The Assassins - Episode 54

Episode 54 – The Grand Opening

The Assassins	Azareth - Wizard 4th Level LE (PC) Craven - Fighter / Rogue 3rd / 3rd CE (LE suppressed) (PC) Creighton - Fighter 4th Level LE (PC) Keldirk - Rogue 5th level NE (PC)
Locale	The office of Mickey Moritz in the River Quarter of Del Mord.
Date	15th Wealsun 582 CY
Time	Midday

Mickey Moritz loved paperwork.

The documents gave him a sense of power, a sense of achievement. With each signature and official seal he set into motion a course of action that either launched or concluded an important transaction or piece of business. Such accomplishments made Mickey Moritz feel good, feel powerful. He loved the hold that a simple piece of parchment could have over the lives of common people and, by extension, the hold Mickey could have over their lives.

The shrewd businessman smiled as he added his signature to the bottom of another document and sat back with a sigh. With that last signature Mickey concluded the renovations on The Whistler and finalized the preparations for the opening night. It was the culmination of many months of work and he had no doubt that Simpkin Furzear, master of the Foreign Quarter Thieves Guild, would reward him handsomely for his efforts.

Stifling a yawn Mickey rose from his desk and walked around his plush office. He strode to an ornate wooden buffet positioned below a window that overlooked the street and carefully poured himself a drink. Now that the legalities were over he had to concentrate on getting through the actual festivities. The invitations had all been sent, the staff hired and the entertainment booked. Everything was in readiness - well, almost everything.

All that remained was to brief the four "owners" of their duties. He hated dealing with adventurer types; they always had an inflated sense of their own importance, and this group were more annoying than most. Mickey finished his glass and prepared a message, summoning a member of the group to his office. He passed the note to his assistant and waited. He glanced over the completed pile of paperwork and smiled contentedly.

Life was good.

It was mid-afternoon when the messenger arrived.

Azareth descended the stairs of the River Snag hostel, having just finished his daily check on Craven. The mage was exhausted from the many hours he spent at the Del Mord Academy of magic researching a possible cure for his fellow assassin and he was looking forward to a relaxing evening at the Bookworm Cafe. So intent was Azareth on his evening's plans that he almost failed to notice Harry's feeble attempts to get his attention.

Harry	Oy.
Azareth	Are you talking to me?
Harry	There's a message for you.
Azareth	Oh? (approaches the desk and extends his hand) When did it arrive?
Harry	Just a little while ago. (smiles) I paid the messenger a copper.
Azareth	(frowns) I see. (fishes into his purse and withdraws a copper coin) The message?
Harry	(takes the coin and hands a folded piece of parchment to Azareth) Sure.

Azareth opened the sealed missive and began to read. Upon reading the first few lines his spirits sank almost immediately. The last thing he needed right now was a meeting with the pompous businessman, Mickey Moritz. With an audible sigh he folded the note, tucked it into his belt pouch and left the hostel for Mickey's office.

The weather was magnificent and Azareth's mood had improved ever so slightly by the time he reached Mickey's office. He opened the door and approached the front desk where Mickey's young assistant sat sorting a number of files.

assistant	(looks up from her work) May I help you?
Azareth	(nods) My name is Azareth. I received a message from Mickey requesting my presence. (hands her the folded note)
assistant	(reads) Very good, sir, I will tell him you have arrived. Please, take a seat, I won't be long.

A few moments later Azareth stood in Mickey's plush office. Mickey didn't raise his eyes from the papers arrayed before him until the assistant had closed the door.

