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<blockquote data-quote="soanso" data-source="post: 6207423" data-attributes="member: 6684655"><p><strong>Back in the saddle, again</strong></p><p></p><p>We retraced our steps to the tentamort’s lair, where horror met us; several desiccated corpses, including birds, Orrick, an unknown goblin and the strange hounds lay in macabre silence, as a strong ocean wind billowed the vine-and-nettle curtain sequestering the cave from the waves below. Wandering sometimes brings luck, if Desna is watching. We crept through the room.</p><p> </p><p> “Found it!” whispered Shaiira as her fingers followed a near-invisible seam in the stonework. She manipulated the stone to open a hidden hatch in the wall, which led to a set of stairs descending into the inky dark. </p><p></p><p> </p><p>“This stonework is ancient,” Mundin said as we descended the well-carved staircase. “Likely dwarven work. Note the precise cuts in the granite on each step, uniform.” I nodded, trusting his senses.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Frescoes were defaced by hammer and chisel; likely Lyrie’s handiwork. A hooded lantern hung by a nail on the wall, so I grabbed it. Illuminated by the glow were four statues of exquisite artistry. Identical to every detail, a man, certainly a human, holding a book in one hand with a sihedron carved onto the cover and a glaive in the other.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>The similarity of his accoutrements did not escape any of us, though the man himself was a mystery. We decided to approach the rest of the dungeon cautiously, should some rune-aided adversary come round the bend. I was elated- this was the stuff of my youth, prancing about broken tors and forgotten graveyards with PopPop, him prattling off stories of this and that, me pretending that I was my mother, a flashy sword and a lewd word for my imaginary foes. But to the truth, it was the history of the moment, now, that brought me current. Everything I knew is lost, everything I find is new; it is my task to connect yesterday to now. I focused on the statues, but could not bring to light their significance. </p><p></p><p> We traversed the short hallway to another small alcove. Two statues similar to the previous sat buffeting the hall in recesses, another stood several feet ahead of us. Shaiira was first to traverse the polished floor; her usually nimble feet set off a trap, and a pair of portcullis crashed down on either side of her.</p><p> </p><p>Vohoi noticed a strange carving on the statues as they animated and slashed at my sister with their wicked glaives. “The Rune of Greed!” he shouted as he prepared to cast a spell.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Trapped between the gates, Shaiira lost a lot of blood. “I ain’t one to leave a wing man in the dust,” Mundin said as he heaved open the portcullis closest to us. Following the dwarf I quickly swept my sister from further harm. C restored her, and we continued on, wary of the floor trap.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>As we padded down the corridor and took the appropriate left-hand turn, I fell into my own mind. What am I now? Once I was a daughter, then a ward, now an orphan. Suddenly and as quickly I was a sister. I was a child, then an adult. The songs, the gestures, the culture of my lost family, the Farateldi vivacity bursts from my seams and not by my choice but from something else. History courses through my veins. I am nothing, really; I am without property, honor, grace, or title, yet I am. I am alive, I exist, I am something that is the sum of many beautiful things, and many terrible things all at once. But I am. I exist, and I feel no pull to be something else. Perhaps I am lucky, maybe Desna smiles on me each day. Remorse and guilt hold court in my head daily; yet I have obligations. People rely on me and my abilities, much as they did before, in my past life. There are stories to write, songs to sing, odes to be found among the blood, fire, steel, and darkness. Why not meet the challenge of tomorrow?</p><p></p><p> </p><p>A door stood closed to us, and Shaiira opened it. The room before us was some sort of chapel. Frescoes of hideous monsters ravishing humans and other races, scenes of destruction, madness, even cannibalism assaulted us from the walls. The room was lit by humanoid skulls ensorcelled to glow a disquieting red, and a low basin of roiling, foul-smelling liquid stood in the corner.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>“The farcking quasit,” Mundin heaved the words into the doorway as he followed them. Indeed, the quasit flitted about as another strange hound growled low, and a beautiful aasimar woman, with a face twisted by madness and a deformed hand, ending in a weird claw, raised her sword at our approach.