# JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne:  Updated 1/29/10



## JollyDoc

So you've met the League, the Legion, and even the Sandpoint Seven.  Now, allow me to introduce you to K.I.A....the Korvosan Intelligence Agency (perhaps they'll have better luck than their predecessors).

THE EDGE OF ANARCHY

'Ratbone', Half-Orc Druid of The Five Companions

*  'Ratbone' was born in the Mindspin Mountains in a small tribe of half-orc barbarians of Shoanti descent.  Having been shunned by their human ancestors generations before, the tribe's founders set out on their own and started a small village where they could farm, hunt, and forage in relative peace (for a tribe of half-orcs).  Ratbone's given name was Gruzzak Stonesmasher, and his parents both served the village as tribal shamans.  When Gruzzak was 10 years old, the village was raided by a group of Chelish slavers, and the entire tribe was either captured or killed.  Among the captured was Gruzzak's father and seven of his ten siblings.  Among the dead were his mother and the remaining three siblings.  Upon delivery to the slave masters, Gruzzak and his family were separated, and he has no idea as to their whereabouts, or even if any of them are still alive. Through an intermediary associated with the Korvosan black markets, Gruzzak was sold to Gaedren Lamm, whereby he became one of his 'Little Lambs'.  For four years, he suffered under the depredations of the petty criminal.  When Gruzzak had reached the age of 14 (the point where he no longer appeared as an innocent child) Gaedren abandoned the boy, but not before gleefully torturing him and leaving him for dead on a garbage heap.   Gruzzak struggled to survive, and found a home living on the streets, eventually making his way to the Shingles above the Bridgefront neighborhood of Old Korvosa.  There among the city's poorest and most desperate individuals he lived for four years, making it by on scraps found in others' garbage and capturing and eating small animals, such as stray cats and rats.  Due to the numerous carcasses the growing half-orc boy would leave behind him, he was nicknamed by the other denizens of the Shingles as 'Ratbone', a name he didn't like but has become accustomed to.  With all that he had seen and been exposed to, Ratbone had developed a deep sense of right and wrong, and he found himself aligning with the former far more than the latter.  Before long, this was noted by powers above, namely Kharash the Stalker, one of Talisid's fabled Five Companions.  The great lupinal had a soft spot for children, and he ventured on to the Prime and approached the half-orc adolescent.  Kharash convinced the youth to take up the cause of good, and in doing so also unlocked his natural druidic and shapeshifting talent.  Due to hard living on the streets, the half-orc was physically fit and was very cunning.  However, he had never been exposed to any sort of learning and had little ability to develop or comprehend complex plans , and due to his tortured youth and subsequent life as a vagrant he was in no way adept at social situations .  The half-orc's ability as a druid was unrefined by any sort of formal training or apprenticeship, but due to his life in the Shingles he was extremely attentive and self-reliant.  Ratbone pledged his service to Kharash and the Companions, and also vowed to protect the poor of Korvosa.  Kharash told Ratbone that if he were to give up material wealth, then he would be further blessed and protected by the Powers of Good.  Ratbone agreed.  Since making his promise, Ratbone has taken it upon himself to act as the protector of the poor, weak, and innocent of Bridgefront, especially children.  By day, Ratbone continues his life as just another 'bum on the streets', but at night he prowls the alleys of Bridgefront in the form of a large mongrel.  One more than one occasion he has broken up a minor scofflaw or stopped muggings as they were occurring.  As a result, minor rumors have started about the 'Guardian Hound of Bridgefront'.  Against those he finds to be evil and needing to be stopped, Ratbone neither asks for nor receives quarter.  Ratbone has recently started trying to learn of the whereabouts of Lamm, so that he might free the enslaved children and put an end to his evil.

 Valeris Aquitaine, Human Duskblade 

Valeris is a Varisian orphan who ran away to escape abuse, only to fall into the hands of Gaedren Lamm and become one of his "little lambs."  For once in his life he loved his new position and really loved the freedom of taking what he wanted and doing what he wanted.  With the exception of Gaedren, he had no one to boss him around. Once his powers started to surface, however, and Gaedren realized that he might one day grow into someone powerful enough to challenge him, the crime lord tortured and beat him unmercifully, leaving him for dead.  Now all he lives for is to find Gaedren and kill him slowly to make him pay for what was done to him.  Over the years he has hired himself out as anything from a guard or bouncer, to roughing up shopkeepers for protection money.   When possible, he has tried to study magic at the Theumanexus College when he can come up with gold to pay for it.

Herc Stoneheart, Human Fighter

Stoneheart comes from a long line of fighters and bodyguards. He has been training with arms and armor from a young age and loves the spirit of battle and fighting.  Herc prefers his longsword and a spiked shield, although he has trained with all arms and armor.  He is always been strong, fairly acrobatic, and has decent intestinal fortitude, although like most of his family, he is not terribly bright or good looking.   Still, he has seen some battles and knows the streets.  His family has been exclusively employed by the various members of the Orisini family over the last 150+ years, and Herc had been serving as the bodyguard to Vencarlo's 2nd cousin Aberalo for about a year when Aberalo's son went missing.  Aberalo suspects his son ran away, since he never received a ransom. Herc Stoneheart has vowed to find Aberalo's son.   After all, he had been teaching the boy to fight and look out for himself.  He blames himself for giving the lad too much confidence and Herc was not smart enough to instill the need for him to remain at home where it was safer.  Herc has been knocking on doors and scouring the streets looking, and has recently gotten a bit of news that a boy similar to Aberalo's  has been spotted with Gaedren "Little Lambs."

Katarina, Human Beguiler

Katarina is the daughter of one of Korvosa’s most prestigious Harrowers, the feytouched Varisian Mistress Ilga.  Her father is a shameless Korvosan rake who serves as his wife’s “business manager.”  While Mistress Ilga is singularly devoted to the Harrow as many are to their gods, her husband understands that those who approach fortune tellers may be taken advantage of just as easily as those religious fools.  Katarina has two sisters:  The oldest, Siouxsie, inherited her mother’s love of the Harrow.  She is a skilled Harrower in her own right and is also a trained Varisian dancer.  The youngest is Saryja, a dilettante who assumed all of her father’s larcenous tendencies.  Siouxsie and Katarina share their mother’s fey heritage, long raven tresses and green eyes (Cha 14) , while Saryja keeps her chestnut hair cut short in the latest Korvosan style.  Ilga trained Katarina and her sisters in the mystical art of the Harrow from a young age.  Siouxsie embraced the Deck and grew in power, Saryja thought it was all a bunch of superstitious nonsense, but that their mother sure made a fortune by telling fortunes and it allowed Saryja to enjoy the decadent lifestyle she craved.  Katarina was conflicted in her feelings.  She acknowledged her mother’s powers with the Deck, but also saw the enormous power that lay in manipulating those who blindly believed every word from a soothsayer.  Katarina was certainly capable of studying at the Acadamae.  Unfortunately, the daughter of a Varisian Harrower – however famous – would never be accepted, so her father hired private tutors to further her studies.  Her favorite tutor was charismatic young man named Tarim, and the two quickly developed a deeper relationship.  Later, Tarim revealed to her that he really wasn’t a wizard at all, but a beguiler, somewhat limited in the magical arts, but gifted in many other ways.  Tarim’s adventurous life quickly captivated the teenaged Kat, and she imitated everything he did.  Tarim’s greatest frustration was the fact that he felt he couldn’t advance further due to his natural limitations, and he longed to impress his brilliant student and lover.  He began to secretly experiment with various methods of achieving greater enlightenment.  Finally, his search led him to try the dream-inducing street drug known as “shiver.”  It didn’t take long for Tarim to become hooked, a fact he tried desperately to conceal from Katarina.  His eventual overdose left the young beguiler in a coma and broke Katarina’s heart.  It also made her mad.  Mad at Tarim. Mad at “shiver”.  Mad at the people responsible for the horrible drug - people who would have pay for what they had taken from her.  Katarina has combined the powers of her Harrowing with her developing beguiler abilities to discover that a petty crime lord named Gaedren Lamm supplied Tarim with his “shiver.”  She learned a lot of other nasty things about Lamm in her research, and now she’s ready to take him out.

Mandrake Sheekmore’:  Human Paladin of Abadar

Mandrake never asked to be a paladin, never wanted it, in fact.  The choice was taken from him, however, the day his brother, Petros, went missing.  It was on that day that he had the Dream, or perhaps it was a vision.  In it, Abadar spoke to him.  How he knew it was Abadar, especially in light of the fact that he was agnostic, he couldn’t be sure.  He just knew.  The god told him where to find his brother.  He had become addicted to the street drug shiver, and was holed up in the Dragon’s Breath Corridor, a drug house in Eel’s End.  All that Abadar asked in return for this revelation was that Mandrake commit himself to the church body and soul.  He didn’t explain why, except to say that his new paladin had been chosen for the turbulent times that lay ahead.  When Mandrake woke, he set out immediately for Eel’s End.  When he arrived at the Dragon’s Breath Corridor, however, he found that Petros had died in a drug-induced coma the night before, caused by a tainted batch of shiver.  Once he had…persuaded…Bezzeraty, the proprietor of the Dragon’s Breath, the man had told him where the shiver had come from…a local crime lord by the name of Gaedren Lamm.

O’reginald Rijad:  Human Sorcerer

O’reginald had been clean for sixty-four days, six hours and thirty-five minutes…yet he still craved shiver as if he’d last used yesterday.  The young sorcerer had not always been thus.  No, he’d once been a lesser scion of a minor noble house.  True, he would never assume the role of patron of his clan, but still, he had prospects.  When he first began to show an aptitude for magic, his family’s name had insured that he would gain admission to the prestigious Acadamae’…at least until it became apparent to all that his gifts were not of an academic nature.  He was a sorcerer…a freak, born with a minor talent for the arcane that would never amount to anything of worth…or so he’d been told when his application to the college was torn up in front of him.  To make matters worse, his father took his rejection by the school as a personal insult and embarrassment, one which he blamed on O’reginald.  In no uncertain terms, he was informed that he was no longer welcome in his own home.  He took to the streets, intending to use his skills to earn a modest living until he could come up with enough money to apply to Theumanexus College.  As fate would have it, however, he fell in with a bad crowd during his travels thru the seedier sections of Korvosa, and it was thru his new friends that he first met Gaedren Lamm.  It was thru Lamm that he was next introduced to shiver, and the rest, as they say, is history.  His life began to rapidly spiral out of control from that point on, and he had faced many a debasement in his pursuit of the dragon.  It was only as he sat by helplessly and watched his only friend, Petros, die in a fit of seizures that he realized that was the fate that awaited him if he didn’t get clean.  Through a ferocious act of will, he endured days of sickness as he went through gut-wrenching withdrawals.  Now, it had been over two months since he’d used, and he was determined that he would never watch another friend die to the drug that had almost consumed him.  He knew that to kill a dragon, you had to cut off its head, and in Korvosa, the head of shiver was Gaedren Lamm.    

THE EDGE OF ANARCHY

_“I know what Gaedren has done to you.  He has wronged me as well.  I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him.  Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset.  Others like you will be there.  Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”_

A simple note, printed on the back of a Harrow card, yet it was the beginning of a series of events that would change the history of the city of Korvosa, and of Varisia itself.  Six disparate souls found the cards in widely disparate locations:  one while he rummaged through a trash bin in search of his latest meal;  another hidden within her own Harrow deck; a third slipped into the straps of his shield; within the secret notes he studied in hopes of fulfilling his dream to become a mage; in his coin purse, which also served as the symbol of his god; and in the bottom of a hookah pipe, reminding him of a past he thought he’d escaped.

One-by-one they answered the call, unable to do otherwise.  Their pasts demanded blood for blood.  They gathered at the small fortune teller’s shop in the midtown district of Korvosa, their hostess not present as they began to file in.  Two knew each other, for they had shared the same unhappy childhood at the hands of Gaedren Lamm, yet their lives had taken very different paths when they had finally won their freedom, and they simply stared at each other across the tiny sitting room, unsure of what to say.  Likewise, the others had little to say, unsure of the motives of their fellow guests.  They waited, and soon their hostess appeared, a handsome Varisian woman named Zellara.  She made no introductions, but simply thanked her guests for coming and proceeded to tell them her tale.  Gaedren Lamm had stolen her most valued possession from her:  her mother’s Harrow deck.  Her son went to Lamm to retrieve the deck, and was killed by the crime lord outright.  Zellara found no help from law enforcement, and so relied on her own wits and skill with the Harrow.  In time, she discovered one of Gaedren’s many hideouts, and discovered the names of others who harbored grudges against him as well.  Thus her divinations had led her to call those before her, and to appeal to them for their aid in seeking vengeance against a common devil.  There was no hesitation among those gathered in accepting her request.  She thanked them, and before they left, she read the fortunes of each in the cards.  All told a similar tale…a coming time of unrest and violence in the streets, and the role each of them would play as heroes to the city in its hour of greatest need.
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The old fishery that served as Gaedren Lamm’s current hideout had stood abandoned after its former owner was killed by a devilfish.  Under Korvosan law, buildings abandoned under such circumstances automatically reverted to the city, to be held in escrow for two years.  Even after this period, however, the local government was slow to handle such matters, and Gaedren often used this to his advantage, setting up shop in a previously abandoned shop for as long as possible before moving on to the next.  Not only was the fishery a convenient headquarters, but it also served as a money-making scheme to supplement what was brought in by his pick-pocketing ‘Little Lambs.’  It was a place where desperate fishermen could sell of their less fetching catches, and where fishmongers could dump their old sun-tainted wares.  Lamm’s workforce of enslaved orphans toiled among the guts and slime, creating a foul-smelling slurry that could be resold as bait, fertilizer, or the main ingredient for ‘fish dumplings,’ a local favorite among the poorer dock workers who couldn’t afford a fresh filet of fish.  

Zellara’s enforcers made their way along the wharfs from her shop to the fishery, exchanging superficial courtesies along the way, but each harboring suspicions and misgivings about the motivations of his or her companions.  By the time they arrived, it was well after sunset, and the building was closed up for the night.  This did not deter them.  Some of them had waited most of their lives for that moment, while others for a far shorter time, but they all had one thing in common:  their desire to see Gaedren Lamm pay for his crimes was all-consuming.  Without hesitation, the big warrior called Herc used his shield to batter in the front door.  In the front room beyond, they surprised a very startled-looking, sour-faced man, dressed in out-of-date finery.  He was speaking with a small boy, and slowly rising to its feet, a deep snarl in its throat, was a powerfully-built cur.  Ratbone and Valeris instantly recognized the man:  Yargin Balkro, Gaedren’s right-hand man and longest-lived accomplice.  Both of them had suffered greatly at his hands during their time of indentured servitude, and those old memories left them in no mood to act with diplomacy.  Growling low, Ratbone stalked forward in his mongrel form, his eyes not on the other dog, but on Yargin’s throat.  He paused barely three steps into the room, however, as he recognized a familiar scent.  Turning, he sniffed the air and for the first time, got a really good look at the boy.  It was then that he realized it was not a boy that he was seeing, but instead it was a gnome disguised as a human child.  This then was Hookshanks Gruller, Gaedren’s overseer and taskmaster, a cruel  creature who took great delight in bullying those who were even smaller than himself.  A fresh surge of anger coursed through Ratbone, and he lunged at Yargin, taking the man down in a flurry of snapping jaws and flashing teeth.  When Yargin’s dog, Boo rushed for Ratbone’s flank, Herc stepped in, killing the mangy mongrel with one blow.  Hookshanks began edging towards the door, begging the ‘grown-ups’ to save him.  Before he could make the door, however, Ratbone was on him, much to the shock and horror of his companions, who thought the half-orc had gone insane with bloodlust, attacking a child like that.  It was only after the gnome lay motionless on the floor and Ratbone, reverting to his normal form, showed them the nature of the disguise, that they understood and calmed themselves.

Despite Ratbone’s vicious attacks, Yargin and Hookshanks still drew breath, though Valeris was eager to remedy that situation.  Mandrake, however, insisted that they be kept alive and taken to the proper authorities for justice.  Reluctantly, the others agreed and the pair were bound and gagged and left in the room while the avengers moved deeper into the fishery.  They encountered no one else until they came through a door onto a platform overlooking the fishery floor.  There, over two-dozen grimy, wide-eyed children cowered among the catwalk supports as a burly half-orc railed at them and beat them with a heavy-wooden flail, ordering them to kill the trespassers, all while he giggled maniacally.  Valeris and Ratbone recognized yet another of Gaedren’s cronies:  Mr. Giggles, a border-line insane brute who helped Hookshanks squeeze every minute of work they could from the orphans.  Terrified as they obviously were of the half-orc, the children did not move to obey his maddened commands, which only enraged him further.  As he raised his flail to strike again, however, Valeris and Ratbone were upon him, and this time, they were more thorough in their tactics, and Mr. Giggles did not rise from the widening pool of blood that surrounded him.  Afterwards, Mandrake told the children to flee, and they didn’t hesitate, running like rats from a sinking ship.  Several of them paused, however, as they passed the tied up pair in the front room.  Katarina, who had silently followed the children to make sure they made good their escape, was the only one to bear witness as they drew small knives from their tunics and quickly slit the throats of Yargin and Hookshanks.

Moored to the pier behind the fishery, was the rotten hulk of an ancient barge called Kraken’s Folly.  When the six companions found no trace of Gaedren within the fishery itself, they made their way to the boat.  Within its dilapidated hulk, they found only a small colony of spiders the size of large cats.  Once they had dealt with the vermin, however, Ratbone’s sharp eyes picked out a well-hidden door in the side of the hull.  Upon opening it, they found a floating underpier beneath the main pier above.  It lead to a lower level of the fishery that was not visible from street level.  Within, they found a large, low-ceilinged, open area, with a sizeable hole in the floor overlooking the stinking river below.  Standing on the far side of this room was Gaedren Lamm himself.  He was a jaundiced, bent corpse of a man, his eyes yellowed and his skin speckled from age.  His left leg carried a pronounced limp as he shuffled about, and he wore only a gray, cotton robe.  When he saw the intruders, he merely sneered, for he recognized each one of them and knew why they had come.  He taunted them each, cruelly and without mercy.  He spoke of Ratbone and how he should have fed him to the sharks when he’d first found the half-breed.  Valeris, his most promising pupil, was an ingrate in his eyes and deserved to have been left in a garbage bin.  Herc, he told laughingly, was too late to save his charge.  The boy, according to Lamm, had died just the day before.  Mandrake and Katarina he chided for their choices of weak-willed family and lovers, so easily swayed by the offer of a little shiver.  And speaking of shiver, he held a small vile out towards O’reginald, tempting the former addict with a bit of hair of the dog.  Lastly, he spoke of Zellara, telling them he knew that she’d sent them, then remarking on her beauty and saying how he couldn’t bear to feed her to his ‘pet.’  He went on to say that she was in the next room if they wanted to see her, bringing looks of puzzlement and concern to their faces.  No words were spoken as they fanned out around the hole in the floor, coming at Lamm from both flanks.  Before they could reach him, however, a large crocodile lunged, roaring and snapping out of the river.  This was Gobblegut, Gaedren’s pet, to whom he’d fed any number of his enemies and charges who’d displeased him.  Still, such was the pent up rage and frustration of those assembled, that Valeris slew the croc single-handedly, while Ratbone tore out Gaedren’s throat himself.
_______________________________________________________

Strangely, Gaedren’s death brought no satisfaction, and his final taunt weighed heavily on the minds of the six.  When they entered the small office off the main chamber, they discovered amid the filth and refuse a strongbox, and a small, wooden hatbox surrounded by a cloud of flies.  Within the strongbox was an assortment of Gaedren’s more prized acquisitions. Most of these were minor trinkets of small value, but one was an exquisitely-crafted brooch depicting a pseudodragon and an imp coiled around each other.  The dragon’s eye was an amethyst, while the imp’s was an emerald.  It’s value was incalculable, yet even more shocking was the marking on its back…the personal insignia of Queen Ileosa herself!
A larger, and more horrifying shock, however, still lay within the hatbox.  When Katarina cautiously lifted the lid, she gasped as she saw the severed head of Zellara nestled within.  It was poorly preserved and decorated with unsightly makeup in a crude attempt to give its sagging flesh the semblance of life.  Beneath the ragged stump of the neck, lay the fortune teller’s Harrow deck.
_________________________________________________

The would-be heroes made their quickly back to Zellara’s shop, but when they arrived there, they found it abandoned, looking as if it had been so for weeks.  No sign of food, wall hangings, rugs or Zellara herself could be found, and the furniture was smashed to pieces.  No sooner had they entered, however, than Katarina felt a strange warmth emanating from her pocket.  When she reached in and withdrew Zellara’s Harrow deck, she saw that it was glowing with a pale, silvery light.  The glow grew until it formed the outline of a woman, Zellara, looking ghostly and translucent.  She apologized for having deceived them, but explained that when she had gone after Gaedren, seeking revenge for her son’s death, she had only found her own doom there.  Such was her desire for vengeance, however, that her spirit had lived on and contacted each of them.  She thanked them for giving her peace, and explained that she now bequeathed her most prized possession, her deck, to them.  She explained that, through it, she could continue to offer them her guidance and her wisdom.  They had only to call.

When they emerged once more from Zellara’s shop, it became immediately apparent that something terrible had happened.  Korvosa was in flames.  Smoke rose on the horizon.  The frantic clang of alarm bells sang out in harmony with a multifarious cacophony of screams, the clash of steel on steel, moans, and even the periodic detonation of arcane power.  A wing of Sable Company griffon riders swooped overhead, angling toward Castle Korvosa at a breakneck pace.  One of the badly wounded mounts rained blood down on the street around them before it succumbed and crashed headlong into a statue, taking its rider and itself to a bone-crunching demise.  The others in the flight did not pause to check on their fallen ally.  Amid the chaos, the voice of a Korvosan herald cut through the din:  “The king is dead!  Long live the queen!” only to be shouted down by the ragged cries of “Hang the queen!” and “The usurper whore must die!”  Through an alleyway, they even spotted a contingent of hellknights clad in dark iron armor and horned helms pursuing a small gang of what appeared to be looters.  The city had gone mad while the heroes had battled Gaedren in his lair.


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## Zanticor

Oh boy oh boy. I'll sure follow this one. Shame about the last one but the Crimson Throne is of on a good start. I hope the characters will grow on me like the last times.

Zanticor


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## JollyDoc

Zanticor said:


> Oh boy oh boy. I'll sure follow this one. Shame about the last one but the Crimson Throne is of on a good start. I hope the characters will grow on me like the last times.
> 
> Zanticor




I like this group of characters.  We've got a good mix, with two of the PC's exalted, and two CN, bordering on evil.  Should be an interesting interaction.


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## Neverwinter Knight

Yes, a fine assortment of characters. It migth just work out, if the two darker souls are a little more subtle in living out their alignment. In other words: not like Reaper. 

Great start of the story hour and awesome description of the PC histories. You could really feel the tension. Glad you wrapped up RotRL the way you did and thanks for continuing to share your exploits with us!


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## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Yes, a fine assortment of characters. It migth just work out, if the two darker souls are a little more subtle in living out their alignment. In other words: not like Reaper.




HEY!!!  Reaper wasn't THAT bad...

Most of the PC histories above were written by the players themselves, and its really cool to see the deep amount of thought that went into them.  Should be an interesting to see how it all shakes out.

Oh, and we have no cleric, so healing is going to be limited to 'cleric-on-a-stick' for the time being.


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## Neverwinter Knight

Joachim said:


> HEY!!!  Reaper wasn't THAT bad...



Reaper was definitely one of my favorite characters, and while I would never call him bad or evil, being subtle was not one of his strong points.


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Reaper was definitely one of my favorite characters, and while I would never call him bad or evil, being subtle was not one of his strong points.




Did Joachim mention that he's playing Ratbone, the most exalted do-gooder of the bunch?


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## Supar

JollyDoc said:


> Did Joachim mention that he's playing Ratbone, the most exalted do-gooder of the bunch?




he is giving away perfectly good money to the poor wth is that


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## JollyDoc

IN HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE

Eodred II’s health had been declining for some time.  That was common knowledge, but his sudden death had caught most of the castle off guard.  Rumors quickly began to spread on the streets that he suffered from some disease beyond even the priesthoods of Sarenrae and Abadar’s skill to cure, and that even Asmodeus’s disciples were summoned from their pentacle temple in the deep of night to try their dark hand at restoring the king.  Worse, the castle’s seneschal had apparently vanished as well, supposedly slain in one of the initial riots.  Desperate citizens, salty dock workers, soot-covered smiths and all manner of tradesmen, already stifled by Eodred’s spendthrift reign, roared at the thought of Ileosa taking the throne.  Dock workers abandoned the seafront wards and caravan men left North Point.  Frustrated merchant ships and wagon convoys turned around when they found no one to offload their goods, much less to buy them.  Food and other staples trickled into the city, while thousands vied for the last sack of flour or bundle of cook-fire timber in the market.  Riots erupted throughout the streets.  Entire wards plunged into chaos.  Those who did not rove the streets with cudgel and torch in hand instead locked their doors against the gathering mob.  The Bank of Abadar closed its gilded gates and a contingent of the Coin’s Faithful stood at the ready with halberd and crossbow to repel would-be looters.  The Acadamae closed its doors as well, shutting its students and professors within its walls and closing them to the rest of the city.  In the space of a dozen hours, all of Korvosa’s oppression and anger exploded into chaos.  

It was into this madness that the six new companions stepped.  Their mission was complete, yet now they were adrift, unable to return to their previous lives, and now dependent on each other for the relative safety that numbers would afford.  At first they were divided as to where they should go and what they should do.  Ratbone advocated aiding the victims of the rioting wherever they could, but Mandrake felt they should return the stolen brooch to the queen.  The paladin’s reasoning was that they were obliged to restore the stolen property to its rightful owner, while the city guard could assist in dispersing the mobs.  In the end, a compromise was reached, since the company would have to traverse a large part of the city to reach Castle Korvosa, and they would be able to lend their assistance if it was needed along the way. 

Their first chance came quickly and unexpectedly.  As they passed by a small tavern, an obviously drunken guardsman came staggering up to Valeris, seemingly having mistaken the duskblade for someone named Neffi, from some place called Sandpoint.  When Valeris denied the acquaintance and proceeded to chastise the soldier for dereliction of duty in the face of citywide lawlessness, the man became defensive and belligerent, claiming that there was no point in trying to help.  The city was lost.  Mandrake recognized the guardsman, a well-liked Watch Sergeant named Grau.  The paladin stepped between him and Valeris, and attempted to diffuse the situation, offering to escort the watchman back to the Citadel.  Grau grew tearful and remorseful about his abandonment of his post, and agreed to accompany the group after all.

Further along, they came upon the edge of a riot where a mob of half-a-dozen men wielding shovels, chair-legs, and lengths of iron pipe surrounded a beardless young nobleman.  One of the laborers, a fat, bald man with greasy muttonchops framing his rotund face, jeered at the young man, accusing him of never having worked an honest day in his life, and of being a lapdog of the “whore queen!”  As the big worker raised his pipe to strike, however, Katarina stepped in, a wave of her hand and a quickly chanted spell putting two of the thugs to sleep.  Between Valeris’s intimidating stance and Mandrake’s polite but firm suggestion that they disperse, the other men picked up their drowsing companions and slunk away, grumbling.  The nobleman was grateful, and identified himself as Amin Jalento.  He was in no frame of mind to stick around, however, and tipped his saviors several platinums before disappearing into the streets.

Eventually, they arrived at the Citadel, and while Grau’s fellows readily accepted his return, they were not inclined to accept the offer of the young heroes of further assistance.  They were advised, in no uncertain terms, to return to their homes or face incarceration.  Reluctantly, they continued on their way.  Castle Korvosa was not hard to identify against Korvosa’s skyline.  A magnificent achievement of architecture, the castle walls and spires rose high into the air above.  The entire structure loomed even higher for its ancient foundation…a Thassilonian ruin in the shape of an immense, flat-topped pyramid.  Normally, petitioners to the monarchy approached from the Great Ramp, waited in the Public Courtyard to speak to the Korvosan Guards on duty, and hoped for a chance to be heard.  When the six companions arrived, however, the Castle had been locked tight, and bristled with pikes and crossbows.  The guards demanded to know their business.  At the mention of the queen’s brooch, however, their attitude changed.  Hurried words were exchanged among the watchmen, and then one nodded that the group should proceed to the courtyard…after leaving their weapons at the gate.

A group of obviously nervous guards armed with heavy crossbows escorted them up to the castle.  As they reached the top of the pyramid and the wide stairs curling up to the castle’s third floor, they were greeted by a beautiful woman dressed in magnificent full plate armor…the queen’s handmaiden and bodyguard, Sabina Merrin.  She nodded curtly in greeting, then asked to see the brooch.  When it was presented, she smiled, dismissed the guards, then led the company to the throne room, asking how they would be introduced when they met the queen.  As they rounded the corner to the throne room, she announced their arrival with a loud, clear voice, and then stepped aside.  Queen Ileosa sat upon the Crimson Throne, a vision of celestial beauty despite the black mourning dress and veil she wore in honor of her husband’s death.  A small silver coffer sat in her lap.  Sabina stepped forward again and took the brooch, then handed it over to the queen with a flourish.  She took up a position at the throne’s left side as Ileosa addressed the companions.  The queen thanked them for the return of her property, something she had not expected to see again.  She spoke of her love for Korvosa, and the turmoil her husband’s death had brought to the city.  She promised to reward her heroes, but suggested that they might do her and their city further service.  She offered them a position at Citadel Volshyenek among her city guards, if they so chose.  Then, claiming that her grief had drained her, she retired, directing Sabina to hand over the reward…a king’s ransom of twelve gold Korvosan ingots.  Sabina then looked questioningly at them, obviously waiting on their answer to the queen’s offer.  The six unlikely heroes glanced at each other, then agreed as one.
_____________________________________________________

Sabina Merrin and a contingent of the royal guard escorted the new guardsmen to Citadel Volshyenek.  Once there, they were shown past the same soldiers who had ordered them away on their last visit, sheepish looks of contrition on their faces.  They were taken into the central keep, where a harried and tired-looking woman rose from her desk to greet them.  This was Field Marshal Cressida Kroft.  She introduced herself and asked for their names.  She was pleased to see them, pointing out that they had seen the situation in the streets, and the guard was already stretched thin.  Every bit of help they could get was welcome.  Skipping any further formalities, she proceeded to explain that Korvosa had enough problems without her own men losing their way and going rogue.  Apparently this had already happened several times.  Many had deserted their posts, concerned about family and friends, yet some were using the riots for personal gain.  One such was a man named Verik Vancaskerkin.  He had convinced a small group of his fellow guards that Queen Ileosa was going to ruin the city.  Cressida explained that she couldn’t afford to pull any of her guards off duty to deal with him, and she didn’t want to expose any of them to him in any case, not wanting to risk further desertions.  She needed impartial agents, and that’s where the newcomers came in.  She explained that Vancaskerkin and his men had holed up in an abandoned butcher’s shop in North Point called All the World’s Meat.  She wanted the group to investigate the place.  She asked that they try and avoid killing any of the deserters, if possible, but understood if it came to that.  Specifically, she wanted Vancaskerkin alive for interrogation, so that she could find out if there was more to his desertion than simple politics.  She dubbed her new operatives the Korvosan Intelligence Agency…K.I.A.
_______________________________________________________

By the following morning, the initial civil unrest and outbreaks of rioting were quelled quickly, thanks to the swift action of the Guard, the Sable Company and the Hell Knights.  The streets were relatively safe to walk, but a thick tension remained in the air.  Riots, fires, and lootings continued to erupt sporadically, and certain smaller areas of the city remained out of control.  North Point was one of these.  Fortunately, Ratbone knew those streets, and he was able to lead his companions along back alleys and side streets, avoiding the major thoroughfares.  

When they reached the butcher shop, they found that it was apparently still a going concern, as several patrons were lined up outside the door, entering and then leaving with wrapped parcels.  Dressed in their normal garb instead of that of the Guard, the group drew no attention to themselves as they walked down a side alley and approached the shop from the stockyard.  Quietly and unseen, they entered the building, finding themselves on the killing floor, a large, blood spattered chamber where the livestock was slaughtered.  The room was unoccupied, however, and they began cautiously opening adjoining doors.  Behind one, they surprised two men, both dressed in chain shirts beneath their aprons, slopping three surly-looking boars.  The men, Karralo and Parns, late of the Korvosan Guard, asked if they were lost, saying that they were trespassing on private property.  At first, Valeris tried bluffing them, explaining that they were there to join Verik’s cause.  The two ex-soldiers denied knowing anything about that, at the same time loosening their weapons.  After that, there was no more room for diplomacy, and things happened quickly.  Despite the best efforts of Valeris and O’reginald, the men were subdued, mostly due to Katarina’s deft use of her magical skills, repeatedly dazing the warriors while her companions rendered them unconscious.  Within moments, however, two more men, Baldrago and Malder entered the room, but they were likewise dealt with.  Finally, Verik himself appeared, but by that time it was too late.  He was outnumbered and outclassed, and he soon joined his cohorts in captivity.  A search of the shops offices turned up nothing incriminating, but Valeris did find a beautifully ornate silver dagger, which he slipped surreptitiously into his tunic.  
When the group left the shop, a crowd had gathered outside, having witnessed the melee.  They began to grow violent and unruly when they saw Verik and his men being dragged out bound hand-and-foot.  Katarina and Mandrake, however, were able to calm the mob, explaining that the men were wanted criminals.  When they added that any remaining meat in the shop was free for the taking, that sealed it, and the people surged inside, allowing the company to take their prisoners and slip quietly away.
______________________________________________________

Field Marshal Kroft was very pleased that, not only had her new agents dealt with Verik and his men, but they’d managed to bring them all in alive!  The financial reward she gave them was generous, but their achievement was such that she had another assignment for them immediately.  When they gathered in her office, however, she was not alone.  A handsome, middle-aged gentleman, whom she introduced as Vencarlo Orisini, was also in attendance.   Herc’s face fell when he saw the man, for it was Vencarlo’s nephew that the big warrior had been assigned to protect when the boy was kidnapped by Gaedren Lamm.  Orisini knew him as well, and he was quick to reassure Herc that neither he, nor his family held the man responsible for what had happened.  Though this did not assuage Herc’s guilt, he could tell the nobleman was being genuine.  

Cressida cut the amenities short, as she was anxious to get down to business.  She said that Vencarlo had often been a source of information for her, and he had now brought her some ominous news.  It seemed a man named Darvayne Gios Amprei, an ambassador from Cheliax whose disdain for Korvosa was well known, was attempting to undermine the city’s economy to the point where he could buy up large portions of real estate from desperate landholders and establish himself in a position of power.  Even before the current crisis, he had been ready to recommend to his government a sanction on trade, or perhaps even an embargo.  Cressida was emphatic that his plans had to be stopped, but not by simply killing him.  Not only would it be wrong, but it would martyr him in the eyes of Cheliax.  Fortunately, Vencarlo had learned that the ambassador had been making regular visits to Eel’s End in Old Korvosa, a den of vice run by a dangerous man named Devargo Barvasi, better known in Korvosa’s alleys as the King of Spiders.  He would never let anyone he recognized as an ally of the Guard into his establishment, which was were the K.I.A came in:  she wanted them to pay a visit to Eel’s End and secure an audience with Devargo, find out what he knew about Amprei, get proof of any illicit goings-on the ambassador might be involved with, and bring that proof back to her.  She agreed to supply them with gold to bribe the crime lord, as he might not be willing to part with such information willingly.  The six companions accepted their assignment without question.
_________________________________________________

Vencarlo volunteered to escort the company as far as Old Korvosa, since his fencing academy was located there.  Along the way, he took the time to thank them for how they handled the situation with Sergeant Grau, adding that the man was once one of his most promising students.  As he spoke, Katarina recalled a rumor she’d heard about some sort of scandal involving Grau, Vencarlo and Sabina Merrin.  The details escaped her, however.  Vencarlo paid quite a bit of attention to Katarina on the long walk, playing the role of the gentleman suitor.  He also took an interest in Ratbone, inquiring specifically about the half-orc’s charity work in Bridgefront.

Soon enough, they reached Old Korvosa, and Vencarlo took his leave with a bow and a final kiss to Katarina’s hand.  He pointed them in the direction of Eel’s End, though Mandrake unfortunately knew the way quite well.  When the group reached the long pier with five large barges moored to its end, the paladin was nearly overwhelmed with memories of his last visit there…when he’d found his brother dead inside the shiver den known as the Dragon’s Breath Corridor.  Now fate had brought him back, and he could not help but believe that it was no coincidence.  Abadar worked in mysterious ways.
Along with the Dragon’s Breath Corridor, the Twin Tigers, the Goldenhawk, and the House of Clouds all were heavily patroned by sailors, thugs, prostitutes and what could even have been a few well-dressed nobles, all carousing together.  Only one ship, the largest, the Eel’s End itself, had an unoccupied deck, save for a pair of large, grim-faced men dressed in chainmail.  The group made their way onto the foredeck of the barge, and when they were questioned by the guards, Katarina’s obvious charms convinced them that she and her friends had legitimate business with Devargo Barvasi.  They were taken inside the cabin of the King of Spiders, where the brooding crime lord sat on a makeshift throne crawling with spiders, as a group of thugs sat at tables before him enjoying a sumptuous  meal and loudly telling stories.  The room became hushed, however, as the newcomers were escorted in.  At Barvasi’s questioning gaze, Katarina stepped forward to speak.  She explained that she was an adept of the Harrow, and had recently been given visions of important events swirling about the Spider King.  When Barvasi said that he did not deal in the whims of fortune, but instead made his own fate, Katarina asked to give him a reading.  Bemused, he agreed, all the while fingering the filigree on the armrest of his throne.  Katarina took out Zellara’s deck, and began dealing the cards.  Her reading was inspired as she spoke of Barvasi’s sordid past, his obviously successful present, and his clouded future, in which she claimed to see divided loyalties.  Barvasi sat forward with interest, peering down at the cards.  When he asked what she meant by the latter, Katarina spoke of Ambassador Amprei.  Barvasi listened in silence as she offered her proposal, ending with a heavy sack laden with five-hundred gold coins.  Barvasi remained silent another moment, but then abruptly clapped his hands in delight, and thanked Katarina for her generosity and entertainment.  He then asked that they wait while he adjourned to his private quarters.  When he returned, he brought with him a packet of papers.  He explained that he had learned of a scandalous affair between the ambassador and the wife of an important noble back in Cheliax.  He had paid Amprei a visit, attempting to befriend him and make a proposition of opening a line of trade with Cheliax.  When the ambassador refused and had Barvasi escorted from his property, Devargo had lifted the man’s house key.  He later returned to the house under cover of darkness and stole several letters from Amprei’s paramour.  He’d been selling them back to the ambassador since then, but he still had two left, and these he handed over to Katarina and her friends.


----------



## Dr Simon

So, the players never found out about the little "side business" going on at All the World's Meat?


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## Ashrum the Black

About that "side business" I can only say:

Ewwww!



Seems the party has been doing well. The city really seemed to go down hill fast though. Food riots after twelve hours seems a bit quick. I understand it isn't a city with refrigerators to keep food in, but I would have expected food riots to a least take a day or two to kick up. 

Was the time line from the module really that quick, or did the riots kick up sooner than they appeared to in the story hour and things have been bad for a while?

-Ashrum


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## Dr Simon

There *are* some issues of timing in this adventure where you need to apply a bit of Fridge Logic sometimes. The initial riots are not food-related, more the citizens letting off steam. Eodred was a bit of a spendthrift, and his young queen is seen as something of a spoilt rich girl, so the poor aren't happy. It's only as the situation continues that imports are slowed by blockades, that food becomes an issue. Although you could probably say that things are already bad due to Eodred wasting money.

I had a two week gap between the PCs defeating Lamm and being able to visit the Queen. Enough time for Verik to realistically set up his operation. James Jacobs says that the DM can be quite flexible, over on the Paizo boards.


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## JollyDoc

Nope, the gang did not find out about the "other white meat."  They pretty much got in and got out.

As for the timeline, James Jacobs did address this over on Paizo when others questioned the speed at which everything went to Hell, and like Doc Simon said, things were already brewing in Korvosa.  Eodred's death was just the match that set off the gasoline.


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## JollyDoc

URBAN DECAY

Field Marshal Kroft was thrilled when her agents handed over the Cheliaxan ambassador’s letters, though there might have been a tinge of something else in her expression as well when she heard that Devargo still lived.  Disappointment?  Perhaps.  In any event, she had no further immediate assignments for the company, and dismissed them, though she admonished them to make themselves available at a moment’s notice.  She would leave word for them with Theandra Darklight, the owner of the Three Rings Tavern, where the group was being quartered in lieu of the Citadel barracks.

Weeks passed, and life in Korvosa returned to a vague semblance of normality, though tensions remained high, and some neighborhoods were still mostly lawless.  Bridgeport, a high-rise shanty town in Old Korvosa was one of these.  Ratbone was intimately familiar with its narrow, dingy streets, having spent much time there in the past, performing minor acts of good will whenever he could.  These days, however, Bridgeport had declined significantly, and Ratbone had encouraged his new allies to patrol its streets periodically, since the regular Guard wanted little to do with its inhabitants.  Little wonder.  A miasma of foul air hovered over its garbage-strewn streets.  The reek of unwashed bodies, offal, and rotting refuse formed an invisible cloud that permeated everything.  Rusty sewer grates spurted pea-green sludge that oozed down the gutters, and rats swarmed in the alleys.  Peasants hustled through the streets, grimy handkerchiefs covering their mouths and noses.  Yes, Bridgeport had indeed fallen on hard times since Eodred’s death.

As the group picked their way down the garbage-strewn lanes, a pot-bellied half-orc pie salesman hailed them from a corner.  He said his name was Mung, and he said that he’d heard of  them…Guardsmen who were not Guardsmen, who actually seemed to care about the fate of Korvosa’s less fortunate.  He needed their help.  One of his suppliers, a man named Algie, had gone missing.  Ordinarily, he wouldn’t worry, but four others had disappeared as well in the past month, all of them professional ratcatchers.  Two had since turned up dead.  Mung pointed out the obvious, that Bridgeport, never the nicest part of town, had gotten even worse of late.  First the garbage collectors had stopped coming around, and then the sewers had backed up.  Now, the ratcatchers.  Vermin were everywhere, and they were vicious!  Before he disappeared, Algie had talked about someone leaning on the ratcatchers, threatening to hurt them if they killed any more rats.  Mung indicated that Weston, the head of the ratcatchers, might have more information if they were interested.  Ratbone made no promises, but said they would look into the matter if they had time.
______________________________________________________

Events soon unfolded that encouraged them to make time.  They had only just left Mung, cutting through a side alley to avoid the heavy crowds, when six men stepped out of the shadows, three in front and three behind.  One of them said the group had been seen talking to the pie salesman, and if they knew what was good for them, they’d get out of Bridgeport while they could still walk.  To emphasize his words, he and his cronies began slapping heavy saps against their palms.  Some of the K.I.A. disliked threats more than others, Herc and Valeris among them.  The fight was short and brutal, with all but two of the thugs laying dead on the cobbles when all was said and done.  Those two still drew breath did so thanks only to Ratbone’s and Mandrake’s mercy.  Just the same, the druid broke all of their weapons with his bare hands, then he and his companions simply left them lying unconscious in the alley.  As they walked away, they could already see the locals gathering for the scavenge.

The headquarters of the ratcatchers was a two-story wooden building located on Spit Street.  In a front office on the lower level, a young man greeted them enthusiastically when they said they were investigating Algie’s disappearance.  He said that Weston would be glad to see them as well.  When he escorted them to Weston’s room, however, they found the door partly open, and the room empty, but there were obvious signs of a struggle.  A large bloodstain, still tacky, pooled on the floor.  Cracks around the lock on the door suggested forced entry, and when Ratbone shifted to his canine form, he found a tuft of hair, a scuffed footprint, and a smear of blood that formed a trail that lead to a covered chute on the ground floor.  The ratcatcher escorting them explained that the chute descended to the sewers.  They used it to dispose of their quarry.  The next choice seemed obvious.
________________________________________________

The chute was treacherous, and several of the companions took nasty tumbles on the way down.  Ratbone again picked up the blood trail immediately along the walkway above the effluvium.  For two hours they followed the mongrel druid, his nose constantly sniffing this way and that.  Finally, down a tunnel that, to the others, looked identical to every other one they’d already been down, they found a door, cobbled together from mildewed boards and rusty nails.  Splintered pockmarks studded its surface, and a light flickered around its edges.  In the darkness above, they could hear faint rustling sounds.  When Herc impulsively drew his sword and began jabbing it into the rafters, a large flock of roosting pigeons came swarming down into the passage.  Cursing and yelling, the heroes flailed at the maddened birds, finally driving them away into the darkness.

Still cursing, Herc jerked aside the rickety door.  The small room beyond was filthy, filled with stacked crates.  Dirty straw, animal waste and dried blood covered the floor, and a stained curtain covered a hole in the east wall.  Standing in the center of the room was a woman that appeared to be half-human and half-rat.  Scars marred her lean face and square chin.  Dirty blonde hair sprouted all over her body to form a mat of fur.  She held a short sword in her hand, and standing, backs arched and spitting in front of her, were three viciously feral-looking cats the size of badgers.  She seemed in no frame of mind to talk, as she and her felines launched themselves forward.  The six companions were taken aback by the ferocity and savagery of the attack.  Before they could react, the rat-woman had forced both Herc and Valeris back out into the hallway, opening a terrible gash across the big mercenary’s face.  Meanwhile, the cats pounced, all teeth and claws, upon Mandrake, and Ratbone, still in his canine form.  Though Herc and Valeris dealt their opponent many fierce blows, her skin seemed to shed their steel as if they were striking stone.  Still, the K.I.A. was quick to recover, and gradually, they gained ground, with Mandrake and Ratbone managing to dispatch the cats with some difficulty.  Valeris and Herc continued to whittle away at the wererat until, finally, the duskblade reached out with his bare hand, channeling his magic as he did so, and delivered a deadly burst of electricity to her, sending her to the ground jittering and quivering before she stopped moving and reverted back to fully human form again. 

A search of the room, and the adjoining cubby hole turned up a bound and gagged gray-haired halfling…Weston.  He was terrified, yet grateful.  He told his saviors that his captor had been called Beila Atcher, a new member of his organization that mostly kept to herself.  During his captivity, she had raved about how she and her brother, Vernon, were going to finally show the powers-that-be in Korvosa that they could not keep their people in the sewers any longer.  Apparently, their grand scheme involved sabotaging the sanitation systems in Bridgeport first.  Then they would spread the filth to the wealthier districts, expecting the reek to drive some of the nobility out.  Finally, with the aid of a local gang of thugs called the Scarred Shadows, they would slaughter Korvosa’s ruling class, and Vernon would take control of the city.  Ambitious, to say the least.  In addition, the heroes discovered a packet of correspondence between Beila and her brother, which revealed that Vernon was currently holed up in an abandoned garbage scow anchored on the river.
_______________________________________________________

On the way to the river, however, the company was once more accosted by members of the Scarred Shadows.  That time, it was only three of the thugs, including the two they had left alive earlier, but there was a half-elf standing behind them, fingering a dagger and giggling.  The encounter went no better for the gangsters than the previous one, however.  With a single spell, Katarina rendered all four of them unconscious in a blast of colored light.  When the group departed, Katarina left a Harrow card lying on the chest of one of the ruffians.  She had scrawled the initials K.I.A on the back.

The ancient garbage scow bobbed in the black water of the Jeggare River.  The deck groaned under the weight of piles of refuse, their reek almost overwhelming the dock smells of fish, salt and tar.  A wooden shack rose from the filth like a mushroom.  As they crossed the narrow, rickety gangway to the deck, Ratbone spotted movement amidst the trash piles as a cockroach the size of a pony erupted from the debris.  The giant insect was vicious, and reeked like nothing they’d ever encountered.  Still, it was still just an oversized bug, and proved no match for the combined fury of Mandrake and Ratbone.

The door to the cabin was locked, but Herc turned it to so much kindling with a smash of his shield.  A dozen rats scurried along the floor of the bi-level, crowded room beyond.  An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, shedding greasy gray light onto every surface.  Piles of paper covered an old table, and sloping steps led down to a room filled with crates and a hammock.  Crouched at the bottom of the stairs was another wererat, this one male, but covered with the same, dirty blonde hair as Beila.  The family resemblance was uncanny.  However, that resemblance did not translate to their fighting prowess.  Vernon Atcher was no less tenacious, and though he was determined to see his deluded dreams through to their conclusion, he simply lacked his sister’s savagery.  As a result, the would-be wererat king of Korvosa was quickly subdued, once more due largely to Katarina’s magic.  Again and again, she assaulted the rogue with a physical assault of arcane power that rendered him quickly unconscious.  Just like that, Vernon’s great plan came to an end.
___________________________________________________

A search of Vernon’s scow turned up more incriminating documents of his plans.  It also revealed the unconscious form of Algie, Mung’s lost friend.  Algie was returned to the ratcatchers, and Vernon was brought back to the Citadel and handed over to Field Marshal Kroft.  The K.I.A. was making a name for itself, both in the common quarters of the city, and in the places of power.  Events would soon come to pass, however, when that reputation would be put to the most severe form of testing…


----------



## carborundum

Sweet! They're kicking butt, taking names and leaving a calling card. Sounds like fun!


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## Abciximab

You gotta watch out for those cats, they'll getcha everytime. Savaging their way up your inseam all claws and teeth. As big as badgers? Doesn't seem big enough to qualify as Dire, Just big Tom's? 

"Yeah boss, the shipment of badgers didn't come in.."
"Badger's? We don't need no stinkin' badgers! Get the cats down here!""

Sorry, had go for the obvious joke.


----------



## Ed Gentry

JD,

I had a question if you don't mind. I've read your other SH threads and really enjoyed them. I noticed in this one you've changed your style quite a bit. You seem to be going for more a straight-account-of-events style rather than an unfolding-story-with-dialogue-quotes style that you had before.

I'm just curious as to what your reason for the style change was.

Thanks!


----------



## JollyDoc

Ed Gentry said:


> JD,
> 
> I had a question if you don't mind. I've read your other SH threads and really enjoyed them. I noticed in this one you've changed your style quite a bit. You seem to be going for more a straight-account-of-events style rather than an unfolding-story-with-dialogue-quotes style that you had before.
> 
> I'm just curious as to what your reason for the style change was.
> 
> Thanks!




An excellent question.  The main reason was time.  I found myself getting really behind with RotRL, and it was a way to expedite things.  However,  I would be interested to know what people think about the two styles.  Personally, I'm feeling that there's something missing, and I'm not conveying personalities very well.  Regardless, I will still probably skirt round-by-round combat details, but I don't feel that detracts as much as the lack of dialogue might potentially.  Thoughts?


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## Neverwinter Knight

First of all: Kudos to the group for their clever and efficient solutions. The KIA are indeed worthy followers of the previous parties!  The side business would have added a little more "flavor" to the meaty side-quest. 

JollyDoc, although I agree with you that your old writing style was able to convey more story and character depth, I would hate for you to fall behind again and feel pressure instead of enjoying to write your chapters. I am perfectly happy with the way you have chosen to chronicle KIA's exploits.


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## Joachim

I noticed it, too, and was going to mention it on Sunday before my wife called to tell me about her stomach bug attack (and thus my hasty return home).  In any case, I think that some of the table banter is missing, and now that we have five players (instead of seven before) it may not be so much to keep up....in any case, I was planning on working up a 'Past is Prologue' kind of write-up for my favorite flea-bitten character.


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## R-Hero

Joachim said:


> ...Oh, and we have no cleric, so healing is going to be limited to 'cleric-on-a-stick' for the time being.





Dang...
Love to help out but still stuck working Sundays.


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## Leinart

Yea I dont think a round by round account is needed but I really miss the dialogue and interesting characters that made jollydocs stories really great....But at the same time I'd rather have something then nothing.


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## JollyDoc

Leinart said:


> Yea I dont think a round by round account is needed but I really miss the dialogue and interesting characters that made jollydocs stories really great....But at the same time I'd rather have something then nothing.




I'll start fresh with the next update, which will have to come next week, since we didn't play this week due to the aforementioned stomach virus.


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## Neverwinter Knight

Hi guys, I hope the virus is gone and you got to game. If so, how about some teasers, JollyDoc?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Hi guys, I hope the virus is gone and you got to game. If so, how about some teasers, JollyDoc?




We did indeed game last night...

Once more, the K.I.A was called upon when the city's tensions threatened to boil over, this time to arrest the king's murderer!

The diplomatic approach fails to net their quarry, so begins a fast and furious chase across the rooftops of Korvosa.

One crisis averted, only to have another arise, this time in the form of a potential race-riot brewing.

The K.I.A. visits a district they've never been too...the Grey District...domain of the dead.

An expedition into the Dead Warrens leads to harrowing run-ins with skeletons, pale-skinned dwarves, blood-sucking stirges, and strange, snake-like constructs.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> The diplomatic approach fails to net their quarry, so begins a fast and furious chase across the rooftops of Korvosa.



I'm really curious how they solved this one...


----------



## JollyDoc

HIGHS AND LOWS

The rumors were vague at first:  a suspect had been named in King Eodred’s murder.  As with most rumors, however, they continued to grow, and also held more than a grain of truth.  It seemed that in the weeks before his death, Eodred had commissioned a self-portrait by a local artist of some repute, a young woman named Trinia Sabor.  The project required that she spend long hours alone with the king.  In the aftermath of Eodred’s death, several of the castle guards recalled Trinia behaving “oddly” during her trips to see the king.  Now, it seemed one of the guards had actually confessed to being a part of the painter’s plot to kill Eodred, and had seen her slipping a specially prepared poison powder into his tea the night he took ill and her portrait of him was complete.  That confession, repeated in the presence of Sabina Merrin and several Korvosan Guard officers, had triggered a city-wide hunt for Trinia Sabor.  Word of the confession spread rapidly, and the guard’s subsequent suicide (a leap from one of the towers of Castle Korvosa) cemented Korvosa’s anger.  In no time, the artist’s name became a household word, and once more riots threatened to erupt in the streets.  This time, however, the cries were not for the queen’s death, but the death of the king’s true murderer…Trinia Sabor.

As word of Trinia’s supposed-regicide continued to disseminate, the members of the K.I.A were contacted by a breathless Korvosan Guard, who burst into the common room of the Three Rings Tavern.  He told them that Field Marshal Kroft needed to speak with them immediately, and would be arriving within a few minutes.  The fact that she was coming to them was not lost on the companions.  Something big was afoot.  When Cressida herself entered, she quickly told them to follow her as she led them into a private room, stationing a few guards out front as she closed the door.  When she turned to regard them, however, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Where’s Mandrake?” she asked, noticing that the paladin was not among them.  “I thought I requested to see all of you.”
“He ain’t here,” Valeris growled as he picked at his fingernails with a dagger.  “Couldn’t hack it.”
“What he means,” Katarina said, cutting her eyes at the duskblade, “is that Mandrake was recalled by the church.  With the recent unrest, the Abadarans issued an edict that all of their clergy should return to the Bank.”
“I see,” Cressida nodded.  “It can’t be helped, I suppose.  In any event, you’ve doubtless heard the stories that the king’s killer has been named, and yet there’s something more going on here, I’m afraid.  Queen Ileosa could have quietly had this Trinia Sabor arrested at any time, yet the way in which she revealed the information to the city seems to me like she wants the riots to return.  Certainly, with the mob and the Hellknights out on the street, the girl doesn’t stand a chance at a trial…they’ll lynch her the moment they find her.  Even if she is guilty, mob justice isn’t the way.  Worse, if she’s innocent, the real killer can use this distraction to throw us off the trail forever.  Before Trinia is executed, we need to be absolutely sure she did this thing, and that means we need to catch her before the mob.  We know where she lives…a flat in Midland at 42 Moon Street…but soon, so will the mob.  The Hellknights don’t seem to care as much about catching her as they do about containing the mob…something about the ‘order of law’ makes it a greater priority for them to contain than a possible assassin.  I can’t say that I disagree completely, but the problem is the Hellknights are only making it worse.  The mob’s covering most of Midland now, and Trinia’s flat is near the middle of the mess.  I’ve got all available guards at work keeping things from getting any worse…and if I were to send them into Midland, they’d trigger a riot.  I’m sure you can see where this is going.  I need you to get into Midland, find Trinia, and bring her back to me so we can deliver her, safe and sound, to somewhere where she can be interrogated…preferably with magic, so that we can be absolutely sure about her role in Eodred’s death.  Get in there, catch her, and get out without letting the mob get its hands on her.  I’ll have agents and officers nearby.  If you can get her to one of them, we’ll be in the clear.  Any questions?”
“If the mob’s taken over the streets,” Ratbone asked quietly, “how do we get in and back out again?”
“You’re not identifiable as Guard,” Cressida said.  “They shouldn’t bother you, but just the same, if you stick to the back streets and alleyways, you should be able to move around unmolested.  Once you have Trinia, I suggest you be even more discreet in extracting her.  Don’t let the mob see her face.”
The five companions nodded.  They had their orders, and they knew their job.
________________________________________________________

The tenement building where Trinia lived was located in a densely built section of Midland, a place where, at ground level, direct sunlight was a rarity.  Above, jury-rigged catwalks, overhanging roofs, lines of laundry, and homemade bridges of rope and boards created a cluttered tangle, a multi-level mess of gutters, upper floors, and rooftops.  This was the slum-above, a place known as the Shingles.  

Three men, one woman and a dog mounted the steps of 42 Moon Street, aware of the decidedly-unfriendly stares of a couple of locals seated on the stoop.  At a gesture from the young Varisian woman, the dog sat obediently on the porch as she and the men went inside.  The building was three stories, hot and cramped.  Trinia’s flat, according to their intel, was on the top floor, southwest corner.  The four had climbed to the second floor landing when a pair of tough-looking men appeared above them, blocking further progress.
“Don’t recall seeing you around here,” one of the men growled.  “What’s your business?”
“We’re here visiting a friend,” Katarina replied calmly.
“Who would that be?” the man asked.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat said, her eyes meeting the gaze of the other directly.  
“She’s not here,” the man said.  “Moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Really?”  Kat asked, cocking one eyebrow.  “Well, she borrowed some things from me, so I think we’ll just go on up and see if she left them, or at least a forwarding address.”
The men showed no inclination to move at first, but when Herc stepped to the fore, they reconsidered as they eyed the bulk of the big man, and the large sword that hung on his hip.  As the four companions pushed past, however, one of the men let out a low whistle, which was echoed several more times from somewhere above.  It was a sure bet that Trinia, if she was still there, knew they were coming.

“Ratbone,” Katarina whispered.  She had prepared a simple spell prior to their arrival that allowed the five of them to communicate with each other via a soft word no matter the actual distance between them.  “Our quarry is on the alert.  Be on the lookout in case she tries to slip away.”  A soft whine of affirmation was the druid’s reply.  When they reached Trinia’s door, Herc rapped sharply.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat called.  “We’re here to help.  Please open the door.  We only wish to speak with you.”
No response.  Katarina hadn’t really expected one, but she had hoped.  She nodded once at Herc.  The big mercenary tried the door.  The knob turned, but it didn’t budge.  Blocked from the other side.  He lowered one shoulder and struck the door with the impact of a baby bull elephant.  The timbers cracked and splintered, and the chairs propped against it on the far side scattered.  The one-room flat combined all of the amenities of a bedroom, a kitchen, and a painter’s studio into one fifteen-foot-square space, leaving little room for much else.  A stack of cheese and bread sat on the counter next to several full waterskins, while the easel in the opposite corner held a half-completed painting of an imp and a pseudodragon fighting atop a church steeple.  A single window looked out over the tangled rooftops of the Shingles, while just under it, a woman slept in a curled-up position on a low bed.  The four companions glanced suspiciously at one another.  Once more, Kat nodded to Herc, and the mercenary cautiously approached the bed, his hand on the pommel of his sword.  Halfway across the room, however, he paused and looked up.  They all did, for they’d all heard the same thing:  something creaked on the roof above.  Herc dashed to the window and looked out.  Not ten yards away crouched Trinia Sabor.
“Oh, frack!” the girl cursed.  Then she stood up and began running full speed across the rooftop.  As she did so, the image of the sleeping figure on the bed abruptly vanished.
“She’s rabbiting!” Herc cried, and then he disappeared out the window.

On the street below, Ratbone’s head jerked up as he saw a shadowy figure leap across an alley from one rooftop to the next.  The dog growled low in his throat and bolted off the porch and down the alley.  Fortunately, he had just disappeared from the eyes of curious onlookers when he quite literally vanished.  In his place, O’Reginald stepped from the shadows.  The young mage knew that roof hopping was not his forte’, and so he had transposed himself with the druid.  Then, looking left and right to make sure no one had taken notice of his sudden appearance, he pulled a small flask from his tunic and upended it.  Stepping once more into the shadows, he rose silently into the air, back towards the Shingles above.

Meanwhile, Herc’s boots scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling shingles of the roof that he ran across as he stumbled after the fleeing form of Trinia.  Suddenly, the young girl leaped cat-like from one roof to the next, clearing an alley easily twenty-five feet across.  The big warrior sighed deeply, stowed his shield across his back, and got a running start.  He grunted as he jumped, but he knew from the moment that his feet left the roof that he had no chance of making it.  Flailing wildly, he plunged towards the alley below, passing O’Reginald as the mage flew upwards.  Fortunately, Herc landed in the middle of a garbage heap, avoiding any major injuries or broken bones.  Kat and Valeris rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down, fearful of what they might see.  Kat released a relieved breath when she saw Herc extricate himself from the trash.
“Looks ok to me,” Valeris chuckled.  “Good thing he landed on his head.”
A moment later, both of them drew back in startled surprise as a large, furry shape hurtled past them, easily clearing the gap between rooftops in a single bound.  Ratbone landed nimbly on the other side, and sped after Trinia.  She looked back in horror as the huge mongrel gained ground on her, squeezing through small holes, scrambling over low walls, threading across narrow plank bridges, and finding hidden shortcuts among the detritus and debris of the Shingles.  Before she knew it, the brute was right behind her, no more than a dozen feet away.  Desperately, she pulled a small wand from her belt, but as she prepared to speak the command word, the dog abruptly shimmered and changed before her eyes, until a burly, shabbily-dressed half-orc stood in front of her.
“Please,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice.  “You must stop.  We’re here to help you, but you’re not safe.  If the mob catches you, they’ll kill you!”
“How do I know you’re not working with them?” Trinia cried, glancing back over her shoulder where she saw Valeris, and Katarina scrambling clumsily through the hovels, drawing closer and closer, while O’Reginald flitted erratically through the air, narrowly avoiding collisions with low-hanging beams.  
“You have to trust us,” Ratbone said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that she didn’t.  He sensed she was about to bolt again.  Concentrating, he forced his body through another painful transformation, taking the form of a large ape.  He’d seen one once in a menagerie, and had been impressed with its strength.  Trinia gasped in horror and turned to run, but before she could go two steps, Ratbone grabbed her and pulled her into his crushing embrace.  His grip was like a vice, and she knew there was no escape.
“Please!” she pleaded, breaking down into wracking sobs.  “I’m being set up!  I didn’t kill anyone!  I don’t want to die!”
“We believe you,” Katarina said soothingly as she approached.  “We just want to take you safely to others who will believe you as well.  We want you to have a chance to tell your side of the story.”
“R…really?”  Trinia stammered, a faint flicker of hope in her eyes.  “You mean it?”
“You have my word,” Ratbone replied, returning to his true form once more, yet careful not to relax his hold on the wily girl.  “ I will not allow you to come to harm.”
Gradually, he felt her begin to calm, and loosened his hold slightly.
“Now,” Kat said, “we need to see about getting you out of her discreetly.”
She reached into a pouch at her belt and drew out several small vials of dyes and unguents.  If there was one thing Varisians were good at, it was being able to blend into their surroundings.
_______________________________________________________

The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek proved surprisingly easy, and Trinia was handed over to the Guard without incident.
“See that no harm comes to her,” Ratbone instructed the soldiers, “or you’ll answer to me.”
The guardsmen laughed nervously, but they saw no humor echoed in the half-orc’s eyes.  They nodded briefly, then escorted the girl away.  She glanced back over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the keep.  As the five companions turned to go, however, another Guard stopped them.
“The Field Marshal asked that you report to her as soon as you returned.  I should warn you, though, she’s not alone.”
“Why should we care?”  Valeris glowered.
The guard shrugged.  “It’s just that during the recent riots, one of those Shoanti kids went and got himself killed.  Now the rest of them are all worked up…if it’s not one uprising about to erupt, it’s another!  Field Marshal Kroft’s got the Shoanti ambassador in her office, trying to talk some sense into him.  Guess she wants your input.”

The entered the Citadel and were escorted to Cressida’s office.  When they entered, they saw that the Guardsman had spoken true.  A tall, rail-thin Shoanti man of perhaps some sixty winters stood before her desk.  He leaned heavily on a walking stick, the polished femur of some giant beast crowned with a firepelt cougar’s skull.  He wore a shirt decorated with countless jangling animal bones, many painstakingly scrawled with dozens of tiny symbols and glyphs.  A bearskin cloak was draped about his bony shoulders, and war paint in the shape of a skull decorated his face.  The Shoanti’s eyes were milky, as if her were blind, and a regal, red-feathered razor crow perched on his arm.  
“Ah, you’ve returned,” Cressida said as the man regarded them impassively.  “I heard that you were successful in your mission.  Congratulations.  Allow me to introduce Thousand Bones, a Way-Keeper for the Skoan-Quah, the Clan of the Skull.  He and his people within Korvosa have been instrumental in seeking peaceful accords between our people.  However,” she sighed and glanced at the Shoanti before continuing, “during the most recent violence, one of Thousand Bones’ grandsons, a young warrior named Gaekhen, was murdered by a mob of vigilantes.”
As she paused, Thousand Bones began to speak, his voice deep, his words carefully chosen, but delivered with a barely restrained anger.
“My people have worked hard to understand yours, yet it seems each day we see new examples of how your people work just as hard to foster old hatreds.  My grandson is dead, beaten to death by cowards in your city streets.  I do not blame you, yet still Gaekhen is dead, and my son and his kin are not so forgiving as I.  They wish to return to the Skoan-Quah in the Cinderlands, to join with the Sklar-Quah and rally to war against Korvosa.  This would be disastrous, for both our peoples.  Amends must be made.  Our ways are not yours.  If a body does not go whole to the fires of the gods, the smoke of a warrior’s spirit cannot rise to the Great Sky.  If I could send Gaekhen’s body to the Great Sky with honor and dignity, his father and brothers would listen to me and stay their wrath…the talks of peace between my people and yours can continue.  But he was not just murdered.  His body was taken from the scene of his death, sold by a peddler of corpses to a necromancer named Rolth, a criminal to both our people.  I have spoken with the spirits, and they have revealed to me that Gaekhen’s body has been taken to a place below your boneyard, a place the spirits call the Dead Warrens.  With this knowledge, I could surely lead a group of my finest warriors into your boneyard to retrieve Gaekhen’s body, but this would be seen as an act of aggression by your people.  No, it falls to you to make amends for what has been done.  You must bring me Gaekhen’s body, lest we be forced to recover him ourselves.  And although it pains my heart to say it…we will not be gentle if it comes to this.”
Thousand Bones nodded curtly to Cressida, and then turned and left the room without another word.

“I apologize for his behavior,” Cressida sighed as she seated herself on the corner of her desk, “but to a great extent I agree with his assessment.  Someone tied to Korvosa needs to find Gaekhen’s body and return it to the Shoanti as a gesture of good will, or things will quickly go from bad to worse.  Normally,  I would contact the Church of Pharasma to organize an expedition into one of the warrens, but you’ve proven yourselves capable, and I have faith in you.  Any questions?”
“It might seem like a silly question,” Ratbone asked, “but how will we recognize the boy if we find him?”
“An excellent question,” Cressida nodded.  “Thousand Bones described him as about eighteen years old, with short brown hair and a distinctive scar from a firepelt’s claw on his left cheek.  He also had several large and distinctive Shoanti tribal tattoos on his arms and torso.  It’s unlikely that any other freshly-killed Shoanti are in the Dead Warrens today, so that should be a dead giveaway.”
“These Dead Warrens,” Herc’s baritone voice intoned, “what are they?”
“Gray District is riddled with underground chambers,” Cressida replied, “some of them burrowed by ghouls or other monsters, others remnants of ancient Shoanti burial grounds.  Some of these are patrolled and kept clear by the Pharasmans, but the district is vast and tangled.  The priests focus on containing the problems with undead and necromancers, but as soon as they wipe out one, it seems as if two are ready to spring up in its place.  The problem’s particularly vexing in Potter’s Ward, where the bodies of the poor and homeless are buried.  According to Thousand Bones, the Dead Warrens were one of his people’s burial vaults, chambers that lie under Potter’s Ward.”
“I’m familiar with Potter’s Ward,” Ratbone said softly.  “I’ve known many among the street people who have gone to their final reward in that cold ground.  Yet it’s a large place, and most of its graves unmarked.  How will we find these warrens?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Cressida nodded again.  “It just so happens that we have the man who sold Gaekhen’s body to Rolth in custody, a simpleton named Elkaris.  He spilled everything when we told him what was going on and how much trouble he was in.  In any event, he says he delivered the body via wheelbarrow to a partially collapsed mausoleum deep in Potter’s Ward, near the southern edge.  A toppled and headless statue of a sword-wielding gargoyle lay in the dirt near the mausoleum’s entrance…he was told to leave the body behind the gargoyle.  This location matches where Thousand Bones believes the Dead Warrens used to be located, so that’s the best place to start the search.”
________________________________________________________

Korvosa’s vast graveyard, the Gray District, was a mournful place even by day.  Alone in the city, that place was quiet and calm in the face of the civil unrest, yet that calm was an unnatural stillness in the air, almost as if the cemetery were preparing itself for a vast influx of new dead.  Certainly, that ominous feeling was nowhere more noticeable than in Potter’s Ward, the final resting ground for Korvosa’s poor and homeless.  Mounds of unmarked dirt stretched far and wide, indicating sites of mass graves, while crumbling mausoleums from years ago, abandoned by their families as the Gray District expanded to the west, dotted the bleak landscape, forgotten and empty.  Mourners did not visit there, for the dead buried in Potter’s Ward left behind few who regretted their passing.

Locating the mausoleum described by Elkaris was a relatively simple task.  Ratbone, back in his mongrel form, quickly nosed around the small structure, searching for any clues as to recent traffic.  He immediately located Elkaris’ tracks and a wheelbarrow trail, but more interestingly, he discovered several smaller humanoid tracks, each bearing only four toes.  These led into the mausoleum itself, and when Ratbone followed them, he uncovered a poorly hidden trapdoor in the floor.  Herc hoisted up the heavy wood, revealing a stone stair leading down into the earth.  Single-file, Ratbone in the lead, they descended.  The stairwell and the passage it emptied onto was dimly lit by patches of eerily glowing mold, filling the hall with cold, blue light.  The air was musty and damp , with the stink of rotting flesh always present in the background.  The corridor opened into a large room, supported by four wide pillars of stone.  The ceiling arched in a dome nearly twenty-feet high.  The walls were lined with skeletons caked into the mud…human bones mostly, but some smaller ones might have been from halflings, or perhaps children.  Large pits sat to the east and west, each filled with heaps of hundreds of bones.  On the far side of the room, a crude hole had been gouged into the wall, providing access to another tunnel.

Ratbone stepped cautiously into the room, his head lowered, swinging left and right.  It was thus that he spotted something strange in the pits.  Several of the bone heaps appeared to actually be intact skeletons.  Even as he noted this, they began to move, rising from the ossuaries with jerky movements.  Three came from each pit, fleshless bones gripping rusty scimitars in their hands.  In addition, from the pit to the left came a larger skeleton, like that of some type of bear, yet its skull tapered into a beak rather than jaws…as if it were some odd combination of owl and bear.  Ratbone snarled savagely as he stalked forward in a crouch, hackles raised.  Herc flanked him, the pair intending to put themselves between the undead and their companions.  The burly warrior swung his shield wide, shattering the nearest skeleton into a hundred individual bones.  At the same time, Ratbone launched himself at another, dismembering it with his snapping jaws.  In the next instant, however, the pair was forced back towards the tunnel as the hulking owlbear carcass lumbered into Herc, ripping at him with its claws, and another skeleton hacked at Ratbone’s foreleg.  There the duo held, however, and within seconds, two more skeletons lay in pieces.  Ratbone took apart the last, and then he and Herc turned their combined efforts against the owlbear.  With the aid of a few timely magic missiles, courtesy of O’Reginald, the thing crumbled before the onslaught.  
“Well done, gentlemen,” Katrina breathed heavily.  “I must admit, my skills of persuasion are more suited to the living.  I’m glad to have you by my side.”
“Let’s not go getting all dewy-eyed just yet,” Valeris snorted.  “We haven’t found the corpse we’re looking for yet, and if this is any indication of what we have to look forward to, I’ll save my gratitude for when, and if we see the light of day again.”

The small passage on the far side of the chamber split not far beyond.  The left branch opened into what appeared to be some sort of work room.  Three wooden tables stood in the middle of the chamber, their surfaces stained red with old bloodshed.  To the east stood a large hutch with wicker doors that opened into a straw-lined cage.  A strange creature stood at one of the tables, upon which lay a freshly-dead body.  The creature was small, like a dwarf, and its skin was pale to the point of being blue.  Its eyes were huge, pupilless orbs, and a long, white moustache hung down to its chest.  When the companions entered, it was in the midst of placing a small, winged animal, with four legs and a long proboscis, on the corpse.  Three more of the things were already attached, apparently gorging greedily on blood.  The odd little man yelped when he saw the intruders, and immediately reached behind him to unlatch the hutch.  From inside, two more of the strange bird-like creatures buzzed out like giant mosquitoes.  At the same time, the pale dwarf started towards a doorway on the far side of the room.  Ratbone darted across the chamber, leaping the tables to cut him off.  Herc moved to follow, but before he could take more than two steps, the buzzing avians were on him, stabbing their needle-like noses into his flesh and latching on with their sharp claws.  Cursing, the big merc grabbed one of the creatures and crushed it in his bare hand.  He reached for the second one, but suddenly staggered as blood loss left him light-headed.  An instant later, he was reprieved as a streaking bolt of energy from O’Reginald’s wand fried the little beast, and it dropped crisply to the floor.  Meanwhile, Ratbone skidded to a halt in front of the panicked derro, for that’s what the creature was.  The tiny man yelped again, and then slapped his hands together in front of Ratbone’s face.  To the druid’s dismay, a sound like a thunderclap assaulted his ears, causing the dog to shake his head furiously to clear the ringing.  His quarry used the opportunity to dart past him, but Ratbone recovered quickly and lunged after, landing heavily on the creature’s back.  Writhing and wiggling like an eel, the derro flipped around, producing a wickedly curved dagger in his right hand.  He raised it, preparing to plunge it into the mongrel’s neck, but at the last moment, Ratbone thrust his neck forward and tore out the derro’s throat.  

Unfortunately, the dead body was not Gaekhen’s.  The group searched the rest of the chamber while Ratbone examined the body of the man he’d just slain.  The druid hated having to yield to his more violent tendencies.  He always hoped there would be a nonlethal solution to any conflict, and he felt bitterly disappointed when forced to resort to savagery.  The room turned up no further clues as to the location of Gaekhen, and so the companions pressed on.  The small tunnel towards which the derro had been fleeing led into a long, worked hallway.  The walls and ceiling were encrusted with dozens of yawning skulls, their mouths open into dark holes in the walls.  Cautiously, they began walking down, eyeing the ominous tableau with suspicion.  Rightly so, for they had gone no more than half-way down, when in unison, several skulls on both sides of the hall began spewing forth a caustic acid from their open jaws.  As the group ducked and cried out, trying to avoid the burning liquid, they failed to notice that three of the skulls detached themselves from the wall, trailing long, serpentine, skeletal bodies behind them.  O’Reginald was the first to see them coming, but before the wizard could warn his companions, the nearest necrophidius rose up and began swaying rhythmically in front of him.  O’Reginald’s jaw went slack, and his eyelids drooped as he became mesmerized by the hypnotic dance.  Katarina was still batting at her smoldering skirts when she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and saw her friend’s predicament.  
“Beware!” she cried, and then snatched the mage’s wand from his limp grip, turning it on the nearest creature.  Ratbone leaped past her, barreling into the thing and tearing its skull from its body.  He then turned and mauled a second one while Herc smashed the last one to flinders with sword and shield.  With a start, O’Reginald shook himself free from his trance, and looked around in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You beat them all single-handedly,” Valeris laughed, slapping him on the back.  “Good thing we brought you along.”


----------



## JollyDoc

Well, no teaser this weeks, folks.  We've had a few inches of snow here in the Deep South, and it's sidelined our game for the week.


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## JollyDoc

Well, as the fickle Alabama weather so often goes, the snow melted and we did play after all, so here's a little teaser..

1.  A new ally is discovered unexpectedly within the Dead Warrens.

2.  The search for the missing Shoanti goes to pieces...literally!

3.  Rolth is not in residence, but his apprentice is, and he proves a challenging foe, especially for Ratbone.

4.  Finally, the mission is completed, and Gaekhen's body is returned, but...

5.  A new challenge arises when Trinia's execution is ordered.

6.  Alas, the festivities are interupted by the sudden appearance of a legendary hero.

7.  Will the K.I.A. help or hinder Black Jack?

8.  In the aftermath of the execution, a simple request from an old friend begins a new, sinister adventure.


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## Neverwinter Knight

Great thing with the snow!


JollyDoc said:


> 7.  Will the K.I.A. help or hinder Black Jack?



Since their run-in with Trina before, they will not have let her be executed.


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## JollyDoc

HEROES

Ratbone sniffed at the base of the door for several seconds before stepping back, a low growl in his throat.  His companions knew his mannerisms well enough to know a warning when they saw one.  Herc stepped in to the fore, tried the knob, and cautiously pushed the door open.  Within the room, wooden tables were stacked with vials, beakers, and other alchemical gear, although the southern-most one was heaped with broken vials and leaned awkwardly on a hastily repaired leg.  Three large cauldrons sat against the opposite wall, one of them upended, its foul contents of rendered fats spilled over the floor.  Two derro stood over one of the tables, upon which lay a moaning, semi-conscious man.  Both of the little creatures yelped when they saw the hulking human standing in the doorway.  Before they could react, however, Ratbone bounded past Herc, leaped the nearest table, landed and bowled over one of the derro, savaging him before he could raise the crossbow he held in one hand.  The man on the table came fully awake when he saw the huge dog hurdle past, and he rolled quickly to his feet and seized a gleaming sword from the collection of gear piled in one corner.  The remaining derro bolted across the room, but a swift swing of Herc’s shield snapped his neck in mid-stride.  

