Jezebeth * Iron Forged - The Rise of a Banite

[leviticus]

The sun rose slow over the dense forest nearby the village. Golden light poked through the tall pine trees, their dark green needles glistening with mild frost and dew. The ground was still damp from the night’s chill, and the earthy scent of moss and leaves filled my nostrils. The feast had taken place in a small clearing, and scattered across its surface stood sturdy wooden tables still holding half-eaten joints of meat, overturned drinking horns, and the smoldering remains of a once massive bonfire. Smoke from the glowing ashes mixed with the mist created a hazy, ethereal atmosphere.

I observed the people and warriors draped in their heavy fur cloaks, lying sprawled on the ground or against tree trunks, snoring loudly, some still clutching their drinking vessels… or a woman they had pleasured. Their breath was visible in the cool morning air. I turned my gaze at the far end of the spot where something stirred. The echo of a familiar sound carried through the woods. A few early risers, their faces worn from feast and drink, quickly moved to their feet as they heard it as well.

Horses!!

Quite sudden the stillness was broken by the sound of nearby galloping hooves a few moment prior to the appearance of three riders emerging from the trees. Our swords were already out the very moment they came into view, but were lowered immediately when they saw they were people from the community. What seemed to trouble my former kinsmen was how the horses were panting. The first rider dismounted quickly, his face all drawn and serious.

“I have bad news.” The man sounded exhausted, his throat all soar.

Addoc stepped in and motioned. “Well, speak up, what happened?”

“Our neighbours… their places… all looking sick… some already dead.”

The messenger’s words hung heavy in the air. A hush fell over the assembled, and the sounds of a waking camp life faded into tense silence. All gazes turned to the chief.

I watched Addoc’s jaws tightening and his eyes narrowing.

“Our neighbours north… or…?”

The messenger shook his head. “All of them.”

Among the gathered there was a mix of reactions. Some looked uneasy, shifting on their feet, others murmured in disbelief. But most of all I sensed fear. Many of them were warriors, and facing a threat they could grasp and kill was easy. But an invisible enemy like an unknown disease was not. I heard someone whispering a prayer to the gods I once revered, his hand resting on some carved amulet hanging from his neck.

Addoc eventually rose his hand, and the murmuring died down. “There’s no room for doubt or hesitation. We’ll send our best healers to our neighbours and ask the Griffon Tribe for assistance.”

The messenger shook his head.

Addoc frowned at him as he lowered his arm. “What is it? Something else?”

“I’m afraid the Griffon Tribe won be any good. As soon as they heard the news from our northern neighbours, they had begun calling back their men.”

Addoc tilted his head. “That seems logical. But I’m sure they didn’t withdraw them all?”

“All of them, chief. Including their healers. They only stammered something like unable to cure, or impossible to diagnose…”

Now their was slight panic among the gathered and I noticed Addoc had some trouble controlling this.

“What shall we do now? … Who can help us? … Perhaps we have to fortify our borders …” Those were only a couple of the things I heard. And what I also noticed is that many of the reactions were linked to self-preservation. Not one wondered about how helping those unfortunate neighbours.


That was the moment I stepped forward. “PERHAPS… perhaps I have a suggestion! If I may?” I turned to Addoc who nodded at me, motioning all others to be quiet.

“During my… adventure I have come across some of the best healers I’ve ever seen in my life. I can send some of my men back to retrieve such help. It will take a bit of time through this wilderness, yet I reassure you those healers can get to the bottom of this and not only heal people, but also prevent any future outbreaks.”

Naturally people reacted excited. I only looked at Addoc who slowly nodded.

I lowered my voice so only he could hear it. “Of course such will come with a price as those healers don’t work for free, Getting them here is… a logistic nightmare, and even convincing them would be an intense operation.”

Briefly I observed how the mood shifted from warm camaraderie to a resolute determination and back. Then I resumed to Addoc. “But I happen to know the people who they work for.”


An hour later I found myself just outside the village with two of my men, each holding the reins of a horse eagerly provided by my former kinsmen. “You have your instructions.”

One of them glanced at me. “Reversing the curse. Right away?”

“Hmm…” I looked pensively over my shoulder at the village and then shook my head. “No. Not yet.”

The man arched his brow. “Then… when, Jezebeth?”

I clenched my hands behind my back, squared my shoulders and rose my chin slightly. Even this man backed away from the intensity in my gaze as I looked directly at him. My voice was just as steady as my breath had been. “Let it fester for a little while longer. It’s a free opportunity to let the weak dwindle away.”

A cold, yet invigorating, surge of energy coursed through my veins. Any doubts I may have ever had simply dissipated and made way for an ironclad certainty that my actions were justified and righteous. My lips briefly pressed into a thin line before I added. ”We only work with the strong.”


What I hadn't notice was how the faint symbol of a black right-hand gauntlet clenched into a fist briefly appeared on my right armor sleeve.

[leviticus]

“At ease.” Lord Vacran motioned. “I like you to report about your ongoing mission. Though first I have a few questions for you, Jezebeth.”

My arms relaxed with my thumbs interlaced. “Certainly, my Lord.”

“How did it feel to betray your people?”

“My lord!?! I reassure you I have not betrayed you or any…” It dawned on me as I blurted that. And saw that sparkle of intellect in the man’s eyes…

He chuckled softly. “This was a satisfying reaction. Perhaps more than you realize. And as it proved quite genuine… this tells me more than just those few words. Good to see you know who your people are now.”

He was right.

“As much as I enjoyed your reaction, I’d like to get back to my question. Let me rephrase it like this : What did you sacrifice in yourself when you betrayed your former people. And… what did you gain?”

I blinked twice as this wording sounded more like an investigation. Or perhaps an inquisition. The answer however came almost naturally into my mind.

“I… sacrificed the weakness of compassion in the form of a burden of loyalty to a flawed population. Emotions and ties like that would have clouded my judgement. And likely would have held me back from doing what is… fundamental. I cast away the chains that bound me to a life of mediocrity and nearly submission. I gave up the illusion of belonging to something greater, only to realize that the only true greatness is coming from within myself. First and foremost through control and will.”

Lord Vacran paced to the other side of the field tent and back while my gaze drifted off in the distance before resuming.

“Above anything else… I gained strength. The strength to act without hesitation, the strength to wield fear as a weapon and… the strength to shape my fate.” I spaced out so much until the only thing I perceived was the sound of my own voice. “I no longer rely on the goodwill of nobodies, nor do I seek their approval. I rather bend them to my will instead, either discrete or by force. I may have lost what they call humanity, but what I gained was my ascension beyond it. And… through Him I found my true purpose.”

“And what is this true purpose then, Jezebeth?” I heard Lord Vacran ask, somewhere in the back of my head.

“That I… will be His Emissary, one capable of spreading His doctrine. And for those who turned a deaf ear... I will be His Destroyer, serving as a hand of retribution.”

“So a rethorician and an executioner in one? Hmm, I think that is exactly what I see in you, Jezebeth.” He paused briefly. “As you know we seek all sorts of people. Most are just good enough as Instruments of His Tyranny. Some show skill to become Agents of Corruption. Sanders is actually good at that role. Others fly out as Divine Seekers. A handful ascend and become feared leaders or generals to lead our forces. And once upon a time Bane selects a mortal to stand by his side, like a right hand. A Champion.” He smirked. “Bodyguards our Lord does not require.”

