"I'm not hurt!" Dergo replied, and ambled over to his friend. He tried making a brave face, but the evening was probably ruined now. They might as well go home at this point. Cash in the chips they had left, of course... and see about that "half cash in for leaving early". After all, it was in no way his fault.
Mordecai's second dagger returns across the room to his hand, and he sheathes it, after wiping off the blood from the thug it wounded. He walks across the room to where his first dagger ended up, after he horribly botched the initial attack, and picks it up, similarly sheathing it.
Once his daggers are secure, he turns back to the two guards whose throats were cut and says to either Saul or Larur, whomever is closer, "These two are dead. The other two are stabilized, but will require several days to recover, unless someone is willing to pay for magical healing."
He will then cross to the woman who seemed to be working with the thugs, and check if she is alive, and stabilize her if she is. Unless someone else has already done so before he gets there (which is distinctly possible, as he's taking time to get his dagger first, so this will occur at least one round later), he'll also help himself to her belongings.
Saul strides over to Bexilarius, snatching the chest out of the tiefling's hands. "Oh sweet stinging Calistria", he murmurs, bringing the cloth-like item to his lips.
Most of the gamblers have dispersed during the course of the heist, but a few linger and start yelling at Saul when he shows up.
"Hey! What about our chips! We're not accepting the half-value clause! You cheat! We want our money back!"
Saul jumps up onto the middle podium, where the chest once was, and declares to the room at large. "Regrettably, I will have to cancel the rest of the tournament. Any and all chips that you have I will personally refund tomorrow at 110% of their original value! You can't beat that deal. Unfortunately, now is not the time. As you can see, the Gendarmes are on their way, blood is in the carpet, and we are all very tired. Tomorrow, folks! Go home!"
Once a few people clear out he turns to each of you. "You four. Stay right here. I'm putting this in the vault. I'll be right back. I need to thank you."
He leaves the way he came, through the cashier's cages.
The new guards begin stripping the bodies of the dead ones, and the thugs. They don't stop anyone from looting any of the bodies either. It's rather free-for-all.
Mordecai, the woman was wearing leather armour, intricately buckled and inlaid with gold. It's fine craftsmanship, and despite the scimitar's damage, it is certainly valuable. Strung across her back is a light crossbow, but no bolts are found. The rapier, still fresh with Gierixa's blood, lies beside her. She has a small pouch with 17 gold teeth strapped around her waist.
"Did you hear that? We can cash our chips in tomorrow for 110%. That doesn't sound too bad. It's not like I would have won the tournament, so something is better than nothing, right?"
When Saul indicates for Dergo to stay, Tamara asks; "What do you think he wants with you? He's kinda creepy, don't you think? The way he waves around that stump of an arm. I think that I should probably just go home then. Maybe tomorrow we can come back here and cash our chips in together?"
"The payout sounds good." Dergo replied, a bit surprised. He expected the man to return the money, but ten percent on top? Something was up. "But i guess i am getting a job."
He grinned "You know, the man really has a problem with security, it seems. And I helped stop this raid. I guess it'll center on that."
Pointing to the dead guards, now piled on top of the dead thugs in a corner of the room, Tamara asks; "They definitely have some vacancies. But, are you sure you want to work here? Me, I'm going home. Let's get our payout tomorrow. You stick around. I'll see you."
Saul returns, and with Larur's help gathers the four of you a little closer together. You would all have noticed each other during the games earlier. Ozbadin, Bexilarius and Mordecai even played a few round of Golem against each other.
Saul is visibly distraught, but is trying not to show it.
"My friends! My saviours! Larur tells me you put the boot to the filth that tried to steal my money! For this, I have nothing but thanks to give you. Or...", Saul trails off. "Perhaps I can offer you a little something more. Yes. I can taste success just around the corner."
Saul's eyes glimmer a little, and licks his lips for effect.
"And success tastes like wine. Please, join me upstairs. We can discuss tonight's problems and tomorrow's actions over a couple bottles."
Looking at Mordecai, he continues;"I know you have a taste for the red stuff. Come, join me." Turning to Gierixa, he offers;"And I have a special drink for you too, fair lady. Something that will make those wounds disappear in flash. What say you?"
