As Méabh
and Lynien headed through the reception of the whorehouse, the aasimar stopped by the pretty receptionist as she perched on her stool. "I'd like to speak to the owner, please," she asked. The girl shimmied down off the stool and headed off into the back, casting Lynien a smouldering glance as she did so.
A few moments later, a second woman emerged from the doorway to the back office. Cassandra, it emerged, was an attractive but strapping female half-orc. Her eyes ranged over Lynien without reaction, but on observing Méabh she started. "Not often we get visitors from the palace," she commented. "Did you find something to your taste?" Méabh moved a hand in slight negation of that. "I'd like to buy the business," she explained. "How much would you be prepared to sell it for?" Cassandra considered. "Business has been good lately," she commented, calculating, "first the festival, then all these soldiers in town, trade is hot." She looked down, then up. "Twenty thousand," she declared. Méabh chuckled. "How about ten?" she asked. Cassandra's head went up. "Ten? You might get a dump like the House of Lilac Lanterns for that," she replied with scorn, "but not this place." Méabh thought for a moment. "How about ten for a fifty percent stake, then?" she proposed. "You retain sole control of the business, undertake not to sell it under me, and we split the income down the middle. Oh, and I'll install my patent magical drink-chillers. Cold wine in August; bound to be a selling point."
Cassandra considered. "Ten thou would allow me to expand a lot, hire some new girls and boys. I'm interested..."
 Lynien - click it for larger image! |
"Take some time to think it through," said Méabh graciously, "you can find me at the Mageguild." She turned to leave. Lynien reluctantly ended the quiet, intense conversation she'd been having with the receptionist and followed her.
As they left, a couple of very drunk young men stumbled in. Focussing blearily on the pair, the new arrivals came to a logical but completely incorrect conclusion as to their identity, and one of them bore down on Lynien with his eyes alight. The tiefling girl wasn't going to be caught again so soon, and evaded him easily, passing a quiet comment that sent him shuffling on into Cassandra's in embarrassment. As Méabh turned to see what the commotion was, she was in time to see Lynien, smiling quietly and muttering something about "stupid men", tuck a man's purse into her belt. The man would be far more embarrassed when the time came to pay for this evening's entertainment!
Now that she realized her mistake, Countess Darnivarn had become far more cooperative, and was providing Gorfang with some information. The contract to steal the Veldrin, she told him, had been taken out by a Kordasan priest, a dwarf, named Breyurlos.
The payment was to be in Guild Venter credit, half up front, half on completion, 20,000.
When the deal had been made Darnivarn was assigned to track Breyurlos to his home and investigate. She trailed him to a residential address in the middle of the city (oddly, not the small Kordic shrine on the Street of the Gods). He seldom emerged over the next few days, only to buy food, eat out, or other mundane activities; the sole exception was a visit to Guild Venter. Then Darnivarn was sent out of the city on another mission and her knowledge ends.
The appearance of a concrete target on which to take out his frustration with being hounded for the sword all this time clarified Gorfang's thoughts instantly. Without another word, he strapped on his armour, gathered his weapons, and left, leaving the startled Darnivarn still in his bed. Shrugging, she concluded that she might as well make the best of the opportunity to recuperate, and settled down to sleep.
Despite the soporific effects of a half-bottle of Typril's best, Eloy's instincts awoke him as he heard a noise. His mind caught up with his ears and supplied the information that he'd heard the back door of the manor slam. He reached the window just in time to see Gorfang, in full armour and mounted on Shamlakh, thunder away down the avenue towards the gates. Baffled, he looked around to try and work out what was going on.
The rest of the house provided no clues, so he cautiously peered around the door of the master bedroom. To his surprise, the floor was liberally splashed with fresh blood with some broken glass mixed in, and there was a naked woman in the bed.
Hmn, missed the party, he thought to himself.
Gorfang and Shamlakh approached the walls of Lossal at a gallop. Being fairly internal to Tarlanor, and well away from the war with the Kordasa, the fortifications of the city were fairly new and not extensive. A 10' wall circled most of the city, with reasonably strong gates, but nothing much on the scale of some other places. The gates were, however, firmly locked for the night.
A single bound took the warg onto the ramparts. A startled cry rang out from his right, but he wasn't hanging around to answer questions, and another bound took them down to the streets and away.
