"Agreed. We'll need to try to keep our wits around us. Still, we better keep making tracks -- I'd rather not be caught out at night with just the six of us."
Calla nods and, strapping her shield to her back again and picking up her bow, nods toward their destination.
The shard went deep into Bruendor's pack, and you continued along the trail. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, the smear of smoke from the eastern part of the island grew thicker, and it was obvious that you were continually getting closer. the jungle pressed around you as closely as ever, but the normal jungle sounds were reassuring. At least if you were attacked, it would be by normal jungle animals and not the not-lions or zombies.
Lefrik's leg cramped more and more as they walked, and the barbarian had to struggle to keep the pace up as lines of fire continued to shoot up his legs.
It wasn't much before dusk that you stumbled over a ridge that looked out over a good sized clearing in the woods. In the clearing was a group of tents, surrounded by makeshift wooden palisades and trenches. Neither the palisades or the trenches appeared to be of good quality, and to Calla they seemed to serve more to funnel attackers to certain avenues than to completely block attacking lanes. A massive bonfire sits in the middle of the camp, sending flames fifteen feet into the air, and spewing the column of smoke you have been using as a reference all afternoon.
As you stood on the ridge, looking down into the camp, you heard a commotion just down the trail. Looking into the shadows, you see a party of five men with torches moving toward you. The leader was a giant of a man, as tall as Lefrik, and likely just as muscled, if his shirtless torso was any indication. He carried a massive warhammer over one shoulder as if it weighed nothing. An unlit cigar was clenched in his teeth.
"That's far enough now," the man said, "unless you're wanting to tell me your business here."
"We're here to see your boss. Why don't you take us to Zincher, since not having to tell him the same thing we've already told his lackey will save us all a lot of time."
Lefrik tries not to make much of a fuss at the cramps in his leg.
Noticing Calla has taken over 'diplomatic efforts', keeps his hand ready on his axe in case the man is difficult.
"Is that how you treat ladies lost in the jungle?" Kel flounces forward, "Be a gentleman and show us to that warm fire!"
"We don't want trouble," Bruendor says, with a grumble in his voice. "There's enough of that going around on this damn island. But we're here to see your boss. You can either take us to him, or you can put up a fight. You have to know who we are, there's not that many beardless dwarves that would put up with a goblin. We've ended tougher foes than you, so make the smart play. Take us to your leader."
The big man sneered at Calla's attempts to intimidate him. "I know you. You're that mouthy broad from the Goblin. That makes you lot the ones that took care of Saul. Well, I guess Clegg'd like to see you after all."
To Kelendra, he simply smirked. "Lady, if you only knew how this lot would treat you 'in the jungle', you'd hightail it outta here with your skirts and virtue intact. Ain't that right, boys?" The rough-looking men around him wolf-whistled and yelled in approval. One man grabbed his crotch and made loud smacking noises with his mouth until a glare from the big leader silenced him and sent him shrinking to the back of the pack.
"Fact is, though, that we been having a bit of problems with the wildlife too, beardless, and Clegg said to bring any strangers to him. So, I guess I don't get to smash your head in with Betsy here...not yet anyways." He bounced the massive warhammer with a twitch of his muscled soulders.
"Come on, then. I ain't gonna ask you to surrender your weapons, and you ain't gonna cause any trouble. If you do...well we can talk about that when the time comes." He motioned for you to follow as he and his men headed back towards the camp.
"Aw, he named his little hammer after a girl. My guess is that's the only one he can manage to get into his bed."
Calla smirks.
The man continued to walk down the trail, but tossed over his shoulder, "Nah, she was the first person I killed with this hammer. She wouldn't shut up her crying, so I hit her. Not too hard, mind, cause she was only six. Seemed fitting to name it that, after."
Bruendor narrowed his eyes at the self-confessed child murderer. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name," Bruendor says, biting back the disgust he feels. "Should I just call you 'Chester'?"
Lefrik doesn't bother to hold his disdain for the child killer. To kill a child is no mark of a warrior, but a coward. Still, he gives warning, "Should any try to take liberty with Kelendra, or for that matter, Calla, I will feed whatever pathetic excuse for manhood that dangles between their legs to the beasts of this island...see to it Clegg's 'boys' understand that."
"Kinda surprised you ain't heard of me, beardless. The name's Erix, Akron Erix. But you can call me, sir. You see that big tent over there? That one belongs to Zincher. He's got them birds and them cages there. Maybe you'll end up in some, eh? But really they're for those purple beasts with the tentacles. Zincher's got some damn fool idea of capturing some and taking hem back to Riddleport for his fighting arena. Ain't had any luck catching any alive though. Maybe we just ain't been using the right bait, eh boys?"
