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The Kandron Affair - Part the Thirteenth.


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#1 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 11 November 2003 - 08:56 PM

Hullo audience!

Hmm, a bridge chapter… With a bit of luck it won’t be that bad though. It also features a few lines in Drow – you don’t need to know what they mean, but they sounds good! I did have to invent a few words though. But anyhow, here we are… Enjoy!

Chapter 13 – An Evening With Ulbrec

And so it was that the bedraggled bunch of us scrambled, clambered, and trekked the Scenic Route back towards Targos, with Oberron navigating. Perhaps this would explain why we went round five sides of a hexagon in attempting to return to Targos, and so it was nine days later that we sloped through the palisade gate.

Or rather, were stopped at the aforementioned gate by a scruffy, surly-looking Targos guardsman.

“Who you?” he grunted at us from atop the drawn gates.

My patience worn almost through by the nine-day Mystery Tour we had just taken across the wasteland, I snapped at him, “Open the bloody gate you goon,” my eyes narrowing themselves to slits. “We’ve not trudged all this way to be fobbed off.”

“Well who are you?” he repeated, after a lengthy pause, probably to allow the idea to sink in.

I snapped at him in reply, “Kandron H. Devore. And I STRONGLY SUGGEST you let us all in. We haven’t cleaned all the orcs out of the Shaengarne valley for the good of our health you know!”

“Sorry, don’t know a Kandronaitchdevore. Can you get lost, please? I’ve got a town to guard here.”

I bit my lip, restraining myself from unleashing a stream of invective at this idiot. After all, that was Talyn’s job. I tried, as rationally as possible, to reply to this piece of room-temperature-in-the-Underdark IQ trash without slashing him to death. “I didn’t save your pissant little burg just to be turned away. I didn’t risk my life clearing all the orcs, werebadgers, and – Malarites from up the Shaengarne Valley. I didn’t almost fall to my death with nothing between me and oblivion but a handy jet of water! And after all this I don’t expect to be told to sling my hook!” I paced about in sheer frustration.

At this point Shayla stepped forward. “Kandron, you have to be more… subtle… to get past this moron, and no, I don’t mean slicing his throat when he least expects it. Watch and learn…”

Shayla flicked her long, dark hair away from her face, shuffled the arrangement of her robe and whatever was underneath, and strolled slowly, swaying her hips, towards the palisade gate. “Well…” she said in a voice little more than a breathy sigh. “Would you boys mind letting myself and my colleagues past? I would be, “ – at this point she puffed her chest out rather – “EXTREMELY grateful…” With that last phrase she cocked an exposed leg forward and ever so slowly crossed it in front of her other leg.

Within seconds, the guards ran down from the battlements, the palisade gate slid open, and Shayla snapped out of seduction mode and we all marched back into Targos.

“Now that’s how you correctly charm your way past these idiots,” she mused.

“It is dishonouwable!” grumbled Oberron.

“Why? It’s just using what the powers that be gave me. Nothing more.”

Oberron couldn’t think of a reply to this, so he grumbled, muttering things like “evil-doing”, “whorish” and similar. Shayla 1, Oberron Nil.


It was no sooner that we had passed a few feet into the palisade grounds that something approximately the size of a small grapefruit impacted my groin. It was Swift Thomas’s head, now sporting a lump from the customised armour plating in my trousers. Poor kid hadn’t been looking where he had been going.

“Oww! It’s you?!” he said.

I affirmed this.

“Well, Lord Ulbrec sent me to give you this!” he chirped, handing me a crumples parchment scroll. I broke the seal and opened it up as everyone else crowded round me.

”Dear Kandron H. Devore and Party,

You are cordially invited to dine with Lord Ulbrec, the Mayor of Targos, and his wife Elytharra, at sundown on 1 Uktar 1320. Given the nature of your collective paths in life, formal dress is to be optional.”

I sighed at this. “Dinner with that insupportable Ulbrec veck, I can’t think of anything I’d less rather do.”

Darik piped up. “What about that encounter with the Malarites? Hur hur hur…”

There was that.


