Startup 23: Lunch Meeting

Arodus 9

The rolling chatter and footfalls of Port Peril flowed down the alley, left eerily still without the powerful presence of Kiyon pinning me in place. A thin drizzle permeated through my jacket, and made my hair lay flat and wet against my scalp. I stood ramrod straight, face composed, staring down the alley to where the litter had vanished around the corner.

I let myself be pulled out of position and isolated, leaving Dierdre to decide whether she should stay close to back me up or fly halfway around town to get more support. Stupid. I knew Port Peril was where they met. This kind of negligence gets people killed. This kind of recklessness lost Rosie an arm.

It wasn't the first time I’d gotten caught up in thoughts like these, but ironically it was usually masked by combat. I could wrestle my thoughts into shape in the space between turns. I didn’t have that luxury, so I **** myself back into a proper headspace in record time. After less than a minute, I held up a hand, signaling Dierdre to show herself if she were still present.

The air in front of me shimmered, and her small winged form appeared at my eye level. Her eyes darted around, looking for someone to shoot.

“You should have let me scout ahead.” She said, “I’d have been able to tell you he wasn’t just a drunk.”

“Yeah.” I agreed, trying to sound confident. “I’d appreciate it if you remind me next time. With that said, turning him down flat would have probably led to some sort of escalation. That went about as well as I could have hoped.”

She gave me a small, sharp nod.

“What next?” She said, “he said he wishes to meet with you at midnight? Will you be here?”

Right. Right, I need to plan. I need more information, and I need a safe place to get it. Autopilot, you’re up.

••••••••••

After a quick handshake and apology to Conchobar, I wove through the streets to High Eastwind. It was the rich part of town, where Nendra preferred I stay out of sight. She believed I would be bad for her image. I did have a few acquaintances in the area, including a man who believed strongly in hospitality. I could not count him as a friend, especially after so long, but I would be safe in his establishment so long as I observed its rules.

When I entered the Raging Linnorm, the towering bartender turned his radiant smile upon me, his piercing blue eyes twinkling with recognition. Svartur Black was easily seven feet tall, if you counted the small triangular ears that peeked out of his flowing black hair. The Linnorm was a large, vaulted room, its walls lined with weapons; it was smaller than Walleye’s, but huge for a crowded city like this. They were easy enough to reach, but everyone knew better than to invite the ire of a former Pirate Lord.

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“Ah, a new captain!” Svartur boomed in a Nordic accent, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Emrys. Last I heard, you were in Goatshead.”

His words drew several eyes to me, which my gut told me was bad, but I **** a cocky smile onto my face.

Remember the plan. I’m in a relatively safe location. It’s time to make a scene.

“What can I say?” I answered, “I’m thinking I’d like to try for Free Captain, and I should really register my ship. I’ve got other business in the area, but I’ve learned to never go somewhere for just one reason.”

“Ah, wise words.” Svartur agreed, “Come. Eat, drink, and tell me of my daughter. It has been too long since I’ve heard anything of her. She doesn’t send me letters anymore.”

His smile didn’t shift in the slightest, though his tone became melancholy at the end. His ears pricked forward with interest, but I remembered that Amurrun didn’t necessarily show their feelings on their faces. I had the strangest feeling that his smile would be exactly the same even if he were pounding my face in.

I was a perfect gentleman, damn it. There’s no way a guy in a country like this would be all that upset about what I did with Pepper.

“Sounds good.” I said, opening my coin purse. “How much to buy a round for everyone? I’m hoping to make a name for myself.”

••••••••••

The sign over the door read “Aashaq’s Hoard.” Syl had walked past it a dozen times while living in Port Peril, and had only ever learned enough to know it was far outside of her financial means. It was within the Knotworks, a set of twisting subterranean caves where the have-nots of Peril lived and worked, but that was due to the preferences of the proprietors. They didn’t much care for sunlight.

As Syl walked in, a three foot tall lizard in a leather jerkin confronted her, his beady little eyes glared at her under a thick, horned brow ridge. The front door led into a domed seven foot tall cage lit by a single candle, where she could be easily surrounded and had no clue what was happening outside of the dome of light. Her hand twitched towards her belt. The calming sensation of her mutagen was very tempting, but she needed her mind sharp.

