H - 99: It's Just So Obnoxious (Patreon)

“And hewe we awe! Aww the standawd snacks, pwus a nice pot of tea. Annnnd I’m guessing…pwivacy?”

“Just so, Kiff,” Bronzmun replied, his warm voice seeming to fill the room like the heat of a fireplace. “Thank you kindly.”

“You got it!” Kiff said cheerily, sliding backward through the door to the private meeting and dining room one floor from the cafeteria in the Verdi Herons’ headquarters. “Just howwew if you need anything else!”

The door clicked shut behind him, and Morvaine immediately scrunched up her face, somehow managing to make even that look sultry. “What was that last bit? Horror?”

“Holler, I think,” said Roscoe.

“Ah.” She nodded, her expression clearing. “I can parse backwoods hick or kitty wee-wah, but the combination defeated me.”

Cora was the only one seated, ensconced at one end of the table with a fur robe draped across her shoulders. She had stiffened in surprise and confusion when Bronzmun had placed it there, but a gentle smile from him had sufficed to earn her acceptance. Bronzmun had that effect on most people.

She had just finished pouring herself a cup of the tea Kiff had delivered along with a tray of finger foods when Lilith stomped over and snatched it out of her hand.

“Child,” Cora said, narrowing her eyes to slits, “you are exploring the uncharted reaches beyond the farthest edges of my patience, where even I know not what lies.”

“Hear that? Poetry,” Morvaine praised. “She can’t be so very tired if she can do that.”

“Dunno,” said Roscoe, “I’ve known people who can only do that when too drunk, exhausted, or pissed off to think properly.”

“Many a poet can only work on enough drugs to kill a brace of longshoremen,” Pfasz added, currently leaning against the wall with the brim of his fancy top hat pulled down to hide his eyes in a pose the Lone Wolves particularly appreciated.

“Here.” Lilith had assembled a small plate of honey-glazed walnuts, sliced sausage, and berries, and slid this in front of Cora along with a glass of water. “You need protein, sugar, and fluids. Fluids which do not contain caffeine!”

“Please consider yourself under our hospitality, Lady Cora,” Bronzmun said, his voice no less powerful for being so gentle. “Young Lilith speaks out of care; pray forgive any excess to which this leads her. Help yourself to anything provided while we discuss. I would have a guest be as comfortable as possible in our home, especially as we must broach uncomfortable topics. You do understand that we have questions, just as I understand that you will dissemble in answering them.”

Cora had actually popped a walnut into her mouth, but now stopped chewing, staring blankly up at him. In the well-lit dining chamber, the deep darkness encircling her eyes was much more starkly visible than it had been out in the streets. Her entire face looked tightly drawn over her skull, as if she’d recently lost weight very quickly.

“And we will not take that as a point of contention,” Bronzmun continued in his gentle rumble. “Worry not; adventurers understand well the delicacy of dealing with politics at your level. There are things you cannot tell us, secrets for which you are responsible. All I ask is that you consider that for which we are responsible. It seems one of our juniormost parties have been drawn into some business rather over their heads. It is our duty to look after them.”

Cora swallowed, her forehead creasing as she seemed to consider her words with deep care. “What I can tell you is that I didn’t drag your juniors into anything, I started looking into this matter after they were already involved. Nor is this their fault. Sometimes… Sometimes you take on a job in good faith and find out too late that you’ve stepped in a much deeper puddle than you expected.”

Every senior adventurer in the room nodded in agreement.

“The job was just food delivery, right?” Roscoe asked, shifting his face toward the Lone Wolves.

“As far as we know,” answered Riocco. “Most of what we could identify was clearly food, yes. Of course, it was all packaged for transit; there’s no telling what might have been hidden in those crates and bags.”

“Did anyone at the trading company say it was a food delivery?” Morvaine asked, her expression suddenly acute. “In those words? Think back, this is an important detail.”

“They did, yes,” Greg said slowly. “But just, like…casually? In the description of the job. Nobody made a big point of it.”

“Do we have that written down?” Bronzmun asked, turning to Roscoe.

The rogue nodded. “It’ll be filed as with any request; I’ll have the clerks pull the job listing and check. If the Silver Hound put that on paper, then it was just a food shipment.”

“Isn’t that a little too…trusting?” Lilith asked with her customary rasp back in place.

“Good girl,” Morvaine said approvingly. “Never take anything at face value in this business. But remember that paranoia will endanger you as much as blind naivete; nobody constantly screws over everyone out of some kind of compulsion. At least, nobody who’s survived long enough to do business with. You have to know who you are dealing with, what their interests are, and what they think their interests are.”