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Nualia. I grinned, knowing we had found the source of Sandpoint’s woes. Swords and axes clashed against defenses and spells flamed the room. Noria dipped into her divine reserve to attack Nualia, while Mundin followed with a tremendous clamor of axes. Vohoi used <em>flaming sphere</em> to attack the enemy. C and Shaiira danced into and out of the battle, positioning and repositioning themselves to maximize the group’s attacks. I sang Mother’s Lament, a new piece I had recently written, to inspire my friend’s alacrity and effectiveness. The hound fell quickly as Nualia and the quasit held their ground.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Then the quasit blinked out, invisible to the naked eye. I realized my grave error- I should have read Grandy Vin’s magic book and not relied on a week of dreams for my spells. Despite this failure, I decided to use my voice against my foes; though the quasit remained aloof, I dropped Nualia with a potent <em>chord of shards</em>. </p><p></p><p> </p><p>“The door!” Caramour shouted. Vohoi moved to shut it and read a scroll to see invisible subjects, but the quasit was nowhere to be seen. We gathered up the scant valuables in the room, including an amulet that pulsed with power. Vohoi, C, and I collaborated to discover the sihedron medallion was a powerful magic item that could protect its wearer with necromantic magic. I also found a pile of notes on a desk that should bring to light Nualia’s fall from grace.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>We stood over the body, a long silence between us as we each gathered ourselves and reflected on our journey. My thoughts traveled to Shaiira. Would she come with me after this? Sandpoint was a lovely little town, but I yearned for the open road. </p><p></p><p> </p><p>“There is one last piece to the puzzle,” Shaiira said, raising her head and adjusting her scarf.</p><p></p><p> “Malfeshnekor,” Mundin said. Indeed, the beast referenced in Tsuto’s notes, and hinted at in the goblin drawings at Thistletop; some sort of terrible, four-legged beast with lupine features and a vaguely goblinoid visage. </p><p></p><p> </p><p>We headed deeper into the dungeon, finding a hallway that ended in a large pile of coins, all ridged with tiny spikes and a sihedron rune carved into the wall behind it. Sadly, C found the pile was illusory, and something about it rankled me, but we moved on. Across the way, two beys-relief skeletons joined their outstretched arms over a doorway, a single skull clutched by the pair over the door. We entered cautiously and found the room contained four standing sarcophagi, each featuring a man holding a book emblazoned with the sihedron rune and a glaive. He was different from the previous statues, and these crypt lids were of high quality. We were attacked by invisible foes that drained our strength with their withering touch; Vohoi and C combined forces to drive the shadows from this place. We chose to rest, passing the evening without incident.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Whether it was morning or midnight mattered not, this far from fresh air. I had reservations about pressing on; the illusory pile of coins still bothered me. </p><p></p><p> </p><p>“Well, let’s see about your hunch,” Noria said. We returned to the spot, and I closely examined the wall with Shaiira’s help. </p><p></p><p> “Aha!” I shouted as my fingers traced the outlines of two horizontal slots hidden in the stonework.</p><p> “Okay, but now what?” Shaiira asked, puzzled. I stood staring at the slots, my mind turning over before an idea flashed through the fog. Vohoi had identified the runes on the portcullis-statue as those of Greed. The illusory pile of gold, of course! I quickly pulled two sovereigns from my purse, and inserted them both into the adjacent slots.</p><p> “Desna guide you,” I whispered, punching the coins into the wall; the wall slide away to reveal a secret alcove with three doors; we chose the left one first.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Opening the door revealed a barren room, austere but for the raised dais supporting a marbled throne. In it a man sat slumped, flanked by two familiar statues. The man on the throne was an obvious illusion, as he repeated the same scattered and static phrases in the ancient Thassilonian tongue- “…is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you…”</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Though puzzled, we decided it must be some sort of remotely controlled device, quickly becoming a theme in these Runelord dungeons. We noted the uttering of Alaznist, the Runelord of Wrath discovered beneath Sandpoint. The fact that it malfunctioned was welcome news.</p><p></p><p></p><p> The second room was an archaic torture chamber. Macabre devices lined the walls, and several gruesome tables occupied the center of the room. C wandered towards a table of ancient surgical implements; among them he found a silver- inlaid gold sihedron instrument that looked like it was either a key or some other focus. C swept up the tools and I pocketed the rune-key-thing, neither of us with a question to the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Locked,” Shaiira said, examining the final door in the secret room. I produced the fancy key, as it seemed more likely than not the logical solution.