The Eighth Runelord |
The Eighth Runelord takes a piece of paper, and writes upon it a set of numbers, then folds it carefully and places it on a table.
Those are a set of winning lottery numbers. I would advise you to destroy them. They will only bring you incomparable riches and much toil and torment if you do not. If you destroy them, then you will only have a gnawing sense of doubt, of course, if you are lucky.
The Eighth Runelord |
You WILL be expected to enforce the License for us, in the event of a future wherein it is completed coming to pass.
That is all for now.
The Eighth Runelord departs the guildhouse, into the cyclopean gloom beyond, the snap of a valuable antique silver mousetrap catching the fingers of a pick-pocket the only sound as he leaves.
Candle Lighter |
The Steel Tsar enters through the wards the dracolich set up. It clanks to where the undead beast lies on the rogue's treasure
MASTER ... I ... FAILED ... MY ... MISSION ...
Oh, it's fine. You're forgiven. You're mission was to determine how dangerous they were, not to really destroy them.
The dracolich continues crafting dark wards to keep the thieves out.Runelord, you are permitted to stay. As long as you don't cause me any trouble. However, we won't be helping you out of the tight spot that's about to happen. Just as you wouldn't help us.
The lich smiles and shrugs, going back to work.
The Crimson Jester, Rogue Lord |
The Mouser surveys the ruined guildhall. The dracolich has gone, taking the piles of swag with him to some new lair. The slight man frowns.
We need our guildmaster ... He holds the Jack's Trimillenial post!
Hollers out
Crimson Jester! Are you here?
Sorry was taking a really long nap.