Dergo gently touched Tamars's cheek, and nodded. "I'll hear him out, but I'm not going onboard, unless the offer is really good. No worries, I'm not so stupid. How about you come by my place tomorrow? We can cash in together." He gave her a smile, thought about a kiss... but no. She wasn't feeling so good, so he'd get better payoff if he waited.
He joined with Saul after a short wave of goodbye
Mordecai takes the woman's coin-purse, rapier and lt. crossbow, and while he'd love to take her (apparently masterwork) leather armor for resale, he's pretty sure that this won't be an option, at least not yet. Perhaps I'll see her again at the Boneyard later... he ponders, momentarily overcome by greed.
He moves to the apparent wizard, and checks only for a spellbook, assuming that the tiefling has already taken anything else of value. Mordecai wonders idly if the town has a slave market, as a Wizard, even a jumped-up apprentice, would be worth a few coins on the flesh market.
Once he's quite brazenly taken what he wants, he then proceeds to accompany Saul for the promised drink, idly cleaning Gierixa's blood off of the purloined rapier with a scrap of cloth taken off of one of the bodies.
"hmph," grunts the half-orc woman. She looks over at Larur and with a touch of venom in her voice behind clenched teeth, she says "looks like your dwarf was right about needing more security i dont usually accept drinks from strangers but it seems you owe me."
She follows the proprietor upstairs for this drink.
Suddenly taken with another thought, Mordecai steps back to speak with Larur for a second.
As Larur walks upstairs with Mordecai, he shakes his head. "Hard to say. While not specifically against any rules that I know of, you'll have to take care of a few things. First, you'll have to prevent the slime from cutting your throat in your sleep. Second, once Saul gets what he needs to know out of the cretin, you'll need to convince him why he shouldn't kill him on the spot. You'll have to make a damn good excuse, as far as I can tell."
"I'll have to be persuasive. I know something of the gentle art of the lash..." he says, with a wistful look, turning to join the others en route to whatever private discussion that Saul has in mind.
If you *do* want to deal with it, Mordecai will come up with some inventive ways of not getting his throat slit, I'm sure.
Or maybe he won't be as clever as he thinks, and I'll have to replace him!
Seeing as no one seems to care, Bexilarius takes the valuables from the mage. He also makes sure that Saul and Larur know he is only unconscious, not dead. Following that, he says, "An honor to join you upstairs, sir. A drink would be refreshing after the night's events."
Ozbadin eyes the carnage around him, the chest that is still here, the other individuals retained and thinks that something doesn't feel right.
He also thinks that is wonderful, because some of his best "opportunities" have occurred after getting that feeling.
"Ssure sssounds good to me" he slurs in his sailor voice.
Mordecai
Saul and Larur lead you upstairs, and into a large, bright room. Everburning torches light the breadth of the space, casting little shadow onto the red carpeted floor. A large, black, wooden table takes up the majority of the space, with seating for 16. Inviting you to sit down, he reaches into a curio, and begins pulling wine glasses for his guests. This process takes some time, as Saul really has only one hand. He turns to one of the guards at his side, and asks: "Hans, would you mind getting a 315 and a 316 please?"
Simply nodding, the guard leaves the room and heads downstairs. Hans returns with another guard; in addition to the bottles of wine, they have gathered what equipment they could loot off of the fallen thugs. With no ceremony, they place
Waving his key-stump at the loot, he says "Now now, don't be ashamed. If there's anything there that strikes your fancy, take it. I'll give you first pick. My boys'll take what's left, if there is anything. Consider it a bonus, for everything you did tonight. A bonus on top of whatever chips you have. Larur will cash in your chips for 150% of what they are worth."
Saul chuckles while he pours the wine in each of the goblets. He pours himself a drink as well.
"Come on then, let's see how well you did. It's not 10,000 silver, I'm sure, but it'll be better than any of those other sorry lot."
While you are sorting out your chips, Larur whispers something to the guard Saul referred to as 'Hans'. He exits the room, and in a few minutes re-enters, carrying the limp body of the would-be thief mage. He tosses him to the ground.
