Chapter 19 - Part 6

Delegado waited, Feather on his shoulder, and Orphan behind him. A single torch was lit over the front of Dead Before Morning, casting light on the crowd. The humans and shifters in the crowd drifted closer to it, needing its illumination, save for one group that had their own torch. Every other race had darkvision, and the groups eyed each other carefully.

“Six distinct groupings, plus scattered lowlies hoping to get in,” Orphan muttered behind the half-orc. His back was to Delegado’s back, and he kept eyeing the growing crowd. He didn’t need to, they all stayed well back from him, having heard how easily the warforged had dispatched the one who had called himself King.

“Bunch of unwashed savages,” the half-orc snorted. He kept a hand on his sword. The crowd was fairly passive, but he was taking no chances.

As the western sky began to darken, the bolt behind the doors could be heard being drawn back. The orc and the warforged who had been there earlier were still present, even though the lizardfolk man was not, and they stepped to the sides as the doors were pulled back.

Standing in the doorway, flanked by hobgoblins in relatively clean leather armor bearing rapiers, was a massive bugbear who could only be Karbal. The tall humanoid was broad-shouldered, and wore a grotesque purple robe of velvet over chain mail armor. A sword with an Eberron dragonshard on the pommel rested at his waist, his right hand comfortably on it. Behind him were several hanging oil lamps shedding illumination onto the interior of the tavern. Delegado spotted several tables and a stage to the right of a blazing fireplace. More goblinoids and orcs were inside to provide muscle, as well as several scantily attired women who would presumably provide other services.

Karbal’s left hand held a full mug of frothy ale. “Come on in, if you can pay for it,” Karbal chuckled with a booming stage voice. “And you know what I always say, don’t you?”

The crowd chanted it with him. “Drink well, lads, because it’s a sure bet we’ll all be dead before morning!”

Karbal then laughed a hearty laugh and stepped aside, letting his men collect the entry fee. Delegado let several others go in first, and was not surprised to hear warnings against fighting or grabbing the girls without paying them first. Karbal’s word, they were all told, was law inside those doors.

Finally Delegado stepped forward, shoving aside a filthy human in a bloodstained cloak that started to walk ahead of him. Orphan followed, and everyone stepped back.

“How much?” Delegado asked the orc in their native tongue.

“Karbal says a silver apiece to come in or like in work or trade,” the orc shrugged. “The prices inside are worse.”

Delegado handed him a gold coin. “You keep the change,” he told the startled orc. “I’d never ask you to act against Karbal, but I want you to keep an ear out for anything interesting to me.”

“Is that gold?” the burnt-faced warforged asked.

“No you idiot, it’s frozen mucus,” Delegado said sarcastically. Someone nearby laughed, and the warforged with the burnt face snarled.

“We’ve paid, get out of the way or I’ll disassemble you,” Orphan said coldly. Delegado was surprised. Orphan was usually so soft-spoken. The half-orc was even more surprised by what followed.

“Not blocking you,” burned-face told his fellow warforged meekly, stepping aside. The full orc on the other side of the doorway was shocked.

Delegado and Orphan entered quickly, and the half-orc chose a table where both of them could sit with their backs to a wall. The interior of the place was large, and signs in goblin, orc, something Delegado couldn’t recognize, and of course the common tongue, all proclaimed the rules and listed directions, times, and prices for the general store, the food, and the brothel. A pair of kobolds in one corner near the bar began to play horns, and the bartender began pouring drinks. Most people were drinking, not snacking, but the one serving wench was busy. She was easily the ugliest hobgoblin woman Delegado had ever seen. The females of various races waving at customers from the balcony over the brothel entrance weren’t much better.

“Why is it that women sell services of that nature to men and not men to women?” Orphan asked suddenly.

“Men want it more often,” Delegado told him. “Why’d you snarl at that warforged? It’s not like you.”

“I made the decision to play the heavy when I murdered those three men earlier,” Orphan said with a trace of bitterness. “I am trying to be consistent, at least until we leave this place.”

“It wasn’t murder,” Delegado said.

“Would you call it self-defense?” Orphan asked. “I acted without immediate threat.”

“When you wait for a threat to be immediate you usually end up dead,” Delegado pointed out. The warforged did not answer.

The hobgoblin serving wench came sauntering over, seeing money in Delegado. She unbuttoned a button on her shirt, displaying a sight that made Delegado want to scrub his eyes. Apparently goblinoids found skin diseases to be attractive. “What’s your pleasure, sugar?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

“The strongest whiskey you have,” Delegado said. “Pour me two, and buy any orcs or half-orcs in this place one on me.” He handed her 10 pieces of gold, enough to make her eyes go wide. She hurried off.

“Why are you spending so much money?” Orphan asked.

“This is the only place that it means anything,” Delegado said. “I have no reason to keep it. This will also buy me loose tongues as people try to get more.”

“Why does Karbal need money?” Orphan asked. “What does he do with it? Who does he purchase from?”

“I don’t know and it is probably safer not knowing,” Delegado said. “Here comes the entertainment.”

“Not those kobolds I hope,” Orphan muttered.

A door that was unmarked opened, and a figure in a deep hood and robe came out. Talk in the place lowered as it marched to the stage and ascended the small platform. The figure than lowered its hood and opened its robe.

It was a bugbear, a female bugbear, and a fairly good-looking one, too. If not for the angled scar on one cheek, she would have even been stunning. She was dressed in mithril armor decorated with stylized silver flames, and she carried a sword on her hip that was made out of what the half-orc recognized as flametouched iron.

“Oh, Khyber, no,” Delegado scowled, wishing he had the whiskey already. “Do these morons go everywhere?”