We meet Sheriff Cronk of Smallwood in his office. It looks like something out of an old western. Two desks, four chairs, and a single holding cell that occupies one corner of the room, barred, with a bunk and a privy.
The scruffy deputy is here too. His hair is black and lank, worn down to his shoulders. He’s in his early thirties, I think, unshaven with a day or two’s growth on his face, some of which is gray. His gambeson, which seems to double as the uniform, is spotless and in excellent repair. His weapons, a thin rapier and a long dagger, are unadorned but well-maintained. His smile is awkward, unpracticed, and genuine.
Sheriff Cronk and his deputy both stand as we enter. He says, “Thank you for being on time. This is Grig Swyft, my deputy. Now, I suppose, senior deputy. You’ll be reporting directly to him if I’m not around. Now that we’ve more personnel, we can keep the office manned.” He looks at Caedi and Wendy. He smiles. “Or womanned, as the case may be. From now on, somebody should always be here.”
Wendy says, “It’s just been you two? You’re the whole police force?”
The sheriff nods. “To be fair, we haven’t really needed more people except for the last couple of months. This place has grown so fast. Would you believe we’re less than a year old? The discovery of a series of ruins not far from here is fueling it all. Adventurers by the dozens arrive on a weekly basis, many of which come back elated to have survived, despondent that they failed, and most of them traumatized by what they went through out there. Sometimes they take it out on whoever’s nearby when they’re here. That’s going to be the bulk of our problems. The good news is that most adventuring groups frown on that kind of thing and help us out to deescalate things or take out the trash when we’ve got to.”
The big half-orc goes to his desk and removes one large parcel and two smaller ones. “The green gambeson is our uniform. These should fit you. It’s not bad armor, honestly. I know monks don’t usually wear it and some schools and sects can’t. If that’s the case here, let me know and we’ll work something out.” He looks at us expectantly.
Wendy and I look at each other. We probably should know something like that about our order but we don’t. Lots of gaming systems preclude armor of any kind for monks or allow it with penalties.
Wendy says, “Just the green armor then? No badges or anything?”
She’s stalling, bless her, as I comb through my character sheet and information and finally send up a help request.
Monks of your order, the Order of the Open Hand, are allowed to wear any type of armor without restriction. It should be noted that, especially at higher levels, armor of various types or even thick clothing can result in hindering movement that may result in penalties in combat and other tasks.
The sheriff says, “No, no badges. The armor is enough. Everybody here knows what it means, though they don’t know you yet. Word’ll get around quick.”
I say, “We’ll try the armor. There aren’t any prohibitions against it by our order. If it’s too hard to move around in, we’ll let you know, sir.”
Cronk nods. “Okay, then,” he says. “The laws of Fort Reach are simple. Pretty much the same as anywhere. No killing except in self defense. No stealing. Stuff like that. In your packages there you’ll find a copy of the city ordinances. There aren’t many yet so it shouldn’t take you long to familiarize yourselves with them, which I expect you to do. In the meantime, I want you to go out there and get to know Fort Reach. Let people see you. Talk to them and listen to their problems. We’re here to protect them and help them, sometimes on the worst day of their lives, when they aren’t thinking clearly or at all. Helps if they know you.”
He looks down at me and Wendy in particular. “People generally like gnomes,” he says. “It won’t surprise you that some will think you’re easy to push around and somebody will test you. I expect you to pass that test.”
I nod.
So does Wendy.
“Good,” says Cronk. “Either Deputy Swyft or myself will be here at the office should you need us. If you need help to come to you, send a runner. There’s always somebody nearby that’ll help out here. Any questions?”
I say, “Should we look into the kobolds and their attacks on the caravans?”
“What attacks?” says the sheriff. “You mean the one on Frent’s wagons?”
I nod. “I’ve been told they’ve hit the others too. It might be the same group. We were told that Frent’s was the third attempt to bring a new store and its goods to Fort Reach. The other two failed utterly with no survivors. The kobold bandits we saw were well-armed and armored with some training. They fought in line and with discipline. Captain Gray thought it unusual. She brought some of their equipment to show the mayor.”
“Yep, that's weird,” says Cronk. He’s rubbing his chin. “You ask around and I’ll do the same. See if anybody else has run into these bandits. I’ll go and check out their equipment. Could be this bunch got lucky with that first raid and bought better gear. Maybe their leader’s got a talent for discipline. I’ll grant you it’s odd and needs looking into.” He looks over at Swyft who nods. “If there’s nothing else, let’s be about it.”
None of us have any more questions so Wendy, Caedi, and I step out onto the walkway. I’m standing a bit too close to the healer so that when I look up her face is pretty much eclipsed by her chest. I back up, hoping she doesn’t notice my blush.
“So,” says Wendy. “Where do we want to go and who do you want to talk to? Mark, Captain Gray seems to like you. You could talk to her.”
My blush deepens a little. I can be as clueless as the next guy but I think the good captain might've been flirting with me the other day. I've never cheated on a girlfriend so I'm not about to do so on my wife. The point is that I avoid all that pretty easily when I avoid situations where I might be tempted. Which I'm not. Ever. Gray's nice, but she's hot, so it's a bad idea. I’m also pretty sure that my blush deepens.
“I, uh, well?” I say. “She might not even still be in town, right? Why don’t you try to find her, Wendy.”
