Unkown Date
62: Goooooooooood morning, Wonderville.
Heydricus is the first to awaken. He is lying on a low, unadorned stone bier. His bones ache, and he feels like his head has been pulped, condensed, strained through a sieve and stuffed into an undersized container. His first thought is that he must have been extremely drunk last night. The room he is in is oval shaped, and dimly lit by everburning candles. Seven other biers are present and upon each of them lie the other Liberators of Tenh, still and unmoving.
He realizes with a sinking feeling that he is in Martak’s secret chamber. These must be the Liberator’s clones he is looking at, but what does that make him?
As he is pondering the mystery, and taking stock of the masterwork weapons and armor lying next to him, Prisantha sits up, and is followed in short order by Jespo, Fräs, Gwendolyn, Lucius and Dabus.
“I thought this was getting too easy,” Heydricus says by way of greeting. The last thing any of them remember they had returned to Cur’ruth, divided the spoils from Cranzer and Panshazek, Prisantha took flesh from their arms, and . . . then nothing.
“We’ve been killed!” Jespo says with a horrified expression on his face. “The bastards!”
“But by whom?” Prisantha asks.
“How the hell should I know?” Heydricus replies. “The real question is, how long have we been dead, and what happened to the people relying on us?”
None of his companions have an answer. Thrommel’s body is present, but does not stir.
“Maybe Thrommel stepped up and avenged us,” Heydricus says.
“And did something worthwhile without my suggestion?” Prisantha asks.
“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Jespo snarls. Fräs hisses.
Prisantha turns to Heydricus. “This is probably the work of the juggernaut you wouldn’t kill.”
“We don’t know that,” Heydricus says defensively.
“I think it likely,” she says sagely.
“No, no. With our luck it was the druid f-ckers,” Heydricus retorts.
“Well, it wasn’t the Boneshadow,” Lucius laughs.
“Still, we are all well, and that is what matters,” Dabus says. “Let me prepare spells, and Tritherion will enlighten us.”
While the spellcasting characters pore over their tomes or meditate quietly, Lucius approaches Heydricus. “We should talk,” he says, his voice kept low out of respect or conspiratorial necessity. “I’ve been doing some thinking. It’s not that these other friends of yours aren’t good people, but the ante has been upped, and we may want to ditch some ballast.”
“What are you talking about, Lucius?” Heydricus whispers back. “Speak plainly.”
“These women you’ve surrounded yourself with,” Lucius says. “And I mean Crim and the priest as well. I don’t think they’ve got the right stuff for what we have in front of us. Dabus is more in love with his honor than Keriann was, and the others don’t have the guts to make the bastards pay. “
“Lucius,” Heydricus sighs. “Shut up and stop thinking.”
-----
“Dabus Thrice-Born. You have evaded My Halls so often, I am beginning to doubt our Pact. ” Tritherion’s voice fills Dabus with a warm and comforting sensation.
“Great Lord, pull this veil from my eyes, and answer me True. Was this done by the hands of the Old One or his followers?”
“You have disguised two questions as one, Dabus, and I may not answer. ”
“Were we killed in Cur’ruth?”
“Were you killed, you would be with Me. ”
“Were we slain in battle?”
“No, you were not slain. ”
“Did my former body die in battle?”
“Your former body died defending innocents. ”
“Had we previously encountered the ones who attacked us?”
“No. ”
“Was the Juggernaut involved?”
“No. ”
“During the attack that killed us, were any members of the Boneheart present?”
“No. ”
“Was this attack the result of us attacking Cranzer and Panshazek?”
“Not directly, no. ”
“Was Aletha involved?”
“Yes, if water can be said to be involved in a rainstorm. ”
“Does Aletha believe we are dead?”
“No. ”
“Does Aletha know we are alive?”
“No. ”
“Does Aletha turn her gaze from Tenh, thinking we are gone?”
“Again, you ask two questions. ”
“Dabus sighs. “Is Thrommel alive and well?“
“Two-part questions simply cannot be answered. This is unlike you, Dabus. ”
“Is the Aiman still alive?”
“No. ”
“Are the celestial emotes below?”
‘No. ”
“Did our attackers discover them?”
“Yes. ”
“Have the Iuzians brought back to life any members of the Boneheart?”
“They have ressurected Panzshazek.”
-----
After Dabus completes his commune, and shares his findings, Prisantha uses a pool of water to scry Thrommel, but receives only a grey mist for her troubles.
“Thrommel is dead,” Jespo says with a curious mixture of dread and vindication.
“No,” Gwendolyn says, “Scrying the dead results in a black field. This is different.”
“He is neither dead nor alive,” Prisantha states. “And that could mean many things.”
“I am not sure your assessment is correct,” Jespo says.
“Yet you do not have my experience with scrying,” she replies.
“This is obviously the work of Aletha, and I find it hard to believe that she would suffer Thrommel to live,” Jespo says.
“Aletha is involved, but that does not mean this is her work,” Prisantha says. “It was not the Boneheart that did this, nor their construct.”
Lucius emerges from the shadows at the back of the room and gives an exaggerated sigh. “Pathetic,” he sneers. “You mumbo and you jumbo and we still don’t know sh-t. Why don’t we just do this the old fashioned way?”
Prisantha ignores him. She casts a second scrying, this time seeking for Elenthal. The drow ranger is seen to be lying face-down at the edge of a rooftop, observing foot traffic below him. As she watches, he carefully removes a handful of trail-food from a pouch and slowly brings it to his mouth.
Pris breaks her scrying. “Well, he’s still in Stoink, so we couldn’t have been dead that long.”
