Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Chapter 10

Roll Call:

Gherota, Human Fighter, Level 1. First and foremost a front-line swordswoman, and quite skilled. Irritated by Fisk's violent, exploitative worldview.

Gurnlocke Fisk, Dwarf Warlock, Level 1. A bitter spell-slinger with powers touched by brimstone. An advocate for Machiavellian methods and strategies.

Mairrethid, Human Wizard, Level 1. Student of mechanical magic and military theory, a war mage. Both moderate rationalist and mediator.

Mez Gobbo, Goblin Rogue, Level 1. Lockpick and shadow-skulking cut-throat. Motivated by enlightened self-interest, a mercenary.

Schlobrock, Ork Cleric, Level 1. Nature-worshipping shaman and medicine woman, with a huge axe. Has trouble pronouncing the letters F, S, T and V.


First Ch 01: Poot's Angels
Previous 
Chapter 09

 

Five adventurers had been hired by Poot, a wealthy businessman from the wilderness settlement of Red Creek, to recover a small statue which had been stolen from him by a band of goblins. The five followed up on Poot’s information to find the goblin’s lair, penetrated it, and stole the statue with consequences of great violence. However, they made a successful escape from their pursuers, and were even now making their way back to Red Creek.

On the way, they collected a number of horses, arms, and armor that they had captured from eleven riders from Red Creek who had followed them into the hills and attacked. The three leaders of this group had each reached an idea in their minds of some transgression one of the five had made against them, so they were riding out with the expressed idea of settling up. While the coincidence was incredible, the five returned the violence with better than they had gotten, winning the day. The loot from this encounter sped them on their way after Poot’s quarry and would compose the bulk of their treasure from the eventful week, in weight if not in coin.

“Those guys who came after us as we were leaving town,” Mez said, “they’ve got friends in Red Creek.”

“I remember,” Mairrethid said, agreeing. “When some of the grunts who just seemed to be along for the ride started to falter, their commander threatened them with what their friends would do if they didn’t hold the line.”

“You expect retribution?” Gherota asked.

“Definitely,” Fisk said.

Mez agreed. “Guys like that, they rule by fear. You saw that when the fat guy convinced his guys to stand and fight, even when it was clear that they were losing. Acing eleven guys like that, it threatens the whole basis of their power. They’ll definitely come after us.”

“So,” Fisk added, “we hit them first.”

“We don’t know anything about them, though,” Mairrethid cautioned. “How big is their organization? What are their resources, and where are their fortresses? Who else might their friends be?”

“I’ll ask the right questions of the right people,” Mez said. “We should stick together, though, along the way. Guys like this, they’d love to pick us off one by one--and take you alive so they can make killing you go really slow.”

“Cidy people are zo barbaric,” Schlobrock observed.

“Don’t worry, Schlob,” Fisk replied, “we’ll give better than we get.”

“First,” Mez said, “let’s unload all of this gear and collect from Poot.”

“Yeah,” Mairrethid said. “He never told us where to meet him when we got the statue.”

“Well,” Fisk replied, “we assumed all of that secrecy and stuff when he gave us the job was because he was worried about the goblins’ friends finding out what he knew. That’s no longer a concern.”

“Yeah,” Mez said, “but let’s avoid getting yelled at. We head to the trading post first, and let him come to us himself or send a Pheg to make another appointment.”

“We’re going do ged yelled ad, no madder whad,” Schlobrock observed.

“Yeah,” Fisk agreed. “That Poot is an ass.”

“Still, I’d rather let him come find us. I’m not his dog,” Gherota said.

“That’s the plan, then.”

As they descended out of the northern hills into Red Creek, the few buildings--taverns, shops and warehouses, mostly--came into view, with the low profile of the tents of less-permanent residents who couldn’t afford tavern prices scattered around the outskirts. Tensing against dangers that didn’t exist in the lonely wilderness, while relaxing in anticipation of warm beds, baths, and their payday, the five experienced mixed feelings in their triumphant return.

The first found their way to the trading post, as planned, and followed Mez around as he asked questions about who would offer the best price. When they found a cash-rich shopkeeper, they negotiated to liquidate all of the gear and all but five of the horses captured during their adventure. 145 gold was all they could swing, given a “blood and guts” markdown, but they accepted and divided the coins up, glad to be rid of the baggage.

They were surprised, however, when Poot showed up before they had finished the deal--suggesting he had run over as soon as he learned they were in town. Given how previously careful he had been to keep his association with the five secret, this new openness was definitely out of place.

“I came over as soon as I heard you were in town,” Poot said, smiling uncharacteristically. “Do you have the goods?”

“We do,” Mairrethid said.

“Can I see it?” Poot asked.

“Where’s the gold?” Fisk pressed.

Poot reached into a satchel and retrieved five small leather pouches. He tossed one of each to the five adventurers. “I went ahead and divided the five-hundred between you, when I heard you all made it back. I hope you don’t mind.”

“The less time I have to spend with the dwarf, the better,” Gherota said, scowling as she inspected the purse.

Schlobrock put one hand on Gherota’s arm, getting her attention and shooting her a look that said, “Shut up.”

“I’m sorry that you aren’t all getting along better,” Poot said, grinning openly. “Anyway, my statue?”

Schlobrock unslung her backpack and reached in. She pulled out the statue and peeled away the swaddling they’d used to transport it.

