Gorren didn’t bother with discussions. The way the guards carried themselves, their words and the tone they spoke them with told him enough: the outcome of that charade had already been decided and arguing wouldn’t change it.

Picking up a couple of his Ur-Gremlins, he sent them out as scapegoats. The brutes accepted the two weeks of detention prospected to them with meek stoicism, and went away with the guards, looking comically large compared to their supposed detainers.

Gorren watched them go from his perch on the second store. When the door closed behind them, he called Krik to him.

“Send a group out,” he ordered. “There should be a drunkard stumbling about in the square. Have him brought to me. Also, send someone to see if they can find Andre. Taverns and patrols only. I don‘t want attention from the guard.”

He ignored the glum face made by the Gremlin. He was probably hoping he could go back to nap. Well, not everybody could be as zealous as Trich.

The scouts returned soon. Andre was nowhere to be found; the greedy guard was probably hidden away with some company in a tavern somewhere or just lazing about in a guardroom. The other group found more luck.

Old Ruddy was just the perfect image of a town drunk. Thin as a reed, with a generous potbelly, the discolored rags he wore hang from him like the clothes of a scarecrow. Under the large hat, his face was worn and weather-beaten, with the knobby nose and the prominent cheeks inflamed red.

The old man was quite used to being jostled about, so he didn’t make much of a fuss as he was showed into a chair. In fact, he was in the middle of slurring a funny story, stopping only to grin widely at the bottle that was slammed on the table before him.

“Who’s Grimor?” Tur asked.

“What…” Ruddy slurred, eyes jostling between the transmuted Gremlin’s serious face and the bottle. “You’re the one doing the talking? What’s about your boss?” He made to grab the bottle, but Sela smoothly moved the bottle out of his reach.

“Answer.” The tall girl growled.

“Whoa, easy there, gal. Hey, where did you find her? She got fire, this one.” The drunkard said, making Tad snort and Fret giggle.

Tur put a hand on the table, glaring at the grinning drunkard. “Who’s Grimor?” He repeated.

“Ugliest mug in the Eastern End.” Ruddy replied with a quick series of nods. “You know, down at the port. He’s one of the bosses down there. Big, ugly fellow, that one. Probably got some Orc blood in him. Still, not a big fish. But not a small fish either. Think of him like a salmon, a big, brawny, ugly salmon!” That had to sound exhilarating to him because he started a raucous laugh that was a mix of hilarity and hacking wheeze.

Glances were exchanged and eyebrows were raised. That was… informative. So it was true that drunkards knew everything.

One of the few to be unimpressed, Tur folded his arms before his chest. “What does he does?”

Ruddy, that had noticed Dara, hurried to take off his hat, showing a bald pate plastered with hair which original color had been made untraceable from sweat and grime. The priestess gave a gentle nod at the drunkard’s large grin.

“Oh, a bit of everything.” He said. “Pickpockets, thieves, drugs, dumping a body into the river. His main gig is being a bruiser, though. Intimidate people, you know.”

Tur hummed his assent. Intimidate indeed.

“Are there more like him?”

“A dozen, more or less. They are all over Blackstone, you know, coordinating stuff, as they say.” He guffawed at that, to show what he thought about the word.

“And they all work for the Crow?”

Ruddy whistled. “Oh-oh! Already there? Your boss works fast, eh? Hoping he’s not as fast with his woman, though!”

As he hacked out a burst of laughter again, Huk put a hand over the shoulder of a bristling Sela, probably saving the drunkard from meeting a premature end by chair to the head.

“So? Who is he?”

Still half coughing and half laughing, Ruddy waved a hand in the air. “Who knows? The man is a legend. Everybody knows him but nobody even knows what his face is. He could even be a she!” The old man lifted a grubby finger. “He’s the big boss around here. Everything runs through his hands. Smuggling, robberies, drugs, you name it. There isn’t a crime in this stinking city in which the Crow hasn’t a hand in. Heck, when a lad cuts a purse he probably gets half of it.” He smirked. He always took satisfaction at telling that stuff. “He got the guards in his pocket, the merchants pay him for protection and some nobles even cover up for him. But nobody knows who he is! Not even his direct subordinates know his face.” His tone turned conspiratorial. “Someone says he’s one of them demon-speakers, escaped from the east before the flamelings could put him to the torch. Others…”

“Alright alright, spare me the theories.” Tur interrupted him. He showed the bottle in the drunkard’s hands, that fumbled with it for a moment before clutching it like one would with a newborn baby.

