These scenes took place around the 15th of Nymm, 998 YK
Part 1
Natrac slid a few coins across the bar, to the gnarled old goblin on the other side of it. His face was scarred but his eyes looked like they didn't miss much, and it was this that Natrac was hoping for. The goblin made the coins disappear with the grace and elegance of someone who may have picked one or twenty pockets in their time, and responded in goblin.
"I've seen someone like the second fellow you mention. Don't know if it's your man, but a pretty half elf dressed like a pirate is gonna draw attention down here. Nice hair, too. I know people who would kill for a head of hair like this guy, wigmakers are good for it." His tone of voice indicated that he was not making a joke, and Natrac remembered just how harsh life could be here.
Vennet was here, then. Natrac was hoping he'd find something, but this was better than he expected. "Any idea where he went?"
"Two Boot Way, near Night Close. Seen him a few times, I cut through there on my way to work," replied the goblin, pointedly wiping down a glass that he'd probably cleaned 3 or 4 times just while Natrac was talking to him.
"Did you see anyone with him? What about the human with the acid-green eyes?" Natrac enquired further, but the goblin only shook his head. This didn't deter Natrac too much though, "what about a big...skinny bird, black feathers and green eyes?"
"Chib," the goblin drawled, "when have you ever seen a fucking bird in Malleon's Gate?"
Natrac had to admit the goblin had a point.
Two Boot Way was a common shortcut, so Vennet could be anywhere in Malleon's Gate. Confirmation that he was in the city at all was a good start though, and finding Vennet was as good as finding Dah'mir by Natrac's estimation. He'd hoped to use his experience with the Sharn underworld to find information, but it had been slower than it might've been. He'd deliberately avoided going to anyone who he knew, or that knew him. This hadn't stopped him asking around though, to see who was still in the game and who was dead.
He pushed himself back from the bar and thanked the bartender.
"Half-elf's nothing to me, chib" came the reply, the bartender hesitated before adding, "you might wanna be careful around that one. He's carrying a cutlass and he's always talking to himself, he seems a dangerous sort."
Natrac nodded at this, and turned to leave. He was stopped in his tracks however as he spotted himself sat at a table. Well, not himself, but someone wearing his face, which was currently going pale as the blood drained out of it. The bartender mistook his reaction for simple surprise and explained.
"They call themselves the Broken Mirror. Just a group of changelings, they pick some poor schmuck every day and spend all day wearing their face. They like to come together in the evenings to exchange stories of what mischief they got up to."
There wasn't just one, either. Looking around, there were at least three other Natrac's in the tavern. As he watched, a fourth Natrac walked into the room and was hailed by another. The bartender was saying something else but Natrac wasn't listening, if several of his face had been walking around Malleon's Gate all day then it was past time he left the district.
He started to make for the door when it was pushed open by the meanest bugbear he'd ever seen, holding up a fifth Natrac, this one bloodied and bruised, by the neck. Every voice in the tavern fell silent, as their owners eyes turned on the bugbear and his unfortunate victim. He was followed into the room by a hobgoblin.
"Which one of you gaa'ma is Paik?" the hobgoblin asked, and one of the Natrac's broke away from their conversation partner and walked over. His features melted from Natrac's into the pale, almost featureless face of a changeling. Before he had even finished his transformation, the hobgoblin was on him.
"Where did you see the half-orc who's face you coped?" he snarled, and the poor changeling blurted out something about seeing the half-orc earlier in the day, wandering around Malleon's Gate.
Natrac glanced towards the door. Nobody in the tavern was moving, and if he made a break for it he would basically confirm his identity. This in mind, he just stayed where he was. The bugbear was scanning the crowd and looked right at him, but he was just one in a sea of Natrac's and the bugbear carried on.
"Five galifars for anyone who can bring me news of the half-orc these gaa'ma are imitating. Fifteen if you can turn him over to me!" the hobgoblin roared. Natrac saw the bartender's face and tried hard not to grimace as he realised what was about to happen.
The bartender pointed at him, and called out, "Him! Try him!"
Traitorous little bastard.
