JollyDoc's Curse of the Crimson Throne: Updated 1/29/10
JollyDoc
Explorer
I'll start fresh with the next update, which will have to come next week, since we didn't play this week due to the aforementioned stomach virus.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Hi guys, I hope the virus is gone and you got to game. If so, how about some teasers, JollyDoc? 
JollyDoc
Explorer
Hi guys, I hope the virus is gone and you got to game. If so, how about some teasers, JollyDoc?
We did indeed game last night...
Once more, the K.I.A was called upon when the city's tensions threatened to boil over, this time to arrest the king's murderer!
The diplomatic approach fails to net their quarry, so begins a fast and furious chase across the rooftops of Korvosa.
One crisis averted, only to have another arise, this time in the form of a potential race-riot brewing.
The K.I.A. visits a district they've never been too...the Grey District...domain of the dead.
An expedition into the Dead Warrens leads to harrowing run-ins with skeletons, pale-skinned dwarves, blood-sucking stirges, and strange, snake-like constructs.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
I'm really curious how they solved this one...
JollyDoc
Explorer
HIGHS AND LOWS
The rumors were vague at first: a suspect had been named in King Eodred’s murder. As with most rumors, however, they continued to grow, and also held more than a grain of truth. It seemed that in the weeks before his death, Eodred had commissioned a self-portrait by a local artist of some repute, a young woman named Trinia Sabor. The project required that she spend long hours alone with the king. In the aftermath of Eodred’s death, several of the castle guards recalled Trinia behaving “oddly” during her trips to see the king. Now, it seemed one of the guards had actually confessed to being a part of the painter’s plot to kill Eodred, and had seen her slipping a specially prepared poison powder into his tea the night he took ill and her portrait of him was complete. That confession, repeated in the presence of Sabina Merrin and several Korvosan Guard officers, had triggered a city-wide hunt for Trinia Sabor. Word of the confession spread rapidly, and the guard’s subsequent suicide (a leap from one of the towers of Castle Korvosa) cemented Korvosa’s anger. In no time, the artist’s name became a household word, and once more riots threatened to erupt in the streets. This time, however, the cries were not for the queen’s death, but the death of the king’s true murderer…Trinia Sabor.
As word of Trinia’s supposed-regicide continued to disseminate, the members of the K.I.A were contacted by a breathless Korvosan Guard, who burst into the common room of the Three Rings Tavern. He told them that Field Marshal Kroft needed to speak with them immediately, and would be arriving within a few minutes. The fact that she was coming to them was not lost on the companions. Something big was afoot. When Cressida herself entered, she quickly told them to follow her as she led them into a private room, stationing a few guards out front as she closed the door. When she turned to regard them, however, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Where’s Mandrake?” she asked, noticing that the paladin was not among them. “I thought I requested to see all of you.”
“He ain’t here,” Valeris growled as he picked at his fingernails with a dagger. “Couldn’t hack it.”
“What he means,” Katarina said, cutting her eyes at the duskblade, “is that Mandrake was recalled by the church. With the recent unrest, the Abadarans issued an edict that all of their clergy should return to the Bank.”
“I see,” Cressida nodded. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. In any event, you’ve doubtless heard the stories that the king’s killer has been named, and yet there’s something more going on here, I’m afraid. Queen Ileosa could have quietly had this Trinia Sabor arrested at any time, yet the way in which she revealed the information to the city seems to me like she wants the riots to return. Certainly, with the mob and the Hellknights out on the street, the girl doesn’t stand a chance at a trial…they’ll lynch her the moment they find her. Even if she is guilty, mob justice isn’t the way. Worse, if she’s innocent, the real killer can use this distraction to throw us off the trail forever. Before Trinia is executed, we need to be absolutely sure she did this thing, and that means we need to catch her before the mob. We know where she lives…a flat in Midland at 42 Moon Street…but soon, so will the mob. The Hellknights don’t seem to care as much about catching her as they do about containing the mob…something about the ‘order of law’ makes it a greater priority for them to contain than a possible assassin. I can’t say that I disagree completely, but the problem is the Hellknights are only making it worse. The mob’s covering most of Midland now, and Trinia’s flat is near the middle of the mess. I’ve got all available guards at work keeping things from getting any worse…and if I were to send them into Midland, they’d trigger a riot. I’m sure you can see where this is going. I need you to get into Midland, find Trinia, and bring her back to me so we can deliver her, safe and sound, to somewhere where she can be interrogated…preferably with magic, so that we can be absolutely sure about her role in Eodred’s death. Get in there, catch her, and get out without letting the mob get its hands on her. I’ll have agents and officers nearby. If you can get her to one of them, we’ll be in the clear. Any questions?”
“If the mob’s taken over the streets,” Ratbone asked quietly, “how do we get in and back out again?”
“You’re not identifiable as Guard,” Cressida said. “They shouldn’t bother you, but just the same, if you stick to the back streets and alleyways, you should be able to move around unmolested. Once you have Trinia, I suggest you be even more discreet in extracting her. Don’t let the mob see her face.”
The five companions nodded. They had their orders, and they knew their job.
________________________________________________________
The tenement building where Trinia lived was located in a densely built section of Midland, a place where, at ground level, direct sunlight was a rarity. Above, jury-rigged catwalks, overhanging roofs, lines of laundry, and homemade bridges of rope and boards created a cluttered tangle, a multi-level mess of gutters, upper floors, and rooftops. This was the slum-above, a place known as the Shingles.
Three men, one woman and a dog mounted the steps of 42 Moon Street, aware of the decidedly-unfriendly stares of a couple of locals seated on the stoop. At a gesture from the young Varisian woman, the dog sat obediently on the porch as she and the men went inside. The building was three stories, hot and cramped. Trinia’s flat, according to their intel, was on the top floor, southwest corner. The four had climbed to the second floor landing when a pair of tough-looking men appeared above them, blocking further progress.
“Don’t recall seeing you around here,” one of the men growled. “What’s your business?”
“We’re here visiting a friend,” Katarina replied calmly.
“Who would that be?” the man asked.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat said, her eyes meeting the gaze of the other directly.
“She’s not here,” the man said. “Moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Really?” Kat asked, cocking one eyebrow. “Well, she borrowed some things from me, so I think we’ll just go on up and see if she left them, or at least a forwarding address.”
