Ravenloft: Beyond the Mists

Let me begin by saying this is one of those Old Skewl threads that got lost after I took a long hiatus from role playing. At the time I was running two simultaneous campaigns that were all interconnected in this massive story arc that was supposed to be finished by the end of college. However, just like every DM my players threw me for a loop. In any event we recently got to play a few more sessions and I went to update the old logs, but couldn't find them! At the time, I was trying to post everything from both stories and I think that got confusing so what I am going to do is reserve this thread strictly for the Ravenloft portion of the mega campaign. Suffice it to say that after many years we have still not completed even 1/3 of it (but are very close). The story involves 3 distinct parts, each from a different perspective:

1. Ravenloft (or Ground Zero)
2. Greyhawk- Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil (or Ripples)
3. Rokugan (or Prophecy)...those of you who enjoyed Kevin Kulp's Of Sound Mind will enjoy this altered version I think

I'm digging through the archives as we speak and writing the most recent stuff simultaneously, so I figure by the time I finish all the posting of old material I can post the new stuff. This time I will be smart; however, and SUBSCRIBE to the thread For those of you who are interested in the RttToEE part of the game, you can see all the logs and info by going to my website:

Shadowgate Chronicles

And without further ado...

Prologue

Richfest, 591 CY

I write this journal for I know that the end is near. Under normal circumstances I would dismiss such apocalyptic visions, but the evidence is too convincing this time. I only hope that this journal is kept safe from the ravages of the Armageddon as it tears through the fabric of our reality.

I have cast my most powerful enchantments upon this tome to warn the future survivors of the follies of the past. It is all too ironic that I did not see it coming. Every action was so well placed to evoke a precise reaction…it was like a game…and I have lost. In any event, I have not yet warned the other members of the Circle, for fear that they might attempt something rash. No, this time I cannot take a direct hand in events; I can only nurture hope. My contact with Nahlar the Questioner, a powerful Planar sage, has been unsuccessful at best. From what limited correspondence has revealed, he too notes the increase in size of the Demiplane of Dread. Nahlar has always been an accurate source of intelligence, but recently he has been all but inaccessible. His peers inform me that he is on a foolish quest with a benevolent demon by the name of Erandu to end the Blood Wars. In all my years I had always believed that Nahlar was an impassive scholar, devoted only to the pursuit of knowledge. Apparently the creature known as Erandu has been able to shatter the wall surrounding Nahlar’s better judgment and pull at the heartstrings of his heroism…I am sure that he will die foolishly with that visionary.

My powers in divination, although strong, have not been perfected. I have lost three Oracles this month in trying to discern the truth that is hidden behind the Mists. My efforts have been repaid in frustration and the death of three promising wizards. It sounds irrational, but I think the Mists have their own consciousness…their own thoughts. The Dark Powers that control them seem to tease me with bits and pieces of the puzzle without revealing their ultimate agenda. From what the Children of Shade tell me, the Demiplane of Shadow is slowly being engulfed. The Grandmaster of Shadows is not pleased with these developments and has sent his personal army on a crusade against the growing tide of evil. I fear that even he will be powerless to stop it. I have concluded that something must be done from within the Demiplane itself to have any real bearing on the future. I have tried to contact Azalin, but all communications have failed. The Dark Powers are content to allow me to watch, but not to intervene. There seems to be some small contingent of hapless adventurers from a world that is foreign to me within the Demiplane itself. All of the prophecies point to them as our one true chance at salvation…may the Gods protect them.

There is growing unrest in Flanaess. I am receiving reports constantly from my sources all over the continent. The reports pass across my desk faster than I can read them; although, one report was of interest to me. Seemingly unimportant, the report spoke of a small town by the name of Oakhurst. Normally this type of problem is not of any concern to the balance of forces in the universe. I find it coincidental that the druid named Belak the Outcast should be responsible for this disturbance not one month into his eviction from the Order of the Thorn. He was banished from the Order because of his dark experimentation on plant life. Again, this event seems isolated from any form of relevancy, but I was recently informed that the speeches he gave to his disciples spoke of a “darkness rising from beyond the Veil.” Members of the Order sent out some of their men to…dispatch the mad druid. My reports indicated that they succeeded in destroying his plans, but failed to extinguish his flame. They are now headed to quell an orcish uprising in the Yatil Mountains. I fear that the Dark Powers have their tendrils in all of these events to distract us from their true objective: the Temple of Elemental Evil. I am certain that while I am addressing all of these minor problems that the Temple is building its strength, in preparation for the impending arrival of the Demiplane of Dread. With the resurrection of the Temple, no doubt Iuz is somehow involved. If the Chosen fail in their attempts, we will be forced to wage war from this side of the Veil. The Temple will assuredly be the battleground in either scenario. I must work quickly to force events in motion in case the Chosen do fail. We must be ready at any cost!

-Mordenkainen, High Defender of Flanaess and Leader of the Circle of Eight

Meshtar, Jiqui (Lower Realms of Nymbardax): 7th of Blue, 987 ASG

“This is outrageous!”

Baclian Aeureas glanced over at the fuming Xenos Taraque from over his steepled hands. Baclian was an old man and people his age were prone to senility at around this time of their lives; however, The High Priest of Salvx and Leader of the Righteous was afforded no such leniency. House Aeureas had been producing leaders for many centuries and Baclian was believed to be the strongest man they had ever created. Baclian, like his father, was a fair man-hard-but fair. The decision to remove the Captain of the Watch from his investigation was not wholly political in nature. His candidate, Monsette Dezerai, was highly recommended from the Priests of Viminau as the most capable investigator they had. Although the man had no real field experience, allowing a Priest of Viminau on this case would help further relations between the priesthoods and ultimately benefit the city.

“I understand your frustration Xenos,” Baclian intoned impassively. “Let me remind you that you are not being removed from your position as lead investigator…I am simply supplying you with a partner. Two heads are better than one.”

Whether it was the realization of who he was talking to or discipline the Knights of Justice had instilled in him, Xenos visibly calmed himself.

“High Priest Aeureas. I do not wish to usurp your judgment; however, I must protest. I know very well that this “partner” will now take over my position. You will completely undermine my authority if you remove me from this investigation!”

The boy was smart…smarter than he should be. Unfortunately, he was not cut out for politics. Baclian felt the weight of responsibility crush him as he saw what he had to do. Harm him to help him; remember: this is for his own good.

“Captain are you telling me what to do?! You shouldn’t verse anyone in matters of investigation, when you yourself know nothing of the sort! There is a madman in our city and so far we have allowed him to run free for nearly a complete cycle of the moon! YOU have allowed him to run free as result of your negligence! Monsette Dezerai will be given complete cooperation by everyone under your command and accorded civility. Am I making myself clear Captain?”

Xenos’ face blanched visibly under the castigation.

“Y-y-es High Priest Aeureas. I understand.”

Baclian watched the most heavily decorated of Salvx’s soldiers, Xenos Taraque leave his audience room rigid as steel. The High Priest didn’t have time enough to recover, as an older man with a silk vest and a pipe in mouth poked his head into the room shortly after. Gathering up his resolve, Baclian put on his best face for the entering priest.

“Ah yes, Monsette Dezerai. Please come in.”

Monsette was in his mid thirties. As he entered the room and sat down, his back remained ramrod straight. Monsette had a small mouth, an arched nose, a balding forehead, and small ears. From what his report said, the Priest of Viminau had spent most of his life in the Great Library as a librarian, filling his mind with useful knowledge that would later serve him in life.

