14th Day of Coldeven, 565 CY
Highport, The Pomarj

The walls of Highport slowly grew larger as the party approached. They looked to be about thirty feet high but were partially collapsed in some sections. The section they were approaching must have once been the East Gate of the city, but the gate itself had long been pulled down. Now, a collection of shacks and tents were scattered haphazardly in front of the open space in the walls.

"I wonder how far we'll get before total chaos breaks out," groused Talass.

"There's worse things in life than chaos, Talass," Caroline said, trying to lift the cleric's spirits with a weak smile.

Talass merely looked more irritable than ever. "Tell that to your children," she muttered.

Caroline, hurt, fell silent.

Even from this distance, with a light eastward wind at their backs, a mixture of unpleasant odors could be detected. Garbage was strewn about haphazardly, and swarms of flies indicated the location of piles of feces. The party members all glanced at each other.

"You never forget those smells," Elrohir said, trying not to sound too grim. "Part of being an adventurer- excuse me, a mercenary," he added, with a wan smile.

Cygnus, in front of him, turned around with a bitter look. "At least you can hold your nose if you want."

Both he and Zantac currently had silken ropes fashioned around their necks, the other ends being held by Elrohir and Argo, respectively. The rangers were carrying the mages' quarterstaffs, as well.

It had been decided at the last moment that the magic-users would be slaves that the others had captured and were looking to sell. It was believed that it would help them find these 'Slave Lords' faster. The wizards had been dubious, but went along with the plan in the end, although not without serious misgivings. Their hands were bound together in front of them in silken knots. Argo had assured them that the knots would fall off with a simple tug, but there had been no time to test them beforehand, and now here they were.

About to step in it again.

"Still glad you're not back at the Guild, Zantac?" Cygnus glared at his fellow mage, but there was no reply.

Zantac was staring straight ahead, a look somewhere between horror and disgust on his face. "Great Boccob," he whispered. "That's a gnoll."

And indeed, a hyena-like head that had been peering at the approaching party from within the shadows inside an open doorway, now emerged into the early morning sunshine. It raised its hand to shield its ice-blue eyes against the sunglare, mumbling something in its own tongue. The furry creature was easily Argo's size, if not taller. A large battleaxe was strapped across its back. It used the spikes on the small metal shield it carried to dig under its worn and stained leather armor, apparently scratching an itchy spot.

It then began to lope towards the party.

"I've never met the gnoll I didn't kill right off," said Elrohir quietly.

"Well, you have now," hissed Aslan sharply. He took a quick glance at the rest of the party. "Keep your wits about you, and your tempers down," he finished, with as sharp a glare as he could manage at Argo, who studiously avoided the paladin's gaze. There was no time for further discussion or warnings. The gnoll- a male- pulled up in front of them.

It was all Cygnus and Zantac, the front-line members, could do not to gag. There were brown streaks on the gnoll's light gray fur where he had apparently wiped excrement off, and his breath was foul with the stench of carrion. Only about five feet away, the creature eyed the two wizards, his mouth open slightly. Bits of who-knows-what were lodged in the gnoll's teeth. He then turned his attention to Aslan, who stood between Elrohir and Argo.

"New slaves," he muttered. His voice was rough, but his Common surprisingly passable. What was probably a gnoll's smile appeared on his face. "Looking to sell fast?"

"Looking to sell high," Argo cut in. Aslan had been about to reply but was privately grateful that Argo had decided to take the lead here. The paladin could lie when he needed to- a fact no one else knew- but he always found it difficult, and he didn't know how sharp this particular gnoll was. Conning people was Argo's forte, so he decided to let the ranger run with it.

"Where'd you get 'em?" the humanoid inquired.

"We took a job from the pirate, Scurvy John," the ranger replied. "He let us take these two in lieu of our agreed fee. Said we could fetch a better price for them if we went to Highport. That true?"

Whatever the expression was on the gnoll's face was, it vanished, replaced by what it probably thought was a sly look. "Maybe," he growled. He then leaned in again close to the two wizards and sniffed. Neither mage could hold in their expressions of disgust, but that only seemed to please the creature. He looked back again at Argo. "Braver than most," he said. "I don't smell the fear on them."

He's got to be kidding, Zantac was thinking. I'm about to throw up, soil my robes and pass out, and he CAN'T SMELL FEAR on me? His nose must be shot from living in a pile of his own-

"Which means what, exactly?" Argo asked, letting just the right amount of impatience to creep into his voice and posture.

