A hundred padded paws noiselessly thundered through a pitch-black cavern.
To thunder noiselessly is quite a curious talent, and one that wargs alone seem capable of. Were one to walk up and mention its oxymoronic nature to them, one would quickly find oneself chased down and devoured - not for the perceived insult that would follow their misunderstanding of what oxymoronic means, but simply for the proximity.
Wargs are, in addition to being very quiet and often hungry, remarkably lupine in appearance. They stand a little higher in the shoulder, their faces are somewhat flatter and they can speak and understand language, but those differences are only noticeable from an unsafe distance. They often work with goblins as mounts.
In this case, the one score and five wargs each carried a goblin. They were a platoon of Warg Riders, and quite a formidable one at that - the most formidable in Miczelberuft, or so most would say (those that wouldn’t would only do so in hushed conversation). This fear - which is to say, the goblin equivalent of respect - was in no small part due to their leader, Voeg.
Voeg was a paragon of goblinkind. He was what all goblin females would call handsome. This meant he had the widest of ears and the littlest distance from the tip of his nose to the corners of his eyes. He was a warrior, but not strong - goblins prefer their heroes slinky, with only just enough muscle to slide a knife through a spine. He commanded the finest force goblins had ever seen. He wasn’t brave, of course - goblins only marginally appreciated bravery, but they love their cowardice. What separated Voeg from most was knowing when to run away.
And that was the reason he didn’t care for this mission. Those goblins were fighting topside, albeit illegally, but to send his troop up there with orders to make them return was counterintuitive. His force was practically formed with the intention of attacking topsiders, not policing other goblins. Wasn’t this a waste of their talents? Didn’t his kind hate the topsiders? Wouldn’t it make sense to stay up there a bit and let them know that goblins weren’t to be messed with? Surely his keen sense of when to flee could be useful - attack what all they could, and then leave when things got too dangerous. Why would Glendalka send her best on a glorified courier mission? Was this all his troops were good for? He shook his head, afraid that thinking might actually lead to an answer.
The path they followed hugged a wall on one side, a steep drop on the other. Voeg chanced a look down. His goblin eyes afforded him some semblance of distance and shape in complete darkness, but neither could be discerned - it was just too deep.
For a split second, however, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flicker of movement.
“Voeg,” said his friend and mount, Hak’thath. “We need a direction.”
After a slight linger, Voeg brought his attention to the front. The path split. Two equally dark passages were open before them, neither very welcoming. He motioned the platoon to stop. With a hard sigh, he reached up to his chest and removed a small vial of mucky mist from his necklace. He hated that he had to do this.
“You said there wouldn’t be another fork for fifteen miles,” he said to the vial, with a sneer.
In a frightened whisper, the vial admonished him for being so loud, citing that there were things hiding in the cavern—scary things.
“Then hurry up and tell me which way to go.” Voeg felt he was being very patient.
The vial begged for his forgiveness, though it seemed pretty insincere. It then reminded Voeg that remembering things was hard, seeing as all that was left of its brain was a pile of ash very far away from here.
Voeg ground his teeth. He slowly brought the vial up inches away from his eyes and said, very carefully, “Do I need to remind you that you’ve been given a very rare chance?” Voeg’s eyes narrowed further. “If, for any reason, I tell Glendalka that you aren’t worthy of bringing back, she will send you to the ether and no one will mourn the passing.”
The vial quietly considered this, then quickly began asking if Voeg would like to play some word games in the off time, or maybe debate the latest game of Grookball, perhaps discuss the finer points of female goblin anatomy….
“Just tell me which way we need to go!” ordered Voeg over the snickering of those close by. His voice barely echoed before dying further back in the cavern.
The vial apologized, but regretfully informed him that it would take some time to remember.
Voeg fought off what he was sure was a hemorrhage and reattached the vial to his necklace. He was quite certain that he wouldn’t recommend spending the resources to bring this investigator back.
“You alright?” asked Hak’thath.
The vial asked why he wouldn’t be.
“I’ll be fine,” said Voeg. “And you shut up,” he added, flicking the vial. “Don’t speak until you remember which way.”
“I ask,” said Hak’thath, “because I hear skittering from under the cliff.” He moved his nose around as though his nostrils could ensnare prey. “Smells like bugs.”
A warg in the rear yelped a warning, and the goblin riding him yelled, “Monster bug! Spears up, boys!”
