You've met the League, the Legion and even the Sandpoint Seven. Now, allow me to introduce to you K.I.A...the Korvosan Intelligence Agency. Join them as they set off in search of petty vengeance, and end up the saviors of a nation...

'Ratbone', Half-Orc Druid of The Five Companions

* 'Ratbone' was born in the Mindspin Mountains in a small tribe of half-orc barbarians of Shoanti descent. Having been shunned by their human ancestors generations before, the tribe's founders set out on their own and started a small village where they could farm, hunt, and forage in relative peace (for a tribe of half-orcs). Ratbone's given name was Gruzzak Stonesmasher, and his parents both served the village as tribal shamans. When Gruzzak was 10 years old, the village was raided by a group of Chelish slavers, and the entire tribe was either captured or killed. Among the captured was Gruzzak's father and seven of his ten siblings. Among the dead were his mother and the remaining three siblings. Upon delivery to the slave masters, Gruzzak and his family were separated, and he has no idea as to their whereabouts, or even if any of them are still alive. Through an intermediary associated with the Korvosan black markets, Gruzzak was sold to Gaedren Lamm, whereby he became one of his 'Little Lambs'. For four years, he suffered under the depredations of the petty criminal. When Gruzzak had reached the age of 14 (the point where he no longer appeared as an innocent child) Gaedren abandoned the boy, but not before gleefully torturing him and leaving him for dead on a garbage heap. Gruzzak struggled to survive, and found a home living on the streets, eventually making his way to the Shingles above the Bridgefront neighborhood of Old Korvosa. There among the city's poorest and most desperate individuals he lived for four years, making it by on scraps found in others' garbage and capturing and eating small animals, such as stray cats and rats. Due to the numerous carcasses the growing half-orc boy would leave behind him, he was nicknamed by the other denizens of the Shingles as 'Ratbone', a name he didn't like but has become accustomed to. With all that he had seen and been exposed to, Ratbone had developed a deep sense of right and wrong, and he found himself aligning with the former far more than the latter. Before long, this was noted by powers above, namely Kharash the Stalker, one of Talisid's fabled Five Companions. The great lupinal had a soft spot for children, and he ventured on to the Prime and approached the half-orc adolescent. Kharash convinced the youth to take up the cause of good, and in doing so also unlocked his natural druidic and shapeshifting talent. Due to hard living on the streets, the half-orc was physically fit and was very cunning. However, he had never been exposed to any sort of learning and had little ability to develop or comprehend complex plans , and due to his tortured youth and subsequent life as a vagrant he was in no way adept at social situations . The half-orc's ability as a druid was unrefined by any sort of formal training or apprenticeship, but due to his life in the Shingles he was extremely attentive and self-reliant. Ratbone pledged his service to Kharash and the Companions, and also vowed to protect the poor of Korvosa. Kharash told Ratbone that if he were to give up material wealth, then he would be further blessed and protected by the Powers of Good. Ratbone agreed. Since making his promise, Ratbone has taken it upon himself to act as the protector of the poor, weak, and innocent of Bridgefront, especially children. By day, Ratbone continues his life as just another 'bum on the streets', but at night he prowls the alleys of Bridgefront in the form of a large mongrel. One more than one occasion he has broken up a minor scofflaw or stopped muggings as they were occurring. As a result, minor rumors have started about the 'Guardian Hound of Bridgefront'. Against those he finds to be evil and needing to be stopped, Ratbone neither asks for nor receives quarter. Ratbone has recently started trying to learn of the whereabouts of Lamm, so that he might free the enslaved children and put an end to his evil.

Valeris Aquitaine, Human Duskblade

Valeris is a Varisian orphan who ran away to escape abuse, only to fall into the hands of Gaedren Lamm and become one of his "little lambs." For once in his life he loved his new position and really loved the freedom of taking what he wanted and doing what he wanted. With the exception of Gaedren, he had no one to boss him around. Once his powers started to surface, however, and Gaedren realized that he might one day grow into someone powerful enough to challenge him, the crime lord tortured and beat him unmercifully, leaving him for dead. Now all he lives for is to find Gaedren and kill him slowly to make him pay for what was done to him. Over the years he has hired himself out as anything from a guard or bouncer, to roughing up shopkeepers for protection money. When possible, he has tried to study magic at the Theumanexus College when he can come up with gold to pay for it.

Herc Stoneheart, Human Fighter

Stoneheart comes from a long line of fighters and bodyguards. He has been training with arms and armor from a young age and loves the spirit of battle and fighting. Herc prefers his longsword and a spiked shield, although he has trained with all arms and armor. He is always been strong, fairly acrobatic, and has decent intestinal fortitude, although like most of his family, he is not terribly bright or good looking. Still, he has seen some battles and knows the streets. His family has been exclusively employed by the various members of the Orisini family over the last 150+ years, and Herc had been serving as the bodyguard to Vencarlo's 2nd cousin Aberalo for about a year when Aberalo's son went missing. Aberalo suspects his son ran away, since he never received a ransom. Herc Stoneheart has vowed to find Aberalo's son. After all, he had been teaching the boy to fight and look out for himself. He blames himself for giving the lad too much confidence and Herc was not smart enough to instill the need for him to remain at home where it was safer. Herc has been knocking on doors and scouring the streets looking, and has recently gotten a bit of news that a boy similar to Aberalo's has been spotted with Gaedren "Little Lambs."

Katarina, Human Beguiler

Katarina is the daughter of one of Korvosa’s most prestigious Harrowers, the feytouched Varisian Mistress Ilga. Her father is a shameless Korvosan rake who serves as his wife’s “business manager.” While Mistress Ilga is singularly devoted to the Harrow as many are to their gods, her husband understands that those who approach fortune tellers may be taken advantage of just as easily as those religious fools. Katarina has two sisters: The oldest, Siouxsie, inherited her mother’s love of the Harrow. She is a skilled Harrower in her own right and is also a trained Varisian dancer. The youngest is Saryja, a dilettante who assumed all of her father’s larcenous tendencies. Siouxsie and Katarina share their mother’s fey heritage, long raven tresses and green eyes (Cha 14) , while Saryja keeps her chestnut hair cut short in the latest Korvosan style. Ilga trained Katarina and her sisters in the mystical art of the Harrow from a young age. Siouxsie embraced the Deck and grew in power, Saryja thought it was all a bunch of superstitious nonsense, but that their mother sure made a fortune by telling fortunes and it allowed Saryja to enjoy the decadent lifestyle she craved. Katarina was conflicted in her feelings. She acknowledged her mother’s powers with the Deck, but also saw the enormous power that lay in manipulating those who blindly believed every word from a soothsayer. Katarina was certainly capable of studying at the Acadamae. Unfortunately, the daughter of a Varisian Harrower – however famous – would never be accepted, so her father hired private tutors to further her studies. Her favorite tutor was charismatic young man named Tarim, and the two quickly developed a deeper relationship. Later, Tarim revealed to her that he really wasn’t a wizard at all, but a beguiler, somewhat limited in the magical arts, but gifted in many other ways. Tarim’s adventurous life quickly captivated the teenaged Kat, and she imitated everything he did. Tarim’s greatest frustration was the fact that he felt he couldn’t advance further due to his natural limitations, and he longed to impress his brilliant student and lover. He began to secretly experiment with various methods of achieving greater enlightenment. Finally, his search led him to try the dream-inducing street drug known as “shiver.” It didn’t take long for Tarim to become hooked, a fact he tried desperately to conceal from Katarina. His eventual overdose left the young beguiler in a coma and broke Katarina’s heart. It also made her mad. Mad at Tarim. Mad at “shiver”. Mad at the people responsible for the horrible drug - people who would have pay for what they had taken from her. Katarina has combined the powers of her Harrowing with her developing beguiler abilities to discover that a petty crime lord named Gaedren Lamm supplied Tarim with his “shiver.” She learned a lot of other nasty things about Lamm in her research, and now she’s ready to take him out.

Mandrake Sheekmore’: Human Paladin of Abadar

Mandrake never asked to be a paladin, never wanted it, in fact. The choice was taken from him, however, the day his brother, Petros, went missing. It was on that day that he had the Dream, or perhaps it was a vision. In it, Abadar spoke to him. How he knew it was Abadar, especially in light of the fact that he was agnostic, he couldn’t be sure. He just knew. The god told him where to find his brother. He had become addicted to the street drug shiver, and was holed up in the Dragon’s Breath Corridor, a drug house in Eel’s End. All that Abadar asked in return for this revelation was that Mandrake commit himself to the church body and soul. He didn’t explain why, except to say that his new paladin had been chosen for the turbulent times that lay ahead. When Mandrake woke, he set out immediately for Eel’s End. When he arrived at the Dragon’s Breath Corridor, however, he found that Petros had died in a drug-induced coma the night before, caused by a tainted batch of shiver. Once he had…persuaded…Bezzeraty, the proprietor of the Dragon’s Breath, the man had told him where the shiver had come from…a local crime lord by the name of Gaedren Lamm.

O’reginald Rijad: Human Sorcerer

O’reginald had been clean for sixty-four days, six hours and thirty-five minutes…yet he still craved shiver as if he’d last used yesterday. The young sorcerer had not always been thus. No, he’d once been a lesser scion of a minor noble house. True, he would never assume the role of patron of his clan, but still, he had prospects. When he first began to show an aptitude for magic, his family’s name had insured that he would gain admission to the prestigious Acadamae’…at least until it became apparent to all that his gifts were not of an academic nature. He was a sorcerer…a freak, born with a minor talent for the arcane that would never amount to anything of worth…or so he’d been told when his application to the college was torn up in front of him. To make matters worse, his father took his rejection by the school as a personal insult and embarrassment, one which he blamed on O’reginald. In no uncertain terms, he was informed that he was no longer welcome in his own home. He took to the streets, intending to use his skills to earn a modest living until he could come up with enough money to apply to Theumanexus College. As fate would have it, however, he fell in with a bad crowd during his travels thru the seedier sections of Korvosa, and it was thru his new friends that he first met Gaedren Lamm. It was thru Lamm that he was next introduced to shiver, and the rest, as they say, is history. His life began to rapidly spiral out of control from that point on, and he had faced many a debasement in his pursuit of the dragon. It was only as he sat by helplessly and watched his only friend, Petros, die in a fit of seizures that he realized that was the fate that awaited him if he didn’t get clean. Through a ferocious act of will, he endured days of sickness as he went through gut-wrenching withdrawals. Now, it had been over two months since he’d used, and he was determined that he would never watch another friend die to the drug that had almost consumed him. He knew that to kill a dragon, you had to cut off its head, and in Korvosa, the head of shiver was Gaedren Lamm.

THE EDGE OF ANARCHY

“I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”

A simple note, printed on the back of a Harrow card, yet it was the beginning of a series of events that would change the history of the city of Korvosa, and of Varisia itself. Six disparate souls found the cards in widely disparate locations: one while he rummaged through a trash bin in search of his latest meal; another hidden within her own Harrow deck; a third slipped into the straps of his shield; within the secret notes he studied in hopes of fulfilling his dream to become a mage; in his coin purse, which also served as the symbol of his god; and in the bottom of a hookah pipe, reminding him of a past he thought he’d escaped.

One-by-one they answered the call, unable to do otherwise. Their pasts demanded blood for blood. They gathered at the small fortune teller’s shop in the midtown district of Korvosa, their hostess not present as they began to file in. Two knew each other, for they had shared the same unhappy childhood at the hands of Gaedren Lamm, yet their lives had taken very different paths when they had finally won their freedom, and they simply stared at each other across the tiny sitting room, unsure of what to say. Likewise, the others had little to say, unsure of the motives of their fellow guests. They waited, and soon their hostess appeared, a handsome Varisian woman named Zellara. She made no introductions, but simply thanked her guests for coming and proceeded to tell them her tale. Gaedren Lamm had stolen her most valued possession from her: her mother’s Harrow deck. Her son went to Lamm to retrieve the deck, and was killed by the crime lord outright. Zellara found no help from law enforcement, and so relied on her own wits and skill with the Harrow. In time, she discovered one of Gaedren’s many hideouts, and discovered the names of others who harbored grudges against him as well. Thus her divinations had led her to call those before her, and to appeal to them for their aid in seeking vengeance against a common devil. There was no hesitation among those gathered in accepting her request. She thanked them, and before they left, she read the fortunes of each in the cards. All told a similar tale…a coming time of unrest and violence in the streets, and the role each of them would play as heroes to the city in its hour of greatest need.
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The old fishery that served as Gaedren Lamm’s current hideout had stood abandoned after its former owner was killed by a devilfish. Under Korvosan law, buildings abandoned under such circumstances automatically reverted to the city, to be held in escrow for two years. Even after this period, however, the local government was slow to handle such matters, and Gaedren often used this to his advantage, setting up shop in a previously abandoned shop for as long as possible before moving on to the next. Not only was the fishery a convenient headquarters, but it also served as a money-making scheme to supplement what was brought in by his pick-pocketing ‘Little Lambs.’ It was a place where desperate fishermen could sell of their less fetching catches, and where fishmongers could dump their old sun-tainted wares. Lamm’s workforce of enslaved orphans toiled among the guts and slime, creating a foul-smelling slurry that could be resold as bait, fertilizer, or the main ingredient for ‘fish dumplings,’ a local favorite among the poorer dock workers who couldn’t afford a fresh filet of fish.

Zellara’s enforcers made their way along the wharfs from her shop to the fishery, exchanging superficial courtesies along the way, but each harboring suspicions and misgivings about the motivations of his or her companions. By the time they arrived, it was well after sunset, and the building was closed up for the night. This did not deter them. Some of them had waited most of their lives for that moment, while others for a far shorter time, but they all had one thing in common: their desire to see Gaedren Lamm pay for his crimes was all-consuming. Without hesitation, the big warrior called Herc used his shield to batter in the front door. In the front room beyond, they surprised a very startled-looking, sour-faced man, dressed in out-of-date finery. He was speaking with a small boy, and slowly rising to its feet, a deep snarl in its throat, was a powerfully-built cur. Ratbone and Valeris instantly recognized the man: Yargin Balkro, Gaedren’s right-hand man and longest-lived accomplice. Both of them had suffered greatly at his hands during their time of indentured servitude, and those old memories left them in no mood to act with diplomacy. Growling low, Ratbone stalked forward in his mongrel form, his eyes not on the other dog, but on Yargin’s throat. He paused barely three steps into the room, however, as he recognized a familiar scent. Turning, he sniffed the air and for the first time, got a really good look at the boy. It was then that he realized it was not a boy that he was seeing, but instead it was a gnome disguised as a human child. This then was Hookshanks Gruller, Gaedren’s overseer and taskmaster, a cruel creature who took great delight in bullying those who were even smaller than himself. A fresh surge of anger coursed through Ratbone, and he lunged at Yargin, taking the man down in a flurry of snapping jaws and flashing teeth. When Yargin’s dog, Boo rushed for Ratbone’s flank, Herc stepped in, killing the mangy mongrel with one blow. Hookshanks began edging towards the door, begging the ‘grown-ups’ to save him. Before he could make the door, however, Ratbone was on him, much to the shock and horror of his companions, who thought the half-orc had gone insane with bloodlust, attacking a child like that. It was only after the gnome lay motionless on the floor and Ratbone, reverting to his normal form, showed them the nature of the disguise, that they understood and calmed themselves.

Despite Ratbone’s vicious attacks, Yargin and Hookshanks still drew breath, though Valeris was eager to remedy that situation. Mandrake, however, insisted that they be kept alive and taken to the proper authorities for justice. Reluctantly, the others agreed and the pair were bound and gagged and left in the room while the avengers moved deeper into the fishery. They encountered no one else until they came through a door onto a platform overlooking the fishery floor. There, over two-dozen grimy, wide-eyed children cowered among the catwalk supports as a burly half-orc railed at them and beat them with a heavy-wooden flail, ordering them to kill the trespassers, all while he giggled maniacally. Valeris and Ratbone recognized yet another of Gaedren’s cronies: Mr. Giggles, a border-line insane brute who helped Hookshanks squeeze every minute of work they could from the orphans. Terrified as they obviously were of the half-orc, the children did not move to obey his maddened commands, which only enraged him further. As he raised his flail to strike again, however, Valeris and Ratbone were upon him, and this time, they were more thorough in their tactics, and Mr. Giggles did not rise from the widening pool of blood that surrounded him. Afterwards, Mandrake told the children to flee, and they didn’t hesitate, running like rats from a sinking ship. Several of them paused, however, as they passed the tied up pair in the front room. Katarina, who had silently followed the children to make sure they made good their escape, was the only one to bear witness as they drew small knives from their tunics and quickly slit the throats of Yargin and Hookshanks.
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Moored to the pier behind the fishery, was the rotten hulk of an ancient barge called Kraken’s Folly. When the six companions found no trace of Gaedren within the fishery itself, they made their way to the boat. Within its dilapidated hulk, they found only a small colony of spiders the size of large cats. Once they had dealt with the vermin, however, Ratbone’s sharp eyes picked out a well-hidden door in the side of the hull. Upon opening it, they found a floating underpier beneath the main pier above. It lead to a lower level of the fishery that was not visible from street level. Within, they found a large, low-ceilinged, open area, with a sizeable hole in the floor overlooking the stinking river below. Standing on the far side of this room was Gaedren Lamm himself. He was a jaundiced, bent corpse of a man, his eyes yellowed and his skin speckled from age. His left leg carried a pronounced limp as he shuffled about, and he wore only a gray, cotton robe. When he saw the intruders, he merely sneered, for he recognized each one of them and knew why they had come. He taunted them each, cruelly and without mercy. He spoke of Ratbone and how he should have fed him to the sharks when he’d first found the half-breed. Valeris, his most promising pupil, was an ingrate in his eyes and deserved to have been left in a garbage bin. Herc, he told laughingly, was too late to save his charge. The boy, according to Lamm, had died just the day before. Mandrake and Katarina he chided for their choices of weak-willed family and lovers, so easily swayed by the offer of a little shiver. And speaking of shiver, he held a small vile out towards O’reginald, tempting the former addict with a bit of hair of the dog. Lastly, he spoke of Zellara, telling them he knew that she’d sent them, then remarking on her beauty and saying how he couldn’t bear to feed her to his ‘pet.’ He went on to say that she was in the next room if they wanted to see her, bringing looks of puzzlement and concern to their faces. No words were spoken as they fanned out around the hole in the floor, coming at Lamm from both flanks. Before they could reach him, however, a large crocodile lunged, roaring and snapping out of the river. This was Gobblegut, Gaedren’s pet, to whom he’d fed any number of his enemies and charges who’d displeased him. Still, such was the pent up rage and frustration of those assembled, that Valeris slew the croc single-handedly, while Ratbone tore out Gaedren’s throat himself.

Strangely, Gaedren’s death brought no satisfaction, and his final taunt weighed heavily on the minds of the six. When they entered the small office off the main chamber, they discovered amid the filth and refuse a strongbox, and a small, wooden hatbox surrounded by a cloud of flies. Within the strongbox was an assortment of Gaedren’s more prized acquisitions. Most of these were minor trinkets of small value, but one was an exquisitely-crafted brooch depicting a pseudodragon and an imp coiled around each other. The dragon’s eye was an amethyst, while the imp’s was an emerald. It’s value was incalculable, yet even more shocking was the marking on its back…the personal insignia of Queen Ileosa herself!
A larger, and more horrifying shock, however, still lay within the hatbox. When Katarina cautiously lifted the lid, she gasped as she saw the severed head of Zellara nestled within. It was poorly preserved and decorated with unsightly makeup in a crude attempt to give its sagging flesh the semblance of life. Beneath the ragged stump of the neck, lay the fortune teller’s Harrow deck.
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The would-be heroes made their quickly back to Zellara’s shop, but when they arrived there, they found it abandoned, looking as if it had been so for weeks. No sign of food, wall hangings, rugs or Zellara herself could be found, and the furniture was smashed to pieces. No sooner had they entered, however, than Katarina felt a strange warmth emanating from her pocket. When she reached in and withdrew Zellara’s Harrow deck, she saw that it was glowing with a pale, silvery light. The glow grew until it formed the outline of a woman, Zellara, looking ghostly and translucent. She apologized for having deceived them, but explained that when she had gone after Gaedren, seeking revenge for her son’s death, she had only found her own doom there. Such was her desire for vengeance, however, that her spirit had lived on and contacted each of them. She thanked them for giving her peace, and explained that she now bequeathed her most prized possession, her deck, to them. She explained that, through it, she could continue to offer them her guidance and her wisdom. They had only to call.

When they emerged once more from Zellara’s shop, it became immediately apparent that something terrible had happened. Korvosa was in flames. Smoke rose on the horizon. The frantic clang of alarm bells sang out in harmony with a multifarious cacophony of screams, the clash of steel on steel, moans, and even the periodic detonation of arcane power. A wing of Sable Company griffon riders swooped overhead, angling toward Castle Korvosa at a breakneck pace. One of the badly wounded mounts rained blood down on the street around them before it succumbed and crashed headlong into a statue, taking its rider and itself to a bone-crunching demise. The others in the flight did not pause to check on their fallen ally. Amid the chaos, the voice of a Korvosan herald cut through the din: “The king is dead! Long live the queen!” only to be shouted down by the ragged cries of “Hang the queen!” and “The usurper whore must die!” Through an alleyway, they even spotted a contingent of hellknights clad in dark iron armor and horned helms pursuing a small gang of what appeared to be looters. The city had gone mad while the heroes had battled Gaedren in his lair.

Hell yeah the best story hour from Enworld comes to Paizo

A Great group of characters cant wait to see how this one turns out

Great to see Jolly and his lads here; I've read your other Story Hours with interest (a lurker). These character concepts look promising - good luck with CotCC!

Cool, I followed your Savage Tide campaign, but missed out on RotR. If you keep posting this one here, I'll keep an eye on it, as I don't get on the Enworld boards much.

Thanks ya'll! I'm going to keep this going here, and on ENWorld, especially since we're using the Pathfinder Rules. Figured I could get more reader input here on some rules options we're trying.

IN HER MAJESTY’S SECRET SERVICE

Eodred II’s health had been declining for some time. That was common knowledge, but his sudden death had caught most of the castle off guard. Rumors quickly began to spread on the streets that he suffered from some disease beyond even the priesthoods of Sarenrae and Abadar’s skill to cure, and that even Asmodeus’s disciples were summoned from their pentacle temple in the deep of night to try their dark hand at restoring the king. Worse, the castle’s seneschal had apparently vanished as well, supposedly slain in one of the initial riots. Desperate citizens, salty dock workers, soot-covered smiths and all manner of tradesmen, already stifled by Eodred’s spendthrift reign, roared at the thought of Ileosa taking the throne. Dock workers abandoned the seafront wards and caravan men left North Point. Frustrated merchant ships and wagon convoys turned around when they found no one to offload their goods, much less to buy them. Food and other staples trickled into the city, while thousands vied for the last sack of flour or bundle of cook-fire timber in the market. Riots erupted throughout the streets. Entire wards plunged into chaos. Those who did not rove the streets with cudgel and torch in hand instead locked their doors against the gathering mob. The Bank of Abadar closed its gilded gates and a contingent of the Coin’s Faithful stood at the ready with halberd and crossbow to repel would-be looters. The Acadamae closed its doors as well, shutting its students and professors within its walls and closing them to the rest of the city. In the space of a dozen hours, all of Korvosa’s oppression and anger exploded into chaos.

It was into this madness that the six new companions stepped. Their mission was complete, yet now they were adrift, unable to return to their previous lives, and now dependent on each other for the relative safety that numbers would afford. At first they were divided as to where they should go and what they should do. Ratbone advocated aiding the victims of the rioting wherever they could, but Mandrake felt they should return the stolen brooch to the queen. The paladin’s reasoning was that they were obliged to restore the stolen property to its rightful owner, while the city guard could assist in dispersing the mobs. In the end, a compromise was reached, since the company would have to traverse a large part of the city to reach Castle Korvosa, and they would be able to lend their assistance if it was needed along the way.

Their first chance came quickly and unexpectedly. As they passed by a small tavern, an obviously drunken guardsman came staggering up to Valeris, seemingly having mistaken the duskblade for someone named Neffi, from some place called Sandpoint. When Valeris denied the acquaintance and proceeded to chastise the soldier for dereliction of duty in the face of citywide lawlessness, the man became defensive and belligerent, claiming that there was no point in trying to help. The city was lost. Mandrake recognized the guardsman, a well-liked Watch Sergeant named Grau. The paladin stepped between him and Valeris, and attempted to diffuse the situation, offering to escort the watchman back to the Citadel. Grau grew tearful and remorseful about his abandonment of his post, and agreed to accompany the group after all.

Further along, they came upon the edge of a riot where a mob of half-a-dozen men wielding shovels, chair-legs, and lengths of iron pipe surrounded a beardless young nobleman. One of the laborers, a fat, bald man with greasy muttonchops framing his rotund face, jeered at the young man, accusing him of never having worked an honest day in his life, and of being a lapdog of the “whore queen!” As the big worker raised his pipe to strike, however, Katarina stepped in, a wave of her hand and a quickly chanted spell putting two of the thugs to sleep. Between Valeris’s intimidating stance and Mandrake’s polite but firm suggestion that they disperse, the other men picked up their drowsing companions and slunk away, grumbling. The nobleman was grateful, and identified himself as Amin Jalento. He was in no frame of mind to stick around, however, and tipped his saviors several platinums before disappearing into the streets.

Eventually, they arrived at the Citadel, and while Grau’s fellows readily accepted his return, they were not inclined to accept the offer of the young heroes of further assistance. They were advised, in no uncertain terms, to return to their homes or face incarceration. Reluctantly, they continued on their way. Castle Korvosa was not hard to identify against Korvosa’s skyline. A magnificent achievement of architecture, the castle walls and spires rose high into the air above. The entire structure loomed even higher for its ancient foundation…a Thassilonian ruin in the shape of an immense, flat-topped pyramid. Normally, petitioners to the monarchy approached from the Great Ramp, waited in the Public Courtyard to speak to the Korvosan Guards on duty, and hoped for a chance to be heard. When the six companions arrived, however, the Castle had been locked tight, and bristled with pikes and crossbows. The guards demanded to know their business. At the mention of the queen’s brooch, however, their attitude changed. Hurried words were exchanged among the watchmen, and then one nodded that the group should proceed to the courtyard…after leaving their weapons at the gate.

A group of obviously nervous guards armed with heavy crossbows escorted them up to the castle. As they reached the top of the pyramid and the wide stairs curling up to the castle’s third floor, they were greeted by a beautiful woman dressed in magnificent full plate armor…the queen’s handmaiden and bodyguard, Sabina Merrin. She nodded curtly in greeting, then asked to see the brooch. When it was presented, she smiled, dismissed the guards, then led the company to the throne room, asking how they would be introduced when they met the queen. As they rounded the corner to the throne room, she announced their arrival with a loud, clear voice, and then stepped aside. Queen Ileosa sat upon the Crimson Throne, a vision of celestial beauty despite the black mourning dress and veil she wore in honor of her husband’s death. A small silver coffer sat in her lap. Sabina stepped forward again and took the brooch, then handed it over to the queen with a flourish. She took up a position at the throne’s left side as Ileosa addressed the companions. The queen thanked them for the return of her property, something she had not expected to see again. She spoke of her love for Korvosa, and the turmoil her husband’s death had brought to the city. She promised to reward her heroes, but suggested that they might do her and their city further service. She offered them a position at Citadel Volshyenek among her city guards, if they so chose. Then, claiming that her grief had drained her, she retired, directing Sabina to hand over the reward…a king’s ransom of twelve gold Korvosan ingots. Sabina then looked questioningly at them, obviously waiting on their answer to the queen’s offer. The six unlikely heroes glanced at each other, then agreed as one.
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Sabina Merrin and a contingent of the royal guard escorted the new guardsmen to Citadel Volshyenek. Once there, they were shown past the same soldiers who had ordered them away on their last visit, sheepish looks of contrition on their faces. They were taken into the central keep, where a harried and tired-looking woman rose from her desk to greet them. This was Field Marshal Cressida Kroft. She introduced herself and asked for their names. She was pleased to see them, pointing out that they had seen the situation in the streets, and the guard was already stretched thin. Every bit of help they could get was welcome. Skipping any further formalities, she proceeded to explain that Korvosa had enough problems without her own men losing their way and going rogue. Apparently this had already happened several times. Many had deserted their posts, concerned about family and friends, yet some were using the riots for personal gain. One such was a man named Verik Vancaskerkin. He had convinced a small group of his fellow guards that Queen Ileosa was going to ruin the city. Cressida explained that she couldn’t afford to pull any of her guards off duty to deal with him, and she didn’t want to expose any of them to him in any case, not wanting to risk further desertions. She needed impartial agents, and that’s where the newcomers came in. She explained that Vancaskerkin and his men had holed up in an abandoned butcher’s shop in North Point called All the World’s Meat. She wanted the group to investigate the place. She asked that they try and avoid killing any of the deserters, if possible, but understood if it came to that. Specifically, she wanted Vancaskerkin alive for interrogation, so that she could find out if there was more to his desertion than simple politics. She dubbed her new operatives the Korvosan Intelligence Agency…K.I.A.
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By the following morning, the initial civil unrest and outbreaks of rioting were quelled quickly, thanks to the swift action of the Guard, the Sable Company and the Hell Knights. The streets were relatively safe to walk, but a thick tension remained in the air. Riots, fires, and lootings continued to erupt sporadically, and certain smaller areas of the city remained out of control. North Point was one of these. Fortunately, Ratbone knew those streets, and he was able to lead his companions along back alleys and side streets, avoiding the major thoroughfares.

When they reached the butcher shop, they found that it was apparently still a going concern, as several patrons were lined up outside the door, entering and then leaving with wrapped parcels. Dressed in their normal garb instead of that of the Guard, the group drew no attention to themselves as they walked down a side alley and approached the shop from the stockyard. Quietly and unseen, they entered the building, finding themselves on the killing floor, a large, blood spattered chamber where the livestock was slaughtered. The room was unoccupied, however, and they began cautiously opening adjoining doors. Behind one, they surprised two men, both dressed in chain shirts beneath their aprons, slopping three surly-looking boars. The men, Karralo and Parns, late of the Korvosan Guard, asked if they were lost, saying that they were trespassing on private property. At first, Valeris tried bluffing them, explaining that they were there to join Verik’s cause. The two ex-soldiers denied knowing anything about that, at the same time loosening their weapons. After that, there was no more room for diplomacy, and things happened quickly. Despite the best efforts of Valeris and O’reginald, the men were subdued, mostly due to Katarina’s deft use of her magical skills, repeatedly dazing the warriors while her companions rendered them unconscious. Within moments, however, two more men, Baldrago and Malder entered the room, but they were likewise dealt with. Finally, Verik himself appeared, but by that time it was too late. He was outnumbered and outclassed, and he soon joined his cohorts in captivity. A search of the shops offices turned up nothing incriminating, but Valeris did find a beautifully ornate silver dagger, which he slipped surreptitiously into his tunic.

When the group left the shop, a crowd had gathered outside, having witnessed the melee. They began to grow violent and unruly when they saw Verik and his men being dragged out bound hand-and-foot. Katarina and Mandrake, however, were able to calm the mob, explaining that the men were wanted criminals. When they added that any remaining meat in the shop was free for the taking, that sealed it, and the people surged inside, allowing the company to take their prisoners and slip quietly away.
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Field Marshal Kroft was very pleased that, not only had her new agents dealt with Verik and his men, but they’d managed to bring them all in alive! The financial reward she gave them was generous, but their achievement was such that she had another assignment for them immediately. When they gathered in her office, however, she was not alone. A handsome, middle-aged gentleman, whom she introduced as Vencarlo Orisini, was also in attendance. Herc’s face fell when he saw the man, for it was Vencarlo’s nephew that the big warrior had been assigned to protect when the boy was kidnapped by Gaedren Lamm. Orisini knew him as well, and he was quick to reassure Herc that neither he, nor his family held the man responsible for what had happened. Though this did not assuage Herc’s guilt, he could tell the nobleman was being genuine.

Cressida cut the amenities short, as she was anxious to get down to business. She said that Vencarlo had often been a source of information for her, and he had now brought her some ominous news. It seemed a man named Darvayne Gios Amprei, an ambassador from Cheliax whose disdain for Korvosa was well known, was attempting to undermine the city’s economy to the point where he could buy up large portions of real estate from desperate landholders and establish himself in a position of power. Even before the current crisis, he had been ready to recommend to his government a sanction on trade, or perhaps even an embargo. Cressida was emphatic that his plans had to be stopped, but not by simply killing him. Not only would it be wrong, but it would martyr him in the eyes of Cheliax. Fortunately, Vencarlo had learned that the ambassador had been making regular visits to Eel’s End in Old Korvosa, a den of vice run by a dangerous man named Devargo Barvasi, better known in Korvosa’s alleys as the King of Spiders. He would never let anyone he recognized as an ally of the Guard into his establishment, which was were the K.I.A came in: she wanted them to pay a visit to Eel’s End and secure an audience with Devargo, find out what he knew about Amprei, get proof of any illicit goings-on the ambassador might be involved with, and bring that proof back to her. She agreed to supply them with gold to bribe the crime lord, as he might not be willing to part with such information willingly. The six companions accepted their assignment without question.
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Vencarlo volunteered to escort the company as far as Old Korvosa, since his fencing academy was located there. Along the way, he took the time to thank them for how they handled the situation with Sergeant Grau, adding that the man was once one of his most promising students. As he spoke, Katarina recalled a rumor she’d heard about some sort of scandal involving Grau, Vencarlo and Sabina Merrin. The details escaped her, however. Vencarlo paid quite a bit of attention to Katarina on the long walk, playing the role of the gentleman suitor. He also took an interest in Ratbone, inquiring specifically about the half-orc’s charity work in Bridgefront.

Soon enough, they reached Old Korvosa, and Vencarlo took his leave with a bow and a final kiss to Katarina’s hand. He pointed them in the direction of Eel’s End, though Mandrake unfortunately knew the way quite well. When the group reached the long pier with five large barges moored to its end, the paladin was nearly overwhelmed with memories of his last visit there…when he’d found his brother dead inside the shiver den known as the Dragon’s Breath Corridor. Now fate had brought him back, and he could not help but believe that it was no coincidence. Abadar worked in mysterious ways.

Along with the Dragon’s Breath Corridor, the Twin Tigers, the Goldenhawk, and the House of Clouds all were heavily patroned by sailors, thugs, prostitutes and what could even have been a few well-dressed nobles, all carousing together. Only one ship, the largest, the Eel’s End itself, had an unoccupied deck, save for a pair of large, grim-faced men dressed in chainmail. The group made their way onto the foredeck of the barge, and when they were questioned by the guards, Katarina’s obvious charms convinced them that she and her friends had legitimate business with Devargo Barvasi. They were taken inside the cabin of the King of Spiders, where the brooding crime lord sat on a makeshift throne crawling with spiders, as a group of thugs sat at tables before him enjoying a sumptuous meal and loudly telling stories. The room became hushed, however, as the newcomers were escorted in. At Barvasi’s questioning gaze, Katarina stepped forward to speak. She explained that she was an adept of the Harrow, and had recently been given visions of important events swirling about the Spider King. When Barvasi said that he did not deal in the whims of fortune, but instead made his own fate, Katarina asked to give him a reading. Bemused, he agreed, all the while fingering the filigree on the armrest of his throne. Katarina took out Zellara’s deck, and began dealing the cards. Her reading was inspired as she spoke of Barvasi’s sordid past, his obviously successful present, and his clouded future, in which she claimed to see divided loyalties. Barvasi sat forward with interest, peering down at the cards. When he asked what she meant by the latter, Katarina spoke of Ambassador Amprei. Barvasi listened in silence as she offered her proposal, ending with a heavy sack laden with five-hundred gold coins. Barvasi remained silent another moment, but then abruptly clapped his hands in delight, and thanked Katarina for her generosity and entertainment. He then asked that they wait while he adjourned to his private quarters. When he returned, he brought with him a packet of papers. He explained that he had learned of a scandalous affair between the ambassador and the wife of an important noble back in Cheliax. He had paid Amprei a visit, attempting to befriend him and make a proposition of opening a line of trade with Cheliax. When the ambassador refused and had Barvasi escorted from his property, Devargo had lifted the man’s house key. He later returned to the house under cover of darkness and stole several letters from Amprei’s paramour. He’d been selling them back to the ambassador since then, but he still had two left, and these he handed over to Katarina and her friends.

Another great entry from a great group of players

URBAN DECAY

Field Marshal Kroft was thrilled when her agents handed over the Cheliaxan ambassador’s letters, though there might have been a tinge of something else in her expression as well when she heard that Devargo still lived. Disappointment? Perhaps. In any event, she had no further immediate assignments for the company, and dismissed them, though she admonished them to make themselves available at a moment’s notice. She would leave word for them with Theandra Darklight, the owner of the Three Rings Tavern, where the group was being quartered in lieu of the Citadel barracks.

Weeks passed, and life in Korvosa returned to a vague semblance of normality, though tensions remained high, and some neighborhoods were still mostly lawless. Bridgeport, a high-rise shanty town in Old Korvosa was one of these. Ratbone was intimately familiar with its narrow, dingy streets, having spent much time there in the past, performing minor acts of good will whenever he could. These days, however, Bridgeport had declined significantly, and Ratbone had encouraged his new allies to patrol its streets periodically, since the regular Guard wanted little to do with its inhabitants. Little wonder. A miasma of foul air hovered over its garbage-strewn streets. The reek of unwashed bodies, offal, and rotting refuse formed an invisible cloud that permeated everything. Rusty sewer grates spurted pea-green sludge that oozed down the gutters, and rats swarmed in the alleys. Peasants hustled through the streets, grimy handkerchiefs covering their mouths and noses. Yes, Bridgeport had indeed fallen on hard times since Eodred’s death.