"This one's still alive, boss. He's the one who started it, I think."
"Oh he is, is he?" Saul kicks the man onto his back, kneeling now in front of him. He traces his key-stump along the man's neck and, in the gleaming of the torchlight, it is the first time you realize that there is a sharp edge to the key.
"I wonder who he was working for. What do you think the chances are of him talking if we wake him up, fellas?"
Mordecai looks at the pile of loot and runs his hand along the Masterwork Leather Armor (which he assumes is the armor the woman was wearing, with the golden traceries), and invokes some nonsense-sounding words as he does so, which causes the marks left behind by Gierixa's scimitar to seal up.
"This armor would probably be worth more then the rest combined, even in resale." he says openly, turning away as the unconscious mage is brought into the room. He smiles and walks away from the masterwork leather armor and puts his hand on the unconscious man's head, "But this is what I'd really like as my 'cut.'" Looking down at Saul's sharpened key-hand, he adds, "But without a cut throat, obviously. He'd be of no use to me dead."
"I think that there would be a certain poetic irony to him being forced to survive his failure, his dramatic fall from grace, and work off his debt, rather than escaping the shame of it all." Mordecai says, pointedly looking into the unconscious mage's face, and not at Sauls.
"Work off his debt? Here? I hope you have a better idea than that. This louse already tried to steal my money once. Don't even think for a moment that I would trust him near it again. Besides, I've seen him and that tramp of his around. Petty criminals that sell out to the highest bidder. That's all they are. They know nothing of duty or respect for an employer."
Suddenly, the door to the room bursts open. A waitress from downstairs, still in her fiendish costume, begins yelling; "That's it! We've had enough! We quit! We all quit! Clean this mess up yourself." She rips off her horn and tail, and throws it on the ground before slamming the door. She does her best to stomp down the stairs, but the soft carpeting pads her rage.
Saul moves his sharp hand away from the unconscious mage, standing up and taking another drink from his glass. "What was I saying about loyalty and respect? Forget it. If you want him, you can have him. I don't want to know the details, but as long as I don't have to deal with him, I don't really care. With his lover dead, I can't guarantee he'll be very co-operative, anyway."
"you have colorful people working for you Saul i dont know if Larur told you or not but he offered me a job as a bouncer and i think i would like to accept," she pauses for a second, "this place is exciting."
She looks over the pile of things, "none of this is useful to me except the coin." If there are no objections she takes half the pile of coins, figuring the others are getting a share in equipment or slaves.
Bexilarius stops Gierixa taking half the coins. "Hold on there, darling. You don't take half the cash without everyone's say-so. I want my fair share, which I believe is 8 of those chips."
Bex throws a sickle and silver-handled rod on the table as well. "These were his," he says, pointing to the unconscious mage. "I don't have much use for them, but I could resell them, unless someone makes me a better offer. I imagine he could tell us what this is-" -Bex holds up the rod- "or perhaps one of you is magically inclined...?"
Bexilarius sips his wine and turns his attention to Saul. "I hope you've got something else on offer, Vancaskerkin. I brought you the culprit and reclaimed your chest for you. I could have taken it and poof! Disappeared." Bex emphasizes this with a snap of his fingers. "But I like to play fair. It's no fun to beat the house if you break the rules. What's yours is yours, but I want mine. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Clapping his hand against his key-arm, Saul sits down at the head of the table, looking at the rest of you, with a nod to Mordecai.
"Take what you will then. He's right. This suit of armour could certainly fetch a pretty penny. Although it fits a woman's curves the best", he says, with a wink at Gierixa, "it is well crafted. And I assure you, I have much more to offer than a paltry handful of bloody equipment. We need to work out a few things first."
"Names. Let's have them. I can't go around calling he, he, he all day long. I'm Saul Vancaskerkin, as you well know. My dwarven friend here is Larur Feldin, Manager of the Gold Goblin. These are my best men, Hans and Beyar. You'll meet Bojask later. I hear he's still passed out."
"Let me tell you a little about myself", he says as he pulls a vial from his coat pocket. He rolls it across to Gierixa. He winks again, licks his lips and rubs his tummy, pantomiming what he wants her to do.