His men laughed with him, but it was nervous laughter, and more than a couple glanced warily at Lefrik. Erix took you straight to Zincher's tent, and motioned for his men to wait outside. The big man held one of the large tents flaps aside and motioned you in.
A bizarre place of opulence despite its isolation, the inside of this pavilion is divided by a curtain that runs from roof to floor. In the open front half, a massive, iron-banded wooden trunk rests along the north wall while a row of boxes lines the south wall. Eight heavily cushioned leather chairs sit in the middle of the open space in pairs. A tall, wrought-iron candelabra stands in the center of the area, its twelve evenly spaced candles burning merrily and giving off a mixture of pleasant aromas.
From the back half of the pavilion comes Clegg Zincher. He has a broad smile on his face when he sees you. "Please, have a seat. You must be tired from your trek across this blasted island. You must be fearless indeed, as we surmise from the state of the Goblin War, to come here with just the six of you. Wait a moment, six? last I heard th Heroes of the Goblin were only five. Wasn't Miss Beldusk there with the Cyphermages? Still a handful of you against the dangers of the island, bravo!"
Whether you take a seat or not, Clegg drops into one of the chairs. Erix moves around to stand in a corner behind Clegg, his cigar clamped between his teeth and a smug look on his face. "Given our...history, I can only imagine that you aren't in my camp for a social call. What can I do for the great heroes? What do you expect to find on this island? Have you seen the local wildlife? I've lost many men to those damn purple beasts. Perhaps you haven't run into any yet."
"Ran into them," Anklebiter says, red eyes narrowing to slits. "Killed 'em. You shouldn't try to take any home; if they bite a person, that person tend to turn into a zombie without a lower jaw, all tongue a-lolling as it goes to kill more folks."
The Goblin jerks a thumb at Erix. "'Fore you ask, he's the one who told us that's what you were after. That and" - a note of derision enters the Goblin's voice - "starmetal. You getting rich yet? Or just spending lives of your followers? Seen any Drow yet?"
The man's words wipe the smirk off Calla's face, spots of red anger suffusing her pale skin.
"Be careful, fool. Calistria has a way of delivering their just due to those who deserve it. You would be wise not to cross her ... or me."
In the tent, she remains silent as Anklebiter talks, her cold stare never leaving the tough's face.
At the mention of drow, Zincher seems to be startled, maybe even shocked.
"Well, little one, those creatures are one of the reasons I am glad you are here. We've run into a fair number of the unfortunate denizens of this island, and I've lost a few men to them. I had it in mind to offer you a good price if you'd undertake a few missions for me. You're obviously more experienced at this sort of thing, and would be paid well for your efforts. I can provide a base of operations, your own tent, and even some provisions."
"You're sweating, Zincher," Anklebiter says, his tone of voice and mode of speech becoming more dignified, his eyes narrowing even further and glowing like coals under the bellows. "And NOT for the not-lions. You're sweating about the damnable Drow."
"It's been awhile, Clegg," Bruendor says, seating himself in one of the seats. "We never did get to finish that hand of golem. Looks like we're going to be picking up where we left off."
While Bruendor doesn't detect any falsehood, his eyes narrow just the same as Anklebiter pipes up. "Let me be frank," he says, his voice carrying an edge of menace. "The last person who asked us to perform some tasks for us ended up working for the gods-damned indigos. He tried to kill us when we got too close to the truth. He failed. The only reason we didn't end him ourselves is that one of the indigos got to him first." He doesn't mention Saul by name - there's no reason to. "You know the old saying, 'Once bitten, twice shy.' If you try and bite us, Zincher, you know we'll bite back. Hard."
Casually regarding Bruendor, Zincher Clegg spoke. "Very well then, let me also be frank. You have skills, and I am willing to pay for those skills. We don't have to like each other. I don't want to get married, I just want to get my noqual and maybe catch some of these fabulous beasts, and then I want to get back to Riddleport. If you can help with with this, you will be well paid. If you wish to walk out of this camp and trouble us no more, you are welcome to do so. But, if you wish to cause trouble here, you will find us a far more difficult opponent to deal with than Saul Vancaskerin."
Kel puts on a bemused look, "Saul was barely an opponent, but he did teach us to be more careful. Maybe an exact goal of the missions and the exact rewards for success would be a good starting point? Please understand that due to recent employment experiences we do require payment in advance for our services."
