Secretary Business - Glint - 16/05/2023
May 20, 2023 10:20:41 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Andy D, and 1 more like this
Post by Glint on May 20, 2023 10:20:41 GMT
Co-written with the incredible Jaezred Vandree, with clarifications and contributions from the master of intrigue himself, Charlie (DM)
Glint doesn’t visit Gossamer Threads often, and when he does it’s usually with Root. This time he’s not even going to the Seasons Room! He’s a bit exasperated, having just spent an hour asking about where can he find Lord Vandree. But as the genasi steps into the Calimshan interior with its lush rugs, gently whispering water fountain, and complex coffee aromas, the familiarity of the environment allows him to relax.
He’s still a bit nervous: just because he had distanced himself from his aristocratic upbringing it doesn’t mean he is comfortable meeting a lord in a respectable establishment whilst himself being fresh off a travel vagon and sporting a crown of horns.
For better or worse, he does not have to wait long for the door to suddenly open, and it’s not the waitstaff carrying more tea and scones.
“Hello, Dr. Al-Irad,” says Jaezred, closing the door firmly behind him. “I have been looking for you.”
Glint nods absentmindedly. He barely notices that Jaezred, too, is a bit less of his perfect polished self, and maybe looks tired. After all, Glint concludes, this is hardly the time to be concerned about appearances.
“Likewise, Lord Vandree,” he nods a greeting and sets his coffee cup (which one is it? Third, fourth?) down on the table. “Although it occurred to me you’d have easier time finding me than I would you. I imagine it might surprise you that I’ve been looking to meet with you in the first place. We’re not exactly… what you’d call close friends,” Glint releases a pent up breath. It has always been a bit awkward for him not to be friends with Root’s friends, but then again, this was no longer the sole source of awkwardness. “But the situation has gotten so confusing that if I’m quite honest…” he says with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know who else I can confide in.”
He sits quietly, staring at his coffee cup, living down the shame of the admission.
Jaezred arches a brow and sits down on the cushioned bench next to Glint. The stubble on his jaw gives a slight rugged edge to his usually-formal persona, and he has the look of a man who was forced to start the workday earlier than expected. “This place has strong anti-spying measures — so I’ve been told — so feel free to speak whatever’s on your mind.” He nods at the horns. “Trying a new look, are we?”
Glint is glad he cannot blush.
“Considering the number of tieflings in my life I thought I might give it a shot,” he lies with a charming smile. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” he adds, running a hand through his new head-and-hairdo. Trying to remember his manners, he rakes his mind for what he’s last heard of the drow man from Root and other adventurers. “What about yourself? Enjoying the quiet domesticity after all the excitements of the Dawnlands?”
“I’m still enjoying the ‘excitements’ of the Dawnlands, I’m afraid… But well, as much as I’d love to have small talk over coffee, I do have other pressing matters awaiting my attention. So…what’s up, Doc?”
Glint rolls his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. He forewent his usual pumpkin spice latte and opted for the local dark roast that scoured his throat like a Zakharan sandstorm. It reminded him of the seriousness of the situation, and not of the botanist with a matching tankard ever full of sweet coffee.
“If I could answer that question, I bet I’d already have a seat on the council of Daring Heights,” Glint says with a dark chuckle. “I have no doubt you know of our expedition to Kundar?” He pauses, and continues after receiving a curt nod of confirmation. “I imagine the stories are dreadful?”
“Yes. You made quite the waves in Kundar. But please, continue.”
Glint gives Jaezred a grateful smile.
“I appreciate you not passing any judgment. Not many would be so gracious. This development is actually much tamer than what I’d expect. Mathias Prideborn has a knack for spinning a tale. We were doomed to make a splash as soon as we teleported to Kundar, and even without it he’d probably accuse the adventuring community of being indifferent to Kundarian festivities. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Glint says with a roll of his shoulders. “But I dare say the benefits outweighed the costs. Ambassador Panbas invited me personally to try and get a good look at Prideborn’s secretary’s documents. A humble young kobold lady by the name of Safphira Scaleborn,” the wizard waves his hand and a minor illusion of the green-skinned secretary wearing her signature purple dress appears before him on the coffee table.
Glint looks at it with a hard to read expression, and continues his tale.
“Miss Zabinski found the secretary through her infamous clipboard. Quite a work of art it is. We followed Safphira… less than discreetly, I must admit,” he adds acerbically. “And caught her in a conversation with that absolute unit of a minotaur. Big as a wardrobe. He’s clearly taken great care to remove anything that would identify him from his attire, but his accent was clearly K’ul Gorani. Safphira addressed him as Mister Drumbeater…” Glint says, his brow furrowed as he looks up at Jaezred, shifting the minor illusion to show a towering figure of the minotaur. “Do you know him?”
Jaezred shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Or beat a drum, for that matter.”
