An Oath Fulfilled IC

[UncleWolf]

Losthold Fortress

The feeling of fingers running along his chest woke Edijar Losthold up slowly, making him smile in the morning light before he opened his eyes to see his beloved lying next to him. “Hello Sweetie.” He mumbled before running his fingers through her rainbow –colored hair and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Surprised you’re up so early.” He admits before sitting up and stretching. “You shouldn’t be. I couldn’t sleep.” Charity tells him quietly, a small frown on her face before she sits up as well to slip an arm around his back. “Besides, I need you up to cook breakfast for me. Sure, I could ask anyone else to do it, but I find a bit of sadistic glee in making you get up, scurry across the cold floor, and head to the kitchen while I just lay here in the warm bed.”
Edijar couldn’t help but chuckle at that, but before he allows her to have her morning moment, he twists to scoop her up in his arms despite her surprise and carries her over towards the large bay window in their room so they can look out over the rest of the Fortress in the partial light of dawn. “Remind me why I put up with you when I could have anyone else here.” He asks her with a small smile.

“Probably because no one else could ever put up with you, bastard.” She replies quickly, slapping the back of his head to get him to set her down. Her wince when her feet touched the cold flagstone floor made him chuckle at her expense and caused her to give him a glare that would have splattered him against the wall if looks could kill. After a moment though, her looks softened as she took her lover in her arms once more. “The last of those picked by the lottery left last night, didn’t they?” She asked quietly, already knowing that he’d nod without needing to look at the General. “And the last of those who came when I called arrived then too. Now all that’s left is a few minor things to prepare and to make sure the non-combatants leave as well.” The last statement sent a chill down Charity’s spine since she knew he included her in that category. Neither of them said anything for several long minutes, but eventually he pulled her close and looked the smaller woman in the eyes. “I wish for you to go when the time comes. Basil and a couple others will make sure you get out safely through the Passages before collapsing it behind you. If Hicks gets his job right, we’ll see each other soon, I swear.”

It took just a moment for her emotions to overwhelm her before she had to close her eyes and rest her head against his chest, sobbing quietly. “Damn you.” She mutters. Closing his eyes and keeping her tight against him, Edijar nodded. “I know.”

1

Camp of the Merchant-King

The camp is quite large, easily covering miles of ground and seemed equally as noisy. Nearly anyone looking at the camp would believe that it was a large circus that sprang from the ground in a chaotic state, but for anyone who’s been there for a short time, they’ll see that it’s almost an organized chaos amidst the storm of brightly colored tents and pavilions. The smallest of tents, built for just a person or two, were always at the edge of the camp before the sizes grew the further inward a person went. In the center stood a pavilion of gold and blue silk that was emblazoned with the symbol of The Merchant-King. Each of the crowned scales embroidered on the pavilion stood taller than a man and was made of actual silver thread in a display of excessive wealth and status.

The only entrance to the four-story high tent faced east towards the rising Triple-Suns. Horthos the Life-Bringer was at the back of the three today, allow its green light to silhouette the other two suns as they started to go into a rare alignment. Suppla the Spirit Light, the slightly smaller blue sun, was beginning its path on the right of Horthos, getting ready to cross even as Dratho the Void Star, a small black sphere, began its own journey to cross in front of both of the others.

Oddly, the inside of the Pavilion is nearly empty of people. Sure, there are guards, but only four of them around the Merchant-King, and aside from them, there's two others.

Each of the guards are mostly undressed, wearing only baggy pantaloons and deep blue sashes around their broad chests. They'd pass as human except for their massive size and slightly beastial faces. Each of the four are armed with large two-handed tulwars and are positioned around the Merchant-King closely enough to intercept any sign of trouble from any visitors. The Merchant-King himself is dressed his best in deep blue and purple robes, sitting on a mahogany throne that is covered in ornate carvings of the world being created in a fiery inferno. He looks to be about fifty years old, with long dark black hair that's beginning to turn gray at the roots and a thick beard that has been braided and tied off by silver. His ringed fingers tap idly on the arm of his throne and his expression is somewhat grim as he looks at the last person waiting in the pavilion with his slightly cloudy blue eyes.

Unlike everyone else, the last man is dressed in a military uniform. Most odd of all is that he's wearing the signature black and red of an Imperialist. He's a little under six feet in height with the deeper tan skin of a Southerner and because his blonde hair has been cropped short, anyone looking can see scars that criss-cross over his scalp. His brown eyes show a keen intellect behind them and even though he appears to be unarmed, he holds himself with an ease that shows that even in what should be hostile surroundings, he believes he can take care of himself should anything untoward occur.

