SHIP OF FOOLS
The ancient hulk of the suspended caravel creaked and groaned ominously as the companions stepped from the catwalk onto its deck. Nothing moved on the bare planks, and only one entrance could be seen leading to the interior of the boat, a single door near the bow on the port side. Their adrenaline high, the group spread out on both sides of the door as Dexter worked his magic on the lock and then swung the door inward as he ducked behind the jamb and cautiously peeked around. The air that spilled out of the room beyond was hot and humid. Clouds of steam rose from a pair of roaring boilers toward the bow, bolted to the floors and wall on either side of a large, round pool of steaming water. The walls, floor, and even ceiling of the chamber were thick with condensation and mildew, and shone with moisture.
As Dexter’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, his sharp gaze caught a flicker of movement, both from behind the boilers and from the pool itself. Dark cloaked figures moved in the steam, and two more were submerged to their eyeballs in the misty water.
“Company!” he cried.
Wesh stepped around the corner, a spell on his lips as he unleashed a blind barrage of azure bolts of energy. One of the figures behind the boiler cried out as the missiles struck, and he stumbled into view, his hood falling away to reveal another of the fish-like skum they had faced on the crane. The assassin grunted again as Cruemann sprang next to Wesh and loosed a shaft into its gut. At that moment, a second figure emerged from the steam, while another pair rose from the pool. At the same instant, however, Reaper entered the cramped chamber, and a palpable aura of menace seemed to radiate from him as he pinned the skum with his baleful gaze. The four assassins quailed before the necromancer, and two of them leaped back into the pool, disappearing beneath its surface. The other pair ran for a door on the far side of the room and hastily pulled it open. One darted through, but Adso leaped forward before the other could follow, snapping his neck in the blink of an eye.
Dexter moved quickly to the door through which the skum had vanished. He glimpsed another open room beyond, but the air was just as cloyingly hot and damp. Two swirling pools of dark water took up most of the flooring, but a narrow wooden bridge crossed toward the stern and another door in the wall. Condensation from the steaming pools collected on the walls and ceiling to drip back down in a constant rain of warm water. Four skum stood arrayed on the far side of the bridge, drawn bows in their hands. Dexter didn’t pause, and ran nimbly over the plank before the nearest assassin could loose, deftly slashing with his sword. He then danced quickly among the confused fish-men, plunging his dagger into the throat of another and watching it tumble into the water. Dex turned as he heard heavy footsteps on the plank behind him. Duerten trundled across like an armadillo, his shield shedding arrows like water. He raised the edge of the shield higher as he reached the far side of the bridge, catching the skum Dex had already wounded beneath the chin. As the assassin rocked back, the dwarf brought his axe to bear, hacking viciously. He raised the weapon again to finish off the unfortunate fish-man, when an arrow suddenly sprouted from its eye.
“Dam ye, boy!” the priest snarled at Cruemann. “That one was mine! I’ll nigh have ye’ stealin’ me glory!”
“Then you’ll have to be faster than that, old man!” the archer grinned.
At that moment, Adso burst into the room, his momentum carrying him right into one of the pools…where he, miraculously, continued to run upon the surface of the water! The monk had had quite enough of swimming over the course of their last few adventures, and had commissioned a very special set of footwear for just such an occasion. The last two skum never knew what hit them as they died in a flurry of feet and fists.
Duerten hustled across the room to the opposite door, determined not to give any other enemies further time to prepare for their arrival. He kicked in the door with one iron-shod boot. Like the other rooms, the final chamber was thick with clouds of steam, though it was scented with cloves, cinnamon, and ginger. Strange, large plants hung entwined from the ceiling, fronds of thick yellow vines of great size tangled around unsettlingly enormous bulbs and flowers. Two huge iron stoves belted out great heat into the room, which was dominated by a large, greenish pool. From the look of its steamy surface, the waters must have been very warm indeed. A rickety desk sat against the edge of the pool, its surface cluttered with papers, a wicker plate of strange-looking fish, and a locked mahogany box. A figure sat behind the desk, his features concealed by the swirling mist. He looked up from his papers as the door burst open.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said in a thick, phlegmy voice, “but you’ve made a grave mistake in coming here. You’re meddling in matters that don’t concern you, and you’ve inconvenienced me greatly, both unforgiveable sins.”
