Shaddar listens intently to the minds around him to determine what they think about these reported goings-on.
“More than one rogue villain? That’s never happened before.”
“How can this be?”
“These acts of rogue villainy seem almost… organized.”
“How will we find the one who is mad enough to insult the Lords of the city in time?”
“Murder-Most-Foul? I can’t believe it!”
“’Something else’, sir knight says – but what does he mean?”
The knight speaks to the villains as a whole, “Have you discovered who is performing these acts of rogue villainy? What have you learned as to their numbers or identities?”
Answers are called out from the crowd.
“We have hunted them, but they do not stay in one place long enough for us to find them!”
“They stay in the border zones, where our power to detect them is weaker!”
“They are like ghosts, sir knight – slipping into the ether before we can grasp them!”
“What shall we do, sir knight?”
The knight holds up one hand to stop their cries and turns to the group of heroes to address them next. “And what have you done in solving these murders?”
“The lone witness is brain-addled! He needs healers!”
“If it was not the Guild of Villains, then who – ?”
“I believe it is a new form of undead with the ability to hide from our magical detection, sir knight!”
The knight stops these replies as well and raises both arms above his head.
Shaddar can see that the knight is quickly putting things together – he is quite intelligent and much more world-wise than the common people who fill the ranks of the guilds.
“If there is something that is willing to go this far in… wickedness: committing depraved acts against all commands from the Lords of the city; and if there is something that is willing to murder in a foul manner unknown to us in order to hide their identity; and if there is something that would be so foolhardy as to insult the Lords of the city directly, then… perhaps all of these things are connected in the form of a single cause. Any one of these events would be shocking in itself, but it is unlikely in the extreme that all of them would occur separate from one another. No. We do not face three problems here – but one.”
Shaddar can see the lights go on in the eyes of the people as they begin to understand the knights meaning.
“You mean… there is one person who is responsible for all of these crimes?”
“How could anyone be so evil?”
“Mist demons! It must be mist demons!”
“Why would anyone act in such a suicidal manner? Don’t they know that the Lords of the city will not stand for this? Don’t they know what the Lords of the city will do?”
“But what of the rumors of the new guild? The rogues?”
The knight focuses on this last question. “Ah, yes. What are we to make of this? The information you have gathered clearly indicates multiple sources of this plague of wickedness. Allow me to offer a simple solution: if someone is willing to go so far, then would they not also be willing to tell lies?”
More faces light up with dawning comprehension. Shaddar is revolted by the molasses-like speed of thought that these pea-brains display.
The knight nods somberly while speaking; “I have learned much – as have you. Now. Focus your efforts on finding the perpetrators of the crimes done in the name of the group of rogues – there will be much more evidence in multiple events to be gleaned. The murder of the constables is, pardon the expression, a dead end. The murders can only be brought to justice by finding them through their other crimes. Continue your search, but work together to find the source of this taint! We must cleanse it at once, for I do not know how long the Knights will be able to keep this news from the ears of the Lords of the city. I will go consult with the Senior Knights and seek their wisdom.”
The knight wheels his mount around in a fine display of horsemanship. With a loud voice he shouts, “This riot is ended! Be about your work! The word is: Haste!”
The knight gallops off the field and the leaders of the two guilds shake hands and murmur a few phrases to each other before the groups separate slightly. At a sign from both groups, the villains begin to flee in a simulated rout, with the heroes following close behind. Shaddar is forced to run with the rest of the villains back across the wrecked portions of the streets and into the border zones.
Some people have begun to try and sort through the mess already, but they scatter when they see the fleeing villains charging down the streets. Constables are on hand to ‘protect’ the citizens from the fleeing villains as well. Shaddar looks back and sees that the heroes are getting trinkets, flowers, and confetti thrown down from upstairs windows of the buildings as they pass.
“The entire place is nothing but a show. Where is reality, I wonder? The knight seems to live there,” Shaddar thinks.
Shaddar can hear the populace cheering and singing praises to the heroes for vanquishing the villains and driving them away from the streets as he rushes into the border zone and makes his way back to the meadhall.
Well. He wanted to prod the power centers of the city into action – and he has done so! Shaddar is quite thoughtful, pondering all of the new information he has learned.
“The first thing to do is speak with Hawke,” he resolves.
Hawke hears him enter the through the back door and is amazed when he realizes who it was that was outside during the riot.
“You were really out there? During the riot? And the villains didn’t catch you? Didn’t beat you?”
“No. Of course not,” Shaddar says carelessly, removing the black cloak he was hiding behind while running with the villains.
“What am I thinking,” Hawke thinks bitterly, “Of course they didn’t. ‘The boss’ is a much scarier villain than they are.”
Shaddar walks over to the bar to get closer to Hawke before he says, “I have a question for you, Hawke. For one with a repository of knowledge such as no other seems to possess in this meadhall.”
“I haven’t told him anything! What’s he on about?”
Shaddar speaks softly as he asks, “Tell me about the knights…”
“The knights?” whispers Hawke.
“One was there.”
“One was there, where?”
“At the riot, naturally.”
“You were at the riot?” Hawke is stunned.
“Did I not say that I wished to witness it? I usually get what I want, Hawke.”
Hawke is amazed. “But,” he sputters, “you’re not a member of the Guild of Villains! How –?” His thoughts continue, “How did he do it? The villains know their own! How could the heroes not realize that a rogue villain was in their midst?”
“I am resourceful. Attend me Hawke: the knights?”
Hawke’s mouths hangs open and he does not answer, but his thoughts give Shaddar all he needs: The knights are the actual administrators of the city. They are the go-betweens and agents for the Lords of the city and the populace. Commands from the Lords of the city pass through the knights to everyone else. “Granted, this isn’t the High City, so we don’t have that many Lords who reside here in Big City, but those that do require their Knights to serve them as a buffer from the commoners. More importantly: why does ‘The Boss’ think that I’ll tell him anything when I have told him nothing about any of his other queries? Why does he think I know the answers? It’s distressing and can mean nothing good - why would one of the Lord’s Paladins be present at the riot? They so seldom interfere with our affairs… Unless the Lord’s of the city are angry?”
Hawke stumbles over his normal verbal dodge, “Don’t know… much about that… haven’t seen any knights for years… Knights. Oh, Mist demons!” He hesitates, then asks in a rush, “What did the knight say?”
Shaddar leans on the bar with one elbow and relates to Hawke everything that was said in the arena. This is much more information than he has given Hawke before and the man is surprised at the level of confidence ‘the boss’ is taking him into. As Shaddar describes the murder victims, he goes pale. As he describes the violent activities of the ‘band of rogues’ Hawke stiffens with recognition.
“But! That’s him! How can he speak of it so coolly?” the man thinks with shock.
Shaddar continues to tell the tale and the man grips the bar with white knuckles as he hears of the insult to the Lord of the city.
“What was the insult?” he whispers.
“The knight did not say, but I happen to know that it was of a salacious and nasty nature, regarding odious acts done in the city's blackest brothel.”
Shaddar pauses in his story to see if the man will pass out. He stays on his feet, but only because he pours himself a small shot of stiff liquor and knocks it back.
The conclusion is brutally delivered with a tone of slight amusement. “At the end, the knight was clever enough to connect the dots and inform everyone there that these events were all one. That they have all been perpetrated by the same organization… by a single... individual…”
Shaddar watches Hawke’s thoughts most carefully now. The man has been leaning towards rebellion for some time now and Shaddar feels that it is time for the experiment of giving the man free reign to end. If the man can’t put things together or reacts badly when he does, then he is nothing but a liability to Shaddar and he will be killed at once. So. Will the fellow pass his test? The tension is wonderfully relaxing after his run through the streets…
The man goes white as a linen sheet as it hits him.
Shaddar speaks in a soft, deadly voice, “You understand now, don’t you, Hawke?”
“Y-yes. Yes, I – I – I do,” the man stutters in a hoarse croak. His thoughts move quite quickly now through the pieces that he has heard and the clues all around him as he puts it together and everything leads to one, inescapable conclusion.
“If the Lords of the city find him!” he thinks with panic, “Their fury will know no bounds! They will kill everyone even remotely connected with him! Mist demons… That means me… I have only one chance at survival now: the Lords of the city must never find out who insulted them and that means…”
“Are you going to be a problem, Hawke?” Shaddar asks in that same soft voice. He lazily drums the fingers of one hand one the bar in a gentle staccato of ticking noises.
The man makes up his mind – unhappy, but resolved that he has no choice.
“No. No, Boss. No problems from me.”
“I am pleased to hear it. Your loyalty will be rewarded,” his tone harshens, “And your lack thereof will be punished.”
“Yes, Boss. I understand completely now.”
“I know you do, Hawke. I know you do,” Shaddar whispers evilly.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 19 Chapter 21 >
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
Crossover - Chapter 19
The volume of the cacophony that the junior members of both guilds are making could very well be taken for the sounds of a protracted and hard-fought battle – if Shaddar wasn’t watching the grown men bang on pot lids like toddlers, just to make noise.
The more senior members of both guilds have gathered in the center of the playing field. Shaddar is near the front of the villain’s side. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this convention.
The leader of the villains is a swarthy man who has a real eye patch, bolted right onto his face. His face has several deep scars and he moves like a man that knows his way around a fight.
“This man may actually live up to the title of villain,” Shaddar thinks, “At least, he is confident that he is a dangerous man.”
His opposite number is the man who challenged the villains when the heroes first arrived. His hair still has not a strand out of place and Shaddar realizes that the man has used some kind of vain magical spell to always keep looking his best. His strikes a picturesque pose of arrogance and moral superiority. Shaddar feels nauseated just looking at him.
The two men nod to one another in greeting. Then the leader of the villains speaks.
“Alright! This riot will come to order!” Several quiet conversations die out near Shaddar, but the horrible din being made to simulate the sounds of battle continues.
“It has been eight months since our last get-together, Marcelo,” the man continues.
“Correct!” the leader of the heroes replies, “You hosted the purge and we settled a great many matters. And to be quite frank, Flame Albion, the Heroes are glad you called the riot – we were on the verge of proclaiming another purge ourselves. We have business to discuss!”
Flame shakes a fist, “But we called the meeting – so our business with you will be addressed first! We want to know when you are going to do your job? You heroes are supposed to handle rogue villains! You have been so remiss in your duties that there is now a whole band of rogues running around the city!” he snorts in disgust. “Your job, Marcelo. Remember? And instead of stopping them, this pack of rogue villains is free to cause havoc, disrupt commerce, and upset all kinds of clockwork arrangements! While you do nothing…”
Marcelo goes red in the face before his fires back with an angry retort of his own: “Before we deal with your paltry little internal problems with petty crimes, we demand answers of more serious deeds! Why, it seems to us that your entire guild has turned rogue, Flame! When members of your guild commit Murder-Most-Foul in our fair city streets!”
“We never would do that!” Flame bellows, “Cease your slander, at once Marcelo Erasmo!”
“Trying to distract us from your crimes with this weak story of rogue villains! Ha! You’re all liars! Liars!” a member of the Heroes Guild calls from the crowd.
At once the entire center area turns into a seething pit of contention and loud argument. Men on both sides yell out accusations and insults to the other side. Fists are raised and fingers pointed. A few men begin to push each other around angrily. The tone of this meeting has definitely turned ugly.
Shaddar is delighted. If this keeps up, soon these guilds will come to blows!
The trumpets of the Heroes sound once more and the potential melee dies down as both sides quiet to look at Marcelo who is holding his hands up in a placating gesture.
“Gentleman! Gentleman, please! There is only one way to settle which question should be addressed first. The way that the Lords of the city have ordained for us to use in cases like this.” Men begin to nod knowingly and with a bit of excitement.
“Trial by pudding?”
“Yes! Trial by pudding!”
“Bring out the pudding! Pudding, I say!”
Shaddar is dumbfounded. What new lunacy is this?
Huge vats of pudding are brought forth to the cheers of the men on both sides of the argument and champions are selected. While the pudding is slopped onto the ground to form a slippery, sticky patch of dirty custard, the two men who will represent their guilds remove their shoes and their shirts. Then they take padded quarterstaffs in hand and met in the center of the slimed field.
The crowd cheers for their respective champion and Shaddar surmises from the wild and excited thoughts of those around him that the first man to get a mouthful of the dirty pudding will be the loser. The combatants slide and slip around on the pudding like they are standing up in a canoe, while trying to either trip their foe or flip a gob of vile pudding into their opposite’s face. The men around the conflict are excited and laugh every time a spectator gets a splatter of goo on them, with much cursing from the unintended target.
Shaddar’s tentacles hang limp under his disguise – a clear gesture of his absolute astonishment at the antics of these humans. Un… be… lievable…
Bets are soon made, with the villains, of course, acting as the bookies. The heroes look a bit guilty about the vice of gambling, but some evidently feel it is a matter of pride to support their champion with their gold and not just their cheers of support.
In the midst of this spectacle, Shaddar notices a disturbance on the side of the arena that the heroes entered from. A man in bright, shining full plate has ridden onto the field and is cantering up to the confusion of the uncouth and ludicrous pudding-eating contest.
Shaddar notices that even the horse is wearing exceptionally fine, full plate barding that matches the suit worn by the rider. This man plainly looks to be someone important. His weapons look combat-ready and well cared for and the fellow has several of them.
The men part to make way for this figure and even those in the middle of their disgusting pudding battle cease as they notice him. Soon the armored figure reigns his mount to a stop and no one speaks. Even the clang of metal slows and grows quieter, but it does not stop completely.
The man rises the visor on his helm and speaks with disdain.
“What are you doing?”
Marcelo clears his throat before he speaks, “We’re having trial by pudding, sir knight. It is the established way to settle which of two important cases should be heard at a meeting of guilds when they seem of equal importance. Allow me to explain why we can’t decide–”
The knight cuts him off abruptly, “I don’t want to hear your bickering.”
The somewhat hopeful looks on the leaders of both guilds fall at this firm rebuke.
“We heard that you called the riot,” the knight says calmly. “And I know you may have some… minor difficulties that you need to settle. But first, hear the word of the Knights!”
A sort of sigh runs through the crowd at this saying. Even those making noise stop and the sudden silence in the coliseum is startling.
The knight continues, “Someone… in the city… has dared to impersonate… and slander… one of the Lords of the city.”
The thoughts and looks on the faces of every man and woman in the arena is one of stunned disbelief. As if some horrible taboo has been broken or a great tragedy has befallen them.
Marcelo whispers, “Was it a minor infarction, perhaps, sir knight?”
“It was not minor!” the knight bellows, “It would be impossible to imagine a more grievous insult to their pride! I dare not speak of it!”
And the stadium erupts in noise! Shaddar is battered with the noise and fury of the voices of all of the humans, as they talk over one another in a strange array of responses. The emotional range goes from outrage to panic. Some call for vengeance against those who insulted the Lords of the city. Some weep and call out for the gods to be merciful. Some speak in terrified tones of how they can save their families from the wrath that is sure to follow.
The leader of the villains calls for quiet with a pasty complexion and addresses the knight. “I have but one question…” the man is trembling his fear is so great. “What… do the Lords of the city plan to do… in retribution for this outrage?”
The knight’s expression is severe. “Thus far, we, the Knights, have kept them from the knowledge of what has happened.”
A collective sigh of relief runs through the crowd at this news. Some people sit down and begin to fan themselves. Many begin to call out prayers of gratitude.
The knight continues in a grave tone, “I cannot say what will transpire if news of this insult were to reach their ears."
A lone voice calls out in fear from somewhere in the crowd, “But what if one of the Lords of the city is here!? They sometimes walk among us in disguise!” A fearful murmur begins to emerge from the crowd.
The knight holds up one hand and the whispers cease. He slowly wheels his horse around, looking intently at every section of the mob before returning to his original position. Shaddar can feel a tingle of… something. Some kind of magic is being used here.
The knight gives a quick shake of his head. “None of them are here. And now that I have relayed the seriousness of our situation,” he pauses, “we must discuss what is to be done to rectify this problem.”
The faces of the mob look grim. Some of them begin to clean up the pudding mess.
The knight commands, “Tell me what you know that might have bearing on our finding this lunatic before he insults the Lords of the city, yet again! I will take what you know, combine it with the knowledge of the Knights, and direct your efforts to the solution.”
Quickly the leaders of both guilds relate their problems to the knight. The villains talk of violence in the border zone with citizens being left naked and destitute, limping to their homes and not being recognized by their servants. Vile slanders and vicious insults are being bandied about with no restraint. All done in the name of some upstart and unheard of new guild comprised of rogue villains!
“No!”
“Who could such things?”
The heroes then talk about the deaths of constables and the report that the Guild of Villains was responsible. The villains are shocked – having not heard a whisper of this. The heroes bring out their star witness to report on the Murder-Most-Foul. Shaddar recognizes the man as Constable Snook.
“I have had a chance to examine the bodies and let me tell you: it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Snook says with a frown. “Not caused by undead nor by any weapon that I know of. Vile and unnatural, sir knight! The victim’s skulls were melted open and the brains removed.”
Some retching sounds echo across the arena.
“The brains? Gone?” the knight questions with a hint of incredulity.
Constable Snook nods sharply.
“This is unknown to me also,” the knight muses. “I will take this report to the Senior Knights to see if our chapter history records anything like this. Perhaps they can tell us what depraved evil now walks our fair city streets…”
The knight turns to Marcelo and asks, “Have you detected any great evil or powerful undead in any of the street’s alarms?”
“No, sir knight! No undead! And no evil until the villains crossed over during the riot just now!”
Flame speaks up, “Surely you know that the Guild of Villains is not responsible for this.”
The knight nods, a thoughtful expression on his face, “No. None of us did these things. These acts are far outside the established boundaries given to us by the Lords of the city for the proper outlet of all human emotions. This is far beyond the pale. Far beyond all established norms. Periodically some brain-sick soul will snap and go rogue – requiring that the misbehaving, anti-social villain be stopped by the heroes – but this?” He shakes his head. “No. This is something else…”
“Indeed it is,” Shaddar thinks with gleeful malice.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 18 Chapter 20 >
The more senior members of both guilds have gathered in the center of the playing field. Shaddar is near the front of the villain’s side. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this convention.
