the Jester
Legend
Ah, finally caught up!
Great story, Arwink! Now if only I can catch up on the mega-module jam...
Great story, Arwink! Now if only I can catch up on the mega-module jam...
Copperheads: Betrayal and Strange Runes and Burning Dead, oh my (short update 02/12)
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arwink
Clockwork Golem
Blarth exits the room on Cammar’s order, leaving Geoffrey alone before the Head Justicar’s table. Geoffrey adjusts his stance and looks Cammar in the eye. He can see something hard and dangerous in his superior’s expression, and the younger Cuthbertite knows he will require all his diplomacy to get through this without breaking his commitment to the king.
“The king spoke mostly about the prisoners you’ve taken,” he says evenly. “The mercenaries. He wanted my advice on how to handle the situation.”
“And what did you tell him?” Cammar asks. His voice is just as even as his subordinates, both of them keeping their emotions controlled and their opinions neutral.
“I gave him the best advice I could after hearing only his version of events,” Geoffrey says. “That justice must be served, and I could give no clear opinion without investigating the matter on my own. In such cases as this, your word is the voice of St Cuthbert and the will of the law.”
“Excellent,” Cammar says, and Geoffrey catches the vaguest hint of a victory smile on the pale-haired man’s lips. “This is a crucial moment in our relationship with the crown here. He hopes for leniency where none should be provided – the men in question murdered openly, cutting patrons and our own clerics down in the very streets of the capital. Their claims of innocence are immaterial, and political expediency will do little to sway our course.”
Geoffrey’s eyebrow shoots up, the first show of emotion he’s made.
“They cut people down in the street?” He asks. “With witnesses around?”
“Indeed,” Cammar says smugly. “They pulled swords in a bar fight, killed six people before the Temple Guards arrived, and we lost three men while disarming them. These men will burn, Justicar Cromwell, and I will be damned before I let the crown decide otherwise.”
“Is it wise to alienate the crown so quickly?”
“Wisdom is irrelevant,” Cammar barks. “We are a church devoted to duty, Justicar, and obedience.”
“As you say,” Geoffrey agrees. “I would look into this, with your leave. The king appears to trust me, and it would ease his troubles to know that my conclusion is the same as yours.”
“You doubt my findings?” Cammar glares at his subordinate, hand dropping to the hilt of a dagger.
“From all reports, violence is common to the mercenaries of these lands, but murder is out of the ordinary,” Geoffrey says calmly. “And as I told the king, I can give no clear opinion without investigating the matter on my own. If I return and simply say I agree with your judgement, he is shrewd enough to know I am simply repeating your words. My goal is to serve the church, to strengthen our position, and that cannot be done without looking into things on my own.”
Cammar glares at him.
“A sound move,” he says finally, but the hint of steel in his voice tells Geoffrey he’s far from pleased. “Take your team and investigate, but do so quickly. You have but three days before the murderer’s burn, and such leniency goes against my better judgement.”
“My thanks, Justicar,” Geoffrey says. He bows low, and turns towards the door.
“Cromwell?”
Geoffrey turns.
“I have one further question,” Cammar announces. “About your Kobold. The other Yip’s say he’s out of place, that they can sense something wrong with him. Have you seen any evidence that he may be disloyal? Straying from the path of his order?”
Geoffrey casts his mind back to the King’s Guest Lodge, the sight of Yip disappearing into the bedroom with a grin on his face and a bottle of wine clasped in one paw. The brief war between duty to the church and duty to his allies is quickly won.
“None, Justicar,” he says. “He has served admirably in every instance I have placed him in.”
Cammar watches Geoffrey carefully, searching out some hint that he’s not telling the truth. The second’s stretch out into infinity, the Head Justicar’s grey eyes like an unyielding line of stone.
“Very well,” he says finally. “But watch him carefully. The discontent he brings to the others troubles me.”
***
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Geoffrey explains. He spears a crisped slice of bread on the end of a fork and dumps it on his plate, spreading it with a thin layer of freshly churned butter. Blarth and Amarin are both listening intently, while Yip nurses a slightly aching head and some dry bread.
