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<blockquote data-quote="skullsmurfer" data-source="post: 2405798" data-attributes="member: 17151"><p><strong>Of Lies and Bigger Troubles, Chapter 17</strong></p><p></p><p>Paragon had Ivor and Theodyl take charge of looting. He and the other war-forged hurried to clear away their fallen brothers. Pyrus guarded against scrying, while making preparations to burn away all magically traceable evidence. The pyromancer took the time to ward the tunnel being used by Sister Niabelis. It will buy them another ten minutes at most.</p><p></p><p> Moro Taller waited just inside the tunnel. He is in charge of the healing and repair wands. The gnome is in a bit of shock. Reading about a fight and actually seeing one are two wildly different things. The gladiators at the arena, were putting on a show of that, he is now certain. He doesn't know what he is going to do once he is back with his wife and children, but he is sure that it will be nowhere near as horrible as what he has witnessed.</p><p></p><p> “Ho there, young gnome! There be someone approaching.” The beer stein warned.</p><p></p><p> Moro drew a Wand of Missiles and turned. His hands are shaking, but not so much that he will miss. He recognized Pook. The changeling still had to give the password. The beer stein took care of the rest by ordering Moro to have another drink.</p><p></p><p> “What are you doing back? W-where's my w-wife?” the gnome asked in between gulps of Theodyl's beer. </p><p></p><p> “She's fine, the others took her to the private box at the arena.” the changeling replied as he disrobed and put on a fine set of women's clothing.</p><p></p><p> Pook started to speak in a woman's voice as his body changed to match. He now a she, threw a luxurious silk lined cloak over her shoulders and had Moro tie her hair back with a jeweled comb. She uncorked a visually striking perfume bottle and dabbed an absolutely delicious rose scented oil onto her neck and just beneath her breast line. Moro's hands started to shake under the effects of the heady aroma. He blushed as he found his eyes traveling over her neck line. Pook winked at him. She then put on some earrings and a necklace to match her comb on her head. Pook put on the shoes last. They look great, but they pinch after a while.</p><p></p><p> “You will address me as Lady Eunice Nigma, Ser Gnome.” Pook said with refined noble accent. “Now stay out of sight, you are supposed to be dead.” She kissed him on the cheek and left him to trip over his feet in a hurry to get under cover.</p><p></p><p> Theodyl sniffed at Pook's neck as she strolled past and ignored him with just the right swing in her hips. The half-elf copped a feel and hurried away to join the gnome in a side tunnel. Ivor rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out. Paragon 153 to 3 noticed something, but he doesn't care enough to ask. Theodyl's bed habits make his joints ache, flesh people are crazy. The war-forged handed Lady Nigma his creator's signet ring and adjusted his tabard to House Cannith regulations. Pyrus summoned an impressive aura of flame. Argus and Pennelocles joined Javelin just behind Paragon. The crate lay safely within a warding circle drawn in living flame.</p><p></p><p> “Hold!” Sgt. Ironson ordered the troops. “Squads 1, 3, 4: I want three wedges in front of the Captain. Number 2 squad, form up around the mage. Inquisitors, Pallas with the Captain, all others will each go with a Chaplain. Private Niabelis, squad number 5, you are with me!” </p><p></p><p> Captain Rolland Sevin raised his falchion and spoke. The magic woven into the blade generations past took his words and carried them to every ear within the pump rooms. “This is the City Watch! Lower your weapons and stay where you are!”</p><p></p><p> </p><p> “Oh Rolland! How wonderful to see you here!” Lady Nigma exclaimed, her voice as delightful as bird song. “Have you a wizard? My boys found something of great import!”</p><p></p><p> The Captain did everything but run to her and give her a kiss. He strutted up to the woman like a peacock, leaving his men behind. Inquisitor Pallas scowled, he called on the Flame, but could detect no deviltry. The woman is surrounded by an impressive aura, however, centered on her jewelry. </p><p> </p><p> Sgt. Ironson kept a weary eye out for Sweet Lips. The young man kept a straight face, but the crimson color of his skin said a lot. There is no doubt in his mind, this is the woman he saw with the war-forged escort earlier in the week. Private Niabelis could have bored a hole in the Captain's back. The Sergeant sent the Watch Mage and his squad up to Captain Sevin. He then ordered the crossbows to cover the Lady's escort. The war-forged with the cloak of fire must be a mage of some sort.