The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*

[Rolzup]

Dinner with Erebus

I was, I must admit, rather surprised that they allowed us all to enter the Palm d’Whorl. It should be understood that I, a man of obvious breeding and distinction, am entirely accustomed to dining in such establishments. My companions, however, are the sort of people who either eat with their hands or poke at their food with little sticks...and such folk are rarely welcome in a gourmet restaurant.

BURNE’S TABLE MANNERS WOULD MAKE A CRAZED WOLVERINE BLUSH AND LOOK AWAY.

Nevertheless, they allowed us entrance, after little more than a few curious glances and whispered comments. Some discreetly passed coins, and a bit of namedropping, allowed us access to the Palm’s head chef, Joachim’s mentor: Johannes du Beouf, aka Spring Veal Jack.

He was relieved to know that Joachim was, so far as we knew, still alive. He professed himself unable to help us in our quest, however, no matter how much he wished otherwise. Johannes had access to neither the funds nor contacts that would further our search. He did have one suggestion, however....

He introduced to a guest of the hotel, a man who -- he intimated -- might be able to help us. The fellow called himself Mr. Erebus, if you can credit it. He was one of the Palm’s most frequent patrons, and had been a guest at the hotel for over a century now. He hardly looked his age, I must admit. He dressed well, if a little too flashily for my tastes, but seemed tired and unfocused. When we approached him, we interrupted him at a game of canasta with a elderly woman, who favored us with a pleasant smile.

He invited us to dine with him, and we cheerfully accepted. It was an oddly unsettling meal. Tasty, I hasten to add! Excellent food, well prepared and charmingly served. But our new companion made it rather difficult to concentrate upon the food. He had a habit of answering questions before they had been asked, and would sometimes do so without speaking aloud. Another Mind Witch, I wondered? But he didn’t look like a Shirac....

To his credit, Mr. Erebus seemed genuinely affected by the plight of Joachim and Delphine. But there was nothing, he confessed, that he could do to directly aid us. Rackhir, I think it was, raised the possibility of enlisting the aid of one of St. Sous’ rivals -- the Magnate Benoit Bodhi, perhaps -- and revealing the situation to him. Spurred on by greed and malice, he could certainly put social pressure on St. Sous, and force the release of Delphine.

Or, at least, provide us with some mercenaries who could aid us in an assault upon the St. Sous estate.

THAT WAS BURNE’S CONTRIUBUTION.

Mr. Erebus actually blanched at this. With such actions, he protested, we would be risking the precipitation of a trade war which could rip Narayan in half. Were we aware of this, and of the consequences that it would have upon CITY as a whole? Well, of course I was....

LIAR.

...but what could you expect from a barbarian like Rackhir?

Fortunately, we were able to convince the archer to listen to reason.

Another idea occurred to me at this juncture. Could we, I asked the assemblage, go to the Lovesworn for aid? Their very purpose was to reunite separated lovers, after all.

I’VE NEVER BEEN MORE SURPRISED IN MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE.

Erebus admitted that this was, in fact, an excellent idea. No surprise, considering the source! But he cautioned us that the Lovesworn have, more than once, caused more problems than they've solved.

The meal came to an end shortly thereafter, with Erebus tendering both his apologies and his card....which was, curiously enough, completely blank.

We left the Palm D’Whorl in reasonably good grace, our stomachs full. Still, however, at a loss as to our next move, we went our separate ways for the time being. I happened to glance at the card that Erebus had given me, and found that it was no longer blank at all....

 

[Rolzup]

Mallus, Aforethought

The inexplicably detailed instructions on the back of the business card, which Burne swore was blank when Erebus handed it over reads: Café Limbo, 101 South Spider St., Saltbend, Eris:CITY. Table in the NW corner. 8:05 PM, Eris Standard Time...

As his eyes scan the card for the hundredth time, Burne realizes three things; the timekeeper in F----d-Clock Tower has just (manually) wrung eight bells, the café is just ahead across the broad plaza, which given the nightly crowd, is about a five minute walk... no, exactly a five minute walk.

He reflects that Saltbend, named so because the once-salinated Grand Canal runs along the south end of Limbo Plaza, spilling from and later into a set of permanent Gates which let it flow along in its looping way through every city of CITY, isn't for the poor. Unless they're begging for capital at the Great Temple of Mr. Spidergod. Foolish rabble....

"Mr. Spidergod helps those who help Him first," the old proverb goes. Saltbend isn't for soldiers, either. It's for the dandies, dilettantes, the idle rich and artists, who while themselves poor, frequently excel at fleecing the idle rich out of a night's entertainment.

The Café Limbo is crowded, and smoky with several species of intermingled smokes. Burne inhale deeply, out of alchemic curiosity, then promptly forgets why and instead listens to the roar of tigers and the tinkling of giant, distant chimes.... People better dressed than he jostle past, bringing him to his senses.

