Griffonclaw (00) - Nightime Near Neverwinter

((My story for the Writing Challenge #1 on the Neverwinter Rpers site!))

"Column HALT!" shouted the caravan guard commander, and the train of merchant wagons, mules packed heavy, and the cadre of guards slowly ground to a halt, right in front of the closed gates to Neverwinter.

The merchant caravan had come south from the remnants of the once-important city of Port Llast. When the cataclysm of the Spellplague hit Toril, the changes were profound enough that many of the currents and tides of the sea had changed. The port of Port Llast, named because it had been the "Port of Last" call before the expanses of the uncivilized northlands, had seen its harbor inundated with silt from the changed currents, rendering it less useful for trading vessels with deeper drafts. Between the depredations of the Luskan criminal gangs, the bandits in the lands around, and the lack of new trade, the inhabitants had slowly drifted south towards Neverwinter and Waterdeep, leaving a ghost town behind.

Balthazar the Cheese Monger was one of the few merchants who found the north to be worth the trouble to make regular trips, and Griffonclaw was thankful that he had; after bandits burned the inn in which Griffonclaw had been raised, he had followed the river Mirar west until he had found what was left of Luskan. He had been pondering what to do when he had seen Balthazar's merchant caravan set up camp within a long bow-shot of the city walls. His guards had upon the instant emptied out one of the wagons of pre-cut stakes and shovels, and before evening fell they had erected a passable earthworks defense. Several gangs of looters had tried to attack the encampment, but the defenders' crossbows and disciplined spear line had made short work of them.

The next morning Griffonclaw had come down and entered the camp. The merchant wagons had been assembled in a circle, and temporary stalls made from canvas had been built. People came out from Luskan in small groups, and the soldiers took their arms from them before they were allowed inside, where they spent their coin - and only the Gods knew where they found coin - on beer and ale, cheeses and salted meats, jugged fruit and wine.

Griffonclaw did what any self-respecting inn rat did when he found himself without an inn - he found a knucklebones game, and started slowly increasing his meager supply of coin, and engaged his fellow gamblers in conversation.

"There are some who think that Balthazar is just as nutty as some of the cheeses he sells, boy!" commented one off-duty caravan guard. "But the gangs in Luskan fight each other for whatever they can find of value in what's left of the city, and after we show our teeth they're more than happy to trot out, friendly as you please, to buy things they can't loot from each other!"

"Seems kind of a dangerous way to make coin, though... there must be enough gangs in the city to burn you out, if they were determined," observed Griffonclaw.

"Oh aye, that they could.. except for two things. First, we may not be much, but we'd bleed anyone who came out with enough force to pull our chains, and the other gangs would pull them apart for their spoils when they went back in, "explained the garrulous guardsman. "And second," he continued, "iff Balthazar ever decides to stop coming, they'd have to either make their own trips south, or do without, and while they may be stalwart fighters and crazy fierce, they do like their wines and ales, as opposed to the horse <font color="orange">HAMSTER</font> they can make local, like. So as long as we stay awake, we're safe enough, and sometimes something of real value gets offered in trade - things that make ten such trips profitable when they're sold in Neverwinter or Waterdeep!"

Hours later, Griffonclaw had grown his copper to silver. The caravan stayed for three days, and Griffonclaw had made enough to purchase an introduction to Captain Ramsey, who commanded Balthazar's guard It hadn't taken Griffonclaw long to talk Ramsey into letting Griffonclaw tag along as an auxiliary without pay, especially when some of his silver had found its way into Ramsey's purse. Griffonclaw bought his meals from the soldier's mess, and he made sure to cheerfully lose more than he won at the evening's recreations.

He made friends amongst the soldiers and the teamsters quickly, as he was always ready to lend a hand with the scut work. He trained with the guards each morning during drill, and performed any duty assignments as ordered. His duty assignments were always paired with the regular guardsmen, as he was not fully trusted yet, even if they liked him (or liked his copper at the evening dice games).

When they had reached Port Llast, the caravan had been attacked by bandits. Griffonclaw had stood with the guard in the second rank, ready to pull wounded men to safety or to run to any breach in the line. he had been loaned an old, much-patched hauberk of chain armor, and a spear from the supply of spares. He was careful to listen to his assigned superior, Sergeant Kasque, whose voice bellowed loudly across their stretch of line. The fighting had gone poorly, although the caravan defenders had fought bravely.

Balthazar took advantage of a lull in the fighting as the sun rose to mid-day, and offered the bandit chief - a halfling whose stature belied his martial prowess - a bribe large enough to allow them to collect their dead and head south for Neverwinter. Balthazar had hoped to make the safety of the city before nightfall, but the conflict with the bandits had delayed them too long, and thus they found themselves locked outside of the city gate.

"Why doesn't Balthazar just bribe the gate guards to open for him?," Griffonclaw groused while using a shovel to assemble the earthworks defense for the night. "Its not like he hesitated to bribe our way out of the bandits, right?".

"Well," another guard grumbled back," its probably because its the gate for the Blacklake District, and not the Protector's Enclave."

"Why should that make a difference?," Griffonclaw asked, curious.

"Never been to Neverwinter afore? The Blacklake District is a pretty rough place, with orcs and rogues and criminals and whatnot... its not a place to try and travel though after dark, even with steel. Nah, better to wait out the night and circle around to the south gate come the morning... that is, if the undead don't get us first."

"...undead?" Griffonclaw had heard stories about the dead who walked, cursed to never find rest until sword or fire released them, but he'd never actually seen one before.

"Yeah... there is a Lich ***** who wants the city, and that's why we're digging this mound ridge, here..." he said, lifting one of the wooden spikes into place. "Never know what the salt mists will hide, outside the city walls. If I'm not mistaken, we'll get ordered to double-watches tonight, with horns and braziers."

"Well, at least we'll be warm tonight, then," Griffonclaw commented, finding at least something good about the current situation.

"Oh aye... until the dead make us cold," the guardsman chuckled.

Griffonclaw sighed. It was going to be a long, cold morning, in spite of the brazier.