“Put down the weapon…slowly,” Valeris said as he pressed the tip of his own blade against the stranger’s neck.  
“Okay,” the man said as he lowered his sword, “but let’s not do anything rash.  It would seem we have a common enemy here.”
“Who are you?”  Katarina asked.
“My name is Michael,” he replied.  “I am a priest of Iomedae.”
“There is no temple of your order in Korvosa,” the beguiler replied suspiciously.
“Not as such,” Michael nodded, “but there is a shrine.  I am one of its tenders.”
“So what are you doing here, then?”   Valeris sneered.  “Long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’m not exactly sure where I am,” Michael said.  “The last thing I remember, I was in North Point when I came upon a group of men beating a young Shoanti boy.  I tried to stop them, but there were too many.  They turned on me.  When I awoke, I was here, and then you arrived.”
“I’ve got news for you,” Valeris smirked, “you didn’t save the kid.”
“Valeris!”  Katarina snapped.  
“What does he mean?”  Michael asked, his brow furrowed.
Kat turned back, exasperation in her tone.  “We are here searching for the boy.  His name was Gaekhen.”
“Was?”  Michael asked.
“Yes,” Kat sighed.  “He was killed by the mob.  This has set in motion a dangerous situation with the Shoanti.  The boy’s body was taken by a necromancer named Rolth and supposedly brought to this place, the Dead Warrens, which lies beneath the Gray District.  We’re here to recover Gaekhen’s remains and return them to his people.  Will you help us?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened.  “Without hesitation,” he said grimly.  “Just allow me to get my gear.”
______________________________________________________

 Two open passages led from the laboratory, but the shorter of the two ended abruptly at a door that was completely boarded over, as if to keep something out…or something in.
“Now isn’t this intriguing?”  O’Reginald asked.
“That’s not the word I’d use,” Valeris snipped.  “What’s the point in opening it?  You think they decided to lock up a dead body?  You ask me, there’s nothing behind there that we need to find.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Kat mused, tapping her chin with one finger.  “This is, after all, a necromancer we’re dealing with.  Perhaps he would keep something valuable, like the Shoanti’s remains, behind just such a barrier.  Herc, would you mind?”
Valeris threw up his hands.  “It’s your funeral.”
Herc nodded and stepped forward to begin prying the boards off one-by-one.  As each came loose, it did so with a rasping squeak when its rusty nails pulled free.  After several noisy minutes, the door stood exposed.  Herc glanced over his shoulder to make sure his friends were prepared, and then shoved it open.  Beyond was what appeared to be a store room, or perhaps a pantry, but it was in shambles.  Broken crates and shelves lay strewn about, with the foodstuffs, firewood and other supplies they once contained scattered across the floor.  As Herc peered into the gloom, a hulking shape stepped out of the shadows.  The creature seemed to be comprised of a disgusting amalgamation of dead animal parts.  The foul-smelling pieces had been stitched together with thick, black thread in a shape to approximate that of a man, yet it was certainly not human.  Cobbled together from bits of a dozen carcasses from half as many different species, the staggering thing uttered a gurgling cry as it shambled forth to attack.  Ratbone, hunched near Herc’s feet, snarled deeply and crouched, ready to spring.  Abruptly, the sickening smell of the thing washed over them, and Ratbone felt his gorge begin to rise.  Then, uncontrollably, the dog began retching violently.  Behind him, Valeris doubled over as well, purging his stomach in explosive heaves.  The creature kept coming.  Herc stepped in front of his companions, his own stomach in mild revolt, but still controllable.  The carrion golem growled and swung one arm at the warrior…an arm that looked very human, and was decorated with intricate tattoos.  Herc reeled from the surprising strength behind the blow, but quickly recovered and shoved forward behind his shield.  Suddenly, Michael was at his side, a strip of his tabard wrapped around his face, and the gleaming sword in his hand.  Together, the priest and the warrior carved the horrible construct into its component parts with brutal efficiency.  
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”  Valeris said as he gazed down at the remains, still wiping bile from his mouth with the back of his hand.  “You mean the kid’s not even in one piece?  So now we’re on a scavenger hunt for body parts!”
Michael grimly picked up the severed arm and wrapped it in his cloak.
“Let’s be on,” the cleric said tonelessly.  “Someone has much to answer for.”
______________________________________________________

They found Gaekhen’s head in a room not far from the alchemy lab.  The nauseating mixture of decay and strange chemicals filled the air of the large chamber.  Glinting saws, pliers, long stitching needles, and other surgical equipment were organized on shelves and benches along the walls.  A sturdy wooden table in the center of the room supported a large, humanoid shape…a thing stitched together from a patchwork of dozens of different bodies.  The thing would have stood nearly seven-feet tall if it were to rise.  The head attached to the body was too small for the massive frame, and it was crowned with brown hair and bore a distinctive scar upon its left cheek.  Once more, Michael stepped stoically forward, lifted his sword, and with one, swift strike, decapitated the inanimate golem.  

It was now Michael who took the lead.  It was almost as if he were driven to find and avenge Gaekhen, perhaps feeling somehow responsible for the boy’s death.  Beyond the stitchery, the group came upon a spartan bedchamber, unoccupied, and seemingly, unused in quite some time.  A short hallway gave on to a second bedchamber.  It was well-kept and contained a narrow bed, a relatively empty shelf that held only a few books and some bones and skulls, and a long bench.  A male torso, the chest of which bore numerous tattoos, and with the right arm still attached, lay on the bench.  The arm periodically thrashed and clutched at the air as if it were alive.  Hovering in mid-air in a far corner above the bed, was another derro, clad in black robes and holding a bone wand in one hand.
“I’m in charge here while the master’s away!” the little fiend hissed.  “You don’t belong here!  You weren’t invited, but the master will be pleased when I present your corpses to him!”
He grabbed at the front of his robe, plucking something from it and then hurling it to the ground.  It looked like a patch of some sort, but when it touched the floor, it instantly transformed into an animate skeleton, a scimitar gripped in its hand.  Herc and Ratbone rushed into the room, but as the dog/druid leaped for the derro, the evil mage hurled a blast of green energy at him.  Ratbone felt his strength drain from him, and he stood heaving with his head near the floor, barely able to support his own weight.  Herc, however, managed to hop onto the bed, where he could just reach the derro.  His sword cut deeply, and the wizard cursed and scooted away, clambering across the ceiling like a spider.  
“Behind you!”  Michael shouted in warning as the skeleton prepared to split Herc’s skull with its own blade.  As the big warrior turned, however, the bag of bones was smashed to bits as the priest struck it with a spike-headed morningstar he’d produced from his pack.  Herc nodded and turned back towards the derro, who was now hovering over Ratbone, chuckling sadistically.  He unleashed a gout of scorching fire upon the druid, followed by several fiery blue bolts of energy.  Ratbone wavered, nearly out on his feet, but with a last hidden reserve, he gathered himself and jumped.  His teeth clamped firmly around the derro’s ankle, and where they bit, a rime of gold-flecked ice formed.  The derro screamed in agony as his entire body felt suddenly heavy and sluggish.  The Companions had chosen their champion well, and Ratbone’s very touch could cause those of evil heart to quail before the power of his patrons.  With that last burst of effort, however, the druid was spent.  He collapsed to the floor, his chest lurching like a bellows.  Michael quickly knelt beside him to lend what aid he could, while Herc and Valeris took advantage of the derro’s weakened state to quickly dispatch him.

Once Ratbone was stabilized, Michael stepped over to Gaekhen’s twitching torso and laid his hands gently upon the chest.  As he did so, he murmured a quiet prayer, and white light glowed beneath his palms.  Abruptly, all movement from the remains ceased.
“Rest now,” Michael whispered.  “You’ll be home soon.”
______________________________________________________

Deeper into the warrens, the companions came upon a small library.  It was unoccupied, but there they found many books on necromancy and the nature of diseases and plagues.  The former they ignored, but the latter, Michael claimed.  He was not a healer by trade, but he knew that such tomes could always prove useful.

Further along, they found themselves in a foul-smelling cavern, bordered on three sides by ten-foot-deep pits.  It was from these that the rancid smell of excrement and decay filled the air.  Each pit contained a few heaps of moldy straw, a wooden trough of filthy water, a few rotting body parts, and a couple of still-living prisoners.  Standing above the pits was a brutish looking creature, whose head was monstrously deformed and whose skin was thick and blubbery.  When he saw the companions enter, he laughed out loud and cracked his knobby knuckles.
“Rolth give Cabbagehead big reward for your head, pretty lady!” he said, pointing at Kat.  “You go in pit now!  Cabbagehead feed you later!  Maybe!”
With that, he lumbered forward, his ham-sized fists clenched to do battle, but before he made it halfway across the room, Herc and Valeris went to meet him.  Flesh proved no match for cold steel, and it was Cabbagehead that ended up at the bottom of one of the pits in a broken heap.  The prisoners below gaped up in silent horror, not knowing if their saviors had arrived, or their executioners.
“Let’s bring them up,” Ratbone said, having resumed his normal form.  “Herc, Valeris, give me a hand.”
“You’re not actually thinking of bringing them with us, are you?”  O’Reginald asked.  “Haven’t we got enough to worry about without having to babysit a bunch of ragamuffins?”
Ratbone turned a cold glare on the young wizard, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy and threatening.
“You were once far worse than they, shiver-head,” he said, “and yet someone found you worthy of salvation.  Now help, or leave.”
Wisely, O’Reginald kept any further opinions to himself.

The prisoners were malnourished and sickly-looking, and each told a similar tale of having been kidnapped from the streets of Old Korvosa by small, cloaked figures. One of them, a woman named Tiora, fell weeping at Michael’s feet.
“Father!” she wailed.  “Forgive me!  I’m a sinner, a thief and a pick-pocket.  ‘Twas my sins that put me here, but I swear, I’ve learned my lesson!  I’ll do right from now on!”
“Rise, child,” the priest said, resting a hand upon her head.  “You have done nothing to deserve such a fate, but relish the second lease on life you have been given, and use your time well.”
“I will, Father,” she babbled, tears in her eyes.  “I swear it!  You’ll see!”
____________________________________________________

The prisoners were escorted back to the surface, and sent on their way, but Gaekhen’s legs were still missing, and so the companions were compelled to return to the warrens.  Retracing their steps, they stumbled upon one passage which they had apparently bypassed earlier.  It ended in a natural cavern, the majority of which contained a nasty-looking stretch of mud…a partially collapsed sinkhole…kept damp by rivulets of water that seeped from the walls.  A patch of solid ground extended into the mud to form and island, upon which was heaped a reeking pile of body parts.  Against one wall, a rickety wheelbarrow sat on its side.  Cautiously, Valeris, Herc and Ratbone stepped out onto the island.  Suddenly, the mud exploded as a hideous monstrosity that seemed to be made up of a huge maw and tentacles, rose up from the morass.  It was an otyugh, Korvosa’s ‘offal’ secret…its living waste-disposal system.
“Warm food!” it cried in a delighted, slobbery voice as it heaved itself out of the mud.  One of its snake-like tentacles whipped out and seized Valeris around the waist.  The duskblade screamed as it constricted around him, and drew him closer to the slavering jaws of the beast.  Quickly, Herc and Ratbone leaped after their friend, hacking and biting at the otyugh as it flailed at them with its remaining tentacles.  Gradually, however, the creature’s attacks became weaker and more sluggish, and it released Valeris as it heeled over into the bog, twitching.  When they were sure it would not rise again, the companions turned to the grim task of examining the pile of body parts.  As they feared they would, they discovered Gaekhen’s pelvis and legs buried within the refuse.  Michael cleaned them as best he could, then wrapped them and placed them with his other burdens.  Their mission complete, the K.I.A. left the Dead Warrens and made their way back to the Citadel.
________________________________________________________

“Well done again,” Field Marshal Kroft congratulated them upon their return, “and welcome, Michael.  It seems your assistance to the team may have made the difference between success and failure.  Perhaps you’ll consider staying on?”
“Perhaps, commander,” the priest bowed.  “It would seem I have more in common with my rescuers than I first knew.  It seems preordained that our paths should cross.”
Cressida nodded.  “Well, on to new business,” she said with a heavy sigh.  “While you were away, Trinia Sabor’s trial was concluded.”
“What??”  Ratbone exclaimed.  “How?  So soon?”
Cressida did not meet his gaze.  “She was found guilty.  Queen Ileosa has announced that she is to be executed at sunset today, and has invited many of Korvosa’s nobles, military officers, and anyone of real import to the Castle’s public courtyard to witness the event.  I want all of you to be there as well.  Something about the whole affair doesn’t sit right with me, and the way things have been going lately, I’m worried that this might trigger another riot.”
“But this isn’t right!”  Ratbone shouted.  “I gave that girl my word that she would have a fair trial!”
“It’s out of my hands,” Cressida said, sadly.  “The Queen is the final arbiter on these matters, and with the Magister dead, there is no one to gainsay her.  It’s a cruel reality that you must accept.”
Ratbone growled deep in his throat, then turned and abruptly left the room.
“Don’t worry,” Katrina said.  “We’ll be there tonight…all of us.  If there’s to be trouble, we’ll be ready for it.”
“Thank you,” said Cressida.  “My trust in you has proven well-founded.  Speak with your friend.  Help him to find some peace.”
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done,” Kat replied.  “He is a man of many passions, and his word is not given lightly.  I’m afraid he might cause problems.”
“For his sake,” Cressida said tensely, “I hope not, but if he does, you need to stop him from doing anything rash…anything that might bring unwanted attention.”
_____________________________________________________

The execution, it seemed, was not an affair to be missed.  The toast of Korvosa was in attendance in garish gowns, fine capes, and enough jewels to blind a common man.  The overall feel of the event was that of a grand ball or party, not an assassin’s public execution.  As the six members of the K.I.A. jostled for a position near the gallows, Queen Ileosa emerged amid a great flourish of pomp, as heralds announced her arrival with a fanfare of music and drums.  This queen was not the subdued mourner they’d met earlier.  She appeared to have accepted the mantle of sole monarch, and carried herself with poise, style, and grace.  She wore a green and white silk dress worth thousands of gold coins, and was attended by a small army of servants.  Chief among them was Sabina, her expression neutral, but her eyes ever watchful for possible problems in the crowd.  Ileosa took her seat in a high, throne-like chair at one end of the public courtyard, while the headman’s block stood ominously at the other.  The executioner was a towering, muscular man wearing an executioner’s helm, and idly holding an immense axe.  As sunset drew near, the expectant excitement in the crowd built.  When the ominous beating of a single, large drum began, the assembled gawkers fell silent.  The drum set the pace for Trinia’s procession to the headsman’s block atop the gallows.  As they reached the block, one of the guardsman removed Trinia’s shackles and her hood, revealing a very frightened woman who, nonetheless, bravely held back her tears, if only barely.  She was led up onto the platform, her arms bound behind her back by a leather cord, and then she was forced over the wooden block before the headsman as Queen Ileosa stood and addressed the crowd.
“Fellow Korvosans!  You have suffered greatly these past few weeks.  Homes have burned, family members have died, fortunes have been lost.  I feel your suffering, for not only have I lost a beloved husband, but with each riot, each burning home, each act of anarchy, my heart bleeds a little more.  This has been a trying time for us, yet the torment is at an end.  Before you is the face of your anguish and pain.  Do not be deceived by this murderer’s timid nature…she is a black-hearted assassin, a seductress and sinner, a viper amidst us all.  I offer you all her death as a salve against the hatred and hurt you have suffered.  Her death will not rebuild Korvosa, nor will it bring back the king, yet tomorrow will be a new dawn…a dawn over a city ready to rise from the edge of anarchy to become stronger than ever before!  And so, without further delay, let us usher in this new dawn with justice!  OFF WITH HER HEAD!”

As the headsman hefted his axe, the already silent crowd froze in anticipation.  Yet, just before he swung, the executioner gave a strange little grunt and staggered.  His raised axe faltered as he reached with one hand to the small of his back, and then brought it to his face, the fingers dripping with blood.  An instant later, he cried out in pain and dropped the axe as a dagger embedded itself in the back of his other hand.  The axe sank itself in the block, inches from Trinia’s head, and the headsman doubled over in pain, revealing a second dagger already embedded in his lower back.  Trinia rose to her knees and glanced up at the executioner in shock as a scream echoed through the crowded courtyard.
“By the gods!  It’s Blackjack!”
An instant later, a man dressed in a hooded cloak and leather armor sprang onto the executioner’s block.  He wielded a rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other.  He cut the bonds on Trinia’s wrists and then threw the dagger down to pin the headsman’s left foot to the wood below.  He quickly helped Trinia to her feet and then briefly turned to address the shocked crowd.
“Yes indeed, my queen!  Let us usher in justice, but let that be justice for Korvosa, not this shambles you petulantly call a monarchy!  Long live Korvosa!  Down with the Queen!”
Blackjack’s words spread like fire, causing the crowd to erupt into a frenzy of activity.  Some demanded that he release the assassin, while others called for the queen to step down from the Crimson Throne.  Queen Ileosa stood stunned for a few moments, whispered something to Sabina, and then quickly turned to flee into Castle Korvosa, Sabina and a dozen guards behind her to cover her retreat.  The remaining guards in the courtyard moved towards the gallows to apprehend Blackjack, but the gathered nobles, thirsty for blood, made it difficult to move.  At the same time, the executioner, recovering from his initial shock and pain, lifted his axe once more over Blackjack, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten the man in his apparent delight at having forced the queen to flee.

Now, the legend of Blackjack was well known throughout Korvosa…an infamous, masked hero for the people.  Tales of his moves against corrupt politicians, cruel nobles, and greedy merchants had been part of the city’s culture for two centuries, and although he hadn’t made an appearance in the last decade, his stories remained as popular as ever among the peasants.  Because he had existed for such a long time, few believed him to be a single person.  The most popular rumor surround him placed him a series of men, with one training a replacement each generation.  All of this, the members of the K.I.A. knew as well, especially Ratbone, whose childhood in the slums of Korvosa had been filled with the exciting adventures of the masked man.  Now, the legend stood before them, in the flesh, only it seemed as if his long story was about to be brought to an abrupt end.  Seconds counted, and each member of the company searched their own conscience and soul in that span of time.

Valeris was the first to react.  The duskblade cared nothing for children’s stories, but he certainly held no love for the monarchy or the establishment either.  He found the chaos exciting, and he wanted to see it last a little longer.  With a quick flicker of his fingers and a few spoken words, he conjured a disembodied hand directly behind the headsman.  The hand seized the executioner by the ankle and pulled, sending the big man sprawling to the platform, his axe flying from his hands.  

Katarina, as a practitioner of the Harrow, had known something momentous was going to occur this day, but she had feared the worst.  Now, seeing Blackjack, she knew this was the moment fate had predicted, and she knew that it was time to act out her part.  Calling upon Zellara’s spirit, she used the magic of the Harrow to create the illusion of a large, billowing cloud of smoke that quickly obscured the scene atop the gallows.

Michael’s thoughts on the subject were more complex.  The priest, due to the harshness of his own upbringing, and his subsequent salvation by the Church, saw everything in terms of justice being served.  The situation with Trinia was clearly out of his control, but one thing troubled him imminently…the fate of the headsman.  The executioner was an innocent, to the priest’s way of thinking, simply a soldier doing his job.  He did not deserve to die for that.  Pushing his way through the crowd, the priest leaped atop the platform, and knelt beside the fallen man, white light from his hands staunching the blood from the headsman’s wounds.  Michael’s gaze met that of Blackjack, and the vigilante simply nodded.  

Ratbone had no compunction whatsoever about what was transpiring.  In fact, had Blackjack not appeared, the druid was on the verge of charging the gallows himself.  Now, he didn’t hesitate, shifting into his ape-like form and bounding up the gallows’ stairs.  Once there, he seized the axe and held it well away from the headsman’s reach, preparing to defend the platform should the guards push through.

Herc was a mercenary, but he was not without loyalty.  His friends had made their decisions, and he would support them.  Stepping into the illusory smoke, he stood on the stairs, sword drawn and shield raised, ready for the coming storm.

Lost in the general hubbub was O’Reginald.  The recovering addict had not lived to the ripe old age of 23 by not minding his own business, and from where he stood, the risks of aiding Trinia Sabor and Blackjack far outweighed the benefits (which were few, as far as he could see).  As the chaos unfolded, the young wizard melted away into the crowd.

As for Blackjack, he took the opportunity given to him by the K.I.A., yelling for Trinia to lock her arms around his neck, and then quickly leaped from the scaffold to scale the courtyard wall.  When he reached the top, he bowed deeply to his saviors, while Trinia lifted one hand in salute, and then both disappeared over the far side.  In the courtyard itself, mayhem reigned.  The guards had still not reached the gallows due to the press of the crowd, and the remaining members of the K.I.A. used the multiple distractions to blend into the mob.  Later, when the tales of the day’s events were retold, only the actions of Blackjack were clearly recalled.  If others were involved, it was only peripheral, and their identities were anonymous.  For the moment, the company’s loyalties were not called into question, but a fundamental shift had occurred in Korvosa’s attitude.  Change was coming.
______________________________________________________

In the days following Blackjack’s daring rescue of the king’s accused assassin, the Korvosan Guard scoured the city for the fugitives, to no avail, and the enraged queen set a royal bounty of 5,000 gold coins for the recapture of Trinia Sabor.  Wildly embellished news of the event spread quickly to every corner of the city, and left all to wonder why Korvosa’s long-absent hero chose that time to reappear, and why he had rescued a convicted killer.  Even so, even the most fantastic news eventually becomes old, and thus life in the city returned to some semblance of normalcy in the following two weeks.  And then, as so often happens, something else happened to draw the attention of the citizens to a new enigma.  Just before midnight one evening, the peace was shattered by a wooden screech, followed by the thunder of a trebuchet being fired.  Again and again the sounds echoed from the Wall of Eodred near North Bridge, waking nearly all of North Point.  Across the river in Trail’s End, people woke just in time to see a sleek brig burn and swiftly sink into the wine-dark waters.  

The following morning, gossip buzzed through the city, and fanciful tales ran wild.  Every tavern and street corner was abuzz with rumors of pirate raiders and ghost ships.  The Crimson Throne remained quiet on the matter, however, with even the loosest-tongued politicos seemingly knowing nothing of the previous night’s events.  With so many far wilder and more interesting tales circulating, the facts of the matter quickly became lost among the frenzied speculations.  Katarina, however, had more than mere conjecture on her side.  She had the power of Zellara’s Harrow deck to direct her along more reliable avenues of information.  She spent the following morning among the inhabitants of North Point, asking pointed questions, and listening intently to the tales she heard.  By day’s end, she had learned several pieces of information that she felt held at least grains of truth.  The mostly widely held speculation was that the Guard had fired upon, and destroyed a ship full of foolish pirates from Riddleport who had obviously hoped to sneak into the heart of the city under cover of night.  Kat believed that there was indeed a ship involved, but she highly doubted the pirate theory.  She heard from more reliable sources that indeed, a sinister-looking ship had refused inspection as it sailed into the river.  When it neared North Bridge and still failed to make its intentions known, the watch had fired upon and destroyed it.  Furthermore, according to these sources, none of the guardsmen who signaled of shouted out to the ship received a response.  Some said that no one was on board at all.

For his part, Valeris was curious as to the night’s events as well, but mainly for selfish reasons.  In the aftermath of Gaedren Lamm’s death, the duskblade had managed to gather to himself several of the “Little Lambs.”  Though he treated them better, and actually paid them for the efforts, he ultimately still followed Lamm’s fundamental principle: to have a cadre of pickpockets and cutpurses at his disposal, and reap the profits of their endeavors.  Of course, none of his companions were aware of his after-hours activities, and that was just how he liked it.  To that end, when he got wind of the possibility of a shipwreck in the middle of the Jeggare, visions of gold flashed through his mind.  Working his contacts among the Guard, he discovered only that an order was given to fire upon a yellow light upon the water.  This little detail intrigued Valeris, and when he inquired about the significance of ships bearing yellow lights among the sailors in the dock district, he discovered that such a signal was a nautical warning identifying a ship under quarantine.  Just like that, his dreams of pirate gold vanished in a puff of smoke.
_________________________________________________

A few days later found Herc window shopping near the Citadel, in the market for a new shield.  Suddenly, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he tensed reflexively, his hand going to the pommel of his sword.
“At ease, soldier,” a familiar voice said.  
Herc turned and found himself staring at the face of Grau, the Guardsman he and his friends had found wandering drunk during the initial riots after Eodred’s death.  
“Sergeant,” Herc nodded.  “Didn’t expect to see you wandering around here.  Are you off-duty?”
“Not exactly,” Grau said.  This isn’t a coincidental meeting.  I…have a favor to ask.  My niece is sick.  I don’t know what she has and neither does anyone in Trail’s End.  She’s broken out all over in red pocks and can barely keep down food, or even the swill that good-for-nothing herbalist gave her.  Her mother’s talking about going to the Bank of Abadar, but her family can’t afford to pay the prices their clerics would demand.  Then I remembered how you and your friends handled yourselves during the riots, and how you helped me out, and I figured you all could help.  A bunch of resourceful folk like you, I’d bet if you don’t already have a way to fix this, you must know who can.  Surely you can’t just sit by while a child suffers, can you?”
“I can’t speak for the others,” Herc said, “but I feel sure they’d be willing to help.  I’ll gather them, and we’ll meet you in Trail’s end by sunset.”
“Thank you,” Grau said, a wet sheen in his eyes as he gripped Herc’s shoulder.  
______________________________________________________

“Trail’s End?”  O’Reginald asked.  “The slum across the river?”
“Mind your tongue,” Katarina snapped.  “Many of my people call that ‘slum’ home.  It’s not their fault that the so-called civilized people of this city marginalize and stereotype them.”
“Does anyone else find it more than coincidence that Trail’s End is very near where that ship was sunk,” Valeris interrupted, “a plague ship, I might add, and now we hear of a child having fallen ill with some mysterious disease?”
“A mystery indeed,” Michael said, “and mysteries, by their nature, ask to be solved.  In any event, we won’t know anything if we don’t at least have a look.  Perhaps the books we found in the necromancer’s library will be of assistance.”
___________________________________________________

Trail’s End was indeed poor, and reputedly dangerous, a haven for Varisians sprinkled with a few Shoanti and socially disaffected Chelaxians.  Yet, to the visitors, it felt more like a small town than any district within the city proper.  To be sure, the criminal element was obvious and impossible to ignore in the faces of dozens of toughs and thugs who loitered on the streets, but they tended to target Chelaxians to the exclusion of all others, and with Katarina among them, the K.I.A. passed through unmolested.  The home of Tayce Soldado, Grau’s sister, was a squat, two-story wooden building in desperate need of repair and gardening.  Overall, the house felt like the home of a family too busy living to bother with tedious chores.  Inside, it was remarkably clean and well-kept, filled with worn, well-used furniture and decorated with the crafts and scribblings of children.  Two boys were playing quietly in the living room when Grau entered with the companions.
“My nephews,” he said by way of introduction, “Charlo and Rello.  Good boys.”
Suddenly, a spasm of ragged coughing filled the house from above.  Grau looked up with concern on his face, but then his eyes cut abruptly to the kitchen, where a dark-skinned young man dressed in robes was brewing some concoction that smelled of cinnamon and anise.  Grau’s expression turned to one of obvious displeasure, and he turned and headed upstairs.  A few moments later, the companions below heard a sternly whispered conversation, with Grau scolding Tayce for racking up a bill with an expensive and worthless healer when he had told her that he would handle things.  Tayce defended her decision, restating the direness of her daughter Brienna’s condition.  Ratbone glanced at the herbalist, and it was only then that he saw the holy symbol hanging around the man’s neck…a symbol of Abadar.  Disgust etched on his face, he started up the stairs.  After a moment, Katarina and Michael followed, leaving Valeris, Herc and O’Reginald in the living room.

The creaky steps opened up into a bedroom loft above the main room of the Soldado home.  A  young girl with auburn hair lay in one of the beds, her slight frame dwarfed by the bed’s size and the pile of pillows, afghans, and quilts surrounding her.  Splotches of an angry red rash covered her face and arms, appearing in irregular shapes and sizes.  Suddenly, her restlessness was interrupted by a violent fit of hacking coughs that jerked her entire frame, lifting her well off her pillows.  The spasm passed after a moment, dropping her back to the bed, but seemingly having done little to ease her breathing.  Tayce Soldado, standing over her daughter’s bed, possessed a simple beauty, scarcely hidden by her disheveled appearance and wan features.  It was obvious she hadn’t slept in days.  Despite her personal state, she greeted her guests sincerely.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, and then her eyes fell upon Michael’s holy symbol.  “Father!” she gasped in heartbreaking relief.  “Please, can you help her?”
“I’ll do my best,” Michael replied gently.  “Tell me, when did the child’s symptoms first appear?”
“Two days ago,” Tayce answered.  “She was completely fine before then.”
“I see,” Michael nodded.  “May I examine her?”
Tayce stepped aside, and beckoned him over.  The priest sat down on the bed beside Brienna and bent close to her.  The rash that covered her was vesicular in its appearance, concentrated mostly on her face, but rapidly spreading down her neck.  Her glands were swollen into large, tender buboes, and when Michael pressed his ear to her chest, he could hear a deep, unhealthy rattle within.  As he pulled away, he drew his books from his satchel and began to flip rapidly through them.  Several minutes passed before he shook his head in frustration.
“I see no match for these symptoms,” he said.  “This may very well be some entirely new affliction, or perhaps I’m just too ignorant to recognize it.”
“You don’t have to know its nature to cure it with magic, do you?”  Ratbone asked.  
“No,” Michael acknowledged, “but my healing skills are not foremost among my order.  I can research the spell, but it will take time…time that I’m not sure she has.”
Ratbone turned to Tayce.  “How much is the Abadaran asking for his services?”
“Fifty gold coins for the herbs,” she said, her eyes downcast, “but three times as much for a complete cure.”
“Bastard!”  Ratbone hissed under his breath, then he reached inside his tunic and withdrew a heavy purse that clinked with the sound of gold on gold.  “Take it,” he said to Tayce.  “All of it.”
Tayce’s mouth worked, but no words could express the emotions she felt.  As tears rolled down her face, she simply embraced the druid, burying her face in his shoulder.

Meanwhile, downstairs O’Reginald abruptly stood and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”  Valeris asked.
“To the river,” the wizard replied.  “Just a hunch, but I’m going to collect some of the water…have it analyzed when we get back to the city.”
Valeris snickered.  “Sounds like a goose-chase to me, but suit yourself.  It’s not like there’s anything else to do around this armpit.”
When the duskblade turned back to Herc to see if the warrior agreed with his assessment, he saw that his companion had walked into the kitchen and was talking to the priest.  
“I’m Herc,” the fighter said, extending his hand.
“Ishani Dhatri,” the cleric replied, reaching out his own hand in response.  
“So what’s the story?”  Herc asked.  “What’s wrong with the girl?”
Ishani shook his head.  “I don’t recognize the exact combination of her symptoms, but I fear that this might be a harbinger of a new disease.”
“Then why haven’t you cured her yet?”  Herc asked pointedly.
Ishani sighed in frustration.  “If I had been sent for earlier, perhaps I could, but I’m afraid that my duties at the Golden One’s Vault required me to entreat him for similar miracles already this day.  Even if I could, though, the tenets of my church force me to request a donation for Abadar’s power…one that I suspect these simple folk could scarcely afford.”
“Here’s your blood money,” Ratbone said with a snarl as he, Tayce and the others entered the kitchen.  “Now will you cure her?”
Ishani sighed again.  “As I was just explaining to your friend, it will have to wait until tomorrow, but with the price met, I promise to do so at sunrise.”
“That’s a promise that you are staking your life upon, ‘priest.’”  Ratbone said.  “In the meantime, it is within my ability to slow the progress of the disease.  I will stay here with the girl until your return.”
Ishani nodded.  “Then I shall take my leave.”  As he turned to go, however, he paused and turned back.  “Please do not judge me too harshly.  My faith is…difficult to understand by laymen.  Some of my more charitable work sometimes requires the aid of those outside the church’s rigid hierarchies.  Perhaps in the future you might be amenable to my contacting you.”
He then opened the door and left without another word.


----------



## carborundum

Great stuff, JD!
Ah, there's nothing like printing out a few pages of JD Story Hour and reading them over breakfast on a Sunday morning!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I second that! Also, the way you described Michael's examination of Brienna read very professional.


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## JollyDoc

Thanks guys!  Thought I'd add a little techinical expertise while I had the chance!!


----------



## JollyDoc

NEXT ON K.I.A....

The group is contacted by an old acquaintance, Vincarlo Orisini, regarding a little...favor

The priest of Abadar also needs a solid.  Unfortunately, it seems the strange new disease was not an isolated case, and the Great Vault is besieged by the afflicted

It appears there's a New World Order in Korvosa when, in response to the rapidly spreading plague, the Crimson Throne creates a new para-military group, and the queen sends puts her own squad of personal physicians on the case.

As the city tries to figure out what to do with the mounting number of dead, the group gets word of some illegal corpse dumping.  When they go to investigate, however, the learn that something far more sinister, and hungry, is at work.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

I really wonder how the KIA are going to handle the politics of this adventure...especially the exalted character(s).


----------



## JollyDoc

OUTBREAK

Ishani was true to his word, and by the next morning, Brienna was cured, though still very weak.  Nevertheless, she gave her saviors a tired smile, and Tayce cooked a wonderful meal for them.  Ishani did not stay, however, saying that his duties required him back at the Grand Vault.  By early afternoon, the members of the K.I.A. were making their way back to North Point, secure that a minor tragedy had been averted, and putting the matter behind them.  When they reached the Three Rings Tavern, however, a new issue required their attention.  The proprietor handed them a sealed envelope, saying that a messenger had delivered it earlier that morning.  When Katarina opened it, she found a short, cryptic note inside from Vencarlo Orisini.  It was a request for her and her friends to come by his academy in Old Korvosa that evening.

Vencarlo’s school was located at 16 Hillcrest Street in Old Korvosa.  When they arrived, a sign hanging from the front door declared that classes had been cancelled for the day.  The door opened abruptly, revealing a serious-looking Vencarlo.  He glanced both ways on the street, and then beckoned them inside.  
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said, and then lead them down a hall and into a study, the windows of which were tightly shuttered and curtained.  
“I asked you here because I have a favor to request,” he said in hushed tones as he indicated that they should be seated.  “You can come in now,” he called over his shoulder.
A door opened behind him and a slight figure entered wearing simple travelling clothes and a wide-brimmed rider’s hat.  Long red curls hid her face, but when she lifted her chin, it was obvious to all that it was Trinia Sabor who stood before them.  She smiled weakly.
“I’m sorry I about all the trouble I gave you in the Shingles a few weeks ago,” she said sheepishly.
“You were all at the Queen’s debacle, so I don’t doubt you recognize this charming young woman,” Vencarlo interrupted before any questions could be asked.  “I had only just reached my home the night of Her Majesty’s morbid gala when that rogue Blackjack and this startled woman arrived at my doorstep.  The people’s hero and I have had some dealings in the past, but still, it’s been some years since I’ve seen the scoundrel.  He was quick with his words, and soon swooped off, doubtlessly to right some other festering wrong, but not before entrusting Miss Sabor into my protection and care.  Although I don’t know Blackjack’s motives or politics, I trust his judgment and have seen much right done by his blade.  He says the girl is innocent of the crime she’s been accused of, and I’m more disposed to trust a hero of the city than the tantrums of some bloody-minded harlot playing at queen.  The matter is simple:  Korvosa is no longer safe for Miss Sabor.  I’ve arranged for friends in Harse, a couple of well-respected ranchers, to take in our beautiful renegade until this whole ‘assassination’ foolishness blows over.  It’s the first leg of the journey where we find our problem, though.  Both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company have been searching for the young lady tirelessly…they’ve stopped by here three times so far, and each time I’ve only just barely been able to turn them away without inviting a search.  My most reliable contacts have gone to ground in light of the recent uprisings, and Her Highness’s considerable bounty for Trinia’s capture makes the use of new agents inadvisable.  Thus, after some time to let her trail cool, I turned to you resourceful lot.  Care to escort a lady home?”
Ratbone cleared his throat.  “I must say I’m…relieved to see that you’re safe, Miss Sabor.  I would be honored to see you to safety.”
Valeris and O’Reginald both rolled their eyes.
“That’s all well and good,” the duskblade said, “but I’m sure you’ve seen the posters around town.  The reward for her is up to 5,000 gold!  Everyone will be looking for her.  How do you propose we just slip her past the City Guard?”
“I would suggest a slow walk through the city,” Vencarlo shrugged.  “Go down to High Bridge and then up to Dwarfwalk Road.  Then you can just mingle with the afternoon’s merchants leaving the city.”
“Excuse me, Trinia is it?”  O’Reginald asked, turning towards the young girl.  “I couldn’t help but notice during our pursuit of you, that you were attempting spell-casting.  Are you a mage?”
“Not at all,” Trinia said, shaking her head.  “I’ve had some bardic training, and I know a few minor cantrips.”
“Ah,” the wizard said, “then you should be adept at altering your appearance, yes?”
Trinia thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened in understanding.  “Yes, yes!  I know of such a spell!”
“Not to belittle your ‘disguise’ skill, Master Orisini,” O’Reginald said, turning back to Vencarlo,” but if we are actually going to try this ridiculous trick, then we need to make very sure that nobody will recognize her.”
_____________________________________________________

A short time later saw the six companions, Ratbone, as usual, in his canine form, making their way up the Dwarfwalk in the company of a gruff-looking dwarven merchant.  Vencarlo had approved of their ingenuity and thanked them again for volunteering to assist Trinia.  He refused to accompany them, however, explaining that he was too well known about town, and that his history with the monarch might have drawn unwanted suspicion.  As such, he planned to attend to some private business and disappear into the anonymity of Old Korvosa for a time.  He asked that they not try to find him.  He’d call upon them when the time was right.

As they mingled with the rest of the foot-traffic, Trinia tried to make small talk, but Michael, to the surprise of his companions, cut her short.
“Forgive me,” the priest said, not unkindly, “but perhaps the less we know about each other, the better.  If, by some misfortune, you should be recaptured, or we should be implicated in your escape, then under magical duress, none of us shall be able to incriminate the others.  Wouldn’t you agree?”
Trinia averted her eyes and nodded solemnly.  The group walked on in silence.  As they moved through Old Korvosa, however, an overly aggressive beggar stumbled up to them, hacking and wheezing, a splotchy red rash and blisters the size of ripe grapes covering his face and arms.
“Please, kind masters,” he pleaded, “could you spare a few coins so that I might have some food and medicine for my ailments?”
O’Reginald recoiled, and Valeris dropped his hand to his blade, but Michael stepped between them and the old man.
“Take this,” he said, pressing a small bag of coins into the man’s hand.  “Go to the Grand Vault and ask for Vaultkeeper Dhatri.  Tell him the K.I.A. sent you.”
“Bless you, sir!  Bless you!” the beggar said as he stumbled away into the crowd.  
“It wasn’t an isolated case,” Michael said after the man had disappeared.  Abruptly, Ratbone whined at his feet.  When the priest looked down, the dog nudged him, and then took a few steps into the crowd.  It was then that Michael saw them…at least five other individuals…beggars, common folk, and even a merchant…all displaying the same, familiar, fiery rashes.
“What’s wrong with them?”  Trinia asked, concern in her voice.
“Just be glad you’re leaving,” Valeris growled.

The company passed through the gates without so much as a glance from the guards, much to their surprise and relief.  Once they were a safe distance beyond the walls and across the bridge, Trinia mounted the horse Vencarlo had provided for her.
“Thank you all for your help,” she said, turning back to her escorts.  “I’m so sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you, but I promise, I will repay you someday.”
She then reined her mount around and galloped off into the sunset.  Ratbone lifted his muzzle and howled after her in farewell.
_______________________________________________________

The following morning, the innkeeper informed Katarina that another message awaited her and her companions.  Curious, she followed him downstairs and found a young boy dressed in the robes of an acolyte of the Church of Abadar standing nervously in the common room.  
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he stammered, “but I’ve been sent by Vaultkeeper Dhatri.  He seeks a meeting with you at the Grand Vault at your earliest pleasure.”
Kat nodded, and tipped the boy a gold coin.  “Tell your master that we shall be along shortly,” she replied.

The others weren’t surprised at the request though, as usual, Valeris grumbled.  The walk to the Grand Vault was long, but the streets seemed strangely subdued, with much less traffic than they were accustomed to seeing.  When they finally reached the temple, however, things were not at all as they expected.  Towering over the surrounding buildings, the Grand Vault of Abadar offered a vision of divine luxuriance amid a sea of mortal troubles.  Radiant, as its grey-veined white marble reflected the midday sun, there was little question that the place was a house of a god.  Yet, for a deity of law, the steep stairs and ramps leading up to the temple’s great bronze doors offered a strangely discordant scene.  Dozens of citizens, mostly of the working class, although the silks of a few merchants showed through the crowed, thronged the entry, scarcely held back by a group of gold-armored Abadarian clerics.  All seemed intent on gaining entry to the temple, but the clerics turned away nearly all comers.  The clerics’ reasoning became clear as one desperate believer was turned away, his pitiful countenance mottled with violent red sores.  The six companions looked at each with shocked expressions.  There appeared to be no way to get to the doors without going through the crowd.  Herc took the lead, and began shouldering his way through.  Single-file, the others began following.  They were no more than halfway through, however, when Michael was suddenly seized by his tunic.
“Look!” shouted one of the mob, pointing at Michael’s holy symbol.  “He’s a priest!”
“Father, help us!” they began shouting.  “Heal us!  Save us!”
Before Michael knew what was happening, dozens of hands clutched at him, pulling him this way and that.  
“Please!” Michael shouted placatingly.  “I am no healer!  I am a petitioner, just like yourselves!”
The mob showed no sign that they had heard.  Instead they pushed and pulled even more aggressively, until Michael felt himself going down.  Suddenly, a strong hand seized him by the arm and hauled him forward.  He turned to look at his rescuer and saw Herc surging forward, shield held before him.  Within a matter of moments, they had reached the doors.
“Halt!” one of the guards said, stepping forward.  “State your business!”
“Mandrake?”  Kat asked.  “Is that you?”
The Abadarian blinked, recognition dawning on him.  
“Katarina?  What are all of you doing here?”
“We’re here to see Vaultkeeper Dhatri,” Kat explained.  “He asked us to come.”
“Of course!”  the paladin nodded.  “Follow me!”

Mandrake led them inside.  Within the airy halls, priests and patrons eyed each other and every newcomer with suspicion, and every footfall upon the marble floor echoed through a frightened silence.  Ishani Dhatri waited for them inside one of the western meeting rooms.  
“Thank you for coming,” he said.  “I assume you already suspect my reasons for calling, having seen the crowd outside, poor lot.  You recognize the symptoms, I’m sure.  I had hoped that the Soldado case was isolated, but apparently we have a bigger problem on our hands than I’d feared.  I’m concerned for the city, but also for my brethren here.  The morning after my visit to the Soldado home I came to the temple to hear that three of my brothers awoke with similar symptoms, although they had already been healed.  I spoke to each, and aside from their usual duties in the temple, none have had any dealings with the sick.  Later in the day, more of my brothers…vaultkeepers, guards, and acolytes…developed symptoms, and folk from throughout the city began arriving in search of healing.  It’s been more than a little bit frightening.  They’re calling the sickness ‘blood veil.’  An apt enough name, I suppose.  This affliction has spread fast, yet I’m not yet sure how.  Most of the patients we’re treating have come from North Point and Old Korvosa.  The disease seems to spread fastest through the lower classes.  Although we here at the temple can heal some of the ill, I fear that the spread of the disease will soon outpace our resources.  The only way to stem the growing infection is to involve all the city’s resources.  We need to organize.  We need to call upon the faiths of Sarenrae, Pharasma, and even Asmodeus to face this attack.  Archbanker Tuttle and several of his assistants are out pursuing alliances with these other faiths, but even that won’t be enough.  We need to involve the Korvosan Guard, at the very least.  And that’s where you come in…with the number of desperate souls growing, it’s not particularly safe for a priest to walk the streets of Korvosa.  I hear that you have a good relationship with Field Marshal Cressida Kroft…perhaps you would be willing to escort me to Citadel Volshyenek to introduce me to her?”
“This is troubling indeed,” Michael said pensively.  “Do you have any theories on the origin of the outbreak?”
“Not yet,” Ishani said, shaking his head.  “I hope the Archbanker and the other church leaders will be able to deduce it.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’m already on to it,” O’Reginald said absently.
“Truly?” Ishani asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Not this again!”  Valeris rolled his eyes.
“If you have a better idea, let’s hear it!” the mage snapped.  He then turned calmly back to Ishani.  “The Soldado’s home is near the river.  Tayce said the little girl played near the water every day.  The quarantined ship that was sunk…,”
“ ‘Alleged’ quarantined ship,” Valeris interrupted.
“…went down in the river near Trail’s End,” O’Reginald continued, ignoring the duskblade.  “Therefore, I think the river water is the source of the infection.  I took several samples of it when we were there.  I’ve already given one of the samples to an alchemist at the Acadamae, and another to an old friend I know who has some expertise in chemistry.”
“I’m sure he does,” Valeris snorted.
“Do you have any more of the water?”  Ishani asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
“I have one more vial,” O’Reginald replied.  “Why?”
“We have alchemists here in the temple,” the priest said.  “I can have them do an analysis for you as well.  That way you’ll have three independent reports, and no one can gainsay your results.”
O’Reginald nodded.  “Good idea.”
He passed over his last vial.  Ishani took it and said he would meet them at the front doors once he’d delivered the sample and gathered his belongings.
____________________________________________________

The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek posed little problem, despite Ishani’s fear to the contrary.  When they arrived at the gates, the guards greeted them warmly.
“If you’re here to meet the Queen’s Physicians,” the sergeant said, “you’ll need to hurry.  They’ve already gone ahead to the courtyard.”
The companions exchanged suspicious glances, but only thanked the guardsman and headed inside the citadel to the courtyard.  As they approached, the echoes of forcefully spoken but still just-missed words resounded off the imposing granite and iron walls of the outer curtain.  Dozens of red-and-silver-armored guards stood in assembly upon the pitted stone mustering ground, mumbling in hushed, somber tones.  Before them, atop a weathered wooden platform, paced Field Marshal Kroft, her eyebrows arched sternly as she momentarily tolerated the crowd’s murmurs.  Behind her upon the scaffold stood three grizzled veteran guardsmen at attention, as well as an ominous-looking group.  Those men wore cowled robes of oily-looking leather, supple gloves, and wide black hats.  Some gripped heavy canes, others dark satchels.  Each of them, though, wore a dark-goggled mask that tapered to a pointed beak.  Among them stood two others.  The first was a middle-aged gentleman in a simple black overcoat with streaks of white gracing the sides of his short dark hair.  He watched the gathered guards with a soft, concerned expression, his hands tightly clasped around a heavy-looking doctor’s case.  The second figure was an imposing one indeed…a woman dressed in full-plate armor, a longsword and shield at her side, and her blank-faced full helm sporting a bright red plume.  The Field Marshal’s fierce tone cut through the rumble of whispers.
“You will escort Doctor Davaulus and his men in their royal duties wherever those might take them.  Furthermore, you are to consider orders from any of the queen’s new order of Gray Maidens to be as binding as any superior officer in the Korvosan Guard or Sable Company.  You are guardsman of Korvosa.  You will not balk.  These are dire times and your city needs these healers.  Your city needs you.  Your patrol leaders have your assignments.  Dismissed!”

As the assembly ended, the guardsmen gathered in the courtyard broke up into groups, many reporting for various duties while others loitered for a few moments to quietly gripe about their new orders.  The armored woman quickly organized the guards, silencing bickering words with harsh commands and assigning orders for the day.  Kroft and her veteran attendants began to head into the citadel with Dr. Davaulus and his Queen’s Physicians.  As she reached the door, however, she caught sight of the K.I.A. members out of the corner of her eye.  She turned and whispered to one of her guardsmen, who then hurried over to them.
“The Field Marshal requests that you accompany her and her guests,” the man growled, then turned back, assuming they would follow, which of course, they did.  Once inside, Cressida turned to the companions, who were being carefully scrutinized by the good doctor.
“Doctor Davaulus,” she began, “allow me to introduce a group of operatives that I have enlisted for...special…assignments.”  
“A pleasure,” the doctor replied, though he did not extend his hand in greeting.
“I’m afraid, though, I haven’t had the honor…,” Cressida said, turning to Ishani.
“This is Vaultkeeper Ishani Dhatri,” Michael said in way of introduction.  “He assisted us in what we believe was the first case of this so-called blood veil.”
“Really?” Dr. Davaulus asked, interest in his eyes.  “Do tell.”
Ishani proceeded to relate Brienna’s story, concluding with the recent events at the Grand Vault.
“I am here to inquire if I might be of service in coordinating the efforts of the Grand Vault of Abadar with those of the city,” he concluded.  
“Of course,” Davaulus nodded.  “We welcome any assistance, especially that of the churches.”
“Might I ask, Doctor,” Michael interjected, “what are your plans to address this crisis?”
“Well,” the doctor shrugged, “I must still confer with the Field Marshall to form a sensible plan, but allow me to share with you an official proclamation being distributed by the Crimson Throne.”
He opened his bag and pulled out a roll of parchment.  Michael took it, unfurled it and read aloud,
“ ‘By Decree of Her Royal Majesty, the Radiant Queen Ileosa I, all citizens and members of the Korvosan Guard are to aid and admit the newly established Queen’s Physicians in this time of urgency.  These royal agents will extend healing to the sick and organize defense against the spreading affliction known as ‘blood veil.’  They are to be allowed access to any home or building they deem necessary in the course of their duties.  All those suffering from disease or disorder are to submit themselves to the Physicians for treatment.  To aid in the duties of the Queen’s Physicians, know that the order of the Gray Maidens has been established to provide military support as needed.  The Maidens answer directly to the Crimson Throne, and will be called upon as necessary to augment and strengthen the peace where simple city guards will not suffice.  Impeding or distracting the duties of the Queen’s Physicians or the Gray Maidens is punishable by imprisonment.  Impersonating one of the Queen’s Physicians is punishable by death.  Knowingly harboring or hiding the infected is punishable by death.  Purposefully spreading blood veil is punishable by torture, then death.  The Queen’s Physicians will be making rounds of every city district henceforth until Her Majesty deems this misfortune abated.’”
“Wow,” Valeris said, pursing his lips.  “That’s a whole lot of imprisoning, torturing and killing there.  I’m impressed!”
“I believe you miss the point,” Dr. Davaulus said patiently.  “This is a desperate situation, and calls for dramatic measures.  Not everyone may be receptive to our methods, but if we are to insure maximum survivability, then certain sacrifices may have to be made.”
“I have a theory, if anyone’s interested,” O’Reginald interrupted.
“Oh, for the love of the gods!”  Valeris shouted, throwing up his hands.
“No, no,” Ishani chimed in, “I think this is valid.  You should hear this.”
“Thank you,” O’Reginald said, and then proceeded to explain his river water theory again.  When he was finished, the doctor nodded approvingly.
“That is indeed a very interesting theory,” he said.  “In fact, I’d like you to give me the names and addresses of these alchemists so that my physicians can contact them, and perhaps help to expedite their progress.”
“Umm…ok…,” O’Reginald said carefully.
“Excellent,” Davaulus said.  “Now, we should get down to our planning.  Vaultkeeper, would you join us?”
“Certainly,” Ishani said.
Davaulus then entered a conference room, followed by his attendants and Ishani.  Cressida was the last to go, but before she went in, she turned back to her agents.
“Make yourselves available,” she said, and then followed her guests.
____________________________________________________

In the days that followed, word of blood veil’s rapid spread was on the lips of every citizen of Korvosa, as was the news of the Crimson’s Throne’s new decrees.  As for the K.I.A., there was not much that they could do.  Although Michael and Ratbone spent their days in Old Korvosa, lending aid where possible, it became increasingly obvious that their efforts  were but a drop in the bucket.  During this period, O’Reginald became more and more convinced that his theory was correct, and he waited impatiently for the results of his analyses.  However, when he went to check on their progress, he found that all three alchemists had mysteriously left the city on other business.  

It was shortly after this discovery that Field Marshall Croft finally sent for the agents, requesting that they report to the Citadel as soon as possible.  
“Thank you for coming,” she said.  “I’m sorry that I haven’t been in contact sooner, but I haven’t been able to seem to find a free moment.  Now, it seems, I have a new problem to add to the hundreds of others.  This one, fortunately, you may be able to help me with.  As you’re no doubt aware, the death toll from blood veil has been rising every day.  We’ve enlisted carters to gather the dead and carry them to the Gray District.  It seems that some of the lazier ones to the north aren’t making their deliveries.  Instead, they’re dumping bodies in a secluded backstreet called Racker’s Alley.  I’d like you to go and check out the situation for me.”
“And what should we do if we find the rumors are true?”  Valeris asked.
“Report back to me, and keep it quiet,” Cressida said.  “I’ll handle it from there.”
_______________________________________________________

The high walls of the surrounding buildings threw the awkwardly bent Racker’s alley into constant shadow.  Although littered with garbage and filth, the refuse wasn’t the most stomach-turning trait of the rundown sideway.  Heaped against a bent wooden wall, rose a pile of more than three-dozen plague victims, their faces blistered and flushed, eyes open and staring.  The scent of death was overpowered by the reek of rot, suggesting that some of the corpses had lain there for days.  Cautiously, the six companions proceeded down the shadowy passageway, Ratbone in the lead, his nose to the ground.  He found several sets of booted tracks, as well as hoof prints and the wheel marks of carts.  Oddly, however, he also found the prints of bare feet, but when he followed them, he found that they ended inexplicably at the walls of the alleyway.
“Look at this,” Herc called from where he crouched near the corpses.  
Ratbone padded over and immediately saw what the big merc had noticed…twin puncture wounds on the necks and arms of several of the bodies.  
“Vampires,” Michael said softly from behind the pair.  “I’ve seen their work before.  If they’ve been feeding here, then their lair cannot be far.”
Ratbone turned back to the pile of bodies and began nosing further in, pawing aside a few.  When he reached the wall, he growled low in his throat, then backed away, revealing a small hole, just big enough to crawl through.  

Ratbone was the first through, but the room in which he found himself was anything but what he had expected.  Dozens of crooked glass eyes…hollow and crazed…glared from the heads of malformed and half-carved dolls lining skewed workroom shelves.  Rat-gnawed stuffed aurochs, disembodied doll limbs, miniature rolling elephants, unseaworthy ships, and crooked blocks illustrated with deformed or poorly painted animals filled bins and racks about the room.  A cracked wooden door lead to the north, while a rickety trap door broke the sawdust-covered floor to the east.  In one corner lay the drying corpse of an old, bald man amid the wood chips, rusty tools, and oily rags of a scored workbench.  Michael was next in and walked up behind the dog.
“I guess he was the first victim,” the priest said, nodding to the six pairs of puncture marks along the man’s arms.  “It’s still daylight outside.  With any luck, we’ll catch them sleeping.  I doubt they’re resting in the storefront, so that looks like our only obvious choice.”  He nodded to the trap door.

Herc heaved against the trapdoor, but it opened surprisingly easily, revealing a mere three-foot drop to a crawlspace below.  Ratbone leaped down, followed closely by Valeris and Herc.  Valeris held up his hand and spoke a word, bathing it in blue light.  The area was of the same dimensions as the room above, the floor made of dirt.  Amid numerous blocks of various types of mundane wood lay six simple wooden coffins.  
“Wait!”  Herc shouted to the others still above, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, than the lids of all six coffins burst open.  The creatures that emerged resembled humans on only a basic level.  Their hair was filthy and lank, their skin the pallor of the dead.  Their eyes glowed red and feral, and when they opened their too-long jaws, fangs like needles were revealed.  As they climbed free, Ratbone’s shape flickered momentarily and he resumed his natural form and spoke the words to a spell.  When he once again took his canine shape, his teeth gleamed silver in the azure light.  

In the workshop above, O’Reginald dropped to his belly and leaned down through the trap door.  When he saw the vampires, his face paled, but he didn’t lose his nerve.  Chanting his spell, he hurled a barrage of arcane missiles at the nearest of the undead.  The creature recoiled, hissing in pain, but then its eyes locked with those of the mage.  Instantly, O’Reginald felt his will and his thoughts subverted.  An alien voice whispered in his mind, and to his horror, he found that he could not ignore it.  

Valeris found himself hemmed in on all sides by bloodsuckers.  Suddenly, he felt a stinging pain in his back as one of the creatures raked its claws across it.  At the same time, he felt his blood run cold and his knees went weak.
“Help…me…,” he cried in a strangled voice.
Herc turned towards his friend, and took a step towards him, but as he did so, he too met the unholy gaze of one of the vampires.  His will proved no stronger than O’Reginald’s, and when the sibilant hiss inside his head told him to kill Valeris, he raised his sword obediently.  Instead of wielding it against his partner, however, he paused, his mind rebelling violently against the domination.  Then, with a sensation like glass shattering, he felt the vampire’s hold break.  Reaching into his belt pouch, he drew out a vial of silvery liquid, which he poured quickly across the blade of his sword.

Michael, still standing in the workshop, stepped to the opening in the floor, his holy symbol gripped tightly in his hand.  His voice booming, he called upon Iomedae, and his fist flared with brilliant white fire.  He hurled the energy into the crawlspace, simultaneously delivering healing power to his friends, and searing the flesh of the vampires with holy fire.  Next to him, however, still laying on the floor, O’Reginald tensed as the voice in his head commanded him to flay the flesh from Ratbone, who was steadily advancing on the undead, his silver teeth bared.  For an instant, the mage’s hand began to burn, but just as he prepared to loose it against his partner, his own will reasserted itself, and instead he threw the burst into the face of the vampire who’d seized him.

Back in the crawlspace, Ratbone attacked.  He leaped full force upon one of the vampires, his flashing fangs tearing the throat from the creature.  As he did so, the undead dissolved into a haze of mist, vanishing back into its coffin where it reformed as a hazy, insubstantial figment of its former self.  It was at that point that the tide of the battle changed.  Herc laid about him with his silvery sword, allowing Valeris time to recover his strength.  The duskblade then channeled his magic into his own sword, transforming it into a truly formidable weapon against the vampires.  Michael continued to bombard the undead with holy power, while O’Reginald conjured hails of stone from thin air.  One-by-one the vampires fell, each returning to its nearby coffin, until finally all lay in torpor.  
“Now!”  Michael said, leaping down to join his comrades and quickly staving in one of the crates with his mace.  He picked up a jagged piece of wood and drove it through the heart of the nearest vampire.  The creature screamed in mortal agony as its body disintegrated.  Herc and Valeris grabbed their own stakes and began following the priest’s lead, destroying each of the blood-sucking fiends in turn.


----------



## JollyDoc

THIS WEEK ON K.I.A...

Taking a break from killing and violence, the agents investigate a shady perfumery claiming to have found a cure for blood veil.  It's immediately obvious that not all is on the up-and-up, but while Katarina goes for the more subtle approach, Valeris, as usual, does things the hard way.

Ratbone is approached by a local fishmonger with a very familiar request regarding a very familiar type of shapeshifter.  Once again, the agents journey into the sewers in search of rats, and they find much more than they bargained for.  When all is said and done, however, the true source of blood veil might just be revealed...


----------



## JollyDoc

FRAGRANCES

Cressida was appalled when she received the report of the undead activity, especially when Michael suggested that the carters might have been under the mental control of the vampires.  She promised to send a squad to do a thorough investigation and also to enlist the aid of the Abadarians to undo any lingering effects of domination.  As the group left the Citadel, however, a familiar voice called to them, and they saw Ishani ascending the stairs towards them.

“I heard about your discovery in Racker’s Alley,” the priest said.  “Terrible.  I wonder if there is any end to the travesties of these days.  Speaking of which, I know you’ve only just returned, but I have another favor to ask of you.  I’m sure you’ve all heard of Lavender.”
“The perfume boutique?”  Katarina asked.
“The very one,” Ishani nodded.  “As you know, it has quite the reputation for its brazen promotions, most notably the ‘free imp with every purchase’ campaign.  Fortunately, much of that could be attributed to avant garde marketing, but this time Vendra Loaggri has gone too far.”
He took a flier from his robes and handed it to Kat.
“‘Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment,’” Kat read, “ ‘the everyday elixir of the common Korvosan.  It wakes you up in the morning and calms you down at night.  It soothes aching joints, tired feet, sore hands, and throbbing heads.  It takes the pain out of cuts, burns, bruises, and blemishes.  It smells like chastity, confidence, and respectability, and tastes like honeyed dewdrops over snow clouds.  Most miraculously, though, Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment dispels blisters, minimizes swelling, calms the complexion, and erases all symptoms of the common blood veil complaint.’”
“Sounds like snake oil to me,” Valeris snorted.
“Precisely,” Ishani said.  “If this is indeed a sham, of which I have no doubt, then it must be stopped.  If people are buying into this, then they aren’t seeking legitimate sources of aid, and thus are at greater risk of succumbing to the affliction.”
“By ‘legitimate,’ do you mean the so-called Queen’s Physicians?”  Valeris asked.
“I’m withholding judgment on that for now,” the cleric said, his mouth tightening, “but regardless, we want the people to get proper assistance, and this is not it.”
“You’re right, of course,” Kat said.  “We’ll head down there and see what’s going on.”
___________________________________________________________

A queue of eager Korvosans stood in a line that stretched nearly four blocks from Lavender’s distinctive amethyst-shaded windows.  Many of them looked healthy, but several bore the obvious hacking, blistered symptoms of blood veil.  
“What’s going on here, citizen?”  Ratbone casually asked one of the patrons as the companions joined the queue.
“Haven’t you heard?” the pock-marked man said excitedly.  “Vendra Loaggri’s found a cure!  It’s a miracle!”
“You believe it works?” the druid asked.  
“Oh yes!” the man nodded enthusiastically.  “My sister’s cousin has a friend who knows someone who took it and their symptoms vanished immediately!”
“I see,” Ratbone said.  “Well then, I guess we’d better buy some ourselves.”

A menagerie of heady scents twisted throughout the cramped but stylish perfumery once the companions threaded their way through the line.  A dizzying assortment of bottles, from gaudy ceramic containers to graceful crystalline vials, lined a variety of lace- and ribbon-strewn tables, shelves, racks and an eye-catching display in the wide front window.  Across from the front door’s orchid-tinted glass panes ran a long counter, stacked high with hundreds of simple clay phials bearing round, magenta stoppers.  Behind the counter, violet flourishes swooped across a sign reading, “Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment:  Either You’ve Got it, or You’ve Had it.”
Three men dressed in chain shirts, and with heavy saps hanging from their belts, stood around the perimeter of the store, eyeing the steady line of customers, while a lovely woman with black hair and blue eyes stood behind the counter.
“You run this place?”  Valeris asked as he stepped up to the display.  Herc, O’Reginald and Michael stood behind him.  Katarina waited outside the door, a large dog at her side.
“Yes,” the woman answered with a disarming smile.  “I’m Vendra Loaggri.  How can I help you?”
“They say you’re hocking some sort of cure for the blood veil,” the duskblade sneered.  “What’s your game?”
“It’s a true miracle,” Vendra answered, her smile never faltering.  “I came upon the mixture quite by accident, while I was researching a new fragrance.”
“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?”  Valeris asked.  “My, but that is a miracle, especially when all the alchemists, physicians and priests in the city haven’t been able to do the same.”
“She’s tellin’ the trooth!”  said an old man who’d been quietly perusing the rest of the store’s stock.  “Used it meself when I broke out in the pocks!  Not only cured my rash, but made my bum leg stop achin’ too!”
“You see?”  Vendra asked.  “An unsolicited testimonial.”
“Convenient,” Valeris smirked.  “Let me ask you this:  if you’re so benevolent, and want to help people, why don’t you just give me the recipe for the cure, and I’ll start making it for free and give it to those who need it?”
Vendra chuckled.  “My dear man, I’m a businesswoman.  Is it wrong for me to make a modest profit on my discovery when the Abadarians are charging almost one-hundred times as much for their prayers?”
“But you’ve got something even the priests don’t!”  Valeris snapped.  “You’re mass-producing a cure!  Surely you’ve made enough by now that it wouldn’t hurt you to show a little charity.  Am I right, folks?”  He turned to the crowd, and a murmur began rippling through those waiting.
“Sir,” Vendra said, her smile thinning, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.  You’re disrupting my business, and delaying the delivery of a cure to these good people.  Are you buying, or not?”
As she spoke, the three toughs started edging closer.  
“Yeah, I’m buying alright,” Valeris said as he smacked two coins down on the counter and grabbed one of the vials, “but I’m going to take this to a reputable alchemist and find out what’s in it.  Then I’m going to start making it myself and give it away for free!”
“As you wish,” Vendra said coldly.  “A pleasure doing business with you.  Goodbye.”
The toughs stood menacingly around the duskblade.  He grinned at them as he backed out of the store, his companions following.

During the interaction between Valeris and Vendra, Ratbone and Kat took the opportunity to slip unobtrusively into an alley behind Lavender.  There they found a door leading into the back of the building.  Ratbone sniffed around the edge and snorted once, letting Kat know that he sensed no one on the other side.  The door was locked, but the beguiler’s Varisian heritage came in handy, and she quickly picked the lock, then slipped inside with Ratbone before closing the door behind her.  Delicate wall hangings, artistically shaped candles, and the fine scent of cherry blossoms filled the well-decorated apartment beyond the door.  A table sculpted with swirling ivy leaves bore a fragile porcelain tea service and an exotically curved hookah in a kitchen nook.  A door adjacent to the kitchen opened into a bedroom furnished with an antique armoire and a bed sheeted in purple silks and heavily laden with round pillows.  Ratbone quickly began nosing around the room, momentarily put off by the abundance of strong fragrances.  He paused in the back corner of the bedroom as he felt a slight breeze near the floor, and detected the faint scent of mold.  He began pawing at the wall, attracting Kat’s attention.  When she joined him, and began examining the corner, she found a faint seam running from ceiling to floor.  She worked her fingernails into the crack and pulled.  The whole section of the wall gave way, opening onto another room beyond.  Bits of broken crates and barrels covered the floor of the dilapidated apartment on the far side.  A tun of oily liquid, its lip level with a man’s chest, filled a corner of the room, a well-used canoe oar sticking out of it.  Next to it squatted several large casks of murky water and two stacks of boxes, one holding dozens of small ceramic vials with magenta stoppers, the other holding a mismatched collection of delicate perfume bottles.  The apartment’s kitchen nook held another crate, filled with broken shards of multicolored glass.  Despite being in shambles, the apartment smelled delightful, a mixture of spices, flowers and exotic oils.

No sooner had they entered, than a low growl started in Ratbone’s throat, and his hackles rose.  Kat tensed as she saw a figure step out of the shadows.  It was a man, clad in the same type of chain armor worn by Vendra’s guards.  When he saw her, his hand went for the sap at his belt, but Kat was faster.  Her fingers moving in a blur, she quickly wove an enchantment, and as she spoke the words, the man’s eyes glazed over and his jaw went momentarily slack.  
“Now then,” Kat said calmly, “what were we talking about?”
The guard blinked several times and shook his head.
“I…I don’t remember,” he said.
“Ah yes!”  Kat snapped her finger.  “You were telling me what a foolproof scam we were running.”
“Oh…yeah.  Right,” the guard nodded.  “Vendra really outdid herself this time.”
“She sure did,” Kat agreed.  “Say, is that the ‘liniment’ you’re cooking up there?”
“Yep,” the man said, turning to look at the barrel.  “A potent healing mixture of river water and leftover perfume!  Oh, and for this batch, I took the liberty of relieving myself in it, to!”
Kat laughed along with him.  “You’re such a scoundrel!  Why don’t we go get a quick drink?  Nobody’s going to know.  You’ve been at this for awhile now.”
The guard looked dubious.  “I dunno.  If Vendra or one of the boys comes in here and I’m gone, there’ll be Hell to pay.”
“Ratbone’ll cover for you,” Kat said.  The guard looked, and blinked, certain he’d just seen a dog where a large, burly half-orc now stood.  “If someone comes, he’ll just tell’em you went to stretch your legs.  Come on!  What’s a quick drink?”
“Well…I am a bit parched,” the guard said.  “Ok.  Let’s go, but let’s be quick about it.”
_______________________________________________________

Kat and the guardsman ducked out of Vendra’s apartment and down the alley, but not before the beguiler had cast another quick spell, allowing her to send a quick, whispered message to her companions, telling them to fetch Ishani and Sergeant Grau, and meet her at the Three Rings Tavern.  Ratbone stuck around just long enough to be sure they were gone, then he slipped out as well, resumed his canine form, and followed at a safe distance.  

When the pair reached the tavern, Grau and Ishani, both in civilian garb, were waiting.
“I’d like you to meet a couple of Vendra’s new hirelings,” Kat said to the guardsman by way of introduction.  “They haven’t had a chance to learn the scam yet, so I told’em you’d fill them in.”
Once more, the mercenary looked doubtful.  
“I understand,” Kat said.  “Let’s just have a few drinks first and get to know each other.”
The drinks flowed, time passed, and eventually, the guard’s tongue loosened.  He told the whole sordid tale of how Vendra had come up with the idea of hawkingg a phony concoction of water from the Jeggare with old perfumes to the desperate citizens of Korvosa.  When he was finished, Grau nodded, stood up, and then slammed the man face-first to the table, wrenching his arm behind him.
“You’re under arrest,” Grau snarled.  
The guardsman struggled, but his inebriated state made his efforts moot.  Within minutes, a squad of soldiers swarmed into the common room and hustled the ruffian away.
“That’s the evidence we needed,” Grau said, turning to Katrina.  “We’re in your debt…again.”
“Valeris also has a vial of the so-called liniment,” Kat said.
“So much the better,” Grau nodded.  “We’ll take it from here.  I’ll take my men and go to Lavender.  We’ll have it shut down by nightfall, and Vendra and her goons clapped in irons.  The Field Marshall will know of your deeds here.”
As Grau and his men left, Ishani turned to Kat and took her hands in his.  
“I can never repay you and your comrades for this,” he said.  “You’ll never know how many lives you may have saved today.  Now we can get these people the help they need and deserve.  Thank you.”
Katarina nodded.  “Unfortunately, I think our work here is just beginning.”
__________________________________________________________

Ratbone browsed some of the food stalls in old Korvosa, his stomach rumbling at the mixture of intoxicating aromas that drifted through the air.  
“I would not think that you had such a refined palate,” a voice suddenly spoke from behind him.  The druid turned and found a mousy woman with jaundiced, yellow eyes standing nearby.  
“Yes, I’ve heard of you, ‘Ratbone,’” she chuckled, “and I know of your nocturnal activities.  I’ve also heard that you have a soft spot for the less fortunate among Korvosa’s populace.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…” Ratbone said, cocking his head inquisitively.
“I am called Eries,” the woman said, “Eries Yelloweyes.”
“Yelloweyes?” the half-orc asked.  “An unusual name.  What is it that you do?”
“I’m a fishmonger,” she said, “and I suppose Yelloweyes is no stranger than Ratbone, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed,” Ratbone chuckled.  “So, seeing as I’m not in the market for fish at the moment, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You and I are not unalike,” Eries said, lowering her voice.  “I, like you, am a shapeshifter.”
Ratbone raised one eyebrow.  “Truly?”
“Perhaps not in the way that you think,” Eries answered, “but the essence is the same.  I am a lycanthrope…a wererat.”
“Ah…,” Ratbone nodded.  “I had a recent…unfortunate…encounter with some of your kin.”
“The Atchers,” Eries sighed.  “Beila and Vernon.  I hope you realize that they are not representative of my kind.”
“I would make no assumptions about an entire people based on the actions of a few misguided individuals,” Ratbone replied.  
“Having said that,” Eries continued, “I’m sorry to say that I have come to you regarding yet another renegade.  This time, however, his actions may be more justified, though no less misguided, than the Atchers.  Recently, a mob of Midland citizens, bend on giving voice and violence to their fear of this plague, discovered a foolish, alley-prowling wererat and publicly executed him with a silver axe.  Their unfounded vigilantism quickly extended to a few drunken dockworkers braving the sewers to hunt wererats, blaming their problems on the lycanthropes believed to dwell below.  Used to fear and abuse, most of my people responded to the attacks by abandoning their dens and hiding elsewhere in the city.  One, however, a firebrand named Girrigz Ripperclaws, has refused to do so, instead calling upon our kin to war against the weakened humans above.  I’ve lived a double-life in secret for more than fifty years, and I’ve seen much suffering in my time, including devastating government-directed rat-purges, a return of which I fear Girrigz’s warmongering ways could quickly incite.  My efforts to talk sense to him and his gang have failed.  Something must be done about him before more lives are lost.  I would ask that you speak with him and, if necessary, offer him an example of the force the city will doubtlessly employ should his rebelliousness continue.  I beg you, however, do not kill the others of my people who have joined him, if it can be avoided.  If you do this for me, I offer you something more valuable than gold…information.  Specifically, I think I may can tell you what might be the true reason for Korvosa’s plague.”
“It is not my wish to engage more of your people,” Ratbone said, “but I see the truth in your words.  I will gather my companions, and we will go to Girrigz and try to convince him of the error of his ways.  Know that I will hold you to your word, however, as the safety of this city is foremost among my concerns.”
_____________________________________________________________


Through the disgustingly visible haze of noxious sewer reek, the flow of unmentionable slop through the sewer tunnel’s filth-slick channel unexpectedly forked.  Most continued on its expected path, but a small stream of ooze diverted off through a wide cleft in the moldy masonry wall.  The man-sized crack cut deep into the rock behind the wall, and wisps of thin white smoke issued forth.
“Have I mentioned how much I love this city’s sewers?”  Valeris asked.
“We’re here,” Ratbone said, ignoring the duskblade’s grousing.  
“Perfect,” Valeris said, scraping sludge from his boots with the point of his sword.
Single-file, with Herc leading the way, the company threaded their way through the twisting cleft.  The flow of sewer filth oozed into a rough-hewn stone cave, pooling near its center before continuing through a crude channel in the far wall.  Fat black mushrooms and other disgusting fungus grew thick around the pool of slime.  Several low alcoves were cut into the walls, each filled with moldering hay, filthy furs, and tiny bones.  Many things happened at once as Herc stepped through the crack.  A large, sickly purple mushroom on the far side of the stream suddenly opened a trio of orifices on its cap and began emitting an ear-splitting shriek.  Simultaneously, several snarling, fur-covered creatures leaped from the shadows, rapiers in their hands, their yellow teeth grinning.  Giant rats swarmed among their feet.  

Chaos erupted as the ratmen surged among them.  Herc ripped his sword from its sheath, the blade gleaming silver.  He hacked the hand from a nearby wererat, and the creature screamed as the metal cauterized its flesh.  He battered with his shield at several of the rats that nipped at his heels, then swung it in a wide arc at another charging ratman.  Unfortunately, the wily creature ducked beneath it, and the shield embedded itself in a wall, stuck fast.  The big mercenary quickly loosed the useless weapon from his arm and gripped his blade in both hands, readying for the next wave.  

More ratmen streamed in through other entrances, and the six companions stood back-to-back in the center of the cavern.  Valeris summoned raw power into his weapon in the form of crackling electricity, and cut down one of the oncoming lycanthropes.  Ratbone tore rats apart like a wolf hunting rabbits, and O’Reginald called down hails of stone among their assailants, crushing more vermin, as well as a trio of wererats.  
“Try and take the lycanthropes alive!”  Kat cried as she hurled a wave of debilitating force at an oncoming ratman, sending him tumbling head-over-heels.  
“Frack that!”  Valeris snarled as he cut down another.  
The duskblade readied his blade to do it again, but Ratbone leaped in front of him and landed with all four feet on the chest of the wererat, driving him to the floor where he struck his head solidly on the stone and went limp.
“Godsdamn your bleeding heart!”  Valeris screamed as his spell expired.  He sheathed his sword and drew the silver dagger he’d kept all that time.  With it, he slashed at a nearby ratman, only to have it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s hide as if it were made of stone.  Cursing, Valeris cast the useless weapon into the slime.  

As the last wererat fell unconscious beneath another blast of Kat’s magic, an ear-shattering howl filled the chamber.  At the far side, a hulking, heavily muscled wererat entered, clad in chain armor, a glowing, silver rapier in his hand.  Valeris stood weaponless before him, and Girrigz Ripperclaws drove his blade into the duskblade like a hot knife through butter.  Valeris reached down and grabbed the rapier with both hands, channeling electricity through it.  Girrigz howled again as his fur stood on end.  He drew his blade out of Valeris’s belly, and then, quick as lightning, slashed the duskblade viciously across the throat, sending him sprawling to the floor, gasping.
“No!”  O’Reginald cried as he hurled arcane bolts at the wererat.  
As Girrigz reeled, Ratbone leaped for him, but the wererat leader was as fast as a snake, and he turned, stabbing his rapier completely through the druid’s foreleg.  Blood gushed as a vital artery was severed.  Crying out in raw fury, Herc charged across the floor, silver blade upraised.  Girrigz ducked beneath it and came up behind the big warrior, slashing three times, bringing Herc to his knees.  The wererat raised his rapier to drive it through the mercenary’s throat, but then Katarina and O’Reginald struck simultaneously, a combination of stone and force.  Girrigz collapsed beneath the bombardment, buried in rock.  His rapier tumbled from his nerveless fingers.  
__________________________________________________________

“I’m…sorry,” Ratbone told Eries.  “It was…an impossible situation.  Casualties were…unavoidable.”
“I understand,” the old woman said, sadness in her voice.  “You did as I asked, and now it’s time to uphold my end of the bargain.  As fortune would have it, several sewer tunnels empty into the Jeggare River below the Wall of Eodred.  The night a black-sailed ship was sunk before reaching the harbor, several of my brethren were watching.  They saw nothing on the ship except for a yellow light, but once it sank, strange debris drifted from its hull.  Tracking down some of the flotsam, they discovered a few small boxes filled with dead rats and a few pouches of silver coins bound to floating timbers.  Suspecting that something was wrong with the rats, and scenting some foulness upon the coins, my brethren kicked the debris back into the river.  Make of it what you will, but it is my belief that the ship’s sinking, the strange flotsam, and the advent of the plague aren’t mere coincidence.  Furthermore, I can tell you exactly where the wreckage of the sunken vessel lies.”


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Very nice solution to the perfume problem. Kat's skills are really paying off, although probably not comparable to Anwar (RIP)...

