Disclaimers:
The Forgotten Realms, their lands, cities, cultures, races and Gods, are property of TSR/WotC (and I suppose, now, Hasbro) and the wonderful talents of the setting's original creators. I am making no profit from my use of this setting in a story.
The Shieldmaster's Guild of Everlund and its leaders are property of my dear friend Graboz, an evil DM who's been torturing my little group for years now. I have received profit from my use of his characters—if you call XP profit. ;) Everything else is mine, including storyline, main and secondary characters.
If you would like to use Graboz' or my own little inventions, please request permission.
~~S. Arallion
The Machinations of a Goddess: More Ridiculous Heroism
It wasn't long before Phinneas' new, albeit meager skills were pressed into service. The caravan's medic, although no cleric himself, knew which wounds he could deal with and which wouldn't heal without the added blessing of a deity. Even a touch seemed sufficient to hold most of the major wounds, to Phinneas' surprise. It was clear though that the caravan would proceed no further without assistance—the horses were scattered and many wagons were damaged, and the people who had the best chance of fixing them were required to stay still and quiet lest they re-open their wounds.
The only wagon horse that remained in camp was Eloise, the more cantankerous of the two horses that had pulled Phinneas' wagon. The ominous red stain on the mare's hooves hadn't come from any wound she bore—she didn't look harmed save for a few scratches here and there. The bard told a rather wild story of the horse's deadly rampage through a group of orcs, which most found difficult to believe, but Phinneas wouldn't have been surprised to find it true. Eloise's hooves were the size of dinner plates and each one was about as heavy as Scrounge would be if he were sopping wet.
And so it was that the newly initiated cleric of Waukeen found himself offering to ride on through the night to Everlund, urged on by a slightly unwelcome sense of duty—and the fact that no one else was willing or able to ride their only horse. "I can't do any more here," he said to fend off those who were concerned for his safety or that his skills were still needed in camp. "I can't heal any more, and I can't protect you, so the only thing left for me to do is to go find people who can, right? Besides, I'll be fine with this monster to carry me," he finished with a grin. Eloise stomped one platter-sized hoof and flicked her ears, giving him a reproachful look.
The horse seemed to enjoy a break from pulling the heavy wagons, and although she was unused to carrying a rider Phinneas' weight was negligible on her back. They fairly flew through the trees, following the main road in the starlight so that the mare would have no problem seeing. The orc raid seemed to have frightened away any other predators, too, because the only encounters they had were with a few deer and a thoroughly disconcerted fox who stopped dead in the middle of the road, forcing Eloise to leap over him.
It was pre-dawn when they clattered up to the massive gates of Everlund. Torches were visible on the walls, but there was no immediate challenge. Phinneas wondered what exactly one had to do to be noticed running up to a walled, guarded city in the early morning.
"Hoy, the city!"
No response.
The gnome sighed, wondering if knocking would do any good.
Just then Eloise's ears pricked up, as if hearing something beyond the gate. She let out an earsplitting whinny and started prancing, nearly unseating her rider.
"Who goes there?" The gruff voice came from atop the wall.
Phinneas rolled his eyes, trying to settle the mare. At least she had gotten their attention. "Phinneas Pharloffersen. I'm from the merchant caravan that's supposed to arrive tomorrow from Silverymoon. We were waylaid by orcs--" Apparently that was enough for the guards because the gate was already beginning to open. Eloise clopped inside without urging.
The courtyard inside the gate was dimly lit and well defended. A large human approached them, his weapon slung across his back within easy reach, but he looked friendly. "Well met, master Gnome. If you wouldn't mind waiting here for a moment, we'll send word to the Shieldbearers about the situation. Please dismount and we'll take care of your horse for you."
The gnome looked down…. Way down. Why had he never noticed how excruciatingly tall this blasted horse was? "Ah… I'd love to. I'm just not sure I'm able to at the moment…"
A young, wiry-looking guard dressed in leathers stepped forward from the shadows, seeming to understand Phinneas' plight. He held out a smooth-skinned elven hand to assist the gnome in dismounting.
Phinneas accepted the hand gratefully as he slid off of Eloise's broad dun back. However, his legs appeared to have forgotten their purpose in life, and as soon as he touched the ground he found himself abruptly sitting down with a yelp.
The elf looked at him with amusement, as his expression must have been rather startled. "First time riding?"
"No, but I can count the times I've ridden on one hand, and none of the beasts were as huge as this one," Phinneas grimaced, struggling to his feet. The elf assisted him to a bench, smiling, and there were other chuckles from the shadows, but they were chuckles of understanding—all of them knew what it was like to be saddlesore.
