Shield Maiden #2 - On The Run

 Shield Maiden #2 - On The Run

“We lost Clipper and Toecutter to some adventuring types,” Gutkut explained to a one-eyed goblin named Lefty, on account that it was left eye that remained intact, “How goes the rest of our plans?”

“A lot of cutters are fightin’ for control of the keep,” Lefty said, “The Boss sent me to find you and bring you back. He says stop trying to look for loot, all the loot went with him the first time.”

“There could have been more,” Gutkut snapped.

One of the survivors was a male goblin named Lash, who sighed as he trudged along carrying several waterskins that had already been filled from the stream before the melee began.

Lash and another goblin were the only other survivors from the attack at the clearing, trailing Gutkut’s mangy wolf as fast as their little legs could carry them. The adventurers had taken so much time going through the first line that the trio were confident they had lost pursuit and had been following the semi-clear trail that led from the wash to what was known as Greywald Keep. The manor that the goblins had taken soon after the Scabberhorn Clan had ambushed and sacked the caravan that was on the road. Both Lash and Gutkut recognized the woman yelling at the other end. She was the human the goblins had engaged and were confident that they had slain.

The second goblin rider that had met with Gutkut went by the name Roughclaw, he wheeled his wretched beast around so the two could ride side-by-side. Both goblins were dark orange in skin color, Roughclaw sported a deep scar on his left cheek from the claw of a mountain lion, the latter’s voice always came with a hiss as the wound he suffered nearly tore out the vocal cords. Roughclaw came with five other foot soldiers who reinforced Gutkut’s crew.

“The boss was clear you were to return, you don’t even have your whole patrol,” Roughclaw said.

“There were complications,” Gutkut said, “Adventurers slew Toecutter and two others before I could sound a retreat. I was using my horn to signal another band to assist.

“That was your mistake, there are no other bands in the area. We have all returned to the keep to await the word of Boss Scabberhorn,” Roughclaw said, “What can you tell me about these adventurers?”

The two sub-chiefs turned when they heard a crash from behind them. Gutkut hand was reaching for the frayed wrapping at the hilt of his saber as he thought another attack had occurred. His eyes narrowed when Lash picked himself up from the ground.

The third goblin had tripped on a root and landed on the waterskins that he was carrying. His rough fur jerkin was soaked with water and stained with a fresh layer of mud. Looking up, Lash saw the eyes were on him and were dangerously narrowed, the goblin gestured to the ground as he spoke up: “Some of them were already torn before I fell, honest!”
---

The patrol had continued, there was no time to administer punishments for destroying several waterskins. What the patrol did not realize was that every move they made was being watched from the treeline that bordered the trail. A pair of green eyes that belonged to Templeton Paws narrowed as he watched the exchange, his ears picking up enough between the two goblins to hint that there was a greater force in the area.

Rodda stood next to the Harengon, her eyes just as narrowed as she watched the action, she turned to Templeton and asked him to rendezvous with the rest of the group. They were several paces behind so that Rodda and Templeton could operate in stealth.

“Quasqueton can wait,” Onatah said, “If this same gang that attacked Leowyn has captured a keep, that means they plan to stay long term, and they are determined to be hostile to the entire region.”

Once Rodda and Templeton were a safe distance from being detected, they returned to the party in order to shadow the goblins for a few leagues over a rough trail, keeping enough boughs between the party and the invaders to avoid detection. 

After what felt like a few hours of walking as fast as possible without snapping too many twigs or tripping on the raised roots of trees, the party found the treeline abruptly ended and in the clear vastness was an old manor standing in the middle of a cleared field. An old and muddy trail led up from a side path that the goblins had taken and were using to approach the castle. Gutkut never left the back of his wolf, riding with an escort made of what remained of the original patrol as well both Roughclaw and his archers, all of whom were returning to meet with the boss. 

The party could see that the manor was protected by an outer curtain wall with two towers standing sentry at a broken gate that offered a clear view into the outer courtyard. From where the party stood, they could see a stream of tea colored water that was streaming out of eastern wall which provided water and a measure of protection to the inner keep.

