Installment 004 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment004.png]

Malagriel ushered Al and Bote inside, then pushed the front door closed again.

The parlor turned out to be a moderately large square room, undecorated aside from a large four-part candelabra in the center - each candle engulfed entirely in a flame large enough to come from a full-sized torch, though their wicks remained unburned. No smoke rose from them, nor was the wax melting, but they lit the room well. There was also a collection of comfortably padded chairs and couches scattered haphazardly about the room. Each wall had a single door, including the one they entered through.

"Please make yourselves comfortable, the others will want to meet you as well." Malagriel said, waving towards the array of furniture. Bote chose an armchair near the flames, which they proceeded to stare into. Al settled onto a comfortable-looking couch.

Malagriel nodded to them. "I'll be right back." Then she left through the opposite door, closing it quietly behind her.

As soon as the door had shut, Al leapt back to his feet. Looking slightly embarrassed, he traced mystic symbols in the air with his fingers, muttering a short incantation. Then, he walked quickly around the room, giving every feature a close look.

"I'm a little surprised", he said, "it doesn't appear there are any wards on the doors, no dormant or active magical influences. Nothing at all aside from their fancy lighting." He looked again at the candles, engulfed in their unnatural flames. "I think I've read about this. It's still a little over my head, but it's a well-documented spell. It's a bit expensive though, there's an alchemical effect involved and the cost of the ingredients for all four of these would probably keep someone fed and out of the weather for a year."

"That's good, if there are no supernatural influences observing us, that means they are also not watching you snoop around their parlor either. Well, not magically, anyway." Bote replied, still staring meditatively at the flickering flames.

"Ah. Yes. Well, I wouldn't think they'd be offended if their guests admired the room they'd been invited to, right?" Al quickly went back to his couch and sat back down. He fidgeted.

"So...what kind of person do you think this 'junior warrior' might be?", he finally asked.

"The future still has secrets. We can assume that a paladin of Custodella would not associate with anyone who is greedy or cruel, I think." Bote answered, turning away from the flames to face Al.

"Why would they need us to be 'open-minded' then?"

"Perhaps they have some sort of unfortunate ancestry. Grandfather was an orc, or even demonic, that sort of thing?"

"I don't know, that's a lot more common than you'd think. I fought alongside a Sergeant Prudence in the army...well, okay, I sharpened swords for her. She was like that, though, she had the whole horns-and-tail thing, but she was just another soldier really, other than always ending up on night-watch duty because of her eyesight." Al scratched his chin, thinking. "Hmmm, they wouldn't perhaps be some sort of undead thing, would they? I don't know of any way any decent person could forcibly drag the spirits of the dead back to walk the living world, but the unfortunate soul victimized that way doesn't themself need to be malicious from what I've read."

"Custodella and her followers consider the undead to be victims of a sort of curse or disease to be cured. I don't think they'd be adventuring with the undead, and certainly not sending them out into the world on their own."

They continued speculating for a while, but had to finally admit they had no way to guess.

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"Maybe they're just ugly." considered Al.

Their conversation was interrupted by a single startling loud thump as if from a battering ram, from the door they'd come in through. Its latch lifted itself, and the door was pushed open. Through the opening squeezed a thin, frail-looking, middle-aged woman, human to all appearances. She had long greying blonde hair and blue eyes, and she wore expensive-looking gold-colored wizard's robes, trimmed in blue. A matching traditional wide-brimmed pointed hat was on her head. Atop the hat, a magpie was perched. With obvious effort, she pushed the door closed again.

"Codex told me we had a guest." she said. Her voice was quiet and delicate, but confident. She looked Al and Bote over, then took off her hat. She held it in front of her so that her eyes were level with the magpie perched atop it. "A guest?" she asked it. It chirped and warbled at her in response.

"I see." she said, and replaced the hat on her head, giving Al and Bote a suspicious look. The bird hopped slightly to remain facing forward. "I'm Melissa. And you are?..."

Al stood and gave a small, polite bow. "I'm Al, this is Bote. We're here to ask about your notice at the Pickled Swine. Say, was that your illusion at the gate?"

Melissa's face brightened. "Yes, it is. Did you like it?"

"It was horrifying," Al answered approvingly. "Someone you know?"

"An associate of a curious little old wizard I'm acquainted with. I don't know the precise nature of his arrangement with the demon, but I expect it's something dangerous. You know how foolhardy gnomish folk can be."

"Uh...heh heh...yeah." Al laughed nervously.

He was saved just then by the reopening of the door Malagriel had left through. The man who entered through it looked more like a farmer than an adventurer. He might charitably have been described as "stout" - or uncharitably as "pudgy." He was short by human standards, and wore a one-piece garment of thick, plain cloth that covered his legs and body, reinforced at the knees with sewn-on patches of leather. This was worn over a plain shirt that was similarly patched at the elbows. His calloused right hand held a simple shepherd's crook. His gentle smile and soft brown eyes suggested a man living a contented life. He took off the straw hat he was wearing, revealing brown hair with a bald patch on top. Malagriel followed him in and introduced him.

"This is Bob, devoted servant of Pecus" she said. The god of herds and flocks was popular among rural folks for obvious reasons. "Ah, Melissa, I see you're already here. I've informed Grakthor, so he should be along as well shortly. Your companion hasn't arrived yet?"

"Uh, no, no, not yet, but she won't be far behind us." Al replied, suppressing his nervousness.

"I'm sure we'll be meeting her very soon." agreed Melissa. Al was beginning to sweat a bit.

"I hope so, " replied Malagriel, "I've asked the cook to get an early supper prepared. We should have our junior member meet his prospective new party and discuss matters over a meal."

"I hope you like cheese," Bob chimed in, "we get quite a lot of it from our goats and sheep."

Then, one of the side doors opened, and a large fellow marched solemnly in. For just an instant, Al was both hopeful and envious, as the newcomer had the look of a natural warrior. He was very muscular, with greyish skin and visible tusks indicating orcish ancestry. Al could understand why the notice called for open-mindedness, orcish culture and people weren't well-regarded, in general. This newcomer looked like someone who would be very capable in battle, but therefore someone who would likely outshine Al there. He wore rough leather boots and dark-grey pantaloons and a shirt made of a coarse, tough-looking cloth. He held the end of a rope in his right hand as he proceeded into the room.

"Ah, Grakthor, these..." Malagriel began, but stopped suddenly, looking at whatever was beyond the door. Her face fell, and Al heard her quietly say: "Oh, no." Bob was also looking, eyes wide. He clamped his hand firmly over his mouth. Staring straight ahead, Grakthor continued into the room and Al froze as he saw what was at the other end of the rope.

It was some sort of large, bestial thing on all fours. The other end of the rope was tucked into its collar. Its appearance stirred some memories of something Al had once read about, but he was unable to consider or examine any further than this as his attention was fully fixed on the thing's jaws.

The jaws which carried the limp body of Wikwocket by the back of her neck.