There Is No Honor...
Jouko swatted feebly at the short, chubby finger jabbing his shoulder. “Not again, lass,” he pleaded groggily as he rolled over.
“They be calling for ye!” proclaimed the plump wench beside him. Jouko yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The sound of chanting from the tavern below began to reach his ears.
“Jouko! Jouko! Jouko!”
The bed creaked as Jouko sat up and swung his feet to the dirty floor. The aging barmaid crossed the room and began to dress. Jouko belched loudly and pulled his breeches on. “Ye ain’t lost yer touch, luv,” he offered with a grin.
“Sounds like we both better get down there in a hurry,” she said as she opened the door. Still fumbling with the buttons of her dress, she stepped into the hall. “It was good ta see ya, sweetie. Go easy on the crockery, eh?”
"Of course," Jouko laughed as he reached for the tankard on the bedside table. He drained it in one big gulp and tossed it over his shoulder. The tankard shattered on the dingy floor with a crash. He wiped his mouth on his tattooed forearm as the raucous chanting from the great room below reached a crescendo.
“Jouko! Jouko! Jouko!”
Jouko belched loudly and smiled, pleased with himself. He pulled his knee high boots on and grabbed his duffel from a nearby chair. Stumbling out the door, he leaned heavily upon the railing at the top of the stair and surveyed the tavern's dimly lit great room. The drunken crowd erupted into cheers as Jouko grinned from ear to ear and started down the stairs. “Ye blasted bilge rats! Can’t a man pleasure a wench and rest his bones a bit?”
The mob cheered and swooned as several barmaids scurried around the crowded room, their serving trays laden with tankards of grog. Jouko reached the bottom landing and grabbed a full tankard from a passing serving wench. Spilling grog down his bare chest, he drained half the tankard in several large gulps. Jouko belched loudly. “What be the need for ye freebooters to pull me from the bosom of a bonny lass?” he asked with mock indignation.
“Whirlpool!” came the shouted reply as the drunken crowd began to part, making a small clearing in the center of the room. The innkeeper came charging out of the kitchen. “Noooo!” he cried over the cheers of the crowd. “Not again! You promised!” he pleaded as Jouko staggered into the tight clearing amidst the throng of drunken sailors.
“Ye have nuthin ta worry ‘bout, mate,” Jouko said with a pat on the bald man's head. Several burly sailors grabbed the sobbing innkeeper gruffly and hoisted him overhead. They crossed the room and tossed him through the kitchen door.
Jouko stood in the center of the crowd with his arms outstretched. “Ye ready mates?” The crowd cheered and surged together. Jouko pulled his spiked chain from his duffel. The crowd began to chant again: “Whirlpool! Whirlpool!” Every man within reach extended his arm and sloshed his tankard of grog around. Jouko kicked his duffel to the edge of the ten-foot clearing and started whirling the chain in a slow arc over his head. “Raise ‘em high, ye sea dogs!” bellowed Jouko with glee as he eyed the score of hoisted tankards.
Jouko began turning in a slow circle as he whirled the spiked chain overhead with increasing speed. The chain flew through the air with a rhythmic hum that was barely audible over the cheers and chanting of the drunken throng. With a deft flick of the wrist, Jouko altered the arc of the spiked chain and sent its head smashing through several tankards. The drinking vessels exploded, showering the crowd with grog and bits of crockery. The crowd roared in drunken ecstasy as Jouko wove the spiked chain in dazzling arcs, smashing cups four and five at a time. The gathered throng pulsated with excitement, passing more tankards forward to the circle's edge. Waves of grog and crockery spewed forth from Jouko’s whirling dance.
When there were no more tankards to feed the frenzy of destruction, the crowd pushed forward, waving their arms wildly as the spiked chain whipped past. With a slight tug, Jouko smoothly redirected the chain's momentum into a narrow figure eight. Jouko didn’t see the low-hanging chandelier above him until it was too late. The chain snagged an arm of the chandelier and came rushing back down just as Jouko looked up. The chain's leading head smashed Jouko between the eyes, dropping him to the floor instantly. As the blackness washed over Jouko, the last last sound he heard was the crowd's raucous laughter.
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Upon their arrival at Vanderboren Manor the next morning, the halfling servant Kora Whistlegap ushered Gauruloc, Rubbumba, Verys and Zhandlegarrii into the dining hall. Here, a meal of spiced cheese and pepper omelettes, salt-cured boar-meat, bananas, mango juice and some of the finest product of Sasserine's coffee plantations awaited. Jouko arrived late, reeking of rum and sporting two black eyes and a badly broken nose. He strolled into the hall, sat next to Gauruloc and grabbed a hunk of cheese.