Those wererats were tough, but luckily there's no shortage of tough encounters coming up.  Any gaming going on this weekend, JollyDoc?


----------



## Joachim

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Those wererats were tough, but luckily there's no shortage of tough encounters coming up.  Any gaming going on this weekend, JollyDoc?




We'll be playing so long as the good Lord is willing and the water don't rise!


----------



## JollyDoc

We played last weekend as well, so hopefully by tomorrow I'll have a new update regarding underwater exploits with the wreck of the Direption, and a masked ball that harkens back to Resident Evil.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE MASQUERADE

Had anyone in Trail’s End been down by the riverside at midnight, they would have beheld a truly strange site:  four men, three clad in armor, one woman in Varisian skirts, and a large, six-legged dog, all wading into the water until they completely vanished beneath the surface.  The K.I.A., following Eries’s directions, had pinpointed the location of the wrecked plague ship and, equipping themselves with water-breathing and swimming elixirs, began the journey that they hoped would finally reveal the truth behind the blood veil outbreak.  

Nearly eighty feet below the surface of the Jeggare lay the hulk of the mysterious vessel.  Obvious scars from fire and trebuchet strikes marred its broken hull, which lay on its side in two pieces amid the splinters of its mast.  The ship had broken over a rock outcropping, its bow fallen to one side and a larger section of the stern on the other.  Inside the bow could be seen two splintered decks.  Its bowsprit shattered and decks filled with debris, the vessel bore an ominous moniker along its fire-scarred hull:  Direption.  

The bow was most easily accessible, and it was there the team began their investigation.  One-by-one they swam into the shadowy interior, leaving Ratbone behind to cover them.  As the druid became more comfortable and experienced with his talents, his use of them began to evolve as well.  Though he still wore his familiar canine form, he sported an extra pair of limbs, and both these and his forelimbs bore powerful, clawed hands instead of paws.  Thus, when the school of razor-toothed silt eels swarmed out of the rocky outcropping, Ratbone’s tongue lolled from his grinning mouth in anticipation of putting his new skills to use, and he did so with gusto.  Snarling more like a shark than a dog, he plunged into the midst of them, grabbing them and rending as well as ripping with his teeth.  In short order, nothing remained but a bloody, flesh-filled haze in the water.  When he turned back towards his companions, he found them simply staring at him, mouths agape.

The bow seemed to consist mainly of the forecastle and galley, their contents wrecked and disordered.  The most interesting thing about the debris, however, was what was not there:  there was no evidence of food nor supplies, nor anything in the way of personal goods…almost as if the ship had never held such provisions.  The ship’s stern was not so easily accessible.  It lay on its side with its broken section flush against the rock.  Upon its upper deck, the main hatch was swollen shut, but a yawning wound in the ship’s charred timbers allowed murky water to flow easily through the debris-cluttered hold.  Loose timbers, small fish, and dozens of identical boxes floated eerily in the quiet darkness.  As Valeris peered through the hole, a sudden flicker of motion came from the corner of his eye.  When he turned reflexively, all that he saw were open jaws bearing down on him.  Before he could react, a screaming pain lanced through the side of his head as the enormous blue shark bit his ear cleanly off.  The duskblade screamed silently, clutching his bleeding head as he convulsed back into the open water.  Suddenly, a blur of teeth, fur and claws erupted through the hole as Ratbone lunged at the shark.  The druid’s body morphed even further, sprouting black, barbed tentacles from his shoulders, and he attacked the predator with feral savagery.  The two animals writhed and twisted in the water, ripping and tearing at one another, but in the end, the giant shark floated belly-up near the roof of the hold.  Suddenly, an inchoate scream filled the interior of the ship as a hulking humanoid figure swam from the stern.  She was female, though far from human, appearing instead as some sort of amphibious hag.  Fish bone fetishes dangled from her neck, wrists and waist, and she clutched a bifurcated spear in one hand.  She looked in hate-filled rage at the body of the shark, and then she crouched and pushed herself off the deck, hurtling through the water towards the companions.  Ratbone, unfortunately, was too far away to intercept the harridan, and with Valeris still in shock, it was Michael who was directly in her path.  She thrust her spear forward and drove it into the priest’s belly, driving him back through the hole.  O’Reginald was next in line, and in desperation, the sorcerer conjured a barrage of stones from nothingness, pelting the ravening she-devil with them as he swam out of her reach.  She snarled in fury and pulled herself through the hole, pursuing her prey.  Unfortunately, Valeris had still not recovered from his mauling, and he found himself at her mercy.  In rapid succession, she stabbed and ripped at the duskblade.  Panic fluttered like dark wings at Valeris’s mind, and he struggled to make his arms and legs move, but still the hag loomed over him, her spear gripped in both hands for a killing thrust.  The blow never came, however, as Ratbone leaped onto the sea hag’s back, all four claws, both tentacles and his ferocious jaws tearing into her.  She struggled mightily, but ultimately to no avail, so tenaciously did the druid cling.  He clamped his teeth around her neck and held on until her struggles weakened and finally ceased.   
_________________________________________________________

The strange boxes floating throughout the hold were identical, all carved with multiple symbols of skulls.  All of them were open, and for the most part, empty, save for a few which contained bits of flesh or dead rats.  Beyond the hold lay what appeared to have been an infirmary.  Several bent metal bed frames and glass-paned cabinets lay shattered across the floor.  The room swirled with a haze of gore, fish heads, and half-eaten eels chumming the circling waters.  As they searched among the debris, the companions discovered two intriguing items:  a thin, water-tight darkwood coffer, and a sealed version of the skull-carved coffers they had found in the hold.  Katarina held the latter of the two in her hands and concentrated, searching for the presence of magic about it.  Not surprisingly, she found the taint of necromancy.  She focused her spell, trying to read the nature of the dweomer, and when she pinpointed it, her face blanched in shock.  The coffer was designed to place items inside in stasis, specifically to preserve infectious materials.  It seemed that any item placed within with a disease-ridden item would in turn become infected with the same disease.  Understanding began to dawn on her.

The last area of the wreck to be investigated was the captain’s quarters.  The door was swollen shut, but it yielded easily before Herc’s shield.  Along with a few other bits of ruined furnishings, the scorched sheets of a canopied bed twisted like ghosts above the snapped wooden bed frame.  Knotted amid the linens, a drowned corpse wearing the bird-like mask of a Queen’s Physician twirled in the current.  Katarina reached up to pull the mask from the corpse’s face, and immediately felt the pulse of magic from it.  It was no ordinary doctor’s garb, but instead seemed to both grant the wearer immunity to one specific disease, as well as shielding his mind from magical divination.  Kat’s fears began to solidify, and when she pulled an amulet from around the dead man’s neck, they became as hard as diamond.  It was a holy symbol of Urgathoa…the Pallid Princess…the goddess of disease…
_____________________________________________________

“So…what are you saying?”  Ishani asked, staring open-mouthed at the two coffers on the table in front of him.  
“Put the pieces together,” Kat replied.  “I think it will be easier once we open the death’s head coffer, especially if it contains what I think it does.”
The priest nodded and muttered a quick prayer to ward himself against infection, then carefully lifted the lid of the coffer.  Inside were a dead rat and thirty silver coins, embossed with the seal of Korvosa.  Ishani looked questioningly up at Katarina.
“The rats carry blood veil,” Kat explained, “and the box transfers the plague to the coins.  There were hundreds of these coffers in the ship’s hold, all empty.  The wererats found unopened ones on the shore of the river.  The girl you cured had been playing by the river the day before she fell ill.  It’s the coins.  They’re in circulation throughout the city, spreading the plague.  Didn’t you say several of your brethren had fallen ill, despite having remained cloistered within the Bank?  Coins.”
“Abadar save us,” Ishani whispered.  
“That’s not the worst of it,” Kat continued.  “We believe the so-called Queen’s Physicians are involved as well.  The plague ship was outfitted for a one-way trip.  The physician onboard carried the symbol of Urgathoa, and the mask he wore gave him immunity from a single disease, blood veil I’d guess.  I assume the same is true of the masks the other doctor’s wear, and if their thoughts are similarly shielded, no one will be able to guess their true intentions until it is too late.”
“But that evidence is circumstantial,” Ishani protested.  “Anyone could have disguised the ship’s captain that way to falsely incriminate the doctors.”
“Perhaps this will add credence to our theory,” Kat said as she opened the second coffer they’d found.  Within were a collection of ledgers, invoices, and the deed to the Direption, all from a group noted as ‘B7,’ titling one ‘R. Davaulus’ with ownership of the ship and a cargo noted only as ‘specimens.’
“Davaulus?”  Ishani asked.  “Dr. Davaulus?”
“Do you know another?”  Valeris snapped as he rubbed absently at the bandage covering his missing ear.  
“I think it’s time we contact Cressida with this information,” Ratbone suggested.  
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ishani said, shaking his head.  “You heard her declaration.  The Guard has been ordered to cooperate fully with the doctors.  She might be compromised, or if she is not, those close to her may be.  It might be dangerous for her to know too much at this point.”
“What do you suggest?”  Kat asked.
“The Queen’s Physicians have based their operations in an old warehouse they have refurbished and christened the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden.  Perhaps that would be a good place to start.”
_________________________________________________________

“Well,” Valeris huffed, “when we decide to do something, we do it right, don’t we?  So we’re really just going to march into the stronghold of the Queen’s Physicians and accuse them of murdering several thousand Korvosan citizens?”
“That’s not exactly the plan,” Michael said.  “We’re simply going there to see what’s going on.  If they have nothing to hide, then they have nothing to fear.”
“Perfect,” Valeris scowled.  “Maybe they can write that on your tombstone after you’re beheaded for treason.”

As the company walked down the steps of the Bank of Abadar, a pretty young Varisian woman approached them, clutching her hands tightly.  
“Forgive me,” she said in a timid voice, “but I need your help.”
“Of course you do,” Valeris rolled his eyes.  
Michael held up a hand to silence the duskblade.  “What do you know of us?” the priest asked the woman.
“I know you help people,” the girl said, her eyes welling, “and I need assistance.  You see, my brother is missing.  My name is Deyanira Mirukova, and my brother is Ruan.”
“Ruan Mirukova?”  Kat asked.  “The young prodigy of the ocarina?”
“You’ve heard of him!”  Deyanira’s eyes brightened.  “My brother and I live together off Overton Way, not far from the Marbledome.  I work there as a chorus girl and Ruan plays in the orchestra.  Several days ago, however, he came home very excited, delighted that he had been personally requested to perform at a private masquerade at Carowyn Manor.  You know of the Carowyn’s?”
“Art patrons,” Kat nodded.  “Very lavish party hosts.”
“Yes,” Deyanira said.  “Well, Ruan bought a new outfit, practiced a challenging new arrangement, and left early the evening of the event.  That was several days ago, though, and that was the last time I saw him.  When he didn’t return the entire next day, I went to the Carowyn estate, but it seemed as if it were abandoned…the entrance was locked, its windows were tightly curtained, and a sickly smell issued from behind the front door.  I went to the Guard, but they seemed either unable or unwilling to help me.  I didn’t know where else to turn.  I have little to offer in way of reward, but all that I have is yours if you help me find Ruan.”
“Yes, well, we’re a little busy ourselves at the moment…” Valeris began.
“Of course we’ll help you,” Ratbone interrupted.  “Our current business takes us quite near Southshore.  It will be no trouble for us to make a stop by the Carowyn manor on our way.”
“Thank you!”  Deyanira dissolved into tears, clutching Ratbone’s hand as she collapsed to her knees.  Valeris narrowed his eyes, giving the druid a murderous look.
__________________________________________________

The Carowyn estate was a stately manor located along Shoreline Way.  Festooned with cinderberry garlands and bright red drapes, the limestone façade was surrounded by a high hedge, obscuring the inner yard.  As Deyanira had described, there was no sign of life about the house.  The curtains were drawn across the windows, and the heavy front doors were locked.  Also as Deyanira had said, a foul smell of decay hung thick in the air about the entryway.  Katarina bowed her head and concentrated, using her magic to probe for the thoughts of any living minds within the house.  To her surprise, she discovered two such individuals, though she could read nothing from them.  It seemed that the only way in would be to break in, which might attract undue attention, or check for other means of entrance.  Katarina quickly wove another spell, creating an illusory image of the front of the house, and concealing she and her friends behind it.  Then Ratbone shifted his form to that of a large bird, easily the size of a condor or larger.  He lifted his comrades in his talons, one-by-one, and deposited them on the far side of the hedge.  There they found a smaller servant’s residence and a meticulously manicured garden, complete with a gazebo and a pond full of Ember Lake charigs, tiny salamanders that glowed in the dark.  They also found a back door.

The door was unlocked and lead into a foul-weather room, and then into a small sitting room.  Another door at the far side opened onto the great hall, and there, any thought that things were normal at Carowyn Manor quickly vanished.  A massacre had taken place there.  Upon the marble floor and heaped in the corners lay more than a dozen corpses, each clad in garish outfits of sequined velvet, revealing silk, and colorful feathers.  Masks of all shapes and sizes…each competing with the last in terms of elaborateness…adorned the dead.  In several cases, though, those fanciful adornments had fallen away, to reveal withered flesh covered in nauseating facial tumors.  Most horrifyingly, upon a blood-slick space cleared at the room’s center swayed four couples, jerking like hellish dancers, all obviously dead.  In a den off the main hall could be seen four more zombies, two of which wore matching lion and lioness masks and sat before an empty fireplace, with the other two dressed as peacocks and holding silver serving trays, attending them.

As the six companions moved slowly into the hall, the corpses turned slowly towards them and then began shuffling forward, moaning hollowly as they came.  For the K.I.A., it was almost like shooting fish in a barrel.  Ratbone, once more in his canine form, again sporting extra limbs and ripping claws, tore into the horde like a fox among hens.  Michael glowed like a beacon as he channeled holy power into the walking dead, burning them to ash in Iomedae’s light, and O’Reginald crushed the remainder beneath a hail of fist-sized rock.  As the last zombie fell, however, a high-pitched woman’s voice rang out in laughter from somewhere on the gallery above the main floor.
“I hope you’re enjoying my masquerade,” she cackled.  “I promise you much more entertainment.  Please, make yourselves at home!”

Snarling, Ratbone changed his shape again, assuming the guise of a four-armed ape as he charged up the stairs, followed closely by Valeris, Herc and Michael.  Finely framed works of art covered the walls of the gallery which overlooked the hall below.  Great windows looked out to the west and south, and an alcove to the east was set with chairs for musicians.  In mockery of the room’s beauty, several costumed corpses stood about the hall, some posed like ghastly statues while others stood like contemplative critics.  Roaring, Ratbone tore into the zombies, his companions at his back.  Kat and O’Reginald remained below, watching for any sign of their unseen adversary.  Suddenly, a piercing scream split the air, followed by a much more human one.  Ratbone whirled, and saw an elven woman, dressed in a garish harlequin costume, standing on the far side of the gallery, a crossbow in her hands.  Below, O’Reginald moaned and swooned in a daze, clutching weakly at a glowing bolt that protruded from his chest.  Ratbone howled and leaped across the intervening distance, but the elf was too fast.  She vaulted nimbly over the balcony and landed in the hall below in a rolling crouch.  As she came to her feet, however, Katarina was ready for her.  The beguiler spread her hands as a blinding wave of color burst forth from them.  The elven woman shrieked, clawing frantically at her eyes as she tried in vain to clear her vision.  In an instant, Ratbone leaped from the balcony and grabbed the elf in an inescapable bear hug.  She grunted and snarled, and reached towards a pouch at her waist, pawing for flask there.  Ratbone bared his teeth and bit deeply into her neck, a spray of arterial blood drenching his face.  The woman screamed.
“Mercy!” she begged.  “Spare me!”
For a moment, the druid paused, but then the thought of the corpse-filled house entered his mind, as well as the profane atrocity visited upon some of them via the elf’s foul necromancy.  His thoughts dissolved into a blood haze and he bit down harder.  He did not release his grip until he felt the woman go limp in his arms.

Valeris, Herc and Michael made quick work of the zombies in the gallery, and then scoured the rest of the manor, dispatching more obscene parodies of life as they found them.  Yet among all of the dead and undead, they found no sign of Ruan.  Finally, all of the companions made their way down to the cellar.  There they found a well-stocked wine rack and several large casks lining the walls.  A small wooden door squatted in the southeastern corner.  It was locked tight, but Ratbone easily tore it from its hinges.  Within was what appeared to be a makeshift artist’s studio.  Among the painting supplies, a tawdry-looking divan, a small shrine to Shelyn, and several scandalous portraits of Mrs. Carowyn, was a terrified middle-aged man dressed in the shredded remains of a costume, holding a dull paint knife in his shaking hand.  Katarina stepped in front of the hulking ape-druid, and held out her empty hands.
“We’re here to help,” she said calmly.  “Who are you?”
“M…my name,” the man stammered, “is Ausio Carowyn.  Th…this is…was…my house.”
“Can you tell us what happened here?” Kat asked.  
“We were holding our masked ball,” Ausio said, his eyes still round with fear, “trying to make people forget the gloom and dread of the plague, when the elf woman entered.  No one invited her, yet she acted as if she owned the place. She…began shooting our guests with her crossbow, and each one struck immediately began showing signs of blood veil.  I…I had no choice.  I fled down here and locked myself in.  I’ve been here for days!  I could still hear footsteps and moans coming from above.  Have you seen my wife?  Have you seen Olauren?”
“Coward,” Valeris muttered.  
“I’m sorry,” Kat said aloud, “but we have found no survivors save the elf, and we have dealt with her.  Tell us, have you seen a boy named Ruan, an ocarina player?”
“Yes…yes,” Ausio nodded.  “A brilliant lad.  The last time I saw him, he was in the gallery.”
“I see,” Kat said.  “And is this all that you know, Ausio?  Can you think of any reason why this woman would attack you and your guests unprovoked?”
“No!”  Ausio shook his head vehemently.  “She was insane!  I swear it!”
Katarina drew her Harrow deck from her skirts and began shuffling the cards nimbly through her fingers.  Ausio’s eyes were drawn to them, mesmerized.  Kat chanted in a low voice as she shuffled.  Ausio’s stare became blank, his jaw slack.
“Here now!”  Michael protested.  “What are you doing?”
“Just making sure he’s telling the truth,” Kat said.  “A minor enchantment.”
“You have no right!” the priest shouted.  “This man is not our enemy!  He’s broken no law!  He’s as much a victim here as those upstairs!”
“I’m not harming him,” Kat said.  “I simply want him to answer my questions honestly.”
“I’ll have no part of this,” Michael snapped.  “This is unlawful and immoral!  I’d come to expect better of you.”
He turned on his heel and left the room.
“Another bleeding heart,” Valeris chuckled.
“You’ll want to keep that tongue of yours in check,” Ratbone said in a calm, yet dangerous voice, once more in his normal form, “unless you want to be absent it as well as your ear.”
______________________________________________________

It turned out that Ausio Carowyn knew no more than he’d professed, and the companions were forced to return to Deyanira empty-handed.  Even the news that her brother was not among the dead did little to relieve her concerns.  She entreated them to keep an eye out for Ruan, and to come to her with any rumor of him they might hear.  Still distraught, she solemnly excused herself from their company.


----------



## Abciximab

*Direption?*



> Di`rep´tion. n. 1. The act of plundering, despoiling, or snatching away. direption. Obsolete, pillage; the act of plundering.




Didn't know that one. Apparently its also a Star Wars reference.



> Direption was an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer that served under the Warlord Admiral Krennel's fleet in 9 ABY. It was later surrendered to the New Republic.




D&D, still expanding your vocabulary after all these years.


----------



## JollyDoc

Abciximab said:


> Didn't know that one. Apparently its also a Star Wars reference.
> 
> 
> 
> D&D, still expanding your vocabulary after all these years.




Yeah, we hadn't heard that one either.  Joachim enlightened us last night.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Very nice resolution underwater. I had expected a little more trouble, there. Before Ratbone, my opinion on druids was not the best, but he reads like a great allrounder. 

Was Michael really so upset about the lie detection? Is he also an exalted character?


----------



## Dr Simon

What build is Ratbone?  Shapechange at first level, with the wierd aspect-y add-ons, it's not one I recognise but it looks fun.


----------



## Joachim

Dr Simon said:


> What build is Ratbone?  Shapechange at first level, with the wierd aspect-y add-ons, it's not one I recognise but it looks fun.




I am using the Shapeshifter variant from PHB2.  Lets you shift all of the time, but limits the effect of the shifting and what you gain from the forms.

I also have taken the Vow of Poverty, so between druid spells, shapeshifting abilities, VoP boosts, and feats there are absolutely no 'dead' levels.  He's fun, and I am enjoying playing him.


----------



## JollyDoc

Dr Simon said:


> What build is Ratbone?  Shapechange at first level, with the wierd aspect-y add-ons, it's not one I recognise but it looks fun.




Add in Girallon Claws and Evard's Grasping Tentacles, and you have an abomination the likes of which haven't been seen since Demogorgon!!


----------



## arun

so i might be missing something but to have a druid that essentially can shapeshift into an abomination seems a bit incongruous to me...am i missing something?


----------



## Joachim

arun said:


> so i might be missing something but to have a druid that essentially can shapeshift into an abomination seems a bit incongruous to me...am i missing something?




Well, in reality I can only shapeshift into normal animal shapes...its the additional spells that you can use that add the extra appendages/abominationousness.


----------



## Ceramic Weasel

arun said:


> so i might be missing something but to have a druid that essentially can shapeshift into an abomination seems a bit incongruous to me...am i missing something?






Joachim said:


> Well, in reality I can only shapeshift into normal animal shapes...its the additional spells that you can use that add the extra appendages/abominationousness.




Now, if he were to take the Aberration Wild Shape feat from Lords of Madness, pg 178... *that* would be incongruous.  Loads of fun, but incongruous.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE HOSPICE OF THE BLESSED MAIDEN

The stinging scent of alcohol and medicine flooded the dingy reception room, an odor typical to hospices, morgues, and battlefields.  Across from the entrance sat a long wooden desk, beyond which a stained leather curtain covered an open archway, muffling moans from beyond.  A burly nurse sat at the desk, three scarves wrapped over her mouth and nose, and heavy leather gloves on her hands.  A half-dozen citizens huddled in chairs and against the walls, each of them exhibiting symptoms of blood veil, some at quite advanced stages.  

The nurse glanced up disinterestedly as Katarina and her companions entered, but said nothing, her eyes dropping back down to her papers.  
“Excuse me,” Kat said, clearing her throat after several minutes, “but we’re here to see Dr. Davaulus.”
“Everyone is here to see the doctors,” the nurse said without looking up.  “Take a seat and wait your turn.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Kat said calmly.  “We work for the Guard, and we’re here on official business.”
The nurse raised her eyes and shrugged.  “Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Madame,” Kat said, leaning across the desk, her voice becoming more commanding, “Dr. Davaulus personally instructed us to report to him with any information about the plague, and that’s what we’re going to do.  If you interfere, and more deaths result, I’ll personally inform the Doctor of the role you played.”
The nurse’s eyes began to show just the slightest amount of concern.
“Well…,” she hesitated, “I suppose when you put it that way…but I’m not responsible if there’s any trouble in there!”
“Of course not,” Kat smiled.  “Thank you for your assistance Nurse…?”
“Torthus,” the nurse replied, “Bhrunlida Torthus.”
___________________________________________________

The warehouse’s vast interior had been converted into one gigantic convalescent’s ward, the stench of alcohol, sickness, and waste choking each breath.  Tight rows of low, stained cots crammed the stone-floored hall.  Every bed was filled with a pitiful story…men and women of all walks groaning and wheezing as they were consumed by blood veil, their sufferings multiplied by the echoing chamber.  Several queen’s physicians milled about the cots, cooing at their patients in falsely sympathetic voices, their avian masks giving them an unnerving resemblance to crows waiting to feed.  A catwalk, twenty feet above, wrapped around the entire chamber, and two gray maidens paced it, while three more stood before closed doors on the far side of the ground level.

One of the gray maidens strode purposefully across the room towards the members of the K.I.A.
“You will leave this place immediately,” she commanded.  “I know who you are and whom you represent, and you have no business here.”
As she spoke, the maidens on the catwalk readied their bows.
“Please,” Kat said placatingly, “you misunderstand our intentions.  We have news for Dr. Davaulus.  We have discovered some very vital information regarding the plague.  He asked that we report to him immediately if we had such news.”
“If you have something to report,” the maiden said curtly, “then take it through proper channels.  Now I tell you again, leave.”
“You don’t understand what we’ve been through,” Kat said, her tone growing hard.  “We’ve uncovered a charlatan’s plot to sell a fake cure.  We’ve stopped the unlawful dumping of the dead.  We’ve forestalled an uprising by the wererats of the sewers, and finally, we’ve personally investigated the wreck of the plague ship and uncovered what we suspect to be the cause of blood veil.  We’re not leaving until we see the Doctor.”
“Then I’m afraid you won’t be leaving at all,” the warrior said flatly as she drew her sword.  
Behind her, the other two gray maidens also drew their weapons, while on the catwalk, the pair there pulled back their bows.  In the mean time, while Katarina had been making her case, the physicians had been quietly repositioning themselves, and the six companions abruptly found themselves surrounded.

As Kat turned towards her friends, stars suddenly exploded behind her eyes when one of the doctors pulled a truncheon from his coat and struck her.  At the same time, the gray maiden slashed viciously at Ratbone with her sword, while one of the archers fired carelessly into the melee, her shot going wide and striking one of the patients in his sick bed instead.  
“No!”  Ratbone cried, his words turning into a vicious snarl as his body shifted into his canine form, simultaneously sprouting two more arms.  In a rage, the druid pounced on the maiden before him, bore her to the ground and savagely tore out her throat.   
“Here now!  What’s the meaning of all this?”  The leather curtain to the waiting room was torn aside as Bhrunlida stormed in, brandishing a heavy sap in one hand.  Her protestations were cut abruptly short when Herc’s shield smashed into her face, and she collapsed in a heap.  
By that time, the other two gray maidens had closed the distance, and Ratbone was there to meet them, disemboweling one with a slash of his claws.  Meanwhile, Valeris dispatched one of the encroaching doctors with a sizzling flash of his blade, imbued as it was with electric fire.  Michael felled another with a quick thrust of his own blade, and then a third as the doctor attempted to flee.  Ratbone, fully in the throes of animalistic blood lust, brutally and efficiently tore apart the last physician and gray maiden.  Only the archers remained.  Katarina turned her attention to them, summoning a simple charm to drop one of them into a deep slumber.  Before she could do the same to the other, however, Ratbone had transformed again, taking his avian form and flying up to the catwalk.  Once there, he resumed his mongrel shape and savaged the last of the gray maidens.  Then, slowly, deliberately, the druid walked to stand over the sleeping warrior.
“No,” Kat whispered.
Ratbone dipped his muzzle, the image of the archer’s arrow piercing the heart of the helpless patient in the room below, and he quickly snapped the maiden’s neck.
____________________________________________________

As the rest of the group fanned out about the room, searching for possible hidden enemies, Michael went from bed to bed, giving comfort where he could, and universally promising the infirm that he and his companions would return for them after they secured the building.  The remainder of the ground floor proved to be unoccupied, but a large cargo lift seemed to lead to an upper floor.  The six crammed in, shifted the lever, and the lift slowly began to rise.  When the door opened on the floor above, it was onto a hall in which the rough functionality of the warehouse below gave way to beige tile and white walls.  A door engraved with images of rampant gazelles stood on the far end, its once fine teak bearing obvious scores and gaping chips from rough use.  No sooner had the lift door opened, than three gray maidens stepped in front of it, swords bared.  Unfortunately for them, Ratbone was ready as well, and the first two quickly went down in a gory pile.  The third hesitated momentarily, and in that moment, Katarina acted, quickly weaving a spell that put the warrior under her thrall.
“Hold your weapons,” she said quietly to her companions, and then aloud, she addressed the maiden.
 “Can you tell us where to find Dr. Davaulus?”
The gray maiden nodded towards the carved doors.  “His office lies beyond,” she said.
“Is there anyone with him?”  Kat asked.
“I know not,” the maiden replied.  “We are charged with guarding this area.  We do not go beyond the doors.”
“Do you know exactly what is going on here?”  Kat asked.  “Are the doctors directly involved with the plague?”
The gray maiden shrugged.  “We answer to the Queen.  She has commanded us to guard the physicians, and so we do.  Anything else is not our concern.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Kat said.  “We are going to speak with the Doctor now.  Do you mind waiting here?”
The maiden nodded and took up a defensive position near the lift.

The door was securely locked, but it proved only a minor obstacle for Kat.  When the door swung open, however, the scene that greeted the companions froze them momentarily in their tracks.  Rows of white-sheeted beds lined the walls of the room.  Each was occupied, every bed bearing a patient restrained by leather straps that bound the figure to the sturdy metal frame.  At the room’s center stretched simple wooden worktables, each covered in fluid-filled beakers, intricate glass tubes, small burners and other chemical instruments.  Four queen’s physicians turned from their patients in unison as the door opened, then, once more in unison, they drew their cudgels from the coats.  Herc, Ratbone and Michael moved to intercept them, the druid taking his simian form as he went.  The doctors tried to flank the intruders, but they might as well have been trying to contain a rushing river.  The three companions were a blur as they struck, taking down the four before they could even raise their weapons.  

The group began moving through the experimental ward, Michael stopping to examine each of the restrained patients.  They were all unconscious, under the effects of some kind of sedative that the priest could not identify.  Suddenly, a low growl came from Ratbone as his head whipped back towards the carved door.  The druid’s animal forms greatly enhanced his senses, giving him an almost extra-sensory perception.  Thus, when the invisible figure rushed past him, running for the lift, Ratbone saw him as a dim, blurred shape.  Falling to all fours, the druid loped after the fleeing figure, and just before his quarry reached the lift, Ratbone struck out with a large, clawed paw.  A man’s voice cried out in pain as blood splashed the floor.  Kat turned to see what had drawn her friend’s attention.  She saw the ape grappling with an unseen foe, and she passed a hand over her eyes, uttering a brief spell.  When it was complete, her vision had been altered to allow her to see the unseen.  She gasped as she saw that Ratbone’s foe was none other than Dr. Davaulus himself!  As she watched, Ratbone folded the physician into his massive grip, and Davaulus raised his hand, a spell on his lips.  As he did so, however, Ratbone squeezed, and the words to the incantation were abruptly cut off.  The attempted attack, however, rendered the doctor visible.
“Release me!”  Davaulus commanded.  Don’t you see?  Your crusade to save this city is a fool’s errand!  Disease is the world’s way to bring back balance!  In order for civilizations to grow and prosper, the parts of society that hold everything else back must be periodically pruned!  Korvosa will be stronger at the end of these dark days…a place you and I would be proud to call home!”
Ratbone’s eyes gave the doctor all the answer he needed, and what he saw there was his own imminent death.  His screams were abruptly brought to a gurgling end as the druid’s jaws closed over his throat.
_____________________________________________________

A thorough search of the good Doctor and his office turned up very little.  Of note were several scattered scraps of paper speculating on the source of some Varisians' immunity to blood veil, and an odd button that was found in Davaulus’s pocket.  
“So that’s it, right?”  Ratbone asked.  “Now we go to Cressida and tell her what’s really been going on.”
“And what is that, exactly?”  Michael asked mildly.
“Come on!” the druid shouted.  “It’s obvious!  Davaulus and his goons have been experimenting on people, infecting them with blood veil, which, by the way, they brought here and released in the first place!  Furthermore, I think the queen is in on it to!”
“Where’s your proof?”  Michael asked, his voice very calm.
“What do you mean?”  Ratbone asked, astonished.  “It’s all around us!  Just look at this place and what we’ve uncovered.  They attacked us!”
“I’ll tell you what I see,” Michael said, “and what the Guard will also see:  we came here unannounced and uninvited.  We killed several of the queen’s physicians as well as her gray maidens.  There are no reliable witnesses to say who struck first.  Those poor souls in the sick bay certainly won’t make good alibis.  We also killed the Queen’s Physician himself, once again with no witnesses to prove he did anything wrong.  The only documentation we’ve found is that he suspected some Varisians might be immune, hence these people.”  He indicated the bound, unconscious patients, all of whom just happened to be Varisian.”
“Yes, but we know!”  Ratbone protested.  “The doctor on the Direption!  The deed naming Davaulus the owner of the ship!  Urgathoa’s symbol!’
“All circumstantial,” Michael shook his head.  “The defense will say that anyone could have impersonated a physician, a crime punishable by death mind you, and planted that deed to falsely incriminate Davaulus.  Also, they’ll claim that he kept these Varisians here in hopes of finding a cure to blood veil.  Meanwhile, we’ll be accused of outright murder, and likely face the headsman’s axe by morning.”
“What about the guard Kat charmed?”  Ratbone asked, his voice growing desperate.  “She can attest to what Davaulus told me!”
“The charm won’t last,” Kat said.  “She’ll be out from under its influence within hours.  Speaking of which…,” 
Kat turned to their erstwhile ally and spoke another spell, causing the gray maiden to fall into a magically induced sleep.  The beguiler then set about binding her tightly.
“This isn’t right!”  Ratbone fumed.  “We know the truth, and yet you’re saying there’s nothing we can do about it??”
“There may still be more here,” Michael said calmly.  “For instance, what’s this go to?”  
He tossed the odd button into the air.
“I suggest we fan out and do a bit more investigating.”

And so they did, searching every corner of Davaulus’s office, the ward and the entry hall.  Nothing was found in any of the rooms, and they were on the edge of giving up when Ratbone decided to search the lift as well.  To his shock and surprise, beneath the operating lever was a small slot, just the right size for the button.  Calling his companions quickly over, he pressed the button in.  The lift door began sliding shut, and all six of them crowed inside as the it began to descend.  When it reached the ground floor, it did not stop, but continued downward.  Michael gave Ratbone a knowing smile.  

When the door finally slid open again, the companions found themselves peering into a darkened room.  The scuffed stone walls had been plastered over and decorated with lurid murals of skeletons cavorting among the dead of a Korvosa completely succumbed to blood veil.  Simple wooden doors led to the north, and south, each of which bore a painting of a scythe-wielding skeleton.  A sizable double door stood on the east wall, made to appear in the mural as a massive set of doors opening into the pyramid foundation of Castle Korvosa.  Two more scythe-wielding skeletons decorated those doors as well.
“This looks like the right place,” Valeris snickered.
Kat shushed him as Ratbone’s ears pricked up and the druid/dog padded silently to the southern door, sniffing along its bottom and tilting his head right and left.  After a moment, he backed away, a low growl in his throat as he stared at the door.
“Guess that’s your cue,” Valeris whispered as he nudged Herc.
The big mercenary blew out his breath, readied his shield and shoved open the door.  The small room beyond seemed to be some sort of guard chamber, and the six gray maidens who abruptly turned towards the doorway seemed less than enthusiastic to have unannounced guests.  They surged forward, blades drawn.  The foremost struck at Ratbone, who had joined Herc.  Their cuts were deep, but didn’t compare to the ones the druid delivered in turn as he cleanly sliced their throats with his razor-sharp claws.  The next two fell just as quickly when O’Reginald unleashed his trademark hail of stone upon their heads.  Ratbone and Herc together slew the remaining pair, but not before one of them landed a lucky blow against Herc, lopping off the mercenary’s middle finger.

Herc cursed roundly as Michael staunched his bleeding, but could do nothing to replace his missing finger.
“Join the club,” Valeris smirked as rubbed at the place where his right ear used to be.
Michael and Herc moved towards the pair of double doors, and shoved them open as their companions grouped behind them.  Suddenly, the air was filled with the shrill wail of an alarm, and the two bas relief skeletons on the portals abruptly animated, their scythes slashing down wickedly at the priest and mercenary.  Simultaneously, the mouths of all the skeleton carvings in the room opened and exhaled plumes of noxious, green vapor.  As the mist washed over them, nightmare images of diseased corpses flashed through the mind of the companions.  It seemed as if some of the corpses were animate, shambling towards them out of the gloom.  It was only when the mist had cleared that they saw that the latter part was horribly true.  From the large room beyond the double doors, a dozen or more zombies and skeletons shuffled forward, moaning and clacking as they came.  The ensuing battle was furious, but short-lived.  The undead were no match for the power of O’Reginald’s magic and Michael’s channeling, combined with the fury of Ratbone’s and Herc’s raw might.  As the last of the walking dead crumbled, Valeris shook his head.
“I guess they know we’re coming…”


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Awesome read, JollyDoc. Is the K.I.A. really this good in game? If so, are you adjusting the modules?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Awesome read, JollyDoc. Is the K.I.A. really this good in game? If so, are you adjusting the modules?




They are pretty good.  I am increasing the number of unnamed creatures based on them having six characters instead of 4.  By the end of tonight, however (they completed 7 Days to Grave tonight), they were in dire straits...Ratbone had 4 hp, Valeris had 5, all casters were out of spells, Herc was forced to retreat from combat.  So, even though they're good, they can still be challenged and pushed to their limits.


----------



## demiurge1138

JollyDoc said:


> They are pretty good.  I am increasing the number of unnamed creatures based on them having six characters instead of 4.  By the end of tonight, however (they completed 7 Days to Grave tonight), they were in dire straits...Ratbone had 4 hp, Valeris had 5, all casters were out of spells, Herc was forced to retreat from combat.  So, even though they're good, they can still be challenged and pushed to their limits.




This does not surprise me--the end of Seven Days is _brutal_


----------



## JollyDoc

demiurge1138 said:


> This does not surprise me--the end of Seven Days is _brutal_




Even though the group, wisely, avoided one potentially TPK'ing encounter...


----------



## Joachim

JollyDoc said:


> They are pretty good.  I am increasing the number of unnamed creatures based on them having six characters instead of 4.  By the end of tonight, however (they completed 7 Days to Grave tonight), they were in dire straits...Ratbone had 4 hp, Valeris had 5, all casters were out of spells, Herc was forced to retreat from combat.  So, even though they're good, they can still be challenged and pushed to their limits.




I think that we did well considering all that was accomplished on one day's worth of rest/spells, and no cleric (player MIA) for the more brutal half.  Pretty darn well, as a matter of fact.

Last round of combat was a coin toss.  Either it was going to die, or we all were.


----------



## JollyDoc

PAWNS OF THE PALLID PRINCESS

It was only after the last of the undead fell that the heroes had a chance to examine their current surroundings…and were overwhelmed with revulsion.  Dozens of the living dead lined the walls of the chamber, their rotting faces sneered and broken fingers clawed at each other.  A layer of rotting bodies lined the floor, and the shattered bones twitched in vain, their splintered appendages grasping hopelessly.  Yet, rather than some massive, nightmare grave, the horror show seemed instead to be a stomach-churning attempt at art, as the mangled living dead lay trapped behind walls and beneath a floor of thick glass.
“The Princess’s Bacchanal,” Michael said solemnly.
“What?”  Valeris asked.
“They’re common in temples of Urgathoa,” the priest explained.  “They’re meant to deliver a profane message to the faithful…in the end may you be undead.”
“Where do I sign up?”  the duskblade chuckled.
“Careful what you wish for,” Ratbone muttered.

Another large pair of double doors stood on the far side of the morbid chamber, but two smaller doors led to the north and south.  Through the first of these, the company found what seemed to be a barracks, though the satin coverings and overstuffed pillows on the cots seemed more akin to funerary trappings than the resting places of the living.  It was strangely unoccupied.  The door on the far side of the bacchanal, however, led to something far more disturbing.  Eight cold, iron beds stood there, their sharp frames threaded with worn manacles and stained leather traps.  Several were occupied by obviously unwilling patients, each bound and in various states of consciousness, and their combined moans murmured throughout the room.  Between them stood several small tables, each strewn with gore-soaked pans, flasks of mysterious fluids, and all manner of cruel-looking cutting instruments.  A sizable brown-crimson stain covered much of the eastern wall, as if all the blood from a body once held there had exploded forth in a single violent eruption.  One of the patients was obviously dead, his body showing signs of advanced blood veil.  Two others faded in and out of consciousness, obviously wracked by the disease as well, they coughed violently and whimpered through their restless fever dreams.  The other three bodies seemed trapped somewhere between life and death, and they twitched feebly, their flesh grey and dried like parchment.  Ratbone leaned over one of the living victims, and then fished a potion flask from his belt, which he quickly poured down the man’s throat.
“What was that?”  O’Reginald asked suspiciously.
“One of the draughts that Ishani gave us,” the druid replied.  “The ones that remove disease.”
“Don’t you think we might need those?”  the sorcerer asked.  “What if we get exposed?”
“These people are already exposed, and dying,” Ratbone said, a hint of anger in his voice.  “They need this more than we do.”

On the far side of the operating theatre was a heavy, wooden door.  Beyond it was a short hall.  Iron doors with slotted windows, much like might be found in a prison or asylum, lined the walls.  Faint bloodstains flecked the straw-strewn flagstones.  Kat crept quietly to one of the doors and slid the window aside.  Within, she saw a bedraggled looking Varisian woman huddled in a corner, terror in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Kat said in the Varisian dialect.  “We’re here to help you.”
The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief and guarded hope.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Katarina, and my companions and I work for the Guard.  Who holds the keys to your cells?”
“The priests,” the woman said, her voice quavering.
“The doors are too stout for us to batter down,” Kat said.  “Do not despair.  We will return for you and the others when we have dealt with these devils.”
“No!  Wait!  Come back!  Don’t leave us!”  the woman wailed as Kat turned away.  Tears squeezed from the corner of the beguiler’s eyes as she led her friends out of the cell block.
______________________________________________________

When they finally breached the double doors on the far side of the bacchanal, the companions were momentarily stunned by what they saw.  The stinging scent of harsh chemicals choked the high-ceilinged chamber.  Three huge metal vats bubbled there, each more than six feet tall.  A sturdy series of catwalks ten feet off the ground stretched over and around the vats, which allowed those above to attend whatever slurry produced the foul green-brown mist that emanated from each gigantic vessel.  Circling the upper portion of the room was an elaborate mosaic of white, black and green stone that depicted a giant half-corpse woman in black veils dancing among fields of the dead, undead and dying.  Yet it was not this that stopped the heroes in their tracks, but instead was the small army of queen’s physicians and black clad priests, each bearing the symbol of Urgathoa, that stood arrayed before the doors waiting, for them.  Standing above them all was a balding man, pale and blotchy, dressed in thick leather robes lined with dozens of pockets that bulged with surgical and mortician tools.
“You!” he shrieked.  “Vandals!  Crooks!  Thugs!  You destroyed my laboratory beneath the Dead Warrens!  Do you have any idea how much of my research you ruined, or how long it’s going to take me to replace those derro?  Oh, you are going to pay dearly for that!”
“You must be Rolth, I presume?”  Kat replied.  “We’re sorry we missed you before.  We so very much wanted to make your acquaintance.”
“Kill them!”  Rolth shrilled.

Things happened very quickly after that.  As the evil doctors and priests began to close, Ratbone’s body shifted into his avian form, and he took flight, winging his way up to Rolth.  As he lifted off, Katarina quickly placed a spell around him, cloaking him in a layer of silence, knowing that would take away the necromancer’s greatest advantage.  Meanwhile, Herc and Valeris moved forward to engage the minions, each of them quickly dispatching one of the doctors.  O’Reginald’s approach was much flashier, and more than effective.  The sorcerer unleashed a cone of flame that stretched the length of the room.  Priests and doctors alike dove for cover, but two of the physicians were engulfed completely, and a number of the cultists were badly burned.

When Ratbone landed atop the catwalk, Rolth was taken aback at the sudden silence that enveloped him, but the necromancer was not caught entirely unprepared.  A spectral, disembodied hand appeared from over his shoulder and reached out to touch the druid.  Ratbone shrieked silently as he felt the cold of the grave run through his body.  At the same time, Rolth’s face flushed with the life force he had siphoned from the half-orc.  He then turned and ran along the catwalk, desperate to escape the spell that suppressed his casting.  Snarling, Ratbone shifted into his canine form and dashed after him, gaining ground easily.  When he was still several yards away, he leaped and landed on the necromancer’s back, bearing him down to the metal walkway.

Suddenly, another blast of fire filled this room, this time sculpted into four large cubes that instantly snuffed out the lives another doctor and three of the priests as well.  O’Reginald exulted in his power, but just as quickly, his face blanched as a priest rushed him, brandishing a wicked-looking scythe.  The blade slashed through the sorcerer’s robes and deep into his skin.  Pain flared through O’Reginald’s body, and then, to his horror, his flesh began erupting in painful, red blisters…the tell-tale signs of blood veil!

Ratbone and Rolth rolled and wrestled on the floor, the necromancer struggling desperately to escape.  He reached out and grabbed the druid’s neck, and once more cold fire bloomed in Ratbone’s head, though mercifully, he did not feel as drained as he had from the first attack.  Still, in his pain, he momentarily loosened his grip, and Rolth wriggled out of his grasp.  As the necromancer struggled to his feet, however, the druid clamped his jaws savagely around his thigh.  Gritting his teeth, Rolth threw himself over the railing of the catwalk.  He landed badly, and before he could get up, Ratbone was upon him again.  That time when the druid bit down, golden ice formed around the wound in Rolth’s arm, and the wizard felt all of his muscles go limp.  Yet still, he managed to find the strength to kick out at the huge dog and scramble for freedom once more.  Within a few strides, he once more heard the noise of battle around him, and knew that his spells would serve him again.  He spoke one word, and vanished in a flash of bright light, making good his escape.  Ratbone howled in fury, though no one could hear him.  He looked around for something to sate his bloodlust, only to see the last of the priests fall before Herc and Valeris.
_______________________________________________________

“Does anyone know what this crap is?”  Valeris asked as he peered at the sludge bubbling in one of the vats.
“At a guess?”  Michael replied as he tended to O’Reginald.  “Raw blood veil.  The priests’ scythes are coated with it.  Nasty trick.  Fortunately, we still have one of the curative draughts.”
“Yeah, fortunate,” O’Reginald glared over the lip of the flask at Ratbone as he quaffed it.  
“Where do you think the wizard went?”  Herc asked as he methodically stuck his sword into each of the corpses, making sure they were dead.
“No telling,” Kat shrugged.  “That was a dimensional portal he created.  It could have taken him almost anywhere in the city.  We can’t worry about him now.  If I were him, I’d lay low for a long time.”

Several doors led from the chamber.  Two led to empty storage rooms, while a third was locked tight.  Katarina removed her picks and went to work on the mechanism.  She was rewarded with a satisfying click less than two minutes later.  The room beyond was relatively small.  An elegant operating table dominated the center of the grim laboratory.  Crossed with iron restraints and encircled by a gore-encrusted gutter, the macabre device sprouted various cranks and levers, and was large enough to accommodate an ogre.  Along the walls stood several tables strewn with all manner of alchemical accoutrements, their contents appearing old in the extreme, with rusted iron tools, beakers of purpled glass, and deep pools of wax from countless melted candles.  A young and unconscious man, barely older than twenty winters, lay upon the table, bound by its heavy restraints.  His face matched the description of Ruan.  Intense and pale as death, a somberly dressed man stood rigidly on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes wide and intense, and his nose wrinkled in an expression of extreme distaste.  Yellow teeth bared, his overly large incisors jutted forward, not like those of a man, but of a filth-hungry vermin.

“And what, pray tell, can I do for you?” the creature asked disdainfully.
“Who are you?”  Kat asked.  “Are you behind all this?  Did you create the plague?”
“I am Ramoska Arkminos,” the other replied, “and this…plague you refer to is not my doing.  I have my own research.”
“Yeah, well your so-called research involves a friend of ours there,” Valeris growled, nodding towards Ruan.
“This boy?”  Ramoska asked, arching one eyebrow.  “Pity.  He was showing promise.  Still, I have no quarrel with you people, and since you seem to be undoing the Urgathoans’ little scheme, there’s little reason for me to remain in this cesspool.  If he means that much to you, I’ll sell you the boy for two-thousand gold crowns.”
“What??”  Valeris was incensed.  “How about we just take him and whatever else you’ve got laying around here?”
He stepped forward, and Ramoska tensed slightly, his fingers barely twitching.
“No!”  Kat hissed as she grabbed Valeris by the arm.  “I think he’s telling the truth,” she whispered to the duskblade.  “Our resources are stretched thin already.  We don’t need to invite trouble, especially if we still haven’t met who’s really behind this!”
“I agree,” Ratbone said, once more in his normal form.  “We came for Ruan.  He’s agreed to hand him over and leave.  That’s good enough.”
“Hand him over,” Valeris sneered.  “For two-thousand gold!  That’s hardly a bargain.”
Kat turned back to Ramoska.  “We have a counter proposal.  One-thousand coins, and we leave you in peace, no questions asked.”
Ramoska pondered for several moments, and then nodded once.  “Agreed.”
_____________________________________________________

Ramoska released Ruan and revived him before turning him over to the companions.  The boy was confused and disoriented.  He remembered very little beyond his ordeal at Carowyn Manor, and was just anxious to get back to his sister.  Katarina instructed him to await their return while they pressed on, or if they did not return, she told him how to make his way out and contact Ishani.

On the far side of the room containing the huge vats, on the same level as the catwalk, were two more doors, both in the same wall.  With no other obvious choices, the group opened the first of the pair.  The reek of burning wax wafted out of the morbid chamber beyond.  Several tall, misshapen candles seemed to be the apparent source.  Workspaces strewn with tall beakers of foul-colored liquids, parchments covered in insidious symbols, and cages of whimpering rodents filled large alcoves in both the northern and southern walls.  A pair of huge stone doors hung ajar to the east, revealing a long hallway that led further into the dark.  At the room’s center stood four large, cylindrical glass vats, each filled with a bubbling emerald fluid that tinted the chamber’s light a noxious green.  Within each suspension floated a malformed abomination…something part man, part angel, and part horse…things of half-formed muscle with dead, fleshless equine skulls.  Three of the forms were motionless and still, but the fourth twitched now and then with life.  Fanned out around the periphery of the large chamber were no-fewer-than ten Urgathoan priests, each armed with a large, dripping scythe.
“Here we go again,” O’Reginald muttered.

The companions rushed into the room before the approaching priests could bottleneck them at the door.  Herc and Valeris stood back-to-back, blades flashing, and two of the cultists quickly fell before them.  A third slashed at O’Reginald, but the poisonous scythe blade merely tore the sorcerer’s sleeve.  Cursing, O’Reginald quickly conjured a shower of falling stones, crushing the priest and one of his brethren beneath them.  Two more went down beneath Ratbone’s snapping jaws and Herc’s shield.  The four remaining quickly fell back before the onslaught, gathering around one of the large cylinders…the one that contained the still-moving horror.  In unison, they raised their scythes and smashed the glass.  The viscous fluid flooded across the floor, and a jade mist momentarily obscured the scene.  When it cleared, however, the six heroes wished that they could have remained ignorant of what had been unleashed.  
“Save and preserve us,” Michael whispered, clutching his holy symbol.  “It’s a leukodaemon.”
“A what?”  Kat asked.
“A harbinger of plagues and disease,” Michael said.  “They serve Apollyon, the Horseman of Pestilence.  We may not survive this…”

The four priests fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the outsider’s awesome presence.  Their reward was death, as the mighty daemon fell upon them with savage fury, tearing them limb-from-limb in a span of seconds.  While it was thus occupied, Ratbone, Valeris and Herc charged forward, surrounding the fiend on three sides.  Ratbone quickly darted in, biting viciously at its leg, but the druid’s razor-sharp fangs barely pierced the otherworldly flesh.  Still, where they did, a thin rime of gold-flecked ice appeared, and the daemon roared in fury.  Turning, it opened its mouth and spewed forth what looked like a cloud of thousands of corpse-bloated, biting black flies.  Ratbone quickly darted to the side, but Valeris was not so fast.  He flailed and beat about his head as the insects bit at his exposed flesh.  He swung his sword wildly, striking the daemon with a lucky blow.  Then, however, he doubled over as the sickening smell and the nauseating drone of the rapidly spreading cloud of flies caused his gorge to rise and his bowels to rebel.  A moment later, Herc was overcome as well.  The leukodaemon roared again, and lunged for the helpless pair.  Its claws ripped and its teeth tore at the warriors.  All they could do was back away under its merciless assault.  Then Ratbone was there, interposing himself between the fiend and his friends.  The druid sprang in, biting and snapping when he could find the opportunity, before springing away again.  Still, he was not fast enough.  For every small wound he inflicted on the daemon, it bloodied him twice.  Inevitably, he felt himself weakening, but he knew that he would not give ground.  He would stop the creature or die trying.  Suddenly, to his astonishment and gratitude, it began to rain stone in the center of the chamber.  Again, and again, the fist-sized rocks fell from thin air, pelting and hammering the daemon.  It screeched in impotent rage as it tried in vain to avoid the deluge, and all the while Ratbone kept up his assault.  Finally, with one last bellow, the fiend collapsed under the barrage, and Ratbone rushed forward and seized its skull in his jaws, crushing it with his vice-like bite.
____________________________________________________

The companions of the K.I.A. thought that they must be closing in on the power behind the cult of Urgathoa, judging by the increasing resistance they had been meeting.  They were quiet and somber after the battle with the leukodaemon.  Michael had healed their wounds, but their morale was low.  They knew that it was very likely some or all of them might not return from their mission.

The long hall they’d been walking down abruptly opened into a circular chamber which rose into a high dome.  Seven basins jutted from the walls, ensconced within evenly spaced alcoves that circled the room.  Each was filled to the brim with a unique liquid corruption…blood, bile, milk, or other unidentifiable fluid.  Each filled the air with its own distinct reek that created a noxious, eye-watering bouquet.  Upon the floor around each basin lay several small, empty metal boxes, each carved with images of skulls.  At the room’s center, rising from a wide pool of crystalline water, stood a golden statue of a sight both erotic and horrifying.  The statue was that of a beautiful nude woman, human above the waist, but below it was nothing more than a skeleton.  Standing beside the statue was a darkly beautiful woman.  Her pale white face was framed by a mane of jet-black hair.  She wore a flatteringly sculpted breastplate beneath her revealing robes, and she carried a particularly vicious-looking scythe in her hands.
“And so you have found your way to me, hopeful heroes,” she said in a cold, lilting voice.  “Know that you stand before the Lady Andaisin, architect of your city’s death.  You call this sending blood veil, yet I know it as the gentle kiss of the Pallid Princess.  Your reward shall be great…choose of the seven scourges to become one with the goddess.  Those who drink, I shall only cripple, leaving you alive to enjoy her as she quickens inside your flesh.  Those who abstain are fools, not fit to house the divine gift.  You may prostrate yourselves at my feet and I shall make your end all the more swift for it.  Swifter, in any event, than this delightful end your lovely queen has enjoined me to create!”

That was all Ratbone needed to hear.  Crouching, he launched himself at the priestess, yet as he charged, Katarina once again cloaked him in a shroud of magical silence.  Andaisin’s face registered shocked outrage when she realized what had happened.  Her dismay only grew when the druid latched onto her leg with his jaws, coating her from knee to ankle in a sheen of glimmering ice.  A half-second behind Ratbone, Herc lowered his shield and slammed into the priestess with all his strength, driving her back into the fountain.  As she struck the marble, something in her spine cracked and she collapsed to the floor.  She struggled to regain her feet, but Herc smashed her again with his shield, sending her sprawling once more.  Hissing silently through clenched teeth, she swung her scythe in a low arc, catching the mercenary across his legs, opening savagely gaping wounds.  At the same time, a jagged cut suddenly appeared on her own leg, but she seemed not to notice the pain.  What she did notice, however, was Ratbone bearing down on her.  The druid’s jaws stretched wide as he closed them around her throat, tearing at her abdomen with his claws as he disemboweled her.

Just like that, it was over.  For a moment, the heroes were stunned.  That was it?  After all they’d been through, their quest was over?  They turned to one another, disbelief and questioning in their eyes.  Suddenly, the faces of Michael, O’Reginald and Kat turned pale.  Behind Ratbone, Valeris and Herc, something was happening to Andaisin’s body.  It crackled with black energy as it rose slowly into the air.  The three warriors turned slowly, their mouths slack.  Then, without warning, Andaisin’s sundered flesh exploded with boils and pustules, while torrents of foul humors flooded forth and congealed into a sickening new body.  What had just moments ago been a woman, now towered as a monstrosity of exposed muscle, twisting marrow, and hellish majesty.  Flesh worn like a tattered gown and bone warped into gruesome weapons, her rent gut spilled a wave of hardened fluids, dried bowels, and supremely powerful muscles into a single tentacle-tail, propelling the feminine horror forward.  

One of her hands had become fused into the shape of a fleshy scythe, and this she swung at Herc, opening a large gash in the merc’s chest.  When Ratbone leaped for her, she backhanded the dog-druid with her other hand, and where her flesh touched his, the druid’s skin erupted in blood veil pox.  Still, Ratbone bit at her with his snapping fangs before he dropped back to the ground below.  He gathered himself to leap again, for now the thing that had been Andaisin hovered ten-feet above him and his companions, out of reach of their weapons.  At that moment, however, he felt a wave of magic wash over him, and before he knew it, his canine body had doubled in size.  He stood at eye-level with the undead abomination, and silently he thanked O’Reginald for his timely assistance.  The Daughter of Urgathoa fixed him with her baleful gaze, but it was Valeris she turned her wrath upon as the duskblade leaped at her, his hands crackling with electricity.  Andaisin slashed at him with her claws, at the same time swatting him aside like an insect with her muscular tail.  Valeris landed in a heap against a far wall and did not rise again.  The arena around them now clear, she then turned her attention back to Ratbone.  They circled each other, each feinting and striking, back and forth, again and again.  Yet the druid’s companions could tell it would only be a matter of time.  Though his teeth and claws took their toll, Andaisin’s own weapons left his flesh hanging in tatters, blood flowing freely from his many wounds.  He could not last much longer, and so Herc and O’Reginald took matters into their own hands.  The big mercenary quickly strung the bow that hung at his back and began loosing arrow after arrow at the unholy saint, while at the same time, O’Reginald hurled volley after volley of arcane bolts.  Slowly, the tide began to turn, and as Andaisin recoiled from yet another barrage of magic missiles, Ratbone seized her with all four of his upper claws, holding her tight against him as he savaged her with his fangs.  Though she struggled mightily, and the wounds she inflicted were horrendous, ultimately, the Daughter of Urgathoa failed, her body going limp before returning once more to its natural state, once again, quite dead.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Very successful, indeed! Great tactics, guys. Too bad Rolth got lucky & escaped the silenced super-mongrel.

Was there really discussion over engaging Ramoska? This could have been...interesting.


----------



## carborundum

Awesome fights - well done guys!
Awesome story - thanks JD!

Ratbone's doing well with his Golden Ice - the VOP druid in my campaign has had it succeed maybe once in the whole time!


----------



## Joachim

carborundum said:


> Ratbone's doing well with his Golden Ice - the VOP druid in my campaign has had it succeed maybe once in the whole time!




For starters, I took Ability Focus (Golden Ice) as my 3rd level feat.  After reading through the section in BoED on Ravages (the rules for which were not very well reviewed by WotC prior to printing, methinks), and scratching our heads we decided to houserule some of the confusing/omitted stuff.

We decided that the DC for it should be based on the normal equation of 10 + HD/2 + ability modifier, and we decided that Con was the most appropriate ability to tie it to.  As of 7th level, my DC is now 18.

BTW, nice update.  D&D, frankly, is the most fun when you get your ass handed to you but you still manage to find away to come out on top of the pile of corpses, looking like a typical Conan novel cover.


----------



## carborundum

Now THAT's sigworthy!


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Very successful, indeed! Great tactics, guys. Too bad Rolth got lucky & escaped the silenced super-mongrel.
> 
> Was there really discussion over engaging Ramoska? This could have been...interesting.




Indeed there was.  Valeris and O'Reginald were eager to rumble, while Kat and RB were more moderate.  A couple of times there were calls for initiative, but I used my best DM, "Are you sure?" voice, and calmer heads won out.  I think Ramoska would have owned the group, which was why I was in no hurry to allow combat to break out.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE FORSAKEN ARCH

While the other members of the K.I.A. stayed behind to tend the victims at the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden, Ratbone winged his way across Korvosa in his avian persona.  He visited first the Bank of Abadar, quickly summing up for Ishani what had transpired, and then the Citadel to speak with Cressida Kroft.  Within an hour, priests of Abadar and members of the Guard swarmed the Hospice as the streets were secured and the sick were ministered to.  Ratbone made one more stop on his way back, to a small apartment on Overton Way.  There he retrieved Deyanira Mirukova, simply telling her that he had something to show her, and then he carried her in his large talons back across the town.  When he finally set her down outside the doors of the Hospice, the first person she saw was Ruan.  There reunion was tearful and required no words.  The druid left them to their privacy, and slipped quietly back inside.
________________________________________________________


“I still can’t believe this,” Cressida said, shaking her head as she paced around Andaisin’s inner sanctum.  “Blood veil man-made, the Queen’s own personal physician in league with these cultists, the Gray Maiden’s somehow involved?  If I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes, I couldn’t credit it.  The fallout from this is going to be a nightmare!”
“What about the Queen?” Ratbone asked.  “Are you going to arrest her?”
“On what grounds?” the Field Marshal asked.  “There is no hard evidence here, no matter what the priestess said.  It won’t stick.  I’ll just have to go to her and give my report.  Her reaction will be telling.”  
Ratbone shook his head.  “I don’t understand the laws of this city.  Right and wrong get lost in bureaucracy and politics too often for my taste.”
“Unfortunately, we have to play by the rules for now,” Cressida said, “but have faith.  The truth will eventually win out, especially if it continues to have champions such as yourselves.  However, I’m afraid I have some more bad news for you.  The Queen has ordered all of Old Korvosa to be quarantined.”
“What??” the six companions asked in unison.
Cressida nodded.  “The Gray Maidens have destroyed every wooden bridge leading into the old city, and they are erecting a permanent barricade on the only stone bridge.  Even though we’ve found the source of the plague, I’m afraid things aren’t going to get much better any time soon.”

_______________________________________________________

In the days that followed, Ishani, using the documents the company had provided from Dr. Davaulus and Rolth’s lab, was able to come up with the foundation for a vaccine for blood veil.  Apparently, there were some Varisians who had a natural immunity to the plague.  Ishani was not certain what their connection was at first, but upon further research, he discovered that they all shared a common ancestor…a woman named Kasanda Miromia-Foxglove.  From their distilled blood, he developed the immunization.  Word spread quickly of what had transpired in the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden, and the true source of blood veil.  The official stance of the Palace was that the Queen had been duped by Dr. Davaulus, and his actions and those of his masked minions did not accurately reflect her desires.  Furthermore, it was asserted that any Gray Maidens involved in the hospice had no knowledge of the true goings-on in the chambers below.  The majority of Korvosa’s citizens found it difficult to believe that their queen, however vain and unpleasant, could be the source of such an evil.  They were, for the most part, simply thankful that the scourge had passed, and were eager to get back to their lives.

As far as the K.I.A. was concerned, their own role in unmasking the conspiracy and bringing the perpetrators to justice could not be kept under wraps.  It was estimated by those in the know that the actions of the heroes led to the salvation of no fewer than three-thousand of Korvosa’s citizens, either directly or indirectly.  Consequently, they were lauded as the city’s saviors from the meanest slum to Castle Korvosa itself.  Tayce Soldado organized the thanks of Korvosa’s settled Varisians in the form of a large feast at her home with the entire community, many of whom insisted on bringing modest gifts.  Dozens of other Korvosan families also recognized the companions for saving the lives of family members or neighbors.  Craftsmen, local artists and guildmembers offered their favor and services.  Field Marshal Kroft personally thanked the company for their extensive aid.  Deputizing them as official members of the Korvosan Guard, she opened Citadel Volshyenek’s armory to them.  Finally, Queen Ileosa issued a public acknowledgement, delivered conspicuously by Marcus Thalassinus, commander of the Sable Company rather than the Queen herself, acknowledging the K.I.A.’s work, praising their actions and granting each of them a 5,000 gold crown writ in reward for their services.  Of particular note, Ratbone pooled all of the resources he received and purchased two magical items…a decanter of never-ending water, and a spoon of sustenance, the latter capable of producing an endless supply of tasteless but nourishing gruel.  These he donated to Old Korvosa, to help ease the privation suffered by the quarantined population.  His beneficence remained anonymous.

_____________________________________________________________

Despite the accolades heaped upon them by the grateful citizenry of Korvosa, there were certain elements of the establishment that made it clear that their accomplishments were not appreciated by everyone.  The Korvosan Guard had suffered greatly over the past weeks, and their ranks were significantly thinned.  Conspicuous in their growing numbers, however, were the Gray Maidens.  Patrols of them could be seen with increasing frequency on the streets, and wherever the members of the K.I.A. encountered them, they were met with barely restrained hostility and encouraged to move along.  So when Cressida Kroft summoned them to the Citadel one morning and informed them that it might be in their best interest to disappear for awhile, they were not entirely surprised.

“I’m concerned for your safety,” the Field Marshall said.  “I doubt any moves would be made against you openly, but there are many dark alleys and out of the way places in this city.  As it so happens, an assignment out of town has just presented itself.  Ordinarily, such a mission would be…beneath your capabilities, but in this case, I think it would suit you perfectly.  The village of Shoalbury is located several days northwest of Korvosa, along the coast.  Their primary industry is the export of pearls, and they are a major provider for the jewelers here.  For the past several months, none of their shipments have reached us.  It seems they are having bandit problems, and they’ve requested our assistance.  I think a trip to the provinces is just what you people need.”

______________________________________________________________

The village of Shoalbury was located some two-hundred feet from the bay shore, nestled in a low valley between barren, craggy hills.  Three short piers served as staging areas for the villagers when they dove for pearls, as well as docks for four community fishing boats.  Due to the lack of significant vegetation in the region, the buildings in the village were primarily made of rock and mud with thatch roof.  None of the buildings had more than one floor, and a loose stone wall surrounded the town itself.  

Cressida told the company to ask for a man named Palonius Firth, a member of the town’s collective council, when they arrived in town, but when they entered the gates, the villagers were in an uproar.  They asked for the councilman, but were told there was trouble down near the beach and he was occupied.  They made their way down to the docks, where they found most of the villagers gathered on the beach, watching two men and several armed militia tend to another man who lay unconscious on the sand.  
“What’s going on here?”  Michael asked as he and the others pushed their way through the crowd.  “Is one of you Palonius Firth?”
“I am,” one of the men growled in annoyance.  He was dressed in a fine suit of chainmail decorated with pearls, but he appeared haggard, and looked as if he might have been involved in a brawl recently.  “Who’re you?”
“I’m Michael, of the Church of Iomedae,” the priest said.  “We represent the Korvosan Guard and were sent by Field Marshal Croft.”  
“Oh…!”  Firth exclaimed, relief in his voice.  “Well met!  I’m sorry we weren’t able to give you a proper welcome.”
“Can we be of assistance here?”  Michael asked.  “What’s happened?”
The man lying on the beach looked as if he’d just been dragged from the water.  He was badly beaten, and one of his eyes was missing, seemingly gouged from its socket.
“It’s something I’d rather not discuss out in the open,” Firth said in a low voice.
“I understand,” Michael nodded, “but this man obvious needs help.”
He knelt down beside a dour man with a neatly trimmed goatee.
“Balrak Lough,” the man said, extending his hand.  “I’m the village priest.”
Michael shook his hand, and then the pair turned to their attention to the wounded man.  They worked for several minutes, tending to the most grievous of his injuries.  Then two militiamen lifted him and carried him back towards the village.  
“If you’ll follow me,” Firth said and led the companions to a large building which served as a meeting hall for the council.

_________________________________________________________

Besides Firth, two other men were present in the meeting room.  One was Balrak Lough, while the other was a blonde half-elf with an intense look in his eyes, and a large stack of papers on the table before him.  A fourth chair sat empty beside him.  Firth introduced him as Trek, and then Michael made his own introductions.  Firth indicated for all of them to be seated, and then sank heavily into his own chair.  
“I had hoped our fourth member, Mr. Seacrust, would realize the import of this meeting, and grace us with his presence,” he sighed, “but I guess he has more important things to do.  No matter.  As you have no doubt learned, our village is under siege.  A group of bandits has taken an interest in our pearl trade.  It’s been over six months since any of our pearl shipments have made it to the Korvosan markets, and nearly as long since we’ve been able to purchase supplies.  The bandits seem to know our schedule as well as we do, and it’s been my suspicion for some time that we have a traitor in our midst.  This latest event has all but confirmed my fears.  Last night, we tried to smuggle a large shipment of pearls south on a fishing boat, rather than use the road.  The bandits had no reason to look to the sea, yet still they struck our transport and slaughtered its crew nearly to a man.  Only one soldier, Gil Umpbrow, the man you saw on the beach, survived, and only barely.  This shipment was our last hope.  We are now nearly defenseless.  If someone can’t find wherever these bandits are holed up, drive them out, and reclaim our stolen pearls, I fear Shoalbury will have to be abandoned.  If you can help us, I’ll see to it that you are rewarded well.”
“May we speak with Mr. Umpbrow?”  Kat asked.
Palonius looked to Balrak.  The cleric looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded.
“When we are done here, I’ll take you to him,” he said.  “But I would like to be present in case he needs my attention.”
“What can you tell us about the bandits?”  Herc asked Palonius.
“Counting the shipment that was attacked last night,” the councilmen replied, “the last four shipments of pearls have all been lost to them.  Other shipments and travelers on the road have been unmolested.  The bandits obviously want nothing but pearls.  Almost all of our militia have now perished, since they were working as caravan guards for all the ambushed shipments.  Scouts have been sent to all the nearby caves and known smuggler coves, but none of those locations had any sign of activity.  Wherever they’re holed up, its somewhere new.”
“There’s one more thing,” Trek spoke up in a soft voice.  “While we’ve recovered all the bodies of our slain militiamen, they were all missing their eyes.  It would seem that pearls aren’t the only things the bandits are interested in…”
“You mentioned something about a possible traitor,” Ratbone asked Finch.  “Whom do you suspect?”
Balrak and Trek looked at each other.
“We’re not…all…convinced of that,” the priest said carefully.  “Some of us believe that the bandits are using some sort of powerful divination magic to spy on the village.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Palonius shouted, slamming his fist on the table.  “If they were capable of such magic, then why didn’t they just use it to invade the town earlier when our guard was down?  If you two won’t say it, then I will!  I think Argin Seacrust is behind this!  His attitude of late and his absence from this meeting are damning, and the fact that he knew the schedules for all the pearl shipments makes him the key suspect!”
“But Palonius,” Trek interjected, “all four of us knew the schedules.  By your reasoning, any of us might be this so-called traitor.”
The three men grew quiet and thoughtful.
“I think we can answer this question quite easily,” Michael said at length.  When they looked up at him, he continued.  “I have a spell at my disposal that will allow me to discern the truth of the words of any who speak while it is in effect.  If you would acquiesce to answering some simple questions under its influence, the truth will be known.”
Slowly, one-by-one, the councilmen nodded their agreement.
“I can’t speak for Seacrust, however,” Palonius said.  “I’ll ask him to join us, but I don’t guarantee it.  One more thing…I would ask that any suspicion of a traitor in town not go beyond these walls.  It would only cause panic among the villagers, and might also alert any sympathizers to the bandits that we’re on to them.  Now, if there’s nothing else, Balrak will take you to see Gil while I go and speak with Argin.”

_________________________________________________________

Gil was awake when the group arrived at his home.  Most of his wounds had been dealt with by Balrak and Michael, but nothing could be done about his missing eye.  He was still shaken up by his ordeal, but he agreed to speak with them about what had befallen his caravan.
“One thing I’m sure of,” he said, “the attack was swift, and it was to the point.  Our ship was sailing with minimal light, using the stars and moon for guidance.  I was looking out to shore when the ambush came.  I saw a group of riders on horseback charging at us across the waves!  They were literally galloping over the surface of the water!  When they reached the boat, two of the riders leaped onto the deck, and when their hoods fell back, they had terrible, bird-like heads, and they were armed with bows and swords.  As we tried to fight them off, something else dropped out of the sky onto the deck…a massive, horned ogre that used magic to quickly break through our defenses.  It didn’t take long for them to completely overwhelm us.  I did my best to fight back, but as the birdmen cut down my friends and plucked their eyes from their skulls with their claws and beaks, it was pretty plain that all was lost.  One of them managed to knock me down and…did this.”  He indicated his empty eye socket.  “Then Captain Stalgie clubbed the fiend senseless with a gaff.  I got to my feet, but then stumbled over a body and fell into the water.  I only barely managed to make it to the shore before I collapsed.  When I woke up this morning, I didn’t see any sign of the bandits or the boat.”

His story was disconcerting, since it seemed that more was involved than simple bandits.  Bird men and ogre magi?  It seemed the unique talents of the K.I.A.  might actually be put to the test after all.  Meeting with Argin Seacrust was becoming more of a priority.

___________________________________________________________

When they arrived back at the council house, however, Seacrust was not there.
“He refused,” Palonius explained.  “He said he didn’t have to justify himself to anyone.”
“I see,” Michael said.  “Then I suppose we’ll just have to go to him.  I trust the rest of you won’t mind still submitting to our questions?”
“Not at all,” the councilman nodded.
“Just one other thing,” Michael said.  “Do you mind if I asked where you received those bruises?”
Palonius sighed.  “It was a misunderstanding between myself and one of the villagers.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Balrak interjected.  “It was Argin.  The two of them argued over how to stage the secret pearl shipment.  Argin was in favor of an overland caravan disguised as a group of pilgrims, but Palonius insisted on using the fishing boat.  One thing led to another and blows were exchanged.”
“I see,” Michael nodded.  “All the more reason to hear Mr. Seacrust’s side of all this then.  Shall we begin?”

_____________________________________________________

Under the influence of Michael’s spell, the three councilmen were found to be wholly truthful in what they had said.  That left nothing else but to go to Seacrust’s bungalow.  It lay at the end of the southernmost pier to the east of town.  The mild surf washed toward a rocky shore outfitted with three such floating piers.  Each of them was just over one-hundred feet in length, and a small cabin sat at the end of each.  A ramp that consisted of thick boards tied with stout leather ropes secured each pier to the shore, the pier itself rising and falling with the passing waves.
“Wait here,” Ratbone instructed the three councilmen, who’d accompanied them.  “We’ll handle this in case there’s trouble.”

No sooner had they stepped out onto the pier, than a loud voice called from the cabin.
“Turn around now, you curs, afore you regret it!  You’ll never get me, you filthy mongrels!  I ain’t done nothing ye wouldn’t’a done in my place!”
“Well, I guess that answers the question of guilt or innocence,” Valeris smirked.
Carefully, they started down the pier.  When they’d gone no more than halfway, however, Seacrust called out again.
“I warned ye!  Now let’s see how ye like swimmin’ with th’fishes!”
Suddenly, the section of pier they were standing on collapsed as a  trapdoor opened beneath them.  The six companions hurled themselves to opposite sides, with half of them scrambling safely to the far side, while the other three managed to just clear the pit to the near.  When they looked down, they could see the water below them red with chum, and thick with the circling fins of sharks.  Ratbone quickly transformed into his condor form, and carried his friends safely across the death trap.

When they reached the door of the cabin, it was locked tight.  Herc shouldered his shield and slammed into it, smashing it to splinters.  No sooner was the door open, than a tall, hairless man dressed in tight-fitting seal skin, seemed to appear out of thin air.  He held what seemed like a small pearl in his hand, and he hurled it to the decking of the pier directly behind Herc and Ratbone.  When it struck, it exploded in a blinding flash, buffeting the druid and the mercenary to their knees.  When the glare vanished, Argin was gone again.  Herc and Ratbone climbed slowly to their feet, their bodies covered with bruises and cuts.  Michael stepped forward and gripped his holy symbol as he channeled his divine power to heal his companions.  To his shock, however, their injuries remained unchanged.  Katarina frowned, perplexed as well.  Quickly, she reached into a pouch at her waist, chanted a few arcane words, and flung a handful of glittering dust towards the interior of the cabin.  Her eyes grew wide as the dust seemed to strike some unseen barrier between her and her wounded companions.  
“Herc, Ratbone!” she called.  “Can you hear me?”
Both nodded, and Herc moved to step towards her, but was abruptly stopped in his tracks as he ran into the same barrier.  He reached out his hands like some sort of street mime, and felt about the circumference of what seemed to be some sort of invisible sphere imprisoning him and Ratbone.  
“I’ll tell ye one last time,” Argin’s voice sounded from inside the cabin.  “leave now, or I’ll kill’em both!”
“We’ll see about that,” Michael muttered.  “Herc, Ratbone!  Stand back!”
The pair complied as the priest began chanting.  When he was finished, he cast out his hands, using the prayer to unravel the magic holding his friends.  To his relief, there was a loud pop as the sphere winked out of existence.  
“Damn you all!”  Seacrust cried as he suddenly reappeared, a pair of kukris in his hands.  He rushed at Herc, and slashed the big warrior viciously.  Herc grunted, but didn’t give ground.  Instead, he struck back, bashing Seacrust with his shield, and then striking with his own blade once the man’s defenses were open.  Ratbone quickly transformed into a large mongrel and darted into the fray, seizing one of Seacrust’s legs in his jaws.  Seacrust yelped and raised his blades to strike at the dog, but then he froze in mid-swing as if paralyzed.  
“Finish him!”  Katarina shouted, her face a rictus of concentration and strain.  “I can’t hold him for long!”
A moment later, Seacrust broke free of her spell and moved again to strike, but Herc’s shield caught him squarely under his chin and he collapsed in a heap, still breathing, but unconscious.

