Freedom In Shadows: A Risky Gambit – Part 5
Kibbolt and his party Infiltrates Baron’s Sinful Brothel
Kibbolt’s bardic tongue was tested far beyond his normal capabilities. Maintaining composure through a sea of lies is a very arduous and stressful manner, not just for himself, but for his party.
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |
Freedom In Shadows: A Risky Gambit – Part 5
A trek to Noraline would’ve ordinarily taken a few weeks. However, with this route evading patrols, their journey became much more arduous. Avoiding most of the major roadways, and transversing the off-paths into the forests, their most treacherous path was through the Thunder Mountains, home to wild storm elementals. It was a true test of their endurance, will, and craftiness to navigate these mountains safely.
The potent winds carried arcs of lightning with deafening booms. Rain nearly swept away their caravan, costing them a crate full of supplies down the cliffside. Even if they wanted to combat the elementals to alleviate the torrents, fighting them through this storm would be foolish thanks to the blinding torrential winds. They had to accept the fate of their lost clothing as they sheltered themselves in a nearby cavern, praying for swift relief from this storm.
That relief eventually came, and they were able to carefully travel the dangerous roads. Following this risky, yet much needed trek, they felt confident in their ability to take the main roads without garnering suspicion by any roaming soldier bands of the Heimdal Kingdom.
The one thing they failed to anticipate was an ambush by a pack of territorial, hyperaggressive rock badgers – ferocious rodents imbued with minor earth spirits. A handful were slain by Logan’s mighty Zweilander as Aris’s taming experience proved ineffectual. While they chased off the dangerous weasels, the skirmish left the party bloodied and bruised, and further tested their will and patience throughout this trek – yet they pressed on.
After another few weeks of travel, they finally reached the city of Noraline, a massive settlement constructed in front of another mountain range. Many structures lined up the cliffside, including a massive fortress, carrying a great banner of grey hues and gold trims with the depiction of a mighty griffin. While the buildings never reached as high as those in Eskanore, and the overall area was less sizeable in comparison, it certainly felt leagues more imposing thanks to the giant crag looking down over them.
The adventurers approached the stone gates, protected by a small squad of dwarven and halfling guards. A small caravan was stalled ahead of them as a pair of guards briefly interviewed the traveling merchants. Soon, Kibbolt’s group was called forward, feeling the watchful eyes of the city’s guards judging them, with marksmen eyeing down from the wall, and two plated cavaliers spotting next to the stone pillars on either side of the gate. “Lads, what can we trouble you for?” The dwarf spoke.
“Hello hello,” Kibbolt’s tongue was prepared with a well-researched lie, “we hail from Crestham. We were recommended an adventuring guild out here in Noraline.”
“Crestham? Oi, how was the dove festival this year?” the halfling guard asked.
Kibbolt navigated the sea of his lies like an expert shipwright, “as elegant and peaceful as ever. With the help of my lady friend here we managed to catch one. I named him Carl.”
The halfling released a hearty laugh. “Oh hoh… Carl? You named a dove Carl? My that’s hilarious!”
“Dove festival. Blegh. Ye halflings have the frilliest traditions,” he then shot a glare to Aris as he added, “second to elves.” The dwarf then paused as his expression changed. His eye caught on to the condition of Kibbolt and his companions. “Wait, ye all are all cut up. Wha’ the blazes happened?”
“Rock badgers. Nasty things they are.” Kibbolt explained.
The dwarf laughed as he turned to the halfling companion, “Ngyah hah hah! Rock badgers?! Hah! Hey, hey you remember when my brother was drunk on his arse and tried to take one as a pet? Lil’ idiot! Tryin’ a prove himself a beast master he was.”
“Was he?” the halfling chuckled, “I thought he was simply drunk on his arse.”
“Tch-yeah. Any-who, let’s not take up much of your time. Let’s see…” the dwarf glanced over at the others before raising a brow, “A lot of tall folks coming from a halfling village, eh?”
“Oh, I may have misspoken out of… brevity I guess you could say,” Kibbolt leaned with a coy wink of his pun. The halfling guard struggled to compose himself, “I hail from Crestham, my companions here so happen to be passing through and I couldn’t resist an adventure.”
“Ohoh… brevity. Ah man, what a riot the lad is,” the halfling chuckled.
“Hrm yeah, ‘aight with ye,” he motioned them forward. “Take the right-most street all the way to the mountainside. There you will find The Gladstone Adventuring Hall. They’ll take good care of ye!”
“Sounds easy enough. Thank you, gentlemen!” Kibbolt nodded.
With his successful tongue, and with a twist of fate he was able to leverage, the bard successfully amused the guards enough to allow them passage into Noraline. Before they stepped through the gate, the dwarf huffed, a warning “Be sure to watch yer heads.”
The gate closed, stirring up the pent-up anxiety from the other party members as they finally reached their destination. Manning raised a concerning brow. “What could he mean by that?”
Logan pressed an arm on his shoulder, pointing forward, “I’m pretty sure he meant that literally.” Looking ahead, in fact all around, all the buildings were designed for short-statured people in mind, which further explains why the buildings aren’t as tall as that of Eskanore.
Once they brought their steeds in, a collective sigh of relief followed from the pent-up stress. “Ohh… oh that was intense. You did an incredible job, bard.” Manning complimented.
“I never felt the need to hold my composure so hard…especially after that dwarf bastard glared at me like he did.” Aris commented.
“How’d you learn to become such a good liar, halfling?” Quinn asked.