His presence seems to agitate the guards, and that in itself makes the foreigner smile before he finally speaks. "The Suns appear to be giving you a blessing, do they not?" He wonders aloud, causing the Merchant-King to frown even deeper and give the man a glare as others begin to enter the Pavilion.

[Derjuin]

Yrruir

Shining with the light of the suns, a winged unicorn alights just outside the pavilion, landing gracefully. She trots inside, her wings folding by her side and a nimbus of light casting shadows out from around her. Her pale purple coat and mane shimmer in the holy light she exudes; although she walks with elegance and grace, there seems to be something simply off or missing about it - perhaps because of a scar from a terrible event in her past.

"The Suns give their blessing to all who love their light," she calmly says as she comes within appropriate distance of the king and his visitor. When she stops, she dips her head into a bow, the tip of her horn almost touching the ground. "Greetings, your majesty. And to you, as well," she says, nodding first to the king and then to the imperialist visitor. Though she speaks in the manner of a respectful subordinate, her tone is less that of a follower and more of a fellow regal individual. "I am Yrruir, the Dawn Unicorn, the Voice of Valarian."

[Slii Arhem]

Camp of the Merchant King

High above the camp and to the east, a woman steps out of a pure black rent in the air that closes behind her, hovering as she peers down at the camp's defenses and placing one hand on her hip as the other loosely grips a solid white staff made of bone and sinew. She seems to be dressed in a short grey tunic with no sleeves over a pair of hide pants and little else, but the clothes hug her trim and boyish figure tightly.

She waits in the sky until someone spots her outlined by the rising suns, listening for a cry of alarm and shaking her head when it comes too late for her tastes. The staff disappears from her hand and she raises both high above her head as weapons are pointed her way, even though she's far too high up for the average bowman to shoot her with any accuracy. A scroll appears in the hand that the staff vanished from and she lowers herself to the ground gradually to show she means no harm.

The scroll explains her purpose there. She has been contracted by their army to indiscriminately eliminate all resistance remaining in Losthold Keep. She stands silently while a guard takes the document from her to have it verified by a higher up, ignoring the glares cast her way by the more suspicious among them.

Once the runner came back with confirmation, there was nothing left to do but be escorted by a few of the still suspicious sentries to the pavilion. She didn't seem like much, unarmed and unburdened by a pack as she was, even though her lean muscle and easy, fluid moves spoke of some sort of regimented training, but the entrance she'd made assures them that she would be a potent enemy if they were caught unawares.

She steps into the tent in time to hear Yrruir speak, her eyes going first to the merchant king before widening slightly at the sight of the unusual horse.

"And I'm sure all love their light, because without it we'd all be packed under ice and cursing our fortunes or, more likely, dead." She replies sardonically, rolling her head around on her shoulders to loosen up her neck.

"Madeline du Montblanc, here as requested." An infamous name to those who know of the rogue cult of Zarus known as the Mimic Mansion.

[Gullara]

[Camp of the Merchant-King]

The next arrival shows up by a more mundane means. The thri-kreen known as Kt'Shtesk walks into the camp and makes his way toward the tent he'd been instructed to go to.

The thri-kreen was certainly an oddity here, but even among his own people he would be strange. He is fairly tall, standing a good six feet tall. The thick chitin covering his body is scarred here and there from his many fights. On his back are a pair of insect wings. Most odd are his arms. The top set are fairly large, as is typical of his species, but rather than a second smaller set, he has another three sets of arms. Each arm ends in a sharp clawed hand. His clothing almost seems unreal. His body is covered in indistinct wrappings that seem to fade in and out of view periodically. A silvery cloak with molted blue markings that almost seems to be a part of his shoulders instead of hanging over them. It shifts in ways not wholly explained by the wind pulling at it. Behind his back hovers a small shield with the visage of cruel imp.

He looked around the camp with bulbous eyes that glow a faint blue. His mandibles twitch as he makes a few clicking sounds that some might recognize as him muttering to himself in his own language.

Those in the tent will be alerted to his presence by the series of sharp hisses he emits. Laughter. "Tesk." He says for the benefit of the others. "I hope you have my gold ready, your majesty."