I stood still and my focus was now completely on his person. What was his intention with all this?

“You are with us since a few years now. And I don’t doubt you recall the way how we recruited you. But… how would you attract the right people to our cause?”

“Sir…?”

“If the current mission lands well, that will be your next assignment, Jezebeth. I’m making you head of recruiting, of sorts.”

“Of sorts, my Lord?”

“Mhm, you’ll have to work with Sanders.”


One month later

Make sure the Black Network is provided with fresh blood. And not on a scale of shaking a few recruits from a small village’s population. Lord Vacran's interpretation of recruitment was scalewise much larger. I personally faced and witnessed a couple of their methods, but I think they’re looking for something more… creative. Hence why they involved me. How was I going to start? We could try and bewitch people. Or at least intrigue them. Other ways to attract new warriors and agents were perhaps seducing them, or enchant. Somehow I doubt that a normal invitation might work. Freak them out maybe? Kill a couple of their loved ones?

I don’t know. All these methods seemed so… inefficient. I turned my head to the horizon from where the sound of wind instruments rose up.

Perhaps we could work with people who have been accused of things. Unwanted souls, rebels even or disenfranchised groups with grievances against local governments or rulers. A bit like what we were doing here. Contracts with others were fine, but not everlasting. And loyalty could easily shift. Creating a cult could if disguised well be beneficial but it doesn’t work in all layers of population and…

I smiled as an idea of larger dimensions invaded my thoughts.

Meanwhile I watched how two platoons of Zhentarim warriors marched in perfect unison, shoulder to shoulder, their metal armor gleaming under a clouded sky. Large curved shields were held firmly in place, forming a near-impenetrable wall of steel. Their march was swift, deliberate, and unstoppable, each step of their heavy boots echoing discipline and unity.

None of these men and women were under my command as I needed my platoon for other business, but I was proud of them. All of them. Helmets with closed visors, revealing no emotion or identity, made them appear as the vanguards of a faceless future legion of tyranny. After I offered a salute at the two wearing a dark cape I made my way to my horse.

One last visit to my former village, and then I was done here.

On to my next task.

Eager...

[leviticus]

The camp was unlike the rigid, orderly camps of conventional military groups I was used to. But I thought it was no less remarkable, especially in size. I arrived when it was less than half the size it was today, and still every few tendays more people joined. What stuck out was that the inhabitants of this camp have been drawn together by a shared experience. Many of them, if not nearly all, were the rejected and the outcasts of the society from where they originated.

I saw quite a few half-orcs and half-elves and also a couple of genasi among the humans. Warlocks, witches, former convicts, rebels and several others who had been considered misfits all attended. This camp for sure was becoming a melting pot of unique individuals- each with abilities and motivations born from hardship.

Most of them found their way here through secret word and subtle guidance. Some had been escorted while others managed through clues and signs to locate the camp set deep in the wilderness. Surrounded by a dense forest at the bottom of a rocky ravine the inhabitants could remain hidden from the prying eyes of their societies like forever. The camp was defended by nothing more than crude barricades of sharpened wooden stakes, boulders, and brambles. More functional than one would expect however.

Tents and shelters were an eclectic mix of materials- think ragged canvas, animal hides, and salvaged wood. And the camp lacked even more that neat uniformity of lets say an army’s. All these makeshift buildings seemed spread irregularly, even as each and every one of them served a meaningful purpose.

As I sat down on a trunk I observed a couple of humans featuring wild, unkempt appearances and bearing the marks of exiled. Some of their backs carried the scars of their rejection. And even after all that treatment, they found a way to talk and work together with a goblinoid person, and to make sure the camp was provided with enough firewood.

At my left walked individuals with eyes that gleamed with an otherworldly glow, their voices nothing more but whispers that carried the weight of their forbidden magic. Some bore physical deformities- as in missing limbs which likely had been chopped off by their punishers, or burn marks over their entire body.


The fun thing was that all these people also had something else in common. Their skills were often overlooked by society. Crafting, blacksmithing, enchanting, stealthy movement, sleight of hand, some simply resourceful or determined. All not exploited by their former communities and circles. But down here at the camp they all had found a purpose.

The part of the camp that personally interested me was the center. It held a rough-hewn training ground where these diverse individuals honed their combat skills. A couple of half-orcs brutally sparred with massive weapons, their roars echoing through the settlement. Nimble half-elves practiced their archery or subtle swordplay with precision. The training in general was intense, but above all mostly driven by a need to prove themselves worthy and valuable in a world that has rejected them.

Among the inhabitants I did register a rough camaraderie tinged with a tension of competition, but also with some mistrust. Each and every one here understood that the mechanisms which made this community work were important. Fundamentally such included defences, a steady food supply, materials to construct and repair things. And a certain degree of bad faith was not unheard of among such a varied groups.

There also always were people who isolated themselves from others, some on an individual level, others in small lots. Never a good thing when you have a few warlocks doing such while having also a few superstitious people among the inhabitants. Even when said witches merely practiced ways to protect themselves.

I myself was responsible for the armory, currently a motley collection of weapons, many scavenged from fallen enemies or built from scratch by the skilled hands of those within the camp. Some had to wear mismatched armor, pieced together from various outfits, or partially rusted pieces. It was what it was.

Today the camp appeared fairly harmonious. Probably a good thing for most as they enjoyed the peace, but not to the restless, the ones eager to present themselves in one way or another. Time to time the leader called me to his side for advice. To the inhabitants he was an intimidating as well as inspiring man who in their eyes had risen to power through sheer force of will. And he was someone I knew pretty well. He held the camp together, sometimes by a display of power, though mostly by offering these people something no one else ever has- a place where they belonged. Or a position from where they could evolve.

Over time this camp had started to radiate defiance. Not much longer until with some proper nudging the atmosphere would become one of both bitterness and fierce determination.


It was perfect.

And soon it would be about time. The first steps were being taken.


“Jezebeth, what do you have for me today? My shield got broken again, twice.” A tiefling of who I happened to know had been a law enforcer at Waterdeep arrived at my station.

I glanced only briefly at the shattered wood he threw on my table. “Can’t help you this time. A few others picked up the last stock for training outside the walls just this morning.”

The man rolled his infernal eyes and shook his head. “You suck as bearer of bad news. Hmm, how fast can you provide me with another one?”

I glanced over my shoulder at the command tent and back at the tiefling. “Delivery times have become irregular. Working on demand is hard and getting new equipment from other places ain’t a picnic.”

“Hm, is that your way of telling me we are all trapped here merely because a lack of proper tools and equipment? When I was told about this camp I knew life here wouldn’t be obvious.” He leaned over the table towards me, his claw fingers spreading on the wood. “But if you want to prevent an uprise sooner or later, you’re gonna have to figure out how to provide.”

Some warriors nearby turn their heads my way. Of course he was right. At least, from his own perspective as former city guard.

I simply nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Come back to tomorrow for more news on the matter.”


A few hours after he left I made my way to the command tent, motioned at the black-clad guards outside the entrance and entered without knocking. A privilege I had earned.

