"What's in a Name"

Just as Darian was finishing up with his list of reasons why he wanted to be an adventurer and Pellanor was chiding him for his overly rosy picture of life on the road, a young monk was finding out just how un-rosy an adventurer’s life could be.

Her name was Asteria, a medium-sized half elf, lithe of body and strong of limb, with long silvery white hair half-tied in a braid that draped partway down her back. Her skin was lightly tanned with hints of gold and green sprinkled throughout. Besides her backpack and leather belt tied around her homespun brown robes, she bore a forest-green cape and cowl, which due to the known xenophobia of the local humans, she kept up around her head, to partially obscure her pointed ears.

She’d been trying to sleep under an oak tree in a vast, deep forest, there being no inn nor tavern, not even a woodsman’s hut nearby. She had made it to within a few leagues of Vexdale the night before, but had chosen not to travel further in the darkness. Her past experiences had taught her that the bandits that frequented the more lonely stretches of road were often more of a threat than the creatures of the forest. So she ventured a few dozen paces away from the roadway into a section of the forest that provided good cover, yet still offered a decent enough view of any passing traffic.

She spread out her bedroll, propped herself up against the trunk of the largest oak in the area, ate a modest dinner of dried berries, nuts and pemmican, and softly recited a few prayers taught to her by her Master at the Temple where she had been fortunate enough to study:

My fists are my weapons with which I shake hands.

My feet do my bidding as I walk distant lands.

My head holds my will, an iron resolve.

My eyes spy my future, through my skills will evolve.

These and other litanies spun through her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

The forest was still an hour from sunrise when –

BONK!

Asteria sat bolt upright after being smacked in the head. She leapt to her feet and assumed a crouching stance, her hands balled into fists, ready to defend herself from any further attacks.

A high-pitched chittering sound from high overhead greeted her, as the false dawn leaked through the canopy. She took her eyes off the nearby roadway and scanned the branches above her. Something small and hard crashed through the branches and landed near her feet –

An acorn!

She relaxed her stance and, with her hands on her hips, she appraised her “attacker.” Far above in the oak tree, a red-tailed squirrel sat chittering away, angry that some interloper had chosen his tree under which to rest. It chucked another acorn in Asteria’s direction, though like the last one, it also missed.

I wonder how many nuts he’d already lobbed at me, Asteria mused, before he hit me with one? She decided that for the sake of the forest’s solitude, she’d move on to a less contentious area. She gathered up her meager belongings and further decided, this close to sunrise, that she might as well begin the day’s journey to Vexdale. She doubted any bandits would be up at this hour anyway.

As she made her way towards the distant town, she noticed three adventurers off to one side, in a small rock-strewn glade adjacent to the packed earth roadway. One was obviously a barbarian of some sort, due to the skins he wore, as well as the massive double-headed axe leaning against the small boulder upon which he sat. Another human from his extensive plated armor and longsword seemed to be a fighter, though the armor had numerous dents and even a few gashes in it. The third, ostensibly the leader of the group, appeared to be a cleric, as she wove healing spells over the blood-stained barbarian, and then on herself. The three bore sullen, frustrated looks. None of them said a word as Asteria passed them by. They didn’t even make eye contact.

Looks like a battle gone bad, she thought to herself. The trio didn’t seem like they were in the mood for any new engagements. Still, Asteria kept a wary eye on them until they were out of sight over the next hill.

I really need to find a group to travel with, she thought to herself. Being alone on the road is too risky. ‘A single fish is more vulnerable than ten in a crowd,’ she remembered her Master telling her.

The sun had just broken through the woods behind her when she finally caught sight of Vexdale’s tallest spires off to the west. Here the road widened out into a track that could accommodate two carts abreast. Flanking the road were a few tilled fields and pastures, signs at last of civilization. In one of the pastures nearest the road grazed a few cattle. One of those cows had drawn the attention of a couple of wiry teenage boys, looking for some adventure of their own. They were braced against the cow on its flank, trying to push it over and laughing all the while.

“Idiots,” Asteria said aloud.

Never pass up the opportunity to do some good, she remembered her Master schooling her.

She sighed deeply and turned to face the teens, who were struggling to tip over the cow, who mooed loudly in defiance. Asteria approached them, her hands grasping the straps of her backpack, hoping she didn’t pose too much of an aggressive posture.

