Gnomish Gnegotiations

Kathreine’s Warning

Kathreine Kendel stood stiffly before Sir Orin and Sir Beringer, her usual composure nowhere to be found. Her hands fidgeted nervously at her sides, and her words came out in a frantic rush, as if she couldn’t get them out quickly enough.
“My father, Baron Kendel, sent me a message through magic—he’s absolutely panicking about what happened at Fort Stormarrow, and he needs your help. Both of you. He said no one there has been able to get through to her because…well, she’s Braga, and she’s already furious.”
She hesitated, her face paling slightly as she added:
“Poor Master Korac apparently tried. She tossed him through a window. A closed window. A *shuttered* window.”
She winced as she relayed this detail, blanching at the memory.
“My father is not a storyteller, Sir Beringer. He’s not prone to exaggeration, you understand.”
Taking a shaky breath, she dove back in.
“Okay, so here’s what happened. My father was meeting with this gnome merchant, Tibnock Tinkerspan. He’s not just some nobody; he’s a major figure in the eastern merchant guilds. Those guilds control enormous trade networks and supply chains—enough to choke entire kingdoms if they wanted to. If Tibnock dies, they’ll retaliate, and the fallout will be…well, catastrophic. They could put huge financial pressure on the entire kingdom, and nobody wants that.
Tibnock was at Fort Stormarrow with his entourage, discussing guild contracts and trade routes with my father, when Lady Braga walked over. She wasn’t in her armor or anything formal—just her practical, everyday clothes. The gnome didn’t recognize her. He must’ve thought she was some common laborer.”
Kathreine paused, as if bracing herself for what came next.
“She tried to ask a question—something about his caravan, I think—but Tibnock cut her off. And, uh… ‘Woman, do not interrupt your betters again, or I’ll have my manservant spank you and toss you over the wall—or perhaps treat you like the soldiers here do. Go about your business and milk whatever manner of beast you are meant to attend to.’”
She let the weight of the words sink in before continuing.
“And…well, Braga didn’t take that very well. She went for him immediately—no weapons, just her bare hands. She lunged at him, and the next thing you know, they’re rolling around on the ground. My father said Tibnock was swinging a bag at her—no idea what was in it, maybe coins, maybe something heavier—but it didn’t stop her. She was throwing punches, and the two of them were just brawling right there in the middle of the fort.”
Kathreine flushed as she hurried through the next part.
“Then Tibnock’s half-ogre manservant stepped in. He tried to pull her off Tibnock, but that just made things worse. Braga grabbed a dagger—or maybe it was a chair leg? Both? My father wasn’t clear—and she killed him. Stabbed him, broke something, maybe both. A *half-ogre*,”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“They dumped his body outside the walls after the fight. Dead.”
She exhaled sharply, rubbing her hands together as she pressed on.
“Sir Aldos and my father eventually managed to pull Braga off Tibnock, but by then it was too late. Tibnock was a wreck—bruised, bleeding, barely conscious—and now… now he’s hanging from the walls. In a canvas bag. Braga had him strung up there as a punishment.”
Her voice trembled slightly now.
“The rest of Tibnock’s entourage was thrown out of the fort and warned that if they came back, they’d be killed. But here’s the real problem: Tibnock is critical to the guilds. If he dies from his injuries or exposure, the guilds will retaliate—against all of us. Maybe even the whole kingdom. My father said someone has to convince Braga to have him healed—or at least make sure he survives. He’s tried everything, but she’s not listening to him. No one’s been able to get through to her.”
Her gaze darted between the two knights, equal parts desperate and pleading.
“He’s hoping you can talk to her. Sir Beringer, you’ve got a level head. And Sir Orin, you’re her husband—if anyone can convince her, it’s you. Please, this has to be fixed before Tibnock dies or the guilds find out what happened. My father is counting on you.”
She stood there, her posture tense and her eyes wide with hope, willing them to take the weight of the problem off her shoulders.