The lone man seated at the corner table is richly, yet sloppily dressed, about 25. He has a mass of oiled black hair in ringlets, no beard nor visible scars. Even seated you can see the hilt of his Erisian bastard sword, and a canvas-covered shield leaning against a table leg. He's drinking -- coffee from the scent of it -- and reading from a large, garishly colored book, which he puts down at Burne's approach.

The book is "At Long Last Lost Love", by Arabia Wainwright. For some reason that coincidence puts a chill up his spine.

"Hello...Legionaire?. I'm Mallus Lovesworn. Do you realize you smell of sulphur?" He waves for a server and continues. "Pull up a chair. The Doctor, as they say, is in."

At that, Burne notices the small, black surgeon's bag on the ground, partially hidden by the shield.

And that this Mallus is clearly high....

Burne raises an eyebrow. "Sulfur is the sweetest of perfumes, I've found. There's not many who can appreciate its unique bouquet, but those of who do realize how sublime it can be."

Seating himself, the alchemist continues. "I shall cut to the quick, if I may. Time is short, and I am a man who knows the value of plain speaking. I know of two lovers, separated by time, space, and an ocean. I would reunite them. Can you be of assistance in this endeavor?"

"You want to be reunited with your two lovers? Now that's a first...Old Gusset will wet himself when I tell him. Wait, I'll tell everyone but him, that'll get the old queen's goat, assuming he doesn't already have a goat, trussed up somewhere...probably dressed in lace if I know him...."

Mallus stops and collects his thoughts, such as they are. He reached down for his bag.

"That's wasn't what you meant, was it?" He pauses again, pulls a small paper packet from the depths of his satchel.

Opening the paper packet, he continues, "I'll need one of the lovers. Preferably the closer of the two. I need to know the true love in their heart. Acts like a f-----g lighthouse beacon, it does."

Burne recognizes the contents of packet, a crystalline derivative of the flower Hypnogegium Momomanus. Commonly callled "Singlemind".

With a small snort, Mallus's attention is back on Burne. Burningly, in fact.

"Neither interested party is here. So there's some...difficulty involved. This could be interesting. Tell me the whole story. Wait, just tell me where the nearer one is.

"As you have probably surmised, I've been a little bored."

 

[Rolzup]

Of Why the Sea is Boiling Hot

I shall be honest: I don’t entirely like this Mallus fellow. Far too flippant for my liking, and doesn’t show a man of my learning the proper respect.

OH, YES HE DOES.

Additionally, with the amount of oil he uses in his hair, he’s likely more than usually flammable...and that can be a liability, when it comes to an ally.

Nevertheless, he’s proven quite useful over the past months. True to his word, he was able to obtain Delphine’s release within the space of a single day. Mallus's ability to wield half-truths, it seemes, rivals that of Kenji's. His swordsmanship, however, does not. And, once able to make physical contact with the woman -- a process that he enjoyed rather more than I thought seemly -- he was able to determine, albeit roughly, Joachim’s location.

The pieces were, in fact, falling rapidly into place. Through his contacts among the dock-workers and the Naval offices, Daikon had managed to obtain the name of Joachim’s ship: the Windsprint. What’s more, he was also able to provide us with a copy of the ship’s itinerary, so that we knew roughly where and when the ship could be found.

And at the moment, that was in the Straights of Narayan, between the Sea of Storms and the Swollen Ocean.

Clearly, we needed to hire a ship. Fortunately, Daikon had a recommendation to make....

The ship was called "The Wretched Excess". I never thought to inquire as to the history of this name, but no doubt it was a colorful sort of tale that involves copious amounts of sodomy and grog.

The commander of the ship was one Captain Jaton "L.L. Salty J." Spar, and the crew appeared to consist entirely of his various bastards. Literally, mind -- the good captain must have had an admirably misspent youth. This was to be his last voyage, and after we returned in triumph he would be retiring to...well, do something else. To be honest, I really wasn’t listening.

I am, as I have noted, a Naval officer. And as such, despite my dislike of sea-travel, I am an expert on sailing vessels of all kinds. The "Wretched Excess", I'm afraid, is the sort of ship generally classified as a "scow".

BURNE KNOWS NOTHING ABOUT BOATS. WHEN ASKED WHAT KIND OF SHIP THE "EXCESS" WAS, HIS ACTUAL ANSWER WAS, "THE FLAMMABLE KIND".

My cabin was a tiny, cramped affair that boasted none of the usual amenities a man of my station comes to expect. Fortunately, I'd had the foresight to bring reading material along with me, and the salt air was, I must admit, rather invigorating once I had my sea-legs again.