Glint barely refrains from another eyeroll. He takes a long sip of his coffee, finishing his cup. He prestidigitates it clean and reaches for the bronze cezve resting on hot sand to refill it.
“They were discussing mutual support to win the hearts of the peoples of K’ul Goran and Kundar,” he enunciated in a crude mockery of Safphira’s and Drumbeater’s intonations. “They mean to leave the Aegis Accords. I must admit I sympathise with their cause, if not their methods,” he added carefully. “I’ve been to Kundar when they were fighting off an ascending god, and saw them lose quite a few people there, devotees of Tiamat and Bahamut. I’m not surprised if Kundarians would be somewhat peeved that the Dawnlands sent only several adventurers instead of an army to help. Hardly seemed fair to them after the gyth invasion and the forces they sent to help us. While I understand the potential benefit of the accords to Kundar and K’ul Goran, I’m also forced to admit that so far the actual benefit was somewhat one-sided. And well,” he says with a frown and a distant look. “It is my strong belief that nobody should be held in any agreements against their will, not for a moment…” he trails off as visions of blood rituals and dark chambers below the Zakharan mansion flash before his eyes. He shakes his head to bring himself back to the present. “I told Miss Scaleborn as much later on, when we followed her away from her meeting. Miss Zabinski and… Wax was his name, I believe… A goblin Selunite, friend of Miss Kalugina,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “They followed Drumbeater. Unfortunately, he disappeared into the crowds before they could get to him, so we don’t know what was in the note that we saw Miss Scaleborn pass to him.” He pauses, organising his thoughts and inhaling the fresh coffee aroma. As he focuses on the quiet whisper of a nearby fountain, his heart slows down after the passionate speech. “At least we can reject a hypothesis of ours that all of this has something to do with the feud between Kundarian races. I believe Forfeit suggested that might have been the case. But it seems to be pretty much just anti-Dawnlands, and across the board. Miss Scaleborn stated that their intentions were towards the end of Kundar leaving the Accords, - although how truthful she was I do not know, - but she refused to listen to any suggestion of change in their methods. I inquired why they wouldn’t simply offer their view of the situation to the Daring Council and their own governments, and she seemed to waiver, so I don’t believe she’s completely beyond reason, but…” he takes a measured breath to pace himself. “She didn’t agree to it either. It appears their faction doesn’t see themselves as able to influence anything in an open debate, which I must say, infinitely confounds me.”
He shakes his head, his expression as judgemental as if he was inspecting a student’s paper on transfiguration that was riddled with mistakes and inaccuracies. After a few moments of silence, his eyes snap back up to Jaezred.
“I apologies for rambling, your Lordship. Have I made any sense at all with my story so far? I’m asking because I swear what follows makes so much less of it…”
Jaezred lets out a heavy sigh. “I cannot say I’m surprised that the goal here is for Kundar to leave the Aegis Accords, although their reasoning is terribly wishy-washy. First they say that adventurers have been meddling all over the place and not letting Kundarians solve their own problems, now the issue is Daring Heights didn’t send enough adventurers during the last crisis? And yes, this is certainly not an internal conflict between the dragonborn and kobolds of Kundar, but the dragonborn have been caught in the crossfire here, just as the minority races in K’ul Goran have. Well, such is the nature of isolationist ideologies… But I digress.”
He pauses to light a waterpipe with a flame conjured on the tip of his finger, and scoops some apple-flavoured tobacco onto the shisha bowl. Putting the mouthpiece between his lips, he exhales a fragrant white smoke that dissipates before it touches the ceiling. “Look, I don’t see the Aegis Accords as anything sacrosanct. Certainly a country should be allowed to leave it if they so wish,” he continues, smoke puffing from his mouth. “But I believe the Dawnlands being deprived of allies is precisely what the people behind this want. It’s preparation for…something. Maybe the coming of the Wild Hunt. Maybe something even worse. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Kundar and K’ul Goran stopped sending help our way — the Battle of Fort Ettin showed that Dawnlanders are resourceful enough to make the most unexpected alliances — though it would probably make things harder for us in the coming months.” He shrugs. “I’m sure if you told that to Ms. Scaleborn and Antonia Warborn, they’d just tell us to solve our own problems. Which is fair enough, I suppose.”
Glint nods, turning over the new possibilities in his mind.
“I quite agree with your appraisal. For what ensued after my discussion with Miss Scaleborn suggests that these factions might be manipulated by other forces, steering their quite rightful doubt of the alliance to that particular end. Discord,” he adds with a distracted smile and a blink-and-you-miss-it dull glow in his eyes. “But what was it you mentioned? Wild Hunt? I don’t believe I’ve heard that phrase before…” He says, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, where to even begin… I wish I could tell you more about the Wild Hunt, but it seems certain powers that be in the Feywild have a vested interest in keeping this old legend buried and forgotten. Only the problem is, it’s not dead. And a few adventurers have of late unwittingly catalysed the revival of the Wild Hunt. This symbol we’ve all been seeing everywhere — its origin seems to be in an ancient temple within the Summer Court. It’s got something to do with the Wild Hunt, I know it does…” Jaezred takes this natural pause in the conversation to get a good look at Glint. “Are you feeling quite alright, Doctor? How did you manage to grow those horns again?”