The leader of the villains is a swarthy man who has a real eye patch, bolted right onto his face. His face has several deep scars and he moves like a man that knows his way around a fight.
“This man may actually live up to the title of villain,” Shaddar thinks, “At least, he is confident that he is a dangerous man.”
His opposite number is the man who challenged the villains when the heroes first arrived. His hair still has not a strand out of place and Shaddar realizes that the man has used some kind of vain magical spell to always keep looking his best. His strikes a picturesque pose of arrogance and moral superiority. Shaddar feels nauseated just looking at him.
The two men nod to one another in greeting. Then the leader of the villains speaks.
“Alright! This riot will come to order!” Several quiet conversations die out near Shaddar, but the horrible din being made to simulate the sounds of battle continues.
“It has been eight months since our last get-together, Marcelo,” the man continues.
“Correct!” the leader of the heroes replies, “You hosted the purge and we settled a great many matters. And to be quite frank, Flame Albion, the Heroes are glad you called the riot – we were on the verge of proclaiming another purge ourselves. We have business to discuss!”
Flame shakes a fist, “But we called the meeting – so our business with you will be addressed first! We want to know when you are going to do your job? You heroes are supposed to handle rogue villains! You have been so remiss in your duties that there is now a whole band of rogues running around the city!” he snorts in disgust. “Your job, Marcelo. Remember? And instead of stopping them, this pack of rogue villains is free to cause havoc, disrupt commerce, and upset all kinds of clockwork arrangements! While you do nothing…”
Marcelo goes red in the face before his fires back with an angry retort of his own: “Before we deal with your paltry little internal problems with petty crimes, we demand answers of more serious deeds! Why, it seems to us that your entire guild has turned rogue, Flame! When members of your guild commit Murder-Most-Foul in our fair city streets!”
“We never would do that!” Flame bellows, “Cease your slander, at once Marcelo Erasmo!”
“Trying to distract us from your crimes with this weak story of rogue villains! Ha! You’re all liars! Liars!” a member of the Heroes Guild calls from the crowd.
At once the entire center area turns into a seething pit of contention and loud argument. Men on both sides yell out accusations and insults to the other side. Fists are raised and fingers pointed. A few men begin to push each other around angrily. The tone of this meeting has definitely turned ugly.
Shaddar is delighted. If this keeps up, soon these guilds will come to blows!
The trumpets of the Heroes sound once more and the potential melee dies down as both sides quiet to look at Marcelo who is holding his hands up in a placating gesture.
“Gentleman! Gentleman, please! There is only one way to settle which question should be addressed first. The way that the Lords of the city have ordained for us to use in cases like this.” Men begin to nod knowingly and with a bit of excitement.
“Trial by pudding?”
“Yes! Trial by pudding!”
“Bring out the pudding! Pudding, I say!”
Shaddar is dumbfounded. What new lunacy is this?
Huge vats of pudding are brought forth to the cheers of the men on both sides of the argument and champions are selected. While the pudding is slopped onto the ground to form a slippery, sticky patch of dirty custard, the two men who will represent their guilds remove their shoes and their shirts. Then they take padded quarterstaffs in hand and met in the center of the slimed field.
The crowd cheers for their respective champion and Shaddar surmises from the wild and excited thoughts of those around him that the first man to get a mouthful of the dirty pudding will be the loser. The combatants slide and slip around on the pudding like they are standing up in a canoe, while trying to either trip their foe or flip a gob of vile pudding into their opposite’s face. The men around the conflict are excited and laugh every time a spectator gets a splatter of goo on them, with much cursing from the unintended target.
Shaddar’s tentacles hang limp under his disguise – a clear gesture of his absolute astonishment at the antics of these humans. Un… be… lievable…
Bets are soon made, with the villains, of course, acting as the bookies. The heroes look a bit guilty about the vice of gambling, but some evidently feel it is a matter of pride to support their champion with their gold and not just their cheers of support.
In the midst of this spectacle, Shaddar notices a disturbance on the side of the arena that the heroes entered from. A man in bright, shining full plate has ridden onto the field and is cantering up to the confusion of the uncouth and ludicrous pudding-eating contest.
Shaddar notices that even the horse is wearing exceptionally fine, full plate barding that matches the suit worn by the rider. This man plainly looks to be someone important. His weapons look combat-ready and well cared for and the fellow has several of them.
The men part to make way for this figure and even those in the middle of their disgusting pudding battle cease as they notice him. Soon the armored figure reigns his mount to a stop and no one speaks. Even the clang of metal slows and grows quieter, but it does not stop completely.
The man rises the visor on his helm and speaks with disdain.
“What are you doing?”
Marcelo clears his throat before he speaks, “We’re having trial by pudding, sir knight. It is the established way to settle which of two important cases should be heard at a meeting of guilds when they seem of equal importance. Allow me to explain why we can’t decide–”
The knight cuts him off abruptly, “I don’t want to hear your bickering.”
The somewhat hopeful looks on the leaders of both guilds fall at this firm rebuke.
“We heard that you called the riot,” the knight says calmly. “And I know you may have some… minor difficulties that you need to settle. But first, hear the word of the Knights!”
A sort of sigh runs through the crowd at this saying. Even those making noise stop and the sudden silence in the coliseum is startling.
The knight continues, “Someone… in the city… has dared to impersonate… and slander… one of the Lords of the city.”
The thoughts and looks on the faces of every man and woman in the arena is one of stunned disbelief. As if some horrible taboo has been broken or a great tragedy has befallen them.
Marcelo whispers, “Was it a minor infarction, perhaps, sir knight?”
“It was not minor!” the knight bellows, “It would be impossible to imagine a more grievous insult to their pride! I dare not speak of it!”
And the stadium erupts in noise! Shaddar is battered with the noise and fury of the voices of all of the humans, as they talk over one another in a strange array of responses. The emotional range goes from outrage to panic. Some call for vengeance against those who insulted the Lords of the city. Some weep and call out for the gods to be merciful. Some speak in terrified tones of how they can save their families from the wrath that is sure to follow.
The leader of the villains calls for quiet with a pasty complexion and addresses the knight. “I have but one question…” the man is trembling his fear is so great. “What… do the Lords of the city plan to do… in retribution for this outrage?”
The knight’s expression is severe. “Thus far, we, the Knights, have kept them from the knowledge of what has happened.”
A collective sigh of relief runs through the crowd at this news. Some people sit down and begin to fan themselves. Many begin to call out prayers of gratitude.
The knight continues in a grave tone, “I cannot say what will transpire if news of this insult were to reach their ears."
A lone voice calls out in fear from somewhere in the crowd, “But what if one of the Lords of the city is here!? They sometimes walk among us in disguise!” A fearful murmur begins to emerge from the crowd.
The knight holds up one hand and the whispers cease. He slowly wheels his horse around, looking intently at every section of the mob before returning to his original position. Shaddar can feel a tingle of… something. Some kind of magic is being used here.
The knight gives a quick shake of his head. “None of them are here. And now that I have relayed the seriousness of our situation,” he pauses, “we must discuss what is to be done to rectify this problem.”
The faces of the mob look grim. Some of them begin to clean up the pudding mess.
The knight commands, “Tell me what you know that might have bearing on our finding this lunatic before he insults the Lords of the city, yet again! I will take what you know, combine it with the knowledge of the Knights, and direct your efforts to the solution.”
Quickly the leaders of both guilds relate their problems to the knight. The villains talk of violence in the border zone with citizens being left naked and destitute, limping to their homes and not being recognized by their servants. Vile slanders and vicious insults are being bandied about with no restraint. All done in the name of some upstart and unheard of new guild comprised of rogue villains!
“No!”
“Who could such things?”
The heroes then talk about the deaths of constables and the report that the Guild of Villains was responsible. The villains are shocked – having not heard a whisper of this. The heroes bring out their star witness to report on the Murder-Most-Foul. Shaddar recognizes the man as Constable Snook.
“I have had a chance to examine the bodies and let me tell you: it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Snook says with a frown. “Not caused by undead nor by any weapon that I know of. Vile and unnatural, sir knight! The victim’s skulls were melted open and the brains removed.”
Some retching sounds echo across the arena.
“The brains? Gone?” the knight questions with a hint of incredulity.
Constable Snook nods sharply.
“This is unknown to me also,” the knight muses. “I will take this report to the Senior Knights to see if our chapter history records anything like this. Perhaps they can tell us what depraved evil now walks our fair city streets…”
The knight turns to Marcelo and asks, “Have you detected any great evil or powerful undead in any of the street’s alarms?”
“No, sir knight! No undead! And no evil until the villains crossed over during the riot just now!”
Flame speaks up, “Surely you know that the Guild of Villains is not responsible for this.”
The knight nods, a thoughtful expression on his face, “No. None of us did these things. These acts are far outside the established boundaries given to us by the Lords of the city for the proper outlet of all human emotions. This is far beyond the pale. Far beyond all established norms. Periodically some brain-sick soul will snap and go rogue – requiring that the misbehaving, anti-social villain be stopped by the heroes – but this?” He shakes his head. “No. This is something else…”
“Indeed it is,” Shaddar thinks with gleeful malice.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 18 Chapter 20 >
Crossover - Chapter 18
Since Hawke seems to know quite a bit about the true meaning of these ‘riots’, Shaddar decides to ask him more about what he knows.
Shaddar strides into the main hall and walks over to the barkeep as he works to shutter the windows on the ground floor. His thoughts are filled with curses at the ill luck that has brought such bad times to his life.
“First the Boss – I curse the day he walked into me pub – and now a riot! What can go wrong next?” Hawke is thinking bitterly.
“If there’s going to be a battle, do you think the constables will take part?” Shaddar asks as a way of focusing the man’s words and thoughts.
“Don’t know much about that,” Hawke grumbles. His thoughts change direction as Shaddar wished: “What a hayseed! He doesn’t know anything! All the constables do is make sure that nobody is around. Their job is just crowd control. Constables don’t fight! Particularly around the point of the meeting! I wonder where they’re going to meet up this time? I know it’s the heroes’ turn to host…”
“Where will the final battle take place between the villains and the heroes, do you think?” Shaddar asks, “I’d like to know so I can witness it.”
“Witness it?!” Hawke stops working and his face twists into a look of uncomprehending shock.
“Why, yes.”
“You don’t witness a riot! Not unless you’re a part of the main event!”
“Ah! So it will be in some private setting? They will quarrel in a place where none can see the turmoil of their mighty combat?”
“Of course! You’ll hear it, sure enough! Makes enough noise to rouse the dead, but you’ll be indoors when it happens. All proper folk are.”
“I see,” Shaddar murmurs. “And what if I do not consider myself to be ‘proper folk’?” he thinks.
Hawke snorts and begins working again. His thoughts are now focused on many interesting details about the upcoming riot. He believes that what will happen is that the villains will pour out of the slums, sweeping through the border zone, and then invade part of the streets. Then they will converge on some large and easy-to-secure meeting place in order to meet with the heroes.
“Could be the Market Square or even the Grande Circus this time. I suppose it depends on how large the gathering is to be,” Hawke thinks.
Shaddar decides that there will be enough confusion in the border zones as the mob passes by for him to slip in behind it. And his own skill at disguise will allow him to blend in easily; after all, he has seen the dark cloaks that the villains wore when he visited the slums yesterday. Following such a noisy and raucous group should pose him no difficulty.
He goes upstairs to dress for the occasion and to wait for the riot’s loud beginning.
And loud it is! Within the hour, a dull roar is heard echoing down the alleyways of the border zone as the mob of villains surges into the border zones. A few shrieks and cries from those who didn’t hear the rumors are evident as well, but these sounds are few and far between. The grapevine must be very effective.
Shaddar slips out the back door when most of them have passed by and enters the tail end of the swirling mob.
There are villains dressed as Shaddar is, shifty and dark, but there are others as well, that Shaddar has not seen before. Brawlers with huge brass knuckles, duelists with studded leather and thin rapiers, and burglars wearing small black masks over their eyes. If they weren’t ripping up the brickwork and throwing stones through unshuttered windows, Shaddar would think it was a costume party of tired, dusty cliches.
Shaddar looks down the alley where the mob has come from and sees a huge mess. Wreckage and trash everywhere – a distinct contrast to the normal, pristine shape that the city stays in. This is most likely quite horrible for the citizens to see after the fact.
“Proof of their villainy, I assume,” Shaddar thinks, while shaking his head, “And much work for the slave races to repair and clean up, I note.”
Muffled screams come from every building that the villains pass as they bang on the doors and walls with sticks and rocks, screaming at the tops of their lungs with wide grins on their faces. Their thoughts are filled with glee at the fear they are causing those who live here. How juvenile.
Then they enter the streets.
The streets are beautiful. Marble stonework. Statues that are adorned with gold trim. Finely polished, hand-crafted wooden rails. Huge, painted murals and frescos on the walls of some building give color to the area, but in a gaudy, over-done manner.
The scale of the streets is even larger than that of the slums. Massively wide roads that are paved with perfectly fitted cobblestones of a variety of colors – forming huge mosaics that can really only be seen in their entirety from the top floors of the soaring and graceful buildings in the center of each city block. The building exteriors are much more ornate with many fine details added around windows and doors than any Shaddar has seen in the city thus far.
Neat rows of alternating trees and elegant lampposts line each side of the street. The lampposts look like massive tusks of ivory from some monstrous animal with a glowing sphere that looks like a pearl or an egg at the top of each pole that glows softly, even in the daylight. Shaddar notices that each pair of lamps that a villain passes between flares with a brighter pulse of light.
“A warning system of some kind, perhaps? Interesting.”
The wonton destruction is carried forward into the streets as well, with statues being toppled and defaced, the cobblestones torn up and heaved through shop windows, and other wild acts of vandalism. The citizens within the buildings here are screaming just as loudly as those of the border zones – many of them praying to the Lords of the city and the heroes for deliverance.
Clearly, the streets are home to the upper classes and wealthy, while the working and middle classes live in the slums. But none of the citizens live in what Shaddar would imagine is poverty no matter which side of the border zone they live on. The only folk in Big City that do are apparently the hobgoblin and drow slave races.
Shaddar looks up and down the street to see several other alley entrances into the border zone are disgorging their own collection of villains. The villains now begin to congregate and work in conjunction with each other to cause some major property damage. Trees are uprooted and lit on fire in the middle of the street. A vendors cart is dumped over and smashed to bits, the contents looted quickly.
“Yes, yes. Very pretty. But to what end is this orgy of ruin?” Shaddar thinks impatiently.
Shaddar sees that the news that spread so effectively in the border zone must not have covered as much ground here, for he sees a group of fleeing citizens. A thin line of constables stand between the people and the villains. Shaddar moves closer to this line, hoping that the conflict will now begin in earnest.
He is disappointed. Instead the constables grapple with the villains in a exaggerated display of struggle.
“Flee! We shall hold them off while you escape!” one of the constables screams. These words cause the people who were rooted with fear to turn and run madly away.
Soon, the constables and villains cease grappling with one another with nods and laughing jeers. The villains all begin to move in one direction, with the ring of constables encircling them and ensuring that no stray civilians wander into the fray. Some constables wave their arms in the direction to the flow in the manner of those who are directing traffic.
“These fellows are all in this together!” Shaddar thinks with disbelief. From the minds of some of those around him, Shaddar discovers that they are indeed going to the Grande Circus – a sort of sporting arena.
Shaddar does not have long to wonder as to what it might look like as it is suddenly in view. It is a vast coliseum that is easily 1000 feet wide and 200 feet tall. It has a strange golden bar running around the upper tier, whose purpose Shaddar can only guess at. The tall arches that ring its four levels are graceful and fantastic works of art in their own right.
The villains stream into the entrance and enter the stands. Shaddar is equally impressed with the interior. There must be over 60,000 seats in this facility! Unlike what he would expect, the cheaper seats seem to be the ones closest to the center arena, with the finer seating areas placed near the top. Most impressive are the acoustics of the bowl-shaped space. The roar of the mob is magnified twenty-fold inside the arena and Shaddar can well imagine that the entire city can hear the hoots and yells of the mob from here. Some villains have ripped some of the seats loose and carry them all the way to the top in order to heave them down to the streets below.
On the opposite side of the stadium, Shaddar is relieved to see what must be the Guild of Heroes arrive. He was worried for a moment that Hawke’s thoughts were a fanciful and incorrect surmise on his part. The gleaming scale armor and snapping pendants of heroes are quite in contrast with the dour and scruffy-looking villains. A quartet of heroes blows a martial blast from trumpets and the villains go still.
One man steps forward, his hair perfectly coiffed and a huge smile of fine teeth on display. “We are the heroes! Where is the trouble?” His words echo across the field and presumably, up over the wall.
“Over there! Villains are rioting!” a shill from his band calls out.
“Never fear! We shall do battle and set things right! At them, men!” The two mobs of humans charge at each other with a clamorous noise, but they stop before they actually come into contact with each other. Instead, men all around the arena begin banging pots and metal bars together to make a horrible sound of metal-on-metal, screaming at the tops of their lungs all the while. The sound is awful and seems never-ending, but it is all just a show – just misdirection.
“This place… it’s as if they are all completely insane,” Shaddar thinks with disbelief. He pushes forward through the throng to gain a place near the meeting of the two obvious leaders of the respective Heroes and Villains. He doesn’t want to miss a single word of this outrageous and unbelievable drama!
Chapter 1 < Chapter 17 Chapter 19 >
Shaddar strides into the main hall and walks over to the barkeep as he works to shutter the windows on the ground floor. His thoughts are filled with curses at the ill luck that has brought such bad times to his life.
“First the Boss – I curse the day he walked into me pub – and now a riot! What can go wrong next?” Hawke is thinking bitterly.
