“Psst!” Lucha jumped and looked around, finally locating the sound in a nearby potted bush. He'd just stepped out of the Stump Tavern for the morning. “Psst!” the noise came again, and Lucha spotted a human doing a poor imitation of a stealthy person among the foliage.

“Yes?”

“You HAVE to take me with you,” the human hissed. “I can't stay in this hole any more. I heard you took a job from that brood. I want to come with. I'm a wizard. I'm useful. Well, useful-ish.”

“Er, who ARE you?”

“M'name's Daz,” he stuck out a scrawny, pale hand. “You don't have to pay me or nothin'; I just want to come along.”

“If you're a wizard, I take it you have a spellbook?”

“Of course! Well, no, not really.”

“Um . . .”

“I mean, I have it, but I don't really HAVE it, you know?”

“You . . . mean you own a spellbook, but you're not currently in possession of it?”

“That's what I said.”

“So, would you be willing to trade spells with me?” Lucha asked, hanging on tightly to what he saw as the main point.

“Are you going to take me with you?”

Lucha hesitated, taking in Daz's filthy and disreputable clothing. “Just one moment.” He stepped back into the tavern, where Herald, Elendol, and Listens were finishing breakfast.

“So, I have a question,” Lucha said. “There's another wizard here in town who wants to join us in our adventures, and he's willing to share his spellbook if we let him come along, but he's . . . he seems unreliable.”

Elendol shrugged. “Is it that guy Daz?”

Lucha sighed in relief. “You know him?”

“No, I just talked to him once. Did not impress.”

Herald Crash frowned. “We could check up on him, see if he's caused any accidents or other problems, and if not, I'd like to bring him along. Everyone deserves a chance.”

“Honestly, I think we should see about dealing with Rundell and his buddies first,” Elendol said. “That elf looks like a ranger. If he wants to take us out, He'll follow our tracks and set an ambush, and with that bow of his we'll be dead before we can even get to him.”

“You think they dislike us that much?” Herald asked.

Elendol snorted. “See, I pay attention to what people are saying when they're standing around at a big festival, and I was not liking what I heard about those three.”

Listens to Greenlings looked up. “Leeta the Barmaid was certainly afraid of them.”

“So, what do we do?” Lucha asked.

“Someone around here has to know something more about them,” Elendol said.

Lucha stepped back out of the door and examined the potted plant, which emitted a rustling noise as Daz peeked around it. “Do you know anything about our competition in the games yesterday?”

“Huh?” was Daz's illuminating response.

“The archer and that wrestler fellow and his orc friend.”

“What, them? They suck. If you have anything, they'll take it off you. Not because they need money, but just because they get bored. I'm kinda glad the old lady doesn't pay me in money, because they'd just take it off me. I think there's a hobo kid that Thaon kicked in the head. He's still unconscious or something like that.”

“Where? And when did this happen?”

“Uh, three days ago or so? Before the party. I can show you where the family is if you want. Sometimes I sleep down that way.”

“Please. But let me get my friends first,” Lucha said. He peeked back into the tavern, but Herald and Elendol had left, leaving Listens to Greenlings alone. “Where did they go?” he asked the druid.

“To fetch Rogus. I'm sure they'll find their way back.”

Herald Crash tapped at the door to Rogus' office, just outside Melina Binlay's large and pleasant hall. The Orc stuck his head out the window. “Have a minute?” Crash asked.

“Yeah, what's up?”

“Rundell and his group seem to be causing trouble around the place. Inappropriate manhandling of the ladies and potentially some extortion.”

Rogus chuckled, displaying sharp tusks. “If you have anything solid on them, it'd be a blessing for this village. I've been trying to nail them for months.”

“Do you currently have any leads?” the halfling asked. “What would be considered solid?”

“Just more than one witness actually willing to talk to me would work. Or someone with actual injuries. Something I can show the Lady.”

“Very well. We'll do some checking around and be back when we know more.”

They returned to the tavern and the four set out together, following Daz down twisty paths carved in, over, and under the thick buttress roots of the stump. A surprisingly large number of people appeared to be living down there in dark, dank little niches. They peered at the friends, but didn't seem interested in hindering them.

“And, here we are,” Daz announced as they arrived at a room sandwiched between two protruding roots. He gestured at a poor, emaciated man in ragged clothes. An exhausted woman sat nearby tending a motionless boy on a filthy pallet. A girl who looked to be about three stood in the corner, clutching a shapeless rag doll. “This is, uh . . .”

“Vigen,” said the man, in a tired, wheezy voice.

“Hello, Vigen,” Lucha said. “Can you tell me what happened to his young lad?”

“Who are you and why do you want to know?”

“My name is Lucha, and these are some of my friends. We heard of your plight and want to help right this wrong.”

“You want to help? You got any healing?” Listens stepped forward immediately, bending to look at the boy. Vigen looked nervous, but did not attempt to stop the druid from examining his son.

“A head injury with swelling inside the skull,” Listens murmured. “He will need healing magic to escape damage to the brain. I can do this immediately.”

“Not yet,” Herald said. “Sir, we'd like to heal him, but let us get the guard first. Once they're here, will you tell them what happened?”

Vigen winced, but as Herald held his gaze he hunched his shoulders. “I . . . all right, if it'll help my boy.”