“Customer?” The kobold croaked in common, “Buy, sell, trade?”

“Sell.” Syl said. “One thing now, maybe more if you like it.”

She reached a hand back, and Jape handed her the demonic halberd. She passed it forward, pushing it through a slot onto a marble countertop where a trio of kobolds examined it. They chattered at one another in rapidfire draconic as they ran a number of tests. Within three tense minutes, they filled out a piece of paper with everything from its magical properties to its precise dimensions.

“Not worthy as a contribution to the Destroyer’s hoard.” The kobold said, “Unsuitable as base material due to its unappealing design. Only useful to us for resale. Eh, can be enchanted. One hundred.”

“One hundred gold pieces?” Syl growled, “it’s worth nearly three hundred!”

“When we find a buyer, yes.” The kobold agreed with a nod. “Until then, it is worth one hundred. Not many come looking for halberds here. Likely to sit for a long time.”

Syl frowned. That could be trouble; if they didn’t expect a quick turn around on one halberd they weren’t likely to pay more for multiple. With that said, she wasn’t much of a saleswoman. It was doubtful she’d be able to shift the price much in any given direction.

“I’ll take it up with my captain.” She said, “he will decide if that’s acceptable.”

She had one other place to check; the Arcanists Redoubt. They didn’t have the finances or need to hire a full time ship mage, but Syl had another idea. Rendering demon corpses didn’t seem overly complex, simply time consuming. She was sure she could find some poor debt riddled fool willing to make a full time job of it. That way, they could go back to killing off demons each evening. Even better, she was sure they could find someone willing to buy abyssal quintessence.

••••••••••

Free beer for everyone was a popular move, of course, though no one present was worried about money. Most of the men in the common room were officers, who hiked inland so they could swap stories away from the grunts. I had Autopilot listen in while I told Svartur about Pepper, though I made slight adjustments to the story here and there.

“My quartermaster has some experience with manipulating men.” I explained selectively, “She and Pepper spent most of that day together.”

“Pepper…” Svartur shook his head with disappointment, “why would you need to know that? I taught you better.”

“I think she wanted a softer option than bashing someone’s head in.” I suggested.

“That is why she brought Winsome.” Svartur said with a sniff. “Magic is good for that, and more honorable than lies.”

I shrugged.

“I’d like to be strong enough to bash through the majority of my problems, but I’m not.” I countered, “I’m not saying everything should be manipulation, but I’d be dead right now if I hadn’t learned how to turn a few heads.”

“Maybe I am just too old.” Svartur said gravely, mixing a drink. “Then again, I wasn’t cut out for politics.”

“It’s better to have more tools.” Dierdre pointed out, perched on an unusually tall stool meant for halflings, “Sometimes you need something very specific, right?”

She had already eaten most of a plate filled with thin strips of meat and roasted vegetables, accented with jam on the side. I picked at my own, too on edge to have an appetite.

Svartur spoke to me for as long as I kept feeding him intel on his daughter, mixing drinks seemingly at random and putting them on the end of the bar. A pair of serving girls cycled past, plucking up the drinks and shuttling them to specific tables. They shouted orders for food into the kitchen, but seemed content to let Svartur hear shouted orders over the din of the room.

I detected magic, and saw a low thrum of necromancy rolling off of him.

I bought another round about once an hour, and at long last my conspicuous consumption bore fruit. A woman settled next to me quietly, and placed a silver hand on my forearm. I looked up, and saw a pretty elfin face with thick, dark makeup. Her eyes were downcast, melancholy.

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“My dear husband.” She said, gently, intimately, “I did not expect to see you here of all places.”

My forehead pulsed with overwhelming pressure, as if a bubble were rapidly expanding in my sinuses. The worst headache I had ever experienced came and went in the span of two seconds. I suppressed my reaction. She always grew upset if I showed too much pain on my face.

“Ah! Nendra!” Svartur said, mixing up something fruity, “Emrys was just telling me about his time in the south.”

“Yes,” Nendra said, “Your daughter mentioned that she met him in her last letter. My mother and I have been considering options ever since. My Husband, come, let us return to our ship so that we may grow reacquainted.”

Next to me, I heard Dierdre slip off the stool.

