This offering continues the story of a Dungeons & Dragons campaign I ran many years ago. Enjoy.

The group followed Ottorio to the Crow’s Nest, a dockside sailor’s tavern.

“I’m supposed ta meet him at seven bells,” said Ottorio as the first of the seven bells rang.

“Good on you,” said Zantu, pushing the man through the door. “You’re just on time.”

As the group entered, a fat man rose to his feet, starting toward Ottorio. He saw Zantu, followed by the rest, and stopped, blood draining from his cheeks. Turning on his heel, he looked for the nearest exit, only to find Ivy behind him.

“Going somewhere, Enriko?” she asked.

“Er, um,” he stammered, looking around, sweat trickling down his face.

“Enriko,” said Ottorio.

“They’ll kill me, Ottorio, you know that.”

“Can’t help it.”

“What about…?”

“Too late. We’re both dead men, we just haven’t stopped breathing yet.”

“I… I’ll get a ship, go to the mainland…”

“You know the Fang controls the docks.”

Enriko slumped in defeat. He looked at Zantu.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll take you to the place they meet me.”

They left the tavern, with Enriko and Ottorio leading the group to a building near the central square of the Western District.

“There,” said Enriko, pointing to a side door.

“Now, I want you and Ottorio to be somewhere far, far away by the time I count to twenty-five. Are you ready?”

The men looked at each other, then at the rest of the party. Seeing no sympathy from Zantu’s companions, they hurried east as fast as they could without drawing undue attention.

“You do that so well,” said Ashja, her voice dry.

“I got rid of them didn’t I?”

“Send Caw up to scout around the building. I want to know where the entrances and exits are.”

“As you wish, my lady,” said Zantu, with an exaggerated bow in her direction. He settled himself as he went into the trance, allowing him to communicate with his familiar. They heard wingbeats and the gurgling croak of Caw’s voice above their heads.

Rayus sat beside him while Ashja kept watch.

“I’m gonna see if I can’t get me a roof view,” said Ivy, looking at the stack of crates along one wall.

“I’ll have Zantu send Caw if anything happens.”

Ivy climbed onto a crate, picking her way up the unsteady stack. She used whatever handholds she found in the knotted and splintered wood as she crawled her way to the top and slipped over a short rim. The roof tilted slightly toward the rim, which had holes the size of her fist every pace or so. She looked around for the best way to cross the roof. Finding none, she checked around the edges, looking for a way into the building.

As she looked out toward the square, she saw a familiar figure hurrying to the east. The robes were as nondescript as the rest of the order, but that swing was all Somya’s. Nothing could hide the woman’s distinctive hip swagger. It surprised Ivy that she hadn’t noticed it before. The woman surely didn’t walk like a scholar; she strutted like a courtesan.

Ivy climbed back down to the alley to report.

“I seen Somya heading toward the temples.”

“Are you sure it was her?” asked Ashja.

“Aye, ye can’t miss that swish once ye seen it,” the young elf grinned.

“Let’s wait for Zantu, then head back to the Ink Pot to discuss our options.”

A quarter bell later, Zantu opened his eyes and stretched.

“Well, that was interesting. Somya was here,” he said. “She headed back to the temple.”

“Let’s talk back at the inn,” said Ashja, leading her companions toward the Ink Pot and supper.