</p><p></p><p> </p><p>Lo, the lock tumbled. We entered a room lit <span style="font-family: inherit">primarily by a long pit of flickering fire that filled the room with a strange, humid heat and the smell of burning hair. In the northern corners of the room, wooden risers held several dozen golden candles that burned without melting; the southern wall bore an immense carving of the seven-pointed star.</span></p><p></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">Occupying the room was a quadruped beast, its forelegs more like hands than paws. Its fur was matted as it rose like a dog from the fire, a foul green tongue licking its thin pink lips in anticipation. Lupine in stature, it was still bigger than a typical wolf. Its head was less canine than goblinoid. Most terrifying was the intelligent glean in its eyes; this was no simple predator- in fact, it was a killing machine.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">“Desna save us,” Shaiira muttered.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">I heard the dwarves rustle in their armor to my right. Ominous. </span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">Malfeshnekor struck with deadly precision, knocking Shaiira prone as we fell to battle. Noria channeled her faith to strike the beast true as Mundin followed suit with his axes. The confined space gave us little room to move, but Shaiira managed a precision hit as C kept the fighters alive. I sang The Thistletop Dirge, another new piece to keep my friends’ momentum forward. </span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">The beast tore through our defenses, yet we fought on. Vohoi cast <em>flaming sphere</em> and was able to finally quell the beast. No doubt it was a great barghest, a foul beast fed the souls of many an innocent and decent person, until its power erupted into a killing machine; the perfect complement in Nualia’s plan for revenge.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit">Plans all for naught. Despite the quasit’s escape, we had wrecked the evil hierarchy surrounding Sandpoint; all that was left was a dividing of the spoils and a farewell meal. Traveling had taught me one truism- birds go with the seasons. As do sellswords, healers, and dwarves, and Farateldis. I was glad to meet these folk, and gain what I did from our adventures. Perhaps I will meet them again. </span> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">We rode through the lowlands, Thistletop a smoking eye on the Varisian landscape. I wished for nothing but the Rusty Dragon and a drink, a bath, a hot meal, and a farewell. A brief stay to settle my claim on the treasure we found, perhaps find a better suit of armor for the road. Tomorrow night I will leave Sandpoint for the open road, Shaiira or not.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">We decided it best to tie up loose ends before parting ways. After a simple lunch of trussed sage hens, cornflower biscuits and honey mead we made our way around town, selling off the spoils of war, eventually meeting with Belor Hemlock. We owed at least a parting handshake and a debriefing to the good sheriff of Sandpoint. </span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit">Hemlock was excited to hear our account, noting the details in his blotter. </span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">“So, if there’s nothing else,” I said, bowing low and retreating to the door.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit">“Ah, well, there is, well, no, never mind,” Belor floated. My eyes lowered as I felt fish swarm to the sheriff’s bait.</span> <span style="font-family: inherit">“So you say,” Mundin cautiously provided.</span> <span style="font-family: inherit">“A patrol found a few known con-men killed in a barn south of here,” Balor said. “Murdered, actually. The bodies were pretty ripped up, missing jaws and were defaced with some sorta weird star carving. Was a note pinned to one of the victims-” Belor opened a drawer and retrieved a calfskin folder, and gently unwound the twine holding it closed. He presented a parchment speckled with dried blood.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">Belor leveled his eyes at me. “It mentions you,” he said, handing me the gory note.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">‘Sivoulette - You will learn to love me, desire me in time as she did. Give yourself to the Pack and it shall all end. – Your Lordship’</span></p><p></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit">Shock. My mother flashed before my eyes and gooseflesh rose on my arms. I felt nauseous and wavy. Shaiira gripped a shoulder, Vohoi the other.