</p><p></p><p> Private Niabelis surveyed the battlefield. The broken juggernaut is an impressive sight. There is another body, this one with it's head crushed. There are bolts and arrows littering everywhere. A broken pipe overhead is pouring brown water onto the floor. Not far to her left she can see the smoking remains of perhaps two more war-forged. Against the far wall a pile of crates is smoldering along with something else, maybe goblins and more war-forged. House Cannith got here first, but why? It doesn't make sense. </p><p></p><p> Sgt. Ironson nearly gave the order to fire as a small commotion broke out. The Watch Mage took to the air and sped towards the pile of crates smoking against the far wall. A bright green ray swept from is wand, reducing the crates to little than dust. Captain Sevin signaled the Sergeant to approach. The war-forged mage with the cloak of fire stood up and joined the others behind the woman from Cannith. The Captain let them leave and then turned to stare at the lone crate sitting within a warding circle of fire. Inquisitor Pallas drew his mace and called his Inquisitors to his side. They surrounded the circle, ready to kill anything that approaches.</p><p></p><p> “What the hell is going on here?” Niabelis screeched.</p><p></p><p> “Shut it, Private! The Captain can still have yer head if he don't like your tone.” The Sergeant snapped. </p><p></p><p> Captain Sevin turned to his Sergeant and told the news. His face was pale, several beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.</p><p></p><p> “Hag's Plague, Sgt. Ironson.” He said with a tremor in his voice. “They were going to pour it into the sewers.” The Captain turned away. “From the sewers it would have spread to the bay and from there, who knows? We don't even know how far the pipes reach down into the earth. Our water comes from below. Gods, they could have murdered us.”</p><p></p><p> “How did they get it in here? The goblins are smugglers, but the ship still had go through the docks. This could start a panic.” Niabelis said while trying to think away the shock.</p><p></p><p> “There won't be a panic.” Captain Sevin cut in. “Sergeant, we camp here tonight. I will make arrangements with the City to search every pump room between here and the docks. Inform your men, I am declaring a quarantine. I trust they can keep a secret?”</p><p></p><p> “They are good men, sir.” the Sergeant replied.</p><p></p><p> “Then I don't need to say anything more, Sergeant.” Captain Sevin said locking his eyes on the officer, “Instruct the men, then turn over every stone in this place, I have had far too many surprises today.” </p><p> </p><p> The Sergeant jogged away with Private Niabelis in tow. He is scared, but that is between him and Dol Dorn. His duty is clear. There is trouble and the Dog Soldiers are once more in the middle of it. He put on his best Wrath of the Gods scowl and started barking orders. The men jumped the proper height and moved like the devils are nipping at their heels. They just don't know. Private Niabelis realized the Captain had just threatened all of their lives. She turned to the Sergeant, he told her to shut up.</p><p></p><p> “Cities run on blood...” the Sergeant quoted from a poet turned activist now rotting in a City dungeon. “What did you expect, a medal?”</p><p></p><p>The Arena, an hour or so later......</p><p></p><p> Moro blubbered like a baby as he rushed to his wife's arms. Theodyl and the changelings gave them space, but did not go away. Ivor and Siff stayed close to the door. Pook and Patter stood ready to catch them if they tried to jump into the arena. Paragon is taking care of his men, Javelin and Argus stayed behind to act as bodyguards. They are outside. There is an owlbear fighting a slow, armored dinosaur in the arena below. It is too noisy for their business to be overheard. Theodyl is waiting for the couple to calm down before he starts asking questions. The beer stein is sitting on a ledge brimming with beer and screaming down to the savage combatants.</p><p></p><p> “So,” Theodyl interrupted their embrace, “which one of you fine upstanding gnomes set me up?”</p><p></p><p> Moro grew silent. His wife looked up to Theodyl and met his eyes. The half-elf did not waver. Moro made to speak but the woman shushed him and told him to go watch the fight. She is very pretty, or cute as humans would say. Fat, rosy cheeks and curly blond hair give her an almost cherub like appeal. She is also obviously older than her husband, but no more than a few decades, though. To Theodyl's thinking, she would be the perfect kind of woman to seduce a young, but well placed mark. No one looks at the wife, not unless you are an expert in the spy game. The dragons ran into complications, though, Theodyl could tell just from the way they gazed at each other. There is love in those eyes, that cannot be faked. Theodyl sent the changelings away to set her at ease. It isn't personal, yet.</p><p> </p><p> “It wasn't supposed to happen like this,” She began. “I was supposed to use the Cyre Manuscript as a distraction while I used some hired mercenaries to steal the other file. The Mercenaries I hired had their own ideas. The one named Sarok said he would drown my babies in sewer sludge...”</p><p></p><p> “I understand,” Theodyl calmed her, “Tell me, who is your Master? Vergris? Dothon? Blackscale?”