When the group is gathered he quietly tells them the the quest his master sent them on is complete, still speaking vaguely in case someone in the city spies on them. But he will go on to explain that the recipient of the package seeks our aid in recovering a second, and outlines both the task and the offer of reward. None of you own this group or preservers anything, so I will understand if you feel no compulsion to help them. But for me, I think I will go and have a look at this well. He looks up at you all and adds. We make a good team. I am sure it would go better if you were to accompany me.
Grit wishes to check into armor enchantments (price and availability). He will not know how much coin he has until the weapons are sold though. And he will inquire about a possible upgrade to his Tigone's armor. It is already AC 3. That may be all that is possible as he wants to keep the armor light, but he would like to find a way to make it AC 4. Once he knows if its possible to get better light armor or not he will make either the existing, or the new tigone armor masterwork with his Masterwork Transformation spell.
Grit wishes to check into armor enchantments (price and availability). He will not know how much coin he has until the weapons are sold though. And he will inquire about a possible upgrade to his Tigone's armor.
"Have no other work to do, if they pay then Raun help them and you. Raun says with an easy shrug. From how protective of you guys she's been you suspect that her feelings aren't quite so mercenary, but she definitely seems to be enjoying the freedom of the lifestyle.
After his foray to the school of the mind, Nnn'tkklik'l returns to the group, and reestablishes a mental connection with each of them.
<<When there is time, I want to go to Crystal Spider. A "game-house". What is a game-house?>>
Däina gives a mental shrug. <<Probably somewhere to gamble and drink. That's what the older men did where I grew up anyways.>>
"When is this task to be perfomed and how long must we be away from the city? I have other errands to run, but can put them on hold if time is urgent. It can't hurt to do favors for other groups in Tyr, particularly if there is payment involved."
<<A game-house, as Daina alluded to, is a place where people go to try and cheat each other out of their own money. The one who cheats the best without getting caught, wins... Although the losers may become annoyed and violent. Fun times.>>
There is no schedule, but I suppose sooner is better for this errand. It is unlikely that the package would be found by accident, but not impossible. We should conduct what immediate business we need to do here before leaving to do the "errand". We should also discuss tactics for dealing with the bandits. There could be 20 of them.
Putting off further discussion of the alliance mission until you return, you set out for Grik's weaponshop for your late morning meeting with the nobles.
Arriving, you see a pair of bored-looking warriors - private guards, by the look of them - standing outside the door. Inside, two men stand near Grik's worktable. Grik's dwarf helper is nowhere to be seen, but the mul soon appears with a tray full of mugs and squat bottle of black glass.
"Brandy, from Nibenay," the mul grunts. "I've always said you should never do business involving this much gold without a little fire in your belly."
Pouring a little of the brandy into each mug, the mul makes introductions.
"This is Senator Trevalis, lord of House Minthur," Grik says, gesturing to the older man, a slightly-stooped human with thinning gray hair, a hawk-like nose and fierce eyes.
"And this is Lord Badar Sanet, of the House Sanet," the mul says, pointing to the other nobleman, a tall, middle-aged human with thick black hair and a closely-trimmed beard. Although lacking the muscle definition of an arena fighter, the broad-chested nobleman appears more than capable of defending himself - you guess the guards outside are Lord Minthur's.
"My lords, these are the travelers I told you about," Grik says. "They seek to sell a pair of enchanted metal blades. I've examined both weapons and believe the quality is such that you would be interested in acquiring them."
"Yes, well, let's have a look at them. I've given my father's sword to my eldest son, and now the younger is harping for a blade of his own," Lord Minthur says.
You unwrap the iron longsword and the steel bastard sword and lay them on the table for the men to examine. Minthur looks over both briefly. Lord Sanet ignores the shorter blade, seeming to care only for the steel sword. Testing the balance in one and two hands, he moves to the center of the room to take a few practice swings. The blade appears almost weightless in his hand as he briefly twirls it in a complex spiral pattern.
"Iron is good enough for my boy, I think," Lord Minthur says. "If he wants steel he can poison his older brother."
He squints, calculating in his head. "I could probably pick up something similar in the Elven Market for 20 gold pieces, but I'll give you 25 if we can skip the haggling."
