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The Twilight Paths Campaign (Updated 7/30 - Questions from Above)
- Thread starter Cinerarium
- Start date
Cinerarium
First Post
Hammer 23, Temple of Deneir, Harren
I write this before I head out for the evening. I contacted Mott of the Gap and Rikard d’Cymeria, members of the Harrenhal guard that had led me to Sheptin and will meet up with them shortly to see how they have been, and whether they know of anything to do with Sheptin, or any other interesting occurrences in the city since we last talked.
As promised, I met with Omad Five-Crossings this morning in his office, the Aradeeti greeting me warmly and asking for any news I might have. I related the story of my journey, and he agreed to again have the copy of my journal kept in the Temple updated to reflect its current state. He seemed intrigued by Macon’s offer to study the runes in Khundrakar, though he did not know if there were any Deneirites to spare for such a journey, particularly since it could be dangerous, and the dragon may have returned.
He mentioned that two days past he had been leaving the Temple to scribe some messages for Lordling Asidric when he spotted a man matching Sir Gorful’s description across the square from him, but that the man was gone by the time he got there. I am still somewhat troubled that we have not found Gorful ourselves.
Shortly after that meeting I met with Toth, Kazir, and Fineon for breakfast, and brought up the subject of Gorful. Kazir agreed with me, and Fineon mentioned that he should be able to try to divine Gorful’s location on the morrow. In the meantime, we agreed to spend the rest of the day selling some of our newfound items, buying more, and generally ridding ourselves of most of our cash. Kazir and Fineon were planning on scribing scrolls and crafting items, and I also planned to scribe a few scrolls as time permitted.
At the end of the day we divided the leftover cash, and I took the Tears of Lys for myself, mumbling that I would find a buyer and took it as my share. Kazir raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
I leave now, but I shall write in the morning what befell with Mott and Rikard.
Hammer 24
My head would surely be pounding right now were it not for a skillful use of an orison after my morning prayers. Rikard and Mott know how to have a good time in the Sevencity!
I met with them at the Tourney Tavern, and we caught up over roast mutton, stuffed chicken, bread, gravy, some stewed vegetables in a beef broth, and several tankards of mead. I brought up Sheptin early on, and they congenially expressed some concern that he was not to be found. They had not known he had left, and admitted they weren’t sure where he lived. Apparently they had only served with him for a short time before being transferred to the Harrenhal a few months prior.
We continued from the Tourney to several other taverns in the area, finally ending up in a raucous bordello, where I think (I cannot remember for sure) that the three of us and several of the girls wound up dancing on the tables to a quartet of bards’ music, until, drunkenly, I fell and broke through a window.
At times like that, I am very glad to have found these new friends in the guards. Were not Mott and Rikard there with me, I surely would have spent a night in some dank prison. Instead we got off with a mild scolding from the officer on watch and the demand to include him next time.
I believe today I will take things a bit more slowly. I’m curious to talk with Clifticus at the Oghmite Library and see if he has any news of Brother Linden’s death or the Sect of Cuth. I also hope to do some research on the figure in my dream, who I presume is one of the heroes who died at the beginning of the Age of Forests. Time permitting, tonight I will scribe a scroll.
Hammer 24, Evening
I returned from the library late this evening. Clifticus seemed happy to see me, though it appears little more has been discovered considering the portents surrounding us. Some progress has been made in the search for Linden’s killers, however, as the result of the investigations Tyr’s faithful. The paladins believe that the deed was done by an elven rogue with ties to the Harbor Hands, one of the two main thieves’ guilds in Harren. The motive remains a mystery, as does the elf’s whereabouts.
I wonder if they could actually be referring to Avoril d’Lantern, the half-elf that Fineon met in the docks who led Fineon to the location of the body in the first place. Avoril claimed that he saw two elderly humans, a male and female in black robes, dump the body under the docks. I am more of the opinion that the humans were behind the killing, though I suppose it is possible they hired an elf to do the deed for them. I must remember to ask Fineon to look for this Avoril when he has a chance.