“She’s probably in the residential quarter,” says Caedi. “That’s north of the square where the people who’ve been here longer and have houses live. The longhouses and barracks are there too.”
“Okay,” says Wendy. “I’ll take that quarter.”
Caedi says, “I’ll take the merchant quarter, if that’s all the same to you, Mark. I know some people there. That’s east of the square.”
“Okay, I’ll check out the tent city then,” I say. “See what that’s about.”
I give Wendy a kiss and wave at Caedi and we’re off.
The tent city is busy and chaotic, yes, but it’s surprisingly clean and well-ordered, situated as it is between the main gate to the south, the merchant’s quarter to the east, the town square to the north, and what looks like the industrial quarter to the west that’s divided by the river as it tumbles over the falls. The tents occupy different sized plots which depend on their size which is determined by how many occupy each. They must all be issued from here. All of them are the same color, an off-white, and made of the same material. They’re simple frame tents that would look familiar to George Washington or U.S. Grant. Most have a small campfire in front, kept well away from the tents and the paths between so nobody kicks any embers anywhere unfortunate and burns the whole place down.
The humongous spear I'm holding helps. It’s a bit unwieldy but I really like the damn thing. When they see it moving around on its own, they look down at me and I’m recognized as a deputy right away from my green gambeson. There are more than a few that blink at my size. Either that or the spear. Could be both. Anyway, I do a lot of smiling and nodding. Some greetings and good mornings too.
Everybody here has the look of adventurers just starting out. Their gear is cheap and new but well cared for. All the races I’ve seen so far are represented. Most are human, but there are dwarves, halflings, a few elves, even a couple of orcs, half-orcs, and gnomes.
I’m there for maybe a half an hour before I hear a bell and people stand and make their way towards the merchant’s quarter. I try to stay ahead of the crowd so I can see. There, on its edge is a small, one-story building with a sign reading, “Temporary Housing Management” in bold red letters. Standing out front are two women. One is a dwarven woman with a stern expression. She’s standing with her arms out, waiting for quiet. The other is a lovely elf. She’s tall, slender, and on Earth she’d no doubt have African heritage. Her hair is long and flows in tiny waves all the way to the small of her back. Her eyes are large, dark, and penetrating. Her lips are full and pursed. She’s wearing a breastplate over a blue tunic and thick pants. At her side hangs a longsword.
When it’s quiet enough, the dwarf begins to speak. “For those of you who don’t know me and are new to town, I’m Greta Ironhand. Some of you have met my wife Bruna, who manages your bathhouse.” She points to the south east corner of the square. “Which is right over there. I’m the manager of temporary housing here in Fort Reach. I’m pleased to announce that our latest expedition to the ruins has returned successfully just this morning with minimal casualties.”
There are some cheers.
Ironhand smiles and when she does it transforms what I thought was a rather plain face into warm beauty. She says, “Yes, it’s good news and there's more. If you were unaware, yesterday Mr. Randon Frent arrived to set up his new store. If you’re amenable and have had enough adventuring, he’s in need of some staff. Inquiries can be made at his store which is almost directly behind me in the merchant’s quarter.” As she speaks, her eyes jump from person to person so that she’s not just talking to the crowd but the people in it. It gives the impression that she really likes everybody here and wants them to feel welcome. Then, her eyes fall on me.
“We’re happy to announce as well that the sheriff’s department has added three new deputies, one of which is here with us right now,” she says.
I wave and there’s a bit of a cheer.
Some smart ass says, “Stand up!”
There’s some laughter.
I flip my spear and ram it into the ground. I scramble up it to stand on one foot, upright on its blunt end. It does not feel good on my foot. I turn in the general direction of whoever said that and say, “Can I help you, citizen?”
I get some more laughs and even some applause as I do a back flip onto the ground and pluck up my spear.
Ironhand is clapping and the elven woman beside her is smiling. It doesn’t look like she’s used to doing that much.
Ironhand says, “Monks!” She shrugs.
There’s laughter.
She says, “At this point, I’ll introduce Hunter, the leader of the Adventurer’s Guild.” She steps aside and the elven woman holds up a hand.
“Good morning!” says Hunter.
Many in the crowd respond. I’m one of them.
“Another expedition leaves for the ruins tomorrow morning,” she says. “For those of you who don’t know, these are divided up into three teams. The A team does the initial exploring and combat, the B team supports them, and the C team is in charge of the camp where they guard supplies, identify items, repair and store gear, heal the wounded, and brew potions. When it’s decided we can’t carry any more treasure, we come back here to rest as another expedition sets forth. The A team consists of experienced adventurers and seasoned warriors. The C team is made of scholars, alchemists, and healers with secondary combat skills, while the B team is usually a bunch of newer recruits. Tomorrow’s expedition requires a few new B team members. If you have at least two combat skills rated four or higher, you may apply. If you don’t yet qualify, continue to assist the town by foraging, hunting, patrolling outside the walls, or even taking caravan duty on the route from here to Bull’s Tavern. Any persons interested for a spot on the B team, please report to the Adventurer’s Guild hall on the northeast corner of the town square in thirty minutes. Do not approach me here, please. Any other inquiries should be directed to Mrs. Ironhand here. Thank you!”
There’s applause and Hunter waves. She catches my eye and nods. I nod back, stifling a grin. That is an attractive woman.
I wait for the crowd to disperse, spend some time chatting with some various folks, and then head on over to Randon Frent’s store, seeing as I’m so close.
