Tyrant of Zhentil Keep

[dae mec]

"Hah! You owe me no debt, friend. And I'm sure they will," says Sylrila, keeping her smile even as she internally doubted it. They didn't ask for his papers before they tried to assault him, and she doubted that Ghud waving any parchment would stop it from happening next time. She said none of that, of course. Instead, she stood up. "I'm going to talk to the bartender. I should find a place to stay before it gets too late. Good night and kind blessings, Ghud."

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Ghud raises his flagon as you leave, sending you off with blessings in his Orcish language.

A halfling tends the bar, darting back and forth as he provides cider, ale and hot pies to his customers. A halfling woman, his wife perhaps, takes payment for the food and drink. You watch them for a while, marvelling at this intricate dance that they perform effortlessly.

A male half-orc, over six feet tall, approaches. "Barkeep!" he cries in a merry tone. "A pint of your finest black ale, please." The halfling turns around and looks at him contemptuously. "Ye'll pipe down and wait for your turn, laddie, if ye know what's good for ye." The half-orc is taken aback by this, but doesn't protest. "Downright bloody rude, that is!" Your reverie is interrupted by a loud announcement.

"Ten minutes, friends, till the pit bouts! Get your drinks and move downstairs, and we shall have us a show! Still taking challengers for the third bout as well, against the mad dwarf Kromm Daggerfist! He takes all comers! A 150 gold piece purse, for that bout!" After hearing this, a few punters drift towards the stairs, but everyone else goes back to their drinks. It appears there are no challengers right now!

 

[dae mec]

Sylrila raises an eyebrow. It could be that there was an organized order that she didn't notice. She steps forward and says, with a wry smile, "I suppose I'm after him, then?"

The call for challengers intrigues her for a second, but she already had one fight today. Perhaps she could watch... but first she wants to get everything settled. (Fighting directly for money always made her a little squeamish, like she was using her talents for the wrong reason. On the other hand, watching a fight could be useful for figuring out the city. Yeah. That could be her excuse.)

 

[GinkyGotBack]

The halfling bartender looks to you and smiles, and he presents himself before you, standing up on a crate. "Of course not! What can I get you?" The half-orc does not seem amused by this but keeps quiet.

 

[dae mec]

Ah, so it is like that. Sylrila keeps smiling. This is the third time in this blasted city that she's seen it happen. Looks like Tyr's trying to beat her next task into her. And if he's not, then... she still plans on acting. Hmm. There are two ways she could go about it. Sylrila could outright confront the bartender, or...

"Two black ales, please," she says. "And something hot to eat. I'm new to the city, you see. Do you know any places where I can stay?"

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Without missing a beat, the bartender replies, "The Zhentil Arms," placing your ales in front of you with a quick whirl. "It's the closest place to the tavern, really nice looking too. It might be a bit pricey, but you look like you could afford it." He eyes your two drinks for a moment then looks back to you. "Sure you're not going a bit fast with those drinks of yours? I've already served you two tonight."

 

[dae mec]

"Thank you. I'll go there and check," she says, still pleasant in tone. Sylrila has a bit of a buzz, so the bartender has a point... from one perspective. "You might be right. I guess I'm enjoying being back in civilization too much. Only one drink is for me, though." Sylrila turns to the half-orc. "Sorry, I'm not sure how things go in the city. Looks like the bartender accidentally skipped you." She raises an eyebrow, clearly displaying what she thought of that. "Have this drink on me?"

 

[GinkyGotBack]

The half-orc eyes the drink warily for a moment, then looks at the sour expression on the bartender and takes it, smiling. "Thank you, stranger. My name is Muktash." He begins to drink, gulping down the black ale like it was water. "What brings a considerate person like yourself to this cesspool?"

 

[dae mec]

"Fate, luck," she grins, genuine this time, "a poor sense of direction. Take your pick. I'm Sylrila." She sips her drink, wanting to wait for the stew... if the tavern keepers decided to remember. "Have you been in the city long?"

 

[GinkyGotBack]

"Long enough, I think. Long enough to see just how screwed everything is. I don't think I'll be staying long, that's for certain." After a short while, your stew arrives and it tastes quite delicious! "With all these false rumors being planted by the Zhentarim, this city really isn't the best place to be an orc of any kind." He makes sure to keep a hushed voice as he's telling you this, though the bartender seems to hear anyway and shoots him a dirty look.

 

[dae mec]

"I've been here for less than a day and I can already tell." She perks up at hearing that same word. "What's the--" Sylrila clears her throat, takes another bite of the stew, and lowers her voice. "What's the Zhentarim? Or Ghauust, or Manshoon? I keep hearing them."