As the group picked their way down the garbage-strewn lanes, a pot-bellied half-orc pie salesman hailed them from a corner. He said his name was Mung, and he said that he’d heard of them…Guardsmen who were not Guardsmen, who actually seemed to care about the fate of Korvosa’s less fortunate. He needed their help. One of his suppliers, a man named Algie, had gone missing. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t worry, but four others had disappeared as well in the past month, all of them professional ratcatchers. Two had since turned up dead. Mung pointed out the obvious, that Bridgeport, never the nicest part of town, had gotten even worse of late. First the garbage collectors had stopped coming around, and then the sewers had backed up. Now, the ratcatchers. Vermin were everywhere, and they were vicious! Before he disappeared, Algie had talked about someone leaning on the ratcatchers, threatening to hurt them if they killed any more rats. Mung indicated that Weston, the head of the ratcatchers, might have more information if they were interested. Ratbone made no promises, but said they would look into the matter if they had time.
____________________________________________________________

Events soon unfolded that encouraged them to make time. They had only just left Mung, cutting through a side alley to avoid the heavy crowds, when six men stepped out of the shadows, three in front and three behind. One of them said the group had been seen talking to the pie salesman, and if they knew what was good for them, they’d get out of Bridgeport while they could still walk. To emphasize his words, he and his cronies began slapping heavy saps against their palms. Some of the K.I.A. disliked threats more than others, Herc and Valeris among them. The fight was short and brutal, with all but two of the thugs laying dead on the cobbles when all was said and done. Those two still drew breath did so thanks only to Ratbone’s and Mandrake’s mercy. Just the same, the druid broke all of their weapons with his bare hands, then he and his companions simply left them lying unconscious in the alley. As they walked away, they could already see the locals gathering for the scavenge.

The headquarters of the ratcatchers was a two-story wooden building located on Spit Street. In a front office on the lower level, a young man greeted them enthusiastically when they said they were investigating Algie’s disappearance. He said that Weston would be glad to see them as well. When he escorted them to Weston’s room, however, they found the door partly open, and the room empty, but there were obvious signs of a struggle. A large bloodstain, still tacky, pooled on the floor. Cracks around the lock on the door suggested forced entry, and when Ratbone shifted to his canine form, he found a tuft of hair, a scuffed footprint, and a smear of blood that formed a trail that lead to a covered chute on the ground floor. The ratcatcher escorting them explained that the chute descended to the sewers. They used it to dispose of their quarry. The next choice seemed obvious.
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The chute was treacherous, and several of the companions took nasty tumbles on the way down. Ratbone again picked up the blood trail immediately along the walkway above the effluvium. For two hours they followed the mongrel druid, his nose constantly sniffing this way and that. Finally, down a tunnel that, to the others, looked identical to every other one they’d already been down, they found a door, cobbled together from mildewed boards and rusty nails. Splintered pockmarks studded its surface, and a light flickered around its edges. In the darkness above, they could hear faint rustling sounds. When Herc impulsively drew his sword and began jabbing it into the rafters, a large flock of roosting pigeons came swarming down into the passage. Cursing and yelling, the heroes flailed at the maddened birds, finally driving them away into the darkness.

Still cursing, Herc jerked aside the rickety door. The small room beyond was filthy, filled with stacked crates. Dirty straw, animal waste and dried blood covered the floor, and a stained curtain covered a hole in the east wall. Standing in the center of the room was a woman that appeared to be half-human and half-rat. Scars marred her lean face and square chin. Dirty blonde hair sprouted all over her body to form a mat of fur. She held a short sword in her hand, and standing, backs arched and spitting in front of her, were three viciously feral-looking cats the size of badgers. She seemed in no frame of mind to talk, as she and her felines launched themselves forward. The six companions were taken aback by the ferocity and savagery of the attack. Before they could react, the rat-woman had forced both Herc and Valeris back out into the hallway, opening a terrible gash across the big mercenary’s face. Meanwhile, the cats pounced, all teeth and claws, upon Mandrake, and Ratbone, still in his canine form. Though Herc and Valeris dealt their opponent many fierce blows, her skin seemed to shed their steel as if they were striking stone. Still, the K.I.A. was quick to recover, and gradually, they gained ground, with Mandrake and Ratbone managing to dispatch the cats with some difficulty. Valeris and Herc continued to whittle away at the wererat until, finally, the duskblade reached out with his bare hand, channeling his magic as he did so, and delivered a deadly burst of electricity to her, sending her to the ground jittering and quivering before she stopped moving and reverted back to fully human form again.

A search of the room, and the adjoining cubby hole turned up a bound and gagged gray-haired halfling…Weston. He was terrified, yet grateful. He told his saviors that his captor had been called Beila Atcher, a new member of his organization that mostly kept to herself. During his captivity, she had raved about how she and her brother, Vernon, were going to finally show the powers-that-be in Korvosa that they could not keep their people in the sewers any longer. Apparently, their grand scheme involved sabotaging the sanitation systems in Bridgeport first. Then they would spread the filth to the wealthier districts, expecting the reek to drive some of the nobility out. Finally, with the aid of a local gang of thugs called the Scarred Shadows, they would slaughter Korvosa’s ruling class, and Vernon would take control of the city. Ambitious, to say the least. In addition, the heroes discovered a packet of correspondence between Beila and her brother, which revealed that Vernon was currently holed up in an abandoned garbage scow anchored on the river.
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On the way to the river, however, the company was once more accosted by members of the Scarred Shadows. That time, it was only three of the thugs, including the two they had left alive earlier, but there was a half-elf standing behind them, fingering a dagger and giggling. The encounter went no better for the gangsters than the previous one, however. With a single spell, Katarina rendered all four of them unconscious in a blast of colored light. When the group departed, Katarina left a Harrow card lying on the chest of one of the ruffians. She had scrawled the initials K.I.A on the back.

The ancient garbage scow bobbed in the black water of the Jeggare River. The deck groaned under the weight of piles of refuse, their reek almost overwhelming the dock smells of fish, salt and tar. A wooden shack rose from the filth like a mushroom. As they crossed the narrow, rickety gangway to the deck, Ratbone spotted movement amidst the trash piles as a cockroach the size of a pony erupted from the debris. The giant insect was vicious, and reeked like nothing they’d ever encountered. Still, it was still just an oversized bug, and proved no match for the combined fury of Mandrake and Ratbone.

The door to the cabin was locked, but Herc turned it to so much kindling with a smash of his shield. A dozen rats scurried along the floor of the bi-level, crowded room beyond. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, shedding greasy gray light onto every surface. Piles of paper covered an old table, and sloping steps led down to a room filled with crates and a hammock. Crouched at the bottom of the stairs was another wererat, this one male, but covered with the same, dirty blonde hair as Beila. The family resemblance was uncanny. However, that resemblance did not translate to their fighting prowess. Vernon Atcher was no less tenacious, and though he was determined to see his deluded dreams through to their conclusion, he simply lacked his sister’s savagery. As a result, the would-be wererat king of Korvosa was quickly subdued, once more due largely to Katarina’s magic. Again and again, she assaulted the rogue with a physical assault of arcane power that rendered him quickly unconscious. Just like that, Vernon’s great plan came to an end.
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A search of Vernon’s scow turned up more incriminating documents of his plans. It also revealed the unconscious form of Algie, Mung’s lost friend. Algie was returned to the ratcatchers, and Vernon was brought back to the Citadel and handed over to Field Marshal Kroft. The K.I.A. was making a name for itself, both in the common quarters of the city, and in the places of power. Events would soon come to pass, however, when that reputation would be put to the most severe form of testing…

That's interesting to read.

Things went very smoothly for them at Eel's End. Did Katarina roll a stellar Diplomacy check?

That's interesting to read.

Things went very smoothly for them at Eel's End. Did Katarina roll a stellar Diplomacy check?

/whistle

Incredible!

Well, there was a bonus for the amount of gold offered up. Still, the roll was good, and she had several assists - just enough to hit the number she needed.

HIGHS AND LOWS

The rumors were vague at first: a suspect had been named in King Eodred’s murder. As with most rumors, however, they continued to grow, and also held more than a grain of truth. It seemed that in the weeks before his death, Eodred had commissioned a self-portrait by a local artist of some repute, a young woman named Trinia Sabor. The project required that she spend long hours alone with the king. In the aftermath of Eodred’s death, several of the castle guards recalled Trinia behaving “oddly” during her trips to see the king. Now, it seemed one of the guards had actually confessed to being a part of the painter’s plot to kill Eodred, and had seen her slipping a specially prepared poison powder into his tea the night he took ill and her portrait of him was complete. That confession, repeated in the presence of Sabina Merrin and several Korvosan Guard officers, had triggered a city-wide hunt for Trinia Sabor. Word of the confession spread rapidly, and the guard’s subsequent suicide (a leap from one of the towers of Castle Korvosa) cemented Korvosa’s anger. In no time, the artist’s name became a household word, and once more riots threatened to erupt in the streets. This time, however, the cries were not for the queen’s death, but the death of the king’s true murderer…Trinia Sabor.

As word of Trinia’s supposed-regicide continued to disseminate, the members of the K.I.A were contacted by a breathless Korvosan Guard, who burst into the common room of the Three Rings Tavern. He told them that Field Marshal Kroft needed to speak with them immediately, and would be arriving within a few minutes. The fact that she was coming to them was not lost on the companions. Something big was afoot. When Cressida herself entered, she quickly told them to follow her as she led them into a private room, stationing a few guards out front as she closed the door. When she turned to regard them, however, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“Where’s Mandrake?” she asked, noticing that the paladin was not among them. “I thought I requested to see all of you.”
“He ain’t here,” Valeris growled as he picked at his fingernails with a dagger. “Couldn’t hack it.”
“What he means,” Katarina said, cutting her eyes at the duskblade, “is that Mandrake was recalled by the church. With the recent unrest, the Abadarans issued an edict that all of their clergy should return to the Bank.”
“I see,” Cressida nodded. “It can’t be helped, I suppose. In any event, you’ve doubtless heard the stories that the king’s killer has been named, and yet there’s something more going on here, I’m afraid. Queen Ileosa could have quietly had this Trinia Sabor arrested at any time, yet the way in which she revealed the information to the city seems to me like she wants the riots to return. Certainly, with the mob and the Hellknights out on the street, the girl doesn’t stand a chance at a trial…they’ll lynch her the moment they find her. Even if she is guilty, mob justice isn’t the way. Worse, if she’s innocent, the real killer can use this distraction to throw us off the trail forever. Before Trinia is executed, we need to be absolutely sure she did this thing, and that means we need to catch her before the mob. We know where she lives…a flat in Midland at 42 Moon Street…but soon, so will the mob. The Hellknights don’t seem to care as much about catching her as they do about containing the mob…something about the ‘order of law’ makes it a greater priority for them to contain than a possible assassin. I can’t say that I disagree completely, but the problem is the Hellknights are only making it worse. The mob’s covering most of Midland now, and Trinia’s flat is near the middle of the mess. I’ve got all available guards at work keeping things from getting any worse…and if I were to send them into Midland, they’d trigger a riot. I’m sure you can see where this is going. I need you to get into Midland, find Trinia, and bring her back to me so we can deliver her, safe and sound, to somewhere where she can be interrogated…preferably with magic, so that we can be absolutely sure about her role in Eodred’s death. Get in there, catch her, and get out without letting the mob get its hands on her. I’ll have agents and officers nearby. If you can get her to one of them, we’ll be in the clear. Any questions?”
“If the mob’s taken over the streets,” Ratbone asked quietly, “how do we get in and back out again?”
“You’re not identifiable as Guard,” Cressida said. “They shouldn’t bother you, but just the same, if you stick to the back streets and alleyways, you should be able to move around unmolested. Once you have Trinia, I suggest you be even more discreet in extracting her. Don’t let the mob see her face.”
The five companions nodded. They had their orders, and they knew their job.
__________________________________________________________________

The tenement building where Trinia lived was located in a densely built section of Midland, a place where, at ground level, direct sunlight was a rarity. Above, jury-rigged catwalks, overhanging roofs, lines of laundry, and homemade bridges of rope and boards created a cluttered tangle, a multi-level mess of gutters, upper floors, and rooftops. This was the slum-above, a place known as the Shingles.

Three men, one woman and a dog mounted the steps of 42 Moon Street, aware of the decidedly-unfriendly stares of a couple of locals seated on the stoop. At a gesture from the young Varisian woman, the dog sat obediently on the porch as she and the men went inside. The building was three stories, hot and cramped. Trinia’s flat, according to their intel, was on the top floor, southwest corner. The four had climbed to the second floor landing when a pair of tough-looking men appeared above them, blocking further progress.
“Don’t recall seeing you around here,” one of the men growled. “What’s your business?”
“We’re here visiting a friend,” Katarina replied calmly.
“Who would that be?” the man asked.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat said, her eyes meeting the gaze of the other directly.
“She’s not here,” the man said. “Moved out a couple of weeks ago.”
“Really?” Kat asked, cocking one eyebrow. “Well, she borrowed some things from me, so I think we’ll just go on up and see if she left them, or at least a forwarding address.”
The men showed no inclination to move at first, but when Herc stepped to the fore, they reconsidered as they eyed the bulk of the big man, and the large sword that hung on his hip. As the four companions pushed past, however, one of the men let out a low whistle, which was echoed several more times from somewhere above. It was a sure bet that Trinia, if she was still there, knew they were coming.

“Ratbone,” Katarina whispered. She had prepared a simple spell prior to their arrival that allowed the five of them to communicate with each other via a soft word no matter the actual distance between them. “Our quarry is on the alert. Be on the lookout in case she tries to slip away.” A soft whine of affirmation was the druid’s reply. When they reached Trinia’s door, Herc rapped sharply.
“Trinia Sabor,” Kat called. “We’re here to help. Please open the door. We only wish to speak with you.”
No response. Katarina hadn’t really expected one, but she had hoped. She nodded once at Herc. The big mercenary tried the door. The knob turned, but it didn’t budge. Blocked from the other side. He lowered one shoulder and struck the door with the impact of a baby bull elephant. The timbers cracked and splintered, and the chairs propped against it on the far side scattered. The one-room flat combined all of the amenities of a bedroom, a kitchen, and a painter’s studio into one fifteen-foot-square space, leaving little room for much else. A stack of cheese and bread sat on the counter next to several full waterskins, while the easel in the opposite corner held a half-completed painting of an imp and a pseudodragon fighting atop a church steeple. A single window looked out over the tangled rooftops of the Shingles, while just under it, a woman slept in a curled-up position on a low bed. The four companions glanced suspiciously at one another. Once more, Kat nodded to Herc, and the mercenary cautiously approached the bed, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Halfway across the room, however, he paused and looked up. They all did, for they’d all heard the same thing: something creaked on the roof above. Herc dashed to the window and looked out. Not ten yards away crouched Trinia Sabor.
“Oh, frack!” the girl cursed. Then she stood up and began running full speed across the rooftop. As she did so, the image of the sleeping figure on the bed abruptly vanished.
“She’s rabbiting!” Herc cried, and then he disappeared out the window.

On the street below, Ratbone’s head jerked up as he saw a shadowy figure leap across an alley from one rooftop to the next. The dog growled low in his throat and bolted off the porch and down the alley. Fortunately, he had just disappeared from the eyes of curious onlookers when he quite literally vanished. In his place, O’Reginald stepped from the shadows. The young mage knew that roof hopping was not his forte’, and so he had transposed himself with the druid. Then, looking left and right to make sure no one had taken notice of his sudden appearance, he pulled a small flask from his tunic and upended it. Stepping once more into the shadows, he rose silently into the air, back towards the Shingles above.

Meanwhile, Herc’s boots scrabbled for purchase on the crumbling shingles of the roof that he ran across as he stumbled after the fleeing form of Trinia. Suddenly, the young girl leaped cat-like from one roof to the next, clearing an alley easily twenty-five feet across. The big warrior sighed deeply, stowed his shield across his back, and got a running start. He grunted as he jumped, but he knew from the moment that his feet left the roof that he had no chance of making it. Flailing wildly, he plunged towards the alley below, passing O’Reginald as the mage flew upwards. Fortunately, Herc landed in the middle of a garbage heap, avoiding any major injuries or broken bones. Kat and Valeris rushed to the edge of the roof and looked down, fearful of what they might see. Kat released a relieved breath when she saw Herc extricate himself from the trash.
“Looks ok to me,” Valeris chuckled. “Good thing he landed on his head.”
A moment later, both of them drew back in startled surprise as a large, furry shape hurtled past them, easily clearing the gap between rooftops in a single bound. Ratbone landed nimbly on the other side, and sped after Trinia. She looked back in horror as the huge mongrel gained ground on her, squeezing through small holes, scrambling over low walls, threading across narrow plank bridges, and finding hidden shortcuts among the detritus and debris of the Shingles. Before she knew it, the brute was right behind her, no more than a dozen feet away. Desperately, she pulled a small wand from her belt, but as she prepared to speak the command word, the dog abruptly shimmered and changed before her eyes, until a burly, shabbily-dressed half-orc stood in front of her.
“Please,” he said in a surprisingly gentle voice. “You must stop. We’re here to help you, but you’re not safe. If the mob catches you, they’ll kill you!”
“How do I know you’re not working with them?” Trinia cried, glancing back over her shoulder where she saw Valeris, and Katarina scrambling clumsily through the hovels, drawing closer and closer, while O’Reginald flitted erratically through the air, narrowly avoiding collisions with low-hanging beams.
“You have to trust us,” Ratbone said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that she didn’t. He sensed she was about to bolt again. Concentrating, he forced his body through another painful transformation, taking the form of a large ape. He’d seen one once in a menagerie, and had been impressed with its strength. Trinia gasped in horror and turned to run, but before she could go two steps, Ratbone grabbed her and pulled her into his crushing embrace. His grip was like a vice, and she knew there was no escape.
“Please!” she pleaded, breaking down into wracking sobs. “I’m being set up! I didn’t kill anyone! I don’t want to die!”
“We believe you,” Katarina said soothingly as she approached. “We just want to take you safely to others who will believe you as well. We want you to have a chance to tell your side of the story.”
“R…really?” Trinia stammered, a faint flicker of hope in her eyes. “You mean it?”
“You have my word,” Ratbone replied, returning to his true form once more, yet careful not to relax his hold on the wily girl. “ I will not allow you to come to harm.”
Gradually, he felt her begin to calm, and loosened his hold slightly.
“Now,” Kat said, “we need to see about getting you out of her discreetly.”
She reached into a pouch at her belt and drew out several small vials of dyes and unguents. If there was one thing Varisians were good at, it was being able to blend into their surroundings.
_____________________________________________________________

The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek proved surprisingly easy, and Trinia was handed over to the Guard without incident.
“See that no harm comes to her,” Ratbone instructed the soldiers, “or you’ll answer to me.”
The guardsmen laughed nervously, but they saw no humor echoed in the half-orc’s eyes. They nodded briefly, then escorted the girl away. She glanced back over her shoulder as she disappeared inside the keep. As the five companions turned to go, however, another Guard stopped them.
“The Field Marshal asked that you report to her as soon as you returned. I should warn you, though, she’s not alone.”
“Why should we care?” Valeris glowered.
The guard shrugged. “It’s just that during the recent riots, one of those Shoanti kids went and got himself killed. Now the rest of them are all worked up…if it’s not one uprising about to erupt, it’s another! Field Marshal Kroft’s got the Shoanti ambassador in her office, trying to talk some sense into him. Guess she wants your input.”

The entered the Citadel and were escorted to Cressida’s office. When they entered, they saw that the Guardsman had spoken true. A tall, rail-thin Shoanti man of perhaps some sixty winters stood before her desk. He leaned heavily on a walking stick, the polished femur of some giant beast crowned with a firepelt cougar’s skull. He wore a shirt decorated with countless jangling animal bones, many painstakingly scrawled with dozens of tiny symbols and glyphs. A bearskin cloak was draped about his bony shoulders, and war paint in the shape of a skull decorated his face. The Shoanti’s eyes were milky, as if her were blind, and a regal, red-feathered razor crow perched on his arm.
“Ah, you’ve returned,” Cressida said as the man regarded them impassively. “I heard that you were successful in your mission. Congratulations. Allow me to introduce Thousand Bones, a Way-Keeper for the Skoan-Quah, the Clan of the Skull. He and his people within Korvosa have been instrumental in seeking peaceful accords between our people. However,” she sighed and glanced at the Shoanti before continuing, “during the most recent violence, one of Thousand Bones’ grandsons, a young warrior named Gaekhen, was murdered by a mob of vigilantes.”
As she paused, Thousand Bones began to speak, his voice deep, his words carefully chosen, but delivered with a barely restrained anger.
“My people have worked hard to understand yours, yet it seems each day we see new examples of how your people work just as hard to foster old hatreds. My grandson is dead, beaten to death by cowards in your city streets. I do not blame you, yet still Gaekhen is dead, and my son and his kin are not so forgiving as I. They wish to return to the Skoan-Quah in the Cinderlands, to join with the Sklar-Quah and rally to war against Korvosa. This would be disastrous, for both our peoples. Amends must be made. Our ways are not yours. If a body does not go whole to the fires of the gods, the smoke of a warrior’s spirit cannot rise to the Great Sky. If I could send Gaekhen’s body to the Great Sky with honor and dignity, his father and brothers would listen to me and stay their wrath…the talks of peace between my people and yours can continue. But he was not just murdered. His body was taken from the scene of his death, sold by a peddler of corpses to a necromancer named Rolth, a criminal to both our people. I have spoken with the spirits, and they have revealed to me that Gaekhen’s body has been taken to a place below your boneyard, a place the spirits call the Dead Warrens. With this knowledge, I could surely lead a group of my finest warriors into your boneyard to retrieve Gaekhen’s body, but this would be seen as an act of aggression by your people. No, it falls to you to make amends for what has been done. You must bring me Gaekhen’s body, lest we be forced to recover him ourselves. And although it pains my heart to say it…we will not be gentle if it comes to this.”
Thousand Bones nodded curtly to Cressida, and then turned and left the room without another word.

“I apologize for his behavior,” Cressida sighed as she seated herself on the corner of her desk, “but to a great extent I agree with his assessment. Someone tied to Korvosa needs to find Gaekhen’s body and return it to the Shoanti as a gesture of good will, or things will quickly go from bad to worse. Normally, I would contact the Church of Pharasma to organize an expedition into one of the warrens, but you’ve proven yourselves capable, and I have faith in you. Any questions?”
“It might seem like a silly question,” Ratbone asked, “but how will we recognize the boy if we find him?”
“An excellent question,” Cressida nodded. “Thousand Bones described him as about eighteen years old, with short brown hair and a distinctive scar from a firepelt’s claw on his left cheek. He also had several large and distinctive Shoanti tribal tattoos on his arms and torso. It’s unlikely that any other freshly-killed Shoanti are in the Dead Warrens today, so that should be a dead giveaway.”
“These Dead Warrens,” Herc’s baritone voice intoned, “what are they?”
“Gray District is riddled with underground chambers,” Cressida replied, “some of them burrowed by ghouls or other monsters, others remnants of ancient Shoanti burial grounds. Some of these are patrolled and kept clear by the Pharasmans, but the district is vast and tangled. The priests focus on containing the problems with undead and necromancers, but as soon as they wipe out one, it seems as if two are ready to spring up in its place. The problem’s particularly vexing in Potter’s Ward, where the bodies of the poor and homeless are buried. According to Thousand Bones, the Dead Warrens were one of his people’s burial vaults, chambers that lie under Potter’s Ward.”
“I’m familiar with Potter’s Ward,” Ratbone said softly. “I’ve known many among the street people who have gone to their final reward in that cold ground. Yet it’s a large place, and most of its graves unmarked. How will we find these warrens?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Cressida nodded again. “It just so happens that we have the man who sold Gaekhen’s body to Rolth in custody, a simpleton named Elkaris. He spilled everything when we told him what was going on and how much trouble he was in. In any event, he says he delivered the body via wheelbarrow to a partially collapsed mausoleum deep in Potter’s Ward, near the southern edge. A toppled and headless statue of a sword-wielding gargoyle lay in the dirt near the mausoleum’s entrance…he was told to leave the body behind the gargoyle. This location matches where Thousand Bones believes the Dead Warrens used to be located, so that’s the best place to start the search.”
_____________________________________________________

Korvosa’s vast graveyard, the Gray District, was a mournful place even by day. Alone in the city, that place was quiet and calm in the face of the civil unrest, yet that calm was an unnatural stillness in the air, almost as if the cemetery were preparing itself for a vast influx of new dead. Certainly, that ominous feeling was nowhere more noticeable than in Potter’s Ward, the final resting ground for Korvosa’s poor and homeless. Mounds of unmarked dirt stretched far and wide, indicating sites of mass graves, while crumbling mausoleums from years ago, abandoned by their families as the Gray District expanded to the west, dotted the bleak landscape, forgotten and empty. Mourners did not visit there, for the dead buried in Potter’s Ward left behind few who regretted their passing.

Locating the mausoleum described by Elkaris was a relatively simple task. Ratbone, back in his mongrel form, quickly nosed around the small structure, searching for any clues as to recent traffic. He immediately located Elkaris’ tracks and a wheelbarrow trail, but more interestingly, he discovered several smaller humanoid tracks, each bearing only four toes. These led into the mausoleum itself, and when Ratbone followed them, he uncovered a poorly hidden trapdoor in the floor. Herc hoisted up the heavy wood, revealing a stone stair leading down into the earth. Single-file, Ratbone in the lead, they descended. The stairwell and the passage it emptied onto was dimly lit by patches of eerily glowing mold, filling the hall with cold, blue light. The air was musty and damp , with the stink of rotting flesh always present in the background. The corridor opened into a large room, supported by four wide pillars of stone. The ceiling arched in a dome nearly twenty-feet high. The walls were lined with skeletons caked into the mud…human bones mostly, but some smaller ones might have been from halflings, or perhaps children. Large pits sat to the east and west, each filled with heaps of hundreds of bones. On the far side of the room, a crude hole had been gouged into the wall, providing access to another tunnel.

Ratbone stepped cautiously into the room, his head lowered, swinging left and right. It was thus that he spotted something strange in the pits. Several of the bone heaps appeared to actually be intact skeletons. Even as he noted this, they began to move, rising from the ossuaries with jerky movements. Three came from each pit, fleshless bones gripping rusty scimitars in their hands. In addition, from the pit to the left came a larger skeleton, like that of some type of bear, yet its skull tapered into a beak rather than jaws…as if it were some odd combination of owl and bear. Ratbone snarled savagely as he stalked forward in a crouch, hackles raised. Herc flanked him, the pair intending to put themselves between the undead and their companions. The burly warrior swung his shield wide, shattering the nearest skeleton into a hundred individual bones. At the same time, Ratbone launched himself at another, dismembering it with his snapping jaws. In the next instant, however, the pair was forced back towards the tunnel as the hulking owlbear carcass lumbered into Herc, ripping at him with its claws, and another skeleton hacked at Ratbone’s foreleg. There the duo held, however, and within seconds, two more skeletons lay in pieces. Ratbone took apart the last, and then he and Herc turned their combined efforts against the owlbear. With the aid of a few timely magic missiles, courtesy of O’Reginald, the thing crumbled before the onslaught.
“Well done, gentlemen,” Katrina breathed heavily. “I must admit, my skills of persuasion are more suited to the living. I’m glad to have you by my side.”
“Let’s not go getting all dewy-eyed just yet,” Valeris snorted. “We haven’t found the corpse we’re looking for yet, and if this is any indication of what we have to look forward to, I’ll save my gratitude for when, and if we see the light of day again.”

The small passage on the far side of the chamber split not far beyond. The left branch opened into what appeared to be some sort of work room. Three wooden tables stood in the middle of the chamber, their surfaces stained red with old bloodshed. To the east stood a large hutch with wicker doors that opened into a straw-lined cage. A strange creature stood at one of the tables, upon which lay a freshly-dead body. The creature was small, like a dwarf, and its skin was pale to the point of being blue. Its eyes were huge, pupilless orbs, and a long, white moustache hung down to its chest. When the companions entered, it was in the midst of placing a small, winged animal, with four legs and a long proboscis, on the corpse. Three more of the things were already attached, apparently gorging greedily on blood. The odd little man yelped when he saw the intruders, and immediately reached behind him to unlatch the hutch. From inside, two more of the strange bird-like creatures buzzed out like giant mosquitoes. At the same time, the pale dwarf started towards a doorway on the far side of the room. Ratbone darted across the chamber, leaping the tables to cut him off. Herc moved to follow, but before he could take more than two steps, the buzzing avians were on him, stabbing their needle-like noses into his flesh and latching on with their sharp claws. Cursing, the big merc grabbed one of the creatures and crushed it in his bare hand. He reached for the second one, but suddenly staggered as blood loss left him light-headed. An instant later, he was reprieved as a streaking bolt of energy from O’Reginald’s wand fried the little beast, and it dropped crisply to the floor. Meanwhile, Ratbone skidded to a halt in front of the panicked derro, for that’s what the creature was. The tiny man yelped again, and then slapped his hands together in front of Ratbone’s face. To the druid’s dismay, a sound like a thunderclap assaulted his ears, causing the dog to shake his head furiously to clear the ringing. His quarry used the opportunity to dart past him, but Ratbone recovered quickly and lunged after, landing heavily on the creature’s back. Writhing and wiggling like an eel, the derro flipped around, producing a wickedly curved dagger in his right hand. He raised it, preparing to plunge it into the mongrel’s neck, but at the last moment, Ratbone thrust his neck forward and tore out the derro’s throat.

Unfortunately, the dead body was not Gaekhen’s. The group searched the rest of the chamber while Ratbone examined the body of the man he’d just slain. The druid hated having to yield to his more violent tendencies. He always hoped there would be a nonlethal solution to any conflict, and he felt bitterly disappointed when forced to resort to savagery. The room turned up no further clues as to the location of Gaekhen, and so the companions pressed on. The small tunnel towards which the derro had been fleeing led into a long, worked hallway. The walls and ceiling were encrusted with dozens of yawning skulls, their mouths open into dark holes in the walls. Cautiously, they began walking down, eyeing the ominous tableau with suspicion. Rightly so, for they had gone no more than half-way down, when in unison, several skulls on both sides of the hall began spewing forth a caustic acid from their open jaws. As the group ducked and cried out, trying to avoid the burning liquid, they failed to notice that three of the skulls detached themselves from the wall, trailing long, serpentine, skeletal bodies behind them. O’Reginald was the first to see them coming, but before the wizard could warn his companions, the nearest necrophidius rose up and began swaying rhythmically in front of him. O’Reginald’s jaw went slack, and his eyelids drooped as he became mesmerized by the hypnotic dance. Katarina was still batting at her smoldering skirts when she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and saw her friend’s predicament.
“Beware!” she cried, and then snatched the mage’s wand from his limp grip, turning it on the nearest creature. Ratbone leaped past her, barreling into the thing and tearing its skull from its body. He then turned and mauled a second one while Herc smashed the last one to flinders with sword and shield. With a start, O’Reginald shook himself free from his trance, and looked around in confusion.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You beat them all single-handedly,” Valeris laughed, slapping him on the back. “Good thing we brought you along.”

So what are the players goals for prestige classes or anyhing like that

Is Ratbone a regular druid or a an urban druid?

So what are the players goals for prestige classes or anyhing like that

Is Ratbone a regular druid or a an urban druid?

So what are the players goals for prestige classes or anyhing like that

Is Ratbone a regular druid or a an urban druid?

HEROES

Ratbone sniffed at the base of the door for several seconds before stepping back, a low growl in his throat. His companions knew his mannerisms well enough to know a warning when they saw one. Herc stepped in to the fore, tried the knob, and cautiously pushed the door open. Within the room, wooden tables were stacked with vials, beakers, and other alchemical gear, although the southern-most one was heaped with broken vials and leaned awkwardly on a hastily repaired leg. Three large cauldrons sat against the opposite wall, one of them upended, its foul contents of rendered fats spilled over the floor. Two derro stood over one of the tables, upon which lay a moaning, semi-conscious man. Both of the little creatures yelped when they saw the hulking human standing in the doorway. Before they could react, however, Ratbone bounded past Herc, leaped the nearest table, landed and bowled over one of the derro, savaging him before he could raise the crossbow he held in one hand. The man on the table came fully awake when he saw the huge dog hurdle past, and he rolled quickly to his feet and seized a gleaming sword from the collection of gear piled in one corner. The remaining derro bolted across the room, but a swift swing of Herc’s shield snapped his neck in mid-stride.

“Put down the weapon…slowly,” Valeris said as he pressed the tip of his own blade against the stranger’s neck.
“Okay,” the man said as he lowered his sword, “but let’s not do anything rash. It would seem we have a common enemy here.”
“Who are you?” Katarina asked.
“My name is Michael,” he replied. “I am a priest of Iomedae.”
“There is no temple of your order in Korvosa,” the beguiler replied suspiciously.
“Not as such,” Michael nodded, “but there is a shrine. I am one of its tenders.”
“So what are you doing here, then?” Valeris sneered. “Long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’m not exactly sure where I am,” Michael said. “The last thing I remember, I was in North Point when I came upon a group of men beating a young Shoanti boy. I tried to stop them, but there were too many. They turned on me. When I awoke, I was here, and then you arrived.”
“I’ve got news for you,” Valeris smirked, “you didn’t save the kid.”
“Valeris!” Katarina snapped.
“What does he mean?” Michael asked, his brow furrowed.
Kat turned back, exasperation in her tone. “We are here searching for the boy. His name was Gaekhen.”
“Was?” Michael asked.
“Yes,” Kat sighed. “He was killed by the mob. This has set in motion a dangerous situation with the Shoanti. The boy’s body was taken by a necromancer named Rolth and supposedly brought to this place, the Dead Warrens, which lies beneath the Gray District. We’re here to recover Gaekhen’s remains and return them to his people. Will you help us?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed, and his expression hardened. “Without hesitation,” he said grimly. “Just allow me to get my gear.”
____________________________________________________________

Two open passages led from the laboratory, but the shorter of the two ended abruptly at a door that was completely boarded over, as if to keep something out…or something in.
“Now isn’t this intriguing?” O’Reginald asked.
“That’s not the word I’d use,” Valeris snipped. “What’s the point in opening it? You think they decided to lock up a dead body? You ask me, there’s nothing behind there that we need to find.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Kat mused, tapping her chin with one finger. “This is, after all, a necromancer we’re dealing with. Perhaps he would keep something valuable, like the Shoanti’s remains, behind just such a barrier. Herc, would you mind?”
Valeris threw up his hands. “It’s your funeral.”
Herc nodded and stepped forward to begin prying the boards off one-by-one. As each came loose, it did so with a rasping squeak when its rusty nails pulled free. After several noisy minutes, the door stood exposed. Herc glanced over his shoulder to make sure his friends were prepared, and then shoved it open. Beyond was what appeared to be a store room, or perhaps a pantry, but it was in shambles. Broken crates and shelves lay strewn about, with the foodstuffs, firewood and other supplies they once contained scattered across the floor. As Herc peered into the gloom, a hulking shape stepped out of the shadows. The creature seemed to be comprised of a disgusting amalgamation of dead animal parts. The foul-smelling pieces had been stitched together with thick, black thread in a shape to approximate that of a man, yet it was certainly not human. Cobbled together from bits of a dozen carcasses from half as many different species, the staggering thing uttered a gurgling cry as it shambled forth to attack. Ratbone, hunched near Herc’s feet, snarled deeply and crouched, ready to spring. Abruptly, the sickening smell of the thing washed over them, and Ratbone felt his gorge begin to rise. Then, uncontrollably, the dog began retching violently. Behind him, Valeris doubled over as well, purging his stomach in explosive heaves. The creature kept coming. Herc stepped in front of his companions, his own stomach in mild revolt, but still controllable. The carrion golem growled and swung one arm at the warrior…an arm that looked very human, and was decorated with intricate tattoos. Herc reeled from the surprising strength behind the blow, but quickly recovered and shoved forward behind his shield. Suddenly, Michael was at his side, a strip of his tabard wrapped around his face, and the gleaming sword in his hand. Together, the priest and the warrior carved the horrible construct into its component parts with brutal efficiency.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Valeris said as he gazed down at the remains, still wiping bile from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You mean the kid’s not even in one piece? So now we’re on a scavenger hunt for body parts!”
Michael grimly picked up the severed arm and wrapped it in his cloak.
“Let’s be on,” the cleric said tonelessly. “Someone has much to answer for.”
______________________________________________________________

They found Gaekhen’s head in a room not far from the alchemy lab. The nauseating mixture of decay and strange chemicals filled the air of the large chamber. Glinting saws, pliers, long stitching needles, and other surgical equipment were organized on shelves and benches along the walls. A sturdy wooden table in the center of the room supported a large, humanoid shape…a thing stitched together from a patchwork of dozens of different bodies. The thing would have stood nearly seven-feet tall if it were to rise. The head attached to the body was too small for the massive frame, and it was crowned with brown hair and bore a distinctive scar upon its left cheek. Once more, Michael stepped stoically forward, lifted his sword, and with one, swift strike, decapitated the inanimate golem.

