Snippet #1976850

Drakon Armand had been sitting in a shady corner of the Staggering Dagger with a heavily armed escort of four 'men'. They wore armor stained black as coal. Each man had a long sword at their side and a round shield strapped to their arm.

The keen observer would notice the men were still, very still, unmoving, and they had no tankards to speak of. The four just sat there in complete unmoving silence. The only one doing anything was Drakon who was wrapped in his black robes with a tankard in his hand. Drakon had been listening to the cowardly braggart’s tale. He guessed he would’ve done something similar if he were a mere man. But he was a master of the dark arts; he would’ve blasted away at the beasts with dark bolts of energy while his ‘men’ dealt with any stragglers.

Drakon had a small list of grimoires and tomes that he needed to acquire. Usually he would simply burst in and put the men down; but these were some very skilled wizards. If need be he could attempt to take them on, but news would travel too fast, by the time he took out one or two, the others would be ready to put up a real fight; it would be easier to buy the books.

His ears perked up as he heard the man mention the treasure the foul Orcs had run off with. Drakon’s mind began to quickly formulate a plan. It was a caravan, which meant there were probably at least one or two carts laden with luxury items and coin. But a lair of Orcs would never only be a dozen or two strong. There would probably be hundreds in their lair not including other foul beasts that would’ve joined them for the violence and bloodshed.

As he had a rather private army of sorts at his disposal, he could have them put the beasts down. But his forces although it reached well over a hundred strong, the four with him were the only ones for hundreds of miles. The rest of his underlings were in various towns and cities in over a dozen countries on three continents doing his bidding. Drakon didn’t feel like having to gather new underlings. That and Drakon doubted that the locals would want to find an empty graveyard. He would probably gather a few, but best not to be seen walking around with an army of walking corpses; at least not until he had learned more about the areas views on magic, Necromancy in particular.

There was many a patron who looked like they would be good traveling companions. Listening carefully he barely overheard the barmaid mention something about the caravan to a young woman, who almost immediately took flight. Shortly after a Drow came in and sat down. Drakon looked at the man carefully. Drakon recognized the Drow as someone who had been known as a rather infamous mercenary and killer, although his name escaped him. Drakon had made it a bit of hobby of keeping track of anyone that could come after him, knowing who could be the one coming after a price on your head or a rare artifact on your person, could mean the difference between surviving the encounter and being buried with the dead. After hearing about the girl the Drow to took off, presumably to try and catch up with her.

Drakon was never one to miss an opportunity. While not one to particularly enjoy conversations with the living, they would be a great deal of help; the two didn’t exactly look like pushovers. Even if they were to be nothing more than Orc blade fodder they could prove to be useful. Drakon downed the last of his drink, grabbed his staff and he too took flight. His four ‘men’ following in tow, moving like children’s clockwork toys; which was always peculiar to Drakon as in a fight they were quick and agile. Though only those paying particular attention would notice anything off about the four armored figures movements.

Drakon slowed down as he saw the Drow catch up to the woman and begin talking. Drakon would’ve preferred to make himself silent and join in at the right time, but the noise of four 'men' suited in armor moving in sync was not a quiet one.