A thorough search of Seacrust’s cabin turned up damning evidence inside his footlocker.  First and foremost were three leather pouches of large, red pearls.  Palonius readily identified them as part of the recent shipment.  Sitting next to the pouches was a golden statuette of a humanoid figure with a hawk’s head and feet, and four large feathered wings.  It felt strangely cold to the touch.
“Gods,” Balrak hissed. “That’s Pazuzu, the demon lord of the air.  What was Argin doing with that?”
Finally, below the pouches and the statue were several folded sheets of parchment.  They contained detailed notes on pearl shipment logistics, along with several marks on a regional map that seemed to indicate prospective ambush points.  Only two marks were located off the main road leading out of Shoalbury.  One Palonius verified as the site of the fishing boat ambush.  
“This other, however,” Palonius said, his brow creasing, “this appears to be the Forsaken Arch.”
“The what?”  Valeris asked.
“It’s a natural landmark in a secluded cove west of here,” the councilman replied.  “It was once considered as a possible site for the village, but it was rejected due to the large number of sea cats that infest the waters there.”
“Is that one of the places your militia investigated while looking for the bandits?”  Michael asked.
“No,” Palonius said.  “It was considered too remote.”
“Sounds like the perfect place for a hideout,” Herc added.
“Hey,” Valeris interrupted, “what about him?”  He jerked his thumb towards the slumped form of Argin Seacrust.
The three councilmen seemed to notice their former comrade for the first time.
“Since you are representatives of the Korvosan Guard,” Palonius said at length, “we will remand him into your custody.”
“Agreed,” Michael said, “but you will have to secure him until we return.”
“Where are you going?”  Palonius asked.
“The Forsaken Arch,” the priest replied.
_____________________________________________________


The road out of Shoalbury lead west for several miles before it turned inland along a river.  It was easily forded at that point, and on the far bank a somewhat overgrown trail continued west.  Ratbone knelt down at the head of the trail and discovered  several sets of tracks that were still fairly fresh, though it appeared someone had taken pains to hide the evidence of their passing.  The trail wound through rugged hill terrain for another mile or so.  At that point it passed within a few hundred yards of a large cove, and several hundred feet off shore could be seen the imposing stone arch that gave the area its name.  Ratbone took his avian form and flew up to getter a better view of the surrounding terrain.  The others paused in a shallow valley formed by two tree-lined hills.  
“Did you hear that?”  Herc said abruptly, holding up his hand for silence.
The others quieted, turning their heads this way and that.  Then, they heard it too…the sound of a child crying, coming from the trees somewhere off  to their left.  
“Wait here,” Herc said as he started off into the woods.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Valeris grumbled, but by that point, the mercenary had vanished into the undergrowth.  A moment later, they heard another sound…a woman’s screams, coming from the trees to the right of the trail.
“Like I said,” Valeris remarked.

Herc pushed through the dense brush, the baby’s cries growing louder.  Suddenly, three figures stepped out of the trees in front of him.  They were cloaked and hooded, but Herc could see black eyes glinting from within the folds of the hoods, and the protruding tips of what appeared to be sharp beaks.  They clutched shortswords in their clawed hands, and before the warrior could react, they were on him, moving in close and stabbing at him repeatedly.

Meanwhile, as the other K.I.A. members debated what they should do, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of whistling arrows as a dozen or more cloaked forms stepped from the trees and opened fire.  None of the quartet were spared.  Arrows pierced each of them, though none fatally.  O’Reginald reacted in blind panic, a spell on his lips and his hands outflung before he realized what he was doing.  A cone of rocks flew from his fingers, ripping through vegetation and flesh alike, killing at least half of the assassins.  Michael, reacting more cautiously, ducked behind his shield and darted up into the trees, slashing down one of the bowmen before him.  Then, without warning, a huge bird dove down from the clouds above, raking one of the bird-men with its claws and tearing its throat out.  Ratbone then climbed again, wheeling around for another attack.

Herc, for his part, had no problem dispatching his opponents once he’d regained his composure.  Despite his wounds, he dashed back through the trees and exploded into the clearing, coming up directly behind the last bowman, snapping his neck before he could even turn around.
“I’ll say it again,” Valeris said, breathless from the fight, “this looks like the place.”
________________________________________________________


The blue-green water of the sea crashed against the rocks in a flurry of foam and mist in the hauntingly beautiful cove.  Thick strands of brush guarded the uplands to the east and west, and here and there, jagged rocks protruded from the waters, but the predominant feature offshore was the ominous arch of dark rock.  The granite outcropping of two stone columns, each easily over one-hundred feet in diameter, supported a thick arch of rock some two-hundred feet above the ocean’s surface.  Several unusually large dark birds perched on top of the arch, their shrill cries competing with the surf for dominance over the scene.  A wide sandbar extended from the beach out to the stone arch, its length strewn with seashells and bits of coral.  

The companions started across the sandbar, the water only a few feet deep at low tide.  They were still several dozen yards from the arch when the huge seacat emerged from the water, hauling itself up onto the sandbar before them.  It opened its jaws in a gurgling yowl, and at the same time, the cries of the birds became louder.  Looking up, the company saw the avians diving towards them, large black-feathered eagles with glowing red eyes.  Herc slogged forward, dispatching the piscean feline quickly and efficiently.  The eagles, however, struck with deadly efficiency, dive-bombing the heroes from a height of a hundred feet or more.  Still, when Katarina spread her fingers, spoke a word and sent a dazzling display of rainbow hued light fanning at them, they dropped to the water stunned.  It was a simple matter to neutralize them after that.  The company continued on towards the Forsaken Arch, secure in the knowledge that they were expected.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Nice sidetrack, sounds...spooky.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE AIR LORD’S FAITHFUL

A sandy beach extended into the dark maw of a cave entrance on the inner side of the northern arch.  Each wave that coursed through the arch was answered with splashing echoes from within the cave as the water frothed and roiled.  Deeper in, the cavern narrowed down to a short curved tunnel, but a pair of tide pools that reached nearly wall-to-wall made passage through rather difficult.  The water in each pool surged and sloshed about, and the rocky depths displayed a riot of colorful anemones and tangled fronds of seaweed.  Thanks to Michael’s foresight, he had been able to imbue each of his companions with the ability to literally walk on water, so traversing the deep pools proved little problem.  The heroes were even more grateful to the priest when, a moment after they’d passed the pools, they both exploded into frothing geysers.

Beyond the tidal pools, the tunnel abruptly widened into a high-ceilinged room, the roof supported by several large rock columns that had been carved to resemble clouds of fish swimming up through a watery vortex.  Each pillar also bore a single, flickering torch in a sconce.  A large stack of soggy-looking firewood lay in a heap along the southern wall, and a closed double-door sat in the north.  The room smelled wretched…a sickening combination of rotting seaweed, brine and dung.  An assortment of crates and boxes had been stacked into a large wall on the eastern side of the room, while on the western side, five large warhorses were stabled.  Their ears twitched as the newcomers entered, but otherwise they remained eerily calm.

Katarina crossed the room to the far doors and found them securely locked.  Drawing her picks from her belt pouch, she made short work of the lock, and then stood back as Herc pulled the large portals opened.  The room beyond was large and open.  A long wooden table lay tipped on its side, much like a barricade, in the center of the area, wedged between a pair of vertical rock columns carved to resemble swarms of squid and fish swimming in a vortex.  Several ventilation holes lined the walls, and to the east, a stone fireplace loomed.  Nearby, a set of large selves held sundry provisions and utensils.  The north and south walls were strewn with large, nest-like beds, each cluttered with a large amount of sparkly bits of metal and glittering crystals.  A wall to the northwest bore an intricate carving of swarms of fish feeding on a screaming humanoid figure.  The air was damp, and carried with it an unsettling odor of mildew and bird.  The first thing that struck the companions as they opened the doors, however, was the sound of birdsong, though not the pleasant strains of a nightingale, but rather more like a raven striving to sound like its smaller cousin.  The croaking, discordant melody came from the throat of a bird-headed figure crouched on the far side of the overturned table.  Nearer at hand, three more birdmen stood ready, short, curved swords in their hands.  

Herc and Valeris stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway as the kenkus leaped and somersaulted towards them.  As the nearest drew close, the two warriors struck simultaneously, cutting him down in mid flip.  The other two, however, quickly managed to flank the duskblade.  One slashed viciously at him, ripping into his belly with a precise cut.  From back in the stable, O’Reginald quickly hurled a volley of flashing blue missiles towards the kenku, but just before they struck the rogue, they were deflected by some sort of unseen barrier surrounding the bird man.  Meanwhile, Ratbone dashed into the room and around the barricade, rushing straight towards the crooner.  The kenku shrieked as the mongrel seized him by the leg, and he fell backwards over the table, quickly rolling to his feet on the far side.  Suddenly, a loud crash came from the stables, and Kat, O’Reginald and Michael turned, startled, as the wall of crates on the far side came crumbling down.  From behind it emerged a raging ogre, a club the size of a tree trunk gripped in its hands.  A little squeak escaped the mage’s throat as he scrambled backwards in terror.  He nearly bowled over Kat in his desperation.  The Varisian gypsy impatiently shoved the young sorcerer aside as she began weaving a spell.  The ogre stood above her, club raised high, spittle dripping from its jaws to pool at her feet as she completed her casting.  The giant’s eyelids abruptly drooped and the club clattered to the floor behind him as he collapsed, snoring heavily.  In the barracks, Herc and Valeris quickly dispatched their two opponents, while Ratbone leaped over the table and landed heavily on the scrabbling bard, quieting his singing as his larynx was crushed.  It was a simple matter after that for Valeris to drive his blade through the sleeping ogre’s throat.
“Well done, Archmage!”  Valeris snickered as he glared at O’Reginald.  The sorcerer’s face was still pale and his hands shook.
“Leave off,” Kat said.  “He was just taken by surprise.  Come on.  We need to keep moving.”
_______________________________________________________

There seemed to be no way out of the kenku barracks…an utter dead end, but Kat’s keen eyes and nimble fingers discovered a hidden catch in a far corner.  Flicking it, she was rewarded when a secret panel slid aside, revealing another tunnel winding off into the darkness.  The passage gave onto a set of rough-carved steps that continued on for some distance before ending in a long, narrow room.  The walls were lined with writhing, groaning humanoid bodies that hung from their arms by manacles.  Bones littered the floor near the walls and various dilapidated instruments of torture occupied the space between the three stony pillars of carved fish that rose up to support the roof.  A large hammock hung between two of those pillars.  

Cautiously, the group started across the chamber, Ratbone in the lead.  To Michael, it was obvious that the shackled prisoners were beyond dead.  He was on the verge of channeling Iomedae’s power into the lot of them and wiping their blight from existence, when a primal roar came from the ceiling above.  As one, the companions looked up, and saw a nightmare figure clinging to the roof.  It was the size and general appearance of an ogre, but its skin was deep purple, and curved yellow horns sprouted from its head.  With another roar, the ogre mage unleashed a blast of frigid, ice-laden air, sending it washing over the company.  Shouting and cursing, they recoiled back towards the tunnel…all except Herc and Ratbone.  The big mercenary took three running steps and leaped into the air.  His blade reached just high enough to rake the giant’s belly.  Immediately, the wound began to close.  A moment later, Ratbone shifted from dog to bird in the blink of an eye.  He quickly took wing and launched himself at the ogre, his talons ripping deep into its flesh.  Where his claws touched, golden ice covered the wound in a glittering shell.  However, unlike his previous foes, the ogre mage did not simply slow its reflexes…instead, it became completely paralyzed.  
“Now!”  Kat shouted when she realized the situation.
O’Reginald, to his credit, stepped up, shaking off the bone-chilling cold that still numbed his limbs.  He loosed a barrage of mystic bolts, and when they struck the giant, the brute reeled and sank slowly to the floor, unconscious.  
“It’s regenerating!”  Michael snarled, pointing to the ogre’s rapidly healing wounds.
Valeris and O’Reginald rushed quickly to the creature’s side and began raining acid down upon it, over and over again until its flesh dissolved from its bones, and then its bones disintegrated as well.
_______________________________________________________

Beyond the hideous prison chamber, the tunnel began a steady rise before leveling out and running straight.  It seemed they had reached the top of the arch itself.  Once more, Ratbone took the lead, but though the druid’s muzzle was low to the ground, sniffing out their path, he, and his companions, were taken completely by surprise at what happened next.  One moment he was prowling along the passage, and the next he was simply…gone…vanished through the floor.  Abruptly, from the still solid-looking stone floor, a chorus of high-pitched giggles sounded.  An instant later, a swarm of mist-shrouded, winged pixie-like creatures erupted from the floor.  Their laughter quickly turned to vicious hisses as they opened their mouths and breathed clouds of scalding steam into the passage.  Once again, the companions were forced to retreat, but to the amazement of his companions, it was O’Reginald who instead stepped to the fore.
“Is that all you’ve got?!” he spat, and then his voice boomed as words of power burst from his throat.  A pea-sized ball of fire streaked from his finger-tips, reaching the mephitis in a heartbeat.  They barely had time to gasp before the ball exploded, engulfing the entire swarm.  When the flames cleared, only ashes remained.

“Wow,” Ratbone’s voice came from behind the others.  They turned and saw the druid standing in his natural form behind them, battered and bruised, but smiling.  “It was a long fall, but I’m still here, which is more than I can say for those…whatever they were.  Well done, ‘Reg.  I didn’t know you had it in you.”
The sorcerer looked at his hands, disbelief on his face.
“Neither did I…,” he whispered.
______________________________________________________

The corridor ahead narrowed to a width of little more than three feet.  Passage was made even more difficult due to a series of badly rusted metal poles that ran its length.  The passage itself was sloped sharply downward.  Valeris stepped forward, sword in hand, his adamantine blade gleaming in the torchlight.  He swung twice and severed the first pole neatly at top and bottom, as easily as if he were slicing hot bread.  Taking the lead, he continued down the hall, hewing the metal supports one-by-one, and praying that they weren’t all that was holding the roof of the tunnel up.

The narrow passage emerged over one-hundred feet up the wall of a huge cavern.  Several immense stone columns supported the domed roof overhead.  The cave was naturally lit by a few large tunnels on the left and right that curved steeply up towards other openings.  The majority of the cave floor was a large, churning tide pool, its depths a riot of color in the form of anemones, urchins and writhing forests of seaweed.  The rhythmic surging of waves came from around the far southern corner towards the sea.  Partially submerged in the pool was the long dead shell and skeleton of a massive draconic turtle.  O’Reginald peered over the edge at the vertiginous drop to the water below.  He pulled a slender wand from his robes, and quickly tapped each of his companions with it, imbuing them with the transient ability to fly.  One-by-one they stepped out into the gulf and floated gently down to the pool, landing lightly on top of it as if it were solid ground, thanks to Michael’s lingering enchantment.  They started across the pool towards the nearest exit, but Ratbone, once more in the lead, stopped abruptly when he saw shadowy movement among the waving kelp fronds in the depths.  Suddenly, a trio of sea cats burst from the weeds and rushed to the surface, breaching directly in front of the companions.  They roared and howled, and as their cries echoed through the cave, a much, much larger shape emerged from the carcass of the dragon turtle.  It to was a sea cat, but gigantic beyond compare.  As it heaved its bulk to the surface, it was like a leviathan looming over its smaller children.  Herc quickly stepped to Ratbone’s side and swung his shield at the nearest cat, snapping its neck with the metal edge.  Ratbone pounced on a second, tearing past its wicked claws with his own ripping fangs and talons.  The final of the trio abruptly erupted in a column of fire as O’Reginald hurled arcane words, quickly warming to his new-found power.  That left only the mother.  The giant beast reared high over the companions, and when it brought its enormous paws and jaws down, Katarina was directly beneath it.  The beguiler screamed as she saw her doom approaching, but her voice was cut short as the monster picked her up, shook her like a rag doll, and hurled her across the chamber.  She struck a rock outcropping and slid to the water’s surface, limp and unmoving.  While the cat’s attention was momentarily diverted, Herc, Valeris and Ratbone rushed in.  Their combined assault was withering, and though the sea cat was horribly strong and powerful, it could not hold before the onslaught.  It crashed back down into the water like capsized ship, and then sank slowly to the bottom of the pool.    

Michael rushed to Katarina’s side, and breathed a silent prayer that she was still breathing.  He placed his hands upon her broken body and channeled power into her for several long moments.  Finally, she gasped and opened her eyes, drawing air deeply into her lungs.  For a moment she glanced wildly around, looking for the ravening sea cat.
“It’s over,” Michael said soothingly.  
Gradually, Kat relaxed, and Michael helped her back to her feet.  The priest was momentarily taken aback, however, when the Varisian woman threw her arms around his neck in a brief, but grateful embrace.  The two separated a moment later and rejoined their friends.  Unfortunately, all of the tunnels that led from the sea cave led to the outside.  There seemed to be no way to venture any further into the arch, and they were still no closer to discovering who, or what was leading the bandits, or what was behind the pearl thefts.  Finally, in exasperation, Katarina pulled a wand from her skirts and spoke a quick word.  She turned in one complete circle, and then stopped, focused on one blank wall.
“There,” she said, and then walked to the wall and tapped it once with the wand.  Abruptly, a large section of the stone slide aside, revealing a passage that sloped steeply upward.
_____________________________________________________

The tunnel was a short one, and ended in another blank wall.  Once more, Kat employed her wand, and another secret door slid aside.  The polished rock walls of the large room beyond glistened brightly.  Four ornate columns arrayed symmetrically around an altar at the center supported a ceiling pierced by several narrow skylights.  In each corner of the room, large statues of a humanoid figure stood sentinel over the room.  Each statue depicted an imposing, well-proportioned man with the talons of a hawk, the face of a demonic, needle-toothed bird, and four large feathered wings on his back…Pazuzu.  An impressive throne to the south had a back adorned with a halo of razor-edged metallic feathers.  Unfortunately, the details of the room could not be taken in fully due to the swarms of locusts that blocked the entrance, and the two monstrous scorpions that skittered menacingly around the altar.
“ ‘Reg!  Clear a path!”  Herc shouted.
The sorcerer obliged, conjuring his signature hail of stones from midair.  The rocks fell among the locusts, temporarily scattering the swarm, allowing Herc and Ratbone to dart inside.  The pair fell upon the scorpions, and the arachnids first crumpled, and then completely vanished.
“Beware!”  Michael called from the passageway.  “They were summoned!  The summoner 
must be nearby!”
As if in answer to his warning, a column of fire suddenly erupted in the center of the room, engulfing Herc and Ratbone, as well as dozens of flying locusts.  In the air twenty feet above the altar, a man dressed in chainmail, with a full, avian shaped face mask, appeared.  It was his first, and last mistake.  Herc, still under the effects of O’Reginald’s fly spell, ignored his badly scorched flesh and launched himself into the air.  Behind him, Ratbone also emerged from the flames, having assumed his avian shape.  The pair closed on the priest, and behind his mask, his eyes went wide in fear.
“Pazuzu, Pazuzu, Pazuzu!” he screamed, but if his god heard him, his prayer went unanswered.  Perhaps the demon lord preferred to give his answer in person when the cleric’s soul departed the Material Plane for the Abyss a moment later.
______________________________________________________

In a hidden grotto beyond the temple, the companions found detailed notes written by Artimus Fisk, the Pazuzan priest they had slain.  In them, Fisk outlined his plan to undermine Shoalbury’s economy to the point where its citizens would have to abandon the town.  Then he and his kenku cultists would be able to occupy the village and use the oyster beds to fund a growing movement of Pazuzu worshipers.  Also hidden in the grotto was the full supply of pearls which had been stolen over the past six months.  The heroes returned to Shoalbury and handed over the pearls to the councilmen.  The townspeople were beyond grateful, and begged the friends to stay and receive a proper reception.  The K.I.A. had to beg off, however, stating that they were needed back in Korvosa.  They departed with Seacrust in tow, not realizing how true that would turn out to be…


----------



## Zanticor

Oh No Jolly has fallen of the edge of the story hour page cliff! Is every thing ok? I find the individual short stories interesting but I am missing the trill of an overarching plot. I'm sure the Crimson Throne has one but I can't as yet put my finger on it. Different bad devil worshippers start popping up from everywhere? I hope we start to find out something about the real villains behind it all an start to see the connections. I'm not fishing for spoilers but am wondering how the players are feeling about were the plot is taking them.

Zanticor


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## WarEagleMage

Well, we didn't play this past weekend due to JD's birthday excursion.  This last adventure was a "linker" to level us up, so while JD did a nice job of tying it in, it isn't officially part of the overarching plot.  The next installment of the SH coming from our last game should get you on the plot track.  Red Mantis, anyone?


----------



## Supar

WarEagleMage said:


> Red Mantis, anyone?




ouch! nuff said


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## JollyDoc

INTO THE DYING CITY

The streets of Korvosa were dull and muted as the six members of the K.I.A. entered the city with their prisoner in tow.  It was late afternoon, and the markets were closed.  Ordinarily, the avenues would still be bustling with the nightlife of a city that never slept, yet they were strangely empty.  In direct contrast, armed patrols were present in abundance, but not the familiar faces of the Korvosan Guard, nor even the more intimidating Hellknights of the Order of the Nail.  No, the soldiers that stalked menacingly along the main thoroughfares and back alleys were uniformly female.  It seemed that the Gray Maidens had enjoyed a recruiting boom over the past few weeks.  
Still, as the companions passed the taverns and common houses, small clusters of people gathered in tight knots, whispered rumors on their lips.  There seemed to be a common theme to the talk, however, and it involved some event that had just transpired within the past two days.  At one point, Katarina waved her companions ahead of her as she paused to approach a group of Varisians.  Several minutes later, she hurried to catch up to the others, her eyes wide, her voice breathless.
“Something’s happened,” she said in a low voice.  “Something terrible…!”

What she’d heard from the Varisians was that two days prior, Queen Ileosa had announced a public address.  Some of the more notable officials in attendance where the queen’s bodyguard Sabina Merrin, her new advisor, a bloat mage from the Acadamae named Togomor, who had taken up the duties of castle seneschal, Cressida Kroft, and the commandant of the Sable Company Marcus Endrin.  Ileosa had announced triumphantly that the plague had been defeated, although unfortunately at the cost of Doctor Davaulus’s life.  The good doctor’s body had been shipped back to Cheliax for burial in his family’s vault, and the order of the Queen’s Physicians had been disbanded.  Yet, she said, Korvosa remained wounded.  She went on to report that the Order of the Nail had shown its true colors and fled like cowards into Citadel Vraid.  Worse, both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company had suffered terrible losses over the past weeks.  Neither group was fully capable of continuing as Korvosa’s protectors, she reasoned, and thus, to shore up that fault, the queen named her newly created order of Gray Maidens as the new protectors of Korvosa, appointing Sabina Merrin as the new General of Korvosa.  She continued her speech, saying that she had decided to dissolve the Sable Company, and that the remaining marines would be folded into the Korvosan Guard.  At that point, she had asked Commandant Endrin to step forth to surrender his badge of office.  As Endrin did so, however, he had reached for his badge, but instead of handing it over, he threw it at the queen, striking her in the cheek with it.  As all of the onlookers, including the queen, had stood shocked, Endrin had proclaimed, “Your shameful reign ends now!  Korvosa will be free again!”  
An instant later, his crossbow was in his hands, aimed at the queen.  He pulled the trigger, and his aim was true.  The bolt struck Ileosa directly in the temple.  Yet she did not fall.  With incredible speed, she had yanked the bolt from her skull, and with her free hand, seized Endrin by the throat, and lifted him off the ground.  A moment later, she buried the bolt between his eyes with a single, powerful blow.  As Endrin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground and Ileosa shook his blood from her hand, she had shouted out, “This shall be the fate of all enemies of Korvosa!  Mark well his death!  It is only the first!”  Then, Togomor had stepped forward and teleported away with the queen.  The resulting riot was quickly and brutally quelled by the Gray Maidens.

The companions were shocked to learn of the assassination attempt, and the events that led up to it.  If the Gray Maidens were in control of Korvosa’s military, what did that bode for the Guard?  They quickened their steps and made all haste to the Citadel.
__________________________________________________________

Only one guard stood at the Citadel entrance, which was strange in-and-of itself.  His eyes grew wide with relief when he saw the group approaching.
“Thank the gods you’re here!” he said.  “The Field Marshall was just about to send a rider to retrieve you from Shoalbury.  Go on in.  She’s waiting for you in the keep.”

No soldiers trained in the inner courtyard, and the halls within the keep were silent and empty, with refuse and trash scattered here and there, dust gathered in empty barracks, and an overall state of creeping neglect hung like a pall over the place.  When the six companions entered the small meeting room where they found Cressida, they were surprised to see how haggard and tired the Field Marshall looked.  She glanced up with hollow eyes and merely sighed when she saw her agents.
“You’re back,” she said wearily.  “None too soon.  Please, be seated.”
Once they had taken seats around the long table, Cressida shuffled several papers in front of her and began to speak again.
“Korvosa is dying.  No, strike that.  Korvosa is being murdered.  Killed by our queen.  The evidence you’ve uncovered that links her to the plague is damning enough, but this recent display at her address…she’s more in control now than ever.  I dare not move against her…my Guard would be executed to the last man by her Gray Maidens by sundown.  She must be stopped, and I know of no one else but yourselves to do this deed.
Whatever foul magic the queen has wrapped herself in is obviously of the highest order.  Endrin’s aim was true…his shot should have dropped her.  I had feared he was going to take matters into his own hands like this, but I had hoped he would find it within himself to find a better route.  If only he would have waited.
You see, just this morning, new information came to me.  I have received a missive from my friend Vencarlo Orisini, the first I’ve heard from him since Queen Ileosa cut off Old Korvosa and put it under quarantine.  A message that give me hope.  Vencarlo speaks of discovering something of vital importance regarding the queen…he mentions something about dark magic and a pact with a devil, but until recent events, I found his claims difficult to believe.  Yet now…if Queen Ileosa has entered an infernal pact of some sort, we must read carefully indeed.
Vencarlo asked for you in the missive.  You’ve made quite the impression on him, it appears.  He remains in Old Korvosa now, but has asked that I send you to him, to his home, to hear what he has discovered.  Ironically, you should be safe in Old Korvosa…the queen’s quarantine has cut off the island entirely, and word on the street is that she plans on leaving it to rot.  She won’t think to look for you there if you maintain a low profile and avoid confrontations with the Gray Maidens.
Once you find him, you’ll need to escape Korvosa, I fear.  This city is no longer safe for you, or for those associated with you.  As Field Marshal, I suspect that as long as I comply with the queen, I shall be safe…and I will do what I can to ensure those friends and family you might leave behind are protected.  By remaining in this city, I fear that you put them into more peril.  Go to Old Korvosa, find Vencarlo and hear what he has to say.  He has contacts in Harse…he’ll be able to help you lay low.  I shall be in contact with you when I can, at which point our plan, I hope, shall be clear.”
“I’m sorry to hear things have gotten this dire,” Michael said.  “Of course we shall do as you ask, but if the Gray Maidens are guarding all routes into the old city, how should we proceed?”
“There are always several skiffs moored along the north shore of the Jeggare,” she replied.  “I would suggest, under cover of darkness, you take one of them and cross the river.  After that, I’m afraid, you’re on your own.”
__________________________________________________

Ultimately, however, the K.I.A. came up with their own unique strategy.  Once again Michael uttered a prayer and imbued each of the companions with the ability to walk upon water.  Then Kat wove a veil of invisibility around them all.  Thus disguised, they simply walked across the Jeggare, avoiding the longboats of Gray Maidens that patrolled the river, and entered Old Korvosa through Old Dock, Ratbone’s old stomping grounds.

It became immediately apparent, however, as the group set foot ashore, that things in Old Korvosa were not well…not well at all.  The streets were filled with filth and garbage, and vermin thronged the alleys, feeding off the detritus as well as the occasional body that lay sprawled amidst the decay.  Many buildings were boarded up and dark, and others were completely burned out.  At one point a flock of incongruously happy children sang a rhyme as they gathered around something in the middle of the street.
“Headless, headless,” they chanted, “that’s what you’ll be, brand new dolls in the Emp’rer’s ceme’try!  Choppy, choppy, chop, the tall knife calls, waitin’ for the day for Korvosa to fall.”
When they saw the company approaching, they scattered into the darkness, leaving behind the object they’d been dancing around…a crude guillotine fashioned from sticks and pegs.  
From the center of Old Dock, it seemed as if a massive fire burned, and periodically, the roar of a large crowd echoed from that vicinity.  Quietly, Ratbone led his friends through back alleys, heading towards the source of the cacophony.  As they drew nearer to the neighborhood’s center, however, they began seeing more and more people…specifically large groups of armed men who roamed in packs, beating any stragglers they came across and dragging them away.  Ratbone growled low in his throat when he saw the spectacle, but Michael laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Peace,” the priest said.  “There will be time for this later.  We have to find Vencarlo.  Come.”
Reluctantly, the druid turned away.
_____________________________________________________

When they finally reached Fort Korvosa, the highest part of Old Korvosa, and the neighborhood where Vencarlo’s academy was located, the change was obvious.  Though still mostly deserted, the streets were cleaner and free of vermin, and most of the buildings were intact.  Perhaps this was because House Arkona, one of Korvosa’s oldest noble families, was located in the district.  When the island had been quarantined, the Arkonas were cut off as well.  In any event, Fort Korvosa seemed to be a relatively safe place in the turmoil of the old city…at least until they came within sight of the fencing academy.  Where Vencarlo’s school had once stood, the once-proud structure itself was no more, burned to the ground completely.  His home, however still stood.  Cautiously, weapons drawn, the companions approached.

“Master Orisini?”  Herc called as he knocked on the door.  There was no answer.  He tried the knob and found it unlocked.  The interior of the house was warm, but quiet.  From the living room at the end of the entry hall, the light of a fire in the hearth could be seen dancing merrily.  
“Something’s not right,” Kat said quietly.  “Wait.”
She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration.  
“There are others here besides us,” she said at length.  “I can sense their thoughts…three minds…not too bright…they are cautious…waiting for something…”
She opened her eyes again.
“None of them are Vencarlo,” she said.  “We need to be very careful.”

They began searching, room-by-room, finding no one, and no evidence of a struggle.  Eventually, they began making their way upstairs to where Vencarlo had an open training room.  As Herc and Valeris reached the landing, the others still on the floor below, they found another lit fireplace along with several practice dummies.  Just at that moment, the pair caught a flash of movement from the rafters above.  Something that looked like a flask arced towards the fireplace.  When it struck, it exploded, and flames spilled out of the hearth and onto the surrounding floorboards, setting them instantly alight.  An instant later, a figure dropped from the rafters.  It was humanoid, clad in red leather armor, but its features were hidden behind a full head mask that resembled a giant insect…a mantis to be exact.  In the living room below, two identical figures stepped from the shadows beneath the stairs and began moving with predatory grace towards O’Reginald and Katrina.  There was no mistaking what they were…agents of the Red Mantis…death incarnate.

Herc lowered his shield and charged across the practice room.  He struck the assassin and would have driven him straight through the wall, but the mantis rolled with the blow and ended up behind the mercenary and face-to-face with Valeris.  Silently, the killer raised the pair of saw-toothed blades he carried and drove them towards the duskblade’s face.  Valeris caught both of them on his own blade and buckler, and turned one of the swords back on the assassin, driving the mantis’s own steel into his thigh.

Below, Kat turned back down the stairwell, but found her way blocked by Michael.  She could just see around the corner, however, as the other two assassins closed on O’Reginald.  Though her powers were, by their nature, subtle, she could occasionally summon up a surprise or two.  Holding her hand palm out, she loosed a lance of pure sound which caught the nearest mantis full in the chest, hurling him back and away from the mage.  The second killer, however, quickly rushed O’Reginald, jagged blades flashing in a wickedly hypnotic display.  The sorcerer recoiled, but not fast enough.  Like a cobra the mantis struck, the sabers cutting deeply and repeatedly, and O’Reginald fell before them, collapsing to the floor in a widening pool of his own blood.  The assassin didn’t stop, but instead somersaulted past Michael, and came up behind the priest before burying one of the blades in his back.  

As the flames rapidly spread across the practice floor, Herc whirled back towards the mantis assassin against which he and Valeris continued to struggle.  Growling, the big warrior took two quick strides across the room, and swung his blade in a wide arc, completely severing the spine of the hired killer.  Still not making a sound, the assassin fell limply to the floor, and the fire quickly engulfed his body.  

Kat lost sight of the second mantis as the man ducked behind Michael, but she could see that the first had already recovered from her assault and was closing to flank the priest.  She began to cast again, and that time, the mantis slumped to the floor, fast asleep.  A moment later, however, the remaining assassin flashed past Kat again, and roughly kicked his partner back awake.  He turned back towards Michael, but this time the priest was ready.  A sudden sonic explosion blew the two murderers away from each other, leaving them stunned on the floor.  The wounded cleric then sank weakly to one knee, clutching his amulet as he channeled divine energy into himself and O’Reginald, narrowly saving the sorcerer from bleeding to death.   Suddenly, a roar filled the room as three-hundred pounds of fur and fangs exploded from the stairs behind Kat.  Ratbone hurled himself into the assassins.  He bore one of them to the floor, and clamped his jaws around the man’s torso.  A sickening crunching could be clearly heard, and blood flowed from beneath the killers’s mantis-head mask.  He twitched once, and went limp.  The druid turned towards the other mantis, only to find that Herc had followed him down the stairs and nearly decapitated the man with the edge of his shield.

At that moment, timbers began cracking from the floor above, and cinders began showering down on the heroes.  
“We’ve got to get out of here!”  Michael shouted as he helped the wounded O’Reginald to his feet and began heading towards the front door.
“Valeris is still up there!”  Herc cried.  “The rest of you go!  I’ll go after him and be right behind you!”
Reluctantly, the others followed the priest and sorcerer back outside.  Herc ducked behind his shield and charged back upstairs.

Valeris was trapped.  The flames had him completely surrounded on three sides, with a closed door to his back.  He quickly opened it and found himself in a small bedroom.  There was no way out, not even a window.  Only a narrow closet provided any hope of respite.  Valeris ducked inside and closed the door behind him.  Rapidly, the small space began filling with smoke and grew increasingly warmer.  The duskblade looked desperately around him, but could find no salvation.  In desperation, he clutched his sword and began hammering at the back wall of the closet.  The plaster began to crack, and abruptly gave way, sending Valeris tumbling into the stairwell right on top of Herc.
“Time to go!”  Herc coughed and he heaved the duskblade over his shoulder.  As they began descending the burning stairs, however, Valeris caught a glimpse of glinting metal, something that had tumbled out of the wall when he’d burst through.  He reached down and snatched it, clutching it to his chest as Herc barreled through the collapsing house towards safety outside.
____________________________________________________________

The six companions stood in silence as the academy burned.  They had been left with even more questions than they’d started with.  The fencing master was missing, as was the information that he’d found.  Worse, the Red Mantis was involved, and wherever they went, death followed.  Finally, Valeris knelt down and placed the metal box, which was what he’d recovered from the wreckage, on the ground.  It was tightly locked, but a few quick blows with the pommel of his sword solved that problem.  When he opened the lid and saw what was inside, he and the others were stunned into silence.  Folded inside the case was a black, hooded cloak, several black masks, a dozen masterfully crafted daggers, each with a stylized ‘B’ engraved in their pommels, a suit of black leather armor, a pair of black leather boots and gloves, the latter with two fingers in the right hand containing fake, wooden fingers, and an exquisite mithral rapier.  
“I knew it,” Kat said at length.  “Orisini’s Black Jack.”

Before any of the others could comment, a weak, frightened voice spoke from an alley behind them.
“Can it be?  Is it really you?”
They turned, hands going to weapons.  A young man staggered into the light of the burning flames.  His face was haggard, drawn and unshaven.  Though his clothes were worn and frayed, it was still obvious that they were of a very expensive cut not typical of Old Korvosa.  Though his features were more strained and careworn than the last time they’d seen him, all of the companions, save Michael, recognized Amin Jalento, the young nobleman they’d rescued from a murderous mob the night Eodred died.  
“I’d almost given up hope after…after what happened to Master Orisini…”
“What happened?”  Kat asked.  “Where is Vencarlo?”
“I was taking lessons from him when the quarantine was enacted,” Amin began.  “Since I was unable to return to the mainland, the Master was gracious enough to allow me to stay at the academy as his guest.  Unfortunately, my stay ended not long after, when the Red Mantis invaded.  Master Orisini confronted them and took one of them down, but there were too many.  He was forced to flee.  I can only assume the assassins burned down the academy as a warning.  I’m not certain where Master Orisini has gone, but I have an idea who might know.  In the days after the quarantine, I noticed that the Master seemed restless and distracted.  He regularly left the house at odd hours in the night, sometimes not returning until the morning.  After one such early morning return, I noted that his clothes were bloody.  He said he’d had to fight off a thief, but I’m sure there was more to it than that.  In the days before the Red Mantis attacked, the Master had a very strange visitor come by on several occasions…a man with paint-stained hands, wild hair, and a jittery habit of looking about.  Master Orisini introduced him to me as a friend, but I recognized him.  His name was Salvator Scream, a somewhat notorious local artist.”
“I’ve heard of his work,” Kat nodded.
“They always met behind closed doors,” Amin continued, “three times in all, and on their last meeting, I heard the Master’s voice raised in anger.  Since the attack, I’ve been meaning to track down Salvator to ask him if he knows what happened to Master Orisini, but I’ve not worked up the nerve to brave Old Dock, where Salvator lives.”
“What’s going on down at Old Dock?”  Ratbone asked.  “We got a glimpse of pressgangs when we passed through.”
“They work for the Emperor,” Amin nodded.
“The Emperor of what?”  Valeris asked.  
“The Emperor of Old Korvosa,” Amin said in hushed tones.  “At least that’s what he calls himself.  He rules Old Dock from his palace on Silk Street, several tenements he’s taken over.  He rarely leaves there, and mobs of his fanatics scour the streets seeking more conscripts to his cause.  Those who resist are instead captured for…other purposes.  Some say one of the ways that he maintains power is that he controls two magical devices which can supply never-ending supplies of both water and food!”
“Thank you for the information, Amin,” Kat said, gently placing a hand on Ratbone’s chest as a deep growl started there.  “Now, I suggest you go to ground, and when you can, get off the island.  We’ll find Salvatore Scream, and we’ll find Vencarlo, and if this Emperor gets in our way, he’ll wish he’d never taken up the crown.”
___________________________________________________

Katarina knew that Salvatore Scream was a notorious artist whose gruesome and often scandalous art was held in relatively high esteem by several of Korvosa’s nobles.  The lower classes were familiar with his work as well, since many of them served as grisly backdrops for the Old Dock playhouse known as Exemplary Excrables, a venue known for its violent entertainments.  His home on Wave Street was a leaning, decrepit building located on the Narrows, not far from one of the many now-ruined bridges that once connected Old Korvosa to the mainland.  There were two entrances, and the companions split up, with Michael, Kat, O’Reginald and Valeris taking the front, while Ratbone and Herc went to the back.

The door Herc and Ratbone opened gave onto what appeared to be studio.  Both of the room’s windows were tightly shuttered, yet the air seemed strangely fresh and scented, no doubt from the six large candles that burned within.  Each candle had been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of those impromptu and grisly candleholders had been placed atop an otherwise clear desk on one wall, arrayed in a gentle arc.  A chair sat before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls sat inside the arc of skulls.  Against a side wall stood a nearly empty cabinet, its shelves barren save for a few paintbrushes and a cracked pottery urn.  A woman stood in the room, leaning on the desk and peering intently at the skulls.  She was elven, with flowing, ebony hair and green eyes.  She was dressed in form-fitting chainmail adorned with wickedly curved hooks.  A spiked chain hung coiled at her waist.  She looked up when the door opened and positively beamed at the druid and mercenary.
“Well met!” she said cheerfully.  “I’m Laori Vaus.  Are you looking for Salvator too?”
Ratbone’s eyes narrowed.  “Why?” he asked.  “Do you know where he is?”
“Perhaps,” she shrugged.  “And I might be willing to tell you, if we can come to an arrangement.”
At that moment, Michael and the others entered the room from the far side.  The priest’s eyes grew wide, but not at the sight of the elf woman, but rather at the pendant which hung around her neck.  It was the symbol of Zon-Kuthon, the god of suffering and torment.
“We don’t make deals with such as you!” he said sharply.
“What are you talking about?”  Ratbone asked.  “Do you know this woman?”
“No,” the cleric replied, “but I know what she represents.”  He explained the meaning of the holy symbol.
“Oh come now!” Laori laughed.  “We have no quarrel.  I am simply seeking the artist because his work contains many themes important to my faith.  I simply thought that since you seem to be looking for him as well, we could pool our resources.”
“I don’t think so,” Ratbone said, his voice cold.  “We neither want nor need your company.”
Laori shrugged.  “In fact, since it is I who knows who took Salvator, and where he was taken, then it is also I who has the final say on whether or not I need your company.”  She sighed.  “Perhaps you might be more inclined to be reasonable if I showed you an item I found while searching this house.  Something I think you might find very…intriguing.”
The companions glanced at one another.  Ratbone’s face was resolute, and doubt showed heavily upon Michael’s.  Valeris and O’Reginald rolled their eyes at the piety of their two allies, especially when such inconvenient morals interfered with the entire reason they were in Old Korvosa.  Herc’s expression was carefully neutral.  It was Katarina who finally broke the silence.
“I don’t presume to speak for my friends,” she said, “but we are on a mission of much urgency, and it is vital that we find Salvator Scream.  If you can expedite that, then we would be…appreciative, but know this, we will be watching you closely, and if you step even so much as one foot out of line, we shall end this alliance…decisively.”
Laori’s smile never left her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Agreed,” she said, and reached into a pouch that hung at her waist.  From it she pulled what appeared to be a small scrap of cloth.  She passed it to Michael.  The material was blood-stained, though the Korvosan coat-of-arms was clearly visible.  It had come from the uniform of a high-ranking government official.
“No,” Michael whispered.  “It cannot be.”  
He peered more closely at the cloth, and realized there could be no doubt.  The material was from the uniform of a very singular source…the seneschal of Castle Korvosa!”
_______________________________________________________

As Laori led the companions through the dark, narrow streets of Old Dock, Ratbone walked close beside Michael.
“But I thought the seneschal was killed in the initial riots,” the druid said.  “That’s what the queen reported.”
“And you’re taking her word for things now?” the priest laughed.  “You know as well as I that the seneschal shares equal power with the monarch.  With him out of the way, there would be no one to stand in Ileosa’s way.”
“Do you think this is the information Orisini possessed?” Ratbone asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Michael replied.

It soon became obvious that Laori was leading them to the very center of Old Dock, to the source of the commotion they’d seen earlier upon their arrival…the group of tenements Amin had said was the ‘castle’ of the Emperor of Old Korvosa.  No sooner had Laori stepped from the shadows of an alley, than a mob of armed men quickly approached.
“ ‘Ere now!”  their leader shouted.  “What’s all this then?  New conscripts volunteerin’ themselves?  You’ve just made our work easier!  Now, you’ll ‘and over your weapons, and then we’ll be off!”
A low growl began in Ratbone’s throat, and the hands of his friends quickly found their weapons.  It was Katarina, however, who stepped to the fore.
“We have no intention of surrendering to you rabble,” she said imperiously.  “Do you not recognize us?  We are the K.I.A., the Heroes of Korvosa!”
She reached into her blouse and drew forth the amulet that had been presented to each of them, identifying them as saviors of the city.  The eyes of the mob leader widened.
“ Blimey!” he exclaimed.  “Look ‘ere lads!  We’re in the presence of true legends!  These are the blokes what stopped the Blood Veil!  Why didn’t yer say so?”
“We’re here to see the Emperor,” Kat explained.  “We wish to speak with him about an alliance against the Queen.”
______________________________________________________

The palace of the Emperor of Old Korvosa was located on Silk Street, and consisted of a collection of tenements and abandoned stores that looked to have barely escaped destruction from a fairly recent fire that had consumed much of the city block around it.  As the members of the K.I.A. and their thuggish escort arrived at the ground floor of the first building, the leader called out to the guards above.
“ Oy!  Tell ‘is Nibs ‘e’s got company!  Real-life heroes!  Comin’ up!”
He then nodded towards the front door of the tenement.  

The interior of the building seemed largely abandoned, with the exception of several armed guards posted at several landings as the stairs wound up towards the upper floors.  From there, a rope bridge connected the first building to the next, and so on until the last bridge ended at a large, open-air building.  It was shielded from rain and sun by a brightly colored canvas that extended up over the area like a dome, held in place by a wooden framework.  The inside of the canvas had been decorated in scenes of gruesome debauchery, battlefields, executions, torture chambers, and man-eating monsters, all vying for space.  The balcony itself contained two major features.  The first was a high-backed throne that looked like a poor man’s version of the Crimson Throne itself, a thing of blood-red cushions and silks and spikes.  Directly across of the throne stood an intimidating device…a tall guillotine of carved wood and bone, its base depicting grasping demonic feet and the housing that held its glittering blade a leering, demonic face.  Seated on the throne was a hideous man, a thin Chelaxian apparently cursed by acne at a young age, a condition seemingly exacerbated by a recent bout of Blood Veil.  The ratty and threadbare costume he wore gave him the look of more of a vagrant king than actual royalty.  On a small table next to him, sat a beautiful silver decanter, and a single golden spoon.  Six armed guards stood around the throne, while leaning against the guillotine was a child-sized figure dressed in an executioner’s hood with one of the eye holes sewn shut.  

“Who are you and why are you disturbing me?”  the Emperor demanded.  Once Kat was close enough, she realized that she recognized the man.  He was Pilts Swastel, former proprietor of Exemplary Excrables.  
“We are the Korvosan Intelligence Agency,” she called out.  “We were responsible for finding the source of Blood Veil, and aiding in its subsequent eradication.  We have come seeking a man named Salvator Scream.”
“Salvator is my guest,” Pilts announced imperiously, “and he won’t be going anywhere any time soon.  Now, if there’s nothing else…,”
“We demand you release the artist now!”  Ratbone cried out, rage filling him at the sight of what had become of his gifts to Old Korvosa.  “You will also relinquish the decanter and the spoon to those they were rightfully intended for, you miserable little despot!”
Pilts looked bored.  He waved one hand absently at his guards.  “Kill them,” he said.

Herc expected nothing less.  Before any of the guards could move, he charged across the balcony towards Pilts and slammed into the Emperor with his shield.  Pilts cried out and rolled desperately out of his throne.  
“Jabbyr!” he screamed.  “Help me!”
The diminutive headsman retrieved a large axe as tall as himself from behind the guillotine and ran screaming towards Herc.  He swung the weapon high and brought the head down on the mercenary’s foot.  Herc grunted in agony.  Simultaneously, a thunderous cry sounded as over two-dozen more guards began closing on the balcony from all sides.  Still on the rope bridge, O’Reginald began casting, and hurled a ball of flame into the midst of the nearest group, incinerating half-a-dozen of them in one fell swoop.  Immediately in the wake of that conflagration, Laori shouted out a prayer, her voice jubilant.  A great column of white fire exploded from the sky, utterly obliterating another quartet of guards.  
“Too quick!  Too quick!” she cried.  “I only meant to burn off all their flesh the first time!”
Valeris looked at her with one raised eyebrow.
“I think I’m in love,” he chuckled.

Herc quickly found himself surrounded by guards, with Jabbyr in front of him.  He smashed his shield into the little maniac’s face, but the executioner merely licked the blood from his chin and charged in again.  At the same time, the guards attacked as well, jabbing their swords at the big mercenary from all sides.  In desperation, Herc surged forward, completely bowling over the insane headsman with his shield and leaving him unmoving on the ground.  Meanwhile, on the rope bridge, Ratbone was growing increasingly frustrated.  Though singly the guards were no match for his ferocity, en masse they hindered him from going after Pilts.  He howled, a cry which turned into a piercing shriek as he transformed into a large bird.  His claws raked at the guards as he lifted above their heads and sped off after the fleeing Emperor.  

“Get us some breathing room!”  Kat shouted to O’Reginald as the guards rushed to fill the gap Ratbone had left.  The sorcerer cursed and quickly sculpted another fireball to surgically target the mass of oncoming thugs.  Ten more were incinerated in the blast.
“At your service, my lady,” O’Reginald mock-bowed.  
Laori, Valeris and Michael rushed to the fore, hacking down the stragglers in their path.  Kat, meanwhile, found that she had a clear view of Pilts, and she hurled a bolt of sonic fury after him, striking him in the back.  The Emperor stumbled, and in that instant, Ratbone was upon him, shifting back into his canine form as he landed.  His jaws closed with swift finality on the base of Pilt’s neck with a sickening crack.  
After that, it was only a matter of cleaning up the remnants.  The last of the guards lost heart at the sight of their Emperor laid low, and they put up little resistance, quickly succumbing before the fury of the six companions and Laori.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

One of your finest updates ever, JollyDoc! 


JollyDoc said:


> “Too quick! Too quick!” she cried. “I only meant to burn off all their flesh the first time!”
> Valeris looked at her with one raised eyebrow.
> “I think I’m in love,” he chuckled.



I knew Laori would be a blast to have around, but this is D&D gold! Let the exalted characters glower as they will...  Hail to the cheerful evil.


----------



## Joachim

Seeing how easy it was to post Mandi's sheet on the old Savage Tides thread, I decided to go ahead and do the same for Ratbone, circa 9th level.

Quick note...anything in gray is to come at higher levels...I try to plan things out if you hadn't guessed beforehand.  Also, the first page is the base half-orc form, followed by the three shapeshifter forms that I can take.


----------



## JollyDoc

AN OFFER YOU CAN’T REFUSE

It didn’t take the group long to search Pilts’ ‘palace’ and find a single locked room off the Emperor’s bedroom.  The air in the cell was an unpleasant mix of body odor and paint.  A lumpy straw mattress lay on the floor in one corner, partially covered by a few blankets, while in the other stood a large easel upon which rested a nearly completed painting of immense fiends attacking a village.  A plain-looking man dressed in paint-stained rags, his skin covered with flea bites and his eyes sunken, stood next to the easel, a brush in his hands.  He turned sharply when the door opened, fear etched on his face.  When he saw the faces of his rescuers, however, he fell to his knees and broke into desperate sobs.
“Please!” he cried.  “Take me with you!  Don’t leave me here with him!”
“Relax Mr. Scream,” Kat said as she knelt down beside him.  “That’s exactly what we’re here to do.  We just want to ask you a few questions first.”
“No!”  Salvator wailed.  “He’ll kill us all!  You have to kill him and take me out of here!  I won’t tell you anything until you promise!”
“Relax,” Ratbone said with deadly calm.  “The Emperor is no longer a problem.”
The druid tossed a gilt crown on the floor, and then held up the decanter and spoon.
“He…he’s dead?”  Salvator asked in disbelief.
“As a doornail,” Valeris smirked.  “Now do you wanna talk?”
“I’ve always found that torture is a good motivator,” Laori offered.
“That’s enough!”  Kat snapped, and then she turned back to Salvator.  “Mr. Scream, we’re looking for Vencarlo Orisini.  Do you know where he is?”
“Orisini?”  Salvator asked.  “Isn’t he at his academy?”
“Not anymore,” Kat replied.  “It was burned to the ground, and now his home has been as well…by members of the Red Mantis.”
Salvator’s eyes went wide.  “Oh no!” he whispered.  
“There’s something else,” Kat said.  “We found this when we went looking for you at your home.”  She produced the scrap of uniform that Laori had given them.  Salvator’s eyes widened again, and then he bowed his head.  
“I guess I should start at the beginning,” he said.
“That’s probably best,” Kat nodded.

“My…work has drawn many eyes and admirers,” the artist began, “and not just among the regulars at Exemplary Excrables.  It became a favorite of many noble families and other prominent citizens.  They found my subject matter shocking, and safely scandalous.  Among my wealthier patrons was the seneschal of Castle Korvosa, Neolandus Kalepopolis.  After he attended a showing of my Tears of Abendego, he asked to meet me.   It turned out that we had many common interests, and we became friends.  We began meeting on a weekly basis at various eateries to discuss art, history, religion, politics…you name it.  You must understand that a man in Neolandus’ position could not afford to be seen with someone so base as a common artist, and he kept our friendship a secret.  So you can imagine that when he showed up at my home early on the morning Eodred died, desperate, bloodied, and poisoned, I was shocked, to say the least.  He was delirious, but he managed to tell me that he needed a place to hide.  I took care of him, nursed him back to health.  Once he’d recovered, he confided in me that Ileosa had murdered her husband, and that she had entered into an alliance with the Red Mantis.  They were the ones who’d tried to assassinate Neolandus, and his escape was as much luck as anything.  Worse, he said that there was something about Ileosa that wasn’t quite right…that she’d changed recently, grown worse, whatever that meant.  He refused to divulge more to me, saying that the less I knew the safer I’d be, and that he needed more time to think things through and do some research before he decided on the proper course of action.”
“We both knew that my home would not be a secure hideout for long.  Through my art dealings I had connections with the Arkonas, and when I suggested to Neolandus that he seek them out for asylum, he grudgingly agreed.  I escorted him to the Arkona palace late one night, just a few days before the quarantine, and I haven’t seen him since.  As it turns out, it seems my efforts to help were a grave error in judgment on my part.  Still, can you blame me?  I’d always known the Arkonas to be trustworthy, and the fact that they haven’t turned him over to the queen says something right?  Still, when I went to Vencarlo, a man I’ve known and trusted for years, and told him what I’d learned, and what I’d done, he was furious!  He told me that he suspected the Arkonas were more…criminal-minded…than I’d suspected.  I was afraid that I’d traded my friend’s danger for a different one, and now that you tell me Orisini’s missing, I’m afraid he may have done something foolish…like trying to infiltrate the Arkonas' compound.  You have to save them!  Korvosa’s not a safe place for them!  They need to escape the city!  Me too…and you as well!”

“It seems you were well-intentioned,” Michael spoke up, “but you were indeed very foolish.  It is a poorly kept secret that the Arkonas are involved in every form of criminal activity in Korvosa, from gambling and prostitution, to smuggling and murder-for-hire.  They are truly a nest of vipers.”
“One we must walk willingly into it seems,” Kat added.  
“What about him?”  Valeris nodded towards Salvator.  “He comin’ with us?”
“No!”  Salvator screamed.  “I can’t stay here!  You’ve got to get me out of the city!”
“I can do that,” Laori interrupted.  “I need to speak with Mr. Scream anyway…in private.  I’m done here, and I can make sure he makes it safely out of the city.”
“Scream,” Ratbone said sharply.  “I don’t trust this woman.  She’s a follower of Zon-Kuthon.  She’s a sadist!”
Salvator’s eyes narrowed.  “You have seen my work, haven’t you Mr.…Bone?  I don’t paint flowers and puppies.  I think I’ll take my chances with her.”
Laori smirked and winked at Ratbone.
“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of each other.  I look forward to the next time we meet.”
___________________________________________________


Palace Arkona was perched at the highest point atop Endrin Isle in Old Korvosa.  The grounds were generally open, decorated here and there with tiny copses of trees, exotic topiary animals (elephants, cobras, and tigers being the most common), beautiful flower gardens, and exquisite fountains.  The palace itself was a breathtaking structure built in the Vudran style, with golden pillars, high windows that rose to tapered points, minarets and domes decorated with slender spires.  As the companions approached the front gates, a quartet of armed guards met them.
“What is your purpose here?”  one of them asked in a polite but firm tone.
“We are here seeking an audience with Lord Glorio Arkona,” Kat said simply.  The group had agreed earlier that an open and honest approach might be the best tactic when dealing with opportunists such as the Arkonas.  The guard nodded and instructed the group to follow him up to the palace.

The interior of the estate was just as elegant as the outside.  The walls were made of ebony and carved with depictions of elephants, tigers, monkeys and peacock, all with shimmering mother-of-pearl eyes.  The doors were made of mahogany and were carved with images of the Vudran deity Chamidu, the God of Wild Beasts, a six-armed, four-faced giant riding a tiger with human hands for paws.  Exotic plants in clay pots were in abundance, and each room was rich with their scent, mingled with that of sandalwood incense that burned in brass censers which hung from the high ceilings here and there.  In the main entry hall, a black marble arch that depicting dozens of elephants standing one atop the other, framed a great ebony door in a far wall.  Above the door, a single one-eyed elephant looked out over the hall, its eye a glittering bloodstone the size of an apple.  Tall windows granted a commanding view of the palace grounds, and a rich red carpet, ten-feet wide and luxuriously thick, provided a pathway between doors to the west and north, and around a corner to the east.  The companions were greeted by a tall, pleasant man who wore an eye patch.
“I am Carnochan, the Arkonas’ majordomo,” he said, bowing slightly.  “How may I be of service?”
Once again, Katarina acted as spokesperson for the companions.  “We are friends of Vencarlo Orisini and Neolandus Kalepopolis,” she said.  “We have reason to believe that they are…guests of the Arkonas.  We would very much like to speak with them.”
Carnochan bowed again.  “That would be a matter for you to discuss with Lord Arkona,” he said.  “If you will follow me, I will see if the master can make time for you today.”

He led them down the richly-appointed hall to a spacious lounge.  The comfortable room was warmed by a large fireplace, its marble sides and mantle carved into a parade of capering monkeys and tigers.  A large sofa sat to one side, while a few comfortable-looking chairs sat on the other.  Carnochan left them there for no more than five minutes before returning on the heels of a handsome, middle-aged man with black hair, graying at the temples.  He wore a rich velvet robe of deepest scarlet, trimmed in what appeared to be genuine tiger fur.
“Carnochan!” the man exclaimed.  “How could you be so disrespectful of our guests?  No wine?  No cheese?”
“Forgive me, master,” Carnochan replied, bowing low.  “I will rectify the situation immediately.”
He backed hastily out of the room.
“Please forgive the rudeness of my house,” the man said.  “I am Lord Glorio Arkona, and I am honored to make the acquaintance of such esteemed persons as yourselves, for the Saviors of Korvosa need no introduction!”
He casually seated himself in one of the chairs, facing his guests.
“While I have done what I can with my limited resources to keep Old Korvosa from falling into complete anarchy,” he continued, “there is so much more that could be done, and my contributions pale in comparison to yours!”
“Do not belittle your endeavors so quickly,” Kat said, smiling politely.  “Your reputation among the poor of Korvosa is one of ministering to their needs when no one else will.”
Glorio returned her smile, though his eyes were sharp and piercing.  
“Well, despite my best efforts,” he said, “this quarantine has all but nullified everything my family has worked so hard to achieve, though I daresay our queen had little choice in the matter.  Still, perhaps if things had not been allowed to escalate out of control so quickly, that drastic proclamation would not have been necessary.”
“You would have handled things differently in the wake of Eodred’s death?”  Kat asked, raising one eyebrow slightly.
Glorio inclined his head.  “It’s just that in times of crisis, I’ve found that a firm hand is not always the most useful way to persuade the masses to your cause.  A velvet glove sometimes brings better results, and at least letting the people think that they are helping to make policy will often lead to them aiding you in your long-term goals rather than opposing you at every turn.  Is Korvosa truly better off since Ileosa’s rise to power?  I think not.  I believe that the people have seen this as well, and it may only be a matter of time before their voices are finally heard.”
“We’re not here to discuss politics,” Ratbone abruptly interrupted, rising from his chair.  “We’re here to see Orisini and the seneschal!”
Kat stood quickly and placed a hand on the druid’s shoulder.
“We are grateful that you have offered safe haven to our friends,” she said carefully, “but we are concerned about their wellbeing, and would very much like to see them.”
Glorio steepled his fingers beneath his chin and smiled.
“I like a man who speaks his mind,” he said.  “It is possible that I might be able to help you, but I haven’t risen to my current position by showing all of my cards at once.”
“What is it that you want?”  Ratbone growled, cutting to the chase.
Glorio nodded, still smiling.  “Just so,” he said.  “There is a certain little weasel of a man who has styled himself emperor of my little piece of Korvosa.  His name is Pilts Swastel, and I want him…removed.  Once he’s gone, I’m certain his mob will collapse and then my agents can step in and pacify Old Korvosa.”
“Done,” Ratbone said, once more tossing Swastel’s crown on the floor and displaying the spoon and decanter.
Glorio’s eyes went wide, and for a brief moment his mouth dropped open a fraction of an inch.  He quickly recovered his composure, and his face positively beamed.
“My, my,” he said softly, “you are indeed as resourceful as I’d heard.  Perhaps when this is all behind us, you might be in need of new employment.”
“Orisini and Kalepopolis,” Ratbone said.
“Yes, yes,” Glorio said as he reclined in his chair once more.  “I will, of course, allow you to see them, but that might be…complicated.”
“How so?”  Ratbone asked, his eyes narrowing.  
“A man in my position can never show weakness,” Glorio stated flatly.  “To do so would invite subversion, if not open rebellion.  I cannot simply hand my…valuable guests over to you.  The loss of face would be catastrophic.  If you, however, were to find them on your own, then that would be an entirely different story.”
“Find them?”  Kat asked.  “Where are they?”
Glorio cleared his throat.  “I’ve sent them to the Vivified Labyrinth for…safekeeping.”
Kat’s face drained of color.
“I see you’ve heard of it,” Glorio smiled.
“Kat, what is it?”  Michael asked.
“A dungeon,” the fortune teller replied quietly, “a notorious one meant to test both prisoners and agents alike.”
“Just so,” Glorio nodded.  “So as I was saying, if you were to retrieve them on your own, thus surviving the perils of the labyrinth, then no one could fault me.”
“What sort of perils are we talking about?”  Herc asked suspiciously.
Glorio shrugged.  “Oh, you know, traps, monsters, the usual.  Oh, and you may run into an operative or two of my household.”
“And what if they try to stop us?”  Ratbone asked.  
“I fully expect them to,” Glorio laughed.  “What good would they be to me if they didn’t?  If they succeed, then that would be unfortunate.  If they do not, then they were not worthy to serve House Arkona in the first place.”
“How far away is the labyrinth?”  Kat asked, her voice still hollow.
“Not far at all,” Glorio said.  “In fact, it is just beneath us.  Carnochan will show you to the gardens.  There you will find a full-sized statue of an elephant.  Speak the words, ‘Chamidu is blind,’ and it shall show you the way.  Once below, you will find yourself in a deep sea cavern.  Find your way to the bottom, and then look to the southern-most wall.  There is a cleverly concealed door there which will take you inside the labyrinth.  I must warn you, the labyrinth was designed to be quite deadly.  In several locations you will find levers that, when pulled, can literally shift the rooms about, but be forewarned, my agents know of these as well and will doubtless use this to their advantage once they discover you are trespassing.”
“Sounds charming,” Valeris snorted.
“One more thing,” Glorio said.  “Take this as a sign of my good faith.”  He took a beautiful platinum ring set with a huge bloodstone from his tunic.  He handed it to Valeris.
“With this, you will find your reflexes expertly honed, allowing you to evade even the deadliest of spells.  Take it and use it well.  If you survive, it’s yours.  Now, I must take my leave of you, and you’ll pardon me for saying that I hope we do not soon met again.  I wish you safe journey, and good luck.”
____________________________________________________


The gardens hardly seemed to be part of a palace…it seemed more like a clearing at the heart of a vast jungle, teeming with life.  The sky above was a deep, cloudless blue, while in the distance, hazy towers of distant structures rose above the verdant canopy.  Exotic bird calls filled the air, the scent of dozens of unfamiliar flowers and plants assaulted the nose, and everywhere a riot of color demanded the eye, be it the wing of a tropical bird, the petals of a brightly hued flower, or the glittering multicolored tiles that made up a round fountain to the north, its central plume a stone pillar around which entwined two cobra statues that clutched green gems in their fanged maws.  Opposite the fountain to the south stood an immense, life-sized jade statue of an elephant, a howdah perched on its back, its tusks and trunk raised high in greeting to the southeast doors…doors that, from inside the room, looked more like gates set into a wrought iron fence that encircled the garden.  Other gates set in the fence doubtless led to other parts of the palace, and after a bit more observation, the somewhat static nature of the jungle and landscape became apparent…the walls of the garden were in fact an incredibly realistic and clever painting of a Vudran junglescape. 

As instructed, the companions stood before the statue of the elephant, and Katarina spoke the words, “Chamidu is blind!”
The statue suddenly animated and stepped off its pedestal, which began slowly rotating like an immense cap unscrewing from a container.  As it did so, a curved opening appeared, granting access to a flight of spiral stairs descending into the ground.  Down and down the group climbed, several hundred feet into the earth, until they reached a vast underground grotto.  The iron stairs descended to a semicircular ledge, which in turn wound down along the cavern’s inner wall to a series of rope bridges that descended even lower from ledge to ledge.  The upper ledge, before it reached the ropes, was a strangely breathtaking beauty…a garden of all manner of strangely colored fungi, lichens and molds.  The fungi had been cultivated, shaped into all manner of symmetrical patterns normally not seen in nature, transforming the ledge into a sort of underground fungal garden.  Here and there, flickering torches burned in sconces above the fungi, while from somewhere in the darkness below came the soft splash of water against an unseen shore.

Ratbone took the lead, having assumed a new shape, vaguely similar to his ape form, but larger, and more feral.  Two large horns curved from his forehead, and an extra pair of arms protruded from his sides.  He had traversed no more than a quarter of the ledge when he stopped short, his nostrils flared.  His senses were much more attuned in his bestial incarnations, and thus he perceived a presence moving towards them, something bipedal and large.  Before he could turn and warn the others, the creature abruptly materialized in front of him.  It stood almost eight feet in height, and was mostly skeletal, like a giant cadaver, yet its bones were encrusted with fungus.  In one hand it clutched an enormous scimitar, while in the other it held a spiked shield.  No sooner had it appeared, then Ratbone sensed three more similar creatures approaching unseen, but they were coming from directly over the abyss that plunged down the to sea below…they were flying!

Herc rushed to Ratbone’s side as the first giant appeared, and his sword landed heavily against its ribcage, sending bone and lichen flying.  Meanwhile, the other three fungal giants appeared, hovering above the open cavern, all similarly armed.  Valeris sent arcane power surging through his own blade and hewed at the nearest one.  Suddenly, clouds of yellow spores exploded from all four of the creatures, filling the air with a choking haze.  Herc, Michael and Katarina all doubled over in coughing fits, their faces red as the spasms wracked their bodies.  O’Reginald felt his own lungs beginning to fill, but before he started coughing, he spat out the words to a spell, and a ball of fire exploded around the combatants, completely immolating one of the giants, and burning away the strangling spores.  Ratbone launched himself at the creature in front of him, and literally tore the thing limb from limb.  He then turned, and in the blink of an eye, transformed into his condor form and flew at one of the flying giants, ripping and tearing at it with beak and talons.  It went spiraling down into the darkness below.  Herc, recovering quickly from his coughing spell, dealt with the remaining giant, smashing it to splinters beneath his shield.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Ah, Arkona fun. I really wonder what the KIA will destroy in the dungeon and what they will leave behind.

Every city should have a place like palace Arkona, except for the...ah, but that's for the KIA to discover.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Ah, Arkona fun. I really wonder what the KIA will destroy in the dungeon and what they will leave behind.
> 
> Every city should have a place like palace Arkona, except for the...ah, but that's for the KIA to discover.




So far, the Vivified Labyrinth is destroying the K.I.A...both literally (at least for one of the company) and psychologically, as it pits friend against friend.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Ouch! Any hints on who bit it?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Ouch! Any hints on who bit it?




Hmmm...someone crunchy...


----------



## Leinart

If its Valeris im on strike....


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

A tank it is.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE VIVIFIED LABYRINTH

The three rope bridges descended even deeper into the cave, connecting three progressively lower ledges on the wall until finally reaching a stony protrusion at ground level which rose from a rocky beach overlooking the sloshing waters of the sea cave itself.  At the bottom of the vast cavern, a single wooden pier extended out into the water.  A shallow-draft barge was docked there, an unlit lantern hanging from its bow.  Supporting timbers and brickwork lined parts of the lower edge of the cavern to the west and south, showing where the original cave had been artificially expanded.  To the north, a wide waterway provided an aquatic exit, the distant, muted sounds of the surf echoing down from that direction.

The companions made their way around the ledge until they reached the point where Glorio had told them they would find the hidden door.  Ratbone felt along the stone until he found the switch.  Once triggered, the wall slid aside, revealing a dark tunnel that wound away into darkness.  It twisted some hundred yards or more before arriving at a dead end.  On the left side of the passage two statues, each depicting a tiger-headed man, stood in alcoves on either side of a pair of double doors.  Their arms were wide, as if to usher visitors forward into the room beyond.  As the rest of the group stood before the doors, Ratbone, once more in his canine form, began sniffing along the edge of the wall at the end of the passage.  Suddenly, to the shocked astonishment of his friends, he simply stepped through the wall and vanished.  A moment later, he reappeared in his normal shape.
“It’s an illusion,” he said.  “I knew something didn’t smell right.  There’re another set of doors on the other side.”

As each of the companions stepped through the illusion, they saw it for what it truly was, a hazy, insubstantial figment.  Beyond it, the passage continued another dozen yards before ending in a second pair of doors.  They were simple, unadorned and unlocked.  Herc pushed them open, revealing a large room lit by a heartily burning fire pit in its center.  Cages hung on chains dangling from hooks in the ceiling, while racks, strapadoes, gibbets and other implements of torture filled the floor space.  A pair of immense wooden doors stood in the wall to the north, while to the south stood several narrow cells.  On the far side of the room, a screaming man was being strapped to a rack by a tall, shadowy figure.  As the doors opened, the figure turned, revealing a feminine physique with golden tanned skin and well-formed curves, suggesting years of activity and work toward physical perfection.  Beneath her diaphanous robes, her legs crossed over one another, while six arms, two facing towards her back, waved in a continuous dance.  Three fanged heads sat atop a sturdy neck, studying every direction.  All three heads smiled a predator’s grin, and in the blink of an eye, she vanished, only to reappear in the hall behind the group, standing right next to Katarina and O’Reginald.  Ratbone roared, his body shifting into that of the horned, bipedal predator.  Shoving his friends to the side, he bulled his way back towards the strange creature, slashing at her with his claws.

“Back away slowly,” Michael whispered from behind O’Reginald and Kat.  “I have heard of these beings, and they are not to be trifled with.  She is one of the asura.  They are servants of the Vudrani deities.  They exist to torment mortal warriors, torture evil souls, and mete out the wrath of the gods.  They are said to be masters of every weapon ever crafted and innately familiar with the forms and ways of every martial art imagined.  Best to let those best-suited to such pursuits handle this one.”

Taking the priest’s warning to heart, the two mages quickly headed for the torture chamber, but as they retreated, the asura blurred into motion, somersaulting and tumbling past Ratbone, around Michael, and over Herc and Valeris.  Just as she completed her final flip, while she was still in midair, O’Reginald flung out his hand and hurled a spell.  When it struck, the asura stumbled and fell to the ground, all of the grace gone from her body.  In a flash, Ratbone was upon her, and as he pinned her to the ground and tore savagely at her, Kat struck, loosing a sonic lance which broke all three of the creature’s necks.
____________________________________________________

“Please!  I beg you!  Free me!” the prisoner wailed as the companions gathered round the rack.  
“Of course we will,” Michael said as he began loosening the straps.  “Who are you, and how did you come to be here?”
“Velak,” the man gasped.  “My name’s Velak.  I was hungry.  My family was starving.  The Arkonas caught me stealing from one of their warehouses and they cast me down here.”
Kat looked closely at the man, her brow furrowing.
“What?”  Velak asked, fear on his face.  “I’m telling the truth!”
“I think not,” Kat said, shaking her head slowly.  “Though you have been mistreated, and are in dire need of a bath, I still know you.  It is you we came here to find, Seneschal Kalepopolis.”
The man’s eyes went wide as he sat up on the table rubbing at his arms.
“Who are you people?” he whispered.  “Are you agents of the queen?  The Mantis?  Have you come for me at last?”
“We serve Korvosa,” Ratbone replied, “not the one who wears its crown, and we would see a new monarch sit upon the Crimson Throne.”
“How…how did you find me?”  Kalepopolis stammered.
“Salvator Scream,” said Kat.  “Vencarlo Orisini contacted Field Marshal Kroft, saying that he had important information.  She, in turn, sent us to find Orisini.  We were too late, however.  He had apparently already come in search of you, and we found only agents of the Mantis in his home.  A student of Orisini’s found us later, and told us of Scream.  We eventually searched him out and found out about his error in judgment in sending you here.  We have…an arrangement with Glorio Arkona.  Now that we’ve found you, we still have to find Orisini.”
“Orisini’s here too?” the seneschal asked.  “Gods help him!  I am grateful for your assistance, and there is much I must tell you, but we must find Vencarlo and be away from this place.  It’s not safe!”
“Of course,” Kat said, “but the labyrinth is no place for a defenseless civilian to be wandering.”
“I’m hardly defenseless,” Kalepopolis said as he bent down to retrieve the asura’s sword.  “I’ll wait here.  If the Arkonas wanted me dead, I’d be so already.  I’m too valuable to them to be killed outright.  Find Orisini, then come back for me, but make haste.”
__________________________________________________

There was a large set of double door on the north wall of the torture chamber, and the K.I.A. agents elected to begin their search there rather than backtrack to what was the obvious, and therefore most likely dangerous, entrance to the labyrinth.  Beyond the portals, a vast cavern stretched into the shadows, the true extent of the area difficult to discern due to a thick maze of wooden timbers that rose up to support the roof.  A ledge wound along the eastern and northern sides of the cave, with the floor dropping away to a depth of several dozen feet.  Four immense stone pillars supported the ceiling above.  Where the pillars connected to the ceiling, a network of wooden braces and timbers radiated out in a wheel shape, forming four forty-foot wide discs flush against the roof.  Dozens of chains hung down from the beams to attach to the pillars themselves, many of which were decorated with rows and rows of bells.  Chained to each pillar at ground level was an enormous creature.  Standing motionless, they could easily have been mistaken for huge, skeletal displays of long-dead war elephants.  At further glance, however, their eyes could be seen to burn a smoky black, and pieces of stench-ridden flesh hung from their crusty bones.  Rusty barding draped loosely over their skeletal spines, and ancient, rotten finery hung over their skulls and draped flaccidly towards the ground.

“Interesting,” O’Reginald said, stroking his chin.
“Very,” Kat agreed.  “When Ratbone found the illusory wall, that hallway beyond it sloped down.  Unless I miss my guess, this room should be directly below the Vivified Labyrinth.”
“So?” the mage asked.
“So,” Kat replied, as if lecturing a slow-witted child, “these pillars are massive gears.  Glorio said that levers within the labyrinth could shift the locations of the rooms.  I’m guessing that we’re looking at the machinery that accomplishes that feat.”
“Should we destroy them then?”  Herc asked.
Kat gave the big, but none-too-bright mercenary a kind, but condescending smile.  
“If we did that,” she said, “then how could we move through the labyrinth?  We’d never be able to find Orisini.”
“Oh,” Herc said , his face flushing.
“After we’re done, we can always sabotage the gears so that the Arkonas can make no more of their prisoners suffer here,” Kat said.  “For now, though, I suggest we backtrack and go in the way we were meant to.  No better way to find a trap than to trigger it.”
__________________________________________________

Back at the first set of doors they’d found, the companions opened them to find a plain, unadorned room.  Two alcoves stood in either side, and in one, a long lever with an ebony handle protruded from the wall.  
“Looks like this is the place,” Ratbone said.  He grasped the lever, and looked back at his allies.  “Ready?”
The others gathered together and nodded.  The druid pulled the lever.  Immediately, the entire room began to rumble, and the agents had to hold on to each other to avoid being thrown to the ground.  
“Watch out!”  O’Reginald shouted.
His warning came too late.  The room began to split, with one half revolving away from the other, a section of wall sliding rapidly to separate the two.  Michael stood directly in the transition zone.  At O’Reginald’s shout, he tried to spring forward, but he wasn’t fast enough.  The sliding wall began to scissor him.  He screamed in agony, blood gushing from his mouth.  At the last possible moment, Ratbone seized his arm and jerked him into the northern, revolving section of the room.  The wall snapped shut, leaving O’Reginald and Katarina trapped on the southern side.
________________________________________________________________

Ratbone cursed and jerked at the lever, trying to pull it back up again, but it was firmly locked in place.  Kat knelt beside Michael and quickly forced a healing draught down his throat.  The priest’s eyes flickered open, and he reflexively grasped his holy symbol.  White light seeped from around his fingers, and his breathing slowed and stabilized.  
“Umm…guys,” Herc said.  “Where are we?”
The others looked up and saw, that where previously there had been a blank wall to the north, there was now an open archway.  Beyond it, a hallway ran at right angles, with a door at the end of the left branch, and a lever protruding from the wall on the right.  Valeris started immediately towards the lever. 
“Wait!”  Ratbone shouted.  “We don’t know what that’ll do.  For all we know it’ll just rotate us deeper into the labyrinth.  I don’t think it’ll take us back.”
‘Then what do you suggest?” the duskblade asked.  
“Let’s have a look behind the door first,” the druid replied.  “Maybe we’ll find something useful.”

Beyond the door, however, was simply another empty room, with another door on the far side.  Ratbone stepped into the room, but as he did so, a strange symbol suddenly flared to glowing life in the middle of the floor.  The druid cringed instinctively, and shielded his eyes, but nothing happened…at least not to him.  Behind him, however, he heard Michael begin to scream again.
_____________________________________________________

“What do you mean ‘no’?”  O’Reginald snapped as Kat grabbed his arm.
“I mean you don’t know where they went,” she said calmly.
“They’re right on the other side of that wall,” the wizard said impatiently, jerking his arm away.  
“I don’t think so,” Kat said.  “Remember the gears we saw.  If they rotate the rooms of the labyrinth, then that chamber not only rotated on its axis,  but along the axis of the gear as well.  We don’t know exactly where the room is, at least not pinpoint enough for you to transport us there.  If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not reappear inside a wall.”
“So what do you want us to do?”  O’Reginald asked.
“Let’s go back to the control room,” Kat replied.  “Maybe if I see the new position of the gears, I’ll have a better idea where the room is now.”
________________________________________________________

When Ratbone rushed back to the others, he found Michael curled up on the floor, clutching at his stomach.
“What happened?” the druid asked.
“Don’t know,” Valeris shrugged.  “There was that flash of light when you opened that door, and next thing, he was on the floor.  I felt a mild rumble in my own gut, but it passed.  Guess the padre’s got a weak constitution.”
Ratbone helped Michael to his feet, but the priest was still shaking.
“Can you walk?” Ratbone asked.
“I…I think so…,” Michael stuttered.  “The pain, though…it won’t stop.”

There was no way out of the set of rooms the entry chamber had rotated into.  They were trapped.  After a minute or so, they found that both levers were again moveable, but the four companions were still dubious about pulling them, fearing they would only be taken further away from their friends.  It was Michael who ultimately came up with a possible solution.
“The wand…,” he panted in between spasms of pain, “the one I…found in the Arch…it can…shape stone.  Maybe we can…open a hole…down to the…gear room…,”
Ratbone nodded, understanding.
“Do you think you can use it?”
“I’ll…try…,” Michael said.
He drew the wand from his belt, touched it to the floor and spoke a word.  Instantly, the stone began dissolving, forming a narrow hole, no more than a foot in diameter.
“I don’t know…if the wand…has enough power left…to go all the way…,” Michael said.
Ten feet he bored down, then twenty, and then thirty.  At that point, he saw that the stone ended, and there was a short open space and then what looked to be wood.
“I think…I think we’re through!”  Michael said.  “I think…I see the rafters!”
“Can you widen the hole?”  Ratbone asked.
“I…I can try,” Michael nodded.
He touched the wand to the floor again and began circumscribing a larger opening.
________________________________________________________

“Just as I thought,” Kat said.
She and O’Reginald stood on the ledge overlooking the great gears and their undead beasts of burden.  Each of the creatures had moved approximately one-quarter of a circle from their previous positions.
“The levers somehow signal those creatures to turn the wheels,” Kat continued.  “Perhaps, based on their current position, I can figure out where the room with the others went.”
“I think I already know,” O’Reginald replied.  He pointed up and Kat looked.  From the maze of wooden rafters above, a large bird suddenly flew…Ratbone…
__________________________________________________________

It was a relatively simple matter for the companions to regroup in the lever room.  Once they were all together again, Ratbone grabbed the lever once more.
“Everyone ready?”
All nodded, having made sure that none of them were in the transition zone where the room would be rotating.  Ratbone pulled the lever.  Again the floor rumbled as the room began to turn.  Again the opening beyond the archway sealed, only to reappear a moment later, revealing something new.  A long corridor stretched away for several yards.  Both walls were decorated with row upon row of tiger heads.  Each appeared to be that of an actual, once-living tiger.  They were remarkably well-preserved, their gaping mouths and glaring eyes even appearing to be moist.  Standing in the middle of the hallway was none other than Vencarlo Orisini.  