“The Silver Hound Trading Company is an institution,” Roscoe explained. “They have offices in every major city in the Vale states and the Empire. They’re scrupulous about paying duties and tariffs, and they do not smuggle. That’s a big part of how they’re able to offer their clients the discretion that’s such a key part of their business—state agents don’t rummage through their cargo because they know Silver Hound traders won’t be carrying contraband. They don’t hesitate to blacklist clients who try to get around their policies, and they’ve been known to hire adventurers to eliminate former clients who tried some shenanigans that threatened their neutrality. Reputation is everything, kids; nothing they could possibly smuggle would be worth what it would cost them to smuggle anything. If the Silver Hound asserted that what you were guarding was just foodstuffs, and put that in a document of which the Herons have a copy, then that’s all it was.”

“Did you note anything else of significance about the shipment, or destination?” Bronzmun asked quietly. “Any detail you can recall. We don’t know what might be significant.”

“The second shipment was much larger than the first,” Riocco said, narrowing their eyes in thought. “There was more variety in the packaging, too. I couldn’t say if the contents were necessarily of higher quality, or just…more diverse.”

“So,” Roscoe mused, “someone’s ordering food to a drop point, and ramping up expenditures on it. Sounds like an organization being built.”

“Nobody was there on the second trip,” Greg chimed in, “but the first time, the person who met us was a dragonborn with blue scales and hair, and an accent I couldn’t place. She said she wasn’t the client but worked for them…whatever that might be worth.”

“That cabin was definitely a front,” Lilith added. “It looked shabby and unobtrusive, but had powerful wards all over it, and some very high-end magics in the interior for granting authorized persons access, and storing perishables. Also one of the interior doors had enormous spells all over it. I couldn’t tell what they did, not my type of magic, but just from the sheer amount… It was either a standing portal or a vault with wards strong enough to repel a dragon.”

“Do you think you could find your way back to this cabin?” Roscoe asked.

The Lone Wolves glanced at each other, grimacing in unison.

Riocco shook their head. “Sorry, none of us are exactly specialized in woodcraft. The Silver Hound porter seemed to know the way without needing to consult a map. It was way in the northeast edge of Boisverd’s main valley, in the foothills right where the trees stop and the mountains begin.”

“Shadow Guilds aren’t that different from the other kind, aside from their specialization and methods,” said Morvaine. “The Crows are work for hire, like us. That’s where all this falls apart. Seta said she’d lost people over this, so somebody took out Crows after hiring them to take out Herons, after hiring them for escort duty.”

“It was the Silver Hound that made that request,” said Roscoe. “I see your point, though, Morvaine. It’s a strange move. Riocco, didn’t you say that dragonborn requested your party specifically after meeting you?”

“She did,” they replied.

“Countless heavens, kids,” Pfasz said, grinning, “whatever did you do to set them off so?”

“Yeah, laugh it up, but that’s the sticking point here,” Morvaine drawled. “This pattern is irrational and pointless. Even if we take it as given that this mysterious client is willing to burn every bridge right after they cross it… That could be someone very rich and very stupid, or someone so powerful they think themselves above consequences. We’ve all had to deal with both. But even so, it doesn’t make sense. What would they gain?”

“It feels more like someone else intervening against the Silver Hound’s client,” Roscoe mused, frowning, “but there’s no hint of any such player making movements. Nobody is that invisible; you can’t wade through the underworld without making ripples that can be tracked back to you. But if there’s not another hostile party in hiding, then the client themselves is…bonkers. Any perspective you might be willing to shed upon this mystery, Lady Cora?”

Cora was now slumped over the table, her cheek pressed against its surface and drooling slightly into her plate of snacks, eyes finally shut. As they all stared at her, a muted buzzing noise emerged from the back of her throat.

The fur robe draped over her shoulders rippled as if touched by a breeze, and shifted of its own accord to wrap her more securely.

“Bronzmun, really,” Morvaine said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “That soft heart of yours is going to get somebody killed one of these days. Yes, we can all see the woman’s exhausted, but we needed to ask her questions!”

“Something is amiss with the lady,” Bronzmun said gravely. “I do not think she has simply foregone rest in pursuit of her task—something is preventing her from sleeping properly. I cannot determine exactly what without divinations that could be considered invasive. I would not subject any person to such without their consent, but especially not a ranking Court official.”

“She’s been pounding stamina potions like apple juice, for one,” Lilith said with some asperity.

“And I think that was in an effort to stay functional through exhaustion, not to stay awake. Whatever the details, she has come to such a state that I consider keeping her awake to be nothing less than torture,” Bronzmun continued, turning back to Morvaine. “It is a method literally used to break prisoners. While helping her rest is a kindness, there is also the issue that in the eyes of the Queen, asking her further questions in this state could be interpreted as interrogating the Court Mage under torture.”

“That seems…paranoid,” said Riocco, frowning. “We didn’t put her in this state, and the situation…”

“Paranoia is only a problem if it’s your general state of mind,” Roscoe replied. “There are times when you need to think that way, and any time you’re dealing with royalty or ranking nobility in muddled circumstances is one. The question is not whether a reasonable person would conclude we were torturing the Court Mage for information, but whether a Queen could conjure up that pretext if she were looking for an excuse to scapegoat someone.”

