Tain's Journal
Night, the 26th of Abadius

“What’s the plan?” asked Aria.

“Well to begin with, let’s escort Marianna back home,” I began, but the young woman shook her head.

“No.” Mari’s voice, usually girlish or excited in tone was serious, and perhaps a little sad. “I’m in this with you.”

I looked at Marcus, expecting him to argue (though not necessarily win), but he just looked at his sister, eyes narrowed slightly, and said nothing. I was surprised that he did not offer some sort of protest, and wondered what had passed between them, but if her brother did not insist that Mari not partake of this mission, then neither would I.

“Well you’ll need something appropriate to wear then Mari,” continued Aria. “Tain and I probably won’t look too out of place in Old Korvosa armed and armoured – we’ll pass as mercenaries. How can we make you look like a mercenary or scoundrel … maybe if you wore a rapier …”

“But I can’t use a sword!” Mari protested, sounding more like her normal self. Marcus and I agreed with her. “She’ll just look awkward wearing a blade she’s not used to,” I said. “Mercenaries come in greater variety than just sword-swingers,” added Marcus. “She could be a mercenary wizard for example …”

Mari ignored him whilst Aria continued. “Well at least wear a dagger, or two. Oh, you can buy a pair of boots with a dagger sheath on the side.”

“Or we can get her an entire bandolier of daggers,” Marcus observed, Mari continuing to ignore him.

“Anyway, you’ll need some new clothes cousin,” Aria stated. “Everything you own will stand out like anything at Eel’s End.” A discussion ensued about where Mari could find a suitable outfit, such as something borrowed from her own or Marcus’ servants, or wearing something that had belonged to Talia. Mari discounted all of these suggestions outright, insisting that she would buy something suitable.

“Well you’ll not find a clothing boutique open at this hour,” said Marcus, squinting about in the darkness, “so we’ll need another solution if we are to visit Eel’s End tonight.”

“I’m not sure that we should go tonight,” I said. “It would be best to wait till morning.”

Marcus looked exasperated. “We’re fine,” he said, absently touching the torn sleeve of his doublet, where the would-be assassin’s blade had pierced him earlier in the afternoon. “And we are not likely to find Ambassador Amprei indulging his vices during the morning.”

“That is why I suggest it,” I said. “I think it would be best if we try to approach Barvasi when Amprei is not around – he is more likely to inform on his client that way.”

The others saw the sense in this, and we agreed to visit Eel’s End on the morrow, meeting at Marcus and Mari’s town house at the tenth bell. In the meantime though I insisted on walking the others home; despite the fact that all seemed quiet here, we could not count on the streets being safe, and I had not yet forgiven myself for not being present during the earlier ambush.

We walked briskly along the cobbled streets, cloaks pulled tight around us to stave off the night time chill. As we walked, Aria spoke up again. “There is another thing that occurs to me; even if our garments don’t betray us as nobles tomorrow, our voices and accents surely will. Tain, you are the most common amongst us – oh, no offence meant …”

“None taken.” I smiled inwardly. It was ironic. Whilst the Merivanchis considered me a commoner – and indeed they were right, as I am not of noble birth (though my family was moderately wealthy), most in Old Korvosa would mark me as a noble by my speech and dress.

“Anyway,” my cousin by marriage continued, “perhaps you should do the talking on our behalf once we get to Eel’s End.”

“I’m a pretty good actor,” spoke up Mari, “and I can do a good Varisian accent.” Marcus rolled his eyes.

“I am happy to speak for us,” I said, “but you should know that I have made a holy vow that no lie should pass my lips … so if I speak for us, my approach will be direct.”

“Fantastic,” said Marcus sarcastically. “You’re doing the talking but you can’t lie? We may as well don Guard uniforms and be done with it.”

“I won’t lie,” I said, “but neither do I need to tell the entire truth…”

Soon we reached the town house. I bid the others good night, then returned home without incident, to spend a few hours praying for success on the morrow before turning in.

Tain's Journal
Mid-morning, the 27th of Abadius
Old Korvosa

We met at the appointed hour and began making our way north across the city, on foot. We were all dressed in older and more worn clothes than typical (except Mari, who had found time for shopping in the morning and was wearing a quite sensible if new looking outfit) and Marcus had exchanged his ornate fencing blade for a more functional looking rapier. Mari had the wand we had found at Lamm’s warehouse tucked into her belt (I supposed that she had taken Marcus’s advice to dress as a mercenary magician after all) and Aria and I had our holy symbols tucked away out of sight, wearing our borrowed armour.

The journey across the city was peaceful enough – it seemed that the Guard were beginning to bring things under control – and had it not been for the occasional burnt out building or long food queue that we passed, or the occasional flight over head of a Sable Company hippogriff, it would be hard to know that we walked through a troubled city.

Soon enough we reached Northpoint, passed by the Bank of Abadar and City Hall, then crossed over the Narrows into Old Korvosa. The streets here were narrow, with tall and decrepit buildings crowding in from either side. Most of the people on the street were either visibly poor while those with anything worth stealing traveled well armed. Marcus had been concerned that our weapons and in particular Ari and my armour might make us stand out – but not so much. The locals gave us little trouble; at one point a rather brazen fellow leaned forward to leer at Ari, and made some off-colour remark, but before either Marcus or myself could leap forward to defend her honour, she merely looked at him with her Pharasma-touched eyes and he quickly backed down.

I led the way eastward, remembering on which pier Eel’s End was located from my days as a Guardsman (the Church of Abadar seldom sent patrols into Old Korvosa). And there it was, the long pier stretching halfway across the Narrows back towards Northpoint, with the large, decommissioned ship moored at the end almost completely blocking the strait. Another four ships (all old and in poor condition for sailing) were docked at the pier. The Goldenhawk appeared to be a tavern of some type, the House of Clouds was a brothel, the Twin Tigers a gambling hall and the Dragon’s Breath was a drug den.

A fair number of people were about even at this hour, visible on the pier, or on the decks of the ships, and even at this hour many of them appeared drunk or drugged, though most seemed cheerful enough – those not vomiting off the side of the pier, or crying into their hands over lost money or perhaps belated remorse at their sins. I was surprised that the place was so busy, given recent (and current) events in the city, but I suppose that in times of uncertainty and hardship the foolish and weak of spirit often turn to such vices seeking false comfort. The wise find strength in themselves, in their families, or in the gods.

A number of people about were armed, but there were no obvious guards – at first glance. On closer inspection there appeared to be a burly well dressed man or two standing near the gang planks leading to each of the ships. They carried no visible weaponry, nor did they appear to be stopping people from coming and going, but they were clearly keeping an eye on things.

“Well,” commented Marcus, looking at the scene before us, as we stood on the street near the pier. “Where shall we begin out search for Barvasi?”

“I would suggest either the tavern or the gambling den,” I said. “In the tavern, people may be less focused on other pursuits, and we may be able to ask about for information. On the other hand, a man like Barvasi will probably stay where the money is, to keep a close eye on things – thus we might find him at the gambling den. Of the two, I think the casino the better option.”