Natrac did the only thing he could think to do, and rushed at the hobgoblin with his knife hand ready to shiv him. Natrac tried to weave around the bugbear, flicking his knife hand out in a feint in the hopes of getting the bigger goblinoid to flinch back.
He didn't flinch though, he threw the changeling at Natrac. This was something Natrac had singularly failed to account for, and the end result was that he was laid flat on his back with the changeling on top of him. The hobgoblin stood over him now, face leering down at him.
"Hello, Biish" said Natrac.
"Hello, Natrac" said Biish.
Then the bugbear's club came down and Natrac had the first good night's rest he'd had in a long time.
Part 2
Natrac wasn't sure what time it was, but by the empty feeling in his stomach he guessed it was probably late afternoon. He couldn't be certain though, all he knew was that he had a sour taste in his mouth, like he had vomited at some point. He'd been unconscious for some time. He couldn't judge the passage of time, because there was no light coming into the room at all.
Centuries ago, this room had probably been the room of some rich prick, but for the last twenty years or so it had been a cell. Natrac knew this with such specificity because he was the one who had it refurbished into a cell, and he'd specifically blocked up the windows so that whoever was imprisoned within it wouldn't be able to track the passage of time.
Irony's a bitch.
"Keeper take you Biish, locking a man in his own cell just isn't dignified." he muttered to himself for the fourteenth or fifteenth time since waking up.
Natrac was a smart lad, and the possibility he might need to one day escape from his own cell had crossed his mind when he had it built. Once the room stopped spinning and he felt like he could move without throwing up, he definitely had a concussion, he crawled over to the cell door and pulled himself up. His orc heritage allowed him to see in the dark, and survey the sparsely furnished chamber beyond his cell. Two chairs, and a table. His knife hand placed on the table, out of reach.
He went to the corner of the cell and counted the bricks, remembering where the false one lay. Unfortunately, the hollow where he'd hidden a knife and some tools was empty, because of course it was. There wasn't much for him to do after that, so he just sat around and alternately cursed Biish, the fucking changelings of the Broken Mirror, the traitorous bartender and his own foolishness.
What had he been thinking? Not only returning to Sharn, but to Malleon's Gate! Fighting a dragon and surviving, twice, must have given him a sense of invulnerability. Had he been this stupid when he was younger? By the Host, he was lucky to still be alive!
Worse than that, his attempt to provide the others with information on Dah'mir and Vennet had left them with no only one less ally in the coming fight, but they would almost certainly waste resources trying to find him, rather than on trying to find the dragon. He'd become a liability more than an asset. Fuck. He had to find a way out of this.
He knew Biish, though. This wasn't going to be easy.
He looked up as the chamber beyond's door opened, and several people entered by the sound of their footsteps. Light from a lantern filled the room, which struck Natrac as odd. It meant that at least one of the people coming wasn't a goblinoid and needed the light. He rose to his feet as the bugbear's hairy face appeared in the window of the barred door of his cell.
"Awake," the bugbear grunted, and then stepped away from the window. Biish took his place and gave Natrac a look that would make the restless dead return to their graves.
"I never thought I'd see you back in Sharn, Natrac" the hobgoblin said. "What are you doing here?"
"Asking myself the same question," Natrac responded, "have you been taking care of my affairs, Biish?"
This got a laugh out of the hobgoblin, "They haven't been your affairs for some time." came the curt response.
"I heard you closed the Arena." stated Natrac
"You could have sold it to me when I asked," the hobgoblin responded. "You could have joined your gang to mine, and you might still be in power instead of locked in a cell you built yourself. The Longtooth is one of the biggest gangs in Malleon's Gate these days." he said coldly.
Biish always loved to gloat, and Natrac let him while he surveyed the others in the room. The bugbear, of course, as well as another hobgoblin. Two goblins. The final person, the one holding the lantern, was the most interesting. The only non-goblinoid, and also the only woman, a half-elf. She seemed young, but her hard eyes spoke of experience beyond her years, and he couldn't really tell with half-elves anyway. Blond hair, blue eyes, worn leathers and probably a bunch of concealed weapons. Somehow, Natrac didn't think she looked out of place amongst Biish's guard. If anything, the goblinoids looked out of place with her.
And she was watching him.