“How many goblins could be hiding in there?” Templeton asked with wide eyes.

“How many goblins attacked your caravan?” Onatah asked over Leowyn’s shoulder as he looked over the manor with a frown.

“Not enough to staff an entire castle,” Leowyn said, “Also the moss growing at the base suggests this manor has been around long before any goblins took it over.”

The party moved ahead with Leowyn out front, sword and shield readied up as they start making their way towards the entrance. She was followed by Rodda, ready to move to the front again in order to scout for the party. Behind Rodda was Templeton, the Harengon’s large ears flopped down against his head as he moved forward. He was partly protected by the magical armor he cast, but he still felt vulnerable. Finally, Onatah’s staff clicked on the ground as he brought up the rear of the group.

When the party reached the gates and peered in, Gutkut, the other goblins, had vanished into some part of the keep, but enough time had passed since the party first viewed them riding in until that point to disappear from plain view. The gates laid on the ground had hinges that were rusted from age. The loss of this manor was not a recent thing. It was a sight of battle that had occurred at some point of the Grand Duchy’s founding, most likely during the dark ages before the coming of the Thyatian Empire and the end of Traladaran rule. A few of those nobles had resisted the Empire’s encroachment, and paid for it with such grand ruins. Ahead of the party was the sound of battle, Leowyn turned to Rodda and gave her the nod, taking a step back to let the Halfling scout ahead.

Shield Maiden #1 - Clearing Encounter

Shield Maiden #1

Eventually Leowyn met what had informally become an adventuring party made up of Onatah, Rodda, and Templeton. Vernor had occasionally stepped in when the group needed a fighter, but the former militia soldier had preferred the quiet life of running a tavern than delving dungeons or chasing varlets and rascals across the countryside. In lieu of Rodda having to badger Vernor further to get his assistance, the party instead looked to recruit Leowyn to their cause, at least as far as following up on an initial rumor outside of town.

“A few leagues from here, surrounded by old trees is is a hill buried beneath the forest,” Rodda said, “Built within this hill is the remains of Quasqueton, the fortress dungeon of two particularly successful, if rather enigmatic and sometimes hostile adventurers named Rogahn and Zelligar, the last two surviving members of Old Night Companion, or ONC,” Rodda explained. Out of the group, she was born in Winter Haven and had foremost knowledge on its local history, “The Old Night Company was established before Duke Stefan had created the Grand Duchy, back when Specularum was known as the Free City of Mirros and it was considered and backwater domain of the Empire.”

Leowyn nodded, “I’ve heard of the Old Night Company from my time living in Threshold. Rogahn is infamous for establishing another keep after retiring from the company, something that was entirely his own. I recall from some of the local washerwomen who did the keep’s laundry that it was there when Rogahn was approached by Zelligar to ride out again. This Quasqueton might be their second base?”

“It would not surprise me. Onatah here came upon some old maps in town that were stored in the village hall where some of the laborers had used to travel there. That’s why we’ve formed this party, to investigate the possible location of Quasqueton.”

“No one has seen or heard from either Zelligar or Rogahn for years. Hopefully they have moved on from this dungeon, or died off. The years have gone by, but they were formidable opponents,” Onatah noted, “I would have saved you regardless, but it is most fortunate that we did save you, Shield Maiden. We were hoping you would travel with us.”

“As your shield?” Leowyn asked.

Onatah nodded slowly, he was joined by the others, “That would be most helpful for our cause.”

“I have to go south to the Black Eagle Barony. This map is north from here? Why can’t you find another fighter to escort you there?”

“But we could use you for two purposes. One, you are at least tough as you survived your wounds for at least two days if not more. You also might know who attacked you and the wagon you were hired to guard on the road that brought you into our care. We could help you settle the score with the attackers,” Onatah said.