My research on the dream led nowhere for the moment, but I shall return tomorrow.
I write this before I head out for the evening. I contacted Mott of the Gap and Rikard d’Cymeria, members of the Harrenhal guard that had led me to Sheptin and will meet up with them shortly to see how they have been, and whether they know of anything to do with Sheptin, or any other interesting occurrences in the city since we last talked.
As promised, I met with Omad Five-Crossings this morning in his office, the Aradeeti greeting me warmly and asking for any news I might have. I related the story of my journey, and he agreed to again have the copy of my journal kept in the Temple updated to reflect its current state. He seemed intrigued by Macon’s offer to study the runes in Khundrakar, though he did not know if there were any Deneirites to spare for such a journey, particularly since it could be dangerous, and the dragon may have returned.
He mentioned that two days past he had been leaving the Temple to scribe some messages for Lordling Asidric when he spotted a man matching Sir Gorful’s description across the square from him, but that the man was gone by the time he got there. I am still somewhat troubled that we have not found Gorful ourselves.
Shortly after that meeting I met with Toth, Kazir, and Fineon for breakfast, and brought up the subject of Gorful. Kazir agreed with me, and Fineon mentioned that he should be able to try to divine Gorful’s location on the morrow. In the meantime, we agreed to spend the rest of the day selling some of our newfound items, buying more, and generally ridding ourselves of most of our cash. Kazir and Fineon were planning on scribing scrolls and crafting items, and I also planned to scribe a few scrolls as time permitted.
At the end of the day we divided the leftover cash, and I took the Tears of Lys for myself, mumbling that I would find a buyer and took it as my share. Kazir raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
I leave now, but I shall write in the morning what befell with Mott and Rikard.
Hammer 24
My head would surely be pounding right now were it not for a skillful use of an orison after my morning prayers. Rikard and Mott know how to have a good time in the Sevencity!
I met with them at the Tourney Tavern, and we caught up over roast mutton, stuffed chicken, bread, gravy, some stewed vegetables in a beef broth, and several tankards of mead. I brought up Sheptin early on, and they congenially expressed some concern that he was not to be found. They had not known he had left, and admitted they weren’t sure where he lived. Apparently they had only served with him for a short time before being transferred to the Harrenhal a few months prior.
We continued from the Tourney to several other taverns in the area, finally ending up in a raucous bordello, where I think (I cannot remember for sure) that the three of us and several of the girls wound up dancing on the tables to a quartet of bards’ music, until, drunkenly, I fell and broke through a window.
At times like that, I am very glad to have found these new friends in the guards. Were not Mott and Rikard there with me, I surely would have spent a night in some dank prison. Instead we got off with a mild scolding from the officer on watch and the demand to include him next time.
I believe today I will take things a bit more slowly. I’m curious to talk with Clifticus at the Oghmite Library and see if he has any news of Brother Linden’s death or the Sect of Cuth. I also hope to do some research on the figure in my dream, who I presume is one of the heroes who died at the beginning of the Age of Forests. Time permitting, tonight I will scribe a scroll.
Hammer 24, Evening
I returned from the library late this evening. Clifticus seemed happy to see me, though it appears little more has been discovered considering the portents surrounding us. Some progress has been made in the search for Linden’s killers, however, as the result of the investigations Tyr’s faithful. The paladins believe that the deed was done by an elven rogue with ties to the Harbor Hands, one of the two main thieves’ guilds in Harren. The motive remains a mystery, as does the elf’s whereabouts.
I wonder if they could actually be referring to Avoril d’Lantern, the half-elf that Fineon met in the docks who led Fineon to the location of the body in the first place. Avoril claimed that he saw two elderly humans, a male and female in black robes, dump the body under the docks. I am more of the opinion that the humans were behind the killing, though I suppose it is possible they hired an elf to do the deed for them. I must remember to ask Fineon to look for this Avoril when he has a chance.
My research on the dream led nowhere for the moment, but I shall return tomorrow.
