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| Details |
| Author: | inkie |
| Summary: | White Squad resumes their subterfuge as undercover Schnottzies in the Furrier's employ. No one solves a murder. A number of other attempted murders fail. Alysson has gotten good at taking people's clothes. Bran is good at hitting people with sticks. Ben cannot convince the Schnottzie laborers to unionize. Auralind still cannot see people nodding at her. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Auralind lingers in the shade of the Ramhaken king's court chamber, closing her eyes as she enjoys a light desert breeze tousling her hair.
Cressidha stands in the shade, tracing water-conjuring sigils in the air.
Atley marches up to Brannagen, Auralind, and Thaeru'kul, chewing on a salted strip of jerky. He inclines his head to the trio. "How's the day?"
"Lo there everyone!" says Brannagen. He is, as usual, cheerful and variously ink-stained.
Aura opens her eyes… to not see or something. "Elune adore. The day is…mildly cooler than usual."
Atley grunts and glances around, taking a moment to chew and swallow. He nods and grunts at Ben before looking back to Auralind. "So 'tis." He nods at Thaeru'kul. "Wot's this one think of the sun?"
Aura looks to Thaeru, then towared Atley. "Thaeru'kal does not mind it. She does not experience our worldly climates the same way we do."
Atley grunts.
Ben emerges from the shade of the palace awning, tucking a notebook back into his pack and squinting in the sun. He slings the pack over his shoulder and adjusts the brim of his hat.
"Hey, y'all," says Ben to the assembled.
Cressidha approaches with her water. "Good afternoon, everyone."
"Good afternoon, everyone," Colson greets.
Brannagen gives Cressidha a cheerful little bow of gratitude for the water.
Ben accepts water from Cressidha and nods gratefully. "Thanks."
Cressidha nods politely.
Atley perks up and fastens Cressidha's water to his belt. "Cheers, Cress."
Auralind bows her head reverently to Cressidha as she accepts the Gift of Water. "Shaha lor'ma dula Luvas'alith."
Colson ties his water to his belt, as always. He remains still in the partial shade.
"You're welcome," Cressidha says to Auralind.
"Alysson, here." Cressidha offers him some water as he approaches.
"Ho there, Cress! Thank you much," Alysson says cheerily.
Cressidha nods. "Of course."
Bran writes in his journal. The effect is like watching a mechanical printer produce text line by line.
Sil wanders over from the direction of the market.
Atley promptly opens the waterskin and takes a few modest pulls from it.
"Silvestre, good afternoon," says Cressidha. And here comes the water.
Atley turns to inspect Sil with a nod in greeting.
"Thanks, Cressidha," Sil says with a smile, tucking the water away. "Any news on the council?"
"I do not believe it has met yet." Cressidha looks at Dane for confirmation.
Atley shakes his head and blows slowly in restrained irritation with the council. "None yet. Still lost in deliberation. We're meeting the High Commander today."
Atley looks to Ben and the rest of White Squad. "How goes your work?"
"We cooked a turkey," Alysson says.
"Uh. Yeah." Ben glances at Alysson and shifts.
Atley opens his mouth to respond before he pauses, and reconsiders. "You found a turkey? Round here?"
"It was not actually, uh," says Ben.
Cressidha looks like she is connecting some dots between Alysson and the newsletter.
Ben clears his throat. "It was a fellow got turned into a turkey. We did not cook him, to be clear. There was a… ritual?"
"Ah." Colson connects a dot between the newsletter specifications and Alysson.
Atley grunts and nods slowly. He takes another bite of jerky.
"Anyway it kind of put 'em off us, down there. It was not our fault, the fellow done his ritual wrong. But we got blamed. So today we got to go back an' see if they will still work with us." Ben adjusts his sword belt irritably.
"I… see," Colson says. "That… does happen. I hope that they understand better after reflection."
Ben nods.
"Hello, Blue and White Squad," Azizia bows to the group.
Cressidha offers Azizia some bottled water and also a bag that matches her tabard exactly. "Azizia, good afternoon."
"Thank you, Miss Cress," the shaman smiles at her.
"Of course." Cressidha smiles faintly back.
Atley grunts. "Many obstacles to face in this place. Any idea where that… worldending pyramid may be?" Atley asks, lowering his voice in a growl.
Ben shakes his head grimly at Atley. "Not yet. If these fellows don't know… I dunno. Doctor Jones was doin' some research."
"Worldending pyramid?" Sil repeats, his eyes wide.
Ben looks at Sil. "It is a Titan weapon of some kind, hid in some ruins out here, I guess? It's what we're after."
"We're focusing on obelisks, I think," Alysson says. "They're a relative of basilisks. But maybe they serve the pyramind."
"They ain't relatives of — " Ben sighs at Alysson and falls silent.
Atley looks to Sil and nods gravely. "White Squad's focus here. Neither of our missions can fail."
"Nor will they," He adds. He eats more jerky for emphasis.
