Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Ah, come on... if it was all 100% clear, then you'd know what was going to happen, and what fun would that be?Solarious said:You know... One is curious what Malad is doing with Benzan. All these prophecies and weird sayings is starting to get confusing.
For those who haven't read Travels through the Wild West, a lot of the subtle elements in the current plot refer back to things that happened in that story.
Another Interlude in a bit, but for now, back to our Prime Material heroes:
* * * * *
Chapter 490
The dwarf stood like a pillar as the traffic on the edge of the busy street flowed around him, pedestrians barely sparing a look for the oddly-dressed figure. He was clad in a suit of gold-chased half-plate that was partially covered by a heavy linen mantle bearing prominently the sigil of an anvil and hammer in silver thread. He was a gold dwarf of the Great Rift by his coloration, his skin the dark brown of freshly tilled earth.
He stood in front of a building that was obviously a tavern by the look of it, and by the expression on the dwarf’s face he was not pleased by either the smell, the noise emitting from within, or perhaps its very existence upon the face of the earth. But the information he’d been given placed his objective within, so after a moment, he adjusted the huge warhammer slung across his back (where it kept company with a large steel shield, a massive full helm, and considerable traveler’s pack), and stepped inside.
The dwarf’s appearance drew some curious attention from the tavern’s patrons, but here in Cauldron the unusual made for casual fare, and most returned to their prior activities within a few moments. One who didn’t was the man who nodded to the dwarf as he crossed the room to stand before his table.
The conversation was brief and to the point. What he learned was similar to the other bits of information that the dwarf had spent the better part of the day collecting, since his arrival in Cauldron that morning. He’d spoken to about a dozen people, mostly tall, lanky humans, most he’d sought out, a few who’d offered a few casual words of their own initiative upon seeing him and the symbol he wore on his breast.
“Goldenshield? Yeah, he’s that pal’erdin o’ Mordan, ain’t he? Hey, ‘e’s got that same simber on ‘is jacket, yer guys related?”
“You are a priest of Moradin, aren’t you? I am honored, sir, but I have only been a member of the Hammers for a few tendays, since right after the Catastrophe. Are you a retainer of Lord Goldenshield? I… hey, where are you going?”
“Arun? Yeah, he’s a damned wonder, right like. Did you know he saved my sister once? During the Troubles, damned demon would’a tore her to pieces ere that dwarf come along. Cut the damned thing in half with that damned holy sword of his. Damn, we’re lucky to have him…”
“Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but my sister’s got a friend whose cousin is an acolyte in the Temple of Helm, and she says that Arun and Beorna are going to get married, and fuse the two temples together! They’re such a cute couple… Isn’t that great news?”
“If you ask me, they should make him the mayor. That Taskerhill guy, he gives me the creeps, what with them beady eyes of his. Them merchants just care about making money; hells, we wouldn’t even have a town if it weren’t for the Heroes of Cauldron.”
“Well, the Hammers can be a bit heavy-handed, but I’m not one to complain. Better than those damned half-orcs, by a fair margin. And hey, I’ll put a few coins in to the collection box for the Anvil as ready as for the Gauntlet… heck, Cauldron can use another patron god, ever since the Kelemvorites damn-near destroyed the town.”
“You want the dwarf temple? It be up on Obsidian Avenue, near the north gate…”
Umbar Ironhammer looked up at the notable structure he’d been directed to. From the outside it looked moderately impressive, a solid temple building of undressed stone adjoined by a walled courtyard and what appeared to be a rectory and stables. The temple had sustained obvious damage, with the arched portico above the entry stairs sundered and open to the sky above. It looked as though it had been hit with a trebuchet stone, the dwarf thought. From what he’d seen of the rest of the human city, it was surprising that it hadn’t suffered more damage.
He approached, marking the obvious sigils of the human god Helm; he looked for other indicators, but saw none. The doors had clearly been recently repaired. He did not bother to knock, but pushed the left portal open and entered.
The temple was quiet; there were a few humans about, engaged in quiet prayer in the pews that flanked the central aisle down the middle of the structure. None noted his entry. He made his way down the aisle toward the sanctum, separated from the worship area of the church by a polished wooden railing. There was a white cloth bearing the sigil of Helm above the plain marble altar, and few other decorations; in all, the temple had a starkness to it that appealed to the dwarf’s sensibilities.
But Umbar was not here for a study of human religions.
As he reached the opening in the divider, his armor clanking slightly with each step, a white-clad acolyte emerged from the curtained arch that presumably led to the sacristy. She looked barely old enough to be considered an adult by human standards, but she bowed respectfully to the dwarf. “Can I be of assistance, sir?”
The dwarf fixed her with a stern expression. “Bring Arun Goldenshield to me.”
The girl’s eyes widened slightly, but she retained her equilibrium as she shook her head slightly. By Moradin’s hammer, she looks like a slight breeze will carry her off, the dwarf thought. I thought Helm’s was a martial sect? But he kept his feelings hidden beneath the wrinkled exterior of his face.
“I am sorry, sir, but Lord Goldenshield is not available at the moment. If you’d like, I can take a message for you, or if you’d prefer to wait…” She trailed off at the intensity of the dwarf’s frown; that look had caused veteran warriors to quaver, so it wasn’t a mark against her that it had an effect.
As she tried to rally, Umbar’s attention was drawn to the side, where the door to the courtyard opened and another dwarf appeared.
“Ah, Shirl, glad ye be ‘ere. I be needin’ another load a concrete a’fer…”
The dwarf stopped as he caught sight of Umbar.
