Athasen marched boldly into the harbor office of Porzanna, a veteran mercenary of Chult. Porzanna was a broad shouldered dark-skinned woman with ugly scars from many adventurers. She looked up from her parchments only briefly while he and the others entered. Also present were three other freelance adventurers. One Athasen recognized; the adventurer would have been hard to miss in any venue. Zangdrax did not even stand three feet in height, but all of his diminutive stature was steel and muscle. He was hairless but for a single black strip on the top of his head that ran from his forehead across between his canine ears and down the back of his head. His yellow eyes held a surprisingly thoughtful and curious look. Women might have even found him cute if not for the solid breastplate of steel upon his chest and the wicked looking war mattock on his belt. Next to him was a steel shield nearly his height, emblazoned with the holy symbol of the dragon god Tiamat. He was a kobold, a cave-dwelling race of dragon/canine humanoids that rarely ventured in civilized circles. The other two were strangers and their countenance was not nearly so striking as the kobold. One, an elven rogue with dark hair and a youthful face was dressed in white silk and doing his best to endure the uncomfortable heat. His eyes darted about in a paranoid fashion. Athasen was not entirely sure which was worse for him, the sweltering temperature or his inability due to his attire to fade into the background and be ignored. The final figure was dressed in green and bearing a bow of yew. His clothing was a dark green. While not suited for the temperature, his attire was clearly meant for the forested wilderness and may just suit the ranger well in this jungle environs. His face was bearded and showed the wear of many adventures. When he brushed his hair back nervously in response to arrival of Athasen’s beautiful companions, Athasen could see the tell-tale ears of a half-elf like himself. Once all were in the room, Porzanna ceased to ignore them. “Good morning,” she said with hostile tone that implied none of her greeting’s good intentions. “I will be brief. I am Porzanna. I have been hired to coordinate the efforts of the northern factions here in Chult in an effort to uncover the mystery of the Death Curse. Because of the stakes of this effort, faction infighting will NOT be condoned. It will NOT be acceptable. It will NOT happen.” Athasen took stock of the others present. None save Hoggle seemed to mind that restriction and Athasen suspected that Hoggle only objected because it would mean a few fewer people he could slaughter with his axe. Still, surrounded by adventurers who were at best his equals in combat and at worst his betters, Hoggle was wise enough to make no verbal objection, just a frown. “Seeing no objections to that restriction, I suspect we can do business.” Porzanna seemed to soften at this point; her harshness at the start was apparently meant to convey the importance of this taboo under which they all found themselves. “You may wish to introduce yourselves to one another. While my under my charge, you’re going to be working together for some time.” They did so, with the elf rogue introducing himself as Allar and the half-elf ranger as Fejj. Athasen exchanged some pleasantries with Zangdrax, who was also among those adventurers at the Doomvault and had acquitted himself admirably there. “With that out of the way,” Porzanna interrupted, bringing them back to order. “I have tasks for you to perform in the name of your various factions.” She looked over at Lortessa. “You are a priestess of Sune. As much as your companions would appreciate your healing magic in the field, I need you here in the city. We have set up several makeshift hospitals for those suffering from the Curse and from other ailments of the jungle. Our need for healers is a desperate one.” “Where Tessa goes, I go.” declared Saiah. “So be it, paladin. We will put you to work in that regard as well.” Porzanna turned to Athasen, but her gaze took in the whole room. “As for the rest of you, we sent out scouting parties to five locations in the near jungle, one from each faction, about twenty days ago. We have heard nothing from any of them since.” “I take it that’s unusual.” said Fejj. “Not as much as I’d like. The jungle is a harsh place for northerners like yourselves. But you look capable enough. There are five sites, all about four days travel from the city and a couple days apart from one another. We were hoping one of the five might serve as a base of operations outside of Port Nyanzaru, seeing as the locals are getting a mite itchy about the presence of so many foreigners.” Athasen grunted, remember the skirmish outside the brothel. “Not hard to guess why.” he growled