I like to always start with a little anecdote, a lesson or something to stimulate the mind. It's a bit like having some of that cold stuff to clear the palate and get a taste for something better to come. If I had a table in front of me with three cards on it that I'd be shuffling around – there would be a man or woman already winning some jinks of me (much to my not-quite-over-the-top chagrin) that would draw some hopeless rube in.
You see in the business they call me a cony-catcher. What that means is that I am in the business of tracking down and exposing con men. Cony, as any blood will tell you, is a nick-name for a conman. So the catcher part is pretty self-explanatory. Lothar the Shiv happens to be a rather shoddy cony and hence I felt it a little below my station to be sent to get him. Never the less I am a professional and I'll play the game just as hard and fast as the next blood.
By way, in case you're ever curious about that card game with the three cards – the one they call Chase The Lady of Pain – well it's a rube's game. The dealer holds two cards in her right hand. The upper card is held between thumb and forefinger and the lower card is held between thumb and middle finger with a small gap between both cards.
According to common sense, the dealer should drop the lower card first, but the dealer surreptitiously ejects the upper card first which causes the rube to lose track of the right card. This is especially difficult to see if the dealer's hand makes a sweeping move from her left to her right while she drops the card.
The hand is faster than the eye, that's a tiefling rule and that insight in to the dark of things is free. The other chant I'll throw in as a bonus is to never try to peel a Dabus with a game of Chase The Lady of Pain. Not because only a suicidal sod would consider it – it's also because the Dabus (The Lady's servants) always pick the right card. See they speak using rebuses, funny symbols that can be hard to decipher and being masters of symbols they have an affinity to it that even the top shelf Knights of the Post would not dare try to outwit.
Anyway, I'll discuss Her Serenity The Lady of Pain and her servants the Dabus another time. In fact I could spend a life-time trying to cover every theory and idea that every greybeard has thought up. But yours truly, the noted sage and planewalker Telbach Harry, is one of the few that really knows the dark of it.
So.... after a lengthy diversion on to the chase of Mr. The Shiv, known as Lothar to his enemies. I'd say friends but the only kind he seems to have is the type you buy. Not a nice way to go through life if you ask me. If you ask a Dustman she'd tell you that you're already dead but you've just not realised or accepted it.
In any case, the tunnel that Lothar apparently escape from Torch through was water filled along with a few hastily erected booby-traps. We followed him overland to the gate-town of Rigus that has a gate to the plane of Acheron. Like all the Lower Planes – Acheron is not a nice place. It's a reality of constant, grinding, pointless and spirit-crushing battle. Seeing as yours truly comes from the plane where battle is glorious and involves giants, the plane of Acheron is close to my idea of a personal hell. Well, that and being stuck in a room with Vecna. The, Vecna, the – this is all I'll ever comment on this matter.
The city of Rigus consists of nine rings, one inside the other, and has a gate in the inner-most ring. It's a very organized and disciplined place and if you're unlucky enough to be visiting – be sure to ask for a slate on a chain with the words “slave-soldier” on it. If you have nothing to designate rank anyone and everyone can order you around. If you have this slate then they'll go easy on you for the initial part of your stay. Step out of line too often and they're likely to come down hard. Considering that Acheron is a reality in which titanic metal cubes float through the void on which numberless armies clash in futile battle – coming down hard has a whole new meaning when you become aware that there are times when the planet-sized metal cubes collide.
After getting some slates we headed in to town and to cut a long story short we hired a guide and went through the gate in to Acheron. I could bore you with details of Sephus' inquisitiveness almost getting her killed. The part with the tattooed hobgoblin or the goblin throwing in the market-place, but I'm a busy man and there's only so much detail that I want to record. Good Morning, if you are reading this – you have it all stored in memory... just play it back you sodding hunk of scrap! He's like a walking mimir with a mathematics fetish, some days I find his obsession with law a little grinding. Then again it could be that a fun-loving Knight likes me is not comfortable around the law.
Our guide was good enough to take us through the gate and on the other side he opened something that looked like a planar compass. I'm not sure how it worked but it took us to a cube where the Gulkatesh tribe of goblins lived. According to the paperwork that we recovered from Lothar's kip in Torch he'd done business with them and was likely to go to them to throw of pursuit and find paid-for protection.
The compass-device took us to another cube and after a march that lasted longer than the Great Modron march we rested for the night. Steun woke us up during the night by having a metallic cat scratch his chain armour something rotten. The screeching was pretty awful and surprisingly it was the guides large cross bow that woke the rest of us. Turns out the guide has a trick or two in his handy haversack – at least I presume that is the pick-up line that he tries with all the Succubi. The cat was put down and we all lay back to get some more rest. I'm not used to doing ten-mile marches non-stop.
The next day we took a detour to get around a blade-storm. They're a natural and very nasty weather effect on the plane of Acheron that occurs when the blades don't stop fighting after their wielders have long since perished. Good Morning asked the guide which side 'wins' in a blade-storm. The guide responded with: “Certainly not the berks that enter”.
I was forced to explain that blade-storms only occur when hot and cold swords meet and that as soon as they reach the same temperature the storm dissipates. The modron thought it over for awhile, I could tell by the whirring, spinning and clicking sounds coming from inside, but he could not find any flaw to my logic. It's good to know that I am getting somewhere in making the modron think in a more normal fashion.
Can you believe that he thinks that the One and Only Primus will take him back? If he was still a proper modron he would not even know of Primus unless he was a secundus. I tried weaning him off the idea without success. Then I tried to get him to agree to being painted red to give him some personality – but he did not find the idea of being a rouge modron in the least funny. Even my comment of him being called a rouge modron instead of a rogue modron as being a clerical error was not well received.
See – there's that stomach pain again. I swear that the gods punish me every time I try to make a funny.
Later that day we reached the mountain where the Gulkatesh tribe of goblins covers in fear of their enemies the Black Arrow tribe of orcs (our guide was kind enough to share that bit of dark with us for the princely sum of five gold). If I do not get reimbursed I'm going to have to peel our employer all the way back to soup kitchens in the Hive. I'm wasting valuable time and jinks all the while I could be cony-catching elsewhere.
There's a detail of our stay in Rigus that I'm desperately trying to remember as it was of some vital importance. That's what a diary is for – so that I can remember the important things for later and should I die before I wake; well then Good Morning should at least have some amusing and educational reading material in amongst his vast inheritance.
Oh yes, I remember now. I, the noted sage, explorer and top shelf cony-catcher, discovered that we had a traitor in our midst. It's little details like that which are worth noting. That and where to get good bub, chase some pretties in a skirt and get some healing.
Since I started with a little educational piece I'll finish with another piece of succinct and valuable advice. Whilst most tieflings are cursed with an outwardly unnatural appearance (compared to boring humans) and underneath have a heart of pure gold. Be wary of a tiefer called Ashenbach. Oh and not forgetting Wintery Noj, a creature called the Montyloth, Shemeshka the Marauder (of course) and any clueless. The list as you might have gathered is longer but my ink supply is limited.
If I survive travelling with the traitor I may get around to explaining that statement above. Can't make any promises though, us tieflings are honour bound by our word and hence we are reluctant to give it to others.
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[Interesting link with information about Rigus:
Here