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!
Yea I dont think a round by round account is needed but I really miss the dialogue and interesting characters that made jollydocs stories really great....But at the same time I'd rather have something then nothing.
Yea I dont think a round by round account is needed but I really miss the dialogue and interesting characters that made jollydocs stories really great....But at the same time I'd rather have something then nothing.
I'll start fresh with the next update, which will have to come next week, since we didn't play this week due to the aforementioned stomach virus.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Hi guys, I hope the virus is gone and you got to game. If so, how about some teasers, JollyDoc?
We did indeed game last night...
Once more, the K.I.A was called upon when the city's tensions threatened to boil over, this time to arrest the king's murderer!
The diplomatic approach fails to net their quarry, so begins a fast and furious chase across the rooftops of Korvosa.
One crisis averted, only to have another arise, this time in the form of a potential race-riot brewing.
The K.I.A. visits a district they've never been too...the Grey District...domain of the dead.
An expedition into the Dead Warrens leads to harrowing run-ins with skeletons, pale-skinned dwarves, blood-sucking stirges, and strange, snake-like constructs.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
The rumors were vague at first: a suspect had been named in King Eodred’s murder. As with most rumors, however, they continued to grow, and also held more than a grain of truth. It seemed that in the weeks before his death, Eodred had commissioned a self-portrait by a local artist of some repute, a young woman named Trinia Sabor. The project required that she spend long hours alone with the king. In the aftermath of Eodred’s death, several of the castle guards recalled Trinia behaving “oddly” during her trips to see the king. Now, it seemed one of the guards had actually confessed to being a part of the painter’s plot to kill Eodred, and had seen her slipping a specially prepared poison powder into his tea the night he took ill and her portrait of him was complete. That confession, repeated in the presence of Sabina Merrin and several Korvosan Guard officers, had triggered a city-wide hunt for Trinia Sabor. Word of the confession spread rapidly, and the guard’s subsequent suicide (a leap from one of the towers of Castle Korvosa) cemented Korvosa’s anger. In no time, the artist’s name became a household word, and once more riots threatened to erupt in the streets. This time, however, the cries were not for the queen’s death, but the death of the king’s true murderer…Trinia Sabor.
As word of Trinia’s supposed-regicide continued to disseminate, the members of the K.I.A were contacted by a breathless Korvosan Guard, who burst into the common room of the Three Rings Tavern. He told them that Field Marshal Kroft needed to speak with them immediately, and would be arriving within a few minutes. The fact that she was coming to them was not lost on the companions. Something big was afoot. When Cressida herself entered, she quickly told them to follow her as she led them into a private room, stationing a few guards out front as she closed the door. When she turned to regard them, however, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Where’s Mandrake?” she asked, noticing that the paladin was not among them. “I thought I requested to see all of you.”
“He ain’t here,” Valeris growled as he picked at his fingernails with a dagger. “Couldn’t hack it.”
“What he means,” Katarina said, cutting her eyes at the duskblade, “is that Mandrake was recalled by the church. With the recent unrest, the Abadarans issued an edict that all of their clergy should return to the Bank.”
“I see,” Cressida nodded. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. In any event, you’ve doubtless heard the stories that the king’s killer has been named, and yet there’s something more going on here, I’m afraid. Queen Ileosa could have quietly had this Trinia Sabor arrested at any time, yet the way in which she revealed the information to the city seems to me like she wants the riots to return. Certainly, with the mob and the Hellknights out on the street, the girl doesn’t stand a chance at a trial…they’ll lynch her the moment they find her. Even if she is guilty, mob justice isn’t the way. Worse, if she’s innocent, the real killer can use this distraction to throw us off the trail forever. Before Trinia is executed, we need to be absolutely sure she did this thing, and that means we need to catch her before the mob. We know where she lives…a flat in Midland at 42 Moon Street…but soon, so will the mob. The Hellknights don’t seem to care as much about catching her as they do about containing the mob…something about the ‘order of law’ makes it a greater priority for them to contain than a possible assassin. I can’t say that I disagree completely, but the problem is the Hellknights are only making it worse. The mob’s covering most of Midland now, and Trinia’s flat is near the middle of the mess. I’ve got all available guards at work keeping things from getting any worse…and if I were to send them into Midland, they’d trigger a riot. I’m sure you can see where this is going. I need you to get into Midland, find Trinia, and bring her back to me so we can deliver her, safe and sound, to somewhere where she can be interrogated…preferably with magic, so that we can be absolutely sure about her role in Eodred’s death. Get in there, catch her, and get out without letting the mob get its hands on her. I’ll have agents and officers nearby. If you can get her to one of them, we’ll be in the clear. Any questions?”
“If the mob’s taken over the streets,” Ratbone asked quietly, “how do we get in and back out again?”
“You’re not identifiable as Guard,” Cressida said. “They shouldn’t bother you, but just the same, if you stick to the back streets and alleyways, you should be able to move around unmolested. Once you have Trinia, I suggest you be even more discreet in extracting her. Don’t let the mob see her face.”
The five companions nodded. They had their orders, and they knew their job.
__________________________________________________ ______
The tenement building where Trinia lived was located in a densely built section of Midland, a place where, at ground level, direct sunlight was a rarity. Above, jury-rigged catwalks, overhanging roofs, lines of laundry, and homemade bridges of rope and boards created a cluttered tangle, a multi-level mess of gutters, upper floors, and rooftops. This was the slum-above, a place known as the Shingles.
Three men, one woman and a dog mounted the steps of 42 Moon Street, aware of the decidedly-unfriendly stares of a couple of locals seated on the stoop. At a gesture from the young Varisian woman, the dog sat obediently on the porch as she and the men went inside. The building was three stories, hot and cramped. Trinia’s flat, according to their intel, was on the top floor, southwest corner. The four had climbed to the second floor landing when a pair of tough-looking men appeared above them, blocking further progress.
“Don’t recall seeing you around here,” one of the men growled. “What’s your business?”
“We’re here visiting a friend,” Katarina replied calmly.
“Who would that be?” the man asked.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat said, her eyes meeting the gaze of the other directly.
“She’s not here,” the man said. “Moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Really?” Kat asked, cocking one eyebrow. “Well, she borrowed some things from me, so I think we’ll just go on up and see if she left them, or at least a forwarding address.”
The men showed no inclination to move at first, but when Herc stepped to the fore, they reconsidered as they eyed the bulk of the big man, and the large sword that hung on his hip. As the four companions pushed past, however, one of the men let out a low whistle, which was echoed several more times from somewhere above. It was a sure bet that Trinia, if she was still there, knew they were coming.
“Ratbone,” Katarina whispered. She had prepared a simple spell prior to their arrival that allowed the five of them to communicate with each other via a soft word no matter the actual distance between them. “Our quarry is on the alert. Be on the lookout in case she tries to slip away.” A soft whine of affirmation was the druid’s reply. When they reached Trinia’s door, Herc rapped sharply.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat called. “We’re here to help. Please open the door. We only wish to speak with you.”
No response. Katarina hadn’t really expected one, but she had hoped. She nodded once at Herc. The big mercenary tried the door. The knob turned, but it didn’t budge. Blocked from the other side. He lowered one shoulder and struck the door with the impact of a baby bull elephant. The timbers cracked and splintered, and the chairs propped against it on the far side scattered. The one-room flat combined all of the amenities of a bedroom, a kitchen, and a painter’s studio into one fifteen-foot-square space, leaving little room for much else. A stack of cheese and bread sat on the counter next to several full waterskins, while the easel in the opposite corner held a half-completed painting of an imp and a pseudodragon fighting atop a church steeple. A single window looked out over the tangled rooftops of the Shingles, while just under it, a woman slept in a curled-up position on a low bed. The four companions glanced suspiciously at one another. Once more, Kat nodded to Herc, and the mercenary cautiously approached the bed, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Halfway across the room, however, he paused and looked up. They all did, for they’d all heard the same thing: something creaked on the roof above. Herc dashed to the window and looked out. Not ten yards away crouched Trinia Sabor.
“Oh, frack!” the girl cursed. Then she stood up and began running full speed across the rooftop. As she did so, the image of the sleeping figure on the bed abruptly vanished.
“She’s rabbiting!” Herc cried, and then he disappeared out the window.
On the street below, Ratbone’s head jerked up as he saw a shadowy figure leap across an alley from one rooftop to the next. The dog growled low in his throat and bolted off the porch and down the alley. Fortunately, he had just disappeared from the eyes of curious onlookers when he quite literally vanished. In his place, O’Reginald stepped from the shadows. The young mage knew that roof hopping was not his forte’, and so he had transposed himself with the druid. Then, looking left and right to make sure no one had taken notice of his sudden appearance, he pulled a small flask from his tunic and upended it. Stepping once more into the shadows, he rose silently into the air, back towards the Shingles above.
Meanwhile, Herc’s boots scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling shingles of the roof that he ran across as he stumbled after the fleeing form of Trinia. Suddenly, the young girl leaped cat-like from one roof to the next, clearing an alley easily twenty-five feet across. The big warrior sighed deeply, stowed his shield across his back, and got a running start. He grunted as he jumped, but he knew from the moment that his feet left the roof that he had no chance of making it. Flailing wildly, he plunged towards the alley below, passing O’Reginald as the mage flew upwards. Fortunately, Herc landed in the middle of a garbage heap, avoiding any major injuries or broken bones. Kat and Valeris rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down, fearful of what they might see. Kat released a relieved breath when she saw Herc extricate himself from the trash.
“Looks ok to me,” Valeris chuckled. “Good thing he landed on his head.”
A moment later, both of them drew back in startled surprise as a large, furry shape hurtled past them, easily clearing the gap between rooftops in a single bound. Ratbone landed nimbly on the other side, and sped after Trinia. She looked back in horror as the huge mongrel gained ground on her, squeezing through small holes, scrambling over low walls, threading across narrow plank bridges, and finding hidden shortcuts among the detritus and debris of the Shingles. Before she knew it, the brute was right behind her, no more than a dozen feet away. Desperately, she pulled a small wand from her belt, but as she prepared to speak the command word, the dog abruptly shimmered and changed before her eyes, until a burly, shabbily-dressed half-orc stood in front of her.
“Please,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “You must stop. We’re here to help you, but you’re not safe. If the mob catches you, they’ll kill you!”
“How do I know you’re not working with them?” Trinia cried, glancing back over her shoulder where she saw Valeris, and Katarina scrambling clumsily through the hovels, drawing closer and closer, while O’Reginald flitted erratically through the air, narrowly avoiding collisions with low-hanging beams.
“You have to trust us,” Ratbone said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that she didn’t. He sensed she was about to bolt again. Concentrating, he forced his body through another painful transformation, taking the form of a large ape. He’d seen one once in a menagerie, and had been impressed with its strength. Trinia gasped in horror and turned to run, but before she could go two steps, Ratbone grabbed her and pulled her into his crushing embrace. His grip was like a vice, and she knew there was no escape.
“Please!” she pleaded, breaking down into wracking sobs. “I’m being set up! I didn’t kill anyone! I don’t want to die!”
“We believe you,” Katarina said soothingly as she approached. “We just want to take you safely to others who will believe you as well. We want you to have a chance to tell your side of the story.”
“R…really?” Trinia stammered, a faint flicker of hope in her eyes. “You mean it?”
“You have my word,” Ratbone replied, returning to his true form once more, yet careful not to relax his hold on the wily girl. “ I will not allow you to come to harm.”
Gradually, he felt her begin to calm, and loosened his hold slightly.
“Now,” Kat said, “we need to see about getting you out of her discreetly.”
She reached into a pouch at her belt and drew out several small vials of dyes and unguents. If there was one thing Varisians were good at, it was being able to blend into their surroundings.
__________________________________________________ _____
The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek proved surprisingly easy, and Trinia was handed over to the Guard without incident.
“See that no harm comes to her,” Ratbone instructed the soldiers, “or you’ll answer to me.”
The guardsmen laughed nervously, but they saw no humor echoed in the half-orc’s eyes. They nodded briefly, then escorted the girl away. She glanced back over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the keep. As the five companions turned to go, however, another Guard stopped them.
“The Field Marshal asked that you report to her as soon as you returned. I should warn you, though, she’s not alone.”
“Why should we care?” Valeris glowered.
The guard shrugged. “It’s just that during the recent riots, one of those Shoanti kids went and got himself killed. Now the rest of them are all worked up…if it’s not one uprising about to erupt, it’s another! Field Marshal Kroft’s got the Shoanti ambassador in her office, trying to talk some sense into him. Guess she wants your input.”