Cinerarium
First Post
Tellerve said:K, all caught up now Cin, so you gotta start writing some more
Tellerve
Ask and ye shall receive. Tellerve, it's good to have you back on the boards!
This last post and the next couple of posts are summing up the down time between gaming sessions. Tryn's been busy trying to tie up loose ends. I think I might have pushed Destan a bit too far with my constant barrage of emails. One started out with a laundry list of the people Tryn wanted to look up as soon as we got back into Harren. I think Destan regretted giving names to as many NPCs as he did.
One of my longer term goals with Tryn, DM allowing, is to get a network of informants and contacts who'll funnel him information about the movers and shakers of the world. So far it's been rough going in that department, because we're getting swept up in events so much. I'm at the point with Tryn where I'm starting to abandon some of my earlier character concepts about him to reflect better what's going on in the campaign. A risk I suppose of planning out your character too much is that sometimes that plan doesn't fit what's going on. Time will tell.
Lela
First Post
Ah, we find the curse of such a player as yourself amid the blessings. While you write the campaign down yourself you also remember all these names we DMs give to NPCs.
And to think how quick I feel when I think of a name for the shopkeeper (Theg the half-Dwarf---he won't tell what the other half is but there are suspicions) on the spot. I'd better watch out.
And to think how quick I feel when I think of a name for the shopkeeper (Theg the half-Dwarf---he won't tell what the other half is but there are suspicions) on the spot. I'd better watch out.
Cinerarium
First Post
Hammer 25
Again I write before the end of the day, as soon I will leave to see how old Brom the Belly at Happy Harlan’s is these days. He may have seen Gorful, and I would talk with the man.
First though I must relate the sad news that Gorful is most likely dead. Fineon met with me earlier today, and told me the results of his circle dance for Gorful. No trace of Gorful could be found, and Fineon believes the kind man is dead. The news distressed me so much that I forgot to mention the possible connection of Avoril to the death of Bjorn Linden, and Fineon left before I could talk more with him. Fin did mention that he had also done a circle dance to locate Chardin, the mere name causing a chill to run down my spine. He, at least, appears to be in perfect health and living somewhere in Harren or west of here.
At least my work at the library today yielded positive results. I found a name and a description in the manual of a cultist obsessed with the near-divine heroes of that ancient age. Alandindion of the Blossoming Storm was a hero who matched the description I recalled. Alandindion’s tomb, perhaps, lies somewhere near Formyr then. Fascinating. I believe I have found all I can at the library, and must spend my energies elsewhere. I am to meet tomorrow with Kazir and Fin, when we will decide our next steps.
In the meantime, I leave for Happy Harlan’s.
Hammer 26
On my way to Harlan’s last night I saw a group of urchins outside the temple, waiting for the scraps from our kitchen that are given out after the cook is done preparing dinner for us. An idea struck me and I got their attention. I gave out a handful of silver pieces, hating myself for using the innocent children in this way, but I knew that it was better than they’d otherwise have, so I pushed my doubts aside.
“There’s more where this came from,” I said, “but I need something in return. There’s a man I’m looking for… and it’s quite likely he’s dead. But I’m interested in finding out for sure, and I would like to give him a decent burial if his body is still to be found. The first one of you who finds him and can prove it gets five crowns. If a group of you finds him, we can negotiate a deal. I’ll come here every day before high sun, so if you find him, be here at that time. Tell others as well.”
I proceeded to give those that looked interested as thorough a description of Gorful as I could remember, and prayed to Tymora that they would find him, and to Kelemvor that he would find rest.
I pondered their chances of finding Gorful as my feet led me to Harlan’s. At some point I noticed I was coming upon the Orchard Cemetery, and decided the least I could do for old Bagulf was treat him to a bottle of Margiven Mead on my way by. He was extremely grateful and invited me to sit with him a bit. We shared a cup of mead and talked small talk of the city. Since Kazir, Toth, and I had cleared out the necromancer more visitors were coming to the Apple mausoleum, our actions having gained it some notoriety, and Bagulf a few more visitors. I could tell that he was reluctant to share any more of the mead than he had to, however, so I made my apologies and left before the hour was too late.