“So Monsette, why is it that I should give you this case? Xenos is an excellent man; shouldn’t I leave it with him?”
“The right to assign this case is yours Hight Priest; however, I would like to inform you of what I have learned. Over the past month, this case has interested me and I have been doing my own investigations on the matter in private. I am sure that Xenos is a perfectly capable man for the job, but it appears as if the obvious has been overlooked. First, one will note that the serial killer has moved up his/her timetable. In the beginning the killer was content with one murder every week; however, this last week has seen a murder every night. Judging from his psychotic profile, I believe that he/she is attempting to culminate the murders at the full moon. Many deranged individuals believe that the full moon gives supernatural powers to those with the proper…skills. A foolish belief, but one that will serve this investigation. Also, all the murders committed were on clergy members. Whether these individuals were gifted by the powers of their gods was irrelevant…they were all high-ranking city officials. Stapling the eviscerated bodies to the wall suggest a ritualistic behavior which supports the idea that our killer has supernatural beliefs. The fact that most of the victims were disemboweled while they were alive hints at the degree of the killer’s psychotic behavior."

Monsette took another puff from his pipe, before standing up and moving towards the High Priest’s desk. The investigator knew exactly what he was doing as he rummaged through various maps strewn all over the bureau until he found a detailed map of the city.

“May I,” Monsette inquired as he pulled the map to the top of the pile and began drawing dots with a nearby quill.

“The murder did not strike at random. Notice how the city was constructed in a perfect octagonal shape. The first victim, a Priest of Majar was killed at the very northern edge of town and look over here and again over here.”

Monsette was scribbling dots all over the expensive map Baclian had received as a gift from his fellow Brothers at the Temple of Ishtar. Baclian was not pleased with the act Monsette was delivering.

“Get to the point Monsette!”

The self-absorbed investigator jumped at the High Priests words, as if his mind had drifted for a moment.

“Yes yes, of course. You don’t see it do you? Let’s see if I can’t paint you a picture…”

Monsette’s hand began to draw lines from one dot to the next in exactly straight lines as the blood drained from Baclian Aeureas’ face.

“May Salvx have mercy,” the High Priest whispered.

“That’s right your Excellency, it is a pentagram…an upside-down pentagram. And I have feeling that the full moon tomorrow will be the killer’s last target for quite sometime,” Monsette intoned as he stabbed a point on the star that did not contain a dot.

“Go get Xenos, Monsette and find this killer quickly! I needn’t remind you that all of us are counting on you.”

Monsette bowed reverently before leaving the audience chamber. He did not hear the High Priest Baclian Aeureas begin to murmur simple prayers of salvation as he exited.

Meshtar, Jiqui (Lower Realms of Nymbardax): 8th of Blue, 987 ASG

Xenos Taraque hated the fact that he had been replaced, but what bothered him the most was that he was forced to take “suggestions” from a greenhorn like Dezerai. He was certain that the aging investigator was taking great pleasure in his discomfort. Well, he would be the last one laughing when Monsette failed in this assignment!

“Is everything ready Sir Taraque,” Monsette asked in a detached voice as he surveyed the map draped over the table.

“Yes Monsette, I have positioned my men as you instructed.”

“Good. Remember to instruct them as to the nature of this operation. We are to remain anonymous until the killer makes his move. None of the guards are to wear their uniforms or carry blatant weaponry.”

“I am not fool Monsette, I heard you the first time!”

“I am sure you did…in any event, I also require a bodyguard as I am to tour the scene myself to make sure that everything goes according to plan.”

“I know just the man for the job. His name is Samuel Fairheart; he is a recent acquisition for the Knights of Justice. A brilliant swordsman, who has achieved the rank of District Sentinel at the young age of twenty. He will accompany you on your rounds.” And with any luck the murder will find you as you stroll through the streets!

Monsette watched the proud Xenos Taraque leave the room. As soon as the Captain of the Watch left, Monsette began to change his clothes. He discarded the priestly robes he was wearing in favor of his tweed pants and silk shirt. While he began assembling his investigation tools, Monsette began to run through the plan again: The killer’s relative position is obvious, but he is no fool. He knew that we would figure him out eventually, so he picked the Warehouse District to make his final kill. I have assigned over half the city Watch to that area, but will they be enough? I could not assign more without troubling the local populous…after all, I might be wrong…no, not this time. I know he will strike there…I know it. Let’s hope that this Samuel Fairheart is not as big a fool as Xenos!

As Monsette was completing his preparations for this evening’s excursion, he heard a knock at the door. Calmly, the priest finished placing all of his items in his backpack before he moved to open the door. The young man standing on the other end of the doorway was handsome to say the least. His bright blue eyes were full of passion and virtue; his blonde hair only pronounced his features more angelically. There was an eagerness in his movements and a smile framing his face.

“Good evening Monsette Dezerai, my name is Samuel Fairheart. I was assigned to protect you on our mission tonight.”
“Good evening Brother Fairheart. I am sure you will do an admirable job, as I don’t have to tell you how important and dangerous tonight’s events will be.”
“Do not fear Monsette, I have been District Sentinel for that area for almost a year now. You are safe in my custody.”
“I am pleased to hear it…”

Monsette’s sentence drifted off as his gaze wondered to the washbasin on his dresser. The light reflecting off of the water was red. Monsette turned his attention towards the heavens directly outside his window.

“Is something the matter sir,” Samuel inquired.
“That’s strange…the moon is…red.”
“An ill omen.”
“Omen? You aren’t a superstitious man are you Samuel? I can’t stand ignorance. You realize that the truth comes in many shapes and forms, its just a matter of understanding it. I am sure this is an optical illusion brought upon by the cloud cover…nothing more.”
“If you say so sir,” Samuel replied uncertainly.

The walk to the Warehouse District was; fortunately, boring in nature. Twenty-five square blocks of the district had been sectioned off for various teams to patrol. As this district was sparsely populated, it made the job of patrolling much easier, but vastly more difficult all at once. On the one hand, it would be easier to spot suspicious activity, but on the other hand it would be difficult to note suspicious activity with all of the empty warehouses. Monsette and Sam were not assigned to any one team; instead they were considered a “roving unit,” able to move freely in the secured perimeter. Sam made idle conversation with Monsette during their rounds to ease some of the tension, but Monsette was not very responsive. The investigator’s eyes were always roving…searching for anything out of the ordinary.

“Strange isn’t it,” Sam said.

Monsette was not even paying attention to what Sam was saying, but the word ‘strange’ snatched him out of his reverie immediately.

“What’s strange?” Monsette hissed.
“Just the fact that we have fog on a night like this. Normally, this time of year, there isn’t enough moisture in the air to produce this kind of weather…strange.”

Monsette was about to respond with a patented “don’t-get-superstitious-or-I-will-give-you-a-lecture-on-truth” speech, when he saw a dark shape move through the fog. Motioning for Sam to follow, Monsette led the pair down a deserted alleyway. The alley stopped at a dead end, with only a rotting wooden door to furnish its dilapidated holdings. Monsette’s keen senses were able to detect that the door’s rusted lock had been smashed and part of the door with it. Monsette motioned for Sam to follow him as he approached the portal.

“Shouldn’t we go get help first?”
“Don’t worry about it Sam, I’m sure its nothing. If there is a problem, then we can go get help. No use in moving valuable men around for no reason is there?”
“Well…I suppose not, but I have this bad feeling again.”
“Sam…this bad feeling is called ‘stress’…everyone has it…even me.”

Monsette ended the pep talk with a well-timed smile. Sam wasn’t sure what motivated Sam to follow him after that…the pep talk or duty itself.

Carefully pushing in the creaky door, Monsette made his way inside the abandoned warehouse. Aisles and aisles of crates, stacked upon one another, created a small avenue system inside the warehouse itself. Fog had somehow entered the structure through a hole in the wall, because there was a blanket covering the entire floor of the warehouse. Monsette wasn’t sure how to explain this one, but the fog was the last thing to worry about right now. Both Sam and Monsette made their way down one of the aisles slowly and deliberately. Sam had to light a torch, because the visibility in the warehouse was so bad…the light had almost no helpful effects other than to give their position away to a possible enemy. Was it Monsette’s imagination, or was the fog rising higher off of the ground? No…that’s impossible.