It was now Michael who took the lead. It was almost as if he were driven to find and avenge Gaekhen, perhaps feeling somehow responsible for the boy’s death. Beyond the stitchery, the group came upon a spartan bedchamber, unoccupied, and seemingly, unused in quite some time. A short hallway gave on to a second bedchamber. It was well-kept and contained a narrow bed, a relatively empty shelf that held only a few books and some bones and skulls, and a long bench. A male torso, the chest of which bore numerous tattoos, and with the right arm still attached, lay on the bench. The arm periodically thrashed and clutched at the air as if it were alive. Hovering in mid-air in a far corner above the bed, was another derro, clad in black robes and holding a bone wand in one hand.
“I’m in charge here while the master’s away!” the little fiend hissed. “You don’t belong here! You weren’t invited, but the master will be pleased when I present your corpses to him!”
He grabbed at the front of his robe, plucking something from it and then hurling it to the ground. It looked like a patch of some sort, but when it touched the floor, it instantly transformed into an animate skeleton, a scimitar gripped in its hand. Herc and Ratbone rushed into the room, but as the dog/druid leaped for the derro, the evil mage hurled a blast of green energy at him. Ratbone felt his strength drain from him, and he stood heaving with his head near the floor, barely able to support his own weight. Herc, however, managed to hop onto the bed, where he could just reach the derro. His sword cut deeply, and the wizard cursed and scooted away, clambering across the ceiling like a spider.
“Behind you!” Michael shouted in warning as the skeleton prepared to split Herc’s skull with its own blade. As the big warrior turned, however, the bag of bones was smashed to bits as the priest struck it with a spike-headed morningstar he’d produced from his pack. Herc nodded and turned back towards the derro, who was now hovering over Ratbone, chuckling sadistically. He unleashed a gout of scorching fire upon the druid, followed by several fiery blue bolts of energy. Ratbone wavered, nearly out on his feet, but with a last hidden reserve, he gathered himself and jumped. His teeth clamped firmly around the derro’s ankle, and where they bit, a rime of gold-flecked ice formed. The derro screamed in agony as his entire body felt suddenly heavy and sluggish. The Companions had chosen their champion well, and Ratbone’s very touch could cause those of evil heart to quail before the power of his patrons. With that last burst of effort, however, the druid was spent. He collapsed to the floor, his chest lurching like a bellows. Michael quickly knelt beside him to lend what aid he could, while Herc and Valeris took advantage of the derro’s weakened state to quickly dispatch him.

Once Ratbone was stabilized, Michael stepped over to Gaekhen’s twitching torso and laid his hands gently upon the chest. As he did so, he murmured a quiet prayer, and white light glowed beneath his palms. Abruptly, all movement from the remains ceased.
“Rest now,” Michael whispered. “You’ll be home soon.”
_________________________________________________________________

Deeper into the warrens, the companions came upon a small library. It was unoccupied, but there they found many books on necromancy and the nature of diseases and plagues. The former they ignored, but the latter, Michael claimed. He was not a healer by trade, but he knew that such tomes could always prove useful.

Further along, they found themselves in a foul-smelling cavern, bordered on three sides by ten-foot-deep pits. It was from these that the rancid smell of excrement and decay filled the air. Each pit contained a few heaps of moldy straw, a wooden trough of filthy water, a few rotting body parts, and a couple of still-living prisoners. Standing above the pits was a brutish looking creature, whose head was monstrously deformed and whose skin was thick and blubbery. When he saw the companions enter, he laughed out loud and cracked his knobby knuckles.
“Rolth give Cabbagehead big reward for your head, pretty lady!” he said, pointing at Kat. “You go in pit now! Cabbagehead feed you later! Maybe!”
With that, he lumbered forward, his ham-sized fists clenched to do battle, but before he made it halfway across the room, Herc and Valeris went to meet him. Flesh proved no match for cold steel, and it was Cabbagehead that ended up at the bottom of one of the pits in a broken heap. The prisoners below gaped up in silent horror, not knowing if their saviors had arrived, or their executioners.
“Let’s bring them up,” Ratbone said, having resumed his normal form. “Herc, Valeris, give me a hand.”
“You’re not actually thinking of bringing them with us, are you?” O’Reginald asked. “Haven’t we got enough to worry about without having to babysit a bunch of ragamuffins?”
Ratbone turned a cold glare on the young wizard, and when he spoke, his voice was heavy and threatening.
“You were once far worse than they, shiver-head,” he said, “and yet someone found you worthy of salvation. Now help, or leave.”
Wisely, O’Reginald kept any further opinions to himself.

The prisoners were malnourished and sickly-looking, and each told a similar tale of having been kidnapped from the streets of Old Korvosa by small, cloaked figures. One of them, a woman named Tiora, fell weeping at Michael’s feet.
“Father!” she wailed. “Forgive me! I’m a sinner, a thief and a pick-pocket. ‘Twas my sins that put me here, but I swear, I’ve learned my lesson! I’ll do right from now on!”
“Rise, child,” the priest said, resting a hand upon her head. “You have done nothing to deserve such a fate, but relish the second lease on life you have been given, and use your time well.”
“I will, Father,” she babbled, tears in her eyes. “I swear it! You’ll see!”
_____________________________________________________________

The prisoners were escorted back to the surface, and sent on their way, but Gaekhen’s legs were still missing, and so the companions were compelled to return to the warrens. Retracing their steps, they stumbled upon one passage which they had apparently bypassed earlier. It ended in a natural cavern, the majority of which contained a nasty-looking stretch of mud…a partially collapsed sinkhole…kept damp by rivulets of water that seeped from the walls. A patch of solid ground extended into the mud to form and island, upon which was heaped a reeking pile of body parts. Against one wall, a rickety wheelbarrow sat on its side. Cautiously, Valeris, Herc and Ratbone stepped out onto the island. Suddenly, the mud exploded as a hideous monstrosity that seemed to be made up of a huge maw and tentacles, rose up from the morass. It was an otyugh, Korvosa’s ‘offal’ secret…its living waste-disposal system.
“Warm food!” it cried in a delighted, slobbery voice as it heaved itself out of the mud. One of its snake-like tentacles whipped out and seized Valeris around the waist. The duskblade screamed as it constricted around him, and drew him closer to the slavering jaws of the beast. Quickly, Herc and Ratbone leaped after their friend, hacking and biting at the otyugh as it flailed at them with its remaining tentacles. Gradually, however, the creature’s attacks became weaker and more sluggish, and it released Valeris as it heeled over into the bog, twitching. When they were sure it would not rise again, the companions turned to the grim task of examining the pile of body parts. As they feared they would, they discovered Gaekhen’s pelvis and legs buried within the refuse. Michael cleaned them as best he could, then wrapped them and placed them with his other burdens. Their mission complete, the K.I.A. left the Dead Warrens and made their way back to the Citadel.
_______________________________________________________________

“Well done again,” Field Marshal Kroft congratulated them upon their return, “and welcome, Michael. It seems your assistance to the team may have made the difference between success and failure. Perhaps you’ll consider staying on?”
“Perhaps, commander,” the priest bowed. “It would seem I have more in common with my rescuers than I first knew. It seems preordained that our paths should cross.”
Cressida nodded. “Well, on to new business,” she said with a heavy sigh. “While you were away, Trinia Sabor’s trial was concluded.”
“What??” Ratbone exclaimed. “How? So soon?”
Cressida did not meet his gaze. “She was found guilty. Queen Ileosa has announced that she is to be executed at sunset today, and has invited many of Korvosa’s nobles, military officers, and anyone of real import to the Castle’s public courtyard to witness the event. I want all of you to be there as well. Something about the whole affair doesn’t sit right with me, and the way things have been going lately, I’m worried that this might trigger another riot.”
“But this isn’t right!” Ratbone shouted. “I gave that girl my word that she would have a fair trial!”
“It’s out of my hands,” Cressida said, sadly. “The Queen is the final arbiter on these matters, and with the Magister dead, there is no one to gainsay her. It’s a cruel reality that you must accept.”
Ratbone growled deep in his throat, then turned and abruptly left the room.
“Don’t worry,” Katrina said. “We’ll be there tonight…all of us. If there’s to be trouble, we’ll be ready for it.”
“Thank you,” said Cressida. “My trust in you has proven well-founded. Speak with your friend. Help him to find some peace.”
“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done,” Kat replied. “He is a man of many passions, and his word is not given lightly. I’m afraid he might cause problems.”
“For his sake,” Cressida said tensely, “I hope not, but if he does, you need to stop him from doing anything rash…anything that might bring unwanted attention.”
_______________________________________________________________

The execution, it seemed, was not an affair to be missed. The toast of Korvosa was in attendance in garish gowns, fine capes, and enough jewels to blind a common man. The overall feel of the event was that of a grand ball or party, not an assassin’s public execution. As the six members of the K.I.A. jostled for a position near the gallows, Queen Ileosa emerged amid a great flourish of pomp, as heralds announced her arrival with a fanfare of music and drums. This queen was not the subdued mourner they’d met earlier. She appeared to have accepted the mantle of sole monarch, and carried herself with poise, style, and grace. She wore a green and white silk dress worth thousands of gold coins, and was attended by a small army of servants. Chief among them was Sabina, her expression neutral, but her eyes ever watchful for possible problems in the crowd. Ileosa took her seat in a high, throne-like chair at one end of the public courtyard, while the headman’s block stood ominously at the other. The executioner was a towering, muscular man wearing an executioner’s helm, and idly holding an immense axe. As sunset drew near, the expectant excitement in the crowd built. When the ominous beating of a single, large drum began, the assembled gawkers fell silent. The drum set the pace for Trinia’s procession to the headsman’s block atop the gallows. As they reached the block, one of the guardsman removed Trinia’s shackles and her hood, revealing a very frightened woman who, nonetheless, bravely held back her tears, if only barely. She was led up onto the platform, her arms bound behind her back by a leather cord, and then she was forced over the wooden block before the headsman as Queen Ileosa stood and addressed the crowd.
“Fellow Korvosans! You have suffered greatly these past few weeks. Homes have burned, family members have died, fortunes have been lost. I feel your suffering, for not only have I lost a beloved husband, but with each riot, each burning home, each act of anarchy, my heart bleeds a little more. This has been a trying time for us, yet the torment is at an end. Before you is the face of your anguish and pain. Do not be deceived by this murderer’s timid nature…she is a black-hearted assassin, a seductress and sinner, a viper amidst us all. I offer you all her death as a salve against the hatred and hurt you have suffered. Her death will not rebuild Korvosa, nor will it bring back the king, yet tomorrow will be a new dawn…a dawn over a city ready to rise from the edge of anarchy to become stronger than ever before! And so, without further delay, let us usher in this new dawn with justice! OFF WITH HER HEAD!”

As the headsman hefted his axe, the already silent crowd froze in anticipation. Yet, just before he swung, the executioner gave a strange little grunt and staggered. His raised axe faltered as he reached with one hand to the small of his back, and then brought it to his face, the fingers dripping with blood. An instant later, he cried out in pain and dropped the axe as a dagger embedded itself in the back of his other hand. The axe sank itself in the block, inches from Trinia’s head, and the headsman doubled over in pain, revealing a second dagger already embedded in his lower back. Trinia rose to her knees and glanced up at the executioner in shock as a scream echoed through the crowded courtyard.
“By the gods! It’s Blackjack!”
An instant later, a man dressed in a hooded cloak and leather armor sprang onto the executioner’s block. He wielded a rapier in one hand and a dagger in the other. He cut the bonds on Trinia’s wrists and then threw the dagger down to pin the headsman’s left foot to the wood below. He quickly helped Trinia to her feet and then briefly turned to address the shocked crowd.
“Yes indeed, my queen! Let us usher in justice, but let that be justice for Korvosa, not this shambles you petulantly call a monarchy! Long live Korvosa! Down with the Queen!”
Blackjack’s words spread like fire, causing the crowd to erupt into a frenzy of activity. Some demanded that he release the assassin, while others called for the queen to step down from the Crimson Throne. Queen Ileosa stood stunned for a few moments, whispered something to Sabina, and then quickly turned to flee into Castle Korvosa, Sabina and a dozen guards behind her to cover her retreat. The remaining guards in the courtyard moved towards the gallows to apprehend Blackjack, but the gathered nobles, thirsty for blood, made it difficult to move. At the same time, the executioner, recovering from his initial shock and pain, lifted his axe once more over Blackjack, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten the man in his apparent delight at having forced the queen to flee.

Now, the legend of Blackjack was well known throughout Korvosa…an infamous, masked hero for the people. Tales of his moves against corrupt politicians, cruel nobles, and greedy merchants had been part of the city’s culture for two centuries, and although he hadn’t made an appearance in the last decade, his stories remained as popular as ever among the peasants. Because he had existed for such a long time, few believed him to be a single person. The most popular rumor surround him placed him a series of men, with one training a replacement each generation. All of this, the members of the K.I.A. knew as well, especially Ratbone, whose childhood in the slums of Korvosa had been filled with the exciting adventures of the masked man. Now, the legend stood before them, in the flesh, only it seemed as if his long story was about to be brought to an abrupt end. Seconds counted, and each member of the company searched their own conscience and soul in that span of time.

Valeris was the first to react. The duskblade cared nothing for children’s stories, but he certainly held no love for the monarchy or the establishment either. He found the chaos exciting, and he wanted to see it last a little longer. With a quick flicker of his fingers and a few spoken words, he conjured a disembodied hand directly behind the headsman. The hand seized the executioner by the ankle and pulled, sending the big man sprawling to the platform, his axe flying from his hands.

Katarina, as a practitioner of the Harrow, had known something momentous was going to occur this day, but she had feared the worst. Now, seeing Blackjack, she knew this was the moment fate had predicted, and she knew that it was time to act out her part. Calling upon Zellara’s spirit, she used the magic of the Harrow to create the illusion of a large, billowing cloud of smoke that quickly obscured the scene atop the gallows.

Michael’s thoughts on the subject were more complex. The priest, due to the harshness of his own upbringing, and his subsequent salvation by the Church, saw everything in terms of justice being served. The situation with Trinia was clearly out of his control, but one thing troubled him imminently…the fate of the headsman. The executioner was an innocent, to the priest’s way of thinking, simply a soldier doing his job. He did not deserve to die for that. Pushing his way through the crowd, the priest leaped atop the platform, and knelt beside the fallen man, white light from his hands staunching the blood from the headsman’s wounds. Michael’s gaze met that of Blackjack, and the vigilante simply nodded.

Ratbone had no compunction whatsoever about what was transpiring. In fact, had Blackjack not appeared, the druid was on the verge of charging the gallows himself. Now, he didn’t hesitate, shifting into his ape-like form and bounding up the gallows’ stairs. Once there, he seized the axe and held it well away from the headsman’s reach, preparing to defend the platform should the guards push through.

Herc was a mercenary, but he was not without loyalty. His friends had made their decisions, and he would support them. Stepping into the illusory smoke, he stood on the stairs, sword drawn and shield raised, ready for the coming storm.

Lost in the general hubbub was O’Reginald. The recovering addict had not lived to the ripe old age of 23 by not minding his own business, and from where he stood, the risks of aiding Trinia Sabor and Blackjack far outweighed the benefits (which were few, as far as he could see). As the chaos unfolded, the young wizard melted away into the crowd.

As for Blackjack, he took the opportunity given to him by the K.I.A., yelling for Trinia to lock her arms around his neck, and then quickly leaped from the scaffold to scale the courtyard wall. When he reached the top, he bowed deeply to his saviors, while Trinia lifted one hand in salute, and then both disappeared over the far side. In the courtyard itself, mayhem reigned. The guards had still not reached the gallows due to the press of the crowd, and the remaining members of the K.I.A. used the multiple distractions to blend into the mob. Later, when the tales of the day’s events were retold, only the actions of Blackjack were clearly recalled. If others were involved, it was only peripheral, and their identities were anonymous. For the moment, the company’s loyalties were not called into question, but a fundamental shift had occurred in Korvosa’s attitude. Change was coming.
_________________________________________________________

In the days following Blackjack’s daring rescue of the king’s accused assassin, the Korvosan Guard scoured the city for the fugitives, to no avail, and the enraged queen set a royal bounty of 5,000 gold coins for the recapture of Trinia Sabor. Wildly embellished news of the event spread quickly to every corner of the city, and left all to wonder why Korvosa’s long-absent hero chose that time to reappear, and why he had rescued a convicted killer. Even so, even the most fantastic news eventually becomes old, and thus life in the city returned to some semblance of normalcy in the following two weeks. And then, as so often happens, something else happened to draw the attention of the citizens to a new enigma. Just before midnight one evening, the peace was shattered by a wooden screech, followed by the thunder of a trebuchet being fired. Again and again the sounds echoed from the Wall of Eodred near North Bridge, waking nearly all of North Point. Across the river in Trail’s End, people woke just in time to see a sleek brig burn and swiftly sink into the wine-dark waters.

The following morning, gossip buzzed through the city, and fanciful tales ran wild. Every tavern and street corner was abuzz with rumors of pirate raiders and ghost ships. The Crimson Throne remained quiet on the matter, however, with even the loosest-tongued politicos seemingly knowing nothing of the previous night’s events. With so many far wilder and more interesting tales circulating, the facts of the matter quickly became lost among the frenzied speculations. Katarina, however, had more than mere conjecture on her side. She had the power of Zellara’s Harrow deck to direct her along more reliable avenues of information. She spent the following morning among the inhabitants of North Point, asking pointed questions, and listening intently to the tales she heard. By day’s end, she had learned several pieces of information that she felt held at least grains of truth. The mostly widely held speculation was that the Guard had fired upon, and destroyed a ship full of foolish pirates from Riddleport who had obviously hoped to sneak into the heart of the city under cover of night. Kat believed that there was indeed a ship involved, but she highly doubted the pirate theory. She heard from more reliable sources that indeed, a sinister-looking ship had refused inspection as it sailed into the river. When it neared North Bridge and still failed to make its intentions known, the watch had fired upon and destroyed it. Furthermore, according to these sources, none of the guardsmen who signaled of shouted out to the ship received a response. Some said that no one was on board at all.

For his part, Valeris was curious as to the night’s events as well, but mainly for selfish reasons. In the aftermath of Gaedren Lamm’s death, the duskblade had managed to gather to himself several of the “Little Lambs.” Though he treated them better, and actually paid them for the efforts, he ultimately still followed Lamm’s fundamental principle: to have a cadre of pickpockets and cutpurses at his disposal, and reap the profits of their endeavors. Of course, none of his companions were aware of his after-hours activities, and that was just how he liked it. To that end, when he got wind of the possibility of a shipwreck in the middle of the Jeggare, visions of gold flashed through his mind. Working his contacts among the Guard, he discovered only that an order was given to fire upon a yellow light upon the water. This little detail intrigued Valeris, and when he inquired about the significance of ships bearing yellow lights among the sailors in the dock district, he discovered that such a signal was a nautical warning identifying a ship under quarantine. Just like that, his dreams of pirate gold vanished in a puff of smoke.
____________________________________________________________

A few days later found Herc window shopping near the Citadel, in the market for a new shield. Suddenly, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder, and he tensed reflexively, his hand going to the pommel of his sword.
“At ease, soldier,” a familiar voice said.
Herc turned and found himself staring at the face of Grau, the Guardsman he and his friends had found wandering drunk during the initial riots after Eodred’s death.
“Sergeant,” Herc nodded. “Didn’t expect to see you wandering around here. Are you off-duty?”
“Not exactly,” Grau said. This isn’t a coincidental meeting. I…have a favor to ask. My niece is sick. I don’t know what she has and neither does anyone in Trail’s End. She’s broken out all over in red pocks and can barely keep down food, or even the swill that good-for-nothing herbalist gave her. Her mother’s talking about going to the Bank of Abadar, but her family can’t afford to pay the prices their clerics would demand. Then I remembered how you and your friends handled yourselves during the riots, and how you helped me out, and I figured you all could help. A bunch of resourceful folk like you, I’d bet if you don’t already have a way to fix this, you must know who can. Surely you can’t just sit by while a child suffers, can you?”
“I can’t speak for the others,” Herc said, “but I feel sure they’d be willing to help. I’ll gather them, and we’ll meet you in Trail’s end by sunset.”
“Thank you,” Grau said, a wet sheen in his eyes as he gripped Herc’s shoulder.
_______________________________________________________________

“Trail’s End?” O’Reginald asked. “The slum across the river?”
“Mind your tongue,” Katarina snapped. “Many of my people call that ‘slum’ home. It’s not their fault that the so-called civilized people of this city marginalize and stereotype them.”
“Does anyone else find it more than coincidence that Trail’s End is very near where that ship was sunk,” Valeris interrupted, “a plague ship, I might add, and now we hear of a child having fallen ill with some mysterious disease?”
“A mystery indeed,” Michael said, “and mysteries, by their nature, ask to be solved. In any event, we won’t know anything if we don’t at least have a look. Perhaps the books we found in the necromancer’s library will be of assistance.”
___________________________________________________________________

Trail’s End was indeed poor, and reputedly dangerous, a haven for Varisians sprinkled with a few Shoanti and socially disaffected Chelaxians. Yet, to the visitors, it felt more like a small town than any district within the city proper. To be sure, the criminal element was obvious and impossible to ignore in the faces of dozens of toughs and thugs who loitered on the streets, but they tended to target Chelaxians to the exclusion of all others, and with Katarina among them, the K.I.A. passed through unmolested. The home of Tayce Soldado, Grau’s sister, was a squat, two-story wooden building in desperate need of repair and gardening. Overall, the house felt like the home of a family too busy living to bother with tedious chores. Inside, it was remarkably clean and well-kept, filled with worn, well-used furniture and decorated with the crafts and scribblings of children. Two boys were playing quietly in the living room when Grau entered with the companions.
“My nephews,” he said by way of introduction, “Charlo and Rello. Good boys.”
Suddenly, a spasm of ragged coughing filled the house from above. Grau looked up with concern on his face, but then his eyes cut abruptly to the kitchen, where a dark-skinned young man dressed in robes was brewing some concoction that smelled of cinnamon and anise. Grau’s expression turned to one of obvious displeasure, and he turned and headed upstairs. A few moments later, the companions below heard a sternly whispered conversation, with Grau scolding Tayce for racking up a bill with an expensive and worthless healer when he had told her that he would handle things. Tayce defended her decision, restating the direness of her daughter Brienna’s condition. Ratbone glanced at the herbalist, and it was only then that he saw the holy symbol hanging around the man’s neck…a symbol of Abadar. Disgust etched on his face, he started up the stairs. After a moment, Katarina and Michael followed, leaving Valeris, Herc and O’Reginald in the living room.

The creaky steps opened up into a bedroom loft above the main room of the Soldado home. A young girl with auburn hair lay in one of the beds, her slight frame dwarfed by the bed’s size and the pile of pillows, afghans, and quilts surrounding her. Splotches of an angry red rash covered her face and arms, appearing in irregular shapes and sizes. Suddenly, her restlessness was interrupted by a violent fit of hacking coughs that jerked her entire frame, lifting her well off her pillows. The spasm passed after a moment, dropping her back to the bed, but seemingly having done little to ease her breathing. Tayce Soldado, standing over her daughter’s bed, possessed a simple beauty, scarcely hidden by her disheveled appearance and wan features. It was obvious she hadn’t slept in days. Despite her personal state, she greeted her guests sincerely.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she said, and then her eyes fell upon Michael’s holy symbol. “Father!” she gasped in heartbreaking relief. “Please, can you help her?”
“I’ll do my best,” Michael replied gently. “Tell me, when did the child’s symptoms first appear?”
“Two days ago,” Tayce answered. “She was completely fine before then.”
“I see,” Michael nodded. “May I examine her?”
Tayce stepped aside, and beckoned him over. The priest sat down on the bed beside Brienna and bent close to her. The rash that covered her was vesicular in its appearance, concentrated mostly on her face, but rapidly spreading down her neck. Her glands were swollen into large, tender buboes, and when Michael pressed his ear to her chest, he could hear a deep, unhealthy rattle within. As he pulled away, he drew his books from his satchel and began to flip rapidly through them. Several minutes passed before he shook his head in frustration.
“I see no match for these symptoms,” he said. “This may very well be some entirely new affliction, or perhaps I’m just too ignorant to recognize it.”
“You don’t have to know its nature to cure it with magic, do you?” Ratbone asked.
“No,” Michael acknowledged, “but my healing skills are not foremost among my order. I can research the spell, but it will take time…time that I’m not sure she has.”
Ratbone turned to Tayce. “How much is the Abadaran asking for his services?”
“Fifty gold coins for the herbs,” she said, her eyes downcast, “but three times as much for a complete cure.”
“Bastard!” Ratbone hissed under his breath, then he reached inside his tunic and withdrew a heavy purse that clinked with the sound of gold on gold. “Take it,” he said to Tayce. “All of it.”
Tayce’s mouth worked, but no words could express the emotions she felt. As tears rolled down her face, she simply embraced the druid, burying her face in his shoulder.

Meanwhile, downstairs O’Reginald abruptly stood and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Valeris asked.
“To the river,” the wizard replied. “Just a hunch, but I’m going to collect some of the water…have it analyzed when we get back to the city.”
Valeris snickered. “Sounds like a goose-chase to me, but suit yourself. It’s not like there’s anything else to do around this armpit.”
When the duskblade turned back to Herc to see if the warrior agreed with his assessment, he saw that his companion had walked into the kitchen and was talking to the priest.
“I’m Herc,” the fighter said, extending his hand.
“Ishani Dhatri,” the cleric replied, reaching out his own hand in response.
“So what’s the story?” Herc asked. “What’s wrong with the girl?”
Ishani shook his head. “I don’t recognize the exact combination of her symptoms, but I fear that this might be a harbinger of a new disease.”
“Then why haven’t you cured her yet?” Herc asked pointedly.
Ishani sighed in frustration. “If I had been sent for earlier, perhaps I could, but I’m afraid that my duties at the Golden One’s Vault required me to entreat him for similar miracles already this day. Even if I could, though, the tenets of my church force me to request a donation for Abadar’s power…one that I suspect these simple folk could scarcely afford.”
“Here’s your blood money,” Ratbone said with a snarl as he, Tayce and the others entered the kitchen. “Now will you cure her?”
Ishani sighed again. “As I was just explaining to your friend, it will have to wait until tomorrow, but with the price met, I promise to do so at sunrise.”
“That’s a promise that you are staking your life upon, ‘priest.’” Ratbone said. “In the meantime, it is within my ability to slow the progress of the disease. I will stay here with the girl until your return.”
Ishani nodded. “Then I shall take my leave.” As he turned to go, however, he paused and turned back. “Please do not judge me too harshly. My faith is…difficult to understand by laymen. Some of my more charitable work sometimes requires the aid of those outside the church’s rigid hierarchies. Perhaps in the future you might be amenable to my contacting you.”
He then opened the door and left without another word.

OUTBREAK

Ishani was true to his word, and by the next morning, Brienna was cured, though still very weak. Nevertheless, she gave her saviors a tired smile, and Tayce cooked a wonderful meal for them. Ishani did not stay, however, saying that his duties required him back at the Grand Vault. By early afternoon, the members of the K.I.A. were making their way back to North Point, secure that a minor tragedy had been averted, and putting the matter behind them. When they reached the Three Rings Tavern, however, a new issue required their attention. The proprietor handed them a sealed envelope, saying that a messenger had delivered it earlier that morning. When Katarina opened it, she found a short, cryptic note inside from Vencarlo Orisini. It was a request for her and her friends to come by his academy in Old Korvosa that evening.

Vencarlo’s school was located at 16 Hillcrest Street in Old Korvosa. When they arrived, a sign hanging from the front door declared that classes had been cancelled for the day. The door opened abruptly, revealing a serious-looking Vencarlo. He glanced both ways on the street, and then beckoned them inside.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said, and then lead them down a hall and into a study, the windows of which were tightly shuttered and curtained.
“I asked you here because I have a favor to request,” he said in hushed tones as he indicated that they should be seated. “You can come in now,” he called over his shoulder.
A door opened behind him and a slight figure entered wearing simple travelling clothes and a wide-brimmed rider’s hat. Long red curls hid her face, but when she lifted her chin, it was obvious to all that it was Trinia Sabor who stood before them. She smiled weakly.
“I’m sorry I about all the trouble I gave you in the Shingles a few weeks ago,” she said sheepishly.
“You were all at the Queen’s debacle, so I don’t doubt you recognize this charming young woman,” Vencarlo interrupted before any questions could be asked. “I had only just reached my home the night of Her Majesty’s morbid gala when that rogue Blackjack and this startled woman arrived at my doorstep. The people’s hero and I have had some dealings in the past, but still, it’s been some years since I’ve seen the scoundrel. He was quick with his words, and soon swooped off, doubtlessly to right some other festering wrong, but not before entrusting Miss Sabor into my protection and care. Although I don’t know Blackjack’s motives or politics, I trust his judgment and have seen much right done by his blade. He says the girl is innocent of the crime she’s been accused of, and I’m more disposed to trust a hero of the city than the tantrums of some bloody-minded harlot playing at queen. The matter is simple: Korvosa is no longer safe for Miss Sabor. I’ve arranged for friends in Harse, a couple of well-respected ranchers, to take in our beautiful renegade until this whole ‘assassination’ foolishness blows over. It’s the first leg of the journey where we find our problem, though. Both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company have been searching for the young lady tirelessly…they’ve stopped by here three times so far, and each time I’ve only just barely been able to turn them away without inviting a search. My most reliable contacts have gone to ground in light of the recent uprisings, and Her Highness’s considerable bounty for Trinia’s capture makes the use of new agents inadvisable. Thus, after some time to let her trail cool, I turned to you resourceful lot. Care to escort a lady home?”
Ratbone cleared his throat. “I must say I’m…relieved to see that you’re safe, Miss Sabor. I would be honored to see you to safety.”
Valeris and O’Reginald both rolled their eyes.
“That’s all well and good,” the duskblade said, “but I’m sure you’ve seen the posters around town. The reward for her is up to 5,000 gold! Everyone will be looking for her. How do you propose we just slip her past the City Guard?”
“I would suggest a slow walk through the city,” Vencarlo shrugged. “Go down to High Bridge and then up to Dwarfwalk Road. Then you can just mingle with the afternoon’s merchants leaving the city.”
“Excuse me, Trinia is it?” O’Reginald asked, turning towards the young girl. “I couldn’t help but notice during our pursuit of you, that you were attempting spell-casting. Are you a mage?”
“Not at all,” Trinia said, shaking her head. “I’ve had some bardic training, and I know a few minor cantrips.”
“Ah,” the wizard said, “then you should be adept at altering your appearance, yes?”
Trinia thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened in understanding. “Yes, yes! I know of such a spell!”
“Not to belittle your ‘disguise’ skill, Master Orisini,” O’Reginald said, turning back to Vencarlo,” but if we are actually going to try this ridiculous trick, then we need to make very sure that nobody will recognize her.”
________________________________________________________________

A short time later saw the six companions, Ratbone, as usual, in his canine form, making their way up the Dwarfwalk in the company of a gruff-looking dwarven merchant. Vencarlo had approved of their ingenuity and thanked them again for volunteering to assist Trinia. He refused to accompany them, however, explaining that he was too well known about town, and that his history with the monarch might have drawn unwanted suspicion. As such, he planned to attend to some private business and disappear into the anonymity of Old Korvosa for a time. He asked that they not try to find him. He’d call upon them when the time was right.

As they mingled with the rest of the foot-traffic, Trinia tried to make small talk, but Michael, to the surprise of his companions, cut her short.
“Forgive me,” the priest said, not unkindly, “but perhaps the less we know about each other, the better. If, by some misfortune, you should be recaptured, or we should be implicated in your escape, then under magical duress, none of us shall be able to incriminate the others. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Trinia averted her eyes and nodded solemnly. The group walked on in silence. As they moved through Old Korvosa, however, an overly aggressive beggar stumbled up to them, hacking and wheezing, a splotchy red rash and blisters the size of ripe grapes covering his face and arms.
“Please, kind masters,” he pleaded, “could you spare a few coins so that I might have some food and medicine for my ailments?”
O’Reginald recoiled, and Valeris dropped his hand to his blade, but Michael stepped between them and the old man.
“Take this,” he said, pressing a small bag of coins into the man’s hand. “Go to the Grand Vault and ask for Vaultkeeper Dhatri. Tell him the K.I.A. sent you.”
“Bless you, sir! Bless you!” the beggar said as he stumbled away into the crowd.
“It wasn’t an isolated case,” Michael said after the man had disappeared. Abruptly, Ratbone whined at his feet. When the priest looked down, the dog nudged him, and then took a few steps into the crowd. It was then that Michael saw them…at least five other individuals…beggars, common folk, and even a merchant…all displaying the same, familiar, fiery rashes.
“What’s wrong with them?” Trinia asked, concern in her voice.
“Just be glad you’re leaving,” Valeris growled.

The company passed through the gates without so much as a glance from the guards, much to their surprise and relief. Once they were a safe distance beyond the walls and across the bridge, Trinia mounted the horse Vencarlo had provided for her.
“Thank you all for your help,” she said, turning back to her escorts. “I’m so sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you, but I promise, I will repay you someday.”
She then reined her mount around and galloped off into the sunset. Ratbone lifted his muzzle and howled after her in farewell.
__________________________________________________________

The following morning, the innkeeper informed Katarina that another message awaited her and her companions. Curious, she followed him downstairs and found a young boy dressed in the robes of an acolyte of the Church of Abadar standing nervously in the common room.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he stammered, “but I’ve been sent by Vaultkeeper Dhatri. He seeks a meeting with you at the Grand Vault at your earliest pleasure.”
Kat nodded, and tipped the boy a gold coin. “Tell your master that we shall be along shortly,” she replied.

The others weren’t surprised at the request though, as usual, Valeris grumbled. The walk to the Grand Vault was long, but the streets seemed strangely subdued, with much less traffic than they were accustomed to seeing. When they finally reached the temple, however, things were not at all as they expected. Towering over the surrounding buildings, the Grand Vault of Abadar offered a vision of divine luxuriance amid a sea of mortal troubles. Radiant, as its grey-veined white marble reflected the midday sun, there was little question that the place was a house of a god. Yet, for a deity of law, the steep stairs and ramps leading up to the temple’s great bronze doors offered a strangely discordant scene. Dozens of citizens, mostly of the working class, although the silks of a few merchants showed through the crowed, thronged the entry, scarcely held back by a group of gold-armored Abadarian clerics. All seemed intent on gaining entry to the temple, but the clerics turned away nearly all comers. The clerics’ reasoning became clear as one desperate believer was turned away, his pitiful countenance mottled with violent red sores. The six companions looked at each with shocked expressions. There appeared to be no way to get to the doors without going through the crowd. Herc took the lead, and began shouldering his way through. Single-file, the others began following. They were no more than halfway through, however, when Michael was suddenly seized by his tunic.
“Look!” shouted one of the mob, pointing at Michael’s holy symbol. “He’s a priest!”
“Father, help us!” they began shouting. “Heal us! Save us!”
Before Michael knew what was happening, dozens of hands clutched at him, pulling him this way and that.
“Please!” Michael shouted placatingly. “I am no healer! I am a petitioner, just like yourselves!”
The mob showed no sign that they had heard. Instead they pushed and pulled even more aggressively, until Michael felt himself going down. Suddenly, a strong hand seized him by the arm and hauled him forward. He turned to look at his rescuer and saw Herc surging forward, shield held before him. Within a matter of moments, they had reached the doors.
“Halt!” one of the guards said, stepping forward. “State your business!”
“Mandrake?” Kat asked. “Is that you?”
The Abadarian blinked, recognition dawning on him.
“Katarina? What are all of you doing here?”
“We’re here to see Vaultkeeper Dhatri,” Kat explained. “He asked us to come.”
“Of course!” the paladin nodded. “Follow me!”

Mandrake led them inside. Within the airy halls, priests and patrons eyed each other and every newcomer with suspicion, and every footfall upon the marble floor echoed through a frightened silence. Ishani Dhatri waited for them inside one of the western meeting rooms.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I assume you already suspect my reasons for calling, having seen the crowd outside, poor lot. You recognize the symptoms, I’m sure. I had hoped that the Soldado case was isolated, but apparently we have a bigger problem on our hands than I’d feared. I’m concerned for the city, but also for my brethren here. The morning after my visit to the Soldado home I came to the temple to hear that three of my brothers awoke with similar symptoms, although they had already been healed. I spoke to each, and aside from their usual duties in the temple, none have had any dealings with the sick. Later in the day, more of my brothers…vaultkeepers, guards, and acolytes…developed symptoms, and folk from throughout the city began arriving in search of healing. It’s been more than a little bit frightening. They’re calling the sickness ‘blood veil.’ An apt enough name, I suppose. This affliction has spread fast, yet I’m not yet sure how. Most of the patients we’re treating have come from North Point and Old Korvosa. The disease seems to spread fastest through the lower classes. Although we here at the temple can heal some of the ill, I fear that the spread of the disease will soon outpace our resources. The only way to stem the growing infection is to involve all the city’s resources. We need to organize. We need to call upon the faiths of Sarenrae, Pharasma, and even Asmodeus to face this attack. Archbanker Tuttle and several of his assistants are out pursuing alliances with these other faiths, but even that won’t be enough. We need to involve the Korvosan Guard, at the very least. And that’s where you come in…with the number of desperate souls growing, it’s not particularly safe for a priest to walk the streets of Korvosa. I hear that you have a good relationship with Field Marshal Cressida Kroft…perhaps you would be willing to escort me to Citadel Volshyenek to introduce me to her?”
“This is troubling indeed,” Michael said pensively. “Do you have any theories on the origin of the outbreak?”
“Not yet,” Ishani said, shaking his head. “I hope the Archbanker and the other church leaders will be able to deduce it.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’m already on to it,” O’Reginald said absently.
“Truly?” Ishani asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Not this again!” Valeris rolled his eyes.
“If you have a better idea, let’s hear it!” the mage snapped. He then turned calmly back to Ishani. “The Soldado’s home is near the river. Tayce said the little girl played near the water every day. The quarantined ship that was sunk…,”
“ ‘Alleged’ quarantined ship,” Valeris interrupted.
“…went down in the river near Trail’s End,” O’Reginald continued, ignoring the duskblade. “Therefore, I think the river water is the source of the infection. I took several samples of it when we were there. I’ve already given one of the samples to an alchemist at the Acadamae, and another to an old friend I know who has some expertise in chemistry.”
“I’m sure he does,” Valeris snorted.
“Do you have any more of the water?” Ishani asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.
“I have one more vial,” O’Reginald replied. “Why?”
“We have alchemists here in the temple,” the priest said. “I can have them do an analysis for you as well. That way you’ll have three independent reports, and no one can gainsay your results.”
O’Reginald nodded. “Good idea.”
He passed over his last vial. Ishani took it and said he would meet them at the front doors once he’d delivered the sample and gathered his belongings.
________________________________________________________________

The trek back to Citadel Volshyenek posed little problem, despite Ishani’s fear to the contrary. When they arrived at the gates, the guards greeted them warmly.
“If you’re here to meet the Queen’s Physicians,” the sergeant said, “you’ll need to hurry. They’ve already gone ahead to the courtyard.”
The companions exchanged suspicious glances, but only thanked the guardsman and headed inside the citadel to the courtyard. As they approached, the echoes of forcefully spoken but still just-missed words resounded off the imposing granite and iron walls of the outer curtain. Dozens of red-and-silver-armored guards stood in assembly upon the pitted stone mustering ground, mumbling in hushed, somber tones. Before them, atop a weathered wooden platform, paced Field Marshal Kroft, her eyebrows arched sternly as she momentarily tolerated the crowd’s murmurs. Behind her upon the scaffold stood three grizzled veteran guardsmen at attention, as well as an ominous-looking group. Those men wore cowled robes of oily-looking leather, supple gloves, and wide black hats. Some gripped heavy canes, others dark satchels. Each of them, though, wore a dark-goggled mask that tapered to a pointed beak. Among them stood two others. The first was a middle-aged gentleman in a simple black overcoat with streaks of white gracing the sides of his short dark hair. He watched the gathered guards with a soft, concerned expression, his hands tightly clasped around a heavy-looking doctor’s case. The second figure was an imposing one indeed…a woman dressed in full-plate armor, a longsword and shield at her side, and her blank-faced full helm sporting a bright red plume. The Field Marshal’s fierce tone cut through the rumble of whispers.
“You will escort Doctor Davaulus and his men in their royal duties wherever those might take them. Furthermore, you are to consider orders from any of the queen’s new order of Gray Maidens to be as binding as any superior officer in the Korvosan Guard or Sable Company. You are guardsman of Korvosa. You will not balk. These are dire times and your city needs these healers. Your city needs you. Your patrol leaders have your assignments. Dismissed!”

