Gorfang Crashes into Government

Governor's Palace, Lossal, Tarlanor, 7th May 1655

DM Note: Gord not here this week, so we left Lynien conveninently invisible - sort of self-bubbled - outside the Palace.

As he smashed through the window into Governor Bardrum's office, Gorfang twisted his body and managed to land on his feet with a heavy thump. With the potential riot outside in the square, the occupants of the office were on edge, and some of them reacted almost instantly. Gorfang flinched as a blow from a heavy weapon crashed across the back of his helmet, and riposted almost without thinking, feeling his sword bite flesh.

A glance behind showed him that the morningstar he'd been hit with had been wielded by an ugly-looking human in studded leather armour, standing by the window, who was now settling his left arm into the straps of a shield he'd pulled off his back and wincing at a wound in his leg. Gorfang turned back to the room and scanned it quickly.

Bardrum's Office - click it for larger image!

A large table dominated the centre of the room, with maps and notes scattered across it. A desk with a well-stuffed chair stood between the table and the windows. A door and a fireplace occupied the left-hand wall, and there was a large set of double doors in the back wall. Two large chandeliers filled with candles hung from the ceiling. Hmn, thought Gorfang, they look fun!

A cluster of clerks, officials and scribes were gathered at the right-hand end of the big table, along with a tall thin man in the robes of an arcane caster. A small, chubby imp hovered over his shoulder. Bardrum himself was standing between the big table and the desk smoking a cigar.

Four bodyguards were arranged around the room; the one next to the window had already introduced himself to Gorfang, another stood by the door in the wall to his left, and two at the double doors.

Concentrating on his objective, Gorfang took off at a run towards Governor Bardrum. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the mage swig down a potion, the guards behind him start forwards to intercept him, and one of the guards at the door work a spell. Neither was enough to slow him dowm, and he caught up with Bardrum as the terrified ruler was fleeing (towards the wizard for some reason). A nasty low cut with the Veldrin slashed Bardrum's legs out from under him, and he fell, squealing, arms futilely raised to try and save himself from the onslaught.

Outside, Méabh and Eloy watched the window. Gorfang smashed through as planned, and they say him heft his sword, strike once and then sprint out of sight into the room, at least one armed man in pursuit. Things seemed to be going well, but some backup was probably going to be a good idea.

Méabh cast another Telekinesis and lifted herself up to the window through which Gorfang had disappeared, while Eloy sprinted for the main doors. Lynien's fireball had killed several of the guards at the doors, but more were emerging from the palace to take their place. It was clear he wasn't going to be able to sneak through them. It was time to test his gift from the Gods of Khabra...

A moment's concentration was enough. Subtly, deeply, reality shifted. With no sense of transition, Eloy vanished from perceived existence across space and time. For everyone else, he wasn't there; had never been there; had never existed. Anyone who had seen him, known him, loved him, hated him, fought him, fought with him not only forgot he had ever existed but were unaware that they had ever known of him. This extended to Méabh, Lynien and Gorfang, although all were so preoccupied that they did not notice the difference. It certainly extended to the guards; although he was unable to avoid bumping a couple as he sprinted up the stairs and slipped through the doors, they not only didn't associate this with the man who'd been running towards them a second ago; they didn't remember him to associate it with. As he moved, he shuddered. A sensation of emptiness enveloped him; in all of the many planes of creation, he was alone now; cut off in an utter solitude unequalled in any being's experience.

The area behind the doors boiled with guards. Aware he had little time to capitalise on this, Eloy ran on into the palace, taking turns in the corridors at random to try and reach a less guarded location before the effect ended. After a couple of minutes, he reached a quiet corridor and released the nullity with a gasp. He looked around with a grin; no-one was around - he'd got into the palace. Then his grin slipped a bit. Where exactly in the palace was he...?

Outside, a soldier started, remembering the black-clad man running out of the crowd towards the steps. Where'd he gone? He shook his head. If the sarge caught him forgetting things like that he'd be in trouble. Then he looked at the mob in the square. More trouble, then.

Slash - click it for larger image! Love that motion blur.. .

Inside, Gorfang mercilessly hacked at Bardrum with the khopesh in his left hand. Defenceless, the Governor made no further sound as the heavy bronze blade tore through his body, bisecting him and killing him instantly. Satisfied with this, Gorfang spun and rammed the Veldrin into the bodyguard approaching him from the fireplace wall - a woman, he noticed belatedly - sending her spinning away in a shower of blood.