Lavinia Vanderboren joined the party, but did not touch the food on her plate -- her mind seemed to be elsewhere as she stared at the portrait of her brother, Vanthus. Before the meal was finished, Lavinia rose and began speaking wistfully, as if to herself. "Vanthus and I were quite close growing up. We had to be -- our parents were rarely around. We grew to depend on one another, and got into a fair amount of trouble together. After one particularly complex prank involving several elixirs of love being emptied into the nearby water tower, our childhoods together came to an abrupt end. I was sent to the Thenalar Academy to live out the next five years of my life, and Vanthus was shipped out to work on a family plantation.
"When we returned to live in the family manor a year ago, we had both changed. I would like to think that I benefited from my time at Thenalar. Vanthus, on the other hand, spent his time away nurturing his bitterness. He no longer had time for me, slept all day, and spent the nights with associates of doubtful character. Eventually he moved out of the house entirely -- I believe he took up with a lover in Azure District, but I never learned the details.
"When our parents died, Vanthus returned for a week to live at the manor, but he had changed even more. Gone was the easy sense of humor I recalled fondly from our childhood, and in its place was a bitter cynicism and a morbid streak that sent chills up my spine. After several arguments, Vanthus struck me with his fist. I was shocked, and for a moment it seemed Vanthus was as well. But an instant later, he was back to his new self, all scowls and menace. He gathered his belongings and left. I haven't seen him since. I know something profound happened to my brother at some point to change him, but I'm not sure what that was. I believe he's fallen in with a bad crowd, perhaps smugglers or theives or even killers. Although his attitude might speak otherwise, I hope that it's not too late, that if he can be brought back to my side I might talk some sense into him and redeem him before he passes forever out of my reach. Unfortunately, I do not know where he's gone. I would like you to find him, and bring him to me.
"I have few clues to where Vanthus has gone. I recommend asking around about him throughout the city. I doubt he's hiding out in Champion's or Noble District, but even these locations may hold clues. My suspicions that he's been living with a woman in Azure District arose from half-heard rumors, but it remains the strongest -- the only -- lead I have."
Verys nodded solemnly. He could not help but feel for Lavinia. He also knew not to judge her brother too quickly. How close had he himself let bitterness drive him to that exact kind of life? Had it not been for the teachings of his father, he too would have fallen from light. It sounded as though Vanthus had no such influence in his life. The elf vowed that he would do everything in his power to help the Lady Vanderboren.
Plans were briefly discussed. As the company was parting, Verys approached Gauruloc outside of the manor gates. "I do not mean to be rude, but I must confess that I am extremely curious. How did one such as you find the righteous path of Corellon Larethian? I say without pause that you must surely be the only one of your kind to profess appreciation for the noble spirit that is The Creator and Protector of all life. And yet I can't help but notice your disdain for me. I admit that I am not offended, for I still do not know what I think of you myself, but I am a bit -- well, curious still seems the best word."
Gauruloc grunted, regarding the elf with unblinking eyes. After a moment of silence, Verys became slightly annoyed. "It occurs to me that perhaps your 'fealty' is actually mockery. If that is the case, I do not think things will end well between you and I. I've faced the gaping maw of a wyrm black, Orc-blood, so your blade does not unsettle me."
The half-orc curled his lips and graced Verys with a feral snarl. "Spare me your vapid boasts and flourishes, you doe-eared imbecile. I don't care if you faced the Goat-Headed Lord himself. What you tell me means nothing. I could tell you that I once peed forth the entire Nyr Dyv and it would have just as much merit as the prattle you spew forth. Show me that you have more mettle than a starving cat and I might stop thinking of you as a massive cockroach.
"As for Sharp-Ears, there is no mockery in my homage, but neither do I drink from the pool of mindless adoration at which you and other sheep slake your spiritual thirst. I have seen what unthinking devotion consummates, and I'll never submit myself to that damnation. I follow Sharp-Ears because he is less of a fool than the One-Eyed Lout that oppresses my mother's people. That is all you need to know."
With that, Gauruloc turned and left for Castle Teraknian. There he would watch to see if Vanthus Vanderboren returned to his family vault. Verys watched him go with narrowed eyes, still stinging from Gauruloc's upbraiding. "Very well, half-orc. It might serve you well, however, to remember that insolence does not equal enlightenment and that hasty judgement begets a careless mind. At least I let you speak before I judged you a fool."
