Agents of Chaos (Final Update!)

Cinnamon and cloves and cardamom- strange woods and strange scents- the stink of fish from the docks district- the hustle and bustle of a major trade hub, with merchants from everywhere and their customers, buying and selling everything that anyone could want, from slaves to drugs, spices and food to exotic woods, silk and satin, cloth of all descriptions, pigments and jewels and weapons and perfumes. This is Pesh City.

Ah, Pesh. It seems that anything can happen here, from assassination to romance, mysterious magic to alchemical experiment, underground pit fighting to pederasty. Pesh is notorious for its strange mores, its odd culture, its fantastic cuisine. But the culture and the food and the strange ways aren’t what our heroes are here for. In fact, at this point they don’t even all know each other. But soon enough they will, and our diverse little group will come together, all for their own reasons, all with common purpose... to a certain extent.

Some of you know Horbin. He’s been traveling for the last five years, serving as ship’s priest on a variety of vessels, trying to make a decent living with a little less of the risking of the neck part of it that he had as an adventurer. He’s disembarking about now, head held high, happy to be on solid ground for a while- though he’s just as happy to be at sea. He misses Till, his old shield-bearer, who’s off training on the nearby isle of Khelm at present, but he figures they’ll meet again soon enough. Horbin breathes deeply, drawing in the smell of fish that wafts through the seaward side of this great metropolis, smiling at the scent of spices that Pesh is so famous for. The crowd is thick, with vendors of various foods on either side of the street, warehouses and sailors’ bars on both edges.

As he walks, he hears his name from up ahead.

“Horbin!” cries a dirty man, sitting cross-legged with a begging bowl in his lap. He doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to the priest of Dexter, but our hero, intrigued, walks towards him, trying to pick up the rest of what he’s saying.

“Blind justice from a blind god!” the man raves, and Horbin realizes he has no eyes. Surely, Horbin thinks, this is a reference to Dexter- the blind god that Horbin himself serves. He stops before the man, and the beggar cocks his head and looks right at him from his empty sockets. “Law and chaos clash, and on both sides the good slips through the fingers. Blood, blood will spill! Alas, that the Light sides with mere Law when Good is so much more important!” The dirty man stops.

“Well,” Horbin starts to answer after a moment, but the stranger cuts him off.

“Arr, and the spit of a thousand mouths will drool down on the losers. Who takes only one side?”

"Uh, who are-" Horbin tries to ask, but is cut off again.

“Fools! Fools and old men whose time is past! Let that not be thy fate! Arr, the bile rises- let it not past thy lips. Read instead, for the good book will guide you through the fluid world. What is change? What is good? Arr! What is justice? The law or the right? And if Law loses sight with its blind eyes of the good, what then is to be done?”

Horbin waits a moment, thoughtful, and tosses a coin in the beggar’s bowl. “Who are you?” he asks. The man mutters for a moment, then cries out again.

“When she speaks, she lies- remember that honeyed words poison teeth!”

“O-kay,” Horbin answers, shaking his head slightly. The man mutters to himself; nothing else seems forthcoming. “Right,” the cleric finishes, and walks on, looking for a room. Pesh, he thinks. Weird things always happen in Pesh.

People stare at Angel as he walks down the street. One of his hands is wreathed in fire. His skin is an angry scarlet color and his hair looks almost like flame. A large falchion is strapped to his side. Walking with him is a young woman, apparently human, but with brown, strangely earthen-looking skin. A bow is slung across her back. This is Sybele. They're chatting amiably, obviously old friends. The two of them are new in town, having just disembarked themselves from a ship out of Tirchond, an island far to the south that has thrown off the yoke of the Forinthian Empire about five years ago.

Their path takes them to a small temple. The temple is devoted to a new goddess- Coila, her name is. She's Angel's deity, the goddess of time and relentlessness. Angel guards another temple to her, back on Tirchond, that is overseen by another old friend of these two. That friend, Sheva, a dark and brooding figure, is on Pesh as well... but she slipped away almost as soon as the party disembarked from the ship. Angel and Sheva have been driven here by their goddess- driven by visions and dreams.