Leowyn frowned, closing her eyes as she tried to remember that terrible night that she was wounded. She had recalled she was traveling south from Threshold, working as a caravan guard for a pair of brothers hailed from the desert emirates from the north, the Raizuli Brothers they were called. They had traded in Threshold fine glassware and beads from Ylaruam. They offered swords made of folded steel, curved scimitar, falchions, and talwars that stood out against the common longsword and shortsword that the people of Karameikos were used to. The Raizuli’s carried with them silks imported from the Golden Realm of the Most Honored Khan, and even rich furs that came from the northern coast. What brothers lacked was a guide and a local who could vouch for their presence as honest traders and not thieves or charlatans. Leowyn served that purpose. She was well compensated to escort and lend her reputation and appearance as a native of Karameikos for the brothers. It had all gone to ruin and fire when a goblin raiding party had attacked the caravan. Instinctively, Leowyn touched her shoulder where she could still feel the flames from the burning caravan. The cries of the fallen and the laughter as goblins had grabbed what they could. Leowyn had taken a sharp blow to the knee and another to the head that had left her dazed, but ultimately alive. The goblin band had not cut the throats of the fallen, they were too eager to escape with what they had stolen, which permitted Leowyn to crawl away and ultimately be found by Onatah.

“It was a band,” Leowyn said, “I recall seeing their standard, the fish made of bones.”

“Scabberhorn Band,” Onatah said.

“How horrible,” Templeton added to the conversation. The harengon was wide eyed as Leowyn relayed her memories of those events to the assembled group, all except for Rodda, who tended the bar when the clientele had picked up. As soon as the last man had his cups in front of him filled with beer, she appeared again, cleaning a spare glass with the bar towel that hung from her apron and asked, “What did I miss?”

Leowyn blinked back hot tears and reached for her drink, “I need to avenge those men who trusted me. Even at the cost of seeing my beloved.” Leowyn had to repeat her story for Rodda second time

“Help us with Quaqueston, and as Onatah promised, we will help you deal with these miscreants,” Rodda said.

“The trail where I had found you is along the way to the fortress, maybe this will serve both our ends,” Onatah said, “Would you join us then?”

“At least as far as stopping these goblins. After that I would consider it,” Leowyn needed to repay the debt. Although she longed to ride south and get on the right track to find her betrothed, she was pleased that the help the rest of the party had offered would put her on the same track of avenging the Raizuli’s and anyone else that was lost in the caravan during that first trek.

Before they could leave, Rodda performed one more shift before she would be ready to kiss Vernor goodbye, gather her belongings, and then ride out again for adventure. All she had to do was wait for the others to get their gear as well.

---

The party leaves from Winter Haven and travels north, the first stop was to Onatah’s hovel that was outside of town. Although he was committed to the party, and to the protection of Winter Haven, Onatah was a hermit who preferred his garden and solitude, much like Templeton, but even Templeton’s ‘barrow, the former Halfling hole that he had bought, was only a short walk from town and up a well trod path.

The party had also stopped by Templeton’s to pick up his and Leowyn’s gear, all she had left that was found near her was the shield she had discarded when she walked away dazed, and her sword which was missing one of the jewels that tipped the crossguard. Her travelers clothes smelled freshly laundered and her breastplate was given a perfunctory cleaning, but she could still see a bloodstain that made her wince. Other items were donated from the party’s belongings. A new, but used backpack, a beat up lantern, a few pints of oil, trail rations made of wafers, nuts, and dried fruit - what Templeton had to spare. Looking down at her longsword, testing its weight one more time, Leowyn sheathed her blade and walked back out to join the others.

From there, the party marched forth, ever a colorful menagerie of a shield maiden clad in shades of red and brown, her clothes had been cleaned by the fastidious Templeton, although some portions of her tunic and breeches had to be patched over with whatever spare cloth the Harengon had on hand.

Following Leowyn was another being clad in red, Onatah, whose white fur contrasted with the crimson habit that he wore, the skirt of his robe missing the ground by inches as he was held up by two bone colored hooves. Hanging from his neck was his symbol of devotion to that of Ixion, the Fiery Wheel. Also known as the Fire Lord, the Morning Glory, or the Sun Prince.

Leowyn spoke up, breaking from the marching order to walk abreast with Onatah, “Are you a true cleric of the Wheel?”