The elf brought him a cup of spiced wine, and Phinneas sipped at it slowly, beginning to realize how exhausted he was. Across the courtyard his horse was munching happily on a flake of hay, but she heaved a gusty breath every once in a while as her coat steamed in the chilly air, and he knew she must be equally exhausted. He wondered if he'd be expected to ride back to the caravan, winced a bit at the thought, and then felt guilty for wincing.
A moment later he felt a cool hand on his forehead, and looked up with a start.
"Ah, good, you are all right. I was worried that I'd need to send for our cleric." The voice was mellow and cultured, and sounded relieved. Phinneas rubbed the bleariness out of his eyes and tried to focus, as the voice continued. The speaker was another elf, pale-skinned with slightly ink-stained fingers that told Phinneas that he was probably a mage of some sort. Next to him stood a very young-looking, but old-eyed human in somewhat hastily donned armor.
"My name is Elandrix, and I'm part of the Shieldbearers' Guild here in Everlund. The young stormcloud next to me," he gestured to his left, where the stern-looking young man stood, "is Stengar. We've gathered a few people to come assist in bringing your group in, but I need more information to know what supplies are necessary. Do you think you can help with that?"
Phinneas shook his head to clear it and sat up. "I can try, I suppose," he sighed. "Do you have parchment or something that I could write on—I'm afraid I'll start repeating myself if I don't write it down."
The elf's lips twitched slightly, but a strip of parchment and a writing stick appeared in his hands. The gnome listed aloud the things he could anticipate as being needs, and wrote them on the parchment—including clerics to heal those who were gravely wounded by the orcs, and more horses and/or carts to move the 30-odd people still left and their goods, since most of the wagons were beyond immediate help. Elandrix and Stengar then disappeared for approximately fifteen minutes, to return with a few carts, two bleary-eyed wizard acolytes, several well-armed riders and a small string of extra horses.
"I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, but I'd like you to return with us. You can ride in a cart if you wish," Elandrix said apologetically.
"I assumed as much, and no need to apologize. You obviously have no idea how happy the idea of not having to ride a horse right now makes me," Phinneas adjusted his spectacles and stood up, absolutely certain he could hear his muscles cursing him in a variety of languages.
The elf grinned at him, handing him up into the lead cart seat with a blanket to wrap around himself against the cold morning air. The gates creaked open in the rapidly increasing light, and they were off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The journey back to the camp took a bit longer than it had taken Phinneas to get to Everlund. The carts slowed them down considerably, and the riders, although anxious to help, knew that sacrificing their mounts' energy for speed now was foolish. Phinneas was able to take a catnap in the cart, which restored him somewhat, and allowed him to spend a little time examining their rescuers.
From the way they rode, it seemed that the young man Stengar was at least nominally in charge. The leather clad scouts on their light horses continually returned to him after their forays out into the surrounding woods. He rode up front with a grim demeanor, straight and alert, as if expecting orcs to charge out of the trees at any moment.
Elandrix, on the other hand, rode with the serene air of someone out for a weekend stroll in the royal gardens. However, Stengar would occasionally drop back to speak with him about something after the scouts returned, and then ride forward again, leading Phinneas to surmise that perhaps this was a sort of 'training mission' for the young man, and that Elandrix was probably far more alert to their surroundings than he appeared.
"Do you have questions, master Gnome?" The elf had reined his horse in to ride next to the cart.
Definitely more alert than he appeared. Phinneas stretched, with a rueful smile. "Well, yes, I suppose so. For one, I'm curious as to why a mage such as yourself would wish to come out on a salvage mission."
Elandrix sighed. "Actually, this salvage mission concerns me quite a lot. Your caravan was carrying a load of items from the mage tower in Silverymoon. If they'd been taken by the orcs, it would have been very bad luck for us, I'm afraid."
Remembering the dull, brutish expressions on the orcs' faces, Phinneas shook his head disbelievingly. "I don't think these orcs could have even figured out how to hold a wand, let alone how to use one."
"Perhaps the ones you fought could not have, but there are certain orcs that do have that skill," Elandrix replied, settling the reins more comfortably in his gloved hands. "At any rate, the fact that you were attacked this close to the city implies that the orcs may have known of your cargo and were anxious to keep it from us."
The gnome's eyebrows raised in confusion. "Then—orcs don't make a habit of attacking caravans?"
"Orcs usually attack anything that they think they can win against," the elf said with a wry smile. "But there's usually a fairly large 'trouble-free' zone around Everlund. It's rather dangerous for them in these parts."
