Meanwhile, Malakos had approached the duke with some questions.

"Now, these ruffians who took your bride–"

"She's gorgeous, really, you wouldn't believe–"

"Yes, you've mentioned. But the ruffians–could it be that they're only pretending to be from around here? Don't you have any…oh…political rivals? Envious neighboring duchies? I'm sure an important man like you has a few enemies who might see this as an opportunity–maybe you should take your investigation back home and see what it uncovers, before–"

"Enemies?! No, of course not! My dear boy, everyone loves me!" 

"...Of course," Malakos sighed, then tried another route. "You know, sometimes love can be a maddening thing. Perhaps there's a young lady from your previous…pursuits, who would like your fiancée out of the picture…"

Before he was able to gauge the duke's response to the bait, he heard a shrill voice behind him.

"Oooh, Duke Phillip! Save me, Duke Phillip!"

Both duke and cleric turned to see a figure, evidently portraying a woman–if women had tiny halfling-sized arms and heads drowning in a mop of golden curls, perched atop a teetering torso, with the most muscular and scaly bronze legs either observers had ever seen, poking out from the bottom of a massive tent of a dress.

Entirely at a loss for words, Malakos watched helplessly as Bardy, perched atop Deruque's shoulders, waved his handkerchief in coquettish distress at the duke as they sped past him. 

"Save me, Duke Phillip! My gorgeous legs have been charmed so that I'll never stop running until a handsome duke catches me in his strong, manly arms!"

Malakos quickly turned, an apology already forming on his tongue, when Duke Phillip stopped him.

"I say!" He twirled one end of his mustache between his fingers. "Now that is a tall glass of water! Fear not, my lady!" He called out the latter sentence as Bardy and Deruque careened down the cobblestone road. "I am on my way!"

He snapped his fingers, and the largest of the guards in his retinue picked the Duke up and mounted him upon his shoulders. They, followed by the other guard, began pursuit.

Malakos stood dumbfounded for a moment at the sight, before shaking himself awake and sprinting after them. 

The guard was fast, but Deruque was faster. He kept a healthy lead on their would-be rescuers for some minutes–an impressive feat, considering he was entirely blind under the pool of cloth that was Bardy’s dress. 

Bardy, meanwhile, called out to the duke for aid as they lured him out into the farmlands on the other side of town from the mountains–and the Red Cloak base. 

"Duke Phiiiillllliiip! Saaaaaaave meeeee!" The halfling called. 

"My lady, I'm trying," he called out. "If you would only just direct yourself this way…?" 

The 'damsel in distress' only responded by running faster. Malakos puffed to keep up–his training in heavy armor had covered hiking in it and sprinting short distances, not running a marathon in the blasted plate metal. How did these soldiers manage…? He glanced at them, then startled as he saw one of them hand a javelin to the duke.

"What are you doing?!" The cleric said. 

The duke didn't hear him, and launched the javelin directly at Bardy and Deruque. It missed them and instead flew at a poor farmer, tending his chickens.

The birds scattered as it nicked the man and struck a hay bale behind him, the handle making a wobbling noise that would have sounded comical, had it not been the sound of attempted murder.

"Hey, watch it, bub!" Bardy cried out in his normal voice, before catching himself and switching to falsetto. "Hey, watch it, bub!"

"You almost killed that man!" Malakos cried.

"What, him?" The Duke glanced back for a moment as another guard fetched the javelin for him. "He's only a peasant. I hunt them for sport all the time! Come now, men, onward! I'm coming, my lady!" 

Malakos stopped running. This man was no simple annoyance–if he was throwing javelins at innocent people, how would he react to discovering their deception? Moreover, how could they turn a blind eye to the way he treated his populace? 

Malakos gripped his amulet and raised his arm to aim above the hunting party's heads. There were too many targets for his water trick to work quite the same way as before; but maybe it didn't have to come to that. The duke had seemed so put out about a little smoke on his clothes–the tiefling was certain he could outdo that.

As Duke Phillip drew his arm back to take another shot, a clap of thunder sounded, and a sudden downpour soaked the entire group.

"I say!" The sodden Duke cried out in objection. "What's the meaning of this?"

He steered his guard toward the nearest shelter he could find, but discovered that the sudden storm covered an unnaturally small area. Malakos subtly waved his arm to dismiss it, before the men could question its appearance in the small area directly above them. 

"My good man, did you see that?" The duke blustered as Malakos picked his way toward them, eyes innocently wide and traveling cloak suspiciously dry. "What a storm! My clothes are simply ruined. I must have a change." 