“I think they may be ready,... sir.”

“Very well, which approach do you suggest, Jezebeth?” The man behind the screen undressing asked.

“I’d go for the break-in. Under the cover of relative darkness. Small group, nimble talents along with a few half-orcs to deter potential onlookers. Three carts of which two loaded with stones. Twice in a row. Working according the plan like suggested.”

“-Relative- darkness?? Hmm… interesting.” The pause was agonizing until he eventually said : “Make it so.”

[leviticus]

The group approached the small city just as dusk settled.

One of the half elves glanced at me. “Are you sure? It’s not entirely dark yet.”

I nodded at him. “It’s part of the plan. We don’t want to make it too hard for them on following the tracks, at least for a few.”

“Right, the wagons. I think I get it.”

What I thought was that he should shut up and obey orders without questioning me. But up to a point his reaction worked as a certain advantage. It was important that the plan as it had been presented made sense to each and every one of them.

Just out of range I rode ahead and motioned to stop. When I turned around I tried to sound as direct and commanding as possible. I knew what I was doing, and I wanted to make sure they did too.

“Listen up!” My voice cut air like steel. “Tonight we take what we want. We take things that should have fallen naturally to us after all what we been through together. No wall, no lock, no guard will stop us. We strike fast, in and out without interruptions. You notice any hesitation you either wake it up, or you kill it.” I lowered my voice a bit. “If any of you falter, I will know. Succeed, and you will have your share of the spoils, but above all you’ll serve our greater purpose.”

After a small pause I looked around and asked. “Are you ready?”

Many heads nodded at me.

“Well then, show me what you’re worth.”


The plan was rather simple. With a minimum of dim, softened light we rode towards the walls. With the sun behind the horizon, the wind picked up slightly causing a rustle in the trees above. Our target was straight forward and daring, the guardhouse near the gate. Those would contain enough things the camp required. Three large carts, more leaning towards wagons, drew the attention we required, especially when manned by outsiders. The half-elves would sneak in and take down any remaining guards in their house. Those checking out our transport would be next. And after that it be easy to steal their stock and military supply. We’ve counted around eight of them during former skirmishes, so it wouldn’t be much of a problem.

The wagons creaked softly, loaded with just enough stuff to look convincing. Just as anticipated, we were halted by the gate and extra guards were summoned from the guardhouse as soon as they noticed the ‘nature’ of our ‘staff’. The light was perfect now, only enough of it to see without drawing too much suspicion, yet dark enough to make shadows deep and concealing. While the guards first searched us at the start of this inspection, the half-elves who sat hidden under the carts moved like shadows, slipping from beneath the transport and into the night. One by one, the three disappeared into the darkened alley leading to side of the guardhouse. I kept the guards engaged, answering their routine questions while avoiding too much tension building.

At least during this phase of the process…


A single faint metallic click from the alley signaled the start of the real operation. The guards inside the house were down and thus the half-elves lunged from the shadows behind the guards. Choked gasps escaped from the victims as they were taken down simultanously. The guard in front of me I merely knocked out with my armored fist.

I motioned at my group. “Move.”

As the half-orcs stood guard, the rest of us flowed into motion, slipping into the guardhouse. A quick sweep revealed nothing but the remnants of the evening shift—half-eaten meals, a mug still warm, and aside from a body here and there abandoned as the guards had been called to inspect us.

We worked as quickly as we could, filling sacks with weapons and armor. The storeroom was well-stocked—swords, crossbows, shields. Enough provisions to supply us for tendays, maybe longer. The wind outside picked up, causing the windows to rattle slightly. Every creak, every gust of wind seemed louder than it should have, but we moved swiftly. Our time left was short as there soon would be changing of the guard.


As we were finishing up outside, a sound caught the ear of a half-elf. “Footsteps, faint but growing louder.” He motioned urgently to me. “Someone’s coming.”

I nodded back. “Alright, turn this transport around and lets get going. Now.”

But just as our last wagon made its way for the exit, the first two figures appeared from around the corner. I watched faces registering confusion as they took in the scene before them. For a moment, the pair of guards froze.

“Let’s go!” I snapped, motioning at two half-orcs to slow down the guards. They knew that horses would be waiting for them outside the gate.

Just as we rode swiftly through the gate I noticed the guards’s faces, and that flicker of fear as the half-orcs turned towards them.



Half a day after the operation I was to report at the camp’s commander.

“We’ve made it back, sir. Hm.., sir?” I looked around in the tent.

“Ah, Jezebeth, I’m a moment occupied here, though eager to listen.” It came from the sleeping compartment. “Was the operation a success?”

“More than what most would think.”

“So… the trick with the wagons worked?”

“Hm, I would say so. Each went into a different direction, and two of them were only loaded with rock and stone. The one with the supplies is being loaded on a ship as we speak, and will be delivered from the east within less than half a tenday.”

“Excellent, excellent… and… do you think that other part of your plan worked as well?”

“I’m pretty sure it will, sir.”

[leviticus]

At first, when I entered the city everything seemed business as usual. That of course was an illusion. When one was paying careful attention, one would observe people clustered more than before, exchanging anxious glances and hushed words. And it took only a few rumors discretely dropped at taverns and market stalls before a small crowd of angry and panicking townsfolk gathered in the town square. Traders, farmers, commoners and alike soon joined their ranks.

Closer to evening accusations were hurled in every direction, and fists began to rise with alarming frequency.. By the time I arrived there, a single guard following a stoic approach stood on a makeshift platform. His eyes however darted nervously over the restless crowd.

“Why weren’t we protected?! If they can assault the guards this easily, what does that mean for us?!” One man shouted, his voice clearly thick with fear.

“What were they even doing in this region?! Filthy half-bloods don’t belong here!” A woman shrieked as she clutched her child. “What if they eat our kids next time?!?”

More voices rose, demanding answers for the attack on the guards a few nights ago. From what I understood the city had tried to cover up the incident, and when the people also learned about the death of some guards it only intensified their anger. And their fear.

Some were now calling for immediate action while others demanded justice for the slain. I looked over to the other side of the town square where the tension escalated as a small group of individuals at the back of the crowd began to stir up trouble, throwing rocks at the windows of nearby buildings. A few ringleaders began to shout that more attacks were coming, and that these non-human attackers were a threat that had to be eliminated.

Eventually -under a hailstorm of boos- two of the leaders of the city arrived. They quickly assessed the damage and clearly wondered if they’d be able to calm the rising histeria. Chaos was on the verge of breaking out if no one took control. The seeds of fear and suspicion were ready to be sowed, and the fact one of the five city leaders was known as an outsider didn’t help. But nothing, absolutely nothing could beat the event of a single half-orc curiously about all the noise walking up that square.

I turned my back as I knew what was to happen, and headed for the exit. After all, the hunt for half-breeds had begun, and I was one of those. As difficult as it was to discern just visually.



Reports followed one another in rapid succession. The people at the camp were troubled about the content of those. Worried even. And not much later angry. The few half-bloods that made it there all had terrible stories. There was a lot of violence towards anyone who wasn’t entirely human, and some even had to pay with their lives. Racial terror lynchings taking place just outside the city walls were no longer investigated by the guards. Some even openly participated in those.

