Installment 003 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment003.png]
There was no knocker attached to the door, so Al applied his knuckles smartly to it. They made a very small sound against the very large door. Al frowned and tried again harder, making a slightly less small sound. Al was wondering if he should try using his mace to knock when there was the sound of a latch being lifted from the other side of the door, and it swung open slowly. The woman who pulled it open was tall for an elf, with long slightly greenish flaxen hair and emerald-colored eyes. She wore tall leather boots and breeches and a simple white tabard with the symbol of Custodella, goddess of mercy and defender of the oppressed, embroidered on it in black thread. A long sword was sheathed and hanging from her belt.
She examined the two visitors at her door, then looked out past them.
"I don't see a cart full of provisions," she said, "so I assume you're not here with the weekly delivery."
"Uh, no. I'm Al, this is Bote, we saw the notice on the board at the Pickled Swine, and my companions insisted that we could benefit from having an additional warrior with us on our upcoming travels, and here we are."
"Companions?" she looked at Bote. "How many of you are there behind that beard?" she asked with a hint of amusement.
"I can be many, but at the same time, as I keep trying to explain to Al here, there is ever and only the Bote to whom you are speaking." answered Bote, pointing to his eye, nose, ear, then mouth in the usual manner of a devotee of Indicina. "However, there is a third member of our group. She had to do something but she will be along later. She said she would knock when she got here."
"I see."
The elvish woman bowed slightly, cupping her hands together before her in the manner of her own order. "I am Malagriel, paladin of Custodella. So, you, Bote, are the representative of the divine and you", she turned to Al, "are the wizard. I gather we're waiting for your current warrior?" She squinted slightly as she said this - Al wasn't sure if she was teasing him purposefully or not.
"I am our current warrior. I was in the army, you know. I mean, yes, I know some wizardry, it was helpful for a variety of military tasks. I've got armor and everything I just wear the robes because..." He stopped himself from rambling any further. My mom made me wear them wasn't really something he wanted to say out loud. "Well, it's kind of expected, I guess. Anyway, Wikwocket is our expert in performance, subtlety, and discretion."
"Ah, your thief."
"I think that's unfair, I don't think she's ever actually stolen anything from its rightful owner."
"'Rogue', then. We made do without someone dedicated to the role in our own endeavors but I must admit we occasionally regretted it. Well, do come in, we can talk in the parlor while we wait for your associate to arrive."
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From her perch in the shadow of the chimney, Wikwocket couldn't clearly hear what was said, but she could tell when the conversation moved inside and heard the door thump shut. Grinning, she stepped up onto the chimney and set the hook at the end of her rope over the lip of it. She tugged a few times to make sure it would hold, then she began lowering herself carefully down it. She found herself dangling over a large fireplace. She hung upside down to look out into the room it was attached to. None of the candles were lit, but the curtained windows let in enough sunlight to see that it was large, and seemed to be dedicated to display of the owners' collection of adventuring souvenirs.
One wall appeared to be covered with wide variety of weaponry, interspersed with propped up pieces of armor. Tapestries, paintings, and small sculptures from wildly different origins were scattered about. A large bookshelf took up much of a wall and had codices, scrolls, and a few stacks of loose documents along with a few slabs of engraved stone or clay. There was even a corner inhabited by the skins, furs, hides, reconstructed skeletons, and whole taxidermized bodies of strange, dangerous-looking creatures.
Wikwocket lowered herself further, then swung until she could leap out to the edge of the hearth, avoiding the ashes in the fireplace. She landed almost silently, and froze, listening carefully for any reaction. Hearing none, she relaxed, and quietly made her way around the room examining its contents. Many of the objects had small squares of parchment with them, occasionally clearly indicating where they came from, others bearing cryptic comments apparently referring to some inside joke shared by its owners.
Unfortunately for Wikwocket, she was too engrossed in a display of sparkling exotic jewelry to notice the dim daylight from the windows reflecting amber from a pair of staring eyes belonging to what she had assumed was a large, mangy taxidermy specimen. It rose slowly, then stalked forward with the quiet swiftness of an experienced predator. The slight motion of the air alerted her too late.
As she turned to face the sudden danger, one limb shot out and grasped her by the head, short claws digging into the skin around her scalp. The creature pulled her in close, and her small gnomish body was unable to put up any resistance to its strength.
With the unpleasant clarity of someone facing imminent death, she considered her options - go for her rapier, and hope she might get a stab or two in before the thing ripped her apart? Play dead and hope it let go of her long enough to make a run for it before it devoured her? Yell for help and hope it would arrive in time?
The creature's muzzle stretched into a feral grin, showing rows of jagged bone-crushing, flesh-rending teeth, just inches from her face.
The creature's other gnarled hand came up, raising one stubby-clawed finger between her and its jaws.
"Shhhhhhhhh."