There were no dissenting views, so I led the way onto and across the pier towards the Twin Tigers. There were two smartly dressed but rather thuggish looking men standing to either side of the gang plank; I strode purposefully past them, and they made no effort to stop us as we filed along the plank and down into the ship’s dark hull.

Tain's Journal
Late morning, the 27th of Abadius
Eel’s End

The entire hull of the old ship had been converted into a cheap but gaudy casino. A wide mezzanine ringed the ship, set up with a bar, tables and comfortable seating. The gambling floor, hosting dice and card tables and settings for more exotic games of chance occupied the centre of the ship, set down some ten feet from the mezzanine level, accessed by a wide stair. Another spiral stair at the rear of the ship led upwards. The whole place was lit with hanging chandeliers that might have been of crystal and gold, but were more likely glass and copper. Although we were on a boat, there was hardly any sway or movement, so securely was it lashed to the pier (and thanks also to the relative stillness of the Narrows). Here and there around the room stood burly men in uniform-like outfits, keeping a close eye on the patrons – including us.

“We’re drawing attention, standing here,” I said, noticing eyes upon us. “We’d best move, perhaps over to the lounges.”

“Or down to the gambling floor!” suggested Mari, already beginning to move over to the stair, before Marcus put a hand on her arm, almost dragging her around the other way, towards the lounges. “You don’t know how to gamble,” he said.

Once we were seated, in a position where we could survey the chamber, Marcus signaled a waitress. “What do common people order to drink?” he asked me in a low voice as the woman sashayed over. “Ale?” I suggested.

“Not that common,” Marcus replied.

“Perhaps some type of spirits then, or the house wine,” was my next suggestion. Marcus, looking horrified at the idea of drinking the house wine, ordered some Varisian vodka.

I began scanning the room – not just with my eyes, but reaching out with the senses granted to me by Abadar, the ability to see the evil lurking within people’s souls. I suppose I should not have been surprised that most of the patrons on the gaming floor or drinking at the bar were not evil – since my courtship with Talia had first began several years ago I had moved often in noble circles, so I knew better than most that foolishness and decadence did not always equate to evil.

I did see evil though, here and there. Some of the patrons and most of the guards. For the most part it was a small, petty sort of evil, a festering of the soul, but two individuals stood out, the evil radiating out from them in black waves. One of the two was a guard, the one standing closest to the entry-way. He was a giant of a man, six feet tall and seemingly almost as wide and deep. He had a shaved head, no neck to speak of, layers of fat and muscle bulging beneath his too-tight tunic and coat. The other, a tall skinny man dressed in a robe embroidered with fighting tigers, stood on the gambling floor, carefully watching the players.

Slowly, I tuned back in to my companions’ conversation. “I still think we should gamble,” said Mari, jiggling her coin purse. The large bag of coins that Field Marshal Kroft had given us was both heavy and conspicuous, so before we left for Eel’s End in the morning, someone had suggested that we split the coin into four smaller pouches, and carry one each. “If we win big, Barvasi will notice us – he might come to us.”

“Who says we would win?” asked Marcus thoughtfully. “But losing big may attract us just as much attention…”

Aria shook her head. “We don’t have funds enough with us to lose a lot and still bribe Barvasi when we meet him.”

I interrupted. “That man down there, in the robe. I suggest we speak to him – I have a feeling he may be able to get us to Barvasi.”

Marcus peered over the railing to where I had indicated. “He’s probably the floor manager. It’s certainly worth a shot.”

We all stood, and I led the way down to the gaming floor.

Marianna's Journal
Brock House
Early morning

The grey morning welcomes her. She sits in the bay of her window, a book resting limply in the palms of her hands, as she watches the early morning traffic pass on Janus Street. She is up early, as usual, to enjoy the peace of the morning. Sometimes she studies or simply sits listening to the sounds of the bay in the distance. On some mornings, she is content to look on the passers-by. Marcellano often lies next to her, purring softly as she strokes his dark fur.

The mornings are quieter now, hushed as if the city itself was holding its breath, the people wary of some unknown danger or some portent soon to be revealed. Everything has changed. The people are reticent in the wake of King Eodred’s death. She feels nothing in the grey chill of the morning. She stares at the departing fog. Somewhere in the house, Tybus growls and his claws click against the wooden floors. Marcellano rolls on to his stomach to dig himself deeper into the sheets, seeking her fading warmth. She turns her attention back to the street below.

There is a soft knock at her door. It is his knock, not Raethe’s. She is vaguely aware that she is not ready to receive guests, not even her brother. She pulls her dressing grown tighter, suddenly mindful of the winter cold, her thin nightdress inadequate protection against the early morning chill.

Mari, he says softly, through her door.

Come in, she replies.

He enters, looking tired and troubled. He is still dressed for bed. The door closes silently and he moves into her room.

We need to talk, he says, about the other night.

I told you, she says detached from the moment, there is nothing to talk about.

I disagree! You risk everything with your silly, wilful behaviour! Running around the streets at night! Disguised as an old gypsy woman! What are you thinking?

You want me to stop? I recall a certain crocodile...

I want you to do what is expected of you. You jeopardise everything. Our family honour, your honour, your betrothal. Everything!

It is all I have, she says absently and still numb, the magic. It is all that I have that is mine.

You’re being foolish, he says taking a step forward, you have been given everything.

Except my freedom, she looks out the window and wishes him to be gone, all I have is what I am told to have.

You are to stop Mari, he says in a harsh voice that reveals the edge of his patience, we must think of the house.

You think of the house, she says, I serve its wishes.

We all serve the wishes of our family. You will cease these studies. Mari, it is time you accepted your responsibilities.

No, I will continue.

I will not allow it! You will remove yourself from your classes. End of discussion.

He stands, walks to the door and turns to face her. He is angry. She turns to face him, too unfeeling to argue.

Please go.

We will speak later, he looks confused and not too sure why he is doing in her room at this hour, about this and other liberties you have taken.

The door opens and he disappears into the gloom of the corridor.

Marianna’s Journal
Early Evening, 26 Abadius

There is blood on the cobblestones, fine flecks of blood on her shoes and the hem of her dress, she notes absently and remembers she has a cantrip that can remove any stain. She suppresses a giggle.

She is conscious of her mounting horror, these men before her sacrificed their lives for nothing. She forces herself to stop trembling, she wanted to sit down.

The alleyway was too narrow and too dark. She could not feel the air and desired nothing more strongly to be on the bay, to feel the sea breeze flow over her. The guard were filing past, someone spoke to her and she nodded; did she speak?

Someone took her by the arm and led her out into the darkening light of the evening. She felt a slight breeze on her face and pulled away from Marcus’ firm grasp.

Time passes and she waits. She withdraws into herself, she wants to be small and alone, hates herself and her brother. She thinks about the men and their families.