“Over there sir…I think I see something,” Sam said as he pointed at one of the piles of crates. As they approached, Monsette began to make out the shape: it was human body, stapled to the crates. Monsette had heard reports on the killings, but he had never actually witnessed it first hand. He had to control himself in order to prevent from vomiting. It was the same pattern. The victim had been stapled, while living, to a hard surface and his thoracic cavity cut open with a sharp object: a dagger probably. The trauma from the laceration had undoubtedly killed the victim. This one was a Knight of Justice…no doubt one of the men he had sent to patrol the area.

“Do you like it,” a voice asked from the darkness.

Both men wheeled at the sound, weapons at the ready.

“My work,” the voice continued, “do you like it?”

“Who are you? Show yourself!”
The fog was rising! What is going on?!

A man stepped out from behind a set of crates. He was a middle-aged unkempt human male of average disposition. His wild red hair added to the tinge of madness in his eye, but all of these were details: what was really important was the stained butcher knife in his hand.

“Give yourself up, we have you surrounded,” Sam said mechanically.

“Fool! The time is upon us! The Darkness will claim you and this world, but my service will give me rewards beyond comprehension. Even now it begins…you are doomed! DOOMED!”

With that, the madman began to run away, towards the back of the warehouse. Sam needed no encouragement to pursue the suspect and the fog was increasing rapidly in this place, making visibility nearly impossible. Both Sam and Monsette ran as fast as their legs could carry them.

That’s strange, shouldn’t we have hit the wall by now?

Monsette didn’t have time to ponder what was happening; for, as he burst from the mist's embrace he found himself running towards a house. Sam was a few yards in front of him, right on the tail of the suspect. The house was really a mansion, from the construction and the elaborate designs adorning it. It must have been old too from the look of the gothic statues and woodcarvings. Monsette had never seen a mansion like this and he began to question why it was in the middle of a city he knew by heart. He shook these thoughts from his mind as he saw the fleeing suspect enter the house. Lighting ripped through the sky, followed by the sound of thunder. Monsette barely made it inside before the torrential downpour hit.

Looking at Sam he could see the confusion in his blue eyes. All of his fears were replaced by new ones as the door he had just entered, closed and locked itself…things were going from bad to worse.

October 7th, 747- "The only thing we must fear, is fear itself"

The foyer of the enormous mansion contained a large ballroom and a winding staircase that led to an upper level balcony, which overlooked the dance floor. Hallways led off to the right, undoubtedly to more rooms. The staircase had various designs worked into the rail, the most noticeable being nymphs in revealing positions. The red carpeting that ascended the staircase seemingly blanketing the entire second floor. A chandelier of antlers provided the only source of light in this morbid house as it swung hypnotically back and forth; its meager light illuminating a small door off to the side of the staircase.

"Where did he go so quickly?" the worry in his voice blatantly obvious.
"Let's check the first floor and then work our way up."

With every step, the floorboards creaked and lightning illuminated the shadows for a mere second. The experience was unnerving. Both of the holy men clutched their symbols for strength as they made their way to the first door. Monsette stood ready with his sword as Sam prepared to fling it open and shed the light of Justice upon its inhabitants. Empty. The next door; empty. They were all guestrooms that were devoid of furniture, save a dilapidated bed and nightstand. Strange...Making their way down the maze of hallways led the pair to a private garden. A flagstone trail led out of the glass double doors, meandering towards a broken fountain filled with sludge. The men looked at each other knowingly before grimly heading upstairs.

Monsette thought he heard something when he reached the top of the stairs, but he couldn't quite make sense of it. As the pair explored the rooms on the second level, they began to note the opulence of this house's former inhabitants. A grandiose balcony overlooking the front lawn, a collection of rare books, a study filled with strange artifacts, and enough rooms to house a small army. So why is it that no one lives here? The sound became more and more audible…like breathing, as if someone was taking wheezing breathes! Sam's knuckles went white with the strain of his grip on the rapier he was carrying.

"Let's get downstairs Sam, I have had enough of this."

Sam didn't even bother to respond as he hurried to plow a path down the stairs, towards the door. The locked door had no effect on the Knight of Justice as he barreled himself into it and bounced off with equal force. Rubbing his shoulder as he got up, Sam suggested trying to hack their way out. Monsette couldn't think of a better idea, so they got to it. As the steel tasted the ancient oak doorway, it drew blood..black blood. This only made the pair hack faster. With every stroke, more blood seeped from the doorway and pooled at the feet of the men. So busy were Sam and Monsette that they did not notice the puddle of blood conglomerate and shoot forth a tendril. Sam barely managed to twist to the side as a stream of black liquid burnt its way through his armor and skin. In a scream of rage Sam thrust his rapier into the puddle of black ooze and watched the steel of his blade hiss. Monsette brought his sword down upon the creature with similar results before attempting a new plan.

"Sam, keep it busy!"

Backing up a distance, Monsette began to light a torch as his friend battled the amorphous abomination. Sam was in desperate need of help by the time Monsette was ready to carry out his plan.

"Sam, stand back!"

In one deft movement, Monsette hurled a flask of oil and the lit torch at the creature. Both men watched as the flask exploded on contact, showering the abomination with oil before the torch ignited the fluid. The energy emitted from the reaction was enough to throw both men to the ground and catch Monsette's cloak on fire. With some help from Sam, that problem was quickly extinguished.

"You can't escape. She won't let you!"

Monsette and Sam new that voice all too well. Turning around slowly, they saw their suspect out on the middle of the dance floor. Monsette would have been tempted to view this as irony...if he was a violent man.

"What are you talking about," Sam demanded impatiently.
"You are doomed...DOOMED!"

Keeping a level head, Monsette responded: "You said that before. Why don't you make this easy on yourself and give up?"

The angry Knight of Justice was on the verge of rushing the madman when the lights from the chandelier simply vanished, blanketing the room in darkness. Monsette thought he heard a strange gurgling sound just before the lights came on again. The room was empty again; the killer nowhere in sight.

"Where did he go," Sam asked anxiously.

Monsette was about to give a encouraging answer when he noticed something on the far wall...something was leaking out of the stone. The investigator approached, unable to contain his curiosity. Upon closer inspection, Monsette realized it was blood...blood was dripping from the wall! The priest tried to back away, but the dripping turned into a spray of blood that engulfed him and the rest of the dance floor. Slipping and sliding in panic, Monsette managed to get up with help from a very frightened Sam. They were making their way off of the polished wooden floor, when Monsette noticed that the blood began to move. Tendrils were snaking their way back and forth across the floor and then stopping at fixed position...they were spelling something! The blood was spelling something!

"Y..O..U......A..R..E......D..E..A..D"

Monsette had never cursed in all his years of life. It was simply uncivilized to curse; something that barbarians would do when they couldn't find the proper words to describe their feelings. Ignorance was no excuse for bad language after all. Given time, the right word could be found...that rule was quickly suspended.

"Sam let's get the f**k out of here NOW!"

Sam needed no encouragement to yank the poor investigator off of his feet and drag him towards the staircase. As they began to ascend, the floor began to crack upwards under the force of some unseen pressure beneath the house. Where the fissures occurred, pale green light would pour from the wound like puss. The breaking floor and green light only lent Sam strength as he began to run up the stairs with Monsette right behind him. Both men made their way towards a window they saw on the second floor that spilled onto a balcony overlooking the front yard. The screams they heard coming from down the stairs were not human...could not be human. It was the scream of pain; pain that had been festering for centuries. Monsette put his hands to his ears as he ran, attempting to block out the distraction. Sam simply barreled into the glass doors and bounced off again, like he did on the door.

"Not again," Sam shouted in frustration. "Quick Monsette, help me! Monsette, this is no time..."

