Encounter, random?
Prologue
…
The bar was situated on the waterfront, past the docks where the sewage came out. The stench of decay and befoulment hung like a wet, heavy cloak. A putrid mist swallowing everything in rank and vile.
Despite this, the Dented Noggin wasn't a bad place, for a barely standing shack with more holes than swiss cheese, more rats too. But the patrons were a stalwart bunch, had to be, weren't no room for sissies in the cutthroat and common thug professions.
"Oy! Where's my beer!" The bald-headed hoodlum yelled from a table with three legs and a top that had once been a wagon wheel.
"Up your ass!" the bartender shouted back, wiping a filthy rusted tankard before putting it back on a precariously tilting shelf.
The crowd was heavy for a Thursday. The local economy had seen a sudden influx of capitol, some of which making its way into less seemly hands that had promptly taken it to the bar.
This was much to the advantage of the trio of uglies hiding in a dim lit corner at the back. Two were women, though only if you used the term very generously. One had hair like tangled straw, a long, crooked nose and more warts than should reasonably be possible on one face.
The other was dark haired and looked like nothing less than a wretched old hag. You could be forgiven for missing either of them for their third drew most of the attention which was quickly averted anywhere else.
He was a hulking nine-foot giant of a man. No hair on his head, only a series of crisscrossing scars which was a theme that played out over his entire massive body. Even one eye, the left one, had a savage looking gash running across the milky white orb.
These weren't locals, none of the regular patrons recognized them, and this normally would have drawn every manner of attention. Strangely, it did not. Occasionally someone would glance over at the big one then just as quickly look away. There was something about them that made one not want to notice them.
"Dammit all Ironfield, why do your spells always make my head itch?" griped the blond one, angrily scratching at her brittle straw hair.
"I'm sorry captain," said the giant, without any movement of his lips.
"We sure this friend of yours can find us Kumbra?" the blonde asked the hag.
"I wouldn't call her a friend," said the hag, "and you needn't worry. I told her exactly where we'd be, and how to find us."
She gently nudged the black candle at the center of the table which dropped a small spark from the gently glowing ball at the end of the wick.
"Wish she'd hurry up already."
"Feeling a little exposed Captain Fox?"
The ugly blonde glared at the smirking hag. The illusion that hid their rapturous beauty still translated their expressions perfectly. Thus was the skill of the one called Ironfield.
"You broke me out of a prison cell, and for that I am grateful. But, if this little game lands me back in that cell, I will kill you before I get there."
The Fox was deathly serious but Kumbra just chuckled, "No need to be so dramatic. She shouldn't be much longer."
And not half an hour later a woman in red armor with a decidedly draconic theme strode through the doors. She surveyed the rabble before spotting the black candle and shoving her way to the table.
"Well, you're looking good Kumbra," she greeted the hag as she took the open seat.
"Altera, still hiding behind your little helmet," said the sorceress.
"Who's hiding?" the armored woman countered, a dangerous edge to her tone.
"Ladies, please," said Ironfield.
The two women turned their noses at each other and the man at the table stifled a sigh.
"The master is not pleased with you," said Altera. "Causing such a ruckus, leaving witnesses. You drawing attention to yourself draws attention to him."
"It was a minor setback," Kumbra growled. "I'll deal with it."
"No, I'll deal with it," said Altera, handing Kumbra a small scroll with an ornate seal.
Kumbra swiftly broke the seal and scanned the contents. Her scowl deepened, a frightful sort of look on her altered face.
"I see." The amount of bile she injected into the two simple words was astonishing.
The armored woman smirked, "Thought you might."
"Captain, we will need to collect your ship."
"Good luck with that," said The Fox. "I'd be surprised if they didn't have a round the clock guard on it."
"Minor detail." The sorceress waved it off, "And just how were you planning to get the 'cargo' to this rendezvous?"
"You're not the only one with minions" said the dragon woman. "But I'll probably want to hire some guards too. Roads are dangerous. People could get hurt, or worse."
"Just be sure it's not you that gets hurt," said Kumbra with a darkly hopeful look.
"Aw, and I thought you didn't care."
The hag rolled her eyes and stood, "We're done here."
Blowing out her candle and stuffing it in her bag the trio made to leave but Altera held them back, "Give me this one," she said, indicating the disguised Ironfield. "I can use his magic."
Kumbra looked at her 'compatriot', then at the wizard, "Do as you wish."