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Terror in Freeport - Part 10a: The Temple of Althares
“We found this in the ssanu temple,” said Beldin. He handed over a document to Thuron, the high priest of the Temple of Althares. The dwarf discovered it while Kham was off rescuing Egil.
“And we found this map in Verlaine’s house,” said Vlad. He handed over a crudely sketched map of what looked like the Temple of Althares.
The old priest folded the documents carefully. His voice was subdued but troubled. “I’ve known this day had to come, since I first learned of the activities of the Brotherhood in Freeport. There was no way any human agency could destroy them. They would return to seek vengeance on those who would hinder their diabolical schemes.” He waved the ssanu text that Beldin had found. “This document proves it.”
“What does it say?” asked Ilmarė. She was irritated that a human priest had more knowledge of an enemy than she.
“Should we survive this night, I will tell you what is contained herein. But there is no time now. They will be upon us—soon, and in force. We must secure the temple.”
“Agreed,” said Vlad. “If that map is any indication, they’re planning on attacking from all three sides.”
Thuron nodded towards Egil. “Egil, wake the clergy and have them begin spells of protection.” Egil hustled off to do the high priest’s bidding. Thuron turned back to Kham. “I will not abandon this holy place to the Brotherhood’s loathsome depredations. And I will not have the order hunted down and murdered one by one. We will make our stand, and we will trust in Althares to protect us.”
“He’s kept me alive this long,” said Kham. “Don’t see any reason to stop now.”
Thuron turned to the others. “My friends, I would ask you to stay and help. I will give you all the rewards this simple order can spare. We may have the god on our side—but steel never hurt, either, as you well know.”
Vlad picked up his shield and drew his sword. “I’ve got the south entrance,” he said.
“I’ve got the west,” said Beldin. He hoisted his battleaxe and stumped away.
“Kham?” asked Thuron.
Kham drew both of his pistols with a smirk. “I’m going to go pray,” he said.
“And what of you?” asked Thuron.
“I’m going to stay here,” said Ilmarė, standing between the pews at the center of the temple.
“That is wise,” said Thuron. “Surely, if we pray hard enough, perhaps Althares will protect us.”
Ilmarė snorted. “You misunderstand.” She hopped up onto one of the pews and drew her bow. “I can kill humans better from this vantage point.”
Thuron was about to say something when curtains to either side of the altar to Althares were pulled aside.
“What the—“ shouted Vlad from the other side of the huge temple. His voice echoed. “Those entrances aren’t on the map!”
Ilmarė drew a bead on the leader of the intruders. “And they call them the Brotherhood of Knowledge.”
Terror in Freeport - Part 10b: The Temple of Althares
There were nine brothers in total, all of them suffering sporting wicked wounds.
Kham drew his pistols and pointed one to either side of him.
“Start talking,” he said.
“We were out picking up groceries and dry goods for the temple,” said what appeared to be a leader, the female. “While passing through a darkened street in the Old City, we were ambushed by shadowy figures in robes, carrying long, crooked knives.”
“Go on,” said Kham. Thuron and Egil walked over behind him.
“Everything happened too quickly to see anything. We got away, but I’m sure we were being followed.”
“We split up to try to throw off our pursuers,” said one of the other brothers to the left of Kham.
“These little sheep yours?” asked Kham over his shoulder.
“Yes,” said Thuron slowly. “They are brothers and sisters of this temple.”
The various lay brethren began arguing amongst themselves. Some advocated evacuating the temple; others voted for calling the Watch.
“I don’t like this,” said Egil over the din.
Kham turned, his back to the altar to Althares. “Me neither.” He nodded towards the female cultist. “Say, Thuron?”
“Yes, Kham?”
Everyone stopped talking. Kham hadn’t lowered his pistols. He was focused on the Althares sister.
“Doesn’t your order take a vow of poverty?”
“Yes,” said Thuron.
“Thought so,” said Kham.
BLAM! BLAM!
One brother fell backwards, clutching his face. The female priestess swore as the blast hit her full in the chest. Instead of collapsing, she morphed into a ssanu’s serpentine form, wielding a wickedly curved blade. The other priests drew daggers from their robes.
The brotherhood priests surged forward with clubs, led by Beldin and Vlad.
K’Ral spun and decapitated a brother of Althares in one smooth motion. She hurled the head at the altar. “Thissss temple sssshall fall before the Brotherhood!”
Ilmarė fired an arrow at K’Ral, but the shot went wide.
“A sssslave?” hissed K’Ral. “Truly thisss will be a gloriousss triumph,” she drew her own bow. It was carved in the shape of two snakes, their mouths biting the bowstring. “Two of our mortal enemiesss dessstroyed in one night!”
K’Ral fired back at Ilmarė. The elorii ducked just in time. The arrow shivered in a pew behind her.
“My people broke free of your slavery a millennia ago,” snarled Ilmarė. She loosed another shot at K’Ral. “Stop living in the past.”
K’Ral fired another arrow. “That may be,” said K’Ral, “but we have a new god leading ussss.”
A brother of Althares shrieked and fell to the ground behind Ilmarė, an arrow jutting from his face.
Ilmarė ducked behind a pew and touched the amulet at her throat. Energy pulsed through her veins as rage washed over her.
When she rose up again, Ilmarė pulled back her bow so tightly that it creaked. She loosed four arrows in quick succession.
K’Ral was in the middle of drawing her own arrow when she was hit in the thigh. She hissed in pain, but was interrupted by two more arrows that struck her in the arm and torso. The last arrow struck the ssanu in the forehead, and then she stopped hissing altogether.
Ilmarė stepped over to K’Ral’s corpse. All the other cultists were dead.
She kicked the dead body. “Stupid ssanu cultist.”
“How did you know they were impostors?” Egil asked Kham.
Kham plucked a ring off of K’Ral’s hand and flipped it with one thumb towards Egil.
Egil caught it. It was a heavy gold ring. “Your order takes a vow of poverty, remember,” said Kham. “Besides, that’s a ring of mind shielding. You don’t wear it unless you want to keep secrets.”