“Greetings, lads,” she said. “What is it you’re attempting to do with that poor beast?”

“None o’ yer darn business!” the taller of the two boys replied. “Whyn’cha go back to pickin’ vegetables in yer mama’s garden?” Both boys laughed at his suggestion.

Asteria smiled as politely as she could. “Because I am not a vegetable picker, and my mother lives far from here. Say, why don’t you leave that animal alone and travel with me to Vexdale? You can fill me in on the politics of the town as we walk. I might be able to share some of my own wisdom with you two.”

“We don’t need any of yer stinkin’ wisdom!” the shorter one sneered.

Asteria strolled slowly closer to the pair. “That’s not a very friendly way to talk to a stranger.”

“Whatcha gonna do, lady? Go cryin’ back to Daddy in the Fae realm?”

His insinuation that Asteria’s heritage resulted from a forced coupling between her mother and a Fae creature irritated Asteria, though she managed to keep her cool. Those who succumb to anger have already lost, she recited to herself. But she needed to show the two that she meant business.

She withdrew her only weapon, a silvery dagger, from a sheath hidden beneath her backpack. “I think you two should leave that animal alone, now.” She was close enough to strike at the pair, though her being armed and they unarmed seemed like an unfair match. But once she’d pulled it, the two boys’ demeanor changed. They turned to face her and scowled. The taller one picked up a rusty but wicked-looking scythe, the other a metal-tipped hay fork.

“C’mon then, pointy-ears,” the taller one said. “Let’s see if you can use that thing.”

“I say we knock her out and have our way with her,” the shorter one growled. “Looks like she’d be worth an hour or two o’ fun.”

The half-elf looked aside for a moment, as if debating whether to turn and run. But it was only a feint: she ducked in beneath the taller one’s scythe and wrapped him hard in the face with the pommel of her dagger. Blood spurted from his broken nose, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. His companion hesitated, then took a half-hearted lunge with his hayfork. Asteria easily evaded it, and brought her dagger straight up to his neck. She held it there, threatening worse, until he dropped the weapon and backed away, holding his empty hands out in front of him.

“Please don’t kill us!” he whimpered. “We was only having a bit o’ fun!”

“Fun for you, maybe,” she replied, sheathing her dagger. “Not so much for the poor beast.”

The teen on the ground rolled over onto his back, then reached up with one hand to the bleeding mess of his nose. “By dose! You broke by dose!” he sputtered.

His buddy helped him to his feet and, casting a wary glance backwards, the two limped away across the fields in the general direction of Vexdale.

Asteria took a moment to pat the cow on its shoulders. “I think you're safe for the moment, old girl.”

The animal mooed contentedly in response, then went back to grazing on the longer shoots of grass nearby.

Laying on the ground next to the teens’ discarded farm implements was a folded paper. Asteria bent down to retrieve it and unfolded it. Beneath an artful rendition of a team of warriors and mystics was a block of hand-written text, which she read aloud to the cow. “Vexdale Mercenaries Guild looking for new members. Weekly paying jobs. All skill levels welcome.” She paused and then exclaimed, “One hundred gold pieces sign-up bonus!” She patted the cow again, a little more enthusiastically this time. “Sounds like this is just what I need.” She read further. “Apply at the Broken Arrow Guildhall, west of Kingsmire Keep.”

“Well,” she continued, “I do have one stop to make. My Master made me promise to visit the tavern he last saw a decade ago, and report back on its current condition. But as soon as that’s done, the Guildhall it shall be.” She looked over at the contented cow, happily munching on a thick tuft of grass. “May your days be pleasant from here on out.”

As she walked back to the main road, the cow gazed after her and mooed her thanks.

Peebleway’s Place was named after a retired adventurer who used some of his earnings to set up a semi-reputable tavern and inn on the outskirts of Vexdale, beyond the town walls and the reach of the greedy town bureaucracy. In the decades since, it had changed owners several times. It currently belonged to an odd goblin chef named Blorbin, whose tasty food was as well known as his occasional habit of using his feet to prepare the nightly meals. He was never far from his overly tolerant wife, a yellow-and-white-haired gnome named Faye.

That was all Asteria knew about the place, told to her by her Master’s own words. She’d asked for more background, but that was all he would offer.