Wives? Children?

Ari speaks to her and she nods, does not offer her a reply. She listens as Ari and her brother speak about something, the attack? She listens, failing to take in their words. Agon appears, she smiles (weakly?) at him, and he nods.

Tain arrives soon after the fight. He speaks with the Guard Sergeant. He replies, gruffly, something about custody and questioning. Agon leaves with the guards. Tain returns.

I apologise for not escorting you home, he says and looks them over, had I not left early, they may not have attacked you – at the least I would have been there to help.

She mumbles something, sure that no one heard her.

It has been a dangerous city of late, her brother replies. He plays absently with the tear in his sleeve. She knows of a cantrip that could mend the tear and says nothing.

The situation is worsening, Tain says and she is suddenly relieved to see him, if street thugs are now attacking travelers on the streets but two blocks from Castle Korvosa. Or the second possibility; that this attack was not random, that you were targeted.

She takes a breath and looks at her brother, cousin and brother-in-law in turn. Smiling (weakly?), she looks at her feet as the guardsmen remove the dead men.

Some agreement passes between them and she allows herself to be led home for the night.

She walks behind them, listening absently to their conversation, feeling nothing but the pleasant breeze on her face. She adds nothing to the conversation or to Marcus’ recount about their meeting with House Bannyer. She is sick of politics and manoeuvring. Her feet begin to ache.

We will certainly need a way past those Hellknights, her brother says, if we are to find Sabor.

She speaks, surely if we have the authority of the Queen, or even the Guard, they will let us pass?

Perhaps, perhaps not, Ari replies, it will depend on whose authority they are here…

Her cousin continues speaking. Her mind drifts off to the dead men. The guilt weighs on her, she feels like vomiting. She takes a breath instead and looks at Tain.

…that things have slid too far towards chaos here, they would act on their own. At any rate, I would prefer that we find Sabor before the Hellknights do, to see that she is brought to fair trial to determine her innocence or guilt. The Order of the Nail are all too likely to act as judge, jury and executioners.

She remembers a conversation with Agon, about Sabor being a scapegoat. If the woman was set up and accused of murdering Eodred, then the conspirators were unlikely to ensure she received a fair trial. Tain was being idealistic or naïve? She did not care; the numbness was filling her again.

Suddenly she felt a desire to feel that presence again, the ancient presence she had felt twice before. It stirred her blood, called to something within her; made her feel something at least. She thought of Orlando, his spiteful face, and the need to feel contact with the ancient force became stronger.

The conversation has progressed without her as she trailed behind, deep within herself. Her brother had just finished saying something about the Crimson Throne and his loyalty.

She also feared failing her Queen and her circle. She had no doubt that failure would mean utter ruin for them all, especially if the Queen secured the Crimson Throne for herself. She found herself wondering about Lord Bannyer’s motives and the true purpose of their meeting earlier in the day.

Soon they would be home.

Tain's Journal
Late morning, the 27th of Abadius
The gaming floor of the Twin Tigers

The thin man gave me a look of annoyance as it became clear that I was coming over to speak to him – if he was intimidated by my size or the weapons I kept about my person he did not show it.

“Excuse me,” I began with as much politeness as I could muster towards someone with such darkness in their soul. “My companions and I have some business we wish to discuss with Mister Barvasi. I was hoping you might be able to arrange a meeting for us.”

The floor manager looked me up and down for a moment, glanced at the others gathered behind me, then said “No. I don’t think so.” I was momentarily taken aback at being so completely rebuffed, and while I gathered my thoughts for what to say next, Mari stepped up beside me. “This meeting will be profitable,” she said, smiling sweetly and pressing a handful of gold coins into the man’s palm. He looked at the coins – there must have been twenty or thirty gold pieces – smiled mirthlessly and shook his head. “Nope,” was all he said.

“It will be to Mister Barvasi’s advantage, our proposal,” I began to speak again, but the man cut me off. “Piss off, I’m working.” Looking past me he signaled to one of the guards – the massive, evil fellow I had noticed earlier.

As Six Foot Cubed began to lumber down the stairs, I stepped away from the floor manager and turned to face the approaching threat, positioning myself so that I would be the first one of us he came to. I felt Ari step in beside me, whilst Marcus moved towards the floor manager. “Look,” I heard him begin, speaking quickly and earnestly. “We’re here on behalf of a patron – someone rather important …”

I tuned out the rest, focusing on the approaching guard. He was not as tall as I, but must have outweighed me by at least half again – probably more. Although he was not visibly armed, I had no doubt that he would be an accomplished and deadly bare knuckled fighter, and for my part I had no intention of swinging my heavy flail or firing my crossbow in a room crowded with (relatively) innocent civilians. I stepped forward to meet him.

“Perhaps you can help us then,” I said. “Take us to Mister Barvasi.”

He stopped, confused, expecting a fight. “Urm … nah, I can’t do that. You gonna have ta leave. Ya can come quiet-like, or I can throw you out.” Several other guards lurked in the background, looking to see how things would develop, ready to help him carry out this threat.

I clenched my gauntleted fist, while Aria took a battle ready stance – and then I heard Mari speak behind me, in a clear, musical voice. “Oh no, you don’t want to throw us out,” she said. “I’d like us to be friends. Please?”

Now Mari is certainly an attractive girl. Woman really. I can see a lot of Talia in her. And people just seem to like her, are willing to do things for her – but I really did not expect Six Foot, ready for a fight as he was, to go for the cute, sweet girl act.

Apparently he didn’t expect to either – but somehow he did. He blinked a few times, a look of confusion crossing his dumb, brutal face, and then he smiled down at Mari, showing a mouthful of chipped and missing teeth. “Alright then … you can stay.”

“And my companions too,” said Mari, cheerfully but with authority. He looked less pleased at this, but nodded his grudging consent.

I stared at him, then at Mari, then turned to look back at the floor manager. He looked as dumbfounded as I felt, just shook his head in disbelief, but before he could say anything Marcus attracted his attention again, finishing his pitch.

“So what is Barvasi going to say when he finds out you prevented a deal that would have made him a lot of money, hmmm?” Marcus was asking. Seeing Six Foot enthralled by Mari, and given the repeated mention of money, the floor manager seemed to give in. “How much money?” he asked, somewhat suspiciously. “We do alright here you know.”

Marcus produced his coin purse. “Two hundred and fifty, gold,” he said. The floor manager snorted. “Is that it?”

“We have the discretionary funds to pay several hundred more if Barvasi will deal with us,” I interjected. “I think he will find it profitable.”

The floor manager threw up his hands. “Fine, fine. Just get the hell off my floor. You!” This last was directed at Six Foot Cubed. “Take them up to see the boss.”

Six Foot nodded slowly, smiled again at Mari, then led the way towards the spiral staircase at the back of the boat.

Your DM is pretty lucky to have several of his players writing such excellent journals.