“I'll be right back,” the halfling said, and hurried back the way they had come. Within half an hour, the halfling reappeared, Rogus in tow. The woman shrank away from the tall and muscular orc, but Rogus' expression was mild as he examined the child on the pallet. “All right,” Crash said. “Heal away.”

Listens to Greenlings cast several spells, chanting, gesturing, and presenting a large snail shell with an interesting spiral pattern. All at once, the boy began coughing violently. His mother rushed to him side and helped him turn over, leaning his head down over the side of the pallet. The coughing soon subsided and he moaned and opened his eyes.

“He needs water,” Listens said. “Just a little at first. Do you have a spoon?”

The woman nodded and began carefully ferrying spoonfuls of water to the boy's mouth. He reached for the cup, but she held it back. Listens knelt and began pinching the boy's toes one at a time. “Can you feel that?” he asked after each pinch. The boy nodded. Vigen looked like he wanted to rush forward, but the presence of the strangers forestalled him. All at once the woman set the cup down on the floor and began to sob.

“Pa?” the boy asked hoarsely.

Rogus frowned. “I hate to interrupt what is obviously an emotional moment, but I've come here to get a statement.”

Vigen flinched and looked at Herald and Lucha, hoping for some support.

“Vigen, this is Rogus,” Herald said as gently as he could. “He's the chief of security here in town. We just need you to tell what happened to your son, that's all. We're here to help you.”

“I don't wanna cause no trouble. I thank ye folks for your help . . .”

Herald took a step forward and looked up beseechingly at the much-taller human. “Listen, we don't know for sure who did this, but we have a hunch. We just need your information and they can be locked away where they can't hurt you or your family again. But Rogus can't lock them up without a good reason.”

Vigen looked over at the orc and wrung his hands. Finally, he sighed. “We came here not long ago, an' I had a few small bits of jewelry as belonged to my wife hidden away, but afore I could find anyone as to buy 'em, comes this large fellow an' his elf an orc friends and shoves me around, makes to search our belongings. I din't want my family to starve, but what could I do? I ain't no fighter. But my boy tries to grab one o' them trinkets an' run away. So the elf one with the braided hair kicks 'im in tha head an' takes it. He been fadin' since then, couldn't get no food down 'im, nor hardly any water.”

“Could you describe the gems? We might be able to find them and return them.”

“Weren't no gems, just a silver pin what my wife had from her parents on our weddin', an her silver mirror.”

“How's that, Rogus?”

“It's good enough for me. If this fellow and his boy will come upstairs to talk to Melina, I'll get my boys together and see if we can fetch those ruffians.”

“That all right with you, Vigen?” Herald asked.

“I don't want no trouble . . .” the man began.

Rogus snorted impatiently. “If you don't testify, who knows what they'll do next time.”

“And they'll find out you spoke to us easily,” Lucha said.

Herald frowned at the elven wizard. “Please, Vigen. You're among friendly people here. This is your best chance. Why don't your wife and daughter come too, we can get some food on the way.” The little girl's head popped up at the mention of food and she began tugging urgently on the woman's sleeve.

“I . . . all right,” Vigen gave in. They made quite the procession climbing to the top of the stump.

“I have an idea,” Listens said, and abruptly changed into rather a large bear. He began sniffing around. Rogus jumped and Vigen staggered backwards into the platform railing. The young girl gave an excited shriek and the woman dove forward and snatched her before she could try to pet the druid/bear.

“What is he doing?” Rogus growled under his breath, looking down at Herald.

“No idea.”

After casting around on the platform for a minute or so, Listens became a man again. “I believe our quarry can be found in yon alchemist's shop.”

Rogus frowned yet again. “Let me get my men.” The friends stood on the platform for several minutes with Vigen's family while Rogus passed the word, then they gathered together around the door to Chayo's shop, with Vigen and his family safely out of the way at a food vendor. “Do you want to do the honors?” Rogus asked Herald, who shrugged and stepped through the door. Rundell, Thaon, and Enthir were inside looking through the tables of small bottles and jars. Over at the counter was Chayo, deep in conversation with Prandwas the brood adventurer.

Prandwas looked up and saw the crowd behind Herald. “Oho, this looks serious!”

“Sadly, it is. We're here to speak to Rundell and his friends. Or, at least, the town guard would like to speak to them.”

“Yeah,” Rogus piped up. “Lady Binlay wants a word with you three.”

Rundell looked them over, clearly calculating the odds, then glanced at Thaon, who shrugged. All of them had their weapons peacebound, and there was no other way out except for going past Chayo, who was gray-haired but still spry and had both arms covered in the pearly, swollen nodules of a powerful alchemist. “Lead the way,” Rundell said. The procession reformed, now somewhat larger and rather better-armed, and proceeded its way to Lady Binlay's house. The entrance hall of the house was more than large enough for the group. Rogus flagged down a servant to fetch Lady Binlay and she appeared without delay, taking a seat on her carved ironwood chair.

“Well, Rogus, what's this about?”

“Ma'am, we're here to present a complaint. These three men stole from this family and injured one of the children badly, almost killing him.”

“He would have died soon without magical healing,” Listens said.

“Rogus saw the injuries before the boy was healed,” Herald added.

