*****(following session 2, Chapter 2 – Walking Scarecrows)
The newcomer removed a leather gauntlet and ran her fingers through her short, sweat-matted blonde hair. “Yes, I’m Aldern’s sister. Lianthe Foxglove, if you need titles.” She glared at Ender impatiently. “You find that hard to believe for some reason?”
“Well… no, I guess not,” he stammered, his uncertainty making his boyish face look even more out of place on his towering form. “I mean, yeah actually!”
“So?”
“So what?” he queried.
“So, why?” she shot back. “What is it about me precisely that makes it so hard to believe?”
Ender swallowed hard, noting that her sword-hand was still girded in leather and steel and was now resting comfortably on the hilt of her blade. He had no doubt that she knew how to use it and was getting the uncomfortable impression that she was used to defending her own honor with sharp tongue and sharper steel.
“Well, you don’t exactly look like Aldern, for one thing,” Ender muttered. “And besides, he’s such a fop! He’s always dressed natty and polished like he was Grand Marshall in a Magnimarian parade inspection! And you…” He stopped himself, realizing that his smaller adversary might not appreciate his pointing out her obvious deficiencies.
Lianthe strode up to Ender fearlessly, her hand still resting easily on her sheathed sword. She glared up at him, the force of her eyes ignoring the nearly 15 inch height difference between them. “For the first point, I’ve been told I favor my mother. Aldern looks more like our great-father, so I’m told. And for the second–” Here she jabbed Ender’s breastplate hard with her finger, causing him to stumble back a half step. “What was it you were going to say? Aldern doesn’t have these?” She swept her hands up to chest level, emphasizing the obvious difference between her breastplate and his. Ender barely stopped himself from staring, though the dangling glittering medallion hanging from around her tanned throat seemed determined to draw his gaze to dangerous territory. “No, as the living heir to the Foxglove estate, Aldern would be less endowed than I… which should be obvious even to a lout such as you!”
Ender gulped again and looked to his companions for some guidance or better yet, some assistance against this unexpected verbal onslaught. Unfortunately, Karoshi seemed determined to unearth something at the very depths of his saddlebags, though Ender was sure he saw a poorly hidden smirk on the mage’s face. Sergoth on the other hand was leaning back against a rail fence, grinning openly at the exchange. Lianthe shot a hard glance at the sorcerer, daring him to intervene but he demurred and threw her a saucy wink for her pains.
Realizing he was on his own for the moment, Ender forged ahead. “No, I, uh… I meant no disrespect, but he’s a dandy who barely seems to have known hardship. But you…” Here he paused again, licking dry lips and trying desperately not to plant his boots in my mouth again. “Your face,” he blurted. “Your scars. You didn’t get those in the lap of luxury, that’s for sure… those are knife wounds!”
Lianthe’s eyes widened and Ender cringed, expecting another tirade. Instead the woman backpedaled and turned her head, shielding the left side of her face from his gaze. “My scars… of course,” she murmured. “I should have– of course that’s what you were staring at.” Although the trim athletic woman had not covered her face in any way since her recent arrival, she now seemed painfully aware of them since Ender had pointed them out. He instantly felt ashamed, but he scarcely knew why.
Lianthe walked a little ways off and stood silently for a moment. “We were separated,” she said simply. “After the fire, we were taken in by relatives in Magnimar. But shortly thereafter I was sent away to Windsong Abbey instead. Aldern and my sister were kept there for a time, then my sister went on to marry some lout in Cheliax. She’s a merchant’s wife now… Aldern, as the family heir, was raised in some comfort and luxury and became all that a nobleman is taught and reared to be. I was taught the sword and the teachings of Iomedae. A nobleman is taught finance and politics. Iomedae teaches valor… honor… and to seek justice in all things.” She paused again, then continued in a stronger voice. “Pursuit of justice in the name of the Inheritor ofttimes requires sacrifices. These wounds I had in her service.” She turned and stared boldly from across the farmyard, taking in each of the companions’ gaze in turn. “I bear them proudly. Justice and honor are a heavy burden for the righteous. Yet that burden is mine to carry.”
Ender didn’t quite know what to say to this and found himself digging a small divot in the yard with the heel of his boot, till he made himself stop.
“So… the Misgivings?” Karoshi ventured, interposing himself nonchalantly in a blatant attempt to defuse the tension and perhaps change the subject. “Foxglove Manor is called “the Misgivings?” How did it get that moniker?”
