The Kingdom Mine - Let's Play Betrayal at Krondor!

"We'll stop in Eggley for the night," Locklear said. "I think there might be a few more things to learn from Devon before we press south to Tannerus. If we run into the Collector on the way, it will be worth our time to return to the temple, but otherwise I plan to make straight for Krondor.

Silden

Eggley's deserted paths were even more eerie as night approached, and Owyn relaxed only when they reached The Stranger and Devon's raucous laughter as he saw them return. Evidently less than pleased with the hand of solitaire pokiir that he'd dealt himself, he drummed his fingers on his leg and grinned up at the companions.



Locklear gave the cards Devon had dealt himself a considering glance. "I'm more familiar with pashawa, but I've played pokiir a few times with men from the Shamata garrison. You play by special rules?"

Devon's grin grew sharper. "Straight game. Mercy's rules, full deck, nothing wild. Only special rule I have is you cheat, I ventilate your liver. Simple as that. Interested in playing?"

The squire considered, then slowly but firmly shook his head, sighing. "No, I guess not. Not today. It's nothing personal you understand, I just don't feel Banath's with me at the moment."

"Aye, I've had runs of luck like that," the mercenary agreed as he stood and moved to draw them each a pint. "Once I was riding high while I was working for the Dauphiness of Palanque, won fifteen straight games of lin-lan in a tavern against this miserable old seadog, but the bastard refused to give up. Middle of the sixteenth game, he pulls out a diamond half the size of my fist and says he wants to bet it. I tell him I don't have enough money to match a bet like that, but he suggests I put up the purse I'm carrying for the Dauphiness."

"How did he find out about it?" Owyn asked, intrigued by the story of a world so far removed from his own.

Devon chuckled, sighing. "Let's say the liquor told him... So, I put up the purse, and he pulls out a Blue Lady, a Red Knight, two gods-be-damned Yellow Squires and a King's motherfucking Jester! Lost the whole lot to him!" The mercenary grinned, whatever discomfort the memory brought him dulled by the passage at time. "The Dauphiness was less than pleased. I had to work for that bitch as a bodyguard for two years to pay off what I lost in that purse."

Locklear raised an eyebrow. "If you were a Dauphiness' bodyguard, you must be a superb swordsman. Perhaps you could teach us a thing or two?"

"I'm good at making the other bastard bleed first if that's what you mean," Devon said, shrugging. "You don't stay alive as long as I do without picking something up here and there. I might be able to give you a few pointers if you're willing to pay. Say eighty sovereigns for a session. Interested?"

Devon waved towards the door. Seizing a pitted schiavona from under the bar's counter, he followed them into the open yard before The Stranger Tavern, then passed them up to lead the way across a grassy field. Slowly the ground inclined, giving way to a rocky hillface and a tumble of ancient, mold-eaten gravestones.



"Eggley's graveyard?" Locklear halted behind the stocky mercenary. "I don't understand."

"Knowing how to defend yourself isn't just knowing how to hold a sword. It also has to do with where you put your feet!" Twisting a half-turn, Devon swept his blade at Locklear's face, forcing his unsuspecting pupil to stumble backwards over a half-buried stele. Lunging neatly forward, the mercenary pressed the point of his blade to Locklear' s neck and drew a single bead of blood.

"Congratulations," Devon growled. "You're dead."

After five hours of ripostes, dodges and very near misses, Devon motioned for his pupil to drop his guard. "That's enough for now. It's time to eat. We can talk while I make something."

((That's a 15% increase to everyone's defense skill for the folks at home. Missing the dialogue that led to this training is why I had to redo a chunk of my playthrough.))

((rewriting/editing note: In the original text, Devon's carrying a "salamanca". Salamanca's a city in Spain, not a type of sword, and the only time I know of a blade being called 'a salamanca' is one of the swords in Highlander. That sword was a rapier-like weapon with a somewhat broader blade, so since Queg is vaguely Italian/Roman and Devon seems more like a bruiser I gave him a schiavona instead. A schiavona, if you don't know, is basically a basket-hilted broadsword from Italy, rather like the scottish basket-hilt claymore but with a somwhat broader and more tapered blade. I am SUCH a nerd.))

Ch. 1 Introduction, Part 2

Something shiny caught Gorath's eye just south of Eggley the next morning. Bending down to take a closer look he brushed aside several layers of dirt and scrub brush to reveal a badly damaged suit of elven armor. Pulling on the suit to remove it from the ground he was surprised at the ease with which he was able to free it. It had obviously been buried by something other than the years.





"More disinformation to convince us that this route is more heavily guarded than it is?" Locklear asked the moredhel.

"Perhaps," Gorath said, still frowning even as he strapped the spare armor to his pack. "But I'm not sure."

They pushed on, and around noon passed a small house that seemed as good a place as any to stop for a rest and to perhaps refill their waterskins. The house, it turned out, was home to a slight balding historian named Kellyn who talked of the ancient Valheru and the relatively recent cataclysm near Sethanon while he got them some fresh water for their packs.

"The folks I've interviewed, the ones living near Sethanon, say they thought the world was coming to an end - like the fabric of heaven was being turned back upon itself, revealing another universe in the skies. And they all talked about the explosion and fearsome flying beasts circling in the sky." His voice trailed off. "I think it may have something to do with the legends of the Dragon Lords. One day I'm going to figure it all out."

Locklear laughed, but Owyn thought it sounded the slightest bit forced. "I'm sure you will, Kellyn...some day," the squire said, patting the diminutive historian on the shoulder, "and when you do I'd like to read that book! In the meantime, thank you for the water."



As they approached a narrowing in the trail, a place where it twisted through a steep ravine a bit south of Kellyn's hut, Gorath frowned.

It's a Trap

((Ok, as you might have guessed from that ambush warning, there's at trap at this narrow point in the map, and now that you've seen animated gifs of most of the basic trap elements, it's time to do an out of character walkthrough.



We can't see the third electrical pole or whatever you want to call those things, but the grid clearly shows us that it's there (always turn the grid on at least once while navigating traps). To avoid risking the pathfinding running our guys between the trap poles we move only one if we can help it (though later traps require cooperation to clear a path) and we move in small increments. Oh, and while it's not obvious from the screenshots, you can (and will eventually have to) push things on a diagonal, but do it one square at a time or instead of pushing you'll walk around what you wanted to push.



