JollyDoc
Explorer
It was this last Sunday. However, I still have part two of the previous weeks game to post, which I'm almost done with. I hope to have it up by tomorrow or Saturday at the latest.
JollyDoc's Rise of the Runelords...Updated 12/22
It was this last Sunday. However, I still have part two of the previous weeks game to post, which I'm almost done with. I hope to have it up by tomorrow or Saturday at the latest.
JollyDoc
Explorer
MURDER IN UNDERBRIDGE
Dexter read the short note again. It was a request for a meeting…a job request. No details, just an address in Underbridge. It’d been passed to him by one of his usual contacts. He sighed. As if he didn’t already have enough on his plate. On one hand, the quest to the Iron Peaks was imminent, but on the other, Reaper had announced plans to accompany a contingent back to Fort Rannick first to see to its garrisoning. Now this. Still, Dex was getting bored. Two weeks of down time in Magnimar had been a welcome respite, but he was growing restless. Something to pass the time might be just the ticket. He pushed back from the bar and headed for the door of the inn, wrapping his cloak about him. He supposed he ought to go see Reaper and Adso first.
________________________________________________________
“I don’t see any harm in at least investigating,” Reaper shrugged when Dexter showed him the note, “but we don’t have the luxury of being hirelings these days. We’ve got bigger fish on our plate.”
Adso stood silently in the corner, arms crossed and hood pulled low. The monk hadn’t had much to say on the few occasions Dex had seen him since their return.
“I’d like to go and have a talk with Duerten first, though,” Reaper continued. “I’ve been meaning to have a little chat. He’s good in a fight, and Cruemann’s proven useful as well. I’d like them with us when we head for Jorgenfist.”
“I notice you didn’t mention Draton,” Dex said wryly.
“I don’t think his services will be needed,” Reaper replied. “Besides, I’ve already recruited someone far more…useful.”
Dexter raised a questioning eyebrow, and Reaper smiled knowingly. He reached over and rapped on the door leading to an adjoining bedroom. When the door opened and Wesh walked in, even Adso’s morose composure slipped. Dexter’s mouth simply fell open.
“You see?” Reaper said. “Our little act of kindness at Skull’s Crossing just keeps paying dividends.”
_______________________________________________________
Duerten sat glowering and silent while Cruemann nodded enthusiastically at Reaper’s proposal. Finally, the dwarf spoke up.
“I ain’t heard ye mention th’Father’s part in this little adventure. Somethin’ I’m missin’?”
“No, I think you get the point precisely,” Reaper said. “I admire the man’s convictions, but let’s be honest…I know you didn’t agree with how the whole affair with the stone giant went down. Draton’s judgment is questionable, and potentially dangerous. I’m not putting the fate of Varisia at risk because he won’t compromise. Despite what he says, there is a greater good here, and all of our problems are not going to have black and white answers. I’m not asking for your answer right now. Think about it, but while you’re doing that, Dex has a line on something brewing down in Underbridge. If you’re interested, we’d appreciate your help while we investigate.”
____________________________________________________
The address in Underbridge was an alchemist’s shop located in a particularly seedy section of an already seedy neighborhood. The sign above the door read ‘Refrum’s.’ The man who opened the door was middle-aged, slight and bent. He was dressed in simple gray clothing, and a bent pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Around his neck he wore a simple amulet. To Reaper’s surprise, the symbol engraved upon it was that of Aroden…the dead god.
“Is one of you Dexter?” the man asked in a short, excited gasp.
“That’s me,” Dex answered, stepping forward. “I brought a few associates. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, not at all!” the man said enthusiastically. “I’m just glad that you’ve come in the first place. I feared you might not. I’m Refrum, and this is my shop. Please, come in!”
Refrum’s establishment was humble and cluttered with half-finished clockwork inventions, and the air was thick with the smell of grease and metal. Hundreds of books lined every available inch of shelf-space. When the company entered the main room, they found a young woman standing there, dressed in plain clothing, her hands clutched tensely in her skirts.
“Ah,” Refrum said, “this is Eleanor Loveage. She is a close, personal friend, and it was she that sent you the note.”
Silence followed, and when no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Dexter cleared his throat.
“Well, now that you have us here, what’s this all about?”
“Ah, yes!” Refrum nodded. “Well, obviously the exploits of you and your friends, Master Dexter, are common knowledge. Your solving of the Skinsaw Murders was nothing short of miraculous! That’s why I thought of you when Eleanor came to me for help. Perhaps you are aware that a man was hanged in the quarter yesterday by the constabulary?”
At this, Wesh stepped forward.
“Yes, I believe I read something about that in the paper. A murderer, if I recall. Someone the local press referred to as the Lantern Man?”
Refrum nodded.
“His name was Jarme…Jarme Loveage. He was Eleanor’s brother, and I believe he was innocent of the crimes that he was accused of. You see, the murders started several months ago, but they were all confined to Underbridge, so they really didn’t get much attention outside of the quarter. In each case, the victim was brutally slain with a knife, and witnesses reported seeing a figure carrying a lantern fleeing the scenes on various occasions. Thus the colorful moniker attributed to the killer. Well, last week, Jarme was captured at the scene of the last murder with a bloody knife in his hand. He was arrested immediately, but never put on trial. I realize that the circumstances of his arrest seem incriminating, but you must believe me: I’ve known Jarme and Eleanor for years, and I cannot believe that he was capable of such heinous acts. He was a fisherman, and spent much of his time alone, which, unfortunately, gave him no alibi in his defense. But I tell you, the man I knew was kind and honest without a cruel bone in his body.”