Tain's Journal
Midday, the 27th of Abadius
An audience with Devargo Barvasi

The stairs led up to a tiny landing in what must have been the ship’s sterncastle, with a heavy looking door of oak reinforced with iron bands opposite the top of the stair. Six Foot knocked loudly on the door, then opened it, gesturing for us to squeeze past him into the cabin beyond, before stepping in after us.

The room was large, no doubt occupying most of the sterncastle, and well appointed, but I did not much notice the details, my attention focused on the spectacle at the far end of the room.

There stood a tall man who could only be Devargo Barvasi. He had a pale, pinched, feral looking face (although it was currently pulled into an expression of cruel pleasure) and wore black leather armour, sleeveless so to show off the corded muscles and tattoos of his arms. On his hands he wore leather gauntlets adorned with oversized, razor sharp blades … blades that dripped with blood.

The blood belonged to a near naked man strapped painfully to a bench beside Barvasi, his flesh covered in dozens of cuts and flayed patches. As we entered, Barvasi caressed his skin with one of the blades, then swiftly dug it in, eliciting a hoarse scream from the man – this had obviously been going on for some time.

The crime-boss looked up from his work, studying us with interest (though seemingly no surprise), whilst the several burly men who were lounged around the room came to attention, watching us carefully.

I gritted my teeth and clenched my fist. I knew that we were here to bargain with Barvasi, to get him on our side … but could I really stand by whilst he took such obvious pleasure in torturing this man?

“Easy Tain,” muttered Marcus. “Ari, can you -” But whatever he was going to say to Aria was cut short, as he realised that she looked almost as angry as I did.

I could stand by no longer. “Step away from that man Barvasi,” I growled, “or things will go badly for you.”

Barvasi smirked coldly. “Oh yeah? Are you going to make me?” His men started edging forward.

“Yes.” I grabbed me flail and charged towards him as Barvasi called to his men, “Stop him!”

As I leapt forward, everyone else in the room began to act at once. Six Foot started to reach for my arm with one beefy hand, but Mari said, “Don’t!” and the thug hesitated, torn. Aria reached for her morning star and began chanting a prayer. Marcus drew his rapier and leaped at one of the thugs trying to block my way, but the unfamiliar blade stuck as he drew it forth, and his resulting lunge was clumsy, almost sending him sprawling.

I charged across the room, shouldering goons out of the way as I swung my flail mightily at Barvasi with both hands. “I smite thee, evil-doer!” The criminal had settled into a defensive stance, and was preparing to leap aside and cut at me with his gauntlet-blades, but the fury of my assault took him by surprise – as my flail hit him with bone-shattering force in the ribs. He crumpled to the floor, eyes rolling up in his head, blood and phlegm dribbling from his slack mouth.

Two of Barvasi’s thugs charged at my back, striking at me with their fists. They may have been unarmed, but they were trained boxers. Not used to fighting opponents wearing breastplate armour though … one of the men cursed as his fist bounced harmlessly (for me) off my armour, whilst the other hit me hard in the jaw, splitting my lip. A third guard scooted around me and knelt down beside Barvasi, lifting up an eyelid to see if his boss still lived. Six Foot still stood near the door, shaking his head in confusion as Mari pleaded with him to join the fight – on our side. “I can’t!” he wailed, but neither did he fight against us.

A voice called out from the stair, asking if all was well – the door was obviously sound proofed (as the screams of Barvasi’s victim had not reached the casino below), but we had left it open. As I whirled about to face the thugs behind me, I saw Aria turn and slam the door shut, then look about for something to move against it. Mari’s eyes were sharper – she saw the key in the lock, turned it.

Marcus, his sword issues sorted out, and buoyed by Ari’s prayer of blessing, closed in behind one of my assailants, cutting a thin slice along his side with his rapier. As the man howled in anger and pain, I swept my flail low at his companion’s legs. The thug tried to jump out of the way, but I was quicker, my flail knocking his feet from under him and sending him crashing to the floor. As I spun, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the third guard had pulled a glass bottle from his belt-pouch and was about to pour the contents into Barvasi’s mouth. I continued my spin and brought my flail crashing into the man’s hand, breaking his fingers with an audible crack and sending the bottle flying, smashing. The man howled in agony, rocked back, clutching at his ruined hand.

“Yield!” yelled the only thug still standing (with the exception of Six Foot Cubed, who stood still, having decided to help neither side in this skirmish), putting his hands up in the air. “We surrender.”

As quickly as it had begun, the fight was over.

Wow... Did you score a critical on Barvasi??

I actually rolled a 19, but in the heat of the moment we all forgot that heavy flail threatened a critical on a 19-20 (and no one wanted to break the flow of the game by flipping through rulebooks – especially as we only have one hard copy of the PFRPG core rules between us so far and probably no one is familiar enough with it to know which page the weapons tables are on). So, long story short, I didn’t roll a crit confirmation roll. I did however roll max damage on the hit, was smiting evil, and (using one of the campaign house rules) had paid an action point to evoke my ‘Smite the Evil-Doer’ trait to add an extra d6 to the damage roll.

I’m not certain, but I suspect that I took him down to 0 hit points, or very close to it.

Marianna’s Journal
Night, 26 Abadius

She follows them into the citadel, uncaring she obediently keeps in step behind him, dutifully quiet and unheard. She is dimly aware of the guards looking her over as she passes the gates. One chuckles quietly behind his hand. They are led through a warren of corridors and courtyards to the brightly lit office of the Field Marshal. She notices the stern looking woman in her uniform, hair cropped close to her skull and envies her freedom.

Thank you for coming, Cressida Kroft says inspecting them in turn and making her own silently judgment. She notices her brother’s surprise, she is mildly surprised herself, to see Master Vencarlo Orisini sitting in a high-backed chair, an ornate blade resting across his knees. She averts her gaze as their eyes meet.

Marianna, he says rising and taking her hand, it is a pleasure to see you again. She smiles, feels a genuine surge of warmth and courtesies appropriately. She notices Kroft’s staring at her and looks at the ground. The pleasure is ours Master Orisini, she replies.

You’ve all seen the state of the city these past few days, Kroft begins. The Guard is stretched thin trying to keep the peace and ensuring, as much as possible, that everyone is kept safe and fed. Between riots, looting, gang violence and desertions, her expression darkens at the last, we are struggling, even with the assistance of the Churches, she nods to Aria and Tain, the Sable Company and even … the Hellknights.

Tain frowns, keeping his own counsel, and she sees a similar expression on the faces of her brother and cousin. She was becoming curious about these Hellknights and their interest in Trinia Sabor.

There are things that the Guard has just not been able to attend to – and some things that it would be best handled by … others. To that effect I have been putting together some teams of specialists – loyalists, people with skills, but not necessarily known to be affiliated with the Guard. She looks us over again, assessing us, then nods. You come highly recommended by Lady Elizabeth and the Queen, she adds.

So, I have a task for you. I’ll have Master Orisini give you the details.