The warriors at the camp wanted to go to war, demanding blood for all what was happening. I entered the camp commander’s tent as soon as their voices started to sound louder and louder.

The man who sat waiting there in his chair smiled at me. I rolled my eyes as soon as I spotted that slow, deliberate curve of his lips.

He got up and peeked out the tent. His eyes, cold and calculating, stayed fixed on the chaos unfolding in the camp as if drinking in the disorder with a quiet satisfaction. “I assume it worked then.”

I sighed. “Yes… Sanders, it did.”

His teeth, slightly bared, glinted in the dim light as he turned to look at me. “I suppose I’ll call him now then.” He tapped the amulet that hung from his neck.



A couple hours later…

The air in the camp thickened with tension and as the sun disappeared the scent of fear was palpable, similar to smoke rising from embers. What if the city found their camp? They’d be greatly outnumbered and trapped like rats here. The tightening grip of the racial conflict threatened to consume their minds.

-His- arrival was spectacular.

Out of the dusk rode a single, massive figure on a midnight-black horse, hooves pounding rock like a death knell. He was draped in blackened steel, the armor etched with powerful runes, and the faceplate of his helmet a vision of cruel authority. The sigil of the Zhentarim hung proudly from his neck, the silhouette of a dragon in flight.

“He is … Zhentarim! Sound the alarm! Were’re under attack!!” Someone shouted.

Sanders and me motioned the men to stand down and headed to the front of the camp.

As the rider halted at the camp’s entrance, the uneasy murmur turned to silence. The dark knight surveyed the small crowd before he spoke, his tone steady and deliberate : “I can tell you are afraid, since if I can find you, how long until the others would.”

The knight’s horse snorted before he resumed. “You all have been abandoned, cast out by those who consider you less than human. You were left to the mercy of a war you originally did not start -but… will be consumed by… -Unless- you act.”

He let the words sink in, and even as his presence only fed the fear, the warriors of the camp did nothing when the knight stepped down from his warhorse and started to walk among them.

My heart for sure was beating faster as I watched my lover fulfil his role in the same way like he had done with me almost three years ago. Ser Waters nodded once in my direction and continued addressing the camp. “Fear and hate -if you are alone- will destroy you. In the service of the Zhentarim it will make you powerful and able to make a difference.”

He stopped near a large campfire and slowly turned around, his heavy boots grinding into the earth. “You have been wronged. The ones you once called your people now look down on you, as if your blood is less worthy. You wish to strike back, to show them that you will not fade quietly into the dark.” Ser Waters glanced about. “Like in this place, totally unworthy.”

For the first time a low growl of agreement rumbled from the gathered, the knight’s words sparking a kindling flame.

"The Black Network offers you that chance," he declared, raising his gauntleted fist. "You… can be more than pawns in political games, you… can be more than prey. Serve the Zhentarim, and we will give you the means to rise above those who would love see you trampled. We will give you power—vengeance."

His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper, meant only for those nearby. "And when you strike back, they will never forget the terror of your name."

Ser Waters mounted his steed again, his presence looming over the camp. “Come find us, we will leave instructions with your leader.” He tossed a tube at Sanders who caught it flawlessly.

I watched him ride off and knew that fear and hate would soon be twisted into loyalty.

Sanders moved to stand next to me and whispered. “I think this will be a good harvest. What shall we do with the camp?”

I turmed to look at him. “The same thing you do with a deck of cards. Reshuffle for another round.”

The snake stared at me with a playful twinkle in his eyes. “With the same camp commander and his most trusted advisor?”

I rolled my eyes. “You got women enough, Sanders.”

“Can I at least watch you? Or are you going to tell your boyfriend so he can beat me up?”

“You know better than that, Sanders. Back off… back off before you stir something darker.”

[leviticus]

He wanted me to take the lead…

He longed me to demonstrate authority and passion, and by no means was he weak, nor was he submissive. He merely wanted me to advance on our shared ambitions and encourage me to show him the intensity of my emotions.

So I showed him…

And I showed him that I claimed him and that there was no negotiating in that whatsoever. The only thing I was prepared to negotiate was the balance of power between us. By the looks on his face right now the scale was tipping to my side. I sped up as I read the pain in his expressions.

Fueled by my ambition to grant us a mutual, divine release, I dominated him. Not stopping until I was ready. By doing so I demonstrated my loyalty to him, a binding that was different from the ones through blood, or the ones through fear. I knew I was brutal, but I also knew that is exactly what he longed me to be.

I smiled the very moment I experienced perfection and exhausted lowered myself on top of him, offering him the experience as a whole, enriching our physical contact.



“So… you have to tell me now, like you promised. The camp, the city…”

I smirked. “I suppose you earned it.”

Sir Waters brushed the hair in front of my eyes aside and looked at me. “When I saw that camp I was shocked to see how poorly it was installed. Was that…?”

I nodded slowly at him, resting my chin on his bare chest. “Part of the plan. We never had the intention offering the refugees the feeling that our camp was a fort. We held good equipment behind as well so that they were feeling forced to undertake something to improve their situation.”

“I assume that you also detected any potential leaders.”

“Yes, they were among the ones we deployed for the break-in.”

“And that under the cover of… what did Sanders call it… ‘Relative’ darkness?”

My lips twitched as my nails scratched the skin of his muscled arm. “To assure a positive identification by any witnesses.”

“Half-orcs, half-elves, even a tiefling. I think you set a speed record on raising distrust against non-humans.”

“The racism was already there. We merely… polished it until it was ready to shine.”

He smirked. “And those instigators gossiping, and the ones from the back throwing stones at the square?”

“Those were some people of my own platoon, temporary stationed in the city for the occasion. And the rest you know.”

“Mhm…” He addressed me with an admiration that made me all tingly. “And now you emptied the camp and start all over with new people in charge?”

“Pretty much like how Sanders and me did. He was first, and I arrived after our camp was up and running for about a month or so.”

“You are such a sneak, Jezebeth.”

I grinned faintly. “Well, I sure wasn’t there to gawk.” And then rose to sit on him once more. “I was on a mission… just like I am now…”

He gripped my hips, and yanked me against him. “Can we make it loud this time?”


Once more both our minds and bodies aligned. And during I saw brief, flashing visions exhibiting scenes of conquest and victory. Some were sharp, others were painful but to me they more felt like pleasure. And in the height of our union, I thought I heard a faint, echoing command…

(the other version : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=evJ6gX1lp2o )

[leviticus]

I’ve been called back to the Citadel of Raven at the Dragonspine mountains. Not to my former outpost on the flank of one of the mountains, but to the main castle complex.

Perched high in the jagged mountains the citadel served as a powerful symbol of the Zhentarim, and as a military hub for expansion campaigns, recruitment and secretive deals. Part of the dark high walls have been carved from the rock itself, and multiple towers reached up like claws toward the sky.

By the time I arrived back there, the wind howled constantly through the valleys below, carrying with it the sharp chill of mountain air. I heard those formidable walls and the heavy iron gates were reinforced by powerful magic, and knew that catapults, ballistae, and other siege defenses were stationed along the entire perimeter, ready to rain destruction on any would-be invaders. The first snow blanketed the place, giving it a deceptively peaceful appearance.