Five years ago, the three of them- along with a sizable group of companions- found themselves drawn into a grand and terrible adventure. They wound up taking sides in the conflict between the primal forces of Law and Chaos, and had some dealings with Na'Rat's forces and allies. Despite Coila's lawful nature, she set them on the side of Chaos. Now Coila has sent her clerics hope of a new weapon against Law- some sort of new time spell. It's unclear exactly what, but Sheva and Angel both know the location and name of the person who they're being sent to, and she's supposed to be here. She's apparently another priest of Coila, and her name is Reth Fire-Scarred.

Angel and Sybele enter the temple and find themselves in a small worship chamber with only a single inhabitant. He raises his eyes as they enter and greets them warmly.

"We're here to see Reth Fire-Scarred," Angel says politely, and the man's face falls.

"I'm afraid she's not here, and I haven't seen her in some time," he answers. "Who are you?"

The two introduce themselves to the man, and he responds in kind, naming himself Marius. "Where is she?" asks Angel.

Hesitating for just a moment, Marius glumly responds, "I'm not entirely sure. The last I knew she was heading to the picewoods to investigate an infestation of formians."

"What are formians?" Sybele pipes up

"They're big bugs from another plane," Marius tells her.

"Great. Thanks, we'll look into it," Angel replies, and the two leave.

Lester gets as many looks as Angel, if not more. He has a vaguely elven cast to his features, but atop his face his hair lurks in a large dark afro. His skin is swarthy; he has only a single arm, but instead of a stump or even a shoulder joint, it looks strangely as if his body simply isn't built for a second one. This is a mark of Chaos- as are the pair of large bat-like wings that sprout from hisback. He wears a suit of evil-looking full plate taken a decade before from a deadly adversary, Fuligin. Several swords are strapped at his side and to his back. Those that know him call him the L. He is an elementalist of great power- and a warrior of chaos.

Lester loves Pesh. Weird things happen here; it's a very chaotic place. He wishes he spent more time here; he's never been thrown in prison, tricked into massive debt, or killed here; all those things have happened to him over the years in other places.

Of course, bad things happen too...

A rapier deflects off his armor from behind. If it had penetrated, it would have stuck him through the kidney, a potentially lethal blow. Lester gives a cry: "Assassin!!" He stumbles away, turning to see his assailant. It's a human male, probably thirty-five years old, dressed in nondescript studded leather armor and already trying to move in for another strike. Lester channels elemental fire and a roaring column of white-hot flame blasts down, but the would-be assassin has already jumped aside, completely evading the spell, and then lunges forward again, striking twice rapidly.

Lester backs away again and waves his hand, channeling earth-power this time- and his foe stiffens and petrifies.

"By the elements!" Lester swears. Who is this guy? he thinks, but he can't really ask questions of him right now. He rubs his chin, mulling over his option, then looks at the gathering crowd. "Who wants to make a gold piece?"

NOTE: Dragons in my campaign have traditionally been seen as gods. There were only a few back in the 2e days, and if one lived on your continent you generally knew about it. A dragon would claim a mountain range, entire island, or similar geographical area as its lair; nobody messed with them. Bear that in mind when dragons are discussed...


Zeebo Swayzac is an old friend of Sheva, Angel and Sybele, but he's out of touch with them. Since they helped liberate Tirchond from Forinthian domination, he's been a member of the Council of Tirchond and not much of an adventurer. Politics is really his game, anyway. But sometimes the two things mix well. Half a decade ago, when he adventured with them and a bunch of others, they helped guard a cavern full of dragon eggs from the forces of Law as part of a gambit to overthrow the power of the Forinthian Empire and its crushing monotheistic religion- and it worked pretty well. Tirchond is free, the majority of the baby dragons made it out into the world, and things are good for Zeebo (called "the Mayor" by those who know him well). Zeebo is a gnome, and both a wizard and a sorcerer. Though his split abilities stop him from having very high-powered magic, he rarely runs out of spells.