As the assembly ended, the guardsmen gathered in the courtyard broke up into groups, many reporting for various duties while others loitered for a few moments to quietly gripe about their new orders. The armored woman quickly organized the guards, silencing bickering words with harsh commands and assigning orders for the day. Kroft and her veteran attendants began to head into the citadel with Dr. Davaulus and his Queen’s Physicians. As she reached the door, however, she caught sight of the K.I.A. members out of the corner of her eye. She turned and whispered to one of her guardsmen, who then hurried over to them.
“The Field Marshal requests that you accompany her and her guests,” the man growled, then turned back, assuming they would follow, which of course, they did. Once inside, Cressida turned to the companions, who were being carefully scrutinized by the good doctor.
“Doctor Davaulus,” she began, “allow me to introduce a group of operatives that I have enlisted for...special…assignments.”
“A pleasure,” the doctor replied, though he did not extend his hand in greeting.
“I’m afraid, though, I haven’t had the honor…,” Cressida said, turning to Ishani.
“This is Vaultkeeper Ishani Dhatri,” Michael said in way of introduction. “He assisted us in what we believe was the first case of this so-called blood veil.”
“Really?” Dr. Davaulus asked, interest in his eyes. “Do tell.”
Ishani proceeded to relate Brienna’s story, concluding with the recent events at the Grand Vault.
“I am here to inquire if I might be of service in coordinating the efforts of the Grand Vault of Abadar with those of the city,” he concluded.
“Of course,” Davaulus nodded. “We welcome any assistance, especially that of the churches.”
“Might I ask, Doctor,” Michael interjected, “what are your plans to address this crisis?”
“Well,” the doctor shrugged, “I must still confer with the Field Marshall to form a sensible plan, but allow me to share with you an official proclamation being distributed by the Crimson Throne.”
He opened his bag and pulled out a roll of parchment. Michael took it, unfurled it and read aloud,
“ ‘By Decree of Her Royal Majesty, the Radiant Queen Ileosa I, all citizens and members of the Korvosan Guard are to aid and admit the newly established Queen’s Physicians in this time of urgency. These royal agents will extend healing to the sick and organize defense against the spreading affliction known as ‘blood veil.’ They are to be allowed access to any home or building they deem necessary in the course of their duties. All those suffering from disease or disorder are to submit themselves to the Physicians for treatment. To aid in the duties of the Queen’s Physicians, know that the order of the Gray Maidens has been established to provide military support as needed. The Maidens answer directly to the Crimson Throne, and will be called upon as necessary to augment and strengthen the peace where simple city guards will not suffice. Impeding or distracting the duties of the Queen’s Physicians or the Gray Maidens is punishable by imprisonment. Impersonating one of the Queen’s Physicians is punishable by death. Knowingly harboring or hiding the infected is punishable by death. Purposefully spreading blood veil is punishable by torture, then death. The Queen’s Physicians will be making rounds of every city district henceforth until Her Majesty deems this misfortune abated.’”
“Wow,” Valeris said, pursing his lips. “That’s a whole lot of imprisoning, torturing and killing there. I’m impressed!”
“I believe you miss the point,” Dr. Davaulus said patiently. “This is a desperate situation, and calls for dramatic measures. Not everyone may be receptive to our methods, but if we are to insure maximum survivability, then certain sacrifices may have to be made.”
“I have a theory, if anyone’s interested,” O’Reginald interrupted.
“Oh, for the love of the gods!” Valeris shouted, throwing up his hands.
“No, no,” Ishani chimed in, “I think this is valid. You should hear this.”
“Thank you,” O’Reginald said, and then proceeded to explain his river water theory again. When he was finished, the doctor nodded approvingly.
“That is indeed a very interesting theory,” he said. “In fact, I’d like you to give me the names and addresses of these alchemists so that my physicians can contact them, and perhaps help to expedite their progress.”
“Umm…ok…,” O’Reginald said carefully.
“Excellent,” Davaulus said. “Now, we should get down to our planning. Vaultkeeper, would you join us?”
“Certainly,” Ishani said.
Davaulus then entered a conference room, followed by his attendants and Ishani. Cressida was the last to go, but before she went in, she turned back to her agents.
“Make yourselves available,” she said, and then followed her guests.
_____________________________________________________________

In the days that followed, word of blood veil’s rapid spread was on the lips of every citizen of Korvosa, as was the news of the Crimson’s Throne’s new decrees. As for the K.I.A., there was not much that they could do. Although Michael and Ratbone spent their days in Old Korvosa, lending aid where possible, it became increasingly obvious that their efforts were but a drop in the bucket. During this period, O’Reginald became more and more convinced that his theory was correct, and he waited impatiently for the results of his analyses. However, when he went to check on their progress, he found that all three alchemists had mysteriously left the city on other business.

It was shortly after this discovery that Field Marshall Croft finally sent for the agents, requesting that they report to the Citadel as soon as possible.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been in contact sooner, but I haven’t been able to seem to find a free moment. Now, it seems, I have a new problem to add to the hundreds of others. This one, fortunately, you may be able to help me with. As you’re no doubt aware, the death toll from blood veil has been rising every day. We’ve enlisted carters to gather the dead and carry them to the Gray District. It seems that some of the lazier ones to the north aren’t making their deliveries. Instead, they’re dumping bodies in a secluded backstreet called Racker’s Alley. I’d like you to go and check out the situation for me.”
“And what should we do if we find the rumors are true?” Valeris asked.
“Report back to me, and keep it quiet,” Cressida said. “I’ll handle it from there.”
____________________________________________________________

The high walls of the surrounding buildings threw the awkwardly bent Racker’s alley into constant shadow. Although littered with garbage and filth, the refuse wasn’t the most stomach-turning trait of the rundown sideway. Heaped against a bent wooden wall, rose a pile of more than three-dozen plague victims, their faces blistered and flushed, eyes open and staring. The scent of death was overpowered by the reek of rot, suggesting that some of the corpses had lain there for days. Cautiously, the six companions proceeded down the shadowy passageway, Ratbone in the lead, his nose to the ground. He found several sets of booted tracks, as well as hoof prints and the wheel marks of carts. Oddly, however, he also found the prints of bare feet, but when he followed them, he found that they ended inexplicably at the walls of the alleyway.
“Look at this,” Herc called from where he crouched near the corpses.
Ratbone padded over and immediately saw what the big merc had noticed…twin puncture wounds on the necks and arms of several of the bodies.
“Vampires,” Michael said softly from behind the pair. “I’ve seen their work before. If they’ve been feeding here, then their lair cannot be far.”
Ratbone turned back to the pile of bodies and began nosing further in, pawing aside a few. When he reached the wall, he growled low in his throat, then backed away, revealing a small hole, just big enough to crawl through.

Ratbone was the first through, but the room in which he found himself was anything but what he had expected. Dozens of crooked glass eyes…hollow and crazed…glared from the heads of malformed and half-carved dolls lining skewed workroom shelves. Rat-gnawed stuffed aurochs, disembodied doll limbs, miniature rolling elephants, unseaworthy ships, and crooked blocks illustrated with deformed or poorly painted animals filled bins and racks about the room. A cracked wooden door lead to the north, while a rickety trap door broke the sawdust-covered floor to the east. In one corner lay the drying corpse of an old, bald man amid the wood chips, rusty tools, and oily rags of a scored workbench. Michael was next in and walked up behind the dog.
“I guess he was the first victim,” the priest said, nodding to the six pairs of puncture marks along the man’s arms. “It’s still daylight outside. With any luck, we’ll catch them sleeping. I doubt they’re resting in the storefront, so that looks like our only obvious choice.” He nodded to the trap door.

Herc heaved against the trapdoor, but it opened surprisingly easily, revealing a mere three-foot drop to a crawlspace below. Ratbone leaped down, followed closely by Valeris and Herc. Valeris held up his hand and spoke a word, bathing it in blue light. The area was of the same dimensions as the room above, the floor made of dirt. Amid numerous blocks of various types of mundane wood lay six simple wooden coffins.
“Wait!” Herc shouted to the others still above, but no sooner had the words left his mouth, than the lids of all six coffins burst open. The creatures that emerged resembled humans on only a basic level. Their hair was filthy and lank, their skin the pallor of the dead. Their eyes glowed red and feral, and when they opened their too-long jaws, fangs like needles were revealed. As they climbed free, Ratbone’s shape flickered momentarily and he resumed his natural form and spoke the words to a spell. When he once again took his canine shape, his teeth gleamed silver in the azure light.

In the workshop above, O’Reginald dropped to his belly and leaned down through the trap door. When he saw the vampires, his face paled, but he didn’t lose his nerve. Chanting his spell, he hurled a barrage of arcane missiles at the nearest of the undead. The creature recoiled, hissing in pain, but then its eyes locked with those of the mage. Instantly, O’Reginald felt his will and his thoughts subverted. An alien voice whispered in his mind, and to his horror, he found that he could not ignore it.

Valeris found himself hemmed in on all sides by bloodsuckers. Suddenly, he felt a stinging pain in his back as one of the creatures raked its claws across it. At the same time, he felt his blood run cold and his knees went weak.
“Help…me…,” he cried in a strangled voice.
Herc turned towards his friend, and took a step towards him, but as he did so, he too met the unholy gaze of one of the vampires. His will proved no stronger than O’Reginald’s, and when the sibilant hiss inside his head told him to kill Valeris, he raised his sword obediently. Instead of wielding it against his partner, however, he paused, his mind rebelling violently against the domination. Then, with a sensation like glass shattering, he felt the vampire’s hold break. Reaching into his belt pouch, he drew out a vial of silvery liquid, which he poured quickly across the blade of his sword.

Michael, still standing in the workshop, stepped to the opening in the floor, his holy symbol gripped tightly in his hand. His voice booming, he called upon Iomedae, and his fist flared with brilliant white fire. He hurled the energy into the crawlspace, simultaneously delivering healing power to his friends, and searing the flesh of the vampires with holy fire. Next to him, however, still laying on the floor, O’Reginald tensed as the voice in his head commanded him to flay the flesh from Ratbone, who was steadily advancing on the undead, his silver teeth bared. For an instant, the mage’s hand began to burn, but just as he prepared to loose it against his partner, his own will reasserted itself, and instead he threw the burst into the face of the vampire who’d seized him.

Back in the crawlspace, Ratbone attacked. He leaped full force upon one of the vampires, his flashing fangs tearing the throat from the creature. As he did so, the undead dissolved into a haze of mist, vanishing back into its coffin where it reformed as a hazy, insubstantial figment of its former self. It was at that point that the tide of the battle changed. Herc laid about him with his silvery sword, allowing Valeris time to recover his strength. The duskblade then channeled his magic into his own sword, transforming it into a truly formidable weapon against the vampires. Michael continued to bombard the undead with holy power, while O’Reginald conjured hails of stone from thin air. One-by-one the vampires fell, each returning to its nearby coffin, until finally all lay in torpor.
“Now!” Michael said, leaping down to join his comrades and quickly staving in one of the crates with his mace. He picked up a jagged piece of wood and drove it through the heart of the nearest vampire. The creature screamed in mortal agony as its body disintegrated. Herc and Valeris grabbed their own stakes and began following the priest’s lead, destroying each of the blood-sucking fiends in turn.

FRAGRANCES

Cressida was appalled when she received the report of the undead activity, especially when Michael suggested that the carters might have been under the mental control of the vampires. She promised to send a squad to do a thorough investigation and also to enlist the aid of the Abadarians to undo any lingering effects of domination. As the group left the Citadel, however, a familiar voice called to them, and they saw Ishani ascending the stairs towards them.

“I heard about your discovery in Racker’s Alley,” the priest said. “Terrible. I wonder if there is any end to the travesties of these days. Speaking of which, I know you’ve only just returned, but I have another favor to ask of you. I’m sure you’ve all heard of Lavender.”
“The perfume boutique?” Katarina asked.
“The very one,” Ishani nodded. “As you know, it has quite the reputation for its brazen promotions, most notably the ‘free imp with every purchase’ campaign. Fortunately, much of that could be attributed to avant garde marketing, but this time Vendra Loaggri has gone too far.”
He took a flier from his robes and handed it to Kat.
“‘Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment,’” Kat read, “ ‘the everyday elixir of the common Korvosan. It wakes you up in the morning and calms you down at night. It soothes aching joints, tired feet, sore hands, and throbbing heads. It takes the pain out of cuts, burns, bruises, and blemishes. It smells like chastity, confidence, and respectability, and tastes like honeyed dewdrops over snow clouds. Most miraculously, though, Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment dispels blisters, minimizes swelling, calms the complexion, and erases all symptoms of the common blood veil complaint.’”
“Sounds like snake oil to me,” Valeris snorted.
“Precisely,” Ishani said. “If this is indeed a sham, of which I have no doubt, then it must be stopped. If people are buying into this, then they aren’t seeking legitimate sources of aid, and thus are at greater risk of succumbing to the affliction.”
“By ‘legitimate,’ do you mean the so-called Queen’s Physicians?” Valeris asked.
“I’m withholding judgment on that for now,” the cleric said, his mouth tightening, “but regardless, we want the people to get proper assistance, and this is not it.”
“You’re right, of course,” Kat said. “We’ll head down there and see what’s going on.”
____________________________________________________________________

A queue of eager Korvosans stood in a line that stretched nearly four blocks from Lavender’s distinctive amethyst-shaded windows. Many of them looked healthy, but several bore the obvious hacking, blistered symptoms of blood veil.
“What’s going on here, citizen?” Ratbone casually asked one of the patrons as the companions joined the queue.
“Haven’t you heard?” the pock-marked man said excitedly. “Vendra Loaggri’s found a cure! It’s a miracle!”
“You believe it works?” the druid asked.
“Oh yes!” the man nodded enthusiastically. “My sister’s cousin has a friend who knows someone who took it and their symptoms vanished immediately!”
“I see,” Ratbone said. “Well then, I guess we’d better buy some ourselves.”

A menagerie of heady scents twisted throughout the cramped but stylish perfumery once the companions threaded their way through the line. A dizzying assortment of bottles, from gaudy ceramic containers to graceful crystalline vials, lined a variety of lace- and ribbon-strewn tables, shelves, racks and an eye-catching display in the wide front window. Across from the front door’s orchid-tinted glass panes ran a long counter, stacked high with hundreds of simple clay phials bearing round, magenta stoppers. Behind the counter, violet flourishes swooped across a sign reading, “Lavender’s Luxuriant Liniment: Either You’ve Got it, or You’ve Had it.”
Three men dressed in chain shirts, and with heavy saps hanging from their belts, stood around the perimeter of the store, eyeing the steady line of customers, while a lovely woman with black hair and blue eyes stood behind the counter.
“You run this place?” Valeris asked as he stepped up to the display. Herc, O’Reginald and Michael stood behind him. Katarina waited outside the door, a large dog at her side.
“Yes,” the woman answered with a disarming smile. “I’m Vendra Loaggri. How can I help you?”
“They say you’re hocking some sort of cure for the blood veil,” the duskblade sneered. “What’s your game?”
“It’s a true miracle,” Vendra answered, her smile never faltering. “I came upon the mixture quite by accident, while I was researching a new fragrance.”
“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” Valeris asked. “My, but that is a miracle, especially when all the alchemists, physicians and priests in the city haven’t been able to do the same.”
“She’s tellin’ the trooth!” said an old man who’d been quietly perusing the rest of the store’s stock. “Used it meself when I broke out in the pocks! Not only cured my rash, but made my bum leg stop achin’ too!”
“You see?” Vendra asked. “An unsolicited testimonial.”
“Convenient,” Valeris smirked. “Let me ask you this: if you’re so benevolent, and want to help people, why don’t you just give me the recipe for the cure, and I’ll start making it for free and give it to those who need it?”
Vendra chuckled. “My dear man, I’m a businesswoman. Is it wrong for me to make a modest profit on my discovery when the Abadarians are charging almost one-hundred times as much for their prayers?”
“But you’ve got something even the priests don’t!” Valeris snapped. “You’re mass-producing a cure! Surely you’ve made enough by now that it wouldn’t hurt you to show a little charity. Am I right, folks?” He turned to the crowd, and a murmur began rippling through those waiting.
“Sir,” Vendra said, her smile thinning, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disrupting my business, and delaying the delivery of a cure to these good people. Are you buying, or not?”
As she spoke, the three toughs started edging closer.
“Yeah, I’m buying alright,” Valeris said as he smacked two coins down on the counter and grabbed one of the vials, “but I’m going to take this to a reputable alchemist and find out what’s in it. Then I’m going to start making it myself and give it away for free!”
“As you wish,” Vendra said coldly. “A pleasure doing business with you. Goodbye.”
The toughs stood menacingly around the duskblade. He grinned at them as he backed out of the store, his companions following.

During the interaction between Valeris and Vendra, Ratbone and Kat took the opportunity to slip unobtrusively into an alley behind Lavender. There they found a door leading into the back of the building. Ratbone sniffed around the edge and snorted once, letting Kat know that he sensed no one on the other side. The door was locked, but the beguiler’s Varisian heritage came in handy, and she quickly picked the lock, then slipped inside with Ratbone before closing the door behind her. Delicate wall hangings, artistically shaped candles, and the fine scent of cherry blossoms filled the well-decorated apartment beyond the door. A table sculpted with swirling ivy leaves bore a fragile porcelain tea service and an exotically curved hookah in a kitchen nook. A door adjacent to the kitchen opened into a bedroom furnished with an antique armoire and a bed sheeted in purple silks and heavily laden with round pillows. Ratbone quickly began nosing around the room, momentarily put off by the abundance of strong fragrances. He paused in the back corner of the bedroom as he felt a slight breeze near the floor, and detected the faint scent of mold. He began pawing at the wall, attracting Kat’s attention. When she joined him, and began examining the corner, she found a faint seam running from ceiling to floor. She worked her fingernails into the crack and pulled. The whole section of the wall gave way, opening onto another room beyond. Bits of broken crates and barrels covered the floor of the dilapidated apartment on the far side. A tun of oily liquid, its lip level with a man’s chest, filled a corner of the room, a well-used canoe oar sticking out of it. Next to it squatted several large casks of murky water and two stacks of boxes, one holding dozens of small ceramic vials with magenta stoppers, the other holding a mismatched collection of delicate perfume bottles. The apartment’s kitchen nook held another crate, filled with broken shards of multicolored glass. Despite being in shambles, the apartment smelled delightful, a mixture of spices, flowers and exotic oils.

No sooner had they entered, than a low growl started in Ratbone’s throat, and his hackles rose. Kat tensed as she saw a figure step out of the shadows. It was a man, clad in the same type of chain armor worn by Vendra’s guards. When he saw her, his hand went for the sap at his belt, but Kat was faster. Her fingers moving in a blur, she quickly wove an enchantment, and as she spoke the words, the man’s eyes glazed over and his jaw went momentarily slack.
“Now then,” Kat said calmly, “what were we talking about?”
The guard blinked several times and shook his head.
“I…I don’t remember,” he said.
“Ah yes!” Kat snapped her finger. “You were telling me what a foolproof scam we were running.”
“Oh…yeah. Right,” the guard nodded. “Vendra really outdid herself this time.”
“She sure did,” Kat agreed. “Say, is that the ‘liniment’ you’re cooking up there?”
“Yep,” the man said, turning to look at the barrel. “A potent healing mixture of river water and leftover perfume! Oh, and for this batch, I took the liberty of relieving myself in it, to!”
Kat laughed along with him. “You’re such a scoundrel! Why don’t we go get a quick drink? Nobody’s going to know. You’ve been at this for awhile now.”
The guard looked dubious. “I dunno. If Vendra or one of the boys comes in here and I’m gone, there’ll be Hell to pay.”
“Ratbone’ll cover for you,” Kat said. The guard looked, and blinked, certain he’d just seen a dog where a large, burly half-orc now stood. “If someone comes, he’ll just tell’em you went to stretch your legs. Come on! What’s a quick drink?”
“Well…I am a bit parched,” the guard said. “Ok. Let’s go, but let’s be quick about it.”
_______________________________________________________________

Kat and the guardsman ducked out of Vendra’s apartment and down the alley, but not before the beguiler had cast another quick spell, allowing her to send a quick, whispered message to her companions, telling them to fetch Ishani and Sergeant Grau, and meet her at the Three Rings Tavern. Ratbone stuck around just long enough to be sure they were gone, then he slipped out as well, resumed his canine form, and followed at a safe distance.

When the pair reached the tavern, Grau and Ishani, both in civilian garb, were waiting.
“I’d like you to meet a couple of Vendra’s new hirelings,” Kat said to the guardsman by way of introduction. “They haven’t had a chance to learn the scam yet, so I told’em you’d fill them in.”
Once more, the mercenary looked doubtful.
“I understand,” Kat said. “Let’s just have a few drinks first and get to know each other.”
The drinks flowed, time passed, and eventually, the guard’s tongue loosened. He told the whole sordid tale of how Vendra had come up with the idea of hawkingg a phony concoction of water from the Jeggare with old perfumes to the desperate citizens of Korvosa. When he was finished, Grau nodded, stood up, and then slammed the man face-first to the table, wrenching his arm behind him.
“You’re under arrest,” Grau snarled.
The guardsman struggled, but his inebriated state made his efforts moot. Within minutes, a squad of soldiers swarmed into the common room and hustled the ruffian away.
“That’s the evidence we needed,” Grau said, turning to Katrina. “We’re in your debt…again.”
“Valeris also has a vial of the so-called liniment,” Kat said.
“So much the better,” Grau nodded. “We’ll take it from here. I’ll take my men and go to Lavender. We’ll have it shut down by nightfall, and Vendra and her goons clapped in irons. The Field Marshall will know of your deeds here.”
As Grau and his men left, Ishani turned to Kat and took her hands in his.
“I can never repay you and your comrades for this,” he said. “You’ll never know how many lives you may have saved today. Now we can get these people the help they need and deserve. Thank you.”
Katarina nodded. “Unfortunately, I think our work here is just beginning.”
__________________________________________________________________

Ratbone browsed some of the food stalls in old Korvosa, his stomach rumbling at the mixture of intoxicating aromas that drifted through the air.
“I would not think that you had such a refined palate,” a voice suddenly spoke from behind him. The druid turned and found a mousy woman with jaundiced, yellow eyes standing nearby.
“Yes, I’ve heard of you, ‘Ratbone,’” she chuckled, “and I know of your nocturnal activities. I’ve also heard that you have a soft spot for the less fortunate among Korvosa’s populace.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure…” Ratbone said, cocking his head inquisitively.
“I am called Eries,” the woman said, “Eries Yelloweyes.”
“Yelloweyes?” the half-orc asked. “An unusual name. What is it that you do?”
“I’m a fishmonger,” she said, “and I suppose Yelloweyes is no stranger than Ratbone, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would indeed,” Ratbone chuckled. “So, seeing as I’m not in the market for fish at the moment, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You and I are not unalike,” Eries said, lowering her voice. “I, like you, am a shapeshifter.”
Ratbone raised one eyebrow. “Truly?”
“Perhaps not in the way that you think,” Eries answered, “but the essence is the same. I am a lycanthrope…a wererat.”
“Ah…,” Ratbone nodded. “I had a recent…unfortunate…encounter with some of your kin.”
“The Atchers,” Eries sighed. “Beila and Vernon. I hope you realize that they are not representative of my kind.”
“I would make no assumptions about an entire people based on the actions of a few misguided individuals,” Ratbone replied.
“Having said that,” Eries continued, “I’m sorry to say that I have come to you regarding yet another renegade. This time, however, his actions may be more justified, though no less misguided, than the Atchers. Recently, a mob of Midland citizens, bend on giving voice and violence to their fear of this plague, discovered a foolish, alley-prowling wererat and publicly executed him with a silver axe. Their unfounded vigilantism quickly extended to a few drunken dockworkers braving the sewers to hunt wererats, blaming their problems on the lycanthropes believed to dwell below. Used to fear and abuse, most of my people responded to the attacks by abandoning their dens and hiding elsewhere in the city. One, however, a firebrand named Girrigz Ripperclaws, has refused to do so, instead calling upon our kin to war against the weakened humans above. I’ve lived a double-life in secret for more than fifty years, and I’ve seen much suffering in my time, including devastating government-directed rat-purges, a return of which I fear Girrigz’s warmongering ways could quickly incite. My efforts to talk sense to him and his gang have failed. Something must be done about him before more lives are lost. I would ask that you speak with him and, if necessary, offer him an example of the force the city will doubtlessly employ should his rebelliousness continue. I beg you, however, do not kill the others of my people who have joined him, if it can be avoided. If you do this for me, I offer you something more valuable than gold…information. Specifically, I think I may can tell you what might be the true reason for Korvosa’s plague.”
“It is not my wish to engage more of your people,” Ratbone said, “but I see the truth in your words. I will gather my companions, and we will go to Girrigz and try to convince him of the error of his ways. Know that I will hold you to your word, however, as the safety of this city is foremost among my concerns.”
___________________________________________________________________

Through the disgustingly visible haze of noxious sewer reek, the flow of unmentionable slop through the sewer tunnel’s filth-slick channel unexpectedly forked. Most continued on its expected path, but a small stream of ooze diverted off through a wide cleft in the moldy masonry wall. The man-sized crack cut deep into the rock behind the wall, and wisps of thin white smoke issued forth.
“Have I mentioned how much I love this city’s sewers?” Valeris asked.
“We’re here,” Ratbone said, ignoring the duskblade’s grousing.
“Perfect,” Valeris said, scraping sludge from his boots with the point of his sword.
Single-file, with Herc leading the way, the company threaded their way through the twisting cleft. The flow of sewer filth oozed into a rough-hewn stone cave, pooling near its center before continuing through a crude channel in the far wall. Fat black mushrooms and other disgusting fungus grew thick around the pool of slime. Several low alcoves were cut into the walls, each filled with moldering hay, filthy furs, and tiny bones. Many things happened at once as Herc stepped through the crack. A large, sickly purple mushroom on the far side of the stream suddenly opened a trio of orifices on its cap and began emitting an ear-splitting shriek. Simultaneously, several snarling, fur-covered creatures leaped from the shadows, rapiers in their hands, their yellow teeth grinning. Giant rats swarmed among their feet.

Chaos erupted as the ratmen surged among them. Herc ripped his sword from its sheath, the blade gleaming silver. He hacked the hand from a nearby wererat, and the creature screamed as the metal cauterized its flesh. He battered with his shield at several of the rats that nipped at his heels, then swung it in a wide arc at another charging ratman. Unfortunately, the wily creature ducked beneath it, and the shield embedded itself in a wall, stuck fast. The big mercenary quickly loosed the useless weapon from his arm and gripped his blade in both hands, readying for the next wave.

More ratmen streamed in through other entrances, and the six companions stood back-to-back in the center of the cavern. Valeris summoned raw power into his weapon in the form of crackling electricity, and cut down one of the oncoming lycanthropes. Ratbone tore rats apart like a wolf hunting rabbits, and O’Reginald called down hails of stone among their assailants, crushing more vermin, as well as a trio of wererats.
“Try and take the lycanthropes alive!” Kat cried as she hurled a wave of debilitating force at an oncoming ratman, sending him tumbling head-over-heels.
“Frack that!” Valeris snarled as he cut down another.
The duskblade readied his blade to do it again, but Ratbone leaped in front of him and landed with all four feet on the chest of the wererat, driving him to the floor where he struck his head solidly on the stone and went limp.
“Godsdamn your bleeding heart!” Valeris screamed as his spell expired. He sheathed his sword and drew the silver dagger he’d kept all that time. With it, he slashed at a nearby ratman, only to have it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s hide as if it were made of stone. Cursing, Valeris cast the useless weapon into the slime.

As the last wererat fell unconscious beneath another blast of Kat’s magic, an ear-shattering howl filled the chamber. At the far side, a hulking, heavily muscled wererat entered, clad in chain armor, a glowing, silver rapier in his hand. Valeris stood weaponless before him, and Girrigz Ripperclaws drove his blade into the duskblade like a hot knife through butter. Valeris reached down and grabbed the rapier with both hands, channeling electricity through it. Girrigz howled again as his fur stood on end. He drew his blade out of Valeris’s belly, and then, quick as lightning, slashed the duskblade viciously across the throat, sending him sprawling to the floor, gasping.
“No!” O’Reginald cried as he hurled arcane bolts at the wererat.
As Girrigz reeled, Ratbone leaped for him, but the wererat leader was as fast as a snake, and he turned, stabbing his rapier completely through the druid’s foreleg. Blood gushed as a vital artery was severed. Crying out in raw fury, Herc charged across the floor, silver blade upraised. Girrigz ducked beneath it and came up behind the big warrior, slashing three times, bringing Herc to his knees. The wererat raised his rapier to drive it through the mercenary’s throat, but then Katarina and O’Reginald struck simultaneously, a combination of stone and force. Girrigz collapsed beneath the bombardment, buried in rock. His rapier tumbled from his nerveless fingers.
_______________________________________________________________

“I’m…sorry,” Ratbone told Eries. “It was…an impossible situation. Casualties were…unavoidable.”
“I understand,” the old woman said, sadness in her voice. “You did as I asked, and now it’s time to uphold my end of the bargain. As fortune would have it, several sewer tunnels empty into the Jeggare River below the Wall of Eodred. The night a black-sailed ship was sunk before reaching the harbor, several of my brethren were watching. They saw nothing on the ship except for a yellow light, but once it sank, strange debris drifted from its hull. Tracking down some of the flotsam, they discovered a few small boxes filled with dead rats and a few pouches of silver coins bound to floating timbers. Suspecting that something was wrong with the rats, and scenting some foulness upon the coins, my brethren kicked the debris back into the river. Make of it what you will, but it is my belief that the ship’s sinking, the strange flotsam, and the advent of the plague aren’t mere coincidence. Furthermore, I can tell you exactly where the wreckage of the sunken vessel lies.”

Thank you so much for posting on these boards! Your story hours were the only thing I was still going to ENWorld for. Now I can get my JollyDoc fix without leaving the comfort of "home."

Another great episode from a great adventuring group.
What im trying to figure out is who these characters were in RORLs?

Thank you so much for posting on these boards! Your story hours were the only thing I was still going to ENWorld for. Now I can get my JollyDoc fix without leaving the comfort of "home."

Another great episode from a great adventuring group.
What im trying to figure out is who these characters were in RORLs?

O'Reginald was Cruemann

Katarina was Adso

Valeris was originally Skud, Duerten, and finally, Xander

Herc was Sinclair

Dexter's player and Wesh's player are no longer with the group.

Michael's player is new to the group and did not play RotRL

I kinda figured Ratbone was Reaper by just how he plays the game

I kinda figured Ratbone was Reaper by just how he plays the game

Joey Virtue wrote:

I kinda figured Ratbone was Reaper by just how he plays the game

What about the way I am playing Ratbone gave me away?

Don't know whether to post here or on enworld!

Fantastic update, JD - one of your best ever! I was hanging on every word, and you've really made the story come alive more than I ever expected from browsing the adventures.

Thanks for a riproaring read!

How's your VoP druid working out? I've one in my party and with poverty boosts, exalted feats, high dex, dex buff, barkskin, spiderskin and improved luminous armor he can get his AC into the low 40s at 8th level. Totally unhittable!
Especially when the enemies all have like +12 to hit.

Don't know whether to post here or on enworld!

Fantastic update, JD - one of your best ever! I was hanging on every word, and you've really made the story come alive more than I ever expected from browsing the adventures.

Thanks for a riproaring read!

How's your VoP druid working out? I've one in my party and with poverty boosts, exalted feats, high dex, dex buff, barkskin, spiderskin and improved luminous armor he can get his AC into the low 40s at 8th level. Totally unhittable!
Especially when the enemies all have like +12 to hit.

Ratbone's pretty tough, but I've managed to get him on the ropes a time or two. Armor class only matters when they're not throwing spells at you, after all...

How's your VoP druid working out? I've one in my party and with poverty boosts, exalted feats, high dex, dex buff, barkskin, spiderskin and improved luminous armor he can get his AC into the low 40s at 8th level. Totally unhittable!
Especially when the enemies all have like +12 to hit.

To C - Since RotRL, we have been using a buff limit rule (no more than 5 minute/level or greater duration buffs), so it definitely puts a damper on the possibilities. Having said that, Ratbone is pretty frakking nasty with his buff spells, but so far the CotCT campaign only exacerbates this with the way that its just been a series of mini encounters. If we get into a long dungeon crawl type setting where 10 minute/level buffs may expire, then he would be brought down to earth.

It sounds like your druid goes solely with defensive buffing...I prefer a good mix of offense/defense/utility. We are now at 5th level, and my most common buff package is:

1st - Eyes of the Avoral
2nd - Listening Lorecall
2nd - Barkskin
2nd - Luminous Armor
3rd - Girallon's Blessing

All things considered, this gives me a bite at +10 (1d6+7), 4 claws at +8 (1d4+4), and the possibility of a rend (2d4+9). This comes in a tight little package with basically an AC of 27, 30 foot blindsense, a +19 spot/search, land speed of 50 feet, and a fly speed of 40 feet (good).

THE MASQUERADE

Had anyone in Trail’s End been down by the riverside at midnight, they would have beheld a truly strange site: four men, three clad in armor, one woman in Varisian skirts, and a large, six-legged dog, all wading into the water until they completely vanished beneath the surface. The K.I.A., following Eries’s directions, had pinpointed the location of the wrecked plague ship and, equipping themselves with water-breathing and swimming elixirs, began the journey that they hoped would finally reveal the truth behind the blood veil outbreak.

Nearly eighty feet below the surface of the Jeggare lay the hulk of the mysterious vessel. Obvious scars from fire and trebuchet strikes marred its broken hull, which lay on its side in two pieces amid the splinters of its mast. The ship had broken over a rock outcropping, its bow fallen to one side and a larger section of the stern on the other. Inside the bow could be seen two splintered decks. Its bowsprit shattered and decks filled with debris, the vessel bore an ominous moniker along its fire-scarred hull: Direption.

The bow was most easily accessible, and it was there the team began their investigation. One-by-one they swam into the shadowy interior, leaving Ratbone behind to cover them. As the druid became more comfortable and experienced with his talents, his use of them began to evolve as well. Though he still wore his familiar canine form, he sported an extra pair of limbs, and both these and his forelimbs bore powerful, clawed hands instead of paws. Thus, when the school of razor-toothed silt eels swarmed out of the rocky outcropping, Ratbone’s tongue lolled from his grinning mouth in anticipation of putting his new skills to use, and he did so with gusto. Snarling more like a shark than a dog, he plunged into the midst of them, grabbing them and rending as well as ripping with his teeth. In short order, nothing remained but a bloody, flesh-filled haze in the water. When he turned back towards his companions, he found them simply staring at him, mouths agape.

