Trelgrath the Legend of the Battlefield, Imperial War Master

Role

Chapter 7

Gelk turned the bracers over in his hands.

The Emperor would want them back, of course. He'd known that the moment he
tore them from the elf's corpse.

A part of him, long buried and suppressed urged him to keep them. To hell
with the Emperor, take them for himself, and damn the consequences.

But the part of him that acknowledged the bigger picture knew it was a damn
fool idea. They were a trinket to make kings and emperor's lust for them,
but a trinket all the same.

On one hand, he could keep them. Enjoy a few years of glory as an anathema
before his decisions caught up with him. On the other, he could become the
most valued member of the council in a single stroke. Positioned for riches,
prestige, and primacy among the four seats at the high table.

He spun the bracers of legend about one thick finger, the humming
adamantite spinning in perfect balance.

There was something appealing to him about being the power behind the
throne. The one the Emperor would trust when he whispered in his ear
(figuratively, of course. The Emperor was too damn tall).

And if an insidious sturring of higher ambition had befallen him of late;
if the disdainful words of the Infernal Poet had struck more truely than
perhaps Gelk would like to admit.

This would serve that ends, too.

Role

Chapter 6

Gelk had always prided himself on having eyes and ears in unexpected places.
Maybe that was why he enjoyed the company of the shadow sect more than he
did his own blades; though in fairness the only damn blade to make himself
known was that minotaur, and noone could hold it against him for not being
too tolerant of those bloody things.

He knew some of the imperials found it strange. Why ask paladins to come
drink? Why entertain the ramblings of the entropists? It wasn't surprising
though. For all their gifts, most of the imperials were a little short
sighted. Get a man fighting and one of you will end up dead. Get a man
drinking and you'll walk away knowing more than when you sat down. Getting
your enemies talking was an under appreciated gift, and one that in the
long term would get you far more than their corpse in the moment would.

A work in progress, but cultivating those assets was always going to be a
long slog. This wasn't Dagdan anymore, after all. It was always going to be
harder. The more sitting at the table, the tougher it got. But the more at
the table, the bigger the payout.

Admittedly, he'd not expected to get his first two hooks in a paladin and a
damn entropist, but it is what it is. At least they'd both ended up buying
him a drink; and that, as Gelk well knew, was the sign that he had them
right where he wanted them.

* Gelk has a huge blindspot where outlanders are concerned. As one of the
Empire's most important enemies he should really be trying to work on an
insider their, but categorically won't: because they don't have money so
can't be important.

Role

Chapter 5

Gelk's first reaction on being promoted to war master was to break out in a
cold sweat. Would they be putting his face on posters? Being one of the
faceless legions had seemed like a great idea. This had not been part of
the plan. Maybe he should've scouted the empire first. The blade sect
seemed bloody devoid, which was probably why the titan on the throne had
decided Gelk would be an acceptable option.

Gelk paced his hall for a moment, stubby fingers raking through his beard
as he considered. He could run away, but anathema would definitely end up
drawing the wrong kind of attention. Anathema were pretty bloody rare by
all accounts, and especially ones who didn't end up face down in a ditch
somewhere. Gelk had no intention of ending up in any ditches unless it was
after a hard night at the cups. Plus. Having this Emperor fellow invested
in his life seemed like a damn good thing. Now that was someone who didn't
mess about when it came time to start the messy work.

Of course, there was a second option.
He could be so bold and overt that noone would even consider the
possibility that Trelgrath the war master was anything but what he appeared.
Hiding in plain sight had never been something he'd been hoping for, but
it could work. Never let it be said Gelk couldn't adapt when some bastard
kicked in his door and started trashing all his plans.

Role

Chapter 4

Gelk drained the dregs of his beer before setting the mug back upon the
table.

The priest snored loudly where he'd passed out in the middle of the eternal
star. Poor chap. Never drank before, and all Gelk had needed to pay was the
promise of a selfless act to get the lad completely smashed, spilling his
secrets like they were as cheap as the swill he was imbibing.

No doubt the priest would walk away thinking he had got the better deal.
That was just the way Gelk wanted it. Hopefully he'd tell all his friends.
His family. Hell, hopefully he'd tell his bloody patron whoever that might
be. Let everyone know that Gelk was a man who always kept his promises. A
deals a deal, a caption fit for a damn gravestone.

He almost nudged the azuretouched with his boot, before remembering the
spikes adorning them. Maybe he'd had a bit too much himself. The lad had
talked a good game. Talked about goodness and honesty and selflessness.
Must be nice being so naive. The world didn't work that way, and the poor
sap would learn that soon enough.