The entered the Citadel and were escorted to Cressida’s office. When they entered, they saw that the Guardsman had spoken true. A tall, rail-thin Shoanti man of perhaps some sixty winters stood before her desk. He leaned heavily on a walking stick, the polished femur of some giant beast crowned with a firepelt cougar’s skull. He wore a shirt decorated with countless jangling animal bones, many painstakingly scrawled with dozens of tiny symbols and glyphs. A bearskin cloak was draped about his bony shoulders, and war paint in the shape of a skull decorated his face. The Shoanti’s eyes were milky, as if her were blind, and a regal, red-feathered razor crow perched on his arm.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” Cressida said as the man regarded them impassively. “I heard that you were successful in your mission. Congratulations. Allow me to introduce Thousand Bones, a Way-Keeper for the Skoan-Quah, the Clan of the Skull. He and his people within Korvosa have been instrumental in seeking peaceful accords between our people. However,” she sighed and glanced at the Shoanti before continuing, “during the most recent violence, one of Thousand Bones’ grandsons, a young warrior named Gaekhen, was murdered by a mob of vigilantes.”
As she paused, Thousand Bones began to speak, his voice deep, his words carefully chosen, but delivered with a barely restrained anger.
“My people have worked hard to understand yours, yet it seems each day we see new examples of how your people work just as hard to foster old hatreds. My grandson is dead, beaten to death by cowards in your city streets. I do not blame you, yet still Gaekhen is dead, and my son and his kin are not so forgiving as I. They wish to return to the Skoan-Quah in the Cinderlands, to join with the Sklar-Quah and rally to war against Korvosa. This would be disastrous, for both our peoples. Amends must be made. Our ways are not yours. If a body does not go whole to the fires of the gods, the smoke of a warrior’s spirit cannot rise to the Great Sky. If I could send Gaekhen’s body to the Great Sky with honor and dignity, his father and brothers would listen to me and stay their wrath…the talks of peace between my people and yours can continue. But he was not just murdered. His body was taken from the scene of his death, sold by a peddler of corpses to a necromancer named Rolth, a criminal to both our people. I have spoken with the spirits, and they have revealed to me that Gaekhen’s body has been taken to a place below your boneyard, a place the spirits call the Dead Warrens. With this knowledge, I could surely lead a group of my finest warriors into your boneyard to retrieve Gaekhen’s body, but this would be seen as an act of aggression by your people. No, it falls to you to make amends for what has been done. You must bring me Gaekhen’s body, lest we be forced to recover him ourselves. And although it pains my heart to say it…we will not be gentle if it comes to this.”
Thousand Bones nodded curtly to Cressida, and then turned and left the room without another word.
“I apologize for his behavior,” Cressida sighed as she seated herself on the corner of her desk, “but to a great extent I agree with his assessment. Someone tied to Korvosa needs to find Gaekhen’s body and return it to the Shoanti as a gesture of good will, or things will quickly go from bad to worse. Normally, I would contact the Church of Pharasma to organize an expedition into one of the warrens, but you’ve proven yourselves capable, and I have faith in you. Any questions?”
“It might seem like a silly question,” Ratbone asked, “but how will we recognize the boy if we find him?”
“An excellent question,” Cressida nodded. “Thousand Bones described him as about eighteen years old, with short brown hair and a distinctive scar from a firepelt’s claw on his left cheek. He also had several large and distinctive Shoanti tribal tattoos on his arms and torso. It’s unlikely that any other freshly-killed Shoanti are in the Dead Warrens today, so that should be a dead giveaway.”
“These Dead Warrens,” Herc’s baritone voice intoned, “what are they?”
“Gray District is riddled with underground chambers,” Cressida replied, “some of them burrowed by ghouls or other monsters, others remnants of ancient Shoanti burial grounds. Some of these are patrolled and kept clear by the Pharasmans, but the district is vast and tangled. The priests focus on containing the problems with undead and necromancers, but as soon as they wipe out one, it seems as if two are ready to spring up in its place. The problem’s particularly vexing in Potter’s Ward, where the bodies of the poor and homeless are buried. According to Thousand Bones, the Dead Warrens were one of his people’s burial vaults, chambers that lie under Potter’s Ward.”
“I’m familiar with Potter’s Ward,” Ratbone said softly. “I’ve known many among the street people who have gone to their final reward in that cold ground. Yet it’s a large place, and most of its graves unmarked. How will we find these warrens?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Cressida nodded again. “It just so happens that we have the man who sold Gaekhen’s body to Rolth in custody, a simpleton named Elkaris. He spilled everything when we told him what was going on and how much trouble he was in. In any event, he says he delivered the body via wheelbarrow to a partially collapsed mausoleum deep in Potter’s Ward, near the southern edge. A toppled and headless statue of a sword-wielding gargoyle lay in the dirt near the mausoleum’s entrance…he was told to leave the body behind the gargoyle. This location matches where Thousand Bones believes the Dead Warrens used to be located, so that’s the best place to start the search.”
__________________________________________________ ______
Korvosa’s vast graveyard, the Gray District, was a mournful place even by day. Alone in the city, that place was quiet and calm in the face of the civil unrest, yet that calm was an unnatural stillness in the air, almost as if the cemetery were preparing itself for a vast influx of new dead. Certainly, that ominous feeling was nowhere more noticeable than in Potter’s Ward, the final resting ground for Korvosa’s poor and homeless. Mounds of unmarked dirt stretched far and wide, indicating sites of mass graves, while crumbling mausoleums from years ago, abandoned by their families as the Gray District expanded to the west, dotted the bleak landscape, forgotten and empty. Mourners did not visit there, for the dead buried in Potter’s Ward left behind few who regretted their passing.
Locating the mausoleum described by Elkaris was a relatively simple task. Ratbone, back in his mongrel form, quickly nosed around the small structure, searching for any clues as to recent traffic. He immediately located Elkaris’ tracks and a wheelbarrow trail, but more interestingly, he discovered several smaller humanoid tracks, each bearing only four toes. These led into the mausoleum itself, and when Ratbone followed them, he uncovered a poorly hidden trapdoor in the floor. Herc hoisted up the heavy wood, revealing a stone stair leading down into the earth. Single-file, Ratbone in the lead, they descended. The stairwell and the passage it emptied onto was dimly lit by patches of eerily glowing mold, filling the hall with cold, blue light. The air was musty and damp , with the stink of rotting flesh always present in the background. The corridor opened into a large room, supported by four wide pillars of stone. The ceiling arched in a dome nearly twenty-feet high. The walls were lined with skeletons caked into the mud…human bones mostly, but some smaller ones might have been from halflings, or perhaps children. Large pits sat to the east and west, each filled with heaps of hundreds of bones. On the far side of the room, a crude hole had been gouged into the wall, providing access to another tunnel.
Ratbone stepped cautiously into the room, his head lowered, swinging left and right. It was thus that he spotted something strange in the pits. Several of the bone heaps appeared to actually be intact skeletons. Even as he noted this, they began to move, rising from the ossuaries with jerky movements. Three came from each pit, fleshless bones gripping rusty scimitars in their hands. In addition, from the pit to the left came a larger skeleton, like that of some type of bear, yet its skull tapered into a beak rather than jaws…as if it were some odd combination of owl and bear. Ratbone snarled savagely as he stalked forward in a crouch, hackles raised. Herc flanked him, the pair intending to put themselves between the undead and their companions. The burly warrior swung his shield wide, shattering the nearest skeleton into a hundred individual bones. At the same time, Ratbone launched himself at another, dismembering it with his snapping jaws. In the next instant, however, the pair was forced back towards the tunnel as the hulking owlbear carcass lumbered into Herc, ripping at him with its claws, and another skeleton hacked at Ratbone’s foreleg. There the duo held, however, and within seconds, two more skeletons lay in pieces. Ratbone took apart the last, and then he and Herc turned their combined efforts against the owlbear. With the aid of a few timely magic missiles, courtesy of O’Reginald, the thing crumbled before the onslaught.
“Well done, gentlemen,” Katrina breathed heavily. “I must admit, my skills of persuasion are more suited to the living. I’m glad to have you by my side.”
“Let’s not go getting all dewy-eyed just yet,” Valeris snorted. “We haven’t found the corpse we’re looking for yet, and if this is any indication of what we have to look forward to, I’ll save my gratitude for when, and if we see the light of day again.”
The small passage on the far side of the chamber split not far beyond. The left branch opened into what appeared to be some sort of work room. Three wooden tables stood in the middle of the chamber, their surfaces stained red with old bloodshed. To the east stood a large hutch with wicker doors that opened into a straw-lined cage. A strange creature stood at one of the tables, upon which lay a freshly-dead body. The creature was small, like a dwarf, and its skin was pale to the point of being blue. Its eyes were huge, pupilless orbs, and a long, white moustache hung down to its chest. When the companions entered, it was in the midst of placing a small, winged animal, with four legs and a long proboscis, on the corpse. Three more of the things were already attached, apparently gorging greedily on blood. The odd little man yelped when he saw the intruders, and immediately reached behind him to unlatch the hutch. From inside, two more of the strange bird-like creatures buzzed out like giant mosquitoes. At the same time, the pale dwarf started towards a doorway on the far side of the room. Ratbone darted across the chamber, leaping the tables to cut him off. Herc moved to follow, but before he could take more than two steps, the buzzing avians were on him, stabbing their needle-like noses into his flesh and latching on with their sharp claws. Cursing, the big merc grabbed one of the creatures and crushed it in his bare hand. He reached for the second one, but suddenly staggered as blood loss left him light-headed. An instant later, he was reprieved as a streaking bolt of energy from O’Reginald’s wand fried the little beast, and it dropped crisply to the floor. Meanwhile, Ratbone skidded to a halt in front of the panicked derro, for that’s what the creature was. The tiny man yelped again, and then slapped his hands together in front of Ratbone’s face. To the druid’s dismay, a sound like a thunderclap assaulted his ears, causing the dog to shake his head furiously to clear the ringing. His quarry used the opportunity to dart past him, but Ratbone recovered quickly and lunged after, landing heavily on the creature’s back. Writhing and wiggling like an eel, the derro flipped around, producing a wickedly curved dagger in his right hand. He raised it, preparing to plunge it into the mongrel’s neck, but at the last moment, Ratbone thrust his neck forward and tore out the derro’s throat.
Unfortunately, the dead body was not Gaekhen’s. The group searched the rest of the chamber while Ratbone examined the body of the man he’d just slain. The druid hated having to yield to his more violent tendencies. He always hoped there would be a nonlethal solution to any conflict, and he felt bitterly disappointed when forced to resort to savagery. The room turned up no further clues as to the location of Gaekhen, and so the companions pressed on. The small tunnel towards which the derro had been fleeing led into a long, worked hallway. The walls and ceiling were encrusted with dozens of yawning skulls, their mouths open into dark holes in the walls. Cautiously, they began walking down, eyeing the ominous tableau with suspicion. Rightly so, for they had gone no more than half-way down, when in unison, several skulls on both sides of the hall began spewing forth a caustic acid from their open jaws. As the group ducked and cried out, trying to avoid the burning liquid, they failed to notice that three of the skulls detached themselves from the wall, trailing long, serpentine, skeletal bodies behind them. O’Reginald was the first to see them coming, but before the wizard could warn his companions, the nearest necrophidius rose up and began swaying rhythmically in front of him. O’Reginald’s jaw went slack, and his eyelids drooped as he became mesmerized by the hypnotic dance. Katarina was still batting at her smoldering skirts when she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and saw her friend’s predicament.
“Beware!” she cried, and then snatched the mage’s wand from his limp grip, turning it on the nearest creature. Ratbone leaped past her, barreling into the thing and tearing its skull from its body. He then turned and mauled a second one while Herc smashed the last one to flinders with sword and shield. With a start, O’Reginald shook himself free from his trance, and looked around in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You beat them all single-handedly,” Valeris laughed, slapping him on the back. “Good thing we brought you along.”
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Well, no teaser this weeks, folks. We've had a few inches of snow here in the Deep South, and it's sidelined our game for the week.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Well, as the fickle Alabama weather so often goes, the snow melted and we did play after all, so here's a little teaser..
1. A new ally is discovered unexpectedly within the Dead Warrens.
2. The search for the missing Shoanti goes to pieces...literally!
3. Rolth is not in residence, but his apprentice is, and he proves a challenging foe, especially for Ratbone.
4. Finally, the mission is completed, and Gaekhen's body is returned, but...
5. A new challenge arises when Trinia's execution is ordered.
6. Alas, the festivities are interupted by the sudden appearance of a legendary hero.
7. Will the K.I.A. help or hinder Black Jack?
8. In the aftermath of the execution, a simple request from an old friend begins a new, sinister adventure.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Ratbone sniffed at the base of the door for several seconds before stepping back, a low growl in his throat. His companions knew his mannerisms well enough to know a warning when they saw one. Herc stepped in to the fore, tried the knob, and cautiously pushed the door open. Within the room, wooden tables were stacked with vials, beakers, and other alchemical gear, although the southern-most one was heaped with broken vials and leaned awkwardly on a hastily repaired leg. Three large cauldrons sat against the opposite wall, one of them upended, its foul contents of rendered fats spilled over the floor. Two derro stood over one of the tables, upon which lay a moaning, semi-conscious man. Both of the little creatures yelped when they saw the hulking human standing in the doorway. Before they could react, however, Ratbone bounded past Herc, leaped the nearest table, landed and bowled over one of the derro, savaging him before he could raise the crossbow he held in one hand. The man on the table came fully awake when he saw the huge dog hurdle past, and he rolled quickly to his feet and seized a gleaming sword from the collection of gear piled in one corner. The remaining derro bolted across the room, but a swift swing of Herc’s shield snapped his neck in mid-stride.