</p><p></p><p> “Dothon.” She answered after a long pause. “Vergris is crippled, she won't allow anyone to see her face. She is in Thrane, last I heard. Blackscale and Dothon are in charge of operations in Sharn now.” She looked up at Theodyl. “What are you going to do? They said you would go to them, they planned on it.”</p><p></p><p> “Fat chance of that happening.” Theodyl laughed. “I want to set up a meeting at a neutral location. Will you take care of that for me?”</p><p></p><p> “You are crazy.” She said looking to her husband. “I can't....”</p><p></p><p> “What's your name,” Theodyl interrupted, “I never asked.”</p><p></p><p> “Dulcimella,” She replied, and then recovered, “I really don't think...”</p><p></p><p> “I am only a little bit crazy,” the half-elf interrupted again, “besides, you need help getting out of Sharn with your children. They think your husband is dead, but you will not have it as easy.” Theodyl locked his green eyes on her. “I doubt the dragons will help. You failed.”</p><p></p><p> “Don't say another word, either of you.” A voice hissed and twisted out of empty space.</p><p></p><p> Mooneye the Necromancer made his entrance. The lights dimmed, every shadow in the room suddenly spread like a stain. A clammy chill crawled up Theodyl's spine. The lights sprung back to life and suddenly Mooneye was there. A gnome sized skeleton wearing black and red silk cocked it's head and waited for everyone in the room to remember to breathe. Theodyl could do nothing but clap.</p><p></p><p> “I would like to be join these negotiations,” Mooneye announced. “In a few hours there are going to be City Watchmen crawling through the under city like rats on a corpse. I stand to loose a lot of business.” The red dots of light within his eye sockets flashed. “You, Mrs. Taller, and you Mr. Vair, will help me make up for those losses.”</p><p></p><p> “Master Mooneye, I found six renegade war-forged with enough Hag's Plague to kill the city and then go on to kill everything that touches the bay waters. I think the City Watch is justified.” Theodyl addressed the lich.</p><p></p><p> “Hag's Plague? In my City?” the lich snapped. “Tell me more.”</p><p></p><p> Theodyl felt the pressure of the lich's gaze. He started talking, describing every detail of the pump rooms, the goblins, the war-forged, the fight. The lich wormed his way into the half-elf's mind and tore out the details even as his mouth continued to speak</p><p>them. Theodyl's natural defenses shook beneath the relentless mental assault. The lich hissed, Theodyl focused his mind on telling everything he knew. The constant detailed stream of information kept the lich from digging any deeper. Mooneye made him hurt for his effort, however.</p><p></p><p> “Now, it is your turn, Mrs. Taller.” Mooneye said almost politely. “Talk or I will just reach in and drag it all out.”</p><p></p><p> Moro rushed the lich only to be struck unconscious. Dulcimella fainted. The beer stein assaulted the lich with a stream of expletives in several different languages. In some way, the curses struck Mooneye like physical blows. The lich blasted the beer stein to pieces spraying beer in all directions. The ghostly form of a heavily armored dwarven fighter took shape over the debris. The spilled beer froze solid beneath his feet. A great otherworldly howl erupted from beneath his helm. His long braided beard moved as if buffeted by a great wind. An urgosh, as immaterial as the ghost, cut the air in front of Mooneye, followed by another stream of expletives.</p><p></p><p> “You will NOT touch them!!!” The dwarven spirit cried. “Thou walking corpse! By my beard I shall SMITE thee!!!!” The world shook with his voice.</p><p></p><p> “Peace! Peace!” Theodyl leapt between the two. “Master Mooneye, I think that we can come to a profitable arrangement. Ser Dwarf, please stay thy rage.” He is bleeding from his nose and ears. It is obvious he can barely stand. “Let us order some refreshments, some strong drink to calm our passions.”</p><p></p><p> “I want Bourbon.” The dwarven spirit said through his teeth. “and I want a new vessel. Silver, I think, with jewels!”</p><p></p><p> “Bourbon it is then.” The lich agreed.</p><p></p><p> The lich snapped his fingers and Moro woke up as if from a nightmare. His wife was startled awake at nearly the same time. Theodyl rubbed at his temples in a vain effort to make the headache go away. A table laden with food and drink rose out of the floor. The lich called a name, a shadow crawled out of a dark corner and lay at Mooneye's feet.</p><p></p><p> “This is my apprentice, his new name is Fletch,” the lich said to Theodyl, “I think you get the joke, yes?” </p><p></p><p> Theodyl cringed as the image of his arrow sticking out of the horned goblin's head came unbidden to his mind. Mooneye kicked at the shadow and demanded Bourbon. The shadow sank into the floor and soon returned with a great cask. The shadow then produced a set of glass tumblers for Theodyl and the gnomes. The lich waved his hands and the tumblers filled with clear amber fluid. He waved his hands again and a mist rose out of the barrel it traveled lazily to the dwarven spirit and then to the lich.