50 years before present day

The three weary travellers stared at the path through the enormous stone gate that led up to the Guild Palace. Spruikers at the market could be heard clearly above the general cacophony of city sounds. The outlawing of voice augmentation glamours had been overturned last year when the Guilds managed to achieve a majority representation on the city council.

“Best green goods in town!” came a cry from a burly grocer. “Ressurect your friends for only five easy instalments of three thousand gold. Don’t lug the corpse, all we need is a finger!” shouted another salesman, no doubt a priest of Chemosh. “Find ultimate fulfilment at Tasha’s House of Plenty!” bellowed a seductive female voice, “Disease free for 10 years!” [how Tasha had convinced that Paladin to work for her was anybody’s guess]. If you needed it, Otraxis had it – and in several varieties.

The travellers climbed the path with renewed vigour. By Emesh it was good to be home. The trio rounded Silver Street on their way to the Miners’ Guild.

“So, 50 gold says this orb belonged to old Farnour’s mother,” cloyed Rax as he bounced an ornately inscribed and clearly ancient metal orb on his pudgy hand.

Jarim sneered – a difficult gesture for him, given his face was mostly obscured by his many-runed Elven helm. “Do you really think that a thousands year old relic belonged to the woman who spawned that fool Farnour?”

“Of course he doesn’t,” replied Lorn, clapping a friendly hand on Jarim’s plated back, “Rax is just baiting you.”

“And picking on Farnour’s age,” put in Rax quickly, “He must be nearly 80 years old!”

Jarim turned his nose up in disgust. “80 years is nothing. I have lived for over three times that number of years…”

“Yeah, but the first two hundred were spent toilet training,” sniggered Rax.

“Rax…” cautioned Lorn.

“Take that back, you fat oaf,” cried Jarim, “Before I skewer you!”

Rax’s hands crackled with arcane energy, “Just try it, you malnourished tree fucker!”

Jarim’s sword was nearly out of it’s scabbard when Lorn stepped between his two comrades, “That’s enough! We’re almost there and I will not have you pair duelling in sight of our benefactors. We stand to make a large and ongoing profit from this deal, and you will behave!” Lorn favoured the pair with one of his famous roguish grins, “At least until we get to the Pig and Barrel. You hear me?”

Both Rax and Jarim smiled and nodded. The Pig and Barrel was their favourite tavern. Where the Children of Emesh were concerned, it was everyone’s favourite tavern. The food was hearty but standard fare. The ale was average. The wine was decent, but overpriced. The spirits could rot your insides by their smell alone. The reason adventurers loved the Pig and Barrel was the exceedingly expensive and permanent mending spell that was cast long ago on the building and all the furniture. No matter what mad raucousness happened of a night, come dawn, everything was back as it should be. The tavern even had a priest of the fourth circle on staff to heal those in need – for a ridiculous fee that only a wounded, drunken and treasure-laden lout would even consider paying.

Thoughts of the night to come spurred the trio on, and cooled – if only temporarily – the tempers of the portly wizard and his Elven companion.

The Miners’ Guild hoved into view as they crossed Elm Avenue. Almost in defiance of its members’ working conditions, the Guild sported enormous vaunted ceilings, and towered many storeys into the sky. The frontage was lavish in the extreme. Bested only by the House of Plenty for sheer gaudiness, the Miners’ Guild sported ornate frescos, coated in golden paint and speckled with rare gemstones. Only a guild very secure in its power would dare have such valuables external to its headquarters.

“Wait outside,” ordered Lorn. Before the pair could protest, he added, “I want you to keep an eye on the Rock and Gemstone Resting House. Let me know if our good friend, Arred from Derston Vale, is still calling it his home in Otraxis. He’ll need to be taken into custody when all this is over.” With that, Lorn stepped inside.

