What can you tell me about the Lord Mayor?

***Gregory***

Gregory was milling about in his shed. He had been spending some time working on his little pet project.

He had constructed a miniature city, complete with castle, out of matchsticks. It was a favourite past time of his, whenever he felt like he needed to get away, he would spend a couple hours adding to his city.

'Gregopolis' he called it, he found the name amusing. It currently only had one inhabitant, that was Cinnamon, the mouse, that his daughter had left in his care.

Cinnamon was currently manning the battlements, chewing on a walnut that Gregory had given him.

"What's that Cinnamon? You think I should have added machicolations there?"

'Squeak Squeak!" Cinnamon retorted.

"Well, I don't need to, that side is protected by the cliff see, nobody will assault from there."

"Squeee!"

"Well, I don't think you're taking this very seriously." Gregory said, setting down his pot of glue.

Cinnamon hopped around, dragging his walnut to the top of the castle in protest.

Gregory chuckled and brushed the sawdust off his lap, rising to his feet. He ventured outside to get some air.

He sighed as he stood outside. He was concerned about his daughter; she had been gone too long with that man. He was starting to worry about her safety.

He supposed she could have taken Boots to Brocton to show him around. But she would have surely sent word if that was the case.

A few things had been out of place, come to think of it. The patrol that normally came around this way was late, and he hadn't seen anybody in the distant fields for a while.

He looked towards the town on the horizon. Something didn't feel right.

He nodded to himself with a snort. Coming to some internal decision.

Gregory's mind as made up, he would go to Fenniton and find out what was going on. If he was wrong, then so be it. He had been wrong before and he could be wrong again, he'd rather be wrong and a fool than right and ignorant.

He simply couldn't afford to take the chance with his daughters' safety.

Gregory turned and headed to the house. Pulling open the door he moved quickly to the stairs.

"Dear?" Margaret's concerned voice called out from the kitchen, "Is everything all right?"

"Sorry darling, I have to go to town and find out what's going on. Something doesn't feel right."

Margaret sighed, "You've been using too much glue in that shed of yours again haven-"

"No dear!" Gregory said with frustration, "The patrol hasn't come round, the post is late and the fields are empty! Something just doesn't feel right. I'd like to check on Fiona, I should be able to make it back late tonight."

Margaret was caught off guard by his tone, "Do you think…is Fiona ok?"

Gregory's expression softened and he stepped down off the stairs, holding his wife's hand, "It'll be alright, I'm sure she's ok, probably just headed to Brocton without telling us. She might even be at Roman's place. I just have to be sure."

Margaret nodded as he gave her a hug, "I'm sure you're right dear, just be careful."

"Hey, you're talking to the vanquisher of the Marsh Lurker's here!"

Margaret giggled, feigning surprise, "Oh, am I? You've never brought it up before."

"I'll tell you all about it when I get back." Gregory smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek, "right, I'd better get my act in order. I'll be down to say goodbye before I go."

"You'd better." Margaret said, wiping her eyes,

Gregory headed back up the stairs to get his travelling gear. It had been a while since he'd gone to town, but he knew what he needed. He stepped into his room and opened the trunk at the end of the bed.

He had a wide array of assortments and trinkets in there, his wife was always telling him to throw some of them out. But he liked his little collection of mementos, they served as a reminder of all his little adventures.

He rummaged around and found his cloak, satchel and dagger. His sword knocked around in the trunk as he rifled through it. He paused for a moment considering it. Before eventually deciding it couldn't hurt to take that too.

He'd had the sword a long time but had seldomly had to use it on people. He had taken great pride in being able to defuse a situation without violence, back in his days on the town guard.

He pulled it free from its scabbard and checked the blade.

'Still straight and true, even after all this time.' He thought to himself with a twinge of pride.

The sword was a simple one-handed design, it had a short cross guard, and the blade was tapered to suit cutting as opposed to thrusting. It was a decent slashing blade, and Gregory was quite skilled with it.

He'd always preferred cutting blades. He'd rather slice a hand or lop off a couple of fingers to disarm an opponent, then stab somebody through the chest and watch them die.

Rapiers were the swords of killers in Gregory's mind. Which was probably why they were so popular with the nobles.

Gregory grabbed a cloth and wiped his blade before sliding it smoothly back into its scabbard. It could do with an oil really, but he didn't have time for that now. He'd go and see Colin when he got the chance.

He put on his cloak and retrieved his hat from the door hook. Then placed on his sword and belt, tucking his dagger into his waist. Finally, he shouldered his satchel and headed for the door.

Once downstairs, he grabbed a few pieces of bread and some apples. Placing them neatly in his bag before giving Margaret one last peck on the cheek, "I'll be back soon dear."

She returned his kiss and pulled him in for a hug, "Safe travels dear."

Gregory stepped out of the house and made his way down the path, nearly tripping over Rodger as he ran diagonally between his legs.

"Stupid bird!" Gregory grumbled as he kicked some dust in his direction.

As he passed through the gate, and pulled it shut behind him, he was surprised to hear the sound of hooves. Looking up, sure enough, he saw a rider approaching at quite a pace, kicking dust up in their wake.

Who on earth could this be?

Do they come bearing bad news?

Could Fiona have met some miserable end!

Somebody sent a rider from town to tell him of the terrible fate that his daughter had met!

And how she'd wept for him!

And how he wasn't there because he was a BAD FATHER!!

The voice in his head, thankfully, ran out of breath.

On closer inspection though…could his eyes be deceiving him…could that be?

"Fiona?"

"Dad!" Fiona waved from the approaching horse.

Gregory felt a huge wash of relief at the sight of his little girl, he quickly ran down the path to intercept her.

"Fiona!"

The horse galloped in and whinnied as Fiona pulled back on the reins. Before jumping straight from the saddle into his arms.

