The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 3: Faith Lane: Call of the Green Gremlins!
Welcome, everyone, to another chapter of the Willowsbrook Chronicles. I hope you're all are having a lovely day and are enjoying my work.
Gunther and his friends had escaped from the corrupt Ansolar city Constabulary. Their savior, the Bloodmaster from the Foamy Mug Tavern, Brogan, who said that he wasn’t what he seemed.
Now Gunther and his friends are on the run and heading for Faith Lane, a neighborhood that’s seen better days. What will the group find? Who is this mysterious person helping Gunther and his friends? Find out as Chapter 3 begins now.
The foursome fled through the darkened streets of Ansolar. They kept to the alleys whenever possible. But when they had to travel on the main thoroughfares, they slowed down to a casual pace.
Brogan had called for this. He explained if they walked in a casual fashion, they would attract less attention.
Over time they began to notice that the buildings were becoming more and more ramshackle. Their noses smelled the foul odor of human waste and other things.
They crossed over a gated threshold and into a neighborhood of derelict structures. Garbage littered the streets, and what lamps were lit were few and far between. This was a district the City Constabulary never bothered to venture into any longer.
Sad thing is, twas not always this way. Gunther reflected, remembering when the area had known better times.
Then Naomi tugged at his sleeve. “Oh sorry,” he apologized, “Thinking about the past. I'm glad Mother Allegra and cook Hedron aren't here to see this place now..”
“You got that right,” Quigsley agreed. “I still don’t know why Earl Helfgin closed the Orphanage. It was actually providing a beacon of hope to the neighborhood.”
“Politics,” Brogan interjected, surprising them all. “That’s what it was.”
“What did you say?” Gunther asked him.
“Oh, you heard well enough,” The man replied, his expression dark. “Twas politics that brought Mother Mira Allegra, and Hedron Rourik low. Right before a rather convenient accident ended their lives!”
Gunther looked horrified. “Do you mean to say that Mother Allegra and Rourik’s deaths were no accident?”
“Indeed, I am,” Brogan confirmed. “I’ve made some inquiries into Earl Helfgin’s affairs. I managed to find some very incriminating evidence.”
“Brogan,” Gunther replied. “or whoever you are, there’s more to you then you let on, isn’t there?”
For his part, the blonde man did not confirm or deny this assertion.
The group took a long appraisal of their surroundings.
“From this point on,” he warned, "Be wary. There are some very tough gangs roaming this area. Thing is, they won’t attack us because they know me.
"Faith Lane people don’t attack their own--at least not on purpose. Still though, keep your eyes open and your ears pricked!” Gunther explained.
Naomi looked around her, and wrinkled her nose. “I wish someone could do something about the stench.”
Gunther couldn’t argue with her on that score. ‘Putrid’ was too gentle a term to describe the foulness that assaulted their nostrils. It was as if the smell of dead cats had comingled with shyte, topped off with the most aromatic of toxic molds.
Forcing his mind to ignore the signals coming from his nostrils, he took the lead, and led them down the street.
Then he heard the twang of a crossbow firing, and saw the bolt bury itself in a moldering wall a few steps ahead,
He held the others back a sing-song voice spoke to them from the shadows. The words echoing off the walls of the empty buildings.
“Hush little travelers don’t say a word. “The Scuttlebug’s got his eye on ya’ like a bird,”
“Do you perchance know this person, Goodman Willowsbrook?” Brogan asked.
He did, his face darkened in annoyance. “Trevon, you moron,” he shouted, “put down that crossbow and come out before somebody gets hurt!”
“Who dares speak that name to the Scuttlebug?!” The speaker bellowed in return.
“Who do you think it is you twit?!” Gunther called back. “Remember who aided you when some of the orphanage bullies stole the food from your mouth?”
For a long time, there was only silence. Then a figure, clad in studded green leathers, leapt out from one of the empty buildings, landing in front of them. Though he had his crossbow ready, and another bolt loaded, it was not pointed at them-or at least not at the moment.
Despite the hood that the man wore, Gunther and he recognized each other and he lowered the weapon.
