Draken Stormfall

Draken sat at the writing desk. It was ornate, clearly an expensive piece of work. Its maker had good taste. Perhaps he would purchase one when he returned to Baldur's Gate. He made a mental note as he picked up a quill.

"Alta. Now in Waterdeep, but departing soon. Lack of our presence in the south will increase demand for weapons, armor, healing potions. Notify the Captain to begin raiding the appropriate ships. Open legitimate trade with Waterdeep to cover new supply. Increase guards for caravans heading south. Wait one week after receiving this letter, then display these dragon remains in the Wide. Tell all who will hear I killed it with help from companions. Conjured a storm, lightning, etc. Be sure to mention Mann in detail. --B"

Setting the quill aside, Draken pulled a scroll from his robes. As he read, the letters he had just scrawled began to shift and change.

"To Alta. Recent battles in the south have gone well, though I fear for the future. We'll be mobile for the foreseeable future, so I do not know when I will get to write again. I look forward to returning home someday. --Argen"

Draken folded the letter, sealing it with wax and a blank seal. A few gold in the hands of a desperate merchant should speed it on its way. Satisfied, Draken climbed into bed.

As he stood at the prow of the Frostskimmer, the wind flowing steadily through the sails, Draken felt more cheerful than he had in weeks. Out here, in their little world of wood and canvas, he was a god. The ship would make good time because he was on it, and he wished it so. Here, his will was law.

His thoughts strayed to the captain, and Draken felt his mood darken, if only slightly. The fool had mentioned his other name, in front of the crew and his companions. The damage had been done, but perhaps a few gold, once the voyage was done, would ensure the crew's loyalty. At worst, he could ensure they ran afoul of Diamondsword.

Satisfied, he turned to walk back along the length of the ship. Perhaps he could goad Raekor into making another of his floating fires. That would amuse for a short time.

As he settled into his improvised chair, Draken surveyed the scene below. Orcaheart was large, massive when compared to Mann. However, if there was one thing he had learned watching Mann fight in the rings in Baldur's Gate, it was that size was far from everything. "Still," he thought as he shifted uncomfortably, the stones and pointed blocks of ice digging into his back, "this is no Baldur's Gate."

The fight was taking too long. Either Mann had fallen back into his habit of playing the crowd, or he was genuinely being pressured by this savage. Frowning, Draken sized up the crowd below him. Orcaheart first to break moral. The chief needed to be left alive for information. Forcing him to watch a few of his people-

A shout went up from the makeshift ring. Startled out of his thoughts, Draken peered down to see Mann, victorious, standing proudly over Orcaheart. Good. This was a far simpler outcome.

As Miss Crimson walked ahead, Draken took a moment to chide himself for his infantile behavior. "Terribly wroth if he feels he's been insulted. Very quick to anger." Mann? It would take 15 seconds of observation to know that statement didn't hold water. Still, after the verbal raking she had given him during their last encounter, it felt good to see a slight crack in her façade.

The trip back was uneventful. As expected, Mann seemed the amiable sort. He would have to avoid Miss Crimson when she was alone for a while.

Their return was... eventful. Draken was delighted to see children dressed up in an attempt to capture his glory, though why any children would fancy Raekor or Gerard over him was incomprehensible. Mann was a crowd pleaser, he knew how to play their hearts, but Raekor? What could the children see in that scruffy wizard, aside from the kittens? Perhaps he would have to find a small mammal of his own to electrocute from time to time, perhaps that would tickle the fancy of the dimwitted ankle biters.

Wart, though! A mind for business in that one. Shame he wasn't older. A mind like that could make a fortune in Baldur's Gate working for the right people. Him, that is. One gold per costume! What a markup! Mann was rather cross, to be sure, and I agree. We'll certainly need our cut, as is fair. Still, if that child survives this business with the cult, he could prove useful.