/qu/ - Quests/Roll

>>6133

>Bidenhander

>>6136

Bidenhander

Around you, your kobolds are also jumping to their feet, as always seemingly awake instantly, weapons already in hand. Soldiers – humans, you note – begin pouring into the clearing from two directions. Armed with twelve-foot pikes, they form into lines, leveling their weapons at you. Simultaneously, a dozen or so glowing orbs are tossed into the clearing, bathing the scene in a clear, white light.

The crossbowmen, still hidden among the trees, show an immediate improvement in marksmanship. The first bolt merely glances off your chest plate, but another two find their mark in your left thigh, while the fourth punches into your right shoulder.

-1 HP (6/7)

The pikemen – at least forty men in total – are in front of you and threatening your right flank. The bolts are flying from every direction and there's still a ballista hidden somewhere in the woods that could be mere seconds from being reloaded. All you have is six kobolds and yourself, wielding your famed bidenhander. A ten-foot blade, simple in design, but forged from the best steel money could buy. If swung with enough force, it can easily cleave a man in half – and has frequently done so in the past.

Do you:

>Engage the pikemen, order kobolds to eliminate ballista crew

>Engage the pikemen, order kobolds to eliminate the crossbowmen

>Order kobolds to engage the pikemen with you

>Order kobolds to screen you while you attempt escape

>Other (write-in)

>>6138

engage the pikemen (using the bidenhander to try and cleave your way through the pikes like a Doppelsöldner would), try to have the kobolds (can we get a discription of what the kobolds are armed with?) engage the crossbowmen

"Get the crossbowmen! Go!" You roar out your orders.

The kobolds respond immediately – they split up into pairs and run for the trees, staying low to the ground and abruptly changing directions to make themselves harder targets. Along the way, they drop the short spears they would use in open combat, instead drawing the long knives that will serve them far better in a jungle skirmish. Moments after they disappear in the underbrush, you hear the first scream and the hail of bolts lessens in intensity.

Meanwhile, you throw yourself at the pikemen in front of you. You step to their left, then do a half-spin clockwise, swiping at the pikes with your right wing.

They try to stab at you in response, – but all this accomplishes is to have a couple pikes snag on the membrane and get pulled out of their wielders' hands while the others are brushed aside, giving you room to step in and swing your sword.

Half of the front rank goes down at once – the first soldier you strike crumples around the blade, nearly split in half, while the others are bowled over by his body. You shorten your grip and take another step into the formation, scattering the rest of the pikemen with a series of jabs, tight swings, and pommel blows that punch through armor, sever limbs, and cave in rib cages.

You then feel a sudden, sharp pain in your back and right side – the other pike formation has wheeled around faster than anticipated and has approached you from behind.

-1 HP (5/7)

Worse yet, two more groups of pikemen are emerging from the forest – latecomers to the prematurely sprung ambush. As the remnants of the formation you attacked flee, the other three press in on you with dozens of pikes, pushing you back against the treeline, where you'll have no room to maneuver.

Another ballista bolt misses your face by inches, instead ricocheting off a tree in a shower of bark and splinters. As you flinch away instinctively, your leg brushes up against something – you recognize the knapsack with your magical gear. This gives you an opportunity:

>As an ALCHEMIST, you can set off a few of your smoke bombs. They will fill the clearing with thick, choking smoke.

>As an ENCHANTER, you can raise a faceted crystal that will emit a burst of searing white light, blinding anyone who will see it.

>As a MAGI, you can draw power from your foci to try and kill the attackers. Though with hardly any time to form a proper spell, you will have to channel raw magic – which will hurt you as well.

>>6141

Voting Enchanter.

>>6143

if we are an alchemist tho we might be able to make guns for our kobold foot soldiers

>>6141

>>As an ALCHEMIST, you can set off a few of your smoke bombs. They will fill the clearing with thick, choking smoke.

You swing the sword in a wide arc around you to clear some space, then stab it into the ground to free up a hand. Hunkering down, you draw your wings up around you like a tent, shielding yourself from the pikes and bolts – if only for a few moments – and reach into the knapsack.

The smoke bombs, including the canisters, are of your own design – a flattened metal sphere, with sufficient heft to let you lob it across a battlefield. But this time, after pressing a button on its side, you simply roll it out with a simple underhand toss – still managing to knock over a surprised-looking pikeman.

With a loud hiss, the sphere begins releasing the product of the chemicals now mixing and reacting within – a cloud of thick, reddish smoke, drawing surprised shouts and curses from the pikemen caught in it, quickly replaced by retching and coughing after the vapors make it into their lungs.

You toss out two more – one for each group of soldiers. As the pikes waver and recede, you stand up, retrieve your sword, take a deep breath of clean air – and wade into the growing cloud.

The smoke is not designed to kill, so you take up that task, directing your sword swings at the sounds of retching, replacing them with dying screams. A few unlucky sods attempt to blindly flee the cloud and instead run right into you – they die immediately.

The cloud provides cover against the crossbowmen as well – the hail of bolts has all but ceased, though the faint screams you occasionally pick out from outside the cloud tell you that your kobolds are doing their share as well. Even so, you traverse the smoke-filled clearing in case the ballista crew still hidden among the trees decides to take blind shots at your last location.

Then, because even your lung capacity it finite, you have to enter the jungle, crashing through the underbrush and getting clear of the cloud. You breathe out explosively, then take in a long gasp of fresh air, while trying to reorient yourself.

Just then, you hear someone call our your name – right behind your back.

>It's a male name (what is it?)

>It's a female name (what is it?)

How do you react?

>Whirl around to face this new threat

>Turn slowly, in case it's a ruse

>It's definitely a ruse – dive sideways

>>6192

>it's a male name: voting for Icarus

>It's totally a ruse, dive sideways

"Icarus!" a voice that seems familiar to you calls out. "Over here!"

The trick is obvious – and you throw yourself sideways, right as a dark shape divebombs the spot you were standing in just a moment ago.

Your attacker curses in frustration and, recovering almost instantly, leaps after you while you try to regain stable footing. You catch a glint of steel in his hand.

Your dive carried you into a clump of gurjan trees, which now give you no room to employ up your sword, so you toss it aside, bringing up your right forearm to deflect the short blade aimed at your neck.

The ease with which it pierces your scales and hide, and buries itself in muscle tells you the weapon has been magically enhanced. Yet, even as you sacrifice one arm, the other shoots out and seizes your assailant's neck.

You do not have the leverage to turn this into a proper hold or to arrest his momentum – instead, you add to it, stepping sideways and making a clockwise half-turn, sending him crashing into – and through – a young gurjan tree, which snaps under the weight.

