Full Moon Over Vesh (run of 03-09-04, pt 1)
Discontinuity Note: In the last story entry you will notice that Caerwyn was definitely upstairs in the room and fighting with the group. In this entry you will notice that Caerwyn enters the scene from downstairs completely unaware of the fight upstairs. Caerwyn’s player was not present in the previous run, and we played his character for him. That explains the gleeful cry and shoving of the table. Then we forgot, and when he rejoined the game, we brought his character in as if he had not been present before. Oops.
Having received the note from his friends on their whereabouts, Caerwyn rushes over to Harnett’s shop. He intercepts a man fleeing down the back stairs. “Where you going, friend?” asks Caerwyn, placing a firm hand on the man’s shoulder. The man tries to move past him, “None of your business, Mack.” Caerwyn holds the man fast. “These guys are upstairs attacking me boss. I’m going to get the law.”
“How convenient,” says Caerwyn, “since I am the law. Let’s just go upstairs and sort this out.” He turns the man back toward the stairs, but the man lunges and sinks his teeth deep into Caerwyn’s arm who is quite taken aback. “Yield,” he commands as he draws his sword. “Bite me,” the stranger snarls as he licks blood from his lips. The man lunges to bite him again, even as he starts to transform, but Caerwyn is prepared. As the creature leaps forward, Caerwyn moves his wrist slightly, aligning his sword, and the creature impales itself, reaching towards Caerwyn to claw and bite. His claws scratch against Caerwyn’s armor and his teeth sink into the soft skin of his neck. Caerwyn reels from the smell of his breath. “You don’t get many dates, do you?” The creature gurgles an answer and slides slowly off the sword and onto the ground just as Lucre appears at the top of the stairs.
Caerwyn reaches into his religious knowledge and realizes that Corean’s warriors wield silver swords against lycanthropes. He calls up to Lucre, “Are you ok?” Lucre slides down the banister. “They turn into rats when dead,” he says pointing at the man on the floor. “Otherwise, they heal.” Caerwyn stabs the prostrate figure again and the body shrinks into a large rat. “Good to know,” he smiles.
They drag his body and effects upstairs. Kira is very concerned that Caerwyn, Lucre and Marja were bitten. She relates the creatures comment to Lucre, “Welcome to the family.” Caerwyn inspects the wounds, detecting evil, but senses nothing. “I’m not sure, but I think this might be bad, more than a heal spell can handle. We have a little time, though.”
Terri and Kalina slip off to go to the thieves guild while the others take Harnett to the guard. Caerwyn finds Lt. Rufus, and the two of them slip into the office as the others take Harnett to the lock-up. Marja passes Caerwyn the note.
“He had hired lycenthropes?” Rufus is staggered. He steps into a side room and comes back with a large, well-worn book. He reads, “Statute 227/Stroke Zed – punishable by death. What a birthday present! Next you’ll be telling me Maj. Keiran fell off a bridge. You know, they serve a good cup of ale at the Boot and Hole next door. I would love to hear the story.”
“No time now. We’ve got to be at the temple before the moon rises,” Caerwyn is all business as he turns to leave. “However,” he pauses at the door, “Marja rarely turns down a pint, and she weaves a clever tale. You might seek her out some time.” In one of his rare casual moments he winks at Rufus as he leaves.
Out in the street he takes Marja and Lucre aside. “I lined up your next date,” he tells Marja, but first we need to go to the temple.” Marja is sure she’s been insulted, but she’s not exactly sure how. They leave the group to head back to the inn, and they once again retrace the path to the temple.
Meanwhile, taking a cue from Garnet, Kalina has turned herself into a small snake and has wrapped herself around Terri’s wrist like a bracelet as Terri wanders from inn to inn talking to people with winks and innuendoes. She has a long conversation about the weather, wink, wink, then heads to the dark corner of a tavern to talk to a man about exotic merchandise. Finally the name of Triscalon enters the conversation along with a promise to “set you up right.” She’s to go to the Rusty Nail at 10.
At Madriel’s Temple it doesn’t take long for the three to find a familiar face. “we have a small problem,” Caerwyn whispers pointing at their bites. “Of course, if the friends of our beloved Liza and our noble duke need healing…” Caerwyn stops her from continuing. “It’s more than that.” He points to the bite marks again. “Lycanthropes,” he whispers. The young woman turns pale. Gazing out the window at the sun she ushers them into a back room. “We haven’t much time,” she cautions as she motions for them to wait and slips away.
Moments later an elderly, but straight backed priestess enters the room, Liza at her side. “Oh how dreadful,” utters Liza, “after all you’ve done for us and our city.” “Hush child,” coos the old woman. “All will be made well again.” She goes to a side table and crushes some herbs with a mortar and pestle. “This is belladonna.” “Thank you,” says Marja. “Not you, My Dear,” the priestess chuckles, “the herbs.” Marja blushes. “Now step over to this basin and stick out your tongues.” The three obey, approaching a long wash tub. She places a dab of the herb mixture on each of their tongues. Lucre and Caerwyn bend over in nausea from the taste. Their eyes roll back in their heads and they vomit into the basin. The herbs taste vile to Marja too, but she does not throw up. She collapses to her knees as her body shakes with a high fever.
“You will have to stay a little, My Dear.” The elderly woman wipes Marja’s face with a towel. Lucre runs over to help her to her feet. “You can stay with her if you want to,” offers the priestess. “Oh,” Lucre stutters, “We’re not that kind of friends.” Then he looks at Marja who seems disappointed. “I mean, we’re hang-out-in-the-same-tavern kind of friends, but…” He turns beet red. “We’ll both stay,” offers Caerwyn.
Marja’s fever remains high. They make her comfortable on some pillows in a small room and bring hot broth for her to sip. The wound in her shoulder aches, and the skin around it feels very hot to the touch. Several young clerics are brought through to watch her perform the belladonna test for them. “You’re very kind to do this for us,” a teacher-priest thanks her. Lucre pipes in, “Marja’s always willing to contribute to a young man’s education.” “How generous,” says the priest as he ushers the novices out of the room.
Finally, shortly after the sun has set, but before the moon has risen, the elderly priestess returns with an elderly priest. They chant together and lay their hands on Marja’s head and shoulder. Marja feels as though the wind has been knocked out of her, then a warmth spreads through her even as she feels her fever break. An oily black mist seeps out of the wound, sinks to the ground and dissipates. The silver rays of the full moon stream through the window. “I guess I had a pretty close call,” she whispers. The old man strokes her cheek. “You’ll be fine now,” he assures her. Marja pays for the healing, and the three walk into the crisp evening air.
