An Easy Job

“So, what’s the catch?” Rhogar demands, his large, clawed fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair in the private study of Merchant Guildmaster Aithlin Ralotris.

The mercurial elf turns a blazing glare towards the large, black Dragonborn. “Come again?” Their voice sounds like flames crackling, and the temperature in the room spikes. Summer Eladrin are known for their quick tempers, but Guildmaster Aithlin has a particularly fearsome reputation.

“We mean no offense, Guildmaster,” Darrak intercedes, trying to smooth things over. He, unlike Rhogar, has respect for the authorities in Thradnyss. “But you have to admit, 500 gold and a meal at The River Oyster on your coin seems far too great a reward for inspecting a caravan.”

“I don’t take jobs blind,” Naivara adds, fearlessly meeting the Guildmaster’s eyes with a severe glare of her own as she toys with one of her deadly knives. Unlike her comrades, she’s refused a chair and stands in a corner of the opulent room close to a door and a gleaming statuette of Fharlanghn. “If you want the job done, tell us what we’re really in for.”

Guildmaster Aithlin sighs and runs a hand through their long, burnished copper hair. “Shrewd. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Your…company has a reputation for being remarkably effective.” They pause to survey the adventurers in their study. They’ve heard a lot about this group from the merchants they supervise in Thradnyss, how they’ve caught thieves and rooted out corruption amongst the city’s guards. Guildmaster Aithlin has never before heard of a Dragonborn, a dwarf, a wood elf, a forest gnome, and a half-elf, all evidently from different walks of life, working well together of their own accord, but they learned long ago not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Thank you, Guildmaster,” Lorilla smiles. Her voice is like wind in tall grass.

“You’re right. This isn’t an ordinary caravan inspection. How much do you know about Mindfog?”

The adventurers exchange confused glances, except for Naivara, whose face hardens.

“The illness that’s been killing farmers, right?” she asks. Sensing her companions' confusion as they turn their eyes to her, she offers an explanation. “They start losing their memories, then have horrible nightmares and hallucinations, and then they bleed from the eyes and get lumps in their armpits and throat and groin, and then…they’re gone.”

“That’s the gist of it. Mindfog started spreading in Thradnyss before I heard anything about your presence here. The clerics of Ehlonna have been trying to treat it, but they can only ease the pain of those who suffer. Only a couple of victims have survived, and…so far, their minds have not recovered.”

“Begging your pardon, Guildmaster, but while this plague is…most unfortunate, and certainly a matter of grave concern, I fail to see how it connects to the caravan inspection you’d like us to conduct for you,” Vladislak cuts in, breaking his uncharacteristic silence.

“The caravan I’d like you to inspect is coming from Kvashtun. Whenever we receive a caravan from Kvashtun, new cases of Mindfog are reported within Thradnyss, according to my subordinates, and they’re not the only ones seeing a connection. People here are treating goods and traders from Kvashtun with suspicion. It’s driving down profits, and it’s negatively impacting the reputations of my merchants and my guild.”

The adventurers nod and exchange sidelong glances. None of them are comfortable with the idea that Guildmaster Aithlin’s concern about the plague has more to do with coin than with saving lives.

“How great a risk d’you s’pose we’re taking of catching Mindfog ourselves?” Vladislak inquires, voicing the question on all of his comrades’ minds.

“That I cannot say. Hence the reward. The clerics are still unsure how it is spread, although recently they worked with other adventurers who were convinced that the plague is water-borne, somehow.”

“So no drinking of any kind on the job,” Naivara mutters.

“No one said we were taking this job,” Rhogar points out, glaring at the lithe wood elf.

“The reward for completing the inspection will be even higher if you can get me more information about how the plague is spread,” Guildmaster Aithlin says, fiery eyes raking over the guests in their study. “Double the coin, and appointments with craftsfolk who specialize in magical weapons.”

“Fat lot of good magic weapons will do us if we’ve got Mindfog,” Vladislak mutters, but Rhogar seems to be considering the job with renewed interest.

“Lot of lives we can save if we figure this out and stop the plague from spreading,” Darrak considers.

“And Prince Narkykos would be most grateful for that, I’m sure,” Guildmaster Aithlin confirms, name-dropping the Supreme Ruler of Thradnyss. “He might even reward you beyond what I can do.”

“That matters less than the particulars,” Lorilla cuts in, her deep green eyes piercing into the Guildmaster. “Are we all in agreement to take this job?”

“Aye,” her companions chorus with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“Then let’s make sure we know exactly where to be when and what we’re looking for.”