"Oh wow," Sil nods. "Probably we should not activate it. But I'd guess you're planning to very much not."
Colson frowns faintly, and starts to say something to Alysson, and then reconsiders perhaps, given the time.
"We are tryin' to make sure it don't get activated, yeah." Ben nods at Sil. "Doctor Jones been activatin' anything he gets his hands on though, so…."
"If the world suddenly ends, it was an accident," Alysson says, nodding.
Azizia looks at Alysson. Expressionless.
Sil winces. "Yeah, reckon you'll have to keep an eye on him."
"How is your tol'virs business goin'?" Ben looks around.
"Going pretty well, I think," Sil says. "We showed them we're good allies, and that the Neferset are liars. I think they'll be on our side."
Atley sets his jaw and gestures vaguely to the throne room. "We're trying to get the High Council to agree to war with the Neferset. They're not all for it."
"I got kind of a hard time seein' why you wouldn't be all in for war against Deathwing's team but, I dunno. Maybe they been readin' different news or some shit." Ben looks aggravated.
Azizia looks at Ben. "Thank you!"
Cressidha presses her lips together and remains silent.
"In some cases, the Neferset have taken a hostage, such as with the Vizier, so that to wage war would put his son on the front line," Colson says mildly.
"You think they subscribe to Breathwing's newsletter?” asks Alysson. "Does Breathwing got a newsletter?"
Atley grunts in agreement. "They're wise to fear open war, but the prospect's upon them whether they like it or not."
"Well, last tribe said they were gonna fight Deathwing got obliterated by a sandstorm, so…" Sil shrugs. "They've got to decide if it's right for their people."
"And the right time to take a full stand. As with the draenei, who heard Prophet Velen's voice when he called for a retreat until Azeroth, or Lady Jaina, who knew to go to Kalimdor rather than fight the Scourge in the Eastern Kingdoms," Colson adds.
"The Ramkahen are a noble people at heart. I believe they'll see the truth 'fore the end. It's either fight or succumb to slavery," Atley growls.
Without looking up from his journal, Bran says, "Pretty sure everyone's gonna get obliterated by Deathwing if they dinna fight him, so."
Ben gestures at Bran. "Yeah. That."
Azizia nods.
"We know Deathwing is a danger to us all, but how and where we fight may make all the difference." Colson adjusts his gauntlets, with a mild expression.
Atley looks over Blue Squad. "We cannot force them into fighting, only present our strength as allies and leave it to them."
Sil looks between them all. "Of course we're gonna fight Deathwing. Just got to figure out how and with who."
"Velen's visions are different," Azizia says. "And it is better to fight while allies are by side of yours, rather than after they have been stopped, I think."
"Are we gonna let the Tol'virs into Stormwind?" Alysson asks.
Atley grunts at Alysson. "P'raps, once our dealings here have solidified."
"That'd be something, wouldn't it," Sil says, considering. "Tol'virs all around Stormwind."
"They might like to see it. You should've seen 'em with Bran's ram the other day." Ben gestures to Bran again.
Atley cranes his head in a nod before he looks to Bran and lifts his bushy brows.
"That's 'cause ram's in the name, right? Ram-caw-hen?" Alysson says.
The Sheep Squad, bringing rams to Uldum.
Bran has not been participating in the discussion, but something in his manner as he journals suggests that he is transcribing it.
"Okay, White Squad, we ready to go?" Ben looks around.
Auralind nods. "I am ready."
Ben whistles to summon Stratus down from his roost on a nearby rooftop.
"Stay hydrated," Cressidha says to White Squad, and turns back to her own group.
Atley nods in farewell to White Squad.
"Good luck, White Squad," Azizia waves at them.
White Squad lands near the bunker at Schnottz’s Landing.
Ben removes his tabard hastily and stuffs it into a saddlebag. "Unscrupulous, y'all," he reminds the group quietly.
Auralind removes her tabard. "Of course."
"Me beard covers me tabard an' it's real hard ta get off, plus the Explorers' League is pretty disreputable, sooooo" Bran shrugs with a grin.
Alysson readies more sand.
Ben braces himself with a grimace. "How 'bout you sand your ownself, Alysson?" he suggests.
"Do I need it?" Alysson looks down at himself.
"Definitely. You look far too clean," Aura comments with a smirk.
"Prob'ly more than me." Ben nods.
"Well, if even Auralind says so…." Alysson drops down and rolls around in the sand.
Ben observes this with fascinated dismay.
Auralind pinches her lips to stifle the laughter that desperately wants to escape.
Alysson gets back up with a grin. "Think I got sand in my pants," he says.
"Do you want to — " Ben pauses and decides he should probably not suggest Alysson deal with the sand in his pants right now.
"Anyhow." Ben clears his throat. "We ready?"
"As ready as one can be fer such a theng," Bran says amiably.
"Sand in m'pants, sand in m'pants, lookin' disreputable with sand in m'pants," Alysson sings. "I'm ready to go!"