Sam's voice trailed off as he saw what Monsette was staring at. A black humanoid mist was hovering near the top of the staircase, simply staring at Monsette. Its face was nothing more than an ebony skull lit from within by a malevolent reddish light. Sam pushed the catatonic priest of Viminau aside and boldly challenged the specter with his silver holy symbol. The creature's response was not pleasant: it reared back and flung its face forward...this had interesting consequences. As the creature's face approached Sam's it became more corporeal and more demonic in nature, while it screamed unearthly tones. Sam's holy symbol, a silver cross, melted all over his hand, searing his flesh where the metal came into contact with him and causing him to cry out in pain. Sam's screaming snapped Monsette out of his dazed state, allowing him to hurl his sword at the glass doors directly behind them before the specter was upon them. As the glass shattered, Monsette flung Sam through the opening and pushed him right over the side of the balcony. The investigator wasn't sure if it was him grunting or if it was Sam as the earth came rushing up to meet him...it didn't matter. In a matter of moments, the two men were up and running towards the fog encircling the house. Monsette ran and ran until he felt his lungs were on fire. Panting, the older man asked for the younger Sam to stop.

"I...can't...run...anymore. Let's...stay...here for a...while."

Sam was still wild eyed from the experience and eager to continue running, but he settled down next to Monsette after a few moments of unrest. There the two sat, in the middle of the fog, for quite sometime. Monsette didn't know how many hours or days had past, but eventually the fog cleared and the two found themselves in a thick pine forest. It was close to the edge, because Monsette could see the break in the tree line through the branches of the trees. Sam was helping Monsette to his feet when he heard a snap off to their left. Monsette nearly fell to the ground as Sam wheeled towards the sound and brandished his blade. Not more than fifty feet away from them were two figures. One was a frail man with ragged blue robes and the other was a mountain of muscle, adorned with every weapon conceivable.

"Identify yourselves," Sam yelled defiantly.

As the strange group neared, the man's face seemed to brighten at Sam's threat.

"Thank goodness! We are back in Nymbardax! The nightmare is finally over Shinlaiden, we are free."

Monsette collected his thoughts as he stood up and brushed the foliage from this clothes.

"I don't know where you think you are sir, but we are a long way from home."

October 7th, 747- "Bars do not a prison make."

Whatever happiness the frail man was holding onto, evaporated under the truth of Monsette’s harsh observations. After some discussion, both groups began to glean information from one another. The frail man and his burly companion were apparently from the world of Nymbardax too, but not the same continent. Vanyel, as he called himself, was a linguist who worked for the True Way and Shinlaiden was his bodyguard. Monsette remembered hearing something about the True Way during his time at the Great Library. From what rumor told him, the True Way was a powerful society of mages that controlled all the lands to the east of Sordania and Nordmar. They were a powerful association, not to be taken lightly. Vanyel was an extremely pale individual, whose raven-colored hair was in sharp contrast to his skin. His blue robes were tattered, but the symbol of the True Way could still be made out. What Vanyel lacked in physical strength, Shinlaiden more than made up for in stature and attitude. The muscular man was over six feet tall and had a mace, battle axe, heavy flail, and daggers strapped to various parts of his leather armor. Both men relayed the story that had brought them here. From what they divulged, the two agents of the True Way were sent to collect taxes from a rebellious town in the remote regions of their lands. A strange fog settled over the town and somehow they ended up in a strange town named Odiare. The locals spoke a strange dialect of Nymbardaxian common, but that wasn’t the real problem. The town was without adults of any kind and at night the dolls of the children came alive and attacked them. A very specific wooden puppet named Maligno seemed to have it out for them, because they barely escaped with their lives from Odiare. Running back into the Mists brought them here: the damp, cold, decidious forest out in the middle of Viminau-knows-where.

Monsette considered all of the facts that he had heard and furnished personally before making a decision. He suggested that they exit the forest and find signs of civilization. This idea went over well with everyone and turned out to be one of his better suggestions as the party spotted a large village near a huge river just outside the forest. The sparsely populated civilization, seemingly, had only residential houses, but after a while the party spotted a dilapidated structure that resembled the local tavern. The villagers eyed the party with suspicion and fear as they made their way to shelter. Securing rooms was more tedious than Monsette found necessary as he found himself up against a language barrier even his knowledge couldn’t shatter. Eventually communication degenerated into Monsette pointing to a gold piece and then pointing to a room down the hallway. The fat, greedy innkeeper took the coin and handed Monsette a key, after which Vanyel repeated the same procedure. Vanyel and Shinlaiden slept in one room, while Sam and Monsette slept in another. Both groups agreed that the "buddy system" was the more prudent direction at this point. Needless to say that everyone was tired from his personal ordeals from the past few hours. In fact everyone had drifted off to sleep just after locking the door, when their was a loud pounding on Sam and Monsette’s door. Sam was about to check it out when three angry-looking men forcibly kicked it in. One was a large, gruff individual who belonged in the forest not the village. The second was a lithe warrior with the look of absolute hatred in his eye, while the final man seemed the more tempered of the lot. He was an older man with a rotund disposition. The younger men pounced on the dumbfounded Sam, while the older man tied his hands behind his back. The perturbed Monsette was reaching for his sword when he saw the older man’s hand go up in a sign of peace. He began to speak, but Monsette couldn’t understand the stream of words coming out of his mouth, so he went and got someone who seemed to know languages very well: Vanyel. The frail linguist was able to make out a few words from the angered men. Evidently, Sam had been accused of the murder of two of the town’s citizens! As the local official and his two men hauled Sam off to the local jail, Monsette began to run facts through his head in order to awaken his mind. This was going to be a long night…

___________________
October 8th 747

The sun was coming up and Monsette felt exhausted. All night, both he and Vanyel had been talking to the pot-bellied official named Yaco about the particulars of this case and they hadn’t found out very much. Sam was accused of killing two-now missing-village residents: a man and his wife. Alehandra and Ussi have been missing for several days now and a man fitting Sam’s description was the only stranger in the village around that time. Monsette was angry at this circumstantial justice system, but as an investigator he had to respect fact, not emotion. In order for him to exonerate Sam, he would have to prove that Sam wasn’t in this village during the murders…which meant, he would have to find the bodies and interview the witnesses. Yaco was the town official that dispensed justice and his two "deputies" were Dimitri and Yanis. Dimitri was the younger, hawk-nosed man filled with rage. Yanis was the large, gruff-looking hunter. The village they were in was called Valetta and the country was called Invidia. This village earned its income from logging and Ussi was one of the better loggers of the town. Monsette was getting a serious headache from all of this.

It doesn’t make any sense. Sam couldn’t been the one, because he was on Nymbardax just a few hours ago…wasn’t he? There is too much coincidence! A man looking exactly like Sam walks into town, trades some jewelry for a few pelts, and then leaves. This town doesn’t see many visitors, so this man who looks like Sam is a big deal. The woman who he traded with is a seamstress named Celine and apparently the blonde man who looked like Sam didn’t say a word to anyone…strange. What makes matters worse is the fact that everyone loves this married couple. Alehandra was a very gorgeous petite woman who dropped off freshly baked bread to the guards on duty. Ussi was a stunningly handsome man who was best friends with Dimitri…that didn’t help this situation. Yaco has been searching for the bodies for the last two days and so far he has turned up nothing. He seems to be a very well educated villager…something about studying at the capitol of Invidia: Karina. I don’t think that he will try to abuse his position to harm Sam in any way, which is good for us. Vanyel has to be the translator in all of this because I am not making any headway on the language; maybe I will get the hang of it as time goes on. This place is not filled with monsters and there doesn’t seem to be inter-villager hatreds. The puzzle is missing some pieces…I don’t get it. We must return to the scene of the crime to get any answers…we should go to Alehandra’s and Ussi’s house.

