OK, so, I'm lame again, I know. I owed you guys the rest of that story days ago, and you were thinking I'd pulled a bunk and wasn't gonna out with the rest of it.
And I don't blame ya for thinking it.
This story isn't one of my proudest moments, as the whole world is probably already aware. But I swear, the whole Buried Up to the Neck thing wasn't really ALL my fault, and it's a damn shame the thing got pinned on me at all. Like I was the one wielding the shovels. Geez. All a kid does is try to give directions to one pretty lady and 'bam!' I'm the villain of the piece. Go fig.
But a promise is a promise, and I owe you for that cram session, so here I am. I'da been here days ago, but things got hectic after the exam. Different story, another day. We'll be here all night as it is, and I've still got to hand in those spell translations day after tomorrow.
Somebody tap me a mug so I can get my storytelling voice shined up. Ah, that's better. Right. Where were we?
There was Rhun's assassins, and then the Business With Doppelgangers, and the Ebon Mage Rot and the Great Land Deal, and Bearsfroth, and then we got knighted--or, anyway, my masters all did--and then there was the destruction of the Temples when the Lady of Phorn arrived, after the meeting with Bathmat. . . . it was a busy couple of months. How far did I get the other night?
Ah, yes. We were following Ambassador SuperDopp's trail to Oursk.
Well, duh, no he wasn't really the ambassador. The real Ambassador, Anton Cardask, was already dead, but we didn't know that before we caught up with him. We only knew that the current Ambassador to Oursk was probably a spy, in cahoots with the Brotherhood of Night. The Brotherhood of Night had really managed to piss us off by that point, and we vowed to stamp them out to the ends of the world. Not realizing, of course, what a long walk that was going to be geographically, or how short a span of time we it might be, temporally speaking.
The Ambassador turned out to be an old pal of ours, actually. Turned out to be the same Doppelganger that aced Master Arcade, Master Loial, and my pal Kelsey's family back at Krellar's Inn.
Well, not entirely the same Dopp.
He'd had some . . .adjustments made. Infusions of Mimic ichor and I don't know what else, same as the rest of the SuperDopp crew that the Brotherhood had tried to use to wreck Gaunt. I tell you, he took his whole hand, shaped it into a spear, stabbed it into Dame Tao's dog's chest and then flicked fifteen inches of knife blade sharp fingers out from it in every direction you can think of. LOTS of fingers. LOTS of dog in every direction you can think of.
We beat him to a puddle, and were sorry we weren't able to bottle the puddle and burn it for good measure. So long Superdopple-AntonCardask-stretchyookyvicious.
And looky here, what did we find in his Diplomatic pouch but a page full of itineraries and passwords and meeting places, and that sort of thing -- I told you this already?
So I did.
So we were off to Oursk then, and I'll skip the bit about the Ruby Rod and the goblins and the lizard thing that wouldn't die, and all that sort of crap. It was a trip. Adventures were had. Htarlyd got lost in a wild magic zone, and we really did have to walk after that. We were short on supplies and short on tempers. There were corcandrills in the swamps.
Anyhow we arrived in Oursk in a fine mood.
Let me tell you about that first day in Oursk. You just have to imagine what yokels we were. Rampart, the crown city of Gaunt and the biggest city we'd seen to date, would fit in Oursk's shoe. Oursk's a City with a capital C, and no denying it. Let's drink to 'er.
So, we decided to go undercover and use pseudonyms to get past the gates and have on our id papers and then were completely incapable of remembering to use the pseudonyms. And they were the worst, mark you, the WORST fake names you have ever seen anyone try to fob off. "Cade the Changebringer," "Tephys House," "Criteas," "Kara," "Eritayn Deepleaf," "Grundo Griffin,"" Aylin Flamehair," "Fewmet Coughball!" I could just weep thinking about it. I don't know why we bothered. Anybody who gave a damn who we were wouldn't have had much trouble parsing that lot.
And it wasn't real long before we got hauled off the street and dragged in to present ourselves before one of the Guildspeakers of the Triskadane. Fortunately, they were as concerned about Cardask's recent behavior as we were. So while things were a bit touchy diplomatically about Kindric sending undercover knights to infiltrate Oursk while his ambassador was up to no good, we managed to talk our way out of deep dunghills by spewing some of what we knew. Hold the metaphor. We wound up in the Deep Dung Heaps later. Different story. Pass me the chips.
