The town of Shettleport was a coastal place, quaint and quiet--full of friendly people who greeted the party warmly when approached. The party went from shop to shop, chatting up the owners and patrons as they went. The people were happy to talk about whatever the adventurers asked, and were especially happy to tell them all about Holy Mace—the legendary hero who had saved them many times in the past. However, most of the information was limited to his past exploits and little nuggets of local lore, like the cobbler whose father once sold boots to him.

“It seems like nobody's actually seen him for a while,” Ruby said. “Maybe the rumor's false, and he's not here.”

“He's supposed to be some kind of recluse,” Malakos said. “Maybe he just keeps to himself.”

“The guy's also supposed to be huge,” Bardy said. “Someone would've seen him whenever he came into town for supplies, but nobody has.”

“Or so they say,” Deruque punched his fist. “Maybe they just don’t feel like sharing what they know.” 

“We need to keep asking around,” Malakos said, scanning their surroundings. They'd wandered down to the piers, where fishermen sat, untangling their nets, and fishmongers prepared their wares for sale and transport.

“In a bit,” Ruby said. “I'm starving.” She, Deruque, Bardy, and Patch started wandering over to a stall where a delicious aroma of frying fish wafted into the air. Malakos started to follow, but stopped when he heard a faint song on the breeze.

It had a jaunty but melancholic air--the sort of song that people sang to themselves to keep their hopes up in hard times; but it wasn't the tune that caught his attention.

“Excuse me, sir--” the Tiefling approached the singer, an old fisherman nearby. “The song you were singing—it's about Holy Mace? Are you a follower of his?”

“Ah, yes, yes--Holy Mace! You know him? He is important hero. You know, he saved this very place many times.”

“I had heard,” Malakos said, feigning awe. “Was this town special to him? He seems to have favored it.”

“Och, yes, he favored it. You know--” the old man lowered his voice a fraction and leaned in close, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially. “I have perhaps seen him, from time to time, on these very shores.”

Malakos feigned awe even harder. “Truly? These same shores? Then...you wouldn't be able to take us to him, would you? It's for a very important cause.”

“Well,” the old man sat back and scratched his long beard, stiff with seawater. “I don't know... He is not wanting visitors, I think.”

“We wouldn't make ourselves a nuisance,” Malakos pleaded. “We only wish for a few minutes of his time.”

“I thought we wanted him to come back with us,” Bardy said. Malakos turned to see that the rest of the party had joined him. Ruby carried a neatly packed trout in her arms.

“Only if he agrees,” the tiefling clarified, turning back to the old man. The fisher looked at the party members, his eyes twinkling.

“Well,” he said. “I could take you to him. But first, maybe you do favor for me?”

“Certainly!” Malakos agreed.

“What do you need, old man?” Deruque grinned. “Monsters slain? Armies defeated? Tyrants overthrown? Please say it's tyrants overthrown.”

“Is my nephew, Lorenzo. He is very lonely. Very sad. He has no family of his own. No wife. No children. Not even goldfish to keep him company. You maybe find him a date with nice girl, and I help you find Holy Mace, deal?”

Malakos, Bardy, and Deruque balked for a moment, looking at each other for direction; but Ruby squealed in excitement and shook the man's hand. “DEAL! Come on, guys! We have magic to make happen!”

The fisher–Samuel–gave them directions to his nephew's house and wrapped up a large catfish for them to deliver, then sent them on their way.

Once they were out of earshot, Ruby turned to the others. “Okay, so I'm thinking we set up in the park. Lorenzo's out walking his pet dog, when it gets off its leash and races toward a girl, and--”

“We don't have a dog, though,” Malakos pointed out.

“Bardy's the dog,” Ruby said, as though this should be obvious.

“Bardy's not here,” Deruque said, thumbing behind him. “He ran back for a map.”

“When he catches up with us, then,” Ruby said.

“Why's Bardy the dog? We have a slime. Can't Lorenzo walk the slime?” Malakos asked.

“Not every girl has an appreciation for the inherent cuteness of a verdure slime,” Ruby hissed, placing her hands protectively over where she guessed Patch's ears would be.

Patch blurbled obliviously.

“He could walk this catfish,” Deruque suggested, presenting Samuel’s package.

“Guys, focus! I am not ruining our first job as matchmakers by letting the target be seen walking a dead fish!”

“'First'?” Malakos asked.

