Vic Trenton: There are no real monsters.
Tad Trenton: Except for the one in my closet.

-'Cujo' Steven King.

The small towns along these traveling roads all had a uniform look to them. They all had an inn, a tavern, maybe a blacksmith. They were typically host to the farmer going to market, the tinsmith selling his wares. Of middling size and populated by average people, there was nothing remarkable about them and they were soon forgotten by the people that had passed through them. Rarely did they witness anything remarkable.

What was happening right now, though, could count as one of those rare moments.

Entreri grimaced in irritation. He was a man that was-justifiably-proud of avoiding attention until he wanted it; and right now he could feel the eyes of all the dimwitted country bumpkins riveted on him. Or, rather, his companion; for Jarlaxle, once again, displayed just how much of an antithesis he was to the word 'subtle'. From his enormous wide-brimmed hat (with its billowing feather) to his cloak flashing colors like a drug-induced madness, and the rings, bangles, bits and bobs of jewelry that flashed and twinkled he practically screamed 'look at me'.

Thankfully, though, it seemed the townsfolk were too busy being overawed to raise their torches and pitchforks. Once again, Jarlaxle had declined to wear the magical mask, and was striding along flaunting the fact that he was a drow. Entreri wished that, just once, they could get into a town and get out without causing a stir but Jarlaxle was ever determined to draw everyone's attention. He swept right past the slack-jawed fools as if they were beneath his notice, and slipped into the inn.

Evan turned at the sound of the shop bell ringing, immediately throwing on a huge grin.

"Welcome friends, how may...I..." He stuttered to a stop, and could only stare at the drow.

"Two of your finest rooms." He purred.

"...Right." To his credit, he didn't turn them away immediately. "How...many nights?"

He grinned wider; pleased. That only served to make the man even more uneasy. "Two, for now. My companion and I will be leaving for Perth soon."

"Perth?" That snapped Evan out of his daze. "That town has been shut down for months; no one's heard anything from them."

"And we are here to find out why, my dear friend!" He put a hand over his heart. "I, Drizzt the noble ranger, will not rest until I do!"

Entreri barely stifled a groan.

"Drizzt?" He frowned.

"You've heard of him?" Jarlaxle beamed.

"No." This time Entreri smirked a little.

"I've met him."

That gave both of them pause.

"And I may be getting on in years, but I'll not be forgetting him. And you, sir, are nothing like him." The innkeeper narrowed his eyes. "I'll let that one slide, as I'm not about to refuse a customer; but you do any funny business and I'll call the real one over to deal with you."

"He's dead." Entreri snarled.

"I wouldn't put it past him to come back from the dead to get you then." He continued, unruffled. "Man killed a pack of owl-bears for us, and if half the stories are true it'd be wise to heed me."

"We will behave ourselves." Jarlaxle soothed, putting a restraining hand on Entreri's arm.

They strolled over to the church-a one room building with peeling white paint-for their next point of business. As they reached the steps, a man who been sitting on the bottom two sprang to his feet.

He was dressed in a simple traveler's cloak, and loose-fitting robes in browns and greens that blended well with the forest. He was past his middle years, hair white and grey and starting to thin, blue eyes bloodshot and watery. However, despite his age he seemed to be in good enough health; the movements were quick and sure, eyes darting from spot to spot with alert wariness.

"You've arrived." His voice crackled, like he wasn't used to using it.

"We have my good friend." Smiling winningly, he held out a hand to shake. As he understood it, it was a polite surface custom and he liked to make a good impression. "Jarlaxle and Entreri, at your service."

Apparently the man hadn't heard of the same custom. He gave the outstretched palm a look like one would give to a particularly large insect, and clenched his own hands into fists and tucked them close to his body. Jarlaxle withdrew the hand, unfazed.

"Judas." He muttered, and headed into the church.

"I foresee a wonderful friendship." Entreri hissed, voice dripping sarcasm.

"Oh, don't be so hard on the man." Jarlaxle followed after him. "Perhaps he will be friendlier in time."

Entreri wasn't so sure about that. The lord of this land that'd hired them-a fat, balding man that sweated constantly and smelled like rotten eggs-had warned them that their 'guide' was getting increasingly taciturn in his age. Entreri had the feeling that it had taken him a great deal of pleading to get the once-renowned scholar and mage to help them. Entreri had been reluctant to have the man along in the first place, but Jarlaxle had managed to convince him. The man had some uses; not only was he knowledgeable about magical phenomena he was a local to the area, and well knew the town they were about to attempt to contact. He was the one most likely to spot what was amiss in the area that was preventing anyone from contacting the townsfolk.

Entreri still didn't like him, however.

They entered the church, and the smell hit his nose making him sneeze and cough. It stank of mildew and rust, rotting wood and fungi; he could see in corners there were piles of white paint flakes and the soft, punky wood of the structure was exposed. There were pinholes of light in the ceiling, and could guess it leaked like a sieve when it rained. The church was a contrasting image of holiness and neglect, piety and decay.

