Fool's Errand


 * Eastern Pathway 


 * The eastern artery of the independent freehold known as Crown's Refuge is known quite simply as the Eastern Pathway; a road of smooth cobbles, wide enough for two carriages to pass with space to spare, that runs a perfect east-west route between Tempest Corona to the west, and the eastern palisade wall.


 * The cobbles of the pathway are not only smooth and level, but also seem to have been born from a variety of different types of stone, giving each one a distinct color as it rests next to all the others. Hues of brown, gold, bronze, slate, charcoal, and a myriad of other shades all conspire together to make such a route more affluent than it really needs to be.


 * The sides of the pathway are protected by low-rising curbs that mark where the road ends and the rest of the large township begins. Beyond those curbs, homes and stores flank the pathway in carefully placed patterns of building and street. Small backroads and trails break away from the main artery to lead to the two eastern quarters of Crown's Refuge that the Southern Pathway runs as a divide between.


 * The towering fortification known as Tempest Spire looms overhead towards the west, giving you a constant bearing of where you are located within Crown's Refuge. To the south spans the quarter of the freehold known as Wildcat Haven, which plays host to the various services of the township, such as the central Tavern and various storage buildings. To the north rests an area known as Wolfsbane's Row, the main residential area for the Human Wildlanders living within the freehold.

''Soon after arriving in Crown's Refuge, Syton ran into an old acquaintance, Delicia. Together, the two of them try to find some potential sources of information. It is a quite cold early evening. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. The skies are perfectly clear.''

Delicia makes her way along towards a newer building on the pathway. One that has a rather large greenhouse attached. "That's Sandrim's home," she explains to Syton.

Syton looks over the indicated building carefully, then his eyes move on to scan the rest of the pathway. "And who is this Sandrim fellow?" he asks. "Other than a lover of plants, that is."

"He's one of them marked mages from Fastheld. He came out here when Taran did," she offers and gives a soft rap on the door. "He's a friend of Taran's, I think."

"Hmmm... I thought the name sounded familiar." Syton arches an eyebrow thoughtfully, then turns back to Delicia. "And Master Taran?" he asks expectantly.

"Taran lives north of here," Delicia offers. The two are standing at the door of Sandrim's house and the impression may seem of knocking from the raised arm of the young woman. "We could try there next."

"Um..." Syton doesn't immediately sign on to that idea. Instead, he raises a hand to his mouth and coughs. The Imperial turns to Delicia and tilts his head to the side. "Are you sure that I'm not keeping you from something?"

"Syton," she says and reaches up to his arm. "You seem uncomfortable. There's no reason to be, honest." Her seems rather convinced and even turns away from the door. "It's not far and we can go there together."

Taran comes down with Sandrim from the northern path. "...No, not silly," Taran muses. "But occasionally a bit baffling. Nothing most people don't cause now and again, I suppose."

Sandrim pulls an apple out of his pocket as he goes, taking a bite from it as he heads for his home. He swallows, then shrugs. "Well, doesn't really matter too much, I suppose. So long as the trees are al... Oh, hello there." He stops abruptly a bit away from the door, tilting his head at those standing outside. "Looking for me, Delicia?"

"Yes, well..." Syton shrugs vaguely to Delicia. Sandrim catches his attention then, and the young Imperial turns towards the other pair. "Actually," he interjects in response to Sandrim, "I was looking for him." He nods in Taran's direction. Delicia grins to Sandrim. "And so we have found them," she claims and lets her hands drop back to her side. "Taran, did you find out if anything were missing?"

Taran shakes his head slightly, turning his attention to Temple. "Looking for me?" he asks mildly, his demeanor shifting to one of emotionless neutrality. "Indeed. That is new. And why would you look for me, then, master Temple?"

Syton assumes a similarly stoic expression and takes a few steps over towards Taran. "Well, because I need some information, I suppose. I hope that, in return, I can offer some information back to you, but I don't know what you know, so it's hard to say."

Sandrim raises an eyebrow, looking from Taran to Syton. "At my house," he murmurs, and shakes his head. He eyes Syton thoughtfully, before picking up an apple and tossing it absent-mindedly toward Delicia. "Have one," he says. "What are you looking for, here?"

