Road Trip to the Dragon Isles (Styx)

 10 Deepkolt 349 AC

Altan circled the paladin. "So, the robes stay. They hide the armor."

Davaa nods. "Going to need to dirty them up, though."

For the next several minutes, Arthur's robes are rolled around on the ground amd have dirt tossed onto them.

Bren stares at Arthur. "He still stands like an officer. He'll never pass for a dockworker. What about a caravan guard looking for a job?"

Granite scratches his beard, "Yeah that could work."

Agnes takes Lawbringer, closes her eyes for a moment and concentrates. The beautiful elven maiden vanishes, replaced by an older crone. Lawbringer takes on the appearance of a gnarled walking stick.

With Arthur suitably dressed, Granite turns back to the party. "Professor, I want you, Altan, and Davaa to stay here. Bren, you're coming with us. You can keep us clued in on oficers that ya recognize."

The dwarf looks around. "Anybody got any objections ta that?"

"No objections from me," Arthur looked at Davaa, Altan, and Phineas. "If anything happens run, I can get us out and we will be able to catch up."

"Of course, my boy. You needn't worry about us" Phineas replied.

With help from Varkesh, the Khur warriors guided the animals away from the trail and into a sheltered hollow among the foothills. They moved with surprising efficiency, finding a position hidden from the main road but close enough to escape if needed.

The hobgoblin paused before leaving. "I'll keep watch."

Arthur turned toward Styx and he, Agnes, Granite, and Bren began their descent. The farther they moved from the foothills, the more the fortress dominated their vision. The walls were even more impressive up close. Massive blocks of dark stone rose dozens of feet into the air, worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain. Towers stood at regular intervals, each one built for defense rather than beauty.

The harbor side was different. The walls were lower there and the gates stood open. Dragonarmy soldiers moved through them. Merchants entered. Workers carried unloaded cargo from arriving and either sent it on to the docks or loaded it onto other wagons for delivery elsewhere in the city.

Bren coughed and hunched over slightly, appearing outwardly at least, to be a weary traveler. Granite did the same, though Arthur suspected no amount of disguise would hide the fact that he was a dwarf-lord.

Agnes dotted along, the disguised Lawbringer serving as her old woman persona's walking stick.

Bren cleared his throat, "Alright everybody, just act natural and we should get in without a hitch."

Granite gave him a doubtful look. "You realize we're a dwarf, a paladin, a silver dragon, and a former Dragonarmy officer walking into an occupied fortress city?"

Bren sighed. "When you say it like that, it sounds difficult. Just remember, act casual."

The entrance to Styx was guarded, but not in the way Arthur expected. The soldiers were armed. They wore Dragonarmy colors. They watched everyone entering but they looked tired.

One guard glanced repeatedly toward the Governor's Spire.

When the group approached, the guard barely looked at them. "Business?"

Bren stepped forward. "Looking for work."

The guard barely glanced at the group and shrugged, "Go on."

Arthur kept the Governor's Spire in his mind whilst they walk. He looked around as much as possible while trying to act normal.

As they moved deeper into the streets, the evidence of what happened after the city's defenses fell became impossible to ignore. The damage was everywhere. Buildings that had once been homes and shops stood blackened and empty, their windows broken and their walls scorched.

Work crews moved through the streets under the watchful eyes of Dragonarmy guards. Some repaired walls. Some cleared rubble. The workers looked thin, not quite starving but they were missing more meals than they should. There was very little idle chatter in the street, most people kept their eyes down.

Bren shook his head. "Rivven did this when she punished the city. She didn't just want the folks here to know she won, she wanted them to remember that they lost."

The sergeant wiped a hand across his face and shook his head.

Agnes kept her gaze lowered as they walked. Cear's presence over the city felt wrong. A dragon was supposed to be patient. Dragons had time. They measured their lives in centuries. They could wait years for revenge. Decades for the right opportunity. But everything about Styx suggested impatience. It suggested hunger. Agnes's fingers tightened slightly around the disguised Lawbringer and she took a slow breath, worried about what they might find.

Arthur noticed the Dragonarmy presence was heavier near strategic locations like the harbor and the armories and along the main streets leading toward the Governor's Spire.

But there was something else. The soldiers were in control but they were not comfortable. A pair of guards stood near a warehouse entrance. Their eyes kept drifting upward.

Granite's eyes darted back and forth, looking for familiar landmarks. He had known the streets. He had known the people. He pointed toward a burned-out shell. "There was a tavern here. Good food. Terrible music."