At that moment, Stengar rode back to converse quietly with Elandrix again. The pair moved away from Phinneas' cart, but the gnome's sharp ears were still able to hear much of their conversation, even without concentrating. As he'd expected, the young leader was relaying information that he'd received from the scouts, and telling the elf what he thought it all meant. Elandrix would point out a few things the man hadn't thought of, and then Stengar would ride back up front to make his decision.
Elandrix nudged his horse back over to ride alongside the cart. "Where were we?" he said brightly.
"I think you were just about to tell me more about the Shieldbearer's Guild," Phinneas suggested dryly, with a glance forward to Stengar.
Elandrix followed his gaze, and blinked. "Ah, I should have known. The legendary gnomish hearing," he smiled. "Where should I start?"
"How about… the beginning?"
The elf gave him a sly smile. "That's a long while back."
Phinneas shrugged wearily, with a gesture to the slow, measured pace of the carts. "We probably have some time."
"Not quite that much time, I'm afraid," Elandrix chuckled. "I'll tell you the basics, though. The Shieldbearer's Guild was created about 100 years ago. Everlund was much as it is today— a gateway for all merchant trade near the High Forest, close enough to Silverymoon to serve the needs of that city, and the final stopping point for caravans going south from Mithral Hall.
"Unfortunately, its location also made it a very dangerous city to live in. Orc raids had become frequent and bloody, and the city's proximity to the depths of the forest gradually awoke other, more dangerous things. The local militia, called the Army of the Vale, was mostly composed of civilians, and though it was more than adequate to control the occasional bar brawl or fire, it was woefully ill equipped to deal with the savage monsters that lived outside the gates. For a short period, the city actually found itself under siege, unable to send or receive goods, and unable to help those who blithely approached the gates.
"It was at that time that a group of adventurers took it upon themselves to break the siege on the city. Having heard the tales of Everlund's plight, they came in fully prepared and destroyed over half of the force that infested the area. The orcs fled back into the forest, and the trade route was opened once more.
"After that, the core group of adventurers settled for a while, continuing to drive off the orc scouting parties to assure them that Everlund was still well protected. Soon they became an integral part of the town's defense, and the leader of the Council of Six at that time suggested that a special guild be formed, purely for the purpose of taking care of special tasks that the militia could not do. This included keeping the area safe for travelers, investigating strange occurrences that could affect travelers to Everlund, and training new adventurers to follow in their footsteps.
"Thus began the Shieldbearer's Guild, and thus it continues to this day," the elf finished, then smiled ruefully, rubbing his throat. "A tale told better in the comfortable surroundings of a pub, perhaps. This cold air is drier than I expected."
Phinneas dug around in the bundles tucked in near his feet in the cart. "I know I saw a wineskin in here somewhere… if it was for me, please feel free to have some. If I drank any, I'd fall asleep immediately." The strap caught on his gnarled fingers, and he tugged it forth gently, uncorking the skin and sniffing. It was definitely an elven vintage, although he couldn't tell the quality. "Here it is."
Elandrix accepted the skin gratefully and took a sip. "Ah, thank you. You are gracious to share, master Gnome."
Phinneas raised an eyebrow congenially. "Please, call me Phinneas. And it is after all, your wine, master Elf. Besides, I believe you may need it. Your answer has raised more questions."
The elf glanced at him and chuckled. "Has it indeed? By all means, continue, then."
"Were you part of the original group that came to Everlund, or were you already in the city?
"No, no. I was already there, a representative of my people in the local mage tower. The human mage from the adventuring party approached me a few days after they arrived to discuss the creation of magical items, and he introduced me to their leader at the time." Elandrix gave a self-deprecating shrug. "Apparently they felt I might have something to contribute to the guild as a member. I must admit it's been quite an invigorating partnership thus far."
"I'd wager that you contribute a bit more than just 'something'," Phinneas surmised. He was beginning to gain an understanding of the personality of his dry-witted, loquacious companion. The elf was certainly not one to put himself forward, but he displayed a mellow confidence that calmed and encouraged those around him. In addition, he was quite approachable—an excellent foil for the gruff and serious young Stengar. Speaking of whom—
"Perhaps it's none of my business," the gnome began diffidently, "but I couldn't help but notice that young Stengar there seems to be in charge of this mission. Yet he continues to come back and check his decisions with you. Is he in training for some leadership position?"
Elandrix looked up the line to the stiff back of Stengar and nodded, his tone amused. "You did notice, then. Yes, Stengar has been with us for a few years now, and he's shown great promise. He may even be in line for leadership of the Guild, eventually. Even so, he's still young, and despite his amazing tactical skills he doesn't always catch the subtle nuances of signs the scouts bring back. So, he runs his information by me whenever he has a question." The elf smiled. "I've noticed that he's been doing that a bit more often on this trip. I imagine it's because the last time we faced orcs, he made an error based on a misinterpretation of facts and we almost lost some people. The boy is so blasted lucky, though—we still managed to defeat the orcs and came away relatively unscathed."