He asked some more questions but Ruddy couldn’t add much more to what he had already said.

“A pleasure to make business with you, sir!” The old man cheerfully said as he was escorted out.

“What now?” Sela asked when the door slammed shut once again. The woman’s hands were closed around the handles of her hatchets.

“You don’t have to ask me.” Tur replied, scratching his head. Both threw a glance toward the window of the second store, behind of which one could hear and see everything that transpired in there.

As it turned out, Gorren had already decided.

“Whaaaaaat?” Fret’s voice echoed in all the street, making more than one head turn.

“Shut up, goddamit!” Sela hissed, making the smaller girl wince.

“Sorry.” She said, then turned to Tur. “Really, though? We need to go to talk to these guys?” Under the conspiratorial tone, there was disbelief in her words.

The Gremlin chief shrugged. “Master said so.” Behind his Warriors, a consistent group of armed Gremlins followed. They occupied the entirety of the street center, the people of the city giving them a wide berth.

Fret made a disappointed sound. “Can’t we just, you know, slash them?” She asked, and plucked at her bow’s string to emphasize. A murmur of assent passed through the assembled Gremlins. They didn’t like people that came knocking at their door like that.

“I wish,” Tur said. “But think about it. You saw how those guards came at us, and just because we kicked some thugs. Can you imagine what is going to happen if we start killing? They’re just going to shut us down.” He lifted a finger. “Master doesn’t want to antagonize this place yet, not with that weird thing at the palace snooping on him.”

“They’re lucky for it,” Sela grumbled. “Or this place was going to end up under the golems.”

Tad snorted at that.

“Right.” Fret blinked, realizing the common sense of Tur’s words. She put up a sullen face. “Not fair, though. I just hope that Gork and Mork are going to be alright.”

Another murmur of assent passed through the group. The Gremlins were a tight-knit community. Despite their strength, they couldn’t but be concerned for the two Ur that had been taken away.

“Ye ye, i know.” Tur graveled. As the chief, he felt the responsibility more keenly than anybody else. His gaze turned grim. “Don’t worry though. We’re going to go to the bottom of this. And then these guys are going to regret having messed with us.”

Their leader’s grim confidence rippled through the Gremlins. Nods were given and smiles that didn’t promise anything good made their appearance.

Nobody messed with the Gray Goblin.

The Eastern End was one of the two ports that Blackstone had on the Tamis river. Despite being the minor of the two it still was a busy trade point, with ships of all kinds entering the harbor daily. Under the midday sun, the cries of the merchants peddling their wares mixed with the grunts of the workers busy unloading cargos and the arguing of officials and ship captains about tariffs and docking posts.

The Shattered Fang was one of the few places where this mix of sounds didn’t reach. With the orcish skull that gave the establishment its name on the wall behind the counter, the dingy portside tavern was renowned for the quiet its customers could enjoy. It wasn’t a choice of his owner, as much as the result of the numerous broken noses that his most affectionated patron had shared around down the years.

Grimor “Half-man” Grisham was very keen about three things: nobody did anything illegal in his territory without his say-so, payments to the Crow had to always be done on schedule and he hadn’t a drop of orcish blood in his veins, no matter what his very prominent jaw, massive build and skin color said on the contrary. Could an Orc appreciate silence as he did? Sure, he loved to party and be merry like your everyday fellow, but the quiet helped him to focus and that said a lot in his opinion. Also, would a stinking Orc have the same love for gold and jewelry that he had? That was a sign of civilization in his book. Why, his men had even started to imitate him!

Sitting at his usual table on the back of the smoky common hall, Grimor was busy with his lunch when the usual quietness of the tavern, interrupted only by soft whispers, turned up a notch.

Grimor methodically crunched on a chicken bone, ignoring the juices staining his chin, while his lieutenants exchanged glances and murmured. The man taking place on the chair just before him, that had been left free just for that meeting, was short but heavy-set. Grimor eyed the fancy sword he carried at his belt, then the group of grim-faced warriors at his back.

“The Guildmaster says: i am listening,” Tur said, planting his gaze on Grimor and Grimor alone.

Ah, going straight to the point. Grimor could appreciate that. Still, he had a lunch to finish and they could wait.

One of the guards, a tall girl with two hatchets at her belt, stiffened as he kept leisurely gobbling up his meal, but the chief held up a hand and she held up back whatever she wanted to say, biting her lip.