Lord Sanet, meanwhile, has been examining the blade of the bastard sword.
"This blade was reforged, wasn't it? There are the remains of older runes on the blade," he says, looking thoughtful.
"I'll give you 25 pieces of gold, as well ... and these," he says, pulling a small leather pouch from his belt and emptying it on the table. A half dozen perfectly-cut emeralds roll out onto the table, glittering darkly.
Grik picks one up with forge-scarred fingers and squints at it. "Near flawless, it looks to me. I'd say each is worth about 10 gold."
Sanet nods. Shifting the sword to his left hand, he offers his right hand to shake. "What say you? Do we have a deal?"
Däina glances between all the metal, then gasps at the revealing of the emeralds, quickly covering her mouth.
Gorkhan expresses polite interest in the mention of the blade being reforged, but his eyes gleam at the sight of the emeralds, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth at the two offers.
Grit nods, accepting the price. He was hoping for a little more after expending the resources for enchanting blades, but he lacks the skills to be an effective bargainer and realizes they got a reasonable discount on the enchants.
The kreen watches silently, musing about the idea of coins versus gems and wondering why just everyone in this city wanted "valuables" so bad.
"Very well," Lord Sanet says, clasping Grit's hand by way of sealing the deal. As he does, Grit notices the man's hands for the first time. What you first took for gloves you now see are iron gauntlets, lacquered in black with red silk wrapping the joints. Careful to avoid crushed fingers, the mul feels a ... shiver ... of something during the brief handshake. A spark of pain accompanied by a feeling of undefined unpleasantness.
As the party scoops of the sacks of gold coins and the pouch of emeralds, Grik finds simple leather scabbards for the two blades. Lord Minthur departs without a word, joining his guards outside the door. Sanet lingers for a moment, his gaze traveling over both Däina and Safia, then exits as well.
"Drink up, my new friends," Grik says, pouring another round from the bottle of brandy. "And do think of me in the future should you come across other ancient weapons. Those two each paid me 20 silvers as a finder's fee, without a drop of sweat spent over the forge."
The old mul even lets you use the back door - just in case of cutpurses watching the front - and soon you are back at the warehouse to divvy up the take and plan your next move.
Safia was quiete throughout the whole dealings with the nobles. These men were horrors. It were the nobles that made sure slavery never went out of the picture. She was glad when the deal was done and they left. The old man probably was the traditionalist but it was the younger one that gave her shivers. Something was off about him, though she had no idea what it would have been.
Grit considers their options. I could scout it out by air. We could watch the place for a day or so. If we knew their routine we might be able to hit the camp when some are away, or ambush an away group. Oh, and when we leave, will we have to play to get back in the city?
<<Forewarned is forearmed. Let's not rush>>
The templars might be too busy to run down the raiders, but they might be willing to pay someone else to do it. In addition to a possible bounty, a formal writ from a templar would make it easier to get back into the city.
Däina is nodding quietly at the plan when she suddenly is struck by an idea. "Hey, the templars would probably be interested in having these raiders run down. I bet we could get paid to do it, plus we would have a formal writ from them!"
Gorkhan smiles, "Getting a writ from the Templars could be interesting. I don't think you flying out of the city for a day would be that helpful, we would need to be near them for better scouting opportunities. I may wish to run an errand, but I expect it would need to be at night. I would prefer to do that sooner rather than later, but if we leave soon, we'd be back early enough for it not to matter."
Grit nods encouragingly at Däina's idea. I like it. How do we go about getting that writ?
"Umm...maybe just go to their main place of business and complain about them? Hopefully they'll say they're too busy to handle it and we can grudgingly accept the job."
Maybe they have commissions posted somewhere. Grit muses. Of course only the literate could read postings.
The younger undertaker considers Safia's request.
"I suppose we could get word next time a guildsman heads to Urik. Like I said, your father wasn't working the graveyard trade anymore, but we might be able to get a message to that merchant partner of his. Minor house, if I remember, name of Finn, or maybe Fez. Fat one, he was - must have been a decent salesman to be so well fed."
Distracted by her earlier meetings, Safia nevertheless agrees to try to contact the templars - her unsettling demeanor has proven useful in such situations before. Accompanied by Grit and Raun, she heads to the templar outpost at the Caravan Gate, where her withering gaze convinces a junior templar to fetch one of the senior centurions.