He waved his hand absently, and then went back to his paperwork. As he did so, the water in the pool began to churn and two large shapes lifted themselves from the water. They were hulking figures that appeared to have been stitched together from a variety of fish, monstrous lobsters, sharks, and octopi, though, most horribly, they each bore the head of a beautiful woman. The creatures began lurching from the pool, and Duerten started moving as well, ducking his head behind his shield and he rushed across the chamber. Both of the constructs reached for him, but then suddenly, Adso was there, appearing like an apparition and swift as a snake. Ignoring the pain from the sharp protrusions of the nearest golem’s skin, the monk chopped and punched with his bare hands, each strike knocking pieces from the hulking brute. Again and again he struck, and finally, large cracks began to appear in the golem’s carapace until, ultimately, it shattered into hundreds of pieces.
At that point, the figure behind the desk stood, just as Duerten came up short on the opposite side. The dwarf could now clearly see the man’s features, though in hindsight, he wished he hadn’t. His face was that of a drowned corpse, bloated and pallid. One eye rolled blindly in its socket, while the other stared unblinking at the priest. As Duerten stared in disgust, a maggot crawled out of an open sore on the creature’s face, only to be quickly snapped up by his lolling tongue. He smiled a toothless grin, and raised a black medallion that he wore about his neck. Suddenly, Duerten felt himself buffeted by dark power, and pain wracked his body. Clutching his chest, the dwarf forced himself upright and lunged at the dead thing, axe swinging.
Meanwhile, Reaper made his way cautiously across the plank in the other room, hurrying as quickly as he dared to join his companions. However, as soon as he stepped onto the opposite side of the pool, the water beside him exploded upward in a geyser. A figure emerged from the deluge, clothed all in black. He looked human, but his skin was translucent and slimy. He gripped a black-bladed dagger in one hand, and before Reaper could move, he plunged it deep in the necromancer’s chest. Reaper felt his breath leave him in a rush, followed by a sharp burning sensation that raced through his limbs…poison. Despite this, the wizard felt no fear…only rage at the temerity of the assassin. Pushing aside his pain, he began uttering the guttural words to his most deadly spell. Dark power bored into the killer’s mind, ripping out his most primal fear and causing it to manifest before his eyes. His face grew several shades paler, and his mouth dropped open in a soundless scream.
“No…Whisperer…!” he wheezed, then grabbed at his heart as he tumbled backwards into the pool.
Adso leaped at the second golem, which turned to meet him head-on. The monk grappled desperately with the construct as its massive claws snapped at his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, Adso saw Dexter dart to his side. The orc thought there was little chance that the rogue’s blades would be of any use, probably not even capable of piercing the thing’s bony hide, yet he was astounded when Dexter’s steel found cracks in the golem’s carapace that he had been unable to see. The brute released its grip on him, stumbling as one leg collapsed beneath it. Adso brought his hands down in a double-fist on the creature’s head, crushing it like an eggshell.
Duerten found himself hurled backwards again as the living corpse channeled its dark energy once more. The dwarf struggled to regain his feet, but couldn’t find the strength. The undead thing loomed over him, chuckling darkly, but suddenly, he jerked his head up, gazing across the room. Wesh stood there, hands raised, blue fire crackling from his fingertips. The corpse creature laughed again as he raised his hand absently, conjuring a glowing, transparent shield in the air between him and the mage. His laugh faded, however, as Wesh’s missiles punched through the shield as if it were rice paper and hammered into his chest. His one good eye rolled up into his skull as he sagged to the floor right next to Duerten.
____________________________________________________________
“So that was Mr. Dory?” Dex asked as he stood over the remains of the corpse. “What was he?”
“A corpse creature,” Reaper answered absently as he and Wesh riffled through the councilman’s papers. “He must have died at some point and then his body was reanimated, and not by a very nice person. He would have retained his memories and personality, but he had literally become the living dead.”
Dexter shivered unconsciously. “Find anything there?”
“Well, there’s some pretty vile erotic poetry,” Reaper said in disgust, “and several letters that implicate Dory in crimes ranging from slavery to murder. Too bad he’ll never see the inside of a courtroom. I also found a few drawings which look an awful lot like those scribblings in Jarme’s cell.”
“Aha!” Wesh cried triumphantly, holding up a crumpled piece of speckled parchment in one hand, and a tattered book bound in greasy, black leather in the other. “These are interesting…mainly because they are written in a combination of Abyssal and Infernal.”
