# Curse of Darkness - Florentine Affair



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

This tale comes from our ongoing campaign.  The DM this time was The Viking, as we play "Round Robin" style, and pass DM duties around the table.

For this tale he's pretty much jumped us a thousand years in the future, though to the PCs it's all the same world, the same age.  Call it literary license. 

******* 
    "Now, where are we going again?", asked Penn, scratching his head. "And why?"

"We're heading to central Italy, Florence by way of Piza.", Sylus explained patiently. "We were asked to go there and meet with someone." 

"Who? And why?" 

"I'm not sure.", the Ranger admitted. 

"Then how will you know when you've met them?", asked the Fey, the ghost of a smile dancing about the edges of his mouth. 

There was a clatter of hooves fleeing across the deck, accompanied by the "thunk" of a belaying pin striking the gunwale. 

"Why did we bring him along again?", asked Seeburn, his temper as dark as the sky. 

"Well, the captain wouldn't let Appelenea bring her wolf, so...", speculated Cassius laughingly. "Besides, it gives Sylus an excuse to practice his marksmanship." 

"My sponsor mentioned him in his Sending.", Marcus inserted. "He said we should keep an eye on him, so I invited him along. Hard to get any details when you're limited to only a couple dozen words or so. I hope we did the right thing." 

"The problem's easily enough solved.", suggested Seeburn, gesturing towards the rail. "I could just ask him to step outside." 

"No, none of that. That boy could talk the ticks off a dog, and probably get them to pay him for the privilege.", laughed Cassius. "He's useful. And as long as he steers clear of Appelenea, Sylus will probably let him live." 

The ship landed in the port city of Piza, and the group elected to book further passage by river, though the expense grated on Seeburn. He was probably the most flush of the group, when it came to gold in his purse, yet he was by far the most miserly. 

Once in Florence, they found that rooms had been arranged for them at the Golden Glass, a moderately well to do inn in a more than well to do city. Seeburn again grated at the waste of good coin, even though he wasn't the one paying it. 

Then they waited. 
***
"Where are we going?", Seeburn asked in shock.

"We've been invited to a dinner party.", Marcus said, reading the note again. He had returned from his day's business in the city, most of it spent keeping the half Satyr out of mischief, to find the sealed packet waiting for him at the inn. It contained the note, and a set of finely engraved invitations. 

"Why would this Cosmic fellow want to meet with us, if he's all that important?", Seeburn asked. "And why do we have to dress up just for him?" 

"Cosimo.", Marcus corrected the burly Scott. "Cosimo Medici, and he's just hosting the party. Someone is supposed to contact us there." 

"Do we know who?", asked Penn, pointedly eying Seeburn's garb. The Scott was wearing one of the two outfits he owned, and though it was the better of the two, "better" was a relative term. 

"No.", Marcus replied, then quickly added, "They'll know us.", just to cut off the impudent question he saw lurking on the Bard's lips.  

"Well, if I'm supposed to dress nicely, I suppose I'll have to dress.", laughed Penn, noting his ever-fashionable coat of body hair, the only "clothes" they had seen him wear to date. "Anyone want to go shopping with me?" 

He was eying Appelenea as he asked, but the question was really directed towards Seeburn. Neither accepted. 
*** 
"The final days are upon us!", the man cried. "The gods have abandoned us for our wicked ways! Greed has been our downfall, and its poisoned fruits our doom!"

Nearby, a bonfire blazed, and to the amazement of Marcus and Penn, people were throwing wood carvings, tapestries and painting into it with an air of desperation. 

"So, they think that by burning things, they'll clear the smoke from the sky?", Penn asked, ever impudent. 

"Apparently.", Marcus replied. Then, a look of determination on his face, he approached the street preacher. 

"What foolishness is this?" he called, raising his voice to match the red faced fanatic. "You would burn the gods in effigy to appease them", he asked, indicating the nature of the art being destroyed. "Is this mean market an appropriate temple for sacrifice, that your pleas may be heard and your offerings accepted?" 

Over the next several minutes, the Cleric of Jupiter delivered a scathing diatribe against the insane practice, encouraging the people to direct their worship in a proper manner. The fanatic fumbled his way through a half hearted argument, explaining that the gods were weary of man's fixation on wealth, but the Cleric deftly dissected the man's rhetoric, exposing its flaws as easily as a butcher exposes the bones of a roast. 

Then, with the man slack jawed in shock, Marcus gave a just nod and stalked off. 

Behind him, the man began his cries again, undaunted by fact or reason, for such is the way of fanatics. 

"Let me have a try.", suggested Penn. And he began to sing. 


> Away with the evil ways, let the fires burn!
> Done with sweat of back and brow, and all that they have earned.
> For what profits a man in gold or silk, if they come at such a cost,
> For noble born or of meanest ilk, 'pon death all wealth is lost...



        And so the song began, encouraging the crowd and capturing their ear and heart. But then it began to change, as the verses wore on.


> Care not for those who follow you, they do not know your   pain,
> that your offspring and the ones they sire must earn it all again.
> For the labours of a lifetime are but ashes in the breeze,
> like leaves upon a passing wind, or foam upon the seas.
> ...



         [FONT=&quot]The song continued, building support into hyperbole and finally parody, an all too serious mockery of the fanatic's message, echoing his own words back off the emptiness of the man's heart. And the crowd started to disperse. Soon the local fire brigade began to douse the flames, fearing the spread more than the mob.

Then Penn and Marcus began to pick through the debris, to see what treasures might be salvaged from the scorched ruin.[/FONT]


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

*** 
"So this is what you spent your afternoon on?", Appelenea asked as she gave the Bard a good once over. 

"Not at all.", replied Penn, ignoring her unspoken opinion of his new finery. "I spent a time at the tailors, getting trous fitted, then at the glass blowers obtaining some alchemy gear, then at the exchange, pretending to buy and sell things." 

"Pretending?", asked Seeburn in shock. "Why waste your time at that?" 

"Because that is where our host conducts business. I learned everything I could about him and the guests of honor. He's the most important businessman in the city, and has actually paid money *not* to be named as a civic leader. The other guests are..." 

"I don't care who else the fool invites.", Seeburn cut him off. "And anyone who would pay good money to avoid being a leader is a fool, straight away." 

Penn raised his hands in exasperation, then set about brushing off his companion. He hummed a slight tune as he did so, invoking a bit of Fey magic. The stains and smudges on the Scott's woolen shirt came away, his hair fell into place, his bushy mustache somehow looked trimmed, and the worn and frayed hem of his half-robe mended itself. By the time he was finished the normally unkempt warrior looked well groomed, and had a pleasantly faint aroma of heather about him. 

And if Seeburn had noticed, he might well have bloodied the Bard's nose for it. 
*** 
Nedel had engaged some servants for the evening, as befit his station, and they accompanied the group to the dinner. 

They were welcomed as "Comus Nedel and party", and escorted to the "parlor", a chamber that rivaled the size of some temples they had seen. Here they had the opportunity to see just how extensive this "small gathering" was. Literally hundreds of people, with some of the servants wearing better finery than the companions. 

Nedel blended in easily, and Penn managed to hold his own in small talk, but the others felt as if they were an island unto themselves. Some recognized Sylus' Olympic honor, and approached him, but this sea of silk and satin was a different world from the one he knew. 
***
"Down boy.", Seeburn cautioned, as they were seated for dinner.

"Can't you see her?", Penn asked, his eyes fixed on the head table. They were seated above the salt, thanks to Nedel's title and Sylus rank as an Olympic archer, but there were still dozens of people between them and the host's table. It was a young beauty at that table that had caught the Fey's fancy. 

"Her name is Borgia, and she's well beyond you.", advised Nedel.  

"Oh I know. Like a mountain peak glistening with snow, her beauty shines even at night.", Penn replied, clearly not really hearing any of the cautions directed at him. 

"What's so special about her?", Seeburn asked. "She's too skinny to make a good wife, and I doubt that she's milked a goat in her life. Warrant, she might know how to cook a good meal, but that flower would whither before the first frost." 

"I wasn't thinking of marrying her.", Penn laughed.  

The conversation continued apace until suddenly there was a sharp silence from the head table. One of the guests, a stodgy looking man in deep blue, suddenly paled and raised a hand to his breast. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped in his seat. 

Marcus leaped to his feet and rushed to aid the fallen man. After a moment of paralysis the room erupted in a form of orderly chaos. Servants rushed forward and eased the man to the floor, and many people stood to gain a better view, but nobody other than the Jovian Cleric moved to aid the man. 