sardonically. “What are these sites?” asked Zangdrax. “A farm, where recent rumor has it that the farmers have developed a new strain of tobacco with true medicinal properties. Given our need for healers, you can see our interest here. Another was an ancient ruin, a fortress carved out of the side of a cliff by ancient peoples long extinct. Third was a tower constructed by a wizard many decades ago and now abandoned. Fourth was an ancient burial ground for the same civilization that built the fortress. Lastly, there is a shrine dedicated to Ubtao, the dead god of this land. All have the means to serve our purposes.” “Nothing good comes from ancient burial grounds.” joked Allar grimly. Athasen was inclined to agree. “Nor wizard towers in my experience and ancient ruins are often quickly occupied after their original owners abandon them.” “Dead gods don’t always stay that way either.” grumbled Zangdrax. “Bhaal, Bane, and Amaunator all give testimony to that. Never mind those who would seek the divine essence of even a dead god for their own taste of power.” Athasen shivered at that comment, remembering well two of his associates who did just that with great success. “The farm seems innocuous enough. We will start there.” “Farm sound boring. Nothing to kill there.” grumbled Hoggle. “The Zhentarim were sent there. Seek for them, return them alive if you can.” said Porzanna. --- As the group departed Porzanna’s office, Athasen went with Langley and Zangdrax to the city market. Their intention was to gather supplies for the journey: rations, waterskins, and anything else they might need for their journey into the near jungle. The marketplace was full of activity, the din of people bargaining and haggling was almost deafening. Athasen paused by an ointment seller, intent on finding a few doses to keep the disease-carrying insects of the jungle at bay. “Best fly ointment in Nyanzaru! Best!” claimed the merchant in broken Common. “For you, 2 silver per jar.” Athasen wasn’t entirely sure that was a good price or not, but in many ways, he didn’t care. Between his long adventuring career and the vast wealth of his son’s merchant empire, money was no object to him. He cared little for it. He dug into his pouch and produced two gold coin. “Ten jars.” He said. The merchant frowned, surprised in some ways that Athasen took his first offer and probably disappointed he hadn’t demanded more. Regardless, the deal was made and the man began to gather up the requested ointment. As Athasen waited patiently, a small cloaked humanoid slid up next to him. Athasen glanced down to see a gnome, his cloak pinned in place with a signet of the Zhentarim. “Captain,” the gnome began to speak, “our masters back home have a request.” “Speak.” “The farmer’s son was recently in our employ. It seems he was lost at sea while his ship was journeying from Chult to Baldur’s Gate. Our masters wish you to convey this bad news to his family.” “Unfortunate. Tragic.” commented Athasen. “Yes.” agreed the gnome. “I will offer our condolences to the family.” Athasen said. With that, the gnome vanished into the crowd. It was an odd request. The Zhentarim usually didn’t give such honor to those outside its own ranks, believing that the Zhentarim organization itself became your new family when you joined and your old ties were irrevocably severed. At least, officially. There were only two reasons such a request would be made of him: One, the farmer was also Zhentarim, in which case Porzanna had left out an important piece of information or two, this was all a fiction and the condolence was meant as a trigger or code of some sort. There was no way to know here in Nyanzaru, so Athasen rejoined his companions with his newly purchased ointment and they continued their shopping. --- Even the near jungle held its dangers, and Athasen and his companions kept a sense of heightened alertness as they hacked their way through. Fortunately, their paths were reasonably well-traveled and the foliage had not overgrown much of the road. The noise was incessant; the crying of birds and other animals never ceased, day or night. Initially, Athasen had taken the lead, using one of his large magical single-edged falchion to cleave through any obstacle. But he soon yielded that job to Hoggle, who seemed to have great need to hack at something, anything. Athasen wasn’t sure how far he could trust the bloodthirsty goblin. Surprisingly, the most sensible of the bunch seemed to be the other monster in their midst. Zangdrax was charming, intelligent, and not at all barbaric, despite being a kobold. Athasen had been taken back when he’d first seen Zangdrax in the Doomvault, bearing as he did the holy symbol of Tiamat, one of the more evil, ambitious, and destructive deities in Faerun. But after