
	Tales of Orkney
	by Bomur37

	It was a small temple in a small town, but it served its purpose.  Of the three adventurers in its main hall, only one was truly comfortable there.

	Although the warrior sat quietly, it was plain that he was ill at ease.  He had come to associate these places with illness, disease and death, despite the knowledge that those were the very things that were regarded as enemies by the priests who lived and worked in the place.  Despite being genuinely grateful to the order of healers, the warrior had no desire to be their frequent customer.

	He studied the walls with no particular interest.  A functional building, this, spare on decorations and ornamentation, dimly lit without the sun to shine through its window friezes.  A happier place during the day, he supposed, but dank and gloomy at night.  At least it was open all hours, which was just as well since none could tell when some poor fool too slow to avoid a sword or arrow would stagger up its steps needing the healing arts of its proprietors.

	What gods there are must be cruel, he thought.  The attack, or more likely ambush, had been sudden and savage, and it was only by the skill of the young magician that any of them survived that day.  Even so, Tanrienrial the Ranger had fallen under their swords.  No point in bringing his remains to this place, for while the priests might regenerate a lost limb for a price, not even they could restore a missing head.

	The monk had been severely injured, but refused to die.  They all knew what it had cost him to trudge on to the nearest town, never complaining while his wounds bled through the makeshift bandages.  The magician had healed what she could, but there were limits to what she could achieve, and even in such a state, the monk had insisted that the young girl not exhaust her art in case they were attacked again.  Foul luck that such a man should be swallowed whole by a peat bog, gone in a moment.  Even their Dwarven Geomancer could not recover his body.

	 Such losses had made the remaining journey particularly nervous, so lacking in offensive capabilities.  It was hardly fair to depend as they had upon the magician, who was little more than a girl, despite her powers, but it had to be admitted that she had shouldered her responsibility with impressive maturity.  The warrior suspected that the thief had something to do with that.

	And the bard had helped, too.  While it was all too easy to dismiss the man as next to useless when the road got hard, he had made a point of raising their spirits at every opportunity, fussing here, sympathising there, cajoling them all onwards, and paying special attention to the magician, on whom their very lives might have depended, had the luck turned worse still.  The young woman was clearly amused if a little embarrassed by his attentions, which were always light and playful, though enough on occasion to warrant a warning word from the thief.

	All knew that the thief would only warn once.

	"How much longer are they going to take on our Dwarven master of rocky arts?" hissed the bard, sitting down heavily on the row of benches directly behind the warrior. "It's not as though there's that much of him to heal, being so near to the ground and all."

	"It doesn't really matter how long," the warrior replied quietly, "just that they do the job right.  And must you joke in this place?  Show some respect; even you benefit from their skills sometimes."

	"I thought you didn't like temples."

	"That's not the point.  It's safe, and we need their goodwill.  If you offend them, we'll be barred from temples for leagues in every direction, and none of us would last a week. I've seen enough bad fortune without you calling the gods down on our heads, assuming you haven't already!"

	"Then it shall be as you say, O warrior true, though if the truth be known, our diminutive dirt master is haggling for a manicure and a massage, having such spare change in hand.  There was naught wrong with him above a broken bootlace, as you well know."

	The warrior sighed.  Sometimes the bard's prattle would irritate, but to complain would only make matters worse.  It was just a sign of frayed nerves, from which they all suffered.  The bard was a good man in a fight, despite his foppish appearance.  He was well schooled with the rapier he wore, and not a few had first laughed when it was drawn and called a sword, then groaned and fell to the floor when it had proved as sharp and deadly as any poniard.  His skills with locks and traps were modest, but useful when the thief was elsewhere.

	But it was with the lute that he truly excelled.  It was strange to hear music in the middle of a fight, yet there were melodies of power that would find advantage from nowhere.  None truly understood it – the true magic-wielders seemed mystified, though they could not deny the effects, and the bards' guild expected their members to jealously guard its secrets.  Even around the campfire did the bard weave his strange spells to beneficial effect, though it could be nothing more than a pleasing tune after a hard day.

	And despite his carefree manner, the bard was the best suited of them to lead, now that both the ranger and monk were gone.  None of them had more experience in earning a living from wandering the land, save perhaps the thief, but the older woman had previously refused point blank to take charge of the party, preferring to follow orders rather than give them.