Glint waves him off without missing a beat.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a bit of magical kick-back, it will pass.”
Jaezred stares at him for a moment. “Sure…” he says, his tone flat and unconvinced.
“But the origin of the symbol is infinitely more interesting…” Glint continues, oblivious to his scrutinising gaze. “I had a feeling it was given to the Kundarians rather than designed by them. According to Miss Scaleborn, Mathias Prideborn just gave it to them to use one day, with no explanation, no detail on what it stands for. It surprised me quite a bit - a political movement with a symbol that has no meaning? That is as unlikely as a torrential rain in the High Desert.” He shrugs. “But I should probably return to my tale. At the time I was desperate enough to ask my companions, through our telepathic connection, to do something to see the secretary’s notes. I take some accountability of what transpired, as I handpicked the party to consist of people who haven’t been to Kundar much and wouldn’t attract attention. The downside was that they probably cared less about local customs than more seasoned adventurers. Both Ramsy and Forfeit are delightful scoundrels. I’d say quite the best of the tiefling inclination for mischief. But perhaps their decision to Command the secretary to drop her clipboard, and then run off with it… perhaps it was a bit too much,” Glint adds. “If I’m quite honest with himself, I don’t know why I haven’t objected to it louder,” he frowns in confusion, but quickly returns to the conversation. “All I could do was to apologise to the secretary and go after Ramsy. I must admit, I took my time running after him in hopes that he’d read some of it on the go,” he says with a wry smile that he quickly hides behind the coffee cup. “But eventually I could stall no longer and had to teleport in front of him, take the clipboard from him and walk back. I opened it as I went, and it packs quite a punch,” he adds, rubbing the side of his face that got hit by the necrotic energy a couple of days ago. “Just a Symbol spell, nothing unbearable. But the curious thing was… all the pages were blank,” he pauses, the shadow of the astonishment he’d felt evident on his face. “I was quite puzzled by this, and since the telepathic bond was still up, I shared the observation with the others. Miss Zabinsky was of little help - she was too preoccupied with trying to give away apple samples to minotaurs. But Wax… what a bright fellow! He asked a very pertinent question: who told the ambassador to check the secretary’s clipboard? I couldn’t find a good answer to that. I certainly didn’t. It was my intention, and I wanted to look into the secretary, but I’m quite positive I mentioned nothing of the clipboard…” his voice drops to barely above whisper. “They clearly anticipated us taking it in the end. I returned the clipboard and offered my apologies, and of course Safphira was peeved, but I feel that she was acting up - the offence wasn’t that grave, in the end no damage was done and nothing of import was stolen. After that I immediately sent a message to the ambassador, and we have all reassembled at the portal, and here’s where things get really strange…”
Glint takes a long sip of his coffee before continuing his tale, and when he does his expression shifts between concern and puzzlement.
“The ambassador didn’t act… herself. She seemed to know too much of what had just transpired. I know rumours travel fast, but not that fast,” Glint says, shaking his head in disbelief. “We didn’t tell her of the meeting, and Prideborn’s association with K’ul Goran, which I feel is for the best. Thing is, I worried for her safety, so before we parted I sent Strix, my familiar, to keep an eye on her. And he had lost her for about twenty minutes. It’s not too hard in the crowd of the fair, but… it didn’t sit right with me. So when we came back I scried, both on Miss Scaleborn, and on ambassador Panbas. Safphira can’t be scried on very well - Prideborn facilities are protected from scrying. Even with this - an item she had with her for a while,” he says, producing an empty potion bottle from his briefcase. “I sent her a message to warn that the consequences of their actions would not be limited to the Dawnlands, but will recoil at Kundar as well. If she listened to me, she definitely hasn’t made it known, I got no reply. But scrying on the ambassador revealed that she’s never met up with us back at the portal, to her own surprise. Someone must have impersonated her. I bet the same someone who advised her to target the clipboard,” Glint says with a deep frown, the fire of his hair dying down a bit. “And so, now you see why I couldn’t speak of it with anyone. I don’t know who I can trust. I did send a message to Aurelia, so you’re the second person outside the party who went to Kundar to know this. I haven’t even told the real ambassador. This is all so… complicated,” he says with feeling, and the fire on his head picks up again. “At least with you I know that you won’t have destructive goals at heart,” he says with a tired sigh. “So… that’s my tale. I must admit the other reason I came to you with this is because I know you’re well informed on the events happening far and wide. So I was hoping you could help me make sense of any of it…” He trails off.
