Author's Forward:
Well folks I have finally gotten around to starting the sequel to my story "Immigration." So far there is just the Prologue, but I should have more over the coming weeks. If anyone would like to volunteer to beta the coming chapters please email me at think you will find that this story is a little bit different then the last one, but hopefully just as entertaining. Kendall Sackett and his friends won't be appearing in the prologue but you will be seeing them real soon.
Disclaimers
The concept of Immortality as used here is originally the property of
Panzer/Davis and Rysher, I may have altered it a little to suit. Forgotten
Realms are owned by TSR publishing. The Cleric Quintet is a series of books
written by R.A. Salvatore and set in the Forgotten Realms. No copyright
infringement is intended. This story is free to read, and to share as long
as my pen name is attached to it. It is not intended for paid publishing in
any way.
Prologue:
The tavern was a dim and smoky place, but then again taverns all over the Realms where dim and smoky places. This particular tavern in Elversult was no exception. Maybe this tavern is a little seedier than most, but it was better than many.
In the back corner of the main tap room four people sat around a table talking in low tones. Although they were all human they appeared to be quite diverse each in their own way. The man currently speaking had a solid reliable look about him, fairly tall and well muscled he was just unfolding sheet of parchment from his vest pocket.
"So with the new recruits we have joining up, Kerrigan," he continued, "we are finding that we require further supplies." He handed the list across the table to another man.
The man named Kerrigan picked up the list and began to review the contents. It was mostly armor and weapons. A man of below average height and above average weight gave the merchant the appearance of a man who enjoyed his wealth and comfort.
"That's quite a list, Breggo," Kerrigan responds. "You know I'm not a weapons merchant, don't you? Why don't you simply supply these items out of your own shop?"
"I know," the man we now know as Breggo responds. "But the fact is you seem to be able to get these items cheaper and faster than I can. Also I simply don't have enough stock to cover what is on this list."
"Things are getting more and more dangerous out on the streets, and we need those weapons to help protect our homes and families. The Maces seem to have neither the time nor the will to deal with the situation." The Maces of Elversult was the organization that Breggo was referring to. The Maces, as they were known, were responsible for everything from repelling an invasion of the city of Elversult to maintaining the order in the streets, as the city watch would do in other cities.
The woman sitting immediately to Breggo's right spoke up.
"Breggo," she sighed "we both know that the Maces would deal the situation if they could. They simply don't have enough manpower. They lost too many people during the revolution last year. We should be supporting the Maces, not forming our own army to oppose them."
"I know, Ellen" Breggo replied. "But that is beside the point. The streets are getting more and more dangerous, and we need these weapons. The Maces are failing in their job. Besides, as long as I am in charge, our group will be NO threat to the Maces, or the city. This city is our home, Ellen, and I for one refuse to see everything we've worked to build here fall to ashes."
Ellen was a short woman dressed informally. An attractive woman, her clothing concealed a remarkably fit and trim form. She was absently toying with a disk of rose quartz that was hanging by a chain around her neck. The disk represented Lathander the Morning Lord. The God of Spring, dawn, birth and renewal. Ellen was a priestess of Lathander. Ellen tended to view the whole situation developing in Elversult far more optimistically than Breggo did. Perhaps that was due to her outlook as a priestess of Lathander, but in any event the main reason why she agreed to join Breggo in this endeavor was to try to curb some of her old friend's more stubborn behavior.
The last person seated at the table remained silent. He was there as Kerrigan's bodyguard, at seven inches over 5 feet, the middle aged man looked every inch the swordsman that Kerrigan hired him to be. And if Brandon Thorn had any opinions he knew when to keep them to himself.
Meanwhile Kerrigan was looking down the list, silently working out a total. Then he spoke a number to Breggo. Both Breggo and Ellen blanched a little bit, when Breggo responded.
"Just because I said you could get these items cheaper than I is no reason to try to up your prices." Breggo said. "I know that you could do a lot better then that."
"Okay," Kerrigan responds, "but because we are friends I can to let them go for…." Kerrigan spoke another slightly lower number.
Breggo responded "If we are such great friends, how about…." Breggo spoke a third much lower number.
Kerrigan laughed, "Friendship is one thing, but friends don't send friends to the poor house."
With that the two men entered into a long bargaining session on the prices. Finally when the price was agreed upon both men smiled and shook hands to seal the deal. With the deal done, both Ellen and Breggo depart.
With a happy sigh, Kerrigan summons over the serving wench and orders a pitcher of ale.
He turns to Brandon and says "I think that went well."
"Well?" Brandon asks. "I don't, see I know for a fact the price you just agreed upon was pretty much what you paid for these weapons in Westgate. So when you include the cost of bringing them all the way here by caravan, you've lost money."
"Ah, Brandon my man, listen close and learn." Kerrigan says expansively. "While it's true that I sold these weapons, and the weapons to the other groups in Elversult below my cost, you know as well as I do, these sales only cover a small part of my total supply."
"The rest," he continued "are going to our hobgoblin friends up in the Storm Horn Mountains. Those filthy creatures will pay 5 times what I'd normally get for them selling them here on the open market."
"But why bother going through all the trouble to manufacture this little civil war here in Elversult?" asks Brandon. "After all like you said, there is a lot more money to be made selling to the tribes to the north and to the south of us."
"The Iron throne has decided that it wants to be the merchant trading house that controls the route through the Storm Horn Mountains and up into the Cormyr and the dale lands beyond," replies Kerrigan. "What we do here will help secure the southern part of that route."
"The rulers of Elversult under that bitch Yanseldara have already become far more effective in slowing down our smuggling and weapons trading activities then the previous lot ever was. That will only get worse as she consolidates her power base here. The Iron Throne has decided that a government under the leadership of the Cult of the Dragon will more or less leave us to our own devices. That's why we've decided to give them the aid they need to seize power.
"Even if this little plot fails, the resulting chaos will only make it easier for us to operate, business as usual. All in all it is a win/win situation for the Throne." Kerrigan finishes.
Brandon considers Kerrigan's words. There is one risk that Kerrigan either fails to recognize, or has been ignoring. That is what happens when and if Kerrigan's role is discovered. The reputation that he spent years building here and along this route would be wiped out over night, while the Iron Throne is left pretty much untouched. That would make Kerrigan the perfect fall guy for an operation like this one.
'Oh well," Brandon thinks to himself, 'If Kerrigan really does blow this operation that will only make room for some new to step in and take over.' Brandon has only been working for Kerrigan for a couple months, but he already felt he had a good feel for this business, and he's had a hell of a lot more experience in trading weapons, drugs and slaves then Kerrigan has ever had.
'Let the fat fool brag all he wants,' Brandon thinks to himself, 'I know were the money is hidden.'
"I guess you are right," Brandon responds after a minute or two letting none of his thoughts show on his face, "this is a win/win situation."
Kerrigan rewards Brandon Thorn with a cunning smile.