He did give her two commands, such as they were: one was to make sure she visited this place before any other establishment in or outside of Vexdale. Even stranger was to seek out Faye directly and greet her by name, then give her greetings from her Master, who must have known her some time ago. He had an odd twinkle in his eye as he gave her that instruction, but more than that he would not share.

It was a few hours before noon when Asteria finally arrived at Peebleway’s. It stood out from the rest of the lower buildings to the east of Vexdalke’s walls, in part due to having a second floor, which most others did not, but also in having what seemed like a steady stream of patrons coming in and out of its sturdy main door.

She stepped inside, and as her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, she surveyed the place. Her nose took in a hundred smells, from roasted meat and cooked fish to beer, wine, mulled cider, and a dozen levels of human hygiene or lack thereof.

The large main room ahead of her held a good ten or twelve tables, each with four or more chairs. About half were occupied by what appeared to be tradespeople: farmers, craftsmen, and sellers of various goods. A pair of servers wove through the patrons. One of them was a half-elf like herself, with curly dark blue shoulder-length hair that flowed like a river over his tan skin. His green and purple tunic gave no indication of his particular station in life, though the fiddle and bow sticking out of a leather pouch over his back gave the indication he might be some kind of bard or minstrel, when he wasn’t waiting tables. The other server was a sprightly goblin teen with dark green skin and leather breeches. Asteria sucked in her breath, being this close to a live goblin, but then remembered the tavern was owned by a goblin.

Not all apples are ripe, she recited, and not all bees will sting.

A staircase to the second floor hugged the left wall, while a small raised stage stood in the far right corner. To the immediate right of the main door stood an ornate oaken bar, carved deeply with all manner of whorls and swirled patterns, like an oak tree in love with itself. Interestingly, the bartop was only about three feet above the floor, but then, she remembered that the owners were a gnome and a goblin, and the lack of height made more sense.

At the bar, nursing a covered tankard of some unknown brew, stood a muscular dwarf in common chainmail, with a most uncommon polearm that he kept close to his side with one meaty hand. His elbows barely surpassed the top of the bar.

“Sit wherever you’d like,” the blue haired half-elf called out as he carried dishes and mugs to the kitchen off to the right behind the bar. While she was deciding whether to do that or to seek out the lady Faye, the dwarf at the bar noticed her and waved her over.

“Greetings, m’lady,” he said politely. “I c’n see from your pause at the door that yer new here, like my’self. Perhaps you’d care to join me in a cold drink while we discuss our mutual incongruity?”

Asteria smiled and wandered closer. “I am not out of place, master dwarf. I have just not yet found the person I wish to meet.” She gestured with her right hand at his covered tankard. “And as generous as your offer sounds, I do not partake in alcoholic beverages.”

The dwarf harrumphed good naturedly. “These days, neither do I.” He peered around to make sure no one was watching, then raised the tankard’s lid with his thumb. Inside was a white liquid, milk from the looks of it.

Asteria smiled again. “Then we have something in common. Just this morning, I rescued a cow from being tormented by a couple of local teens.”

“Yeah,” the dwarf growled. “Hooliganism seems to me a major commodity in this fair city.” He extended his right hand. “My name’s Pellanor. Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss…?”

Asteria shook his hand, while they challenged each other with the strength of their grips. “I am called Asteria Nightwind, from the Temple of the Nine Graces, far to the east.” She caught the eye of the blue-haired half-elf as he popped out of the kitchen. “Sir, do you serve tea here?”

“Hah!” the half-elf replied. “Best tea this side of Auwnar! What kind in particular?”

Asteria thought for a moment. “I would be grateful for some hot green tea.”

“Coming right up!” the half-elf replied, and was gone before he finished his last word. He returned almost instantly, carrying a nice stoneware tea set, painted a bright blue and white.

“Would ya like some honey with that, dear?” he asked.

“Oh, uh, no, thank you,” Asteria replied. She’d never had honey in her tea, but wasn’t comfortable sharing that private bit of information just yet.

He poured her a steaming hot mug while he spoke. “My name’s Darian, and this is my mum and dad’s place.”

“Oh, then maybe you can help me,” Asteria replied. “I’ve been tasked by my Master to bid greetings to your mother, Faye.”

