like the orcs? And rather than sugar coat everything, Campbell admits that he will have to call in favours to guarantee their safety.

“Why did we split from Stouvania?” a man cries out, earning nods and murmurs of agreement from those around him.

“Now now, you know why,” Campbell answers, “and we have other friends. Let me handle this.” And with that he excuses himself, making his way back towards the inn.

Rushing downstairs, the trio find him chugging the rest of his beer with the frown of a man who’s thinking of anything but the drink.

“Anything we can do for you?” Anvindr offers.

The mayor shakes his head. “This is for me to deal with so you’ll have me excused. I will be reaching out to your friends the Masons, so maybe I’ll have news from them to you soon. Regardless...I better get cracking.”

He leaves with a wave.

As the three friends look to each other, it is clear that they have a while longer in Silver Keep to recover from the night’s ordeal and waiting for the commissioned boots.

“I could use a proper bath,” Zilvra admits, tempting apparently only Morella enough to join her for a trip to the bathhouse – Anvindr would rather experiment a bit with the black powder he’s acquired.

And so the girls head off, asking Kathy for advice on where to go.

The bathhouse is different in Silver Keep than in the Underdark where it draws its heat from the naturally hot springs allowing for large pools of steaming water. Here instead tubs are filled buckets at a time, allowing for a much more individual experience. Screens of coloured fabric can be placed between the tubs, allowing for privacy and little baskets hang on the edges of the tubs with clean cloths, soaps, and bathsalts.

It’s a luxury Zilvra hasn’t enjoyed since she sailed to Stouvania and she sighs as she reclines in the bathtub. On the other side of the partition, there’s a sound of gurgles or bubbles followed by a soft giggle: presumably Morella is having fun too.

“See, this is good,” the drow begins to loosen her braids so she can wash the hair. There’s a delighted sigh from the other side that she takes to mean ‘yes’. “How’re you doing?”

“The soap is different here,” Morella surprisingly admits. “Not sure how ours is, but it’s not like this.”

“Anything else you can remember?” Zilvra tries.

There’s a beat of silence. “Remember the dogs we found the other day?” the druid then says. “I’ve apparently smuggles animals in with me before.” There’s a hint of pride to the voice.

Laughing softly, the rogue can all to easily imagine it and she admits as much.

---

Fresh and clean, the girls rejoin Anvindr in the room at the inn. He seems happy with the work he’s done, not at all regretting the lack of hygiene from his side. And truth be told, with the smears of soot around his face, he probably would just have ended up needing a second bath after his experiments.

He continues his work happily, while Zilvra settles down with the thicker of the books and Morella ventures out to explore or socialize.

The book the drow has been given is on Undercommon and the culture of the drow. Clearly it’s been written by Harris too: not only is the writing the same but also in this case there are illustrations and notes that Zilvra would have been happy to have missed out on.

Oddly enough, folded in the front of the book, she finds a list of names and family relations including her own family. Some of them seem to be checked off (that’s not the case with the name Allaunira Shadowsong) and it’s with disconcerting suspicion that Zilvra considers this might be a list of conquests.

Folding the list away with a shudder, the drow refocuses on the contents of the book itself.

---

“Guys!” Morella comes barging in. “I just spoke with Wilburt! And he prefers scritches over pets, preferably close to his cheeks and he -”

“What?” Anvindr stops the flow of words.

But Zilvra has already guessed it. “She’s talking about an owl, not a person.”

“Yeah yeah yeah! Wilburt lives with Kathy and is super polite and like to fly out at night and guess what?!” She points triumphantly to the drow but continues thankfully right away: “He’s seen other drow!”

Putting the book aside, Zilvra is all ears as Morella explains about the dark skinned elves Wilburt the owl knows of to the south of Silver Keep.

“You wan to find them?” Anvindr asks Zilvra. “You’ve been asking around about the cold war and such.”

“I don’t know if...no, let’s not go to them.”

Morella cocks her head. “What’s up?”

“It’s just that...remember at my birthday I got a message from my mom and I asked about Umbra?”

They both shrug and she reminds them of how they’d been told that there should be a male equivalent to Menzoberranzan by that name...but when confronting her mother, Zilvra had been told to forget it. That it is a myth.

“What if it isn’t?” she ventures. “And not only that...what if...what if my father or...what if it’s true?”

If her friends can sense there’s more to it than she says, then they are kind enough not to call her out on it.

“So my question stands,” Anvindr gently pressures, “do you want to go?”

Maybe Zilvra’s father is a live and well in Umbra. Maybe Filandrin is. But the chance is so small that the young drow figures she is just going to be disappointed and she isn’t sure she could bear that.

“No, let’s stay focused. It’s probably just an outpost.”

---

There’s a set of boots waiting for each of them the next morning when they come downstairs. Although still stiff, they fit each member of the trio perfectly and they feel prepared to traverse through the mountains if need be. Wanting to thank Campbell for the generosity, they head to the city hall. Likely, the mayor won’t have much time but maybe a few minutes can be spared.

And yes, Campbell is busy but seems to enjoy the momentary excuse to relax as the trio are shown into his office.

“Got the boots?” he asks.

“Yes, that’s why we came – to thank you,” Morella admits.

He smiles tiredly. “You helped us, I’m glad we could repay you in some way.”

Reaching for a cup of tea, he sets it down again after a tiny sip, clearly disgusted by it’s temperature.

“Allow me,” Zilvra mumbles, using her magic to heat the brew.

“Oooh, nifty.” The mayor cradles the mug with the now warm contents in his hands. “I spoke with Harris. I’ve spoken with a lot of people, really, but Harris mentioned that they could use your assistance if you’re up for it?”

The trio exchange glances, most of the shrugging in a way that’s meant to indicate “why not”.

Seeing their decision forming, the mayor nods and pulls out a map of the region. “I can’t let you have this, but take a look at least.”

Studying the map, they can see that they want to exit Silver Keep via the northern gate and then head south-west as soon as possible for a trip that ought to take less than a week. Following the southern road instead would keep them on the wrong side of the river but lead them past an abandoned mine.

“Where does this go?” Morella points to a crossroad north of the city that runs east-west.

“On the western end it leads back into Stouvania as you know, you came that way, suspect,” Campbell traces the line on the map, “the other one skirts past the mountains before delving south into the swamp. It’s the only proper road there but it’s dangerous because the swamp belongs to the orcs.”

“Uh, don’t want to deal with them if we can avoid it,” Anvindr admits.

“Heh, yeah that’s our lot,” the mayor laughs wryly. “I have to find a way to balance our defences against them yet still prevent them from creating new dams.” He sighs, then shakes his head. “But! That’s not your concern...I’m sure Harris can put you to good work instead.”