"You have mushroom eyes."
Tyra Greenfork plopped her tiny gnome bottom next to his chopped vegetables and grabbed a carrot. His sidelong glance was less than subtle and her impish eyes challenged him to say otherwise. The gnome was right. He had mushroom eyes.
Two days later at the Smalls sprawling main complex in Waterdeep he was staring at his gear spread out across his tiny room. Small packages of spices: sugar, cilantro, dried thyme and basil; several packets of saffron; small bundles of sweetmeats and chocolates and cinnamon; 12 pint sized bottles of brandy; half a dozen decent bottles of wine and another dozen of various infused vinegars; spell components wrapped in small pieces of plain paper and marked with ink, and so on. It would all fit, along with the two spare quivers of arrows and his spell book. He picked up the bag of holding, and began to pack. This was the fun part. Worth a modest sum on the surface his cargo would be worth 10 times that or more when sold to the right vendors below.
Snaking his way through the streets of Waterdeep, his surface elf persona hung like a comfortable shirt--light white skin, blue eyes, perky self-assured step. His long white hair draped over a deep black cloak, hood back. Sword and bow over his shoulder; hints of the chain shirt below his leather tunic; the brace of throwing daggers --3 sets of four slim hilt-less steel strapped to his chest with a bandoleer of other goodies: thunderstones (two packed in leather slings); powders and potions; a slim hammer with a few spikes; silken rope coiled tightly at his back; and several smaller pouches holding various components; he shoved the tanglefoot bag at the base of bandoleer. Two large pouches (jerky of some less than savory animal and dried apricots ) settled in next to a plain brown handled dagger. Thick leather armbands hugged his beefy, almost human looking forearms -- the left braced for archery; the right with the four steel studs. His pack was full and an ornate quiver at his side, a smaller one noticeable on his back as well. The complete Elvin Mercenary -- unnoticed within the throngs of Waterdeep.
He weaved out of the way of a large wagon full of dung, dodging some urchin whose eyes settled briefly on the pouches and then on the finger tapping the large dagger next to them. Headed for the docks, he tossed a copper to a merchant for a spit of lamb. Munching and wiping grease on his sleeve he took a big whiff of the sea as he readied himself to go below. Simon was about to disappear for a while.
____________________________________________________
Zeynep Oblodra stared out of the tower at the chaos below. Thick with incense the air in her room could not hide the stench of Luth Dreir, the Accursed City. She could almost see the stink part the crowds of bugbears and other dretch below as fifteen of her Way-Finders made their way to The Square. When you were the only one creating public spaces you didnt need fancy names.
Her twins, Davan and Dur, had just entered the room and Davan was exchanging pleasantries with the two other survivors of the original house Oblidarra. She sneered at the thought of her recently deceased house, a now meaningless relic in the distant fundamentalist world of Menzebarranzan. Pyth, a Kineticist of some skill, had been one of her consorts for some time and had helped to found the Children of the Way with her all those years ago, rose to speak with Davan. Eldin, her body guard, winked at Dur over her brandy from her pillow nest by the small brazier warming the room. She had been one of her first surface friends, both strangers in the cities of the light-filled world, the Jann had been with her for over 50 years. Not that Zeynep really needed guarding. Keen and alert she was still formidable despite having just celebrated her 195 birthday.
It had only taken them a few weeks to carve at an acceptable niche here. Some two hundred strong now, her organization was flourishing. In the two years she had been in Luth Dreir she had created a small but profitable market in the city of chaos. In truth most of the merchants were her own brokers returning from the Great Rift. The other houses had tried to inhibit her plan but... well she could be persuasive. While Zeynep might abhor violence she recognized the importance of early and public displays of force. Now those same houses were some of her best customers.
"Where is our little goblin friend?" She turned and faced Davan. Always she marveled at the sparkle in his eyes. He was close to perfect. Nadav, his Githzari teacher, had ceased training him years ago. She wondered about him as well her guide to the plane of limbo she had brought Davan to him when he was very small. Monks had the capacity to be a spell casters nightmare but her own martial training could not be diverted to explore, so she had brought Davan to learn the way.