</span> <span style="font-family: inherit">Deputy Guber then burst into the office, disregarding our presence. “Sheriff, another pair of victims at the mill-“ his faucet was shut off by Belor’s stony gaze.</span> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">“Let’s see the mill first,” I said.</span></p><p> <span style="font-family: inherit"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit">“Agreed,” C consented. As I followed Belor to the mill, I felt the ground swell with feet behind me. I smiled, terrified.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="soanso, post: 6207423, member: 6684655"] [b]Back in the saddle, again[/b] We retraced our steps to the tentamort’s lair, where horror met us; several desiccated corpses, including birds, Orrick, an unknown goblin and the strange hounds lay in macabre silence, as a strong ocean wind billowed the vine-and-nettle curtain sequestering the cave from the waves below. Wandering sometimes brings luck, if Desna is watching. We crept through the room. “Found it!” whispered Shaiira as her fingers followed a near-invisible seam in the stonework. She manipulated the stone to open a hidden hatch in the wall, which led to a set of stairs descending into the inky dark. “This stonework is ancient,” Mundin said as we descended the well-carved staircase. “Likely dwarven work. Note the precise cuts in the granite on each step, uniform.” I nodded, trusting his senses. Frescoes were defaced by hammer and chisel; likely Lyrie’s handiwork. A hooded lantern hung by a nail on the wall, so I grabbed it. Illuminated by the glow were four statues of exquisite artistry. Identical to every detail, a man, certainly a human, holding a book in one hand with a sihedron carved onto the cover and a glaive in the other. The similarity of his accoutrements did not escape any of us, though the man himself was a mystery. We decided to approach the rest of the dungeon cautiously, should some rune-aided adversary come round the bend. I was elated- this was the stuff of my youth, prancing about broken tors and forgotten graveyards with PopPop, him prattling off stories of this and that, me pretending that I was my mother, a flashy sword and a lewd word for my imaginary foes. But to the truth, it was the history of the moment, now, that brought me current. Everything I knew is lost, everything I find is new; it is my task to connect yesterday to now. I focused on the statues, but could not bring to light their significance. We traversed the short hallway to another small alcove. Two statues similar to the previous sat buffeting the hall in recesses, another stood several feet ahead of us. Shaiira was first to traverse the polished floor; her usually nimble feet set off a trap, and a pair of portcullis crashed down on either side of her. Vohoi noticed a strange carving on the statues as they animated and slashed at my sister with their wicked glaives. “The Rune of Greed!” he shouted as he prepared to cast a spell. Trapped between the gates, Shaiira lost a lot of blood. “I ain’t one to leave a wing man in the dust,” Mundin said as he heaved open the portcullis closest to us. Following the dwarf I quickly swept my sister from further harm. C restored her, and we continued on, wary of the floor trap. As we padded down the corridor and took the appropriate left-hand turn, I fell into my own mind. What am I now? Once I was a daughter, then a ward, now an orphan. Suddenly and as quickly I was a sister. I was a child, then an adult. The songs, the gestures, the culture of my lost family, the Farateldi vivacity bursts from my seams and not by my choice but from something else. History courses through my veins. I am nothing, really; I am without property, honor, grace, or title, yet I am. I am alive, I exist, I am something that is the sum of many beautiful things, and many terrible things all at once. But I am. I exist, and I feel no pull to be something else. Perhaps I am lucky, maybe Desna smiles on me each day. Remorse and guilt hold court in my head daily; yet I have obligations. People rely on me and my abilities, much as they did before, in my past life. There are stories to write, songs to sing, odes to be found among the blood, fire, steel, and darkness. Why not meet the challenge of tomorrow? A door stood closed to us, and Shaiira opened it. The room before us was some sort of chapel. Frescoes of hideous monsters ravishing humans and other races, scenes of destruction, madness, even cannibalism assaulted us from the walls. The room was lit by humanoid skulls ensorcelled to glow a disquieting red, and a low basin of roiling, foul-smelling liquid stood in the corner. “The farcking quasit,” Mundin heaved the words into the doorway as he followed them. Indeed, the quasit flitted about as another strange hound growled low, and a beautiful aasimar woman, with a face twisted by madness and a deformed hand, ending in a weird claw, raised her sword at our approach. Nualia. I grinned, knowing we had found the source of Sandpoint’s woes. Swords and axes clashed against defenses and spells flamed