At Harlan’s, Hara looked up and scowled when I came in through the door, but she paid me no mind. The stench had not improved since my last visit, but I ignored that as I found my way over to Brom. He was happy to drink my coins away and trade lies with me for hours. He had not seen Gorful, but he had apparently witnessed an amazing encounter between a paladin of Ilmater, three harlots, and a donkey. I mentioned Sergeant Sheptin idly, not thinking that Brom would even know the name, but he surprised me. “Ah, the lad's in a wee bit 'o trouble methinks. Heard he was forced to take some time away from the Harrenguard. Not sure why.”
Unfortunately Brom knew little else, other than a hilarious story concerning two Apian Legionnaires and a cow with its head stuck in a fence. I took a rickshaw back to the Temple late in the evening.
I met the guys over lunch today after waiting near the Temple for some time before high sun. They seemed to be proceeding well in their respective endeavors. I went over everything I had learned so far, and that I needed a few more days to see if the urchins turned anything up. I have mostly given up on finding anything out on Gorful at this point, sad as it is. We talked at length, and eventually, mostly at Kazir’s suggestion, decided to pursue Alandindion’s tomb in Formyr. We would meet on Midwinter morning and leave then, giving us enough time to finish our scribing, crafting, and investigating before leaving.
While scribing a scroll this afternoon I became increasingly distracted with the amount of time that has passed since I last had the acquaintance of the fairer sex. Deneir offers us little guidance on this point, though many of his sages have stressed that in the great emotions of love, we are likely to find the words that would best fit the Metatext.
Part of the problem is surely that to date I lack a suitable location for any romantic encounters with women of the right sort. The Temple is hardly a suitable location for such a tryst, and I recoil at the thought of bedding a harlot like those Mott and Rikard introduced me to.
I resolve now to redouble my efforts to improve my station here in Harren. And I admit that my reasons are mainly to find an acceptable woman. I shall let tonight be the first night. Lord Macon’s servant, Miralda, had mentioned an inn in the Coinsward that she said Lord Macon enjoyed dining at. I shall go there tonight and see what I can see.
Again I write before the end of the day, as soon I will leave to see how old Brom the Belly at Happy Harlan’s is these days. He may have seen Gorful, and I would talk with the man.
First though I must relate the sad news that Gorful is most likely dead. Fineon met with me earlier today, and told me the results of his circle dance for Gorful. No trace of Gorful could be found, and Fineon believes the kind man is dead. The news distressed me so much that I forgot to mention the possible connection of Avoril to the death of Bjorn Linden, and Fineon left before I could talk more with him. Fin did mention that he had also done a circle dance to locate Chardin, the mere name causing a chill to run down my spine. He, at least, appears to be in perfect health and living somewhere in Harren or west of here.
At least my work at the library today yielded positive results. I found a name and a description in the manual of a cultist obsessed with the near-divine heroes of that ancient age. Alandindion of the Blossoming Storm was a hero who matched the description I recalled. Alandindion’s tomb, perhaps, lies somewhere near Formyr then. Fascinating. I believe I have found all I can at the library, and must spend my energies elsewhere. I am to meet tomorrow with Kazir and Fin, when we will decide our next steps.
In the meantime, I leave for Happy Harlan’s.
Hammer 26
On my way to Harlan’s last night I saw a group of urchins outside the temple, waiting for the scraps from our kitchen that are given out after the cook is done preparing dinner for us. An idea struck me and I got their attention. I gave out a handful of silver pieces, hating myself for using the innocent children in this way, but I knew that it was better than they’d otherwise have, so I pushed my doubts aside.
“There’s more where this came from,” I said, “but I need something in return. There’s a man I’m looking for… and it’s quite likely he’s dead. But I’m interested in finding out for sure, and I would like to give him a decent burial if his body is still to be found. The first one of you who finds him and can prove it gets five crowns. If a group of you finds him, we can negotiate a deal. I’ll come here every day before high sun, so if you find him, be here at that time. Tell others as well.”