She does not like the idea that they are still serving the machinations of Lady Elizabeth and the Queen. She feels that Trinia Sabor is the scapegoat, she is sure there is more to this than the late king and a bid for power. She turns her attention to Orisini.

The ambassador to our fair city from Imperial Cheliax is a man by the name of Darvayne Amprei, Orisini begins. [/i]It is no great secret that he hates Korvosa, and to all appearances his appointment here. What is less well known is that he has, for many years, been seeking to buy up property within the city – he is quite a land-holder, and has some influence over many of his tenants.[/i] The old man rests his hand on the hilt of his blade, pausing for a moment. We believe that he has been using his money and influence to stir up trouble within the city and de-stabilise the economy. Up until now, this has been on a small scale, but with the recent troubles he has increased his activity. It appears that he intends to keep the current chaos going for as long as possible – enough perhaps to leave Korvosa ripe for a take-over by the Empire.

She glances at Tain, notices her brother musing over Orisini’s words, before he offers his opinion. Ironic, a finger running along the line of his chin, it was not so long ago in our history that many in the city would have welcomed a return to Chelish rule, she cannot help but think of the Old Harpy as he makes his statement.

Perhaps, Tain says, but I believe that sentiment has changed as rumours of House Thrune’s loyalties and atrocities have been proved true.

She runs her eyes over the room, notes Kroft’s expression and turns her attention to Orisini. Our city will never again willingly bow to tyrants, he declares. She almost giggles, thinking of the Queen and the dinner party. Her thoughts turn to the Old Harpy and her betrothed, she stifles a laugh. Orisini adds a touch of authority to his tone, we want Amprei gone, but the Guard cannot simply arrest him… or stick his head on a pike.

She thinks diplomatic immunity… as Tain says, diplomatic immunity, she looks across at him, you do not want us to… He stops, his eyes narrow and his brow wrinkles. He looks older, she thinks absently and her thoughts turn to Talia.

…this man Barvasi, Tain says and catches her attention, but I know this type; they respond best to money… (and violence she adds silently)… We may need to pay or bribe him.

Kroft nods and turns to a small, open strongbox behind her desk. One thousand gold pieces, she asserts. We will keep receipts, Tain says (she giggles into her hand).

She does not know Amprei, though her brother quickly claims too in answer to a question of inquiry from Ari. Kroft asks if there is anything else they require for the mission, Ari and Tain successfully requisition armour.

There is also the matter of recognition, her brother says, obviously we are happy to serve the city in this capacity, but we will need the correct tools to do our job properly.

The Field Marshal frowns slightly, I’m not sure that I follow you – you’ll be deputised, so you may act with the full authority of the Korvosan Guard.

She shakes her head softly, knowing what her brother is requesting from Kroft.

What my cousin is too modest to ask outright…, Aria begins, after a glance at Marcus.

They want rank, Field Marshal, rank. She states it harshly, rushed. She returns Ari’s stare.

The point of us hiring you, Kroft frowns, is that you’ll be working under-cover, independently of the rest of the Guard. You won’t be running patrols or standing guard duty, you won’t have anyone working under you, and you won’t have anyone but me giving you orders.

I believe that the Field Marshal is saying that we will be outside the chain of command, Tain says interjecting, exact rank is unimportant in the context. He turns to Kroft, I further understand that we should report only to yourself?

The Field Marshal nods. Yes, to me, or to Vencarlo if I’m unavailable. He acts with my direct authority in this matter. Orisini smiles and looks at Marcus. You know where to find me if I’m not here, he says, directing his statement at her brother, who nods.

Speaking of such things, I met your companion Agon earlier in the day, Kroft adds. I suggest that it might be best if he did not come with you to Eel’s End; someone there may recognise him as a member of the Korvosan Guard, which could throw this whole mission into jeopardy. I’ve reviewed his file … Agon seems a competent Guardsman, but he is rather … noticeable.

She looks with amusement at Tain, nodding slightly. She is disappointed; she was still hoping that Agon might be joining them. She was still figuring out on how the half-elf could serve her own ambitions, however, she was more baffled as realised that she had begun to enjoy his company. She paid little attention to the rest of the conversation; she followed Orisini and the others to the armoury.

Farewells were exchanged and she followed the others out of the citadel.

Marianna’s Journal
Night, 26 Abadius

“What is the plan,” asks Ari.
“Well to begin with, let’s escort Marianna back home,” Tain begins, but I shake my head. Leaving the citadel, I push away my feeling of anxiety and take forget about needing Agon or Osric. They were absent and I was unable to call on them.

“No,” I reply confidently and note the small amount of regret in my voice. “I’m in this with you.”

I notice Ari and Tain look at Marcus, who is looking at me, and I am just about to say something when he does not reply. I hide my surprise by looking out into the street, away from my brothers and my cousin.

I try to ignore Ari as she comments on my clothing, suggesting I find something more appropriate. She says something about a sword and I am disgusted by my shrill reply. “But I can’t use a sword.” Marcus and Tain nod in agreement.

“She’ll just look awkward wearing a blade she’s not used to,” Tain says. “Mercenaries come in greater variety than just sword-swingers,” Marcus adds, “she could be a mercenary wizard for example.” I am grateful for Tain’s wisdom, but have a strong desire to turn Marcus into a toad.

I ignore him, ready to protest my innocence of magic. Ari saves us the unnecessary discussion. “Well at least wear a dagger or two. Oh, you can buy a pair of boots with a dagger sheath on the side...”

I am intrigued, excited by the prospect of dressing something more… daring. I give Ari a look that may have been more appropriate if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. Marcus says something about a bandolier of daggers and I ignore continue to ignore him. I wish I had that polymorph weave worked out!

“Anyway,” Ari continues, “you’ll need some new clothes cousin.” She looks me over. “Everything you own will stand out like anything at Eel’s End!”

The ensuing discussion has less to do with my opinion than with my relative’s individual ones. I take a breath and think about lightning strikes and banishment spells. I consider the difficulties of summoning a swarm of lice…

“Well you’ll not find a clothing boutique open at this hour,” Marcus says sagely, squinting about in the darkness. “So we’ll need another solution if we are to visit Eel’s End tonight.” I stifle a grin and continue to ignore him.

“I’m not sure that we should go tonight,” Tain says. “It would be best to wait till morning.”

Marcus replies in frustration. Tain talks him out of going to Eel’s End tonight. I stand in the background watching the exchange and not really listening to anyone. I am thinking about Eel’s End and feeling guilty again about those two men. May be I need to consider that this is not an adventure and realise that two men are dead because of me. I push the guilt aside and take a breath. They agree to meet at Brock House, at the tenth bell.

“There is another thing that occurs to me,” Ari says. “Even if our garments don’t betray us as nobles tomorrow, our voices and accents surely will. Tain, you are the most common amongst us – oh, no offence meant…”

From the look on Tain’s face, I am pretty sure he would also be interested in a polymorph weave or the implications of summoning a swarm of lice right at this moment. I give Ari a withering look.

