For the first two days of their absence nobody in Resurrection really paid much attention to the fact that King Carl and Prince Bortimer were long overdue from their mushroom gathering. On the third day somebody finally realized that nobody had seen them in a while and began to make inquiries. The first person they approached was Shr Grogdahl, a jorish huntsman who served as the bodyguard for Prince Bortimer but who had not been invited along to look for fungi because King Carl found the hulking goblinoid to be quite terrifying. Grogdahl, who was nursing a black eye at the Howler House Inn and Tavern, dismissed the concerns being expressed and told folks that while Bortimer wasn’t against taking a few chances there wasn’t any way that he would be taken down by anything found in the woods of Maelonbourg.

Those that were curious accepted this declaration on its face. Another three days went by before they again approached Shr Grogdahl and asked if he was completely certain that everything was ok. After all, it was the King of Vlaanderen and the youngest child of the Slothjemian Empress that had gone missing. There was reluctance on the behalf of the more inquisitive to take Grogdahl at his word now that it had been nearly a week, so Shr Grogdahl begrudgingly headed out to find his errant master. His eye was feeling better and truthfully, he could track a pudgy halfling monarch and an oversized half-human gourmet successfully if he was blindfolded and had one hand stuck in a cider press. He was more than a little irritated as he told the eager city guards of Resurrection to quit trying to form a rescue party and go back to preparing for the imminent arrival of the circus. With his sword hanging on his belt and a rucksack over his shoulder the huntsman headed out muttering under his breath the whole while.

Late in the day he returned, pushing a wheelbarrow in which sat King Carl the Squat with his right leg in a splint. Prince Bortimer limped along next to the wheelbarrow and while it was obvious the two men were injured, they remained in high spirits. Shr Grogdahl wasn’t in nearly as good of a mood, but he had found the two nobles and returned them to the relative safety and security of Resurrection. He wheeled them to the Phoenix Inn and after making sure the two men made it into the building, he took ahold of the wheelbarrow again and muttering the entire time he made his way back out of town.

That night the two crippled mushroom hunters made their way to the Howler House. King Carl the Squat had a story to tell about the expedition to find tasty mushrooms and from what he had heard the best place to share such an exhilarating tale was the Howler House. By the time they made their way to the rowdiest tavern in the city Shr Grogdahl was already there sitting at a table with his back to the wall so he could monitor who was coming and going from the establishment. As Bortimer held the door open for King Carl the Squat to hobble inside, Grogdahl said under his breath to no one in particular, “Oh, this should be good.”