Gregory caught her with the instinctive reflexes of a father, although he was nearly sat on his arse in the process.

"Fiona what's happened?" Gregory panted, the wind knocked out of him, "Where is Boots? Whose horse is this?"

"All in good time Dad," she said whilst embracing him, "just give me a minute."

He didn't know why, but she sounded upset. Gregory stood there for a while holding his little girl. He chose to simply be a strong shoulder for her, she would tell him what was wrong when she could.

They hugged for a decent amount of time, the midday sun basking them in the gentle spring warmth.

Eventually, Fiona pulled back with a smile, "It's good to see you Dad."

***Boots***

The Whistling Raven was a rowdy tavern indeed, people were already drinking, and it had only just struck midday.

Boots and his party had managed to find a table in the corner, from it, he studied the bar.

The tavern would have been quite large and spacious if it wasn't for the already growing number of patrons. There were plenty of tables and stools but not much by way of decoration. There were just a few, simple and heavily worn, rugs on the floor.

A waitress came over and they ordered some drinks, it was at this point Boots realised he didn't have a penny to his name!

"Ah." Boots said as the realisation hit him, clutching at a coin purse that was never there.

"Could it be? Is Lord Boots skint!" Maria chortled from across the table.

"I'll cover your tab, don't sweat it." Simeon said with a chuckle.

Boots nodded his appreciation, "I apologise, this is most embarrassing. Thank you for your kind offer."

"Think nothing of it." Simeon waved his hand, "I'm sure you're good for it in the long run."

"What are you having to eat?" asked Oswald.

Maria stroked the scar on her chin and surveyed the board above the bar, "Hmm, the chalkboard says they have bread and stew, I might give that a go."

"Fish for me I think." Simeon said, licking his lips.

Oswald turned to Boots, "And what about you m'lord?"

"Hmm, do you think they do oatmeal?"

They looked at him in disbelief for a moment.

"I don't know why I expected any different." Maria said with a sigh.

Simeon chuckled, "No, me neither."

The waitress returned with their drinks and they made their order. Not long later she returned with their food. Boots got his oatmeal and they sat around chatting for a time.

The tavern continued getting busier and busier as lunchtime progressed into mid-afternoon. There were now many characters in the bar, mostly working-class folk.

A few of the town guard wandered in. Clearly their shift was over, or at least Boots hoped it was, as they immediately started drinking and generally causing a stir.

"Who is our best bet for information? Do you recognise anybody here?" Boots asked his companions, looking around the room.

"Ah, yeh, I know that guy and his chums, did a few jobs with them a while back, they're adventurers from the guild." She indicated a small group of men wearing gambesons of varying colours, "want me to see what's what?"

"Invite them over, we have space at our table." Boots returned.

"As you wish." Maria gave a wink and a little curtsy, before heading over to the adventurers.

After a brief exchange of greetings, the men happily came over to sit at the table with them. A rather rotund gentleman sporting a pair of horns was the first to introduce himself, he had the look of a bull, Boots made a mental note to find out the name of his species later.

"Gooday sir, Maria has kindly invited us over, I am Eric of the Lancing Bulls." He held his fist over his chest as he said the name of his party.

Eric motioned to the two men with him, one looked very similar to Eric except he had a lighter red hue to his skin. The other one had pastel white fur and looked significantly slimmer.

"This is my brother Yorick," he motioned to his doppelganger, "and this is Floki."

The two men gave a polite nod each as they were introduced.

Boots welcomed them and introduced the members of his own party. Shortly after they were drinking and getting to know each other.

Now that they were warming to each other, Boots decided to pry for gossip.

"So, anything interesting been going on in town recently? We heard the Crusaders had been here." Boots said nonchalantly.

The Lancing Bulls exchanged a look, "Aye, those cursed idiots have been here. Dragging their filthy bad omens with them."

"What do you mean?" Boots asked with a frown.

"The mayor had to kick them out of the town when they came through here yesterday, they were in a terrible state." Eric shook his head with a grim look.

Boots frowned, "Were they? How do you mean?"

"They were ill, horribly ill. Throwing up and crapping everywhere, I don't know what they ate but I'm glad they didn't share it with me." Yorick said, before taking a big swig of mead.

Eric set his flagon down and wiped his chin, "Yeah, plus whatever they got must have been super contagious, because all of them had it!"

"They were going to stay in town, but the mayor put a quick stop to that! When he saw how ill they were he chucked them straight out of town!" Floki said with a grin.

"A good thing too or else we'd all of had it!" Eric said earnestly.

Yorick mulled over his drink, a look of disgust on his face, "Dirty Crusaders, that's what happens when you don't wash your hands."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch." Floki said dispassionately.

The three of them nodded in unison. The Crusaders were clearly not popular with anyone.

"Brilliant!" Boots laughed heartily.

His other party members laughed along with him; they were all equally amused.

The Lancing Bulls also joined in, even clinking a few flagons with their newfound drinking companions.

Nobody minded laughing at the Crusaders.

Boots was sure Fenix had something to do with their misfortune. All though there was nothing minor about norovirus!

But admittedly, that certainly would be an effective way to slow someone down.

As the laughter died down. Oswald sat looking at his cup, a sinister smile on his face.

"I hope they crap themselves inside out."

Simeon spat out his beer!

Eric nearly rolled off his chair!

Maria's soup shot out of her nose!

Boots was slapping his thigh like a maniac, tears in his eyes!

Their laughter threatened to bring the building down around them!

This was the best piece of news any of them had received in a long time.

Boots made a mental note not to annoy Fenix in the future. Death by bowel evacuation seemed like a pretty grim way to go.

After the laughter eventually died down, Boots decided to get them back on track.

"What can you tell me about the Lord-Mayor?"