Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 288
No Remorse
The tapestries themselves are part of the trap – they have weights sewn into their edges and come down like nets. Most of the Company avoids them, but Kibi and Ernie become covered and entangled.
Two of the assassins drop down on either side of Morningstar and strike her with vicious sneak-attacks. The damage is gruesome, but there is a silver lining: thanks to Ernie’s heroes’ feast, she (like all the party) is now immune to the virulent poison that drips from the enemy blades.
A third assassin – a spellcaster – strikes Aravis with a dimensional anchor, and the wizard glows green.
“No escape this time,” he hisses through his black mask.
Lord Dafron himself rises smoothly from his chair, and makes a motion like he’s drawing a sword. He doesn’t seem to have a sword – it looks like he’s now brandishing a piece of paper – but he swings at Aravis and strikes him with an invisible blade.
“I don’t think that’s Dafron,” Aravis thinks to the others over the mind link.
“Probably the bodyguard with an illusion,” thinks Grey Wolf.
Yet another assailant zaps Morningstar with a wand, and she too becomes dimensionally anchored. It looks like the previous enemy’s assessment is correct, and the party will not be teleporting away this time.
To end the surprise round, a cleric among the assassins casts greater command, but the Company proves highly resistant. Only the weak-willed Flicker succumbs to the order to Halt. (It turns out the caster himself also has to make a will save, as the spell is turned around by Dranko’s necklace of mind-spell inversion, but he resists.)
Dranko, recovering first from the sudden attack, slides into a flanking position and lashes with his whip. Alas, the more experienced assassin is not perturbed in the slightest by his tactical position, and Dranko is unable to strike with extra precision.
One of the assassins next to Morningstar smiles behind his mask, and slips his short sword through a joint in her armor. Already heavily wounded, Morningstar drops unconscious to the tiled floor. Another assassin attacks Grey Wolf, and though he only manages a single hit, it’s excruciatingly painful. Yes, these are clearly the same trained professionals that nearly killed them just days earlier.
Grey Wolf thinks he has the answer. He uses his Spellsword ability to load greater fireburst into Bostock, and Bostock’s ability to Maximize it. He strikes true with the blade, and a roaring pillar of fire erupts from the point of impact, enveloping the assassin. But when the fire clears, his enemy is only mildly singed, having evaded the entire effect. Damn!
More painful indignities are visited upon Aravis, as he’s struck blind by a power word from one of his foes, and then slashed by “Dafron,” with a sword blow that also leaves him fatigued.
Ernie looses both a spiritual weapon and Beryn Sur out from beneath his tapestry, while Kibi casts xorn movement and escapes into the ground beneath the floor. Seconds later he pops up on the other side of the room and casts an earthbolt into a concentrated knot of enemies.
The other assassin standing over the unconscious Morningstar takes a casual swipe across her throat before moving over to Aravis, a sure killing blow to the Ellish priestess. But Dranko staves off her death with close wounds, bringing her back from the brink into the realm of the merely unconscious.
Kibi is targeted with another wand-fired dimension anchor, but it’s negated by the dwarf’s mantle of spell resistance. Grey Wolf is not so protected, and joins the ranks of the anchored.
It’s one of those moments in battle where things look extremely grim. Surrounded by trained killers, with their main cleric down, Flicker commanded into inaction, Grey Wolf badly injured, and Aravis blind and near death himself. And with multiple party members locked down, there will be no hurried escape under fog cover, as is the party’s preferred means of getting out of this sort of scrape.
“Pewter,” thinks Aravis through his pain. “I need you to be my eyes.”
“You got it, boss,” answers his familiar. “And I know where you’re going. Your best bet is to step straight back and turn right about thirty degrees. You’ll get just about all of them. And Grey Wolf, but that can’t be helped.”
“Grey Wolf,” thinks Aravis. “Prismatic spray coming. Duck!”