“Put down the weapon…slowly,” Valeris said as he pressed the tip of his own blade against the stranger’s neck.
“Okay,” the man said as he lowered his sword, “but let’s not do anything rash. It would seem we have a common enemy here.”
“Who are you?” Katarina asked.
“My name is Michael,” he replied. “I am a priest of Iomedae.”
“There is no temple of your order in Korvosa,” the beguiler replied suspiciously.
“Not as such,” Michael nodded, “but there is a shrine. I am one of its tenders.”
“So what are you doing here, then?” Valeris sneered. “Long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’m not exactly sure where I am,” Michael said. “The last thing I remember, I was in North Point when I came upon a group of men beating a young Shoanti boy. I tried to stop them, but there were too many. They turned on me. When I awoke, I was here, and then you arrived.”
“I’ve got news for you,” Valeris smirked, “you didn’t save the kid.”
“Valeris!” Katarina snapped.
“What does he mean?” Michael asked, his brow furrowed.
Kat turned back, exasperation in her tone. “We are here searching for the boy. His name was Gaekhen.”
“Was?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Kat sighed. “He was killed by the mob. This has set in motion a dangerous situation with the Shoanti. The boy’s body was taken by a necromancer named Rolth and supposedly brought to this place, the Dead Warrens, which lies beneath the Gray District. We’re here to recover Gaekhen’s remains and return them to his people. Will you help us?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened. “Without hesitation,” he said grimly. “Just allow me to get my gear.”
__________________________________________________ ____
Two open passages led from the laboratory, but the shorter of the two ended abruptly at a door that was completely boarded over, as if to keep something out…or something in.
“Now isn’t this intriguing?” O’Reginald asked.
“That’s not the word I’d use,” Valeris snipped. “What’s the point in opening it? You think they decided to lock up a dead body? You ask me, there’s nothing behind there that we need to find.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Kat mused, tapping her chin with one finger. “This is, after all, a necromancer we’re dealing with. Perhaps he would keep something valuable, like the Shoanti’s remains, behind just such a barrier. Herc, would you mind?”
Valeris threw up his hands. “It’s your funeral.”
Herc nodded and stepped forward to begin prying the boards off one-by-one. As each came loose, it did so with a rasping squeak when its rusty nails pulled free. After several noisy minutes, the door stood exposed. Herc glanced over his shoulder to make sure his friends were prepared, and then shoved it open. Beyond was what appeared to be a store room, or perhaps a pantry, but it was in shambles. Broken crates and shelves lay strewn about, with the foodstuffs, firewood and other supplies they once contained scattered across the floor. As Herc peered into the gloom, a hulking shape stepped out of the shadows. The creature seemed to be comprised of a disgusting amalgamation of dead animal parts. The foul-smelling pieces had been stitched together with thick, black thread in a shape to approximate that of a man, yet it was certainly not human. Cobbled together from bits of a dozen carcasses from half as many different species, the staggering thing uttered a gurgling cry as it shambled forth to attack. Ratbone, hunched near Herc’s feet, snarled deeply and crouched, ready to spring. Abruptly, the sickening smell of the thing washed over them, and Ratbone felt his gorge begin to rise. Then, uncontrollably, the dog began retching violently. Behind him, Valeris doubled over as well, purging his stomach in explosive heaves. The creature kept coming. Herc stepped in front of his companions, his own stomach in mild revolt, but still controllable. The carrion golem growled and swung one arm at the warrior…an arm that looked very human, and was decorated with intricate tattoos. Herc reeled from the surprising strength behind the blow, but quickly recovered and shoved forward behind his shield. Suddenly, Michael was at his side, a strip of his tabard wrapped around his face, and the gleaming sword in his hand. Together, the priest and the warrior carved the horrible construct into its component parts with brutal efficiency.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Valeris said as he gazed down at the remains, still wiping bile from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You mean the kid’s not even in one piece? So now we’re on a scavenger hunt for body parts!”
Michael grimly picked up the severed arm and wrapped it in his cloak.
“Let’s be on,” the cleric said tonelessly. “Someone has much to answer for.”
__________________________________________________ ____
They found Gaekhen’s head in a room not far from the alchemy lab. The nauseating mixture of decay and strange chemicals filled the air of the large chamber. Glinting saws, pliers, long stitching needles, and other surgical equipment were organized on shelves and benches along the walls. A sturdy wooden table in the center of the room supported a large, humanoid shape…a thing stitched together from a patchwork of dozens of different bodies. The thing would have stood nearly seven-feet tall if it were to rise. The head attached to the body was too small for the massive frame, and it was crowned with brown hair and bore a distinctive scar upon its left cheek. Once more, Michael stepped stoically forward, lifted his sword, and with one, swift strike, decapitated the inanimate golem.
It was now Michael who took the lead. It was almost as if he were driven to find and avenge Gaekhen, perhaps feeling somehow responsible for the boy’s death. Beyond the stitchery, the group came upon a spartan bedchamber, unoccupied, and seemingly, unused in quite some time. A short hallway gave on to a second bedchamber. It was well-kept and contained a narrow bed, a relatively empty shelf that held only a few books and some bones and skulls, and a long bench. A male torso, the chest of which bore numerous tattoos, and with the right arm still attached, lay on the bench. The arm periodically thrashed and clutched at the air as if it were alive. Hovering in mid-air in a far corner above the bed, was another derro, clad in black robes and holding a bone wand in one hand.
“I’m in charge here while the master’s away!” the little fiend hissed. “You don’t belong here! You weren’t invited, but the master will be pleased when I present your corpses to him!”
He grabbed at the front of his robe, plucking something from it and then hurling it to the ground. It looked like a patch of some sort, but when it touched the floor, it instantly transformed into an animate skeleton, a scimitar gripped in its hand. Herc and Ratbone rushed into the room, but as the dog/druid leaped for the derro, the evil mage hurled a blast of green energy at him. Ratbone felt his strength drain from him, and he stood heaving with his head near the floor, barely able to support his own weight. Herc, however, managed to hop onto the bed, where he could just reach the derro. His sword cut deeply, and the wizard cursed and scooted away, clambering across the ceiling like a spider.
“Behind you!” Michael shouted in warning as the skeleton prepared to split Herc’s skull with its own blade. As the big warrior turned, however, the bag of bones was smashed to bits as the priest struck it with a spike-headed morningstar he’d produced from his pack. Herc nodded and turned back towards the derro, who was now hovering over Ratbone, chuckling sadistically. He unleashed a gout of scorching fire upon the druid, followed by several fiery blue bolts of energy. Ratbone wavered, nearly out on his feet, but with a last hidden reserve, he gathered himself and jumped. His teeth clamped firmly around the derro’s ankle, and where they bit, a rime of gold-flecked ice formed. The derro screamed in agony as his entire body felt suddenly heavy and sluggish. The Companions had chosen their champion well, and Ratbone’s very touch could cause those of evil heart to quail before the power of his patrons. With that last burst of effort, however, the druid was spent. He collapsed to the floor, his chest lurching like a bellows. Michael quickly knelt beside him to lend what aid he could, while Herc and Valeris took advantage of the derro’s weakened state to quickly dispatch him.
Once Ratbone was stabilized, Michael stepped over to Gaekhen’s twitching torso and laid his hands gently upon the chest. As he did so, he murmured a quiet prayer, and white light glowed beneath his palms. Abruptly, all movement from the remains ceased.
“Rest now,” Michael whispered. “You’ll be home soon.”
__________________________________________________ ____
Deeper into the warrens, the companions came upon a small library. It was unoccupied, but there they found many books on necromancy and the nature of diseases and plagues. The former they ignored, but the latter, Michael claimed. He was not a healer by trade, but he knew that such tomes could always prove useful.
Further along, they found themselves in a foul-smelling cavern, bordered on three sides by ten-foot-deep pits. It was from these that the rancid smell of excrement and decay filled the air. Each pit contained a few heaps of moldy straw, a wooden trough of filthy water, a few rotting body parts, and a couple of still-living prisoners. Standing above the pits was a brutish looking creature, whose head was monstrously deformed and whose skin was thick and blubbery. When he saw the companions enter, he laughed out loud and cracked his knobby knuckles.
“Rolth give Cabbagehead big reward for your head, pretty lady!” he said, pointing at Kat. “You go in pit now! Cabbagehead feed you later! Maybe!”
With that, he lumbered forward, his ham-sized fists clenched to do battle, but before he made it halfway across the room, Herc and Valeris went to meet him. Flesh proved no match for cold steel, and it was Cabbagehead that ended up at the bottom of one of the pits in a broken heap. The prisoners below gaped up in silent horror, not knowing if their saviors had arrived, or their executioners.
“Let’s bring them up,” Ratbone said, having resumed his normal form. “Herc, Valeris, give me a hand.”
“You’re not actually thinking of bringing them with us, are you?” O’Reginald asked. “Haven’t we got enough to worry about without having to babysit a bunch of ragamuffins?”
Ratbone turned a cold glare on the young wizard, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy and threatening.
“You were once far worse than they, shiver-head,” he said, “and yet someone found you worthy of salvation. Now help, or leave.”
Wisely, O’Reginald kept any further opinions to himself.
The prisoners were malnourished and sickly-looking, and each told a similar tale of having been kidnapped from the streets of Old Korvosa by small, cloaked figures. One of them, a woman named Tiora, fell weeping at Michael’s feet.
“Father!” she wailed. “Forgive me! I’m a sinner, a thief and a pick-pocket. ‘Twas my sins that put me here, but I swear, I’ve learned my lesson! I’ll do right from now on!”
“Rise, child,” the priest said, resting a hand upon her head. “You have done nothing to deserve such a fate, but relish the second lease on life you have been given, and use your time well.”
“I will, Father,” she babbled, tears in her eyes. “I swear it! You’ll see!”
__________________________________________________ __
The prisoners were escorted back to the surface, and sent on their way, but Gaekhen’s legs were still missing, and so the companions were compelled to return to the warrens. Retracing their steps, they stumbled upon one passage which they had apparently bypassed earlier. It ended in a natural cavern, the majority of which contained a nasty-looking stretch of mud…a partially collapsed sinkhole…kept damp by rivulets of water that seeped from the walls. A patch of solid ground extended into the mud to form and island, upon which was heaped a reeking pile of body parts. Against one wall, a rickety wheelbarrow sat on its side. Cautiously, Valeris, Herc and Ratbone stepped out onto the island. Suddenly, the mud exploded as a hideous monstrosity that seemed to be made up of a huge maw and tentacles, rose up from the morass. It was an otyugh, Korvosa’s ‘offal’ secret…its living waste-disposal system.
“Warm food!” it cried in a delighted, slobbery voice as it heaved itself out of the mud. One of its snake-like tentacles whipped out and seized Valeris around the waist. The duskblade screamed as it constricted around him, and drew him closer to the slavering jaws of the beast. Quickly, Herc and Ratbone leaped after their friend, hacking and biting at the otyugh as it flailed at them with its remaining tentacles. Gradually, however, the creature’s attacks became weaker and more sluggish, and it released Valeris as it heeled over into the bog, twitching. When they were sure it would not rise again, the companions turned to the grim task of examining the pile of body parts. As they feared they would, they discovered Gaekhen’s pelvis and legs buried within the refuse. Michael cleaned them as best he could, then wrapped them and placed them with his other burdens. Their mission complete, the K.I.A. left the Dead Warrens and made their way back to the Citadel.
__________________________________________________ ______
“Well done again,” Field Marshal Kroft congratulated them upon their return, “and welcome, Michael. It seems your assistance to the team may have made the difference between success and failure. Perhaps you’ll consider staying on?”
“Perhaps, commander,” the priest bowed. “It would seem I have more in common with my rescuers than I first knew. It seems preordained that our paths should cross.”
Cressida nodded. “Well, on to new business,” she said with a heavy sigh. “While you were away, Trinia Sabor’s trial was concluded.”
“What??” Ratbone exclaimed. “How? So soon?”
Cressida did not meet his gaze. “She was found guilty. Queen Ileosa has announced that she is to be executed at sunset today, and has invited many of Korvosa’s nobles, military officers, and anyone of real import to the Castle’s public courtyard to witness the event. I want all of you to be there as well. Something about the whole affair doesn’t sit right with me, and the way things have been going lately, I’m worried that this might trigger another riot.”
“But this isn’t right!” Ratbone shouted. “I gave that girl my word that she would have a fair trial!”
“It’s out of my hands,” Cressida said, sadly. “The Queen is the final arbiter on these matters, and with the Magister dead, there is no one to gainsay her. It’s a cruel reality that you must accept.”