The bow seemed to consist mainly of the forecastle and galley, their contents wrecked and disordered. The most interesting thing about the debris, however, was what was not there: there was no evidence of food nor supplies, nor anything in the way of personal goods…almost as if the ship had never held such provisions. The ship’s stern was not so easily accessible. It lay on its side with its broken section flush against the rock. Upon its upper deck, the main hatch was swollen shut, but a yawning wound in the ship’s charred timbers allowed murky water to flow easily through the debris-cluttered hold. Loose timbers, small fish, and dozens of identical boxes floated eerily in the quiet darkness. As Valeris peered through the hole, a sudden flicker of motion came from the corner of his eye. When he turned reflexively, all that he saw were open jaws bearing down on him. Before he could react, a screaming pain lanced through the side of his head as the enormous blue shark bit his ear cleanly off. The duskblade screamed silently, clutching his bleeding head as he convulsed back into the open water. Suddenly, a blur of teeth, fur and claws erupted through the hole as Ratbone lunged at the shark. The druid’s body morphed even further, sprouting black, barbed tentacles from his shoulders, and he attacked the predator with feral savagery. The two animals writhed and twisted in the water, ripping and tearing at one another, but in the end, the giant shark floated belly-up near the roof of the hold. Suddenly, an inchoate scream filled the interior of the ship as a hulking humanoid figure swam from the stern. She was female, though far from human, appearing instead as some sort of amphibious hag. Fish bone fetishes dangled from her neck, wrists and waist, and she clutched a bifurcated spear in one hand. She looked in hate-filled rage at the body of the shark, and then she crouched and pushed herself off the deck, hurtling through the water towards the companions. Ratbone, unfortunately, was too far away to intercept the harridan, and with Valeris still in shock, it was Michael who was directly in her path. She thrust her spear forward and drove it into the priest’s belly, driving him back through the hole. O’Reginald was next in line, and in desperation, the sorcerer conjured a barrage of stones from nothingness, pelting the ravening she-devil with them as he swam out of her reach. She snarled in fury and pulled herself through the hole, pursuing her prey. Unfortunately, Valeris had still not recovered from his mauling, and he found himself at her mercy. In rapid succession, she stabbed and ripped at the duskblade. Panic fluttered like dark wings at Valeris’s mind, and he struggled to make his arms and legs move, but still the hag loomed over him, her spear gripped in both hands for a killing thrust. The blow never came, however, as Ratbone leaped onto the sea hag’s back, all four claws, both tentacles and his ferocious jaws tearing into her. She struggled mightily, but ultimately to no avail, so tenaciously did the druid cling. He clamped his teeth around her neck and held on until her struggles weakened and finally ceased.
____________________________________________________________

The strange boxes floating throughout the hold were identical, all carved with multiple symbols of skulls. All of them were open, and for the most part, empty, save for a few which contained bits of flesh or dead rats. Beyond the hold lay what appeared to have been an infirmary. Several bent metal bed frames and glass-paned cabinets lay shattered across the floor. The room swirled with a haze of gore, fish heads, and half-eaten eels chumming the circling waters. As they searched among the debris, the companions discovered two intriguing items: a thin, water-tight darkwood coffer, and a sealed version of the skull-carved coffers they had found in the hold. Katarina held the latter of the two in her hands and concentrated, searching for the presence of magic about it. Not surprisingly, she found the taint of necromancy. She focused her spell, trying to read the nature of the dweomer, and when she pinpointed it, her face blanched in shock. The coffer was designed to place items inside in stasis, specifically to preserve infectious materials. It seemed that any item placed within with a disease-ridden item would in turn become infected with the same disease. Understanding began to dawn on her.

The last area of the wreck to be investigated was the captain’s quarters. The door was swollen shut, but it yielded easily before Herc’s shield. Along with a few other bits of ruined furnishings, the scorched sheets of a canopied bed twisted like ghosts above the snapped wooden bed frame. Knotted amid the linens, a drowned corpse wearing the bird-like mask of a Queen’s Physician twirled in the current. Katarina reached up to pull the mask from the corpse’s face, and immediately felt the pulse of magic from it. It was no ordinary doctor’s garb, but instead seemed to both grant the wearer immunity to one specific disease, as well as shielding his mind from magical divination. Kat’s fears began to solidify, and when she pulled an amulet from around the dead man’s neck, they became as hard as diamond. It was a holy symbol of Urgathoa…the Pallid Princess…the goddess of disease…
__________________________________________________________

“So…what are you saying?” Ishani asked, staring open-mouthed at the two coffers on the table in front of him.
“Put the pieces together,” Kat replied. “I think it will be easier once we open the death’s head coffer, especially if it contains what I think it does.”
The priest nodded and muttered a quick prayer to ward himself against infection, then carefully lifted the lid of the coffer. Inside were a dead rat and thirty silver coins, embossed with the seal of Korvosa. Ishani looked questioningly up at Katarina.
“The rats carry blood veil,” Kat explained, “and the box transfers the plague to the coins. There were hundreds of these coffers in the ship’s hold, all empty. The wererats found unopened ones on the shore of the river. The girl you cured had been playing by the river the day before she fell ill. It’s the coins. They’re in circulation throughout the city, spreading the plague. Didn’t you say several of your brethren had fallen ill, despite having remained cloistered within the Bank? Coins.”
“Abadar save us,” Ishani whispered.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Kat continued. “We believe the so-called Queen’s Physicians are involved as well. The plague ship was outfitted for a one-way trip. The physician onboard carried the symbol of Urgathoa, and the mask he wore gave him immunity from a single disease, blood veil I’d guess. I assume the same is true of the masks the other doctor’s wear, and if their thoughts are similarly shielded, no one will be able to guess their true intentions until it is too late.”
“But that evidence is circumstantial,” Ishani protested. “Anyone could have disguised the ship’s captain that way to falsely incriminate the doctors.”
“Perhaps this will add credence to our theory,” Kat said as she opened the second coffer they’d found. Within were a collection of ledgers, invoices, and the deed to the Direption, all from a group noted as ‘B7,’ titling one ‘R. Davaulus’ with ownership of the ship and a cargo noted only as ‘specimens.’
“Davaulus?” Ishani asked. “Dr. Davaulus?”
“Do you know another?” Valeris snapped as he rubbed absently at the bandage covering his missing ear.
“I think it’s time we contact Cressida with this information,” Ratbone suggested.
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ishani said, shaking his head. “You heard her declaration. The Guard has been ordered to cooperate fully with the doctors. She might be compromised, or if she is not, those close to her may be. It might be dangerous for her to know too much at this point.”
“What do you suggest?” Kat asked.
“The Queen’s Physicians have based their operations in an old warehouse they have refurbished and christened the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden. Perhaps that would be a good place to start.”
__________________________________________________________

“Well,” Valeris huffed, “when we decide to do something, we do it right, don’t we? So we’re really just going to march into the stronghold of the Queen’s Physicians and accuse them of murdering several thousand Korvosan citizens?”
“That’s not exactly the plan,” Michael said. “We’re simply going there to see what’s going on. If they have nothing to hide, then they have nothing to fear.”
“Perfect,” Valeris scowled. “Maybe they can write that on your tombstone after you’re beheaded for treason.”

As the company walked down the steps of the Bank of Abadar, a pretty young Varisian woman approached them, clutching her hands tightly.
“Forgive me,” she said in a timid voice, “but I need your help.”
“Of course you do,” Valeris rolled his eyes.
Michael held up a hand to silence the duskblade. “What do you know of us?” the priest asked the woman.
“I know you help people,” the girl said, her eyes welling, “and I need assistance. You see, my brother is missing. My name is Deyanira Mirukova, and my brother is Ruan.”
“Ruan Mirukova?” Kat asked. “The young prodigy of the ocarina?”
“You’ve heard of him!” Deyanira’s eyes brightened. “My brother and I live together off Overton Way, not far from the Marbledome. I work there as a chorus girl and Ruan plays in the orchestra. Several days ago, however, he came home very excited, delighted that he had been personally requested to perform at a private masquerade at Carowyn Manor. You know of the Carowyn’s?”
“Art patrons,” Kat nodded. “Very lavish party hosts.”
“Yes,” Deyanira said. “Well, Ruan bought a new outfit, practiced a challenging new arrangement, and left early the evening of the event. That was several days ago, though, and that was the last time I saw him. When he didn’t return the entire next day, I went to the Carowyn estate, but it seemed as if it were abandoned…the entrance was locked, its windows were tightly curtained, and a sickly smell issued from behind the front door. I went to the Guard, but they seemed either unable or unwilling to help me. I didn’t know where else to turn. I have little to offer in way of reward, but all that I have is yours if you help me find Ruan.”
“Yes, well, we’re a little busy ourselves at the moment…” Valeris began.
“Of course we’ll help you,” Ratbone interrupted. “Our current business takes us quite near Southshore. It will be no trouble for us to make a stop by the Carowyn manor on our way.”
“Thank you!” Deyanira dissolved into tears, clutching Ratbone’s hand as she collapsed to her knees. Valeris narrowed his eyes, giving the druid a murderous look.
___________________________________________________________

The Carowyn estate was a stately manor located along Shoreline Way. Festooned with cinderberry garlands and bright red drapes, the limestone façade was surrounded by a high hedge, obscuring the inner yard. As Deyanira had described, there was no sign of life about the house. The curtains were drawn across the windows, and the heavy front doors were locked. Also as Deyanira had said, a foul smell of decay hung thick in the air about the entryway. Katarina bowed her head and concentrated, using her magic to probe for the thoughts of any living minds within the house. To her surprise, she discovered two such individuals, though she could read nothing from them. It seemed that the only way in would be to break in, which might attract undue attention, or check for other means of entrance. Katarina quickly wove another spell, creating an illusory image of the front of the house, and concealing she and her friends behind it. Then Ratbone shifted his form to that of a large bird, easily the size of a condor or larger. He lifted his comrades in his talons, one-by-one, and deposited them on the far side of the hedge. There they found a smaller servant’s residence and a meticulously manicured garden, complete with a gazebo and a pond full of Ember Lake charigs, tiny salamanders that glowed in the dark. They also found a back door.

The door was unlocked and lead into a foul-weather room, and then into a small sitting room. Another door at the far side opened onto the great hall, and there, any thought that things were normal at Carowyn Manor quickly vanished. A massacre had taken place there. Upon the marble floor and heaped in the corners lay more than a dozen corpses, each clad in garish outfits of sequined velvet, revealing silk, and colorful feathers. Masks of all shapes and sizes…each competing with the last in terms of elaborateness…adorned the dead. In several cases, though, those fanciful adornments had fallen away, to reveal withered flesh covered in nauseating facial tumors. Most horrifyingly, upon a blood-slick space cleared at the room’s center swayed four couples, jerking like hellish dancers, all obviously dead. In a den off the main hall could be seen four more zombies, two of which wore matching lion and lioness masks and sat before an empty fireplace, with the other two dressed as peacocks and holding silver serving trays, attending them.

As the six companions moved slowly into the hall, the corpses turned slowly towards them and then began shuffling forward, moaning hollowly as they came. For the K.I.A., it was almost like shooting fish in a barrel. Ratbone, once more in his canine form, again sporting extra limbs and ripping claws, tore into the horde like a fox among hens. Michael glowed like a beacon as he channeled holy power into the walking dead, burning them to ash in Iomedae’s light, and O’Reginald crushed the remainder beneath a hail of fist-sized rock. As the last zombie fell, however, a high-pitched woman’s voice rang out in laughter from somewhere on the gallery above the main floor.
“I hope you’re enjoying my masquerade,” she cackled. “I promise you much more entertainment. Please, make yourselves at home!”

Snarling, Ratbone changed his shape again, assuming the guise of a four-armed ape as he charged up the stairs, followed closely by Valeris, Herc and Michael. Finely framed works of art covered the walls of the gallery which overlooked the hall below. Great windows looked out to the west and south, and an alcove to the east was set with chairs for musicians. In mockery of the room’s beauty, several costumed corpses stood about the hall, some posed like ghastly statues while others stood like contemplative critics. Roaring, Ratbone tore into the zombies, his companions at his back. Kat and O’Reginald remained below, watching for any sign of their unseen adversary. Suddenly, a piercing scream split the air, followed by a much more human one. Ratbone whirled, and saw an elven woman, dressed in a garish harlequin costume, standing on the far side of the gallery, a crossbow in her hands. Below, O’Reginald moaned and swooned in a daze, clutching weakly at a glowing bolt that protruded from his chest. Ratbone howled and leaped across the intervening distance, but the elf was too fast. She vaulted nimbly over the balcony and landed in the hall below in a rolling crouch. As she came to her feet, however, Katarina was ready for her. The beguiler spread her hands as a blinding wave of color burst forth from them. The elven woman shrieked, clawing frantically at her eyes as she tried in vain to clear her vision. In an instant, Ratbone leaped from the balcony and grabbed the elf in an inescapable bear hug. She grunted and snarled, and reached towards a pouch at her waist, pawing for flask there. Ratbone bared his teeth and bit deeply into her neck, a spray of arterial blood drenching his face. The woman screamed.
“Mercy!” she begged. “Spare me!”
For a moment, the druid paused, but then the thought of the corpse-filled house entered his mind, as well as the profane atrocity visited upon some of them via the elf’s foul necromancy. His thoughts dissolved into a blood haze and he bit down harder. He did not release his grip until he felt the woman go limp in his arms.

Valeris, Herc and Michael made quick work of the zombies in the gallery, and then scoured the rest of the manor, dispatching more obscene parodies of life as they found them. Yet among all of the dead and undead, they found no sign of Ruan. Finally, all of the companions made their way down to the cellar. There they found a well-stocked wine rack and several large casks lining the walls. A small wooden door squatted in the southeastern corner. It was locked tight, but Ratbone easily tore it from its hinges. Within was what appeared to be a makeshift artist’s studio. Among the painting supplies, a tawdry-looking divan, a small shrine to Shelyn, and several scandalous portraits of Mrs. Carowyn, was a terrified middle-aged man dressed in the shredded remains of a costume, holding a dull paint knife in his shaking hand. Katarina stepped in front of the hulking ape-druid, and held out her empty hands.
“We’re here to help,” she said calmly. “Who are you?”
“M…my name,” the man stammered, “is Ausio Carowyn. Th…this is…was…my house.”
“Can you tell us what happened here?” Kat asked.
“We were holding our masked ball,” Ausio said, his eyes still round with fear, “trying to make people forget the gloom and dread of the plague, when the elf woman entered. No one invited her, yet she acted as if she owned the place. She…began shooting our guests with her crossbow, and each one struck immediately began showing signs of blood veil. I…I had no choice. I fled down here and locked myself in. I’ve been here for days! I could still hear footsteps and moans coming from above. Have you seen my wife? Have you seen Olauren?”
“Coward,” Valeris muttered.
“I’m sorry,” Kat said aloud, “but we have found no survivors save the elf, and we have dealt with her. Tell us, have you seen a boy named Ruan, an ocarina player?”
“Yes…yes,” Ausio nodded. “A brilliant lad. The last time I saw him, he was in the gallery.”
“I see,” Kat said. “And is this all that you know, Ausio? Can you think of any reason why this woman would attack you and your guests unprovoked?”
“No!” Ausio shook his head vehemently. “She was insane! I swear it!”
Katarina drew her Harrow deck from her skirts and began shuffling the cards nimbly through her fingers. Ausio’s eyes were drawn to them, mesmerized. Kat chanted in a low voice as she shuffled. Ausio’s stare became blank, his jaw slack.
“Here now!” Michael protested. “What are you doing?”
“Just making sure he’s telling the truth,” Kat said. “A minor enchantment.”
“You have no right!” the priest shouted. “This man is not our enemy! He’s broken no law! He’s as much a victim here as those upstairs!”
“I’m not harming him,” Kat said. “I simply want him to answer my questions honestly.”
“I’ll have no part of this,” Michael snapped. “This is unlawful and immoral! I’d come to expect better of you.”
He turned on his heel and left the room.
“Another bleeding heart,” Valeris chuckled.
“You’ll want to keep that tongue of yours in check,” Ratbone said in a calm, yet dangerous voice, once more in his normal form, “unless you want to be absent it as well as your ear.”
______________________________________________________________

It turned out that Ausio Carowyn knew no more than he’d professed, and the companions were forced to return to Deyanira empty-handed. Even the news that her brother was not among the dead did little to relieve her concerns. She entreated them to keep an eye out for Ruan, and to come to her with any rumor of him they might hear. Still distraught, she solemnly excused herself from their company.

THE HOSPICE OF THE BLESSED MAIDEN

The stinging scent of alcohol and medicine flooded the dingy reception room, an odor typical to hospices, morgues, and battlefields. Across from the entrance sat a long wooden desk, beyond which a stained leather curtain covered an open archway, muffling moans from beyond. A burly nurse sat at the desk, three scarves wrapped over her mouth and nose, and heavy leather gloves on her hands. A half-dozen citizens huddled in chairs and against the walls, each of them exhibiting symptoms of blood veil, some at quite advanced stages.

The nurse glanced up disinterestedly as Katarina and her companions entered, but said nothing, her eyes dropping back down to her papers.
“Excuse me,” Kat said, clearing her throat after several minutes, “but we’re here to see Dr. Davaulus.”
“Everyone is here to see the doctors,” the nurse said without looking up. “Take a seat and wait your turn.”
“I don’t think you understand,” Kat said calmly. “We work for the Guard, and we’re here on official business.”
The nurse raised her eyes and shrugged. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Madame,” Kat said, leaning across the desk, her voice becoming more commanding, “Dr. Davaulus personally instructed us to report to him with any information about the plague, and that’s what we’re going to do. If you interfere, and more deaths result, I’ll personally inform the Doctor of the role you played.”
The nurse’s eyes began to show just the slightest amount of concern.
“Well…,” she hesitated, “I suppose when you put it that way…but I’m not responsible if there’s any trouble in there!”
“Of course not,” Kat smiled. “Thank you for your assistance Nurse…?”
“Torthus,” the nurse replied, “Bhrunlida Torthus.”
_________________________________________________________

The warehouse’s vast interior had been converted into one gigantic convalescent’s ward, the stench of alcohol, sickness, and waste choking each breath. Tight rows of low, stained cots crammed the stone-floored hall. Every bed was filled with a pitiful story…men and women of all walks groaning and wheezing as they were consumed by blood veil, their sufferings multiplied by the echoing chamber. Several queen’s physicians milled about the cots, cooing at their patients in falsely sympathetic voices, their avian masks giving them an unnerving resemblance to crows waiting to feed. A catwalk, twenty feet above, wrapped around the entire chamber, and two gray maidens paced it, while three more stood before closed doors on the far side of the ground level.

One of the gray maidens strode purposefully across the room towards the members of the K.I.A.
“You will leave this place immediately,” she commanded. “I know who you are and whom you represent, and you have no business here.”
As she spoke, the maidens on the catwalk readied their bows.
“Please,” Kat said placatingly, “you misunderstand our intentions. We have news for Dr. Davaulus. We have discovered some very vital information regarding the plague. He asked that we report to him immediately if we had such news.”
“If you have something to report,” the maiden said curtly, “then take it through proper channels. Now I tell you again, leave.”
“You don’t understand what we’ve been through,” Kat said, her tone growing hard. “We’ve uncovered a charlatan’s plot to sell a fake cure. We’ve stopped the unlawful dumping of the dead. We’ve forestalled an uprising by the wererats of the sewers, and finally, we’ve personally investigated the wreck of the plague ship and uncovered what we suspect to be the cause of blood veil. We’re not leaving until we see the Doctor.”
“Then I’m afraid you won’t be leaving at all,” the warrior said flatly as she drew her sword.
Behind her, the other two gray maidens also drew their weapons, while on the catwalk, the pair there pulled back their bows. In the mean time, while Katarina had been making her case, the physicians had been quietly repositioning themselves, and the six companions abruptly found themselves surrounded.

As Kat turned towards her friends, stars suddenly exploded behind her eyes when one of the doctors pulled a truncheon from his coat and struck her. At the same time, the gray maiden slashed viciously at Ratbone with her sword, while one of the archers fired carelessly into the melee, her shot going wide and striking one of the patients in his sick bed instead.
“No!” Ratbone cried, his words turning into a vicious snarl as his body shifted into his canine form, simultaneously sprouting two more arms. In a rage, the druid pounced on the maiden before him, bore her to the ground and savagely tore out her throat.
“Here now! What’s the meaning of all this?” The leather curtain to the waiting room was torn aside as Bhrunlida stormed in, brandishing a heavy sap in one hand. Her protestations were cut abruptly short when Herc’s shield smashed into her face, and she collapsed in a heap.
By that time, the other two gray maidens had closed the distance, and Ratbone was there to meet them, disemboweling one with a slash of his claws. Meanwhile, Valeris dispatched one of the encroaching doctors with a sizzling flash of his blade, imbued as it was with electric fire. Michael felled another with a quick thrust of his own blade, and then a third as the doctor attempted to flee. Ratbone, fully in the throes of animalistic blood lust, brutally and efficiently tore apart the last physician and gray maiden. Only the archers remained. Katarina turned her attention to them, summoning a simple charm to drop one of them into a deep slumber. Before she could do the same to the other, however, Ratbone had transformed again, taking his avian form and flying up to the catwalk. Once there, he resumed his mongrel shape and savaged the last of the gray maidens. Then, slowly, deliberately, the druid walked to stand over the sleeping warrior.
“No,” Kat whispered.
Ratbone dipped his muzzle, the image of the archer’s arrow piercing the heart of the helpless patient in the room below, and he quickly snapped the maiden’s neck.
____________________________________________________________

As the rest of the group fanned out about the room, searching for possible hidden enemies, Michael went from bed to bed, giving comfort where he could, and universally promising the infirm that he and his companions would return for them after they secured the building. The remainder of the ground floor proved to be unoccupied, but a large cargo lift seemed to lead to an upper floor. The six crammed in, shifted the lever, and the lift slowly began to rise. When the door opened on the floor above, it was onto a hall in which the rough functionality of the warehouse below gave way to beige tile and white walls. A door engraved with images of rampant gazelles stood on the far end, its once fine teak bearing obvious scores and gaping chips from rough use. No sooner had the lift door opened, than three gray maidens stepped in front of it, swords bared. Unfortunately for them, Ratbone was ready as well, and the first two quickly went down in a gory pile. The third hesitated momentarily, and in that moment, Katarina acted, quickly weaving a spell that put the warrior under her thrall.
“Hold your weapons,” she said quietly to her companions, and then aloud, she addressed the maiden.
“Can you tell us where to find Dr. Davaulus?”
The gray maiden nodded towards the carved doors. “His office lies beyond,” she said.
“Is there anyone with him?” Kat asked.
“I know not,” the maiden replied. “We are charged with guarding this area. We do not go beyond the doors.”
“Do you know exactly what is going on here?” Kat asked. “Are the doctors directly involved with the plague?”
The gray maiden shrugged. “We answer to the Queen. She has commanded us to guard the physicians, and so we do. Anything else is not our concern.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Kat said. “We are going to speak with the Doctor now. Do you mind waiting here?”
The maiden nodded and took up a defensive position near the lift.

The door was securely locked, but it proved only a minor obstacle for Kat. When the door swung open, however, the scene that greeted the companions froze them momentarily in their tracks. Rows of white-sheeted beds lined the walls of the room. Each was occupied, every bed bearing a patient restrained by leather straps that bound the figure to the sturdy metal frame. At the room’s center stretched simple wooden worktables, each covered in fluid-filled beakers, intricate glass tubes, small burners and other chemical instruments. Four queen’s physicians turned from their patients in unison as the door opened, then, once more in unison, they drew their cudgels from the coats. Herc, Ratbone and Michael moved to intercept them, the druid taking his simian form as he went. The doctors tried to flank the intruders, but they might as well have been trying to contain a rushing river. The three companions were a blur as they struck, taking down the four before they could even raise their weapons.

The group began moving through the experimental ward, Michael stopping to examine each of the restrained patients. They were all unconscious, under the effects of some kind of sedative that the priest could not identify. Suddenly, a low growl came from Ratbone as his head whipped back towards the carved door. The druid’s animal forms greatly enhanced his senses, giving him an almost extra-sensory perception. Thus, when the invisible figure rushed past him, running for the lift, Ratbone saw him as a dim, blurred shape. Falling to all fours, the druid loped after the fleeing figure, and just before his quarry reached the lift, Ratbone struck out with a large, clawed paw. A man’s voice cried out in pain as blood splashed the floor. Kat turned to see what had drawn her friend’s attention. She saw the ape grappling with an unseen foe, and she passed a hand over her eyes, uttering a brief spell. When it was complete, her vision had been altered to allow her to see the unseen. She gasped as she saw that Ratbone’s foe was none other than Dr. Davaulus himself! As she watched, Ratbone folded the physician into his massive grip, and Davaulus raised his hand, a spell on his lips. As he did so, however, Ratbone squeezed, and the words to the incantation were abruptly cut off. The attempted attack, however, rendered the doctor visible.
“Release me!” Davaulus commanded. Don’t you see? Your crusade to save this city is a fool’s errand! Disease is the world’s way to bring back balance! In order for civilizations to grow and prosper, the parts of society that hold everything else back must be periodically pruned! Korvosa will be stronger at the end of these dark days…a place you and I would be proud to call home!”
Ratbone’s eyes gave the doctor all the answer he needed, and what he saw there was his own imminent death. His screams were abruptly brought to a gurgling end as the druid’s jaws closed over his throat.
___________________________________________________________

A thorough search of the good Doctor and his office turned up very little. Of note were several scattered scraps of paper speculating on the source of some Varisians' immunity to blood veil, and an odd button that was found in Davaulus’s pocket.
“So that’s it, right?” Ratbone asked. “Now we go to Cressida and tell her what’s really been going on.”
“And what is that, exactly?” Michael asked mildly.
“Come on!” the druid shouted. “It’s obvious! Davaulus and his goons have been experimenting on people, infecting them with blood veil, which, by the way, they brought here and released in the first place! Furthermore, I think the queen is in on it to!”
“Where’s your proof?” Michael asked, his voice very calm.
“What do you mean?” Ratbone asked, astonished. “It’s all around us! Just look at this place and what we’ve uncovered. They attacked us!”
“I’ll tell you what I see,” Michael said, “and what the Guard will also see: we came here unannounced and uninvited. We killed several of the queen’s physicians as well as her gray maidens. There are no reliable witnesses to say who struck first. Those poor souls in the sick bay certainly won’t make good alibis. We also killed the Queen’s Physician himself, once again with no witnesses to prove he did anything wrong. The only documentation we’ve found is that he suspected some Varisians might be immune, hence these people.” He indicated the bound, unconscious patients, all of whom just happened to be Varisian.”
“Yes, but we know!” Ratbone protested. “The doctor on the Direption! The deed naming Davaulus the owner of the ship! Urgathoa’s symbol!’
“All circumstantial,” Michael shook his head. “The defense will say that anyone could have impersonated a physician, a crime punishable by death mind you, and planted that deed to falsely incriminate Davaulus. Also, they’ll claim that he kept these Varisians here in hopes of finding a cure to blood veil. Meanwhile, we’ll be accused of outright murder, and likely face the headsman’s axe by morning.”
“What about the guard Kat charmed?” Ratbone asked, his voice growing desperate. “She can attest to what Davaulus told me!”
“The charm won’t last,” Kat said. “She’ll be out from under its influence within hours. Speaking of which…,”
Kat turned to their erstwhile ally and spoke another spell, causing the gray maiden to fall into a magically induced sleep. The beguiler then set about binding her tightly.
“This isn’t right!” Ratbone fumed. “We know the truth, and yet you’re saying there’s nothing we can do about it??”
“There may still be more here,” Michael said calmly. “For instance, what’s this go to?”
He tossed the odd button into the air.
“I suggest we fan out and do a bit more investigating.”

And so they did, searching every corner of Davaulus’s office, the ward and the entry hall. Nothing was found in any of the rooms, and they were on the edge of giving up when Ratbone decided to search the lift as well. To his shock and surprise, beneath the operating lever was a small slot, just the right size for the button. Calling his companions quickly over, he pressed the button in. The lift door began sliding shut, and all six of them crowed inside as the it began to descend. When it reached the ground floor, it did not stop, but continued downward. Michael gave Ratbone a knowing smile.

When the door finally slid open again, the companions found themselves peering into a darkened room. The scuffed stone walls had been plastered over and decorated with lurid murals of skeletons cavorting among the dead of a Korvosa completely succumbed to blood veil. Simple wooden doors led to the north, and south, each of which bore a painting of a scythe-wielding skeleton. A sizable double door stood on the east wall, made to appear in the mural as a massive set of doors opening into the pyramid foundation of Castle Korvosa. Two more scythe-wielding skeletons decorated those doors as well.
“This looks like the right place,” Valeris snickered.
Kat shushed him as Ratbone’s ears pricked up and the druid/dog padded silently to the southern door, sniffing along its bottom and tilting his head right and left. After a moment, he backed away, a low growl in his throat as he stared at the door.
“Guess that’s your cue,” Valeris whispered as he nudged Herc.
The big mercenary blew out his breath, readied his shield and shoved open the door. The small room beyond seemed to be some sort of guard chamber, and the six gray maidens who abruptly turned towards the doorway seemed less than enthusiastic to have unannounced guests. They surged forward, blades drawn. The foremost struck at Ratbone, who had joined Herc. Their cuts were deep, but didn’t compare to the ones the druid delivered in turn as he cleanly sliced their throats with his razor-sharp claws. The next two fell just as quickly when O’Reginald unleashed his trademark hail of stone upon their heads. Ratbone and Herc together slew the remaining pair, but not before one of them landed a lucky blow against Herc, lopping off the mercenary’s middle finger.

Herc cursed roundly as Michael staunched his bleeding, but could do nothing to replace his missing finger.
“Join the club,” Valeris smirked as rubbed at the place where his right ear used to be.
Michael and Herc moved towards the pair of double doors, and shoved them open as their companions grouped behind them. Suddenly, the air was filled with the shrill wail of an alarm, and the two bas relief skeletons on the portals abruptly animated, their scythes slashing down wickedly at the priest and mercenary. Simultaneously, the mouths of all the skeleton carvings in the room opened and exhaled plumes of noxious, green vapor. As the mist washed over them, nightmare images of diseased corpses flashed through the mind of the companions. It seemed as if some of the corpses were animate, shambling towards them out of the gloom. It was only when the mist had cleared that they saw that the latter part was horribly true. From the large room beyond the double doors, a dozen or more zombies and skeletons shuffled forward, moaning and clacking as they came. The ensuing battle was furious, but short-lived. The undead were no match for the power of O’Reginald’s magic and Michael’s channeling, combined with the fury of Ratbone’s and Herc’s raw might. As the last of the walking dead crumbled, Valeris shook his head.
“I guess they know we’re coming…”

PAWNS OF THE PALLID PRINCESS

It was only after the last of the undead fell that the heroes had a chance to examine their current surroundings…and were overwhelmed with revulsion. Dozens of the living dead lined the walls of the chamber, their rotting faces sneered and broken fingers clawed at each other. A layer of rotting bodies lined the floor, and the shattered bones twitched in vain, their splintered appendages grasping hopelessly. Yet, rather than some massive, nightmare grave, the horror show seemed instead to be a stomach-churning attempt at art, as the mangled living dead lay trapped behind walls and beneath a floor of thick glass.
“The Princess’s Bacchanal,” Michael said solemnly.
“What?” Valeris asked.
“They’re common in temples of Urgathoa,” the priest explained. “They’re meant to deliver a profane message to the faithful…in the end may you be undead.”
“Where do I sign up?” the duskblade chuckled.
“Careful what you wish for,” Ratbone muttered.

Another large pair of double doors stood on the far side of the morbid chamber, but two smaller doors led to the north and south. Through the first of these, the company found what seemed to be a barracks, though the satin coverings and overstuffed pillows on the cots seemed more akin to funerary trappings than the resting places of the living. It was strangely unoccupied. The door on the far side of the bacchanal, however, led to something far more disturbing. Eight cold, iron beds stood there, their sharp frames threaded with worn manacles and stained leather traps. Several were occupied by obviously unwilling patients, each bound and in various states of consciousness, and their combined moans murmured throughout the room. Between them stood several small tables, each strewn with gore-soaked pans, flasks of mysterious fluids, and all manner of cruel-looking cutting instruments. A sizable brown-crimson stain covered much of the eastern wall, as if all the blood from a body once held there had exploded forth in a single violent eruption. One of the patients was obviously dead, his body showing signs of advanced blood veil. Two others faded in and out of consciousness, obviously wracked by the disease as well, they coughed violently and whimpered through their restless fever dreams. The other three bodies seemed trapped somewhere between life and death, and they twitched feebly, their flesh grey and dried like parchment. Ratbone leaned over one of the living victims, and then fished a potion flask from his belt, which he quickly poured down the man’s throat.
“What was that?” O’Reginald asked suspiciously.
“One of the draughts that Ishani gave us,” the druid replied. “The ones that remove disease.”
“Don’t you think we might need those?” the sorcerer asked. “What if we get exposed?”
“These people are already exposed, and dying,” Ratbone said, a hint of anger in his voice. “They need this more than we do.”

On the far side of the operating theatre was a heavy, wooden door. Beyond it was a short hall. Iron doors with slotted windows, much like might be found in a prison or asylum, lined the walls. Faint bloodstains flecked the straw-strewn flagstones. Kat crept quietly to one of the doors and slid the window aside. Within, she saw a bedraggled looking Varisian woman huddled in a corner, terror in her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Kat said in the Varisian dialect. “We’re here to help you.”
The woman’s eyes widened in disbelief and guarded hope.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Katarina, and my companions and I work for the Guard. Who holds the keys to your cells?”
“The priests,” the woman said, her voice quavering.
“The doors are too stout for us to batter down,” Kat said. “Do not despair. We will return for you and the others when we have dealt with these devils.”
“No! Wait! Come back! Don’t leave us!” the woman wailed as Kat turned away. Tears squeezed from the corner of the beguiler’s eyes as she led her friends out of the cell block.
________________________________________________________________

When they finally breached the double doors on the far side of the bacchanal, the companions were momentarily stunned by what they saw. The stinging scent of harsh chemicals choked the high-ceilinged chamber. Three huge metal vats bubbled there, each more than six feet tall. A sturdy series of catwalks ten feet off the ground stretched over and around the vats, which allowed those above to attend whatever slurry produced the foul green-brown mist that emanated from each gigantic vessel. Circling the upper portion of the room was an elaborate mosaic of white, black and green stone that depicted a giant half-corpse woman in black veils dancing among fields of the dead, undead and dying. Yet it was not this that stopped the heroes in their tracks, but instead was the small army of queen’s physicians and black clad priests, each bearing the symbol of Urgathoa, that stood arrayed before the doors waiting, for them. Standing above them all was a balding man, pale and blotchy, dressed in thick leather robes lined with dozens of pockets that bulged with surgical and mortician tools.
“You!” he shrieked. “Vandals! Crooks! Thugs! You destroyed my laboratory beneath the Dead Warrens! Do you have any idea how much of my research you ruined, or how long it’s going to take me to replace those derro? Oh, you are going to pay dearly for that!”
“You must be Rolth, I presume?” Kat replied. “We’re sorry we missed you before. We so very much wanted to make your acquaintance.”
“Kill them!” Rolth shrilled.

Things happened very quickly after that. As the evil doctors and priests began to close, Ratbone’s body shifted into his avian form, and he took flight, winging his way up to Rolth. As he lifted off, Katarina quickly placed a spell around him, cloaking him in a layer of silence, knowing that would take away the necromancer’s greatest advantage. Meanwhile, Herc and Valeris moved forward to engage the minions, each of them quickly dispatching one of the doctors. O’Reginald’s approach was much flashier, and more than effective. The sorcerer unleashed a cone of flame that stretched the length of the room. Priests and doctors alike dove for cover, but two of the physicians were engulfed completely, and a number of the cultists were badly burned.

When Ratbone landed atop the catwalk, Rolth was taken aback at the sudden silence that enveloped him, but the necromancer was not caught entirely unprepared. A spectral, disembodied hand appeared from over his shoulder and reached out to touch the druid. Ratbone shrieked silently as he felt the cold of the grave run through his body. At the same time, Rolth’s face flushed with the life force he had siphoned from the half-orc. He then turned and ran along the catwalk, desperate to escape the spell that suppressed his casting. Snarling, Ratbone shifted into his canine form and dashed after him, gaining ground easily. When he was still several yards away, he leaped and landed on the necromancer’s back, bearing him down to the metal walkway.

Suddenly, another blast of fire filled this room, this time sculpted into four large cubes that instantly snuffed out the lives another doctor and three of the priests as well. O’Reginald exulted in his power, but just as quickly, his face blanched as a priest rushed him, brandishing a wicked-looking scythe. The blade slashed through the sorcerer’s robes and deep into his skin. Pain flared through O’Reginald’s body, and then, to his horror, his flesh began erupting in painful, red blisters…the tell-tale signs of blood veil!

Ratbone and Rolth rolled and wrestled on the floor, the necromancer struggling desperately to escape. He reached out and grabbed the druid’s neck, and once more cold fire bloomed in Ratbone’s head, though mercifully, he did not feel as drained as he had from the first attack. Still, in his pain, he momentarily loosened his grip, and Rolth wriggled out of his grasp. As the necromancer struggled to his feet, however, the druid clamped his jaws savagely around his thigh. Gritting his teeth, Rolth threw himself over the railing of the catwalk. He landed badly, and before he could get up, Ratbone was upon him again. That time when the druid bit down, golden ice formed around the wound in Rolth’s arm, and the wizard felt all of his muscles go limp. Yet still, he managed to find the strength to kick out at the huge dog and scramble for freedom once more. Within a few strides, he once more heard the noise of battle around him, and knew that his spells would serve him again. He spoke one word, and vanished in a flash of bright light, making good his escape. Ratbone howled in fury, though no one could hear him. He looked around for something to sate his bloodlust, only to see the last of the priests fall before Herc and Valeris.
_________________________________________________________

“Does anyone know what this crap is?” Valeris asked as he peered at the sludge bubbling in one of the vats.
“At a guess?” Michael replied as he tended to O’Reginald. “Raw blood veil. The priests’ scythes are coated with it. Nasty trick. Fortunately, we still have one of the curative draughts.”
“Yeah, fortunate,” O’Reginald glared over the lip of the flask at Ratbone as he quaffed it.
“Where do you think the wizard went?” Herc asked as he methodically stuck his sword into each of the corpses, making sure they were dead.
“No telling,” Kat shrugged. “That was a dimensional portal he created. It could have taken him almost anywhere in the city. We can’t worry about him now. If I were him, I’d lay low for a long time.”