FIRST THREE DAYS OF THE VOYAGE WERE SPENT WITH BURNE LEANING OVER THE RAIL BEING VIOLENTLY ILL. BEST THREE DAYS OF MY EXISTENCE, TOO.

We were some six weeks out of port when we stumbled across the Windsprint. The ship had seemingly been abandoned, and was floating free in the waters a day or so away from the ship's next scheduled stop: The Island of St. Tarte.

Naturally, we had to investigate the matter. Mallus was certain that Joachim was not on board, and was in fact in the same direction as the aforementioned island, but I insisted that we examine the ship for clues.

AND SALVAGE.

We found rather more than we'd expected. Corpses, for one. Quite a number; many of them in naval uniforms, while others were dressed...oddly. After a moment's consideration, however, I recognized where I had seen this peculiar style of dress before: The representatives of the Yellow Lotus Society, who we had dealt with in Yu's do-jo.

Ping raiders, as Captain Spar later identified them. Savage Polyneecheean pirates, well-known slave-takers. Their presence so close to St. Tarte’s boded very ill indeed....

Another pair of corpses were seemingly Worldkeep Knights; one fully dressed in alchemically treated plate-mail, and the other torn apart while still half-dressed. What business did they have about a Naval vessel, I wondered?

And there was a dead ape or two, I recall. The four-armed variety, rather more efficient than the normal sort.

But not everything was dead, fortunately. Rackhir was lucky enough to stumble upon a Rast, a monster originally Gated from some squalid little plane. Rast can be looked upon as a sort of living weapon, and have often been employed by the CITY military in years past.

A fascinating beast, by the way. Entirely alien in appearance, and oddly beautiful in its own fashion. Like a large spider, with a sort of dog-like head, hovering in mid-air. Its flesh looked similar to red pumice-stone, and the light of its internal furnace shone clearly through small cracks in the carparice. Really, quite a marvelous killing machine.

The beast was hiding in the crow's-nest, feeding on the corpse of a crewman. Rackhir must have offended it somehow -- I surmise that the Rast, seeing the archer's red garb, had hoped to find a mate, and was deeply disappointed to discover the truth of the matter -- and it floated down to attack him.

Things went hilariously badly over the next few minutes. The madman, Kenji and Rackhir took turns hitting the beast, until one or both of the foreigners managed to be paralyzed by its gaze...proving, once again, their weakness of will.

OR THEIR WILLINGNESS TO GET CLOSE TO A THREAT, INSTEAD OF TAKING COVER BEHIND A LIFEBOAT.

For my part, I used the Engine to generate Burne's Inerring Forceful Projectiles, with which I peppered the beast.

Rackhir ended up in the crow's-nest with the Rast astride him, busily sucking his blood. Kenji scaled the mast, and began beating the unfortunate beast, inflicting no small number of bruises upon the archer in the process.

The battle ended with Rackhir weak from blood-loss, and myself weak from laughter.

But! Now I had the corpse of a Rast available to me! And my goodness, the possibilities were endless!

Oh, yes. We ransacked the ship as well, and the news only got better. We discovered medical supplies, a magical gate-lantern, some curiously carved gems, a rather odd cylindrical rod of some sort...and...and....

Forgive me. I always grow a little emotional at these memories.

REALLY. HE WAS ACTUALLY TEARING UP JUST THEN. HE'S A SICK, SICK MAN.

We found a box labeled "Munitions". Oh, yes.... It contained four IOUs, enticingly enough, two each for "Cussive Elixir Grade B" and for "Comflamatory Elixir Grade A". That alone was enough to start my heart to racing! But what else did the box contain?

A thick glass vial, with a green cloth band around it marked "Nebulotoxum".

Two more vials, more slender than the first, with a paper wrapping, upon which had been scrawled "Balls of a Lazy Devil".

Not much, one might think. If, of course, he was an ignorant fool. Munitions in the proper hands -- my hands, to be specific -- possess a power all out of proportion to their size.

And so, after putting a skeleton crew upon the Windsprint, we set a course for St. Tarte’s. Rackhir was still lamentably weak from the Rast's predations, but I had ways of dealing with that....

 

[Rolzup]

Interlude: Sociology and Tactics

<Aboard the Wretched Excess, just off the coast of St. Tarte's Island, in the Straits of Narayan>

A skeleton crew is left aboard the Excess, with the rest of its able seaman aboard the derelict MCSDF Windsprint. Ahead, the St. Tarte's Lighthouse --the Lamp of Love-- is dark. From the top of lighthouse tower a large Ping Tiki-torch burns instead.

"They're signaling to their brown-skinned brothers," says Captain Spar. "Just like the raiders of old. First they send ships full of barbarian warriors, faces painted with cocoa-butter, smelling of coconut oil and death. Then the fat catamarans would come. To take away anything that was worth anything. Like the people. And by people I mean women. Damned Ping-men, can't get enough of the white women!"

