Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
This scenario is from the Freeport adventure “Gangs of Freeport” by Ari Marmell, adapted to the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at Onara Online. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
• Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
• Vlad Martell (human fighter) played by Matt Hammer
Some days, no matter how much I try to plan, things go awry. Whenever we don’t have enough players for the D&D game, my plan was to start up a D20 Modern game, which has a larger pool of players. But of course, those folks weren’t available either. So I figured I’d play D&D with the two fighters of our group.
Except that Beldin’s player didn’t show up either. That left Vlad.
Vlad’s something of an everyman hero, and his player Matt is an old school gamer. He likes to kill things and take their stuff. And yet, Vlad is often underestimated because he’s “just a fighter.” Vlad’s much more than that, and Matt demonstrates in this solo adventure that he can more than handle himself.
I pulled few punches. The bad guys play to win, but they play smart, and in a few cases some unexpected things happen. I also applied rules I don’t always remember to use to the bad guys—the lack of Precise Shot when a spell caster attacks with a ray, for example. That kept things in Vlad’s favor.
Ultimately, we both had a great time, and stalled long enough (the adventure took about five hours) until the other players could show up for the next adventure.
Sebastian, Beldin, and Vlad stood outside the vacant lot that had once been Cresh Manor. Stephen Aldones Ambrose was gone and with him, the King in Yellow. Behind them, Kham and Scarbelly’s crew were unconscious.
Vendors hawked their wares from street-side stalls while laborers lugged their burdens and barefoot children dashed around and between everyone’s legs, shrieking like tiny banshees. The sea air smelled of salt and old fish, and the lap of the tide against the docks—many blocks behind them—still reached their ears, the city’s constant heartbeat.
Sebastian turned to Vlad. “The ring you hold is very powerful. I can charge it for you, if you like.”
Vlad looked at his left ring finger, the same hand he used to hold his shield. “It’s a strange sensation, knowing how to cast spells all of a sudden.”
Sebastian grabbed hold of Vlad’s hand and concentrated. “There. In your darkest hour, call upon the power of the ring and it will help you.”
Vlad nodded. “Thanks.”
Sebastian didn’t smile. He merely nodded.
Beldin barreled past them, shoving Sebastian aside. “Get down!”
The dwarf wound up and bashed a barrel backwards. It tumbled through the air, the swift-burning fuse sizzling.
Vlad turned and thrust Grungronazharr before him…
Then the explosion rocked tore through the intersection, sending Sebastian flying in one direction and Beldin in the other.
Gangs of Freeport: Part 1 – Rioting for Fun and Profit
The explosion tore up half the street, tossing debris in all directions. Vlad’s mind barely had time to register what had just happened when the whistling of crossbow bolts snapped him out of his stupor.
Two Freeporters, armed with cutlasses, charged out of the smoke towards him. Vlad hesitated as he realized that his friends were in danger, bleeding in the street. If the thugs wanted to rob them or worse, he would only endanger his companions by staying where he was.
He ran. The thugs gave chase, perceiving his tactics as flight. More crossbow bolts punctured the wall behind him, some just missing his head.
Finally, he came to the end of an alley and spun to face his assailants with his back to an old, rusted door.
The thugs hesitated. Then they advanced, grinning.
Vlad waited for their approach. They were trying to flank him. He edged forward a little bit, drawing one of the thugs towards him.
The thug took the bait. He took a vicious swing at Vlad’s head. Using his shield, Vlad knocked the blow aside and then sliced downwards, slashing the man’s thigh. He howled and skipped backwards as the other thug moved in for the kill.
Vlad let the blow bounce off his studded leather and then made the thug pay for it with his life. Grungronazharr drank deeply from the man’s abdomen.
The other thug desperately slashed at Vlad’s legs, but he hopped backwards to avoid the blow. Vlad hacked downwards, his heavy blade easily deflecting the cutlass. Then he finished the second thug.
There was a stabbing pain in his left shoulder. A crossbow bolt protruded from his armor. Vlad looked up.
Another attacker hung out a window a floor up, having just released the bolt from his crossbow. Vlad turned towards the door and slammed into it…
Only to bounce off. His whole body ached from the blow; the door wasn’t just locked, it was barred from the other side. Of course it was, Vlad chided himself. No Freeport home would leave a door unguarded.
Another head poked out on the other side of the alley. His tactics against melee assailants had turned the alley into a death trap. They could fire on him with impunity.
The ring! Vlad pointed at the door and concentrated. The sound of shrieking metal, unaccustomed to being moved in years, echoed through the alley. Then the door unlocked itself and opened.
Vlad kissed the Carcosan ring and charged through the doorway.
Vlad stood over the last corpse of the thugs who had ambushed him. He was about to return to the street to help his friends when he sensed a presence in the room.
Standing half-concealed in the shadows was a figure clad in ratty trousers and a worn cloak. His hood was pulled down low across his face.
“This is a surprise,” said a gravelly yet familiar voice. “Vlad Martell, if I recall correctly.”
Vlad didn’t sheathe his blade. “Finn?”
Finn removed the cloak, his puffy features marred by a shiner around his left eye. “Yes. These are strange times. That is why I have come to you. I need your help. Freeport needs your help.”
Vlad sheathed Grungronazharr. “I’d love to, but my friends are bleeding in the street.”
Finn smiled. “I like that about you Vlad. You care about people. That is why I have chosen you. Your friends will be taken care of. Take a look out the window.”
Vlad peered out the window the thug had been using to snipe at him. Sure enough, cloaked figures scuttled out to bind the wounds of his companions. A cart pulled up and they were placed in it.
“Where are you taking them?”
“Somewhere safe,” said Finn. “We’re running out of those sorts of places.”
“What happened to your eye?”
“I said these were strange times.” Finn gestured at another seat that Vlad had kicked over in the melee. “Please, have a seat.”
Vlad sat down.
“I come to you, Vlad, because I have run out of options. There’s a crime wave swamping Freeport since you left. Someone has organized the gangs. And I don’t mean the usual nonsense, I mean all of the gangs are united. It’s unnatural, for common criminals to be so focused on a single goal. Men who were sworn enemies since they knew the soft end of a woman from the biting end are working together now like brothers.”
“Which gangs?”
“The Cutthroats.” He pointed at the dead man near the window. “That tattoo on his neck will identify those men as members of the Cutthroat Gang. I followed them here to see what they were up to—they were preparing to take you out, once you left Cresh Manor.”
“So the Cutthroats teamed up with the other gangs?”
“The Buccaneers, yes.”
“But not your Syndicate?”
Finn snorted. “My own people have been behaving strangely. I have said this before to Kham—the Syndicate does not sell drugs. Not now, not ever. But these gangs, these mongrels, they have this new poison on the streets called Ghoul Juice. And it’s taken over their lives. Then it finally spread to my own men.”