“That’s all well and good,” Reaper said, “but the evidence seems to speak for itself. I’ve known many a man who was thought well of his by his friends and family, but was guilty of horrendous crimes just the same. What do you have to back up your claim?”
Refrum shook his head.
“Well first, as I mentioned, he received no trial. I tried to meet with him in his cell at Hopene’er Asylum, but I was forbidden by a group of thugs employed by one of the local councilmen, Mr. Dory. After that, I decided to start my own investigation. While it’s likely that Jarme’s body did in fact kill the latest Lantern Man victim, he went to the gallows professing to have no memory of any of the slayings. I offered my services to the constables, particularly my ability to commune with the dead, but I was told that those interrogations had already been performed. When I protested, I was threatened with incarceration myself. Now, however, I’ve heard rumors of another murder that has occurred since Jarme’s incarceration. According to my sources, the victim was a young fisherman named Raif. The authorities were strangely quick to ship his body to the mortuary for cremation and tried to cover up the events. So, I ask you, if the Lantern Man is still killing, how could Jarme have possibly been the killer?”
“It sounds like you have a theory?” Dex asked.
“I do indeed,” Refrum smiled knowingly. “I suspect a sinister conspiracy here in the Shadow, and it is ultimately responsible for the murders. I think the agents of this plot used some sort of enchantment magic to control Jarme and forced him to commit some of the murders. When he was caught, they used their influence to have him executed quickly. Now I fear that they are not only free to continue their work, but that they know I’m on to them!”
“Those are a lot of assumptions you’re making,” Reaper said, “but there is something…familiar about what you’re implying.”
He turned to Wesh, Dex and Adso.
“Don’t you think the similarities between these killings and the Skinsaw murders is a little too convenient?”
Wesh nodded. “I was going to say as much myself.”
Refrum nodded as well.
“Yes, yes! Exactly! My thoughts precisely! Now, if I may suggest, I would start with Hopene’er Asylum, where Jarme was incarcerated. Perhaps one of the caretakers there noticed something unusual about during that time. Also, you might seek out Constable Jute, the guard who found Jarme and his victim.”
“Please.” It was Eleanor, tears in her eyes as she clutched at Dexter’s cloak. “I beg you, please clear the name of my brother, that he might know peace in the afterlife. You are a good man. I’ve heard that about you. I beg you!”
Dex patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
“We will do our best. You have our word.”
“It’s settled then!” Refrum exclaimed. “You will understand when I tell you that I plan to take my leave of Magnimar for a few weeks. It is my intent to lay low for awhile and hide out from ‘them’ before ‘they’ find me.”
______________________________________________________________
Lamplicker’s Way, a narrow, winding street that was really more of an alley, was home to Hopene’er Asylum, once a former prison that still bore the bare walls and barred windows of its former role. A faded sign above the door bore the words, ‘Welcome Home.’ The seven companions were greeted by a simple-looking young man when they rapped on the door. He stared vacantly at them, silent.
“Um, we are here to see the director,” Reaper said after the silence stretched out for too long.
“’Rector?” the youth said after another long pause.
Reaper sighed. “Your boss. We’re here to see your boss.”
The boy was silent. Instead, he turned and entered the building, leaving the door open behind him.
“I guess that means we’re supposed to follow,” Dex shrugged.
The foyer was bare, without even a chair to sit in. After several long minutes, a door on the opposite side opened, and a stooped man with a worried brow and ashen skin stepped through.
“I’m Dr. Emil Trantor,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating the Lantern Man murders,” Reaper said. “We understand that you had Jarme Loveage under your care for a time.”
“Are you constables?” Trantor asked.
“We’re private investigators,” Reaper replied. “We won’t take much of your time. We just wanted to find out if Mr. Loveage had any visitors during his incarceration.”
“I’m afraid that’s privileged information,” Dr. Trantor answered. “I can tell you that Mr. Loveage was a quiet man who was resolute in his claims of innocence, thought I must say that most of the criminals housed here plead their innocence. Since Mr. Loveage was caught over a body with a bloody knife in his hands, I would say the circumstances speak for themselves. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m a very busy man.”
Reaper seized the physician’s sleeve as he turned to go.
“I’m afraid there is more,” the necromancer said, a sinister tone in his voice. “Perhaps you are aware of the recent Skinsaw Murders and how their perpetrators were brought to justice? I’m sure you are equally aware of the Lord Mayor’s gratitude towards the individuals who accomplished that task. We, sir, are those individuals. If you need proof of that, then I recommend you contact the Lord Mayor’s office, and then, when he discovers that you have impeded our efforts in our current investigation, your replacement, I’m certain, will prove much more accommodating.”
Dr. Trantor’s face visibly paled.
