Power Shifts

Governor's Palace, Lossal, Tarlanor, 23rd May 1655

Once things settled down, Eloy and Lynien produced their haul from the assassination of the unfortunate Shade, and shared it around. Gorfang was extremely keen to acquire the Ring of Evasion.

Lossal, Tarlanor, 24th May 1655

The next day, Linril returned to re-open negotiations. He apologized elegantly for his misjudgement of the orc's reaction, and after some discussion managed to persuade Gorfang that - while the orc and his administration had made an excellent job of removing their corrupt predecessor and calming the potential revolt, it was in everyone's best interests that the official Governor should take over the running of the province. "I just want this to look official," Linril explained. "I'd far rather thank and reward you all than try," the word was stressed to emphasise the unlikehood of success, "to arrest you all."

After debating this, Gorfang produced some conditions for the handover. Initially he asked for the Lord of Tarlanor, Skufruss Lord of Dragons, to come and personally thank them for their deeds. This, of course, was pretty unlikely, and Linril's counteroffer of arranging an audience for them at the capital went down quite well as next best.

Land was the next item. Linril smiled; he'd already thought of that. Their grants of citizenship already allowed them to own land in Pepterus - anywhere in Tarlanor as it happened. Also, he explained, Bardrum's own estate had now reverted to the government, as he had no heirs. If this was what the orc wanted, Cordwin could draw up suitable papers straight away.

As far as money went, all of them had drawn some salary for their 'official' posts; a year's worth each would make no perceptible dent in the city treasury. Linril could afford to be generous; had a full-scale revolt developed, the cost of repairs would have been far more than he was handing out.

Gold still excercised little hold over Gorfang's interest. Hearing that Méabh was gathering funds to enhance her sanctum at the Mage Guild, he handed her his 500 from the first month. Surprised, but pleased, Méabh took it with thanks.

Retaining Gorfang Day in the city's calendar didn't even merit discussion; it hadn't occurred to Linril to change it.

Eloy chipped in at this point. "What about a party?" he asked. Linril didn't bat an eyelid; there will of course be an inaugural ball," he answered, "and you'll need to be there as part of the handover. It's planned for the 25th." Eloy grinned, sensing another opportunity to achieve one of his personal goals. "Great." he commented.

"And now all you have to do is defeat me in personal combat," said Gorfang. Mostly he was winding the human politician up, but not entirely. Linril smiled, relaxed. "You know quite well," he said calmly, "the only way I could injure you would be to get stuck in your throat. Were it to come to violence, I wouldn't fight you; my armies would. I have two hundred cavalry here, and Commander Myrrlynor's men just outside the city - all will follow me without question." Gorfang was untroubled. He'd never lost a fight in his adult life, and was uterly convinced that he was unbeatable. Personal combat was the orc way of changing leaders, after all. But this wasn't an orc city; it was a human city run by an orc. Human rules applied here. He was aware of when fighting wasn't really called for, though his fingers twitched with his instinctive reactions. He let the point slide.

"Do we have an agreement?" asked Linril, seeing the moment pass. Gorfang paused a moment more, and then they shook hands.

While all this was going on, Lynien had been doing something quite different. She'd quietly made her way down to the guest room Linril was living in and was looking through the keyhole.

On the far side, a valet was moving around, unpacking and arranging the Governor's possessions. The door was locked, and Lynien considered for a moment before knocking, going invisible, and moving to one side. When the occupant unlocked the door and actually stuck his head out, she nearly giggled with delight; just too easy. A swift smack with her sap rendered the man instantly unconscious, and she dragged him inside and shut the door.

Searching the room expertly, she discovered rather more clothes, brushes, hair products and shoes than was usual for men, several heavy satchels of documents - including a magnicent warrant signed by Skufruss himself appointing Alael Linril Governor of Peptrus, and a small strongbox on a mantlepiece. The lock on this was no serious challenge, and inside she found two carefully-counted bags of gold and platinum coins, a large selection of fine gemstones, and a small golden seal.