I proceeded to give those that looked interested as thorough a description of Gorful as I could remember, and prayed to Tymora that they would find him, and to Kelemvor that he would find rest.
I pondered their chances of finding Gorful as my feet led me to Harlan’s. At some point I noticed I was coming upon the Orchard Cemetery, and decided the least I could do for old Bagulf was treat him to a bottle of Margiven Mead on my way by. He was extremely grateful and invited me to sit with him a bit. We shared a cup of mead and talked small talk of the city. Since Kazir, Toth, and I had cleared out the necromancer more visitors were coming to the Apple mausoleum, our actions having gained it some notoriety, and Bagulf a few more visitors. I could tell that he was reluctant to share any more of the mead than he had to, however, so I made my apologies and left before the hour was too late.
At Harlan’s, Hara looked up and scowled when I came in through the door, but she paid me no mind. The stench had not improved since my last visit, but I ignored that as I found my way over to Brom. He was happy to drink my coins away and trade lies with me for hours. He had not seen Gorful, but he had apparently witnessed an amazing encounter between a paladin of Ilmater, three harlots, and a donkey. I mentioned Sergeant Sheptin idly, not thinking that Brom would even know the name, but he surprised me. “Ah, the lad's in a wee bit 'o trouble methinks. Heard he was forced to take some time away from the Harrenguard. Not sure why.”
Unfortunately Brom knew little else, other than a hilarious story concerning two Apian Legionnaires and a cow with its head stuck in a fence. I took a rickshaw back to the Temple late in the evening.
I met the guys over lunch today after waiting near the Temple for some time before high sun. They seemed to be proceeding well in their respective endeavors. I went over everything I had learned so far, and that I needed a few more days to see if the urchins turned anything up. I have mostly given up on finding anything out on Gorful at this point, sad as it is. We talked at length, and eventually, mostly at Kazir’s suggestion, decided to pursue Alandindion’s tomb in Formyr. We would meet on Midwinter morning and leave then, giving us enough time to finish our scribing, crafting, and investigating before leaving.
While scribing a scroll this afternoon I became increasingly distracted with the amount of time that has passed since I last had the acquaintance of the fairer sex. Deneir offers us little guidance on this point, though many of his sages have stressed that in the great emotions of love, we are likely to find the words that would best fit the Metatext.
Part of the problem is surely that to date I lack a suitable location for any romantic encounters with women of the right sort. The Temple is hardly a suitable location for such a tryst, and I recoil at the thought of bedding a harlot like those Mott and Rikard introduced me to.
I resolve now to redouble my efforts to improve my station here in Harren. And I admit that my reasons are mainly to find an acceptable woman. I shall let tonight be the first night. Lord Macon’s servant, Miralda, had mentioned an inn in the Coinsward that she said Lord Macon enjoyed dining at. I shall go there tonight and see what I can see.
Cinerarium
First Post
Hammer 27
Troubling news today from the urchins. One of them, Ugliol, introduced me to a girl of perhaps eleven that he claimed was his cousin. This girl, Duena, told me that she had seen a man matching Gorful’s description about a week ago, around the time when Omad had spotted him. She had begged a coin from Gorful, who had thrown her a crust of bread from the loaf he had been chewing. Shortly thereafter, a man matching Chardin’s description approached Gorful and began talking with him. Soon the two were smiling like old friends, and Gorful followed Chardin away.
Damn that man! He has followed our every step, and continues to block our way! Now I must fear for the safety of all who know of what happened with Lordling Macon. Clifticus and the Deneirites are probably safe in the Temples, but who knows if Chardin will strike at them. And I must also remember Bugdul, the orc Toth claims waits for us outside the Harren gates.
But back to last night’s outing. It was with serious trepidation I entered the Stargaze Inn last night, alone. I found a place at the bar, and was soon in conversation with several other patrons my age or older. They introduced me to some of their other friends, who were looking for a place with some “more excitement,” and invited me along.
