# The Chronicles of the Grey Company (Lost City of Barakus)



## OnCider (Oct 21, 2003)

*Prelude - A Rude Awakening*

Terr Endglade was dimly aware of warm sunlight hitting his face shortly before the bucket of water did. Gasping for breath, he quickly came to his senses and noticed his unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a jail cell. The bright sunlight was streaming through the barred window highlighting his bed of the previous evening, a crude pallet of straw. Terr had no idea how he had got there although his throbbing head gave a clue that his amnesia would only be temporary.

"Get up!"

The prison guard decided that a kick to Terr's side would lend an air of intimidation to his barked order, whether it needed it or not.  Terr lurched to his unsteady feet uttering a quick prayer to Zheenkeef.  Unfortunately, as was invariably the case, the Goddess of Wine was unsympathetic.

It was not long before Terr returned to the floor again; the guard threw his already tender body to the street outside the city jail. Despite the unfriendly concept that he was lying on his back in the gutter of one of Endhome's major thoroughfares, Terr decided that this was infinitely preferable to any alternative that involved opening his eyes. Terr's usually quick mind probed at the fog surrounding the previous evening's memories and tried to piece together the events that had led to his eventual incarceration.

The last day of the Festival of the Word was traditionally a day that wizards threw off their customary reserved natures and celebrated one of Tinel's feast days. For the graduates of the college this was especially the case. Endhome had grown warily tolerant of the magical hijinx that followed the graduation from the city's wizard college, but in Terr's case that toleration had obviously passed its breaking point.

It was clear in Terr's mind that he and a few friends had immediately decamped to a tavern.  What was its name again? Ah yes, _The Merry Minstrel_. The last thing Terr had wanted to do was go back to his father's locksmith shop after graduation and get drawn into helping out his father. Terr had long decided that he would follow in his brother Roland's footsteps and follow a career of adventure and everyone knows that a tavern is where adventures start.

The evening had been going well before Scarface and his cronies had turned up. Terr was well into his repertoire of bawdy songs, "A Wizard has Crystal Balls" was being tunelessly "sung" to the clientele (including the tavern's eponymous bard who had long since given up trying to out-sing his audience and was feeling decidedly less than merry) when Scarface's familiar mocking tone had interrupted his flow.

"Your father must be really proud that you've put his meagre earnings to such good use, Lockie".

Scarface always had a knack of saying Terr's nickname in a derisive way that set his teeth on edge. He may have had a point though. Terr's father had worked long and hard to get enough money together to put Terr through wizard's college, unlike Scarface's. Terr, however, had not been in a fit state to reason this and took the remark as it was undoubtedly intended, as an insult.

Then there was the fight, and then the guards. Terr had a dim memory of the destruction that they'd caused the tavern shortly before he'd been hauled off by the guards.

Alone.

Scarface had seen to that. His father was some local noble who held more than a little sway with the local authorities. All he'd had to do was mention his father's name and as far as the guards were concerned, everything he had said was fact. Terr realised that he should probably be thankful that all he got was one night in the cells.

A feeling of nausea brought Terr's musings back to the present and his nostrils quickly caught the fetid stench of the nearby gutter. He rolled onto his bruised side and vomited violently. It was quite a while after Terr's stomach was empty that his retching finally stopped, but it did have the welcome effect of clearing his head enough to convince him that standing was once more an option. Terr struggled to his feet and set off, blinking in the harsh sunlight, towards the Merry Minstrel.  He had left his belongings there the night before and who knows, he might get a discount for not actually staying in the room...


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## Stone Angel (Oct 22, 2003)

Very interesting more please


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## OnCider (Oct 22, 2003)

Corwyn Darkmantle had almost given up.

He was down to his last pennies and had made no progress at all in finding out anything about the mysterious Cane. The seething rage that had propelled him to Endhome in search of his former mentor’s past had subsided into a feeling of inadequacy bordering on resignation.

Drasek Cane, though, was his only lead.  Many of Cane’s stories of his past had seemed to centre on Endhome, and so the port city was Corwyn’s first destination in his attempt to discover the truth behind his murder and that of his parents.

Try as he might, Corwyn could not help but dwell on the image of his parent’s murder. He tortured himself with the thoughts of the last moments of his parent’s lives. How his father, Ethone, was bound and forced to witness the violation and slow death of his wife. The haunted expression that fixed his father’s features even in death was even more horrific to Corwyn than any of the butchery that had caused it.

When Cane’s body was discovered the same night and it was confirmed that the same cruel knife cuts were the cause of his demise, Corwyn was deprived of the only people he had ever looked up to.

Corwyn wrenched his mind away and took a long draft of his ale before calling the innkeeper for a refill.

Pugh, the innkeeper of the Merry Minstrel, had so far tolerated Corwyn’s grim demeanour because his money was good, but he had a feeling that the continual presence of one so obviously dark was driving away his regular customers. It was bad enough having to placate them after the “festivities” of the previous evening, _damn wizards_, without losing even more custom. He filled the tankard with his cheapest ale while nodded a greeting to another stranger entering the bar. Pugh recognised her as having called a couple of days previously asking after Darkmantle and so he indicated Corwyn’s presence with another nod.

Her entrance had not gone unnoticed by Corwyn. This was the tracker he’d arranged to meet.  After the name of Drasek Cane had drawn nothing but blanks, Corwyn had decided in desperation to try to get some help in his endeavours.  He had nailed a poster in the marketplace seeking a tracker. The fact that he could offer little in the way of recompense meant that there had been no takers.  Until this one. But then the doubts resurfaced. How could he convince this woman to help him? How could she help him? Settlestone was a month’s travel away and any signs of the murder would have long since disappeared.

“Corwyn Darkmantle?”

Corwyn looked up into a face that immediately gave him hope. In that face he recognised a look of desperation that he'd only previously seen in a mirror.

“I’m Kat Cavelle, I heard you were in need of a tracker”.


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