Jaezred was silent throughout Glint’s telling of his tale, puffing on the waterpipe as he stared at the younger man. After Glint is done, he simply says, “You were played.”
Glint replies with a noncommittal shrug.
The drow puts the mouthpiece away and crosses his legs. “The PTC has done this before — set up adventurers for failure in order to make them look bad in the public eye. This street fair served a double purpose: to win the public’s favour and to bait adventurers. Nevertheless, you did good by not telling everything you learned to the impostor and plus, you gathered some important information there. Now we know they have someone in their employ who could perfectly impersonate others. This means that any further business in Kundar must be conducted under the most covert conditions, and not through Ambassador Panbas. And of course, there is this minotaur Drumbeater… Aside from the pins, this could be the most certain proof of a conspiracy thus far.
“What you said about how Ms. Scaleborn got the pin is interesting. Did you know that Matthias Prideborn didn’t use to be in the public arena, despite his apparently prodigious oratory skills? He was a charitable recluse who went out of his way to have his company provide for downtrodden dragonborn, and they were not a successful business until about three years ago. Moreover, his brothers Ambrose and Thomas do not seem to share his current opinions on adventurers. Now, if I am to speculate… I’d say either something in recent history — perhaps during that debacle with the undead you mentioned — changed Matthias’s worldview drastically, allowing him to be recruited by these, uh, pin people.” The drow lord gives a dismissive wave at the whimsical nickname he just bestowed to this shadowy group. “Or the Matthias we know is an impostor.”
Glint nods, having followed the trajectory of Jaezred’s thought and inevitably coming to the same conclusion.
“In my experience, the most dangerous people are those who imagine they are manipulating others while themselves being manipulated. They strive towards their goals like there is no tomorrow, and through their heedless effort achieve someone else’s goals instead,” Glint says with a sad sigh, and gets a bit lost in his thoughts. “Therefore, the Kundarians and K’ul Gorani are probably right, and adventurers are the most dangerous people in the Dawnlands…” He adds, and, shaking his head, sits a bit more upright on the ornate chair. “Forgive me my philosophising, I’m merely annoyed that the people who we are working against are blissfully unaware of being manipulated, and therefore have no reason to oppose us in the first place. As for more practical applications of this theory… Do you have any suggestions for future expeditions to Kundar?” He asks, finally having had his fill of coffee and putting the gentle porcelain cup to the side. “I must say, I’m at my wit’s end. Apart from secrecy and camouflage… do you believe there is any possibility we still might have allies in Kundar? Or that we can find any? If not for the sake of the Accords, then for remaining civil with the neighbours.”
“I do not think the situation in Kundar is unsalvageable as it stands, and besides, we already have the best ally Kundar could ever offer: Ghesh.” Jaezred smiles. “As for how to move forward, I think it’s quite obvious. You need to learn the true sight spell, or at least bring someone who’s adept at seeing through illusions and disguises. And secondly, you need to speak with Ambrose and Thomas, find out all you can about Matthias and what’s changed about him. Ambassador Panbas is a no-go for this, but I can put you in touch with… a trusted colleague.”
The wizard takes a deep breath.
“I would appreciate any help, and any contacts. If I go there again, I’ll make sure to update you on any developments,” he says with a grateful nod.
“Of course. And I thank you for the information you have provided, Doctor,” Jaezred says. “Hmm. A charismatic speaker and a weaver of tales, who also could possibly shapeshift… Sounds a bit fey, don’t you think?”
With a conspiratorial grin on his face, he stands up, straightens his coat, and offers Glint a handshake. “I should be going now. Good talk, Dr. Al-Irad.”
Glint shakes Jaezred’s hand, leaves whatever he owed the tearoom for his drinks, and doesn’t bother with leaving the place in a conventional way. Instead, he teleports right in front of Root Penrosea’s house, and knocks on the door, waiting for the doggie-operated system to open it for him. His mind is adrift with factions, interests, and secrets, and the only thing he wants now is some peace and quiet. And, if he’s completely honest, a pair of hellfire eyes and warm hands won’t go amiss.
Meanwhile, in his laboratory, a purple-skinned tiefling smiles as he puts away the last of his now-cleaned equipment on its rightful place on the third shelf. Another order complete, another satisfied customer, and, more importantly, another happy plant (or its derivative) finding a suitable home. There definitely is a simple satisfaction in comfort of predictability, and the peaceful passing of days…
“Root Penrosea.”
“Huh—?!” Root jumps out of his chair and whirls around, looking for the origin of the deep voice that just called out to him.
“Over here.”
His flitting gaze finally lands on a tiny jumping spider, standing still on the wall next to a window. As the shock subsides from him, he realises that it’s a voice he knows well. Tentatively, he approaches the spider.
“Your friend Jaezred here speaking,” the voice, unmistakably coming from the little spider, says. “There’s something funny going on with your boyfriend. Magically funny. Worth a look. Well, bye now.”
