Irolt and the Toll Road Bandits

If Irolt couldn’t return to Allia, he wanted to get as far away from it as possible. He didn’t need the quaint landscape taunting him over what he deemed to be another failure.

He pressed the group hard.

It was easy for him to push ahead, his frustrations with them motivating him all the further to move at a pace which would discourage conversation. Unfortunately, the lack of conversation only seemed to encourage Franza’s singing.

“I’m a doggo,” they started with roughly the same tune that they had sung the day before. Then, in a deeper and slower voice reminiscent of a folk ballad, they provided their own backup. “A Resistance doggo.”

“Maybe don’t do that,” Irolt interrupted.

“Don’t you like my song?”

He was about to curtly explain that no, he did not like it. He held his tongue when he saw those big black dog eyes shimmering away at him.

For whatever else Franza might be, they’re certainly a very charismatic dog.

“It’s just that we don’t really know much about the town we’re headed to, other than it’s close.”

“Oh…”

“And as we talked about yesterday, the Resistance is a secret organization.”

“So you’re saying I’m not allowed to sing about it?”

“You’re not,” he said. “And right now, I’d appreciate if you didn’t draw any extra attention to us.”

“But, you liked the song, right?”

Irolt simply sped up again, leaving Belthor to answer the question.

“It was, er, very original.”

“I put a new spin on it,” they explained. “Because I couldn’t really remember all the words from before. But I’d still like to maybe sing it to Yvette.”

Irolt sped up even more, walking as fast as he could. He put all his attention on the road before him, and thought only of putting one foot in front of the other. For a time it offered reprieve. When his body began to tire and the sun had passed its highest point in the sky, he began to dream of collapsing into a bed at the inn.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Franza piped up. “But I’m getting pretty hungry.”

“Do you think we should stop and eat soon?”

Although Irolt’s goal had not been to lose his companions, he was a little irritated at how easily they seemed to be keeping up. “I think we should just keep going,” he replied, without so much as slowing down.

He was running lower on rations than he’d like, and had no appetite besides. The smell of damp cave clung to him, and he’d sooner have had a shower than a meal.

“But food,” the dog whined.

“We’ll get better food in town anyway,” Belthor said, and they kept walking.

He’s not usually so keen to play peacekeeper.

He wondered if his friend didn’t feel guilty, for taking Franza’s side in the fight about whether or not to vacate the forge.

He should feel guilty about that.

But then Irolt also felt guilty, for his anger. It was just one more thing to torment him as he walked.

The trails of the forest path sloped up steeply before winding into large green hills. After one particularly notable dip in the landscape, the dirt road began to even out. Irolt took that as a sign that they were getting close to their destination. It was confirmed by the alluring aroma of hot food in the distance, well-spiced meets and simmering vegetables tossed with garlic.

It was enough to reawaken his hunger, and he practically ran for that final stretch.

They were almost clear of the thinning tree line when two identically dressed individuals hopped out from either side of the road, impeding the group’s progress.

Irolt sighed at this latest obstacle.

Were it not for their strange manner of dress, and shared goal of complicating his day, he may not have thought the two were together in any fashion. They couldn’t have looked more different.

The one on the left was a small dwarf woman, even shorter than himself. In addition to the brown adventuring pants and white collared shirt, she wore large sunglasses that obscured the part of her face not covered in her blonde beard. She held her hands in front of herself confidently, in the shape of guns. The elf to her right stood at least two feet taller than her, but didn’t look anywhere near as cool. He looked solid enough, but slouched with an unenthusiastic posture, and his hands were just shaped like regular hands. But he spoke with enough authority as he addressed them.

“This is a toll road!”

“Yeah!” Said the dwarf. “It’s at least a couple silver to get through here.”

At least?

He didn’t have to look at the pair very long or hard to realize two things. THe first was that they were clearly not aligned with any agency collecting tolls in a legal capacity. The second was that he didn’t care. They both seemed committed to whatever operation they were running, and the silver he’d save from fighting them didn’t seem like it would be worth the effort in his current state.

