About a mile behind Thistle, Grumph, Gabrielle, and Eric, another foursome of adventurers traipsed along the road to Solium. These were far less reserved in their discussion as they rode the worn and weary horses that had been stolen from a peaceful city to the south. In fact, their voices were the loudest things audible halfway to the horizon. The other travelers gave them a wide berth; adventurers in bad moods often led to sacked caravans or beaten townsfolk.
“I can’t believe we had to run from the stupid guards,” Mitchzelin complained, kicking his horse for no reason other than to feel the impact of his heel on flesh. “We lost half our traveling gear from that crap.” He was adorned in armor made from bear and wolf hide, a single-bladed axe strapped to his back. First game be damned, he was going to play a barbarian.
“We stole from their town,” Timuscor reminded him. “Which we didn’t need to do. They only wanted a little bit of gold to trade, and we had more than enough after the ogre camp.”
“Why would we buy what we could take?” Terriora asked. If there were ever a motto for rogues, that would have been a quite viable candidate. “Besides, you shouldn’t care if we stole: you’re a knight now. That’s why we didn’t let you re-roll a pally.”
“I can still try to be good.” Timuscor’s defense was half-hearted at best; he’d grown weary of protesting the others’ actions. It was easier just to let them do things their way. That was why he’d been a knight, instead of a paladin, this time: knights weren’t obliged to speak up against moral injustices. Even when they really wanted to.
“At least I got to smoke a few of them with a fireblast,” Glennvint said, gleefully reminiscing about the innocent guard’s incineration.
“That was smart,” Mitchzelin told him. “Last thing we need is them sending a rider ahead to get us in trouble with Solium. That’s something Russell would totally do just to be a jerk.” His acidic emphasis on Russell’s name left no doubt of his sentiment toward the young man.
“That seems less jerky than it does us reaping the consequences of our actions,” Timuscor pointed out.
“Kissass,” Terriora mumbled, very much over his breath.
“Shut up. Look, do we even have a plan for when we get to Solium? We aren’t exactly invited guests anymore,” Timuscor said.
“This is the one time where Russell’s emphasis on realism comes in handy,” Mitchzelin said. “The missive our last group had still exists; the king is still expecting someone to show up. All we have to do is present ourselves and say we lost the scroll. No big deal.”
“But what if he’s already discovered our characters are dead? Or found someone else to do the job?” Timuscor asked.
“How would he already know about us dying in some shithole tavern half a kingdom away? That would be stupid. But yeah, he might have hired someone else to do the job; that seems like the kind of bullshit Russell would pull on us. Even that problem is easily solvable, though.”
“How do you figure?” Terriora asked.
“Simple; we just find them, and work out a nice little compromise with diplomacy. Well, Glennvint’s style of diplomacy, anyway.” Mitchzelin let out a laugh at his own wit, one that was quickly echoed by Terriora and Glennvint as the meaning of his words sunk in. Timuscor tried to muster up a small chuckle, but it was pretty pathetic.
The other travelers, already a distance away from the adventurers, moved a bit further still.
The castle of Solium, home to King Liadon and central capitol of the kingdom, was an impressive sight to behold. Like the city itself, the castle was ringed in an outer stone wall with only a single set of gates to enter through. Along the walls stood a variety of soldiers with bows, staffs, and swords, clearly braced for any sort of threat that might present itself. The grounds leading up to the wall were covered in grass — the first bit of it Eric and the others had seen since entering the city — with only a single road leading up to the gates. Despite the lush greenery, not one person set foot on the grass surrounding the walls. Given the number of soldiers lining the road to the gates, it seemed a fair bet that walking on the grass was taboo, and earned a swift enough punishment to discourage even the most daring.
The four adventurers led their horses carefully along, taking their places in a line that ran down the road and up to the castle’s wall gate. It seemed today was a popular day to visit the castle, or perhaps this was the routine and they had mismanaged their expectations. As they waited, Eric took note of the exchanges at the gate. It seemed a guard would interview one person in the group, that person would either talk or display a document, and then the guard would open the gates.
That pattern held until the fourth group, when the guard snatched the paper away, tore it in half, and beat the traveler across the shoulder with his polearm. The group was sent hurrying back up the road, past the other waiting travelers, and heading in the direction of Solium’s gate.
“What do you think that was about?” Eric asked.
“Probably a forgery,” Thistle said. “I’d wager the guards are checking for people that are known, expected, or have scrolls that authorize them to enter the castle. That fellow was likely trying to get in with fake papers.”
“All that just to enter? Seems excessive,” Gabrielle said.
“Perhaps, but it is the capitol of an entire kingdom. And it’s not like there aren’t ample folks with reason to sneak through the gates. Plenty of money to be made and havoc to be wreaked inside a castle, after all.”
“Has it occurred to anyone else that we have no clue about the authenticity of the scroll in our possession?” Eric asked.
The group fell into a moment of dumbstruck silence before a snort of laughter from Grumph broke the spell.
“That would be funny,” Gabrielle said.
“Aye, if we’d done all this and it turns out we’re dealing with a forgery, that would be quite a surprise. A nice one, though, since it would mean our job was done.”
“It would mean our job never needed doing,” Gabrielle corrected. “And that we just wasted weeks of our lives.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. If nothing else, we got some nifty new equipment out of the bargain,” Thistle reminded her. “That has to be us coming out ahead.”
“Grumph burned down his bar,” Eric reminded him.
A small frown ran along Thistle’s shrunken face. “Aye, that part slipped my mind. Well then, I suppose we’re back to hoping the scroll in my pack is the genuine article.”
“From the looks of things, we’ll find out in about three groups,” Eric said, gesturing to the clusters of people ahead of them.
“Do we have a plan if it is a fake?” Gabrielle asked.
“As in, where do we go from here? I don’t think so,” Thistle said.
“No, as in, how do we get out of town without the guards trying to beat us?” Gabrielle clarified.
“Oh, that.” Thistle paused for a moment and mulled over the idea. “I suppose ‘run like hell and meet outside the gates’ seems as viable a plan as we’re going to get.”
“Good plan,” Grumph complimented.
King Liadon sat in his throne room, watching through the window as the procession of travelers made their way past the castle gates. He wasn’t perched on the actual throne; that thing was far too uncomfortable. High-backed, forged from gold, and adorned with jewels in every conceivable nook or cranny, the throne had been fashioned with the intent of impressing all who laid eyes upon it, not providing lumbar support to the man who rested his ass upon it. Instead, he was seated on a small stool with a round, red cushion atop. Among the throne room’s flowing, silk tapestries, white marble walls and floors, and golden trim, it stuck out like… well, like a stool in a throne room. It was comfortable, though, so the king kept it tucked away nearby when there were visitors and pulled it out when he was alone and in need of a seat.