The gnoll shrugged. "Gotta be broken first. Cost the buyer more, so he pay you less," he replied with a leer. "I'll buy 'em from you now. We're down two from last night." That horrid smile appeared again, the tongue lapping over the creature's fangs. "Don't matter to us how brave they are."

Even Cygnus was starting to lose his nerve by now. Why is Argo keeping us here? he thought furiously. We're not going to find the damn Slave Lords from this gnoll! The mage shuddered again. He now knew way more than he wanted to about this creature's recent meal. Then he heard Argo's voice again from behind him.

"How much?"

Eight faces (two of them panic-stricken) turned to face Bigfellow, who remained nonplussed, gazing evenly at the gnoll.

The humanoid glanced down, fingering a worn, fur-lined belt pouch. He then looked up again at Argo. "Three gold each."

"Er- kind sir?" Zantac spoke up in a strangled whisper. "I don't remember you saying anything about-"

Argo snarled and yanked on the rope, jerking Zantac up against him. "Shut your trap!" he spat at the wizard, shaking him fiercely. "Or I'll give you to him free, just to be rid of your whiny voice!" He then poked the mage with his quarterstaff to move him back away from him. The ranger then looked back at the gnoll, but the snarl remained on his face.

"Don't try to fleece me, furball. These two are mages. I can get ten times that price from a buyer who knows what he's doing! You think I came all this way for six gold? Offer me sixty, and we'll talk- otherwise, I'll see you around!" Argo shifted his position so that his shadow no longer fell upon the gnoll's face. The creature squinted from the sunlight and growled but made no move to stop them as the party moved on through the opening in the city walls.

"What in the name of the Abyss was that all about?" hissed Zantac, as soon as they were out of earshot.

Elrohir answered for him. "His friends were watching us from that building. We had to make it look good."

Argo nodded. "We don't want the dogfaces spreading rumors behind us about mercenaries acting strangely." He then looked directly at Zantac. "Sorry."

"No problem, Bigfellow," replied the wizard with a bitter smile, while tryiing to stretch out the sore muscles in his neck. "In fact, when we get home to the Brass Dragon, I'll buy you a drink, just to show you there's no hard feelings."

"If we make it home with no losses Zantac," Argo said grimly, facing forward again, "I'll actually drink it."

Inside the walls, the city of Highport seemed not all that different from other cities the party had been in, although seedier than most. The dirt trail that was the coast road continued on into the city as a major street, and the party stayed on it for now, looking all around them keenly.

There were a few buildings in ruins, but most still seemed to be in use. Many looked as though they had been converted from their original purpose. The inhabitants going in and out of them and walking down the street were primarily human or half-orcish, although the party spotted an occasional full-blooded orc making a dash from one building to another. What at first sounded like two puppies was revealed to be a pair of kobold children, chasing each other around the ruins of a stone water trough outside an inn. A fat human ran past, trying to bat away a stirge that persisted in hovering about his head.

Elrohir paused and pointed at the inn. "We might get more information in there." Nesco however, shook her head.

"Take too long, and you couldn't bring the slaves inside." Cygnus and Zantac looked at each and grimaced at the designation.

"She's right," said Aslan. "We shouldn't split up unless we have to."

The party continued walking westwards for a few more minutes. They were approaching an area where all the buildings had been torn or burnt down and was now little more than an open field strewn with tents, where the lowest of Highport's residents semed to be concentrated. To their right was some kind of rundown temple complex.

"We need to find a buyer," Argo said.

"Keep in mind Argo, they probably act as the middlemen here," Elrohir responded. "I'm sure the Slave Lords just don't let anybody come to their office."

His fellow ranger nodded. "I don't doubt it, my friend, but I think it's our best place to start." Tojo tapped Argo on his left shoulder, but Bigfellow did not turn around. "I see them, Tojo."

The others looked. Off to their left, about a hundred feet away, a large mass of people was slowly southwest, away from the party.

Fifty or so of them were clearly slaves. Their hands were manacled, and they were connected to each other by chained collars around their necks. Most wore rags or little better, tatters of their former clothing. Almost all were human, although a few were half-orcs. They shuffled together forlornly, taking their only comfort in each other's presence.

Two lines of ten men each were herding them along; one ahead, the other to the rear. Half of these guards held crossbows in hand, the others wielded swords of one type or another.

