The hunt begins

This exchange happened 8 years ago compared to our present day.

Iskrin stepped into the firelit cave and cast his eyes about. Only Ven-Vyzran was present, lounging on the couch nearest his bed, as was his habit. His eyes were closed, but Iskrin knew the night orc wouldn’t really be sleeping.

Instead of calling out to his friend, Iskrin took a bowl from the pile next to the fire and scooped himself a large helping of stew from one of the pots sitting on the coals. He sat himself down on the couch nearest to his own bed and ate slowly, staring into the dying flames.

“Something on your mind?” the blue orc’s voice came drifting over to him, deep and resonant with the pronunciation slightly impaired by his two huge tusks, yet more refined than the guttural speech of his green half-brethren.

“You’re awake,” Iskrin replied, a mouthful of beef distorting his own pronunciation.

“You know it, elf. Speak what you came to speak.”

“We may have a problem, Ven-Vyzran. There are others looking for the object.”

The orc opened his eyes at this, two red irises peering across at Iskrin in the firelight. “Which others?” he asked, a mix of anger and concern in his voice.

“The Pale Crew and the Ravens.”

The night orc snorted at this news. “Amateurs,” he said in a growl. “They got no chance.” Apparently satisfied that the problem was solved, he closed his eyes again.

Iskrin looked at his old friend. The night orc’s drow blood meant that he was much longer lived than other orcs, and Iskrin had known him for decades in Ansa`fel. But it wasn’t just his dark elf blood that had kept Ven-Vyzran alive for so long. He was a cunning strategist and careful planner. “Ezran is onboard with the Ravens,” he said quietly, knowing the reaction it would elicit.

“Ezran…” the growl that constituted Ven-Vyzran speaking the fae’s name could have chilled Iskrin’s blood. “He has no honour,” the night orc hissed.

Iskrin nodded. “No, he has none,” he said calmly. “And he’s no treasure hunter.”

This time Ven-Vyzran nodded, thinking for a moment. “Amateurs,” he repeated and closed his eyes again, his anger set aside as quickly as it had come.

“Of course,” Iskrin pressed on, “if the Ravens did find the artefact and Ezran took it for his own, your client would be extremely upset, and the Crown would be in significantly more danger than I like.”

“What should I do?” Ven-Vyzran asked, waiving a huge blue hand in the air.

“Find the artefact first.”

“And what will you do?”

“Distract the fae from the hunt.”

Ven-Vyzran smiled. “You good at distractions, Iskrin” he observed. “But we got no leads on the object.”

Iskrin shook his head. “Not true,” he said, smiling. “Not true at all. In fact this very day I have laid my hands upon certain knowledge that reveals its whereabouts.”

The night orc held out his massive blue hand, palm upwards. “Give,” he said.

Iskrin reached into the document tube linked to his belt and withdrew a neatly rolled piece of parchment. He stood up and walked over to Ven-Vyzran, placing it in the night orc’s rough palm. “It was given to me by a mutual friend,” Iskrin said, walking back to his own seat.

“Which friend?” Ven-Vyzran asked, carefully unrolling the parchment with his large fingers and looking at it.

“Our oldest,” Iskrin replied.

Ven-Vyzran nodded. “How she find it?”

“People talk in the baths. Ezri listens carefully.”

Ven-Vyzran let out a booming laugh that reverberated off the cave walls. “She do!” he said brightly. “She listen and you take.”

“I do take,” Iskrin agreed. “And what have I taken, Ven-Vyzran?”

“The answer to our prayers,” the night orc replied, casting his eyes over the scroll and then looking to the statue of Vashra before making a holy sign in front of himself. “I will call the Gurrousard Seekers together and we will go.”

Iskrin smiled, picking up his bowl of stew again and raising a mouthful to his lips. “And until they arrive, Chief,” he said, savouring the meal, “I will sit here and rest.”