Voeg and Hak’thath turned to see a hideous series of legs like frills attached to a flat body. It curled up and over the cliff edge, its head at least ten feet above their back line, ready to snap.
“Centipede!” yelled Huld, the platoon’s resident studier of beasts. “Bite’s poison!”
As if to demonstrate, the giant centipede lashed out like a whip at the nearest goblin. It bit nothing but earth, fortunately, as his warg was able to spring away in time.
Three other wargs and riders leapt to the monster, the wargs biting it with vice-like teeth and twisting. Two of them ripped off a few legs, but the third caught ahold of its body, managing to flip the beast and drive half of its legs into the ground, the other half flailing wildly in the air. The goblins jammed their spearheads into its carapace, retracting them with a fresh coat of ichor.
Simultaneously, the three warg riders leapt away and five more swept in to take their place. Barely two seconds of devastating engagement passed and they leapt away, replaced with another six. The centipede had no idea what was coming or going.
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Voeg watched with a sense of pride. These were his troops, and they performed marvelously - falling upon foes in wave after unrelenting wave was the hallmark of rider tactics, and they had perfected it. The bug didn’t survive the third assault.
He didn’t have time to relish, though. “Voeg,” said Hak’thath, “there are more.”
Indeed there were. Creeping into the edge of his vision were another half dozen.
The riders readied spears. Voeg knew they could win this, but not with acceptable losses. He put a hand to the vial. “Which way? Now!”
The vial, a bit hurried, said it was to the right. Probably.
Probably was good enough. He raised a sword and boldly commanded, “Run away!”
It was the ultimate goblin catchphrase, said by the ultimate goblin. The riders raised their spears as the wargs reared up and turned. “Run away!” they all screamed, parroting their hero and commander. By the time the echoes faded, they were noiselessly thundering outside of harm’s way.
“Inform me as soon as you’re certain this is the right - or wrong - way,” Voeg said to the vial.
The vial assured that it would do so, and began inquiring about Voeg’s interest in those word games it mentioned—
“If you talk again without having anything useful to say, I’ll shatter your glass against the floor. I’m sure Glendalka would understand.”
The vial chose to be quietly indignant.
Voeg settled in for the rest of a long ride, feeling the presence of his platoon behind him. They were good warriors. And maybe the situation up top would let them get some fighting in. It’d be a shame to waste their talent.
*******
I’ve watched a little NCIS, so I was pretty sure I’d be awesome at interrogations. To be safe, though, Topher was there with me.
“That goes one room down,” I said to the waitress who was bringing Jenn’s water up for me. “And don’t open this door, no matter what you hear; this magic might be difficult to dispel.” I tucked my head back inside and shut the door.
The accomplice - the Consul of Colme’s nephew, it seemed - was sitting on the bed. He was in his mid-teens, and had that unique air of boredom one often sees in entitled assholes.
“Do I have to be bound?” he whined.
Unhurriedly, I dragged a chair across the room, making a deliberate racket as I set it across from him. The chair creaked a bit when I sat. I crossed my legs and gently clasped my hands, setting them in my lap. The confidence from my Enhance Ability spell was held firmly in place.
He gave me a look that asked if he was supposed to be impressed.
I stared with my best poker face.
The sound of rain pervaded the room.
He blinked first. “What do you want?” he said, averting his eyes.
“Let’s start with a name,” I said, quietly but firmly.
He raised an eyebrow. “Morris introduced me, remember?”
So the leader’s name was Morris. Probably good to know. He must’ve introduced himself to the bar earlier, but I missed it.
“I’m Teague Halloway, of the Colme Halloways.”
Like a name would impress us. “And you claim to be the nephew of the Consul of Colme?”
“Yeah…” he nodded, slowly.
“And what proof do you have of this?”
His lower eyelids raised. “You don’t know?”
That Morris guy wanted me to call him out when he introduced this kid, so there must be some bit of common knowledge at play here. “Answer the question,” I said, keeping up the stare.
He rolled his eyes and head in one motion. “Like all members of noble families, I have a signet ring that glows only on a family member’s command.”
That was interesting. My first thought was that a 13th level thief might be able to use it thanks to their abilities. I doubted this guy was nearly that level. If he was, we’d be screwed.
He looked down his nose at me. “You must not have much education where you come from, eh?”
I gave the slightest hint of a smile. “Or I’m using questions we both know the answers to in order to learn your tells.
“Now, who do you and your friend work for?”