At the next intersection, he motioned toward a collapsed building on the corner. "That was a spice merchant. Old woman named Merra ran it. She could tell you where a shipment came from just by smelling the crate. I bought cinnamon there for twenty years." He shook his head and wiped his face, pretending not to cry.

Another patrol passed through the street. They moved with discipline, but Arthur noticed they avoided the center of the road beneath the tower's shadow. A massive shape shifted against the upper levels. Arthur caught sight of a wing and a long red tail.

Cear was up there watching over his prize.

Arthur motions to Agnes, subtly indicating Cear above. He whispers, "We need to figure this out as fast as possible." Arthur watches the soldiers in the street some more, noting the unease on their faces. "Where would the best place to get information be?"

Granite chuckled, "Son, the same place you always go when ya need infermation. A tavern! And I know just the place... if it's still there, that is. Soldiers drink. Sailors drink. Merchants drink. Everyone talks when they think nobody important is listening."

Arthur looks at Granite. "Well, that's a start. We should head there unless anyone else has any ideas."

The dwarf nods and heads off at a steady, but not brisk, pace. The Rusty Anchor sits in a narrow stone building wedged between a candlemaker and a rope-maker's shop, just a few streets up from the eastern docks, near the old warehouses and cargo yards. The sign outside depicted a rusted iron anchor hanging from a weathered wooden beam. A Dragonarmy symbol had been painted onto the sign.

When Arthur, Agnes, Granite, and Bren enter, the Rusty Anchor is busy but subdued. The gray-haired woman behind the counter watches them walk in and nods toward a table in the center of the righthand wall.

Three Dragonarmy soldiers sit by the front window, quietly drinking. The officer keeps glancing out the window toward the Governor's Spire.

Five laborers with tar streaked on their clothes have pulled two tables together. All of them have deeply tanned skin and calloused hands.

An older couple sits in a small booth directly across from the table the bartender indicated to the party. Their clothing is relatively new and well-made but also in need of washing. The older man had a scraggly beard.

Lastly, a single sailor sits at the bar, drinking from a wooden mug.

The bartender grabs a pitcher and a couple of mugs. She places them on the table and nods. "Granite."

The dwarf nods back, "Helena."

"You picked a bad time to come to town, old man."

"Just passing' through. Had planned on a resupply. Didn't know the city had been captured."

Helena's expression tightened slightly. "Most people didn't."

She looked out the window, toward the Spire. "Not until it was too late."

Granite continued. "How bad is it?"

Helena was silent for a few seconds. Then she reached for another mug and filled it for herself. "Depends who you ask."
She glanced toward the Dragonarmy soldiers. "They will tell you the city is peaceful."

A look toward the laborers. "The workers will tell you the city is occupied."

Then toward the older couple. "The merchants will tell you the city is dying. And everyone will tell you not to ask about the dragon."

The room seemed to become quieter for a moment. Granite leaned forward slightly. "Cear?" He asked.

Helena's eyes moved back to him. "Careful, old friend." Her voice dropped closer to a whisper, "Names carry farther than people think in this city."

Arthur let his eyes wander. The soldiers were not behaving like men who had conquered a city. Hands lay near weapons but none of the men looked like they were looking forward to using them. The one with the finest armor, Arthur assumed he was an officer of some type had the look of someone awaiting his own execution.

The laborers were obviously dockworkers or sailors and they drank with the quiet determination of men looking to squeeze even the tiniest bit of solace from the soul-crushing routine of their work.

The older couple held his attention for a moment and Helena had said "merchants" when she looked their way. Former merchants, then, or at least ones who could no longer do business with the city in its current state.

The lone sailor, Arthur surmised, was either waiting for or hiding from someone, although he couldn't decide based on what little he had to work from.

Arthur speaks softly so that only they could hear. "Is there a place that we can talk safely and privately?" He looks at the the sailor, then back to the group. "Those gaurds dont look like they want to use those weapons." He looks for any defining rank before lowering his gaze. "I feel like a sitting duck right now."

"What do ye wanna do, lad? Ya want infermation, this is a place that carries it." Granite prods.

"Helena, do you have any idea what drove them back?" He whispers "or what's got the gaurds looking like that?"

Helena drops her voice. "They say Cear isn't following orders anymore. They say that he's calling hisself king, and eating them who disagree with him."

Arthur controls his breathing and whispers, "Did his rider die or did he just stop listening?"

