by Domino Finn
"But I am still acting," he assured. "Believe me in this if nothing else: A savior is dawning. No longer will we be beholden to the almighty dollar. Haven is on the cusp of a golden age."
I shook my head. Biblical vagueness didn't win wars, and neither did prophetic saviors. This may have been an epic fantasy world, but I'd clashed with reality enough to steer clear of that moniker. Saviors, devils, and even saints—they were all overrated.
1300 Diplomacy
The sky darkened as we returned to the frigate. Our voyage had experienced notable delays, but it was over. The fishing village of Shorehome was minutes up the coast. Once we sailed past the rocky current of the crags, the sea settled into an eerie sway.
It was the mists, if anything. A cloak blanketed the coast and ocean alike. Navigation from here was pure instinct until the city guide lights took over. Yellow-green lanterns lined Shorehome's main dock like wandering ghosts stuck between the land and the sea. The living had seemed to abandon us until a resounding gnarl broke the reverie. The sound thrummed through the Cutter's hull with eerie presence. Every man and woman on the ship cowered.
"Just the kraken letting us know we're seen," said Errol. "If it had any ill intentions, we'd already be dead."
The logic wasn't comforting. That Shorehome had a titan at its disposal was downright terrifying, in fact. I scanned the surrounding mist for any sign of the sea creature, afraid to so much as draw my dragonspear and attract the beast's ire.
Harbormen called out as our frigate approached. Their bustling activity and bells rousted us from creeping fears. Seeing other faces, even that of hardened and crooked pirates, assured me that humanity still had a place here.
"Ho there!" called one as we lowered anchor and tied up at the dock. "A ship this big'll be tough to hide." The conman hooked his thumbs in his pockets and appraised the crew. "I'm not sure ye's have enough silver to bribe me."
" 'Tis fortunate then," replied Errol as he gruffly unloaded. "We be on official business, an' ye won't be pryin' any more silver from me past the standard rate." The captain tossed some coins to the disappointed harbormaster.
"That's not proper business," he objected.
"Take it up with Papa Brugo, if ye wish." Errol Oates stomped across the creaky dock without another word.
I scoured the seas for the kraken until we hit the boardwalk. My relief was short-lived. A contingent of humans and goblins in dark leathers greeted us. The Brothers in Black.
A dark woman stepped forward. "The Papa of all Papas welcomes you, Captain Oates. He extends his greetings to the Protector of Stronghold and the Black Hats." Her hand rested on the pommel of her sheathed sword.
Things in Stronghold had been a little adventurous ever since PvP protections were removed, but Shorehome was a straight-up free-for-all. There wasn't saintly influence for miles. No city watch. Heck, this guild of cutthroats was the closest thing to law and order, and their sheriff was the biggest crime boss in Haven. It was obvious to everybody that Papa Brugo's "welcome" was a mandatory summons.
"If it's all the same to ye," returned Errol, "I'd like me boys to hit the Derelict Dagger. It's been a long voyage."
"Bro!" agreed Kyle excitedly. "That's the seedy bar you told me about. With the busty wenches. I wouldn't mind parking on a stool myself."
Izzy rolled her eyes. "So much for being sick of breasts."
The mystery woman, [Avisa], motioned her head for the crew to skedaddle. Kyle enthusiastically followed but she moved in his path. "No players," was her only explanation. Grug shrugged, thanked the captain, and headed to the oceanfront pirate pub with the others. Errol remained behind.
Talon: You sure splitting up is the best idea?
Errol: Yer bein' paranoid. This here's me home. Thin's are diff'rent than before. Yer safe here.
The score of cutthroats told me otherwise. I reminded myself that Papa Brugo had no cause to hate me anymore. In fact, I came bearing gifts: a war with the crusaders and at least one saint. The crime boss would have open ears for me this time. The escort fell in with us as we marched to the west side of town.
"The Heartcutter," noted Avisa with a nod, "she sports undine scales?"
"Ar," affirmed the captain. "She ain't met her match at sea yet."
"The songs about you must be true," she said with a mischievous edge.
"Ev'ry single one."