</p><p></p><p> “I can taste it.” The dwarven spirit whispered, “Bourbon, hot as fire and cold as a mountain breeze.”</p><p> </p><p> “Good,” the lich chuckled as the shadow returned to it's place at his feet “Theodyl, you can start talking now.”</p><p></p><p> “I have a certain bit of paper that someone else wants.” The half-elf started to explain.</p><p> </p><p> “Bah! Pedestrian trade, hardly worth my time.” Mooneye interrupted. “I want something more interesting than that.”</p><p></p><p> “Dothon the Wise and Blackscale Stormbreaker are both very interested, the problem is that I am entirely too fragile for aggressive negotiations.” The half-elf said as he sipped from his glass.</p><p></p><p> “Nadothon Talonwise and Blackscale Terrorwind are not the kind to deal with anyone.” The lich spoke as he considered Theodyl's words. “I understand that a certain King of Galifar had to bribe Blackscale in order to save a year's worth of crops a few centuries past.” Theodyl pouted as the lich's superior knowledge became immediately evident. “Nadothon raided the Elven lands with the same trick. Blackscale destroyed their crops just so Nadothon wouldn't have to break his word after collecting the bounty. The elves called a blood debt on them both. They work together those two. The elves started a rumor that they are mated. Nadothon incinerated an entire forest out of spite.”</p><p></p><p> “They can afford your prices,” Theodyl added, “and they can't kill you permanently. You might even gain a new client or two.”</p><p></p><p> “What is on that bit of paper, exactly?” the lich asked. </p><p></p><p> “Names, dates, locations etc. Somebody has been trying to track stray Dragons through our lands.” Theodyl drained his tumbler and held it out for more. “I assume they want to either put a stop to it or they want to use it to some advantage. I wouldn't be surprised if they took over the operation and then sold the information to the highest bidder.”</p><p> </p><p> “I will need to know for sure if I want to make a solid deal. The negotiations will drag until I have a firm grasp on their motives.” the lich mused. “You will give me sixty percent.”</p><p></p><p> “I want our freedom and my master's spell-shard.” Theodyl stated, waving towards himself and Dulcimella, “You can ask for whatever else you want, they probably have artifacts and wonders beyond words stashed in their hoards.”</p><p></p><p> “You only play at magic,” Mooneye snapped. “what could you possibly want with a spell-shard?”</p><p></p><p> “Only to stop playing at magic, Master Mooneye.” The half-elf replied. “I am tired of ending a fight tired and bloodied. I see a better way, just within my reach.”</p><p></p><p> The lich started laughing. His head came off and flew to a stop not an inch from Theodyl's face. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Theodyl felt his skin go clammy as the lich bored into his mind again. He didn't resist this time. He waited until the lich was too deep to get away and triggered the most potent spell he knows. The notes to a sad hymn sounded. A sharp pain radiated from his heart and his body spasmed once and then twice. Theodyl smiled and then slipped away into darkness.</p><p></p><p> “No! You can't do this to me!” the lich screeched. “Damn your tricks! I will bring you back. Death is no escape with the likes of me!”</p><p></p><p> Moro and his wife held each other as the lich raged over Theodyl's body. The dwarven spirit moved to stand between the lich and the gnomes. Theodyl chose to die, there is nothing to avenge. The lich stopped his diatribe and decided to launch a spell instead. The words each shook the room as the necromancer spit them out through his teeth. The room went dark again as every light bent and wavered streaking towards the lich and the corpse in front of it. The light soaked into Theodyl's body until the gnomes had to look away from the glare. A scream echoed from very far away, then it came closer and closer until the gnomes realized it was Theodyl screaming.</p><p></p><p> “My mind is my business.” Theodyl rasped at the lich's red glaring eyes. “You got what you deserved.”</p><p></p><p> “I saw enough.” Mooneye snapped. “You are an accident waiting to happen. I will let you keep your secrets, but if I even smell another trick, you will join my apprentice at my feet.”</p><p></p><p> Mooneye continued to rant and threaten for about ten minutes. Theodyl stayed conscious the entire time. He gambled on taking the lich with him, he vaguely remembers the bastard snapping back at the very last moment. The lich had an anchor, something to hold on to. The phylactery must do something other than just hold a lich's soul when it's missing a body. Live and learn. His mouth tastes like dust. He is so tired he can't even pass out. </p><p></p><p> “I think that I might get to like you again, Theodyl.” The lich said as his head settled back upon it's neck. “My apprentice only tried to assassinate me after five years of service, you only shop at my store. Your will is strong, your mind is sharp, and you take risks, big risks. You have a chance at becoming a wizard.” The lich laughed again as if it had told a joke. “We meet at midnight tomorrow. Don't look for me I will find you. Oh, and don't bother trying to sleep, you won't sleep again until you suffer enough to give me an honest apology. You hurt me.