“How much silver exactly?”

They exchanged a look.

“Thirty,” announced the dwarf proudly.

Irolt had never heard Belthor sound so angry. “Thirty?”

“Ten each,” clarified the elf.

Irolt handed over ten silver from his pocket without much thought, and kept going.

He trusted the other two to make it through, one way or the other. He half expected Belthor to somehow end up with the gold he had just paid. Franza paid their ten silver and trotted up beside Irolt within the minute. Belthor took longer, but eventually joined them.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Called the woman, implying that Belthor had given up the coins.

He must feel guilty. Or he would have picked a fight.

There was no time to address anyone’s feelings on the matter, for the three soon found themself approaching the city gate. Watching over the only entrance was a friendly-looking guard who stood to attention when he saw them approach.

“Hello, good sir!” Irolt called, as the three of them made their way to his post.

“Are you sure you don’t want to let me do the talking?” Franza whispered. Irolt couldn’t deny that there was some merit to the idea.

They do have a way with people.

“Yeah, I’ll let you do the talking.”

“State your business,” said the guard with a cheery smile.

“Hello!” Franza beamed, wagging their tail and not stating their business.

“What are you guys up to? How’s it going?” He inquired.

The man was so aggressively inviting that Irolt felt comfortable answering for himself. Unlike most cities not featured on a Resistance-Friendly map, this place didn’t seem like it was going to be so bad.

“I was just looking for a shop that could sell me some blacksmithing supplies.”

“You know that’s illegal here!” Gone were the smile and the welcoming demeanor. The guard’s expression changed so harshly that it looked suddenly as though he wore a different face entirely.

“Blacksmi—“

“Blacksmithing!” He spat the word out as though it were a curse.

Irolt simply couldn’t wrap his head around this development. “In this town?”

“In this — what? Criminal!”

“What?” Asked a bemused Belthor from behind him. Irolt didn’t think it was funny at all.

Neither did the guard. He pointed a long, thin finger toward the woods, back in the direction they had come from. “Get out of here! Leave!”

Irolt’s hand began to creep toward the hilt of his sword, but Franza stepped up.

I really should have just let them do the talking.

Already the guard’s expression was softening for the dog. “Yes?”

“We were actually just wondering if there was a place here we could get something to eat? We’ve been walking awhile and we’re pretty hungry.”

“Well you and your tall friend can go in and have a look, but blacksmith over there, he’s gotta leave.”

So Irolt left.

“Wait,” Belthor said, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. “We need to go get food and stuff.”

“So you guys go get good. I’m not allowed in.”

“So…?”

He sighed. It was so tempting to just sulk off in the woods alone, like the guard wanted I’m to do. But Franza and Belthor were counting on him to have a place. He was still, for that moment, a Resistance leader, and would have to keep his head about him until word reached Zazeezy and she demoted him again.

“I’ll wait for you,” he decided. “You and Franza go in, get lunch, get supplies, and I’ll just wait out here.”

“Not here you won’t!” Called the guard. “Further away!”

Irolt, who had only stopped moving to talk to Belthor, resumed his retreat. “How much further?”

“Further!”

“How many trees?”

“Keep going!”

Franza was almost out of his line of sight at this point, but they called back to him encouragingly. “I’ll get you something good! I promise!”

Belthor lingered at his side a moment longer. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” said Irolt, who definitely didn’t feel okay. “Just don’t take too long. I really don’t want to be here.”

Belthor nodded and quickly doubled back to catch up with the dog. Irolt hoped the two could be trusted not to get themselves killed.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice.

“This is a toll road.”

“It’s ten silver to go past.”

“I’m not going past,” Irolt said, abruptly halting his progress. “I’m just going to go around.”

“No,” said the dwarf. She wasn’t having any of it.

“I’m just going to turn around and —“

This time they both argued. “No no no no no no.”

Irolt’s patience was truly tested. “Fine.”

They looked at him expectantly. Again, he sighed. “Ten silver, is it?”