> Follow him, but ask him who the HELL he is. "I'm the man who decided that you were important enough to burrow through walled-off, pitch-black sections of an underground fortress in order to break you out of your dungeon. Until we both manage to escape, I'm not telling you, or anybody else listening in, who I am. Not just yet. Now follow! You're wasting time! They must be right behind us!"
The man starts to disappear down the hallway, torch in hand. You run after him, dodging up and down through a maze of twisty little passages, all alike. The air is heavy, and stagnant. Though your lungs burn, you dare not stop running, lest you fall out of the tiny circle of light that the old man carries. Time blurs into an undifferentiated mass, punctuated by an occasional ladder, or leap across a gaping chasm. As you walk into an enormous room, dry and lifeless as a tomb, the man announces a stop, and drops his bag on the floor. A rattling thump echoes through the room.
"Alright. Ask away. There shouldn't be anyone here."
> I have several questions! "Heh! Fire away, young lad."
> Why was I imprisoned? > What makes me so important that I should be imprisoned? > Why did they want to poison me? "Oh, haven't you heard? You're deathly ill. You might die at any moment. The good duke's in shambles, devastated that he's let this happen to his brother's son, the only remaining descendant of the once-proud Dracomerian royal family. If your condition doesn't improve soon, the role of king will shift from the regency to his narrow shoulders. We can only hope your condition improves. It would truly be a tragedy if you... passed away." He spits on the dusty floor.
"Damn piece of slime. I never believed it." > What's in the bag? "Odds n' ends. Digging equipment, mostly. Sword, too, back from my glory days."
> What is this room? He shrugs. "Beats me. I never came down this way, back when it was up and running."
"I meant to say that the Duke is lying to the people about your sickness. Today was probably going to be the day he made his tearful announcement that the King's only son - you - had died from illness. Once you were out of the way, power would then go to the late king's closest relative, which, funnily enough, happens to be the Duke."
"Sorry if I wasn't clear on that point. No medicine needed."
He leans over to you.
"Sir Geoffrey of Bridgeford-upon-Fletcherbury, the Brave, at your service. Friends call me Geoff."
He stands up, rummages through his bag for a moment, then takes out a slender, leather-bound package.
"Used to be mine, back in my military days. I suppose it's time to pass the gauntlet, as it were!"
You received Geoff's Sword! You wear it on your waist.
"Now, let's get moving. It's only a little ways to go 'til we reach the outside."
You awaken a short time later in a bed. Your head hurts, and everything's a little foggy.
Geoff's face hovers above yours. He breaks into a wide grin.
"Hah! You're awake! I was getting worried. You took a pretty nasty fall, there. It wasn't easy carrying you through the tunnels, you know; in spite of what I suspect is severe malnourishment, you were surprisingly heavy."
He stands up, taps a tray next to him - packed with food - and goes to leave the room.
"When you're ready, just meet me in the main hall, out through that door. Today's the day! You'd better be well-fed."
It's a little, cozy room, though with a few touches one might not expect in a room like this. Next to the bed sits a large ornamental sword on a stand, and on the opposite wall hangs a shield, an intricate design slowly peeling off of the wood. Sunlight streams through a window on the wall to the bed's right. There is a small wardrobe next to the bed.
A doorway is to the left of the bed. Through it, the sound of conversation and the clink of glasses and cutlery can be heard.
It's a large, round shield painted with an intricate blue and white checkered design, peeling with age. Upon closer inspection, you see that the shield had been split in half at some point, and was later crudely repaired with nails.
Apparently this was a well-loved shield.
> Check for secrets by the shield and sword, respectively.
You're not sure what to look for. They seem to be fairly normal. You lift the shield slightly and find nothing under it, or anything written on the front or back. The sword is similarly fruitless. The only thing you find on it is a small plaque, reading "to Geoff, from an olde Friend."
> Examine Wardrobe.
The wardrobe is made of wood, well-polished but with a few obvious dings and scratches. You open it to find that it is empty, save for a few dust bunnies.
> Tell Geoff that you're sorry for throwing stones at him.
You leave your room, closing the door behind you. The house's main room is crowded with military relics - corroding suits of plate armor, shields of all colors and designs, a display of swords bent into interesting, non-linear shapes, and, in the middle of it all, sits Geoff, eating quietly at a small table. He smiles.
"Good morning, boy! Feeling well?"
> You probably should pay for the damage you did to that guy's armour. You are royalty after all.
Geoff dismisses the idea out of hand.
"No, no, don't. When I was travelling, we always had to pay for our own repairs, as a rule. Though the money made from looting generally made up for the loss! Joking, of course. Mostly. Don't worry about it. We've got to get moving."
He gets up out of his seat with a jingle and rattle, and takes a long lance from off of the wall. He makes for the door.
> Go! GO! "We are ready!" shouts Geoff. "Go forth!"
You leave Geoff's house and find yourself on a street lined with homes. You can hear a rhythmic rushing noise, and the air smells of salt. The street is filled with people of all shapes and sizes - burly men in uniform, women in dresses, children. The street stretches on in the east and west directions.
"I'd best stock up before we leave. In the meantime, feel free to look around. Meet me at the Queen's gate. Oh, I almost forgot. Before you leave, take this:"
You got the small knapsack! You wear it on your back.
You got 10 drams! You put it in your pack (0.1/10 kg.)
"If you find anything you like, don't hesitate to pick it up." Geoff gives you a slap on the back. "Be safe out there! Greenport's usually a pretty safe place, but you never can know these days."