"I'm not interested in starting trouble," Bruendor says, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the arm of the chair slowly. "I much prefer ending it. But there's bigger problems on this island than our differences. The indigos. The notlions. And the starmetal that drew everyone out here. Your compound is the most secure place left on the island, and we have a certain skill set that's difficult to come by, especially out here. And we have a remarkable knack for getting out of tight scraps. We could fight each other. Maybe we win. Maybe you do. But it'll be costly for either side. And then where are we? Stuck on an island that will surely become our graves. No, the smart play is we work together, and maybe both our groups come out of this thing alive."
"Here's the deal then. I want noqual, as much as I can carry back to the mainland. I'll pay twenty percent over the going rate for the stuff, that gets you 60 gp per pound. I have a broker in Qadira that'll get me twice that, so we both win. Also, if those purple things - notlions? stupid name - are making the zombies that we have been seeing around the island, then I definitely want one to take back with us. A mating pair, if possible. You capture any of those things alive and get it back here, there's 500 gp in it for you. And that brings me to the other thing. I'm running low on men for guard duty, especially at night. None of mine can see in the dark, and the zombies have been attacking at night with increasing numbers. The first night there were only two, but last night, we had ten trying to get into the camp."
"I ain't about to pay you ahead of time, missy. But, I can get you a tent, a secure place to rest, and some supplies, like I said before. You don't trust me to keep my word, that's your problem. Unlike some, when Clegg Zincher gives his word, he keeps it. That's the deal. Take it, or take off!"
"NO not-lions!" Anklebiter snaps. And when a Goblin snaps, there is a lot of snapping to go around; the little Wizard's teeth flash and gnash on every word. "One slip-up, and there would be a zombie plague in Riddleport! Hells, it'd be a disaster on any vessel you try to use to get the damned beasts back to the mainland! Can't you draw the proper conclusion from the increased attacks? Your enemy is learning to make use of your weaknesses. The beasts have flanking tactics. They may very well be intelligent - and they're malicious to boot!
Any deal we make must exclude the not-lions. I have no problem with running some guard duty to save lives. Even among your crew, there must be a few who aren't completely soul-dead bastards." The Goblin looks directly at Erix when he says this.
"And one more thing, Zincher. The 'cute' nicknames end here. We are not pets for you to toy with, nor oakies for you and your workers to mock. It's Miss Shae, Miss Tas'Vere, Mister Cavescouter, Mister Olegson and Mister Anklebiter from here on in." The Goblin abruptly grins; a nasty, hateful expression. "Although, seeing as I am insisting on the use of proper family names for my comrades, perhaps I should insist you all use the second name my tribe's Shaman gave me, and demand to be called Mister the Insane."
Bruendor gives Anklebiter a quizzical look as he comes up with his own soubriquet, but continues on regardless. "I have to agree with...Mister the Insane on this. The notlions are incredibly dangerous. They're at least intelligent enough to hunt in packs and surround their prey. They're trapped on this island, though, meaning the danger they represent is contained." He leans in closely, fixing the crime lord with an even stare. "But if we take a mated pair back to the mainland, then we've got the makings of an honest-to-gods zombie apocalypse on our hands. I'll get your noqual, and I'll help stand guard to protect us all. But hunting notlions for capture is a big mistake, and I'll not be part of it...Mister Zincher."
Zincher started to respond to the golbin, but was interrupted by Bruendor. "Very well, no need to get all bothered by it. If you don't want to hunt "notlions", that's your business. Are we agreed then? You pitch in on guard duty and hunt noqual for me, and I'll supply you a safe base camp to work from."
Lefrik nods at Anklebiter, he couldn't agree more about the notlions, "Unnatural beasts they." As for the rest of the offer, he glances to his friends willing to abide by their judgment. Frankly he'd just as soon carve Zincher open but they are his guest, and their chances might be better if they work with him. Assuming there's no knife in the back waiting for them this time.
Calla ignores the rest of the happenings for the moment, continuing to glare at Erix.
Anklebiter bares his teeth in an expression that is definitely not a smile, but nods reluctantly.
"The Drow," he says. "If any of your granny-thumpers spot them, they tell us. And they obey us. Those purple toad-kissers can not be allowed to continue what they did before. Anything the Drow have made or left behind, it's ours, not yours or your followers'. Agree to this, Zincher: THE DROW MUST BE STOPPED.
Under those conditions... we can work together."
Erix eyed the goblin strangely as he made his speech, but said not a word. For a moment, it seemed like Zincher wasn't going to say anything either. Finally he growled out "Fine." It was in a tone of voice unlike his semi-genial manner of before.
In a more normal tone of voice, he said, "If we are agreed, I'll have one of the boys show you to your tent." He called out, and one of the men standing outside poked his head in. "Planzer! Have a six bed tent set up between mine and Erix's. And break out some bowls of stew for our guests."