He clicked his tongue and dug his heels into the guard that served as his mount, steering him back to town and calling out behind him,"My lady! Don't fret, now–I shall return for you once I've had a change of clothes!"

Malakos watched him disappear from sight, then turned to look for Bardy and Deruque. He found them a short distance ahead–a writhing mass of arms and legs trying to crawl out of the pile of soaked costumery. 

Deruque escaped first, shaking himself dry once he was free. Malakos had to reach in and haul out the halfling, who gasped for air as he emerged.

"What a psycho," Bardy said, once he'd caught his breath. "Let's find Ruby. I don't want to be here when he gets–"

"My lady," a voice behind them called out, and all three party members froze. "Might you have an umbrella to lend m–"

The duke stopped short and took in the pile of dress on the ground, the dragonborn off to the side, and the halfling holding the disheveled wig. 

A moment of silence hung in the air for a moment. Then–

"Thespians! Oh, of course–no true woman can resist my charms. You really had me, boys. Well, that was all good fun, but I really must get back to finding my fiancée now. I think I'll move my search to those mountains over there, once I've had a bite to eat. I'm absolutely famished. You're welcome to join me, of course, for the search," he added, magnanimously. 

"Uh," Malakos balked. "The mountains? That's, um, that's a bit–"

"Oh, how marvelous!" Duke Phillip said, looking past Malakos. "It appears lunch has found me! And not a moment too soon–I'm liable to faint if I don't get some foie gras right quick."

The party followed the duke's gaze and their eyes widened. Some distance behind them, Ruby had set up a table of food she appeared to have prepared herself. Attended by their newest member, Patch, she added some finishing garnishes as her party and the Duke arrived.

"Oh, hey guys! I just prepared a little snack for us all. I had no idea we'd have company," she said in a voice that made it clear she had every idea they'd have company. "Well, nobility first, of course!"

Malakos and Bardy had to hold Deruque back. 

"Well, well! Don't mind if I do!" The duke urged his guard forward. "Get me some of that," he instructed.

"Ah!" Ruby said. "Don't, uh, don't you want to get it for yourself? Then you can be in control of, uh, portion sizes!"

Everyone looked at her suspiciously, except for Duke Phillip, who answered blithely, "Oh, my dear, quaint peasant girl, that's simply not how things are done in high society. My servants know my preferences, and if they get it wrong, all I have to do is have them punished."

"With your javelin?" Deruque snarled. 

"Yes, of course," the Duke grinned obliviously. "Now then, get me some of that pastry, Cedric."

Ruby, stunned by the javelin comment, moved a second too late to stop Cedric. The guard reached forward and plucked a pastry off the plate. An instant later, a pie flew into his face.

Stunned silence fell.

"You, uh," Malakos whispered to Ruby, as everyone looked from Cedric to the plate. "You made a trebuchet?"

"A miniature one."

"For pies?"

"Wild goose pasty. That's what you said we were doing, right? Keep him busy chasing a pie?"

"Wild goose chase! Chasing a lie!" Malakos hissed.

"Oh. You could stand to enunciate more."

The cleric glanced nervously at Duke Phillip. To his surprise, however, the duke erupted in laughter.

"How droll! How absolutely marvelous! Mm, and tasty, too," he added, licking a spot that had landed on his face. "But really, now, we must be going. Those mountains look promising–as though my Dimir were calling for me from them." 

Malakos perked up. "'Dimir,' you said? Lady Dimir? That's your fiancée? My word, how did I not realize…? Duke Phillip, we released her from those ruffians just yesterday, on the road to…" he paused a beat to think, when Bardy interrupted, suppressing a wicked smile.

"To Dunshire!" He said.

 "Y-yes," the tiefling cocked an eyebrow at the halfling. "...to Dunshire. Just outside of the city proper. She told us she would recover from her ordeal there, while…uh…securing honeymoon accommodations for you both. We were meant to ask that you join her there, but, somehow I didn't realize that you were her fiancé."

The duke looked at him skeptically.

"Your…picture doesn't do you justice…?" The tiefling added. 

"She keeps my picture on her? Dear girl!"

"In a locket around her neck," Malakos nodded. 

"Well, of course she does! Don't pine too much, darling, you'll soon have the real deal in your arms," he said into the wind. "Dunshire, you say? Well, thank you very much for your information, little boy. Here's a little something for your time."

He flipped a copper toward Malakos and urged his mount toward the castle road.

"I’m an adult," the tiefling glowered and thumbed in the opposite direction. "And Dunshire is that way."