Onatah brushed his thumb on the symbol, shaking his head, “I am what my people in the Brokenlands call a Shaman, although some of my kin would draw on the darker aspects of the natural world to fuel their magic. I have always tried to stay in balance with the natural forces of the world. Of those forces, I was always drawn to the destruction and renewal of fire and the storm over the leaf and seed, thus,” Onatah lifted the wheel, “I honor Ixion of all the Immortals.”

“The Brokenlands? You are not from Karameikos?”

“My immediate kin are from these parts, dwelling in the forest, avoiding the founding wars when the first men fought the beastmen. We had our own dealing with those snapping jaws, but at the same time were aware that humans… they would not have cared for our clans, and we probably would have had conflict with the humans. Some of my folk immigrated from here into the mountains, seeking shelter within the hidden cities of the Dragonborn. I am the last in this region, and my knowledge of herbs and willingness to heal is what has allowed me to live in relative peace.”

Traveling behind the two, clad in a two-toned blue and bronze coat, was Templeton. He walked alone as Rodda was scouting ahead of the group, using her natural halfling talents of stealth to see a threat before they saw her. Templeton had possessed those same abilities, but two could be a crowd when it came to scouting. Like Onatah, Templeton was at home in the woodland regions. He never tripped over an exposed root or got caught on a vine. His fur covered paws were sure footed and tough against any exposed thorns that often pricked human skin. His ears flared up when he heard the first noise and touch Onatah’s arm, “Rodda’s coming.”

Rodda appeared at the end of the trail, putting a finger to her lips, “Scabberhorn clan have found a clearing with a wash for fresh water.”

Leowyn looked around, suddenly recognizing some of the trails that she crossed, “This is roughly the place where I was attacked. We were stopped at a wash when the goblins struck.”

After a pause with Rodda holding up her finger, she and Templeton were both cautious to any noise being made by the group, Rodda gestured with her hand for the group to follow her up a short incline to the last vestiges of the treeline. The sound of the washes babbling could be heard, broken up by the cursing and jabbering of goblin tongue, followed by the snapping of wood or the scattering of rocks.

At the top of the incline, the path sloped down out of the treeline into a grassy clearing where the last of the Raizuli supply wagons had ended up after the raid. There were a half-dozen raiders altogether, with another goblin sat astride a ragged gray wolf acting as the officer in charge, taking short pulls from a stolen flask as he watched goblins break apart the slim pickings of wagon frames for firewood, discarded and broken metal from chest hinges was piled to one side, with plans to melt the metal down and forge arrowheads for the goblin shortbows. While four of the goblins were preparing camp, two of the goblins had a detail to fill up waterskins and canteen in the cold stream.

“I don’t know what they are saying,” Rodda said.

“They are waiting for another group to join them for ranging,” Onatah said, looking at the others he noted, “Not all of my kin who went into the mountains stayed there permanently, a few came down and brought with them the tongue of the goblinoids.”

“Those are the goblins that attacked my caravan,” Leowyn growled, fingering her sword.

“You’re the only fully armored,” Rodda said, “I need to get in closer to use this.” Like many halflings, Rodda favored either a sling or shortbow, Vernor was the better bowman of the couple, Rodda carried a sling with a belt pouch at her waist dedicated to flat sling stones.

Leowyn nodded, “I’ll count to sixty, be careful going down there.”

Rodda nodded and used a rough cut trail through the decline to reach the flat outer plane of the clearing.

Both goblins that were filling canteens had not bothered to set a watch at the treeline. The caravan that they had struck was the first interaction with any humans since the past month. Boss Scabberhorn was well aware of the hated village that was close by, but that the humans knew to give the greater hills and cold marshes a wide berth in their travels, when those humans did move through what was claimed as Scabberhorn territory, they did so with a team of armed guards or stalwart adventurers that made raiding them too risky. The latest caravan were not native and only had a few poorly trained guards to put up a fight.

Rodda had gotten within sling range, slinking low and sticking to whatever brush or stone that she could find that concealed her approach. As long as she stood still, even those goblin eyes at her level never seemed to notice her. As she moved, Rodda mentally clicked off the seconds before Leowyn had planned to charge into the clearing to get her revenge.