A few 
minutes later, they were facing the house Darnivarn had described. It was quite large, with a door at the far right, two sets of windows, and a stable door down an alley to the side. Dismounting, Gorfang sent Shamlakh padding down to the stables while he himself investigated the front door. After a few moments, the warg spoke. "I can't smell horses down here," he snarled. It occurred to Gorfang then that there were no visible lights in the windows either.
Gorfang examined the door. It was locked - of course - and looked quite strong. Bracing himself, the orc kicked the door, aiming for noise rather than damage. He succeeded admirably. As the echoes of the crash died away, a window across the street shot up and a tired voice yelled, "Keep it down! Some of us are trying to sleep!" before it slammed shut again. From Breyurlos' house itself there was no reaction at all.
Abandoning subtlety (futher?) Gorfang backed up a bit and shoulder-charged the door. This created an even bigger crash but no opening; the door held. Rather taken aback at this, the orc moved to the windows instead. These appeared unexpeptional, and he broke one cheerfully and climbed through.
The room he found himself in had once been a parlour or morning room, but showed every sign of decades-long abandonment. Chairs, tables and other furniture mouldered here and there, covered in dust and cobwebs. The walls were damp and the plaster crumbling; the room was the very picture of an uninhabited dwelling. Gorfang frowned. According to Darnivarn, Breyurlos the priest had been here in the last couple of weeks, and yet here was all this dust; was she lying? Then the penny dropped; there was no dust on the floor....
Gorfang decided that speed was the essential now. Striding across the room he picked a door at random, the one opposite the window he'd smashed, and delivered a crushing kick to it. The door exploded inwards in splinters, completely destroyed. As he grounded his foot, the orc felt something snap metallically underneath. He lifted his foot again to find a slim steel needle, broken in half, embedded in his boot. A needle trap on the door probably; if he'd used a hand, he'd have been poisoned.
Stepping through, he found himself in a long hall, with chairs and a bureau against the wall and doors leading off. At the far end, the hall appeared to dogleg around a corner, and as he looked that way his eyes caught a movement. Was that a flash of white hair? Then there was a soft twing and a stab of pain in his arm as a tiny dart stuck into him.
Brushing it off before the poison could affect him, Gorfang charged. As he rounded the dogleg, bearing down on what he could now see was a rather startled Fae Mhor warrior armed with a pistol crossbow, he caught a glimpse from the corner of his eye of two more on the other side, one at what was probably the stable door and one half-way up the stairs. Unpeturbed, he launched a mighty strike with Anaric that sliced the right leg cleanly off the miserable creature in front of him. Whimpering, the dark elf collapsed. No problem, thought Gorfang with savage satisfaction.
And then everything went suddenly, utterly, magically, dark.
Eloy 
spent some minutes in close conversation with Darnivarn, who in her turn was pleased to discover that at least one Guild thief had survived and wasn't shivering in a corner. Quickly, she repeated what she'd told Gorfang, and the human deduced from that where the orc had gone.
Pausing only to roust Bog out of bed and perch him precariously on the back of his horse, Eloy set off back to the city in pursuit. Gorfang believed himself invincible, and past history bore this out, but the dark elves were dangerous and magical foes and Eloy reckoned the orc might need some assistance before the night was out.
Muttering to herself a little, Darnivarn went back to bed - again.
Gorfang 
paused for a heartbeat and listened. He could hear his last opponent, panting and whimpering in agony on the floor in front of him. He'd expected to hear the stairs creak, or leather armour squeak, as the other two moved, but there was only silence. Belatedly he remembered the catlike grace with which the dark elves moved. Gorfang knew he was invincible; this fact coloured his every action - but this blasted darkness made it difficult to find and fight his foes. Warriors would fight; but only magic could properly oppose magic.
Reaching down with his left hand, he grabbed the felled dark elf by the front of his leathers and lifted him bodily, disregarding the scream as the man passed out. Turning on the spot, he exploded into a run, heading back the way he'd come. He felt two darts ping off his armour as he passed the other two Fae Mhor, but their aim was hasty and the darts did no harm.
In moments he was out of the dogleg and nearing the door to the 'abandoned' room. A chair bounced off his thigh with a crash as he ran, but didn't impede his progress. Suddenly, the magical darkness ended and he was back in 'normal' darkness - in which he could see perfectly well of course. He glanced over his shoulder to see the hemisphere of the darkness behind him. It looked like about a twenty-foot radius, maybe less. He didn't stop running.