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="skullsmurfer, post: 2405798, member: 17151"] [b]Of Lies and Bigger Troubles, Chapter 17[/b] Paragon had Ivor and Theodyl take charge of looting. He and the other war-forged hurried to clear away their fallen brothers. Pyrus guarded against scrying, while making preparations to burn away all magically traceable evidence. The pyromancer took the time to ward the tunnel being used by Sister Niabelis. It will buy them another ten minutes at most. Moro Taller waited just inside the tunnel. He is in charge of the healing and repair wands. The gnome is in a bit of shock. Reading about a fight and actually seeing one are two wildly different things. The gladiators at the arena, were putting on a show of that, he is now certain. He doesn't know what he is going to do once he is back with his wife and children, but he is sure that it will be nowhere near as horrible as what he has witnessed. “Ho there, young gnome! There be someone approaching.” The beer stein warned. Moro drew a Wand of Missiles and turned. His hands are shaking, but not so much that he will miss. He recognized Pook. The changeling still had to give the password. The beer stein took care of the rest by ordering Moro to have another drink. “What are you doing back? W-where's my w-wife?” the gnome asked in between gulps of Theodyl's beer. “She's fine, the others took her to the private box at the arena.” the changeling replied as he disrobed and put on a fine set of women's clothing. Pook started to speak in a woman's voice as his body changed to match. He now a she, threw a luxurious silk lined cloak over her shoulders and had Moro tie her hair back with a jeweled comb. She uncorked a visually striking perfume bottle and dabbed an absolutely delicious rose scented oil onto her neck and just beneath her breast line. Moro's hands started to shake under the effects of the heady aroma. He blushed as he found his eyes traveling over her neck line. Pook winked at him. She then put on some earrings and a necklace to match her comb on her head. Pook put on the shoes last. They look great, but they pinch after a while. “You will address me as Lady Eunice Nigma, Ser Gnome.” Pook said with refined noble accent. “Now stay out of sight, you are supposed to be dead.” She kissed him on the cheek and left him to trip over his feet in a hurry to get under cover. Theodyl sniffed at Pook's neck as she strolled past and ignored him with just the right swing in her hips. The half-elf copped a feel and hurried away to join the gnome in a side tunnel. Ivor rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out. Paragon 153 to 3 noticed something, but he doesn't care enough to ask. Theodyl's bed habits make his joints ache, flesh people are crazy. The war-forged handed Lady Nigma his creator's signet ring and adjusted his tabard to House Cannith regulations. Pyrus summoned an impressive aura of flame. Argus and Pennelocles joined Javelin just behind Paragon. The crate lay safely within a warding circle drawn in living flame. “Hold!” Sgt. Ironson ordered the troops. “Squads 1, 3, 4: I want three wedges in front of the Captain. Number 2 squad, form up around the mage. Inquisitors, Pallas with the Captain, all others will each go with a Chaplain. Private Niabelis, squad number 5, you are with me!” Captain Rolland Sevin raised his falchion and spoke. The magic woven into the blade generations past took his words and carried them to every ear within the pump rooms. “This is the City Watch! Lower your weapons and stay where you are!” “Oh Rolland! How wonderful to see you here!” Lady Nigma exclaimed, her voice as delightful as bird song. “Have you a wizard? My boys found something of great import!” The Captain did everything but run to her and give her a kiss. He strutted up to the woman like a peacock, leaving his men behind. Inquisitor Pallas scowled, he called on the Flame, but could detect no deviltry. The woman is surrounded by an impressive aura, however, centered on her jewelry. Sgt. Ironson kept a weary eye out for Sweet Lips. The young man kept a straight face, but the crimson color of his skin said a lot. There is no doubt in his mind, this is the woman he saw with the war-forged escort earlier in the week. Private Niabelis could have bored a hole in the Captain's back. The Sergeant sent the Watch Mage and his squad up to Captain Sevin. He then ordered the crossbows to cover the Lady's escort. The war-forged with the cloak of fire must be a mage of some sort. Private Niabelis surveyed the battlefield. The broken juggernaut