At the incline, Leowyn slowly drew her sword, she too was counting. Looking on either side she could sense Onatah gripping his quarterstaff while Templeton’s fur covered fingers drew a symbol in the air as he softly chanted a spell of protection. For a moment, the symbol the harengon drew glowed in a soft scintillating color, as if he could conjure a rainbow with his fingers. The symbol pulsed once before it broke apart and the coloring filtered onto Templeton’s person before fading back into the normal coloring of his clothes. He had created armor that would flare when it was absorbing a blow from some future arrowhead or, immortals forfend, a sword that had gotten close to the normally nimble footed magic-user.

---

 

Rodda held her breath when she peeked around the corner and saw her eyes lock onto a pair of yellowing eyes that were surrounded by dark orange skin of one of the Scabberhorn goblins. For a moment, Rodda thought she detected a flicker of recognition, as if the goblin realized that there was no mere collection of bushes, but an actual humanoid watching him. She dug her fingers into her palm, the loop of her sling wrapped around her finger. She was ready to take a single goblin, but if he shouted off a warning, Rodda knew she would be in trouble.

“I’ve come back to avenge those who fell here!” Leowyn shouted at the wolf rider as she stepped out of the woods, drawing her longsword and hoisting her shield, “And this time I do not stand alone.”

Leowyn had drawn the goblin’s attention, so much so that when Rodda’s target shifted his stance to look up at the incline, Rodda stood up from the bush, sling in one hand, rock in another. Rodda her arm back and loosed a stone that sailed and struck the first goblin on the side of the head. The flat stone shattered through the leather helm the raider was wearing, smashing the side of the skull and dropping the goblin. Past the stream was the wolf rider blowing on a crude horn to signal the alerting the raiding party, not that the rider had to put in much effort, Leowyn was already charginging into the field.

Leowyn marched furiously as the goblins dropped whatever they were carrying to grab spears, clubs, and crude shields to face her. The wolf rider blew his horn again. Gutkut, the rider, was trying to signal other raiding parties in the area of the attack. He was poised to run if the first line fell to the adventurers. His eyes darted towards the flashing red and white of the minotaur that was charging behind Leowyn to meet the line.

What may have surprised the Shield Maiden, who only knew of one hedge wizard in her village, was that Templeton Paws was not one to frivolously use his magic Both the exact nature of the incantation along with the beads of will he used to power such spells were burned whenever he used them, requiring rest and study to acquire them again. He did carry a traveling stick, but that was for prodding the path ahead of him. He also had a dagger, but Templeton preferred using it to cut sweet berries from their branches. As Rodda began to sneak down into the clearing, Templeton had drawn his crossbow that he had stashed in his pack. Although it was mechanically complex, crafted by an arbalist living in Kelvin proper, the weapon was simple in use. As long as it did not break, the exact mechanics were pulling the trigger. Of course, simply pulling the trigger did not guarantee a strike home. The first bolt shattered one of the goblin footman’s shields, but the goblin still kept advancing unharmed.

It was Leowyn, filled with righteous fury that quickly fell two goblins, blocking blows and adding dents to her shield, thrusting with her sword that impaled one while cleaving another with a sweep. A third goblin who had lost his shield had tried to flank the shield maiden only to turn at the approaching shadow of Onatah’s and was struck in the jaw by the reach of the minotaur’s quarterstaff. Even though Onatah had a smaller frame for a minotaur, he was not one of the massive labyrinth lords that haunted the Black Peaks and Altan Tepese, he still towered over human men. A blow from his staff knocked the goblin to the ground, cracking the jaw and neckbone, leaving the orange skin blackened and purpled.

While Leowyn had not felt any blows test her armor, she did find her arm tiring from the initial blows that she had blocked from the goblins. The skirmish had bought Gutkut time to wheel the wolf and retreat up the path, blowing his horn as the wolf broke into a run for the shelter of the trees. Lacking a mount to give chase, Leowyn turned to be joined by the other members of her party.

“Our first skirmish and we carried the day,” Rodda said with satisfaction. She had taken life, but at the same time, she had an idea of what mercy these goblins had shown the caravan that had attempted to pass through.

