I decided to break it up into two installments. . .
Session #71 (part I)
Martin climbed slowly up the narrow stone spiral steps. Each step seemed a great effort, and the shadowy forms on close walls leered at him with fearful resentment, their eyes glowing yellow and red. No people could cast shadows such as those, only undead shades rippling and moving in the dim smoky torchlight of the stairway looked that way. Panting, and clutching the Book of Black Circles to his chest, Martin could sense something foul crawling up the stairs behind him; not in pursuit, but casually rising as if it were a sapient mist that was certain it would catch the watch-mage soon enough.
The stairway opened onto a narrow hall, and immediately to the right there was a stone door etched with the sign of a gnarled hand, its two smallest fingers replaced with a long narrow suckered tentacle that reached down across the palm and around the wrist.
It was the Sign of the Corruptor.
Martin pushed open the door, certain it was the only safe place in whatever of labyrinth of horror he found himself. He slammed the door behind him, and looked around the dark room. He could hear scuttling insects scampering across the stone walls and floor, and a soft creaking. Before him was a desk made of blackened bones, on the front of which were mounted the stripped spines of four men and one woman, faces of rotting flesh still atop them. A dull greasy light emanated from the low ceiling, illuminating the desk. Unable to stop himself he walked over to the desk and placed the book atop it.
The soft creaking grew louder as whoever sat behind the desk was leaning forward into the sickly light, but Martin kept his eyes on the book. He rubbed his right hand against the raised metallic circles on the book’s cover made of blacked human hide and let out a long slow sigh, and then raised his eyes to meet the gaze of who he knew to be the book’s true master.
Sitting behind the desk a figure in a black velvet robe leaned forward. Its face was bleached skull upon which was a scrap of painted rotted flesh tacked onto the clinging bits of meat by means of jeweled pins. It reached out with a bony hand for the Book of Black Circles, gray flesh melting off its tentacled fingers, as some kind of razor-backed slug dug its way out of the back of his hand and onto the desk. A second of these black maggots crawled out of the jagged mouth whole of the false face and burrowed into its right eye, which was stitched across its length. The left eye was embedded with a myriad of tiny glowing gems and rolled loosely in the skull.
Martin knew instinctively, it was Marchosias the Corruptor.
Marchosias turned the book around to face him, and then looking up at Martin, moved an emerald-headed pin to tack the painted piece of torn flesh that served for his face into a horrific parody of a smile. He opened the Book of Black Circles, running a sharpened bony finger along the words and diagrams. He stopped three distinct times and then snapping the book shut, turned it back around to face Martin, and pushed it towards the watch-mage.
Martin the Green was frozen in fear. Unable to speak or even turn away from the horrible person before him, he had to see the dreadful face look at him again and hear the cold hissing voice issue from the skull behind the flesh mask.
“There is much you can learn from this book that can be put to good use in your quest,” Marchosias said. “There is much you can learn from it even as you sleep. One hundred and thirteen, ninty-seven and twelve; seek these pages and the spells you may learn there will open up the mysteries of the next House. And you may visit me here again, to learn more…”
(1)
Balem, the 19th of Ter – 565 H.E.
Martin awoke with a start. He was leaning over on the desk in the common suite room, where he had been studying late into the night. Groggily he straightened up and looked down at what he had been working on. The Book of Black Circles was on the desk. He leapt up in fear and turned and looked around, confusedly.
Sighing, he took up the book and wrapped it up and put it away.
The suite door opened and Gunthar tiptoed in.
“I am awake, Gunthar,” Martin whispered, figuring Dorn was still asleep in the next room.
“Good!” Gunthar said, his face turning from surprised to friendly. He flashed a smile, and brushed his ever-shaggy blonde hair behind his ear. He was dressed in an open sailcloth shirt, and black breeches covered in stains of splashed ale. “You’re who I wanted to talk to. There was something of mine in the suite, and…”
“I moved your pots of smoke-powder under your bed,” Martin replied. “I did not appreciate you endangering me like that.”
“Oh, we’re all in danger right now,” Gunthar replied. “There is enough in those things to knock the second story of off this place. But keep it down, I’m not supposed to have it. I kinda got it on the sly.”
“And you hid it with my things, because…”
“Because with all the guards snooping around I figured you might not be searched or could explain it off as part of your magic stuff or something. I appreciate your help,” Gunthar said smiling. “But you aren’t going to tell Snuffles and Stumpy are you? Because they can ruin everything and then conveniently forget they made a deal.”
“Deal?”
“To destroy the dragon together and split the reward,” Gunthar said. “I help you with this Maze of Whoever stuff and in return you help me with my plan with the dragon. The you-know-what is for the Can-on. We’re gonna punch a whole in that dragon so big you’ve be able to see through to the moon.”
Gunthar laughed, and Martin noticed the Neergaardian was still drunk despite it being morning.
“You cannot leave them here,” Martin replied.
