The Sawhorse Tavern was crowded tonight. The Workmen’sGuild had a meeting, so it wasn't just A-shift stragglers and B-shift regulars;
the whole guild was out tonight. The place reeked of sawdust, sweat, and sour
beer. More than a few eyes found Malleck, despite his hooded cloak and shadowy
corner booth. This made him
uncomfortable. The Chaos Man chose this venue for that very effect, to throw Malleck off balance.
There was a buzz of agitation in the room. The workmen
were riled up about something, so it was a dangerous night to be an outsider in
one of their establishments. Had Malleck been meeting another, he would have
simply veiled himself with magic. The Chaos Man, however, would be offended if
he did, and Malleck would rather not wait another three months for a meeting.
A group of young orcish apprentice carpenters belonging
to one of the more radical sub-guilds kept sizing Malleck up with quick glances. Sooner or later,
one might get drunk, call him Tu’rid, and mockingly challenge him. The Workmen’s Guild made it easy to read a member’s affiliations by a quick glance to the tool belts they all wore. The white
leather belts told him they were apprentices, the painted red hammer worn on the left hip loop their profession and
sub-guild, but the blue-handled hatchet was a newer insignia tool he didn't
recognize.
The story of Malleck’s mixed blood was there to read in
his face. His tusks indicated orc blood, but the small size and lack of
under-bite revealed that he was not a full blood. His surname, “Smallbite”, was
given to half-orcish bastards for this very reason. The elegantly pointed ears
and the slightly-canted, severely green eyes both indicated elvish blood, which
was always the problem. Kindred races were generally blasé of racial
intermingling, except of course for the stigma associated with badbloods. To
the ignorant and intolerant, his very face was an insult to the Nameless One,
who died of treachery at the hands of his brother Mar’ies - the first elf. From the Nameless One’s body were born theKindred.
This dive could be trouble for Malleck, which is why he
brought a Sunder. The Blacksmiths Guild hired out mercenary bodyguards, called
Sunders, to the Merchants' Guild all the time. Malleck always hired the same
one: a lizard man named Zool. Malleck had never seen Zool’s wares as a smith,
but the man was a virtuoso with his strange array of scimitar, spiked buckler
(which he strapped to his sword arm), hand crossbow, and what Malleck suspected
was a dash of magic. Zool was giving the orcs a look that killed their
curiosity, for the moment.
The Chaos Man was over an hour late again, making Mal wonder when he would arrive. What game the
Chaos Man would play this time was the next question? No matter what
face he wore (if indeed the Chaos Man was just one individual) there was always
a game of some sort during their meetings. When he first wore the face of a
horridly scarred minotaur, the game was questions: he would ignore each
statement that wasn't a question, and only answer questions with another
question. It was a terribly irritating way to negotiate, but the Caravanner
didn't earn his position in the guild by lacking the ability to adapt. On the
second meeting, the Chaos Man was a Dwarf with mismatched eyes who wished to
play an elaborate version of stones that required drinking. Though the Chaos
Man never appeared to be the same person, he always remembered prior
conversations and business, always played games, and was always late.
Theories in Mal's files back at the guild varied widely.
Some said he was one man who wore a thousand faces. Others insisted that the Chaos Man was
actually just a title, a position that was in a near constant state of flux.
Whoever he was, he always maintained the deadly sort of confidence that comes
from the power to kill. As long as Malleck could get the deal he came to make,
he didn't care who he was dealing with.
Despite the passage of centuries, there were outlying villages close to the frozen heart of the North that still maintained loyalty
to the Empire. Reputedly one, Tribute, had ore so fine and pure that the
Blacksmiths Guild would pay triple per shipment. If the Caravanner could
establish a route, he’d likely be elevated; such discoveries and dealings made
careers within the Merchants' Guild. Most importantly, Liara would be proud of
him.
Liara rarely showed emotion, but Malleck believed she
held a mother’s love for the adopted orphans she took into the guild. Behind
her whispered orders and small tight smiles was a woman that cared deeply for
once discarded-children. She herself was discarded, in a way. She adopted from
the orphanages frequently, and many of her orphans rose high in the guild.
While more cynical minds might think she adopted and raised orphans to ensure
the guild's upper ranks were filled with the fiercely loyal, others said she
saw something special in each adoptee. Malleck chose to regard Liara as his
true mother, as opposed to the woman that left him on the steps of an orphanage
without so much as a note. To Malleck the guild was family, and family was
everything.
To make his family proud, Malleck needed the deal to go
through. Liara would not risk a caravan north unless Malleck could secure
additional security from the Mages' Guild. Trading with the loyalist mining
town was a risk, but the potential reward was high. The journey was perilous, particularly if the
frozen elves decided to attack. Fire magic could serve as a deterrent, but...
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