Shu

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“Look there!” Ibdur barked suddenly causing Iliskra to flinch. The half-elf looked to the dwarf and then turned her eyes to the direction that he was pointing - that being to the northwest just down the street to their left. It took less than three breaths for Iliskra to see just what the Tempuran had spotted.

Well now, Iliskra thought, … speak of a devil…

Two hooded figures were hurriedly walking along the broken sidewalk along the main road, one notably taller than the other. Though at a closer glance it was quite clear that “walking” was not exact. The taller figure was in fact hunched over and visibly limping while the shorter figure had an arm around them and was very obviously supporting their labored stumbles. Iliskra - even over the dreadful cacophony of the city - could hear mumbling between the pair as they came to an alleyway entrance and turned slowly, casting worried glances behind them.

“I wonder who those two are…” Ibdur voiced, looking between Leon and Iliskra.

“They could be Talons. They could be common hoodlums. They could be a pair of witches.” Iliskra mused, “There is really only one way to find out…”

“We follow them then?” Ibdur asked, looking directly at Leon.

The shadowy duo turned down the alley which seemed to lead into a back-way area amid a jumble of rickety houses. The three companions needed to move now before whoever those two were disappeared down some rathole, a sewer entrance or a hollowed out cellar. Assuming of course they were worth following. Iliskra looked at Leon with an expression of “What do you think?”

FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

The journey to Scardale Town was short, the human, half-elf, and dwarf walking for just shy of an hour and a half before reaching the outskirts of the capital. The snow on the ground was thinner and slippery much to the disdain of Ibdur who more than once had to catch himself from falling. Iliskra found herself in awe as the sea came into view in the near distance, glimmering in the high afternoon sun.

“It is beautiful…” Iliskra remarked with a raised pointer finger aimed at the distance, Leon and the dwarf having no comment which prompted Iliskra to embrace the silence again.

The capital cities’ towering stone walls were also in sight; scarred with deep cracks, scorch marks, and crumbled towers that looked like broken off teeth in an old misers’ mouth. Iliskra could hear the sounds of the city that drifted on the wind. Not the sound of idle prattle of sprawling masses, merchants hawking their wares on every street, and weary guards bellowing out. Rather it was the sound of blades striking, screams of pain and battle cries, and shouts of fear and commanding alike. Truly unlike anything Iliskra had heard coming from over a cities’ walls.

A sundered city indeed. Iliskra thought as she and her two companions neared the capital.

---

“So this is the great Scardale Town…” Ibdur mused cynically as he took in the sight of the ravaged capital. Uninterested in dealing with any guards or patrols Iliskra, Leon, and Ibdur had avoided the south road into the city and just passed through a gaping hole in the southern wall - on their way stepping over the putrid and fly-covered remains of what must have been three dozen men and women in a vile, sickening scene. Iliskra had wondered aloud who they were, Ibdur noting the lack of uniform among the dead who all looked to be fighters. There were no discarded banners or emblems in the blooded dirt and the fallen were equipped with everything from cheap hide cuirasses to full suits of steel plate. Most of their weapons were either broken or missing meaning that the scene had already been looted.

“Tis likely that they were rival gangs or mercenaries on opposite sides of a conflict.” Ibdur stated.

The corpses were still relatively fresh meaning that whatever had happened along the collapsed wall was recent which inspired the three to move along inside the city. That and the horrid odor of death that rose up from the site of battle. Within the confines of the city things were no more appealing to the eye. Sizable blood marks, ash piles, collapsed structures, and even long decayed bodies littered the wide streets and alleyways. Houses were in a mixture of states - some were all boarded up save for perhaps a single door or window, others dilapidated and falling in, and some were naught but burned out husks with all that remained being blackened posts and hunks of cracked wall.

“This place is… disastrous…” Iliskra said, the concern and disbelief creeping up in her voice.

“I have seen far worse,” Ibdur crossed his arms, “this city has fallen. I dare not even call it a city anymore… but a rats’ nest. Pray tell there are those here who can match my axes in battle. Tempus surely sent me here for a reason.”