The newcomer was obviously a shield dwarf, although his much paler skin was barely visible under the thicket of tangled hair and the truly chaotic beard that exploded from the lower half of his face. Umbar frowned as the dwarf’s unkempt appearance, but the dwarf’s only reaction was a scowl in response as he felt himself being judged. The dwarf was clad in a simple workman’s tunic that bore several noticeable stains, and he wore a leather harness weighed down with what Umbar recognized as stoneworking tools, likewise marked with signs of recent use.
One of Goldenshield’s ‘followers’, no doubt, Umbar thought, his frown deepening. He could not resist saying, “Do all your folk show equal disrespect to the servants of the All-Father?” he asked.
The dwarf’s lips twisted, as though he wanted to spit, but was resisting the urge. “Praise the Anvil,” he said, making a fist. “Now, whaddaya want? Arun didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout no cleric comin’ by, but I guess we ken be usin’ the ‘elp. Been a few outbreaks o’ sickness in the city, o’ late, ken ye cast remove disease?”
Umbar was barely able to conceal his outrage at the dwarf’s presumption; as it was his hands tightened into fists. “Where is Arun Goldenshield?” he said, in a voice that brooked no delay in reply.
But the dwarf appeared to be in no hurry. “What be yer business with ‘im?”
Umbar came forward. “While human customs are often different, it is not my custom to discuss church matters with an outside audience.” The other dwarf glanced at the worshippers, who indeed had taken a decided interest in the proceedings, although a few were still pretending to be engrossed in their private prayers, their eyes dropping quickly as the dwarf looked at them.
“Arright, yer lordship, come on then,” the dwarf said. To the human girl, he said, “Shirl, be sure to put in that order fer the concrete.” Then he departed back into the courtyard, the gold dwarf cleric not far behind.
She seemed grateful to watch them leave.
The private chapel in the back of the rectory had clearly been created as a human place of worship. The short benches of polished wood looked far more comfortable than the plain stone seats Umbar was accustomed to, and there was even a bar of wood across the floor in front of the compact altar—presumably for the human priest to kneel upon when prostrating himself before his god. Again there was not an excess of decoration, with small figures of Helm in the warrior aspect along the walls... but here, Umbar quickly saw, there had been additions; a definite emblem in silver above the generic altar, the familiar anvil-and-hammer sigil that the priest wore upon his own breast.
The man he had come to see was kneeling—upon the stone, not the wooden slat— in the small open space before the altar. His head was bowed, with one fist laid flat upon the ground before him, the other holding a longsword point-down against the stone beside him. A brilliant white glow shone around the weapon, surrounding the praying warrior with a bright nimbus of radiated light. He wore a simple tunic of gray cloth fit neatly to the considerable muscles of his squat frame, and beneath the evenly-trimmed brown hair his skin was a nearly identical shade as that of the priest of Moradin.
The entry of the cleric and his escort had not been silent; the praying dwarf heard them and turned around. He was clean-shaven, Umbar saw, but also prominent was the same sigil so evident upon the far wall of the chapel, captured in a plain iron disk that the dwarf wore as an amulet upon his chest. When he caught sight of the priest, surprise was visible in his eyes.
Arun rose. Even without his armor, with the holy avenger blazing in his hand he cast a picture of a holy knight, ready to smite down evil.
“Prelate Ironhammer,” Arun said, inclining his head in the customary dwarvish bow.
“Yer know this feller then?” Hodge said.
The priest ignored him, fixing his full attention upon Arun. “My title has changed. I am here in my function as Inquisitor.”
Arun’s brow tightened, but he merely nodded. He seemed to realize that he was still holding his sword bare in his hand; he reached over to the nearby bench and recovered the scabbard, sliding the blade home. Its absence seemed to cast the chapel back into gloom, the late afternoon light struggling through the narrow windows that faced away from the direction of the setting sun.
The cleric drew out a small parchment scroll, bound with strips of leather, and sealed by a dark gob of wax marked with an oval sigil as broad as a thumbprint. Arun took it without comment, his eyes cold.
“Arun Goldenshield,” the priest said, “It is my duty to hold you for an inquisitorial hearing, into violations conducted against the terms of your exile, and against the doctrines of the Faith of our people.”
“Violations? What are ye talkin’ about, man?” Hodge said.
“Hodge, please,” Arun said softly.
But the priest acknowledged this question. “The charges are detailed in the document you have just received, but they include: violation of the terms of exile, to wit, claiming the title of a paladin of the All-Father, and public misrepresentation to that purpose. The inculcation of personal followers who are not only non-dwarves, but are not properly initiated servants of the Faith. Doctrinal heresy, specifically the merger of worship and doctrine of the Faith with elements of a… human religion.”
Hodge’s mouth dropped, but Arun kept his reaction to the news hidden, although something flared in his eyes at the priest’s words. He only said, however, “I understand.”
“I am the representative of the Council here,” Umbar said. “This will be a hearing only, subject to the dictates of the Law. I will make the determination of whether you are to be bound and returned to the Rift for presentation to the full Council and the Inquisitorial Court.”
“Very well. Then I submit myself to the judgment of the Inquisitorial Council.”
Hodge looked about to say something, but Arun silenced him with a look. Umbar extended his hand. Arun looked at him for a long moment, silent; then, slowly, he reached up, and withdrew the symbol upon his chest, the icon he’d carried with him into battle since his arrival in Cauldron. He handed it to Umbar, who took it and placed it into a small pouch at his belt.
Solarious
Explorer
As far as I can tell, they're still there.HugeOgre said:
Meanie. Lazybones! CLIFFHANGER ABUSER!!!Lazybones said:Ah, come on... if it was all 100% clear, then you'd know what was going to happen, and what fun would that be?