"Maybe less singin'," Ben advises Alysson under his breath as they start toward the bunker.
"Aw," Alysson says.
"Lo there, fellow relic-seekers!" Bran says cheerfully and sincerely. They definitely all seek things.
The blood elf lowers his magazine — is it the same magazine? — and brightens. “You came back! Commander Schnottz will be so relieved he didn’t lose such a skilled team over a little… fowl play.”
He waits for laughter.
Bran obliges.
Ben does not. He looks at Bran.
Auralind 'stares' at the blood elf.
"I don't think we were playin' with the turkey, so much as cookin' it," Alysson observes.
"It's… a figure of…" The elf peers at Alysson. "Didn't you have an accent?"
Alysson clears his throat. "Yes, zhe uh…fowl…turkey," Alysson corrects.
"We'd nae think of quittin'," Bran says. "Birds of a feather gotta stick together an' all, aye?"
The blood elf grins at Bran. "Birds of a — I say, good one!" He laughs heartily.
The elf gestures with his magazine toward the back of the bunker. "The Commander will see you now."
They go see the Commander.
"Sir," says Ben to the goblin.
Commander Schnottz eyes the group beadily. “Vell, vell, mein friends. You haf returned. Very good, ve vill let bygones be gone. I even haf a task zat vill allow you to redeem yourselves.”
Ben hooks his thumb into his sword belt and raises an eyebrow, blank-faced.
“Zere has been some… disorderliness among ze vorkers,” says Schnottz. “Some of zem refuse to perform zeir labors. It is bad for morale! A few days ago you collected zese spare uniforms. Put zem on, and go persuade ze lazy malcontents to get back to vork!”
The goblin points to a heap of uniforms on a cot nearby.
Bran sighs.
"Vhe vill not zhing about it because vhe are disreputable," Alysson says, nodding.
Commander Schnottz blinks at Alysson and then narrows his eyes.
Auralind sighs at Alysson.
Ben takes Alysson's shoulder and steers him toward the cot with the uniforms.
"What you reckon they got these in all our sizes?" Ben mutters. "Or that they laundered 'em?" He pulls a khaki shirt on and attempts to button it.
"Illegal clothes?" Alysson asks.
Auralind's outfit is… short. Her midriff and calves are showing.
Bran was apparently not kidding when he talked about his tabard being hard to remove. He spends a very long time with things getting tangled in beard.
"Okay, ain't… too bad." Ben looks them over. "Let's go… motivate the labor?"
They head outside and up the dunes toward the distant excavation sites. It is… hot. The sand shimmers in the bright sun.
At the first site they reach, men with shovels and pickaxes are hard at work excavating one of the gargantuan humanoid statues White Squad has seen before in the obelisk chambers.
"These fellows all look pretty busy," Ben observes.
"Does anyone have a speech prepared for these fellows?" Alysson asks. "Of the motivational variety?"
"Yeah, I reckon I could." Ben is a great motivational speaker.
"I assumed we would simply yell at them to get to work." Auralind shrugs.
Bran holds up his stick.
"I figured we were motivatin' em the way me da motivates people," Bran says… cheerfully.
"Let's check out the fellows near the coast," Ben suggests.
Ben is probably not suggesting that because it’s fucken hot up in the dunes or anything.
They troop toward an excavation site closer to the water’s edge.
"Hey, you." Ben approaches a seated laborer.
Bran stands behind Ben and leans pointedly on his very large stick.
"What's he drinkin'? Hey! What're you drinkin'? Can I have some?" Alysson asks.
The laborer glares at Alysson. "No, you can't."
"Aw." Alysson sulks.
The laborer squints at them angrily. "I was promised wealth if I came out here! What a joke! Hard labor in the hot sun, with nothing to show for it but blisters?"
"You are behind schedule," Ben tells the man. "Your boss has noticed you slackin' off. That won't go well for you, prob'ly." He pauses. "Maybe y'all ought to get back in the work site and talk to them other fellows about a union."
The laborer squints at Ben again, suspiciously. "About a — you say you work for Schnottz?"
"An onion? How's that s'posed to help?" Alysson asks.
Auralind growls under her breath.
Ben clears his throat and nods at Bran with his stick. "Okay, Bran. All yours."
Bran cheerfully gives the man a thump with his staff.
"What the — !" The laborer heaves himself to his feet. "I should've stayed with the Wastewanders!" He hurries to rejoin the other laborers.
"There's more where that came from, laddie, dinna make me show et," Bran calls after him.
Ben mutters under his breath, "Okay, I guess we ain't tell 'em to unionize, it makes 'em too suspicious. They would rather side with the boss man."
"Hey, there's another fellow sittin' over there!" Alysson says, pointing.
Bran smiles. "This is nice; I rarely get ta hit thengs. There's somethin' real satisfyin' about the feelin of a stick hittin' eejit flesh."
Alysson eyes the staff a liiittle warily now.