When I was escorted inside, the interior reflected the values of the Zhentarim. Power, discipline, resilience, fear… the temperature and atmosphere was even like I remembered it, cold and harsh. Large halls we passed through were sparsely decorated, and any side chambers were lit by dim torchlight. I noticed more banners of Bane hanging from the walls than on other occasions I visited, and the closer we neared the heart the more activity stirred up the shadows. Through iron-banded doors I was led into one of the larger rooms where flickering braziers provided the only light, casting lengthy shadows on the faces of those present.

I blinked when I noticed who and how many.

“Platoon leader Jezebeth. Through acts of tyranny, through service and dedication to the Zhentarim, displaying talent and skill in both combat and strategic thinking, and showing an understanding of Bane’s core tenets, you have attracted the attention of sufficient officers and priests. We will now begin a ceremony that will involve pledging your soul, your body and your loyalty to our Lord Bane in exchange for the significant power that comes with being a… Blackguard.”

Being overwhelmed I simply nodded and approached my Dreadmaster, Lord Vacran. Other faces I recognized were some high ranked priests and officers, all the members of my platoon, Sanders of course, and my lover Sir Waters.

“Before we can start with you receiving Our Lord’s Blessing, you have to fulfil one final objective. A significant sacrifice to some, an act of destruction to others.”

“I understand completely, my lord.” I heard myself say, without hesitation or doubt.

“You have to give up on a close companion, or smite someone of your platoon. Only then your transformation can be completed.”


I had to admit it. I was struck at my deepest vulnerability. All of a sudden the air felt more heavy to me as I glanced at one particular face in that eerie, shifting light spread by the braziers. And it’s only then that I discovered that the table in front of Lord Vacran was actually a platform for executions.

“Please inform us of your decision, Jezebeth. When you are ready.”

I sensed so many eyes upon me. Dark-robed Banite clerics and senior blackguards stood in attendance, silent and watchful, while Lord Vacran motioned me to step forward on the symbol of Bane carved in the stone floor.

My heart pounded in my chest, each breath shallow as the tension in the room rose. They wanted to see betrayal or blood. And they were acutely aware that not deciding from my side meant failure here. Which in turn meant death or worse—being cast into obscurity, my soul forever marked as unworthy in Bane's eyes. I was well aware that I was a single footstep away from crossing the line from mortal soldier to something darker, something more powerful. But man, the terror of doing such.

Later on I learned this ritual had been nicknamed… The Cruel Choice.


The feet that shuffled were those of my men. People with whom I been through both ice and fire. We were the remnants, the strongest left of a group that started years ago on a path we never would have imagined in our wildest and darkest dreams. They were people who trusted me implicitly, and now one of their lives was hanging by a thread. All because of my ambition to rise above all others.

To make things worse, a large two-handed sword was offered to me. Once in my hands, the weight of the weapon felt impossibly heavy, forcing my arms to resist the trembling. So… everyone here assumed I’d pick the second option? Whatever be of it, they were patient with me, but hesitating too long would mark me as unworthy. Or a lesser candidate.

I stepped forward onto the symbol and slowly my gaze lifted to Lord Vacran. “I’m ready.”

“Very well, blackguard-candidate Jezebeth. What is your choice?”

[leviticus]

I have reached out so many times. All you listened to were things never expressed. Do you truly intend to serve His will?

“Uh…, hello? What… who is this? Where am I?” As I opened my eyes and looked around I found a landscape that was blurred and undefined, its reality shifting with each breath I drew. Jagged shapes rose in a dark distance—perhaps mountains or a big fortress? The edges wavered too much, as if the place itself resisted of being fully understood by my eyes. The sky above was a muted grey, with slow swirling clouds that never formed but always loomed.

There it was again. Only this time with it… I sensed a pulse, like a heartbeat, throbbing through the atmosphere, and it echoed through the very bones of my frame. I was drawn deeper into the mists, following a path though no clear road seemed to exist.

Serving prepares you to lead. Flesh and ambition alone are fragile threads. Speak. What claim do you truly have to the blessing you seek?

There was a weight to the unseen gaze upon me. I steadied myself, knowing that every word would be dissected.

“If… if I’m dead right now, I think I have proven myself once more. I did not betray nor called for a pointless sacrifice in order to deem myself worthy. Yet it is not for me to say. I know my worth has already been measured, judging on the moments where all others faltered… and I still stand.”

I felt watched, judged, though no eyes were visible. Something was lurking, just beyond comprehension.

“My… hands have already shapen my fate. They left scars where lesser souls merely left whispers. I do not seek His blessing because I am worthy, but because through it I will become worthy. Because I am who endures, I am who survives when others will break. I am able to turn opportunity into inevitability, and His blessing would act as an extension of my will.”

There was a brief flicker of light in the misty surroundings, or perhaps it was movement. But it was gone before any true detail could be grasped.

The Speaker approves. The voice echoed from every direction yet seemed to come from nowhere.

Power is not granted by birthright. Power is not granted by favor. Power is taken and forged into the hands of those with the resolve to wield it.

The silence that followed was oppressive, as if the surrounding air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break or to fail. Did they expect anything else from me? Then the ground below my feet grew dark. And from said darkness, a low hum rose, not quite the voice but something deeper, a resonance felt more than heard. It seemed to stretch out the place as well as time itself. To me it felt as if I was standing on a fragile line between this moment and what might come next.

We shall see then what becomes of you.

The phrase lingered in the air like a fading echo. And then, as if reality itself began to unravel at the edges, the atmosphere grew more dark, more and more hazy. Any tangible form began to dissolve, and with a final, imperceptible shift, the presence withdrew. I was left standing there, like in a void. Alone, but no longer the same. I don’t recall how I left. All I remember was a feeling in my chest: cold, heavy.


And full of potential…

[leviticus]

I tasted iron, or blood. Or could it be both? At the same time I felt an overwhelming sense of destiny. And on top of such I experienced a deep-seated rage. The mix of all this confused me.

When I opened my eyes I noticed I was laying on the floor in a puddle of blood. My own?

Slowly I attempted to push myself up, but my body felt weak and sluggish at first. Had I somewhere forced myself to overcome certain limitations? Had I conquered something instead of enduring it?

I know what I didn’t experience. Joy or gratitude. Such were foreign to me. When I looked around I learned I was in a room full of silent people. Priests, senior blackguards, my platoon… my Dreadmaster, and…and…

Where was he?

As I got up and weary scanned the space, that’s when I saw him. Behind me. In a puddle of blood, a puddle that connected with the one I was standing in. No...

“N.. no…. NO! This… NO!”

The silent onlookers remained still as statues, their gazes fixed on me, almost ceremonial. No one dared to move, not even a whisper. As if they were waiting. Waiting for what??

I tore my eyes away from him, away from the figure lying behind me, and found my Dreadmaster. His face was a mask of indifference, but I knew him well enough to recognize the faintest flicker of something beneath the surface. Disappointment? No… Pride? No… something… Something deeper. I couldn’t place it.

Had he known? Had this been orchestrated? I couldn’t shake the question—was I meant to be the tool or the victor in some twisted event? I was standing, alive, and my lover was dead. My mind raced, searching for the strategy, the reasoning. Was his death my price for returning? Or…?

