Chesslyn recognized him as one of the senior Cloaks.

The two travelers looked at each other in silent, controlled panic.

"Introductions accomplished," Fullstaff announced retaking his seat, "Let's dig in. Plenty of time to talk and get to know each other later."

9

Dinner amp; Denouement In the Dining Room of the Villa of Honor Fullstaff, Master Swordsman, retired:

The tension in the air was palpable

The stern man named Mage Mason McKern gazed ominously at the two travelers in shock

Volo and Chesslyn exchanged looks, each indicating an instinctive combination of fear and readiness They were both survivors and ready for any turn of events

"Now, now, there is no reason for tension here," Honor instructed. "So, I committed a social gaffe. Wasn't the first time, and it won't be the last. Besides, it's my house and this is my table, and McKern, you know very well that dining at my table requires promptness. So eat."

"No," McKern answered, "please forgive me. I should have been on time. I had no idea that there would be other guests. Ms. Chesslyn Onaubra, I believe, of the Temple of Good Fortune."

The mage turned slightly to face Volo, and said, "And you are?"

Honor interrupted. "Eating!" he bellowed in a tone that could not be mistaken for anything but an order. "As you should be. There is plenty of time to exchange pleasantries with Chesslyn's young companion later. Besides that, it is impolite to talk with one's mouth full."

The blind swordmaster resumed the filling of his cheeks with delicacies from the table.

"Sor-" McKern began to say, but thought better of it when he felt Honor's sightless stare drilling an accusatory hole through him. Quickly, the mage began to partake of the feast.

Chesslyn and Volo exchanged glances again. Volo mouthed the words "Chesslyn's young companion?" to which the Harper agent replied with a suppressed giggle. Their silent exchange completed, both began to fill their plates, and, immediately afterwards, their mouths and stomachs.

The table was set with every manner of delicacy imaginable. Volo found it hard to believe that this was just an average meal at the table of Honor Fullstaff. In all his travels throughout Toril, he had never partaken of such a feast, and prior to this he had fancied himself an expert epicure. The plates were passed back and forth like cards at a gaming table, and Poins and Hal deftly retrieved, replaced, and refilled them with new contents as dispensed by the able hands of the dwarven cook Hotspur. Only once did a dish rest on the table for longer than a minute after it had been emptied of its contents while Hal and Poins fumbled with a particularly slippery soup tureen.

The host said, "Turnips," which were the contents of the empty bowl, and it was immediately refilled by the ever-ready Hotspur.

Volo was amazed at the sensory superiority of his host. Without the aid of sight he could still identify the contents of an empty bowl, perhaps by scent or by the sound it made when it hit the table or by the placement of the sound in relation to the other bowls on the table. The master traveler was awed, and now realized his folly in expecting that a swordsman such as Honor would have been forced into the atrophy of sedentary retirement by a mere inconvenience such as blindness.

The mage named McKern interrupted his masticating for a moment and asked, "Might I have a spot of wine, please?"

Honor stopped eating and cast his knife to the table, making a clang as it bounced off the side of the plate.

"I am appalled Mason! I will serve no wine before its time!" the host bellowed.

The servants and guests stiffened in silence. The host seemed honestly indignant and offended. Volo hoped that the swordmaster was not prone to violent outbursts over trivial matters such as this, as he had seen many age-demented warriors fall prey to in their declining years.

The master traveler's fears were unnecessary.

With all eyes upon him, Honor's stern visage stretched into the smile of a trickster, and a bold and boisterous laugh escaped from the venue that had formerly served as a way station for the delicacies of the table, on their way to the host's stomach.

"Ha, ha, ha," he roared, "but seriously Mason-only I get to call the great Mage McKern, revered senior Cloak of Mulmaster, by his first name-as I was saying, I have saved a marvelous after-dinner wine for dessert, and I have no desire to waste it on a palate that has already been plied by the pleasures of the fermented fluids of the grape."

The guests all joined in their host's levity with an unpracticed laugh in unison.

"Now," Honor ordered, "back to the matters at hand. Resume eating. Hopefully Mage McKern will not interrupt our gastronomic exercises and enjoyments again."

By the third course Volo realized that the only way to survive the opulent meal was to pick and nibble, rather than to fill one's plate and expect to empty it. Too bad Passepout isn't here, he thought. I bet he could give old Fullstaff a run for his money in the appetite arena.

A roar of thunder was heard outside, then a crash of lightning followed by another thunderous roar, and the sound of sheets of water being thrown against the roof high above their heads.

"I do believe it's raining," McKern announced in a manner more akin to a scholar positing a theorem than a dinner guest speculating on the obviously prevailing weather conditions.

"Mason, I shall not tell you again," Honor ordered, his clipped tones revealing the slight evidence of his irritation at the continued interruptions to the silent sanctity of supper time.

Honor had no sooner resumed eating when the sound of a door knocker resonated through the hall.

McKern was about to speak the obvious, as he was prone to do, when Honor Fullstaff saved him the trouble.

"Oh, let me guess, dear Mason," the host said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm from his tone, thus revealing the quick waning of his temper over the interruptions. "I bet you believe that there is someone at the door. Poins, please see who it is, and Hal, please set a place for them."

Passepout and Rassendyll had just made it to the edge of the grounds that surrounded the villa of Honor Fullstaff when the storm that had been following them announced its presence overhead, and let go its torrents of rain by the barrelful.

Passepout had been drenched before, and did not fear getting wet again. The thunder and lightning however spread fear throughout his very essence. At the first crack of lightning and roar of thunder, Rassendyll was quite surprised to see his rotund traveling companion speed forward in search of cover and protection from the louder and more destructive elements of nature. In the seconds it took for his eyes to recover from the lightning's flash, Rassendyll observed that Passepout had already gained the entrance to the villa.

"Yo, Rupert!" Passepout hailed. "You'd better get that coal bucket of a head over here. Aren't you afraid that it might attract a spare lightning bolt or two?"

Rassendyll hadn't thought of the danger inherent in his head gear and acquiesced to the suggestion of the rotund thespian, quickly joining him at his side, underneath the overhang that sheltered the entrance to the opulent, yet isolated villa.

The architecture of the stately villa reminded the masked escapee of the Retreat, and its isolated location, what Rassendyll reckoned to be a quarter day's journey from Mulmaster, probably lessened the risk of it being held by one of the High Blade's minions. Still, Rassendyll thought to himself, discretion was probably the safest course to take, as one could never be too careful.