	The warrior had wondered about that.  He had even gone so far as to engage the thief in private conversation during her night watch in order to persuade her to reconsider.  The thief had simply stated that trust was an important factor in a leader, and none, not even the warrior himself, trusted her.  The warrior pursued that matter no further.

	The bard, by contrast, was generally liked, and even the gruff dwarf would laugh at his jokes at times.  It would be a relatively easy matter to follow the man, provided he did not make too many mistakes at the outset.  Trust and confidence in him would grow with success.

	However, it was to the warrior that they all looked when it was time for decisions, including the bard.  So far those decisions had not proved difficult, since all they had amounted to was getting them to safety.  But the sense of responsibility began to weigh heavily upon him, since every twist and turn could mean another life lost.  Tanrienrial the Ranger had led them with a plan in mind, but that plan had died with its creator.  The warrior had a few ideas, but that was all.

	"At least our new friend is happy here," whispered the bard, gesturing in the direction of the armoured figure that sat near the temple altar.

	The warrior had sent the bard to the adventurers' hall with instructions to recruit for their party.  He had hoped that a barbarian would be available, since they were usually dependable in a fight, if prone to being hot-headed.  Even better would have been a Saurian Red Claw; the warrior had fought alongside one of those living weapons before, and well respected their killing skills.

	Instead….

	"Shut up," the warrior snapped.  "What in the seven hells were you thinking?  A Paladin?!  And a woman, at that?!  She's scarcely a year or two older than our magician!"

	"She was the best available," the bard replied, sounding somewhat injured.

	"Oh really? What others were there?"

	"A gnome thief – I thought ours would not welcome the competition – and a half-orc pyromancer."

	"What?  They're not allowed to do that!"

	"Perhaps not, but I wasn't inclined to tell him, just in case he was.  And he looked likely to chew my leg off, even if he wasn't.  Believe me, not a congenial choice."

	"No others?" the warrior asked, clearly dismayed.

	"A female dwarf – the perfect companion for our regenerating pebblehead – except that she is a bard.  While you might like the idea of duets, I refuse to make camp with a bearded woman, regardless of species.  But worry not, our virtuously pious maiden here can smite evil with the best, I am sure.  That's no toothpick in the scabbard at her side, as you'll be seeing shortly, no doubt."

	"Outstanding," the warrior said bitterly, "We are now three women, two men and a dwarf."

	"I rather like that arrangement, myself.  I'll have the magician, you can have the thief, though I doubt yon paladin would care much for our gritty lawn ornament."

	"That's enough!" barked the warrior, raising his voice more than he meant to. "Look," he continued quietly, "I know you don't really mean it and it's all a jest, but a comment like that would turn any one of them, if not all, against you in an instant.  We're in trouble enough without starting stupid fights amongst ourselves."

	Although the bard looked suitably chastised, the warrior knew that it would be forgotten in a while and the chatter would resume. Reluctantly, he was forced to admit that the bard did not seem to posses the temperament necessary for leadership.  That left one choice, and he was not happy about it.

	Nor was he happy to have a female paladin in the party.  The males were bad enough at times, but the female holy warriors tended to be strident in the extreme, declaring their faith to all and sundry, almost demanding attention.  While it was good that they were healed, they were not clear of danger, with no certain destination and unknown foes ahead.  The ambush, and it had been an ambush, he was increasingly sure, had been no accident.  Stealth would be necessary if they were to survive.

	It was taking too long.  The warrior stood, making several decisions at once.

	"Get the dwarf," he told the bard, "we're leaving."  

	"Not let them finish? We can wait for his shortness at the adventurers' hall."

	"We're leaving this town. Something's wrong."

The bard looked at him once, then moved off quickly towards the healing chambers without a word.

	"Paladin," he called out to the armoured woman as he moved towards the entrance, "come with me."

	The thief was waiting outside, eyes scanning the town and surrounding countryside, though little could be seen within the town perimeter and almost nothing beyond.

	"Anything out there?" asked the warrior.

	"Not sure.  Maybe." she replied.

	"We're leaving."

	"Good."

	"Where's the magician?"

	"Visiting a scribe. Go on ahead, we'll catch up," said the thief, but the warrior was already moving, leaving the surprised-looking paladin behind.

	"Follow him," said the thief to the armoured woman. "And keep your eyes open. We're in trouble."

	"What sort of trouble?" asked the paladin.
	
	"We don't know yet," she replied as she walked off in the opposite direction,  "and that's the worst kind!"

	Later that night, something visited the town and did not find what it wanted.
		

