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Dreezil Pocketdip Framed
Dreezil accompanied Firiona during many subsequent adventures, right up to her fateful visit to the Ring of Scale. When the memories of the party were stolen by the dragons, he was transported magically back to his hometown of Rivervale with no recollection of the events. He spent the next few years dabbling in various trade skills, becoming rather adept at the chemistries of poison along the way. In his own later travels, Dreezil had many opportunities to visit with Gunrich, the goblin who lived out on Skeleton Hill in Misty Thicket. Gunrich had been aiding the Deeppockets in their smuggling activities for longer than Dreezil could remember. In one of their conversations, Gunrich let it slip that he'd been caught with a case of Blackburrow Stout while in High Pass and though he expected to be treated badly, the guard who accosted him asked for a bribe instead. Gunrich chuckled to himself as though he'd made a wise choice in giving the guard his case of stout. Dreezil fingered his chin thoughtfully as he pondered this development. Why would one of the Highpass guards be so easily swayed, he wondered? Perhaps there was some mystery there that he could root out. The halfling lad headed back through Rivervale and the forest of Kithicor on his way to the castle area. As he reached the High Pass, he slowed his pace and watched carefully. His instincts for caution were aroused and he trod cautiously. Sneaking up behind a large rock near moonrise one late evening, he eavesdropped on two guards who seemed to be somewhat tipsy. Every so often, they would pull something from a large skin pack that clinked when it was moved. Dreezil recognized the sound of ceramic jugs. Blackburrow Stout was his guess. Dreezil stood quietly, breathing evenly so that nothing would draw the attention of the guards. Of course, they were fairly well intoxicated by this point so his caution may have been unnecessary, but Dreezil never became complacent. That was one of his strongest qualities. He was not one to be lazy about things. He watched as one and then the other of the guards began to nod and drifted into a deep sleep. Only their snores punctuated the night air. The little rogue waited yet a bit longer, and then, when he felt the time was right, moved in slowly and picked up the skin sack. He looked around carefully and picked up all the still-full bottles he could find. He would need those as evidence, he thought. These guards were corrupt and the authorities must know of it. Dreezil salivated just a bit at the thought of the reward they would no doubt force upon him. He smiled to himself. He headed toward the castle keep, still smiling smugly and headed for the castle gates. Looking up at the first tall human he encountered, Dreezil opened his mouth to speak, but got no further than a startled squawk as he recognized the very guard from whom he'd stolen the sack! The guard grabbed him by the arms, picking him up and throwing him, sack and all, over his shoulder. "AHA! Now I've found you, you smuggling thief! Carson McCabe will be pleased to hear that you were so considerate as to walk right into the castle and give yourself up!" The second guard took the skin bag and hefted it. It clinked as he did so and the first guard smiled knowingly. "We'll just show him this bag as evidence, sure enough!" The two guards headed into the castle, with Dreezil struggling and protesting all the way. When they took him before Carson McCabe, they had transferred eight bottles of the stout to a wooden case, leaving the rest in the sack and hiding it in their chambers on the way to the council room. When they arrived, Carson looked closely at Dreezil and recognized the guild symbol on his collar. Having the sign of the Deeppockets on him, Dreezil was clearly identified as a rogue and therefore, to McCabe, a scoundrel as well. He ignored the halfling's protests of innocence and viewed the contents of the wooden case as proof of the halfling's crime. He sent the guards to confine him in the dungeon. The first guard took great pleasure in escorting him down to the dank cells in the lower levels of the keep. Worse yet, they chained his hands far apart on the wall beside him - standard practice for those with acknowledged lockpicking skills. Dreezil looked confused and forlorn as the great iron cell doors clanged shut. The other prisoners stared hopelessly and took no notice of him. By the looks of them, they'd been all but forgotten down here. Dreezil stood there, shocked and amazed at this turn of events. It wasn't until the sun went down outside the tiny cell window and the darkness descended on him that he realized his predicament. It hadn't seemed possible that this could happen, but there he was and he had no idea what he would do next. Languishing away in his cell, the days and weeks all seemed to meld together into one long, endless, boring, miserable nightmare of an existence. He heard whispers and caught pieces of conversation echoing through the dungeon that told him that something terrible was happening in the world. He heard rumors that High Hold was under attack and that his hometown of Rivervale was taken over briefly. He assumed from the sounds of revelry some unknown days later, that the situation had resolved itself in of favor Carson McCabe and High Hold. The same guards brought his lukewarm gruel after all so it didn't seem like the place was under new management. He missed his family and feared for what may have become of them, only adding to his ceaseless misery. Firiona and Sionachie traveled through Antonica for many weeks, finally coming into Rivervale in their search for Dreezil. They came upon Wurrin and Teezil in a burrow not far from the local inn, known as the Fool's Gold. A fitting name, Firiona thought, for an establishment that encouraged gambling and housed the local rogue's guild. Wurrin and Teezil welcomed the paladin warmly. "Welcome t' our home, me lady!" The diminutive halfling woman smiled up at Firiona and scurried to find the largest chair to offer. "Me 'husband an' me, we've heard a great deal about ye lately! 