I trudged behind them with a muted smirk. Errol was happy to be home, but it was more than the city he missed. Avisa was everything he liked about women: sharp, shady, and sexy. Her black corset accentuated a full bust, which I happened to know was another of Errol's favorite things in a woman.
She was more dutiful and disciplined than Errol's lot, however. While she may have engaged in a flirtatious moment, her stoic demeanor returned as we neared Underkeep. This was business, not a friendly homecoming.
Our group headed into a crisscrossing of small waterways known as the Narrows. The old flood channels were now the seat of power in the city. They housed the Brothers in Black. Underkeep was an underground mine that stretched a number of levels deep. Now it was a sanctum. We marched through the doorway and into the torchlit interior. It was hard not to dwell on the fact that we were completely surrounded.
We were soon at the ornamental door to Papa Brugo's chamber. Avisa opened the way and signaled us to continue. At the end of the small hall sat Papa Brugo on his throne. He was a large man in width, built like a tree trunk without the towering branches—taller than me but only average in height. It didn't make him any less formidable. The crime lord rarely wore a shirt, allowing his large chest and belly to heave as he laughed, which he did often, all hair and olive skin. A boisterous man, a confident man, and the undeniable focal center of every room he entered. The left side of his mouth ended in a large scar across his cheek, making him at once both fearsome and sympathetic.
"My friends!" he boomed, waving us forward with a misshapen smile. "Come. Come."
His whisperer, Hadrian, stood beside him, as did a couple of other men. Brugo's advisors. The crime boss had muscle as well, of course. Two shadowy wraiths without eyes hovered behind him. I swallowed and approached. Errol nodded his head respectfully.
"Bah," laughed Brugo. "Do no such thing amongst friends. You are one of my trusted allies, Captain. Though my Whisperer tells me you are an admiral now. What happened to the rogue I knew who refused to take sides, even with the Brothers in Black?"
"Deepest apologies, Papa Brugo. Joinin' the Black Hats was the only way to rid Haven o' Bishop Tannen."
"A tactical decision, of course. I have always said your bravery was only matched by your cunning." Brugo slapped the shoulder of his Whisperer. "Haven't I said as much, Hadrian?"
The mole of a man nodded. "Often and with conviction, Papa."
The big man smiled. "There, you see? A necessary move, at the time. It does nag me, however, that a loner like you is still affiliated with a Stronghold faction this long after the fact."
Errol swallowed and shrugged. "They done me right so far, Papa. I don't leave me friends high an' dry."
"So you don't." Brugo's merry eyes examined me. "We meet again, Protector of Stronghold. Defier of saints." He leaned forward menacingly. "Savior of Haven."
There was that word again. "I only go by the first title."
"I see." Brugo turned to Hadrian. "The rest must be whispers."
The advisor canted his head. "Protectors as yourselves are called many things by many people. Some titles are honest praises. Others are daggers of jealousy."
The Papa of all Papas chuckled. "My Whisperer has a way with words. He would advise that the enemy of my enemy is a friend. Me?" He shrugged powerful shoulders. "I see no reason not to destroy both enemies."
The diminutive spymaster fixed beady eyes on me. I obviously had to talk my way out of this.
"We're more than friends," I assured him. "We're allies in the same fight."
"Allies?"
"Did I not convince the saints
and crusaders to abandon their war with Shorehome?"
Brugo chuckled. "You believe the bonds of my brothers to be weak against saintly oversight? That we are not free to make our own way?"
"I didn't say that."
"So then you believe that we owe you. That I have a debt to repay for your kindness."
I bit my lip. This was coming out wrong.
"You boys gonna swing dicks all day?"
We both spun at Izzy's interjection, stunned for entirely different reasons. The pixie rested on her winter staff with a bored lean.
"I'm just saying. Really. Everyone knows you're the biggest man in Shorehome, Papa Brugo. And Talon, well, he's bigger in a lot of ways people might not know about." She shot me a wink. I should've owned it but blushed instead. "Fact is," she continued, strolling between us, "we can all get a lot out of working together. Why not discuss fortune instead of misery? Treasure instead of blood?"