 

[GinkyGotBack]

"The Zhentarim," Muktash takes a long swig of his drink, "is a mercenary company in Manshoon's pocket. Manshoon is the lord of Zhentil Keep. The Zhentarim consists of liars, murderers, thieves, and wizards willing to do anything for the right price. In this case, they've killed that commander Hawkhelm or whatever and now they're pinning it on orcs to make us look bad. They've come up with that imaginary horde of theirs to scare the living daylights out of people for Gods know why."

 

[dae mec]

"Sounds like a group of real bastards led by a worse bastard," she mutters. "And why's a good question. Is it just blind hate, or is there something on top of that?" Sylrila takes a longer sip. "And the whole city's going along with it, huh? No one or no group's trying to stop it?"

Well, damn. How should she approach this? She thinks of the poster she saw. It was the Zhentilar who wanted the head of the horned fiend, wasn't it? That could be one way to approach it... ask them about the Armored Spectre, bring the horned head, and get an in with the Zhentilar (to hopefully use against them). Sylrila's not keen on being deceptive, but it's not deception, is it? Just... reconnaissance.

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Muktash shakes his head. "Everyone just eats it right up. They're all too stupid to think for themselves. They believe anything they're told. Until recently it was the ogres who were the persecuted ones. Most of the orcs in the Moonsea live in Thar, alongside the ogres. Not north of The Ride. They've been the brunt of Manshoon's false rumors before, now it's our turn."

"I don't know why they want the city to hate orcs so much, but I can tell you this: whatever the reason is, it's all part of Manshoon's master plan. His goal is to rule all trade in this area. My guess is he's trying to get the other rulers of the Moonsea to agree to him taking control of the Citadel. If that happens, he will have a major strategic advantage over the area. Then we can kiss goodbye to all our freedoms!" Muktash says this a little louder, for the halfling's benefit. "Orcs, halflings, elves, humans... everyone. Manshoon will rule us all!"

The halfling wags a finger at Muktash angrily. "Now that's enough!" he barks. "Keep that sort of talk down or I'll call the guard."

"All right, settle down," Muktash says, rolling his eyes at you. A shout comes from the other side of the bar. "Last call for the pit bout! Starting in 2 minutes!"

 

[dae mec]

Manshoon certainly seemed like a petty tyrant of the worst order. So all this hatred was means-to-an-end, and one group of people had already suffered through it. Tragic and rage-inducing indeed. "You're probably right," she murmurs, lowering her voice. "What's the Citadel? And is the entire city so accepting of his actions? He has no opposition?"

She hears the call for the pit bout and doesn't stand up. Especially after two drinks, it's best not to test herself.

 

[GinkyGotBack]

"The Citadel of the Raven. It's a fortress that was rebuilt less than a hundred years ago to stop any invasions on the Moonsea that may have come from The Ride or Thar, the neighboring regions. I guess it's like the capital of the Moonsea, it's way out in the Dragonspine Mountains."

Upon first hearing your question about Manshoon's leadership, he made a confused face like he'd just seen a gnoll picking flowers. "You really are new around here, aren't you? Manshoon is in control of everything in this city. So long as he's in charge of Zhentil Keep the Zhentilar are his to command, and he's got the Zhentarim doing whatever he can't do legally. He can have anyone in this city arrested or killed and no one could do anything about it."

Muktash finishes off his last drink and gives you a friendly clap on the shoulder. "It was fun talking with you, friend. You seem like a nice person, so try not to let this city drag you down into its muck. Take care." And with that the half-orc exited the bar, making sure not to look any humans in the eye.

 

[dae mec]

She nods goodbye to him, and after finishing the remnants of her food, Sylrila decides it's time for her to head to the inn that the bartender mentioned. Sylrila pauses to double-check the details of the flyer on the wall before heading out the door. As she heads in the direction of the inn, she muses over all she's learned. The city was indeed rotting, but the rot was clearly from above. Manshoon, she repeats in her mind. Sylrila has never been fond of tyrants.

Her thoughts don't linger too long and dark subjects, however, because the thoughts of a warm bed and room soon push out all others. She's looking forward to the long rest... though with her plans for tomorrow, she's likely to run into trouble.

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Night is now falling and you start walking towards the Market Square, checking the main thoroughfare and side streets for the inn the barkeep told you about.

As you walk down one street that leads off the main street, you see a small figure slumped on a stoop, taking regular swigs from a whiskey bottle. As you pass you catch sight of a halfling's face, and he looks absolutely miserable. You bid him good night, if only to try and cheer him up a bit. "Is it?" he replies miserably. "Been a while since I had a good night. Anyway, fare thee well, stranger."

