Integrating
Obro
Being a person again was a heady delight. Experiences came alive, memories were relived, and relationships were remembered. This man Erenthal was in trouble though. Obro could feel panic raising as it was clear that the target had escaped. People would be coming after him for this failure. But really, it didn’t matter. Absolute worst case, Obro could abandon Erenthal to his fate, find a new person to be, and just... continue.
A momentary lament came that Obro couldn’t remember who he had been wearing before the wasteland. That would have been helpful.
But that momentary lament was crowded out. There were more pressing concerns. Whoever he had been before, that person had died.
Erenthal/Obro had made it back to his hideout, a cunningly wrought series of basements beneath an otherwise unassuming produce dealer’s warehouse. Erenthal had always found the concept of a root cellar’s root cellar to be amusing. Obro, however, was unable to understand why. The dingy passage opened into a hidden room appointed for comfort. Plush couches, a soft if small bed, pantry stocked with much more than the building above would have stocked, and a wardrobe with a variety of fine disguises. None of it really interested Obro, but Erenthal had plans for all of it.
In another little alcove, hidden even from the living room, there was the armoury. Dozens of weapons for various situations, all geared toward the ending of life. Some were for piercing armor, some were tiny blades meant to be concealed in a palm, crossbow and dart tubes, vials of poisons, and even a few more brutish varieties for when the target needed to be aware of their impending demise.
Erenthal knew what to do with all of these, and so Obro did as well. But what caught Obro’s attention were the ones that had some kind of clear enchantment. They called to him, shining with their magical secrets, promising growth and fulfillment. Barely thinking, Obro grabbed at these, stuffing each one into the folds of cloth covering Erenthal. They disappeared, fully enwrapped despite the size of some.
Finished here, Obro ransacked boxes with jewelry, unpicking hidden compartments to find all of the best things. Moving further, the bathroom contained more wonders of the enchanter’s art. Erenthal’s mind insisted on the expense of these things that all made his life a luxury, and unbidden by Obro, remembered the deeds that had provided those funds. Within those bloody, murderous tirades came some genuinely interesting tidbits... the names of the enchanters that Erenthal had dealt with.
He was going to have to pay some visits to the market.
Pelias
Worshipping the very concept of commerce and economy was a trial at times, but a joy at others. Riding into Telvin’s Nest was invigorating to such a soul. When things were working as they should, Telvin’s Nest was a bustling crossroads. It was like Market Day every day, mixed with a festival, and with a dash of salacious underground skullduggery added in for spice.
Pelias sighed in delight as the Avenue of Blood opened before him, flowing the commerce lifeblood of the whole region through its jasper-studded thoroughfares. Better yet, the folk offering services and wares turned this lane into the midway of a carnival. A pouch filled with coins begged to be spread around and the jewelry tucked about his person, doubly so.
Urchins moved through the crowd, some offering services, others committing larceny, and yet others participating in that time-honored wealth transfer, charity work. Granted they were the receivers, but charity none the less. The exchange of value was the thing, and the intentions involved were the spice of the transaction.
Looking around, Pelias could see places that could use investment. His money and connections would see things flourish even in such a vibrant landscape.
What seemed a bit confusing was that such a healthy economy didn’t have a public presence of the priesthood of Coin. Certainly this place could benefit from their financial ministry. But somehow this great crossroads had done it without intervention.
It wasn’t unheard of. Deities were embodiments of beliefs and practices, not the primogenitors of them. They were ideals given form and function allowing their devotees to gather and project those energies into the world. A personification that the collective minds and devotions of many people, or peoples as the case may be, generated and pushed upon the world. And certainly people could do things without the authority granted by the divine.
Still, Coin would be served.
Something tickled at his mind. Something significant, his instincts said. Often it was said amongst his soul-siblings that where one of their order went, another would surely be. There were, and he rolled his eyes as he realized the pun that was coming, always two sides to any coin.
Roonaga, Yes, Meeritza
“What am I gonna do with you?” Roonaga sighed as she pulled out a loaf of fresh warm bread. It wasn’t the best, but who cared? Roonaga’s bread was still worth it. Immediately she tore into it, smiling at the wisps of steam rising from the fluffy interior, and handed chunks around the table.