The men showed no inclination to move at first, but when Herc stepped to the fore, they reconsidered as they eyed the bulk of the big man, and the large sword that hung on his hip. As the four companions pushed past, however, one of the men let out a low whistle, which was echoed several more times from somewhere above. It was a sure bet that Trinia, if she was still there, knew they were coming.
“Ratbone,” Katarina whispered. She had prepared a simple spell prior to their arrival that allowed the five of them to communicate with each other via a soft word no matter the actual distance between them. “Our quarry is on the alert. Be on the lookout in case she tries to slip away.” A soft whine of affirmation was the druid’s reply. When they reached Trinia’s door, Herc rapped sharply.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat called. “We’re here to help. Please open the door. We only wish to speak with you.”
No response. Katarina hadn’t really expected one, but she had hoped. She nodded once at Herc. The big mercenary tried the door. The knob turned, but it didn’t budge. Blocked from the other side. He lowered one shoulder and struck the door with the impact of a baby bull elephant. The timbers cracked and splintered, and the chairs propped against it on the far side scattered. The one-room flat combined all of the amenities of a bedroom, a kitchen, and a painter’s studio into one fifteen-foot-square space, leaving little room for much else. A stack of cheese and bread sat on the counter next to several full waterskins, while the easel in the opposite corner held a half-completed painting of an imp and a pseudodragon fighting atop a church steeple. A single window looked out over the tangled rooftops of the Shingles, while just under it, a woman slept in a curled-up position on a low bed. The four companions glanced suspiciously at one another. Once more, Kat nodded to Herc, and the mercenary cautiously approached the bed, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Halfway across the room, however, he paused and looked up. They all did, for they’d all heard the same thing: something creaked on the roof above. Herc dashed to the window and looked out. Not ten yards away crouched Trinia Sabor.
“Oh, frack!” the girl cursed. Then she stood up and began running full speed across the rooftop. As she did so, the image of the sleeping figure on the bed abruptly vanished.
“She’s rabbiting!” Herc cried, and then he disappeared out the window.
On the street below, Ratbone’s head jerked up as he saw a shadowy figure leap across an alley from one rooftop to the next. The dog growled low in his throat and bolted off the porch and down the alley. Fortunately, he had just disappeared from the eyes of curious onlookers when he quite literally vanished. In his place, O’Reginald stepped from the shadows. The young mage knew that roof hopping was not his forte’, and so he had transposed himself with the druid. Then, looking left and right to make sure no one had taken notice of his sudden appearance, he pulled a small flask from his tunic and upended it. Stepping once more into the shadows, he rose silently into the air, back towards the Shingles above.
Meanwhile, Herc’s boots scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling shingles of the roof that he ran across as he stumbled after the fleeing form of Trinia. Suddenly, the young girl leaped cat-like from one roof to the next, clearing an alley easily twenty-five feet across. The big warrior sighed deeply, stowed his shield across his back, and got a running start. He grunted as he jumped, but he knew from the moment that his feet left the roof that he had no chance of making it. Flailing wildly, he plunged towards the alley below, passing O’Reginald as the mage flew upwards. Fortunately, Herc landed in the middle of a garbage heap, avoiding any major injuries or broken bones. Kat and Valeris rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down, fearful of what they might see. Kat released a relieved breath when she saw Herc extricate himself from the trash.
“Looks ok to me,” Valeris chuckled. “Good thing he landed on his head.”
A moment later, both of them drew back in startled surprise as a large, furry shape hurtled past them, easily clearing the gap between rooftops in a single bound. Ratbone landed nimbly on the other side, and sped after Trinia. She looked back in horror as the huge mongrel gained ground on her, squeezing through small holes, scrambling over low walls, threading across narrow plank bridges, and finding hidden shortcuts among the detritus and debris of the Shingles. Before she knew it, the brute was right behind her, no more than a dozen feet away. Desperately, she pulled a small wand from her belt, but as she prepared to speak the command word, the dog abruptly shimmered and changed before her eyes, until a burly, shabbily-dressed half-orc stood in front of her.
“Please,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “You must stop. We’re here to help you, but you’re not safe. If the mob catches you, they’ll kill you!”
“How do I know you’re not working with them?” Trinia cried, glancing back over her shoulder where she saw Valeris, and Katarina scrambling clumsily through the hovels, drawing closer and closer, while O’Reginald flitted erratically through the air, narrowly avoiding collisions with low-hanging beams.
“You have to trust us,” Ratbone said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that she didn’t. He sensed she was about to bolt again. Concentrating, he forced his body through another painful transformation, taking the form of a large ape. He’d seen one once in a menagerie, and had been impressed with its strength. Trinia gasped in horror and turned to run, but before she could go two steps, Ratbone grabbed her and pulled her into his crushing embrace. His grip was like a vice, and she knew there was no escape.
“Please!” she pleaded, breaking down into wracking sobs. “I’m being set up! I didn’t kill anyone! I don’t want to die!”
“We believe you,” Katarina said soothingly as she approached. “We just want to take you safely to others who will believe you as well. We want you to have a chance to tell your side of the story.”
“R…really?” Trinia stammered, a faint flicker of hope in her eyes. “You mean it?”
“You have my word,” Ratbone replied, returning to his true form once more, yet careful not to relax his hold on the wily girl. “ I will not allow you to come to harm.”
Gradually, he felt her begin to calm, and loosened his hold slightly.
“Now,” Kat said, “we need to see about getting you out of her discreetly.”
She reached into a pouch at her belt and drew out several small vials of dyes and unguents. If there was one thing Varisians were good at, it was being able to blend into their surroundings.
_______________________________________________________
The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek proved surprisingly easy, and Trinia was handed over to the Guard without incident.
“See that no harm comes to her,” Ratbone instructed the soldiers, “or you’ll answer to me.”
The guardsmen laughed nervously, but they saw no humor echoed in the half-orc’s eyes. They nodded briefly, then escorted the girl away. She glanced back over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the keep. As the five companions turned to go, however, another Guard stopped them.
“The Field Marshal asked that you report to her as soon as you returned. I should warn you, though, she’s not alone.”
“Why should we care?” Valeris glowered.