She considered for a moment, and then returned the coins. All but one of the gems she pocketed; one she slipped into the unfortunate valet's pocket. A writing-desk yielded some blank parchments and sealing wax, and with one of the Governor's documents for reference she skilfully forged his signature at the bottom of a blank sheet, then added Linril's seal. Returning the seal to the box and locking it, she erased all signs of her visit (other than missing gems and unconcious valet) and slipped out, re-locking the door after her.

• malachite (9 gp)
• star rose quartz (60 gp)
• star rose quartz (50 gp)
• violet garnet (700 gp)
• blue star sapphire (1,100 gp)
• malachite (7 gp)
• black pearl (300 gp)
• jade (120 gp)

Not bad; but the signed and sealed document was by far the most valuable item; especially as she could reproduce it with a little more work. Get out of Jail Free, thought Lynien.

No longer needed at the palace, the companions split up to attend to their other doings. Gorfang stopped for an ale and then booked Shamlakh out of the palace stables. Cordwin had given him directions to Bardrum's estate, and sent a messenger to inform the staff of the change of ownership.

Méabh and Lynien headed back to the Mage Guild, to look up Erilas and follow up on Lynien's desire for some magical protection.

Eloy went to look for Commander Rinlan Myrrlnor. He found her in the guest room she'd been given in the palace, working through a supply problem with her quartermaster. Once this was done, she accepted his invitation to the Inaugrual Ball, and also his offer to buy her a suitable dress for the occasion. Military attire was perfectly acceptable for army personnel at such an event, but not complusory, and the idea of a nice outfit seemed very acceptable. They spent a pleasant couple of hours wandering the merchant district, choosing her outfit, and then they parted and Eloy headed back to his room at the palace to pack his bags, and discovered Gorfang had gone to investigate his estate. Eloy retrieved his horse, stopped off at Typril's for a bottle of the finest brandy, and headed off in the same direction.

A message was waiting for Méabh at her Sanctum, from Erilas. He apologized for his shortness on her previous visit, and invited her to drop in whenever she was free. Collecting a bottle of wine from her FridgeArator^®, she collected Lynien and headed over to the tower.

After waving away any question of being offended by his being busy previously, Méabh settled in to chat with her mentor for a while. They discussed spellcraft and magic - including Erilas' failed spell research, which he explained was a new spell designed to warn the caster if any attempt was made to Teleport into the warded area, giving sufficent time to prepare a response. So far, it raised the alarm five minutes after the arrival, but he hoped for better results after some more work.

On an impulse, she suggested setting up a business making and selling her FridgeArators^®, with her share being a modest 25% as an oft-absent partner. Erilas was interested, and they worked through some options as the wine flowed.

Lynien sat and watched him, concealing her animosity better this time, but not trusting this smooth-speaking wizard at all. She didn't know it, but Méabh was also having doubts. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but Erilas seemed ... wrong ... somehow. Too jolly? Too open? Not quite himself? Hard to tell. But something was definitely not right.

After a brief discussion about Lynien's desire for a significant Protection item, Erilas made the suggestion that the best place to trade for items of magic was the capital. Vorsand, apart from being a bigger city, was the capital of Skufruss Lord of Dragons; and in the years since his ascenscion to the throne of Tarlanor, that Kin had assembled the pre-eminent academy of the arcane arts in Known Alair. All the most promising students of magic were offered places, and those who overcame their qualms at the reputation of the Dark Tower studied under the wizards Skufruss had trained before them. Graduates of the Dark Tower, though perhaps not welcome quite everywhere, were acknowledged masters of magic across the world. With such a large and active arcane community, the making of magical items was a major industry, and buyers wishing to track down useful arcana were unlikely to be disappointed.

Méabh returned to the subject of the imp Tubalcain. Once again, Erilas denied any knowledge of him. Méabh suggested they scry for it, and Erilas readily agreed, bringing a magnificent crystal ball down from a shelf for the occasion. "Allow me," he said graciously, and laid a hand on it. How does he expect to scry the blighter when he's never even seen it? wondered Méabh, but she said nothing.