“How do you know of such things?” asked Egil in awe.
Kham wiggled his ring finger at Egil, “Because I’m wearing one.”
This scenario was Kham's "shoot everything that moves phase" The fact that they had the two rings in common was something Kham's player pointed out, and I had to make a quick decision as to whether or not magic items "all look alike."
The truth of the matter is that the PLAYERS were paranoid by that point. I mean, they're primed for an attack and then something suspicious happens -- unlike in the movies where the protagonists believe everything everyone says, players know better, and are a hair's trigger away from blowing up anybody who seems even slightly out of the ordinary.
The rings being in common were what they Kham's player used as an excuse for shooting him. Mind you, just having the same ring doesn't necessarily imply guilt -- the idea was that the ring was made of gold, odd for a brotherhood that takes a vow of poverty. And yet, Egil was rewarding people with lots of gold too. Where'd he get it from?
Once Thuron was sure the temple was secure, he led Brother Egil and the others to the temple tombs.
The tombs were cold, dark, and deathly still, but the feeling was reverent rather than grim. A luminescent moss hung from the marble wall, giving off a hint of sandalwood and a gentle yellow glow.
Thuron ran his hands along the moss and chuckled softly to himself. Then he lowered his eyes. “Here I must make a confession. I have lied to you all. I went astray for the best of reasons—but nonetheless I went astray. I can only swear to you I had no part in what you are about to see.”
“Why do I get the feeling,” said Kham, hands in his coat pockets, “that I am not going to be happy about what I see.”
With that, Thuron spoke a few hushed syllables in prayer and slid open a crypt. There was a rush of air, a billow of incense, and they found themselves looking at the body of—Thuron! He seemed eminently peaceful in death.
“Serpent!” snarled Ilmarė. Her blade was out in a flash.
Thuron held up both hands. “I am not Thuron, as you can see. My name is K’Stallo. I am the last priest of Yig.”
“Why shouldn’t we kill you right now?” asked Kham. He had yet to draw his pistols.
“Let me explain,” said K’Stallo. “Please.”
Ilmarė sighed and lowered her blade, but she did not sheath it.
“The Brotherhood was not the only serpent people to survive the destruction of Valossa with their intellects intact. Yig preserved some of his faithful in the farthest corners of the world. But evil—and stupidity—have a greater attraction over the centuries than does peaceful worship.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Ilmarė.
“Many of my number reverted to simple animals, or worse yet, joined the Brotherhood. Lucius found us, during his wanderings, in a small mountain village far to the north. I realized the knowledge he had accumulated might be able to lead us to a closer communion with Yig—an understanding of the divine that has all but faded away over the centuries. So I followed him during his search. I followed him home.”
“So you were the one rummaging through Lucius’ home,” exclaimed Egil.
Thuron nodded. “I snuck into Lucius’s chambers one evening to see if he had held onto any others. I believe I startled you, Egil. For that I apologize. “
Egil sputtered. He didn’t know what to say.
“That doesn’t explain how you became Thuron,” said Ilmarė.
“I slipped into this temple in human guise one evening to look through the scrolls Lucius had brought back from his wanderings. While I was searching, I discovered Thuron dead at his desk. His heart had given out during the night. At that moment I made a fateful choice. Perhaps not a wise one, or even a brave one, but one that made the most sense. I took Thuron’s place and devoted myself to the study of the scrolls.”
“That explains a lot,” said Ilmarė. “This temple has been a pit of snakes ever since. First Oriku, then Milos.”
“I should have spotted Milos at once,” said Thuron, “but I was too engrossed in my work. When I learned of Oriku’s betrayal, I should have abandoned my charade. But I was too greedy for knowledge.”
Kham shrugged. “Althares is a god of knowledge,” he said. “Seems like you’re perfect for the job.”
“Thank you Kham.”
Egil took a deep breath. “I too will keep your secret. For now. We need a leader more than ever. We will take whatever help we can get.” He blanched, looking Thuron up and down, as if he would sprout fangs at any moment. “No matter what form it might take.”
Thuron relaxed somewhat. He took out the documents Vlad and Beldin had handed to him before. “Now I will render you the only service I can—far too little, far too late.” He pointed at the letter written in ssanu. “This document promises great danger for Freeport—and for the world.”
“What is it?” asked Vlad.
“It is a public speech, an explanation of tonight’s events. I will translate it without remarking upon the obvious—it is all lies: This evening, Councilor Verlaine and the clergy of the Althares have been slain. Their murderers are the adventurers who of late discovered the caverns beneath our town: Beldin Soulforge, Bijoux, Calactyte, Ilmare Galen, Kham Val’Abebi, and Vlad Martell. After an investigation by the Council and the City Watch, we have pieced together the truth.
“Chief Councilor Verlaine, that great servant to the city of Freeport, heard rumors about town of unwholesome activities at the temple to the God of Knowledge. He hired the wandering mercenaries to investigate. They made a tremendous discovery: The temple and its priesthood were a cover for the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign, a grotesque cult of serpent people. The mercenaries joined the temple to gain its secrets, but they proved treacherous to both masters. They revealed the caves beneath the city and threatened to expose even more secrets unless the Brotherhood paid them a fortune in gold.
“The Brotherhood agreed to their demands, on condition that the mercenaries accept one final task for their serpent masters—assassinating their erstwhile employer, Councilor Verlaine. The double-crossers carried out the grim job, but they quickly found themselves double-crossed. The Brotherhood refused to pay them their blood money. The mercenaries went mad with rage and slaughtered the cultists, but were killed themselves in the battle.
“We mourn the loss of Councilor Verlaine, but his efforts brought this menace to light—and rooted it out of town, once and for all.” K’Stallo looked up, concern etched in his face. “It is the next part of the document that troubles me the most.”
“There’s more bad news?” asked Ilmarė.
“I’m afraid so. You see, the note is addressed to the Sea Lord—”
Vlad slapped his forehead. “So this goes all the way up to Drac.”
“Of course,” said Kham. “And I’m sure it involves his lighthouse too.”
