Back in their room, the adventurers compare notes.
Nathred sums up, “We have heard that Tu-Methus himself plans to fight in the tournament at Song of Blades, and that the winner will get a free pick from a Fallanor ship’s cargo. We also know that the litorian, faen and verrik population are trying to get a speaker of their own, or at least a combined speaker for the three of them. Apparently, Tu-Methus tries to get the steward of trade, or the steward of the Ghostwash to move to Ka-Rone (imc, I have three non-regional stewards: Trade, Ghostwash and Peace). He also wants to change the harbor taxes relating to the worth of the cargo. Finally, the sibeccai speaker, Juroldon, is said to live with the owner of the Smooth Hand, Leinduro the Soft. Does anyone think these rumors are important to us?”
Nobody speaks up.
“I agree. What do we know about Firrul? Lately, people have been dissatisfied with her. While she was very ambitious and dedicated early on, she seemingly grew complacent later on. Now, she changes her lovers several times a year, and only supports choice endeavors. We also know that she appeared in the tavern as we were meeting Morush, either deliberately or coincidentally.
“Morush, on the other hand, is purportedly a very ambitious and sometimes inconsiderate, yet loyal and respected person. He is hard pressed to find smugglers and the resistance movement we are looking for, and lately has made an example of thieves and smugglers he caught. He’d also like to tighten security in Ka-Rone, strengthening the guards and perhaps even forming a secret police.
“With regards to the resistance movement, we’ve been told that they operate out of the ruins of Reveran, which are partially intact below the city. We probably won’t find the leader of the group, a faen magister or a runethane named Toril, and his assistant, an unnamed sibeccai or faen oathsworn, unless we know exactly where to look in the ruins.
“We’ve also been told that this group is more a smuggling operation than a real resistance movement, that they hide their goods in a cave outside of the city, and that they expect a new shipment soon. Also, signs point to a powerful person protecting that group.
“Lastly, we have the unknown lover of Sirala, who must be someone within government circles, and we have heard that Marel, the harbormaster, lets pirates and smugglers use his harbor for the right price. Thoughts?”
Tarkass is the first to speak.
“I think Sirala’s lover is Morush. He is a government official, and probably not rich enough to have his own villa in the city.”
“It sure seems that way.”, agrees Malethar. "However, I don’t really understand how that would work. Also, what can we do about it?”
“We could confront Sirala with our “knowledge” and see how she takes it.”, proposes Dajsan. “She doesn’t sound like a gifted thespian; we should know whether we’re right.”
Nathred continues this idea, “I could even disguise myself like Morush.” He thinks on it. “Nah, sorry. He had his hood drawn low, I haven’t seen enough of him yet.”
And so it goes. The four discuss who Sirala’s lover might be, and what he would know. They also talk about Morush and whether he is serious in his quest for the resistance, but it sure seems that way.
“I don’t care either way.”, says Tarkass more than once. “We are just the serfs in this game of Kings & Kingdoms. I say we enter the ruins and explore. Perhaps we find this group; either way, something happens.”
The group more or less agrees, but want to rest first, so that Malethar has a full allotment of spells ready. After discussing a little more, they agree that Firrul could be the smugglers’ protector, especially as she is Morush’s superior.
One hour goes by, and the group hasn’t set a definite course yet. Nathred wants to confront Sirala, thinking her to be easily impressed. Dajsan would like to visit the Small Hut and gather some more information. Malethar wants to find out to whom Sirala’s lover’s suite belongs. Tarkass, finally, wants to enter the ruins and test their luck. In the end, they decide to do all of these things: First looking into the owner of the apartment, then visiting the Small Hut, afterwards intercepting Sirala on her way home, and finally, the next day, entering the ruins.
They approach the palace as the sun sets. The apartment building is right next to it. Today, two guards flank the door and look up as the group approaches.
“May I help you?”, one of them inquires.
“We’re looking for Morush.”, bluffs Nathred.
“He ain’t here, sirs, he’s in the palace.”
“But we were told to wait in his apartment.”, replies Nathred, describing the location of the apartment in question. The guard shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, but this is not Morush’s apartment.”
