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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1135105" data-attributes="member: 143">Wow, these new boards are unforgiving... less than a week since my last post, and I'm almost on page 3!Anyway: welcome, readers, to the second installment in my story hour based upon the Dungeon magazine “Adventure Path” of modules.  Our heroes have survived the dangers of Jzadirune and the Malachite Fortress in “Life’s Bazaar,” but not without loss. “Flood Season” can be found in Dungeon #98.  The first few posts will deal with events that take place between the two modules, an interlude of sorts.  I considered starting a new thread, but decided to instead continue the story in the current thread (higher page views tend to bring new readers).  In order to avoid confusion, I will continue numbering chapters from where we left off at the end of “Life’s Bazaar.”* * * * * Chapter 44A faint patter of rain sounded on the roof tiles as Zenna bent over the small desk, the only other sound the faint scritch, scritch, of her pen on the sheet of parchment before her.  It was dark in the cramped confines of the loft where the mage worked, the only light coming from a narrow slit of a window near the peak of the roof a few feet from the plank desk where Zenna sat.  Zenna needed no lamp or candle for her work, of course, and in fact preferred the quiet solitude of the loft in the washed-out gray light of the rainy day.  She knew it would be louder later, when the inn’s custom picked up, and louder still if Mole returned this evening, filled with stories about her day in the city.  Zenna sighed.  She hadn’t been a very good companion of late, she knew.  Mole had urged her to go out into the city more, to explore all that Cauldron had to offer, to be social and to have fun.  Zenna knew, of course, that Mole was worried about her, that she wasn’t putting behind her the memories of what had happened in the dark places under the city.  But she had to deal with her feelings in her own way, and Mole hadn’t pressed the point too heavily, all too eager herself to go out into the city and delve into the mysteries that it had to offer.  She would find plenty of those, the tiefling woman thought.  Cauldron had more than its share of secrets. It had been a quiet tenday, all told.  They’d spoken with Jenya once or twice since that night, but the interim leader of the church of Helm had been busy, and Zenna had felt uncomfortable around all of the Helmites, as if their very proximity reminded her of what had happened to Ruphos.  Jenya had been as good as her word, granting her the magical hat that she now wore at all times, and adding a few healing potions to their reward as well.  Mole had mentioned something about a separate reward for Arun, she recalled, but she hadn’t been listening too intently and she had not seen the dwarf at all since they’d emerged from Kazmojen’s stronghold. Most of her news of events in the city were filtered through Mole, who was all too ready to chatter on endlessly at the end of each day.  For all that they were now quartered in an inn, Zenna spent little time in the common room, preferring to bring her meals up to their little shared attic to eat.  The loft wasn’t actually in the main building of the Drunken Morkoth, instead situated above one of the long outbuildings behind the structure that were used as stables, workshops, quarters for staff, and general storage.  Zenna liked the privacy, and Mole liked the easy access both to the inn and the adjacent alley that opened onto the street.  Plus it was relatively cheap, and although they weren’t quite poor, what with the money they’d found in Jzadirune, that was an important consideration for them as well the longer they remained in the city. And that was another question that lingered unanswered, of course.  Zenna leaned back from the desk, rubbing at her eyes.  She didn’t want to think about it.  She felt tired, had felt that way a lot over the last tenday.  Mole said that she just needed to get out and do things, but even with the artificial means of disguise provided by the magical hat, she had little interest in mingling with others.  Since returning from the tunnels under the city she’d felt increasingly hollow, empty, as if she’d left a part of her down there.  Why did she feel that way?  It was not as though she had known Ruphos all that well, after all; they’d barely known each other a few days.  And while they’d seen some terrible things down below, they’d also overcome a great evil, and brought most of the captives back up to safety.  There was the matter of the boy, Terrem, and the beholder, but that mystery too remained unsolved.  The day after their return she and Mole had gone with Jenya to the orphanage, only to find that the boy had been returned safely, just as the beholder had said.  Gretchyn, the headmistress of the orphanage, hadn’t been able to provide any answers, reporting only that a dark-clad woman had returned the boy that same night, and Terrem wasn’t able to provide anything more useful.  Zenna frowned.  There was something more here, something deeper, more sinister, that none of them could see.  Why had the beholder been so interested in the boy?  Outwardly, there had been nothing to distinguish him from any of the other stolen children.  Jenya hadn’t been able to provide any insight, though she’d been noticeably troubled when they had told her about the beholder.  