“Milton’s Folly,” said Beldin.
“You didn’t let me finish,” said Thuron. “Drac’s name is marked with the Yellow Sign.”
Once Thuron was sure the temple was secure, he led Brother Egil and the others to the temple tombs.
The tombs were cold, dark, and deathly still, but the feeling was reverent rather than grim. A luminescent moss hung from the marble wall, giving off a hint of sandalwood and a gentle yellow glow.
Thuron ran his hands along the moss and chuckled softly to himself. Then he lowered his eyes. “Here I must make a confession. I have lied to you all. I went astray for the best of reasons—but nonetheless I went astray. I can only swear to you I had no part in what you are about to see.”
“Why do I get the feeling,” said Kham, hands in his coat pockets, “that I am not going to be happy about what I see.”
With that, Thuron spoke a few hushed syllables in prayer and slid open a crypt. There was a rush of air, a billow of incense, and they found themselves looking at the body of—Thuron! He seemed eminently peaceful in death.
“Serpent!” snarled Ilmarė. Her blade was out in a flash.
Thuron held up both hands. “I am not Thuron, as you can see. My name is K’Stallo. I am the last priest of Yig.”
“Why shouldn’t we kill you right now?” asked Kham. He had yet to draw his pistols.
“Let me explain,” said K’Stallo. “Please.”
Ilmarė sighed and lowered her blade, but she did not sheath it.
“The Brotherhood was not the only serpent people to survive the destruction of Valossa with their intellects intact. Yig preserved some of his faithful in the farthest corners of the world. But evil—and stupidity—have a greater attraction over the centuries than does peaceful worship.”
“I’ve noticed,” said Ilmarė.
“Many of my number reverted to simple animals, or worse yet, joined the Brotherhood. Lucius found us, during his wanderings, in a small mountain village far to the north. I realized the knowledge he had accumulated might be able to lead us to a closer communion with Yig—an understanding of the divine that has all but faded away over the centuries. So I followed him during his search. I followed him home.”
“So you were the one rummaging through Lucius’ home,” exclaimed Egil.
Thuron nodded. “I snuck into Lucius’s chambers one evening to see if he had held onto any others. I believe I startled you, Egil. For that I apologize. “
Egil sputtered. He didn’t know what to say.
“That doesn’t explain how you became Thuron,” said Ilmarė.
“I slipped into this temple in human guise one evening to look through the scrolls Lucius had brought back from his wanderings. While I was searching, I discovered Thuron dead at his desk. His heart had given out during the night. At that moment I made a fateful choice. Perhaps not a wise one, or even a brave one, but one that made the most sense. I took Thuron’s place and devoted myself to the study of the scrolls.”
“That explains a lot,” said Ilmarė. “This temple has been a pit of snakes ever since. First Oriku, then Milos.”
“I should have spotted Milos at once,” said Thuron, “but I was too engrossed in my work. When I learned of Oriku’s betrayal, I should have abandoned my charade. But I was too greedy for knowledge.”
Kham shrugged. “Althares is a god of knowledge,” he said. “Seems like you’re perfect for the job.”
“Thank you Kham.”
Egil took a deep breath. “I too will keep your secret. For now. We need a leader more than ever. We will take whatever help we can get.” He blanched, looking Thuron up and down, as if he would sprout fangs at any moment. “No matter what form it might take.”
Thuron relaxed somewhat. He took out the documents Vlad and Beldin had handed to him before. “Now I will render you the only service I can—far too little, far too late.” He pointed at the letter written in ssanu. “This document promises great danger for Freeport—and for the world.”
“What is it?” asked Vlad.
“It is a public speech, an explanation of tonight’s events. I will translate it without remarking upon the obvious—it is all lies: This evening, Councilor Verlaine and the clergy of the Althares have been slain. Their murderers are the adventurers who of late discovered the caverns beneath our town: Beldin Soulforge, Bijoux, Calactyte, Ilmare Galen, Kham Val’Abebi, and Vlad Martell. After an investigation by the Council and the City Watch, we have pieced together the truth.
“Chief Councilor Verlaine, that great servant to the city of Freeport, heard rumors about town of unwholesome activities at the temple to the God of Knowledge. He hired the wandering mercenaries to investigate. They made a tremendous discovery: The temple and its priesthood were a cover for the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign, a grotesque cult of serpent people. The mercenaries joined the temple to gain its secrets, but they proved treacherous to both masters. They revealed the caves beneath the city and threatened to expose even more secrets unless the Brotherhood paid them a fortune in gold.
“The Brotherhood agreed to their demands, on condition that the mercenaries accept one final task for their serpent masters—assassinating their erstwhile employer, Councilor Verlaine. The double-crossers carried out the grim job, but they quickly found themselves double-crossed. The Brotherhood refused to pay them their blood money. The mercenaries went mad with rage and slaughtered the cultists, but were killed themselves in the battle.
“We mourn the loss of Councilor Verlaine, but his efforts brought this menace to light—and rooted it out of town, once and for all.” K’Stallo looked up, concern etched in his face. “It is the next part of the document that troubles me the most.”
“There’s more bad news?” asked Ilmarė.
“I’m afraid so. You see, the note is addressed to the Sea Lord—”
Vlad slapped his forehead. “So this goes all the way up to Drac.”
“Of course,” said Kham. “And I’m sure it involves his lighthouse too.”
“Milton’s Folly,” said Beldin.
“You didn’t let me finish,” said Thuron. “Drac’s name is marked with the Yellow Sign.”
This is the third in the Freeport series of modules, "Madness in Freeport," written by Chris Pramas and (loosely) set in the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at http://www.onaraonline.org. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
· Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
· Beldin Soulforge (dwarf fighter) played by Joe Lalumia
· Kham Val’Abebi (val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
· Ilmarė Galen (elf bard/fighter) played by Amber Tresca
· Vlad Martell (human fighter) played by Matt Hammer
We played this adventure immediately after “Terror in Freeport,” in an 10 hour marathon gaming session. Tiles were used, miniatures were used, music was used…it was great.
