Turn 121
     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."
    "Ah," the Zakharan says thoughtfully, studying the figurine and rapidly working out a story for why he would have the pretty thing. "No notes, though," he adds. "Literacy is quite rare here, and I don't want to attract attention. If there's a serious problem, it ought to be able to lead you to me, correct?"
    "I'm not certain," Yestin shrugs. "It responds well to my commands, but thus far my requests have been very simple. I'm not certain whether it is capable of a task as complex as you suggest, something requiring an analog to memory." The Giff scratches his head in thought, but comes to no definite conclusion. "I would risk a note. If you're in trouble, you may have more to worry about than merely drawing attention to yourself."

    * * *

    "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?"
    "An hour," the half-elf acknowledges. "I'll just be drifting around seeing what I can see, I think."

    * * *

    Yestin leans heavily against the rail long after the scouting party has departed, his eyes straining into the darkness as though he could still see the crewmembers long since consumed by the cloak of night.
    At length, he sighs, shaking his head and wondering not for the first time whether this is the soundest course of action. Though he'd proven some small skill at diplomatic courtesy during his entreaties with the royals in Narain -- his courtly skills, such as they were, no doubt acquired from his readings of flowery elven romances -- he still has no head for leadership and fears he may have sent his companions to their doom.
    Sighing again, he regards his reduced crew, his eyes resting on Alais and Pham. He feels of a sudden that he has little in common with this wizard and this priest, save perhaps scholarship, and, troubled as he is now, little interest in conversing with them -- he doubts he could easily feign interest in one of Alais' long-winded discourses on the nature of the universe, nor Pham's troubled prophecies.
    Looking at them doubtfully, the Giff shrugs his shoulders. "Arm wrestling contest, anyone?" He feigns a grin, but he doesn't feel mirthful at the moment and the false smile quickly fails. His tone is more sober when he addresses the entire crew a moment later.
    "We'd best set up a watch and prepare some security precautions, just in case we are found by chance by any hostile parties. Alais, Pham, the sooner we make for our waiting spot, the better. If you've no specific destination in mind, I saw a few secluded canyons that might serve our purposes. Nyala, if you've any ideas for setting up our watch, I should be glad to hear them. We are few aboard and I should like to be prepared to repel superior numbers if need be."
    Nodding to his crewmates, Yestin set about the task of preparing to make way, his mind lost in troubled thoughts.
    "Two shall watch while two rest, I think, with a pilot ready at all times. Should we be attacked by any large number, we can quite easily flee; if by one or two, it may be worthwhile to take them captive for a time and learn more of the situation here."
    Nodding to his crewmates, Yestin set about the task of preparing to make way, his mind lost in troubled thoughts.
    Alais pilots the ship back toward the mountains, looking for a suitably secluded place to set down for the day, while he and Pham ponder the means at their command to find out more information.
    They find a steep-sided valley that spears into the mountains, with a river running through it and a number of frozen waterfalls decorating its sides. The lower reaches are heavily forested, thinning as the ground rises toward the narrow end. The road passes the valley mouth, but it seems far enough from the town that there is little risk of casual discovery. In the trees there is plenty of cover for the ship, and while the darkness lasts Nyala and Yestin busy themselves cutting brush and further disguising its outline.
    When the ship has been concealed, Pham seats himself on the floor near the helm and sinks into deep meditation; his lips move occasionally as he shapes his request, and with a rattle of stones it is asked. But this limited prayer can return only limited advice; there is danger to be found in the town, but whether it will actually manifest and what shape it might take are unclear.
    The morning passes quietly. Animals pass by--some deer, foxes, and a bobcat lands on the roof at one point with a resounding thump--curious but clearly not recognizing the ship as a potential threat.
    In the afternoon, everyone on the ship is startled awake by what sounds very much like a rumble of thunder, though the sky remains clear and the air quite mild for what they have seen of Rigol thus far. It is quickly followed by two more, and then a long pause before the sequence repeats. It seems to be coming from the high end of the valley.
    It continues at intervals throughout the day, usually in the same pattern. Whatever it is, is clearly not natural. The now-somewhat anxious crew look at their caption for instruction.