"Neither can you, dad," chimes in Shalom Spar.

"Make that 'Any woman with a pulse'," says Sahib Spar.

"The point I'm making, you ingrates," says the Captain, "Is that you all don't have much time before St. Tarte's is swarming with more Ping than you can shake a belaying pin at. That is, if that fire up there really is a signal. Could be they're just roasting up a pig...."

Rackhir says "Would putting the signal fire out stop the reinforcements from coming?"

"Indeed it might. It'll certainly be guarded. Might even be one of their witch-doctors tending it. Fire is sacred to the Ping. You can't see it from here, but I'd bet my ship that the fire up there is burning in a big metal pot cast in the likeness of Tiki-Ishii, the Polyneecheean's savage god. He's
a volcano, you know."

"Polyneecheeans?" inquires Mallus.

"It's what the Ping call themselves" says Sahib Spar. "It means 'The many followers of Nee Chee'. He was a great shaman who led his people off their ancestral home on Tiki-Ishii right before it exploded. They came to settle in the Ping Islands. Mostly on Big Ping and Little Ping. With a few settlements on Ping Three, Pang and Pong."

"I see your mother wasted a good deal of my money on your education" says the Captain, "And yet, you still came to me for a job."

"The Polyneecheeans are an evil people", concludes Sahib Spar. "They believe they're the master race. They're brown-supremacists, you know."

Captain Spar interjects, "See there, past the lighthouse to the left, that's the Plage d'Homme, and past that is the port of Sanctum...."

"Don't you mean Skanktum?" says one son.

"Spanktum," says the other.

"I mean what I say," the Captain says gruffly, "Unless I'm married to you. Now, Sanctum should be lit up like a festival, even in the off-season, but see, it's dark. And look at those ribbons of smoke, those aren't from cooking. Not even Samira could burn a meal that badly..."

"That's my mother!" says Sahib.

"You have my sympathies," says the Captain. "And look there, those lights on the hill, that's the Shrine of St. Tarte's Bodice. It used to be a fort a few centuries ago. Back before the League of Cities, during the Pirate Times. From what I've heard, it's got a big dungeon where they used to torture pirates and political prisoners. The priestesses still use it, though not exactly in the same way. The shrine is easily defensible and full of loose women. If I were a lusty barbarian, that's where I'd hole up."

"What do you mean 'if''?" says Sahib in a hurt, quiet voice.

Kenji-sama interupts this awkward moment for the Spar family. "Let us first discuss our goals when we land. Do we intend to defeat the entire invading force? Do we intend to simply retrieve Joachim? Perhaps we want to rescue Joachim and put out the signal fire? Obviously, we may need to change our goals after we explore the situation, but what is our intention? One suspects that defeating the invading force would hold much reward, and grave danger."

"Joachim is, and should remain, our primary target...ah, goal. Goal. That said, if we could put out the signal fire we would be making their lives much more difficult...which is all to the good, damn their coconut-scented hides," Burne says.

He shrugs. "I'm willing to make the effort to put the beacon-fire out, although extinguishing flames goes against everything I hold dear. I'm sure it won't be difficult; after all, they're just barbarians. But we should secure Joachim first and foremost."

"What about the Windsprint's captain?" replies the elder Spar. "If he's still alive, he's worth something to my retirement fund. I mean to all of us...."

Meanwhile Mallus and Delphine stand at the port rail, looking towards the island. Without asking he takes her hand; a surprisingly sensual and inappropriate gesture. She doesn't resist.

He says, "What do you know...I can get a finer reading. Joachim is definitely not in the lighthouse, he's near the town, no, behind it, at the shrine. OK, so that was obvious to those of you using logic, but I was using metaphysics."

After a moment of silence Mallus says to Delphine, "You must really need a good, hard...embrace."

DM's Note: MCSDF is an acronym of Monopolis Combined Self-Defense Force. "Monopolis" is the legal name for CITY.

 

[Rolzup]

Interlude: Mallus Offers Some Exposition

<Aboard the Wretched Excess, off St. Tarte's Island >

Mallus clears his throat, catching Burne’s eye. "Seeing as we might not get a chance to speak after we embark on our collective suicide, let's chat...." He turns to face away from the island. Instinctively Burne knows that the Lovesworn was facing some part of CITY. After a few moments of silent reverie, he continues.

"You should know a few things about Erebus. Not what everyone knows about him; that he hates cats. Loves shrimp scampi and anything made with gin. That he's immortal...."

He pauses, then starts over.

"I'm not a priest, nor a scholar. That means I'm less full of s--t. Despite what the academics say, the Erebus legends can be neatly divided into two categories; the stories of Erebus the Angel and Erebus the Employer.