"If one fences long enough, it becomes a tricky matter to put down the foil without getting stabbed," says Taran mildly. "And frankly, if I wished to continue such games I would still be in Fastheld." He waves a hand. "Regardless, Syton Temple would not ask a thing of me if he had any reasonable alternative. And as I know nothing of that much value, I suspect this will be brief."

"I hope it will be," Syton replies with a simple nod. He glances to Sandrim and Delicia briefly, considering each of them before his attention returns to Taran. "We may speak here, if you like, or elsewhere, in whatever company you choose. Regardless, I must beg that you indulge a few of my questions before I share what I know."

Sandrim raises an eyebrow, looking over to Taran. "You know, it'd probably be best if we knew what sort of information you were offering first," he says. "Especially with an arrangement like that. It's requiring a lot of faith on our part that we even want to know what you have to say."

"Information is just that, information. It's not like you're bartering furs for Fox," Delicia claims and leans back against Sandrim's door. "Why not just see if you can help one another. Damn, for all ye know he might know somethin' about these things."

Taran shrugs. "I will hear your questions," he says. "But I make no promise to answer them. Not when I have you to thank for much of the trouble I went through, in the last months before my departure."

Syton raises an eyebrow curiously at Taran's last remark. A long pause follows, then Syton nods faintly. "There are a lot of words being thrown around inside the Aegis, but no one seems to know anything more about them. Gargoyles, acarits, and the Ingress of Sorentir. I've learned something of them, but having missed the basic lessons of all these things, I don't quite know the value of what I've learned."

Sandrim raises an eyebrow. "Ingress of Sorentir. Can you get it into our hands? If so, well, that's probably more than fair exchange for whatever information you want. But what is it you want?" Even if not being addressed directly, it seems the young man doesn't intend to be staying out of the conversation.

"How's Syton the cause for trouble," Delicia seems to catch on another part. Her tone surprised and soon falling quiet to continue listening.

"That is another story," says Taran to Delicia. "And so for another time, as it seems he has no questions about it." He turns his attention back to Temple, and waves a hand at Sandrim. "You heard him."

"Your concern is appreciated," Syton says to Delicia with a smile that doesn't touch his eyes, "but that matter is completely between Master Taran and myself, and as he said, is for another time." He glances back to Taran, nods fainly, then turns an expectant gaze on Sandrim.

"If you want anything more out of me," Sandrim says firmly, "I want you to lay your cards on the table. What do you offer us, Temple, and what do you want in return. I can't make an exchange without knowing what is being exchanged."

Delicia shakes her head and thumps her foot to the door. "If it's information to help people why not just everyone tell what they know. Easier to fight then? Like talking to another hunter of their hunting grounds so not to stumble in a snare."

"Fine," Syton says, sounding less than pleased. He sighs, shifts from one foot to the other, and continues. "I'll start by wasting our time correcting rumors. The rumors in Fastheld say that the Freehold here is under attack by some kind of animated stone creatures, stealing the Touched and Kissed to replenish their numbers. A creature known as an acarit is said to have contacted one of your number, and told of an artifact called the Ingress of Sorentir, which is some kind of gateway to restore an..." He strains for a moment to remember the words, "ancient trickster demi-god. Was that all correct?"

Taran nods. "Everything begins somewhere," he says. "And we have not been attacked directly. Many of the remaining nomadic Wildlanders have, however. The rest, to my knowledge, is true."

"We are not entirely certain of the purpose of the Ingress," Sandrim admits, "But that is our best guess. It was told to us by one of the acarits that it should be useful in stopping the gargoyles, and ending this." He tilts his head to the side. "Now, you didn't come all the way out here to ask that. What information do you have for us, and what's you're question?"

Delicia remains quietly listening. Her eyes widening at Syton's words. By her expression, some of this new to the little redhead.

Syton regards Sandrim for a moment, looking him up and down before answering. "Some misdirection is at work. This Ingress of Sorentir does not exist," he says, enunciating his words carefully. "Or if it does exist, it is not an item of anything more than historical or sentimental value. There has never been such a being as this Sorentir."

Taran blinks slowly. "There was never such a being as the Grinning Burus, either," he says mildly. "Is this what you came to say, then?"