“If there’s going to be a battle, do you think the constables will take part?” Shaddar asks as a way of focusing the man’s words and thoughts.
“Don’t know much about that,” Hawke grumbles. His thoughts change direction as Shaddar wished: “What a hayseed! He doesn’t know anything! All the constables do is make sure that nobody is around. Their job is just crowd control. Constables don’t fight! Particularly around the point of the meeting! I wonder where they’re going to meet up this time? I know it’s the heroes’ turn to host…”
“Where will the final battle take place between the villains and the heroes, do you think?” Shaddar asks, “I’d like to know so I can witness it.”
“Witness it?!” Hawke stops working and his face twists into a look of uncomprehending shock.
“Why, yes.”
“You don’t witness a riot! Not unless you’re a part of the main event!”
“Ah! So it will be in some private setting? They will quarrel in a place where none can see the turmoil of their mighty combat?”
“Of course! You’ll hear it, sure enough! Makes enough noise to rouse the dead, but you’ll be indoors when it happens. All proper folk are.”
“I see,” Shaddar murmurs. “And what if I do not consider myself to be ‘proper folk’?” he thinks.
Hawke snorts and begins working again. His thoughts are now focused on many interesting details about the upcoming riot. He believes that what will happen is that the villains will pour out of the slums, sweeping through the border zone, and then invade part of the streets. Then they will converge on some large and easy-to-secure meeting place in order to meet with the heroes.
“Could be the Market Square or even the Grande Circus this time. I suppose it depends on how large the gathering is to be,” Hawke thinks.
Shaddar decides that there will be enough confusion in the border zones as the mob passes by for him to slip in behind it. And his own skill at disguise will allow him to blend in easily; after all, he has seen the dark cloaks that the villains wore when he visited the slums yesterday. Following such a noisy and raucous group should pose him no difficulty.
He goes upstairs to dress for the occasion and to wait for the riot’s loud beginning.
And loud it is! Within the hour, a dull roar is heard echoing down the alleyways of the border zone as the mob of villains surges into the border zones. A few shrieks and cries from those who didn’t hear the rumors are evident as well, but these sounds are few and far between. The grapevine must be very effective.
Shaddar slips out the back door when most of them have passed by and enters the tail end of the swirling mob.
There are villains dressed as Shaddar is, shifty and dark, but there are others as well, that Shaddar has not seen before. Brawlers with huge brass knuckles, duelists with studded leather and thin rapiers, and burglars wearing small black masks over their eyes. If they weren’t ripping up the brickwork and throwing stones through unshuttered windows, Shaddar would think it was a costume party of tired, dusty cliches.
Shaddar looks down the alley where the mob has come from and sees a huge mess. Wreckage and trash everywhere – a distinct contrast to the normal, pristine shape that the city stays in. This is most likely quite horrible for the citizens to see after the fact.
“Proof of their villainy, I assume,” Shaddar thinks, while shaking his head, “And much work for the slave races to repair and clean up, I note.”
Muffled screams come from every building that the villains pass as they bang on the doors and walls with sticks and rocks, screaming at the tops of their lungs with wide grins on their faces. Their thoughts are filled with glee at the fear they are causing those who live here. How juvenile.
Then they enter the streets.
The streets are beautiful. Marble stonework. Statues that are adorned with gold trim. Finely polished, hand-crafted wooden rails. Huge, painted murals and frescos on the walls of some building give color to the area, but in a gaudy, over-done manner.
The scale of the streets is even larger than that of the slums. Massively wide roads that are paved with perfectly fitted cobblestones of a variety of colors – forming huge mosaics that can really only be seen in their entirety from the top floors of the soaring and graceful buildings in the center of each city block. The building exteriors are much more ornate with many fine details added around windows and doors than any Shaddar has seen in the city thus far.
Neat rows of alternating trees and elegant lampposts line each side of the street. The lampposts look like massive tusks of ivory from some monstrous animal with a glowing sphere that looks like a pearl or an egg at the top of each pole that glows softly, even in the daylight. Shaddar notices that each pair of lamps that a villain passes between flares with a brighter pulse of light.
“A warning system of some kind, perhaps? Interesting.”
The wonton destruction is carried forward into the streets as well, with statues being toppled and defaced, the cobblestones torn up and heaved through shop windows, and other wild acts of vandalism. The citizens within the buildings here are screaming just as loudly as those of the border zones – many of them praying to the Lords of the city and the heroes for deliverance.
Clearly, the streets are home to the upper classes and wealthy, while the working and middle classes live in the slums. But none of the citizens live in what Shaddar would imagine is poverty no matter which side of the border zone they live on. The only folk in Big City that do are apparently the hobgoblin and drow slave races.
Shaddar looks up and down the street to see several other alley entrances into the border zone are disgorging their own collection of villains. The villains now begin to congregate and work in conjunction with each other to cause some major property damage. Trees are uprooted and lit on fire in the middle of the street. A vendors cart is dumped over and smashed to bits, the contents looted quickly.
“Yes, yes. Very pretty. But to what end is this orgy of ruin?” Shaddar thinks impatiently.
Shaddar sees that the news that spread so effectively in the border zone must not have covered as much ground here, for he sees a group of fleeing citizens. A thin line of constables stand between the people and the villains. Shaddar moves closer to this line, hoping that the conflict will now begin in earnest.
He is disappointed. Instead the constables grapple with the villains in a exaggerated display of struggle.
“Flee! We shall hold them off while you escape!” one of the constables screams. These words cause the people who were rooted with fear to turn and run madly away.
Soon, the constables and villains cease grappling with one another with nods and laughing jeers. The villains all begin to move in one direction, with the ring of constables encircling them and ensuring that no stray civilians wander into the fray. Some constables wave their arms in the direction to the flow in the manner of those who are directing traffic.
“These fellows are all in this together!” Shaddar thinks with disbelief. From the minds of some of those around him, Shaddar discovers that they are indeed going to the Grande Circus – a sort of sporting arena.
Shaddar does not have long to wonder as to what it might look like as it is suddenly in view. It is a vast coliseum that is easily 1000 feet wide and 200 feet tall. It has a strange golden bar running around the upper tier, whose purpose Shaddar can only guess at. The tall arches that ring its four levels are graceful and fantastic works of art in their own right.
The villains stream into the entrance and enter the stands. Shaddar is equally impressed with the interior. There must be over 60,000 seats in this facility! Unlike what he would expect, the cheaper seats seem to be the ones closest to the center arena, with the finer seating areas placed near the top. Most impressive are the acoustics of the bowl-shaped space. The roar of the mob is magnified twenty-fold inside the arena and Shaddar can well imagine that the entire city can hear the hoots and yells of the mob from here. Some villains have ripped some of the seats loose and carry them all the way to the top in order to heave them down to the streets below.
On the opposite side of the stadium, Shaddar is relieved to see what must be the Guild of Heroes arrive. He was worried for a moment that Hawke’s thoughts were a fanciful and incorrect surmise on his part. The gleaming scale armor and snapping pendants of heroes are quite in contrast with the dour and scruffy-looking villains. A quartet of heroes blows a martial blast from trumpets and the villains go still.
One man steps forward, his hair perfectly coiffed and a huge smile of fine teeth on display. “We are the heroes! Where is the trouble?” His words echo across the field and presumably, up over the wall.
“Over there! Villains are rioting!” a shill from his band calls out.
“Never fear! We shall do battle and set things right! At them, men!” The two mobs of humans charge at each other with a clamorous noise, but they stop before they actually come into contact with each other. Instead, men all around the arena begin banging pots and metal bars together to make a horrible sound of metal-on-metal, screaming at the tops of their lungs all the while. The sound is awful and seems never-ending, but it is all just a show – just misdirection.
“This place… it’s as if they are all completely insane,” Shaddar thinks with disbelief. He pushes forward through the throng to gain a place near the meeting of the two obvious leaders of the respective Heroes and Villains. He doesn’t want to miss a single word of this outrageous and unbelievable drama!
Chapter 1 < Chapter 17 Chapter 19 >
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Crossover - Chapter 17
Hawke is steaming mad. Shaddar listens in on some of his thoughts for a moment, “Even Jorin and Bort are different! Never seen those lads rush off to do their ‘work’, but now they act as though there’s a fire lit in their britches. No more lazy morning conversation where I get to insult them with subtlety? Mist take it! Me and Widow Cottondur loved laughin’ about that every day. And now even that wee bit of fun is taken from me… The Boss has turned my whole life upside-down!”
Shaddar summons his thralls to his room. Soon they stand before him and he gives them their orders for the day.
Shaddar will go shopping at some of the large and bustling marketplaces that he saw during his short jaunt into the slums. Cutt will accompany him. Shaddar is certain that he and his thralls ‘almost’ fit in with the rest of the bizarre entertainers that work in the slums, so he is confident that they can walk openly there. The streets would be a different matter entirely…
Cutt is pleased by this plan. He begins to mentally review what he needs to find: glassblowing tools, beakers, hoses, mortars and pestles, bottles, jars, a good supply of cork, small lamps, and many of the other strange devices that Shaddar is unfamiliar with. No matter, he will acquire whatever is required to properly outfit his thrall with supplies that will make the gnome a more efficient worker.
Loolipo will look for herbalists for strange substances and reagents for Cutt’s alchemical lab.
She is a bit confused with this task: “You want me to bring the contents of herb shops here? Fine. Should I purchase these items or do you want me to rob them?”
“Purchase goods? Certainly not! You have the skills: take what you think we might need in whatever way suits you.”
“Might need some muscle to handle any humans that don’t like me emptying their shops, master. Can Toothsnatcher come with me to help carry the stuff and crunch some heads?” Her thoughts are filled with cowardice and worry about shopkeepers who have employed tough guards or anti-theft magics.
Shaddar is annoyed. “No, no! I don’t need you to clear out entire shelves of inventory! Just slip items into your pocket unobserved – gather a broad sample of items from many shops. Keep track of which items came from where and return here. Cutt will examine what you have found and we can decide then which stores need to be re-visited. Evaluate how easy each shop will be to break into as well, just in case we need to make a large withdrawal later.”
Loolipo is quite happy with this assignment and seems to comprehend what is desired. At last!
Shaddar orders Toothsnatcher to remain in the meadhall and ensure that nothing untoward happens. Should anyone be seen by a human, then the minotaur is to hold those humans prisoner until Shaddar returns to deal with the problem. When things are dull, he is instructed to work with the hobgoblins in a series of strength-building exercises – focusing on repairing Shaddar’s room.
“Get the weak and flabby ones in shape! Once the ladies go home, you and Kug will begin clearing the patio and begin practicing combat skills,” Shaddar commands. Toothsnatcher grunts in acceptance of his orders.
The drow artisan, Masaxle, knocks on Shaddar’s door. He looks almost feverish and claims that he will be busy all day on his drawings – all he needs is more paper and charcoals.
“I’m running out, Avatar! Every scrap of paper in the room is fast being turned into a drawing and stuck onto one wall! It is a most glorious sight!”
Shaddar promises to get him the supplies he needs and Masaxle rushes back to his room to continue with this work.
Masaxle passes Halvyr on the stairs and Shaddar can sense that the weasel-y hobgoblin Tegoz is on his way downstairs as well. He can tell from both of their thoughts that they will want to leave the meadhall right away. For different reasons, of course.
“Your worshipfulness!” Halvyr says softly.
Shaddar manages to stop Halvyr from falling to his face again. He instructs him quietly, “Such abasement is unworthy of my high priest, Halvyr! Save that for our acolytes…”
“Of course, your worshipfulness!” Halvyr nods happily, his thoughts filled with his eagerness to spread the glorious word of the coming of his worshipfulness – the long-lost god of the drow!
Tegoz reaches the second floor and comes into view. He has a black eye and a split lip – both of which look fairly recently acquired.
“What happened, my friend?” Shaddar asks with mock concern.
“Oh, nothing. I just slipped on the stairs,” the hobgoblin mumbles unconvincingly.
Tegoz insists that he be allowed to leave the meadhall at once – citing his sick mother that he must take food to each day or she will starve.
Shaddar looks from Tegoz to Halvyr and back again. “Yes. I sense that both of you have important tasks to complete this day. Use the back entrance and avoid being seen. Go with my blessings, children!”
Halvyr bows with a look of adoration before turning to go down to the first floor.
Tegoz hesitates at this strange-sounding benediction. His thoughts are filled with strange surmises – none of them even close to reality. Eventually the shifty-looking hobgoblin turns and follows Halvyr.
Shaddar is glad to see the back of him and allows him to depart with his variety of misinformation and false beliefs. He follows their thoughts to confirm that they go downstairs and exit the building. Soon both will be reporting to their respective racial leaders. Excellent.
He is sure that Evicurra will spend the whole day trying on dresses and relaxing, which is fine. The three hobgoblins from the brothel, Kodarm, Zoda, and Grunda are still asleep, but Toothsnatcher will put them and Kug to work soon enough.
Satisfied that everyone under his command is doing something that is useful to him, Shaddar is ready to be about his own business. He dismisses Toothsnatcher and motions with his tentacles for the other two thralls to follow him.
Shaddar, Cutt, and Loolipo exit the meadhall the back way. Shaddar asks Loolipo if she has opened the scrollcase. She has not! She needs to obtain some smaller lockpicks – hers are too big to work the tiny tumblers that she says are made of adamantine. This is an acceptable excuse for her delay. They remain together as a group until they reach the edge of the slums at which time Loolipo veers off to visit her first stop of the day.
Shaddar and Cutt wander through the marketplaces, getting many odd looks. They are dressed as entertainers, and are shopping for very odd items.
Those from whom he buys goods are courteous enough. The first shopkeeper’s thoughts are instructive: “A freak with gold is hardly a freak at all!”
Cutt is quite pleased to select several pieces of lead tubing, wire flask frames, and small pots and kettles. The gnome acts completely maniacal as he hops around the shop, pointing at various items and making happy exclamations.
“This! And that! Oh, yes! I’ll need all of these! Hey, you! Yes, you! Put that down! That’s mine! I’m buying it all! Ha-ha-ha!”
“Oi! Don’t chase off my other customers! I must serve them as well!”
“Not today, you won’t,” Shaddar says as he carelessly slides a handful of fat gems across the counter. Cutt giggles and kicks a customer who is moving out the door too slowly in the rump, before he turns to continue selecting the tools of his trade.
“That’s right! Begone! He’s closin’ early! Hee-hee! All mine! Mine! Ooo! Look at the quality of these rubber stoppers! Oh, where have you been all my life, you beauties?”
When gnome finishes his selection and the shopkeeper is satisfied with the price he has been paid, they turn to leave. Cutt’s happy mood is jerked out from under him when Shaddar indicates that the small gnome is to carry the heavy load of all of the items he so gleefully selected just moments before.
Shaddar is indignant that the gnome would even dare to think that he would help carry things. “I’m not going to carry that. Don’t put on airs, slave!”
At an open-air pavilion, Shaddar forces the gnome to buy some ridiculous thigh-high leather boots as well. The gnome is quite unhappy about having to haul a heavy weight of goods around while he breaks in a new pair of boots, but Shaddar has no sympathy for the travails of a mere thrall. Unfortunately it is pointless to look for boots to fit either Loolipo of Toothsnatcher. They both walk barefoot on tough, webbed flippers or cloven hooves – no one makes boots for their type of foot!
“Come along, Cutt! Lots of stores still to visit!”
Huff! Puff! “Yes, master! Coming, master!” Ooof!
Shaddar picks up a large stack of parchment and a new box of charcoals for Masaxle. He stuffs them into a gap between the sacks on the gnome’s back and they continue shopping.
Sadly, the load of materials quickly outstrips the gnome’s capacity for hauling. After only a few hours and with a mere 120 pounds of goods, the little gnome is barely visible under the stack of parcels, bags, and pipes he has lashed to his body. His throaty wheezing is becoming tiresome to listen to as well.
“I suppose he is packing more than his own body weight and I do hate to walk so slowly.” Shaddar decides that it will be more effective to walk back to the meadhall, drop off what they have found so far, and then go back out for another load.
It takes much too long, from Shaddar’s perspective, to reach their new home.
When they do finally arrive back at the Jester and Hawk Meadhall, Shaddar is amazed to see that Jorin and Bort have already returned. Shaddar is most annoyed. Why are they not out working?
“Oh, thank goodness!” Bort breathes when he sees him.
“Boss!” Jorin says loudly, “There’s been some news. We came back as soon as we heard it, but you had gone.” He pauses with a worried look on his face.
“Well?” Shaddar says, “Report!”
“Word on the street is that the villains are going to riot,” Jorin says in hushed tones.
“Interesting,” Shaddar thinks with a trace of excitement.
“Rioting against whom?” Shaddar asks.
“Well, the streets, of course.”
“Do you mean the Guild of Villains is going to march into the streets and cause havoc? Has this ever happened before?”
“Oh, yes!” Bort says with worry, “It’s terrible.”
“Yeah, when the villains riot, it turns into huge battle between them and the heroes!” Jorin continues.
“It’s so scary!” Bort shudders.
“Luckily, word always seems to get out that the Guild is planning to riot ahead of time. Usually the constables come out in force to help protect regular folk and keep them out of it. They keep people safe.”
“But there’s damage,” Bort adds.
Jorin nods vigorously. “Sure is. Lots of damage during a riot. It’s a major disaster whenever one happens – most of the city’ll shut down and people’ll barricade themselves indoors. Lock all the window shutters and stay away from the windows, too.”
Hawke has overheard part of this conversation and calls from the main room, “What’s that you’re sayin’? A riot?!”
Female shrieking ensues from various locations of the meadhall.
“A riot? A riot! Eeek!”
“Villains rushing about with no restraint? Oh, mother! I feel faint…”
“Oh, Mr. Hawke, we’ve all got to go home and hide! Right away!”
“Yes, yes, you run along home, then,” Hawke says to the three woman. Shaddar is most interested in his thoughts, which are not fearful in the least, despite his tone of voice.