Argo handed Zantac's rope and staff to a somewhat started Aslan. "Here. Beat him to a pulp if he starts getting uppity. I want to ask a few questions." With that, the ranger strode off at a fast walk towards the slaves and their guards.

"Argo! Wait!" called out Aslan, but Bigfellow kept going.

"Damn it," the paladin whispered softly, under his breath. He caught Elrohir's gaze, and on an unspoken understanding, began to move the party in that direction.

They could see Argo talking with one of the slave's rear guard, a half-orc. At one point he pointed back towards them and seemed a little taken aback that they were approaching. He completed his conversation however, and sprinted back to the others, who had closed about half the distance.

"They're fresh off the boat, being taken to the stockade," the ranger reported. "All official selling of slaves takes place there, at auction. I tried a few oblique lines of questionings about the Slave Lords but came up empty."

Talass crossed her arms across her chest, staring around grimly at their surroundings. "Perhaps we could try-"

A scream split the air, coming from the mass of slaves. The party whirled around.

It was difficult to see through the intervening guards and the mass of slaves, but they could discern one of the slaves, a middle-aged woman, laying on the ground, twitching horribly. One of the guards from the far line stood over her, holding a bloody sword. The next slave in line (who was in fact, one of the two "end" slaves) was forced to stand hunched over, close to her body due to the chains connecting their necks. A rough-hewn human man of about forty years, he was crying and screaming at the top of his lungs at the guard, who didn't look like he was willing to take the abuse. He raised his sword again.

The party saw something small zing through the air from their location, narrowly missing everyone else, to strike the guard in the side of his helm. With a cry of pain, he whirled around to face where the missile had come from, just in time for another one to strike him solidly in his forehead. He took a wobbly step forward, and then fell silently forward in the dust.

Everyone turned.

Argo Bigfellow Junior, sling in his hand, looked at all of his friends.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, giving them his famous pained smile for what he thought might well be the last time. "I couldn't stand by and let-"

"It's all right, Argo," said Aslan softly. He then shrugged with a sad smile of his own. "I think we all knew this'd happen, sooner or later. I was hoping for later, but the Fates said otherwise."

Argo laid his right hand on the paladin's shoulder while putting his sling back on his belt with his left. "You're all right, Aslan. I don't care what anybody's said about you."

The paladin gave him a thin smile. "Anybody?"

Bigfellow shrugged. "All right, me."

All ten of the slaves' rear guard were advancing on them now in two lines, the crossbowmen falling in line behind the sword-wielders. The half-orc whom Argo had been talking to just a few minutes prior, two men on either side of him, shouted out as they advanced.

"You stupid sellsword! How dare you interfere with other people's business! You'll pay for that with your lives!"

Aslan and Elrohir dropped their ropes. The wizards were able to loose their bonds as promised, and silently took their quarterstaffs back in hand. Elrohir stepped forward, drawing his bow and notching an arrow. "Like it or not people, retirement is now officially over," he stated loudly. "The game begins again!"

"You flea-brained son of a mongrel!" the half-orc shouted back, raising his own sword. "This is no game!"

"Oh, no?" Argo yelled back, drawing Harve. The red glow washed over the party.

"Then why am I having so much fun?" the ranger screamed and charged the line. A second later, Tojo's battlecry cut through the air as the samurai drew his katana and likewise charged, Caroline right behind him. Aslan gave Talass a helpless look as he drew back his bow and fired. Nesco looked around in amazement, shrugged, drew her sword and charged as well. With a final glare at her husband, and a sympathetic glance at Cygnus, the priestess of Forseti drew her war hammer and joined in the charge as the two wizards prepared their spells.

The half-orc's eyes grew wide at the fury of the approaching humans. He took a faltering step backwards as an arrow whizzed by his head, bumped into a crossbowman, looked back at the oncoming charge, hesitated, and then bolted through the rear line, hell-bent for safety. After a moment, the men on either side of him did likewise.

Forming an arrow wedge (but pointed in the wrong direction), all ten slave guards lost their morale and ran for their lives, right into the mass of slaves. Most of the latter got out of their way, or at least tried to, but the man who had been screaming before looped his chain around the neck of one of the forward guards and pulled tightly, setting off another melee at the far end of the mass of slaves.

Many people on the street ran for cover, but some others drew weapons and began to advance into the fray. Screams of all kinds rent the streets. Arrows and bolts filled the air as the blood began to spill.

Chaos had, ironically, arrived on schedule.