Cassius noted the relieved look on the faces of many of the guests, and coins were passed from one guest to another, surreptitiously of course. 

"Toss the drunk to the alley where he belongs.", Seeburn belched, draining his cup. 

"The Concilatori is dead!", came the harsh rebuke. 

"Then toss his body to the pigs, and have done with him!", Seeburn growled back. 

Abruptly there were a number of house servants surrounding the Scott, helping him from his seat, and escorting him from the room. 

"Where's Penn?", asked Appelenea, for she had lost sight of him in the confusion. 
[FONT=&quot]***
Seeburn lumbered back to the inn afoot, almost hoping that someone would challenge him. But the passers by saw the mood that followed him and steered clear.

Once in his chambers he all but tore the shirt from his back and flung it across the room. Who in Tartarus were these people, these fat, perfumed, pampered, spoiled children, to treat him that way? Was blunt honesty such a foreign tongue that they didn't understand it? 

He changed clothes, then carefully counted out a score of copper pennies, enough to fill his best purse, and secured his blade. A good swig of strong Highland brew, and a small splash onto his shirt, and he was ready for trouble.
***
Darius smiled his silent smile, the one that showed no teeth, and drifted down the walkway. Ahead the drunken outlander staggered into the side of a building, then slid off and almost fell into the alley.

He'd spotted the man a few streets back, and being open to opportunity, decided to follow. And now opportunity was knocking, or more properly, lurching down a lone alley, probably looking for a piss-pot.

He slipped up to the alley in silence, his blade sliding noiselessly from it's oiled leather scabbard, then stepped inside.

His first strike should have been the last, but the lout somehow heard him coming and spun in place, turning a short strike to the vitals into a long gash, painful but far from fatal.

"What took you so long?", Seeburn asked with a smile. And the fight was on.

Darius' blade wove a complex pattern, evading the brute's clumsy defense and scoring another cut to the ribs. Again, not fatal, but he'd come to miss that blood sooner rather than later.

Seeburn's attack was more direct, and gripping his blade with both hands he powered through his foe's fancy attempt at a parry, chopping through leather and flesh with a single blow.

Thus the dance played out, fancy bladework facing the raw fury of the Scocian Highlander, they traded blow for blow. Darius became desperate as he fought, for his foe seemed like the great bear, growing stronger as they fought instead of weakening. There was madness in his eyes and foam on his lips, and if there was blood in the foam the man seemed not to notice.

Finally, lacking any alternative, he tried a quick parry-spin maneuver, graceful as a dance step when done properly, a dance which ended with his blade under his foe's ribs.

But the narrow alley hampered the dance, and he found that it was the Barbarian's blade buried a hand's depth in flesh, and the blood began to fill his lungs. As his knees buckled, the last sound he heard was the hue and cry of the guard, drawn by the sounds of the fight.

Seeburn stood for a long moment, watching as his fallen foe slowly slipped off of his blade. His breath was coming in great heaving sobs now, and he felt the battle madness abate, taking his strength with it. He crumpled in exhaustion, then into oblivion as his body finally noticed his injuries.
 [/FONT]


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

***
"Look away, child", came the words. "A lady of such tender years should not have to see such harsh things." And gently the Half-Satyr moved to block the young lady's sight of the fallen noble, guiding her instead through some nearby doors and out onto a balcony.

Two guards in matching livery took a half-step to intercede, but the girl waved them back with a brief gesture.

"Think not upon so harsh a scene, but remember him as you knew him, a man of humor and laughter, a generous heart and a gentle hand.", Penn continued, offering the girl his shoulder to cry upon.

"It's so sudden.", she said, trying to control her tears. "Who could have done such a thing?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know.", Penn said, hushing her gently. "But that worry can come later, when the tears have ended. Tell me now of your friend, happy memories and no others. Let them fill your mind tonight, that he should be remembered only with joy."

The two guards looked at each other dubiously. The odd Fey seemed to be doing no harm, and their charge was probably safer on the balcony than in the main chamber, so they stationed themselves at the door, facing inward, taking care not to hear too much of what was said in the darkness.
  ***
"You are Sylus?', asked the heavy man in the corner.

"I am.", replied the Ranger, allowing himself to drift backwards towards the whispering stranger.

"Bring your friends and meet me in the drawing room. Please."

Cassius and Appelenea were within calling distance, but Nedel and Marcus were caught in the crowd around the fallen noble, and Penn had vanished somehow, Sylus gathered those he could and followed the portly messenger.

"Thank you.", the man said more easily, once they were alone. "Cassidius of Rome sent me with a charge for you. It was I who arranged your invitation here, and who saw to your rooms. I was given this to show you.", he added, offering a silver Dinar, clouded and dark, the secret sign of their association.

"Hephesius Paulo Amourwright was a Sage and scholar who wrote a treatise on the dark arts, and the dark gods who sponsored them. His book was in the hands of a private collector, and Cassidius was hoping to obtain it. He believes that the foundations of the Curse of Darkness may be found within its pages. The private party was killed some months ago, however, and the book was not found among his possessions."

Glancing about furtively, the man continued. "There is a madness in the city, lead by a man named Girolamo Savonarola. He is convincing people that the world is ending, and that they must burn their possessions if they are to be saved. We fear that the book may have already found its way into the flames, but if it hasn't then we need to find it. Savolarola may be part of the dark conspiracy or he may be an innocent dupe, a convenient tool. He might even have the book. In any case, we need to locate the book and transport it to Rome, safely, if it still exists."

Sylus nodded, and Appelenea took notes as the man spoke.

"Any idea who just offed the Concilatori in there?", Cassius asked.

"No, though there are any number of suspects.", the man replied. "There were even wagers as to who would be poisoned at this party. He was a man well loved by his subjects, and thus a man well hated by his rivals. It probably has nothing to do with us."

"On the contrary, our enemies are trying to tear down society, and what better way than to kill leaders?", Cassius asked.

"One could convince the city to burn itself down.", replied their nameless informant. "But you're right, there's no reason for our foes to limit themselves to only one avenue of attack. Still, this was probably just politics and nothing more. It's even possible that the man died of natural causes."

That thought made everyone laugh.
*** 
"Let us away from the turmoil, and walk the gardens.", Penn suggested. "No one will miss us."

"I'd love to.", young Lucrecia cooed "But I'm afraid my chaprones won't allow it.", she added, nodding towards the two men in the doorway, pointedly looking the other way.

"Ah, that can be fixed.", smiled the Half-Satyr slyly. He drew out his lyre and began to play, a soft melody of lost love. The notes all but glowed in the air as he caressed the strings, and the girl's eyes shone in the reflected candle light. He played through to the end, then took out a silver piece and laid it on the broad marble rail. Placing his finger upon it, he uttered a soft word, and the music began anew, a dark, haunting melody this time, and his own voice could be heard singing a sad refrain. Then, as the music played, he smiled and offered the young lady his hand. 

And with a repressed giggle and a guilty glance towards her wardens, she allowed her escort to help her over the ballastrade and into the gardens below.
*** 
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for him.", Marcus announced sadly. "It was too quick, and I wasn't quick enough."

Nedel glanced at the table and noted, bitterly and without surprise, that the Concilatori's place had been cleared, from wine goblet to butter knife. They were undoubtedly all washed by now, cleansed of any trace of poison. 

Most of the guests were making their excuses and calling for their capes and wraps, for a death at the table does seem to make a fitting final course.


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

[FONT=&quot]"So, where did you get off to last night?", Appelenea demanded accusingly.

"Me?", asked Penn, feigning innocence. "After the shocking events at dinner, I escorted the lovely Lucrecia out to the quiet of the gardens. We had a lovely conversation."

"Her father will kill you, you know.", Cassius laughed, pushing his breakfast plate aside. "And if he doesn't, I imagine she has about a dozen suitors waiting to do it for him."

"They'll have to stand in line.", laughed Penn, as he loaded porridge into a bowl and scattered honey crystals on it. 

"Seriously, did you and she...", asked Appelenea, leaving the question hanging.

"Yes, dear lady, we strolled and we talked.", Penn replied teasingly as he signaled the innkeeper for hot tea. "She told me of five feuds, three rivalries and a few dozen others who might have wanted the [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Concilatori [/FONT][FONT=&quot]dead, particularly while he was visiting this fair city. Nothing untowards happened though. If you don't believe me, ask her body guards. They caught us as we slipped over the balcony, and ensured that we remained proper the entire evening."