“A riot? I wonder why the villains and heroes need to get together and talk?” Hawke thinks.
Shaddar is now wholly intrigued. “Not a civil uprising at all, then? This merely is a method for the two guilds to hold a parley? Ah! I wonder what new developments have occurred in the past 24 hours to require them to meet? I may have to attend their meeting to find out if I am a topic of conversation.”
“Word is that the riot is going to start at noon,” Jorin continues his report of the alarming rumor that they have heard, “We can’t do what you wanted us to today – the whole city will be shutting down in another hour!”
Bort notices that there is only one pair of legs under the huge collection of packages standing quite unsteadily nearby. He looks past Shaddar down the alley as he asks, “Isn’t Loolipo with you, Boss? Toothsnatcher said you three left together.”
Jorin pales, “Oh, no. Poor Loolipo… She’s going to get caught in the middle of the riot? I can’t handle the thought of that.”
Bort and Jorin begin backing up to the stairs. Bort continues speaking as Jorin now looks quite ill, “We’ll just be hiding in our room then. Sorry about your mate, but we can’t risk being out in the mess of a riot!”
“Hiding in our room?” Jorin says faintly, “I’ll be hiding under me bed!”
Shaddar can barely tolerate the stink of their cowardice. He is glad to see them run up the stairs.
“Master,” Cutt calls weakly in a thin and muffled voice, “may I unload these packages now?”
“Do as you wish,” Shaddar broadcasts with little focus. He barely notices when the gnome falls over with a gasp and begins to wriggle around in an attempt to extract himself from his ensnaring burden. Shaddar is too busy thinking about this new and unexpected turn of events.
Widow Cottondur and her daughters run from the meadhall and Shaddar hears Hawke lock the front door behind them. There is a sense of panic in most of the human thoughts that he can detect around him. But not from Hawke. He is still pondering as to what might have caused the need for an “all-hands, guild-to-guild meeting”.
“Should I make an appearance at this ‘riot’? I could disguise myself as a cloaked villain easily enough, but do I want to lower myself to such an appearance?” Shaddar wonders, “If Loolipo were back I might send her – she could sneak into the meeting with little trouble, I’m sure. But she is following my orders out in the city and is not available. Hmmm…”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 16 Chapter 18 >
Shaddar summons his thralls to his room. Soon they stand before him and he gives them their orders for the day.
Shaddar will go shopping at some of the large and bustling marketplaces that he saw during his short jaunt into the slums. Cutt will accompany him. Shaddar is certain that he and his thralls ‘almost’ fit in with the rest of the bizarre entertainers that work in the slums, so he is confident that they can walk openly there. The streets would be a different matter entirely…
Cutt is pleased by this plan. He begins to mentally review what he needs to find: glassblowing tools, beakers, hoses, mortars and pestles, bottles, jars, a good supply of cork, small lamps, and many of the other strange devices that Shaddar is unfamiliar with. No matter, he will acquire whatever is required to properly outfit his thrall with supplies that will make the gnome a more efficient worker.
Loolipo will look for herbalists for strange substances and reagents for Cutt’s alchemical lab.
She is a bit confused with this task: “You want me to bring the contents of herb shops here? Fine. Should I purchase these items or do you want me to rob them?”
“Purchase goods? Certainly not! You have the skills: take what you think we might need in whatever way suits you.”
“Might need some muscle to handle any humans that don’t like me emptying their shops, master. Can Toothsnatcher come with me to help carry the stuff and crunch some heads?” Her thoughts are filled with cowardice and worry about shopkeepers who have employed tough guards or anti-theft magics.
Shaddar is annoyed. “No, no! I don’t need you to clear out entire shelves of inventory! Just slip items into your pocket unobserved – gather a broad sample of items from many shops. Keep track of which items came from where and return here. Cutt will examine what you have found and we can decide then which stores need to be re-visited. Evaluate how easy each shop will be to break into as well, just in case we need to make a large withdrawal later.”
Loolipo is quite happy with this assignment and seems to comprehend what is desired. At last!
Shaddar orders Toothsnatcher to remain in the meadhall and ensure that nothing untoward happens. Should anyone be seen by a human, then the minotaur is to hold those humans prisoner until Shaddar returns to deal with the problem. When things are dull, he is instructed to work with the hobgoblins in a series of strength-building exercises – focusing on repairing Shaddar’s room.
“Get the weak and flabby ones in shape! Once the ladies go home, you and Kug will begin clearing the patio and begin practicing combat skills,” Shaddar commands. Toothsnatcher grunts in acceptance of his orders.
The drow artisan, Masaxle, knocks on Shaddar’s door. He looks almost feverish and claims that he will be busy all day on his drawings – all he needs is more paper and charcoals.
“I’m running out, Avatar! Every scrap of paper in the room is fast being turned into a drawing and stuck onto one wall! It is a most glorious sight!”
Shaddar promises to get him the supplies he needs and Masaxle rushes back to his room to continue with this work.
Masaxle passes Halvyr on the stairs and Shaddar can sense that the weasel-y hobgoblin Tegoz is on his way downstairs as well. He can tell from both of their thoughts that they will want to leave the meadhall right away. For different reasons, of course.
“Your worshipfulness!” Halvyr says softly.
Shaddar manages to stop Halvyr from falling to his face again. He instructs him quietly, “Such abasement is unworthy of my high priest, Halvyr! Save that for our acolytes…”
“Of course, your worshipfulness!” Halvyr nods happily, his thoughts filled with his eagerness to spread the glorious word of the coming of his worshipfulness – the long-lost god of the drow!
Tegoz reaches the second floor and comes into view. He has a black eye and a split lip – both of which look fairly recently acquired.
“What happened, my friend?” Shaddar asks with mock concern.
“Oh, nothing. I just slipped on the stairs,” the hobgoblin mumbles unconvincingly.
Tegoz insists that he be allowed to leave the meadhall at once – citing his sick mother that he must take food to each day or she will starve.
Shaddar looks from Tegoz to Halvyr and back again. “Yes. I sense that both of you have important tasks to complete this day. Use the back entrance and avoid being seen. Go with my blessings, children!”
Halvyr bows with a look of adoration before turning to go down to the first floor.
Tegoz hesitates at this strange-sounding benediction. His thoughts are filled with strange surmises – none of them even close to reality. Eventually the shifty-looking hobgoblin turns and follows Halvyr.
Shaddar is glad to see the back of him and allows him to depart with his variety of misinformation and false beliefs. He follows their thoughts to confirm that they go downstairs and exit the building. Soon both will be reporting to their respective racial leaders. Excellent.
He is sure that Evicurra will spend the whole day trying on dresses and relaxing, which is fine. The three hobgoblins from the brothel, Kodarm, Zoda, and Grunda are still asleep, but Toothsnatcher will put them and Kug to work soon enough.
Satisfied that everyone under his command is doing something that is useful to him, Shaddar is ready to be about his own business. He dismisses Toothsnatcher and motions with his tentacles for the other two thralls to follow him.
Shaddar, Cutt, and Loolipo exit the meadhall the back way. Shaddar asks Loolipo if she has opened the scrollcase. She has not! She needs to obtain some smaller lockpicks – hers are too big to work the tiny tumblers that she says are made of adamantine. This is an acceptable excuse for her delay. They remain together as a group until they reach the edge of the slums at which time Loolipo veers off to visit her first stop of the day.
Shaddar and Cutt wander through the marketplaces, getting many odd looks. They are dressed as entertainers, and are shopping for very odd items.
Those from whom he buys goods are courteous enough. The first shopkeeper’s thoughts are instructive: “A freak with gold is hardly a freak at all!”
Cutt is quite pleased to select several pieces of lead tubing, wire flask frames, and small pots and kettles. The gnome acts completely maniacal as he hops around the shop, pointing at various items and making happy exclamations.
“This! And that! Oh, yes! I’ll need all of these! Hey, you! Yes, you! Put that down! That’s mine! I’m buying it all! Ha-ha-ha!”
“Oi! Don’t chase off my other customers! I must serve them as well!”
“Not today, you won’t,” Shaddar says as he carelessly slides a handful of fat gems across the counter. Cutt giggles and kicks a customer who is moving out the door too slowly in the rump, before he turns to continue selecting the tools of his trade.
“That’s right! Begone! He’s closin’ early! Hee-hee! All mine! Mine! Ooo! Look at the quality of these rubber stoppers! Oh, where have you been all my life, you beauties?”
When gnome finishes his selection and the shopkeeper is satisfied with the price he has been paid, they turn to leave. Cutt’s happy mood is jerked out from under him when Shaddar indicates that the small gnome is to carry the heavy load of all of the items he so gleefully selected just moments before.
Shaddar is indignant that the gnome would even dare to think that he would help carry things. “I’m not going to carry that. Don’t put on airs, slave!”
At an open-air pavilion, Shaddar forces the gnome to buy some ridiculous thigh-high leather boots as well. The gnome is quite unhappy about having to haul a heavy weight of goods around while he breaks in a new pair of boots, but Shaddar has no sympathy for the travails of a mere thrall. Unfortunately it is pointless to look for boots to fit either Loolipo of Toothsnatcher. They both walk barefoot on tough, webbed flippers or cloven hooves – no one makes boots for their type of foot!
“Come along, Cutt! Lots of stores still to visit!”
Huff! Puff! “Yes, master! Coming, master!” Ooof!
Shaddar picks up a large stack of parchment and a new box of charcoals for Masaxle. He stuffs them into a gap between the sacks on the gnome’s back and they continue shopping.
Sadly, the load of materials quickly outstrips the gnome’s capacity for hauling. After only a few hours and with a mere 120 pounds of goods, the little gnome is barely visible under the stack of parcels, bags, and pipes he has lashed to his body. His throaty wheezing is becoming tiresome to listen to as well.
“I suppose he is packing more than his own body weight and I do hate to walk so slowly.” Shaddar decides that it will be more effective to walk back to the meadhall, drop off what they have found so far, and then go back out for another load.
It takes much too long, from Shaddar’s perspective, to reach their new home.
When they do finally arrive back at the Jester and Hawk Meadhall, Shaddar is amazed to see that Jorin and Bort have already returned. Shaddar is most annoyed. Why are they not out working?
“Oh, thank goodness!” Bort breathes when he sees him.
“Boss!” Jorin says loudly, “There’s been some news. We came back as soon as we heard it, but you had gone.” He pauses with a worried look on his face.
“Well?” Shaddar says, “Report!”
“Word on the street is that the villains are going to riot,” Jorin says in hushed tones.
“Interesting,” Shaddar thinks with a trace of excitement.
“Rioting against whom?” Shaddar asks.
“Well, the streets, of course.”
“Do you mean the Guild of Villains is going to march into the streets and cause havoc? Has this ever happened before?”
“Oh, yes!” Bort says with worry, “It’s terrible.”
“Yeah, when the villains riot, it turns into huge battle between them and the heroes!” Jorin continues.
“It’s so scary!” Bort shudders.
“Luckily, word always seems to get out that the Guild is planning to riot ahead of time. Usually the constables come out in force to help protect regular folk and keep them out of it. They keep people safe.”
“But there’s damage,” Bort adds.
Jorin nods vigorously. “Sure is. Lots of damage during a riot. It’s a major disaster whenever one happens – most of the city’ll shut down and people’ll barricade themselves indoors. Lock all the window shutters and stay away from the windows, too.”
Hawke has overheard part of this conversation and calls from the main room, “What’s that you’re sayin’? A riot?!”
Female shrieking ensues from various locations of the meadhall.
“A riot? A riot! Eeek!”
“Villains rushing about with no restraint? Oh, mother! I feel faint…”
“Oh, Mr. Hawke, we’ve all got to go home and hide! Right away!”
“Yes, yes, you run along home, then,” Hawke says to the three woman. Shaddar is most interested in his thoughts, which are not fearful in the least, despite his tone of voice.
“A riot? I wonder why the villains and heroes need to get together and talk?” Hawke thinks.
Shaddar is now wholly intrigued. “Not a civil uprising at all, then? This merely is a method for the two guilds to hold a parley? Ah! I wonder what new developments have occurred in the past 24 hours to require them to meet? I may have to attend their meeting to find out if I am a topic of conversation.”
“Word is that the riot is going to start at noon,” Jorin continues his report of the alarming rumor that they have heard, “We can’t do what you wanted us to today – the whole city will be shutting down in another hour!”
Bort notices that there is only one pair of legs under the huge collection of packages standing quite unsteadily nearby. He looks past Shaddar down the alley as he asks, “Isn’t Loolipo with you, Boss? Toothsnatcher said you three left together.”
Jorin pales, “Oh, no. Poor Loolipo… She’s going to get caught in the middle of the riot? I can’t handle the thought of that.”
Bort and Jorin begin backing up to the stairs. Bort continues speaking as Jorin now looks quite ill, “We’ll just be hiding in our room then. Sorry about your mate, but we can’t risk being out in the mess of a riot!”
“Hiding in our room?” Jorin says faintly, “I’ll be hiding under me bed!”
Shaddar can barely tolerate the stink of their cowardice. He is glad to see them run up the stairs.
“Master,” Cutt calls weakly in a thin and muffled voice, “may I unload these packages now?”
“Do as you wish,” Shaddar broadcasts with little focus. He barely notices when the gnome falls over with a gasp and begins to wriggle around in an attempt to extract himself from his ensnaring burden. Shaddar is too busy thinking about this new and unexpected turn of events.
Widow Cottondur and her daughters run from the meadhall and Shaddar hears Hawke lock the front door behind them. There is a sense of panic in most of the human thoughts that he can detect around him. But not from Hawke. He is still pondering as to what might have caused the need for an “all-hands, guild-to-guild meeting”.
“Should I make an appearance at this ‘riot’? I could disguise myself as a cloaked villain easily enough, but do I want to lower myself to such an appearance?” Shaddar wonders, “If Loolipo were back I might send her – she could sneak into the meeting with little trouble, I’m sure. But she is following my orders out in the city and is not available. Hmmm…”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 16 Chapter 18 >
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Crossover - Chapter 16
Shaddar is not looking forward to his meeting with the last newcomer. His thoughts are almost as shifty as his beady eyes. Another spy sent by a band’s chief. He is eager to gain Shaddar’s confidence (not likely) and to betray him – or failing that, he hopes to be able to betray his current employers in some grand way. Disgusting.
True, being an informant is a time-honored pastime among the illithid, but this hobgoblin does not betray his fellows for gain or for favor. No. He does it because he enjoys being a traitor. This sickens Shaddar. Betrayal is fine so far as it goes. It is the hallmark of any proper culture after all, but to burn ones bridges just to watch them blacken and collapse? With not a promise or contract of profit? It is a twisted perversion of proper behavior. The mark of a mere animal.
“But what else can I expect from these lessor races?” Shaddar reminds himself, “They will forever lack the culture and refinement of the master illithid race, unless we direct them and control them. And so I shall.”
His thoughts rally to this thought and he enters the room. As he read from the slimy-feeling thoughts of this fellow, he has been waiting for this audience.
The hobgoblin bows low, with his arms spread wide. He looks to be average in strength for his race, with pinched facial features. Ugly even to his own kind, Shaddar can see.
“Allow me to introduce myself, sir! I am Tegoz,” he says with a false humility that is woefully transparent to Shaddar. He continues with a voice filled with whining pretended awe, “Your generosity knows no bounds! I will be forever grateful for the delights I have experienced this night! Think of me as one of your own kinsmen – for I will be true to you forever!”
“Do such simple tricks actually fool the other hobgoblins? Amazing,” Shaddar thinks with exasperation. Enough of this. He refuses to play the game of this insect.
Tegoz continues his obviously prepared speech. “I was surprised, sir, when the lowest among us came to tell us of such an offering. Those we cast out to work in the brothels for their crimes usually do not live very long. Why did you come to the lowest of us all first – instead of the highest that would have been so much more fitting of one such as yourself?” A greasy eyebrow is raised in question.
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch with amusement as he is inspired by this speech with an idea that will allow him to turn the tables on this filth-eater. “I must confess. And please, don’t tell anyone this! It could ruin my station! But I am just a philanthropic soul and even the lowest of the low need some hope. By giving these a small taste of joy, they will be able to remain productive members of society – happy with their lot in life. That’s really all I’m doing. It’s very simple. But the simplicity requires secrecy! So do not tell anyone my secret, or the illusion would be shattered and my charitable work would be for naught!”
“Sir! I would never tell another soul!”
“I knew I could count on you. It’s so fine to have someone to trust – to be able to unburden myself to someone of your specific caliber! It is certain that you are of a higher station and are not in need of my charity. My secret is safe with you, is it not?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tegoz says in a tone of voice that comes across as sarcastic and not sincere. His thoughts are filled with delight at his prevarication, however he doesn’t believe that Shaddar is telling him the truth either.
“What is he hiding? Such an obvious lie! And that ugly illusion that he hides his face with… No. I have not heard the truth of why he is calling for hobgoblins and palehairs to stay with him as guests. I have the instincts of a weasel about these kinds of things,” Tegoz thinks while putting on an ingratiating smile that does not reach his eyes. “Perhaps Kug or one of the low-lifes from the brothel can tell me more. Perhaps he has been more forthcoming with them? Yes! I will try to find out what he said to them in the morning!”
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch. Unless he misses his guess, such activity will result in Kug using him as a punching bag. A not unpleasant eventuality.
On this happy note, he takes his leave and exits the room.
Soon he lies down on his new bed in his new (and somewhat drafty – must get that seen to tomorrow) room. It is difficult for him to fall asleep – his mind is churning with plans, possibilities, and excitement. Luckily, Hawke is also having a difficult time getting to sleep on the floor below and the man’s worried and angry train of thought soon soothes him into slumber like a lullaby.
The next morning Shaddar is awake before dawn. His race needs only a few hours of sleep a night. No one in the building is awake yet; he can sense that. He rises and continues his contemplation of future plans.
