DM Note: A bijou Gorfang and Eloy double-act this week. | DM Note: A bijou Gorfang and Eloy double-act this week. |
Mildy disgruntled, Eloy, Lynien and Gorfang left the Dripping Stag and headed downslope, looking for a nice seedy dive. Perhaps they overdid this, because when they stopped in front of The Mighty Candle and looked up at the signboard, there was no doubt what level of culture they had descended to. The board, although battered and grubby, was a masterwork of lewd art, and left no doubts as to what a 'mighty candle' was a euphemism for. Gorfang was mildly doubtful, wondering if it was a bar to what his people called sharlonk (literally, 'orcs unlikely to reproduce') but they shouldered in through the door anyway.
Inside was a dark sinkhole of iniquity. Rough and brutal thugs rubbed shoulders with scrawny conmen who made Eloy look like a bright, honest, trustworthy saint. Scattered around the company were occasional women, hard-faced and raddled slatterns for the most part. The place stank and was dim with smoke.
Reaching the bar, Eloy leaned across to the barman and spoke in a manner not entirely likely to blend into the clientele. "Barman? A pint of your finest ale, my man, and a cup of milk." The barman just looked at him for a few moments. Gorfang broke the moment by correcting, "Two pints of ale," from behind. The man busied himself while the pair stared interestedly around in fine disregard for the dark looks they were drawing, and then pushed two grubby tankards of dark cloudy ale and a horn cup of something that had once been milk across the bar.
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Eloy shoved the milk back after a single glance, but Gorfang was optimistic enough to check the ale. He knew a bit about toxins, and was reasonably sure it wouldn't do him actual harm, but it was still foul and undrinkable even by orcish standards.
"We want a decent beer," said the orc critically. "Better than that muck," added Eloy. Looking daggers at them, the barman wiped the two tankards with a grimy cloth until they were nearly clean, and drew two more pints. "I din't know we 'ad royalty in," he grumbled as he passed them over.
A single taste was enough to recognize that despite the wipe, this brew was actually worse than the first one. Eloy levelled his gaze at the barman. "Look," he said evenly, "we came here because this place looked a clean inn where we could get a beer. You've one more chance to pour us an honest ale."
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As he completed this speech, he was aware of snickers and snorts of derision from around him. It occurred to him that he wasn't going to get his honest ale, so without further ado, he hurled the tankard he was holding at the barman. It struck him on the breastbone, knocking him back into the barrels and soaking him in beer. The man cowered down behind his bar, whimpering, and Eloy cursed him contemptuously. Then he was swung around as the man next to him at the bar siezed him by the lapels and snarled into his face, "This is our bar, and we like the beer here. You - apologize to Griffle!" Eloy affected puzzlement. "To whom?" he asked. The man freed his left hand and pointed across the bar. "Him! Griffle the barman." Eloy turned his head towards the still-cowering Griffle. "Griffle, dear boy, I apologize for hitting you in the chest with that tankard," he said at once, then paused the perfect interval and added, "I was aiming for your gonving head."
The man gripping his shirt snarled and launched a left-handed punch at Eloy's face. Eloy didn't move, but allowed a touch of Sabath's chaos to warp reality in a strictly localized way - and with no perceptible change the punch was suddenly thundering into Gorfang's terrifying tusked face.
by the look in his eyes, he knew who Gorfang was, and by the way they darted around, he was looking for a way to escape this situation. Eloy began to laugh. "Methinks it's your turn to apologize," he commented. "Would you like to take this.. outside?" asked Gorfang. The man was considering his options when one of his friends moved to intervene. With a full-blooded swing, he smacked Gorfang on the back of the head with his ale-pot. The blow wasn't powerful enough to overcome the various magical protections enchanted into the orc's armour, but it rocked him slightly, and showered him in beer and bits of clay as it shattered. The disconcerting smell of wet orc arose as Gorfang lifted two wet fingers and licked them, wondering if this beer was better than what he'd been served; the discovery that it wasn't didn't improve his temper.