Sandrim raises an eyebrow at Syton. "Right, then," he says dryly. "If that's not real, then what in the name of the Light are we looking for, Temple?" "That's a good question. Maybe they're just trying to get enough strength to attack," offers Delicia, a little lost.

"Hmmm." Syton hums curiously at Taran, but when he speaks it is to Sandrim. "Perhaps I can find that answer for you, Master Sandrim, if you would be willing to indulge some more of my questions."

Taran sighs. "Stop *fencing*, Syton," he says, annoyed. "Or at least be honest about what you want. If your motives were altruistic you would likely have at least told Delicia whatever you knew, to help her. You wish to bargain, fine - this is a city of trade and barter, and we will accomodate you. But we do prefer to limit this to *honest* barter, and right now you are being outdone in that department by the Wildlings that come for vegetables in exchange for fish."

"I'm going to agree with Taran here," Sandrim says calmly. "Temple, be up front. What exactly do you want, what exactly do you have to tell us, and if we can work together to stop this, then all the better. If you cannot be straightforward with us, you can trade for apples, if you like."

"I just gave you an honest fact, Master Taran," Syton says, turning on the bard, "which is more than you've gotten from the acarits, and more than you had before I arrived." He stays mostly calm, though some bite comes into his voice. "So answer my goodwill by answering my questions, and you won't see me again until I have something else to help you."

"One fact for one fact," Taran replies, "as we are keeping to honest barter. Ask a question, then." He shakes his head. "And stop playing the noble. We have never helped one another before, and you would need an *astonishing* array of facts I am quite sure you do not possess, to want to help me now. You came seeking - so, seek."

Sandrim sits back, tapping a fingernail against one of the rings of his armor as he listens.

"Taran, I don't think we need to be turning help away," Delicia says in a softer voice. "Put your difference aside and think about the Refuge. We need as many answers as we can get if they were trying to get something last night."

"Shades!" Syton snaps finally. He drops his quarterstaff and throws his arms in the air in exasperation. "How is this about you and me?" He asks Taran, the others forgotten for now. "You know that your information is of no use to me, Master Taran, outside of its ability to help Crown's Refuge--and yes, you too. So just let me get what I came here to get, even if it takes more than one question, and then turn me loose to do what I do." Breathless, he takes a step over to pick his quarterstaff back up.

Taran studies Temple thoughtfully, saying nothing for a while. "Impressive," he says, though he doesn't sound particularly impressed. "Well, there are other citizens here beside myself, who will see as well as I how well you hold to a bargain. Perhaps I am prejudiced, as you suggest - with or without reason being perhaps immaterial. You are offering your assistance, then, in exchange for what you seek?"

"Ask your questions, Temple," Sandrim says. "This is really just getting old. Just, ask your questions and we'll say what we can. Then we'll do what we can on our own, after we hear what you have to say about the Ingress." He points to the house. "Let's step inside. I know Taran can't stand you, so why you'd go to him for these answers, I don't know."

"Damn, I swear it's like watching two roosters fighting," Delicia growls. "Maybe, just maybe this is bigger'n all of us?"

Syton turns to contemplate the Tempest spire for a moment. When he looks back to Deli, Taran, and Sandrim, he seems to be a bit more collected. "Inside, outside, whatever you wish. As I said, I'll make it brief," he murmurs, stepping towards the house.


 * Sandrim's House: Greenhouse 


 * A strange front room for any dwelling, this greenhouse is put together to feel quite welcoming, if a little odorous. Tall walls surround the large, hexagonal room, made of sturdy birch, allowing for privacy and plenty of space overhead, and spanning the tops of these walls is a glass ceiling, supported by a wooden honeycomb lattice which casts its shadows over the floor. The ground itself is separated into four quadrants by a pebble path running through the greenhouse, cruciform in shape. Vegetable gardens fill three of these quadrants, all supporting healthy patches throughout the year, while the fourth quadrant is a small, grass-covered hump, with a wooden table at its top.


 * Four doors leave this greenhouse, one at each end of the paths, to a bedroom, a kitchen, a bath, and the exit to the street opposite the bed. By the street exit are a few racks and chests, filled with gardening tools and materials.

