arwink
Clockwork Golem
Geoffrey looks at the figure of Yip, sprawled out on the floor next to the table.
“Are we finished now?”
Yip simply glares at Amarin, flicking a fist-full of ectoplasm at the smiling psion.
“Have fun?” Amarin asks eagerly. When Yip doesn’t answer, he turns back to Geoffrey. “Anyway, that’s what I can do. Well, some of what I can do…”
“I’m glad its only some,” Halgo mutters. “Perhaps you could just tell us about your other skills.”
“Well…”
“Leave the practical demonstrations for our enemies,” Halgo suggest firmly.
“Or you may find yourself joining their ever-shrinking numbers,” Geoffrey adds.
“Well, alright,” Amarin says, but he’s clearly uncertain. “Wait, I can do a demonstration on myself.”
He breaks into a wide grin, and a slick sheen of ectoplasm suddenly appears on his hands and feet. As everyone watches, Amarin starts to climb up the walls of the chamber, then slowly makes his way across the ceiling.
“See, I can do this too,” he announces.
“Gee I wish I had my crossbow,” Geoffrey mutters to Halgo.
“We are being paid to keep him alive, remember,” the dwarf reminds him.
“I’d only wing him,” Geoffrey says.
“That’s what you said about the boy.”
“That wasn’t me,” Geoffrey says sullenly.
“Don’t worry, I wont hurt him,” Halgo says in a half-hearted mimicry of the clerics tone. “Next thing we know, he’s in a coma.”
“I healed him,” Geoffrey says in protest. “And he came back to attack us, remember?”
“I’ll bet,” Amarin says, climbing back to the floor. “Are you always this friendly?”
No-one offers an answer to his question.
The rest of the meal passes silently. Kelpreth remains pleasant, talking amiably with the group and passing on lots of local gossip about Thorbeck. He eats nothing, but sips quietly at a glass of ichor-wine from time to time. Although everyone enjoys the meal, they are left wary by the merchant’s insectile movements and casual deflection of any questions regarding his business. As the final course of thick honey-bread and sweetened dwarven candies are served, Kelpreth offers a toast to the companions and thanks them for agreeing to watch over Amarin.
“And thank you,” Geoffrey says. “The meal was exquisite. We should do it again some time.”
The merchant’s eyes seem to flare at this, the first inkling of an opportunity igniting his senses.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “During the festival, perhaps. We could take you to see one of the opera’s in the great hall, organize for a meal at the Drop afterwards.”
“We shall see,” Geoffrey says. He pauses for a moment, trying to wrap his head around dwarven opera. He fails.
“What the drop?” Yip asks. “Sounds scary.”
“It’s one of the cities better taverns,” Kelpreth says. “Set into a giant stalactite that looks out over the lava.”
“We should do that, then” Halgo says. “Thank you for the meal.”
“Thank you for your company,” Kelpreth says. “Expect Dukk to arrive in the next few days with the scroll.”
The pale merchant bows low before gliding silently out of the room. The Copperheads sit at the table, looking at one another in silence.
“So,” Geoffrey says eventually. “That’s one of your friends?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Halgo says.
“Okay.”
“He’s a business associate,” Halgo says. “Useful to know.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”
Two days later, there is a business-like rap at the door to the Copperhead’s chamber. Geoffrey crosses the room and opens the door, revealing a dwarf with a flabby belly and horns. The creature scratches at the layers of grime that covers its girth while looking up at the cleric. The cloying smell of overly sweet honey fills the air.
“Well, this place just goes from strength to strength,” Geoffrey says blandly.
“Ye were lookin’ fer a scroll?”
“Yeah, why not?” Geoffrey says.
The dwarf-creature digs through a pouch at his side, eventually pulling forth a roll of parchment that looks ominously normal.
“Here,” he offers, holding it out.
Geoffrey looks at it carefully, not entirely sure he wants to touch it.
“Oh, damn it,” he mutters beneath his breath, and reaches out to take the item.
“Ye keepin’ the young Charosian chap a’right then?” the dwarf-creature asks.
“Yes.”
“Good t’ ‘ere. Get in contac’ with Kelpreth if’n ye have any problems with the whelp.”
With that, there is a faint buzzing sound and he disappears.
“Why do I feel like I’m so getting the bad end of this deal,” Geoffrey asks the empty doorway. He holds the scroll carefully between two fingers and takes it back into the quarters to show the others.