Although formal dress was optional for this little event, I felt that it would be necessary to at least make some attempt. As my Matron Mother used to say when I was small, “Don’t be yourself; try to make an impression.” In Rilauven, we had our own word for such a person – ja’nk, which roughly translates into common as “a heap of rural crudities”. More strictly, it translates as an even more pejorative form of the already derogatory jaluk. But the finer points of Drow grammar, while interesting, are strictly beside the point of this text.

And so it was that I boxed myself in my room at the inn, stripped buck naked and broke out the armour polish. Not that I’d packed any of the special-grade variety that I always used to use in the Underdark, but Oberron fortuitously carried eight tins of the stuff around with him, just in case an evil-doing lump of mud should besmirch his breastplate.

“Lolth on a flashcart,” I profaned. “This stuff needs serious work,” I mused as I noticed the rings of my chainmail to be brown with flecks of rust. My heart sank as I found a hole under one arm which I could slip three fingers through. So, it was with a mound of irritation welling up that I set to scraping every last fleck of rust off my armour.


About three hours later, I slid the now clean chain mail back onto my frame and decided to go questing for some soap and a Jansen pad to scrape the mud off my trousers. I ruminated as to what I’d done with that baloth toothbrush I had received for my birthday, then realised that it had probably been retrieved from the palisade and sold on by now. So, I gathered my armour-plated trousers and exited the room to head into the scullery of the inn.

Inside said room was – fortuitously – the tools I was after, and I set to work.

At that point, in bowled a serving wench, yelped in shock, and charged out, shouting, “Argh! There’s a half-naked Drow in the scullery! HELP!”

I then realised that I only had the one pair of trousers anyhow.


Sometime I wondered if I would ever hear the last of Darik’s gibes about flashing and all that, and so I warned him in no uncertain terms that anything about an exposé or similar would result in him being given an Eternal Dichotomy (from base to apex, that is.)

But anyhow, we all trucked across to House Ulbrec, all decked out in a slightly more presentable manner than we had arrived in Targos in. Darik had even combed his beard and washed, which was a shock. Oberron, of course, had expended half a tin of armour polish, as predicted, and it was painful to look directly at him. “Got to keep up standawds fow such an eminent pewsonage as Ulbwec,” he kept repeating. Talyn had sworn to keep off the foul language just for this evening, or maybe he had just sworn, I forget which. Shayla had rooted amongst her personal effects and dug out a different set of robes for the occasion, said set being a dark crimson colour, a better grade of material than her normal black set, longer at the bottom so they trailed on the floor slightly, and deeper cut at the front. She had also polished her staff, and dug out this obviously magical but completely useless sapphire amulet which she had strung round her forehead. And it was looking thus that we were greeted at the door of House Ulbrec by the man himself.

“Ahh, so you got the message then. Come on in,” he said to the batch of us. We entered.

“Well, make yourselves at home,” he said as we looked around his plush, exquisite, living room, obviously paid for by embezzling money from the town funds. No sooner had he said this than we flopped onto the floor, sofa, armchairs, and tables. “I think I’d best introduce you to my wife. One moment,” he continued, and left the room.

Shayla approached the bookcases, and ran her eye over their contents. Then she shut her eyes, touched the jewel on her forehead and, opening her eyes again, stripped the top layer of books of the middle shelf and selected a volume as though she knew it was there. I read the synopsis of the novel over her shoulder, it seemed to be this fantasy tale about a poor scholar in some far-future scenario trying to make a decent living off his writings while trying (and failing) to get the girl.

“What’s with the pendant?” I asked her.

“Oh, that,” she replied. “It’s not magical. Okay, it is. It’s an Amulet of Literary Criticism. It can identify and locate for the wearer all novels in the vicinity worthy of one’s attention. Like this one, for example.”

I thought about this.

“So, why is it last time you were here you found a Drizzt biography?”

“I wasn’t wearing it then,” she replied.

I wished that I owned such a device.