"So we only have to hide Seeburn then?"

"He seems to be doing a good job of that himself.", Marcus replied, looking worried. "He isn't in his room, and I haven't seen him all morning."

"You mean the man in the checkered robe?", asked the innkeeper? "He's in jail. They say he murdered someone."

"They're accusing him?", asked Marcus in shock. "He wasn't anywhere near the [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Concilatori[/FONT][FONT=&quot] when he died."

"That's the mark of a good assassin.", laughed Cassius. "They never seem to go near their victim, and will always have a perfect alibi."

"I'll see if I can get him sprung.", Penn sighed. "Though it would serve him right to spend a few days in jail, after the scene he made last night."

"His trial is this afternoon, and the hanging is set for sundown.", the innkeeper mentioned as he cleared the used crockery. "Don't wait too long."
*** 
"So, my lord Magistrate, you still have the drunken lout in jail. He probably belongs there, but was the murder charge really necessary?"

"He was found covered in blood. The blood belonged to Renaldo daPiza, a mercenary. He's dead, and your friend will be, come sundown.", the elderly man replied tiredly. 

"Such a shame, to disrupt your busy day with a trial and a hanging, when I'm sure you have other things to do.", Penn began. "Particularly if it turns out that this Renaldo had my friend's blood on his blade as well. That would make the entire affair seem questionable. And considering where he was last night before this, and the names that might be mentioned, wouldn't it make more sense to simply fine the fool?"

"The damages would be considerable.", the Magistrate argued. "The weregilt to Renaldo's family alone..."

"...will be paid, if the man has any family to claim it. Having no family name suggests that he was disowned, or worse yet, never acknowledged.", the Half-Satyr countered. "I'm far more concerned with the time and effort you have already wasted on the matter. Let us establish damages and be done with this affair. The sooner the man is out of your jail, the sooner he can leave town." A purse appeared in Penn's hand, like magic. 

The magistrate weighed the purse with is gaze, long practice telling him the balance. "There is also the cost to the church, since the Scot is in no condition to walk."

"I'll see that that's attended to.", Penn agreed, as more coins suddenly clinked in his fingers, adding themselves to the weight of the pouch. "And nothing will be said, in any circles. No names, no hint of petty revenge. He'll be out of your prison and out of your life."

"Done!", agreed the old man, pocketing the money. "Once I sign his release order, I wash my hands of the man."
*** 
"The prisoner will stand away from the door!", snarled the guard, though he needn't have bothered. Seeburn remained where he was, sprawled upon a thin straw pallet, looking much as he had when the guard had deposited him there the previous night.

The keys clanked and the lock creaked, the hinges groaned and the door opened. 

"Well, we can't let the world see you like that.", said Penn with a note of disgust. "Come, Marcus, lets get him on his feet and away."

Marcus said a small prayer, easing Seeburn's pains and lending him a bit of strength. Then he and Penn helped their friend to his feet, and out into the morning air.

"It's lucky for you that I made friends with the Magistrate last evening.", Penn confided. "It would have been a lot harder to get you out if I'd had to deal directly with the guard. As it is, it was pricey. You offended some very important people last night."

"I didn't think you had much left, after everything you bought the other day.", Marcus commented, concern in his voice.

"Think nothing of it, for nothing is too much for my friends.", laughed Penn, as they turned a corner. "After all, 'nothing' is what it cost me. I used Seeburn's money for the bribe."
*** 
"Now, who owned what, and it went where?", asked Marcus, as his friends brought him up to date.

"Anastatius Cicero Formentius was his full name.", Sylus explained, looking over the notes taken. "He wrote a book on the dark gods, and the rituals they sponsor. He died several months ago, and the book went missing from his collection. We need to find it."

"Hmm. All right, if we can impose on Nedel, perhaps he can inquire in the higher social circles, see if it found its way into a private collection. Take Cassius with you for protection. Marcus and I will inquire at the temples, to see if they have word of it. Then we'll hit the book dealers."

"You think it's for sale some place?", asked Appelenea in surprise. "If it was stolen, then nobody will ever admit to having it."

"We're not looking for the book.", Penn said pointedly. "We're looking for people who inquired about similar works, the kinds of things that one might need to understand such a text. We're also looking for the person who didn't inquire about the book after it went missing, the one who should have been searching, but wasn't. That will be the person who has it. So we need names of people who might have such an interest, and names of anyone who did show interest."

And so they set off, each to their assignments.
*** 
"Do you think we'll ever find a clue?", Marcus asked, after their fifth fruitless temple visit.

"Of course.", the Bard replied, a smile on his lips but deadly serious in his manner. "Three of the acolytes we've asked made note of our inquiry. Our quarry will hear of us through them. When they send someone to kill us, we simply ask the assassins who sent them, and we have our clue."

"I think I see a flaw in your plan.", warned the Cleric, as they headed off to the next book shop.
 [/FONT]


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

***
"The Seeress will see you now.", rumbled the towering servant, after they had identified themselves. They had sent a messenger ahead, requesting an appointment, and had arrived at the proper hour.

The servant had an almost unnatural gray pallor, and looked as if he was somehow two men standing on top of one another, he was so tall. His step was silent, however, as he lead them through the lower chambers of the tower, and then up the spiral stair, passing floor after floor, until they reached the very top.

The Seeress Necrocia, she was called, and she lived up to the name. Her hair was long and black as night, and her gown was a sheath of midnight poured over her form. Her face was so pale that it fairly shone in the shadowed room, like the moon on a clear night.

"Dear lady, we were told that if anyone in this city could help us, it would be you.", Penn began flatteringly.

"I read your note, and have heard of the book.", she replied. "I may be able to locate it, though my time is valuable."

"I'm certain that your skills are worth the price.", replied the Bard. "Can we perhaps aid you, relieve you of some of your other burdens?"

"Perhaps.", she said as she turned, a sweeping gesture the covered a desk full of books and papers. "Do you, by chance, speak the language of the Djinn? My current project is a translation, and it consumes my nights."

Penn quickly reviewed the languages he knew. Three Fey dialects, Dwarvish, two Human variations and the Dragon tongue, but not the one she needed.

"There are enchantments that can aid translation.", he suggested.

"I will risk no enchantments around these books.", she advised, a dark smile dancing across her lips. "You never know what the book might do with such a thing. We don't want anything to escape too soon, after all."

"Then my aid will have to be limited to inspiration and perspiration. If you need my servants or myself to fetch research works or materials, you have only to ask."
*** 
"Your servants?", asked Marcus in surprise, once they were away. "Weren't you just a slave a few weeks ago? Since when do you have servants?"

"I don't, but there's no reason to tell her that. I also don't have much money to pay her with, so I'm trading with what little I've got."
  ***
"Hades take them all!", she muttered for about the hundredth time as she stared into her goblet. But this time it continued, the wine loosening her tongue. "May they rot in the darkness while rats chew their eyeballs!", she swore, then realized that she'd spoken aloud and lowered both her head and her voice. But not her temper.

"And damn me too, for being fool enough to believe them." She stared at the coin in her hand, the only token of the contract she had supposedly made. A single silver Denarius, smoked and tarnished. "Meet a ship in Piza, the man tells me. 100 dinars plus passage he says. Go to the Olympics he tells me, and all will be explained. And like a fool, I believe him. So I'm there, no ship, no contact, no explanations, and here I am, no money!"

She tucked the coin away, a reminder not to trust anyone who doesn't put their money up front, and leaned back in her chair, looking for patterns in the slate gray sky.

In a nearby square a commotion was beginning, so she scattered a few silver on the table to pay her bill, drained her goblet, and set off to work.

A crowd was gathered, with much shouting, and a man in dark brown robed was exhorting the crowd, calling on them to do their divine duty. Smoke began to rise from somewhere in the middle of it all, and a scream of protest was heard.

Then the sounds of fighting, like a brawl, and the crowd became a mob. "Ah", she said to herself, "Time to earn a living."
***
"So you think she can help us?", Cassius asked as they left the tower.

"I don't know.", Penn replied. "It would be nice if it was that easy, but I'm really expecting better results from the book sellers."

"You know what I think of that idea, Penn.", Marcus muttered. "Wait for someone to try and kill us? What kind of plan is that?"

"A desperate one, I admit. But I think it's our... wait!", the Half Satyr paused, an ear twitching to the sounds of a riot. "There's trouble over that way.", he indicated, pointing up a side street.

