Some more Song of the Storm King stuff. The plot thickens, etc. It was never a secret to the reader that Garrett the Fox is the Storm King, but it is a secret to everyone else.
Grainwad was thoroughly pleased with himself, as all mercenaries-turned-bandits tend to be after “acquiring” a large amount of precious gem stones. His employer had asked for opals, specifically lightning opals, but Grainwad saw no harm in picking up an emerald or two along the way. He’d most likely be asked to throw them out and his favorite method of disposing gems is through a fence or any other buyer of suspiciously acquired goods. Yes, Grainwad was feeling good about the whole state of affairs as he and his brothers wheeled a cart stuffed with sparkling gems into a cave, an old Stormcrown burial ground that his employer had claimed for himself.
The path was dark, lit up by flickering candles and luminescent fungi. Stalagmites and stalactites grew around the crumbling columns of granite, the long forgotten ruin of a once proud and noble line. A great iron door, red with rust, barred the path further inside, embedded in a solid monolithic slab of marble. The door, while rusted, bore the names of the Great House Stormcrown, long since extinct. The foremost name, the largest at the top, was Rey Stormcrown, the First Storm King.
More modern furnishings littered the steps leading up to the door; a bed roll, a chest, a few draws and tables. Grainwad’s employer stood before the door, arms folded behind his back, looking up at the inscriptions. He was a dark haired man with a skunk stripe running along the side of his head and wore a finely tailored coat with silver embroidery. A sword hung from his hip, the scabbard a deep blue, the gilded cross guard flickering in the candle light. He turned to look at the bandits approaching him, eyes blue like lightning.
“Well,” Grainwad started, arms out stretched, “we did good.” He had the cart of gems wheeled up to his employer, who immediately sifted through in search of lightning opals. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Grainwad, you disappoint me.” he said, eyes still closed. “But honestly, I should have known better than to get my hopes up after your initial success.”
Grainwad’s smile plummeted to the ground. “I did exactly as you asked Rickard.”
“That’s Lord Stormborn to you, and if you did exactly as I asked you wouldn’t have brought me this useless junk!” Rickard flipped the cart on it’s side. “I could have forgiven bringing me a load of lightning opals, maybe even other opals, but this is inexcusable.” The dank air became charged with tension, Grainwad rising up to meet his employer’s fierce look.
“You forget who your’e dealing with-” Before Grainwad could finish, Rickard drove the pommel of his sword into his throat. Before Grainwad’s brothers could react, Rickard beat their knees with his pommel and struck their ribs in a flash. He sheathed his sword and put a knife to Grainwad’s throat.
“You forget with whom you’re dealing with.” Rickard spoke softly. He fished a lightning opal from his pocket and waggled it in Grainwad’s face. “Smokey, electric blue and perfectly ovular. Only eight like it exist in this world, one for each kingdom on the Continent, and I don’t care how impossible it is. Just get it done.” Rickard withdrew his knife and walked back toward the door, arms folded behind his back.
“Feel free to take the rubbish with you.”
Garrett leaned against the counter of some shady shop, drumming his fingers against the surface. It was a cramped shop, stuffed to the gills with assorted curios and definitely not fake merchandise. It was as if someone had let that one miscellaneous drawer in their kitchen take over their house, with all the organization that comes with it. Garrett could hardly breath without bumping into something.
“Hey Gaz, what do you make of this?” Marta sidled up to the sellsword, a statuette in hand. The statuette was cracked porcelain glued together with gold, an angel radiating sunlight.
“It’d make for a nice paper weight,” Garrett sighed, pushing it away, “or a really bad bludgeon.”
“Oh but what about this!” Cotton, short and feisty, nearly knocked over five shelves of things as she carried a hideously deformed monkey statue over to Garrett. “It’s cute, innit?”
Garrett covered his eyes with the palm of his hand. “I thought I told you to wait outside, Cotton.”
“Peeshaw! I’ve business here too, yeah?” Cotton twirled her hair, white and fluffy like her namesake. A portly man entered from the back room, balding and slightly sweaty, carrying a box stuffed with strange bits of metal.
“Oh, Fox!” he said in surprise, dropping the box on the counter. “I wasn’t expecting you today. I see you’ve brought … guests.” He scanned the faces, visibly becoming uneasy at the sight of Cotton, who waggled her fingers at him.
“Honest Frank,” Garrett started, “I’m just here for the usual. Marta and Cotton are here for reasons I don’t care about.” He jerked his thumb at the two women.
“You’ve certainly have an interesting selection ‘Honest’ Frank.” Marta set the statuette down, “I’m just browsing in the meantime.”
“I’m here to collect what you owe Hector!” Cotton hefted up the monkey. “And this ting, but that’s cause I like it.”
“One thing at time, please.” Frank wiped his forehead. “Alright, Fox, I’ll get the stuff. Just got a shipment of them the other day, in fact.” Frank disappeared into the back room and swiftly returned with a case of opals. Garrett took one look at them before closing the box.
“Nope. I was thinking something more like this.” Garrett fished out of his pocket a lightning opal. “Smokey, electric blue and perfectly ovular.”
“A one of a kind, I’m afraid.” Frank turned pale.
Garrett leaned in, flipping a second stone out of his pocket. “One of eight, to be exact. I have two, I know where three others are. That leaves the other three unaccounted for, Frank. We’ve been over this.”
“You and that blasted Stormborn.” Frank wiped his forehead once more, even paler now. “He won’t give it up Fox and – uh – is the reason I have to close up shop for the time being.” Garrett pinched his brow and sighed in frustration.
“I am aware.”
Cotton jumped up in excitement. “Does that mean I can torch the place?”
“Cotton.”
“Let her, Fox. She’d actually be doing me a favor.” Frank shot her a quick smile. “That should make things square with Hector, right?”
“Oh yeah.” Cotton skipped out of the shop, still holding the stone monkey. “I’m taking this.”
Marta, arms crossed, approached the two men. “Now you have me curious, Gaz. What is so special about these opals?” The Lady-of-War leaned in close and squinted at the stones.
Garrett shoved them back in his pocket. “They are believed to be the crown jewels of the Storm Crown. Smokey, electric blue and perfectly ovular, they make quite the collector’s items.”
“There’s more to it than that though.” Frank wrung out his hands. “They’re also keys to the old Stormcrown vaults. Any one of them can open any vault, but you need all eight to enter the largest one.”
“And you knew about this Garrett?” Marta shot him a questioning look. The sellsword nodded. “You’ve always been adamantly against pillaging tombs, especially the ancient Stormcrown ones. What makes these vaults an exception.” Garrett shook his head.
“I’m not looking to pillage.” the sellsword said. “I’m not settling for any one vault. I’m after the largest one, no exceptions.”
“Why?”
“I feel a kinship with the Stormcrowns.” Garrett shrugged, later shoving his hands in his pockets. “It’s make a great place to finally off myself.”
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