Step 1 is pretty obvious, circle the triangle of trap poles and trigger the left blaster with the transparent crystal...




Which de-activates the top trap pole, allowing us to cross over safely.



Then, push the solid crystal up to block the right blaster. Now it will still fire when we cross it's line of fire, but the crystal will absorb the blast.



Finally, move through the gap between the deactivated trap pole (blocking the fire from the left blaster) and the solid crystal (blocking the fire from the right blaster). Trap solved, since you only have to get one person through it. Easy huh? Don't worry, they do get harder. Oh, and I WAS thinking about making you guys solve some of the later ones. What do you think of that?))

Great write-ups as always Brer, I can't believe this is still chapter 1 of....9, I think?

What struck me today was that this is one of the very few cRPG's that justify random battles well. You have an important captive that a different nation is actively trying to recapture, rather than...um...random monster X.

Have you played the sequel? How does it compare?

It was fine.

((10, but the 10th is basically the ending cutscene.))

((It sometimes gets a bit strained, but in general, yeah, I've always been pretty impressed by it.))

((I've always been interested, but not yet, no....and, since I think I've finished distracting myself in the other threads, let's see about getting this a bit more wrapped up before bed...))

This is almost entirely uninformative, I'm sorry. Does it look and play the same? Entirely different but still has that 'flavour' of Feist? Did Feist actually get involved....hell, time to hit wikipedia.

Heh, sorry, but that's all I really remember about it. BaK was one of my favorite games ever made, and Return felt slightly better than middling. It's been long enough now that the specifics elude me and only those feelings remain.

"We'll check around the town before staying the night in the inn," Locklear said as they passed a pawn shop, its eaves cluttered with a crazy assortment of items all strung up on leather thongs. "If we don't find the collector, we head straight for Krondor and god help the moredhel spy or Quegan sellsword who gets in our way. If we do find him, we can double back north, but otherwise I think it's time to finish this trek."

Gorath and Owyn both nodded agreement, and the search of the town didn't take long. One man's wife said she had glimpsed moredhel moving south on the outskirts of town, and a few farmers had had similar sightings, but none could say for sure just how many there had been or if any had been armed, let alone with what.

Their biggest surprise was in an old abandoned house whose rune-carved frames and lingering air of incense and strange things burned marked it as the former home of some witch or hedge mage. Owyn drew them to it, and when Locklear had finessed the front door the young noble was inside before the squire could finish straightening up.

The mage grinned as he tapped at a board that seemed identical to the others in the wood floor, then drew a few strange designs across its surface while muttering something neither of the other two could make out. He finished with a click of tongue on teeth and the board popped neatly out of its slot, allowing Owyn to move it aside and remove a beautifully worked horn from a shaped recess draped in red velvet.



"Well, that's one souvenir from this town at least," Locklear murmured as Owyn slung the horn from his belt.

"It's not just an instrument, Locklear," The mage said, nearly breathless with excitement. "It's magical. I don't know just how it works, but it's powerful and it's very, very old."

"Take care with it, then," Gorath said as they entered the local tavern. "Old magics are dangerous."

Inn



Finding no empty tables, they joined a shifty-eyed man who stared at them for a moment, then glanced away while his hands carefully slipped a set of dice into his pocket.

"No games right now, fellas," the thin man hissed, his eyes flicking to the door that led back towards the tavern's sleeping chambers. "I owe some money to a bloke in the back room and I don't think he would appreciate me giving it to you in a game of chance."

Noting the gambler's high-strung state, Owyn smiled reassuringly before asking "Who is this person you owe money?"

"He's known by folks around here as The Collector," he said, lowering his voice until it was barely more than a whisper. "They say he killed a fella over in Eggley called Stellan."

"Well, perhaps we can find a game with you on another day," Owyn said, moving to stand and drift casually towards the door the gambler's eyes had indicated. Gorath and Locklear made a bit of small talk with each other, the gambler, and the other patrons, but slowly slipped away to follow the young noble.

Locklear paused only long enough to pay for a night's lodging before following his friends, only to have a large and sleepy-looking man push him aside. Blinking, but unable to get one eye to completely open, the man stumbled to a bedroll in the corner of the room and laid down.

"Are you the man known as The Collector?" asked Locklear.

He sat up grumpily and finally managing to get both eyes open. "What if I am?" he asked, his voice thick and slow with fatigue, drunkenness, or both.

"It would appear you have a debt that hasn't been paid you by an acolyte at the Temple of Silban," The squire said, smiling slightly as he moved to join his companions, "We just thought you should know."

A glimmer of greed appeared in the man's eyes. He looked more awake, and in a suddenly cheerful voice he said "Thank you! I shall pay him a visit on the morrow!"

Inn

The guestbook was open when they emerged from the sleeping quarters late the next morning. Intrigued, Locklear checked to make certain the nightmaster wasn't coming, then scanned the pages. While there weren't any names familiar to him, he was puzzled by a red circle that had been drawn around their false travelling names.

"Get your nose out of there!" the nightmaster snapped, appearing in the doorway. "That's private information. Only business you have here is signing up for another night. Is that what you want?"

"I think we'll pass, nightmaster," Locklear said, giving the red circles a last glance before he moved back to Gorath and Owyn. "Let's get going," he murmured, "I don't like it when someone singles me out, not even in a book and under a false name."



The collector was well gone by the time they were back on the road, and so the trip back to the temple was quiet and passed quickly enough, the hills to the right and the mountains to the left rolling away as they passed field and farm and stony ravine, coming at last back to the long and richly-ornamented hall of the temple.

Temple



A messenger went to find the high priestess when the acolyte recognized them, and in a few moments she appeared, her grey hair floating behind her as she greeted her guests. "On behalf of the Earth Mother, we thank you," she said. "The man who called himself the Collector is now in our custody."

"What will become of him?" Locklear asked.

"He will learn what it means to anger a goddess," she replied. "After, if he still lives, we will see he is rehabilitated."

Locklear shivered as he contemplated the future that likely lay ahead for the criminal. In the few instances he had seen a convicted heretic punished, he had been forced to avert his eyes. Hesitantly, he cleared his throat. "I believe there was some mention of a reward?"

The priestess nodded. "I have arranged for a few healing potions to be given to you as well as a small sum of gold. You will have them before you leave the Temple. I must leave you now to begin dispensing justice on this Collector. Goddess' blessing on you."

