How The Wicked Fall - Chapter 5

"Now listen here. Everyone's asking me MY name, well what about all of you?
You're all holding your weapons, acting like assassins! Why, I ought to..."
Suddenly his voice trails off, and he begins to stare at Wynne very carefully, looking him up and down.
"Listen here. What's your name fellow? Where do you come from? How old are you?"

Wynne shakes his head, as if coming out of a trance. He slowly draws his short sword and takes a measured step CLOSER to the halfling.
In a dry even tone, Wynne states, "My name is Wynne. I hail from Mordentshire, and by the Mists I swear that you wantonly consort with evil. There will be no more games. You will now tell us to whom you sold the candlesticks; and why you sold them, knowing what they were."
With this, Wynne raises his sword so that the blade crosses in front of his torso, with the tip tilted slightly towards the halfling."

Wynne? Wynne? Ummm. My name is Giles. I live here in Martira Bay. I, I sold the candlesticks to the Master of the Weaver's Guild, a man named Stefan Dyreth. I, I knew what they were, but...I needed to make money. I'm a Fence, and that's what I do. Okay?"
Giles seems very shaken up now.
"I ask again...how old are you, Wynne?"

"Okay, we've got the information we came here for. Just answer his question and let's get going. No need to cause unnecessary trouble."

Joran seems to wake up.
"You know what they are?
By Hala, we don't even know that..."
He pulls Wynne a few paces back, trying to let him lower the sword.
"Look, I don't think you are any harm, ehr... Giles.
But you could have caused some by selling those candlesticks. I don't know what is going on between you and.. Wynne, frankly I don't care. You can seek out your family matters another time.
But you have to help us retrieve those sticks. You may well be in peril yourself just by having handled them."

Wynne allows himself to be pulled back by Joran.
" He lowers his sword and his voice returns to a more even, if exhausted, tone.
"For whatever it is worth, I am in my 27th year."

Natty stays vigilant prepared for attacks while the others are focused on the fence.

Richard just watches.

"Wynne...Wynne. I thought...I mean, your mother and I, we...we thought we'd never see you again."
Giles chokes back some tears, but they escape anyways.
"I...I want to say I'm sorry my boy. We...we had no choice. We...we were desperate, you see. It all fits. You have your mother's eyes, you know. And, and my nose. Do you, do you remember anything? No. Wait."
With this, Giles goes to the door and starts to fiddle around with the handle some. After a few moments a click is heard, and the door opens.
"Come. Lets go. I'll take you to Dyreth. It'll be awhile though. I'd like to speak with you on the way, if you will have it."

Raven Looks at Wynne, shrugs his sholders and follows.

Father? I have a father. One that I have known my whole life, and you sir, are not him. I have no reason to trust you; in fact, I have several reasons NOT to trust you. I'll go no where with you, alone. My companions and I travel together, or not at all,"
Wynne turns to the group as his says this, looking for their agreement.
Wynne continues, "Father? Hmmph. At best, You must be mistaken, or worst, a looney-bird. I may have woken up this morning, but I wasn't born this morning. I'm sure a dishonest schiester, like yourself, would resort to any number of tricks in an instance like this."

Aren follows Wynne's lead

Joran's mouth hangs half open as he stares from one halfling to the other.
They sure look alike.
Then again, all those little b... halflings do.
He thinks it may be appropriate to say something, but it feels like he has just entered a battle field to find that his troups have gone back to enjoy a game of Morfenzi's Gambit.
"Ehr..." is all he can manage.

Richard mutters to himself... "did he just say 'looney-bird?' did I just here 'shiester?'"

Natty follows ever vigilantly.

Giles opens the door, and begins to speak while walking.
"Please, all of you. Come with me. I'll take you all to Dyreth."
As you all follow, Giles falls into step near Wynne, and begins to speak.
"Wynne...what's the earliest you remember? I...I don't know what happened to you after we...after we... well, what do you remember? I assure you boy, you are my son. You have the same features, and I named my boy Wynne. You are also the same age. What do you remember?"

Joran scratches his head.
Then finally he resigns.
"Oh well".
He follows the halflings, making sure to stay close behind Wynne.

Natty takes rear guard position watching for and side attacks.

"I remember back to about age five, which is fairly young for a halfling. I remember the hearth," Wynne smiles at this memory.
"I grew up in Mordentshire, with BOTH a mother and father."

Aren shrugs and follows the two halflings.

Richard follows.

Giles seems thoughtful.
"Hmmm. Age five? That would be right...it happened when you were four, so that would have given you a year with that...that...and then you could get to Mordentshire from there....but how?" He seems to have been musing to himself as he picks different streets to go down, seemingly at random. Then he turns to Wynne more directly and says "How DID you escape? And...what did that...man...do to you?"