The bard’s expression shone with his mighty toothy grin. “Thank you, thank you.” He bowed as if he finished a play. “I’ll be happy to shared my tale once we get settled in. Perhaps over drinks and a hot meal. What say you?”
“Ugh,” Aris groaned, “After all that I feel like I need it. Albeit, I pray not for dwarven cusine...”
“Hmph,” Quin smiled, “If you were able to get us into the city, we may have a real good chance of reaching Baron, and putting his miserable life away.”
With daylight to kill, and following an exhausting journey, the party settled for a tavern with a well-earned hot meal and an evening of relaxation. The dwarven bars always seem to be full, even during the daytime – natural as the dwarven race is notorious for their love of alcohol. Kibbolt shared his tale of bard-dom as he promised, evoking a performative piece as if the act was a passion project. The tune of his hurdy gurdy and his boisterous throat wove a tale of excitement, adventure, and even hardship. The patrons gathered and cheered him on in grand delight of his performance. The group tentatively enjoyed his song and dance, with more worries over the attention being drawn to them.
Following their recreation and a good few hours of rest, they gathered in a rented room with a ceiling uncomfortably short, reconvening upon their plan to enter the Baron’s brothel. They went over their plan once more. However, daylight was already evading them, and they agreed rest, as Quin chose to scout out the brothel to gather key information about the Honeysuckle. Plus, their travel exhaustion became apparent.
With Quin’s effective investigation, he found a side entrance in a narrow alleyway where shady deals were being held, including one involving another slave broker. He noted carefully of a knocking pattern that was conducted to draw the right attention – certainly such shady dealings required astute levels of discretion and secrecy. One key detail he realized about the building was the door was designed for tall folk – both at the main entrance as well as the side door. If combat were to happen, they won’t be so easily stunted by dwarven architecture.
Evening came like a thief in the night. Anxiety filled their hearts much deeper than what they felt at the entrance to the city. Even the most seasoned adventurers would still have their guts churning when it comes to infiltration – a far cry from straight-forward hunting of bandits or beasts.
With the two potions they acquired from the student mage, Manning and Quinn agreed to consume them. Their forms shimmered into meek looking women with astute beauty. Further selling their appearance, as well as Aris joining as the third to play the role of captive, they adorned brown cloaks to help further sell the act. Logan, with his broad stature and his armor, was Kibbolt’s guard and disciplinarian. As for her hound, Aris wrote a note and tied it around his collar. She commanded Kyber to flee to Eskanore if things went south.
Kibbolt presumed it would be a hard sell with only three captives to present to the Baron, but the bard had an ideal, simple plan to convince the shady staffers.
Two quick knocks struck the metal door, followed by a timed three-second pause, and another three knocks, evenly spaced out. A slit opened in the metal door, and a pair of eyes examined the scene. He observed the halfling step further back next to his “guard,” with his three “ladies” in brown. The slit closed, and another moment passed. Logan was about to say something – second guessing their plan – before the door opened. A rugged human man with a red and white bandanna motioned them in. The room was dimly lit by a sole candela. “Is this the quarry you shall be offering to the Deplorable Don?” The guard asked.
“Aye, that is right,” Kibbolt responded.
“A paltry sum. Do you believe the master will be satiated?”
“Tis but a sample of my works, my friend. You think I to be a fool to present my entire stash of gold bare to make a new deal?”
The man hummed in a tone that sound unconvinced, but he let up, “Very well. But first, leave your tools of trade here.”
Kibbolt looked perplexed for a moment until he acknowledged what he meant by trade. He nudged to Logan with authority. “Your sword, my friend.” Tentatively, the armored man unbuckled the sash protecting his blade and leaned it against a stone wall. The guard looked at Kibbolt expectingly. “I carry not a weapon of war on me, friend. He alone is my weapon.”
“Very well. You don’t mind being patted down then.” Without an answer, the man insisted before abruptly turning the small halfling around, checking pockets for contraband.
“Ah – hey easy!” Kibbolt protested, but did not resist his hands. From the corner of his eyes, he was caught in shock as the shadows moved. More guards, perfectly concealed by the darkness of the room, made their move – and walked straight for the “girls.” Logan abruptly stepped in between them and the ladies with instinct, and Kibbolt commanded with his authoritative tongue, “Hey hey hey! No touching the merchandise! I ain’t running a charity!” It was a dangerous, but necessary gambit, for their plan would be foiled. The illusion was enough to trick the eyes, but to trick the hands would require much more advanced, complicated magic than what the potions offered.
The bandana-wearing guard felt up the handle of his sheathed short blade as he addressed, “The master has many enemies, my friend. We know not your heart nor your loyalties. Comply quietly or make your leave.”
This was bad, really bad, Kibbolt thought. Surely, he felt the tension in his partners more than he felt the tension from the shadowy thugs before them. What solution can his tongue bring to remedy the situation? He searched an answer, but the pressure wrangled him like a hog bound in rope – then it came to him. “You think your master would appreciate having your grubby little hands soiling his product? Pristine, fine condition these maidens are in. If I were your boss, I wouldn’t take too kindly of my subordinates touching such fine, virgin goods.”
The guard appeared unconvinced – until the magic word was mentioned. “Virgin you say?” He paused, tapped his foot for a moment. The other guards remained still, waiting for a decision from their commander. With the choice made, the man raised a hand, ordering the others to stand down. “Wait here.” He ordered before he opened the second door that led deeper into the brothel. In anticipation, Kibbolt could feel the cold sweat oozing from his pores, and his party certainly felt the same.
Will Kibbolt and his party be able to reach the Baron successfully? Will his web of lies be sundered beforehand? Let us know what you think in the comments below!