Recently, a powerful enchantress associate of Zeebo's, Estelias, approached him with some very interesting news. Rumor has it that there is a dragon on the island of Pesh- but from what she'd heard it's too big to be one of the ones that Zeebo and his companions released. Nobody's ever heard of it until recently, and it seems like making contact with it could be very useful. A dragon could be a valuable ally against the forces of Law- and Zeebo's the man for the job. Thus, he's come to Pesh City, the major port, and is going to investigate from here.

Zeebo's a lawyer at heart, so the first thing he does is go to one of the two major barristers' guilds of Pesh. The more liberal, libertarian, even libertine one is called the Society of the Grey Scarf (scarves and veils are a large part of the fashion and culture of Pesh), so that's the one he chooses. When he enters the place, he sees a young man with make-up and veil on at the front desk. A few honeyed words later, Zeebo is talking to a lady attorney named Souliass; another short while later and they're at dinner, and not too long after that... well, let's just say that over pillow talk, our hero puts her on retainer. Tada! He's got a local lawyer, just in case he needs one.

The pillow talk tells him a lot. She knows all the good places to go shopping, she tells him, as well as all the good restaurants. She tells him about a strange infestation of extraplanar insects in the Spicewoods; they're formians, and they're intensely lawful creatures. She also tells him that there's been a suspicious rash of assassinations lately, and explains to him that the ruler of Pesh is the oldest member of a very extended royal family- which makes assassination very common. But these assassinations have been predominantly of lawful members of the royal family, and auras of Chaos have been detected at all of the crime scenes that have been checked. Interesting, thinks Zeebo.

The two make a date for the next night at a restaurant that she knows called the Gorel Tree.

Lester and Horbin meet up

Horbin’s eyebrows shot up as the strange, bat-winged, one-armed figure entered the Weighty Anchor Inn, loudly exhorting the commoners to “muscle him in, c’mon there, don’t you want to earn your gold piece??” Grunting and groaning, they finally managed to deposit the petrified assassin in the corner while Lester moved up and exchanged a few words with the barkeep. From his table, Horbin observed all this with a bemused smile, finally standing up and walking over to Lester.

“Hey there,” the cleric of Dexter said. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, man- this guy tried to kill me! That’s the problem with Pesh, assassins everywhere,” Lester responded. The two sat together and talked over a drink, getting to know one another. Then Lester said, “Well, I think I’m off to the local shrine to Na’Rat. He’s a god of Chaos- he’s why I have these wings and one arm.”

“Na’Rat? Hmm, one of my old friends was a priest of him. He was an all right god, if I remember right,” Horbin mused. Ah, Clambake, he thought. I haven’t seen him in years. You never know- he could be here. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Lester answered, and the two of them secured rooms, settled their tabs and headed out. They walked across town, from the docks district through the sprawling lower class area of the city and then into the merchants’ district. Finally, they found their way to the shrine of the Chaos-Bringer- and to their dismay, the tall proud obelisk of Na’Rat was broken at the top! Two grim-faced men were standing listlessly within the shrine’s environes, engaging in murmured conversation, but they stopped as the strangers approached.

“Who are you?” one of them asked, almost a curse.

“I’m the L,” Lester replied. “We’re friends of Na’Rat. He’s touched me before.” He flapped his wings.

One of the two men cast a spell and looked Horbin and the L over, checking them for chaos. Finding it in both of them, he visibly relaxed. “I’m Kuldorf,” he said, then glanced to the obelisk’s tip, which lay shattered on the ground.

“What happened here?” Lester asked.

“Cluma,” Kuldorf answered. He uttered a string of terrible deprecations.

“Who’s Cluma?” Horbin spoke up.

“He’s a guardian of order. He’s caused us no end of trouble- and now this! He’s defiled our shrine, broken our obelisk... Curse him!” Kuldorf smacked a fist into his other hand. “He must be stopped!”