Sandrim locks the door as he and Syton step in, shaking his head. "Right," he says. "Delicia would give you everything, and Taran would bite your head off," he notes. "Me? I was Taran's apprentice, for a little while, so I have some bias against you, I'll admit, but I'm not going to get into a cock-measuring contest with you." That said, he starts to walk through the garden paths, toward the table. "Come, sit. I know pretty much everything Taran does about this, and we can sit and talk this over reasonably."

"Good," Syton replies, draping his cloak over one arm and leaning his quarterstaff against the doorframe. As he follows Sandrim back into the garden, the young Imperial idly watches the greenhouse around him. He takes a seat at the table and, for a moment, turns to look back at the door. "I had hoped to avoid that... alas." With a sigh, his eyes return to Sandrim. "At any rate, I'd like to know whatever you can tell me about the gargoyles."

Sandrim raises an eyebrow. "What I know is not much more than what you know," he says. "The acarit said they took mages like the two of us and sunkissed to replenish their numbers. They need sixteen at each temple, and we are somehow used to make new ones." He frowns. "But, if they're all working together anymore, I do not know. There were two fighting over a man over the Refuge the other day - tore him in half."

"I had heard about that," Syton replies with a frown. "I need some much more basic information, though. How big are they? What do they look like? Where do they come from? It seems they can fly. What else can they do? How dangerous are they in a fight?"

"Rather big, enough to carry a man, obviously," the farmer replies, folding his hands together on the table. "Reptilian in design, with two glowing eyes, blue." He reaches into his backpack, searching. "They're pretty dangerous, but they can be brought down. Hit the eyes then smash them. Avoid their claws, and don't be underneath them when you hit their eyes." He pulls out a pair of glowing blue gems, laying them on the table. "There are their eyes. Now, the Ingress? What do you know about that?"

Syton leans over the table to look at the gems, humming thoughtfully. It takes him a few moments to catch up with Sandrim's question. "Two things," he says, looking up to Sandrim. "First, there is a part of this tale that doesn't make sense. Whatever arcane force sustains these gargoyles, it is either of the Shadow /or/ of the Light. Of the Shadow, it seems to me. But to say that either the Kissed or the Touched could be used to restore a fallen gargoyle... that is either a profound misunderstanding or further misdirection." Syton leans back and adds, "Second, the Ingress does not exist, as I said. Either the acarits are mistaken in seeking it, or it is a fiction they created to distract us. What, exactly, do you know of these acarits?"

"For one, they killed the acarit who tried to tell us of this," Sandrim says dryly, "for not seeing the bigger picture, which I think gives her some credibility. And we know both Sunkissed and Shadow-Touched were brought there, for we saw both being brought in. The acarits? They're spiders. Big ones, foot long. Now, how do you know the Ingress does not exist?

"I was told by a rather powerful individual," Syton answers. "The kind of man that does not lie and does not make mistakes about something like this. The kind of man whose prospective is broader, longer, and deeper than any of ours, so I believe that I can trust what he says. I hope you will too, but at least approach such things with a sense of skepticism." Slowly, his eyes wander back to the gems on the table. "You said that you saw people being taken somewhere? Where?"

"Which man?" Sandrim asks sharply. "If you're sincere about helping the Refuge, you will stop playing mind games. You will lay your cards directly on the table and tell us what is going on, and what you know."

"You know what I know, Master Sandrim, just not from whom." Syton exhales slowly and shakes his head. "It would make it much easier to say, but I have greater oaths that hold my tongue. My capacity to help you hinges on such oaths, so I must keep them. I will attempt to undo those oaths, though, so hopefully I can tell you more later."

"I want sincerity, not a snake oil merchant," Sandrim says, scooping up the gems. "I have quite enough of people not saying things straight with the Archmage, and I actually sort of like her. I'm a farmer, a down to earth sort of person, you see? I like knowing everything I can when dealing with a problem, and don't deal well with those who would just feed me what they want and extract everything. I don't put up with that."

"I was hoping that my coming here, and telling what I did, would be proof enough of my sincerity, but if you insist..." Syton sighs, shaking his head. "I was told by a Drake. Does that quench your appetite for knowledge enough to answer a few more questions?"