“That’s how you got that shiner?”
“I have a strict no drug policy. But then one day one of my bodyguards, one of my own men, asked me to try some Ghoul Juice. When I said no, he jumped me.”
Finn pounded one fist into the other. For a moment Vlad thought he was nervous, but then he realized that the smaller man was shivering with rage. He had never seen Finn angry.
“My own boys tried to hold me down and shove the stuff into my face. My own boys…” Finn’s voice trailed off. He slowly shook his head, as though still bowed by the weight of what happened. “There is serious magic at work here. I need men I can trust, and I am running out of those. I can no longer trust my muscle…the only men I’ve got are the ones taking care of your friends.”
“Where were you attacked?” asked Vlad.
“There’s a small shack in Scurvytown, over near Dreaming Street. I was going down there to have a conversation with some of my men, who were addicted to Ghoul Juice. Given the state most of them were in when I left, they and the Ghoul Juice might still be there.”
Vlad crossed his arms. “Why should I help you?”
Finn nodded. He had been expecting the question. “For one, I am very unhappy with the release of Estaboth.” Before Vlad could say anything, Finn held up one pudgy hand. “But I understand you are a humanitarian. So if you do this thing, I will forgive this slight. For another, I am the only thing keeping your friends safe. You are a marked man. Finally, although we may have our differences, consider the alternative. They don’t call it Ghoul Juice for nothing.”
“What about Drak and his followers?”
Finn peered sideways at Vlad. “Who?”
“You know, the orcs?”
Finn looked out the window. “Dead, probably. Or long gone before my men helped you with your little problem. I’m not interested in a dirty pile of greenskins anyway. Do we have a deal?“
Vlad considered. “I’ll do it.”
Finn closed his eyes. “Find the head of this snake and cut it off, Vlad. Or Freeport will never be safe again.”
At first glance, Vlad thought he was on Dreaming Street. The furtive, the drugged, the soliciting, and the frightened occupied the walkways. Windows were boarded, shuttered, or tastefully curtained, but all were obscured. The entire neighborhood smelled of a bizarre combination of smokes, burning herbs and alchemical substances that make him feel lightheaded.
As Vlad approached his destination, it became obvious that this he was not on Dreaming Street all. The buildings were run-down, the paint and colors peeling. The people had a desperate look to them, and while Dreaming had more than its share of desperation, all who frequented it knew that they could find what they sought—for the right price. He’d learned that when they rescued Corinalous, Kham’s father, from the Well-Dressed Man.
For the people who could not afford Dreaming itself, the streets surrounding it provided a cheaper alternative. People huddled in alleys, shuddering with withdrawal. Red-eyed wretches accosted passersby, begging for sufficient coin to purchase a dose of Ghoul Juice, or a few minutes with their “beloved” harlot, or to pay off their gambling debts before they were fed to the sharks.
Vlad’s target was a shack, sitting on one side of a small alley, sandwiched between a vendor selling cheap used daggers and a brothel so run-down and filthy, it looked as though the venereal diseases might actually leap out and accost passersby on their own. It was a tiny, ramshackle place that might well fall apart if struck sidelong by a stiff breeze. A tiny trail of smoke rose from a tin chimney. The windows were shuttered, and a crude hand-painted sign was tacked to the front door with a rusty nail. It read “Clozed for Bizness.”
Vlad pulled out his tanglefoot bag and began to swing it. People in the street made way for the big Milandisian; he was intimidating enough in full armor…swinging a weapon made everyone think twice.
Then Vlad kicked open the door and threw the bag. It exploded in goo, immediately covering the blitzed out Cutthroats that lazed within.
Vlad drew Grungronazharr and put it against the nearest gang member’s throat. “I want to ask you a few questions.”
The Cutthroat giggled inappropriately and shrugged. He was definitely high.
“Good. I want to know how you get this Ghoul Juice.”
The Cutthroat’s eyes rolled. “I…he smuggles them in. Paulow. We call him…” he started giggling again, “Sky-High. He hates that.”
“Where is he?”
The Cutthroat laughed and told Vlad to do something with a farm animal.
Vlad raised a fist, then looked around. There were some vials of the grayish-green stuff on one table.
He lifted his sword over the vials. Suddenly, everyone stopped laughing.
“This is Ghoul Juice, right? If you value it so much, you’d better start talking.”
The Cutthroat nodded, suddenly very focused.
“Sky-High. Where is he?”
“Broken… Mug.”
“Broken Mug?” Vlad shook him again. “Is that a place?”
The man nodded. Vlad pushed him back into the goo in disgust.
The other thugs slowly got to their feet, moving as if in slow motion.
Vlad studied the Cutthroat carefully. Then he held up one hand, the hand that wore the Carcosan ring. Vlad transformed into a mirror image of the thug, complete with a tattoo on his neck that identified him a member of the Cutthroats.
“Tell all your friends,” said the Cutthroat with Vlad’s voice. “I’m back. And I’m cleaning up the streets of Freeport.”
Then he turned and smashed the vials, scattering the contents all over the tiny shack.
Freeport certainly had thrice the ambiance and thrice the character of any other city, and that character coagulated in tiny pools of wonder that mere mortals called “taverns.”
The Broken Mug was constructed at the end of an old pier, leaning out over the water like a drunken sailor about to vomit. The planks creaked alarmingly underfoot, though clearly they were sturdy enough to support the establishment. The sign above the door swayed with the rhythm of the tide lapping at the pier. The symbol painted on it in cracked and fading hues—a mug with a huge fault running through it—confirmed that Vlad was in the right place.
The scent of cheap alcohol, wood shavings, saltwater, and sweat assailed him like common muggers before he even opened the door. The interior of the tavern was dim, lit only by a few flickering lanterns and the light that squeezed in through boarded windows. Tables, and barrels served as tables, strewn about the room with no real sense of order. Half were empty, while the other half seated people in various states of inebriation. Most were men, most were human, and most looked quite at home in a cheap tavern. Several women in blouses cut lower than the afternoon tide flitted from table to table, working to part the drunks from their money by any one of a variety of means. A large stone fireplace stood empty, next to a long bar made of wood, behind which stood a gruff-looking female dwarf.
Vlad, magically disguised as a Cutthroat gang member, walked over to the bartender. He plunked down some doubloons. “I’m looking for Sky-High.”
“Who?” asked the bartender. She looked aggravated by the mere fact that Vlad was talking to her.
The patron next to Vlad turned to face him. “We don’t like your kind here,” he snarled.
A few other patrons stood up. One, a twisted gnome, bent and hunched, grabbed a chair. Another fellow had a bottle in his hand.
The bartender reached for something beneath the bar.
Vlad shrugged as if dropping a cloak from his shoulders and the illusion disappeared. “Do you really want to do this?”
The crowd hesitated.