'Tis said ye defeated th' Child o' Hate in Kithicor, it is! My, my, ye must be a powerful swordmaiden indeed!" Wurrin coughed behind one hand as he nodded. A gent of few words, was Wurrin. He pulled out a briar pipe and began to pack it with tobacco. He listened to his wife ramble on and watched the high elf lady from under his beetled brow. He sat in the corner, missing nothing. "Thank you, Teezil, your hospitality is second to none, to be sure," Firiona smiled, "but I was hoping you could help us with a bit of information as well...?" At this remark, Wurrin looked up sharply and puffed on his pipe, slowly blowing out the blue-white smoke in tiny rings. "Really, me lady? What kind o' information might sech as we have f'r ye?" Teezil folded her hands across her apron as she stared, puzzled, at the high elf lady. "It concerns your son, Dreezil..." Firiona began. Teezil's eyes grew wide, and Wurrin blew another set of rings into the dim air of the burrow. "Dreezil has been a companion of mine in the past, as you know, and I would find him again. I've missed his ready wit and his skills with locks are second to none. In my travels, it would be useful to have one with his abilities nearby, and the Lady Tunare has charged me with gathering up my companions. I have not been able to find Dreezil's whereabouts, which is not unusual for a rogue of his inestimable skills, so I thought I would pay you a visit and see if you could direct me." Teezil's eyes clouded up a bit and she blinked, twice. "He was arrested in Highkeep, they tell me, me lady. For smugglin'. I KNOW my Dreezil wouldnae do sech a thin', 'tis nae possible. I jus' know it. He's a good boy, 'e is." Teezil wrung her hands together as she rambled on. "Now, now, goodwife, I will see what I can do for your Dreezil. I know him to be an honest young man and I will find him and rectify this situation if I can. I promise you I will find out the truth and do all I can for him." The tall half elf woman stood and smiled down at Teezil and Wurrin. "I will not trouble you further this day, my friends. My Lady has bidden me hurry in my tasks, and I must find Dreezil as soon as I may. Fare ye well." Firiona nodded at Sionachie and the two left, bending one blonde head and one red one to exit the door in the earthen burrow. The two stretched unconsciously after having been inside, and set out through the forest or Kithicor on their way to Highpass. Carson McCabe stood in the throne room of the High Keep. He looked around at his chamberlain and advisors, listening to them recount the myriad problems that were his to resolve during his afternoon session. A muffled disturbance from outside caught his ear and he looked up curiously. Two guards opened the door and ushered in a familiar elf woman and her half-elf friend. Carson smiled. "Firiona! How good to see you! And this must be Sionachie. I've heard of your ability with the mandolin, my dear, and your excellent singing voice. I certainly hope Firiona plans to stay here with us for a spell, so that you might favor us with a song or two?" Sionachie blushed slightly and smiled. "Thank you, sir, for your kind words. But I believe Firiona has business to attend to." She looked over at the paladin expectantly. Firiona nodded back. "Yes, Carson, that is true. You see, I have been looking for a certain halfling lad, by the name of Dreezil. I understand he was here in Highpass Hold? Do you know anything about it?" Carson looked over at Arvelion, the chamberlain. The man's bald head gleamed with sweat as he stepped up to answer. The gold chain around his neck jingled with its burden of keys. "Yes, sire, I believe that is the name of the smuggler we apprehended and have incarcerated in our dungeon." He looked at the two women, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Caught him red-handed, we did," he said. Firiona raised both eyebrows and stared at the man, whose narrow mustache and sparse beard appeared very black against his pale face. She waited for him to continue. "Er... he was carrying the contraband when he was caught!" He said earnestly. "In fact, I locked it up in the stores myself!" Sweat began to trickle down his forehead. Firiona continued to stare. Carson stepped up to his chamberlain and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Go, Arvelion, bring it here. I would like to see it myself." He very gently pushed on Arvelion's shoulder, just enough to get him started. The skinny chamberlain glided away with the faint sound of jingling keys. Several minutes later, he returned with a wooden crate in his arms. Bottles tinked softly against one another as he walked. "There, you see? We caught him with it, red-handed!" The chamberlain's face was more than a little flushed by the exertion and his earnest assertions. Firiona peered into the case and pulled out one brown bottle by its neck. She held it up to the light and examined the thick dark stout through the glass. "Yes, it does indeed appear to be Blackburrow Stout," said Firiona as she lowered the bottle back into the case. "You say my little friend smuggled this? How long is his jail sentence?" Carson's brow furrowed. "Sentence? He'll sit down there till he rots as far as I'm concerned. Rogues like that are not to be trusted. Particularly the halflings. They're a scurrilous lot." Firiona's expression grew bland and she tilted her head slightly to one side. "Then he hasn't had a trial yet?" "TRIAL?!" Carson laughed loud enough to rattle the bottles in the crate. "For a halfling smuggler? I wouldn't waste my time!" Firiona's eyelids lowered just slightly and her voice was very soft as she spoke, "Then perhaps I can arrange for a judge to come here and hear his case. I will represent him myself. He can have a jury as well. I know you are a fair and honorable man, McCabe. And I know you to be just, as well. It will be no trouble to you at all. I'll see to everything personally." Carson sputtered and his face flushed red. "Oh, dear. If you must, Firiona, then you must. I will agree to abide by whatever decision is made." "Nonsense, Carson! I'd be happy to do it. In the interests of justice, of course." Firiona smiled sweetly and gestured toward the case of stout. "May I take this for safekeeping?" Carson McCabe's puzzled frown disappeared in a resigned smile when he could think of no reason to deny her and he nodded. "Certainly, my dear. Why not? Don't drink it all in one sitting now!" He chuckled at his own joke. "Make yourselves comfortable. Arvelion will show you to your chambers and see that you have everything you require. I must finish my work, now. Welcome, Firiona, and you too, Sionachie."" He smiled again and turned back to his advisors as the women followed Arvelion out of the hall.
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