"Erebus the Angel fell out of sky in the earliest days of CITY. Before the founding of Eris, if you believe The Legends of the Fall, but clearly that angst-ridden epic poem was written by a lovesick teenage girl zonked out her mind on absinthe, no more than two centuries ago, tops.

"Anyway, that version of Erebus fell, slammed into Mt. Kempkes on the way down, bounced off, wings dragging the earth, eventually burying himself in the Pit of Erebus, along the Southern edge of Eris. Some say his actual final rest is beneath the city, though no-one save the Pit Centurions know if that's true, and they're all insane....

"That Erebus is regarded as the Devil by the barbarous, cannibal monotheists of the Hannikum Church. Considering the source, I'd take it as a compliment.

"That Erebus is known chiefly for his seemingly infinite capacity for self-pity, wanderlust, and infidelity. There are endless stories of his ocean voyages, the strange creatures he battled, as if to do penance, his inevitable loving and leaving the classic beauties of antiquity.

"One of these was a Lassantes woman known originally as "The Way to Heaven". Erebus broke her heart. In return, she tried to commit suicide by making the city of Ur-Imbra more intimately acquainted with the sun. At the last moment she got cold feet. But it was too late to stop the ritual, and there was a hot time in the old city tonight.

"The Lassantesmen marked what was left of Ur-Imbra with a ring of a hundred thousand gravestones. That was really just a guess.

"Not much was written about that Erebus after that. Though the woman does resurface later on under a new name, 'The Smoldering Whore of Ur-Imbra'. Goddess of Abandoning and the Abandoned.

"I'm digressing, aren't I? It's the sound of my own voice... lovely, isn't it? Even I'm not immune.

"Then there's Erebus the Employer. His legends are somewhat newer, though there's a lot of confusion over dates. You should have to take a class on chronology before you get to write a legend.

"Where was I? Oh.... this Erebus is the head of a cabal of sorcerers called the Brotherhood, or sometimes, the Brotherhood of the Black Worm. The legends speak of Erebus 'owning' the Brotherhood, and paying them in secrets. All manner of secrets. Everything from court gossip to the more generic Things Mortals Weren't Meant to Know....

"These stories are a lot less uniform than the Angel stories. Here Erebus is less the melancholy romantic and more the trickster or manipulator. And the exploits of the Brotherhood vary wildly from the horrific to the heroic. Babies are murdered with alarming frequency. The only discernable common threads are a love of culture, and an interest in bringing the dead back to life, often en masse. Oh, and the baby-killing."

"Some pinheads want to add a third category; the so-called "Godfather" stories in which Erebus is the name of the force that elevated certain mortals to Godhood. These are popular amongst the mongrels of Narayan and the Hannikum Church, who view all CITY's gods as the false spawns of the Devil.

"But who heads the words of pinheads? Not exceptional men of Eternal Erisium. Clearly these tales are propaganda meant to valorize markedly inferior places, like that salt-ridden clap-trap town of Narayan. These stories are political fiction, meant to evoke the sense of fecundity and wonder of the Angel legends.

"Anyway, we're to meet our fates head-on soon, so I'll make this short. There's one other thing to now about Erebus: He can only hurt you if you accept his help. And he can offer you all the help in the world."

 

[Rolzup]

In Which the Polyneechians Gaze Into the Fire, and the Fire Gazes Back

By the time we had reached St. Tarte’s, I had managed to create a formula that would restore Rackhir’s lost vigor. It required the use of the Rast’s circulatory fluids (I hesitate to call the stuff "blood"), and various drugs from Mallus’ personal supply. The resulting brew, a sort of ultracoffee, restored him to full strength as soon as he drained it.

I believe that it was nearly a week before he was able to properly sleep again, but that was a small price to pay.

The Wretched Excess sailed well to the East of the island, hoping to stay out of sight. And my men and I -- including both Mallus and, against my better judgement, Delphine -- used a ship's launch to approach the island under cover of darkness.

A long, surprisingly phallic, dock jutted out from the Southern end of the island, just beneath the hilltop fort. We managed to navigate under the docks and disembark without being seen. That, alas, did not last long.

As we moved stealthy up along the length of the dock, Kenji noticed a group of Ping descending along the winding path that led down from the fortress.

One might have observed, along the course of my narrative, that both Rackhir and Kenji have unusually keen vision. This is a result, I believe, of the barbarous Ajikhani writing, which is both needlessly small and irritatingly complex. Obviously, being forced to read such scrawlings has a way of sharpening the vision, much like lifting heavy weights develops strength in the muscles of the arms.

Besides, I generally have my mind occupied by higher matters. Formulae, and calculations, and suchlike.

FIRE, ACTUALLY. HE DREAMS OF IT, TOO.

Thus it was that Kenji, again, noticed the people hiding in one of the moored boats, about to be discovered by the Ping. We had to act, before we lost a valuable source of intelligence.