You move to follow, but at that moment, your forearm explodes with pain, causing you to stumble in shock.

-1 HP (4/7)

You don't have to look at the wound to know that the blade struck deep and that it now bleeds freely. Yet, this is not your first serious wound and you push the pain away. The limb is weakened, but useable – and that is what counts.

Meanwhile, your attacker is already back on his feet – though the first thing you notice is that the blade is now in his left hand and that this is the side he is turning toward you. This time, he does not leap at you immediately, giving you a chance to size him up.

Like you, he is a drake, though smaller, leaner, and darker in coloration. Like you, he is instinctively tucking his wings in close to his body, reacting to the trees and underbrush hemming both of you in on all sides. Ordinarily, your superior size and reach would put you at an advantage in this situation, were in not for his weapon – a three-foot dagger with a slightly curved blade.

You recognize this dagger – along with its wielder.

"Ashab," you growl. "What are you doing here?"

Ashab. The semi-legendary infiltrator, saboteur, and killer for hire known throughout the Dominions. Aside from a long list of accomplishments, he's famous for being the oldest drake in the mercenary business – or at least he was, until he retired two years ago, passing that dubious honor onto you.

"What's it look like?" he bares his teeth in a humorless grin.

Yet, he shows no intent of attacking you again, content to remain in a defensive stance. Either the blade was poisoned, or he's simply waiting for blood loss to weaken you. This means you have to act now:

>Rush and overpower him – risking more wounds

>Retrieve your sword – awkward in close quarters, but will give you reach

>Call for your kobolds – and hope they're in a position to respond

>Retreat – force him to come after you and hope an advantage opens up

>>6230

>retreat, We are losing too much blood, and maybe if we find a more advantageous spot we can call whatever kobolds are left in to help

>>6287

I think retreat is the best option, we have bloodied the enemy forces despite being ambushed and all we have are 6 kobolds for allies.

A fight on Ashab's terms is too risky – you need to gain some advantage over him first.

Which is why you tense up and step forward, signaling the start of a charge, but as soon as the other drake steps back in response, you instead lean down, snatch up your sword, and retreat. A quick glance over your shoulder shows your move surprised him – it takes him a moment before he moves after you, but by then you are already taking another deep breath and plunging back into the smoke-filled clearing.

The cloud created by your alchemy is already breaking up – you designed the bombs for troop dispersal, not area denial. It will not be long before the clearing is safe to breathe in again and even less before the smoke becomes ineffective as cover. Already, you can see well enough to locate your gear – scattered and trampled, no doubt by some of the pikemen in their panicked retreat.

Luckily, your medical supplies survived. Favoring haste over gentleness, you tear open the knapsack and dump them out onto the ground to sift through them.

First, the antidotes. You select three that counteract the most common toxins and pour them down your throat, one after another. You're banking on the fact that, of the poisons that work on drakes, more exotic fare tends to require a professional alchemy lab to prepare, does not maintain potency for long once mixed, and needs to be ingested rather than delivered on the end of a blade. And if you're mistaken… then you're mistaken.

You take a moment to expend some of the valuable air in your lungs on a shrill call – a signal for any of your kobolds within earshot to come to your defense.

Second, the bandages. You unroll a strip of gauz-

Ashab divebombs you again. It's difficult to say what tips you off to the attack – perhaps a disturbance in the smoke caused by his wingbeats. All the same the warning comes just a shade too late and his angle of attack, low and directly behind you, is too carefully chosen. This time, you do not manage to dive out of the way – you only have time to shift enough so that the dagger, aimed at where your neck joins your shoulder, instead tears open the membrane of your left wing and leaves a long gash across your back, scraping audibly across your left shoulderblade.

-1 HP (3/7)

Ashab then collides with you, driving the air out of your lungs and sending both of you tumbling to the ground. You feel your entire left arm going numb and lose the grip on your sword. Ashab's dagger also goes flying, knocked out of his hand by the impact – and he lunges after it, as you struggle to get back up, gasping for air.

>Lunge after him, beat him down before he retrieves the dagger

>Lunge for your own sword, hope you can get to it in time

>Lunge for your alchemical gear, try and throw something nasty in his face

>>6302

>Lunge for your alchemical gear, try and throw something nasty in his face

>>6304

>Lunge for your alchemical gear, try and throw something nasty in his face

Throat burning from the smoke you've inhaled after having your breath knocked out, you grab another knapsack and tear it open. Choices present themselves that you have no time to make and you grab the first thing within reach – a spherical clay urn sealed with wax, with a piece of string sticking out of the seal. You rip out the string and, with all the force you can muster, throw the urn at Ashab just as his claws close around the hilt of his dagger. It is only then that your eyes register the color of the string still in your hand – and you realize what's inside the urn.

Even for someone his age, Ashab's reactions remain stellar. Noticing the projectile flying toward him, with no time to dodge, he instead brings the dagger up in a flashing arc, intercepting the urn, which shatters against the blade.

It makes no difference to what happens next.

The impact releases a cloud of fine, yellow powder, which envelops the drake, causing him to stumble back, instinctively covering his mouth. This makes no difference either

Ressium powder – an exorbitantly expensive substance whose price reflects the dangerous and laborious process of producing it. Valued largely for its ability to replicate the effects of coal or flower dust, but with a far more generous allowance for proper ratio of the compound-to-air mixture – and for what it considers a confined space. A spark is still needed, of course, but that is provided by a simple catalyst igniter, initiated by pulling out the string and activated by exposure to air.

That is the theory, at least – the powder is intended for sapping or demolitions work, which usually allows ample time for achieving optimal compound-air consistency. Your urn is a battlefield explosive prototype – and the results are disappointing. There is a brief flash of flame and light as only a portion of the powder ignites – a hundred gold dinars wasted in an instant.

Yet, brief as it is, fire is still fire. Having flames flare up all around him makes Ashab jump, panic, and throw up his arms to shield his face. Which means he does not see you coming.

You punch him in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He swings the dagger wildly, but you slap his arm aside and punch him in the side of the head. He shifts his grip hastily and makes an awkward, upward slash – you seize him by the wrist and duck your head as his free hand claws at your eyes. You try to crush his wrist in your grip, forcing him to drop the dagger, but you're using your right, wounded arm – and you can't muster enough strength.

He senses your weakness and tries to twist away, but you step forward and trip him, falling on top of him. He bucks and struggles under your weight and you both roll around on the ground, punching, clawing, and biting one another, while you do all you can to maintain a hold on his weapon arm.

