9. Bartertown

Campaigns: The Making of Legends: Campaign Notes: Chapter 10

The rest of the trip to Bartertown passes uninterrupted as the Adepts walk from village to village inquiring about magical crystals. They amass quite a collection of tales about magical gems and crystals which could lead to more of the crystal shards. Having passed by the thugs who call themselves Bartertown's guards with only a minimum show of force, the Adepts sit in a hotel room and discuss the leads they have.

"We have Tyrian's Forge to explore further, of course," begins Brashak.

"Yes, the stories of the wandering Weaponsmith with a magical crystal or gem are probably about him," agrees Krolmar. "Then there is the glowing amulet held by the lord of Ashendale, and the hydra hoard in the mountains with hundreds of sparkling gems and crystals, and the glowing rock found by the Skull Wharg raiders." The ork instinctively spits at the mention of that tribe.

Sarn nods. "Kaer Sheidow supposedly had a magical crystal which would protect them from the Horrors, but nobody has heard of them since. And someone in Langley is said to have a crystal for finding lost objects. One Archer I spoke to said that Grani had a knack for finding lost items too, which could be useful."

"The Troudabdour Kipling has a magic light quartz, so they say, to reveal the truth of the heart," adds Brashak, "and there is a crystal embedded in Lantana the elven Weaponsmith's sword. That old man in Wicklow confirmed seeing an elf in a white cloak with a crystal, and in that last village we just passed through a troll told me he saw a human woman with a glowing gem."

"Not to forget -- who got Sole's shard?" Sarn mentions. "And which gems are the shards we are looking for? Any ideas how many exist? I'd like to give it a try to talk to Staunchus, maybe he can help me. And maybe he knows something about the shards too." Sarn shrugs. "We know a lot now - what's the best to move on," he thinks aloud. "Tyrian's Forge? Or Langley? Or Grani?"

"We have one shard ourselves also. That leaves us with a possibility of nine or ten more." Krolmar sighs as he starts to realise the enormity of the task that the group has started to undertake.

"Most of all I'd like to go after that elf in white. Make him pay for what he did. Besides, aside from Tyrian's, his is the only other shard we know for certain to be the ones we are looking for," Brashak says. "Maybe we should talk with our dear friend Hithorn. He is the only other lead we have to the people looking for the shards. If only we had something to offer him. . ."

Suddenly the door crashes open and armed men wearing black clothes and masks pour into the room. There is no question about their intentions. Krolmar grabs his sword with tiger-like reflexes, parries the first stroke, and aims for the neck. The masked attacker ducks to the side but takes a glancing blow to the head sending him spinning away.

Brashak snatches up his axe lying on his bed next to him and without giving it much thought he attacks the nearest intruder with all the rage he can find within himself. Instinctively realizing that the intruder must be associated with the other shard-seekers he recalls the image of the young dwarven boy being brutally cut down and yells out in anger as he swings at the first enemy. He reacts almost entirely by instinct as he parries and dodges the whirling blades coming his way until he finds an opening to land a solid reply.

Sarn backs against the wall and loads his crossbow, bringing it up almost directly into a masked face. The man's confidence falters as he sees the bolt burst into flame but it is far too late. He falls sideways onto a bed with the bolt burning through his chest. Then the attacks are upon him and Sarn rolls backwards along the bed just inches ahead of the whirling blades. The cloud of straw and stuffing gives him enough clearance to toss Vasagh's Crossbow aside and draw his jagged Vorst sword.

More masked swordsmen pour in through the door but Krolmar concentrates on his target. Diving between two black men Krolmar leaps at the wounded man as he recovers. A quick thrust finishes the job and Krolmar pushes the sagging body back into his fellows to clear some room. He notes that the bed is beginning to burn but pushes it from his mind as he concentrates on defending against three more attackers.

Out of nowhere a blow strikes the back of Brashak's knee and he leg buckles. He fends off half a dozen blows with his arms until he can regain his feet. Krolmar seems to have reached an impasse backed up near the smoldering bed, and Sarn seems to be holding his own with his sword. Just as this through crosses Brashak's mind a masked man presses up against the Archer from behind and drives his blade home. Brashak cannot help but cringe, but cannot afford to spare too much attention lest the same thing happen to him also.

Across the room Krolmar yells out, "Help me with this bed, Brashak!" The troll resolutely pushes his way through the crowd of bodies ignoring the multitude of gashes opening on his legs and back. By the time he gets across the room Krolmar has cleared a space around his half of the bed, and Brashak thumps the last masked man out of the way so that he can get to it.

Meanwhile Sarn fights a losing battle against two attackers who have him pressed into a corner. Although he cannot feel most of the small cuts and nicks he he feel himself weakening. Finally the Archer finds an opening against the pair of whirling blades and sends one of the masked men spinning away with a beautiful two-handed stroke. The other attacks hesitantly, unwilling to have the same happen to him.