While cursing you name to anyone and everyone who will hear, I shall enjoy this political drama scene born out of a dwarf's heart now.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Lazybones
Adventurer
Yeah, nothing's changed AFAICT. Current ECL is ~20 (give or take a level for some of the characters).HugeOgre said:
* * * * *
Chapter 491
“This is insane.”
Beorna paced back and forth across the small room that served as Arun’s quarters, her heavy boots making a loud clatter against the thick wooden floorboards. She was not clad in her heavy adamantine armor, but even in her robe she could not appear as anything other than the warrior that she was.
Arun, by contrast, stood calmly by the plain rack that held his armor and sword, on the far side of the room, his hands folded across his chest. “You know about my past,” Arun said.
Beorna made a dismissive slashing gesture with her hand. “Bah, so you wouldn’t slaughter innocents… But that has nothing to do with this. You are a paladin, you’ve been fighting on the front lines of the battle against evil nonstop for the last year! How anyone could doubt that is… it’s… insane!”
Arun sighed. “From what I’ve learned about Helm and his church, you do not do things all that differently. The Law…”
“I know about the Law! I’m a templar… I’ve served on tribunals of inquisition! But we aren’t so bound by blind tradition that we ignore reality that is starkly clear…”
She trailed off, frowning. The fact was, she could remember several cases where just that had happened. She herself had been caught in that trap, the danger of all those who followed a strict code, and who tended to rely on that code rather than confront difficult situations where nuance trumped clean and easy solutions. But she wasn’t going to let that change what was so blatantly wrong about the current situation.
Snorting, she started pacing again. “So. What happens, if you are indicted? Are you just going to go with this cleric back to the Rift, surrender yourself for trial, a thousand miles away? Walk away from all we’ve done here, from what still needs to be done?” Her voice cracked slightly with the last sentence, and she turned away for a moment, disgusted at herself for letting her feelings undermine her argument. Arun pretended not to notice, and she pretended not to thank him for it.
“It is highly unlikely that I would be ordered back to the Rift. My return would be… problematic, and the Inquisitor is perfectly able to pronounce and implement the sentence, should I be found guilty of the charges.”
Beorna turned back toward him, frowning. “I admit that I do not know enough of the details of the All-Father’s doctrine to know this, but what are we talking about here, in terms of penalty?”
“A mark of justice, combined with an outright prohibition on wearing the icons of Moradin or his church, or claiming leadership therein. Possibly a public lashing. In a dwarven community, that would be naked, but I do not know how the law would be applied within a mixed-race community such as Cauldron.”
“Oh, Taskerhill would probably sell tickets,” Beorna drawled.
“I am sorry that you have to be involved in this,” Arun said. “This is my burden, not yours, and a public hearing could bring shame upon the Temple of Helm.”
Beorna came over to him. “Now you’re just being an idiot,” she said. “This foolishness is no fault of yours, even a child could see that. Whatever happens—whatever!—we will face it together.”
“Beorna—“
“Do not challenge me on this! I have your oath, do not forget, and while this fool cleric may doubt your word, I know better.” She took his hand, crushed it in hers, lifted it to her lips and brushed it with them. Then, as if embarrassed by the action, she released him and stepped back.
“The matter is settled, then. I have a meeting with that blasted Taskerhill, I’m already late for it. But tonight, we will have dinner, and discuss your defense at this hearing. Assuming you weren’t planning on playing at a martyr and meekly accepting the judgment of this Umbar Ironhammer.”
“I may be many things, but meek is not one of them,” Arun said.
“Good, because I cannot stand milksops.”
She started toward the door, but as she reached it she turned back to him. “I know that you know this, Arun, but it is the man, not the symbol, that is important.”
“I know, Beorna.”
She nodded, and departed. She was already thinking about the unpleasantness likely to occur during her meeting with Taskerhill, so she nearly collided into Umbar Ironhammer in the hall outside. Arun, unfailingly polite, had offered the priest lodging on the temple grounds, and while Beorna did not feel particularly hospitable toward the gold dwarf, she was compelled to recognize the respect due his office. The cleric no longer wore his full plate armor, but the tunic he wore still bulged with the presence of at least a shirt of chain links beneath. The sigil of Moradin was still featured prominently upon the garment, spreading across his chest.
“Templar,” the priest said, with a curt nod.
Beorna did not trust her voice, so replied only with a nod so abbreviated that it could almost have been perceived as an insult. The corridor was narrow enough to make it difficult for the two to pass each other easily, but after a moment the cleric of Moradin turned aside, letting her depart. Her boots made a loud clatter as she stormed away, expressing her displeasure at the unplanned encounter.
Umbar glanced after her, then continued to the door through which she’d appeared. He rapped upon it.
“Come in.”
He opened the door to find Arun seated at the compact desk arrayed in a corner of the plain chamber. The warrior quickly rose and bent his head in the traditional gesture of respect.
“I am not here in my official capacity,” he said. “I know that the hour is late, but I wished to speak to you.”
“I am at your disposal, Inquisitor,” Arun said, indicating the only other chair in the room, a simple three-legged stool that looked sturdy enough to support the muscled dwarf. But the dwarf remained standing, crossing to the armor rack where Arun’s magical platemail shone in the light of the room’s single oil lamp. The breastplate bore prominently the mark of the anvil and hammer, and the cleric’s gaze lingered on that sigil.
“The armor was a gift from the Temple of Helm,” Arun said.
“It is a fine suit.” The cleric turned his attention to the scabbarded longsword placed in the slots atop the rack. “You once wielded the warhammer, as I recall.”