In the end, your superior size and strength decides the outcome. You manage to trap Ashab's weapon under his own body, then, with your own arm thus freed, you straddle him and begin raining punches down upon his head. He curses, trying to get free and even makes attempts to bite your arm, but finally a blow connects with his temple – and he goes limp.

You pause – then land another punch for good measure. Your breathing is shallow and ragged, your entire body shaking with the effort of drawing each gasp of air. Blood still flows freely from the wound on your arm – both you and Ashab are covered in it, along with dust, dirt, powder, and who knows what else. It seems very tempting to lie down by the knocked out assassin, just for a short rest – but you know better.

You dig out the dagger from under the drake's body and toss it to the other end of the clearing. Then, getting shakily to your feet, you raise his leg, grip it firmly in both hands – and twist.

The sound of bone popping out of its socket is drowned out by the howl of pain as Ashab instantly regains consciousness. You twist the limb the other way, drawing an even louder howl. Then you let go and step away, and he curls up around the mangled limb, trying to protect it from further harm.

"Stay put or it's your wing next," you growl.

You are bandaging your arm when your kobolds finally return – or what's left of them. You count four, with two having to help a third along, a piece of bloodstained cloth tied hastily around a deep gash in its leg.

"Threats left?"

They shake their heads.

"Proper bandages on him," you indicate the wounded one. "Then guard."

You finish tying off your own bandage and turn to your would-be killer. Ashab is still where you left him – whether mindful of your threat, or simply too injured to run. His expression is equal parts pain and resignation.

Where should you start with him?

>How did he find you?

>Who sent him and why?

>Isn't he retired?

>Other (write-in)

>>6307

search him for any hidden tricks he might have and have at least 1 kobold stand on look out. Once we know it is safe we can interrogate him on who sent him and how he managed to find us.

>>6307

>How did he find you?

>Who sent him and why?

You note Ashab is wearing a harness, much like the one you use to carry your own gear, only much lighter and thinner, crafted from leather in the same black-brown color as his scales. Attached to it in various unobtrusive places – such as tucked under his wings – are small pouches and satchels, dyed the same dark colors.

You approach Ashab, stopping out of immediate reach, but still within easy lunge distance with your sword. The weapon itself you hold in one hand, letting the blade dip toward the ground – a nonaggressive stance, but one capable of becoming so at a moment's notice.

"Take it off," you indicate the harness.

"I'm not going to attack you," Ashab says in a tired voice. "I surrendered. No need for this tough guy bull-" he breaks off when the tip of your sword twitches upward and, with a roll of his eyes, carefully strips off the harness and lets it fall to the ground, being sure to show you how he did not palm anything after he's done.

"I'd kick it toward you too, but, you know…" he pointedly avoids looking at his mangled leg. "Can we just get on with it? I'll tell you what you want to know."

He notices your expression and snorts.

"Why bother hiding anything? You know how this works as well as I do. Nothing personal here – got offered a job, took the job, fucked up the job," you catch a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Almost had you though. It almost worked…"

"…until it didn't," you finish for him. "How did you know where I'd be?"

"You mean, how did I drag a hundred men into the middle of a jungle and set up an ambush that nearly killed your ass?" Ashab gives you a crooked smile. "The info came with the job. Everything – the route you'd be taking, the place you'd make camp, the week you'd show up. Now, you ask me, it sounds like someone's been getting a touch too predictable," the assassin's grin gets wider. "Too set in his ways, maybe. Getting rusty in his old age. Or senile."

His tongue is barbed, but it's the truth that stings the hardest – you have been taking the same route back home every year at the end of each fighting season. You have been using this same clearing for convenience's sake – because you didn't think anyone could track you through the jungle – or than anyone could do what Ashab did.

"Who wants me dead?"

"The great dragon Dorugan," he names the ruler of the Esh Dominion.

"I have no quarrel with him," you say immediately.

"He sure seems to have quarrel with you," Ashab shrugs. "You would not believe the money he offered for your head."

"Why?"

"Cause you want him dead and he'd rather you didn't get a chance to succeed," another shrug. "At least that's what I was told."

"I have no quarrel with Dorugan," you repeat.

Which is true.

Equally true is that you were approached about taking a contract on Dorugan's life several months ago – and you turned it down, because:

>Killing a dragon would destroy your reputation in the Dominions – and you're not ready to retire yet.

>The money was not good enough

>No amount of money would have been enough – fighting Dorugan would be suicide.

>The entire matter reeked like a corpse left out in the summer sun – you refused to touch the contract or anyone involved with it

>The entire matter reeked like a corpse left out in the summer sun – you refused to touch the contract or anyone involved with it

>>6313

I agree with this. plus if we were to take on a dragon I would assume we would need an army which we currently do not have.

>>6312

>>6313

>>6314

>Agree with these anons. Kingkilling is bad business if you aren't in it for yourself. People who take these contracts have a habit of waking up dead one fine morning after the funeral of King SuchandSuch of Somewhere

You turned down that contract because you saw it for a trap. Now, standing over the wounded assassin in the middle of a clearing littered with corpses, you realize you're seeing that trap close around you.

"This isn't about Dorugan," you say to Ashab. "This is about me."

It takes the other drake a moment to catch your meaning.

"You think you've been set up?"

"I know I have," you bare your teeth in a snarl. "I'm not an idiot, Ashab. You don't just stab a dragon – much less a sovereign – and expect to get away with it."

"Did seem like a fucking stupid thing for you to try. You got the whole reputation for being a sensible sort too," he agrees after some thought. "But Dorugan's not an idiot either. And he seemed pretty convinced you're out for his blood. Hells – I'd almost say he was scared."

If what Ashab says is true, this will demand immediate action from you. The world has a habit of becoming a very small and unpleasant place for those who draw the wrath of a dragon. There will be more assassins – it's just a matter of setting the right price. Worse yet, a ruler of a dominion can have plenty of leverage on someone's career – your name may suddenly become poison in mercenary circles. No one will hire you. No one will even talk to you. Nearly five decades of goodwill and reputation – gone.

As you see it, your options are few – and none of them ideal:

>Journey to the Esh Dominion and confront Dorugan personally – convince him of your innocence or, failing that… take more drastic steps.

>Seek the protection of another dragon sovereign, asking them to intercede with Dorugan on your behalf. This will have a price, however – your need will be dire, which will reflect on your bargaining position.

>Flee the Dominions, hoping there are places that can escape a sovereign's grasp. Likely, this will mean heading across the mountains, into the barbaric North – and abandoning all your contacts and assets, sacrificing all you've spent your entire life building.

