Member
The night carried on as the Nest gradually filled with the disparate collective of swindlers and swashbucklers who knew to arrive promptly, as the meeting would likely be brief; the young leader had made a point of keeping such gatherings short and concise since taking control of the organization. The unkempt figure leaned back in his chair as more characters flooded in through the front door, nodding to them in greeting as they settled into their respective nooks around the cramped room. It was an impressive turnout, he thought, though given the scarcity of their meetings of late, Valrel knew better than to be surprised by the number. Soon enough, it would be time to begin – he could feel the nervous energy crawling along his skin as he pondered how best to deliver the news.
Shifting in his seat anxiously, Valrel shuffled through his notes another time before glancing to the scribe Tolthe who sat beside him, opening his mouth as if to say something before snapping it closed, turning his gaze back toward the assembled group. Feeling he had stalled for long enough, the leader stood from his chair, stepping his way around the bar deliberately to give him one last chance at gathering his thoughts. Finally, he began.
“I’d bet you’re all eager to hear what it is I have to say,” Valrel cupped his hands behind his waist, standing as stoically as he could muster. A sneer came from the back of the room.
“Nay Valrel, we jus’ come ‘ere for the free booze!” A few Dusthawks let loose a fit of laughter as the leader smirked at the comment, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders as his thoughts began to clear.
“And I’m sure everyone will love to pay the two Jet for a drink from now on, thanks to your observation!” Valrel let out a chuckle as groans and curses filled the room. As the commotion subsided, Valrel began to pace in front of the bar slowly, letting the tension seep into the Nest’s occupants as they awaited his next words.
“You should all be painfully aware of the ruckus goin’ on in our cozy corner of the city… If y’ain’t, I’d feel inclined to ask where you’ve been these past five years. But, I don’t even care what ditch you rolled out of this morning, so it doesn’t matter to me either way.” The leader stopped his pacing now to stare out into the crowd. “The truth is, this ‘resistance’ deal has been a pain in my neck since the day we got involved without our askin’… Now, I know a good number of you lot only got involved with us crooks 'cause of our forced marriage to Lex’s group of freedom fighters, and I can’t complain to have been graced with you’re cheery, toothless smiles thanks to that clever little union.” A few chuckles were heard in the audience, but most remained silent.
“But I know I haven’t been fair to you all in sayin’ just where we stand in all this fightin’… The Jugs’ve been keen on keepin’ out of where they ain’t wanted lately, and I say that’s been pretty good for business… But the Resistance thinks they ain’t done, and they’re thinkin’ of goin’ big… And goin’ big soon.” A few murmurs in the crowd, quickly stifled to silence. “Now I wouldn’t want to give away too big a surprise, but I think Lex has been gettin’ a bit cocky recently… Which is exactly why I’ve gathered you all here tonight.”
“On with it, then!” An irritated brute called from the crowd just as the leader finished his last word. Valrel’s gaze shot out at the speaker – a half-dwarf with a heavily scarred face, one ear deformed beyond recognition. Though Valrel’s figure wasn’t nearly as imposing as the half-breed, the piercing glare in the man’s eyes sent a shiver across the room, and one Dusthawk beside the hearth turned to play with the switch for the fire.
“… The Resistance has given us Dusthawks more esteem in this city than we’ve ever had before,” he continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “And until recently, I hadn’t a clue for what to do with it. We’ve been keepin’ our heads down these past couple years to try and slink back into the dark, but the truth is, if everyone knows there’s a rat in the room, they’re gonna know when the rat lifts their biscuit – don't matter how sneaky the rat is about it.” Valrel moved back behind the bar, glancing quickly at the top piece of parchment before staring back toward the group.
“Some of you folks will know who I’m talkin’ about when I say the Blood Thorns. We scrapped with their lot a few times back in the day, but we’ve been mindin’ our own businesses recently and been hopin’ to keep it that way,” the Dusthawk leaned against the bar, curling his hands together as he set them upon the counter. “Turns out our Resistance has decided to strike a bargain with these curs, knowin’ it would set us off. And I don’t plan on sourin’ any expectations.
“The Resistance has agreed to hand-off Spark Rifles, which they so eloquently purloined from one of the Jug departments, to the Thorns as an offerin’ towards their future partnership. They mean to get themselves a new sort of Dusthawks that they think they can better rely on. I think it only right to let these revolutionaries know they’re makin’ a serious mistake, in more ways than one.
“Now, I’m not askin’ for you all to go out there and start killin’ Thorns and Resistance left and right, lest we get a bigger fight on our hands than we’d even be ready for. What I’m lookin’ for here is a little more tact. Some of you lot will be makin’ sure the Thorns don’t run away with the goods, while others are goin’ to have the more important task of gettin’ those Rifles sent back to the Resistance, as a token of our own… Goodwill… Wouldn’t want to be makin’ enemies with our friends now, would we?”
Valrel sat down in his chair at that, waiting for some of his Dusthawks to voice their reaction to this long-awaited motion.