    * * *

    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.
    Keeping well away from the storefront, he wanders along behind the funeral for a while, thinking about trying his luck at a tavern instead of a stable, and about whether breaking into the Victors' place in town would be a worthwhile risk.
    The conversation he overhears while they walk suggests that the death which occasioned the procession was sudden, yet not unexpected, and quite possibly unnatural.
    It seems that the ma had been found dead early this morning, his last expression one of horror--"just like the others." There is evil at work here, which may go some way toward explaining the citizens' fearful behavior, particularly in the absence of their priests.

    * * *

    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?"
    The news that the temples were deserted confirmed what Lynden had heard back at the capital and, as they waited for an invitation to enter, he wondered what had befallen the priests and temple servants. Had they left of their own volition and were they to be found elsewhere?
    "Thanks. Can we come in?" Emmett considers just muscling through the open door, but there's no reason to reveal that particular feature of his anatomy just yet.
    "Uh..." A flicker of reluctance crosses his expression, but he stands aside. "Come in." It's dark in the hall; light filters dimly through small windows in the heavy stone walls. The floor is in need of sweeping, the shelves holding examples of the guild's work are dusty, and the building "feels" empty. The two visitors are led to a back room where a fire is going briskly. The room contains a long, workmanlike table and chairs, where it seems the two apprentices have been having breakfast. There is some evidence of previous meals stacked at one end of the table.
    "Can we, um, offer you anything? It may be a bit of a wait."
    "Thank you. That would be appreciated." Lynden speaks quietly and takes a seat with his back to the wall leaving his legs free should he need to stand quickly. He hoped his caution would prove unnecessary but he doesn't want to take chances.
    And it is a bit of a wait--over an hour while the young man bustles in and out of the room, offering them food and drink, taking their cloaks and gloves, and generally putting on quite a show of having a lot to do. If one didn't know better, one might think that he wanted to keep an eye on them without having to risk too much talking.
    But eventually there is the sound of the door opening, and footsteps. The man who enters, once he pushes back the hood of a voluminous and very expensive-looking cloak, is surprisingly young -- mid-twenties, maybe, thin and sharp-featured, with brown hair and an amiable smile. Going with the expensive cloak is a thin gold fillet bound across his forehead.
    "Good morrow, Brother, good sir. I am Master Semhar. How may our guild be of service?"
    "In some ways, master, you already have." Emmett motions to the food, drink and fire. "Our travels have been long, and your hospitality very generous."
    Lynden nods in agreement, watching closely as they make their introductions.
    Emmett has removed his cloak, and the holy symbol of Gond is clearly visible on over his shirt. "I'm looking for artificers who can match the quality of these works..." Emmett unravels his hook in the light, revealing its solid steel and keen edge, "but I am just as curious as to why this guildhall - and the local churches - seem to have fallen on such hard times."
    "Hard times?" He looks momentarily surprised, then gives that amiable smile, glancing around the room. "I can see why it might appear so, but nothing could be farther from the case where our guild is concerned. We manage quite well." He examines Emmett's hook -- not too closely. "Perhaps you have been misdirected? I should think that any competent smith could forge such an item. We are quite busy.
    "As for Brother..." he looks questioningly, as they have not given names, "the good brother's fellows in faith, I take it that your coming is not in response to any message? Alas. On what errand then, may I inquire? It has been a difficult year. A number of dreadful accidents, sad to say, took several men untimely. A few departed Toll early in the winter -- some mission of mercy to the valley towns, I believe. We have heard nothing of them since. And several months ago Brother Tomas, who remained, simply disappeared. I suppose he must have gone as well. So it is indeed a pleasure to see you here. His Lordship will be pleased as well--I hope you will allow me to introduce you to him? He certainly is better informed about the temples than myself. You," he glances at the hovering apprentice, "go up to the fort and let him know of this happy circumstance. He will be delighted to entertain you."
    Emmett has been dismissed from consideration, but both men can tell that this richly-dressed young man is very interested in Brother Lynden.
    

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