“There are three mercenaries, all of them under suspicion for murder, and a dozen witnesses that saw them massacring townsfolk and members of my church. All three claim to be innocent, not remembering the violence and having no control over their actions. Cammar doesn’t believe them, and Oleg can’t afford to have them executed without loosing control of the major mercenary factions. We need to find out what happened.”
“How isn’t this easy?” Amarin wonders. “We can just pull what happened out of their heads.”
“You can do that?” Geoffrey asks, slightly taken aback.
“No, but surely you can.”
Geoffrey pauses, unsure of what to say.
“It might be a little beyond my abilities.”
“You mean you can’t read minds?” Amarin asks. “What kind of lawman are you?”
“Imperial,” Geoffrey says curtly. “The kind that makes do without mind-reading and settles on investigation.”
“Where we start?” Blarth asks. He tears a chunk of mutton off the bone with his teeth, slowly chews it while he thinks. “Blarth can’t see much room for doubt.”
“Maybe swords cursed,” Yip says, mumbling through his hangover.
“No such luck,” Geoffrey says. “I examined them after Cammar dismissed me last night, right after I talked with the prisoners. Normal weapons, local steel. Good work, but nothing out of the ordinary. Halgo might have been able to tell if there was some kind of hidden magic there, but it was beyond my abilities to detect.”
“We could ask him when he gets back,” Amarin suggests. “The King’s mission should only take a few weeks to complete.”
“Not enough time,” Geoffrey says. “The mercenaries die in three days.”
“What about the smith?” Amarin suggests. “He might be able to identify the weapons, let us know if they were sold to any known wizards or such around town. If they were local blades, we could track him down and ask. Did you see a forge mark?”
Geoffrey nods and quickly sketches the mark on a sheet of parchment.
“I guess we ask around and find out who that belonged too,” he says. “Damn it, I hate not having enough to go on.”
Amarin looks the paper over, frowning slightly.
“I recognise that one,” he says slowly. “I needed a new dagger when I first arrived here, dropped the old one overboard on a stormy night during the crossing. I just need to remember the smiths name…Bjorn something, I think. Ugly man.”
“Bjorn Harnotha?” Geoffrey asks.
“That’s it,” Amarin says, grinning. “You know him?”
“Cut him down a few months ago,” Geoffrey explains. “He was selling weapons to the gnolls. He’s the reason we were working for the king in Thorbeck.”
“So we can’t talk to the smith?” Amarin says, slightly deflated.
“No,” Geoffrey says grimly. “But the merceries claim the swords were only a week or so old, so there’s someone in town using his forge mark.”
“Shouldn’t we question him then?” Amarin asks.
“Yes, I think we should. Everyone finish up, I think we need to have a chat with this new smith.”
“The king spoke mostly about the prisoners you’ve taken,” he says evenly. “The mercenaries. He wanted my advice on how to handle the situation.”
“And what did you tell him?” Cammar asks. His voice is just as even as his subordinates, both of them keeping their emotions controlled and their opinions neutral.
“I gave him the best advice I could after hearing only his version of events,” Geoffrey says. “That justice must be served, and I could give no clear opinion without investigating the matter on my own. In such cases as this, your word is the voice of St Cuthbert and the will of the law.”
“Excellent,” Cammar says, and Geoffrey catches the vaguest hint of a victory smile on the pale-haired man’s lips. “This is a crucial moment in our relationship with the crown here. He hopes for leniency where none should be provided – the men in question murdered openly, cutting patrons and our own clerics down in the very streets of the capital. Their claims of innocence are immaterial, and political expediency will do little to sway our course.”
Geoffrey’s eyebrow shoots up, the first show of emotion he’s made.
“They cut people down in the street?” He asks. “With witnesses around?”
“Indeed,” Cammar says smugly. “They pulled swords in a bar fight, killed six people before the Temple Guards arrived, and we lost three men while disarming them. These men will burn, Justicar Cromwell, and I will be damned before I let the crown decide otherwise.”