“None taken,” the paladin replies. “Anyway,” Ari continues uncomfortably, “perhaps you should do the talking on our behalf once we get to Eel’s End?”

“I am a pretty good actor,” I hear myself say and cringe inwardly, “and I can do a good Varisian accent.” I notice Marcus roll his eyes and I am not in the least insulted. Why did I say that?

I ignore the rest of the exchange, wish for an invisibility weave and follow Marcus home.

Tain's Journal
Just past midday, the 27th of Abadius
Barvasi’s chamber

Marcus and I used the ropes that had tied Barvasi’s prisoner to the torture table to bind the three thugs, while Mari stood whispering quietly to Six Foot, who sat slumped, his head in his large hands. Aria had used her magic to heal the worst of the torture victim’s wounds, but we could get little sense from the man, who seemed to be in shock.

There was a muffled knocking at the door, and someone tried the handle, to no avail. The door was solid, and the landing small enough that they could not use a ram to force it. That, and any uncertainty amongst the men outside about exactly what was transpiring in the cabin would give us some time.

On the floor, Barvasi moaned, shifted, coughed up blood. He was probably not in immediate danger of dying, but my hit had no doubt broken ribs and done him internal damage – he would need to see a healer soon or he would be in real trouble.

We removed his gauntlets, then, together, propped him up in a chair. I stood ready beside him, holding my flail ready, while Marcus bent down and slapped his face lightly. “Wake up Barvasi. We need to talk.”

The crime boss opened one eye, glared balefully at first Marcus, then me, and spat redly onto the floor. “If you kill me,” he said hoarsely, “you’ll need to fight your way through fifty armed men to escape.”

“And you’ll hafta get past me,” spoke up Six Foot, standing up and positioning himself, arms folded, before the door. “Don’t hurt ‘im.”

“We don’t intend to kill you Devargo,” said Marcus, standing straight. “We’re here to talk. Do business.”

Barvasi snorted, then coughed when that hurt. He looked down at himself, at me standing beside him, at his bound henchmen. “This is how you do business?”

“I could not let you torture that man,” I said sternly. “Such an act could not go unanswered.”

“He deserved every cut,” the criminal snarled. “Heard of Gaedron Lamm? Well that man was one of his cronies. Likes little children if you get my meaning.”

I looked over at the man we had rescued, sitting against the bulkhead, sitting in slack-jawed shock. He did look somewhat familiar … that was it, one of the men carrying crates when we had burst into Lamm’s hideout those few nights ago. Whether he was an accomplice to atrocities or simply a hired hand I could not know, but Barvasi was at least telling the truth that this was one of Lamm’s men. My heart sank. Had I compromised our mission for Kroft in order to rescue a criminal? Someone who, if convicted, may well face the same punishment that Barvasi was inflicting on him?

After a moment of doubt, I realised it did not matter. I had seen the look on Barvasi’s face as he cut the man – I had been right to act. It was not Barvasi’s place to punish without trial and conviction of a crime.

“You are an evil sadist,” I said. “You are fortunate I did not kill you – and will not if you co-operate.”

“Oh, so you could kill me,” mocked Barvasi, then wincing at the pain. “If you kill me, someone else would take my place here – and who’s to say it wouldn’t be someone worse than me? Someone like Lamm? Oh, perhaps I am evil, but I have my limits. I don’t rape children; I don’t sell slaves to Cheliax or Katapesh, or,” his eyes narrowed as he gazed at the four of us, “the nobles of this city. I run legitimate businesses, offering entertainment and hope to people in dark times.”

I began to retort about him preying on the foolish and vulnerable, but Marcus cut me off with a look. “Business. As I said, that’s why we are here – and you must admit, we are bargaining from a position of strength. Hear me out.”

“Maybe,” answered Barvasi. “But I can hardly do so if I die before you finish.” He wheezes and coughs again, his chin and neck now stained with blood. Ari stepped forward and retrieved a small glass bottle from her belt pouch, poured a few drops onto the man’s lips. Immediately some of the colour returned to his face and he sat up a little straighter.

“You’ll get the rest if you agree to deal with us,” the priestess said sternly. Barvasi nodded, and Ari gave him the rest of the potion. There was immediate and obvious improvement to his condition, although it was obvious he was not completely healed. I tightened my grip on my flail just in case … but he didn’t try anything, just nodded at Marcus to continue.

“Our employer – a person of considerable influence – wishes to know as much as possible about the Chelaxian ambassador, Darvayne Amprei,” Marcus began. “We’re given to understand that the man frequents your fine establishments here, and that you may be in a position to know something of his schemes and habits. We’d like you to tell us all you know.”

Barvasi looked incredulous, then shook his head. “Amprei? That’s who this is all about? Well … Amprei is a powerful man, dangerous to cross. What’s in it for me if I snitch on him?”

Marcus nodded towards me and smiled. “My companion will not smash your face with that big flail he holds.”

The criminal sneered. “I told you, kill me and you won’t get out of here alive. If my life or death is your only bargaining chip, then I’m afraid we are at an impasse.”

My brother in law looked at Aria, who shrugged, then the two of them produced their coin purses, letting the heavy bags drop onto a side table. “This should break the impasse,” Marcus suggested. “Five hundred gold pieces. Yours – not to mention your life – if you tell us everything you know of Amprei.”

Tain's Journal
What Barvasi Knows

“Agreed,” Barvasi replied after a short pause. “Ambassador Amprei is a man of surprisingly few vices, for a Chel. He doesn’t drink to excess, nor gamble beyond his means. He stays away from drugs that are dangerous or illegal. What he comes here for is sex. Oh, his tastes do not run to the particularly deviant if that’s what you’re thinking, he just likes to be with women that are not his dear wife back in Westcrown. His favourite at the House of Clouds is a girl named Bessy.”

Barvasi pauses again, perhaps for effect, or perhaps because he’s still in pain. “I happen to know that the girls at the House of Clouds are not the only ones Amprei has been tupping. He’s also been involved in an affair with a young lady named Yasmin Marcella … he’d certainly not want a certain person to know about that.”

We all exchanged significant looks – of course we recognised the name from the diary we had found at Lamm’s hideout, and I’m sure we were all wondering exactly how much Amprei might have had to do with Lady Yasmin’s disappearance.

“Who exactly would Amprei not want to know of the affair?” I asked.

Barvasi shot me a withering look. “His wife of course. Try to pay attention.” He looked at us expectedly, his tale apparently finished.

“What of Amprei’s schemes?” Marcus asked.

The criminal shrugged. “What would I know of that? Amprei comes here to screw, not to shoot the breeze. Ask him yourself if you’re so interested.”

“Our patron had led us to believe you knew a lot more than that,” said Marcus skeptically, to which Barvasi just shrugged again. I looked at Marcus and shook my head slightly. It seemed to me that Barvasi was telling the truth, and besides I thought that the information we had on Amprei might just serve Kroft’s purpose.