All eejits should be wary… yes.
"Hey," says Ben. "You. My friend got a stick and thinks you ought to get back to work."
The laborer eyes Bran.
Bran shows his stick.
The laborer grumbles and gets to his feet.
Ben grins at Bran. "You do a pretty good menace."
Auralind squints, "I hear snoring."
"Fer cryin out loewd," Bran says. "Not even subtle, these eejits."
Auralind kicks the sleeper. "GET BACK TO WORK!"
The man yelps and scrambles to his feet.
Bran thumps another one awake. His blows are definitely… motivating, but not harmful.
Bran's target jolts upright, then leaps to his feet and attacks.
"Uh oh, made him mad." Bran puts his stick to slightly more harmful use.
"Let that be a lesson." Ben spits in the sand and looks around at the nearby workers, who have stopped to watch. They all hurriedly return to their work.
"Ah, if Dailu could see me noew…" Bran murmurs, half to himself.
"So we're workin' with a Tyrantosaur?" Alysson asks.
"A what?" Ben squints at Alysson.
"A Tyrantosaur, the big fellows with bitty arms an' big mouths," Alysson replies.
Auralind furrows her brow. "A devilsaur?"
"Yeah, I ain't clear on what that got to do with — " Ben pauses and eyes another worker dozing in the shade of a wagon.
"I heard they were called Tyrantosaurs, but maybe," Alysson says.
"You also heard unions were called onions," Auralind says dryly. "I think I will put my trust in other sources."
Ben nods at Bran and his stick.
Bran puts a little style into this "motivation," spinning around with surprising grace before he thwops the sleeping worker with it. "Git up ye lazy sod!" he says cheerily.
The worker yelps and scrambles away on all fours before getting himself upright to run back to the job site.
Bran cheerfully staff-thomps another sleeping Schnottzie nearby.
"I didn’t sign up for this!" the man snarls as he gets to his feet.
"Ye literally signed up fer this, ye git," Bran calls after him as he returns to work.
Ben points at another uniformed man sitting on the sand.
Alysson steals his drink.
"Hey!" the man cries.
Bran rubs his hands together gleefully and then does a few interesting swoops through the air with his staff, a strange sort of martial choreography, before giving the sleeping guy a whap.
Ben eyes Bran. "You are pretty good at the whackin', there."
"Aye, learned from the best." Bran sighs wistfully and does not elaborate.
Ben looks around for other obvious slackers and spies none.
Alysson cheerfully drinks from his new drink of… whatever it is.
"Let's go tell Schnottz we got his fellows back on the job," says Ben.
They return to the bunker.
Ben nods to the pacing goblin, who halts to stare at the group.
"We took care of 'em," says Ben, and gestures to the disreputable dwarf with the stick.
Bran bows.
Commander Schnottz nods. “Vell done, vell done. Perhaps Belloc vas right, and it vould be best to haf you around.” He surveys the group in silence a moment and then makes a curt gesture. “Speaking of! Belloc vas asking for you. Go and see vat he vants."
Ben nods and heads that way.
"Lo there!" Bran says to the elf.
The blood elf is pacing theatrically back and forth. He comes to a halt as the squad approaches. “Oh, thank goodness,” he sighs, and wrings his hands. “We have a bit of a… situation on our hands.
“You’ve circulated before, you’ll be a familiar face, and you’re… objective outsiders. Can you please go and… reassure some of our more squeamish guests that everything is under control? We’ve got our top men on the case.”
Bran raises a shaggy, dubious orange brow.
"What — er vhat — is zhe situation?" Alysson asks.
"It's fine, it's fine, it's nothing. An unfortunate incident. Just reassure the guests, all right? We don't need trouble over a little… nothing." The blood elf smiles wanly.
"Uh. Okay?" says Ben. He looks at the others and tips his head to beckon them aside.
Ben says quietly to the others, "We will find out while we're there, right? People will tell us what got 'em freaked out."
"Noew we're gettin' somewhere," Bran murmurs.
"If we are meant to be outsiders, we should remove these uniforms," Auralind says.
"Oh, right, yeah. Good call." Ben nods at Auralind.
"Aw, it had some nice pockets," Alysson says. "An' there wasn't sand in it."
"Ye can shake the sand out, lad," Bran says.
Ben strides into the camp of silent, huddled guests, and halts at the sight of a body lying on bloodied sand.
"Hey there's a dead…fellow?" Alysson asks.
Ben stares at the corpse. "Oh. Uh. Yeah. That looks like… a unfortunate incident."
"What the molten slag…" Bran scratches his beard.
Ben approaches and peers down at the corpse. "It's, shit. It's that Ambassador fellow." He turns to the man kneeling by the body. "Hey, you. What's goin' on? You see anythin'?"
The man looks up, pale. "I don't… the Ambassador was becoming increasingly critical of the operation. But that doesn’t… mean anything?"
Ben folds his arms. "Well, we are here to help. Reckon someone ought to investigate it. You want to pitch in? You seem pretty interest."
