DARK•HERITAGE -- 16 installments to date, updated April 20th

[Desdichado]

Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part V

(Quick little update today -- I want to move along, but I've been a bit busy, so I couldn't write quite as detailed an account as I like. I'm also a bit sick, so this update isn't as well-written or coherent as I'd like, but it'll do.)

After sleeping for a few hours, the three were back at The Singing Sword to see if they could have better luck than before. It was lighter now; it wouldn't be for several more cycles that it would be dark again, when the sun passed again behind the enormous disc that was Fallare, hanging like an orange and gold striated Yule ornament in the sky. That made the atmosphere in the tavern itself somewhat lighter, as shafts of golden sunlight shone though small greasy windows in most of the rooms. The crowd was less rowdy tonight; more abuzz with pleasant conversation rather than highly drunk. The music was also toned down; the songs were more about the quiet delights in life rather than bawdy exploits. Tson commented on this to the bartender as he ordered a drink and said hello again.

"Yeah," the bartender answered, "it's the way of things up here. Now, me, I'm from down below the Cloudwall, and a little darkness ne'er bothered me much, but folks up here, where it's usually so bright and sunny, they don't handle a little shadow very well." He stopped and shook his head wistfully.

Tson thanked him and asked him if there was any improvement in the caravan situation from the cycle before. On a tip from the bartender, he winded his way further through the tavern to a table with several relatively tough looking folks, including a reddish brown Hulk that was spiderwebbed with nearly as many scars as Tson himself. They stopped talking and stared at him as he approached them.

"Umm, hello?" he said. "Mind if I have a seat?"

There were a few glances and scowls around the table, but slowly a space was made and Tson gingerly sat at the table.

It took him a little while, but he gradually gained their trust enough to hear their story. This small crowd of former caravan guards had been en route from small mining settlements near the Ledge, having gone around Cassant entirely and come through the Cratered Desert. As they were nearing the Wellhead Swamp, that sprawling fetid marsh caused by the centuries of leaking and condensation around the ancient pipes and pump mechanisms that brough the water from some vast subterranean aquifer to water the arid lands around Razina, they had their "incident." A tall woman, of a race unknown to any of them, attacked and killed everyone in their caravan except themselves, who feigned death with the help of a narcotic drug that lowered their pulse to an almost inperceptible level. This woman had dark, soot-colored skin, and her head was as bald as a melon. She had two wicked blades, and she somehow seemed to "magick" herself all over the place to kill without remorse. But the worst part of it was that she had an army of the living dead with her, who rampaged through the caravan ripping their associates limb from limb.

The guards went quiet, and somewhat pale as they finished their account. Nobody said anything for a few moments, then they each took a long pull on their drinks.

"But what was it all about, I wonder?" Tson asked. "Did she take your cargo?"

The other hulk answered, "That's the strangest thing about it... she really didn't seem very interested in our cargo. The only think missing was a locked box that was to be delivered to Eiji Kisaragi. You can imagine how we felt telling him we had lost it!"

"Err, no, actually," Tson said awkwardly. "I'm new in town. Should I know who he is?"

That finally got a bit of a chuckle out of the dour guards. "Yeah, Mr. Kisaragi -- he's a big name in Bricktown. You don't want to cross him. But if you help him, word is that he pays very well. Of course, Bricktown don't have no proper law and order, but Kisaragi's reach can find you anywhere in Razina, and beyond from what I hear."

"And if one wants to help him, how does one find him?" Tson asked carefully.

"Don't rightly know," said the hulk guard, "but a lot of deals are made in his name at the Steams, a bath house in Bricktown. That's a good place to start, I'd reckon."

They all broke off conversation as Konrad walked up to them, and spoke quietly to Tson. "You better come with me. We've got an interesting visitor." Tson stood up, gave an awkward smile to the caravan guards and followed Konrad to a room further in the back. There, Rohsam was speaking to a thin man with gray hair. His eyes kept darting across the room at any unexpected sound. He couldn't hear what he was saying, but his voice sounded somewhat shrill.

"Who is he?" Tson asked.

"He claims to be Alexander Nevsky, the porter Gauvain mentioned earlier. Rosham's trying to coax his story out of him, but I don't think he's buying it..."

Suddenly Nevsky decided he had enough as he stood and bolted towards the door. Rosham, followed by Konrad and Tson leapt after him, tackling him heavily in an alley right behind the tavern. Konrad closed the tavern door on the faces of some curious onlookers as Rosham and Tson wrestled the surprisingly strong man to the ground. And then Nevsky went suddenly still.