The Guildspeaker told us to watch our step and let us go about our business. Oh yeah, and he pointed us to some . .. um . . other important folks in the city that had had some accounting errors and missing personnel and asked us to look into it and no I'm not going to talk about who and what because I like being enrolled here, thank you very much. And no, I didn't use any of that info during my admissions interview. What do you take me for? You are buying the next round young man, or my voice may dry up entirely before I get through this.
So, Master Deltarion got us rooms at the Golden Owl--you know-the posh "Mages Only" hotel up the Garden District? The Defenders had never seen anything so swanky in all their hillbilly days. We had to agree to pretend we were Arcade's entourage, I think, to get rooms for the rest of us.
Not hard for me, I WAS his entourage. But it rankled with some of the others.
Anyway, The Owl asked us to check our weapons and stuff, and we did--at least some of the weapons and stuff, and they put it into a locked safe in the lobby behind the manager's desk. Anyone? Anyone? Right, yeah we were anxious about it and gave 'em crap, and they convinced us it was safe and necessary and we did it. Look, I didn't say this was our finest hour story, right? I don't want to hear it.
And then we went over to the Pig's Eye to meet Ambassador SuperDopp's contact. You know, that sleezy place by the docks? Indifel, was the proprietor, then. Right. Charming fellow. Had a little doggie named Rex. Also charming.
One thing and another we decided we needed to go down to the basement to check things out, and bumped into Rex down there.
Master Badgerclaw popped up on the psychic plane just to have a little looksee if there was anything interesting about, and immediately came screaming back "Brain on legs! Brain on legs!" pointing at Rex. And after that, well, it wasn't hard for all of us to see that Rex wasn't your usual hound.
It didn't take us long to figure out that Rex was also really hard to damage, and really generous with the punishment he was dishing, so we beat a strategic retreat.
Letssee, we met Roud around here somewhere. You know my pal Roud, the sailor? Can't recall that meeting--you'd think I would. All I know is the old geezer made a fool outta some of my pals who stupidly got into sparring with him. No harm done, and we took him out for beer and paella and he filled us in on the local scene, and I decided that anybody who could make my Masters look foolish that easily was somebody worth knowing. There aren't a lot of those out there we can still drink beer with after the combat. Anyway, he turned out to be a friend worth making.
Hmmm--you wouldn't believe how hard it is to put this all together. I didn't keep real good notes in those days, and half the time I wasn't paying attention anyway. Where we were going and why wasn't my department. Clean alembics, refilled mugs, shiny armor, oiled tack, that sort of thing was my department.
We followed some piece of the conspiracy to an undertakers in Oursk. And we ran into Silverpin Bloodmantle, Deathgranter of Toraz, there. There was an ugly combat. Oh wait--before that--we'd found a Torazite unholy symbol and Claris took it to her local Vindusite temple to report the Torazite activity, and the Rewarders there thanked her for the info and then beat her for bringing an unholy symbol into the temple.
Not as bad as the time we defiled the Temple of Alianna in Rampart and they almost had to burn it down to purify it, but same kinda deal. Or later when we dumped that undying lizard's ruby rod on the Temple of Morphat and the damned dracolich ate the whole temple to get it back, but still, the Rewarders aren't known for their sense of perspective. Moral: Don't bring unknown religious items into temples for identification, ok? Just don't do it.
It was at about this point that we started to understand that Toraz had something to do with the Brotherhood of Night, I think. Anyway, we bumped into these Torazites while we were tracking down the conspiracy, and maybe they was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't recall whether they were actually part of the conspiracy or not, but they were Evil with a capital E and we got into the fisticuffs. Only Bloodmantle had this unbelievable shield that nothing could get through, including spells. And Claris was incredible--Vindusites hate Torazites--and ok, his shield was tough, but he was in full plate and slow. and Claris, she's pretty fast with those hands, and she travels light..
And then--oh, . .oh dear, he did, didn't he? The only liquid in the room was a vat full of embalming leeches and. . .and . . .I don't know how to put this . . . Nolin cast Insatiable Thirst on one of Bloodmantle's pals.
It was a naaaasty death.