Lianthe started a very small but very grateful smile, appreciating his intercession. “Yes… there’s a history of course, but…”
“You were only a child, right?” The witch paused, sucking his teeth thoughtfully. He gazed around the yard, mentally calculating the scattered undead corpses and various body parts scattered around the farmhouse and barn. “Well, we should talk about it further and explore what you do know, but maybe this isn’t the best place for that discussion … by my count we found–and fought–seven ghouls today. Well, seven plus one… the one here in the farmhouse was something stronger, something darker. But anyway, that’s not to say that the coast is all clear now. There could easily be more out in the fields or on other surrounding farms.” He glanced at the sky and the barest sliver of sunlight now vanishing over the treetops of the Whisperwood to the west. “How close would you say it is to the Misgivings from here?”
Sergoth strode up confidently. “Too far to travel somewhere we haven’t been before by night, I’ll wager.” Despite the recent fracas and confrontation among party members, the green-clad sorcerer still bore his ever-present confident grin beneath his equally ever-present wide-brimmed conical hat. Karoshi had to admire him… Sergoth was cocky, and reckless to a fault but you had to hand it to him. Nothing really ever got to Sergoth for long. The fellow was completely unflappable.
The sorcerer clapped Ender on the shoulder casually as he entered the discussion. “Look ‘Roshi, I’m as eager to find this place as you are, but searching at night when there might be packs of ghouls hunting us is not my idea of a good time.” Sergoth paused to pick something from between his teeth with a suspiciously clean fingernail, and having captured the offending speck, he inspected it and then flung it casually toward the house. “The horses are nervous enough as it is,” he continued as if he had not already interrupted himself. “I say we head back to Sandpoint. We can tell Mayor Deverin we took care of this… little problem, and see if Zanthus has anymore of those delicious healing potions squirreled away somewhere. Then we can hit up the Rusty Dragon or the Hagfish, buy a few rounds, maybe find a game of dice, and see what anyone else knows about Aldern and his family estate.” The sorcerer glanced meaningfully at Lianthe and then said in a more conspiratorial tone, “And it wouldn’t hurt to corroborate her story either, right?”
“You do realize I’m standing right here, don’t you?” Lianthe fumed.
“Oh but do forgive me,” Sergoth apologized, sweeping his hat in an elaborate, almost mocking bow. “I know you serve the Lady of Justice n’ all, and you’re word is probably as pure and true as the driven snow…” Then he stopped and all traces of joviality and trust vanished in a moment. “But we don’t know you from Desna, and I like to have a little more information before I trust the word of a new sword at my backside. I’m rather fond of my backside and I like to know who’s protecting it.” He replaced his hat, tilting the brim up away from his eyes. “Besides ‘Roshi, we know where Sandpoint is and can get there in less than an hour on horseback, even in the dark. What say you?”
Karoshi glanced at Ender and received a confirming nod. “I say it sounds like as good a plan as any. Let’s give this place another quick search to make sure we didn’t miss anything. I’m going to check that stronger one again, see if it has anything more distinctive about it than that overpowering stench!”
In less than ten minutes, the four companions were mounted and heading back along the northernmost cart track toward the twinkling lights and welcoming hearths of Sandpoint.
================
****(following the exploration of Foxglove Manor and final confrontation of the Skinsaw Man)
It was a somber ride back to town. What took only an hour or so to get to the deserted manor felt like days inside and even more on the trek back through decimated farmlands. The blood, filth, and disease had an ethereal pallet to it, it seemed like it seeped into the companions very essence as they trudged along, some on steeds if lucky, on foot if not.
One of the sadder sights of the lot was the dwarf amongst them. He seemed beaten physically if not mentally, the dwarven priest pushed to the brink by the house and the tragic loss of his donkey companion – sadly only two more days until retirement.
They spoke little on the way back. The curiosity of the additional companions and witty banter over the latest adventure yet complete was muted by the chill and aches that accompanied them even after they departed the haunted manor.
The stooped cowled witch astride a spectral reindeer broke the silence with a wry smile, “And you all thought me mad for my distaste for slimes, spores, molds and fungi…”
“Not mad, Karoshi,” Lianthe muttered tiredly, “just fixated.” She bobbed in the saddle mechanically, lurching abruptly when her tired mare stumbled over barely seen wagon ruts. “But in this case, you were right… Vorel’s spirit, his soul… it wasn’t just destroyed by that house. It infected him. It drank him like warm ale, took his shattered essence and absorbed it into the timbers and mortar. And the issue of that unholy union infected the whole estate like some foul plague. And then… my brother…” The cleric broke off, staring with haunted, unseeing eyes at the broken path before them.
For once, Karoshi had no words.
Knights of the Coffee Table 