Whatever magic had spellbound the spider fades from it, and it scurries away from Root towards the open window, disappearing as it leaps off to somewhere.
Glint doesn’t visit Gossamer Threads often, and when he does it’s usually with Root. This time he’s not even going to the Seasons Room! He’s a bit exasperated, having just spent an hour asking about where can he find Lord Vandree. But as the genasi steps into the Calimshan interior with its lush rugs, gently whispering water fountain, and complex coffee aromas, the familiarity of the environment allows him to relax.
He’s still a bit nervous: just because he had distanced himself from his aristocratic upbringing it doesn’t mean he is comfortable meeting a lord in a respectable establishment whilst himself being fresh off a travel vagon and sporting a crown of horns.
For better or worse, he does not have to wait long for the door to suddenly open, and it’s not the waitstaff carrying more tea and scones.
“Hello, Dr. Al-Irad,” says Jaezred, closing the door firmly behind him. “I have been looking for you.”
Glint nods absentmindedly. He barely notices that Jaezred, too, is a bit less of his perfect polished self, and maybe looks tired. After all, Glint concludes, this is hardly the time to be concerned about appearances.
“Likewise, Lord Vandree,” he nods a greeting and sets his coffee cup (which one is it? Third, fourth?) down on the table. “Although it occurred to me you’d have easier time finding me than I would you. I imagine it might surprise you that I’ve been looking to meet with you in the first place. We’re not exactly… what you’d call close friends,” Glint releases a pent up breath. It has always been a bit awkward for him not to be friends with Root’s friends, but then again, this was no longer the sole source of awkwardness. “But the situation has gotten so confusing that if I’m quite honest…” he says with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know who else I can confide in.”
He sits quietly, staring at his coffee cup, living down the shame of the admission.
Jaezred arches a brow and sits down on the cushioned bench next to Glint. The stubble on his jaw gives a slight rugged edge to his usually-formal persona, and he has the look of a man who was forced to start the workday earlier than expected. “This place has strong anti-spying measures — so I’ve been told — so feel free to speak whatever’s on your mind.” He nods at the horns. “Trying a new look, are we?”
Glint is glad he cannot blush.
“Considering the number of tieflings in my life I thought I might give it a shot,” he lies with a charming smile. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” he adds, running a hand through his new head-and-hairdo. Trying to remember his manners, he rakes his mind for what he’s last heard of the drow man from Root and other adventurers. “What about yourself? Enjoying the quiet domesticity after all the excitements of the Dawnlands?”
“I’m still enjoying the ‘excitements’ of the Dawnlands, I’m afraid… But well, as much as I’d love to have small talk over coffee, I do have other pressing matters awaiting my attention. So…what’s up, Doc?”
Glint rolls his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. He forewent his usual pumpkin spice latte and opted for the local dark roast that scoured his throat like a Zakharan sandstorm. It reminded him of the seriousness of the situation, and not of the botanist with a matching tankard ever full of sweet coffee.
“If I could answer that question, I bet I’d already have a seat on the council of Daring Heights,” Glint says with a dark chuckle. “I have no doubt you know of our expedition to Kundar?” He pauses, and continues after receiving a curt nod of confirmation. “I imagine the stories are dreadful?”
“Yes. You made quite the waves in Kundar. But please, continue.”
Glint gives Jaezred a grateful smile.
“I appreciate you not passing any judgment. Not many would be so gracious. This development is actually much tamer than what I’d expect. Mathias Prideborn has a knack for spinning a tale. We were doomed to make a splash as soon as we teleported to Kundar, and even without it he’d probably accuse the adventuring community of being indifferent to Kundarian festivities. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” Glint says with a roll of his shoulders. “But I dare say the benefits outweighed the costs. Ambassador Panbas invited me personally to try and get a good look at Prideborn’s secretary’s documents. A humble young kobold lady by the name of Safphira Scaleborn,” the wizard waves his hand and a minor illusion of the green-skinned secretary wearing her signature purple dress appears before him on the coffee table.
Glint looks at it with a hard to read expression, and continues his tale.
“Miss Zabinski found the secretary through her infamous clipboard. Quite a work of art it is. We followed Safphira… less than discreetly, I must admit,” he adds acerbically. “And caught her in a conversation with that absolute unit of a minotaur. Big as a wardrobe. He’s clearly taken great care to remove anything that would identify him from his attire, but his accent was clearly K’ul Gorani. Safphira addressed him as Mister Drumbeater…” Glint says, his brow furrowed as he looks up at Jaezred, shifting the minor illusion to show a towering figure of the minotaur. “Do you know him?”
Jaezred shakes his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Or beat a drum, for that matter.”
Glint barely refrains from another eyeroll. He takes a long sip of his coffee, finishing his cup. He prestidigitates it clean and reaches for the bronze cezve resting on hot sand to refill it.