“We carried it, but I wouldn’t count it as a day yet, Rodda,” Leowyn said, “I worry about where our rider is going and what he will bring with that horn.” She turned to see Onatah already walking a few paces in the same direction as Gutkut, lifting his muzzle in the air and taking a sniff, “The wolf was wet.” Onatah turned and looked at the others, “That means we can track him.”

The Shield Maiden - Prologue

 

The Shield Maiden

A Mystara Chronicle

Highreach Borderlands outside of Kelvin, Duchy of Karameikos

Having left her for dead, Leowyn recovers her consciousness later, but she’s in shock. Dazed, confused, wounded, cold, and hungry, she tries to reach civilization, but she walks aimlessly in the rough countryside, and she’s lost…

 

Leowyn bolted up, nearly banging her head on the low ceiling of the alcove that she was laying in. Sweat drenched the linen gown that someone had put her in after treating her wounds, she could feel droplets of sweat roll down her chest and soak both her clothing and her bandages. Her sudden movement had triggered the raw nerves that seemed to be barely soothed by the tinctures she was given, the bandages soaked in herbs to promote healing and sleep. When her eyes adjusted, Leowyn noticed how the room she was sleeping was dimly lit by a single shaded lantern in the corner. The room was dark, but comforting. Polished wooden floors that were covered in soft rugs that were imported from the finest weavers in Thyatis. There was a writing desk with a wooden chair against one wall with multiple drawers that were studded by a big brass knob on each drawer. Leowyn’s bed was in an alcove with an angled skylight with stained glass that softly muted the bright moonlight that came through the room. Memories came back to Leowyn, the Shield Maiden. She had indeed fallen in that rough countryside some leagues from Kelvin, east of the Great Moor and in the rough patch. She had forgotten what she had fought that had left her in that state. Leowyn had only begun to remember her name since she was found nearly dead and brought to safety. The only thing she could clearly recall, now that she had a moment to think, taking a drink from the carafe of fresh water sitting on the nightstand next to her bed, Leowyn recalled being found by a large, bestial shape with soft white fur and large hands that first casted a spell of healing before grabbing her and carrying her with ease to the hole in the ground. Leowyn vaguely recalled hearing a minor hint of disapproval from the homeowner, but a look at Lewoyn’s state had convinced them to let her sleep in the guest room. She had been there for a few days being tended to by an odd assortment of people.

The next morning was breakfast where Leowyn met her first rescuer, the one who objected to using his house in the first place. Templeton Paws, the Harengon. Sitting at his breakfast table in a blue-and-silver bathrobe, Templeton appeared to be a large rabbit, as tall as a halfling, Templeton came up to Leowyn’s waist, a little further past her athletic torso with his ears, but he had the general height and shape of a human child. He was covered in two-toned dark gray and white fur, with a pair of bright green eyes. He was smoking from a pipe when he greeted the shield maiden who was using his guest room.

“Another nightmare?” Templeton asked. Breakfast at his table included bread, fresh fruit, pastries, and no meat. If Leowyn wanted meat, she would have to wait until she got down to Rodda Teegan’s tavern for bacon and ham. All Templeton served were pastries, bread, and fruit. Leowyn appreciated that he also made coffee.

“I’m worried that I shall never shake these feelings of dread,” Leowyn said, “I hope I didn’t wake you last night.”

Templeton waved off her concerns, “The way Onatah tells me, you were near dead when he found you. That entitles you to a few bad nights after having gone through that. Plus I have a thick door, the only thing I’d hear is the chime of the bells at the front door because they ring in my room. You would have either had to pound on my door or start breaking dishes to wake me.” Templeton gestured to the rest of the bread and butter, “Help yourself. I plan to shower before we head to Rodda’s. From there you can get some meat if you’re still hungry, a brew too if you want something stronger than coffee.”

“Where exactly is here?” Leowyn asked. She had a vague idea where she had fallen, but despite having been using Templeton’s guest rooms for several nights, she was still not sure where she had been taken by this Onatah.”