And away they went, quick pace. The way opened into a small square, and a large and ugly crowd.

One of those ubiquitous bonfires was burning, but apparently someone objected to the burning. It was hard to tell who to cheer for and who to foul, for the scene resembled a boisterous brawl more than a real battle. No weapons in evidence, other than fists.

One combatant staggered back into the trio, blood running from his nose.

"That's telling 'em!", Penn said enthusiastically, helping the man to his feet, a kindness that was repaid by a sharp blow to the chin.

"A piece of advice, Penn?", Cassius laughed good naturedly. "Don't lead with your face."

They watched the small riot for a few moments, trying to pick out who was who. Many of the brawlers wore a simple symbol, a twisted loop like an empty hourglass.

"I've seen that symbol before.", Marcus noted. "Supposed to look like the mark of Kronos, but they got it wrong."

"Well, we can't just stand by and do nothing.", Cassius said. "Let's see which of you can do a better job of breaking this up. A copper to the winner."

Penn laughed, struck a dramatic pose, took a deep breath and raised his voice in a stenorian shout, "The guard! Run, Run!"

The tumultuous tangle of enraged humanity responded not at all. Penn sighed, and with a sweeping gesture indicated that it was Marcus' turn.

"Silence, while a Son of Jupiter speaks!", commanded the cleric, in the voice of an angry parent. He, however, got too close and was rewarded with a backhanded cuff to the eye.

"So far, no winners.", laughed Cassius. "Next round, two coppers."

Penn spied a watering trough nearby, with a wash bucket depending from the pump nozzle. "Come on, Marcus. Maybe the bonfire's the key."

He seized the bucket as he strode past the pump, dipping in the trough in a single smooth move. Then he drew a small flask from his pouch, took a sip to clear his throat, and hummed a small tune as he handed the bucket to Marcus. Cassius saw the laughter in the Fey's eyes, but held his tongue.

Marcus, full of enthusiasm, ran up and flung the 'water' onto the bonfire. The results were shocking and instantaneous. The small pyre erupted into a roaring pillar of flame that towered over the nearby buildings, drawing the full attention of everyone in the plaza.

Marcus looked flustered, then stepped back from the heat. Seeing the gaze of the crowd fixed on him, he managed to stammer out, "How did that happen?"

Then, looking down at the bucket, still in his hands, he did the only sensible thing. He ran. Out of the plaza, up a side street and away, with the howling mob in hot pursuit.

"I think you owe him two coppers.", Penn smirked.

"What was that?", Cassius asked in shock.

"Remember that foul brew Seeburn called 'single malt'?", Penn replied. "That was a few gallons of it. Horrible stuff, but still a shame to waste it."

Then he and Cassius, noting that the fires were beginning to endanger nearby buildings, made a far better use of the pump and bucket while they waited for the guard to arrive.
***
Marcus fled as fast as his feet could carry him while the enraged crowd hurled rocks and bits of crockery at him. He was confident that he could outrun them, but knew that he could get cornered in a closed alley if he made a wrong turn. He also knew that those rocks hurt, and if one of them managed to knock him down he'd never get up again.

He turned left and right, always staying to major avenues, heading for the nearest temple. And the mob followed. In fact, some that they passed got caught up in the mania and began to pursue him as well, even though they had no idea why. Such is the way of mobs.

Ahead he spotted a chance. A peasant, besotted with wine, lay in the opening to a narrow lane. He fled past, then spun in place and intoned the words of power: _"Titan's Stature"_

The man's body doubled in size, filling the narrow lane and obstructing pursuit. Then he took to his heels once more.
  [FONT=&quot]***
"What's the fuss?", Sylus asked, looking at the mad scene in the plaza. Like the others he had heard the riot, but had arrived too late to help.

"Another mad preacher.", Penn answered. "See if you can help any of the injured."

"How do I tell friend from foe?", the Ranger asked. 

"If they're wearing the empty hourglass, leave them where they lay.", Cassius supplied. "They're the madmen who want to burn everything. The others are, well..."

"They're friends of that man.", an Elf maiden replied, indicating one of the fallen. "The mob moved in here dragging him and all this stuff. They took it from his house, and were going to 'save him from his wealth', whether he wanted to be saved or not. He objected, and...", she gestured at the dozen or so who had been beaten unconscious.

Just then the guard arrived, having taken the time to gather their numbers.

"They went that way!", Penn said helpfully, as he continued to toss water on burning heaps. "But you'd better leave someone here, to prevent looting."

"What happened here?", the commander asked in wonder. 

"A Cleric of Jupiter called on them to stop, and one of them hit him. Then there was this pillar of fire, higher than the roofs. Never seen anything like it!", Penn declared in awe. "Then he headed for the temple, and they followed. Fast."

The guard set off in dogged pursuit of the rioters.

"That's not exactly what happened.", Cassius noted. 

"Well, it isn't exactly _not_ what happened either.", Penn said, mock serious. "It will do wonders for his reputation. Seriously, he'll thank me for it later. Really he will."

"If he survives.", Cassius noted.

Their shared joke was interrupted by the Ranger. 

"Look at this!", Sylus said, raising something he found in a pile of debris that hadn't yet met the flames. It was a book cover, black leather, with the Elder sign on it. The title confirmed the identity of the work. It was the book they were looking for, though there were no pages evident.

Now the group set about the search in earnest, though the guard who remained was confused, unsure if he should stop them or not.

"Look at this.", indicating another find. A sheaf of pages, loose, sat within a second heap, amid scrolls and other writings. They were blank, but were of a size and volume that they were a perfect fit for the cover.

"Either the book is written in secret ink, or someone stole the pages, then sent this down to be burned, hoping to fool someone.", Penn said thoughtfully.

"How would you reveal secret ink?", Cassius asked.

"Fire usually works.", Penn noted ironically. "Check the ones with the empty hourglass. See if any have the pages."

In short order, Cassius again came up with the answer. "Here, this woman.", he called, holding up a piece of paper.

The trio gathered around the fallen one, more girl than woman, joined by the Elf maiden, more out of curiosity than purpose. 

The page he held was blank, but was of a size and make to match the blank pages they'd found.

Cold water was splashed on the girl's face to rouse her, and she reacted in fear to the sudden attention.

"You've been a bad girl, haven't you.", Penn admonished. "You've been stealing things you were supposed to burn. Why, if either the guard or your friends found out..."

"You can't tell anyone!", the battered girl whimpered. "The priest said to do it, said I'd be rewarded. He'll kill me if he finds I failed."

"Now now, child, we'll keep you safe.", Penn said soothingly. Then, noting the thinness of her frame beneath the soot and the bruises, he made another offer. "When did you last eat?"

They left the square together, with Penn sweet talking the waif all they way. She knew who had the remains of the book, so she was their new best friend.
[/FONT]


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

***
"I'll get this round", the Elf maid offered, for she refused to be indebted to strangers. She was sorting through her remaining coins when Sylus suddenly pointed to one.

"Where did you get that?", he asked, his finger resting on the darkened Denarius. 

"Why?", the maiden replied defensively, pulling away. "I didn't steal it. It was a deal that never came though." 

"I asked because of this.", the Half-Elf replied, showing her his own coin. "My mentor gave it to me, before he sent me off." 

"Yeah, well I got sent off too. On a wild goose chase.", came the angry answer. "Supposed to meet a man, meet a ship, go to Greece. No man, no ship, no trip, no money." 

"Was the ship called the Green Siren?", Sylus asked, pressing. "I was aboard, before it got commandeered by the new Caesar. He ordered it to go straight through from southern Gaul to Athens, bypassing the other ports." 

"Well that explains a lot of nothing.", the Elf countered angrily. "I still don't know why, and at this point I don't really care." 

"Don't be angry with us.", Penn protested. "We didn't do anything. They got sent to Athens, I got dragged there in chains. However we got together, though, we're together. And you're welcome to join us, or not, as you choose." 

Then he extended his hand, formally. "I'm Pendaclese. Just call me Penn, please." 

"I'm Prolifica.", she replied, the look in her eye daring anyone to make something of it. 

The others refused to rise to the bait, and managed to introduce themselves with a straight face. Though it wasn’t easy. 

[FONT=&quot]*** 
Marta, the peasant woman, was given a hot meal and a chance to clean up. Even with the soot and filth removed from her face and her hair cleaned and brushed, to call her "plain" would have been a compliment.