As he emerged into the dusty room, he saw two more dark elves waiting for him, hand crossbows levelled. Not unexpected given the amount of noise he'd made. What they weren't expecting was his speed as he tore across the room towards the window he'd entered through. Two darts flickered across the intervening space but failed to strike home and then Gorfang and his unwilling passenger were through the window and into the street. Summoned by Gorfang's whistle, Shamlakh came bounding up and the orc slipped astride him. A moment later they were heading back towards the northern walls.
Outside the gates, Eloy sat his horse and looked up at the walls. He could climb them and get past the guards, but doing that was going to mean leaving his horse behind. As he pondered this, the unmistakable shapes of Shamlakh and Gorfang came sailing over the battlements to land not fifty feet away. Eloy hailed the orc and he paused briefly to explain that he was taking the prisoner back to Southwold to interrogate before riding off.
Eloy sighed. He doesn't speak Fae Mhor, he thought to himself, the results may be a bit disappointing. He directed Bog to slip over the walls and fetch Lynien and Méabh from the Mageguild before turning his horse and setting off back the way he'd come.
Méabh 
was awoken by a diffident knock at the door. Opening it, she discovered one of the Mageguild's doorwardens - normally invisibly efficient - with a nervous-looking Bog trailing him. The man apologized profusely for disturbing her. "This... " a description failed him, "... came to the gates and asked to see you. We'd have chucked him out, but he described you so well it did seem he knew you. If this isn't true, please say and I'll get rid of it." Méabh hesiated a couple of seconds, then sighed. "Yes, let him in," she said. The doorwarden bowed and turned away as Bog trotted into the Sanctum, looking around with interest. "Touch anything, and you die," snapped Méabh without turning around.
After several minutes' incoherent babble, Méabh managed to get the information that some sort of prisoner had been taken, or a fight was happening, at Southwold, and that Lynien and she were needed. For a long moment she looked at Bog, wondering if she could just kill him where he stood. Finallty she spoke. "I need to dress," she said. "Wait outside." Bog complied gladly.
Méabh and Lynien arrived at Gorfang's new estate, guided by Bog, and were admitted by a servant who directed them to the the kitchen. There they discovered Gorfang and Eloy in the midst of questioning a naked, maimed Fae Mhor male who was roughly roped to a table. Some information had already been tormented out of him, but any resistance he was puttiong up collapsed at his first sight of Méabh. For some reason, the sight of a dark-skinned woman seemed to terrify him. Information came swiftly after that.
His name, he told them, was Gardufoss, of House Wedrith. He was a fighter in the service of one of the ten priestesses who had been sent by the house Matriach at the direct instructions of Lolth herself (here his voice shook with fear, and he broke off to babble some cant until Gorfang hurt him enough to remind him what he was supposed to be talking about) to recover the black sword. His eyes strayed to that weapon, hanging tantalizingly close at Gorfang's hip. The force was based north of here, on the edge of the mountains where there were ruins.
 Morglas - click it for larger image! |
The companions looked at each other, remembering where they'd first encountered the Fae Mhor (and the Veldrin of course); the tomb Hightower in the ruined land of Morglas. It made sense that their initial efforts had been focussed there, as the sword had been sealed into the tomb under Hightower for hundreds of years.
 DM Note: This Way to The Dungeon with extra Cheesy Fudge? Yep, guilty as charged, so sue me! |
Leaving the prisoner on the table, they moved out of his hearing and discussed options. It seemed inevitable that the Fae Mhor would pursue them as long as Gorfang held the sword Veldrin Sk'aal. If anyone was considering the thought that perhaps getting rid of it would solve the problem, no-one said it; they all knew Gorfang too well for that. Taking that as fact, they could either accept it and wait for the next attack, and the next, and the next, or take the fight to the Fae Mhor. Wiping out the House Wedrith mission would at the very least slow and delay the dark elves' pursuit. Adding to that the fact that a large group of such a highly magical people would likely have all sorts of interesting and valuable things with them, there seemed to be benefits to everyone in taking the fight to the Fae Mhor. Lynien commented that, actually, it might be a really good idea for them to leave town for a while in a few days. Everyone looked at her and she coughed slightly. "All right, me," she amended, "but you get the picture." No-one had any objections, and so the decision was taken to set off in two days - 27th, the day after the Inaugural Ball.