Turning to you, he says "There. Now you're part of the camp. Your tent will be up in a few minutes. It's the same size as Erix's, with plenty of room to put up a partition for the ladies' privacy. Once it's up, feel free to stow your gear, eat some stew. You've got a couple of hours before your night watches start. I'd suggest you take watches in pairs, so no one had to stay up all night."
"Watches in pairs makes sense," Lefrik states calmly, "And the stew will serve us well." I hope someone can detect poison.
Bruendor rises from the chair, and nods to Zincher as they leave. "Glad we could come to an understanding," he says, turning his back upon the crime lord as he heads to the new tent.
"That it does, Lefrik," he says on the way. "Two pairs of eyes see more than one, and can watch both the jungle...and the camp."
Anklebiter lopes along between Bruendor and Lefrik, and whispers out of the corner of his mouth. "Should I have asked for more? Less? I wasn't sure, and the sight of those two erlin was sickening me down to my second stomach."
Of course Goblins are not known for having a second stomach, so that might have been Anklebiter's little joke -- or a comment on the depth of his disgust.
"You handled it well I think, Anklebiter. At least we aren't helping with some fool mission to bring notlions to the mainland."
You leave Zincher's tent to see eight men erecting a large tent no more than twenty feet from Zinchers. Stepping to the side, a loud screech sounds behind you. Next to Zincher's tent is a stack of cages, presumably to contain any of the notlions he can catch. Inside several are large birds with enormous bills that look like the heads of axes. Tethered to a tree not too far away is another pair of the birds. One looks at you with beady eyes full of malice while the other rests on the ground.
The sound of hammers hitting spikes makes you turn once more to see the tent fully assembled, and the men hammering in the stakes to hold it in place. A couple more men dragged wooden and canvas cots out of another large tent on the other side of Erix's, obviously a supply tent of some kind.
A few minutes later and the hustle and bustle was over. Erix exited Zincher's tent after the sounds of low conversation, and smiled at you widely. In a rough gesture meant more to mock gentility than emulate it, he gestured you to your tent.
"Yes, you did fine, Anklebiter. Zincher knows where we stand now. And the drow need to be stopped."
"What good are those?" Anklebiter says out loud, mystified, as he regards the birds. "Does Zincher want to train them to chop his firewood for him?"
"Not bad, for Troglodytes." Kel flounces into the tent, being careful to appear meek and vulnerable, while hoping she'll get a chance to gut Erix later.
Calla enters the tent and looks around, her typical scowl etched on her face.
"How long do you think it will be before he betrays us? I suppose we had little choice, though. So what's our plan? We'll go out and look for the skymetal and dark elves tomorrow?"
"I need sleep," Anklebiter says, apologetically. "If I don't sleep, I can't cast tomorrow. Same goes for Samaritha. Hrn. Wish I'd prepared Detect Poison. Can't check the food now..."
"Rest then. We can have your monkey take your watch," The barbarian says with a smile.
"Oh, much the same as Saul," Bruendor says with surprising calm. "Once we've outlived our usefulness. That's the good thing about dealing with a known dishonest man. You can always trust that they'll be dishonest. I should have known better about Saul, but I bought his reformation act hook, line and sinker, and I'll be twice-damned before I turn my back on Zincher completely. He'll be only too happy to shiv any of us in our sleep."
He settles on a pallet, and motions for everyone to do the same. "We've made our position clear on the notlions, but so has Zincher. The man's a fool to try to bring them back to the mainland. Whatever happens, we need to make sure that none of them survive the trip back. We can't afford even a single one getting back to Riddleport. If even one got free, it would be catastrophic. We'll try to prevent their capture, but we can't be seen interfering with the capture either. Anklebiter, you're our alchemist, see if you can kitbash out some sort of toxin. They need to eat, and if they need to eat, maybe we can poison them. Calla, if the worst case scenario occurs, they'll need to move the caged beast from the shore to whatever boat they're using to leave this island. It'd be a damned shame if the thing tumbled into the ocean." He smiled a grim smile, remembering the way the things sizzled and melted at the touch of seawater. "That's just my thoughts on how we proceed. What do you all think?"
Anklebiter giggles and scoots closer to Bruendor so he can whisper in his ear. "Out on a ship, in the middle of the ocean? All I need to brew up is salt water! Easy-peasy."
"I wonder if we could..season some of their food with salt?"
Bruendor rubs his chin in thought. "Hmmmmm, that would be good to test - whether their aversion is to saltwater or just salt. It might almost be worth helping Zincher catch one just so we can find out how best to kill them in the future."