I happily followed, liking these companions whose names I will exclude for the moment. We happened into another tavern in the Coinsward, where I was shocked at the price of wine, though I managed to hide it. My companions took to me quickly enough, though, and I found them good drinking partners. At one point, as we sat on low chairs around a candlelit table, a delightful young lady on my lap (I say young, but in truth she was at least five years my senior), one complained how the crowd at the tavern that night was less than thrilling. I expressed my innocence as a relative newcomer to Harren, and asked where the nightlife was better. He mentioned a place called “the Kitchen,” but was quickly shushed by his friends. The conversation changed, and we never returned to that subject. I shall have to discover more about this “Kitchen.”
Hammer 28
Yesterday, before leaving on another excursion, I penned a letter to my father, included here for reference:
Later in the evening I left again to find out more about the “Kitchen.” A few well-placed inquiries with one of those I had made the night before, the Lordling Kevolio Rulios, made of course in confidence, after several drinks, netted me some fascinating information. He was the one who had mentioned the Kitchen, and after I promised to pick up the tab on an evening’s drinking, he agreed to go along with me. After several rounds, when I was near to fainting myself, he finally opened up.
On Opulio St (there’s that name again!) there is a horrid little ramshackle tavern named, simply enough, the Soup Kitchen. Only the most nefarious and foul-smelling denizens of Harren frequent its environs. The swill they serve is vile, and the food inedible.
However, (and this I find hard to believe) the rear wall of the Kitchen abuts what appears to be an empty tannery warehouse on the adjacent street. This building, however, is apparently one of the most opulent and exclusive clubs in the city. Only the finest priced harlots work those rooms, though not all the love making is for profit, as many upstanding gentlemen and ladies take their paramours there to escape the public eye (often arriving in covered carriages to the Kitchen, then being ushered – hooded and cloaked – through the hidden rear wall, if the story is to be believed).
The owner of the Kitchen, one Fink the Walrus, takes his job seriously. The carriages are quickly hidden and well-guarded. Anyone asking too many questions is quickly beaten senseless, and a second transgression results in death.
Finally (and this I believe is the key), the warehouse acts as a central place for the upscale black market – narcotics and other unsavory magical items are always for sale.
My acquaintance stared at me numbly for a minute when I suggested that I would like to join such a club – that as an adventurer, traveler, and epicurean I could not resist the lure. After another round of shots and further negotiations, I revealed that I could come into possession of some Tears of Lys, if that would help in the bargain. At this his eyebrows rose. He leaned forward, the alcohol heavy on his breath. “I… er… a friend of mine… would be very interested in procuring that. I could… I mean, he could… sponsor you into the club, in exchange for such a gift.”
“Well, of course such a gift would be extraordinarily expensive for me to acquire, but your friends are my friends. I suppose, in exchange for sponsorship and a year’s membership fees, I could arrange it. For you.” Suddenly I am a drug dealer. Well, who am I to comment on another’s habits, so long as nobody else gets hurt?
“A year!” he exclaimed, then looked around nervously and settled back in, sipping another shot and grimacing. “I could do… four months?” I knew I had him now. He was almost pleading with me, though despite the alcohol he was hardly phased, now that we were coming into a serious conversation. From talking with Fineon, I have realized that those sad addicts of alcohol can act almost completely normally, even when heavily intoxicated.
“Six months, and you’ve got a deal, friend.” I offered my hand.
“Done,” he said, though I could tell we would never be friends, and he would likely never speak to me again after this.
Troubling news today from the urchins. One of them, Ugliol, introduced me to a girl of perhaps eleven that he claimed was his cousin. This girl, Duena, told me that she had seen a man matching Gorful’s description about a week ago, around the time when Omad had spotted him. She had begged a coin from Gorful, who had thrown her a crust of bread from the loaf he had been chewing. Shortly thereafter, a man matching Chardin’s description approached Gorful and began talking with him. Soon the two were smiling like old friends, and Gorful followed Chardin away.