[Artemis97]

From the wilderness beyond the camp came a rider. From a distance, the mount could be seen to be some huge beast, and it was no horse, but a massive wolf, as tall as a man at the shoulder. Its fur was black as smoke. The rider was dwarfed by his mount, but the air he carried about him did not make him seem small. He exuded absolute confidence.

Mount and rider stalked through the corridors between the colorful tents, making steady progress to the massive pavilion of the Merchant King. Those in his path were wise to make room. The Wolf's eyes were red and hungry. It would snap at any who were foolish enough to get too close.

Observers would note, however that the giant wolf was not the most dangerous of the pair. Its master, his skin an inky blue that was nearly black, who rode without saddle or barding, was a more evil creature than the wolf could ever be. An animal was dangerous because it was hungry, because it felt threatened. An animal did not plot, did not plan, did not hate. There was utter disdain in the red eyes of the drow atop the dire wolf.

His clothing was finely crafted, befitting a noble, which he certainly was. A cloak of black, richly embroidered with lines of purple, red, and gold in arcane patterns, and line with thick silver fur, hung from his shoulders. Blackened chain mail, light but strong, covered him to his knees. Twin blades, long and thin, and decorated in silver, were worn on either side as his belt, carried openly. Small crossbows, ornately designed in ebony and black iron, dangled from clips beside them.

Wolf and rider reached the tent. The drow dismounted, his fine fur-lined boots hitting the ground with hardly a sound. With a short, harsh-sounding word to the dire wolf, it laid down before the tent, observing those around it. The drow turned away and stepped inside the tent of the Merchant King.

Approaching the man at the center of it all, the drow walked with confidence, bordering on arrogance. This was not confidence born of an inflated ego, but of being tested again and again, and always coming out ahead. His every movement spoke of experience earned through the long years of his life. Though short in stature, the drow had the impact of a man a foot taller and one hundred pounds heavier. He was leanly muscled and moved like a predator, a tiger stalking through the jungle, or akin to the dire wolf he left outside.

Before the Merchant King, he offered a nod of respect. "I am Sszinyon Xar'Cha, second son of House Xabaresh Chaeron." He introduced himself in deep, cultured tones, his voice like black velvet. "I have come far to answer your call for aid. I swear upon my honor and the honor of my House that your enemies shall fall to my blades."

[UncleWolf]

Merchant-King

The King nods to all of them solemnly and opens his mouth to speak, but he gets cut off by the foreigner's snickering at the scene before them. Even though the man stops when the four guards set their hands on their weapons, his smirk of contempt is still obvious on his face. The Merchant-King narrows his eyes at the Imperialist before turning back towards the rest with a small growl of annoyance.

"As I was about to say, I, Merchant-King Ibraham Scarlaal, welcome you to my domain. If you require food or drink at all, my servants will get you some. All you need to do is ask." He tells the group in a deep voice that almost seems to make the very ground quake beneath their feet. "As you have probably heard, my forces have made a significant push against the Imperialists." He starts as he begins to stroke his beard in thought. "Even so, we've hit a...hitch that I require specialists for and that is why I have hired you. There's a singular opportunity that we've never had before and I hope to exploit it before the fall of winter that could shatter the grip the Imperialists have had on the ocean trade routs for so long."

He pauses to take a sip from a silver chalice, but the Imperialist picks up right off without being invited to. "What he means is that you're to kill, remove, or disable the threat that my Lord, General Edijar Losthold, and his fortress represent. But you already know all that, so I'd like to get past the formalities of dealing with your contracts and get to the point." The man says with annoyance before raising an eyebrow at the four as he looks them over. "Though, how you four are going to kill him is beyond me." He says before looking at the Merchant-King. "I had figured you had enough money to pay for the best. Not a rabble."

For his part, the Merchant-King can't quite keep from choking on his drink a bit, his face red with anger, but once again, before he can speak, the foreigner turns to the four and speaks once again. "But pardon my manners. My name is Hicks and my lord sent me here to help arrange things with you all. Any questions?" He says with an arrogant grin.

[Artemis97]

"Must we deal with this arrogant, disrespectful traitor?" Sszinyon sneers, his pointed teeth showing as he speaks. "You say your lord sent you? Which Lord? This General Edijar you were once loyal to?" The drow's red eyes bore into Hicks, seeking any sign of deception.

