Chapter 5: Testing Loyalties

The wooden floorboards creaked under Valen's boots as he stepped into the backroom of the Rusty Flagon. The air was thick with the smell of ale and damp wood, and the muffled sounds of laughter and drunken banter filtered through the walls from the tavern beyond. This room was where plans took root and alliances were tested.

Seated at the table were three members of the Emberfangs: Saul, a wiry man with a patchy beard and a habit of cracking his knuckles; Dren, a broad-shouldered brute whose intelligence was often questioned, much to his annoyance; and Rollo, a scrawny youth who talked too much for his own good. Rollo was already rambling when Valen entered.

"…and I told him, you can't just swing at a guy with a sword like that! It's all about finesse, you know? Like me! You ever see me in a fight? Poetry in motion, I swear." Rollo mimed an exaggerated sword swing, nearly knocking over a tankard of ale in the process.

Dren rolled his eyes. "If by 'poetry' you mean tripping over your own feet, then yeah, you're Shakespeare himself."

"Hey!" Rollo snapped, sitting up straight. "I've got moves. You just don't appreciate 'em."

Saul snorted. "The only moves you've got are running away faster than anyone else."

Valen let the banter continue for a moment before clearing his throat. The room fell silent as the three men turned their attention to him.

"Gentlemen," Valen began, his tone calm but firm. "I didn't call you here to discuss Rollo's... unique talents. We have a problem."

Dren frowned. "What kind of problem?"

Valen leaned against the table, his sharp eyes fixed on them. "Bastien is getting sloppy. The nobles we're supposed to be intimidating are starting to fight back. Do you know why?"

Rollo opened his mouth, but Valen raised a hand to silence him. "It's because they're not scared of us. Not really. Bastien sends us to rough up merchants and extort coin, but when it comes to the powerful players, he backs down. They see weakness, and weakness invites rebellion."

Saul cracked his knuckles, his expression thoughtful. "So what are you saying, Valen? That we need to go harder?"

"Not just harder," Valen said, his voice lowering. "Smarter. Strategic. The nobles aren't just scared of blades and fists; they're scared of losing what they value most—their reputation, their influence, their families. If we target those weaknesses, they'll fall in line. But Bastien… he doesn't see that. He's too focused on keeping things small, manageable. He's holding us back."

Dren crossed his arms, his brow furrowed. "You're saying we go behind Bastien's back?"

Valen straightened, his gaze hard. "I'm saying we think about the future. Bastien's leadership won't take us anywhere but down. You've all seen it. How many jobs have gone sideways because of his arrogance? How many times have we walked away with scraps while he drinks himself stupid in the corner?"

Rollo shifted uncomfortably. "I mean… he's not wrong about that," he muttered.

"But he's the boss," Dren said, his tone uncertain. "He's been running the gang for years."

"And where has that gotten us?" Valen countered, stepping closer. "Look at the Rusty Flagon. Look at the scraps we're living on. We're better than this. You're better than this. All I'm saying is that we deserve more. And if Bastien can't see that…" He let the words hang in the air, their implication clear.

Saul nodded slowly. "You've got a point, Valen. But convincing the rest of the gang won't be easy. Bastien's got loyalists."

"That's why we're having this conversation," Valen said. "You three are respected. People listen to you. If you start asking questions, planting seeds of doubt, others will follow. This isn't about a coup; it's about survival. About growth."

Dren still looked hesitant. "And what happens if we back you and this goes south? Bastien's not exactly the forgiving type."

Valen's lips curled into a cold smile. "Then we make sure it doesn't go south."

The room fell silent again, tension thick in the air. Finally, Saul broke the silence. "Alright. I'll back you. But I'm not sticking my neck out unless I see others doing the same."

"Fair enough," Valen said, turning to the others. "What about you two?"

Rollo hesitated, glancing between Saul and Dren. "I mean… I'm in if Saul's in. Strength in numbers, right?"

Dren let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. But this better not blow up in our faces."

"It won't," Valen said confidently. "Stick with me, and I promise you'll have more power, more coin, and more respect than you've ever dreamed of."

As the three men nodded, Valen allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. The seeds were planted. Now, he just had to nurture them.

In the following days, Valen began working subtly, one conversation at a time. He approached the other members with calculated precision, adapting his tone and message to suit each individual.

To one, he spoke of how much more they could earn if the gang expanded beyond the Blackstone District. To another, he whispered of how Bastien had failed to avenge their fallen comrades in a botched raid. And to yet another, he hinted at how Bastien favored certain members while leaving others to rot in poverty.

The dissent grew like a quiet storm, unnoticed by Bastien, who continued to bask in his own delusions of authority.

Comic Relief Scene

During one of the quieter moments at the Rusty Flagon, Rollo decided to show off his "skills" with a dagger. "Watch this!" he declared, balancing the blade on the tip of his finger.

It lasted all of two seconds before the dagger slipped, narrowly missing Saul's hand and embedding itself in the table.

"For the love of the gods, Rollo!" Saul barked, pulling his hand back.

Rollo grinned sheepishly. "See? Perfect aim. Right between your fingers!"

"You nearly took my damn hand off!" Saul shot back.

Dren, sitting nearby, chuckled. "If Rollo ever becomes an assassin, his targets are safe as long as they stand still."

The room erupted in laughter, even Valen cracking a small smile at the absurdity. Moments like these, however brief, reminded him that even in the darkness of his plans, there was a strange camaraderie to be found among the gang.

But camaraderie wouldn't stop him. Bastien's days were numbered.