This adventure consists primarily of four scenes. The first is a fancy ball, heavy on role-playing. It was very interesting, actually, as Kham, Vlad, and Ilmarė were able to get themselves into (and out of) quite a few sticky situations. Mostly, Beldin chased around a frog (trust me, it makes more sense in the story)
The second scene takes place in flooded caverns. This part was long and painful because Quintus wasn’t with the party. It’s also the beginning of Beldin getting seriously messed up, as his stats are drained. And drained. And drained. Kham, our resident pirate, boater, and sailor, tries hard but doesn’t really do much besides let people take on traps. As I’ve mentioned before, our party isn’t all that good at standard dungeon crawls.
So by the time they got to the third scene, the underwater temple, everybody was pretty cranky. The quest was standard “find widget A to get widget B,” which can be a bit boring. That, and Beldin was still a mess. And killing ghosts is hard.
The fourth scene is the payoff though. The battle to the top of the tower was great, especially because we used e-Adventure Round Tower tiles. Ironically, the main bad guy was much less of a threat than his bodyguard N’Tal, who nearly killed the party off by pounding them with evocation spells.
Still, we get a cinematic finish…and you gotta love any adventure that ends with a bang!
“How’s he doing?” asked Kham. They were at one of the special back rooms at the Pale Plate. Calactyte the ss’ressen was wrapped from head to toe in bandages.
“He is doing as well as can be expected,” said Bijoux, the feline fihali. “His wounds were quite serious. Egil’s healing magic is not much stronger than my own. He has not disclosed our location to anyone, even the priests of the Temple of Althares.”
“With good reason,” said Ilmarė. “The ssanu made the ss’ressen race. It’s likely Thuron doesn’t want to consort with Cal’s kind.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bijoux.
“Didn’t we tell you?” Kham took a swig from a wineskin. “Thuron’s a snake. Literally.”
“Whatever the case,” said Sebastian, the dark-kin, “Cal is not going to be in any shape to go anywhere soon. What did we miss?”
“There was a very public,” Kham put two pairs of fingers up in the air to emphasize air quotes, “cleansing held at Verlaine’s home.”
“The militia destroyed the ssanu temple beneath it,” said Beldin.
“And an edict was issued to remove Verlaine’s name forever from the rolls of the Captains’ Council,” said Ilmarė. “All his former holdings were seized.”
“That opens up the Council position, doesn’t it?” asked Sebastian. “Captain Baldric will be pleased.”
Vlad waved a rolled-up scroll with one hand “Drac drafted a proclamation explaining the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign’s treachery. He blames it all on Verlaine.”
“Very convenient,” said Sebastian.
“We found evidence that Drac is behind it all.” Ilmarė pulled up a seat. “He even drafted a letter blaming us for Verlaine’s murder. Looks like he just tweaked the draft a bit when we decided not to die so easily.”
“I find it strange that your name wasn’t in that letter.” Beldin said to Sebastian. “It’s as if he doesn’t know you’re in Freeport.”
The dark-kin’s forked tail twitched in agitation. Now that everyone knew he had a tail, he no longer tried to disguise it. “I believe the Shield is responsible for concealing my identity from Drac.”
“The who?” asked Beldin.
“The Shield.” Kham took off his lenses and placed them down on a round table next to the bed. “A society of mages that protect the magically gifted from Harvesters.”
“I am a Bondsman,” said Sebastian with a slight incline of his head, as if he was introducing himself for the first time. “I have taken the Oath of Nurion.”
Beldin’s eyes were wide. “I did not know.”
“It seems we both have our secrets,” said Sebastian ruefully. “But that’s not important now. What’s important is that we have to leave Freeport. I fear Calactyte will be finished off if we do not move him. I know of a Haven where we can take him.”
Bijoux put one claw on Cal’s arm. “I will not leave him.”
“That’s probably for the best anyway.” Kham threw an envelope onto the bed near Cal’s foot. “You wouldn’t exactly fit in where we’re going.”
Ilmarė took a note out of the envelope. She scanned it with a frown.
“What is it?” asked Vlad. “A death threat?”
“Something far more dangerous,” said Ilmarė. She turned the contents towards Vlad so he could read it. “An invitation to a formal ball.”
Madness in Freeport - Part 1a: The Sea Lord’s Palace
The Sea Lord’s Palace was located in the center of the Old City. At five stories high, it was by far the largest building in the area.
A fifteen-foot-high stone wall enclosed the grounds of the palace. Twin large, black, cast-iron gates faced the street and allowed access to the courtyard. Four guards stood watch over the entrance, checking invitations.
Ilmarė handed her invitation over to the guard with one purple-gloved hand. She was dressed in a bell-shaped, gored skirt that fit close to her waist and gradually widened to the hem, beneath which was a single ruffled petticoat. Her bodice was close fitting, with a low-cut neckline and puffed sleeves. Her hair was simply styled, drawn up in a knot on the top of her head and dressed with violets.
“And your escort?” asked the guard.
Ilmarė’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Your escort, m’lady,” the guard asked. His eyes darted to Vlad. “Did you come with your husband?”
Ilmarė sneered at him. “I do not require a husband to attend a ball.”
The guard’s head bobbed. “If you are unmarried, then an escort is required.”
The elorii was about to say something else when Kham waved his invitation in the guard’s face. He was dressed in a black tailcoat, white shirt, white bow tie, and white vest. He also wore white gloves. “Let’s pretend I’m her escort for the evening, okay?”
The guard, who was only too happy to stop the awkward conversation, took Kham’s invitation without incident.
“I’ve never been to a ball before,” said Vlad out of the corner of his mouth. He wore a vest of leather studded with polished brass rivets. Over the armor he wore a military coat that ended just above the knee, snug gray pants beneath, and black riding boots. Vlad also wore black gloves and a top hat. He wore his sword belt, but his weapon was left at the door.
The landscaping within was well tended, with tall trees and numerous gardens of flowers. They traversed a white stone path that led from the gates to the palace beyond.