“Why don’t you get your idiot friend and get out of here.” The bartender pointed one stubby finger at a man sitting alone at a corner table. He was passed out with his head down, blissfully unaware. The room was silent and tense.
Vlad grabbed Paulow by his collar and into the street. The normal tavern sounds of the Broken Mug resumed whatever it was they were doing before Vlad arrived.
Paulow was a relatively thin man with dark hair and slightly swarthy skin. It was clear that Paulow was in no shape for intelligent conversation. Vlad dragged him over to the docks. Paulow didn’t resist.
Then Vlad unceremoniously dunked him in the saltwater.
After waiting a moment, he dragged Paulow back up out of it.
“Awake now?”
Paulow sputtered, his eyes rolling wildly. He was at least aware of Vlad’s presence, which was an improvement.
“Tell your dealer I’m coming for him.” He shoved Paulow into the street. “He’d better watch his back.”
Then Vlad stepped out of sight into the shadows and waited.
Vlad followed Paulow for almost half an hour. They made their way southwest along the shoreline, leaving the bustle of Freeport behind. The thick jungle loomed nearby, casting dark shadows like fingers out onto the sands. Strange animals call from within the dark trees, as though disturbed that Vlad had the audacity to leave the city at all.
Finally, just as it was beginning to seem as though Paulow was leading him on a false trail, Vlad spotted it in the water some ways further down the shore.
It was a capsized vessel, partially sunken and resting in the shallow waters. Perhaps a bit less than one-half of the port side of the ship was visible above the waves. The deck faced the shore, the masts stabbing out as though desperately reaching for the land. A thin and rickety bridge, anchored to the ship and to the trees nearest the shore, provided the only visible means of access.
Paulow stumbled his way across the bridge. Vlad padded out onto the stands near the water.
The sand near the bridge was churned up and bedecked with tracks, both humanoid and wheeled. The place clearly saw substantial use. Several of the humanoid tracks were blatantly inhuman. In fact, though sized comparably to human feet, they were clawed, almost…
“Ssanu,” Vlad hissed beneath his breath. The Ghoul Juice epidemic was spreading to everyone. If the serpent people were involved, it meant the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign was involved. And that meant they had not been weakened after all their efforts.
Vlad waded into the water, carefully and silently swimming to the other side of the ship. He could hear Paulow arguing urgently with guards at the wheelhouse. He slipped out of the water once he could feel the sunken deck beneath his feet. The guards were letting Paulow in.
Vlad concentrated on his ring. The spells stored within it caused his features once again assumed the appearance of a Cutthroat gang member. Then he knocked on the door.
A slot opened, light streaming through the hole. “I’m with Paulow,” he said simply. “Let me in.”
“Hold on a tick,” said the gruff voice on the other side.
Then a plate opened up. Vlad found himself looking down the barrel of a Titan GG Swivel Gun.
With Grungronazharr in one hand behind his back, Vlad had only a split second to bring the blade before him before the cannon blasted him. The magical shield that enveloped Vlad and protected him from heat only mitigated some of the damage. He was knocked backwards, falling into darkness.
The entire ship was stirred to alarm. Men shouted and grabbed their weapons below.
The gun swiveled to track Vlad, but they had difficulty spotting him. With a roar, Vlad slammed into the door with his shield, smashing it open.
The thug manning the Titan Gun tried to swivel it, but Vlad stabbed him in the throat. A bullet ricocheted off of Vlad’s studded leather armor as another thug fired a pistol at him. Then the Milandisian was through the door.
Another quick thrust and the second thug fell. A closed trapdoor led below.
Vlad took a deep breath, opened the trapdoor, and jumped down into whatever lay in wait for him.
He faced a cramped hallway. Vlad cursed himself for expecting anything else; he’d become so accustomed to fighting in dungeons and alleyways that he’d forgotten how tight the confines of a ship really were.
He hunkered down behind his shield as the crack of Freeport pistols fired simultaneously. He was a sitting duck if he didn’t do something soon.
“My darkest hour,” Vlad said to himself. He pointed an open palm towards the hallway.
A gout of flames burst from his hand into the hallway. Shrieks and screams reached his ears along with the subsequent explosions--the sound of black powder exploding.
The familiar thump-thump-thump of someone running were the only warning he had before a horrible figure emerged from the smoke. It was a tall, pockmarked scarecrow of a man wielding two wickedly curved short swords. His skin was a rubbery gray; red pinpricks of light reflected behind black goggles and a long tongue lolled from his mouth.
“You’ve come for the Ghoul Juice?” he lisped. “I will bring it to you!”
The ghoul lunged forward, striking high and low with both blades. It was all Vlad could do to block the first attack. The second sliced through his armor. Vlad howled in pain and stumbled back against the ladder.
Smelling blood, the ghoul cackled and pressed the advantage. Vlad shoved forward as it lifted both swords for a scissoring attack on his neck, slamming the thing down the hallway. The ghoul howled as he bore down on, its expression shifting from triumph to fear.
With a roar, Vlad jammed Grungronazharr through the ghoul’s torso. It shrieked and kicked, flailing violently. Vlad took a step back to let it die.
Then another sound caught his attention. That of someone terrified for his life.
“Paulow,” said Vlad calmly. “Get out here. I want to talk to you.”
Paulow had told Vlad that “Barnacle-Bottom” Bailey, the ghoul who had attacked him, was dealing with ssanu. Every few days, some of Freeport’s gangs showed up to collect the juice. Every few weeks, some of the serpents showed up to deliver more ingredients and give any new instructions. Bailey was a message center between the different groups and gangs, and between the gangs and the serpents.
But most telling of all were the papers. Although some of them were badly scorched, Vlad was able to unearth stacks containing detailed guard routes and patrol schedules. So Vlad went to the one person in the Guard whom he knew would believe him: Price Rurbach.
Armed with Price’s patrol schedule, Vlad knew precisely where to meet him. He met him with a patrol of five guards.
“Price!” said Vlad with a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
Price paused and the Sea Lord’s Guard behind him stopped in place. “Well wot ‘ave we ‘ere? If it ain’t me old friend Vlad! Last I heard, you was drownin’ in th’ sea! Guess you turned up all right then, eh?”
Vlad stepped forward out of the darkness. “You have no idea. But we can catch up later, I’ve got something I need to show you.”
“Wot’s that?” Price’s eyebrows shot up. Vlad had forgotten how ugly the man was.
Vlad handed him the papers he found in Bailey’s ship. “I retrieved these papers from a drug dealer named Barnacle-Bottom Bailey. He’s been providing Ghoul Juice to the gangs; it’s how they’ve been avoiding the Sea Lord’s Guard.”
Price scanned the papers. His lips became a thin line. “’ave you told anyone else about dis?”
Vlad shook his head.
“Good. Ya did th’ right thing comin’ to me.” The guards fanned out around Vlad. “Unfortunately fer yew, that means we’re gonna have t’ silence ya right here. Get ‘im boys.”
