Eventually, and mostly because Ian was not willing to see the “pre colonial native art collection”, they made their way to the treasure vault door. Canton produced a key, and inserted it in the lock. The door swung open revealing shelves of different treasures. One side of the chamber was a simple armory, where racks of weapons like swords and halberds were held, and armor, mostly chain shirts hung from pegs. On the other side of the room though, other items shone clearly displayed in some semblance of importance. Some of the items made sense, there was for example a gilded lanthorn hanging on a chain, a suit of fine armor made from small ring-like bands of metal. Others however looked out of place in a treasury. A candle made of purple wax. A greened tub of dried paint. A miniature model of an inn. Other items stood out to each of the urchins. Canton smiled. Like a captain inviting a passenger aboard he waved them inside and towards their heirlooms.
Areia approached a small shelf where sat a miniature flute. Thrak walked forward and picked up a shield resting against a chest. Hoisting it up, he turned towards the others as if to say, “See!” But they were busy themselves. Haryk was inspecting a finely fashioned box. He ran his fingers along it’s edges and pried it open. Something metallic shone from inside, resting in purple fabric. Andril simply strode forward and took a cloak off a coat rack where rested several other cloaks. This was the oldest and most worn of the lot, but he didn’t seem to mind. If it was special to him, he made no indication.
Canton spoke a few words of magic then. “Your property is thus returned to you, noble Celns. The items are yours once more.”
“Should never have been taken from us in the first place,” muttered Andril. He was looking in a pocket, and seemed displeased at not finding something there.
“Who? Who is that?” Areia was standing before a painting, set in a gilded frame. In the painting, Canton stood depicted as handsomely as one could imagine. He was wearing a brilliant green tunic, with the Tree of Cellinor stitched into the fabric most delicately. Next to him stood the three men and woman they had seen a likeness of in the heroes plaza. Mesilla, The Druid. Bolvist, The Rogue. Taryn, the warrior. And of course, Jasper, the monk. But it wasn’t any of these figures in the painting that Areia was staring at.
Behind them all was a dark haired man, with a bright smile and brilliantly white teeth. He wore a magnificent set of mail, and around his waste was a sash. A crimson sash.
“That Mistress Areia?! Why that is Lord Genoran, heir to the Throne of Cellinor. First born of Lord Borindin!” He turned to the others as if to say, Duh, of course one would know that! “And a good personal friend of mine I should say! Have I mentioned yet the time that Master Genoran and I….”
“There is no time for that Governor! We have overstayed our welcome. Several things must happen tonight, and that means we need everyone present,” interrupted Ian. He was already choosing items to be placed in Basel’s bag. “That Governor must include you!”
Ian was nothing but tactical about the gear they brought with them. In short order they had enough weaponry to stop a full invasion of Trebians.
“There’s one more item I’d like you to collect, good Celns,” said Canton. He asked them to walk with him to an antechamber where a small bed and table was laid out. On the bed lay a man, or perhaps a beast. from the angle they couldn’t be sure. For just a split second, Andril thought it might have been a man made into one of the beasts. The more they looked it was a typical man but with the exception that there were horns sprouting from it’s forehead that rolled backwards like a goat or ox. It’s skin was red and dark, and he or it looked like it had been injured severely. “I found him this night, he rests under my spell. He is a good man, or was until this transformation. I wish for you to take him with you. He will aid you tonight.” Canton spoke a few words of magic and produced a single potion bottle from his robes, exactly like the last. He poured it into the man’s mouth. His crooked body seemed to straighten and his visible wounds closed. The man opened his eyes. They were blood red. He gasped and looked around at the rest of them, red eyes flashing as he blinked.
“You want us to take him with us?” hissed Thrak.
“Well we’ve got our lizard, now there’s a goat. Not a big deal really,” chortled Areia.
“And what do we say when the Order of Flame asks us about him?” Asked Haryk.
“You won’t need to worry about that, Lord Haryk, my friend here is the Order and tonight you will need him, as will we all.” No one spoke then. Andril finally recognized that the man wore a clergy tunic from Silvershore. Somehow, someway, this demon/man was a Cleric of the Flame. If the Order knew he would clearly be Inquisitioned or much more likely, Darkness Dismissed. How he came to be here with Canton would have to wait for another time. The man put a robe over his head (and horns) without so much as a word, and stood up to come along with them. He nodded to Canton and the governor clasped his hand.
Packing things up, they left the treasury. Ian detailed the plans to return.
But Areia took one last look at the picture. She knew immediately that the man with the sash was also her savior as well, the day she should have died next to Molly. She didn’t recognize the emotion that welled in her, but guessed that it might have been pride. Somehow, someway, the Crown Prince of Cellinor had found her that day. Good day little hero.
Leaving the treasury, flute tucked safely away, she found Squeaks in his usual spot. “We found him little friend.”
Change of Plans
They realized soon that the streets were empty, and although it was good news for them, they also knew this meant the ritual was about to start. They were running out of time!
Canton came along, but didn’t seem too pleased. He kept mumbling about his “adventuring days” being over some time ago. Ian simply ignored him and moved on, carefully leading them to the statue and eventually down to the secret chamber in the sewers where they had rested a short time ago. Areia ran her hands along the wall, and found the nearly invisible edge.
“Basel’s door is…” Areia pushed her elbow into the tiny gap of the secret sliding wall, but she knew what she would find before her eyes saw the vacant space beyond.
“Unhinged,” she finished. She looked back at the others. Ian was impatiently trying to push forward to see.
“They’re gone,” said the bushy haired ranger. “We’re too late!!”