The guard shrugged. “It’s just that during the recent riots, one of those Shoanti kids went and got himself killed. Now the rest of them are all worked up…if it’s not one uprising about to erupt, it’s another! Field Marshal Kroft’s got the Shoanti ambassador in her office, trying to talk some sense into him. Guess she wants your input.”
The entered the Citadel and were escorted to Cressida’s office. When they entered, they saw that the Guardsman had spoken true. A tall, rail-thin Shoanti man of perhaps some sixty winters stood before her desk. He leaned heavily on a walking stick, the polished femur of some giant beast crowned with a firepelt cougar’s skull. He wore a shirt decorated with countless jangling animal bones, many painstakingly scrawled with dozens of tiny symbols and glyphs. A bearskin cloak was draped about his bony shoulders, and war paint in the shape of a skull decorated his face. The Shoanti’s eyes were milky, as if her were blind, and a regal, red-feathered razor crow perched on his arm.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” Cressida said as the man regarded them impassively. “I heard that you were successful in your mission. Congratulations. Allow me to introduce Thousand Bones, a Way-Keeper for the Skoan-Quah, the Clan of the Skull. He and his people within Korvosa have been instrumental in seeking peaceful accords between our people. However,” she sighed and glanced at the Shoanti before continuing, “during the most recent violence, one of Thousand Bones’ grandsons, a young warrior named Gaekhen, was murdered by a mob of vigilantes.”
As she paused, Thousand Bones began to speak, his voice deep, his words carefully chosen, but delivered with a barely restrained anger.
“My people have worked hard to understand yours, yet it seems each day we see new examples of how your people work just as hard to foster old hatreds. My grandson is dead, beaten to death by cowards in your city streets. I do not blame you, yet still Gaekhen is dead, and my son and his kin are not so forgiving as I. They wish to return to the Skoan-Quah in the Cinderlands, to join with the Sklar-Quah and rally to war against Korvosa. This would be disastrous, for both our peoples. Amends must be made. Our ways are not yours. If a body does not go whole to the fires of the gods, the smoke of a warrior’s spirit cannot rise to the Great Sky. If I could send Gaekhen’s body to the Great Sky with honor and dignity, his father and brothers would listen to me and stay their wrath…the talks of peace between my people and yours can continue. But he was not just murdered. His body was taken from the scene of his death, sold by a peddler of corpses to a necromancer named Rolth, a criminal to both our people. I have spoken with the spirits, and they have revealed to me that Gaekhen’s body has been taken to a place below your boneyard, a place the spirits call the Dead Warrens. With this knowledge, I could surely lead a group of my finest warriors into your boneyard to retrieve Gaekhen’s body, but this would be seen as an act of aggression by your people. No, it falls to you to make amends for what has been done. You must bring me Gaekhen’s body, lest we be forced to recover him ourselves. And although it pains my heart to say it…we will not be gentle if it comes to this.”
Thousand Bones nodded curtly to Cressida, and then turned and left the room without another word.
“I apologize for his behavior,” Cressida sighed as she seated herself on the corner of her desk, “but to a great extent I agree with his assessment. Someone tied to Korvosa needs to find Gaekhen’s body and return it to the Shoanti as a gesture of good will, or things will quickly go from bad to worse. Normally, I would contact the Church of Pharasma to organize an expedition into one of the warrens, but you’ve proven yourselves capable, and I have faith in you. Any questions?”
“It might seem like a silly question,” Ratbone asked, “but how will we recognize the boy if we find him?”
“An excellent question,” Cressida nodded. “Thousand Bones described him as about eighteen years old, with short brown hair and a distinctive scar from a firepelt’s claw on his left cheek. He also had several large and distinctive Shoanti tribal tattoos on his arms and torso. It’s unlikely that any other freshly-killed Shoanti are in the Dead Warrens today, so that should be a dead giveaway.”
“These Dead Warrens,” Herc’s baritone voice intoned, “what are they?”
“Gray District is riddled with underground chambers,” Cressida replied, “some of them burrowed by ghouls or other monsters, others remnants of ancient Shoanti burial grounds. Some of these are patrolled and kept clear by the Pharasmans, but the district is vast and tangled. The priests focus on containing the problems with undead and necromancers, but as soon as they wipe out one, it seems as if two are ready to spring up in its place. The problem’s particularly vexing in Potter’s Ward, where the bodies of the poor and homeless are buried. According to Thousand Bones, the Dead Warrens were one of his people’s burial vaults, chambers that lie under Potter’s Ward.”
“I’m familiar with Potter’s Ward,” Ratbone said softly. “I’ve known many among the street people who have gone to their final reward in that cold ground. Yet it’s a large place, and most of its graves unmarked. How will we find these warrens?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Cressida nodded again. “It just so happens that we have the man who sold Gaekhen’s body to Rolth in custody, a simpleton named Elkaris. He spilled everything when we told him what was going on and how much trouble he was in. In any event, he says he delivered the body via wheelbarrow to a partially collapsed mausoleum deep in Potter’s Ward, near the southern edge. A toppled and headless statue of a sword-wielding gargoyle lay in the dirt near the mausoleum’s entrance…he was told to leave the body behind the gargoyle. This location matches where Thousand Bones believes the Dead Warrens used to be located, so that’s the best place to start the search.”
________________________________________________________
Korvosa’s vast graveyard, the Gray District, was a mournful place even by day. Alone in the city, that place was quiet and calm in the face of the civil unrest, yet that calm was an unnatural stillness in the air, almost as if the cemetery were preparing itself for a vast influx of new dead. Certainly, that ominous feeling was nowhere more noticeable than in Potter’s Ward, the final resting ground for Korvosa’s poor and homeless. Mounds of unmarked dirt stretched far and wide, indicating sites of mass graves, while crumbling mausoleums from years ago, abandoned by their families as the Gray District expanded to the west, dotted the bleak landscape, forgotten and empty. Mourners did not visit there, for the dead buried in Potter’s Ward left behind few who regretted their passing.