Zenna knew little of such beings, except that they were possessed both of great power and great cunning. She shook her head.  The rain had eased off, and she could now hear the faint sounds from the adjacent inn, the bustle of the afternoon rush picking up.  Enough time for idle speculation, she thought, reaching for her pen.  She bit off a curse as she looked down at the parchment.  The last two characters she’d written were transposed, completely ruining the spell she’d been working on.  Fortunately it hadn’t been in her spellbook; she’d have lost a whole page to such a stupid mistake.  Her magical powers had grown since they’d returned from underground; in the last tenday she’d added several new spells to her book, including a dweomer taken from a gnomish scroll that they’d found in the skulk treasure.  The second spell on that parchment, however, that of mirror image, continued to vex her, taunting her just beyond her abilities, like a book placed on a shelf just above her reach.  She could feel some of the new spells burning in her mind right now, imprinted upon her memory like a melody that lingered long after the minstrel stopped playing.  She could call upon any of them right now, she knew, and the spell would be wiped clean from her mind, until she rested and studied its formula once more.  She glanced out the window, trying to judge the hour.  Mole wouldn’t likely be back for hours.  They still took their evening meals together, though didn’t spend much more time together than that, at least not over the last few days.  She rose, careful not to bang her head against the sloping roof above, and reached for her cloak.  Her gaze lingered on her pack and crossbow for a moment, but she finally decided to leave them; she was only going out into the city, not on another adventure.  And if trouble did find her, she had her spells. With that decision made, she headed down the narrow stairs and went out into the city.  The streets of Cauldron were slick with the day’s rain, with puddles gathering wherever there was a slight dip in the pavement.  The sky above was an unbroken bank of deep gray, promising more rain before nightfall.  The air was clean, heavy with dampness, and Zenna’s hair clung to the back of her head as she left the alley behind the Morkoth and started down Obsidian Street in the direction of the city’s northern gate.  She left her cowl down; with the magical hat, she no longer needed to hide her features from people.  The streets were rather quiet, however, the citizenry of the town muted by a combination of the weather and the difficult times that they had faced over the last month.  Zenna passed by a number of townsfolk who seemed primarily interested in minding their own business and hurrying about their errands before the rain started up again.  That was fine with her; she was of a like mind. The scrivener’s shop was only a few blocks from the Drunken Morkoth, nestled into one corner of a large two-story building that also housed a printer, a leather-goods shop, and apartments above.  The proprietor was a middle-aged woman named Leira, who knew Zenna from several past visits over the last few tendays.  Her prices were fair, but blank scrolls and such were expensive, and Zenna self-consciously felt at her unhappily light purse as she entered the shop.  The front room of the shop was tiny, with only a counter, two chairs barely larger than stools, and a curtained doorway that led back into the workroom.  The place smelled like paper, and inkstains decorated the old wood in more than a few places.  Zenna could hear Leira whistling in the backroom, and as the tiny bell over the door tinkled she came out to greet her. “Hello, Leira... I’m afraid I made a mistake on my last scroll, and I need a few more sheets of parchment... what’s wrong?”The older woman’s smile had faded when she’d gotten a good look at her customer, and now her face grew pale.  “Uh, um, nothing, let me get that for you.”  She turned and hurriedly retreated back to the workroom, the curtain swaying behind her. Zenna frowned, wondering what was wrong with the woman.  For a moment she felt a sudden twinge of panic and reached up, confirming that the magical hat was still in place.  Had its power failed for some reason?  She could still feel the stubby horns that jutted from her temples; the magic only concealed them, did not actually change her body in any way.  But without a mirror, there was no way to know for sure what Leira had seen.  “You used the calfskin, as I recall,” she said, returning with a small package.  “Three sheets, six silver, please.”On her previous visits Leira had been chatty and friendly, asking questions and making suggestions for other products.  But now she was clearly agitated, taking Zenna’s money and waiting there as if eager for her to depart.  Distracted, Zenna left, glancing back to see the woman watching her through the front window of the shop.  She walked down the street, staying in the shadow of the buildings.  She passed by another shop, this one closed and empty, and paused by its window.  The four panes of glass set into the frame were of poor quality, clouded and scratched, but there was just enough light for her to clearly see her own reflection in its surface.  She sucked in a startled breath.</blockquote>

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