Aravis follows Pewter’s instructions and casts his spell, catching seven of the assailants in the blast. He knows it’s a gamble – three of the possible beams are easily evaded by assassins of this caliber. But luck is on his side today:
One assassin is driven insane.
One assassin vanishes, sent to Astral Plane.
One assassin starts foaming at the mouth, turns a sickly mustard color beneath his mask, and drops dead.
One assassin becomes statuary.
Of the remaining two assassins, one is mightily sickened by poison though manages not to die. Only the leader – a no-nonsense woman named One Swift Death – is entirely unaffected by the spell.
The man posing as Lord Dafron (who, as the party surmises, is really the hired bodyguard One Strong Shield) considers himself lucky to merely be burned by acid.
And Grey Wolf comes out just fine, resisting the spell’s calcifying energies. Following his fantastically efficacious blast, Aravis uses his tongue stud of potion quickening to gulp down a healing draught.
So, in three short seconds, the battle has gone from near-certain disaster to practically the mopping up phase. Dranko heals Morningstar back to consciousness, Flicker snaps out of the greater command, and Grey Wolf wraps up a number of bad guys in dancing chains. The most effective attack the enemies manage to launch for the rest of the battle is a feeblemind – but that is cast by the insane guy, directly at the bodyguard! One Strong Shield starts to drool.
Empowered cone of cold from Kibi. Pewter-guided lightning bolt from Aravis. Massive sneak-attack from Flicker. One of the wand-wielding assassins, soon finding himself the last villain standing, throws his hands in the air and drops his wand.
Grey Wolf looms over him. “You should start thinking of a way to stop me from taking your spell components.”
The assassin looks confused. “I do not have any spell components on me, good sir.”
Grey Wolf, whose spell assassin’s senses requires assassin fingers as components, begs to differ. He starts to count them: “One, two, three...”
The assassin goes pale. “What do I have to do?” he asks with some desperation.
“Let’s start with our stuff,” says Grey Wolf, “the stuff that you gentlemen acquired from us during out last encounter.”
“I know nothing about that!” the assassin protests.
“Then start knowing!” says Ernie.
“I cannot!” the prisoner implores. “I would, if I knew anything!”
Dranko clears his throat. “It is fair to say that we are displeased,” he says darkly.
* *
They do their heavy questioning under a battery of spells: zone of truth, detect thoughts and discern lies. Dranko gets right to the point.
“Where’s Dafron? The man who hired you?”
“I don’t know anything about the man who hired us,” says the assassin (whose name is Two Graceful Leaps). “I was taking my orders from her.” He points to the body of One Swift Death.
“Where was she getting her orders from?” demands Dranko.
“Our employer,” Leaps says, honestly.
“Then tell me about him!”
Leaps sighs. “I already told you. And while I know you will kill me, the truth is I cannot, because I don’t know anything about him.”
The various truth spells indicate that this is so, so Dranko tries another tack. He motions to One Strong Shield.
“Tell me about this man who’s dribbling.”
Two Leaps glances at the feebleminded man-at-arms. “Our leader, Swift Death, told us that our employer would also have his own man working along side us. That is him. I don’t know any more about him.”
“How is that you knew we would be here now?," asks Dranko. “How long have you been waiting for us?”
“We have been waiting for some time -- since the previous attack on you failed. I was not present at the previous encounter; in fact, this was my first assignment. Swift Deaths said: ‘take this wand. Point it at our targets, and zap.’ I am sorry I cannot tell you more. Though I have a question for you: if I continue to answer all of your questions, and truthfully, are you still going to kill me?”
“We don’t know,” says Morningstar wearily.
“You see,” says Dranko, “we don’t kill people as a business. We kill people because they annoy us.”
Two Leaps looks solemn. “I am familiar with men of your profession,” he says. “You roam around the countryside, looking for deeds to do, often involving the killing of people. Sometimes you are paid for this, yes?”
Gods, it’s going to be one of these discussions.