“Oh? What do you say, Rogus.”

“The man Vigen identified his attackers as Rundell, Thaon, and Enthir, ma'am. And the boy was badly hurt, even I could see as much.”

Lady Binlay transferred her gaze to Vigen. “Do you identify these men?” The man looked overwhelmed, but his son tugged at him. “C'mon, Pa!”

“Yes, ma'am. Y'honor.”

Melina smiled at him briefly. “No need to concern yourself with titles. Rogus, a word.” The orc approached and bent his head, they whispered together for several minutes, then Rogus returned to his position on guard. “Well, my loyal guardsman would like to see you three hang, but lucky for you I have no authority to order such a thing and no desire to face an inquest from the Adventurers' Guild. However, I can order you confined until the next upriver boat arrives and then throw you out of my little town, and that's exactly what I intend to do. Rogus, see to it, please.”

“With pleasure, m'Lady.”

“Well, gents, sounds like our job's almost over,” Herald said as Rogus and his men divested their prisoners of weapons and armor and escorted them out. “We should see if we can find that silver pendant and mirror.”

“How long are you going to hold them?” Elendol asked Lady Binlay.

“The big boats generally come every two weeks, this time of year.”

“You may want to keep them separated,” Lucha said.

She laughed. “How large of a jail do you think I have? There's rarely anything but drunks to deal with. Thank you for your help, though, those three have been a thorn in Rogus' side for a while now.” She sat back and gave them a thoughtful look. “If you'd like to stay for tea, I'd like to talk to you.”

Herald shrugged. “Sure.”

A servant, quite possibly the same one, brought a tea tray heaped high with sandwiches to a comfortable but by no means overly rich sitting room next to the receiving hall. Lady Binlay poured neatly and efficiently, and everyone sipped politely. “You are all strangers to my little village? I expect I'd have heard of you before if you were all locals. It's not much, but it's been my home for over thirty years. I do wonder what will become of it when I die.”

“It's rather a wonder, the stump of such a huge Ironwood tree,” Lucha said. Listens nodded.

“Yes it is, and all thanks to my husband, Arcasio. Have you heard the tale?”

“Can't say that I have,” Elendol said.

“This was, oh, forty years ago, when I was just a girl and new-married. My parents wouldn't hear of me marrying some wild alchemist of no family and no fortune, but I knew he was a good man, so I ran away and we were married in secret. There was nothing here back then, just some stilt huts in the swamp, but he'd invented a formula for growing Ironwood trees to sell to Elfhome and Polis. The Mincor family had a monopoly on the franchise at the time, using a laborious conversion process on dead wood, so Ironwood was prohibitively expensive. They claimed if you transmuted the wood in the sapling the tree couldn't be cut, but Arcasio knew better and started his plantation out here in the swamp.

“Well, the Mincor's got wind of it and sent their bullies to start sabotaging our plantation. When Arcasio tried to chase them off, they started bribing the gnomes and kobolds in the swamp to harass our traders and suppliers. Still, I thought things would come out all right. We were holding on, barely, and the Elves purchased a large shipment. Mincor sent his men into Elfhome to burn down the warehouse, can you imagine it? There was an enormous fight, a large part of the city caught fire, and the Elves complained to Polis about the disruption.

“Surprise, surprise, the Mincors had plenty of friends on the Patrician Council and my poor husband was ordered to stop production and turn his plantation over to them. The Mincor's didn't understand his process for cutting the grown trees, so they couldn't make any use of his work. The Elves, who were the largest customers, started to complain again, but Arcasio refused to sell his process. So Servus Mincor proposed a contest to determine who got the franchise. Arcasio agreed, and they set out to magically grow the largest ironwood tree in one year.

“I won't bore you with the details, but Arcasio was absolutely going to win. His alchemy was second to none. You can ask Chayo if you like, they were great friends, although the two of us have never gotten along. But right before the contest was about to end, thousands of giant beavers came out of the swamp and chewed the tree down, leaving only the stump. Arcasio and his workers tried to fight them off, but somehow in the fighting Arcasio vanished. Rogus searched for days, but all he could ever find was two of Mincor's hirelings, who'd seen Arcasio turned to stone and had rowed him out into the swamp somewhere and pushed him overboard. They didn't even know where they were when they did it, they got lost. That was how we found them at all, they stumbled back into our camp instead of meeting with their compatriots.

“So, he's still alive, just transformed to stone, but we've never been able to find where they dropped him. He used to wear an amulet that protected him from locating magic, and it must still be working because no one can find him. And here I am, an old woman, now, running this poor village in the middle of nowhere, while the Mincors are rich from taking away Arcasio's masterwork a bit at a time. I can't even stop them, or they'd force me out of here.” Melina sighed. “Oh well, mustn't indulge in self-pity. I appreciate you taking the time to listen to an old woman. There might be something to interest you, though. Arcasio knew things might go bad, so he left a cache of magical items somewhere out in the swamp. Supposedly, there's a map that'll lead you there, but I've never been able to figure it out. Ask around, maybe the other people who knew him can give you some clues.”

Listens, who had gotten up to wander around the room while Lady Binlay spoke, pointed at a large wooden object hanging over the fireplace. “This is a curious plaque. What is its origin?”

