Shu

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“I say we wait until morning.”

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A C T T H R E E

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NIGHTAL 5, 1372 DR
THE DRAGON’S TAIL TAVERN
SCARDALE TOWN

After a second passable supper at the Dragon’s Tail, Iliskra, Leon, and Ibdur paid for their rooms and bedded down. Iliskra decided it best to wait and see what would come of the next day, if Elthel or some contact of hers either would indeed seek out the three at the tavern. If Elthel followed up it would show her to be reliable to her word and that the Talons still had some resourcefulness about them. If she did not then the human, dwarf, and half-elf could decide on their next move using what information they had. After supper before retiring to bed Iliskra had gave a once over of the four men she had been eavesdropping on earlier in the day. While they had no room two of the four were passed out drunk at their table and the mage with the golden mane had made himself quite comfortable near the fire for the night. Iliskra imagined that the men would not leave particularly early given that they took it upon themselves to drink so heartily here in the tavern - if they left at all in the morrow. She would try and keep an eye on them, perhaps making the Talons aware of them and what she had heard if she did not simply follow them around herself.

Iliskra had some trouble resting through the night as her mind was aflutter with the possibilities to come, and when the half-elf finally settled into a deep sleep it was short-lived as she was awakened by a rapping on the bedroom door. On hearing the sound Iliskra snapped upward in bed and tossed back the covers despite the chill in her room and reached for her blade. Just as her fingers wrapped around the hilt a familiar voice could be heard from out in the hallway.

“It’s me, from the grocer.”

Iliskra felt a small wave of relief, setting her weapon aside and calling through the door that she needed a moment. As Iliskra slipped on her garments and armor she could hear more knocking and the voice repeating the same line further across the hall. The morning sun was peeking over the snowcapped rooftops outside casting a bright golden glow into Iliskra’s room. It was just after dawn. Once ready Iliskra opened the door and there in the midst of the hallway stood Elthel, alone and fully armed and armored with her hood concealing most of her face. Iliskra called over Elthel’s shoulder to Leon and Ibdur, assuring them it was fine to come out - Ibdur’s bleary curses audible through the opposite door.

“Let us speak up here,” Elthel stated, her tone level and firm, “I snuck in through a window.”

Iliskra nodded, closing her bedroom door and waiting until Leon and Ibdur’s bedroom door finally opened. Elthel immediately barged in, forcing Ibdur to step back with a grumble as Iliskra followed in tow and closed and locked the door behind her.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

Iliskra sat at the same table she had that morning in the same chair with her back to the wall. Much like her companions had found her that morning Iliskra had a plate of food, however instead of a cup of milk to drink she had a tall flagon of ale. The tavern was as crowded now as it had been just after daybreak and was also as noisy though the customers seemed to be a bit rougher. Fewer farmers and sailors and more mercenary and hooded sorts.

“Well, tis good to see that the town did not claim you two!” Iliskra grinned with a raising of her drink.

“You smell like an elf.” Ibdur said rather randomly which only made Iliskra beam that much more.

“Oh, well, thank you. That would be vanilla, lavender, and rose.”

Iliskra gave her head a slight shake, her shiny shoulder-length ebony hair swooping about like a silky black veil that brought out the features of her attractive visage.

“Did you find out anything of use to us?” Ibdur grumbled as he took his seat.

“I did actually,” Iliskra smiled over her flagon, “our mysterious ‘J’ is a man, a wizard I believe. Jadarl.”

“How did you discover this?” Ibdur demanded.

Iliskra replied with a nod of her head toward the fireplace across the establishment, four men sat huddled together at a small table near it. Three wore heavy suits of armor like those of the men out in the streets while the fourth had the unmistakable flamboyant robes and staff of a mage. The latter man’s most distinguishing feature however was the thick, blonde curls that draped down around his head.
“Those four spoke of this Jadarl, though unfortunately for them not quietly enough. Jadarl is apparently overseeing the eradication of the Ashaba Talons and had employed Gunalar to do the job. From what I overheard Jadarl is getting impatient and plans to pay a visit to Gunalar very soon.”

The implication was obvious enough. Hopefully the corpses of Gunalar and his band were disposed of well enough. If so it would buy some time though there was no real say on how much time. Once it became clear that Gunalar and his men were out of the picture Jadarl would most likely come after the Talons directly which could prove as either an opportunity or a problem. This was to be considered.

“Another thing,” Iliskra added after a long drink, “it sounded like Jadarl has some other scheme in the works on Shagarm’s behalf. Something about ‘finalizing things with underground friends.’” Iliskra set her ale down with a sharp clunk and looked between Leon and Ibdur.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“Hmmmm…” Iliskra mumbled, her chin resting on clasped hands, “Those are very good points, Leon.”

Sensing that her words may not have been taken as genuine the half-elf added, “As you have clarified we know too little about Shagarm and plenty about the Talons. And even in their… near broken state… the Talons prove to be resourceful - for the most part. We should remember after all that their misfortunes go back to the plague that ravaged this city as well as the war. The fact that after that they still persist when standing against the likes of Shagarm, the Red Wizards, and the remnants of the guard is naught to be dismissed.”

