The Guards of Galdenwyck [1-10]
As Morimuto was appearing on the shores of the Isle of Grimden, Clavdia was traveling back to the island from her visit to Chairman Taga’s citadel. There she had assumed the form of a Messenger of Grimden and gained entrance to the citadel simply by wearing the gold-buttoned and gold-tasseled red suit that the servants of Grimden were famous for.
“Ah, a Messenger of Grimden,” said the palace guard as Clavdia approached. “The Chairman has been expecting you. It is good for you to come so quick.”
“I have a message for the Chairman. Please let me in.” Clavdia really had no idea of palace protocol so she was hoping to fake it as best she could. She did know that most Messengers of Grimden were fighter of the 3rd to 6th level and she had to be sure to not let her skills give her away.
The guard, a half-elf fighter who looked to be quick with the morning star dangling from his right hand, stepped forward. “Come now Messenger of Grimden, you know that is not the protocol.” The guard drew back. “Hey, you’re not the regular messenger.”
Clavdia took a step back and pounded her chest. “I bested all other messengers in an iron cage match and won the right to deliver messages to the Right and Honorable Chairman Taga.”
“You defeated all the messengers? Even Teeroj?”
“Teeroj was but a bug smashed on the flat side of my sword.”
“Well, you’re new so you don’t know about the strip search but I’m afraid you’ll need to step into that room and remove your armour and breeches. We can’t allow anything smuggled into the Chairman’s chambers that may harm him.”
Clavdia blanched at the thought. The idea of stripping for a guard worried her. Not because she was modest, for she was a hotty demigod, but because she was worried that her rendering of the male flesh beneath the armour would not be entirely correct. Nevertheless, she stepped forward into the little room behind the guardhouse, knowing she could just kill them all if anything went wrong.
Clavdia removed first her armour, followed by her woolen tunic and leathern breeches. Depantsing herself was highly autoerotic since she now displayed the muscular body of a 6th level fighter—not the buxom bodaciousness she was used to. The guard walked in behind her and went through her tunic, jerkin, breeches, and armour. As he did this Clavdia noticed several sets of eyes peering in at her from some arrow slits along the far wall.
“What’s in the bag?” the guard asked.
“Oh, that’s the message for the Chairman. It was sealed on Grimden and cannot be opened except by him.”
“We’ll see about that,” said the guard who started hacking away at the seal on the leathern bag with this short sword. After 10 minutes of this, he gave up.
“Okay, I guess that’s it. I can trust you with the Chairman. You can go. Just follow the red line on the floor.”
Clavdia got dressed and departed noticing as she left that the guard was collecting bits of silver from a group of people standing outside the strip search hut. She overheard one of them say, “Those were the biggest little mice I’ve ever seen hanging down from a man! He must have had the magical implants from Balshazthur!”
Chairman Taga was busy sampling the various leftover desserts from last night’s feast that Hemocumen had fashioned out of yellow bell peppers, the theme ingredient. “Mmm! Yellow pepper meringue!”
Clavdia interrupted him as his mandibles were enclosing hard and fast over a yellow crepe.
“Messenger! Why did you not knock?”
“I don’t need to knock. I have no message to give.”
“Then why are you here?”
She handed the sack over to Taga and released its magical knot. Inside, Taga was horrified to see the splintered thirds of a dwarven skull.
“What is this? Some kind of joke?”
“If you think it’s funny, then yes. That is the severed skull of Fwagwa. I think it’s funny. Hahahahahahah!”
She realized her natural feminine form and threw fourteen multicolored stones on the ground. They rose and danced in the air to form an oscillating sphere. Inside, a vision of a horrible fiery battle played out, involving aged wizards, dragons, and the Guardians.
“Clavdia, is it? You are quite bold, though I could handle you in single combat. It is only your brothers and sisters united that I fear. I could probably take on two or three of you by myself, couldn’t I? Alas, it seems the legends have come true, and I must now prepare to banish you and your brethren back to the skies. I must thank you for the wonderful moving pictures, and for destroying Fwagwa. He made the worst chicken glaces you ever did taste. But wait, I have a prize for you, too.”
Taga pulled an idol from his tunic which hung from his necklace. It was a green pearlescent tiger with sapphires inset for eyes, and ivory teeth. He rubbed the back of its neck and pulled its tail to activate the magick inside.
A bolt of disintegration shot from the tiger’s mouth, destroying her armor and causing 8D8 damage. She and her sword made their respective saving throws, only suffering 4D8 damage.
“I shall see you later on the battlefield, Taga,” she said, “And I don’t think you have many more charges in that tiger, from the dimness I see in its eyes. Those idols never start with more than five charges, do they? So, tell your minions to have more trinkets on hand if they expect to survive our wrath!”