“Trevon!” Gunther exclaimed.
“Gunther Willowsbrook, ya’ gentle giant you!” The man greeted.
With a wide grin painted on his face, Trevon turned towards the shadows and let out a complex series of whistles. Other whistles answered, and then people appeared around them. Each one of them armed, but their expressions were friendly if not, a little curious.
“Praise the Gods you’re here,” He beamed. “We wondered when you’d arrive.”
Then he took in Gunther’s companions. “I know of your friends Quigsley and Naomi, but who is this Officer? He seems a might out of place.”
“Someone that you Green Gremlins know very well,” the Officer replied.
His hand had gone into a pouch at his belt, and when it came out, he was holding a silver pendant with a crimson gem. It was King Velstand’s mark, Gunther realized, and something that was only given to the regent’s most trusted men.
Trevon’s eyes widened as he looked the man over. “By the God of Thieves! Is that you boss?”
Brogan nodded. “In disguise, but yes, it’s me.”
“So,” Trevon asked returning his attention to Gunther. “Those stories that the Constabulary’s been spreading aren’t true, are they? You didn’t set that fire at the Foamy Mug?”
Gunther shook his head. “Nay, I didn’t! A fight between Bloodmasters and Sapphire Knights is what started the blaze. The whole thing staged by Rier Kethwelt!”
Trevon nodded . “Sounds about right, it does. I knew that Rier would be up to something after you humiliated him. You and your friends had best come with us.”
He regarded Brogan next. “Glad you’re here, sir. Traask and Viera need to see you; they’ve some information you need to hear, and it ain’t good.”
“Lead the way,” Brogan invited
The Green Gremlins led Gunther and his friends through the streets of Faith Lane. At length they arrived at a building the cook recognized.
“Say hello to our new sanctuary.” Trevon announced. “After what happened with Mother Allegra, Hedron, and the Earl, we moved right in and took it over.”
Gunther grimaced. “I can’t believe the Earl closed the orphanage and moved the children elsewhere.”
“That blasted Earl,” Quigsley growled. “I wish I had a knowledge of transmutation magic, if only so I could turn that smug bastard into the toad he deserves t’be!”
The crowd of Green Gremlins laughed at this notion.
“It seems these friends of yours are not fans of that self-righteous, silk wearing fop either.” Naomi observed.
Gunther nodded. “You’ve got the right of it,”
He took a moment to assess the state of the orphanage and frowned.
Some of the shutters had come off the walls. And in places some of the plaster had fallen from the walls, exposing the wooden lattice work. Grime covered every part of it, even the symbol of Cinya, the Sun Goddess, was gone from the building.
But the door to the three-story structure looked brand new. As he puzzled this, Trevon walked up to the portal and performed a complex series of knocks and taps on it.
In response, a metal slot slid open. “Got the password?” a low rumbling voice inquired. There was menace in the tone.
“We’ve got the mean, and we’ve got the green.” Trevon responded.
In answer, Gunther heard a series of locks come undone, and then heavy metal bars sliding back. Yet as they entered, the cook felt a hand on his shoulder.
The hand belonged to a muscular man with long dark blonde hair. Again, Gunther encountered the face of a friend. “Lars!” Gunther exclaimed as the two clasped hands.
“Good to see you too, Gunther,” the big man grinned. “We’ve missed you here.”
In the meantime, Brogan pulled the symbol from his bag again and when Lars beheld it, he bowed. “Welcome back, boss, Traask and Viera are expecting you.”
Beckoning them to follow, Lars led the way down a long hallway, past a set of rooms, and up a flight of stairs. At its summit, they reached what had been Mother Allegra’s office and there, it was Trevon who knocked.
“Come!” A male voice responded.
On entering, Gunther saw that Allegra’s desk was still where it always had been. But now, a man dressed in dark green leather, and wearing the yellow sash of the Gremlin’s leader, occupied its chair. He knew this man, and smiled at him.
The Half Elf rose from his place. “Praise Barnoc you’re still alive!” he declared, coming over to give Gunther an embrace. “When we heard about the fire and the accusations, we feared the worst.”
