filli_noctus
Hmmn
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2010
- Messages
- 2,221
OOC Clarification: The mortwright comment was in relation to the flying skeleton thing.
Intrigue of Magic
- Thread starter Ailedhoo
- Start date
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,809
The flying skeleton thing has revealed thyself to one Tlaloc preist. The two following information has come forth...
1: the reaper identifies himself as K'iche, a reaper that has been trapped in Cumhail since sneaking himself behind after the Divine War.
2: K'iche will make audience with the Tlaloc Emperor if the Emperor makes a sacrifice of a druid. The dark angel will explain why after the sacrifice is made.
1: the reaper identifies himself as K'iche, a reaper that has been trapped in Cumhail since sneaking himself behind after the Divine War.
2: K'iche will make audience with the Tlaloc Emperor if the Emperor makes a sacrifice of a druid. The dark angel will explain why after the sacrifice is made.
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
Curses, Ailed!
Since the rebels did not accept our offer to surrender for a cease-population control, have a druid brought to the Calendar Hall and have him sacrificed. Then let K'iche show himself!
Since the rebels did not accept our offer to surrender for a cease-population control, have a druid brought to the Calendar Hall and have him sacrificed. Then let K'iche show himself!
filli_noctus
Hmmn
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2010
- Messages
- 2,221
OOC: Will he show himself to be a delicious savoury pastry?
I apologise for the lame pun.
I apologise for the lame pun.
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
OOC: who knows.
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,809
Which druid? A random druid or are you planning to kidnap one of the two Karma's Dagger's prime leaders?
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
A random druid, of course! Do you think I'm insane? and if that doesn't work, sacrifice ALL the druids!
(Disclaimer: Yes I am)
(Disclaimer: Yes I am)
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,809
...with a random druid found and killed the Emperor will hear the following words:
"Seek out me the will of power. My vision is open. The death you bring is wasted to rot; I can provide my powers of death to reap the fallen into dark servant. However I am no cheap figure; I need to know you do not waste death. I am willing to not heed you too many secrets, nor too many other free gifts. Instead I have... consideration. The druids have... been hindrance to me, the ones who weakened me in this world were hence druids under... my former employer. I hence require a little... annexation. There is a shrine developed by druids in the north to your realm on a mountain known as Greeu Peak. This is dictated to the mighty griffins of the mountain. Claim this shrine and declare it a shrine to me... it is on high ground however so it will be challenge to get pass the guards. Do this and I will reveal my abilities. Of course you will need to find the place and a chapion to lead the adventure to claim the shrine on the higher points of the peak. Head my name and serve my demands if you wish for me to serve your requests: K'iche."
"Seek out me the will of power. My vision is open. The death you bring is wasted to rot; I can provide my powers of death to reap the fallen into dark servant. However I am no cheap figure; I need to know you do not waste death. I am willing to not heed you too many secrets, nor too many other free gifts. Instead I have... consideration. The druids have... been hindrance to me, the ones who weakened me in this world were hence druids under... my former employer. I hence require a little... annexation. There is a shrine developed by druids in the north to your realm on a mountain known as Greeu Peak. This is dictated to the mighty griffins of the mountain. Claim this shrine and declare it a shrine to me... it is on high ground however so it will be challenge to get pass the guards. Do this and I will reveal my abilities. Of course you will need to find the place and a chapion to lead the adventure to claim the shrine on the higher points of the peak. Head my name and serve my demands if you wish for me to serve your requests: K'iche."
filli_noctus
Hmmn
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2010
- Messages
- 2,221
Marret mounted the dais and surveyed his new creations with a broad, if cruel, smile.
Before him stood a dozen Necrites arrayed in the battered armour and dirty tabards bearing the crest of the Poor Soldiers they were wearing when they were captured. Marret regretted the number was so low but the process still lost almost half of the candidates and he was unsure the success rate could be improved much further. Anyway, he now once more had warriors under his command as it was prior to the Civil War. Necrites may make good soldiers but they lacked initiative or skill, relying on numbers, mutations and the inherent resilience of the undead to vanquish individual enemies. These new warriors were better, they retained their skills from life as well as much of their intelligence and memories but were, like all Necrites, bound to the will of their Wight master.