As Eloy sat on the bar and rocked with laughter, Gorfang siezed his first assailant by neck and hip and hauled him off the ground, swinging him around to pick up momentum and hurling him at the window. It was a good throw, but the man's flailing spoiled Gorfang's aim slightly; instead of disappearing through the window, the man splattered against it, shattering it with his head while one leg and arm smashed against the wall. Knocked unconcious, he slumped half out of the wrecked window and lost all interest in the proceedings.
Gorfang whirled to face the other attacker, to find he was gone. A row of spectators was all that was behind him, but his sharp eye picked out the fact that two were slightly off balance as if pushed outwards by - say - a man shoving in between them, and that the man between them was soaking wet and the only spectator who had no drink. Gorfang stepped over and kicked him in the knee, elicting a yell of pain and causing him to break and run. The orc kicked him mercilessly in the back of the other knee, dropping him to all fours, and delivered a stunning punch to his head, rendering him senseless. Gorfang picked him up and hurled him over the bar, to land with a crash among the tankards and flatten the unfortunate Griffle.
The Mighty Candle was very quiet as the two strode out in search of a better tavern.
Retracing their steps a way back upslope, they came to the Drunken Bell, which despite any possible innuendo in its' name, turned out to be a pleasant hostelry, clean and inviting. Eloy reached the bar here and placed a gold piece on the bar; "Two pints of your finest ale," he requested. A few moments later, two jacks of a deep golden beer were produced, and Eloy reflected that leading with cash was possibly a better start generally speaking. They added roasted lamb and bread to the order - double meat on the raw side for Gorfang - and turned to find a table.
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Automatically Eloy scanned the bar for women. He counted half-a-dozen or so, several with men, two with each other and one sitting alone. As they passed one of the couples, Gorfang lingered though Eloy went on to sit down - all the laughing had left him with a stitch. Gorfang addressed the man of the couple, a well-dressed professional or merchant; "My friend," he thumbed over his shoulder, "wants to know how much for a night with your lady?" The woman turned away with a dismissive sniff, but the man was furious. "That's a deeply offensive thing to say about my wife!" he barked, "Please apologize to her and leave our table." Gorfang ignored him and turned. "Eloy!" he called loudly across the bar as he walked to their own table, "they're not interested!" Behind he could hear the outraged man spluttering. Eloy rose, and approached the table. "How has my friend offended you?" he asked with insincere solicitousness. The man had had enough; he dragged the woman to her feet. "Arabella - we're leaving!" he snapped. Eloy kept it up. "Excuse me, but what's going on?" he queried, establishing eye contact with the woman and communicating entirely different messages, only to be met by rage and hate. "Come, Archibald," she said loftily, and the pair flounced out, leaving their drinks behind - a glass of wine and a pretentious cocktail with bits of fruit in it, which had been Archibald's.
Eloy picked these up, and turned to return to the table. Some of the bar patrons were laughing, some looked offended and some hadn't noticed. One of the other attractive women was clearly delighted by the impromptu theatre, and Eloy handed her Arabella's wine as he passed. "Oh - I couldn't take this from you," she protested lightly, and dug a coin from her purse, handing it to Eloy. His nimble fingers felt the crinkle of paper as well as the silver coin, and he nodded and smiled before returning to the table. A surreptitious glance showed the paper to bear an address - well upslope in the merchantaile - and the word 'midnight'. Gorfang, knowing Eloy well by now, recognized the sparkle in his green eyes, and was just preparing to spike his plans when the food arrived and put it out of his mind.
The dinner, like the beer, was sublime, the best drinks since Typril's in Lossal. Both ate with great pleasure for some time, and when they settled back finally and Eloy unpacked his flute, Gorfang restrained him. "Don't spoil the moment," he said rather dreamily.
Eloy wandered off to look for games of chance instead. The bar was a bit unusual, in that as well as the dice games common to the lower classes, it also had several tables of people playing the complex card games favoured by the well-born. Eloy knew the basics of dicing, wheras he knew no card games, so he chose a group playing dice. There were three of them, sitting at a table for four; an average-looking shopkeeper type, an older man who didn't look as if he was too sure what he was doing, and a tall, lean man with quick hands who looked up and smiled at Eloy. "Welcome!" he said, "join us."