Several doors led from the chamber. Two led to empty storage rooms, while a third was locked tight. Katarina removed her picks and went to work on the mechanism. She was rewarded with a satisfying click less than two minutes later. The room beyond was relatively small. An elegant operating table dominated the center of the grim laboratory. Crossed with iron restraints and encircled by a gore-encrusted gutter, the macabre device sprouted various cranks and levers, and was large enough to accommodate an ogre. Along the walls stood several tables strewn with all manner of alchemical accoutrements, their contents appearing old in the extreme, with rusted iron tools, beakers of purpled glass, and deep pools of wax from countless melted candles. A young and unconscious man, barely older than twenty winters, lay upon the table, bound by its heavy restraints. His face matched the description of Ruan. Intense and pale as death, a somberly dressed man stood rigidly on the opposite side of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes wide and intense, and his nose wrinkled in an expression of extreme distaste. Yellow teeth bared, his overly large incisors jutted forward, not like those of a man, but of a filth-hungry vermin.

“And what, pray tell, can I do for you?” the creature asked disdainfully.
“Who are you?” Kat asked. “Are you behind all this? Did you create the plague?”
“I am Ramoska Arkminos,” the other replied, “and this…plague you refer to is not my doing. I have my own research.”
“Yeah, well your so-called research involves a friend of ours there,” Valeris growled, nodding towards Ruan.
“This boy?” Ramoska asked, arching one eyebrow. “Pity. He was showing promise. Still, I have no quarrel with you people, and since you seem to be undoing the Urgathoans’ little scheme, there’s little reason for me to remain in this cesspool. If he means that much to you, I’ll sell you the boy for two-thousand gold crowns.”
“What??” Valeris was incensed. “How about we just take him and whatever else you’ve got laying around here?”
He stepped forward, and Ramoska tensed slightly, his fingers barely twitching.
“No!” Kat hissed as she grabbed Valeris by the arm. “I think he’s telling the truth,” she whispered to the duskblade. “Our resources are stretched thin already. We don’t need to invite trouble, especially if we still haven’t met who’s really behind this!”
“I agree,” Ratbone said, once more in his normal form. “We came for Ruan. He’s agreed to hand him over and leave. That’s good enough.”
“Hand him over,” Valeris sneered. “For two-thousand gold! That’s hardly a bargain.”
Kat turned back to Ramoska. “We have a counter proposal. One-thousand coins, and we leave you in peace, no questions asked.”
Ramoska pondered for several moments, and then nodded once. “Agreed.”
________________________________________________________

Ramoska released Ruan and revived him before turning him over to the companions. The boy was confused and disoriented. He remembered very little beyond his ordeal at Carowyn Manor, and was just anxious to get back to his sister. Katarina instructed him to await their return while they pressed on, or if they did not return, she told him how to make his way out and contact Ishani.

On the far side of the room containing the huge vats, on the same level as the catwalk, were two more doors, both in the same wall. With no other obvious choices, the group opened the first of the pair. The reek of burning wax wafted out of the morbid chamber beyond. Several tall, misshapen candles seemed to be the apparent source. Workspaces strewn with tall beakers of foul-colored liquids, parchments covered in insidious symbols, and cages of whimpering rodents filled large alcoves in both the northern and southern walls. A pair of huge stone doors hung ajar to the east, revealing a long hallway that led further into the dark. At the room’s center stood four large, cylindrical glass vats, each filled with a bubbling emerald fluid that tinted the chamber’s light a noxious green. Within each suspension floated a malformed abomination…something part man, part angel, and part horse…things of half-formed muscle with dead, fleshless equine skulls. Three of the forms were motionless and still, but the fourth twitched now and then with life. Fanned out around the periphery of the large chamber were no-fewer-than ten Urgathoan priests, each armed with a large, dripping scythe.
“Here we go again,” O’Reginald muttered.

The companions rushed into the room before the approaching priests could bottleneck them at the door. Herc and Valeris stood back-to-back, blades flashing, and two of the cultists quickly fell before them. A third slashed at O’Reginald, but the poisonous scythe blade merely tore the sorcerer’s sleeve. Cursing, O’Reginald quickly conjured a shower of falling stones, crushing the priest and one of his brethren beneath them. Two more went down beneath Ratbone’s snapping jaws and Herc’s shield. The four remaining quickly fell back before the onslaught, gathering around one of the large cylinders…the one that contained the still-moving horror. In unison, they raised their scythes and smashed the glass. The viscous fluid flooded across the floor, and a jade mist momentarily obscured the scene. When it cleared, however, the six heroes wished that they could have remained ignorant of what had been unleashed.
“Save and preserve us,” Michael whispered, clutching his holy symbol. “It’s a leukodaemon.”
“A what?” Kat asked.
“A harbinger of plagues and disease,” Michael said. “They serve Apollyon, the Horseman of Pestilence. We may not survive this…”

The four priests fell to their knees, prostrating themselves before the outsider’s awesome presence. Their reward was death, as the mighty daemon fell upon them with savage fury, tearing them limb-from-limb in a span of seconds. While it was thus occupied, Ratbone, Valeris and Herc charged forward, surrounding the fiend on three sides. Ratbone quickly darted in, biting viciously at its leg, but the druid’s razor-sharp fangs barely pierced the otherworldly flesh. Still, where they did, a thin rime of gold-flecked ice appeared, and the daemon roared in fury. Turning, it opened its mouth and spewed forth what looked like a cloud of thousands of corpse-bloated, biting black flies. Ratbone quickly darted to the side, but Valeris was not so fast. He flailed and beat about his head as the insects bit at his exposed flesh. He swung his sword wildly, striking the daemon with a lucky blow. Then, however, he doubled over as the sickening smell and the nauseating drone of the rapidly spreading cloud of flies caused his gorge to rise and his bowels to rebel. A moment later, Herc was overcome as well. The leukodaemon roared again, and lunged for the helpless pair. Its claws ripped and its teeth tore at the warriors. All they could do was back away under its merciless assault. Then Ratbone was there, interposing himself between the fiend and his friends. The druid sprang in, biting and snapping when he could find the opportunity, before springing away again. Still, he was not fast enough. For every small wound he inflicted on the daemon, it bloodied him twice. Inevitably, he felt himself weakening, but he knew that he would not give ground. He would stop the creature or die trying. Suddenly, to his astonishment and gratitude, it began to rain stone in the center of the chamber. Again, and again, the fist-sized rocks fell from thin air, pelting and hammering the daemon. It screeched in impotent rage as it tried in vain to avoid the deluge, and all the while Ratbone kept up his assault. Finally, with one last bellow, the fiend collapsed under the barrage, and Ratbone rushed forward and seized its skull in his jaws, crushing it with his vice-like bite.
____________________________________________________________

The companions of the K.I.A. thought that they must be closing in on the power behind the cult of Urgathoa, judging by the increasing resistance they had been meeting. They were quiet and somber after the battle with the leukodaemon. Michael had healed their wounds, but their morale was low. They knew that it was very likely some or all of them might not return from their mission.

The long hall they’d been walking down abruptly opened into a circular chamber which rose into a high dome. Seven basins jutted from the walls, ensconced within evenly spaced alcoves that circled the room. Each was filled to the brim with a unique liquid corruption…blood, bile, milk, or other unidentifiable fluid. Each filled the air with its own distinct reek that created a noxious, eye-watering bouquet. Upon the floor around each basin lay several small, empty metal boxes, each carved with images of skulls. At the room’s center, rising from a wide pool of crystalline water, stood a golden statue of a sight both erotic and horrifying. The statue was that of a beautiful nude woman, human above the waist, but below it was nothing more than a skeleton. Standing beside the statue was a darkly beautiful woman. Her pale white face was framed by a mane of jet-black hair. She wore a flatteringly sculpted breastplate beneath her revealing robes, and she carried a particularly vicious-looking scythe in her hands.
“And so you have found your way to me, hopeful heroes,” she said in a cold, lilting voice. “Know that you stand before the Lady Andaisin, architect of your city’s death. You call this sending blood veil, yet I know it as the gentle kiss of the Pallid Princess. Your reward shall be great…choose of the seven scourges to become one with the goddess. Those who drink, I shall only cripple, leaving you alive to enjoy her as she quickens inside your flesh. Those who abstain are fools, not fit to house the divine gift. You may prostrate yourselves at my feet and I shall make your end all the more swift for it. Swifter, in any event, than this delightful end your lovely queen has enjoined me to create!”

That was all Ratbone needed to hear. Crouching, he launched himself at the priestess, yet as he charged, Katarina once again cloaked him in a shroud of magical silence. Andaisin’s face registered shocked outrage when she realized what had happened. Her dismay only grew when the druid latched onto her leg with his jaws, coating her from knee to ankle in a sheen of glimmering ice. A half-second behind Ratbone, Herc lowered his shield and slammed into the priestess with all his strength, driving her back into the fountain. As she struck the marble, something in her spine cracked and she collapsed to the floor. She struggled to regain her feet, but Herc smashed her again with his shield, sending her sprawling once more. Hissing silently through clenched teeth, she swung her scythe in a low arc, catching the mercenary across his legs, opening savagely gaping wounds. At the same time, a jagged cut suddenly appeared on her own leg, but she seemed not to notice the pain. What she did notice, however, was Ratbone bearing down on her. The druid’s jaws stretched wide as he closed them around her throat, tearing at her abdomen with his claws as he disemboweled her.

Just like that, it was over. For a moment, the heroes were stunned. That was it? After all they’d been through, their quest was over? They turned to one another, disbelief and questioning in their eyes. Suddenly, the faces of Michael, O’Reginald and Kat turned pale. Behind Ratbone, Valeris and Herc, something was happening to Andaisin’s body. It crackled with black energy as it rose slowly into the air. The three warriors turned slowly, their mouths slack. Then, without warning, Andaisin’s sundered flesh exploded with boils and pustules, while torrents of foul humors flooded forth and congealed into a sickening new body. What had just moments ago been a woman, now towered as a monstrosity of exposed muscle, twisting marrow, and hellish majesty. Flesh worn like a tattered gown and bone warped into gruesome weapons, her rent gut spilled a wave of hardened fluids, dried bowels, and supremely powerful muscles into a single tentacle-tail, propelling the feminine horror forward.

One of her hands had become fused into the shape of a fleshy scythe, and this she swung at Herc, opening a large gash in the merc’s chest. When Ratbone leaped for her, she backhanded the dog-druid with her other hand, and where her flesh touched his, the druid’s skin erupted in blood veil pox. Still, Ratbone bit at her with his snapping fangs before he dropped back to the ground below. He gathered himself to leap again, for now the thing that had been Andaisin hovered ten-feet above him and his companions, out of reach of their weapons. At that moment, however, he felt a wave of magic wash over him, and before he knew it, his canine body had doubled in size. He stood at eye-level with the undead abomination, and silently he thanked O’Reginald for his timely assistance. The Daughter of Urgathoa fixed him with her baleful gaze, but it was Valeris she turned her wrath upon as the duskblade leaped at her, his hands crackling with electricity. Andaisin slashed at him with her claws, at the same time swatting him aside like an insect with her muscular tail. Valeris landed in a heap against a far wall and did not rise again. The arena around them now clear, she then turned her attention back to Ratbone. They circled each other, each feinting and striking, back and forth, again and again. Yet the druid’s companions could tell it would only be a matter of time. Though his teeth and claws took their toll, Andaisin’s own weapons left his flesh hanging in tatters, blood flowing freely from his many wounds. He could not last much longer, and so Herc and O’Reginald took matters into their own hands. The big mercenary quickly strung the bow that hung at his back and began loosing arrow after arrow at the unholy saint, while at the same time, O’Reginald hurled volley after volley of arcane bolts. Slowly, the tide began to turn, and as Andaisin recoiled from yet another barrage of magic missiles, Ratbone seized her with all four of his upper claws, holding her tight against him as he savaged her with his fangs. Though she struggled mightily, and the wounds she inflicted were horrendous, ultimately, the Daughter of Urgathoa failed, her body going limp before returning once more to its natural state, once again, quite dead.

Thought we were going to lose Ratbone there for a few minutes.
Great read once again

Thought we were going to lose Ratbone there for a few minutes.
Great read once again

Interesting to read as always!

I'm surprised that they didn't attack Ramoska. Was it a difficult decision for the group?

What's O'Reginald's "rain of stones" spell? Is it a regular magic missiles spell with a different look for flavor, or is a spell from a splat book?

Also, were the PC's submitted to Blood Veil at any point? Did you have them make fortitude saves to avoid getting sick, or anything? By reading the adventure, it seems that the adventurers have a high risk of falling sick many times, depending how long in-game the adventure takes. Or did you decide to skip that part to make the adventure go along more smoothly?

Interesting to read as always!

I'm surprised that they didn't attack Ramoska. Was it a difficult decision for the group?

What's O'Reginald's "rain of stones" spell? Is it a regular magic missiles spell with a different look for flavor, or is a spell from a splat book?

Also, were the PC's submitted to Blood Veil at any point? Did you have them make fortitude saves to avoid getting sick, or anything? By reading the adventure, it seems that the adventurers have a high risk of falling sick many times, depending how long in-game the adventure takes. Or did you decide to skip that part to make the adventure go along more smoothly?

O'Reginald's spell is Hail of Stone...not sure of the book. It's a conjuration spell that fill a 10' diameter area. No save, no SR. I believe it does 1d4 points of damage per caster level, max 5d4. Now O'Reginald has sculpt spell, so he can shape it into cones and whatnot.

Actually, several of the group contracted blood veil throughout the adventure, but they quickly cured themselves before the effects were too debilitating.

THE FORSAKEN ARCH

While the other members of the K.I.A. stayed behind to tend the victims at the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden, Ratbone winged his way across Korvosa in his avian persona. He visited first the Bank of Abadar, quickly summing up for Ishani what had transpired, and then the Citadel to speak with Cressida Kroft. Within an hour, priests of Abadar and members of the Guard swarmed the Hospice as the streets were secured and the sick were ministered to. Ratbone made one more stop on his way back, to a small apartment on Overton Way. There he retrieved Deyanira Mirukova, simply telling her that he had something to show her, and then he carried her in his large talons back across the town. When he finally set her down outside the doors of the Hospice, the first person she saw was Ruan. There reunion was tearful and required no words. The druid left them to their privacy, and slipped quietly back inside.
_____________________________________________________________

“I still can’t believe this,” Cressida said, shaking her head as she paced around Andaisin’s inner sanctum. “Blood veil man-made, the Queen’s own personal physician in league with these cultists, the Gray Maiden’s somehow involved? If I weren’t seeing it with my own eyes, I couldn’t credit it. The fallout from this is going to be a nightmare!”
“What about the Queen?” Ratbone asked. “Are you going to arrest her?”
“On what grounds?” the Field Marshal asked. “There is no hard evidence here, no matter what the priestess said. It won’t stick. I’ll just have to go to her and give my report. Her reaction will be telling.”
Ratbone shook his head. “I don’t understand the laws of this city. Right and wrong get lost in bureaucracy and politics too often for my taste.”
“Unfortunately, we have to play by the rules for now,” Cressida said, “but have faith. The truth will eventually win out, especially if it continues to have champions such as yourselves. However, I’m afraid I have some more bad news for you. The Queen has ordered all of Old Korvosa to be quarantined.”
“What??” the six companions asked in unison.
Cressida nodded. “The Gray Maidens have destroyed every wooden bridge leading into the old city, and they are erecting a permanent barricade on the only stone bridge. Even though we’ve found the source of the plague, I’m afraid things aren’t going to get much better any time soon.”
________________________________________________________

In the days that followed, Ishani, using the documents the company had provided from Dr. Davaulus and Rolth’s lab, was able to come up with the foundation for a vaccine for blood veil. Apparently, there were some Varisians who had a natural immunity to the plague. Ishani was not certain what their connection was at first, but upon further research, he discovered that they all shared a common ancestor…a woman named Kasanda Miromia-Foxglove. From their distilled blood, he developed the immunization. Word spread quickly of what had transpired in the Hospice of the Blessed Maiden, and the true source of blood veil. The official stance of the Palace was that the Queen had been duped by Dr. Davaulus, and his actions and those of his masked minions did not accurately reflect her desires. Furthermore, it was asserted that any Gray Maidens involved in the hospice had no knowledge of the true goings-on in the chambers below. The majority of Korvosa’s citizens found it difficult to believe that their queen, however vain and unpleasant, could be the source of such an evil. They were, for the most part, simply thankful that the scourge had passed, and were eager to get back to their lives.

As far as the K.I.A. was concerned, their own role in unmasking the conspiracy and bringing the perpetrators to justice could not be kept under wraps. It was estimated by those in the know that the actions of the heroes led to the salvation of no fewer than three-thousand of Korvosa’s citizens, either directly or indirectly. Consequently, they were lauded as the city’s saviors from the meanest slum to Castle Korvosa itself. Tayce Soldado organized the thanks of Korvosa’s settled Varisians in the form of a large feast at her home with the entire community, many of whom insisted on bringing modest gifts. Dozens of other Korvosan families also recognized the companions for saving the lives of family members or neighbors. Craftsmen, local artists and guildmembers offered their favor and services. Field Marshal Kroft personally thanked the company for their extensive aid. Deputizing them as official members of the Korvosan Guard, she opened Citadel Volshyenek’s armory to them. Finally, Queen Ileosa issued a public acknowledgement, delivered conspicuously by Marcus Thalassinus, commander of the Sable Company rather than the Queen herself, acknowledging the K.I.A.’s work, praising their actions and granting each of them a 5,000 gold crown writ in reward for their services. Of particular note, Ratbone pooled all of the resources he received and purchased two magical items…a decanter of never-ending water, and a spoon of sustenance, the latter capable of producing an endless supply of tasteless but nourishing gruel. These he donated to Old Korvosa, to help ease the privation suffered by the quarantined population. His beneficence remained anonymous.
____________________________________________________________

Despite the accolades heaped upon them by the grateful citizenry of Korvosa, there were certain elements of the establishment that made it clear that their accomplishments were not appreciated by everyone. The Korvosan Guard had suffered greatly over the past weeks, and their ranks were significantly thinned. Conspicuous in their growing numbers, however, were the Gray Maidens. Patrols of them could be seen with increasing frequency on the streets, and wherever the members of the K.I.A. encountered them, they were met with barely restrained hostility and encouraged to move along. So when Cressida Kroft summoned them to the Citadel one morning and informed them that it might be in their best interest to disappear for awhile, they were not entirely surprised.

“I’m concerned for your safety,” the Field Marshall said. “I doubt any moves would be made against you openly, but there are many dark alleys and out of the way places in this city. As it so happens, an assignment out of town has just presented itself. Ordinarily, such a mission would be…beneath your capabilities, but in this case, I think it would suit you perfectly. The village of Shoalbury is located several days northwest of Korvosa, along the coast. Their primary industry is the export of pearls, and they are a major provider for the jewelers here. For the past several months, none of their shipments have reached us. It seems they are having bandit problems, and they’ve requested our assistance. I think a trip to the provinces is just what you people need.”
___________________________________________________________

The village of Shoalbury was located some two-hundred feet from the bay shore, nestled in a low valley between barren, craggy hills. Three short piers served as staging areas for the villagers when they dove for pearls, as well as docks for four community fishing boats. Due to the lack of significant vegetation in the region, the buildings in the village were primarily made of rock and mud with thatch roof. None of the buildings had more than one floor, and a loose stone wall surrounded the town itself.

Cressida told the company to ask for a man named Palonius Firth, a member of the town’s collective council, when they arrived in town, but when they entered the gates, the villagers were in an uproar. They asked for the councilman, but were told there was trouble down near the beach and he was occupied. They made their way down to the docks, where they found most of the villagers gathered on the beach, watching two men and several armed militia tend to another man who lay unconscious on the sand.
“What’s going on here?” Michael asked as he and the others pushed their way through the crowd. “Is one of you Palonius Firth?”
“I am,” one of the men growled in annoyance. He was dressed in a fine suit of chainmail decorated with pearls, but he appeared haggard, and looked as if he might have been involved in a brawl recently. “Who’re you?”
“I’m Michael, of the Church of Iomedae,” the priest said. “We represent the Korvosan Guard and were sent by Field Marshal Croft.”
“Oh…!” Firth exclaimed, relief in his voice. “Well met! I’m sorry we weren’t able to give you a proper welcome.”
“Can we be of assistance here?” Michael asked. “What’s happened?”
The man lying on the beach looked as if he’d just been dragged from the water. He was badly beaten, and one of his eyes was missing, seemingly gouged from its socket.
“It’s something I’d rather not discuss out in the open,” Firth said in a low voice.
“I understand,” Michael nodded, “but this man obvious needs help.”
He knelt down beside a dour man with a neatly trimmed goatee.
“Balrak Lough,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m the village priest.”
Michael shook his hand, and then the pair turned to their attention to the wounded man. They worked for several minutes, tending to the most grievous of his injuries. Then two militiamen lifted him and carried him back towards the village.
“If you’ll follow me,” Firth said and led the companions to a large building which served as a meeting hall for the council.
_____________________________________________________________

Besides Firth, two other men were present in the meeting room. One was Balrak Lough, while the other was a blonde half-elf with an intense look in his eyes, and a large stack of papers on the table before him. A fourth chair sat empty beside him. Firth introduced him as Trek, and then Michael made his own introductions. Firth indicated for all of them to be seated, and then sank heavily into his own chair.
“I had hoped our fourth member, Mr. Seacrust, would realize the import of this meeting, and grace us with his presence,” he sighed, “but I guess he has more important things to do. No matter. As you have no doubt learned, our village is under siege. A group of bandits has taken an interest in our pearl trade. It’s been over six months since any of our pearl shipments have made it to the Korvosan markets, and nearly as long since we’ve been able to purchase supplies. The bandits seem to know our schedule as well as we do, and it’s been my suspicion for some time that we have a traitor in our midst. This latest event has all but confirmed my fears. Last night, we tried to smuggle a large shipment of pearls south on a fishing boat, rather than use the road. The bandits had no reason to look to the sea, yet still they struck our transport and slaughtered its crew nearly to a man. Only one soldier, Gil Umpbrow, the man you saw on the beach, survived, and only barely. This shipment was our last hope. We are now nearly defenseless. If someone can’t find wherever these bandits are holed up, drive them out, and reclaim our stolen pearls, I fear Shoalbury will have to be abandoned. If you can help us, I’ll see to it that you are rewarded well.”
“May we speak with Mr. Umpbrow?” Kat asked.
Palonius looked to Balrak. The cleric looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded.
“When we are done here, I’ll take you to him,” he said. “But I would like to be present in case he needs my attention.”
“What can you tell us about the bandits?” Herc asked Palonius.
“Counting the shipment that was attacked last night,” the councilmen replied, “the last four shipments of pearls have all been lost to them. Other shipments and travelers on the road have been unmolested. The bandits obviously want nothing but pearls. Almost all of our militia have now perished, since they were working as caravan guards for all the ambushed shipments. Scouts have been sent to all the nearby caves and known smuggler coves, but none of those locations had any sign of activity. Wherever they’re holed up, its somewhere new.”
“There’s one more thing,” Trek spoke up in a soft voice. “While we’ve recovered all the bodies of our slain militiamen, they were all missing their eyes. It would seem that pearls aren’t the only things the bandits are interested in…”
“You mentioned something about a possible traitor,” Ratbone asked Finch. “Whom do you suspect?”
Balrak and Trek looked at each other.
“We’re not…all…convinced of that,” the priest said carefully. “Some of us believe that the bandits are using some sort of powerful divination magic to spy on the village.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Palonius shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “If they were capable of such magic, then why didn’t they just use it to invade the town earlier when our guard was down? If you two won’t say it, then I will! I think Argin Seacrust is behind this! His attitude of late and his absence from this meeting are damning, and the fact that he knew the schedules for all the pearl shipments makes him the key suspect!”
“But Palonius,” Trek interjected, “all four of us knew the schedules. By your reasoning, any of us might be this so-called traitor.”
The three men grew quiet and thoughtful.
“I think we can answer this question quite easily,” Michael said at length. When they looked up at him, he continued. “I have a spell at my disposal that will allow me to discern the truth of the words of any who speak while it is in effect. If you would acquiesce to answering some simple questions under its influence, the truth will be known.”
Slowly, one-by-one, the councilmen nodded their agreement.
“I can’t speak for Seacrust, however,” Palonius said. “I’ll ask him to join us, but I don’t guarantee it. One more thing…I would ask that any suspicion of a traitor in town not go beyond these walls. It would only cause panic among the villagers, and might also alert any sympathizers to the bandits that we’re on to them. Now, if there’s nothing else, Balrak will take you to see Gil while I go and speak with Argin.”
____________________________________________________________

Gil was awake when the group arrived at his home. Most of his wounds had been dealt with by Balrak and Michael, but nothing could be done about his missing eye. He was still shaken up by his ordeal, but he agreed to speak with them about what had befallen his caravan.
“One thing I’m sure of,” he said, “the attack was swift, and it was to the point. Our ship was sailing with minimal light, using the stars and moon for guidance. I was looking out to shore when the ambush came. I saw a group of riders on horseback charging at us across the waves! They were literally galloping over the surface of the water! When they reached the boat, two of the riders leaped onto the deck, and when their hoods fell back, they had terrible, bird-like heads, and they were armed with bows and swords. As we tried to fight them off, something else dropped out of the sky onto the deck…a massive, horned ogre that used magic to quickly break through our defenses. It didn’t take long for them to completely overwhelm us. I did my best to fight back, but as the birdmen cut down my friends and plucked their eyes from their skulls with their claws and beaks, it was pretty plain that all was lost. One of them managed to knock me down and…did this.” He indicated his empty eye socket. “Then Captain Stalgie clubbed the fiend senseless with a gaff. I got to my feet, but then stumbled over a body and fell into the water. I only barely managed to make it to the shore before I collapsed. When I woke up this morning, I didn’t see any sign of the bandits or the boat.”

His story was disconcerting, since it seemed that more was involved than simple bandits. Bird men and ogre magi? It seemed the unique talents of the K.I.A. might actually be put to the test after all. Meeting with Argin Seacrust was becoming more of a priority.
__________________________________________________________

When they arrived back at the council house, however, Seacrust was not there.
“He refused,” Palonius explained. “He said he didn’t have to justify himself to anyone.”
“I see,” Michael said. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to go to him. I trust the rest of you won’t mind still submitting to our questions?”
“Not at all,” the councilman nodded.
“Just one other thing,” Michael said. “Do you mind if I asked where you received those bruises?”
Palonius sighed. “It was a misunderstanding between myself and one of the villagers.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Balrak interjected. “It was Argin. The two of them argued over how to stage the secret pearl shipment. Argin was in favor of an overland caravan disguised as a group of pilgrims, but Palonius insisted on using the fishing boat. One thing led to another and blows were exchanged.”
“I see,” Michael nodded. “All the more reason to hear Mr. Seacrust’s side of all this then. Shall we begin?”
______________________________________________________________

Under the influence of Michael’s spell, the three councilmen were found to be wholly truthful in what they had said. That left nothing else but to go to Seacrust’s bungalow. It lay at the end of the southernmost pier to the east of town. The mild surf washed toward a rocky shore outfitted with three such floating piers. Each of them was just over one-hundred feet in length, and a small cabin sat at the end of each. A ramp that consisted of thick boards tied with stout leather ropes secured each pier to the shore, the pier itself rising and falling with the passing waves.
“Wait here,” Ratbone instructed the three councilmen, who’d accompanied them. “We’ll handle this in case there’s trouble.”

No sooner had they stepped out onto the pier, than a loud voice called from the cabin.
“Turn around now, you curs, afore you regret it! You’ll never get me, you filthy mongrels! I ain’t done nothing ye wouldn’t’a done in my place!”
“Well, I guess that answers the question of guilt or innocence,” Valeris smirked.
Carefully, they started down the pier. When they’d gone no more than halfway, however, Seacrust called out again.
“I warned ye! Now let’s see how ye like swimmin’ with th’fishes!”
Suddenly, the section of pier they were standing on collapsed as a trapdoor opened beneath them. The six companions hurled themselves to opposite sides, with half of them scrambling safely to the far side, while the other three managed to just clear the pit to the near. When they looked down, they could see the water below them red with chum, and thick with the circling fins of sharks. Ratbone quickly transformed into his condor form, and carried his friends safely across the death trap.

When they reached the door of the cabin, it was locked tight. Herc shouldered his shield and slammed into it, smashing it to splinters. No sooner was the door open, than a tall, hairless man dressed in tight-fitting seal skin, seemed to appear out of thin air. He held what seemed like a small pearl in his hand, and he hurled it to the decking of the pier directly behind Herc and Ratbone. When it struck, it exploded in a blinding flash, buffeting the druid and the mercenary to their knees. When the glare vanished, Argin was gone again. Herc and Ratbone climbed slowly to their feet, their bodies covered with bruises and cuts. Michael stepped forward and gripped his holy symbol as he channeled his divine power to heal his companions. To his shock, however, their injuries remained unchanged. Katarina frowned, perplexed as well. Quickly, she reached into a pouch at her waist, chanted a few arcane words, and flung a handful of glittering dust towards the interior of the cabin. Her eyes grew wide as the dust seemed to strike some unseen barrier between her and her wounded companions.
“Herc, Ratbone!” she called. “Can you hear me?”
Both nodded, and Herc moved to step towards her, but was abruptly stopped in his tracks as he ran into the same barrier. He reached out his hands like some sort of street mime, and felt about the circumference of what seemed to be some sort of invisible sphere imprisoning him and Ratbone.
“I’ll tell ye one last time,” Argin’s voice sounded from inside the cabin. “leave now, or I’ll kill’em both!”
“We’ll see about that,” Michael muttered. “Herc, Ratbone! Stand back!”
The pair complied as the priest began chanting. When he was finished, he cast out his hands, using the prayer to unravel the magic holding his friends. To his relief, there was a loud pop as the sphere winked out of existence.
“Damn you all!” Seacrust cried as he suddenly reappeared, a pair of kukris in his hands. He rushed at Herc, and slashed the big warrior viciously. Herc grunted, but didn’t give ground. Instead, he struck back, bashing Seacrust with his shield, and then striking with his own blade once the man’s defenses were open. Ratbone quickly transformed into a large mongrel and darted into the fray, seizing one of Seacrust’s legs in his jaws. Seacrust yelped and raised his blades to strike at the dog, but then he froze in mid-swing as if paralyzed.
“Finish him!” Katarina shouted, her face a rictus of concentration and strain. “I can’t hold him for long!”
A moment later, Seacrust broke free of her spell and moved again to strike, but Herc’s shield caught him squarely under his chin and he collapsed in a heap, still breathing, but unconscious.

A thorough search of Seacrust’s cabin turned up damning evidence inside his footlocker. First and foremost were three leather pouches of large, red pearls. Palonius readily identified them as part of the recent shipment. Sitting next to the pouches was a golden statuette of a humanoid figure with a hawk’s head and feet, and four large feathered wings. It felt strangely cold to the touch.
“Gods,” Balrak hissed. “That’s Pazuzu, the demon lord of the air. What was Argin doing with that?”
Finally, below the pouches and the statue were several folded sheets of parchment. They contained detailed notes on pearl shipment logistics, along with several marks on a regional map that seemed to indicate prospective ambush points. Only two marks were located off the main road leading out of Shoalbury. One Palonius verified as the site of the fishing boat ambush.
“This other, however,” Palonius said, his brow creasing, “this appears to be the Forsaken Arch.”
“The what?” Valeris asked.
“It’s a natural landmark in a secluded cove west of here,” the councilman replied. “It was once considered as a possible site for the village, but it was rejected due to the large number of sea cats that infest the waters there.”
“Is that one of the places your militia investigated while looking for the bandits?” Michael asked.
“No,” Palonius said. “It was considered too remote.”
“Sounds like the perfect place for a hideout,” Herc added.
“Hey,” Valeris interrupted, “what about him?” He jerked his thumb towards the slumped form of Argin Seacrust.
The three councilmen seemed to notice their former comrade for the first time.
“Since you are representatives of the Korvosan Guard,” Palonius said at length, “we will remand him into your custody.”
“Agreed,” Michael said, “but you will have to secure him until we return.”
“Where are you going?” Palonius asked.
“The Forsaken Arch,” the priest replied.
___________________________________________________________

The road out of Shoalbury lead west for several miles before it turned inland along a river. It was easily forded at that point, and on the far bank a somewhat overgrown trail continued west. Ratbone knelt down at the head of the trail and discovered several sets of tracks that were still fairly fresh, though it appeared someone had taken pains to hide the evidence of their passing. The trail wound through rugged hill terrain for another mile or so. At that point it passed within a few hundred yards of a large cove, and several hundred feet off shore could be seen the imposing stone arch that gave the area its name. Ratbone took his avian form and flew up to getter a better view of the surrounding terrain. The others paused in a shallow valley formed by two tree-lined hills.
“Did you hear that?” Herc said abruptly, holding up his hand for silence.
The others quieted, turning their heads this way and that. Then, they heard it too…the sound of a child crying, coming from the trees somewhere off to their left.
“Wait here,” Herc said as he started off into the woods.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Valeris grumbled, but by that point, the mercenary had vanished into the undergrowth. A moment later, they heard another sound…a woman’s screams, coming from the trees to the right of the trail.
“Like I said,” Valeris remarked.

Herc pushed through the dense brush, the baby’s cries growing louder. Suddenly, three figures stepped out of the trees in front of him. They were cloaked and hooded, but Herc could see black eyes glinting from within the folds of the hoods, and the protruding tips of what appeared to be sharp beaks. They clutched shortswords in their clawed hands, and before the warrior could react, they were on him, moving in close and stabbing at him repeatedly.

Meanwhile, as the other K.I.A. members debated what they should do, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of whistling arrows as a dozen or more cloaked forms stepped from the trees and opened fire. None of the quartet were spared. Arrows pierced each of them, though none fatally. O’Reginald reacted in blind panic, a spell on his lips and his hands outflung before he realized what he was doing. A cone of rocks flew from his fingers, ripping through vegetation and flesh alike, killing at least half of the assassins. Michael, reacting more cautiously, ducked behind his shield and darted up into the trees, slashing down one of the bowmen before him. Then, without warning, a huge bird dove down from the clouds above, raking one of the bird-men with its claws and tearing its throat out. Ratbone then climbed again, wheeling around for another attack.

Herc, for his part, had no problem dispatching his opponents once he’d regained his composure. Despite his wounds, he dashed back through the trees and exploded into the clearing, coming up directly behind the last bowman, snapping his neck before he could even turn around.
“I’ll say it again,” Valeris said, breathless from the fight, “this looks like the place.”
__________________________________________________________

The blue-green water of the sea crashed against the rocks in a flurry of foam and mist in the hauntingly beautiful cove. Thick strands of brush guarded the uplands to the east and west, and here and there, jagged rocks protruded from the waters, but the predominant feature offshore was the ominous arch of dark rock. The granite outcropping of two stone columns, each easily over one-hundred feet in diameter, supported a thick arch of rock some two-hundred feet above the ocean’s surface. Several unusually large dark birds perched on top of the arch, their shrill cries competing with the surf for dominance over the scene. A wide sandbar extended from the beach out to the stone arch, its length strewn with seashells and bits of coral.

The companions started across the sandbar, the water only a few feet deep at low tide. They were still several dozen yards from the arch when the huge seacat emerged from the water, hauling itself up onto the sandbar before them. It opened its jaws in a gurgling yowl, and at the same time, the cries of the birds became louder. Looking up, the company saw the avians diving towards them, large black-feathered eagles with glowing red eyes. Herc slogged forward, dispatching the piscean feline quickly and efficiently. The eagles, however, struck with deadly efficiency, dive-bombing the heroes from a height of a hundred feet or more. Still, when Katarina spread her fingers, spoke a word and sent a dazzling display of rainbow hued light fanning at them, they dropped to the water stunned. It was a simple matter to neutralize them after that. The company continued on towards the Forsaken Arch, secure in the knowledge that they were expected.

I like this side adventure did you create this or is it a published adventure?

I like this side adventure did you create this or is it a published adventure?

What issue of Dungeon? How much did you change besides the convrsions for Pathfinder Rules?

What issue of Dungeon? How much did you change besides the convrsions for Pathfinder Rules?

THE AIR LORD’S FAITHFUL

A sandy beach extended into the dark maw of a cave entrance on the inner side of the northern arch. Each wave that coursed through the arch was answered with splashing echoes from within the cave as the water frothed and roiled. Deeper in, the cavern narrowed down to a short curved tunnel, but a pair of tide pools that reached nearly wall-to-wall made passage through rather difficult. The water in each pool surged and sloshed about, and the rocky depths displayed a riot of colorful anemones and tangled fronds of seaweed. Thanks to Michael’s foresight, he had been able to imbue each of his companions with the ability to literally walk on water, so traversing the deep pools proved little problem. The heroes were even more grateful to the priest when, a moment after they’d passed the pools, they both exploded into frothing geysers.

Beyond the tidal pools, the tunnel abruptly widened into a high-ceilinged room, the roof supported by several large rock columns that had been carved to resemble clouds of fish swimming up through a watery vortex. Each pillar also bore a single, flickering torch in a sconce. A large stack of soggy-looking firewood lay in a heap along the southern wall, and a closed double-door sat in the north. The room smelled wretched…a sickening combination of rotting seaweed, brine and dung. An assortment of crates and boxes had been stacked into a large wall on the eastern side of the room, while on the western side, five large warhorses were stabled. Their ears twitched as the newcomers entered, but otherwise they remained eerily calm.

Katarina crossed the room to the far doors and found them securely locked. Drawing her picks from her belt pouch, she made short work of the lock, and then stood back as Herc pulled the large portals opened. The room beyond was large and open. A long wooden table lay tipped on its side, much like a barricade, in the center of the area, wedged between a pair of vertical rock columns carved to resemble swarms of squid and fish swimming in a vortex. Several ventilation holes lined the walls, and to the east, a stone fireplace loomed. Nearby, a set of large selves held sundry provisions and utensils. The north and south walls were strewn with large, nest-like beds, each cluttered with a large amount of sparkly bits of metal and glittering crystals. A wall to the northwest bore an intricate carving of swarms of fish feeding on a screaming humanoid figure. The air was damp, and carried with it an unsettling odor of mildew and bird. The first thing that struck the companions as they opened the doors, however, was the sound of birdsong, though not the pleasant strains of a nightingale, but rather more like a raven striving to sound like its smaller cousin. The croaking, discordant melody came from the throat of a bird-headed figure crouched on the far side of the overturned table. Nearer at hand, three more birdmen stood ready, short, curved swords in their hands.