Gardufoss the one-legged was of no further use to them, and Gorfang despatched him with a single strike of his vadok. The body was then unceremoniously fed to Shamlakh, neatly disposing of the evidence.
The night was wearing on, so Gorfang had a footman direct his comrades to the rooms he'd picked out for them, and the party retired to get what sleep they could.
The next morning, over a very pleasant breakfast, Gorfang introduced the others to Countess Darnivarn. "Actually," she amended, "if I'm going to rebuild the Guild in Lossal, I think some changes are in order. Bregulid's crackpot ideas about noble titles have had their day. Just Darnivarn from now on, please?" She was delighted to make Lynien's acquaintance, another guilded thief not slain or fled. Gorfang told her before they left that if she wanted to make use of Southwold during the rebuilding process, the staff had instructions to allow her to do so.
Lynien addressed Gorfang. "You've a nice little carriage in the stables here," she commented. "Can I borrow it for a day or so? With some horses and a footman?" Gorfang chuckled at the cheek of it, but agreed - as long as it was returned in the end.
While Gorfang, Méabh and Eloy rode their own horses back to Lossal, Lynien rode beside the carriage and Darnivarn took the opportunity to ride in it - nothing like travelling in style! On their arrival, they split up; Gorfang went for a drink, Eloy went to look up Rinlan Myyrlnor, Méabh to pack, and Lynien to implement phase one of her plan.
Rigging herself out in what she called her 'posh wife kit', from the assassination, she had the footman drive her across town in the carriage to the premises of Guild Venter. Disembarking as the man submissively opened the door, she swept up the steps to the main entrance, where a well-armed but smartly-dressed guardian opened the door for her without hesitation.
Inside,
she found herself in a huge hall, lined with counters for lesser customers, and private desks for the important folk, each with comfortable settles and existing in isolation in a private pool of lamplight from a green-shaded desk lamp. Behind looped red rope barriers were clerk desks, and doors, and more guards. The high arched windows had magnificent and baroque metalwork spanning them decoratively and protectively. Odd bosses appeared here and there in the wall decorations, and Lynien suspected these of being magically enchanted. Each guard stood just exactly in the right place so as to be able to see the maximum area, and to be seen by at least two others. The doors into the interior were covered ten ways. Whoever had set up the security of this place, Lynien decided, was a true genius. It was impregnability cubed.
As she stood elegantly in the hall, a young, obsequious banker came to attend to her. Invisibly washing his hands, he asked if there was anything he could do for madam? Yes, there was; madam would like to open a strongbox account, please, and deposit a significant value of gold and gemstones immediately. Why of course, madam, that will be no problem. A strongbox was delivered to the side of the table and placed on a folding stand by a hefty young man who looked as if he could have lifted Gorfang and Shamlakh together. "So tell me," said Lynien disingenuously, "why will my money be safe here?"
She couldn't have picked a better phrase. The young banker went into the whole sales routine, describing - in general terms - the security provisions of the Venter building. The guards, the magical detectors, the traps, the subterranean vaults, all of it. At the end he said, "So you see, your money will be safer here than anywhere else in the land, Mrs...."
"Morazesh," supplied Lynien, falling back on the name she and Eloy had used at Shade's. "This will be a joint account with my husband, of course". The youth smiled. "No problem." He opened the box, and Lynien handed over a pouch of gold and another of gemstones. The banker tallied them up skillfully, recorded this information on a card, and placed the items in the box. Locking it, he handed her one of the two keys, before uncapping an odd disklike projection at the top of the box. "Please press your thumb on here," he asked politely. Lynien did so, and the disk switched from green to red at the same time as a metallic shunk announced more locking bars shooting across inside the box. Lynien thanked the young man effusively, curtseyed and left, thinking furiously.