Locating the mausoleum described by Elkaris was a relatively simple task. Ratbone, back in his mongrel form, quickly nosed around the small structure, searching for any clues as to recent traffic. He immediately located Elkaris’ tracks and a wheelbarrow trail, but more interestingly, he discovered several smaller humanoid tracks, each bearing only four toes. These led into the mausoleum itself, and when Ratbone followed them, he uncovered a poorly hidden trapdoor in the floor. Herc hoisted up the heavy wood, revealing a stone stair leading down into the earth. Single-file, Ratbone in the lead, they descended. The stairwell and the passage it emptied onto was dimly lit by patches of eerily glowing mold, filling the hall with cold, blue light. The air was musty and damp , with the stink of rotting flesh always present in the background. The corridor opened into a large room, supported by four wide pillars of stone. The ceiling arched in a dome nearly twenty-feet high. The walls were lined with skeletons caked into the mud…human bones mostly, but some smaller ones might have been from halflings, or perhaps children. Large pits sat to the east and west, each filled with heaps of hundreds of bones. On the far side of the room, a crude hole had been gouged into the wall, providing access to another tunnel.
Ratbone stepped cautiously into the room, his head lowered, swinging left and right. It was thus that he spotted something strange in the pits. Several of the bone heaps appeared to actually be intact skeletons. Even as he noted this, they began to move, rising from the ossuaries with jerky movements. Three came from each pit, fleshless bones gripping rusty scimitars in their hands. In addition, from the pit to the left came a larger skeleton, like that of some type of bear, yet its skull tapered into a beak rather than jaws…as if it were some odd combination of owl and bear. Ratbone snarled savagely as he stalked forward in a crouch, hackles raised. Herc flanked him, the pair intending to put themselves between the undead and their companions. The burly warrior swung his shield wide, shattering the nearest skeleton into a hundred individual bones. At the same time, Ratbone launched himself at another, dismembering it with his snapping jaws. In the next instant, however, the pair was forced back towards the tunnel as the hulking owlbear carcass lumbered into Herc, ripping at him with its claws, and another skeleton hacked at Ratbone’s foreleg. There the duo held, however, and within seconds, two more skeletons lay in pieces. Ratbone took apart the last, and then he and Herc turned their combined efforts against the owlbear. With the aid of a few timely magic missiles, courtesy of O’Reginald, the thing crumbled before the onslaught.
“Well done, gentlemen,” Katrina breathed heavily. “I must admit, my skills of persuasion are more suited to the living. I’m glad to have you by my side.”
“Let’s not go getting all dewy-eyed just yet,” Valeris snorted. “We haven’t found the corpse we’re looking for yet, and if this is any indication of what we have to look forward to, I’ll save my gratitude for when, and if we see the light of day again.”
The small passage on the far side of the chamber split not far beyond. The left branch opened into what appeared to be some sort of work room. Three wooden tables stood in the middle of the chamber, their surfaces stained red with old bloodshed. To the east stood a large hutch with wicker doors that opened into a straw-lined cage. A strange creature stood at one of the tables, upon which lay a freshly-dead body. The creature was small, like a dwarf, and its skin was pale to the point of being blue. Its eyes were huge, pupilless orbs, and a long, white moustache hung down to its chest. When the companions entered, it was in the midst of placing a small, winged animal, with four legs and a long proboscis, on the corpse. Three more of the things were already attached, apparently gorging greedily on blood. The odd little man yelped when he saw the intruders, and immediately reached behind him to unlatch the hutch. From inside, two more of the strange bird-like creatures buzzed out like giant mosquitoes. At the same time, the pale dwarf started towards a doorway on the far side of the room. Ratbone darted across the chamber, leaping the tables to cut him off. Herc moved to follow, but before he could take more than two steps, the buzzing avians were on him, stabbing their needle-like noses into his flesh and latching on with their sharp claws. Cursing, the big merc grabbed one of the creatures and crushed it in his bare hand. He reached for the second one, but suddenly staggered as blood loss left him light-headed. An instant later, he was reprieved as a streaking bolt of energy from O’Reginald’s wand fried the little beast, and it dropped crisply to the floor. Meanwhile, Ratbone skidded to a halt in front of the panicked derro, for that’s what the creature was. The tiny man yelped again, and then slapped his hands together in front of Ratbone’s face. To the druid’s dismay, a sound like a thunderclap assaulted his ears, causing the dog to shake his head furiously to clear the ringing. His quarry used the opportunity to dart past him, but Ratbone recovered quickly and lunged after, landing heavily on the creature’s back. Writhing and wiggling like an eel, the derro flipped around, producing a wickedly curved dagger in his right hand. He raised it, preparing to plunge it into the mongrel’s neck, but at the last moment, Ratbone thrust his neck forward and tore out the derro’s throat.
Unfortunately, the dead body was not Gaekhen’s. The group searched the rest of the chamber while Ratbone examined the body of the man he’d just slain. The druid hated having to yield to his more violent tendencies. He always hoped there would be a nonlethal solution to any conflict, and he felt bitterly disappointed when forced to resort to savagery. The room turned up no further clues as to the location of Gaekhen, and so the companions pressed on. The small tunnel towards which the derro had been fleeing led into a long, worked hallway. The walls and ceiling were encrusted with dozens of yawning skulls, their mouths open into dark holes in the walls. Cautiously, they began walking down, eyeing the ominous tableau with suspicion. Rightly so, for they had gone no more than half-way down, when in unison, several skulls on both sides of the hall began spewing forth a caustic acid from their open jaws. As the group ducked and cried out, trying to avoid the burning liquid, they failed to notice that three of the skulls detached themselves from the wall, trailing long, serpentine, skeletal bodies behind them. O’Reginald was the first to see them coming, but before the wizard could warn his companions, the nearest necrophidius rose up and began swaying rhythmically in front of him. O’Reginald’s jaw went slack, and his eyelids drooped as he became mesmerized by the hypnotic dance. Katarina was still batting at her smoldering skirts when she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and saw her friend’s predicament.
“Beware!” she cried, and then snatched the mage’s wand from his limp grip, turning it on the nearest creature. Ratbone leaped past her, barreling into the thing and tearing its skull from its body. He then turned and mauled a second one while Herc smashed the last one to flinders with sword and shield. With a start, O’Reginald shook himself free from his trance, and looked around in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You beat them all single-handedly,” Valeris laughed, slapping him on the back. “Good thing we brought you along.”