is an impressive sight. There is another body, this one with it's head crushed. There are bolts and arrows littering everywhere. A broken pipe overhead is pouring brown water onto the floor. Not far to her left she can see the smoking remains of perhaps two more war-forged. Against the far wall a pile of crates is smoldering along with something else, maybe goblins and more war-forged. House Cannith got here first, but why? It doesn't make sense. Sgt. Ironson nearly gave the order to fire as a small commotion broke out. The Watch Mage took to the air and sped towards the pile of crates smoking against the far wall. A bright green ray swept from is wand, reducing the crates to little than dust. Captain Sevin signaled the Sergeant to approach. The war-forged mage with the cloak of fire stood up and joined the others behind the woman from Cannith. The Captain let them leave and then turned to stare at the lone crate sitting within a warding circle of fire. Inquisitor Pallas drew his mace and called his Inquisitors to his side. They surrounded the circle, ready to kill anything that approaches. “What the hell is going on here?” Niabelis screeched. “Shut it, Private! The Captain can still have yer head if he don't like your tone.” The Sergeant snapped. Captain Sevin turned to his Sergeant and told the news. His face was pale, several beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. “Hag's Plague, Sgt. Ironson.” He said with a tremor in his voice. “They were going to pour it into the sewers.” The Captain turned away. “From the sewers it would have spread to the bay and from there, who knows? We don't even know how far the pipes reach down into the earth. Our water comes from below. Gods, they could have murdered us.” “How did they get it in here? The goblins are smugglers, but the ship still had go through the docks. This could start a panic.” Niabelis said while trying to think away the shock. “There won't be a panic.” Captain Sevin cut in. “Sergeant, we camp here tonight. I will make arrangements with the City to search every pump room between here and the docks. Inform your men, I am declaring a quarantine. I trust they can keep a secret?” “They are good men, sir.” the Sergeant replied. “Then I don't need to say anything more, Sergeant.” Captain Sevin said locking his eyes on the officer, “Instruct the men, then turn over every stone in this place, I have had far too many surprises today.” The Sergeant jogged away with Private Niabelis in tow. He is scared, but that is between him and Dol Dorn. His duty is clear. There is trouble and the Dog Soldiers are once more in the middle of it. He put on his best Wrath of the Gods scowl and started barking orders. The men jumped the proper height and moved like the devils are nipping at their heels. They just don't know. Private Niabelis realized the Captain had just threatened all of their lives. She turned to the Sergeant, he told her to shut up. “Cities run on blood...” the Sergeant quoted from a poet turned activist now rotting in a City dungeon. “What did you expect, a medal?” The Arena, an hour or so later...... Moro blubbered like a baby as he rushed to his wife's arms. Theodyl and the changelings gave them space, but did not go away. Ivor and Siff stayed close to the door. Pook and Patter stood ready to catch them if they tried to jump into the arena. Paragon is taking care of his men, Javelin and Argus stayed behind to act as bodyguards. They are outside. There is an owlbear fighting a slow, armored dinosaur in the arena below. It is too noisy for their business to be overheard. Theodyl is waiting for the couple to calm down before he starts asking questions. The beer stein is sitting on a ledge brimming with beer and screaming down to the savage combatants. “So,” Theodyl interrupted their embrace, “which one of you fine upstanding gnomes set me up?” Moro grew silent. His wife looked up to Theodyl and met his eyes. The half-elf did not waver. Moro made to speak but the woman shushed him and told him to go watch the fight. She is very pretty, or cute as humans would say. Fat, rosy cheeks and curly blond hair give her an almost cherub like appeal. She is also obviously older than her husband, but no more than a few decades, though. To Theodyl's thinking, she would be the perfect kind of woman to seduce a young, but well placed mark. No one looks at the wife, not unless you are an expert in the spy game. The dragons ran into complications, though, Theodyl could tell just from the way they gazed at each other. There is love in those eyes, that cannot be faked. Theodyl sent the changelings away to set her at ease. It isn't personal, yet. “It wasn't supposed to happen like this,” She began. “I was supposed to use the Cyre Manuscript as a distraction while I used some hired mercenaries to steal the other file. The Mercenaries I hired had their own ideas. The one named Sarok said he would drown my babies in sewer sludge...” “I understand,” Theodyl calmed her, “Tell me, who is your Master? Vergris? Dothon? Blackscale?” “Dothon.” She