his deeds in that place, Athasen found him trustworthy and surprisingly brave and self-sacrificing, seeming to understand that there were greater evils out there that needed to be defeated and one’s personal beliefs and impulses were secondary to that. That was clearly a reflection of his true character, as the kobold now backed Athasen’s leadership without question or challenge. The rest were along for the ride. Fejj and Allar were mostly quiet, although Fejj did step in when needed to keep them on track. His knowledge of woodlands, even if somewhat different from these jungle environs, had proven helpful. Langley showed little of the altruism that caused her to intervene on the whore’s behalf back in the city and now mostly grumbled that this mission didn’t pay enough to be worth the effort. Again, this jungle mission seemed to reveal everyone’s true character. Athasen wondered, if this was now the true Langey he was seeing, what made her so eager to stick her neck out for a whore earlier? Hoggle was Hoggle. There was little guile or subtlety to the goblin, who seemed most interested in sating a lust for blood and battle. Because of their small size, goblins were not a bold race and yet Hoggle seemed absolutely fearless. Perhaps that was why he found himself here, a man with no true home among his own people. He was not however fitting in all that well among the more civilized peoples. Regardless of each of their personal quirks, it was clear to Athasen that this group could get the job done. Regardless of whether they liked one another or not. After a short couple days of travel, the jungle parted onto a large multi-acre farm. Pasture after pasture of tobacco spread out before them, while some 200 yards distant, a small farmhouse and barn could be seen. The jungle noise quieted as they entered the farm. “Is it just me or should there be workers on a farm this size?” asked Allar aloud. “Why is it so empty?” Athasen nodded. The fields were empty; no one was weeding, watering, tending, or in any other way seeing to the growing crop. “A lot of work for just a farmer and his family.” He mused. “Perhaps they are on break. It is nearly noon and the hottest part of the day. Slaves they might work through such a time, but hired hands might demand respite from the sun.” A middle aged man emerged from the farmhouse. The first thing Athasen noticed was the color of his skin. He was a white man, clearly not a native of Chult. Their people were dark skinned, darker still than the desert tones of Athasen, nearly black. The others noticed it too. “An outlander.” mused Langley. “Not what I was expecting.” “Chult is a land of opportunity.” added Zangdrax, “Take Hoggle and myself. Lots of outlanders here.” “True, but keep your eyes open.” “Agreed.” said the kobold. “Welcome, welcome, welcome.” said the farmer eagerly as he trotted out to the adventurers. “It is so good to have visitors. We occasionally see folks coming through on their way to the deeper jungle and we love to host them for even just a short respite on their journeys. Would you like to come inside and take a breather? I can provide food, refreshment, and certainly shelter from the hottest part of the day.” Athasen nodded. “We would be delighted.” “Good, good, good.” said the farmer. “Please come this way.” The party followed the farmer inside. “I am Agranus. We have been farmers here for only a few years. We brought with us our seeds from my father’s farm in Amn and look at what it has become.” “Impressive” said Allar, “Rumor has it your tobacco has healing properties.” “Yes, something about this Chultan soil has changed it. Come, come. You may sample some, if you like, once we are inside.” “Quite an operation you have here.” said Langley. “But it seems much too large for one man.” “We hire workers seasonally from Nyanzaru. Right now, there is little to do besides watch it grow.” Agranus chuckled to himself. “My wife and I are too old to make more children so it can get rather boring during this season out here. Hence why we like visitors.” Athasen frowned. That seemed a bit specious an excuse for the absence of workers. Between weeds and the various herbivores of the jungle that would like find these fields a feast, he doubted there would ever be a time when extra help would not be needed on such a large farm. Never mind the less ethical among their “visitors” that would simply take what they wished from an unarmed and likely untrained farmer. They reached the farmhouse and Agranus called out. A woman’s voice responded from within and older pale-skinned woman emerged from a back room, likely a kitchen. “Yes, dear. Oh, goodness, we have guests.” “Yes, woman,” bellowed Agranus. “Fetch some tea for our guests.” He turned back to the adventuring party. “Please, come