After getting an exhausted Vanyel to get direction to the missing couple’s house, Monsette began stuffing tobacco into his pipe in preparation for his eventual smoke. Yaco was kind enough to lend him some, as he had used all of his up the night before. It wasn’t very good quality, but it would have to do for his purposes.

The couple’s house wasn’t very impressive from the outside. Built entirely out of wood, the structure only contained three rooms: a living room and two bedrooms. A window in the living room allowed light to spill into the main chamber from the street, while a smaller one illuminated the master bedroom. The living room was fairly meager in furnishings. It had a simple chimney with a cauldron, a dining table, and a cabinet filled with a few dishes and mugs. There was a small brown rug underneath the round wooden table, but overall the house seemed very clean. The master bedroom contained two dressers and a cozy bed. Everything seemed to have its proper place, even the dolls were well groomed. Vanyel and Shinlaiden blanched visibly at the dolls. Monsette was snooping around the bedroom when he heard a large crash from the adjacent room. Running outside, he saw Shinlaiden standing over a broken dish.

"What did you do?!"
"Sorry Monsette, I was just looking at it and it just slipped."
"You fool! The first rule of investigation is to NEVER disrupt the environment you find!"
"Sorry Monsette, let me just sweep it up…"
"No, NO, NO! Just get out. LEAVE!"

The dejected-looking behemoth took one more look at the damage he caused and left the house. Monsette was still a mass of quivering rage after Shinlaiden had left. It took all of Vanyel’s skill to calm him down to a rational state.

“That fool,” Monsette cursed as he kicked the cabinet, rattling the dishes in the process.
“Calm down Monsette, he’s gone now…no use getting worked up about this.”
“That monstrosity probably broke an important clue that we will never know about! With our luck it may have been able to save Sam! Damn it,” Monsette yelled as he laid into the immobile cabinet some more with his foot.
“In fairness, you are creating worse havoc now than he ever did,” Vanyel responded calmly.

Vanyel’s last few words made an impression on Monsette as he began to realize what he was doing. Smoothing out his robes, the investigator began to try and rectify the damage he had induced. It was then that he noticed something behind the cabinet…it was black. Asking for Vanyel’s meager assistance, the two began to move the cabinet with their limited brute strength. Both Vanyel and Monsette were wishing that Shinlaiden were there to help them as they shifted the cabinet. Monsette began noticing many things as he worked that he hadn’t noticed before. In addition to the new scratches being created, Monsette saw old ones near the cabinet. He also noticed a fine white powder just underneath the cabinet and a square drawn with black paint…not paint, but tar! As the investigator approached, he already noted the smell of newly applied tar; it must have only been a few days old. Using his knife to cut the tar, Monsette began to loosen a makeshift trapdoor in the floor of the house. He cut away three sides, so that the last side would simply swing downwards. As he was cutting, he began to notice the smell of decay. By the time he had cut away the square trapdoor, the smell had become overpowering. Monsette turned away from the origin of the stench and emptied his stomach onto the floor; Vanyel wasn’t far behind him when it happened. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Monsette asked Vanyel for a lamp so that he would see better the hollowed out area directly underneath the trapdoor. With a bit of disgust, Vanyel complied with the request after which he began to mop up his boots. Monsette tied a handkerchief to his face before shining the light into the small burrow. As the light touched the earth, Monsette recognized the decaying face of young woman and the unrecognizable body of a man. The woman face had been twisted to the back of her head. The man’s body did not have a head of any kind; the tearing marks indicated that it had been ripped right off the torso. Its only identification was a hairy hand adorned with a simple golden band inscribed with some writing Monsette couldn’t make out. No other markings were visible on the bodies, which lent some credence to the fact that both died from their respective neck injuries. The white powder was obviously lime, something used to suppress the reek caused by the decaying bodies. Monsette pulled the handkerchief off of his face and turned around to face the waiting Vanyel.

“I think I have an idea where Ussi and Alehandra went.”

Very good, keep it coming

What exactly was under the house? Does it have a "D&D" name?

Joël

Joël of the FoS said:

Very good, keep it coming

What exactly was under the house? Does it have a "D&D" name?

Joël

Click to expand...

Thanks Joel! Glad to see that you like The house itself was intended to be alive. It is possessed by the spirit of a young girl who was raped and then sealed off alive in the basement of the house by brigands. Her soul infused the house and began to exact revenge on those very brigands who had wronged, her but it didn't end there. Every person who now enters is subject to the same retribution. In "D&D" terms it is a giant construct run by a very powerful ghost. I didn't bother to stat her out, but did make a few constructs in the house (tables, chairs, beds, carpet, curtains...etc) in case that would come up. Mainly I was shooting for the "Amityville" feel and my players took the bait I'll try to rummage around to see if I can find those old notes. Ironically, I never had to use anything b/c everyone fled as soon as they could.

October 8th, 747- “When the scabbards are broken, we can no longer hide our swords.”

Getting up off of the floor, Monsette lit his pipe to try and erase the smell of death from the room. While he inhaled the rich taste of the tobacco, Vanyel was busy wedging a piece of charcoal underneath the front door.

“What are you doing,” asked a puzzled Monsette.
“I am trying to make sure that we will know if someone disturbs this place after we leave.”
“Clever,” a hint of admiration escaping the investigator’s lips.

The two began to place the cabinet back to its original position once Monsette had thoroughly saturated the air with smoke from this pipe.

“Now what, Vanyel inquired.
“Now, we go and find out what everyone really knows.”

The streets of Valetta were mostly deserted by the time the pair had finished cleaning up the house. The sun was becoming a sliver on the horizon as Monsette and Vanyel weaved their way through the streets of the logging town. Their destination was clear: Celine’s house; the only problem was remembering the directions Yaco had given them this morning. After a few wrong houses, a woman with Celine’s description opened the door of a familiar-looking house. Celine was a haggard, pale, and nervous woman. It was difficult to even get her to crack the door open more than a splinter; it was nearly impossible to get her to let anyone into her home. Vanyel’s appearance seemed to frighten her somehow, so Monsette had to be increasingly nice to Celine in order for them to get anywhere with her. The problem was that Vanyel had the mastery of the language and Monsette did not, so the priest of Viminau had to constantly ask his companion for words to direct the conversation. Eventually, the distrustful woman succumbed to Monsette’s calming aura and agreed to let them in. Simply because she took a liking to Monsette did not mean that she would do so with Vanyel. After everyone was sitting, she only spoke to Monsette, completely avoiding Vanyel’s existence with her senses. This seemed to have little effect on either man. During the conversation with Monsette, Celine talked about her business venture with the “blonde man,” as she described him. According to her testimony, she admitted to trading to a man who looked like Sam for some jewelry. The “blonde man” did not speak to anyone, but it was easy to trade with him through gestures. Well now we can’t distinguish him from the real Sam, because he didn’t speak a word! This is going to be harder than I expected. Thanking Celine profusely for her time, Vanyel and Monsette left on good terms.

Making their way back to the jail, both men were attempting to make sense of things…Monsette seemed to have the most trouble with the facts as they had been presented. Deciding to hide their discoveries from everyone, Monsette and Vanyel made a quick pact before entering the village’s jail. Shinlaiden wasn’t there, but both Sam and Yaco were fast asleep. From the sounds Yaco was making through his nose, it didn’t seem like sleep was helping him whatsoever. Vanyel gently awoke Yaco, while Monsette did the same with Sam. While Monsette explained everything to Sam in their native tongue, Vanyel questioned Yaco about the whereabouts of Shinlaiden. Yaco wasn’t very forthcoming with details, as he said he had no idea. This troubled everyone, especially Vanyel. Mosette suggested making some more rounds to see what everyone knew…Vanyel quickly agreed with the suggestion.