“Henrietta’s an amiable sort, for a royal,” added Pfasz from his corner, “but a royal is a royal. You can’t very well rule a country without ice in your blood. When you don’t know what is happening, you should always assume the powerful and secretive are out to get you.”

“I believe we have ascertained what we can from the current facts, such as they are,” said Bronzmun, his firm but gentle baritone both soothing and assertive, commanding everyone’s attention. “We must seek out more information, of course. First, though, there is the matter of Greg’s impetus to intervene tonight.”

“Let’s not jump the gun, Bronzmun,” Morvaine said, wincing. “Bards get intuition sometimes. It doesn’t necessarily mean…”

“But when it might mean that,” Bronzmun said gently, “it is wise to look for other narrative patterns to be sure. Cora and the Lone Wolves have now crossed paths thrice. Once at her instigation, once by apparent coincidence, and once at theirs. A balanced pattern of three.”

Pfasz grimaced and pulled his hat down as if he could hide under it.

“Hells uncounted,” Roscoe growled, “I hate getting caught up in bard shit. No offense, Greg.”

“Yeah, no, none taken,” Greg agreed. “You’re not wrong, man. Pretty much everyone feels that way.”

“I take some comfort in that nothing about the Lone Wolves appears to be leading up to a tragedy,” Bronzmun rumbled, “but for now, the most important implication of this insight is that what would normally be the Guild’s policy in such a situation, to close ranks and hide our compromised juniors while more seasoned players take the fore, will probably not work in this situation. If a narrative is forming around the Lone Wolves, attempting to fight it is deeply dangerous.”

“It is?” Lilith asked.

Morvaine, still grimacing in distaste, answered. “Fighting against prophecy or destiny is a characteristic of tragedies; doing that while you’re caught in a bardic narrative risks turning your story into one. Kid, if you’re going to run around with a bard, you’ve gotta learn your tropes.”

“It’s just so obnoxious,” Roscoe groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Instead,” Bronzmun stated, “the Herons will back up this party as needed. We dare not risk trying to intercede between them and whatever is happening, but we shall be ready to lend whatever support is necessary, possible, and…thematically appropriate.”

The other three senior adventurers grimaced again.

“Roscoe,” Bronzmun continued, “I’d like you to reach out to your connections and see what, if anything, can be learned about this mysterious client of the Silver Hound.”

“I’ll do what can be done, but I’m not optimistic,” Roscoe said frankly. “That’s been the subject of whispers for weeks now. Nobody seems to know anything, and if the truth is out there, it’s drowned in rumors.”

“Understood,” Bronzmun said gravely. “We will try not to pin our hopes on this, but it would be reckless not to carry out due diligence.”

“You got it.”

“Since you’re giving Roscoe jobs that are obviously much better suited to me,” Morvaine drawled, “I assume you’ve got a juicy request for yours truly, Bronzmun?”

“Just so,” he agreed with a smile. “Morvaine, I need you to notify the royal court that the Court Mage is here, unharmed, and sleeping off what appears to be prolonged exhaustion under our protection—and that we have no idea what she got into that led to this situation, and will take it amiss if our guild is drawn further into affairs of state without being properly contracted and paid. In particular, you must enter the Palace, and deliver this message verbally, directly to a member of the royal family, in the presence of members of at least one political faction that is opposed to them.”

“Ahh,” she purred, stretching her arms overhead and causing every pair of eyes in the room except Bronzmun’s to shift fleetingly to her chest, “some proper exercise. Just the thing to finish off a frustrating evening.”

“That sounds rather, um…a lot,” Riocco said tentatively as Morvaine turned and sauntered to the door.

“Welcome to Vale politics, friend,” Roscoe said sympathetically. “These are the kind of hoops we have to jump through to avoid getting suckered into other people’s messes. If you want to stay neutral, you’ve gotta be loudly, performatively neutral, and walk the fine line of making yourself too dangerous to toy with while not offering any aggressive moves.”

“And,” Riocco said slowly, “breaking into the Palace is…the less aggressive and more neutral move?”

“It is in the Evervales,” Roscoe said with a humorless grin.

“And he wasn’t talking about your mess,” Pfasz added, winking at them. “You kids did nothing wrong. If anybody’s going to come after members of the Verdi Herons in good standing, then they contend with the Verdi Herons entire. Don’t feel like anybody’s going out of their way for your sake. One day it’ll be somebody else’s turn over the barrel, and your turn to step up and have their backs.”

All three of the Lone Wolves nodded in unison, expressions resolute. Cora emitted a loud snort and shifted, accidentally rubbing her face into a sausage.

“As uncomfortable as that looks,” Bronzmun murmured, “I can tell that the blessing which is allowing her to sleep at all is contending with something powerful. Trying to move her to a bedroom would probably wake her.”

“She does seem rather more personable like this,” Pfasz agreed.

Cora snored.