Darian halted in mid-pour. “Don’t ever call her that!” he whispered sharply. “She doesn’t like being called that!”

Just then, out of the kitchen waddled a short and wide gnomish woman with an apron over her flowered dress. “My ears are burning back there! You folk gabbing about me?”

Before he could stop her, Asteria introduced herself. “I am called Asteria Nightwind. Would you be the proprietress of this establishment, the woman named Faye?”

In a flash the gnome brought a butcher knife down on the top of the bar with a ringing clang!

“Don’t ever call me that, girl!” she replied with a snarl. “The name’s Faelyn! Nothing shorter, nothing with a ‘y’ on the end, simply and only Fae-lyn!”

The dwarf hadn’t moved a muscle, though Asteria had leaped back a foot before the knife had even hit the bar. “My sincerest apologies, madam,” she said, “but that was the name my Master gave me to contact you.”

“Oh, really? And who would your master be, girl?”

Asteria looked from Pellanor to the blue-haired half-elf, who kept his distance, and back to the gnome lady. “I call him only my Master, but I’ve heard rumors that in his adventuring days, he was called, um, Skinny Pete.”

The gnome lady’s mood changed from stormy night to brilliant day. “Skinny Pete? Fast-Hands Pete? Pete the Punch?” The lady laughed deeply, and slid the butcher knife off the bar top. “That explains it. He set you up, girl, knowing I’d take an instant dislike to being called that.” She nodded. “The name’s Faelyn, and I’m pleased to meet you. Eh, sorry about the knife. Been under a lotta pressure this week. Big shindig comin’ up in a few days, and we’ve been workin’ hard to prepare for the crowds.”

Without another word, Faelyn turned and waddled back to the kitchen, where she started up a loud conversation with a reedy-voiced fellow that would most likely be Blorbin, her goblin husband.

Exhaling a deep breath, the blue-haired half-elf slid the teapot back to the spot where he’d whisked it away to avoid Faelyn’s wild knife blow. “You’re quite lucky, lady. Last time someone called her Faye, she buried that knife five fingers deep into the feller’s thigh.”

He refilled her mug. “She and Blorbin are my adopted parents. A nicer and more accommodating pair you’ll never meet, though they each have their own, shall we say, peculiarities.”

“Indeed,” Asteria replied. She couldn’t help but notice that the dwarf beside her was smiling over his tankard. “Something amusing you, master dwarf?”

“Not at all,” Pellanor replied. “I just happened to observe how you avoided that knife even before it could reach you. Good reflexes.” He held the mug up and toasted her with a deep draught.

Asteria smiled herself. “My Master would not have sent me off without making certain that I could take care of myself.”

“And why did he send you here?” Darian asked.”I mean, apart from getting you almost killed by my mum?”

Asteria took a long sip of the sweet warm tea before replying. “He had a dream that suggested I’d be needed here in Vexdale. Something about changing the way of the worlds.”

“Worlds, plural?” Darian replied.

“Indeed,” Asteria replied, as the warm tea flowed into her and soothed many of the ruffles that the previous few minutes had given her. “He wasn’t too specific, but he made it sound like I’d be a part of a group whose accomplishments would be rather significant.”

Feeling Asteria’s reluctance to share more details, Darian shifted the conversation to Pellanor. “And what brings you to our humble establishment, master dwarf? We don’t see many of your kind ‘round these parts, not since the, uh–”

Darian abruptly stopped talking. “I hope I’m not being too forward.” The history of how the dwarven race was almost entirely obliterated due to advanced weapons invented by the gnomes was still a touchy subject many years later. But if Pellanor felt any unease, he didn’t show it.

“Hmmph,” the dwarf mumbled. “I have to admit, I too have been sent to this region by my god Moradin, to help, ah…” His words drifted off before he looked up at the other two. “To help fix an old problem. And He did mention, there were indeed other worlds out there. But as far as I know, I’m only tasked with fixing this here one.”

Asteria retrieved the flier left behind by the two teens. “As it so happens, I may have found just the place to begin our journey. It appears the local mercenaries guild is advertising for new groups to join them.” She passed the flier to Pellanor, and then to Darian.

“I’ve been there,” Pellanor said, with another harrumph. “They’ll only accept teams of three or more.” He looked up at Asteria, then the two of them glanced over at Darian, who was busy cleaning out a shelf of tankards behind the bar.