It took a moment to register. “Price? You were working with Bailey all along?”
“Not ‘xactly,” said Price with a shrug. He drew two of his batons and whirled them about. “Was givin’ ‘em to the snakes, and they was givin’ ‘em ter th’ rest. But I guess it works out th’ same, yah.”
With a roar, Vlad slammed his shield into Price’s chest. Before Price could respond or his guards react, Vlad punched the man square in the nose.
Price slammed into a wall and slid down it, blood dripping from his nose. Vlad spun, blade at the ready. “Anyone else?”
The guards hesitated. Then they turned and ran…only to run into another patrol.
“You Vlad?” asked a gruff-looking sergeant.
Vlad nodded. “I see you got my note.” He grabbed Price by throat. “Just in case you didn’t believe me, I sent a note to the Commissioner,” he said. “Looks like he did.”
The sergeant nodded. “We’ll take him into custody.”
Vlad cracked his knuckles. “Not before I speak with him first.”
The house appeared to be like any other. It was solid, but every so slightly run down, as if its owners couldn’t quite afford upkeep along with all their other expenses. It stood two stories in height and its single chimney appeared unused. Every window was shuttered tight. Two doors appeared to grant ingress; one was at the front of the house, while the other door opened out into a small garden.
Price knocked on the door.
A slot opened. “Who is it?”
“It’s…me. I had a problem. I think this Vlad person is on to us.”
The slot closed. Then the door opened and a ssanu stood before him.
Price’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. He walked in.
The ssanu ushered Price over to a table. “So, tell me about this Vlad.”
Price squinted. “He handed me some papers he got from Barnacle-Bottom Bailey’s ship. When I tried to arrest him, he resisted. He tried to hand me over to the Sea Lord’s Guard, but I escaped.”
The ssanu cocked its head. “You don’t sound like Price.”
“And you don’t sound like a ssanu. Where’s your lisp?”
Price raised his hand and concentrated. The magic concealing the ssanu dissipated revealing a surprised human.
Vlad let his illusion drop, sword and shield were at the ready. He leaped onto the table and stabbed the man in the chest. Shrieking for help, the man fell to the ground.
Vlad turned just in time to fend off a blast of flames. Then two men charged into the room, cutlasses at the ready.
The Milandisian was prepared for their attack. He hacked down at one of the men, beheading him. The second hesitated long enough for Vlad to block another blast of flames. He jumped as the thug swung at Vlad’s legs.
Vlad landed on the ground next to the thug. Vlad punched him in the face with his shield. Stunned, the thug staggered. Vlad finished him off.
More flames. Vlad advanced on two wizards, one of each gender.
They backed into a hallway, fear in their eyes.
“Where’s Mentire Aboir?” snarled Vlad. “I know he’s here. Price told me all about him.”
“Right here!” shouted a voice down the hallway. A shivering blast of ice surged forward, encompassing the two wizards and coating Vlad with rime. He shook it off.
Vlad pounded down the hallway, stopping short in front of a giant glowing hand. He struck at it again and again with his sword.
“You should have stopped at Price,” said Mentire, now visible as a twisted gnome. He was wrinkled, with fingers bent into claws. His head was shaved and his faced was tattooed with white ink to resemble a stylized skull. “But I was done with this town anyway. If you want to really get to the bottom of the Ghoul Juice plague, it’s all because of Dutch Tillinghast.”
“What makes you think…” Vlad slammed into the glowing hand and it shuddered from the force of his blow. “That I will listen…” he smashed into again. The hand flickered. “…to YOU?” The hand faded away.
“Medicatus prodigium!”
Vlad hesitated.
“Dutch Tillinghast was the former Commissioner of the Sea Lord’s Guard. With Milton Drac dead, the Freeport Captain’s Council stripped it all away from him. After leaving in disgrace, he hired a band of mercenaries to work a new plan: using Ghoul Juice. Ghoul juice’s deadening effect on the will made it a perfect tool to enhance my own mind-controlling magics, the very same you are experiencing now. We worked our way through the Buccaneers and the Cutthroats, when we were working on Finn’s Syndicate to accomplish what no one has managed since the days of Marquetta: the creation of a true, unified Freeport.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Vlad.
“Because none of it matters. You aren’t going to follow me. You’re going to cover my tracks by eliminating Tillinghast. He’s hiding out at the lighthouse, Milton’s Folly. Now go, I need to clean up this place before the Sea Lord’s Guard realizes you failed.”
The lighthouse known as Milton’s Folly was a two-hundred-foot-tall tower of white marble, a wonder of the modern age. The light atop it pierced the gloom of night like a second sun, guiding ships around the isles and through dangerous waters to the relative safety of Freeport’s harbor. Not long ago, it was the center of a scheme to drive the entire population mad in the name of a dark and forgotten deity. Now, converted to an impressive yet mundane purpose, it had already become a fact of daily life, largely taken for granted or ignored by the people who benefited from its presence.
Vlad approached the island by boat at night. He came from the far end of the island, keeping low to the brush. If Tillinghast was in the tower, he would most certainly see him enter the clearing. But there was no help for it, because the invisibility potions were no longer for sale; even Finn had difficulty acquiring them for Vlad. When he snuck into the clearing and a bell rang, Vlad wished Finn had tried harder.
There was the sound of someone crashing through the bush to his left. Vlad took off in pursuit.
He ran through the light undergrowth into a copse of trees when an axe nearly beheaded him. A mercenary in full plate armor and wielding a great axe yanked the huge weapon out of the tree. Vlad turned and struck at the mercenary’s arms. He was rewarded with a grunt. The axe came up again.
Vlad partially blocked the attack with his shield, stopping a glancing blow. The mighty strike rattled his teeth and numbed his arm. Vlad slashed at the man’s heel. The mercenary wailed and fell to one knee.
Vlad kept running. He ducked through more trees and undergrowth, finally coming upon a gradual slope. He could make out Tillinghast ahead of him, running for his life toward docks on the other side of the island.
“Stop him!” he shouted. Two mercenaries who were jogging behind Tillinghast whirled to face Vlad.
Vlad skidded to a stop even as both axes whirled through the air, nearly bisecting him. He blocked one strike with his shield and the other with Grungronazharr. He wasn’t sure if the ringing was the sound of metal on metal or his brain rattling from the awesome blows.
Vlad ducked an axe swing aimed at his head. He chopped upwards, striking the mercenary’s forearms. Miraculously, the mercenary held onto his weapon, saved by his plate armor.
The other axe blow struck perilously close to Vlad’s foot. He hopped up on the axe as the mercenary tried to pull it free.
Presenting a tempting opportunity to the other mercenary, he swung the great axe in a wide arc. Then Vlad stepped off the first mercenary’s axe.