“It’s good to see you again Traask,” Gunther replied. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Then Traask realized that Brogan was there and, as Lars had done, he bowed to the man in respect.
“It’s good to see you, sir, thank you for keeping an eye on Gunther and his friends.”
With an airy gesture, Brogan waved it off. “Looks like Rier proceeded with his nasty little scheme sooner than we thought.” He remarked. “By the way, where’s Viera?”
“Here, Excellency.” A sultry female voice answered. Like Traask her voice was thick with the accent of the Eastern Elmshome.
Gunther beheld a striking red head with pointed ears like Traask’s. It was Viera, and she was another old friend.
She flashed him a welcoming smile then strode past for the Green Gremlin’s leader. She threw her arms about the man with abandon, and then kissed him.
“Sorry it took me so long, luv,” she explained when they finally parted from their embrace. “I had to get healed, change, and then turn over my armor to the leathersmith for repair.”
Parting from her lover, she awarded brogan a deep curtsy. “Thank you, Excellency,” she said, “Gunther has been a dear friend to Traask and I since this place was the orphanage.”
“It’s good to see you’re alive Viera,” Brogan responded. “And it was no trouble at all. But tell me, what information did you get that was so important that some people felt you needed to die?”
Viera grinned at her superior. She reached into a large pouch on her right hip. She produced a clear, crystal orb no wider than the first joint of her thumb.
Quigsley gasped at the sight. “That is a spy orb!” he exclaimed. “How did you come by it? Only the King’s most trusted agents own them!”
Making no reply, she placed it on the desk and stepped back. Immediately, the ghost mist began to swirl within its depths, and then it cleared, and a scene appeared.
What showed was the Bloodmasters and Sapphire Knights in the company of a man in noble attire. He was giving them bags of gold and they seemed quite pleased by the reward.
“By the Gods! That’s Count Booker, one of Earl Helfgin’s men,” Naomi cried. “I’ve seen him in the company of Rier now and again. If this vision is true then..!”
She let the rest of what she had to say remain unspoken.
Brogan understood her meaning and his brows furrowed in concern. This was before he addressed Gunther and his friends.
“This information confirms my worst fears,” he explained.
“And this, Gunther Willowsbrook, is where I’m going to need your help and that of your companions.”
The cook felt a surge of panic welling up within him. The last thing he had ever wanted for himself was to become embroiled in intrigue and danger.
For a heartbeat he entertained the notion of fleeing Ansolar with Naomi and Quigsley. But he knew this was impossible. The Constabulary would be watching the city exits. And the idea of capture by them was even less appealing than the idea of an adventure.
Trapped by his circumstances, Gunther sighed, and gave Brogan the only answer he could. “All right Brogan, we’re in, but there had better be something worth our while at the end of it all!”
“As I told you,” Brogan assured him, “I am loyal to Duke Brekkin and the King. If you aide me as I ask, then I can clear your names and see to it you receive a proper reward for your efforts.”
Gunther nodded his acceptance. When Quigsley made to voice his own objection, his friends glared at the Illusionist. That forced him to silence.
As much as Gunther hated the idea, they were now part of whatever was afoot.
Satisfied that their business done, Brogan addressed Traask. “Now, is there anything else you and Viera have managed to uncover”
“There is,” Traask answered, “and you will find it both interesting and troubling.”
When Brogan arched an inquiring eyebrow, Viera spoke up. “We can show you in the map room.”
“By all means lead the way,” he invited.
As everyone headed for the stairs leading to the third floor, Gunther’s thoughts had taken a dark turn.
Now Its not only an adventure, he thought . But one with a conspiracy at its heart and involving the nobility,
At that moment, it seemed that things could not become any worse.
Well there’s Chapter 3. So,
Gunther and his friends have escaped from the Constabulary, only to find out something more sinister is going on in Ansolar.
Poor Gunther and his friends have been roped into an adventure by their savior. Yet, if they want to clear their names, they have no choice but to go along with this. What else will be revealed about this plot?
Find out next time, in the Willowsbrook Chronicles – Chapter 4: Stowaways.
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