Mickey	Sit.
Azareth	(raises his eyebrows) And hello to you, too.
Mickey	I'm an important man and I don't have time to waste on redundant social niceties. Now sit.
Azareth	(takes a seat, noticing with a wry smile that his chair was noticeably lower than Mickey's)
Mickey	You're late.
Azareth	I am very well, thank you. Though I am suffering a slight case of indigestion. I appreciate your concern.
Mickey	Are you trying to be funny?
Azareth	My colleagues are fighting fit, also. I shall pass on your regards.
Mickey	Enough! I have better things to do that listen to the inane ramblings of a smart arse. I have summoned you here for a reason.
Azareth	Summoned? (laughs)
Mickey	The renovations of The Whistler have been completed to my satisfaction and the gala opening is scheduled for Waterday evening. Your attendance, and that of your three dopey friends, is mandatory.
Azareth	Mandatory?
Mickey	Waterday is in three days. That should give you sufficient time to bathe and purchase some garments befitting such an occasion. Riding boots, armour, hunting garb, bloodied weapons and shrunken heads on a chain will not be tolerated.
Azareth	Shrunken heads?
Mickey	One of you will be required to deliver a welcoming speech to the guests. I suggest you select somebody who can string three words together. That ugly, drooling, baboon colleague of yours need not be considered. Keep the speech brief and try your best not to insult the guests. Once the speech has been delivered your formal participation in the evening will be concluded. Shake a few hands, have a drink then make yourself scarce. Now listen to me carefully. It is your responsibility to keep your ugly friend from disgusting the attendees. Many important personages have been invited and Master Simpkin has demanded that the celebrations run smoothly without any complications. Understood?
Azareth	Who has been invited?
Mickey	A great many people; politicians, merchants, suppliers, artisans, guild representatives and other important personalities.
Azareth	Why on Oerth would you invite people like that to The Whistler?
Mickey	For political reasons, let's leave it at that. The details are none of your concern. Just do everything exactly as I said and we'll get along fine. Now, get out.

The days leading up to the opening of The Whistler seemed to fly past. Craven was selected to deliver the speech and Azareth arranged the purchase of suitable clothing for the assassins. Before anyone could blink an eyelid the guests began to arrive.

It was obvious from the outset that no expense had been spared. Plush red carpets led up to The Whistler's polished double doors lined by tall, slender poles topped with flaming torches. Highly skilled street performers greeted each guest as they stepped out of fine carriages, entertaining them by tossing balls or by fluid contortions much to the amusement of the assembled crowd. Passers-by stopped to gawk at the spectacle and soon quite a crowd had formed, kept at bay by four immaculately presented and well- proportioned guards.

Inside, The Whistler was beginning to fill. Wealthy representatives from all sections of Del Mord society talked in jovial tones as uniformed serving staff flitted about bearing drinks and platters filled with hors d'oeuvres. Upon a small semi-circular stage set against one wall three musicians sat and waited for the arrival of their vocalist. Around them, revelers talked amongst themselves as they sipped on fine wine and patiently waited for the musicians to begin the night's entertainment.

From a landing part way up the stairs, Keldirk watched the assembled crowd. He studied the patrons with interest, impressed by the calibre of the turn out. As each new guest arrived the Master of Ceremonies, Draavid Klim would announce their name and an usher would escort them to their seat. The young assassin had to admit that Simpkin Furzear, Guildmaster of the Foreign Quarter Thieves Guild, knew how to throw a party.

Keldirk looked across the room to where his fellow assassins had gathered. Craven stood alone beside the stage and was busily of making last minute adjustments to his speech. Azareth and Creighton had already taken their seats and sat in silence under the ever-watchful gaze of a gaudily dressed Mickey Moritz. Creighton tugged at his stiff collar, obviously uncomfortable in the formal attire, but his attempt to voice his disapproval was cut short by a fierce glare from the oily businessman.

Keldirk noticed that the vocalist had arrived and the minstrels were preparing to begin their performance. The assembled guests took their seats and Keldirk peered around looking for a more comfortable position. Just then the front doors opened admitting a tall, immaculately dressed man followed by two fully armed and armoured knights. Keldirk stopped in his tracks, he had seen this man before but couldn't put his finger on where. Moments later Draavid announced the stranger and thereby put a name to the familiar face.

Draavid

May I present the ambassador to Del Mord for The Great Kingdom, Ambassador Shade.

Keldirk suppressed a whistle of surprise as the tall, imposing ambassador strode in and took his seat. Shade's two knights positioned themselves to his immediate left and right and set about examining the crowd with cool, professional detachment. Keldirk noted that some of the guests were visibly upset by the Ambassador's presence but it seemed that none were prepared to voice their disapproval openly.