At this point Ulbrec returned, and we all turned to face him. “My friends,” he began. “Allow me to present my wife, the Lady Elytharra.” And with that, Elytharra stepped in. She was an elegant elven lady of middling years, tall and slender and wearing a green mage’s robes, heavily ornate and bejewelled. Yet, as she noticed my presence in the room, her lips tightened and she reached towards a wand she carried in her belt, and I eyed her warily.

“Ulbrec!!!” she yelped, visibly frightened. “Get that… that… THING!” she screeched, pointing straight at me, “OUT of our HOUSE!!!” Her voice quivered as if she expected me to leap over to her and slash her throat.

I looked directly at her. “Nice meeting you too,” I said, with a snarl in my voice. “Tell me, darthiir, do you greet all your guests that way?”

Elytharra shrieked at me, “But… YOU’RE A DROW!!! Well…” she said, her quivering voice betraying her bravado, “You’re not going to rape ME! I… I could KILL you if you came any closer to me!”

I folded my arms. “Thank Lolth I never intended to,” I said in a mock serious voice.

Most likely Elytharra and myself would have come to blows if Ulbrec hadn’t stepped in the way. “Erm, err… Kandron here was responsible for turning the tide when the goblinoids overran the Palisade a few days back. And he and his colleagues have just cleaned out the Shaengarne valley and made it safe for reinforcements to arrive, haven’t you?”

I fidgeted rather. “Well, erm… there was a slight complication… We did clear out the goblin and orc forces in that region, but… erm, the bridge was blown up,” I said, neglecting to mention that it was Shayla with a fireball that had incinerated said bridge.

Ulbrec thought about this. “Ah,” was his only response. “Oh well, can’t be helped.” Out the corner of my eye I saw Shayla breathe a sigh of relief.

“Shall we go into the dining room then, dinner will be here by now?” he asked us, and through we trouped.


The dining room was similarly sumptuous, with a polished oak table and chairs, seven of which had been set out for us. The backs and seats of the chairs were fashioned from green velvet with (most likely) horsehair stuffing. Wooden panels gave the room a thoroughly prestigious and mildly palatial look, most likely paid for out of the taxpayer’s pocket. After all, a little dipping into the town pension fund never did anyone important any harm. Just ask Matron LiNeeria Fey’Branche. Or not, she might just bite your balls off, but that’s beside the point.

We sat down at said table, Ulbrec at the head, Elytharra his wife next, and Talyn next to her. On the other side, Oberron and Darik sat, and myself at the other end (“The arse-end” as Talyn referred to it.) since Elytharra requested that she be seated “as far away from that murderous darkling as possible”. I smarted at this… How dare that darthiir bitch make judgements about me based simply on the fact I had black skin and white hair? Just because I looked thus meant on no account that I wanted to kill her, or rape her, or enslave her in the pleasure-pits of Rilauven, and besides, from the way Ulbrec and herself acted towards one another, it was a long time since she had given him any pleasure.

Dinner was served by an obsequious ass of a servant named Smithers or Smedley or something of that nature. It began with a starter of green salad and chèvre chaude (which Talyn almost had a heart attack upon seeing, fearing there to be a radish in there somewhere), which was the followed by a delicious platter of Lobster Thermidore au Fromage. By Lolth’s pert, full, sensual, pendulous…erm, abdomen, I thought, this guy REALLY must be loaded! Indeed, through the general dinner conversation, I overheard Oberron discussing Ulbrec’s material assets and donations. Ulbrec had made his fortune adventuring and set up home here in his late thirties where he could exert his monetary muscle over the local peasants, and generally act as a right little lord of the manor. And he had all the trappings of the adventuring trade to prove it; severed heads of various creatures on plaques on the walls, a chest in the cellar full of little souvenirs, and an obligatory trophy wife, who just happened to be an elven enchantress. Not that she could ever conjure up some “starch in his maypole”, of course, the nastier side of me remarked.

Of course, I would have done almost anything for Ulbrec at this time. Provided he paid me well, and Lolth knew he could afford to. Indeed, when Darik accidentally dropped a silver goblet on the floor, Ulbrec insisted the servants sweep it up with all the other rubbish. This only furthered my burning ambition to get myself signed up to the lucrative adventuring contract I knew he was going to toss my way.