The fencing master was clothed in moldy leather armor, and he carried a pair of kukris in his hands, while on his back were strapped three javelins.  His eyes widened in shock as he saw his friends…the last people he had ever expected to see.  
“Why are you here?” he gasped
“We came looking for you,” Ratbone said, and he quickly recapped the events that had brought them to the labyrinth.
“Glorio allowed you to come down here?”  Orisini asked, his eyes narrowed.
“In a manner of speaking,” Kat said.  “He did it to save face, allowing us to ‘rescue’ you and Kalepopolis without having it look like he just handed you over.”
“No…that’s not it at all!”  Orisini shouted.  “It’s a trap!  He sent you down here to die!  Glorio Arkona is in league with Ileosa.  In exchange for handing over Kalepopolis, she has promised his family a prominent position in her new aristocracy.  There is a creature roaming the labyrinth.  It’s been hunting me for days.  It’s called a darksphinx, and it is hideously powerful.  Arkona intends for you to die at its hands, further cementing his position with Ileosa by eliminating her enemies.  This is what I hoped to warn you about, to keep you away from here.  Now that you’re here, though, we have no choice.  We have to kill Glorio Arkona!”
“How do you know all of this?”  Ratbone asked.
“Glorio told me!”  Orisini said, his voice rising.  “He gloated about it before he had me thrown down into this hellhole.  I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of the darksphinx ever since.”
“Then maybe we should deal with it first,” Ratbone replied.  “We don’t want it coming after us after we leave.”
“It won’t,” Orisini said hurriedly.  “It’s Arkona’s jailor.  It won’t leave the labyrinth.  We need to escape with Kalepopolis while we can.  He’s too valuable to risk.”
“We will leave,” Ratbone said reasonably, “but I don’t want to leave the darksphinx alive to torture any more prisoners of the Arkonas’.  I don’t see why we need to confront Lord Arkona, though.   That would be very risky.  Why don’t we just escape through the sea cave?”
“No!”  Orisini snapped.  “If we leave Arkona alive, he’ll alert the queen, and she’ll send more Mantis assassins after us!”
“I agree,” Valeris chimed in.  “If we’re talking about not leaving enemies behind us, then Arkona is one big one that we should deal with before we go.”
Herc shook his head.  “Never pick a fight on your enemy’s home turf if you can avoid it.  Too much advantage.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t expect us to be coming back,” Kat said, playing devil’s advocate.  “If this is something that has to be done, it might be best to do it while we still have some element of surprise.  If not, Arkona will surely be prepared for us if there’s a next time.”
“Hold on!”  O’Reginald said.  “What did we come down here to do?  Rescue Orisini and the seneschal.  We’ve done that!  Croft didn’t say anything about taking on one of the noble houses!  I think that’s a little bit above of our pay grade.  We can get word to the field marshal once we’re safely away, then she can decide what to do about the Arkonas.”
Several voices rose at once after that, with everyone commenting on the pros and cons of each course of action.  Finally, a tenuous compromise was reached.
“It’s agreed,” Ratbone said at length, “we continue into the labyrinth and find the darksphinx.  Once that’s taken care of, we can approach Arkona, and based on his reaction, we’ll take it from there.”
Orisini swore under his breath and shook his head.  The fencing master was not satisfied with the plan.  It was his opinion that if they went before Arkona, they would be playing directly into his hands, but he agreed to accompany the K.I.A. agents…for the time being.

“What lies back the way you came?”  Ratbone asked Orisini.  “This hall looks to be a dead-end.”
“There’s a hidden door at the end,” Orisini replied.  “Beyond, there are a series of empty rooms and passages that do not rotate.  They lead back into the labyrinth proper at the far end.”
“Lead on,” Ratbone said.
“Aren’t we forgetting about something?”  Valeris interrupted.  The others looked at him questioningly.  He rolled his eyes, and then reached into the large back that hung at his belt and began to draw forth the possessions and trappings of Black Jack.  Orisini’s eyes widened.
“I see you’re familiar with these items,” Kat said smiling.
Orisini swallowed.  “There’s no point denying it, I suppose,” he sighed.  “Perhaps it’s time for Black Jack to disappear for good.”
“Not just yet, I think,” Kat said as she handed Orisini his blade.  
The fencing master pulled on his gloves, his boots, and draped the black cloak around his shoulders.  Then he turned and started down the hallway.  He’d just reached the end, and was reaching for the latch of the hidden portal, when suddenly the tiger heads on either side writhed out of the walls on long, serpentine necks in a horrific storm of scales, fangs and fur.  They bit savagely at the companions, tearing into flesh and bone with their ripping teeth.  Orisini triggered the door and dove through.  Simultaneously, O’Reginald grabbed the hands of Valeris and Katarina and stepped across the boundary of reality, reappearing a moment later in the next room beside Orisini.  Meanwhile, Herc and Ratbone went on the offensive, hacking and clawing the heads from the wall, one after the other. Once the last head lay on the ground, they followed their friends quickly through the door.

“You didn’t run into those when you came through the first time?”  Ratbone asked Orisini.
“If I had, don’t you think I’d have warned you?”  Orisini snapped.
Ratbone nodded, but said nothing.  The room in which they currently found themselves held a ten-foot wide, two-foot tall well.  Inky water filled it nearly to its rim, obscuring its depths.  A stone statue of a rearing snake rose from the center of the well.  Along the length of the serpent’s body were carved dozens of arms crossed over the creature’s belly…and each arm gripped a long curved blade.  The statue’s serpentine head rose ten feet above the surface of the water, and gazed down coolly to the northeast with amethyst eyes.
“Well that looks ominous,” Valeris said.
No sooner had the words left his mouth, than a loud hiss issued from the statue as dozens of curved blades sprang out of the well’s base and began spinning furiously around the room, striking at all who stood around its perimeter.  Orisini dove nimbly over the blades, and rolled through an archway on the far side of the room, while Valeris, the ring given to him by Glorio Arkona flaring to life, also rolled out of the path of the deadly scythes.  The others were not so lucky.  They all ran for the far side of the room, but not without suffering deep, wide gashes.  It was not until they’d regrouped in the passageway, however, that they noticed not everyone had made it through.  Laying on the floor beneath the spinning blades was Katarina, her eyes open and staring as a widening pool of her own blood spread around her.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Wow, that sucks! Katarina was very useful, especially in enabling nonviolent solutions...  Will she return or will the KIA get a new member (I hope it's the former)?


----------



## carborundum

Has she stopped bleeding yet? 

(shameless request for another helping of KIA goodness)


----------



## WarEagleMage

We did game this past Sunday after taking the previous Sunday off, so hopefully we should have a couple of updates soon.  As for Kat...let's just say that while she may not have nine lives, she probably has more than one.


----------



## JollyDoc

WarEagleMage said:


> We did game this past Sunday after taking the previous Sunday off, so hopefully we should have a couple of updates soon.  As for Kat...let's just say that while she may not have nine lives, she probably has more than one.




Which is more than can be said for a certain other member of the K.I.A...

Yes, Joachim was off on a carribean cruise last week, and I was in Nantucket on a second honeymoon.  Trying to get caught up.


----------



## carborundum

Nantucket? I know a limerick about there...


----------



## Joachim

carborundum said:


> Nantucket? I know a limerick about there...




BTW, Carb, I like your sig...the person that said that must be very clever, and good looking, too.


----------



## JollyDoc

FULL DISCLOSURE

‘Katarina, they’re calling for you.’
Kat recognized the voice as easily as she recognized her own.  It was Zellara, the Harrow reader who’d first assembled the members of the K.I.A.  Kat also knew what Zellara was referring to.
‘I know,’ Kat sighed, ‘but I’m so tired.  I want to rest for awhile.’
‘There’ll be time for that later, daughter,’ Zellara said, ‘perhaps more time than you would wish.  For now, though, there is still work for you.  I have seen this.  You must unite the tribes, and then you must retrieve the dragon’s bane.  Only then can you destroy the Crown of Fangs.  Only then can Korvosa, and Varisia itself know peace again.  It’s time to go, daughter.’
‘Tribes?  Dragon?  Crown?’  Kat asked.   ‘What does it all mean?’
‘All in good time, daughter.’  Zellara’s voice seemed to be coming from a great distance, and Kat could see the darkness that enfolded her begin to brighten…
_________________________________________________________

“Tribes?  Dragon?  Crown?”  Kat gasped aloud as her eyes fluttered open.
“It worked,” Michael said, blowing out his breath as he leaned back on his heels, sweet beading on his brow.
“You mean you weren’t sure it would?”  Valeris asked as he raised one eyebrow.
The priest shrugged.  “I had faith, but it’s the first time I’ve ever tried to bring someone back to life.”
“And hopefully the last for me,” Kat groaned as she sat up and massaged her temples.  “It’s not an experience I would want to repeat.”
“What were you talking about when you came to?”  Ratbone asked.
“I…don’t…remember,” Kat said.  “It’s like a fading dream.  Like it’s just beyond my reach.”
“Well, now’s not the time for dream catching,” O’Reginald said.  He had been staring down the long hallway that lay beyond the deadly fountain of spinning blades.  When he turned towards his companions, his eyes glowed brilliant blue.  “Looks like our next challenge is just ahead.”

Eight alcoves lined the long, narrow passage.  Inside each one stood a human-sized upright iron casket, the image of a sobbing woman decorating its lid.  The hallway’s floor was smeared bright red, a mosaic of tiny red stones that gave the appearance that the hall was awash in blood.
“It’s a trap,” O’Reginald said as the group peered down the hall.  “I can see magical auras emanating from the caskets, but I can’t discern their nature.  Necromancy, I think.”
“Let me take a look,” Kat said.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”  Michael asked.  “I mean…that’s what led to your…situation.”
“I didn’t know what I was walking into,” Kat smiled.  “This time I do.”
She knelt down and examined the floor between the first pair of alcoves.
“Clever,” she shook her head, “and very deadly.  When the first person steps past these statues, the sections of floor between each set of alcoves will rise up at an angle, dumping the person in between the statues, and preventing them from escaping.  That’s when the magic ‘Reg detected takes effect, but I’m not sure what it does.  I do know that after that, the caskets are designed to spring open.  I imagine something nasty would come out.  Don’t worry though.  It’s wicked, but relatively simple to disable.”

One-by-one, Kat dismantled the mechanisms between the statues, allowing her companions to pass safely down the hall until they reached a closed door at the far end.  Beyond the door lay a bare room, the walls, floor and ceiling decorated with a complex mosaic that depicted an immense swarm of wasps.  Kat stopped her friends before they could enter, kneeling down once more to examine the floor before she entered.  
“Another trap,” she said.  “Needles.  Poisoned I’d guess.  They’d come out of every surface the moment we stepped in.  See?  If I know what I’m looking for, it presents only a mild inconvenience.”

Once more, Kat disarmed the trap.  The room was otherwise empty, save for a small alcove strewn with bones and patches of mold.  Protruding from the wall of the alcove was an ebony lever.  Ratbone glanced at his companions to make sure they were ready, and then he pulled the lever.  Once again, the floor rumbled and moved, rotating the room counterclockwise.  When it came to a halt, a new room was visible where the wasp trap had been.  Four alcoves in the walls contained floating spheres of mist, each hovering three feet off the ground.  Each sphere was a foot in diameter…one was black, one white, one green and one gold.  Just north of  the strange spheres, two levers protruded from opposite walls.  
“There’s magic here,” O’Reginald needlessly announced.  “Conjuration, I think.  It could summon something in here with us.”
“Or be a source of healing,” Michael observed.
“Only one way to tell,” Ratbone shrugged.  He stepped to the first alcove, the one bearing the golden globe, touched it…and promptly vanished.
“Or teleportation,” O’Reginald said.  “Hadn’t thought of that.”
Kat sighed.  “I guess we’re committed.  Here goes nothing.”
She too touched the golden sphere, and she too disappeared.  O’Reginald followed, then Michael, and then Valeris.  Only Herc and Orisini remained.
“After you, Master,” Herc gestured.
Orisini looked hesitant.  “Are you sure about this?” he asked the big mercenary.  “We’re just assuming its teleportation.  They could all be dead, for all we know.”
Herc shrugged.  “Could be.  If they are, we aren’t going to be able to do much on our own.  All or nothing.”
He stepped up and touched the sphere, confident that the fencing master would follow behind.
_______________________________________________________

It took quite awhile for the companions to realize that Orisini had not followed them.  There were too many other distractions.  In the first place, the room they all found themselves in had no way out.  Instead, a five-foot diameter pool of murky green water nearly filled the small, circular chamber.  Ratbone, in his large, bipedal, horned predator form, stood submerged in the pool up to his neck.  A glowing arcane rune glared from one wall, and Herc cowered beneath it, blind panic on his face, his sword forgotten at his feet.  The rest of the group searched the walls frantically for any sign of a hidden door or lever.  There was nothing.  Moments later, however, the room began to rotate.  The southern wall slid slowly aside to reveal another room…one they’d already seen before.  In fact, it was the very first room they’d come to upon entering the labyrinth, only this time, it was not unoccupied…

The creature was not human…at least not all of her was.  From the waist up she did, in fact, resemble a beautiful, if coldly deadly woman.  Below that, however, her body was that of a powerful lion, with small black wings protruding from her back, and a barbed, spike-like tail that lashed the air behind her.  She carried two, blood-red kukris in her hands.  
“You are trespassing on Arkona land,” she said flatly.  “It is my duty to kill you all.  It’s nothing personal.”
She leaned casually forward, and slashed both of her blades viciously across Herc’s quivering abdomen.  Suddenly, a furious roar filled both chambers as Ratbone lunged out of the pool, his jaws clamping down on the arm of the dark sphinx.  Her eyes widened in shock as a rime of golden ice cascaded up to her shoulder.  Ratbone’s claws ripped at her as her reflexes dulled and slowed, and even more ice began to encase her limbs.  In a matter of moments, she was completely paralyzed, and completely at the mercy of the savage druid.  Within seconds, he had reduced her to a bloody corpse.

It took a few minutes for Herc to recover from the magic-induced fear, but even then, he could not answer as to Orisini’s whereabouts.
“I thought he was right behind me,” the mercenary said.  “Maybe when the labyrinth rotated again, he got trapped.”
“Hmph.  Maybe.”  Valeris grunted.  
“Well, there’s no way back from here,” Kat observed, and she was correct.  There was no lever in either room.  The only way out was the door leading back to the passage which in turn lead back to the torture chamber where the seneschal was hiding.  The companions made their way there, and found Kalepopolis just as they’d left him.  He was relieved to hear they’d found Orisini, but disturbed to learn they’d lost him again.  The group reassured him that they would not leave without the fencing master.  They returned to the cavernous gear room, and from there Ratbone, in his avian guise, shuttled them back up the shaft Michael had created, and back inside the labyrinth.  Once there, they discovered that the chamber had opened up onto an oddly-shaped hallway, the walls of which were decorated in a complex mural that depicted a jungle brimming with hungry life.  Predators of every sort stalked and maimed and fed on dozens of hapless men and women.  In the canopy above, monkeys, snakes, and birds seemed to chatter and mock the victims below.  Standing in the middle of the hallway was none other than Orisini.

“Thanks the gods your safe!” he said, relief on his face.  “I tried to follow you, but as I touched the orb, the labyrinth began to turn, and I ended up here.  I had no idea where you had gone.  Are you ok?”
“We’re fine,” Ratbone said, assuming his normal form.  “We met your friend…the dark sphinx.”
“Sivit?”  Orisini said, his voice incredulous.  “What happened?”
“We’re here, she’s not,” Ratbone shrugged.
“I’m…relieved!”  Orisini said.  “It’s done then!  We can leave and confront Glorio now!”
“Not quite yet,” Ratbone said.  “We want to explore the labyrinth a bit more…just to make sure that Lord Arkona hasn’t planned any more nasty surprises for us.”
Orisini shook his head.  “No,” he said sharply.  “I’m done with this place.  I’ve risked my life for the past several days trying to escape it.  If you insist on doing this, then I’ll wait for you back with Kalepopolis.  We’ll give you a day.  If you’re not back by then, I’m taking him from here and I’ll try and get him to safety.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Kat said, “but I understand.  We’ll be back shortly.  You have my word.”
_________________________________________________________

The six companions had a problem.  In order to rotate the room again, one of them would have to stay behind to pull the lever, which was located in an adjoining chamber.  Katarina volunteered.  She pulled the lever and watched her friends vanish behind the rotating wall.  Then she settled back to wait, rendering herself invisible as a precaution, and melted into the shadows.

Meanwhile, the remaining agents continued through the labyrinth, room after room, venturing deeper and deeper in.  Occasionally they came across another of the sphinx’s arcane symbols, but they found no other living creatures…until they reached one chamber in particular.  A great green throne sat atop a dais in the northern end of the room.  To either side stood statues of a tiger-headed man.  Each held aloft a pair of chains from which manacles dangled.  Dried blood spattered the walls, floor and even the throne and statues, filling the room with its stale reek.  Shackled to one statue was an unconscious man, his hair hanging lank across his face.  Michael moved quickly across the room and lifted the man’s head.  The features were battered and bruised, but there could be no mistake.  It was Vencarlo Orisini…
__________________________________________________________

Kat heard something.  A soft scrape.  It had come from the hole in the floor which Michael had burrowed down to the gear chamber below.  Then, as she watched, Kat saw a figure rise silently from the hole.  It was Orisini, the clothing and gear of Black Jack unmistakable, but as he turned slightly, Kat saw the terrible truth.  The creature that wore Orisini’s clothing was definitely female, as evidenced by the ample curves she sported, but she was anything but human.  Where her head should have been, she instead had the face of a gimlet-eyed fox.  Two kukris were gripped in her hand.  She paused at the top of the hole and sniffed the air.  Kat stopped breathing, afraid even that slight noise might give away her presence.  After a moment, the creature stepped into the room.  She went to the corner which led to the passage down which Kat’s companions had gone to the rotating room.  She stared intently at the blank wall there, then she flattened herself against the corner…and waited.  Kat was trapped, and her friends, when they returned, would be walking straight into a kill zone…
_________________________________________________________

“Bring him!”  Ratbone shouted.  Herc had shattered the chains holding the fencing master, but Michael had been unable to revive him.  The druid decided they didn’t have any longer to wait.  Whoever was impersonating Orisini was alone with the seneschal.  Worse, Kat was alone as well, and had no idea of the danger she faced.  Herc quickly shouldered the unconscious man, and the group began hurrying back the way they’d come.
________________________________________________________

Kat sensed her companions before she saw them.  She had been sending her thoughts out desperately, trying to warn them of the danger.  Finally, as the wall at the end of the passage began to slide open, she touched them.
‘It’s a trap!’ she screamed in her mind
Ratbone, at the head of the group, had just stepped into the hall when Kat’s mental shout assaulted him.  He paused for a moment, and his enhanced senses in his predator form picked out the figure hidden in the shadows beyond the corner.  The would-be assassin, however, sensed something was wrong as well, and knew she’d been discovered.  She quickly reached behind her and slammed the lever down.  Immediately, the archway Ratbone had just stepped through began to close again, carrying his allies away once more, and leaving only he and Kat to face the imposter.
“You’ve been fools and pawns from the beginning,” the fox woman said as she stepped from the shadows.  “Glorio thought he would use you to kill me, but I’ve always been smarter than my brother.  I have been watching you for a long time, from the moment I placed my spy among you.”
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a very familiar looking silver dagger…the same one that Valeris had carried for so long.  In her hand, it transformed into a serpent, its crimson eyes flashing evilly as it coiled itself around her arm.
“I always suspected that you would achieve great things, and thus might be useful to me.  When I discovered that you’d entered the labyrinth, however, I knew that Glorio had gotten to you first.  It was my fervent wish that you would simply do as I suggested, and kill Glorio.  Believe me, he means you no good will.  It would have been to your benefit to rid Korvosa of him, and I would have rewarded you suitably, but no…you insisted on your petty suspicions and codes of honor, and now you’ve forced my hand.  I take no pleasure in killing you, but I will show my brother that I am no one to be trifled with.”
She leaped towards Ratbone, but as she did, a barbed tentacle suddenly sprouted from his back and slashed at her.  She dodged the brunt of the blow, but a thin line of black blood flowed down her cheek.  She dipped one finger in it and licked it.  A thin smile stretched across her muzzle, and then, almost too quickly to follow, she snatched a javelin from her back and hurled it at the druid.  As it left her hand, it transformed into a brilliant bolt of energy, and as it struck, Ratbone’s body went rigid as every hair stood on end.
_________________________________________________________

“I…hate…this…place!!”  O’Reginald screamed as he pounded his fist against the blank wall.  Then, before any of his friends could react, he turned and grabbed Herc by the shoulders.
“Hang on, big boy,” he said, and then both of them abruptly vanished.  
“Guess that just leaves you and me,” Valeris said to Michael.  “You got any cards?”
__________________________________________________________

While Ratbone struggled to recover, the Arkona woman lunged at him, kukris flashing.  She cut deeply into the druid’s tough hide, and he reeled back.  He shook his head desperately to clear it, and reached out blindly, trying to draw the fox woman into his grip.  For his trouble, he received another vicious slash to his arm.  Kat feared for her friend’s life.  In desperation, she risked exposing herself, becoming visible as she hurled a sonic lance at the woman.  To her astonishment, however, the spell simply vanished as it touched the Arkona.  The woman turned her head slowly and smiled at Kat.
“Well, hello there,” she said.
__________________________________________________________

O’Reginald and Herc appeared in mid-air high above the floor of the gear control cavern.
“Whoa!”  Herc said as his feet dangled over nothing.  “Warn me next time.”
“I did,” O’Reginald said.  “Now I’m warning you again.  Hang on again.  We’re going for a ride.”
The sorcerer wrapped his arms around the big merc’s neck, piggy-back style, having imbued Herc with the power of flight the instant before they had teleported.  Now he had the warrior shuttle him across the vast chamber until they arrived directly below the entrance to the hole Michael had carved through the labyrinth above.

The fox-faced Arkona stepped across the hole to reach Kat, slashing with her blades in a large X across the beguiler’s abdomen.  Kat crumpled as her belly opened, and the creature leaned over her for the kill.  At that moment, a column of white-hot flame erupted from the hole and engulfed the woman.  When the flames died, nothing remained but a pile of ash.
__________________________________________________________

Sometime later, the companions gathered together once more in the torture chamber.  They had found the seneschal alive, but unconscious and badly beaten.  It had taken all of Michael’s skills to revive him and Vencarlo, and to repair Kat’s and Ratbone’s wounds.  Many explanations and comparisons of stories followed.
“I’m sorry to drag you into all of this, my friends,” Orisini said, “but I can’t help but admit relief that you arrived when you did.  As for Glorio Arkona, I’m not certain what he is, but I know what he is not…an ally of Ileosa.  There has never been any love lost between House Arkona and the Crown.  I suggest we leave him for another day.  We have larger issues to deal with now.”

The group made their way back to the sea cave, and boarded the small boat moored at the dock.  They left through the tunnel and emerged into the harbor under the cover of darkness.  Vencarlo set a course due west, and they disappeared into the darkness.


----------



## carborundum

Brilliant! Loved how they all realised what was going on at about the same time.

And poor Kat - she does seem to get sliced a lot!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Great update & even greater stunt you pulled with the false Orsini, JollyDoc! Although, is the blackjack uniform totally destroyed?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Great update & even greater stunt you pulled with the false Orsini, JollyDoc! Although, is the blackjack uniform totally destroyed?




Nah...the magical stuff survived.  Black Jack may still rise again.


----------



## Joachim

carborundum said:


> Brilliant! Loved how they all realised what was going on at about the same time.




At least some of us realised what was going as soon as we met him.  Like Vader said, "All too easy..."


----------



## JollyDoc

A HISTORY OF ASHES

The boat ride to Harse was a long one.  They travelled for days northwest across the bay until they reached the Falcon River, then northeast to the point where the Falcon and the Sarwin Rivers converged.  Harse lay in the spit of land between.  The village itself consisted of only a few dozen buildings and a large collection of stables surrounding an open field along the northeastern edge.  The majority of its citizens didn’t live in the village proper, but on one of the dozens of ranches and farms that dotted the surrounding countryside.  Orisini rented enough horses for all of them, and then set out north.  He told them they were going to the Blackbird Ranch, only a short ride out of town.  He explained that the ranch was owned by an old friend named Jasan Adriel.  He and Jasan were the last two survivors of an adventuring party known as the Blackbirds.  When the group reached the ranch, Jasan and his two sons greeted them warmly.  A young woman was with them, none other than Trinia Sabor.  She was thrilled to see her friends and rescuers again, and the reunion temporarily alleviated some of the tension of the previous days.  

Jasan led them down to the house, where his wife had prepared a pleasant and filling dinner.  The conversation was light, but afterwards, Jasan invited his guests and Trinia down to his basement.  There he offered them a sampling of his on home-grown beer.  
“Now,” the rancher said as he took a seat in a comfortably worn chair, “there must a very good reason why you have come all this way, Vencarlo, bringing with you none other than the seneschal of Korvosa himself.  I’m all ears.”
Orisini brought Jasan up to speed, and then Neolandus took over.
“When I confronted Ileosa about Eodred’s death,” the seneschal began, “her response was to send Red Mantis assassins after me, proof enough of her guilt as far as I’m concerned.  Through a combination of pure luck and my intimate knowledge of the castle’s layout, I barely managed to escape with my life, and then I went into hiding with my friend Salvator in Old Korvosa.  
After I recovered from the attack, I spent much of my time in the old city researching the situation by interviewing key people, poring through records at Endrin Academy, and piecing together information and rumors I had heard, to try and determine what had caused the Queen’s sudden personality shift from a petulant, spoiled brat to a scheming murderous tyrant.  
My suspicions continued to grow, but until Ileosa’s first public appearance after the plague, I had always tempered them with hope.  I knew that she had been ‘borrowing’ the treasury key to look through Korvosa’s holdings.  I was also familiar with several old and obscure legends about the chambers below Castle Korvosa…chambers, it was whispered, that were old even when the Shoanti dwelt here, and that used to hide something of great power or evil.  There was little more information to go on, but I did uncover mention in some documents from Korvosa’s earliest days of something called Midnight’s Teeth, and that these teeth were believed to be some sort of sacred relic of great import to the Shoanti.  Circumstantial evidence indicated that the Shoanti kept the teeth in chambers inside the pyramid that now serves as Castle Korvosa’s foundation.
Further research uncovered an old legend that chilled my soul.  Several hundred years ago, a powerful blue dragon and agent of Zon-Kuthon named Kazavon brought the orcs of Belkzen to their knees and began conquering the neighboring nations of Ustalav and Lastwall, until he was finally defeated and his remains scattered.  Some of these remains, according to certain Zon-Kuthonic scriptures, contained fragments of Kazavon’s essence.  One of these relics was the Fangs of Kazavon.
I now suspect that Midnight’s Teeth were none other than the Fangs of Kazavon.  The description of the Queen’s new crown sounds to me as if she now wears the Fangs on her brow, the implications of which trouble me deeply.
I wasn’t able to gather much more information before the Arkonas took me, but I don’t suspect there was much more to learn.  Hard facts about Midnight’s Teeth were sparse to begin with.  Korvosa’s founders didn’t think it important to preserve much in the way of Shoanti culture.  Yet there is still some hope.  The Shoanti have very strong oral traditions, and if anyone knows the truth behind Midnight’s Teeth, that truth is doubtless hidden among their historians up in the Cinderlands.”

“Yet even this hope if a fragile one,” Orisini interrupted.  “There are rumors that the Shoanti are preparing to launch an attack on Korvosa and her holdings.  They’ve been emboldened by the news that the city is buckling under the effects of riots and plagues.  Word from the Storval Rise is that the largest Shoanti tribe, the Sklar-Quah, is preparing for battle.”
“Yes, but even so,” Neolandus said, “all is not lost.  Of all the Shoanti tribes, it has been the Skoan-Quah who have been the most open to talk of peace between Korvosa and the tribes.  Until recently, a large number of Skoan-Quah ambassadors dwelt near Korvosa, and peace talks between the two factions were slowly but surely heading in the right direction.  I recall one old shaman in particular as being level-headed and friendly, a man named Thousand Bones.  One of the last things I tried before the Arkonas got hold of me was to arrange a meeting with him, but unfortunately, shortly after an event involving one of the Shoanti braves during the riots, the Shoanti abandoned Korvosa.”
“We know of Thousand Bones,” Ratbone said.  “We also know of the incident that you speak of.  We helped recover the body of the brave and returned it to Thousand Bones.”
“Excellent!”  Neolandus smiled.  “You should have influence with him then.  I know that his tribe dwells in the southeastern portion of the Cinderlands, east of Kaer Maga in a region known as the Kallow Mounds.  I believe the best course of action would be for someone to travel to the Skoan-Quah, find Thousand Bones, and learn from him any information about what Midnight’s Teeth actually were.”
“By someone,” Valeris said, “I expect you mean us.”
“Can you think of anyone more qualified?”  Orisini smiled.  “Besides, Neolandus and I are known fugitives.  Ileosa will spare little expense in tracking us down.  Her Red Mantis agents were close to discovering Neolandus in Old Korvosa, and it won’t take them long to sift through the recent events there and piece together what happened.  I plan on the two of us traveling to Janderhoff.  We’ll seek asylum there with the dwarves.”
“Well,” Jasan said, clapping his hands, “I expect it was about time for a move anyway.  The wife’s always talked about seeing Magnimar.  I hear the coast is beautiful this time of year.”
“Of course we’ll go,” Ratbone said.  “If there is some way to stop the Queen, and return Korvosa to its people, then we will find it.”
“I’m going with you,” Trinia Sabor suddenly announced from where she’d been quietly listening in the back of the room.  “Korvosa’s my city too, and since I’ve been staying here, I’ve taken the opportunity to learn something about the Shoanti.  I’ve become pretty fluent in their language.  You’re going to need a translator if you want to convince them to help.”
_________________________________________________________

Jasan provided horses for the K.I.A. agents and Trinia, and the seven companions began their long journey north and east, following the Falcon River for several days to the base of the Storval Plateau and the city of Kaer Maga.  They didn’t stay long in the strange, tiered metropolis, making their way quickly through its twisting, winding streets, thick with beggars and cutpurses.  The uppermost level of the city gave onto the Storval Plateau itself, and the beginning of the Cinderlands.  That harsh landscape played host to a desolate backdrop of scrubland and drought, famine and death.  As hot as a forge and dry as a desert, the broken flats radiated a hazy, wavering heat so tangible that it robbed the body of precious moisture in mere hours.  What beasts made their homes there were deceptive and violent, while what few plants clawed their way through the cracked ground were as nourishing as rocks.  It was the next best thing to Hell on Golarion.

And yet the Cinderlands were not a wasteland.  The Shoanti called them home.  It was towards the sacred burial grounds of the Shoanti that the company set their course.  The Kallow Mounds lay at the extreme southeast limits of the Cinderlands, and as the companions drew nearer to them, they began to see large rock cairns topped with animal skulls.
“Markers,” Trinia explained.  “They act as signposts…and warnings to deter strangers…like us.”
The cairns grew more frequent the deeper into the Mounds they travelled.  They had grown so used to seeing them, that they almost did not notice the four figures that stood silently beside among a particularly dense group.  They were men, their bodies caked with a mixture of mud and ash, giving their skin a smoky white appearance.  They were adorned with multiple tattoos of bones and skulls, and they carried large earthbreaker mauls across their backs.  Trinia quickly rode to the forefront of the group and began speaking in the guttural dialect of the Shoanti.  The four warriors listened in silence, but when she finished speaking, they turned and began walking away.
“It’s ok,” Trinia said.  “I explained that we were seeking Thousand Bones.  They’ll take us to him.”

The Skoan-Quah encampment was located at the western edge of the Mounds.  There, some seventy-five Shoanti filled out the enclave.  All of them stood silently gathered as the seven strangers were escorted in.  The tension in the air was palpable.  Three people were gathered at the center of the camp, one a gaunt, yet regal man, the other an elderly woman, and the last none other than Thousand Bones himself.  Behind them crouched a large, leonine creature with a distinctly draconic head.  The beast appeared to have once had wings, but only jagged stumps now protruded from its shoulders.  It flexed its six-inch long claws languidly as the companions approached.  
“Welcome, friends,” Thousand Bones said in Common.  “You are indeed welcome here, though I must admit, I am surprised by your presence.”
“We’ve come with great need,” Kat said.  “We have learned disturbing news regarding Queen Ileosa, and…”
“Such discussions should be held at the proper time and place,” the old shaman interrupted.  “We will speak of them this evening at the Bone Council Fire.  For now, you should rest and partake of our hospitality.  We have already set aside a yurt for your comfort.  Before you go, allow me to introduce the chief of the Skoan-Quah, One-Life.”
He gestured to the quiet, older man, who nodded silently in turn.
“And this is Ash Dancer,” Thousand Bones indicated the woman.  “She is our eldest and most experienced shaman, and leader of the boneslayers.  Last, but by no means least, is Wicked-Claws.”  He turned to the lion-creature.  “He has been a friend to our tribe for many years.”
The company introduced themselves in turn, and then they were shown to their yurt, for some much needed rest.

Later in the afternoon, Thousand Bones came for them, eager to hear about their adventures since their last meeting.  They walked with him among the cairns, stopping at last before one which the shaman informed them contained the remains of Gaekhen, the young brave the K.I.A. had returned to him.  They paid their respects and then returned to the camp.  When they arrived, however, the enclave was in an uproar of excitement.  New visitors had arrived in the form of a half-dozen Shoanti riders bearing a travois behind them, upon which was bound what appeared to be a body.  Leading the group was a towering mountain of a man, his head clean-shaven, tattoos rippling across every surface of his body, and a truly massive earthbreaker on one hand, while his other bore the skull-like, spiked shield-gauntlet called a klar that the Shoanti favored.
“You will excuse me,” Thousand Bones said.  “I have to greet our guests.”
As he walked away, Trinia leaned in and said in a low voice, “They’re Sklar-Quah, Sun Clan.  They’re an honor guard for the fallen brave, sent to escort him to his final resting place.”
“Yeah, well, their leader doesn’t seem happy to see us,” Valeris remarked.
The others could see what he meant.  The big warrior was speaking to Thousand Bones in a raised voice and was pointing angrily at them.  After a moment, he turned and strode purposefully towards them, his maul gripped tightly in his hand.
“Uh-oh,” Trinia said.  “This doesn’t look good.”
Valeris gripped his own weapon, and stepped forward.  Quickly, Thousand Bones stepped in front of the huge brave and began to speak.
“He’s asking him when did the Sklar-Quah become judges of who trespasses on the Kallow Mounds where the ashes of their fathers lie,” Trinia explained.  When the big warrior stopped and replied curtly, she continued to translate.
“ ‘Your words change the question, Thousand Bones.  These ones bring trouble to the Cinderlands, and you know it.  The coming days shall reveal to us all who is right about them.’ ”
“ ‘Perhaps,’ ” Trinia translated Thousand Bone’s reply, “ ‘but not today and not here.  Would you have word of Berak’s burial tainted by bloodshed get back to your Sun Shaman?’ ”
The brave paused, the cords in his neck straining, but then he exhaled and grinned.
“ ‘You misunderstand me, Thousand Bones,’ ” he said.  “ ‘My grief has wounded my words.  But see to it that no tshamek defiles our memories here.’ ”  His smile broadened as he pulled a thin leather loop from one of his packs.  “ ‘Certainly, though, guests of the Skoan-Quah must be brave to come this far.  You wouldn’t mind if I tested the courage and strength of them, would you?’ ”
Thousand Bones sighed and turned to the group.
“This is Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills,” the shaman said, speaking in Common again.  “He has…challenged one of you to a Sredna contest.  The choice is yours.”
“What is the purpose of this contest?”  Ratbone asked.
“It is a test of strength,” Thousand Bones explained.  “The competitors each place a loop of leather around their heads and behind their ears.  They then take turns pulling.  The one who lasts longest wins.”
“If it’s a challenge he wants,” Valeris growled, “then why don’t we pit his oversized tap hammer against my steel!”
“I warn you,” Thousand Bones said, “Krojun is a hero to the Sklar-Quah, and blood spilt here will undermine the already shaky situation between our two tribes.”
“Fine!”  Valeris snapped.  “Then I accept his challenge.  Let’s play this kids’ game.”

The rules were explained, and Valeris and Krojun crouched on all fours in front of each other after placing the loops around their heads.  Each of them drew three deep breaths, during which time they grimaced and growled at one another.  Though Valeris would never admit it, the huge Shoanti’s menacing visage actually shook his confidence…marginally.  Then, on Thousand Bone’s signal, the contest began in earnest.  Valeris snapped his head back and Krojun’s neck strained, moving a fraction of an inch forward despite the Shoanti’s best effort.  Then, Krojun pulled back, but Valeris dug his fingers into the soil, grunting as he resisted.  Arching his back, he pulled again, and again Krojun came forward, unable to get enough traction to pull back effectively.  Valeris felt the skin behind his ears begin to crack and bleed and he redoubled his efforts, his teeth biting painfully into his lips as he strained.  Krojun’s face turned blood red as he resisted, but then, just as Valeris was certain the match was over, Krojun began to snarl like an animal, foam flying from his mouth.  With a horrific effort, he snapped his head back, yanking Valeris’s forward.  Before he could stop himself, the duskblade was pulled face-first into the dirt.  Krojun pulled the leather loop from his head and folded it back into his pack as he stood up slowly.  Then, incredibly, he offered Valeris his hand, pulling the duskblade to his feet.  He clapped him roughly on the shoulder and laughed heartily.  He spoke something in his own tongue.
“He said that you pulled almost as well as an aurochs calf, and that you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Trinia said.
Krojun then turned and walked away, joining his men to proceed with the burial ceremony.
________________________________________________________


As night fell, Thousand Bones invited the companions to join him at the center of the camp.  The majority of the other Skoan-Quah had retired early to their tents out of respect for the Bone Council Fire.  The only others present besides Thousand Bones were One-Life and Ash Dancer.  As Thousand Bones began to speak, Ash Dancer sprinkled the fire with a greenish-brown herbal dust from a weathered pouch she carried.  A few moments later, the fumes encapsulated those gathered, causing a slight blurring of the vision and a general feeling of ease.
“You have already done my people a great favor by returning the body of one of our warriors,” Thousand Bones began.  “I sense now you come to me to ask a favor in return, yet know that by doing this favor, you are helping us all.  The Skoan-Quah are a peaceful people, yet we are also all but shunned by our kin.  Our willingness to mix with tshamek shames many of my brothers and sisters in the other quahs.  Only their respect for our tradition of guarding and protecting the dead of all Shoanti keep them from open hostility against us.  My words do not reach their ears when I advise against war on Korvosa.  They hear tales of the city in flames, of its king dead, of disease ravaging its people, and they see this as the time foretold.  A time when the Shoanti can ride down from these burning lands and reclaim greener lands to the south, lands that were once ours.  Yet war is not good for us.  My brothers do not see that, even crippled, Korvosa remains a powerful enemy.  It is best to make your enemies your friends, do you not think?  Yet my brothers do not listen to these words.  They see weakness, they demand action.
Yet you could not know of the coming war.  You come to me with a different favor.  Speak of what you wish of me, and perhaps we may find our needs are the same.”

“What can you tell us of Midnight’s Teeth?”  Katarina asked, her words slightly slurred from the mildly intoxicating fumes.
Thousand Bones’ brow furrowed, and he appeared to be deep in thought for a moment before he answered.
“The name is not unfamiliar, yet I know little more than that I have heard it mentioned but twice by Sun Shamans of the Sklar-Quah.  Always in reference to the past, and to what you now call Korvosa.”
“How can we talk to the Sun Shamans?”  Ratbone asked.
“Sadly, you cannot,” Thousand Bones shook his head.  You are tshamek.  Outlanders.  Rightful or not, the Sklar-Quah will see you as the children of those who murdered their ancestors and drove them from the green lands.  The Sun Clan does not like outsiders at the best of times.  And less so now that war against Korvosa is on every brave’s lips.”
“Then how can we make them see us as allies, not outsiders?”  Michael inquired.
“You must understand,” Thousand Bones replied, “the Sklar-Quah are very certain of these things.  They may come to respect lone tshamek after many days of seeing them act honorably, but what you ask is for the Sun Shaman to lay bare his quah’s heart.  The deepest memories of his clan.  These memories are not for tshamek.  Not since Skurak the Reborn have the members of the Sklar-Quah unbanished a man and welcomed him into their quah.”
“Skurak?”  Ratbone asked.
Thousand Bones smiled enigmatically for a brief instant.
“The legend of Skurak,” he began, “is of a great warrior and greater traitor to the Sklar-Quah.  He slew his brother, a brave of even greater courage.  To the Sklar-Quah, family is purity…crimes against the family are the greatest a man can commit.  Although Skurak claimed the death was an accident as he and his brother were hunting, others spoke of murder spawned of jealous rage.  Skurak was declared a tshamek by the Sun Shaman and cast out, but before he left, he said he would be born again and return to his tribe.  This he did.  He went to the killing grounds of the great Cindermaw the Clan-Eater.  Skurak walked up to the beast carrying only his dagger.  Without fear, he dove inside the beast and cut his way out.  He returned to the clan and declared he had been reborn, and had left his misdeeds behind in the cleansing fire of Cindermaw’s belly.  The legend says the Sun Shaman accepted this and Skurak’s time as a tshamek was spoken of no more.”
“What’s a ‘Cindermaw?’”  Valeris asked suspiciously.
“A legend,” Thousand Bones said, “yet one of flesh and blood.  Cindermaw dwells on the northernmost edge of Shoanti lands, in the place where Shoanti and orc and giant vie for life and water.  His hunting grounds are known as the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael, the land of the Clan Eater.  The orcs of Urglin avoid this region; the giants of the north hunt only on its edges.  Within, few have returned to tell tales, but those who do speak of a mountain that crawls and of fire that roars.”
“So,” Ratbone said, blowing out his breath, “are you saying that we could earn the respect of the Sklar-Quah by being eaten by Cindermaw and then escaping?”
“Perhaps,” Thousand Bones shrugged, “yet this route is more complex than you suspect.  The Sklar-Quah would never believe the words of tshamek on such a matter, nor would they risk travel to the Feeding Grounds just to see foolish outlanders attempt to recreate legends.  I could come with you, if my bones were not so tired, yet I am Skoan-Quah.  My words would hold little light with the Sun Shaman, I fear.”
Thousand Bones grew silent for a moment, and in the lull, Ash Dancer spoke for the first time.
“They could bring a Truthspeaker.”
“A Truthspeaker?”  Michael raised one eyebrow.
“There are those among our people,” Thousand Bones nodded, “who, after living lives without lie and never speaking falsehood, have earned the title of Truthspeaker.  It is a rare honor, one that requires many years of chastity, of self-control, of introspection.  There are Truthspeakers among the Sklar-Quah, yet that does not help you.  Would that the Skoan-Quah had one.  Yet the Skoan-Quah and the Sklar-Quah are not the only Shoanti in the Cinderlands.  I have heard tell that the Lyrune-Quah, who dwell in the shadow of the Wyvern Mountains far to the northwest, have Truthspeakers among them.  If you could perform the ritual of rebirth at the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael in the presence of a Truthspeaker, his words would be all the proof you need to secure an audience with the Sklar-Quah.”
“And where would we find the Lyrune-Quah?”  Ratbone asked, impatience in his voice.
“The Moon Clan are nomads,” Thousand Bones replied.  “This time of year, they gather at a place sacred to them, a place called the House of the Moon at the northeasternmost edge of the Wyvern Mountains.  Yet I fear that they will distrust you as tshamek as well, unless you bring to them proof of your honesty and need.”
Valeris threw up his hands in exasperation.
“Come on!  This is getting more complicated than advanced transmutation!”
“What sort of proof?”  Kat asked patiently, ignoring the duskblade’s outburst.
“The Lyrune-Quah are unusual among the Shoanti,” Thousand Bones said.  “They do not seek enlightenment through our ancestors, but from the Song of the Spheres.  They are devotees of Desna, and they trust those who worship her.  Yet that trust is, alone, not enough to earn the aid of a Truthspeaker to be witness to your heroics against Cindermaw.  The faithful of Desna have a tradition of exploring distant and dangerous places as a way to honor their deity, who watches over all who travel.  When they reach the goal of their pilgrimage, a priest leaves a found-mark to honor his journey.  One of the Lyrune-Quah’s greatest ancestors was a priest of Desna named Tanjah…their legends speak of her pilgrimage into an ancient ruin and her discovery of a potent relic sacred to Desna, a stone globe held deep within a place called the Acropolis of the Thrallkeepers.  Those who follow Tanjah’s footsteps and seek her found-mark upon this globe are said to be given the Spherewalker’s Mark, and with this mark, the Lyrune-Quah would welcome into their camp even their most bitter rivals.”
“So let me get this straight,” Valeris said, his voice dripping sarcasm.  “We have to ask a Sun Shaman about Midnight’s Teeth, but he won’t speak to us because we’re outsiders.  In order to not be outsiders, we have to get eaten by a giant worm and somehow come back out again, but even that won’t be good enough unless we can convince him that we really did what we said.  BUT…in order to do THAT we have to find the Moon Clan and talk one of their Truthspeakers into coming along and watch us get eaten by the giant worm.  BUT…in order to do THAT, we’ve got to first find some ancient ruin, find a big rock inside, and get some sort of tattoo from it, THEN we can go find the Moon Clan and do all the rest.  That about sum things up?”
“Just so,” Thousand Bones smiled.
“Where is the Acropolis?”  Kat asked.
“It is a ruin left over from an ancient time,” Thousand Bones answered.  “A time when great powers ruled over this land.  We speak of these ancient lords only in whispers today, but you may know their mark by the Sihedron, the seven-pointed star.  I know not what perils await you within the Acropolis, but its location is not unknown to the Skoan-Quah.  When you are ready to leave, I shall send with you four boneslayers to lead you there.”
“We thank you for all of your help and advice,” Kat said.
“You are doing us a service as well,” Thousand Bones said.  “By convincing the Sklar-Quah you are friends, that you represent Korvosa, and that war is not in anyone’s best interest.  This will save both our peoples needless pain and grief.  If you can earn their trust and respect enough to learn from them the secret of what their ancestors watched over before the outlanders drove them away, they will listen to your words and see the wisdom there.  This is all I ask, and it benefits you as well.”
__________________________________________________________


The following morning, Thousand Bones saw that the company was provisioned against the dangers of the Cinderlands.  The same four boneslayers that guided them into the camp waited for them at its edge.  Thousand Bones introduced them as Ahalak, Hargev, Nalmid, and Shadfrar.  The guides said nothing, simply nodding and then turning for the deep Cinderlands.  

The journey was sweltering, monotonous, and surreal.  The boneslayers never spoke, and seemed to take the odd sights and sounds of the Cinderlands for granted…up to a point.  Three days had passed when the hunters abruptly came to a stop.  They stood looking up the side of a low hill, their faces grim.  The agents followed their gaze.  Protruding from a cleft between two rocks was a sharp wooden pole.  Mounted atop it was the rotting head of a Shoanti man, hung in such a way that it almost resembled a flag on the side of a building.  
“What is it?”  Ratbone asked.
The warriors didn’t answer.  Trinia spoke to them in their own language, and Ahalak replied in clipped, angry words.
“He says it’s the head of a Sklar-Quah, but it was placed here by a ‘tshamek devil’ they call the Cinderlander.  He says that this man has stalked the Cinderlands for the past several years.  He never attacks large groups, but instead targets only lone braves with a strange, sideways screaming bow.  They believe he is the unquiet ghost of a Korvosan general who hunts the land, and will continue to slay Shoanti until his victims equal those the Shoanti took from him.”
Ahalak quickly scaled the hill and retrieved the grisly trophy, plucking two red bolts from its eyes.  Later that evening, the four boneslayers conducted a private ceremony in which they burned the head, scattered the ashes, and buried the skull under a cairn of rocks.
___________________________________________________________


The next day, Ratbone announced that he was leaving the group.
“Just for a short time,” he said.  “I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I was born in the Cinderlands.  My father’s tribe lived north of here, in the mountains.  I need…to pay my respects.  I’ll join you at the Acropolis.”
Nothing they said could change his mind, and as they watched, the druid morphed into a great bird and winged his way into the ash gray sky.

By late afternoon, the sky had darkened further, and strange clouds gathered on a blood red horizon.  The boneslayers paused again and gazed suspiciously at the coming storm, testing the air with their noses.  At length, Ahalak spoke.
“He says it’s an emberstorm,” Trinia translated.  “It’s like a sandstorm made of burning ash.  Not something we want to be caught out in.”
Ahalak pointed towards the nearby foothills and spoke again.
“He says the Acropolis is just there,” Trinia said.  “If we hurry, we can make it before the storm hits.”

A partially collapsed tower that bore the mark of a seven-pointed star stood atop a stone outcropping.  Just beside the strange mark, a pair of wide stone doors stood ajar.  The boneslayers didn’t hesitate, and ducked quickly through the portals.  Once inside, the companions found themselves at the head of a steep, broad stair that descended into darkness.  The walls were black granite, flecked with blood-red deposits of rock crystal.  Intricate rune patterns of strange writing decorated the walls, interrupted at intervals by the ubiquitous seven-pointed star.  
“These runes are Thassilonian,” Kat said, marveling.  “This mark is the Sihedron Rune, the mark of the ancient Runelords of ancient Thassilon.  The writings speak of Runelord Karzoug, and the rune goddess Lissala.”
“Fabulous,” Valeris said.  “This deal just keeps getting better and better.”

At the bottom of the stairs, a corridor opened into a massive chamber.  The air in the cathedral-like space seemed strangely cool.  The ceiling vaulted into the shadows above, while the walls were carved with vertical ridges that rose to support the arch above.  A narrow balcony circled the room, the floor of which dropped into a pool of dark water.  A bridge crossed the pool down the room’s center, and two large stone doors stood in the walls to the south and east.  Smaller doors sat in the walls to the northwest and southwest…all four of the portals bore the depiction of the Sihedron.  Ahalak stopped at the bottom of the stairs and dropped to one knee, staring intently at the floor.  After a moment, he spoke, and pointed towards the small door to the southwest.
“He’s found tracks,” Trinia said softly.  “Two people passed this way recently.  He says they went through that door.”

Carefully, the group approached the door.  Kat examined it closely, then reached out and touched the Sihedron symbol.  Slowly, the door slid up into the ceiling, revealing a long, plain hallway with narrow gaps piercing the wall facing the pool chamber, acting as a hidden observation gallery.  Two figures stood halfway down the passage.  They turned as the door opened.  One was a distinguished looking older man dressed in heavy black robes.  The second was female, but not human.  Her skin was as pale as bone, her eyes red as fire.  Slender horns protruded from her forehead, and she was naked save for spiked chains that wrapped around her body like a second skin.
“Well now, this is inconvenient,” the man said.  
“Who are you, and why are you here?”  Kat demanded.  The boneslayers gripped their earthbreaker mauls tightly.  “Speak quickly!”
“Of course,” the man said.  “There is no need for violence.  I am Shadowcount Sial, and this is my associate Asyra.  We are accomplices of Laori Vaus.  I trust you remember her?”
“Well, well,” Valeris said.  “Isn’t this getting interesting?”
“Laori reported your efforts in Old Korvosa to our organization,” Sial continued.  “I have been…observing you for some time now.”
“You mean spying on us!”  O’Reginald snapped.  
Sial shrugged.  “I was simply gathering information.  You see, I represent a group of scholars and historians within the church of Zon-Kuthon.  We may have need of the services of such an esteemed group as yourselves, but first we must make be certain of your methods.  I humbly request that you allow us to accompany you as silent observers.  You have my word that we will not interfere with your quest in any way.”
The boneslayers began speaking at once, their voices raised in anger.  
“They don’t like them,” Trinia said.  “They are warning us…strongly…not to trust them.”
“How quaint,” Sial said, his voice dripping disdain.  “Your primitives speak for you?”
“Watch your mouth!”  Valeris said.
“My apologies,” Sial said.  “I’m just not accustomed to servants being so…outspoken.”
“They’re not our servants,” Kat said.  “They are allies, and if you want to be the same, you’ll show some respect.”
Sial nodded silently.
“Fine,” Kat continued.  “We can’t keep you from following us without killing you, and I’d prefer to keep my eyes on you, but be warned, if you step out of line even once, we’ll end this partnership…permanently.”
“Understood,” Sial smiled.
_______________________________________________________


Beyond the gallery hall, the ever-growing group came upon a strange sight.  The floor of the otherwise empty chamber contained a five-foot diameter hole in the center, surrounded by a ring of wavy runes.  Inside the hole, a shaft filled with brilliant emerald light dropped into the depths.  A smaller room opened off the chamber, as did a second observation gallery.  Within the smaller room, a strange, bronze statue stood.  It depicted a half-snake, half-human creature with the lower body of a serpent coiled about a stand and the upper torso of a slender human woman.  Her hands were crossed over her chest to clutch two objects at her shoulders…the right hand held a large quill, while the left held a jade-handled whip.  Six bird-like wings emerged from the torso’s shoulders, and instead of a head, it had a disk bearing the seven-pointed star of the Sihedron.  A line of jade runes ran down the statue’s belly and along the length of its snaky lower body.  

“Lissala, the goddess of runes,” Sial said.  
“One of the former patrons of ancient Thassilon,” Kat agreed.  “I have studied Thassilonian, but these runes are nonsensical.  Perhaps a spell or incantation of some sort.”
The beguiler approached the statue and began to examine it more closely, sliding her hands over its surface.  When she reached the base, she noticed a hair-thin seam there…a concealed drawer.  Her fingers working nimbly, she depressed a hidden latch, causing the drawer to slide open.  Inside was a large circular frame that contained several wedge-shaped metal plates, each punched with its own intricate design.  Each plate appeared to slide perfectly over or under the two adjacent plates along the outer ring.
“Hmm,” Kat mused as she held the frame in front of her.  Then she walked quickly back into the first chamber and stood next to the illuminated hole.  She kneeled down and placed the frame over the hole.  It fit perfectly.  Her face intent, Kat began to slide the plates over and under each other.  As she did so, the light from the shaft below shone through the openings and began to create a pattern on the ceiling.  When she slid the last one into place, it was obvious to all that she had created a map…a map of the truly massive complex that the Acropolis was once a part of.  
“I’m impressed,” Sial said, smiling.  “Laori did not speak falsely when she told of your talents.  I think we shall indeed have much to talk about.”

Though the map was interesting, it was also outdated.  Much of the areas it revealed had been destroyed over time.  It seemed only a few rooms remained of the original structure.  Kat left the frame in place as the group moved on through the next gallery to explore those other chambers.  The second gallery opened onto a perpendicular hallway that seemed to join the two sides of the Acropolis that bounded the central chamber.  Along the hall, the company came to a point with two large double doors on either side.  It seemed reasonable that the western door would lead back to the central chamber.  From the map, Kat knew that another room lay to the east.  When she opened that door, she beheld a truly wondrous sight.  The walls were decorated with six life-sized bas-relief carvings that depicted a diverse collection of priests, each adorned in billowing robes draped in Thassilonian runes.  An intricate scripture wound around each carving, coiling around them and along the walls like an immensely long tangle of ribbons.
“So what do you make of this, then?”  Sial asked Kat, interest gleaming in his eyes.  
“I don’t recognize the carvings,” Kat replied, “but the writings are Thassilonian.”
“The carvings represent the upper tier clergy of Lissala, unless I miss my guess,” Sial offered.
Kat looked at him suspiciously.  She turned and began reading the scripture.
“It seems to be a warning of some sort,” she said.  “Something about a dire peril that lies within the heart of the Acropolis.  It’s going to take me a bit to read it all…not long…perhaps five minutes…”
_______________________________________________________


An hour later, she was still reading.  
“Come on!”  Valeris groaned.  “Don’t you know what the danger is yet?”
“Just a bit longer,” Kat said distractedly.
Valeris rolled his eyes and stalked towards the doors.  He depressed the Sihedron Rune there, as the doors had closed again on their own after only a minute of being open.  He stepped out into the hall, and Herc followed, the big mercenary having grown restless as well.  Valeris reached to open the doors across the hall, when suddenly they slid upwards of their own accord.  Standing on the other side was Krojun, and three of his Sklar-Quah thundercallers.  The boneslayers tensed, their hands gripping their weapons.  The big barbarian nodded stoically and spoke curtly.
“He’s warning us that this is a bad place, and we shouldn’t be here,” Trinia translated.
“Then what’s he doing here?”  Valeris sneered.  Trinia asked the question.
“He says that he and his braves took shelter here to wait out the emberstorm,” Trinia said after Krojun had replied.  “Now he wants to know what we’re doing here.”
“Tell him,” Michael shrugged.  When Trinia complied, Krojun snorted derisively, and barked out a response.
“He says we’re no better than the ‘star-gazing Lyrune-Quah,’” Trinia said.  Krojun then leaned forward and fairly growled his next question into Valeris’s face.
“He’s demanding to know what, exactly, we’re doing in the Cinderlands,” Trinia said quietly.  Once again, Michael nodded for her to explain.  When she did, Krojun folded his arms across his chest, and grunted.  He spoke briefly, his tone dripping disdain.
“He says that the Sun Shamans of the Sklar-Quah have nothing to say to tshamek,” Trinia said.
“I guess we’ll just have to see about that then, won’t we?”  Michael smiled, and then he turned back towards Kat.
________________________________________________________


Another hour passed as Kat continued reading the scriptures, unhurried by the constant grousing of Valeris.  Krojun and his band grew quickly bored and began wandering around the main hall.  At one point, they came upon a carving of a buxom mermaid, and began hooting and whistling as they made lewd gestures.  When that grew tiresome, they took to skipping stones across the twin pools of dark water.  
“Let’s go keep an eye on these bumpkins,” Valeris said to Herc.  “At least it’ll give us something to do.”

The two went to the bridge which spanned the center of the room.  From there they could see the Sklar-Quah clearly on the far side of the pool.  Herc crouched down and peered into the black liquid.
“How deep do you think it is?” he asked.
Valeris shrugged.  “One way to find out.”   He pulled out a length of rope and tied a rock to it.  He then whirled it several times around and cast it out over the water.  The stone landed heavily, and sank quickly.  Valeris began hauling it back towards him.  As he did so, the entire structure suddenly shook slightly.  The waters of the pool sloshed and churned as if something huge had just shifted below the surface.  He dropped the rope and he and Herc began to back away from the pool, but as they did so, movement flickered at the corners of their vision on both sides.  They turned, weapons leaving their sheaths, just as a half-dozen Red Mantis assassins appeared from the shadows, surrounding them on both sides.  
“They’ve found us!”  Herc shouted in warning, praying his voice would carry to his companions.
In an instant, the assassins were upon them, whirling saw-toothed sabers in their hands.  In rapid succession, three of them struck at Valeris, their blades slashing him viciously before he could even raise his own sword in defense.  His eyes went wide as he collapsed to one knee, blood pouring from multiple wounds, and also from his mouth.  His eyes locked with Herc’s briefly before they went dim, and he fell heavily to his side.
“No!”  Herc shouted.  He lowered his shield and rushed forward, attempting to bull his way through the killers, but they were too skilled and too many.  All of them turned their attention to him, and the big warrior knew that it would not be long before his joined his friend in death.

O’Reginald was the first to hear Herc’s warning.  The wizard rushed through the doors just as Valeris went down.  To his amazement, Krojun and his warriors were watching the battle and actually placing bets with each other!  Several coins changed hands when Valeris collapsed, and Krojun chuckled, shaking his head.  O’Reginald silently vowed to see that they paid more than coins when this was over.  He turned back as Herc struggled to free himself.  He closed his eyes and spoke his spell quickly, yanking the mercenary across dimensional boundaries to reappear at his side seconds later.  He turned to help his friend, but saw that Sial was already there.
“I have him,” the priest said, and as he laid his hands upon Herc, the warrior’s wounds began to close and heal.  O’Reginald nodded his grudging gratitude, then turned back to the room where Kat was still reading.
“Kat!” he shouted.  “We could use some help out here!”

Katarina heard the sounds of combat, and she also heard O’Reginald’s calls, yet she could not pull herself away from the ancient writing.  Something inside her kept telling her that she was so very near to discovering the secret…she just needed a little more time.  
‘No!’ she told herself.  Something was wrong.  Why couldn’t she simply stop reading and come back to it?  With an effort of will that nearly caused her to swoon, she wrenched her eyes away from the script.  In that instant, she realized with horror that the writings had been so much nonsense.  It had been a trap all along!  Cursing herself, she hurried across the room and looked out at the scene unfolding.  The Red Mantis killers were regrouping, preparing to close on Herc and O’Reginald.  The four Skoan-Quah boneslayers were moving out to meet them.
“Stop!” she shouted, knowing full well that the Shoanti stood no chance against the brutally efficient assassins, but the honor of the braves would not let them retreat when their charges were in danger.  Kat began to cast, and before the Red Mantis could leave the bridge, she filled it with a billowing cloud of fog, but it was no ordinary mist.  It had the consistency of quicksand, and the assassins suddenly found themselves unable to move at more than a crawl.
“Now!”  Kat shouted to O’Reginald, for the two wizards had practiced this particular combination of spells for just such a contingency.
O’Reginald grinned evilly and began his own spell.  Within moments, a cluster of writhing, black tentacles sprouted within the fog bank, and quickly entwined every one of the killers.  The wizard had one last trick up his sleeve, and he hurled a ball of fire into the mix.  It exploded spectacularly, but astonishingly, grappled though they were, all but one of the assassins managed to evade the brunt of the blast.  The unlucky individual who did not was burned to ash on the spot.  

The tide of battle had certainly turned.  The Red Mantis were trapped, and it would only be a matter of time before the tentacles squeezed them all to death.  O’Reginald nodded in satisfaction, but as he turned away from the battle, he heard one of the boneslayers shout a warning.  When he turned back, he first thought that something had gone awry with his spell, for protruding from the water nearby were several long, rubbery tentacles.  On closer inspection, however, the wizard saw that the greenish-black appendages were studded with bumpy nodules, and as he stood there, mouth agape, the nodules opened, revealing reptilian eyes.  All of those gathered around the pool recoiled in horror, or, in the case of the Red Mantis, tried to.  One of the tentacles suddenly whipped out and snatched one of the assassins from the grip of O’Reginald’s spell, then crushed the man with a slight flex of its coils, dropping him limply into the pool.  Another struck at Krojun and wrapped around the barbarian’s leg.  With a shrill war cry, the nearest thundercaller whirled a longspear around his head, causing it to emit an ululating whistle through the holes in its blade.  He brought the tip of the spear down on the tentacle, pinning it to the ground.  A moment later, Krojun raised his maul and crushed the appendage, causing it to release him and slither back into the pool.  Yet more tentacles continued to emerge.  One grabbed Hargev, one of the Skoan-Quah boneslayers, and lifted the man screaming into the air.  His cries were abruptly cut short as his spine snapped.  

Chaos erupted in the central chamber.  As O’Reginald watched, the remaining Red Mantis were killed off one-by-one, either by his tentacles, or by the alien ones from the pool.  One of Krojun’s thundercallers was seized by another tentacle, and Krojun rushed to his side.  Nalmid, another boneslayer, died quickly as his neck was broken.  Still more tentacles emerged.  No one could move for fear of being snatched.  O’Reginald wondered how long it would be before they all joined Valeris.  Where was Ratbone when you needed him?


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Wow, well that's my definition of a cliffhanger!



> “So let me get this straight,” Valeris said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “We have to ask a Sun Shaman about Midnight’s Teeth, but he won’t speak to us because we’re outsiders. In order to not be outsiders, we have to get eaten by a giant worm and somehow come back out again, but even that won’t be good enough unless we can convince him that we really did what we said. BUT…in order to do THAT we have to find the Moon Clan and talk one of their Truthspeakers into coming along and watch us get eaten by the giant worm. BUT…in order to do THAT, we’ve got to first find some ancient ruin, find a big rock inside, and get some sort of tattoo from it, THEN we can go find the Moon Clan and do all the rest. That about sum things up?”



I guess Valeris sums up what most players are thinking about this module. It does oddly foreshadow what happend in the end. Or was it just JD's regular Red Mantis mayhem?

Great stuff, btw !!!


----------



## Allanon

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Wow, well that's my definition of a cliffhanger!
> 
> 
> I guess Valeris sums up what most players are thinking about this module. It does oddly foreshadow what happend in the end. Or was it just JD's regular Red Mantis mayhem?
> 
> Great stuff, btw !!!



I agree that in it's it can become somewhat tedious. But the module itself also gives DM's hints on how to shorten the adventure sequence somewhat or adapt it to the preferences of the gaming group.

I kept most of it, but cut out the traveling to the moon tribes and the necessity to visit this temple for the mark. Instead a truth-speaker of the bones tribe joined them. Whilst traveling to the layer of the worm they were hit by an emberstorm. Looking for shelter they found this temple. Finding shelter they came upon Krojin who was also sheltering from the storm. They themselves decided to investigate the temple, had some encounters and then travelled on. As one can see, the encounters and sequence of them is up to individual taste.

Besides that,  thank you for an inspiring story hour JollyDoc. I can't wait to read the rest of it


----------



## JollyDoc

Allanon said:


> I agree that in it's it can become somewhat tedious. But the module itself also gives DM's hints on how to shorten the adventure sequence somewhat or adapt it to the preferences of the gaming group.
> 
> I kept most of it, but cut out the traveling to the moon tribes and the necessity to visit this temple for the mark. Instead a truth-speaker of the bones tribe joined them. Whilst traveling to the layer of the worm they were hit by an emberstorm. Looking for shelter they found this temple. Finding shelter they came upon Krojin who was also sheltering from the storm. They themselves decided to investigate the temple, had some encounters and then travelled on. As one can see, the encounters and sequence of them is up to individual taste.
> 
> Besides that,  thank you for an inspiring story hour JollyDoc. I can't wait to read the rest of it





Well, our group prefers action to tedium, so I'm not one for detailing the trek between this place and that, and  I despise random encounters.  So far, it hasn't been too wearing, and after last night, we might actually finish up this one next week.  BTW, last night, they met Cindermaw and not one, but two of our heroes ended up undergoing the rite of passage (the second one was unintentional).


----------



## carborundum

Yippee! Nice one JD!
It's round about this module that I started getting the vibe that Valeris so succinctly worded. I guess with a bit of DM flair you can make it your own, and a certain module later in the AP is excellent! Can't wait til they get there  I'm sure you know the place of which I speak and no spoilers are necessary, just a shiver.


----------



## JollyDoc

NOWHERE TO RUN

Raelak breathed a sigh of relief as the last remnants of the emberstorm finally passed.  For a brief moment there, he had thought that he might die within sight of the Acropolis.  Surely his shame among his ancestors in the afterlife would have been never ending.  Fortunately, he’d been able to bring at least a small amount of honor to his fathers by using the skills they had taught him and finding shelter within an old landshark drift.  
“Come on dog,” he said as he climbed to the edge of the crater and shook the ash from his cloak.  The mangy mongrel padded after him, obedient as a heel hound despite the fact that Raelak had found him scavenging for scrub rats just two days past.  The Shoanti hadn’t named the animal.  That would be disrespectful.  The gods already named all creatures at the moment of their creation, and it would be presumptuous of him to second guess the divine.  He certainly had no illusions that he now owned the dog.  To Raelak, they were simply two travelers going in the same direction, and the mongrel had already proven very useful when they’d stumbled across that pack of bush tigers.  Still, he was looking forward to a little company while he explored the ancient ruin.  Technically, the Lyrune-Quah rite of passage was supposed to be a solo journey, but there was never any mention of animal companions.  Besides, the Moon Maidens had their wolves, didn’t they?  What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.  Raelak and the dog made their way up the low hill to the doors of the Acropolis.  Strangely, they were ajar.  Raelak crouched and examined the ground around them closely.
“Well,” he said, “it looks like we may not be alone after all…,”
__________________________________________________________

Krojun crushed another tentacle beneath his earthbreaker, but not before it had ripped the leg from the Sklar-Quah thundercaller it had seized.  The man bled to death within seconds.  Across the pool, Asyra unspooled two of the chains from around her arms and spun them like scythes as she warded off a pair of tentacles that threatened to menace Sial.  Sial himself had produced a spiked chain from beneath his robes, and he gripped it as though he knew how to use it well.  With his other hand, he pulled out a black, stoppered vial and removed the cork with his teeth.
“Asyra,” he growled, “it has become most inhospitable here.  We are leaving.  Any who wish to come with us, join me now!”
“We’re not leaving!”  O’Reginald snapped.  “We came here for a reason, and we won’t let a giant squid stop us!”
“As you wish,” Sial shrugged.  “If you survive, we shall soon meet again.”
He upended the flask, quaffing its contents in one swallow, and then gripped Asyra’s arm.  In a matter of seconds, the pair simply faded away to nothingness.
___________________________________________________________

When Raelak reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw a roiling cloud of fog stretching across a dark pool.  Strange, serpentine shadows played within the mist, while shouts and the sound of clanging metal echoed from somewhere beyond it.
“I don’t know what’s going on here, dog,” he said as he ruffled the mongrel’s fur, “but I won’t allow open defilement of this holy place.  Wait here.  I won’t be gone long.”
The Lyrune-Quah brave then slipped away into the shadows to a nearby door.  He pushed a stellate symbol in its center, and it rose silently into the ceiling.  He peered around the corner and then quickly ducked inside.  He didn’t hear the dog began to growl low in its throat, nor see it suddenly double in size, nor notice the long, spike-like appendage that sprouted where its tail had been…
___________________________________________________________

A ball of fire rolled across the surface of the pool, immolating several of the grasping tentacles, but despite O’Reginald’s best effort, more of them continued to emerge from the water.  Both of the two remaining thundercallers were seized and lifted into the air as Krojun howled impotent rage.  Despite the fact that the Sklar-Quah had made no effort to help him and Valeris, and had even gone so far as to wager on their fates, Herc couldn’t stand by and simply watch them die.  He rushed forward, hacking an intervening tentacle in two as he went, and grabbed the legs of one of the thundercallers just as the Shoanti was about to be pulled out of reach.  The other Shoanti was not so fortunate, and the tentacles that held him sucked him beneath the water.  Krojun roared again, and pulverized the appendage that held the last of his men.  As the tentacle released him, Herc caught the semi-conscious thundercaller, heaved him over his shoulder, and quickly carried him to safety back in the room where Kat had found the insidious writings.
__________________________________________________________

Raelak jogged quickly down the length of the gallery he’d entered, then opened another door and came upon a strange chamber that held a pillar of emerald light which formed some sort of pattern on the ceiling.  He ignored the phenomenon for the moment, and also the large pair of double doors on the room’s north side, guessing they would only lead him into the midst of the fog bank.  Instead he opened another smaller door across the room, and hurried down a second gallery.  When he opened the door at the end of that hall, he stopped dead in his tracks.  Standing directly on the other side was a beautiful, yellow-haired tshamek woman, and, of all things, a Skoan-Quah boneslayer!

“Hold, brother!”  Ahalak shouted as Raelak reflexively raised his bow.  “We are not your enemy today!  The tale is a long one, and I shall give it to you should we survive this day, but for now you must take me at my word…stand with us against this evil, and all will be made clear!”
Raelak was still very confused, but he did indeed trust the word of a fellow Shoanti, even if it was a tshamek-loving Skoan-Quah.  As he glanced around the corner into the main chamber, however, he was both horrified and awe-struck.  A lone Sklar-Quah warrior stood at the edge of the dark pool, menaced on all sides by writhing, eye-covered tentacles.  The warrior was none other than Krojun Eats-What-He –Kills.  The Sklar-Quah’s legend stretched the breadth of the Cinderlands, and it was apparently well-deserved.  The tentacles ripped and tore at his flesh, yet the brave stood his ground, wielding his earthbreaker and klar as if they were extensions of his own body.  As Raelak watched, however, a second Sklar-Quah appeared from a side passage…a thundercaller from his tattoos.  The man was badly wounded, yet he did not let that stop him from rushing to Krojun’s aid.  Before he could reach his leader, however, one of the tentacles flicked at him like a striking viper, and caved in his chest before he could take three steps.

Kat could see that the situation was growing more desperate by the moment.  Thinking quickly, she took the best tactic she could think of…buying time.  Weaving her magic more intricately than she’d ever tried before, she constructed a highly realistic, yet illusory stone wall around the near side of the pool to a height of over ten feet.  To her horror, however, the tentacles began ‘climbing’ the wall, and several even came right through it.  One of them twined around Shadfrar, one of the two remaining boneslayers.  The man died screaming.  Another seized O’Reginald, heaving him into the air, and driving the words of a spell from his lips as the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs.  At that precise moment, all of the open doors in the area abruptly slid closed at the same time, pinning several of the grasping tentacles beneath them.  Kat, Herc, Michael, Trinia, Ahalak, and Raelak found themselves in the long hallway between the main chamber and the room filled with Thassilonian writing.  O’Reginald took a deep breath, and spoke one word, transporting himself out of the tentacle’s grasp, and as far away as he could get, but the last thing he saw before he departed was Krojun taking the opportunity to dart to safety in one of the galleries on the far side of the chamber.  
____________________________________________________________

Herc immediately began hacking at the tentacles that were trapped beneath the doors.  From several feet away, Raelak drew back the string to his bow, and as he did so, an arrow of pure light formed.  When he released it, it burned through one of the tentacles like a hot knife through butter.  Again and again he pulled and released, destroying tentacle after tentacle.  When the last one withdrew, Michael slapped the Sihedron rune on the door behind the group, and the company quickly fell back into the writing chamber to regroup and catch their collective breath.
____________________________________________________________

O’Reginald reappeared back on the main stairs that lead up to the Acropolis entrance…and immediately thought that he’d jumped from the frying pan and into the fire.  Standing before him was a gigantic bipedal, lupine creature that sported a stocky, flail-like tail.  Then, recognition dawned on the sorcerer’s face.
“R…Ratbone??” he asked incredulously.
The predatory creature nodded once, then suddenly leaped forward.  For a moment, O’Reginald thought he’d been mistaken, and now he’d pay for his mistake with his life.  An instant later, however, he was seized from behind as tentacles began emerging from the pool again.  Ratbone seized the appendage in his claws, and then bit cleanly through it with his powerful jaws.  O’Reginald dropped heavily to the floor, then quickly scrambled to his feet and began running up the stairs.  Behind him, he saw Ratbone wade into the pool, directly into the nest of tentacles, and continue to wreak havoc with the alien things.
__________________________________________________________

“We cannot stay here,” Raelak told Trinia and Ahalak.  Those…things…could find another way through at any moment.  I can lead us out, but I suggest we split up.  If we divide the attention of the demon arms, we might have a better chance of escape.”
Trinia translated the Lyrune-Quah’s words for her allies, and they quickly agreed.  They hurried back into the hallway, and then divided.  Raelak, Kat, and Ahalak went left, while Herc, Michael and Trinia went right.  Raelak led his group back through the galleries, past the fountain of light.  He did not notice when Katarina paused there, and did not follow.  When he reached the end of the second gallery, he quickly opened the door…and stopped in his tracks.  A monstrous creature stood knee-deep in the pool, ripping and tearing at tentacles with feral savagery.
“Dog?”  the Shoanti asked.

Meanwhile, Herc led his friends through the opposite galleries, but when they reached the end of the second, they found Krojun already there, crouched and peering out the narrow windows into the central chamber beyond.  The Sklar-Quah warrior was bleeding profusely, and looked as if he was barely able to stay on his feet.  Cautiously, Herc drew a healing elixir from his belt and held it out to the Shoanti.  Snarling, Krojun slapped it away and barked something in his native tongue.
“He says he’d rather die than feel the pity of tshamek,” Trinia said.
Herc shrugged.  “Then tell him to stand aside,” the big merc said, and he shouldered past Krojun to the door.  When he reached it, he opened it quickly…and was immediately yanked through as a tentacle reached in and coiled around his waist.  
_________________________________________________________

Ratbone didn’t see Herc’s plight, for by that time he had fought through a small forest of tentacles and completely submerged himself within the pool.  He intended to find the source of the deadly appendages and deal with it in his customary fashion.  He hadn’t gone very far down before he saw it:  a massive mound of tentacles rose and fell, hinting at the breathing of a great slumbering beast.  Every so often, the tip of one the glistening filaments twitched to life, spontaneously growing a razor-like feeler, horrible eye, or other alien appendage.  The creature’s body was a looming clot of those same appendages, a twitching knot of wriggling matter.  Ratbone hesitated for a moment, not certain what he was looking at, but then he surged forward and slashed into the beast with one savage swipe of his claws.  It was as if he had struck a stone wall.  Barely a scratch marred the thing’s skin, and even that rapidly healed and vanished completely in the span of a three heartbeats.  
______________________________________________________

Kat stood studying the map on the ceiling, looking for something…anything…she might have missed.  Then, she saw it.  There was another level to the Acropolis…one that lay directly beneath them!  The cone of light was a passage!  Immediately, she opened her mind to her companions, telling them of her discovery, but in that moment, she sensed the danger they were in.  Quickly, she hurried out of the room and back towards the main chamber.
_______________________________________________________

Michael was grabbed next.  Before he knew what was happening, he was dangling by one leg over the pool, not far from the still struggling Herc.  Raelak still knelt in the doorway, firing over and over at the tentacles, destroying several, but not able to get a clear shot at those holding the tshamek.  Before he could, he was struck repeatedly by several of the flailing arms, and he was forced to retreat back to the relative safety of the gallery.  When he looked around to find Krojun, he saw that the Sklar-Quah was gone.  