While some in the party take part in the interrogations, the others set themselves to the looting. Grey Wolf wasn’t kidding about the fingers, but figures dead ones will do.
“That is unseemly” Bostock declares.
Grey Wolf sighs and pulls out a dagger.
“I was not referring to my own personal involvement,” the sword clarifies. “I find the harvesting of body parts distasteful. Perhaps you should not be casting a spell that requires human digits.”
“It makes me a better attacker...” Grey Wolf begins to protest.
“I’m not sure it’s worth it. And while I’m on the subject, your barbed chains are also disturbing. Are you aware that they are possessed of a somewhat evil necromantic nature? You have great fighting prowess, and formidable arcane abilities, but perhaps you should choose your spells from among the less unsavory.”
Grey Wolf rubs his temples.
Flicker, one of the most efficient looters on Abernia, stands and frowns. “Our stuff isn’t here,” he says, annoyed.
Back to interrogation. Morningstar steps forward and gets in the assassin’s face.
“Here’s our dilemma,” she says. “We’ll let you go, and Ernest here will count on this experience having changed you, and he’ll hope you live a life of doing good deeds. On the other hand, our experience tells me that you’ll probably just go back to being a hired killer.”
Reading his thoughts, Morningstar hears this: If the Guild discovers that I’ve fled, alive, from a job, they’ll hunt me down and kill me. She shares that with the others.
“You don’t have to flee,” says Flicker. “We could kidnap you!”
“Intriguing,” admits Two Leaps. “Where would you take me?”
“We could drop him off on some other plane,” suggests Aravis.
“Look, give us a reason why we shouldn’t kill you,” says Dranko.
“Because,” says Leaps, “after today I’ll make sure you never see me again.”
Reading his thoughts, Morningstar knows that while this is technically true, his first order of business would be to get back into the good graces of the Assassins Guild.
“Are you in the Assassins’ Guild?” asks Dranko. “And if so, how did you join?”
Leaps nods. “I was invited, because of my success as a cat burglar. I said yes, because the pay is good, and there are poor consequences for saying ‘no.””
“What’s your name?” asks Aravis.
“Two Graceful Leaps.”
There’s more mind-link bickering among the party, most notably between Ernie (advocating mercy) and Morningstar (failing to understand why Two Leaps is still breathing.) Sending him to prison is a poor option in Mirj, where the jails are as porous as the bribes are numerous. In the end they reach a compromise: Aravis casts polymorph any object and turns Two Graceful Leaps into a cat.
That taken care of, they move on to the slack-jawed One Strong Shield, still under an illusion spell that makes him look (presumably) like Lord Dafron. Morningstar casts memory read, targeting the memory of “the last time he received orders from Lord Dafron.”
The memory takes place in the very room they’re already in. Lord Dafron sits across from him. Strong Shield in his normal aspect is a tall, broad-shouldered, battle-hardened guy who takes pride in his conditioning.
“Do you understand?” says Dafron. “We will go over this one more time. You are going to be made to look like me. They will hopefully come right in, and will probably try to arrest me. They are do-gooders, and are unlikely to simply attack you unless provoked. The team will be hiding in the room upstairs. Between you and them, and their new recruits, you should have enough combined might to take them out. There will be a lot of chaos. The people you will be fighting alongside are very good in close quarters. Plus, they will be slowly draining away the strength and vitality of your enemies, as their blades will be poisoned. Do not touch them, or get nicked. Do you understand your orders?”
“Yes I do,” says Shield.
“Are you happy with your payment?” asks Dafron.
“Yes I am.”
“Very good.” Dafron stands. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. You may be waiting here for some time, as we don’t know exactly when they’ll be showing up. You may be bored for a day or two. If I learn anything more, I’ll let you know.”
Dafron leaves through the same door that Aravis arcane locked right before the recent melee.
Aravis now unlocks that door, and Morningstar goes first so that she can cast more thought captures. Ten feet down a short hallway she bumps a low tripwire that triggers a scything blade from a slot in the wall. It slashes across her stomach.