[Slii Arhem]

Merchant King

"It takes more than a sum of money to hire me, and I will kill your lord as I kill all rabble who think themselves too good to fall. He will experience pain, shock, horror, and then release before the first sensation fades. I'm tempted to show you firsthand just how it would be done, but by the King's sputtering tolerance of your mockery I can assume you have some use to him, and I doubt he would pay my fee again just to ensure your demise was as painful as I could make it." Madeline's bone staff appears back in the bare hand that it disappeared from before, and she rests the butt of it on the pavilion floor as she looks towards the Merchant King, addressing him with her questions instead of the more contemptible Imperialist.

"Your ultimate deadline on the job is the first snowfall of winter then? Did you consider your enemy would use weather magic to bring on the snows early and break your siege with sickness while they stayed in relative warmth? She asks mildly, running her fingers up and down the worn grip of her staff as she speaks.

"You should be ready and mobilized to take the castle whenever the signal is given that we have taken the fortress, be it later today, tomorrow, or a week from now. If you are planning for a long term and nebulous deadline as the first snow of winter, you're resting on your laurels and giving the enemy time to thwart you. Now," At last she turns back to the Imperialist, "What is your purpose in this?"

[Derjuin]

"Death is not the only option we have, and I would prefer if it would remain the last option we utilize." Yrruir comments, her voice filled with tranquility and soothing tones. Though she speaks to the imperialist and her allies, she attempts to avoid a tone that would liken her to a mentor or an enforcer. "Mercy and redemption may not be virtues any of you aspire to or uphold, but they are still available." The aura of light around Yrruir expands slightly, glowing with other colors of the spectrum.

[Gullara]

Tesk just looks at foreigner for a moment and then looks away again. The worm wasn't even worth acknowledging, let alone with a response to his goading. Someone else, however, had other plans.

"Your manners. Hah! You ain't the sharpest post int he row, are ya? Why don't ya let his kinglyness cover this before you embarrass yourself." The demon shield that had been hovering inert behind Tesk previously floats around to face the rest of the group. He sneers at the lot of them, making it clear thta he's no ordinary shield.

Tesk just disregards him for the moment to address Yrruir. "We kill the mark, that's how it works. Keep it clean and quick." He says in an entirely neutral tone. He thinks she's a fool, but he isn't going to say it.

[UncleWolf]

Merchant-King

The Foreigner's face hardens slightly at the accusation, but he keeps the smile he has even as his eyes return the hard look. "I am here because that is what General Edijar demanded of me. If one is to die, can't one wish to choose the method?" He supposes, his face a bit too hard to read to see if he is telling the truth or not. Even though the Merchant-King has recovered from his shock earlier, he lets the Imperialist continue. "As for me, my dear Madeline..." Hicks says with a wry smile. "Perhaps we ought to test that at some other time of our choosing. Pain is far from new to me as I assume it is as far from new to you too. Say the week after you're finished with this contract?" He asks, his smile turning to a grin before looking at the imp-shield. "At least I'm not bound to an overglorified dinner platt-"

It takes the grin for the Merchant-King to finally interrupt. "As I have said, this is quite a singular situation. If we can trust what this man says, and there is reason to do so if my sources are correct, then we have a General willing to die, just not without a fight. I will be honest and say I loathe to use my own resources against that fortress of his, which is why I've hired you all. Unlike me and mine, you are somewhat...expendable in the eyes of the Merchant-Princes. All that is truly necessary is that the leadership is decapitated. Figuratively or literal, that is for you to decide. The pay is the same except for a bounty on his head." He says with a slight smile. "It would make a perfect ornament outside, don't you think? And a warning to all great generals."

[Slii Arhem]

Merchant King

"Mercy is for those who I am not hired to kill, and those who do not get in my way. Redemption is for those who have done wrong, and I doubt this Edijar thinks his actions are wrong if he hasn't yet surrendered. And as for you, my dear Hicks, while pain is a stranger to no one death and what waits after it is all I have to offer you. Personally, I'd rather keep company with a glorified dinner platter."

She spares another glance at the Merchant King at his last statement, "Sending a warning to all great generals serves no purpose, as you will always need generals of your own, and I would assume you would want ones that are great. It doesn't matter to me what you do with the head, but if it is brought back from the dead and I am contracted to kill him again, I will require double my payment for the inconvenience. Normally I destroy the body entirely on completion of the contract, but I can make exceptions so long as you understand these terms."

"Does he mean to meet us in personal combat then, or wait for us to churn our way through the bodies of his men before we take him as well?"

[Gullara]

[Merchant King]

The imp cackles at Madeline's last comment to Hicks. "Let's keep her. I like her."

