Haraash Saan
First Post
What looked to be a large antechamber awaited us. Along the two side walls sat a row of benches, upon each one sat a variety of people. A lady of the night, rogues, merchants, even a priest of Laster, sat within the waiting room. All looked anxious and afraid. They did not want to be there, but it seemed that they had little choice.
Korb/Moxadder sat patiently on a bench near the doorway, no doubt having been the most recent arrival.
At the end of the chamber was a small podium, behind which stood an older man wearing grand robes of rich burgundy. On the lectern rested a large volume, an ink pot and a large colourful quill.
The robed man looked up at us slowly and opened his mouth to speak, but Moxadder interjected. “Forgive me men.” He apologized, “I told ‘em to wait outside, but ya knows ‘ow ‘ard it is to get good ‘elp.”
And then to us, “Sit ‘ere and shut up!” he ordered.
Biting my tongue at the role I was forced to play I did as commanded and took up a seat beside him as did Morgan. Argonne blinked stupidly for a moment before doing likewise.
Korb’s double beckoned us to crowd round him and he brought his finger to his lips. “Change of plan. I’ve managed to get an audience with the Master. I’ll see what I can find out and then we’ll just leave, quiet like.” He said in a whisper.
Moxadder was right. This was no time for a rash act. Firstly, there were too many for our small band to defeat, and secondly, what we needed was information, not violence. We needed to know more about the Master and the Orsa Terminus.
As soon as he had finished speaking, the door we had entered by opened and in strode Zhontell, the deceased barkeep over his shoulder. So much for no rash actions.
Moxadder leapt to his feet and in another moment of inspiration hissed, “What’re you doin’? What ‘ave you done?”
Zhontell stood mute, although I could see him taking in the situation.
Changing his audience, Moxadder bowed his head in supplication and then addressed the robed man, “Please forgive dis idiot for the interruption.”
The man behind the podium shook his head, “The interruption is not the issue here Korb. I think your problem is that he killed one of the master’s faithful servants. Why would he do that?”
“He refused me entry. My employer Korb had ordered me to attend him.” Answered Zhontell matter-of-factly.
Moxadder glared at Zhontell with a menace I had never seen him display before and then spat, “I’ll ‘andle dis.”
As he spoke he whipped a dagger from his belt, one of his favorites, and strode forward to Zhontell, jaw set in determination. With a rough push into Zhontell’s chest he forced the elf to stumble back through the door.
The door slammed behind Moxadder and then all was silent. No one in the room moved, all eyes turned to the door.
A horrid scream shattered the silence, and then the door suddenly flung open. Moxadder stomped back to his seat, bloodied dagger clenched tightly in his fist. “It’s sorted. I’ll explain it to da master.” He said to the robed man.
I dared not ask the Fastendian what had happened. I could see that he was still furious and I did not want to tempt his anger.
Moxadder paused as he passed me and turned to face me. An evil smile crept across his face and he casually leaned across and wiped the blood from his weapon on the leg of my pants.
I was horrified! How dare my trusted companion, a man I almost treated as an equal, treat me with such disrespect! I was so shocked that I could find no words or actions to seek retribution. I just sat completely rigid, every muscle tensed, such was my fury.
Moxadder ignored me completely, calmly play acting his role as Korb to perfection, and resumed his seat. It took a few minutes to regain control of my emotions and realize why he done it. But still, that evil grin was out of place. I swear that he had deliberately chosen me to clean his blade on.
After half an hour there was a piercing scream from the room beyond the podium. Taking this as his queue, the robed man called Korb forth saying “The master will see you now” then he drew a line across one of the names in his book. That was certainly one way to end an audience.
Moxadder rose and approached the door. Argonne stood, unbidden and followed. Moxadder pretended not to notice, no doubt seeking no more unusual interruptions.
“My man will come wit’ me. I wanna present ‘im to da master.” He said ingeniously.
They were ordered to leave their weapons in the antechamber, and after complying they boldly entered the master’s chambers.
Fifteen minutes passed. There had been no sign of Zhontell and I began to wonder if Moxadder in his rage had slain our comrade, but I dared not stand and check lest I once again draw unwanted attention. My thoughts were interrupted as the door behind the robed man opened and Moxadder and Argonne returned to room in which we waited.
Both were pale and Moxadder held his bunched and bloodied shirt tightly to his stomach.
Without a word they walked forward, Moxadder’s right boot squelching with each painful step, and left the antechamber. Morgan and I followed. I smelt an unpleasant odour that seemed to linger behind Moxadder, but I dismissed it because as I rose from the bench I caught a glimpse of a familiar face in amongst those waiting, Ship’s Cat.
Last to exit the room I shut the door behind me firmly before saying, “Ship’s Cat was in there!”
Morgan nodded in confirmation and said “Yeah, I saw her when we first went in.”
Zhontell was waiting for us and his face betrayed no sign of the Moxadder’s assault. His shirt offered more evidence, it was soaked in brown dry blood.
Without another word we departed and made our way back to inn, leaving the body of the barkeep unceremoniously in a corner.