Tall and lean, the black-robed templar - a member of the Bureau of the Watch, judging from the yellow bands on his sleeves - isn't too happy to be summoned from his shaded office. But his face stretches into a cruel smile when Safia offers to drive the raiders from the abandoned client village.
"So, you want to play bounty hunter and try to take down Yodar Klar-Killer," he says, considering the slabs of muscle on either side of Safia. "Well, these two look plenty hard, but you'd need ten more like them to stand a chance against the Storm Eaters, let alone the Klar-Killer himself."
"Still, what's it to me if you die? And if you do take down the Klar-Killer, well, let's just say the senior templar in the Bureau of Fields is no friend of mine. He hasn't seen fit to drive the raiders off that village for a month now, and it won't look good on him to have band of mercenaries do the job in his place. I'll give you a writ. Bring me Yodar Klar-Killer's head and I'll give you its weight in silver, plus another five silvers for every raider you kill - but only if the Klar-Killer is dead, as well."
Sending an underling to fetch parchment and ink, the templar scratches a few hasty marks along the top before tearing the strip free, rolling it and sealing it with wax. "This will get you back in the gate when you're done."
With the writ in hand, you return to the warehouse. You purchase food and other supplies - Nnn'tkklik'l makes a trip to the School of Thought to place an order for his mul-back cords, which must be custom-crafted - then turn in for the night. You rise an hour before sunrise so you can be at the Caravan Gate when it opens at dawn.
Moving quickly in the still-cool air, you pass through the fields of faro cactus, cotton and other crops surrounding the city walls. Taking the road Nell suggested, you pass by the sprawling Mericles estate and continue north toward the foothills.
High sun is still a few hours away when you catch sight of the village in the distance. Nestled between two hills, the ruins will be difficult to approach without being seen. Leaving the road, you make your way through spindly, near dead farrow fields to the ruins of an old well-house. The roof has collapsed and only three adobe walls still stand. The buckets and pulleys once used to draw water from the well into the irrigation ditches lay scattered and ruined. The well itself has been capped with a giant sandstone slab, it's face covered in arcane sigils the templars used to seal it.
Crouching in the meager shade of the ruined structure, you take a moment to plan your next move.
"How we going kill bandits? Have better idea than charge in screaming and throwing things?" Raun asks, doing her best to keep her voice down as usual without much success. "If want to watch them should find good place to watch and bury Raun with food and water, then come back and dig up later." The half-giant seems to be suggesting camouflaging her to wait out the rest of the day.
For those on the ground, a haze of heat obscures the village as the noon sun bakes the abandoned fields. Grit, transformed into a black-winged kes'trekel, gets a better view from above as he circles the village with Däina's sitak familiar.
It's hard to tell how long the village has been abandoned. One of the yearly rains, if it's a strong one, can wreck havoc on the cheap mud-brick structures, so it may have been empty five years or 50. The raiders seem to be concentrated in the more intact structures on the west side of the village, although few are moving around in the heat.
It appears the well is in the eastern, domed structure. Several times you see raiders walking to the structure and returning with small urns or skins. At one point, a scarred and tattooed raider carries a larger vessel to the cracked and dry irrigation channel to the east, scattering the water onto the sandy ground.
It's difficult to count the exact number of raiders from the air, but based on those coming and going and the few sentries you can see, at least two are posted in the building with the well, with another two archers in the intact building due south. The rest - you counted at least six moving around - are sheltering from the sun in the line of buildings on the west. You didn't see anyone matching the description of Yodar Klar-Killer.
Grit lands back with the party and changes back to man-form to relate what he has learned, scratching the image of the village in the dirt as he describes it. Any ideas on how to proceed?
"Take out Archers near well, then kill rest when they come to noise. If get overwhelmed Raun could challenge Yodar to duel. He gladiator right?"
The slim half elf stares up at the massive hunk of muscle and metal next to her. "Yeah, if he actually agrees to that then things should resolve quickly."
Gorkhan grunts at the description. "I don't suppose we have the 'poison' that was in the dwarves' well, hmm? And was Yodar even there? I suppose we'll find out soon enough"