Episode 3
The night air was cool. The party was outside the Golden Egg Tavern, where they were trying to decide what to do with the unconscious thief. Calmin was holding the beer-covered being around the torso. As soon as it had fallen asleep under Bergle’s spell, it had turned visible. The creature was a clurichaun, which, as Hammy pointed out, was no different than a leprechaun on a drinking spree. It was only two feet tall. The clurichaun hung limp in the gnome’s arms. He wore a red square-cut coat with rich gold embroidery, a black wool bicorne hat on his head, and red breeches. Tucked into his belt was leather sheathe containing a razor-sharp dagger, which Calmin had confiscated. The clurichaun had a jagged orange beard, but was otherwise bald.
Calmin gave him a shake. The little thief started awake and immediately began swinging his fists and cursing at his captors.
“Put me down for pot’s sake! Ack! Unhand me!”
Hammy stepped closer to the struggling clurichaun. “My name is Hammy, what’s your name?”
The clurichaun squirmed in Calmin's grip and managed to get a hand on his leather dagger sheathe. In one swift motion, he unfastened the strap, grabbed where his dagger should have been, and swung his empty fist towards Hammy’s neck. He saw that his dagger wasn’t there and groaned. A dark expression of anger and resignation came over him. “I’m Naggeneen. You can put me down now, tarnished gold!” Naggeneen growled. He looked supremely annoyed.
“I don’t think so, faerie,” Hammy said. “We don’t want you turning invisible and running off again.”
Bergle piped up. “Actually, I don’t think he can. We caught him fair and square, and he can’t use his powers any more. Not until we formally let him go free again. Isn’t that right, little guy?” Bergle smirked at the clurichaun, who sighed.
“I’d hardly call that fair,” Naggeneen said, glancing at the spellbook at Bergle’s side. “But yes, congratulations, you caught me.” He straightened his bicorne hat.
Garold looked very pleased at this revelation. “So you’re telling me this thing has to do whatever we say, forever? He can turn invisible and open locked doors without a key; what else can he do, fly?”
Naggeneen’s eyes widened in panic. “No! That is not how it works,” he held up a finger, trying to think. “Louring luck, why did I have to go and get caught by a rotten pack of second-rate ratcatchers?” He closed his eyes and thought for a moment.
Naggeneen dreaded what he was about to say next. “Okay,” he said slowly, calming himself. “I’ll make you a deal. You mortals love deals.”
“I thought the fey loved deals,” Calmin replied.
Garold the elf nodded solemnly, “We do.”
The faerie continued. “I used to live in a temple in the forest north of here. I still keep my stash of gold there under a patch of clovers, and it’s over five hundred gold coins, last I counted. Put me down, and I’ll lead you there, and then you’ll release me. And in exchange, you can keep all my gold.”
Naggeneen led the way through the Wild forest, grumbling to himself, with an elf, a man, and two gnomes following close behind. The group passed had crossed the Brandonsford bridge over the stream and cut away from the westerly path and veered north, into the brush. The band had decided to go immediately to the old temple, despite the hour. It was still the middle of the night, but they had not wanted to risk the clurichaun escaping. The nature of a clurichaun is such that if they are caught, their magic ceases to work until they are released, Bergle had informed them. So they trudged onward, Hammy’s lantern providing light. The air was soupy, and clung to their skin like a blanket. A chorus of crickets chirped about them, and where they stepped, critters of all kinds scurried away into the thick brush.
They rounded a corner and came upon a glade, where the moon shone down on a small fox, who was statue-still and staring right at them. The moonlight bathed the fox in blue light, and revealed a strange and wonderful quality of this fox: it was golden. The fox’s golden coat was glittering like jewelry, refracting the moonlight and casting little speckles of light around it. For a second, no one moved. They were enamored. Was it a statue? A cast someone had left out here in the woods? Bergle knew some kind of magic was at work. Yes, he could feel it. He reached a robed hand out to the fox, which darted into the brush and into the night.
Naggeneen led the party to a large clearing where a ruined, ivy-covered temple stood under the stars. Its roof had long since collapsed, leaving a gaping hole in the top of the temple.
Naggeneen signaled for them to halt when he reached the treeline. “Here we are,” he whispered.
Calmin squinted at the ruins. Movement could be seen through the cracks and windows.
“Naggeneen, you failed to mention the goblins.”