“It’s easy,” said Kham. “Smile and ask women to dance. They’re not allowed to say no.”
Ilmarė snorted.
“Really?” asked Vlad.
“Really,” said Kham. “It’d be impolite.”
The guard escorted them to a sitting room in the palace.
“This is nothing like a Coryani formal event,” said Beldin, stroking his beard. He wore a green leather doublet with a single-breasted closure and gold trim. For pants, he wore a pair of black breeches, a white cotton shirt, and a matching green cotton velveteen feathered cap.
“Yeah,” said Kham, “no elephants.”
The door swung open, and a short man hustled into the room, breathing heavily. He took a minute to hike up his black pants over his protruding belly and smooth out his silver buttoned jacket.
After bowing deeply, he said, “Greetings heroes! Milton Drac welcomes you to his home. I am Tomas Fleetfoot, High Chamberlain of the Sea Lord’s Palace. You are to be honored tonight at the ball for your deeds in defense of Freeport. We don’t have much time, so please pay attention.”
Vlad raised one finger. “Uh…”
The short man cut him off. “In a few minutes, I will lead you into the hallway as a speech is made in your honor. The Sea Lord will then introduce you to the gathering, and you will enter the ballroom and approach the dais. The Sea Lord will present you all with the Order of Drac, a very great honor you know, and the ball will begin. Any questions? Good. Let’s go.”
“Great,” said Ilmarė. “As if the ball isn’t torture enough, we have to be honored too.”
Madness in Freeport - Part 1b: The Sea Lord’s Palace
Tomas led them all into the hallway. The gold double doors stood open, revealing the large ballroom. There were two single golden doors on either end of the room, in the middle of each wall. The floor was covered with polished black marble. At the far end of the room, a semi-circle of windows, about half as wide as the room itself, jutted out into the garden outside the palace.
In front of the windows was a dais with thirteen polished oak chairs. “That’d be the Council’s chairs,” said Kham. One chair in the middle was larger than the others. “And that’s Drac’s chair.”
“Don’t tell me,” said Ilmarė. “That was Verlaine’s.” The chair directly to the right of larger chair was draped in black cloth.
The guests were spread out around the room, at round tables. The center of the room had no tables, leaving room for dancing. A group of minstrels sat to the right of the dais. Many colorful tapestries depicting various maritime scenes covered the walls. Large glass spheres hung from the ceiling. They glowed with a yellow light that illuminated the room.
Kham bowed, Ilmarė curtseyed, and the others followed his lead a half-second afterward.
Standing in the center of the dais was a tall man with an angular face. He wore a long, light green robe with a jeweled belt. He looked toward Kham and then addresses the guests, “Thank you all for coming to this grand ball to celebrate the completion of the lighthouse. Soon all the world will speak of the greatness of Freeport. As a glowing beacon, the lighthouse shall shine forth to all peoples, proclaiming the unspeakable power of our glorious city. Tonight, however, we honor the heroes who have saved us from the traitor Verlaine and the dark Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign. If not for their vigilance, our fair city might have fallen under the domination of unfathomable evil. Come forward, my friends, and accept the Order of Drac and our sincerest gratitude.”
The room erupted in applause. Milton handed each of them a gold medal with a pirate ship engraved on it.
Vlad and Beldin accepted their award without comment. Ilmarė’s lip curled, but she kept her tongue.
“Nice speech,” said Kham.
Drac merely shook Kham’s hand with a smile. They were shown to a table near the dais, and the music and merriment began.
“Now what?” asked Vlad out of the corner of his mouth.
“Now,” said Kham, “you learn to duel without your sword.” He grabbed a bottle of wine, two glasses, and disappeared into the crowd.
Madness in Freeport - Part 1c: The Sea Lord’s Palace
"Shall I have the honor of dancing this set with you?"
Ilmarė smiled back at a tall man with short, blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore green pants, a white shirt, and a green jacket.
“Marcus Roberts, Captain of the Black Dragon,” he said with a booming voice that reminded her of Quintus. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me?”
Ilmarė blinked. “I…” Marcus took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor before she could protest. “I’m Ilmarė Galen,” she said.
The music began and the captain whirled her around in the first part of a fast waltz.
“You must be on the Captain’s Council.”
“Of course,” said Marcus.
“Since you’re a Councilor, I’m sure you have an opinion about Drac’s lighthouse,” she said with lowered lashes.
Marcus needed little encouragement. “That lighthouse is draining valuable resources away from the city. You see that fellow hovering near Drac?” He spun her about so that she could look at Drac’s companion. “That’s Melkior Maeorgan.”
Melkior was a large, muscular man in black pants and shirt, covered with a gleaming breastplate. He had jet-black hair to match. A curved dagger in a jeweled scabbard hung from his belt.
“He looks friendly,” said Ilmarė.
Marcus laughed out loud. “He’s Drac’s crony. Drac recently sent Melkior to the mainland and came back with something strange.”
“What kind of strange?”
“Candles made of yellow wax and engraved with magical symbols.”
“Summoning candles,” said Ilmarė. She squinted over at Drac, who was in deep conversation with Melkior.
“That’s what I fear,” said Marcus. His frown shifted to a broad smile. “I used to support the Sea Lord, but these past few years, he’s really turned out to be quite the snake.”
Madness in Freeport - Part 1d: The Sea Lord’s Palace
Vlad caught sight of Thuron and Captain Baldric chatting together at a table. With a nod, he advanced towards them.
“Nay dancin’ me boy?” asked Baldric with a crooked grin. “Thar’s plenty o' pretty lasses, ye ought be ou' on th' floor!”
Vlad shook his head. “I prefer a battlefield to a dance floor any time.” He took a seat next to them.
Thuron smiled, but it was a strained smile. “Youth is truly wasted on the young.”
“Ye got that right!” hooted Baldric. He elbowed the ssanu-in-disguise in the ribs. Thuron didn’t look too pleased.
Vlad looked over at the Council seats arrayed in the center of the room. “Which seat is yours?”