Hadrian's tension eased at the speech. He turned to Brugo and whispered in his ear. The big boss appraised us slowly.
"Unfortunately," hedged Brugo, "the Black Hats have forged a temporary peace with the pagan faction. This armistice destroys any chance I have of selling your hide to the goblins." He grunted. "You ruined your wholesale value with that clever stunt."
"It's not a stunt," I announced. "I want peace."
"Peace is impossible," he chortled.
"But it should always be the goal."
His mirth soured. Papa Brugo was a brash and power-hungry narcissist, but he wasn't a warmonger, or even a bad leader for that matter. While he did detest his saintly oppressors, he'd made his own play for peace when nobody had expected him to. Instead of fighting off the goblin horde at his gates, he'd welcomed them in. Given them a home when nobody else would. There was something to learn from that.
"The purple woman with bug wings is right," conceded Brugo. "I like a girl with business sense. Sit on my lap."
Izzy released a hostile snort. "In your dreams."
"Is it because of this man?" he asked. "My bed is large enough that we can swing dicks together."
"I doubt that very much, Papa."
He huffed. "At least you still call me Daddy." The crime boss eyed us. "Perhaps I will dream about you tonight."
"Spare me the details."
"As you wish. For now. We will instead speak of fortune, not blood. Why are you here, Talon of Stronghold?"
I worked my jaw. The only reason I'd managed to keep quiet about his play on Izzy was because I knew she could handle herself. She liked it better that way. Still, I couldn't turn my back on Brugo any time soon. A man like him was used to having anything he wanted, by any means necessary. We all had to be careful here.
"We come to you because Oakengard can't be trusted."
Papa Brugo scoffed. "It was you who was duped into working with them. Tell me something I don't know."
"Saint Loras has taken control of the Trinity."
Hadrian's eyes widened. The Papa turned to his advisor, but no explanation was forthcoming. Apparently whispers only traveled so far.
"I've been there," I expounded. "The Trinity is still fractured from the bishop's defeat. Mara and Gent are paranoid about the priestship. They won't fill the void until Cleric Vagram is defeated."
"If it was up to me he'd be in chains."
"I've got a score to settle with him too."
"But Saint Loras," asked Hadrian. "What of him?"
I swallowed, aiming to keep the problem simple. No reason to delve into Black Hat or Kablammy politics. "We caught him in Oakengard, where he's not supposed to be. He tried to capture us. Judging by reports from Colonel Grimwart, I suspect Loras is exerting his will on the Trinity."
Brugo's hands rubbed together as he worked through the plot. "To what end?"
"Do you even need to ask?" cut in Kyle. "It's his MO, bro. Dude tried to conquer Stronghold with a titan."
"That was Lucifer's doing," protested Hadrian.
"That's what Loras wants everybody to believe. He came after Shorehome next." I turned to Brugo. "You think the saint in charge handed you the Squid's Tooth and Protector mantle for your benefit? He was setting you up as the bad guy. Painting a target on your back so the pagans would harass you and the crusaders would rain hell in Shorehome."
Brugo leaned back in his chair. "You believe me too daft to come to this conclusion on my own?"
"We expect you to do something about it," corrected Izzy.
The big man frowned. Even in silence, he exuded power. His whims would determine the fate of this city, and everyone within would follow him without hesitation.
"The saints can't be trusted," hedged Hadrian.
"That much is known." Skepticism still played across the Papa's face. A leader like him, one who demanded respect, was no doubt angered by the affront of being a puppet. The trick was treading between Brugo's brashness and Hadrian's caution. Together, I knew they'd be receptive, if only I found the play.
"Oakengard is the third city under siege," I said. "This isn't a rogue AI like Bishop Tannen, or a random malcontent like General Azzyrk. This is the result of a plan long coming to fruition. Now, I've seen the crusaders training an army. They claim it a defensive gesture, but it's only a matter of time before they direct their focus on all perceived external threats. To Loras. If they take down Stronghold, we all know where they're heading next."
Hadrian leaned toward his leader but Brugo threw an arm up. "And you will have me join your front. Join your offensive."
