In The Cards

Thorough preparation is the key to most successful endeavors. Always make sure to be properly prepared before you venture into a dangerous situation. Once the entire Palace Guard is chasing after you with flashing swords and man-eating dogs, it's just a little late to wish that you'd taken the time to glue on your false mustache more properly.

Excerpt from 'Interview With An Assassin'

There was a corpse on the stairway again this morning. A common sneakthief by the looks of it, perhaps somebody who had attempted to pickpocket the wrong adventurer and paid dearly for his mistakes. Dekaras shook his head and stepped over the dead body, but not until he'd made sure that it really was dead. You couldn't afford to take unnecessary chances in the Elfsong Tavern. Then again, the assassin thought, I've never really approved of taking unnecessary chances, period.

The journey to Baldur's Gate had been an uneventful one, and he'd entered the city with no problems. He'd spent the first few days the same way he always did in a new city if he had the time to do so, getting to know the streets and the alleyways, mapping the place out in his head until he knew it almost as well as the back of his hand. He wasn't quite at that point yet, but he could easily find his way to all the more important landmarks, both official and unofficial ones. You never knew when the knowledge of just where a dark alley ended up could save your life.

Of course examining the layout of the city also meant getting a feel for what the citizens were talking about. And amidst the general din and rumors some subjects kept cropping up. The iron crisis, and most importantly war. War, and probably not too far off in the future either. It was Amn which had been behind the raids and the iron crisis, people said. The Amnians were mobilizing their forces, just south of the Cloudpeak mountains. They ought to be dealt with soon, and harshly. Why weren't the Grand Dukes doing anything? They should attack before Amn did, so as not to get taken by surprise.

That was the way the gossip went. Dekaras thought about it as he brushed past the hulking figures of two half-orcs who were having a surreptitious conversation in a corner, paying them no obvious attention. War, war, war and iron. Oh, and war. It did make a certain amount of sense. Take out the Nashkel mines, intercept the incoming caravans, then supply your own iron. But he very much doubted Sarevok would be interested in a scheme that involved simple profiteering. There had to be something more, and Dekaras fully intended to find out what. First he would need to make some preparations though.

The Elfsong Tavern was a fairly large establishment, and a popular meeting place for adventurers of all kinds, coming there to find new commissions or brag about their past accomplishments over drinks. This also meant that fights to the death were a common occurrence, and more than one proud adventurer had seen his lifeblood ebb away onto the dirty floor of the Elfsong while the ghost that had given the tavern its name sang its mournful dirge. If you heard a scream from one of the private meeting rooms you didn't hurry to investigate. You simply ordered another drink and forgot about it, and hoped that the staff would get the remains out of the way before you tripped over them. Patrons nervously joked about how there was supposedly a secret hatch deep in the Elfsong's basement, where the bodies could be dumped directly into the sewers with nobody the wiser.

Dekaras had been in two fights so far, and he was starting to find the whole thing rather annoying. It didn't really help if you disposed of one fool, fresh ones came streaming into the city every day. He had considered changing inns, but the Elfsong was very convenient if you wanted to remain anonymous. However, he thought, the next idiot who challenges me to a duel may just manage to irritate me enough that he won't get a swift death. He snorted quietly to himself. Duels. A very fancy word for killing. The way I see it, you either kill or you don't. Prettying it up is for amateurs.

Shaking his head once more the assassin headed into the streets of Baldur's Gate. His first goal this morning was a certain clothes shop in the southeastern part of the city. To the casual observer 'Three Tantalizing Trousers' didn't look like much. To those who knew what to look for, however, it held untold treasures. Dekaras entered the shop, taking note of the dark and shabby interior and the few sad items of unfashionable clothing displayed here and there. No other customers were present. Behind the counter there was a gnome, a wizened little man with a fluffy fringe of white hair around his mostly bald head, half-moon glasses that kept slipping down his nose and very sharp eyes, like those of a bird.

"Yes?" the gnome asked. "Can I help you?"

"Perhaps," Dekaras said. "I'm looking for a pair of extremely flared orange trousers, decorated with enormous flowers in the colors of feces-brown and vomit-green."

The gnome raised his head slightly and his eyes glittered. "I see," he said. "A discriminating customer. Well, good sir, I may have such an item in stock. Not out here though, you'll have to come into the backroom." He opened a cleverly concealed door and stepped through it into a narrow dark passage.

"An interesting choice of password," Dekaras remarked in a conversational tone as he followed the gnome.

"Very useful," the gnome said. "I can't see any outsider walking in and accidentally wanting to buy such a hideous item. Here we are, sir." The room the passage entered into was very different from the dingy little shop. This room was neat and clean, and brightly lit with magical lanterns. It was also tightly packed with clothes of all kinds. Silks and velvets befitting the Grand Dukes themselves. Filthy rags like those a beggar would wear. Wizard robes. Priestly garbs. Flaming Fist uniforms. Too many different costumes for the eye to take in all at once. "Now sir," the gnome said. "How may I really help you?"