Bran sketches the crime scene.
"Who, me?" The man looks horrified. "I'm hardly qualified to…." He gets to his feet and scrambles away.
Ben sighs.
"We're doin' good bein' disreputable, right? We're not gonna get sneak attacked?" Alysson asks.
"Let's spread out an' talk to folks," Ben says to the others. He nods reassuringly at Alysson. "We are real disreputable. We just hit a bunch of fellows with a stick."
Bran approaches the… red-bearded dwarf nearby.
Auralind merely observes, well aware she is not the best suited to soothe anyone.
"Wot happened here?" Bran asks him.
"There was a horrific growling noise," the other dwarf replies. "Echoed all through the region. Then… poor fellow. Do excuse me… I need a drink."
Ben looks skeptical. "Huh."
Ben turns and approaches a young lady in a low-cut blouse who looks extremely shaken. "Stay away from me!" she yelps, and then asks plaintively, "What's happening?"
"Calm down, miss," says Ben. "You all right? You see anything?"
"No! Of course I'm not all right! I've seen a corpse!" She sobs loudly.
"Well, better'n bein' one," Bran says.
"Just… he was just lyin' there?" Ben asks.
"No, he came… he came stumbling out of there. The barracks." She points tearfully. "I screamed for help but the guards ignored me!"
Ben looks around at the indifferent goblin guards. "Huh. Well, uh. Maybe you ought to lie down or somethin', yeah?"
She shakes her head. "Not in the barracks!" She retreats under a nearby canopy to huddle.
"Sir?" Ben asks a nearby blood elf, who immediately shakes his head.
"Oh, no," the elf says. "You're not getting me involved. My entire fortune is tied up in this operation, I'm not here to stir up trouble."
"We're all going to diiiiiiie!" moans another blood elf nearby.
"True," Bran notes.
"Sir, you prob'ly ought to sit down. Maybe away from the bonfire," Ben suggests kindly. The elf turns and scurries back to the shelter of a canopy. He might be running from Bran, though; it's unclear.
Auralind rolls her eyes at the sin'dorei dramatics.
Bran shrugs. "Well I didna mean imminently, necessarily."
"I don't think he is feelin' real sanguine about his inevitable mortality at this moment, sir," says Ben. "I don't reckon we are gonna be real soothin' here so long as they got, like. A actual corpse lyin' over there."
Bran amiably elbows Auralind in solidarity.
"So they're sayin' we should look in the barracks?" Alysson asks.
"Yeah, we can look in the barracks." Ben nods at Alysson.
"Tryin' ta recall the last time I was upset by the sight of a corpse…" Bran muses.
One of the goblin guards bars their way. "No lookin' in the barracks," he says.
"We are just… uh. Commander Schnottz sent us?" Ben looks down at the goblin.
"Private barracks," the goblin says, sounding bored. He doesn't move.
Ben grimaces and steps back. Once they have moved out of earshot, he says, "Fightin' with a guard prob'ly make us look suspicious. Guess we report in?"
"Weren't we in there before…?" Alysson asks Ben.
The buildings do all look a bit the same.
"Yeah, we was. An' it was where those shady fellows was hangin' out with the Ambassador." Ben casts a look over his shoulder.
Alysson shrugs. "Maybe they had a lady shakin' sand outa her pants an' didn't wanna say," Alysson says.
"… maybe," Ben concedes dubiously.
Bran gazes at distant obelisks, perhaps distracted.
Back in Schnottz’s bunker…
Ben nods at the blood elf. "We talked to some people. They, uh. Did not seem like they wanted to calm down just yet, but we done our best."
“Hmm. Still a bit frazzled? Well, you know what they say. Time heals all wounds.” The blood elf pauses and purses his lips. “Except for the ambassador’s, of course.”
Ben raises his eyebrows.
A goblin guard bursts through the door. “Hide your vives! Hide your children! Zhey're killink everyvone up in he'ah!”
I did not write that line, I promise. That was Blizzard.
Ben wheels around as the guards begin yelling. "What the — ?"
Belloc Brightblade yells: What are you talking about, goblin?! Speak!!
There is a rumble of distant explosions, and a rattle of gunfire.
Schnottz's Bodyguard yells: Zhe shtatues! Zhey're aliiive!
Schnottz's Bodyguard yells: Zhey're runnink around killink everyzhink! Shtompink! Like zhis!!
He stomps illustratively.
Bran perks up, interested.
Belloc Brightblade yells: What are you waiting for? Get out there and stop them!
Schnottz's Bodyguard yells: Off course, sir! At Vonce!
“Qvickly!” barks Commander Schnottz. “You! To me!” He points to White Squad.
“It appears you haf anozzer opportunity to prove yourselves. Zis little emergency has set me back a few tank gunnahs. You sink you haf vat it takes to fill in?” Schnottz peers up at the group.
"I'm a dwarf, lad," Bran says. "We invented the thengs."