“They were discussing mutual support to win the hearts of the peoples of K’ul Goran and Kundar,” he enunciated in a crude mockery of Safphira’s and Drumbeater’s intonations. “They mean to leave the Aegis Accords. I must admit I sympathise with their cause, if not their methods,” he added carefully. “I’ve been to Kundar when they were fighting off an ascending god, and saw them lose quite a few people there, devotees of Tiamat and Bahamut. I’m not surprised if Kundarians would be somewhat peeved that the Dawnlands sent only several adventurers instead of an army to help. Hardly seemed fair to them after the gyth invasion and the forces they sent to help us. While I understand the potential benefit of the accords to Kundar and K’ul Goran, I’m also forced to admit that so far the actual benefit was somewhat one-sided. And well,” he says with a frown and a distant look. “It is my strong belief that nobody should be held in any agreements against their will, not for a moment…” he trails off as visions of blood rituals and dark chambers below the Zakharan mansion flash before his eyes. He shakes his head to bring himself back to the present. “I told Miss Scaleborn as much later on, when we followed her away from her meeting. Miss Zabinski and… Wax was his name, I believe… A goblin Selunite, friend of Miss Kalugina,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “They followed Drumbeater. Unfortunately, he disappeared into the crowds before they could get to him, so we don’t know what was in the note that we saw Miss Scaleborn pass to him.” He pauses, organising his thoughts and inhaling the fresh coffee aroma. As he focuses on the quiet whisper of a nearby fountain, his heart slows down after the passionate speech. “At least we can reject a hypothesis of ours that all of this has something to do with the feud between Kundarian races. I believe Forfeit suggested that might have been the case. But it seems to be pretty much just anti-Dawnlands, and across the board. Miss Scaleborn stated that their intentions were towards the end of Kundar leaving the Accords, - although how truthful she was I do not know, - but she refused to listen to any suggestion of change in their methods. I inquired why they wouldn’t simply offer their view of the situation to the Daring Council and their own governments, and she seemed to waiver, so I don’t believe she’s completely beyond reason, but…” he takes a measured breath to pace himself. “She didn’t agree to it either. It appears their faction doesn’t see themselves as able to influence anything in an open debate, which I must say, infinitely confounds me.”
He shakes his head, his expression as judgemental as if he was inspecting a student’s paper on transfiguration that was riddled with mistakes and inaccuracies. After a few moments of silence, his eyes snap back up to Jaezred.
“I apologies for rambling, your Lordship. Have I made any sense at all with my story so far? I’m asking because I swear what follows makes so much less of it…”
Jaezred lets out a heavy sigh. “I cannot say I’m surprised that the goal here is for Kundar to leave the Aegis Accords, although their reasoning is terribly wishy-washy. First they say that adventurers have been meddling all over the place and not letting Kundarians solve their own problems, now the issue is Daring Heights didn’t send enough adventurers during the last crisis? And yes, this is certainly not an internal conflict between the dragonborn and kobolds of Kundar, but the dragonborn have been caught in the crossfire here, just as the minority races in K’ul Goran have. Well, such is the nature of isolationist ideologies… But I digress.”
He pauses to light a waterpipe with a flame conjured on the tip of his finger, and scoops some apple-flavoured tobacco onto the shisha bowl. Putting the mouthpiece between his lips, he exhales a fragrant white smoke that dissipates before it touches the ceiling. “Look, I don’t see the Aegis Accords as anything sacrosanct. Certainly a country should be allowed to leave it if they so wish,” he continues, smoke puffing from his mouth. “But I believe the Dawnlands being deprived of allies is precisely what the people behind this want. It’s preparation for…something. Maybe the coming of the Wild Hunt. Maybe something even worse. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if Kundar and K’ul Goran stopped sending help our way — the Battle of Fort Ettin showed that Dawnlanders are resourceful enough to make the most unexpected alliances — though it would probably make things harder for us in the coming months.” He shrugs. “I’m sure if you told that to Ms. Scaleborn and Antonia Warborn, they’d just tell us to solve our own problems. Which is fair enough, I suppose.”
Glint nods, turning over the new possibilities in his mind.
“I quite agree with your appraisal. For what ensued after my discussion with Miss Scaleborn suggests that these factions might be manipulated by other forces, steering their quite rightful doubt of the alliance to that particular end. Discord,” he adds with a distracted smile and a blink-and-you-miss-it dull glow in his eyes. “But what was it you mentioned? Wild Hunt? I don’t believe I’ve heard that phrase before…” He says, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, where to even begin… I wish I could tell you more about the Wild Hunt, but it seems certain powers that be in the Feywild have a vested interest in keeping this old legend buried and forgotten. Only the problem is, it’s not dead. And a few adventurers have of late unwittingly catalysed the revival of the Wild Hunt. This symbol we’ve all been seeing everywhere — its origin seems to be in an ancient temple within the Summer Court. It’s got something to do with the Wild Hunt, I know it does…” Jaezred takes this natural pause in the conversation to get a good look at Glint. “Are you feeling quite alright, Doctor? How did you manage to grow those horns again?”
