Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.17T)
Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.
It is a grim tale, so be warned.
Here is the first post from this series.
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Wechegak raised a hand, gesturing to one of his servants. Old instincts engaged and Retaak’s eyes were drawn to the rings that decorated the Goblin moneylender’s fingers as he reached down to grab a pastry stuffed with honeyed fruit. Two diamonds, a ruby, and a fat emerald all set in dwarf-gold; like the throne Wechegak sat on, these were an ostentatious display of wealth, especially amidst the poverty and desperation of the the Lower Warrens. And yet, despite his obvious greed and corruption, many poor spawn looked up to Wechegak with awe rather than envy, almost proud that he was ‘one of them’. No doubt they hoped to follow in wake as he climbed to the pinnacle, never realizing that he had long-since pulled up the ladder behind him.
Retaak’s musing’s were interrupted by the appearance of one of Wechegak’s servants, a Hob woman with her hair done up in a severe bun and a pair of spectacles, both unusual among the spawn. She glanced at Retaak with the kind of contempt that he was used to from Hobs, but was not quite able to hide her curiosity.
Wechegak looked up at the Hob and then to Retaak, smiling. “Retaak, this is Uyaashie. There is no safe or lock that she cannot break.”
Retaak considered standing, but his eyes were level with Uyaashie’s. She wore superbly crafted leather and a belt covered in pouches. He saw no weapons on her person beyond a long knife.
“High praise coming from him,” said Retaak as he eyed the Lockbreaker.
“If anything, the boss understated my talents,” replied Uyaashie. “My mastery of alchemy and my understanding of metal and magic make me far faster than a simple picker of locks could ever hope to be.”
Retaak raised a brow. “Alchemy and magic?”
“That is what I said,” said Uyaashie, coolly. “Are you certain that this one has brains enough to lead, boss? or is this some elabourate scheme to kill me?”
Wechegak laughed. Rataak felt his cheeks flush, but he did not respond to provocation. Ogres were even more violent than most spawn when challenged, but he did not want to be ruled by the instincts that the Dread Lord had given him.
“It is a difficult undertaking,” Retaak spoke in an even tone. “But the rewards will be great. The favour of one of the Dread Lord’s favourites as well as money.”
“Boss Wechegak would not offer my services for anything less,” said Uyaashie.
“I paid for her training,” said Wechegak. “She is exceptionally talented and–”
“There must be something else you want her to steal while we are in Oystkivat,” mused Retaak, interrupting. “If she is so precious to you. Out with it.”
Uyashie glanced at Wechegak, who eyed Retaak with a frown and then shrugged.
“The Boss wants me to steal a bottle from one of the nobles in the town,” answered Uyaashie. “It will be on our way and little challenge to my skills.”
Retaak nodded. “If that is the price of your skills, Uyaashie, so be it.”
That, at least earned him a little grin.
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