"I'll have every free-willed citizen of Haven fight for their lives to defend it."
The Protector of Shorehome hungrily grinned.
"Oakengard is not a seafaring nation," I continued. "The knights pose no threat to Shorehome until they cross through Stronghold. We can hold them off together, at the battlements, goblin and human alike."
"And the saints?" asked Brugo. "They would welcome me into the walled city?"
"It's the peoples' city," I asserted.
Hadrian rested a glove on Brugo's arm. "Perhaps the time of the saints has passed."
The crime boss pursed split lips as he pondered the Whisperer's counsel. Papa Brugo rose to his feet. The room of Brothers snapped to attention. "Then it will be a glorious night," he boomed through a wicked grin. "Because the Brothers in Black sail to the core city tomorrow!" Cheers erupted around us.
1310 Among Thieves
Although I considered Papa Brugo and his people tentative allies, I was relieved to escape Underkeep without a fight.
"They're pulling back their escort," noted Kyle as we hiked clear of the Narrows.
"Don't be naive. They can tail us without being seen. They're master thieves and assassins."
Assassins. I was flirting with a legendary power of the same name. Seeing the abundance of cutthroats in Shorehome, they didn't feel special. It was easy to kill. It was much harder to inspire and create something lasting.
The line of thought reminded me about the attempt on my life at the start of all this. While it wouldn't have been smart to accuse Brugo of the contract, especially given his amicability in person, I should've brought it up.
"Poe," deduced Kyle from my downtrodden expression.
Izzy arched an eye. "The hit man?"
I nodded. "There's a good chance he respawned in Shorehome. Whether or not he's a Brother in Black, he's a danger."
"I wouldn't fret o'r it," Errol casually remarked. "Papa Brugo wouldn't take kindly to an assassin actin' 'gainst his int'rests."
"Doesn't all that clipped speech get tiring?" I asked.
He chuckled. "It ain't late yet, but I do need t' be gettin' off. The Cutter'll be needin' repairs if we're to set sail in the mornin'." Errol bowed in mock respect and headed to the boardwalk. I had a sneaking suspicion his urgent business involved a rendezvous with his crew at the Derelict Dagger.
"What about us?" asked Kyle. "Please tell me your plan is to get fit-shaced."
"That's asking for trouble in this to
wn," warned Izzy. "I don't share Errol's confidence that Poe won't strike when we least expect it. What if Brugo ordered the hit?"
"I've got to agree," I begrudged. "You really wanna let your guard down in a city of bandits? Brugo made it clear how he feels about the enemy of his enemy."
"Bro, if it weren't for all the breasts, this would be the worst pirate voyage ever."
"Interesting you say that, because there are a few ladies I wanna meet right now." I chuckled and led the way to the center of town.
"Well, all right then!"
Izzy smirked. "Hope you have a thing for shriveled skin and empty eye sockets."
The brewmaster furrowed his brow. "What the fuck? I was thinking an octopus tattoo on the butt or something. What kind of kink are you into?"
"This isn't a pirate sexcapade, dumbass. Talon wants to chat up the boggart witches. Last time we were here, they were chained to the ruins of the Great Well. Fallen leaders in a shattered center of power."
I grinned at their exchange. "They were made examples of. Gathering the goblin horde, raising the cyclops titan—and getting spectacularly defeated. The pagan populace didn't take it lightly. It was easy to blame the witches."
Kyle shrugged. "Rightfully so. I seem to remember them being in charge."
"Yeah, but they were penitent after the fact."
" 'Cause they lost."
"I'm not saying they didn't deserve it, just—"
We paused when the Great Well came into view. The site was Shorehome's equivalent of the Pantheon. The area's connection to the central hub. Before Loras abandoned the city, he had detonated the well. At the time it was believed the act safeguarded the codebase and relics within. In hindsight, the conspiracy was in full effect, and the Squid's Tooth already stolen.
"What's going on here?" asked Izzy.
The Great Well was a circular forum, with descending stadium seating leading into a physical well. Large pillars rounded the excavation, but it was otherwise an open space.
Except right now a team of ogres busily heaved stone walls to cordon off the monument.