It was the madman who first engaged the enemy, leaping into battle. Much to Kenji's dismay, I might add -- his barbaric combat technique allows him to deliver a devastating strike, but not when the enemy is prepared for such a maneuver. The madman's action had clearly robbed him of the element of surprise.

And when the madman fled, spears protruding from his flesh, Kenji found himself in an unenviable position indeed. Fortunately, I, having allowed the raiders to pass by my place of concealment, then struck from behind in a classic pincer maneuver.

The engine sang out a song of death....

OH, HELL, THAT'S A LINE FROM ONE OF HIS POEMS.

...and the enemy fell, like...like things falling. Burning, screaming things.

AND SO'S THAT. VERBATIM.

Kenji did his part, I suppose. And the madman must have clubbed one or two of them down. But it was I, using an Inerring Forceful Projectile, who took down the last of the foe, before he could flee and alert his comrades.

Rackhir had vanished by this point, off on some errand or another. He tends to do this sort of thing, for some reason.

ANY EXCUSE TO ESCAPE THE SOUND OF BURNE'S VOICE IS A GOOD ONE.

The madman used his arts to heal himself, while Kenji and I spoke to the woman and her companion. As I had suspected, she was a nun: a servant of Saint Tarte. They told us of how the Ping had struck without warning, overwhelming the island's few defenses, and had imprisoned most of the inhabitants. The most important prisoners, including both the Sister Inferior and the Mother Superior, were being held in the dungeons of the fortress.

The nun, it seemed, had been attempting to engage in congress with a handy sailor, thereby ritualistically renewing her magical potency. Religious magic is, as I have previously noted, hopelessly inefficient.

Once again, fate smiled upon us. It transpired that there was a secret entrance to these dungeons, hidden in the rocks beneath these very docks.

Hah! A rhyme! Mark that passage, Abraxis! I shall add it to my epic poem this very evening.

PLEASE KILL ME.

The women hid themselves upon our launch, as we descended below the docks. The entrance was easily found, and after using Burne's Luminescent Aura upon a crossbow bolt, we had enough light to see by. And so we sallied forth, into the very heart of the enemy stronghold....

 

[Rolzup]

At Long Last, Joachim

The dungeons were only lightly guarded; they obviously had not anticipated a master strategist like myself. We struck them down quickly and quietly, and proceed on to the cells.

And there we found, at long last, Joachim Driftwood. He was less than delighted to see his beloved, considering the dangerous nature of his predicament, but once I introduced myself he was sufficiently reassured.

HE NEVER EVER NOTICED BURNE, ALTHOUGH HE DID REMARK ONCE UPON THE SMELL.

Kenji freed the man, along with his fellow prisoners, by using his blade to literally slice through the bars of their cells. Reasonably impressive, I had to admit, albeit needlessly flashy. We discovered that not only had we found Joachim, and the Sister Inferior (one 'Eva Longinus'), but also the other surviving members of the Windsprint's crew. The Captain, Eduard Revi, thanked me personally, and offered to assist us in our efforts to eliminate the remaining Polyneecheeans.

Pleased by his bravery, I offered him the use of my own sword, a weapon of fabled power.

HE BOUGHT IT THIRD-HAND. I'M NOT SURE WHAT METAL IT'S MADE OF, BUT IT BENDS IF HE SWINGS IT TOO HARD.

Rackhir reappeared at some point in the proceedings, fresh from doing gods-know-what. Napping, I suspect.

I, AT LEAST, NOTICED THAT RACKHIR HAD MORE SCARS, AND SIGNIFICANTLY LESS ARROWS, THAN HE HAD WHEN HE LEFT US.

We were surprised, at this juncture, by a handful of guards descending the stairs. We struck quickly, but one of them managed to flee back up the stairs, slamming the double doors behind him. We had only moments to prepare for the enemy assault.

As Kenji urged the non-combatants into the secret tunnel, I created a simple trap at the top of the stairs. A broken board was placed upon the topmost step, the vial of Nebulotoxum concealed beneath it. The first man through the door would step upon the board, breaking the vial and releasing the contents. The deadly, deadly contents.

It went exactly as I had planned. The Nebulotoxum proved to be a particularly vile gas, one which left the Polyneecheeans blinded and sickened. It had little effect, sadly, upon the pair of truly enormous boars that charged down the stairs after them....

What followed was an altogether typical melee, aside from the giant pig. Kenji waved his sword about, Rackhir fired arrows at various people, and the madman cracked skulls with gleeful abandon.

Myself, I employed Burne's Incendiary Blast upon the pig, filling the dungeon with the delightful scent of barbeque. The Ping had more than spearmen and swine upon their side, however! They also boasted the services of some sort of barbaric spell-caster, and he used his arts to call forth a wind that swept away the Nebulotoxum cloud.