And then the moment came. As we were drinking (or pretending to, in my teetotal case) glasses of port after the meal, Ulbrec approached me and mumbled something about a Horde Fortress he wanted me and my team to clean out. Naturally, he didn’t know all that much about said fortress, but I should travel to this area to the southwest of our current position and look out for his lookouts, Ennelia and Braston, who were in the area scouting.

“It’s rather heavily guarded, most likely,” he said. “You sure you’re all up to it?”

“Oh yes,” I replied. “Tell me, what are we likely to encounter? Orcs?”

Darik saw fit to chip in. “Trolls?”

And Talyn. “Fecking Werebadgers?”

And Shayla. “Erm, err, barghests?”

And Oberron, “Fowces of genewic evil-doing and scoundwels?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Ulbrec, without a care in the world. “All we need now is your signatures on this contract here, and you can go.”

He handed us a piece of parchment with stuff about how we agree to do this job, and we will be paid this much for it, as long as we follow the procedure set out, etc etc etc and all that jazz. At the bottom he had signed it, “Ulbrec Croesus Trimalchio Dinnsmore”, and left spaces for our names, which we all signed. I signed it with my usual copperplate mark, Talyn in a random scrawl which looked as if it had at least five swearwords in there somewhere, Darik with a scribble, Oberron in a boringly normal signature, and Shayla in her very small hand right at the bottom.

“Right, then,” Ulbrec declared, clapping his hands together. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for the send-off then. Bye for now!” he said, as if he was all to anxious to get rid of us.

As we left and were out of earshot, Talyn exploded.

“ARSEFECK!” he shouted, sending the windows up and down the street vibrating. “Did all you fecks see how close I was to seducing Elytharra?!”

“Talyn,” I replied. “I pity you. Just imagine how wrinkly she is under her robes.”

And to this comment, Talyn retched violently. Which just goes to show that even the most desperate individuals can still have their standards.


That’s all for now people. Hope you liked it! Coming next Part – Talyn, Agony Uncle; and Shayla discovers a long lost relative… (Lolth almighty, this is starting to sound like a soap opera!)

#2 Guest_argan_*

Posted 12 November 2003 - 11:31 AM

Awesome chapter as usual :)

Keep up the good work :?

Although I don't think elves get wrinkly as they don't age as humans. :D

#3 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 12 November 2003 - 10:27 PM

Awesome chapter as usual

Keep up the good work

Although I don't think elves get wrinkly as they don't age as humans.


This is true-ish. For ease of calculation, elves of all types live 10x that of humans, unless they've got something distinctive about them (like, their mother was Sehanine Moonbow, etc etc etc.) in which case they bat on into their thousands and don't really show it (I apply a 30x factor in this case.)

I also like to have them age similarly, but they never go repulsively aged or anything like that.

Anyhow, thanks for commentary.

#4 Guest_Chantrys_*

Posted 15 November 2003 - 04:59 PM

I snapped at him in reply, “Kandron H. Devore. And I STRONGLY SUGGEST you let us all in. We haven’t cleaned all the orcs out of the Shaengarne valley for the good of our health you know!”

“Sorry, don’t know a Kandronaitchdevore. Can you get lost, please? I’ve got a town to guard here.”


LOL! Well, at least he said please.

Shayla flicked her long, dark hair away from her face, shuffled the arrangement of her robe and whatever was underneath, and strolled slowly, swaying her hips, towards the palisade gate. “Well…” she said in a voice little more than a breathy sigh. “Would you boys mind letting myself and my colleagues past? I would be, “ – at this point she puffed her chest out rather – “EXTREMELY grateful…” With that last phrase she cocked an exposed leg forward and ever so slowly crossed it in front of her other leg.


Watch and learn, eh? I'd love to see Kandron trying this approach on the next surly guard. :?

”Dear Kandron H. Devore and Party,

You are cordially invited to dine with Lord Ulbrec, the Mayor of Targos, and his wife Elytharra, at sundown on 1 Uktar 1320. Given the nature of your collective paths in life, formal dress is to be optional.”


