Turn 120
    "Captain," ibn Fadil says carefully, "would you mind looking through Valarin's things to see if he owned, I mean owns, such a thing as a dark lantern, that I might borrow? It might come in useful." There is indeed such an item among the missing captain's possessions; he likely wouldn't mind the loan.
    Yestin considers the half-elf's request carefully, likely wondering if it is entirely proper to be rifling through Valarin's possessions in his absence, then disappears into the crew cabins, returning with the lantern a few moments later.
    He hands over the small figure of a bird, albeit with hesitation. "Take Salt with you. Send him back if you get into trouble." The giff seems a bit mournful as he hands over his animated companion; he has evidently grown quite attached to the magical figurine in the past few days. "Um, be sure to include a note where you are. The bird doesn't speak."

    * * *

    "Lots of ordinary trade goods in one of the warehouses, but not enough to fill it right now," ibn Fadil reports, having taken a sea nearly on top of the galley stove. "I kind of lost interest in the second one when this mechanical spider went by." He rubs his hands together for a moment. "It's body was about a foot across, and it seemed to come from the fortress and went along the road to the town. When it came back, we followed it to a crevice at the foot of the mountain, and then we had to come back to meet you."
    "Very disturbing. It sounds unlike anything I have encountered before," is Lynden's response. "You did well to avoid attracting its attention. Did you observe if it had any way of defending itself?"
    "Oh, it probably jumps and spits venom or acid. That's what I'd build into a clockwork spider if I were building one. I think the odds of it being able to vanish are slim, however..." Emmett looks across the faces of the small group. "That smacks of Artificers Guild work, so I'd like to start there. Then we can track down Lynden's missing comrades. Ibn Fadil... I'm not even going to try to tell you your job. I'm just letting you know what we'll be doing in case we run into each other. Meet back at the gate an hour before sundown?

    * * *

    Though it had stopped happening after he took the ring off during the hunt, now Ibn Fadil once again feels quite refreshed after the few hours sleep he got before their expedition, so after warming some of the chill from his bones sets out again with Emmett and Lynden. The road is much easier going than the woods were; there's been some traffic since last it snowed here, and indeed when they look down from this relative height there are a few wagons (or possibly sledges) on the road in the distance.
    They split up before reaching the town, and an unaccustomedly-unarmed (hook, spike, and whip barely count) Half-Man and the priest of Gerik enter Toll a bit after dawn. There is a sense of space most unusual for this world; the buildings are not rammed together but have spilled out from the town center in a haphazard fashion, the streets wider and the houses lower and more expansive than those in Myrr or Narain. The streets wind considerably, with frequent small squares and courts. There is less decoration on the buildings here than Lynden is accustomed to seeing, and as they walk something further begins to nag at him, tugging insistently at his mind until finally it strikes him: there are no streetside shrines. Perhaps, he tries to convince himself, they follow different customs here, though it is a very worrying sign that the inhabitants were either afraid to visibly demonstrate their faith or had fallen by the wayside.
    There are not a lot of people up and about yet, and those they see keep their heads down, speak little, and move with seeming furtiveness at odds with the cheerful morning light. The only ones who appear relaxed and at ease are a group of soldierly-looking sorts who have clearly spent the night roistering; they attempt to swagger and end up staggering along the street, shout-singing several songs at the same time and insulting one another affably. The spies can't help but notice that they're all wearing swords. The few citizens who are about vanish from their path and do not look at them, as if fearing to give offense.
    At Emmett's suggestion they locate what looks like the guild center of town. The Artificers' building has dusty windows and an air of disrepair; the paint on the fox and spider symbols is faded and cracked.
    "Now that," says the half man, "is unexpected. I had thought they'd be using similar covers. Unless out here they're more in the open?" He cocks an eyebrow at the young cleric at the disturbing thought, then raises his arm to knock.
    After a few silent moments the door is opened by a teenager with an apprentice's badge on his shirt, who stands blinking and sleepy-eyed for a moment. "What do you--good morrow, good sir," he corrects himself in a more polite tone. "And to you, Brother. Can I be of service?"
    Relieved by the rapid change of attitude at the sight of his priestly attire (or perhaps it was Emmett's glowering visage beside him that instilled a degree of respect?) Lynden squared his shoulders and adopted an air of confidence that he didn't really feel. "I have journeyed for many days with this poor fellow," he gestures at Emmett, "and find myself at a loss as I have yet to locate the temple." Whilst speaking he is watching closely for the youth's reaction, hoping for any indication of how they would be received. "Perhaps you could direct me to my brethren?"
    Emmett croaks, trying his best to conceal his surprise and to give the youth's face a moment to react--he looks surprised, too--before interrupting "Brother, can we please speak to these good men first? I know you wish me blessed before the day is out," he switches his gaze to the apprentice, "but it was those like them who made my hand," he waves the leather-wrapped hook in the air, with its gleaming point barely visible in the early light while switching his attention back to Lynden, "And I was told that these knowledgeable men might know how to repair such things."
    Finally, he gaze switches back to the apprentice, hoping that this tic of swinging it back and forth for the part wouldn't make him dizzy before the day is out, "I'm always struggling between my body and my soul, I guess, but both now are equal and I seek men of skill to help me." His eye takes in the apprentice carefully "Are your masters such men?"
    "They are," the reply comes slowly; the young man looking slightly more awake by now. "And I think they would be interested to speak with you. As for your question, Brother," he shrugs, appearing a bit recovered from his startlement, "there is a temple on Brook Street and another at the town center, but both have lain empty for several months now, and none knows why." He moves an arm beyond the partly open doorway; there is the sound of a bell and a muffled interrogative from somewhere beyond their sight. "Absok, run on up and let the master know that we have visitors in need of aid?"

    * * *

    Drifting into the town, ibn Fadil quickly adopts the same nervous, expecting-trouble posture as the locals, and assiduously avoids contact with the "police." Having traded some of his better clothes for some of Michal's old ones, he does not stand out in the crowd (but is colder than he would like to be) as he wanders around.
    Prosperity is not difficult to find; people here are nervous, but business continues, even in the slow season, and there are plenty of merchants and artisans to be found who seem to be doing fairly well for themselves. Some of the former have one or two teams of horses stabled behind their establishments. The largest number of horses seem to belong to the woodcutting operations, though many have left town for the day's work.
    He locates two small buildings that are probably the local temples. Both appear to have been shut up for some time.
    He also finds, without difficulty, the local headquarters for intersphere trade, a large storefront on the main road through town. The sign reads Victor & Sons Goods of All Worlds, Fantastical Bargains from Beyond the Stars, The Wonders of the Spheres Can Be YOURS, and a discreet note suggesting that passers inquire within about credit. Given what he knows about local literacy rates, the sign may be a bit overly optimistic, but from the looks of it they are doing a fair bit of business with locals other than His Lordship.
    And then there is the funeral--or at any rate, a small wagon bearing a cloth-draped figure, accompanied by a few silent, hollow-looking people. Other people seem to avoid looking at them.
    

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