The rumors were vague at first: a suspect had been named in King Eodred’s murder. As with most rumors, however, they continued to grow, and also held more than a grain of truth. It seemed that in the weeks before his death, Eodred had commissioned a self-portrait by a local artist of some repute, a young woman named Trinia Sabor. The project required that she spend long hours alone with the king. In the aftermath of Eodred’s death, several of the castle guards recalled Trinia behaving “oddly” during her trips to see the king. Now, it seemed one of the guards had actually confessed to being a part of the painter’s plot to kill Eodred, and had seen her slipping a specially prepared poison powder into his tea the night he took ill and her portrait of him was complete. That confession, repeated in the presence of Sabina Merrin and several Korvosan Guard officers, had triggered a city-wide hunt for Trinia Sabor. Word of the confession spread rapidly, and the guard’s subsequent suicide (a leap from one of the towers of Castle Korvosa) cemented Korvosa’s anger. In no time, the artist’s name became a household word, and once more riots threatened to erupt in the streets. This time, however, the cries were not for the queen’s death, but the death of the king’s true murderer…Trinia Sabor.
As word of Trinia’s supposed-regicide continued to disseminate, the members of the K.I.A were contacted by a breathless Korvosan Guard, who burst into the common room of the Three Rings Tavern. He told them that Field Marshal Kroft needed to speak with them immediately, and would be arriving within a few minutes. The fact that she was coming to them was not lost on the companions. Something big was afoot. When Cressida herself entered, she quickly told them to follow her as she led them into a private room, stationing a few guards out front as she closed the door. When she turned to regard them, however, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Where’s Mandrake?” she asked, noticing that the paladin was not among them. “I thought I requested to see all of you.”
“He ain’t here,” Valeris growled as he picked at his fingernails with a dagger. “Couldn’t hack it.”
“What he means,” Katarina said, cutting her eyes at the duskblade, “is that Mandrake was recalled by the church. With the recent unrest, the Abadarans issued an edict that all of their clergy should return to the Bank.”
“I see,” Cressida nodded. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. In any event, you’ve doubtless heard the stories that the king’s killer has been named, and yet there’s something more going on here, I’m afraid. Queen Ileosa could have quietly had this Trinia Sabor arrested at any time, yet the way in which she revealed the information to the city seems to me like she wants the riots to return. Certainly, with the mob and the Hellknights out on the street, the girl doesn’t stand a chance at a trial…they’ll lynch her the moment they find her. Even if she is guilty, mob justice isn’t the way. Worse, if she’s innocent, the real killer can use this distraction to throw us off the trail forever. Before Trinia is executed, we need to be absolutely sure she did this thing, and that means we need to catch her before the mob. We know where she lives…a flat in Midland at 42 Moon Street…but soon, so will the mob. The Hellknights don’t seem to care as much about catching her as they do about containing the mob…something about the ‘order of law’ makes it a greater priority for them to contain than a possible assassin. I can’t say that I disagree completely, but the problem is the Hellknights are only making it worse. The mob’s covering most of Midland now, and Trinia’s flat is near the middle of the mess. I’ve got all available guards at work keeping things from getting any worse…and if I were to send them into Midland, they’d trigger a riot. I’m sure you can see where this is going. I need you to get into Midland, find Trinia, and bring her back to me so we can deliver her, safe and sound, to somewhere where she can be interrogated…preferably with magic, so that we can be absolutely sure about her role in Eodred’s death. Get in there, catch her, and get out without letting the mob get its hands on her. I’ll have agents and officers nearby. If you can get her to one of them, we’ll be in the clear. Any questions?”
“If the mob’s taken over the streets,” Ratbone asked quietly, “how do we get in and back out again?”
“You’re not identifiable as Guard,” Cressida said. “They shouldn’t bother you, but just the same, if you stick to the back streets and alleyways, you should be able to move around unmolested. Once you have Trinia, I suggest you be even more discreet in extracting her. Don’t let the mob see her face.”
The five companions nodded. They had their orders, and they knew their job.
________________________________________________________
The tenement building where Trinia lived was located in a densely built section of Midland, a place where, at ground level, direct sunlight was a rarity. Above, jury-rigged catwalks, overhanging roofs, lines of laundry, and homemade bridges of rope and boards created a cluttered tangle, a multi-level mess of gutters, upper floors, and rooftops. This was the slum-above, a place known as the Shingles.
Three men, one woman and a dog mounted the steps of 42 Moon Street, aware of the decidedly-unfriendly stares of a couple of locals seated on the stoop. At a gesture from the young Varisian woman, the dog sat obediently on the porch as she and the men went inside. The building was three stories, hot and cramped. Trinia’s flat, according to their intel, was on the top floor, southwest corner. The four had climbed to the second floor landing when a pair of tough-looking men appeared above them, blocking further progress.
“Don’t recall seeing you around here,” one of the men growled. “What’s your business?”
“We’re here visiting a friend,” Katarina replied calmly.
“Who would that be?” the man asked.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat said, her eyes meeting the gaze of the other directly.
“She’s not here,” the man said. “Moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Really?” Kat asked, cocking one eyebrow. “Well, she borrowed some things from me, so I think we’ll just go on up and see if she left them, or at least a forwarding address.”
The men showed no inclination to move at first, but when Herc stepped to the fore, they reconsidered as they eyed the bulk of the big man, and the large sword that hung on his hip. As the four companions pushed past, however, one of the men let out a low whistle, which was echoed several more times from somewhere above. It was a sure bet that Trinia, if she was still there, knew they were coming.
“Ratbone,” Katarina whispered. She had prepared a simple spell prior to their arrival that allowed the five of them to communicate with each other via a soft word no matter the actual distance between them. “Our quarry is on the alert. Be on the lookout in case she tries to slip away.” A soft whine of affirmation was the druid’s reply. When they reached Trinia’s door, Herc rapped sharply.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat called. “We’re here to help. Please open the door. We only wish to speak with you.”