“In the struggle against evil, I have made use of the weapons that have come to me. The sword is a holy avenger,” Arun said. “It has proven a great ally.”
Umbar reached for the weapon, after directing a glance at Arun for permission. No matter what their respective statuses, it was still a great insult to take a warrior’s weapon without leave. Arun nodded, and the cleric drew the weapon, examining the blade in the light of the lamp, as it did not radiate its usual glow in his hands.
“I have not had the fortune of handling such a weapon,” he said finally, replacing the weapon in its holder. “The mark upon the blade… the sigil of the human god Lathander, is it not?”
Arun nodded. “We found it in the hands of an evil cult that had headquartered in the tunnels beneath the city. They were intent upon the destruction of Cauldron, and the facilitation of a permanent gate between Faerûn and Carceri.”
“So I have heard,” Umbar said.
“I can prepare a written overview of recent events, from my perspective, for the record, if you wish.”
Umbar shook his head. “I am certain that all of that will be addressed in sufficient detail in the hearing.” In an odd parallel to Beorna’s actions earlier, he turned and strode across the small room, pausing near the door, looking away from him. “Your actions have created no small amount of disruption within the leadership of the Rift,” he finally said.
“I have always tried to follow the dictates of our faith, as dictated by my conscience and my best judgment,” Arun said.
The inquisitor snorted, and turned. For the first time, some hint of emotion was visible on his face. “This isn’t some chaotic elf-faith, Goldenshield! Our religion is based upon rules, and order. The dictates of your ‘conscience’ have no bearing upon this matter, but rather the violations of our code, and the defiance of ecclesiastical law, that you have perpetuated.”
“It would seem that I have already been judged,” Arun said, quietly.
“You will receive a fair hearing according to the letter of the Law,” Umbar intoned.
“Perhaps I should reserve any further comments for that event,” Arun said.
“I do not wish to be your enemy, Goldenshield. It is not my intent to try you again for the sins of the past. My responsibility now is to my office.”
“I have never expected any less of you, Inquisitor. Yours was not the deciding vote for my exile…”
“But I voted in favor nevertheless,” the cleric finished for him. “I hope you understand why it was done.”
“I accepted the judgment. And I will accept any lingering consequences of my actions.”
The two dwaves stood there for a long moment, facing each other in a silent confrontation of wills. Finally, Umbar opened his mouth to speak, but his words were distracted by the sound of a commotion in the hall outside. The noise of hasty bootsteps was followed by an equally abrupt patter of knuckles on the door.
“Lord Goldenshield!” came a muffled voice through the portal. “Lord Goldenshield, forgive the intrusion, I know it’s late, but there’s trouble in the city…”
Arun came forward, waiting for Umbar to step back to provide access to the door. The cleric’s expression had hardened again into a stony commentary of disapproval as Arun drew the latch and opened the door to reveal an agitated young human, clad in the blue livery of the Hammers. He glanced at Umbar, momentarily uncertain.
“What is it, Caleph?” Arun asked.
“There’s reports of an attack, near the river chasm,” the young man said quickly. “No one’s really sure who it was, but it seems that several people have been abducted… they just vanished!”
Lazybones
Adventurer
http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=58100HugeOgre said:
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 492
Arun knelt beside the body, covered in a dark cloak that seemed an amorphous gray in the weak light. Even before he drew back the covering, he knew what he would find; he’d grown accustomed to the feeling of death.
The victim was a young man, in his early twenties by the look of him, with the stubble of several days on his cheeks and his raven hair flying unkept around his head. The cause of death was instantly apparent; there was an obvious dent where his skull had been bashed in. There was very little blood, but it was likely he had been killed instantly by the blow.
Droplets of water fell around them. A light rain had started up on their walk across the town to this place, and the remnants of the roof of the ruined building provided only a nominal protection against the elements. In addition to the omnipresent mustiness there were other odors that suggested that a number of people had called the partially-collapsed warehouse as a home.
“There were no signs of the other residents?” Arun asked.
The Watch sergeant hovering behind him shook his head, then belatedly realized that Arun couldn’t see him. “No, sir. The witnesses we talked to said they heard sounds of a struggle; one old woman who’s been staying in another of these condemned shells nearby said she saw some shadowy figures heading out into the night, toward the chasm, but couldn’t provide any details. She and the other witnesses have been taken to the town hall for statements; if you like I can have them made available to you.”
Arun nodded, but for now they needed to see if anything could be found here. It would not be easy; the wet, booted feet of the guardsmen who’d initially come upon the scene had obliviated any tracks, and it was highly unlikely that whoever had been behind this attack would have lingered long enough for their trace to be discovered. Arun could sense an echo of Taint, a memory of the dark deeds done here this night, but it was not strong enough to provide direction of where the assailants had left.
“You let your people live in such conditions?” Umbar growled.
“We have been doing everything we can to relocate people into appropriate housing, and get damaged structures restored to a status safe enough for occupation,” Beorna responded quickly. “We’ve marked condemned buildings, but without posting guards, it’s almost impossible to keep people out of the shells.”
“Human civilization,” Umbar muttered.
Arun saw Beorna tense at the implied challenge of the statement, and quickly rose, hoping to forestall this exchange. The cleric’s presence had been the result of a compromise. When they’d gotten the news of the attack, Umbar had not be insensitive to Arun’s desire to investigate, but he’d insisted upon accompanying him. Arun had gotten the impression that the priest of Moradin was not going to let him out of his sight until the date of his hearing. His other companions had not been pleased with that decision; the dark clouds brewing in Beorna’s expression, combined with the utter impossibility of Hodge restraining himself from saying exactly what he thought of the matter, made collectively for an explosive situation. Now all he needed was for a clash between the cleric of Moradin, Beorna, and the harried members of the Watch.