“If that’s all you have, then we will take our leave now,” I said.

“Yes, back to Citadel Vraid,” replied Aria looked hard at Barvasi, attempting some misdirection. “Don’t think about trying to hinder us as we leave,” she said. “Nor follow us. I guarantee it will not be worthwhile for you.”

“We’ll be taking your prisoner into our custody too,” I said, indicating the recent torture victim, who still seemed somewhat dazed. Marcus and Mari were already finding him some ragged clothes to wear, and a short length of rope to bind his hands. “He will receive any punishment that he deserves, but not by your hand.” I hesitated, then reached for my purse of coins, the share of the bribe money that I carried, and placed it on the table beside Barvasi. “We’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of ours.” I had no fear of the man or his thugs coming after me, but his type are not always so direct – I did not like the thought of him choosing say Mari as the target of his revenge.

Barvasi looked at me, then at the rest of my companions. “There aren’t many I’d let get away with what you did here, payment or not,” he said slowly, candidly. “But you don’t entirely fool me you know. I strongly suspect that you’re nobles or close to it, and that this patron you’ve mentioned is somewhat I won’t want to mess with. So I’ll consider our dealings concluded. But should you decide to return to Eel’s End, all bets are off.”

Tain's Journal
Early afternoon, the 27th of Abadius

Barvasi was true to his word (so far), and we left Eel’s End safely and without incident, and Old Korvosa shortly after. I concerned myself mainly with the way forward, and keeping a tight grip on our prisoner, whilst the Merivanchis remained alert for any sign of pursuit, of which they saw none whilst we made out way across the Narrows and into the new city.

“I’d like to question this one, see what he might know – whether of Lamm’s organisation or Barvasi’s,” Marcus said to me in a low voice as we traversed the wide avenues of Northpoint.

“The Bank of Abadar is just ahead,” I noted. “I was going to take him to the holding cells there.”

Marcus frowned. “Will we all be able to get in there to question him in that case?” he asked.

I was about to reply that I should be able to get them in, as I had done done for Aria the previous day, when my mind turned to the near disastrous questioning of Balko. It could hinder my authority if our new prisoner heard the story that was no doubt doing the rounds there. “On second thoughts … it might not do to give him a chance to speak to Balko.”

Marcus pointed out that our route back to the Citadel would take us near enough to Osric’s warehouse – a secluded place to question our prisoner, but I did not like that idea for various reasons. In the end, we decided to take him with us to the Citadel and question him there.

*

We had traversed most of Midlands, and were nearing the point where we would turn east towards Citadel Volshyenek when Marcus, who was still occasionally checking to see if we were being tailed, said in a low voice, “Don’t look back, but I think we’re being followed. Some distance behind us, purple cloak. He’s been with us for a while.”

I remembered the others saying that the men who had ambushed them near the Sweeping Griffon had been wearing purple cloaks, and the significance was obviously not lost on the Merivanchis.

“If we turn back suddenly, perhaps we could detain him,” I suggested, but Marcus shook his head slightly. “He’s too far back,” he said. “He’d get away easily. Everyone, this way!”

Marcus turned right down a side street (heading away from the Citadel), and, as soon as we rounded the corner, took off his hat and the old riding jacket he wore, and put them on our prisoner. “That might work,” he muttered, then to us, “Keep moving, but don’t lead him back to the Citadel. I’ll follow.” With that, he ducked away, out of sight down a narrow alley.

As we continued walking (rather aimlessly at this point), it occurred to me that we didn’t know exactly what Marcus had planned. We could see (glancing carefully back) that the purple cloaked man still followed us from a distance, presumably having not noticed Marcus’s hiding place. I assumed that Marcus was following him too, though I couldn’t see him. Not knowing where out tail’s tail was exactly, I could not be certain that we could trap the man if we turned to confront him now.

Having turned right from Harbourview Boulevard, we now found ourselves heading almost directly towards Castle Korvosa – we could see the castle ahead, towering above the city upon its pyramid base. Something else occurred to me at this point. “The ambush last night,” I said to the ladies in a low voice, “it began with someone tailing you in this manner did it not?” The pair agreed that is what had happened. “This may pose some danger,” I continued, “but perhaps the best way to catch our tail is to lead him back to his own territory – try to draw him into attacking us. If you are both in agreement, I’m going to lead him back towards the Sweeping Griffon.”

Aria immediately agreed, while Mari was more hesitant. Not scared; she had amply proved her bravery, but uncertain. Still, with her two companions for the idea, and both of us promising to protect her, she soon agreed.

Tain’s Journal
Afternoon, the 27th of Abadius
Near the Sweeping Griffon

There were a few people around, hurrying along on their own errands, but the streets were not near so crowded as you would have expected, so close to the Castle prior to the current troubles. We skirted around the Castle, a street or so back from Seneshal and Castle Streets, concerned that the concentration of guards here might scare our follower away.

As we neared the Sweeping Griffon we were all on alert. Some sixth sense drew my attention to the rooftops – and it was there, on the roof of the inn, that I spied our would-be assassin. A dark clad man knelt by the edge of the roof, a loaded crossbow pointed down in our direction. My eyes met his, just as his finger began to tighten on the trigger.

“Archer!” I cried. “Mari, watch out!” I noticed a deeply recessed doorway in the wall of an adjacent building, and pushed our prisoner within, hard enough to make him stumble, gesturing for Mari to shelter within also.

I spun about and raced back towards the alley we had just passed – I had noticed within it a rickety wooden stairway on the outside of the inn, leading up to the roof. As I turned, I saw our purple-cloaked follower, still some way behind us. I had expected him to rush forward to join the attack – but instead he stared for a moment, then turned and ran off down a side street. Someone broke into a sprint and raced after him – I realised it was Marcus. I hoped he could handle the man on his own – in my armour, and with an archer on the rooftops, I was too far away to help.

As I headed for the stair, Mari ducked into the cover of the doorway, whilst Aria pulled out her sling. A crossbow bolt whizzed down from above, sticking inches deep into the wall of the building near the doorway where Mari and the prisoner sheltered. I pulled out and loaded my own crossbow as I ran.

I gained the stair and started racing up, taking two steps at a time, but slowed by my bulky armour. I heard a loud curse from the rooftop and a cheer from Aria – it seemed that she had found a mark with her sling-stone, though she had obviously not caused any serious injury. I was sure that the crossbowman would have fired again by now, but the fact that I could not hear any alarum from below boded well.

I reached the roof – it was tiled but with only a slight fall towards the edge, easy enough to traverse. I could see the archer kneeling by the edge nearest the street, pulling back the lever on his crossbow to re-load. As I brought up my own crossbow to fire I glanced about, in case of more danger. I could not see the street from here, but from this high vantage point I could see back the way we had come – I noticed two figures wrestling in the street, one of them being Marcus. I prayed that he would be all right as I fired – and, distracted, missed!