Light as a feather, Méabh dropped onto the windowsill, the fragments of glass remaining in the frame crunching faintly under her boots. The movement caught the notice of the wizard at the conference table, who tore his horrified eyes from the smashed corpse of his employer and began to cast a spell. Méabh, however, was quicker, and a Maximized Orb of Force tore a hole the size of two fists completely through his chest. He gazed down at the wound in horror, coughed faintly, and slumped across the conference table, leaving the imp flapping in empty space.

Gorfang turned to engage the guard with the morningstar, while Méabh looked over to the ones at the doors. "Drop your weapons," she rapped. There was a pause while the two men eyed the governor's body, and then blades hit the floor.

The last guard downed, Gorfang stepped over to the governor's body and severed his head with one slash. Picking it up by the hair, he hefted it and addressed the two surviving guards. "You work for me, now. Pick up your weapons, and guard the door. No-one comes in or out unless I say so." The two men looked at each other, then nodded and re-armed themselves.

Eloy cracked open a door. Inside was a ballroom, sumptuously decorated and well-lit by large windows. Large couches - designed for women in ludicorus ballgowns to sit on - stood against the walls, and near each was a small table with several goblets on. These looked like gold, and Eloy considered pocketing a few. But they didn't look especially valuable for their size; and as he thougt about it, an image of Gorfang growling 'You robbed my palace?!' crossed his mind. They weren't really worth an argument with the big orc, he thought. He closed the door and moved on.

Around the corner was what he was really looking for - a flight of stairs. Quickly, he ran up three flights, oriented himself by the view from the landing window, and headed down the passage to the Governor's office. He located it, more by sound than sight, by the mass of guards outside. He tried to brazen through, but one rounded on him. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" Eloy tried to look confident. "I'm with the Governor," he said, but the guard wasn't convinced. "Stand over there, until we know what's going on," he said. "You two - watch him." Eloy sighed, and settled to wait for developments.

Gorfang strode over to the window he'd arrived by, and lifted Bardrum's bloody head into view. At first, only a few of the crowd spotted it, but as word spread, the anger of the crowd began to disspiate into celebration. Cheers began to rise towards the orc and, encouraged, he flourished the head. "The governor has been replaced!" he bellowed. The cheering increased. "Go back to your homes," he continued, "especially those of you who brew or sell beer!" This didn't get across quite as clearly; some people started to drift off, but others began lighting fires and looked to be planning some kind of a party.

While this was going on, Méabh had approached the fat imp hovering over the arcanist's corpse. She noted that it didn't seem to be suffering the distress she'd have expected a dismastered familiar to experience as she considered what language to try speaking to it. In the end she selected Fae Mhor and addressed a few words to the small fiend.

Méabh & Tubalcain - click it for larger image!

It looked at her with some amusement, and then she heard a voice speak in her head. Actually, I was just leaving, it said. Belatedly, she remembered that many fiends had telepathy. "Why are you here anyway?" she replied aloud. Oh, I'm in charge here, it answered with cheerful cockiness. "Are you? Then what's all this about; why are you doing it?" queried Méabh. Oh, now that's a question I'm not going to answer, came the response. "If you don't, you may end up with a hole in your chest," said Méabh mildly.

The imp flapped a little higher, a look of mock regret on its' face. Oh dear, it said, and I thought we were going to be friends. Then it vanished. Méabh tilted her head; she could still hear the faint flapflapflap of the little fiend's wings. "You'd better leave," she advised. That's what I was doing, came the telepathic response. The flapping faded, and she realized it was heading for the window. The noise from the mob masked the faint flapping as it passed Gorfang's head and was gone into the outside.

Gorfang leaned out of the window, and addressed the guards outside on the steps. "Keep doing your jobs," he called down to them, "and send your commander to me." One looked quizzically up at him. "Who are you, then?" he demanded. Gorfang raised the head. "I'm the new governor," he grated. There were no more questions.

Returning to the room, Gorfang chose out the best chair (the one next to Bardrum's desk), dropped the head into a handy wastebasket, and gazed around at the flunkies. "I'm Governor now," he repeated. One of the officials, slightly better dressed than the others, looked worried. "Can I still be Assistant Governor?" he asked. Gorfang eyed him. "Are you the brains then?" he asked. "I am now," answered the man, coming within a hair's breadth of death. "So you're to blame for his recent policies?" said Méabh. "No, no, I just do the job. To be honest," the man continued, "Bardrum's most recent decisions - especially this business with the Guilds - leave a lot to be desired."

Méabh gathered the corpses of the bodyguards and wizard, and checked them over for valuables.