Lorn was uncomfortable. As an outdoorsman, he far preferred his hunting leathers to the merchant’s garb he was currently sporting. His long, brown, matted hair was tied in a restrictive pony tail that flopped forlornly against his back. Lorn’s hands were free of their usual muddy grime, and smelled of perfumed soap – a most distasteful odour. The final discomfort was his beard. While Jarim could not convince him to shave, Lorn did concede to his first comb and trim in five years. He must have lost half his beard to that Elven butcher.

It wasn’t just Lorn’s clothing and grooming that was making him uncomfortable, though: the luxuriant interior of the Miners’ Guild was of a class in society completely alien to Lorn. For a man who would rather sleep on the hard ground beneath a starry sky, the sight of fine tapestries and silken cushions alone made him feel out of place.

“Lorn! So good to see you,” came a smooth voice from one of the overly large doorways. The voice belonged to a middle-aged gentleman, dressed almost like nobility. His red spidersilk shirt alone would have cost enough to feed a family from Lorn’s home town of Hornsridge for several years.

“Good to see you, too, Mr. Del Coza,” replied Lorn, struggling to keep the discomfort from his voice.

“Migel, please, my friend. You’ve more than earned the right to use my first name. Please, step into my office.” Migel gestured toward the door behind the one he’d just entered from.

Office? He must be kidding, thought Lorn as he entered, I’ve seen entire taverns that weren’t this large.

“Excellent work clearing out that old mining complex,” said Migel as soon as Lorn had taken a seat on an exquisite leather seat opposite his ostentatiously large teak desk, “A first rate job. Especially in killing that Beholder. Most remarkable.”

“How did you…?” began Lorn.

“Oh, easy, my boy,” Migel cut him off as a smug grin spread its way across his face, “Once you’d removed that pesky orb, we were able to scry on your progress. It was a most entertaining display as you worked your way through that horde. We should have charged for tickets.”

“Yes… well…” Lorn faltered. His prepared account of events was clearly going to prove unnecessary, “Well… then… erm… speaking of charging…”

“Of course, lad, your half of the mine,” said Migel, solemnly sliding some papers Lorn’s way, “Actually, more than half. Twice that, in fact.”

“A full share of the mine?!” balked Lorn, “But… but… why?” Lorn was totally taken aback. The deal was to remove the orb from its sconce in the heart of the old Perellian Mining Complex – and to clear out any creatures that had come to call it home since the death of Arthus Perellian – in return for half the land rights and a half share of the revenue.

“Why? Well, it’s the least we can do, my dear Lorn,” replied Migel, a sly smile replacing his friendly one, “Especially since the mine is worthless.”

“What?!!” screamed Lorn.

“Yes, I’m afraid,” said Migel, feigning sadness, “Old Mr. Perellian, it seems, was broke a well as dead. Either that, or the new inhabitants knew how to mine.”

Lorn was fuming, “Then why…?”

“Send you in the first place?” Migel cut in, “We needed confirmation that the mine was indeed empty. We couldn’t get that until you removed the orb from its holding place. Pesky little anti-scrying setup, that.”

“You cheating bastard!” yelled Lorn, throwing his chair backwards and waving the worthless deeds at Migel, “I want to speak to Farnour right now!”

“Now, now,” chided Migel, “There’s no need for that. Farnour fully supported this deal. You got what was agreed – twice what was agreed, in fact.”

“Twice nothing is still nothing!”

“Yes, well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Feel free to mine it yourself. Just don’t forget to apply for a permit. You can pick up the forms on your way out.” Lorn wasn’t sure whether to cut his losses or run the man through. Almost as if on cue, two immensely muscled and well-armed security guards entered the room, and held the door open for Lorn to step out.

“You and Farnour have played us for fools, Migel. We will not take this lightly. The day will come when you both regret your folly. As my name is Lorn Arneth, you will suffer, Migel, as we have suffered, one hundred times over.”

Migel’s face darkened, “That’s Mr Del Coza, to you. Now get out.”