Meanwhile, down at the inn, Neeshka and Kelghar were sitting at a table, nursing drinks and sniping good-natured insults back and forth at each other as had become their habit of late.

The bard Sal had just hired on really needed to work on his repertoire. Neeshka had become very, very tired of hearing the same songs over and over and over again. He couldn't play or sing half as well as Haesseth and his songs were filled with much too much decorum and tragedy for the tiefling's liking. Neeshka missed hearing the Captain play and sing around the campfire as they travelled. She even missed the duets with Grobnar and that was saying something. The Captain had a seemingly infinite supply of bawdy and funny songs. It had become a sort-of ritual when they were out on the road. Haesseth would always play a song or two before they crawled into their bedrolls, infusing the music with whatever magic was needed based on the day's events.

Maybe that was the problem. Neeshka dropped her chin into the cradle of her palm and rested an elbow on the table. Was there such a thing as Keep Fever? She would bet her lucky coin there was. There was no intrigue here the way there had been in Neverwinter. Neverwinter was one hundred times the size of this place. Crossroads Keep and its surrounding villages were quaintly pastoral. Every day was just about exactly the same as the one before. It was mind-numbingly predictable, both inside and outside the ramparts. No Axle or Moire or any number of others messing things up. The smith and the armourer were busy crafting the supplies for the growing numbers of greycloaks signing on each week. The greycloaks themselves were training hard and Kana was proud of them and how far they'd come. Neeshka could tell from the way she had almost cracked a smile the other day as she'd watched a group of them practicing. Master Veedle and his crew were working away, diligently rebuilding the towers and fortifying the ramparts. But the whole routine was killing the tiefling. At least the nightly custom with Haesseth around the campfire had always come upon the heels of a highly unpredictable day.

They'd been holed up at the keep for almost a month, ever since the Captain had been summoned to stand before Lord Nasher without them. It had hurt to be excluded again. Neeshka was many things these days, but excluded wasn't one of them, until the summons came. She didn't blame Haesseth, though. The Captain had been as surprised as the rest of them when Nevalle explained that her companions hadn't been invited.

Something was wrong tonight but Neeshka hadn't been able to put her tail on it before now.

Things were too quiet.

The Captain usually joined them here within a couple of hours of returning, but they hadn't seen her so far tonight. Where was she? That asshole, Bishop, had been hanging around off-and-on for the past few weeks, making their life even more miserable with his 'I'm mean and angry so kill-em-all' outlook on life. He'd been especially pissed at not being invited to the castle with the Captain. Neeshka was still having trouble with that one.

So where was he? And where was the Captain?

Bishop had been lurking in the shadows between the buildings that housed the smithy and the armoury when Haesseth and that pansy from the Neverwinter Nine rode into the keep. He'd watched with narrowed eyes as she slid off her mount and handed the reigns over to her peer. Her peer. She, too, was wearing the livery of the Neverwinter Nine.

What had happened? He watched as she laughed at something Sir Nevalle had just said to her and waved him off towards the stables. He skulked behind her the whole way back to the keep, staying far enough behind to ensure he didn't arouse any suspicions.

Bishop smirked at the groan that escaped her when she was cornered by Kana and ushered into the war room for a briefing on everything that had happened at the keep in her absence. He nosed around for a bit and chose to sit with the fence, Uncas, in the best seats in the house. He liked sitting with Uncas. He could throw that Luskan bitch, Torio, some deadly and threat-laden glances from here. It was such a hoot to watch her blood boil.

And then there was that pious puppet, Casavir, standing off in the opposite corner of the room with that old lieutenant of his. Bishop loved keeping the paladin on edge.