this time the younger boy had grown taller and larger than Gord. When their first year of instruction at Grey College ended, San informed his friend that he had had enough of bookish pursuits. There was no arguing with him, and that week he went off to apply to the Thieves’ Guild as a cutpurse, even though they both knew his skills were a notch or two greater than that.
San had met a pretty young lass in the course of one of the boys’ forays on The Strip. They were soon seeing one another regularly, and she had told him that her father was a ranking member of the Guild, so San had confessed his own skills. After that, nothing would do but for him to talk with her father, and the result was foregone thereafter.
Gord and San had a farewell party, and then the latter young man left their loft at The Acorns, promising to return often. He had come a few times at first, but the visits grew less frequent, and shorter too, and then stopped altogether around Needfest break during Gord’s next academic term. Gord maintained the big apartment alone, using the empty area as an exercise and practice space.
Now his second year as a college student had come to an end, and Gord was undecided and restless. After all, how much did he need to know about politics, philosophy, natural and supernatural arts, pantheology, and the like? Sure, it was interesting to learn ancient, dead tongues and the history of Oerik and the Flanaess, but enough was enough. Gord liked action better, and he needed excitement-like the time he had tossed a light-stone into the window of the professor of mathematics and its light had revealed the don in a compromising position with the flighty son of a city official…. Gord’s fellows had been ringed round to see and had cheered!
Gord wanted adventure-not lectures, scrolls, and tomes. He thought it was high time he put his lessons in the art of swordsmanship and dagger-work to the test, too. How much better than this sheltered life!…
Four craftsmen from a nearby village entered the Roc and Oliphant and took a table nearby. Gord recognized them; they were staying at The Acorns while they attended a meeting of their chapter of the Artisans’ League. After ordering bumpers of the local brew, the four fell into conversation about their trade. Gord could not shut out this droning and endless shop-talk, even by downing all of his wine and ordering more. When more of their fellows joined them, Gord abruptly decided that, as of this minute, he had had enough of this kind of life. He got up, stalked away to his chambers, and began gathering up his necessary possessions. An hour later he bade the good ostler Calvert adieu and exited the inn forever.
Soon he was beyond the pale of Clerkburg and striding up The Processional. Since he had money to spend and wished some real action, he was going to the High Quarter to see what he could see. It was time to start at the top!
Chapter 8
“A dragon!” exclaimed Lord Dolph. “You must now beat
three
towers, Your Reverence!”
The Patricians’ Club, a luxurious gaming house in Greyhawk’s High Quarter, had many tables, each offering a different amusement for those rich and noble gamers who sought excitement and the thrill of wagering fortunes upon chance. Little skill was required; most of what transpired depended upon the spin of a wheel, the sum of oddly shaped dice, and similar devices where random patterns allowed long odds and dumb luck to reign supreme. At an ornately carved table in a special corner, however, a game that pitted players directly against each other was taking place.
Five wealthy participants were involved, and they had contested for several hours now, fortune smiling first upon one, then another, so that not a single player had yet been forced to quit the table for lack of funds. The most notorious of the five was Arentol, the Grand Guildmaster of Thieves, a tall, thin fellow of saturnine nature and somber dress. He always watched the
San had met a pretty young lass in the course of one of the boys’ forays on The Strip. They were soon seeing one another regularly, and she had told him that her father was a ranking member of the Guild, so San had confessed his own skills. After that, nothing would do but for him to talk with her father, and the result was foregone thereafter.
Gord and San had a farewell party, and then the latter young man left their loft at The Acorns, promising to return often. He had come a few times at first, but the visits grew less frequent, and shorter too, and then stopped altogether around Needfest break during Gord’s next academic term. Gord maintained the big apartment alone, using the empty area as an exercise and practice space.
Now his second year as a college student had come to an end, and Gord was undecided and restless. After all, how much did he need to know about politics, philosophy, natural and supernatural arts, pantheology, and the like? Sure, it was interesting to learn ancient, dead tongues and the history of Oerik and the Flanaess, but enough was enough. Gord liked action better, and he needed excitement-like the time he had tossed a light-stone into the window of the professor of mathematics and its light had revealed the don in a compromising position with the flighty son of a city official…. Gord’s fellows had been ringed round to see and had cheered!
Gord wanted adventure-not lectures, scrolls, and tomes. He thought it was high time he put his lessons in the art of swordsmanship and dagger-work to the test, too. How much better than this sheltered life!…
Four craftsmen from a nearby village entered the Roc and Oliphant and took a table nearby. Gord recognized them; they were staying at The Acorns while they attended a meeting of their chapter of the Artisans’ League. After ordering bumpers of the local brew, the four fell into conversation about their trade. Gord could not shut out this droning and endless shop-talk, even by downing all of his wine and ordering more. When more of their fellows joined them, Gord abruptly decided that, as of this minute, he had had enough of this kind of life. He got up, stalked away to his chambers, and began gathering up his necessary possessions. An hour later he bade the good ostler Calvert adieu and exited the inn forever.
Soon he was beyond the pale of Clerkburg and striding up The Processional. Since he had money to spend and wished some real action, he was going to the High Quarter to see what he could see. It was time to start at the top!
Chapter 8
“A dragon!” exclaimed Lord Dolph. “You must now beat
three
towers, Your Reverence!”
The Patricians’ Club, a luxurious gaming house in Greyhawk’s High Quarter, had many tables, each offering a different amusement for those rich and noble gamers who sought excitement and the thrill of wagering fortunes upon chance. Little skill was required; most of what transpired depended upon the spin of a wheel, the sum of oddly shaped dice, and similar devices where random patterns allowed long odds and dumb luck to reign supreme. At an ornately carved table in a special corner, however, a game that pitted players directly against each other was taking place.
Five wealthy participants were involved, and they had contested for several hours now, fortune smiling first upon one, then another, so that not a single player had yet been forced to quit the table for lack of funds. The most notorious of the five was Arentol, the Grand Guildmaster of Thieves, a tall, thin fellow of saturnine nature and somber dress. He always watched the
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