Briesse found a table at the Serpent's Head Inn and sat quietly, watching the small group in an alcove nearby, thinking back on her teenage years, when she used to learn so much useful - and often profitable - information with this activity. In the past, the buyers of this information often sought complete domination and the utter defeat of their enemies. Briesse's goal had been to build and support a balance of power, so that no one completely triumphed, which meant that their enemies were never completely obliterated. Briesse and the others like her had failed in that mission, and now all of those old powers were gone. Even the winners were now dust, she noted with a slight sardonic grin.
She looked around again, wishing for something to observe, to keep her mind busy. When she arrived in Khemi earlier in the week , she checked in with her usual underground sources in Khemi. A few days later she received word from her kinsman Ilvawr to meet him here, this evening. Finally she spotted him in a corner, chatting up a young woman who appeared to be local Stygian nobility, from her dress, or relative lack of it. Shaking her head softly, with a private chuckle, she decided to watch her young relative in action. She grabbed an abandoned cup on the table, heedless of its contents, toyed with it and occasionally brought it to her lips pretending to drink.
Eventually - either he failed with the young woman, or finally noticed Briesse across the room - Ilvawr crossed the room to join her.
"Hear the news?" he asked as he sat at the table.
Briesse's interest was aroused. "News? I could use some news? What's up?"
"Wasn't your Ma of the Moragh?" he asked.
She frowned. "One of the few good people among that backward, passive, whining, cowardly clan." She paused a moment, then continued "I suppose it might not be their fault. That coward of a chieftain Torin leads them that way, and I have learned that most people - not just Clan Moragh - go where they are led and believe what they are told, as long as it supports their identity within their group. What of them?"
Ilvawr couldn't conceal an impish grin. "Torin's begging our, ahem, Noble Caiyn Chieftain to sort out his problem with the Ymirish invaders". The sarcastic emphasis he put on the word "noble" was hardly necessary to Briesse, who snorted out an unexpected guffaw.
Ilvawr continued, "He's offering free passage. I told the hairy wolfborn, 'we go where the hell we want anyway'. But there it is.".
"Is there anything in it for us?" she asked. "Knowing Caiyn, there must be."
"We might get some gold, if Torin's got any left. Anyway, Machyn said Caiyn should make Torin should lead the raid. That would be funny. Or failing that, eat him."
Briesse laughed and nodded. "So we do what Torin's people should have done, slaughter the raiders oppressing them, and return to - ah,here's where the story gets interesting. We return not to triumph and gratitude, but to more reviling for who and what we are, and the abilities Crom gave us that we used to save the ungrateful wretches. But the hope of future gratitude is rarely a good reason to do something, so I guess that part just doesn't matter. Sure, I'm in. Let's help them - again."
Ilvawr's face and voice grew serious again. "Listen, Bloodmane, we are never going to be welcome among the other Clans. But they know they need us."
Briesse nodded. "Yes, I know. But it's still nice to poke at them now and then."
The witchborn lad smirked, "Oh, I do."
"So when it's all done," Briesse went on, with a smirk, "we present Torin Chieftain with the head of a Ymirish leader - charred with 'unnatural' fire. Just so he remembers how the deed was done, and who did it".
"Do you want to burn it?" he asked with a grin, "or shall I?"
"Whoever burns it, burns it. I expect there will be plenty of heads, plenty of slaughter. But I still prefer the feel of good steel in my hands. The extra touches are just for show."
Ilvawr nodded and stood to leave. "Well, Caiyn also demanded that Torin become blood-brothers with him, before all of Clan Moragh. You can imagine that was not received well. See you in three days, Briesse mac Owain".
Briesse nodded in reply. "In three days, Ilvawr mac Nevyn".
After he left, she looked down at the abandoned cup she had been toying with. It was only then she noticed the small mouse submerged in the remaining liquid, its little body appearing to be bound and unable to scramble out of the liquid, with impossibly tiny bonds.
"Ugh, mages are horrible people," she mumbled to herself as she set the cup down on the table and pushed it away, trying to contain her revulsion. "And yet I am one," she acknowledged, as she stood to leave.