“Morningstar!” yells Dranko. “That’s so cool! I’ve never actually seen one of those before. Now, hold on...”
He heals her.
They proceed with more caution, Flicker out in front this time. Two more thought captures don’t reveal any recent or emotional thoughts. As they move down a particularly long stretch of tunnel, Kibi senses that they’re passing under the wall, and into an area below the Upper City.
They find another well-furnished study, and a particularly opulent bedroom. A third room is actually being used for storage; two large trunks have been pushed up against a far wall. One contains about half of their missing stuff, and has a note along with it that says “O.S.S.” The other trunk contains the rest of their pilfered belongings, along with some gems and trade bars. Both trunks are lined with lead.
After about half an hour of moving slowly through the extensive tunnel network, they come to a stout wooden door that looks different from the smuggler doors. After Flicker disarms a poison needle trap, Dranko casts omen of peril before they open it. Seeing an hour into the future, the result is “safety.”
So emboldened, they walk through and into a large basement – better maintained and well-built than the smugglers’ rooms. It’s full of furniture, paintings, statues and similar upper-class decorations. Morningstar casts another thought capture here and gets one: I hope that Lord Traber follows through on his promise. A second spell gets a second, more optimistic thought: I know they’re going to succeed this time. They have to!
There’s a staircase leading up out of the basement. Before they ascend, Dranko turns to the rest of the Company.
“What are we going to say to Lord Traber when we find him?” he asks.
Aravis has a simple answer. “That he can tell us where Lord Dafron is, or we’ll expose their deals.”
At the top of the stairs, Dranko slowly pushes a door open. A man dressed like a butler is standing there in a wide, well-appointed hallway. He stares at Dranko, but without showing alarm.
“Ah,” he says after a second’s pause. “The Lord has been expecting you. Will you please come this way?”
The butler turns his back on the armed and bloody half-orc and walks away down the hall. Morningstar casts another detect thoughts and finds that the butler, while thinking that this is all highly irregular, has strict orders from Lord Traber. Some group of strangers would be coming up the stairs, fresh from battle, and whomever was in that group should be escorted to the Lord’s office.
They arrive at a large oak door and the butler knocks. “Lord Traber, you have visitors.”
“Well, let them in.”
They recognize Lord Dafron’s old office right away, though the furniture is different, as is the man behind the desk. Lord Traber is a large and powerfully-built man, with sandy blond hair and a deep voice.
Morningstar’s detect thoughts picks up a stray mental note, coming from behind a wall.
I can’t believe he just let them in here!
Lord Traber looks at the assembled Company. “I assume you are here for Dafron.”
The thought changes: What the hell is he playing at?
Lord Traber smiles and gestures to the wall. “He’s hiding in a hidden closet, right there.”
My Gods! No!
“I admire a pragmatist,” says Dranko. “Are you aware of the smugglers’ tunnels connecting your house to the Lower City?”
“Yes, of course,” says Traber.
“And by handing over Dafron,” says Ernie, “Your position here will be more secure, regardless of your association with him.”
“Association?” says Traber. “Hardly. He just ran in here and begged me to hide him in the closet.”
That lying son of a %$#!
Flicker easily finds the catch to the concealed closet door, and pops it open. In a little cabinet, cowering in the back, skin a sickly blue and splotchy, is Lord Dafron, hunched over and wild-eyed.
“Poor little guy,” says Kibi.
“Oooooooh, no!” says Dranko.
“I beg you not to kill me!” pleads Dafron, in his distinctively high and nasal voice.
“Where are your assets hidden?” demands Aravis.
My assets? Ah, crap. They’re going to worm out of me where I’m keeping all of my stuff!
“Just understand,” says Dranko. “Your assassins are dead. Your bodyguard is drooling. And we are very displeased. You can buy our favor by telling us where you keep your assets.”
