The Symposium

Shady the Elf silently watched the three figures below him. He contemplated who would beg for mercy as hit blade moved closer to an eyeball. Three men talking about the future of his nameless tall ship and about three guilds coming together to destroy the union of trades. The man in the green hat was becoming drunk and talking about cats. The other was more quietly spoken – a follower of Zeus, focused, deadly and yet appeared a conflicted soul. And then there was the bastard.

In the days that followed the safe return of Lady Penelope, a smooth-talking Igor Crackovitch had appeared by the ship. He’d promised Shady a decent bag of gold to take him and others to an island in the Blue Sea, where danger, possible death, and an emerald the size of a man’s hand awaited them.

Driven by adventure and a need to get Lady Penelope and Milan out of the city, Shady agreed. Crackovitch was correct, the was danger, possible death, and an emerald on the island but it was all laced with a betrayal that left Shady locked in the brig, his title and deeds removed from the nameless tall ship amid reports that Crackovitch was helping himself to the personal wealth of others onboard.

And now, a full moon’s cycle later, three men and one shadow… no two shadows… were awaiting the outcome of the whisky-fuelled symposium. Shady studied the other shadow in the rafters: a shadow with pink highlights. A wide smile met his gaze, the figure slowly placing one finger to his lips to gesture silence. The two assassins observed each other for a moment. Shady whispered one word, “Fedaloup,” and the figure in pink and black relaxed and returned his thoughts to the meeting below.

---

“Will they go for it?” the retired farmer, turned murder-suspect, turned respected Veraku-citizen Jean Flint asked a now refreshed (and sober) Mearaithe. He shrugged. While the union of trades continued to be a thorn in everyone’s side, guilds had become more voracious – openly attacking each other. The Mafia Cats were strong and disciplined, but the Killers had more people – even if they were less organized and probably couldn’t be trusted.

---

Blood Satyr kneeled at the altar of Jaxstead Zeus, seeking an inner voice to guide a perplexing issue. In the coming battles they would endure, but also take losses of prestige and territory. He didn’t oppose this merger, but didn’t endorse it either. His envoy ZeuserG had attended the symposium and recounted everything he saw and head. He took less whiskey than the others, but still swore he’d seen something pink in the rafters.

“Well then my friend, we should call the council and decide…”

---