Less pressingly but more immediately, you must decide what to do with the assassin at your feet:

>Let him go – Ashab knows better than to come after you again

>Let him go but cripple his wings just in case – keep him ground-bound for a few weeks

>Cripple him permanently, but let him live

>Cripple him permanently and leave him to die here

>Kill him quickly

>Other (write-in)

>>6318

let him go but cripple his wings so that he can't inform dorugan of his failure while we flee north. Who says that the north cannot be tamed perhaps we will become a "king" ourselves.

>>6318

>Let him go but cripple his wings just in case – keep him ground-bound for a few weeks

>Journey to the Esh Dominion and confront Dorugan personally – take more drastic steps.

>>6320

>Agree with this anon. No point wasting 2score and ten years worth of goodwill and contacts if we can slice apart the Gordian Knot of this farcical setup.

>Let him go, Ashab may prove useful another time, and not crippling him would be a gesture of goodwill. Besides, it was nothing personal, and we are both professionals.

No problem ever got solved by running away from it. And you wouldn't be you if you didn't confront it directly.

Details will need to be given consideration, as they always do. But the decision is made – the immediate future is now a defined path, with every necessary action a marker guiding you along.

You turn to your kobolds.

"Do your death rituals. You have half an hour. After that, scouts into the jungle, find us a new campsite."

They nod.

You turn back to Ashab.

"I'm going to have to break your wing," you state simply. He grimaces.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Icarus, I'm not going to fly to Dorugan just to tell him I fucked up. You know how much he likes hearing about failure as well as I do," your expression does not waver. "Come on, we're both professionals here…"

"And a professional would warn his employer that his mission has failed," you agree curtly. "Are you going to make this hard for both of us?"

"Fuck you," the old drake sighs, resigned, and turns his back to you. "Just do it quickly."

You oblige his request. As you did with the leg earlier, you seize the wing firmly, brace yourself, and give it a sharp twist. Ashab arcs his back and digs his claws into the ground, but all that escapes from between his clenched teeth is a pained grunt.

While he lays there recovering, you begin moving around the clearing, recovering your gear, sorting through the knapsacks and throwing out things too damaged to be worth the hassle of repairing. You also don your armor, the familiar weight on your body immediately making you feel safer.

A low, wail-like chant is heard from somewhere within the tree line – your kobolds are mourning their dead. With half their number lost tonight, they should be doing the full ritual – and you should participate as well. But they understand that in the circumstances, even the time you afforded them is a luxury.

After they finish and head into the jungle in search of a new campsite, you offer to tend to Ashab's injuries.

"How fucking magnanimous of you," he laughs caustically. But he does not object.

You're both professionals, after all.

"I'd just run if I were you," Ashab tells you after you set his leg and he's done hissing through his teeth in pain. "It's not your way, I know. But if you're right and someone's setting you up… well, who'd risk stepping on a dragon's tail just to get at you?"

The answer is obvious. Only another dragon would dare.

"And who even says it's about you, Icarus? Other than mister self-important over here? Maybe it's about weakening Dorugan – how many will be taking his contracts if it gets around he decided to off one of the best mercs around? Or maybe it's even a Succession gambit. They're hoping you'll rush off and put some dents in him before he puts you down – then a challenger shows up, forces him to cede."

You give him a look.

"Oh don't give me that fucking look," he scowls at you. "All I'm saying is, this stinks of dragon politics. And that means everyone else – you, me, those poor bastards I brought along," he gestures around him, "we're like grains of wheat caught between two grindstones, waiting for the gears to start turning. Me, I'm getting out before they do. I'm gone. I'll be grabbing whatever fits in a sack, and getting the fuck out of the Dominions while I'm still alive. And if you're half as sensible as I know you are, you'll be doing the same."

Your kobolds return shortly afterward and you march off with them, leaving Ashab still sitting in the middle of the corpse-strewn clearing, looking very old and very, very tired.

(cont.)

>>6328

>You will check yourself into a hostel in the city, treat yourself to a warm meal and a dry bed, and see what the dragon decides to do about it.

Despite having a human proprietor and staff, the "Morning Mist" is a hostel catering exclusively to drakes and thus has everything built to scale."Large beds and larger meals" is the establishment's motto, though first-time clients usually add "and prices to match" upon being presented with the bill.

While far from being a regular, you still stayed at the "Morning Mist" enough times over the years to be recognized by the staff on sight. They welcome you warmly, offering your usual room, a warm bath, mulled wine, and a host of other comforts – which will all be accounted for at the end of your stay. Their demeanor, despite being a demand of professionalism, is sincere enough to tell you that Dorugan's displeasure with your person has not extended across his dominion.

Which is an oddity. Dorugan is not a dragon to resort to half-measures. While hiring assassins is a strong statement in itself, you half-expected the hostel's staff to deny you entry and call for the city guard. The fact it did not happen suggests that the dragon may have some doubts about your guilt – or, at the very least, that he fears the loss of prestige that would follow a direct accusation that would seem so absurd to others, given your own reputation.

You have your warm meal – a whole roast lamb that you share with your kobolds who, as always, show some discomfort at the idea of eating something that they haven't caught and prepared by themselves. You agree to the offer of a bath and as you soak in the pool – a marble cistern sunk into the ground and lined with heating runes along the bottom – you consider your options in light of these deductions.

It is inevitable that Dorugan finds out about your presence in the city. It's very possible he already knows – he'd have the "Morning Mist" under observation simply as part of his spy network's day to day operations. It is unlikely the dragon will cause a scene by making a public arrest or sending assassins to the hostel. However, you should expect some sort of summons to arrive within a day, at the latest.

Should you:

>Wait patiently for the summons – let Dorugan set the pace and rules of this game.

>Send a message requesting an audience – take initiative, forcing the dragon to react to you instead.

If you choose to send a message, how should you frame its contents?

>A nonspecific request keeping up the charade that no quarrel exists between you and Dorugan

>An apologetic note stating a desire to clear up an unfortunate misunderstanding.

>A stern, yet polite letter expressing your displeasure at being a subject of defamatory accusations.

>Other (write-in)

>>6335

>Send a message requesting an audience – take initiative, forcing the dragon to react to you instead.

>A nonspecific request keeping up the charade that no quarrel exists between you and Dorugan

>>6335

>Wait patiently for the summons – let Dorugan set the pace and rules of this game.

>>6336

>>6335

>agreed with this anon. We can play nice for now, but reacting to events rather than instigating them is not how we have won our reputation over the years.

Deciding that waiting patiently was a mistake after all, you pen a letter that in true diplomatic tradition contains little substance, being made up mostly of prerequisite formulaic greetings and honorifics, with its purpose encapsulated within a single sentence – a polite request for an audience in order to "discuss affairs."