“Or, now hear me out—we could save time and just let you go on a date with this guy, Ruby,” Deruque pointed out.

“Absolutely not,” Ruby and Malakos said, simultaneously.

“Well then I guess it’s all up to me. Again,” Deruque growled and stormed off into a store. Malakos and Ruby stood outside, glancing at each other with wordless questions on their faces as Deruque could be seen moving from spot to spot in the store window. Finally, he emerged, brandishing a large dress and a palette of makeup. 

“Bardy's not here to sit on your shoulders,” Malakos pointed out, guessing his plan from their previous experience. “And your head doesn’t fit through that neck hole.”

“It's not for me,” the ranger leered at the cleric, waving the dress menacingly at him.

“NO!” Malakos roared, scrambling backwards out of reach.

“FINE!” Deruque shouted. “Then I'll wear it, and use this for the head!”

“The—the catfish?” Ruby asked, as the other dragonborn started unwrapping the package.

“That's supposed to be for Lorenzo to eat,” Malakos said, trying to grapple the fish out of Deruque's hands. The fish was slippery, however, and Deruque was adamantly unwilling to let the cleric foil another of his ideas. He pulled it away with ease, and started applying some of his newly purchased lipstick to its lips.

“Guys, can't we just...try to do this honestly?” Malakos asked. “Like, genuinely just get to know him and see if we can find someone compatible? Instead of making up a fake date or staged meetup?”

“Mal, your optimism is very nice, but if this guy's uncle is recruiting strangers to play wingmen for him...it's bad,” Deruque answered, struggling to apply false eyelashes to the fish.

“Well,” Malakos groused, “I'm going to at least try before deciding what's impossible.” With that, he started running down the path to Lorenzo's house, hoping to buy himself a few extra minutes before Deruque showed up with Ms. Fish on his head.

At the end of the path, a quaint house waited, nestled in the trees.

“Bardy?” Malakos said, as he caught sight of the halfling waiting at the gate. “When did you get here?”

Bardy waved a piece of paper. “Got a map from the fisherman and took a different route.”

Malakos looked at the map. “This route is longer, though.”

Bardy patted the tiefling's leg. “It's okay, big guy. Speed isn't your strength. I mean, strength isn't your strength, either, but hey, don't feel bad. I'm sure you have some kind of use. Maybe as a meat shield for those of us with actual abilities.”

Malakos rolled his eyes–or, Bardy suspected he was rolling his eyes. It was kind of hard to tell with tieflings, as their eyes were generally just one solid color–in this case, white. 

Meanwhile, the cleric had moved to the door and knocked. There was some rustling within and some kind of indistinct answer, before the door opened.

Lorenzo was thin and pale, his clothes somewhat disheveled and blotted in ink on the sleeves. “Hello?” He asked.

“Hello, Lorenzo?” Malakos smiled diplomatically. “My name is Malakos, and this is Bardy. Your uncle wanted us to stop by and check in on you for him. He says he hasn't seen you in a while, and just wanted to make sure you were well.”

“O-oh? Well, thank you. I'm, um, I'm doing okay. I just get a bit wrapped up in my work, and lose track of time. You know how it is... uh...” he glanced back and nudged some stacks of books with his foot so he could open the door fully. “Do you—do you want to come in?”

“Thank you,” Malakos responded, and stepped in, Bardy right on his heels.

The entryway was covered in stacks of books and papers, stray scraps flitting about with the breeze that the visitors brought in with them.

“So, your work...” Malakos glanced at the papers, recognizing the shape of the lines as stanzas. “You're a poet?”

Lorenzo startled a bit, and followed Malakos's gaze to the stack of paper. He quickly snatched it up, muttering shyly, “I am, yeah, but it's...it's not ready for people to read yet. I-I'm waiting to—to find my muse, you know?”

“Oh, a muse, yes. Yes. I, uh, I've heard that artists draw much of their inspiration from their own passions and feelings. I mean, that's—that's why there are so many love ballads, aren't there? Love is supposed to be a very powerful feeling. Quite inspirational. Have you ever tried looking into that for inspiration?”

“Oh...” Lorenzo answered, flushing deeply. “I've never, uh... I dunno about... see, I kind of grew up here, and all the girls in town are like... like I dunno, I've known them my whole life, so it's... I-I'm kind of not ready to settle down, you know? I want to travel the world and...refine my art, and I just--”

Just then, the conversation was cut short by Bardy's sudden laughter. He'd picked a handful of poems off of a stack and climbed up to a seat in front of an open window.