Meanwhile, Kat stepped out of the gallery across the chamber and quickly loosed a thunderous lance of sonic energy.  The tentacle that held Herc was blown into a dozen pieces and the mercenary fell heavily to the floor.  
“Come on!”  Kat shouted, and Herc didn’t hesitate.  He scrambled to his feet and ran across the room, dodging tentacles on all sides.  Suddenly, the pool erupted in a geyser as Ratbone reemerged.  With one hand he slashed through the tentacle that held Michael, then caught the priest as he fell and tossed him towards the door where Kat stood.  Michael rolled to his feet and darted after Herc.  Kat cleared a path for Ratbone with another sound lance, allowing the druid to reach the gallery.  He shoved Kat in front of him and the pair hurried towards the map room.  Behind them, the tentacles writhed and slithered through the gallery door, pursuing with deadly speed.

By the time Herc and Michael reached the cone of light, Trinia and Ahalak were already there.  Then, from the far side of the room, Raelak emerged, panting and bloody.  
“In the hole!”  Kat cried as she ran in.  Herc looked dubious, but shrugged and leaped in, vanishing into the brilliant emerald light.  Michael started to follow, but suddenly a tentacle burst into the chamber and seized the priest’s leg.  He cried out in surprise, then swung his shield almost reflexively, bringing it down solidly on the appendage.  For an instant, its grip loosened, and Michael yanked himself free, then rolled across the floor and into the hole.  Ratbone grabbed the wriggling tentacle before it could lash out again, buying time for Trinia, Ahalak and Raelak to dive down the shaft.  
“Wait!”  Kat shouted.  “Where’s O’Reginald?”
“Right here!” the sorcerer said as he popped out of thin air.  
Kat allowed herself a brief smile, then stepped into the beam of light.  O’Reginald quickly followed.  Ratbone allowed himself the brief indulgence of snapping the tentacle in two before he followed his companions into the unknown.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Ratbone returns...and not  a moment too soon. I love Raelak's introduction - will he keep on calling Ratbone, "Dog"? Still, even though the group is not used to fleeing, it's good to see that they prefer retreat over a TPK.


----------



## Abciximab

> From several feet away, Raelak drew back the string to his bow, and as he did so, an arrow of pure light formed. When he released it, it burned through one of the tentacles like a hot knife through butter.




Hank? Is that you?


----------



## JollyDoc

CINDERMAW

A wide corridor, composed of polished black granite, stretched away north.  A blue stone disc sat on the floor beneath the glowing column of blue light that rose up from it through a hole in the ceiling.  To the north, a small, circular opening in the wall opened into a smaller chamber.  The eight survivors gathered round the small disc, each having drifted gently down the hole when they took their leap of faith.  

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Ratbone, in his normal shape, said to Raelak.  
The Shoanti quirked an eyebrow expectantly.  
“Yes…well…it’s kind of a long story,” the druid stammered.  “I’ll try to sum it up.  You see, we’re from Korvosa, the land of your ancestors.  The queen there has gone insane, and we believe she’s been corrupted by a powerful, ancient, and thoroughly evil artifact.  We also believe the Sklar-Quah Sun Shamans know something about this and can possibly tell us a way to destroy it and defeat the queen.  The only problem is…,” 
“You are tshamek,” Raelak said solemnly.  
“Exactly,” Ratbone nodded.  “So, Thousand Bones of the Skoan-Quah told us that the Sklar-Quah might accept us if we recreate the legend of Skurak.”
“You are going to be eaten by a giant worm?”  Raelak asked, a slight smile on his face.  “I thought you were smarter than that, Dog.”
“Me too,” Ratbone muttered.  “Anyway, in order for the Sklar-Quah to believe us, assuming we can recreate the legend, we need a Truthspeaker.”
“I think I know the rest,” the Shoanti said.  “My tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, won’t exactly give you one of our Truthspeakers unless you prove yourselves to them, so you have come here seeking Tanjah’s found-mark.”
Ratbone nodded again.
“That is my quest as well,” Raelak said.  “It is tradition among my tribe that each brave undertake such a pilgrimage in order to prove himself worthy to take his full place in the tribe.  I have one question though…why were you travelling apart from your friends?”
“That’s an even longer story,” Ratbone said.  “I was born in the Cinderlands under…unfortunate circumstances.  I felt a need to visit my birthplace…on my own.”
This time it was Raelak who nodded.  “We must each seek our own peace.  It seems that, for now, our paths are the same.  If it is well, I will walk with you for a time.  If I see that you are worthy, perhaps I will even speak on your behalf with my tribe…Dog.”
Ratbone smiled, but just as suddenly, his brow furrowed in confusion, and he turned to Katarina.
“Where’s…Valeris?”
Kat shook her head.  “Gone,” she said.  “The Red Mantis caught him and Herc off-guard.  He fell.”
“Where is his body?”  the druid asked tonelessly.
“Above,” Kat said, “on the bridge.”
“I will recover him before we leave,” Ratbone said.  “I owe him that much.”
_________________________________________________________


Beyond the smaller chamber at the end of the wide hall, was a narrow flight of stairs that led to a large, open vault.  The walls, ceiling and floor of the chamber had been painted to resemble a starry sky, giving the illusion of walking through space.  In places between the stars, were painted small blue butterflies.  A ten-foot diameter stone sphere floated near the room’s southern wall.  Three short metal rods protruded from the lower hemisphere, radiating outward like the legs of a tripod, only the rods rested on empty air rather than a solid surface.  The sphere itself appeared to have been carefully carved with drawings of tiny rivers, mountains, and forests.

Raelak walked reverently over to the globe, his mouth open.  
“This…is our world,” he said softly.  “It is Golarion…only…not…”
“What do you mean, ‘not,’” O’Reginald said as he came to stand beside the Shoanti.
“Look here,” Raelak replied, pointing towards a large central landmass.  “This is where Varisia should be, but it is landlocked, except for that narrow strip of coast to the south.  And see?  The Inner Sea is missing completely, and what are these islands, and that continent?  No such places exist.  Strange…,”
“Hmm,” the sorcerer said as he leaned in for a closer look.  In doing so, he absently placed his hand on the globe…and promptly vanished!
______________________________________________________


O’Reginald felt disembodied.  He floated, or at least his mind did, in a vast void, yet the space was not empty.  It was full of stars and strange planets.  His perspective began to shift, slowly at first, and then more rapidly.  World after world flashed past him, each stranger than the one before.  The vistas became dizzying, and O’Reginald felt his psyche begin to fragment.  Desperately, he tried to focus on something, anything familiar.  He pictured his friends where he’d left them, and just as suddenly as the visions had begun, they ended and he was again standing in the strange vault, his hand hovering just above the globe.

“What happened?”  Raelak demanded.  “Where did you go?”
“I…I don’t know,” O’Reginald said.  Then he saw his hand that was still held before him.  On the back of it was a light blue tattoo of a butterfly.  It had not been there before.
“The Spherewalker’s Mark!”  Raelak exclaimed.  “You’ve received it!  Did you see her?  Did you see Desna?”
“I don’t know what I saw,” O’Reginald shook his head.  “I just know that I don’t want to see it again.”
“Well I do!”  Raelak said, and he reached towards the globe.  
“Careful!”  the sorcerer warned.  “Be sure to picture something familiar to you when you want to return, otherwise…I think maybe you never will.”

Raelak nodded, and touched the sphere.  He too vanished, only to reappear moments later, but what felt to him like an eternity.  When he did, he too carried the Spherewalker’s Mark.  He gazed at it in wonder, and a child-like smile brightened his face.  One-by-one, the other companions repeated the ritual, each telling a different tale when they returned, but all carrying the found mark.  The left the vault and returned to the shaft of light.  Instinctively, they knew that the light would carry them back up as gently as it had brought them down.  When they regained the main level, all was quiet.  The dark pool was placid with no sign of the deadly tentacles.  Valeris’s body, and those of the Red Mantis and the boneslayers lay where they fell.  The bodies of the Sklar-Quah thundercallers, however, where gone.  Ratbone gently picked up his friend, while Raelak and Ahalak gathered the remains of the boneslayers.  In silence, the companions left the Acropolis of the Thrallkeepers.
_______________________________________________________


When they exited the ruins, the landscape outside had changed.  A tower stood where none had stood before.  It was carved of some sort of white stone, and bore only a single door.  Atop it sat a huge carving of a bleached skull.  As the companions watched, the door swung open and Shadowcount Sial stepped out, Asyra just behind him.

“We meet again,” the Kuthite priest said with a bow and a small smile.  “I’m relieved to see that you are all alive and well.”
“Not all,” O’Reginald snapped.
“Yes, the duskblade,” Sial nodded.  “Pity, but it seems that you’ve bolstered your ranks with one of the natives.  They do have their uses, I suppose.  Ah, and I see ‘Ratbone’ has rejoined you as well.”
“Who is this?”  Ratbone asked the others, his eyes narrowing dangerously.  
“An acquaintance of Laori Vas,” Kat explained.  “He says that the ‘Brotherhood of Bones’ wants to partner with us.  They want to observe us.  They say they might have work for us later.”
“No,” Ratbone said simply and definitively.  
“Wait…,” Michael began.
“I said…no,” Ratbone repeated, his eyes flat.  Michael wisely remained silent.
Kat shrugged.
“You have your answer,” she called to Sial.
The priest nodded.  “So be it.  I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of each other.”
__________________________________________________________


With Raelak’s help, finding the Lyrune-Quah proved an easy task.  The Shoanti explained that, this time of the year, the clan camped near an ancient ruin called the House of the Moon, or simply the Moon Ruin.  As they neared the area, they were intercepted a group of four female Shoanti, each with a large wolf at her side.  
“Moon Maidens,” Raelak explained in a low voice, “the protectors of the Lyrune-Quah.”
“Why have you brought tshamek here?” one woman, obviously the leader, demanded of Raelak.
“They all are bearers of the Spherewalker’s Mark, Tekra’Kai,” Raelak explained.  
The Moon Maiden’s eyes went wide.  “Then our prayers have been answered,” she whispered.  “You have been sent by Desna!  You must come quickly!  The creature has already slain several of my best warriors!”
“What creature?”  Raelak asked.
“A red reaver,” Tekra’Kai said.  “We discovered that it had taken up residence in the temple when we arrived.  As you know, we are responsible for preparing the House before the rest of the tribe arrives.  Our shame shall be immeasurable if we cannot fulfill our responsibility.”
Raelak nodded in understanding, then explained the situation to his new-found companions, adding in Common, “It would only serve to improve your case to the Truthspeaker if you were to offer your assistance.”
“Of course we will,” Ratbone spoke for the group.
The matter settled, the Moon Maidens led the company on to the House of the Moon.
________________________________________________________


A silvery tower stood atop a low promontory in the foothills.  The surrounding stone had been smoothed by ages of wind, but the tower itself remained as stark and crisp as the day its final block was set in place.  The structure shimmered with a slightly reflective sheen, as if an almost invisible layer of silver covered it.  A thirty-foot-tall opening allowed access to the tower interior at ground level, the curving sides framed by the long peacock tail feathers of an immense butterfly or moth that had been carved into the building’s façade.  The creature’s wings furled to the left and right, fanning over two side towers attached to the central spire, which rose to a height of at least one-hundred feet.  Above, a silvery sphere capped the tower’s peak, as if the moon itself had fallen out of the sky to become impaled upon the structure’s steeple.

Ahalak did not accompany the tshamek and the Lyrune-Quah brave inside.  He had performed his duty in escorting them that far, and had lost three of his brothers on the journey.  The boneslayer wished them well as they mounted the wide stairwell of the House of the Moon.  The companions moved into a wide, open central chamber.  Raelak paused in the entry way and stooped to examine the paving stones.  His finger traced faint grooves there.
“Claw marks,” he said as he rose to his feet.  “They lead that way.”

The tracks led to another wide stair that gave onto one of the tower roofs, and provided a majestic view of the stars.  A wide archway led back into the main tower, where an immense hall could be seen.  Its walls had been painted with symbols and imagery sacred to the worship of Desna.  A massive starknife was affixed to its high ceiling.  Something large crouched in the center of the chamber, something that smelled bestial and growled deep in its throat as it sniffed the air, sensing new prey.  It rose to its full height of over ten feet and stalked forward into the moonlight.  Its body was thick and hairless, its gray hide flushed with crimson along its arms and legs.  Strangely tiny bat-like wings jutted from its shoulder blades while its gangly claws swung down to its ankles.  Three separate pairs of crimson eyes hinted at the creature’s crude intellect, but its powerful jaws and razor-sharp talons dismissed any suggestion of docility.  Herc was in the lead as the group gathered on the rooftop.  He lowered his shield and began jogging forward to meet the reaver.  Almost casually, the behemoth swung one tree-sized arm and batted the mercenary aside like a rag doll.  It turned back towards the others, coming face-to-face with…Kat.  The slight Varisian woman smiled endearingly, then spoke a few musical words.  The creature froze in its tracks, paralyzed.
“Thanks,” Herc said, wiping blood from his mouth as he raised his sword and drove it through the base of the monster’s skull.
_________________________________________________________


When the group returned to the Moon Maiden’s with the bodies of their slain companions and the head of the creature that had taken their lives, the Lyrune-Quah warriors were speechless.  They were invited to stay and enjoy the hospitality of the camp until the remainder of the tribe, along with the Truthspeaker, arrived.  Raelak found himself on the receiving end of a special form of gratitude from Tekra’Kai, and the archer knew that his path had truly been blessed by Desna…

Within days, the remainder of the Lyrune-Quah reached the House of the Moon, and with them came an elderly Shoanti that Tekra’Kai introduced as Truthspeaker Akram.  He was duly impressed when the leader of the Moon Maidens told him of the aid the tshamek who bore the Spherewalker’s Mark had given them.  When he learned of their plan to recreate the legend of Skurak, his expression became one of wonder and excitement.  He welcomed the chance to journey to the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael and bear witness to such an historic event.  He would be prepared to leave by dawn of the next day.  A massive celebration was held that evening, and the members of the K.I.A. felt that acceptance by the Shoanti might not be such an impossible task after all.
________________________________________________________


Cindermaw was known to hunt the lands in the extreme western portion of the Ash-Blown Lands.  As the train of wanderers traversed this desolate landscape, they encountered fewer and fewer signs of other living creatures.  What at first seemed like low hills in the distance revealed themselves to be enormous burrows upon closer inspection.  Despite these discoveries, it was still hours before the companions caught their first glimpse of the great worm.  On the horizon, it breached the earth like an ocean leviathan, rising high into the ash-filled air before crashing into the ground once more.  The group halted, tension palpable in the air…and nothing happened.  Over the next hour, Cindermaw appeared several more times, each time a little closer, and in a different direction.  It was like a great shark circling its prey, toying with them.  

When the attack finally came, it was swift, and unexpected, despite their expectations.  The ground suddenly trembled beneath their feet like an earthquake, and then Cindermaw breached, not a dozen feet away.  The behemoth was truly gargantuan, its mottled skin the red of molten iron, heat radiating from it in oppressive waves.  It opened its triple jaws and exhaled a torrential inferno of flame that engulfed all of the puny creatures beneath it.  Fortunately, the K.I.A. were not fools, and had not entered the hunting grounds unprepared.  Michael had placed protective wards against fire over them all, and the flames passed around them harmlessly.
“Now!”  Ratbone shouted.
In order for Akram to tell their tale, the K.I.A. needed for him to survive the experience.  Likewise, it was only necessary for one of them to recreate the legend, and so all of those who were going to be extraneous, and needlessly endangered, had planned early on to make good their escape when the moment came.  O’Reginald quickly grabbed Akram and Trinia by their arms and spoke a word.  In an instant, they were whisked away between dimensions, reappearing a safe distance away, but still close enough so that Akram could bear witness.  Raelak and Ahalak took to their feet in the opposite direction, the swift Shoanti rapidly putting distance between themselves and Cindermaw.  That left Herc, Ratbone, Kat and Michael.  The druid and the mercenary had the obvious roles of baiting the worm, while the priest stayed close in case his healing powers were needed, and the sorceress stood ready in the event that her beguiling magic might turn the tide of battle.

Herc moved in first, slashing quickly at the great worm and then darting away.  Cindermaw turned to follow the big warrior, but instead found Ratbone.  The druid, in his huge, four-armed, horned, spiked-tail predator form, stood directly in front of the beast, roaring and howling a furious challenged.  Cindermaw took the bait.  The worm struck like a cobra, and seized Ratbone in its jaws.  The druid went limp and allowed himself to be hauled into the air.  Herc rushed in again, delivering a series of vicious strikes.  For a moment, Cindermaw loosened its grip on Ratbone, turning back towards the creature that harried its flanks.
“Pull back!”  Ratbone growled.
 He feared the worm would not try to swallow him, but would instead content itself with tearing him and his companions apart with its teeth.  As Herc withdrew again, Cindermaw’s barbed tail whipped out of the sand and stabbed him behind the knee.  As the burning poison exploded into his body, Herc stumbled, but quickly regained his feet and lurched towards Kat and Michael.  Cindermaw roared, extending its neck and swallowing Ratbone whole in a single gulp.  For several seconds, silence reigned.  Then, Cindermaw bellowed again, but this time it was in agony as a hole was ripped through its gizzard by the razor-sharp claws and teeth of Ratbone.  As the druid dropped heavily to the ground, covered in gore and slime, the hole he’d left behind closed quickly by muscular contraction.  Ratbone rolled to his feet and began to run, but before he could go more than a dozen feet, Cindermaw seized him again, and bones crunched as the worm decided to simply crush the life out of its prey.  

At that moment, O’Reginald suddenly reappeared.  
“Time to go, ladies and gentlemen!” the sorcerer announced.  His fingers moving in a blur, he wove a quick spell which whisked Herc and Ratbone several dozen feet away.  Ratbone reappeared and hit the ground running.  As Cindermaw hesitated in momentary confusion, Michael began to run as well, and Katarina simply faded away as she willed herself into the safety of the Ethereal plane.  Seeing all of its prey escaping, Cindermaw howled in fury and lunged after them.  The nearest and slowest target was, unfortunately, Herc.  The worm grabbed the mercenary by the leg and flipped him into the air, catching him in its mouth and allowing him to slide right down its throat.  O’Reginald cursed roundly and prepared to loose his most powerful evocations, knowing that to slay the beast would minimize their accomplishment, for what would be legendary about escaping a creature that could be felled so easily?  Abruptly, however, Cindermaw’s gizzard exploded a second time as Herc’s spiked shield smashed through sinew and flesh.  No sooner was the warrior free than O’Reginald rushed to his side and then whisked them both quickly away.  Cindermaw was left hungry, angry, wounded, but with its legend still intact.  The K.I.A., on the other hand, had reproduced the rebirth of Skurak not once, but twice.  Akram was grinning ear-to-ear when the companions finally regrouped.


----------



## carborundum

Nice! Fire-breathing sandworms - awesome! Herc one-shotting the red reaver - badass!
And there's nothing like some old-school muscular action closing the hole to make a game session enjoyable!

Three out of three, JD. Thanks for another enjoyable read!


----------



## WarEagleMage

carborundum said:


> Herc one-shotting the red reaver - badass!




Katarina felt that it was more of a kill-steal.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Not a kill steal...you took the full brunt of the first attack, you get to take the head.

The KIA is back on their usual successful path, but can they survive the most difficult challenge of what's ahead: roleplaying???

Great, great stuff, JollyDoc. Thanks again for your story hour.


----------



## Supar

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Not a kill steal...you took the full brunt of the first attack, you get to take the head.
> 
> The KIA is back on their usual successful path, but can they survive the most difficult challenge of what's ahead: roleplaying???
> 
> Great, great stuff, JollyDoc. Thanks again for your story hour.




Wait you cant throw a fire ball at this this Roleplay monster? it has to have a HD i can always knowledge it later after its cooked


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## Neverwinter Knight

Yes, the dreaded roleplay monster, bane of all minmaxers...


----------



## JollyDoc

THE BATTLE OF FLAMEFORD

Akram advised the tshamek and Raelak that, if they truly intended to seek out the Sklar-Quah, they should start with one of the tribe’s oldest encampments, a place called Flameford.  He explained that the clan there was steeped in Sklar-Quah tradition, and thus much more likely to honor and respect what the outsiders had accomplished.  The Truthspeaker being what he was, the companions took his advice as a matter of course.

The journey was arduous, yet uneventful, and not long after Akram told them that they had crossed into Sklar-Quah lands, the company was intercepted by a contingent of burn riders, Shoanti braves who had trained their mounts to survive and not balk under even the most extreme of environments…the wildfires of the Cinderlands.  Akram quickly stepped forward and identified himself.  With Trinia and Raelak translating for the K.I.A., Akram explained to the Sklar-Quah that those he escorted sought to divest themselves of their tshamek status.  At that, the burn riders hooted with laughter, but when Akram then told them that the tshamek had succeeded in recreating the Legend of Skurak not once, but twice, they grew serious.  They swiftly agreed to escort the Truthspeaker and his charges to Flameford.

Flameford occupied an extremely defensible position nestled in the middle of a field of razor-sharp slashrock at the edge of a high cliff.  The campsite consisted of some seventeen yurts, two larger tents, and a stable for the tribe’s horses.  The burn riders threaded a convoluted path through the slashrock, following no trail that the companions could discern.  By the time they had reached the huge bonfire at the center of the camp, the entire camp had gathered to watch them.  Prominent among the Shoanti was none-other than the towering form of Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills.
“What is it with this guy?”  O’Reginald exclaimed.  “Can he just teleport anywhere we happen to be?”
“This is his home tribe,” Akram explained.  “His uncle, Ready-Klar, is chief.”
“Wonderful,” the sorcerer groaned.  “We don’t stand a chance.”

When they reached the bonfire, Akram bowed low before it.  Then, to the confusion of the companions, he began addressing the flames.  He started by formally requesting that the Sklar-Quah accept those he presented with full entitlement to walk the Cinderlands.  He then launched into a long, meandering story of the never-ending relationship between the sun and the moon that Raelak explained was called the Ritual of the Cycles.  When this was complete, Akram boldly announced that he was a Truthspeaker and demanded that any who challenged his standing should speak.  A lengthy period of uncomfortable silence hung in the air.  Katarina’s eyes cut to Krojun, and she could tell that the big warrior was thinking long and hard as to whether to have his say or not.  Ultimately, he remained silent, and then, surprisingly, the bonfire flared once.  Akram seemed to take this as some sort of approval, and then launched into a tale of the recent deeds of the K.I.A., tying them to the legend of Skurak, including the details of not only Ratbone, but Herc as well cutting his way free of Cindermaw’s gullet.  At that, Krojun and a few others laughed out loud in disbelief, but when the fire flared again, they went quickly silent.  Suddenly, the fire died completely and a burly, elderly Shoanti man stepped from it…the Sun Shaman.  Silently, he turned and entered one of the larger tents.  Across the clearing, Krojun crossed his arms and stared menacingly at Herc.
“What now?”  Ratbone asked the Truthspeaker quietly.
“Now, we wait,” Akram answered.  “The Sun Shaman will confer with the chief to discuss the implications of what you seek.  I must tell you, however, that if he rejects your petition and decides that you are still tshamek, then we, myself included, will be disemboweled for trespassing on Sklar-Quah land…”
_____________________________________________________


An hour passed before the Sun Shaman reemerged.  His words were curt and to-the-point.
“Step forward, outsiders, and speak your name before the tribe.”
Obediently, each of the companions did, including, to the surprise of all, Raelak.  The Sun Shaman repeated their names as they spoke.
“Henceforth,” he intoned when the recitation was complete, “you are tshamek no more.”
Akram breathed an audible sigh of relief, while at the same time many of the Shoanti, Krojun included, visibly struggled to contain their fury, yet none openly dared to reject the Sun Shaman’s proclamation.  

The gathering began to break up, and Chief Ready-Klar designated one of the yurts that the companions might use as their own.
“Wait,” Ratbone said, as he turned to Akram, “what of our request to join the tribe?  What of the information we seek?”
The Truthspeaker merely shrugged.  Frustrated, Ratbone started after the Sun Shaman.  He recognized that the Shoanti and he shared a common bond…they were both druids.  In the ancient language of the sect, he called to the older man.
“Sun Shaman,” he said, bowing in respect, “what can you tell us of Midnight’s Teeth?”
Slowly, the Sun Shaman turned and regarded the half-orc.
“Nothing,” he answered in the druid tongue.  “You are no longer tshamek, but neither are you Sklar-Quah, and the deep history of our tribe is not for others to know.”
“Then how may we become Sklar-Quah?”  Ratbone asked, drawing himself up.  
The Sun Shaman quirked his mouth in amusement.  Patiently, he replied.
“If this is truly your wish, then you must undertake the Trial of the Totem.  If you succeed, then you will be acknowledged as honorary members of the Sklar-Quah.”
“What must we do?”  Ratbone asked.
“Meet me at dawn,” the Sun Shaman replied, then he turned to the rest of the tribe and spoke to them in Shoanti.  “The former tshamek have asked for the Trial of the Totem!  Their request shall be granted at dawn!”
Krojun could take no more.  He shouted in protest, and then stormed off with several burn riders.  Akram chuckled and shook his head.  
“You people truly know how to make an impression,” he said.  “ I wish you luck in your endeavors.  My tribe’s traditions preclude me from sharing a sunrise with the Sklar-Quah, and so I shall depart before dawn.  Ahalak has graciously volunteered to accompany me.  Allow me to give you one final piece of advice before I go:  Krojun is an important member of this tribe.  Anything you can do to win his respect can only help you.”
________________________________________________________


Early the following morning, about an hour before dawn, the companions were awakened by the Sun Shaman.  Then, along with a trio of thundercallers, he escorted them out through the slashrock in silence, and took them east across the Cinderlands on a twenty-minute trek to a small mesa.  A single ledge wound up to the westernmost flat-topped area of the mesa, a plateau that sat about thirty feet above the surrounding plain.  A second ledge led up higher to another plateau, about ten feet higher in elevation.  In a square stone pod at the base of the mesa were several fired-clay pylons decorated with numerous Shoanti sigils.  

“This is Bolt Rock,” the Sun Shaman intoned, “a place of spiritual significance to my people.  These,” he indicated the pylons, “are sun totems.  Throughout the trial, each of you will be represented by a totem.  Each of you shall select your own totem and then, as a group, you must carry the totems to the first plateau, where you must then balance them in the depressions you find there.  Each of you must keep your totem upright until dawn tomorrow.  At that point, you must move all of the totems to the highest plateau and keep them upright once more for an additional day.  When the sun rises on the second day, any totem still standing shall grant its bearer the status of Sklar-Quah.  You must provide your own food and water, or do without.  You may use magic, or any other means at your disposal to aid you in keeping the totems upright, as long as they are not changed or damaged, nor the structure of Bolt Rock itself.”
With that explanation, the Sun Shaman transformed into a large raven and took wing back towards Flameford.

The next several minutes were spent with most of the group arguing about the best way to move each of the several-hundred pound totems up to the first plateau.  Ratbone ended the debate when he transformed into his burly, ape-like form and shouldered two of the totems simultaneously.  He carried them effortlessly up the trail, and then returned for the rest.  Once all the totems were moved, the stronger members of the group assisted the others in raising their pylons and settling them into shallow depressions hollowed out in the stone.  So balanced, the seven companions began the endurance challenge…

The sun in the Cinderlands was warm from the time it rose.  Barely an hour after dawn, it was already roasting.  The group had not thought to bring food, but Michael was able to use his magic to create water periodically and passed it round to the others.  Still, the heat, wind and general lassitude took its toll.  At one point, Kat’s sweat soaked hands lost their grip and her totem began to tilt precariously.  Ratbone, still in his predator form, reached out one massive paw to catch it and set it right again until the beguiler could regain her grip.  The day passed, and then came the chill of night.  Once the sun was down, the totems began to shine with a phosphorescent glow, adding an eerie quality to the quiet, wind-blown dark.  By dawn the next day, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm them all.  Once more, Michael stepped in, weaving his prayers to remove their fatigue and rejuvenate them for the remainder of the trial.  As the sun rose, Ratbone again moved the totems to the higher plateau, and the companions settled in for another day of slow torture.

At midday, as the sun overhead raised the temperature of the mesa to something approximating that of an active volcano, a silhouette appeared at the edge of the plateau, rippling out of the heat waves like a mirage.  As it drew nearer, it gained definition until it was obvious that it was a man…a big man.  Krojun stopped in the midst of the open flat, then folded his arms and stared silently at the struggling companions.  Ratbone cut his eyes at O’Reginald, daring the sorcerer to speak.  Akram had told them to seek the warleader’s respect, and the druid was determined not to pick a fight.  After several minutes of silence, Krojun spoke a few brief words, then turned and left the plateau.
“What did he say?”  Ratbone asked Raelak.
The Lyrune-Quah smiled and shook his head.
“He said that you are lucky to have one another as nalharest…brothers and sisters.  He actually paid you a compliment!”
_____________________________________________________


Thirty-six hours had passed atop Bolt Rock, and the sun was setting on the second day.  It was then that the company first felt the ground rumble, and saw the dorsal fins break the ground in the distance, like great sharks circling.  
“Land sharks,” Raelak moaned.
“Bulettes,” Katarina clarified.  “Fierce predators.  They’re hunting in a pack.  They must have sensed easy prey.  They’ll be here any minute!”
“I don’t think they’ll find their prey quite so ‘easy’ this day,” Ratbone muttered.  He braced his totem with one hand and uttered the words to a spell, causing two more arms to sprout from his torso.
“Herc,” Raelak called, “can you take my totem?  I need to reach my bow.”
“If I’m holding both totems, how can I fight?” the mercenary asked.
“If I am any sort of archer, you won’t have to,” the ranger smiled.

The landsharks erupted from the earth at the base of the mesa, huge, four-legged, armored beasts that looked like horribly mutated armadillos crossed with rhinoceri.  Several of them leaped onto the lower plateau, while others began crawling up the sheer walls of the mesa itself.  Fortunately, the path to the upper level was too narrow, and the beasts could only come single-file.  Ratbone was there to meet them.  With three claws free, as well as his fearsome jaws and wicked horns, the druid made quick work of the first creature.  While the others raged below, O’Reginald took one hand from his totem and quickly loosed a spell, a dizzying explosion of fire mixed with electricity.  Two more of the beasts were incinerated in the blast.  Meanwhile, Raelak took careful aim from the edge of the plateau and began raining glowing arrows down upon the monsters climbing up from below.  Not a single bulette made it to the top under the deadly barrage.  It didn’t take long for the combined efforts of the druid, ranger and sorcerer to repel the assault, and for the last of the brutes to take flight back into the trackless Cinderlands.
_____________________________________________________

In the pre-dawn hours of the third dawn, the Sun Shaman lead the entire tribe from Flameford up to Bolt Rock.  As the sun rose, a chorus of cheers roared across the mesa, welcoming seven new brothers and sisters into the tribe.  The Sun Shaman held up his hands for silence, then personally welcomed each of the companions into the Sklar-Quah.  He then suggested that the new tribesmembers return to the camp and recover from their ordeal.  As the tribe began making its way back to Flameford, the Sun Shaman walked next to Ratbone.
“It is almost time for me to speak with you of the information that you seek about Midnight’s Teeth, and the great evil the Shoanti once guarded long ago, but first I must seek the wisdom of my ancestors.  I will travel to the Kallow Mounds this day, and Chief Ready-Klar shall accompany me.  Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills shall command the tribe in our absence.  We will return by sunset tomorrow.  I suggest you rest and enjoy the hospitality of your new family.”
_________________________________________________________

O’Reginald, Kat, Michael and Trinia retired to their tent when they returned to the village.  Ratbone and Herc, and Raelak, however, sought out Krojun.  Throughout the rest of the afternoon, the four warriors discussed the art of war and battle, spiritual matters, culture and the nature of family.  By sunset, they were laughing like old friends and sharing a flask of strong Shoanti ale.  As the sun sank below the edge of the western cliff, no one saw the shadowy, winged shapes approaching out of the rose-colored glare.  In fact, it was not until the stone-hued gargoyles began dropping their passengers, red-armored, insect-masked assassins, into the midst of the village that the screams and cries of danger began.

The sleeping members of the K.I.A. were among the last to become aware of the assault, but it was a rude awakening that finally alerted them.  The tent was completely torn asunder as a covey of gargoyles surrounded it and began tearing at the prone prey within.  O’Reginald was the first to come to his senses, acting solely on instinct.  Rolling from side to side to avoid the blows of the creatures, he spread his fingers and spoke a word.  Behind the gargoyles, a mushroom cloud of fire erupted, engulfing at least half-a-dozen of them.  As he paused to catch his breath, however, he an equal number soared in for a landing.

Across the camp, Ratbone morphed his body into his deadly, predator form, then took off at a lope towards the tent on the far side.  Raelak and Herc ran in his wake, ignoring the dozen or more small skirmishes between Sklar-Quah, Red Mantis and gargoyles going on around them.  Meanwhile, Krojun roared a battle-challenge, hefted his earthbreaker and his klar, and waded into the midst of the attack.

The gargoyles, having seen O’Reginald’s power, concentrated their attacks on him.  Kat saw that the sorcerer would not last long against those odds.  Thinking quickly, she wove an enchantment about the creatures, causing their relatively unimaginative minds to momentarily perceive their brethren as sworn enemies.  They turned on one-another with the savagery of a pack of wild dogs, but such was their rage, that they attacked anything that moved nearby as well, including Kat and O’Reginald.  

Herc was almost to the tent when he saw the three Red Mantis assassins step out of the shadows.  One darted towards his outnumbered companions, while two quickly moved to flank him.  The mercenary whirled and parried, hammering one of the killers with his shield, all the while trying to keep an eye on the third and to shout out a warning.  Suddenly, an arrow of pure light streaked out of nowhere and took the third assassin in the leg, causing him to stumble just as he raised his sword above Katarina.  At that point, six-hundred pounds of feral druid came crashing out of the tents.  Ratbone seized one of the Red Mantis by the throat and snapped his neck with a casual twist of his wrist.  O’Reginald took the opportunity to link hands with Kat, Trinia and Michael and instantly transport all of them out of the midst of the kill-zone, reappearing a dozen feet away.  The sorcerer then shaped a cone of white-hot fire to immolate the remaining gargoyles.  Ratbone roared and turned towards the other two assassins.  He ripped one to pieces in a matter of seconds, while Herc quickly disemboweled the last of them.

At that moment, one of the Sklar-Quah thundercallers came rushing from between the burning yurts, shouting hysterically.
“What’s he saying?”  Kat asked, turning to Raelak.
“He says that Krojun’s in trouble,” the ranger said grimly.
As a group, the companions began moving quickly through the encampment.  The Sklar-Quah were holding their own against the invaders, but they had already suffered many losses.  In the center of the camp, however, Krojun Eats-What-He-Kills stood alone, facing off against a lone attacker.  The man was dressed in the clothes of a tshamek tracker, though the gleam of fine mithral could be seen beneath his shirt.  His hair hung to his shoulders, lank and gray, and a broad-brimmed, floppy hat shadowed his eyes. A lithe, firepelt cougar crouched at his feet, its hackles raised, and its teeth bared.  In his hands he held a strange-looking crossbow, with a box-like cartridge fitted into the top.  As the companions stepped into the clearing, the man took aim and fired his weapon.  The bolt shrieked like a living thing as it streaked towards Krojun and impaled itself squarely in his chest.  The fletchings on the bolt were blood-red.
“The Cinderlander…,” Raelak whispered.  
Then, before any of them could react, six Red Mantis assassins stepped from among the yurts and quickly surrounded Krojun.  The barbarian roared his defiance, but when the killers struck in unison, swarming over him like the insects they were named for, Krojun went down.    

Katarina acted first.  She flung her hands out, and a billowing cloud of thick fog enveloped the assassins as they raised their blades to deliver the killing blows.  She nodded in satisfaction, knowing that their opponents were trapped, imprisoned inside the solid fog.  A moment later, however, her eyes went wide in disbelief as the Cinderlander raised his own hand, and a powerful blast of wind ripped the fog cloud to shreds.  Raelak cursed, drew back his bow and released.  The arrow of light flew in an eye-blink, burning like sunlight as it sank into the leg of the Cinderlander.  A moment later, a sonic blast like a thunder-clap flew from Kat’s palm and struck the man.  He reeled backwards for an instant, then deliberately raised his crossbow again.
“You shouldn’t’ve interfered, missy,” he snarled.  “Neverfear!  Kill!”
At his command, the cougar launched itself across the clearing at Kat, leaping into the air and landing heavily atop her, sinking its fangs deep into her shoulder.  At the same time, the Cinderlander fired two more of his screaming bolts at Raelak.

In the confusion, the Red Mantis assassins dispersed, moving like shadows until they were among the remaining companions.  A pair of them quickly flanked O’Reginald, slashing at him with their wicked sawtooth sabers.  
“Herc!”  the sorcerer called, extending a hand towards the mercenary.  In a flash of light, both of them vanished, reappearing a moment later, their positions transposed.  Herc smiled viciously at the two assassins he’d suddenly appeared  between, and then slammed his shield into the face of one of them, snapping the man’s neck.  Not a dozen paces away, Ratbone seized two more who tried to pull the same flanking maneuver on him.  He smashed their skulls together and dropped both of their limp bodies to the ground.

Raelak hissed in agony as the bolts struck home, burning like fire.  Clenching his teeth, he drew and released three times in rapid succession.  The Cinderlander spun as the arrows hit, and he stumbled to one knee, yet raw fury filled his eyes as he shouldered his crossbow and fired the last bolt in his cartridge.  His aim was true, and the missile took Raelak in the notch below his neck.  The ranger gasped for air, and clutched feebly at the wooden shaft, but could not pull it free before he collapsed heavily to his side, his eyes closed, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

Herc spun his blade in a dazzling display and then gutted the second assassin that faced him, then whirled and crushed the windpipe of a third that rushed towards him with his shield.  Ratbone silenced the last in his own, unique way, and then the monstrous druid stalked across the battlefield towards the Cinderlander.  The man was still on one knee, fumbling to load a new cartridge into his crossbow.
“I got no quarrel with you,” he said as he looked up at the shaggy behemoth that towered above him.  “I only got a debt t’settle with the Shoanti.  Stay outta my way, and nobody else has ta get hurt.”
The cartridge clicked home, and he raised the crossbow, but one swipe from Ratbone’s massive paw made sure he’d never fire it again.

Michael rushed to Raelak’s side and knelt next to him.  He yanked the bolt free from the ranger’s neck, then passed his hands over the wound.  Warm light flowed from the priest into Raelak, and his breathing eased as his eyes fluttered open.  Still terribly weak, the Lyrune-Quah warrior lurched to his feet.  As he did so, he saw the body of the Cinderlander laying at Ratbone’s feet, and he breathed a sigh of relief.  Suddenly, a low growl and a flash of motion drew his attention to his right.  He turned just in time to see the firepelt cougar leaping towards him.  That was the last thing he saw before everything went black for the second time.

“Listen to me, people of the Sklar-Quah!”  A clear, female voice abruptly rang out across the camp.  As it did so, the remaining gargoyles and Red Mantis ceased their attacks.  All eyes turned towards the source of the voice, a beautiful, pale-skinned woman with long, auburn hair that cascaded below her shoulders and seductively covered one eye.  She wore stylized leather armor, and bore a bared sawtooth sword in one hand.  Held in the crook of her other arm was a Red Mantis mask.
“I am Cinnabar,” she said, “and you are harboring enemies of the Red Mantis.  Give us the tshamek, as they mean nothing to you, and we will cease all hostilities and leave you in peace.”
A perfect silence fell over the village as the woman’s words echoed in the waning sunset.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

In my best Cinderlander voice: If that ain't a cliffhanger, I'll be damned.


----------



## carborundum

I know - brilliant!

I read the whole update on my phone on holiday and I just wanted to shout "They're not tshamek any more!" It would have got me some serious glares though, it was supposed to be a relaxing holiday. 

(No D&D books or magazines within reach, trying to stay sociable for a whole week with our friends, no interweb access... of course I had to sneak to enworld on my phone. Wouldn't you?)

Can't wait to see if the tribe rally around their new siblings - maybe tomorrow? JD? =D


----------



## JollyDoc

SCARWALL

Cinnabar’s answer from the Sklar-Quah was given in one word, chanted over and over:  “Tshamek!  Tshamek!  Tshamek!”
Cinnabar’s mouth twisted in hatred.
“Kill them all!” she screamed.
The Red Mantis assassins were in motion before her last word had left her lips.  Four of them, as well as Cinnabar herself, somersaulted and vaulted across the intervening distance to hem Herc in on all sides.  Though he whirled and parried with a speed that belied his size, one of the assassins drove a blade through his thigh, while Cinnabar slashed viciously across his torso from shoulder to hip.  
Meanwhile, three more of the killers closed to Kat, who still lay on her back where the firepelt cougar had left her.  She threw magic in the face of the closest, causing him to hesitate momentarily before striking, but the other two had no such qualms, and they began hacking and slashing viciously.

Herc staggered, but did not fall, turning on Cinnabar instead.  His arms seemed to blur as he struck.  Twice his sword grazed her, but her grace and agility allowed her to avoid the brunt of the blows, but as she spun a final time, Herc’s shield connected solidly with her jaw, shattering it audibly.  She reeled, her eyes momentarily glazed over, but as she shook her head to clear it and wiped the blood from her mouth, she smiled.  An instant later, however, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in a soundless scream as a great horn ripped through her chest from behind and she was lifted bodily into the air.  Ratbone then tossed his head almost casually, and sent her limp corpse tumbling across the ground.  Then, before the other assassins could fully grasp what had happened, the feral druid ripped two of them to shreds.  

Michael’s path was clear, both literally and figuratively.  He dodged the surging melee and rushed to Raelak’s side.  When the Cinderlander’s cougar turned and snarled at him, the priest promptly ran it through with his sword.  He then turned his attention back to Raelak and Krojun, and let his power flow into them.  

Kat concentrated on blocking out the pain from the numerous cuts and nicks, and cast another spell, transporting herself out of the death trap to reappear several yards away.  While the assassins turned this way and that, searching for her,  Ratbone and Herc closed on them.  It was over before they knew what hit them.     
________________________________________________________

Dawn the following day was not the usual time of celebration for the Sklar-Quah.  Instead, it was a time of mourning as the Shoanti gathered their dead and erected funeral pyres.  When the Sun Shaman and Chief Ready-Klar returned from the Kallow Mounds, it was that scene which greeted them.  The leaders listened in silence as the people told the tale of the attack.  Krojun was especially vocal, but he did not lay blame upon the newest members of the tribe.  Instead, he praised their valor and the risks they took in protecting the other members of the tribe.  Once the story was told, the Sun Shaman stood before his tribe.
“You honor our fallen,” he said.  “Their spirits look down upon us and smile.  Do not grieve in their absence.  Instead, celebrate, for word of the deeds done here in recent days shall spread quickly throughout the Cinderlands.  Others will realize, as we have, that even tshamek can become heroes of our people, and the idea of waging war against them will become as ridiculous as waging war against your own family.  Let us honor our dead, as our rituals have taught us, but let us also honor them by our future actions.”

As the Shoanti went about the work of laying their dead to rest, the Sun Shaman told the companions to accompany him to his tent.  Once there, he seated himself cross-legged on the floor and indicated that they should be seated as well.
“I am now ready to give to you the knowledge that you seek,” he began without preamble.  “Hundreds of years ago, one of my ancestors was called to join a righteous cause.  A man named Mandraivus, a hero from a distant nation, was gathering a small group of warriors to aid in a fight against a despotic dragon named Kazavon, and my ancestor joined this crusade.  He was gone for months, and when he finally returned he was not the same…his hands shook, his eyes carried a haunted stare, and he cried out in fear at night.  He spoke little of what he saw while serving Mandraivus, but did say that they were successful in defeating Kazavon, and the fortress of Scarwall had come under Mandraivus’s control.  He was convinced it would remain impotent as long as the hero managed to maintain a hold on it.”
“While Kazavon had been defeated, however, his will to live was so immense that even the remains of his body twitched.  The cabal had attempted to destroy the remains, but many fragments of the dragon’s skeleton resisted even their most destructive spells.  Mandraivus tasked seven of his surviving followers, which my ancestor counted himself among, each with claiming one of the bony relics of Kazavon’s body and ordered them taken from Scarwall.  None of the seven would communicate where they were going to the others or to Mandraivus, and they were to ensure that their chosen relics would remain hidden and guarded for all time in order to prevent the dragon from returning to life.”
“My ancestor told this story to his fellow shamans, and revealed that his chosen relic was the dragon’s fangs.  The Shoanti began calling them the Midnight Fangs, and they chose the ancient pyramid on the shores of Conqueror’s Bay as their reliquary.  After hiding the fangs in a secret room deep inside the pyramid, they took to the task of ensuring that the fangs remained safe.  For generations, they maintained their task…until Cheliax invaded and slaughtered my people.  Those few who survived and knew the secret of the fangs were forced to flee with their kin into the Cinderlands.  For the next three centuries the knowledge was passed from Sun Shaman to Sun Shaman, and they watched with fearful eyes as the city of Korvosa grew around their ancient reliquary.”
“That Korvosa’s queen has discovered the Midnight Fangs and somehow tapped into their latent power troubles me greatly, for I know something of their abilities.  During the time they were guarded, Shoanti shamans studied them and communed with the spirit world about them.  They discovered that a fragment of Kazavon’s soul remained lodged within the fangs.  While this fragment alone wasn’t’ enough to work ill upon the world, it could certainly invade the dreams of those who touched them.  The Sun Shamans were stubborn and willful, more than a match for the fangs’ temptations and promises, but a weaker mind, say that of a pretty, young queen, would have no such defense. “
“The fragments of Kazavon’s soul are like a plant…once they find suitable soil in which to grow, they can bloom into a mighty tree.  This seems to be the case with Ileosa…her own cruelty and strength have been enhanced greatly by the fangs.  Worse, she now possesses two souls…her own, and one grown from the fragment of Kazavon’s.  Two souls in one body would grant her incredible power over her own mortality.”
“Now,” he leaned forward intently, “I suggest that you take part in an ancient Shoanti ritual known as the Blessing of the Ancestors.  We use it only in times of great change.  It calls upon a soul from the spirit world to seek guidance and advice on how to proceed.  Is there a particular spirit or ancestor with whom any of you have a strong link?  The stronger the link, the more exacting the advice granted becomes.”

Immediately the group began discussing the options, with several suggesting family members or close friends.  Only one of the companions remained silent…Katarina.  At the Sun Shaman’s first suggestion, something began nagging at the back of the beguiler’s mind.  Then, as the discussions and suggestions continued, it hit her, and she knew with certainty who their link should be.
“Zellara,” she said.  
The tent became hushed as everyone turned to look at her.  
“She brought us together originally,” Kat said.  “I still carry her harrow deck, a piece of her almost.  She’s been our spiritual guide all along.”
The others nodded in agreement.  
“It is decided , then,” the Sun Shaman nodded.  
_______________________________________________________

The ritual took place atop Bolt Rock.  Though it was only the companions who sat with the Sun Shaman around a small campfire, the entire village of Flameford gathered atop the mesa to observe the proceedings.  The Sun Shaman began by recounting the legends of the tribe and the heroics and wisdom of the ancestors in a sing-song voice, shifting after some ten minutes or so into wordless droning and rhythmic chanting.  This went on for another two hours, at which point he slumped and a ghostly figure began to appear in the smoke of the fire.  It was obviously Zellara.  As she saw the group gathered, she smiled in recognition.
“Katarina,” she said, “Ratbone, O’Reginald, and Herc.   You’ve been joined by new friends, Michael and Raelak.”
Trinia’s face fell when she realized that the spirit had not called her name.
“I know why you have called me.  The path you must take is clear to me.  You must journey to Kazavon’s former stronghold, and claim the blade that laid him low.  I have words for you about your goal,” Zellara continued, “but first I would like to perform a Harrowing for you.”

Katarina pulled the gypsy’s harrow deck from her pouch and passed it to her.  Zellara’s eyes glazed over as she began laying down the cards, leaving them hovering in mid-air.  By and large, the Harrowing was typical for such things…ephemeral and vague, but at several points, Zellara pointed out specific cards.
“The Eclipse,” she said to O’Reginald.  “In this position, it speaks of the present.  It represents the Brotherhood of Bones and their presence in this region.”
She then turned to Raelak.  “The Tyrant,” she said.  “It represents Kazavon and his current influence over Ileosa.  Also, I see the Eclipse for you as well, but this time in the future.  It portends that many undead await you within the walls of Scarwall.”
Raelak smiled grimly.  Undead were anathema to his tribe, the Lyrune-Quah, and he relished the chance to destroy as many as possible.
“Katarina,” Zellara said to the beguiler last, “my daughter.  For you I have pulled the Keep.  It is your future.  It is Scarwall, where your destiny lies.”
Then, once more, she addressed them all.
“The cards tell me many things.  The Past shows us Kazavon’s tyrannical rule over Belkzen, and his subsequent defeat by Mandraivus and his allies.  The Present speaks of Queen Ileosa’s great power, and that confronting her without the sword of Mandraivus, Serithtial, would be a fool’s errand.  Finally, the Future foreshadows the great evils you will encounter within Scarwall.  Your wisdom will guide you.  Gird yourselves against the undead and the touch of death.  Also, beware that the so-called Brotherhood of Bones could be an important, perhaps even critical ally in the immediate future, but at the same time, you should be careful about how much you trust them.”
Zellara paused for a moment, then, unexpectedly, began singing.
“Fate of steel…Serithtial
Her cage for years sustained
Four enthralled in lost Scarwall;
Undead to keep her chained.
A spirit first, red war his thirst
Still stands at post of old;
A second foe, infernal soul
Waits high in tower cold.
In kennel’s grime, third bides his time
Then vents his killing breath.
And on a stone ‘mid ash and bone,
The final dreams of death.
The spirits worn and battletorn
And locked in their damnation,
The chained one’s hold at last grows old
And ushers in salvation.
Yet hope remains amid the chains
When blade’s stone cage has crumbled,
Friends to dread and the death of the dead,
Keys to Kazavon humbled.”

As she finished her song, Zellara smiled again, but it seemed somewhat sad or bittersweet.  Suddenly, each of the companions felt a powerful upsurge in their souls as the spirits of the dead infused them with strength and energy.  They knew that the souls of their ancestors would aid and watch over them in the dark days to come.  The Shoanti stood amazed as the ritual ended and Zellara faded into darkness.  Finally, Chief Ready-Klar broke the awestruck silence.
“Truly these Friends of the Sun are blessed by the ancestors,” he said.  “They walk with the spirits and bear their mark.  They honor us with their presence and friendship.  As they go forth to battle the evil that has plagued these lands of ash for many-score generations, they go with the power of the Sklar-Quah.  They shall go forth with the power of Father Sun in their hands.”
___________________________________________________

“I’m not going with you,” Trinia said as she watched her friends pack up their gear.
“What??”  Ratbone asked as he stood and turned towards her.
“Your spirit guide,” she said, “she didn’t mention me, but that’s not the only reason.  There’s nothing I’d rather see more than for Ileosa to be brought to justice, but these things are beyond me.  I’m a simple girl…an artist.  I’m not used to all this, and now…well, I’ve been studying the history of the Shoanti, and it’s so rich!  For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m…home.”
“I can understand the desire for home,” the druid nodded.  “You will be missed.  If we come through this, we will meet again.”
“I look forward to that,” Trinia smiled.  “I’ll paint your victory portrait!”

The six companions said their goodbyes to their tribemates…their new friends and family.  Then, they gathered around O’Reginald.  The sorcerer spoke a few arcane words and the group was engulfed in shadows.  When the darkness faded, the K.I.A. was gone…
_________________________________________________________

The ancient fortress of Scarwall lay far to the north of the Cinderlands, in the orc infested Hold of Belkzen.  The companions knew generally where it lay, but they also knew the trip would be arduous and dangerous, and they did not have time to waste.  So it was that O’Reginald came up with the answer.  He transported them to the Plane of Shadow, a dimension parallel to reality that was a monochromatic, darkness infused mirror image.  It had its own share of dangers, but travel across it took a fraction of the time it would have taken in the real world.  So rather than days, it took only hours for the party to reach the eastern tip of the Kodar Mountains, only a few miles from Scarwall itself.  However, the structure they saw before them when they stepped from the shadow realm was not the ancient castle, but instead the bone tower of Shadowcount Sial.

They approached the tower cautiously and once again, as if they were expected, the door at its base opened.  This time, however, it was not just Sial and Asyra that came out, but also Laori Vaus.  
“Well, well,” Sial said, “here we are again.  It seems fate has destined that our roads should join together regardless of our desires.  Our offer to you remains the same…a truce.”
Ratbone started to voice his refusal again, but then Kat’s telepathic voice spoke into his mind…into all of their minds.
‘Remember what Zellara told us,’ she said.  ‘The Brotherhood of Bones may prove to be valuable allies for us.’
‘Or traitors,’ Ratbone reminded.
‘We must let fate decide,’ Kat replied.  ‘We cannot afford to reject aid freely offered at this juncture.’
Aloud, Ratbone sighed.  “What is it that you propose?” he asked.
It was Laori who answered, to the visible consternation of Sial.
“Our goals are not so dissimilar,” she said smiling.  “Our organization is very interested in Kazavon and his relics, but Ileosa doesn’t really fit into our plans.  We would see her destroyed so that we might recover the teeth from the so-called Crown of Fangs.  We suggest that, for now, we all work together, or at least not directly against each other while navigating the dangers of Scarwall, so that we might increase the likelihood that one of our two groups will succeed in obtaining the sword.  Serithtial, being what it is, cannot be wielded by us, but you, not being followers of Zon-Kuthon, cannot freely access all of Scarwall.  So you see?  We need each other until the sword if freed.  After that, we can then determine what our next step should be.”
Ratbone remained silent for a time, then he nodded once.
“Come then,” he said, “but we make you no promises, only that we will not draw blood against you unless you first betray our trust, or until our goals come into direct conflict.”
Laori shrugged and smiled more broadly.
“What more could we ask?”
________________________________________________________

The castle sat atop a small island in a crater lake in the caldera of a dormant volcano.  The surrounding hills were desolate, with little more than a few isolated scrub trees and lichens growing here and there.  The keep was an imposing collection of towers and fortifications.  Clouds of dark carrion birds perched upon its pinnacles and rode the winds above its towers.  A single span connected the castle to a small peninsula on the lake’s southern edge, where a crumbling gatehouse still stood.  The barbican consisted of a moldering curtain wall that flanked the remains of two towers, the western one of which had collapsed.  The other, though battered, still stood and supported a ramshackle lean-to built against it.  

As the company approached the edge of the peninsula, Ratbone, once more in his feral form, halted.  He raised his muzzle to the sky, scenting the air.  He closed his eyes and concentrated, sending his thoughts to Kat.
‘Orcs,’ he said.  ‘I can smell their stink, and there are several on the upper two parapets of the tower.  They must be squatters.’
No sooner had he communicated his observations than a volley of arrows went up from the top of the tower, as well as from behind arrow slits in the ground level.  The projectiles fell among them, and the eight of them scattered in all directions.  Kat began casting, cloaking the middle level of the tower in an impenetrable cloud of fog.  Two orcs remained visible on the rooftop, however, and arrows continued to erupt from the ground floor arrow slits.  

Raelak knelt and drew his bow in one smooth motion, sending three arrows towards the tower in the blink of an eye.  All three struck one of the orcs atop the roof, who roared in pain and dropped below the cover of the parapet.  Herc and Ratbone, meanwhile, were in motion as well, running full out for the tower.  Herc reached the walls first, slung his shield behind him, grabbed the rough handholds on the crumbling brick and began scaling it into the fog cloud above.  Ratbone paused in front of the arrow slits, reached one massive paw inside, and felt something snap in his grasp.  When he pulled his hand back out, he held an open-mouthed disembodied orc head.

When Herc reached the battlement, he found it abandoned.  No orcs stood within the mist.  He began hurrying along the parapet towards the tower entrance.  Suddenly, a pair of hooked chains arced over the edge of the platform, and a moment later Asyra hauled herself over.  She locked her crimson eyes on the mercenary and simply nodded, then ran along beside him.  When they rounded a corner, they found the tower door open, but in the room beyond, nine heavily armed and armored orcs waited.  

Down below, Ratbone reached through the slits again and disemboweled another pair of orcs.  When he withdrew his bloody hands that time, no more arrows came after him.  Suddenly, something hit the ground heavily behind him.  He turned and saw an orc corpse riddled with Raelak’s arrows.  He grunted in satisfaction as the remainder of the company ran past him and through the ground floor doors.

The nearest orc swung a massive axe at Herc, who managed to deflect the brunt of the blow, but still felt his arm jarred all the way to his jaw.  He prepared to counter, but then a bellowing roar sounded from the back of the room.  The orcs parted, revealing a truly massive specimen behind them.  His muscles bulged as he gripped his greatsword in both hands, and his red eyes burned behind the bleached skull tattoo on his face.  He roared again and then rushed forward.  Herc tried to brace himself, but when the hulking brute struck, the mercenary screamed as the orc’s blade severed a tendon in one of his biceps.  Snarling and channeling his pain, Herc struck back, delivering a flurry of vicious blows.   The orc chieftain didn’t even try to avoid them.  He simply absorbed them, and howled at the sky, blood flowing freely from his wounds.

Laori and Michael quickly climbed a ladder they found in the lean-to, and emerged atop the parapet behind Herc and Asyra.  At that moment, the orcs in the room boiled out onto the battlement.  The priestess of Zon-Kuthon laughed in delight as she whirled her spiked chain around her like a dervish.  Asyra joined her, and orcs fell like cordwood before them.  Michael could only marvel in horror and wonder at their display.  Meanwhile, Herc stood toe-to-toe with the orc leader, and eventually, attrition took its toll.  The brute could only ignore the mercenary’s withering assault for so long, though he continued to fight even as he was collapsing to the floor, stopping only when Herc brought the edge of his shield down on the barbarian’s neck.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE RESTLESS DEAD

A high bridge crossed the vast expanse of black water between the barbican gate and the entrance to Castle Scarwall.  The bridge was ornate and in excellent condition, with only a few tenacious patches of moss and lichen clinging to it here and there.  High arching columns reached from the water below to support the broad span, each of which was marked by a pair of sinister gargoyles that stared out over the dark lake.  A larger pair of statues flanked a great archway that encompassed the near end of the bridge.  

The company started across the causeway, but as soon as Katarina stepped onto it, a strong wind began whipping along the bridge where before the air had been calm and still.  Within moments, the wind had grown into a gale.  As the companions shielded their eyes from the blowing grit, they began to see vague shapes materializing around them…faces and humanoid forms.  Suddenly, a scream came from Kat, but when the others turned towards her, they saw that it was not the beguiler screaming, but Zellara.  The spirit of the Varisian woman had manifested, and the figures in the wind were assaulting her from all sides.  She fought to hold them at bay, but it was obvious that she would be overwhelmed quickly.  Kat scrambled to fish the harrow deck out of her pouch and focused all of her will on it, trying to call Zellara’s soul back to it.  It was no use.  Zellara screamed again as the shrieking souls tore her away and vanished into the wall of the castle.  The wind died just as suddenly as it had begun, and silence reigned once more.

As the group struggled to regain their composure and unravel what had just transpired, a loud squealing ripped the air.  The portcullis guarding the castle entrance on the far end of the causeway was grinding slowly open.  From the darkness of the tunnel beyond emerged a grotesque spectacle.  Some two dozen skeletal soldiers clad in plate armor and armed with longswords marched onto the bridge in rigid formation.  In their midst rode a lone horseman.  He was clad in plate mail as well, and he bore a lance at least twelve feet in length.  His mount was horrifying…the bony remnants of horse with shreds of flesh still clinging to it in places.  Shining silver barding covered it, and red eyes gleamed from within their dark sockets.  When it snorted, smoke and fire erupted from its nostrils.  The rider lifted his visor, and a grinning skull peered out.  He nodded once, then dipped the lance and urged his mount forward.  As he did so, the foot soldiers parted before him.

“Stand back ladies and gentlemen,” O’Reginald smirked as he shook out his sleeves.  “I got this!”
The sorcerer went through a flashy show of casting his spell, but when he finally released it, the result was accordingly spectacular.  A huge ball of fire erupted in the middle of the span, engulfing the entire horde.  When the flames cleared, all that remained of the foot soldiers were piles of charred bones with only four individuals still on their feet.  As for the knight, he and his mount appeared unscathed, and he seemed unconcerned with the fate of his troops.  Instead, he spurred his steed into a full gallop, lowering his lance and visor as he came.  Ratbone quickly shoved O’Reginald behind him and stepped to the fore of the group.  He braced himself, confident that his feral form and size could withstand the brunt of any blow.  When it came, however, the druid discovered he’d grossly underestimated his foe.  The point of the lance completely impaled him, going through his chest and exploding out his back.  Had it not been for the fact that his shapeshifting ability allowed him to literally move the position of his vital organs, he would likely have been mortally wounded by the assault.  Despite that, the pain was overwhelming and he crumpled to one knee, clutching at the weapon buried inside him.   He waited for the coup de grace to come, but to his utter amazement, Asyra stepped to his side, her chains spinning and snapping.  She flung them towards the rider’s bony mount, the spikes ripping into the beast, causing it to rear back and away from Ratbone.  That was the chance he needed.  Suppressing his agony, he surged to his feet and launched himself at the skeletal knight.  The rider released the lance and grabbed for his sword, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.  The druid tore into him like a force of nature, literally ripping him to pieces.  A moment later, a volley of flashing arrows left Raelak’s bow and impaled the nightmare, driving it over the edge of the bridge.  By the time the four foot soldiers had closed the remaining distance, Laori and Asyra were ready for them, and the two chain fighters made quick work of the undead fodder.

Michael was at Ratbone’s side as the battle ended.  The druid ripped the lance from his body, and as the blood began to flow, the priest pressed his hands over the wound, pouring energy into it.  Within seconds, the worst of the injury had mended, and Ratbone was able to stay on his feet.  
“Zellara’s not gone,” Kat announced abruptly.  She held the harrow deck in her hands, and gazed at the walls of the castle.  “I can sense it.  She’s in there…somewhere.  We have to find her and free her.”
“Then I suggest we don’t tarry here in the open any longer,” Sial said.  “We’ve made targets of our ourselves quite enough for one day.”

The others couldn’t argue, and they started across the causeway again, moving more quickly.  The front gates of the keep loomed at the end of the bridge, flanked by twin statues of warriors standing at attention.  Pale flames rose from the tips of their spears thirty feet above.  Torches were set into the entryway tunnel that lead to the main gates themselves, providing illumination.  The massive gates were closed, and a lowered iron portcullis further barred unauthorized entrance.  As the company closed within sight of the tunnel, however, a barrage of crossbow bolts suddenly erupted from arrow slits above the gates.  One of the projectiles pierced Laori in the gut, causing her to double over and stumble to the stones.  Two more struck Asyra, but the kyton’s otherworldly physiology allowed the bolts to bounce harmless off of her iron-hard skin.  
“Run!”  Sial commanded his bodyguard, and the priest began following his own advice, racing towards the tunnel, Asyra hot on his heels.  
“Idiots,” O’Reginald scoffed.  “There are quicker ways to get there.  Gather round me!”
He linked hands with the others, but when he concentrated and willed them across the intervening distance…nothing happened.
“No!” he cursed.  “There’s some sort of dimensional lock in effect!  I can’t teleport!”
“Then I guess you’d better use what the god’s gave you, hadn’t you?”  Raelak asked, slapping the sorcerer on the shoulder as he began running.  The others followed, Ratbone dragging Laori in his wake, all of them moving in a serpentine pattern, desperately trying to avoid the deadly rain of missiles.  

When the group reached the safety of the tunnel, there was still the matter of the portcullis that stood between them and the main gates.  Ratbone gripped the bars and began to lift, the massive iron frame rising achingly slow.
“Watch out!”  Kat shouted, but her warning came too late as murder holes opened in the tunnel roof above them and black, viscous oil began pouring in.  The oil, however, was not boiling, but was instead bone-numbingly cold.  The companions clung to the sides of the passage, trying in vain to avoid the deluge.  Finally, Ratbone lifted the gate high enough for them to duck through, and then he followed behind, the portcullis slamming down behind him.  Herc already had the gates opened, and the group hurried inside the main keep.
_________________________________________________

  The scene within the large chamber beyond the doors was stomach-turning.  Bodies lay everywhere, orc and human alike.  Judging by the sprawled nature of the corpses, they fought brutally before succumbing to their wounds, dying in heaps on the floor.  Many corpses were riddled with arrows and crossbow bolts, and a few appeared to have perished while locked in mortal combat, and still clutched at weapons embedded in various parts of each other’s anatomy.  A particularly large mound of bodies lay in the northwest corner, a heap of carcasses in a tangle of limbs.  Strangely, while the room reeked of death, the bloodstains on the walls and floor seemed incredibly ancient.

Before the companions could do much more than take note of their surroundings, a deep, gurgling voice came from within the mound of corpses.
“Ah, my wayward children,” it said.  “You’ve come home to me!  Come!  Come and let me embrace you!”
Then, to the horror of the onlookers, the entire pile began scuttling forward on dozens of arms and legs.
“What in Desna’s name?”  Raelak exclaimed, quickly loosing a shining arrow at the orgy of corpses.  Ratbone lunged forward, slashing at the pile with his claws, golden ice forming over the limbs of the bodies in the wake of his assault.  At that moment, all of the mouths of the corpses opened at once and emitted a piercing shriek that filled the room.  The companions found themselves involuntarily screaming in response, their hands going to their ears as blood poured from ruptured tympanic membranes.  Kat began shouting the words of a spell over the cacophony, and loosed a rippling lance of sonic energy into the morass.  A moment later, a hail of stones pelted the horror as O’Reginald loosed his own spell, and finally, another volley of force arrows from Raelak’s bow caused the entire pile to collapse.
“I think I’m going to hate this place,” O’Reginald said grimly.
____________________________________________________

The only exit from the chamber of horrors seemed to be barred from the far side.  Ratbone and Herc brought both of their full strength to bear against it, however, and the large portals burst inward.  Beyond was a ruined hallway.  Tattered bits of ruined tapestries lined the walls…wispy filaments of rotting cloth that hung limp and forgotten.  Ancient bones from scattered skeletons lay on the floor amid bits of broken weaponry and armor.  Only one skeleton seemed to remain whole, slumped against the northeastern corner, clad in dust-caked full plate armor.  It was Kat and Ratbone who heard it first…the distant sounds of battle.  Seconds later, the silence of the ancient, dead castle suddenly shattered.  The hall was filled with a cacophony of clashing weapons and battle cries intermingled with the screams of the dead and dying.  Individual words were impossible to discern, but as the sounds reached a crescendo of violence, smoky black shapes boiled up out of the bones and swirled into a vortex of angry, shrieking spirits.  Kat grabbed her head as the wailing voices of the spirits dug into her mind like daggers.  She moaned and collapsed to the floor twitching, her eyes rolled into her head.  Sial sneered at her weakness…until Asyra collapsed next to her.

As quickly as it began, the maddening vortex collapsed, but in its place, a towering, smoky form rose from the plate-mail-clad bones.  It appeared to be a large, shadowy form clad in armor made from tendrils of dark mist.  Two red eyes glowed deep inside its helm.  The apparition pointed one dark finger at Herc.
“You shall not have Serithtial,” it said.  “She is mine and no other’s!”
The creature then surged forward.

“Help me move her!”  Michael cried out to Sial as he knelt by Katarina.
“I think not,” the priest said, “but I shall not impede your efforts.”
“Do not strain yourself,” Laori snapped at her colleague.  She raised her hands above her head and a blanket of darkness formed around her, obscuring Kat and Asyra, providing them some measure of concealment from the oncoming shade.  Then, Raelak was there, stepping in front of his allies, and drawing the string of his bow to his jaw.  In rapid succession, he loosed four golden arrows.  The wraith howled as the pure light discorporated its ethereal form.  

Michael laid a hand on the chest of Kat and Asyra and began his prayer, heedless of the fact that he was using his holy power to heal a fiend.  Within a few moments, both of them opened their eyes and sat up, blinking dazedly.  Asyra regained her composure first and reached her feet without a word, as if nothing untoward had happened.  Kat took Michael’s offered hand and climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said quietly.
“Look at this!”  Herc called from where he knelt beside the armored bones.  
The others quickly gathered round and saw that the armor, though ancient, was in exquisite condition and bore elaborate heraldry engraved upon the breastplate.
“It’s the coat of arms of Lastwall,” Michael said wonderingly.  “I…I think these may be the remains of Mandraivus!”
__________________________________________________

Several minutes later, as the company prepared to move on, Herc was clad in the armor of Mandraivus.  The mercenary felt somehow…drawn to the mail.  None of his companions argued when he donned it.  After all, the spectre of Mandraivus had spoken to him only.

They next found themselves in the kitchens.  Rickety tables, butcher’s blocks, and collapsed shelves cluttered the room.  The walls and ceiling were covered in soot, particularly to the west where three huge ovens loomed.  Each was completely covered in a layer of char and soot, inside and out, with bits of charred bone and charcoal caked on the iron grills and in the ash pits beneath.  Worse, however, were the two outlines burned into the brick of the oven walls…humanoid images splayed in positions of agony and death.  Despite the ancient look of the layers of grime, the ovens radiated slight warmth and the faint odor of burning meat, as if they had been used recently.  As the group moved closer to investigate, faint tendrils of smoke began to rise from each of the huge ovens.  Moments later, a sudden blast of fire welled up inside the ovens, then plumed out into a sheet of flame that filled the entire room.  As it burned, shrieking spirits made of fire tore through the chamber, swimming through the bodies Laori and Asyra, and appearing to tear away bits of flesh as they did so.  Laori screamed in a combination of agony and ecstasy, while Asyra merely looked bemused.  The flames died as suddenly as they had appeared, but then something far more disturbing occurred.  The scorched outlines on the wall began to peel away, and then abruptly ignited into swirling, humanoid clouds of burning ash, bone and charred body parts that glowed fiery red from within and reeked of scorched flesh.  They roared like a wind-stoked fire as they rushed forward.  Asyra stood her ground, her chains gripped tightly in both hands.  As the first of the ghouls drew near, she lashed out with blinding speed, her weapons tearing through the beast’s form as if it was rice paper.  It evaporated in a puff of brimstone-tainted smoke.  Ratbone seized the second one in midair as it leaped, and literally tore the thing in half.  For a few moments, silence returned to Scarwall.  Then Sial cleared his throat.
“Thrice now Asyra’s life has been endangered protecting you people,” the priest snapped.  “No more!  We are here for a specific purpose, and that purpose is not to get killed in your defense.”
Ratbone began growling low in his throat.
“Who asked you to?”  O’Reginald sneered.  “In fact, who asked you to be here at all?”
“Sial,” Laori interrupted, “you forget yourself.  We are guests here.  Do not forget the greater goal.  Need I remind you of our imperative?”
Sial glared at her, but said nothing, his lips as thin as paper.  Instead he simply nodded once, sharply.
“I’ll take point with Herc,” Laori said, moving towards the doors.
_________________________________________________

The kitchen gave on to what seemed to be a long, wide porter’s hall.  Numerous arrow slits along the far wall looked out over the castle courtyard, and a pair of doors looked as if they opened onto it.  The burnt stubs of torches hung in iron brackets between the arrow slits, and small puddles of rain had formed beneath them, staining the stone.  Opposite those, metal rings had been driven into the stone wall; some had short lengths of chain attached to them.  Six large figures stood along the hall, facing the arrow slits.  When they turned towards the sound of the opening door, the half-light from the slits threw their features into grotesque relief.  They were skeletons, but not human.  They were massive, and had the heads of bulls.  The gripped great crossbows in their bony hands, and as their hollow eyes sockets fixed on the intruders, they raised the cocked weapons.

Raelak was quicker on the draw.  He put four arrows in flight before the nearest minotaur could pull the trigger.  The brute crumpled into a pile of inanimate bones.  Ratbone pounced on a second one and quickly disassembled it as well.  When he turned on a third, however, it had dropped its crossbow and drawn a massive axe.  It swung broadly and slashed the druid across his belly.  Ratbone snarled deeply, ignoring the wound as he tore the axe from the minotaur, along with its arm.  Meanwhile, Michael stepped forward, his holy amulet gripped in his hand.  Before he could bring its holy light to bear, however, one of the creatures slashed him viciously with its axe.  The amulet slipped from his fingers, and he bent quickly to retrieve it.  The minotaur moved in for the kill, but then exploded into a thousand pieces as several of Raelak’s arrows ripped through it.  Michael grabbed his amulet and thrust it towards another of the beasts.  Light exploded from the holy symbol and immolated the monster in a great column of white fire.  The last of the minotaur’s joined its brethren in a final hail of Raelak’s brilliant arrows.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE FIRST ANCHOR

Beyond the porters’ hall, a wide courtyard stood at the heart of Castle Scarwall, giving an inside view of the castle’s looming walls and towers.  A chill breeze whipped through the yard, carrying a few dry leaves from scraggly scrub bushes that grew fitfully at its edges.  A wide, stone-rimmed well stood at the western end, though the stone lip was crumbling and had collapsed in places.  To the north, stairs rose to a platform fifteen feet above the courtyard.  Atop it, a black double door provided entry into the castle donjon.  Double doors to the east stood open, creaking on their hinges, as if left open by someone leaving in a hurry.  Bent, rusted, and in some cases partially broken spikes protruded from the walls of the courtyard, and in places, holes in the hard-packed soil hinted at long-missing structures or poles that once stood within.

Cautiously, the companions began making their way across the yard and towards the ancient fountain.  It was only a faint scent on the breeze, the smell of attar, which warned Ratbone an instant before the attack came.  Large, dark shapes swooped out of the sky from the surrounding rooftops, like living gargoyles, but with four arms and heavily muscled.  One of them struck Asyra from behind like a battering ram.  When her spine snapped, the sound was like a lightning crack in the still air.  As she collapsed, more of the brutes landed among the group, one of them latching onto Ratbone with all four arms and then burying its curved horns in his shoulder, while another battered Michael to the ground next to the still form of Asyra.  Ratbone flexed, breaking the gargoyle’s grip, then proceeded to rend the creature limb from limb.  Katarina spun as another brute came towards her, flinging her arms out and shouting the words to a spell.  The monster froze in its tracks, paralyzed.  Raelak stepped casually behind it and fired an arrow into the back of its skull.  Meanwhile, Herc and Laori stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sword and chain flashing with deadly precision as another gargoyle fell.  Michael lay where he fell, unnoticed in the melee.  He rolled towards Asyra and passed his hands over her ruined back, channeling healing energy into the horrible wound.  When a shadow moved over him, he turned, expecting to die.  Instead, he saw Laori extending her hand towards him.  When he took it, he felt power flow out of her and into him, healing his own wounds.

Two of the gargoyles still menaced the group, so it was several moments before anyone noticed the gathering cloud of darkness emerging from the partially open double doors on the far end of the courtyard.  When they finally did, the battle came to a complete standstill, with even the gargoyles starring open-mouthed at the miasma.  Suddenly, a blast of blackness emerged from the cloud, washing over friend and foe alike in a dark cone.  When it dissipated a moment later, one of the gargoyles lay dead on the ground, and next to it Michael lay as well, stricken, barely breathing, his eyes wide and staring.  The others stood pale and shaking, a numbing, bone-chilling coldness penetrating all the way to their bones.  Ratbone shook off the effects first, snarling and snapping the last gargoyle’s neck while it was still stunned.  The others began moving as well.  Laori knelt quickly by Michael’s side, working furiously to stabilize the priest.  Sial and Asyra, on the other hand, retreated quickly back inside the porter’s hall, closing one of the massive doors behind them.  Katarina knew that the darkness was of magical origin, so she wove a wave of dispelling magic through it, causing it to vanish in puff of black smoke.  She immediately wished she hadn’t.

Fierce, crimson eyes gleamed from scales the shade of midnight.  A terrible, skeletally gaunt draconic visage leered at the end of a powerful, serpentine neck.  Its body was black and lithe, so dark that the sheen of its onyx scales made it appear almost indistinct; angular, backward-swept horns, wings that arced like gothic steeples, tight skin, and a thin, whip-like tail accentuated the hissing dragon’s sinister ferocity, giving it the appearance of a starved serpent ready to strike.  It hovered in the air some thirty feet above the courtyard, its wings whipping up dirt and grit as they beat downward rhythmically.  As  the companions stared in horror, the dragon hurled a volley of black light towards Raelak, the bolts striking the Shoanti unerringly.  Raelak jolted back several steps, but then almost instinctively, he brought up his bow and let fly with his own barrage.  The arrows stuck in the dragon’s scales, flaming against the black hide like burning brands.  

Herc and Ratbone moved as one, the mercenary quickly downing a potion from his belt, and then lifting into the air, while the druid shifted into his avian form and followed.  As they closed with the dragon, however, it struck out, slashing at Herc with one huge forepaw, while snapping at Ratbone with its powerful jaws.  What followed was sheer brutal savagery.  Ratbone and Herc circled the wyrm, feinting and striking lightning-quick, while the dragon whirled in the air, like a great cornered cat, ripping with its claws, gnashing and crushing bones with its teeth, buffeting and slapping with its wings and tail.  Moments stretched out like hours, and then, for a moment, the combatants paused as if by mutual agreement, all panting and struggling to catch their breath.
“I…yield…,” the dragon hissed at length.  “I, Belshallam, give you my word that if you spare my life, warriors, I will tell you of things that you will want to hear.  What say you?”
Before either of them could answer, however, a streaking arrow flew past them and buried itself between the dragon’s eyes.  The beast looked pole-axed as it tumbled heavily to the courtyard below.  As Belshallam died, a soul-chilling moan rose from the depths of Scarwall, and a loud, metallic snap, as if an enormous chain had just given way, echoed through the still air.  
“Thanks for all your help,” Ratbone snapped at Sial as the druid landed, and returned to his normal form.  “We’ll remember that next time.”
_______________________________________________________

The spacious west wing of the castle seemed largely given over to guest rooms as well as torture chambers, a statement of the predilections of Kazavon’s reign.  Most of these areas were abandoned and looked to have been so for some time.  It was only once they had reached the far end, an open antechamber, that they saw signs of habitation.  In fact, they thought they even detected the faint strains of orchestral music coming from beyond a set of large, ornate double doors.  A vast, grand ballroom lay beyond the doors, constructed in a floral shape with a high, vaulted roof of intricately wrought glass panes that bore a slight rose tint, but nevertheless provided a breathtaking view of the sky above.  Clover-shaped pillars supported key portions of the roof above the polished floor of stained cherry, and a wide dais provided room for an orchestra to play or stage performance to occur.  A few broken chairs had been pushed into the corners, but otherwise the room was empty.   