Once the ink dries, you seal the parchment with wax and hand it over to the hostel's messenger. After you also drop a coin into his waiting hand, he deposits the scroll within a waterproofed case and departs for the palace.

An hour later, he's back with a reply.

Much like your own letter, the message's contents are mostly formulaic filler. In short, Dorugan graciously grants your request for an audience and expects you in his presence at the eighth hour of this evening – only a little more than an hour and a half from now.

A sharp order puts your kobolds to work polishing your armor, while you sharpen your sword and clean the harness you carry it on – once that's done, you move to help the kobolds, as just the four of them are not enough to handle some of the larger plates. When – if – you sort out matters with Dorugan, you'll need to find time to recruit replacements.

With such quick summons, you do not feel prepared when it is time to leave. You were fortunate to think of taking a bath, but a palace visit demands your claws be trimmed and your scales polished and oiled – wasteful, venal measures whose lack will nevertheless be noted.

Yet, showing up late would be worse. So, with minutes left on the clock, you check your armor straps one last time, remind the kobolds what to do if you're not back by morning, and you take off from the hostel's courtyard, straight into the rapidly darkening sky and driving rain.

(cont.)

Dorugan goes still, seemingly waiting for something. You suddenly realize what it is – and the nature of the trap that you just walked into.

Three near-simultaneous lighting strikes light up the bay behind the dragon, outlining him in stark, white light. And once the roll of thunder subsides, Dorugan makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, pointing toward you with a polished claw.

"Behold the worm crawling through my home," the dragon rumbles in a voice much like the thunder outside. "Behold its craven nature, heed its ill intent."

In your hurry to prepare, you completely forgot how fond Dorugan is of Kingspeech.

"Where is the dagger thirsty for by heart's blood?" the dragon demands, his visage grim. "What virulent poison coats its wicked blade?"

It is a convention that is dying out far too slowly.

"Or have you come to your feeble senses, foul creature? Will you beg? Will you ask mercy? Will you hope I spare your miserable, worthless life?"

Mostly because there are very few people with the courage to tell a dragon when he sounds like an absolute prat.

"Answer me, worm! I give you leave to use your forked, duplicitous tongue. How will you sway me from striking you down where you cower?"

Naturally, Dorugan couldn't have resisted the opportunity this entire mess gave him even if he tried. He wants to give a performance – and for you to play your part. What that part will be – how you'll argue your innocence – is up to you. There are no hard rules to a Kingspeech challenge – truth, facts, and rational thought may not actually matter. Unless they make for a compelling tale.

And making your story less than compelling will, of course, carry consequences.

What role will you assume?

>The Veteran – stress your reputation and standing in the Dominions, take umbrage at these blatantly false accusations.

>The Penitent – admit to being offered a contract on Dorugan, vehemently deny taking it, apologize anyway

>The Scapegoat – you are being framed – played for a fool. And so is Dorugan.

>Other (write-in)

And how will you play your role?

>Use Kingspeech, as Dorugan expects you to

>Talk like a normal person – unorthodox, but has been used in the past as an effective counterpoint

>>6384

>The Scapegoat – you are being framed – played for a fool. And so is Dorugan.

>Talk like a normal person – unorthodox, but has been used in the past as an effective counterpoint

Lets play the no nonsense hardened fighter.

Dorugan's demand finally releases you from your bow and you stand up straight, facing the dragon directly. An image you wish to project forms in your mind – a straightforward, no nonsense fighter, whose years on the battlefield stripped him of good manners – but also of any duplicity.

"Because I have no quarrel with you, Sovereign," your tone is matter-of-fact, with just a hint of bemusement – an effect only slightly ruined by you having to raise your voice above the noise of the storm outside. "Don't know who told you I do, but they were wrong, mistaken, or lying."

"A denial!" the dragon leans back, disbelief written all over his face. "Is that the best your twisted mind can assemble? I'd be a fool to believe an excuse so feeble."

"It's no excuse if it's truth," you shrug. "I have no cause to make you my enemy."

You'd say more, but even if you don't use Kingspeech yourself, you are still subject to the cadence and rhythm it imposes. You're not the leading actor here – Dorugan is. And he is the one who gets to make the long speeches.

"No cause, says he," Dorugan chuckles humorlessly and glances about the room, as if inviting the gathered crowd to join him in his derision. The courtiers dutifully laugh as well – the more enthusiastic ones even boo or throw curses your way. "The fortune in gold my enemies would pay for my head. Having history name you as dragonslayer – a title to crown a lifetime's renown. Wrongs dealt to you – real or imagined – that now cloud your mind with hate. A hundred causes to bring me low," the dragon sacrifices basic math on the altar of drama, "and yet you claim innocence of their full gross?"

"I value reputation above money," you dismiss the dragon's accusations with calm indifference, "but not enough to want the new enemies a dragonslayer's renown would bring. Above all, I don't want you as my enemy, Sovereign-"

"And I don't want you as mine?" the dragon demands, interrupting you.

"Neither of us benefits from strife," you answer carefully. "The question I would have – the question I came here to ask is – who does?"

"Ha!" Dorugan's laughter is as light-hearted as a descending avalanche. "A plot against us both, is it then? Common enemies have beset us and we must stand against them arm in arm – or back to back, perhaps? So that when I face forward, trusting my flank secure, I in fact open it to a perfidious stab! You are more crafty that you look, mercenary, and your ploy was clever. But, to your misfortune, I am not fooled. I know your true purpose here."

"Then you certainly know more than me," you keep your tone level, though you feel the ground slipping out from under your feet. The ebb and flow of Kingspeech is now carrying you to an inevitable crescendo.

"Always as cold and measured as you moniker suggests, Steel Wind," the dragon says with a hint of mockery in his rumbling voice. "Always dispassionate and pragmatic in all affairs – save one. I too refused to believe you would dare raise your blade against me, sacrificing a lifetime's renown to hatred that I now know churns in your heart like boiling tar. I spent gold by the handful, dispatching my agents far and wide to verify the claim made against you – to ascertain that I was not about to accuse an innocent soul. Yet, when my agents returned, they told me the one thing I did not want to hear – that you had cause. That my life was in peril because you believed me guilty of the one thing that could awaken your wrath."

The dragon pauses. Cadence. Rhythm. Ebb and flow. You ask the question his silence demands.

"What do I believe, Sovereign?"

"You, Icarus, known as the Steel Wind, believe I had a hand in your sister's death."

"Did you?"

You can't stop the words that leave your mouth any more than you can change their tone – a low, flat growl, carrying the promise of incipient violence. And you don't need the shocked hush that falls over the room or Dorugan's wide-eyed expression to tell you how big of a mistake you just made.