The information that Monsette and Vanyel were able to obtain was disappointing at best. Asking the various guards on duty only brought about more questions. No one saw Shinlaiden leave and no one believed that Sam was innocent. Questioning Dimitri was worse than talking with Celine. Where Celine was frigid, Dimitri was aflame. If he wasn’t such an honest man, Monsette was sure that he would have attacked him on sight for trying to defend “the murderer.” Although he hates us, I know that he wouldn’t try something petty to exact vengeance. He is an emotional man, but at least he has a strong sense of duty…too bad his righteous anger is focused on us. This place becomes stranger by the minute. First we lose Sam and then in trying to save him, we lose Shinlaiden. No one saw anything and no one knows anything! This is becoming frustrating to say the least! I have to go back to the scene of the crime to figure this all out…there are pieces missing to this puzzle that must be discovered quickly, for Samuel’s time is running out.

Darkness had crept up on the daylight and had almost achieved victory while Monsette was pondering the day’s events. The streets were simply deserted, where they were just a few minutes ago they saw some activity. Both men checked the inside of the house with a lantern before entering…it appeared as if no one had disturbed the house. As soon as Monsette entered, he lit his pipe and began pacing around the room. Vanyel was content to sit down and watch the eccentric priest walk about the house in deep contemplation. The stench from the dead bodies was beginning to rise from the hole in the floor, making Monsette’s pondering a bit more difficult. Why doesn’t it make sense? Two dead bodies and no one found them by now? I know, I’m good, but I find it difficult to believe that neither Yaco nor Dimitri would have found them by now. Something isn’t right. Something is bothering me about those bodies, but what is it? The ring…it’s too…it’s too…extravagant! Why doesn’t Alehandra have an identical ring on her hand? Ussi is a logger by trade and Alehandra seems to be a fairly good baker; how could they afford a ring made of gold and why buy just one? Maybe the other is missing, but why would the murder simply take one of the gold rings? It doesn’t fit.
Monsette was tapping his pipe on his lower lip when he heard a scream from Vanyel.

“What is it,” Monsette asked frantically.
“Sorry Monsette, its just Yaco. I didn’t see him in the window, so he gave me a scare.”

Monsette’s respect for Vanyel shriveled visibility in his eyes as he went to go open the door for Yaco. The rotund official was explaining that he just ordered everyone to keep a lookout for Shinlaiden when Monsette’s attention drifted to Yaco’s left hand. He hadn’t noticed it before but Yaco was a rather hairy man; the back of his hand was covered with hair. Monsette also remembered something about Yaco being married, but the strange thing was that thus far he had heard nothing about his wife. His wedding band is familiar, where have I seen that bef…Viminau have mercy! Suddenly the trap in Monsette’s mind sprung shut and all of the pieces of the puzzle fit together in perfect harmony. Monsette was so taken aback by his realization that he couldn’t hide it from Yaco. The local official’s pleasant attitude melted as he sniffed the air to the house. Monsette watched as Yaco’s face underwent a horrible transformation; the evil smile that split his face was too large…not meant to be displayed by mortal men.

Monsette began backing up while whispering, “What are you?” Barely controlling his horror, the investigator screamed for Vanyel to run while he attempted to draw his sword from its scabbard. Faster than Monsette’s eyes could register, Yaco’s arm shot out and grabbed the investigator’s wrist in a viselike grip. As he struggled against Yaco’s inhuman strength, Monsette noticed Vanyel’s cowering form in the corner of the room. He attempted to yell out to his companion again, but his phrase was incomplete as he was launched the other side of the room with a simple push from Yaco. Monsette’s breath left his body as he slammed against the cabinet and dropped to the floor. The cabinet rocked back and forth before falling over onto the scrambling priest of Viminau. Whatever stupor Vanyel was in was gone when he saw the large wooden cabinet crush his comrade’s leg. Yaco watched calmly as the linguist hurled himself through the small window and into the street. Confidently, the man began to walk after Vanyel as if he had all the time in the world. Monsette, in a burst of adrenaline, managed to shove the cabinet off of himself and run out the door. Upon exiting, he saw Vanyel lying prone on the street with Yaco on top of him. Yaco was pulling his head back and slamming it into the ground over and over again. Monsette didn’t know if Vanyel was dead or not, but he charged anyway! Drawing his sword back, he plunged it into Yaco’s form. The creature let out an unearthly scream as it turned to face the, now ready, Monsette. As “Yaco” stood up, Monsette noticed grey blood oozing from the wound he had just dealt. With another scream to his God, Monsette attempted to strike the creature again; this time with limited success. The creature fluidly moved inside the reach of the sword and brought its fist into contact with Monsette’s face with violent fury. The force of the punch was enough to twist Monsette’s body in midair and send him flying back into the wall. Though disoriented, he could make out the pleas of help Vanyel was shouting at the end of the alleyway. He was about to get up when he heard the air rush by his left ear, followed by the sound of splintering wood. In a feeble attempt, Monsette swung out with his sword once again only to be disarmed by “Yaco’s” tremendous strength. Monsette felt his hands wrap around his thoat and begin to choke him. Desperation took hold of him as he tried to pry the hands from his neck, but it was a futile attempt…his vision blurred and saw the end coming. Monsette wasn’t sure how long he had left, but abruptly the hands that were choking him let go. Looking up, he saw Dimitri and Yanus locked in a deadly battle with Yaco. The odds were against the two men as they tried vainly to hurt the creature. Vanyel tried to equalize the opposition by tripping Yaco…it did not have the desired effect. By directly intervening in the battle, Vanyel had made his presence known to Yaco…it did not like Vanyel whatsoever. Slamming the wind out of Yanus and backhanding Dimitri into the wall brought the proud force of resistance down to one screaming man: Vanyel. The linguist tried to run, but Yaco was faster than lightning. One second he was a good fifty paces from his victim and the next he had kicked Vanyel in the back, toppling him to the ground. Monsette knew that he would not ‘play’ with Vanyel any longer. One more shot from this thing would send his companion to the grave. Summoning the power of Viminau, Monsette drew the power of the One Truth inside him and demanded that the creature cease his attacks. The fist destined to explode Vanyel’s head stopped a fraction of an inch above its target. There the fist hovered, as “Yaco” strained against the forces holding him in place. Monsette turned to pick up his sword and finish what he had started, but when his gaze swept over the area where “Yaco” had just been, he only saw Celine. What is she doing here now? Ignoring the frightened woman, Monsette proceeded to heal his dying companions. Both Yanus and Dimitri had massive internal bleeding; Vanyel seemed to be in the best shape of all the injured.

Telling Vanyel to guard Yanus and Dimitri, Monsette rushed off to the jail cell to save Sam from harm. As it turned out, the creature did not stop by before leaving because Sam seemed just fine inside his prison. Wait…what if it has already killed Sam and taken his place? I should test him.

“What’s your name,” Monsette asked soberly.
“What are you talking about Monsette?”
“Answer me!”
“Samuel Fairheart.”
“How do I know it’s you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Prove to me that it’s you.”
“You know, sometimes, you act like a complete freak!…sir.”

Monsette smiled while he opened the door to Sam’s prison cell. The two made their way back to the scene of devastation and dragged the injured into the nearby stench-ridden house. There the small band of men healed themselves and tried to make sense of the madness. There was a long discussion on what that “thing” was and why it was in Valetta, but nothing fruitful came of the conversation. Once everyone was well enough to travel, the small contingent of men made their way over to Celine’s house to make sure she wasn’t dead. Celine did answer the door; rather someone who looked like her. Dimitri immediately began a barrage of questions intended to put her on guard. It worked…in a sense. The woman was highly defensive, but she still managed to answer them all correctly.

Frustrated, the band went back to the jail to regroup and reinforce their position. There, they took rotating shifts to ensure that the creature would not get the jump on them again. Monsette looked each one of the men in the eye before he dozed off and spoke with deathlike solemnity:

“That thing could be out there…attack anyone who comes through that door!”

October 9th, 747- "Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways" (Stephen Vincent Benet).