Ratbone growled deep in his throat, then turned and abruptly left the room.
“Don’t worry,” Katrina said. “We’ll be there tonight…all of us. If there’s to be trouble, we’ll be ready for it.”
“Thank you,” said Cressida. “My trust in you has proven well-founded. Speak with your friend. Help him to find some peace.”
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done,” Kat replied. “He is a man of many passions, and his word is not given lightly. I’m afraid he might cause problems.”
“For his sake,” Cressida said tensely, “I hope not, but if he does, you need to stop him from doing anything rash…anything that might bring unwanted attention.”
__________________________________________________ ___
The execution, it seemed, was not an affair to be missed. The toast of Korvosa was in attendance in garish gowns, fine capes, and enough jewels to blind a common man. The overall feel of the event was that of a grand ball or party, not an assassin’s public execution. As the six members of the K.I.A. jostled for a position near the gallows, Queen Ileosa emerged amid a great flourish of pomp, as heralds announced her arrival with a fanfare of music and drums. This queen was not the subdued mourner they’d met earlier. She appeared to have accepted the mantle of sole monarch, and carried herself with poise, style, and grace. She wore a green and white silk dress worth thousands of gold coins, and was attended by a small army of servants. Chief among them was Sabina, her expression neutral, but her eyes ever watchful for possible problems in the crowd. Ileosa took her seat in a high, throne-like chair at one end of the public courtyard, while the headman’s block stood ominously at the other. The executioner was a towering, muscular man wearing an executioner’s helm, and idly holding an immense axe. As sunset drew near, the expectant excitement in the crowd built. When the ominous beating of a single, large drum began, the assembled gawkers fell silent. The drum set the pace for Trinia’s procession to the headsman’s block atop the gallows. As they reached the block, one of the guardsman removed Trinia’s shackles and her hood, revealing a very frightened woman who, nonetheless, bravely held back her tears, if only barely. She was led up onto the platform, her arms bound behind her back by a leather cord, and then she was forced over the wooden block before the headsman as Queen Ileosa stood and addressed the crowd.
“Fellow Korvosans! You have suffered greatly these past few weeks. Homes have burned, family members have died, fortunes have been lost. I feel your suffering, for not only have I lost a beloved husband, but with each riot, each burning home, each act of anarchy, my heart bleeds a little more. This has been a trying time for us, yet the torment is at an end. Before you is the face of your anguish and pain. Do not be deceived by this murderer’s timid nature…she is a black-hearted assassin, a seductress and sinner, a viper amidst us all. I offer you all her death as a salve against the hatred and hurt you have suffered. Her death will not rebuild Korvosa, nor will it bring back the king, yet tomorrow will be a new dawn…a dawn over a city ready to rise from the edge of anarchy to become stronger than ever before! And so, without further delay, let us usher in this new dawn with justice! OFF WITH HER HEAD!”
As the headsman hefted his axe, the already silent crowd froze in anticipation. Yet, just before he swung, the executioner gave a strange little grunt and staggered. His raised axe faltered as he reached with one hand to the small of his back, and then brought it to his face, the fingers dripping with blood. An instant later, he cried out in pain and dropped the axe as a dagger embedded itself in the back of his other hand. The axe sank itself in the block, inches from Trinia’s head, and the headsman doubled over in pain, revealing a second dagger already embedded in his lower back. Trinia rose to her knees and glanced up at the executioner in shock as a scream echoed through the crowded courtyard.
“By the gods! It’s Blackjack!”
An instant later, a man dressed in a hooded cloak and leather armor sprang onto the executioner’s block. He wielded a rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other. He cut the bonds on Trinia’s wrists and then threw the dagger down to pin the headsman’s left foot to the wood below. He quickly helped Trinia to her feet and then briefly turned to address the shocked crowd.
“Yes indeed, my queen! Let us usher in justice, but let that be justice for Korvosa, not this shambles you petulantly call a monarchy! Long live Korvosa! Down with the Queen!”
Blackjack’s words spread like fire, causing the crowd to erupt into a frenzy of activity. Some demanded that he release the assassin, while others called for the queen to step down from the Crimson Throne. Queen Ileosa stood stunned for a few moments, whispered something to Sabina, and then quickly turned to flee into Castle Korvosa, Sabina and a dozen guards behind her to cover her retreat. The remaining guards in the courtyard moved towards the gallows to apprehend Blackjack, but the gathered nobles, thirsty for blood, made it difficult to move. At the same time, the executioner, recovering from his initial shock and pain, lifted his axe once more over Blackjack, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten the man in his apparent delight at having forced the queen to flee.
Now, the legend of Blackjack was well known throughout Korvosa…an infamous, masked hero for the people. Tales of his moves against corrupt politicians, cruel nobles, and greedy merchants had been part of the city’s culture for two centuries, and although he hadn’t made an appearance in the last decade, his stories remained as popular as ever among the peasants. Because he had existed for such a long time, few believed him to be a single person. The most popular rumor surround him placed him a series of men, with one training a replacement each generation. All of this, the members of the K.I.A. knew as well, especially Ratbone, whose childhood in the slums of Korvosa had been filled with the exciting adventures of the masked man. Now, the legend stood before them, in the flesh, only it seemed as if his long story was about to be brought to an abrupt end. Seconds counted, and each member of the company searched their own conscience and soul in that span of time.
Valeris was the first to react. The duskblade cared nothing for children’s stories, but he certainly held no love for the monarchy or the establishment either. He found the chaos exciting, and he wanted to see it last a little longer. With a quick flicker of his fingers and a few spoken words, he conjured a disembodied hand directly behind the headsman. The hand seized the executioner by the ankle and pulled, sending the big man sprawling to the platform, his axe flying from his hands.
Katarina, as a practitioner of the Harrow, had known something momentous was going to occur this day, but she had feared the worst. Now, seeing Blackjack, she knew this was the moment fate had predicted, and she knew that it was time to act out her part. Calling upon Zellara’s spirit, she used the magic of the Harrow to create the illusion of a large, billowing cloud of smoke that quickly obscured the scene atop the gallows.
Michael’s thoughts on the subject were more complex. The priest, due to the harshness of his own upbringing, and his subsequent salvation by the Church, saw everything in terms of justice being served. The situation with Trinia was clearly out of his control, but one thing troubled him imminently…the fate of the headsman. The executioner was an innocent, to the priest’s way of thinking, simply a soldier doing his job. He did not deserve to die for that. Pushing his way through the crowd, the priest leaped atop the platform, and knelt beside the fallen man, white light from his hands staunching the blood from the headsman’s wounds. Michael’s gaze met that of Blackjack, and the vigilante simply nodded.
Ratbone had no compunction whatsoever about what was transpiring. In fact, had Blackjack not appeared, the druid was on the verge of charging the gallows himself. Now, he didn’t hesitate, shifting into his ape-like form and bounding up the gallows’ stairs. Once there, he seized the axe and held it well away from the headsman’s reach, preparing to defend the platform should the guards push through.
Herc was a mercenary, but he was not without loyalty. His friends had made their decisions, and he would support them. Stepping into the illusory smoke, he stood on the stairs, sword drawn and shield raised, ready for the coming storm.
Lost in the general hubbub was O’Reginald. The recovering addict had not lived to the ripe old age of 23 by not minding his own business, and from where he stood, the risks of aiding Trinia Sabor and Blackjack far outweighed the benefits (which were few, as far as he could see). As the chaos unfolded, the young wizard melted away into the crowd.
As for Blackjack, he took the opportunity given to him by the K.I.A., yelling for Trinia to lock her arms around his neck, and then quickly leaped from the scaffold to scale the courtyard wall. When he reached the top, he bowed deeply to his saviors, while Trinia lifted one hand in salute, and then both disappeared over the far side. In the courtyard itself, mayhem reigned. The guards had still not reached the gallows due to the press of the crowd, and the remaining members of the K.I.A. used the multiple distractions to blend into the mob. Later, when the tales of the day’s events were retold, only the actions of Blackjack were clearly recalled. If others were involved, it was only peripheral, and their identities were anonymous. For the moment, the company’s loyalties were not called into question, but a fundamental shift had occurred in Korvosa’s attitude. Change was coming.
__________________________________________________ ____
In the days following Blackjack’s daring rescue of the king’s accused assassin, the Korvosan Guard scoured the city for the fugitives, to no avail, and the enraged queen set a royal bounty of 5,000 gold coins for the recapture of Trinia Sabor. Wildly embellished news of the event spread quickly to every corner of the city, and left all to wonder why Korvosa’s long-absent hero chose that time to reappear, and why he had rescued a convicted killer. Even so, even the most fantastic news eventually becomes old, and thus life in the city returned to some semblance of normalcy in the following two weeks. And then, as so often happens, something else happened to draw the attention of the citizens to a new enigma. Just before midnight one evening, the peace was shattered by a wooden screech, followed by the thunder of a trebuchet being fired. Again and again the sounds echoed from the Wall of Eodred near North Bridge, waking nearly all of North Point. Across the river in Trail’s End, people woke just in time to see a sleek brig burn and swiftly sink into the wine-dark waters.
The following morning, gossip buzzed through the city, and fanciful tales ran wild. Every tavern and street corner was abuzz with rumors of pirate raiders and ghost ships. The Crimson Throne remained quiet on the matter, however, with even the loosest-tongued politicos seemingly knowing nothing of the previous night’s events. With so many far wilder and more interesting tales circulating, the facts of the matter quickly became lost among the frenzied speculations. Katarina, however, had more than mere conjecture on her side. She had the power of Zellara’s Harrow deck to direct her along more reliable avenues of information. She spent the following morning among the inhabitants of North Point, asking pointed questions, and listening intently to the tales she heard. By day’s end, she had learned several pieces of information that she felt held at least grains of truth. The mostly widely held speculation was that the Guard had fired upon, and destroyed a ship full of foolish pirates from Riddleport who had obviously hoped to sneak into the heart of the city under cover of night. Kat believed that there was indeed a ship involved, but she highly doubted the pirate theory. She heard from more reliable sources that indeed, a sinister-looking ship had refused inspection as it sailed into the river. When it neared North Bridge and still failed to make its intentions known, the watch had fired upon and destroyed it. Furthermore, according to these sources, none of the guardsmen who signaled of shouted out to the ship received a response. Some said that no one was on board at all.
For his part, Valeris was curious as to the night’s events as well, but mainly for selfish reasons. In the aftermath of Gaedren Lamm’s death, the duskblade had managed to gather to himself several of the “Little Lambs.” Though he treated them better, and actually paid them for the efforts, he ultimately still followed Lamm’s fundamental principle: to have a cadre of pickpockets and cutpurses at his disposal, and reap the profits of their endeavors. Of course, none of his companions were aware of his after-hours activities, and that was just how he liked it. To that end, when he got wind of the possibility of a shipwreck in the middle of the Jeggare, visions of gold flashed through his mind. Working his contacts among the Guard, he discovered only that an order was given to fire upon a yellow light upon the water. This little detail intrigued Valeris, and when he inquired about the significance of ships bearing yellow lights among the sailors in the dock district, he discovered that such a signal was a nautical warning identifying a ship under quarantine. Just like that, his dreams of pirate gold vanished in a puff of smoke.
_________________________________________________
A few days later found Herc window shopping near the Citadel, in the market for a new shield. Suddenly, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he tensed reflexively, his hand going to the pommel of his sword.
“At ease, soldier,” a familiar voice said.
Herc turned and found himself staring at the face of Grau, the Guardsman he and his friends had found wandering drunk during the initial riots after Eodred’s death.
“Sergeant,” Herc nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you wandering around here. Are you off-duty?”
“Not exactly,” Grau said. This isn’t a coincidental meeting. I…have a favor to ask. My niece is sick. I don’t know what she has and neither does anyone in Trail’s End. She’s broken out all over in red pocks and can barely keep down food, or even the swill that good-for-nothing herbalist gave her. Her mother’s talking about going to the Bank of Abadar, but her family can’t afford to pay the prices their clerics would demand. Then I remembered how you and your friends handled yourselves during the riots, and how you helped me out, and I figured you all could help. A bunch of resourceful folk like you, I’d bet if you don’t already have a way to fix this, you must know who can. Surely you can’t just sit by while a child suffers, can you?”
“I can’t speak for the others,” Herc said, “but I feel sure they’d be willing to help. I’ll gather them, and we’ll meet you in Trail’s end by sunset.”
“Thank you,” Grau said, a wet sheen in his eyes as he gripped Herc’s shoulder.
__________________________________________________ ____
“Trail’s End?” O’Reginald asked. “The slum across the river?”
“Mind your tongue,” Katarina snapped. “Many of my people call that ‘slum’ home. It’s not their fault that the so-called civilized people of this city marginalize and stereotype them.”
“Does anyone else find it more than coincidence that Trail’s End is very near where that ship was sunk,” Valeris interrupted, “a plague ship, I might add, and now we hear of a child having fallen ill with some mysterious disease?”
