This sure is a nice place this fancy wizard bloke’s got here. Hocknar’s not the nicest place in the world at the best of times, ‘specially for a lad from Untermer, and since we’re heading headlong into the winter now it’s gonna get a good deal more unpleasant pretty soon, but this is proper cosy. There’s a fire burning in a hearth in the middle of the wall off to the side though I’ll be damned if there’s a chimney in here to take away the smoke, but it’s nice and warm all the same. I sink real deep down into the big leather chair and it’s all I can do to keep myself from curling up into a ball, reckon putting my feet up on the upholstery’s probably not the most polite thing to do right now. Looking to my right I see Krakka in another one of these big deep armchairs, and he looks almost lost in it, his spindly corvid feet just dangling out in the air the way he’s sitting. It’s all I can do not to laugh out loud at that.

We’ve laid our weapons down on the floor beside our chairs, but it’s not from any request to disarm ourselves, just in deference to these soft, slightly squeaky cushions. I’d feel proper naked if I hadn’t drawn the line at all my knives, still secure in their various scabbards and holsters all over me. So many even I’m hard pressed to remember ‘em all sometimes.

This fellow Clearwood’s an odd one too. He’s got a fancy way of talking, a lot like Gael so I’m not surprised thinking they clearly came from the same general place, but given what I know of them he’s still a total conundrum. I think I like him, but I can’t be sure. Maybe he’s just a little too smooth, maybe that’s what it is.

Still, can’t fault him on his choice of beverages, smelling that tea as he brings it over. “Four lumps, as requested, Master … I’m sorry, would it be Master Shadows? Master of the Shadows, perhaps. I’m sorry to admit I’ve not had many dealings with bakaneko before.”

“Oh no, just Art’s fine, guv.” I take the proffered cup and saucer from him in my paws with due care, instantly nervous realising this is some bloody fine porcelain this tea’s in. “Never had any use for ceremony, myself.”

“Master Art.” Clearwood beams that incredible smile of his again. “Excellent. Enjoy.”

As he walks back to the end-table supporting one of the most extravagant tea-and-coffee making set-ups I’ve ever seen, conveniently short enough to accommodate his halfling dimensions, I give the cup a good whiff. The nose-full of exotic southern scents is enough to set my head spinning a little, quite miraculous really. I let out a little whimper at the quality, I just can’t help it.

“How is it?” Kesla asks, sat to my left at the near end of a couch massive enough to seat four with room to spare, giving her own cup a good stir with one of the fiddliest silver teaspoons I’ve ever seen. It takes me a moment to realise there’s one on my saucer too.

“Bloody incredible.” I blow across the surface of the tea, then after a moment the scent wafts back over me again. Thankfully I don’t drop it. I give it a little stir and try not to clatter about too much as I lift the cup in my paw, blowing again. I take a sip, and my mind nearly explodes. “Oh my gods …”

“That good, eh?” Kesla smiles, finally lifting her own cup to her lips. After a sip her eyelids flicker a touch, and she breathes: “Thorin … you’re right, this is incredible.”

“Master Krakka.” Clearwood passes out another cup and saucer and our cleric looks down at it, something of a frown forming across his face as he realises that the way he’s sat means he’s stuck with it until he’s finished. I swear I can smell subtly burning feathers as he tries to work out what to do.

“Mistress Toll, I’m most pleased to meet you.” Clearwood passes another cup and saucer to Yeslee, perched carefully on the couch beside Kesla, clearly unsure how to conduct herself in these refined surroundings. I don’t blame her, this is way too fancy for the likes of us. “I so seldom get to interact with a former citizen of Tektehr without all the baggage of the Occupation coming between us.”

Yeslee’s brows arch, a little taken aback. “Well no, sir, I mean it would never … I never really had any use for the Empire myself anyway, so …”

“Of course not. You are of the Wild, and so are free from all that messy political complication. I envy you that. But still, Rundao is a very different place from your homeland, even here in the Northern Reaches. You must miss it.”