They thanked her and were soon on their way. Owyn grinned as he examined their rewards. "A few healing potions," he chuckled, lifting a full flask of restorative, a good two-dozen doses.



They had a second pleasant surprised when they arrived at Eggley that evening. It was still far from a bustling farm community, but smoke was rising from a few chimneys, and Owyn saw at least one woman taking in the day's washing from a line.

Inn



((Heh, I guess they forgot to put in new text for the repopulated town.))

Sure enough, The Stranger was nearly full when they entered, and the bustle and noise and smoke and laughter were such a change that for a moment the scene was nearly as surreal as the empty common room had been when they'd first seen it.





"That's good news, isn't it?" Owyn asked, smiling around at the bustle and commotion.

"All taken, I think so, though I don't know what the ultimate fate of my tending this tavern will be," Devon said, chuckling and glancing at where his battered sword stood propped between a pair of ale kegs. "Still haven't heard what's become of the tavern keeper, but while I am still here, I suppose I ought to act like one. What can I get you?"

"Nothing but beds tonight," Locklear said, smiling. "Congratulations on Eggley's rebirth, Devon. I hope everything works out here so you can hold on to the tavern."

The mercenary snorted. "One way or the other, it's been fun, so I have no regrets however it turns out." he said, shrugging easily.

"That's good to hear," Locklear said, his smile widening as he paid Devon for the night. "Goodnight, barkeep!"

As the companions moved south, both Locklear and Gorath seemed increasingly restless. By now the scenery along the eastern slopes of the Calastius mountains was familiar, and there were no more signs of moredhel in pursuit or Quegans in ambush. The young mage had his thoughts and his magic to occupy him, and in fact just a five or six miles northeast of the crossroads outside Krondor a casting of Eyes of Ishap revealed two moredhel lockchests containing valuable equipment.



((Wanted to show you guys what a casting of Eyes of Ishap looks like.))

Unfortunately that was the day's last piece of good news. As they drew closer to the King's Highway once more Gorath caught sight of the flash of blue cloaks and red sashes and cursed violently.

"If anything there are more of them now," he spat, shaking his head in disgust. "We are outnumbered at least ten to one. Do you know of any other way into Krondor?"

Locklear bit off his own string of epithets for the enemies blocking their way and sighed, shrugging. "We could head back north for a seaport, but the nearest one's Ylith. Even then it'd be just our luck to find that Delekhan had hired pirates to sink anything with sails or oars headed for Krondor from any port along the Bitter Sea coast."

Gorath nodded slowly. "Then we will wait until nightfall, attempt to slip past, and pray that your gods are with us."

They waited, and the enemy waited. The moredhel were still in the trees, rarely moving or allowing their armor to glint, but the Quegans were far less disciplined. They were used to the chaos of boarding actions or the furious speed of a night-time raid on a coastal village, not the careful patience of a prepared ambush.

Then, just as Owyn was prepared to give up, Banath smiled on them. A large caravan appeared on the King's Highway approaching the crossroads, then passing them and heading for Krondor. A large and well-guarded caravan.

"Come on!" Locklear cried out, leaping to his feet and gesturing frantically for Owyn and Gorath to follow him. They ran for the shelter of the wagons and the hard-bitten men who paced to either side of them. There were three or four for each wagon, and at least ten wagons that creaked and groaned under their loads.

At first the guards shouted in alarm when they saw the trio of armed figures sprinting towards them, shouts that became even more agitated as someone made out Gorath's elven features and moredhel garments. Someone in the train even loosed an arrow at them, though it veered high and wide before disappearing into the trees to the north of the crossroads.

And then Delekhan's warriors and their mercenaries recognized Gorath for who and what he was, and with a roar came charging out of the trees towards the caravan. This time the threat was unmistakable and bows twanged and crossbows thudded while the drivers fought to keep control of horses neither bred nor trained to calmness in the face of battle.

"I hate doing it, but these merchants might make the difference between the our survival and the Kingdom's, or Delekhan's flag hoisted over Rillanon," Locklear gasped as they pelted away from the melee. "Remind me to ask Arutha...to compensate them if they live through this or if we do look out!"

That last came as they cleared the front of the wagon train only to discover that not quite all the enemy had been distracted by the caravan guards. Five of them were arrayed to block the road, and there was just enough time for Owyn to begin readying his spells before battle was joined.

Charge into Battle



They fought wildly, Owyn's first spell nearly searing Gorath's brows and beard off his face as the blast of fire took a moredhel that was raising his blade to confront the rogue dark elf. Two Quegans and the second moredhel rushed to that one's assistance, obviously under orders to stop Gorath at all costs, but he was ready and his two-handed broadsword spun in a deceptively graceful arc before cutting down first the badly burned warrior and then one of the Quegan cutthroats, blood arcing across the blade and spattering to the grass.

Locklear, who had charged the left portion of the enemy's line, suddenly found their backs to him as they all turned to face Gorath. Seizing the opportunity the squire drew his narrow blade and neatly hamstrung a Quegan, stepping to the right as his blade whispered low before he reversed his grip and plunged its needle point down into the mercenary's throat to still the scream that was still just forming on his lips.

Owyn, his will fueled by the anger and frustration of over a month on the road dodging death and dealing death and realizing that his home was endangered, lashed out with his magic again and again, two more balls of incandescent energy hurtling into the backed crowd around Gorath. Quite possibly it was only their shielding bodies that kept the moredhel alive, for even Owyn was scorched by the backblast and when gorath appeared the skin of his face and arms were beet red, tight, and shining.





There was no time to stop to loot the bodies thoroughly, but Locklear did crouch to scoop up a large crossbow to replace his lighter, flimsier one. They tore down the path as if all the evil in the world was on their heels, and it wasn't until a good two miles on that any could muster enough thought to slow and turn to view the trail behind. The sounds of battle still drifted to them from behind a bend in the road and a line of trees, but no pursuit was visible, and they slowed to a quick and rubber-legged walk even as they crested a hill that revealed the final leg of the road.




The path turned. After a few more minutes of travelling, the road bed began to slope towards the sea, leading eventually through a pair of iron gates and into the majestic seat of the principality.