the room. Noria dipped into her divine reserve to attack Nualia, while Mundin followed with a tremendous clamor of axes. Vohoi used [I]flaming sphere[/I] to attack the enemy. C and Shaiira danced into and out of the battle, positioning and repositioning themselves to maximize the group’s attacks. I sang Mother’s Lament, a new piece I had recently written, to inspire my friend’s alacrity and effectiveness. The hound fell quickly as Nualia and the quasit held their ground. Then the quasit blinked out, invisible to the naked eye. I realized my grave error- I should have read Grandy Vin’s magic book and not relied on a week of dreams for my spells. Despite this failure, I decided to use my voice against my foes; though the quasit remained aloof, I dropped Nualia with a potent [I]chord of shards[/I]. “The door!” Caramour shouted. Vohoi moved to shut it and read a scroll to see invisible subjects, but the quasit was nowhere to be seen. We gathered up the scant valuables in the room, including an amulet that pulsed with power. Vohoi, C, and I collaborated to discover the sihedron medallion was a powerful magic item that could protect its wearer with necromantic magic. I also found a pile of notes on a desk that should bring to light Nualia’s fall from grace. We stood over the body, a long silence between us as we each gathered ourselves and reflected on our journey. My thoughts traveled to Shaiira. Would she come with me after this? Sandpoint was a lovely little town, but I yearned for the open road. “There is one last piece to the puzzle,” Shaiira said, raising her head and adjusting her scarf. “Malfeshnekor,” Mundin said. Indeed, the beast referenced in Tsuto’s notes, and hinted at in the goblin drawings at Thistletop; some sort of terrible, four-legged beast with lupine features and a vaguely goblinoid visage. We headed deeper into the dungeon, finding a hallway that ended in a large pile of coins, all ridged with tiny spikes and a sihedron rune carved into the wall behind it. Sadly, C found the pile was illusory, and something about it rankled me, but we moved on. Across the way, two beys-relief skeletons joined their outstretched arms over a doorway, a single skull clutched by the pair over the door. We entered cautiously and found the room contained four standing sarcophagi, each featuring a man holding a book emblazoned with the sihedron rune and a glaive. He was different from the previous statues, and these crypt lids were of high quality. We were attacked by invisible foes that drained our strength with their withering touch; Vohoi and C combined forces to drive the shadows from this place. We chose to rest, passing the evening without incident. Whether it was morning or midnight mattered not, this far from fresh air. I had reservations about pressing on; the illusory pile of coins still bothered me. “Well, let’s see about your hunch,” Noria said. We returned to the spot, and I closely examined the wall with Shaiira’s help. “Aha!” I shouted as my fingers traced the outlines of two horizontal slots hidden in the stonework. “Okay, but now what?” Shaiira asked, puzzled. I stood staring at the slots, my mind turning over before an idea flashed through the fog. Vohoi had identified the runes on the portcullis-statue as those of Greed. The illusory pile of gold, of course! I quickly pulled two sovereigns from my purse, and inserted them both into the adjacent slots. “Desna guide you,” I whispered, punching the coins into the wall; the wall slide away to reveal a secret alcove with three doors; we chose the left one first. Opening the door revealed a barren room, austere but for the raised dais supporting a marbled throne. In it a man sat slumped, flanked by two familiar statues. The man on the throne was an obvious illusion, as he repeated the same scattered and static phrases in the ancient Thassilonian tongue- “…is upon us, but I command you remain. Witness my power, how Alaznist’s petty wrath is but a flash compared to my strength. Take my final work to your graves, and let its memory be the last thing you…” Though puzzled, we decided it must be some sort of remotely controlled device, quickly becoming a theme in these Runelord dungeons. We noted the uttering of Alaznist, the Runelord of Wrath discovered beneath Sandpoint. The fact that it malfunctioned was welcome news. The second room was an archaic torture chamber. Macabre devices lined the walls, and several gruesome tables occupied the center of the room. C wandered towards a table of ancient surgical implements; among them he found a silver- inlaid gold sihedron instrument that looked like it was either a key or some other focus. C swept up the tools and I pocketed the rune-key-thing, neither of us with a question to the other. “Locked,” Shaiira said, examining the final door in the secret room. I produced the fancy key, as it seemed more likely than not the logical solution. Lo, the lock tumbled. We entered a room lit [FONT='inherit']primarily by a long pit of flickering fire that filled the room with a strange, humid heat and the smell of burning hair. In the northern corners of the room, wooden risers held several dozen golden candles that burned without melting; the southern wall bore an immense carving of the seven-pointed star.