Natrac gulped and turned his gaze back to Biish, who was finally running out of words. "If you're so powerful, Biish, you know you have nothing to worry about from me. I'm out of this game, you know that."
"Are you asking me to let you go?" Biish asked, his ears rising.
"Well, if you're offering-" Natrac started to say, but Biish's harsh laugh cut him off.
"One, I don't believe you're out of the game. You wouldn't have dared to come back to Malleon's Gate without a good reason. Second, and this one's important, I'm sure you know why I'm using your old headquarters instead of mine." A flush crept into the hobgoblin's cheeks as he roared, "because of that small fucking explosion! They still talk about it in some taverns."
"Well, as long as you were running me out of Sharn, I thought I may as well make it memorable." Natrac responded.
Biish snapped his teeth together, but whatever response he was going to give to that was cut off as the door burst open and another goblin burst in.
"Biish!" the little guy said, "He's back! He's waiting for you in the meeting room!"
Part 3
Biish and his little entourage left Natrac alone in the dark again, to go and meet with someone going by the ridiculous name of Lord Storm. Biish may have found Natrac's secret stash of tools in the wall, but Natrac wondered if he'd found his other secrets.
Occasionally, Natrac would need to listen in on meetings that others were having in his gang, and doing this allowed him to gain a reputation for knowing things he shouldn't. Kept his gang honest, to be honest. He squatted down and checked the loose floorboard, opening it up and surely enough his little eavesdropping window hadn't been found.
He could see into the meeting room below his cell, where Biish and the others were now crowding in to meet with this Lord Storm, who predictably turned out to be Vennet d'Lyrandar. He seemed a bit unhinged, much like the last time that Natrac had seen him.
"I didn't expect that you'd turn up so late tonight, Lord Storm. I had other business to attend to-" Biish was explaining, but Vennet cut him off.
"I know what other business you were attending to, chasing around some changelings! Are they paying you, Biish? I didn't think so."
Biish's face turned red, well, redder, with outrage. While Biish raged, Natrac got a good look at Vennet. Last time he'd seen him, his clothes had been torn and blood stained. He'd cleaned up since yesterday, and washed his hair, but he had a wild look in his eyes that made Natrac anxious. A fear rose in Natrac, if Biish told Vennet who he had imprisoned upstairs then there'd be no point trying to escape.
"Your money buys you our services, and a hiding place for you and your freakish birds. We're not your lapdogs! If you think I'm at your beck and call, then the Keeper can have you and I'll send you to him myself!" Biish was yelling, but the waves of his outrage broke over Vennet like a seawall. Vennet waited for a lull in the hobgoblins tirade and then chimed in.
"You're afraid of me." he said with a confidence that Natrac surely wouldn't have had in his situation. It shut Biish right up, though.
Biish might have leaped across the table and strangled Vennet if the half-elf woman hadn't gently placed a hand on his arm. Vennet calmly looked up at the hobgoblin and continued. "Sit, we have things to discuss. Are your preparations complete?"
Breathing hard and balling his hands up into fists, Biish lowered himself into the chair.
"Mazo," Biish answered, "the plans are drawn up. We have two potential targets for the first stage of the operation, one is preferred over the other but the other will do if for some reason we can't get the first."
"There is also the issue of someone to man the helm," Vennet responded, which prompted Biish to gesture to the half-elf woman.
"You're looking at her. This is Benti Morren, our secret weapon."
Vennet leaned forward, "show it to me."
Benti walked over to where he sat at the table, and took off her bracer, revealing a small dragonmark. The Mark of Storm.
Why did Vennet need someone else with the Mark of Storm? To man the helm? What helm?
"It's a pitiful thing, pathetic really, but I suppose it'll serve for our purpose." Vennet chided, causing Benti's face to scrunch up in a scowl. "It's hardly a Siberys Mark." Vennet reached up to scratch his back, and Natrac got a good look down the back of his shirt. His dragonmark was surrounded by an angry looking rash, and Natrac thought he saw some pus. Hardly a Siberys Mark.
"It will have to do," Benti responded as she fastened the bracer back onto her arm, "you don't have another one." Her voice was smooth but had an edge to it, like someone sharpening and particularly fine knife. Vennet just gave her a half-hearted smile.