She wasn't ugly, just someone who had grown up in poverty and had to weather the harsh realities of life. Her skin was aged by the sun and the wind, and the rough handling of a task-master, and no cosmetic magic could make her teeth white or straight. Which made her dream all the more tragic.

"I just need the money", she kept saying. "He promised me. I'd have enough for my dowry. He promised!"

"If he's preaching that wealth is evil, where would he get the money?", Penn asked, ever so reasonably. "Trust me, if you help us find that book, our contact will pay you well for it."

But even the Half Satyr looked troubled over the promise, for he had no idea if it would be kept or not.
*** 
Marcus ribs ached from running, and he slowly slid to the floor of the temple, his back against the closed door, almost wheezing in his exhaustion.

"May I help you, friend?", came the polite request.

The Jovian priest looked up to see a young acolyte peering at him from an inner doorway, concern in his voice.

"I need sanctuary.", Marcus gasped, still struggling to catch his breath. "A place to stay until the crowd goes away."

"You brought them here?", asked the young man in shock. "This is the temple of Apollo. If you were going to endanger a temple, why not lead them to your own?"

"I wasn't trying to lead them anyplace", he explained. "I was just trying not to get killed. It's nearly dark, and the streets won't be safe for hours. Have you a cot or pallet you can spare me for the night?"

"I know where you can find safety.", the young man said, his look grim. "Please, follow me."

Marcus dragged himself to his feet and followed the youth as he strode through the main chamber. The way lead to the far end, then down some stairs to a heavy door. 

And before Marcus realized it, he was outside again. "The temple of Jupiter is two streets north and one west. You'll be safe there.", came the smug voice as he heard the door latch behind him.
*** 
It was dawn before anyone saw Marcus again, and all were worried. Appelenea was tending to Seeburn's wounds, which were still severe, and the highlander was in a foul mood.

Still, all were happy when their friend arrived safe and sound, and they brought him up to date.

"The good lady Marta knows who has the rest of the book.", it was explained. "He had been ordered to burn it, but wanted to keep it for study, so he asked Marta to switch the pages for some blank sheets."

"Then let's go get them.", Marcus declared enthusiastically.

"Not that easy. She knows who, but not where. There's a rally, a gathering of the burners, tomorrow. She'll lead us there and point out the man we seek. From there, it's up to us to follow him and find where he's hidden it."
*** 
Marcus drew his hood tighter, to ward off the chill of the morning. And to hide his face. Marta stood by him, scanning the people at the heart of the crowd, looking for one familiar face.

The organizers had drawn up empty crates to create a makeshift speaker's platform, and were exhorting the crowd on the evils of wealth, and that if the wealthy were stripped of its corrupting power then all would stand equal, and the corruption would end.

Sylus was nestled comfortably on a roof overlooking the square, kneeling behind a parapet for cover.

Seeburn and Cassius were also in the crowd, watching for a sign from Marcus or Marta.

Penn was around the corner and out of sight, for his Fey features were far too distinctive, and he was sure to be recognized after his interference in two burnings.

"There he is.", Marta said, nudging the Cleric with her elbow. "He's over there, by that man. He's the tall one, balding on top, gray beard."

Marcus looked over the sea of faces, cursing silently. "Where?"

"By the podium. He has a large nose.", she added helpfully. 

"Go back and tell Penn where he is.", he finally suggested, unable to pick one balding man with a Roman nose from the crowd of balding Italians around him.

Marta drifted back through the gathering throng, then made her way to the Bard's hiding place. She quickly tried to point the man out.

Penn stepped halfway around the corner, and looked where she indicated. He too was unable to distinguish one Roman nose from another, but did his best to bear up under the difficulty.

He hummed a slight tune, then raised his hand and pointed to Marcus. Then he began to whisper, a whisper that somehow carried itself to the Cleric.

"_She says that he's to the left of the speaker. Count three men to the left, and two forward._", he whispered with a confidence he didn't feel.

"_Still don't have him._", came the reply.

Penn frowned, then hummed again, this time directing his message to Sylus. "_He's the tall man with the empty hourglass traced in silver. Brown robe, bald head, large nose, and a beard. Three to the left of the speaker and two towards us._"

"_Got him!_", replied the Ranger, catching the glimmer of silver from the man's chest. "_At least I think I do. Is he the one scratching his head right now?_"

Penn checked with Marta, then responded, "_Yes, that's him!_" The happiness in his voice wasn't forced any more, for now he had spotted the man as well. Another tune, and another message was sent.

"_Prolifica! He's here! He's about thirty feet from you, and a little to your right. Tall, gray beard, prominent nose and a silver hourglass symbol. He's facing the crowd, but turning his head towards the speaker right now._"

"_I see him._", she replied.

"_What should I do?_", asked Sylus, his fingers itching against the bowstring.

"_Relax. We're just going to follow him when he..._", Penn replied, as the magical charm expired. All they could hope for now was that everyone would remain patient.
*** 
"Gods, but those guys were long winded.", Seeburn complained. "Two hours wasted there, listening to them go on and on."

"It was worth it.", Cassius assured him. "Just keep Prolifica in sight. We follow her, she follows them, and we all get what we need."

They kept their eyes ahead and sharp as the Elf maid slipped from alley to doorway to shadow to tree, her tread not so much silent as unnoticeable. She didn't exactly skulk, for that alone would have drawn attention, but instead managed to wander from shelter to cover to obstruction as if she had business at each one. And each step kept pace with the party of five that were making their way through the streets.

Finally their quarry entered a modest home, a two story building with a low wall around the yard. The Elf maid appeared to find a new errand back the way she had come, and quickly met with the party in a small alcove.

"All right, we know there are five of them.", Cassius declared. "I think we can take them."

"We saw five go in.", Prolifica corrected. "We have no idea if there are any others inside. And if we kick that door in right now we'll have the city guard here in minutes. This isn't that bad a neighborhood."

"So what do we do?"

"We'll wait until dark, then sneak inside.", came the decision. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things. The rest of you clear out until sunset. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

 [/FONT]


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

*** 
Seeburn decided to "clear out" by taking a walk around the property. His path took him to the end of the street, then up the alley behind.

The house looked good, but the property was ill maintained. He could see the green over the low wall and see that the olive tree was untrimmed, its leaves wind-stacked against the outbuildings, uncleared an undisturbed.
*** 
"They aren't inside.", Seeburn said, as the group gathered. 

"There are six of them.", Prolifica argued. "I saw another man join the first five."

"There are no lights in any of the windows", the Barbarian countered, "and the outhouse hasn't been used in weeks. The leaves are swept up against the door, and there are no tracks. If there's anyone living inside there, they're blind and they never use a chamber pot."

Sylus nodded in approval. "Good spot. So now what?"

"We go in. Obviously the house is an entrance to someplace else, possibly catacombs or smuggler's tunnels."
  *** 
Seeburn produced a crooked iron bar as he approached the door, much to Prolifica's amusement.

"Where did you get that thing?", she asked with a smile.

"Sailors use them to open crates.", the burly highlander replied defensively.

"uh huh.", the Elf nodded. "Since when do sailors open the crates they ship? Except to steal from them, that is?" Then she realized that baiting the quick-tempered ruffian was not the best plan she'd ever had, and changed tactics. 

"Keep that out of sight until we need it.", she advised, glancing around to see if they'd been observed. "The door might not even be locked."

It was, but she was still determined to avoid the brute force solution. "Sometimes you can jiggle these old locks loose.", she explained, as she drew forth a small handful of thin metal implements. 

Her frustration became obvious as she worked, however, for no matter how she tried, she couldn't manage to "jiggle" this lock. It was well made and well maintained.

"There are no lights in the house, and the second floor windows aren't shuttered.", Prolifica observed. Then, seeing the look on Seeburn's face, she elaborated. "If we break in the front door, the night watch will notice, and we're back to dealing with the guard. If one of you will give me a leg up, I'll see if I can slip in through one of those windows and unlock this from the inside."

Penn volunteered at once, to the amusement of some and the surprise of no one. To their amazement the slightly built Fey managed to lift the lady without staggering, though the strain was evident in his face.

"Eyes forward!", she commanded. "And if your hand moves another inch, I'll take your fingers off.", the lady added, only half joking. She knew the reputation of the Bard's blood line.

"It would be worth it.", Penn grunted, as he heaved her the rest of the way up.

Then she was inside. The room was unfurnished and unlit, but the night holds no secrets from the Elves, as the old adage goes, and she was able to see perfectly. Her sharp eyes quickly spotted the places where the floor boards were pegged in place, and like the steps of a formal dance, she moved from one firm point to the next without evoking the slightest creak from the aged timbers.