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] Occupying the room was a quadruped beast, its forelegs more like hands than paws. Its fur was matted as it rose like a dog from the fire, a foul green tongue licking its thin pink lips in anticipation. Lupine in stature, it was still bigger than a typical wolf. Its head was less canine than goblinoid. Most terrifying was the intelligent glean in its eyes; this was no simple predator- in fact, it was a killing machine.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] “Desna save us,” Shaiira muttered.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] I heard the dwarves rustle in their armor to my right. Ominous. [/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] Malfeshnekor struck with deadly precision, knocking Shaiira prone as we fell to battle. Noria channeled her faith to strike the beast true as Mundin followed suit with his axes. The confined space gave us little room to move, but Shaiira managed a precision hit as C kept the fighters alive. I sang The Thistletop Dirge, another new piece to keep my friends’ momentum forward. [/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] The beast tore through our defenses, yet we fought on. Vohoi cast [I]flaming sphere[/I] and was able to finally quell the beast. No doubt it was a great barghest, a foul beast fed the souls of many an innocent and decent person, until its power erupted into a killing machine; the perfect complement in Nualia’s plan for revenge.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit']Plans all for naught. Despite the quasit’s escape, we had wrecked the evil hierarchy surrounding Sandpoint; all that was left was a dividing of the spoils and a farewell meal. Traveling had taught me one truism- birds go with the seasons. As do sellswords, healers, and dwarves, and Farateldis. I was glad to meet these folk, and gain what I did from our adventures. Perhaps I will meet them again. [/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] We rode through the lowlands, Thistletop a smoking eye on the Varisian landscape. I wished for nothing but the Rusty Dragon and a drink, a bath, a hot meal, and a farewell. A brief stay to settle my claim on the treasure we found, perhaps find a better suit of armor for the road. Tomorrow night I will leave Sandpoint for the open road, Shaiira or not.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] We decided it best to tie up loose ends before parting ways. After a simple lunch of trussed sage hens, cornflower biscuits and honey mead we made our way around town, selling off the spoils of war, eventually meeting with Belor Hemlock. We owed at least a parting handshake and a debriefing to the good sheriff of Sandpoint. [/FONT] [FONT='inherit']Hemlock was excited to hear our account, noting the details in his blotter. [/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] “So, if there’s nothing else,” I said, bowing low and retreating to the door.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit']“Ah, well, there is, well, no, never mind,” Belor floated. My eyes lowered as I felt fish swarm to the sheriff’s bait.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit']“So you say,” Mundin cautiously provided.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit']“A patrol found a few known con-men killed in a barn south of here,” Balor said. “Murdered, actually. The bodies were pretty ripped up, missing jaws and were defaced with some sorta weird star carving. Was a note pinned to one of the victims-” Belor opened a drawer and retrieved a calfskin folder, and gently unwound the twine holding it closed. He presented a parchment speckled with dried blood.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] Belor leveled his eyes at me. “It mentions you,” he said, handing me the gory note.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] ‘Sivoulette - You will learn to love me, desire me in time as she did. Give yourself to the Pack and it shall all end. – Your Lordship’[/FONT] [FONT='inherit']Shock. My mother flashed before my eyes and gooseflesh rose on my arms. I felt nauseous and wavy. Shaiira gripped a shoulder, Vohoi the other.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit']Deputy Guber then burst into the office, disregarding our presence. “Sheriff, another pair of victims at the mill-“ his faucet was shut off by Belor’s stony gaze.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] “Let’s see the mill first,” I said.[/FONT] [FONT='inherit'] “Agreed,” C consented. As I followed Belor to the mill, I felt the ground swell with feet behind me. I smiled, terrified.[/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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