Brashak and Krolmar ignore their attackers while they heave the bed into the air, and they both pay for it with blood. The bed has caught alight properly with flames and smoke leaping into the air. With bed in attack position the two muscled Adepts charge across the room sweeping the black swordsmen before them. Two of them retreat out the door but a third is too slow and is crushed against the doorpost. A fourth rolls underneath the bed and hacks at Krolmar's legs as he goes past.

The ork leans against the bed to hold it in place and beats the swordsman on the ground until he lies still. Sarn slashes his opponent making him double over in pain, and hacks him another three times before he hits the ground. Brashak's target dodges long enough to make a break for the door and dives athletically over the burning bed, while the last swordsmen takes a nick from Krolmar's blade as he scrabbles to squeeze out through a gap at the side of the bed.

In the lull the only sounds are the pattering of feet fleeing down the hallway, the crackle of the flames, and a strange bubbling sound coming from Sarn's direction.

Krolmar empties his sack and dampens it with the remains of his water bottle. By which time the now well lit bed and mattress are creating both a tremendous amount of heat and smoke. Shielding his face he tips the bed back onto its legs and starts to beat the flames with the dampened sack. The fire spreads faster than Krolmar can put it out, as the bed and door catch alight. He is about to give up from the heat when half a dozen Namegivers run down the hall armed with sacks and blankets. They beat at the flames and together they finally put them all out.

The owner of the inn, a stocky dwarven man, wipes the smoke from his eyes and takes his first good look around the room. He doesn't seem surprised. In a calm tone he says, "You owe a hundred silvers for the mess and another three hundred for the fire. And I suggest you pay up quickly and take the bodies with you."

Brashak looks up from a bandage he had started laying. "You don't say? And what do you think you owe us for the inconvenience of being assaulted in your inn? Half a score of armed and hooded men all dressed in black. Are you going to tell me that they walked right in without anyone noticing? If that's the kind of security you provide then I'm surprised you have any guests at all. Still alive, that is."

"I owe you nothing for your being assaulted in my inn. But since you care to argue I think that it's only fair that you pay an additional fifty silvers for the disrepute you brought to my establishment and another fifty for lost business due to the inconvenience that you brought my other patrons.

"And they did not slip in unnoticed at all. They walked right into the common room and told us not to interfere. I didn't. There is nothing I could have done anyway except get myself killed."

"I think he goes mad now," Sarn says to Brashak and Krolmar. "First he lets in the assassins without doing anything," he spits onto the ground, "and does nothing to pretend innocent citizens to get killed, and now he wants money. I'd like to go to the king of Throal and ask for righteousness. Maybe a Mynbruje questor is around. These bastards," he adds, emphasising his point with a kick to one of the assassins, "can pay you off."

"Lets see," says Krolmar as he starts to rifle through the dead and unconcious bodies for any likely cash. Brashak nods and starts checking if any of the attackers are still alive. Only two of the masked swordsmen are clearly dead, and at least one is only pretending to be unconscious. None of them have any possessions at all except their weapons.

The dwarf shakes his head in amazement. "Either this is the first time you've set foot outside your precious gates or you're all just plain stupid. This is Bartertown, get it? Bar-ter-town. Go get yourself a questor if you want, and she'll tell you that you owe me damages for trying to burn down my inn." The innkeeper and those with him start to walk back down the hall.

"I have no problems helping with paying some of the damages."

"You'd best do it quickly and get out then," calls back the innkeeper over his shoulder.

"What about the other parties, like these fellows and their friends?" Krolmar points to the sprawl of bodies on the floor. There is nobody left to answer.

"Forget about him," Brashak offers. "I'll pay what I think is right and if he's unhappy with it that's his problem."

Brashak and Krolmar bind up the unconscious swordsmen, taking off their masks to discern their identity. They are all elven and human men, and the humans look as young as Sarn. Several of them start to come around and strain at their bonds before they give up and glare at their captors.

"Good evening fellows," Krolmar says sarcastically. "May I ask just who hired you?"

At first none of them answer but a little muscle flexing by Krolmar convinces a scrawny human lad that some answer is better than none. "We don't know. We do what the master says and she deals with the customers."

"Well then," Brashak says in his most menacing tone, "the question that presents itself next is of course: Who is your master and where can we find her? We may have a. . . business proposition for her."

A slightly older human boy speaks up. "Customers go to Athracis in the Red Blot."

There is a pattering of feet in the hallway and more masked swordsmen charge into the room to attack, accompanied by several rag-tag orks. Krolmar responds rapidly by drawing his weapon and springing towards the door to hold them back. "Out the window!" he yells as he ducks under a vicious swing.

Sarn grabs his crossbow and unlatches the shutters while Brashak lends his weight to the combat. The troll stays long enough to pound a scruffy ork before he bails out after the Vorst. Krolmar is hacked in the back as he turns to jump but he keeps his balance and dives out into the night.

The three Adepts flee down the alleyway as swordsmen and orks pour out of the window after them. The pursuit continues until the Adepts cross over the Royal Road, at which point the pursuers seem disinclined to continue.

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