No response. Katarina hadn’t really expected one, but she had hoped. She nodded once at Herc. The big mercenary tried the door. The knob turned, but it didn’t budge. Blocked from the other side. He lowered one shoulder and struck the door with the impact of a baby bull elephant. The timbers cracked and splintered, and the chairs propped against it on the far side scattered. The one-room flat combined all of the amenities of a bedroom, a kitchen, and a painter’s studio into one fifteen-foot-square space, leaving little room for much else. A stack of cheese and bread sat on the counter next to several full waterskins, while the easel in the opposite corner held a half-completed painting of an imp and a pseudodragon fighting atop a church steeple. A single window looked out over the tangled rooftops of the Shingles, while just under it, a woman slept in a curled-up position on a low bed. The four companions glanced suspiciously at one another. Once more, Kat nodded to Herc, and the mercenary cautiously approached the bed, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Halfway across the room, however, he paused and looked up. They all did, for they’d all heard the same thing: something creaked on the roof above. Herc dashed to the window and looked out. Not ten yards away crouched Trinia Sabor.
“Oh, frack!” the girl cursed. Then she stood up and began running full speed across the rooftop. As she did so, the image of the sleeping figure on the bed abruptly vanished.
“She’s rabbiting!” Herc cried, and then he disappeared out the window.
On the street below, Ratbone’s head jerked up as he saw a shadowy figure leap across an alley from one rooftop to the next. The dog growled low in his throat and bolted off the porch and down the alley. Fortunately, he had just disappeared from the eyes of curious onlookers when he quite literally vanished. In his place, O’Reginald stepped from the shadows. The young mage knew that roof hopping was not his forte’, and so he had transposed himself with the druid. Then, looking left and right to make sure no one had taken notice of his sudden appearance, he pulled a small flask from his tunic and upended it. Stepping once more into the shadows, he rose silently into the air, back towards the Shingles above.
Meanwhile, Herc’s boots scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling shingles of the roof that he ran across as he stumbled after the fleeing form of Trinia. Suddenly, the young girl leaped cat-like from one roof to the next, clearing an alley easily twenty-five feet across. The big warrior sighed deeply, stowed his shield across his back, and got a running start. He grunted as he jumped, but he knew from the moment that his feet left the roof that he had no chance of making it. Flailing wildly, he plunged towards the alley below, passing O’Reginald as the mage flew upwards. Fortunately, Herc landed in the middle of a garbage heap, avoiding any major injuries or broken bones. Kat and Valeris rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down, fearful of what they might see. Kat released a relieved breath when she saw Herc extricate himself from the trash.
“Looks ok to me,” Valeris chuckled. “Good thing he landed on his head.”
A moment later, both of them drew back in startled surprise as a large, furry shape hurtled past them, easily clearing the gap between rooftops in a single bound. Ratbone landed nimbly on the other side, and sped after Trinia. She looked back in horror as the huge mongrel gained ground on her, squeezing through small holes, scrambling over low walls, threading across narrow plank bridges, and finding hidden shortcuts among the detritus and debris of the Shingles. Before she knew it, the brute was right behind her, no more than a dozen feet away. Desperately, she pulled a small wand from her belt, but as she prepared to speak the command word, the dog abruptly shimmered and changed before her eyes, until a burly, shabbily-dressed half-orc stood in front of her.
“Please,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “You must stop. We’re here to help you, but you’re not safe. If the mob catches you, they’ll kill you!”
“How do I know you’re not working with them?” Trinia cried, glancing back over her shoulder where she saw Valeris, and Katarina scrambling clumsily through the hovels, drawing closer and closer, while O’Reginald flitted erratically through the air, narrowly avoiding collisions with low-hanging beams.
“You have to trust us,” Ratbone said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that she didn’t. He sensed she was about to bolt again. Concentrating, he forced his body through another painful transformation, taking the form of a large ape. He’d seen one once in a menagerie, and had been impressed with its strength. Trinia gasped in horror and turned to run, but before she could go two steps, Ratbone grabbed her and pulled her into his crushing embrace. His grip was like a vice, and she knew there was no escape.
“Please!” she pleaded, breaking down into wracking sobs. “I’m being set up! I didn’t kill anyone! I don’t want to die!”
“We believe you,” Katarina said soothingly as she approached. “We just want to take you safely to others who will believe you as well. We want you to have a chance to tell your side of the story.”
“R…really?” Trinia stammered, a faint flicker of hope in her eyes. “You mean it?”
“You have my word,” Ratbone replied, returning to his true form once more, yet careful not to relax his hold on the wily girl. “ I will not allow you to come to harm.”
Gradually, he felt her begin to calm, and loosened his hold slightly.
“Now,” Kat said, “we need to see about getting you out of her discreetly.”
She reached into a pouch at her belt and drew out several small vials of dyes and unguents. If there was one thing Varisians were good at, it was being able to blend into their surroundings.
_______________________________________________________
The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek proved surprisingly easy, and Trinia was handed over to the Guard without incident.
“See that no harm comes to her,” Ratbone instructed the soldiers, “or you’ll answer to me.”
The guardsmen laughed nervously, but they saw no humor echoed in the half-orc’s eyes. They nodded briefly, then escorted the girl away. She glanced back over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the keep. As the five companions turned to go, however, another Guard stopped them.
“The Field Marshal asked that you report to her as soon as you returned. I should warn you, though, she’s not alone.”
“Why should we care?” Valeris glowered.
The guard shrugged. “It’s just that during the recent riots, one of those Shoanti kids went and got himself killed. Now the rest of them are all worked up…if it’s not one uprising about to erupt, it’s another! Field Marshal Kroft’s got the Shoanti ambassador in her office, trying to talk some sense into him. Guess she wants your input.”
The entered the Citadel and were escorted to Cressida’s office. When they entered, they saw that the Guardsman had spoken true. A tall, rail-thin Shoanti man of perhaps some sixty winters stood before her desk. He leaned heavily on a walking stick, the polished femur of some giant beast crowned with a firepelt cougar’s skull. He wore a shirt decorated with countless jangling animal bones, many painstakingly scrawled with dozens of tiny symbols and glyphs. A bearskin cloak was draped about his bony shoulders, and war paint in the shape of a skull decorated his face. The Shoanti’s eyes were milky, as if her were blind, and a regal, red-feathered razor crow perched on his arm.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” Cressida said as the man regarded them impassively. “I heard that you were successful in your mission. Congratulations. Allow me to introduce Thousand Bones, a Way-Keeper for the Skoan-Quah, the Clan of the Skull. He and his people within Korvosa have been instrumental in seeking peaceful accords between our people. However,” she sighed and glanced at the Shoanti before continuing, “during the most recent violence, one of Thousand Bones’ grandsons, a young warrior named Gaekhen, was murdered by a mob of vigilantes.”
