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THE ABDUCTION OF LADY ROWENA
INTRODUCTION
It be a slow day for the likes o' hardy and seasoned adventurers, a slow week even, or month for that there matter. Nary be there any need for the services o' a good, sturdy sword arm or that o' the practitioner o' the mystic arts. No job openin's, no call to arms, no nothin'. Huhn! No good ones anyways. There be none at all. Not in the realm o' the Gathered Lands o' the Dancin' Wind Gods most certain-wise. Perhaps in the Countries o' the Wild Myre or in the Spindled City o' Beggared Thieves or in the Roamin' Sands o' the Reptil Dervs or in the Underplains o' the Dark Border, perhaps in these here miserable forsaken places I be a-speakin' of, perhaps there be plunder a-plenty to be had for ain't not the holy man be a-sayin' that there be no restin' for the wicked o' heart?
Indeed, the Gods o' the First have so favored the Gathered Lands and well have they wrought.
So it be no surprise then that even the local chapter o' Helmet Hall o' the humble, isolated village o' Cromby Towne be a-findin' itself playin' host to no less than ten guild members, more than thrice as was its wont. Helmet Hall, ye see, be the name that the famed Mercenary's Guild, created more than three thousand years ago by the great Calvin the Listless himself, has come to be lovingly called by members and patrons for the numerous helmets hangin' on pegs set on the wall o' the main hall. And though the Guild be a-rangin' far and wide, with a multitude o' members, Cromby Towne be a quiet peaceful sort, located as it be in the area long ago cleared for settlin' and whose local guild chapter be a might small with but a daily patronage o' only two, or three or four at most.
Just past the main hall, past the old battered helms o' long retired members, through the cedar door in the far corner, there be the Helmet Hall canteen, aptly called The Wary Gutsack. The Wary Gutsack be humble indeed, as humble as the village that be hostin' it, sportin' as it does but a few, badly nicked, and grease-stained tables and poorly patched up stools.
Now on this here fine, albeit borin', afternoon, there be five o' them patrons o' which I be talkin' about, brave souls all o' them to have so tasted the chef's "Mystery Stew for the Day" and still be a-lingerin' abouts for more. If ye be a-wantin' to know, that there other patrons be wisely retired to the ministrations o' the town 'potechary. Them be the greenest folks I ever did saw and I ain't be no talkin' about lack o' experience, mind yous. Har! Har!
Now this five men, they be a-settled down in that there corner, far from the open window that be stuck and be a-lettin' in a touch too much o' the hot afternoon sun, for a nice quiet game o' the bones and ivory. One stood out from the rest for verily, he be possessed o' ghoulish appearance, his skin bein' dead white o' pallor and stretched tightly over his skull, his icy blue eyes bein' a-bulgin' over a long hawkish nose, which despite its enormous size and length, I be tellin' you truth, did none at all to hide his somewhat crooked smile that showed red-stained, nubby teeth. This man, he be a-wearin' a starched vest o' thick, boiled leather, over which he be a-havin' on an old faded robe that be slit on both sides revealin' his knobby knees. He be Owidd o' the Third, a travellin' priest o' the mighty if somewhat ignored Oa, Lord o' Justice and Gravediggers, as the symbol, a footman's pick crossed with a shovel, he be a-wearin' abouts his scrawny neck, be attestin' to.
To Owidd's right be a-seated one Gie Waredus, a tall handsome feller of non-distinct age, with dark blond hair and rather brownish eyes. Nothin' more could be said about this here simple chap 'cept possibly for his taste in clothin', farm clothes o' all thin's, not at all one be expectin' from a man o' his profession. He be possessed of nondescript appearance, he be, so much so that he might be accostin' yous in the middle of the streets, in broad daylight no less, and ye'd still be pressed hard-like to be a-pickin' him out o' a crowd. Aye, that he be. Nondescript.
To Owidd's left them, just be opposite o' Gie, that one rollin' that there set o' dice, be a feller o' the mystical profession, unlikely looking he may be. He be small and skinny, white-haired, and whereas other mages, be they lowly apprentices or might masters o' the craft, be they a-failin' in health or stronger than oxen, be exudin' an air o' mighty power, this man be possessed o' a feeble, sickly aura and appearance. His skin be flushed and white, though not as pale as Owidd's, and he be a-lookin' like any stiff wind could blow him over. He be a-wearin' drab green robes and a drab green pointed hat and be appearin' as if he be possessed o' a limp for the way he keep a-leanin' on that there staff for support, seated firmly though he be. This one, he be called Morganth.