We agreed to separate, and meet up later in another tavern, The Dueling Ducks, to discuss what we had learned. I stayed behind in the Rolling Lady to wait for Ship’s Cat and try to learn what she was doing here in Guerney City. When she’d left us she was some thirty days travel to the south west in Thessingcourt.
Korb/Moxadder sat patiently on a bench near the doorway, no doubt having been the most recent arrival.
At the end of the chamber was a small podium, behind which stood an older man wearing grand robes of rich burgundy. On the lectern rested a large volume, an ink pot and a large colourful quill.
The robed man looked up at us slowly and opened his mouth to speak, but Moxadder interjected. “Forgive me men.” He apologized, “I told ‘em to wait outside, but ya knows ‘ow ‘ard it is to get good ‘elp.”
And then to us, “Sit ‘ere and shut up!” he ordered.
Biting my tongue at the role I was forced to play I did as commanded and took up a seat beside him as did Morgan. Argonne blinked stupidly for a moment before doing likewise.
Korb’s double beckoned us to crowd round him and he brought his finger to his lips. “Change of plan. I’ve managed to get an audience with the Master. I’ll see what I can find out and then we’ll just leave, quiet like.” He said in a whisper.
Moxadder was right. This was no time for a rash act. Firstly, there were too many for our small band to defeat, and secondly, what we needed was information, not violence. We needed to know more about the Master and the Orsa Terminus.
As soon as he had finished speaking, the door we had entered by opened and in strode Zhontell, the deceased barkeep over his shoulder. So much for no rash actions.
Moxadder leapt to his feet and in another moment of inspiration hissed, “What’re you doin’? What ‘ave you done?”
Zhontell stood mute, although I could see him taking in the situation.
Changing his audience, Moxadder bowed his head in supplication and then addressed the robed man, “Please forgive dis idiot for the interruption.”
The man behind the podium shook his head, “The interruption is not the issue here Korb. I think your problem is that he killed one of the master’s faithful servants. Why would he do that?”
“He refused me entry. My employer Korb had ordered me to attend him.” Answered Zhontell matter-of-factly.
Moxadder glared at Zhontell with a menace I had never seen him display before and then spat, “I’ll ‘andle dis.”
As he spoke he whipped a dagger from his belt, one of his favorites, and strode forward to Zhontell, jaw set in determination. With a rough push into Zhontell’s chest he forced the elf to stumble back through the door.
The door slammed behind Moxadder and then all was silent. No one in the room moved, all eyes turned to the door.
A horrid scream shattered the silence, and then the door suddenly flung open. Moxadder stomped back to his seat, bloodied dagger clenched tightly in his fist. “It’s sorted. I’ll explain it to da master.” He said to the robed man.
I dared not ask the Fastendian what had happened. I could see that he was still furious and I did not want to tempt his anger.
Moxadder paused as he passed me and turned to face me. An evil smile crept across his face and he casually leaned across and wiped the blood from his weapon on the leg of my pants.
I was horrified! How dare my trusted companion, a man I almost treated as an equal, treat me with such disrespect! I was so shocked that I could find no words or actions to seek retribution. I just sat completely rigid, every muscle tensed, such was my fury.
Moxadder ignored me completely, calmly play acting his role as Korb to perfection, and resumed his seat. It took a few minutes to regain control of my emotions and realize why he done it. But still, that evil grin was out of place. I swear that he had deliberately chosen me to clean his blade on.
After half an hour there was a piercing scream from the room beyond the podium. Taking this as his queue, the robed man called Korb forth saying “The master will see you now” then he drew a line across one of the names in his book. That was certainly one way to end an audience.
Moxadder rose and approached the door. Argonne stood, unbidden and followed. Moxadder pretended not to notice, no doubt seeking no more unusual interruptions.
“My man will come wit’ me. I wanna present ‘im to da master.” He said ingeniously.
They were ordered to leave their weapons in the antechamber, and after complying they boldly entered the master’s chambers.
Fifteen minutes passed. There had been no sign of Zhontell and I began to wonder if Moxadder in his rage had slain our comrade, but I dared not stand and check lest I once again draw unwanted attention. My thoughts were interrupted as the door behind the robed man opened and Moxadder and Argonne returned to room in which we waited.
Both were pale and Moxadder held his bunched and bloodied shirt tightly to his stomach.
Without a word they walked forward, Moxadder’s right boot squelching with each painful step, and left the antechamber. Morgan and I followed. I smelt an unpleasant odour that seemed to linger behind Moxadder, but I dismissed it because as I rose from the bench I caught a glimpse of a familiar face in amongst those waiting, Ship’s Cat.
Last to exit the room I shut the door behind me firmly before saying, “Ship’s Cat was in there!”
Morgan nodded in confirmation and said “Yeah, I saw her when we first went in.”
Zhontell was waiting for us and his face betrayed no sign of the Moxadder’s assault. His shirt offered more evidence, it was soaked in brown dry blood.
Without another word we departed and made our way back to inn, leaving the body of the barkeep unceremoniously in a corner.
We agreed to separate, and meet up later in another tavern, The Dueling Ducks, to discuss what we had learned. I stayed behind in the Rolling Lady to wait for Ship’s Cat and try to learn what she was doing here in Guerney City. When she’d left us she was some thirty days travel to the south west in Thessingcourt.