"Krondor," Locklear said with a sigh that seemed to indicate both relief and concern. "If any more assassins have been sent against us, it seems a safe bet they'll be lying in wait for us between here and the palace, ready to take us and assuming we'll be weak from the battle with that bunch back at the crossroads. What's your guess, Gorath? Do we go in now or not?"

"We have no other choice," Gorath said. "We go."

Krondor



Still panting, the three passed the outer gates and slowly began to wind their way towards the palace. Locklear grinned, watching Gorath work to keep his usual stern and impassive expression while Owyn turned this way and that so quickly that he nearly ripped his own feet out from under him.

"I'd visited Bas-Tyra, once, when I was a child, but I only saw the inside of the coach and of the quarters father rented!" the young noble said. "It's wonderful."

"Aye, well, the more you display that wonderment the better you should be guarding your purse," Locklear commented, his eyes scanning the crowd. "The cutpurses and pickpockets love someone new to the city, and if I wasn't walking with you you'd have lost everything but the clothes on your back ten streets back."

Owyn blushed, but nodded and attempted to look more dignified. The effect made the squire chuckle, and he was still grinning when they reached the outskirts of the palace grounds. At least until he tried the postern and then the portcullis itself. Locklear nearly screamed with frustration shook the bars. For all the troubles he had been through to get them all alive to Krondor, the locked palace gates simply added insult to injury. Calling out to the gatemaster angrily, he pounded the hilt of his sword against the portcullis.

Stirred by the racket, a young man liveried in the colors of the Krondorian Lancers strode out of his watch house and squinted at them, snapping up the bardiche which had leaned against the interior wall.

"Would you get this gate open...please?" Locklear said, trying to keep the smile that had felt so natural moments before as he looked at the young soldier. "We have business with the Prince."

"Can't help you, Seigneur," the guard replied. "The gate mechanism's broken, has been since three nights ago. Unless you and your companions have a mind of climbing the walls, there won't be any getting through here until we can find the plans for the portcullis. The castle engineer is absolutely livid."

Locklear accepted the news with irritation, but knew of nothing else that could be done. "Could you go and get Prince Arutha for me then? It's a rather urgent matter."

Again the guard shook his head. "He's meeting with Pug of Stardock and some Tsurani fellow named Makala. Gave explicit instructions he wasn't to be disturbed unless the castle was burning down around their ears."

"Could you at least find Seigneur James..."

The guard cut him off with a shake of his shaggy head. "Been missing for two days. No one knows quite where he's off to, but you know how James can be."

Locklear nodded. "All too well. My bump of trouble tells me he's looking for whoever sabotaged the gate."

"Sabotaged?" The guard looked puzzled, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Why would anyone do that?"

"I'm not sure, but if the thought occurs to me, I can guarantee that it has occurred to Seigneur James." Resheathing his sword, Locklear bid the guard farewell and motioned for his companions to follow him.

"I have a feeling that the only way to solve both our problems is by going through the sewers that lead beneath the city," Locklear whispered, hurrying them to the northern gate. "There is a secret passage that will lead us into the palace, and I also suspect that we may bump into Seigneur James down there as well."

((Come on, guys, you knew it wouldn't be THAT straightforward. But we're almost there. One final and relatively small dungeon and maybe a bit of poking around in Krondor and we'll be at the end of Chapter 1. I'm going to try and do the rest of the Chapter tomorrow, and get us started on Chapter 2 as well.))

Wow, no wonder I had so much trouble with this game. I usually made a bee-line for Krondor, and missed most of the side quests that are powering you up. I vaguely remember getting James in my party shortly before encountering impossible battles.

From what I remember the sequel wasn't too bad. It was fun, but not nearly as good as Betrayal. It seemed to me that they tried to make it a little more attractive to the Diablo crowd by having (I think) random weapons in chests and the like, and there was a lot more weaponry in general, with different magical effects. One small problem with the game is the sheer amount of greatswords that you find in the game when only one character can use them, and... he leaves your party in like the first chapter. Sigh.

It's interesting - in *most* RPGs, given their inherent fetch-questy nature, I wouldn't think twice about a palace gate being closed for some stupid reason making me have to do more adventuring to get in. Maybe it's just Brer's writing, but the setting here seems so much more realistic -- ok, maybe realistic isn't the word for elves and magic, but grounded maybe? -- that having to go through the sewers of all things to talk to the very prince you're working for because his front door is busted seem utterly ludicrous. Couldn't they throw you a rope ladder or something? Really.

Thanks, but I can't really take too much credit. Remember, a lot of what you're seeing is text from the game, and I'm adding little edits and interstitial material so it flows as purely written paragraphs rather than a series of text boxes under character portraits. I've added little details where I could remember them or get them from references, but there I'm drawing as much from what Feist wrote as from my imagination, and I could even be screwing some details up.

As for the setting, it starts out lower magic than most fantasy settings (more LotR than Forgotten Realms) but seems to get more magical as time goes on as Pug founds the world's first modern center of magical study (Which is about 13 years old as of this game). Because of the lower magic, it's also a bit higher tech, sitting vaguely around a late medieval/early renaissance level.

Heh, well, for what it's worth when stuff like this comes up I'll try to do my best to come up with a rationalization that isn't too painful. I figure that Locklear knows James would be down in the sewers and wants to find him first. Would it have been better if I'd just skipped that chunk of text and instead written a couple paragraphs with Locklear explaining that they would slip into the palace via the sewers in the hopes of avoiding any more ambushes while in the city? It seems a bit unbelievable to me (since there are more guards in the city), but maybe it's an overall improvement?

Krondor

"The sewers?" Owyn asked, his nose wrinkling as if in anticipation of what was coming. "Even if the gates to the palace grounds are broken, we could raise a ladder or they could let down a rope...?"

Locklear shook his head. "Call me paranoid if you will but I don't like the idea of waiting around for an hour or two while we talk the guards into leaving their post to make arrangements for something like that. Whoever sabotaged the gates knew we'd find a way past them, so their goal must be to hold us at a known location long enough for..." the squire shrugged, "well, for whatever they have planned. So no, the sewers it is, and with any luck Jimmy will be down there."

Gorath raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so sure a squire of the prince's court would go first to the sewers when there was trouble?"

Locklear grinned. "Because Jimmy wasn't always a squire," he said. "Come on. I know a decent inn where we can rest up for a few hours, then we'll try the low road to the palace."