"It's OK," Rosham said softly to the man. "We're from the Inquisition and we're here to help..." Nevsky's eyes seemed to sink further into his head.

"Oh, please!" Tson said gruffly. "Whoever's going to trust a gray with their secrets anyway? Let's just take him home, clean him up and calm him down. We'll get his story yet."

So they did just that. Elroy the butler outdid himself with a steaming hot meal that put a lot more life back into Nevsky's pale face, and a hot bath seemed to do him wonders as well. He no longer seemed quite so paranoid, but was very exhausted. He gave them a story that was similar to the account the guards had given Tson of another attack. This one was coming back from the northeast as well, and this black woman had attacked the caravan with a squadron of dead creatures, sparing no one except he himself, who was away from the caravan digging a latrine at the time.

Nevsky's speech was slurred by this point with exhaustion, so they decided to let him sleep and try and get more details from him, if possible, the next day. With that they all turned in.

When they woke up it was to a hoarse shout from Elroy. They came running, still in their bedclothes, but scrambling to hold weapons. Elroy was in Alexander Nevsky's room. Nevsky was as well, but his body was thin and contorted -- brown and parchment dry like an ancient mummy. He was clearly dead -- but he looked like he'd been dead for centuries.

 

[Desdichado]

Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part VI

(Whether or not anyone noticed, for some reason I got it into my head that it would be "cute" to name all the chapters after Depeche Mode songs. That has since become tedious to me; it's almost as much of a burden to try to pick a song title that matched the content than it was to actually write the chapters up themselves. I should have remembered what Robert Asprin wrote in the introduction to one of his M.Y.T.H. Adventure books; that it was harder to write the cute little quotes at the beginning of each chapter than to write the actual books. Actually, I did remember that, and even thought of it specifically, but for some reason I thought I was going to get past that. Well, I didn't. So, I'm going to start a completely new naming convention, calling all of this entire first adventure by one title, with numbered parts for each of the posts. Eventually I'll go back edit all the post titles to update. Now, maybe I can still name each larger chapter after a Depeche Mode song...)

They decided in the wake of the sudden mummification of Nevsky that following up on the lead with the crime lord Kisaragi was their next best move. After making sure to check and strap on all their weapons, they left their home, with strict instructions to Elroy to make sure the body was nowhere to be found when they returned. The three walked quietly, with their heads low and their eyes darting side to side, towards that wretched hive of scum and villainy: Bricktown. It loomed over them like a mountain, scowling forbiddingly at all who approached. A dark halo of sooty smoke hung like a pall over the entire affair; the lung-ruining effluvia of thousands of coal fires that burned within. Looking upwards, they could see the tiny figures of the homeless and destitute that lived their entire lives on the rooftop of Bricktown wandering about like ants. There didn't seem to be any obvious way to reach the roof besides jumping off an airship.

A sturdy hulk with a massive hauberk-encrusted belly spilling out over his belt stood guard at the frowning gate. There was a fair amount of traffic coming, as it was nearly time for another work shift to change over, and people were coming and going. The guard half-watched the flow of humanity with a bored expression. He did note the PCs weapons, but did not seem inclined to question them. And then they passed the threshold into Bricktown.

Immediately their vision shifted. It was extremely gloomy in Bricktown as they walked away from the sunlight at the gate. The light was shortened by the thick haze of smoke the floated in the corridors, adding an acrid odor that partially helped obscure the rank smell of human filth and rot. Torches and gas lanterns lined the walls at frequent intervals, giving the entire interior of Bricktown a ghoulish orange glow. Alleys and streets were narrow, cramped and winding, choked with piles of rubbish, collapsed heaps of bricks and wood, and the inert forms of beggers who's hold on life (or lack thereof) was difficult to ascertain. The dark vastness of Bricktown yawned before them like a labyrinth.

"So, anyone know where we're headed?" asked Tson.

"Sure," Konrad answered. "Just a sec..."

He reached out and nabbed a thin, soot-stained and hunched man by the arm, spinning him around to face them. Konrad's hands suddenly had a gold mark peeking out through his fingers. "Here, can you take us to the Steams?"

The man nodded greedily, never taking his eye off the gold, and they followed him silently into the darkness that was Bricktown. The healthy light of day from the gate faded behind them and they were soon swallowed by the smoke. The man they followed did occasionally make some small talk, but he quickly fell silent. The ambiance in Bricktown was oppressive. People they passed in the street spoke in whispers, if at all, and hurried past them, their eyes cast downward. Their guide's eyes darted sideways, and upwards.