“Oh no,” he wheezed, buckling over in laughter at the poem. "This is hysterical!"

“Oh, you write comedies?” Malakos perked up.

Lorenzo flushed a deeper red and quietly stammered, “That—that one's a... an epic tragedy, actually...I told you they—they're not ready yet, still a w-work in progress...”

Bardy flipped through several more pages, laughing harder at each one, until he stopped at one.

“Oh—this one's not bad, actually.”

Lorenzo perked up and glanced over, before his shoulders sank again. “I...bought that one at the market for research purposes...” he muttered.

“Well, there you have it!” Malakos interjected. “A published work that you really liked, but Bardy thought it was only 'not bad.' Don't judge your skill based on only one critic's opinion--”

Bardy shoved one of the poems in Malakos's face. The tiefling read a stanza and bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, so that his face wouldn't betray his thoughts.

“I-it's good. I can tell that... you've put a lot of... yourself into this. But, you know, if you want your work to touch other people, you have to get to know other people.”

Bardy snickered as he leafed through another handful.

“I don't know,” Lorenzo said, turning away. “Like I told you, I know most everyone in town. I grew up here. I've—I've never been outside of Shettleport. But, if I could just...just  get out there and see the world, I'm sure I'd–"

Behind him, Bardy started laughing harder than ever at a tear-stained page. "C-can't breathe!" He gasped.

Malakos pushed him out the window.

"Where'd your friend go?" Lorenzo asked, turning back to the tiefling. 

"Getting some air," he smiled. "He was having trouble breathing."

From beneath the window, the sound of crunching branches could be heard, followed by groaning. Gently, without taking his eyes off the poet, Malakos closed the window behind him. 

"So. You'd like to travel a bit? I have an idea–"

Just then, a loud knock sounded at the door.

"Oh!" Lorenzo said. "Excuse me, I'll–"

"ALLOW ME!" Malakos insisted, dashing to the door ahead of him. He opened it a crack, preparing to tell Bardy off, but instead found Deruque, Ruby, and Patch.

"Not now–I'm working out a deal," Malakos hissed. 

"Then we should be involved," Ruby said. 

"Promise me the catfish in a dress won't make an appearance," the tiefling demanded.

"Only if your plan works this time," Deruque growled. "If not, we do things my way."

"Deal," Malakos said. He opened the door and called out, "Oh, it's just some of my traveling buddies! Allow me to introduce you!"

After handshakes all around, Malakos clapped his hands together. "Serendipitous timing, actually–I was just about to invite young Lorenzo here to join us for some of our journey!"

He waved his hand to quiet the surprised exclamations of all parties and explained, "Lorenzo's uncle asked us to help him find a date…"

"He what?" The poet looked up. 

"...but Lorenzo would like to travel the world first. So we accompany him out of Shettleport, to a new location, and he has a better chance of getting both–maybe finding his muse on the way. Mission accomplished, all parties satisfied. What do you say?" 

"Well…" Deruque said. "It does beat matchmaking…"

"Me? With…travel with you guys? Oh my, this is so sudden…" Lorenzo said.

"Don't worry, buddy," Deruque threw an arm around the poet's shoulders. "I'll give you loads of writing help. I happen to be something of a word master myself. My speeches are an inspiration to all. Let me tell you about my childhood–"

"That won't be necessary, Deruque!" Malakos interjected, pulling Lorenzo away from him. 

"Yeah, Deruque, don't scare him off," Bardy's voice called in through the window. "Come with us, Lorenzo, and I'll be your teacher! We'll get those writing skills fixed up. Miracles have happened before!"

Malakos threw open the window just long enough to hiss down at the bard, "Teachers don't laugh at their students!" Then slammed the window closed again.

The cleric turned back to the poet and smiled reassuringly. "So what do you say, Lorenzo? Would you care to join us?" 

"Y-yes! Yes, oh yes! I-I'll get my things together right now!" He started scrambling around the house, scooping stacks of paper and quill pens into a bag, all the while chattering with excitement. "Oh, how wonderful! What an adventure this will be–what stories I will write! I-I feel one coming on now, as a matter of fact! Yes, I'll write about this beginning to my grand adventures!"

He began scribbling on paper as the party left the cottage and headed back for the docks. 

"Now…" the poet muttered to himself. "What rhymes with 'me'...?"