Baldric hushed him. “About that. Listen, lad. I may be havin' overstated me candidacy fer th' Captain’s Council. I thought I had a lock on 't, but now thar’s an e'en greater chance that I might get th' position.”
Vlad took a sip of a wine glass that a servant placed in front of him. “How?”
“Ye know,” Baldric whispered, “now that one o’ them be gone.” He raised his voice when Thuron looked over. “Nay t' speak ill o' th' dead, praise be Yarris!”
Vlad shook his head. “Politics.”
“It is said that in politics,” said Thuron, “your enemies can’t hurt you, but your friends can kill you.”
Baldric laughed nervously and changed the subject. “This party’s very important fer me, lad. If I’m seen wi' th' right swabbies, 't could help me get th' position. So don’t…ah, me good matey Hector! Come sit wi' us!”
A swarthy fellow with a curly, black beard and hair in a red frock coat sat down with them. He had a gold earring in his right ear as well as on each of his fingers.
“Baldric me old friend!” He plunked himself down and ordered a drink.
“This here be Captain Hector Torian,” said Baldric. “He’s th' captain o' th' Silver Ghost.”
“And what do you think of Drac’s lighthouse?” asked Vlad with frank curiosity.
Hector took a swig of a mug. “I owe me seat on th' Captain’s Council t' Drac.” He slammed the mug down on the table. “He helped me get th' position twelve voyages ago when he be a nobody. But eyeball th' lad now!” He took in the room’s festivities with the sloshing mug.
“You don’t think it’s draining too much money from the government’s coffers?”
“Ever' investment requires some cash up front.” Hector slurped again from his mug. “Wi' th' trade th' lighthouse ought t’ generate, we’ll make 't back in nay time!”
Thuron crossed his arms. “The blood of the innocent does not wash easily from coins, no matter how many times they change hands.”
Baldric shoved a mug in front of Thuron’s face. “This one’s on me,” he said in grim tones. “Yarris knows we both need it.”
Madness in Freeport: Part 1e: The Sea Lord’s Palace
Kham zeroed in on a pretty blonde in a midnight blue gown. A single gold ring adorned her right hand.
“That’s a beautiful stone,” he said, sidling up to her.
She met him with a ready smile. “You’re too kind. I’m Petra Fricke.”
“Kham val’Abebi,” said Kham, kissing her hand in greeting. "Shall I have the pleasure?"
“I’d be delighted,” she said with the same sparkling smile.
They made their way to the dance floor as the next song commenced. It was a slow waltz.
“It’s funny you should mention stones,” said Petra. “Are you a craftsman?”
“I know many trades,” Kham turned her slowly about. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m the leader of the Craftsmen Guild in Freeport,” she said.
Kham held up one of Petra’s manicured hands as she waltzed around him. “You don’t have the hands of a craftsman.”
Petra giggled. “Alas, we have not received much work in the past three years.”
“Don’t tell me.” Kham caught her by the waist and resumed the waltz. “This has to do with the lighthouse.”
“It does indeed,” said Petra with a coy smile. “The craftsmen are being left out some lucrative work. Instead, Drac brings in orcs from outside of Freeport.”
The music slowly faded to a stop. Kham bowed before Petra. “Thank you very much for the dance.”
Petra put one hand to her mouth and tittered. “I think we shall meet again, Kham val’Abebi.”
He led her off the dance floor. “I certainly hope so,” said Kham with a wink. Seconds later, Kham walked straight towards a green-haired beauty at the other side of the room.
Madness in Freeport - Part 1f: The Sea Lord’s Palace
Another dance was announced. Ilmarė didn’t have to wait long.
An elorii wearing dark-green breeches with a black, tight-fitting shirt approached her. His shoulder-length, blonde hair was held away from his angular face by a slim, golden circlet. He cut a dashing figure, complete with a rapier at his side.
"Will you honor me with your hand for a quadrille?" he asked.
“You’re Berokene.” Ilmarė identified the elorii’s lineage with a hint of approval. “Yes, I think I will.”
He led her to two other men and a lady on the dance floor.
When the music commenced, he bowed. Ilmarė responded with a courtesy and the dance began.
“My name is Arias,” he said. “Arias Soderheim.”
Arias moved toward Ilmarė and, in passing her, presented his right hand. Ilmarė did the same.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Ilmarė with the hint of a smile. “I’m—“
“Oh I know who you are,” said Arias. “How could I not? You’re the most beautiful lady in all of Freeport.”
They changed places. “You’re too kind.” Ilmarė would have rolled her eyes, but Arias mustered the compliment with deadly sincerity.
After giving Ilmarė his right hand, Arias left her to turn behind her, and gave his left hand to that of Ilmarė, who took the place of the other lady.
“And what is it you do, Arias?”
“I’m on the Captain’s Council.” He flashed a smile. “I represent the Entaran naval fleet in negotiations. Milton’s a much better choice than the previous Sea Lord, don’t you think?”
Their conversation was interrupted as they switched places in the quadrille. Ilmarė had to wait until she was facing Arias again.
“You mean Anton?” Ilmarė turned caught Arias’ hand again. He was an excellent dancer. “Wasn’t he assassinated?”
“Yes,” said Arias with a frown. “Milton’s much more interested in a neutral Freeport, and that’s turned out to be a rather lucrative arrangement for our people.”
“Lucrative how?”
“We have exclusive rights to all shipping for material to build that lighthouse of his,” said Arias.
“Whatever would the Sea Lord want with a lighthouse?” asked Ilmarė, feigning ignorance.
Arias laughed. Ilmarė hated the sound. “I have no idea, but it doesn’t really matter. As you well know, m’lady, long life has its advantages. We’ll enjoy the Sea Lord’s money long after he’s dead!” He laughed again, as if the jest wasn’t in appalling taste.
“Charming,” said Ilmarė.
The music ended. Arias thanked Ilmarė for the pleasure of her company and walked her to her seat.
“Are you interested in music? I’m quiet the talent you know.”
Ilmarė decided she was tiring of Arias. “I am trained in the bardic arts,” she said.