“Are we finished now?”
Yip simply glares at Amarin, flicking a fist-full of ectoplasm at the smiling psion.
“Have fun?” Amarin asks eagerly. When Yip doesn’t answer, he turns back to Geoffrey. “Anyway, that’s what I can do. Well, some of what I can do…”
“I’m glad its only some,” Halgo mutters. “Perhaps you could just tell us about your other skills.”
“Well…”
“Leave the practical demonstrations for our enemies,” Halgo suggest firmly.
“Or you may find yourself joining their ever-shrinking numbers,” Geoffrey adds.
“Well, alright,” Amarin says, but he’s clearly uncertain. “Wait, I can do a demonstration on myself.”
He breaks into a wide grin, and a slick sheen of ectoplasm suddenly appears on his hands and feet. As everyone watches, Amarin starts to climb up the walls of the chamber, then slowly makes his way across the ceiling.
“See, I can do this too,” he announces.
“Gee I wish I had my crossbow,” Geoffrey mutters to Halgo.
“We are being paid to keep him alive, remember,” the dwarf reminds him.
“I’d only wing him,” Geoffrey says.
“That’s what you said about the boy.”
“That wasn’t me,” Geoffrey says sullenly.
“Don’t worry, I wont hurt him,” Halgo says in a half-hearted mimicry of the clerics tone. “Next thing we know, he’s in a coma.”
“I healed him,” Geoffrey says in protest. “And he came back to attack us, remember?”
“I’ll bet,” Amarin says, climbing back to the floor. “Are you always this friendly?”
No-one offers an answer to his question.
The rest of the meal passes silently. Kelpreth remains pleasant, talking amiably with the group and passing on lots of local gossip about Thorbeck. He eats nothing, but sips quietly at a glass of ichor-wine from time to time. Although everyone enjoys the meal, they are left wary by the merchant’s insectile movements and casual deflection of any questions regarding his business. As the final course of thick honey-bread and sweetened dwarven candies are served, Kelpreth offers a toast to the companions and thanks them for agreeing to watch over Amarin.
“And thank you,” Geoffrey says. “The meal was exquisite. We should do it again some time.”
The merchant’s eyes seem to flare at this, the first inkling of an opportunity igniting his senses.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “During the festival, perhaps. We could take you to see one of the opera’s in the great hall, organize for a meal at the Drop afterwards.”
“We shall see,” Geoffrey says. He pauses for a moment, trying to wrap his head around dwarven opera. He fails.
“What the drop?” Yip asks. “Sounds scary.”
“It’s one of the cities better taverns,” Kelpreth says. “Set into a giant stalactite that looks out over the lava.”
“We should do that, then” Halgo says. “Thank you for the meal.”
“Thank you for your company,” Kelpreth says. “Expect Dukk to arrive in the next few days with the scroll.”
The pale merchant bows low before gliding silently out of the room. The Copperheads sit at the table, looking at one another in silence.
“So,” Geoffrey says eventually. “That’s one of your friends?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Halgo says.
“Okay.”
“He’s a business associate,” Halgo says. “Useful to know.”
“Yes, I imagine so.”
Two days later, there is a business-like rap at the door to the Copperhead’s chamber. Geoffrey crosses the room and opens the door, revealing a dwarf with a flabby belly and horns. The creature scratches at the layers of grime that covers its girth while looking up at the cleric. The cloying smell of overly sweet honey fills the air.
“Well, this place just goes from strength to strength,” Geoffrey says blandly.
“Ye were lookin’ fer a scroll?”
“Yeah, why not?” Geoffrey says.
The dwarf-creature digs through a pouch at his side, eventually pulling forth a roll of parchment that looks ominously normal.
“Here,” he offers, holding it out.
Geoffrey looks at it carefully, not entirely sure he wants to touch it.
“Oh, damn it,” he mutters beneath his breath, and reaches out to take the item.
“Ye keepin’ the young Charosian chap a’right then?” the dwarf-creature asks.
“Yes.”
“Good t’ ‘ere. Get in contac’ with Kelpreth if’n ye have any problems with the whelp.”
With that, there is a faint buzzing sound and he disappears.
“Why do I feel like I’m so getting the bad end of this deal,” Geoffrey asks the empty doorway. He holds the scroll carefully between two fingers and takes it back into the quarters to show the others.
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