A New Companion

“What do you mean they’re not here?” hissed Mica, sparks playing at her fingertips. “Three weeks looking for a gig, our (ginger) ale money running out, we finally get a paying job… and they’re not here?”

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger,” protested Charcol. “I’m just telling you what I know. Damakos saw you do that fancy ‘fountain of flame’ the other day, and he’s determined to learn it. He’s off to the mage trainer in Witchcross.”

“Blast him! What about Fargrim?”

“’e ’ad ta see a man about a sword,” groaned Eberk, looking up from his empty mug. “Gilda, ’nother (root) beer, quick.”

“Eberk, you’ve had enough,” said the druid Tahuu, waving off the barmaid. “You’ve started speaking with that Cockney accent again, and it’s not even a language in our world. Goodness, you’re a paladin. You should go easy on the stuff.”

“Yeah, somethin’ that good can’t be lawful!” guffawed Eberk, laughing a bit too hard at his own joke.

At Tahuu’s feet, Whenua rolled his wolf eyes. “Nice one,” interpreted Tahuu. “Almost as funny as the first four times you used that line.”

“Well, that’s just great,” said Mica, bringing the conversation back on topic. “That leaves us only four. Not that we need Mr. ‘I have to know every spell Mica knows’, but Fargrim would have been useful.”

“Sounds like you could use another blade,” chimed in an unfamiliar smoky, almost sinister, voice, from a slight Eladrin in a hooded, dark cloak.

Eberk started from his seat. “Gah! Where’d ya come from? ‘ow long have ya been sitting there?”

“Long enough to know that you’ve got a paying job and a need for a fifth hand.” (“er… sixth,” he corrected, hearing a low growl from Whenua). “Lancer’s the name, and…”

“Ya’ look like a Quarion,” observed Eberk.

“No, it’s Lancer.”

“Ya’ sure? Quarion’s a fine name.”

“Lancer, thank you.”

“But you don’t seem ta have a lance.”

“Quite, Eberk,” spat Charcol. “The man can choose his own name. So, Mr.Qu… Lancer, where do you come from, and what can you offer us?”

“As for where I come from, that’s my own business… for now. But I can offer a blade that digs deep, arrows that fly true, and the ability to sit down at a table unnoticed, if you get my drift. For a price.”

“Well, you might as well move on then,” said Tahuu. “This is a small job, 40 gold reward to recover a painting stolen from a merchant traveling the road back from Prosser. Doesn’t have a clue why the band of skeletons took it and left his other wares behind. But, it apparently has some sentimental value for him. A portrait of his wife, or something like that. All we can offer is a fifth of the reward and anything else we find. Not much to offer a man of such obvious talents.”

Tahuu and Lancer stared at each other, blank faces, neither wanting to betray any hints to the other. Finally, Lancer smiled slyly and confessed, “Aw, who am I kidding? No one around here is hiring unproven adventurers for any jobs. So, I suppose I could join you for the experience. And the 10 gold…”

“Eight gold…” corrected Mica.

“Right… eight gold. So, what’s your group’s name?”

“Eberk’s Eleven!” boasted the dwarf.

“Don’t mind him,” said Charcol. “Counting’s not his strong suit. And we don’t have a name yet. Most of us have only just met in the last few weeks.”

“Nice… uh… too late for me to change my mind?”

“Yup,” said Tahuu, slapping Lancer on the back, leading him and the rest out of the Antler and Thistle pub. “Welcome aboard.”

“Welcome to our merry band!” added Eberk. “And call me Wander, even though I don’t ’ave a wand!”