“You are going to kill me anyway, and I don’t wish to tell you,” says Dafron defiantly.
“That’s a shame,” says Ernie, “because you could have done some good with your assets.”
“I spent almost everything I had, to see that you were destroyed, in return for what you did to me,” spits Dafron.
Morningstar nods. That’s the truth.
“You ruined yourself!” says Ernie. “With your own greed, your willingness to subject others to addiction, and pain, and suffering.”
“And that business with goats!” adds Flicker.
Dafron’s eyes narrow. “I knew it was you, who spread that vile rumor that got me kicked out of the House of Law.”
Ernie answers. “Dafron, if you had been a good man, and had the respect of your colleagues, do you think they would have been swayed by something as small as an unfounded rumor? Do you think you would have fallen so low if you hadn’t stepped on so many people on the way up?”
Dafron is hardly listening. He gestures to his own ravaged skin. “If this hadn’t also happened, there would have been no substantiating evidence. You are the ones responsible, admit it! Which one of you was it that mixed that vile concoction?”
“You mean the one that cured you from the addiction to your own drug? That one?” asks Dranko.
“I am the one who cured you,” says Aravis.
“Tell me,” asks Dafron. “Was the ‘extra’ potion – the one in which you used... wild bluevine... was that part of the cure, or an extra knife blade in the back?
”It wasn’t supposed to be permanent,” says Aravis.
“I have a sensitivity to wild bluevine. My father had it as well. By the time the healers arrived, its effect was part of me, and there was nothing left to cure. I was blue.”
“And a fine shade, I might add,” says Aravis.
“And the rumor? The absurd, humiliating rumor?”
“That was me,” admits Dranko.
“See?” screeches Dafron. “This was not my responsibility. It was yours!”
“You brought it on yourself,” says Aravis. “If you had not created the powder, you would never have drunk it, and would have had no need to drink our cure.”
“Irrelevant!” shrieks Dafron.
Ernie disagrees. “Extremely relevant! The person you are, the things you do with your life, are all choices you make yourself. And you’ve made nothing but bad choices.”
“Yes, yes apparently I have,” says Dafron, more calmly. “I made enemies of those who would seek to humiliate me in the worst possible way, and take away from me everything that had meaning in my life. And now that you’re here, go ahead. Kill me.”
Morningstar, reading his surface thoughts throughout this exchange, is all for that. None of his thoughts show even the slightest iota of guilt or true remorse. There is only anger and humiliation.
“We’ll give you this choice,” says Dranko. “Tell us where you keep your remaining wealth, and we’ll at least kill you here, quickly. Otherwise, we’ll just hand you over to those in the Lower City, and they can dispense your justice.”
“I see,” says Dafron. “Having destroyed me is not enough for you. You have to compound my suffering until the very end.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt this touching reunion,” says Lord Traber, clearing his throat. “but I am having a meeting with some visiting merchants here in about ten minutes. Can you resume this somewhere else?”
“We’ll only need five more minutes,” Dranko promises. Morningstar casts memory read on Dafron, targeting the memory of “when he last saw the main part of his remaining wealth.” She gets a memory of a warehouse, and thinks she could find the path to the place later.
Dafron, who relives the memory along with her, becomes wholly deflated.
“Fine,” he says. “Take what little I have left. You’ll find it’s not much.”
“You could have chosen another path,” says Morningstar. “Even now, you could show a little remorse.”
Dafron stares back at her, eyes now gone vacant.
“There is no room left in my heart for remorse.”
* *
Back in the smugglers’ tunnels, the Company dispenses justice. In the manner in which he executed so many others, Dafron is hanged by the neck until dead.
...to be continued...
Someday I'd love to get a inside-look at the mechanics of a campaign like this: what sort of prep. you do, and for how long, how much of the developing plot is planned, and how much improvised at the table, and so-on. With such a nicely-written Story-Hour, it's easy to forget how difficult this stuff is to do well.