“No, I think I’d prefer to stay here.” I said, meeting her dark gaze.

Her lips pursed, so slightly that only Autopilot’s hypervigilance allowed me to notice. I was able to predict when the pain would come, allowing me to **** myself to openly grimace when I felt a dozen phantom whips lash my back at once.

“I have been worried about you.” She said, her voice pleading and her grip tightening on my wrist. “I would prefer to at least have some privacy.”

“It would be no trouble.” Svartur said, though he sounded slightly uncertain. “We have a private dining room no one is using right now.”

“Why would we need privacy?” I asked, my red eyes boring into her own bloody orbs. “I’m sure we will have all that we could possibly desire soon enough. Wouldn’t you like to hear about my achievements?”

She looked away, her face a mask of pain.

“Don’t forget your place, woman.” I spat at her, “I will finish my business here. Don’t bother me again or I’ll make you regret it.” (Will Save 3+6=9)

What the fuck was that, Autopilot?

They were not my words.

The other men at the bar looked at me askance, with the exception of one who gave me a thumbs up. I immediately decided I didn’t want his approval. Svartur’s huge smile turned downward into a frown, just as thunderous as his smile had been electric. He turned away from the two of us and gestured towards one of the serving girls.

“What was that you bitch?” I tried to speak, but my words shifted in tone and content to an aggressive growl, “what did you say to me?”

Will save 5+9=15 Fail

Spell Resistance Pierced

Threads of **** wrapped around my arms and legs, and I lost control. My hand lashed out on its own, and grabbed her throat gently. It didn’t look gentle, and she squirmed as if she were in pain.

A few men at a table nearby jumped to their feet and dragged me off of her, roughly pulling us apart. All the eyes in the room were focused on me, and Nendra was doing an excellent impression of tears.

Then, the pressure faded in my limbs and jaw. Seconds later, Nendra squeaked in surprise as she was hoisted into the air by an invisible ****. A woman with dark, glossy black hair and a pair of huge tawny ears stood in the doorway to the kitchen, gazing imperiously at my wife.

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“Thank you, Imma.” Svartur said, “I believe we should continue this discussion in privacy after all.”

“Mrs. Black, please let me explain.” Nendra said, her voice pleading.

Imma’s ear flicked with irritation.

“Stop whatever you are doing in my head.” She said, her voice icy. “If you’re unlucky enough to slip something through, that will be far, far worse for you.”

“No.” I said, pulling free from the men who had grabbed me. “I wanted to see how she’d respond. Now I know. I’d rather things not escalate here and now.”

“Are you sure?” Svartur asked. “What she did is unacceptable.”

There was a confused rumble from the other people present. I heard more than one person asking what in the nine hells was happening.

“This isn’t the place for a domestic dispute, now is it?” I asked with a crooked smile, “I just wanted to be sure of where things stood before I went home. We won’t bother you further.”

“Please! Emrys!” Nendra said, pleading, “I’ve been lost without you. Just come home. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“Fine.” Imma said. “Deal with your problems however you like, I really don’t care.”

Nendra fell a few feet, landing in a graceful crouch. She stood and locked eyes with me. She was smiling faintly, the way she always did before things went very badly.

I raised a hand and pointed at Nendra. A sparkling bolt of green and gold glitter sprang from the corner of the room, directly into Nendra’s chest. She shook her head in confusion, dispelling the first dose of fairy dust. The second one struck true, and she fell into a surprised Svartur’s arms.

“Could you let my wife sleep it off in that spare dining room?” I asked, looking at her.

He raised an eyebrow deliberately, then shrugged and picked her up. We headed into a back hallway and gently placed her on an empty table, confused whispers trailing behind us.

“Alright, Dierdre.” I said, and the small woman made herself visible. “Memory arrows; how well do they work?”

“About five minutes of her most recent memories will fade with every shot.” She said, “Some mortals can shake it off, though. Like with the sleep arrows.”

“Open fire, then.” I ordered.

“Why?” Svartur asked. “You humbled her. Why make her forget?”

“Unless I kill her, she’s still a threat to me.” I said, “if I let her remember, she is just going to be angry. I need time to figure things out. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her what happened.”

I barely know this bitch. The satisfaction of knowing she’s angry only goes so far.