Méabh,
having prepared what she expected to need for the journey, went to see Erilas. Cutting through his small-talk, she asked bluntly, "Who summoned the imp - you or Ibolath?" Erilas blinked uncertainly. "What imp? Not that again," he protested, "I have already told you I had no-" Méabh cut him off. "Guild records show regular messageball contact between you and Ibolath until a couple of weeks ago," she snapped. "Then you used the imp to communicate." Erilas drew himself up. "Now see here, young sorceress," he said sharply. "I have had nothing to do with imps. Yes, he sent me messages while he was new in the job at the palace, asking my advice, but once he became confident that stopped. I never heard from him again. I would not lie to you." In his voice Méabh could hear that she was close to the edge of what could damage their relationship, and she apologized and desisted, no whit less suspicious. "Let us put that behind us," said Erilas graciously, "and talk business. This drink cooler, now..."
A couple of hours later, Lynien and Méabh met for lunch. Lynien explained what she'd seen inside Guild Venter to her friend - without going into too much detail - and the sorceress agreed that the place had all the hallmarks of serious magical defences.
The 
Inaugural Ball for the Governor Alael Linril was one of the most magificent occasions to have been staged in Lossal since the fall of the Kings of Sinval. While Gorfang Day had been an egalitarian excercise incorporating every layer of the city's society, this was a far more up-market affair. The cream of Lossal's society were present; guildmasters, merchant princes, officials and heroes.
Gorfang, of course, was present - with Darnivarn on his arm - in his capacity as ex-governor, and there was a short ceremony of handover, after which Linril proved himself a politician of skill and judgement by delivering a very short speech about how the city was going to recover from its' recent misgovernance into an era of renewed peace, prosperity, stability and order.
Méabh was not there. Definitely not her thing!
Eloy was there, with Rinlan on his arm, resplendent in the dress he'd bought for her. Things seemed to be going well for them, and both were smiling a lot if a little oblivious to everyone else.
 Serafina - click it for larger image! |
Lynien also had a date, but in her case it was another woman. A blonde bombshell named Serafina, and if anyone was aware that she was the receptionist from Cassandra's they weren't saying anything. Too many of them had their wives with them!
Circulating, Lynien made enquiries and was soon introduced to a man named Aren Acennanson. His title was Third Factorum of Guild Venter, and apparently his presence was an unusual thing as he was not a great socializer. Dressed immaculately in plain dark grey and unexceptional to look at, he had tremendous presence; ladies queued up to dance with him, and men deferred to him. Lynien made small talk to find out what she could about him. He was cool, charming, precise, and unflappable, and reminded her strongly of Méabh in the magnitude of his presence, his control of the situation. As a major banker he was, of course, extremely rich; but this didn't really account for his personal charisma.
Another local celebrity present was one Bragann Icefair, commander of a mercenary company called the Soulgrinders. Lossal was their home base, and ordinarily they were used to being the local soldiers, minor heroes and celebrities, and were more than a little disgruntled to find themselves outnumbered and preceded by 'real' Dragonarmy soldiers with an attractive commander. Mistakenly, Bragann decided to try and extert some pressure, and tried to persuade Gorfang to organize getting rid of 'all these troops'. The orc's response was typically pithy and ended with the word "... off!" The results were rather startling. The human pulled a gauntlet glove from his belt and slapped Gorfang across the face with it! Reacting instantly, the orc riposted with a shattering punch which floored the mercenary.
Icefair climbed to his feet, and eventually managed to convey the information that he was challanging Gorfang to a duel. The orc was quite happy to go for it here and now among the vol-a-vents but custom seemed to indicate dawn tomorrow. He shook his head; these humans were crazy.
Meanwhile, another civic dignitary had been trying to get his and Lynien's attention. This worthy introduced himself as Manton Cedargold, guildmaster blacksmith, and also representing the gold and silversmiths, neither of whom had enough craftsmen to form their own guild. These craftsmen had gathered together to create a token for each of the heroes responsible for saving the city (and their livelihoods) from destruction. Carefully, he unwrapped four slim daggers, worked beautiflly in gold and silver, silver-sheathed, and engraved with a grateful message. Lynien's practiced eyes flicked over them; not bad, she thought, five hundred or so each. Good for a dagger!
Later on,
the evening sprang one more surprise. Lynien had already seen and nodded to Cassandra, but it seemed she was not the only madam present that night, for a savage fist-fight erupted between her and another woman, whom Eloy recognized as Zhenchecka, mistress of the House of Lilac Lanterns where he and Uruk had beguiled an hour or two on an earlier visit - though he didn't mention this to Rinlan! Both clearly rather the worse for wear, the two madams rolled and staggered, punching, kicking biting and gouging. Men around the room started cheering for one or the other, and then stopped themselves guiltily as they remembered their wives were present.
