The busy citizens of Gylwics were out on he streets carrying out business, performing their duties and breathing in the air of a town on the knees of the Karbath mountains. Many of them looked straight through the slate-robed guide, two torpek, cleric, novice, mage, craftsman and diminutive thief as they passed through there midst. Even when they were within touching distance, none noticed them. It was as if they were so unremarkable that they could not possibly be there.
On reaching the castle at the highest point in the zig-zag street the guards also failed to register the little group passing through the gates or walking by the manor-keep into the ruins of the old keep.
Their new guide informed them that unless they drew attention to themselves they could all pass unmarked for several hours. He followed them into the collapsed cellars of the old keep but would not go any further.
When they reached the tunnel stair where Brimstone had stopped on his reconnaissance it looked as if he and some others would baulk again. The leadership of Olorin quickly persuaded Brimstone and Vojeslaw (once the later was persuaded that cats do not frequent dungeons). But Tolarr was still unwilling to go deeper. Olorin began to get angry and started speaking loudly to the other torpek in their own language. Tolarr shook himself and turning the spigot in his cask swallowed a great quantity of liquor before he forced himself onward. Perhaps the drink explained the red-faced look and the way he mumbled to himself. But it did not explain the scowl.
No comments:
Post a Comment