Ben looks around at the others. "Uh. Yeah. He is — yeah." Ben jerks a thumb at Bran and nods.
"And there is nothing I cannot hit at range," Auralind brags.
"Goot. Ze tanks are just vest of ze camp. Go! Put an end to zis silliness!”
"Aye," Bran says.
The gigantic statues Schnottz’s men have been digging from the sand have expedited the digging process by getting up, and are now wreaking havoc among the camps and laborers. There are… a lot of them.
"So uh. We're not on the statues' side?" Alysson asks.
"Wooooow, will ye LOOK at 'em…" Bran admires the rampaging constructs.
Ben stops to gape at the statues. "Damn."
Auralind's ears twitch at the shtomping. "Though…those seem like easy enough targets."
They find tanks nearby.
Bran familiarizes himself with the tank controls, then hops in and starts driving. "Someone man the guns!" he calls out.
Ben mans a gun.
Guns are manned. And womaned, sorry Auralind.
"Whoaaa they've got eye lazer beams," Alysson says excitedly.
They do.
Ben watches as another colossus topples to the ground. He winces.
Bran looks a little teary-eyed.
"I dunno how I feel about us… shootin' these things," Ben says low-voiced.
Yet another colossus falls.
"Reckon that'll do, we ain't gotta… handle all of it. That's enough for convincin'," Ben decides. "Let's get back to the commander."
They park the tanks and climb out, heading back to Schnottz’s bunker. As they approach there is an enormous explosion, and the entire building seems to go up in a roiling cloud of black smoke. Flames consume the roof a moment later.
"Oh, shit." Ben staggers back and gapes as the bunker erupts in flames.
Auralind is thrown to the ground by the blast, and Thaeru'kal leaps in front of Aura to shield her.
"Should we uh… go see if anyone's alive in there?" Alysson asks.
"We got to see — we got to see if anyone survived," Ben says. "Yeah. We got a priest an' a paladin — " He takes off at a run.
Aura rises, leaning on the spirit cat. "Shaha lor'ma, Thaeru."
Bran is surprisingly quick to regain his feet and head into the flames.
Ben ducks and shields his face with one arm as they enter the flaming bunker. There is a familiar goblin sprawled on the floor.
"Is he dead?" Ben shouts above the sound of the fire.
Commander Schnottz sits up abruptly.
"I'm afraid he's too far gone to—" Bran frowns as the guy stirs and proves himself alive.
Alysson jumps in surprise.
Ben jumps too.
“AUCH!” squawks Commander Schnottz. The top of his elaborate black pompadour is singed and still smoking. “If I vere an inch or two taller, I vould be dead!”
Schnottz glares balefully. “Okay, zis just got real! Somevone sinks zey can get rid of me zat easily, hmm? Ve vill see about zat! Nozink can stop zis vork! Nozink!” He looks around at the encroaching flames. He raises his voice above the fire’s roar. “VE SHOULD PROBABLY GET OUT OF HERE.”
"Aye," says Bran irritably.
Commander Schnottz says: Follow me! Zhere is much to be done!
They follow him, listening as he rants.
Commander Schnottz says: You take a group of miserable bandits, make them part of somezhink historical, and zhis is vhat you get?
Commander Schnottz says: I am goink find out who is behind zhis treachery, and you are goink to help me!
Commander Schnottz says: Zhis vork is bigger zhan you or me… Bigger zhan anyvone knows!
"It dinna have ta be tha' big ta be bigger'n you or me, lad," Bran observes.
It dwarfs you, Bran.
Commander Schnottz says: Zhese vould-be assassins don't know who zhey are meddling vizh!
Commander Schnottz says: Soon, zhey shall learn… and vhen zhey do, zhey vill tremble!
Ben listens intently, his brow creased.
"I'm already tremblin'," Alysson says. "Thought it'd help get the sand outa my pants, but it hasn't."
With Schnottz in the lead, the entire group walks right into the mystery bunker this time. The pair of sinister strangers are still there.
Auralind tenses, her ears honing on the mysterious shirtless men.
Schnottz’s hair has stopped smoking. He eyes the group coldly. “It is times like zese zat one learns who his friends really are.”
"Tha' would definitely be a theng one could learn, aye," Bran says ambiguously.
“Zat buildink did not explode by itself! Somevone is tryink to do me in, and you von’t rest until I find out who!” Schnottz glares.
"Uh. Right. Nosir," agrees Ben.
"I would be real motivated to find that person's identity, aye," says Bran. Ambiguously.
Schnottz nods grimly at Bran.
Bran might be enjoying himself a little too much. But that's just Bran for you.
"I was thinkin', what if it was just a smaller statue fellow what did it?" Alysson asks.
"Nein! It is mein enemies!" Schnottz tells Alysson direly. "You can trust no vone! Go and visit ze… ‘guests’ in ze barracks over zere. Speak vis zem, observe zeir demeanors, and zen report back to me. If zey know anysink at all, I vill haf zem interrogated!”