Grimor took note of that. Whoever these guys were, they had their leadership straight.

Slamming down his empty mug, he belched loudly, eliciting grins from his comrades and irritated shifts from the newcomers.

“Got where the wind blows, eh?” He jeered. The man said nothing, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

In Grimor’s humble opinion, one had to get what small pleasures life was ready to give. That feeling of power running through his veins in that moment; now that was something you had to hold on tight.

“Where’s your boss?” He asked, enjoying the moment. “Too chicken to come out on his own?”

That made his subordinates laugh just as it sent a ripple of anger through the other’s.

Tur’s serious expression didn’t change. “The Master has better things to do. You get to speak to me. I am Tur.”

Grimor chuckled condescendingly. Trying to be cocky, was he? Too bad that just being there meant they realized who exactly was holding the knife.

Still, he could appreciate the attempt.

“Grimor.” He said, and smirked. “Better remember the name. We’re gonna be friends from now on.”

“Oh, i am sure of it.”

The threat wasn’t lost on Grimor, but he decided to let it pass him by.

“Tomorrow, a man from the boss is going to come to your Guild.” He explained. “He will bring a list of stuff with him.”

“What your boss wants from my boss, i am guessing.”

“Exactly.” Grimor smirked at his subordinates. “I like this guy already. See how quickly he gets how things go?”

Tur didn’t take the provocation. “Is this the Crow’s doing?”

Grimor raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa there, slow down now. The Crow doesn’t care about any little merchant that tries to open shop in this hole.” He chuckled. “The Master has better things to do.”

Tur didn’t believe it, but avoided to press the issue. “What’s your objective?”

“What’s our objective, he asks.” Grimor laughed, slamming a meaty hand on the table. “Seriously, where did you learn to speak, man? In a book? You crack me up.” The thugs laughed with their boss.

Tur kept a stubborn silence.

“To keep the order, of course!” Grimor opened his arms in a grand gesture. “Each and every one of us, law-abiding citizen just wishing the best for our proud city.” His raucous laughter was punctuated by another slam on the table. “Get out of here, moron. Get out and tell your master what he needs to do to stay alive.”

The chair grated harshly on the floor as the Gremlin stood up. “Then we’re done.” He said, his face a featureless mask.

Grimor waved vaguely with his hand, dismissing him. Then, almost as he was just remembering. “Ah, one last thing.”

Already half-turning away, Tur stopped to listen.

“Welcome to Blackstone.”

Tur snorted and stomped away, his guards in tow.

As he raised his re-filled mugGrimor shot an amused glance toward the group stomping out of the tavern. When he had heard about the new guy in town, he had wondered what kind of news would he bring. Had he know it before, he would have spared himself the worry. Barking dogs, but oh how they are quick to bow.

He chuckled. Well, that was why he had become one of the Crow’s bosses in the first place, after all. Felt good being the one on top.

“What a pleasant fellow,” Tad commented sarcastically as they exited the tavern. “Can i kill him when we get the chance?”

“No way!” Fret protested. “I am going to be the one to kill him!”

Huk’s glum silence said more than any words on the argument. Sela, instead, looked like she had swallowed a frog.

“Keep that for when it actually happens.” Tur scolded them. “Right now, we can’t kill squat.”

The transmuted Gremlins nodded glumly. There really wasn’t much they could about the situation.

The group made their way down the alley into which the Shattered Horn laid. Before the entrance, the rest of Gorren’s warriors waited for them, given a wide berth by the vagrants and criminals that milled about.

“Nice work there, chief,” Tad said, trying to lighten the mood. “Dunno if I’d managed to keep my cool in your shoes.”

Tur paused, then smirked at him. “That’s because i was thinking when i’ll kill the pig.”

The comment sent a wave of spluttering all over the group.

“Whaaaaaat?”

“Come on, boss! You can’t be serious!”

“That’s an abuse of power! Report to the Master!”

Tur laughed, and threw an amused look Dara’s way. Apart from her pet rats, the priestess was on her own. She smiled softly at him.

“Alright alright, we’re gonna do it all together. Better? Damn, what a bunch of leeches!”

“Can’t wait…”

“Aw yea!”

“Aw… wait, who’s a leech? Hey!”

Tur chuckled. Putting both hands on his sides, he took in a deep breath. “Well, since the guy has been so quick, i’d say that we got a bit of time before going back to the Master. Who’s down for some fish for lunch?”

For ex-goblins, the answer couldn’t but be an enthusiastic “yes!”