A gout of blood spurted from the first mercenary’s visor as the second struck his companion dead in the face. He fell to the ground. Vlad stabbed the second mercenary through a gap between his helmet and breastplate. Then he kept running.
Tillinghast leaped the distance between the dock and a ship of stunned sailors. “Go!” he shouted. “Go! Go!”
The sailors hopped into action as Vlad barreled down the docks towards the ship.
Tillinghast drew a bow. “Stop following me!”
Vlad didn’t stop running. He leaped the gap between the docks and ship…
And fell into the water. Sputtering and splashing, he started swimming for the ship.
Tillinghast fired an arrow, a warning shot. “It’s not worth it! Give up!”
Vlad strapped his shield to his back. He sheathed Grungronazharr. Then Vlad kept swimming, pushing himself with mighty strokes despite his armor and weapons.
Tillinghast fired arrow after arrow, but Vlad’s shield deflected them. They bounced harmlessly off an invisible field just above the Milandisian’s back.
“Why won’t you die?” shouted Tillinghast.
Vlad clambered up the ship’s rigging. He drew his blade and unstrapped his shield.
Tillinghast drew his own sword and picked up a shield. “You don’t even know me.” He was of average height, with dull brown hair and a bottlebrush mustache. “You can’t be that dedicated to Freeport.”
Vlad walked straight towards Tillinghast. Sailors gave them both a wide berth.
Tillinghast raised his blade, but Vlad easily slapped the weapon out of his hand. He kicked Tillinghast to the ground with one foot.
“Now,” Vlad pointed Grungronazharr at the man’s throat, “I want you to tell me who supplies you with the raw components for Ghoul Juice.”
“Why…do you…care?” gasped Tillinghast.
Vlad increased the pressure on Tillinghast’s throat. “I nearly lost a friend to Ghoul Juice.”
But even as the words came out, Vlad didn’t really believe it.
After a hike through the Fortress of Justice that took Vlad through the imposing main gates and past the notorious Courts, he was brought to the second story of a large stone building. A heavy wooden door, banded in bronze, stood before him, and a commanding voice calls out for him to enter.
Within was a spacious office. A heavy oaken desk sat on the far corner, cluttered with piles of paper too organized to be called “heaps,” yet not neat enough to qualify as “stacks.” Weapons of all manner and make hung from the walls. Some gleamed as if purchased from the smith only the day before, while others were little more than solid rust, held together by sheer force of habit.
Behind the desk stood a man of average height and solid build. Though graying strands amidst his black hair and beard betrayed the onset of middle age, he still boasted the physique and the carriage of a seasoned warrior. Even inside, though he wore no armor, he carried at his belt the heavy “smashstick” mace that had become the unofficial emblem of the Guard.
He bid Vlad welcome in a voice that, when raised, could carry clear across a parade ground or battlefield. “Please take a seat,” he offered, indicating a chair before his desk. “I am Commissioner Xander Williams. My guards tell me you have information regarding the current crime wave. I would be delighted to hear it.”
“You already know about Price,” said Vlad. “What you don’t know is that Dutch Tillinghast was behind it all. He was importing the ingredients for Ghoul Juice from an island,” he slid a map over to the commissioner. “There’s a shipment due tomorrow, five thousand pearls, in exchange for the ingredient in Ghoul Juice, essence ingots.”
Williams leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard, his eyes worried. “This is far worse than I had thought,” he admitted. “I knew that only an alliance of gangs could result in the level of crime we’ve been seeing, but it never occurred to me that someone from the outside might be taking over all of them. We’ve got to stop them.” The commissioner shook his head sadly. “Alas, even knowing what I now know, I fear I may be able to do little about it.” His gaze suddenly became intent. “Would you be willing to help us out?”
Vlad smiled. “I will see this through to the end. My companions have been cleared of all charges?”
Williams nodded. “Even Kham. Technically, it was a life sentence. The official record has him as dead.” A slow smile crept over William’s face. “So I don’t see any reason to amend it. So long as he lies low, we’ve no reason to press charges. Your other friends will be likewise cleared of any wrongdoing, including that unfortunate incident with Coombs’ bombs.”
Vlad nodded. “Good.” He stood up.
“One moment, before you leave.” Commissioner Williams lifted a handful of papers off his desk—clearly, despite the chaotic appearance, he knew exactly where everything was—and removed several prewritten forms. He snagged a quill from a drawer, signed and dated the forms, and handed them over to Vlad. “These are official invitations to meet with me again,” he said. “Simply display them to the gate guards next time you’re here, and they’ll show you right in.”
Vlad took the papers. “I’ll return with the essence ingots and stop this Ghoul Juice problem once and for all.”
“There’s one thing I find strange,” said Williams. “You went into the house where the ssanu were, but you never mentioned what you found. And yet you knew all about Tillinghast’s plans…”
Vlad blinked. He didn’t remember what happened. He just remembered an all-consuming need to apprehend Tillinghast. If the ssanu had done something to him, they hadn’t let him retain the memory.
“My men searched the place. We didn’t find a thing. It was wiped clean. No bodies, nothing. If you ever remember something from that day, use those invitations and we’ll talk, okay?”
Chapter 58: The Ghosting of the Lady Quay - Introduction
This scenario is from the Necromancer Games adventure “The Ghosting of the Lady Quay” from the Dead Man’s Chest supplement, adapted to the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at Onara Online. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
• Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
• Kham Val’Abebi (val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (jeremyrobertortiz.blogspot.com)
• Sebastian Arnyal (dark-kin sorcerer) played by George Webster
• Vlad Martell (human fighter) played by Matt Hammer
By this time the rest of the players showed up and it was time to close the loop on Freeport’s Ghoul Juice problem. I turned this adventure on its ear, reversing the role of the Lady Quay (ferrying pearls for Essence Ingots instead of the other way around). How the Essence Ingots are made is an awful secret that our heroes are about to stumble onto.
This is the beginning of a series of high-level adventures where the monsters truly test the mettle of the PCs. The gloves are off and now everything is fair game, including petrification, energy drain, and a whole host of other nasty things. This is also the adventure that introduces the amulet of the planes on a 4 HD monster (I boosted the kelpies to be considerably nastier, but still…a 120,000 gp item on a 4 HD monster?).
Fortunately, the amulet proves to be a really entertaining plot device. You’ll see what I mean in subsequent adventures.
There were other problems. For example, the main villain is hiding in a highly insecure home. It’s hard to surprise adventurers when they can JUST WALK UP TO THE WINDOW AND PEEK INTO YOUR HIDING PLACE. Ahem.
And with that, it’s time to put the pirates back in Freeport. No more worrying about cultists and serpent people in sewers, it’s time to explore a drug dealer’s island!
Kham and Sebastian, stared skeptically across the table at Vlad. They were sequestered in a dark recess of the alehouse known as the Dead Reckoning.
“So we just do this one job and all is forgiven?” asked Kham in disbelief.