“I…see,” he stammered. “I apologize. I was not aware of your…credentials. Of course I’ll offer whatever assistance I may.”
“Any visitors?” Reaper asked again.
Trantor sighed. “During his short stay here, Mr. Loveage received only one visitor…Councilman Dory.”
“I see,” Reaper nodded.
“Would you be interested in seeing Mr. Loveage’s cell?” Trantor asked quickly. “He spent quite a lot of time drawing on his walls. I saw no harm in supplying him with some charcoal, but I must say that the nature of his scribbling was somewhat unsettling. I would appreciate a second opinion on them, in truth.”
“Lead on,” Reaper gestured.
The journey into the asylum’s nether regions was not pleasant. The constant screaming and cursing of the inmates combined with an almost unbearable stench to crush the spirit of any idle visitors. Eventually, Trantor came to a heavily locked door at which he turned and cautioned his guests, “This wing is where the worst of our cases are kept. I beg you not to look into any of the other cells. We’ve given succor to many folk over the years, but still, those within these cells are truly forsaken by the gods.”
So saying, he unlocked the door to reveal a long corridor with iron doors to either side. Small viewing hatches were firmly shut on the face of each door. An inhuman gurgle churned up from a cell to the right, and was horrifically joined by a second, identical voice within the same cell, and exact echo of the first, as if both voices came from the same body. Suddenly, the other cells began to spring to life. The iron doors shuddered under great blows, a woman’s garbled and shrill voice screamed for death, and, most unsettlingly , a baby began to cry. Trantor ignored the sounds and moved to the end of the hall, where one door hung open. The walls of the cell beyond were covered with crude, charcoal pictures that depicted some colossus of the sea. Several pictures of the tentacled sea beast showed it shackled in a collar that was held by a vile creature akin to a great fish. Another showed the larger creature devouring a city, whose skyline looked suspiciously like Magnimar’s. A final depiction showed the creature trapped in a deep, black well, its tentacles rising up to suck the life from humanoid bodies. As Wesh entered the cell, he bent close to examine the scrawlings.
“Do you see something?” Reaper asked.
The mage nodded, distracted. “This,” he pointed to the smaller, fish-like creature. “It looks like a drawing of an aboleth.”
He straightened. “They are a race of beings known for their ability to mentally enslave others to their will…”
________________________________________________________
Constable Jute was on patrol when they found him. He seemed a gruff and no-nonsense man, but was forthcoming when they told him about their investigation, especially when they mentioned their previous credentials.
“’Course I remember it,” he said when they asked him about Jarme’s arrest. “Hard to forget something like that. Happened over in an alley off Hemlock Pit. Strange thing…for the amount of damage he inflicted on that poor soul, Jarme was pretty well-behaved and calm when I took him into custody.”
“What sort of damage, exactly?” Reaper asked.
“Hmph,” Jute snorted. “Some kind of symbol he carved into the body. Looked like a star or something.”
The companions looked meaningfully at each other. It seemed there were no such things as coincidences.
“Do you know anything about Councilman Dory visiting Jarme during his incarceration?” Dexter asked.
Jute’s eyes narrowed and he shifted his gaze.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss such things,” he said shortly, “but if I were, I’d tell you that there have been a lot of closed door meetings at the garrison lately, and they’ve involved the commander and a certain councilman.”
“I see,” Reaper nodded. “Can you tell us anything about the recent murder of a man named Raif?”
“I can tell you where the murder took place,” he said wryly, “and I can tell you that the circumstances were awfully…familiar.”
“Thank you Constable Jute,” Reaper said, extending his hand. “One final question…do you know where we might find Councilman Dory?”
______________________________________________________
Raif’s murder scene was still spattered with blood and bits of stray tissue. The rats and gulls hadn’t quite taken care of the clean-up detail yet. As the group scanned the area, Duerten abruptly leaned down and touched his fingers to the film of slime on the cobblestones.
“Well looky’ere,” the dwarf said.
When the others drew close, they saw what had captured the deacon’s attention…footprints, though like none they had ever seen. They were not made by boots nor bare human feet. Instead, they seemed to have been made by some sort of clawed, three-toed appendage. When Duerten followed the tracks, no one was really surprised to find that they eventually led to a large warehouse on the docks…the same warehouse Jute had told them was owned by Mr. Dory.
The vertical, stone building rose from the street, three stories high and dotted with iron-barred windows. The warehouse’s slate roof soared dizzily some sixty-feet above, and in places its walls and roof seemed to be coated with a bitumen black gruel with the viscosity of phlegm. Behind the building was a gray-green pit of mud. A huge, rickety crane protruded from the far wall of the warehouse, its limbs rusted arthritically. Dangling from it was a dripping ship hulk, hanging some fifty-feet above the greasy mud below. A crude bridge attached the crane to the ship’s deck, but it looked to be an arduous climb. A trough also connected the ship to a nearby water tower, and steam rose from places just as rivulets of water drained from the hull into the mud below.
