But not just anywhere would do. The Eladrin smiled as he saw his destination just over the next hill: Northshire Abbey.
The Abbey sat tranquil amongst the trees of the forest of Elwynn. Its red roof shone in the late afternoon sun. Warm silver bricks intertwined with vines gave the place a homey, lived-in feeling, while two small lanterns decorated the entrance, the candlelight welcoming to weary travelers. Despite being very old, the Abbey was well-kept.
The Eladrin approached and knocked on the door. After a moment’s wait, the ancient entryway creaked open. A small human cleric peered out at him.
“Greetings, traveler,” the cleric said, opening the door all the way. “Have you come to stay the night?”
“Greetings, cleric,” the Eladrin replied. “Indeed, I come seeking somnolence.”
The cleric nodded. “Come in, come in.”
The Eladrin stepped into the Abbey. It was small, but comfortable. To the left was the main waiting area, which contained four cushy chairs and a modest bookcase. To the right was a large kitchen and eating area with many benches. Several other clerics sat, eating their supper. Straight ahead were the stairs to the second floor of the Abbey.
“Might I ask your name?” the cleric said. “To reserve your room?”
“Niggaroso,” the Eladrin answered. The cleric quickly scribbled it down in a leather-bound notebook.
“You are dressed very strangely.”
“I am a wizard.”
The cleric’s eyes lit up suddenly. “A wizard?”
“Yes,” Niggaroso said. “Trained by the finest.”
The cleric appeared to be thinking for a moment. “This is a very unorthodox question, Niggaroso. And I beg your pardon for asking it, as we have just met. I also ask forgiveness for assuming your intentions in coming to this place.” He hesitated. “Might you be able to help us? For payment, of course.”
“With what issue do you require aid?” Niggaroso asked curiously.
“Echo Ridge Mines,” the cleric said excitedly, as if he had been waiting a long time to tell someone. “The mines are very close to us. They are being overrun by goblins, and naturally, the goblins come here to raid – for food, and the like. We at the Abbey have been trying to hire someone to take care of the problem, but no one so far has been willing.” He looked pleadingly at Niggaroso. “Please. We are having a difficult time keeping up our own supplies without being cleaned out by the goblins every few days.”
Niggaroso considered. “And you are willing to pay?”
“Yes. Compensation will be great.”
‘Then I will do it,” Niggaroso declared. “However, I am but one wizard. I will require some kind of aid.”
“Yes,” the cleric said. “You have me.”
Niggaroso sized him up. “I think we will need… slightly more firepower.”
The cleric nodded enthusiastically. “There is a tavern, slightly down the east road. There we will find others to help us. I have not been able to convince them before, but perhaps with a wizard such as yourself now in our service, they will be easier to convince.”
…
Niggaroso and the cleric took two of the Abbey’s fastest horses and road a mile down the road to the tavern. It was fairly crowded for being such a small place, and just a little bit rowdy. Drunken dwarves sang old mining songs of gold and women. Elves sat by themselves, conversing quietly. A bard was riling up the crowd with a fantastic story about a dragon and the single mage that destroyed it.
Niggaroso grabbed a drink from the bar and downed it in one swig. He swung one leg up on the bar, and in another second was standing on top of it, his head brushing the ceiling. He pulled the cleric up after him.
“Hey, what d’ya think you’re doing?” the bartender demanded.
Niggaroso spread his arms in greeting. In his most booming voice he addressed the boisterous crowd.
“Hear me, ye knaves! I am Niggaroso, esteemed wizard!”
The crowd quieted down. The dwarves stared unsteadily, ale dripping off their beards. The Elves looked skeptically. The bard just looked angry at being interrupted.
“Echo Ridge Mines are in danger,” Niggaroso continued. “I am seeking three brave souls to venture with myself and this Northshire Abbey cleric into the depths and free this principality from the threat of the goblins!”
Silence passed for a moment. Those who were uninterested immediately resumed drinking and storytelling. Only three faces were still studying Niggaroso.
The closest was a dragonborn paladin. The wizard approached him.
“Follower of the light!” Niggaroso said, “you look troubled by my tale.”
“I am,” the paladin said. “I am intrigued. I offer my services, if it will help others who follow the light. Strekbow Strongarm, at your command.”
“Excellent,” Niggaroso said, slapping him jovially on the back. The paladin jerked and coughed as the ale went up his nose.
The second was a dwarf. Niggaroso could see how sturdy he was. The dwarf could prove useful if things turned sour for the group. He would make a good shield.
“Dwarf,” Niggaroso said. “Let me buy you a drink.”
It was obvious the dwarf didn’t need anymore drinks. But he looked hopefully at Niggaroso. “Ale?” he slurred. “More ale?”
“Indeed,” Niggaroso said, sliding his own half-finished ale towards the dwarf. He took one look at the ale and downed it in record time. “Dwarf, what be your name?”
“Thorin.”
“Thorin,” Niggaroso continued, “I am in dire need of your services. These people need you. And, there is a handsome reward for the defeat of these goblin thieves.”
“Gold?” Thorin asked.
“Of course,” the cleric said. “Much gold.”
“I am in!” the dwarf shouted, throwing his mug up in a toast. Ale splashed out onto the cleric, who frowned and squeezed out the sleeve of his robe.
Niggaroso’s eyes swept the tavern. The final face of interest belonged to a Halfling rogue. The rogue was enjoying a meal with several others of his kind.