Monsette was running. Someone was chasing him or he was desperately seeking someone. It was all very confusing, but the sense of urgency was there. He felt it in the deepest recesses of his soul. A light appeared in the distance...he ran towards it. Something was stapled to the wall...a man. His organs were spewing from his abdomen and blood was splattered everywhere. Where was his face? Monsette couldn't see his face! Reaching out with his hand to touch the man, he saw that it was he who was stapled to the wall. But why was he looking at himself. Monsette ran his hand through his hair to try and calm himself...he felt something warm touch his scalp. Looking at his hand, he saw ooze...gray ooze!

Monsette awoke with a start. He could already feel the damp clothing on his skin, where the sweat from his body had soaked through the material. The sun was already up and Sam, the only one not asleep. Going about his daily routine, Monsette began awaking the other members of the band once he had completed his prayers to Viminau. He would have preferred to sit on a chair but it seemed as though Sam had the only one. I could have sworn that there was another one...well no matter. Once Vanyel was up, the linguist seemed to meditate for a bit as well. Dimitri and Yanus were not talkative, as the events from the previous night had left them in a somber mood. After Vanyel had completed his meditations, he proceeded to weave some form of power over the entire group. Monsette recognized the spell as a Zone of Truth, capable of forcing the truth from a liar's mouth. Monsette, picking up on Vanyel's idea, asked a series of direct questions to ensure that everyone was who they seemed to be...everyone checked out. The group then decided to simultaneously inform the village as to what was going on and find their missing companion Shinlaiden. Yanus volunteered to track down their missing friend, while Dimitri informed the village of recent events. Monsette; however, did not want to leave until he had personally informed Alehandra's mother of her daughter's death. No one seemed opposed to the idea, because only Monsette knew the true reason behind the seemingly kindly act: gathering information.

Alehandra's mother was not difficult to find, as she was one of the more conspicuous members of Valetta these days. Monsette wanted her to feel comfortable, so he met with the kindly old lady at her place of residence to conduct the discussion. The old woman proved to be very resilient to the definitive news that Alehandra's body had been found. She did cry a little, but not enough to impede Monsette's questioning process.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of such bad news Mrs. Venustas. Please accept my condolences," Monsette said comfortingly.
"It's alright," the old lady replied, "I knew my Alehandra was gone even before you told me."
"This is a terrible time for you; I know, but I need to ask you a few questions. Could you tell me of any strange events that happened to your daughter...anything at all?"
"This is the fault of the Vistani, I am sure of it! The full moon gives the night evil powers...the full moon is when all the bad things started happening. You see, Alehandra was a special girl, so beautiful, so young. She was always afraid of the full moon. I remember once, when she slept with me because she was so scared. Holding her close that night, I had the strangest dreams..."

The old mother couldn't contain herself anymore, as she began sobbing uncontrollably. Monsette was about to inject another question between the gasps for breath, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Turning around, Monsette saw Vanyel shaking his head in adamant protest. Cursing under his breath about the lack of professionalism, Monsette offered his condolences once again before taking his leave.

Once outside, Vanyel, Monsette, Sam, and Yanus made their way through the gathering crowd towards the edge of the village. There, Yanus studied the ground for what seemed like hours before deciding on a direction: north, towards the woods. The trail was slow going, as Yanus stopped every so often to check the ground for tracks of any kind. He said that it was a bit more difficult to track, because the tracks were not fresh and it hadn't rained in quite some time. Once the trail entered the forest, Yanus seemed to slow to a crawl. This will take forever, but at least we are getting somewhere. I don't think these woods are Darkseed or we would probably be dead by now. No, this place is nowhere I have ever read about. The temperate climate suggests Nordmar or even the north of Jiqui, but that can't be right. I have a feeling we are not even on Nymbardax anymore. Maybe we are, but at an earlier period. The language these people speak is ancient in its origin, but seems to have developed differently. Did we go back in time? Another world? Another plane? If so, it would have to be an Outer Plane...I won't think about that for now. Maybe I should ask around for the local faiths to determine whether their lingual and religious roots are completely dissimilar to ours.

Monsette's was torn away from his pondering at the call of Yanus up ahead. The hunter seemed to have found a secluded clearing at the crest of a small hill. Many tracks visibly crossed the area multiple times, to and from the extinguished campfire at the center. Poking around the area revealed that there were three sets of footprints. The first were obviously Shinlaiden's and the second were of a smaller man carrying a large amount of weight (Yaco). The third set of tracks remained a mystery to everyone, including Yanus. While everyone was discussing the tracks, Vanyel spotted a small metal box in the fire pit at the center of the clearing. The box was crafted of dark metal, with a seven-pointed green star as its only markings. Monsette suggested to smash it open until Vanyel produced a key with an identical seven-pointed star engraved upon it. It was unsurprising to find that the key fit perfectly into the box's lock and produced a clicking sound when it turned. As Vanyel opened the box, Monsette peered questioningly at him.

"Where did you find that key?"
"When you ran off to the jail after the fight with 'Yaco' I noticed that the creature had dropped this key."
"And you never bothered to tell me?"
"I had simply forgotten until now."

As the lid of the box drew back, the light of the sun revealed a crumpled parchment inside. The text was a flowing script that seemed to have many errors in it, as almost every letter had been struck through with a line.

"It's in that foreign language," Monsette cursed.
"Don't worry Monsette, I have been studying this type of thing for many years, it shouldn't take long to decipher it."
"I hope not," Monsette muttered.

Vanyel's eyes washed over the page many times before he read the parchment aloud in grave tones.

• X Alehandra Venustas: Valleta, Invidia

• Gunter Edel: Vallaki, Barovia

• X Ian McGregor: Immol, Barovia

• Alex LePur: Pont-a-Museau, Richemulot

• X Adolf Heinrich: Ludendorf, Lamordia

• X Nathan Corvus: Corvia, Darkon

• X Jean Du Leur: Pont-a-Lucine, Dementlieu

"Comb the area everyone, let's find Shinlaiden first and then worry about this later."

Once Yanus was informed of the plan, everyone split up to find any trace of Vanyel's imposing companion. After many hours of searching, not one person was able to find any leads on Shinlaiden's whereabouts...not even Yanus. Frustrated, the group made their way back to the small village of Valetta to contemplate their next move. Monsette had Vanyel explain everything they knew to Yanus, so that he could tell Dimitri. While the conversation was taking place, Monsette took the opportunity to ransack the jailhouse for any important clues pertaining to the reasons a shapeshifter would kill a beautiful woman and try to hide her body underneath her very own house. Whether it was Viminau's sense of humor or simply bad luck, no such answer emerged from Monsette's long search. All that he was able to turn up was mediocre drawing of Alehandra in one of the desk drawers.

"Well, I'm out of ideas," Monsette said exasperatedly.
"I think this...thing...is an assassin," Vanyel said softly.
"I gathered as much from the list and the dead body," Monsette replied sarcastically. "What we should try to figure out is WHY it is killing these people."
"Does it really matter," Sam interrupted. "We should be more concerned with finding him than why he is doing these terrible things."
"If we can find his motives Sam, then we will be one step ahead of him."
"His motives are plain Monsette: kill everyone on the list. We have to find the rest of the people and warn them...period."
"Yes, yes...of course," Monsette replied half-heartedly. "Although, I would like to ask Alehandra's mother some more questions."
"I would have to disagree on this Monsette. The woman has suffered enough and you will get no useful information from her now. I can not condone this recourse."
"I agree with Sam," Vanyel intoned.
"Very well then. I suggest that we get an early night's sleep and travel to warn these people first thing in the morning. Agreed?"

The nod from both Sam and Vanyel was enough to end the discussion and put everyone in bed...on a rotating watch, of course.

Monsette was just about to drift into a deep sleep when his consciousness was stirred by the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. It was a violin, but played with exquisite skill and filled with the power of emotion. Normally, he would just write something like this off, but he noticed that Sam and Vanyel were up as well.