You have mere moments to somehow cover up the faux pas you've just committed. Before the dragon points an accusatory claw at you and gives an irreversible order and before the guards you can hear closing in on you follow it to the letter.

Do you:

>Play it off as a rhetorical question ("Did you? Of course you didn't….")

>Go all out. Abandon the measured, diplomatic tone and let him know the exact fate reserved for those who harm your family (and that he's not one of them)

>Other (write-in)

>>6397

>Go all out. Abandon the measured, diplomatic tone and let him know the exact fate reserved for those who harm your family (and that he's not one of them)

In for a penny in for a pound

How long has it been now? Twenty years? They say memories fade and wounds heal, yet there it is – that familiar wellspring of fury, just waiting to be tapped.

"Because if you did, sovereign, then I told a lie and your agents the truth – we do have quarrel," you take a step forward. "They would've told you of Storm's Perch – of the price there's to pay for my kin's blood. Yes, be certain – if I had but a shred of evidence that you had hand in my sister's death, I would stop at nothing to end your life in turn."

A part of you is screaming about the sheer folly of threatening a dragon to his face. But another part – the calm, rational one – is telling you to keep going. You took the plunge into this stormcloud – now you must reach the other side, or get torn apart by the winds.

All or nothing.

"But I'm no assassin, sovereign. I would not stalk you with blade and poison. I would not grant unexpected death from the shadows. No – that would not satisfy me. I would want that you see me coming. That you witness how I bring fire and ruin to your land and your cities. That before your blood stains the ground, you lose everything you value and care about."

"Were you my enemy, sovereign, I would go to war."

The room is almost completely silent – even the wind seems to have momentarily subsided. Every eye is on you.

"But I have not done so. So what does that tell you?"

The silence that follows lasts even longer. Dorugan studies you carefully, his own expression unreadable.

"It tell me that, as always, words spoken in anger are the most sincere," he says finally, then turns to the room. "Everybody out!" he orders.

Neither of you says anything while the courtiers file out of the room, followed by the guards. At last, the doors slam shut.

"Congratulations, mercenary," Dorugan says, his voice a peculiar mixture of annoyance and respect. "You've convinced me. So what do you want?"

>To not have to watch your back while you hunt down those trying to ruin your reputation

>To receive compensation for the assassination attempt and losses suffered

>To help Dorugan seek and destroy a common enemy

>Combination of the above

>Other (write-in)

>>6406

> This false accusation, and the widespread nature, given the false claims of his agents, means there is a massive smear campaign out to destroy us and weaken Dorugan. Dragons are assholes, and the attention of one is always bad news, but we don't need the stability of the established powers to be threatened merely to give us employ. Leave that for lesser drakes. Our name ensures we are always in demand. However, when that good name is threatened, we don't need money to start us on the hunt, just the assurance of a safe haven, a place we don't have to watch our ever step while we rest. The hunt is on.

>An enemy of Dorugan's is perforce an enemy of ours, it is in our best interests to aid him by ridding us both of this perfidious malefactor.

>>6406

>To help Dorugan seek and destroy a common enemy

>To not have to watch your back while you hunt down those trying to ruin your reputation

"I want to help you against a common enemy, sovereign."

"Hrm," Dorugan, no longer performing to an audience, lies back down and picks up a chalice filled with wine – the jewel-encrusted vessel easily holds the contents of an entire barrel. Naturally, he does not offer you any. "And what is it that makes you think this attack isn't aimed solely at you?"

"Because this situation is to your detriment as well," you recall Ashab's words from several weeks ago. "Had I died to your assassins, it would've damaged your relations with mercenaries across the Dominions. Fewer willing to accept your contracts, higher asking prices… I hear pirates are more active around the Lirean strait again. And if word gets out that your shipping lanes aren't as well protected-"

"Yes, alright," the dragon raises one hand and you fall silent. The topic of pirates visibly upsets him. "I agree – I lose on killing you. But what I want to know is – what do I lose on helping you? How much will you cost me, mercenary?"

"I don't want compensation," you shake your head.

"A mercenary refusing pay?" the dragon snorts. "Now this, I don't believe."

"My reputation is at stake here, sovereign. If I waste time quibbling over price with you, I stand to lose more than I gain. All I ask for is whatever resources you can devote to tracking down our enemy. And a guarantee," you add. "A grant of sanctuary in your lands, should that enemy use more direct means to bring me harm."

It would be counterproductive to point out that you two are, in fact, quibbling over price. That Dorugan would grant his aid was a foregone conclusion the moment he decided to spare your life. Contrary to his words – intended to improve his bargaining position – he has every reason to hunt down whoever duped him into going after you. If nothing else, his injured pride demands retribution.

Which is why it only takes another half an hour of back and forth before you strike the deal. Dorugan will devote his spy network to finding those spreading misinformation about you and – ultimately – the one holding their strings. Once their identity is known, it will be your job to hunt them down and bring them before the dragon for judgment (or, failing that, delivering the punishment yourself).

Dorugan extends you an invitation to stay at his palace in the meantime, and the next day you and your kobolds relocate to a spacious, lavishly furnished room in the guest wing. Where you are then left to patiently wait for spy work to bear its fruit. For the first week, you simply enjoy the opportunity to rest.

+1 HP (7/7)

But very quickly, the boredom makes you restless. There are useful things you could – and should – be doing, and several immediately spring to mind:

>Alchemy – begin refilling your stock of potions and mixtures in anticipation of upcoming fights

>Recruitment – find new kobolds to replace those lost

>Bookkeeping – you've been neglecting your own financial assets for the past couple of years. Time to assess your losses and gains

>Information gathering – while you lack Dorugan's extensive spy network, you have your own loose collection of contacts and associates – some in quite unexpected places. See what they can find out

(in your suggestion, rank all of the above in order of importance/priority, as you won't necessarily have the time to do everything)

>>6419

>Recruit a book-keeping kobold, and his military buddies (if this is even possible)

>Alchemy, replace what we used and maybe even do some extra if we have time

> Info gathering. Not a priority, simply because Dorugans' network is pretty comprehensive. More to check in and make sure they know you aren't dead yet.

>>6419

>Recruitment – find new kobolds to replace those lost

>Bookkeeping – you've been neglecting your own financial assets for the past couple of years. Time to assess your losses and gains

Your priority is bringing the number of your kobolds back to eight. Naturally, any native populations that existed around Jayala have been exterminated a long time ago and you don't want to risk venturing further afield in case there is a breakthrough in the investigation. Fortunately, there is one place in the city that is always guaranteed to have a few.

