Risus Lankhmar: A Few Hours to Kill

Previously, I mentioned the possibility that I'd soon be playing in a collaborative Play-by-Post game of Risus Lankhmar using the Mythic GME. Well, we're about a week into the game and I have to say that it has already exceeded my high expectations. I talked to my co-conspirators and they both agreed to let me post the results on the blog (as well as the Mythic Yahoo Group). What follows is the pre-play introduction, written by Eloy (otherwise known as Kelthas in this story).

'Twas a chill late autumn evening in Lankhmar, when the two men entered the Silver Eel. The tavern's proprietor, Braggi, frowned slightly at the men clad in fine black togas. Nobles slumming, he thought. I hope they bring no trouble.

In this district, rich men such as these could expect little else. Cutpurses and thieves lurked in every corner, and would likely not ignore such alluring prey. For such men to come here, they must be people of power. People of influence.

***

Wrapped against the night's chill in Kelthas' spare red cloak, Nivek grimaced ruefuly as he drained the last of the ale from his mug.

“That's the last of it, Kelthas,” said Nivek. The tall, slender man looked at sour faced Kelthas, who played absently with a dagger on the table. The mercenary's own empty mug rested beside him.

“No money to pay guild dues, no money for ale, no money for rent,” the mercenary muttered sullenly. “ Not a rilk, not a smerduk. Not even an iron tik. We need to get us a job soon, or we'll starve this winter.”

Raucous laughter erupted from the table beside them. The two men in the black togas had had a few rounds of ale, and seemed to be enjoying themselves tremendously.

“Uncle Gregos,” said the younger of the pair, a thin fellow with the look of an Ilthmart. “This city is truly as wondrous a place as all the stories say. Come, the night is young still. Let us see what new adventures await us.”

“Ah, Ilsbert,” The older man, Gregos, a fat balding fellow, said. “I must to bed early, as I've business to attend in the morning, and you must not wander the city by yourself. My wife would kill me if her favorite nephew came to harm.”

The fat man took a swig from his ale, as Ilsbert pleaded. “Please, Uncle. There is so much to see and so little time. There must be some way to continue this excursion.”

As Gregos wiped the foam from his lips with the back of a meaty hand, his gaze fell upon the pair seated on the next table.

“Ho, you there, good fellows. In the red cloaks, you are slayers of the Brotherhood, yes?”

Kelthas and Nivek exchanged a glance. Nivek smiled and said: “Slayers, yes. That is correct.”

“Well, then,” Gregos said, drawing a jingling purse from his toga. “Perhaps there is a solution to our dilemma.”

***

“It's a simple job, really,” Nivek smiled as Kelthas and he escorted Ilsbert through the dark streets of the City of Sevenscore Thousand Smokes. “All we need to do is guard the pup while he has his fun.”

“As long as the Brotherhood doesn't catch us working freelance,” Kelthas muttered. “And as long as we can avoid the attention of the Thieves' Guild, before they try to rob him and us blind.”

“Still,” he added, brightening up considerably as he fingered the money pouch a his belt. “You're right. It's a simple job, and it pays well.”

“I've heard of a place, in this city,” Ilsbert said, his mouth twisting into a lustful grin. “The Plaza of Dark Delights.”

“Take me there.”

***

There was a lively crowd at The Silken Veil. A haze of smoke and the din of raucous laughter filled the dimly lit common room.

“He's been at it a while now,” Nivek said, anxiously tapping his finger on the edge of the table beside a half-empty tankard.

“Give the boy some peace to do business in this fine establishment,” Kelthas laughed, his voice increasing in tone, as the downed another tankard. “After all,” he said, bouncing a nubile wench on one knee. “What man can resist the charms of such a brothel in the heart of the Plaza?”

“We're on a job, Kelthas. No time to get drunk,” Nivek emptied his tankard in a long gulp. “Let's go get him and take him back to his uncle.”

“Be at ease, Oh Upright One,” Kelthas added, roaring for the serving maid to bring more ale. “Where can he go?”

Nivek slammed his empty cup on the table, his gaze suddenly fixing on one of the wenches a few tables over. “That's her!” he shouted, over the din of the customers. “She's the one who took Ilsbert upstairs! If she's here...

“Where is our charge?”