"I've been in Riddleport as long as I can remember. I'm a fast learner, you see. And I put that to good use. I crawled my way through the muck of this city to make it as something of a crimelord. That life of crime, however, was far from lucrative and in fact cost me my health, my fortune, my family, and my left hand. With my wife dead, my sons exiled, and most of my fortune gone, I took what meager funds I could scrape together and was eventually able to purchase the Gold Goblin. It used to be a successful gambling hall, you know! But, it changed hands so many times. When I got a hold of it, it was little more than a rat-infested warehouse. But look at it now! Well, before the blood and the screaming, anyway."
Saul gets up from his chair, and starts to pace the room. His glass of wine in his right hand, he waves emphatically with his key-hand. As he paces the room, he steps over and on the unconscious body of the apprehended mage. He makes no pause as he crosses the room back and forth, lost in thought, treating the wizard as if he was nothing more than a lump in the carpet.
"But look at me now. I'm too old to go travelling around the world. And I'm certainly too old to go back to that life of crime. I'm just trying to turn this place into a modestly profitable place that I can eventually retire from. I'm out of the crime scene. That racket is not my bag, but I still have many enemies who are involved in that underworld. Evidently," he says with a kick to the fallen man, "they want to see me ruined! I'm trying to run a legit show here. I've thought about running to Zincher maybe, or one of the other crime bosses, for protection, y'see? But that would mean playing by their rules again. The last thing I want to do is re-enter that world. I'm scared of slipping. I really am."
He stops pacing for a moment, and looks at you, gathered around his table. "But you. You've impressed me. From what I saw, and from what Larur has told me, you may just be the crew to help turn this place around. What would you say if I offered to make you all junior partners of the Gold Goblin Gambling Hall? You would all work directly for me and assist in the day-to-day running of the establishment, serving as dealers, bouncers, croupiers, greeters, or whatever really. That's the first part. On top of that, I'll offer you a position as my specialists. My go-to-guys. Bodyguards, messengers, consultants, or whatever I may need from you. I would love to retain you in that capacity. And, as junior partners of the gambling hall, not only would it all be legit, but you would be given a cut of the hall's profits each week. It makes perfect sense to me. You help me, and you end up helping yourselves in the process. It sounds win/win to me."
Seating himself again, he takes a big swing of his wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "What do you say, then? Tell me about yourself. Let's have names, and an answer? The Gold Goblin could really profit from you guys hanging around."
Mordecai
The wine, while bearing strong notes of fruit and oak, smells different in the glass than in the bottle. As it is passed around, your delicate senses get a whiff of something musky. It's hard to pin down, but it seems to be coming from the bottle, and doesn't seem to have contaminated the wine itself, which is fantastic.
Mordecai takes an opportunity to drag the unconscious mage out of the way, so that Saul doesn't have to step over him, propping him against a wall and making sure that he's able to breath.
Once Saul finishes his spiel, he speaks up in a raspy voice, "I am Mordecai, and I am a priest bound in service to the Pale Lady, Goddess of Death."
Taking a sip of the wine, he closes his eyes briefly, visibly savoring it's taste, and then continues speaking, "Would this job opportunity allow for a few hours during the day to deal with spiritual duties?" he asks, walking over to the table and picking up the bottle of wine, and looking at it closely, to see if it has any label or other identifying markings. He's obviously quite impressed with the vintage.
He seems to have zero interest in the dispensation of the physical goods, after his previous flashy diplay of interest in the leather armor.
"Partners, eh? That's an interesting proposition. Usually I prefer the game, the risk, the gamble, but safe money has its place too. What the hells? I'm in, provided you can draw up a contract that's a bit more...believable...than the one I signed for the tournament." Bex smiles. "Think of it as a little insurance for both parties."
Bex looks around at the others at the table. "The name's Bexilarius."
"my name is Gierixa and you should probably stop winking at me before i think you are a slimy old man and punch you in the junk...but thanks for the drink. if you people really think i need the armor i guess i can take it."
Gierixa drinks the liquid from the vial, ready to throw a punch at Saul if it makes her feel bad.
Saul answers each person in turn, starting with Mordecai.