"As you say, and the second part of the operation?" he asked.
Biish stood up and made eye contact with Benti. "Leave" he commanded, and she did as she was ordered. Once she was out of the room, Biish produced a piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it out to read it.
"There are a lot of them." he stated matter of factly.
"Is that a problem? They shouldn't be any more difficult than the other three." Vennet answered, getting a scowl out of the hobgoblin.
"I'm not saying we can't do it," Biish responded, "it just might take a bit longer. If we start with a few, the rest will gather in one place. Humans and goblins usually scatter when there's trouble, Talentans go to ground, Darguuls and Mror form a perimeter. Kalashtar," he paused, "cluster together. We'll have your help?"
Vennet drummed his fingers on the table. "Of course. We don't even need to get all of them, just most of them. We need seventeen. After tonight, Biish, your name will be known and feared in more than just Malleon's Gate."
Natrac almost swore aloud and gave himself away. Tonight? Fuck, what day was it? He closed up the hole in the ground just as Kalshana's voice filled his ears.
He answered her question.
"In a bit of a scrape, I can handle it. Vennet's in Malleon's Gate, hired a gang to kidnap Kalashtar tonight. Not seen Dah'mir."
Something made him look to the room outside of his cell and he jumped with a start to see Benti was in there, watching him. He hadn't heard her come in, and she didn't have the lantern with her this time. He'd forgotten that half-elves could see in the dark. Shit, she'd just seen him respond to Kalshana's sending. The shock of what he'd just seen combined with the shock of her standing there made him choke as his mouth seemed to fill with sand.
He had just two ideas here; He could throw himself at her mercy and beg her to warn the kalashtar, but somehow he didn't think so. Alternatively, he could try to use her. He knew something she didn't, and the only criminals who didn't have an interest in what their chib was up to were either stupid or soon to be dead.
"It's a good spot to listen. Maybe you want to know what they discussed after you left?" he said, going for it.
"I can find out easily enough. I wanted to talk to you before Biish came back up." she responded, pointedly not taking the bait.
"He's not much more than a lucky thug, how does someone like you end up under his thumb?" Natrac prodded
"Opportunity, the right talent at the right. Did you know, Natrac of Graywall, that the Sentinel Marshals still have an active warrant out for your arrest?" she asked.
Ah, shit.
"Do they?" he asked weakly, rapidly coming to terms with the fact that he was losing control of this situation. "I suppose you want to know what would bring an old gang lord back to Sharn?"
"Actually," she teased, "I want to know what you know about our Lord Storm. See, Biish was so busy trying to find you after hearing you'd returned to Sharn that he didn't stop to investigate what you'd been doing. You were asking around, looking for someone who's description matches Lord Storm. Who is he?"
Natrac narrowed his eyes in suspicion and didn't answer the question.
"You want out, don't you? Help me and maybe I'll help you. I know he's Lyrandar, that would be obvious even without the ridiculous moniker, but who is he?" she said.
Natrac couldn't shake the feeling of suspicion that was quickly pooling in his stomach. Biish didn't seem to care who Vennet was, and Natrac had to admit that 20 years ago if some dragonmarked upstart had come to him with a load of money and an alias, he probably wouldn't have cared either. Why did Benti care? She was willing to go against her chib to find out, and that meant the information was important to her.
"Why do you want to know?" he tentatively asked.
Benti looked Natrac right in the eyes, her face cold and expressionless, and then turned around and walked out the door. Natrac felt as if the floor had just collapsed beneath him, and pushed himself against the door. "Wait! Come back! I'll tell you what you want to know, let me out! I need to get out!"
But she was gone, and he was alone in the dark again.
Part 3
Natrac pushed his arm as far as he could through the bars of the window on the door of his cell. Unfortunately, that turned out to only be half way up to the elbow. He'd designed it like that, of course. There was no way he'd be able to reach down to the bolt, even with the arm that still had a hand. He might've been able to do it with the right tools, but he didn't even have his knife attachment, which was staring at him mockingly from the table in the next room.