“Is it wise to alienate the crown so quickly?”
“Wisdom is irrelevant,” Cammar barks. “We are a church devoted to duty, Justicar, and obedience.”
“As you say,” Geoffrey agrees. “I would look into this, with your leave. The king appears to trust me, and it would ease his troubles to know that my conclusion is the same as yours.”
“You doubt my findings?” Cammar glares at his subordinate, hand dropping to the hilt of a dagger.
“From all reports, violence is common to the mercenaries of these lands, but murder is out of the ordinary,” Geoffrey says calmly. “And as I told the king, I can give no clear opinion without investigating the matter on my own. If I return and simply say I agree with your judgement, he is shrewd enough to know I am simply repeating your words. My goal is to serve the church, to strengthen our position, and that cannot be done without looking into things on my own.”
Cammar glares at him.
“A sound move,” he says finally, but the hint of steel in his voice tells Geoffrey he’s far from pleased. “Take your team and investigate, but do so quickly. You have but three days before the murderer’s burn, and such leniency goes against my better judgement.”
“My thanks, Justicar,” Geoffrey says. He bows low, and turns towards the door.
“Cromwell?”
Geoffrey turns.
“I have one further question,” Cammar announces. “About your Kobold. The other Yip’s say he’s out of place, that they can sense something wrong with him. Have you seen any evidence that he may be disloyal? Straying from the path of his order?”
Geoffrey casts his mind back to the King’s Guest Lodge, the sight of Yip disappearing into the bedroom with a grin on his face and a bottle of wine clasped in one paw. The brief war between duty to the church and duty to his allies is quickly won.
“None, Justicar,” he says. “He has served admirably in every instance I have placed him in.”
Cammar watches Geoffrey carefully, searching out some hint that he’s not telling the truth. The second’s stretch out into infinity, the Head Justicar’s grey eyes like an unyielding line of stone.
“Very well,” he says finally. “But watch him carefully. The discontent he brings to the others troubles me.”
***
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Geoffrey explains. He spears a crisped slice of bread on the end of a fork and dumps it on his plate, spreading it with a thin layer of freshly churned butter. Blarth and Amarin are both listening intently, while Yip nurses a slightly aching head and some dry bread.
“There are three mercenaries, all of them under suspicion for murder, and a dozen witnesses that saw them massacring townsfolk and members of my church. All three claim to be innocent, not remembering the violence and having no control over their actions. Cammar doesn’t believe them, and Oleg can’t afford to have them executed without loosing control of the major mercenary factions. We need to find out what happened.”
“How isn’t this easy?” Amarin wonders. “We can just pull what happened out of their heads.”
“You can do that?” Geoffrey asks, slightly taken aback.
“No, but surely you can.”
Geoffrey pauses, unsure of what to say.
“It might be a little beyond my abilities.”
“You mean you can’t read minds?” Amarin asks. “What kind of lawman are you?”
“Imperial,” Geoffrey says curtly. “The kind that makes do without mind-reading and settles on investigation.”
“Where we start?” Blarth asks. He tears a chunk of mutton off the bone with his teeth, slowly chews it while he thinks. “Blarth can’t see much room for doubt.”
“Maybe swords cursed,” Yip says, mumbling through his hangover.
“No such luck,” Geoffrey says. “I examined them after Cammar dismissed me last night, right after I talked with the prisoners. Normal weapons, local steel. Good work, but nothing out of the ordinary. Halgo might have been able to tell if there was some kind of hidden magic there, but it was beyond my abilities to detect.”
“We could ask him when he gets back,” Amarin suggests. “The King’s mission should only take a few weeks to complete.”
“Not enough time,” Geoffrey says. “The mercenaries die in three days.”
“What about the smith?” Amarin suggests. “He might be able to identify the weapons, let us know if they were sold to any known wizards or such around town. If they were local blades, we could track him down and ask. Did you see a forge mark?”