Wynne stops and forcefully questions, "Escape what? What man? I have no idea what you are trying to pull here. Just concentrate on the situation at hand, and no tricks."

"Yes", Joran adds, eyeing the two halflings suspiciously.
"Lets. Just tell us about this Dyreth guy."

Raven nods his head in agreement

At Joran's question of Stefan Dyreth, Giles stops.
He is silent for a moment, and then turns to Wynne, gesturing, "Why don't you ask Wynne? Unfortunately, I believe that he among us is the best to tell about Dyreth.
Wynne...you must remember something? I fear though, that perhaps the ordeal was too much for you."
Turning back to your group, he speaks "When Wynne was young, we were poor. Very poor.
We could afford to feed him no longer, not even ourselves.
And then, Dyreth came. His offer was a blessing, or so it seemed. He offered to train Wynne in the Weaver's craft, a respectable job, to be sure. He would take Wynne to live with him, and he would feed, clothe, and look after the boy until his training was finished. And, he would pay us in pure gold coins as well! And the only thing in return was that while learning, Wynne would practice his craft for Dyreth, so that he could sell the works that Wynne and his other workers would create. And after a few years, when Wynne was fully trained, he would come home. And of course, Dyreth said we could visit whenever we wanted.
Things didn't work like that. We accepted the deal, but a week later when we went to visit our boy, we were expelled from the estate.
The servants said that Dyreth had not heard of us before, and believed us to be Halfling thieves, bent on plundering his riches. In our folly, we had not asked where Wynne was, and...and we never saw him again. Until now. Don't you remember boy?"

Wynne thinks hard for a moment, "I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything of you."

As the group walks, Natty takes note of the path the group is taking in relation to where they have come. He also tries to sense ( by smell, sight, sound, i.e. Tracking) if there are Undead of any sort about.

Are you starting to remember my lad? You must...you may be the only one who can deal with Dyreth.

While walking down the street Wynne stops and stares at his hands for a moment. Seemingly startled worse, he shakes his hands, as if trying to get some liquid off. He then takes them, and rubs them on his pants very briskly.
"Yes, I remember a few things. I remember red. Lots of red. Red cloth, red needles... red blood. What do you mean "deal with him"? He is a man, and nothing more, right? We will deal with him like we would anyone else. This seems to be getting personal, but nothing more. Correct?"
Wynne looks puzzled and confused.

Joran look at Giles accusingly. "Are you all right, lad?", he asks Wynne.

"I, I, think so.
I keep seeing images, possibly from my past, possibly from my minds eye.
Some of what Giles says rings true, but how do you understand that your memories really aren't yours?
Let's forge on, and deal with Dyreth. We settle everything then, or afterwards.
I think it's best that we concentrate on the task at hand. More than that could be overwhelming."

As you have been walking through the streets, avoiding small children, animals, and the occaisional accidentally clumsy pedestrian, you have entered into what appears to be a much wealthier district. The buildings are of much better quality, and even the people that wander the streets seem to be cut from a higher cloth. Or at least, their garments do.
Before you have gone very far, Giles stops in front of what must be your destination. The sun shines down brightly, illuminating every detail about the manor in front of you. It's posture can only be described as looming, and it's front is covered with many tall but narrow windows. It has numerous spires and towers, reaching towards the sky as if in a vain attempt to hold the cerulean blue from falling earthwards.
A gate bars your entry onto the green lawn beyond, but a guard standing near takes one look at Giles and steps aside, opening the portal to allow you egress.
The walk across the lawn takes much less time than you thought it would...to your dismay. Something about the place wants you to postpone your entry to the building as long as possible. But before long, you are standing upon the threshold, and then entering into the interior.
As sunny as the outside is, this hall is gloomy. Hardly any light is present, only coming from a single flickering candle placed here and there. The hall is wide and large, with a glimmering floor entered with strange designs. Directly opposite you is a wide sweeping staircase leading to a balcony on a second floor. Portals allow access to darkened rooms to either side.
Before Giles can say anything to the manservant standing at attention nearby, you all spot a darkly cowled figure standing upon the middle of the stairs. He wears a black richly made robe and is currently fiddling slightly with a ring on his pinky. His hair is bone white, along with his eyes. But blind he is not, for he stares directly at you all, almost as though he would see right through you.

After looking at you with his unsettling gaze, his attention turns to Giles, your guide. As he speaks he moves down the staircase with the slightest rustling of cloth. "Ah, Giles! It has been...so long."

Wynne takes stock of the room and the party's placement. His left hand rests in his belt pouch of sling bullets.