As she paused, Thousand Bones began to speak, his voice deep, his words carefully chosen, but delivered with a barely restrained anger.
“My people have worked hard to understand yours, yet it seems each day we see new examples of how your people work just as hard to foster old hatreds. My grandson is dead, beaten to death by cowards in your city streets. I do not blame you, yet still Gaekhen is dead, and my son and his kin are not so forgiving as I. They wish to return to the Skoan-Quah in the Cinderlands, to join with the Sklar-Quah and rally to war against Korvosa. This would be disastrous, for both our peoples. Amends must be made. Our ways are not yours. If a body does not go whole to the fires of the gods, the smoke of a warrior’s spirit cannot rise to the Great Sky. If I could send Gaekhen’s body to the Great Sky with honor and dignity, his father and brothers would listen to me and stay their wrath…the talks of peace between my people and yours can continue. But he was not just murdered. His body was taken from the scene of his death, sold by a peddler of corpses to a necromancer named Rolth, a criminal to both our people. I have spoken with the spirits, and they have revealed to me that Gaekhen’s body has been taken to a place below your boneyard, a place the spirits call the Dead Warrens. With this knowledge, I could surely lead a group of my finest warriors into your boneyard to retrieve Gaekhen’s body, but this would be seen as an act of aggression by your people. No, it falls to you to make amends for what has been done. You must bring me Gaekhen’s body, lest we be forced to recover him ourselves. And although it pains my heart to say it…we will not be gentle if it comes to this.”
Thousand Bones nodded curtly to Cressida, and then turned and left the room without another word.
“I apologize for his behavior,” Cressida sighed as she seated herself on the corner of her desk, “but to a great extent I agree with his assessment. Someone tied to Korvosa needs to find Gaekhen’s body and return it to the Shoanti as a gesture of good will, or things will quickly go from bad to worse. Normally, I would contact the Church of Pharasma to organize an expedition into one of the warrens, but you’ve proven yourselves capable, and I have faith in you. Any questions?”
“It might seem like a silly question,” Ratbone asked, “but how will we recognize the boy if we find him?”
“An excellent question,” Cressida nodded. “Thousand Bones described him as about eighteen years old, with short brown hair and a distinctive scar from a firepelt’s claw on his left cheek. He also had several large and distinctive Shoanti tribal tattoos on his arms and torso. It’s unlikely that any other freshly-killed Shoanti are in the Dead Warrens today, so that should be a dead giveaway.”
“These Dead Warrens,” Herc’s baritone voice intoned, “what are they?”
“Gray District is riddled with underground chambers,” Cressida replied, “some of them burrowed by ghouls or other monsters, others remnants of ancient Shoanti burial grounds. Some of these are patrolled and kept clear by the Pharasmans, but the district is vast and tangled. The priests focus on containing the problems with undead and necromancers, but as soon as they wipe out one, it seems as if two are ready to spring up in its place. The problem’s particularly vexing in Potter’s Ward, where the bodies of the poor and homeless are buried. According to Thousand Bones, the Dead Warrens were one of his people’s burial vaults, chambers that lie under Potter’s Ward.”
“I’m familiar with Potter’s Ward,” Ratbone said softly. “I’ve known many among the street people who have gone to their final reward in that cold ground. Yet it’s a large place, and most of its graves unmarked. How will we find these warrens?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Cressida nodded again. “It just so happens that we have the man who sold Gaekhen’s body to Rolth in custody, a simpleton named Elkaris. He spilled everything when we told him what was going on and how much trouble he was in. In any event, he says he delivered the body via wheelbarrow to a partially collapsed mausoleum deep in Potter’s Ward, near the southern edge. A toppled and headless statue of a sword-wielding gargoyle lay in the dirt near the mausoleum’s entrance…he was told to leave the body behind the gargoyle. This location matches where Thousand Bones believes the Dead Warrens used to be located, so that’s the best place to start the search.”
________________________________________________________
Korvosa’s vast graveyard, the Gray District, was a mournful place even by day. Alone in the city, that place was quiet and calm in the face of the civil unrest, yet that calm was an unnatural stillness in the air, almost as if the cemetery were preparing itself for a vast influx of new dead. Certainly, that ominous feeling was nowhere more noticeable than in Potter’s Ward, the final resting ground for Korvosa’s poor and homeless. Mounds of unmarked dirt stretched far and wide, indicating sites of mass graves, while crumbling mausoleums from years ago, abandoned by their families as the Gray District expanded to the west, dotted the bleak landscape, forgotten and empty. Mourners did not visit there, for the dead buried in Potter’s Ward left behind few who regretted their passing.
Locating the mausoleum described by Elkaris was a relatively simple task. Ratbone, back in his mongrel form, quickly nosed around the small structure, searching for any clues as to recent traffic. He immediately located Elkaris’ tracks and a wheelbarrow trail, but more interestingly, he discovered several smaller humanoid tracks, each bearing only four toes. These led into the mausoleum itself, and when Ratbone followed them, he uncovered a poorly hidden trapdoor in the floor. Herc hoisted up the heavy wood, revealing a stone stair leading down into the earth. Single-file, Ratbone in the lead, they descended. The stairwell and the passage it emptied onto was dimly lit by patches of eerily glowing mold, filling the hall with cold, blue light. The air was musty and damp , with the stink of rotting flesh always present in the background. The corridor opened into a large room, supported by four wide pillars of stone. The ceiling arched in a dome nearly twenty-feet high. The walls were lined with skeletons caked into the mud…human bones mostly, but some smaller ones might have been from halflings, or perhaps children. Large pits sat to the east and west, each filled with heaps of hundreds of bones. On the far side of the room, a crude hole had been gouged into the wall, providing access to another tunnel.