***~O~***

The next dawn finds Rhogar, Darrak, Lorilla, Vladislak, and Naivara standing at the East Gate of Thradnyss, waiting for the expected caravan from Kvashtun. All wear strips of cloth over their mouths and noses, treated with spells from Darrak and Lorilla that are meant to ward off illness. None of them carry any provisions or waterskins of any kind, out of an abundance of caution. Naivara is pressed against the trunk of a large oak tree, apart from her friends and completely motionless so that she blends in with the leaves and bark. Her job is to be the insurance policy for their mission, while the other four will be actively inspecting the caravan.

“Spells prepared?” Vladislak says to Lorilla and Darrak without moving his lips. A cloud of dust on the road in front of them indicates a caravan is approaching.

“Under control, pretty boy,” Darrak grumbles. “You focus on your own job.”

Vladislak rolls his eyes and steps forward, in line with Rhogar. The cloud of dust gets closer with each passing moment, revealing creaking wagons, donkeys, camels, and merchants in its midst.

“Halt, in the name of Prince Narkykos and the gods who favor Thradnyss!” Rhogar booms once he can distinguish the merchants’ faces. The caravan rattles to stop. One of the merchants approaches Rhogar and Vladislak, taking the role of leader.

“What ssseemsss to be the problem?” he hisses. Vladislak immediately notes the sibilant speech and serpentine eyes of the otherwise human-looking merchant. 

“Routine inspection of all caravans entering the city. By order of Prince Narkykos,” the half-elf replies with a good-natured smile while holding his left hand behind his back with fingers crossed for Lorilla, Darrak, and Naivara to see–their agreed-upon signal of something suspicious with the caravan. “It shouldn’t take very long, if you’re willing to cooperate.”

Rhogar draws himself up to his full height and folds his burly arms across his broad chest. The merchant looks them over and narrows his eyes.

“As you wissssh,” he acquiesces, waving an arm at the caravan. “Inssspect away.”

The adventurers split into pairs, Lorilla with Vladislak and Darrak with Rhogar, to investigate the packs on the camels and donkeys and the contents of the wagons. Both Lorilla and Darrak are casting Detect Poison and Disease as a ritual as they check the caravan over carefully, making their progress slow. Meanwhile, Rhogar and Vladislak talk with the merchants, monitoring them for signs that they are up to no good. Most of them are reticent and avoid the adventurers’ eyes. Darrak finds that two dwarves are bound to the camels they ride.

“Are you all right?” he mutters to them in Dwarven. They just look at him, eyes glazed over.

“Who are you?” one of them slurs in Common.

Darrak nods grimly and clenches a fist behind his back. His spell has revealed that the two dwarves are infected with Mindfog.

Rhogar sees Darrak’s signal and immediately springs into action, using his mace and relatively restrained blows to knock the merchants around him unconscious; they have orders to take prisoners for questioning. Naivara fires an arrow at the leader who spoke to them, which explodes into a net that entangles him and drags him to the ground.

“I’m afraid this caravan has not passed the inspection,” Vladislak remarks wryly as he knocks another merchant to the ground with the flat of his sword. More net-arrows fly from Naivara’s hiding place, each one hitting the merchant she’s targeting. Darrak and Lorilla focus on the infected dwarves, working together to cast a spell to cure them.

“You’re not caravan insssspectorssss,” the merchant leader accuses.

“How very astute of you. And you’re not merchants, or at least, not legitimate ones. Such a pity. These spices seem to be of good quality.” Vladislak pats a saddlebag on one of the donkeys.

The merchant lets fly a string of ear-scalding curses, but stops mid-word as one of Naivara’s knives flies in front of his face, a hair’s breadth from his nose.

“That was a warning shot,” she informs him as she approaches from her hiding place. “You won’t live to regret the next shot I make.”

The merchant hisses at her. “May Iuz smite you all,” he snarls in Abyssal. “I am but one of many servants of Iuz. Our cause will prevail.”

“Servants of Iuz, you say?” Naivara replies in the same tongue. Rhogar and Vladislak stare at her in shock. “I’m sure that the authorities in Thradnyss will be very interested in knowing that. Is there anything else you would like to share with them?”

The merchant’s eyes widen and he hisses again. This time his face shows fear.

“What language is that?” Rhogar demands.

Naivara shoots him a pointed look: Now is NOT the time. “Take your time,” she tells the merchant, speaking Common this time. “I’m more than willing to wait for quality information.”

“I’d be telling her whatever you know, if I were you,” Vladislak advises. “She can be very…persuasive.”

“We’ve done this route a dozen times before and never run into this kind of trouble,” another merchant grumbles. She also appears human, but for the scaly skin on her hands. “This was supposed to be an easy job.”

“That’s the danger of jobs in Thradnyss,” Rhogar replies in a dark tone. “Here, nothing is ever as it seems.”