II. A Party Forms (Chapter One)
“Come on! Pick up the pace!”
You point out how strange it is that Burt’s interest in the Atlas peaked only after seeing it in the library as the two of you make your way toward Windrose City.
“How dare you? I’ve been excited this whole time!”
You roll your eyes. You know Burt is in some sort of trouble with the Adventurer’s Guild.
“Well, I am excited that we found an artifact, of course. But you know, maybe they’ll forgive me for certain past…misdemeanors if we turn this in, if you catch my drift,” Burt says, turning a shade of pink.
You look inquiringly at him.
“It’s a long story,” Burt says, avoiding your gaze.
The road ahead is empty; it’s still a long way to the city walls. You urge Burt to continue.
“Fine, Fine. So, as we all know, I’m a very good card player. There was a high stakes game in Amalhasu, and I absolutely had to attend. The cost to enter the tournament was a bit more than I had thought, so I asked for a bit of help from the guild.”
The coins in Burt’s wallet jangle merrily. You narrow your eyes at him.
“Hold on before you suspect me and all,” he says, putting his palms up. “Well, actually, you’re right to suspect me. But hear me out. I’m proficient at playing cards, right? So, I knew that I was going to win the tournament. The pay-out was a hundred fold compared to the buy-in, so I just took the gold from the treasury.”
You shake your head and sigh. Oh…Burt…
“No, I’m still planning on paying it back! The only reason I didn’t win was because they cheated!” Burt says, clenching his fists. You continue shaking your head.
“Fine, but you have to believe me when I say I’m going to pay back the Guild. Look we’re heading to Windrose now, so I’ll just…drop into the Guild and apologize. See, I’m taking responsibility! And I’m not just taking credit for finding the Atlas so forgiveness will be easier! Waddaya say?”
You give Burt a semi-playful punch in the gut, but you know he means well. You nod in agreement.
You approach Windrose City from the west. The great city walls are much larger than you had originally thought. At the top is a facade of various whiskers carved in stone with great detail. Some are casting spells and reading books. Others are sailing and hunting wild animals. The craftsmanship is something to behold. It is a great distraction from the otherwise dreary gray of the wall’s stones.
You make your way across the bridge into the city just before dusk. After a couple days of travel, you’ve become tired and hungry.
“Can we please grab a bite to eat before we see Allard? If I get locked up, I’d rather do it on a full stomach,” Burt says, rubbing his belly.
You agree, as your feet feel like iron anvils.
“I know a great place. Follow me.”
You and Burt make your way through the busiest streets in Windrose City until he randomly turns down a dark alley. You follow him, wondering if he’s going to make a run for it. He takes another turn, an alley within an alley. He descends a small, wet, and dark staircase leading under a building.
“Just act cool,” Burt says as he opens the door.
Smoke and the smell of freshly fried foods pours out of the underground room. It’s dimly lit with a few whiskers inside. They all pause, looking to see who entered their secret restaurant hideaway. Burt only nods, and they continue to go about drinking, eating, and playing cards.
“See? Cool,” Burt says as he waves his arm.
You shake your head. Burt walks to the bar and orders us each a pint and some fried pickles.
“Have you ever had fried pickles?” Burt asks, sitting at the bar.
You shake your head. You’ve never heard of fried pickles before.
The bartender comes back and lays two foamy mugs on the table. Burt lifts his mug to cheers, and you follow suit.
Cling! You and Burt heartily knock mugs.
“To the Atlas.”
You take a generous gulp of the delicious ale, as Burt drains his mug in one go and orders another.
“Ahhh,” says Burt, belching.
He reaches for a fried pickle and throws it in the air, attempting to catch it in his mouth. In a flash of inspiration, you try to nab it before it reaches Burt’s open mouth, but you mistime your move and it ends up bouncing off your hand. The fried pickle flies and strikes the whisker sitting further down the bar on the side of her head.
“Hey!” says Burt indignantly.
You ignore Burt and hastily apologize to the whisker.
She gets up slowly, picking the now grimy pickle off the floor. She is an elderly whisker, dressed in a set of well-worn robes common in Windrose. She limps over to Burt and holds out the fried pickle.
“This yours, sonny?” she says. Her voice is surprisingly mild. You had expected a croak or something.
“Uh yeah, I guess,” Burt says carelessly, turning back to the bar as the bartender places a fresh mug of ale in front of him.