Tesk makes a few harsh clicking sounds, obviously discontented. He doesn't like the sound of this situation. "I wouldn't trust this informant." He levels Hicks with a cold stare for a moment. "We should treat this as if every enemy is expecting and prepared for us."

[Derjuin]

Yrruir

Yrruir simply shakes her head. Such a display would only inspire terror. From what she knows of Edijar, leaving this world with his head on a pike was not appropriate. Her allies' disapproval of her methods was practically expected - she did not necessarily think they would leap at the chance to peacefully remove Edijar, especially with the bounty.

"I will ask that you make at least two exceptions for me," Yrruir says, turning to the woman. "Give me a chance to speak to him before you attack. I ask this of all of you," she looks to the thri-kreen and drow as well. "And should we no other choice but to kill him, that you don't desecrate his body. Leave it whole and untouched."

[Slii Arhem]

Merchant King

((Just responding to Yrruir to move that along.))

"The first I will consider only if the enemy allows discourse without threat, and the second I will not. At the very least, cremating the body to prevent him from easily being raised is what I will allow you. Cultures that can afford the luxury of fire often cremate to prevent the spread of diseases and for ritual reasons, so it can hardly be called desecration." Madeline responds without turning to meet the unicorn's gaze. Such an odd creature, having morals to guide her instead of standards.

[Artemis97]

Yrruir earns an odd look from the drow. "Desecration?" he echoes with distate. "Such measures will likely be unneccesary. Though I agree in asking, why does he not meet one of us in single combat? If it an honorable death he seeks to choose, then why hide behind his people, barricaded in a fortress like a coward? If it is a means to test our own skills, well, it is certainly a bloody one." Sszinyon remarks with a smirk.

[UncleWolf]

Merchant King

"Who says you'd be able to do more than just injure me?" Hicks tells the warlock with a small smirk before the Merchant-King gestures with his hand to cut him off from anything else. "The reason for the warning is to keep ambitious generals from getting too far ahead of themselves. Any ruler, myself included, can tell you that a mediocre general is better than a very accomplished one. The latter start getting ideas of ruling and tend to have better loyalty among the soldiers. Why do you think that blasted general at the fortress is all the way up here instead of back towards their Capital?" The Merchant-King asks with a raised eyebrow before giving a small dismissive gesture with his hand. "You can try any tactic that you wish with the man, as long as he's no longer a threat, but the head is mine should he be killed."

At the rest of the questions, Hicks stares at the Merchant-King for a moment, silent before the man signs and inclines his head towards the informant. "Speak." Hicks gives a nod in reply, still smiling before turning back to the hired assassins and leaning against the throne, much to the distaste of the guards.

"The reason he doesn't go out in single combat is because of the Oath he and the rest of us have taken. We are to defend the place to the best of our ability, damn the consequences. All of us Lost take such promises very seriously." Hicks says, giving each of them a hard look to try and make them realize the seriousness of the situation. "Many of us owe the man a personal debt as well and refuse to leave him. As much as we follow him, he still needs to follow our wishes as well. And even though we have seemingly found a way for most of us to get out of this suicidal oath, there are...other matters that make such measures necessary." Hicks says, his lips curling into a sneer of distaste at a thought.

[Slii Arhem]

Merchant King

"My reputation." Madeline responds to Hicks, believing it to be all she needs to say and for good reason. Every target she has been assigned has died by her hands, near all of them considered unkillable for one reason or another before she had done them in. Even those that had been reincarnated due to the stupidity of contract stipulations were not long before being killed again, and for a higher price than the first time.

"You hire the best assassin to kill the strongest enemy, and you cultivate the best general to destroy the enemy army. If you are so afraid of your own soldiers that you would willingly cripple yourself then I can see why you have resorted to hiring 'disposable' killers when faced with a man of intelligence and loyalty." She keeps her thoughts that if a powerful general thinks he can take rulership for himself and succeeds, he has a right to the throne far stronger than the whimpering men bandering money about. She doubts the merchant king would find such opinions entertaining.

"As for this oath, I respect their right to die by it, if that is their notion. Most men should be so lucky as to choose how they die, even if that choice has led them to be my enemy." Madeline clearly finds the position of being her enemy a very pitiable place to be.

[Artemis97]

"Other matters?" Sszinyon echoes. "What is this Oath you keep referring to? Why do you defend this place, this man, to the death against us? Why do you call yourselves the Lost?"