Erilas leaned over the ball and cast the spell. Slowly the crystal cleared, but no image appeared. After a while, Erilas shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, "nothing - I'd guess he's left the plane." Méabh eyed him for a moment, then said, "May I?" Erilas stepped back with an airy wave, and Méabh leaned over the crystal. As she cast the magic it flowed easily; this was a high-class ball without doubt. An image formed instantly.

Tubalcain the imp was sprawled amongst a mess of soft cloths, a cream-jug of what looked like whiskey in his hand, cheering and leering at some sight just out of view. As Méabh pulled the view back to try and identify his whereabouts, Lynien glanced at their host. Erilas was watching intently, all bonhomie vanished, his face set in concentration.

The view changed, and they could see his location better - he was perched on a shelf in a room in what looked like a whorehouse, crowded with revellers eating, drinking and copulating. The imp himself was cheering them on, looking this way and that with evident relish, and swigging from his drink. Both Lynien and Méabh were well aware that alcohol had no effect on fiends - no more than food or air - but that they could and would drink for their own reasons.

The view through the windows now showed the street outside, and Lynien nodded sharply; she could find the place now. At that point, Tubalcain looked up, having identified the scrying. "'Ello, darlin'," he drawled suggestively. "We're 'avin' a good time down here - why not come and join in?" Méabh broke the connection.

Erilas laughed with good-natured self-deprecation. "I must be getting old," he commented, and packed the ball away. Lynien and Méabh took their leave. Returning to her sanctum, she summoned the Guild message globe and alerted Gorfang and the others that they'd be staying the night where they were. Then she and Lynien chose out some suitable clothes for visiting a brothel, and set off for the red light district.

Bardrum's Estates, outside Lossal, Tarlanor, 24th May 1655

Gorfang ventured down to the stables and retrieved Shamlakh, mounted up and headed out of the city. Following the directions given him by Cordwin, he rode out to the north heading for Bardrum's estate. It took an hour to get there - including hunting for Shamlakh - and when he arrived he was quite impressed.

The road ran along a tall hedge for a way, and then ended in a gate, controlled by a small stone gatehouse. Five armed guards stood alertly outside, and it struck Gorfang that they were expecting him. This was confirmed when they saluted smartly, and greeted him as "My lord."

He rode through the gate and on down the avenue. At the end, surrounded by fields and orchards, was a small well-founded manor house. Though not fortified, it was very defensible. Entering the building, he spoke to the staff, finding twelve reliable-looking humans under the control of the estate manager Sasnyn. "This place is well-run and cared for," he said. "If this continues, your employment will continue. If it is not well-managed in the future, I will hunt you all down and kill you. If any of you don't want to stay, the door is there." There was hesitatant laughter, but no-one moved.

He moved some of his things into the master bedroom, and amused himself for a few minutes selecting which of the 4 other rooms for his friends that he thought would suit them. Then he gathered the five guards outside, and sparred with them for a while, matching blades with them one at a time and then all together. All were competent, but one of the younger ones was very fast, and actually managed to land a blow on Gorfang. The orc nodded approvingly, and told him he was now the Captain of the Guard. Not bad, he thought, but not an army. Maybe later...

If the orc had hoped for treasure of a portable, magical, or weaponish nature, he was disappointed. However, the house itself was worth a fair packet; the tableware, tapestries, fittings and so on were quite valuable; and he presumed the fields and trees outside must produce money somehow. Farms and farmers were normally simply something to attack, rob, burn, and leave to an orc, but Gorfang's concepts had widened as he travelled the world, and a conversation with Sasnyn confirmed it; left alone, these fields and farmers would feed a small but constant supply of money into a safe vault in Guild Venter. It was also a place to come and recuperate should he need it. Fair enough.

An hour or so later Eloy arrived, bottle in hand, and the pair settled down to an evening's drinking and swapping dirty stories.

Lossal, Tarlanor, 24th May 1655

Meabh and Lynien on the town - click it for larger image!

Back in Lossal, the stuff of such stories was unfolding. Lynien and Méabh, attired for the occasion in the sexiest outfits they could lay their hands on, headed down to the red Light district on the north-west side of town. The nasty little whip salvaged from Iboleth the sell-spell bumped at Méabh's leatherclad hip just to enhance the effect. They stopped outside what a gaudy sign announced to be Cassandra's, clearly a house of ill repute and just as clearly well-patronized.

