7/18/2019

We invite you to sit back and enjoy, Iolo Undercover.

By EM Malachi

“You’re Iolo the Bard!”

“Not today I’m not. I’m just someone with a bowl of stew. Mind if I take this seat?” The bard sat down. “How are you doing today?”

Feridwyn examined the bard sitting across from him. An old cap covered shaggy white hair, and there was a warm smile behind the long beard. “I’m well. What brings you to the Fellowship?”

Iolo tentatively ate a small spoonful of the stew and looked pleasantly surprised. He set to work on the bowl. “I heard of the good work being done here and wanted to see it for myself.”

“What do you think so far?”

“I think I’m hungry. After a morning of stacking crates, I still have a lot of questions. The first being: Is this really the best way to help people?”

“Many have voiced doubts about our work, even a dear friend of mine, but trust is required.”

Iolo thought for a moment. “That reminds me of a story.”

There once was a farmer who bred and trained horses. One day, when he went into his stable, a voice said to him, “The nail holding the lantern is loose. One good gust, and it will fall.”

 The farmer didn’t see anyone, just his horses, but he went over to the lantern and checked. The piece of wood was rotten, and the nail fell right out when he pulled on it. “Thank you! The whole place could have burned down.”

 “You’re welcome!” said the strange voice.

 A few days later, the farmer was getting ready to repair the thatch on the stable roof. He had the ladder in place when the same voice said, “The ground is soft under one rail. It’ll sink as you climb, and you will fall.”

 Again, the farmer only saw a few of his horses in the corral, but he checked the ladder. One side was indeed sinking into the ground. “Thank you again! May I know your name?”

 “I have a couple of names, but all my friends call me Smith.”

 A couple of weeks later, the farmer was purchasing a new saddle from a traveling merchant in the village, when the voice warned him, “Don’t buy that saddle. The rigging isn’t attached very well.”

 The farmer checked the straps and didn’t see a problem, and the merchant assured him that no one had ever had a problem with one of his saddles. Since it was a very good deal, the farmer ignored the advice. “I think I know a thing or two about saddles.”

 The farmer put the new saddle on the horse and started the ride for home. Feeling good about his purchase, the farmer started to push his horse into a brisk gallop. As horse and rider turned the bend for home, the farmer saw the fence gate had somehow shut, and he decided to try to jump it. The horse under him had other ideas and instead turned off to the side. Just then the billet straps tore loose, and the rider tumbled off the horse into a puddle of soft mud.

 While the farmer was wiping the stinking mud from his face, the horse bent his head down. “I also know a thing or two about saddles. While you are putting on our old saddle, grab me a sugar cube.”

As Iolo finished his tale, Feridwyn laughed. “My little ones would have loved that story.” Feridwyn’s face darkened for a moment when he remembered. “I need to see about a food shipment to Ter Mur.”

Iolo patted the other man’s shoulder as Feridwyn got up to leave. “I know what you’re going through. It’s difficult. Let me know if you ever want to talk about it.”

Feridwyn gave a sad nod. “If you stick around, I’m sure we’ll share another meal. Good meeting you, Iolo.” He left.

Iolo wiped a crust of bread along the bottom of his empty bowl. “For a cult, they make a decent stew.”

7/1/2019

We invite you to sit back and enjoy Trust Thy Brother,

By EM Malachi

The lamb looked at the shepherdess and gave a confused bleat. With the new smells, the small animal had grown shy. Katrina gently guided the lamb into the pen.  Feridwyn, the animal’s owner, had sold the rest of his flock, but he had wanted her to have this one. “Why Britain? Why can’t you do their work here?” she asked.

Feridwyn emptied the oats from his pockets and tossed them into the pen. “It’s where I’m needed. The poor of Britain and Paws are crowded together in that awful city, and the Fellowship goes where their help is needed.”

“There are poor people here too.”

“True, but the shepherds take care of our own. When those vultures came for the gold I owed last year, you paid them and prevented them from throwing me out of my home. That is what the Fellowship is trying to do on a larger scale.”

“Other groups perform charity. That isn’t new.”

“But they haven’t done enough! For too long, the powers in the gilded houses and castles have made promises, but those at the bottom have only gotten poorer.”

“You are giving up everything, your whole life here.”

“I already lost it. Lily and the twins. Ever since I lost them to the pox, there have been many times I didn’t think I could go on. When I met the Fellowship envoy, I was in the darkest place I had ever been. She talked me back from the edge.”

“I didn’t know things had gotten so bad. I would have helped.”

“I didn’t want help. I wanted a reason to go on. I needed a purpose again, beyond living another day. I believe in the Fellowship’s work. For the first time in so long, I feel hope.”

*****

With the Pirate Guild wanting him dead, it cost Mole all his gold to bribe a sailor to let him stowaway in the ship’s hold. It was a week of worry and claustrophobia, followed by a month of sickness, alone in the dark. He arrived in Britain nearly dead.

Those unloading the ship found him when they moved the stacked crates that had been his cell. The sailors drew lots to see who would move him to a convenient alley. The docker with the short straw was surprised Mole was still alive. He helped the wretched stowaway get to the Fellowship House.

For a week, members of the Fellowship brought potions to his bedside and helped him eat. Mole soon regained enough strength to sit by the window and listen to Batlin speak to the people of Britain.