A short while later Dekaras exited the shop again, pleased with how his plans were progressing. It would take a couple of days before the costume he had ordered would be ready, but he had complete faith in the little man's capabilities. I do believe it will be perfect in every detail, he thought. As it should be. Disguises could be extremely helpful, and he'd often used them. For what he had in mind he would need something rather more complex than he could construct himself however, and he could afford no mistakes. Or, as an alternative plan, I could always go with the hideous orange trousers. Who knows, I might be able to nauseate Sarevok to death. Then he remembered the warrior's taste in armor. No, on second thought probably not. He has to be immune to such things.

The assassin now headed back towards the eastern city gate, and his next stop. Passing by the glittering blue dome of the city's mage shop, the Sorcerous Sundries, he went inside a narrow building, identical to the dozens of others that surrounded it. Inside, a very large man sat on a bench, reading a book that Dekaras could see was titled. 'The History Of Succubi - With Illustrations'. "Password?" the doorman grunted with a threatening glare.

"I love fluffy bunnies," Dekaras responded, managing not to wince. It does make sense. A Flaming Fist spy would be bound to guess on 'Blood' or something like that. I just wish it didn't make me feel sick to my stomach every time I have to say it. Well, at least the resources of the Guild will be worth the bother of making myself known to them. I hope.

"Yeah, all right. Go on in." The guard stepped aside, allowing the assassin passage into the next room.

The Thieves Guild of Baldur's Gate wasn't particularly large as such things went. At a first glance, it might almost have been taken for a tavern. There were an assortment of odd chairs and tables scattered about, and a small bar. If you were to have an in-depth conversation with the fat and jolly bartender however, you would find that drinks weren't all he served, but that he was in fact also an excellent purveyor of potions and poisons of all kinds. Of course, some might argue that certain of the drinks were poison in themselves, such as the notorious 'Mindflayer' that promised to suck your brains out as soon as you touched it. Actually, Dekaras thought, you'd probably have to be brainless to touch it in the first place. Last night he'd seen a very small glass of it make a very large half-ogre pass out on the very hard floor, providing the assembled thieves with a concerto of very loud snores.

Thieves sat at tables here and there, conversing quietly, but it was a bit too early in the day for very many to be up and about. Dekaras soon spotted the person he was looking for. A thin young man with an earnest face and mousy hair was sitting at one of the tables, drawing.

"Hello, Wizard," Dekaras said to announce himself as he stepped up behind the young man's shoulder. "Busy day?"

"AAAaagh!" The Wizard almost collided with the ceiling, and once he came down again and turned around his face was very pale. "Please don't do that," he begged. "You scared me half to death."

"Force of habit," the assassin said, shrugging. "We all do what we're good at. I sneak up on people and kill them. You…make wishes come true. Speaking of which, do you have the items I requested?"

The Wizard nodded. He was an excellent forger and had got his nickname because of his ability to change reality, providing you with proof of just about anything you needed. "I have them," he said, taking out a thick wad of papers and accepting a pouch of money in return. "Just as you specified. And I made certain to select places far out in the countryside, the way you wanted."

"Excellent," Dekaras said, looking through the papers. Everything seemed to be in order. If he hadn't known they were forgeries he'd have believed them himself. "Yes, I wanted to make it harder to investigate my claims, in case anybody should think of doing so. This should serve most admirably."

"It was a pleasure," the Wizard nodded. "Half the people who want my help don't really know what they're doing, the bloody idiots. Always nice working with somebody who does. I don't suppose there's any chance of you telling me what you have in mind?"

"I don't think so," the assassin said. "I'll be looking into a few things. That is all you need to know."

"Well, let me know if there's anything else I can help you with. I do paintings too, you know. I've sold three 'Serena of Sembia' this year already." He chuckled. "Those greedy nobles, all of them so eager to their hands on a masterpiece. Well, they do. My paintings are masterpieces, in a way. Sure you don't want one? Could make a nice gift for a lady."

"Perhaps later. It might make a nice gift, as you say." Dekaras nodded to the forger before he departed. That's true. I did promise to bring something home, didn't I? Not just yet though. I'm not about to drag a huge painting of a woman with a queasy smile about with me everywhere. Not even for her sake. He carefully placed the forged papers into a pocket. Everything was in order. Soon, very soon, it would be time to set the first stage of the plan in motion.

The assassin smiled slightly to himself, his black eyes glittering with anticipation as he went over the details of his plan once again. The bandits had been an entertaining enough challenge, but this…this was the real thing. Intrigue, subterfuge, infiltration…he was very much looking forward to it, dangerous as it would undoubtedly be. Sarevok will never know what hit him. Or, in this case, who hit him.