With that, Clavdia shoved a yellow pepper and sweet potato pie down her gullet and aetherialized into the night. In all the excitement, Taga himself could not remember if he’d used the tiger four or five times in its history. He’d just felt lucky. Besides, he did not want to waste any of his offensive spells so early in the day, or else he’d have to spend hours re-memorizing them.
Now, as she neared Grimden, she could see an eerie silver glow emanating from the far side of the island. Clavdia directed the aerial servant she was riding to drop her off just short of the camp on the beach so that she could approach Morimuto on foot. From a distance he looked even more powerful than she remembered. He was standing very still and looking out over the sea with his arms crossed in front of him. His shimmering silver robes reflected the many colored moonshines of his brothers and sisters still in orbit, flashing waves of prismatic spray across the sky.
“Welcome, brother.”
Morimuto turned around to see Clavdia approaching, wearing only her woolen jerkin and leathern breeches. “You’ve been into some mischief, I see. You’re never without your armour.”
“I went and messed with Taga. He had a little toy that is running quickly out of charges.”
“And now your distinctive red armour is gone. We shall have to find you a replacement and me must find better lodging. I am not about to stand on this beach for a fortnight while we wait for the others.”
“I don’t know, Mori. The instructions were to await the others in this very spot.”
“C’mon, now. We’re the Guards of Galdenwyck, are we not? Shouldn’t the guardians of a planet get their choice of the planet’s accommodations?” Morimuto turned toward the island and something caught his eye. “There, the posh 35th level of the Tabbern, Inn, and Grille is unoccupied, right?”
“I guess so.” Clavdia’s reluctance to enjoy the worldly comforts they had been denied for centuries puzzled Morimuto. All he wanted to do was kick back in Taga’s hotel suite, enjoy some strong ale and sleep while he waited for the arrival of the 12 other Guardians. One thing he was definitely not going to do was free the orcs. He had heard that prophecy way too often over the years. The dwarves could oppress them for a thousand more Criton years, for all he cared.
“Well, you stay here and gnaw on that dwarf carcass if you want. I’m gonna go have breakfast in bed. Signal me when Clio arrives.” With that, Morimuto strode off in the direction of the Tower leaving Clavdia sitting on the beach chewing on a somewhat sere dwarf toe.
It was a fine-tasting dwarf toe, although it missed a certain something. She rummaged through Fwagwa’s leathern rucksack to find a clear bottle with a white, milky substance inside. It was labeled “Fwagwa’s Magick Ranch Dressing”. She found his other nine toes, and after daintily plucking their long black hairs, doused them with the magickal and milky sauce.
“MMMMM!!!” She was having difficult finding time to breathe amongst the flavorful toe-munchings. “This Magick Ranch Dressing is a tasty treat, to be sure!” An odd sensation then drifted into her body: she felt remorse for having destroyed such a wonderful chef. Little did she know that she had been successfully charmed by the magickal potion, but since Fwagwa was now dead, the charm resulted in nothing more than fleeting admiration for him. Also, the potion reversed the law of diminishing marginal utility, providing Clavdia with increased marginal pleasure for each toe she ate. It saddened her to note that all his toes had been noshed.
Meanwhile, Morimuto was occupied with booking the 35th floor for the next fortnight, but not without difficulty.
“If you don’t give me Taga’s suite for the next fortnight, I will grill you up for a catabolic snack!” The Tower’s concierge was under strict orders not to lease Taga’s suite under any circumstances other than the arrival of Taga himself.
“I’m sorry, sir. Level 35 is reserved for Chairman Taga, and Chairman Taga only. He provides us with a heavy stipend and retainer, in addition to the use of his Electrum Cheves, so that we keep it reserved. You will have to stay on the 34th level, or in our less luxurious, lower levels. Maybe Mr. Morimuto would be interested in our Early Risers Club?”
“I am going upstairs to the 35th level, you insolent nonentity! Morimuto needs no key! I expect bed in breakfast at the crack of dawn! And don’t try to pawn off those gamy basilisk eggs on me!”
The concierge laughed to himself after Morimuto left to take the magical lift upstairs. The door was locked with the most powerful deadbolt on the island, and not even the treasury of Chairman Taga had a more stout fastening. But Morimuto had super-human strength, somewhere in the range of 21-22, and easily broke the platignum bolt using his bend bars/lift gates skill. He only needed to look under the red velveteen rug for the platignum key; Chairman Taga placed a spare there because he so often returned from the gaming hall too drunk to find the key in his Bag of Holding, where he kept all of his other keys and spare change.