[Gullara]

[Merchant King]

Tesk snorts. Or it would be a snort if he was capable of making such a sound. It conveys the same feel, however. "And they will die. I'll see to it personally." The thri-kreen shakes his head. He doesn't have to say they're all fools to convey that opinion clearly enough.

[Derjuin]

Yrruir

"Indeed, there is much we don't know yet about this situation," she agrees with Sszinyon. "We - rather, I should say 'I' - may yet find another way for your Oath to be satisfied without death involved. I realize it does not sound very promising." She says to Hicks, shaking her head at Tesk's declaration.

[UncleWolf]

"Any ruler who is not afraid of his own soldiers is a fool and will not have such a long reign." The Merchant-King states with a small glare to the Warlock. "A merely adequate General is good enough for most purposes anyway. Wars need heroes, not Martyrs." He explains before looking at Hicks and giving him a small "go along" wave and a nod, telling him to continue on. "Might as well tell them everything." He says, causing the Foreigner to sigh.

"My Oath is to the man who has saved my life on several occasions. I have promised to serve him in any capacity until my death." The informant explains. "This is the same Oath many of us have made. We call ourselves the Lost because that is the name of our Lord. Losthold is a name given to an orphan of the poorest region in the Capital. Hence the name of the Fortress." He explains, understanding their need to know. "As for the other matter, it is common practice for rulers to keep the families of successful warriors and charismatic leaders close to their Palaces as something of a Ransom. A final fail-safe should anyone get any bright ideas. The families would be butchered before any attempt to rescue them can occur. Even your Host resorts to such methods. This is why many of us are so ready to die."

[Slii Arhem]

Merchant King

"So your ruler will not face us alone because each of you would put your lives before his. Why come into this camp then, to tell us, instead of standing with your fellows ready to die?" She understands the minimal logic of such a tactic, but she's more curious about Hicks' personal reasons for doing so. He's not exactly presented the most cooperative figure, and that smug demeanor combined with his presence here has her faintly intrigued.

[Gullara]

[Merchant King]

"Hah, oh boy, he's got you by the short hairs, eh?" The imp starts to cackle, but Tesk, apparently having grown tired of him for the moment, grabs him, clapping his hand over the shield's mouth.

"Yes, I'd like to know that too." He adds to Madeline's question. Frankly, the thri-kreen isn't going to trust him ever.

[Artemis97]

Sszinyon nods respectful and understanding the reason these men fought. They would not be dying to defend land or gold or their lord, but to protect the ones they loved. It was certainly a strong motivational method. The drow approved of its effectiveness. Still, there was a pang of sadness for those who would certainly fall before him. He makes a note to try to kill them quickly.

"Does your lord hold your families? Or is he bound by the same method?"

[Derjuin]

"Hmm...this requires further investigation. Please excuse me," the shimmering unicorn says as she bows her head to the party. She takes a few steps towards the side of the tent, the light surrounding her glowing brighter for a moment. Suddenly, a chest - extremely well made and ornate in all the right ways - appears at her hooves. A simple tap is all it takes for the chest to gently spring open, and after a simple magical gesture, a light green bottle floats up slowly from the contents.

Slowly, her eyes turn the same color as the bottle, and she enters a trance-like state of concentration.


Dismissing Secret Chest,
Casting Prestidigitation,
Begin casting Commune using Thought Bottle to negate 100 xp cost

[UncleWolf]

Merchant-King

"Because my debt to him goes deeper than that. Because of such, I listened to his request to send me here." The informant says, frowning in distaste at his admittance. "And no, he doesn't have any of our families in the Fortress. This close to the borders, most of us were smart enough to keep some distance. The ones that weren't have been removed prior to my arrival here in case your "host" thought it best to massacre everyone." He says, the sarcasm about his description of the Merchant-King quite obvious.

The king and his guards all frown, but only the king mutters. "Don't tempt me." He says angrily.

"And if you think we could get away with a simple deception and all flee after making a deal with the good King here, you're wrong. Even though the distance from here to the Capital is great, the Emperor is quite capable of keeping his eyes and ears close by. My presence here has been kept secretive for a reason."

[Slii Arhem]

Merchant King

Right, well that answers that easily enough. A misplaced sense of loyalty could do wonders for your lack of sense.

"I don't suppose there are any other pointless delays you have to force on us? I would rather not keep a castle full of suicides from their chosen noose."

[Gullara]

Tesk decides to keep his thoughts to himself and remains silent for the moment. No doubt the imp would have his fair share of comments, but on of the thri-kreen's hands remains firmly clasped over his mouth.