Konrad looked around, trying to follow his gaze despite the stinging smoke in his eyes. He saw a flash of movement; what looked briefly like a man with a crossbow ducking out of sight in a window ahead. Konrad tapped Tson on the shoulder, and when he turned around, he gave him a meaningful look and gripped his weapons. Tson got the hint and gave a similar non-verbal cue to Rosham.

"We're almost there; it's just on the other side of this alleywuurk..." said the guide. Tson had thrown him hard against the brickwall, knocking loose mortar dust that fell over him like a pale shower. There was a soft click, and Konrad had a pistol against his head, the hammer cocked.

"I think you should call off your goons and take us to the real Steams this time, before I blow your %@$#ing head off." The guide swallowed hard.

"Back off!" he yelled hoarsely, clearing his throat and coughing dust and soot from his lungs. "Back off!" They all heard some clattering from above and then silence. The guard stood slowly, never taking his eyes off the barrel of the gun pointed directly at his face. He gulped again and wiped gray mortar dust from his face. "Let's go this way," he said, and then led them back the way they had come.

"Just remember, this gun is going to be pointed directly at your head until we get there," Konrad chipped in cheerfully. They walked for about fifteen more minutes in a completely different direction until they came to a red building with a sign over it that had simply The Steams carved in faded and silvered wood. Appropriately enough, it was humid and foggy near the door; steam leaking from the bath house.

The guide turned around then to tell them that they had arrived when Konrad casually shot him in the knee. He fell heavily to the ground screaming and moaning, soaking the cobblestone street in a spreading pool of blood.

"Thanks for your help!" Konrad added, spitting on him as he walked by. They opened the door and walked in.

The Steams was unlike anything else they had yet seen in Bricktown; there was a small lobby where they currently found themselves, manned by a thin and stiff man in an uncomfortable-looking suit. But everything about the lobby spoke of magnificent opulence. Dark reddish wood panelling, oiled and polished, covered the walls. Heavy woven carpets with fantastic designs picked out in gold thread blanketted the floor; they were clearly imported from below the Cloudwall where such things were made for kings and emperors. The dim gaslights burned clean and white, and there was a perfumed smell of sweet-smelling spice. Behind the desk was a thick maroon curtain.

Rosham quickly put away his rapier that he had drawn when they discovered the threacherous guide's duplicity and motioned for the others to stow their weapons as well. He smoothed his hair and approached the man at the desk. "Yes, we need to speak with Mr. Eiji Kisaragi, please. It concerns some cargo he was trying to ship into Razina via caravan."

"Do you have an appointment?" answered the man with a condescending glance at the Bred, and Konrad's rustic appearance.

Rosham smiled, showing his gleaming teeth. His eyes remained quite cold. "I'm sure he will want to see us."

The man behind the desk coughed quietly and the curtain parted. Two enormous men in armor and holding a brace of pistols stepped out to look coldly at the three visitors. Konrad stepped back and put his hand on the butt of his pistol. Rosham kept his smile, despite the tension in the room. The two men were dark-haired and dark-eyed with somewhat sallow skin and epicanthic folds. The were Unbred, but clearly not native to the region.

With a strong, lilting accent, one of the two brutes spoke. "Mr. Kisaragi is not available right now. Perhaps you can describe your business and make an appointment."

"I strongly feel we should only describe our business directly with Mr. Kisaragi," Rosham continued, ignoring the guns pointed in his direction. "I believe we can reach an accomodation that is mutually beneficial."

"You will not be seeing Mr. Kisaragi right now. If you do not make an appointment, it is best if you leave."

"What is your name?" Rosham asked. "We will be sure to mention that you delayed us when we meet with Mr. Kisaragi and present him with our plan."

One of the big men suddenly laughed out loud and put away his guns. The other packed up his weapons as well, then turned and walked back through the curtain. With a nod, the thin man behind the desk also turned around and left.

When the large, laughing man spoke again, his accent had mysteriously disappeared, except for faint traces here and there. "I like you guys. Come on back! I'm Eiji Kisaragi."

 

[Stockdale]

This was one of the best episodes of the campaign so far, And as anyone reading this far knows, we really hadn't done much. More Role than roll playing to this point, and the ending was just a hum-dinger.

Josh, you really caught the flavor of this session. you're the man.