Geoffrey nods and quickly sketches the mark on a sheet of parchment.
“I guess we ask around and find out who that belonged too,” he says. “Damn it, I hate not having enough to go on.”
Amarin looks the paper over, frowning slightly.
“I recognise that one,” he says slowly. “I needed a new dagger when I first arrived here, dropped the old one overboard on a stormy night during the crossing. I just need to remember the smiths name…Bjorn something, I think. Ugly man.”
“Bjorn Harnotha?” Geoffrey asks.
“That’s it,” Amarin says, grinning. “You know him?”
“Cut him down a few months ago,” Geoffrey explains. “He was selling weapons to the gnolls. He’s the reason we were working for the king in Thorbeck.”
“So we can’t talk to the smith?” Amarin says, slightly deflated.
“No,” Geoffrey says grimly. “But the merceries claim the swords were only a week or so old, so there’s someone in town using his forge mark.”
“Shouldn’t we question him then?” Amarin asks.
“Yes, I think we should. Everyone finish up, I think we need to have a chat with this new smith.”
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arwink
Clockwork Golem
“Chat” is quickly translated as “Watch” when the Copperheads arrive at the forge. The exterior of the building is streaked with dust, the wooden shutters over the windows latched down and the door locked.
“It looks unused,” Amarin points out needlessly.
“Normal, too,” Yip says with a shrug.
Amarin’s psi-crystal is hoisted onto the rooftop of a nearby house and kept in a position to watch the doorway.
“That thing will let us know when something happens?” Geoffrey says. He doesn’t sound confident in the plan.
“It’ll do it,” Amarin assures him. “Assuming that I’m close enough to hear it.”
“How close do you need to be?”
“About a mile,” Amarin explains. “We should be fine as long as we don’t leave the city.”
“You sure it see something?” Blarth asks, poking the crystal. “It not have eyes.”
“Boss, you should see the grime under his fingernails,” the crystals voice says, reverberating in Amarin’s head. Amarin smiles to himself and nods.
“The crystal is observant by nature,” he explains. “It holds the part of me that is purely interested in seeing things, a fragment of my personality unobstructed by other emotions and thoughts. If there’s something to be noticed, it’ll notice it.”
Everyone decides to take Amarin at his word and falls back. Blarth and Amarin huddle around the table in the guest lodge, Amarin focusing on his crystals communications. Geoffrey and Yip hit the streets, getting ready to question witnesses to the murder and find out anything they can by Bjorn’s smithy.
Hours pass.
It’s the first time Amarin has ever had to focus entirely on his crystals communication with him, listening to every word it thinks, and it proves to be an interesting experience.
“…Hey boss, check out that cloud, it looks weird, and that bug jumping across the guttering is all striped, and they really should be more careful when they build their chimneys here, I mean check out those cracks in the metal, you’d think they’d make it out of crystals like they do back home, and that guy walking past has a really big nose, and those two look like they’re in love, and that guy with the shovel is covered in soot, and there’s something shadowy lurking behind the chimney…”
Amarin sighs audibly, doing his best to keep the sound out of his thoughts. The crystals constant monologue on the state of the world was something he thought he was used to, a subconscious buzz that he only registers when it notices something important, like interesting runes or…ah…wait…
“Did you say there was something hiding behind the chimney?” Amarin thinks to the crystal. It lets out a gleeful mental nod, and shows Amarin the image of something small and lean hiding behind the metal construction.
“Blarth,” Amarin says cautiously, “Something’s watching the crystal.”
“Crystal pretty,” Blarth says blandly. His head is resting on the table, boredom writ upon his features. “Blarth see it on roof, Blarth watch it too. Blarth bored.”
“This is something that’s hiding, on the roof, watching the thing we’ve left to watch the potential smith of evil,” Amarin says cautiously. “I can give you the power to climb like a spider, do you think you can make it across town and rescue the crystal before whatever is watching it decides it might be worth making off with?”
Blarth perks up a little.
“Blarth can do that.”
There is a surge, and a web of ectoplasm appears on Blarth’s hands.