They moved through the crowded streets, and soon entered a part of the city that struck Owyn as even more exotic. The scents of foreign spices and strange foods filled the air from street vendors, and the buildings they passed began to have fronts pained in unusual colors or worked with unfamiliar geometric designs. Bolts of rainbow-colored silks and blades with rippling patterns like wood grain or running water were displayed in shop windows.

"The Keshian district," Locklear said, smiling. "I was assigned to work with Ambassador Hazara-Khan for a while and he introduced me to the food here. There's a little inn near here that I've found useful when I needed a place to quietly do business."



Locklear motioned to the figure across the room. The man walked over to join them, albeit a bit unsteadily. He stood before them, eyebrows arched inquisitively.

"Glad to see you!" he said, grinning a bit blearily at Locklear. His voice was plummy, and starting to slur. Owyn figured that if they'd arrived an hour later that the stranger would have been face down in a puddle of spilled ale and snoring.




"I've been to see Nia at the Six Toe near Sethanon," Nivek begain, then glanced about as if expecting spies to come popping out of the woodwork. "Ah... I can't really talk about it right now. Why don't you come back later and see me?"

The squire chuckled. "We will good friend! Take care."

"We can eat," Gorath began once Nivek had wandered back to his table, "but before we rest we should find a smith who does repair work. We've managed to keep our armor and weapons in decent condition so far, but a whetstone and a hammer in semi-skilled hands are no replacement for a professional smith and his forge."

Locklear snorted. "The market district in Krondor?" he said, containing his amusement. "Why don't we just take all our possessions and give them away instead? The Mockers are thick as porridge in there and the local merchants hike up the prices accordingly. We'd be better off buying outside of the city."

"Where we left at least a quarter company of Delekhan's warriors and at least that many Quegan cutthroats," the moredhel pointed out.

"Mmmmm, true, true...alright," Locklear sighed, giving the pot of thick stew bubbling over a huge fireplace a longing stare before he heaved himself back to his feet. "I know a decent place not too far from here, but let's be there and back quickly, eh?





The shopkeeper whistled. Cringing at the sound, Gorath glanced up to see what bargain the merchant wished to call their attention to, but instead it seemed the man was calling someone else.

"Didn't mean to startle you," the merchant said. "Just trying to find my mender."

"Ah, then you do have a tinker in your employ," Gorath said, nodding. "I was told you did, and we are in need of one."

"Well, sometimes he's in my employ. When he chooses to show up," the shopkeeper said. Despite the words, the slightly plump man smiled amiably enough as he gestured towards an ascetic-looking young man who had emerged from the back of the shop. "He can fix nearly anything - crossbows, armor, swords. You name it. And his work looks like brand new. Shall we do a bit of business?"

They did, and within two hours their gear was all good as new. The mender thanked and his employer paid, the three returned to the Rainbow Parrot and retired to a few hours' of uneasy sleep before Locklear stirred and shook his companions awake. "It's time," he murmured, gesturing for them to follow him down a back stair that opened onto a trash-filled alley.

Owyn gagged at the odor. "Have they been dumping chamber pots into the street here?" He asked, retching.

"Quite possibly. Not everyone has a connection to the sewers. And brace yourself, because if you think this is bad you're in for a rude awakening," Locklear replied, leading them to an old door tucked away beneath one of Krondor's high arching bridges.

Under the City



They made their way carefully down into reeking blackness, occasionally slipping on what Owyn fervently hoped was just filmy coats of mold or mildew. When they reached the bottom of the stairs and Gorath lit a torch, the flame flickered strangely, sometimes a normal sooty orange, sometimes turning blue at the edges as the moredhel swept it across the pools and streams of reeking waste.

Locklear stared at the color and grimaced. "Put it out, Gorath," he said. "We need a special kind of lantern down here or we're apt to ignite a gas pocket."

They pressed on then, but had barely moved fifty feet down the sloping low-ceilinged passageway when a nasal voice echoed off the walls.

"Who goes there?" It asked, and then Owyn murmured something and a faint diffuse glow outlined every surface for yards around, revealing a rake-thin and poorly dressed boy.

Ch.1 Introduction, Part 2




The youth shifted, and his eyes widened as he saw Gorath looming just behind locklear, then widened further as he realized that Owyn was the source of the strange illumination. Then he tried to control himself, not quite managing to hide his fear. "Fast with a blade I am. Step any further and I'll do you, I will!" he blustered, one hand dropping to the hilt of a knife.

The squire shook his head. He knew better than to laugh, but it was difficult. "The only thing you will do my young friend is die an unfortunate death on the point of my sword. I used to spar with Jimmy the Hand and I'm a faster blade than he. Do you still wish to cross me?"

"Jimmy the Hand? He's a bloody legend, he is," snorted the boy, eyes narrowing. "Next you'll be telling me you've lain with the Empress Lakeisha of Kesh. I'd advise you to be nice like, however cause I got five blokes waiting a little on down to make sure nothing happens to me, see."

He paused, then finally added, "I don't suppose you've come on behalf of Seigneur James have you?"

Locklear frowned. "Seigneur James? Then you don't...well, perhaps we have."

"Alright then, down to tacks," the little thief said, seeming to relax. "If he didn't send you, you'll be answering to the Upright Man and not me, so I wash my hands of it. Just watch your steps down here, as there's a bit of trouble going on down here. G'day."

"Wait," Locklear called out, raising a hand as the youth began to fade back into the darkness. "We don't know our way around down here."

The boy stopped moving way, but the look of disdain was back on his face and more firmly fixed there this time. "I look like a bloody page to you?" He asked, sniffing. "I've got affairs of me own what I need to see to."

"Just answer a few questions?" the squire said, glancing down at his coin purse slowly and significantly.

The boy considered for a moment, then grinned. "Right then, so long as you don't ask me anything what might get me in the hots with the Nightmaster. What you want to know?"

"You wouldn't happen to have an extra set of picklocks laying about, would you?" Locklear asked, producing a single hold sovereign and spinning it on his palm.

"Could be I would," said the youth, eying the gold. "That would depend on what you have to offer me, now wouldn't it?"

"How about a royal pardon the next time you end up in the hands of the City Guard?" the squire asked, smiling.