“Inquisitor, can your spells reveal anything of use from the victim?”
The cleric glanced down at the battered corpse, the victim’s eyes staring sightlessly up into the air. He shook his head. “I do not have that blessing prepared. Perhaps on the morrow.” His expression indicated his feelings about the prospect of using his gifts to communicate with the spirit of a murdered human. Arun ignored that, and turned as Hodge came over to him, holding something.
“Found it in a pile of rubble, near the back door,” he said. He held out the object. In the flickering light of the hooded lanterns of the Watch it was just a vague oblong, but the dwarves had darkvision, and could pierce the deep shadows. Umbar, who’d come up behind Arun, hissed in a surprised breath as he saw the item: a long dagger with a curving blade. “Drow!” he exclaimed, recognizing the craftsmanship of the weapon.
The guardsmen exchanged a few nervous looks.
“Aye,” Hodge said. “Hasn’t seen a whetstone in a while, though.”
“There are entrances to the Underdark beneath the city,” Arun said. He knew of one in particular, a dark tunnel in the Malachite Fortress, a place that was not associated with good memories.
“I thought those had been closed,” Beorna said.
“Those we know of… or perhaps the quakes might have opened another access point,” Arun said.
“You think dark elves are behind this, ser?” the sergeant asked.
Arun shook his head. “Doesn’t fit with what the witnesses reported… and it just doesn’t sound right, not for drow.”
“The dark elves wouldn’t bother with abducting a few thugs,” Umbar agreed.
“Have there been any other people reported missing in this neighborhood?” Arun asked the sergeant.
“Not that I’m aware of, ser.”
“Has there been anything else unusual here, in the last tenday or so, that you recall?”
“Well… we’d heard a few rumors—nothing concrete, mind you—of something creepin’ around these ruins. Kinda put it off to spooks, folks uneasy, you know? We’d been walkin’ these streets as part’a our patrols, ‘long with your Hammers, we hadn’t seen nothin’ unusual. Cleared some folks out who waren’t s’posed to be there, unsafe buildin’s, an’ all.”
Arun wore his heavy armor, but a blank tabard covered the sigil etched in his breastplate, another result of the compromise he’d reached with the inquisitor of Moradin.
“It could just be a clash between rival gangs, ser,” the sergeant suggested. “They say that there’s a few lingering elements of the Last Laugh left in the city, fighting over the scraps of their organization.”
Arun nodded, but his own information, imparted by Mole, belied that possibility. And his gut felt something… wrong, here. As if a murder on a stormy night could ever be “right”.
“Whoever did this, they be long gone, like as not,” Hodge said.
Arun inwardly agreed, but he could not let this go without at least trying to find some clue. In the morning, divination magic might be able to uncover more, but by then the trail of the assailants might be even colder. He turned to the guardsmen and their sergeant. “We’ll take a look around the neighborhood. Our darkvision will allow us to see better without the lamps. I want you to send two men to the Town Hall, and alert the Captain of the Watch of what’s happened here. Tell him I want twenty men dispatched here at once. Have the rest of your men set watches here, and wait for our return.”
“Ser!” the sergeant said, saluting. He turned to offer orders to his men, while Arun turned to the other dwarves.
“We’ll get more done if we split up, but we should always remain within sight of at least one other at all times, in case something happens.”
“You are taking command of this operation, I presume?” Umbar asked.
“He’s doing what needs to be done,” Beorna snapped, but Arun laid a hand on her shoulder. “We would appreciate your assistance, Inquisitor,” he said.
The cleric nodded. “We should start in the direction that the assailants were last spotted heading,” he said.
Arun nodded, and the four dwarves set out into the night.
Arun knelt beside the body, covered in a dark cloak that seemed an amorphous gray in the weak light. Even before he drew back the covering, he knew what he would find; he’d grown accustomed to the feeling of death.
The victim was a young man, in his early twenties by the look of him, with the stubble of several days on his cheeks and his raven hair flying unkept around his head. The cause of death was instantly apparent; there was an obvious dent where his skull had been bashed in. There was very little blood, but it was likely he had been killed instantly by the blow.
Droplets of water fell around them. A light rain had started up on their walk across the town to this place, and the remnants of the roof of the ruined building provided only a nominal protection against the elements. In addition to the omnipresent mustiness there were other odors that suggested that a number of people had called the partially-collapsed warehouse as a home.
“There were no signs of the other residents?” Arun asked.
The Watch sergeant hovering behind him shook his head, then belatedly realized that Arun couldn’t see him. “No, sir. The witnesses we talked to said they heard sounds of a struggle; one old woman who’s been staying in another of these condemned shells nearby said she saw some shadowy figures heading out into the night, toward the chasm, but couldn’t provide any details. She and the other witnesses have been taken to the town hall for statements; if you like I can have them made available to you.”
Arun nodded, but for now they needed to see if anything could be found here. It would not be easy; the wet, booted feet of the guardsmen who’d initially come upon the scene had obliviated any tracks, and it was highly unlikely that whoever had been behind this attack would have lingered long enough for their trace to be discovered. Arun could sense an echo of Taint, a memory of the dark deeds done here this night, but it was not strong enough to provide direction of where the assailants had left.
“You let your people live in such conditions?” Umbar growled.
“We have been doing everything we can to relocate people into appropriate housing, and get damaged structures restored to a status safe enough for occupation,” Beorna responded quickly. “We’ve marked condemned buildings, but without posting guards, it’s almost impossible to keep people out of the shells.”