"Soldiers of Formont," Marret addressed them, "it brings me great joy to see you before me and whilst it would bring me greater joy to command you in open battle I have a more important task for you first. You are to return to the fortress of the Poor Soldiers and seek re-admittance as survivors of the battle, lost in the wilds after their forces were scattered. You shall remain there, masquerading as their comrades until we launch the siege. Then you shall attack them from within. Your first targets shall be those suffering from fever or bearing the Death Mark to increase our forces within their walls. Then you shall target the uninfested to weaken their morale and distract them from our assault.
"Go now and win glory for yourselves and for Formont."
As the warriors trooped out of the castle, Marret became aware of his steward approaching.
"Speak," he commanded.
"Majesty," the steward replied, "we have received a message from Lord Varla. He writes that the Orc necromancer has returned to Baase but the Ogre Necrites he has recruited are all you hoped. He intends to use them and his horde to expand our holdings on the island."
"Excellent. And speaking of expansion, now we have annexed the human baronies I intend to expand west, send what hordes we can spare from the siege of the Poor Soldiers."
"What of the Kingdom of Shee, my liege?"
"What of them?"
"Very good, sire"
Before him stood a dozen Necrites arrayed in the battered armour and dirty tabards bearing the crest of the Poor Soldiers they were wearing when they were captured. Marret regretted the number was so low but the process still lost almost half of the candidates and he was unsure the success rate could be improved much further. Anyway, he now once more had warriors under his command as it was prior to the Civil War. Necrites may make good soldiers but they lacked initiative or skill, relying on numbers, mutations and the inherent resilience of the undead to vanquish individual enemies. These new warriors were better, they retained their skills from life as well as much of their intelligence and memories but were, like all Necrites, bound to the will of their Wight master.
"Soldiers of Formont," Marret addressed them, "it brings me great joy to see you before me and whilst it would bring me greater joy to command you in open battle I have a more important task for you first. You are to return to the fortress of the Poor Soldiers and seek re-admittance as survivors of the battle, lost in the wilds after their forces were scattered. You shall remain there, masquerading as their comrades until we launch the siege. Then you shall attack them from within. Your first targets shall be those suffering from fever or bearing the Death Mark to increase our forces within their walls. Then you shall target the uninfested to weaken their morale and distract them from our assault.
"Go now and win glory for yourselves and for Formont."
As the warriors trooped out of the castle, Marret became aware of his steward approaching.
"Speak," he commanded.
"Majesty," the steward replied, "we have received a message from Lord Varla. He writes that the Orc necromancer has returned to Baase but the Ogre Necrites he has recruited are all you hoped. He intends to use them and his horde to expand our holdings on the island."
"Excellent. And speaking of expansion, now we have annexed the human baronies I intend to expand west, send what hordes we can spare from the siege of the Poor Soldiers."
"What of the Kingdom of Shee, my liege?"
"What of them?"
"Very good, sire"
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
"What the hell is this?"
Lying atop Sigebeald's dining table is the corpse of a domestic dog. It is flanked by two lanky young lads, a tall blond and his copper-haired brother. "Our family pet Eadulf, sir," explains the elder brother, "He passed away yesterday, and we thought—"
"You thought you'd bring him to old Sigebeald and with a flick of the wrist, he'd have him back on his feet?"
The brothers share a nervous glance. The shorter boy stammers: "W-We heard that sir was—"
"What I am," the mage cuts in, hands on his hips, "Is a scholar of the greatest secrets of life and death, not some bloody parlour entertainer! Now get this thing off my table; I eat here, you know!"
"But—"
"Unless you want some lifeless puppet to decorate your mantle, you're wasting your time. Now go on! Get!" Crestfallen, the boys gather up their dog and are swiftly shooed out of the weathered tower Sigebeald keeps as his abode. He closes the door with just enough force to let them know that they aren't welcome back.
He turns back to his kitchen area, dragging a hand through his scraggly black hair. He'd thought he'd done everyone a favour by settling in the ruins, far enough from the hillside hamlets that he'd be out of everyone's way, particularly Raevyllke's authorities. And yet this present encounter is but the most recent incident of people deliberately seeking him out. He sighs as he picks up a cloth to sanitize the table. He would help, if he could—his family had owned a dog themselves, and he knew well the emotional investment—but his research is simply too preliminary to even consider using the dead pet as an observational experiment.
There is a knock at the door. Sigebeald throws down the cloth with an exasperated sigh. These people really don't give up. "I told you already, I'm not—oh, good morning." His body goes stone cold as he opens the door and is confronted by two varreven soldiers.
