He pushed open the heavy wooden door, which was banded together by steel.
As he stepped into the establishment, his eyes took a moment to adjust to
the darkness. Slowly they came back into focus. He scanned the room to
see a common bar laid out before him. To his right were several metal
tables; all bolted to the floor. Very few people sat at them. One of
those who did was the man with spikes on either shoulder. The spiked man's
hood was pulled low over his eyes so his face was unseen. When he saw his
friend walk in, he slightly nodded in an almost undetectable
acknowledgement.
The man who had just entered looked over to his left, and at the bar. A few men sat at it, nursing drinks. One of them was leaning back, with his back resting on the bar, while he stared out into the rest of the establishment. The man who had just entered smiled slightly and immediately recognized the man he was looking for. He approached the seat next to him, and leaned back on bar with both elbows resting on it.
"Evening, sir. Can I get you something to drink?" asked the man who had been leaning against the bar first. He was richly dressed, wearing long bright red garments complimented by a deep purple sash. He had gold bracelets around his wrists, and an ornate dagger hanging at his hip.
"No thanks, I'm not here to drink," replied the newcomer. He was still wearing the same drab, thick brown clothing he had been wearing one week ago. His hood was pulled back, revealing his shaggy brown hair that looked as if it had been plopped on top of his head.
"Well, there's not very much else you can do in a place like this," the richly dressed man laughed.
"That's true most of the time. I've got business."
"Business? Well, that often does ruin one's day."
"I understand you're looking for a man. A man who fought at the battle of Malathem."
"That is true, I won't deny. So am I to understand your business has something to do with my business as well then? Damn! You're going to ruin my day too."
"Something like that, chief," the brown clad man chuckled. "Listen, I heard you're looking for the hero of Malathem, and I'm here to tell you that you aren't gunna find him."
"Oh, and what makes you so sure?" asked the richly dressed man, now turning slightly to look at him.
"He's dead, chief."
"Dead? Really? Damn. I had hoped for much better than that. What makes you so sure?"
"I watched him die. So did you. The only heroes of Malathem are now buried beneath its blood soaked grounds.
"Ah, so true, so true, every one of them were heroes" the rich man replied. "However, I am looking for the hero that did not die. The man who rallied the remaining troops and carried my people to victory by defeating the black fiend all alone."
"Chief, I'm telling you, you won't find him. He never existed. You were taken by a hoax. You've been deceived."
"Oh? How do you figure? The fiend is dead, and my grand city still stands. Despite your opinion, sir, that man is a hero."
"He had ulterior motives. He used your men, Floniggen. He used all those men who thought they were fighting to save their kingdom. He used them to destroy a fiend who was out to destroy him. He didn't fight for the good of your kingdom. Hell, he didn't even know the name of your kingdom." Now, the rich man intently stared at the man clad in brown. Their eyes met and he tried desperately to decipher the brown clad man. However, all he saw in his eyes was a relaxed look, as if he were lying on a tropical beach without a care in the world. Something about him stirred a feeling in the rich man that he couldn't shake.
"Sir, regardless of the motives that man had, he was a hero. Because of him, my city still stands, and my kingdom still reigns over all the land that has always been its own. If we all judged men by their motives instead of their deeds, our world would have very few heroes indeed," Floniggen said. The brown clad man turned and looked back out over the bar.
"I understand you had a job for this man. I would know what it is," he said.
"Do you realize how many men have come to me claiming to be the hero of Malathen? I already have found it impossible to tell with of them is truly he. Why then, sir, should I entrust such information to you?" Floniggen continued to stare at him intently. The brown clad man just smiled and lets his eyes fall on where the spiked man still sat and hovered over his drink.
"Because, chief, I'm not claiming to be him." At these words, Floniggen stared for another moment, and then smiled, allowing his gaze too to wander back over the establishment. There was a long period of silence as he sipped his drink and stared off, deep in thought.
"You know my name. I do not know yours. If we are to discus business, I need to know your name," the rich man replied.
"You still don't know the man's name of whom you seek, yet you would discuss business with him. You know nothing of him. Why then, good sir, would you trust him more than I?"
"He saved my city."