Verys left to gather information in the Merchant's District, but his exchange with the half-orc remained in his mind. A mirthless grin spread across his face as he recalled the party's recent struggle with the Vanderborens' construct. Perhaps his next misspent arrow might not careen harmlessly off of the brute's armor. The half-orc may have solved the puzzle of the vault, but he was nonetheless an utter fool and a danger to the group. Verys resolved to watch him closely -- from about thirty feet, to be exact.
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Rubbumba left Zhandle in their apartment, where she meant to delve deeper into Thoersten Coppersmite's well-intentioned but misguided tome on adventuring. She ended up spending most of the day sleeping off the heavy morning meal and her lingering hangover, face-down in her book. It never occured to her that Coppersmite's prescription of ale before, during and after every encounter might be unwise. She simply assumed that she had yet to build up the proper tolerance.
The eight-pointed star symbol featured so prominently in the Vanderboren Vault was still emblazoned in Rubb's mind. He knew that he had seen it somewhere, and it didn't take him long to find it. There it was, carved into the front door of an otherwise unassuming building in the Merchant's District. Although Rubb could not gain entry, he spent the better part of the afternoon learning everything he could about the building and its secretive occupants. This was the Seeker Lodge, the regional base of a world-spanning group of adventurers and treasure hunters known as the Seekers. The Seeker Lodge was maintained by a soft-spoken man named Feldus Selvant. Apparently Lavinia's parents had been members. Rubb was unable to learn anything about Vanthus Vanderboren, however -- those who had heard of him assumed he was still living at the family manor.
Gauruloc and Verys did not fare much better, each spending the day in fruitless pursuit of Vanthus. That evening, however, Jouko managed to pick up the scent of Lavinia's elusive brother in Shadowshore. Not only had Vanthus been seen in the area, but he was often in the company of a known smuggler named Penkus. Penkus was a semi-notorious figure in Shadowshore, known for his drunken binges and violent temper. Over the last year, Penkus had been less visible in Shadowshore, leading many to believe he'd moved on to another venue. As recently as a few weeks ago, though, Penkus and Vanthus were spotted at a boat shop called "It Still Floats!" where they got in a huge argument with the proprietor, a pessimistic dwarf named
Panchi.
Jouko paid a visit to Panchi. After expressing feigned interest in a weather-beaten baitskiff (and sharing a bottle of spiced rum), Jouko managed to win the crusty dwarf over a bit. "Aye, I sold a boat to Penkus and 'is young friend. They were excited as a virgin boy in a brothel. They loaded a lot of lamp oil, lanterns, and rope into the boat before they left. I'm not sure where they went, but they headed west, keepin' to the harbor. The boat I sold 'em wasn't much to look at, but she's got it where it counts -- har, who am I kiddin'? That tub is prob'ly sleeping on the bottom of the bay by now!"
Jouko paid a visit to Vanderboren Manor, and the next morning Kora Whistlegap visited each of the companions. She informed them that Jouko had information regarding Vanthus' whereabouts. He asked that the others meet him that evening at the Ticklish Ogre, a waterfront tavern in the Merchant's District.
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Shefton Rosk lurked in a corner of the Ticklish Ogre, trying hard not to stare at his quarry. Even without the half-orc, the party was easy to recognize -- a laconic elf; a brazen sailor with gold teeth and black eyes; and a couple of nitwitted halflings. As the half-elf listened to their puerile banter, he told himself that this would be a cinch. He would be a Lotus Dragon in no time, with wealth and infamy soon to follow. Nonetheless, the novice rogue's hands shook and his eyes darted about anxiously.
The little halfling woman tugged the bald halfling's sleeve, giggling. "Why on Oerth would anyone tickle an ogre?" Shefton knew their names to be Rubbumba and Zhandlegarri -- ridiculous monikers befitting such frivolous creatures, he thought. The one known as Rubb looked about, his nose wrinkled in distaste. For an instant, Shefton thought the halfling had spotted him. Then he remembered that none of them would have reason to recognize him. He tried to relax. He was supposed to wait until they were all together, but he was growing restless. Where was the half-orc?
The loutish sailor, the one called Jouko, began singing, an artless effort that grated on Shefton's ears.
Ye mariners all, as ye pass by
Come in and drink if you be dry
Come spend, me lads, your money brisk
And pop your nose in a jug of this!
Rubb did not seem to enjoy the performance any more than Shefton -- he took Zhandle by the hand, and led her away between drunken sailors and over shards of broken crockery towards the bar. There, Rubb jumped up and down, trying to get the bartender's attention. She was a rather tall woman, and by her appearance might have had some ogre blood in her. An immense wart loomed ominously on her brow, staring down at its angry twin perched on one of her nostrils. Her beefy, corded forearms looked up to the task of bouncing out any troublemakers. "Hey," said Zhandle, "she kind of looks like Thoersten's drawing of an ogr...."