He unfolded the note and read aloud: ‘Once again the catch indicates disturbances beneath us. We cannot locate the cause, but fear THEY may be in the waters near your city. Praise Lamashtu! The Whisperer wants to begin the Lantern Man harvests again soon. The young one must be fed. You will help us. The harvest must be greater, for the young one grows beyond our expectations. His appetite is huge. You will help sate it until the Whisperer finds a new Lantern Man. If you have one that would work, bring him to the temple and we shall appraise his worth.’
The mage then flipped open the book, and another folded slip of paper fluttered out. He picked it up and began to read again: ‘This book contains all of the invocations and prayers you’ll need to learn the truth, Mr. Dory. The Dark Goddess’s faithful are wary of new converts, but learn the words and they should accept you soon enough. Seek their pulpit in the evening shadow of Frother’s Lamp. Praise Lamashtu!”
“Lamashtu again!” Dex threw up his hands. “Does every petty villain pay homage to that bitch now?”
“Frother’s Lamp…,” Reaper mused absently. “Does that ring any bells with anyone?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Cruemann replied. “It’s an old, abandoned lighthouse down near the wharfs.”
“It would seem that’s our next destination,” the necromancer said.
“Why?” Dex asked. “We’ve got our answers. Dory was behind the Lantern Man killings all along. We can clear Jarme’s name with this evidence.”
Wesh shook his head. “Dory was a pawn. It’s obvious that someone, or something is behind all of this, and the murders were a means to an end, namely to somehow provide power to this ‘young one.’ Which brings us back to the matter of the Sihedron Rune carved into the bodies of the victims. When Vanderboren did it, it was only to particularly greedy individuals. There’s no such connection here, and besides, the stone giants had the symbol tattooed on them as well. And what about the people in Turtleback Ferry and their tattoos? No, I think we need to go check out this lighthouse and find out exactly what’s going on here.”
______________________________________________________
Frother’s Lamp was located in a section of Underbridge affectionately known as Flotsam, arguably the most depressing section of an already morbidly depressed district. A tangled wall of apartments, partially ruined and abandoned store fronts, and other buildings rose up on either side of a thickly shuddering inlet of tainted sea water. Those down near the water line were empty and desolate, while the ramshackle additions built over their roofs looked progressively more inhabitable as they rose up into the polluted sky. The overall effect was that of a canyon, its walls made of a cross-section of a dying slum rather than stone. A narrow timber bridge sagged across the inlet, leading from the back of a crooked alleyway across to what appeared to be a partially sunken slave galley that had been incorporated into the ruined wall of buildings.
“So…is tha’ it?” Duerten asked as he looked dubiously at the dilapidated lighthouse.
“Didn’t the note say that the pulpit would be found in the shadow of Frother’s Lamp?” Reaper replied.
“No…,” Dexter said, but when everyone turned to look at him they saw that he was peering up at the top of the lighthouse. “It can’t be that obvious…” He pointed, and the others followed his gaze. As the evening sun set behind the lighthouse, its shadow stretched out like a long finger, and it pointed directly at the wrecked ship’s hull across the inlet.
Wesh shrugged. “It’s always helpful when evil cultists don’t go out of their way to be too cryptic.”
The main deck of the partially ruined slave galley was buckled and cluttered with trash, driftwood and other refuse washed up from the high tide. To the east, the galley’s prow rose up like a jagged fang and to the west was a wall of boarded-up and badly weathered building facades. One doorway, a pair of massive wooden portals, remained curiously unbarricaded, and the path between it and the bridge was cleared of rubble. Cautiously, the company approached the doors. They never saw the nine cloaked figures rise from the debris on the prow until the twang of bowstrings filled the air. Arrows fell among them with deadly accuracy. Adso hissed as one went cleanly through his hand, while Wesh barely suppressed a scream as another embedded deep in his thigh. Two shafts sprouted from Sinclair’s side, completely spinning the little gnome around. Of them all, however, Reaper took the brunt of the attack. No fewer than three arrows pierced his chest. The necromancer reeled and collapsed heavily against a nearby crate.
“Dammit!” Cruemann cursed as he whirled, his bow singing while he was still in motion. A volley of three arrows knocked one of the skum archers from his feet, and he didn’t rise again. Beside the guardsman, Dexter suddenly winked out of sight, only to reappear a moment later in the midst of the assassins. He began slashing and stabbing all about him, but, to their credit, the skum kept up their deadly barrage. Two more arrows struck Reaper, putting the wizard on the ground, blood spilling from the side of his mouth.