“Human civilization,” Umbar muttered.
Arun saw Beorna tense at the implied challenge of the statement, and quickly rose, hoping to forestall this exchange. The cleric’s presence had been the result of a compromise. When they’d gotten the news of the attack, Umbar had not be insensitive to Arun’s desire to investigate, but he’d insisted upon accompanying him. Arun had gotten the impression that the priest of Moradin was not going to let him out of his sight until the date of his hearing. His other companions had not been pleased with that decision; the dark clouds brewing in Beorna’s expression, combined with the utter impossibility of Hodge restraining himself from saying exactly what he thought of the matter, made collectively for an explosive situation. Now all he needed was for a clash between the cleric of Moradin, Beorna, and the harried members of the Watch.
“Inquisitor, can your spells reveal anything of use from the victim?”
The cleric glanced down at the battered corpse, the victim’s eyes staring sightlessly up into the air. He shook his head. “I do not have that blessing prepared. Perhaps on the morrow.” His expression indicated his feelings about the prospect of using his gifts to communicate with the spirit of a murdered human. Arun ignored that, and turned as Hodge came over to him, holding something.
“Found it in a pile of rubble, near the back door,” he said. He held out the object. In the flickering light of the hooded lanterns of the Watch it was just a vague oblong, but the dwarves had darkvision, and could pierce the deep shadows. Umbar, who’d come up behind Arun, hissed in a surprised breath as he saw the item: a long dagger with a curving blade. “Drow!” he exclaimed, recognizing the craftsmanship of the weapon.
The guardsmen exchanged a few nervous looks.
“Aye,” Hodge said. “Hasn’t seen a whetstone in a while, though.”
“There are entrances to the Underdark beneath the city,” Arun said. He knew of one in particular, a dark tunnel in the Malachite Fortress, a place that was not associated with good memories.
“I thought those had been closed,” Beorna said.
“Those we know of… or perhaps the quakes might have opened another access point,” Arun said.
“You think dark elves are behind this, ser?” the sergeant asked.
Arun shook his head. “Doesn’t fit with what the witnesses reported… and it just doesn’t sound right, not for drow.”
“The dark elves wouldn’t bother with abducting a few thugs,” Umbar agreed.
“Have there been any other people reported missing in this neighborhood?” Arun asked the sergeant.
“Not that I’m aware of, ser.”
“Has there been anything else unusual here, in the last tenday or so, that you recall?”
“Well… we’d heard a few rumors—nothing concrete, mind you—of something creepin’ around these ruins. Kinda put it off to spooks, folks uneasy, you know? We’d been walkin’ these streets as part’a our patrols, ‘long with your Hammers, we hadn’t seen nothin’ unusual. Cleared some folks out who waren’t s’posed to be there, unsafe buildin’s, an’ all.”
Arun wore his heavy armor, but a blank tabard covered the sigil etched in his breastplate, another result of the compromise he’d reached with the inquisitor of Moradin.
“It could just be a clash between rival gangs, ser,” the sergeant suggested. “They say that there’s a few lingering elements of the Last Laugh left in the city, fighting over the scraps of their organization.”
Arun nodded, but his own information, imparted by Mole, belied that possibility. And his gut felt something… wrong, here. As if a murder on a stormy night could ever be “right”.
“Whoever did this, they be long gone, like as not,” Hodge said.
Arun inwardly agreed, but he could not let this go without at least trying to find some clue. In the morning, divination magic might be able to uncover more, but by then the trail of the assailants might be even colder. He turned to the guardsmen and their sergeant. “We’ll take a look around the neighborhood. Our darkvision will allow us to see better without the lamps. I want you to send two men to the Town Hall, and alert the Captain of the Watch of what’s happened here. Tell him I want twenty men dispatched here at once. Have the rest of your men set watches here, and wait for our return.”
“Ser!” the sergeant said, saluting. He turned to offer orders to his men, while Arun turned to the other dwarves.
“We’ll get more done if we split up, but we should always remain within sight of at least one other at all times, in case something happens.”
“You are taking command of this operation, I presume?” Umbar asked.
“He’s doing what needs to be done,” Beorna snapped, but Arun laid a hand on her shoulder. “We would appreciate your assistance, Inquisitor,” he said.
The cleric nodded. “We should start in the direction that the assailants were last spotted heading,” he said.
Arun nodded, and the four dwarves set out into the night.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 493
Gusts of wind drove fat droplets of rain into the dwarves’ faces as they made their way deeper into the neighborhood surrounding the river chasm. Hodge sneezed, and grumbled something that was lost on the breeze. Here, within bowshot of the new-formed gorge, casual comments could not be discerned. The sound of the river making its way down the side of the mountain, combined with the noise of the wind rushing through the chasm, was loud enough to override most other sounds. Most of the buildings here had been condemned and remained vacant; eventually they would be torn down. It was unlikely that there would be much rebuilding here. Although magical divination had revealed that the majority of the city had regained geologic stability in the aftermath of the disaster, the constant noise and the general human fear of unwarded heights provided little incentive for such projects.
The bridge that would eventually cross the new river gorge was still just pilings at this point, and the tenuous rope bridge that crossed the chasm was far from safe even on clear days, let alone on stormy nights when gusty winds blew through the gap that had forever changed the landscape of the volcano town. On this night, the neighborhood was all but deserted.