The hall was equally clear, and she moved swift and silent to the stairwell, growing confident as she moved. The house was deserted and dark. Nothing lived here, nor had lived here in months.

Thus the shock of the attack drew a surprised shriek from her when it came. A slight scratching sound on the stairs above, then ripping pain down her back as claws sought to rend flesh from bone.

The iron pry bar was cast aside as Seeburn and Cassius threw their shoulders into the door, tearing it from its hinges and crashing to the floor.

Above them they saw Prolifica, bloody and torn, cornered on a landing above, trying to fend off a small bony horror. It was a large cat, or perhaps a small tiger, though none could say for certain since all the flesh had been stripped from its bones. Empty eye sockets gaped above the lipless snout, and fangs gnashed as it strove to tear at her flesh. Fresh blood stained halfway up its forelegs, and it seemed invigorated by the carnage.

Seeburn roared with rage and charged up the stair, all but hurling the bloody Elf to the ground as he shouldered his way past. His blade sank deep into the minute nightmare, but it had no flesh to slice, no blood to spill, and remained essentially unharmed.

Cassius followed, his blade slightly hampered by the tight quarters. His blade chipped bone and drove the undead beast back a step, but again the iron would not truly bite.

"Behind me!", Penn ordered with an authority he didn't really command, stepping between Prolifica and her attacker as he unlimbered his sling. The heroic effect of his pose was much diminished by the fact that she was now a good ten yards from the danger, having fled from the beast as soon as she was able, and the harmless rattle of stone on bone emphasized the emptiness of the gesture.

"You never give up, do you?", asked Marcus with a weary shake of his head, as he tended to the lady's wounds. 

The battle on the landing was quick and brutal, for while the undead beast was hard to kill, there were two hearty warriors on hand who were quite willing to put in the extra effort, and being dead the cat had no instinct for survival. 

The madness left Seeburn's eyes once the skeletal beast had been reduced to bone shard, and he sank to one knee in exhaustion. 

"Are you hurt?", asked Cassius, surprised by the sudden collapse.

"No.", panted Seeburn, waving his friend away. "I'll be fine in a minute. The battle madness... it takes it out of you, you know?"

Cassius didn't know, but nodded agreement anyway. 
*** 
The initial search of the house was quick. No one was there, and there was no sign that anyone had ever lived there.

Prolifica found a hatch that opened onto an underground pantry or root cellar, but the room was cramped and tiny. Still, there was something about it.

Then she smiled. "See here?", she said, indicating the floor along the north wall. "Scrape marks. These shelves move."

She pulled and she pushed, poked and probed, but even though she could feel the shelves shift, she couldn't move them nor discover the mechanism of their release.

Penn joined her in the cramped quarters and looked at the grooves they had worn in the floor. "They open from the right...", he muttered, running his fingers along that edge.

"I checked there, there's nothing.", Prolifica said, even as she continued to search.

"Then maybe over here...", Penn agreed, shifting his search to the other side of the frame. His fingers found a knot hole that seemed more worn than it should be, and he pressed inside. 

The left side of the shelves pushed in slightly, and the right side now yielded to Prolifica's pull, and the door swung open.

A torch was lit and passed down, for even Fey eyes need some light, and a large chamber was revealed.
  *** 
  [FONT=&quot]They advanced slowly through the chamber, eyes peeled for trouble, but like most of house above it was unfurnished, and in fact remarkably clean.

The door on the far side was closed but unlocked, and they opened it carefully, revealing a corridor beyond. It extended in two directions, ahead and to the right. Cassius took the lead, and moved into the corridor. 

Almost at once he felt the floor begin to collapse beneath his feet, and he scrambled forward frantically, managing to catch the edge and haul himself up. The floor had given way to reveal a deep pit lined with spikes.

The pit was avoidable though, and once everyone got past they advanced.

The way continued in a series of narrow tunnels and small, dark chambers with arched roofs and heavy stone buttresses to support the weight of earth above their heads. And at each door the approach was the same: Prolifica would check for any more surprises, then one of the warriors would lead the way.

After checking one such door, the Elf paused. "I hear something on the other side.", she advised. "Be ready for trouble."

Cassius lips drew back in a death-like grin. He and Sebran had been waiting for something to do. He opened the door sharply and moved down the narrow way. Ahead of him he could see it opening into a larger chamber, lit by a wavering blue luminescence. 

The room was long and contained an oblong pool, not unlike some of the Roman baths. Some radiant source beneath the surface illuminated the room, despite the murky nature of the pool. To either side crouched men with slick green skin and faces like frogs. They sprang to their feet and advanced quickly, one to either side of the pool.

They bore no weapons, but instead attempted to wrestle with the dark skinned warrior, a plan that met with little success, but a lot of cold iron.

"Look out!", cried Marcus, as a huge form swooped down on shadowed wings to join the fray.

The tenor of the conflict was soon set. The frog-like men were trying to drag people into the water, and the huge bat was simply trying to feed. As quickly as the companions could find places in the room, they joined the battle with blade and bow, staff and sling.

The bat was the most immediate threat, but the wet, clingy grasp of the frogmen carried a more fearful threat, for once in the water the air-breathers would surely be dragged down to their doom.

But iron, grit and sheer numbers prevailed, and the enemies fell, one by one. First one frog, then the other, then finally the winged monster that flitted about so madly.

"Well, that was fun!", grinned Cassius, making a playful cut at the pool to splash a bit of water onto the blood-click stone, washing a way a bit of the gore.

"You have the oddest idea of fun.", Prolifica responded dryly. 

"They have a few coin, but nothing worth getting excited about.", Penn observed, after checking the bodies. "Anything worth mentioning is probably in the pool. Somebody help me here. I've got the lightest armor, so I'll go in. One of you grab my staff and be ready to haul me out in case there's trouble."

Prolifica eyed the Bard dubiously. "Are you a good swimmer?", she asked, noting the absolute absence of athletic build. 

"Well, I hate to brag, but, well... no.", the Fey admitted. "But I dated a Water Nymph for a while."

The Elf made as if to slap him, but stayed her hand. "I'm probably better equipped for this than you are.", she said. "Be ready, in case there's trouble."

She lowered herself in carefully, feeling the cool sensation of the water on her still sore back. Taking a breath, she descended a few feet, then immediately darted back to the surface.

"There's something else in here!", she cried, grabbing hold of the proffered staff. With Cassius on one end, Penn' on the other and her grasping the middle they heaved her out of the water just inches ahead of a small, bony set of jaws. The skeletal remains of a fish, one that probably had more jaws and teeth than body when it was alive, had tried to take a bite from the Elf maid, perhaps attracted by the bloody aftermath of the cat's attack earlier.

Marcus stared into the water, now alive with motion. "I've never seen anything like this. How do they swim?" 

"Quickly!", Prolifica replied. "I guess if you don't feed your fish for a while, they get hungry."

"Well, let's give them something to eat.", Sebran suggested, heaving the bodies of the fallen into the pool. The water all but foamed as the tiny but ravenous creatures tore into the bat's flesh. The frog-like men's corpses sank slowly and unmolested out of site.

Prolifica's gaze darkened as she turned upon the Bard. "You just wanted to see me in wet clothes, didn't you?" Penn's guilty look was all the reply she needed. "You have to stop these stupid pranks. You're going to get someone killed!"

"That wasn't the only reason.", the Half-Satyr protested. "And it was your idea to go in instead of me."

The Elf all but snarled her fury as she stalked away, shaking the water from her hair and clothes.

"You set her up.", Apelenea said quietly. "You knew she'd want to find any treasure first."

Penn began to protest again, but saw that it was useless and simply threw his hands up. He knew he would always be guilty in such situations, even when he wasn't.

 [/FONT]


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

***
"Quiet!", hissed Prolifica as she listened at the door. " They had come a few rooms, and again she thought she heard something. She "jiggled" the lock as gently as she could, eased the door open and once more allowed Cassius to precede her into the corridor beyond.

The warrior hunched forward as he moved, great sword at the ready. He turned the corner, looked into the chamber beyond and froze, a look of rapture on his face. 

" _All that you seek can be found in me._", came the voice in his mind, as his eyes were all but blinded by the holy light. "_Cast away your burdens and your worldly cares, and know that all will find justice in the end._"

"What's wrong?", asked Marcus. 

"I don't know.", Prolifica replied, shoving ineffectually at the bulky warrior. "Come on you lummox, move!" 