"A thousand pardons, sayid, but you want to do what?" on the arena master's face, incredulity is fighting a pitched battle against servility. "I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"I want to purchase some of the kobolds you have here," you repeat patiently. "In order to do so, I have to talk to them first. See which ones are fit – and willing – to serve me."

"But… kobolds? They're just…. they're little better than anim-" he casts a worried glance at your group, which is giving him unfriendly stares – then a no less worried glance at you. "They're kobolds!" he exclaims, as if that were enough to explain everything.

You toss him a small, clinking pouch.

"Humor me."

Gold has persuasive powers verging on magical and the man leads you to the cells beneath the arena, where animals and other creatures are kept between fights. There, in the guttering light of a torch, you talk to twenty pairs of unblinking, yellow eyes, explaining your terms, your demands, and what you provide in return. Then, once you're done, you step back and let your kobolds explain what you can't – causing the arena master to mutter and shake his head.

"I'll need a sparring room," you tell him.

"What?"

"To test them. I need to know they can fight."

"I've had these for five months now. They've survived everything I-" he falls silent as you raise your hand. "As you wish, sayid."

Of course, it's your kobolds who actually test them, in a two-hour display that only occasionally resembles a fight. A lot of staring. A lot of posturing, with clubs and staves waved around in bizarre patters. One group advances, another retreats. Individuals break off and run across the room, with no reason or purpose. A leap forward – clash. Clubs whirl through the air. A dozen blows exchanged in half as many seconds. Then both groups retreat and begin again.

Eventually, it's over – both sides learn each other's measure. Your kobolds approach you and let you know of your options. Of the tribe of twenty, three groups of four are willing to join yours. They each will be competent and – if treated right – loyal. But kobolds never take well to a life in captivity. The enclosed space, the inactivity, punctuated by ruthless violence – it breaks them. If you accept one of these groups, you also agree to deal with its problems. This and not gold is the real price you – and your kobolds – will pay:

>Bloodlust – this group has begun taking too much joy in slaughter. An undesirable trait in your line of work, where killing is often seen as necessity rather than purpose.

>Individuality – in this group, one of the members has upset the delicate balance between self and the tribe, placing too much stress on the former. This will resolve itself, given time, but until then will make things very tense among your kobolds.

>Pregnancy – the last group contains a female whose stomach is only just starting to become dissented and round. A careless act, given their circumstances – and a lot of hassle for you in four or five months.

>Don't choose – additional trouble is the last thing you need. You can make do with four kobolds until a purer recruitment pool presents itself.

>>6426

I forgot to add: I'm keeping the vote from the previous update open, since we presently have Bookkeeping and Alchemy tied for second, only one vote for Info Gathering as third, and nothing for fourth. Though if no one else votes, I'm fine with writing for how things are right now.

>>6426

>Individuality – in this group, one of the members has upset the delicate balance between self and the tribe, placing too much stress on the former. This will resolve itself, given time, but until then will make things very tense among your kobolds.

One bad eggs should not spoil the bunch, and this could be a much more easy to resolve issue than any of the others.

Compared to dragon politics, dealing with a single unruly kobold should be simple and refreshingly direct. You make your choice and, after handing the arena master his gold, lead your new charges outside, where you show them how to strap themselves into your harness.

A few minutes later, they have their first flight – which means they're practically piddling themselves in terror and likely experiencing a great deal of regret. You pay them no heed – they'll get used to it and you gave them fair warning about how they will have to travel around. Luckily for all of you, there is no rain that day, even though gray, heavy clouds obscure the sky.

You fly up into the hills, well outside of the city and far from any villages, farms, or roads. What comes next will be a private affair – not just because kobolds keep their ceremonies secret, but because, given what this one involves, a witness is the last thing you want.

After landing and finding a secluded location, you send the kobolds out to get what they need. Then, after darkness falls, once the fire is lit, the herbal broth boiling, and the special knife sharpened, all nine of you gather in a circle and the tribemaking ritual begins.

Despite everything that's involved, the rite itself is mercifully brief and, like most of them, involves no speaking. After everyone's bandaged up, you break out the brandy and you all proceed to drink until you pass out – the most expedient way you've found of dealing with the immediate aftereffects.

(cont.)

It's late morning of the next day when you land in the garden just outside your guest room. Your kobolds slide off you and stumble about unsteadily, while your headache feels like you're nursing nine.

You make your way inside and find an uninvited guest in your room – a female drake who seems familiar. When you enter, she rises from the lounger on which she was resting, but does not introduce herself – or, in fact, speak at all. You stop and study her, trying to place where you saw her. Small, slender, gray-scaled, perhaps half your age. She looks like she puts as much effort into her appearance as you do into maintaining your weapons. At last, you vaguely recall seeing her during the audience – at the front of the group of courtiers standing nearest to Dorugan.

There's something off about her that takes you another moment to place. Maybe it's the certain glassiness to her eyes, or the way her nostrils flare a bit too wide. You form a theory and immediately test it. You unfasten the harness and let it slide to the floor, then step out of it, pick it up, and casually toss it against the wall near where she stands. You look for the flinch – and you see it.

>Ask her who she is and what she wants

>Ask her to get you some water

>Ask her why she's afraid of you

>Ask her to leave

>Other (write-in)

>>6431

>walk up to her and see how she acts

>>6431

>>6432

>Walk up to her, it's clear she is nervous, and when you have fully invaded her personal space ask her who the hell she is, what she wants, and what in the nine hells she is doing in your room

You note the situation is making your kobolds antsy – they don't like having unwelcome visitors in their "home" any more than you do. You indicate they should stay put and then, still not saying anything, you walk over to the female and push into her personal space, ignoring convention for the sake of drawing a reaction.

She steps back instinctively but then, as if realizing what you're doing, a defiant spark lights up in her eyes and she stands her ground, forcing you to either stop or run into her. With your chest inches away from hers, you look down at her – she's more than two feet shorter than you – and she looks back at you, her eyes showing a great deal of anxiety, defiance, but also some anger – or possibly resentment. You see all of that for only a brief moment, before she, once again, realizes what you're doing, and all these emotions disappear behind a neutral, unreadable mask.

"You still haven't introduced yourself, seya," you say, your hangover turning your voice irritable and harsh. "Or explained why you're in my room uninvited."

"My name is Maya, sayid," she replies in a quiet, melodic tone. "And I'm here…"

She trails off. You see something change behind her eyes – the mask flickers, her expression darkens, and she quickly looks away.

"My apologies, sayid," she mutters, without meeting your gaze. "I made a mistake. By your leave," without actually waiting for it, she brushes past you, heading for the door.

