Hum de dum, looking at my blog, OH HOLY SHIT I FORGOT TO UPDATE IT.
Here, have a longer piece as an apology.
The guildhall turned out to be a sturdy building, made out of stone, unlike the wooden buildings around it. The outer walls were coated in fortifications and murder holes, making it obvious that no-one would take the building without a fight. Armed guards patrolled the rooftops and nearby alleyways at all times, supplemented by several people near the front trying so hard not to be seen that they were more suspicious than if they had just stood out in the middle of the road.
“There’s no way we’ll take that building without a fight,” said Ærin, nicely recapping the situation for readers who skipped the previous paragraph. “We’ll have to find another way in.”
“How about the sewers?” said Magus. “We could head up through the—”
“No,” responded Ærin.
“Well then what should we do?” said Magus. “I suppose you could dress up as a whore and—“
“You know what,” said Ærin. “If you think that’s such a good idea, why don’t you do it? You’re the one wearing the dress.”
“Robe!” shouted Magus. “It’s a robe!”
“Same difference,” said Ærin, right before flinging Magus through a window. “What’s it like in there?”
“There’s a lot of thugs,” responded Magus. “I hate youAGHHH!”
Inside, Magus was surrounded; outnumbered twelve to one, and the leader of the thugs had just punched him in the gut. Magus fell onto the floor.
“Staying down little wizard?” said the thug. “We were hoping to have some fun first.”
“No,” said Magus, pushing himself up by his staff. “I am a wizard of the eighth arcane circle. I am a speaker at the council. I will still be alive while you are all moldering in your graves and you shall not talk to me that way! Inferno ardere!”
Eldritch balefire burst out of Magus’s staff, burning with an eerie purple light. It flew toward the thugs, slamming into the one in the lead. The resulting explosion not only killed every one of the villains, it also shattered a huge hole in the wall and set the floor on fire. Magus, standing alone unharmed in the middle of the flames simply turned toward his companions and said “Coming?”
Meanwhile, in the council room of the guildhall, all was not going well for Bromad. The guild had grown large, and all around him were people who were vying for his position. He was getting old and was starting to get tired of guild politics. Things just hadn’t been the same, ever since that raid on the nineteenth. The Empire had been cracking down, and the Emperor himself had made a statement saying that he disapproved of the smuggling, assassination, and other services that the Guild provided.
Suddenly the door to the counsel room burst open, interrupting Bromad’s train of thought. Standing in the center of the doorway, there was a leather-clad kobold dual wielding punching daggers, a dwarf who carried a battleax and wore purple robes emblazoned with spikes and hanging rings, and a Nordic looking woman with red and orange armor, a red shield, and a sword with a green hilt. Oh yes, and some brown haired freak wearing a blue dress. Probably a transvestite.
“Who are you?” shouted Bromad.
The freak with a dress stepped forward, pointed at Bromad and said “We are your death. Exterminarent!” A fell green ray shot out of the freak’s upraised finger, and Bromad realized what he was far too late. A wizard.
All had been going to plan. They had burst into the council room and Magus stepped forward and cast disintegrate on the man in the center of the room, a man with a military haircut and shifty blue eyes.
That was when things started going wrong. The green ray glanced off of Bromad, who jumped up shouting “I knew the magic armor was worth it!” and then threw off his cloak to reveal scale mail with runes inscribed on it with gold.
Bromad pulled out a sword before jumping at them, and Ærin had to jump back to stop him from skewering her. Petrov rushed forward with his axe, but before he could reach them the rest of the people in the room recovered from their shock and drew their weapons as well. Magus was in the middle of the fray, deflecting blows with his staff and trying to find an opening to use his dagger. His opponent, an ugly, wart faced man, kept on the offensive, slashing in an X pattern that provided no openings. Magus walked backward from him, but disaster struck when he tripped over a corpse. The thug raised his sword, but suddenly, he fell down. Magus looked up to see Petrov wrapping his arms around the guy, the spikes on his clothing penetrating wart-face’s back.
“Get up manling! Ve’ve got work to do.”
Magus did so, but he stuck with Petrov, stabbing the dwarf’s foes in the back when they were distracted. Eventually, the fight settled down until the only living enemy was Bromad, still fighting with Ærin. He attacked again, knocking Ærin’s shield out of her hands. He pulled back for the killing blow, but found he could not. Ærin had pulled a hand-axe out of somewhere and used the hook at the bottom of the blade to grab his sword. As Ærin approached, raising her sword, Bromad’s last thoughts were “Mommy.”