“Gnome!” Wesh shouted through gritted teeth as he simultaneously pulled the arrow out of his leg and loosed a salvo of magic missiles among the archers. “Stop whining and start earning your keep!”
Murderous anger flashed across Sinclair’s face at the rebuke, but the little warmage turned his fury on their opponents, unleashing an explosive cascade of roiling fire through their ranks.
Reaper’s vision blurred and grayed as his blood continued to spill out on the rotten planks. Still, death was no stranger to the necromancer, and ultimately, it held no mystery for him. His voice barely audible, he uttered the short words to a spell. Slowly, painfully, his wounds began to close themselves and the blood stream trickled to a halt. Gasping, he levered himself up on one elbow and lowered a pair of ruby-lensed goggles over his eyes. As he did so, they eyepieces flashed and a ball of flame exploded among the skum assassins, sending most of them scattering, but leaving three of them as smoking corpses. Exhausted, he collapsed back to the floor and Duerten rushed quickly to his side. Meanwhile, Adso leaped nimbly to the upper deck and joined Dexter’s deadly dance. Coupled with Cruemann’s pinpoint accuracy, the remaining Skum fell quickly before them.
_____________________________________________________
Quite sure they’d come to the right place, the group moved quickly towards the double doors, which they found securely locked. Wesh tapped the doors once with his wand and they swung easily open. Beyond was an oppressive hallway that reeked of mildew and rotting fish. The walls were horribly stained and the ceiling sagged with pockets of water and fungus. The sounds of wood creaking against wood filled the place. Another pair of double-doors stood closed on the far end. Two abreast, the companions started down the corridor. They had proceeded almost halfway down, when the sound of splintering wood came from beneath their feet as a large section of the floor suddenly collapsed. Adso, Reaper, and Dex were near the center of the area, but all three managed to leap clear of the collapse. Duerten was not so fortunate, and he vanished into the hole and sank immediately beneath the churning water revealed below. At the same time, something monstrous heaved itself out of the hole. It looked like a gigantic, bipedal lobster, with enormous barbed pincers and a mass of tentacles dangling from beneath its mandibles. Before anyone could act, the creature seized Sinclair in one of its claws. The gnome screamed as the pincer constricted around him and then lifted him into the tentacles, where he was gripped firmly. In desperation, Wesh leaped for the warmage, and as his fingers touched his companion, they both vanished in a flash of light, only to reappear a moment later back out on the deck of the ruined galley.
“Thanks,” Sinclair gasped.
Wesh nodded, and then turned back towards the corridor.
Meanwhile, as the crustacean stood confused at the sudden loss of its prey, Cruemann brought his bow to bear and punched four arrows through its carapace. Uttering an inhuman shriek, the monster fell back into the water and vanished beneath the surface. No sooner had it cleared the hole, than Dexter rushed forward and dove head-first into the water, to the utter astonishment of his companions. Kicking fiercely, he swam against the strong current, diving deeper and deeper. Finally, below him, he spotted Duerten. The dwarf was conscious, apparently holding his breath, but he was being attacked by another pair of the lobster-creatures. Dexter swam on, and managed to avoid the snapping claws of the crustaceans as he simultaneously grabbed Duerten and then touched the heel of one of his boots. Instantly, both he and the dwarf began to rise towards the surface as the magic of the footwear made them lighter than the surrounding water. Unfortunately, however, Duerten was pulled from his grasp as they ascended, and the riptide seized the dwarf and swept him rapidly out towards the open harbor. Dexter continued to rise, until he popped to the surface beneath the floor once more. No sooner had he surfaced, however, than one of the other lobster-things breached beneath him, its claws snapping. By that time, Dexter’s allies were ready. Reaper and Wesh simultaneously bombarded the beast with arcane bolts. Dex used the momentary distraction to drive both of his blades down through the creature’s skull. Squealing, it sank in a large pool of its own blood. Dex quickly climbed out of the hole just as the third beast emerged. Wesh was too close, and the lobster-thing snapped him up like a tasty morsel. This time, it was Sinclair’s turn to return the favor, and the little warmage lobbed his own barrage of magic missiles. Stunned, the creature released Wesh, and Cruemann quickly filled it full of arrows as Adso struck from behind. Silently, the beast fell back into the waves.
Several hundred yards out to sea, Duerten popped to the surface. Due to magic Dexter had imbued him with, the dwarf’s feet hovered about an inch above the water. Sighing heavily, he began to trudge slowly across the waves back towards the inlet.