“I’ll meet you there,” Amarin says. Blarth is already running through the door and crawling up onto a nearby rooftop.
“It looks unused,” Amarin points out needlessly.
“Normal, too,” Yip says with a shrug.
Amarin’s psi-crystal is hoisted onto the rooftop of a nearby house and kept in a position to watch the doorway.
“That thing will let us know when something happens?” Geoffrey says. He doesn’t sound confident in the plan.
“It’ll do it,” Amarin assures him. “Assuming that I’m close enough to hear it.”
“How close do you need to be?”
“About a mile,” Amarin explains. “We should be fine as long as we don’t leave the city.”
“You sure it see something?” Blarth asks, poking the crystal. “It not have eyes.”
“Boss, you should see the grime under his fingernails,” the crystals voice says, reverberating in Amarin’s head. Amarin smiles to himself and nods.
“The crystal is observant by nature,” he explains. “It holds the part of me that is purely interested in seeing things, a fragment of my personality unobstructed by other emotions and thoughts. If there’s something to be noticed, it’ll notice it.”
Everyone decides to take Amarin at his word and falls back. Blarth and Amarin huddle around the table in the guest lodge, Amarin focusing on his crystals communications. Geoffrey and Yip hit the streets, getting ready to question witnesses to the murder and find out anything they can by Bjorn’s smithy.
Hours pass.
It’s the first time Amarin has ever had to focus entirely on his crystals communication with him, listening to every word it thinks, and it proves to be an interesting experience.
“…Hey boss, check out that cloud, it looks weird, and that bug jumping across the guttering is all striped, and they really should be more careful when they build their chimneys here, I mean check out those cracks in the metal, you’d think they’d make it out of crystals like they do back home, and that guy walking past has a really big nose, and those two look like they’re in love, and that guy with the shovel is covered in soot, and there’s something shadowy lurking behind the chimney…”
Amarin sighs audibly, doing his best to keep the sound out of his thoughts. The crystals constant monologue on the state of the world was something he thought he was used to, a subconscious buzz that he only registers when it notices something important, like interesting runes or…ah…wait…
“Did you say there was something hiding behind the chimney?” Amarin thinks to the crystal. It lets out a gleeful mental nod, and shows Amarin the image of something small and lean hiding behind the metal construction.
“Blarth,” Amarin says cautiously, “Something’s watching the crystal.”
“Crystal pretty,” Blarth says blandly. His head is resting on the table, boredom writ upon his features. “Blarth see it on roof, Blarth watch it too. Blarth bored.”
“This is something that’s hiding, on the roof, watching the thing we’ve left to watch the potential smith of evil,” Amarin says cautiously. “I can give you the power to climb like a spider, do you think you can make it across town and rescue the crystal before whatever is watching it decides it might be worth making off with?”
Blarth perks up a little.
“Blarth can do that.”
There is a surge, and a web of ectoplasm appears on Blarth’s hands.
“I’ll meet you there,” Amarin says. Blarth is already running through the door and crawling up onto a nearby rooftop.
arwink
Clockwork Golem
“It’s moving, Boss,” Amarin hears in his head.
He wheezes as he sprints after Blarth, his lungs working furiously as he tries to reach the building opposite the smithy. He dimly remembers his brother once showing him a trick with his own psi-crystal, teaching it to grow ectoplasmic legs and scamper around the room. Amarin curses himself for not having mastered the knack of doing it with his own yet.
“Wow, the half-orc guy is moving fast,” the crystal sends. “He’s on the wall, crawling like a spider, on the roof. The swords out – you know it’s empowered, don’t you boss? And…hey, where’d the shadow go.”
Amarin slumps against the wall of the smithy, watching Blarth as the half-orc prowls across the rooftop with sword drawn. The building shakes a little as Blarth moves along, the wooden frame barely holding up to the weight of an armoured warrior.
“Nothing here,” Blarth calls out. “Crystal safe.”