No sooner had the companions entered the ballroom than the music rose to a crescendo.  Dozens of ghostly figures appeared in the middle of the floor, swirling and cavorting, floating through the air as the followed the steps of an ancient, rhythmic dance, seemingly keeping in time with the ebb and flow of life itself.  Amid the eerie crowd of dancing specters loomed a dark, cloaked figure wielding a scythe, and ominous wraith with the dreaded countenance of Death itself.  The group stared in combined awe and horror at the spectacle…until they saw that Asyra and Raelak had joined the dance!
“Oh no…!”  Sial whispered, terror in his voice.
“What?”  Kat snapped.  “What is it?  What’s happening?”
“We cannot win this,” the priest said.  “It is the Danse Macabre…the dance of Death itself!  We should flee!”
“Flee?”  Kat asked, incredulous.  “We’re not leaving Raelak.  And what of your minion?”
“She is lost!”  Sial shouted.  “As are you all if you remain here!”
He began backing quickly towards the doors.  At the same time, the robed apparition moved forward.  Almost quicker than the eye could follow, the scythe flickered, and in the next instant Herc howled as his ear was cleanly lopped off.
“I do not accept this inevitability!”  Michael roared.
 He held out his symbol of office, and light flared from it like a small star.  For an instant, the Danse recoiled, and in that moment, holy power pulsed over Raelak, and the ranger’s mind was freed.  He blinked and shook his head, then, as the specter loomed over him once more, he raised his bow.  Force arrows hammered into the fiend’s incorporeal body, nailing it to the air as the power of Zellara’s blessing pulsed through the missiles.  The Danse began to burn, the dancers shrieking as their master died.  In moments, it was over.  Silence rained again as Asyra collapsed to the floor.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Wow, back from holiday without internet and three amazing JollyDoc updates greet me at the PC.  

I see the group has put the blessings of the ancestors into good use. Raelak has chosen the offensive boost - what about the others? I could imagine that most have followed Raelak with maybe only Kat and O’Reginald chosing the defensive bonus.


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Wow, back from holiday without internet and three amazing JollyDoc updates greet me at the PC.
> 
> I see the group has put the blessings of the ancestors into good use. Raelak has chosen the offensive boost - what about the others? I could imagine that most have followed Raelak with maybe only Kat and O’Reginald chosing the defensive bonus.




That's about right.  Most of the heavy hitters took the bane feature, while the support staff took the ghost touch defense.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS

Scarwall was proving to be a frustrating, potentially deadly, unsolvable mystery.  Some new undead horror threatened the companions at every turn, yet they were no closer to finding Serithtial’s resting place.  The castle was massive, and could take days, or weeks to search completely, assuming of course they survived that long.  Something had to give.

The group backtracked their trail through the guest wing to the courtyard and the porter’s hall.  There, they chose another door they had bypassed on their first trip through.  The walls of the dismal room beyond were hung with innumerable bags of netting that held bottles, clay jars, dried plants, desiccated bits of animals and similar things.  Tattered, gauzy curtains had been strung throughout, creating a diaphanous kind of maze.  The whole was choked with a dank-smelling smoke that seemed to be issuing forth from a pitted iron brazier in the center of the chamber.  Incredibly, also suspended within the netting was a halfling woman.
“Help me!” she shouted.  “The witch will be back soon!”
“Who are you?”  Kat asked suspiciously.  “How did you get here?”
“I’m Alimae,” the halfling replied.  “I’m an herbalist.  I was gathering herbs in the woods near my home when I was snatched by a horrible dragon!  It carried me halfway across the world to this nightmare castle, and then handed me over to the witch!  She’s been gone for several hours now, but if you hurry and get me loose, I can lead you upstairs to her home.  If you’re quick, you can break her crystal ball and weaken her!”
“Hmmm…,” Kat said as she pursed her lips.  “Perhaps.”  
The beguiler then spoke a spell, and her eyes flashed golden, allowing her sight to pierce illusions and glamers.  When she looked up at the halfling, she saw instead a monstrous hag, black-skinned, with curling horns and wickedly sharp teeth and claws.
“Would you care to tell us the truth now?”  Kat asked. 
The hag cackled as she used one of her long nails to slice her way free of the nets, and dropped heavily to the floor, assuming her true form as she landed.
“My compliments on your astute perception,” she laughed.  “How would such clever little people such as yourselves like to help me with a little project?”
Kat’s eyes narrowed and she glanced at her companions.
“Why don’t you start with telling us who and what you really are, and why we shouldn’t just kill you now?”
“I’m Malatrothe,” the hag said, her face growing serious.  “I assume that you are here to defeat one, some, or all of the commanders in Scarwall.  All I want is to be there when you best one of them.”
“We’re still listening,” Kat said, “…for now.”
“There is a spirit…a force that powers Scarwall,” Malatrothe began.  “His name is Mithrodar, and he is a chained spirit.  His power derives from four spirit anchors…powerful beings, some living, some not, that he has bound to his will.  As long as these anchors exist, he cannot be destroyed.  Hundreds, if not thousands of spirits are trapped within Scarwall’s walls because of Mithrodar’s power.”
“Zellara…,” Kat whispered.
Malatrothe continued as if she’d not heard.  “Three of Mithrodar’s anchors I know:  the dragon Belshallam, which I gather you have already slain; Scarwall’s former military commander, Castothrane; and Nihil, a fiendish woman who dwells in the towers above.  I’m not sure about the fourth, but I think it resides within the chapel, inside the donjon.”
“So why do you want to see these anchors destroyed?”  Kat asked suspiciously.  “What do you get out of it?”
“Power,” Malatrothe shrugged.  “Souls carry much value in certain circles.  My motives, admittedly, are selfish, but I’m the only one who can show you where to find at least two of the spirit anchors.  What say you?”
“I say to the Hells with you!”  Raelak snarled.  
“Now, now,” Sial said silkily.  “We shouldn’t be so hasty.  After all, we are here to retrieve the sword.  If weakening this chained spirit helps us to accomplish this, what does it matter how that is achieved?”

The debate continued for several minutes, with the company split over whether or not to trust the night hag.  In the end, there really was no choice.  They had no other leads on finding Scarwall’s secrets.  
“We will follow you,” Kat said as she turned back to Malatrothe, “but if you seek to trap or betray us, you will think the Hells are Paradise by the time we’re done with you.”
_____________________________________________________________

Malatrothe lead them upstairs to the keep’s second level.  As they passed down a long hallway, she paused at a set of intricately carved doors.
“Mithrodar lies within,” she said quietly.  “I warn you to avoid this place until you have destroyed all of the spirit anchors.”
The passage ended further on at a single door.
“The way to Castothrane is beyond,” the hag nodded.  “I do not know if he has placed guards or wards about him.”
“What do you know of this person?”  Sial asked with interest.
“He is no ‘person,’” Malatrothe chortled.  “He was already undead before Scarwall fell to Mandraivus.  He was captain of Kazavon’s guards.  I know that he was destroyed when Scarwall fell, but when the castle’s restless spirits reclaimed the keep, Castothrane was restored.  It was sometime after that he was bound by Mithrodar.  He is a wily one.  You should have a care.”

Herc pushed open the door, revealing an oddly shaped chamber that apparently occupied most of the second floor of the gatehouse.  A large set of winches seemed to govern the gates and portcullises in the gateway below.  Troughs ran along the sides of the winches, just above a set of murder holes in the floor to the east and west of the gears.  Arrow slits pierced the outer walls in several places, completing the room’s defensive posts.  A half-dozen skeletal minotaurs stood about the room, and the companions beheld the source of the attack they had endured as they had fled along the causeway.  The undead brutes raised their crossbows as the door opened, but Herc was across the floor before they could fully shoulder their weapons.  The big warrior leaped into the air and came down swinging his shield and slashing with his blade.  Within seconds, he had smashed one of the guards to bone shards.  As he turned towards the others, they fired their crossbows.  Most of the bolts went wide, but one struck Michael like a hammer-blow, and another spun Raelak as he drew his own bow.  That was the only volley the minotaurs got.  O’Reginald conjured a hail of heavy stones in the midst of the room, pummeling the creatures beneath the deluge.  Simultaneously, Malatrothe hurled a barrage of magic missiles into the monsters, drawing a look of disbelief from Katarina.  By that time, Raelak had recovered, and he began to loose arrows in a steady volley, until the last of the creatures collapsed into a bony heap.

Malatrothe stepped around the bones and pointed to a trapdoor in the ceiling of the guardhouse.
“Through there,” she said.  “Castothrane is above.”
Herc took the lead, climbing up the ladder and carefully raising the trap door.  He found himself looking out over a wide parapet.  On one side was a peaked roof with an archway leading to the chamber inside.  The mercenary climbed all the way out, then reached his hand down to help his companions up.  At that point, Raelak took the lead, his bow at the ready.  Beyond the arch was a long chamber with inward-slanting walls, much like an attic.  Many old barrels and boxes, broken and empty, were stacked at the base of the walls.  Stairs descended to the north, near two small alcoves with conical roofs.  Striding down the center of the room was an armored warrior.  He gripped a massive battle axe in one gloved hand.  Where his head should have been, however, there was instead only a grinning skull, wreathed in a halo of flickering flames.  Raelak drew back his bowstring, but then his eyes caught a flicker of movement from behind the barrels.  Shadowy forms moved there, and as he watched, several detached themselves from the general gloom.
“’Ware the walls!”  the ranger shouted to his companions.  No sooner had he spoken, than the vaguely humanoid-shaped shadows began stepping through wall, passing through it as if it did not exist.  At the same moment, Castothrane stepped through the archway.  Silently, he raised his axe and brought it brutally down on Raelak’s arm.  The Shoanti pivoted at the last minute, and the blade merely sliced into his flesh instead of completely through it.  

The shadows moved among the allies, reaching out with incorporeal arms to touch, draining the very life force from their victims.  Michael raised his hands to the sky and began to pray.  The clouds above suddenly released a deluge of rain, but when the water struck the undead, they wailed in agony as they were burned by its holy power.  Katarina took advantage of the moment to begin her own spell, conjuring a large, insubstantial fist out of thin air.  The hand seized one of the shadows, holding it fast.  Then, Laori rushed forward, her chain whirling around her head, and she proceeded to rip the ghostly creature to shreds.  Herc moved in as well, smashing and slashing at the shadows, regardless of the fact that half of his attacks passed harmlessly through them.  That was not true for Malatrothe’s arcane bolts.  They crashed into the undead relentlessly, felling one after another in rapid succession.

Raelak reeled from Castothrane’s blow, but he quickly managed to put some distance between himself and the skeletal warrior.  Castothrane charged, but the ranger was faster, loosing arrow after gleaming arrow from his bow.  They tore into Castothrane like ballista bolts, and though Kazavon’s former minion did not falter in his resolve, his corporeal body could not withstand the assault.  Ultimately, he fell, and as he did so, Malatrothe was there.  The hag knelt beside him, uncapping a bottle she had pulled from her cloak.  The wispy form of Castothrane’s soul could be seen being drawn into the flask.  Malatrothe quickly recapped her treasure and rose, giggling.  Then, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a chain snapping could be heard, followed by a soul-chilling bellow from deep within the keep.
“Mithrodar is not pleased,” Malatrothe laughed.  “Too bad for you!”  
With that, she spun in a circle of darkness and vanished.


----------



## JollyDoc

NIHILISM

“I knew it!”  Kat snapped at Malatrothe’s disappearance.
O’Reginald shrugged.  “If there’s one thing you can always trust, it’s that evil will be true to its nature.  She didn’t really lie to us, after all.”
“So where does that leave us?”  Kat asked.  “There are still two spirit anchors left, and we don’t know where to find them.”
“The night hag mentioned that one of them, Nihil, dwells in the high towers,” Laori offered, “and the unknown one may lair in the donjon chapel.  I would suggest pursuing the devil we know.  The tower lies just there.”  
She nodded across the parapet to where the highest spire in the keep could be seen just beyond a nearby rooftop.  
“My sister speaks wisdom,” Sial added, clearing his throat.  
Kat cocked an eyebrow at her companions.  Herc and Raelak shrugged noncommittally.  Michael and O’Reginald nodded in agreement with the Zon-Kuthonites, and Ratbone merely growled low in his throat and stalked towards the rooftop.  He reached up and grabbed the edge, and then hauled himself up.  He turned back expectantly, waiting for the others to follow.
______________________________________________________

Beyond the peak of the rooftop lay another balcony with a single door leading into the tower.  Herc led the way as the others readied themselves behind him.  The sparsely furnished chamber beyond appeared to be a guardroom with a single table, two chairs, and a tarnished brazier.  Above the table hung a bronze gong and striker.  Three creatures paced restlessly around the room.  They were humanoid in size and shape, but their skin was spiked with numerous wicked barbs.  Sharp fangs filled their mouths and hooked talons protruded a full inch beyond the ends of their fingertips.  
“Fiends!”  Michael hissed over Herc’s shoulder.  
Before the big mercenary could act, however, Kat stepped to his side and began weaving her hands hypnotically before her.  Two of the devils watched her, momentarily transfixed, and then their eyes glazed over in confusion.  A moment later, one of them dropped to the floor and curled up into a ball, cowering like a whipped pup.  The third fiend snarled and leaped forward, but Herc moved in front of Kat and caught the brunt of the charge on his shield.  He jerked the shield edge sharply up, catching the devil on the chin, but as he did so, his hand caught on the thing’s barbs, flaying his skin open to the bone.  The devil recoiled from the blow, but recovered quickly.  It raised one hand above its head and began to chant in its infernal tongue.  A wave of power coursed over the companions, wracking all of them with excruciating pain, save for the followers of Zon-Kuthon.

Raelak stood up with an effort and drew back his bowstring.  He fired a shimmering shaft directly into the devil’s gut.  The fiend spun with the impact, but when it came around again, it unleashed another blast of dark energy.  Then, it was struck by a half-ton of fur and claws as Ratbone slammed into it, bearing it to the ground and then rending it limb from limb, ignoring the savage rents its barbs left in his own flesh.  At that moment, the confused fiend blinked its eyes once, its vision clearing.  Too late it realized its situation.  It launched itself towards Herc, but Ratbone was in the way.  The druid caught the fiend around the waist and hurled it savagely into a wall, snapping its spine.  Then he turned on the cowering fiend and quickly put it out of its misery.
______________________________________________________

Nihil the Ashbringer crouched brooding in the highest rafters of her tower, the same tower that once served as Kazavon’s personal bedchamber.  The irony was not lost on her.  She, once the personal assassin of the Dragon Lord, gifted to him by Zon-Kuthon himself, was now reduced to skulking amid the decaying remains of her former lord’s glory, a prisoner of the usurper Mithrodar.  She allowed her anger at the presence of intruders within her master’s domain to burn away her self-loathing.  They had already slain most of what was left of her once-grand army of gargoyles and fiends, and now they had the temerity to come for her personally.  She may have failed Kazavon once, but she swore upon her immortal soul that she would not do so again.  As the door to the tower swung open below, she silently ordered her minions to their positions…
________________________________________________________

The interior of the tall, hollow tower was silent and menacing.  High overhead, an opening at the tower’s peak let in light, as did the arrow slits set into the walls, yet nothing seemed capable of dispelling the gloom of ancient evil that loomed there.  A shallow pool of stagnant water from past rains had formed in the center of a floor that was largely empty of furnishings.  Near the far wall slumped a wide bed, swathed in rotten and moldy bedclothes.  The bed itself hung a few feet off the floor, supported at its corners by chains that hung from a series of iron support beams above.  To the side, a large gilt throne stood upon a short dais before a series of manacles inset into the floor.  A nearby fire grate, long cold, held a collection of branding irons and other torturer’s tools.  A series of alcoves climbed the walls of the tower in an ascending spiral.  Within each stood a statuette, art object, or polished skull.  

Ratbone was the first into the tower, his hulking form taught and guarded.  His feral eyes scanned the darkness above, and immediately locked onto a bare flicker of movement.  His vision rapidly shifted through the visible spectrum, and then beyond.  The heat signatures of three large creatures jumped out at him.  They were invisible, hovering in the nest of rafters.  They seemed to be mostly skeletal, though the fact that their bodies radiated heat meant that they were of flesh and blood, not undead.  Long, scorpion-like tails arched over the heads, the spike-like stingers dripping with poison.  Ratbone turned to warn his companions as they filed into the room, but at that moment, a harsh, shrieking voice ripped the air, and power flowed through its words.  As the blasphemous sound hammered into the group, all of them felt their strength sapped, and their heads swam.  At the same time, the three fiends above appeared as they flew down, howling in hell-spawned fury.

Katarina looked up as the devils drew nearer.  She closed her eyes, driving back her terror and brought the words of a spell to her lips.  When she opened her eyes again, they flashed with eldritch light, and the three creatures paused, hovering not twenty feet above.  Their eyes locked on one another, and hatred burned in them.  Talons hooked and fangs bared, they fell on each other, locked in mortal combat.  Raelak quickly took advantage of the confusion and began firing amidst the fiends, while beside him, O’Reginald hurled bolts of crackling lightning into the fray.  
‘There’s still something else up there!’  Ratbone snarled through the mental link the companions shared.  ‘These vermin can’t be the spirit anchor.  It’s still here somewhere!’
“I’ll force it to show itself!”  Michael shouted aloud.  
The priest cradled his holy symbol and began to pray fervently.  The medallion flared with light that reached all the way to the tower roof.  In its shining glow, Nihil stood revealed.  She was a twisted, contorted thing with as much iron as flesh to her body.  A huge pair of bat-like wings unfurled from her back and she wielded a brutal scythe that was fused with the flesh of her right arm.  She hissed in fury and folded her wings, diving towards the floor forty-feet below.  As she passed her quarreling underlings, she beat at them furiously with her clawed left hand.
“Fools!” she spat in Infernal.  “If you want to die, I’ll kill you myself and turn your wretched souls over to the flesh peddlers!”
The bone devils shook themselves free of Kat’s beguilement at the sound of their mistress’s voice, and then proceeded to follow her down.  Nihil backwinged just above the floor, hovering as she raised her free hand.  Power gathered around her, and she unleashed it in a black burst, the magic siphoning the very moisture from the bodies of her enemies.  At the sight of the enraged ashmede devil, both Laori and Asyra quailed, their faces draining of color.  In stark terror, the pair fled the room.  Sial watched them go in disbelief.  His eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, and in an instant, his decision was made.  
“No!” he cried in mock fear.  “Spare me, Unholy One!”  
He then turned on his heel and ran after his companions.

Ratbone watched the withdrawal of the Brotherhood of Bones with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction.  Quickly, however, his attention was drawn back to the matter at hand.  Willing his body to transform, he shifted into his avian form and lifted off the floor.  As he rose towards the fiends, he seized Herc by the shoulders in his talons and carried him aloft as well.  Both of them struck at Nihil as they drew close, but the devil’s skin was like striking iron, and it shed the brunt of their blows.  
“Now!”  the ashmede cried.
She folded her wings once more and dove past the druid and the mercenary, landing heavily on the floor in the midst of Raelak, Michael, Kat and O’Reginald.  A moment later, the bone devils chanted in unison, and frigid mist began coalescing below Ratbone and Herc.  Within seconds, it solidified into a wall of solid ice bisecting the tower, separating the two from the rest of their friends…and Nihil!

Raelak darted clear of the ten-foot tall ashmede devil, struggling to get enough room to bring his bow to bear.  He loosed three arrows in rapid succession, and Nihil shrieked in a mixture of pain and fury.  She lunged at the ranger, batting O’Reginald aside as she charged.  Her scythe-like appendage slashed at Raelak like a thresher through wheat.  The Shoanti reeled, and felled heavily to his back.  Nihil reared above him, preparing to drive the point of her scythe through his chest, when suddenly a bolt of green energy struck her from behind, where O’Reginald had managed to raise himself up on one elbow.  Nihil stumbled as her limbs felt loose and clumsy.  Her eyes blazed, and lightning flew from her fingertips, arcing from O’Reginald to Raelak to Kat, and lastly Michael.  In the aftermath, all four lay on the ground around her.  She howled in victory as she moved in for the kill, but her celebration was premature.  Too late she saw Raelak raise his bow a final time.  Two arrows flew from his string simultaneously, and both struck the fiend in the middle of her chest.  Stricken, she stumbled back.  Her foot caught on the short dais, and she collapsed into the ancient throne, her head slumping down upon her chest, which heaved one final breath and then was still.  Somewhere in the distance, a chain snapped and an anguished moan rumbled through Scarwall.

Ratbone rapidly shifted back into his ape form, dropping Herc to the surface of the ice wall as he landed upon it himself.  Just in time, as the first of the bone devils leaped upon him.  Ratbone caught the fiend in mid-air, enfolding it into his four-armed grasp.  The druid squeezed as the devil clawed and bit at him, as all the while its spine snapped and cracked.  Finally, it went limp in Ratbone’s arms, and he dropped its lifeless corpse to the ice.  As it struck the wall, however, the ice began to split and crack beneath the feet of Ratbone and Herc.  A moment later, the wall collapsed entirely.  The druid and mercenary fell, and the remaining two bone devils came after them.  Katarina hurled a lance of solidified sonic energy at one, and Herc managed to grapple with the fiend as it tumbled through the air.  He slammed at its neck with his shield again and again as it fell, and when the two of them finally struck the floor, only Herc rose to his feet again.  Ratbone and the last devil landed heavily near Kat, and as they rolled to their feet, the beguiler blasted the fiend with another sonic lance.  It stumbled from the impact, and in that moment Ratbone was on it.  The feral druid savaged and tore at the devil as if he were possessed himself.  It was no contest…


----------



## SolitonMan

Love the action, JD!    Makes me want to play through the AP.  Thanks for your efforts, keep up the great work!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Agreed, but what is it they say: 4th time's the charm. Have you already played it, JollyDoc, or are you just about to? 

It sounds like you gave them a run for their money with Nihil, but...no spoilers here, alas


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Agreed, but what is it they say: 4th time's the charm. Have you already played it, JollyDoc, or are you just about to?
> 
> It sounds like you gave them a run for their money with Nihil, but...no spoilers here, alas




So far the guys are holding their own.  The defeated the last spirit anchor this past weekend (I won't spoil it for those who haven't read the AP), and tomorrow they're probably going up against Mithrodar.  There have been a few touch and go moments, though.  In my next update, you will see how a simple random encounter can go terribly wrong, and how second guessing yourself can be fatal as well...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> So far the guys are holding their own.  The defeated the last spirit anchor this past weekend...




Just one teaser, maybe: any casulties?


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Just one teaser, maybe: any casulties?




Not yet...but several close calls.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> Not yet...but several close calls.




_In my best Mr. Burns voice:_ "Excellent!"


----------



## JollyDoc

A MATTER OF TRUST

“Nice of you to join us,” O’Reginald smiled dryly at the Brotherhood of Bones.  “We’d hate to think you’d run out on us.”
“I apologize for our weakness,” Laori said, her cheeks burning.  
“I do not require you to speak for me!”  Sial snapped at her.  
“Then what do you have to say for yourself, Count?”  the elf woman whirled on him.  
“I do not have to explain myself,” Sial growled, “to any of you!”
He turned on his heel and stalked away to the far side of the tower, Asyra following in his wake.
“Nevertheless,” Laori sighed, “I am sorry.  I…don’t know what came over me.  Fear is not an emotion I am accustomed to feeling.”
“Don’t worry about it,” O’Reginald clapped her on the shoulder.  “I was mainly giving the ‘Shadowcount’ a hard time.  Nothing you could have done about it, and truth to tell, that bitch scared the hell out of me too!”
Laori gave him a small smile out of the corner of her eye.

“What do you make of these?”  Herc asked Kat.  He was gazing up at the alcoves that spiraled up around the circumference of the tower.  Almost half of them held polished, though brittle-looking skulls.  He reached out and picked up the nearest one.
“I am Andachi of Tamrivena,” the skull said suddenly, causing Herc to drop it reflexively.  It shattered into dust as it struck the floor.
“Andachi?”  Michael asked.  “Did it say Andachi?”
“Do you know the name?”  Kat asked.
“Yes,” the priest nodded.  “Count Andachi ruled Tamrivena…what is now known as Canterwall, in Ustalav…almost a millennia ago.”
Curiously, Michael picked up a second skull.  It to spoke a name, as did the one after that, and the one after that.  Michael identified each of them as notable people who had all lived almost one-thousand years before…until they had apparently perished at the hands of Kazavon.
“This is all fascinating,” O’Reginald yawned as he came over, “but I’m exhausted, and I’ve depleted most of my spells for the day.  If we’ve still got another spirit anchor to deal with, as well as this Mithrodar thing, then can I suggest that we hole up here for the night and get some rest?”
“I think that’s a bad idea,” Ratbone grumbled, having assumed his true form for a change.  “This place is bad enough during the day.  We don’t know what comes out at night.”
“I think we’re safe enough,” Kat shrugged.  “Nihil had this place secured pretty tightly, and there’s always the roof exit if we run into any trouble.  I can make sure the door stays locked, and then we can take turns on guard while the others sleep.”
The druid merely glowered and turned away.
______________________________________________________

Two hours later, most of the companions were fast asleep.  Herc, Raelak and Asyra remained awake and on guard, the humans keeping their distance from the kyton.  A lantern burned in the center of the tower floor, and shadows danced at the periphery of its flickering flame.  Raelak’s eyes narrowed as he watched the light.  It seemed to him that some of shadows moved a little differently than the others.  Suddenly, several of them detached from the darkness and swarmed towards them.  Raelak raised his bow and loosed a shimmering arrow at one as it came.  The shaft pierced the shadow, seemingly hanging in mid-air.  Then they were upon him and his companions.  

The shadows struck like living wraiths, their incorporeal hands reaching through armor as if it didn’t exist.  Raelak, Asyra and Herc all felt the cold embrace of the undead, their strength leeched out of them.  Another knelt beside O’Reginald as he was rousing from his slumber.  Before he could do more than open his eyes, however, the shadow reached into his chest and the wizard suddenly found himself paralyzed…so weak that he could no longer move.  Quickly, the ranger and the mercenary rallied what stamina they had left, shooting and slashing at the animate darkness.  Behind them, Sial rose to his feet, Asyra at his side.  The dark priest raised the profane symbol of Zon-Kuthon from around his neck and channeled black power through it.  As if flared with red light, several of the shadows quailed before it and disappeared through the walls.  Despite their weakness, Herc and Raelak were able to beat back the few remaining ones, and then they stood heaving, their hands on their knees.  Quietly, Michael went to them, making the rounds to try and restore some of the damage done.
_______________________________________________________

Dawn came gray and bleak through the skylight at the top of the tower.  The remainder of the night had passed uneventfully, though sleep had not come easily to any of the companions, plagued with troubling dreams as they were.  Ratbone remained silent on the subject as the group readied themselves to move out again, though Katarina could tell the druid was displeased.  It was decided among them that they should seek entrance to the donjon.  Malatrothe had said that she suspected the last spirit anchor was inside, along with the only chance of defeating Mithrodar.

They made their way from Nihil’s tower back down to the castle courtyard.  Atop a landing across the yard a double door stood, its bronze finish so tarnished that it appeared almost black.  Cast in bas-relief on its exterior were gruesome images of devils and priest cavorting among the corpses and tortured souls of the damned.  A skull and spiked chain overlooked the entire scene from the center of the doors…the symbol of Zon-Kuthon.  A heavy wheel was set into the center of each door.  Upon closer inspection, however, it became obvious that the stone jamb around the doors had been altered in some way to form a seal around them.  The central seam had likewise been sealed with lead.
“What do you make of this?”  Kat asked the others.
“Looks to me like someone didn’t want anyone getting in,” Herc replied.
“Or out,” Raelak noted.
“If all of Mithrodar’s spirit anchors are already bound to Scarwall,” Michael asked, “then what would be the point of sealing one of them inside?”
“Maybe it’s not a spirit anchor that’s inside,” Kat said quietly.
“What are you implying?”  O’Reginald asked.
Kat shrugged.  “Just that maybe we’re placing too much faith in what the night hag said.  How do we know she was being truthful?  Perhaps she sent us here on purpose.  Perhaps it is Mithrodar who is imprisoned within, and the final spirit anchor lies back in the keep.”
O’Reginald shook his head.  “No!” he snapped.  “It’s like I said before…I’ve been around and seen some things, and if there’s one thing I know for a fact, you can always trust Evil to be Evil.  Malatrothe told us she was self-serving.  We knew what she wanted out of the deal.  There would be no purpose in her setting us up.  She would gain nothing by it.  I think we should stick with the plan.”
“I’m…not sure…,” Michael sounded doubtful.  Herc and Raelak looked dubious as well.  Sial and Laori kept their expressions carefully neutral, while Ratbone’s face, once more in his animalistic form, was unreadable.  
“Perhaps we could just go and look inside the room the hag warned us of…,” Kat offered.  
“It’s a mistake!”  O’Reginald shouted, but he could tell the matter had already been decided.
________________________________________________________

They stood huddled around the door Malatrothe had warned them away from, Kat’s ear pressed against it.
“I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.  
Herc nodded and he gripped the door handle.  He looked at Raelak, and the ranger nodded in return.  Herc twisted and pushed the door open.  

A large hall loomed beyond the door.  Thick wooden columns, their sides caked with dust, supported the ceiling above.  Between them, in the center of the room, sat a large fire pit, its ashes long cold.  Many old stains marred the floor, some surely of spilled food and ale, though several darker ones appeared more grisly in origin.  At the western end of the hall, a wide dais rose where the lord’s table could be set to oversee the affairs of the hall.  In the center of the dais was a great chair carved of oak and studded with iron rivets.  Down one step and to the left of it was a smaller chair of oak, less elaborate.  A lone figure stood silent and still upon the dais.  Its eyes blazed in a deathless rage.  It seemed to be some sort of phantom, floating unfettered by the bonds of the living world.  The ghostly horror possessed its own ethereal bonds, though, its semi-transparent, vaguely humanoid figure clenched in the hold of countless crisscrossing chains that writhed and tightened over its vaporous form in unending torture.  Several of those chains extended from the ghost’s body, some dangling through the floor or reaching seemingly through the ceiling above, while others pooled in spectral lengths upon the ground like solid things.  Three particularly long chains seemed to have been broken halfway along their length.  On the floor at the phantom’s feet, lay the shriveled, husk-like remains of Malatrothe.
“Uh-oh,” Herc said.

Before the mercenary and the ranger could move or warn their companions, Mithrodar, for there could be no doubt that was whom they faced, swung one length of chain and snapped it out like a whip, stretching it fully thirty feet to strike quick as a snake around Raelak.  The Shoanti screamed in agony as he felt the spectral links pulling something…vital…from him.  Herc looked on in horror as his friend’s face became drawn and gray, his eyes sunken.  The big warrior seized the Shoanti by the back of his jerkin and yanked him out the door.  As he turned, he saw shadowy forms materializing from the darkness around the perimeter of the room.  They looked human, but he could see through them, their archaic robes flowing around them like wisps of cloud.  As he watched, they began stepping through the walls and into the corridor where the others waited, still oblivious to the danger.
“Run!”  Herc shouted.


----------



## carborundum

LOL... Herc gets all the best lines!

"Uh-oh..."
"Run..."


----------



## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> LOL... Herc gets all the best lines!
> 
> "Uh-oh..."
> "Run..."




Fighters...men and women of action, not words...


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

"Grr. Roy smash puny kobolds." _(I have an MBA, you know.)_


----------



## JollyDoc

TOMB OF HORRORS

“Ha!”  O’Reginald barked at his companions as they stood panting in the courtyard, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Mithrodar and his spectral minions.  “I told you!  I warned you!”
“Alright, you’ve quite made your point!”  Kat snapped angrily.  “We made a choice, and it was a mistake, but we’re all still here, so let’s move on!”
“Just wanted to say I told you so,” the wizard grumbled under his breath.  

There seemed no other alternative but to return to the donjon’s sealed doors.  
“So how do you propose to circumvent this dilemma?”  Sial asked sarcastically as the group stood before the portals.  In response, O’Reginald pointed one finger at the doors, spoke a word, and sent a thin green beam at one of them, reducing it instantly to dust.  Sial’s face twisted in a grimace of distaste and he turned quickly away.  
Ratbone moved to the fore of the group and peered inside the door.  The floor of the foyer beyond was tiled in blood-red marble.  An altar that resembled a skull, its lower section wrapped in iron chains, and its top cut off flat to form a level surface, stood in an alcove to the east.  A ten-foot diameter pool of what appeared to be stagnant water, its rim fashioned of white marble, sat in the western alcove opposite the altar.  Ratbone stepped across the threshold, but as soon as he did, he doubled over and grunted in agony as some unseen force violently shoved the one-ton shapeshifter backwards onto the balcony.  
“Hmm…,” Sial quirked one eyebrow in amusement.  
Kat stepped to the doorway and passed her hands over it.
“There is a powerful enchantment here,” she said, “a Forbiddance.”
“May I?”  Laori asked, moving to Kat’s side.  “This is a holy place of Zon-Kuthon.  Perhaps the way will open to His faithful.”
Kat shrugged and gestured the elf forward.  Laori stepped past her…and passed easily through the door.  When Kat examined the portal again, she found that the Forbiddance was gone.
Once inside, Laori, Sial and Asyra genuflected before the altar, and then each of them used the spiked barbs on their chains to slice open their palms.  They went to the pool and dipped their hands into the filthy water, washing the blood clean.  

A second set of doors on the opposite side of the shrine opened into what seemed to have once been a common room.  A worn by colorful carpet covered most of the floor, and a number of wooden tables and comfortable chairs were spaced about the chamber for informal gatherings and meals.  A small kitchen had been set up by a low stone fireplace alongside a cupboard that held some dishes and utensils as well as a few desiccated remains of foodstuffs.  Strangely, a half-dozen figures were seated around one of the tables, as if in deep discussion.  They wore black robes that appeared rotten and threadbare with age.  They turned in unison when the doors opened, and it was only then that the companions saw that their gaunt faces and empty eye sockets were translucent, as where the trappings they wore.  They shrieked when they sensed the living life force of the intruders and rose, claw-like fingernails bared.

The specters flew among them, their touch numbing with the preternatural cold of the grave.  Sial, reasoning that the spirits would obey him as a devotee of Zon-Kuthon, tried to rebuke them, but to no avail.  They showed no preference, nor discrimination in whom they assaulted.  So the Zon-Kuthonites found themselves fighting hand-in-glove with the K.I.A.  With the two forces fighting in unison for the first time, they managed to destroy the wraiths one-by-one.  As the last one faded from existence, Michael, Sial and Laori tended their allies in silence, a sense of shared responsibility overriding animosity.
_______________________________________________________

The donjon seemed largely abandoned, yet untouched by the passage of the centuries.  Given the nature of the numerous empty rooms the allies encountered, the structure obviously served as Kazavon’s personal temple to Zon-Kuthon.  Yet there was still a brooding presence in the air, almost as if something…waited.  Then, they came upon a chamber that seemed shrouded in writhing shadows.  A large, humanoid figure stood motionless deeper in the room.  Ratbone crouched, his hackles raised as he stalked slowly forward, waving his companions behind him.  As he drew closer to the figure, he realized it was in fact a statue of a cloaked figure with a skull for a head and a spiked chain dangling from its eye sockets…a representation of Zon-Kuthon.  The druid relaxed slightly…until he saw a second, smaller figure step from behind the statue.  It to was humanoid, its body wrapped from head to toe in filthy bandages.  An ornate, archaic pectoral hung from its neck, and an elaborate head dress topped its turbaned head.  Ratbone snarled and swung a massive paw at the frail-looking mummy.  His eyes widened a moment later when the undead priest grabbed his hand in mid-swing with a vice-like grip.  Suddenly, a battle cry roared from behind the druid as Herc rushed to his side.  The big mercenary bull-rushed forward behind his shield…and the mummy deftly side-stepped his charge.  The creature then raised its free hand and began tracing a luminous sigil in mid-air.  Laori cried out in agony as she saw it, her body wracked in agonizing pain.  Katarina quickly conjured a mass of darkness to veil the symbol, while at the same time sending the roiling cloud to envelop the mummy lord.  The dark tendrils tried to wrap around the priest’s arms and legs, but to no avail.  
“To Hades with this!”  Raelak barked.  
The ranger then loosed a barrage of shimmering arrows, skewering the mummy with each shot.  The creature howled and recoiled from the assault, and that was when Ratbone pounced.  The druid clamped his jaws down on the mummy’s neck and proceeded to shake the priest like a dog with a bone.  He slung his head, flinging the mummy across the room.  As it attempted to rise, a lance of pure sound from Kat’s hand obliterated it into a cloud of dust.
____________________________________________________

Finally, after searching the donjon for what seemed like hours, Katarina found a well-hidden door secreted in an out-of-the-way corner.  Behind it was a narrow flight of stairs that led down.  At the bottom was a long hallway which ended at a pair of large double doors.  
“The chapel,” Sial whispered reverently.  
Ratbone glowered at the priest over his shoulder before he pushed open the doors.  The vast chamber on the other side was floored in gray slate and supported by thick pillars of obsidian.  Torches mounted on the pillars burned, yet their flames were strangely dim, barely illuminating the cathedral-like space.  The pillars themselves were decorated with skulls and bones…tiny white pinpoints of light seemed to dance in the eye sockets of each.  To the northwest, a tall statue of a skull-headed man dressed in dark robes stood behind a black marble altar, on which lay heaped mounds of ashes, bits of bone, and a single skull, its teeth and eye sockets set with glittering gemstones.  Jagged, barbed chains dangled from the statue’s eye sockets.  Thick black curtains hung from the walls of the chamber.  

Cautiously, Ratbone moved towards the altar.
“Careful,” Kat warned from behind him.  “I sense a strong magic presence beneath that skull.”
The druid nodded and continued forward.  When he reached the altar, he tilted his head quizzically as he regarded the odd skull.  Then he reached out and simply picked it up, dusting off the ash as he did so.  A moment later, the skull floated out of his hand and hovered in the air before him.  The ashes and bone on the altar began to scatter as if up in a small vortex.  
“Get back!”  Herc shouted as he moved up beside Ratbone, swinging his sword as he came.  The blade struck the skull solidly, but rebounded off as if it had struck a stone wall.  
The large gem in the skull’s right eye socket began to glow red.  Farther back in the chapel, Raelak felt a power seize him.  It was not his body that was seized, but his soul.  For the briefest of moments, he felt his spirit leave his flesh, but then just as quickly, he was wrenched back, yet he felt…drained, and so very, very tired.  Feeling like his arms could barely move, he lifted his bow and fired.  The arrow struck the skull directly in the frontal bone…and bounced harmlessly off.  Ratbone bared his fangs, seized the skull with both hands, and bit down on its cranium savagely.  He felt a satisfying crack between his jaws before it wriggled violently in his grip again.
“Hold it still for just another second!”  Herc shouted.
The big merc then slammed his shield forward, simultaneously bringing his sword down in an overhand chop.  The blade struck the skull directly across the fracture Ratbone had created, and the bones shattered into a thousand pieces, the priceless gems skittering across the floor, their light going dim.  In the distance, a final chain snapped, and a soul-freezing roar shook the foundations of Scarwall.  Mithrodar was free…


----------



## carborundum

Ooooh, this is just one brutal fight after another! I'm enjoying it immensely, of course!


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

It's too late to tell them that a dispel evil would have sufficed. Joke aside, great job, guys. JollyDoc, did you ever read your group the intro or sidebar from Pathfinder to this encounter? You know, the one that says "Hey, the DL will very, very likely kill some or all PCs, but go ahead, it's fun."


----------



## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> It's too late to tell them that a dispel evil would have sufficed. Joke aside, great job, guys. JollyDoc, did you ever read your group the intro or sidebar from Pathfinder to this encounter? You know, the one that says "Hey, the DL will very, very likely kill some or all PCs, but go ahead, it's fun."




I did, indeed.  They laughed.


----------



## JollyDoc

THE SWORD IN THE STONE

Once again, the nine companions stood outside the doors of Mithrodar’s lair.  They knew the chained spirit was waiting for them, but they could only hope that what Malatrothe had told them was true…he would be weaker, and perhaps vulnerable, without his spirit anchors.  Their whole plan hinged upon it.

All stood poised and ready as Ratbone threw open the doors.  Even knowing what they would see, they were still caught off guard by the sight of Mithrodar and his specters hovering directly on the other side of the portals.  O’Reginald quickly pulled energy into his hands, and then hurled an orb of pure force at the spirit.  Mithrodar recoiled momentarily, but then he and his minions surged forward, the specters passing easily through the walls to insinuate themselves among the allies.  
“Now!”  Katarina snapped at Michael.
The priest nodded hastily, and began to pray.  A wave of energy flowed from his holy symbol, encompassing all of the combatants.  In a flash of blinding light, it vanished, but its effects were readily apparent to all.  Mithrodar and all of his spectral servants had been rendered corporeal.  They were solid flesh once more!  Michael followed up immediately by channeling his holy power into the undead, searing their flesh with Iomedae’s wrath.  The specters shrieked in horror as they looked down at their all-too-mortal wounds.  Then the Brotherhood of Bones was upon them.  The priests and the kyton laid about them with their spiked chains like Osirion dervishes.  The spirits could not defend themselves.  So certain were they in their minds that their incorporeal nature would protect them, they could not conceive of any way to stave off the withering assault of the Zon-Kuthonites.  Mithrodar, on the other hand, was all too aware of what Michael’s spell had done.  Kazavon’s former seneschal had not risen to that position by being a fool.  He turned away from the battle and began to run, but before he had gone five steps, a great weight struck him from behind as Ratbone bowled him over and bullrushed past him, cutting off any chance of escape.  Mithrodar snarled as he pushed himself back to his feet, and snapped one of his chains forward, wrapping it around the druid’s ankle.  As he prepared to pull Ratbone from his feet, however, five shrieking arrows thudded into his back.  His mouth open in shock, the chained spirit turned slowly around, only to have the edge of Herc’s shield slam into his neck.  

An inhuman shriek issued from Mithrodar as his body twisted and spiraled as if caught in a vortex.  A heartbeat later, he was gone.  Within moments, the walls of the castle began to shimmer and brighten as the shadows that had clung to every inch of the cursed structure faded.  The sound of countless sighs whispered in the ears of the companions, and the oppressive sense of menace overlaying the structure vanished.  The remaining specters simply winked out of existence.  At the same time, Katarina felt a familiar presence envelope her.  Zellara was free.  Her spirit reentered the harrow deck as if returning home.  Suddenly, a small luminescence formed in front of the allies.  It rapidly brightened until a figure manifested.  It was a confused-looking human man in early adulthood.  He wore finely cut, if long out of style clothing, and clearly was a nobleman of some sort.  As he looked around and noticed the companions, his ghostly flesh began to strip away, revealing raw muscle and bone below as if he were being flayed by invisible knives.  After being reduced in such a horrible fashion, however, his skin reappeared a moment later, only to start the process all over again.  To his credit, the ghost seemed to hardly notice his continuing mutilation, with only the occasional flinch as a particularly tender bit of skin was tugged away.  He began to speak, his accent heavy and archaic, yet his words were clear, manifesting as sounds as much as thoughts.

“You.  You have done a great thing today.  You have accomplished the conclusion of a legend.  What has festered here in Scarwall is no more, and in saving us all, you have returned honor to Tamrivena after these long years of shame…a shame I created, and a shame I was unable to lift.  I sent Kazavon into Belkzen, so many ages ago.  Eventually, when even my coward’s soul could no longer bear to hear tell of his cruelties, I came here to Scarwall to attempt to undo what I had done in asking for the Midnight Lord’s aid in defending Tamrivena.  Yet again, I failed…my general, Kazavon, had me skinned alive and ate the strips raw before my dying gaze.  And when I did die, my soul remained, trapped here as surely as any prisoner.
There came a time soon thereafter when Kazavon was finally slain, laid low, as with many of his cruel minions, by a powerful blade borne by a hero named Mandraivus.  His blade Serithtial brought an end to Kazavon’s rule, yet could not quench his spirit, for Kazavon was one of the Midnight Lord’s chosen.  Mandraivus wisely ordered the dragon’s relics taken away, and remained behind to watch over the castle.  The presence of his faith, his strength of will, and most of all, his blade Serithtial kept the spirits of the dead quiet, yet these did nothing to protect him from a baser threat.  The orcs came down and murdered him.  As he fell, his soul became trapped in these cursed walls.  Without his presence, the light of Serithtial went dark, and the spirits of Kazavon’s legacy took hold.  This is the blasphemy you have righted today, and now, Scarwall will be left to crumble to dust as the ages march on.  
Yet I sense in you that your quest is only partially done.  I have dwelt in Kazavon’s echo for too long not to feel his strength, his influence, take seed in your queen, so far away.  Strange names that I do not know are in my head.  Korvosa.  Ileosa.  Your own.  Kazavon quickens in your home, and you must recover Serithtial if you are to cast him down as surely as you have cast down his presence here.  Yet the agents of the Midnight Lord know of the threat Serithtial poses to his child.  While they cannot destroy the sacred blade, nor even take it far from this place without invoking the wrath of Iomedae…they can hide it.  
I can still feel a presence in this place, a power linked to the Midnight Lord.  It remains in the Star Tower, once Kazavon’s inner sanctum. I see that here, in the deepest heart of Scarwall, your goal lies hidden.  A fragment of Scarwall’s curse lingers there, lodged and stubborn.  When the curse held sway, this way was blocked to you.  Now, seek it out, and it shall lead you to your goal.  An now, with my time here at an end, your time shall at last begin…”

The end of his speech coincided with the completion of one of his ghostly mutilations, except that his form did not rejuvenate.  Instead, it crumpled and slowly faded from view.  The House of Tamrivena was at last no more…
________________________________________________________


“A Star Tower!”  Laori exclaimed, awe in her voice.  “Who would I’ve thought I’d ever live to see one?”
The companions stood on the roof of the eight-pointed structure that abutted the donjon.  A single, stone building with no obvious entrance sat atop the tower.  The marble of both the building and the surrounding tower showed no seams and were polished to a sheen, almost as if the entire structure were carved from a single immense shaft of stone.  Only on the southeastern wall of the small, stone building was the smooth polish marred.  There, a carving of a ten-foot-wide skull with spiked chains dangling from its eye sockets looked out over the castle below.  
O’Reginald shrugged.  “So?  What’s the big deal?”
“It’s ancient!”  Laori said, turning.  “It was old even before the birth of Thassilon!  Its base reaches down to the Darklands, miles below us!  It’s also one of many.  They are remnants of an ancient war between the gods of Golarion and the Rough Beast, Rovagug.  According to legend, Sarenrae and Asmodeus were the two gods most directly associated with Rovagug’s imprisonment…Sarenrae cut open the world to fashion an oubliette, and then drove Rovagug into it, while Asmodeus used a special key to lock him within.  What is not as well known, however, is Zon-Kuthon’s role in the capture of the Rough Beast.  It was he who reinforced the stitching shut of the world, with Star Towers along key nexus points above the oubliette.  They were meant to block Rovagug’s faithful from contacting him.  This is one such tower!”
“Yes, thank you for the history listen,” Sial said in a bored tone, “but perhaps we should turn our attention to more practical matters, such as how we get inside.”
The Shadowcount reached out and touched the carved skull.  Nothing happened.
“There, you see?” he asked.  “Practical.”
Without another word he simply stepped through the wall of the structure and vanished.  Asyra did the same a moment later.  The K.I.A. turned questioningly to Laori.
“A phase door,” she said, her mouth tight-lipped.  “It activated when he touched the skull.  Only Zon-Kuthon’s faithful can see it, but it’s there, trust me.  Just follow me.”

The inside of the chamber was completely empty, save for a five-foot-wide flight of stairs that wound down into darkness.  The companions descended in single file, emerging at the bottom into a large chamber.  The walls and floor had a strange organic texture, appearing almost like black, decaying flesh streaked with glistening swaths of blood.  Four pillars carved to look like coils of entwined arteries and spinal cords supported the ceiling…nails and surgical tools were embedded in those pillars at key and painful-looking positions.  At the base of the stairs was a ten-foot-wide open shaft filled with thick, bluish mist.  No sooner had the last of the group stepped into the room, than a disembodied, sibilant voice echoed throughout it.

“Greetings, and welcome to the Star Tower,” the voice said.  “Which of you wishes to take on the honor and glory of becoming its new Curate?”
A hush fell over the group as they cast their eyes about the chamber for the unseen speaker.
“Curate?”  O’Reginald asked innocently.
“The Curate is the living soul of this Star Tower,” the voice replied.  “The Curate lives until the End Times, or until violence necessitates a replacement, and watches over the Star Tower.  The Curate is the Star Tower.  It is an honor to even be considered for the role, and to be selected and reject it is to spit in the Midnight Lord’s eye.”
“And so the time has come,” Sial spat as he whirled towards Laori.  “I have watched you with these heretics as you have drifted further and further from the teachings of our Lord.  Taking on the role of Curate is the only way you could hope to atone for your sins!”
For a moment Laori stood agape, and then her eyes flashed with anger.
“It is you who has constantly obstructed our goal of seeing Kazavon’s fangs returned to Nidal!” she shouted.  “Perhaps it is you who should become Curate!”
“How dare you address me with some impertinence?”  Sial roared, and Asyra moved to his side, her chains gripped in her hands.  Sial raised his hands, black energy crackling about them.  Laori raised her own weapon, hatred etched upon her beautiful face.  Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the room as Ratbone reared up behind the kyton, and lifted her bodily from the ground in a ferocious bear hug.  Her spine audibly snapped and she went limp in his arms.  He dropped her bonelessly to the floor.  Sial turned, focusing his magic on the druid, but before he could strike, Herc leveled him with a hammer-blow from the edge of his shield.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” the big merc grinned.

“I see the choice has been made,” the disembodied voice intoned, a trace of amusement evident.  “Priestess,” it said, obviously addressing Laori, “I invite you to accompany me as I escort your compatriot to the Midnight Lord’s palace.  There you may testify in person to the Shadowcount’s traitorous acts, if you so desire.”  
Laori’s mouth fell open.  “I…I would be honored!” she stammered.
“As for the rest of you,” the voice continued, “I know that you are here to reclaim Serithtial, and that you hope to use it to drive Kazavon’s spirit from Queen Ileosa.  I assure you that you have no more to fear from Zon-Kuthon.  He desires that Kazavon’s spirit be removed from the petty young queen as much as anyone.  Such a fate does not befit even a fragment of one of His mightiest warlords.  The blade has been taken, but it is not far from here.  It is in the clutches of the Children of Rovagug, deep below the Star Tower.  You need merely to step into yonder shaft, and you shall be transported to the deeps where Serithtial has languished for so many years.”

At that moment a massive shadow detached itself from the ceiling of the chamber as a massive creature drifted downward.  It looked like a great bat formed from pure darkness.
“The time has come,” the nightwing said to Laori as if lifted Sial from the floor.  
Laori nodded, but turned to the six companions first.  “Know that I only ever meant to aid you, for your goals and mine were much the same.  I never intended to betray you.  You may call me ‘evil,’ but I am not without honor.  May the Midnight Lord guide you upon the rest of your journey, and perhaps our paths will cross again one day.”
With that, the nightwing engulfed both she and Sial and vanished into blackness.
________________________________________________________


 As each of the companions stepped into the blue light of the pit, they experienced a sudden plummet of vertiginous length, seeming to stretch on for miles and miles.  A moment later, however, they found themselves standing in an empty chamber, the air cold and still.  The jagged walls of the tower were broken to the northeast by a single stone door, and the floor was polished to a reflective sheen.  Thirty-feet above, the ceiling was completely obscured by a roiling bank of glowing blue mist.

The door gave on to a cave tunnel, the walls of which looked moist, yet were strangely dry to the touch, covered with a sheen of glittering mineral deposits.  The tunnel wound for some distance before ending in an immense chamber.  The rank odor of decay, filth, and wet fur clung to the air with a palpable tenacity.  The cavern faded into the dark away to the north.  A wide, rocky shelf sat in the southern portion of the cave, and upon this shelf were four crude, domed hovels, each nearly twenty feet in height, and built from crude stone blocks mortared together with a nasty mix of mud, hair, and other assorted debris.  Each stone igloo had a large arched opening into its darkened interior.  To the north, a silent lake of black waters stretched into the distance.  Very few ripples disturbed its surface, giving it the appearance at times of a massive sheet of polished obsidian.  Far out in the water to the northwest, a single point of light glowed just above the surface, a bright star whose radiance illuminated a few stony islands about seventy feet out in the lake, though the source of the light was not discernible from shore.

Suddenly, several hulking shapes began to emerge from the darkness of the igloos.  Shaggy, black fur matted with filth and debris covered the deformed giants.  Their arms split into two forearms at both elbows, each ending in a massive four-fingered claw.  Their heads were a travesty of nature, with vertical, fang-filled maws splitting them from what would be crown to chin on any normal creature.  Bony protuberances jutted from the sides of their heads, each sheltering a baleful eye, pink and bloodshot.  Their horrid appearance was matched only by their stench, a rancid combination of wet fur and decay.  With an inhuman shriek, the creatures lumbered forward, their talons snapping viciously.  Herc and Ratbone met them halfway.  The big merc swung his shield in a short arc as he spun, hammering its edge into the back of the foremost monstrosity.  Its spine snapped, and it crumpled screaming to the ground.  As Ratbone stepped past it, he bent quickly and tore out its throat.  A moment later, an explosion of fire and electricity erupted in the center of the beach, engulfing the arachnid-like horrors.  They squealed in agony, but continued charging forward, only to run straight into a whirling wall of blades that Michael conjured out of thin air.  One fell, slashed to ribbons, while Raelak opened fire on the others.  One managed to free itself, burned and ripped flesh hanging from it in ribbons.  It struck the ranger back-hand, sending him sprawling to the ground.  As it moved in for the kill, however, Herc was there, disemboweling it with one blow.  The remaining three, still writhing within the blade barrier, were instantly immolated as O’Reginald unleashed a second energy ball.
__________________________________________________________


“Can you hear that?”  Herc asked as the companions stood on the shore of the lake.
“What?”  Michael asked.  “I don’t hear anything.”
“Singing…,” Herc said absently.  “It’s calling me.  Serithtial is calling me.”
“You’re saying that’s the sword out there?”  O’Reginald asked.  “That light?”
“That’s her,” Herc nodded.  
“Then what are we waiting for?”  the sorcerer asked.  “We’re home free!”

While Ratbone transformed into his avian form, O’Reginald enabled the others to fly.  They rose into the air and flew across the dark water, making for the distant island and the glowing blade embedded in the stone there.  It was Ratbone who first saw the behemoth rising from the water beneath them.  It was a horrible amalgam of man and worm, its flesh split and filled with maggots.  The creature was all that remained of Kleestad, once Kazavon’s chamberlain.  He had betrayed the warlord by giving Mandraivus the information he needed to strike at Scarwall when its defenses were lowest, and directed the cabal to a secret entrance to the castle.  For his treachery, Kazavon intended to reward him with a slow and painful death, yet the warlord only managed to break Kleestad’s ankles before Mandraivus and his companions entered the throne room.  Kleestad managed to crawl to safety during the ferocious battle that followed, and remained in hiding throughout Mandraivus’s short reign.  When the curse of Scarwall fell, he emerged, half-mad, to find the castle empty of all save the dead.  He found Mandraivus’s body and claimed Serithtial for his own, calling upon Zon-Kuthon to witness his victory.  Yet the Midnight Lord was not pleased, and transformed the chamberlain into a monster, hurling him into the lightless vault deep below Scarwall, Serithtial still clutched in his hand.  Almost a millennium later, the last thrall of Kazavon lived on in his underground prison, in a final twist of fate becoming the guardian of the very blade that laid his master low.

Now Kleestad erupted in rage as he sensed the trespassers in his domain.  He roared his challenge, and it was answered by the battle cries of Herc and Ratbone.  The two warriors charged the leviathan, tearing into it with steel and claw.  O’Reginald hurled fire and lightning, scorching Kleestad’s flank.  Then, Kleestad unhinged his jaw, opening it hugely and vomited forth a great gout of black, acidic blood.  It burned all whom it touched, and caused their stomachs to seize and clench.  Raelak fought the nausea that gripped him and loosed his arrows into Kleestad’s bloated flesh.  Finally, a rippling lance of pure sound spiraled from Katarina’s hand and tore through the goliath’s skull.  Slowly, Kleestad sank back into the depths, his soul at last free to face Zon-Kuthon’s judgment.
________________________________________________________


Herc knelt before Serithtial, her voice echoing in his mind.
‘Do you know me?’ she asked.
“I do not,” the warrior replied, “but I wish to learn.”
‘Before you may know me, noble one,’ Serithtial replied, ‘you must learn the ways of my mistress.  Will you pledge yourself to Iomedae?’
“I will,” Herc nodded.  He turned to Michael, and the priest instinctively knew what the mercenary asked of him.
“I bless and consecrate you in Iomedae’s name,” he said as he laid his hands upon Herc’s shoulders.
Herc then reached out and grasped Serithtial.
‘Now pledge yourself to me,’ the sword said.  ‘Do you swear to spend your remaining days dedicated to the defeat of Zon-Kuthon, and all those who serve him?’
“This I swear!”  Herc said.  Then he rose, and drew the sword from the stone, holding it high above his head like a beacon of Heaven itself.


----------



## carborundum

Wow - lucky Laori had just left!

(What was that spell - the incorporeal - corporeal one? Handy!)


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Wow - lucky Laori had just left!
> 
> (What was that spell - the incorporeal - corporeal one? Handy!)




Ghost Trap...


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## Neverwinter Knight

Ghost Trap...I had already forgotten about that one. 

Great job everybody - was this all in one session?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Ghost Trap...I had already forgotten about that one.
> 
> Great job everybody - was this all in one session?




Yep...all in one.  Next update's a long one too.  

BTW, we completed CotCT last night in a marathon session that wrapped up around midnight.  All in all, a very enjoyable AP for everyone I think, with a truly epic climax involving not one, not two, but three angels!!


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## The_Warlock

JollyDoc said:


> ...involving not one, not two, but three angels!!




Is that like birdies in golf, but using PCs as the balls?


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## Abciximab

JollyDoc said:


> Yep...all in one.  Next update's a long one too.
> 
> BTW, we completed CotCT last night in a marathon session that wrapped up around midnight.  All in all, a very enjoyable AP for everyone I think, with a truly epic climax involving not one, not two, but three angels!!




Cool, cna't wait to see what's next. Congrat's all around on the completion of yet another AP.


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## carborundum

Fantastic! Can't wait to read all about it!


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## JollyDoc

Here's a little news flash/teaser for all of our readers as well:  with the beginning of our next AP SH, Council of Thieves, we will be creating our own website.  Here, I will be posting updates.  There will also be player bios, out of game commentary, pictures, possibly some video/audio inclusions, and much more!!


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## carborundum

Woohoo!
And (video) podcasts of sessions


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## Abciximab

JollyDoc said:


> Here's a little news flash/teaser for all of our readers as well:  with the beginning of our next AP SH, Council of Thieves, we will be creating our own website.  Here, I will be posting updates.  There will also be player bios, out of game commentary, pictures, possibly some video/audio inclusions, and much more!!




That will be awesome. JD, will you ever have the opportunity to play, or is your role as DM cast in stone?

We have considered posting video of our sessions, but we're so busy in game it never happens. 

As a side note we're in Secret of the Soul Pillars in Shackled City and as I was planning the encounter in a certain Temple within the city, I was 1/2 way through my planning when I realized the encounter was with a Bone Devil not an Ice Devil. Sound Familiar?


----------



## JollyDoc

Abciximab said:


> That will be awesome. JD, will you ever have the opportunity to play, or is your role as DM cast in stone?
> 
> We have considered posting video of our sessions, but we're so busy in game it never happens.
> 
> As a side note we're in Secret of the Soul Pillars in Shackled City and as I was planning the encounter in a certain Temple within the city, I was 1/2 way through my planning when I realized the encounter was with a Bone Devil not an Ice Devil. Sound Familiar?




Occasionally I get to play, as when Bryant (aka Kat/WarEagleMage) ran a one shot a couple of weeks back, but I enjoy being DM.  I like to see what kind of new cheese the guys are going to come up with, and then tear them down piece-by-piece!!

Ah yes...the old ice devil/bone devil conundrum...how sweet it was!!


----------



## JollyDoc

HOMECOMING

Katarina dreamed.  She was standing in the middle of Vencarlo Orisini’s academy, back in Korvosa.  The fencing master paced before her, a look of concern on his face.  He paused and looked her directly in the eye.
“Greetings, Kat,” he said.  “I’ve secured the aid of one of Janderhoff’s sellspells to contact you in this manner, for things grow dire in Korvosa.  Ileosa’s control over the city has grown, and now she holds all of Korvosa in a vice of martial law.  Cressida’s left the Guard…she’s gone underground to serve as leader for a group of rebels based in the catacombs under Gray District.  While she’s gathered a sizeable force, it alone is not enough to dethrone Ileosa.  We must return at once; with Neolandus at our side, and your strength and skill and, hopefully, that magic sword you went looking for, Cressida and I believe we’ll be able to ignite another attempt at rebellion.  This should give you just the opportunity you need to storm Castle Korvosa and confront the usurper queen, don’t you think?  In any event, Neolandus and I are returning to Korvosa at once.  We have secured potions of invisibility and flying…we’re planning on slipping over the southern wall into Gray District at night and meeting Cressida at the Grand Cathedral of Pharasma.  Bishop d’Bear is an ally.  I strongly urge you to do the same…once we are all in place back inside the city walls, we can only prevail!  Contact me or Cressida if you can, but if you cannot, I hope to see you in Korvosa soon…”
__________________________________________________________

By sundown of the following evening, the Korvosa Intelligence Agency stood outside the temple of Pharasma, in the city’s enormous cemetery, the so-called Gray District.  Katarina had transported them through the Shadow Plane, a dimension of gloom adjacent to reality.  Distances there were subjective, and the journey from Belkzen to Korvosa had taken only a matter of hours rather than days.  As they approached the doors to the temple, Kat used an illusory veil to make them appear as Pharasman priests.  An acolyte greeted them warily.
“I was not aware we expecting pilgrims,” he said, “but I will tell the Bishop that you are here.”
A few minutes later, Bishop Keppira d’Bear herself appeared.  The high priestess of the Pharasman faith in Korvosa was a non-descript, middle-aged woman, but an air of authority surrounded her.  A small smile quirked her lips as she looked over the ‘pilgrims.’
“Follow me,” she said.  “I’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

Bishop d’Bear led them down into the vast ossuary below the cathedral, then through an iron door and into a subterranean complex.  Eventually they reached a rough chamber where the Bishop excused herself.  Smiling broadly, Cressida Kroft stepped out to meet her agents.  Behind her stood Vencarlo Orisini, Neolandus, and Grau Soldado, the soldier they had helped when the riots first broke out in what seemed like an eternity ago.  Cressida was a bit more ragged and rough-looking in her scavenged armor, but no less the warrior that the companions remembered.  The reunion was brief, but joyful, the old friends anxious for updates and tales of what had transpired among then since their last meeting.  Eventually, however, Cressida’s face grew serious, and her tone grim.

“I know you’ve not been out in the city,” she began, “but the situation is far worse than you can imagine.  Though the streets are quiet and silent, it is the calm of utter oppression.  Ileosa and her Gray Maidens have been at work on Korvosa night and day, and the result is a city of broken-spirited citizens desperate for deliverance but too cowed by the atrocities and cruelties witnessed in the streets to rise up.  The people of Korvosa need heroes.  The rebels that I have gathered are ready to make their move and reveal ourselves to the Gray Maidens.  We also plan to make public the fact that Neolandus lives, and as a result, Korvosa has a legal option beyond open rebellion to depose Ileosa.  With luck, this will rally the noble houses, arbiters and magistrates, but I fear that doing so will spur Ileosa to step up the violence to even greater levels than before.”

“Before my people can take to the streets, we need someone to take the initiative against the monarchy.  We need intelligence from the castle.  I have heard rumors about what has been going on inside it…that the Gray Maidens are mind-controlled, that devils and a dragon dwell within its walls, that the Red Mantis are now secretly in control of it, and that Ileosa herself has transformed into a monster.  If you are in agreement, I have prepared a list of priorities that I feel need to be accomplished if we are to have any hope of success.  First:  a new ‘hero of the people’ has been fighting rebels in the streets.  These so-called rebels are false.  They’re not my people, and I suspect that this ‘hero,’ a man named Trifaccia, is false as well.  We need to find out who, or what he is.  Second:  I have it on good authority that the rumors of a black dragon taking nest in Castle Korvosa are legitimate.  If the rumors prove true, the dragon must be defeated.  Third:  The role of castle seneschal is currently held by a bloated wizard named Togomor.  If you can capture or defeat him, we’ll avoid a long legal complication over the revelation that Neolandus still lives.  Fourth:  Ishani Dhatri, the Abadarian priest that you befriended, has become a vocal opponent of his church’s public endorsement of Ileosa.  He has vanished.  My initial investigations indicate that he was last seen approaching the castle.  Perhaps some clues to his fate lie hidden within?  Fifth:  I suspect that there are Red Mantis agents sheltered in the castle.  Proof of the alliance between Ileosa and the Red Mantis would be very helpful. Forcing the assassins to abandon Korvosa, perhaps by finding and defeating their local leader would be even better.  Sixth:  The Gray Maidens are certainly a menace.  They need to be stopped.  Sabina Merrin is their commander.  Find and defeat her, and you’ll throw the entire organization into chaos long enough for us to reclaim the streets from them.  Vencarlo and Grau believe that she can be reasoned with, and that she may not be as loyal a minion of the queen as she seems.  Seventh:  Rumors of devils involved with the monarchy disturb me as well.  If you can find proof that Ileosa is trafficking with devils, or that devils dwell within Castle Korvosa, that should significantly help our case against her in the eyes of the city’s government.  Finally:  Ileosa must answer for her crimes.  She hasn’t been seen publicly recently but for her brief appearances on the castle walls.  If we can capture her, a lot of our work will be easier.”

“If I may interject,” Vencarlo said.  “Cressida’s comment about Sabina is true.  The woman I knew loved Korvosa, and was honorable to a fault.  It was her rigidity of thought and personality, in fact, that held back her progress in the more fluid fighting style I attempted to teach her when she was my student.  I have a hard time believing she could condone what Ileosa has done to Korvosa.  I suspect the queen is using some sort of magic to control her, and I would urge you to try and use nonlethal methods in dealing with her.  At the very least, if she could be made cooperative, she would be an excellent source of information about Ileosa’s plans and what has been going on inside Castle Korvosa for the past few months.”

“Sounds like we have our work cut out for us,” Kat said as she turned to her companions.  “Where do you think we should begin?”
“I’m worried about Ishani,” Michael replied.  “If he went into the castle by himself, then he’s in a lot of danger.”
“He must have known what he was getting into,” O’Reginald shrugged.  “I’m more interested in taking down the bloat mage.  Once he’s out of the way, we can go public with Neolandus.”
“Yet if there are fiends within the castle wall,” Raelak said grimly, “their elimination should be our top priority.  They are an abomination and blight on this land of my ancestors.”
“If Sabina can be turned to our cause,” Herc interjected, “then perhaps some of the Gray Maidens can be as well.  We can always use more swords at our backs.”
Serithtial glowed with approval.
“I believe our first duty is to the people of Korvosa,” Ratbone growled.  “It there is a fraud walking the streets claiming to be something he is not, then he is giving them false hope, and they will be less likely to trust us when we make our plans public.”
Kat pursed her lips in thought for several moments, and then nodded.
“I tend to agree with Ratbone,” she said.  “Most of these other goals lie within the castle.  The more we have the people’s support when we move on Ileosa, the easier our task will be.  We’ll stay here tonight and then start digging around for information on this Trifaccia tomorrow.”
__________________________________________________________


That task proved easier said than done, however.  The following morning, Katarina veiled the group as nondescript dockworkers, all except Ratbone.  His bestial form presented a small dilemma, but Kat solved it by disguising the druid to appear as a large draft horse.  They had no difficulty bypassing the Gray Maiden patrols as they entered the city proper, but when they surreptitiously began asking questions about Trifaccia, the answers they received were surprising.  It seemed that most of the common folk saw the “rebels” that Trifaccia brought to justice as no more than common thugs who used extortion and terror to further victimize the populace.  Since Black Jack was nowhere to be found, Trifaccia was seen as a true hero when such things were in scarce supply.  Ultimately, the six companions decided that they would not be able to discover the truth by simply gathering information off the street.  They would have to find someone who knew what was really going on in the city, and they thought they had just the person.  They decided to pay a visit to House Arkona… 
_________________________________________________________

“We’re here to see Lord Arkona,” Kat told the dubious-looking guards at the main gate of the noble house.  “Tell him that the people who helped him with his little ‘family’ problem need to speak with him.  It’s urgent.”
One of the guards departed, only to return a few minutes later.
“You may follow me,” he said, “but your horse must stay outside.”

Since Pilts Swastel’s death, House Arkona had expanded to fill the void, brining all of Old Korvosa under their dominion.  Their status upgrade was obvious in the new, luxurious trappings of the manor.  Lord Arkona greeted them in the same parlor in which he’d originally met them.  He looked exactly the same, the look of subtle arrogance on his handsome face so very natural.
“It is always good fortune to meet old friends again,” Arkona said, smiling.  “Although I must admit, I really hadn’t expected to see you in this city again.  Your names, your faces, they are well known.  You are famous, or perhaps infamous would be more accurate.”
“We’re not here for pleasure,” Kat said grimly.  “We’ve come back to reclaim Korvosa for its people.”
“I see,” Arkona said, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.  “Granted, I would not be unhappy to see the current regime dethroned, but if you’re here to ask for my assistance in this coup, I must politely decline.  My family has managed to prosper through the years by remaining beneath the notice of those in power.”
Kat shook her head.  “That’s not why we’re here,” she said.  “We’re looking for a man named Trifaccia.  Do you know him?”
Arkona’s eyes narrowed briefly.
“All I can tell you,” he said at length, “is that the rebels seem to single out the more outspoken merchants and citizens for their attacks.  Inevitably, Trifaccia shows up in the nick of time to thwart them, yet oddly, he never kills them.  He simply turns them over to the Gray Maidens.”
“I don’t suppose you would know the names of any of these more ‘outspoken’ citizens?”
“As a matter of fact,” Arkona smiled again, “I do…”
_______________________________________________________

The taproom of the inn that Lord Arkona directed them to was fairly crowded as people gathered to have one last drink before heading home in time for the nightly curfew imposed by the Gray Maidens.  The five companions strode to the bar and ordered tankards of their own.  Ratbone, again is his horse guise, waited outside at the hitching post, his eyes watchful in anticipation of what was to come.  Herc downed his ale in one swallow and slammed it noisily back down on the bar.
“So, barkeep!” he said loudly.  “What news, eh?  We’ve not been in city long, but this place seems as somber as a funeral.”
The tavern owner frowned.  
“You’d best mind your tongue, stranger,” he said in a low voice.  “The Maidens don’t take kindly to such talk.”
“Maidens?”  Herc barked with laughter.  “You mean those armored harlots on every street corner?  Don’t they serve that spoiled queen of yours as some sort of feminist honor guard?”
“Please!”  the barkeep hissed through clenched teeth.  Several patrons were paying close attention to the conversation.  “I don’t want any trouble!”
“Hah!”  Herc laughed again.  “Seems like all you’ve got around here is trouble!  Averting your eyes and bowing and scraping whenever one of those whores so much as looks at you!  What’s wrong with you people?”  He turned towards the other patrons.  “This is not the Korvosa I’d heard so much about!  You’ve become a nation of cowards!  Is there no man among you who will speak out against the false queen Ileosa?  Has Korvosa lost its heart as well as its soul?”
Several of the patrons began standing up and moving towards the door.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, now!” the barkeep said.
“I don’t think so,” Herc said, turning back.  “I think we’re all going to have another round.”

Ratbone watched the customers file out one after another.  It wasn’t long before he noticed something else…a squad of Gray Maidens gathering across the street.  

As the last of the townsfolk left, the doors burst open, and six heavily armed and armored Gray Maidens stormed in, their faces completely covered by their helms.  
“You are all under arrest!” one of them shouted.  “You will come along quietly, or face the consequences!”
Raelak whirled from the bar, flinging back his cloak and drawing his bow in one motion.  He loosed two arrows simultaneously, and both impaled the necks of a pair of the Maidens.  They collapsed gurgling to the floor.  The leader of the squad didn’t seem shocked or taken aback.  She darted forward and slashed with her sword, opening a large gash across Raelak’s forearm.  At that moment, Katarina stepped behind her and put one finger against the back of her helm.  The beguiler spoke one word, and unleashed a barrage of mystic bolts at point-blank range.  The commander crumpled.  The remaining three Maiden’s hesitated, unsure of what to do.  In that moment, the door to the bar smashed inward as a large draft horse barreled in and clamped its teeth on the back of the neck of the nearest warrior, and then ripped it out.  A second one fell with another of Raelak’s arrows sprouting from her chest.  The final Maiden turned to flee, but stopped in her tracks as a spell from Michael paralyzed her mid-stride.  

“I’m going to say this once,” Kat whispered in the ear of the helpless Maiden.  “You are being allowed to live for one reason.  We want you to deliver a message for us.  We work for the true rebellion in Korvosa, and we want Trifaccia.  Until he shows his face, we will kill every Gray Maiden we see from this point on.”
She then turned and left the bar.  Her companions followed, with Herc leaving last.  He turned before he walked out the door and tossed a bag of coins to the barkeep.
“Sorry for the mess.”
______________________________________________________

The following day, as the companions visited another tavern Arkona said was sympathetic to the rebel cause, a group of rough-looking Varisian men entered the tap room.  As they did so, the customers quickly rose to leave.  Kat made the young men out to be Sczarni, Varisian organized criminals.  
“You!”  one of them shouted, pointing at the agents.  “We know who you are!  So-called heroes!  Hah!  If you truly wanted to help Korvosa, you never would have left in the first place!  Only we, the rebel alliance, have the true guts to stand up to the false queen!  Look at the vermin you travel with!”
He pointed at Raelak, and his companions howled in derisive laughter.
“A Shoanti pig!  I only wish that you looked more like the ungrateful pig you are!”
As the taunt left the young man’s lips, Raelak felt a wave of power wash over him, and he felt momentarily nauseated and weak in the knees.
“And you!”  This time he singled out Herc.  “You were the one mouthing off yesterday.  It was you who brought the wrath of the Gray Maidens down upon innocent folk!  I wish you would just up and die!”
Herc to felt power flow past him, and for an instant, his breath caught in his chest.  Kat was becoming suspicious, but as she prepared to begin a spell, the youth stabbed his finger in her direction.
“Traitorous whore!” he screamed.  “How could you turn on your own people?  I wish you would be condemned to Hell!”
Kat was overcome by sudden disorientation as the room faded away, replaced by a nightmare image of burning plains and tortured souls.  Just as quickly, the moment passed.

At that moment, another figure burst into the room.  He was slender and dressed in black clothes with a long, flowing, hooded cloak.  His features were obscured by a brass mask in the shape of three faces in a row, the central one frontal and the side ones in profile.  He carried a golden scimitar in one hand, and it flickered with fire.  His mocking laughter was strong and clear.  He nodded towards the companions and raised his blade in salute.
“It’s Trifaccia!” the Sczarni cried out in panic.  “Let’s get out of here!”
As the men fled, Trifaccia laughed again and addressed the companions.
“Greetings, heroes of yesterday!  My name, as you’ve probably guessed, is Trifaccia.  I am the true hero of the people of Korvosa, for I defend the loyal citizens of our beloved queen instead of fomenting chaos in the streets.  As you can see, with the exception of a few clots of filthy rebels, Korvosa is at peace now, and soon prosperity and happiness will smile over it again.  I daresay that peace first began to return not long after you vanished from our streets.  We do not want further trouble in our town, sirs and lady, but since I know you mean to continue disrupting the peace in my fair city, it looks like I’ll have to stop you.  But instead of a fight that would end in your humiliation, perhaps you’ll agree to a duel?  Myself against one of you, with the winner agreeing to take himself and his allies away from Korvosa for good.”
“I think not, Outsider,” Kat chuckled.  She had recovered from the magical assault, and managed to complete her spell.  Her eyes ablaze, she looked upon Trifaccia’s true form.  Hidden beneath the illusory human façade was a creature of fire…an elemental…an efreeti.  The fire genie’s true form was a towering, red-skinned brute with sharp horns protruding from his brow, and yellow tusks jutting from his undershot jaw.  Efreeti had the power to fulfill the wishes of those who asked, but always in a twisted manner.  That was how the Sczarni had been invoking such powerful magic.  She waved her hand, and the illusion vanished, revealing the efreeti for all to see.
“Well played,” Trifaccia, whose real name was Yzahnum, grinned evilly.  “I see that we shall have to resolve this with more ‘aggressive’ diplomacy.”

At that moment, the front window shattered as Ratbone leaped through it, shedding his equine disguise as he landed in a crouch.  Yzahnum whirled towards him, and hurled a blast of fire at the feral druid.  In the same instant, the efreeti reached into a pouch at his belt and flung a handful of dust over his head.  As it settled over him, he disappeared from view, and even Kat’s True Sight couldn’t discern his location.  Ratbone turned this way and that, trying to use his heightened senses to find his foe.  Another fiery blast struck him from behind, and then a large gash opened across his flank as an unseen scimitar slashed at him.  