Marcus shouldered his way forward in the narrow way, wedging himself past Cassius, to find himself facing a woman of angelic face and form, her body clothed in glory. 

" _I offer you the guiding light, that you may know the way._", she all but sang in the Cleric's mind.

And somewhere in the background, the chords of a lyre wafted over the scene, first gentle, but turning sharply more harsh. 

Marcus stood frozen for a bare moment, then tore his gaze away. "False savior!", he cried. "My way is the way of my father! See his might alive in me!!  _Titan's Stature_"

As his form swelled with divine power, he all but filled the doorway, forcing the divine vision to step back lest she be trampled. 

"Brothers!", she hissed, dropping all pretense and flexing her bat-like wings. "Upon him!" And the battle was joined. 

The Cleric found himself alone, for his allies were stuck in the corridor behind him, corked in by both his own battle stance and Cassius unresponsive form. Further, the ceiling was low enough that he couldn't stand fully upright, nor swing a weapon freely. His enemies suffered so such impediments. 

Still, he fought valiantly, smiting with his great spear, buying time while his allies found a way through. 

Prolifica managed to squeeze through, and Sylus pressed close behind, but the delay had been too much. Marcus crumpled to the floor under the triple attack, his huge form still a partial barricade before the opening. 

The Elf maid sprang over him lightly, blade in hand, but she too was quickly flanked by two hellish forms, while the third one engaged Sylus. 

"Could use some help in here!", she cried, parrying frantically, while her foes ripped and tore at her in vicious glee. 

Penn pressed himself against the side of the corridor so others could pass, even as he continued to play his battle tune, but there were none ready to join the fray. 

"We're in trouble.", Apellenea declared, even as she heard a demonic cry of triumph from the room, as another of the companions fell. 
*** 
Penn' broke off his song and turned to whisper to Appelenea, "Don't believe what you're about to see." Then he began to play a new tune.
Quote:
Silently the morning mist is lying on the water,
  captive moonlight, waiting for the dawn.
  And softly like a baby's breath, a breeze begins to whisper,
  'The sun is coming, quick, you must be gone... 
And a fog began to arise, quickly filling the corridor and the chamber beyond.

There was a scream of rage from within, and an order of, "Find them! Kill them!" 

But within the heavy shroud of obscurement, finding a foe can be a problem. There were curses and cries of frustration, but the sounds of battle ended. 

Appelenea slid past Penn and the still obdurate Cassius, and crept forward. She considered the Bard's words, then realized their meaning. Almost at once the fog faded from her view. She could still see it, but it no longer impaired her vision. She moved to the fallen Sylus and quietly dragged him back out of the battle scene. A touch of her hand and a few healing words, and his wounds closed slightly, the bleeding stopped. 

As the enemies spent precious seconds stumbling about, looking for a living opponent, she managed to reach Marcus as well, though his still titanic form was far too large for her to move. She took the risk and invoked her healing magic a second time, easing his pain, even if just a little. 

Finally, Cassius shook off his stupor. Lacking the Druid's insight or strength of will, he stumbled forward blindly, certain that there was a foe out there somewhere, but unable to see more than a few feet. 

Then, abruptly, he found himself face to face with the woman who had ensorelled him, and his great blade came down to end her beguilements. Though her demonic nature was unnaturally resilient, Caesar's gift of iron was her undoing, and she fell, surprise on her face. 

Appelenea climbed over Marcus still form, and spied the fallen Prolifica. She moved to the Elf, but discovered that she was too late. The girl they had hardly known had died from her wounds. 

Fury filled the normally peaceful Druid, and she found herself standing, blade in hand, looking for those responsible. Without a cloak of fog to hide them, the other two demons were easily seen, and she charged, her rage giving her strength. 

The first blow glanced off the being's tough hide, and she was forced to duck quickly to avoid the counterstrike. Her second strike hit solidly, yet the edge didn't bite properly. Still, its unholy blood flowed, which was reassuring. If it bleeds, it can be killed. 

Cassius was thundering and crashing about blindly, roaring his own frustration at the thick fog that hid his enemies from him. But his rage quickly gave him what he sought, for it drew the remaining demon to him like a moth to a flame. 

Claws and teeth flashed and clashed against Roman iron, the mad dance whose final movement is always death. But iron cuts deeper than claws, and the final movement of this dance belonged to the demon. 

" _I die the final death, human, but more will follow! The alignment of Demogorgon and the dark gods is complete, and your doom awaits as well._", came the final voice in his head as the corpse began to smolder. 

Penn, seeing that the fallen were no longer in danger of being mutilated out of hand, ended his song and the mist faded away. Then, outnumbered and faced with cold iron, the final demon fell, curses flowing from its mouth as blood from an open wound, to fall upon the floor without purpose. 

All that was left now was to tend to their injured and their dead, duties that could not be fulfilled in these catacombs.  
*** 
The night had been a sad one, the trek to the inn like a funeral procession, and the dawn's dim light brought little cheer. Little was known what fever might spring from demon wounds, and all were concerned. But with the dawn came renewal, and Appelenea was able to invoke her life saving magics once more. 

Once Marcus was awake, he was able to ask his father's blessings as well, and the deity responded in kind. Soon Sylus was awake as well.  

"What the hell were those things?", the Ranger asked. "I hit them, and they laughed. Their skin was as tough as iron." 

"You're close. They were fiends of the Abyss.", Marcus replied. "The leader gloated about their victory, and about the alliance her master had made with the dark gods. She doesn't care about the book, she just wants chaos and destruction." 

"Well, I didn't have a problem hurting them.", Cassius said, examining his blade in confusion. He expected to find nicks in the blade, or places where the edge had been turned by striking iron-hard hide, but there were none. 

"That's because your blade is made of cold iron. Caesar was more generous than he intended.", Marcus explained. "Cold iron is the bane of many from the depths. Others fear silver." 

"Well, I'm finding a weapons smith today and getting a new blade.", Sylus said firmly. He looked at his old sword sadly, the dark bronze reflecting the light as if it were covered in blood. "Even if it does rust, I'm getting some iron." 

"Where's Prolifica?", asked Marcus, suddenly missing the slight Elven woman. 

"On Temple hill, in a common grave I'm afraid.", came the reply. "Her friends were few, and only one stood for the prayers. But she fell fighting the enemies of the gods, and I'm sure she found her way to the Elysian Fields." 
***
"So what happened?", Seeburn asked groggily. "And where's the Elf?"

"Prolifica is dead.", the highlander was told solemnly. "She was killed by a team of Demons while we were exploring the old catacombs. You were there. She was buried yesterday." 

"Yesterday?", the wild-haired half-Elf asked in surprise. "How long was I out?" 

"You've been on a drunken bender for two days.", Penn answered gravely. "That brew of yours is stronger than you think. I'm sorry I refilled your small cask." 

Seeburn struggled to clear his foggy head. The Half Satyr's potion had cleared his hangover, but the aftermath of a binge like his was not so easily dismissed. Then remembrance began, as bits and pieces of their misadventure began to assemble themselves in his mind. "There were three of them...", he muttered. "One looked like an angel. I remember that much." 

"Yes, her magic caught you, and kept you out of the fray.", Apellenea reminded him. "Was that why you got drunk? Were you blaming yourself for not saving Prolifica?" 

"No.", grumbled the Barbarian. "I got drunk because I drank too much.", and he refused to address the matter further. 

"She had a friend.", Seeburn said, changing the subject. "I remember something about her having a friend. Where is she?" 

"Look down.", Penn suggested quietly. 

"High there.", said the Halfling, looking up at the tall Half Elf. "They told me you were clueless, but I didn't believe the half of it." 

"This is Euphemia.", Sylus said, by way of introduction. 

"Well, I don't have to guess what your trade is.", Seeburn said, after measuring her diminutive stature. "Miss 'not really my name'. Couldn't you have been more imaginative?" 

"I could have been, but my parents liked it.", she replied with a laugh. Then things got serious.  

"So, when do I get a crack at the things that killed my friend?", she asked firmly. 

"Those particular fiends are gone, but the ones they serve are still around.", Penn explained. 

"He means we killed them, but there are more.", Cassius explained. 
*** 
The door of the old house had been set back into place by someone, perhaps the night watch, but it hadn't been repaired. The broken parts were easily shifted aside, and just as easily put back in place. No need to attract more attention than they needed to.

They made their way quickly to the hidden door in the root cellar, bypassed the still-open pit trap, and faced a decision. 