Sandrim blinks at Syton. "Now?" he asks. "Now I'm not sure if you're putting me on or not, but... why not? I still wonder what exactly was going on with the Ingress - Sorentir /was/ a figure of myth. Doesn't mean he was real, so it could still mean something, like a metaphor. As for where they bring their victims? The temples, of course."

"I imagine that Master Taran will dismiss what I just told you, or consider it a weakness of mine, but you may tell him if you wish. Beyond that, try to keep it to yourself." Syton's attention wanders once more, looking up to examine the wooden lattice overhead. "Do you know where the temples are?"

"Not all of them," Sandrim says. "And I'm no good at drawing maps. Do you plan to just run off to those?"

"No, Master Sandrim. I imagine that would get me killed rather quickly," Syton replies, shaking his head. "I doubt I would even make it through the Wildlands between here and there. It may be important to you-know-who, though. Can you give me a direction, at least?"

Sandrim raises an eyebrow. "Alright," he asks. "Why would it be important to you-know-who. Is you-know-who interested in destroying these things? Pardon me if you-know-who makes me more than a bit wary. Light's Reach was not all that long ago."

"We're interested in maintaining the Balance, Master Sandrim," Syton explains. "Whatever scheme is at work here, it appears to be against the Balance, so it needs to be stopped. But even if we are not the ones to stop it, I give you my word that whatever I learn will be passed on to you and Master Taran. At the least, then, you can learn something useful."

Sandrim rests his knuckles against his lips as he watches Syton thoughtfully. "To the south, directly from here, past the ruined hermitage on the azure steppes. In the eastern verdigris. And their primary temple, northeast of the city, up against the Dragonspine mountains. The acarits are there, being trained by a human, in infiltration. As far as we can tell, in order to get into this city." He closes his eyes. "Listen, I want to know /everything/ you are able to find out. Shades, I'd love it if we could handle this with you staying on the other side of that wall, but if it will stop this, I'll take what help I can get. So Crown's Refuge can continue to grow, and not need you."

"Likewise," Syton replies with an austere nod of his head. "That brings up two final points before I depart. Both are rather large, so should you refuse them, I will not press. The first is this: I would like to take one of those blue gems to you-know-who, in the hope that he can tell us more of its nature."

"What's the second point?" Sandrim asks. "Before I give you my answer."

"I'm curious about what Master Taran told you about me." Syton says, appearing as inquisitive as his words suggest. "Despite the animosity that you witnessed just now, or perhaps because of it, I have never gotten a sense of what he really thinks of me. But I also understand that those were words spoken between friends, so I am not strictly entitled to hear them."

Sandrim considers this a moment. "It was something along the lines of being a manipulative bastard," he replies. "Probably has to do with the way you can't seem to be straightforward without some ridiculous goading, and I'm still not sure you are being straightforward with me, to be honest."

Syton shrugs slightly, offering up no defense. "He's right, then. I do keep secrets, which means that sometimes I have to manipulate others to do what I wish them to do." He gathers up his cloak briefly and rises to his feet. "But let me ask you this, Master Sandrim; isn't there still a place for secrets in the pursuit of a noble goal? Is Master Taran's way the only way?" He holds up a hand to forestall any immediate reply. "I would be grateful for one of those gems, Master Sandrim, but should you refuse, then I will be on my way."

"You can have the gem on one condition," Sandrim says. "You bring it back soon, and tell me everything you learn of it." He stands up and starts walking over to the shelves, grabbing a hoe. "I can't stand secrets, not from people who are supposedly on the same side as you."

"I appreciate that, Master Sandrim, as I'm sure you-know-who will as well. Whether I can gain an audience with him or not, I will return your gem to you in a week's time." Syton flourishes his cloak and clasps it around his neck, then turns expectantly Sandrim.

Sandrim pulls out a gem, then tosses it in a lazy underhand in Temple's direction. "Keep that word, Temple," Sandrim says. "Now, I'm going to take a look at my trees. Good day."

Syton catches the gem in his lefthand gauntlet. He glances at it briefly before sticking it in a pocket of his armor. "Then I take my leave. Light keep you, Master Sandrim." Syton turns and walks back towards the door. He picks up his quarterstaff from the doorframe, undoes the lock, and steps out.

Return to Season 7 (2008)