Interlude in Febril - The Mad God's Amulet

Szandor was not in the best of moods, Istvan realised. Having been his number one “problem solver” for the last few years, he had developed the skill of leaving a room before the fiery bolts of death appeared into a scientific discipline. Unfortunately, he had a nagging suspicion that Szandor would take an early exit in the worst possible way, so he just stood there, his eyes fixed squarely on the oddly shaped jewel hanging from a copper chain around Szandor’s neck.

“So let me get this straight,” Szandor was building up momentum. “Not only did you fail to see how letting Bodush and his merry band of hapless do-gooding idiots wander around with the disciples of Thereanthor, who have been talking for time immemorial about how to summon their master back from the pit,” Szandor took a deep breath. Why did his sentences have to be so long? “No, you had to report back to me how this was brilliant as it kept them from seeing our hand behind the scenes of the recent attack on Febril,”

If only he would finish this sentence, maybe there was a chance of giving an answer that would allow Istvan to avoid instant immolation, but no. “Not thinking about how this could lead to the most dramatic political upheaval since the Forbidden Lands became forbidden!” Istvan took a deep breath to say something, but Szandor kept droning on.

“And now, when I have finally found a way to save all of the ingrates of the furnace coast from being ruled by an infernal overlord you tell me that you have lost them? You tell me that they flew away? In a HAMSTER SHIP? If I wanted to appoint a household jester, I would go to the bard’s guild! I managed to capture a Derro, do you know how much hassle that was? Do you know how many hours I spent in the temple library, pretending to read about antique waste disposal systems, while researching how we can get rid of Zatark, only to find out that the only reliable way of getting that done is in the hands of some insane, flesh fetishising derro tailors with delusions of grandeur? Do you even care that my dire cats are starving, because even in his captivity, Pandit Jung managed to get hold of needles and threads and are using the rat-population in my dungeons to feed his compulsive need to create new and interesting life-forms, well do you? Of course not, nobody appreciates my sacrifices, nobody realises what I go through to keep the Furnace coast safe. All they talk about is that I am some sort of creepy old man, nly interested in dusty old artefacts. I hear them gossiping endlessly about my simple pleasures. I think I deserve some recognition.”

Szandor motioned to one of army of identical female servants who was bringing in a tray of dried fruits. Istvan breathed a sigh of relief. Szandor’s anger at him had been channelled into general disgruntlement with the world, so any immediate danger had passed.

“Right, let me know when Bodush, or any of his compatriots are spotted. I need adventurers stupid enough to go into a Derro infested hell-hole, and I know only of one group that fit that description that have the capability of making it out of there alive with the item I need to save the world. Without the Mad God’s Amulet, we have no hope, any of us.”