Ratbone stepped cautiously into the room, his head lowered, swinging left and right. It was thus that he spotted something strange in the pits. Several of the bone heaps appeared to actually be intact skeletons. Even as he noted this, they began to move, rising from the ossuaries with jerky movements. Three came from each pit, fleshless bones gripping rusty scimitars in their hands. In addition, from the pit to the left came a larger skeleton, like that of some type of bear, yet its skull tapered into a beak rather than jaws…as if it were some odd combination of owl and bear. Ratbone snarled savagely as he stalked forward in a crouch, hackles raised. Herc flanked him, the pair intending to put themselves between the undead and their companions. The burly warrior swung his shield wide, shattering the nearest skeleton into a hundred individual bones. At the same time, Ratbone launched himself at another, dismembering it with his snapping jaws. In the next instant, however, the pair was forced back towards the tunnel as the hulking owlbear carcass lumbered into Herc, ripping at him with its claws, and another skeleton hacked at Ratbone’s foreleg. There the duo held, however, and within seconds, two more skeletons lay in pieces. Ratbone took apart the last, and then he and Herc turned their combined efforts against the owlbear. With the aid of a few timely magic missiles, courtesy of O’Reginald, the thing crumbled before the onslaught.
“Well done, gentlemen,” Katrina breathed heavily. “I must admit, my skills of persuasion are more suited to the living. I’m glad to have you by my side.”
“Let’s not go getting all dewy-eyed just yet,” Valeris snorted. “We haven’t found the corpse we’re looking for yet, and if this is any indication of what we have to look forward to, I’ll save my gratitude for when, and if we see the light of day again.”
The small passage on the far side of the chamber split not far beyond. The left branch opened into what appeared to be some sort of work room. Three wooden tables stood in the middle of the chamber, their surfaces stained red with old bloodshed. To the east stood a large hutch with wicker doors that opened into a straw-lined cage. A strange creature stood at one of the tables, upon which lay a freshly-dead body. The creature was small, like a dwarf, and its skin was pale to the point of being blue. Its eyes were huge, pupilless orbs, and a long, white moustache hung down to its chest. When the companions entered, it was in the midst of placing a small, winged animal, with four legs and a long proboscis, on the corpse. Three more of the things were already attached, apparently gorging greedily on blood. The odd little man yelped when he saw the intruders, and immediately reached behind him to unlatch the hutch. From inside, two more of the strange bird-like creatures buzzed out like giant mosquitoes. At the same time, the pale dwarf started towards a doorway on the far side of the room. Ratbone darted across the chamber, leaping the tables to cut him off. Herc moved to follow, but before he could take more than two steps, the buzzing avians were on him, stabbing their needle-like noses into his flesh and latching on with their sharp claws. Cursing, the big merc grabbed one of the creatures and crushed it in his bare hand. He reached for the second one, but suddenly staggered as blood loss left him light-headed. An instant later, he was reprieved as a streaking bolt of energy from O’Reginald’s wand fried the little beast, and it dropped crisply to the floor. Meanwhile, Ratbone skidded to a halt in front of the panicked derro, for that’s what the creature was. The tiny man yelped again, and then slapped his hands together in front of Ratbone’s face. To the druid’s dismay, a sound like a thunderclap assaulted his ears, causing the dog to shake his head furiously to clear the ringing. His quarry used the opportunity to dart past him, but Ratbone recovered quickly and lunged after, landing heavily on the creature’s back. Writhing and wiggling like an eel, the derro flipped around, producing a wickedly curved dagger in his right hand. He raised it, preparing to plunge it into the mongrel’s neck, but at the last moment, Ratbone thrust his neck forward and tore out the derro’s throat.
Unfortunately, the dead body was not Gaekhen’s. The group searched the rest of the chamber while Ratbone examined the body of the man he’d just slain. The druid hated having to yield to his more violent tendencies. He always hoped there would be a nonlethal solution to any conflict, and he felt bitterly disappointed when forced to resort to savagery. The room turned up no further clues as to the location of Gaekhen, and so the companions pressed on. The small tunnel towards which the derro had been fleeing led into a long, worked hallway. The walls and ceiling were encrusted with dozens of yawning skulls, their mouths open into dark holes in the walls. Cautiously, they began walking down, eyeing the ominous tableau with suspicion. Rightly so, for they had gone no more than half-way down, when in unison, several skulls on both sides of the hall began spewing forth a caustic acid from their open jaws. As the group ducked and cried out, trying to avoid the burning liquid, they failed to notice that three of the skulls detached themselves from the wall, trailing long, serpentine, skeletal bodies behind them. O’Reginald was the first to see them coming, but before the wizard could warn his companions, the nearest necrophidius rose up and began swaying rhythmically in front of him. O’Reginald’s jaw went slack, and his eyelids drooped as he became mesmerized by the hypnotic dance. Katarina was still batting at her smoldering skirts when she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and saw her friend’s predicament.
“Beware!” she cried, and then snatched the mage’s wand from his limp grip, turning it on the nearest creature. Ratbone leaped past her, barreling into the thing and tearing its skull from its body. He then turned and mauled a second one while Herc smashed the last one to flinders with sword and shield. With a start, O’Reginald shook himself free from his trance, and looked around in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You beat them all single-handedly,” Valeris laughed, slapping him on the back. “Good thing we brought you along.”
JollyDoc
Explorer
Well, as the fickle Alabama weather so often goes, the snow melted and we did play after all, so here's a little teaser..
1. A new ally is discovered unexpectedly within the Dead Warrens.
2. The search for the missing Shoanti goes to pieces...literally!
3. Rolth is not in residence, but his apprentice is, and he proves a challenging foe, especially for Ratbone.
4. Finally, the mission is completed, and Gaekhen's body is returned, but...
5. A new challenge arises when Trinia's execution is ordered.
6. Alas, the festivities are interupted by the sudden appearance of a legendary hero.
7. Will the K.I.A. help or hinder Black Jack?
8. In the aftermath of the execution, a simple request from an old friend begins a new, sinister adventure.
1. A new ally is discovered unexpectedly within the Dead Warrens.
2. The search for the missing Shoanti goes to pieces...literally!
3. Rolth is not in residence, but his apprentice is, and he proves a challenging foe, especially for Ratbone.
4. Finally, the mission is completed, and Gaekhen's body is returned, but...
5. A new challenge arises when Trinia's execution is ordered.
6. Alas, the festivities are interupted by the sudden appearance of a legendary hero.
7. Will the K.I.A. help or hinder Black Jack?
8. In the aftermath of the execution, a simple request from an old friend begins a new, sinister adventure.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Great thing with the snow!
Since their run-in with Trina before, they will not have let her be executed.