After a few minutes, a knock at the door announced the arrival of Ocmas, the guard commander. Gorfang squared up to him as he stood to attention. "You are the governor now?" asked the soldier. "Yes, I am," said Gorfang. "Do you have a problem with that?" Ocmas didn't blink. "No," he said, "I and my men serve the city, and the governor of the city." Gorfang grunted in satisfaction. "Call a meeting with all the guild leaders," he continued. "Bring them all in here, one at a time, for me to speak to. Start with Pokkyr." Ocmas saluted, and left. As the door opened, Eloy called through: "Hey! Gorf, it's me! Let me in!" The doors closed again without a response.

As Ocmas collected his lieutenant from outside the door and walked off, Eloy listened to them talk. "What do you think?" asked the lieutenant. "He'll do," commented Ocmas. "But... an orc? said the other, "how can we trust that?" Ocmas shook his head. "Maybe we can't. But he's strong, a warrior, and not stupid; with him in there we can keep the lid on until a proper replacement arrives...." They rounded the corner and were gone.

After Ocmas had gone, Cordwin sidled up to Gorfang and coughed nervously. "There's something else you need to be aware of," he said diffidently. "Bardrum sent a message to the nearest Dragonarmy garrison, at Kolaushi Castle. A battalion of troops will be here in two days." Gorfang grinned. "Send a message to the capital, telling them what's happened, and requesting the appointment of a new governor." Cordwin smiled. "For removing an already impeached governor and arranging the proper replacement, we should look quite good," he chuckled. "I'll get right on it." Gorfang gestured around. "Get someone to clean up in here," he added, choosing a scribe at random. "You! Organize cleaners and someone to mend the window." The man nodded. "We've had a glazier working non-stop here for some time."

Méabh stepped up to the orc. "If the guild leaders are coming I don't want to be here," she said quietly, then raised her voice. "I'll investigate the mage's quarters, my lord, make them safe," she declared. Leaving the office, she selected a guard at random. "That wizard from in there," she said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. "Do you know where his quarters were?" The guard eyed her. "Who are you?" he asked. "The new governor's chief advisor," she replied. The man gulped. "Yes, his name was Iboleth and it's left, then first right, third left, second left-" Méabh grabbed his collar. "Forget it - show me," she rapped, and the pair left together.

Gorfang stood for a moment, uncharacteristically indecisive. Then he asked the two guards to step outside for a moment. One alone, he succumbed to temptation and leaped up, grabbed the chandelier, and had a damn good swing before dusting his hands, bringing the guards back in, and rescuing Eloy from his detainment.

The human stepped into the office, looked around approvingly, wandered into the kitchen and store off to the side and rummaged around, before selecting a bottle of wine with a satisfied smile. He returned with the bottle and two goblets. Filling both, he settled back into a chair and took a deep draught. "You've done all right here, Gorfang," he commented, "but it's a bit of a mess."

The guard delivered Méabh to a door in the guest quarters. It looked just the same as the other doors in the hallway, but it was absolutely clear that the guard had no intention of going any nearer to it than he had to. Méabh thanked him and sent him off, noting dryly that the route they'd followed seemed far less complex than the one he'd tried to suggest.

Turning her attention to the door, she spent a good fifteen minutes going over it to check for traps, spells and tricks before using Unlock and Mage Hand to open it from a range. When nothing exploded, she went inside and investigated.

She found a fairly typical guest room; bed, wardrobe, wash-stand, chairs, tables and so on, and the usual clutter of someone living in an hotel room - shirts on chairs, a pair of shoes under the bed, heap of laundry. One end of the room, however, had been cleared. The carpet had been turned back and a summoning circle drawn on the floorboards; a bench held assorted alchemical apparatus and other magical paraphernalia. There were no spell-books, from which Méabh concluded that Iboleth had been a sorcerer.

As she stood looking around, a strange thing happened. A piece of folded white cloth about 2' long picked itself up, draped itself over an invisble arm, and moved towards her, stopping about five feet away. After a moment, she realized it was probably a well-trained Unseen Servant. "Open the window," she tried, and it did. "Close the window."

One or two items of some worth were to be found, so she ransacked the place, making a small pile of interesting items. Suddenly, as she was preparing to leave, she heard a slithering noise followed by a whumph; the air was suddenly full of flecks of soot. Turning around, she saw that something had come down the chimney, scattering soot over a large part of the room. A movement caught her eye and she realized she was looking at a small pair of swiftly-flapping soot-coated invisible wings.

Back in the now-cleaned governor's office, Eloy had put in ten minutes' work with his disguise kit and topped it with a spell - something Gorfang hadn't ever seen him do before - and was now unrecognizable, seated in a chair near the wall out of the way but well within hearing range of the meeting.

A guard knocked on the door, and announced the arrival of Pokkyr, Archmage of the Mageguild. Gorfang considered making him wait for a while, but recalled that the Mageguild was the most influential in the city; also, Pokkyr had reacted quickest to his summons, maybe that needed acknowledging. Maybe not. Gorfang let him wait.