My interest piqued by this rude challenge, I set myself the task of incinerating the fellow. We dueled back and forth for a time, until I -- growing weary of the game -- allowed Rackhir to slay him. Or perhaps it was Kenji? Either way, one barbarian killed another. It was all quite appropriate, really.

The close quarters, and the superior numbers of the foe, had made matters touch-and-go for a time, but we prevailed in the end. Naturally. With Burne at the helm, how could we fail?

HE COULD SET HIS ALLIES ON FIRE. “ACCIDENTALLY”. JUST WAIT; IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.

With the foe driven back, we swept upward, and removed the remaining Ping from the building. Messily.

In the process we found a collection of items that the Polyneecheeans had collected; ‘booty’, I believe is the technical term? Therein we found various and sundry things of interest; Captain Revi’s sword, Joachim’s magical oven, and even the fabled relic known as the Holy Bodice of St. Tarte. This last was wrapped around the order’s Mother Superior, Tawny Portal, who the Ping had been intending to sacrifice to their Tiki god.

The rest of the evening passed in a flame-lit blur. It ended when the surviving Ping fled back to their ships, which were -- alas! -- beyond the Engine's range. Neverthelss, I had given them much to remember me by, and no few Ping were left burning upon the shores of St. Tarte's!

And so, with the lovers reunited, the island freed, and the barbaric foe routed, we were free to return to CITY and to civilization. And it was about damned time.

 

[Rolzup]

Interlude: A Distressingly Straightforward Explanatory Account from the Pen of Rackhir

Rackhir's Big Adventure

The original plan was to sneak into the fortress through the top. Rackhir was going first as an archer and a ranger (and a newly minted DWS) he was best suited to getting into range of the guards on the walls of the fortress. However as he was moving towards the fortress a second patrol group (in addition to the one attacking the nun on the docks) emerged between him and the rest of the group threatening Delphine and Mallus who were well behind him (so as not to spoil his hide and move silently rolls). He and Kenji cut down the patrol with their bows drawing their attention away from D&M. Fortunately this had not drawn the attention of the sentries on the fortress. Rackhir then cut down one and seriously wounded the other who had dropped below the crenellations, making it unclear if he had been killed or not.

So Rackhir pushed on to the fortress and scaled the wall with a grappling hook and rope. Making his way around the top of the fortress, he ran into two more berserkers and killed them just in time to have another berserker and a shaman pop out of the fortress on patrol. It was around this time that the rest of the party "forgot" about Rackhir and wandered off to go down through the secret passage. Rackhir killed the shaman and seriously wounded the berserker who then fled into the fortress faster than Rackhir could follow. At this point he decided that it would be unwise to continue the assault on the fortress on his own so he retreated from the fortress, managing to fall off the walls as he tried to get down the rope. Unfortunately at this point he ran into two more berserkers and a pair of Pig Handlers with their pig. Rackhir then made a fighting retreat up a path killing the two berserkers, one of the pig handlers and his pig before the remaining one retreated with his pig. Declining to push his luck, I let them go.

Of course at this point the party had disappeared into the secret tunnel. Fortunatey Rackhir managed to make his tracking rolls and followed the group into the tunnel, sneaking up on them with some quite impressive Hide and Move Silently checks.

Thus ended Rackhir's "nap".

 

[Rolzup]

Interlude: Ship of Fools, Part 1, "Vulgar Intrigues"

<Aboard the MCSDF Windsprint, 2 days sail from St. Tarte's Island, en route to Narayan:CITY.>

It's hot. It's crowded, despite the loss of the enlisted crew. It's surprisingly dull, considering that the enlisted men have been replaced by saucy half-dressed female refugees from the Shrine of St. Tart's Bodice, for whom propriety is mortal sin.

The priestesses, to no one's surprise, have a real thing for seamen. However, their interest in a Free Company made up of foreigners, a pyromaniac, the mad and the soon-to-be married is flaccid at best.

Captain Spar and a skeleton crew of his relatives man the "Wretched Excess". Most of his boys are aboard the Windsprint, getting a crash-course in navy life. This education proves to be so popular that Spar has them drawing lots each morning for the opportunity to serve.

The nights pass unquietly, disturbed by religious fervor. Sacraments are dispensed, as often as the sailors stamina will allow. By the 3rd day Captain Spar abandons his own ship, asking permission to come aboard Windsprint.

"Just trying to do my part to get her home safely." he says to an incredulous Burne, as he all but fondles the starboard gunwale. Burne tries to remind him that he has a ship of own when Spar cuts him off.

"You wouldn't have any of that herb, what do they call it in Narayan...Le Weekender...umm...Sialis root, that's it! A man my age needs a little help raising the mast."

