Part One: The Gathering Storm

Jerell and Kyorlin are huddled over an old table in the corner of The Malfeasance, a bar owned by Kyorlin's cousin. They drink here every so often but today more than most the smoke seems to be hanging in the air from the smouldering fire and the little bit of sunlight that sometimes filters down into this part of the Perch seems more grey than yellow. A middle aged drow smeared with grime stumbles into the bar and looks around. When he sees the pair he shuffles up and sits down heavily with them and grunts. "Hello chums" he says, "name's Guldor. Wonderin' if you folks know enough people in these parts to help me. I've got some" and he hesitates, eyeing the pair and stealing a quick glance around the room, "good times and fine mushrooms for sale."

"Wha?" Guldor stutters, then after a moment understands Jerell's meaning.

"Gotta tell you, usually when I offer to sell something I don't expect to buy anything, but times are rough enough nowadays that I recon I can do that for ye."

He stands up and stumbles over to the bar, then returns with three steins of ale. His swaying gait tells you that not only does he sell drugs, but he takes them too. There is a common depressant called Malak that the aelfir have outlawed, he's probably on that.

Once he sits back down he stared blankly for a moment, then continues, "So! to business! I've got some great Godsmoke from Pilgrim's Walk. I suppose the best thing about a lack of business in the Works is a plentiful supply for you folks!"

He said that last bit a little too loudly, and you can see a handful of heads turn towards you for a moment, but it seems like nobody cares.

Jerell takes a hearty sip of his ale and says "First, cheers to you, a nice ale makes business go smoother. Second, you might wanna keep your voice down just the tiniest bit. The good folks in this nice establishment won't sell us out to the guard, but some might dislike the competition..."

Guldor winced a little, and lowered his voice. "To be honest, fellas, you looked like the nicest and fanciest people in this here fine establishment and I always try to work from the top down. Most can't afford a good hit of Godsmoke, so I try to keep my business to those who won't hurt for tryin'."

After a moment he cackled a little. "Of course, that don't stop me from sellin' to anyone who'll buy."

"Do you maybe have someone who can vouch for you?", Jerell asks.

Jerell looks at Guldor for a moment, trying to remember everything he can about the drug trade in the Works. It suddenly occurs to him that Godsmoke has been selling well in the Works for as long as he can remember. Last time he was down there it seemed like there was a dealer on every corner, and most of the people he knew down there he had seen with a pipe hanging out of their mouths, telltale smell of the smoke wafting from them. While thinking about this he remembered a time that he was chatting to a friend and Guldor had arrived with a neat little package for him.

"Mate!" Guldor yelled. Jerell broke out of his reverie to see Guldor looking at him expectantly and the rest of the bar looking at him quizzically. "I said I sell to the Durach family if you know them. You right there mate? Spaced out a bit there."

"Yes, yes, Durach, sure I've heard of them". Jerell sharks his head to clear his thoughts a bit. "How much...material are we talking anyway?"

Guldor looks at the two of them in surprise. "How much do you smoke? I’m not looking for competition, just looking to make your lives a little easier. God knows that a little money will make mine easier right now."

Guldor smiles and pulls a small pouch out of his bag. He pulls out a smaller, empty pouch and pours some black dust into the empty pouch. You're not sure how he measures it, but he seems content with his ability to do so on feel alone. You each flick him a few silver, and he stands, bowing.

"Many thanks, my fine fellows. Gotta say, though, if you're worried about them keeping us down, you should check out what's happening in The Works. It's a drow doing it, but it sure as shit aint good for us, so I tend to assume it came from them."

He looks a bit confused at his own stream of thought, but shakes his head, smiles again, and turns to leave.

"Hold on just a moment, what are you talking about? Who's doing what to who in The Works?"
For the first time tonight, Jerell seems excited.

Guldor stopped and turned.

"Oh, that seemed to strike a chord. I wonder if some information like that would be worth something to ya?" and he jingles the silver still in his hand

Guldor looked at Jerell, and his countenance shifted somehow. Suddenly he was right up in Jerell's face, too quick to see, and he said, voice suddenly clear of that telltale drug-induced slur, "Look, mate, you didn't know who I was a minute ago, so I'm sure as shit that you don't know who my suppliers are. Don't think that you can intimidate me with your false bravado and lofty ideals."

Suddenly he was two steps away, with Jerell's sword in his hand.

"I think I might hang on to this one, for a little bit. It's got a good weight to it.

What you're wondering about is the Idol, known only as Fracture. His sculpture has entranced a bunch of workers and the guards around the Works have their hands full trying to get anyone to actually do any work. Not sure how or why, or where the Idol is, but something's going on, and when something's going on around here you can bet your arse that it's got something to do with the aelfir."

Guldor looked at Kyorlin, who he had almost forgotten was there. He then looked around and realized that some other people had seen him holding a sword to bar regulars and were starting to stand up.

"Well, then, it seems that I have worn out my welcome at this fine establishment."

He dropped the sword. It clanged in the tense silence. A moment later he turned around and walked out the door.

Mal wonders over with a stein and dumps it on the table unceremoniously.

"Look, Cuz, I said I don't mind you guys plotting in the corner here, but who the hell was that guy? What was his deal?"