“That? It belonged to Arcasio. I'm not sure what it is, but I keep it to remember him by. What's curious about it?”

“It's a trail blaze.”

“No trails here, I'm afraid.”

After some polite goodbyes, they left Lady Binlay's home and began to search the vendors around Stump, looking for Vigen's silver pin and mirror. The mirror they found almost immediately at Factor Iddelendo's shop. He was reluctant to part with it, but in the face of several armed strangers he gave up with poor grace.

“Look at that,” Elendol said. “It's another plaque.” And it was, on the Factor's wall.

“I wonder if there are more,” Herald said.

A thorough search of the public areas of the town turned up the pin as well as four more of the trail plaques, yielding what seemed like a series of instructions to . . . somewhere. Intrigued now, they broke out the canoe and rowed south on the river, into the swamp. There they found a small streamlet that seemed to match the trail markers, leading to a hill and a peculiar grove of giant mushrooms. After some digging, they found a half-rotten crate that did appear to be Arcasio's cache, with a few useful items inside and one oddity, a necklace.

“What does it do?” Elendol asked.

“It's an Amulet of Location. They're made in sets. If you wear one, it hides you from scrying and locating magic unless it's cast by someone wearing an amulet in the same set.”

“You mean, like the amulet Lady Binlay said her husband had?”

“Exactly.”

“I bet she'll be interested to hear about this, then.”

Soulstones Session 1: Anniversary Party

“Howdy, Listener! Good time for you to come to town!” Caherill the Hunter raised his mug as an eagle landed only a few feet away and transformed into a tall, gray-haired and bearded man in dark blue-green robes. In a few years, Caherill might be just as gray, but for now his short hair and beard were only flecked with salt and pepper. Above them, the village of Stump swarmed like an overturned anthill, everyone hard at work with preparations for the anniversary party. “Are you going to join in any of the contests this year? There might be one or two to suit you.”

“That sounds like fun,” a passing traveler piped up. “What are these contests.” Caherill gave the elf a long, leisurely measuring-up. He looked young, but elves generally did. With blue eyes and light brown hair, he wasn't particularly distinctive.

“You look to be a wizard type, am I right?” Caherill hazarded.

“I am merely an apprentice.”

“And what might your name be?”

“Most call me Lucha.”

“Nice to meet you, fellow. Well, one of the most popular contests in Chayo the Alchemist's potion testing, That would probably be right up your alley.” Other recently-arrived strangers were also stopping to take in the conversation. Caherill spied another elf, this one with white hair and wearing a tough's leathers. A small but surprisingly impressive halfling in a suit of armor completed the ensemble.

“Where might I find this Chayo?” Lucha asked, all elven formality. “Could you describe him to me, please?”

Caherill chuckled. “Chayo's a lady! If you head on down toward the inn where the food is, you'll see the big stage she has set up. It's the one with all the potions around it. Otherwise, if the potion-testing doesn't suit, we've got musicians, whopper-telling, wrestling, a sawing contest, archery, the canoe race, and a tree-climbing contest.”

Lucha bowed and walked off down the tunnel, followed by the halfling and, sometime later, the other elf. Caherill was about to make another effort at talking to the reticent druid when he, too, followed the other strangers up the main tunnel and into the stump.

The white-haired elf, whose name was Elendol, watched the crowd with great interest. He spotted a tall, skinny human in tattered wizard's robes stuffing his face and, surreptitiously, his pockets, at one of the tables, and sauntered over. “Hello, friend,” Elendol purred. “What brings you to Stump today? The founding party, I'd wager.”

The skinny human jumped and looked around guiltily. “It's free! It's all free! I'm allowed!” Elendol made a slight face as he realized the human stank of the dung heap.

“Slow down, friend. Just chatting.”

“So? Whaddaya want?”

“I'm just looking to make a friend or two. I'm Elendol. I've come for the party, myself, and I wonder if you could tell me more about the town, here.”

The human swallowed heavily. “I'm Daz. I just work here. The old bat pays me to banish the crap around here so the kobolds don't get angry.”

“Kobolds! Why are we trying to keep them happy?”

Daz shrugged, stuffing another piece of fish in his mouth. “Because otherwise they'll ambush our hunters and stuff? I dunno, I just work here. Ask the old lady.”

“And where would I find this old bat?”

Daz shrugged again. “She lives in the nice house at the top of the stump, but you'll probably see her giving a speech later on in the evening when the contests are over.”

Elendol nodded. “Thanks, Daz, I'll be around. Perhaps we'll meet again.” The elf moved off, but he was arrested by a loud dinging noise coming from inside the nearest, well, it wasn't really a building, as it was carved into the giant ironwood tree stump. It wasn't really a cave. Dwelling? He peeked inside, to see a wrinkled old human peering around short-sightedly and a somewhat impatient halfing trying to get the man's attention from behind an oversized counter. Finally, the halfing gave up on the bell and slammed his mace down on his shield, producing a shattering GONG that shook dust out of the rafters. The old man jumped and looked around the counter.

“Oh, THERE you are! You want a room at the inn? One silver a day.”

The halfling frowned. “Too rich for my blood.”

“Sorry, that's the price!” the old man insisted. “You don't want it, dozens do!”

“Need to find some work,” the halfling muttered.