 

[Desdichado]

Thanks! It was, shortly after this point, though, that I started to wonder if maybe the pace were a bit too slow (a common problem for investigative type scenarios.) Readers will see a fairly sharp increase in action very shortly, and only some of it is gratuitous!

 

[Puppy Kicker]

I wanted to say cheers for the great Exit 23 story hour, and that's what got me to this one. Normally I get pretty bored with fantasy story hours but your writing in the modern one got me interested to try out your Dark Heritage story hour and so far I'm liking it! Keep up the good work.

 

[Desdichado]

I wanted to say cheers for the great Exit 23 story hour, and that's what got me to this one. Normally I get pretty bored with fantasy story hours but your writing in the modern one got me interested to try out your Dark Heritage story hour and so far I'm liking it! Keep up the good work.

Thank you; much appreciated! Just out of curiousity, what about most fantasy story hours is boring to you, and what makes mine different? I think (other than the rules, obviously) that combining some very strong horror, intrigue and steampunk themes into my fantasy certainly makes the game feel quite different than D&D usually is, but that's just what I think, anyway. Also, I'd recommend you look up any of the three story hours by barsoomcore, who has a setting that features many of the same types of differences from standard D&D.

If you're looking for more storyhours, that is.

 

[Desdichado]

Module I: "Blasphemous Rumours" Part VII

Eiji led them through the curtain behind the counter. After a short hallway, the bath house opened up into a large room, covered floor and walls both with slick red tiles and hefty lockers. There were a few surly old men standing in various states of undress in the room who gave them dirty looks as they entered, but Eiji shooed them away quickly. All four of them quickly undressed, stashed their clothes and other gear in a large locker (Tson put the key on a light chain around his neck.) After donning large red towels with the initials EK embroidered with gold thread about their waists, they continued on into the bath house itself.

The main room of the bath house was quite large. Darkly stained beams supported the ceiling, but the walls were largely made of ivory colored paper which separated several smaller rooms around the perimeter. In the center of the room were a number of pools each lined with pale blue tiles. It was easy to see which were hot and which were cold by the steam rising from the warmer ones. Most of the pools had a few nude bathers sitting in them, and a few other nudes, male and female both, were in transit from hot to cold or vice versa, or to the thin rooms on the side which also exuded heavy curtains of steam. The entire room was bathed in the muted babble of private conversations.

Eiji led them all the way through the main room, warning them once or twice to watch for slippery areas of the tiled floor, then into some other rooms in the back that were very thickly walled. He closed a heavy door in a darkly panelled room that was lit only by a fire burning in the center that heated several gray rocks. They all sat on wooden benches around the periphery of the room, then Eiji poured a bucket of water on the rocks, which erupted in a blast of hissing steam. The room was stiflingly hot, and all four of them quickly broke out in a sweat.

"Now then, that we have some privacy," Eiji laughed quietly, "what is it you are looking for?"

"Some information, naturally," answered Rosham glibly. "It seems we both have the same problem, and by pooling our knowledge I think we stand a better chance of removing that problem."

Eiji looked sceptical, and even a bit dangerous. "Who led you to believe I had a problem?"

The three of them smiled. "We've been hired to look for some cargo that was apparently stolen en route to Razina by a woman with dark gray skin, no hair, and an entourage of dead people. We are led to understand that you also recently had an encounter of sorts with this woman, and she ran off with some of your cargo as well."

When Eiji smiled knowingly Rosham continued. "I believe, naturally, that if we find one cargo we'll find the other as well. We had hoped to find out what -- if anything -- you knew about these robberies that we could pool with our own knowledge. That way, we stand a much better chance of recovering both of the stolen goods."

Eiji laughed again. Indeed, he seemed a much more jolly fellow than his reputation had led them to believe. "OK, you've picqued my attention," he said, wiping his eyes slightly. "I'll help you if you think you can recover my stolen cargo."

"Err," Konrad blundered, "what was your cargo?"

"Just a book."

"A book?" Tson blurted in surprise. "Why would anyone steal a book?"

Eiji chuckled again, although this time somewhat disparagingly. "You really don't know much about these yet, do you? The cargo you are searching for is also a book. Everything this woman has attacked and taken has been a book, and she's struck no fewer than four times that I know of."

Rosham, Tson and Konrad all looked at each other blankly. "What's so special about these books, then?" Rosham asked finally.