Raelak closed his eyes and focused on the totem of his clan, the Moon.  Calling upon Her power, he opened his eyes again, and found that he could sense the genie’s presence, though he could not actually see Yzahnum.  His hands a blur, he loosed three arrows and was rewarded by a cry of pain from the efreeti.  Ratbone’s head whipped around and he leaped for the spot where the arrows had struck.  His teeth and claws sank solidly into flesh, and he shook his head like a wolf with a rabbit.  Yzahnum screamed in agony and wrenched himself free of the druid’s deadly grasp.  
“He’s coming towards you!”  Raelak cried to Kat, O’Reginald and Michael.  
Kat reacted instantly, and flung out her hand, releasing a shower of glittering, golden dust.  It settled over Yzahnum, limning him in a sparkling sheen.  Ratbone leaped again before the efreeti could recover, and this time, Yzahnum could not get free.  Ratbone ripped and tore like a frenzied shark, until there could be no doubt that the genie was beyond dead.   He then lifted Yzahnum’s body into the air and impaled it on a cloak hook that protruded from a wooden column.  Finally, Ratbone shifted to his true form and turned to the barman and the handful of patrons that still remained, cowering beneath their tables.
“Tell everyone what you have seen here today!” he snarled.  “You have all been duped and cowed into helplessness.  Now you have seen the truth behind Ileosa’s lies!  The K.I.A. has returned to Korvosa, but we cannot free you if you will not shed your own chains!  Watch in the coming days for the signs of revolution!  Stand up and fight for your freedom, or hide like rats in the sewers as you’ve been doing.  The choice is now yours.”
_____________________________________________________

Within minutes, the streets around the inn were swarming with Gray Maidens.  The K.I.A. watched from a distant rooftop, grim satisfaction on their faces.  Things were now in motion that could not be stopped.  There would soon be a reckoning.  
“Do you hear that?”  Ratbone asked, his head cocked to one side.
The others turned their heads and Raelak nodded.
“Screaming,” he said.  “It sounds like people screaming.”
A moment later the air was rent by the booming roar of some huge animal.  All heads in the streets below turned towards the sky.  There, winging its way above the cityscape, was the unmistakable shape of a very large, very black dragon!  On the street, people began to flee in panic, Gray Maidens and civilians alike.  
“It’s looking for us,” Michael said.
“Of course it is!”  O’Reginald snapped.  “And if we don’t do something, it’s going to tear the city apart trying to find us.”
As if it heard the wizard’s premonition, the dragon abruptly swooped low and opened its mouth, breathing out a steaming stream of liquid that quickly began to dissolve everything it touched.  As it grew closer, the companions could see that it bore a rider…a Gray Maiden.
“That’s it!”  Reginald cursed.  “If it’s looking for a fight, it just found one!”
The wizard held his hand to the sky and released a small, pea-sized ball of flame into the air.  As it arced up a hundred feet or more, it exploded into a huge conflagration.  The dragon banked on one wing and began flapping directly towards their rooftop.  
“Here it comes,” Ratbone growled.

The dragon hovered above them for a moment, its jaws gaping wide as if to unleash its deadly breath again.  The rider sawed on the reins and the dragon turned its head and snapped viciously.  The Maiden jerked both reins sharply, and the dragon’s head snapped back.  With a roar of fury it landed heavily on the rooftop.  As it lumbered clumsily towards them, Raelak loosed a deadly volley of arrows, scoring four direct hits.  The beast squealed and reared on its back feet, beating its wings downward as it struggled to get airborne again.  Once more the rider pulled sharply on the reins, and the beast’s forepaws slammed back to the roof.  It turned its head to snap again, but as it did so, Herc rushed in.  With one wide swipe of Serithtial, he cut cleanly through the dragon’s neck, sending its head tumbling over the side of roof.  Its body collapsed, thrashing, and throwing the rider sprawling.  In an instant, Ratbone was upon her, pinning her arms to her side and pressing his fangs against her neck.
“I surrender!”  she shouted.  “Unconditionally!”
Ratbone spun her around and wrenched the helmet from her head, revealing the scarred but still beautiful face of Sabina Merrin.
__________________________________________________________

Scarwall again.  The companions thought they had seen the last of the ancient keep, but when Sabina asked them to find a private place where they might talk, it had seemed the obvious choice.  O’Reginald had teleported them all directly to the former throne room of Kazavon.

“I was foolish,” the Gray Maiden said, bowing her head.  “I loved Ileosa…truly loved her, but I was not blind.  When the King was assassinated, I began to see that something was dreadfully wrong with her.  My fears were confirmed when she began moving forward with the establishment of the Gray Maidens.  It was not the foundation of a new military wing that I objected to, but rather the use of magic and torture to force their loyalty.  Yet despite this, I had seen enough to know that openly opposing Ileosa was not a solution, so instead of taking direct action against her, I accepted the charge of leading the Maidens.  Where I could, I lessened the impact of the queen’s cruel methods.  Still, many women who were drafted into service proved too headstrong.  Ileosa executed some of them until I convinced her that it would be better to imprison them under Longacre Building, arguing that some of them, given time, might well realize that serving as Gray Maidens was the better choice.  I made regular trips to the Longacre dungeons to ensure that they were as comfortable as conditions would allow, and that they were not being abused by the guards.”
“Still…with each passing week, I learned of new atrocities perpetrated by Ileosa…bargaining with devils to gain more power…the appointment of that bloated pig Togomor as so-called seneschal…the murder of Marcus Thalassinus, and finally, the enslavement of that hateful and destructive dragon, Zarmangarof.  I had long since realized that Ileosa never loved me…had never loved anyone, with the possible exception of herself.  Yet I was in too deep, and I felt powerless to change the unceasing cruelty on my own.  I could only temper it where possible.  When I heard of your return…you, the same heroes I met what seems like a lifetime ago on the eve of Eodred’s death, I realized that you might be my only chance for redemption.”
“When Ileosa first brought Zarmangarof to Castle Korvosa, from where I do not know, she intended to use him against Korvosa’s citizens, to quell uprisings.  I requested to use him as a mount, explaining to her that with such a creature held in reserve, she would be able to put down a large and organized rebellion with ease.  She agreed and magically compelled Zarmangarof to serve as my steed.  Until today, I had been careful to take him out only during the darkness of night, waiting for the right moment when revealing him would work to my advantage.  You provided such an opportunity.  I am at your service.”

Silence stretched out for a time as the companions absorbed all that the Gray Maiden had told them.  It was Herc who finally broke it.
“She’s telling the truth,” he said.
“How can you be sure?”  O’Reginald snapped.
“Serithtial,” Herc replied.  “She can tell when a lie is told in her presence.  She says that the woman speaks true.”
“Well then,” the wizard said, rising and pacing around Sabina, “why don’t you tell us everything you know about Ileosa’s plans, her current whereabouts, and with whom she’s allied?”
Sabina smiled thinly.  “You give me far too much credit,” she said.  “Did I not say that I was more Ileosa’s pawn than confidant?  She did not share her goals with me.  As for her allies and minions, I know that she has been recruiting devils and fiends to aid her, though I’m not certain how she’s been able to do this.  I suspect some link to the Acadamae, but my investigations along those lines has failed to turn up any evidence so far.  I know that she keeps a pack of large hell hounds by her side at all times, and that a massive, horned fiend named Mavrokeras guards the castle towers.  There are also three fiendish brothers, who call themselves Yallops, that have been increasingly annoying and disruptive.  Furthermore, agents of the Red Mantis have moved into the third floor of the keep, but I have avoided contact with them and their leader.  As for Ileosa’s whereabouts…she has grown ever more cold and grim of late, and for the past several weeks she has rarely left her bed chambers.”
“Well then,” O’Reginald said, clapping his hands, “all the guests are gathered in the same place for the party.  Looks like we’ve got a castle to crash.”


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## SolitonMan

Awesome!   

That was so much fun to read, I can only imagine how great it was to play.  It's always cool when the bad guys face their comeuppance...

I haven't read CotCT (in case my DM ever wants to run it), how close are you getting to the end?  Whatever it is, please keep up the great work!  I'm very much looking forward to the dedicated site for your next efforts!


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## JollyDoc

SolitonMan said:


> Awesome!
> 
> That was so much fun to read, I can only imagine how great it was to play.  It's always cool when the bad guys face their comeuppance...
> 
> I haven't read CotCT (in case my DM ever wants to run it), how close are you getting to the end?  Whatever it is, please keep up the great work!  I'm very much looking forward to the dedicated site for your next efforts!




I believe I have four more updates to post, and then this story will be concluded.  So the end is nigh!!


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## JollyDoc

CASTLE CRASHERS

Sabina drew a detailed map of the castle, pointing out each area as she did so.  She pointed out several possible entrances, but the one that seemed most tactical to the companions was a storage area on the keep’s fourth floor.  It was there that Zarmangarof had laired, and the dragon had torn a hole in the floor of an overhang, allowing him to fly out into the night unseen on his hunting forays.  As for herself, Sabina asked to be allowed to move against the Longacre Building.  If she could draw upon the aid of some of the Gray Maidens still loyal to her, she could infiltrate the building and release the prisoners within.  Properly outfitted and armed, they could provide a potent fighting force for the rebels when the time came to retake the city.  The group agreed with her logic, and O’Reginald transported the lot of them back to Korvosa.

Once they parted company with Sabina, Katarina cloaked the group in a sphere of invisibility as they flew above the city rooftops to Castle Korvosa.  It was only the work of a few minutes to find the concealed hole in the caste eaves and slip inside undetected.  They made their way through the empty storage area to the castle’s main attic, heading for the keep’s central stairwell on the far side.  Before they reached it, however, Sabina’s map indicated a secluded room off the attic that looked to contain some sort of hidden chamber within.  Their curiosity piqued, the companions moved through another narrow storage room, finding a small, locked door on the far side.  

Kat made quick work of the lock, and the door swung open to reveal a small apartment.  The room was dusty and appeared to have been abandoned for awhile, though it showed an unexpected level of comfort.  A large bed sat in one corner, and there was a nice table with two chairs, a desk with a stuffed armchair, a lamp, and a stove.  On the east wall was a glass showcase full of rare card decks.  There were at least fifty different decks, all displayed with care and competence, most with several pieces laid face-up and with matching leather, ivory or wood cases.  What looked like a partially melted stone trapdoor sat in the floor in northern corner of the room, and a single toilet sat behind a partially folded screen to the south.  No sooner had the group entered the room, than the sound of furtive scratching came from behind the far wall.  Kat, feeling an odd compulsion from the Harrow deck at her hip, moved quickly to the panel.  She ran her hands over it and felt a hidden catch.  When she triggered it, the wall swung out.

The dusty room beyond contained a well-made bed, a large armchair, a one-legged table, and a silver lantern.  On the table near the lantern sat a dusty Harrow deck in an elongated redwood case.  As Kat stepped into the room, the temperature abruptly dropped by several degrees.  A few moments later, a strange, rolling mist seemed to rise from the cards in the case, causing them to flutter and dance upon the table as if in a small breeze.  The mist took on a vaguely humanoid form…that of an older man with tiny horns on his brow…a tiefling!  He reached out towards Katarina and whispered in a gravelly voice…
“Bring me my bones…they rot so far below…bring me my bones…I can help you if you bring me my bones…”
A moment later the spirit faded away and the cards became still once more.  Kat stood silent for a moment, her head cocked as if listening.
“They’re below,” she said abruptly, turning to her companions.  “Zellara tells me the bones are below and she can lead us there.  We need to find them!”
_____________________________________________________

The grand staircase wound from Castle Korvosa’s uppermost pinnacle to its lowest dungeon.  Kat was single-minded.  Zellara kept pulling her down and down, but O’Reginald stopped them on the third floor.
“What?”  Kat asked impatiently.
“Look,” the wizard said, “I know you’ve got this precognitive vibe going and everything, but if I’m not mistaken there are a couple of other things we’re supposed to be doing here as well, right?  I mean, we can go dig up  these bones eventually, but what’s wrong with having a look around as we move?”
Kat rolled her eyes.  “Fine!” she snapped.  “Whatever, let’s just keep going.”

The third floor landing of the grand staircase gave onto a great salon.  The wooden floor, walls and ceiling of the large hall presented a rich and harmonic scheme of decorations.  The high ceiling was supported by pillars inlaid with ivory and partially hidden by a hanging forest of silk draperies in the colors of autumn.  Near the walls, the draperies reached down to the floor in foamy cascades of deep red and yellow-orange silk.  Crimson circular couches sat around the base of the pillars, with matching stuffed stools and low, ebony tea tables with stained glass tops.  In the middle of the hall was an empty space that served as a dance floor, and a balustrade opening to the stage hall below.  Cautiously, the group started across the hall, Herc and Ratbone taking point.  As they reached the center of the room, Ratbone’s snout abruptly lifted towards the ceiling.  Herc’s eyes followed and there, among the hanging silks, he saw several hammocks strung, all but hidden from view.  Red-clad figures swung out of them, grabbing the silks and sliding down them like glass ropes.  Shrill whistles came from their mantis-masked faces as they came, and more figures boiled out of the rafters.  

As the first of the assassins hit the floor, Herc was already in motion.  He struck the foremost mantis solidly, shield lowered, slamming the murderer back over a dozen feet.  The big mercenary leaped after him, bringing down the edge of his shield on the assassin’s neck before he could rise, insuring that he never would do so again.  Meanwhile, Ratbone seized another in his jaws, shaking him savagely and snapping his neck before tossing his limp body aside and turning on another, disemboweling him with a vicious rake of razor-sharp claws.  Three more Red Mantes landed deftly, circling the two warriors.  Abruptly, a blinding spray of color struck one of them from behind from Kat’s outstretched hand.  Ratbone leaped on the stunned man like a dog on a rabbit.  Another of the assassins tumbled towards and over the balustrade, but as he began to fall, he was stopped short, hanging in mid-air 
“Not leaving so quickly, are you?”  O’Reginald smiled.  He had erected an invisible force wall across the opening, and as the mantis tried to rise to his feet on the slippery surface, Herc ran him through with Serithtial.  Ratbone turned on the last of the assassins, his jaws dripping blood.  The man screamed in mortal terror as the druid rushed towards him.

“Nicely done, heroes,” a woman’s voice sneered from behind the companions, “but Ileosa isn’t paying us just to dance with you.  Once you’ve gained the attention of the Red Mantis, you’re living on borrowed time, and now the time has come for all debts to be paid!”

The voice belonged to a deadly beautiful young woman whose lucent white skin was offset by her raven black hair.  She wore the familiar garb of the Red Mantis, save for the insectile mask.  She carried a saw-tooth saber in each hand, both crackling with electricity, and her waist and legs where festooned with a multitude of scabbarded throwing daggers.
“I am Kayltanya,” she said, smiling through bared teeth.  “I tell you this only so that you might tell whatever Power you hold holy whom it was that sent you to your final reward.”
She then raised her hands high above her head, and as she did so, two great plumes of crimson smoke appeared in the middle of the chamber, and from each of them erupted an enormous praying mantis, their carapaces studded with wicked hooks and spikes, their compound eyes gleaming blood red.  Both of them rushed forward, but Herc stood his ground directly in their path.  With two quick flicks of Serithtial, the mercenary decapitated both of the fiendish insects, causing their bodies to vanish as quickly as they’d appeared.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he chortled.
“Not quite,” Kayltanya grinned in return.  In a flash of scarlet light, the mistress of assassins vanished, only to reappear a moment later across the room, standing directly behind Michael.  The priest turned, his eyes going wide as he realized his peril.  Kayltanya’s blades moved in a blur, opening horrible wounds in Michael’s chest and belly.  She whirled, leaping into the air as she drove her blade completely through him, the tip exploding in electric fire as it struck.  Slowly, as if time had suddenly contracted down to a pinpoint, Michael slumped to his knees,  then to his side, his eyes wide and staring.
“Told you,” Kayltanya said, turning towards O’Reginald.
Then it was her turn to widen her eyes as Herc hurtled into her like a charging bull.  He struck like raging dervish, sword and shield a symphony of motion.  When his last blow fell, Kayltanya tumbled backwards over the balcony and plummeted to the ballroom below.

From the dim shadows in the far corner of the salon, a lone mantis assassin watched.  His blood boiled for vengeance, but he knew his duty.  He silently slipped away into the darkness.  He had to warn the seneschal.
__________________________________________________________

“What are we going to do without Michael?”  Herc asked.
“Better?”  O’Reginald offered, earning him a withering look from Katarina.
“We’ll come back for him when we’re done here,” she replied.  
“Assuming we survive,” O’Reginald grumbled.
“If we don’t, then Michael’s already better off where he is,” Kat snapped.

One by one, the remaining companions dropped over the salon balcony to the stage hall below.  Sabina had told them that Ileosa had been spending most of her time in her chambers of late, and the map she’d given them showed the royal bedroom to be on this floor.  There was a foyer off the stage hall that gave onto the bedchamber, but there was also a secret door which led from Sabina’s chambers nearby.  Their plan was to post Herc outside the secret door, while the rest would enter via the foyer.  That way Ileosa could not easily flee, and would be caught in a pincer.  When they entered Ileosa’s room, however, it was empty.  The walls were paneled with darkwood planks and decorated with elaborate tapestries and hanging silks.  A double canopied bed dominated the northeast part of the chamber, while to the southwest stood a desk and stuffed armchair.  Stained-glass windows along the southwest wall depicted complex patterns of swirling reds, fiery oranges, and bright yellows.  The bed appeared to have not been slept in for some time.
“What now?”  O’Reginald asked.
“The throne room,” Kat said without hesitation.  “The map shows it just down the hall.  Let’s go!”

As they turned and left, alien eyes watched them go.  Sermignatto, known to some as the Lord of Bloody Quicksands, lurked nearby, but an infinite distance away.  He lay hidden on the Ethereal plane, adjacent to reality, but so far removed as well.  The bdellavritra fiend followed after the companions, moving easily through walls as if they were mist, sending out a silent call to his minions, summoning them to battle.
_______________________________________________________

The magnificent throne room was lavishly decorated with frescoes, mosaics, and hanging tapestries of gilt crimson silk.  Three colorful stained-glass panes on the windows presented scenes of past kings and queens.  A huge fireplace stood in the east corner, its mantle shaped like an enormous stone tree that had spread its branches up to the ceiling.  Against the southwest wall, on a low dais of granite, sat the Crimson Throne itself, an iron throne draped with deep red silks and velvety crimson cushions.  Four Gray Maidens stood on the floor below the throne, and each held a length of thick iron links attached to spiked steel collars worn by four massive hounds, easily the size of war horses.  The hounds had fur of deep umber, and their eyes glowed crimson.  Flames licked from their jaws as their tongues lolled and acidic drool pooled around their clawed feet.  Seated upon the throne was none other than Ileosa herself, the Crown of Fangs upon her brow.  

“Welcome, my friends,” the young queen smiled as the five companions entered her presence.  “I thank you for seeking me out.  I’ve been observing your progress over the past few months, and I’m grateful for the assistance you have provided the people of Korvosa.”
In an instant, the smile vanished from her face and her demeanor turned icy.  
“Now, however, your services are no longer needed.  If you leave Korvosa immediately, and never return, I will not see your execution as traitors to the Crown.”
“It is you who have betrayed Korvosa, witch!”  Katarina shouted.  “And it is you who shall be leaving Korvosa and its people, one way or another!”

As Kat’s words echoed through the throne room, Ratbone leapt into motion.  The feral druid somersaulted over the hounds and Gray Maidens, landing in a crouch before the Crimson Throne.  Before Ileosa could react, he reached forward with one clawed hand and snatched the Crown of Fangs from her head.  As he turned and leapt away again, Katarina drew a scroll from her belt and quickly read the arcane words written there.  With a roar like thunder, five tons of wood and stone appeared out of thin air above the Crimson Throne and crushed Ileosa beneath.  Just like that, it was over…only her minions didn’t seem to know it.  They learned better moments later when O’Reginald’s fireball roared through the deadfall, setting it ablaze and immolating one of the Gray Maidens.  The warhounds ignored the flames completely, their abyssal blood rendering them immune, but they could not ignore Ratbone’s fangs, nor Serithtial’s bite.  Three went down in a haze of blood and fur, then the druid and merc turned on the last one and the remaining Maidens.  The fight was over before it had really had a chance to begin…or so they thought.
_______________________________________________________

“Now!”  Togomor commanded the squad of Gray Maidens who waited outside the throne room in the entry hall.  The bloat mage had heard Sermignatto’s summons, and had been compelled to respond, despite his own self-loathing at being manipulated as if he were no more than a puppet on a string.  The Maiden’s surged through the throne room doors as the seneschal quickly rendered himself invisible and followed behind.
_______________________________________________________

Ratbone tore furiously at the deadfall.  He had seen Ileosa…smelled her!  He knew she had been there, yet he couldn’t sense her now.  Surely she could not have died so easily.  Then there was the matter of the Crown of Fangs.  For an item reputed to be so Evil…it felt like nothing more than a cold iron trinket.  His search was interrupted a moment later, however, when the doors at the far side of the throne room burst open and another dozen or more Gray Maidens rushed in.  Ratbone turned, snarling, blood frenzy in his eyes.  Suddenly, the air in front of him seemed to freeze solid as a searing polar blast of energy struck him from out of nowhere.  He reeled, pierced by a pain he had never before experienced.  Chilled to the marrow of his bones, he collapsed to his knees.

O’Reginald turned towards the invading Maiden’s as well, and he saw where the polar ray had originated from, though he could not see the caster.  He didn’t need to.  He hurled a ball of fire and acid into the midst of the Gray Maiden’s, and when it exploded, it engulfed the area where he knew the unseen wizard to be.  Then Herc drove into the midst of Ileosa’s guards, hacking and slashing with Serithtial, cutting down a half dozen of the badly burned women before they could recover from O’Reginald’s blast.  

Ratbone slowly felt the numbness seep from his limbs and he surged to his feet.  He raised his muzzle to the air and sniffed.  He closed his eyes and began making odd clicking sounds with his tongue.  The vibrations they set off in the air around him bounced back to his hyperacute ears from the people and objects around him, and there, at the far side of the room, he sensed a presence he had not seen when his eyes were open.  His eyes still closed, he leaped, and Togomor’s stench of blood nearly overwhelmed him as he closed on the bloat mage.  Jaws gaping, he clamped his fangs down, but it felt as if he had bitten into raw granite.  A moment later, the mage was gone.

Togomor thanked whatever Powers still favored him that he had the foresight to cast the stoneskin spell upon himself before he’d entered the battle.  Fortunately, the savage’s bite had done little actual damage, and he’d been able to teleport quickly away.  Still invisible, he now stood on the far side of the room, directly behind the male and female wizards, and the archer.  Quickly, he spoke a few arcane words, and instantaneously erected a wall of pure force across the throne room, separating the druid and his sword-wielding companion from the rest of their allies.  

Ratbone roared in impotent rage at the escape of his foe.  He turned this way and that, slapping Gray Maidens aside like ragdolls as he searched for Togomor’s scent.  Then…he had it!  Behind O’Reginald and Kat!  He bounded on all fours across the room, but halfway through, he slammed head first into an invisible wall.  Howling and snarling, he clawed and bit at the barrier, but to no avail.

“Now,” Togomor spoke, still unseen, “where were we?  Ah yes…I was just about to kill you all!”
He hurled a flashing barrage of arcane bolts at Katarina, and the sorceress reeled from the impact.  As she fetched up against the force wall, she countered with her own magic, filling the air with glittering dust.  It settled over the bloat mage, limning him in gold for all to see.  A moment later, the wall behind her vanished as O’Reginald erased it from existence with a bolt of disintegrating power.  Togomor shrieked as he saw Ratbone lunging towards him.  He tried to fly to the ceiling, but the druid seized his leg.  As Ratbone’s claws closed over his flesh, he felt a burning cold run through him.  Looking down, he saw golden ice covering him from foot to mid-thigh, and rising rapidly.  Within moments, his torso and arms were covered in the stuff.  He couldn’t move…could barely breath.  He drew his last shuttering breath as Ratbone’s jaws closed over his windpipe.


¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬


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## carborundum

YEah baby! That's what I'm talking about!


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## Neverwinter Knight

Great action and very nice tactics for the frontal assault on the queen. Now that the castle knows they're coming (and without cleric, too), I am very curious how they will finish it. 

_“What are we going to do without Michael?” Herc asked.
“Better?” O’Reginald offered, earning him a withering look from Katarina._
Classic - this could have really happened at the table. 

One thought for discussion: With all the things Ratbone is using his bite attack on, would he really want to? I mean, biting Togomor really would leave a bad taste in your mouth...


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## WarEagleMage

Neverwinter Knight said:


> One thought for discussion: With all the things Ratbone is using his bite attack on, would he really want to? I mean, biting Togomor really would leave a bad taste in your mouth...




Well, fortunately for us, Ratbone is not a half-orc of discerning tastes.


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## carborundum

Please allow me to introduce myself, 
I'm a half-orc of no wealth and no taste...


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## Joachim

carborundum said:


> Please allow me to introduce myself,
> I'm a half-orc of no wealth and no taste...




Ratbone:

Pleased to EAT you!  Don't forget my name!

Togomor:

OOO! OOO!  [/gurgle]


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## carborundum

Nice!

/highfive


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## JollyDoc

BATTLE WITHOUT HONOR OR HUMANITY

‘Now!” Sermignatto screamed mentally through the ether.  ‘Destroy them all now!’
The bdellavritra was enraged at the loss of his favorite pawn.  He’d spent years cultivating Togomor and then placing him within Ileosa’s inner circle, and now it was all ruined!  No matter.  Once the mortals were dead or enslaved he would find a new vessel.  He’d ruled many a kingdom from behind the throne, and Korvosa would be no different.  Ultimately, the city would belong to him.  Even now his minions were answering his summons.  Within moments the meddlers would be surrounded, and there would be no escape for them.
__________________________________________________________

The companions stood amid the carnage, breath coming in ragged gasps.  Warily, Ratbone stalked back towards the deadfall.  Cautiously, he began lifting the logs aside, piece by piece, until finally he saw a flash of crimson near the bottom.  When he’d finally cleared enough of the debris aside, he saw only Ileosa’s clothing and a pool of blood.  Of her body, nothing remained.
“A simulacrum,” Kat said from behind him, where she peered over his shoulder.
The druid grunted questioningly as he turned to her.
“A construct,” she explained.  “Some wizards used them as proxies.  They make a body out of ice, blood or other materials, and them imbue it with false life.  This is not Ileosa.  We’ve been mislead.”

As if on cue, the air within the throne room suddenly exploded with the smell of sulfur and brimstone as multiple creatures teleported into the chamber.  No fewer than nine black-winged erinyes devils appeared circling in the air, wickedly curved bows in their hands.  Near the entrance to the chamber, a huge fiend stood with curving ram-like horns and a cruelly spiked chain gripped in his hands.  Before him were three identical barbed-skinned devils, giggling and chortling evilly to themselves.  Mavrokeras, the horned minion of Sermignatto, cracked his chain and sent the Yallops charging forward.  One of the brothers wove his hands in a complicated pattern, and the air before him spun and churned.  From within the vortex emerged four more fiends, these with beards like thorny brambles.  They appeared in between Raelak and O’Reginald just as the ranger unloaded his bow on one of the fiendish Yallop brothers.  A moment later O’Reginald seized the Shoanti by the arm and whisked both of them to safety by stepping between dimensions.  No sooner had they reappeared than the wizard conjured an invisible wall of pure force between themselves and Mavrokeras, the Yallops and their summoned henchmen.

Herc touched the golden breastplate of his armor, and wings of purest silver sprouted from his back.  He leaped into the air of the throne room and closed rapidly towards the deadly erinyes archers.  Below him, Ratbone assumed his avian form and took flight as well.  The she-devils turned their bows on their approaching enemies, but Ratbone closed the distance too quickly.  He raked across three of them, ripping their bows from their hands.  The others grinned savagely, and then redirected their shots below.  Three arrows struck O’Reginald, slamming the young wizard into a nearby wall.  Two more hit Katarina, one of them taking her through her left eye.  She screamed in agony as she clutched at the projectile.  Raelak whirled and loosed his own volley in return, impaling one of the erinyes and sending her tumbling towards the ground.  Ratbone disemboweled another, transformed into his ape form in mid-air, ripped the wings off a third fiend, and then plummeted towards the floor with her still screaming in her death throes.  

At that moment, the Yallops abruptly teleported themselves past O’Reginald’s barrier, reappearing next to him, the still-sobbing Kat, and Raelak.  The ranger turned towards them, but as he did so, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.  Before he could react, a masked Red Mantis assassin drove a saw-toothed saber into his back.  As his vision blurred, he saw three more assassins emerge from the shadows.  A moment later, he would have sworn he was hallucinating as almost two-dozen Gray Maidens swarmed into the throne room.

Herc saw the dilemma his companions were in, and he turned his attention from the erinyes and dove back towards the floor.  One of the Yallops whirled as he approached, and Herc slammed into him shield-first.  The fiend screamed as bones cracked, yet Herc grunted in pain as well when the sharp barbs on the devil’s hide pierced his arms and hands.  Suddenly, the big merc heard more screams…coming from Kat and O’Reginald!  He looked up and saw that the erinyes had opened fire again, peppering the two wizards like sitting ducks.  Desperately, O’Reginald flung out his hands, conjuring a second force wall between the devils and themselves.  Herc’s attention was quickly drawn back to the wounded Yallop as Raelak sent a shaft through its forehead and point-blank range.  It collapsed in a heap at his feet.  The ranger’s satisfied smile faded a moment later as a second Yallop leaped at him, shrieking and tearing at him with its razor-like claws.  Herc surged to his feet, raising his shield high above his head and then bringing it down on the back of the fiend’s exposed neck.  A tingling, sixth-sense from Serithtial warned him just before the last Yallop brother came for him.  Herc spun low, thrusting upward with the holy blade and burying it in the devil’s gut.  It spewed black blood from its stretched mouth, and then crumpled.  
“At least that’s one problem out of the way,” the mercenary sighed.
“I think we’ve got a bigger one,” Raelak said, his eyes going wide.  
Herc turned slowly, and saw the massive form of Mavrokeras looming over him, his spiked chain gripped tightly in both hands.  Then, it was Mavrokeras’s turn to widen his eyes as the four-armed, ape-like hulk of Ratbone landed behind him.  The feral druid ripped and rent with all four claws, and as he did so, a thick rime of gold-flecked ice covered the horned devil from head to toe.  Mavrokeras toppled to the floor, completely encased.

The Yallops were down, as was their master, Mavrokeras, but they were only four, and more than two dozen foes remained.  The remaining erinyes archers began teleporting past O’Reginald’s second wall at the same time that the Gray Maidens began knocking arrows to their own bows.  Ratbone pulled one of the she-devils from the air almost as an afterthought, yet the sheer numbers arrayed against them was overwhelming.  It was at that precise moment that Sermignatto chose to make his presence known.  The bdellavritra was an amphisbaenic monstrosity with the body of a mottled, slimy slug.  At one extremity of its body was the wormish mouth of a leech, while at the other was a knot of three human heads, their features contorted in expressions of incredible pain.  Between the teeth of his three human mouths lashed three elongated, writhing tongues, each slashing through the air like hair-thin, deadly blades.  The fiend was not at all happy with the turn of events, and the time had come for him to play a more direct role.  Before the drop-jawed mortals could react, he filled the area around them with a soup-like, green rolling fog.  He chuckled to himself as he imagined them trying to move through the quicksand consistency of the cloud, all the while their skin being scalded by the droplets of acid concealed in its vapors.  His mirth faded a moment later when the cloud abruptly vanished.  It was the accursed Harrow witch!  Even with an arrow through her eye, she would not die!  Suddenly, the air crackled with electricity as the younger mage wove a cone of lightning, engulfing several of Ileosa’s maidens and assassin allies.  Sermignatto snarled in rage and slithered eel-like into the fray.

The horde surged forward, blocking the bdellavritra from view temporarily.  Herc met them head on, Raelak at his back loosing arrow after arrow in a blur of motion.  Two more of the Mantis assassins went down, and then O’Reginald loosed another deluge of electricity into the mass, and more Maidens fell.  A hole opened, and Herc saw his opportunity.  He leaped forward, dodging the slashing tongues of the huge fiend.  Serithtial howled in fury as she struck, and Sermignatto howled as well…in agony.  Raelak moved also, but he was a fraction of a second too slow.  One of Sermignatto’s tongues lashed out, wrapping around his throat.  The ranger’s face began to turn an ugly shade of purple.  With a guttural snarl that was purely animalistic, Ratbone hurled himself at Sermignatto.  The druid and the devil clashed like titans, but it was obvious to any onlookers who the victor would be…and it soon became obvious to Sermignatto as well.  In desperation, he tried to shift himself back to the Ethereal, but Ratbone would not release his hold, and he kept the fiend firmly anchored in reality.  It was over in moments, and Ratbone raised his head and howled, blood dripping from his fangs and claws.  

The remainder of the battle was furious and frenetic, with numbers pitted against might.  Magic pulsed and steel clashed.  Arrows flew and blood spilled, but in the end, though battered and beaten, the Korvosan Intelligence Agency stood victorious, with not a single one of their foes left alive.  Silence fell over the throne room once more…and that silence extended throughout Castle Korvosa as well.


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## Neverwinter Knight

That was just...epic !!!


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## carborundum

NO. WAY.

That was epic. That was ridiculous. That was awesome!
Many many congratulations for surviving that onslaught! And many many thanks for writing it so ... epically, JD!


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## JollyDoc

Thanks, guys!  Only two more updates left, plus an epilogue, to conclude Curse of the Crimson Throne.  I hope to post one a week and wrap this up by New Year's!


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> Thanks, guys!  Only two more updates left, plus an epilogue, to conclude Curse of the Crimson Throne.  I hope to post one a week and wrap this up by New Year's!



Thanks, JD. That would be a very JollyDoc Christmas, indeed. 

Also looking forward to your other upcoming project. Any teasers there?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> Thanks, JD. That would be a very JollyDoc Christmas, indeed.
> 
> Also looking forward to your other upcoming project. Any teasers there?




Look further down the story hour board for JollyDoc's Council of Thieves preview...


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## Dax Thura

*Ratbone's character sheet*

I'm thinking about putting together a druid specializing in shapechanging and was wondering what Ratbone looked liked in the end.


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## Joachim

Dax Thura said:


> I'm thinking about putting together a druid specializing in shapechanging and was wondering what Ratbone looked liked in the end.




Ask and ye shall receive....

(I would like to have placed this as an .xls spreadsheet, but for some reason ENWorld has a 244 kb limit on that...and a 4 GIGA-byte limit on pdf's).


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## JollyDoc

THE LUCK OF THE DRAW

The companions stabilized their wounded as best they could, but without Michael, it amounted to little more than field dressings.  Katarina climbed to her feet unsteadily, a heavy bandage over her injured left eye.
“We’re not going to find Ileosa here,” she said to the others, “but I believe that Zellara’s guidance is still sound.  We need to find the final resting place of the specter and return his body.  Perhaps he will be able to tell us where the Queen has retreated.”

The pull of Zellara’s Harrow drew Kat and her comrades to the ground floor of the castle and into the servants’ quarters.  There she paused at a seemingly blank wall, and then ran her hands over its surface.  Her fingers triggered a hidden catch, and a section of the wall slid aside, revealing a narrow flight of stairs that led down.  At the bottom, a passageway branched northeast and southwest.  To the southwest, the way seemed to have once been closed off after only a few feet by an ancient brick wall, but a man-sized hole appeared to have been fairly recently smashed through it.  
“That is the way,” Katarina nodded.

Cautiously, they followed the sorceress down the narrow hall.  It gave onto an elongated chamber, the walls of which were decorated with bas-reliefs depicting a great market in a bustling city.  The floor was littered with debris and fragments of ceramic, glass and bronze, as if hundreds of containers had been smashed to pieces long ago.  Four alcoves in the southwest wall each contained a statue of a kneeling servant with an oversized head, but the statues were too crumbled to be otherwise recognizable.  A narrow archway exited on the far side.  As the companions made their way across, their light fell more fully across the statues.  They began shining with a phosphorescent glow, and at the same time, each of the companions felt their throats grow dry with the taste of salt, and their eyes began to itch ferociously.  A moment later, the statues flashed with blinding light, and the air became as dry as the harshest Osirion desert.  Each of the agents felt the moisture being literally sucked out of their bodies, leaving them parched and gasping for breath.  A moment after that, salt-crusted, androgynous figures emerged from each of the statues, their eyes huge, milky, opaque orbs.  O’Reginald, rubbing furiously at his eyes to clear them from the light blindness and salt, opened them only to meet the gaze of one of the oncoming creatures.  In that instant, his heart simply stopped, and he slumped to the floor.  When Kat, Ratbone, Herc and Raelak finally cleared their own sight, they were stunned at what they saw, yet they had not survived for so long by being paralyzed by the sight of death, even the death of one of their own.  Ratbone and Herc rushed two of the bodaks, obliterating them in a frenzy of claws and steel.  Raelak dispatched the remaining two with arrows placed with precision through eyes and throats.  

“I hope this is worth it,” Herc said coldly as he glared at Katarina.  He lifted O’Reginald’s limp body over his shoulder and stalked through the archway on the far side of the chamber.  The room beyond it seemed to be a dead end.  The air felt cold and clammy.  The ceramic floor, walls and ceiling were lined with light brown tiles that formed gentle geometric patterns.  On the far side, an ancient coffer sat atop a single low plinth of stone.  Kat walked slowly over to the coffer, which stood open.  Its interior was empty, but there were several fang-shaped shadows burnt into the bottom.  Then, at an impulse from Zellara, her eyes rose to the far wall.  On closer inspection, she saw that a section of it appeared newer, of more recent stone work.
“Ratbone,” she said, turning to the druid, “can you get through that?”
In answer, he punched one massive fist through the wall, revealing it to be hollow on the other side.  A partially decomposed corpse, mouth agape in a painful death scream, lay slumped against the wall of the otherwise empty chamber.  The corpse, clad in a rich, dark purple outfit, was one of a thin, bearded humanoid with pointed ears and a pair of vestigial horns sprouting from his brow.  
_______________________________________________________

A short time later, the four companions stood in the specter’s apartment once more, with three corpses at their feet.  As they laid the tiefling’s body on the floor, the apparition appeared again, but this time not as just a misty outline.  He looked to be a translucent elderly tiefling man with a deck of Harrow cards that periodically flew out of his hands to spiral around him before returning to his clutches.  He regarded the quartet with kind but sorrowful eyes before he began to speak.

“Thank you for taking my bones from that dreadful, dark room below,” he said.  “My name is…was…Venster Arabasti, and in life, I was half-brother to King Eodred.  As I’m sure you’ve deduced by now, Ileosa killed my brother.  Poisoned him, to be specific, but you may not know of my role in that dreadful deed.  I was seduced by Ileosa’s promises of power and love, but I do not seek to shift the blame for my own shortcomings.  In the end, I got what I deserved I suppose, when Ileosa walled me up and left me to die.  Now, as long as she continues to live, I shall remain bound here, unable to emerge from this room, imprisoned by my own shame and guilt.  Still, perhaps I am not completely beyond redemption.  Perhaps, through you, I can help to undo what I helped set into motion, and perhaps move on to face Pharasma in the afterlife and accept my fate.”
“During my imprisonment here, I could sense the queen’s thoughts and desires as long as she was in the castle.  That knowledge has long tormented me, but I now realize that it was all simply preparing me for this day…for my chance at redemption.  I know that Ileosa plans on using potent magic found in a place called the Sunken Queen to achieve eternal youth.  Although I don’t know exactly what this entails, I do know that the ritual is based on ancient magic indeed…ancient magic that requires the lifeblood of an army of unknowing sacrifices.  I fear that Ileosa has been grooming the citizens of Korvosa to be the blood sacrifice she needs to achieve her goal.  Even now I can feel strange and potent forces gathering in the spirit world as she makes ready to take the final step.”
“The church of Asmodeus has been gathering blood samples from the citizens…,” Kat whispered.
“Can you tell us more about this Sunken Queen?”  Ratbone asked.
Venster shook his head in frustration and growled low in his throat.
“Death has not been kind to my mental faculties,” he snapped.  “It is difficult for me to recall details of what I knew in life, let alone fragments and snatches of thoughts and feelings I sensed after my death.  Still, you should seek out my mother’s tower.  It is a place where the monarchs of the Arabasti line could go for peace and solitude.  I have sensed Ileosa in this location several times, and often her most notable burst of sudden inspiration and power occurred in that chamber.”
“There is one final gift I might give you.  Many have died in Korvosa due to Ileosa’s whim and cruelties, and each death has bolstered my grief and desire to set things right.  Further, you yourselves carry with you a spirit of your own…the Harrow reader Zellara.”
At that moment, Katarina suddenly felt an empathic burst of excitement and fear from Zellara.
“By using the deck she gave you as a focus,” Venster continued, “Zellara and I can siphon the spiritual power and energy of those who have died at Ileosa’s hand or orchestrations into it, transforming it into a powerful tool and method for the spirit world to grant you further insight and power.  I warn you, however, that not all of the spirits are kindly ones; many were insane and cruel in their own lives, and there is, unfortunately, no way to exclude them from this infusion of power.  Zellara and I can, though, moderate their influence by focusing them through the traditions and mysticism of the Harrow itself.  Will you accept this?”
The other three looked at Kat, and she nodded once, decisively.
An instant later, Zellara manifested in the room beside Venster.  The cards of her Harrow deck flew out of their pouch at Kat’s belt and began to spiral and spin in between the two spirits.  As they concentrated, the anger and wrath of the city’s dead siphoned through them to infuse the cards, which began glowing brighter and brighter.  After only a few moments, with a final flash of light, the cards settled into a neat and tidy stack on the table and then both ghosts vanished.

“We each must draw,” Kat said.  “First, however, you must declare how many cards you will take.  That declaration will bind you.  If you do not draw all, they will be drawn for you, and you must still abide by their weird.  However, Venster’s and Zellara’s sacrifice will allow you to discard once only, but you must then redraw.  Choose wisely.”
“I will take two,” Ratbone said.  “Perhaps I will discover something that will return O’Reginald and Michael to us.”
The first card Ratbone turned was the Mute Hag.  ‘Your best-kept secret becomes known,’ Zellara’s voice intoned in the druid’s mind.  He accepted this without reservation, knowing instinctively that anyone who saw him from that day forward would know him for a shape-shifter.  He turned his second card…the Wax Works.
‘Several vengeful duplicates of you shall appear some distance away, but they shall seek you out and seek your death.’
Again, there was no hesitation in Ratbone’s decision.  He knew the extent of his own power, and knew that many, if not all of his friends would die if the fate revealed by the card were to come to pass.  He discarded it and drew another…the Inquisitor.
‘You may know the answer to your next dilemma,’ said Zellara.
Ratbone’s shoulders slumped.  Not the help he had hoped for.

“I will draw next,” Kat said, as she took a seat at the table.  “I will choose the maximum draw allowed…four.”
Kat did not need Zellara to explain to her the results of her choosing, for she was a master of the Harrow in her own right.  She turned the first card.  The Tangled Briar.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  Somewhere at that moment, one of their past enemies had just been returned to life and was even now seeking revenge.  She thought briefly of redrawing, but decided against it.  There might be greater need.  She turned the second card.  The Winged Serpent.  She barely stifled a broad grin.  She had just been granted one wish.  Feeling more confident, she drew the third.  Her face blanched when she saw it…the Sickness.  She began feeling ill immediately, and she quickly discarded the card and drew again, the sweat fading from her brow as she did so.  
“Oh…shards!” she said as the next card was revealed…the Twin!  
Before the stunned gazes of her companions, Kat’s body began to change.  Her shoulders broadened and her hips narrowed.  Her bosom shrank away completely, coarse facial hair sprouted from her jaw and upper lip, and somewhere below her waist, she felt a truly startling sensation.  Within a matter of seconds, Katarina had been transformed into a man!  He grimaced at the expression on the faces of his friends, aware that there was nothing for it but to draw his last card.  The Mute Hag appeared again.  Intuitively, Kat knew that his ability to disguise his appearance was forever lost.  Everyone who now saw him would know exactly who he was.
“Next,” he sighed, rising from the table and adjusting himself beneath his skirts.

Raelak swallowed hard as he looked down at the cards.
“I think I’ll only have two,” he said.
His hand shaking only slightly, he drew his first card.
‘The Rabbit Prince,’ Zellara said.  ‘From this point forward, your fighting prowess shall become more lethal in the extreme, but in exchange, your defenses against your foes shall be weakened.’
The ranger shrugged.  “I can live with that,” he said.  He turned his second card.
‘The Tyrant!’  Zellara shouted in horror.  ‘No!’
At that moment, a rift opened in reality, and a creature that had a bipedal, reptilian body, at least twenty-feet tall, with two baboon-like heads and tentacles instead of arms began to step through, reaching hungrily for Raelak.
“Redraw!  Redraw!” the Shoanti screamed, and an instant later the rift snapped shut as a third card turned from the pile.
‘The Teamster,’ Zellara said, her voice still shaky.  ‘You will undertake a dangerous quest for a great reward.’
Raelak sighed.  “Tell me something I don’t know,” he grumbled.

Herc was last.  He gripped Serithtial as he sat at the table.
“I’ll take four,” he said tonelessly, then reached for the pile.
‘The Brass Dwarf,’ Zellara said.  ‘You are now immune to the effects of fire, but electricity shall be your bane.’
Herc nodded and drew again.
‘The Inquisitor once more,’ Zellara repeated the explanation of Ratbone’s draw.
Herc shrugged and drew.
‘The Tangled Briar,’ Zellara said, her voice grim.  Another enemy returned from the grave.
Herc drew the last card.
‘The Winged Serpent,’ Zellara announced joyfully.  ‘Another wish!’

As the last card was drawn, Zellara and Venster reappeared.  
“I hope that I have been of at least some assistance to you,” he said.  “I offer you this one last boon.”
He removed a ghostly signet ring from his finger, one which bore the crest of House Arabasti.  He dropped it onto the table, where it landed with a solid thunk as it became wholly real.
“This will open my mother’s study,” he said.  “You will find it at the top of the tallest tower.  Thank you again for all that you have done, and all that you shall do.”
With that, he slowly faded from view.  Zellara’s expression was one of hope as she smiled at each of her champions, and then gave Kat a single ectoplasmic kiss on the cheek before she too faded away entirely.
___________________________________________________________

The two wishes the comrades had received were ultimately the easiest of their dilemmas.  Despite Kat’s altered physique, at least she was still alive.  The same could not be said for O’Reginald and Michael, and so, with two carefully worded requests, the wizard and priest were restored to the world of the living once more.  There were many questions to be answered, not the least of which was Kat’s new gender.  Once the pair was brought up to speed, Ratbone suggested another use for one of their boons.
“We need to know the fate of Ishani,” he said, referring to the mystery of what had happened to the Abadaran priest after he had entered Castle Korvosa.  “I choose to use the boon granted to me by the Harrow deck for this purpose.  Show me Ishani Dhatri!”

The air crackled and rippled with dark energy before them, and a hulking shape appeared.  A grim statue hovered there, its slow, seemingly weightless bobbing belying its obvious bulk.  Sculpted in the shape of a grim, horned angel, gigantic wings and terrible, long-clawed arms jutted from a legless body that tapered into a blunt, blade-like trunk.  Upon the ominous form’s breast hung the fresh remains of the crucified corpse of Ishani Dhatri.  No sooner had the nightmare construct appeared, than Ishani opened his mouth and began to scream and scream.  At the same moment, a blast of pure evil emanated from the figure, and Kat felt his soul literally being drained from his body.  His own screams joined those of Ishani.  Ratbone snarled, morphing into his feral form as he leaped at the demonic statue.  He bit and clawed, his talons and fangs tearing stone and shadowstuff from it.  For the first time, the construct lurched into motion, and it grappled with the druid with its own clawed hands and spiked wings.  It hurled Ratbone away from it, which gave Raelak the opening he needed.  The ranger loosed a salvo of gleaming arrows into the thing, and it shattered into a thousand pieces.  Ishani’s body stopped screaming and fell to the floor, a lifeless husk.

“What…was that?”  Herc gasped.
“An akaruzug,” O’Reginald said.  “A construct spawned in Hell, but coveted by evil mages for the power it provides, drawn from the souls of the living, or once-living.”
“Can…can Ishani be brought back?”
“I believe so,” Michael replied.  “His soul was not allowed to depart, but was kept bound.  Thus, it should still be accessible.”
The priest bowed his head and began to pray over the Abadaran’s body.  A warm glow settled over Ishani, and his face became peaceful.  A moment later, he drew in a long, shuddering breath and opened his eyes.
“My friends,” he smiled wanly.  “You do not know the depth of my gratitude, both to you for saving me, and to Abadar that you still live.”
“Not half as grateful as we are,” O’Reginald smirked.  “Unfortunately, we’re not staying here long.”
He told the priest all that they’d discovered about Ileosa and her diabolical plan.
“I have heard of the Sunken Queen,” Ishani said when the mage had finished.  “It is an ancient Thassilonian ruin located in the Mush Fens.  There is an odd, rocky formation known as the Green Reef which lies some thirty miles due south of it.  I can draw you a map and you can use that as a landmark.”
“We are grateful,” Kat said.  “Then, I’m afraid, we must bid you goodbye, my friend.  You should find Cressida.  She will need your help organizing the resistance.”
____________________________________________________________

Following Venster’s directions, the six companions made their way to the top of the tallest tower in Castle Korvosa, only to find an empty room.  Ratbone placed the prince’s signet ring upon his finger, and as he did so, a shimmering portal appeared in the air above them.  One by one, they climbed through.  They found themselves in another small chamber, but this one contained a single large bookshelf filled with dozens of books and scrolls.  Nearby, a single desk and chair stood.  Sitting on the desk was a single large book with a black leather cover.  Kat picked up the book and read its title aloud:
“Truths of the Sihedron,” he said.  
It smelled faintly of brimstone and was written in the infernal language of Hell.  He flipped through it for several minutes.  It contained seven chapters, one for each of the Thassilonian Runelords.  He paused at the chapter dedicated to Runelord Sorshen, the Runelord of Lust.  The chapter had been heavily glossed in Ileosa’s delicate penmanship.  In particular, it seemed she was particular obsessed with something called the Everdawn Pool, a device she appeared to believe still existed in the ruins of the Sunken Queen.  According to the notes, the gathering of samples of blood from thousands of ‘supplicants’ was but the first step.  Once the pool was ready, it would be able to draw forth the lifeblood of those thousands to infuse a single creature with eternal youth.  In short, it seemed that Ileosa intended to sacrifice most of Korvosa’s citizens to attain immortality.  

Kat turned his attention to the other books and scrolls on the shelves, hoping he would find even more information of Ileosa’s plans.  He wasn’t disappointed.  He found her written plans on how she had poisoned her husband, a letter of contact to the Red Mantis, and an outline of how she had planned to use blood veil to murder many of Korvosa’s undesirables.  Lastly, among a batch of magical scrolls, including two that allowed the summoning of powerful extraplanar beings, Kat found something very enlightening indeed.  It was a sheet of parchment that appeared to be made of human skin, covered with writing in human blood.  It was, essentially, a contract between Ileosa and Sermignatto, in which the fiend agreed to provide the queen with infernal aid, minions, and even a bound devil to augment her body and mind.  In return, Ileosa promised to turn over part or all of Korvosa to the bdellavritra and his unspecified superiors once she had finished her current goals.  
“I think it’s time we took a little trip to the Mushfens,” Kat concluded as he rolled the parchment back up and tucked it into his cloak.
_________________________________________________________

Kat once more transported himself and his allies through the murky lands of the Shadow Plane to swiftly reach the edge of the Mushfens.  From there, it was a relatively simple matter for Michael to use his own magic to first find the path to the Sunken Queen, and then transform himself and the others into mist to be carried speedily along the wind.  In hours, instead of days, they reached their final destination.  Surrounded by a grove of primeval mangroves and draped in immense sheets of moss and vines, the horns of the Sunken Queen seemed to claw at the sky like the blind talons of an immense monster drowned in an abyss of mud.  On the east side of the great pyramid, which leaned heavily into the marshy slough, one of the three original horns had collapsed, leaving a jagged, metallic stump.  On the south side, barely dented by the elements and millennia of neglect, was a giant relief of a standing, naked woman, her lean idealized figure immersed in murky water up to the knees.

“I do believe that Ileosa may have inadvertently provided us with unlooked for aid in her hasty departure for this desolate redoubt,” Michael said as he and the others solidified once more.
“What are you talking about?”  O’Reginald asked.
“Watch and learn, my arcane friend,” the priest smiled.  “Not all things can be explained by experiments and laboratories.  Sometimes you just have to have faith.”
Michael took one of the scrolls that Kat had retrieved from Ileosa’s hidden library, and unfurled it.
“Iomedae!” he called to the heavens.  “Hear the plea of your faithful servant!  Our need is great, though it is not for ourselves that we seek your grace!  Thousands of innocents are suffering, and will suffer more at the hands of Hell and its foul machinations should we fail in our quest!  We beseech thee, by the power vested in this prayer, to send us what aid you would, that we may bring low these servants of evil, in your most holy name!”
All was still for a moment.  Even the sounds of the swamp life went eerily quiet.  Then, the air was rent by a bolt of blue lightning that struck the ground directly in front of them.  As the blinding light faded, a tall form appeared.  He stood well over ten-feet, and his skin was the color of purest gold.  Wings so white they brought tears to the eye of those who looked upon them, sprouted from his broad shoulders.  He wore burnished, gilded mail on his muscular frame, and in his hand he gripped a mighty sword that glowed with the power of Heaven itself.
“Your call has been heard, and I have been sent,” the solar said in a voice that sounded like a choir of angels.  “I am called Pez, Dispenser of Justice.  What service do you require of me?”
“Holy One,” Michael said, kneeling.  “Our tale is long, but our time is short.  Suffice it to say that an artifact of great evil has been put into weak, human hands.  This has been done by the designs of agents of Hell, so that thousands of mortal souls can be claimed for its flesh pits.  We go to destroy this artifact, and she who wields it.  Will you join us?”
Pez merely nodded, his eyes flashing with golden light.  He had walked among mortals before, and had found them to be worthy allies.  He was eager to do so again.


----------



## Neverwinter Knight

Joachim said:


> Ask and ye shall receive....
> 
> (I would like to have placed this as an .xls spreadsheet, but for some reason ENWorld has a 244 kb limit on that...and a 4 GIGA-byte limit on pdf's).




Wow - great job. Don't really want to meet him in slayer form, though.


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## Neverwinter Knight

JollyDoc said:


> “Your call has been heard, and I have been sent,” the solar said in a voice that sounded like a choir of angels.  “I am called Pez, Dispenser of Justice.  What service do you require of me?”



YES !!! Pez is back and is preparing to dispense holy justice to Ileosa. Lucky that heaven's still the same, though the other worlds were distroyed by Hasbro ahem, I mean the Spell Plague.


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## Zanticor

He there JollyDoc,

Your council of thieves preview fell of the boards and now I can't find it anymore. Could you repost  it please? I'm looking forward to it because your stories have been a constant companion and inspiration for my own campaigns. Hopefully you are all having a blast with the new storyline, just like you seemed to have had with this one. Speaking of which  is there any chance of hearing about the adventures of Pez? I'd so like to get to know him a bit better. Keep up to good work.

Zanticor


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## Neverwinter Knight

Hey Zanticor,

I just gave JollyDoc's Council of Thieves another bump. You can also find it here: http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/268581-jollydocs-council-thieves-preview.html

As for Pez' adventures, here's the link: 
http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/85618-jollydocs-shackled-city-final-post-updated-11-2-a.html 
But be careful, JollyDoc's story hours are *very* addictive. You'll go on reading the others as well.

Age of Worms: http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/161499-jollydocs-age-worms-updated-11-30-epilogue.html
Savage Tide: http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/181237-jollydocs-savage-tide-updated-10-8-a.html
Rise of the Runelords: http://www.enworld.org/forum/story-hour/227602-jollydocs-rise-runelords-updated-12-22-a-8.html


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## JollyDoc

Hey guys.  Sorry I haven't posted the final excerpt of CotCT, but it is in the works, I assure you.  I hope to have it up by this weekend.  I appreciate your patience.

As for Council of Thieves.....

Well, here's the thing.  I've decided I'm going to take a break from story hours for now.  I've got a lot of irons in the fire, and I just don't think I have the time it takes right now.  When we begin the next Paizo AP, King Maker, I may be revved up again to begin anew.  I'm sorry to disappoint.  Ya'll don't know how very grateful I am to have such a loyal readership!


----------



## carborundum

I'm going to miss it but I completely understand. Your Story Hour inspired me to write one for my own Savage Tide game (all in Dutch I'm afraid) and recently my own updates have lapsed five or six weeks. I'll keep my eyes open for your next one. 

Would you mind announcing it in this thread? I'll get an email from the nice messageboard software.

All the best to you guys and I hope you're enjoying CoT.


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## Abciximab

Disappointing, but completely understandable. I did the story hour thing and its a lot of work. I'll keep my eyes open in case you change your mind though.


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> I'm going to miss it but I completely understand. Your Story Hour inspired me to write one for my own Savage Tide game (all in Dutch I'm afraid) and recently my own updates have lapsed five or six weeks. I'll keep my eyes open for your next one.
> 
> Would you mind announcing it in this thread? I'll get an email from the nice messageboard software.
> 
> All the best to you guys and I hope you're enjoying CoT.




I will indeed announce it on this thread, and once more, I appreciate all of the support of all of you through the years.


----------



## Quartz

Howl! Wail! Whimper!



It's been a privilege and a pleasure reading your tales. I look forward to their return in due time.


----------



## Richard Rawen

Just caught up and echoing the Howls of frustration and Wails of disappointment, but I'll hold off on the whimpering 
I know what it's like to attempt writing in the midst of chaotic life.

Here's hoping life settles down for you soon, not just for selfish reasons, but more from a feeling of empathy from the grind that life is for so many of us!
Blessings
M


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## Neverwinter Knight

Those are sad news, indeed. 

However, perfectly understandable. To be honest, I would not be able to take the time you invested into telling your tales. Thank you for all your tales, so far. If you decide to pick it up again in the future, all the better. 

Looking forward to the exciting conclusion of CotCT !!!


----------



## JollyDoc

CROWN OF FANGS

It became readily apparent after a cursory reconnaissance of the exterior of the pyramid, that the main entrance must be submerged under water.  In fact, it looked as if fully half of the structure’s interior could conceivably be flooded.  
“We are not constrained to travelling upon the physical realm,” Pez said as the companions debated their best course of action.  “I can take you into the Ethereal plane, where such obstacles as stone and water will pose no hindrance.”
“Assuming Ileosa hasn’t warded this place against such intrusions,” Kat replied.
“There is nothing to be lost in the attempt,” the solar said flatly.


The group gathered around the tall angel, and in an eye blink, they found themselves within the gauzy, misty realm of the Ethereal.  They moved as if in a dream, descending into the water as if it were no more than a fog.  Beneath the surface, they found a large, open arch that led into the pyramid’s interior.  Stairs descended, and near the bottom, the tilted stairway dropped into a horizontal layer of silt.  The walls and pillars were decorated with hundreds of stylized images of the same beautiful woman carved onto the pyramid’s face.  
“Strange,” Pez murmured as they passed down the stairs.  “The walls still feel solid, as if they exist here as well as on the prime.  Your little queen is canny after all.”
The stairs emerged into a large hall, with several wide passages opening off at each compass point.  Curled into a ball in the center of the chamber, apparently sleeping, was a devil fish of enormous proportions.  The group moved past the slumbering behemoth, but to their surprise, the creature’s eyes snapped open immediately.   As they moved down another passage, the creature turned and slowly began to follow.
“How does it see us?”  O’Reginald asked.  “It’s just an animal!”
“I wouldn’t make any assumptions about anything we find within these walls,” Kat muttered.

The passage gave onto to another chamber, bare save for a large, crystal globe that hung suspended between two square pillars.  The sphere was connected to the pillars by thousands of glittering crystalline filaments.  A crystal tube extended up from the eastern side of the sphere through a hole in the ceiling.  Inside the sphere was a staggering amount of treasure:  coins, art objects, rolled-up tapestries, bars of precious metals, and more.  Despite the trove, wealth was the furthest thing from the minds of the six companions.  Beyond that chamber lay a room whose flagstone floor was almost completely covered by a bed of rotting swamp algae which piled up to a high heap in the far corner.  The mangled, rotting carcass of a fifteen-foot-long alligator floated in the opposite corner amid a huge pile of strange bones.  Throughout all of this, the devil fish continued to pace them.  

“I grow weary of this!”  Ratbone growled.  “If this creature knows we’re here, then it might be a spy for Ileosa.  Let us be rid of it now!”
Kat looked at the others, and each nodded in turn.  Then he turned to Pez.
“Bring us out once we’re in position,” he said.
The companions began to circle the creature, and it spun this way and that, trying to watch them all.  At Kat’s signal, Pez waved his hand and suddenly the world became solid once more.  Immediately, the leviathan lunged and latched onto Raelak’s leg.  The ranger was caught off guard and struggled to bring his bow to bear from extreme close range.  When he loosed his arrow, however, the shaft buried itself in his own foot.  If he hadn’t been holding his breath under water, he would have screamed.  A moment later, however, the fish released him as Pez swept out his greatsword, which flamed even beneath the water.  The solar slashed viciously at the devil fish, and black blood began to cloud the room.  More blood followed as Ratbone launched himself at the behemoth, both of them tumbling over and over in a death roll.  In desperation, the fish released a deluge of acidic bile, catching Pez fully in its explosion.  The angel doubled over and retched as the foul fluid filled his lungs.  Raelak fired blindly into the cloud, praying he wouldn’t hit Ratbone.  Suddenly, the water in the room crackled with electricity as O’Reginald loosed a ball of living lightning.  Slowly, the cloud dissipated and a large shape floated slowly to the ceiling.  The devil fish wasn’t moving.  Ratbone still was, though the multiple wounds and burns on his body left him limping more than swimming.
___________________________________________________

One unfortunate side effect of no longer being in the Ethereal, was that the companions could no longer breathe while they were underwater.  Quickly, they began to swim, hoping to find an air pocket, or access to the upper levels of the pyramid.  Thankfully, they came upon a large, silt-floored chamber, its walls and ceiling lined with cracks, with a large archway in the ceiling that opened into a steeply angled shaft leading upward.  Water filled they shaft, and they were able to swim up its length.  At the top, it opened into a partially flooded room, which in turn gave on to other chambers, each also partially water-filled, but each less so than the last.  Eventually, they found another chamber with a shaft leading up, but this one was completely dry, and O’Reginald was forced to teleport himself and his allies to the top.  There, they found themselves in a large room that was actually warm and pleasant.  The floor, walls and ceiling were tiled with polished rose-colored marble slats, and weaving in and out of the walls, climbing from the floor to the ceiling above, were dozens of thin crystal tubes.  Yet another shaft rose through the ceiling on the room’s far side.  Quickly, the company started across the room.  Something urged them onward, telling them that their goal was close.  Before they were halfway across, however, the air around them exploding in flashes of blinding light.  When the glare faded a moment later, six black-winged women of exquisite, yet sinister beauty hovered in the air around the companions.  They wore gleaming, mithral shirts, and each carried a trident wreathed in flames.  As one they shrieked in fury and dove.

Raelak spun, knocking and releasing two shafts in one fluid motion.  They both struck one of the charging fiends.  She jerked to one side briefly, but recovered immediately and rejoined her sister in their assault.  When they struck, they hit like thunder.  No one was spared, save Raelak, the ranger’s deadly bow keeping the attackers at bay.  As their weapons rammed home, they exploded in flame, searing flesh and bone alike.  Pez snarled, enraged at the foul touch of the fiends upon his holy flesh.  He backhanded one of the erinyes into a nearby wall, sending her slumping, stunned, to the ground.  O’Reginald, never one to miss an opportunity, hurled an orb of glowing force at the downed devil.  At the same time, Raelak sank a final arrow into her throat, guaranteeing she wouldn’t get up again.  

Meanwhile, Herc whirled on his assailant, Serithtial flashing as she bit deeply into the fiend’s unholy hide.  The erinyes reeled towards Ratbone, and the druid’s tree-trunk sized tail slapped her back, snapping her neck instantly.  Kat staggered away from the flaming tines of the trident nearest him.  He flicked a hand over his shoulder, and the pursuing fiend stopped dead in her tracks.  A moment later, however, she broke free of the spell with a tremendous surge of  will.  Several yards away, Michael raised his sword to block a second blow from his foe, but the priest was too slow.  The erinyes batted his weapon aside easily, and then impaled him through his gut.  Gurgling, Michael collapsed to the floor.  O’Reginald cursed and quickly erected a wall of steel-strong force between himself, Michael and Kat, and the remaining fiends.  Pez stepped to Michael’s side and laid his hands upon the priest.  Michael gasped as the life that was leaving his body suddenly surged back.  
“I owe you one,” he said shakily to the solar.

Herc charged another of the erinyes from behind, Serithtial keening as she pierced the devil’s spine.  So thick was the fiend’s skin, however, that the aftershock of the blow jolted the holy sword out of the merc’s hand.  He bent to recover her, and as he did so, Ratbone leaped atop the crippled fiend, ripping her throat out with his teeth.  A moment later, however, another of the devil women sank her trident into his shoulder.  She prepared to strike again, but as she did so, Raelak spun her completely around with a shot that went clean through her own shoulder.  

O’Reginald cursed again as two of the walled-off erinyes suddenly vanished and then reappeared next to him.  Quickly he brought the wall down so that his allies could reach him as well.  Herc and Ratbone hurled themselves after the fiends, the merc slashing through one of the black-feathered wings of the nearest, while the druid’s claws tore through her flesh, simultaneously sheathing her in golden ice, rooting her in place.  Only three of the erinyes were still moving.  One of them thrust her trident at O’Reginald, stabbing it through his foot just as the mage teleported a safe distance away.  Raelak fired at another as she leaped upon Ratbone’s back, stabbing repeatedly.  Raelak fired twice more, and then Ratbone spun, knocking her aside and ripping her trident from her hands as she fell.  As she struggled to her feet, Raelak put one final arrow through her throat.  Several yards away, Herc sparred with another of the she-devils.  She thrust and parried valiantly, yet Serithtial drew blood time after time, until finally she sagged to her knees and Herc swept her head from her shoulders.  He turned just in time to see the last of the fiends teleport next to O’Reginald again.  Raelak fired after her, but his arrow went cleanly through her bicep, slowing her just enough for Herc to reach her.  She raised her weapon to impale the mage, but Herc struck first, severing her spine cleanly.  Unnoticed by any save Pez, Michael limped slowly towards the erinyes still paralyzed by Ratbone’s holy ice.  Her eyes grew wide as he raised his sword and then plunged it through her heart.
“In Heaven’s name I send you back to Hell,” the priest intoned.
Pez’s golden eyes flared with respect, and he nodded once to the wounded cleric.
__________________________________________________________

The last vertical shaft led to the apex of the pyramid.  There, the companions and their angelic ally found themselves in a huge, very high chamber illuminated by braziers at its four corners.  A soft light also filtered from two very high oval windows on the southwestern wall.  The twin windows were fitted with panes of blue crystal that allowed in some light from the outside.  Below these crystal ‘eyes,’ a band of mosaics on the south wall formed a single, huge map of an ancient, unknown land.  The map featured a river valley with many villages, each one labeled with a long-forgotten, strange name.  Yet the most unusual feature of the room floated and undulated at its center…there, an amorphous blob of blood, over thirty-feet wide, floated and rippled in the air.  Shapes seemed to form periodically on its rippling surface:  faces, hands, buildings, and figures that lasted only long enough to melt back into the horrific mass.  Dozens of thin, crystal tubes extended from the upper walls of the room to a point just above the shifting mass of blood.

As the companions stared in wide-eyed amazement, the Everdawn Pool began to shake and rumble.  It rippled briefly into a familiar shape…the Korvosa skyline…only to crumble as if during an immense earthquake.  A moment later, the beautiful yet furious face of Ileosa appeared in the blood as she shrieked in rage.  Three humanoid-shaped blobs detached themselves from the pool and floated to the ground.  They looked like blood-soaked giants clad in tattered robes…wraiths!  At that same moment, Ratbone’s keen senses detected the presence of others in the room, unseen.  He barked at Kat, and the sorcerer quickly dipped his fingers in his belt pouch and dabbed a small amount of salve over each eye.  Instantly, the features of the room leaped into perfect clarity…as did two invisible forms that looked all-too-familiar…Togomor and Sermignatto!
“Beware!”  Kat shouted, and he plucked a lantern from his belt and placed it on the floor.  Its light spread throughout the chamber, and as it did so, Ileosa’s hidden allies were revealed for all to see.  
“Time to even up the odds a bit,” O’Reginald said.
He pulled a scroll from his cloak and quickly read the incantation.  A glowing, golden ring appeared beside him, and from out of stepped a second angel.
“Greetings Ajax,” Pez nodded.  “You’ve arrived just in time.”
“So it would appear,” the planetar said flatly.  
“Alas, the first kill shall be mine!”  Pez laughed.  
He flung one hand out towards Togomor and then clenched his fingers.  The bloat mage’s eyes went wide for a split-second, and in the next, he simply imploded.
“Let the games begin!”  Raelak shouted as he loosed a volley of force-infused arrows at the nearest of the dread wraiths.  The enchanted shafts existed on the ethereal plane as well as they material, and they impaled the spirit’s incorporeal body like spikes.  The creature shrieked as it shrank away to nothing.  At the same time, however, a second wraith swiped one clawed hand at Herc, leaving great rents in the breast plate of his armor.

The blood pool began to roil and churn again.  Then, from the bottom, Ileosa dropped to the floor.  In rapid succession, however, seven identical figures dropped to the floor as well…more simulacrums.  As one, they began to sing, weaving spells as they did so.  Raelak and Kat clutched their heads in agony, and then their eyes went completely blank.  Their fog cleared a moment later, however, as O’Reginald hurled an orb of electrified acid into the midst of the false queens.  Three of them dissolved into pools of blood.  Ajax obliterated three more with a bolt of holy fire, and Pez dispatched the last of them with his own blast.  

The dread wraith struck Herc again, but as the mercenary spun with the blow, Serithtial flared in his hand.  The holy blade slashed the ghost’s form apart as if it were no more than tattered rags.  The last of the wraiths joined its brethren under a second barrage from Raelak’s bow.  As the final spirit faded away, the Everdawn Pool rolled one final time.  Ileosa flowed out of it as if from a womb, the Crown of Fangs set firmly upon her brow.  Her eyes blazed with fury and hatred.  She turned her horrid gaze upon Ratbone as the druid charged towards her, and she waved her hand absently.  In an instant, Ratbone felt many of his mystical enchantments stripped from him, including the spell which granted him an extra pair of limbs.  At that moment, Sermignatto made his move.  The bdellavritra conjured a roiling fog around the companions…a fog that burned like acid as it touched their skin.  It lasted only a moment, however, as Kat banished the spell as quickly as it came.  As soon as the mist cleared, O’Reginald conjured a second globe, this one of fire and lightning, and slammed into Ileosa.  As the demon-possessed queen reeled and screamed, Ajax hurtled towards her.  The angel reached out one hand, glowing with power, and laid it upon Ileosa’s chest.  Her eyes flew open wide and she screamed again as the divine energy siphoned her life-force from her.  She wrenched herself free of the angel and hurled him away from her.  
“Destroy them!” she screamed at Sermignatto.
The devil gathered dark energy around him, and the air crackled with malign power.  Just before he released it, however, O’Reginald struck him with a sphere of hardened force.  The bdellavritra hissed as his focus broke and his spell faded.  His three heads spat and hissed, their tongues darting like snakes.  In a rage, he flew at O’Reginald, wrapping one of his serpentine tongues around the mage’s neck.  O’Reginald’s face began to turn blue.  He could not even draw in enough air to speak a spell that might free him.  In desperation, he reached down and touched a small anklet that he wore.  In a flash he vanished out of Sermignatto’s grip, only to reappear a moment later where Herc had been standing.  In that same instant, Herc vanished, reappearing right next to Ileosa.
“Serve me!” the queen hissed, but it was not Herc that she spoke to.
  Her gaze was fixed firmly upon Raelak.  Herc followed her glance, and his own eyes widened as he saw the ranger bend his bow to its limit.  His disbelief turned to shock as the arrow struck him in the center of his back.  His legs went numb as he crashed to the floor.

As Ileosa gloated and chuckled, Pez lurched into action.  Invoking Heaven’s name, he charged the bitch-queen, and slashed at her with his glowing blade.  In the same moment, Kat lashed out with a lance of pure sonic energy, and Ileosa was again hurled backwards.  On the floor below, Ajax climbed dizzily to his feet, just in time to see Sermignatto slithering towards him.  The angel flung out one hand, and spoke a single word of power.  The fiend stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily stupefied.  Before he could move again, Herc leaped upon his back and drove Serithtial through his central head.  Like Togomor before him, Sermignatto’s second chance at life was short-lived.

Ileosa’s fury continued to grow.  Her eyes blazed at her thrall, Raelak, and her words burned into his mind like a brand.  
‘Destroy the angels!’ she commanded.
Agony rippled across the Shoanti’s face as he struggled in vain to control his own muscles.  Yet inevitably, he turned towards Ajax, drew back his bowstring, and loosed.  Ajax howled as the force arrow impaled his back, and he sank to one knee.  
“No!”  Herc shouted as he hefted Serithtial and charged towards Ileosa.
“Fool!”  the young queen spat.  “Dance!”
Just like that, Herc stopped suddenly, and then his feet began to move again, but not by his volition.  They began to tap and shuffle, carrying him around the floor in a horrible caricature of dancing.  Fear and loathing fell across his face.
“Enough!”  Ileosa slashed her hand horizontally, and Herc’s feet stopped.  “Now, ‘hero,’ you will flee!  Flee as if Asmodeus himself pursued your immortal soul!”
Herc’s mind went blank with blind panic.  Serithtial fell from his numb fingers to clatter on the flagstones, and he turned to flee as he’d been commanded.  Before he could take one step, however, Ratbone reared up in front of him, all fangs and claws, roaring and howling.  For a brief moment, Herc was brought up short.  
“Now!”  Kat shouted.  “Strike together!”
He hurled a sonic lance towards Ileosa, while O’Reginald simultaneously conjured a whirling blast of cyclonic wind.  The combined assault threw the queen back again.  Below, Ajax rushed to Herc’s side, wincing at the pain that still lanced through his spine, and laid his hands on the mercenary’s shoulders.  Herc felt his heart rate slow and his breathing ease.  The fear left him, only to be replaced with righteous anger.  He knelt down and retrieved Serithtial.  He turned towards Ileosa, and their eyes locked.
“Come then!” the queen hissed.
Black power crackled in her hands as Herc rushed towards her, but before she could release it, Pez was there.  The angel spoke his own Word of power, and the force of his will silenced Ileosa before she could utter a word.  By then, Herc was upon her.  Serithtial struck like a coiled serpent, piercing Ileosa through the throat and heart.  She tried to gasp, but only choked as she collapsed to the floor.  Herc raised Serithtial a final time and swept the Crown of Fangs from her brow, shattering it to pieces.

Suddenly, the Everdawn pool began to shudder and shake.  A moment later, a draconic talon lanced out from one side, an immense skeletal wing from another.  The entire room began to rumble, and a growing roar filled the air, quickly rising to deafening levels.  With each passing moment, an immense shape of blood and darkness rose from the pool, building itself into a mighty, blue dragon from the inside out.  Lightning crackled and chains of iron began to writhe and snap throughout the room.  The chains seemed to wrap around the draconic form and transform its flesh, organs and muscles.  
“The Chains of Zon-Kuthon!”  Pez cried.  “Kazavon rises again!  The sword!”  He whirled towards Herc.  “Use the sword!”
Herc didn’t hesitate.  He launched himself towards the dawning horror, raised Serithtial in both hands, and drove her straight into the dragon’s still-forming heart.  In a flash of near-blinding radiance, the entire creature abruptly exploded in a blast of gore.  The silence that followed was deafening…


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## Neverwinter Knight

Epic ending! And not just Pez, but Ajax joining as well (although now outranked by Pez - how that must bug him  ). Congrats to JollyDoc and the players on a job well done! 

Too bad this also means the end of your story hours, at least for the time being. It would be great, if you found time for sharing the exploits of you and your players again, maybe in a way that does not impact your real life too heavily.

However, every epic needs an epilogue, even if it is a brief one. You're not ending your final story hour without one, are you?


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## JollyDoc

Neverwinter Knight said:


> However, every epic needs an epilogue, even if it is a brief one. You're not ending your final story hour without one, are you?




Of course not!  The Epic-logue is still to come!


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## Richard Rawen

Epic-Logue bumpage...


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## SolitonMan

Epic-logue please?


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## JollyDoc

SolitonMan said:


> Epic-logue please?




What can I say?  Despite relentless badgering, I never received epilogues from the guys.  However, I would like to announce that I plan to revive my SH addiction with Pathfinder's King Maker.  We will be beginning the AP in the next month or so.  Stay tuned.


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## Dr Simon

Are you done and dusted with Council of Thieves already, then? I shall look forward to this, I'm interested in what Kingmaker plays like.


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## JollyDoc

Dr Simon said:


> Are you done and dusted with Council of Thieves already, then? I shall look forward to this, I'm interested in what Kingmaker plays like.




We probably have 3-4 more weeks of play until we finish CoT.  Then we begin Kingmaker.


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## Dax Thura

Yes!!!!!!!!!!


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## carborundum

JD... I remember you saying but can't seem to find the reference. What was Raelak's bow again? Brilliant Energy? Force? Radiant something?

Thanks mate!


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> JD... I remember you saying but can't seem to find the reference. What was Raelak's bow again? Brilliant Energy? Force? Radiant something?
> 
> Thanks mate!




Force Bow...bypassed all DR!!  Nerfed in Pathfinder!!


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## carborundum

Thanks!
Was it overpowered or reasonable as a 3.5 weapon property? Raelak ceretainly had fun, but did you watch benevolently or hate every minute of it?


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## JollyDoc

carborundum said:


> Thanks!
> Was it overpowered or reasonable as a 3.5 weapon property? Raelak ceretainly had fun, but did you watch benevolently or hate every minute of it?




It was WAY overpowered!  I hated every stinking minute of it!  I dreamed about ways to sunder it, or disjunct it!  DR is a game balancer when you're dealing with high level PC's.  Give them the ability to bypass it completely, with a weapon that can hit five times per round, and there goes your challenge.


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## carborundum

Aaaah.

I ask because one of the players in my STAP game has a new character, a gnome Rogue with a rapid-fire crossbow. He doesn't do much damage, unless he can sneak (and even then it's not much compared to the Fighters), and it's only two or three times a round at the minute. The rest of the party seriously outdamage him and have many more nice goodies (not least thanks to Zotzilaha). I'm trying to think of a nice present for him weapon-wise. The Force enchantment sounded pretty sweet. I guess a little TOO sweet!

Maybe an enchantment that ignores 5 points of DR? I couldn't find Force in PF - has it just gone or is it in a different book? Or did you mean nerfed out of all existence?


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## Faren

Hey Carb!
One of my old parties had a dwarven rogue with a rapid-fire crossbow, and he bumped its damage considerably with an energy enhancement (I think it was frost), giving him an extra +1d6 per shot. That ignores most damage (but not energy) reduction, so that might help him out. I can't think of any other suggestion, unless you make bolts that do additional piercing damage when fired somehow (i.e. arrows of piercing from NWN or something). Great stor(ies)y Jollydoc!


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## JollyDoc

Yeah, repeating crossbows are nice, especially if you mix it with an elemental/elemental burst typ damage.  He can also take a lot of crossbow specialist feats, as well as some rogue talents like bleeding sneak attack.  The force bow is in the magic item compendium, if I'm not mistaken.


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## Leinart

eh...little bumpage hoping for the guys to decide to drop some epilogues....


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## Supar

Read this again. Another great JD SH for the ages. I guesse i will put together a epilogue for Reg


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