“Oh, don’t worry Martin, I already have a better hiding place until we’ll leave,” Gunthar replied, giving Martin a playful punch in the jaw that made the watch-mage bite his tongue. “Just don’t tell Stumpy and Snuffles. At least not until we leave town.”
“I will conthider it,” Martin said, wincing at the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
“Eh, I’m sacking out,” Gunthar said, obviously annoyed at Martin’s non-committal reply. He walked towards the bedrooms. “I’ll move the pots this afternoon.”
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Later that day Martin headed over to Lydia’s house for lunch. The house was large and well built with white stucco walls and support beams painted a bright magenta and carved with runes and frills in gold paint. The sitting room doubled as a shrine to Isis, with a small altar flanked by statues of the goddess of motherhood and magic.
There was a small dining area with a large window facing the edge of the town’s upper tier. Sunlight soaked the room. Here Martin told Isis the long tale of the Keepers of the Gate, from his arrival in Gothanius to map room of the Pit of Bones, and finally wandered back around to the subject of the Book of Black Circles.
“It is hard to believe you have such powerful item of magic bent for evil in your possession,” Lydia said. Her long black hair was in two thick braids decorated with red ribbons and silver beads. She smiled easily, but it showed soft lines of age and stress under her eyes and around her full lips. She brought a teacup to her mouth and slurped a long last sip. “I mean, this is something any priestess of my order would give her life to destroy.”
“Well, fortunate for your order Osiris has chosen me as the means of destruction,” Martin replied.
“Still, it is my duty to help you in whatever way I can,” Lydia replied. “I must admit, however, your lore on Marchosias most likely surpasses mine.”
Martin did not reply, trying hard to hide his disappointment.
“May I see it?” Lydia asked.
“I am not sure that is a good idea,” Martin said.
Lydia frowned.
“The Book’s power grows, as I have told you, I dreamt of him last night, and when my companion Ratchis first touched it he sensed that it tried to steal a piece of his life-force,” Martin said.
“Perhaps that is wise, and perhaps there is another way I can help you,” Lydia stood and walked out through the kitchen into the house’s back rooms. She returned a few moments later with a brass scroll tube. “This is a scroll I awarded for service to the priesthood of Isis. It would allow me to commune with her, or more likely one of her more powerful celestial servants, on your behalf. You and your companions can prepare a list of ten questions.”
“That would be a great gift!” Martin smiled.
“I think I have a bottle of wine I can open to celebrate for the occasion,” Lydia said. “I am honored to be of even a little help to such a noble effort.”
She walked back into the kitchen. Martin could hear her banging around in some cabinets looking for the wine. “It should be on the coming Isilem,” she called. “In the evening, after vespers. It would be the most auspicious time, and would give you and your friends time to prepare what queries you may have of the higher realms about your plight.”
“Thank you, again,” Martin replied.
Martin the Green was tipsy by the time he left, giggling with Thomas as he made his way back to Mercy’s house to tell Ratchis the news of the aid.
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As Ratchis spent his day with Mercy learning the mysteries of more powerful spells now available to him from Nephthys, Roland spent his day wandering in and around the grounds of the Council Hall in the form of small black house cat, snooping here and there.
After a morning of finding nothing but some small fish fed to him by Reed Flapcorn’s aid, Roland wandered to Mylor’s upper tier home to snoop around there, but the large barking dogs let loose behind the low wall surround his property quickly dissuaded him. Instead, after lunch he returned to the Council Hall and scoured the public records of the Council’s meetings for anything he thought might give away some misdoings on the part of all or some of the ruling council.
He found nothing but the patterns of voting among the members, and the usual alliances and conflicts. Disappointed, he returned to the temple of Bast to clean up and prepare for dinner at the Inn of Friendly Flame with the rest of the companions that could make it.
On his way out, Toni, the temple’s public contact, a tall stick of a woman with powdery white skin and jet-black hair stopped him. She wore a soft white robe, and had a towel about her neck.
“Brother Roland! Do you happen to be going to the Inn of Friendly Flame?” she asked, stroking a cat in her arms.
“Why, yes, Sister Toni, I indeed plan to go,” Roland replied.
“Could you bring this message to Sister Norena? I believe she is there, and I was about to bathe and would prefer to not have to get dressed,” she pointed her hip towards Roland, motioning for him to reach into a robe pocket.
He pulled out a small square of paper folder over twice.
“Now this is for her eyes only,” Toni said with a wide smile and a raised eyebrow. “I know you must be curious, Bast knows I was, but you mustn’t.”
“I am offended that you even suggest such a thing,” Roland replied with a flourish and an over-dramatized sensitivity, and then threw her a wink as he took off for the inn.
He was barely out of the sight of the temple when he opened the folded paper and looked at it.
It read:
Norena, RTR in trouble. Gather the others and meet him in Pissville.
Roland folded it back up and continued to the inn.
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The Inn of Friendly Flame was crowded with the usual evening revelers. Ratchis and Mercy sat at a table with Martin and Dorn, a space remaining open for Roland, but he spied Norena by the bar with Razzle Greyish and a broad brown-haired man wearing a stylized silver tome engraved with an ankh about his neck.