“Me too,” Elendol said. “What about all these contests? Shall we go take a look?”

“Sure, why not.” The mismatched pair wandered up the platform, past the food stalls, to where a middle-aged woman in a fine, acid-green gown was setting up trays of potions. Lucha the wizard walked up to her and tugged on the sleeve of her gown.

“Eh, who's that? Newcomer? Are you here for my little contest? Well the rules are simple. Each tray has two potions on it. One of them is a minor beneficial potion, the other has some obnoxious side effect. Your job is to figure out which is which and drink down the one you think is the good potion. If it's not, we'll all know about it right away, and you won't advance to the next round!”

The apprentice wizard frowned. “Can I smell the contents and so forth?”

“Certainly. This is a contest of skill, not blind luck.”

“And the cost to enter?”

“There's no entrance fee,” Chayo said. “Or you might complain when you drink the wrong potion and something amusing happens!”

Lucha nodded. “I will participate.” He looked around at the crowd, spotting the human druid, the halfling, and the white-haired elf off to one side, looking out of place in the crowd. “Are you joining, too?”

“Just going to watch,” said the druid. The halfling nodded and the elf grinned.

“Cowards the lot of you! Get in and join the fun!”

Chayo handed Lucha a tray. “Your turn!”

Lucha unstoppered both bottles carefully and examined the contents, his nostrils twitching. He poured out a small sample of the liquid onto his palm and smeared it around with a fingertip, then gingerly tasted it. Then, decisively, he picked up the potion on the left side of the tray and downed it in one gulp. Nothing appeared to happen. The large and rather drunk human standing next to him wasn't so lucky and rushed to the edge of the platform, where he began to vomit explosively, to cheers and catcalls from the crowd. People began calling out bets as Chayo prepared the next round of potions.

“I'll bet twelve silver on the elf,” the druid said, producing the coins. Elendol and the halfling continued watching, wondering if it was just luck.

“Is there a prize?” Lucha asked, examining the two new mystery potions.

“Bet you wish you asked that before you started!” Chayo cackled. “But yes, there's a prize. There are three prizes, actually.”

After a thorough testing, Lucha drank the potion on the right. Again, nothing appeared to happen. A tall, burly woman began to sweat profusely and water vapor began to jet from her mouth, nose, and ears. She passed out on the deck amid loud cheering, and someone tossed a bucket of water over her to cool her off. The bet-taker waved at the druid, but he indicated that he wanted to bet again on the apprentice wizard. One of the other competitors chickened out and withdrew, leaving Lucha alone with a hefty fisherman. Once again, Lucha carefully tested both potions. He seemed to hesitate, lifting first one, then the other, then suddenly grabbed up the first potion again and drinking it down with a slight smirk, a bit of showmanship that the crowd heartily approved. The last remaining potion-taster drank his choice and abruptly turned into a frog, emitting a mighty belch.

“Oh dear, that's not supposed to happen!” Chayo yelled. “Stop that frog! I've got to turn him back!”

The crowd erupted into hysterical laughter as the middle-aged alchemist flapped after the frog.

“My prize?!” Lucha called after her. She waved at the table, where a bright green pointed wizard's hat was sitting.

The druid claimed his winnings and reached out to touch the apprentice wizard's arm. “Well done. Take this, you earned it.” He held out a small pile of silver.

“Thank you!” Lucha said. “We should try another contest!”

“I believe the tree-climbing is next,” the druid said. “I am known as Listens to Greenlings.”

“Pleased to meet you, Listens. I'm Lucha.”

The tree-climbing was some distance outside of town, so the strangers hopped the ferry. Rogus the orc was presiding. Some heavy betting was already underway. The druid handed his silver cheerfully to the nearest bookie, walked up to the line of tall trees, and turned into a chimpanzee.

“Is that cheating?” Rogus asked. He frowned. “There isn't any rule against it.”

“I ain't giving you any better odds than 1:2!” the book-maker yelled.

“You should have waited until after they had the bets finalized,” Elendol said.

“That would be cheating,” Listens declared. The competitors lined up and Rogus beat the starting drum. Moving with lazy ease, the chimpanzee nee druid sauntered up the tree and reached the top well ahead of the other laboring competitors. At the top, he transformed into an eagle and flew down to the ground.

“Nice job,” Rogus said, handing the druid a pair of sturdy boots.

“Those are magic,” Lucha said.

“Oh, what do they do?” Listens asked.

“An enchantment of athletic skill. You'll love them.”

They returned to the village, where the musicians were setting up a stage for the next context. The halfling surveyed the instruments and selected a drum, beginning to warm up enthusiastically.

“He sounds good,” Listens remarked, trying to evaluate the competition over the increasing din. “I'll bet eighteen silver on him.”

The contest began and the halfling tossed off a simple rhythm, growing more and more complex, faster and faster, interweaving complex series of tones. Competitor after competitor washed out. The betting rose to a fever pitch and then . . . disaster. The drumstick shot out of the halfling's left hand and flew across the stage, nailing a flautist square in the nose. Her off-key wail brought the jam session to an abrupt halt. The halfling retired in ignominy, having just missed winning a prize.

Lucha and Listens to Greenlings compared notes. “How much did you lose?” Lucha said, wincing at the druid's all-or-nothing betting style.