My pulse quickened with the realization. He was dead!! No, it couldn’t be! I glanced over my shoulder. His face, once proud and unyielding, was now… pale… and drained. And he had been one of the strong ones. Stronger than most men I have seen. Memories flashed through my mind. Fantasies of our plans and visions of our future together shook my being brutally.

Where was he now? Fighting his way back here through Banehold? Gathering troops and talent to force himself into our world again?

My stomach twisted with a sense of something familiar, yet something I couldn't quite name. A part of me that had been locked behind iron walls felt like it was straining against its chains. Guilt? No, that couldn’t be. I couldn’t afford such weakness. His life and his death had served a purpose. And that purpose had been… me.

But the rage… oh Lord! Yes, the rage coursed through me again for some reason. Seeing his body. I hated the vulnerability, the loss of control that came with death. The blood on the floor upon which I was standing felt like a foundation I had used to elevate myself. And... at the same time my body shivered with weakness…

“Are you going to try again, blackguard-candidate Jezebeth?”

My hands curled into fists as I slowly turned back to my Dreadmaster. No more weakness. No more doubt. No more vulnerability. As I straightened, forcing the weariness out of my limbs, I asked. “Try what again, my Lord?”

He watched me, his expression inscrutable, but I knew what he wanted. He expected me to acknowledge this… act.

I merely motioned at the blood in which I stood. “Is this what you expected from me?

The Dreadmaster finally moved, just the smallest tilt of his head. His voice was low and edged with quiet authority. "What I expect didn’t matter here. It is what Lord Bane required."

Instead of his speech crushing me, his words fueled the fire already burning inside. And it’s like as if he sensed that energy. For the first time I noticed a hint of surprise in his eyes. But also something else. Satisfaction?

“Our Lord Bane has accepted her. She has been offered the mandate. Welcome, blackguard Jezebeth. Know however this is just the beginning.”

I turned and stepped forward, away from the body and out of the blood that pooled around me. The others made way as I moved, parting in silent reverence. I could feel their eyes on me, but this time, they weren’t just watching. They were anticipating.


Of course Sanders had to be the first one to catch up with me.

He sounded lighthearted as he addressed me, like as if we were discussing the type of diarrhea that was going around back at the camp. “So! What was it like to fight Lord Vacran…?

I froze in my tracks and stared at him.

He too stopped before he added with some concept of respect. “You know, like… five times?”

[leviticus]

The establishment sat nestled between crumbling stone buildings, its wooden sign swaying precariously in the evening breeze as we arrived. Its windows were caked in grime and I highly doubted the owner cared about any daylight inside. The place was just several doors away from the Stairsails House and not too far from the city’s marketplace or the docks. The contrast between this rundown street and the wealthier avenues just a stone’s throw away was almost jarring—like crossing into another world seperated by just a few facades.

“So, the Rat is absent for the moment and we want to address the current active barkeep about his contribution to our network. Correct?”

Sanders nodded at me. “Correct. Oh, and, Jezebeth?” He touched my shoulder to pause me from entering. “Subtle.”

I cocked an eyebrow and then nodded. “Subtle.”

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of sweat, stale beer, and smoke from low-quality tobacco. The flickering light from a couple of sputtering oil lamps cast long shadows, making the cramped space feel even tighter than it already was. The ceilings were low, and the place was filled with wobbly chairs and uneven old, battered tables. Many were stained with fluids and the half-eaten meals of present or previous patrons. I estimated this place could hold no more than 30 people and currently was more than half full.

I glanced from the crowd to Sanders and then at the bar which seemed made of dark, chipped wood. Several patrons were jostling for the bartender’s attention, a single grizzled man with a permanent scowl and a limp in his step. That was our guy.

As I made my way to our target a raucous laughter rose up from a table of rowdy dock workers. Sanders covered my back as we passed a small fire burning in the hearth, a fire that only did little to actually warm the damp, musty air.

The few and poor notes strummed on the lute of a minstrel sitting in a corner were drowned out by the din of conversation closer to the bar. More ragged laborers, some shady figures, and a small group that looked like adventurers who had seen better days. Arriving at the tap I cleared my throat in an attempt to draw the barkeep’s attention.

It failed.

I decided to give it a second more. Then, my eyes turned briefly to the crowd drinking and talking before I casually leaned into the dark wood and raised my voice just enough to cut through the noise like I was back on the drill field.

“Bartender! Would you be so kind to poor me a free drink? Seems I’ve misplaced my coin purse in the muck near the stables!”

The noisy chaos shifted to a sudden silence. One by one, heads turned toward me, eyes narrowing in interest. Every patron—dock worker, worn adventurer, and desperate soul alike—seemed to hold their breath simultanously.

Which only lasted a moment.

Then the room exploded into a frenzy of movement. Chairs screeched against the uneven floor, and half-filled mugs were knocked over as men and women alike leapt to their feet, scrambling for the door. They shoved and they tripped over each other in their haste, rushing out like a pack of hounds set loose on a fresh trail. The sound of footsteps pounding against the floorboards filled the room, growing fainter as the crowd spilled out into the night.

Sanders beside me, watched the exodus with amusement flickering in his eyes. And as the door swung shut with a final, hollow thud, leaving behind a cavernous silence, he turned to me. “You never really cease to confound me.”

I shrugged. “This is as subtle as I can go.” I said before turning to the bartender. “Well, looks like you’ve got some time to chat.”

[leviticus]

Our mission was quite clear. There were rumors Red Wizards of Thay frequented the perimeter assigned to our cause. If those were correct, it would mean the city was in for an arcane teleport to Waterdeep and back. Sanders and I had been ordered to gain insight, and if possible influence over this arcane grid. And if we weren’t able to control any of this, we’d be executing a hybrid approach.

First off, we needed someone on the inside. Believe it or not, Sanders was the perfect man for the job. He’d fit right into the Red Wizard’s chaotic halls.

Secondly I would have to get close to whoever managed arcane permissions in Suzail. And then either bribe, seduce or threaten them. Or turn this public teleport thing into a private detour.

Perfect for our recruiting numbers...


The nearby Stairsails house was a point of interest. It serviced nautical personnel of all sorts, but it was said the king’s spies were omnipresent. They would serve well for a little distraction we had in mind.

The thing was we needed a kind of base of operation ourselves. We were only two, but soon others would follow, sliding in as if they’d always been here. I had to move cautiously though as the owner of this inn, -the Rat- didn’t appreciate people scaring his customers away. The barkeep on the other hand… we had been able to remind about his allegiance to the Black Network.


As of today we had an active listening post, and slowly we’d build an entire cell. Once we had that part going, we’ll attempt to send a feeler to the Stairsails house itself. Probably a sailor with concerns, or a corrupt clerk offering favors.

The next step was more tricky. Finding a ‘failed’ Thayan student, or a ‘concerned’ noble worrying about Thayan influence.

The most difficult part, have Zhentarim stand ready to fill in inevitable gaps, pulling strings without onlookers, being asked for assistance instead of offering a helpful hand.

Hm… I had the plan almost worked out. Almost. The art was in steering events so gently, so precisely, that no one noticed they were being guided at all.