Pokkyr was impressive. Gorfang had met - and killed - his share of wizards in the past, but this one looked more wizardly than any he could remember seeing before. Tall, and magnificently robed, Pokkyr had a wide-brimmed hat, tall staff, greying raven seated magisterially on his shoulder, heavy boots, everything. He entered and bowed politely before seating himself grandly in the second-best chair at the conference table.

Shortly after that, the other guildmasters began to arrive, one by one. Gorfang recognized Typril the Brewer, but most of the others were strangers. One he recognized from reputation was Velg'nin, the lizardman Guildmaster of the Mercenaries. He sat down across from Pokkyr, and the pair looked at each other for a while. Then Velg'nin grinned - something lizardmen are ideally equipped for, and stuck out a clawed hand. Pokkyr shook it, and the pair chuckled. "That was close," said Velg'nin.

One that Eloy recognized - though he said nothing - was 'King' Bregulid, Grandmaster Thief and 'King' of the Kingdom of Filchers, Lossal's thieves' guild. The guards twitched as he passed, clearly wishing they could just hang him on the spot, but guild meetings appeared sacrosanct. Bombastic and loud, Bregulid was dressed in tattered finery that both aped and mocked the nobility at once.

The meetings were fairly short. Gorfang explained to each guildmaster that Bardrum was dead (by displaying the head) and that he was in charge for the moment. Things were to go back to normal, he said.

After the meeting broke up, Pokkyr asked to see Gorfang alone. Gorfang agreed, but wanted to speak to Bregulid first. Pokkyr gracefully withdrew for a moment, and the orc confronted the King of Thieves.

"You have a contract out on me. I do not want to be sitting in the pub waiting for some fool to try and steal my sword!" he barked. Bregulid blustered. "Now, my dear sir," he said expansively, "you know we can't discuss confidential -" Gorfang cut him off. "Cancel it, right away, or I will have those men out there take you out and hang you now?" Bregulid protested, turning grey, and Gorfang opened the doors. "Sergeant?" he said. "No! No, wait," babbled Bregulid. "Very well, consider it lifted." Gorfang beamed; only slightly less horrific than his snarls. "Excellent," he said. "Sergeant, please escort the Guildmaster to the exit; thank you."

With the burglar-meister removed, Gorfang sat down once more with Pokkyr, to see what the head wizard really wanted. "What is your idea of normal?" he asked in his cultured tones. Gorfang smiled. "Brewers go back to brewing beer, merchants go back to importing beer, and innkeepers go back to selling beer." he answered. Pokkyr nodded to himself, seeming pleased, and began to talk. Pokkyr was expansive and affable, talking in very general terms about how, together, they could improve this city; but also, in quite specific terms, of how Gorfang as governor could improve things for the Mageguild. It was clear he'd summed Gorfang up as a typically stupid orc fighting man from his equating ale and stabilty. Gorfang let him finish, and then informed him crisply that there was no way he was favouring one guild over another - a great way to destabilize the city again. He offered to host a meeting in a month to help the guilds thrash out any disputes amongst themselves, which surely was the fairest way of dealing with this sort of thing, wasn't it? Pokkyr, obviously hastily re-assessing Gorfang, recovered his poise almost instantly, and took his leave politely.

Sitting off in the corner, Eloy frowned to himself. All the guildmasters seemed to have been present - except the assassins. Although only those few who needed to knew that the guild existed, much less where to find it, it was usually part of such a meeting, but had been conspicuous by its' absence.

Méabh scowled at the semi-visible imp, which appeared to realize it had been spotted. Just came for my stuff, it said hastily. She saw it move to the little heap of gear she'd accumulated, and start to pull loose a small box, the size of a ring box. As he struggled with it, she moved rapidly up behind him and grabbed for his neck. She nearly missed, but managed to sieze one small arm. "Now put it back," she instructed. Once he'd dropped the box, she carried him protesting all the way to the window. A squeeze shut him up for a moment, and an overarm throw sent him hurtling out into the open air. His wings opened and he regained control instantly, rolling over to fly back, but Méabh was already closing the window. Bitch! he mindyelled, then, more calmly, hey, you're my type - fancy going into business? Méabh considered using some of her more agressive spells, but something stopped her. "Go away," she said, and went and blocked the chimney.

Collecting the loot, she left the room, re-locking it, reported the room was clear to Gorfang, and left the palace, heading for the mageguild and her rooms there. Gorfang and Eloy arranged for Bog to be collected and installed in Iboleth's room; perfect for his manufacture of Boom-Boom, and possibly other endeavours.