"Why we even speak to that vermin I will never know."
"Your disdain is almost muted," Zeynep countered, "may it be that he is actually growing on you." She said to Dur. Angry and disciplined, looking at her other son filled her with a different sort of pride. Short white hair, polished chain mail and his riding gear made him look like a surface knight. Bladed shield lay by his chair as his sword hummed at his side. He was the captain of the guard. His firm belief in the Way and in their mission was so overwhelming that it charmed their new recruits. Fifteen seconds in the practice yard and they were kneeling to him for instruction.
"The little zealot is not often late," Davan seated himself next to Eldin, who purred at him.
"He is an agent for Fluvenilstra you know. The old Grax is gone." Pyth stated with remorse.
"The Slith Circle members need not be our enemies," she reminded them all. Zeynep was self-serving and powerful, but had great respect for those who wielded the natural forces. While the nature-priests path did not fit with the Way, their neutrality was an asset to one who believed in order over chaos.
"Balance is their focus," and she added emphatically, "Grax is not gone. His presence in their throngs adds to their perceived balance. He is their conduit to the dark and colder hearts in the under caverns of Toril."
"I rather like this new version," Davan openly challenged his brother, "Our debates our much more exciting now that he has found religion."
Zeynep marveled at the bond between the twins. Durs eyebrow had gone up, but he just hrrmphed. So different, yet fiercely loyal to each other, she thought to herself.
"My ears are burning from all this talk," said a voice outside the window, as Grax walked though the window sills ceiling, "and yes Davan, my heretical associate, our debates are much feistier now that you are here to balance the dourness of your ungrateful sibling."
"Assassins who hide behind religion wear paper armor," Durs surliness did not phase the goblin. Dressed in tight fitting leather armor with a small satchel and short sword, Grax looked so normal, he could easily be overlooked as any goblin slave who had managed to gain some ranks as a messenger
"Have you brought some?" Eldin's sweet voice broke through.
"No, I was on my way to meet another associate of mine, when I received your message." Grax said, while tossing a small bottle across the room "but I have brought you this."
"minty" Eldin sniffed and shared the sandlewood scent with Davan.
"Now. where am I going Zeynep?" Grax said, still hanging comfortably in the window sill. The goblin's name alone made other humanoids quiver, such was the level of cruelty embedded in his reputation. In truth, the little druid was not supposed to exist. No goblin should be this powerful. He was not a Blue like her current overseer of coin. Grax had achieved a level of self-awareness that rivaled most drow -- and in thinking that to herself she was happy for her own training in protecting her thoughts. A few of his hairs were gray, but he was solid, deadly and completely ignored by most Drow who thought of goblins as walking feces. Zeynep had discovered Grax during a low point in both their lives lost in the wilds. Wounded and hungry, they had survived by wit alone. He was her equal, almost more than any one else in the room.
"I need a guide to take my boys to Sshamath. I think one of our kin is there."
________________________________________________________
Little Bragga looked through the bars and up from her book, glasses accenting the already oxymoronic bookish half-orcs face.
"The roach is back I smell." She glanced at him.
Black skin, white hair and black eyes were all that had changed. The raised burn marks on his neck were just peeking above his cloak, but hard to see. He had placed a worn rothe-leather sheath around the ornate quiver, giving it a plainer appearance more in common with other drow mercenary scouts.
"Any messages?"
He said as he swiped a steamed mussel from a bowl in front of her. He was too fast and she swatted at his hand but smiled. Little Bragga was one of the few people who knew him by sight. She sometimes even knew him when he came dressed as someone else. She jumped off her stool and waddled back through the small and large walls covered with cubbies. Big Bragga ran Bragga's Breast, a tavern catering to the humanoids and other races looking for work in a rowdy but relatively stable environment. You started the night at Bragga's , did your business and had a meal before moving on -- maybe ending at another less savory tavern. Bragga was a large breasted -- even by orcish standards -- half-orc who sang bawdy songs as she and her brood served ale and meat off skewers to those doing any amount of business. Bugbear mercenary bands met with small drow merchants while goblin busboys scampered through picking up empty pales of ale. Keeping the peace were two large hill giants in metal breast plates; Pickle -- a half-ogre pit-fighter (and Little Bragga's husband), and Billy Stonecrusher, Big Bragga's husband and a stone-faced orog whose arms were the equivalent of Braggas breasts. Little Bragga was her bookish daughter, the second oldest of twenty-two children who ran this small message service and kept the books.