"Your people saved your city. They are the ones who died for it." As the man clad in brown said this, Floniggen fell silent. For a long period of time they sat silently watching the rest of the bar.
"Have you heard of the Stone of Florin?" Floniggen finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Yea, I've heard the stories, legends, whatever you want to call them."
"It's reemerged."
"Reemerged? I wasn't aware it was gone."
"It's been missing for some thousand years. It' remerged on the moon of some backward prime. Those who found it probably have no idea what it is, but they know that it's important."
"A moon?"
"Yea, a moon."
"It's been years since I've even seen a moon. Who found it?"
"I don't know. All I know is who's going to find it."
"Oh?"
"Baator's mobilized an army. So has Mount Celestia and a hundred other planes. Everyone wants that stone. Baator will be there first."
"Damn shame." Floniggen looked over at the brown clad man surprised by his passive attitude, and then looked away again.
"Yes, it would be a shame. You know what they say about that stone?"
"Yea, I know all about it. It holds the truth to existence and the key of mortality itself. What's this got to do with us?"
"I want that stone."
"Ah, and so you are going to mobilize your own army to get it, and you need a great hero to lead it." As the brown clad man said this, Floniggen turned to look at him, but the brown clad man continued to stare off into the darkness of the bar. "You do realize that waging any sort of war against Baator is suicide. Not to mention Mount Celestia or any of the uncountable other armies you say are going to be grasping for the stone.
"He won an impossible war once, he can do it again."
"Some words of advice, chief. He may have won that one battle with a lot of luck and a little trickery, but he can't win a whole piking war for you. Raising an army that can contend with Baator is an almost impossible task. Even if you won, everyone would know where to come look for you to steal the stone. You'd be dead within a year. Not to mention the fact that any war of half that magnitude would level the prime and wipe out everyone who lived there."
"The prime is of no consequence to me, or anyone else for that matter. It has not had contact with the planes in hundreds of years."
"All the more reason blindly destroying it might not be your best course. Here's the deal: if you were to send in single blood, or maybe two, they could sneak in, steal the stone, and get out before anyone even knows what's gone on. No one will even know who has it anymore. It's all yours. And you won't level a plane and be responsible for millions of deaths. Besides, it's a whole lot cheaper."
"How much cheaper?"
"Well, if I were hiring some poor stupid sod to try this stunt out, I'd say about twenty five thousand up front, and seventy five upon delivery."
"I disagree, my friend. I think about twenty thousand up front and sixty thousand afterwards."
"Maybe if you were to offer twenty thousand up front, and seventy thousand afterwards, and buy me a drink, you'd have a shot." The brown clad man was now smirking at Floniggen. He knew he had won.
"Very well. Barkeep, a bakra stout for my friend here!" he called. "Now, when can I expect delivery?"
"It's tough to say. It's a delicate operation. Getting there, stealing a stone the whole prime will probably be fighting over, and getting out alive, without leveling the prime." Floniggen sighed heavily.
"So, you're saying it's going to take a while?"
"A month, maybe two tops."
"Very well." He pulled out a surprisingly small coin purse. He tugged the strings to loosen it, and shook it into his hand. Out rolled three bright gleaming blue stones, with a white mist in their core. "Do you know what these are?"
"Of course. I've. acquired a few of them in my time. Each one will sell for about ten thousand to a fancy jeweler." Floniggen took two of the small stones and dropped them in the hand of the brown clad man.
"Pleasure doing business with you, chief," the brown clad man said.
"I don't know yet," replied Floniggen..
"Where do you want me to deliver it once I have it here?"
"I'll be in town for a while. You will be able to find me." As he said this, Floniggen got up to leave. "I have no idea why I'm trusting you like this."
"Because I'm your best bet, chief. One more thing, what the name of the prime and how do I get there?"
"The name of the prime is Norrath. I have no idea how to get there, much less its moon. Like I said earlier, it has been cut off for the last few hundred years. You're going to be hard pressed to find anyone who knows the way there."
"Alright then chief, I got it under control. If it costs me any money to get there though, the price is goin up," the brown clad man said. Floniggen looked at him for a moment.
"Very well," he muttered and turned to walk out.