"Sounds like a good person to have on your side," Phinneas mused, chuckling.
"Oh, indeed he is," Elandrix replied, taking another sip of wine and recorking the skin. He regarded the gnome beside him curiously. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions now, Phinneas?"
Phinneas hesitated, wondering what a master mage like Elandrix would possibly want to know from him. "Not at all," he responded finally. After all, it wasn't as if he had anything to hide.
If Elandrix noticed the gnome's bemused look, he smoothly passed over it. "I am curious as to your purpose in visiting Everlund. We don't see many of your sort on the trade routes, let alone accomplishing such heroic deeds as riding alone through the night to fetch help for a stranded caravan."
Phinneas waved off the 'heroic deeds' comment with a laugh. "In truth, I wouldn't be here at all except that it's for my family, and no one else wanted to do it. I'm making contact directly with vendors and traders in the main Northern cities to improve our trading status in this area."
"And your family is…?"
"Pharloffersen," the gnome supplied, remembering that he'd only told his full Common name to the guards.
The elf looked at him sharply. "Waterdeep?"
"Yes. I'm surprised you've heard the name."
"I'm surprised I didn't guess before. Your family has a rather—ah, shall we say—'distinctive' accent when speaking Common. No offense meant," Elandrix finished, with a rueful glance.
"None taken," Phinneas laughed. "There are worse things to be known for. So you've met members of my family before?"
The elf's eyes twinkled. "Yes, and purchased some of their wares. I've never had gems take an enchantment so easily. So you are saying that there may be a possibility for more direct trade in Everlund once your mission is complete?"
"Well, that depends."
"On what?"
"If there's a gem-seller in Everlund who's willing to handle sales for us. As far as I've heard, there isn't one who won't make the prices unreasonably high with markups."
"Oh."
The crestfallen look on Elandrix's face was almost comical, and the gnome hastened to reassure him. "That doesn't mean that we couldn't negotiate something with your mage-tower, however. I've already set up a special contract with the tower in Nesme, and Everlund is on the way to Silverymoon. You have both precedent and location working for you."
Elandrix's grey eyes twinkled again. "Well, I suppose that would be the next best thing to having a Pharloffersen shop in the city."
Phinneas blinked, puzzled. The statement hadn't seemed to mean quite what it said on the surface, but he was too tired to figure out what the elf was getting at.
"How did you end up being the one to come to Everlund for help?" The elf abruptly redirected the conversation, causing Phinneas to rein in his thoughts abruptly to try to focus on the question.
"I was the only one left with a horse readily available, who was fit enough to ride hard, and not necessary for tending the immediate needs of the caravan," the gnome answered honestly. He caught Elandrix's speculative expression and waved his hands emphatically. "No, it had absolutely nothing to do with any 'adventuring spirit'. I'm a gem merchant and an artisan, no more, no less. I only went because it was necessary."
Elandrix raised an eyebrow as if wishing to ask more questions, but just then Stengar rode back again, a businesslike expression on his face.
"Your caravan is just around the next bend, friend gnome," Stengar informed them. Receiving a pointed look from the elf, he seemed to make some attempt to add a smile to the stern expression on his face, but the mix merely served to make him look a bit ill.
"Er… thank you," Phinneas managed to reply, stifling a chuckle. He supposed that the young man might get better at looking friendly with a little more practice.
Elandrix sighed after Stengar nodded, turned his horse and rode stiffly back to the head of the line. "I do sometimes wish that he'd had a slightly happier childhood," the elf muttered. "A friendly smile would add a great deal to his leadership abilities."
The elf's recognition of his protégé's foibles started Phinneas chuckling again. "He definitely takes his role seriously. Yet, as long as you're around, I get the feeling his gruffness may be more of an asset than a weakness. I've always held to the adage: 'if it's not broken, don't fix it'."
Elandrix laughed. "My dear Phinneas, I do believe you have a point."
When they rode into the merchant's camp, several of the mounted warriors immediately moved towards the makeshift trailer where the seriously wounded travelers lay. Phinneas pulled his cart to a halt and looked at Elandrix questioningly.
"Clerics," the elf said, with a surprised expression. "You didn't expect us to forget to bring healers, did you?"
Phinneas was a little embarrassed. Of course clerics could wear armor, just as warriors did, and it made sense that they would on this sort of expedition.