"Good morning, Sigebeald," one replies cordially. "Are you expecting someone?"
"Not... really, no," he mutters, peering around his doorway. "How can I be of assistance?"
"As a matter of fact, the Queen would be most pleased if you would deign to accompany us to the capital."
He blinks. "The Queen," he repeats, voice a whisper. He licks his lips as his mouth suddenly goes dry. "I—of course I can—give—a moment please, to collect my things..."
------------------------------
Prince Herlifur sits crouched over his desk, documents spread out all around him as he laboriously computes various financial details for the county. His ears perk up at a knock on the door. "Enter," he calls, hastily shuffling the many leaves into some vague semblance of order. He nearly leaps out of his seat as a vixen strides in wearing a dark red shoulder cape atop an emerald green overcoat. "Liffa!" he grins, "T'is not often you venture outside of Dal!" His grin quickly fades. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
She shakes her head. "There are some legal matters in Vittorn that I have been sent to resolve, and I could not neglect to pay my dear brother a visit." She walks over to his side and peers over the data. "An early start to tax season?"
"Ranvild needs reports on county expenditures before he can plot expansion southward. Presumably whatever he has in mind will consume a fair portion of the treasury."
"Perhaps I should return when you are not presently preoccupied?"
The prince leans back in his chair with a grin. "T'is a distraction much appreciated." Then, with an inquisitive expression, he starts: "Know you why Mother sent for Sigebeald?"
"The necromancer?" she asks, "I had not heard..."
"I received a dispatch last evening with instructions to send him to the capital. An escort left this morning."
Liffa shakes her head. "Presumably if he had fouled up, you would already know."
"Presumably. Speaking of foul-ups, I still need to organize a follow-up to the western venture. The entire party lost save one. Hydras and swamp ships..." He lets out a long sigh. "And I cannot simply petition Ranvild for an expedition like that of our brother. The Dry Hills are devoid of settlement, making logistics a nightmare, and an army that large may be seen as provocation by Nuifallash."
"Perhaps an adventure party?" offers the princess. "This case is precisely what such circles thrive upon, and undertaken by them it would be of minimal expense to the realm."
"Adventurers," Herlifur scoffs, "Treasure-hunting opportunists. We would be better-served by hiring Nuifallash. At least they might be trusted not to loot everything they find."
Liffa shoots her brother a crooked smile. "You simply have not met the right people. See if Hakkan can be seconded from duty; I will find a suitable team for his leadership."
He looks up at her in disbelief. "Very well, then," he concedes with a wry smile.
Liffa straightens up. "I shall to my own duties; a swift resolution to yours."
"If you have no plans this evening, you are welcome to join the county hall for dinner."
"T'would be my pleasure," she grins.
The siblings clap their hands together and give each other a squeeze. "Take care."
Lying atop Sigebeald's dining table is the corpse of a domestic dog. It is flanked by two lanky young lads, a tall blond and his copper-haired brother. "Our family pet Eadulf, sir," explains the elder brother, "He passed away yesterday, and we thought—"
"You thought you'd bring him to old Sigebeald and with a flick of the wrist, he'd have him back on his feet?"
The brothers share a nervous glance. The shorter boy stammers: "W-We heard that sir was—"
"What I am," the mage cuts in, hands on his hips, "Is a scholar of the greatest secrets of life and death, not some bloody parlour entertainer! Now get this thing off my table; I eat here, you know!"
"But—"
"Unless you want some lifeless puppet to decorate your mantle, you're wasting your time. Now go on! Get!" Crestfallen, the boys gather up their dog and are swiftly shooed out of the weathered tower Sigebeald keeps as his abode. He closes the door with just enough force to let them know that they aren't welcome back.
He turns back to his kitchen area, dragging a hand through his scraggly black hair. He'd thought he'd done everyone a favour by settling in the ruins, far enough from the hillside hamlets that he'd be out of everyone's way, particularly Raevyllke's authorities. And yet this present encounter is but the most recent incident of people deliberately seeking him out. He sighs as he picks up a cloth to sanitize the table. He would help, if he could—his family had owned a dog themselves, and he knew well the emotional investment—but his research is simply too preliminary to even consider using the dead pet as an observational experiment.