It took him a few moments before he realized they were waiting on him to make a reply. “What, you want me to join up with you?”

“You did say you were considerin’ a life of adventure,, did you not?” Pellanor asked.”I can think of no less of an adventure than takin’ on missions for the mercenaries guild.”

It took Darian a quick half-second for him to make up his mind. He tossed the bar rag onto the bar and caught the eye of the other server.

“Kreegar!” he half-whispered. “I’m heading out for the day. Tell my mum–no, on second thought, don’t tell her anything. I’ll be back for the dinner rush!” He turned back to Pellanor and Asteria, as he headed for the stairs. “I’ll meet you outside in two minutes!”

The blue-haired half-elf bounded up the stairs, as the other server, Kreegar, stared after him and shook his head. “Some people have all the fun,” he muttered to himself.

Darian rifled through the drawers of his single dresser. He pulled out a few maps, some music sheets, a small package of replacement bowstrings, and a set or two of extra clothes, and stuffed them all into an old haversack. He knelt beside his bed and reached under it to pull out an old but still serviceable longsword, one that his parents told him was left with him when they adopted him.

He tossed the longsword in its sheath onto the bed, then took an equally old set of leather armor out of his closet, and struggled to fit into it. The set was left behind by an adventurer some years before. When Darian was younger, he’d put it on and pretend to be fighting some massive black dragon, as he fumbled with the old longsword, which at his younger age required both hands to wield. But now, he was going to be using both the armor and the sword for real.

He paused for a moment, wondering if this was the right move to make, or whether he should tell his mother and father, before he left. But he knew they’d put up a furious opposition, and he’d never get the chance to go. Without any further hesitation, he donned the rest of the armor, grabbed his gear, and took out through the second-floor window. He crept across the lower roof that covered the stables, then swung down an obliging tree branch and landed neatly a few yards behind his two new companions.

“Let’s be off,” he said, “before my parents change my mind.”

Vexdale’s east gate was lightly defended at the best of times, but in the middle of the day, the guards were especially lax. The rotation had brought in four new men, but even at an hour past noon, they were already woozy from inebriation.

Darian had been through this gate many times, and through bitter experience, knew exactly what kind of torment and ridicule he and his pointed ears would attract. He pulled the hood of his travel cloak up over his head, and with a wordless nod to Asteria, suggested she do the same. But the young monk just laughed.

Whether they were too drunk to care or to see straight, the guards let the three non-humans pass without challenge.

As they passed ‘round the southern face of Kingsmire Keep and headed north on the Westway, they passed a public fountain, the same one where Pellanor had encountered the two teens who were teasing the young school girl. On a bench nearby sat the same two ruffians, one of whom now held a bloodied hand cloth to his face.

Darian, who knew the two only from seeing their occasional antics in town, stopped to talk to them. “What happened to your face, kid?" he asked innocently.

The one with the hand cloth spotted Asteria and screamed, “Witch!”

The shorter one saw Pellanor and screamed, “Demon!”

Then the two of them stumbled over each other as they tried to run as far away from the two as fast as their feet would carry them.

Pellanor harrumphed again, which seemed to be the manner in which he appraised nearly all situations. “I’ve been called a lotta things before, but never a demon.” He realized Darian was expecting something more in the form of an answer, so he obliged. “Those two idgits were tormenting a young girl, threatening to drop her school bag into the fountain. I sorta kinda convinced them to give it back.” He snorted as they fled around a distant corner. “But I never laid a hand on ‘em.”

He and Darian turned to face Asteria. She thought for a moment, then offered, “I don’t like cow tippers.”

Pellanor laughed deeply, and reached up with his free hand to slap her on the back. “Asteria Nightwind! Defender of Cows!”

As they made their way north, they passed an elderly human in long purple clerical robes, holding a small stack of papers from which he’d offer one or two to others in the street.

“Who’s that fellow, Darian?” Pellanor asked. “I’ve seen him around town once or twice. Seems important, from the value of his clothing.”

“Oh, that’s Father Lazaroff,” Darian said. “He’s the head priest of the biggest church in town, the Sanctuary of Hope over there. Careful: he’s a little on the zenophobic side.”

