Session 24: A Noble Request

The sun hung low, a bloody eye upon the horizon, as the Dandy Fraulein sliced steadily upriver toward Kemperbad. The cliffs rose higher with each passing mile, their sheer faces etched with scars of time and violent floods—testaments of ages where nature had clawed at stone, desperate to reclaim its dominion. Felrick Flappan lounged by the mast, his sharp copper eyes wary despite the comfortable rhythm of the river’s flow. The gnome bounty hunter had lived long enough to trust nothing entirely, least of all a deceptively placid current.

Qavitrae, poised at the wheel with a seasoned grace born of centuries, guided the vessel effortlessly toward the bustling docks, her emerald gaze scanning methodically for threats or curiosities. The wood elf captain carried her militant poise like armor, her strategic mind already mapping possibilities and outcomes of this new city, where wine barrels, wolves, and wizards mingled uneasily aboard her ship.

It was Thindruk Steelbone, the dwarven viscount with no lands yet a lifetime of experiences, who first noted the ostentatious vessel dominating the docks. Ornate and gaudy, it screamed wealth and privilege, its passengers cloaked in velvets and arrogance. Foremost among them stood a middle-aged figure, his crimson attire vibrant as fresh blood, the mark of imperial authority emblazoned upon his breast.

“Count Boorman,” murmured Felrick knowingly. The name carried weight like a broadsword, edged with caution. His gaze flicked, wary as ever, to a smaller, less remarkable boat moored unobtrusively—one they’d spotted repeatedly on their journey upriver. Its unassuming nature set the bounty hunter’s instincts aflame, a quiet suspicion threading tightly through his mind.

Docked and greeted brusquely by a flaxen-haired dock attendant, Qavitrae deftly negotiated their cargo and passage, her voice a melody of courtesy tempered with pragmatic authority. Yet even as coins exchanged hands, the group’s collective attention drifted inevitably back to Count Boorman and the smaller, mysterious boat.

Felrick’s unease grew sharply as he caught sight of a figure in drab grey, standing at the periphery, watching with calculated stillness. A traveler by appearance, perhaps—but the sword at his hip spoke differently. It whispered of shadowed intent and deadly purpose. Felrick’s narrowed gaze held the stranger’s until the man melted into the crowd, leaving only a lingering chill behind.

“He reminds me of someone,” Felrick muttered darkly, memories of previous dangers and ambushes surfacing unbidden. His companions understood; they too had been watched before, hunted before. A wary silence settled among them, an unspoken pact of vigilance reaffirmed.

Yet caution soon gave way to necessity. Docked at Kemperbad, the pressing urgency to offload their cargo—wine barrels of questionable provenance—led them into the heart of commerce. The city was a maze of intrigue, fueled by coin, whispers, and suspicion. Kemperbad’s merchant guilds pulled unseen strings, and Count Boorman’s sudden presence had stirred hornets among the moneyed elite.

Evening found them amid the raucous warmth of the River’s Rest tavern, trading rumors, gauging possibilities. But laughter turned to guarded silence as Thindruk was approached discreetly by two formidable youths, their confidence declaring them as hired blades even before their polite invitation was voiced. They served Herr Keitel, a man whose reputation preceded him as surely as his gold, and who now requested the dwarven viscount’s company for dinner and discussion.

Seated within Herr Keitel’s private chambers, surrounded by the trappings of wealth—fine cheeses, aged wines, delicacies whispering tales of distant lands—Thindruk quickly discerned the true nature of their meeting. The merchant councilor’s distress was tangible, carefully masked beneath civility as he spoke of Count Boorman’s disruptive arrival. Old contracts between Kemperbad and the Emperor, long forgotten or deliberately ignored, now threatened their careful autonomy and the profits sustaining it.

“It is not merely wine that brings you here, Lord Thindruk,” Keitel finally admitted, his voice low, strained with an anxiety seldom displayed by men of his stature. “It is influence—your presence could provide the perfect distraction for Count Boorman. Two or three days’ companionship, enough to occupy his mind and divert his scrutiny.”

The dwarf considered carefully, Qavitrae’s watchful silence lending weight to the pause. Obligations pressed upon them—time and safety were luxuries they scarce possessed. Yet the whispered threats of shadowy observers, the subtle menace of grey-clad strangers, reminded Thindruk sharply that their interests aligned precariously with the merchant’s.

“I shall give you two days,” Thindruk declared firmly, his voice measured yet immovable. “Two days of refined entertainment, rich feasts, and noble company to occupy your troublesome Count. But no more. Our own paths demand urgency.”

Herr Keitel nodded slowly, reluctantly acquiescing. The bargain sealed with wine and mutual necessity, he pledged ample recompense for their wine—far more generous than the vintage deserved—a clear price for Thindruk’s noble distraction.

Meanwhile, Felrick, ever the vigilant shadow, observed from afar, ensuring no treachery awaited. Beneath the rough facade of his genial mischief lay a steel trap of cunning and suspicion, honed by perilous roads and treacherous pursuits. He knew the comfort of fine chambers hid sharper dangers—wealth invited violence, and secrecy invited betrayal.

Nightfall wrapped Kemperbad in shadowed silk, the docks still bustling yet now tinged with caution. Aboard the Dandy Fraulein, Eusapia guarded their secrets—wine barrels, wolves, and the amber mage whose power and peril intertwined dangerously with their fates. Her whispered knowledge of Grey Wizards and Imperial eyes added urgency to their resolve to leave swiftly, before the fragile balance they walked shattered beneath a wizard’s wrath or an imperial’s scrutiny.

In the tavern below, Nora Abendroth and Wanda Hahnemann stirred the tavern’s lively spirits, their laughter hiding the careful watchfulness they’d honed in previous dangers. Nora’s athletic frame moved confidently through crowds, while Wanda’s piercing gaze never missed a detail, their presence a bulwark against the unseen threats lurking within the joyful clamor.

As the midnight bells echoed solemnly through Kemperbad’s ancient streets, Thindruk and Qavitrae descended from Keitel’s chamber, the dwarf’s brows knit with purpose. Tomorrow, he would charm, entertain, and distract an Imperial plenipotentiary, wielding politeness and flattery as deftly as any blade. Beside him, Qavitrae walked in thoughtful silence, mind already at work, strategizing for all eventualities.

They were a curious company—a dwarf lord without lands, an elf captain sailing human rivers, a gnome bounty hunter ever vigilant, and humans drawn by fate into uncertain glory. Together, they moved through the treacherous tides of Kemperbad’s politics and peril, knowing that their actions now would ripple far beyond the city’s cliffs and docks.

And beneath the gaze of shadowy observers, hidden agendas, and whispers of magic and betrayal, the company prepared for the coming storm, understanding clearly that their true enemy—ever elusive—lay waiting patiently within.