“Hand it over,” Poot said, continuing to smile.

Schlobrock advanced and handed the bundle over. Her eyes betrayed just how suspicious she was of Poot’s unexpected behavior, though she was making little effort to hide that.

“Thank you,” Poot said, taking the statue. “So, I suppose you’d like to relax a bit and clean the stink of the road off of yourselves?”

“As soon as possible,” Mez fibbed, matching Poot’s cheerfulness.

“Have any of you taken a sweat in a wood elf heat lodge?” Poot suggested. “The elves here in Red Creek built one and they rent it out. If you’re interested, it’s on me.”

“Why so generous all of a sudden?” Fisk pressed with characteristic suspicion and rudeness.

“Honestly,” Poot said without pause, “I didn’t expect you would be able to retrieve this statue. I didn’t think I’d ever lay hands on it. That’s why I handed the job to an untested crew--little for me to lose if you failed, and so much to gain if you succeeded. Rest assured, gentlemen, there will be much more work for such talented individuals.”

“The sweat sounds wonderful,” Mez said. “Let me tell you guys, they had one in Gobsport and I was in there once or twice a week. The heat, the water, just gets in your bones and loosens everything up. We’ll definitely take you up on it, Poot. But first, I need a drink and the caress of an affectionate woman who charges by the hour. Any suggestions on that front?”

“Well, there is my joint,” Poot started to say.

“I don’t know if we should impose,” Mairrethid started to caution.

“You got any bugbear women?” Mez asked.

“Er...” Poot stammered at the unusual request. “No. I don’t think there is a single bugbear female in Red Creek, working or otherwise.”

“Mom hated ‘em so I’ve gotta have ‘em,” Mez said, laughing. “You know what I mean. Let me check out the town and see if I can turn one up. If I can’t, I’m sure I’ll end up at your place.”

Poot blinked. “Okay, then.”

Mairrethid blinked, then added, “So, I’m sure you’re busy, Poot. Don’t let us take any more of your time.”

“Er...” Poot hesitated, officially at a loss for words. “Yeah, so, see you boys around.”

The five waited for Poot to leave before pulling into a huddle to discuss the situation.

“Gentlemen, boys,” Gherota snarled. “Like I’m not even here.”

“And you’re not even all that mannish,” Fisk taunted, “for a she-ape amazon so decked out in armor she could just as easily be a particularly well-muscled thirteen year-old ork boy.”

“He’s just jealous,” Mairrethid said, interrupting Gherota’s own response, “because his mother’s beard is longer than his.”

“Anyway!” Mez interjected. “So, who thinks Poot is setting us up?”

“I got that feeling from him,” Mairrethid said, nodding. “You too, Mez?”

“Dwarf women don’t have beards,” Fisk mumbled, “my mother included.”

“No, but I’m not good at reading people,” Mez said. “But everything he was saying and doing was wrong. It was out of character for him, for one thing. For another, when someone’s suddenly your new best friend, it is usually because the wrong person is tired of hearing you breath. And a sweat lodge? Yeah, there was one of those in Gobsport, and more folks got the old Caesar Salad* there than probably anywhere else in town.”

“I follow up to the Caesar Salad part,” Gherota said.

“It is a steam room, so you’re hot and sticky, which means you don’t want to go in there with your armor, your clothes, much off anything. The elves go naked. Mostly, in Gobsport, we used towels and stuff. Anyway, even if you do bring in some protective magic items and a weapon, you’re way more vulnerable than any other time--even more than sleeping in your bed at home.”

“So that’s where they choose to attack.” Gherota nodding, following.

“That’s what your mom said,” Fisk said, trying to jab at Gherota, who stared at him blankly.

Mairrethid tried to keep things moving along. “So, Poot’s either with the guys who rode out after us, or he’s selling us out. This is a bad position, we’re in.”

“We are waiting to get hit, and it will come tonight if not sooner, no matter what we do.” Mez rubbed his eyes, running through the possibilities in his mind. “If we run, they come after us, we lose initiative, and it is very likely they’ll deploy a superior force. So, the least-bad option is to attack now, if only to disrupt and weaken them before we run.”

“But who do we attack?” Mairrethid asked.

“Ledz azk dhe shopkeeper,” Schlobrock suggested. “He haz do work in a dirdy down, zo he probably knowz whose bad.”

“He probably doesn’t want to get involved,” Mairrethid said, shaking his head.

“We involve him,” Fisk barked. “What he wants doesn’t matter, and whatever he’s worried about, we tell him that we’ll kill him if we think he’s lying.”

“What if he tells the truth and we still think he’s lying?” Mairrethid asked.

“We kill him and asked someone else.” Fisk folded his arm. “And your mom is lying.”

“Please stop with the your moms?” Mez pleaded.

“Ledz dry id,” Schlobrock said. “We dond acdually habe to kill him.”

“Yes we do,” Fisk said, “in case we think he’s lying and have to ask someone else.”

Mairrethid urged things along. “Let’s postpone that screaming match until and unless we come to it.”

 

*”Caesar Salad” is a reference to assassination, as related in the Sagas of Caesar Salad. But that’s another story. (And “Caesar Salad” has nothing to do with sex or butts, you dirty birdies.)

Next Chapter 11

1 comment:

  1. Great read as always!
    Glad to have you back.

    --
    alpha

    ReplyDelete