Draavid	(stamps his ceremonial staff on the floor three times) Please join me in welcoming the gem of the west, Lady Deelia McLey to the stage.
crowd	(applaud)

As the scarlet-robed vocalist stepped on to the stage the crowd settled in for what promised to be a wondrous performance by an artist renowned for her ethereal voice.

Deelia	Thank you. Thank you.
crowd	(quiet)
Deelia	The words of this song were penned long ago by the great lord and bard Alfred son of Tenny. It is said that he was a visitor to Oerth from a parallel world not dissimilar to our own and wrote this when he became trapped here so that he and his homeland are never forgotten.
band	(begin to play)
Deelia	On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road run by To many-towered Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott Only reapers, reaping early, In among the beared barley Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot; And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listing, whispers "'tis the fairy The Lady of Shalott." There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott. And moving through a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The Knights come riding two and two. She hath no loyal Knight and true, The Lady of Shalott. But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and with lights And music, went to Camelot; Or when the Moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed. "I am half sick of shadow," she said, The Lady of Shalott. A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves, Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down to Camelot. And from the bank and from the river He flashed into the crystal mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot. Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott. In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad stream in his banks complaining. Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And round the prow she wrote The Lady of Shalott. Down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own mischance - With a glassy countenance She looked to Camelot. And at the closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore her far away, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted slowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. And out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? And what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, The Knights at Camelot; But Lancelot mused a little space He said, "she has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott

The musicians slowly softened their playing until silence ruled in The Whistler. The crowd was awestruck by Deelia's magnificent performance and they sat in silence for several moments before the applause shattered the quiet. Deelia bowed deeply and acknowledged the musicians before she turned and led her band off stage. The Master of Ceremonies took the musicians' place on stage before inviting one of the Craven to give his opening speech. Somewhat nervously the pale and sickly assassin climbed the stairs, coughed once, then began his address.

Craven had only spoken a few words of welcome when a familiar voice resounded in the back of his mind.

Come to me

Craven faltered and immediately began to sweat. Not now, he thought, not in front of all these people. He forged on regardless, hoping that Natasha's call would be overwhelmed by the situation. But instead of dying out, the vampire's summoning only increased in resonance.

Come to me

Craven shook his head in a vain attempt to banish Natasha from his thoughts. In his mind's eye he could see her standing before him, resplendent in a beautiful gown, her long, dark hair framing her lovely face. He could almost smell her, almost as if she was nearby. He had longed to touch her again, to take her in his arms and be one with her but he knew that would be a mistake. Craven bit his lip, hard. He knew that joining Natasha was impossible - he had been forbidden to see her. For the last week he had allowed himself to be chained to his bed and had managed to ignore her calls. So why was his willpower failing him now?

Craven closed his eyes in frustration. Natasha's sultry voice echoed in his mind and the young duelist struggled to keep hold of his fragile sanity. Every instinct screamed for him to go to her and be at her side for eternity. Why walk with mortals when he could live forever in paradise?

But something was holding him back. Somewhere deep down in Craven's core a tiny spark had resisted the vampire. He opened his eyes and met the steely gaze of Azareth and Creighton. Their very presence lent him strength and in a moment of brilliant clarity Craven knew that it was his oath to The Family that had helped him resist Natasha's call. Swallowing hard, Craven looked down at the notes in his hand and tried to regain his train of thought.

Keldirk looked at his stunned colleague with undisguised hatred. Craven had stopped talking mid-sentence and now stood with a vacant expression on his face. The crowd was growing restless in the awkward silence. Murmurs of bewilderment and the odd chuckle reached Keldirk's ears and the angry young assassin decided that he had seen enough. But before he could turn away Craven recovered his wits and continued with his speech. Keldirk nodded, settled back and continued his scrutiny of the crowd.