“We don’t know that,” Lucius says.
“Yes we do,” Prisantha snaps.
“We know he’s on a rooftop, we don’t know he’s in Stoink. And we damn sure don’t know how long we’ve been dead.”
“If he weren’t in Stoink, he’d be fighting giants.”
“Wow, you really are stupid under all those headbands.”
Prisantha glares venomously at the assassin. “He calls himself ‘Giantkiller’,” she says. “If he weren’t in Stoink, I think he would be killing giants, not townsfolk.”
Lucius laughs. “I call myself ‘ladykiller’ sometimes, but I haven’t gotten any in years.”
“I wonder why?” Gwendolyn says sweetly.
Lucius shrugs. “Bitches are scared of me. But let’s stay focused, here. Can we all agree that somebody knows what happened, and why?”
“Of course,” Prisantha says.
“Then let’s find that f-cker, and make him talk.”
“Why don’t you start by searching the grounds?” she asks. “Perhaps you might discover a clue.”
Lucius frowns at Pris and cocks his head to the side. “Well, I guess the number one reason is that you’re not my boss, are you?”
Heydricus intervenes. “I think it sounds like a good idea, Lucius.”
“Then consider it done.” Lucius springs forward, and in an instant is through the phase door.
He returns after several minutes, with dire news. The secret passage has been blocked by a cave-in. He was able to find his way into the lower levels, but they are partially collapsed and deserted. There are several ripe corpses scattered throughout the complex, but no sign of any wholesale butchery.
“Most folk escaped,” Lucius says. “At first I thought maybe they’d just policed the bodies, but there’s really not that much blood. Which means this wasn’t Iuzians, or their servitors. No proper Iuzian would pass up a chance for a massacre. And I found a messenger—from the Pale, no less. He was shot in the stomach with a crossbow bolt and bled out hiding under the bed in the quarters next to Mialec. And no, I didn’t find her.”
Lucius regards the group evenly. “But I did find his message in with her things.” He hands a piece of parchment to Heydricus. “It’s about some trial.” Lucius looks at the group. “We’re trapped in here, and there’s no way out. I say we eat Crim first.” Lucius smiles at the frail conjurer. Regda frowns and crosses her arms.
“Unless somebody can put a hole in that wall.” Lucius indicates the interior face of the statue that forms the front end of the chamber.
“We don’t take orders from you, Lucius,” Prisantha says.
“It’s not really an order, think of it more like a healthy suggestion.”
“I make the suggestions around here.”
Dabus sighs. “Stop it, you two. I can go etheric, and scout the complex.”
Lucius turns on him. “Just what we need, more mumbo jumbo. Why not just put a hole in that face and we’ll all scout the f-cking complex?”
“You want a hole in the face?” Gwendolyn says with a sour smile. She turns to Dabus, “I’ve got this one.”
Dabus shakes his head, and stoneshapes a man-sized hole in the chamber’s back wall, letting in afternoon sunlight from the outside. The spellcasters prepare protective and enhancement magics, and Prisantha links the group’s minds with a telepathic bond. The stoneshaped hole is in the center of the great statue’s mouth, and after a moment, Lucius climbs down to the grounds, and secures a rope for those Liberators who cannot fly.
-----
Cur’ruth has been destroyed. The hard stone underfoot has bubbled and slagged, through a series of transmute rock to mud spells, if Prisantha’s guess is correct. The better part of the above-ground complex has collapsed, and forms a treacherous rubble pile hunkering flush against the bluff face.
Lucius leads the party into the rubble, searching for some clue as to what happened. After a few minutes he calls out. “Hey, it’s Jespo. C’mere, Crim!”
Jespo hikes up his skirts and delicately picks his way through the rubble until he is standing over his own body. Only the upper half of the original Jespo remains—the lower half is simply gone, as if it were severed from the torso by a single massive bite.
As Jespo studies his corpse, Lucius studies Jespo. The anemic conjurer does not seem overly disturbed by either the gore, or the surreal experience of gazing at his own dead body. “I would think a dragon did this,” Jespo says offhandedly. “Or rather, I would like to think a dragon did this.” Jespo turns to Lucius. “More heroic, you see. Come along, Fräs.”
One by one, Lucius introduces the Liberators of Tenh to themselves; blackened, blasted and maimed. He grunts with satisfaction and surprise—not a single one of them flinches. No gaze is averted, and Lucius sees nothing but hard-eyed determination on every face. (Except for Gwendolyn, who refuses to have anything to do with either Lucius or the grisly search.)
None of the bodies have any magic items on them, save for Heydricus’ corpse, which is sprawled in what might be taken for a protective pose in front of Prisantha’s arrow-ridden form. Heydricus’ body is still wearing the new vest Pris had made for him, although the fire damage and huge rents have ruined its magic. Prisantha gently removes it from the decomposing Liberator, and tucks it away, vowing to remake it once she has taken revenge for her own murder.
The group has gathered near the former entrance to the mines, and is discussing likely next steps. Heydricus is primarily concerned with his followers, and the Tenha he pledged protection to. Lucius, predictably, wants to hunt down and kill the enemies who perpetrated the crime, but surprisingly is supported this time by both Prisantha and Gwendolyn, who reason that as long as the killers remain alive, none of them are safe. Jespo and Dabus support Heydricus (with Fräs abstaining), and the group is stymied before Lucius changes sides and throws his vote in with the Liberator of Tritherion.
“I mean, what the f-ck do I know?” He asks with a bitter laugh as he gestures toward the rubble pile that was formerly Cur’ruth. “I was in charge of security.”
) will thank you for it.