To his relief, now that he'd brought aid for the caravan, his part in the adventure seemed largely over. Stengar and Elandrix were questioning the caravan's leaders about the events of the previous night, the mages were sorting through the rubble of the damaged wagon that had carried their precious cargo of items from Silverymoon, and the clerics were tending to the wounded in a manner far superior to anything Phinneas thought he could have done. He watched them for a while, hoping to learn something about what they did, but their methods were extremely stilted and formal. Phinneas couldn't quite envision Waukeen appreciating that sort of 'adoration'—she seemed to prefer a more individual expression of faith. When Tala and Scrounge approached him with joyous enthusiasm, he left his observations with a great sense of relief.
He spent a lot of time with them sorting through the mess of their own wagon. When it had keeled over to one side, most of the contents of cupboards, shelves and boxes on the other side had made an abrupt exodus to the floor. The ensuing chaos of fabrics, silken thread, tools, gems and metal bits had to be gently separated and carefully sorted, which took great patience, but they were in a much better position than others whose wagons had been completely destroyed.
After they had loaded the majority of their belongings and wares into a cart, they helped others load carts and the repairable caravan wagons. Even with everyone helping each other, it was midday before most of the travelers were ready to leave for Everlund. Phinneas was again placed in charge of the cart that held his and the halflings' possessions, and to his surprise, the mages had loaded their wares there as well.
Hopping up onto the cart seat, Scrounge looked back into the cargo area, practically drooling with enthusiasm. "Look at all this stuff," he whispered to Tala and Phinneas.
"Don't touch any of it, Saamish, or you'll be eating half-portions for the next year," Tala warned. "We don't want the cart to blow up on us, do we?"
"Aww, dearie, they can't be all that dangerous. Anyway, I'm just looking," Scrounge said innocently.
Tala grabbed his ear and made him turn around to face forward. "Yes, I know your 'just looking' look, and I don't trust it at all. You're staying right here with me."
Phinneas snickered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Scrounge, who had obviously been hoping for some support. He knew better than to cross Tala when she was meting out discipline on her husband, though.
They trundled down the road for about an hour, the trip much merrier now. Music wafted back from the bards' wagon, and the merchants who weren't sleeping chattered excitedly to each other about their adventure—now that the immediate danger was behind them. Phinneas told the halflings about his experience with the town guards and the Shieldmasters' Guild, and then of course he had to explain what a "Shieldmasters' Guild" was, and soon he was wishing he hadn't let Elandrix make off with the wineskin. One of the well-armed clerics was wandering back and forth with water, however, so the three borrowed a skin from him.
Soon after that, Phinneas passed the reins to Scrounge. The two hours of sleep he'd managed to get in the morning were wearing off. He stuck his feet up on the splash-board and leaned back in the seat, and before he could even think about how difficult getting to sleep would be, he was asleep.
He awoke to the familiar chatter of both his halfling friends, and another voice that he recognized. Slitting his eyes open, he caught a glimpse of copper fur and grey fabric. Sure enough, it was Elandrix's horse, and cloak. And why on earth was Tala babbling on and on about their encounter with the orcs? He couldn't quite stifle a sound of dismay.
"Aha, you finally join us," the mage observed with a chuckle.
"Sorry, Phinneas," Tala gulped. "I didn't mean to wake you."
The gnome rolled his eyes and sat up. "Not a problem," he muttered, wincing as his body complained about being subjected to yet another torturous position.
"Your friends here were telling me what happened to the three of you last night," Elandrix said blandly. "It appears there is a bit more to you than meets the eye, master Gnome."
"Not much more," Phinneas said briskly, not meeting the elf's sharp eyes. How was he to talk about the strange experience he'd had after the battle when he didn't even understand it himself? He realized that he'd avoided thinking directly about what happened, for the most part. It still didn't seem quite real.
Tala was having none of that, however. She reached across and thumped him on the arm. "Fine time to be modest, dearie. It's your contribution that kept us alive. So there." The outburst brought laughter from Scrounge and Elandrix, and turned Phinneas' ears pink.
"Well, you'll all be staying in the city for a tenday at least. You might consider sharing your experience with one of the churches, Phinneas. Perhaps they could provide some insight." The elven mage smiled and took his leave of them to ride forward in the line.
"Oo, look, we're almost there!" Tala stood up in the seat, followed by Scrounge.
The walls of Everlund rose before them in the long shadows of evening, more imposing by day than they had been in the dark of night. It took them another half hour to reach the gates, and it was dark by the time they had settled their wagons into warehouses for the night. When they finally reached the inn they were staying at, the merchants barely had enough energy to climb the stairs to their rooms, let alone answer questions as to why they were so late. The stories would wait for another day.