Malethar focuses almost all his remaining magical prowess, silently forming a spell in his mind.
”Whom does the room in question belong to?”, he asks his modified (silent) compelling question (greater).
The guard answers at once, “Why, it is the room of the human speaker, Firrul.” As soon as the words have left his mouth, he wonders why he said that, and embarassed, sends the group away.
Nathred is the first to mouth his surprise, “Firrul! Is she Sirala’s lover?”
Malethar doesn’t think so, at first, but isn’t too sure.
(DM’s note: Malethar’s player said, “No way. There’s no lesbian character in an American adventure.” But when told that I write my own stuff, he said, “Oh.”)
Tarkass shakes its head, saying, “No. The voice I heard was not recognizable, but it sounded male. Sirala also spoke about her lover as male.”
“What about Degenim, Firrul’s lover?”, asks Dajsan. This seems to be the most likely option. However, the group is unsure whether Degenim controls Firrul through something, or whether he just overheard Firrul talking. They probably won’t know until they meet Sirala, so they put that question back for the moment and head to the Small Hut.
The Small Hut is a two-story building whose interior looks small at first sight, as everything is kept at human size. The dimly lit tavern doesn’t see many giant customers, and that is probably intentional. Even sibeccai are rare. There are dark corners all around, and from the balcony that is the second floor, scheming patrons watch the taproom for signs of suspicious behavior.
Tarkass sits itself next to another mojh. The two look at each other silently for some time, then they relax and turn towards the taproom.
“See that guy?”, asks the unknown mojh, its prehensile tail pointing towards a strange creature sitting at a table, “That’s a harrid. These bastards eat magic, they say. They come from the south. If you ask me, they should go back there as soon as possible.”
Meanwhile, Nathred has spotted an interesting woman. She is a verrik, her dark blue hair flowing freely about her shoulders, her red skin clothed in dark green. She sits alone at a table, quiet in the midst of the tavern's storm, watching the flow of people and shouted conversation ebb and rise around her. Just as he wants to approach her, something else takes his attention.
The harrid rises from his chair. He is a strange, abominable creature, a cross between a vulture and a man, and his long neck sports a jeweled chain of emeralds. To Tarkass’ magic-sensitive eyes, the creature’s blade, his boots and the chain glow with a trusting red light. The harrid’s companion, a rapier-wielding human, is bereft of all magic.
Tarkass gets up as well. The harrid looks at it, and the two lock gazes. Both issue a silent challenge, then the harrid seems to dismiss the mojh for the moment, and speaks. His voice croaks like an ancient nightingale.
“Greetings. My name is Deilliero, and this”, he unrolls a parchment, ”is a map to the Cave of Daroba Forben. I need companions to come with me. I pay well.”
The harrid waits for several moments, then makes a mocking gesture with his hand and sits down again. At the same time, a waitress passing him is pushed, falling onto the harrid and spoiling him with ale. Nervous laughter rings through the room, immediately going silent again as the harrid jumps up, claws closing around his scimitar. Tarkass grabs its twin blades as well.
The human companion’s hand darts out, grabbing Delliero’s arm in a cautionary way. Delliero looks down and relaxes just a little, his claws running threateningly over the grip of his weapon.
The man who pushed the waitress stands up as well.
“You want something? You can get it. Meet me at bridge street. But we better meet in an hour, so I can drink a little more. We’ll want a fair fight, no?” He laughs, and some of his companions join in. The harrid’s beak closes with a snapping sound, silencing the drunkards.
The man continues, “As you wish. At least you won’t be stuck looking for that cave of yours alone.”
As the human companion whispers something into the harrid’s ears, Nathred and Dajsan realize the brute has just tried to subtly convey a meeting place. It seems he wants to accompany the harrid, but doesn’t want his friends to know that. Nevertheless, the way he did it was neither subtle nor very intelligent.
As Delliero sits down again, Tarkass wanders over to the man, silently stepping behind him.
“You realize that you’re dead, don’t you?”, it whispers into the man’s ear, causing his skin to turn a little white. With a snarling smile, Tarkass goes back to its seat.
The verrik woman has watched the proeceedings detachedly, and as she looks up now, Nathred stands in front of her.