"Rivven? She's absolutely delighted. She struts about, lording over the rest of army, pointing out the ones who aren't "loyal enough" by her measure and Cear? He snaps them up like so many table scraps."

"So a murder happy duo? Just great. So, I'm guessing Cear pulled the army back because he stopped obeying and that's why we were told dragon." He whispers.

Bren strokes his chin, "It would seem to fit what we know happened. Question is what do you want to do about it."

Agnes shakes her head. "I think we have to kill the dragon."

Arthur sighs "I want to kill it was well, I want to save this city...but  we are not powerful enough to kill a dragon that size with just us. Unless there's something here that will help us defeat it. Remember, we almost died fighting that green dragon back in the desert." He clenches his fists. "Every part of me is saying to fight but my mind is telling me if we do this might very well be the end of us. Is there something in this city that will help us kill that beast? And not to mention we would also have to deal with Rivven."

Bren looks down at his hands and then back to Arthur. "My men and I will help." Bren nodded toward the door.
"We know the soldiers. We know their routines. We just need a way to get them into the city unseen."

Granite leaned back slightly. The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "Well. We came here looking for information. Seems we've found ourselves a problem instead."

The dwarf placed a hand on Helena's forearm, "How many people in this city want Cear gone?"

Helena didn't answer immediately. She looked around the taproom, her eyes lingering on the soldiers, then quietly said, "More than you think."

"How do we get the word out without tipping Cear or Rivven off?" Arthur looks up, "I can get Davaa, Altan, and Phineas in for certain."

Bren frowned, "How?"

Agnes smiled quietly, "Magic, of course."

Helena simply looked thoughtful. "How many people can you bring?"

Granite leaned in, "Some. Not enough to force the army out."

The bartender shook her head. "If you want to beat the dragon, you don't need an army, you need a distraction." Her eyes darted to the couple seated across the room. "Thomas and Elira Venn. Lost their warehouse when the Dragonarmies arrived. They know which businesses are still operating and who can move things without attracting attention. Those dockworkers know the harbor. Start a lot of noise at one end of the city, enough to draw away the soldiers but not enough to lure Cear and his murder-b#^% so you don't have to fight through an army to get to them. Then, you strike."

"Alright, let's get Bren's men in, I'll bring Davaa, Altan, and Phineas. I just need a safe and large enough space that no one will see me do it from." He looks to Helena "If you can talk to those who are willing to help, I'd pay you for your service."

The old barmaid raised an eyebrow, "Honey... if you can pull this off, I'll give you free drinks for the rest of my life."

Arthur looks to Bren. "Get your men into the city. Granite, we will need to get in contact with Thomas and Elira Venn to begin moving things around." Arthur places a coin purse in the barmaid's hand. "If you'd be so kind as to procure some things that make a lovely explosion, that would be amazing." Arthur thinks for a moment "I'm thinking we hit places that are abandoned and maybe get some places that would really hurt without killing innocent people. No matter what, people are going to die but I want to make it as little as possible. Multiple locations - that way the forces are spread far and thin. Something along those lines unless you all have different ideas."

Helena nodded, "There are some caves just past the edge of the city wall. Kids use them for play, married men and their mistresses use them for trysts, and smugglers use them to sneak goods into the city. You can hide your men there until you are ready to move."

Bren nods and heads out the door. Helena rises, serves another round of drinks. The Dragonarmy soldiers look out the window one more time before reluctantly returning to duty. Before stepping into the street, their sergeant stops and scans the skyline. He then leads his men outside. They keep to the shadows of the buildings as if they are afraid to walk down the center of the road.

Helena signals the Venns, indicating that they should join her in the back room with Arthur, Granite, and Agnes. The plan is quickly explained. Thomas says that he will need a few hours to get the word out but he should have some reliable allies ready to move by sunset.

"Sunset should be perfect. Strike while they don't realize we are here. Let me know when the right time to get my other three men would be. Also, I'll cover costs for supplies if needed."

Helena waved him away. "Keep your coins for swords and arrows, knight." She shook her head, "You really mean to do this?"

Arthur nodded.

"Fine," she said. "I'll talk to the Venns. I'll find out who still has a little courage left. Too many strangers appearing at once and every spy in Styx will notice."
She looked toward the couple across the room.
"Let me get the harbor people moving first. Let me make sure the distraction has somewhere to go."

Then she looked back at Arthur.

"Tomorrow night. Sunset." Helena looked out of the window. "They'll be changing watches. The city will be busy. People will be moving home, soldiers will be moving to evening posts, and no one expects an attack from outside the walls."