At the end of the week, they came to him with a job. They brought him to a warehouse where people from Paws and refugees from the pirate conflict were working for the Fellowship. A stern woman named Brita showed him how to wrap powder charges for a ship’s cannons. Mole didn’t let on that he had done it before.

Settling down to work, Mole looked at the child next to him who was counting out grapeshot pellets, and muttered, “Better than starving.”

As we close out the chapter on Rising Tide, a new chapter begins with Forgotten Treasures.  We invite you to sit back and enjoy, Worthiness Precedes Reward.

By EM Malachi

The tavern smelled of fish guts and dry rot. The barkeep refilled the tumbler of the irate pirate lord, his sole patron. Hook was drunk and swearing when the man and woman entered. Both were finely dressed and had the shared features of siblings; the woman stood a few inches taller than her kin. Seeing them, Hook dropped a handful of doubloons on the counter and motioned for the bartender to scram.

Hook grabbed a bottle and filled two mugs, but the siblings declined. Hook shrugged and drank from one of the mugs. When Hook didn’t say anything, the man asked, “Why have you requested this meeting?”

“I need gold, lots of it. The Royal Navy is building ships faster than I can sink them.”

The man sat in a chair against the back wall. “So Britannia has the will to win the war you started?”

His sister sat on a stool on the other side of the pirate. “We have already given so much. What of the other allies we introduced you to?”

Hook replied, “I haven’t seen the gargoyle since the last job I sent him on, and our mutual friend Rankin is dead.”

The man’s face darkened, and he closed his eyes for a moment. “How did it happen?”

Hook shrugged. “His dark rituals versus an angry contingent of the Royal Guard, I think. I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

The woman looked over to her brother. “I’m sorry. I know he was a dear friend. Do you need a moment outside?”

The man gave a sad smile. “I’ll be fine. At least Rankin died as he lived. If we could all be that lucky.”

Hook slammed down his mug in annoyance. “Can we get back to my problem? My fleets have suffered heavy losses. Some of my captains are in full revolt. Others just left in the night. Without resources, more will leave my side. Even the bloody orcs are grumbling.”

The man shook his head. “This is disappointing. You even admit you are not worthy of the trust we placed in you.”

Hook looked startled. “I thought we were here to discuss how you could help our mutual cause?”

The woman laughed. “Our causes were never the same. This was a test. We expected so much more, for you to earn your place in our leadership.”

The man pulled out a small crossbow and aimed it at Hook. “You must have known the price of failure, but you got greedy and expanded your war too far. Now your recklessness will be your end. We will do this without you.”

Hook slowly raised his hands, one still holding a liquor bottle. “We can discuss this.”

“There is nothing to discuss.”

“I guess there isn’t.” The pirate brought the bottle down hard on a lantern on the counter. There was a flash as the liquor ignited.

Dazzled by the sudden flames, the woman hurled her blades at Hook’s head, missing his eye, but slashing across his ear. Hook jumped over the bar as a bolt smashed into bottles behind it.

The woman drew more knives and walked behind the burning bar. “He’s gone.”

The man reloaded his crossbow and looked as well. There was an open hatch leading down to darkness. “Shall we follow?”

Motioning at the growing blaze, she shook her head. “No, these old crimp tunnels are a maze that run to every wharf and pier. I have no desire to be trapped underground for days. We will get someone else to kill him. Trust your sister.”

As we prepare to conclude Rising Tide and begin our journey to Forgotten Treasures we invite you to sit back and enjoy, Strive for Unity.

By EM Malachi

 Town Cryer transcript of Lord Batlin’s Speech to the Royal Council

 “We are the Fellowship”

“King Blackthorn, Governors, and distinguished guests: I, Batlin, stand before you as a humble petitioner for my people. We of the Fellowship wish to be allowed to do our important work out in the world. I hear you ask, ‘Why does Britannia need the Fellowship? What is one more philosophical society or charity?’ I thank you for giving me a chance to answer.

We, Britannians, have struggled in our long history, plagued by wars, invasion, and disaster. With the disappearance of one king and the death of a queen, even the Crown has faced hardship. When people struggle for so long, they focus on the burden they carry, and not the road before them. They also miss the suffering of those around them. The Fellowship wishes to lighten these burdens, to help people walk with their eyes on the horizon.

The Pirate’s Guild took advantage of our distraction and disunity. They are a discord that should never have been allowed. The Fellowship will help protect and unify our people and merchant fleets against this menace. We wish to help bring peace to our world.

Still, the pirates of Buccaneer’s Den are merely today’s problem. What of tomorrow? We must strive for unity all of the time, not just during crisis. Too many distractions and new ideas fill our cities. With the Shrines to the Virtues so distant, the Fellowship houses we will build will provide places of meditation and respite.

We will also serve the poor and vulnerable of Britannia. Some may balk at our approach to charity, where those in need earn their alms. However, if we are to heal Sosaria, the Fellowship cannot simply treat the symptoms of poverty. We must help those in need regain their self-worth, as worthiness precedes reward.

Members of the Fellowship come from all over Britannia. We are your brothers and sisters, your children and parents. We are the same people. Trust your brother, trust your sister. Please let me and my people go out and spread the word of Fellowship.”