“Maybe we can help,” Lester offered.

“Well, we’d appreciate it- but be careful, he’s very dangerous. If he knows you’re on our side he’ll try to slay you. He’s done bad damage to our religion here.”

“Hmm, I guess touching the obelisk won’t do anything anymore,” Lester mused. Horbin shuddered, recalling the strange things he’d witnessed years ago due to the touch of Na’Rat through his obelisk or agents- a friend growing a second head, another becoming an ooze... “You should really try it sometime,” the L continued, speaking to Kuldorf.

The cleric of Na’Rat smiled and unbuttoned the front of his shirt. “Oh, I have,” he said, and revealed a mouth in his belly. “Believe me, I’ve felt the touch of our great lord.”

Conversation turned to other things, and soon Kuldorf mentioned the presence of strange insects serving Law in the Spicewoods. Oh, no! Lester thought. Clockwork horrors! But we defeated them a decade ago!

Shortly afterward, Horbin and Lester returned to the Weighty Anchor. Over another beer they discussed finding this Cluma fellow. “But how?” Lester wondered.

“Well, I can ask Dexter,” Horbin offered, and after finishing their drinks the two of them went upstairs to Horbin’s room, where he prepared to commune with his god.

“You should also find out who put a price on my head,” Lester pestered him as he began to slip into a trance. “And if it’s the Grey Brothers. And what the assassin’s name was. And...”

“Yeah, yeah,” Horbin said, slipping into a holy trance. He sent his spirit flying up to the heavens, and soon he could feel the presence of his divine patron.

Where is Cluma hiding? Horbin asked.
Marrow Street.
Will Cluma attack soon?
Yes.
When will he strike?
Six in the evening tomorrow.
Where?
The Gorel Tree.
Is Cluma resistant to magic?
No.
Who was Lester’s would-be assassin?
Zelon.
What organization does Zelon work for?
The Grey Brotherhood.
Is there a price on Lester’s head?
No.
When will they strike at Lester again?
Unknown.
Where can we find fellow adventurers?
All over.
Are there any special weaknesses that Cluma has?
No.

Horbin emerged from his trance, opened his eyes, and related what he’d learned to his weird companion. “Now we just need to figure out what to do next,” he finished.

Good story so far Jester (Its odd but my world has a Grey Brotherhood too...)

I'm enjoying the Moorcock-esque feel here. I look forward to reading more.

Angel vs. an angel!

The Wild Berry Inn is a nice one, with clean rooms, decent food and a pleasing location in the upper class borough of Pesh City. Angel and Sybele are fast asleep; it’s the middle of the night. Angel dreams of his father, who has regained much of his sanity in the last half-decade since being rescued from the depths of Firestorm Peak. Sybele dreams of her four-year-old half-dragon daughter, safely placed in the monastery of the Danger Elves on Tirchond. Deep into the night they rest-

Suddenly they both awaken to a thundering loud voice. “SERVANTS OF CHAOS, SHOW YOURSELVES!!” it cries. The sound of large wings beats just outside their curtained second-story windows. Both of our heroes spring up and out of bed immediately, long-trained reflexes snapping them upright. Angel strides to his window, drawing out his gleaming falchion and throwing the curtains open. Hanging in the air before their windows is a golden-skinned winged man with a flaming sword- an angel to confront Angel. The psychic warrior springs into the window sill and strikes at the flying figure before running down the wall and assuming a fighting stance. “Well, come on, then,” he yells up at it.

Sybele, meanwhile, has whipped out her bow and quiver and nocked an arrow. She sights and lets fly- but as she does, she feels a large blade slam her from behind, and she twists and rolls with the force of it. Turning as she feels the blood seep from her shoulder, she sees a strange large blue ogrish creature with horns and a huge blade. Its hair seems arranged in perfect patterns.