Ibdur seemed lost in thought. Or perhaps the dwarf was just sore at the idea of continuing to work with a guild of thieves. His brow was furrowed and thin lines pulled at the corners of his eyes.

“I am with Leon,” Iliskra said firmly, “we stay with the Ashaba Talons for now.”

Ibdur grunted causing Iliskra to frown, the dwarf then nodding slowly, “Very well… I will stay with the Talons with the two of you. For now.”

Iliskra felt a slight uneasiness at the dwarf’s emphasis on “for now” but her frown faded and she nodded in affirmation. She imagined being a follower of Tempus that it was very hard for Ibdur to spend his days slinking around in the shadows rather than serving his war god on the frontline with the rest of Breck’s force. This was something Iliskra tried to be sympathetic to. Even so there was a part of her that was worried. Worried that a warmongering mercenary force like Shagarm’s would be tempting for Ibdur, so tempting that he might turn on she and Leon and possibly make Shagarm aware of Breck and Lord Hastlon’s plotting. Iliskra knew little of the Tempuran ways other than their fanatic call to war. And right now she and Leon were not offering a war for Ibdur to fight. At least not openly blade-to-blade as he so wished.

Iliskra decided for now to push these thoughts from her head and follow through with her plans for today. Namely bathing, drinking, and listening in wherever she went. If Leon wanted to take Ibdur “shopping” with him then Iliskra welcomed it as both to avoid drawing any attention to herself as well as perhaps distracting the dwarf for a short time.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“Hold a moment.” Ibdur snapped, narrowed eyes moving between Iliskra and Leon, “Those washouts were the Ashaba Talons?”

Iliskra quickly remembered that Ibdur had not yet seen the letter she had found and that Elthel had not openly confessed that her band was of the Talons in front of any of them. Leaning in close Iliskra hurriedly revealed the letter to the dwarf and explained the current state of matters. Though Ibdur seemed surprised he was not - as they say - “knocked over” by the revelation. In fact he seemed quite amused by it.

“Breck did tell us that the thieves guild were near to being wiped out.” Iliskra added as she sat back upright in her seat.

“If that is all that remains of them I do wonder if we should not consider changing sides.” Ibdur said rather suddenly.

“What?” Iliskra asked sharply, looking to Leon with a raised eyebrow and then back to the dwarf who was now grinning darkly.
“Remember, dear elf, we are to dismantle those that oppose our employer - and that includes these thieves. We can easily be done with their pitiful remnants and then focus on taking down this beast that is ‘Shagarm’.”

Iliskra sat back in her chair, admittedly floored, and crossed her arms over her chest. She chewed the inside of her right cheek and her brow was furrowed hard, the half-elf deep in thought for a moment. She raised her head and looked to Leon again, wanting his input on this sudden suggestion by the Tempuran. The three of them could earn the trust of the Talons and then when the moment is right cut them down one by one. But then again what if the Talons could help them against Shagarm? Even if the three of them killed every one of the Talons this very day they still, as Ibdur put it, had a great beast in the form of this armed faction lead by this enigmatic Shagarm. There was no way the three of them all alone could handle such a task with no help at all. They could possibly look to Breck’s men for help but even then the Talons were locals and had knowledge of the city that Breck’s men did not. And yet the possibility of so quickly being done with one of two obstacles was tempting.

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“Well,” Iliskra began in a lighthearted tone of voice, setting her now half empty glass of milk aside, “I for one will start today with a nice bath and a good washing of these garments.” The half-elf smiled and then spoke more seriously, “After that, I think I will spend the better part of the day here.”

“Sitting on your laurels?” Ibdur smirked over his tankard at her.

“Sitting and listening and asking. We have a whole day before our dear new acquaintances call upon us, and this is quite the bustling establishment. I have been in enough bars and inns to know that there are plenty of secrets traded in this place throughout the days and nights. One must simply listen.”

“And the asking?” Ibdur raised a bushy brow.

“I may take it upon myself to innocently ask the patron of this place about Shagarm and our new Talon friends, presenting myself under an appropriate enough ruse.” Iliskra set back to her plate.

“Is that wise?” Ibdur questioned, looking between his two companions.

“I have done this plenty of times before, Ibdur,” Iliskra’s tone turned to one of slight annoyance, “I know what I am doing.”

She looked to Leon, added words of assurance, “I have no intention of making myself or the two of you known to every corner of this place. I will simply be eavesdropping and perhaps asking the owner of the Dragon’s Tail a question or two. Once more, I know what I am doing. Anything we can learn about this part of the city, the Talons, Shagarm or anything or anyone else will be of some use.”

“Wait…” Ibdur’s head raised up in full, rounded eyes darted between Iliskra and Leon, “the Talons you said? Our new friends?”

What Are You Listening To?

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC

@ButtsnBalls

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC

RESERVED

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC

RESERVED

2100 ☢️ BADLAND REPUBLIC

ACT ONE

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”It is time.”