"Oh, that'd be very nice, I'm sure," the boy said, sneering. "How about the Prince's palace while you're about it? I'd have to be cockle-headed and three pence short to buy in on a fib what like you just told. No quicker than you're out the Highway, and you'd have forgotten it in a Mocker minute. You'll have to do better."

"There's always gold..." the squire said.

"That there is," agreed the young thief. "And that's the language. Twenty five gold sovereigns. Take it or leave it."

"Deal," Locklear said, nodding. "I'll hand over the money before we leave."

"Then you'll not mind my not handing over the picklocks until I have the money, will you? That's fair, innit?"

The two carefully traded a handful of slim steel for one of heavy gold, and then moved back, still eying each other like a pair of alley cats scrapping over territory.

"I'll be off now, as I've business with the Upright Man," the boy said, grinning as he tossed the couns. "You'll have to come by again sometime and tell me some more of your fables about Jimmy the Hand."

"Perhaps we will, lad," Locklear murmured, watching him go.

Under the City




They moved slowly. Owyn's light was kept low, and so at times the three found themselves wading in filth before they could step aside, their boots splashing in matter none of them cared to think about. The air was so fetid and foul that before long they simply ceased to be aware of the smell, even as its utter stillness sensitized them to the faintest puff of breeze.

Several times as they followed the twists and turns of the slime-covered stone they came to chests. Most were unlocked, small equipment caches of lamp oil and torches for the scavengers who came down to pole through the muck in hopes of finding scraps of metal or jewelry or coins, but one was different. Owyn barely had time to ready the Scent of Sarig and grasp Locklear before the squire began to pick its heavy and heavily rusted lock.

"Trapped," the young mage whispered. "Do you think it's a cache of the Mockers?"

"Could be," Locklear murmured back, moving more carefully this time as he slipped the probe and torsion wrench into the hole. He worked entirely by feel, and it was nearly fifteen minutes before the spring-loaded needle was disengaged and the lock undone.

Owyn immediately grabbed the scroll, drawing the diffuse glow into a tighter, brighter orb to light it as he began to read. "It's called 'skyfire'," he said, ignoring the squire's grunt of annoyance as he lost the light he needed to inspect the rest of the chest's contents, "and I can use it to draw lightning out of any open sky to any person or thing touching or carrying a piece of metal."

"Very nice, Owyn," Locklear hissed. "Now dim the light back down. You can study the thing once we're in the palace."

Owyn nodded, abashed, and once more the light spread to a broad, low glow in which Locklear raised a large glass vial.



They moved on, finding other chests, but only one with anything of note: a familiar spell on a scroll that Owyn quickly stored in his pack. Then, just as Locklear was beginning to think it would be safe to intensify the illumination, they heard voices around the next bend of the passage.

"...tly now, or you'll have the Mockers down on our heads, damn you."

"Damn you, ya bastard, and damn your advice. I know what I'm about."

"You're about to end up floating face down in the shit with a second grin below your first one if you don't mind me. The Crawler-"

The voices cut off suddenly as Gorath slipped, his right boot skidding and then splashing loudly in a foul puddle. He swore in moredhel, then moved forward quickly, the others following even as the sound of steel being drawn filled the chamber ahead and Owyn chanted, flooding the tunnels with light.

It's a Trap



They charged the pair, rough-looking men carrying short blades. The nearest of the two looked almost releived when Gorath's elven features caught the light, but in another moment his eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to shout something to his companion. Whatever the thug might have said died in his throat. Gorath moved faster than he did, and with three quick blows drove the man to his knees before he kicked him flat and drove the broad point of his sword into the rogue's chest. The man shuddered and coughed blood, and his feet were still beating on the slime-slick stones while Locklear dealt with the other.

Owyn, unable to use his only truly offensive spell, was still murmuring the words necessary to steal their enemy's sight when Locklear finished the fight. The squire moved fast, striking low and high and low again and high again, forcing his opponent into a rhythm that ensured that the next time his blade was whipping wildly upward to beat off Locklear's high downward stroke the squire was lunging forward, arm extended, needle-pointed blade slicing neatly between his opponent's ribs to shred his heart.

Under the city



"Who were they?" Owyn asked as Locklear inspected and then stowed the beaker of reddish oil and Gorath wiped his blade clean on the hem of one corpse's tunic.

"Not mockers, and no one supposed to be down here," Locklear said. "And when they heard us, they drew steel. Beyond that, I don't know. We may learn more when we find James. Now, let's see..."

The squire moved to the ladder that dominated the chamber and carefully climbed it to inspect the trapdoor. He stared, squinted, then swore and brushed his hands clean on his knees. "The idiots' tampering has done this lock in," he said. "They've broken the mechanism trying to pick it. No one will be getting through this with unless they feel like ripping the damn thing off its hinges."



"We should move on, then," Gorath said. "I do not want to spend longer in this...place, than absolutely necessary."

Owyn chuckled and Locklear nodded and they pushed on. The passages branched and combined, twisted this way and that, sometimes narrowing until they were forced to move single file, sometimes widening to broader tunnels or square chambers where more ladders led up to more trap doors.

And then there were the pits, cavernous openings that filled the corridors and bore streams and rivulets of waste down to some unseen lower level. Too deep to climb into and too wide to jump, they were stymied until Owyn pointed to an old iron hook above the pit.

After a few minutes' discussion, they had a plan. Gorath carefully cut a portion of the rope they had brought with them, then fashioned one end into a looping slip knot. A careful toss hooked the loop about the iron anchor, and a few careful tugs made it fast and gave them a rope that could be used to swing across.




They turned two more bends, and came to a stairway leading even deeper into the sewers. Halfway down its spiral, they discovered a heavy iron door which prevented them from moving any further downward. "Looks like it's rusted shut," Locklear said, examining the reddish dust which caked the lock. "No going further for the time being."

Disheartened, he led the way back up to the mouth of the stairwell, and they turned back along a passageway that Locklear thought led north towards the Palace. It was almost impossible to tell how long they had been down in the dark and the reek, but Owyn felt sure that the night was well gone and the day approaching. Then, passing into another of the broader passages that ran east-west, they heard a noise.

"Careful now," Locklear murmured, creeping forward towards the edge of their faint light. That was when the darkness moved.