“Mind if I sit down?”, the akashic asks, sitting down gracefully. “I am Nathred Salmos, at your service.”
The woman musters Nathred, and after more than a moment of hesitation, sighs.
“My name is Frixit. What do you want?” Her voice sounds like waves crashing upon stone.
“Want? I want you to be happy, m’lady. I saw you sitting here, alone, and would like to entertain you.”
Frixit smiles condescendingly. Then she shrugs, “Fine. Whatever. Be funny.”
Nathred is taken aback. He decides to press on, however.
“Why don’t we talk about what just happened. What do you think about it?”
“I?” Frixit speaks in a bored voice. “I think the man is walking a dangerous path, trying to survive two groups: his friends and the harrid. I also think the harrid is a fool, having been tricked into buying a false treasure map.”
Nathred would like to say he thought the same, but he didn’t. Instead, he inquires upon the cave the harrid is looking for. Frixit tells him the story in a voice as if she would explain it to a child:
Once upon a time, there was a spider totem warrior, the only one known in Dor-Ethenos. Her name was Daroba Forben. She used her powers for her own good, breaking and entering wherever she suspected a prize. One night, she broke into the tower of the faen magister Tyressam Featherquill. Tyressam cursed her with a terrible fate: From that day onwards, every spider Daroba encountered became friendly towards her, following her everywhere. Soon, numerous spiders of all sizes accompanied Daroba wherever she went, nearly driving the woman insane. In a murderous rage, she killed Featherquill, then took all her belongings, and the magister’s as well, and disappeared into a cave in the Elder Mountains, where she lived until her death. It is said many more spiders found their way to her, and they guard her grave even now. Some also say Daroba was reborn as a giant spider, ruling as a queen. All stories tell of the dangers and riches of the cave, however.
Annoyed at the verrik's behaviour, Nathred takes his leave and walks back to his companions.
The next to try its luck is Tarkass, but it doesn’t really connect with Frixit, as well. It doesn’t see any spiders around her, which seems to comfort it a little. All it can find out is that Frixit doesn’t lend credence to the rumors of an all-powerful group trying to take over the underworld. She believes it to be grand-talking of fools who have been careless or stupid enough to be caught by the guards, and are now unwilling to admit to their stupidity.
“Unless it’s a ruse in the guise of a ruse, of course.”, she adds.
Finally, Dajsan sits down at her table, much to the amusement of Frixit, who has now been visited by three of the four intrepid adventurers.
“What do you want?”
“First, buy you a drink. Then, talk about what you know.”
At the request of Frixit, Dajsan orders a cup of seawater for her, and for him as well. Frixit doesn’t seem to mind the salty, tangy taste burning down the throat.
“What do you know about the resistance?”, Dajsan asks, figuring straight talk to be the best course of action.
It seems to work, as Frixit answers, “If you can call them that. I know they’ve got an enemy in the caves outside the city, a giant called Es-Faron. I don’t know why, but the leader is bound by promise not to attack him, nor to hire someone to attack him. Now, said leader waits for someone to take care of his problem without his explicit approval.”
Dajsan is caught by surprise at the openness of the verrik.
“You’re going to talk about us, aren’t you?”
Frixit smiles. “If someone asks. If not, then I won’t. Both courses will prohibit permanence and encourage change, so I don’t care either way.”
As Dajsan walks back to the table, Nathred and Tarkass are deep in plans of attacking the harrid.
“I bet we can take him”, says Tarkass, patting its blades.
“We probably can.”, Nathred agrees. “We can also set up a ruse so that it seems as if the man meeting him was on our side. He would be pressed into helping us.”
Tarkass’ eyes glimmer faintly at the thought of such a trick.
Dajsan tells the others about the giant, but the group doesn’t know whether to believe the story. The leader of a resistance movement being beholden to a giant; that seems almost too absurd. They fall back towards planning on ambushing the harrid. Tarkass wants to takes his map and examine the cave it points to.
Nathred nods in agreement.
“We have almost an hour to prepare. Let’s plan.”
---
Next: Harrid, Giant, ruined cities? What will they do?
(this is where we stopped playing. It's a long time till November...)