"Well, I can't say I know much about the gods and all that, but I must confess, I do know that you work at the mortuary. While I think working here would be a much more lucrative position for you, I shudder to think what would happen if the dead just started piling up at the mortuary's gates. Of course you can attend to those duties."
Saul refills his glass and takes a sip of his wine. "I guess I should explain more thoroughly what I'm asking of you. As you saw by the dramatic exiting of most of my staff, I'm going to need to hire new positions in every capacity. I'm not looking to hire you four as petty workers. Rather, as junior partners, I'd like you to think of yourselves more as supervisors of the place. Of course Larur manages most of the day to day stuff. Your talents will be used in special circumstances. I hope that makes it a little clearer. I have no intention of working you like dogs. A few hours a day working here should be sufficient, on top of any special jobs I may have for you."
Saul clears his throat, as he begins to respond to Bexilarius.
"Bexilarius, was it? Not only do I have to thank you for retrieving the chest, but you took down the slime that stole it in the first place. You have my thanks and offer. But I hope tonight's circumstances help illustrate the nature of running a gambling hall. It may seem like safe money, but if we're not diligent, some cretin may swoop in and try to snatch it. It can definitely be a bumpy ride. Making it all look smooth on the outside is our job. And don't you worry about the contract none either. Larur will draft some up in a few moments. Dear boy, the devil contract was just for show. I know for a fact it scared some of the lesser minds. Anything for a good show. That's what I always say."
Saul turns his bloodshot eyes to Gierixa next.
"Fair lady, it's nothing more than a twitch, I assure you. Involuntary, but spurred on by the stress of the evening. Please accept my apologies. I'll not force your hand in any way, but this armour is at least a little cleaner than what you are wearing now.
Addressing the last member of the new group, Saul calls out from across the room; "Hey Sailor. What have you got to say about my offer? I saw the way you swung that scimitar. I could use someone like you. Besides, I was thinking of calling you my 'Furious Four'. The 'Furious Three' just doesn't have the same ring to it!"
OOC: I'm in PR on a business trip and my internet didn't work last night, but I should be able to post tonight.
Dergo listened to the man selling his point. While usually a bit guliable himself, this time around something just did not rub him the right way. Sure, a man could grow frustrated, could grow old, and could definitely take a disaster like this night the wrong way. Still did not explain why he went to such lengths to sell them on the job. He could just have tossed a few coins on the table.
Still, he put some of his chips on the table - not all of them so he could have a convenient excuse with Tamara in the morning. "I'm Dergo. And I can't claim any of these fancy wordjugglings, but... keep talking. Sounds like It's my lucky night after all."
Ozbadin places the 22 gold teeth he currently has on the table cashing them in for 33 gp, and takes advantage of the offer of the wine.
Rolled a total of three on IC but it's messing up my post somehow. I'll try again (Perception)
With a quick glance at the others in the meeting he quickly decides that this might be profitable and a bit of fun as well. What better way to see who is who in town, and to spot those maybe having a really "Lucky" night for relocation.
"I might be convinced at that". Ozbadin growls. "The coin seems fair, and its a site better than pulling oars, or scaling ropes". "You can count me in". "I might need a word with you alone after the meeting if you don't mind however". "I've got a personal situation to discuss with you before I accept your offer completely".
"And you". Ozbadin states with a glance at Mordecai. "I know someone who might be able to help you out with your new possession if you're interested". He then scribbles a name "Ozbadin" on a scrap of paper, and hands it to the man. "Ask around the waterfront for this name". "I'm sure he would be interested in talking to you".
Mordecai examines the slip of paper and smiles slightly. "Thank you. I may consult your friend for his insights, if my current line of thought proves unsuccessful."
He binds the hands of the unconscious mage, and wraps a strip of cloth torn from his own cloak/robe around his mouth as a make-shift gag, and another over his eyes as a blindfold, again, checking to make sure that he can still breathe freely, as he suspects that he'll be regaining consciousness soon, based on the nonlethal bludgeoning he seems to have received at the Hellblood's hand.
Saul looks away as Mordecai binds the hands of the mage.