He met my eyes, and I stared right back, unyielding. It wasn’t long before he started looking around the room. He landed on Topher.
“Don’t look at him,” I said, almost playfully. “He’s not here to help you. In fact, I can show you what I mean - hey Topher, would you like to punch this douche-nozzle in the face?”
“Would I ever!” beamed Topher. “But how would he talk with a broken jaw?”
I shrugged. “He couldn’t. Which would mean you’d have to keep hitting him for not answering my questions, which would further prevent him from answering - a vicious cycle, no doubt about it.”
“My uncle sent us to eliminate any evidence of wrongdoing in the Senable Memorial Crypt.” I wasn’t sure if we intimidated him into talking, or just bored him enough. His tone suggested the latter.
“Specifically, the Consul of Colme?” I asked.
“Yes.” He sounded wearily exasperated.
Progress. First the Consul of Woodsedge, then the Consul of Colme. I’d been assuming consul was equivalent to mayor, though I doubted they were elected officials. Those weren’t good questions for him, of course.
“And what, exactly, was the wrongdoing that needed to be covered up?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t… really know the details. I just helped make sure there were no signs anything had happened there.”
“And what a great job you did,” I said.
When he finished squirming he looked up to see my unrelenting stare. “But it was something about… using the Ware on the dead… or maybe the undead… and seeing what could be done.”
“An experiment?” asked Topher.
“…Yeah.”
Huh. Was the cult outside Woodsedge doing another experiment? Seeing how the Ware affects babies, maybe?
“Do you know of any other groups doing this?” I asked.
“No, I’m pretty sure my uncle’s the only one.”
I leaned back and sighed a little. “Topher, break his arms.”
“Wait! I’m telling the truth!” he cried, doing his best to inch away from an advancing Topher. “There isn’t anyone! Not that I know of!” He made a girlish squeak as Topher grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Think he’s telling the truth?” I asked.
“As he knows it, I suppose,” said Topher. “Nothing about him screams ‘high up on the totem pole’ to me.” He raised a fist. “But I can make him scream that, if you like.”
Could just be an act. If Jenn made it to level three with us and got her rest, she should be able to cast Zone of Truth.That might take a while to prepare, though.
“We’ll move on,” I said. Topher stood behind me again, and, judging by Halloway’s face, was making threatening gestures. “Who was involved with the experiment?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“Had they done any other experiments?”
“Don’t know,” he said, shriveling a bit and glancing at Topher.
“What prompted the experiment?”
“I don’t know! Okay? I’m not a part of the ‘inner circle’ - why do you think I’m stuck doing clean-up work with Morris?”
He sounded sincere. And frustrated. I rested my head in my hand. “Then who is part of the inner circle?”
“What, would you like a list?”
I nodded. “That would be great, yeah.”
“Then untie me so I can write.”
I held up a finger, then turned to Topher. “Watch him,” I said quietly.
Topher smiled. “With pleasure.”
I opened the door to see if anyone was being curious. The hallway was vacant, and the tavern sounded just as lively as when I’d left it. I went next door.
Knock-knock. “Jenn?”
“Come in,” she said, cheerier than before.
Opening the door, I said, “Is Kevin in here? I—“ Kevin and Jenn were sitting up in the bed, Kevin on top of the sheets. He had his arm over her shoulder. “Oh. There he is,” I said. A primal part of me ran through scenarios that would end with his head rammed into a wall.
He removed his arm from her person. “Need something?” he asked, bouncing out of the bed. He seemed pleased with himself. I could feel a scratching sensation on the membrane of my soul.
“Yeah. Mind if I steal him?” I asked Jenn.
She smiled. “You don’t need my permission.”
Didn’t I? “Thank you.”
Kevin and I exited. “What’s up?” he asked.
I wanted to ask what was up between the two of them, but I shoved that useless animosity down deep. There was more important business. “We’re going to untie him so he can write a list of names that might be involved with the whole undead and Ware business.”
“Sounds good.”
We travelled down the hall, but I stopped before we got to the door. “One more thing…”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Could you…” Damn it, Jack, it’s none of your business. “…Could you tell if someone’s writing is secretly Thieves’ Cant?”
“Uh, yeah. Probably.”
I straightened up and put a hand on the doorknob. “The people involved are high up on the food chain. I’m going to have him write us—or more specifically, me—a letter of introduction. We’ll investigate this organization from the inside.”