“A village known as Winter Haven, right on the Highreach border between open country and the Barony of Kelvin. The town elders pay homage to the baron in exchange for patrols by the baron’s road wardens who stand against the brigands and the predators in these parts. Onatah claims you would have probably reached the outskirts if you had not been walking in circles several times.”

Leowyn closed her eyes from a sudden spasm that struck her between the eyes. That dreadful daze, where she had tried her hardest to aim towards civilization. Every step had taken effort, and in the end all her efforts would have led her to her doom without sheer chance she had been rescued.

Templeton frowned, “I’m sorry if that triggers something painful.”

“No, I’m grateful for everything you and your friend have done for me,” Leowyn gave a thin smile to reassure her host before finishing another piece of toast, “I think I am ready to meet your friends at this tavern.”

---

Rodda Teegan rolled out of her bed with reluctance, aware that she would need to be ready to help cover the morning shift. She was not the cook that day, although Rodda was highly trained in the art. Until she set out on another job, Rodda was expected to work the counter at the Halfling’s Barrel Tavern located in Winter Haven. She felt relaxed, having spent the night fulfilling the marital exercises with her husband, Vernor Briar. They were married, in the presence of a Halfling Goodmother and everything, but they had kept their own last names at present. Perhaps if Rodda had a child, she might at least consider taking her husband’s name, or at least discuss how they would name their child.

Rodda gently shook and kissed Vernor to wake him, “If you want hot water, you better be in that tub with me.” Some of the houses in Winter Haven had been willing to trust their walls and roofs to Gnomish plumbing, but the Teegan’s apartment located at the back of the Halfling’s Barrel was not one of them. Rodda used a small hearth built into the bathroom to water enough water to fill the iron tub in the middle of the room. Vernor yawned as he walked into the bathroom, casually disrobing, before dancing to a chill that lingered in the room. “We boiling that water or what, Ro?” He asked.

“Should have kept your robe on,” Rodda teased. Her robe was partly open down the middle, but she at least kept her shoulders warmed as she used a rag to safely carry the bucket towards the bath and began filling it with water. It was one of several pails used to fill the tub. “Feel free to climb in and see if it’s hot enough to boil mudcrabs.”

“As cold as it’s been lately, I don’t care if it boils my innards. I would die happy,” Vernor climbed in, squeaking when his sensitive nethers touched the hot water before finally sliding and sighing in contentment. Although the village was known as Winter Haven, it was named after several adventurers who came off the cold mountains and settled the region. Winter Haven was a relative term, namely that it hardly ever snowed in the region, that did not mean it ever got cold. Vernor could feel the cold in his belt, the only thing that put him at ease was hot water and the feeling of Rodda’s bare shoulders pressing against his chest were of great comfort.

“We can’t stay here long, Vern, we got customers for the morning breakfast. Some of which include my compatriots,” Rodda sighed with her eyes closed. The two took turns washing one another. Vernor, ever the gentleman, scrubbed Rodda’s back, paying close attention when she needed him to scrub harder to get that extra spot in the upper reaches of her back, or shift the angles of the rag. She turned and while Vern admired her figure, she scrubbed his chest, shoulders, and stomach before the two ended up kissing and entwining their figures in the veil of steam emitting from the tub.

After… a few minutes… the two had scrubbed, applied a strategic degree of perfume and cologne for the respective gender, dressed in breeches, tunics, socks, buckled boots. Vernor wore a dark green waistcoat over his mustard yellow shirt, giving him that folksy look while working the kitchen. The two co-owned the Halfling’s Barrel with another Halfling named Lazlo Cornfield, who along with his brother Vicker, were seating customers and performing light duty before the married couple took their shift in the tavern. The only Halfling that performed at-large adventuring was Rodda, second only to Vernor who had his chain shirt and sword stashed in a trunk in the apartment. The Cornfield brothers were content to be tavern servers. Rodda would have been content as well, but adventuring did bring back such grand stories, and treasure. When Rodda stepped into the room, she recognized two customers who were sitting in a booth next to the stained glass window. One was Templeton the Harengon, dressed in a two-toned blue and gold coat with a waistcoat and tunic. The other was the human woman that Onatah had found some days ago and brought her back for healing. The only name the woman had given Onatah in a fitful sleep was ‘Leo’ something-or-other.