In the end I would like them to call it fate.


I shifted on my seat as I glanced at the kitchen where the Rat sat sweating as he attended to the breakfast meals. Some regulars often returned, but during mornings it was more crowded. I gazed at the serving greasy Rat. Struck me why.

Sanders had taken one of the few back rooms for his own purposes. I didn’t ask. He preferred to work in his own way and I respected that. As long as he respected me. My place for now was the main taproom, with its flickering lamps, peeling walls and everything else.

Gurren, the barkeep, was very cooperative after our first little reminder. Coin nor steel had been necessary. Just a few names whispered across the bar, a bit of history resurrected. He understood completely.

I then called him a smart man. Not sure he took my word for it.

As long as one never forgot what the Network owns.

I made a few changes to the place. Correction. The Rat made a few changes. At least he believes he came up with the idea. Broken chairs were being repaired…-ish. I managed to upgrade the ale. At a cost. There was a tiny writing desk now cramped near the fireplace in the dusty alcove. And one boy would deliver me whispers after every breakfast rage.

Small things.

But we were there. And we would grow. Like smoke filling a room.

Until breathing would become difficult.


Speaking of which…

My lover. I refused to believe he was dead. I whispered his name time to time when I was alone… imagining he was battling himself a way out of Banehold, braving every test our Lord threw at him,... like the worthy knight he was.

I wondered if he could hear me.

[leviticus]

It was nearly dusk when I stepped out and into the old quarter. Cobbles beneath me bore faint, nearly rain-polished grooves from cartwheels that had long forgotten about this part of the city. There were market stalls only here and there, their shape hunching low like old men in prayer.

I moved like someone with nowhere to be, but I exactly knew where I was headed. The scent of boiled leather and roasted chestnuts prickled my senses. Somewhere invisible, a street performer sang a song in a language no one knew, accompanied by a bowed instrument missing a string or two.

Everything was perfectly in order however.


I paused before a half-collapsed stall of gloves and belts. The seamstress behind it never looked up, but I watched her wrinkled hands moving with eerie precision, measuring a pair of gloves against hands that weren’t there.

“Storm’s breaking early this year,” the woman said, to no one in particular.

As I considered a single belt, I replied. “It alway does.”

No coin was changed when I left.

But my glove was heavier than before.


Further down, a clerk with an oil-stained tunic leaned against an old gatehouse wall, picking at his teeth with a birdbone quill. He looked a little bit like a lunatic.

“They say a merchant from Mulmaster brought a barrel of salt pork. Only it weren’t pork.” He said when I passed him.

I arched a brow as I stopped and glanced over at the man. “Oh? Well, hopefully it was something useful anyways.”

The clerk just grinned at me, ugly yellowed teeth flashing. “Wouldn't know. They bought the whole thing in one go anyways. Paid in coin with a king’s face scratched off.”

I shrugged and moved on, like I was considering him not in his right mind.

Behind me, the clerk spat into the dirt, making another set of wet marks on the surrounding cobblestones.


I entered the scribe hall just down the street. An older man looked up when I entered.

“Lady Jezebeth! I didn’t think… I mean, I thought you were in Neverwinter!”

“Oh yes, at least I was,” I said with a smile. “You know me. I have friends everywhere.”

I winced a little as he laughed awkwardly, and too loudly.

“The last time you visited you forgot this,” he said, handing me a small leather notebook. “It was under the ledgers. I didn’t read it. Soldier’s word.”

I grunted. “But you never were a soldier, Velan.”

He laughed again, this time a little more controlled. “No, no, of course not.”

I glanced at the notebook. One of the pages displayed a dog-eared corner.

“Well, thanks for this anyways. It’s as if you read my mind coming to look for this.”

“Of course, always a pleasure, dear lady.”

I snorted after I had turned away.


By the time I reached the Lantern and Flint, some semi-private tavern near the edge of the canals, the sun had dipped low and the water was like molten gold.

A man in a yellow cloak was already seated at one of the few tables. He didn’t rise when I entered, but he poured two glasses of wine as though expecting me.

“Praise Bane,” he said quietly in my direction.

I didn’t react immediately but I reached for the other glass and drank.

“In His shadow, we flourish,” I murmured.



The Rat wasn’t so much a tavern as it was a stubborn idea that refused to die. My opinion.

On the corner of the street between two buildings leaning on each other for balance, it wore its grime like a badge of seniority. And yet, it stood. Most houses around here seemed built with the weather in mind. Erected from stone they were sturdy enough to withstand stormy winds, while high pitched slate roofs saw to sufficient drainage. Unlike the upper class districts, the homes around here lacked balconies as well as vague militaristic elements like towers and fortified portals.

As I pushed the door open my breath was caught by smoke from the hearth clinging low near the ceiling, and everything smelled faintly of mildew and spirits that had long since lost their edge.

I sighed.

Sanders I found in his usual spot in his room, with his back against the wall, one leg stretched out under the table like he thought the whole place might tilt without his weight. He watched me approach, eyes half-lidded, chewing something that definitely hadn’t come from the kitchen.

“Late,” he said.

“I’m thorough,” I threw back.

I pulled out the chair opposing his and sunk into it. I let my gloves rest on the table, one slightly heavier than the other.

Sanders didn’t ask, but his gaze drifted there anyway.

“So, how was shopping?” he asked me, low.

“A couple of things,” I said, signaling for him for a drink of his bottle with a flick of my fingers. “We have the keys for our storage. Pork will be out of the question, and our order book is well filled.”

“Hm, alright. Anything actionable?”

“Not tonight,” I said. “But everything’s where it should be.”

He grinned, teeth sharp. “That’s what you also said before Daggerford.”

“And I was right.”

“I’ll need more soon,” Sanders mumbled to me after a while.

I lifted my gaze at him. “Any further invitations to your bed will be met with measures that will make you wish you’ve only been playing with fire.”

He looked sheepish. “What? I can’t even whisper at your shadow anymore, let alone howl?”

[leviticus]

Midmorning, a fresh breeze from the sea. A new day and a new occasion for the marble steps of the Stairsails House to be scrubbed. Again.

A well-dressed gentleman, tailored in clean navy with silver fastenings, gave only a nod at the worker on the steps before he stepped in and walked past the first table he came across.

There, a clerk -pale from too many indoor seasons- was leaning forward to speak in confidence to a fellow older colleague beside him.

The gentleman kept a slight distance as he walked, glancing at how the younger man’s words flow like ink across parchment. He walked slowly, giving them polite distance, though his ear caught the tone.

“…and three crates were turned away at the harbor,” the other clerk muttered. “Mildewed, or nearly so. And the payment’s been up front, as always, but the ships arrive too late or not at all.”

The gentleman overheard and produced a small sound of interest as he stopped. “And the recipient?”

Both looked up at him, clearly caught off-guard.

The gentleman raised his hands, apologetic. “Forgive me, I wasn’t really eavesdropping. But perhaps I could help out the man?”

“A lady. Or rather, she doesn’t come herself. She sends a steward. Quiet type. Sharp eyes. There is no formal record under her name, but she keeps the promise of becoming… significant.”

The man considered this.

“Regular?”

The older clerk nodded. “Increasingly. And private. But clearly very invested.”