“There was something there,” Amarin insists. He pictures the image sent him in his mind, trying to pick out new details. “It almost looked like Yip. About the same size, anyway. I wonder if Geoffrey sent Yip as a second watch.”
“Geoffrey didn’t.”
Geoffrey’s voice echoes from a nearby alleyway. He steps into the light with Yip at his side. His scowl is far from pleased.
“Why exactly is Blarth on the roof when we’re trying to discretely watch over the forge?” he asks.
“There was something up there, watching the crystal,” Amarin says. “Maybe the door, but the crystal definitely thought it was watching him. I thought it was important to make sure the crystal was safe.”
“And you’ve done it so discretely,” Geoffrey says with understated calmness. “Didn’t occur to you that rushing in here with swords drawn would give a watcher plenty of time to run?”
Amarin thinks about that for a few seconds.
“Um, no, it didn’t.”
Geoffrey rolls his eyes and looks down the street. Already the townsfolk are starting to gather, watching the argument and waiting for Blarth to fall through the roof he’s walking on. Stealth wasn’t much of an option anymore.
“Blarth, get the crystal and get down here,” he orders. “Yip and I picked up a few things about the Smith. Seems its being run by Bjorn’s apprentice, and even then it’s barely opened. The kids got the skills necessary, but he couldn’t do work like Bjorn’s so things are going bad. One-eyes men had commissioned swords off Bjorn, but ended up with this kids work instead when it became apparent Bjorn wasn’t coming back. From the sounds of it, the apprentice is in pretty bad shape – the mercenaries may not have been responsible for killing people outright, but they had no problems roughing up a kid because they weren’t pleased with the deal.”
“So what do that mean?” Blarth asks.
“It means we break in and look around,” Geoffrey orders. “Yip, get the window and slip inside – quietly and without drawing attention to yourself. Wait until the crowd gets bored, then let us in. We may as well look around before anyone shows up – it’s not like they aren’t going to know where here.”
Everyone nods in agreement, slowly getting off the main street and scouting the outside of the forge. It’s a fairly sizable building as Bor goes, thick wood on three sides with a stone wall for the fireplace and forge. Yip has no trouble lifting the latches on the window and quickly slips inside. Everyone waits a few seconds before they hear the sound of something twisting in the door-lock, and a minute later it swings open.
“In,” Yip announces from the doorway.
“Spread out, search the place,” Geoffrey orders. “If there’s something in here, I want it found.”
The room doesn’t have much by way of hiding places – several weapon racks with scattered blades cover most of the walls, while the anvil, forge and fireplace take up much of the remaining space. Geoffrey watches as the group spreads through the room, poking and prodding in search of secret locations or hidden alcoves where secrets could be kept. There doesn’t seem to be much success.
“Nothing?” Geoffrey asks. Everyone shakes their head.
“Uh, Boss?” Amarin’s psi-crystal interjects, forcing its words into the psion's head. “There’s something you might want to get the guy with the spiky armour to check.”
“What?” Amarin asks. Everyone turns towards him.
“Down in the forge,” the Psi-crystal explains. “There’s something weird about the ash.”
“What about what?” Geoffrey asks, privy to only half the conversation.
“The crystal says there’s something odd about the forge,” Amarin explains.
He walks over and looks into the huge stone fireplace, trying to spot what his crystal has already noticed. It takes a few seconds, but eventually he sees it too – a slightly regular disturbance in the ash and soot that could represent a groove in the surface of the fireplace. Amarin digs a rag out of his pack and quickly wipes at the soot, gradually revealing a strange symbol carved into the stone that makes the hearth of the forges fireplace.
“I think this could be something,” Amarin announces. Geoffrey looks over his shoulder.
“It’s Gauntian,” he says simply. “I don’t know which cult, but the design is close enough.”
Yip and Blarth both crowd in to have a look, examining the twisting design.
“Stone move,” Yip says suddenly. He skips from foot to foot, suddenly excited.
“What?”
“Stone move,” Yip says, pointing at the edges. “Not connected to walls. Chimney have mortar holding together, bottom stone doesn’t. Very heavy, but it move.”