answered after a long pause. “Vergris is crippled, she won't allow anyone to see her face. She is in Thrane, last I heard. Blackscale and Dothon are in charge of operations in Sharn now.” She looked up at Theodyl. “What are you going to do? They said you would go to them, they planned on it.” “Fat chance of that happening.” Theodyl laughed. “I want to set up a meeting at a neutral location. Will you take care of that for me?” “You are crazy.” She said looking to her husband. “I can't....” “What's your name,” Theodyl interrupted, “I never asked.” “Dulcimella,” She replied, and then recovered, “I really don't think...” “I am only a little bit crazy,” the half-elf interrupted again, “besides, you need help getting out of Sharn with your children. They think your husband is dead, but you will not have it as easy.” Theodyl locked his green eyes on her. “I doubt the dragons will help. You failed.” “Don't say another word, either of you.” A voice hissed and twisted out of empty space. Mooneye the Necromancer made his entrance. The lights dimmed, every shadow in the room suddenly spread like a stain. A clammy chill crawled up Theodyl's spine. The lights sprung back to life and suddenly Mooneye was there. A gnome sized skeleton wearing black and red silk cocked it's head and waited for everyone in the room to remember to breathe. Theodyl could do nothing but clap. “I would like to be join these negotiations,” Mooneye announced. “In a few hours there are going to be City Watchmen crawling through the under city like rats on a corpse. I stand to loose a lot of business.” The red dots of light within his eye sockets flashed. “You, Mrs. Taller, and you Mr. Vair, will help me make up for those losses.” “Master Mooneye, I found six renegade war-forged with enough Hag's Plague to kill the city and then go on to kill everything that touches the bay waters. I think the City Watch is justified.” Theodyl addressed the lich. “Hag's Plague? In my City?” the lich snapped. “Tell me more.” Theodyl felt the pressure of the lich's gaze. He started talking, describing every detail of the pump rooms, the goblins, the war-forged, the fight. The lich wormed his way into the half-elf's mind and tore out the details even as his mouth continued to speak them. Theodyl's natural defenses shook beneath the relentless mental assault. The lich hissed, Theodyl focused his mind on telling everything he knew. The constant detailed stream of information kept the lich from digging any deeper. Mooneye made him hurt for his effort, however. “Now, it is your turn, Mrs. Taller.” Mooneye said almost politely. “Talk or I will just reach in and drag it all out.” Moro rushed the lich only to be struck unconscious. Dulcimella fainted. The beer stein assaulted the lich with a stream of expletives in several different languages. In some way, the curses struck Mooneye like physical blows. The lich blasted the beer stein to pieces spraying beer in all directions. The ghostly form of a heavily armored dwarven fighter took shape over the debris. The spilled beer froze solid beneath his feet. A great otherworldly howl erupted from beneath his helm. His long braided beard moved as if buffeted by a great wind. An urgosh, as immaterial as the ghost, cut the air in front of Mooneye, followed by another stream of expletives. “You will NOT touch them!!!” The dwarven spirit cried. “Thou walking corpse! By my beard I shall SMITE thee!!!!” The world shook with his voice. “Peace! Peace!” Theodyl leapt between the two. “Master Mooneye, I think that we can come to a profitable arrangement. Ser Dwarf, please stay thy rage.” He is bleeding from his nose and ears. It is obvious he can barely stand. “Let us order some refreshments, some strong drink to calm our passions.” “I want Bourbon.” The dwarven spirit said through his teeth. “and I want a new vessel. Silver, I think, with jewels!” “Bourbon it is then.” The lich agreed. The lich snapped his fingers and Moro woke up as if from a nightmare. His wife was startled awake at nearly the same time. Theodyl rubbed at his temples in a vain effort to make the headache go away. A table laden with food and drink rose out of the floor. The lich called a name, a shadow crawled out of a dark corner and lay at Mooneye's feet. “This is my apprentice, his new name is Fletch,” the lich said to Theodyl, “I think you get the joke, yes?” Theodyl cringed as the image of his arrow sticking out of the horned goblin's head came unbidden to his mind. Mooneye kicked at the shadow and demanded Bourbon. The shadow sank into the floor and soon returned with a great cask. The shadow then produced a set of glass tumblers for Theodyl and the gnomes. The lich waved his hands and the tumblers filled with clear amber fluid. He waved his hands again and a mist rose out of the barrel it traveled lazily to the dwarven spirit and then to the lich. “I can taste it.” The dwarven spirit whispered, “Bourbon, hot as fire and cold as a mountain breeze.” “Good,” the lich chuckled as the shadow returned to it's place at his feet “Theodyl, you