Herc and Valeris stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway as the kenkus leaped and somersaulted towards them. As the nearest drew close, the two warriors struck simultaneously, cutting him down in mid flip. The other two, however, quickly managed to flank the duskblade. One slashed viciously at him, ripping into his belly with a precise cut. From back in the stable, O’Reginald quickly hurled a volley of flashing blue missiles towards the kenku, but just before they struck the rogue, they were deflected by some sort of unseen barrier surrounding the bird man. Meanwhile, Ratbone dashed into the room and around the barricade, rushing straight towards the crooner. The kenku shrieked as the mongrel seized him by the leg, and he fell backwards over the table, quickly rolling to his feet on the far side. Suddenly, a loud crash came from the stables, and Kat, O’Reginald and Michael turned, startled, as the wall of crates on the far side came crumbling down. From behind it emerged a raging ogre, a club the size of a tree trunk gripped in its hands. A little squeak escaped the mage’s throat as he scrambled backwards in terror. He nearly bowled over Kat in his desperation. The Varisian gypsy impatiently shoved the young sorcerer aside as she began weaving a spell. The ogre stood above her, club raised high, spittle dripping from its jaws to pool at her feet as she completed her casting. The giant’s eyelids abruptly drooped and the club clattered to the floor behind him as he collapsed, snoring heavily. In the barracks, Herc and Valeris quickly dispatched their two opponents, while Ratbone leaped over the table and landed heavily on the scrabbling bard, quieting his singing as his larynx was crushed. It was a simple matter after that for Valeris to drive his blade through the sleeping ogre’s throat.
“Well done, Archmage!” Valeris snickered as he glared at O’Reginald. The sorcerer’s face was still pale and his hands shook.
“Leave off,” Kat said. “He was just taken by surprise. Come on. We need to keep moving.”
_________________________________________________________

There seemed to be no way out of the kenku barracks…an utter dead end, but Kat’s keen eyes and nimble fingers discovered a hidden catch in a far corner. Flicking it, she was rewarded when a secret panel slid aside, revealing another tunnel winding off into the darkness. The passage gave onto a set of rough-carved steps that continued on for some distance before ending in a long, narrow room. The walls were lined with writhing, groaning humanoid bodies that hung from their arms by manacles. Bones littered the floor near the walls and various dilapidated instruments of torture occupied the space between the three stony pillars of carved fish that rose up to support the roof. A large hammock hung between two of those pillars.

Cautiously, the group started across the chamber, Ratbone in the lead. To Michael, it was obvious that the shackled prisoners were beyond dead. He was on the verge of channeling Iomedae’s power into the lot of them and wiping their blight from existence, when a primal roar came from the ceiling above. As one, the companions looked up, and saw a nightmare figure clinging to the roof. It was the size and general appearance of an ogre, but its skin was deep purple, and curved yellow horns sprouted from its head. With another roar, the ogre mage unleashed a blast of frigid, ice-laden air, sending it washing over the company. Shouting and cursing, they recoiled back towards the tunnel…all except Herc and Ratbone. The big mercenary took three running steps and leaped into the air. His blade reached just high enough to rake the giant’s belly. Immediately, the wound began to close. A moment later, Ratbone shifted from dog to bird in the blink of an eye. He quickly took wing and launched himself at the ogre, his talons ripping deep into its flesh. Where his claws touched, golden ice covered the wound in a glittering shell. However, unlike his previous foes, the ogre mage did not simply slow its reflexes…instead, it became completely paralyzed.
“Now!” Kat shouted when she realized the situation.
O’Reginald, to his credit, stepped up, shaking off the bone-chilling cold that still numbed his limbs. He loosed a barrage of mystic bolts, and when they struck the giant, the brute reeled and sank slowly to the floor, unconscious.
“It’s regenerating!” Michael snarled, pointing to the ogre’s rapidly healing wounds.
Valeris and O’Reginald rushed quickly to the creature’s side and began raining acid down upon it, over and over again until its flesh dissolved from its bones, and then its bones disintegrated as well.
________________________________________________________

Beyond the hideous prison chamber, the tunnel began a steady rise before leveling out and running straight. It seemed they had reached the top of the arch itself. Once more, Ratbone took the lead, but though the druid’s muzzle was low to the ground, sniffing out their path, he, and his companions, were taken completely by surprise at what happened next. One moment he was prowling along the passage, and the next he was simply…gone…vanished through the floor. Abruptly, from the still solid-looking stone floor, a chorus of high-pitched giggles sounded. An instant later, a swarm of mist-shrouded, winged pixie-like creatures erupted from the floor. Their laughter quickly turned to vicious hisses as they opened their mouths and breathed clouds of scalding steam into the passage. Once again, the companions were forced to retreat, but to the amazement of his companions, it was O’Reginald who instead stepped to the fore.
“Is that all you’ve got?!” he spat, and then his voice boomed as words of power burst from his throat. A pea-sized ball of fire streaked from his finger-tips, reaching the mephitis in a heartbeat. They barely had time to gasp before the ball exploded, engulfing the entire swarm. When the flames cleared, only ashes remained.

“Wow,” Ratbone’s voice came from behind the others. They turned and saw the druid standing in his natural form behind them, battered and bruised, but smiling. “It was a long fall, but I’m still here, which is more than I can say for those…whatever they were. Well done, ‘Reg. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
The sorcerer looked at his hands, disbelief on his face.
“Neither did I…,” he whispered.
_________________________________________________________

The corridor ahead narrowed to a width of little more than three feet. Passage was made even more difficult due to a series of badly rusted metal poles that ran its length. The passage itself was sloped sharply downward. Valeris stepped forward, sword in hand, his adamantine blade gleaming in the torchlight. He swung twice and severed the first pole neatly at top and bottom, as easily as if he were slicing hot bread. Taking the lead, he continued down the hall, hewing the metal supports one-by-one, and praying that they weren’t all that was holding the roof of the tunnel up.

The narrow passage emerged over one-hundred feet up the wall of a huge cavern. Several immense stone columns supported the domed roof overhead. The cave was naturally lit by a few large tunnels on the left and right that curved steeply up towards other openings. The majority of the cave floor was a large, churning tide pool, its depths a riot of color in the form of anemones, urchins and writhing forests of seaweed. The rhythmic surging of waves came from around the far southern corner towards the sea. Partially submerged in the pool was the long dead shell and skeleton of a massive draconic turtle. O’Reginald peered over the edge at the vertiginous drop to the water below. He pulled a slender wand from his robes, and quickly tapped each of his companions with it, imbuing them with the transient ability to fly. One-by-one they stepped out into the gulf and floated gently down to the pool, landing lightly on top of it as if it were solid ground, thanks to Michael’s lingering enchantment. They started across the pool towards the nearest exit, but Ratbone, once more in the lead, stopped abruptly when he saw shadowy movement among the waving kelp fronds in the depths. Suddenly, a trio of sea cats burst from the weeds and rushed to the surface, breaching directly in front of the companions. They roared and howled, and as their cries echoed through the cave, a much, much larger shape emerged from the carcass of the dragon turtle. It to was a sea cat, but gigantic beyond compare. As it heaved its bulk to the surface, it was like a leviathan looming over its smaller children. Herc quickly stepped to Ratbone’s side and swung his shield at the nearest cat, snapping its neck with the metal edge. Ratbone pounced on a second, tearing past its wicked claws with his own ripping fangs and talons. The final of the trio abruptly erupted in a column of fire as O’Reginald hurled arcane words, quickly warming to his new-found power. That left only the mother. The giant beast reared high over the companions, and when it brought its enormous paws and jaws down, Katarina was directly beneath it. The beguiler screamed as she saw her doom approaching, but her voice was cut short as the monster picked her up, shook her like a rag doll, and hurled her across the chamber. She struck a rock outcropping and slid to the water’s surface, limp and unmoving. While the cat’s attention was momentarily diverted, Herc, Valeris and Ratbone rushed in. Their combined assault was withering, and though the sea cat was horribly strong and powerful, it could not hold before the onslaught. It crashed back down into the water like capsized ship, and then sank slowly to the bottom of the pool.

Michael rushed to Katarina’s side, and breathed a silent prayer that she was still breathing. He placed his hands upon her broken body and channeled power into her for several long moments. Finally, she gasped and opened her eyes, drawing air deeply into her lungs. For a moment she glanced wildly around, looking for the ravening sea cat.
“It’s over,” Michael said soothingly.
Gradually, Kat relaxed, and Michael helped her back to her feet. The priest was momentarily taken aback, however, when the Varisian woman threw her arms around his neck in a brief, but grateful embrace. The two separated a moment later and rejoined their friends. Unfortunately, all of the tunnels that led from the sea cave led to the outside. There seemed to be no way to venture any further into the arch, and they were still no closer to discovering who, or what was leading the bandits, or what was behind the pearl thefts. Finally, in exasperation, Katarina pulled a wand from her skirts and spoke a quick word. She turned in one complete circle, and then stopped, focused on one blank wall.
“There,” she said, and then walked to the wall and tapped it once with the wand. Abruptly, a large section of the stone slide aside, revealing a passage that sloped steeply upward.
___________________________________________________________

The tunnel was a short one, and ended in another blank wall. Once more, Kat employed her wand, and another secret door slid aside. The polished rock walls of the large room beyond glistened brightly. Four ornate columns arrayed symmetrically around an altar at the center supported a ceiling pierced by several narrow skylights. In each corner of the room, large statues of a humanoid figure stood sentinel over the room. Each statue depicted an imposing, well-proportioned man with the talons of a hawk, the face of a demonic, needle-toothed bird, and four large feathered wings on his back…Pazuzu. An impressive throne to the south had a back adorned with a halo of razor-edged metallic feathers. Unfortunately, the details of the room could not be taken in fully due to the swarms of locusts that blocked the entrance, and the two monstrous scorpions that skittered menacingly around the altar.
“ ‘Reg! Clear a path!” Herc shouted.
The sorcerer obliged, conjuring his signature hail of stones from midair. The rocks fell among the locusts, temporarily scattering the swarm, allowing Herc and Ratbone to dart inside. The pair fell upon the scorpions, and the arachnids first crumpled, and then completely vanished.
“Beware!” Michael called from the passageway. “They were summoned! The summoner
must be nearby!”
As if in answer to his warning, a column of fire suddenly erupted in the center of the room, engulfing Herc and Ratbone, as well as dozens of flying locusts. In the air twenty feet above the altar, a man dressed in chainmail, with a full, avian shaped face mask, appeared. It was his first, and last mistake. Herc, still under the effects of O’Reginald’s fly spell, ignored his badly scorched flesh and launched himself into the air. Behind him, Ratbone also emerged from the flames, having assumed his avian shape. The pair closed on the priest, and behind his mask, his eyes went wide in fear.
“Pazuzu, Pazuzu, Pazuzu!” he screamed, but if his god heard him, his prayer went unanswered. Perhaps the demon lord preferred to give his answer in person when the cleric’s soul departed the Material Plane for the Abyss a moment later.
____________________________________________________________

In a hidden grotto beyond the temple, the companions found detailed notes written by Artimus Fisk, the Pazuzan priest they had slain. In them, Fisk outlined his plan to undermine Shoalbury’s economy to the point where its citizens would have to abandon the town. Then he and his kenku cultists would be able to occupy the village and use the oyster beds to fund a growing movement of Pazuzu worshipers. Also hidden in the grotto was the full supply of pearls which had been stolen over the past six months. The heroes returned to Shoalbury and handed over the pearls to the councilmen. The townspeople were beyond grateful, and begged the friends to stay and receive a proper reception. The K.I.A. had to beg off, however, stating that they were needed back in Korvosa. They departed with Seacrust in tow, not realizing how true that would turn out to be…

INTO THE DYING CITY

The streets of Korvosa were dull and muted as the six members of the K.I.A. entered the city with their prisoner in tow. It was late afternoon, and the markets were closed. Ordinarily, the avenues would still be bustling with the nightlife of a city that never slept, yet they were strangely empty. In direct contrast, armed patrols were present in abundance, but not the familiar faces of the Korvosan Guard, nor even the more intimidating Hellknights of the Order of the Nail. No, the soldiers that stalked menacingly along the main thoroughfares and back alleys were uniformly female. It seemed that the Gray Maidens had enjoyed a recruiting boom over the past few weeks.
Still, as the companions passed the taverns and common houses, small clusters of people gathered in tight knots, whispered rumors on their lips. There seemed to be a common theme to the talk, however, and it involved some event that had just transpired within the past two days. At one point, Katarina waved her companions ahead of her as she paused to approach a group of Varisians. Several minutes later, she hurried to catch up to the others, her eyes wide, her voice breathless.
“Something’s happened,” she said in a low voice. “Something terrible…!”

What she’d heard from the Varisians was that two days prior, Queen Ileosa had announced a public address. Some of the more notable officials in attendance where the queen’s bodyguard Sabina Merrin, her new advisor, a bloat mage from the Acadamae named Togomor, who had taken up the duties of castle seneschal, Cressida Kroft, and the commandant of the Sable Company Marcus Endrin. Ileosa had announced triumphantly that the plague had been defeated, although unfortunately at the cost of Doctor Davaulus’s life. The good doctor’s body had been shipped back to Cheliax for burial in his family’s vault, and the order of the Queen’s Physicians had been disbanded. Yet, she said, Korvosa remained wounded. She went on to report that the Order of the Nail had shown its true colors and fled like cowards into Citadel Vraid. Worse, both the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company had suffered terrible losses over the past weeks. Neither group was fully capable of continuing as Korvosa’s protectors, she reasoned, and thus, to shore up that fault, the queen named her newly created order of Gray Maidens as the new protectors of Korvosa, appointing Sabina Merrin as the new General of Korvosa. She continued her speech, saying that she had decided to dissolve the Sable Company, and that the remaining marines would be folded into the Korvosan Guard. At that point, she had asked Commandant Endrin to step forth to surrender his badge of office. As Endrin did so, however, he had reached for his badge, but instead of handing it over, he threw it at the queen, striking her in the cheek with it. As all of the onlookers, including the queen, had stood shocked, Endrin had proclaimed, “Your shameful reign ends now! Korvosa will be free again!”
An instant later, his crossbow was in his hands, aimed at the queen. He pulled the trigger, and his aim was true. The bolt struck Ileosa directly in the temple. Yet she did not fall. With incredible speed, she had yanked the bolt from her skull, and with her free hand, seized Endrin by the throat, and lifted him off the ground. A moment later, she buried the bolt between his eyes with a single, powerful blow. As Endrin’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground and Ileosa shook his blood from her hand, she had shouted out, “This shall be the fate of all enemies of Korvosa! Mark well his death! It is only the first!” Then, Togomor had stepped forward and teleported away with the queen. The resulting riot was quickly and brutally quelled by the Gray Maidens.

The companions were shocked to learn of the assassination attempt, and the events that led up to it. If the Gray Maidens were in control of Korvosa’s military, what did that bode for the Guard? They quickened their steps and made all haste to the Citadel.
__________________________________________________________

Only one guard stood at the Citadel entrance, which was strange in-and-of itself. His eyes grew wide with relief when he saw the group approaching.
“Thank the gods you’re here!” he said. “The Field Marshall was just about to send a rider to retrieve you from Shoalbury. Go on in. She’s waiting for you in the keep.”

No soldiers trained in the inner courtyard, and the halls within the keep were silent and empty, with refuse and trash scattered here and there, dust gathered in empty barracks, and an overall state of creeping neglect hung like a pall over the place. When the six companions entered the small meeting room where they found Cressida, they were surprised to see how haggard and tired the Field Marshall looked. She glanced up with hollow eyes and merely sighed when she saw her agents.
“You’re back,” she said wearily. “None too soon. Please, be seated.”
Once they had taken seats around the long table, Cressida shuffled several papers in front of her and began to speak again.
“Korvosa is dying. No, strike that. Korvosa is being murdered. Killed by our queen. The evidence you’ve uncovered that links her to the plague is damning enough, but this recent display at her address…she’s more in control now than ever. I dare not move against her…my Guard would be executed to the last man by her Gray Maidens by sundown. She must be stopped, and I know of no one else but yourselves to do this deed.
Whatever foul magic the queen has wrapped herself in is obviously of the highest order. Endrin’s aim was true…his shot should have dropped her. I had feared he was going to take matters into his own hands like this, but I had hoped he would find it within himself to find a better route. If only he would have waited.
You see, just this morning, new information came to me. I have received a missive from my friend Vencarlo Orisini, the first I’ve heard from him since Queen Ileosa cut off Old Korvosa and put it under quarantine. A message that give me hope. Vencarlo speaks of discovering something of vital importance regarding the queen…he mentions something about dark magic and a pact with a devil, but until recent events, I found his claims difficult to believe. Yet now…if Queen Ileosa has entered an infernal pact of some sort, we must read carefully indeed.
Vencarlo asked for you in the missive. You’ve made quite the impression on him, it appears. He remains in Old Korvosa now, but has asked that I send you to him, to his home, to hear what he has discovered. Ironically, you should be safe in Old Korvosa…the queen’s quarantine has cut off the island entirely, and word on the street is that she plans on leaving it to rot. She won’t think to look for you there if you maintain a low profile and avoid confrontations with the Gray Maidens.
Once you find him, you’ll need to escape Korvosa, I fear. This city is no longer safe for you, or for those associated with you. As Field Marshal, I suspect that as long as I comply with the queen, I shall be safe…and I will do what I can to ensure those friends and family you might leave behind are protected. By remaining in this city, I fear that you put them into more peril. Go to Old Korvosa, find Vencarlo and hear what he has to say. He has contacts in Harse…he’ll be able to help you lay low. I shall be in contact with you when I can, at which point our plan, I hope, shall be clear.”
“I’m sorry to hear things have gotten this dire,” Michael said. “Of course we shall do as you ask, but if the Gray Maidens are guarding all routes into the old city, how should we proceed?”
“There are always several skiffs moored along the north shore of the Jeggare,” she replied. “I would suggest, under cover of darkness, you take one of them and cross the river. After that, I’m afraid, you’re on your own.”
_________________________________________________________

Ultimately, however, the K.I.A. came up with their own unique strategy. Once again Michael uttered a prayer and imbued each of the companions with the ability to walk upon water. Then Kat wove a veil of invisibility around them all. Thus disguised, they simply walked across the Jeggare, avoiding the longboats of Gray Maidens that patrolled the river, and entered Old Korvosa through Old Dock, Ratbone’s old stomping grounds.

It became immediately apparent, however, as the group set foot ashore, that things in Old Korvosa were not well…not well at all. The streets were filled with filth and garbage, and vermin thronged the alleys, feeding off the detritus as well as the occasional body that lay sprawled amidst the decay. Many buildings were boarded up and dark, and others were completely burned out. At one point a flock of incongruously happy children sang a rhyme as they gathered around something in the middle of the street.
“Headless, headless,” they chanted, “that’s what you’ll be, brand new dolls in the Emp’rer’s ceme’try! Choppy, choppy, chop, the tall knife calls, waitin’ for the day for Korvosa to fall.”
When they saw the company approaching, they scattered into the darkness, leaving behind the object they’d been dancing around…a crude guillotine fashioned from sticks and pegs.
From the center of Old Dock, it seemed as if a massive fire burned, and periodically, the roar of a large crowd echoed from that vicinity. Quietly, Ratbone led his friends through back alleys, heading towards the source of the cacophony. As they drew nearer to the neighborhood’s center, however, they began seeing more and more people…specifically large groups of armed men who roamed in packs, beating any stragglers they came across and dragging them away. Ratbone growled low in his throat when he saw the spectacle, but Michael laid a calming hand on his shoulder.
“Peace,” the priest said. “There will be time for this later. We have to find Vencarlo. Come.”
Reluctantly, the druid turned away.
_________________________________________________________

When they finally reached Fort Korvosa, the highest part of Old Korvosa, and the neighborhood where Vencarlo’s academy was located, the change was obvious. Though still mostly deserted, the streets were cleaner and free of vermin, and most of the buildings were intact. Perhaps this was because House Arkona, one of Korvosa’s oldest noble families, was located in the district. When the island had been quarantined, the Arkonas were cut off as well. In any event, Fort Korvosa seemed to be a relatively safe place in the turmoil of the old city…at least until they came within sight of the fencing academy. Where Vencarlo’s school had once stood, the once-proud structure itself was no more, burned to the ground completely. His home, however still stood. Cautiously, weapons drawn, the companions approached.

“Master Orisini?” Herc called as he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. The interior of the house was warm, but quiet. From the living room at the end of the entry hall, the light of a fire in the hearth could be seen dancing merrily.
“Something’s not right,” Kat said quietly. “Wait.”
She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration.
“There are others here besides us,” she said at length. “I can sense their thoughts…three minds…not too bright…they are cautious…waiting for something…”
She opened her eyes again.
“None of them are Vencarlo,” she said. “We need to be very careful.”

They began searching, room-by-room, finding no one, and no evidence of a struggle. Eventually, they began making their way upstairs to where Vencarlo had an open training room. As Herc and Valeris reached the landing, the others still on the floor below, they found another lit fireplace along with several practice dummies. Just at that moment, the pair caught a flash of movement from the rafters above. Something that looked like a flask arced towards the fireplace. When it struck, it exploded, and flames spilled out of the hearth and onto the surrounding floorboards, setting them instantly alight. An instant later, a figure dropped from the rafters. It was humanoid, clad in red leather armor, but its features were hidden behind a full head mask that resembled a giant insect…a mantis to be exact. In the living room below, two identical figures stepped from the shadows beneath the stairs and began moving with predatory grace towards O’Reginald and Katrina. There was no mistaking what they were…agents of the Red Mantis…death incarnate.

Herc lowered his shield and charged across the practice room. He struck the assassin and would have driven him straight through the wall, but the mantis rolled with the blow and ended up behind the mercenary and face-to-face with Valeris. Silently, the killer raised the pair of saw-toothed blades he carried and drove them towards the duskblade’s face. Valeris caught both of them on his own blade and buckler, and turned one of the swords back on the assassin, driving the mantis’s own steel into his thigh.

Below, Kat turned back down the stairwell, but found her way blocked by Michael. She could just see around the corner, however, as the other two assassins closed on O’Reginald. Though her powers were, by their nature, subtle, she could occasionally summon up a surprise or two. Holding her hand palm out, she loosed a lance of pure sound which caught the nearest mantis full in the chest, hurling him back and away from the mage. The second killer, however, quickly rushed O’Reginald, jagged blades flashing in a wickedly hypnotic display. The sorcerer recoiled, but not fast enough. Like a cobra the mantis struck, the sabers cutting deeply and repeatedly, and O’Reginald fell before them, collapsing to the floor in a widening pool of his own blood. The assassin didn’t stop, but instead somersaulted past Michael, and came up behind the priest before burying one of the blades in his back.

As the flames rapidly spread across the practice floor, Herc whirled back towards the mantis assassin against which he and Valeris continued to struggle. Growling, the big warrior took two quick strides across the room, and swung his blade in a wide arc, completely severing the spine of the hired killer. Still not making a sound, the assassin fell limply to the floor, and the fire quickly engulfed his body.

Kat lost sight of the second mantis as the man ducked behind Michael, but she could see that the first had already recovered from her assault and was closing to flank the priest. She began to cast again, and that time, the mantis slumped to the floor, fast asleep. A moment later, however, the remaining assassin flashed past Kat again, and roughly kicked his partner back awake. He turned back towards Michael, but this time the priest was ready. A sudden sonic explosion blew the two murderers away from each other, leaving them stunned on the floor. The wounded cleric then sank weakly to one knee, clutching his amulet as he channeled divine energy into himself and O’Reginald, narrowly saving the sorcerer from bleeding to death. Suddenly, a roar filled the room as three-hundred pounds of fur and fangs exploded from the stairs behind Kat. Ratbone hurled himself into the assassins. He bore one of them to the floor, and clamped his jaws around the man’s torso. A sickening crunching could be clearly heard, and blood flowed from beneath the killers’s mantis-head mask. He twitched once, and went limp. The druid turned towards the other mantis, only to find that Herc had followed him down the stairs and nearly decapitated the man with the edge of his shield.

At that moment, timbers began cracking from the floor above, and cinders began showering down on the heroes.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Michael shouted as he helped the wounded O’Reginald to his feet and began heading towards the front door.
“Valeris is still up there!” Herc cried. “The rest of you go! I’ll go after him and be right behind you!”
Reluctantly, the others followed the priest and sorcerer back outside. Herc ducked behind his shield and charged back upstairs.

Valeris was trapped. The flames had him completely surrounded on three sides, with a closed door to his back. He quickly opened it and found himself in a small bedroom. There was no way out, not even a window. Only a narrow closet provided any hope of respite. Valeris ducked inside and closed the door behind him. Rapidly, the small space began filling with smoke and grew increasingly warmer. The duskblade looked desperately around him, but could find no salvation. In desperation, he clutched his sword and began hammering at the back wall of the closet. The plaster began to crack, and abruptly gave way, sending Valeris tumbling into the stairwell right on top of Herc.
“Time to go!” Herc coughed and he heaved the duskblade over his shoulder. As they began descending the burning stairs, however, Valeris caught a glimpse of glinting metal, something that had tumbled out of the wall when he’d burst through. He reached down and snatched it, clutching it to his chest as Herc barreled through the collapsing house towards safety outside.
________________________________________________________

The six companions stood in silence as the academy burned. They had been left with even more questions than they’d started with. The fencing master was missing, as was the information that he’d found. Worse, the Red Mantis was involved, and wherever they went, death followed. Finally, Valeris knelt down and placed the metal box, which was what he’d recovered from the wreckage, on the ground. It was tightly locked, but a few quick blows with the pommel of his sword solved that problem. When he opened the lid and saw what was inside, he and the others were stunned into silence. Folded inside the case was a black, hooded cloak, several black masks, a dozen masterfully crafted daggers, each with a stylized ‘B’ engraved in their pommels, a suit of black leather armor, a pair of black leather boots and gloves, the latter with two fingers in the right hand containing fake, wooden fingers, and an exquisite mithral rapier.
“I knew it,” Kat said at length. “Orisini’s Black Jack.”

Before any of the others could comment, a weak, frightened voice spoke from an alley behind them.
“Can it be? Is it really you?”
They turned, hands going to weapons. A young man staggered into the light of the burning flames. His face was haggard, drawn and unshaven. Though his clothes were worn and frayed, it was still obvious that they were of a very expensive cut not typical of Old Korvosa. Though his features were more strained and careworn than the last time they’d seen him, all of the companions, save Michael, recognized Amin Jalento, the young nobleman they’d rescued from a murderous mob the night Eodred died.
“I’d almost given up hope after…after what happened to Master Orisini…”
“What happened?” Kat asked. “Where is Vencarlo?”
“I was taking lessons from him when the quarantine was enacted,” Amin began. “Since I was unable to return to the mainland, the Master was gracious enough to allow me to stay at the academy as his guest. Unfortunately, my stay ended not long after, when the Red Mantis invaded. Master Orisini confronted them and took one of them down, but there were too many. He was forced to flee. I can only assume the assassins burned down the academy as a warning. I’m not certain where Master Orisini has gone, but I have an idea who might know. In the days after the quarantine, I noticed that the Master seemed restless and distracted. He regularly left the house at odd hours in the night, sometimes not returning until the morning. After one such early morning return, I noted that his clothes were bloody. He said he’d had to fight off a thief, but I’m sure there was more to it than that. In the days before the Red Mantis attacked, the Master had a very strange visitor come by on several occasions…a man with paint-stained hands, wild hair, and a jittery habit of looking about. Master Orisini introduced him to me as a friend, but I recognized him. His name was Salvator Scream, a somewhat notorious local artist.”
“I’ve heard of his work,” Kat nodded.
“They always met behind closed doors,” Amin continued, “three times in all, and on their last meeting, I heard the Master’s voice raised in anger. Since the attack, I’ve been meaning to track down Salvator to ask him if he knows what happened to Master Orisini, but I’ve not worked up the nerve to brave Old Dock, where Salvator lives.”
“What’s going on down at Old Dock?” Ratbone asked. “We got a glimpse of pressgangs when we passed through.”
“They work for the Emperor,” Amin nodded.
“The Emperor of what?” Valeris asked.
“The Emperor of Old Korvosa,” Amin said in hushed tones. “At least that’s what he calls himself. He rules Old Dock from his palace on Silk Street, several tenements he’s taken over. He rarely leaves there, and mobs of his fanatics scour the streets seeking more conscripts to his cause. Those who resist are instead captured for…other purposes. Some say one of the ways that he maintains power is that he controls two magical devices which can supply never-ending supplies of both water and food!”
“Thank you for the information, Amin,” Kat said, gently placing a hand on Ratbone’s chest as a deep growl started there. “Now, I suggest you go to ground, and when you can, get off the island. We’ll find Salvatore Scream, and we’ll find Vencarlo, and if this Emperor gets in our way, he’ll wish he’d never taken up the crown.”
_______________________________________________________________

Katarina knew that Salvatore Scream was a notorious artist whose gruesome and often scandalous art was held in relatively high esteem by several of Korvosa’s nobles. The lower classes were familiar with his work as well, since many of them served as grisly backdrops for the Old Dock playhouse known as Exemplary Excrables, a venue known for its violent entertainments. His home on Wave Street was a leaning, decrepit building located on the Narrows, not far from one of the many now-ruined bridges that once connected Old Korvosa to the mainland. There were two entrances, and the companions split up, with Michael, Kat, O’Reginald and Valeris taking the front, while Ratbone and Herc went to the back.

The door Herc and Ratbone opened gave onto what appeared to be studio. Both of the room’s windows were tightly shuttered, yet the air seemed strangely fresh and scented, no doubt from the six large candles that burned within. Each candle had been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of those impromptu and grisly candleholders had been placed atop an otherwise clear desk on one wall, arrayed in a gentle arc. A chair sat before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls sat inside the arc of skulls. Against a side wall stood a nearly empty cabinet, its shelves barren save for a few paintbrushes and a cracked pottery urn. A woman stood in the room, leaning on the desk and peering intently at the skulls. She was elven, with flowing, ebony hair and green eyes. She was dressed in form-fitting chainmail adorned with wickedly curved hooks. A spiked chain hung coiled at her waist. She looked up when the door opened and positively beamed at the druid and mercenary.
“Well met!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Laori Vaus. Are you looking for Salvator too?”
Ratbone’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” he asked. “Do you know where he is?”
“Perhaps,” she shrugged. “And I might be willing to tell you, if we can come to an arrangement.”
At that moment, Michael and the others entered the room from the far side. The priest’s eyes grew wide, but not at the sight of the elf woman, but rather at the pendant which hung around her neck. It was the symbol of Zon-Kuthon, the god of suffering and torment.
“We don’t make deals with such as you!” he said sharply.
“What are you talking about?” Ratbone asked. “Do you know this woman?”
“No,” the cleric replied, “but I know what she represents.” He explained the meaning of the holy symbol.
“Oh come now!” Laori laughed. “We have no quarrel. I am simply seeking the artist because his work contains many themes important to my faith. I simply thought that since you seem to be looking for him as well, we could pool our resources.”
“I don’t think so,” Ratbone said, his voice cold. “We neither want nor need your company.”
Laori shrugged. “In fact, since it is I who knows who took Salvator, and where he was taken, then it is also I who has the final say on whether or not I need your company.” She sighed. “Perhaps you might be more inclined to be reasonable if I showed you an item I found while searching this house. Something I think you might find very…intriguing.”
The companions glanced at one another. Ratbone’s face was resolute, and doubt showed heavily upon Michael’s. Valeris and O’Reginald rolled their eyes at the piety of their two allies, especially when such inconvenient morals interfered with the entire reason they were in Old Korvosa. Herc’s expression was carefully neutral. It was Katarina who finally broke the silence.
“I don’t presume to speak for my friends,” she said, “but we are on a mission of much urgency, and it is vital that we find Salvator Scream. If you can expedite that, then we would be…appreciative, but know this, we will be watching you closely, and if you step even so much as one foot out of line, we shall end this alliance…decisively.”
Laori’s smile never left her face, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Agreed,” she said, and reached into a pouch that hung at her waist. From it she pulled what appeared to be a small scrap of cloth. She passed it to Michael. The material was blood-stained, though the Korvosan coat-of-arms was clearly visible. It had come from the uniform of a high-ranking government official.
“No,” Michael whispered. “It cannot be.”
He peered more closely at the cloth, and realized there could be no doubt. The material was from the uniform of a very singular source…the seneschal of Castle Korvosa!”
__________________________________________________________

As Laori led the companions through the dark, narrow streets of Old Dock, Ratbone walked close beside Michael.
“But I thought the seneschal was killed in the initial riots,” the druid said. “That’s what the queen reported.”
“And you’re taking her word for things now?” the priest laughed. “You know as well as I that the seneschal shares equal power with the monarch. With him out of the way, there would be no one to stand in Ileosa’s way.”
“Do you think this is the information Orisini possessed?” Ratbone asked.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Michael replied.

It soon became obvious that Laori was leading them to the very center of Old Dock, to the source of the commotion they’d seen earlier upon their arrival…the group of tenements Amin had said was the ‘castle’ of the Emperor of Old Korvosa. No sooner had Laori stepped from the shadows of an alley, than a mob of armed men quickly approached.
“ ‘Ere now!” their leader shouted. “What’s all this then? New conscripts volunteerin’ themselves? You’ve just made our work easier! Now, you’ll ‘and over your weapons, and then we’ll be off!”
A low growl began in Ratbone’s throat, and the hands of his friends quickly found their weapons. It was Katarina, however, who stepped to the fore.
“We have no intention of surrendering to you rabble,” she said imperiously. “Do you not recognize us? We are the K.I.A., the Heroes of Korvosa!”
She reached into her blouse and drew forth the amulet that had been presented to each of them, identifying them as saviors of the city. The eyes of the mob leader widened.
“ Blimey!” he exclaimed. “Look ‘ere lads! We’re in the presence of true legends! These are the blokes what stopped the Blood Veil! Why didn’t yer say so?”
“We’re here to see the Emperor,” Kat explained. “We wish to speak with him about an alliance against the Queen.”
___________________________________________________________

The palace of the Emperor of Old Korvosa was located on Silk Street, and consisted of a collection of tenements and abandoned stores that looked to have barely escaped destruction from a fairly recent fire that had consumed much of the city block around it. As the members of the K.I.A. and their thuggish escort arrived at the ground floor of the first building, the leader called out to the guards above.
“ Oy! Tell ‘is Nibs ‘e’s got company! Real-life heroes! Comin’ up!”
He then nodded towards the front door of the tenement.

The interior of the building seemed largely abandoned, with the exception of several armed guards posted at several landings as the stairs wound up towards the upper floors. From there, a rope bridge connected the first building to the next, and so on until the last bridge ended at a large, open-air building. It was shielded from rain and sun by a brightly colored canvas that extended up over the area like a dome, held in place by a wooden framework. The inside of the canvas had been decorated in scenes of gruesome debauchery, battlefields, executions, torture chambers, and man-eating monsters, all vying for space. The balcony itself contained two major features. The first was a high-backed throne that looked like a poor man’s version of the Crimson Throne itself, a thing of blood-red cushions and silks and spikes. Directly across of the throne stood an intimidating device…a tall guillotine of carved wood and bone, its base depicting grasping demonic feet and the housing that held its glittering blade a leering, demonic face. Seated on the throne was a hideous man, a thin Chelaxian apparently cursed by acne at a young age, a condition seemingly exacerbated by a recent bout of Blood Veil. The ratty and threadbare costume he wore gave him the look of more of a vagrant king than actual royalty. On a small table next to him, sat a beautiful silver decanter, and a single golden spoon. Six armed guards stood around the throne, while leaning against the guillotine was a child-sized figure dressed in an executioner’s hood with one of the eye holes sewn shut.

“Who are you and why are you disturbing me?” the Emperor demanded. Once Kat was close enough, she realized that she recognized the man. He was Pilts Swastel, former proprietor of Exemplary Excrables.
“We are the Korvosan Intelligence Agency,” she called out. “We were responsible for finding the source of Blood Veil, and aiding in its subsequent eradication. We have come seeking a man named Salvator Scream.”
“Salvator is my guest,” Pilts announced imperiously, “and he won’t be going anywhere any time soon. Now, if there’s nothing else…,”
“We demand you release the artist now!” Ratbone cried out, rage filling him at the sight of what had become of his gifts to Old Korvosa. “You will also relinquish the decanter and the spoon to those they were rightfully intended for, you miserable little despot!”
Pilts looked bored. He waved one hand absently at his guards. “Kill them,” he said.

Herc expected nothing less. Before any of the guards could move, he charged across the balcony towards Pilts and slammed into the Emperor with his shield. Pilts cried out and rolled desperately out of his throne.
“Jabbyr!” he screamed. “Help me!”
The diminutive headsman retrieved a large axe as tall as himself from behind the guillotine and ran screaming towards Herc. He swung the weapon high and brought the head down on the mercenary’s foot. Herc grunted in agony. Simultaneously, a thunderous cry sounded as over two-dozen more guards began closing on the balcony from all sides. Still on the rope bridge, O’Reginald began casting, and hurled a ball of flame into the midst of the nearest group, incinerating half-a-dozen of them in one fell swoop. Immediately in the wake of that conflagration, Laori shouted out a prayer, her voice jubilant. A great column of white fire exploded from the sky, utterly obliterating another quartet of guards.
“Too quick! Too quick!” she cried. “I only meant to burn off all their flesh the first time!”
Valeris looked at her with one raised eyebrow.
“I think I’m in love,” he chuckled.