“108 silver.”

“Ouch. That's a lot.”

The druid shrugged. “Easy come, easy go. Looks like I'll be watching now.”

“Was that ALL of your money?” Lucha asked.

“Yes, but don't concern yourself, I won't starve.”

“Still.”

The next contest, after the musicians hand been shooed offstage, was the infamous swamp tradition of whopper-telling. Elendol stepped forward and bet five silver on . . . himself.

“You're entering?” Lucha asked, presuming on their mutual elfistry.

“Sure.”

“What story are you going to tell?”

“Watch and find out.”

After considering for a moment, Lucha ventured 10 silver on the white-haired elf, who spun a fanciful tale of a one-legged Orc and a dragon-kicking competition that was well-received by the crowd. “Nice job,” Lucha said as they collected their winnings.

“Competition's heating up,” Elendol said. “I need a better idea for the next one. Say, what do you know about this area? Any juicy history? Big rivalries? Maybe they hate the next town over?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Lucha said. A human who looked to be roughly eight million years old finished his story of a tornado that drained the swamp and rained frogs and fishes all over a society wedding. “About the only thing I can think of is that they really dislike the Mincor family around here, since the Mincors control the Ironwood franchise in Polis.”

“Human politics. Still, I can work with that.” Elendol sauntered forward to take his turn and produced a raunchy yarn about a Mincor heiress who discovered a little too late that her new husband was a cannibal kobold with a ring of shapechanging. The crowd laughed themselves sick, and when he concluded it took several minutes for them to settle down enough that the next tale-teller could be heard. Elendol took advantage of the distraction to canvass the crowd for his most enthusiastic new supporters and elicit their assistance in padding out his bets. The disgruntled book-maker wanted to give lower odds, but complaints from several burly gentlemen and ladies turned the negotiations. With a sour look, the man accepted Elendol's new bet.

“That was quite clever,” Listens said. Lucha bet twenty silver. It was more than he wanted to lose, but the odds looked pretty good. Elendol's final tale of the wizard who drilled himself into the ground trying to chase a magical tower that kept teleporting behind him received tremendous applause, and he was declared the winner by acclaim. Iddelendo the Factor handed him the prize, a fine hat with a showy peacock-blue plume.

“It's magical,” Lucha told him.

“I figured,” Elendol said, spinning the hat once on his fingertip and then donning it with a flourish.

The visitors wandered over to the next context, which proved to be wrestling. A big burly human who appeared to be Rundell the popular champion stood on the platform, naked to the waist and flexing for the crowd. The bets were flying fast and furious, and they could only shake their heads ruefully over the odds. The champion was favored at 5:1, practically a sure thing.

“I'm going to enter,” said the halfling.

“YOU are?” Lucha asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, you're . . . you're on the small size.” The halfling shrugged. “What's your name?”

“People call me Herald Crash.”

“Well, I suppose you know best.”

“Since I have no coin to bet, I may as well enter, myself,” Listens the Druid said.

“I'd bet on you,” Lucha told him.

The druid didn't have long to wait, he was called first to contest a tall, athletic trapper. It appeared that the point of the contest was to push your opponent over the side of the platform, where they'd fall into the swamp water. The trapper readied for the bell, and Listens transformed into a gorilla. Moments later, the trapper was in the drink and Lucha was collecting his winnings. Next up was Herald, who moved quickly and expertly, but nevertheless managed to get snagged by his opponent and catapulted into the air. Rundell flipped his opponent effortlessly into the water, to enthusiastic cheers. Then Listens was up again. After several moments of intense struggle with neither of them able to gain an advantage, his opponent tripped over his own feet and went over the side. A hush fell as Listens squared up against Rundell, who grinned—or bared his teeth, it was difficult to tell—and lunged forward, nearly ending the contest in one pass. Then Listens transformed into a massive bear, grabbed Rundell around the waist, and gave a mighty heave. The startled fighter yowled as he plummeted.

The crowd hooted and jeered and the book-maker cursed as he dug deep to pay off Lucha's substantial bet, leaving the elf with a respectable chunk of mixed gold and silver. Elendol shook his head quietly. “Look there, see that elven fellow? And the orc? They aren't happy with this outcome. Not happy at all.” The pair that Elendol indicated climbed down to the dock platform to help Rundell out of the water, and the three of them conferred, shooting the occasional dark glance in the direction of the visitors.

Herald Crash dried off and began looking around for the next context, which proved to be the sawing competition. The two-man teams were warming up. Herald surveyed the other visitors. “Anyone want to join me?”

“Do you think you might actually have a chance?” Lucha asked. “You're a bit . . . short.”

“Sure. I just need a partner.”

“I can do that,” Listens said, and turned into a baboon, just about the same size as Herald. They had a few practice swings, getting the rhythm, and then the contest judge called for the teams to be ready. At the starting whistle, the little bard and the druid set to with a will, raising a cloud of sawdust and, as they worked faster and faster, the smell of smoke. “Careful!” the judge yelled, but Herald refused to stop. “HANG ON, BABOON!” he shouted. When the whistle blew again, they'd sawed down the entire length of the log, and were awarded the coveted pair of magical bracers.

“Whew!” Herald said, offering the bracers to Listens, who declined. “What's next?”