“A mystery indeed,” Michael said, “and mysteries, by their nature, ask to be solved. In any event, we won’t know anything if we don’t at least have a look. Perhaps the books we found in the necromancer’s library will be of assistance.”
__________________________________________________ _
Trail’s End was indeed poor, and reputedly dangerous, a haven for Varisians sprinkled with a few Shoanti and socially disaffected Chelaxians. Yet, to the visitors, it felt more like a small town than any district within the city proper. To be sure, the criminal element was obvious and impossible to ignore in the faces of dozens of toughs and thugs who loitered on the streets, but they tended to target Chelaxians to the exclusion of all others, and with Katarina among them, the K.I.A. passed through unmolested. The home of Tayce Soldado, Grau’s sister, was a squat, two-story wooden building in desperate need of repair and gardening. Overall, the house felt like the home of a family too busy living to bother with tedious chores. Inside, it was remarkably clean and well-kept, filled with worn, well-used furniture and decorated with the crafts and scribblings of children. Two boys were playing quietly in the living room when Grau entered with the companions.
“My nephews,” he said by way of introduction, “Charlo and Rello. Good boys.”
Suddenly, a spasm of ragged coughing filled the house from above. Grau looked up with concern on his face, but then his eyes cut abruptly to the kitchen, where a dark-skinned young man dressed in robes was brewing some concoction that smelled of cinnamon and anise. Grau’s expression turned to one of obvious displeasure, and he turned and headed upstairs. A few moments later, the companions below heard a sternly whispered conversation, with Grau scolding Tayce for racking up a bill with an expensive and worthless healer when he had told her that he would handle things. Tayce defended her decision, restating the direness of her daughter Brienna’s condition. Ratbone glanced at the herbalist, and it was only then that he saw the holy symbol hanging around the man’s neck…a symbol of Abadar. Disgust etched on his face, he started up the stairs. After a moment, Katarina and Michael followed, leaving Valeris, Herc and O’Reginald in the living room.
The creaky steps opened up into a bedroom loft above the main room of the Soldado home. A young girl with auburn hair lay in one of the beds, her slight frame dwarfed by the bed’s size and the pile of pillows, afghans, and quilts surrounding her. Splotches of an angry red rash covered her face and arms, appearing in irregular shapes and sizes. Suddenly, her restlessness was interrupted by a violent fit of hacking coughs that jerked her entire frame, lifting her well off her pillows. The spasm passed after a moment, dropping her back to the bed, but seemingly having done little to ease her breathing. Tayce Soldado, standing over her daughter’s bed, possessed a simple beauty, scarcely hidden by her disheveled appearance and wan features. It was obvious she hadn’t slept in days. Despite her personal state, she greeted her guests sincerely.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, and then her eyes fell upon Michael’s holy symbol. “Father!” she gasped in heartbreaking relief. “Please, can you help her?”
“I’ll do my best,” Michael replied gently. “Tell me, when did the child’s symptoms first appear?”
“Two days ago,” Tayce answered. “She was completely fine before then.”
“I see,” Michael nodded. “May I examine her?”
Tayce stepped aside, and beckoned him over. The priest sat down on the bed beside Brienna and bent close to her. The rash that covered her was vesicular in its appearance, concentrated mostly on her face, but rapidly spreading down her neck. Her glands were swollen into large, tender buboes, and when Michael pressed his ear to her chest, he could hear a deep, unhealthy rattle within. As he pulled away, he drew his books from his satchel and began to flip rapidly through them. Several minutes passed before he shook his head in frustration.
“I see no match for these symptoms,” he said. “This may very well be some entirely new affliction, or perhaps I’m just too ignorant to recognize it.”
“You don’t have to know its nature to cure it with magic, do you?” Ratbone asked.
“No,” Michael acknowledged, “but my healing skills are not foremost among my order. I can research the spell, but it will take time…time that I’m not sure she has.”
Ratbone turned to Tayce. “How much is the Abadaran asking for his services?”
“Fifty gold coins for the herbs,” she said, her eyes downcast, “but three times as much for a complete cure.”
“Bastard!” Ratbone hissed under his breath, then he reached inside his tunic and withdrew a heavy purse that clinked with the sound of gold on gold. “Take it,” he said to Tayce. “All of it.”
Tayce’s mouth worked, but no words could express the emotions she felt. As tears rolled down her face, she simply embraced the druid, burying her face in his shoulder.
Meanwhile, downstairs O’Reginald abruptly stood and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Valeris asked.
“To the river,” the wizard replied. “Just a hunch, but I’m going to collect some of the water…have it analyzed when we get back to the city.”
Valeris snickered. “Sounds like a goose-chase to me, but suit yourself. It’s not like there’s anything else to do around this armpit.”
When the duskblade turned back to Herc to see if the warrior agreed with his assessment, he saw that his companion had walked into the kitchen and was talking to the priest.
“I’m Herc,” the fighter said, extending his hand.
“Ishani Dhatri,” the cleric replied, reaching out his own hand in response.
“So what’s the story?” Herc asked. “What’s wrong with the girl?”
Ishani shook his head. “I don’t recognize the exact combination of her symptoms, but I fear that this might be a harbinger of a new disease.”
“Then why haven’t you cured her yet?” Herc asked pointedly.
Ishani sighed in frustration. “If I had been sent for earlier, perhaps I could, but I’m afraid that my duties at the Golden One’s Vault required me to entreat him for similar miracles already this day. Even if I could, though, the tenets of my church force me to request a donation for Abadar’s power…one that I suspect these simple folk could scarcely afford.”
“Here’s your blood money,” Ratbone said with a snarl as he, Tayce and the others entered the kitchen. “Now will you cure her?”
Ishani sighed again. “As I was just explaining to your friend, it will have to wait until tomorrow, but with the price met, I promise to do so at sunrise.”
“That’s a promise that you are staking your life upon, ‘priest.’” Ratbone said. “In the meantime, it is within my ability to slow the progress of the disease. I will stay here with the girl until your return.”
Ishani nodded. “Then I shall take my leave.” As he turned to go, however, he paused and turned back. “Please do not judge me too harshly. My faith is…difficult to understand by laymen. Some of my more charitable work sometimes requires the aid of those outside the church’s rigid hierarchies. Perhaps in the future you might be amenable to my contacting you.”
He then opened the door and left without another word.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Thanks guys! Thought I'd add a little techinical expertise while I had the chance!!
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
The group is contacted by an old acquaintance, Vincarlo Orisini, regarding a little...favor
The priest of Abadar also needs a solid. Unfortunately, it seems the strange new disease was not an isolated case, and the Great Vault is besieged by the afflicted
It appears there's a New World Order in Korvosa when, in response to the rapidly spreading plague, the Crimson Throne creates a new para-military group, and the queen sends puts her own squad of personal physicians on the case.
As the city tries to figure out what to do with the mounting number of dead, the group gets word of some illegal corpse dumping. When they go to investigate, however, the learn that something far more sinister, and hungry, is at work.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Ishani was true to his word, and by the next morning, Brienna was cured, though still very weak. Nevertheless, she gave her saviors a tired smile, and Tayce cooked a wonderful meal for them. Ishani did not stay, however, saying that his duties required him back at the Grand Vault. By early afternoon, the members of the K.I.A. were making their way back to North Point, secure that a minor tragedy had been averted, and putting the matter behind them. When they reached the Three Rings Tavern, however, a new issue required their attention. The proprietor handed them a sealed envelope, saying that a messenger had delivered it earlier that morning. When Katarina opened it, she found a short, cryptic note inside from Vencarlo Orisini. It was a request for her and her friends to come by his academy in Old Korvosa that evening.
Vencarlo’s school was located at 16 Hillcrest Street in Old Korvosa. When they arrived, a sign hanging from the front door declared that classes had been cancelled for the day. The door opened abruptly, revealing a serious-looking Vencarlo. He glanced both ways on the street, and then beckoned them inside.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said, and then lead them down a hall and into a study, the windows of which were tightly shuttered and curtained.
“I asked you here because I have a favor to request,” he said in hushed tones as he indicated that they should be seated. “You can come in now,” he called over his shoulder.
A door opened behind him and a slight figure entered wearing simple travelling clothes and a wide-brimmed rider’s hat. Long red curls hid her face, but when she lifted her chin, it was obvious to all that it was Trinia Sabor who stood before them. She smiled weakly.
“I’m sorry I about all the trouble I gave you in the Shingles a few weeks ago,” she said sheepishly.
“You were all at the Queen’s debacle, so I don’t doubt you recognize this charming young woman,” Vencarlo interrupted before any questions could be asked. “I had only just reached my home the night of Her Majesty’s morbid gala when that rogue Blackjack and this startled woman arrived at my doorstep. The people’s hero and I have had some dealings in the past, but still, it’s been some years since I’ve seen the scoundrel. He was quick with his words, and soon swooped off, doubtlessly to right some other festering wrong, but not before entrusting Miss Sabor into my protection and care. Although I don’t know Blackjack’s motives or politics, I trust his judgment and have seen much right done by his blade. He says the girl is innocent of the crime she’s been accused of, and I’m more disposed to trust a hero of the city than the tantrums of some bloody-minded harlot playing at queen. The matter is simple: Korvosa is no longer safe for Miss Sabor. I’ve arranged for friends in Harse, a couple of well-respected ranchers, to take in our beautiful renegade until this whole ‘assassination’ foolishness blows over. It’s the first leg of the journey where we find our problem, though. Both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company have been searching for the young lady tirelessly…they’ve stopped by here three times so far, and each time I’ve only just barely been able to turn them away without inviting a search. My most reliable contacts have gone to ground in light of the recent uprisings, and Her Highness’s considerable bounty for Trinia’s capture makes the use of new agents inadvisable. Thus, after some time to let her trail cool, I turned to you resourceful lot. Care to escort a lady home?”
Ratbone cleared his throat. “I must say I’m…relieved to see that you’re safe, Miss Sabor. I would be honored to see you to safety.”
Valeris and O’Reginald both rolled their eyes.
“That’s all well and good,” the duskblade said, “but I’m sure you’ve seen the posters around town. The reward for her is up to 5,000 gold! Everyone will be looking for her. How do you propose we just slip her past the City Guard?”
“I would suggest a slow walk through the city,” Vencarlo shrugged. “Go down to High Bridge and then up to Dwarfwalk Road. Then you can just mingle with the afternoon’s merchants leaving the city.”
“Excuse me, Trinia is it?” O’Reginald asked, turning towards the young girl. “I couldn’t help but notice during our pursuit of you, that you were attempting spell-casting. Are you a mage?”
“Not at all,” Trinia said, shaking her head. “I’ve had some bardic training, and I know a few minor cantrips.”
“Ah,” the wizard said, “then you should be adept at altering your appearance, yes?”
Trinia thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened in understanding. “Yes, yes! I know of such a spell!”
“Not to belittle your ‘disguise’ skill, Master Orisini,” O’Reginald said, turning back to Vencarlo,” but if we are actually going to try this ridiculous trick, then we need to make very sure that nobody will recognize her.”
__________________________________________________ ___
A short time later saw the six companions, Ratbone, as usual, in his canine form, making their way up the Dwarfwalk in the company of a gruff-looking dwarven merchant. Vencarlo had approved of their ingenuity and thanked them again for volunteering to assist Trinia. He refused to accompany them, however, explaining that he was too well known about town, and that his history with the monarch might have drawn unwanted suspicion. As such, he planned to attend to some private business and disappear into the anonymity of Old Korvosa for a time. He asked that they not try to find him. He’d call upon them when the time was right.
As they mingled with the rest of the foot-traffic, Trinia tried to make small talk, but Michael, to the surprise of his companions, cut her short.
“Forgive me,” the priest said, not unkindly, “but perhaps the less we know about each other, the better. If, by some misfortune, you should be recaptured, or we should be implicated in your escape, then under magical duress, none of us shall be able to incriminate the others. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Trinia averted her eyes and nodded solemnly. The group walked on in silence. As they moved through Old Korvosa, however, an overly aggressive beggar stumbled up to them, hacking and wheezing, a splotchy red rash and blisters the size of ripe grapes covering his face and arms.
“Please, kind masters,” he pleaded, “could you spare a few coins so that I might have some food and medicine for my ailments?”
O’Reginald recoiled, and Valeris dropped his hand to his blade, but Michael stepped between them and the old man.
“Take this,” he said, pressing a small bag of coins into the man’s hand. “Go to the Grand Vault and ask for Vaultkeeper Dhatri. Tell him the K.I.A. sent you.”
“Bless you, sir! Bless you!” the beggar said as he stumbled away into the crowd.
“It wasn’t an isolated case,” Michael said after the man had disappeared. Abruptly, Ratbone whined at his feet. When the priest looked down, the dog nudged him, and then took a few steps into the crowd. It was then that Michael saw them…at least five other individuals…beggars, common folk, and even a merchant…all displaying the same, familiar, fiery rashes.