As Craven's speech neared its conclusion, Keldirk spied a sudden movement at Ambassador Shade's table. The mysterious emissary had reached out and grasped the steel arm-greave of one of his knights. In a display of incredible strength, Ambassador Shade slowly clenched his fist and buckled the knight's armor. Before Keldirk could give this any further consideration the two large windows either side of The Whistler's front doors shattered inward, spraying the guests with broken glass and debris.

Through each of the broken windows leapt a muscular figure. The first landed on a table and remained there, his twin sabres moving in easy circles before him. His muscular chest was bare and his legs covered in bright crimson pantaloons tied at his waist by a golden cord. His upturned boots, dark hair and rust- colored skin hinted at origins far to the west. His mouth opened in a snarl and the unmistakable fangs of the vampire glistened in the torchlight.

The other figure landed beside a table and watched with mild amusement as those seated nearby scrambled for safety. His skin was the color of jet and his close-cropped hair and beard betrayed his savage origins. As the terrified patrons moved away he bared his fangs and hissed before slowly, deliberately drawing a massive scimitar.

Before anybody could move, the front doors opened and a tall, stunningly beautiful woman swept into the room. All eyes were drawn to her exquisite features and form. She was dressed in an elegant, emerald green robe, cinched tight at her waist. A tight-fitting pair of doeskin thigh-high boots highlighted the shapeliness of her legs and long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and framed her perfectly formed breasts. She hovered at the threshold for a moment and allowed those assembled to feast on her beauty before she stepped inside. Then, with one fluid movement she raised her hand toward the stage and beckoned Craven sensually.

Natasha

Come to me.

Craven was unable to resist. Faced with the object of his darkest desire he slowly, inexorably inched his way through the stunned crowd to his mistress. As soon as Craven reached Natasha's side she allowed him to take her arm then the pair turned and left The Whistler.

Natasha's two vampirical aides watched the crowd warningly, promising swift reprisal for any acts of aggression. A few breaths later they somersaulted back through the broken windows and disappeared into the darkness.

The instant Craven and the newcomers left the taproom chaos reigned. It was as though a fog had been lifted from the minds of the guests and they could finally react. Most screamed in fear and cowered behind tables and chairs. A few others drew weapons and cast about the room in search of threats. Those closest to the broken windows shook glass from their hair and clothes while others fled through the front doors and ran terrified through the streets.

Keldirk regained his composure quicker than most and watched with keen interest as Ambassador Shade and his two Knight Protectors rose from their table and walked purposefully toward the kitchen. Keldirk signaled for Creighton and Azareth to follow Craven before he jumped over the balustrade and entered the kitchen.

Mickey Moritz	(clutches at Creighton's shirt) How about you tell me what the nine hells is going on here!
Creighton	(pushes Mickey firmly aside) Get out of my way, little man. (follows Azareth towards the door)
Mickey Moritz	Come back here. Hey! I'm talking to you!

Creighton and Azareth left the tavern and peered up and down Harpview Road. In the distance Creighton spied Craven and the three strangers just as they turned a corner.

Creighton

(points) There! Let's go.

Keldirk entered the kitchen warily. Inside, two cooks and a number of the serving staff were in a heated discussion about what exactly had transpired. Keldirk glanced about the room then made his way quickly toward the rear exit.

The alleyway at the rear of The Whistler was deserted. Keldirk moved several yards away from the kitchen door then listened intently. He heard muffled conversation and the unmistakable clank of armour from around the corner. Weighing up his options Keldirk decided to take a risk and he moved silently toward the sound.

Shade	... and you, keep your wits about you; her bodyguards are strong and powerful.
knight	Will you be able to find her, my Lord?
Shade	Yes. I can smell her now I will have no trouble following her.
knight	Did she sense you, my Lord?
Shade	I don't think so. She is young.
knight	What would you have us do, my Lord?
Shade	Leave her to me. The others are yours.
knight	What about the human?
Shade	Kill him, he is nothing to me. Are you ready?
knights	Yes, my Lord.

Keldirk's continued to listen despite a natural instinct to run. Only when he heard the distinctive sound of spellcasting did he retreat to the relative safety of The Whistler.

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Italic Text	Character's thoughts or actions if surrounded by parenthesis
Bold Text	Character is shouting.