“That’s how the Commissioner put it to me,” said Vlad. “But we’re all in, since we broke the law, so to speak.”
“And they’re just going to let me walk…” Kham stared into his mug. He wasn’t sure how he felt about all this.
“Not quite,” said Vlad. “Technically, you’re dead. Freeport declared all hands on deck of the prison ship drowned. So it’s more a matter of letting you stay dead.”
“Sure.” Kham shrugged. “That makes about as much sense as the rest of the laws in Freeport.”
“And we just have to go along with this Rekello, I suppose,” said Sebastian in a strange voice. Since his return from Carcosa he seemed perpetually distracted and he spoke with an odd cadence.
“That’s what Tillinghast said.” Vlad took a drink from his mug, then made a face. The ale was terrible. “He put word out through his contacts that we’re hired thugs working for him. They don’t know he’s been caught yet.”
“And he lied to save his own skin,” whispered Sebastian. “I don’t know that we can trust him.”
“Where’s Beldin?” asked Vlad. “I told you all to meet me here.”
“He gated back to Solanos Mor,” said Sebastian flatly. “I trust the agreement covers all of us, not just humans.”
Vlad didn’t like the way Sebastian excluded himself from being human. “Yes, it covers all of us.”
Kham nodded towards the door. “I’m in. And here comes Rekello now.”
A rugged looking sailor entered and immediately spotted them. He walked over to the table, noticed the empty seat, and took it.
“You’re the mercenaries Tillinghast hired?”
Vlad nodded. “We are.”
“Good. The Lady Quay is an extremely fast vessel, so the trip should take no more than three days. I promise to have you back in Freeport within one week, where I’ll pay the remaining half of what Tillinghast promised you.”
“Who’s our captain?” asked Kham.
“Captain Winnifer Miro,” said Rekello. “The goal of the voyage is the safe delivery of medicinal herbs and healing draughts, to be signed over to Marissa Lapideaux working on Aegis Island.”
Kham leaned forward. “Winnifer Miro? Didn’t her ship go under?”
Vlad shot him a look. Rekello looked uncomfortable.
“Yes. Her last ship, the Night Heron, met with a bad end. This is her first expedition since losing her consort, Thispin.” He rushed into a defense of Miro. “She’s really quite an excellent captain…”
Kham waved him off. “Sure, sure. I’ve heard of Captain Miro. Good captain, bad luck. I’ve also heard that the Lady Quay has a propensity for ghosting.”
“Ghosting?” asked Vlad.
“Folks have noticed that the Lady Quay moves pointedly in the harbor,” said Kham, “even in the complete absence of wind.”
Rekello cleared his throat. “Yes, well, ghosting is not uncommon. Ships of all types experience such an event once in a blue moon. On the open seas, anything can happen and usually does.”
Sebastian leveled his gaze at Rekello. “And what do you need us for?”
The dark-kin had long since given up pretending to be a normal human. His huge bat wings were unavoidable. Even his tail was out. It was encircled around a mug that he sipped from occasionally.
“Uhm…the Pale Sea teems with pirates and natural predators. That’s why we asked for Tillinghast’s help. We’ll need marines for anything we encounter.”
“We’re in,” said Vlad.
Rekello slapped the table. “Good. Provision yourselves for a week-long journey on the open sea.” He withdrew a lengthy document from his doublet. “And I’ll need you to sign articles.”
“I will sign no Sarishan Oath,” said Sebastian.
Rekello looked up at the dark-kin. “Nor would I expect you to. A man’s word is good enough here in Freeport.”
One by one, they signed the articles. Rekello gathered the papers up and stuffed them back in his doublet.
“Excellent. Meet me at my dinghy in an hour. It’s tethered to the docks near here.” Rekello got up and left.
”You nearly blew our cover,” muttered Vlad.
”Oh and now you’re the undercover pro.” Kham smirked.
“We had to be convincing,” Sebastian said without a hint of sarcasm. “Besides. There’s something…off…about him.”
They all stared down at their drinks and decided not to question the source.
Captain Miro was striking in appearance, especially for a woman in her fifties. Her short, spiked hair was the color of her cutlass blade, a vibrant silver. She was seldom without a sweat-stained strip of red silk tied around her head. The headband matched her waistcoat, the buttons of which were pure gold, as were the hop rings that dangled from her ears. Like many sailors, Miro spent her life barefoot, the better to tread the canting deck and navigate the shrouds.
“She was a real looker once,” said Kham, staring at her from the other side of the ship.
In her youth Miro must have been an arresting beauty, but the rigors of her trade left their mark in the wrinkles at her eyes and in the coarseness of her skin. Still, she was a handsome woman, if a somewhat unrefined one.
Vlad smirked. “She seems very sad.”
“A pirate’s life is sadness and woe.” Kham spun on one heel, encompassing the ship. “We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves,” sang Kham.
Vlad looked dubiously at Kham. “You’re drunk.”
“We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs,” sang Kham.
“Drink up, me 'earties,” shouted some of the crew in chorus, “yo ho!”
Kham chuckled and sighed. “Where’s the elf when you need a good song?”
“What’s gotten into you?” asked Vlad in irritation.
Kham laughed again. “You mean this?” he tore off the scarf he wore on the ship and pointed to the yellowish wound. It would never heal correctly. “Or do you mean the fact that my powers don’t work?”
“What?” asked Vlad in disbelief. “Since when?”
“Since we closed Carcosa.” Kham was somewhere between giggling and crying. “I can’t walk between worlds anymore because there’s no world to walk, you see.”
“Something off the port bow!” shouted a crewman.
No more than fifty yards off the port bow floated a small, crudely built raft. The craft had been lashed together of ill-fitting timber, sporting a single mast that bore a sail that appeared to have once served duty as a bed sheet. One end of the pitiful raft was partially submerged, due in no small part to the large, seaweed-laden chest encumbering it. Water lapped over the legs of the raft’s single passenger, a woman in a sodden evening gown who pulled determinedly at the sea with a broken paddle.
“Mr. val’Abebi?” asked Captain Miro wearily. “Would you like to rescue the damsel in distress?”
“Oh sure,” said Kham. He took two steps forward and then slipped. Kham let out a loud belly laugh. “Maybe later!”
Vlad shook his head. “I’ll do it.”
“It’s a trap,” said Sebastian matter-of-factly. He flapped down from the crow’s nest, serving as lookout. No crewman begrudged the dark-kin of the duty.
“Well we can’t just leave her out there.” The crew obliged Vlad with a small rowboat and lowered him over the side of the Lady Quay.
“Hello?” Vlad rowed towards the woman. “Do you need help?”
The woman scowled back at Vlad and continued to paddle the raft as if intent on keeping the contents of her chest to herself.
Vlad rowed closer. “Hello? Do you speak Coryani?”