The Windrosian takes a seat next to Burt and smiles at you.
“I heard you young whiskers mention an interesting book,” she says.
You pause, unsure of whether you should reveal too much information.
“Of course it’s an interesting book!” Burt says loudly, belching again. He had just downed his second mug and is looking immensely self-satisfied. “I found it!”
You elbow Burt in the ribs, pointing out that it was the two of you who found it.
“Okay okay, relax. I’m just rehearsing what I’ll say when we get to the Guild”
You sigh and shake your head.
“Oh, so you found it.” The Windrosian leans close to Burt, motioning to the bartender to bring him another mug. She drops her voice. “Excuse me for probing. I happen to know a lot about the Atlas of Old. If that is indeed the book you young ‘uns found.”
You start to feel something is off about this elderly whisker, and you tug at Burt’s sleeve.
“Not now!” Burt says happily as he drinks his third mug. His eyes are unfocused and he is swaying a little on his stool. “You never let me have fun! Anyway, yeah totally, my lady whisker, that’s exactly the book we found!”
“What an incredible find!” says the Windrosian in an excited whisper. “It must have been quite a difficult journey to get such an item. So, tell me more. What have you found out about it? Where is it now?”
You think you see the eyes of the elderly whisker glow blue as she stares into Burt’s eyes, but you might be imagining things. You definitely are creeped out by this whisker, but you’re sure that Burt isn’t as stupid as to reveal the details about your prized Atlas.
“Oh it was a cinch to get, I tells you,” Burt says, slurring his words. “We got it from this super colorful whisker in some bakery, and then we took it to that old library at that west-ish place, then—”
You practically jump onto Burt to make him stop talking and the two of you crash to the ground. The bar turns momentarily quiet as the two of you scuffle, and some of the whiskers raise drunken cheers, excited for a bar fight.
“Gentlefish, please, break it up!” the bartender yells, rushing around the counter.
“I’ve got it,” says a gravelly voice.
A tall, muscular, goldfish whisker, with two crimson dots glowing like charcoal from within his golden visor, bends over and picks you and Burt up by the scruffs of your necks and plonks you both back on the bar stools.
“Another round for my quarreling friends,” he calls to the bartender, who obliges with a grumble. His tone changes as he lays eyes on Burt. “Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”
Burt is dazed and out-of-breath, but his eyes widen with recognition upon seeing the goldfish whisker. He tries to make himself as small as possible on the barstool.
“S…s…s…Sir Allard,” Burt stammers, holding out a trembling hand.
You also are taken aback. You had not expected to run straight into Sir Allard, the exalted leader of the Adventurer’s Guild, in this dingy bar.
Allard looks at Burt’s hand without accepting it.
“Burt, Burt, Burt. I thought I might run into you here one day. And who is your friend? Another thief?”
“No, sir. No, they’re just an adventurer,” Burt says.
You nod vigorously.
“Just an adventurer, ay?” Sir Allard says. “Well, so long as you are what you say you are. As for you, Burt. Explain yourself.”
Burt hastily recounts his story about “borrowing” gold from the guild to pay for his entry fee to the card tournament. Allard has his arms crossed, getting noticeably angrier as Burt stumbles through his tale. Burt finishes with a mumbled apology and opens his coin bag to repay the gold, but realizes he is short.
“Ach, you incompetent scoundrel.” Allard says calmly as he cuffs him over the ear. The strength of the blow sends Burt flying off the stool again.
Worried for Burt’s health, you quickly step in, explaining in an undertone that you have found something of great interest to the Adventurer’s Guild.
“You have, have you?” Allard says. “Well, let’s not speak of it further here.”
You suddenly remember the old Windrosian whisker who had questioned you and Burt earlier and look around, but she is nowhere to be seen. Burt manages to pick himself up, swaying slightly on the spot. Sir Allard glares at him, and then you. His gaze is so intense you feel like you’re shrinking. Burt looks slightly green and looks like he’ll fall over again.
“Pick up your things, whiskers. We head straight for HQ,” Allard commands. He then turns to the bartender. “Put what they had on my tab.”
Burt totters to the bar.
“At least let me finish my drink.”
“Not a chance, lad.” Allard grabs his shoulder and drags him out of the bar, his flowing red cape vanishing through the door with a swish.
You make sure the Atlas is safe in your pack then follow them, waving an awkward goodbye to the bartender and the other patrons.