Inside, the decor was just what they'd expected - brassy, sleazy, overstated and crassly opulent. There wasn't a reception desk; instead, a smoldering brunette in large heels and a small skirt sat on a high stool with a small notebook. She looked up as they entered, and her face became slightly dubious as she looked them over. "Yes, ladies, what can we do for you?" she asked gamely.

Méabh smiled at her. "Just inspecting," she said briskly. The girl's smile slipped a notch. "There I was hoping we were doing business with the Palace, and you're going to get all official on me," she protested. "No need to worry; we just want to see your book, check a few records, no trouble."

The girl shook her head. "Our clients like their privacy," she said. "I really can't let you do that." Méabh's brows narrowed, and she began to mutter things like, "razed to the ground" and "kill everyone". Lynien, however, approached the problem differently, turning on the charm and sympathizing with the girl's problems. Normally, Méabh was the one whose force of personality turned things around; but in this case, Lynien's smooth talking was what got results - more results than she'd really counted on. The receptionist had clearly taken a distinct shine to the tiefling girl, and was more than happy to let Méabh flip through the notebook while she flirted with Lynien - making it quite clear that more was possible if that was what floated Lynien's particular boat. Lynien played along (while being sure not to let the girl run her fingers into her hair!) and Méabh ran her eyes down the lists of names.

The book confirmed to Méabh that neither Bardrum not Erilas had been patrons of this establishment - not under their own names, certainly. The late unlamented Iboleth had visited once or twice. Handing the book back, the pair bade farewell to the now quite compliant receptionist and headed on into the main bar.

This was a long, slender walkway along one wall of a large room. Beyond, the level dropped about 5' into a huge playpit area, scattered with cushions, couches, futons and other bedding. Several dozen people were busily engaged in ... well, revelling is one word ... in glorious abandon. At the far end of the bar were some shelves, and on the top one of those was Tubalcain the imp, drink in hand, laughing and jeering and shouting suggestions to the depraved ones cavorting below.

Lynien, whom Tubalcain had never seen, went to work her way around the far side of the room to block his escape, while Méabh approached him along the bar. Once she was close enough for him to hear her, she yelled, "Oi! I want a word with you!" Tubalcain looked up, saw her, and broke into a big grin. "Good to see you! Get your kit off and join in!" he cackled.

At this point Lynien, who had been slipping around the edges, attracted the attention of one of the revellers, a beefy man with a paunch, who lurched upright and enfolded her in a sticky, sweaty embrace, trying to drag her down into the nude melee. The move was so sudden it took even Lynien's lightning reactions by surprise. Recovering, she jerked up a knee with extreme force, and the man doubled over. Tubalcain cheered, and pointed to another nearby man. "Kick him as well!" he crowed. Méabh speared him with a glance. "Get over here!" she yelled. Tubalcain chucked his drink into a corner and stumbled into the air, dipping dangerously close to the heaving mass of flesh before his frantically flapping wings lifted him high enough to fly over to Méabh. "You need to go on a diet," she said scathingly. "Why?" asked the imp sarcastically, "will it stunt my growth? Or will it shorten my lifespan?" Méabh found a table, drew up chairs for herself and Lynien, and indicated the imp should alight on the tabletop.

"All right," she said, "cards on the table time. "Tell me what your relationship with Erilas was. Why did Iboleth have a map to his quarters?" Tubalcain wiggled his hands evasively. "Ah, that's the past," he said breezily, "I don't bother with the past. Erilas, he's some magic dude, I'm not interested any more." Méabh lashed out and seized the tiny fiend around the throat. "Tell me!" she demanded. Tubalcain thrashed. "OK, I'll tell you!" he squawked. His eyes met hers. "I'll tell you... you're going to let me go!" His last words were laced with supernatural coercion, and Lynien saw Méabh jerk in her seat as the force of the devil's will hit her. With a flick of her wrist, she had Balacalantar out and pricked the back of the little devil's neck.