can start talking now.” “I have a certain bit of paper that someone else wants.” The half-elf started to explain. “Bah! Pedestrian trade, hardly worth my time.” Mooneye interrupted. “I want something more interesting than that.” “Dothon the Wise and Blackscale Stormbreaker are both very interested, the problem is that I am entirely too fragile for aggressive negotiations.” The half-elf said as he sipped from his glass. “Nadothon Talonwise and Blackscale Terrorwind are not the kind to deal with anyone.” The lich spoke as he considered Theodyl's words. “I understand that a certain King of Galifar had to bribe Blackscale in order to save a year's worth of crops a few centuries past.” Theodyl pouted as the lich's superior knowledge became immediately evident. “Nadothon raided the Elven lands with the same trick. Blackscale destroyed their crops just so Nadothon wouldn't have to break his word after collecting the bounty. The elves called a blood debt on them both. They work together those two. The elves started a rumor that they are mated. Nadothon incinerated an entire forest out of spite.” “They can afford your prices,” Theodyl added, “and they can't kill you permanently. You might even gain a new client or two.” “What is on that bit of paper, exactly?” the lich asked. “Names, dates, locations etc. Somebody has been trying to track stray Dragons through our lands.” Theodyl drained his tumbler and held it out for more. “I assume they want to either put a stop to it or they want to use it to some advantage. I wouldn't be surprised if they took over the operation and then sold the information to the highest bidder.” “I will need to know for sure if I want to make a solid deal. The negotiations will drag until I have a firm grasp on their motives.” the lich mused. “You will give me sixty percent.” “I want our freedom and my master's spell-shard.” Theodyl stated, waving towards himself and Dulcimella, “You can ask for whatever else you want, they probably have artifacts and wonders beyond words stashed in their hoards.” “You only play at magic,” Mooneye snapped. “what could you possibly want with a spell-shard?” “Only to stop playing at magic, Master Mooneye.” The half-elf replied. “I am tired of ending a fight tired and bloodied. I see a better way, just within my reach.” The lich started laughing. His head came off and flew to a stop not an inch from Theodyl's face. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Theodyl felt his skin go clammy as the lich bored into his mind again. He didn't resist this time. He waited until the lich was too deep to get away and triggered the most potent spell he knows. The notes to a sad hymn sounded. A sharp pain radiated from his heart and his body spasmed once and then twice. Theodyl smiled and then slipped away into darkness. “No! You can't do this to me!” the lich screeched. “Damn your tricks! I will bring you back. Death is no escape with the likes of me!” Moro and his wife held each other as the lich raged over Theodyl's body. The dwarven spirit moved to stand between the lich and the gnomes. Theodyl chose to die, there is nothing to avenge. The lich stopped his diatribe and decided to launch a spell instead. The words each shook the room as the necromancer spit them out through his teeth. The room went dark again as every light bent and wavered streaking towards the lich and the corpse in front of it. The light soaked into Theodyl's body until the gnomes had to look away from the glare. A scream echoed from very far away, then it came closer and closer until the gnomes realized it was Theodyl screaming. “My mind is my business.” Theodyl rasped at the lich's red glaring eyes. “You got what you deserved.” “I saw enough.” Mooneye snapped. “You are an accident waiting to happen. I will let you keep your secrets, but if I even smell another trick, you will join my apprentice at my feet.” Mooneye continued to rant and threaten for about ten minutes. Theodyl stayed conscious the entire time. He gambled on taking the lich with him, he vaguely remembers the bastard snapping back at the very last moment. The lich had an anchor, something to hold on to. The phylactery must do something other than just hold a lich's soul when it's missing a body. Live and learn. His mouth tastes like dust. He is so tired he can't even pass out. “I think that I might get to like you again, Theodyl.” The lich said as his head settled back upon it's neck. “My apprentice only tried to assassinate me after five years of service, you only shop at my store. Your will is strong, your mind is sharp, and you take risks, big risks. You have a chance at becoming a wizard.” The lich laughed again as if it had told a joke. “We meet at midnight tomorrow. Don't look for me I will find you. Oh, and don't bother trying to sleep, you won't sleep again until you suffer enough to give me an honest apology. You hurt me.” [/QUOTE]
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Adventures in Eberron> Chapter 32 posted 08-08-05>
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