“What’s wrong with them?” Trinia asked, concern in her voice.
“Just be glad you’re leaving,” Valeris growled.
The company passed through the gates without so much as a glance from the guards, much to their surprise and relief. Once they were a safe distance beyond the walls and across the bridge, Trinia mounted the horse Vencarlo had provided for her.
“Thank you all for your help,” she said, turning back to her escorts. “I’m so sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you, but I promise, I will repay you someday.”
She then reined her mount around and galloped off into the sunset. Ratbone lifted his muzzle and howled after her in farewell.
__________________________________________________ _____
The following morning, the innkeeper informed Katarina that another message awaited her and her companions. Curious, she followed him downstairs and found a young boy dressed in the robes of an acolyte of the Church of Abadar standing nervously in the common room.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he stammered, “but I’ve been sent by Vaultkeeper Dhatri. He seeks a meeting with you at the Grand Vault at your earliest pleasure.”
Kat nodded, and tipped the boy a gold coin. “Tell your master that we shall be along shortly,” she replied.
The others weren’t surprised at the request though, as usual, Valeris grumbled. The walk to the Grand Vault was long, but the streets seemed strangely subdued, with much less traffic than they were accustomed to seeing. When they finally reached the temple, however, things were not at all as they expected. Towering over the surrounding buildings, the Grand Vault of Abadar offered a vision of divine luxuriance amid a sea of mortal troubles. Radiant, as its grey-veined white marble reflected the midday sun, there was little question that the place was a house of a god. Yet, for a deity of law, the steep stairs and ramps leading up to the temple’s great bronze doors offered a strangely discordant scene. Dozens of citizens, mostly of the working class, although the silks of a few merchants showed through the crowed, thronged the entry, scarcely held back by a group of gold-armored Abadarian clerics. All seemed intent on gaining entry to the temple, but the clerics turned away nearly all comers. The clerics’ reasoning became clear as one desperate believer was turned away, his pitiful countenance mottled with violent red sores. The six companions looked at each with shocked expressions. There appeared to be no way to get to the doors without going through the crowd. Herc took the lead, and began shouldering his way through. Single-file, the others began following. They were no more than halfway through, however, when Michael was suddenly seized by his tunic.
“Look!” shouted one of the mob, pointing at Michael’s holy symbol. “He’s a priest!”
“Father, help us!” they began shouting. “Heal us! Save us!”
Before Michael knew what was happening, dozens of hands clutched at him, pulling him this way and that.
“Please!” Michael shouted placatingly. “I am no healer! I am a petitioner, just like yourselves!”
The mob showed no sign that they had heard. Instead they pushed and pulled even more aggressively, until Michael felt himself going down. Suddenly, a strong hand seized him by the arm and hauled him forward. He turned to look at his rescuer and saw Herc surging forward, shield held before him. Within a matter of moments, they had reached the doors.
“Halt!” one of the guards said, stepping forward. “State your business!”
“Mandrake?” Kat asked. “Is that you?”
The Abadarian blinked, recognition dawning on him.
“Katarina? What are all of you doing here?”
“We’re here to see Vaultkeeper Dhatri,” Kat explained. “He asked us to come.”
“Of course!” the paladin nodded. “Follow me!”
Mandrake led them inside. Within the airy halls, priests and patrons eyed each other and every newcomer with suspicion, and every footfall upon the marble floor echoed through a frightened silence. Ishani Dhatri waited for them inside one of the western meeting rooms.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I assume you already suspect my reasons for calling, having seen the crowd outside, poor lot. You recognize the symptoms, I’m sure. I had hoped that the Soldado case was isolated, but apparently we have a bigger problem on our hands than I’d feared. I’m concerned for the city, but also for my brethren here. The morning after my visit to the Soldado home I came to the temple to hear that three of my brothers awoke with similar symptoms, although they had already been healed. I spoke to each, and aside from their usual duties in the temple, none have had any dealings with the sick. Later in the day, more of my brothers…vaultkeepers, guards, and acolytes…developed symptoms, and folk from throughout the city began arriving in search of healing. It’s been more than a little bit frightening. They’re calling the sickness ‘blood veil.’ An apt enough name, I suppose. This affliction has spread fast, yet I’m not yet sure how. Most of the patients we’re treating have come from North Point and Old Korvosa. The disease seems to spread fastest through the lower classes. Although we here at the temple can heal some of the ill, I fear that the spread of the disease will soon outpace our resources. The only way to stem the growing infection is to involve all the city’s resources. We need to organize. We need to call upon the faiths of Sarenrae, Pharasma, and even Asmodeus to face this attack. Archbanker Tuttle and several of his assistants are out pursuing alliances with these other faiths, but even that won’t be enough. We need to involve the Korvosan Guard, at the very least. And that’s where you come in…with the number of desperate souls growing, it’s not particularly safe for a priest to walk the streets of Korvosa. I hear that you have a good relationship with Field Marshal Cressida Kroft…perhaps you would be willing to escort me to Citadel Volshyenek to introduce me to her?”
“This is troubling indeed,” Michael said pensively. “Do you have any theories on the origin of the outbreak?”
“Not yet,” Ishani said, shaking his head. “I hope the Archbanker and the other church leaders will be able to deduce it.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’m already on to it,” O’Reginald said absently.
“Truly?” Ishani asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Not this again!” Valeris rolled his eyes.
“If you have a better idea, let’s hear it!” the mage snapped. He then turned calmly back to Ishani. “The Soldado’s home is near the river. Tayce said the little girl played near the water every day. The quarantined ship that was sunk…,”
“ ‘Alleged’ quarantined ship,” Valeris interrupted.
“…went down in the river near Trail’s End,” O’Reginald continued, ignoring the duskblade. “Therefore, I think the river water is the source of the infection. I took several samples of it when we were there. I’ve already given one of the samples to an alchemist at the Acadamae, and another to an old friend I know who has some expertise in chemistry.”
“I’m sure he does,” Valeris snorted.
“Do you have any more of the water?” Ishani asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
“I have one more vial,” O’Reginald replied. “Why?”
“We have alchemists here in the temple,” the priest said. “I can have them do an analysis for you as well. That way you’ll have three independent reports, and no one can gainsay your results.”
O’Reginald nodded. “Good idea.”
He passed over his last vial. Ishani took it and said he would meet them at the front doors once he’d delivered the sample and gathered his belongings.
__________________________________________________ __
The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek posed little problem, despite Ishani’s fear to the contrary. When they arrived at the gates, the guards greeted them warmly.
“If you’re here to meet the Queen’s Physicians,” the sergeant said, “you’ll need to hurry. They’ve already gone ahead to the courtyard.”
The companions exchanged suspicious glances, but only thanked the guardsman and headed inside the citadel to the courtyard. As they approached, the echoes of forcefully spoken but still just-missed words resounded off the imposing granite and iron walls of the outer curtain. Dozens of red-and-silver-armored guards stood in assembly upon the pitted stone mustering ground, mumbling in hushed, somber tones. Before them, atop a weathered wooden platform, paced Field Marshal Kroft, her eyebrows arched sternly as she momentarily tolerated the crowd’s murmurs. Behind her upon the scaffold stood three grizzled veteran guardsmen at attention, as well as an ominous-looking group. Those men wore cowled robes of oily-looking leather, supple gloves, and wide black hats. Some gripped heavy canes, others dark satchels. Each of them, though, wore a dark-goggled mask that tapered to a pointed beak. Among them stood two others. The first was a middle-aged gentleman in a simple black overcoat with streaks of white gracing the sides of his short dark hair. He watched the gathered guards with a soft, concerned expression, his hands tightly clasped around a heavy-looking doctor’s case. The second figure was an imposing one indeed…a woman dressed in full-plate armor, a longsword and shield at her side, and her blank-faced full helm sporting a bright red plume. The Field Marshal’s fierce tone cut through the rumble of whispers.
“You will escort Doctor Davaulus and his men in their royal duties wherever those might take them. Furthermore, you are to consider orders from any of the queen’s new order of Gray Maidens to be as binding as any superior officer in the Korvosan Guard or Sable Company. You are guardsman of Korvosa. You will not balk. These are dire times and your city needs these healers. Your city needs you. Your patrol leaders have your assignments. Dismissed!”
As the assembly ended, the guardsmen gathered in the courtyard broke up into groups, many reporting for various duties while others loitered for a few moments to quietly gripe about their new orders. The armored woman quickly organized the guards, silencing bickering words with harsh commands and assigning orders for the day. Kroft and her veteran attendants began to head into the citadel with Dr. Davaulus and his Queen’s Physicians. As she reached the door, however, she caught sight of the K.I.A. members out of the corner of her eye. She turned and whispered to one of her guardsmen, who then hurried over to them.
“The Field Marshal requests that you accompany her and her guests,” the man growled, then turned back, assuming they would follow, which of course, they did. Once inside, Cressida turned to the companions, who were being carefully scrutinized by the good doctor.
“Doctor Davaulus,” she began, “allow me to introduce a group of operatives that I have enlisted for...special…assignments.”
“A pleasure,” the doctor replied, though he did not extend his hand in greeting.
“I’m afraid, though, I haven’t had the honor…,” Cressida said, turning to Ishani.
“This is Vaultkeeper Ishani Dhatri,” Michael said in way of introduction. “He assisted us in what we believe was the first case of this so-called blood veil.”
“Really?” Dr. Davaulus asked, interest in his eyes. “Do tell.”
Ishani proceeded to relate Brienna’s story, concluding with the recent events at the Grand Vault.
“I am here to inquire if I might be of service in coordinating the efforts of the Grand Vault of Abadar with those of the city,” he concluded.
“Of course,” Davaulus nodded. “We welcome any assistance, especially that of the churches.”
“Might I ask, Doctor,” Michael interjected, “what are your plans to address this crisis?”
“Well,” the doctor shrugged, “I must still confer with the Field Marshall to form a sensible plan, but allow me to share with you an official proclamation being distributed by the Crimson Throne.”
He opened his bag and pulled out a roll of parchment. Michael took it, unfurled it and read aloud,
“ ‘By Decree of Her Royal Majesty, the Radiant Queen Ileosa I, all citizens and members of the Korvosan Guard are to aid and admit the newly established Queen’s Physicians in this time of urgency. These royal agents will extend healing to the sick and organize defense against the spreading affliction known as ‘blood veil.’ They are to be allowed access to any home or building they deem necessary in the course of their duties. All those suffering from disease or disorder are to submit themselves to the Physicians for treatment. To aid in the duties of the Queen’s Physicians, know that the order of the Gray Maidens has been established to provide military support as needed. The Maidens answer directly to the Crimson Throne, and will be called upon as necessary to augment and strengthen the peace where simple city guards will not suffice. Impeding or distracting the duties of the Queen’s Physicians or the Gray Maidens is punishable by imprisonment. Impersonating one of the Queen’s Physicians is punishable by death. Knowingly harboring or hiding the infected is punishable by death. Purposefully spreading blood veil is punishable by torture, then death. The Queen’s Physicians will be making rounds of every city district henceforth until Her Majesty deems this misfortune abated.’”
“Wow,” Valeris said, pursing his lips. “That’s a whole lot of imprisoning, torturing and killing there. I’m impressed!”
“I believe you miss the point,” Dr. Davaulus said patiently. “This is a desperate situation, and calls for dramatic measures. Not everyone may be receptive to our methods, but if we are to insure maximum survivability, then certain sacrifices may have to be made.”
“I have a theory, if anyone’s interested,” O’Reginald interrupted.
“Oh, for the love of the gods!” Valeris shouted, throwing up his hands.
“No, no,” Ishani chimed in, “I think this is valid. You should hear this.”
“Thank you,” O’Reginald said, and then proceeded to explain his river water theory again. When he was finished, the doctor nodded approvingly.
“That is indeed a very interesting theory,” he said. “In fact, I’d like you to give me the names and addresses of these alchemists so that my physicians can contact them, and perhaps help to expedite their progress.”
“Umm…ok…,” O’Reginald said carefully.
“Excellent,” Davaulus said. “Now, we should get down to our planning. Vaultkeeper, would you join us?”
“Certainly,” Ishani said.
Davaulus then entered a conference room, followed by his attendants and Ishani. Cressida was the last to go, but before she went in, she turned back to her agents.
“Make yourselves available,” she said, and then followed her guests.
__________________________________________________ __
In the days that followed, word of blood veil’s rapid spread was on the lips of every citizen of Korvosa, as was the news of the Crimson’s Throne’s new decrees. As for the K.I.A., there was not much that they could do. Although Michael and Ratbone spent their days in Old Korvosa, lending aid where possible, it became increasingly obvious that their efforts were but a drop in the bucket. During this period, O’Reginald became more and more convinced that his theory was correct, and he waited impatiently for the results of his analyses. However, when he went to check on their progress, he found that all three alchemists had mysteriously left the city on other business.