Kye jumped off his shoulder, flew threw the bars, and landed on her shoulder. She dipped her finger in a small bowl of butter and held it up to the she-bats face. Nyo felt the bats contentment as they went into the back as the small one-sided door opened allowing him entrance to his goods.
The area was lit by a number of spell enhanced sconces and torches. Each cubby had a small white chip in front of it--his had a small roach pinned to it.
She dumped two scrolls and a small box in front of him and clasped her hands over it.
"Wadda ya got? Momma liked what you brought last time."
Sometime ago Billy had over heard him talking to one of the serving wenches (Bragga's eighth daughter) about his roast chicken hearts being too soft. After he caught his breath from Billy's weak arm-gripping his neck, he found himself staring at the massive barbecue pit with a muted but clear ultimatum to cook or be cooked. Two days later, word got out that Bragga had a new cook and she made more money in two days than she usually did in a week. Even humans in Skullport came by to sample the fair. Now, Nyo paid for his cubby tab with sweets . Billy insisted because it made Big Bragga happy and usually led to another child. Little Bragga got her cut too.
Out of his pack he took a large cloth covered basket lemon cakes and a mincemeat pie for Billy and placing a large wrapped bundle-- and chocolate covered prunes
">
Bragga wiggled open the prunes and took one out -- staring at it with mixed anticipation. Nyo joined her for one. Biting at the same time, he watched the wave of delight spread over her face. Grinning she reached in for another prune and they both giggled like human children.
Tyra Greenfork plopped her tiny gnome bottom next to his chopped vegetables and grabbed a carrot. His sidelong glance was less than subtle and her impish eyes challenged him to say otherwise. The gnome was right. He had mushroom eyes.
Two days later at the Smalls sprawling main complex in Waterdeep he was staring at his gear spread out across his tiny room. Small packages of spices: sugar, cilantro, dried thyme and basil; several packets of saffron; small bundles of sweetmeats and chocolates and cinnamon; 12 pint sized bottles of brandy; half a dozen decent bottles of wine and another dozen of various infused vinegars; spell components wrapped in small pieces of plain paper and marked with ink, and so on. It would all fit, along with the two spare quivers of arrows and his spell book. He picked up the bag of holding, and began to pack. This was the fun part. Worth a modest sum on the surface his cargo would be worth 10 times that or more when sold to the right vendors below.
Snaking his way through the streets of Waterdeep, his surface elf persona hung like a comfortable shirt--light white skin, blue eyes, perky self-assured step. His long white hair draped over a deep black cloak, hood back. Sword and bow over his shoulder; hints of the chain shirt below his leather tunic; the brace of throwing daggers --3 sets of four slim hilt-less steel strapped to his chest with a bandoleer of other goodies: thunderstones (two packed in leather slings); powders and potions; a slim hammer with a few spikes; silken rope coiled tightly at his back; and several smaller pouches holding various components; he shoved the tanglefoot bag at the base of bandoleer. Two large pouches (jerky of some less than savory animal and dried apricots ) settled in next to a plain brown handled dagger. Thick leather armbands hugged his beefy, almost human looking forearms -- the left braced for archery; the right with the four steel studs. His pack was full and an ornate quiver at his side, a smaller one noticeable on his back as well. The complete Elvin Mercenary -- unnoticed within the throngs of Waterdeep.