Jerell picks up his sword, looks at Kyorlin sheepishly and says,"You're right, that could have gone better..." After taking another sip from his ale he says,"And thanks for the timely intervention, a knight without his sword isn't much of a knight. What do you suppose we should do about that idol though?"

Mal grunted once as the pair left the establishment.

As they descended the stairs to the Works the air began to thicken with black smoke. The final turn displayed the machine in all its glory for one moment before the suffocating closeness and dankness closed in. The Works was a massive, churning array of machines and warehouses that took the will of the drow and ground it to a paste that kept the whole tower running. Factories, forges, assemblies. Nothing but people working for what seemed like miles.

Except they weren't working. Some were, but Kyorlin and Jerell had been here before and seen the writhing masses of indentured drow slaving away to make the gears spin, but that's not what it was like today. Factories seemed half manned, warehouses had boxes laying about unpacked. The first real evidence they found was a handful of guards pushing against a group of drow, telling them to get back to their jobs. You could see the fear in their eyes, too. You could tell that they knew that their jobs, if not their lives, were on the line if they couldn't find a way to get these drow to work.

The drow, though, were unfazed. Half of them were sitting down, faces blank, and the other half were pleading with the guards to let them leave to go see "it" again.

The guards shoot him a rotten look before returning to the workers. The one in charge looks a little shaken at Kyorlin's approach, though he doesn't say anything.

The guards start to look a bit nervous.

"Don't listen to him, men, follow your orders!" Barked the guard captain.

Jerell noticed that they were all trying to go in one particular direction, rather than anywhere in particular, but were doing nothing other than attempting to walk that way, as though their minds were broken. There were back streets and alleyways on either side that invariably went the same way, but the few that were trying to move were just trying to walk down the main thoroughfare.

Hesitantly, one of the guards bit his lip as he brought down his club on the closest worker. There was no fight, the drow just crumpled down, unconscious. "Get to work!" He yelled, still noticeably unsure.

The guard that hit the worker dropped his club, still slick with the blood of the drow. "Oh god, what have I done?" he muttered under his breath, turning to the captain for support.

"Easy, soldier, everything's OK. You're going to be OK. He's just trying to get under your skin."

The guard captain goes to look at Kyorlin, but the pair have already stolen away down a side street. He swore to himself as the other guards looked at him expectantly.

"Fuck it, let them be. We're not getting our way and us being here is just going to make a mess that we will probably have to clean up. Fall back to the station, men. Let's discuss this with the lieutenant and see if we can't fix this mess."

The soldiers all back away cautiously from the workers, then turn and leave.

Meanwhile, Kyorlin and Jerell skulk through an alleyway to find another major road that is blocked in the same way.

"Jerell!" the pair hear as one of the workers lifts their hand and waves. Jerell saw that the hand belonged to an old friend, one who began his durance as Jerell was finishing his. One of the last things that Jerell had done in service to the aelfir was training this boy, who now stood a little taller than Jerell remembered him.The guards at this road eye the pair cautiously, but are less vigilant than the other ones.

You can see that amongst the workers are several drow that do not have the glazed-over look in their eyes, though they seem to be sitting around doing nothing in particular anyway.

"Waine! By our Lady, it's good to see you, must've been what, 8 years since I saw you. You still working for them?" Jerell asks the last with no trace of an accusation in his tone, he knows that everybody has to earn a living somehow.
He walks up to Waine, who is now half a hand taller than him, and looks a few years older than him as well. The hard work in the factories has left Waine with wiry muscles, and premature lines on his face.
After the hug, Jerell wipes some soot from his face and armor, "I had forgotten about the damn soot. How are you? How is everything going here?"

Waine smiled as Jerell approached. "Jerell, my brother. I’m not sure what to say, but terrible and fantastic. This," and he swept his arm around, motioning to the crowd, "started as a tragedy but some friends and I have started to think that we can use it to our advantage. People are already not working, let’s claim it as a protest!"

The guards then noticed the three people standing in the crowd of zombie like workers and started to weave through towards them.

Waine followed Kyorlin’s gesture and cursed under his breath. "Come with me" he said, as he ducked into the crowd. The pair had a little trouble keeping sight of him as he wove through the workers, till suddenly all they saw was a door swing close. Following through the door, Waine peeked through as it shut, watching the guards fail to catch the direction the group had gone.

He sighed. "They’re starting to catch on"

"Anything that gets the guard suspicious seems like we should make the most of it,"Jerell says with a wide and slightly maniacal grin.

Waine pondered that for a moment. "Ok, so the problem is that some of the guards are starting to realise that it’s only a few of us protesting, and just focusing on taking us out. Plus nobody has seen the idol in days. I was assuming the aelfir had grabbed them and were making them do something to reverse this."

"Hmmm.... That could work. OK, I'll spread the word around that you're looking for the idol. As far as I know nobody has seen Virtuoso - that's his "name" - around the Works in a week or so, since the drow started mobbing his workshop trying to see his sculpture. It's not far from here if you wanted to check it out. Be careful, though, the aelfir are snooping around, trying to figure out what is going on, and they don't trust us down here so they'll be armed and primed for murder."

Waine looks around nervously.

"OK, look, I am freaked out by that thing, so I can't take you there, but I can tell you how to get there."

He then describes a handful of turns and street names that you recognise well enough to make your way there.

"I'll put the word out that there's some folk lookin' for him, just in case somebody knows something. Is there somewhere I can send word if I find anything out?"