“Archery, it looks like.” Rundell and his two friends were lined up, and from the sound of the betting his elven friend was highly favored to win.

Herald frowned. “There's something really off about that elf. I'm going to sit this one out. He might hold a grudge if we won. I'd rather see if one of you want to do the canoe race. If I can pull a saw, I can pull an oar.”

Lucha and Elendol placed modest bets on Thaon the elf, and were rewarded with equally modest winnings as he made a clean sweep of the archery, winning a handsome ironwood bow. Lucha approached him and offered part of the winnings as a reward for his performance. Thaon scowled, but Rundell happily accepted and gave the apprentice wizard a clout on the shoulder that nearly knocked him off his feet. “No hard feelings, let's have a drink later, sport!” The three local friends retired to the drink and food, leaving the visitors to wander down to the canoe race, the final event of the night.

Halfling and chimpanzee paddled furiously, circumnavigating the great ironwood stump, raising an impressive wake for a canoe. They got so far ahead that they rounded the curve and came up behind their opponents and passed them before they reached the finish line, a floating platform.

“Oh, well done!” the judge said, and awarded them the prize—a beautifully crafted ironwood war canoe, capable of seating six people and a quantity of gear. After stowing it at the docks, the visitors headed up to the party, where a vast quantity of food and drink was consumed late into the night. Stuffed as full as they could hold, they staggered back to the inn and got a room together to save cash.

The morning dawned bright and sunny, and the visitors wandered down to the taproom to see Rundell sitting at a table with his two friends and a tall, richly-dressed stranger with bright gold skin, hair, and eyes. He grinned at the visitors, revealing sharp teeth, and gestured for them to come over.

“Well, hello there! I hear you all were big winners in yesterday's festivities.” Rundell also nodded in greeting, but Thaon and the orc, who was called Enthir, merely glared.

“Yep, got a canoe,” Herald Crash said.

“I cheated a bit, but came away broke and it was all in good fun,” Listens said.

Elendol nodded. “I'm sure there are others who did better, you guys have some real skill. We got lucky.”

“I'm Prandwas, by the way. If you're broke, it might just be that I can help with that situation, if you're interested.”

“I guess a little extra wouldn't hurt!” Rundell said with forced joviality. Herald Crash regarded the human silently. He wondered what discussion had already gone on. Listens nudged the halfling and drew his attention to Leeta the barmaid, who was serving breakfast while staying as far as physically possible from Rundell and friends. Rundell seemed inclined to flirt with her, but she shrank away, avoiding a pinch, and hurried into the kitchen.

“There are some nasty rumors about these guys,” Elendol muttered while the visitors were pulling out chairs and seating themselves. “I heard some of them last night while everyone was getting boozed up.”

“So,” Prandwas said, after they were sitting down, “you folks familiar with the Adventurers' Guild?”

“Of course!” Rundell replied immediately, pushing himself forward. Prandwas eyed him but didn't seem that interested.

“Well, I got a tip that a party from the Guild came down here to this swamp . . . and they've all gone missing. The reward for recovering their stones would be . . . substantial.”

“Gotcha,” Herald Crash replied. “So, if we accept whatever you're planning to offer, I assume you'll tell us what they were sent here after? And are you hiring both teams or just one team?”

“I was planning to leave that up to you. I don't know what they were sent for. I realize this is all a bit of a long shot, but I think it's worth the risk.”

Crash looked at the team of visitors.

“I have no pressing plans, just a princess to save next month, but I might as well fill my time till then,” Elendol said. The other two nodded.

“So, our team is a go, but we're going to need some more information.”

Thaon leaned over and whispered in Rundell's ear, and the three of them stood up, looking thunderous. “I think we've got better things to do,” he said, and they left the inn.

“All right, spill it,” Lucha said after they were gone. “What do you want from us, and what killed everyone else?”

Prandwas shrugged eloquently. “As I said, I purely don't know. Maybe they were stupid. These swamps have a nasty reputation. All I know is, this is a shot to get in the Guild's good books, and I want it.”

“None of us have soulstones,” Herald Crash said. “If it's that dangerous, we'd be risking our lives. Why don't you just run along and fetch them yourself?”

Prandwas grinned. “Let's just say that swamps aren't really my thing, and I wouldn't be adverse to taking a vacation while you use my tip and we split the proceeds. From what I know, there were seven in the party that came this way, so that seems like a nice reward to split. If you're willing to take the risk, I've got 150 gold I can th row into the pot, and a wand that will enable you to locate the stones.”

“I assume that once we return the stones, the Guild will pay all five of us? So, we can do 80/20 since we're doing all the hard work.”

Prandwas frowned. “I was thinking more you get the cash for four of the stones—minus what I'd already paid you--and I'd get the other three. Assuming you recover all of them, of course.”

“What kind of a reward are we talking about,” Lucha asked.

“I don't know, but the Guild's rich as dragons.”

“That doesn't sound fair to you, friend,” Herald said. “If we only find four, then you don't really get a profit. We would have to find at least five.”

“You were just complaining the deal wasn't much in your favor,” Prandwas said. “I'm willing to take that risk if it doesn't mean ruining my wardrobe in some mosquito-infested pit. If I guarantee you get the proceeds from the first four no matter what—assuming you find any, of course—that sound fair to you?”