It was shortly after this discovery that Field Marshall Croft finally sent for the agents, requesting that they report to the Citadel as soon as possible.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been in contact sooner, but I haven’t been able to seem to find a free moment. Now, it seems, I have a new problem to add to the hundreds of others. This one, fortunately, you may be able to help me with. As you’re no doubt aware, the death toll from blood veil has been rising every day. We’ve enlisted carters to gather the dead and carry them to the Gray District. It seems that some of the lazier ones to the north aren’t making their deliveries. Instead, they’re dumping bodies in a secluded backstreet called Racker’s Alley. I’d like you to go and check out the situation for me.”
“And what should we do if we find the rumors are true?” Valeris asked.
“Report back to me, and keep it quiet,” Cressida said. “I’ll handle it from there.”
__________________________________________________ _____
The high walls of the surrounding buildings threw the awkwardly bent Racker’s alley into constant shadow. Although littered with garbage and filth, the refuse wasn’t the most stomach-turning trait of the rundown sideway. Heaped against a bent wooden wall, rose a pile of more than three-dozen plague victims, their faces blistered and flushed, eyes open and staring. The scent of death was overpowered by the reek of rot, suggesting that some of the corpses had lain there for days. Cautiously, the six companions proceeded down the shadowy passageway, Ratbone in the lead, his nose to the ground. He found several sets of booted tracks, as well as hoof prints and the wheel marks of carts. Oddly, however, he also found the prints of bare feet, but when he followed them, he found that they ended inexplicably at the walls of the alleyway.
“Look at this,” Herc called from where he crouched near the corpses.
Ratbone padded over and immediately saw what the big merc had noticed…twin puncture wounds on the necks and arms of several of the bodies.
“Vampires,” Michael said softly from behind the pair. “I’ve seen their work before. If they’ve been feeding here, then their lair cannot be far.”
Ratbone turned back to the pile of bodies and began nosing further in, pawing aside a few. When he reached the wall, he growled low in his throat, then backed away, revealing a small hole, just big enough to crawl through.
Ratbone was the first through, but the room in which he found himself was anything but what he had expected. Dozens of crooked glass eyes…hollow and crazed…glared from the heads of malformed and half-carved dolls lining skewed workroom shelves. Rat-gnawed stuffed aurochs, disembodied doll limbs, miniature rolling elephants, unseaworthy ships, and crooked blocks illustrated with deformed or poorly painted animals filled bins and racks about the room. A cracked wooden door lead to the north, while a rickety trap door broke the sawdust-covered floor to the east. In one corner lay the drying corpse of an old, bald man amid the wood chips, rusty tools, and oily rags of a scored workbench. Michael was next in and walked up behind the dog.
“I guess he was the first victim,” the priest said, nodding to the six pairs of puncture marks along the man’s arms. “It’s still daylight outside. With any luck, we’ll catch them sleeping. I doubt they’re resting in the storefront, so that looks like our only obvious choice.” He nodded to the trap door.
Herc heaved against the trapdoor, but it opened surprisingly easily, revealing a mere three-foot drop to a crawlspace below. Ratbone leaped down, followed closely by Valeris and Herc. Valeris held up his hand and spoke a word, bathing it in blue light. The area was of the same dimensions as the room above, the floor made of dirt. Amid numerous blocks of various types of mundane wood lay six simple wooden coffins.
“Wait!” Herc shouted to the others still above, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, than the lids of all six coffins burst open. The creatures that emerged resembled humans on only a basic level. Their hair was filthy and lank, their skin the pallor of the dead. Their eyes glowed red and feral, and when they opened their too-long jaws, fangs like needles were revealed. As they climbed free, Ratbone’s shape flickered momentarily and he resumed his natural form and spoke the words to a spell. When he once again took his canine shape, his teeth gleamed silver in the azure light.
In the workshop above, O’Reginald dropped to his belly and leaned down through the trap door. When he saw the vampires, his face paled, but he didn’t lose his nerve. Chanting his spell, he hurled a barrage of arcane missiles at the nearest of the undead. The creature recoiled, hissing in pain, but then its eyes locked with those of the mage. Instantly, O’Reginald felt his will and his thoughts subverted. An alien voice whispered in his mind, and to his horror, he found that he could not ignore it.
Valeris found himself hemmed in on all sides by bloodsuckers. Suddenly, he felt a stinging pain in his back as one of the creatures raked its claws across it. At the same time, he felt his blood run cold and his knees went weak.
“Help…me…,” he cried in a strangled voice.
Herc turned towards his friend, and took a step towards him, but as he did so, he too met the unholy gaze of one of the vampires. His will proved no stronger than O’Reginald’s, and when the sibilant hiss inside his head told him to kill Valeris, he raised his sword obediently. Instead of wielding it against his partner, however, he paused, his mind rebelling violently against the domination. Then, with a sensation like glass shattering, he felt the vampire’s hold break. Reaching into his belt pouch, he drew out a vial of silvery liquid, which he poured quickly across the blade of his sword.
Michael, still standing in the workshop, stepped to the opening in the floor, his holy symbol gripped tightly in his hand. His voice booming, he called upon Iomedae, and his fist flared with brilliant white fire. He hurled the energy into the crawlspace, simultaneously delivering healing power to his friends, and searing the flesh of the vampires with holy fire. Next to him, however, still laying on the floor, O’Reginald tensed as the voice in his head commanded him to flay the flesh from Ratbone, who was steadily advancing on the undead, his silver teeth bared. For an instant, the mage’s hand began to burn, but just as he prepared to loose it against his partner, his own will reasserted itself, and instead he threw the burst into the face of the vampire who’d seized him.
Back in the crawlspace, Ratbone attacked. He leaped full force upon one of the vampires, his flashing fangs tearing the throat from the creature. As he did so, the undead dissolved into a haze of mist, vanishing back into its coffin where it reformed as a hazy, insubstantial figment of its former self. It was at that point that the tide of the battle changed. Herc laid about him with his silvery sword, allowing Valeris time to recover his strength. The duskblade then channeled his magic into his own sword, transforming it into a truly formidable weapon against the vampires. Michael continued to bombard the undead with holy power, while O’Reginald conjured hails of stone from thin air. One-by-one the vampires fell, each returning to its nearby coffin, until finally all lay in torpor.
“Now!” Michael said, leaping down to join his comrades and quickly staving in one of the crates with his mace. He picked up a jagged piece of wood and drove it through the heart of the nearest vampire. The creature screamed in mortal agony as its body disintegrated. Herc and Valeris grabbed their own stakes and began following the priest’s lead, destroying each of the blood-sucking fiends in turn.
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Taking a break from killing and violence, the agents investigate a shady perfumery claiming to have found a cure for blood veil. It's immediately obvious that not all is on the up-and-up, but while Katarina goes for the more subtle approach, Valeris, as usual, does things the hard way.
Ratbone is approached by a local fishmonger with a very familiar request regarding a very familiar type of shapeshifter. Once again, the agents journey into the sewers in search of rats, and they find much more than they bargained for. When all is said and done, however, the true source of blood veil might just be revealed...
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
Cressida was appalled when she received the report of the undead activity, especially when Michael suggested that the carters might have been under the mental control of the vampires. She promised to send a squad to do a thorough investigation and also to enlist the aid of the Abadarians to undo any lingering effects of domination. As the group left the Citadel, however, a familiar voice called to them, and they saw Ishani ascending the stairs towards them.
“I heard about your discovery in Racker’s Alley,” the priest said. “Terrible. I wonder if there is any end to the travesties of these days. Speaking of which, I know you’ve only just returned, but I have another favor to ask of you. I’m sure you’ve all heard of Lavender.”
“The perfume boutique?” Katarina asked.
“The very one,” Ishani nodded. “As you know, it has quite the reputation for its brazen promotions, most notably the ‘free imp with every purchase’ campaign. Fortunately, much of that could be attributed to avant garde marketing, but this time Vendra Loaggri has gone too far.”
He took a flier from his robes and handed it to Kat.
“‘Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment,’” Kat read, “ ‘the everyday elixir of the common Korvosan. It wakes you up in the morning and calms you down at night. It soothes aching joints, tired feet, sore hands, and throbbing heads. It takes the pain out of cuts, burns, bruises, and blemishes. It smells like chastity, confidence, and respectability, and tastes like honeyed dewdrops over snow clouds. Most miraculously, though, Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment dispels blisters, minimizes swelling, calms the complexion, and erases all symptoms of the common blood veil complaint.’”
“Sounds like snake oil to me,” Valeris snorted.
“Precisely,” Ishani said. “If this is indeed a sham, of which I have no doubt, then it must be stopped. If people are buying into this, then they aren’t seeking legitimate sources of aid, and thus are at greater risk of succumbing to the affliction.”
“By ‘legitimate,’ do you mean the so-called Queen’s Physicians?” Valeris asked.
“I’m withholding judgment on that for now,” the cleric said, his mouth tightening, “but regardless, we want the people to get proper assistance, and this is not it.”
“You’re right, of course,” Kat said. “We’ll head down there and see what’s going on.”
__________________________________________________ _________
A queue of eager Korvosans stood in a line that stretched nearly four blocks from Lavender’s distinctive amethyst-shaded windows. Many of them looked healthy, but several bore the obvious hacking, blistered symptoms of blood veil.
“What’s going on here, citizen?” Ratbone casually asked one of the patrons as the companions joined the queue.
“Haven’t you heard?” the pock-marked man said excitedly. “Vendra Loaggri’s found a cure! It’s a miracle!”
“You believe it works?” the druid asked.
“Oh yes!” the man nodded enthusiastically. “My sister’s cousin has a friend who knows someone who took it and their symptoms vanished immediately!”
“I see,” Ratbone said. “Well then, I guess we’d better buy some ourselves.”
A menagerie of heady scents twisted throughout the cramped but stylish perfumery once the companions threaded their way through the line. A dizzying assortment of bottles, from gaudy ceramic containers to graceful crystalline vials, lined a variety of lace- and ribbon-strewn tables, shelves, racks and an eye-catching display in the wide front window. Across from the front door’s orchid-tinted glass panes ran a long counter, stacked high with hundreds of simple clay phials bearing round, magenta stoppers. Behind the counter, violet flourishes swooped across a sign reading, “Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment: Either You’ve Got it, or You’ve Had it.”
Three men dressed in chain shirts, and with heavy saps hanging from their belts, stood around the perimeter of the store, eyeing the steady line of customers, while a lovely woman with black hair and blue eyes stood behind the counter.
“You run this place?” Valeris asked as he stepped up to the display. Herc, O’Reginald and Michael stood behind him. Katarina waited outside the door, a large dog at her side.
“Yes,” the woman answered with a disarming smile. “I’m Vendra Loaggri. How can I help you?”
“They say you’re hocking some sort of cure for the blood veil,” the duskblade sneered. “What’s your game?”
“It’s a true miracle,” Vendra answered, her smile never faltering. “I came upon the mixture quite by accident, while I was researching a new fragrance.”
“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” Valeris asked. “My, but that is a miracle, especially when all the alchemists, physicians and priests in the city haven’t been able to do the same.”
“She’s tellin’ the trooth!” said an old man who’d been quietly perusing the rest of the store’s stock. “Used it meself when I broke out in the pocks! Not only cured my rash, but made my bum leg stop achin’ too!”
“You see?” Vendra asked. “An unsolicited testimonial.”
“Convenient,” Valeris smirked. “Let me ask you this: if you’re so benevolent, and want to help people, why don’t you just give me the recipe for the cure, and I’ll start making it for free and give it to those who need it?”
Vendra chuckled. “My dear man, I’m a businesswoman. Is it wrong for me to make a modest profit on my discovery when the Abadarians are charging almost one-hundred times as much for their prayers?”
“But you’ve got something even the priests don’t!” Valeris snapped. “You’re mass-producing a cure! Surely you’ve made enough by now that it wouldn’t hurt you to show a little charity. Am I right, folks?” He turned to the crowd, and a murmur began rippling through those waiting.
“Sir,” Vendra said, her smile thinning, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disrupting my business, and delaying the delivery of a cure to these good people. Are you buying, or not?”
As she spoke, the three toughs started edging closer.
“Yeah, I’m buying alright,” Valeris said as he smacked two coins down on the counter and grabbed one of the vials, “but I’m going to take this to a reputable alchemist and find out what’s in it. Then I’m going to start making it myself and give it away for free!”
“As you wish,” Vendra said coldly. “A pleasure doing business with you. Goodbye.”
The toughs stood menacingly around the duskblade. He grinned at them as he backed out of the store, his companions following.