The woman stopped paddling. Vlad threw her a rope.
She immediately began trying to lash her beloved chest to the rope, but it was clear she couldn’t manage the feat without assistance. Vlad rowed closer to help.
Suddenly, the woman melted into a pile of seaweed. A second later, four horse-like beings reared up around Vlad, sculpted of seaweed.
“Kelpies!” Kham rolled over on the ship’s deck in a fit of laughter. “He got suckered in by kelpies!”
Vlad drew his sword and slashed outwards. The things threatened to smother him with sopping seaweed, striking with their sodden hooves.
“He’s surrounded!” shouted Captain Miro.
“On my mark,” shouted Sebastian, “flip the rowboat over.”
“What?” asked Vlad, desperately trying to defend himself from all sides.
“You heard me. Do it now!”
Vlad grabbed hold of the edges of his rowboat and heaved sideways. The boat rolled, dunking him underwater.
“Incendiaries globus!”
A ball of fire engulfed the kelpies. The kelp easily ignited. Their screams were a bizarre mix of a horse’s whinny and a woman’s shriek.
In moments, all that was left was blackened bits of kelp and the floating chest.
A second later, Vlad’s rowboat flipped over, the floating chest purchased next to him. He looked around, sputtering.
Kham fingered an ancient bronze amulet they found in the kelpies’ chest.
“I don’t know what you see in that ugly thing.” Vlad held up a necklace of coral and pearl. “This is worth a lot more.”
“Not to me it isn’t,” said the val. He kept running his fingers over every contour. “It’s what’s on the amulet that’s important.”
“It’s a map,” said Sebastian coolly. “So Kham can find his way.”
“Seriously?” asked Vlad. “So does that mean you can—“
Before he could say more a rubbery, wet thing landed on top of Vlad, its tongue lolling from its mouth.
“Ghoul!” shouted Vlad with a start.
Sebastian opened up his wings and let the draft yank him aloft, away from the fracas.
The ghoul dug its rear claws into Vlad’s studded leather arm and began to stretch. The Milandisian was pinned beneath the thing’s grasp, incapable of even drawing his blade. In another second it would disembowel him.
Then Vlad wasn’t there anymore.
Kham smiled up at the shocked look on the ghoul’s bloated face. “Hi,” he said. Then he easily rolled out of the thing’s grasp.
Translucent jaws grabbed the ghoul and dragged it off the Lady Quay. The ghoul flew backwards off the deck, only to be incinerated by Sebastian from above.
Vlad found himself in a hammock, where Kham had been just before.
“So I guess that amulet did help, huh. Thanks.” Then Vlad reclined in the hammock, arms behind his head. “It’s good to have you back.”
Sebastian landed on the deck. “I don’t know how any crew manages to survive the Pale Sea," he said.
The winds were sparse, causing the Lady Quay to drift.
“What do we do when we get there?” Kham was hanging from a makeshift hammock, swinging to and fro with the ship’s motion.
“What we’re being paid to do,” said Sebastian. “Find whoever is supplying the Essence Ingots and kill them.”
“Since when do you talk so callously about killing people?” Vlad proceeded to whittle a piece of wood, for lack of anything else to do.
Sebastian stared out at the ocean. “You weren’t the Stranger in Carcosa for years. Maybe centuries.”
Kham rubbed his throat. “Was it that long?”
“It’s impossible to tell. I did many unspeakable things over and over again until I no longer understood their significance.” Sebastian’s tail flicked behind him.
Vlad couldn’t help but notice the poison stinger at the end. He looked at Kham as he addressed Sebastian. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad? Unbalanced, perhaps. But angry? No. Why should I be? I made the decision and Kham made his. You brought me back. That’s enough.”
“Things are different, that’s for sure,” said Kham. “I feel like the whole world has changed. Like it lost its spark.”
“Almost as if we’re cursed?” Sebastian allowed a tiny smile to creep across his ashen lips. “The King in Yellow was your patron, as he was mine. He has withdrawn his protection from us. Arcanis is a little grayer because of it.”
Vlad shook his head. “Now you’re both scaring me.”
Suddenly, a blast of greenish slime washed over them. Before Vlad could react, a suckered tentacle slapped around his torso. Four other sailors yelped in horror as they too were enveloped.
“Ah crap,” was all Kham got out. Then Vlad was in his place, dripping with slime.
A moment later and the giant octopus shoved off the ship, dragging the four screaming sailors into the ocean with it.
Kham clambered on to the ship, dripping with seawater. By switching places with Vlad, he’d slipped out of the octopus’ grasp and into the water.
“You’re welcome,” he said to Vlad.
Vlad wiped slime out of his eyes and spat. “What the hell was that?”
Sebastian never moved from his position, as if nothing had happened. “That’s strange,” he said quietly.
“You mean the fact that I nearly just died and we lost four crewmen?” Vlad asked in disbelief.
Sebastian shook his head. “That octopus had a symbol on its head.” He fished out the sextant they had retrieved from Drak Scarbelly’s gut many moons ago and held it up. “It’s the same symbol that’s on the sextant.”
It was a symbol of a skull-like octopus with five tentacles. It was the symbol of…
”Who lives in a grotto down under the sea?” sang Kham.
Eventually, the Lady Quay weighed anchor in one of the lagoons at Aegis Isle. The island was very small, less than five miles across, but abundant in jungle flora. The Lady Quay moored several hundred yards off the dangerous reefs surrounding the island. Rekello saw that the pearl-laden crates from the lower hold were put into a dinghy.
“Nothing lives here,” said Captain Miro, “except the yurians.”
“Yurians?” asked Vlad.
“Crabmen,” said Kham. “They use Aegis Isle as a mating and assembly ground.”
“Marissa Lapideaux also lives here,” said Rekello. “She’s a renowned sculptor that lives in a simple stone cottage in the center of the island.”
“Since when does she deal in healing draughts?” Kham blinked. “Last I heard, she was selling one of her life-sized statues. I think they called it the Spirit of Freeport.”
Lapideaux’s statue was of a pirate brandishing a cutlass in defiance of the world. It created quite a stir, such that the Captain’s Council bought it and placed it outside the Sea Lord’s palace.
Rekello and Captain Miro took the oars of the dinghy. “Follow in the second, just in case your sword arms and spells are needed along the way.”
Sebastian, Kham, and Vlad clambered into the other boat and followed them.
As they came closer to the island, what looked like bizarre coral reef were actually the waving eyestalks and claws of several yurians.
“This is unusual,” said Captain Miro. “They never meet us here. We usually drop off the pearls and there’s a crate of…herbs waiting for us.”
“Yeah, right,” said Kham. “Herbs.”
One of the yurians waded forward and clicked in a bizarre tongue.
“Anybody speak crab?” asked Rekello.
“I do.” Kham pulled the Nkisi n’kondi out of his haversack. It was a doll with metal bits sticking out of it, that Atum had given him. Then he pushed in one of its metal bits.