“Let's say the first five go to our team. The last two will go to you.”

“Deal.”

Elendol plumped down in his chair and everyone jumped, having not realized he was gone. He gave everyone a bland look as Prandwas produced a bag of gold and the promised wand. “A friend of mine made this for me. She's an artificer at the Guild, but she's not up to this kind of long journey.”

“Have you already used a charge to get a general direction? We have a canoe, but may need more depending on how far it is.”

“The range on it isn't THAT big. You'd need to actually travel into the swamp for it to have a chance of working. I'm sure you'll figure it out.” Prandwas headed back to his room. Elendol pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and flipped it onto the table.

“Read that,” he said.

Pran,

The Guild is so eager to get those lost fools back that they're offering to attune a Soulstone to a new adventurer for each one you can retrieve. Needless to say, we'll all be extremely disappointed if you don't make this work out for us. DON'T get distracted this time. The girls in that muddy pit can't be worth losing this reward.

Yezmin

“Well, that's certainly interesting,” Crash said after everyone had looked it over.

The 25% Rule

So, this is just thinking out loud, but maybe it has some potential.  There's a problem with platforms like YouTube with big content owners spamming small creators with takedown orders for trivial reasons and the small creators simply don't have any ready means of resisting this abuse.  They don't have the resources to fight back effectively.

So, what if platforms like that instituted what I call "the 25% rule", meaning that to issue a claim against someone, their channel has to be AT LEAST 25% as big as yours.  (In terms of subscribers or followers or whatever metric for "bigness" the platform uses.)  Because, seriously, that guy with 200 subscribers is no conceivable threat to Sony or Nintendo and a frivolous claim may create a serious injury to the little guy.  But, if someone really is stealing a threatening amount of your content and making bank from it, they've GOT to be AT LEAST 25% as big as you are.

This would secure nobodies from harassment while still giving content creators of any size the freedom to protect themselves from actually damaging theft.

Now, why do this at all?  Because big content producers harassing small fry is actually a BIG PROBLEM.  And it's endemic, too. Something like 80% of new patent claims filed are filed by companies that *don't actually make any products*.  Their entire business model is just to acquire patents and make claims.  This is looting of the productive and creative by the nonproductive and noncreative.  Platforms need to stop enabling this crap.

Taboo: 10 Facts You Can't Talk About

So, Regnery Press sent me a free copy of this book by Wilfred Reilly (don't ask me why, I'm no influencer) for me to read and hopefully review.  Overall, I'd say it's worth taking a look at, but it doesn't tread a lot of ground that hasn't been covered by, say, Thomas Sowell or Walter Williams or others.  However, it has the advantage of being more up-to-date and giving a lot of interesting statistical information.

These ideas are not merely economic in scope, but rather tackle common social narratives from a statistical point of view in an effort to get an accurate overview instead of an emotional one.

It starts well, introducing its subject:

"Tackling taboos is difficult, but necessary. Very often--MOST often--they are used not to shield strong and valid ideas from pointless attacks, but rather to protect weak ones from worthwhile criticism. The censor tends not to be an individual fully confident he is right, but rather one who is terrified to the core that he is wrong. Only by ignoring the censor's taboos and beginning to speak can we challenge bad ideas, overcome them, and replace them with better ones."

Taboo #1 (I don't intend to list them all) is "The police aren't murdering black people".  According to Reilly, "The argument that Blacks are being murdered essentially at will by rogue cops--and white vigilantes, but more about that later--is made astonishingly often by serious people."  I have seen this claim, myself, and I have friends who have had regular unpleasant confrontations with cops, but I don't think their anecdotes are any more statistical than mine.  The sad truth that Reilly highlights is that criminal behavior really is distributed differently across groups.  He cites a particular study by Roland G. Fryer, the youngest African-American ever to receive tenure at Harvard, who found that "there are no racial differences in [rate of] officer-involved shootings." and with the relevant variables controlled for (demographics like age), found that " Blacks were 27.4 percent less likely to be shot at by police relative to non-Black, non-Hispanics".

The research here really is stellar, and it's good to have a very straightforward look at these hot-button issues that Reilly believes are so buried in the narrative that they have become "taboo".  However, Reilly shows an unfortunate lack of a principled approach to applying solutions for issues, which becomes especially apparent in the section on immigration, throwing out, as a sort of climax, this notion: "Nations must have the right to choose who their citizens are".  It's not further discussed, as if this was uncontroversial.

The number of collectivist premises hiding behind that apparently innocuous notion staggered me.  Firstly, it outright places the "nation" as the primary actor and decision-maker, as if people exist to serve the nation instead of the nation existing as an organization for the benefit of *people*.  What about individual rights?  And who decides what "the nation" chooses?  You can't walk down to Washington D.C. and talk to "the nation".  Are the majority equal to "the nation"?  What about the other 49% of the populace, then?  And, that aside (as if it's not bad enough), what would this mean in practice?  That the nation can toss out citizens at will?  Where will they go, then?  If the nation can disown you at will, what are you supposed to do?  I can't think of anything more guaranteed to create a perpetual extra-legal underclass.

Statistics are all well and good, but they don't serve you if you forget that people are, first and foremost, individuals.