“You’ve grown cold, Emrys.” Svartur said, “The man I met fifteen years ago would not act in such a way.”

I looked down at Nendra, thinking.

“You saw that man’s destiny in the common room.” I said, nodding at the **** drow. “I don’t think I want to be him.”

I studied her face. She was disarmingly cute when she was sleeping like this. It felt odd to do, but I took a few moments to have Autopilot detect sexuality before clearing out.

••••••••••

The so-called salon was precisely what Sosima might have expected from the Knotworks. It was small, cramped, dim, and subterranean. Had Varossa not suggested the location, Sosima would have never even considered coming to such a place. Surely the more upscale part of town had somewhere nicer.

Sosima only grew more confused when she saw the sole hairdresser on staff. She was a lean, athletic young Chelish woman with dark hair and a slightly upturned nose; practically the twin to Varossa. Sosima flicked her eyes between the two, thoughtful.

Why would she work in such a place? Bad enough to come to The Shackles at all, but to open a thrice damned salon? It’s beneath dignity. By the Nine Hells, these prices are aimed at people of the merchant class!

Despite her reservations, Sosima knew better than to voice them or even reveal them on her face. Instead, she made polite small talk as needed. The haircut was excellent, at least. Sosima hadn’t been able to cheat with Jacques Gaston in over a month, and Lubo was only barely competent with hair. She had been required to remove her earrings for the proceedings; cutting illusory hair was not particularly efficacious.

“It was a real tragedy.” Varossa explained. “Lost on an island full of ghouls for well over a decade. A scion of House Aulamaxa, and now she’s an exiled Gillman.”

“Poor dear,” the hairdresser tutted, her Chelish accent far less faded than Varossa’s. “I could send a letter home for you if you like. It’s easy enough if you know the right people. It can be expensive, though. I’m still getting my feet under me here.”

A cold hand wrapped around Sosima’s heart.

Do I want that? Could I bear the response?

“What kind of price?” Sosima asked, relaxing in the reclining chair. “I have enough gold, I imagine.”

••••••••••

I moved like a shadow on my way to the temple of Callistria, another public forum nearby where I could meet up with Cog. (Stealth 15+11=26)

Along the way, I went over the logs.

She is attracted to both men and women

She desires to be impregnated, and gets a thrill out of defiance and power. She revels in pain, whether she gives it or receives it.

She is repulsed by weakness and submission, though she also sees them as natural and proper in men.

Maybe I should set her up with Sandara. They might be compatible if Nendra could stop being awful for long enough.

I would have her submit to me. I want Nendra beneath me, allowing me to do as I please to her. I want my pleasure to come first for once. That is the first of my fantasies.

Well then. Maybe we can arrange for that. I don’t know if I want to meet Dovnu right now, even if she’s probably another of your weird fantasies. I’m pretty sure I’ve already decided not to go back to Emrys’s old life in any capacity. So… what to do instead?

I sat near the shrine to Shelyn, politely looking at the displayed artwork while I waited for Cog to finish.

I have enough missions focused on these people that I’m pretty sure I need to deal with them. There’s even a whole arc mission about the drow.

A Renegade Male- for each task completed, gain a Drow boon. More powerful boons will be available as more tasks are completed.

Return to the subterranean town of Heslandaena.

Ensure that the drow of Heslandaena will not attempt to control you with **** or threats anymore

Have at least one female drow submit to your authority without active supervision

Be recognized by the Shackles Drow community as a hero, paragon, or leader.

Become the highest authority in Shackles Drow society.

I guess **** is on the table, maybe even making a mirror clone. Would a mirrored copy of Nendra “submit to me without supervision?” I’ve also got that scroll to reverse how everyone sees me; what would a “helpful” Nendra even look like? I mean, I assume her current disposition is hostile, since she tried to sick a bar full of pirates on me.

Or, maybe, I just kick the can down the road. If I can get them out of my hair for a few days maybe I can do the big orgy. Who knows; that might get me some kind of power that I can leverage. Or maybe I can get my business underway; money talks. I doubt I’ll end up richer than them, but if I can flip just one island or get my hands on Redclaw’s treasure that might open some doors. Whatever it is, I need to decide before midnight.