There is a knock at the door. Sigebeald throws down the cloth with an exasperated sigh. These people really don't give up. "I told you already, I'm not—oh, good morning." His body goes stone cold as he opens the door and is confronted by two varreven soldiers.
"Good morning, Sigebeald," one replies cordially. "Are you expecting someone?"
"Not... really, no," he mutters, peering around his doorway. "How can I be of assistance?"
"As a matter of fact, the Queen would be most pleased if you would deign to accompany us to the capital."
He blinks. "The Queen," he repeats, voice a whisper. He licks his lips as his mouth suddenly goes dry. "I—of course I can—give—a moment please, to collect my things..."
------------------------------
Prince Herlifur sits crouched over his desk, documents spread out all around him as he laboriously computes various financial details for the county. His ears perk up at a knock on the door. "Enter," he calls, hastily shuffling the many leaves into some vague semblance of order. He nearly leaps out of his seat as a vixen strides in wearing a dark red shoulder cape atop an emerald green overcoat. "Liffa!" he grins, "T'is not often you venture outside of Dal!" His grin quickly fades. "Nothing serious, I hope?"
She shakes her head. "There are some legal matters in Vittorn that I have been sent to resolve, and I could not neglect to pay my dear brother a visit." She walks over to his side and peers over the data. "An early start to tax season?"
"Ranvild needs reports on county expenditures before he can plot expansion southward. Presumably whatever he has in mind will consume a fair portion of the treasury."
"Perhaps I should return when you are not presently preoccupied?"
The prince leans back in his chair with a grin. "T'is a distraction much appreciated." Then, with an inquisitive expression, he starts: "Know you why Mother sent for Sigebeald?"
"The necromancer?" she asks, "I had not heard..."
"I received a dispatch last evening with instructions to send him to the capital. An escort left this morning."
Liffa shakes her head. "Presumably if he had fouled up, you would already know."
"Presumably. Speaking of foul-ups, I still need to organize a follow-up to the western venture. The entire party lost save one. Hydras and swamp ships..." He lets out a long sigh. "And I cannot simply petition Ranvild for an expedition like that of our brother. The Dry Hills are devoid of settlement, making logistics a nightmare, and an army that large may be seen as provocation by Nuifallash."
"Perhaps an adventure party?" offers the princess. "This case is precisely what such circles thrive upon, and undertaken by them it would be of minimal expense to the realm."
"Adventurers," Herlifur scoffs, "Treasure-hunting opportunists. We would be better-served by hiring Nuifallash. At least they might be trusted not to loot everything they find."
Liffa shoots her brother a crooked smile. "You simply have not met the right people. See if Hakkan can be seconded from duty; I will find a suitable team for his leadership."
He looks up at her in disbelief. "Very well, then," he concedes with a wry smile.
Liffa straightens up. "I shall to my own duties; a swift resolution to yours."
"If you have no plans this evening, you are welcome to join the county hall for dinner."
"T'would be my pleasure," she grins.
The siblings clap their hands together and give each other a squeeze. "Take care."
Last edited:
WhiteRobber
Twinkle twinkle Wunderbar
Brahn
Lands of the Centaur
Lands of the Centaur
Creatures of unknown oirgin, the Centaur are territorial, but peaceful.
Wild Centaur can be encountered in secluded areas, in plains, deserts or any open fields. Fast, strong and intelligent, the Centaur are a proud race , but this is the very same reason they are currently not united. Struggle for power led to many strong leaders depart from the main Centaur Horde, to form their own tribes.
There are many Centaur factions, but they recently untied under the leadership of Halcyon Silverhoof .
Centaur factions:
The Centaur Horde, altough weakened, still stands, led by twin brothers Ylarion and Sagrath. The Centaurs of this group use mostly bows and axes for abttle, but some say they also use more advanced weapons, like longbows, halberds, scythes, tridents and staves.
The Twin River Clan , led by Harmath The Grey, is the only cannibal Centaur group. They are violent, fierce, but extremely loyal. They use all kinds of weapons, but efuse to wear any protection.
The Horde of the Eastern Plains is a self-proclaimed Centaur Kingdom, led by Khan Barlun, a self-proclaimed king. They use bows, spears and flails
The Broken Horn is a small tribe of Centaur who live around an abandoned town, whom they call Haran. their leader is a former inhabitant of Haran, who claims that an ancient God destroyed the city and they have to worshipp the ancient deity to avoid the same fate. They refuse to use sharp weapons, thus use large warhammers.
