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The Guilded Cage, Ch 9

One Man's Trash...

In St Almar most Beast-Kin generally didn't live to see their fifth decade. Despite nearing forty, Biir was still relatively spry for a Beast-Kin. It wasn't that he was old, per se, or that fifty was the maximum age for Beast-Kin, but most simply didn't have what it took to avoid Elven notice for long and eventually ran foul of the wrong citizen; it was no secret that the Lawgivers didn't care to spend any great amount of energy investigating the death of a Beast-kin so the Temple of Norr didn't provide them as much protection as the rest of the populace.

Biir, however, did not just manage to avoid the notice of the Elves; he was quite capable of fluttering around within their society, integrating and ingratiating himself as a contributor of valued services. "Valued services" was, of course, a subjective proposition, of course. Unlike most Beast-Kin, the Coyote was welcome in the city center because he gave the best shoe shine available and the upper class congregating around the temples wanted to look their best. He was also inexpensive, and didn't care that they all called him Biir, which was the Elvish word for 'trash'.

No, in truth, Biir realized that everything with the Elves was subjective-- just like the service he provided. One man's shoe shine was another man's waste of coin, but, then again, one man's Biir was another man's stepping stool to social success. The Coyote didn't revel in serving the Elves in such a capacity but, then again, few within St Almar thanked the gods for whatever random occupation kept them fed and sheltered. Biir, however, WAS thankful for the fact that his position as a shoe shiner meant that he was privy to a lot more details of the city's operations than the Beast-Kin back in the Slums or at the Docks, or even those who somehow managed to earn themselves a spot in the Business Quarter.

The allowances the Elves made with the Coyote meant that he was given far more leeway than most of his kind and, except for famed gladiator Sammy the Bear, or a Lion Beast-Kin who somehow managed to serve among the Lawgivers, Biir was probably one of the most recognized and tolerated members of their race. There were drawbacks to getting Elvish attention, that much Biir knew, but it also had some benefits... such as not immediately being targeted for profiling or being hauled in by the Lawgivers for some slight (real or imagined). One negative side-effect, however, was that he was well recognized and one false move could lead to everlasting trouble. That, among other reasons, was why he knew he'd have to leave town for a little while.

The Day of Balance was a holy day, held the first day of the middle month of spring, it was a celebration throughout the Holy Empire that paid homage to the many races who prospered beneath the rule of the Elves... in theory, at least. In practice, the Elves dedicated that single day to celebrating themselves and all their accomplishments, and then invite Humans and Fey to dinner and treat them for all of four hours as if they were equals. Most Elven families used the opportunities to laugh at the quaintness and awkwardness of the 'lesser races', so Biir was not in the least bit jealous of such guests; he pitied them.

It wasn't the Day of Balance that concerned the Coyote, however-- that was almost over. What worried him was the execution planned for the following day coupled with a half-baked plan for rescuing an orcish prisoner by some well-meaning but poorly-informed do-gooders. It was not Biir's place to inform the Elves of the plan and, just as equally, it was not his place to warn the doomed-rescuers that their attempt would only cause trouble for the city. At the end of the day, Biir's responsibility was to himself because, without him, St Almar would be in far more trouble than what would be caused by a poorly conceived rescue attempt... or the fact that it was going to succeed, but only with the help of the Cult of Loghul.

Biir had been around long enough to know that anyone aided by the Cult would have to pay a heavy price, an the Coyote had firsthand experience in what that meant; he hoped that the do-gooders would make the right decision when the time came. Sighing, the Beast-Kin polished off the last of his ale; he didn't spend much time drinking and usually avoided most taverns, but it was that magic time of the year when Elves were busy with the Day of Balance-- just past supper time, and the inns and taverns were that much more open. Glancing across the table to his fel drinking companion, the Coyote snorted. "Sure yer gonna commit t'tamarrah?"

The blue-scaled Kobold pushed his own mug back onto the table; unlike Biir, the little lizard was not yet finished drinking, which made sense considering the vessel was nearly the size of his head. Licking his scaled lips with a fork tongue, the cultist nodded, blinking his eerie yellow eyes before speaking. "Uncle Hubert needs the Orc for the Gathering Ritual... but you aren't gonna help... are you?"

The Coyote shook his head, digging into his money pouch in search for a few coppers to cover the cost of his drink. "Nope... got me a wagon ah need t'catch t'night... leaves pretty soon, in fact."

The Kobold, who went by Cobalt narrowed his gaze. "You're going to the farmlands... or following the Naysayers?"

Sometimes Biir forgot how well informed the cultists were but he wasn't about to let it show. The fact that a caravan was leaving to the farmlands was no secret, but the fact that they were being accompanied by the Naysayers, an adventuring group of some degree of fame was not. He didn't let his surprise at the knowledge that Cobalt knew show. "Both..." he shrugged "...or neither."

Cobalt scowled but, rather than offer reproach, reached for his mug again and took another long swig of his drink before replacing it. Only once he'd done that did the Kobold speak again. "You haven't told the Lawgivers about tomorrow?"

Biir didn't even have to fake a smile in response to the accusation; he found the question hilarious. The Coyote offered up a wink as he spoke. "When've ah ever gotten along well with th' Lawgivers, friend? Naw... ah reckon they'll get caught by surprise, but yer still gonna have yer talons full regardless."

The Kobold's scowl grew. "But you didn't say 'no', Preacher."

The Coyote smiled as the cultist used one of his many pseudonyms; Preacher was the name by which he went more commonly in the lower classed areas of the city. Still smiling, he provided a more direct answer. "Naw, lil' guy... ah didn't tell th' Lawgivers bout yer plan, or 'bout th' other group plannin' t'spring that poor orc."

The statement obviously caught Cobalt by surprise; Biir had a feeling that the Cult wasn't aware of the Assembly's plan to rescue the prisoner, an orc (or half orc, or something of the sort) named Duffrunt from the Lawgivers' planned execution. Again, it wasn't his responsibility to tell them, but, so late in the game it was far more fun to help sow a little chaos and really mess with some plans. The statement had its desired effect; Cobalt stood up on his stool so he could look the Coyote in the eye. "Whadda you mean 'other group'?"

Biir simply stood up, reached out to pat the Kobold on the head (they hated when he did that) and offered up his only explanation. "Praise Waha."

He was out the door in the time it took Cobalt to climb off of his stool, shouting questions and demands after him. They were in public though, which meant that the Kobold wouldn't be able to back up any threats, and coercion couldn't work if there wasn't something to back it up. On top of that, Cobalt couldn't even report Biir to the Cult since, if anything, the Coyote had done them a favor by providing them ANY information rather than none. True, Biir might have been a member of the Gathering Shadows, but that didn't make him a follower of Loghul. Even the thought of it left a bad taste in his muzzle and he spat on the street to clear it.

Pulling his cloak closer around himself, the Preacher took a round-about path toward the western gate, stopping off in a nondescript alley to gather his traveling pack. The knapsack was old and, despite not having been used in some time, clearly showed the ravages of age. Still, it was the same one he'd used last time he'd left St Almar so he saw no reason to change things up. True, Waya preached change, but sometimes the tried and true chaos was just as good. Smiling to himself, the Coyote trotted off toward the caravan preparing to leave the city. True, he'd be gone for some time, but Waha once said that leaving was the first step to being able to say 'hello again'.