"Well then, I guess we're all settled. Larur, will you see to drawing up the contracts? I think now's as good a time as any to show our new friends and partners around the place."
Saul draws your attention to the walls of the dining room. The walls of the chamber are covered in thick purple tapestries depicting gold threaded
nymphs frolicking in a silver-threaded forest. With a flourish, he pulls up one of the tapestries, revealing a passageway beyond.
He encourages you out into the passageway, which shortly becomes a criss-cross of catwalks suspended above the main gambling floors. These narrow, swaying, railed catwalks hang suspended by chains hooked to the ceiling 10 feet above. Immediately below them is a layer of gauzy curtains serving as the false ceiling for the area below.
"This is where the magic happens, folks. This is where, I imagine, some of you will spend your time. Watching cheaters, watching rowdy drunks, watching pretty ladies....it's all part of the gig. We can see them, but they can't see us. It's a good set up."
Saul draws your attention to a number of angry gamblers cashing out their chips. Movement on the level below is pretty sparse; most of the attendees of the gala have dispersed, and a few rowdy customers are chatting with some of the disgruntled staff.
"Not much to see right now, I'm afraid. I think I'll continue the rest of the tour tomorrow. Say around noon? Come by then. We'll take a look at the contracts that Larur will have drafted, and I can show you around the rest of the place. Sound fair?"
As Saul wraps up the brief tour of the cat-walks and returns to the meeting room, Mordecai measures his reply, "The arrangement sounds agreeable, although it would certainly be preferable if we had the option of residing here, on the premises, perhaps in one of those smallish rooms downstairs, so that we are quickly available for, as you say, special circumstances."
He will finish his glass of wine, closing his eyes briefly as he savors the last traces of flavor, and place a hand possessively on the half-empty bottle, to see if Saul has any comment on Mordecai's fairly unsubtle intent to walk away with it at the end of their conversation...
"Ah, well, if it will insure your decision, I guess I do have one more room to show. Follow me!"
Saul leads you out of the Catwalks and through the dining room again, this time moving to unlock a door at the other end of the room. Swinging it open, he reveals a comfortably furnished room with a fair bit of space. Three bunk beds are shoved against the walls next to a pair of wide wardrobes. A small table with three chairs is pushed into one corner, and two overstuffed chairs sit on a wolfskin rug before the hearth. The entrance to a small privy is covered by a thin curtain.
"I happen to have 4 extra keys to this room, if you should so desire it. You can stay here at no charge. I'll make sure Larur includes it in the contract."
"While a most generous offer, and certainly thoughtful of you, if I am to be beating that young fool," he gestures off-handedly to where the mage is slumped, "half to death on a daily basis for a week or so, while I condition him to accept his new station in life, it might be more considerate to the others if I could make use of one of the smaller rooms downstairs. If you would wish to subtract a portion from my weekly wages to offset the inconvenience, that would be acceptable, but I do believe that the matter of privacy will be something of an important negotiating point."
As if the thought has just occured to him, he adds, "You mentioned that these 'petty thugs' were known about town? Might I ask his name? The woman was named Thuvalia, I know, but I did not capture his name," again, nodding his head towards the mage, "in all the confusion."
"That would suit me just fine. Take whichever room you prefer. I do not, however, want his moaning and weeping to interfere with the daily running of the business, nor do I want it to affect any of the other customers or guests. I think the whole business of slavery is a tad heavy handed for my tastes, but you can do what you need to do. As long as it doesn't affect me, I don't really care. Sound fair? Good."
"In regards to his name, I'm afraid I only know him as Angvar. If that is simply a pseudonym, I can't be sure. I must confess I don't know him personally, but these kinds of things travel around a city like this. I'm sure you understand."
Mordecai recognizes that he's pushing his luck and bows his head to Saul, "My thanks. I look forward to meeting with you at noon tomorrow."
A bottle of fine wine clutched in one hand, he walks somewhat jauntily over to the unconscious 'Angvar' and grabs him by one arm, dragging him from the room like a sack of potatoes.
The weight of his catch arrests the spring in his step, but there's no mistaking the satisfaction in his tone as he begins humming to himself as Angvar's booted feet thump, thump, thump down the stairs...