It was well after dark by the time the companions arrived at Mr. Dory’s warehouse, and the streets around it, as well as the building itself, appeared deserted. The ground floor door was locked, but that did not deter Wesh. Drawing a slim wand from his sleeve, he rapped it once against the portals and they swung silently open. The interior of the warehouse was piled high with crates, boxes, and packages, most marked with company symbols and ‘FRAGILE’ or ‘HANDLE WITH CARE.’ A pair of iron, spiral staircases rose from opposing corners of the room. More details were not forthcoming, however, as the darkness inside became filled with low rumbling…the unmistakable growling of what sounded like very large beasts. From the deep shadows between the crates stalked four bulky shapes. As they stepped into the moonlight spilling in from the open doors, they were seen to have lithe, muscular leonine bodies, but large, bat-like wings sprouted from their shoulders, and twitching, spike-tipped tails arched over their backs. Worst of all, however, where their faces, which were almost human in appearance. Wesh recognized the creatures, after all he’d seen one stuffed and mounted in Vanderboren manor. They were manticores, and if given a chance they would turn him and his companions into living pin-cushions in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, his friends didn’t need to be told the obvious. Dexter darted forward, weaving among the boxes and crates, using them as cover, until he managed to surface behind the nearest beast. Silent and deadly, he lunged, thrusting his sword deftly between the manticore’s ribs. It howled in agony and reared up on its hind legs, leaving its belly unprotected. Dex rammed his blades home again, and the creature fell heavily among the storage units, unmoving. After that, the rest of the team fell into place like a well-oiled machine. Wesh and Reaper focused their magic on a single target, combining force bolts and necromantic energy. Cruemann followed up with deadly, precise shots, felling two more of the animals in rapid succession. The final one succumbed to a deadly amalgam of stunningly fast strikes from Adso, meaty chops from Duerten, and a coup-de-grace of eldritch fire from Sinclair.
“Quite the guard dogs our councilman employs,” Wesh commented.
“The bad guys always have the best toys,” Reaper smiled.
________________________________________________________
The upper floor was empty of further guardians, but another level could be viewed above, little more than a catwalk really. The companions ascended, finding nothing there save for a locked, iron door in the rear of the building. Dexter worked quickly on the lock, snapping it open in a matter of seconds. When the door opened, Dex found himself outside again, only this time he was sixty-feet above the mudflat below. A dangerous walkway, its edge open and unprotected by a railing, surrounded the rusting bulk of the ancient crane. The crane’s arm extended out over open space, the large iron and wood ship dangling from its end.
In the moment before he was about to turn back and give his friends the all-clear, Dexter caught a flicker of movement from behind the far corner of the crane.
“Show yourself!” he called.
From out of the shadows stepped a stooped figure in a dark cloak and hood. When the hood slipped back from its face, it became obvious that the creature was anything but human. It looked like some sort of fish-man, its skin scaled and moist, its fingers and toes webbed. It spoke, but its words were guttural and incomprehensible. As it spoke, its hands began to weave in the air. Dex was no wizard, but he recognized spell-casting when he saw it. Palming his dagger, he whipped it end-over-end at the fish man. It struck true, but not fast enough. As the creature completed its spell, a layer of oily grease materialized on the interior catwalk behind Dex, directly beneath the feet of his companions. Immediately, Duerten went down, his feet slipping out from under him on the slick floor. Snarling, Dexter rushed forward, intent on keeping the fish man from casting again. Suddenly, from the shadows to his left, another figure appeared, running towards him. It struck him like a battering ram, and Dex found himself flying through the air, pushed beyond the edge of the walkway. Then he was falling…and falling…
As Duerten flopped about on his back like an overturned turtle, Reaper reached out a glowing hand and touched the dwarf. One disorienting flash of light later, and Duerten found himself standing on the outside walkway directly in front of the spellcasting assassin. The priest didn’t question what had happened, he just acted, hacking with his axe like a lumberjack. His opponent fell back before his furious assault, and toppled off the edge of the catwalk.
Adso was next out, moving swiftly up behind Dexter’s assailant. The monk quickly locked his arms about the creature, pinning its own limbs to its sides. The fish man struggled like a dervish, but only until Adso maneuvered it into position for Cruemann to plant two arrows into its chest at point-blank range. The monk tossed its dead body over the side to join its companions.
Duerten peered over the edge, looking for any sign of Dexter. As he did so, he failed to see a third and fourth assassin detach themselves from the crane. One of them ran at him, brandishing a wicked trident and stabbing it into his exposed flank. Cursing, the dwarf turned towards his new assailant, but just as he did so, the darkness behind the fish man flickered, and Dexter stepped out of it as if it were a doorway. Flicking his dagger casually into his hand, the rogue plunged it into the assassin’s neck. An instant later, four arrows sprouted from the back of the last fish man, and it died twitching on the catwalk. It would seem that Councilman Dory had been expecting company…
Dexter read the short note again. It was a request for a meeting…a job request. No details, just an address in Underbridge. It’d been passed to him by one of his usual contacts. He sighed. As if he didn’t already have enough on his plate. On one hand, the quest to the Iron Peaks was imminent, but on the other, Reaper had announced plans to accompany a contingent back to Fort Rannick first to see to its garrisoning. Now this. Still, Dex was getting bored. Two weeks of down time in Magnimar had been a welcome respite, but he was growing restless. Something to pass the time might be just the ticket. He pushed back from the bar and headed for the door of the inn, wrapping his cloak about him. He supposed he ought to go see Reaper and Adso first.