Fight to the Death



As the dark shapes moved forward and raised blades that had been smeared with something to dull their surfaces, Owyn lifted the horn he had carried since Tannerus and blew hard. The whole of his body trembled as he exhausted himself, emptying his lungs until they burned to create a blast that made the dragon horn thrum and add a low moan of vibrating ivory to the deep booming note that rang from the sewer walls. In answer came a distant sound like the baying of wolves or of hounds, their calls ringing closer as they responded to their master's call. Smoky at first but coming increasingly clear, figures began to appear. They twisted perspective, seeming to run in place and yet to somehow approach at the same time, as if running towards this place through a passage that didn't conform to the normal rules of space. And then they were there, huge slavering hounds that flanked two of the black-garbed assassins.

While Owyn summoned the ancient magic of the horn the figures closed, each selecting one of the companions and moving to attack, not giving any of them a moment to speak a spell or ready a bow. Locklear was moving nearly as fast as Owyn, however, and as his opponent squared off with him the squire knew what they faced. Nighthawks, professional assassins and members of the Kingdom's guild of death.

But this one seemed less skilled than the Nighthawks he remembered. Stealthy, but lacking some of the deadly grace and speed, and the squire moved to quickly take advantage of it. He used his longer, lighter sword to full advantage, moving to deny the Nighthawk a true engagement of blades even as his sword's tip flicked in to slice at the light cloth, opening minor gashes until the Nighthawk finally lost patience and charged. Locklear was waiting, and it was surprisingly simple to step side-ways and drive one of his boots into the assassin's knee. The slick footing denied him his full strength, but still the assassin twisted and stumbled and Locklear recovered first, pivoting behind the black-clad man and driving his sword deep three times before slicing across the back of his neck.

Gorath, meanwhile, gave his own opponent only a single crushing blow that staggered him before turning to help Owyn. The first hound seemed to realize Gorath's intent, and even as the moredhel flanked Owyn's attacker the great beast held other nighthawk at bay, growling wickedly and then lunging at him. Owyn beat at his foe, his staff swinging down again and again. If the nighthawk had only been facing the young mage it would have been little more than a nuisance, but with the second great dog behind him and Gorath to his side he was soon overwhelmed. The hound darted it, head twisting and then jerking sideways as it hamstrung the assassin as neatly as it might any deer its master had ordered brought down, and it was springing back out of the way as the nighthawk fell and Gorath's blade and Owyn's staff finished the job.

With two of their three enemies fallen, all turned back to the furthest nighthawk only to find him already slain, crumpled in a bloody heap with the massive dog's muzzle buried in a soft red place where his throat had been. Then, in the space between two heartbeats, the dogs were mist, and the mist was gone, leaving them alone once more in the sewers.

Owyn sighed, leaning heavily against his staff, then gagging as Gorath and Locklear both bent over the corpses and began to hack open their chests. "What are you doing?!" he cried out, shuddering.

"Cutting out their hearts," Gorath said, glancing at Locklear, "and burning them."

The squire nodded, and Gorath returned it after a moment even as he went about the butcher's work. "You have fought nighthawks before," the moredhel said, and Locklear laughed.

"Ohhh, yes, you could say that," he replied before turning back to Owyn. "Some of the Guild of Death were moredhel serving Murmandamus the last time we had real trouble with them, and those ones would rise up after they were killed, getting stronger and stronger. The only way to kill them was with special magic or to cut out their hearts before they rose."

Owyn still looked ill, but nodded, and after another minute he drew his own small knife and moved to the third body. His hands shook and his gorge rose more than once, but the young noble did what was necessary.

Jimmy

Someone whistled then, just as they were finishing the ugly business, and Locklear felt his stomach sink as he spun round and waited for more black figures to slip from the darkness to kill them all. To his surprise, a familiar friend stepped from the shadows and reached up to run a hand through his hair.





"-hopes that the Lancers will root out the Mockers while they are at it."

Locklear ignored the return of Owyn's sickly look at the word "imposters" and instead moved forward to take James' hand in his own. "What, take out the Guild of Thieves?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Doesn't seem likely from all the things you've told me from your days as a Mocker."

"More to the point, we know now a few of the Nighthawks escaped to Romney when we smashed them up after that affair with Princess Anita," said James, squeezing back before he let go. "They certainly won't dare tread Krondor's streets for a while yet. I'd been tracking around down here trying to find out more when I ran into those fellows. So...why have you come back so soon to Krondor, Locky? I thought you were going to be gone another four months or so."

Locklear sighed, and any hint of the cheer he'd shown at finding Jimmy again vanished as he spoke. "I've got bad news from the Northlands. Looks like the Dark Brothers are stirring again. They raised Murmandamus' battle standards over Sar-Sargoth and there's a moredhel army gathering to attack the Kingdom. This moredhel," and the squire paused to gesture to Gorath, "used to be one of their clan chieftains and was something of a hero during the Riftwar against the Tsurani to boot. I thought Prince Arutha would be interested in talking to him."

"I don't like this, Locky," James said, eying Gorath without warmth. "The moredhel stirring again in the north and someone mimicking the Guild of Death... My bump of trouble says that things are going to get far worse before they get better... I assume since you're down here that you're trying to get into the palace the way I showed you a few years ago?"

Locklear nodded. "Yes. I was thinking I would have to pry off the grate somehow, but if you have the key, it would save me a great deal of trouble."

"Still on me," James said, flashing a quick smile as his fingers darted into a pouch and something small and gleaming flashed through the air between them. "It's all yours. I can find my own way into the palace. I'm going to creep around a while longer down here and see if I can unravel this particular mystery."

"Suit yourself," Locklear said, managing to put a little humour back into his voice. "I, for one, am anxious to get out of this hole. Come and get me for breakfast tomorrow after I've spoken to Prince Arutha!"

Just past James they found the ladder they were looking for, and when Locklear tried the key it turned in the lock with a pleasant click. Locklear turned to his companions and motioned for them to follow him up the ladder...

Krondor




Chapter 1 Ending

Ambush

((And THAT is the conclusion of Chapter 1 of Betrayal at Krondor. I might have Chapter 2's intro up tonight, but I'd also like to take a moment to collect more feedback. Towards the end of this chapter I started cutting out a lot of the random combats and either skipping them entirely or writing them in in narrative form. How did that work for you guys? Also, I left the Chapter 1 Finale without any text from me because I wasn't sure if it really needed it (what with all the animated stuff and things going boom). Would it be improved or damaged by more writing from me? Any other suggestions or criticisms that people want to make? EDIT: I R Dum. I haven't actually DONE an intro or ending with my text added for you to compare with. I'll do Ch.2's that way, and you can compare and contrast with the bookends of Chapter 1 and see which you like better. Also, I remembered that the full text pages are huge and don't need resizing, so from here on out they shouldn't be so damn big. Sorry about that.))