The Aldan Alliance is a confederation of six small tribes who wander the Plains in search for a worthy opponent, but they accept being hired as mercenaries. They are led by a Centaur who wears a black armor and enver revealed his face, who is rumored to have slain single-handedly a legion of dragons, but the battle incapacitated him too much and scarred him forever, earning him the nickname Dragonscar. they sue large battle axes, spears, lances, and long, decorated shields.
The West Watch is a group made of two Centaur tribes who supervise an important mountain pass in the west and provide protection to a number of foreign trading posts. They use Bows, crossbows, swords and shields.
Under the leadership of Halcyon, the Centaur began forming a real kingdom. Apparently, it's a democratical monarchy: the eladers of all Tribes mentioned above can be considered rulers of the Centaur hordes, but they actually form the Council of the Plains.
The Council of the Plains is made of:
- Halcyon Silverhoof, of the Centaur Horde
- Ylarion Bloodaxe, of the Centaur Horde
- Sagrath loodaxe , of the Centaur Horde
- Erregan Greengraze, of the Centaur Horde
- Harmath the Grey, of the Twin Rivers
- Zalargoth Nimblebow, of the Twin Rivers
- Khan Barlun, of the Eastern Plains
- Urgan Haranor, of the Broken Horn
- Dragonscar, of the Aldan Alliance
- Hiram Halcarus, of the Aldan Alliance
- Furgath Bonebreaker, of the Aldan Alliance
- Tarys Gath, of the Aldan Alliance
- Hardrick Stoneskin, of the Aldan Alliance
- Kuraon Siruruk, of the Aldan Alliance
- Hath Grimhorn, of the West Watch
- Tarkagan Goreslash, of the West Watch
The Flag of the Centaur is composed of 4 flags, of the 4 different Plains regions controleld by them.
==================
OOC: if I missed anything, tell me.
Also, keep your promise.....
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
The Huecalpixqui considered this message.
He was gone from his great hall.
He just sat in a smaller room, pondering.
A million different texts, all in the Tlaloc language, surronded him. Divine books from moons past, predictions for the next seven centuries, treatises on war and Death and the nature of the Gods.
He sat. And thought.
Eventually he called for a general.
The General entered and saluted the Huecalpixqui.
"I have considered the message of this K'iche."
"And, sir?"
"I have decided that I will go to the temple, along with ten warriors."
"But sir, what if you are to die?"
The Huecalpixqui sighed and pulled out a tablet.
"It does not matter. The Days of Blood and Despair are at hand.
If I go and die there in battle, it will be most glorious.
If I stay, I am weak-willed and potentially an apostate, and this is not the case.
If I go and get killed by this K'Iche, then you and your next Huecalpixqui know better than to trust him.
It does not matter. You may lose 11 lives in the process. But how many of us are there? Several thousand.
And that, my dear friend, is why I shall go."
The general looked sternly at the Huecalpixqui.
"Then I shall find 10 of my best fighters."
"No. Let it be 10 warriors who should taste battle, not those who have several victories under their belt and a hundred skulls on their mantlepiece."
The general saluted.
"Very well, the arragements for transport shall be made."
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
You might need to wait a couple turns. There's some important backgrounding that will inform the encounter. Hishuk ish t'sawalk.
filli_noctus
Hmmn
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2010
- Messages
- 2,221
A mysterious slave trader has been making the rounds of the less savoury cities of Cumhail's major continent. Although he travels without guards few of the hardened criminals that inhabit the places he visits threaten him and those that do are not heard of again.
Although he trades in the flesh of all races he is said to pay richly for common fairy, garuda and Aerion slaves.
Although he trades in the flesh of all races he is said to pay richly for common fairy, garuda and Aerion slaves.
Civ'ed
I ain't gotta explain a thing
You need to locate where on the map this shrine is first CivThe mountain is a great site.
I never said they knew where they were going. They're headed North, and eventually, you'll see a mountain, correct?
Ailedhoo
wonderer
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2012
- Messages
- 7,809
It is best you scout out or your Emperor may fall victim to a unknown settlement before discovering the point. Special sites require that you explore or claim the area with the site located. This way powers who take in logistics grow greatly.