________________________________________________________
“I don’t see any harm in at least investigating,” Reaper shrugged when Dexter showed him the note, “but we don’t have the luxury of being hirelings these days. We’ve got bigger fish on our plate.”
Adso stood silently in the corner, arms crossed and hood pulled low. The monk hadn’t had much to say on the few occasions Dex had seen him since their return.
“I’d like to go and have a talk with Duerten first, though,” Reaper continued. “I’ve been meaning to have a little chat. He’s good in a fight, and Cruemann’s proven useful as well. I’d like them with us when we head for Jorgenfist.”
“I notice you didn’t mention Draton,” Dex said wryly.
“I don’t think his services will be needed,” Reaper replied. “Besides, I’ve already recruited someone far more…useful.”
Dexter raised a questioning eyebrow, and Reaper smiled knowingly. He reached over and rapped on the door leading to an adjoining bedroom. When the door opened and Wesh walked in, even Adso’s morose composure slipped. Dexter’s mouth simply fell open.
“You see?” Reaper said. “Our little act of kindness at Skull’s Crossing just keeps paying dividends.”
_______________________________________________________
Duerten sat glowering and silent while Cruemann nodded enthusiastically at Reaper’s proposal. Finally, the dwarf spoke up.
“I ain’t heard ye mention th’Father’s part in this little adventure. Somethin’ I’m missin’?”
“No, I think you get the point precisely,” Reaper said. “I admire the man’s convictions, but let’s be honest…I know you didn’t agree with how the whole affair with the stone giant went down. Draton’s judgment is questionable, and potentially dangerous. I’m not putting the fate of Varisia at risk because he won’t compromise. Despite what he says, there is a greater good here, and all of our problems are not going to have black and white answers. I’m not asking for your answer right now. Think about it, but while you’re doing that, Dex has a line on something brewing down in Underbridge. If you’re interested, we’d appreciate your help while we investigate.”
____________________________________________________
The address in Underbridge was an alchemist’s shop located in a particularly seedy section of an already seedy neighborhood. The sign above the door read ‘Refrum’s.’ The man who opened the door was middle-aged, slight and bent. He was dressed in simple gray clothing, and a bent pair of spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Around his neck he wore a simple amulet. To Reaper’s surprise, the symbol engraved upon it was that of Aroden…the dead god.
“Is one of you Dexter?” the man asked in a short, excited gasp.
“That’s me,” Dex answered, stepping forward. “I brought a few associates. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, not at all!” the man said enthusiastically. “I’m just glad that you’ve come in the first place. I feared you might not. I’m Refrum, and this is my shop. Please, come in!”
Refrum’s establishment was humble and cluttered with half-finished clockwork inventions, and the air was thick with the smell of grease and metal. Hundreds of books lined every available inch of shelf-space. When the company entered the main room, they found a young woman standing there, dressed in plain clothing, her hands clutched tensely in her skirts.
“Ah,” Refrum said, “this is Eleanor Loveage. She is a close, personal friend, and it was she that sent you the note.”
Silence followed, and when no further explanation seemed forthcoming, Dexter cleared his throat.
“Well, now that you have us here, what’s this all about?”
“Ah, yes!” Refrum nodded. “Well, obviously the exploits of you and your friends, Master Dexter, are common knowledge. Your solving of the Skinsaw Murders was nothing short of miraculous! That’s why I thought of you when Eleanor came to me for help. Perhaps you are aware that a man was hanged in the quarter yesterday by the constabulary?”
At this, Wesh stepped forward.
“Yes, I believe I read something about that in the paper. A murderer, if I recall. Someone the local press referred to as the Lantern Man?”
Refrum nodded.
“His name was Jarme…Jarme Loveage. He was Eleanor’s brother, and I believe he was innocent of the crimes that he was accused of. You see, the murders started several months ago, but they were all confined to Underbridge, so they really didn’t get much attention outside of the quarter. In each case, the victim was brutally slain with a knife, and witnesses reported seeing a figure carrying a lantern fleeing the scenes on various occasions. Thus the colorful moniker attributed to the killer. Well, last week, Jarme was captured at the scene of the last murder with a bloody knife in his hand. He was arrested immediately, but never put on trial. I realize that the circumstances of his arrest seem incriminating, but you must believe me: I’ve known Jarme and Eleanor for years, and I cannot believe that he was capable of such heinous acts. He was a fisherman, and spent much of his time alone, which, unfortunately, gave him no alibi in his defense. But I tell you, the man I knew was kind and honest without a cruel bone in his body.”
“That’s all well and good,” Reaper said, “but the evidence seems to speak for itself. I’ve known many a man who was thought well of his by his friends and family, but was guilty of horrendous crimes just the same. What do you have to back up your claim?”
Refrum shook his head.