“Sometimes, yes. But the Reaches are not so different from home really. Our forests are colder and the days are shorter, but otherwise it’s been much the same for me here. In the wild here about all I really notice is that the game tends to be fatter.” She blows on her tea and chances a sip, and her resulting frown is deep.

“How is it?” Clearwood asks after a moment.

She seems to think about it for a time, still frowning. “Different. I cannot place any of the flavours. This is like no tea I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s from Abharet. Buzúl leaf, very strong. They grow it at high altitude, that’s why it’s so potent.” He heads back to the pot. “It’s all I drink, to be honest.”

“It’s fantastic.” I remark before taking another sip. I could totally get used to this.

“Thank you. Only the best for my guests, but then if I were to allow myself to brag I have always had exceptional taste.” He returns with two more cups, retaining one for himself while passing the other to Gael, sat on Yeslee’s other side. “Master Foxtail.”

“Master Clearwood.” They nod in return, smiling with genuine fondness. They’re so very comfortable here, in this company and these surroundings, and I guess this is an interesting insight into what it must’ve been like for them back in this Academy I’ve heard them talking about. They said they lived in Bavat their whole life before graduating and heading out into the world. Given this little taste of the high life in the Order I reckon it must’ve been real hard for them to leave.

There’s a minute or two of pleasant silence as we ruminate, Clearwood simply perching on the edge of the cushion of the remaining armchair as he stirs his own tea, still smiling a particularly enigmatic smile. The others contemplate their own cups, even Krakka beginning to tentatively work out the complicated minutiae of drinking such fancy tea with a long beak, still frowning away, and I’m just happy indulging on the heady mixture of wonderful smells it’s introducing me to. Yeslee’s probably getting as much out of it as I am being fir bolg, but given what I know about humans and half-elves and halflings I can’t begin to wonder how dull and stimulus-poor this world must be for creatures with such a weak sense of smell.

After enjoying another contemplative mouthful, Kesla takes a deep breath and breaks the silence, as I knew she would sooner or later. We’re here for business, after all. “So, Master Clearwood. This is all very nice, but we had something to discuss.”

“Indeed.” He nods and clears his throat, straightening up and reaching over to gently rest the cup and saucer on the arm of his chair. Out of the corner of my eye I swear I see Krakka bristle a touch once he realises the implications of that. “Business, of course. You’re right.”

He walks around the desk then, and it’s quite the journey – if it took that tall dragonborn a while to make that trip it’s surely doubly confounding for a halfling. After a few moments I hear some small commotion, seeing nothing as he must be rummaging through drawers on the far side, and there’s some muttering as he searches, then one last closing of something or other and footsteps again. Clearwood re-emerges toting what looks like a decidedly substantial satchel in both hands, and it must be heavily laden the way he’s hobbling, while the metallic clinking from within leaves no doubt to its contents. I can’t take my eyes off that bag now.

When he reaches her and holds the bag out, Kesla thinks for a moment before taking one last sip of tea – I really can’t blame her for that – and sets it down on the floor beside her sword and axes. Clearwood gives a clear, appreciative grunt as she takes the satchel from him, and Kesla gives one of her own once she’s taken the weight, frowning a touch as she hefts it up to lay across her knees. Freeing the buckles, she flips the flap open and peers inside, and her frown grows, reaching in after a moment and rummaging with another clear clinking that can only mean one thing. “Um … Master Clearwood, I … I really don’t understand. This is way more than—”

“Yes, I know. Master Foxtail of course brought you in for a simple morning’s work, merely escorting our cargo and its protectors to this warehouse and perhaps shedding some blood if it became necessary. Five hundred gold coins was the agreed upon price, and extremely generous for so little time and modest risk.”