Herc quickly found himself surrounded by guards, with Jabbyr in front of him. He smashed his shield into the little maniac’s face, but the executioner merely licked the blood from his chin and charged in again. At the same time, the guards attacked as well, jabbing their swords at the big mercenary from all sides. In desperation, Herc surged forward, completely bowling over the insane headsman with his shield and leaving him unmoving on the ground. Meanwhile, on the rope bridge, Ratbone was growing increasingly frustrated. Though singly the guards were no match for his ferocity, en masse they hindered him from going after Pilts. He howled, a cry which turned into a piercing shriek as he transformed into a large bird. His claws raked at the guards as he lifted above their heads and sped off after the fleeing Emperor.

“Get us some breathing room!” Kat shouted to O’Reginald as the guards rushed to fill the gap Ratbone had left. The sorcerer cursed and quickly sculpted another fireball to surgically target the mass of oncoming thugs. Ten more were incinerated in the blast.
“At your service, my lady,” O’Reginald mock-bowed.
Laori, Valeris and Michael rushed to the fore, hacking down the stragglers in their path. Kat, meanwhile, found that she had a clear view of Pilts, and she hurled a bolt of sonic fury after him, striking him in the back. The Emperor stumbled, and in that instant, Ratbone was upon him, shifting back into his canine form as he landed. His jaws closed with swift finality on the base of Pilt’s neck with a sickening crack.
After that, it was only a matter of cleaning up the remnants. The last of the guards lost heart at the sight of their Emperor laid low, and they put up little resistance, quickly succumbing before the fury of the six companions and Laori.

Another Great Addition to a Great Story Hour cant wait to read the rest

When my group was at this point of the adventure, we also slaughtered all the enemies. My DM tried to convince us to...

When my group was at this point of the adventure, we also slaughtered all the enemies. My DM tried to convince us to...** spoiler omitted **

AN OFFER YOU CAN’T REFUSE

It didn’t take the group long to search Pilts’ ‘palace’ and find a single locked room off the Emperor’s bedroom. The air in the cell was an unpleasant mix of body odor and paint. A lumpy straw mattress lay on the floor in one corner, partially covered by a few blankets, while in the other stood a large easel upon which rested a nearly completed painting of immense fiends attacking a village. A plain-looking man dressed in paint-stained rags, his skin covered with flea bites and his eyes sunken, stood next to the easel, a brush in his hands. He turned sharply when the door opened, fear etched on his face. When he saw the faces of his rescuers, however, he fell to his knees and broke into desperate sobs.
“Please!” he cried. “Take me with you! Don’t leave me here with him!”
“Relax Mr. Scream,” Kat said as she knelt down beside him. “That’s exactly what we’re here to do. We just want to ask you a few questions first.”
“No!” Salvator wailed. “He’ll kill us all! You have to kill him and take me out of here! I won’t tell you anything until you promise!”
“Relax,” Ratbone said with deadly calm. “The Emperor is no longer a problem.”
The druid tossed a gilt crown on the floor, and then held up the decanter and spoon.
“He…he’s dead?” Salvator asked in disbelief.
“As a doornail,” Valeris smirked. “Now do you wanna talk?”
“I’ve always found that torture is a good motivator,” Laori offered.
“That’s enough!” Kat snapped, and then she turned back to Salvator. “Mr. Scream, we’re looking for Vencarlo Orisini. Do you know where he is?”
“Orisini?” Salvator asked. “Isn’t he at his academy?”
“Not anymore,” Kat replied. “It was burned to the ground, and now his home has been as well…by members of the Red Mantis.”
Salvator’s eyes went wide. “Oh no!” he whispered.
“There’s something else,” Kat said. “We found this when we went looking for you at your home.” She produced the scrap of uniform that Laori had given them. Salvator’s eyes widened again, and then he bowed his head.
“I guess I should start at the beginning,” he said.
“That’s probably best,” Kat nodded.

“My…work has drawn many eyes and admirers,” the artist began, “and not just among the regulars at Exemplary Excrables. It became a favorite of many noble families and other prominent citizens. They found my subject matter shocking, and safely scandalous. Among my wealthier patrons was the seneschal of Castle Korvosa, Neolandus Kalepopolis. After he attended a showing of my Tears of Abendego, he asked to meet me. It turned out that we had many common interests, and we became friends. We began meeting on a weekly basis at various eateries to discuss art, history, religion, politics…you name it. You must understand that a man in Neolandus’ position could not afford to be seen with someone so base as a common artist, and he kept our friendship a secret. So you can imagine that when he showed up at my home early on the morning Eodred died, desperate, bloodied, and poisoned, I was shocked, to say the least. He was delirious, but he managed to tell me that he needed a place to hide. I took care of him, nursed him back to health. Once he’d recovered, he confided in me that Ileosa had murdered her husband, and that she had entered into an alliance with the Red Mantis. They were the ones who’d tried to assassinate Neolandus, and his escape was as much luck as anything. Worse, he said that there was something about Ileosa that wasn’t quite right…that she’d changed recently, grown worse, whatever that meant. He refused to divulge more to me, saying that the less I knew the safer I’d be, and that he needed more time to think things through and do some research before he decided on the proper course of action.”
“We both knew that my home would not be a secure hideout for long. Through my art dealings I had connections with the Arkonas, and when I suggested to Neolandus that he seek them out for asylum, he grudgingly agreed. I escorted him to the Arkona palace late one night, just a few days before the quarantine, and I haven’t seen him since. As it turns out, it seems my efforts to help were a grave error in judgment on my part. Still, can you blame me? I’d always known the Arkonas to be trustworthy, and the fact that they haven’t turned him over to the queen says something right? Still, when I went to Vencarlo, a man I’ve known and trusted for years, and told him what I’d learned, and what I’d done, he was furious! He told me that he suspected the Arkonas were more…criminal-minded…than I’d suspected. I was afraid that I’d traded my friend’s danger for a different one, and now that you tell me Orisini’s missing, I’m afraid he may have done something foolish…like trying to infiltrate the Arkonas' compound. You have to save them! Korvosa’s not a safe place for them! They need to escape the city! Me too…and you as well!”

“It seems you were well-intentioned,” Michael spoke up, “but you were indeed very foolish. It is a poorly kept secret that the Arkonas are involved in every form of criminal activity in Korvosa, from gambling and prostitution, to smuggling and murder-for-hire. They are truly a nest of vipers.”
“One we must walk willingly into it seems,” Kat added.
“What about him?” Valeris nodded towards Salvator. “He comin’ with us?”
“No!” Salvator screamed. “I can’t stay here! You’ve got to get me out of the city!”
“I can do that,” Laori interrupted. “I need to speak with Mr. Scream anyway…in private. I’m done here, and I can make sure he makes it safely out of the city.”
“Scream,” Ratbone said sharply. “I don’t trust this woman. She’s a follower of Zon-Kuthon. She’s a sadist!”
Salvator’s eyes narrowed. “You have seen my work, haven’t you Mr.…Bone? I don’t paint flowers and puppies. I think I’ll take my chances with her.”
Laori smirked and winked at Ratbone.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of each other. I look forward to the next time we meet.”
______________________________________________________________

Palace Arkona was perched at the highest point atop Endrin Isle in Old Korvosa. The grounds were generally open, decorated here and there with tiny copses of trees, exotic topiary animals (elephants, cobras, and tigers being the most common), beautiful flower gardens, and exquisite fountains. The palace itself was a breathtaking structure built in the Vudran style, with golden pillars, high windows that rose to tapered points, minarets and domes decorated with slender spires. As the companions approached the front gates, a quartet of armed guards met them.
“What is your purpose here?” one of them asked in a polite but firm tone.
“We are here seeking an audience with Lord Glorio Arkona,” Kat said simply. The group had agreed earlier that an open and honest approach might be the best tactic when dealing with opportunists such as the Arkonas. The guard nodded and instructed the group to follow him up to the palace.

The interior of the estate was just as elegant as the outside. The walls were made of ebony and carved with depictions of elephants, tigers, monkeys and peacock, all with shimmering mother-of-pearl eyes. The doors were made of mahogany and were carved with images of the Vudran deity Chamidu, the God of Wild Beasts, a six-armed, four-faced giant riding a tiger with human hands for paws. Exotic plants in clay pots were in abundance, and each room was rich with their scent, mingled with that of sandalwood incense that burned in brass censers which hung from the high ceilings here and there. In the main entry hall, a black marble arch that depicting dozens of elephants standing one atop the other, framed a great ebony door in a far wall. Above the door, a single one-eyed elephant looked out over the hall, its eye a glittering bloodstone the size of an apple. Tall windows granted a commanding view of the palace grounds, and a rich red carpet, ten-feet wide and luxuriously thick, provided a pathway between doors to the west and north, and around a corner to the east. The companions were greeted by a tall, pleasant man who wore an eye patch.
“I am Carnochan, the Arkonas’ majordomo,” he said, bowing slightly. “How may I be of service?”
Once again, Katarina acted as spokesperson for the companions. “We are friends of Vencarlo Orisini and Neolandus Kalepopolis,” she said. “We have reason to believe that they are…guests of the Arkonas. We would very much like to speak with them.”
Carnochan bowed again. “That would be a matter for you to discuss with Lord Arkona,” he said. “If you will follow me, I will see if the master can make time for you today.”

He led them down the richly-appointed hall to a spacious lounge. The comfortable room was warmed by a large fireplace, its marble sides and mantle carved into a parade of capering monkeys and tigers. A large sofa sat to one side, while a few comfortable-looking chairs sat on the other. Carnochan left them there for no more than five minutes before returning on the heels of a handsome, middle-aged man with black hair, graying at the temples. He wore a rich velvet robe of deepest scarlet, trimmed in what appeared to be genuine tiger fur.
“Carnochan!” the man exclaimed. “How could you be so disrespectful of our guests? No wine? No cheese?”
“Forgive me, master,” Carnochan replied, bowing low. “I will rectify the situation immediately.”
He backed hastily out of the room.
“Please forgive the rudeness of my house,” the man said. “I am Lord Glorio Arkona, and I am honored to make the acquaintance of such esteemed persons as yourselves, for the Saviors of Korvosa need no introduction!”
He casually seated himself in one of the chairs, facing his guests.
“While I have done what I can with my limited resources to keep Old Korvosa from falling into complete anarchy,” he continued, “there is so much more that could be done, and my contributions pale in comparison to yours!”
“Do not belittle your endeavors so quickly,” Kat said, smiling politely. “Your reputation among the poor of Korvosa is one of ministering to their needs when no one else will.”
Glorio returned her smile, though his eyes were sharp and piercing.
“Well, despite my best efforts,” he said, “this quarantine has all but nullified everything my family has worked so hard to achieve, though I daresay our queen had little choice in the matter. Still, perhaps if things had not been allowed to escalate out of control so quickly, that drastic proclamation would not have been necessary.”
“You would have handled things differently in the wake of Eodred’s death?” Kat asked, raising one eyebrow slightly.
Glorio inclined his head. “It’s just that in times of crisis, I’ve found that a firm hand is not always the most useful way to persuade the masses to your cause. A velvet glove sometimes brings better results, and at least letting the people think that they are helping to make policy will often lead to them aiding you in your long-term goals rather than opposing you at every turn. Is Korvosa truly better off since Ileosa’s rise to power? I think not. I believe that the people have seen this as well, and it may only be a matter of time before their voices are finally heard.”
“We’re not here to discuss politics,” Ratbone abruptly interrupted, rising from his chair. “We’re here to see Orisini and the seneschal!”
Kat stood quickly and placed a hand on the druid’s shoulder.
“We are grateful that you have offered safe haven to our friends,” she said carefully, “but we are concerned about their wellbeing, and would very much like to see them.”
Glorio steepled his fingers beneath his chin and smiled.
“I like a man who speaks his mind,” he said. “It is possible that I might be able to help you, but I haven’t risen to my current position by showing all of my cards at once.”
“What is it that you want?” Ratbone growled, cutting to the chase.
Glorio nodded, still smiling. “Just so,” he said. “There is a certain little weasel of a man who has styled himself emperor of my little piece of Korvosa. His name is Pilts Swastel, and I want him…removed. Once he’s gone, I’m certain his mob will collapse and then my agents can step in and pacify Old Korvosa.”
“Done,” Ratbone said, once more tossing Swastel’s crown on the floor and displaying the spoon and decanter.
Glorio’s eyes went wide, and for a brief moment his mouth dropped open a fraction of an inch. He quickly recovered his composure, and his face positively beamed.
“My, my,” he said softly, “you are indeed as resourceful as I’d heard. Perhaps when this is all behind us, you might be in need of new employment.”
“Orisini and Kalepopolis,” Ratbone said.
“Yes, yes,” Glorio said as he reclined in his chair once more. “I will, of course, allow you to see them, but that might be…complicated.”
“How so?” Ratbone asked, his eyes narrowing.
“A man in my position can never show weakness,” Glorio stated flatly. “To do so would invite subversion, if not open rebellion. I cannot simply hand my…valuable guests over to you. The loss of face would be catastrophic. If you, however, were to find them on your own, then that would be an entirely different story.”
“Find them?” Kat asked. “Where are they?”
Glorio cleared his throat. “I’ve sent them to the Vivified Labyrinth for…safekeeping.”
Kat’s face drained of color.
“I see you’ve heard of it,” Glorio smiled.
“Kat, what is it?” Michael asked.
“A dungeon,” the fortune teller replied quietly, “a notorious one meant to test both prisoners and agents alike.”
“Just so,” Glorio nodded. “So as I was saying, if you were to retrieve them on your own, thus surviving the perils of the labyrinth, then no one could fault me.”
“What sort of perils are we talking about?” Herc asked suspiciously.
Glorio shrugged. “Oh, you know, traps, monsters, the usual. Oh, and you may run into an operative or two of my household.”
“And what if they try to stop us?” Ratbone asked.
“I fully expect them to,” Glorio laughed. “What good would they be to me if they didn’t? If they succeed, then that would be unfortunate. If they do not, then they were not worthy to serve House Arkona in the first place.”
“How far away is the labyrinth?” Kat asked, her voice still hollow.
“Not far at all,” Glorio said. “In fact, it is just beneath us. Carnochan will show you to the gardens. There you will find a full-sized statue of an elephant. Speak the words, ‘Chamidu is blind,’ and it shall show you the way. Once below, you will find yourself in a deep sea cavern. Find your way to the bottom, and then look to the southern-most wall. There is a cleverly concealed door there which will take you inside the labyrinth. I must warn you, the labyrinth was designed to be quite deadly. In several locations you will find levers that, when pulled, can literally shift the rooms about, but be forewarned, my agents know of these as well and will doubtless use this to their advantage once they discover you are trespassing.”
“Sounds charming,” Valeris snorted.
“One more thing,” Glorio said. “Take this as a sign of my good faith.” He took a beautiful platinum ring set with a huge bloodstone from his tunic. He handed it to Valeris.
“With this, you will find your reflexes expertly honed, allowing you to evade even the deadliest of spells. Take it and use it well. If you survive, it’s yours. Now, I must take my leave of you, and you’ll pardon me for saying that I hope we do not soon met again. I wish you safe journey, and good luck.”
_________________________________________________________

The gardens hardly seemed to be part of a palace…it seemed more like a clearing at the heart of a vast jungle, teeming with life. The sky above was a deep, cloudless blue, while in the distance, hazy towers of distant structures rose above the verdant canopy. Exotic bird calls filled the air, the scent of dozens of unfamiliar flowers and plants assaulted the nose, and everywhere a riot of color demanded the eye, be it the wing of a tropical bird, the petals of a brightly hued flower, or the glittering multicolored tiles that made up a round fountain to the north, its central plume a stone pillar around which entwined two cobra statues that clutched green gems in their fanged maws. Opposite the fountain to the south stood an immense, life-sized jade statue of an elephant, a howdah perched on its back, its tusks and trunk raised high in greeting to the southeast doors…doors that, from inside the room, looked more like gates set into a wrought iron fence that encircled the garden. Other gates set in the fence doubtless led to other parts of the palace, and after a bit more observation, the somewhat static nature of the jungle and landscape became apparent…the walls of the garden were in fact an incredibly realistic and clever painting of a Vudran junglescape.

As instructed, the companions stood before the statue of the elephant, and Katarina spoke the words, “Chamidu is blind!”
The statue suddenly animated and stepped off its pedestal, which began slowly rotating like an immense cap unscrewing from a container. As it did so, a curved opening appeared, granting access to a flight of spiral stairs descending into the ground. Down and down the group climbed, several hundred feet into the earth, until they reached a vast underground grotto. The iron stairs descended to a semicircular ledge, which in turn wound down along the cavern’s inner wall to a series of rope bridges that descended even lower from ledge to ledge. The upper ledge, before it reached the ropes, was a strangely breathtaking beauty…a garden of all manner of strangely colored fungi, lichens and molds. The fungi had been cultivated, shaped into all manner of symmetrical patterns normally not seen in nature, transforming the ledge into a sort of underground fungal garden. Here and there, flickering torches burned in sconces above the fungi, while from somewhere in the darkness below came the soft splash of water against an unseen shore.

Ratbone took the lead, having assumed a new shape, vaguely similar to his ape form, but larger, and more feral. Two large horns curved from his forehead, and an extra pair of arms protruded from his sides. He had traversed no more than a quarter of the ledge when he stopped short, his nostrils flared. His senses were much more attuned in his bestial incarnations, and thus he perceived a presence moving towards them, something bipedal and large. Before he could turn and warn the others, the creature abruptly materialized in front of him. It stood almost eight feet in height, and was mostly skeletal, like a giant cadaver, yet its bones were encrusted with fungus. In one hand it clutched an enormous scimitar, while in the other it held a spiked shield. No sooner had it appeared, then Ratbone sensed three more similar creatures approaching unseen, but they were coming from directly over the abyss that plunged down the to sea below…they were flying!

Herc rushed to Ratbone’s side as the first giant appeared, and his sword landed heavily against its ribcage, sending bone and lichen flying. Meanwhile, the other three fungal giants appeared, hovering above the open cavern, all similarly armed. Valeris sent arcane power surging through his own blade and hewed at the nearest one. Suddenly, clouds of yellow spores exploded from all four of the creatures, filling the air with a choking haze. Herc, Michael and Katarina all doubled over in coughing fits, their faces red as the spasms wracked their bodies. O’Reginald felt his own lungs beginning to fill, but before he started coughing, he spat out the words to a spell, and a ball of fire exploded around the combatants, completely immolating one of the giants, and burning away the strangling spores. Ratbone launched himself at the creature in front of him, and literally tore the thing limb from limb. He then turned, and in the blink of an eye, transformed into his condor form and flew at one of the flying giants, ripping and tearing at it with beak and talons. It went spiraling down into the darkness below. Herc, recovering quickly from his coughing spell, dealt with the remaining giant, smashing it to splinters beneath his shield.

THE VIVIFIED LABYRINTH

The three rope bridges descended even deeper into the cave, connecting three progressively lower ledges on the wall until finally reaching a stony protrusion at ground level which rose from a rocky beach overlooking the sloshing waters of the sea cave itself. At the bottom of the vast cavern, a single wooden pier extended out into the water. A shallow-draft barge was docked there, an unlit lantern hanging from its bow. Supporting timbers and brickwork lined parts of the lower edge of the cavern to the west and south, showing where the original cave had been artificially expanded. To the north, a wide waterway provided an aquatic exit, the distant, muted sounds of the surf echoing down from that direction.

The companions made their way around the ledge until they reached the point where Glorio had told them they would find the hidden door. Ratbone felt along the stone until he found the switch. Once triggered, the wall slid aside, revealing a dark tunnel that wound away into darkness. It twisted some hundred yards or more before arriving at a dead end. On the left side of the passage two statues, each depicting a tiger-headed man, stood in alcoves on either side of a pair of double doors. Their arms were wide, as if to usher visitors forward into the room beyond. As the rest of the group stood before the doors, Ratbone, once more in his canine form, began sniffing along the edge of the wall at the end of the passage. Suddenly, to the shocked astonishment of his friends, he simply stepped through the wall and vanished. A moment later, he reappeared in his normal shape.
“It’s an illusion,” he said. “I knew something didn’t smell right. There’re another set of doors on the other side.”

As each of the companions stepped through the illusion, they saw it for what it truly was, a hazy, insubstantial figment. Beyond it, the passage continued another dozen yards before ending in a second pair of doors. They were simple, unadorned and unlocked. Herc pushed them open, revealing a large room lit by a heartily burning fire pit in its center. Cages hung on chains dangling from hooks in the ceiling, while racks, strapadoes, gibbets and other implements of torture filled the floor space. A pair of immense wooden doors stood in the wall to the north, while to the south stood several narrow cells. On the far side of the room, a screaming man was being strapped to a rack by a tall, shadowy figure. As the doors opened, the figure turned, revealing a feminine physique with golden tanned skin and well-formed curves, suggesting years of activity and work toward physical perfection. Beneath her diaphanous robes, her legs crossed over one another, while six arms, two facing towards her back, waved in a continuous dance. Three fanged heads sat atop a sturdy neck, studying every direction. All three heads smiled a predator’s grin, and in the blink of an eye, she vanished, only to reappear in the hall behind the group, standing right next to Katarina and O’Reginald. Ratbone roared, his body shifting into that of the horned, bipedal predator. Shoving his friends to the side, he bulled his way back towards the strange creature, slashing at her with his claws.

“Back away slowly,” Michael whispered from behind O’Reginald and Kat. “I have heard of these beings, and they are not to be trifled with. She is one of the asura. They are servants of the Vudrani deities. They exist to torment mortal warriors, torture evil souls, and mete out the wrath of the gods. They are said to be masters of every weapon ever crafted and innately familiar with the forms and ways of every martial art imagined. Best to let those best-suited to such pursuits handle this one.”

Taking the priest’s warning to heart, the two mages quickly headed for the torture chamber, but as they retreated, the asura blurred into motion, somersaulting and tumbling past Ratbone, around Michael, and over Herc and Valeris. Just as she completed her final flip, while she was still in midair, O’Reginald flung out his hand and hurled a spell. When it struck, the asura stumbled and fell to the ground, all of the grace gone from her body. In a flash, Ratbone was upon her, and as he pinned her to the ground and tore savagely at her, Kat struck, loosing a sonic lance which broke all three of the creature’s necks.
____________________________________________________________

“Please! I beg you! Free me!” the prisoner wailed as the companions gathered round the rack.
“Of course we will,” Michael said as he began loosening the straps. “Who are you, and how did you come to be here?”
“Velak,” the man gasped. “My name’s Velak. I was hungry. My family was starving. The Arkonas caught me stealing from one of their warehouses and they cast me down here.”
Kat looked closely at the man, her brow furrowing.
“What?” Velak asked, fear on his face. “I’m telling the truth!”
“I think not,” Kat said, shaking her head slowly. “Though you have been mistreated, and are in dire need of a bath, I still know you. It is you we came here to find, Seneschal Kalepopolis.”
The man’s eyes went wide as he sat up on the table rubbing at his arms.
“Who are you people?” he whispered. “Are you agents of the queen? The Mantis? Have you come for me at last?”
“We serve Korvosa,” Ratbone replied, “not the one who wears its crown, and we would see a new monarch sit upon the Crimson Throne.”
“How…how did you find me?” Kalepopolis stammered.
“Salvator Scream,” said Kat. “Vencarlo Orisini contacted Field Marshal Kroft, saying that he had important information. She, in turn, sent us to find Orisini. We were too late, however. He had apparently already come in search of you, and we found only agents of the Mantis in his home. A student of Orisini’s found us later, and told us of Scream. We eventually searched him out and found out about his error in judgment in sending you here. We have…an arrangement with Glorio Arkona. Now that we’ve found you, we still have to find Orisini.”
“Orisini’s here too?” the seneschal asked. “Gods help him! I am grateful for your assistance, and there is much I must tell you, but we must find Vencarlo and be away from this place. It’s not safe!”
“Of course,” Kat said, “but the labyrinth is no place for a defenseless civilian to be wandering.”
“I’m hardly defenseless,” Kalepopolis said as he bent down to retrieve the asura’s sword. “I’ll wait here. If the Arkonas wanted me dead, I’d be so already. I’m too valuable to them to be killed outright. Find Orisini, then come back for me, but make haste.”
____________________________________________________________

There was a large set of double door on the north wall of the torture chamber, and the K.I.A. agents elected to begin their search there rather than backtrack to what was the obvious, and therefore most likely dangerous, entrance to the labyrinth. Beyond the portals, a vast cavern stretched into the shadows, the true extent of the area difficult to discern due to a thick maze of wooden timbers that rose up to support the roof. A ledge wound along the eastern and northern sides of the cave, with the floor dropping away to a depth of several dozen feet. Four immense stone pillars supported the ceiling above. Where the pillars connected to the ceiling, a network of wooden braces and timbers radiated out in a wheel shape, forming four forty-foot wide discs flush against the roof. Dozens of chains hung down from the beams to attach to the pillars themselves, many of which were decorated with rows and rows of bells. Chained to each pillar at ground level was an enormous creature. Standing motionless, they could easily have been mistaken for huge, skeletal displays of long-dead war elephants. At further glance, however, their eyes could be seen to burn a smoky black, and pieces of stench-ridden flesh hung from their crusty bones. Rusty barding draped loosely over their skeletal spines, and ancient, rotten finery hung over their skulls and draped flaccidly towards the ground.

“Interesting,” O’Reginald said, stroking his chin.
“Very,” Kat agreed. “When Ratbone found the illusory wall, that hallway beyond it sloped down. Unless I miss my guess, this room should be directly below the Vivified Labyrinth.”
“So?” the mage asked.
“So,” Kat replied, as if lecturing a slow-witted child, “these pillars are massive gears. Glorio said that levers within the labyrinth could shift the locations of the rooms. I’m guessing that we’re looking at the machinery that accomplishes that feat.”
“Should we destroy them then?” Herc asked.
Kat gave the big, but none-too-bright mercenary a kind, but condescending smile.
“If we did that,” she said, “then how could we move through the labyrinth? We’d never be able to find Orisini.”
“Oh,” Herc said , his face flushing.
“After we’re done, we can always sabotage the gears so that the Arkonas can make no more of their prisoners suffer here,” Kat said. “For now, though, I suggest we backtrack and go in the way we were meant to. No better way to find a trap than to trigger it.”
____________________________________________________________

Back at the first set of doors they’d found, the companions opened them to find a plain, unadorned room. Two alcoves stood in either side, and in one, a long lever with an ebony handle protruded from the wall.
“Looks like this is the place,” Ratbone said. He grasped the lever, and looked back at his allies. “Ready?”
The others gathered together and nodded. The druid pulled the lever. Immediately, the entire room began to rumble, and the agents had to hold on to each other to avoid being thrown to the ground.
“Watch out!” O’Reginald shouted.
His warning came too late. The room began to split, with one half revolving away from the other, a section of wall sliding rapidly to separate the two. Michael stood directly in the transition zone. At O’Reginald’s shout, he tried to spring forward, but he wasn’t fast enough. The sliding wall began to scissor him. He screamed in agony, blood gushing from his mouth. At the last possible moment, Ratbone seized his arm and jerked him into the northern, revolving section of the room. The wall snapped shut, leaving O’Reginald and Katarina trapped on the southern side.
________________________________________________________________

Ratbone cursed and jerked at the lever, trying to pull it back up again, but it was firmly locked in place. Kat knelt beside Michael and quickly forced a healing draught down his throat. The priest’s eyes flickered open, and he reflexively grasped his holy symbol. White light seeped from around his fingers, and his breathing slowed and stabilized.
“Umm…guys,” Herc said. “Where are we?”
The others looked up and saw, that where previously there had been a blank wall to the north, there was now an open archway. Beyond it, a hallway ran at right angles, with a door at the end of the left branch, and a lever protruding from the wall on the right. Valeris started immediately towards the lever.
“Wait!” Ratbone shouted. “We don’t know what that’ll do. For all we know it’ll just rotate us deeper into the labyrinth. I don’t think it’ll take us back.”
‘Then what do you suggest?” the duskblade asked.
“Let’s have a look behind the door first,” the druid replied. “Maybe we’ll find something useful.”

Beyond the door, however, was simply another empty room, with another door on the far side. Ratbone stepped into the room, but as he did so, a strange symbol suddenly flared to glowing life in the middle of the floor. The druid cringed instinctively, and shielded his eyes, but nothing happened…at least not to him. Behind him, however, he heard Michael begin to scream again.
___________________________________________________________

“What do you mean ‘no’?” O’Reginald snapped as Kat grabbed his arm.
“I mean you don’t know where they went,” she said calmly.
“They’re right on the other side of that wall,” the wizard said impatiently, jerking his arm away.
“I don’t think so,” Kat said. “Remember the gears we saw. If they rotate the rooms of the labyrinth, then that chamber not only rotated on its axis, but along the axis of the gear as well. We don’t know exactly where the room is, at least not pinpoint enough for you to transport us there. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not reappear inside a wall.”
“So what do you want us to do?” O’Reginald asked.
“Let’s go back to the control room,” Kat replied. “Maybe if I see the new position of the gears, I’ll have a better idea where the room is now.”
_____________________________________________________________

When Ratbone rushed back to the others, he found Michael curled up on the floor, clutching at his stomach.
“What happened?” the druid asked.
“Don’t know,” Valeris shrugged. “There was that flash of light when you opened that door, and next thing, he was on the floor. I felt a mild rumble in my own gut, but it passed. Guess the padre’s got a weak constitution.”
Ratbone helped Michael to his feet, but the priest was still shaking.
“Can you walk?” Ratbone asked.
“I…I think so…,” Michael stuttered. “The pain, though…it won’t stop.”

There was no way out of the set of rooms the entry chamber had rotated into. They were trapped. After a minute or so, they found that both levers were again moveable, but the four companions were still dubious about pulling them, fearing they would only be taken further away from their friends. It was Michael who ultimately came up with a possible solution.
“The wand…,” he panted in between spasms of pain, “the one I…found in the Arch…it can…shape stone. Maybe we can…open a hole…down to the…gear room…,”
Ratbone nodded, understanding.
“Do you think you can use it?”
“I’ll…try…,” Michael said.
He drew the wand from his belt, touched it to the floor and spoke a word. Instantly, the stone began dissolving, forming a narrow hole, no more than a foot in diameter.
“I don’t know…if the wand…has enough power left…to go all the way…,” Michael said.
Ten feet he bored down, then twenty, and then thirty. At that point, he saw that the stone ended, and there was a short open space and then what looked to be wood.
“I think…I think we’re through!” Michael said. “I think…I see the rafters!”
“Can you widen the hole?” Ratbone asked.
“I…I can try,” Michael nodded.
He touched the wand to the floor again and began circumscribing a larger opening.
_________________________________________________________________

“Just as I thought,” Kat said.
She and O’Reginald stood on the ledge overlooking the great gears and their undead beasts of burden. Each of the creatures had moved approximately one-quarter of a circle from their previous positions.
“The levers somehow signal those creatures to turn the wheels,” Kat continued. “Perhaps, based on their current position, I can figure out where the room with the others went.”
“I think I already know,” O’Reginald replied. He pointed up and Kat looked. From the maze of wooden rafters above, a large bird suddenly flew…Ratbone…
_________________________________________________________________

It was a relatively simple matter for the companions to regroup in the lever room. Once they were all together again, Ratbone grabbed the lever once more.
“Everyone ready?”
All nodded, having made sure that none of them were in the transition zone where the room would be rotating. Ratbone pulled the lever. Again the floor rumbled as the room began to turn. Again the opening beyond the archway sealed, only to reappear a moment later, revealing something new. A long corridor stretched away for several yards. Both walls were decorated with row upon row of tiger heads. Each appeared to be that of an actual, once-living tiger. They were remarkably well-preserved, their gaping mouths and glaring eyes even appearing to be moist. Standing in the middle of the hallway was none other than Vencarlo Orisini.

The fencing master was clothed in moldy leather armor, and he carried a pair of kukris in his hands, while on his back were strapped three javelins. His eyes widened in shock as he saw his friends…the last people he had ever expected to see.
“Why are you here?” he gasped
“We came looking for you,” Ratbone said, and he quickly recapped the events that had brought them to the labyrinth.
“Glorio allowed you to come down here?” Orisini asked, his eyes narrowed.
“In a manner of speaking,” Kat said. “He did it to save face, allowing us to ‘rescue’ you and Kalepopolis without having it look like he just handed you over.”
“No…that’s not it at all!” Orisini shouted. “It’s a trap! He sent you down here to die! Glorio Arkona is in league with Ileosa. In exchange for handing over Kalepopolis, she has promised his family a prominent position in her new aristocracy. There is a creature roaming the labyrinth. It’s been hunting me for days. It’s called a darksphinx, and it is hideously powerful. Arkona intends for you to die at its hands, further cementing his position with Ileosa by eliminating her enemies. This is what I hoped to warn you about, to keep you away from here. Now that you’re here, though, we have no choice. We have to kill Glorio Arkona!”
“How do you know all of this?” Ratbone asked.
“Glorio told me!” Orisini said, his voice rising. “He gloated about it before he had me thrown down into this hellhole. I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of the darksphinx ever since.”
“Then maybe we should deal with it first,” Ratbone replied. “We don’t want it coming after us after we leave.”
“It won’t,” Orisini said hurriedly. “It’s Arkona’s jailor. It won’t leave the labyrinth. We need to escape with Kalepopolis while we can. He’s too valuable to risk.”
“We will leave,” Ratbone said reasonably, “but I don’t want to leave the darksphinx alive to torture any more prisoners of the Arkonas’. I don’t see why we need to confront Lord Arkona, though. That would be very risky. Why don’t we just escape through the sea cave?”
“No!” Orisini snapped. “If we leave Arkona alive, he’ll alert the queen, and she’ll send more Mantis assassins after us!”
“I agree,” Valeris chimed in. “If we’re talking about not leaving enemies behind us, then Arkona is one big one that we should deal with before we go.”
Herc shook his head. “Never pick a fight on your enemy’s home turf if you can avoid it. Too much advantage.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t expect us to be coming back,” Kat said, playing devil’s advocate. “If this is something that has to be done, it might be best to do it while we still have some element of surprise. If not, Arkona will surely be prepared for us if there’s a next time.”
“Hold on!” O’Reginald said. “What did we come down here to do? Rescue Orisini and the seneschal. We’ve done that! Croft didn’t say anything about taking on one of the noble houses! I think that’s a little bit above of our pay grade. We can get word to the field marshal once we’re safely away, then she can decide what to do about the Arkonas.”
Several voices rose at once after that, with everyone commenting on the pros and cons of each course of action. Finally, a tenuous compromise was reached.
“It’s agreed,” Ratbone said at length, “we continue into the labyrinth and find the darksphinx. Once that’s taken care of, we can approach Arkona, and based on his reaction, we’ll take it from there.”
Orisini swore under his breath and shook his head. The fencing master was not satisfied with the plan. It was his opinion that if they went before Arkona, they would be playing directly into his hands, but he agreed to accompany the K.I.A. agents…for the time being.

“What lies back the way you came?” Ratbone asked Orisini. “This hall looks to be a dead-end.”
“There’s a hidden door at the end,” Orisini replied. “Beyond, there are a series of empty rooms and passages that do not rotate. They lead back into the labyrinth proper at the far end.”
“Lead on,” Ratbone said.
“Aren’t we forgetting about something?” Valeris interrupted. The others looked at him questioningly. He rolled his eyes, and then reached into the large back that hung at his belt and began to draw forth the possessions and trappings of Black Jack. Orisini’s eyes widened.
“I see you’re familiar with these items,” Kat said smiling.
Orisini swallowed. “There’s no point denying it, I suppose,” he sighed. “Perhaps it’s time for Black Jack to disappear for good.”
“Not just yet, I think,” Kat said as she handed Orisini his blade.
The fencing master pulled on his gloves, his boots, and draped the black cloak around his shoulders. Then he turned and started down the hallway. He’d just reached the end, and was reaching for the latch of the hidden portal, when suddenly the tiger heads on either side writhed out of the walls on long, serpentine necks in a horrific storm of scales, fangs and fur. They bit savagely at the companions, tearing into flesh and bone with their ripping teeth. Orisini triggered the door and dove through. Simultaneously, O’Reginald grabbed the hands of Valeris and Katarina and stepped across the boundary of reality, reappearing a moment later in the next room beside Orisini. Meanwhile, Herc and Ratbone went on the offensive, hacking and clawing the heads from the wall, one after the other. Once the last head lay on the ground, they followed their friends quickly through the door.

“You didn’t run into those when you came through the first time?” Ratbone asked Orisini.
“If I had, don’t you think I’d have warned you?” Orisini snapped.
Ratbone nodded, but said nothing. The room in which they currently found themselves held a ten-foot wide, two-foot tall well. Inky water filled it nearly to its rim, obscuring its depths. A stone statue of a rearing snake rose from the center of the well. Along the length of the serpent’s body were carved dozens of arms crossed over the creature’s belly…and each arm gripped a long curved blade. The statue’s serpentine head rose ten feet above the surface of the water, and gazed down coolly to the northeast with amethyst eyes.
“Well that looks ominous,” Valeris said.
No sooner had the words left his mouth, than a loud hiss issued from the statue as dozens of curved blades sprang out of the well’s base and began spinning furiously around the room, striking at all who stood around its perimeter. Orisini dove nimbly over the blades, and rolled through an archway on the far side of the room, while Valeris, the ring given to him by Glorio Arkona flaring to life, also rolled out of the path of the deadly scythes. The others were not so lucky. They all ran for the far side of the room, but not without suffering deep, wide gashes. It was not until they’d regrouped in the passageway, however, that they noticed not everyone had made it through. Laying on the floor beneath the spinning blades was Katarina, her eyes open and staring as a widening pool of her own blood spread around her.