“Well first, as I mentioned, he received no trial. I tried to meet with him in his cell at Hopene’er Asylum, but I was forbidden by a group of thugs employed by one of the local councilmen, Mr. Dory. After that, I decided to start my own investigation. While it’s likely that Jarme’s body did in fact kill the latest Lantern Man victim, he went to the gallows professing to have no memory of any of the slayings. I offered my services to the constables, particularly my ability to commune with the dead, but I was told that those interrogations had already been performed. When I protested, I was threatened with incarceration myself. Now, however, I’ve heard rumors of another murder that has occurred since Jarme’s incarceration. According to my sources, the victim was a young fisherman named Raif. The authorities were strangely quick to ship his body to the mortuary for cremation and tried to cover up the events. So, I ask you, if the Lantern Man is still killing, how could Jarme have possibly been the killer?”
“It sounds like you have a theory?” Dex asked.
“I do indeed,” Refrum smiled knowingly. “I suspect a sinister conspiracy here in the Shadow, and it is ultimately responsible for the murders. I think the agents of this plot used some sort of enchantment magic to control Jarme and forced him to commit some of the murders. When he was caught, they used their influence to have him executed quickly. Now I fear that they are not only free to continue their work, but that they know I’m on to them!”
“Those are a lot of assumptions you’re making,” Reaper said, “but there is something…familiar about what you’re implying.”
He turned to Wesh, Dex and Adso.
“Don’t you think the similarities between these killings and the Skinsaw murders is a little too convenient?”
Wesh nodded. “I was going to say as much myself.”
Refrum nodded as well.
“Yes, yes! Exactly! My thoughts precisely! Now, if I may suggest, I would start with Hopene’er Asylum, where Jarme was incarcerated. Perhaps one of the caretakers there noticed something unusual about during that time. Also, you might seek out Constable Jute, the guard who found Jarme and his victim.”
“Please.” It was Eleanor, tears in her eyes as she clutched at Dexter’s cloak. “I beg you, please clear the name of my brother, that he might know peace in the afterlife. You are a good man. I’ve heard that about you. I beg you!”
Dex patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
“We will do our best. You have our word.”
“It’s settled then!” Refrum exclaimed. “You will understand when I tell you that I plan to take my leave of Magnimar for a few weeks. It is my intent to lay low for awhile and hide out from ‘them’ before ‘they’ find me.”
______________________________________________________________
Lamplicker’s Way, a narrow, winding street that was really more of an alley, was home to Hopene’er Asylum, once a former prison that still bore the bare walls and barred windows of its former role. A faded sign above the door bore the words, ‘Welcome Home.’ The seven companions were greeted by a simple-looking young man when they rapped on the door. He stared vacantly at them, silent.
“Um, we are here to see the director,” Reaper said after the silence stretched out for too long.
“’Rector?” the youth said after another long pause.
Reaper sighed. “Your boss. We’re here to see your boss.”
The boy was silent. Instead, he turned and entered the building, leaving the door open behind him.
“I guess that means we’re supposed to follow,” Dex shrugged.
The foyer was bare, without even a chair to sit in. After several long minutes, a door on the opposite side opened, and a stooped man with a worried brow and ashen skin stepped through.
“I’m Dr. Emil Trantor,” he said, a touch of irritation in his voice. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re investigating the Lantern Man murders,” Reaper said. “We understand that you had Jarme Loveage under your care for a time.”
“Are you constables?” Trantor asked.
“We’re private investigators,” Reaper replied. “We won’t take much of your time. We just wanted to find out if Mr. Loveage had any visitors during his incarceration.”
“I’m afraid that’s privileged information,” Dr. Trantor answered. “I can tell you that Mr. Loveage was a quiet man who was resolute in his claims of innocence, thought I must say that most of the criminals housed here plead their innocence. Since Mr. Loveage was caught over a body with a bloody knife in his hands, I would say the circumstances speak for themselves. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m a very busy man.”
Reaper seized the physician’s sleeve as he turned to go.
“I’m afraid there is more,” the necromancer said, a sinister tone in his voice. “Perhaps you are aware of the recent Skinsaw Murders and how their perpetrators were brought to justice? I’m sure you are equally aware of the Lord Mayor’s gratitude towards the individuals who accomplished that task. We, sir, are those individuals. If you need proof of that, then I recommend you contact the Lord Mayor’s office, and then, when he discovers that you have impeded our efforts in our current investigation, your replacement, I’m certain, will prove much more accommodating.”
Dr. Trantor’s face visibly paled.
“I…see,” he stammered. “I apologize. I was not aware of your…credentials. Of course I’ll offer whatever assistance I may.”
“Any visitors?” Reaper asked again.
Trantor sighed. “During his short stay here, Mr. Loveage received only one visitor…Councilman Dory.”
“I see,” Reaper nodded.
“Would you be interested in seeing Mr. Loveage’s cell?” Trantor asked quickly. “He spent quite a lot of time drawing on his walls. I saw no harm in supplying him with some charcoal, but I must say that the nature of his scribbling was somewhat unsettling. I would appreciate a second opinion on them, in truth.”
“Lead on,” Reaper gestured.
The journey into the asylum’s nether regions was not pleasant. The constant screaming and cursing of the inmates combined with an almost unbearable stench to crush the spirit of any idle visitors. Eventually, Trantor came to a heavily locked door at which he turned and cautioned his guests, “This wing is where the worst of our cases are kept. I beg you not to look into any of the other cells. We’ve given succor to many folk over the years, but still, those within these cells are truly forsaken by the gods.”
