We decided to grab a couple rooms at the Braying Mule Inn after kicking those Sultan bastard’s teeth in. Whole place smelled like burnt Nitrol, but can’t beat a free room. Felt good to finally bash in some skulls. It’s been too long.
Turns out that Jebidiah is part of some rebel group looking to make trouble for the Sultan’s forces. Gave us intelligence on Sultan troop movements and asked us to bring it so some bloke named Martin in Grand Mass. Not sure why he’d trust a bunch of green-bellied whelps with such information, but it seemed like a good place to start, so I didn’t ask questions. Not sure I trust these mis-fits myself. A Dragonborn, a dwarf and a goblin walk into a bar… ha If the ’guard could see me now.
Against an old dragon’s wisdom, the Dwarf and Goblin insisted we pass on perfectly good horses to ride for some new-fangled iron death machine into Grand Mass. Apparently people have gotten so soft they drop bags of gold to ride around with their fat asses nestled into pillows. No wonder we were conquered by Elves. Ha. Anyway, we skipped the fancy seats and rode in the back with the rabble. Thought we would’ve encountered some trouble after choosing the cheapest seats, but apparently the powers that be couldn’t be bothered to give us a decent fight. Did have an odd dream on the way though. Some bastard with a huge cannon of a wanker blasted the train off the mountainside coming into Grand Mass from a tiny warship in the harbor. They crowned him for the deed and gave him a big ass throne on top of the castle. Gotta lay off the Nitrol.
Martin turned out to be a shifty little bastard in charge of a bunch of whelps he called the Oster Knights. Wanted our help in sucker-punching Sultan troops just south of the city, until the Goblin started running his mouth about blowing up bridges. Apparently that tickled Martin’s fancy, but the shifty bastard couldn’t be bothered to supply the explosives, so we set off to find some near the docks. We found a dynamite maker, but the Goblin wanted to break in and make off with the goods. I wasn’t about to be the first Dragonguard to be caught for petty theft, so the Dwarf and I grabbed a drink at the tavern. Ran into some trouble with the local guard, too, after he smashed his mug of ale over the guards head. Turns out the bloke is wanted for kicking the ass of some noble little shit who was disgracing himself by raping some lass. This Dain might not be half bad if he stops sucker-punching patrons when I’m trying to enjoy a drink at the bar. Anyway, convinced the guard commander to let us go for an old story about the Dragonguard breaking the siege in Breach.
Not even two swigs into an ale later, the damned dynamite maker himself sits down at the bar and starts sharing his life story with the Dwarf and I. We kept him busy just long enough for the Goblin to get caught by a Sultan guard as he was moving the dynamite in a make-shift cart. We were able to dupe that poor bastard with a bit about missing papers and got the hell out of there. On the way back to Martin, the Goblin recanted his tale of the dynamite caper. Apparently convinced the town guard he was a chimney sweep after getting caught scaling up to the roof. Ha. Could’ve used the clever little shit when we were infiltrating Giant camps in the war.
Martin was at least a good enough man to see to it that the dynamite maker was compensated for the theft. Don’t know why he couldn’t have just bought the damned stuff in the first place, but no sense crying in the breast milk. We took the dynamite and set out for the bridge. Maybe one of these Sultan blokes will offer a decent fight…