"Certain books," Eiji continued delicately, after a long pause of thinking, "are not well recieved by the populace at large. In fact, it is a death sentence from the Inquisition to obtain certain books, although its rare indeed that a case such as that is brought to trial. It seems our illustrious government is anxious that certain accounts of what happened in the early years of our kingdom not be revisited. I am a simple student of history, who seeks information amongst primary sources, so that puts me at odds with the government and the Inquisition, and leads me to occasionally search out books that, alas, I probably should not. I bought mine from a discreet dealer in Cassant, who was to ship it to me via the caravan that was ambushed. Your patron, whomever he is, must have done the same thing."

Rosham's eyes lit up. He was also particularly interested in the history of the formation of the kingdoms that rose from the ashes of the slavers and breeders that had created the Bred races, and before that, even, whatever knowledge could still be filtered down from the mythic times before the breaking of the world, and the causes of that catastrophe.

"Unfortunately," continued Eiji, "my operatives have not been able to uncover much beyond that -- and that is not much to go on. We've been trying to to locate a man named Alexander Nevsky who supposedly witnessed one of the attacks, but he has eluded my men each time I've tried to bring him in for questioning.

Konrad started, but at a subtle wave from Rosham, he didn't say anything.

After some more discussion with Eiji, where they learned that the book he was looking for was a small little book known as The King in Yellow, they got redressed and parted ways, happy to at least have the support, even if it didn't amount to much, of one of the most notorious and powerful crime lords in the city. That had to account for something.

But it did not, apparently, account for protection from the lower elements of life in Bricktown, at least not yet. Konrad spotted a small man behind them, limping noticably but marking their passage. They stepped up their pace, but crossing through a narrow alleyway, they suddenly found themselves boxed in and surrounded by no less than twelve angry men, each carrying a wicked sword. The limper had a familiar look; he was their erstwhile guide who had tried to lead them into an ambush before.

"This time it's personal, ya pikers!" he shouted, and the street toughs suddenly poured over them like rainwater.

Because of the narrowness of the alley, they were able to keep them from coming all at once and surrounding them, at least. Konrad pounded away at one end with his mace, but was taking a variety of vicious blows as well, while Tson tripped anyone that came near him, slashing at them cruelly with the spikes on his chain as they went down. Rosham, on the other hand, suddenly started climbing the wall, ducking inside a window high over the heads of the combatants. An elderly woman screamed as he suddenly appeared from the window in her kitchen, but when she saw his bared sword, she turned and ran from the room. He quickly scanned the kitchen for any makeshift weapons he could use against the people below.

Tson looked up then as a pot of boiling stew suddenly landed on his opponents, clonking one heavily on the head and scalding several others. He took the opportunity to slash a few more to the ground. One of the men put his sword away and began to chant. Tson felt his body literally starting to wither and shrivel under the baleful influence of the witch. Then a bottle of whisky, stuffed with a slashed piece of faded and grimy drapes landed right in front of the chanting spellcaster, exploding into a brief fireball and spray of shattered glass shrapnel. He looked up to see Roshan's smiling face in the window. Roshan saluted him.

"Get down here, you stinkin' gray!" Tson shouted up at him, but he was smiling too. His chain was bloody with the viscera of the wizard. Rosham did jump then, pulling down several of the goons that were fighting with Konrad as he fell. Between the two of them, they made short work of those who were still fighting on that side of the alley. Konrad leapt into combat on the other side with a yell, pummelling to death several folks that were bleeding severely from Tson's continued attention. Tson had some more hard words for him as well. "Get yer own bloody kills, ya daffer!"

The fighting had been fierce, but quick. The limper had somehow slipped away in the confusion. Before more trouble came a'looking, they all decided to hurry back to their safe house, leaving the groaning and bleeding bodies piled in the alley.

When they arrived, their butler took one disapproving glance at their wounds, particularly Konrad's, who were worse than the others, but then announced in a stately voice that he had found a clue on the body of the man who mummified overnight in their guest room. In his hand was a crumpled and dirty scrap of parchment.

 

[handforged]

I'm really enjoying the roleplaying parts of this story. The fighting hasn't interested me as much so far, except for the supernatural elements. Can't wait for another update.

~hf

 

[Desdichado]

Thanks, I think. At least I'm doing something right.

 

[ledded]

Great story JD, I'm diggin' the pistols-and-swords feel.


The writing is solid, and it flows well. Daddy likey, daddy likey very much

I loved what you did with Exit 23, so I'm glad to get caught up on this one and see that your level of story goodness is staying up there and consistent. Nice work.