“I have no idea,” Meeritza sighed between bites, “what do you think you need to do with us? I mean... other than knowing some things, what are you going to do anyways? Turn us in?”
“Dat’s not what I meant,” Roonaga started.
“I know,” Meeritza interrupted.
“You know too much and not enough,” she scolded, using her nestmother’s old saying, “It’s gonna get you into trouble.”
“They have to catch us,” Meeritza admitted brazenly, “and I can't imagine how they’ll find us.”
“Dey gonna catch you though,” Roonaga grumbled, “Dey gonna know. You robbed rich people. Dey can pay to find ya. Dey’s got wizards and such.”
Meeritza harrumphed, “They’ve never caught me before. And they clearly never caught Yes before. We’re a perfect team.”
“I am certainly perfect, though I am still not sold on this whole ‘Team’ thing. Dragons are far superior, and team implies that you would be my peer.”
“Just sayin’ I know you do honest work sometime, and sometime you don’t. But this is a slippery slope. How long before you’re thievin’ and you get caught? How long before you gotta run from the law?”
“No laws of lesser peoples holds over one such as I,” Yes pronounced before taking another huge bite, “Is there more of this?”
Meeritza focused on finishing ff her bowl before replying.
“At this rate, I could fund your kitchen,” she stated flatly, “I could help your people with this. You would just need to make sure that when we want a meal, we get a meal. What else could you ask for? And think of it, you will be serving a dragon like your ancestors.”
Roonaga’s posture took on an incredulous pose.
“Mmmhmm, yeah that ain’t gonna do it for me. Nope. Kobolds don’t serve dragons no more. That’s just old stories.”
“So you’re not going to help us? Not even for pay?” Meeritza queried, eyebrow cocked, “Or... no... ok, what do you want?”
“I’ve got a list, aye,” Roonaga admitted with a quirk of a grin, “and I’m sure you can find me a few things. Plus I ain’t stupid. We gotta keep it quiet. If I start getting all fancy overnight, folks gonna ask a whole lotta questions. And you ain’t that good kid.”
“Let’s start with some of the little things then.” Meeritza agreed, “So what's the job?”
A sudden crash and spluttering snapped all heads to stare at Yes. The dragon had seemingly spit a mouthful of food out and had knocked over the bowl to boot. The spluttering was an attempt to clear what had obviously been a bad bite. Regardless, two now-bulging eyes glared at Meeritza and Roonaga.
“How dare you?!” Yes growled between gasps and coughs, “How dare either of you consider a... what a horrid word! You cannot be serious, even for you servile beings!”
Roonaga and Meeritza shared puzzled expressions.
“We do not do... jobs,” Yes said disgustedly, “The very idea. It is... no. We shall take what is rightly ours by conquest and guile, and I, as the Dragon, shall allow one’s underlings their pittance to reward their loyalty and servitude. That is the order of things. That is how it is. We shall not do a job!”
Silence for a moment.
“Okay, wow, your people are so much better off without dragons Rooney.”
“Oh what?!” Yes snapped, “How can you possibly say such a thing?”
Roonaga slapped the table hard enough that all the cutlery jumped.
“No fightin’ at my table or you can go eat somewhere else. I mean it. I deal with quite enough without you two adding to it.”
Yes huffed but Meeritza visibly backed down putting up her hands.
“I’m not fighting, Rooney,”
“Listen you,” Roonaga said to Yes, “I don’t know where you come from or why you like this, and I don’ believe you’s really a real dragon. But you wan’ eat my food, you play by my rules. I got things I want, and Ritz gon’ bring dem to me. You wan’ cut o’ it, you best help her out. Mutual benefits and dat.”
Yes fumed, huffing more in silent outrage.
“You best also clean dat up. I don’ make food to go spillin’ on da floor an’ table. Else you can leave right now.”
Yes’s eyes went wide and the indignant gestures intensified. Meeritza and Roonaga let it go, waiting out the tantrum. Eventually though, Yes’s head drooped.
“Very well,” Yes groaned at last, “very well... I want more food. And if the cost of it is... this...”
Yes clambered up further on the table, and took a big lick of the spill.
“Ew, okay. You can use a cloth or something,” Meeritza reacted with disgust.
Yes looked up at Meeritza, confused, “How does one, ahem, use a cloth?”