The kobold pulls a pair of tools from a nearby rack and holds them forth. Both are thick, hooked rods of black steel. Yip gestures to two holes near the edge of the stone.
“Use this, lift stone. Maybe something underneath,” he says simply.
Geoffrey looks at the marked stone, covered by a thin layer of ash. It’s easily three feet wide, lord knows how thick. Probably beyond the ability of most people to move easily. The kobold’s plan makes sense.
“Blarth, it’s yours,” Geoffrey announces. “Think you can lift it?”
Blarth just gives a hideous grin and cracks his knuckles. He slides the metal rods into place and starts to heave, trying to lift the stone upwards. It’s heavy and tightly wedged into the stone, harder to move than the half-orc expected. Blarth closes his eyes and strains against the stone, heaving with all his strength. Breath seeps through gritted teeth in a heavy hiss, and he can hear his companions saying something but the strain of lifting drains everything else out.
Then the sensation of being hit breaks Blarth’s concentration, and he opens his eyes to see a four-foot tall creature made of stone and steel where the stone was laying, an elemental shape with three-foot sword-blades where hands should be. Blarth watches one of the hand-blades rearing back, ready to lash out. He drops his shield into place, ready to deflect the incoming blow, and looks for the second hand.
It’s then that he realises the creature has skewered him neatly through the stomach…
He wheezes as he sprints after Blarth, his lungs working furiously as he tries to reach the building opposite the smithy. He dimly remembers his brother once showing him a trick with his own psi-crystal, teaching it to grow ectoplasmic legs and scamper around the room. Amarin curses himself for not having mastered the knack of doing it with his own yet.
“Wow, the half-orc guy is moving fast,” the crystal sends. “He’s on the wall, crawling like a spider, on the roof. The swords out – you know it’s empowered, don’t you boss? And…hey, where’d the shadow go.”
Amarin slumps against the wall of the smithy, watching Blarth as the half-orc prowls across the rooftop with sword drawn. The building shakes a little as Blarth moves along, the wooden frame barely holding up to the weight of an armoured warrior.
“Nothing here,” Blarth calls out. “Crystal safe.”
“There was something there,” Amarin insists. He pictures the image sent him in his mind, trying to pick out new details. “It almost looked like Yip. About the same size, anyway. I wonder if Geoffrey sent Yip as a second watch.”
“Geoffrey didn’t.”
Geoffrey’s voice echoes from a nearby alleyway. He steps into the light with Yip at his side. His scowl is far from pleased.
“Why exactly is Blarth on the roof when we’re trying to discretely watch over the forge?” he asks.
“There was something up there, watching the crystal,” Amarin says. “Maybe the door, but the crystal definitely thought it was watching him. I thought it was important to make sure the crystal was safe.”
“And you’ve done it so discretely,” Geoffrey says with understated calmness. “Didn’t occur to you that rushing in here with swords drawn would give a watcher plenty of time to run?”
Amarin thinks about that for a few seconds.
“Um, no, it didn’t.”
Geoffrey rolls his eyes and looks down the street. Already the townsfolk are starting to gather, watching the argument and waiting for Blarth to fall through the roof he’s walking on. Stealth wasn’t much of an option anymore.
“Blarth, get the crystal and get down here,” he orders. “Yip and I picked up a few things about the Smith. Seems its being run by Bjorn’s apprentice, and even then it’s barely opened. The kids got the skills necessary, but he couldn’t do work like Bjorn’s so things are going bad. One-eyes men had commissioned swords off Bjorn, but ended up with this kids work instead when it became apparent Bjorn wasn’t coming back. From the sounds of it, the apprentice is in pretty bad shape – the mercenaries may not have been responsible for killing people outright, but they had no problems roughing up a kid because they weren’t pleased with the deal.”
“So what do that mean?” Blarth asks.
“It means we break in and look around,” Geoffrey orders. “Yip, get the window and slip inside – quietly and without drawing attention to yourself. Wait until the crowd gets bored, then let us in. We may as well look around before anyone shows up – it’s not like they aren’t going to know where here.”