Which was not to say that the neighborhood was uninhabited. In addition to what they’d seen tonight, Mole had reported that several of the abandoned buildings had been claimed by squatters, refugees who had lost their homes, or simply poor folk who had owned nothing to start with. A lot of people had left Cauldron before the disaster, and others had died in the calamity, leaving a lot of empty buildings that could be reclaimed. But restoration work took time, and Arun suspected that there would always be people who slipped through the cracks, who for whatever reason preferred to hide in the shadows beyond the ebb and rush of the town’s active life.
Beorna remained close at his side, and she touched his shoulder as they left the ruined warehouse behind them. “If they are dark elves, we’ll never see them,” she said, speaking loud enough to carry over the wind, but not loud enough for her words to carry to the other two dwarves.
Arun nodded. “We still have to look,” he told her.
They spread out then, following Arun’s injunction to remain within sight of at least one other at all times. There wasn’t much to see; several buildings had collapsed entirely, leaving only piles of rubble slick with wet from the rain. One entire block had been consumed by fire, leaving only heaped ash and a few blackened timbers that jutted from the mess, clawing at the sky like barren fingers. The streets had been cleared enough to allow passage, but they still occasionally had to move around a heap of rubble that protruded out into the avenue.
A strong gust slammed into Arun, and for a moment the street ahead was lost in a spray of water into his eyes. He drew off his helmet, wiping his face to clear his vision. When he could see, he noticed that Umbar had stopped in the entry of an alley, one of the steeply sloping corridors that connected the terraced layers of the city. One thing that these connecting streets allowed for was the drainage of rain down to the center of the city, to the rushing river that now drained out into the gorge and down the mountainside to the southeast. Most of the alleyways had either subterranean pipes below the pavers or runnels to either side that allowed the water to drain to the next tier without washing away pedestrians passing by, but the quakes that had reshaped the city had damaged many of them, making even cautious travel a risky proposition.
The current level of precipitation wasn’t enough to fuel heavy levels of flooding, not yet, but small plumes of water nevertheless flared around the dwarf cleric’s ankles as he stood there in the mouth of the alleyway. Arun motioned to Hodge and Beorna and moved to join him.
“What is it?” he asked the priest. The two buildings to either side of the alley were mostly intact, at least from the exterior, but deep cracks in the foundations and the shattered windows indicated that this block had not escaped damage in the disaster. This neighborhood had been mostly an industrial district prior to the disaster, with workshops and warehouses occasionally interspersed with retail establishments that now gaped empty, their contents evacuated by their owners or looted by the opportunistic in the aftermath of the disaster. Arun remembered one shopowner who’d insisted on reopening his business even though the building had been condemned; after the collapse that killed him, his wife, two children, and two customers the city officials had become more stringent in cracking down on such foolish choices.
Umbar shot his fellow gold dwarf a cold look. “You have forgotten much of your stonelore, it would seem.”
Arun peered into the alley. High stone walls that also served as part of the foundation of the flanking buildings formed a long passage that led up to the next avenue about fifty feet away and above them. The only thing of note here was a storm drain, set vertically into a recessed depression to one side, blocked by a grille of heavy iron bars that were set into the surrouding stone.
“No debris,” Hodge said, pointing to the drain. The dwarf stepped through the swirling water to the drain, and bent to examine it. Spray washed around his hips and the current tugged at his cloak, but he ignored both as he completed his search. Then, after glancing back at the others, he reached out and gave the bars a yank.
The entire stone frame around the drain slid outward several feet, sufficient space to allow a man-sized creature to pass into the pipe beyond. Beyond the initial narrow opening the shaft appeared to widen into a circular tube about four feet across, sloping downward at a considerable but not impossible angle.
“Most of these drains ended up at the lake, didn’t they?” Arun asked.
Beorna nodded. “With the quakes, who knows where they all go, now. Though it would be unpleasant, if one were suddenly catapulted into the river gorge.”
Arun concentrated, but he detected no hint of Taint. “It’s a lead, but we have no way of knowing if the attackers came via this route.”
“The All-Father can provide the answer,” Umbar said. “I will embark upon an invocation, but it will take some time.” Without waiting for a reply he began casting, a sonorous chant in the Rift dialect of dwarvish, a tongue heavy with long syllables and complicated pronunciations. Inured to the water washing around his boots, the priest delved into the power of his office, communing with his god.
The other dwarves kept watch, but as minutes passed with the chant continuing unabated, Hodge began to fidget. “Could we not have waited someplace dryer while ‘e did this?”
“This is a complicated spell,” Beorna said. “Be patient.”
Finally the chant came to an end, and the cleric stepped forward. He placed his bare hands upon the stone around the grate entrance, and leaned forward until his bearded cheek was pressed up against the wet stone.
“Yer expectin’ that stone to tell yer what happened?” Hodge snorted.
“Exactly,” Arun said, like Beorna recognizing what the priest was doing.
They watched as the dwarf cleric stood there against the stone, his eyes closed, his lips moving soundlessly. Finally, he drew back, shaking water out of his beard before putting his helmet back upon his head.
“What did you learn?” Arun asked.
“The stones had much to say,” Umbar replied. “We now know the identity of our enemy.”
Gusts of wind drove fat droplets of rain into the dwarves’ faces as they made their way deeper into the neighborhood surrounding the river chasm. Hodge sneezed, and grumbled something that was lost on the breeze. Here, within bowshot of the new-formed gorge, casual comments could not be discerned. The sound of the river making its way down the side of the mountain, combined with the noise of the wind rushing through the chasm, was loud enough to override most other sounds. Most of the buildings here had been condemned and remained vacant; eventually they would be torn down. It was unlikely that there would be much rebuilding here. Although magical divination had revealed that the majority of the city had regained geologic stability in the aftermath of the disaster, the constant noise and the general human fear of unwarded heights provided little incentive for such projects.