As the group approached, Father Lazeroff spotted them and turned to intercept them. He held a sheaf of pages in one hand and offered one to the dwarf. “Warriors like yourself are never far from entering the next realm. Perhaps you’d like to come share a service with us, and prepare for your journey into the next world?”

Pellanor smiled up at the priest. “If’n my god Moradin wants me on the Other Side, there won’t be much I can do t’prepare m’self for it, nor forestall it.”

The Pastor smiled a sweet yet insincere smile. “We’d still love to have you with us tonight, sirrah.”

Darian leaned down and whispered, “You and your donations.”

The Father may have heard, because his smile immediately soured. “Please, take a flier,” he said, handing one to Pellanor, but not to his half-elf companions.”Just don’t pass them off to any riff-raff.”

The dwarf peered around from side to side, then said semi-seriously, “Don’t see no rafts ‘round here.”

Father Lazaroff crossed his hands at his waist. “So, we’ll see you at services tonight, then? Just after seven?”

Pellanor stroked his beard and finally replied, “As a fellow cleric, I’ve found that bringing a wayward soul into the light is more rewarding than gently guiding one who is already on the right path.”

Father Lazeroff blinked twice. “So, is–is that a yes?”

The dwarf chuckled. “Sure, an’ if I’m not lying in a pile o’ me own blood somewhere, I’ll be happy to attend.”

Darian was not so pleased with the good Father’s shunning. As the trio turned to go, he turned his back to Lazeroff and gave him two rude hand gestures. The Father was annoyed enough that he stormed up the wide stone stairs of the Sanctuary of Hope and slammed the doors behind him.

Pellanor immediately handed the flier to Asteria, who read it and passed it to Darian. “This says there’ll be a three-hour mass for all who follow Baldr,” he commented, “the god of light and radiance, starting at 7 pm.” He turned to look at the dwarf, who happily marched north towards the Guildhall. “You’re really going to hear this melon-head preach?”

“Consider it research,” Pellanor suggested. “Now, if yer done annoying the local prelate, let’s head to the Guildhall.”

“He had it coming!” Darian retorted.

At the Broken Arrow Guildhall, Brenda looked the three of them up and down, then asked Pellanor, “Are these your two new teammates, then?”

“We are now comrades in arms, my good lady,” Pellanor replied.

She asked for their specialties. Pellanor began a lengthy explanation that he was a warrior with a strong connection to his God, Who–

Before he could finish, Brenda spoke as she made a notation in her logbook, “Paladin.”

Darian went next, explaining he was handy with a sword, but his real specialty was whipping up a song or two with his–

Before he could extol the virtues of his fiddle playing, Brenda commented “Bard,” and added it to her notes.

Asteria bowed with her fists held forward, but before she could even say a word, Brenda noted, “Monk.”

While she made a few more notations, Pellanor looked around for the three adventurers he’d spoken to his last time in the Guildhall. “What happened to that other group that was here the other day?” he asked.

“They’ve already headed off to their mission,” Brenda replied. She stopped writing and stared down at the dwarf.

Pellanor waited patiently for her to add a few more details, to which Brenda finally complied. “They were supposed to deal with a group of ruffians, bandits basically, from out of town, who were messing with farmers coming in for the Festival.” She put her focus back on the notebook. “Your group will need a name.”

“What kind of name” Darian asked.

The Guildswoman sighed audibly. “ A name. Any kind of name, I don’t care. Something that others will know you by. Something, oh, I dunno, proud and majestic. Inspiring. Memorable.”

Pellanor thought about Asteria’s encounter with the cow-tippers earlier that day, and his own recent penchant for milk, and blurted out, “The Moolish Fortals!”

Darian burst out laughing and almost choked. Asteria hid a smile behind one hand, but before either of them could object, Brenda had entered it into her notebook. “The Moolish Fortals it is!” she announced.

She handed each of them a small copper badge. “You are now Copper rank. Once you complete three missions within a year's time, you will advance to Silver rank. You now have access to the red quests.” She reached behind the main desk and retrieved three small jingling sacks. “And here’s your sign-up bonus.”

Darian hefted his sack of coins while he peered at Pellanor. “I oughta charge you your hundred for sticking us with that ridiculous name.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Pellanor replied, smiling broadly. “It’s certainly unique.”

“Less proud and majestic,” Asteria added as she slid her sack under her robes, “but definitely memorable.”