Roland approached them, and after an exaggerated kissing greeting, he gave her the note and joined the others at the table.
“Kazrack won’t be able to join us as often now that his training has begun and he is working on his armor in his spare time,” Ratchis said.
“I will beginning some training of my own beginning the day after we use Lydia’s help,” Martin added. “But I will come by every few days to check on how your reading is going, Ratchis. And we can go over more of the orcish inflection.” (2)
“Well, my investigations into the Council have not gotten off to a very good start, but I have happened upon some other news,” Roland said, bringing his voice to a near whisper as he poured himself some wine.
“Best to leave the Council alone,” Martin said.
“I agree,” added Ratchis. “We do not want to accidentally get embroiled in something that might delay our return to Greenreed Valley when the Maze opens.”
“Oh fine!” Roland rolled his eyes dramatically and took a long sip of his wine. “But what am I supposed to do while you are all doing your studying and training? This town is boring! Why do you think I am joining you?”
“To do the right thing?” Ratchis sneered.
“Yes, well… that, too.”
“So what is it you found out?” Mercy asked.
“Hold on a minute,” Roland gestured with his chin towards the bar, and then took another sip of wine. Norena was coming over.
“Oh, sweetheart!” She wrapped her arms around Roland’s neck and shoulders from behind and gave him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek. “I was so hoping we’d have time for a drink or three tonight, but it seem the message you brought me brings bad news to all of Nikar.”
“It does?” Roland leaned back to look at her.
“Well, it seems I must collect my companions and leave this very evening before the gate is closed,” Norena explained, pulling up a seat and helping herself to Roland’s wine. “A dear friend of ours is in trouble and we must go pull his ass from the fire once again.”
“Who is this friend?” Roland asked.
Norena put a finger to Roland’s lips. “Shhh! Best not to tell too much,” she replied. “I would have invited you along, but since you have thrown your lot in with these, uh… fine people…”
“Yes, it is unfortunate that timing would not allow me to help you help your friend,” Roland replied. “But things have a way of working out, Bast willing.”
“Well, I must go and prepare,” Norena said, standing again. “It was lovely to meet you all. Mercy, we must have lunch when I return one day.”
The priestess of Bast turned to the bar, “Razzle! Cordell! I will meet you in front of the temple in two hours time.” And with that, she was gone blowing kisses to those who drunkenly waved good-bye.
“Okay, you the friend she says she going to go help?” Roland asked. He waited until the others grudgingly nodded, playing along. “It is… if I am not mistaken, and I have understood everything you have told me about you journeys… it is… Richard the Red.”
“What?” Ratchis scowled.
“She received a message at the temple and I brought it to her,” Roland said.
“You read the message!” Martin was shocked.
“Of course,” Now it was Roland’s chance to sneer. “I would love the luxury of following the more superficial customs of honor, but I know that every priest and page in that temple that touched that note and read that note, and you don’t get far in the gossipy hall of the church of Bast without knowing everything you can about everyone you can.”
“You cannot have freedom without trust,” Mercy said, looking faintly disgusted. Ratchis nodded.
“Well, that is why you are Friars and I serve a more subtle goddess, no offense,” Roland replied, softening his tone as he spoke. “Anyway, the note said, ‘R-T-R’. Richard the Red.”
“R-T-R could mean anyone or anything,” Ratchis responded.
“Ah! Perhaps if that was the only clue, but the note also said to meet him in ‘Pissville’,” Roland leaned back and smiled broadly.
“So? You know where this Pissville is?” Ratchis asked.
Roland sighed. “It’s slang! Some of the old Cant,” Roland was exasperated. “’Pisspot’ or ‘pissant’, it means small time, little, not worth it… As in, the Little Kingdoms, where Richard the Red is…”
“Seems like a tenuous connection,” Martin said.
Roland’s shoulders sagged.
“I thought Norena was a companion of Alexandra the Lavender, why would she associate with a rogue watch-mage,” Martin asked.
“You don’t know Norena,” Roland poured more wine, his smile and good mood totally drained by the unexpected dubious reaction to his news. “No one tells her to do anything and who her friends are, least of all some distant authority that has no hold over her, like the Academy of Wizardry.”
“Well, even if your guess is right, there is nothing we can do about it,” Ratchis said. “We continue along the way we planned. We train and provision ourselves and then go back. No distractions. No sidetreks.”
Roland sighed again. “So bored…”
“I have something you can help me with tomorrow, if you are looking for something to do,” Martin said to the Bastite.
“What’s that?”
“I want you to help me test the extent of the effect on my spell-casting that the Book of Black Circles,” Martin replied, matter-of-factly.
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Notes:
(1) DM’s Note: The categorization of spells by level are called the “Houses” of magic in Aquerra, with a ‘Wizard of the 5th House’ being either a 10th or 11th level wizard.
(2) Martin the Green was teaching Ratchis to read, and in return Ratchis was teaching him how to speak in orcish.