The eventual solution he settled on was to rip his sleeve and dismantle the mechanism for his secret spy hole and make a makeshift hook. It had been painful, but escaping the cell was more important than keeping his secrets, and if he had his way he wouldn't be returning here anyway. He'd lost track of time and he no longer had any idea how long he had before the Longtooth raided Fan Adar.
He was in the middle of another attempt at the bolt, it wasn't going well, when the door to the next room opened and Benti walked in. He tried to pull it back and hide it but the hook caught on one of the bars in the window and before he could untangle it, Benti had it between her finger and thumb.
"You want out badly, don't you? I suppose I'd feel the same in your situation."
A hope began to blossom in Natrac's chest. Benti wouldn't have come back if she didn't want something, and her dangling escape in front of him, again, meant it was something she was considering.
"Yes, I want out, and not just because of Biish. Did you find out what Lord Storm is planning? If you're still interested in him, I'll tell you what I know if you let me out." Natrac bargained.
"How do I know you'll tell me the truth?" she responded.
"How do I know you'll let me out?" Natrac countered, moving closer to the cell door. "Did you find out the second part of the plan, what they wouldn't discuss in front of you?"
"He's going to kidnap kalashtar." Benti said with a bluntness that shocked Natrac. It gave the impression that she didn't care about anyone but herself, had he been like that once?
"And what's he going to do with them?" Natrac prodded.
"Ransom? Blackmail? Maybe he wants them to use their powers for something. I don't know." Benti responded.
"Storm is a follower of the Dragon Below," Natrac explained, "he's working with a dragon, an actual dragon, named Dah'mir. They're going to twist the kalashtar they kidnap and turn them into servants of the Daelkyr. Do you know what a daelkyr is?"
"A ghost that orc mothers use to frighten their children into behaving." Benti leaned close, showing her teeth and snapping out her words. "Do you think I'm stupid, Natrac? I'm not interested in folk tales."
Natrac got angry, and he didn't really consider the consequences of yelling at his would be rescuer when he responded. "Do you think I'm stupid, Benti? Why would I come back to Sharn when I knew what might be waiting for me?"
He held up the stump of his right hand.
"Lord Storm did this to me. His name is Vennet d'Lyrandar, and he's batshit." Natrac continued.
"Vennet?" Benti asked, the harshness in her face easing into a sort of curiosity. "The captain of the Lightning on Water?"
It was Natrac's turn to be surprised. "You've heard of her?"
"She went missing about a month ago, on a trip to Zilargo with an...important passenger. What do you know about it?" Benti asked.
"I know that she didn't vanish, Vennet turned her around and sailed to Zarash'ak." Natrac said as he took a step back from the bars. Benti's voice had changed, and old instincts tugged at him and rang alarm bells. There was a new intensity in her gaze, like the self-centred thug he'd seen before was merely an act.
"Who are you?" Natrac pressed, but Benti shook her head.
"Nevermind that, what about the Lightning on Water and Vennet d'Lyrandar?"
The question had a weight to it, like he was being commanded. Natrac kept his eyes on her, but he carefully described the crew of the ship being under Dah'mir's control, about how Vennet had made some deal with Dah'mir. He explained that Vennet had murdered the ship's passengers, and then altered it's course to chase them in Zarash'ak.
Benti cut him off, "where is the ship now?"
"I'm...not sure. We last saw her in Vralkek, when she dropped us off there. By rights she should've made it to Sharn before we did." Natrac responded, "do you believe me now? There's more to tell but-"
"but you don't have time." Benti finished for him, "I don't know if I believe you about this daelkyr, but you are running out of time before Biish makes his move on Overlook."
"You'll let me go?" he asked, failing to suppress the surge of hope.
"What will you do?" she asked, holding up a hand.
"Go to Overlook, warn my friends if I can. Hopefully they can stop Dah'mir, foil Vennet's plan." Natrac answered.
"Boldrei smile on them if they can," Benti said, reaching for the bolt. "You understand that if we're seen together, I am going to kill you before you can talk."
Natrac didn't doubt it. "Leave the hook hanging from the door, Biish will think I escaped on my own"
"No, he won't." Benti responded as she reached up and got a second bolt on the door, a bolt Natrac hadn't known was there.