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“My fellows…”

The powerful voice of Josiah filled the great cavern within Kettler Mine. They all were shoulder to shoulder looking up at him, “they” being his people. Or his “fellows” as Josiah preferred to address them. Josiah - founder of Havenwood - stood high on his balcony above the assembled mass of mutants and humans, the denizens of the rugged Havenwood. Those who were cast away by the rest of the world and just wished to live in peace. Those who were willing to defend and even die for their new home here within the heart of the forest. Those who followed the word of Josiah near religiously and looked to him for answers and guidance when it was most needed. And as of late the men and women and mutants of Havenwood were in need of much guidance.

”It has been… many weeks… since the tragedy at Rafeton…” Josiah said firmly, the very room temperature dropping it seemed at the mention of the bloody massacre committed by the Republic Guard of the NRS just months ago. ”We lost six of our own as you all know… and the good people of Rafeton were slaughtered without mercy. Those good people that had come to welcome us.”

There were discontented grumbles that rose up from the crowd but with a gentle wave of his right hand the white-clad Josiah silenced them so he could continue.

”I know that there is sorrow in your hearts. I know that rage wells in your veins and boils your blood. But I ask that you, good folk of Havenwood, still yourselves and remember the way of our community. What I have always asked of you in return for your trust in me. I have heard… rumblings amongst you. Talk of revenge, plots to make the New Republic suffer for what they have done.”

“And what they continue to do even now!” someone immediately bellowed out among the crowd causing a mixed stir among the gathering, some shouted out things like “Shut up!” and “Let Brother Josiah speak!” while others shouted things like “Enough is enough!” and “We’ll never be safe!”

There was a sudden slam which immediately silenced everyone, all eyes looking back up at Josiah who had pounded his fist onto the metal railing before him.

The golden orbs of Josiah’s eyes seemed to pulsate threateningly within the confines of his white veil which sent a chill through many that stood below. Josiah said nothing for a moment, still as a statue and silent. Deliberately cultivating an uncomfortable silence in the crowded cavern before finally continuing - lowering his fist back at his side.

“I tell you now Havenwood, my kin and my friends, war is not the answer. War… is not… the answer.” Josiah repeated the simple phrase with more emphasis on the second time. “We cannot fight the New Republic, their army, and we cannot risk exposing ourselves to the world. What happened at Rafeton was a tragedy to say the very least and I do not wish to see it repeated nor any more of our people perish.”

“Then what do we do?” Exclaimed a green-skinned female mutant, her arms out. “We cannot stay hidden here forever, Brother Josiah, the Republic and those accursed Blackwatch draw closer every year. You yourself know it is true!”

Josiah stiffened as several others shouted in support for the mutant woman while again others called for silence so that Josiah might share his wisdom. Josiah did not strike the railing this time, rather he simply stood and stared down, allowing the crowd to calm itself after a few moments of bickering.

“I know what we must do.” Josiah proclaimed, raising both his arms - a heavy silence immediately gripping the room as everyone waited to hear what their founders’ grand solution for their growing problems were.

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The afternoon sun rose high over Sully’s Rest - a humble trading post that sat upon Highway Three. It was a particularly baking hot late summer day, the fifth in a row in fact. As if nature was intent on pouring all of the sun’s fury into the final breaths of the mid year season before fall came. The trading post was lively today, without a doubt travelers were flocking in to relieve themselves of the scorching heat for a spell. The usual sounds filled the air; words of haggling that floated around the front gate and the general store, the telltale metal bangs and buzzing of power tools from Tony’s Repair, and the gentle clinks of silverware against plates at Stella’s Dine-Out. Stella herself, a young woman who had taken over the Dine-Out from her father, had just put on a gentle track in her portable music player. Up on the rickety wooden and tin ramparts nearby the handful of watchmen enjoyed the pleasing strums of the guitar and violin from below as they scanned the distant horizon, their rifles firmly gripped in their hands.

“Hey, Pete!”

Pete the lead watchman, a weathered man well in his forties, looked over his shoulder down below. Having just served everyone lined up at her counter Stella had stepped outside of the old shack that served as her kitchen and called up to Pete, idly wringing a tablecloth in her delicate pale hands.

“How’s it looking out there?” Stella asked.

“If I see something you’ll all know!” Pete yelled down, his ratty black beard twisting up with his smirk.

The young Stella nodded and walked back to her shack, casting a gaze around as she turned the corner back around behind the counter. She noticed that there were quite a few newcomers in Sully’s Rest today - or rather unique newcomers. And several of them seemed to be quite heavily armed. Of course this was nothing out of the ordinary, wastelanders and drifters had to be prepared given what was out there. Even so, there was something about a few of these people that had the young cook curious. Such as the motley-looking gun-hand with brown hair, and the scarred up man with dark hair and cybernetic implants of some sort. Was it curiosity or was it caution however that had her eyeing these people so? Stella finally shrugged to herself and returned to the deep fryer. All sorts of people had come and gone from here ever since she was a child, from vigilante gunfighters to taciturn NRS patrolmen. It was just part of living at a roadside post like Sully’s Rest. So why did Stella have a feeling that something was so off? That something was not right in the moment?

It must just be this heat.