"Ahhh...yes...Mr. Dyreth...it has. Ummm...these good people wanted to speak with you sir. Yes. So I ummm...brought them here...to speak to you. Yes sir. Ummm..."
Giles looks about at everyone present in the room, "Will...will you be needing me anymore then, good sirs? I should...I mean...I have things to tend to...that is, if you don't be needing me anymore..."
Then he looks at Wynne and mouthes the words "Meet me at the Inn."

The man smiles slightly. The smile would be pleasant against his smooth perfect skin, if it wasn't for the blank white orbs that he watches you with.
"Why, Giles...you wouldn't be so rude as to leave...without the proper introductions!"
His voice is not deep, but rich.
As he slowly approaches, a medallion he wears catches your eye.
Made of what seems to be silver and lined with glassy obsidian, it has etched on its surface the likeness of a bird much like corvus.

"Ummm...yes, of course. Forgive me, Mr. Dyreth. Umm...this is Joran...and Raven...and Aren.. and Richard and Natty and Cade."
As he says the last name, he motions to Wynne.

Dyreth tight smile fades and his blank eyes widen slightly in amazement.
"Cade?" he says, softly; more to himself. "Can it be?" He seems to forget everyone else and stares intently at Wynne.
He turns his pinky ring around and around on his finger, and the wolf's head etched into his medallion (wasn't it a raven?) seems to sparkle.

Raven passivly takes stock of the situation. He is calm and collected as usual. However, Corvus looks about uneasily from the vantage point on Raven's shoulder.

"His name is Wynne." Joran says. He thoughtlessly taps his sword hilt, obviously growing impatient. "And we're here for some bussiness. All this family thing can wait, right?"

Taking this in stride as well, Wynne responds, "My comrade is correct. The only name I have ever known is 'Wynne.' 'Wynne the Wanderer' om recent years. I am quite unsure about all of these family ties at the moment," Wynne continues, somewhat to himself. He collects his thoughts and continues, "We are here on business, not pleasure, and would first see that our business is attended to."

Dyreth nods, as if he is only half listening to Wynne. "Turn your head to the right, boy!" A command.

Wynne stands still. Unflinching.

"Always the stubborn one," Dyreth says to himself.
As his lips move soundlessly he bends over the left side of Wynne's head.
The medallion depicting the panther hangs close to his face. The aroma of flowers, spices, and *something else* fills his nostrils...present but not unpleasant.

Wynne takes a step back, towards the party. He puts his hand on his sword hilt. He then takes his other hand and rubs his nose, "What devilry are you up to?"

From the look of annoyance that crosses his face, you can tell that he isn't used to being talked to in such a way.
As quickly as the look appears on his face, it is gone, replaced by a look of patience.
"What, might I ask, is this errand of yours? What causes you to come here after all this time?"

Attempting to regain his emotional footing and remain calm, he replies, "We are in search of an exquisite pair of candlesticks. We have been hired to obtain them for an interested party. We inquired at the market, and this fine gentleman," Wynne motions to Giles, "believed you to be the current owner. We asked him to show us to your residence, and he heartily agreed."

His creepy glance takes in Giles for a moment. "Heartily agreed, you say?"
He looks back at Wynne. "I...may have what you are looking for. How are they different from other candlesticks, that I may know whether or not I have the ones you seek?"

Wynne turns around and shrugs?
"Giles. You would be best to describe them. Wouldn't you?"

Giles seems even smaller than usual as all eyes turn to him. He seems to quail even more when the sightless eyes of Dyreth fall upon him.
"Ummm...well...heartily agreed isn't quite right...you see...they...umm...they seemed like....like good people...and I thought...that perhaps you could...make a deal with them? Ummm...the candles! Yes! Oh, well they are...made of gold...with a base of skulls and twisting naked females with wings that hold the candles themselves."

"That sounds like it's not too hard to find." mutters Joran
"... especially if one bought it not too many nights ago."

"and I doubt they were an extremely popular design."

"Not realy something you would find on just anyones nightstand."

More Forthcoming...

"I'm a collector, you see. It's a bit of a fetish really, I just love that sort of thing."

Wynne cocks his head toward Richard, and raises his right eyebrow.
Wynne steps over and claps Giles on the back, "Oh, come on Giles. You know you were ecstatic to see me. I don't remember any hesitations from you. Don't get all wishy-washy here, you're the man of the hour - bringing us to our destination and all."

Natty will slowly move around the room trying to pick up the trail of any undead that might have been through the room.
When asked what he is doing Natty says "You have many interesting things, did you decorate yourself?"