"Try again," grated Méabh. Tubalcain gulped. "It was all Iboleth's idea," he babbled. "Why the map?" pressed Méabh. "It was in case anything went wrong; I was to kill Erilas." Méabh shook her head. This story was so different from Tubalcain's earlier assertions that he was in charge that she saw no likelihood that he was telling the truth now either. "Let's take him outside," said Lynien. The implications of this were not lost on the imp, and he became desperate.

Without warning, Méabh found herself gripping a writhing, coiling serpent, dripping fangs poised to strike. Tightening her grip, she held the imp out for Lynien to strike. With a slight pop, the snake disappeared as Tubalcain played his last card - invisibility. This didn't deter Lynien, who whipped Balacalantar across the top of Méabh's fist and through Tubalcain's neck, killing him instantly. The suddenly-visible imp's head bounced across the table as his body dropped to the wood with a sullen thump. Méabh picked up the severed head and pocketed it. "Let's go," she said.

Bardrum's Estates, outside Lossal, Tarlanor, 25th May 1655

In the early hours of the morning, some instinct of his savage heritage awoke Gorfang. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes, and found out what it was. A slender, cloaked and hooded figure stood over his bed, a dagger blade at his throat. Without moving, Gorfang explored his memory of his movements on retiring. The Veldrin was leaning over there; and Anaric over there... He wasn't sure what was going on but he certainly wasn't going to lie there and let it happen. Then the figure spoke.

"I am Countess Darnivarn of the Kingdom of Filchers, and you are Gorfang the Usurper, who sent his soldiers to wipe out my Guild. Before I slay you for it - tell me why? The city and the thieves have lived in peace for years. Why this wanton murder?"

Gorfang lay there for an instant, bemused. Being threatened, attacked or killed for one of the many crimes he'd committed he could cope with; but being threatened with death for something he hadn't done was rather a novelty. His mind was interested by the puzzle; but deep in his red heart was a building core of rage, boiling up to hurl him to death-or-victory combat. The Wristband of Hektis pulsed dull and heavy on his arm, and much of his wrath flowed from that. Without moving, he spoke. "Put the blade down and we'll talk," his voice thick with the effort of resisting his natural urge to slay and tear. This seemed not to work, for Darnivarn's fingers flexed on her hilt and she struck - at the same instant as Gorfang surged upwards, swinging a jab punch directly at the startled thief.

The move caught Darnivarn by surprise, expecting as she was a backwards, evasive move by a naked man on his back attacked with a blade. Her stab went wide as the orc's fist thundered into her midriff and the Poisoner's Ring delivered a measured dose of the best frog poison the Fionath tribe could produce into her bloodstream. Weakened by the venom, she staggered backwards as the orc reached across his bed and siezed the Veldrin Sk'aaal and rolled to his feet. The Countess faced him, her dagger dropped and a slim singlestick held poised for combat. Without pausing, Gorfang struck, slashing a terrible gash into her chest and sending her reeling back. "Put the weapons down and we'll talk," he said again, perhaps not altogether convincingly. Darnivarn's free hand dipped for a potion bottle, and Gorfang siezed the opportunity. The black Fae Mhor sword stabbed into the thief's chest, and she corkscrewed to the floor, dropping the potion with a smash of breaking glass, mortally wounded.

Gorfang hesitated for a moment. The red haze lifted a little, and the need for information overwhelmed - temporarily - the urge to slash and slay. Two steps took him to his backpack, whence he took a bottle of Bog's coveted Boom Boom. Flipping the cork out with a thumb, he poured the contents into the dying thief's mouth and poked her throat with his finger. Coughing and choking, Darnivarn swallowed - and the magic healed the worst of her wounds. As she fought for breath, Gorfang efficiently divested her of her weapons, armour, cloak, and - why not, level things up - clothes, before tying her securely to Bardrum's luxurious bed. As her vision cleared, she saw the naked orc standing looking down at her, a neat reversal of their earlier positions.

"I didn't send my men in." said Gorfang levelly. "The Fae Mhor wiped out the Kingdom."