“…give us five thousand pearls,” clicked the yurian, “in exchange for four chests.”
“What are they saying?” asked Captain Miro.
“They want us to give them pearls for the chests,” repeated Kham.
“Well let’s give it to them then,” said Rekello.
“Not so fast,” said Vlad. “We want to see what’s in those four chests.”
Kham relayed the message. The yurians chattered excitedly to each other.
“They say they’ll go get the chests,” translated Kham.
“No,” said Sebastian. “We will take the pearls to Lapideaux in person.”
“What?” asked Captain Miro. “Since when?”
Kham winked at her. “Don’t worry sweetcheeks.” Clearing his throat, he turned back to the crabmen. “We’d really like to hand the pearls to Lapideaux ourselves.”
The yurians had much the same reaction as Captain Miro. “This is unusual,” said one of the yurians, probably the leader. They all looked alike to Kham. “We must confer.”
There was much claw and eyestalk waving. Eventually, the leader returned. “We have decided. You will take the pearls to the Mistress’ home. There is a path. We will show you.”
Kham smiled. “Great.”
“We never agreed to this!” said Rekello. “What are you doing?”
“Ensuring you get what you’re owed,” said Sebastian. “Trust us.”
Captain Miro looked Sebastian up and down. “You’ve got three hours. If you’re not back by then, we sail without you.”
“You’ll stick around,” grinned Kham at the older captain. “I know you can’t be away from me for that long.”
The walls of Marissa Lapideaux’s home were made of stone. The door had a base knocker shaped like a coiled snake.
Sebastian spread his bat wings. “I’ll check around the back.” He launched himself into the air with a mighty flap.
“I’ll check the windows on the other side.” Kham swigged a potion and disappeared.
Vlad sighed. “Well, guess that leaves me.” He banged the knocker a few times. “Hello? Anyone home?”
No response. Vlad tried the door. It was locked. Judging from the way the door rattled, it was barred from the inside.
He walked over to large windows on the side of the house. Inside was a comfortable living area with a rich rug spread across the floor. It was furnished with several comfortable chairs.
Vlad drew Grungronazharr. “Sorry to do this to you buddy,” he said to the blade, “but the Carcosan ring doesn’t open locks anymore.” He smashed the window open.
There was the sound of a conflict. Vlad ran over to the only door when Grungronazharr started to pulse. He skidded to a halt on the carpet.
The blade pointed downward at the floor, throbbing. Vlad peered closer.
The floor directly in the front of the door was trapped with a covered pit. He could make out a slight discoloration in the wood.
“Wow,“ Vlad looked at Grungronazharr appreciatively. “You really are looking out for me, huh?”
“You might want to look out for me,” hissed a feminine voice.
He caught sight of a pair of glowing red eyes just before a thicket of snakes sunk their teeth into his flesh.
The room was a chaotic mess of wrecked beakers and shards of glass, broken chemical gear and tattered books. Kham didn’t think the owner would mind a broken window.
Something hissed near the doorway on the opposite side of the room. A creature coalesced before his very eyes, serpentine in form. He thought at first it was a ssanu, but its feminine upper torso and forest of snakes for hair made him jerk his gaze away.
“Welcome to my home,” snarled a feminine voice. “So good to see you. Have you come for tea?”
Kham reacted quickly. He reached for his powderhorn and then threw it into the air between them.
“Sorry, I’ve got a date with the ladies!” Careful to avoid her gaze, he drew two pistols and fired.
The ensuing explosion blew him backwards. Kham twisted through the air, using the momentum to hurl himself out the window. At least, that was the plan.
Instead, he tripped and stumbled, banging his head against the windowsill. The medusa chortled.
Two scorching rays changed her mind. Sebastian flapped just outside the window. When Kham struggled to his feet, the thing was gone.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian said in irritation. “Stop fooling around.”
Kham mumbled something about being cursed.
The debris shuddered and shook with the sound of a gigantic teapot whistling. Then an alchemical kiln, buried in the mess, blasted open and a huge, demonic being of dark flames encompassed the room.
“Ahh!” shouted Kham. He rolled out of the window and onto the ground, running for his life.
Sebastian threw an orb of cold at the thing, but it gave no indication of noticing the attack.
Kham kept on running. He stumbled into what he thought was a garden. Then he realized it was much worse than that.
Statues were everywhere in various poses, an expression of horror on their faces. But what was more disturbing was the block-like stones that had been removed from their bodies, giving each statue a jigsaw like appearance.
Sebastian landed beside him. “That was a guardian. It will stay in that room, so long as we do not disturb it again.” The dark-kin shot Kham a look that clearly placed blame.
“Check out these statues,” said Kham.
“Essence Ingots,” Sebastian said coldly. “She’s been harvesting them from her victims. She does something to them before she turns them to stone. That’s why there is soul-stuff left in the bricks.”
“The same bricks they used to make Ghoul Juice. The same bricks they used to make Milton’s Folly,” said Kham. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.”
Vlad crawled his way out of the window. If Kham and Sebastian hadn’t distracted the snake-thing, she would have killed him.
Sebastian found him lying on the ground.
“What happened to you?”
“Snakes…drank…blood…” he was pale and shivering. “Caught me…by…surprise.”
Sebastian shook his head. “As I feared. This is no mere medusa.”
“Right, because she wasn’t bad enough as just a ‘regular’ medusa.” Kham rubbed his forehead. “This one sucks blood. Probably turns into a bat too.”
“Boss,” whispered Skiz from Kham’s haversack. “Boss!”
“Not now Skiz.”
”BOSS!”
“What is it Skiz?”
“She’s calling me.” The little rat was clearly freaked out. “I can hear her in my head. She’s calling me. She’s calling us.”
Sebastian made a low whistle and a tiny bat flapped onto his shoulder. It squeaked in his ear.
Sebastian nodded. “Dracuul says much the same. She is summoning the creatures of the night to her. The sun is beginning to set. We’ve got to move fast.” He turned to Vlad. “Are you up for it?”
Vlad struggled to his feet. “We’ve got to stop this. I’ve seen it…this far.” He grimaced. “I’ll see it to the end.”
“The shape you’re in, you’ll end up as more bricks,” said Kham.
“I can help you.” Sebastian sprinkled diamond dust over Vlad’s head, causing the Milandisian to sneeze. “Tergus lapideu.”
Vlad’s skin turned a granite-like color. “This one is for free. But in the future, I’m charging for this incantation; diamond dust isn’t cheap.”
“Ah, how I miss the good old days of humanitarian Sebastian,” said Kham with a smirk. He drew his two pistols. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”
“And what am I supposed to do?” asked Skiz.
“Try to stay calm and in the haversack,” said Kham. “This will all be over soon.” He quietly added. “One way or another.”
Linear Mode
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