Cassandra was definitely getting the best of it, and Zhenchecka realized this. Her hand flickered, and in a moment a slender rapier was in it, the point weaving only slightly. A hush fell over the audience, as the rather humerous aspect of the fight faded in the presence of deadly weapons. Cassandra sneered at the blade, her hands slipping into the folds of her dress for a moment. Zhenchecka lunged forwards with the rapier, and the half-orc weaved backwards. Her fist lashed out in a powerful punch, and Zhenchecka went over backwards knocked cold. Brass flashed for a second as Cassandra slipped her hand back into her pocket, and then went to find another drink.
Finally, 
the eventful evening wore to a close. Well lit up, Lynien Eloy and Gorfang stumbled out of the Palace, with their respective dates on their arms. Piling into Gorfang's carriage, they rumbled off into the night in the direction of Southwold, laughing and joking and passing a bottle Lynien had apprehended on the way out back and forth. Outside, Shamlakh trotted along behind the carriage, grumbling under his breath. His sensitive canine nose could smell the pheromones from a mile away.
Three 
couples emerged from the carriage and made directly and rather urgently for the relevant bedrooms of Bardrum's manor. Despite the late hour, sleep seemed the last thing on anyone's mind, and the sounds of heavy breathing, giggles and moans echoed down the corridors for a long time after that.
Outside, Shamlakh settled down with a particularly choice dark elven thighbone that he'd saved for the occasion and rolled his eyes in resignation.
Depressingly early the next morning, a servant came to apprise Gorfang of the fact that his opponent had turned up to settle the matter of honour from the previous evening. Despite the busy night behind him, the orc was soon up and around and ready for action, and emerged mounted on Shamlakh at the gate of his estates to find Bragann Icefair, lightly armoured and accompanied by ten cavalrymen and another man who, it emerged, was his 'second'. This again was new to Gorfang, but Eloy stepped forwards and announced that he would act as Gorfang's second, explaining in a whisper that it meant an assistant. After a few moments of more confusion, he also explained to the orc that he only had to fight the one man; this was a single combat. Slightly disappointed, Gorfang unslung Anaric from his back and rolled his shoulders ready for the fray.
Then -
to his increased puzzlement and increasing annoyance, Icefair's 'second' came trotting over to ask if he would like not to fight after all! The bloody human seemed incapable of making up his mind. However, after some more yacking, it turned out what he was actually trying to do was get Gorfang to apologize, and as this was clearly a non-starter, the fight was back on after all.
Icefair moved forwards, settling into a competent fighting stance with his warhammer held low and dangerously. Gorfang taunted him, while Eloy directed sarcastic comments at the his followers. "I'll make this as painless as possible," Icefair commented, to chuckles from his men. Gorfang frowned, standing easily with the Veldrin in one hand and the khopesh over his shoulder. What? Oh, wait a minute. He actually expects to win?! he thought. Then icefair moved in, slowly, dangerously, skillfully. Gorfang stood where he was, almost looking as if he'd gone back to sleep. Icefair's men fell silent, sensing the slaying to come. Eloy and Lynien stepped back a pace or two; they didn't want to get hit by bits of flying bone.
In an instant it was over. Icefair raised the hammer, lunged in, and poised a strike. Gorfang suddenly unwound like a coiled spring, with his two blades on the end of it. In four quick blows, he took each of Icefair's legs out from under him, disabled his weapon arm, and shattered his skull. The mercenary died on the spot, and Gorfang looked up speculatively at his associates, expecting them to attack him in retaliation.
Instead, the second sighed, shook hands with Eloy, muttered "Honour is satisfied," and signalled two of the cavalrymen to come and pick up Icefair's cooling remains. Gorfang coughed. "Wait a minute," he said, "I killed him, therefore whatever was his is mine. You can leave his possessions, and you lot all work for me now." The humans looked at each other, taken aback. "It doesn't work that way," said the second. "This was personal, but the Soulgrinders have a chain of command; Captain Phelan is in command now. We serve him; we remain Soulgrinders, no matter what our - late - commander may have done with his life. His equipment belongs to the regiment, and goes back to them."
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