"Well...let's go see what it is," Monsette said with an air of resignation in his voice.

Gearing up, the group headed towards the eastern edge of the village. The guards on duty were transfixed on the sound and almost didn't notice the party until it was on top of them. They made no attempt to hinder the three men as they strode by, towards the source of the beautiful sound. As they approached, Sam was able to spot a small fire in the distance and two shapes huddled around it. The tone of the music became more and more heartrending as party closed the distance between themselves and the fire, until it almost became unbearable. Then, quite suddenly, it ceased altogether. Details became more readily apparent. The first shape was that of a heavy-set man and the second was unmistakably that of Shinlaiden! The man next to Shinlaiden had bloodshot eyes, olive skin, and dark hair. He was definitely in his prime, contrasting his white mustache. Shinlaiden was in bad shape. His upper lip was swollen, blood was all over his tattered clothing, he had scratches on most parts of his body, and he had no equipment whatsoever. The wagon behind the strange man and Shinlaiden wasn't obvious at first, but as the party approached the fire they could make out strange writing on the side and a small iron crib against it. Vanyel immediately rushed over to heal the battered Shinlaiden, while Monsette confronted the strange man playing the violin.

"May I help you with something," the man asked calmly.
"Thank you for aiding our friend kind stranger."

The cheerless man was on the verge of answering when his attention was shifted by the sounds of an infants cries. The screams came from the iron cage by the wagon. Somberly, the man got up and walked over the crib. While he was away, tending to the child, Monsette began grilling the recovering Shinlaiden for answers. The burly man was just as confused as the rest of the party. After he had left the group, he passed out on the street and woke up in the forest, tied and gagged. Somehow he managed to escape the bonds and tried to make his way back to the village. The only problem was that a humanoid catlike creature ambushed him and it would have killed him if not for the intervention of a gorgeous woman. All of these details were not fitting together for anyone; Monsette included. He was about to ask more detailed questions, when Vanyel simply got up and ran towards the man holding the infant. Sam, sensing a problem, was not far behind the frail linguist. Cursing, Monsette got up and stormed over to see what the commotion was about. Vanyel was already using his remaining energy on the infant. As Monsette approached, he could already see how malnurished the infant was. Adding his own healing to the baby boy radically improved its health.

"Thank you," said the olive-skinned man.
"It was nothing, replied Vanyel. "Shouldn't your wife be tending to such matters?"

The man's demeanor visibly darkened.

"My wife is dead. She died recently from a fever."
"I am sorry," Vanyel said.
"Why don't you just go into the village and get a midwife," Monsette asked.
"No one will help the Vistani," the man said.
"In any case, we can't just go around tactly avoiding your name. What would you like us to call you," Monsette intoned pleasantly.
"My name is Raul."
"Well that baby is very sick and needs a midwife to regain its health," Vanyel interjected. "If it doesn't get proper care, it will die Raul."
"I'm not worried about my son...it's my wife that scares me."
"You just said that your wife was dead," Monsette observed.
"I burnt her body, but every night she comes back to nurse our son!"
"Vimanau be merciful..."
"Leyla tells me to play for her," Raul continued. "She looks the same...as if she had never died."

After a long pause, Monsette pulled Vanyel to the side and begin to speak in hushed tones.

“We shouldn’t tell Sam.”
“Why not,” Vanyel inquired.
“We need to reason with this specter, not destroy it.”
“You are right, it may be confused…I will send Shinlaiden away as well.”
“Good.”

Both men, then, walked over to their respective subordinates and issued orders that they return to the village. Sam was very hesitant to leave, but Monsette insisted that they would be in no danger. Vanyel didn’t bother to explain his actions to Shinlaiden; instead he dismissed him curtly. Once Sam and Shinlaiden had left, Monsette and Vanyel hid themselves next to the wagon and waited for the inevitable arrival of Raul’s dead wife.

It wasn’t long before a beautiful dancer’s body began to float through the air, the rain passing right through its insubstantial form. On and on it danced, Raul feverishly playing his violin until it stopped at the iron crib near the wagon. Monsette couldn’t take his eyes off of her…she was stunning. The fascination was short-lived as pain flooded through his left arm. Looking up, Monsette saw Vanyel clamping down onto a piece of his flesh. Shaking his idle thoughts away, Monsette and Vanyel broke cover just in time to see the Leyla begin nursing her son. The color that had been restored to the child by Vanyel’s direct intervention was undone as the baby went pale from the ghost’s unearthly nectar. The suckling did not carry on for long, as the child went limp in the ghost’s arms.

“Hello Leyla,” Vanyel said carefully.

The dead woman placed the baby back into the iron crib before turning to face Vanyel.

“Why hello. Do I know you,” Leyla asked innocently.
“No Leyla, you do not. I have just recently met your husband and your son,” Vanyel went on.

While Leyla was distracted, Monsette darted over to the baby and used minor healing powers to bring it back to life.

“Leyla, I know this may sound like a strange question, but do you remember anything recently?”
“I don’t understand,” the pleasantness leaving her voice.
“I mean do you know what you did this morning?”
“That’s a strange question. Who are you again?”
“My name is Vanyel and I am friend of your husband.”
“I don’t know of such a name!”
“That is because I just met him today…do you remember anything that happened to you today?”
“Well, I just wandered off for a moment,” she began defensively.
“Do you remember anything that happened this morning Leyla?”
“I-I-I…What difference does it make,” she exclaimed in rage.
“That’s just it…you can’t remember, because you died many days ago.”
“But I’m right here, talking with you.”
“Yes, I know you are, but you are a ghost Leyla…a spirit.”
“No, these are lies! LIES,” Leyla screamed as she clutched her head.
“You are killing your son Leyla, you must stop this,” Vanyel persisted.
“You are trying to steal my son with your lies…YOU ARE TRYING TO TAKE MY SON FROM ME!!!”

Leyla swung out with her incorporeal hand and struck Vanyel in the chest. Her hand went right through his body, but he screamed in agony as his life force was ripped from the vessel of flesh. Negotiations had broken down and diplomacy was dead. Sensing this, Monsette infused his weapon with divine power and launched himself into the fray. Blue sparks flew from the contact between his empowered weapon and the incorporeal monster. Vanyel attempted to force the spirit back to its final resting place, but whatever forces had brought her back from the grave proved to difficult to counter. Monsette kept slamming his blade into the monster, but his efforts seemed futile. Eventually the spirit was able to bypass the enchanted weapon and suffuse Monsette with a chill from the netherworld. Monsette’s body was unaccustomed to such trauma so all of his muscles locked up and refused to move. Gaping and paralyzed, Monsette watched in terror, as Leyla was about to finish him off. Monsette would have died, had Vanyel not intervened. Casting his final spell, Vanyel attempted to drive the spirit away with forbidden arcane power. His power failed and the repercussions were severe. Leyla, an enraged vessel of death shoved both of its arms into Vanyel’s body and tore his soul to pieces. Vanyel didn’t even scream as his body went limp and fell to the ground. Monsette watched in anger as he stood helpless to save his friend. It was then that the miracle happened. Leyla’s image wavered as brilliant white light burst from behind her. The woman’s body began to gain substance as she stumbled weakly over to her terrified husband and slumped down next to him. As soon as her hand touched his, her body began to disintegrate.

“I curse you, murderers, from the depths of my heart; may you never feel the healing touch of compassion,” Leyla said feebly as the last of her was turned to dust and scattered by the wind.

“Mind telling me what is going on,” Sam said with a hint of anger in his voice.
“Let’s have this argument later Sam. First help me carry Vanyel back to the village.”

Picking up Vanyel’s limp form, Sam hurried back towards the village. Monsette tested the rejuvenated muscles in his body before daring to use them. Looking back one more time at the sobbing Raul, the investigator began the long trek back to the village of Valetta.