Damn that man! He has followed our every step, and continues to block our way! Now I must fear for the safety of all who know of what happened with Lordling Macon. Clifticus and the Deneirites are probably safe in the Temples, but who knows if Chardin will strike at them. And I must also remember Bugdul, the orc Toth claims waits for us outside the Harren gates.
But back to last night’s outing. It was with serious trepidation I entered the Stargaze Inn last night, alone. I found a place at the bar, and was soon in conversation with several other patrons my age or older. They introduced me to some of their other friends, who were looking for a place with some “more excitement,” and invited me along.
I happily followed, liking these companions whose names I will exclude for the moment. We happened into another tavern in the Coinsward, where I was shocked at the price of wine, though I managed to hide it. My companions took to me quickly enough, though, and I found them good drinking partners. At one point, as we sat on low chairs around a candlelit table, a delightful young lady on my lap (I say young, but in truth she was at least five years my senior), one complained how the crowd at the tavern that night was less than thrilling. I expressed my innocence as a relative newcomer to Harren, and asked where the nightlife was better. He mentioned a place called “the Kitchen,” but was quickly shushed by his friends. The conversation changed, and we never returned to that subject. I shall have to discover more about this “Kitchen.”
Hammer 28
Yesterday, before leaving on another excursion, I penned a letter to my father, included here for reference:
Later in the evening I left again to find out more about the “Kitchen.” A few well-placed inquiries with one of those I had made the night before, the Lordling Kevolio Rulios, made of course in confidence, after several drinks, netted me some fascinating information. He was the one who had mentioned the Kitchen, and after I promised to pick up the tab on an evening’s drinking, he agreed to go along with me. After several rounds, when I was near to fainting myself, he finally opened up.
On Opulio St (there’s that name again!) there is a horrid little ramshackle tavern named, simply enough, the Soup Kitchen. Only the most nefarious and foul-smelling denizens of Harren frequent its environs. The swill they serve is vile, and the food inedible.
However, (and this I find hard to believe) the rear wall of the Kitchen abuts what appears to be an empty tannery warehouse on the adjacent street. This building, however, is apparently one of the most opulent and exclusive clubs in the city. Only the finest priced harlots work those rooms, though not all the love making is for profit, as many upstanding gentlemen and ladies take their paramours there to escape the public eye (often arriving in covered carriages to the Kitchen, then being ushered – hooded and cloaked – through the hidden rear wall, if the story is to be believed).
The owner of the Kitchen, one Fink the Walrus, takes his job seriously. The carriages are quickly hidden and well-guarded. Anyone asking too many questions is quickly beaten senseless, and a second transgression results in death.
Finally (and this I believe is the key), the warehouse acts as a central place for the upscale black market – narcotics and other unsavory magical items are always for sale.
My acquaintance stared at me numbly for a minute when I suggested that I would like to join such a club – that as an adventurer, traveler, and epicurean I could not resist the lure. After another round of shots and further negotiations, I revealed that I could come into possession of some Tears of Lys, if that would help in the bargain. At this his eyebrows rose. He leaned forward, the alcohol heavy on his breath. “I… er… a friend of mine… would be very interested in procuring that. I could… I mean, he could… sponsor you into the club, in exchange for such a gift.”
“Well, of course such a gift would be extraordinarily expensive for me to acquire, but your friends are my friends. I suppose, in exchange for sponsorship and a year’s membership fees, I could arrange it. For you.” Suddenly I am a drug dealer. Well, who am I to comment on another’s habits, so long as nobody else gets hurt?
“A year!” he exclaimed, then looked around nervously and settled back in, sipping another shot and grimacing. “I could do… four months?” I knew I had him now. He was almost pleading with me, though despite the alcohol he was hardly phased, now that we were coming into a serious conversation. From talking with Fineon, I have realized that those sad addicts of alcohol can act almost completely normally, even when heavily intoxicated.
“Six months, and you’ve got a deal, friend.” I offered my hand.
“Done,” he said, though I could tell we would never be friends, and he would likely never speak to me again after this.
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