The brown clad man sat at the bar holding the drink his employer had purchased for him thinking. Ninety thousand wasn't too bad, especially not for this job. Besides, this would give him another crack at that elf girl. What was her name again? Never mind, it didn't matter. She couldn't have gone to far in one week.
The man who had just entered looked over to his left, and at the bar. A few men sat at it, nursing drinks. One of them was leaning back, with his back resting on the bar, while he stared out into the rest of the establishment. The man who had just entered smiled slightly and immediately recognized the man he was looking for. He approached the seat next to him, and leaned back on bar with both elbows resting on it.
"Evening, sir. Can I get you something to drink?" asked the man who had been leaning against the bar first. He was richly dressed, wearing long bright red garments complimented by a deep purple sash. He had gold bracelets around his wrists, and an ornate dagger hanging at his hip.
"No thanks, I'm not here to drink," replied the newcomer. He was still wearing the same drab, thick brown clothing he had been wearing one week ago. His hood was pulled back, revealing his shaggy brown hair that looked as if it had been plopped on top of his head.
"Well, there's not very much else you can do in a place like this," the richly dressed man laughed.
"That's true most of the time. I've got business."
"Business? Well, that often does ruin one's day."
"I understand you're looking for a man. A man who fought at the battle of Malathem."
"That is true, I won't deny. So am I to understand your business has something to do with my business as well then? Damn! You're going to ruin my day too."
"Something like that, chief," the brown clad man chuckled. "Listen, I heard you're looking for the hero of Malathem, and I'm here to tell you that you aren't gunna find him."
"Oh, and what makes you so sure?" asked the richly dressed man, now turning slightly to look at him.
"He's dead, chief."
"Dead? Really? Damn. I had hoped for much better than that. What makes you so sure?"
"I watched him die. So did you. The only heroes of Malathem are now buried beneath its blood soaked grounds.
"Ah, so true, so true, every one of them were heroes" the rich man replied. "However, I am looking for the hero that did not die. The man who rallied the remaining troops and carried my people to victory by defeating the black fiend all alone."
"Chief, I'm telling you, you won't find him. He never existed. You were taken by a hoax. You've been deceived."
"Oh? How do you figure? The fiend is dead, and my grand city still stands. Despite your opinion, sir, that man is a hero."
"He had ulterior motives. He used your men, Floniggen. He used all those men who thought they were fighting to save their kingdom. He used them to destroy a fiend who was out to destroy him. He didn't fight for the good of your kingdom. Hell, he didn't even know the name of your kingdom." Now, the rich man intently stared at the man clad in brown. Their eyes met and he tried desperately to decipher the brown clad man. However, all he saw in his eyes was a relaxed look, as if he were lying on a tropical beach without a care in the world. Something about him stirred a feeling in the rich man that he couldn't shake.
"Sir, regardless of the motives that man had, he was a hero. Because of him, my city still stands, and my kingdom still reigns over all the land that has always been its own. If we all judged men by their motives instead of their deeds, our world would have very few heroes indeed," Floniggen said. The brown clad man turned and looked back out over the bar.
"I understand you had a job for this man. I would know what it is," he said.
"Do you realize how many men have come to me claiming to be the hero of Malathen? I already have found it impossible to tell with of them is truly he. Why then, sir, should I entrust such information to you?" Floniggen continued to stare at him intently. The brown clad man just smiled and lets his eyes fall on where the spiked man still sat and hovered over his drink.
"Because, chief, I'm not claiming to be him." At these words, Floniggen stared for another moment, and then smiled, allowing his gaze too to wander back over the establishment. There was a long period of silence as he sipped his drink and stared off, deep in thought.
"You know my name. I do not know yours. If we are to discus business, I need to know your name," the rich man replied.
"You still don't know the man's name of whom you seek, yet you would discuss business with him. You know nothing of him. Why then, good sir, would you trust him more than I?"
"He saved my city."
"Your people saved your city. They are the ones who died for it." As the man clad in brown said this, Floniggen fell silent. For a long period of time they sat silently watching the rest of the bar.
"Have you heard of the Stone of Florin?" Floniggen finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Yea, I've heard the stories, legends, whatever you want to call them."