Arias’ eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s fantastic! You must sing for us!”
Ilmarė blanched. “Oh, no, I don’t really think…”
Arias shouted to the musicians. “Do you know the Song of the Five Princes?” The musicians smoothly switched from a structured dance set to something much more melancholy. “I’ll sing the basso.”
“I…” she struggled to remember the words. Ilmarė did remember the song; it was so long ago. But when she sang, the words came to her as if it were only yesterday.
Madness in Freeport - Part 1g: The Sea Lord’s Palace
The entire ballroom stopped to listen to Ilmarė and Arias’ duet.
“A leben caun thar Ennui Aeair!” sang Ilmarė. She sang of the Five Princes beyond the western seas.
“Nay a dancer, eh?” asked a tall man in red leggings and a black jacket.
“Dwarves don’t dance,” said Beldin with a sniff. “Not these kinds of dances anyway.”
“Calad ammen i reniar,” sang Arias. He sang of a light to wander by.
“I know what ye mean. Th' name’s Xavier Gordon, captain o' th' Bloody Sea.”
Beldin nodded back at him. “Beldin Soulforge. The Bloody Sea, hmm? That’s the name of your ship?” He continued to sip from his mug.
Xavier chuckled. “Aye. Tho I suppose ye wouldn’t know o' such things, bein' a dwarf an' all.”
“Mi 'aladhremmin Onara,” sang Ilmarė. She spoke of wandering amid the tree-woven lands of Onara.
“Don’t be so sure,” said Beldin. He peered into the contents of his mug. “I’ve had my share of sharks. Even eaten sea urchin once.”
Xavier’s dour attitude changed instantly. “So ye BE a man o' th' sea,” he clapped Beldin on the back. “Sailin' th' seas be 'ere a man belongs!”
Arias sang, “a Osalian Gilthoniel.” He spoke of Osalian, the Star-Kindler.
“So you’re a pirate then?” asked Beldin.
Xavier’s expression soured. “I prefer privateer. I’ve got th' interests o' Freeport at heart.”
Beldin took another swig from his mug. “Oh right. Like Captain Baldric.”
“I chin a thûl lín míriel,” sang Ilmarė. She described Osalian’s eyes and breath like shining jewels.
“Let me ask ye something,” said Xavier. “Ye’re a dwarf, ye know about stone works. What do ye think o' this lighthouse Milton be building?”
“I think it takes a dwarf half the time it takes men to build such things,” said Beldin without hesitation. “And it takes men with something to hide four times as long.”
“Et Eärello Onara utúlien,” sang Arias. Out of the Great Sea to Onara came Osalian.
“Aye,” said Xavier. “Somethin' t' hide indeed. Two days ago I saw somethin' e'en stranger.”
“Oh?” asked Beldin.
“Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta,” sang Ilmarė. In his new home, Osalian would abide with his heirs, until the end of the world.
“Thar be a mysterious ship that slipped into a secluded area near th' lighthouse in th' dark o' night. 't be offloadin' cargo an' passengers.”
“That is strange,” said Beldin.
Ilmarė curtseyed and Arias bowed. The crowd broke into wild applause. Some people were sniffling back tears. Beldin and Xavier were too preoccupied to notice.
“That’s nay th’ strange part,” said Xavier. “One o’ th’ passengers had a long, reptilian tail.”
Madness in Freeport - Part 1h: The Sea Lord’s Palace
The musicians resumed their set as a throng of admirers crowded Ilmarė and Arias.
“Will you give me the pleasure of dancing with you?” asked Kham of the green-haired, green-eyed woman in a tight-fitting aqua-colored gown.
She smiled back at him with no hint of shyness. “Certainly.”
Kham led her onto the dance floor. “I’m Kham val’Abebi.”
“Sister Gwendolyn,” she replied. A jeweled miniature trident hung from a silver necklace.
“A priestess of Yarris?” Kham bowed as the music began. “I am doubly honored!”
“You flatter me.” The priestess curtseyed back. “But enough of niceties, tell me of the heroism that earned you such a prestigious award.”
“A little of this, a little of that.” Kham spun her into another waltz. “As a priestess of Yarris, surely you have an opinion about Drac’s lighthouse.”
“I do indeed,” said Gwendolyn. “I’ve heard many odd things.”
Kham slowly spun her out and then brought her back to him. “Such as?”
“Strange noises and lights from the top of the lighthouse,” she said. “And strange dead things at the bottom.”
“Now that’s interesting. What kind of dead things.”
“Two horrible creatures with the head of an owl and the body of a bear,” she said with the slightest hint of a frown.
Kham couldn’t keep from staring at her hair. It really was a dark shade of green. “Owlbears,” he said matter-of-factly.
“The librarian at the Temple of Althares said he had never seen one before,” Gwendolyn replied. “I suppose it only makes sense that one as well-traveled as you would know of such things. He said they were well-known on the continent.”
“That must be Lucius,” said Kham. He took a deep breath. Gwendolyn had a scent about her that reminded him of the fresh ocean air. It was intoxicating.
“You know Lucius? You do know everybody, Master Kham.”
“Not everybody,” said Kham, “but I’m glad to hear Lucius is staying out of trouble.”
Gwendolyn watched Kham with lidded eyes as they came to the end of the waltz. “I get the impression you know all about trouble.”
Kham led Sister Gwendolyn off the dance floor and over to her seat. “Unfortunately, trouble knows all about me.”
A bow and a grin later, and Kham disappeared into the crowd.
“Can I speak wi' ye, Vlad?” He glanced over his shoulder to see Baldric and Thuron leading forward intently. “Alone?”
Vlad excused himself and left the table with Thuron.
When they were in one of the sitting rooms, Brock took off his hat. “I know ye’ve jus' met me, but I felt ye be me best hope. I think ye understand that…thar’s a situation wi' th' lighthouse. I think ye can appreciate that.”
Vlad nodded. “I sure can.”