in. Welcome to my humble abode.” Humble was a slight exaggeration. The living room contained furniture of some quality, hand-carved in the Amnish style. There was also a bookshelf with a number of tomes on various subjects, mostly agricultural with a few on more esoteric subjects. This was no poor man’s home. Athasen, Fejj, and Zangdrax took seats on the furniture, while Allar leaned against the wall near the bookshelf. Hoggle parked himself on the floor, while Langley took up a post near the kitchen door. The sounds of activity came forth from the kitchen door, as the farmer’s wife made frantic to host these unexpected guests. Agranus took a seat of his own and reached down under the adjacent end table. He produced a wooden box, opened it, and proffered the cigars within to his guests. “Here, I promised you a sample. Enjoy.” The seated adventurers took cigars, including Hoggle. Allar refused politely but when the farmer made his way to Langley, she rather rudely put on her mask to decline the offer. The farmer shrugged in response, lit one of his own, and returned to his seat. Soon the room was filled with the fragrant smoke of burning tobacco. The wife entered with a tray of mugs, each holding a pale brown liquid. As she passed them out, Athasen happened to glance up to where Langley had been standing. She was gone. Athasen took a sip from his mug. It was a bitter tea, not quite to his liking, but seemed innocuous enough. The tobacco, on the other hand, was quite good. The smoke was flavorful and he did feel “lighter” as if the burdens of his soul had been lifted somewhat. “Well, Agranus, your hospitality has been fantastic.” said Athasen. “Now it is time for business. We are not passing through. We came to find you. Our purpose in doing so is two fold. One, there was a group that preceded us, who wished to parley with you about using your farm as a base of operations for our expeditions into the deeper jungle. They have not returned and we were wondering what you might know of them.” Agranus shrugged. “There was a group here about a tenday ago that fits what you describe. They came, we talked, they departed. I know nothing of them after that.” Agranus’ wife had finished giving out the tea and was about to leave when Athasen interjected. “Ma’am, you will want to remain for this next part. Please, take a seat.” She paused, momentarily confused, but did as she was asked. Athasen then continued. “Our other purpose is to be the bearer of bad news. Your son was taken into our employ and fear he was lost at sea while returning to the Sword Coast. Please accept my deepest condolences.” “Oh,” said the wife. “How sad.” Her tone was neutral, with none of the expected sorrow or shock of hearing this news. Athasen frown himself. Something wasn’t right. At that very moment, the telltale ring of steel on steel came from outside. Athasen shot to his feet. “That’s the dim of battle. We are under attack.” He darted through the door to the kitchen and found himself in a hallway. He could see two doors, both ajar. One led into the kitchen, the other outside behind the farmhouse. Through the open back door, he could see Langley under attack by five or six men. Agranus was on his feet and made for the hallway as Athasen darted outside. One of the men swung a mighty blow with a longsword towards Langley, but Athasen darted in between and parried it with his falchion. The steel rang with the impact, but Athasen’s magical blade showed no damage from the powerful blow. Langley backpedaled and drew out her crossbow. With elven swiftness, Allar dashed from the living room, passing by Agranus, and joined Athasen. Both men leveled their weapons in a defensive posture and took stock of the situation. Their foes were well-armed and armored and Athasen recognized immediately the clasp on the leader’s cloak: the symbol of the Zhentarim. These were the missing party, but their glazed eyes and snarling contenance told any and all observers they were not themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, Athasen saw Agranus make an odd gesture with his hand. Recognizing it as spellcasting, he now understood. Agranus was an enchanter and had somehow managed to enthrall the entire Zhentarim expedition. Athasen made to counter this new spell, but a swing from the Zhent leader caught him off-guard and fouled his own casting. Athasen parried the leader’s blow just as Zangdrax and Hoggle dashed out from the living room. “Spare their lives if you can.” Athasen barked to his comrades. “These are the ones we’re looking for.” Athasen moved to press his attack when his leg exploded into agony. He buckled and dropped to the ground, realizing immediately what had happened. Zangdrax hefted his war mattock and made ready to land a second blow, his first