He weaved out of the way of a large wagon full of dung, dodging some urchin whose eyes settled briefly on the pouches and then on the finger tapping the large dagger next to them. Headed for the docks, he tossed a copper to a merchant for a spit of lamb. Munching and wiping grease on his sleeve he took a big whiff of the sea as he readied himself to go below. Simon was about to disappear for a while.
____________________________________________________
Zeynep Oblodra stared out of the tower at the chaos below. Thick with incense the air in her room could not hide the stench of Luth Dreir, the Accursed City. She could almost see the stink part the crowds of bugbears and other dretch below as fifteen of her Way-Finders made their way to The Square. When you were the only one creating public spaces you didnt need fancy names.
Her twins, Davan and Dur, had just entered the room and Davan was exchanging pleasantries with the two other survivors of the original house Oblidarra. She sneered at the thought of her recently deceased house, a now meaningless relic in the distant fundamentalist world of Menzebarranzan. Pyth, a Kineticist of some skill, had been one of her consorts for some time and had helped to found the Children of the Way with her all those years ago, rose to speak with Davan. Eldin, her body guard, winked at Dur over her brandy from her pillow nest by the small brazier warming the room. She had been one of her first surface friends, both strangers in the cities of the light-filled world, the Jann had been with her for over 50 years. Not that Zeynep really needed guarding. Keen and alert she was still formidable despite having just celebrated her 195 birthday.
It had only taken them a few weeks to carve at an acceptable niche here. Some two hundred strong now, her organization was flourishing. In the two years she had been in Luth Dreir she had created a small but profitable market in the city of chaos. In truth most of the merchants were her own brokers returning from the Great Rift. The other houses had tried to inhibit her plan but... well she could be persuasive. While Zeynep might abhor violence she recognized the importance of early and public displays of force. Now those same houses were some of her best customers.
"Where is our little goblin friend?" She turned and faced Davan. Always she marveled at the sparkle in his eyes. He was close to perfect. Nadav, his Githzari teacher, had ceased training him years ago. She wondered about him as well her guide to the plane of limbo she had brought Davan to him when he was very small. Monks had the capacity to be a spell casters nightmare but her own martial training could not be diverted to explore, so she had brought Davan to learn the way.
"Why we even speak to that vermin I will never know."
"Your disdain is almost muted," Zeynep countered, "may it be that he is actually growing on you." She said to Dur. Angry and disciplined, looking at her other son filled her with a different sort of pride. Short white hair, polished chain mail and his riding gear made him look like a surface knight. Bladed shield lay by his chair as his sword hummed at his side. He was the captain of the guard. His firm belief in the Way and in their mission was so overwhelming that it charmed their new recruits. Fifteen seconds in the practice yard and they were kneeling to him for instruction.
"The little zealot is not often late," Davan seated himself next to Eldin, who purred at him.
"He is an agent for Fluvenilstra you know. The old Grax is gone." Pyth stated with remorse.
"The Slith Circle members need not be our enemies," she reminded them all. Zeynep was self-serving and powerful, but had great respect for those who wielded the natural forces. While the nature-priests path did not fit with the Way, their neutrality was an asset to one who believed in order over chaos.
"Balance is their focus," and she added emphatically, "Grax is not gone. His presence in their throngs adds to their perceived balance. He is their conduit to the dark and colder hearts in the under caverns of Toril."
"I rather like this new version," Davan openly challenged his brother, "Our debates our much more exciting now that he has found religion."
Zeynep marveled at the bond between the twins. Durs eyebrow had gone up, but he just hrrmphed. So different, yet fiercely loyal to each other, she thought to herself.
"My ears are burning from all this talk," said a voice outside the window, as Grax walked though the window sills ceiling, "and yes Davan, my heretical associate, our debates are much feistier now that you are here to balance the dourness of your ungrateful sibling."
"Assassins who hide behind religion wear paper armor," Durs surliness did not phase the goblin. Dressed in tight fitting leather armor with a small satchel and short sword, Grax looked so normal, he could easily be overlooked as any goblin slave who had managed to gain some ranks as a messenger
"Have you brought some?" Eldin's sweet voice broke through.