The bridge that would eventually cross the new river gorge was still just pilings at this point, and the tenuous rope bridge that crossed the chasm was far from safe even on clear days, let alone on stormy nights when gusty winds blew through the gap that had forever changed the landscape of the volcano town. On this night, the neighborhood was all but deserted.
Which was not to say that the neighborhood was uninhabited. In addition to what they’d seen tonight, Mole had reported that several of the abandoned buildings had been claimed by squatters, refugees who had lost their homes, or simply poor folk who had owned nothing to start with. A lot of people had left Cauldron before the disaster, and others had died in the calamity, leaving a lot of empty buildings that could be reclaimed. But restoration work took time, and Arun suspected that there would always be people who slipped through the cracks, who for whatever reason preferred to hide in the shadows beyond the ebb and rush of the town’s active life.
Beorna remained close at his side, and she touched his shoulder as they left the ruined warehouse behind them. “If they are dark elves, we’ll never see them,” she said, speaking loud enough to carry over the wind, but not loud enough for her words to carry to the other two dwarves.
Arun nodded. “We still have to look,” he told her.
They spread out then, following Arun’s injunction to remain within sight of at least one other at all times. There wasn’t much to see; several buildings had collapsed entirely, leaving only piles of rubble slick with wet from the rain. One entire block had been consumed by fire, leaving only heaped ash and a few blackened timbers that jutted from the mess, clawing at the sky like barren fingers. The streets had been cleared enough to allow passage, but they still occasionally had to move around a heap of rubble that protruded out into the avenue.
A strong gust slammed into Arun, and for a moment the street ahead was lost in a spray of water into his eyes. He drew off his helmet, wiping his face to clear his vision. When he could see, he noticed that Umbar had stopped in the entry of an alley, one of the steeply sloping corridors that connected the terraced layers of the city. One thing that these connecting streets allowed for was the drainage of rain down to the center of the city, to the rushing river that now drained out into the gorge and down the mountainside to the southeast. Most of the alleyways had either subterranean pipes below the pavers or runnels to either side that allowed the water to drain to the next tier without washing away pedestrians passing by, but the quakes that had reshaped the city had damaged many of them, making even cautious travel a risky proposition.
The current level of precipitation wasn’t enough to fuel heavy levels of flooding, not yet, but small plumes of water nevertheless flared around the dwarf cleric’s ankles as he stood there in the mouth of the alleyway. Arun motioned to Hodge and Beorna and moved to join him.
“What is it?” he asked the priest. The two buildings to either side of the alley were mostly intact, at least from the exterior, but deep cracks in the foundations and the shattered windows indicated that this block had not escaped damage in the disaster. This neighborhood had been mostly an industrial district prior to the disaster, with workshops and warehouses occasionally interspersed with retail establishments that now gaped empty, their contents evacuated by their owners or looted by the opportunistic in the aftermath of the disaster. Arun remembered one shopowner who’d insisted on reopening his business even though the building had been condemned; after the collapse that killed him, his wife, two children, and two customers the city officials had become more stringent in cracking down on such foolish choices.
Umbar shot his fellow gold dwarf a cold look. “You have forgotten much of your stonelore, it would seem.”
Arun peered into the alley. High stone walls that also served as part of the foundation of the flanking buildings formed a long passage that led up to the next avenue about fifty feet away and above them. The only thing of note here was a storm drain, set vertically into a recessed depression to one side, blocked by a grille of heavy iron bars that were set into the surrouding stone.
“No debris,” Hodge said, pointing to the drain. The dwarf stepped through the swirling water to the drain, and bent to examine it. Spray washed around his hips and the current tugged at his cloak, but he ignored both as he completed his search. Then, after glancing back at the others, he reached out and gave the bars a yank.
The entire stone frame around the drain slid outward several feet, sufficient space to allow a man-sized creature to pass into the pipe beyond. Beyond the initial narrow opening the shaft appeared to widen into a circular tube about four feet across, sloping downward at a considerable but not impossible angle.
“Most of these drains ended up at the lake, didn’t they?” Arun asked.
Beorna nodded. “With the quakes, who knows where they all go, now. Though it would be unpleasant, if one were suddenly catapulted into the river gorge.”
Arun concentrated, but he detected no hint of Taint. “It’s a lead, but we have no way of knowing if the attackers came via this route.”
“The All-Father can provide the answer,” Umbar said. “I will embark upon an invocation, but it will take some time.” Without waiting for a reply he began casting, a sonorous chant in the Rift dialect of dwarvish, a tongue heavy with long syllables and complicated pronunciations. Inured to the water washing around his boots, the priest delved into the power of his office, communing with his god.
The other dwarves kept watch, but as minutes passed with the chant continuing unabated, Hodge began to fidget. “Could we not have waited someplace dryer while ‘e did this?”
“This is a complicated spell,” Beorna said. “Be patient.”
Finally the chant came to an end, and the cleric stepped forward. He placed his bare hands upon the stone around the grate entrance, and leaned forward until his bearded cheek was pressed up against the wet stone.
“Yer expectin’ that stone to tell yer what happened?” Hodge snorted.
“Exactly,” Arun said, like Beorna recognizing what the priest was doing.
They watched as the dwarf cleric stood there against the stone, his eyes closed, his lips moving soundlessly. Finally, he drew back, shaking water out of his beard before putting his helmet back upon his head.
“What did you learn?” Arun asked.
“The stones had much to say,” Umbar replied. “We now know the identity of our enemy.”
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