Glint waves him off without missing a beat.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a bit of magical kick-back, it will pass.”
Jaezred stares at him for a moment. “Sure…” he says, his tone flat and unconvinced.
“But the origin of the symbol is infinitely more interesting…” Glint continues, oblivious to his scrutinising gaze. “I had a feeling it was given to the Kundarians rather than designed by them. According to Miss Scaleborn, Mathias Prideborn just gave it to them to use one day, with no explanation, no detail on what it stands for. It surprised me quite a bit - a political movement with a symbol that has no meaning? That is as unlikely as a torrential rain in the High Desert.” He shrugs. “But I should probably return to my tale. At the time I was desperate enough to ask my companions, through our telepathic connection, to do something to see the secretary’s notes. I take some accountability of what transpired, as I handpicked the party to consist of people who haven’t been to Kundar much and wouldn’t attract attention. The downside was that they probably cared less about local customs than more seasoned adventurers. Both Ramsy and Forfeit are delightful scoundrels. I’d say quite the best of the tiefling inclination for mischief. But perhaps their decision to Command the secretary to drop her clipboard, and then run off with it… perhaps it was a bit too much,” Glint adds. “If I’m quite honest with himself, I don’t know why I haven’t objected to it louder,” he frowns in confusion, but quickly returns to the conversation. “All I could do was to apologise to the secretary and go after Ramsy. I must admit, I took my time running after him in hopes that he’d read some of it on the go,” he says with a wry smile that he quickly hides behind the coffee cup. “But eventually I could stall no longer and had to teleport in front of him, take the clipboard from him and walk back. I opened it as I went, and it packs quite a punch,” he adds, rubbing the side of his face that got hit by the necrotic energy a couple of days ago. “Just a Symbol spell, nothing unbearable. But the curious thing was… all the pages were blank,” he pauses, the shadow of the astonishment he’d felt evident on his face. “I was quite puzzled by this, and since the telepathic bond was still up, I shared the observation with the others. Miss Zabinsky was of little help - she was too preoccupied with trying to give away apple samples to minotaurs. But Wax… what a bright fellow! He asked a very pertinent question: who told the ambassador to check the secretary’s clipboard? I couldn’t find a good answer to that. I certainly didn’t. It was my intention, and I wanted to look into the secretary, but I’m quite positive I mentioned nothing of the clipboard…” his voice drops to barely above whisper. “They clearly anticipated us taking it in the end. I returned the clipboard and offered my apologies, and of course Safphira was peeved, but I feel that she was acting up - the offence wasn’t that grave, in the end no damage was done and nothing of import was stolen. After that I immediately sent a message to the ambassador, and we have all reassembled at the portal, and here’s where things get really strange…”
Glint takes a long sip of his coffee before continuing his tale, and when he does his expression shifts between concern and puzzlement.
“The ambassador didn’t act… herself. She seemed to know too much of what had just transpired. I know rumours travel fast, but not that fast,” Glint says, shaking his head in disbelief. “We didn’t tell her of the meeting, and Prideborn’s association with K’ul Goran, which I feel is for the best. Thing is, I worried for her safety, so before we parted I sent Strix, my familiar, to keep an eye on her. And he had lost her for about twenty minutes. It’s not too hard in the crowd of the fair, but… it didn’t sit right with me. So when we came back I scried, both on Miss Scaleborn, and on ambassador Panbas. Safphira can’t be scried on very well - Prideborn facilities are protected from scrying. Even with this - an item she had with her for a while,” he says, producing an empty potion bottle from his briefcase. “I sent her a message to warn that the consequences of their actions would not be limited to the Dawnlands, but will recoil at Kundar as well. If she listened to me, she definitely hasn’t made it known, I got no reply. But scrying on the ambassador revealed that she’s never met up with us back at the portal, to her own surprise. Someone must have impersonated her. I bet the same someone who advised her to target the clipboard,” Glint says with a deep frown, the fire of his hair dying down a bit. “And so, now you see why I couldn’t speak of it with anyone. I don’t know who I can trust. I did send a message to Aurelia, so you’re the second person outside the party who went to Kundar to know this. I haven’t even told the real ambassador. This is all so… complicated,” he says with feeling, and the fire on his head picks up again. “At least with you I know that you won’t have destructive goals at heart,” he says with a tired sigh. “So… that’s my tale. I must admit the other reason I came to you with this is because I know you’re well informed on the events happening far and wide. So I was hoping you could help me make sense of any of it…” He trails off.
Jaezred was silent throughout Glint’s telling of his tale, puffing on the waterpipe as he stared at the younger man. After Glint is done, he simply says, “You were played.”
Glint replies with a noncommittal shrug.