A pause. Then the clerk, leaning closer: “Some whisper she may seek other routes. Others rumor she is testing ours for reliability. There was a courier from Arabel two nights ago. Wrong insignia.”

The gentleman’s gaze lifted toward window with the wide harbor visible in the distance. He smoothed the creases in his glove thoughtfully.

“I see,” he said softly. “Any idea where I might find her?”



Harkan Maveri had a tough time finding said lady. He had to quietly peel through the layers of Suzail in order to be able and track her down. And eventually it came down to this.

The Rat tavern, where the bread was fresh, the eggs trustworthy, and where locals learned not to ask questions twice.

Harkan had swapped his gloves for a light leather case and traded silver fastenings for more… forgettable buttons. Still, he stood out. Not because he wanted to, since this part of Suzail never truly absorbed people like him. Too clean, too well-spoken. Even when trying to blend in, something in the way he moved gave him away.

But the reward was great. If he could find said lady, he’d be able to make a fortune, and above all, a big name within his cause.

He sighed as he entered the small establishment though.

Inside, the morning crowd was thick with dockhands, a duo of early drinkers, and one suspiciously silent bard. The scent of fried onions wafted through the usual salt and ale, and above it all: the unmistakable crisp scent of hot bread. Not too shabby.

It was only his third time here, and yet breakfast moment always surprised him.

He started to move through the haze of voices and pipe smoke with quiet precision, eyes scanning the few tables, not hunting but reading them.

And there she was like promised. Alone. Sitting at a small writing desk.

Not in shadow, not in some dramatic corner. No, the black haired lady sat in a shaft of light, midnight hair tied back in a lazy knot, one hand wrapped around a cup of something steaming, the other tracing idle patterns across edges of a page.


I didn’t look at him, but I stilled slightly as he approached. Just slightly. Not enough for someone like him to know I’d clocked him fifteen steps ago.

He inclined his head to me when he reached my table. Not a bow. Just enough to show manners.

“Your Grace,” he said, voice low and respectful, “My apologies for the intrusion. But we appear to be in shared waters.”

I looked up at last, frowning slightly, not surprised, not welcoming either.

But deep down, I imagined this was how a hunter must feel when he finally caught the most beautiful pheasant.

[leviticus]

Every weakness became a string in our web. This mission was so different from the things I’ve done so far. It was something else to work our cell in through leverage instead of brute force. The key was to pull a string only when the time was ripe. And that was something hard to decide.

I glanced over my shoulder at the sleeping man beside me. Currently he lay at the center of the web, along with me. Only, he had no idea. This had been a very slow infiltration using just presence. I was doing my part. More than.

And that got me wondering how Sanders was doing. I lost track of him a couple of months ago. We agreed to only contact the other when it was either time, or in case of emergency. The last thing I learned about him is that he was being accepted to become a Thayan Knight. More even, the loyal bodyguard of a Red Wizard. He thanked this to a series of events he had set in motion using various people of our cell so that the Thayans would notice and trust him. Pretty much the same thing I’ve been doing on this side with the seafarers guild.

In this story I was a wealthy woman, not a noble, but someone with strong ties to certain figures up in Waterdeep. More of our agents covered me there so I had no trouble playing my role out here, and make it look like I have a lot of influence. And if they liked something out here, it were people who held a potential for lucrative connections, and long fruitful relationships. I’ve stirred interest in my so called business with help of our careful network infiltrating various layers of the population close to the guild.

There was just one problem. I had no idea where I was headed next. Both me and Sanders started our role with getting close to certain people in order to learn about these portal plans. I haven’t seen Sanders in a while now, while I haven’t got any lead on this portal enterprise. The clock was ticking because we imagined there was going to be a lot of money involved, money we could pull away from the hands of the Thayans and put in our hands. Not to mention the influence we’d have.

I could also be in the wrong guild. But I figured it wouldn’t matter if I weren’t in one of the merchant guilds. Especially since most of the shipping would go through the headquarters of the Seafarers, the Stairsails House. I assumed they sooner or later would pick up this news but as of yet no word. Or, those involved held their lips sealed. Orthan Staramuranter, -the man next to me- had seemed my best chance. A rising star in the guild, charming and sharp.

I leaned back, slow and careful, as not to wake Orthan. So far he had seemed the best horse to back. Everything looked aligned. Through him the guild liked me. So my cover held. My false business in Waterdeep continued to impress them, and through Orthan I was grazing the edge of internal decisions. The question was, how long our people there could vouch for us. We may have to speed up. Only, I couldn’t.

Also there we signs. Certain meetings I used to overhear through my proxies stopped happening, or moved elsewhere. A few of my informants were reassigned, one even transferred to Procampur, suddenly and without cause. It could mean nothing. It could also mean everything. My guess was something was moving. Only I couldn’t figure out whether it was positive or negative to our cause. Or maybe there’s another player we never saw coming?

I sighed.

I couldn’t help but feel we were nearing the edge of something. Maybe spiderwebs wasn’t my thing.

Anyways, it was time to get ready. I only had a few hours left till the guild dinner. And I was known as a ‘woman of extensive preparations’.



It was exactly like I pictured this first formal guild dinner I attended at.

Candlelight. Polished silver. Floor-to-ceiling sails transformed into embroidered curtains. More golden rings on fingers than swords at hips. And a lot of important figures. Guild leaders, trade partners, a couple of city officials, all dining together across lengthy tables arranged in a naval trident shape.

I sat across Orthan at a polite distance, and at the same time close enough to observe him. His eyes found mine and he smiled at me. Good. That was good.

I also noticed his eyes were busy watching the guildmaster’s aide, a wiry man in blue and white who never seemed to touch his glass. And next to this man sat a merchant named Varn Teiros, a spice handler with too much charm and too few loyalties. They were speaking softly, hands still, expressions bland.

I only noticed them because Orthan more than once glanced at them. And I saw him frown.

Something was wrong. Every third word Teiros seemed to scratch his chin. And every time the aide mirrored this gesture once with his thumb. Too specific. Too regular. Perhaps a code? A message? Not something meant for the room. And not something I was able to read. I realized now how hard I’ve depended on Orthan.

That felt like a weak spot.

I continued to smile and raised my glass like a woman amused. Let them think I was watching Orthan. It gave me cover to study the cadence his expressions and of their exchange.

And then, a flicker at my side.

A napkin, folded unnaturally, placed beside my plate.

From the kitchens, the server whispered as he set it down.

I didn’t look immediately. I kept the rhythm of the room, waited for the toast, for the flourish of raised goblets. Then, casually, I unfolded it.

One of ours. In danger. Seen near the ledgers. Pulled aside. Not coming back.

That had to be Nevan in trouble, one of our agents who ran errants between counting houses. Why had he been near the ledgers? He had no reason to be there unless someone would have sent him there. Me.

But I hadn’t.

I tapped my fingers on the table as I clinked glasses with Orthan and the people next to me. I also noticed Teiros and his companion looking my way.

Deep down inside I was concerned now. Someone was tracing shadows that didn’t belong to them. And now I knew what this dinner was. It wasn’t just a celebration.

It was a sweep.

They were cleaning house.

And somehow... somehow we had crumbs on the table...