Hawke wakes up only when the three minds that must belong to Widow Cottondur and her daughters arrive. Shaddar follows their conversation easily by listening in on how they perceive each other’s communication.
Hawke says, “We have house full of all new guests. Well, except for Jorin and Bort. At any rate, none of them are to be disturbed. That’d be for the best. They’ll do their own cleaning and the like. Very private folk, you understand? It’s all part of the rental arrangement they’ve made with me.”
“Oh? And what do they look like?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen ‘em.”
Laughter and giggles from the daughters. Widow Cottondur replies, “What? All of our old guests have gone then? Just like that? Humph. And what happened to the nice window above the main door? Such a mess!”
Hawke is thinking about how dangerous her line of questioning is when he replies, “You won’t need to be worrying about any of that. There is one of the guests, a sort of Boss, you understand, he has asked me to make sure that you receive and accept this gift. He and his company enjoyed your stew a great deal. Sloppy eaters though…”
Shaddar listens to all of their thoughts as Hawke gives them the bribe and is pleased to note that the widow at least understands that there is some trouble in the meadhall that she should not inquire about or investigate. Both daughters are merely excited with the fine things and the gold, but the mother knows that this is a strange arrangement involving “hush-money” and that makes her very nervous – although she is striving to not show her feelings.
Soon the women go about their business. Both of the widow’s daughters remark to each other that their mother is much subdued and less talkative this morning, but they mostly go on about the things they will buy with the extra gold. The widow focuses on her work. Hawke continues worrying that somehow the violence he has had occur in his home will spill over and touch the lives of these women that he cares for.
Shaddar is content. All is well.
It is not long before the faint aromas of breakfast cooking creep through the building. This acts as a sort of alarm clock for Jorin and Bort and they are soon alert and on their way downstairs.
Shaddar was busy working with and manipulating his latest minions last night while they were talking about the arrival of the hobgoblins and drow, so he pays close attention to their thoughts and conversation this morning.
He steps out into the hall to intercept them when it becomes clear that they will require his immediate intervention and handling. Their loose lips could ruin his careful arrangements and this he will not allow.
Jorin and Bort enter the hall on Shaddar’s floor from the stairs and are surprised to see him standing there. Waiting. They quickly recover from this unexpected event and prepare themselves to plead their case. Jorin’s features are angry and filled with a self-righteous expression. Bort is attempting to be more diplomatic and is striving to hold a poker face – he should definitely never bluff while playing poker.
Jorin speaks in offended tones. “So. Boss? Are you quite sure you want to associate with the high caliber of free spirits, such as we are? Or would you rather play in the muck with your lumpy friends? For you shall not do both!”
An ultimatum?
The man continues, “All night long! Nothing but lumpy snoring. Lumpy scratching. Lumpy farting! All night, sir! Sounds–”
“And smells,” Borts adds.
Jorin continues, “–that are uncivilized and most unwelcome!”
After a brief pause while he shakes his head sadly, Jorin concludes with: “They have their places, Boss, and we have ours. It’s unseemly to mix with ‘em.”
“Oh, I do agree with you, Jorin,” Shaddar says.
Jorin’s face brightens. “Oh. Good then. So they are leaving? Good.”
Shaddar shakes his head and barks a single word, “No.”
“But you said –“ Jorin begins.
“Let me get this straight, Jorin,” Shaddar says, putting his hands on his hips, “After all my charity to you? Four percent? All the wealth and opportunity that I have brought the two of you in but a single day and you’re going to get ‘uppity’ on me?” His tentacles flail with angry gestures. “Where’s the gratitude, man?”
Jorin and Bort both look down at the floor, shame written clearly on their features.
“I am ashamed, Jorin. I am ashamed for you.” Both men shuffle their feet on the floor in a comical manner and Shaddar decides to change course slightly and end this on a positive note.
”Now. You have been raised to think a certain way about other races and I understand that. But I assure you that treating some hobgoblins and drow differently is a central part of my plan to catapult us all to the greatness our Guild deserves. Do not ruin my plans, fellows. You will agree that my methods of business are very lucrative, are they not?”
Jorin and Bort both nod. Their thoughts return to their time spent last night counting their winnings and realizing that in one night they had more gold than they usually saw in 4 months.
Shaddar’s voice warms, “There is the proof of my methods, then! And let me tell you: last night was just a trickle. A single droplet from a mighty rainstorm. We’re just getting this started. Once my full plans are in place… compounding interest, my friends! Do you know what that means?”
Bort nods, thinking about the change in his life such a vast income would mean for him.
Jorin is less certain. “Uh…” he drawls, “yeah… Of course, I do!” He has no idea what the words mean. “That’s good, right? Must be,” he thinks.
“Last night was a mere sample, a single bite from the huge feast that awaits us! All I need is your trust, men! All I need is your faith! And secrecy. Keeping all of our plans on the low-down is the only path to success in this business. You can keep secrets, can’t you?”
“Yes, Boss!” both men reply in unison.
Jorin is still a bit unwilling to live next to hobgoblins. He decides to broach the subject once more. He hesitantly says, “Of course, we’re with you, Boss. But it is a bit crowded here now…”
“It is. Yes?”
“So did you want us to find a new place to stay? Or is it part of your plan that we continue to stay up on the third floor with the… lumpys?”
Shaddar waves the query aside with one hand and turns his body partially away from the men as he answers in a disinterested voice, “I must confess that this matter is not very high on my list of priorities, men. For the time being I require you here, but once the foundational matters of the Guild are settled, then it will pose no problem for you to relocate.”
Bort puts one hand on Jorin’s arm as he thinks aloud, “Hey! If we’re really going to be making as much money as the Boss says, we can save it up and buy our own house!”
Shaddar scoffs, “Why settle for a mere house? You’ll be able to afford your own private estates soon enough. If,” he wags a finger at them, “you are planning on sticking with the plans that I have devised?”
“Of course we are, Boss,” Jorin says quickly, “You couldn’t drive us away with sticks!”
Bort is a bit smoother in his reply, “What do you need us to do today, Boss? More gossip? Or perhaps recruit?”
Jorin nods knowingly and takes over the thread of conversation, “Yes! Several of our acquaintances expressed an interest in this new Guild of ours.”
“Your task is two-fold today. First: I require more knowledge about the history of Big City. Are there any libraries or repositories of records in town? Find out and bring me their location.”
Jorin is confused. Since he is illiterate, he would not know anything about buildings full of books. Shaddar looks to Bort for a successful conclusion to this chore.
“Secondly: you will talk to those you know in a quest for more recruits. Bring them back here this evening for… evaluation.”
“Yes, Boss,” Bort says.
“We can do that, Boss,” Jorin chimes in.
“Good,” Shaddar says with a pleased expression. “I will have the other members of our Guild perform their normal activities as I have taught them. You need your four percent, after all… Well? What are you dawdling about for? Get to it!”
Both men rush downstairs to snatch a roll for breakfast, then leave to be about their duties as fast as they can.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 15 Chapter 17 >
True, being an informant is a time-honored pastime among the illithid, but this hobgoblin does not betray his fellows for gain or for favor. No. He does it because he enjoys being a traitor. This sickens Shaddar. Betrayal is fine so far as it goes. It is the hallmark of any proper culture after all, but to burn ones bridges just to watch them blacken and collapse? With not a promise or contract of profit? It is a twisted perversion of proper behavior. The mark of a mere animal.
“But what else can I expect from these lessor races?” Shaddar reminds himself, “They will forever lack the culture and refinement of the master illithid race, unless we direct them and control them. And so I shall.”
His thoughts rally to this thought and he enters the room. As he read from the slimy-feeling thoughts of this fellow, he has been waiting for this audience.
The hobgoblin bows low, with his arms spread wide. He looks to be average in strength for his race, with pinched facial features. Ugly even to his own kind, Shaddar can see.
“Allow me to introduce myself, sir! I am Tegoz,” he says with a false humility that is woefully transparent to Shaddar. He continues with a voice filled with whining pretended awe, “Your generosity knows no bounds! I will be forever grateful for the delights I have experienced this night! Think of me as one of your own kinsmen – for I will be true to you forever!”
“Do such simple tricks actually fool the other hobgoblins? Amazing,” Shaddar thinks with exasperation. Enough of this. He refuses to play the game of this insect.
Tegoz continues his obviously prepared speech. “I was surprised, sir, when the lowest among us came to tell us of such an offering. Those we cast out to work in the brothels for their crimes usually do not live very long. Why did you come to the lowest of us all first – instead of the highest that would have been so much more fitting of one such as yourself?” A greasy eyebrow is raised in question.
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch with amusement as he is inspired by this speech with an idea that will allow him to turn the tables on this filth-eater. “I must confess. And please, don’t tell anyone this! It could ruin my station! But I am just a philanthropic soul and even the lowest of the low need some hope. By giving these a small taste of joy, they will be able to remain productive members of society – happy with their lot in life. That’s really all I’m doing. It’s very simple. But the simplicity requires secrecy! So do not tell anyone my secret, or the illusion would be shattered and my charitable work would be for naught!”
“Sir! I would never tell another soul!”
“I knew I could count on you. It’s so fine to have someone to trust – to be able to unburden myself to someone of your specific caliber! It is certain that you are of a higher station and are not in need of my charity. My secret is safe with you, is it not?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tegoz says in a tone of voice that comes across as sarcastic and not sincere. His thoughts are filled with delight at his prevarication, however he doesn’t believe that Shaddar is telling him the truth either.
“What is he hiding? Such an obvious lie! And that ugly illusion that he hides his face with… No. I have not heard the truth of why he is calling for hobgoblins and palehairs to stay with him as guests. I have the instincts of a weasel about these kinds of things,” Tegoz thinks while putting on an ingratiating smile that does not reach his eyes. “Perhaps Kug or one of the low-lifes from the brothel can tell me more. Perhaps he has been more forthcoming with them? Yes! I will try to find out what he said to them in the morning!”
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch. Unless he misses his guess, such activity will result in Kug using him as a punching bag. A not unpleasant eventuality.
On this happy note, he takes his leave and exits the room.
Soon he lies down on his new bed in his new (and somewhat drafty – must get that seen to tomorrow) room. It is difficult for him to fall asleep – his mind is churning with plans, possibilities, and excitement. Luckily, Hawke is also having a difficult time getting to sleep on the floor below and the man’s worried and angry train of thought soon soothes him into slumber like a lullaby.
The next morning Shaddar is awake before dawn. His race needs only a few hours of sleep a night. No one in the building is awake yet; he can sense that. He rises and continues his contemplation of future plans.
Hawke wakes up only when the three minds that must belong to Widow Cottondur and her daughters arrive. Shaddar follows their conversation easily by listening in on how they perceive each other’s communication.
Hawke says, “We have house full of all new guests. Well, except for Jorin and Bort. At any rate, none of them are to be disturbed. That’d be for the best. They’ll do their own cleaning and the like. Very private folk, you understand? It’s all part of the rental arrangement they’ve made with me.”
“Oh? And what do they look like?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen ‘em.”
Laughter and giggles from the daughters. Widow Cottondur replies, “What? All of our old guests have gone then? Just like that? Humph. And what happened to the nice window above the main door? Such a mess!”
Hawke is thinking about how dangerous her line of questioning is when he replies, “You won’t need to be worrying about any of that. There is one of the guests, a sort of Boss, you understand, he has asked me to make sure that you receive and accept this gift. He and his company enjoyed your stew a great deal. Sloppy eaters though…”
Shaddar listens to all of their thoughts as Hawke gives them the bribe and is pleased to note that the widow at least understands that there is some trouble in the meadhall that she should not inquire about or investigate. Both daughters are merely excited with the fine things and the gold, but the mother knows that this is a strange arrangement involving “hush-money” and that makes her very nervous – although she is striving to not show her feelings.
Soon the women go about their business. Both of the widow’s daughters remark to each other that their mother is much subdued and less talkative this morning, but they mostly go on about the things they will buy with the extra gold. The widow focuses on her work. Hawke continues worrying that somehow the violence he has had occur in his home will spill over and touch the lives of these women that he cares for.
Shaddar is content. All is well.
It is not long before the faint aromas of breakfast cooking creep through the building. This acts as a sort of alarm clock for Jorin and Bort and they are soon alert and on their way downstairs.
Shaddar was busy working with and manipulating his latest minions last night while they were talking about the arrival of the hobgoblins and drow, so he pays close attention to their thoughts and conversation this morning.
He steps out into the hall to intercept them when it becomes clear that they will require his immediate intervention and handling. Their loose lips could ruin his careful arrangements and this he will not allow.
Jorin and Bort enter the hall on Shaddar’s floor from the stairs and are surprised to see him standing there. Waiting. They quickly recover from this unexpected event and prepare themselves to plead their case. Jorin’s features are angry and filled with a self-righteous expression. Bort is attempting to be more diplomatic and is striving to hold a poker face – he should definitely never bluff while playing poker.
Jorin speaks in offended tones. “So. Boss? Are you quite sure you want to associate with the high caliber of free spirits, such as we are? Or would you rather play in the muck with your lumpy friends? For you shall not do both!”
An ultimatum?
The man continues, “All night long! Nothing but lumpy snoring. Lumpy scratching. Lumpy farting! All night, sir! Sounds–”
“And smells,” Borts adds.
Jorin continues, “–that are uncivilized and most unwelcome!”
After a brief pause while he shakes his head sadly, Jorin concludes with: “They have their places, Boss, and we have ours. It’s unseemly to mix with ‘em.”
“Oh, I do agree with you, Jorin,” Shaddar says.
Jorin’s face brightens. “Oh. Good then. So they are leaving? Good.”
Shaddar shakes his head and barks a single word, “No.”
“But you said –“ Jorin begins.
“Let me get this straight, Jorin,” Shaddar says, putting his hands on his hips, “After all my charity to you? Four percent? All the wealth and opportunity that I have brought the two of you in but a single day and you’re going to get ‘uppity’ on me?” His tentacles flail with angry gestures. “Where’s the gratitude, man?”
Jorin and Bort both look down at the floor, shame written clearly on their features.
“I am ashamed, Jorin. I am ashamed for you.” Both men shuffle their feet on the floor in a comical manner and Shaddar decides to change course slightly and end this on a positive note.
”Now. You have been raised to think a certain way about other races and I understand that. But I assure you that treating some hobgoblins and drow differently is a central part of my plan to catapult us all to the greatness our Guild deserves. Do not ruin my plans, fellows. You will agree that my methods of business are very lucrative, are they not?”
Jorin and Bort both nod. Their thoughts return to their time spent last night counting their winnings and realizing that in one night they had more gold than they usually saw in 4 months.
Shaddar’s voice warms, “There is the proof of my methods, then! And let me tell you: last night was just a trickle. A single droplet from a mighty rainstorm. We’re just getting this started. Once my full plans are in place… compounding interest, my friends! Do you know what that means?”
Bort nods, thinking about the change in his life such a vast income would mean for him.
Jorin is less certain. “Uh…” he drawls, “yeah… Of course, I do!” He has no idea what the words mean. “That’s good, right? Must be,” he thinks.
“Last night was a mere sample, a single bite from the huge feast that awaits us! All I need is your trust, men! All I need is your faith! And secrecy. Keeping all of our plans on the low-down is the only path to success in this business. You can keep secrets, can’t you?”
“Yes, Boss!” both men reply in unison.
Jorin is still a bit unwilling to live next to hobgoblins. He decides to broach the subject once more. He hesitantly says, “Of course, we’re with you, Boss. But it is a bit crowded here now…”
“It is. Yes?”
“So did you want us to find a new place to stay? Or is it part of your plan that we continue to stay up on the third floor with the… lumpys?”
Shaddar waves the query aside with one hand and turns his body partially away from the men as he answers in a disinterested voice, “I must confess that this matter is not very high on my list of priorities, men. For the time being I require you here, but once the foundational matters of the Guild are settled, then it will pose no problem for you to relocate.”
Bort puts one hand on Jorin’s arm as he thinks aloud, “Hey! If we’re really going to be making as much money as the Boss says, we can save it up and buy our own house!”
Shaddar scoffs, “Why settle for a mere house? You’ll be able to afford your own private estates soon enough. If,” he wags a finger at them, “you are planning on sticking with the plans that I have devised?”
“Of course we are, Boss,” Jorin says quickly, “You couldn’t drive us away with sticks!”
Bort is a bit smoother in his reply, “What do you need us to do today, Boss? More gossip? Or perhaps recruit?”
Jorin nods knowingly and takes over the thread of conversation, “Yes! Several of our acquaintances expressed an interest in this new Guild of ours.”
“Your task is two-fold today. First: I require more knowledge about the history of Big City. Are there any libraries or repositories of records in town? Find out and bring me their location.”
Jorin is confused. Since he is illiterate, he would not know anything about buildings full of books. Shaddar looks to Bort for a successful conclusion to this chore.
“Secondly: you will talk to those you know in a quest for more recruits. Bring them back here this evening for… evaluation.”
“Yes, Boss,” Bort says.
“We can do that, Boss,” Jorin chimes in.
“Good,” Shaddar says with a pleased expression. “I will have the other members of our Guild perform their normal activities as I have taught them. You need your four percent, after all… Well? What are you dawdling about for? Get to it!”
Both men rush downstairs to snatch a roll for breakfast, then leave to be about their duties as fast as they can.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 15 Chapter 17 >
Friday, November 9, 2012
Crossover - Chapter 15
Shaddar climbs the stairs to the top floor. Cutt is waiting for him.
“Is all well? Have you followed my orders?” Shaddar questions.
“Yes. The two strong males each took their own room as you wished. Neither one was very talkative. But the other three? Wouldn’t shut up for anything! The scrawny one, named Kodarm by the way, and the two sisters, Zoda and Grunda, all wanted to bunk together. Drunken ramblings as far as I could tell – nothing of any import to what they said. They’ve been snoring in there pretty much since the door closed,” Cutt answers. He points to the rooms as he mentions their occupants – a thoroughly unnecessary gesture since Shaddar can sense the minds within each room.