And I think I used some illusion gizmo or other I had at the time to stick a cantaloupe on Bloodmantle's nose at a bad moment, and he lost a lot of visibility. And while he was distracted with that, Claris just ordered him to surrender, in a voice like the wrath of Vindus himself, and by golly, Bloodmantle did. And we tied him up, and that was pretty much that, apart from the gloating.
Ok, gloating might be a bit strong for it, but I think Claris really did enjoy bringing Bloodmantle's body back to the Rewarders, stripped of any unholy symbols, of course. Imagine "Hi, it's me, the Pilgrim you just beat up, here to drop off an Anti-paladin my friends and I just defeated." She never said it of course, but you could see that little shining, satisfied look in her eyes.
And Velendo had heard something about needing to find himself a shield, and well, there was a nice one lying there, apart from the taint of Evil all over it, which was pretty short work for him once he got it cleaned up. Calphasians don't have problems with working over unholy things in their workshops. Turned it to some Good use since then, he has. You wouldn't believe some of the things Calphas has room for in his temples. Good solid construction those.
Anyway, Bloodmantle's death didn't win us any friends amongst the followers of Toraz, but it wasn't really part of how we wound up in the sand.
Apart from generally making us feel cocky and distracted.
We went back to The Golden Owl to plan, and to muddle through our Pile of Obscure Prophecies. And there was this festival happening outside. Can you believe we were actually in town for the Festival of Psorga, and we spent the whole damn thing cooped up in a conference room, bickering? Yes, that is true. I'm not making any of this up--my memory may be faulty in places, but that part I remember clearly. The whole town having a party and dumping vast amounts of gold into the sea, and we were sitting around a table in an attic fooling around with a big pile of books and papers. Alix and Tomtom rolling dice, trying not to think about the amount of gold being tossed into the waves, or what would happen if they messed with a single coin of it.
And so Master Loial, who is in a mood, sent the innkeep out for a pie, and then sent me out after him to "practice lurking.". Yes, mark that part down--they sent me out. So I went. Following orders is what apprentices do. Remember how I said I wasn't always paying real close attention at that time?
You will forgive my blurry recollection of what occurred next because I spent most of it unconscious. This blond lady came up to me and asked for directions, and I remember her breath was very sweet, and oddly cloudy, like she'd been smoking a pipe, only she didn't smell like pipeweed. And that was all she wrote for the Boy Hostage. Apologies, I missed the bit with the ransom note and the spurious negotiations and the combat and the destruction of the inn. It must have been special, because our foes had instructions to take us all down and not kill any of us, and they succeeded. That must have taken some doing.
Next thing I knew there was sea air in my nostrils, sand in my mouth, and little waves patting my cheeks.
We woke up naked, and buried up to our necks in the sand of beach on a small offshore island. We were about ten or twenty feet from each other, all facing the sea in a long straight row. Except for Nyquil, who was planted about ten feet in front of Arcade.
And there was this weedy looking poncy guy there, and a big hulking menace with a scimitar. Mr. Muscles, Tomtom informs us, is immune to psionic attacks because he's already had his brain meddled with to the point that there isn't much in there. He's been conditioned to obey real simple orders like like "anybody who tries to get out of the sand, chop his melon off."
Mr. Weedy turns out to be a lordling named Peggus, the contact mentioned on Ambassador SuperDopp's notes. How delightful--we've made our rendezvous. He also turns out to be the twin brother of Clit, the lady mercenary Nolin drowned way back when. Truth to tell, while he cackled madly about avenging her death at last, we were scratching our heads trying to remember who she was. Well, metaphorically scratching our heads, because, of course, our hands were buried along with the rest of us.
That seemed to irk him, too.
So, this got tedious pretty quickly, because we weren't much interested in feeling sorry for her--it was an ambush, right? Pretty clear case of self defense, which is mostly what we were considering while we sat there watching the waves creep up the beach . . . .
Yawn. Well, that's pretty much it, apart from the stuff about the Mind Flayer who was manipulating Peggus's grief and masterminding the whole plot, at least this subsection of the plot to Blot Out the Sun, but we didn't met him till later.
So. There you are. That is how we got Buried Up to The Neck in Sand, more or less. Look at that hourglass. And me with scads of Spellcraft Translations yet to do . . .