 

[dae mec]

She pauses, and though most of her longs for a warm bed still, Sylrila feels obligated to ask, "What's the matter?" She doubts it's anything she can solve, but there's the off chance that it is. (The grumbling, selfish part of her hopes that it isn't, so Sylrila can hurry to the inn and muse over the sins of this civilization in the comforts of it.)

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Through a thick drunken haze, he peers up at you as if struggling to understand. "What's the matter?" he replies. "I'm ruined, my friend. Absolutely ruined, my business in tatters!" The halfling takes his head in both hands and shakes it before regaining his composure. "I'm Wendal Wheatfields, I run Wendal's Essential Victuals selling meats, vegetables, dry grains, and other things to various establishments across Zhentil Keep. I keep the whole bloody city fed!" he boasts at one point. But Wendal tells you that thieves have been pilfering his goods for some weeks now.

“At first it was just a sack of grain here, a crate of potatoes there… but lately, they’ve been taking more and more… and just last night, they cleaned me out completely! Everything gone! I have the capital to restock my inventory, but I can’t go on like this!"

​

You discover from Wendal that he keeps all his goods in a cellar, selling from his shopfront upstairs. Customers walk in off the street, and the doors are triple-locked every night. There were never any signs of forced entry, which led Wendal to think that someone was could be using magic to teleport in. But he soon dismissed that idea. “Teleporting in to steal potatoes and flour?” Wendal scoffs. “Why would anyone bother, when there’s a bank two doors down?”

Wendal takes a long swig of whiskey. “Then I found it,” he says, turning to meet your gaze as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, now very drunk. “Or rather, my friend Ortner found it. A secret tunnel, leading down. Stairs beyond. He pauses, shaking his head. “Who knows what’s down there?! Thugs most likely, stealing from my storeroom and reselling it on the black market.”

 

[dae mec]

"Troubling indeed," says Slyrila once she listens to his story. Troubling on multiple levels: thieves wanting to get rich quickly go for valuables, but anyone attacking the food supply of a city likely has bigger plans than petty theft. Judging from what she's seen, the authorities aren't exactly the best here, to put it mildly, but the prejudice impacting orcs didn't seem to extend to halflings. Well, as far as she knows. Perhaps they were incompetent as well as prejudiced. "There's no one you can report this theft to?"

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Wendal laughs. "Like who, the Zhentilar?" he laughs derisively. "They're no help, especially not to a small-timer like me. Didn't you know that Bane is the god in this city? No, friend, kindness is in short supply here, I'm afraid. And I can't afford mercenaries, so that's me done I'm afraid." He takes another long swig of whiskey, nearly draining the bottle this time!

 

[dae mec]

"I see," she says slowly. "If you'd like, perhaps I can come take a look at your problem tomorrow. I can't make any promises about finding the culprit, but I want to help. Where did you say your place was?"

It's the nature of thinking peoples to find connections even when there aren't any, and Sylrila knows that. But she can't help but wonder if there's a connection between the events she's heard about and this man's problem.

 

[GinkyGotBack]

Wendal buries his face in your chest and throws his arms around you, sobbing profusely. "Oh, thank you friend!" he bawls. "You have no idea... I can't even face my wife anymore, this has nearly done me in. I'll give you whatever I can if you can help me! Just remember, it's Wendal's Essential Victuals!" Taking out a small parchment of paper, he gives it to you and writes down the instructions to where the store is and tells you to meet him there three hours after closing. Plenty of time to explore the city before then!

"So nice to meet someone from outside of Zhentil Keep," he says. "You've convinced me now... at the end of this year, I'm selling up and moving to Loudwater, or Melvaunt perhaps. I've had enough of this place!" After giving you the directions, Wendal is incapable of anything other than staggering home and falling into bed!

Afterward, you continue walking the streets of Zhentil Keep. A light drizzle settles in as you walk, directing yourself towards the middle of town. Just near the market square, where a few merchants are packing down the last of the tents, you find the nice looking inn the barkeep told you about. The Zhentil Arms. Pushing your way through an ornate wooden door, you enter a busy foyer where travelers wait to be shown to their rooms. Eventually, an elderly elf approaches you, key in hand. "Rooms are five gold pieces a night," he informs you with a smile. "Show you to your room?" It seems a bit pricey... You could always try finding a different inn to stay at if you like.

 

[dae mec]

Sylrila shakes her head, and after politely declining, returns back to the street. Five gold pieces... that was far too much. She didn't need that lavish of a place, even if she could afford it. Sylrila looks for a place that is hopefully still decent, quality wise (no bed bugs, never again), but without that high a price. As she walks, Sylrila decides to invest in a map in the morning. The city's quite large, and she has a feeling she'll be here for a while.