Ordim (prime)/KrakenEats
Adventurers of all shapes and sizes shuffled out into the night, leaving the Stumbling Pebble II a bit worse for the wear. Only a handful of people remained, still just as varied in appearance as the crowd that had left, but lacking the numerous overlapping voices and concerns. Muffin crumbs lay scattered around the floor, gathering densely in, under and around a small chair upon which sat a small figure covered in various colored clothes from around the world. The pile of fabric would bouncy in time with a giggle and send more crumbs cascading to the ground.
A sharp-dressed Nalfien shot daggers across the room with her eyes as she smiled and said her goodbyes. Missing the direct route to the exit, she stopped to whisper empty threats to Ordim. At least he hoped they were empty threats. “Shame if I had to kill my only delivery person” he thought to himself as he ignored her and instead occupied himself with the subtle hand motions he was making. He gave a curt nod to no one in particular before standing up.
“Good night everyone!”
Producing a strange metallic contraption from his satchel, Ordim said his goodbye and found himself standing in front of a bright yellow painted building back in the landing. He walked in through the door, past the counter and under the dark arch, down the stairs and into a corner of the basement, sitting down next to the strange corpse that still stood silently after all this time.
“Tonight was a bit too close Cookie, but I did what had to be done.”
He nodded his approval to the corpse and let out a long sigh.
“She was talking too much!” He added, as if the corpse could either respond or have any understanding at all. “I think it’s time to bring the Triad back around, that should provide enough of a front in case things go very wrong… or very right.”
Ordim nodded again to himself and took out a decorated stationary box. He had a lot of letters to write, but only one very important one.
Be on the lookout for news about The Triad Gaming Commission reopening, catering to gamblers of all kinds but specializing in those who speak with their hands
The sound of gurgling water mirrored Ordim’s giggle as he watched the many insects darting in and out of the water of the fountain pool. Every so often his hands would become a flurry of nearly imperceptible movements, a well-orchestrated symphony of movements that only a few would ever notice, let alone understand. A tall figure across the fountain joined in the motions, before taking over and holding their own performance. Both Ordim and the figure gave small talk to those around them, all the while secretly passing news between each other. After a time they stopped and staggered their leave from the fountain, knowing full well they would see each other again later that evening. Ordim set off from the Library and headed out to the edge of the town. The shops gave way to small homes and gardens before finally surrendering to the thick rainforest on the other side of the fence. Finding a quiet spot, he sat down and set about writing a letter:
Brothers and Sisters,
Long have we all worked individually for our own goals under the watchful eye of the Council. Like embers from a dying fire, some will try and reignite the blaze that should rightfully burn, only to end up smoldering and fading away. Let it be known that these embers drift once again upon the wind and have found dry kindling on which to feast. More of our brothers and Sisters are called to The Isle’s of Four Winds to help us fan the flames. Seek out the signals and offer up your support. Together, for the glory of the Council, we can ignite a wild fire.
In service of the Kraken.
The letter soon found itself resting upon the meeting table, hidden deep in the basement of a once grand manor, nestled square in the heart of the port city of Solhaven.
The adventurers slowly shuffled out of the Pebble Pub around the same time as the fire retreated into embers in the fireplace. A small pile of clothing sat upon the couch, watching the embers dull glow as it nodded goodbyes and farewells. Shortly after the last person left, Ordim stood up and dusted himself off, sending a shower of muffins crumbs tumbling to the ground around him. He surveyed the nearly empty pub one last time before setting his sights on the fireplace.
Various fabrics ruffled against each other as he strode over to the stonework chamber filled with dull glowing embers.
“Better make sure everything settles in safely!” Ordim said to himself as he grabbed a metal poker and stirred the embers. A few tiny flames flared to life briefly before giving up their last breath – a handful of sparks drifted into the air around Ordim. Content that he had ensured the safety of the pub, he turned around to leave, only to be distracted by the bowl of peanut shells left on the rug in the center of the pub. Giggling to himself, a brief detour to pick up the bowl was made.
“Gerth! Someone left the bowl of shells in the middle of the room, I’ll get it for you!” A swift motion brought the bowl up into Ordim’s hand and on its way back to the bar where it belonged. Along the way a terrible thing happened, a nebulous emerald setting caught itself on the rim of the bowl and fell open, sprinkling the contents it was hiding away inside the bowl and dusting the outside edge. A strange mix of yellowed roots ground up into a fine powder, the “spice” mixed itself nearly invisibly into the discarded shells and thinly coated the outside of the bowl.
“No charge for helping clean up!” Ordim gave Gerth a wink and a giggle as he dropped the bowl onto the bar, further spreading a faint amount of the poison. Ordim hummed happily to himself as he set out into the night, discreetly cleaning his hands on his clothing and wondering where his muffins had gone off to. A single though lingered on his mind – “That should take any possible heat off me!”
Ordim shuffled over to a long dark platform and grabbed an empty goblet from inside a small nook. He glanced around nervously before filling the goblet with wine from a decanter of oddly fresh wine. He didn’t put much thought into who, or what, was coming around to refill the decanter, it was probably in his best interest not to ask too many questions anyway.
LISTEN TO US
The voice echoed in his head loudly. It had been a long time since the call had been this strong and unavoidable. He took a long drink from the goblet and hoped it would go away.
LISTEN TO US NOW
It didn’t.
LISTEN TO US NOW. WE HAVE LOTS TO TELL YOU AND WE ARE NEVER WRONG
Knowing full well that they wouldn’t stop until he listened, Ordim set his goblet down and cleared a small spot on the cold stone floor. Content, he sat down and settled himself comfortably. Various pouches and satchels rested on the floor and Ordim had to shuffle through all of them before finally finding what he was looking for – A small tanik box that had once been painted red. Holding the box carefully, he lifted it to his ear and sat silently for a moment. His head nodded in understanding, his face switching from confusion, to shock, to exhaustion before he moved the box to his lips and whispered a near silent question.
“Will our ventures be successful?”
As the words plunged into the stillness around him he deftly lowered the box and withdrew a single painted card from the top of the box.
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The card is labeled "Skullduggery" in an archaic, looping script.
Once vivid paint now stood faded on the heavy parchment card forming a forked dagger dripping with blood. What little light shone into the room reflected off the drops of blood and scattered, giving it a life like appearance. Ordim smiled to himself and set the card back into the box. He knew the meeting tonight would go well.
WE ARE NEVER WRONG. LISTEN TO US ALWAYS. WE ARE NEVER WRONG.