Dyreth nods, and the fox on his medallion seems to be smiling.
"I know of the candlesticks you speak of. I would not give them up without good reason. Perhaps if Cade, I'm sorry, *Wynne* would like to stay here, I could stand to part with them."

Wynne rests his hand on the hilt of his sword, "Well, I guess that you may not be standing when you part with them."

"Calm down, Wynne. No need to get pushy... yet."
Joran laid a reassuring hand in the halfling's shoulders.
"Now, mr. Dyreth, what is so special about those candles that you are not willing to sell them to us?"

A slight perfect smile plays on his face, his eyes so white they almost glow, "and what, Sir Joran, is so special about these candlesticks that you are wanting to purchase them? For the trouble you undoubtedly went through to meet with me, your purpose must be more then you what you are letting on!"

"You don't have to bother with the 'Sir'.
I'm no more a noble than you are.
As to the sticks, I don't know what they are worth or much of anything else on antiques for that matter. I'm a fighter, not a merchant.
I just hope I am doing the right thing."

"Well...it's just that I really have a...fascination for that sort of thing really... I NEED these candlesticks. They will be perfect on top of my armoire."

Wynne tries to hide a smile.

"Well then," says Dyreth as his spider amulet glints eerily "let me get to the heart of this matter, eh?
What do you want with these candlesticks, and if I do have them, what do you propose to offer me in compensation?"
At this last remark his sightless eyes fall directly upon Wynne, suggestively.

Wynne pulls his short sword out of it's scabbard and places the tip on the ground.
With it standing completely vertical, he rests his hands on the end of the hilt.

"See. There, you can have Wynne's sword. That seems like a fair trade."

Wynne turns to Richard, giving him an incredulous look. He cocks one eye, bites his lip, and tries not to laugh at the comment.

"We'll make sure they'll be... safe." Joran says.
"From the wrong hands. You know how it is with valuables."
He folds his armsa across his chest.
"Just tell us what you want - we can do you a service, if you like. We are capable, and a rich man like you may have some work to do. Or we can pay you in cash."
His eyes narrow.
"But we don't trade in... living stock."

Dyreth regards Joran for a moment, then nods, turning his ring with his thumb.
"I suppose that is...fair. I will give you a letter giving you rights to them, and directions to where they are. All you have to agree to is that in the future you will perform a small service for me."
Dyreth shows his perfect teeth in what would be a pleasent smile.

"Small by whose standards? Nothing illegal, and no hurting and or killing anyone for profit or fun."

"I am sure mr. Dyreth is a man of good standing and will not ask such a thing.", Joran says.
"Do not insult our... host by making such suggestions."
He nods at Dyreth.
"I can live very well with such an agreement, mr Dyreth. But I do need Wynne to agree on it."

"So, Do we have an agreement then? If so, then I think we had best be retrieving them. Our client wished us to have the sticks in our posession as swiftly as possable."

"No offense meant, Mr. Dyreth. It is of course the standard 'deal' and does not reflect on you personally," Richard says soberly.

"I must know the details of the offer, before I could accept... or refuse."

A servant that you can't be sure was there a moment ago steps forward, an inked quill and paper in his hands. Dyreth turns and takes them from him. The paper holds rigid in his hand for the moment that it takes for Dyreth to sign it with large, flowing script. He then hands the letter to whomever will take it.
"This is a letter stating that the candlesticks now belong to you, for the price of one errand, to be determined later. Bring this to an employee of mine, and he will give you the candlesticks." He then gives directions to a building in the warehouse district.

"Mr. Dyreth, I think we would all like to know what this errand is before commiting to it."

"When you say, 'to be determined later,' does that give us the right of refusal, at our discretion?"

"Do not worry, Ca...uh, Wynne. It would be something you would not have a problem doing."

"No offense, but I cannot commit myself to something that I do not know. Either inform us now, or guarantee our right of refusal."

"He just did that." Joran sais, getting impatient.
"Let's not drag this out.
Let's take the letter and get the candles."

Dyreth shrugs at Wynne's decision and says, sighing, "I do not have a specific task in mind."
With a word and a movement of his hand the signed letter bursts into flames.
"If that is your decision, come back to me in a week or two. Perhaps I'll have something for you to do by then."

Joran bends to Wynne and whispers. "We don't have two weeks. We have to do something now."

Wynne turns and responds, "We either wait, or agree to his terms, as is..."

"Thank you ever so much for stopping by. I hope our paths will again meet."
Though you can't be sure that the doors were ever closed, you feel the doors are open now, the outside light and warmth beckoning to you; calling you away from the gloomy interior of the manor.
Dyreth watches your group with his sightless orbs, and you really begin to wonder if he is blind, or if something more sinister is at work here?