>Stop her

>Stop her forcefully

>Let her leave

>Other (write-in)

>>6438

>Stop her

I am guessing she took something. We should question her.

At a signal from you, the kobolds run over and block her path. She stops in the face of weapons aimed at her – but before she can realize she could just leap over them, you catch up and get in her way as well.

"You haven't answered my question, seya Maya," you say, before addressing the kobolds. "Check if anything's missing."

"I didn't take anything!" she cries indignantly. "I'm no thief!"

"Then who are you?"

Silence.

"Right. I'm not in the mood for these games. I'll just let the palace guard sort you out."

You watch closely for her reaction to that threat. Does she seem afraid? No. Relieved? Also no. Instead, amusement flickers briefly in her eyes.

"Guards won't help you here," she shakes her head. Yet, there is something about the way she says it – a hint of bitterness – that tells you the guards won't be on her side in this either.

On a hunch, you ask:

"And what will the guards do if they come in and see me cutting the throat of an intruder – a thief, or possibly an assassin?"

"They'd…" she stops, her expression darkening again. "I'm not a thief," she repeats, glaring at you. "Or an assassin. I… I've been ordered here."

"By whom?"

"Lord Dorugan."

"Why?" you ask after a long moment of silence. She looks down. Her wings quiver.

"For you to do with as you please, sayid Icarus," she says quietly, sounding defeated. "Until such a time as I earn your forgiveness."

"And what quarrel do I have with you that you'd need my pardon?"

"I am… was one of Lord Dorugan's agents," she refuses to meet your gaze. "The sovereign holds me responsible for false intelligence that informed his actions against you."

With that, she slumps down, looking small and defeated. Leaving you to decide what to do with this revelation – and the unexpected addition to your entourage.

>Ask of what use she can be to you

>Ask for details on the false intelligence she mentioned

>Tell her to define "as you please"

>Confirm her story with the palace staff

>Send her away until you have need of her

>Send her away permanently – refuse Dorugan's "gift"

>Other (write-in)

>>6487

>Ask for details on the false intelligence she mentioned

>Tell her to define "as you please"

>>6487

>>6488

>What this anon said, also, ask her how she s with numbers and tracking money. If the response is better than we are, then use this 'gift' to book-keep for us and make sure our investments are still solvent and profitable

"What did Dorugan mean by 'do as you please?'"

She shoots you a venomous look.

"He said: 'it's not my affair what he does with you. He can insult you, abuse you, beat you,'" she hisses in a voice shaking with anger and humiliation, "'make you scrub floors, clean his armor, or suck his cock. For all I care, he may even tie you to the fountain in Balesh Market and fuck you all day in full view of half the city. Or kill and quarter you, and parade your head around on a pike.' This is what the Lord Sovereign meant," she spits out the last few words like a challenge, intended to clearly and loudly demonstrate exactly how little effect hearing that from her ruler had on her.

"Tell me about that false intelligence," you say.

"What?" she blinks, momentarily forgetting about her anger as her thought process capsizes when trying to take the sharp turn in order to follow yours.

"Where did it come from? How widespread is it? What made you think I was a legitimate threat?" you explain patiently.

"It-" she hesitates. "It came from a reliable source. A trusted one – not anymore, of course."

"And this trusted source convinced you I wanted to kill Dorugan?"

"No. This… the intel wasn't even about you, 'sayid' – at least not initially. The source claimed a threat to Dorugan from an existing enemy. It was deemed plausible enough to investigate."

"Who was that enemy?" you note that Maya's demeanor has changed completely. Her voice is now even and dispassionate, her words measured and precise. As if submitting a report to her superior.

"The dragon Zalanar – the previous sovereign of Esh Dominion. After ceding to Dorugan forty years ago, he went into exile in the North. He has not been an issue since then – but has begun making some noise in the last three years. The threat was deemed plausible," she repeats.

"So where do I come in?"

"There were two separate rumors, spaced out just enough for the coincidence not to seem suspicious. The first said that Zalanar secured the services of a highly skilled and powerful warrior in the Dominions. The second was that you, 'sayid', accepted a private commission – something important enough that you were not only willing to go far below your asking price, but to quit in the middle of your current contract."

Your frown upon hearing that. The truth is, your last contract – an allegedly simple scorched earth campaign – was an absolute mess. The negotiations dragged out, the client kept changing conditions and asking price, only to finally call the whole thing off after you arrived at acceptable terms. At which point you were weary, frustrated, and unwilling to look for another contract this late into the season. Instead, you set off for your estate early – apparently thus helping to set off the trap.

(cont.)

"And then what? Another source tipped you off about my alleged beliefs regarding Dorugan's hand in my sister's fate?"

Maya nods.

"And you just believed it?"

"Everyone remembers Storm's Perch," she offers by way of explanation.

You can't disagree. Twenty years ago, you made sure everyone would remember.

"Who was the source?"

"I don't know," she actually takes a step back from the look you give her. "The rumors were spreading through mercenary circles," she adds quickly. "Rank and file, junior officers, arms merchants – the usual rumormongers. Some paid off, probably by one or two stringmen,"

"Who are they?"

"I don't know," she repeats. "My network was tracking them down when… when the Lord Sovereign demanded my presence."

"And he what, decided that this," you wave your hand at her, "gesture was more important than tracking down the ones behind this scheme?"

"It is not for me to question the Lord Sovereign's decisions," Maya's voice remains dispassionate – but only barely so. "He has other agents who can perform this job."

You grimace, thinking about what to do next. An idea pops into your head – and you entertain it, however briefly – to burden Maya with handling your finances. But you reject it almost immediately, as you already have an overseer for your assets – and a competent one at that. You were intending to contact him within the next few days, asking to be sent his financial reports.

Meanwhile, you are still left with the decision on what to do with the female drake in your room:

>Ask of what use she can be to you

>Send her away until you have need of her

>Send her away permanently – refuse Dorugan's "gift"

>Other (write-in)

>>6493

>Other (write-in)

Inform her that she will be needing to make the new kobolds comfortable as well as write a list of what she can do. In the mean time we will go of to see our asset overseer, so when we get back there should be at the very least each one of them should be clean enough to appear before Lord Sovereign and as happy as him to boot.

>>6501

Ok, I have to ask for clarification on what you're actually saying here. Particularly:

>at the very least each one of them should be clean enough to appear before Lord Sovereign

I feel like I'm missing something here. Did I give any indication you'll be having another audience with the dragon? Are you going to request one?

>>6502

Oh no, its just they need to be really clean, so it to express the power we hold over her so she will be much happier to do more important, but more difficult tasks in the future.

I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I vote for

>Ask of what use she can be to you