“You may go. Eat or sleep as you will,” Shaddar broadcasts to Cutt and his other two thralls as well. The gnome scampers off.
It is clear from the low-level buzz of non-thought that the three hobgoblins from the brothel are already asleep. Not too surprising, considering the amount of food and ale they consumed.
Shaddar enters the room of the first hobgoblin male.
The powerfully built specimen is examining the features of the room, checking for possible exit routes should he need them. Shaddar approves.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” he begins.
The hobgoblin nods and says, “You have shown me and my kind far more respect and kindness than anyone else in this city.” There is the hint of a question in the statement.
Shaddar addresses it by saying, “You are due much, much more than that. And that is why I have summoned you here. To begin to work together to correct this gross injustice. I am against all those who would keep hobgoblins down.”
“My name is Kug.” Shaddar is amazed that his voice is so calm. Kug’s thoughts are seething with emotion and anger, but his outward appearance is tranquil. Amazing control for such a lesser being! It should not take much to crack the façade of peacefulness in the hobgoblin, however…
Shaddar dips his head in greeting and asks, “How is it, Kug, that the humans are able to control your people?” His voice drips with concern and perplexity. ”Why is your race so complacent under the burden of oppression? Especially when the humans are so much more fragile and stupid than hobgoblin-kind? How has this,” Shaddar’s features twist in disgust, “degenerate race gained dominion of such noble creatures such as yourself?”
Kug grits his teeth in frustration as his poker face slips off. “I know!” he growls loudly, “Everyone else in my band all tell me that I have to be quiet! Anytime I speak of resisting I am punished! If I so much as talk about lashing out against those that cast slurs at us, my own people hold me down and beat me! ARRGH!”
This display of passion pleases Shaddar. This is what he expected from a hobgoblin. So. His enemy has not been able to completely eradicate the fighting spirit within these beasts. Good.
“Once! Once I did strike back! Slammed a little pipsqueak into the wall for spitting at me! Never felt so good!” Kug seems to shrink into himself and the fire leaves his voice as he continues in a softer tone, “When my band found out, they hushed it up by saying that I had killed myself, then they gave me the worst beating of my life. Almost beat me to death, they did. Telling me that I was endangering the whole band with my foolishness. Heh. Foolishness? To strive for respect?”
Kug shakes off his melancholy and continues in a hard voice, “When they were done, they told me that if I ever caused another problem for any of,” he spits, “our masters… that they would kill me. For the good of the band, they said! To save our race, they said! As if living like curs is better than death…”
Shaddar has listened with hooded eyes. Now he speaks with tones of sympathy, “This is not right, Kug. Not right at all.”
Shaddar changes his tone to boldly say, “I have come to bring a new day of safety for your band and for your race. A day that no longer requires submission to this weak race of humans.”
Kug grins toothily, “Excellent!”
“I can tell that your band spared you because of your special abilities. You are strong. You have an aggressiveness that is useful to the band in your work perhaps? Well. That is nothing but a desire for battle, is it not?”
“Yes! I like to wrestle and my band has never been able to beat me unless four large lads were on hand to hold me down! Never less than four, and sometimes it has taken more than that!” Kug brags, slapping his large pectorals with one hand. “It’s me job that keeps me strong!”
From his thoughts Shaddar learns that he runs an underground turnstile that powers a water pump, pushing a huge metal bar around and around for hours on end to create water pressure for a fountain on a hill in the streets.
“This fellow must be as strong as he is boasting to be capable of such a feat,” Shaddar thinks.
“Allow me to confide in you, my friend,” Shaddar says while his tentacles writhe slowly in a gesture of satisfaction. “I am one of the gods of Change…”
Kug’s heavy eyebrows shoot up and he grunts.
Shaddar continues, “and I am here to bring about a dark change – for the humans, and a glorious one for the hobgoblins… Through violence and war!”
Kug is delighted by this talk! He growls and slaps his hands together in approval. His thoughts are interesting: “Don’t care who this guy thinks he is – if he’ll give me revenge against the humans!”
“We will make the humans capitulate and they will be the servants to the mighty hobgoblins and the drow!”
Kug leaps to his feet and shouts, “As they should!”
Shaddar nods briskly, “As they should. And this city shall be run under your glorious rule as general! I am assembling an army – in which the might of the hobgoblins will be the backbone.”
“Yes! Tell me what you require and it will be done! I have longed for this day! At last!”
“Tomorrow you will work with Toothsnatcher, the tall one with the horns. He is an expert at combat and can instruct you to become even more lethal than you already are.”
“Lethal? You mean we will… kill humans?”
“What better punishment is there? Is it not the outcome you lust after – deep in your fiercely beating heart? For the blood of your enemies to be spilled?”
Kug looks down, breathing raggedly for a moment, examining himself, then he looks up.
“It is what I lust for,” he confesses in a whisper, shocked at his own utterance.
“Then it will be granted and sated to the fullest, my General. Count on that! Now: to business! How many other hobgoblins feel as you do?”
“Throughout the city? I know not. We are not allowed to congregate between bands except for the seasonal festival. I have never been selected to attend the festival.” Shaddar sees in his thoughts that the festival is part of their culture here. Four times a year, the hobgoblins gather to talk and find mates from other bands. Only those who are deemed ‘acceptable’ by the band chiefs are allowed to have children. As a troublemaker, Kug has never been allowed to go to the festival, so he only has interacted with the hundred or so members of his own tribe.
So. The Lords of the city have an on-going plan for reducing the aggressiveness of hobgoblins by selective breeding. It has obviously not been 100% effective, but it tells him still more about this hidden foe. Fascinating. And perfect! For there is a major flaw in their collecting all of the submissive and well-behaved hobgoblins in one place. A flaw Shaddar will be only too happy to exploit.
“When is the next festival?”
“Next month. Why?”
“Excellent. On the day of the festival, you will speak to those in your band who are also not selected – the other hobgoblins who are ‘unacceptable’. Tell them that there is another party happening… and that they have been chosen to attend it instead.”
Kug grins with a mean glint in his eye as he puts it together.
“All of the troublemakers in one place? With none of the submissive ones mixed in to dilute the quality of the group? Why, the work is done for me – by my very foes! How convenient…”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 14 Chapter 16 >
“Is all well? Have you followed my orders?” Shaddar questions.
“Yes. The two strong males each took their own room as you wished. Neither one was very talkative. But the other three? Wouldn’t shut up for anything! The scrawny one, named Kodarm by the way, and the two sisters, Zoda and Grunda, all wanted to bunk together. Drunken ramblings as far as I could tell – nothing of any import to what they said. They’ve been snoring in there pretty much since the door closed,” Cutt answers. He points to the rooms as he mentions their occupants – a thoroughly unnecessary gesture since Shaddar can sense the minds within each room.
“You may go. Eat or sleep as you will,” Shaddar broadcasts to Cutt and his other two thralls as well. The gnome scampers off.
It is clear from the low-level buzz of non-thought that the three hobgoblins from the brothel are already asleep. Not too surprising, considering the amount of food and ale they consumed.
Shaddar enters the room of the first hobgoblin male.
The powerfully built specimen is examining the features of the room, checking for possible exit routes should he need them. Shaddar approves.
“I hope you enjoyed your meal,” he begins.
The hobgoblin nods and says, “You have shown me and my kind far more respect and kindness than anyone else in this city.” There is the hint of a question in the statement.
Shaddar addresses it by saying, “You are due much, much more than that. And that is why I have summoned you here. To begin to work together to correct this gross injustice. I am against all those who would keep hobgoblins down.”
“My name is Kug.” Shaddar is amazed that his voice is so calm. Kug’s thoughts are seething with emotion and anger, but his outward appearance is tranquil. Amazing control for such a lesser being! It should not take much to crack the façade of peacefulness in the hobgoblin, however…
Shaddar dips his head in greeting and asks, “How is it, Kug, that the humans are able to control your people?” His voice drips with concern and perplexity. ”Why is your race so complacent under the burden of oppression? Especially when the humans are so much more fragile and stupid than hobgoblin-kind? How has this,” Shaddar’s features twist in disgust, “degenerate race gained dominion of such noble creatures such as yourself?”
Kug grits his teeth in frustration as his poker face slips off. “I know!” he growls loudly, “Everyone else in my band all tell me that I have to be quiet! Anytime I speak of resisting I am punished! If I so much as talk about lashing out against those that cast slurs at us, my own people hold me down and beat me! ARRGH!”
This display of passion pleases Shaddar. This is what he expected from a hobgoblin. So. His enemy has not been able to completely eradicate the fighting spirit within these beasts. Good.
“Once! Once I did strike back! Slammed a little pipsqueak into the wall for spitting at me! Never felt so good!” Kug seems to shrink into himself and the fire leaves his voice as he continues in a softer tone, “When my band found out, they hushed it up by saying that I had killed myself, then they gave me the worst beating of my life. Almost beat me to death, they did. Telling me that I was endangering the whole band with my foolishness. Heh. Foolishness? To strive for respect?”
Kug shakes off his melancholy and continues in a hard voice, “When they were done, they told me that if I ever caused another problem for any of,” he spits, “our masters… that they would kill me. For the good of the band, they said! To save our race, they said! As if living like curs is better than death…”
Shaddar has listened with hooded eyes. Now he speaks with tones of sympathy, “This is not right, Kug. Not right at all.”
Shaddar changes his tone to boldly say, “I have come to bring a new day of safety for your band and for your race. A day that no longer requires submission to this weak race of humans.”
Kug grins toothily, “Excellent!”
“I can tell that your band spared you because of your special abilities. You are strong. You have an aggressiveness that is useful to the band in your work perhaps? Well. That is nothing but a desire for battle, is it not?”
“Yes! I like to wrestle and my band has never been able to beat me unless four large lads were on hand to hold me down! Never less than four, and sometimes it has taken more than that!” Kug brags, slapping his large pectorals with one hand. “It’s me job that keeps me strong!”
From his thoughts Shaddar learns that he runs an underground turnstile that powers a water pump, pushing a huge metal bar around and around for hours on end to create water pressure for a fountain on a hill in the streets.
“This fellow must be as strong as he is boasting to be capable of such a feat,” Shaddar thinks.
“Allow me to confide in you, my friend,” Shaddar says while his tentacles writhe slowly in a gesture of satisfaction. “I am one of the gods of Change…”
Kug’s heavy eyebrows shoot up and he grunts.
Shaddar continues, “and I am here to bring about a dark change – for the humans, and a glorious one for the hobgoblins… Through violence and war!”
Kug is delighted by this talk! He growls and slaps his hands together in approval. His thoughts are interesting: “Don’t care who this guy thinks he is – if he’ll give me revenge against the humans!”
“We will make the humans capitulate and they will be the servants to the mighty hobgoblins and the drow!”
Kug leaps to his feet and shouts, “As they should!”
Shaddar nods briskly, “As they should. And this city shall be run under your glorious rule as general! I am assembling an army – in which the might of the hobgoblins will be the backbone.”
“Yes! Tell me what you require and it will be done! I have longed for this day! At last!”
“Tomorrow you will work with Toothsnatcher, the tall one with the horns. He is an expert at combat and can instruct you to become even more lethal than you already are.”
“Lethal? You mean we will… kill humans?”
“What better punishment is there? Is it not the outcome you lust after – deep in your fiercely beating heart? For the blood of your enemies to be spilled?”
Kug looks down, breathing raggedly for a moment, examining himself, then he looks up.
“It is what I lust for,” he confesses in a whisper, shocked at his own utterance.
“Then it will be granted and sated to the fullest, my General. Count on that! Now: to business! How many other hobgoblins feel as you do?”
“Throughout the city? I know not. We are not allowed to congregate between bands except for the seasonal festival. I have never been selected to attend the festival.” Shaddar sees in his thoughts that the festival is part of their culture here. Four times a year, the hobgoblins gather to talk and find mates from other bands. Only those who are deemed ‘acceptable’ by the band chiefs are allowed to have children. As a troublemaker, Kug has never been allowed to go to the festival, so he only has interacted with the hundred or so members of his own tribe.
So. The Lords of the city have an on-going plan for reducing the aggressiveness of hobgoblins by selective breeding. It has obviously not been 100% effective, but it tells him still more about this hidden foe. Fascinating. And perfect! For there is a major flaw in their collecting all of the submissive and well-behaved hobgoblins in one place. A flaw Shaddar will be only too happy to exploit.
“When is the next festival?”
“Next month. Why?”
“Excellent. On the day of the festival, you will speak to those in your band who are also not selected – the other hobgoblins who are ‘unacceptable’. Tell them that there is another party happening… and that they have been chosen to attend it instead.”
Kug grins with a mean glint in his eye as he puts it together.
“All of the troublemakers in one place? With none of the submissive ones mixed in to dilute the quality of the group? Why, the work is done for me – by my very foes! How convenient…”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 14 Chapter 16 >
Crossover - Chapter 14
Shaddar’s guests seem to be slowing down as their bellies are completely filled with tasty stew, heavy ale, and fragrant wine. The less-than-courteous reaction of Jorin and Bort has spoiled their remaining appetites as well.
He mentally summons his thralls and gives them orders to assist him in showing these new minions to their quarters. This done, he turns to the hobgoblins and drow.
“Friends! I and my underlings will now show you to your rooms! Please follow us and we will discuss the future in a more private and comfortable setting,” he says grandly while gesturing to his thralls.
Shaddar informs his guests of the rules of the house. “It is vital that you not be seen during the morning and mid-afternoon hours. Do not enter the common area of the meadhall without my permission during this time. Are we clear?” Nods all around and so he dismisses them to go to their chambers.
Shaddar leads the drow men to their own rooms while his thralls escort the hobgoblins upstairs. After assuring the men that he will stop by to insure their every comfort is satisfied with their rooms he takes the drow woman up to the second floor to select some fine dresses from the stock obtained by the minotaur.
She is beyond thrilled at the selection and his gracious words. “It is just as you promised, sir!” she says joyfully.
“Of course it is,” Shaddar replies pleasantly. He escorts her back down to her room and makes sure she is content.
The drow girl has much resentment within her from being so ill-used by the humans and Shaddar is hopeful at first that she may transform into an acceptable matron for the liberated drow. But there are indications in her thoughts that she may be unsuitable; her spirit seems too broken by abuse at the hands of the humans. No matter. He will require some public figurehead among the slave races; perhaps she will be what he needs. Or it may take time for him to locate what is needed elsewhere. He is confident that he will find someone skilled and capable enough to become and remain the new Lord of the city, but easy enough for Shaddar to control and manipulate as his puppet. A delicate mixture indeed.
She walks around the room as if she is in a dream-world – delirious in her joy and hazy with wine. Shaddar has learned that her name is Evicurra Doth and unfortunately she seems too simple for the role of warrior-madien of his new drow empire. A pity. Perhaps she will prove useful in some other fashion later?
Evicurra stops spinning around and looks fearful. She speaks haltingly, “And you are… you are sure that we won’t be… punished for being here?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, good,” Evicurra says softly, “I don’t understand it, sir, but I’m so enjoying it!” Then she passes out onto the bed. Her tolerance for alcohol is quite low apparently. Shaddar leaves her to sleep and he moves to the next drow’s room to gently interrogate him next.
Shaddar pauses briefly outside the door to mentally review what he has pieced together from this fellow’s thoughts. All through his meal, the fellow wondered about the same things and he continues to ponder them now: “What’s the catch? What’s the trick here? This is too good – there must be some problem here. But I want the benefits being offered… I want to have this kind of life for myself – it’s even better than what the Elders have!”
Shaddar opens the door to talk to this drow. The man bows stiffly when he sees who it is and says, “Many thanks for your hospitality, sir. I am Masaxle T’tar of the stone artisans.”
Shaddar waves the fellow into a seat and sits himself. He begins his questioning, “You may address me as ‘The Boss’. I have so many questions about your people. For example: How many other drow are there?”
“I do not know,” he replies with a slight frown. “We have never had any type of census. I can tell you that there are too many for the assigned places we have to live in.” Shaddar hears his thoughts as he bitterly adds another sentence to this answer, “And too few that have their wits about them.”
Shaddar continues the conversation, pulling details out of Masaxle’s mind as well as his verbal answers. According to him, many of the drow are used for more public, or visible, tasks. They clean and repair the streets and buildings. They do quite a bit of food preparation as well (“no one wants to eat anything touched by lumpys, of course”). Ale and wine are brewed by the drow, as are all pre-cooking jobs such as butchers and millers. They are seldom allowed to sample the fruits of their labors and he is quietly bitter about it.
Masaxle himself is a sculptor who creates and maintains the statues and bas-reliefs through the city. “Like most of the drow, I also oversee the work of teams of hobgoblins so that I can focus on the work that they are unsuited for. I have five lumpys myself that carry my tools, haul stone blocks, and sweep debris away,” he explains. This very evening he has given them the night off – he is supposed to be patrolling a pre-determined area, looking for damage that needs repair.
“A pre-existing hierarchy? Superb! Half of my work is already done,” Shaddar gloats to himself. And this regimen of constant inspection and repair explains why the city seems in such excellent condition.
“And who are your leaders? You have some form of ruling council or body of drow Elders, I assume?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve not meet them – only heard tales.” His thoughts continue, “Tales of having any new idea squashed by their veto! We’ll never get anything improved for our people because the Elders are too afraid of what the Lords of the city might think! All my grand concepts – rejected!”
This thread of conversation has promise. Shaddar prods, “You seem like the kind of man who would have his own ideas. Tell me: what kinds of things would you like to do differently?”
Masaxle looks surprised at Shaddar’s perceptiveness, but nods vigorously, “Yes! I wish to create art according to my own feelings and not the rigid limitations of what the humans’ requisition. It is difficult to explain – I feel a yearning for a different style, a different feeling of line and curve than what humans seem to like. My soul strives to explore these artistic senses, but the Elders have denied my every petition. If only I could explore these feelings a bit, I know that I could capture in stone the very spirit of our race!”