Cracking his neck, Gelk turned away. Time well spent, if he did say so
himself.

After all. A lie in the hand of a known honest man was the sharpest knife
of all.

It was good to be prepared.

Role

Chapter 3

Trelgrath is the assumed identity of a petty criminal and con artist called
Gelk. He worked in Norman's bar for a while after his father was killed in
a moment of drunken stupidity, but got into very hot water when he tried to
con Brundlir with falty armour. In an attempt to shake the mercenaries off
the trail he changed his name to something he thought sounded sufficiently
intimidating, and is planning on learning to fight in the time he hopes it
will buy him so he can deal with his problem in a more permanent manner.

He is highly immoral, and driven pretty much entirely by self
preservation/enrichment. Even people who are kind to him (like Norman) he
will exploit given any opportunity. He always sees the worst in people,
even if their actions are pretty reasonably interpretable as altruistic. He
likes gambling a bit more than is healthy, though would strongly deny it.
Does not like minotaurs very much, as he finds them very difficult to read
due to their different facial structure and speech patterns. He is a very
unreliable narrator, having a very cynical view of the world.

Role

Chapter 2

Life was terrible.

Gelk crouched in the shadow of the stables, a cold sweat prickling his brow.
It wasn't meant to go this way.

It'd been an easy scam. Pull Brundlir aside when he came for a drink. Ask
for some work. Get some knock off mithril shields from him from the lad who
worked down in Tarni's who just so happened to owe Gelk a favour. Easy. Get
paid, everyone was happy.

Brundlir was not happy. Clearly whoever he'd been getting bloody shields
for knew junk when he saw it, because Norman had woken him in the middle of
the damned night to tell him to be gone.

Decent fella, Norman. Gelk almost felt bad about underpaying him now, but
not too much. Norman probably didn't want to clean up the blood more than
anything.

None of that helped him now though. He'd been on the run from these mercs
for weeks, and they just kept tracking him down. Might have bitten off a
bit more than he could chew this time. Guess he was more like dear old dad
than he'd thought.

Gelk wasn't stupid though. Sooner or later, they'd catch him. It'd been
bloody close this time; perhaps it was time for Gelk to disappear. A new
identity. New job. Maybe even go on the straight and narrow for a bit.
Learning to fight wouldn't hurt either. If all else fails, there was always
a more permanent solution.

Role

Chapter 1

There are many kinds of strength. Strength of arm, strength of will,
strength of character, and more besides.

Gelk didn't really have any of these.

He'd been raised right, good and propper. His old dad had always told him:
"son, its easier to pretend to be a tough bastard than to actually be one."

Of course, dear old dad had had his head caved in when he'd tried to pick
the pockets of some fire giant on the eastern road after a few too many at
the bloated whale, but that was the price of pretending. Sometimes you got
to believe it too, Gelk knew. Sometimes that just meant you'd believe it
that little bit too much.

A bead of sweat ran down into his right eye, but he didn't dare blink. The
minotaur's learing face loomed large from only three feet away. Gelk could
reach out and poke the stupid cow in one of his big dull eyes. He might not
be the sharpest axe on the wall, but he was pretty sure that meant said cow
could probably twist his head off from there abouts as well.

Hell, how he hated minotaurs. So hard to read. Face and speech both.

"Fooold."

The cow tossed his cards down on the table in disgust, and Gelk finally let
himself blink, eying his winning hand in reserved glee. A 3 and a 5.

Sucker.

With an exaggerated flourish, he swept the pile of silver and copper into
his belt pouch. Time to get back to work, or Norman would put him face down
in the nearest river. That was a ways off from Dagdan though. Maybe he'd
just get fed to the owlbears instead.

Gelk had not always worked in Norman's bar. He'd spent most of his youth
travelling with his rather disreputable father; scamming the rich and poor
and just about anyone out of their coin. Unfortunately, as formally
mentioned dear old dad was no longer amongst the living, and Dagdan had
been a home away from the road. It'd been a natural place to return to.

With a nack for gambling, gaining employment at Norman's establishment had
been no great hardship. Norman gave him 2 hours a day to take the money of
his custommers while not working the bar, and Gelk got to keep half of what
he made. It was a pretty great deal all things considered.

Slipping behind the bar, Gelk tipped his hat to Norman. Norman did not
smile, simply holding out a hand expectantly.

Gelk passed him a quarter of his winnings.

Life was good.

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