having shattered Athasen’s knee. The enchanter had claimed another thrall. Agranus began another gesture, but Athasen gritted his teeth against the pain and made a counter gesture with his free hand. Agranus’ spell failed and the enchanter glared at him balefully. Zangdrax swung again and Athasen parried the blow with his sword. “Damnit, Zangdrax!” Athasen swore at his companion. “Remember!” Allar, Langley, and Hoggle battled against the enthralled Zhentarim. Langley dropped two with crossbow bolts to the legs, injuring but not killing them. Only Fejj was unaccounted for. Where had he gone? Zangdrax swung again and Athasen parried the blow. The Zhentarim leader also jumped in, but a wide swing from Hoggle’s axe swept him off his feet. Hoggle made to land a killing blow, but Athasen barked a “NO!” The goblin checked his swing and snarled a complaint in his foul tongue. “Enough of this.” said Athasen. He focused his mind on the enchantment on Zangdrax and, speaking the command word of dispelling, forcibly tore it from his ally. Freed from Agranus’ grip, Zangdrax checked his next blow, bringing the war mattock down on the Zhent leader and knocking him out cold. Agranus snarled in rage when he realized Athasen had freed his newest slave. He made to cast again, only found that he could make no sound to speak the words of his incantation. Somehow, he’d been silenced. Realizing what had happened, the faux farmer looked balefully back towards his living room, towards Fejj. The ranger promptly put two arrows through the wizard’s neck. The wife screamed in rage and charged towards the living room at Fejj, but Hoggle was looking for someone to kill. He quickly disengaged from the Zhent he was fighting and chased the woman down. Athasen was grateful he did not have to witness what happened next. With Agranus and his companion dead, the remaining Zhentarim who were not unconscious shook off their own enchantments and surrendered. The leader sat up, holding his head where Zangdrax had clipped him with his mattock. “Ugh. Did you have to swing so hard?” He groaned. “That was nothing. Harder and your head would look worse than this knee.” said the kobold. He leaned down and focused healing power into Athasen’s injury, restoring his knee to health. “Fucking Red Wizards.” said the leader, rubbing the growing knot he could feel under his hair. “They stole this place from the original owner and ambushed us. Turned us into their mindless slaves. We owe you one.” “And the original owner? The real farmer?” “Alive. Tied up in the barn, where they kept him prisoner to amuse themselves.” Athasen came to his feet gingerly, but Zangdrax’s healing magic had done its work well. He headed over to the barn as Zangdrax tended to their others’ injuries, including the newly freed Zhents. Athasen found the farmer as the leader had said. He swifly cut his bonds and led the half-starved man outside. Zangdrax did what he could to heal his injuries as well. “Thank you, but I could really use some food.” “I’ll see what I can find.” said Allar, darting inside the farmhouse. “What happened?” asked Athasen. “About two months ago, my workers began to run off. Scared of something in the jungle. Right after the last one left, those wizards came up the road from Nyanzaru. Without any of my people here, they quickly overpowered me and took the place over.” “Enchanters.” reminded Langley. “Probably used their magic to scare your people away. They set this up some time ago.” The farmer nodded. “Either way, they began to experiment on the tobacco and one of their number went back to town to spread the rumor they’d found a new medicinal strain. The Zhentarim came soon thereafter and fell under their sway. The tobacco doesn’t heal, but it does make you more vulnerable to their enchantment magic.” “That explains a lot.” said Zangdrax. “We paladins aren’t normally vulnerable to that sort of thing.” He looked at Athasen. “Sorry about the knee.” “You fixed it. That’s apology enough for me.” said Athasen. “I suppose it’s you that I have to inform about your son.” “I have no son.” “Truly?” “Yes, I live here alone, except for the workers that I hire. No wife. No family. Just me and my employees.” “Looks like your masters suspected something and gave you something to reveal the ruse.” said Langley to Athasen. “You getting curious and darting outside when no one was looking worked just as well.” said Fejj. “Good work with that silence spell, by the way.” complimented Athasen towards Fejj. Allar came outside with a few loaves of bread, giving them to the famished farmer, who began devouring them. “Alright, the Zhents are free. The farmer is eating. The wizards are dead. Looks like our job here is done. We’ll rest the night and move on in the morning.”
No comments:
Post a Comment