Shefton heard alarm in Rubb's voice as he interrupted his wife. "Sweat Pea, might I politely suggest that you do NOT finish that sentence! And whatever you do, don't ask whether she's ticklish! And for lands sakes, don't try it for yourself!" When Rubb looked back at the bartender, she was scowling down at him. He quickly ordered four ales, but when Zhandle looked away, he whispered to the bartender, asking that she make one of the ales a water instead, with a wink towards Zhandle's turned head. The bartender glowered. "You pay the same, either way," she grunted, and went about pouring the drinks.
The sailor was still singing horribly when the halflings returned to the table. Shefton wondered how the elf tolerated it. Shefton read the male halfling's lips as he asked Jouko, "So, what is so important that you dragged us all here?"
Jouko's lips were a bit harder to read -- the glint off his gold teeth was distracting. "Ye be about doing the Lady's business, aye? And what did yer trouble net ye?"
"Besides a sore back and an alcoholic wife, you mean?" The halfling's retort elicited a snicker from the elf, hearty laughter from the sailor, and an elbow in the ribs from his little woman. "Sorry, darling. Here ... have some of your drink. Careful, now. This is PURE dwarven spirits. See, it's perfectly clear. That's how you can tell it's pure."
The elf, Verys, offered to pay for the round. Rubbumba thanked him, and the sailor raised his mug of ale in salute: "To mariners all!" Zhandlegarrii took a few sips of her water and grinned. "I think I'm getting the hang of it! I'm A DRINKER NOW! This is so much easier going down, it's almost like water. Stagnant, murky, pond-scummy water, albeit, but at least it doesn't kick like a mule!"
"Thar ye go! Yo ho!" encouraged Jouko.
"I told you, Love. Nothing but the good stuff for you. Let me know when you're ready for another, and I'll fetch it for you," said the little apple-polisher Rubbumba. Shefton sneered at the party's asinine antics. Did Vanthus really believe this lot to be a threat? Too late, Shefton noticed almond-shaped eyes staring back at him. Verys had spotted him. His dirty hands began trembling slightly, and he considered leaving the Ticklish Ogre without a look back. He bit his lip. No, he would not flee. He would complete his assignment and reap his just reward. He would be a Lotus Dragon.
The elf whispered something to his companions. Rubbumba glanced in Shefton's direction and slipped into the crowd. It's now or never, the half-elf realized. He approached the group, and blurted, "I'm Shefton. I hear you're looking for Vanthus Vanderboren. I have some information if you're still interested, but it'll cost you five gold coins." I'm talking to fast, and I just told them my real name, he realized. But then, they won't live long enough to tell, he reminded himself.
Verys nodded at him. "And what business of yours is our business, half-blood?"
"Word gets around on the streets. You've all been asking a lot of questions about Vanthus. I can help."
The elf nodded again and placed five shiny gold coins on the table. Shefton reached for them hesitantly, hand trembling. He was supposed to appear nervous, it was part of the act. But did he look too nervous? Were they on to him? He swallowed hard and pocketed the coin. "Vanthus has been laying low for the last few days, living in an abandoned complex of smuggler's tunnels below Parrot Island. The place is hard to find. If you really want Vanthus, I can lead you to a hidden trap door he's been using to enter and exit the complex below the isle. But it'll cost you five more gold coins." Shefton was so shaken that he didn't notice Rubbumba reach into his pocket and fish out the elf's gold.
The sailor piped up. "How ye know this, lad?"
"Vanthus and a man named Penkus approached me a few weeks ago to help set up a smuggling operation in the old tunnels below Parrot Island. Once he was set up, he cut me out of the deal. He ordered me killed -- dead men tell no tales -- but I managed to escape. Vanthus has been looking for me since. Needless to say, I can't very well go to the watch. But I'd sleep a lot easier if someone else gave him what's coming to him."
Jouko stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The lad speaks true. I heard o' this Penkus. He and Vanthus bought a boat from a pissy dwarf in Shadowshore and headed west -- right for Parrot Island!" Jouko pointed dramatically out the window to the north, where a small island was visible in the harbor between the Merchant's District and Shadowshore. "Thar be where we find Vanthus." Shefton let out his breath for the first time since approaching the group. He hadn't expected one of their own to vouch for him.
The elf's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Regardless, we don't mean to kill Vanthus Vanderboren. We just want to ask him some questions."
"That's fine," Shefton answered, improvising. "I'd feel a whole lot safer if he was dead. But I'd be just as happy if he was off the streets, one way or another. I tell you, he's out to get me."