“I tell ye, lad, th' lighthouse be a powerful, magical device. I think th' Sea Lord plans t' use 't t' summon an army o' monsters t' attack th' mainland an' brin' glory t' Freeport. But I don’t think he can control 't. I don’t know if he can dictate what comes through th' gate, or e'en control what comes ou' o' it.”
Vlad was taken aback. He suspected something was wrong with the lighthouse, but nothing as drastic as Brock described. “Have you spoken to anyone about this?”
“I tried once,” said Brock. He scratched the top of his bald pate. “Drac threatened t' kill me whole family. `Tis got me up nights, that`s th' truth.”
“What do you plan to do?”
Brock began to pace with his arms behind his back.
“Th' right decision. Sometimes 'tis hard t' figure ou' what that be. Ye understand?”
Vlad nodded.
“I think thar’s only one way. We’re goin' t' be havin' t' kill th' lad. Here. Now.”
Vlad squinted at Brock. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. I know ye can do 't. I can lure Drac into this room. Ye follow th' lad in, do what ye need t' do, an' then escape ou' one o' th' windows an' climb o'er th' wall. When things calm down, th' truth about Drac be sure t' be revealed. Ye’ll be hailed as heroes fer thwartin' his plan.”
Vlad crossed his arms. “I don’t know about this.”
Brock put one hand on Vlad’s shoulder. “Ye be havin' t' be sure. Think hard, Vlad. If we’re goin' t' move on this, thar canna be th' least wee shred o' doubt. I need t' know if ye be havin' proof that Drac’s behind all this.”
“I do,” said Vlad.
“Would ye be willin' t' swear before a judge an' jury…e'en take an oath before Sarish himself?
“I’ve seen the proof with my own eyes.”
“That's what I thought,” Brock’s lips became a grim line. “Then we have' t' kill him.”
Madness in Freeport - Part 1k: The Sea Lord’s Palace
Kham was on his way to the bar when a raven-haired beauty intercepted him.
“I know you,” said the young woman with a lopsided smile. “You’re Kham, the adventurer!”
“That’s one of my professions,” said Kham, gesturing for two drinks from a nearby servant. “But I don’t have the pleasure of your name…”
A servant handed Kham two goblets
“You can call me Margy,” she chirped. “Margy Roth.”
Kham inclined his head, amused. “Daughter of Torsten Roth, the head of the Merchant’s Guild?”
“The same,” said Margy. Her smile widened into a grin as Kham handed her one of the goblets.
“As a genuine hero of Freeport, you must tell me all about your adventures!” She took a long slurp from the mug. “Surely you must have come across quite a bit of baubles as you loot dragon lairs, steal from titan treasuries, pilfer from kings...”
Kham nearly coughed. He looked around. “Isn’t that your father over there?”
Margy refused to look over her shoulder. “Oh, is he? I didn’t notice.”
Kham smirked. He knew exactly what she was doing. An aristocratic young lady with a man of ill character such as himself would certainly cause a stir, especially with her father.
Kham was only too willing to oblige her. “You’re not even slightly interested in Drac’s lighthouse, are you?”
“That silly old thing?” Margy dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand. “Goodness, no. I’m much more interested in you.”
Kham put one arm around Margy and wheeled her to one of the private rooms. It just so happened that the path was in front of Torsten. “Then you and I have much to talk about.”
Madness in Freeport - Part 1l: The Sea Lord’s Palace
“Master Soulforge, a moment if you please.”
Beldin whirled around to see an older man with brown hair and eyes in a red robe. He walked with the aid of a gnarled staff. “Yes?”
“I was just talking to my apprentice Glenfield here,” he gestured to a fidgety gnome, who peeked out from behind the wizard’s taller form, “about the quality of summoning stones in a structure and I thought you might know something about it.” The older man smiled. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I’m Tarmon, High Wizard of the Wizard’s Guild.”
Beldin excused himself from his conversation with Xavier. “Nice to meet you Tarmon.”
“Glenfield, get Burkhart, we’re going to be leaving in a few minutes. These late night balls are for the young.”
Glenfield darted over to a small cage in one corner of the room. Beldin watched him open it to retrieve the toad.
“Who’s Burkhart?” asked Beldin.
“Oh, that’s my toad familiar.” Tarmon made a sympathetic noise. “Poor thing hasn’t aged well. He’s just not all there anymore.”
Behind Tarmon, Glenfield looked up with a horrified expression. The toad wasn’t in its cage.
“So as I was saying, I was wondering what a dwarf might think of summoning stones in structures. It’s been quite the topic of debate in wizardly circles.”
Beldin had difficulty focusing on the conversation. “What in particular would you like to know?”
Glenfield made eye contact with Beldin. He put his hands together in the dwarf’s direction, as if in prayer. Then he made a rotating motion with his fingers. He wanted Beldin to keep Tarmon busy while he looked for the toad.
“Well, some of the wizards believe that summoning stones placed in a structure would actually turn the structure itself into a gate of sorts.”
Beldin nodded, answering both Tarmon and Glenfield at the same time.
“I’m of two minds,” said Tarmon. “On the one hand, I think the effect of summoning stones will be diluted by the irregular form of said structure.”
Glenfield started running from table to table, peeking under the tablecloths.
“That’s possible,” said Beldin. “The dwarves of Solanos Mor have long used stones to control gates to realms of darkness.”
Glenfield turned towards Beldin and threw up his hands in frustration. Something gray and wet hopped quickly behind him.
“On the other hand, it’s possible that enough stones will actually enhance the power of the building, by focusing towards a convergent point.”
Beldin tried to indicate the toad’s direction with his chin, but he succeeded in just wiggling his nose.
“Are you all right?” asked Tarmon, concerned. “You seem to have an itch.”
Glenfield understood. He spun around to look.
Beldin covered it with a cough. “Sorry, I’m not accustomed to the Freeport air.”
“It’s the moisture,” Tarmon nodded sympathetically. “I feel it more and more in my bones as I get older.”
Glenfield pointed in the direction of where the toad had hopped, one hand over his mouth.
Burkhart hopped right under the skirts of a throng of young women, huddled deep in conversation about Kham.
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