Iliskra gave the street on which the three stood a hard looking over. Most of the nearby houses were destroyed, the alleyways blocked by rubble. There was no sign of life on this street, save for a pack of rats that came scurrying by along the chipped cobblestones and vultures that circled above. Iliskra curled her lip and looked at Leon, “According to Breck this is the thieves’ guild territory. Where would you say we should start in this hellshole?”

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FORGOTTEN REALMS - Gambit of Scoundrels

“Hmmmm…” Iliskra mumbled aloud even as her mind swirled, ’The faith’. Shar, Cyric, or Mask I wonder. Iliskra’s eyes wandered over the man himself and then the actual mask he donned. The way he spoke of himself and his ways, Iliskra was quite convinced he was either a follower of Shar or the god of thieves himself, Mask. Cyric - when Iliskra actually considered him - was unlikely. Iliskra had only ever met three Cyric worshippers - an assassin, a witch, and a murderous tavern girl - and this cheeky if sharp tongued man in her presence lacked that same inner turmoil, madness even, that Cyricists seemed to be filled with.

Definitely a Maskaran. Iliskra kept this thought to herself.

“Well, it is good to know that you have the ability and will to keep us both alive. I have never called any priest or priestess my brother or sister in the shadows, no, but as they say there is a first time for all things. And if your skill matches your obvious sense of self-assurance then I think we should do well together.” Iliskra paused briefly then continued, “As for the Ashaba Talons… I have heard of them before. For several generations they were the most powerful criminal organization in this region, or close to it. From what I know their old guildmaster was among those to die from the plague years back and after dales’ capital plunged into disaster their guild started falling apart. Breck said their numbers were few and they were the weakest ones vying for power in Scardale Town. Perhaps so weak we may even be able to pick what remains of them apart ourselves.”

Iliskra suddenly heard a grumbling nearby and her hands moved impulsively to her weapons, coming to rest on their hilts as her eyes looked in the direction of the low noise. However, on seeing it was the dwarf from the encampment approaching Iliskra relaxed and dropped her arms back to her sides.

“Accursed snow and ice… better a boiling summer day than this Auril-forsaken winter…” the dwarf grumbled as he crunched through the flaky snow, arms pressed tight against his sides. Iliskra presumed the short warrior had spotted them already as he did not even acknowledge she and Leon with a moments’ gaze. Iliskra had first noticed the dwarf back in Chandlerscross yet for the first time really looked the dwarf over. For his kind he seemed the usual to her. He had a thick, bushy beard red in color that was tied into tight braids. His carrot-colored hair was cut high atop his head and stood up rather wildly. Heavy brows pressed down in a natural wrinkled grimace. And he boasted a stout, burly body shape. The dwarf wore a full suit of splintmail and his gleaming, wickedly sharp twin axes hung ready at his hips.

“Tempus’ sword straight into her maw, I say, straight into her frosted maw…” the dwarf spat as he came to a stop in front of Iliskra and Leon.

Iliskra smirked, “Not one for winter, master dwarf?”

“Call me Ibdur,” the dwarf growled rather casually and immediately, “and no, elf, I have little love for the biting cold of the winter season.”

“Iliskra,” Iliskra stated her name, her smirk withstanding, “and this man here is Leon. And I am a half-elf just so you know.”

“Alright.” Ibdur rumbled with uncaring flatness, his arms still at his sides and his emerald eyes looked out over the river. Despite being one so small he spoke spoke from his chest and his voice was husky and forceful.

“You are rather far north for someone who so clearly hates the winter.” Iliskra said pointedly.

“Tempus wills I go where there is the glory of battle to be found,” Ibdur said with a hint of pride, now meeting Iliskra’s gaze, “and this… Scardale Town is a city of battle.”

“And glory to be found?” Iliskra’s smirk lingered still though Ibdur seemed not to notice her impishness and replied with a low “indeed” and a fiercely curled fist.

This is going to be quite intriguing. Iliskra thought, wondering what Leon’s first impression of this battle-hungry dwarf was.

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430

3 Word Story

their red eyes

this is not for news anymore. why should it be titled as such?

Come comrade Sillyman.

It is time. Your legion is prepared for war. Just say the target and the word.

@Lith

*the word ™️