"Tomorrow at noon, then," Bexilarius says, standing up. "And while I have my own accommodations, it's good to know there's a place to crash here if it's a late night."
He turns to the others in the new group. "Any of you happen to be of a wizardly bent, by any chance? I found these nice bracers on our bound friend over there, and wondered if they might be magical." He dangles a pair of silver bracers in the air.
"well i dont really enjoy sleeping above ground and this place is awfully fancy but i think i can put up with it as long as i get to vent every now and again. if possible ill just sleep outside under a tree or a bush. ill be up with the sun so most of you might be as well."
DM:
I'm thinking behind the back entrance to the Goblin. Gierixa may or may not have seen it yet, but that would probably be the spot she picks - out of the way but with easy access.
Catching Bex's comment on his way out, Mordecai calls back, "I'll find out from their previous owner and let you know tomorrow."
Dergo nodded his assent. The offer sounded more interesting by the heartbeat. He always knew there had to be more to a gambling house than the front let on, but this was quite unexpected. Maybe this job had some merit to it.
"Tomorrow, then? I'll be here a little early... maybe with a nice lady." He winked at Saul, trying his level best to seem a little bit like a charming scoundrel. Maybe that would net him a position on the floor, or at least some goodwill.
“Ah, you are awake.” [reading off of a scroll, which he folds up and places in a scroll tube]
“The first recommended technique when breaking a man’s will is to take everything from him, clothing, possessions, familiar surroundings and yes, even his name. When he tries to claim his name, he is to be beaten, savagely, and called by another name created by the one who seeks to master him. He is to be forced to accept this new name, the name his tormentor gives him, as the only name to which he will answer, and told that any reference to his old life will be met with harsh punishment. His surroundings must remain a mystery, with the procedure beginning in the gently rocking hold of a ship at port, giving him the illusion that he is hundreds of miles from any potential friend or ally, in unknown waters, utterly at the mercy of the man who stands before him. He is to be bare and exposed, his clothing taken away and left feeling vulnerable and shamed. He is to be restrained or confined in some way, unable to take control even of his own limbs, made to feel trapped, like an animal, utterly at the mercy and the whim of his captor.”
“Do try some of the wine, Angvar.” [Hand of the Acolyte spell-like ability to float it across the room to him.] “It’s an excellent vintage.”
“Clearly, I have no intention of playing by the ‘rules.’”
“Some counsel that to master a man, you must suspend him very precisely in between fear of you and love of you, to instill in him a desperate craving for any signs of your approval, and a gnawing uncertainty and equally desperate fear of your disapproval. You must grant him things that you have taken from him, such as a name, or an article of clothing, or a meal, only when he takes some action to please you, only when he displays obedience, or, sometimes, only at moments that he cannot anticipate. To keep him from having the faintest sense of control, you should beat him savagely for no apparent reason at all, and then reward him handsomely at other times, again, for no discernable reason, leaving him wondering what he did wrong, or what he did right, but feeling unbalanced and unable to confidently know what it is that you demand of him, or when you might withhold reward, or inflict punishment. Even the sense of control that comes with knowing that he will be punished for acting out must be taken from him, and he can never be spoiled by the notion that he only needs to do something for you to receive a reward, as that puts *him* in control of your actions!”
“I do not want your fear, Angvar. I certainly don’t want your love. And if all I wanted was a body servant to fetch my robe or wash my back, I would have let the gendarmes hang your body as a warning to the other unguilded would-be thieves of Riddleport not to get caught and then, at my convenience, animated your fleshless bones to serve me with mindless obedience until the end of days.”
“But it is not your flesh or bones or blood I seek. This pathetic town has no shortage of people who are worth nothing more than the meat on their bones.”
“It is your mind that I wish to turn to my advantage. And to *your* advantage.”
“The situation finds you adrift, in a sea of uncertainty and marked for death by the city authorities, loved by none. Your grand plan has failed, and it is time for a new plan. My plan.”
“By the law, you are my property now, as I have exerted by will and my influence to spare you from the blade of those whom you have trespassed against. As a Chelaxian, perhaps you recognize the significance of the contract I hold upon you, but I would never expect chains of paper and ink to hold you.”
