Wulbren doesn't know he's doing this. He would never approve, and while Barcus has hit the point where he's going to inevitably feel compelled to work against his old friend's desires, he's not ready to openly defy him yet. What he is ready to do is this: research. Investigation for Barcus usually means books or an alchemy table, but every now and again field work becomes necessary for any artificer.
The rumor mill talks of prisoners in the Iron Throne, within a stone's throw of the City but still out of reach. Not all gnomes, say his contacts, but quite a lot of them. He suspects that not all of the Gondians are employed in the Foundry. Hostages make sense. Slaves make sense, for the Chosen of Bane.
The Zhentarim were tantamount to Banites themselves, once, and well-known slave-traders. Talking to a damn fool of an artist in the Lower City tells the gnome surprisingly a lot about where to find Zhent black markets. He goes early in the evening, alone, and his heart is pounding like a rabbit's with every step in the sewers, in the Undercity. These caverns are no place for a deep gnome.
He didn't come to buy anyone. That's ridiculous. He's no hero. His intent was to question the sellers as subtly as possible, and he knows he's only going to be able to do this once, because they're going to remember a deep gnome. He's going to need to get in, ask questions, maybe hand off a couple bribes, and get back out before they decide to just grab him, too. He's armed, but if the situation gets bad enough that he has to use weapons, he figures he'll probably just be killed anyway, so he's relying on stealth and gold.
By the time he spots Jim, he's handed off a couple coins already, to some of the younger, less-hardened Zhents, one of whom is still talking to him when he freezes, blinking at the familiar face bound amidst the other prospects. Magga camarra...
"...so gnomes aren't exactly in high demand," the Zhent is saying pleasantly. "But you'd be surprised how many drow we have. Men, mostly, of course. If you've got a fancy--oh. Or have you seen something you like already? That one's new goods, may not be broken in yet."
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The rumor mill talks of prisoners in the Iron Throne, within a stone's throw of the City but still out of reach. Not all gnomes, say his contacts, but quite a lot of them. He suspects that not all of the Gondians are employed in the Foundry. Hostages make sense. Slaves make sense, for the Chosen of Bane.
The Zhentarim were tantamount to Banites themselves, once, and well-known slave-traders. Talking to a damn fool of an artist in the Lower City tells the gnome surprisingly a lot about where to find Zhent black markets. He goes early in the evening, alone, and his heart is pounding like a rabbit's with every step in the sewers, in the Undercity. These caverns are no place for a deep gnome.
He didn't come to buy anyone. That's ridiculous. He's no hero. His intent was to question the sellers as subtly as possible, and he knows he's only going to be able to do this once, because they're going to remember a deep gnome. He's going to need to get in, ask questions, maybe hand off a couple bribes, and get back out before they decide to just grab him, too. He's armed, but if the situation gets bad enough that he has to use weapons, he figures he'll probably just be killed anyway, so he's relying on stealth and gold.
By the time he spots Jim, he's handed off a couple coins already, to some of the younger, less-hardened Zhents, one of whom is still talking to him when he freezes, blinking at the familiar face bound amidst the other prospects. Magga camarra...
"...so gnomes aren't exactly in high demand," the Zhent is saying pleasantly. "But you'd be surprised how many drow we have. Men, mostly, of course. If you've got a fancy--oh. Or have you seen something you like already? That one's new goods, may not be broken in yet."