With two drinks and a decent breakfast in his belly, Malachi felt pretty good. With the road to glory under his feet, he felt even better. He spoke absently to his companions as they walked, as much to pass the time as anything else. Calopee kept up amazingly well for her size; Mal caught himself smirking at her little legs moving, scarcely more than a blur. Before long, the farm was in sight.

The night before, Mal had been wearing his common clothes, and he was now certain he needed to dream up an excuse to be seen with the FF as himself. In this particular case he could probably pass himself off as a drinking buddy, but it was a subject that would bear lengthy discussion in the future. Perhaps once they left town he could convince them all to purchase disguises. For the moment, though, he was The Argent Blade, mask on and rapier at his side. As such had to pass himself off as never having met this man. Due to his previous state of inebriation, it proved easier than expected.

Two young boys exploded from a back room almost as soon as the four "heroes" had entered. They were quite definitely excited to see the Fortune's Favored. Mal felt, not for the first time this week, like a royal that had deigned to visit the low country. The boys asked all sorts of questions, rapid-fire. "How'd'ya kill the giant? D'ja get skeert of im? What'd it sound like when 'e hit the groun?" Mal laughed and dodged as many of the questions as possible, but didn't forget to give himself a little name-drop. "You can tell your friends you met Fortune's Favored today, and The Argent Blade was your favorite." He audbily whispered this last part and grinned at the others.

The kids left, and Isiah began his explanation. "I can’t rightly tell you how please I am you’re helping us. With the way life’s been here and the boys and all, I just can’t afford to lose the farm." For the second time today, Mal hadn't the foggiest. He kept his expression still, though it felt like Isiah took a long look at him before continuing.

"Figured you’d have trouble rememberin’, state you were in last night. I’ve been having trouble with som’ folk from the sands..." 

Malachi, The Argent Blade, hero of Schell listened intently as Isiah described his state of affairs. Finished, the man stood up and left them all sitting at his breakfast table to discuss the matter. Mal, of course, was in no position to decline. Nor would he have done so. He was no stranger to poverty and the abuses those in power often inflicted on those without means. He knew before the Isiah was done talking that he would face down this problem, alone if necessary. Fortunately, this wouldn't be the case. It was Relos the Paladin who spoke first.


"Well, to me it’s plain as day. People who want to live their lives feeding off of the fear of others need to answer for making others so miserable. On the subject of payment, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I took any money from him and his family. I have enough gold for myself to live comfortably, so my share will go back to Isiah. By all means if any of you want to keep your share please do so, it will be rightfully earned by possibly risking your life. Hopefully it won’t need to come down to violence but something tells me that these people won’t be so easily swayed. 

To Malachi, this newcomer seemed anxious to make his way into the group. No interest in gold? That seemed odd, but as long as Mal got his share, what difference did it make? It was the swashbuckler's turn to speak.

"I agree with the paladin. We're heroes, dammit. It's time we ante up and start doing some hero work. I'm perfectly happy riding that dead knight's coattails for a little while, but that reputation can only last so long before we're expected to start doing some real good. Now I'm not from here but I can see improvements in this village already - they need someone to look up to. Relos, you're probably right on the subject of violence. It's something I'm used to. We can stand together if need be, but I'm a bit flat at the moment. You'll not think worse of me for accepting payment, I hope." 
Mal looked on Relos's face and knew he had scored a point with the half-elf. Taking a bit of a lead, the man spoke on. "Now, as I said I don't know much about this area. Anyone who has an idea what might be up, think on it and let us know. I'm going to go out and Gather Information from the locals, see if anyone knows who these mysterious folks are. We've got 'til nightfall to get our plans together. It makes sense to find out what we're up against." 

He paused for a moment, remembering that the Favoured did not recognize him as any sort of leader. "That is, if it please the rest of you."

Mal sat up from his resting place, sword in hand. No, that wasn't right. No sword here. He had been dreaming of his fight with Pheefyphofum, living it as though it were real. He stood valiantly beside his allies, in full Argent Blade regalia, as they repeatedly assaulted the giant with their full might. Tristan fought bravely with his rapier, slinging spells in the name of Discq. "Although," Mal thought, "He didn't fight as well as I did. Not even in my dreams." Tiny Calopee flung rocks at the giant from her hiding place, her skiprocks eventually bringing down the great terror. The smallest toppled the largest. At least, that was the lie. The knight who actually did the deed was never found, and Fortune's Favored was born.

He lay back down. "The Argent Blade and Associates was more like it," he thought. Not one of them had the foresight to create a secret identity. How was he supposed to stay clear of the law now?

Try as he might, his valiant effort to continue sleep was useless. Sunlight stabbed at his exposed eyes like a thief in a barfight. Everything hurt. Especially his neck. And back. Shoulders: check. Stomach: violent. He lifted himself up and shook off the dirt and dew that was beginning to form mud on his shirt and trousers. Malachi smelled bacon, noting the smell just before he heard old Argos roaring at them good-heartedly.

"Bwhaha, still here, eh? Wondered how far you’d make it in that condition." Argos paused for dramatic effect while Mal rubbed sleep out of his eyes and dirt into them. The hairy barkeep grinned through snaggled teeth. His voice hurt Mal's head. "Can’t have our heroes hungry in the street now can we? Why don’t you come inside for some breakfast, unless you’d rather play with the goats."


Mal would rather eat the goats than play with them, but since the pig was already coming, he winced and hobbled his way into The Bearded Dragon. This place wasn't much, but neither was the rest of this town. He has seen glorious cities, vast and ancient, rising over the hills in distant lands. Then again, he had seen shanty towns on Arrowhead Island inhabited by pirates and thieves that had to be rebuilt after every minor storm. Schell was somewhere in the middle, but it reminded him of his time on that forsaken isle in a tangible way. Arrowhead was beyond saving. Perhaps Schell was not.

The grease in the breakfast worked a wonder on Mal's stomach, but did nothing for his headache. He found himself wishing there was bacon. Hadn't he smelled it coming just a moment ago? Disappointing. Thoughts couldn't seem to find a strong foothold between throbs. He'd heard willow bark was a good solution for a headache, but he knew for a fact beer would take it away. He downed his first pint as he finished the last of the eggs, the taste of yolk mixing with the beer in a horrible wary.

Argos was cleaning up breakfast when he decided to remind them of the previous night. The fat man was wearing one of those once-white aprons that only butchers and barkeeps know where to purchase. "So are you getting going then?" he asked the group in general. "You told Isiah you’d be there by sunrise."

Mal had no f***ing clue what he was talking about.

The barkeep was nonplussed. "Thought as much, didn’t know what you were doing making those promises with the amount you’d had to drink by that point. Still though, might be something worth checking out. As I recall he was promising you, now what was it, half the value of his summer crop for your help?"

Argos walked behind the bar to begin filling an ale "His farm’s not far west of here if I remember correctly, not even that far of a walk, could probably still arrive timely if you left now. Unless you’d rather sit around here and have another round?"

The headache was diminishing but not yet gone. A little more of the stuff Argos passed off as beer would do well for that, probably loosen his joints up as well.

"I'll take another pint, Argie." Argos winced at the nickname, but Mal didn't care. He was doing the guy a favor by staying here. Good for business, obviously. "One for the road. Unless these bunglers want to hang about. In which case I'll have one for right here."

The man made to get up, thinking about his rapier and the costume in a trunk by his bed. He stopped himself for a moment.

"Oh, and Argie? I've forgotten, well, basically every detail of what that old farmer wanted. You got any idea?"