So saying, he unlocked the door to reveal a long corridor with iron doors to either side. Small viewing hatches were firmly shut on the face of each door. An inhuman gurgle churned up from a cell to the right, and was horrifically joined by a second, identical voice within the same cell, and exact echo of the first, as if both voices came from the same body. Suddenly, the other cells began to spring to life. The iron doors shuddered under great blows, a woman’s garbled and shrill voice screamed for death, and, most unsettlingly , a baby began to cry. Trantor ignored the sounds and moved to the end of the hall, where one door hung open. The walls of the cell beyond were covered with crude, charcoal pictures that depicted some colossus of the sea. Several pictures of the tentacled sea beast showed it shackled in a collar that was held by a vile creature akin to a great fish. Another showed the larger creature devouring a city, whose skyline looked suspiciously like Magnimar’s. A final depiction showed the creature trapped in a deep, black well, its tentacles rising up to suck the life from humanoid bodies. As Wesh entered the cell, he bent close to examine the scrawlings.
“Do you see something?” Reaper asked.
The mage nodded, distracted. “This,” he pointed to the smaller, fish-like creature. “It looks like a drawing of an aboleth.”
He straightened. “They are a race of beings known for their ability to mentally enslave others to their will…”
________________________________________________________
Constable Jute was on patrol when they found him. He seemed a gruff and no-nonsense man, but was forthcoming when they told him about their investigation, especially when they mentioned their previous credentials.
“’Course I remember it,” he said when they asked him about Jarme’s arrest. “Hard to forget something like that. Happened over in an alley off Hemlock Pit. Strange thing…for the amount of damage he inflicted on that poor soul, Jarme was pretty well-behaved and calm when I took him into custody.”
“What sort of damage, exactly?” Reaper asked.
“Hmph,” Jute snorted. “Some kind of symbol he carved into the body. Looked like a star or something.”
The companions looked meaningfully at each other. It seemed there were no such things as coincidences.
“Do you know anything about Councilman Dory visiting Jarme during his incarceration?” Dexter asked.
Jute’s eyes narrowed and he shifted his gaze.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss such things,” he said shortly, “but if I were, I’d tell you that there have been a lot of closed door meetings at the garrison lately, and they’ve involved the commander and a certain councilman.”
“I see,” Reaper nodded. “Can you tell us anything about the recent murder of a man named Raif?”
“I can tell you where the murder took place,” he said wryly, “and I can tell you that the circumstances were awfully…familiar.”
“Thank you Constable Jute,” Reaper said, extending his hand. “One final question…do you know where we might find Councilman Dory?”
______________________________________________________
Raif’s murder scene was still spattered with blood and bits of stray tissue. The rats and gulls hadn’t quite taken care of the clean-up detail yet. As the group scanned the area, Duerten abruptly leaned down and touched his fingers to the film of slime on the cobblestones.
“Well looky’ere,” the dwarf said.
When the others drew close, they saw what had captured the deacon’s attention…footprints, though like none they had ever seen. They were not made by boots nor bare human feet. Instead, they seemed to have been made by some sort of clawed, three-toed appendage. When Duerten followed the tracks, no one was really surprised to find that they eventually led to a large warehouse on the docks…the same warehouse Jute had told them was owned by Mr. Dory.
The vertical, stone building rose from the street, three stories high and dotted with iron-barred windows. The warehouse’s slate roof soared dizzily some sixty-feet above, and in places its walls and roof seemed to be coated with a bitumen black gruel with the viscosity of phlegm. Behind the building was a gray-green pit of mud. A huge, rickety crane protruded from the far wall of the warehouse, its limbs rusted arthritically. Dangling from it was a dripping ship hulk, hanging some fifty-feet above the greasy mud below. A crude bridge attached the crane to the ship’s deck, but it looked to be an arduous climb. A trough also connected the ship to a nearby water tower, and steam rose from places just as rivulets of water drained from the hull into the mud below.
It was well after dark by the time the companions arrived at Mr. Dory’s warehouse, and the streets around it, as well as the building itself, appeared deserted. The ground floor door was locked, but that did not deter Wesh. Drawing a slim wand from his sleeve, he rapped it once against the portals and they swung silently open. The interior of the warehouse was piled high with crates, boxes, and packages, most marked with company symbols and ‘FRAGILE’ or ‘HANDLE WITH CARE.’ A pair of iron, spiral staircases rose from opposing corners of the room. More details were not forthcoming, however, as the darkness inside became filled with low rumbling…the unmistakable growling of what sounded like very large beasts. From the deep shadows between the crates stalked four bulky shapes. As they stepped into the moonlight spilling in from the open doors, they were seen to have lithe, muscular leonine bodies, but large, bat-like wings sprouted from their shoulders, and twitching, spike-tipped tails arched over their backs. Worst of all, however, where their faces, which were almost human in appearance. Wesh recognized the creatures, after all he’d seen one stuffed and mounted in Vanderboren manor. They were manticores, and if given a chance they would turn him and his companions into living pin-cushions in a matter of seconds. Fortunately, his friends didn’t need to be told the obvious. Dexter darted forward, weaving among the boxes and crates, using them as cover, until he managed to surface behind the nearest beast. Silent and deadly, he lunged, thrusting his sword deftly between the manticore’s ribs. It howled in agony and reared up on its hind legs, leaving its belly unprotected. Dex rammed his blades home again, and the creature fell heavily among the storage units, unmoving. After that, the rest of the team fell into place like a well-oiled machine. Wesh and Reaper focused their magic on a single target, combining force bolts and necromantic energy. Cruemann followed up with deadly, precise shots, felling two more of the animals in rapid succession. The final one succumbed to a deadly amalgam of stunningly fast strikes from Adso, meaty chops from Duerten, and a coup-de-grace of eldritch fire from Sinclair.