Just then, the male halfling returned to the group and plunked five gold pieces on the table in front of Shefton -- the same coins he had just plucked from the unknowing half-elf's pocket. "There's your gold, sir. Now, where's this hideout?"
"Good, it's settled then," Shefton sighed. "As I said, I can take you to the secret trapdoor Vanthus uses to get into the old tunnels under the island. After that, you're on your own."
Jouko flashed a golden grin. "Yar. Vanthus played you for a fool, and now ye betray him. There is truly no honor among thieves, 'twould seem."
The female halfling perked up. "Hmm. That gives me an idea!" Her little manling groaned and buried his bald head in his palms. Zhandle continued, undeterred. "I think we could all do with a bit more trust and honesty!" Without further warning, she began casting a spell.
"That's a lovely idea, darling. I'm sure we'll all -- uh-oh." Rubb's eyes glazed over. Jouko's eyes, already glazed, swam drunkenly in his head. Verys and Shefton exchanged bewildered glances. Rubb spoke in a monotone voice. "You know, dear, that dress makes you look kind of fat."
Zhandlegarrii slapped Rubb and gave Shefton a frustrated look. "What, nothing? Thoersten didn't write anything about you elves being immune to hypnotism. But then, he didn't write very much about magic at all -- I don't think he likes it."
Rubbumba droned on earnestly. "No -- wait. It's not the dress that makes you look fat. It's the fact that you're fat that makes you look fat."
Shefton almost chuckled, but his skin grew clammy when he heard a deep, menacing voice behind him -- very close behind him. "What arcane foolishness is this? And what's this talk about an island?" Shefton dared turn his head just enough to spot the big half-orc, the one called Gauruloc, from the corner of his eye.
"Ahoy, mate," droned the sailor. In a sudden bout of honesty, he continued. "Let's be going. The sooner we be done, the sooner I can bed a bonny lass. Or a fat, ugly wench. I don't care much either way, truth be told."
"What ensorcelment have you foisted upon your companions, snackling?" Gauruloc demanded.
Zhandle groaned. "That's the last time I ask for honesty around this bunch."
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Once Zhandlegarri's squandered hypnotism spell wore off, Jouko led the party in "liberating" a smallish dinghy (despite Zhandle's boat-weary protestations). Before long, Parrot Island loomed in the harbor before them. The island was little more than a rocky outcropping surrounded by 30-foot-high cliffs save from the eastern end, where a narrow beach afforded an easier approach. The isle was thickly vegetated, the trees above serving as the roost for hundreds of noisy, brightly colored parrots.
Gauruloc and Jouko spotted a partially overgrown trail leading up from the beach and looked to Shefton. The half-elf nodded and led the way up the path to a clearing in the vegetation. At the southern end of the clearing, Shefton pointed out a stone trap door. He wrestled with the wicked grin that wanted to spread across his face -- once the group went in there, he knew they would never come back out. Admission into the Lotus Dragons was his at last!
"This is the door I told you about. Vanthus is down there, somewhere."
"It just be Vanthus and Penkus, eh?" asked Jouko.
"Um, yes, they had a few men working with them, but I suspect Vanthus betrayed them just like he did me."
The male halfling checked the door for traps before opening it, revealing a five-foot-wide shaft leading into the darkness below. A rope hung from a hook in the wall, providing an easy method of descent. Soon the entire party had disappeared through the trap door. This time Shefton allowed his grin to emerge. It had been even easier than he hoped. What if they had insisted he go down into the tunnels with them? Down where the hungry dead wait? An involuntary shudder convulsed his spine, and an icy dagger of fear stabbed at his heart.
Shefton coughed. Warm, dark fluid erupted from his throat, filling his mouth and coating his lips. He wiped at his mouth with a grimy hand, and pulled it away to see blood. A horrible pain coursed through his body, his pulse quickened, and breathing became difficult. The dagger in his heart was not fear at all, but a corporeal weapon -- a knife in the back! He heard a soft chuckle grow louder as a black shroud fell over his vision. With a raspy cry, Shefton toppled headfirst into the shaft, falling past the group he had just betrayed. He landed at the bottom with a grotesque thud. There is no honor... was his final, incomplete thought.
Vanthus Vanderboren stood at the top of the shaft. His mocking laughter rang down on the party, and he called out in a menacing voice. "Serves you right for messing around with my sister, you thugs. Say hello to Penkus' ghost for me while you're down there!" And say hello to his rotting friends, he thought with a sinister smile. He slammed the trap door into place, and rolled some heavy boulders over the top of it. It occurred to him that he did not have to kill the half-elf. But then, dead men tell no tales.