The angel swoops down, his blade whistling as he hacks at Angel, and steel rings as the two duel back and forth for a moment, but then the winged deva backs off slightly and speaks a holy word. Angel cries out as his eyesight and hearing fade; meanwhile, in Sybele’s room, the archer clambers out the window, suffering another ringing blow as she does so, and scrambles up to the roof. Fortunately, her psionic abilities prevent her from falling, but then she hears the deva’s word and screams in pain as her ears go numb. She realizes that she can’t hear, and glaring down at the winged form, she decides that enough is enough. Arrows sing as they slice through the air towards the lawful angel, bursting into flames as they hit. The deva’s head whips around to stare at her, and its magnificent gold wings beat as it charges her. She has only a moment to brace herself before it slams into her with a flaming blade, slashing at her arm and side, striking a terrible and telling blow.

Angel is clueless. He swings her falchion through the air near him to no avail, then drinks a potion and stands ready. Everything looks white- he can’t see or hear, he’s disoriented, he doesn’t know where to attack- but he’s ready if he can get a target.

Atop the Inn, the archer has retreated and fired a peppering of arrows at the deva, dropping it, but then the blue-skinned horned ogre appears from nowhere, slashing at her again. She groans, backing off further and shaking her head, trying to escape down the wall with her psionic spider climb. The blue-skinned creature advances, every hair perfectly in place, and unleashes a cone of cold at Angel’s obviously fiery self. On the ground, he grits his teeth together and manages to tough it out. Finally his vision’s starting to clear. His head snaps up, blinking away particles of frost, and he sees his enemy atop the roof. With a hoarse cry, Angel charges up the wall and swings! Blood flies in a fan-shaped spray. They struggle, with Sybele retreating and drinking a potion to restore some of her lost strength. The ogrish being tries to force Angel off the edge of the roof, and for a moment it looks like he’ll succeed- but then our hero’s blade flashes again, and the blue creature stiffens and slides to the ground, its throat slit.

The two adventurers look around for any sign of other adversaries, eyes wild. They’ve both fought the forces of Law before, and they know that those forces often come in numbers. They see no sign of further enemies, but-

“Good evening,” comes a voice.

A small, weasely man emerges from a nearby alley. He’s nondescript, with reddish-brown hair and no obvious weapons or armor. His hair’s slicked back and he wears a stylish black scarf.

“Please,” says the man, “come with me.”

Angel and Sybele look at one another. “Who are you?” asks Angel.

The man smiles ingratiatingly. “I’m just here to bring you to some associates of mine. They have a favor to ask of you. Please, come with me.” The man starts walking away.

After a moment’s hesitation our heroes follow...

A small bag of platinum coins proves the messenger’s lack of ill-will. Sybele and Angel follow him to a small nondescript building, and he leads them inside. A figure sits behind a nicely-appointed desk; there’s nowhere for the two adventurers to sit.

“Which one of you is Sheva?”

The old wrinkled man has eyes sharper than Angel’s falchion. The younger fellow leans insouciantly against the wall. The shadows in the corners are deep; who knows what they hold.

Angel and Sybele glance at each other. “Well,” says Angel, “she’s not here right now. She’s with us, but just not right this second.”

The old man frowns and the crevices in his face seem to mirror it. He glances at the messenger, whose face slowly drains of color, and then back at our two heroes. “That,” he slowly says, “is unfortunate.” He leans back in his chair. “Well.” He clears his throat. “You might say that she’s an associate of ours. My boy over there” –he indicates the messenger with a short stab of his thumb- “was supposed to bring her specifically to us, not necessarily you... Well.” He steeples his hands together, seeming to contemplate for a moment, and then goes on, “I suppose you’ll have to do.” He fixes his sharp eyes on the two adventurers and goes on, “We have a favor we need you to do for us.”

“Oh yeah?” Angel says, and he holds out his hand in the universal bribe me symbol, but the old man ignores it.

“You see, we like to be known as a group that lives by the deals we make. A few years back we had some... issues with a few people, and as part of the resolution of those issues we agreed to leave them alone. Well, one of our boys overstepped his bounds earlier and attacked one of these people. Of course, he ended up petrified for his trouble, but we want to clarify things for him, and make sure the fellow who was attacked understands that we didn’t sanction it. We want you to make nice with this fellow and bring our boy back for us to clarify things for.”