I think the finale holds up on-



Oh god, those eyes are frightening.

More, or less, frightening than Locky's amazing neck twist? Straight out of The Exorcist, that is.

Betrayal at Krondor Theme



Gorath's Truth





Confrontations



The prince glanced down, grimacing as he saw the wine he'd spilled dripping from the table edge. If the dinner had not been a private one, servants would already be rushing forward to clean the mess.

"I have been tolerant while I listened to your vague speculations based on incidental half-heard conversations, but how am I to believe what you say?" Arutha continued, his face still colored. "What evidence have you laid before this council to prove what Delekhan intends to do?"




Gorath stiffened. "He is leader in name only," the moredhel said, and though his tone was more controlled than Arutha's there was no less anger in it. "However bitter a draught Delekhan may be for your kith and kin to drink, magician, his rule is black poison in the gullets of me and mine. Already he enslaves my cousins and rapes the land."

The dark elf locked eyes with the Prince of Krondor and refused to back down, and when he raised a fist it shook with rage. "Bloody his nose Prince of Krondor. Blunt his swords and the unified tribes will cast him down in wrath. Let him cross your Northern border, however, and ten other clans will join their strength to his and the legacy of Murmandamus will be but a spark next to his glory."

Arutha watched Gorath for a time, then finally looked away and let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up. "Where would you have me send my troops, then? If indeed he intends a strike against one of our northernmost possessions, which castle shall I garrison for the attack? Highcastle? Ironpass? Northwarden?" The prince began to pace, turning back and forth at the ends of the long table. "If I am to fight a war then by all the gods tell me where would you have me fight it!"

Gorath matched the Prince again, tone for tone. "Would that I could tell you! Delekhan holds in good confidence only a handful of cowering dogs and among them only a few are privy to his war plans. His private counsels are restricted to choice individuals, his advisors Narab and Nago, his mistress Liallan, his son Moraeulf and...Nighthawks!"

Arutha turned back and stopped his pacing, dark eyes narrowing at the last name on Gorath's list. "He keeps foul company, that leader of yours..." he said, needling the moredhel again, probing, testing.

"Your highness," Gorath said, then paused to breathe deeply before continuing. "If you give me leave, I believe I can find the evidence of Delekhan's intent. I will need someone to accompany me to Romney and supplies for my journey and a small parcel of gold."

Arutha scowled. "Romney? What do you think you can find in a provincial river town in the heart of the Kingdom?"

The dark elf offered him a thin-lipped smile. "I aim to catch a bird in flight. Of late Delekhan has emptied a good deal of his treasury to revive the service of the Nighthawks. In exchange, he has demanded tactical information about kingdom holdings..."

"He's turned the Guild of Assassins into a guild of spies?" Arutha asked, reaching up to stroke the beard he was still not quite used to wearing.

"Only for a time," Gorath said, shaking his head. "Although the payments have been left in various hidden locales, the messengers were always to rendezvous in Romney. If I go there, I may be able to intercept information concerning a forthcoming attack. Would such evidence suffice?"

"Perhaps..." Arutha murmured, scratching at his chin as he continued to eye the moredhel. His scowl returned, and deepend this time. "Damn me but I don't trust you Gorath. How do I know that this isn't a plot of yours? We can weigh the evidence to our heart's content and your cousins could be slitting the throats of my serfs as we sit dawdling..." He turned, took two steps, then spun back abruptly and nodded. "Alright. You'll go to Romney but you'll provide for yourself. If this is part of some secret moredhel scheme, I'll not look the fool before the world."

The prince turned towards the white-robed man sitting at the table's other end and nodded to him, his face softening. "Pug, unroll the map for me..."

I didn't even notice that before, but now I can't unsee it. Thanks a lot.

Confrontations







"...So an attack at Northwarden seems unlikely," Arutha finished, eyes running over the map again and again.

Pug nodded. He was still no tactician, but the years had taught him more than he'd ever wanted to know of the science of war. "Leaving Highcastle..." He began,

The prince held up a finger, nodding sharply. "Which is a viable alternative," he cut in, "but neither target seems to have an obvious goal. I know you are no field strategist and you hate to become involved in state matters but I should like you to delay your return to your home at Stardock for a while. I feel...ill at ease."

Pug nodded once more. "You are not alone in that. I too have sensed something unusual in the air, but I won't ascribe it to anything as dire as magic." The thin mage grinned and reached up to squeeze Arutha's shoulder. "More likely we suffer from bad soup."



"...and James will send word to me there," Arutha murmured, sighing.

"What of the garrison?" Pug asked.

"It will remain in place, at least for now," the prince said. "I have considered the option of a full push south and it seems unlikely, but I will give Delekhan nothing. Our agreement remains. Now we wait. Gods help Gorath if he betrays us to the moredhel."



((And we sit at the beginning of Chapter 2. Once more we have a destination, but the mode of travel is up to us. Aside from the super long way around, going up to Northwarden and Highcastle and so on, the two basic choices are whether to go up and skirt the southern border of the Dimwood and pass by Sethanon, or head straight east and go by Malac's Cross. My usual game path is to go east on the southern road until I get to Lyton, which is the brown dot that sits at the crossroads between the three blue towns (Sethanon to the west, Malac's Cross to the South, Silden to the east.). From there I'll usually double back towards Sethanon to handle the sidequest that Nivek hinted he'd give us info on if we talked to him later, then go up to Romney. Now, there's a special event in Romney that you can't end the chapter without changing. As long as that event is going on, it's the worst place to BUY stuff in the game, but the best place to SELL stuff. It is so good, in fact, that you can sell things for more than you bought them for IF you bought them someplace normal. Naturally this lends itself to potential abuse. I usually save some good high-value loot to sell there if I can, but otherwise don't exploit it too much, but I can save all the loot for the entire chapter and sell it there, or go buy low and sell high and get shit-tons of money if you guys really want. So, Let Us decide how to Play chapter 2!))