"No, I was on my way to meet another associate of mine, when I received your message." Grax said, while tossing a small bottle across the room "but I have brought you this."
"minty" Eldin sniffed and shared the sandlewood scent with Davan.
"Now. where am I going Zeynep?" Grax said, still hanging comfortably in the window sill. The goblin's name alone made other humanoids quiver, such was the level of cruelty embedded in his reputation. In truth, the little druid was not supposed to exist. No goblin should be this powerful. He was not a Blue like her current overseer of coin. Grax had achieved a level of self-awareness that rivaled most drow -- and in thinking that to herself she was happy for her own training in protecting her thoughts. A few of his hairs were gray, but he was solid, deadly and completely ignored by most Drow who thought of goblins as walking feces. Zeynep had discovered Grax during a low point in both their lives lost in the wilds. Wounded and hungry, they had survived by wit alone. He was her equal, almost more than any one else in the room.
"I need a guide to take my boys to Sshamath. I think one of our kin is there."
________________________________________________________
Little Bragga looked through the bars and up from her book, glasses accenting the already oxymoronic bookish half-orcs face.
"The roach is back I smell." She glanced at him.
Black skin, white hair and black eyes were all that had changed. The raised burn marks on his neck were just peeking above his cloak, but hard to see. He had placed a worn rothe-leather sheath around the ornate quiver, giving it a plainer appearance more in common with other drow mercenary scouts.
"Any messages?"
He said as he swiped a steamed mussel from a bowl in front of her. He was too fast and she swatted at his hand but smiled. Little Bragga was one of the few people who knew him by sight. She sometimes even knew him when he came dressed as someone else. She jumped off her stool and waddled back through the small and large walls covered with cubbies. Big Bragga ran Bragga's Breast, a tavern catering to the humanoids and other races looking for work in a rowdy but relatively stable environment. You started the night at Bragga's , did your business and had a meal before moving on -- maybe ending at another less savory tavern. Bragga was a large breasted -- even by orcish standards -- half-orc who sang bawdy songs as she and her brood served ale and meat off skewers to those doing any amount of business. Bugbear mercenary bands met with small drow merchants while goblin busboys scampered through picking up empty pales of ale. Keeping the peace were two large hill giants in metal breast plates; Pickle -- a half-ogre pit-fighter (and Little Bragga's husband), and Billy Stonecrusher, Big Bragga's husband and a stone-faced orog whose arms were the equivalent of Braggas breasts. Little Bragga was her bookish daughter, the second oldest of twenty-two children who ran this small message service and kept the books.
Kye jumped off his shoulder, flew threw the bars, and landed on her shoulder. She dipped her finger in a small bowl of butter and held it up to the she-bats face. Nyo felt the bats contentment as they went into the back as the small one-sided door opened allowing him entrance to his goods.
The area was lit by a number of spell enhanced sconces and torches. Each cubby had a small white chip in front of it--his had a small roach pinned to it.
She dumped two scrolls and a small box in front of him and clasped her hands over it.
"Wadda ya got? Momma liked what you brought last time."
Sometime ago Billy had over heard him talking to one of the serving wenches (Bragga's eighth daughter) about his roast chicken hearts being too soft. After he caught his breath from Billy's weak arm-gripping his neck, he found himself staring at the massive barbecue pit with a muted but clear ultimatum to cook or be cooked. Two days later, word got out that Bragga had a new cook and she made more money in two days than she usually did in a week. Even humans in Skullport came by to sample the fair. Now, Nyo paid for his cubby tab with sweets . Billy insisted because it made Big Bragga happy and usually led to another child. Little Bragga got her cut too.
Out of his pack he took a large cloth covered basket lemon cakes and a mincemeat pie for Billy and placing a large wrapped bundle-- and chocolate covered prunes
">
Bragga wiggled open the prunes and took one out -- staring at it with mixed anticipation. Nyo joined her for one. Biting at the same time, he watched the wave of delight spread over her face. Grinning she reached in for another prune and they both giggled like human children.