Angel’s hand remains extended. “How much are you going to pay us?” he asks.

The old man’s eyes bore into his. “Let’s just say that you will avoid being entangled any more deeply with our organization.” Angel’s smile falters and his hand drops an inch. “Besides, I believe you’ve already been compensated well for your time. And it isn’t like this little ‘favor’ is dangerous. No, you want to help us out and avoid any further entanglements with us.” He smiles a crooked-toothed smile.

Angel’s hand drops by his side. He’s heard of these guys before, if they’re associates of Sheva’s. They’re the Grey Brotherhood- and the old man’s right, thinks Angel. We do want to avoid any entanglements here.

A Knock in the Night

Horbin and Lester are sharing a room after a head full of wine. They’re getting along fine at this point, although the wine and the fact that they’re asleep may have something to do with it. A stone statue- Lester’s assailant- is in the corner, their cloaks hung on it. But then a knock on the door wakes them both.

“Ah!” cries Lester, startled. He jumps to his feet, his bat-wings shivering. “Who is it??”

A low voice comes from the other side of the door. “Quietly, friend. I have a message for you.”

“You’re from the Grey Brothers, aren’t you??” Lester shouts. “You’re trying to kill me again!”

“Keep it down in there,” the voice hisses. “Come with me. My... associates would like a word with you.”

“No way!” Lester yells. “You’re going to try to kill me! Why’d you send this Zelon guy after me anyhow?”

“Not at all,” the voice says soothingly. “If I wanted to kill you I’d hardly have knocked. Nobody wants to kill you. In fact, we need to clarify things for Zelon. But keep it down, will you?” This last comes in a low hiss.

Horbin, meanwhile, has pulled out his mace and is starting to strap on his armor as best he can. He doesn’t like the sounds of these assassins, and if hostilities break out he sure wants to be ready for it.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” Lester yells again.

“We just want to talk to you,” the voice on the other side of the door murmurs. “Come on, no harm will come to you. My associates are waiting nearby.”

“No way!” Lester retorts. “If they want to talk to me, they can come here!”

A muffled heavy sigh comes from the other side of the door. “Fine,” the voice calls. “But in the names of the gods, be quiet in there!” Footsteps recede from the door, and Horbin and Lester hurriedly finish donning their arms and preparing their weapons.

“Listen,” says Lester as they finish preparing themselves. “I have an idea. If they’re going to take this guy away” –he jerks his finger at his petrified enemy- “that’s fine, but I get to keep his stuff. Why don’t we break his arm off and then turn him back to flesh, then we’ll take all his stuff?”

“I don’t know about that,” says Horbin, thinking that sounds somewhat cruel. “Can’t you just stone shape him or something?”

“I guess I could, be not right now, and I’ve a feeling that we have limited time.” He scratches his chin. “Well, how about if we blindfold him and tie him up as best we can, and then I’ll turn him back to flesh and we can take all his stuff?”

“Sure,” says Horbin, “I can dominate him, then we won’t even have to fight him.”

After a few minutes, they’ve tied up the statue as best they can, wrapping a cloth around its face. Then Lester gestures, channeling elemental power, and the figure turns back into flesh. But moving so fast he’s a blur, the assassin is out of the ropes. The blindfold is fluttering down to the ground. And then Horbin’s magic grabs his mind in an iron fist, crushing his will. “Hand over your stuff!” Lester yells, scrabbling for his rapier- and Zelon slips free of the domination, stabbing at the L again. But it’s over in seconds, with the L and Horbin the Holy laying down some serious smack. Once again they tie up their foe, Lester muttering to himself about not letting him wake up. “Now we loot him,” he gloats.

Just then there’s a knock at the door...




Coming Soon: The party gets together! Cluma, the Guardian of Order! Fine restaurants, fireballs, and attorneys, oh my!