Ten minutes later, Eloy had lost twelve in gold, and the lean man had told him he was getting the hang of the game nicely. "Once more?" he urged. "Just one," said Eloy, and five minutes later he'd lost another eight. "That's me cleaned out," he said glumly and untruthfully. "Never mind," said the shopkeeper, "come back and play another time." As they spoke, Eloy was using his asssassin's training to memorize the lean man's face, form and pouch location. Then he left and went back to their table. "He's cheated me out of our money," he commented. Gorfang wasn't suckered. "How come it's our money?" he replied, and they got up to leave.
Gorfang was ready for bed, and a lie in the next day; he'd spent four days sitting on a walking statue, fought battles, had a good dinner and a pint of ale. Eloy said he'd be back later, and faded into the shadows near the tavern. Gorfang was mildly impressed; he'd only ever seen Lynien make that good a job of stealth before. He headed back up to the palace and went to bed, feeling tired but good, even mellow (for an orc, anyway).
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Eloy skulked for an hour or so, until the three gamblers emerged. To no surprise he saw the three divvying up a respectable amount of gold like long-time partners, chuckling over their success, after which the old guy went one way and the others walked upslope past where Eloy was hidden. He slipped from his hiding place and ghosted after them noiselessly, studying the lean gambler. Then he lunged from behind, driving a punch into a nerve cluster in the back of the man's neck, stunning him instantly. He went down like a sack of coal, and the shopkeeper type turned to see what had happened, seeing Eloy who looked concerned. "Oh, it's you," he said, "did he trip?" Eloy knelt 'to see if he's all right' - quietly slipping his target's purse into his pocket - and they 'found' a massive bruise on the back of the lean man's neck. Eloy pointed to a nearby stone. "He must have fallen on that," he suggested. The shopkeeper, however, wasn't convinced. "No chance. There's something going on here!" he flared, and lurched to his feet, drawing a dagger. "Go away, or I'll stick you," he demanded, but the blade wobbled and Eloy could see he wasn't really ready for a fight. He stood his ground, and the man launched a clumsy stab. Eloy snaked his hand around the man's wrist and flicked; the dagger spun into the air where he caught it with his other hand. The shopkeeper blinked at him for a few seconds, and then fled. "What about your friend?" called Eloy mockingly. "Gonv 'im!" came the faint response as the gambler vanished.
Eloy opened the purse and eyed the contents. He was up on the evening - so far, anyway - so he left the lean gambler making faint bubbling noises where he was and headed off to his midnight liaison.
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Gorfang was wakened mid-morning by a young page, sent to tell him Lord Skufruss wanted to see him. The sight of the furious orc at the door dressed only in the irremovable Wristband of Hektis was enough to send the lad fleeing, screaming like a girl, and the next summons was delivered by one of the guards - a man Gorfang knew slightly from his previous stay. He'd sensibly brought breakfast to improve the orc's temper, and chided Gorfang for terrorizing the lad, who was new to the job. "It doesn't do to keep Lord Skufruss waiting," warned the guard. Gorfang was unworried. "He did it to me," he pointed out. "He's busy," said the soldier, "anywhere else, he'd be called a king."
Finally Gorfang gave in, got dressed and prepared to go and see the Lord of Dragons. As he did so, Eloy trudged in, looking exhausted and smelling faintly of sweet oil and perfume. "I'm going to bed," he said in a satiated voice, and did so.
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Gorfang found Skufruss in a small meeting room near the thronehall, sitting at a round table covered in paperwork. "Gorfang," said the Lord of Tarlanor, "glad you could join me." He offered Gorfang wine or ale or tea, but the orc declined.
Skufruss told Gorfang he believed that the Openers of the Way were being tracked. He'd been studying his, and there were inexplicable, non-magical resonances that he suspected allowed the creatures that owned them to locate them. Gorfang showed no surprise. "Of course," he said, "they keep popping up. We were attacked on the way to Belamir."
Skufruss changed the subject. "Our friend Yadaran Heartmaster - " "Your friend, not mine!" Gorfang interjected, "... neither really," allowed Skufruss. "The traitor, Yadaran Heartmaster, then, has left the Tower, and I intend to clear out his rooms in the Kin section of the tower. If there's anything of interest to you and your companions there, you are welcome to it, though most of the books do belong to the library. Call it a gesture of goodwill, to reassure you that his lies are unfounded." Gorfang smiled slightly. "If he'd set me against you, you'd have noticed." Skufruss nodded, appreciating the comment. "I'll send some porters to your quarters after noon to guide you to the right place," he said.