The remainin' two men be o' elven stock. The black-garbed, glum-lookin' one with the blond streak across his dark hair be Ergo Ironfist, the other Riverwood. He be a strange one, that Ironfist. He be a-havin' a dark cruel glint in his emerald-hued eyes, not often seen in the children of the Fae, whose blood be thick and hot with the sprites o' mirth and mischief. His left hand be missin'. Aye, gone it be, gone as the fabled treasure o' the Sea King, used as it was to bait the Devourer and trap it in the Wild Myre. In its place, Ironfist be a-havin' a cruel lookin' iron ball simply bristlin' with spikes, an iron ball abouts the size o' a grapefruit. Feh! I be a-likin' that. A grapefruit o' death.
Aye, Ironfist be aptly named.
Riverwood, on the other, be the exact opposite o' Ironfist. He be a perfect example o' his kind, high-spirited and full o' laughter, as evinced by the numerous laugh lines abouts his dark eyes. And though he be young yet, he be possessed o' an air o' wild energy, tempered with a purpose that be a-puttin' many a clergyman to shame.
The game o' bones and ivory be progressin' well and good when all o' the sudden, the chef be a-trompin' in, his lard-filled body a-quiverin' like so much jelly.
"Hey!" he calls to them. "Have you heard? The Lady Rowena has been kidnapped! You do not believe me? Go to the board and see for yourselves!
"The gods have mercy on us all! Who would ever think to harm such a dear and gentle woman?"
Shakin' his ample-sized head and without waitin' for an answer, he turns about and shuffles back into the kitchen.
The five be shocked to be sure. Aye, and rightly so for the Lady Rowena, she be the darlin' o' the Gathered Lands. Oh, she be pretty and all that, though rather boyish for me tastes, if ye be askin' me opinion, but she be no Letisha o' the Flutterin' Eyes and if ye be knowin' what I be getting' at. Nor be she possessed of angelic voice or heavenly charisma. While she be a good woman o' great virtue, grace, and feminine kindness, she beloved so by virtue o' her birth that she be the one destined to save the world, once and for all, from the scourge that be the Devourer, as foretold by the great Calvin the Listless with his last dyin' breath.
O' course, all this may very well be cow dung under the seething sun and the Lady Rowena be but a normal woman, Fate-wise, beloved simply for that there fact that she be the chosen bride o' Ni-Lord Heirom, hero o' the Battle o' the Shriekin' Wall and one o' the wealthiest men in the realm. No doubt that on her weddin' day, she will done be the most powerful woman in all o' the Gathered Lands and all the nobles and officials best be a-showin' her respect and affection if they what be good for them.
Ah, who could say? But I, for one, be preferin' the former fer the Dire Devourer be a scourge indeed. The gods, themselves, be witless and powerless to slay that there wicked beastie for all their vaunted power.
The men, then, be a-rushin' out and into the streets and, true enough, there in the village square, two soldiers be a-hammerin' away at the Cromby Towne message board and done be postin' their dismayin' announcement:
Oyez! Oyez!
Know ye that the Lady Rowena, the only daughter of Lord Byron's brother, the Honorable Severin, has been abducted! Lady Rowena was last seen entering the Hallowed Grove of Ferdon the Blind to pray and cleanse herself in the Shrine of the Five and make ready and worthy herself for her coming marriage with Ni-Lord Heirom.
Anyone whe can provide any information on Lady Rowena's whereabouts will well compensated by Lord Byron himself.
Also, a reward of 1,000 Gold Crowns for the actual rescue of Lady Rowena has been posted by her aggrieved father, the Honorable Severin.
Oyez! Oyez!
A thousand Gold Crowns! And more to come at that! Har! Now that be a reward indeed after to me own heart. To be sure, the five be tempted indeed. Here be money and high adventure that ever did wait for their presence. The time for lethargy be over at last! They would have to act fast though, for most assuredly, that self same announcement be posted all over the realm by now, the Western Townes most of all, and all the other mercenaries and seekers of fortune be bound to get in on the action.
Aye, and act fast they did, that be fer sure. Nary a moment be wasted and spent in dodderin' and come the followin' mornin', they be well on their way.