“Among the many recommendations I have received on how to properly educate you as to your new role, were admonitions to remove several of your fingers and toes, and perhaps a few teeth, or even an eye! At the minimum, I was told to brand your flesh and shave your head, to demonstrate that your body is no longer your own, but indeed mine to change or use as I will.”
“Tiresome suggestions, really. Far too much work to expend on a man who has not yet proved his worth to me. I have spent hard-earned gold on preserving your life, and argued with those who would have bled you like a fish, while a blade was pressed against your throat. And I have little doubt that a foolish man would reward me by attempting to ‘escape’ back to whatever empty death awaits him in some filth-strewn alley. I have no doubt that a man who merely thinks himself clever, but is not truly clever, would attempt to slit my throat, abscond with my belongings and flee into the night, to ‘start again.’ I do not know yet if you are a foolish man, or a man who is too clever for his own good. I only know that if you leave, you will be stepping out into a world that bears no love for you, where there are angry men who would have preferred to see your life’s blood leak out upon the floor.”
“As far as anyone outside this room knows, I am beating you like a rug at this point, humiliating you or forcing myself upon you to show you your place beneath me. Such things are beneath me, and beneath you. I don’t want a submissive dog, or cringing toadying wretch who averts his eyes when I ask him a question. I want a wizard, who will stand by my side as I wrest the secrets of power from this world, who will enthusiastically bend his will and insights into taking what we will from whatever opportunities present themselves to us. Work with me, and we will drink the finest wines this world has to offer, all in the fullness of time.”
“Let others think that you a slave in public, and I will never treat you as such in private. Defy me, and I will not beat you or break you in a fit of childish rage, I will merely be disappointed at the waste of your potential, and the money and influence I wasted to spare your life. If you prove yourself unable, or unwilling, to live as a man, I will use your bones to carry my pack.”
“But you have had enough of my words, surely. Come. We have work to do at the Boneyard, where you will see what your grand plans have wrought, and perhaps, just perhaps, come to understand why I think you would find yourself better served to follow my lead, for a time.”
“It is time to accept or reject the circumstances that you find yourself in, Angvar. If you would come see what new future awaits you, merely take my hand.” Mordecai extends his right hand (which will be holding the Cure Light Wounds charge). “If you wish to deny this world you have made, and my offer,” he extends his left hand, “that too will be your choice to make.” (if Angvar takes his left hand, or just tries to push past him to exit, he’ll use his Bleeding Touch Spell-like ability from the Death Domain to damage him, and, given his current health, possibly knock him back out).
9 curing or 3 bleed, depending on Angvar’s choice
If all goes according to plan, the following should have occured;
1) Angvar chooses life, and gets healed.
2) Thuvalia and the thugs get buried.
3) Angvar's spellbook and personal effects are moved to Room 19.
4) Angvar remains a DMNPC, and may or may not attempt to betray, escape and / or murder Mordecai at any time, depending on his own notions regarding what is in his own best interests.
Mordecai will completely space asking Angvar what the bracers Bex took off of him do. He's unreliable that way...
Mordecai
Tired and dizzy, Angvar wakes. He's barely able to concentrate on Mordecai's words at first. Removing the gag takes some time, and allows Mordecai to finish most of his speech; when Angvar does get his mouth free he launches his own tirade over top of Mordecai. "You sh*t! You piece of sh*t! You killed her!" Enraged, he spits at Mordecai, ineffectually. The man is exhausted and on the brink of unconsciousness; the spit barely leaves his chin. Feeling his exhaustion creeping back, he collapses back onto the bed. He listens to the rest of what Mordecai has to offer.
"So...you want me to work for you? To cast spells and such? And you...you won't kill me? And you really think I'm not going to kill you when I get the chance?"
Wearily, he manages to lift himself off the bed. Taking Mordecai's proffered hand, he feels a renewed vigour course through his body.
"As you wish then, Master", he snarls, "However, I am quite useless without my spellbook. I'll need to go back to the River Runner Inn to retrieve it. Then, and only then, can we dance upon my lover's grave."