Kesla pulls her hand out and the two pieces she’s holding between her fingers don’t shine like gold. It’s a more subtle glimmer, but also a good deal richer if you know what you’re looking at. Platinum. Bloody hell. “This is –”

“Five hundred platinum coins.” Clearwood nods. “Master Saxiros may be ineffectual at planning matters of life and death but he is an astounding accountant. The count will be fiendishly accurate.” He sighs as he heads back to his chair, picking the tea up again and finally taking a sip. The smile he gives this time is probably the most honest I’ve seen him make so far. I mark it the best I can as an indicator for later. “A down-payment, in part for services rendered, but also the first half of your ultimate fee for the job I’m offering.”

“Half?” Kesla’s brows arch and her fingers grow limp as I hear the money clatter back into the bag. I’ll admit I feel my own fur bristling a touch at that idea. “Half the money for what?”

Clearwood sighs, and the look he gives her now seems perfectly honest. To my eye it’s either an absolutely perfect performance or he’s finally being genuinely sincere. I’m not sure which one makes me more uncomfortable, once I think about it. “Let me be frank, Mistress Shoon. You’ve seen what a mess my colleague almost made, and the transport of this artifact is truly vital to our Order, and more. I need you to safeguard it. I need the Creeping Bam.”

The silence that follows is heavily laden with anticipation. Kesla looks down into the satchel again and I can feel the others watching her, expectant as I am, but each seemingly driven by their own conflicting emotions. Krakka seems as intrigued by the possibilities – and perhaps the money – as I am, but Yeslee’s more cautious, the frown she’s been wearing since we came in only seeming to grow deeper, while Gael just looks nervous, their eyes flickering around each of us while they nibble their lip. Finally Kesla looks closes the flap again and, patient as if she’s putting on her armour, refastens the buckles. “Alright, I’ll bite. How come you can’t just zap it back to Bavat yourself? It’s headed for the Citadel, right? That’s where you guys keep all that heavyweight stuff you been collecting over the years. Reckon this must be something like that, otherwise you wouldn’t be getting in such a massive twist about it.”

Gael’s eyes flicker to Clearwood then, becoming thoughtful. “This is some serious magic, isn’t it? Like world-changing magic. You can’t risk using a teleportation circle because you’re worried something really awful might happen.”

“It is.” Clearwood lets out another sigh and hobbles over to his chair, pausing for a moment to set his own tea down on the floor to the side before he boosts himself up onto the cushion. He’s shorter than Krakka, so his feet dangle far indeed off the floor. “You have a bag of holding in your possession, I take it? No mercenary party worth their salt travels without one.”

“I have one.” Yeslee nods. She’s the perfect choice to carry our spare gear – nobody could ever lift so much as a stray hair from our ranger without her noticing, all they’d get away with is a broken hand for their troubles.

“Of course. I take it when you acquired it you were warned of the dangers of certain magics being placed or activated inside it.” He nods when Yeslee does. “It’s a similar principle. There’s no real inherent danger in trying to transport this item via a teleportation circle or a portal spell, but this is some very potent magic indeed, and we simply don’t know enough about it. It’s not worth the risk. So we must go about this the old fashioned way.”

“And after that little fracas out front, it’s clear why you’re offering such a hefty sum for such an endeavour.” Kesla sets the bag down on the floor in front of her. “That ain’t the last we’re gonna see of those people, is it?”

“Probably not. I have certain talents that make me particularly invaluable to the Order, I can see things before they happen. Not always, but often enough to greatly aid myself and the Order’s enterprises. I saw this coming, which is why I contacted you in the first place. Master Saxiros would not heed my advice, so I needed a back-up.”

“No chance you could tell us who’s actually after this volatile little package of yours, is there?”

“Unfortunately not. My divination skills have not yet revealed that little detail. I do, however, know that whoever they are, they have acquired the services of Min the Reckless to acquire it for them.”

This time the silence is a whole bunch more uncomfortable. I get that cold crawling feeling again myself. That’s not good news at all. “The bandit queen? Scourge of the Northern Reaches, mistress of a thousand cutthroats, all sworn to die for her an’ stuff like that? That Min the Reckless?”

