Forged In The Heat Of Battle Rested from the combat in the mountain temple, the brave adventurers set out from Durth, back to Grito.

Much to the dismay of their under-xp'ed new monk friend, there were no wandering encounters on the road back home. "Wandering monsters... suck for xp," explained Mike the zombie.

A heavy rain accompanied our heroes out of Durth Mining City, but let up as they made it into the hills and meadows outside the Durth mountains. It took several days to get back home, but finally, Grito was in sight.

...

Ah, the sleepy village of Grito. Not too long ago, this village was the site of much mayhem involving owlbears and a complicated plot centered on a devious Potion Guild Guildmaster. But no more! Grito has, in a phrase, gone back to sleep.

The adventurers trundled on to "Shady Orchards", the small farm that they inherited after defeating Vrill. (The first time.) After many months away, mostly spent training and drinking in towns, but sometimes spent in horrible, blood-spurting combat, Shady Orchards has been transformed, apparently under the able hands of one Mr. Ronald Greetles, kobold servant.

There's a tall wooden fence completely surrounding the farm, for instance. And a stout gate at the entrance. You knock on the gate, and a little bell rings. Not too long later, some dude opens the gate a crack and looks at you. "Whaddya want."

You are taken aback, but carefully explain to this gentleman that you are in fact the owners of said property. He considers this, you draw weapons, he lets you in.

The place looks pretty good! A few zombies work out in the orchards, you hear a low moaning drifting on the wind:

"Pickin/
all/
apples...

Pickin/
every/
day...

Missus/
in/
da/
kitchen...

Master/
gone/
a/
way..."

Apparently this guy is a Blackwall Thief in hiding, hanging out in Shady Orchards. His 'job' is basically to make sure no one bad enters the farm. You head up to the farmhouse.

As you step up on the porch though, you hear some music coming out of the building. It... oh no, it sounds kind of familiar! Rousing theme music... some monks chanting, a woman’s voice maybe singing some religious song. At first you are wary, wondering if the MOP infiltrated here as well, and are producing another album! Your hearts burn with hate and thoughts of revenge, you draw weapons... But no, wait a sec, it sounds different… it sounds more valiant… it sounds like a war cry, like a song calling brave warriors to battle, like a…

…mighty princess, forged in the heat of battle
The power… the passion… the danger
Her courage will change the world!

You push open the door and step inside. The living room is sort of a mess. There's Gregolas Half-elven sitting on the couch in a dingy bathrobe, eating a bowl of Cheerio's, watching TV. (The TV is what you heard.) "Hey dudes," he says, not looking at you, just staring blankly at the TV, munching on cereal. "Want some cereal? We still got some milk."

You look around for Greetles. Hmm, not in the study. However, there's quite a bit of mail on the desk, which looks pretty cluttered. Here's something that looks interesting:

THE TOWER OF BLACK MAGICK
Editor: Valerie "Dawnraven" Clarkston

Dear Mr. Greetles:
Thank you for your submission to "The Tower of Black Magick", the number one unofficial site for Raistlin fan fiction. We are pleased to print your offering in our next issue! Please correct the enclosed author proofs ASAP.

Yours in Krynn,
Dawnraven.


"THE BLUE DRAGON'S REVENGE"
by R. Greetles, aka Fizbane666@aol.com

"Apprentice! It is ready. Bring the drake's blood."

The voice hissing in his pointed ears, Dalamar regarded his master coolly with his dark elf's eyes. He often wondered what the golden hourglasses saw his own fate to be. 'Does my master suspect my machinations?' he wondered to himself. 'That someday I shall surpass even him, the Past and Present archmage, in mastery over the Black Arts?'. The drow picked up the chalice lightly in his left hand and stalked proudly into his master's chamber...

Interesting. Okay, here's some more mail:

MR. ROLAND GRATES! YOU MAY ALREADY BE A WINNER!
The Greyhelm Clearing House Contest of Champions! Just scratch one box for each magazine subscription...

Ugh. And another piece:

From the quill of Shettin, servant of Grisbane

Dear Mr. Greetles,
I am pleased to continue our correspondence re: the duality of symbols in the Grisbane mythos. Your question regarding passage 44:13, for example, displays such erudition that I am constantly finding myself surprised that I am not in long discussion with one of the high priests of our temple! I hope this letter finds you in good health and prepared to 'bunker down' for the night, as my answer will undoubly not be a short one.

Etc...

Well, Greetles it seems has sure been busy. Here's some more mail:

JUGS! The Rude and Raunchy Sisters of Issac!

Dear Mr. Half-elven,
We regret to inform you that your subscription to JUGS! cannot be fulfilled as the credit card information you have provided seems incorrect...

Hmm. And finally:

Grito Home-and-Farmowner's Association
To Whom It May Concern:
We regret to inform you that certain paperwork regarding the property at 3 Farm Lane, so-called "Shady Orchards", is not in order. Our accounting office indicates that, as current claimant to said address, you have defaulted on several months property tax, including the initial fee required for inheritance of said property.

You owe: 10,000 gp, payable to the city of Grito.

Thanks,
The Grito Home-and-Farmowner's Association

...

Uh-oh. Right as you're reading that one, Greetles comes in. He's dressed in dungarees, a little vest, and a smoking jacket. He frowns when he sees you reading the letter, and cleans his glasses on a little handkerchief.

"Hi guys. Uh, yeah. They're trying to foreclose on us I guess. I don't really get it. I was about to write you and give you the news. Um. Welcome home, um, make yourselves at home. Did you have some nice adventures?"

You put down your stuff, maybe get a bite to eat, and fill Greetles in. Asking more about Grito, though, it becomes more and more apparent that 'lawn darts and R&R' ain't on the menu for our brave adventueres.

"Uh, right, so we've lost a couple zombies. The other ones are keeping their spirits up, but there's been like a wolf or something? It comes at night and eats zombies. I don't know why the zombies don't just kill it, but they don't. You can hear it howling sometimes too, it's pretty scary."

"Oh yeah, and there are two other pieces of mail that I was putting in this package for you. Let me get them." Greetles gets off his chair and rummages around under his desk. "Here you go. Both these things also just arrived."

The first is a plain brown-paper wrapped book. Opening it up, you find that it's an advance copy of "No Gods Allowed". Huh.

The second is another formal letter from the court of Greyhelm or a lawyer or something:

Dear Mr. Brogg, Mr. Cinder, Mr. Dave, Mr. Marivhon, and Mr. Zombie. This letter is to inform you that you are to appear in the 3rd district Greyhelm civil court on August 30 for a hearing regarding your assault of one Mr. Gregory Vrill. You will hearby be issued a restraining order not allowing you to come within 100 meters of Mr. Vrill, with the exception of court appearances. Failure to appear in court on this date will result in possibly fine or imprisonment.

Best regards,
Mr. Willowby Caruthers
Caruthers and Sons Legal Council

Well, you've already missed the court date. Thoughts?  ¶ 2:23 PM