Everyone nods in agreement, slowly getting off the main street and scouting the outside of the forge. It’s a fairly sizable building as Bor goes, thick wood on three sides with a stone wall for the fireplace and forge. Yip has no trouble lifting the latches on the window and quickly slips inside. Everyone waits a few seconds before they hear the sound of something twisting in the door-lock, and a minute later it swings open.
“In,” Yip announces from the doorway.
“Spread out, search the place,” Geoffrey orders. “If there’s something in here, I want it found.”
The room doesn’t have much by way of hiding places – several weapon racks with scattered blades cover most of the walls, while the anvil, forge and fireplace take up much of the remaining space. Geoffrey watches as the group spreads through the room, poking and prodding in search of secret locations or hidden alcoves where secrets could be kept. There doesn’t seem to be much success.
“Nothing?” Geoffrey asks. Everyone shakes their head.
“Uh, Boss?” Amarin’s psi-crystal interjects, forcing its words into the psion's head. “There’s something you might want to get the guy with the spiky armour to check.”
“What?” Amarin asks. Everyone turns towards him.
“Down in the forge,” the Psi-crystal explains. “There’s something weird about the ash.”
“What about what?” Geoffrey asks, privy to only half the conversation.
“The crystal says there’s something odd about the forge,” Amarin explains.
He walks over and looks into the huge stone fireplace, trying to spot what his crystal has already noticed. It takes a few seconds, but eventually he sees it too – a slightly regular disturbance in the ash and soot that could represent a groove in the surface of the fireplace. Amarin digs a rag out of his pack and quickly wipes at the soot, gradually revealing a strange symbol carved into the stone that makes the hearth of the forges fireplace.
“I think this could be something,” Amarin announces. Geoffrey looks over his shoulder.
“It’s Gauntian,” he says simply. “I don’t know which cult, but the design is close enough.”
Yip and Blarth both crowd in to have a look, examining the twisting design.
“Stone move,” Yip says suddenly. He skips from foot to foot, suddenly excited.
“What?”
“Stone move,” Yip says, pointing at the edges. “Not connected to walls. Chimney have mortar holding together, bottom stone doesn’t. Very heavy, but it move.”
The kobold pulls a pair of tools from a nearby rack and holds them forth. Both are thick, hooked rods of black steel. Yip gestures to two holes near the edge of the stone.
“Use this, lift stone. Maybe something underneath,” he says simply.
Geoffrey looks at the marked stone, covered by a thin layer of ash. It’s easily three feet wide, lord knows how thick. Probably beyond the ability of most people to move easily. The kobold’s plan makes sense.
“Blarth, it’s yours,” Geoffrey announces. “Think you can lift it?”
Blarth just gives a hideous grin and cracks his knuckles. He slides the metal rods into place and starts to heave, trying to lift the stone upwards. It’s heavy and tightly wedged into the stone, harder to move than the half-orc expected. Blarth closes his eyes and strains against the stone, heaving with all his strength. Breath seeps through gritted teeth in a heavy hiss, and he can hear his companions saying something but the strain of lifting drains everything else out.
Then the sensation of being hit breaks Blarth’s concentration, and he opens his eyes to see a four-foot tall creature made of stone and steel where the stone was laying, an elemental shape with three-foot sword-blades where hands should be. Blarth watches one of the hand-blades rearing back, ready to lash out. He drops his shield into place, ready to deflect the incoming blow, and looks for the second hand.
It’s then that he realises the creature has skewered him neatly through the stomach…
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GreyShadow
Explorer
Blarth have tummy ache.
arwink
Clockwork Golem
For those of you wanting a slightly clearer picture of Bor, I've recently posted a map and rough outline on my website (link in sig). It includes two sites of interest that don't yet have a place at the time of the storyhour (It's done with an eye to campaign time, which is still twelve sessions and nine months ahead of the storyhour), but apart from that is fairly accurate.
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