Session 25: Playtime

Nightfall draped Kemperbad in silken shadows, and with the lowering of the sun, intrigue blossomed within its winding streets and gilded parlors. Thindruk Steelbone, Viscount without lands yet rich in cunning, found himself in the sumptuous halls of Herr Keitel’s mansion, weaving stories to charm and disarm the city’s elite. Beside him stood Qavitrae, her elven poise marked by a curious mixture of elegance and menace, her eyes scanning the gathering like a predator amidst prey. Their appearance together, dwarf noble and elf blade dancer, stirred whispers and speculative glances, exactly as intended.

Across town, their gnomish companion, Felrick Flappan, made sport in Dynig’s Gasthaus—a modest yet comfortable establishment favored by merchant travelers. Felrick, ever the consummate rogue, amused a growing crowd by mounting his darts onto arrows, launching them with pinpoint accuracy from across the room. Beside him, Nora Abendroth nursed an ale, her competitive spirit quietly plotting her own turn at the dartboard.

At Keitel’s mansion, Count Otto Boorman, imperial plenipotentiary and consummate bureaucrat, held court amidst a circle of simpering merchants, their eyes alight with ambition and flattery. Yet beneath his practiced smiles lurked boredom—an ennui Thindruk recognized immediately. The dwarf watched carefully, waiting patiently until the crowd’s enthusiasm waned, before casually insinuating himself into the Count’s orbit.

“High society grows tedious swiftly, does it not, Count Boorman?” Thindruk remarked lightly, catching the nobleman’s fleeting attention. “Perhaps we could seek amusement in simpler fare—a tavern I know, frequented by an old acquaintance whose tales are as sharp as his aim.”

Boorman hesitated, drawn by the allure of escape yet restrained by imperial decorum. A careful persuasion, greased with wine and subtle charm, coaxed the Count into agreeing to a brief respite from the tiresome social charade. Thus did Thindruk and Qavitrae lead their quarry from silken halls into the warm, lively chaos of Dynig’s Gasthaus.

Introductions came swiftly as Felrick’s spirited antics caught Boorman’s eye, drawing reluctant amusement from the typically restrained noble. The Count, initially wary, soon found himself drawn into conversation—a dance of words masterfully orchestrated by Thindruk and Qavitrae. Yet it was the elf’s tales of ancient battles and quiet heroism, whispered recollections of Emperor Magnus and the Empire’s formative conflicts, that pierced Boorman’s carefully constructed armor. Here was a man of bureaucracy unmasked as a scholar and patriot, his fascination overcoming his discomfort as stories unraveled, weaving past and present into a captivating tapestry.

As the evening deepened into night, Boorman’s cheeks flushed crimson from wine and storytelling alike. By night’s end, Thindruk, sensing an opportunity to extend their control over the Count, subtly suggested breakfast at a famed establishment known for delicate pastries and honeycakes. Boorman, warmed by drink and enamored by tales of the Empire, agreed with an indulgent smile, unaware that his next day had already been planned.

Dawn rose pale and gentle over Kemperbad. Thindruk and Qavitrae joined Count Boorman at Mademoiselle Delitre’s Delicatessen, their casual elegance blending seamlessly into the refined morning clientele. Conversation drifted effortlessly from trivial pleasantries into deeper historical waters, continuing the narrative threads woven the night before. The Count, relishing intellectual discourse over exquisite pastries, gradually relaxed, his formidable defenses softened by the genuine pleasure of erudite companionship.

Following breakfast, they escorted Boorman to a private library secured through Keitel’s influence. Amid shelves lined with age-worn tomes and illuminated manuscripts, Qavitrae continued her careful orchestration of scholarly intrigue, deftly distracting the noble with insights into ancient texts and forgotten lore. The Count, ever the scholar beneath his bureaucratic mask, was deeply engaged, yet Thindruk and Qavitrae knew they required more tangible entertainment to fully occupy his attention.

The afternoon sun climbed high when Nora, revealing a cultured side few suspected, suggested attending a renowned historical drama—Esmeralda and the Vampire Lords. A play lauded for both historical accuracy and lurid spectacle, it promised the perfect diversion. Intrigued, the Count acquiesced, unaware how thoroughly he danced upon the strings held deftly by his new companions.

Seated comfortably within a private box at the theater, the group found themselves absorbed by the theatrical performance, a potent blend of bloody melodrama and historical intrigue. The actors portrayed the vampire lords with flamboyant menace, captivating even the skeptical Boorman. Felrick, attentive as ever, watched the crowd from the corner of his eye, vigilant despite the spectacle below.

It was this vigilance that allowed Felrick to notice a clerk of unmistakably imperial bearing, accompanied by an usher, discreetly indicating their private box. With silent urgency, Felrick alerted Qavitrae, who swiftly excused herself to intercept the interloper before he could disturb the Count’s entertainment.

Outside the box, Qavitrae confronted the nervous clerk, her voice gentle yet authoritative. The clerk urgently handed over a written plea: bureaucratic sabotage prevented access to Kemperbad’s amended charter, frustrating the Count’s retinue and urgently necessitating his intervention. With smooth assurances and practiced diplomatic flair, Qavitrae accepted the note, promising swift delivery—though she had no such intention.

Instead, under cover of quiet shadows and discreet corridors, Qavitrae met privately with Herr Keitel, sharing the intercepted message. Keitel, appreciating their resourcefulness, promised just enough cooperation to forestall further attempts at contacting Boorman, ensuring his continued distraction without raising undue suspicion. Having secured their delicate control over events, Qavitrae destroyed the clerk’s message and returned unnoticed to her companions.

Meanwhile, as the play reached its grisly climax, the audience gasping in delighted horror, Thindruk found himself quietly satisfied. Their carefully laid plans held firm, the Count thoroughly distracted by spectacle and intellectual fascination. Yet unknown to them all, another observer lingered in the shadows—Volker, the grey-clad stranger who had watched their arrival into Kemperbad with intense scrutiny.

As the day’s intrigue drew to a close and darkness returned, Volker approached them openly at the River’s Rest. Revealing himself as a wizard of the Grey Order, he confronted them directly about Usapia, their amber wizard passenger whose turbulent magic had drawn the attention of those sworn to contain such dangers. After tense exchanges and quiet threats, Qavitrae’s calm determination convinced Volker of their shared intent: Usapia would be contained or eliminated should she become a threat.

Recognizing the companions’ need for a swift departure from Kemperbad—away from both imperial scrutiny and magical pursuit—Volker presented them with a potent alchemical gift. A potion of enchanted slumber, it promised to immobilize Boorman for an entire day, should conventional distraction falter. His gesture, a calculated risk, underscored the gravity of Usapia’s situation and the subtle alliances forming in Kemperbad’s shadows.

The companions spent the remainder of the night in careful deliberation, weighing risk against opportunity, aware that each choice carried the potential for ruin or reward. Kemperbad, once a mere waypoint on their journey, had become a tangled web of power, secrecy, and peril—one in which they found themselves dangerously enmeshed.

As candles guttered and plans solidified, they knew dawn would bring not only decisions but consequences. Beneath Kemperbad’s veneer of civility, unseen forces moved relentlessly. Whether they emerged as victors or fugitives rested now upon their choices, and upon fate’s grim and capricious hand.