Shaddar’s tentacles slowly vibrate with conviction. “Yes. This fellow has distinct promise. Ambition. Discontent. Vision, even.”
It is time to try his experiment with the brainmate. He reaches into one pocket to lay a tender hand on the artifact and tentatively requests an audience.
“What is needed, Supplanter?” the brainmate responds. It is but a weak echo of the blasting mental voice of the elder brain it was culled from.
Shaddar is a bit concerned with the less-than-complimentary title, but presses on with his request, “I have never been to a drow city or seen their art. Can you help me fill this pawn’s mind with what they look like?”
The brainmate gives a twitch under his hand and a feeling of acceptance.
Shaddar stretches out his clawed fingers toward the drow and whispers, “Do you mean artwork like this?” A stream of images travels from his mind into Masaxle’s as he touches the drow’s mind to insert them.
A sprawling underground city made of sharp angles lit with an unearthly blue light!
Fine layers of articulated leather armor, designed to hide, protect, and stifle sound!
A ceremony of worship featuring the bejeweled matron drinking from a huge, spider-shaped goblet!
The man leaps to his feet with his eyes wide and staring. His mouth parts slightly and he moans. Once the images have been placed, Shaddar lowers his hand and the drow rivets his attention back to him.
“How? How did you do that?”
“I am the Avatar of Inspiration.”
“What?”
“Your people come from a higher stock than you know. These images that I have shown to you – they exist! Created by others of your proud race that live underground! I have come to bring the splendor of your race to those of you who now live above.”
“Yes! Yes, that’s it! The lines! The flow of light and dark! The webs of power and transcendence! It speaks so powerfully to my… my dark soul!” Masaxle is almost overcome with emotion at what he has seen. At what it has revealed to him about his own nature.
Shaddar continues, his voice rising majestically, “Through you, and others like you, we will restore what has been denied your people for so long. Together will create these vast works of art and elegant cities above ground as well. I am the instrument of this great and overdue change! And I wish you to be the Chief Minister of Culture.”
Masaxle drops to one knee and bows his head and says, “I will not abuse the great trust you have given me in sharing this inspiration, oh Avatar! Gladly will I restore this art for all of my people to bask in! You have opened my eyes to the true nature of myself! I can never thank you enough – I pledge myself forever your man.” Tears drip from his face as searing and intense emotions course through his psyche.
“Yes,” Shaddar thinks with satisfaction.
The man leaps to his feet and pulls out some parchment and a small case of charcoals.
“I have not a moment to lose! Forgive me, but I must start at once to capture these images on paper so they can be shared, designed, and built! You have given me so much to think about!” He turns to a table and begins drawing fiercely.
“Of course, Masaxle. I would expect nothing less. I will leave you to it. We shall speak more tomorrow.” Shaddar stands and leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
Feeling very pleased with how that went, Shaddar walks down the hall to the room where the other newcomer drow was put.
This drow is going to require a different approach. His thoughts during dinner have focused on figuring out who Shaddar really is, why his minions follow him, and why he is making such an atypical offer to the drow. His current thoughts are very interesting, “Who does he work for? Could it be a test by the Lords of the city? All I can do is keep my eyes open and remember every detail. The Elders said that the smallest things I notice could provide them with the clues they need to know how to proceed with this disruption to our normal state of affairs. I wonder when I’ll be allowed to leave so I can report to them?”
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch with respect. Being a spy and an informer is an old and noble calling. He opens the door to the room knowing exactly what to say.
“Sir!” the drow exclaims, startled at Shaddar’s sudden entrance. “You have me gratitude for the fine meal and lavish accommodations. I am called Halvyr Zaundar and I am at your service.”
Shadder lightly presses his palms together as he speaks, “Be at ease Halvyr when I say this: I know your true reason for being here.”
“What do you mean?” A look of alarm crosses his face before he can mask it.
“Yes,” Shaddar says with concern, “I know you are not on board with these dark winds of change, but fear not! For you will understand all. I sense that you are here to discern what I truly am… Would you like to know?”
Halvyr throws his shoulders back and lifts his chin as he says, “Yes. I do.”
“I am your god! You are a long-lost, splinter group of my children.”
The unexpectedness of this declaration is written on Halvyr’s face. “What is he talking about?” he thinks wildly, “Is he mad?”
“You have been enslaved by these disgusting and pathetic humans. And this has invoked my divine wrath! The creature you see before you is my chosen vessel – a form of vengeance and retribution! I have come to fulfill the ultimate destiny of your race and to place my children at their proper station.” Shaddar sends a blast of mental power rippling across the dark elf’s brain – demanding that he believe the truth of his words with all the force of will that he has.
The results are more than even he could have hoped for. The power of his mental command rends a portion of Halvyr’s mind, burning through all of his internal defenses and core belief systems – making him less than he was before, but it is done! The elf will never deny what he has told him. The experience has changed him irrevocably into a new man.
Halvyr falls flat on the ground and prostrates himself before Shaddar. “Holy one! Allow this unworthy to thank you for the great blessing of this knowledge!”
Shaddar has heard of this consequence happening before, and he knows that it is a rare occurrence, but it couldn’t have happened at a more fortunate time. The man’s mind had a hidden flaw that caused the psychic suggestion to reform his entire personality around the demand. He has become a zealot.
Shaddar instantly capitalizes on this welcome bit of serendipity by saying, “As a true believer, you will be my messenger to my children, Halvyr. You will return to the drow still in bondage and convince them of my divine mission. Indeed! You are destined for great things as you bring all of my children into the knowledge of this truth.”
“I’m unworthy of this praise, great one! Unworthy! I do confess my sin – I was indeed sent here under false pretences. The Elders of our people sent me to spy, but I did not know your nature! Forgive me!”
“Yes, you should confess. Tell me of the wicked mission you were sent on. Tell me of the Elders.” Shaddar crosses his arms and looks sternly down at the elf that wallows on the floor before him.
“Thank you for your mercy, worshipful one! The Elders are so frightened of change! They are the keepers of all that has transpired in the past – our history is so frightening that they dare not reveal it to the rest of us! They fear that any variation in our customs or behaviors as a race will return us to the Dark Times!”
“The Dark Times?” Shaddar thinks, “Perhaps the Elders know what happened to enslave their race in this city.”
“I must met with the Elders,” Shaddar says aloud.
Halvyr gets onto his knees to look up at Shaddar with adoration and hope. “I am sure that they would be honored to be in your presence!”
“Your first task as my high priest is to bring them here. Bring them to me.”
Halvyr’s face falls. “But, masterful one, they are so old that they never leave their sanctuary. And we dare not bring them out to where the humans might see them. Surely the human’s would kill them if they knew that they lived! Have mercy on our Elders, sire!”
“Not ambulatory? They must be very old indeed… Very well! I will show mercy in this instance. I will deign to visit them in their chambers where their safety and comfort can be insured.”
Halvyr falls back to his face and mumbles his gratitude, “You are kind to all of us, divine one. I will arrange for your visit tomorrow. Unless you wish me to leave now and rouse them from their beds? They will be only too happy to prepare themselves for a visitation from your excellency!”
“That will not be necessary.”
“I am perfectly willing to do whatever you wish! Do you need broken glass eaten? I will do it! Shall I sing your praises all night? I am ready! Command me, divine one!”
“Very well. You must address me as: ‘your worshipfulness’. That will be all I require this evening. Rest now and I will allow you to take my message to the Elders tomorrow.” Shaddar walks to the door and exits the chamber.
“Thank you, your worshipfulness!” he hears from inside the room from his now-devoted follower.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 13 Chapter 15 >
He mentally summons his thralls and gives them orders to assist him in showing these new minions to their quarters. This done, he turns to the hobgoblins and drow.
“Friends! I and my underlings will now show you to your rooms! Please follow us and we will discuss the future in a more private and comfortable setting,” he says grandly while gesturing to his thralls.
Shaddar informs his guests of the rules of the house. “It is vital that you not be seen during the morning and mid-afternoon hours. Do not enter the common area of the meadhall without my permission during this time. Are we clear?” Nods all around and so he dismisses them to go to their chambers.
Shaddar leads the drow men to their own rooms while his thralls escort the hobgoblins upstairs. After assuring the men that he will stop by to insure their every comfort is satisfied with their rooms he takes the drow woman up to the second floor to select some fine dresses from the stock obtained by the minotaur.
She is beyond thrilled at the selection and his gracious words. “It is just as you promised, sir!” she says joyfully.
“Of course it is,” Shaddar replies pleasantly. He escorts her back down to her room and makes sure she is content.
The drow girl has much resentment within her from being so ill-used by the humans and Shaddar is hopeful at first that she may transform into an acceptable matron for the liberated drow. But there are indications in her thoughts that she may be unsuitable; her spirit seems too broken by abuse at the hands of the humans. No matter. He will require some public figurehead among the slave races; perhaps she will be what he needs. Or it may take time for him to locate what is needed elsewhere. He is confident that he will find someone skilled and capable enough to become and remain the new Lord of the city, but easy enough for Shaddar to control and manipulate as his puppet. A delicate mixture indeed.
She walks around the room as if she is in a dream-world – delirious in her joy and hazy with wine. Shaddar has learned that her name is Evicurra Doth and unfortunately she seems too simple for the role of warrior-madien of his new drow empire. A pity. Perhaps she will prove useful in some other fashion later?
Evicurra stops spinning around and looks fearful. She speaks haltingly, “And you are… you are sure that we won’t be… punished for being here?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, good,” Evicurra says softly, “I don’t understand it, sir, but I’m so enjoying it!” Then she passes out onto the bed. Her tolerance for alcohol is quite low apparently. Shaddar leaves her to sleep and he moves to the next drow’s room to gently interrogate him next.
Shaddar pauses briefly outside the door to mentally review what he has pieced together from this fellow’s thoughts. All through his meal, the fellow wondered about the same things and he continues to ponder them now: “What’s the catch? What’s the trick here? This is too good – there must be some problem here. But I want the benefits being offered… I want to have this kind of life for myself – it’s even better than what the Elders have!”
Shaddar opens the door to talk to this drow. The man bows stiffly when he sees who it is and says, “Many thanks for your hospitality, sir. I am Masaxle T’tar of the stone artisans.”
Shaddar waves the fellow into a seat and sits himself. He begins his questioning, “You may address me as ‘The Boss’. I have so many questions about your people. For example: How many other drow are there?”
“I do not know,” he replies with a slight frown. “We have never had any type of census. I can tell you that there are too many for the assigned places we have to live in.” Shaddar hears his thoughts as he bitterly adds another sentence to this answer, “And too few that have their wits about them.”
Shaddar continues the conversation, pulling details out of Masaxle’s mind as well as his verbal answers. According to him, many of the drow are used for more public, or visible, tasks. They clean and repair the streets and buildings. They do quite a bit of food preparation as well (“no one wants to eat anything touched by lumpys, of course”). Ale and wine are brewed by the drow, as are all pre-cooking jobs such as butchers and millers. They are seldom allowed to sample the fruits of their labors and he is quietly bitter about it.
Masaxle himself is a sculptor who creates and maintains the statues and bas-reliefs through the city. “Like most of the drow, I also oversee the work of teams of hobgoblins so that I can focus on the work that they are unsuited for. I have five lumpys myself that carry my tools, haul stone blocks, and sweep debris away,” he explains. This very evening he has given them the night off – he is supposed to be patrolling a pre-determined area, looking for damage that needs repair.
“A pre-existing hierarchy? Superb! Half of my work is already done,” Shaddar gloats to himself. And this regimen of constant inspection and repair explains why the city seems in such excellent condition.
“And who are your leaders? You have some form of ruling council or body of drow Elders, I assume?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve not meet them – only heard tales.” His thoughts continue, “Tales of having any new idea squashed by their veto! We’ll never get anything improved for our people because the Elders are too afraid of what the Lords of the city might think! All my grand concepts – rejected!”
This thread of conversation has promise. Shaddar prods, “You seem like the kind of man who would have his own ideas. Tell me: what kinds of things would you like to do differently?”
Masaxle looks surprised at Shaddar’s perceptiveness, but nods vigorously, “Yes! I wish to create art according to my own feelings and not the rigid limitations of what the humans’ requisition. It is difficult to explain – I feel a yearning for a different style, a different feeling of line and curve than what humans seem to like. My soul strives to explore these artistic senses, but the Elders have denied my every petition. If only I could explore these feelings a bit, I know that I could capture in stone the very spirit of our race!”
Shaddar’s tentacles slowly vibrate with conviction. “Yes. This fellow has distinct promise. Ambition. Discontent. Vision, even.”
It is time to try his experiment with the brainmate. He reaches into one pocket to lay a tender hand on the artifact and tentatively requests an audience.
“What is needed, Supplanter?” the brainmate responds. It is but a weak echo of the blasting mental voice of the elder brain it was culled from.
Shaddar is a bit concerned with the less-than-complimentary title, but presses on with his request, “I have never been to a drow city or seen their art. Can you help me fill this pawn’s mind with what they look like?”
The brainmate gives a twitch under his hand and a feeling of acceptance.
Shaddar stretches out his clawed fingers toward the drow and whispers, “Do you mean artwork like this?” A stream of images travels from his mind into Masaxle’s as he touches the drow’s mind to insert them.
A sprawling underground city made of sharp angles lit with an unearthly blue light!
Fine layers of articulated leather armor, designed to hide, protect, and stifle sound!
A ceremony of worship featuring the bejeweled matron drinking from a huge, spider-shaped goblet!
The man leaps to his feet with his eyes wide and staring. His mouth parts slightly and he moans. Once the images have been placed, Shaddar lowers his hand and the drow rivets his attention back to him.
“How? How did you do that?”
“I am the Avatar of Inspiration.”
“What?”
“Your people come from a higher stock than you know. These images that I have shown to you – they exist! Created by others of your proud race that live underground! I have come to bring the splendor of your race to those of you who now live above.”
“Yes! Yes, that’s it! The lines! The flow of light and dark! The webs of power and transcendence! It speaks so powerfully to my… my dark soul!” Masaxle is almost overcome with emotion at what he has seen. At what it has revealed to him about his own nature.
Shaddar continues, his voice rising majestically, “Through you, and others like you, we will restore what has been denied your people for so long. Together will create these vast works of art and elegant cities above ground as well. I am the instrument of this great and overdue change! And I wish you to be the Chief Minister of Culture.”
Masaxle drops to one knee and bows his head and says, “I will not abuse the great trust you have given me in sharing this inspiration, oh Avatar! Gladly will I restore this art for all of my people to bask in! You have opened my eyes to the true nature of myself! I can never thank you enough – I pledge myself forever your man.” Tears drip from his face as searing and intense emotions course through his psyche.
“Yes,” Shaddar thinks with satisfaction.
The man leaps to his feet and pulls out some parchment and a small case of charcoals.
“I have not a moment to lose! Forgive me, but I must start at once to capture these images on paper so they can be shared, designed, and built! You have given me so much to think about!” He turns to a table and begins drawing fiercely.
“Of course, Masaxle. I would expect nothing less. I will leave you to it. We shall speak more tomorrow.” Shaddar stands and leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
Feeling very pleased with how that went, Shaddar walks down the hall to the room where the other newcomer drow was put.
This drow is going to require a different approach. His thoughts during dinner have focused on figuring out who Shaddar really is, why his minions follow him, and why he is making such an atypical offer to the drow. His current thoughts are very interesting, “Who does he work for? Could it be a test by the Lords of the city? All I can do is keep my eyes open and remember every detail. The Elders said that the smallest things I notice could provide them with the clues they need to know how to proceed with this disruption to our normal state of affairs. I wonder when I’ll be allowed to leave so I can report to them?”
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch with respect. Being a spy and an informer is an old and noble calling. He opens the door to the room knowing exactly what to say.
“Sir!” the drow exclaims, startled at Shaddar’s sudden entrance. “You have me gratitude for the fine meal and lavish accommodations. I am called Halvyr Zaundar and I am at your service.”
Shadder lightly presses his palms together as he speaks, “Be at ease Halvyr when I say this: I know your true reason for being here.”
“What do you mean?” A look of alarm crosses his face before he can mask it.
“Yes,” Shaddar says with concern, “I know you are not on board with these dark winds of change, but fear not! For you will understand all. I sense that you are here to discern what I truly am… Would you like to know?”
Halvyr throws his shoulders back and lifts his chin as he says, “Yes. I do.”
“I am your god! You are a long-lost, splinter group of my children.”
The unexpectedness of this declaration is written on Halvyr’s face. “What is he talking about?” he thinks wildly, “Is he mad?”
“You have been enslaved by these disgusting and pathetic humans. And this has invoked my divine wrath! The creature you see before you is my chosen vessel – a form of vengeance and retribution! I have come to fulfill the ultimate destiny of your race and to place my children at their proper station.” Shaddar sends a blast of mental power rippling across the dark elf’s brain – demanding that he believe the truth of his words with all the force of will that he has.
The results are more than even he could have hoped for. The power of his mental command rends a portion of Halvyr’s mind, burning through all of his internal defenses and core belief systems – making him less than he was before, but it is done! The elf will never deny what he has told him. The experience has changed him irrevocably into a new man.
Halvyr falls flat on the ground and prostrates himself before Shaddar. “Holy one! Allow this unworthy to thank you for the great blessing of this knowledge!”
Shaddar has heard of this consequence happening before, and he knows that it is a rare occurrence, but it couldn’t have happened at a more fortunate time. The man’s mind had a hidden flaw that caused the psychic suggestion to reform his entire personality around the demand. He has become a zealot.
Shaddar instantly capitalizes on this welcome bit of serendipity by saying, “As a true believer, you will be my messenger to my children, Halvyr. You will return to the drow still in bondage and convince them of my divine mission. Indeed! You are destined for great things as you bring all of my children into the knowledge of this truth.”
