11111
Yes I'm finally back. Sorry about the rather lengthy delay but long hours of work made writing pretty much impossible for the last couple of months. Nevertheless I'm back and the story should back on schedule, at least until Christmas.
11111
It was a large group that approached Denerim.
In addition to the two Grey Wardens and their travelling companions, from both worlds, Arl Eamon had joined them with a considerable entourage, meeting up at the ruins of Lothering. Eamon had brought his best knight and most trusted servants, while Teagan and the rest of the Arl's family stayed behind. After his recent poisoning Eamon was taking no chances; for his own safety or anyone else's. As far as the group was concerned such precautions were rather startling compared the relatively relaxed camp attitude that they had built over the months.
For Alistair and Odin most of the trip was spent discussing politics with Eamon. Odin found it as fascinating as Alistair found it insufferable. The Landsmeet had many opportunities and pitfalls and every noble there had to be courted, one way or another. At least there, Odin thought, they were off to a good start. The detour to Ostagar had been most useful; the late King Cailan's armour had been recovered, as well as King Maric's sword. The items now belonged to Alistair and made him look ever inch a king, not to mention a member of the all important Therin royal bloodline. They had also found the body of Calian, which they were able to give a decent funeral. Odin still found the Human death rites strange but he had to admit that cremation had made transportation far easier. The return of the… heroic young king's remains would please many of the more sentimental people and make Loghain look all the more callous for abandoning Ostagar, whatever his reasoning for such action might be.
Indeed the only fly in Odin's ointment (apart from the Landsmeet, the Blight and controlling his half mad companions of course) was Morrigan. After Ostagar, at her request, Odin had confronted Flemeth about her plan to sacrifice Morrigan to extend her own lifespan. The old witch's transformation into a Dragon had been a surprise but nothing they couldn't handle. Cohen in particular had a rather manic grin on his face when he saw what they were up against. It was a hard fight, good practice, but that was now the second High Dragon that Cohen had killed. He might have to be kept away from the Archdaemon Odin thought afterwards, Avernus had been all too clear on the consequences of a non-Grey Warden slaying the Old God and Cohen seemed to be developing an unhealthy obsession. Still Flemeth was dead, at least temporarily, and her book of spells given to Morrigan. She had been grateful certainly. She had even offered thanks without a trace of sarcasm and looked rather touched. But she had been distant ever since and any attempt to discuss the sudden coldness was shut down immediately. He didn't understand, and frankly did not have the time to think about it right now, but it lay at the back of his mind none the less.
11111
Rincewind looked on dispassionately as the two groups squared off against each other. On the one side, technically his side he supposed were the two Grey Wardens with their patron noble. On the other stood the regent, a man who clearly preferred the battlefield to politics (both equally dangerous in Rincewind's eyes), a sneering, shifty looking man that may as well have had 'evil bastard' written on his forehead and rather tall women with a two handed sword that reminded him of Sergeant Angua. As normal with such discussions things started politely then went rapidly downhill with accusation of treason, poisonings and Regicide. While he would never say he was fond (unless anyone else was listening) of the man Rincewind couldn't help but think that Lord Vetinari could easily deal with such a crisis, outmanoeuvre every noble here and end up King with no effort.
"Thish politicsh nonshense ish going to take agesh ishn't it?"
Rincewind could only nod in agreement as the Regent and his followers abruptly left.
"Bugger, thish ish why we should have shtayed in the wildernessh fighting" grumbled Cohen.
"Surely this city has bars filled with people looking for random violence?" replied Rincewind "It may be smaller than Ankh Morpork but it quite similar in many ways. The smell alone is almost identical."
"Hmph"
"Actually there another option, for you at least," said Odin, looking rather frustrated after the 'negotiations'. "There's a lot of stuff the city guard wants done that requires cracking some skulls. Feel free to help them; I've got enough stuff to do at the moment."
"That shounds more like it," said Cohen. "I'll shee if anyone elshe wantsh in on thish."
"You can take anyone who wants to go, except Alistair, I know he may want to escape but he needs to stay while we plan our next move," decided Odin.
As Cohen headed off, Rincewind turned towards the Grey Warden.
"Smart move, a bored Cohen is a thoroughly dangerous one."
"More dangerous than he is on the battlefield?"
"You don't want to know."
Odin grunted, "Well I'm sure the back alleys of Denerim will keep him busy before the Landsmeet. I take it you're not interested in joining him?"
"Hmm," said Rincewind stroking his beard in mock contemplation, "stay in a comfy house or fight criminals? Tough choice."
"Well when put it like that…" Odin looked carefully "but…if you don't mind me saying… I haven't actually seen you do any fighting, or any magic for that matter."
"Well I never claimed to be a fighter or any good with magic. The only reason I'm here after all is because my treacherous colleges sent the Luggage here by mistake. Running away is what I do best; I've been doing it all my life."
"True, if you want I'm sure Wynne would be happy to teach…"
"No thank you!" Rincewind interrupted quickly, "I already been to your circle and they couldn't do anything. My magical skills are… well it's a long story."
"I see, well I guess that explains you stayed so far back from Flemeth when faced her."
Rincewind suddenly looked rather uncomfortable, "Er…yes."
Odin's eyes narrowed.
"Well, I might have neglected to mention that, in my travels I may have met her before. I didn't make the connection until I saw her!" Rincewind protested as Odin's glare deepened. "She offered me information about where you and the Luggage were heading. Then she wanted… well, one thing led to another…then I ran" he finished sheepishly.
Odin stared for a while then broke into laughter.
"I can't decide whether you have the best luck or the worst."
Rincewind sighed, "The worst, defiantly."
11111
The back alleys of Denerim had always been infested with rival gangs. The city guard was always undermanned and underfunded, as it had been for decades, so any attempts to rectify this problem were doomed to failure. With the arrival of the Blight and resulting chaos the situation had only grown worse.
Not that that was a problem for Norman 'Slicer' Fletcher, whose gang had amassed a small fortune in the last six months from a combination of extortion and theft. The only problem had been increased competition from other groups, some were old rivals others were new gangs that had come from outside Denerim. Still today had been an exceptionally profitable and no trouble from anyone, or for that matter any sign of them. Unusual, but who was Fletcher to question good fortune?
Then the far wall was smashed in.
The noise was thunderous while the shattered masonry and dust obscured his vision and made him cough and wretch. Thankfully his boys were quick off the mark and burst through the door, weapons drawn. As the dust settled Fletcher saw four very strange…individuals. The largest, and presumably the one that broke down the wall was a rather ugly looking statue. Next to it was an old man in a loincloth and grinning in rather worrying fashion. On either side of these two was a purebred Mabari and a wooden chest with lots of short little legs, both were growling.
"Did the old barbarian say this was the last group on the list?" Asked the Statue, apparently it could talk as well as move.
"Call me Cohen, and yesh theshe are the lasht," said the grinning man in the loincloth.
"Pity, I enjoyed making all those bandits go squish."
Norman tried his best to gain control of the situation.
"I don't know who you lot are but you're outnumbered five to one!"
The old man's grin widened showing what appeared to be diamond teeth.
"If you think thoshe are good oddsh, you're being very optimishtic."
"CHARGE" Yelled Fletcher.
The fight, if you could call it a fight, did not last long. The four person group returned to the astonished city watch and asked what the reward was for wiping out every gang in the city. It was not a small amount.
11111