"Oh certainly! But there are some preparations to be made, first, of course. I can't very well fetch my bride looking like this!" He gestured at his immaculate silks. "She can wait for a few more hours. I'm going to make it worth her while." He licked his lips again. "Anyway, thank you for your time, peasants! Don't spend my little token of appreciation all in one place!"

Bardy watched the duke and his retinue march off toward the castle, and gave a small smile. "No," he said quietly. "Thank you for making this such an easy decision."

Meanwhile, Malakos turned to the rest of the team. "Well then. No sense in letting food go to waste. Let's pack up some of Ruby's cooking for those in need. We can drop it off at the sanctuary of Ilmater–assuming there are at least a few dishes without trebuchet filling?"

The table was cleared quickly, once the traps were all deactivated. There was a slight mix-up, and Deruque wound up with a face full of pasty, but he seemed strangely delighted by the matter.

"This is way better than the old fork and knife business!" He said, gravy dribbling through his jaws.

 "Okay, Malakos," Ruby said. "Let's get this to the priest, then we'll go back to base."

"Sounds good. Come on, Bardy," the cleric said, looking for the halfling, and finding him a few yards away.

He had his back to them, watching the road to the castle. "You go ahead. I want to see to it that Duke Phillip gets on the road to Dunshire."

"Why'd you choose Dunshire, anyway?" Malakos grumbled. "It's less than a day's journey away. We'll only have a few hours to come up with our next distraction before he's back."

"Tsk, tsk, cleric," Bardy said. "The destination wasn't important. Only the road."

"Why must bards be so philosophical?"

"Not philosophical, Malakos. Tactical. I don't suppose you heard the other assignments that were given out this morning, as we were preparing to leave?" 

"Of course I was. Hethnor and Shi'ar went to deliver care packages. Keuren, Tadwick, and Gipton were to, uh, procure funds and armor from passing nobility."

"And where was it, that our orc and goblin friends were to be stationed to procure funds?"

"On the…road...to…Dunshire..."

Bardy tapped his own head and flashed a knowing look at the rest of the group. "This way, everyone wins. We don't have to deal with him anymore, but he's distracted. As a bonus, we just sent a fat prize up to our friends in the revolution. And as an extra bonus, they may wind up taking him off our hands permanently."

"THAT'S NOT A BONUS!" Malakos shrieked.

"And as an extra extra bonus, you can't complain about it since you don't have to get your hands dirty!"

"It's not about that!" The tiefling protested. "I've got plenty of blood on my… that is…I am a healer, not a hitman. In fact, I'm like the opposite of a hitman. I've been tasked with slowing the work of death up here on the material plane, and that is difficult enough without you people sending folks into an ambush. If I’m involved, directly or indirectly, with matters of life or death, I have to report the results to my…uh…my superiors. Do you have any idea how complicated the forms I have to–have you ever seen Infernal legalese?!”

“Wait–Infernal? I thought you were a cleric for the School of Life?” 

“I am,” Malakos rubbed his brow. “It’s just…complicated.” 

Before he could get a chance to explain further, however, a chorus of mechanical clanking heralded the return of Duke Phillip–now mounted in a palanquin carried by six guards in heavy plate mail.

“Oh hello, adventuring peasants! Are you here to see me off? How thoughtful! Well now, I can’t dally with any more of your games–I’m off to fetch my bride! These delicate little women can’t be left to their own devices for long, you know, and I’ll wager she’s desperate to have a strong man at her side by now. Toodle-oo!” 

As they marched off, Bardy looked pointedly at Malakos. “Sorry about the paperwork. But sometimes, you just gotta account for the greater good.” 

“Bardy,” Malakos’s normal pale blue tint was even paler. “We have to stop them.” 

“Greater. Good. Malakos,” Bardy emphasized. “Not only is that guy obnoxious as all get out, but he hunts the peasantry for sport! You can make a few reports for the sake of the people, right?”

“Death is almost too good for him,” Deruque growled, cracking his knuckles. “But we can make it work.”

“And think about poor Dimir, nearly forced to marry that guy! Just let them go–” Bardy started, before Malakos silenced him.

“Guys, no–he had six armed guards with him. Armed and trained guards, in full plate mail. Against one orc and two goblins? The odds may not be completely stacked, but if our guys survive this encounter (and that’s a pretty big ‘if’), they’re not getting out unscathed. We have to go help them!” The tiefling took off down the road, his tail flying behind him.

Deruque and Bardy looked at each other, then followed close behind. Ruby fumbled a bit with the food, then threw it back in exasperation and followed them with Patch under one arm.