“I’m unworthy of this praise, great one! Unworthy! I do confess my sin – I was indeed sent here under false pretences. The Elders of our people sent me to spy, but I did not know your nature! Forgive me!”
“Yes, you should confess. Tell me of the wicked mission you were sent on. Tell me of the Elders.” Shaddar crosses his arms and looks sternly down at the elf that wallows on the floor before him.
“Thank you for your mercy, worshipful one! The Elders are so frightened of change! They are the keepers of all that has transpired in the past – our history is so frightening that they dare not reveal it to the rest of us! They fear that any variation in our customs or behaviors as a race will return us to the Dark Times!”
“The Dark Times?” Shaddar thinks, “Perhaps the Elders know what happened to enslave their race in this city.”
“I must met with the Elders,” Shaddar says aloud.
Halvyr gets onto his knees to look up at Shaddar with adoration and hope. “I am sure that they would be honored to be in your presence!”
“Your first task as my high priest is to bring them here. Bring them to me.”
Halvyr’s face falls. “But, masterful one, they are so old that they never leave their sanctuary. And we dare not bring them out to where the humans might see them. Surely the human’s would kill them if they knew that they lived! Have mercy on our Elders, sire!”
“Not ambulatory? They must be very old indeed… Very well! I will show mercy in this instance. I will deign to visit them in their chambers where their safety and comfort can be insured.”
Halvyr falls back to his face and mumbles his gratitude, “You are kind to all of us, divine one. I will arrange for your visit tomorrow. Unless you wish me to leave now and rouse them from their beds? They will be only too happy to prepare themselves for a visitation from your excellency!”
“That will not be necessary.”
“I am perfectly willing to do whatever you wish! Do you need broken glass eaten? I will do it! Shall I sing your praises all night? I am ready! Command me, divine one!”
“Very well. You must address me as: ‘your worshipfulness’. That will be all I require this evening. Rest now and I will allow you to take my message to the Elders tomorrow.” Shaddar walks to the door and exits the chamber.
“Thank you, your worshipfulness!” he hears from inside the room from his now-devoted follower.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 13 Chapter 15 >
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Crossover - Chapter 13
A soft tapping at the back door is barely heard. Shaddar senses the approach of eight minds long before he hears the sound and directs Loolipo to see to the door. The minotaur turns towards the sound, alert for any danger. Cutt is upstairs with Jorin and Bort, organizing and stowing the mounds of loot and coin collected from the days activities.
The kuo-toa opens the door, but the alleyway is apparently empty. She peers into the darkness, but sees nothing.
Shaddar does not need to rely on such mundane senses as mere sight. He can feel their minds and tastes the fear of those hiding in the dark at their own audacity in disturbing “a person place” – let alone entering one. This timidity will not do.
“Come in! Come in, my friends! Don’t be shy.”
Through the door steps the drow woman Shaddar met earlier in the slums, followed by two large drow males. They are all fearful of being inside a place that has obviously been forbidden to them. The drow men are active-looking types who are dressed slightly better than the threadbare dress their guide is wearing.
Seeing that no reprimand comes, but that instead Shaddar greets the dark elves warmly with open and welcoming gestures, the drow are followed by a group of hobgoblins. The three that Shaddar spoke with at the brothel are accompanied by two other males. Both of the new hobgoblins are huge brutes with massive muscles, obviously they have some very physical job that has kept them in fine shape, very unlike the weedy-looking male that was working in the brothel.
Those that Shaddar implanted with the powerful suggestion that he could do anything are a bit leery, but those who have yet to be convinced are quite nervous. The strangers are ready to bolt for the door should anyone make a sudden move or loud exclamation.
All of them look fit, if a bit underfed. Overall, Shaddar is satisfied. Toothsnatcher shifts his stance a bit and all of the newcomers are clearly surprised to find that the huge monster is alive and not some kind of illusion or statue. They eye the beast warily.
Shaddar speaks calmly, “Honored guests! I’m so glad you were able to come. Here! Sit at this table I have prepared for you. Loolipo! Bring the food out at once for my guests! Hawke, I require wine and ale! Toothsnacher, you will serve my guests their drinks!”
Loolipo bows her head in acquiescence and soon returns with bowls filled to the brim with steaming beef stew. Toothsnacher brings over the bottles of wine and a small keg of ale at Shaddar’s request.
“Sit, my friends. Enjoy! I have eaten my fill earlier, but it would rude to discuss our business before you have been fully satisfied with victuals yourselves!”
When they still hesitate, casting uncertain glances at Hawke who is scowling furiously, Shaddar offers further encouragement. “This is not a test, merely a courtesy. Your days of eating gruel are over! From now on you can eat whatever I place before you.” He chuckles in what he hopes is a friendly-sounding way as he goes on, “Don’t insult me, now! The cook has worked hard on this fine meal!”
Hawke is perplexed by the reference to gruel, but he hasn’t got any other clue that his current guests are not human. Not yet. And if Shaddar is careful he won’t for a time. Best to leave that bit of conflict for another day if it can be allowed to simmer. Besides, Hawke’s reaction to the true nature of Shaddar and his guests is something of an experiment. How will the man react when he finds out the truth? It will be a most useful test to see how the revelation will be handled by other residents of the city when and if that time comes.
One of the drow is not convinced by Shaddar’s gracious words. He screws up his courage and speaks, “On what authority do you do this?”
“On my own authority. I am a higher authority than one of you has ever imagined.”
This seems to do nothing but confuse the newcomers. Those who have already been ‘modified’ nod their heads with slight smiles. Shaddar waves the question aside with his tentacles and adds, “I’ll prove it to you – just give me time. For now, however, it is time to feast!”
The confidence of his manner combined with the savory aroma of the food and drink is enough to help them make the correct decision. They sit down. Slowly at first, they begin to sample the meal, but they quickly begin to consume the food at a rate which is a bit alarming. Clearly, they are not in the habit of eating such excellent food. Shaddar is perfectly willing to allow them to stuff themselves – they will need their strength to do his bidding. The liquor is having a fine effect as well, relaxing their fears and loosening their thoughts. That will make things so much easier later.
Shaddar hopes to teach the drow in particular about the culture that they have apparently lost. Perhaps the brainmate can be of some use in this task? Or perhaps there is something that will help in the locked scrollcase he found in his master’s pocket?
He mentally summons Loolipo. Soon she shuffles to his side. Shaddar hands the scrollcase to her and commands, “Open this for me when you can. Return it as soon as you pick the lock.” She takes the case and is already examining the intricate mechanism as she leaves the room.
Best not to depend on the faint possibility that there is a treatise on drow history in the scrollcase. No. He resolves to use the knowledge that brainmate carries combined with his own experiences to transmit as much of the information about drow culture available to him directly into the minds of the dark elves who seem to have lost it. This mental barrage combined with a subtle psychic suggestion to accept the knowledge as the glorious truth might win some of them over and transform these submissive slaves into the clever and aggressive pawns that he will require.
“The dark elves will form the elites of my army, the public face of the rebellion that I plan to foster here. They will commune with me and I will give them authority over my forces when I am not present. The hobgoblins are ideally suited to become my foot-soldiers and enforcers; certainly they must be more numerous due to their much higher reproduction rate.”
Shaddar is less concerned with the difficulties in winning over the hobgoblins. It is in their very nature to be aggressive and enjoy regimented conflict. He will merely provide an alternate outlet for the release of these natural and normal tendencies.
The 3 drow and 5 hobgoblins are certainly relishing their meal. Hawke shakes his head in anger periodically, usually after one of the hobgoblins releases a belch or loud slurp. Satisfied noises of enjoyment are nearly constant.
“Table manners of pigs,” Hawke thinks in disgust. “And the stew isn’t that good. Why, they act like they’ve never had beef stew before!”
While the food is a welcome distraction, none of his guests can stop thinking worried thoughts about their being in a place that has been forbidden to them. The hobgoblins in particular are frightened. Shaddar is quite curious about this.
“I will reeducate them, naturally, but how were these fierce warrior races so thoroughly trained or conditioned to begin with? What methods were used? Might I be able to use the technique myself to ‘handle’ the current masters of the city, I wonder?”
As he ponders these new creatures and samples their thoughts to better understand each of them he hears Jorin, Bort, and Cutt descend the stairs behind him and turns to face them.
Cutt reports, “All is accomplished as you commanded, master.”
Jorin and Bort freeze mid-step as they see Shaddar’s guests eating in the middle of the hall.
“Wh-? Wha-? What? What is this?!” sputters Jorin with an indignant look on his face.
Bort’s mouth drops open and he stares in disbelief at the feasting hobgoblins and dark elves.
“Really now! Is that any way to greet your new fellow guild members?” Shaddar admonishes jovially.
“Fellow members?” gasps Jorin in revulsion.
All of the hobgoblins and drow have stopped eating and are paying close attention to this exchange.
“Calm yourself now,” Shaddar warns, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I told you to trust me. Trust in my direction. I haven’t led you astray so far, have I?”
“But… this is unnatural,” Bort says with a shake of his head.
Clearly, they will need further convincing than simple demands for obedience.
“What is it that makes it unnatural?” Shaddar questions. “Change is very natural. I was a change for you, was I not? And has it not been a good thing? For you?”
“Well… Yes, but this…” Jorin begins hesitantly. Bort elbows his friend in the ribs and tosses his head upstairs. From their thoughts, they both are upset by this turn of events and Bort wants to discuss their response to it privately. Jorin amazingly seems to comprehend his accomplice’s unstated desire and they turn and march huffily back up towards their room.
“A problem I will need to address later,” Shaddar thinks. “How irritating. They will just have to deal with it.” Or he will deal with them…
Shaddar quickly checks Hawke’s thoughts to see if Jorin and Bort have given the game away. Luckily, the man is such a staunch racist, he can’t conceive that lumpys and palehairs would ever enter his hall.
“All his talk about how change is good… Bah! Change is not good,” the man thinks while frowning deeply, “The established order is what’s good. Everyone knows that! It keeps everything working well and everyone happy. That’s the way the Lords of the city and the Lords of the Realm put it together and that’s not going to change!”
Shaddar’s tentacles gesticulate in motions of confident certainty as he thinks, “Change is inevitable…”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 12 Chapter 14 >
The kuo-toa opens the door, but the alleyway is apparently empty. She peers into the darkness, but sees nothing.
Shaddar does not need to rely on such mundane senses as mere sight. He can feel their minds and tastes the fear of those hiding in the dark at their own audacity in disturbing “a person place” – let alone entering one. This timidity will not do.
“Come in! Come in, my friends! Don’t be shy.”
Through the door steps the drow woman Shaddar met earlier in the slums, followed by two large drow males. They are all fearful of being inside a place that has obviously been forbidden to them. The drow men are active-looking types who are dressed slightly better than the threadbare dress their guide is wearing.
Seeing that no reprimand comes, but that instead Shaddar greets the dark elves warmly with open and welcoming gestures, the drow are followed by a group of hobgoblins. The three that Shaddar spoke with at the brothel are accompanied by two other males. Both of the new hobgoblins are huge brutes with massive muscles, obviously they have some very physical job that has kept them in fine shape, very unlike the weedy-looking male that was working in the brothel.
Those that Shaddar implanted with the powerful suggestion that he could do anything are a bit leery, but those who have yet to be convinced are quite nervous. The strangers are ready to bolt for the door should anyone make a sudden move or loud exclamation.
All of them look fit, if a bit underfed. Overall, Shaddar is satisfied. Toothsnatcher shifts his stance a bit and all of the newcomers are clearly surprised to find that the huge monster is alive and not some kind of illusion or statue. They eye the beast warily.
Shaddar speaks calmly, “Honored guests! I’m so glad you were able to come. Here! Sit at this table I have prepared for you. Loolipo! Bring the food out at once for my guests! Hawke, I require wine and ale! Toothsnacher, you will serve my guests their drinks!”
Loolipo bows her head in acquiescence and soon returns with bowls filled to the brim with steaming beef stew. Toothsnacher brings over the bottles of wine and a small keg of ale at Shaddar’s request.
“Sit, my friends. Enjoy! I have eaten my fill earlier, but it would rude to discuss our business before you have been fully satisfied with victuals yourselves!”
When they still hesitate, casting uncertain glances at Hawke who is scowling furiously, Shaddar offers further encouragement. “This is not a test, merely a courtesy. Your days of eating gruel are over! From now on you can eat whatever I place before you.” He chuckles in what he hopes is a friendly-sounding way as he goes on, “Don’t insult me, now! The cook has worked hard on this fine meal!”
Hawke is perplexed by the reference to gruel, but he hasn’t got any other clue that his current guests are not human. Not yet. And if Shaddar is careful he won’t for a time. Best to leave that bit of conflict for another day if it can be allowed to simmer. Besides, Hawke’s reaction to the true nature of Shaddar and his guests is something of an experiment. How will the man react when he finds out the truth? It will be a most useful test to see how the revelation will be handled by other residents of the city when and if that time comes.
One of the drow is not convinced by Shaddar’s gracious words. He screws up his courage and speaks, “On what authority do you do this?”
“On my own authority. I am a higher authority than one of you has ever imagined.”
This seems to do nothing but confuse the newcomers. Those who have already been ‘modified’ nod their heads with slight smiles. Shaddar waves the question aside with his tentacles and adds, “I’ll prove it to you – just give me time. For now, however, it is time to feast!”
The confidence of his manner combined with the savory aroma of the food and drink is enough to help them make the correct decision. They sit down. Slowly at first, they begin to sample the meal, but they quickly begin to consume the food at a rate which is a bit alarming. Clearly, they are not in the habit of eating such excellent food. Shaddar is perfectly willing to allow them to stuff themselves – they will need their strength to do his bidding. The liquor is having a fine effect as well, relaxing their fears and loosening their thoughts. That will make things so much easier later.
Shaddar hopes to teach the drow in particular about the culture that they have apparently lost. Perhaps the brainmate can be of some use in this task? Or perhaps there is something that will help in the locked scrollcase he found in his master’s pocket?
He mentally summons Loolipo. Soon she shuffles to his side. Shaddar hands the scrollcase to her and commands, “Open this for me when you can. Return it as soon as you pick the lock.” She takes the case and is already examining the intricate mechanism as she leaves the room.
Best not to depend on the faint possibility that there is a treatise on drow history in the scrollcase. No. He resolves to use the knowledge that brainmate carries combined with his own experiences to transmit as much of the information about drow culture available to him directly into the minds of the dark elves who seem to have lost it. This mental barrage combined with a subtle psychic suggestion to accept the knowledge as the glorious truth might win some of them over and transform these submissive slaves into the clever and aggressive pawns that he will require.
“The dark elves will form the elites of my army, the public face of the rebellion that I plan to foster here. They will commune with me and I will give them authority over my forces when I am not present. The hobgoblins are ideally suited to become my foot-soldiers and enforcers; certainly they must be more numerous due to their much higher reproduction rate.”
Shaddar is less concerned with the difficulties in winning over the hobgoblins. It is in their very nature to be aggressive and enjoy regimented conflict. He will merely provide an alternate outlet for the release of these natural and normal tendencies.
The 3 drow and 5 hobgoblins are certainly relishing their meal. Hawke shakes his head in anger periodically, usually after one of the hobgoblins releases a belch or loud slurp. Satisfied noises of enjoyment are nearly constant.
“Table manners of pigs,” Hawke thinks in disgust. “And the stew isn’t that good. Why, they act like they’ve never had beef stew before!”
While the food is a welcome distraction, none of his guests can stop thinking worried thoughts about their being in a place that has been forbidden to them. The hobgoblins in particular are frightened. Shaddar is quite curious about this.
“I will reeducate them, naturally, but how were these fierce warrior races so thoroughly trained or conditioned to begin with? What methods were used? Might I be able to use the technique myself to ‘handle’ the current masters of the city, I wonder?”
As he ponders these new creatures and samples their thoughts to better understand each of them he hears Jorin, Bort, and Cutt descend the stairs behind him and turns to face them.
Cutt reports, “All is accomplished as you commanded, master.”
Jorin and Bort freeze mid-step as they see Shaddar’s guests eating in the middle of the hall.
“Wh-? Wha-? What? What is this?!” sputters Jorin with an indignant look on his face.
Bort’s mouth drops open and he stares in disbelief at the feasting hobgoblins and dark elves.
“Really now! Is that any way to greet your new fellow guild members?” Shaddar admonishes jovially.
“Fellow members?” gasps Jorin in revulsion.
All of the hobgoblins and drow have stopped eating and are paying close attention to this exchange.
“Calm yourself now,” Shaddar warns, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “I told you to trust me. Trust in my direction. I haven’t led you astray so far, have I?”
“But… this is unnatural,” Bort says with a shake of his head.
Clearly, they will need further convincing than simple demands for obedience.
“What is it that makes it unnatural?” Shaddar questions. “Change is very natural. I was a change for you, was I not? And has it not been a good thing? For you?”
“Well… Yes, but this…” Jorin begins hesitantly. Bort elbows his friend in the ribs and tosses his head upstairs. From their thoughts, they both are upset by this turn of events and Bort wants to discuss their response to it privately. Jorin amazingly seems to comprehend his accomplice’s unstated desire and they turn and march huffily back up towards their room.
“A problem I will need to address later,” Shaddar thinks. “How irritating. They will just have to deal with it.” Or he will deal with them…
Shaddar quickly checks Hawke’s thoughts to see if Jorin and Bort have given the game away. Luckily, the man is such a staunch racist, he can’t conceive that lumpys and palehairs would ever enter his hall.
“All his talk about how change is good… Bah! Change is not good,” the man thinks while frowning deeply, “The established order is what’s good. Everyone knows that! It keeps everything working well and everyone happy. That’s the way the Lords of the city and the Lords of the Realm put it together and that’s not going to change!”
Shaddar’s tentacles gesticulate in motions of confident certainty as he thinks, “Change is inevitable…”
Chapter 1 < Chapter 12 Chapter 14 >
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