KaiserElectric
Total Freakin Besties
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2007
- Messages
- 3,461
Sorry Ailed, but I think I'll have to drop this, I don't have the time to give this the attention it deserves. 
filli_noctus
Hmmn
- Joined
- Nov 22, 2010
- Messages
- 2,221
Marret watched the goblin making his way across the hall. The creature strolled casually over the flagstones where most mortal beings would be cowering and constantly checking for the closest exit. Its clothes and shoes were worn and patched, and only an expert eye could tell this was deliberate when in actuality they were well tailored, comfortable and would not interfere with the wearers movement. Marret possessed such an eye.
For a goblin it was freakishly large - nearly as tall as a human - though Marret knew it could hide that size well when it so desired. He leaned forward as the creature approached the throne, removing its carefully tattered hat to perform a theatrical bow.
"How may the Wight King benefit from my service?" it asked, looking up into Marret's face.
Marret stood sharply. "Any other mortal would be dead for such insolence!" he roared.
"Then it is fortunate I am not any other mortal," replied the goblin, replacing its hat upon its head
Marret glared for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You are fortunate indeed, Sertet, there are so few mortals I find worthy and most of them become Wights soon after. Why do you always refuse the offer?"
"Because I am not yet so old that I grow tired of the joys of life and the willing company of the living," replied Sertet.
"And the unwilling," Marret interjected as he clasped Sertet's hand.
"Quite so," said Sertet, with a wicked grin, "speaking of which, do you have any kobolds in your dungeon? I have learnt some new games to play with them. The music I can make them play."
"Unfortunately not, but I will arrange some for your next visit."
The goblin shook its head. "Business then," it said, with a sligh downcast look, "I had so hoped that this would be a pleasure trip."
"It's true I need a diversion from the experimenting and the planning," the king said leading Sertet to his spartan private chamber, "but, yes, this is business."
Sertet helped himself to the wine on the table. "Then to business," he said, raising the goblet, "tell me what you require."
"The Kingdom of Shee have expanded from their little island on to the mainland. Their new holdings lie in the approximate area I intend to expand my rule into. One of their drawbacks of a mortal monarchy are the pretenders to the throne thanks to all the claims that get passed around. I want you to find out if any of those claimants are sufficiently disgruntled and ambitious to consider working with my kind. Be discrete though, I cannot have Formont linked to this too soon."
"I am the very soul of discretion, Marret. As you well know. Now, if that is all we may as well have some fun. I assume you have some human prisoners at least. Since we were last here I met a Tlaloc splinter cult and they had developed these wonderful little implements...."
For a goblin it was freakishly large - nearly as tall as a human - though Marret knew it could hide that size well when it so desired. He leaned forward as the creature approached the throne, removing its carefully tattered hat to perform a theatrical bow.
"How may the Wight King benefit from my service?" it asked, looking up into Marret's face.
Marret stood sharply. "Any other mortal would be dead for such insolence!" he roared.
"Then it is fortunate I am not any other mortal," replied the goblin, replacing its hat upon its head
Marret glared for a moment, then burst out laughing. "You are fortunate indeed, Sertet, there are so few mortals I find worthy and most of them become Wights soon after. Why do you always refuse the offer?"
"Because I am not yet so old that I grow tired of the joys of life and the willing company of the living," replied Sertet.
"And the unwilling," Marret interjected as he clasped Sertet's hand.
"Quite so," said Sertet, with a wicked grin, "speaking of which, do you have any kobolds in your dungeon? I have learnt some new games to play with them. The music I can make them play."
"Unfortunately not, but I will arrange some for your next visit."
The goblin shook its head. "Business then," it said, with a sligh downcast look, "I had so hoped that this would be a pleasure trip."
"It's true I need a diversion from the experimenting and the planning," the king said leading Sertet to his spartan private chamber, "but, yes, this is business."
Sertet helped himself to the wine on the table. "Then to business," he said, raising the goblet, "tell me what you require."
"The Kingdom of Shee have expanded from their little island on to the mainland. Their new holdings lie in the approximate area I intend to expand my rule into. One of their drawbacks of a mortal monarchy are the pretenders to the throne thanks to all the claims that get passed around. I want you to find out if any of those claimants are sufficiently disgruntled and ambitious to consider working with my kind. Be discrete though, I cannot have Formont linked to this too soon."
"I am the very soul of discretion, Marret. As you well know. Now, if that is all we may as well have some fun. I assume you have some human prisoners at least. Since we were last here I met a Tlaloc splinter cult and they had developed these wonderful little implements...."
