Paul Kemp - Twilight Falling

Vraggen smiled. The lake was holy, but not for the reasons the bullywugs believed.

Vraggen continued to scan the settlement until he located the chief-a towering bullywug, grossly fat, dressed in scale armor and adorned with a crown of polished turtleshell.

"They're near the lake," Azriim said. "They'll interfere with the ritual."

Vraggen nodded. He knew.

"You'll obliterate them, I assume?" asked the half-drow.

Beside Azriim, Dolgan grinned and licked his lips.

Vraggen turned to look upon both of his lieutenants with measured contempt.

"Violence is a tool to be used sparingly," the mage said. "These are simple creatures. It's unnecessary to destroy them. Instead, I will turn them into our allies."

Dolgan's crestfallen expression evidenced his disappointment. Azriim pursed his lips.

"Fine," said the half-drow. "As long as they don't touch my clothes."

For the next few hours, Vraggen studied the bullywug chieftain, waiting for him to be alone in his hut. When he was, Vraggen quickly prepared a series of spells. First, enchantments that allowed him to speak and understand the bullywugs' croaking tongue. Second, a spell that rendered him invisible.

When he was ready, he pulled his teleportation rod from his cloak.

"I will return apace," he said to Azriim and Dolgan.

Vraggen turned the dials of his teleportation rod, felt a brief wave of nausea, and found himself standing in the hut of the bullywug chieftain.

The stink was abominable. A mixture of organic decay and fish. From outside the hut, Vraggen could hear the steady chirp of insects and the irregular croaks of the bullywugs. Several guards stood just outside the doors, he knew. The chieftain sat in a woven-reed chair-a throne of sorts-with his arms crossed over his belly, snoring.

Vraggen wasted no time. He whispered the words to an enchantment that would make the chieftain believe him a trusted friend and ally. He became visible the moment he began to cast. The bullywug slept throughout.

When Vraggen finished the spell, he cast another minor spell that allowed him to see dweomers. The bullywug chieftain glowed in his sight. Good. The charm had taken effect. Vraggen laid a hand on the slimy skin of his "friend."

The chieftain's goggle eyes flew open. He reached for his spear, saw Vraggen, and croaked a greeting. His fat jiggled when he moved.

"Indeed it is me, my friend," Vraggen said in a low croak, so as not to alarm the guards standing outside, "Vraggen. And I bring news. Ramenos the Sleeping Maw wishes to show the tribe favor. But first, he must feed upon a sacrifice."

The chieftain's eyes clouded. His long tongue swiped across his lips nervously.

"Feed?" he chieftain asked. "How came you to this news?"

Vraggen looked suitably mysterious and answered, "Signs and portents, mighty chieftain."

The bullywug, implicitly trusting Vraggen's words due to the enchantment, seemed to accept that explanation.

"What does the Maw demand?"

Vraggen smiled and said, "He is to accept me and two other manlings into his jaws. Three days from now, when the Lightless Lake glows with his presence."

The bullywug grinned with relief and patted his fat stomach.

"He demands manling, of course!" the bullywug said. "It has been too long. After that, the maw will be sated for many seasons. The fish will be plentiful!" He thumped Vraggen on the shoulder, unable to contain his glee. "To be food for the maw is an honor indeed."

Vraggen accepted the compliment with a humble nod of his head. He wondered how such a stupid creature had risen to the top of the tribe.

"I will return with the other manlings in several days," Vraggen went on. "We shall stand before the maw until the sign is given. You must prepare the tribe. To earn the favor of Ramenos, you and your warriors must prevent any interference with the offering."

The chief nodded eagerly, his chins wobbling hither and yon.

"Eglos should know of this."

Vraggen assumed the chieftain was speaking of the tribal shaman.

"Indeed, my friend," the mage said. "Please bring Eglos here, to me, and I will deliver Ramenos's message to him directly."

Vraggen sank into the shadows while the chieftain shouted orders to the guards outside. They poked their heads in, received confirmation to retrieve Eglos, and hurried out. In a short while, Eglos appeared.

The shaman stood a head shorter than the chieftain, and his widely spaced eyes looked slightly to the side of whatever he was looking upon. He wore a brace of humanoid skulls as a sign of his office.

The moment Eglos walked into the hut, Vraggen surreptitiously cast a spell similar to that which had enthralled the chieftain. Eglos greeted him cheerfully and raptly listened to his explanation of Ramenos's plan for the tribe.

"May the maw devour you painlessly," Eglos croaked.

Again, Vraggen humbly accepted the blessing.

"Prepare the tribe for my return," he said, then he teleported out as the chieftain and shaman watched in awe.

Back in his room at the Bent Chalice, Vraggen smiled at Azriim and Dolgan.

"A quarter hour of subtlety and deception has won us over thirty bullywug warriors as allies. Force has its place," he said, enjoying the lecture, "but it is not always the answer."

Azriim stared at the ceiling and said, "I can smell you from here. Perhaps you should bathe?"

Dolgan guffawed.

Vraggen, in a generous mood, let the insult pass.

"Azriim and I will journey to the Lightless Lake," the mage said. "Dolgan, you remain in Starmantle. If Cale somehow manages to track us, kill him. We'll leave Elura to watch the road."

His lieutenants nodded, though Vraggen could see the distaste in Azriim's expression. The half-drow did not relish the thought of spending any time with bullywugs in a fetid swamp. Vraggen smiled.

All of the pieces were in place. He needed only to wait for a new moon, and the appearance of the Fane of Shadows.

Unlike Selgaunt, which had grown up at random around an earlier Chondathan settlement, Starmantle was a planned town. Straight, brick-paved streets and alleys radiated out at right angles from the large bazaar in the center of the city. Booths, tents of all colors, and tables laden with merchandise filled the bazaar. The smell of cooking fish, southern spices, mistleaf, and horse dung filled the air.

Founded centuries before as a commercial rival to Westgate and the Night Masks, Starmantle held its gates open to all races in the name of mercantilism. While it had never managed to match its rival city in size, it nevertheless attracted a diverse population. All manner of men and monsters filled the city's seething inns, eateries, festhalls, and markets. By day, lizardman tribesmen, half-ogre mercenaries, and bugbear woodsmen from the Gulthmere walked the streets beside human corsairs, merchants, and whores. By night, orcs, drow, and worse haunted the alleys and side streets. Cale marveled at the various creatures. In Selgaunt, half-ogres and bugbears would have been thought raiders and attacked on sight by the Scepters.

Starmantle had only a few streets as wide as Selgaunt's trade boulevards, but each of those was packed full by a seemingly endless train of merchants, porters, carts, wagons, crates, and barrels. A steady stream of merchandise moved day and night along the main trade arteries, flowing between the harbor, the city gates, and the bazaar. Despite the difference in size, in Starmantle as much as in Selgaunt, King Trade ruled the realm.

Still, Cale couldn't get over the feeling that the city was overcrowded with people and overstuffed with goods, as swollen and ready to burst as a waterlogged chest. Starmantle seemed to Cale nothing more than a miniature Westgate-a violent, dirty boil growing on the arse of the Dragonmere, with little to offer other than brisk trade. The fact that several towering temples dominated the skyline and looked down on the filth seemed more a joke than an aspiration.