“Quite the guard dogs our councilman employs,” Wesh commented.
“The bad guys always have the best toys,” Reaper smiled.
________________________________________________________
The upper floor was empty of further guardians, but another level could be viewed above, little more than a catwalk really. The companions ascended, finding nothing there save for a locked, iron door in the rear of the building. Dexter worked quickly on the lock, snapping it open in a matter of seconds. When the door opened, Dex found himself outside again, only this time he was sixty-feet above the mudflat below. A dangerous walkway, its edge open and unprotected by a railing, surrounded the rusting bulk of the ancient crane. The crane’s arm extended out over open space, the large iron and wood ship dangling from its end.
In the moment before he was about to turn back and give his friends the all-clear, Dexter caught a flicker of movement from behind the far corner of the crane.
“Show yourself!” he called.
From out of the shadows stepped a stooped figure in a dark cloak and hood. When the hood slipped back from its face, it became obvious that the creature was anything but human. It looked like some sort of fish-man, its skin scaled and moist, its fingers and toes webbed. It spoke, but its words were guttural and incomprehensible. As it spoke, its hands began to weave in the air. Dex was no wizard, but he recognized spell-casting when he saw it. Palming his dagger, he whipped it end-over-end at the fish man. It struck true, but not fast enough. As the creature completed its spell, a layer of oily grease materialized on the interior catwalk behind Dex, directly beneath the feet of his companions. Immediately, Duerten went down, his feet slipping out from under him on the slick floor. Snarling, Dexter rushed forward, intent on keeping the fish man from casting again. Suddenly, from the shadows to his left, another figure appeared, running towards him. It struck him like a battering ram, and Dex found himself flying through the air, pushed beyond the edge of the walkway. Then he was falling…and falling…
As Duerten flopped about on his back like an overturned turtle, Reaper reached out a glowing hand and touched the dwarf. One disorienting flash of light later, and Duerten found himself standing on the outside walkway directly in front of the spellcasting assassin. The priest didn’t question what had happened, he just acted, hacking with his axe like a lumberjack. His opponent fell back before his furious assault, and toppled off the edge of the catwalk.
Adso was next out, moving swiftly up behind Dexter’s assailant. The monk quickly locked his arms about the creature, pinning its own limbs to its sides. The fish man struggled like a dervish, but only until Adso maneuvered it into position for Cruemann to plant two arrows into its chest at point-blank range. The monk tossed its dead body over the side to join its companions.
Duerten peered over the edge, looking for any sign of Dexter. As he did so, he failed to see a third and fourth assassin detach themselves from the crane. One of them ran at him, brandishing a wicked trident and stabbing it into his exposed flank. Cursing, the dwarf turned towards his new assailant, but just as he did so, the darkness behind the fish man flickered, and Dexter stepped out of it as if it were a doorway. Flicking his dagger casually into his hand, the rogue plunged it into the assassin’s neck. An instant later, four arrows sprouted from the back of the last fish man, and it died twitching on the catwalk. It would seem that Councilman Dory had been expecting company…
JollyDoc
Explorer
This part is actually not a piece of the adventure path. It is an adventure from Dragon magazine called the Styes, but its plot weaves so well into Rise of the Runelords that I had to use it.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Great stuff! Since I don't get Dragon, I'm looking forward to some unknown adventuring and, as it seems, politics. ![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
JollyDoc
Explorer
Ask and ye shall receive...
SUNDAY NIGHT TEASER
1) The group investigates Mr. Dory's 'yacht', only to find more fishy henchmen, as well as the mysterious councilman himself.
2) In the aftermath, several interesting clues are discovered, which only serve to deepen the mystery of what really lies behind the Lantern Man Murders.
3) Ships continue to be a theme as the trail leads to another rotting hulk, only this time, the occupants are a bit more insistent in their displeasure...
Awesome. I've heard a lot of good things about this adventure over on the Paizo boards, but never had the opportunity to look it over or play it. I'm definitely looking forward to the rest of this chapter.
primemover003
First Post
Hmmm... Aboleth's are certainly Rune users, maybe our villain is a long lost ally of Alaznist??? I definitely enjoyed the Styes though I mixed it in with Prince of Redhand for my own homebrew Seafaring campaign.
Using this to level the Party up JD?
Using this to level the Party up JD?