“Templeton, I see our friend has awoken,” Rodda beamed at Leowyn, who returned the gesture with a thin smile of her own. Leowyn’s skin was pale, and she still sported a bruise above her brow that had become slightly pink thanks to Templeton and Onatah’s efforts to speed up recovery with their knowledge of herbalism.

“She’s eager for bacon,” Templeton said. He had a cup of warm honey mead in front of him to start the day.

“Let me get that,” Rodda said, “Onatah should be here soon and then we can learn more from our friend,” Rodda walked towards the bar. The Halfling’s Barrel would soon open in general to the public. Templeton had let himself in by using a key that had been given to him. Both he and Onatah were adventuring companions with Rodda, saving her life as she had saved theirs. It had given them certain privileges about access to the tavern that both Vernor and Lazlo approved, or at least never questioned.

“Who is this Onatah?” Leowyn asked.

“You don’t recall the white furred minotaur who has been caring for you? He found you in those wildlands and brought you here.”

“I recall something white and red looming over me, soft hands tending to my wounds, but I could not get a clear image,” Leowyn admitted as the door opened once again and heavy footfalls grew louder in her ears as someone drew close.

"Well, behold, your savior,” Templeton said as the tall figure slid in in the booth next to the Harengon and looked over Leowyn with dark gray eyes.

Onatah was not as large as some of his fellow minotaur, but still the shaman easily towered over the Shield Maiden. His fur was snowy white, discolored by the silvery markings that were etched in his skin below the fur in the pattern of runic weave that symbolized his deep connection to the natural world. He wore a habit of dark red, with an insert in his head wrap that accounted for a pair of curved horns that jutted from his head. Onatah looked over Leowyn for a moment and he said, “I am pleased to see you up and about. I found you in the highlands near death while searching for rare herbs.”

Leowyn could hardly contain her surprise that her savior was such an unusual figure. She bowed her head and spoke with earnest appreciation, “I am in your debt sir for saving me.”

“Think nothing of it, you were in peril, and by the looks of things, I sensed you were neither a brigand or a monster. I knew I had to bring you to safety.” Onatah said, “I would like to thank Templeton for his hospitality of using his spare bedroom. It saved me space in my hovel.”

Templeton rubbed his fingers along his jaw and said, “I will be pleased when we can move her to her own house, not that you’ve been a burden.” Templeton held up a finger, “It’s just that, I just received the place from another halfling gentleman and I like my soft lifestyle.”

“I’m afraid I cannot stay here,” Leowyn said, looking between the two. “I need to pay my debts so I can continue on my way to Specularum.” Although recent memory was a blur, she had recalled her ultimate goal that was partly the reason she ended up where she was, dying in a ditch to be rescued by Onatah. Leowyn had left Threshold in order to find her betrothed who had last written to her from the Black Eagle Barony to the south. Her plan was to reach Specularum and then take a ship to the barony in order to find him, despite her lover telling her not to do so. She had to be with him. Her travels had seen her from Threshold, but while on the road, the caravan she was guarding was attacked by goblins and she was left for dead. She was unsure what happened to the caravan, Onatah had only searched the immediate area and reported no sign or destroyed wagons or further dead bodies.

“Who are you people, and how can I help you so that we can be even and I can move on?” Leowyn asked.

Onatah and Templeton shared a look as the chime of the cowbell signalled that local villagers were coming in for breakfast. Winter Haven patrons of the Halfling’s Barrels included human laborers who looked forward to a hearty breakfast, shorter folks such as dwarves, gnomes, and halflings enjoyed the smaller stools at the tavern counter that they could easily sidle up to for the morning brew and eggs before they went about their shifts as leatherworkers, farmers, blacksmiths, masons, tinkers, and jewelcrafters of various talent and skill. The room had risen to a light din.

“Let’s wait until things calm down, then we can bring Rodda in and we can explain just what we are all about,” Templeton said.