"It's reemerged."
"Reemerged? I wasn't aware it was gone."
"It's been missing for some thousand years. It' remerged on the moon of some backward prime. Those who found it probably have no idea what it is, but they know that it's important."
"A moon?"
"Yea, a moon."
"It's been years since I've even seen a moon. Who found it?"
"I don't know. All I know is who's going to find it."
"Oh?"
"Baator's mobilized an army. So has Mount Celestia and a hundred other planes. Everyone wants that stone. Baator will be there first."
"Damn shame." Floniggen looked over at the brown clad man surprised by his passive attitude, and then looked away again.
"Yes, it would be a shame. You know what they say about that stone?"
"Yea, I know all about it. It holds the truth to existence and the key of mortality itself. What's this got to do with us?"
"I want that stone."
"Ah, and so you are going to mobilize your own army to get it, and you need a great hero to lead it." As the brown clad man said this, Floniggen turned to look at him, but the brown clad man continued to stare off into the darkness of the bar. "You do realize that waging any sort of war against Baator is suicide. Not to mention Mount Celestia or any of the uncountable other armies you say are going to be grasping for the stone.
"He won an impossible war once, he can do it again."
"Some words of advice, chief. He may have won that one battle with a lot of luck and a little trickery, but he can't win a whole piking war for you. Raising an army that can contend with Baator is an almost impossible task. Even if you won, everyone would know where to come look for you to steal the stone. You'd be dead within a year. Not to mention the fact that any war of half that magnitude would level the prime and wipe out everyone who lived there."
"The prime is of no consequence to me, or anyone else for that matter. It has not had contact with the planes in hundreds of years."
"All the more reason blindly destroying it might not be your best course. Here's the deal: if you were to send in single blood, or maybe two, they could sneak in, steal the stone, and get out before anyone even knows what's gone on. No one will even know who has it anymore. It's all yours. And you won't level a plane and be responsible for millions of deaths. Besides, it's a whole lot cheaper."
"How much cheaper?"
"Well, if I were hiring some poor stupid sod to try this stunt out, I'd say about twenty five thousand up front, and seventy five upon delivery."
"I disagree, my friend. I think about twenty thousand up front and sixty thousand afterwards."
"Maybe if you were to offer twenty thousand up front, and seventy thousand afterwards, and buy me a drink, you'd have a shot." The brown clad man was now smirking at Floniggen. He knew he had won.
"Very well. Barkeep, a bakra stout for my friend here!" he called. "Now, when can I expect delivery?"
"It's tough to say. It's a delicate operation. Getting there, stealing a stone the whole prime will probably be fighting over, and getting out alive, without leveling the prime." Floniggen sighed heavily.
"So, you're saying it's going to take a while?"
"A month, maybe two tops."
"Very well." He pulled out a surprisingly small coin purse. He tugged the strings to loosen it, and shook it into his hand. Out rolled three bright gleaming blue stones, with a white mist in their core. "Do you know what these are?"
"Of course. I've. acquired a few of them in my time. Each one will sell for about ten thousand to a fancy jeweler." Floniggen took two of the small stones and dropped them in the hand of the brown clad man.
"Pleasure doing business with you, chief," the brown clad man said.
"I don't know yet," replied Floniggen..
"Where do you want me to deliver it once I have it here?"
"I'll be in town for a while. You will be able to find me." As he said this, Floniggen got up to leave. "I have no idea why I'm trusting you like this."
"Because I'm your best bet, chief. One more thing, what the name of the prime and how do I get there?"
"The name of the prime is Norrath. I have no idea how to get there, much less its moon. Like I said earlier, it has been cut off for the last few hundred years. You're going to be hard pressed to find anyone who knows the way there."
"Alright then chief, I got it under control. If it costs me any money to get there though, the price is goin up," the brown clad man said. Floniggen looked at him for a moment.
"Very well," he muttered and turned to walk out.
The brown clad man sat at the bar holding the drink his employer had purchased for him thinking. Ninety thousand wasn't too bad, especially not for this job. Besides, this would give him another crack at that elf girl. What was her name again? Never mind, it didn't matter. She couldn't have gone to far in one week.