The last time they had gone straight ahead, but there was a corridor heading off to the right as well. They elected to follow "the path not taken", and went to the right. 

The rooms were still devoid of furnishings, or even dust on the floor, which was in many ways more unsettling than rats and refuse might have been. 

Euphemia proved her skill at "jiggling" locks more than once, but her hand never seemed to stray far from the blade she carried. This place had taken her friend, and she would not fall prey to carelessness. 

Cassius was also concerned, and made it a habit of letting the small Rogue open the doors, but then displacing her to lead the way into the rooms and corridors they discovered. 

One such door opened to an odd sight. There was a veil of darkness that began barely a pace past the doorway, and ran the length of the room. 

"Bring that torch over here.", he called, and the burning brand was passed to him. But even its light failed to illuminate the further recesses of the chamber, and so the burly warrior advanced slowly. 

That caution saved him. As he stepped into the room, the torch held forward, he felt it touch something, and then with a hiss it was extinguished. The air before him shimmered wetly in response to the contact, and he realized that something was there, like a pool of water filling the room at an impossible angle. 

His sword swung free and he slashed at the surface, half expecting it to flood over him once he broke the surface. But his blade met that same thick resistance, and his friends drew back to give him room. 

The wall of clear ooze surged forward, catching Cassius by surprise, and he found himself drowning in thick nothingness, a nothingness that muffled his screams, and chilled him to the bone even as it seared his flesh. He struggled to pull free, but his limbs refused to obey him. He was trapped. 

Penn considered trying to pull his friend free, but realized the futility of the effort. He could barely move the Carthaginian when there wasn't something holding him, so instead he drew the light bow Seeburn had given him and began to loose arrows at the monster. Beside him Marcus was doing the same with his crossbow, and Sylus stood behind, firing between their ranks. 

The monster responded by moving like a nightmare, with a slow pace that a man should easily be able to evade, yet swift enough that somehow they couldn't. And suddenly Penn and Marcus were overwhelmed by the same cold tide that had taken Cassius, the cold grip that numbed and chilled, coupled with the searing pain, like liquid fire. 

Sylus cast his bow behind him and drew his blade, while Seeburn struggled to pull his friends free of the living pool. 

There was no way to tell if the near-invisible monster was being injured in any way, for slashing at it was like stabbing a lake. When the blade was withdrawn, the surface looked the same. 

But the monster was being injured, losing some of its form and substance with each strike. And as Seeburn gave a final heave on Cassius inert form, the horror suddenly released him, and he came free with a wet sucking sound. 

At the same time, Sylus took a long slash, trying to open the surface as much as possible, and the monster suddenly lost its shape all together. 

None could tell if it was dead, or merely retreating to some underground pool, but the gelatinous horror seemed to liqueify, and drained slowly through the floor until there was nothing left. 

Even so, those afflicted were unable to respond for several minutes. In Cassius' case, it was only by holding a shiny blade near his nostrils that they were able to confirm that he was still breathing.  

Then, finally, Marcus stirred, stifling a cry as life rushed back to his limbs like a flood of pins and needles. The others soon followed.


----------



## Greenfield (Apr 30, 2012)

*** 
"Hold the line tight!", called the diminutive Rogue, as she probed the darkness ahead of her.

"I doubt there's anything in there.", Cassius declared for about the fifth time. 

"You're probably right", Euphemia replied, for about the fifth time as well, but this time she added, "But if we don't check to be sure, we might miss something." 

Suddenly, Seeburn felt the rope pull tight, and they heard a "whoof" from the darkness. 

"Found a pit trap!", Euphemia grunted. "Pull me back up, quick!" 

The sound of rushing water could be heard from the obscured area, followed by sputtering and cursing as their friend surfaced for a breath. "I hate water traps!", she swore. "Did I ever mention that? I hate water traps!" 

She dragged herself out, and continued with her search, which ultimately proved fruitless. 

She looked something like a drowned rat when she came sloshing out of the darkness, and had a look in her eye that dared anyone to say a word. None took up that challenge, though Penn' did mutter a minor spell to dry her off. 
*** 
"This place makes no sense.", the Rogue declared. "Empty rooms, dead end tunnels, and passages that zig-zag all over the place. They aren't following natural caves or fissures, it's as if some drunk just decided to go digging for the fun of it."

"You're right, it does look like Dwarven work.", joked Penn in agreement. "Still, it's better than being bored." 

They had retraced their path to where Prolifica had died, and were unsurprised to find that the remains of the demons were gone. The room was as spotlessly clean as all the others had been, probably thanks to that blob of animated acidic goo they'd fought. 

But there was another door from that room, and they proceeded onward. The path twisted and turned, as had so many others, and like so many others it terminated in a small chamber with no other exits. Another dead end. 

Suddenly, Penn felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, and a tiny demon appeared from nowhere. 

He swung his staff at it, a clumsy blow that the minute fiend dodged with laughing ease. 

Cassius rushed forward to help, but was quickly attacked by another of the creatures that popped into existence as he passed. A third one struck at Marcus, his barbed tail drawing blood. 

Then it became an almost comedic dance as the warriors attempted to close with the flitting fiends, which danced in to strike and then either dodged out of reach again or simply vanished. Some blows struck solidly, but most met only thin air. 

"They're working together!", called Sylus, as his tactician's eye discerned the pattern of their movement. "Pair up, back to back, so they can't flank you, trap them between you when you can." 

Penn stepped in to cover Cassius' back, and Marcus paired with Seeburn. When the fiends began to adjust to the new tactics, Sylus and Euphemia moved in to block their movements, and the tide of the battle shifted. First one of the demons fell, and then another as cold iron and teamwork took the field. The last, with a look of desperation on his bony face, dropped towards the floor in a surprise maneuver, and vanished from sight. 

"He went that way!", called Penn, as he felt the rush of tiny wings move past him, but none could see a target, and the beastie made his escape. 

Marcus was the only one actually injured, and he peeled his armor back to examine the wound. It was small, barely more than a scratch, but it was puffy and discolored, and the blood oozing from it looked slightly purplish. 

"You don't look so good.", Seeburn noted, as the Jovian Cleric staggered to a wall.  

"The wound is poisoned.", Marcus replied, as he pressed the torn flesh in an effort to force out the toxin. His pallor turned a bit green and his hands began to shake, but his ministrations were apparently sufficient to the task, for he grew no worse, and after a few minutes he bandaged the area and pulled his armor back into place. 

"Why don't you heal that?", Seeburn asked as he helped the Cleric to his feet. 

"I want to let it drain.", Marcus explained. "If I close the wound, all the poison will be trapped inside. Better to let it bleed a bit, at least for now." 

"Well, those were the second set of demons guarding this area.", Penn observed. "I think we should poke around a bit, because you don't leave guards on an empty room." 

The group began to search, working in pairs as they systematically probed the various blocks that made up the walls of the room. It took some time, but Seeburn finally found a loose stone. He used his dagger to prize it loose, and discovered a dug out hollow in the wall. 

Within were a matched pair of carved wooden sticks, and a thick bundle of papers, wrapped in an oiled skin to protect them from the damp. 

"Is this what we're looking for?", he asked, holding them up with a smile? 

"Looks like it might be.", agreed Marcus. "What do they say?" 

Seeburn leafed through the pages in slight confusion. "I don't know. I never learned to read. But this symbol here is the same one as on the cover we found." 

Marcus took the pages and looked them over. They were the missing pages, if the preface was to be believed, but they were something to be examined far from this place, where the sun shone and neither demons nor undead trod the halls. 

They secured their prize, and made their way out. 
***
Epilogue: The carved sticks turned out to be willow wands decorated with the intertwined snakes of Hermes, or Mercury as he was known in this city. Though some of their power was spent, they held healing magics, and were set aside for emergency use.

Their contact confirmed that the pages were indeed the ones he was looking for, and rewarded them for their service. 

Seeburn decided to learn to read, and asked Nedel to teach him what he could, not just of letters but of magic as well, for though the highlander was unschooled, he was by no means stupid. 

Penn purchased the demon stone that had been used to enscorell Cassius and Seeburn in their battle. Though the magic was one reserved for the servants of a deity, the Bard seemed to think he might be able to make it serve him. 

The autumn leaves had begun to turn outside, and the companions decided that they might winter in the area, though probably outside of the city proper. There was a certain Magistrate who would be very unhappy if he saw Seeburn again. 

(Finis)


----------