During the interaction between Valeris and Vendra, Ratbone and Kat took the opportunity to slip unobtrusively into an alley behind Lavender. There they found a door leading into the back of the building. Ratbone sniffed around the edge and snorted once, letting Kat know that he sensed no one on the other side. The door was locked, but the beguiler’s Varisian heritage came in handy, and she quickly picked the lock, then slipped inside with Ratbone before closing the door behind her. Delicate wall hangings, artistically shaped candles, and the fine scent of cherry blossoms filled the well-decorated apartment beyond the door. A table sculpted with swirling ivy leaves bore a fragile porcelain tea service and an exotically curved hookah in a kitchen nook. A door adjacent to the kitchen opened into a bedroom furnished with an antique armoire and a bed sheeted in purple silks and heavily laden with round pillows. Ratbone quickly began nosing around the room, momentarily put off by the abundance of strong fragrances. He paused in the back corner of the bedroom as he felt a slight breeze near the floor, and detected the faint scent of mold. He began pawing at the wall, attracting Kat’s attention. When she joined him, and began examining the corner, she found a faint seam running from ceiling to floor. She worked her fingernails into the crack and pulled. The whole section of the wall gave way, opening onto another room beyond. Bits of broken crates and barrels covered the floor of the dilapidated apartment on the far side. A tun of oily liquid, its lip level with a man’s chest, filled a corner of the room, a well-used canoe oar sticking out of it. Next to it squatted several large casks of murky water and two stacks of boxes, one holding dozens of small ceramic vials with magenta stoppers, the other holding a mismatched collection of delicate perfume bottles. The apartment’s kitchen nook held another crate, filled with broken shards of multicolored glass. Despite being in shambles, the apartment smelled delightful, a mixture of spices, flowers and exotic oils.
No sooner had they entered, than a low growl started in Ratbone’s throat, and his hackles rose. Kat tensed as she saw a figure step out of the shadows. It was a man, clad in the same type of chain armor worn by Vendra’s guards. When he saw her, his hand went for the sap at his belt, but Kat was faster. Her fingers moving in a blur, she quickly wove an enchantment, and as she spoke the words, the man’s eyes glazed over and his jaw went momentarily slack.
“Now then,” Kat said calmly, “what were we talking about?”
The guard blinked several times and shook his head.
“I…I don’t remember,” he said.
“Ah yes!” Kat snapped her finger. “You were telling me what a foolproof scam we were running.”
“Oh…yeah. Right,” the guard nodded. “Vendra really outdid herself this time.”
“She sure did,” Kat agreed. “Say, is that the ‘liniment’ you’re cooking up there?”
“Yep,” the man said, turning to look at the barrel. “A potent healing mixture of river water and leftover perfume! Oh, and for this batch, I took the liberty of relieving myself in it, to!”
Kat laughed along with him. “You’re such a scoundrel! Why don’t we go get a quick drink? Nobody’s going to know. You’ve been at this for awhile now.”
The guard looked dubious. “I dunno. If Vendra or one of the boys comes in here and I’m gone, there’ll be Hell to pay.”
“Ratbone’ll cover for you,” Kat said. The guard looked, and blinked, certain he’d just seen a dog where a large, burly half-orc now stood. “If someone comes, he’ll just tell’em you went to stretch your legs. Come on! What’s a quick drink?”
“Well…I am a bit parched,” the guard said. “Ok. Let’s go, but let’s be quick about it.”
__________________________________________________ _____
Kat and the guardsman ducked out of Vendra’s apartment and down the alley, but not before the beguiler had cast another quick spell, allowing her to send a quick, whispered message to her companions, telling them to fetch Ishani and Sergeant Grau, and meet her at the Three Rings Tavern. Ratbone stuck around just long enough to be sure they were gone, then he slipped out as well, resumed his canine form, and followed at a safe distance.
When the pair reached the tavern, Grau and Ishani, both in civilian garb, were waiting.
“I’d like you to meet a couple of Vendra’s new hirelings,” Kat said to the guardsman by way of introduction. “They haven’t had a chance to learn the scam yet, so I told’em you’d fill them in.”
Once more, the mercenary looked doubtful.
“I understand,” Kat said. “Let’s just have a few drinks first and get to know each other.”
The drinks flowed, time passed, and eventually, the guard’s tongue loosened. He told the whole sordid tale of how Vendra had come up with the idea of hawkingg a phony concoction of water from the Jeggare with old perfumes to the desperate citizens of Korvosa. When he was finished, Grau nodded, stood up, and then slammed the man face-first to the table, wrenching his arm behind him.
“You’re under arrest,” Grau snarled.
The guardsman struggled, but his inebriated state made his efforts moot. Within minutes, a squad of soldiers swarmed into the common room and hustled the ruffian away.
“That’s the evidence we needed,” Grau said, turning to Katrina. “We’re in your debt…again.”
“Valeris also has a vial of the so-called liniment,” Kat said.
“So much the better,” Grau nodded. “We’ll take it from here. I’ll take my men and go to Lavender. We’ll have it shut down by nightfall, and Vendra and her goons clapped in irons. The Field Marshall will know of your deeds here.”
As Grau and his men left, Ishani turned to Kat and took her hands in his.
“I can never repay you and your comrades for this,” he said. “You’ll never know how many lives you may have saved today. Now we can get these people the help they need and deserve. Thank you.”
Katarina nodded. “Unfortunately, I think our work here is just beginning.”
__________________________________________________ ________
Ratbone browsed some of the food stalls in old Korvosa, his stomach rumbling at the mixture of intoxicating aromas that drifted through the air.
“I would not think that you had such a refined palate,” a voice suddenly spoke from behind him. The druid turned and found a mousy woman with jaundiced, yellow eyes standing nearby.
“Yes, I’ve heard of you, ‘Ratbone,’” she chuckled, “and I know of your nocturnal activities. I’ve also heard that you have a soft spot for the less fortunate among Korvosa’s populace.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…” Ratbone said, cocking his head inquisitively.
“I am called Eries,” the woman said, “Eries Yelloweyes.”
“Yelloweyes?” the half-orc asked. “An unusual name. What is it that you do?”
“I’m a fishmonger,” she said, “and I suppose Yelloweyes is no stranger than Ratbone, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed,” Ratbone chuckled. “So, seeing as I’m not in the market for fish at the moment, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You and I are not unalike,” Eries said, lowering her voice. “I, like you, am a shapeshifter.”
Ratbone raised one eyebrow. “Truly?”
“Perhaps not in the way that you think,” Eries answered, “but the essence is the same. I am a lycanthrope…a wererat.”
“Ah…,” Ratbone nodded. “I had a recent…unfortunate…encounter with some of your kin.”
“The Atchers,” Eries sighed. “Beila and Vernon. I hope you realize that they are not representative of my kind.”
“I would make no assumptions about an entire people based on the actions of a few misguided individuals,” Ratbone replied.
“Having said that,” Eries continued, “I’m sorry to say that I have come to you regarding yet another renegade. This time, however, his actions may be more justified, though no less misguided, than the Atchers. Recently, a mob of Midland citizens, bend on giving voice and violence to their fear of this plague, discovered a foolish, alley-prowling wererat and publicly executed him with a silver axe. Their unfounded vigilantism quickly extended to a few drunken dockworkers braving the sewers to hunt wererats, blaming their problems on the lycanthropes believed to dwell below. Used to fear and abuse, most of my people responded to the attacks by abandoning their dens and hiding elsewhere in the city. One, however, a firebrand named Girrigz Ripperclaws, has refused to do so, instead calling upon our kin to war against the weakened humans above. I’ve lived a double-life in secret for more than fifty years, and I’ve seen much suffering in my time, including devastating government-directed rat-purges, a return of which I fear Girrigz’s warmongering ways could quickly incite. My efforts to talk sense to him and his gang have failed. Something must be done about him before more lives are lost. I would ask that you speak with him and, if necessary, offer him an example of the force the city will doubtlessly employ should his rebelliousness continue. I beg you, however, do not kill the others of my people who have joined him, if it can be avoided. If you do this for me, I offer you something more valuable than gold…information. Specifically, I think I may can tell you what might be the true reason for Korvosa’s plague.”
“It is not my wish to engage more of your people,” Ratbone said, “but I see the truth in your words. I will gather my companions, and we will go to Girrigz and try to convince him of the error of his ways. Know that I will hold you to your word, however, as the safety of this city is foremost among my concerns.”
__________________________________________________ ___________
Through the disgustingly visible haze of noxious sewer reek, the flow of unmentionable slop through the sewer tunnel’s filth-slick channel unexpectedly forked. Most continued on its expected path, but a small stream of ooze diverted off through a wide cleft in the moldy masonry wall. The man-sized crack cut deep into the rock behind the wall, and wisps of thin white smoke issued forth.
“Have I mentioned how much I love this city’s sewers?” Valeris asked.
“We’re here,” Ratbone said, ignoring the duskblade’s grousing.
“Perfect,” Valeris said, scraping sludge from his boots with the point of his sword.
Single-file, with Herc leading the way, the company threaded their way through the twisting cleft. The flow of sewer filth oozed into a rough-hewn stone cave, pooling near its center before continuing through a crude channel in the far wall. Fat black mushrooms and other disgusting fungus grew thick around the pool of slime. Several low alcoves were cut into the walls, each filled with moldering hay, filthy furs, and tiny bones. Many things happened at once as Herc stepped through the crack. A large, sickly purple mushroom on the far side of the stream suddenly opened a trio of orifices on its cap and began emitting an ear-splitting shriek. Simultaneously, several snarling, fur-covered creatures leaped from the shadows, rapiers in their hands, their yellow teeth grinning. Giant rats swarmed among their feet.
Chaos erupted as the ratmen surged among them. Herc ripped his sword from its sheath, the blade gleaming silver. He hacked the hand from a nearby wererat, and the creature screamed as the metal cauterized its flesh. He battered with his shield at several of the rats that nipped at his heels, then swung it in a wide arc at another charging ratman. Unfortunately, the wily creature ducked beneath it, and the shield embedded itself in a wall, stuck fast. The big mercenary quickly loosed the useless weapon from his arm and gripped his blade in both hands, readying for the next wave.
More ratmen streamed in through other entrances, and the six companions stood back-to-back in the center of the cavern. Valeris summoned raw power into his weapon in the form of crackling electricity, and cut down one of the oncoming lycanthropes. Ratbone tore rats apart like a wolf hunting rabbits, and O’Reginald called down hails of stone among their assailants, crushing more vermin, as well as a trio of wererats.
“Try and take the lycanthropes alive!” Kat cried as she hurled a wave of debilitating force at an oncoming ratman, sending him tumbling head-over-heels.
“Frack that!” Valeris snarled as he cut down another.
The duskblade readied his blade to do it again, but Ratbone leaped in front of him and landed with all four feet on the chest of the wererat, driving him to the floor where he struck his head solidly on the stone and went limp.
“Godsdamn your bleeding heart!” Valeris screamed as his spell expired. He sheathed his sword and drew the silver dagger he’d kept all that time. With it, he slashed at a nearby ratman, only to have it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s hide as if it were made of stone. Cursing, Valeris cast the useless weapon into the slime.
As the last wererat fell unconscious beneath another blast of Kat’s magic, an ear-shattering howl filled the chamber. At the far side, a hulking, heavily muscled wererat entered, clad in chain armor, a glowing, silver rapier in his hand. Valeris stood weaponless before him, and Girrigz Ripperclaws drove his blade into the duskblade like a hot knife through butter. Valeris reached down and grabbed the rapier with both hands, channeling electricity through it. Girrigz howled again as his fur stood on end. He drew his blade out of Valeris’s belly, and then, quick as lightning, slashed the duskblade viciously across the throat, sending him sprawling to the floor, gasping.
“No!” O’Reginald cried as he hurled arcane bolts at the wererat.
As Girrigz reeled, Ratbone leaped for him, but the wererat leader was as fast as a snake, and he turned, stabbing his rapier completely through the druid’s foreleg. Blood gushed as a vital artery was severed. Crying out in raw fury, Herc charged across the floor, silver blade upraised. Girrigz ducked beneath it and came up behind the big warrior, slashing three times, bringing Herc to his knees. The wererat raised his rapier to drive it through the mercenary’s throat, but then Katarina and O’Reginald struck simultaneously, a combination of stone and force. Girrigz collapsed beneath the bombardment, buried in rock. His rapier tumbled from his nerveless fingers.
__________________________________________________ ________
“I’m…sorry,” Ratbone told Eries. “It was…an impossible situation. Casualties were…unavoidable.”
“I understand,” the old woman said, sadness in her voice. “You did as I asked, and now it’s time to uphold my end of the bargain. As fortune would have it, several sewer tunnels empty into the Jeggare River below the Wall of Eodred. The night a black-sailed ship was sunk before reaching the harbor, several of my brethren were watching. They saw nothing on the ship except for a yellow light, but once it sank, strange debris drifted from its hull. Tracking down some of the flotsam, they discovered a few small boxes filled with dead rats and a few pouches of silver coins bound to floating timbers. Suspecting that something was wrong with the rats, and scenting some foulness upon the coins, my brethren kicked the debris back into the river. Make of it what you will, but it is my belief that the ship’s sinking, the strange flotsam, and the advent of the plague aren’t mere coincidence. Furthermore, I can tell you exactly where the wreckage of the sunken vessel lies.”
__________________ "Solve a man's problems with violence, help him for a day. TEACH a man to solve his problems with violence, help him for a lifetime!"
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