"I had some," says Mallus, "But we used all we had trying to revive the ronin. He had a particularly draining experience on the voyage to St. Tarte's Island."

"On the way over? But that's before we picked up the ladies". Jaton Spar mumbles something snide and walks away. Mallus quickly glances around for Rackhir, and then for available cover, in that order.

Aside from the...tension between the refugees and crew, the situation is unpleasant between Captain Revi and his officers, made all the more so by the revelation that the Mother Superior can turn ordinary seawater into a variety of cocktails, not the least of which is her signature rosewater and gin. The lingering shock of defeat, the unorthodox passengers, arguments over the playing of favorites and the relative sizes of prows, not to mention the freely-given gin lead to a near-total breakdown of proper naval conduct.

On the fourth night out, Captain Revi and his purser Masala Tangier argue on the foredeck for all to hear.

Spar says "Why shouldn't I hand everything our 'passengers' had over to the samurai and his company? They deserve prizes. And I'll be damned if I give them any more from our stores."

"Give them everything but the brass bottle," says Mr. Tangiers quietly.

"Damn it man, what's so special about the bottle?! And this time on the level. You haven't spoken true with me since our release." The soft slapping of the waves, and occasionally sanctified backsides, are the only reply.

"I should just break the seal on that bottle myself, Tangiers," says Captain Revi, "If I'm guessing right, that would end what's left of your career right quick, wouldn't it?"

"If you're guessing wrong, it might end a lot more." Mr. Tangiers looks down at the ship's passing wake and briefly considers exactly how bad it would be to have pearls for eyes.

"The bottle wasn't in the manifest. How did it get onto St. Tarte's?"

"It came onboard with the two knights, Raul Varice and Nui Ulgar. I omitted it from the manifest. The Ping must have snatched it up when they took us."

"Who are you working for, Mr. Tangiers?" Captain Revi's hand causally drops to the hilt of his blade. "The White Pearl Privateers? The Crooked Sages? Not the Ajakhani?"

Masala Tangiers is silent for a moment, then he mounts a feeble smile that suggests bowel trouble. "I'm loyal to CITY, Captain. If you'll permit me..." Mr. Tangiers ever-so-slowly lowers his hand and draws his dagger from its sheath.

"Ritual suicide Mr. Tangiers? You don't strike me as the type," Captain Revi pauses in mid-taunt to gape at the dagger's blade, or lack of one, seemingly made of a slice of blue sky as seen from bole of a green stalk-like tree. A creature comes briefly into view on a nearby branch and regards the Captain with expectant eyes.

"What the hells is that?"

"Looks like a lemur."

"One more remark like that and I'll have your guts for violin strings. That's a Gate-Blade, isn't it?"

"It is. As sharp as the line that divides here from everywhere else. I'm an operative for the Order of the Gondoliers, Captain."

"The Gondoliers! They have no business on a real boat. And their jurisdiction doesn't extend beyond the walls of CITY. They're nothing but glorified city guards with unnatural talking gondolas. And worse, dabblers in Gate Magic." Masala Tangiers says nothing.

"So you were ordered to steal it from knights? Who were they? They're the ones responsible for the loss of my ship. We could've taken those savages if it weren't for their lantern summoning up that damn flying spider!"

"I was ordered to keep tabs on them, and the bottle ever since we docked at Plame on Novo Saurum. They were members of a Free and Accepted Martial Order of Eris. Wordkeep knights."

"Wordkeepers? Aren't they just a parcel delivery services nowadays? They haven't been a true knighthood since an emperor sat on the throne of Eris. Are you telling me I lost my ship on account of the powerful sorcery of two... postmen?!"

"It wasn't sorcery, it was Gate Magic."

"Correct me again and you'll be riding the keel all the way to Fort Ormond. Why didn't you level with me, Masala? We go back a ways," says Captain Revi, pausing to consider the fact that he never really knew the man in front of him.

"I was ordered to lie."

"You can't call what you did back on St. Tarte's lying. It was more like talking, spiced with a variety of nervous tics. You'd figure lying was vital skill to have as a secret agent."

"Now you're just trying to hurt me, Captain."

"Perceptive of you".

"I panicked. I was afraid you'd give our rescuers the bottle."

"Damn right. I want this done with, forgotten. If I wait for the naval brass to reward them I'd be in their debt until the Gate to Heaven opens and the dead rise up to march through!"

Standing at the aft rail, Mallus Lovesworn says to Rackhir, "It's odd how their voices carry. Must be this ill wind...."

Note: MCSDF is short for "Monopolis Combined Self-Defense Force". "Monopolis" is the legal name for CITY, but it's not commonly used in Narayan.

 

[demiurge1138]

Yay, it's back!

And I sense a foreshadow-pun in the fact that the drink causing all of this trouble over the bottle is 'gin'.

Demiurge out.