“It would certainly appear that way. Given the enthusiasm with which they attacked you today I would assume they’re particularly motivated to succeed.”

“Whoever hired them must be pretty powerful in their own right.” Gael adds. They seem to have gotten over their discomfort now we’ve gotten down to business, and they’re in their element again. “That trick their wizard pulled to bring those reinforcements here, that strange stone, I’ve never seen anything like that before. It seemed to work like a port stone, but I’ve never heard of anything like that being able to transport more than three living individuals. To be able to summon a large force like that without a teleportation circle, that’s … impossible.”

Clearwood nods. “No-one should even have known that we were moving the item in the first place. We played that very close to our chests. That speaks of very great power indeed at their disposal.”

“Either that, or you got yourselves a mole.” I interject, voicing an idea I would’ve thought was obvious. The look he gives me is a cold, calculating one, but there doesn’t seem to be any dislike in it.

“That thought had occurred to me, although I don’t consider it at all likely. The only ones who really knew anything about this in the first place are above reproach.”

“Not even your scaly mate downstairs?”

His frown deepens. “Taphun Saxiros is an idiot, and so weak-willed I’d be surprised to find he had anything even vaguely resembling a spine, but he’s honest in an almost irritating way. I couldn’t credit him with something so complex as treachery.”

“Which means this is something else, something we can’t predict.” Kesla’s frowning too. “That ain’t a comforting thought.”

“It’s a shitshow, that’s what it is.” Krakka rasps. Blunt, maybe, but to the point.

“And I take it you can’t tell us exactly what’s in the box in the first place got ‘em so worked up, right?” Kesla fixes Clearwood with one of her coldest looks. It’s one I know well, one she usually reserves for me whenever she asks if I got anything in my pockets I shouldn’t have. Scary how well it works. “Even though it’d be proper helpful for us working out exactly what we’d be getting into in the first place.”

To his credit, Clearwood doesn’t even blink when faced with that look. He’s got strong nerves, this one. “I’m afraid not, Mistress Shoon. I’m not at liberty.”

She looks him over again, then looks down at the bag filled with more way cash than we’ve ever been paid for a job before, and we’ve taken down some seriously nasty shit. And it’s only half what we’re being offered. I would’ve said yes the moment that landed in my lap, but that’s just me – Kesla’s got a proper brain in her head, she can usually tell when something’s a genuine windfall and when it’s the proverbial gift-horse and we really should check its teeth first. Finally she takes a deep breath, lets it go slowly, and looks around at us all, one at a time. “Alright, what d’you lot reckon?”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds great.” I can’t help it, I’m gonna be honest when she asks me.

“I’m with you, boss. Like always.” Krakka gives her a his subtle smile, and her own expression softens in response.

“So am I.” Yeslee still looks far more doubtful than she sounds, but then she’s never been one for great enthusiasm since I’ve known her.

Gael’s looking uncomfortable again, and I can tell they’re worried about putting us all in this situation in the first place. They can be such a strange one at times, they’re so sure of themselves when things are at their worst and they can be real good at projecting strength and confidence when they need to, but in the six months I’ve known them I’ve learned to look underneath all that. They catch me looking now, and I give them my best, brightest, most carefree smile, the best I can muster to buck them up. They take a breath and look back at Kesla, watching her for a few moments. Finally a nod. “Yes. I’m in too.”

“All right then, Master Clearwood.” She stands with practiced ease despite the deep, enveloping softness of the cushion, and extends her hand to him. “You got yourself a deal.”

Clearwood’s smile’s as brilliant as I expected, and he hops down from his own perch with an enthusiasm I reckon is perfectly genuine. “Excellent! I’ve no doubt it will be a pleasure working with you, Mistress Shoon.” He takes her hand with similar confidence and gives it a mighty shake.

“Great.” She plants her hands on her hips in a manner I’ve come to know real well, thoughtful for a moment. “Reckon we’re gonna need a new cart, though.”