Ben nods.
"ZEN GO," barks Schnottz, and smooths his singed hair.
There are a number of goblin guards standing around the doors to the barracks. They eye the group a little smugly, but let them pass.
Inside, the first man they'd spoken to by the body edges toward the group, his expression strained. He cants his head in a beckoning gesture, his eyes darting toward the guards by the door.
"Are we questionin' this here floatin' book?" Alysson asks, pointing.
The floating book is an arcane guest registry.
Ben glances distractedly at Alysson. "That is… uh. No. I reckon we want to speak to that fellow."
“Please," whispers the man loudly. "You have to help us! We’re being kept here against our will. And with the commander on such a tear, there’s no telling what might happen to us now!”
The other guests are watching them from where they huddle together on cots and in corners.
“If you were to secure us some uniforms,” the man pleads, “we could slip away. We never should have come here, I see that now. If you help us escape, I’ll tell the world the TRUTH of what’s going on here!”
"I don't even know the truth of what's goin' on here," Alysson says, scratching his head.
"It'd be nice though if ye'd let us in on any truths ye might know," Bran suggests.
"I don't know anything but what you do!" the man hisses. "Just… what we've all seen. What's happening. This is no normal expedition!"
"Okay," says Ben, and looks around. "Okay. Uh. We will — I will figure out where we can get y'all some uniforms. We can't… do it around here. There is already a lot of suspicion floatin' around."
The man nods, wide-eyed.
"We better report to the Commander that everythin' is… okay with y'all, before he gets suspicious some more," Ben says.
They return to Schnottz.
"Hey, sir," Ben tells the Commander. "The guests are all, uh. They are shook up but okay. None of 'em knows nothin'."
“Hm,” says Commander Schnottz, looking barely mollified. But ‘barely’ is still some mollified. “Vell.”
"I used priest mind magic," Bran lies cheerily.
Schnottz looks even more mollified. "Goot, goot."
Alysson takes a small step away from Bran.
Schnottz leans in. “I haf eyes and ears in every corner of zis region. I haf heard ze murmurinks zat go on amongst my troops. I haf been most tolerant of zis behavior until now. But it is time to send a message!”
He straightens and points. “Zere are ships in ze harbor here. Zey haf arrived only recently, and it seems to me zat any new arrivals may be rousing zis rabble. Go out zere to ze ships and exterminate ze captains.
“Zey must see zat I am ze authority here. I, ze Furrier!”
"You want us to… your own captains?" Ben blinks.
"I AM ZE LEADER," shrieks Schnottz.
Ben takes a step back.
"He is ze leader," Auralind agrees.
Bran blinks. "Woew," he murmurs.
“Ven zis has been done, I vill monitor ze mood of ze troops and determine vat ve do next.” Schnottz glowers at the group. “Go!”
They go.
Ben eyes the ships in the harbor. He eyes the distance from the ships to the shore. "Hey," he says. "I reckon I know where we will get them uniforms."
The ships are pirate ships, like flying black flags and everything, don’t worry, Siamus.
White Squad lands their flying mounts aboard the first ship. They are immediately swarmed by cutlass-wielding crewmen. They dispatch these in haste, and Alysson begins removing uniforms. (He’s really good at it at this point.)
"An' there's a captain." Ben points.
Auralind grins wickedly at the captain. "We bring a message from Schnottz, see?"
Oh Auralind, you did not.
She did, though.
The message, anyway, is that the captain is dead. White Squad delivers it.
Having collected a number of uniforms and stuffed them discreetly in various packs and pouches, White Squad heads back to the barracks where the ‘guests’ are being kept.
Ben nods curtly to the goblin guards and tries to act casual.
The man in the barracks leaps up from the bunk where he’s been sitting, as everyone else in the barracks turns toward the entering group. “Do you have — ”
Auralind nods. "We do."
Ben nods. "Yessir." He begins emptying his pack.
“Oh, thank the Light,” the man breathes. The guests crowd around to begin grabbing uniforms.
Ben watches as the guests start hurriedly changing, and then realizes he should probably not watch them change. "Uh. Let's get back to Schnottz."
He strolls casually again.
"They're dead!" Bran announces.
“Very good, very good.” Schnottz rubs his hands together.
Schnottz looks the group over. "And now, you all should come out back vis me. Zere is somezink I must show you at last!"
Ben raises his eyebrows. The two menacing strangers at Schnottz's shoulders are expressionless.
"It is ze ultimate objectif you haf been after," Schnottz promises, low-voiced.
"Brelliant," Bran whispers back.
"O… kay?" Ben nods and looks at the others. "Lead the way, sir."
Schnottz leads them out the back door of the bunker and up into the sands. His two sinister pals accompany them.
“Did you really sink you vould get away vis it?” Schnottz asks conversationally as they walk. “First, you come traipsing into Uldum as if you own ze place. Clumsily interferink vis my operation. Zen you mercilessly kill my loyal vorkers…”
“But — ” protests Ben.