The drow puts the mouthpiece away and crosses his legs. “The PTC has done this before — set up adventurers for failure in order to make them look bad in the public eye. This street fair served a double purpose: to win the public’s favour and to bait adventurers. Nevertheless, you did good by not telling everything you learned to the impostor and plus, you gathered some important information there. Now we know they have someone in their employ who could perfectly impersonate others. This means that any further business in Kundar must be conducted under the most covert conditions, and not through Ambassador Panbas. And of course, there is this minotaur Drumbeater… Aside from the pins, this could be the most certain proof of a conspiracy thus far.
“What you said about how Ms. Scaleborn got the pin is interesting. Did you know that Matthias Prideborn didn’t use to be in the public arena, despite his apparently prodigious oratory skills? He was a charitable recluse who went out of his way to have his company provide for downtrodden dragonborn, and they were not a successful business until about three years ago. Moreover, his brothers Ambrose and Thomas do not seem to share his current opinions on adventurers. Now, if I am to speculate… I’d say either something in recent history — perhaps during that debacle with the undead you mentioned — changed Matthias’s worldview drastically, allowing him to be recruited by these, uh, pin people.” The drow lord gives a dismissive wave at the whimsical nickname he just bestowed to this shadowy group. “Or the Matthias we know is an impostor.”
Glint nods, having followed the trajectory of Jaezred’s thought and inevitably coming to the same conclusion.
“In my experience, the most dangerous people are those who imagine they are manipulating others while themselves being manipulated. They strive towards their goals like there is no tomorrow, and through their heedless effort achieve someone else’s goals instead,” Glint says with a sad sigh, and gets a bit lost in his thoughts. “Therefore, the Kundarians and K’ul Gorani are probably right, and adventurers are the most dangerous people in the Dawnlands…” He adds, and, shaking his head, sits a bit more upright on the ornate chair. “Forgive me my philosophising, I’m merely annoyed that the people who we are working against are blissfully unaware of being manipulated, and therefore have no reason to oppose us in the first place. As for more practical applications of this theory… Do you have any suggestions for future expeditions to Kundar?” He asks, finally having had his fill of coffee and putting the gentle porcelain cup to the side. “I must say, I’m at my wit’s end. Apart from secrecy and camouflage… do you believe there is any possibility we still might have allies in Kundar? Or that we can find any? If not for the sake of the Accords, then for remaining civil with the neighbours.”
“I do not think the situation in Kundar is unsalvageable as it stands, and besides, we already have the best ally Kundar could ever offer: Ghesh.” Jaezred smiles. “As for how to move forward, I think it’s quite obvious. You need to learn the true sight spell, or at least bring someone who’s adept at seeing through illusions and disguises. And secondly, you need to speak with Ambrose and Thomas, find out all you can about Matthias and what’s changed about him. Ambassador Panbas is a no-go for this, but I can put you in touch with… a trusted colleague.”
The wizard takes a deep breath.
“I would appreciate any help, and any contacts. If I go there again, I’ll make sure to update you on any developments,” he says with a grateful nod.
“Of course. And I thank you for the information you have provided, Doctor,” Jaezred says. “Hmm. A charismatic speaker and a weaver of tales, who also could possibly shapeshift… Sounds a bit fey, don’t you think?”
With a conspiratorial grin on his face, he stands up, straightens his coat, and offers Glint a handshake. “I should be going now. Good talk, Dr. Al-Irad.”
Glint shakes Jaezred’s hand, leaves whatever he owed the tearoom for his drinks, and doesn’t bother with leaving the place in a conventional way. Instead, he teleports right in front of Root Penrosea’s house, and knocks on the door, waiting for the doggie-operated system to open it for him. His mind is adrift with factions, interests, and secrets, and the only thing he wants now is some peace and quiet. And, if he’s completely honest, a pair of hellfire eyes and warm hands won’t go amiss.
Meanwhile, in his laboratory, a purple-skinned tiefling smiles as he puts away the last of his now-cleaned equipment on its rightful place on the third shelf. Another order complete, another satisfied customer, and, more importantly, another happy plant (or its derivative) finding a suitable home. There definitely is a simple satisfaction in comfort of predictability, and the peaceful passing of days…
“Root Penrosea.”
“Huh—?!” Root jumps out of his chair and whirls around, looking for the origin of the deep voice that just called out to him.
“Over here.”
His flitting gaze finally lands on a tiny jumping spider, standing still on the wall next to a window. As the shock subsides from him, he realises that it’s a voice he knows well. Tentatively, he approaches the spider.
“Your friend Jaezred here speaking,” the voice, unmistakably coming from the little spider, says. “There’s something funny going on with your boyfriend. Magically funny. Worth a look. Well, bye now.”
Whatever magic had spellbound the spider fades from it, and it scurries away from Root towards the open window, disappearing as it leaps off to somewhere.