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Later that morning, Shamlakh the Warg ambled up the road and into the gates of the city. He'd done well on the trip up from the Desolation, although he'd had to lie low and travel stealthily by night crossing New Tellare. Fortunately, the heavy meal he'd made on the fallen elves and griffons was enough to carry him through without having to hunt there, and he was able to pass unobserved.
Word had been passed to the guards on the gates whose mount he was, and when he encountered a patrol of Dragonarmy soldiers in the streets they were so rattled when he spoke to them and told them he was heading for the Tower that they escorted him to Gorfang personally. The warg was tired of living in stables with dumb horses he wasn't allowed to eat, and so he moved into Gorfang's rooms instead. So many of the Dark Tower's inhabitants had familiars, companions and constructs that it sometimes resembled a menagerie rather than a school, so he wasn't going to stick out.
Some time later, five porters and ten soldiers arrived at the door. The porters had enchanted carriers - trolleylike things with no wheels that floated magically - and Gorfang's eyes lit up. "Will it hold a full-grown orc?" he asked. "I don't know," replied the nonplussed chief porter. Gorfang vaulted in; the carrier bobbed and steadied. "Forward!" he commanded cheerfully, and was 'wheeled' away. Eloy - who was up by this time - tagged along, grinning.
The errand took them deeper into the Tower than they had ever been. One of the privileges of being a Kin in service to Skufruss was quarters in the Tower itself, and they passed many strange, wonderful and terrifying beings as they walked. Finally, they reached the plain door of Heartmaster's rooms. The chief porter sorted a key from the bunch on his belt and prepared to unlock the door. Eloy had drawn Bereloth to check for magic - a bit redundant, here - but the results he was getting from the door added to the skills he'd learned in Lossal were enough to alert him to the danger. However, he decided to let the trap go off so that he could see how it worked and so, it was Gorfang who reacted first. "Stop!" he cried.
"Oh, yes... stop." muttered Eloy half-heartedly.
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As it was a magical trap, Eloy was the only one trained to tackle it, although Gorfang was far better than he with mechanical traps. Carefully, he probed it with a tool. A faint flicker alerted him, and he hurled himself flat. Gorfang ducked behind one of the carriers. The porters were all further up the corridor, but when the blast of flame washed out several of the soldiers were caught in it. Cursing and shouting, they beat the flames out as Eloy looked around apologetically.
The door was open, and Gorfang and Eloy slipped inside. "We'll check it's safe," said Gorfang and shut the door before the servants of the Tower could follow them in.
Beyond the door was a short entrance hall, finished in reflective black and with two niches on each side, each filled by a statue 18" high. An arch led into the main room of the suite. This was lined with bookshelves and well lit by two huge windows looking out from the side of the tower. A large dining table stood in the centre, and near the right wall was a reading-desk. Quickly, the pair searched the room, easily locating a handful of potions in a rack on one of the bookcases. The reading desk was potentially the most interesting. A heavy book lay open on a stack of parchment sheets, with some smaller scraps next to it. They examined the book, which turned out to be about the mass abduction of the population of the dwarvish city of Nisur in 1602. The pages that lay open, however, were those dealing with the end of the rescue, where the githyanki knights destroyed the portals leading onto the demiplane Heppetah.
The loose notes were a collection of information on the repair or reactivation of such portals. The sheets pinned under the book were four scrolls of Plane Shift, and a blank sheet that was similar enough to the others to be almost certainly an expended scroll of the same spell.
Eloy pocketed the scrolls and the notes, and Gorfang shut the book, removing the marker. If anyone was going to find out what all this was about, it was going to be them...
At the far left end of the suite was a smaller sitting room, where they found some glowing psychoactive crystals orbiting a stone hemishpere. Gorfang snagged one, and Eloy scanned it with Bereloth; it was not magical. "Useless toys," muttered Gorfang, but pocketed them. Other than a magical wizard's robe and a spear, they found nothing else, so they let the porters in to load up the rest of Heartmaster's possessions and left to consider what they'd found.
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