Commander Schnottz yells: NO BUT! Silence! Keep Movink!
There is no time for the squad to react any further, as the two sinister strangers shimmer improbably and shift, and suddenly there are two enormous black drakes pacing alongside them.
“Zen,” continues Schnottz, “on top of everysink, you nearly take my life. ME!”
In our defense, sir, that one wasn’t us.
The black drakes loom, watching the squad with fiery eyes as they escort them up into the dunes.
“You vill pay!” Schnottz announces as they halt at an excavation site. He marches over to a chest beneath a scaffold, and produces a gigantic rocket-gun. “Death by firing sqvad!”
The black drakes herd the group into the excavation pit.
Commander Schnottz yells: Zhat's far enough!
Poised on the pit’s edge, he levels his rocket-gun at the group. “You are fortunate zat I am too busy to make you suffer as you deserve.”
He addresses the drakes. “I can take it from here, my friends. Report to your master zat ze problem has been dealt vis. Tell him zat zere vill be no further interruptions.”
Menacing Emissary yells: Be certain there aren't, Schnottz. Deathwing's patience wears thin.
The two black drakes lift into the air and wing their way north.
“Now zen,” says Schnottz, focusing on the group in the pit again. His eyes glitter with malice. “Vere vere ve?”
In the distance, uphill between some dunes, the sun glints off of something on the sand. Could it be… a plane?
A shadow appears atop a nearby crane. A shadow in a hat.
“Ahh, yes,” says Schnottz. “Any last vords?”
The shadow in the hat swoops down from the crane, swinging toward Schnottz at the end of a rope. Harrison Jones kicks the goblin to the sand, and there is a brief tussle. At its end, Harrison stands holding the rocket gun leveled at the goblin.
Harrison Jones yells: Beat it, Schnottz!
Commander Schnottz yells: You haven't seen zhe last of me, Jones!
Commander Schnottz turns and flees into the sands.
"Harry!" Brannagen beams.
Harrison grins at the group and puts a firm hand on Bran's shoulder. "Good thing I showed up when I did!"
Auralind groans. "It was under control."
Harrison adds grimly, "I'm guessing we haven't seen the last of that Schnottz fellow, though."
"Because you literally — " Ben stares at Harrison. "You just — " He looks over his shoulder in the direction Schnottz fled.
"So black dragons," Alysson says, glancing at the sky.
"So," says Harrison, shouldering the rocket gun in a perhaps unwise manner. "Schnottz was working with Deathwing, yeah."
"Ta be honest I was wonderin' when the connection was gonna show up. I was expectin' somethin' … subtler," says Bran.
Harrison shakes his head. "This is worse than you think…."
"I mean," says Ben. "I think it's pretty bad."
"Aye, Harry lad, how do ye know how bad we thenk et es?" Bran squints.
"Yeah, so listen kids," Harrison goes on obliviously. "I knew these obelisks were linked to the Coffer of Promise, but there's a lot more to it. There's something… important about the Coffer, something pertaining to a place called the Halls of Origination. Now that we know this Schnottz and his crew are in league with Deathwing, it's all the more urgent we get there first."
Bran perks up immediately, eyes sparkling.
Ben straightens, looking grim. "Yessir."
"Origination…? Tha' sounds… real important." Bran is practically drooling.
"Halls of Origination." Aura turns toward Bran. "That has a rather…Titanish sound to it."
Bran nods fervently at Auralind, so excited he … forgot.
"The Halls of Origination… must be where the Obelisks are originatin' from!" Alysson says.
Harrison turns to look over his shoulder toward the north, and points the rocket gun in that direction. It goes off. A nearby dune explodes in a cloud of sand and smoke.
"Oh. Uh." Harrison clears his throat.
Alysson blinks.
"More explosions," Bran observes needlessly.
Harrison shoulders the now-unloaded gun casually. "Anyhow. I have a camp way up north of here. I'm going to muster some friends and some information, and I'll meet you there. Give me a few days, all right?"
"Do we… have a few days?" Ben asks.
"We just bought ourselves some time here, fouling up this operation and running Schnottz off. So yeah." Harrison grins.
Ben mutters something about the use of 'we' in that sentence.
"We've got a rocket gun," Alysson offers.
No one thinks Alysson should have the rocket gun.
"I'm gonna need a bigger journal," Bran murmurs.
"I'll see you kids in Vir'sar!" Harrison tells them cheerfully, and heads for the plane parked between the dunes upslope.
Bran waves cheerily goodbye to Harry.
Ben looks after him disgruntledly.
"Okay, well," says Ben. "We will figure out where Vir'sar is at and head out there to meet him in a few days."
"Y'all dismissed," Ben sighs. "We done a good job today."
Auralind nods. "Good work. Rest up."
Alysson starts to pull off his pants to deal with the sand.
Ben decides that's his cue to leave.