Brian Thomsen - Once Around the Realms

"Great! A group of holy men is just what we need to liven up our day," said the guard known as Kirk, his teeth clenched in obvious perturbation.

"Just calm down," said Duke, his partner-in-arms for nigh unto forty years. "They're on some sort of pilgrimage, and Azoun has offered them the best of Cormyr's hospitality as they mosey on through his territory, and that includes the safety and security of Suzail's city walls as they pass a night's respite under the protective watch of his Purple Dragons. After all, there are thieves about, and…" lowering his voice in mid-drawl, "… who knows what else, given our orders for extra security."

"Bah! You're making a mountain out of a molehill. It's only one more thing for them to get on our backs about. Vangerdahast is probably just having a party or something."

"I wouldn't call a special meeting of the College of War Wizards a party. Sounds like serious business to me. Why else would he have ordered the city closed to all non-registered magic users? I'll bet it has something to do with some unseen menace that is lurking on the horizon, like that Horde invasion. Boy, we really kicked some butt back then."

"Don't get my hopes up," Kirk replied, drawing his chin betwixt his thumb and index finger till the two met at the distinctive cleftlike indentation that separated the right side of his jaw from the left. He nostalgically recalled the good old days. "Those were the times, weren't they? Fighting the barbarian menace. Overwhelming odds before us. Now all we're good for is night watch at the gate, and occasionally playing concierge to traveling holy men."

Duke looked down at his depressed buddy. Though separated by twelve inches in height and three years in age, the two veterans were cut from the same cloth, and were mirror images of what you would expect a great warrior to look like as he entered his golden years. They had fought side by side for years, saved each other's lives on numerous occasions, and together had more than their fair share of adventuring, carousing, and festing.

When Kirk had been assigned to permanent watch duty at the city gate, out of deference to his advancing years, Duke voluntarily put in for a transfer to this most boring of assignments just to keep his little buddy company. He never revealed to his friend that he, unlike Kirk, had chosen to join him on this assignment that was labeled by the young-bloods as the geriatric guard.

"Cheer up," Duke encouraged, punching Kirk in the shoulder plate. "I understand that there has been some trouble of late with battling brigands, and pickpockets masquerading as thespians. Maybe we'll get lucky and bag a few."

"Yeah," agreed Kirk, gaze now fixed on some invisible point on the horizon, then adding, "that's all we're good for, baby-sitting holy men and pinching pickpockets. Not what I'd call soldier's work. Purple Dragons, bah! Purple newts is more like it. Why don't we just retire?"

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Looks like we have company. Go give him the once-over."

Kirk took up his poleax, straightened his age-bent, five-two frame, and approached the oncoming traveler.

"Stop in the name of King Azoun," he bellowed, happy that at least his bass was in good form. "Who goes there?"

The lone traveler approached the gate, seemingly unthreatened by the harsh tones of the veteran of the watch.

"It is only I, Passepout the entertainer, star of stage, tavern, and festhall, and only son of the legendary thespians Catinflas and Idle. I've come to Suzail to share my talents with your most appreciative citizenry, and rumor has it that their generosity is legendary, if you know what I mean," rambled the traveler, jabbing Kirk in the ribs with his elbow with all of the self-assurance of Elminster at a magic show. The traveler's manner more than obscured his humble ensemble of threadbare pantaloons, homespun blouse thin and shiny to the point of silken, and a moth-eaten cloak that had as many worn spots as it had pockets (of which it had many).

"Passepout the entertainer," repeated Kirk. With a sneer, he added, "Never heard of him."

"I'm not surprised," responded the peripatetic Passepout. "A dedicated soldier such as yourself has too little time for the frivolity of theatrics and amusement. You are much too busy with the security and safety of all Faerun, and for that, I might say, we are all truly grateful. Now, if you'll just let me be on my way into the city, I'll be sure to mention to His Royal Highness, King Azoun, what a splendid job you are doing."

Kirk lowered the blade of his poleax to block Passepout's way, and turned his head, calling, "Hey, Duke. Do you know of anyone we're supposed to be on the watch for who has an appointment with King Azoun?"

"Nope," replied Duke. "Not to my recollection."

Passepout interjected, "I didn't say that I had an appointment with King Azoun. I just naturally assumed that he would want to see me once he heard about my theatrical exploits, and, of course…"

"Nor mine," said Kirk, ignoring the pudgy traveler's explanation while still blocking Passepout's way as he continued his discourse with Duke. "Ever hear of an entertainer named Push-up…?"

"That's Passepout," Passepout corrected.

"… the son of Addled and Cant-floss…"

"That's Idle and Catinflas, the legendary thespians," insisted the son of Idle and Catinflas, beginning to think that he might better have chosen the south gate entrance to the city.

"… the legendary thespians. Ring any bells?" Kirk completed.

"Nope," said Duke, approaching his comrade-in-arms. "Can't say it does."

"Sorry," said Kirk, handing his poleax to Duke. He turned back to the scapegoat of all of his geriatric frustrations. "We've never heard of any Passepout the entertainer, but you know what?"

"What?" whispered the now-meek traveler named Passepout, who was afraid that he would be spending the night in the dungeon for vagrancy, or some such other charge of which he was guilty.

"Duke here reminded me that rumor has it there are some pickpockets in the neighborhood who are trying to pass themselves off as entertainers…"

"Well, good sir," said Passepout, trying to regain some control, "if I should see any I will be sure to let you know, civic duty and all, and if you'll kindly allow me to be on my way, I'll…"

Closing in on the newcomer to the gate of Suzail, gently forcing him backward until his back was against the city wall with no place else to go, the cold surface of the stone chilling Passepout to the bone through his threadbare clothes, Kirk continued, saying, "Funny. Seems I do recall a pair of pickpockets named Idle and Catinflas from somewhere around Baldur's Gate. You any relation to them, punk?"

"You must be mistaken," insisted Passepout, not really answering the question, now sure that his night in the dungeon would be preceded by a beating, and dreading every minute of it. "I'm just a lowly street performer, and…"

"Do you know what we do to suspected pickpockets in Suzail?" asked Kirk, balling his gauntlet-clad hand into the fist that he held dangerously close to the traveler's pudgy nose. "Do you know what we do?" he repeated. Duke stayed two paces behind, holding his poleax in his crossed arms, ready and waiting for the amusement that was sure to follow.

"Oh, good! A quaint local custom. Let me take notes," a new voice added to the city gate milieu.

Kirk turned from the cowering Passepout toward the source of the voice and confronted the latest traveler to attempt entrance at the gate.

"And who are you?" Kirk bellowed, disappointed that his fist's appointment with the pudgy little entertainer's face had been interrupted by this latest interloper.