A dinner party? With HIM? Yeah, this sounds like a way to get them to do an annoying and dangerous quest later on. :wink:

Although formal dress was optional for this little event, I felt that it would be necessary to at least make some attempt. As my Matron Mother used to say when I was small, “Don’t be yourself; try to make an impression.”


:wink:

And so it was that I boxed myself in my room at the inn, stripped buck naked and broke out the armour polish. Not that I’d packed any of the special-grade variety that I always used to use in the Underdark, but Oberron fortuitously carried eight tins of the stuff around with him, just in case an evil-doing lump of mud should besmirch his breastplate.


Gotta watch out for those things. They can come from anywhere.

“Lolth on a flashcart,” I profaned. “This stuff needs serious work,” I mused as I noticed the rings of my chainmail to be brown with flecks of rust. My heart sank as I found a hole under one arm which I could slip three fingers through. So, it was with a mound of irritation welling up that I set to scraping every last fleck of rust off my armour.


I think he just needs new armor.

“What’s with the pendant?” I asked her.

“Oh, that,” she replied. “It’s not magical. Okay, it is. It’s an Amulet of Literary Criticism. It can identify and locate for the wearer all novels in the vicinity worthy of one’s attention. Like this one, for example.”

I thought about this.

“So, why is it last time you were here you found a Drizzt biography?”

“I wasn’t wearing it then,” she replied.

I wished that I owned such a device.


I want one, too!

I looked directly at her. “Nice meeting you too,” I said, with a snarl in my voice. “Tell me, darthiir, do you greet all your guests that way?”

Elytharra shrieked at me, “But… YOU’RE A DROW!!! Well…” she said, her quivering voice betraying her bravado, “You’re not going to rape ME! I… I could KILL you if you came any closer to me!”


:D Sure you could, honey.

We sat down at said table, Ulbrec at the head, Elytharra his wife next, and Talyn next to her. On the other side, Oberron and Darik sat, and myself at the other end (“The arse-end” as Talyn referred to it.) since Elytharra requested that she be seated “as far away from that murderous darkling as possible”.


Your descriptions of the dinner were absolutely priceless.

“Yes, yes,” replied Ulbrec, without a care in the world. “All we need now is your signatures on this contract here, and you can go.”

He handed us a piece of parchment with stuff about how we agree to do this job, and we will be paid this much for it, as long as we follow the procedure set out, etc etc etc and all that jazz. At the bottom he had signed it, “Ulbrec Croesus Trimalchio Dinnsmore”, and left spaces for our names, which we all signed.


No! You need to look closer at things before you sign them! Ah, well. I suppose it's more amusing this way. :roll:

That’s all for now people. Hope you liked it! Coming next Part – Talyn, Agony Uncle; and Shayla discovers a long lost relative… (Lolth almighty, this is starting to sound like a soap opera!)


It is sounding like a soap opera. But it's just as addictive, which is good. :lol:

#5 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 15 November 2003 - 06:24 PM

LOL! Well, at least he said please.


Well quite. But it does help to show a little decorum when the person you are trying to fob off is glaring bloodshot eyes at you and is holding a very sharp and lethal looking pair of swords. Research has shown that those who do not, they, well, erm, accidentally brutally get stabbed through the gut while shaving. :twisted:

Watch and learn, eh? I'd love to see Kandron trying this approach on the next surly guard.


I wouldn't. Although he appreciates it, Kandron is incapable of acting campy, vampy, or trampy in any way whatsoever.

Gotta watch out for those things. They can come from anywhere.


Oh yes. I mean, how do we know that all that crud that collects under one's keyboard isn't turning into some hideous monster from the depths of a B-movie?

I want one, too!


Well, let's see... You've already expressed a desire for the Knee High Boots of Groin Kicking, and now the Amulet of Literary Criticism. I'm pretty certain there'll be more little gadgets you'd be interested in...

It is sounding like a soap opera. But it's just as addictive, which is good.


Unfortunately, yes.

Thanks for commentary anyhow!




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