“Excuse me sir cleric,” a portly noble halfling said, waiving for Grom’s attention. “Could I trouble you for a—”

  “No,” Grom said, interrupting and turning away from the man.

  “That wasn’t very kind,” Bill said.

  “Who say’s I’m supposed to be kind?” Grom asked. “And we’re supposed to be split up. We have a mission.”

  Grom walked away from Bill, who stood pondering the cleric.

  “But… you approached me…” Bill said. “Hmm, could it be he had a lesson to impart?”

  Bill considered the interaction and then asked himself aloud, “Kindness is secondary to the safety of those we protect?”

  “Stupid brute,” Grom muttered to himself as he walked away.

  He’d been in a fine mood until he’d entered the party whereupon he’d been barraged with questions by the nobles seeking his wisdom on one matter of another. Most of which pertained to matters that require adventurers. At first, he’d tried to give some vague mystically non-comital answers, but that seemed to only encourage more to approach until a line formed.

  He’d only gotten away when he saw Bill walking by and told them he had urgent business with the adventurer.

  Across the room he spotted Syril talking to a group of young noble women who were gathered around him, giggling in unison at something he’d just said.

  Grom made his way over. He enjoyed interrupting his friend while he was ‘holding court’ as Grom called it. Adventuring bards had a strange allure for the noble daughters of the realm. It took a lot of great works for a normal adventurer to have any renown beyond their base of operation, but if you asked any young noblewomen of the kingdom, she could likely name every adventuring bard of any renown that had ever passed through their home town.

  “Ah, there he is now,” Syril said, noticing Grom’s approach.

  “Your companion from the story?” One of the girls asked.

  “No,” Syril said with a smile. “The troll.”

  “Har har,” Grom said, “Did you tell them the time you went into battle without pants?”

  “Oh, so brave!” one of the throng said, others echoing the sentiment.

  “Ah, but you don’t know you why he wasn’t wearing pants.”

  “Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Syril said quickly drawing the attention away from Grom. “I see another acquaintance approaching with urgent private business to discuss. Please, go, enjoy the party. Maybe you can find the heroes who killed the vampire lord. I heard they had a handsome bard in their group.”

  The girls left with drawn out goodbyes, and by the time Linar met them there was only one left.

  “You scared all the ladies away again?” Linar asked Grom.

  “I tried, he dismissed them before I could embarrass him,” Grom said.

  “What did you find?” Syril asked, getting to business.

  “It’s gone,” Linar said.

  “What’s gone?” the other two asked in unison.

  Linar looked around in an exaggerated means, and Syril quickly cast a privacy spell, the sounds of the party vanished around them.

  “The blood dungeon,” Linar said. “Now it’s just a normal sex dungeon.”

  “Are you sure?” Grom asked.

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  “Yes, I’m sure,” Linar said, slightly offended. “You think I can’t tell the difference between a regular dungeon and a sex dungeon? They don’t put fur on manacles in a regular dungeon.”

  “Not about the sex dungeon!” Grom said, still irritated from his earlier interactions with the nobles. “How do you know it’s not a blood dungeon anymore?”

  “Well, for one all the blood drawing equipment is gone,” Linar said. “For another, there were a lot of nobles down there having sex, and I have a good list of new blackmail targets.”

  “What about the victims?” Syril asked. “Was there evidence of them being killed there?”

  “No. The blood was all gone,” Linar said, then he grew distracted, his eyes following a passing waitress. “And I think the victims are still alive,”

  “What makes you say that?” Syril asked.

  “Because there’s one right now,” he said, gesturing at the passing woman.

  The half-elf and dwarf spun around to watch the waitress, Syril vanished his bubble and the sound returned.

  “Ma’am!” Syril called to her, “We’ll have some of those… empty glasses.”

  She turned, confused as she parsed their request.

  “It’s for a trick,” Syril explained, recovering.

  Her eyes lit up.

  “I love tricks,” she said. “So long as they aren’t at my expense that is.”

  Her eyes shot to Ellen who was doing another ostentatious show of magic.

  “Nothing like that,” Syril said, examining her for signs of vampirism, though if it were that easy to tell none of this would be necessary.

  He took a glass and handed it Grom.

  “Fill this with water,” he commanded.

  Grom complied, offering a brief prayer and the glass filled to Grom’s relief and small bit of surprise.

  “Now bless it,” he said.

  Grom sighed and voiced another brief prayer. There was a brief pulse of soft light in the glass before it returned to a normal appearance.

  “Now, if you could please extend your hand,” he asked the waitress.

  She did, and Syril put the glass in her palm.

  Syril then began to hum, changing the pitch until the glasses on her tray began to jingle. He continued until those settled, and the glass in her hand became the only glass effected, vibrating faster and faster until the note became incredibly high pitched. Then suddenly the note stopped resonating and the glass vanished, disintegrating into a cloud of white dust, the water within splashing all over the waitress’s hand.

  She looked up at him irritated, but not mad like a vampire recently burned by holy water would be.

  “That’s it?” she asked.

  “Ta da?” Syril said, chagrin.

  “Maybe stick to singing,” she said, struggling to keep her professional fa?ade. “Now excuse me while I go and get a mop.”

  “Well, that could have gone better,” Syril said.

  “Yeah, that was a terrible trick,” Linar agreed.

  “The trick wasn’t the point!” Syril defended.

  “Yeah… but was that really the best you could think of?” Grom asked.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “I leave the underhanded schemes to you two.”

  “It’s alright,” Linar said in an understanding tone. “It’s important we test our limits to find out where they lie.”

  Syril bit back a response and took a breath to center himself less he fall into another back and forth.

  “Let’s focus,” he said. “She’s not a… you know what. Could she be a thrall?”

  “No,” Grom said. “She had too much personality.”

  “Now that I look,” Linar said, scanning the room. “The other two victims from the cages are also on the wait staff.”

  “What does this mean about the Count?” Grom asked, but no one had an answer.

  “Well, definitely don’t try your cup ‘trick’ on him,” Linar said. “You’ll die of embarrassment if he proves to be human.”

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