Much like religion itself; He mused.

"Good morning, my sons!" The priest stepped forward. The man was dressed in clothes that befitted a farmer, not a man of any church; the only thing he wore that indicated him as such was a pedant bearing the symbol of his god. He was young, round-faced man in his early twenties, face full of beaming piety and naivety. Entreri hated him on sight.

"And a good morning to you as well!" Jarlaxle replied.

The man blinked incredulously. "Well now, it's been a while since I've had a guest in my church, much less someone this...out of the ordinary." He turned to Judas, giving him a wry smile. "You should've warned me; I would have set out the best china."

Judas only shuffled irritably on the spot. "Get on with it."

"Sorry; I was bit distracted." He continued to smile, not at all ruffled by the man's rudeness. "Let me introduce myself; I am father Peter, local priest of the area, for what it's worth. I'll be telling you of what little information I've gleaned from my prodding and poking about before you head off; hopefully it will help you."

"Thank you." Jarlaxle smiled. "What can you tell us?"

"It happened about three months ago; though it might have been going on longer. The first red flag was Nancy; usually she got regular letters from her nephews and cousins up there every other week or so, but they stopped coming. Her son rode up there to see what was up, but he didn't come back." He sighed. "More people went after him, and relatives of those that lived in that town also went to see why their cousins and the like had broken contact. None of them came back either."

"And did you investigate as well?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I did. But I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary." He paused, and a flash of concern disturbed the once-calm face. "But I did feel...a disturbance. I am a priest, yes, but my god is focused on healing, not sensing demons or evil. All the same, it felt..."

He struggled with the words to describe it; and as he was a doctor, he described it in terms he could best relate too.

"Like their was a fever, a sickness, hanging around the town. All around I could smell the faint sickly-sweet of it, but try as I might, I couldn't find the source. Not a single resident of that town was ill, their livestock were healthy. But still, I could feel the miasma hanging heavy in the air."

Their was a moment of intense silence, which Entreri broke; rudely.

"Anything else of use that you can tell us?"

"A few things." He continued, unaffected by Entreri. "After my experience, I blessed the road and blessed as much of the perimeter as I could to keep whatever it was from spreading out. I consulted with Asklepios*-my god-and he warned me to stay well away from the town, and to keep the villagers away from it as well. So I issued a quarantine of the town. They were not pleased with that, I can tell you, but they did listen."

Jarlaxle frowned. "Do they not listen to their priests around here?" In his experience, people were generally very obedient to their spiritual guides. In the underdark, disobeying edicts of Loth's priestesses was paramount to suicide. It was a foreign idea to him for people to defy the will of the priests.

"You may have noticed I am not as...welcome as most priests are in other towns. The people here have their own set of superstitions and rituals; they don't worship any actual god or goddess." He smiled wearily at them. "They are very set in the practices of their forefathers; reluctant to change. We had to build the church ourselves; back then there were ten of us that moved here to 'bring the good word' as it was. The others settled down, married and gradually withdrew from the church; my father was the only one who didn't. I'm carrying on his work, now that he's passed on."

"Fascinating." Entreri grunted. "What else?"

"Just this." He fumbled in a pocket, stepping towards them.

He pulled out three small stones, with his holy symbol painted on them. "Granted, they're not impressive, but they'll serve a purpose. I've laid a blessing on these stones, one of protection. No grantee that whatever it is won't be able to hurt you, I had to make the blessing vague because I didn't know what I was up against."

Jarlaxle took them, giving his thanks.

"And now, if you don't mind, I'll bless all of you for added-"

"No."

Peter gave Entreri a concerned look. "Look, I gather from your open hostility of me and my church that you aren't fond of my beliefs, but be reasonable. This blessing will keep evil spirits at bay-"

"I do not need some god's protection." He spat. "That is what I have my weapons and years of training for, priest."

"But if you die," He pleaded. "I will be the one forced the bury you and to tell your family; I might have to tell them you died because I didn't bless you."

"Leave my body where it falls to rot then, for I have no family to tell." He snarled, and swept out of the church.

After a pause, Jarlaxle turned to Peter. "I apologize for my companion. He is quite hostile even at the best of times; but he has a special dislike for anything religious."

"I noticed." He said wryly.

Jarlaxle accepted the priest's blessing, going with the old 'better safe than sorry' though even as the drops of holy water sprinkled his brow, he doubted either the rocks or blessing would serve any purpose. Judas didn't accept the blessing either, leaving the church almost the same time as Entreri to get supplies.

*Asklepios, or Asclepius, was the Greek god of medicine and the founder of the Greek doctor's guild. He is depicted as a kindly, bearded man holding a staff twined with serpents, which has become the modern symbol of medicine.