“Rogue,” he said as diplomatically as possible, “might I ask your name?”
“Marill,” the rogue said. “Trouble at the mines, eh?”
“So I hear. Might you be interested? There are many rewards – the goblin leader is a mage, and in possession of a strong artifact that strengthens his power by the day.”
Marill looked interested. “And if we defeat this puny mage?”
“There is much more – gold, and the respect of the townspeople. But surely an honorable rogue such as yourself is not in this for the reward, but for the thrill of the unknown. This artifact is rumored to have many strange powers –”
“I’ll do it,” Marill interrupted. “But I get first look at this artifact.”
“Of course,” Niggaroso said. He turned to the cleric and smiled.
…
The next day, the group had assembled. Niggaroso, the cleric, Strekbow, Thorin, and Marill met in a patch of rough underbrush just outside the mine’s entrance.
“Seems quiet,” Thorin commented.
“Deceptive,” Marill said. “Goblins are not stupid. They would have someone to guard the entrance.”
Niggaroso had the same thought. “Then let us tread carefully.”
They moved slowly from cover and started towards the entrance. Marill suddenly took off ahead of them. A few muffled cries and a thump later, the group saw that he had taken care of two goblin guards.
More cautious now, they crept into the entrance of the cave. Thorin had been right; it was quiet. They formed a line, with Thorin leading.
A dozen yards in, Thorin raised his hand to signal the group to halt. He pointed at a slumped-over figure right in their path. Niggaroso signaled to Marill. The rogue stealthily moved forward and circled the figure. A moment later, he motioned for the group to follow.
The warrior on the ground was unquestionably dead, and had been for a few days.
“Poor unfortunate soul,” the cleric said, kneeling over the body. “He probably wandered here by accident – lost, looking for the Abbey.” He peeled a piece of paper out of the dead warrior’s hands. It was a poster, advertising the Arena Tournament to take place at the Darkmoon Faire. The cleric tossed it thoughtlessly on the ground. Interested, Marill discreetly pocketed the flyer as the rest of the group moved on, the warrior already out of their thoughts.
Suddenly Strekbow, who had scouted ahead, came rushing back. “The goblin mage is straight ahead,” he reported. “He is surrounded by four guards. It shouldn’t be difficult if we each take one, while avoiding the mage’s attacks. Then we can band together to take down the leader.”
Niggaroso bristled at the paladin’s take-charge attitude. “I should remind you that I assembled this group,” he said. “I will decide how it will move forward.”
The paladin looked irked but said nothing.
The group moved forward in the darkness, entering the chamber of the mage. It took a split second for the goblin mage to notice them. He sent his minions forth, all shrieking in rage.
The skirmish was quick and messy. After a few moments only the leader remained. He was a mage, but far less powerful than Niggaroso had expected. After dodging a few arcane bolts and missiles, the group had the outnumbered mage cornered. A few quick slashes from Marill finished him.
With the leader dead, the rest of the group began to clean off their weapons. The cleric was obviously excited, bouncing around the cavern and talking about the prosperity the Abbey would experience with the goblin threat gone. Niggaroso swept the room, searching every place the goblin would have hidden the artifact. A few frustrated minutes later, he had come up with nothing.
“No artifact?” Marill said, sounding disappointed.
“The reports were false,” Niggaroso said, sounding just as disappointed. But his mind was working quickly. He knew the reports had not been false; there was no way his informant had been misled. He also knew that the goblin was not smarter than the average goblin (which is to say, quite stupid). This lead the wizard to only one conclusion: the goblin had hidden the artifact knowing it was important but clueless as to what it could do.
“We have at least killed the leader,” the cleric said optimistically. “Come, let us retire for drinks – and your reward!”
…
Many hours later, the cave was once again being investigated. After slipping away from his inebriated companions, Niggaroso managed to scour the cave again on his own. He tore the room apart, searching every crack and crevice in the walls, floor, and ceiling. He walked out into the main cave area, tapping the side of his head, trying to think. An hour later, there was still nothing.
“Drat!” he yelled out. His voice echoed around the cave. “This is preposterous!”
He stomped out, failing to see Strekbow watching him from the shadows of the cave.
…
“Niggaroso!” called Thorin. “Where have you been?”
“Relaxing outside,” Niggaroso said, and seated himself beside the dwarf. “It is a beautiful night.”
“That it is,” Thorin said solemnly. Then he raised his Steiner joyously. “And we shall toast to it! Ha-hah!”
Niggaroso toasted along with the rest.
“Say, Niggaroso,” Thorin said, “Marill and I were speaking. The dragonborn has all but disappeared, and the cleric had returned to his abbey. And we were pondering – what might you be doing since our –” he hiccupped – “great adventure is over?”
Niggaroso thought for a moment. “I hadn’t given it any particular thought, Thorin.”
Thorin grinned at Marill, as if this response is what they had both been expecting. “Since you have some free time, ah, how about entering the Darkmoon Faire Arena Tournament with us?”
Marill slapped a flyer down on the table and pushed it towards Niggaroso. It was the poster that had been on the dead warrior, and it was offering gold and fame for the winners of the tournament.
Niggaroso nodded. “It sounds lucrative.”
Thorin slapped Niggaroso on the back. “Then let us celebrate, for today, we become a team!”
-Kim
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