As my bolt flew past his ear, the crossbowman aimed and fired – not at me, but again down into the street. I heard a scream. It did not sound like Mari or Aria – who had been hit?

He started to reload yet again as I dropped my crossbow and raced across the roof towards him. I felt something whoosh past my ear, and, glancing back, saw Mari standing behind me, her hands outcast. Whatever she had thrown hit the crossbowman in the back, and he screeched in pain. I smelt something burning. Had Mari cast a spell at him?

I did not have time to wonder, as my charge had brought me up to him, and I slammed my gauntleted fist into the side of his head just as he was bringing his crossbow around in my direction. He crumpled to the roof, not quite falling off it, his weapon dropping from slack fingers. I knelt beside him. He was breathing, still, but shallowly – if he did not receive some sort of healing soon it was not likely he would live. He had an egg shaped bruise on his forehead from Aria’s sling stone, a scarred, burnt patch on his back the size of a fist from whatever Mari had thrown at him, and my spiked gauntlet had ruined the left side of his face.

Looking down to the street, I saw Aria kneeling in the doorway of the building opposite, her hands glowing slightly as she laid them upon the prostrate form of our prisoner. I saw the crossbow bolt sticking out from his shoulder. She glanced up and saw me looking down. “The bolt was poisoned!” she called out. “I’m doing what I can.”

I nodded, then dragged the unconscious, bleeding crossbowman across the roof to where Mari stood. She had her back to me now, looking out across the city block towards Marcus. I looked too – saw that a small crowd had gathered to watch the brawl. One combatant seemed to be on the ground, whilst the other was climbing to his feet, apparently victorious. I sighed with relief, realising that the one standing was Marcus.

“Are you alright?” I asked Mari softly, not sure what else to say. It wasn’t the time to ask her how she had done what she had done. She nodded, but did not turn to face me. I looked down at the man I held by the tunic. I realised that unlike the man following us, he did not wear a purple cloak. Had he shot at our prisoner on purpose? He did not have long left to live.

I took him by the throat and held his limp body out over the edge of the building, feet dangling towards the alley below. Calling upon the mercy of Abadar, I felt a warmth in my hand, mentally pushed the positive energy into the broken body I held. As I watched, part of the flesh of his wounded face knit itself back together. His eyes fluttered.

I held him straight out, the muscles in my arm straining, and looked straight into his face as he began to realise the position he was in. “Who do you work for?” I growled.

So we’ve played twice since any of us have updated our campaign journals. Our most dedicated scribe, Agon, was unfortunately absent again when we played on the 13th. I’ve just started updating Tain’s journal from the session, but seeing as I didn’t take notes at the time, and this was a very dialogue heavy session, I hope my fellow players and anyone reading these notes will forgive me if I get a few things wrong, or omit anything important.

Tains Journal
Afternoon, the 27th of Abadius
The Rooftop of The Sweeping Griffon

“Who do you work for?” I repeated.

The man that I held by the throat glanced wildly about, his eyes widening as he saw the cobbled surface of the alleyway - three stories below his dangling feet. He could see the muscles in my arm straining to hold him up.

“Thieves guild!” he managed to choke out.

I frowned. Why would the Cerulean Society be out for us? But then, his arrow hadn’t found me or any of my companions, had it?

“Why were you trying to kill us?” My arm was beginning to shake. The man looked at me, terror evident in his eyes. “Pull me in,” he croaked.

Knowing that I couldn’t hold him out over the edge for much longer even if I wanted to, and having no desire or intention to end the man’s life on the cobbles below, I took a step back, allowing his feet to find the edge of the roof - though I kept my hand on his throat, my grip relaxed just enough for him to talk.

“Not trying to kill you,” he gasped. “But the ones you brought with you.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“The one I shot was one of Lamm’s men,” he answered. I kept my face blank, but my mind raced; the thief either had very good eyes, or a good source of intelligence (or both) to have picked out our prisoner. “And the man with the purple cloak?”

He hesitated, glanced back at the drop just behind him. “I … we … don’t know exactly who they are.” He turned back to face me, looked into my eyes. As far as I could determine he was telling the truth. “But there’s a war going on. We’re not going to let those purple cloaks take any more from us.”

At this moment, I felt Mari’s hand on my arm. I turned to her, and this time she returned my gaze. Nothing was said, but a look passed between us, and much was communicated. I knew that, somehow, she had used magic, and she knew that I knew. She also knew that I would not betray her secret.

“We have to go,” she said after a moment, pointing down to the street. Following her gesture, I saw that Aria had hailed down a horse drawn cab and was half carrying, half dragging our prisoner (who appeared, with the priestesses ministrations, to have survived the poisoned arrow) towards it. A few bystanders stood about, watching curiously, but the streets were not busy, and thankfully none of the Guard had arrived at the scene. I did not fear arrest - we had acted lawfully in disarming and detaining an armed criminal who had attacked us without provocation - but I was determined that we, rather than the Guard, take these men into custody and have an opportunity to question them. I felt sure that if we could get them to Field Marshal Kroft we would find an ally to help us bypass the red tape that unfortunately tended to mire the workings of the Korvosan Guard at times.

I nodded to Mari, quickly frisked the thief I held, then marched him back down to the street, Mari following.

We greeted Aria, then climbed into the cab, sitting our two prisoners on the floor between us. I kept my gauntleted hand on the shoulder of our thief, watching him closely for any sign of treachery, or seeking to finish his failed assassination. Ari directed the driver to pull around the corner, where we picked up Marcus and his prisoner. With all seven of us crowded into the cab, we set off back to Citadel Volshyenek.

So we’ve played twice since any of us have updated our campaign journals. Our most dedicated scribe, Agon, was unfortunately absent again when we played on the 13th. I’ve just started updating Tain’s journal from the session, but seeing as I didn’t take notes at the time, and this was a very dialogue heavy session, I hope my fellow players and anyone reading these notes will forgive me if I get a few things wrong, or omit anything important.

You and Agon have been doing an excellent job! Thanks for updating the journal.

You and Agon have been doing an excellent job! Thanks for updating the journal.

I was writing up the interrogation scene at Citadel Volshyenek yesterday, and I realised I am very hazy on the details of what Mari and purple cloak were discussing. Might need you to fill in the blanks at some point Chubbs.

Hopefully I can write up this session quickly enough and get onto last session before I start forgetting the details of that too! At least I took notes this time.

Chubbs McGee wrote:

You and Agon have been doing an excellent job! Thanks for updating the journal.

I was writing up the interrogation scene at Citadel Volshyenek yesterday, and I realised I am very hazy on the details of what Mari and purple cloak were discussing. Might need you to fill in the blanks at some point Chubbs.

Hopefully I can write up this session quickly enough and get onto last session before I start forgetting the details of that too! At least I took notes this time.

Mari cast hypnotism on the mute rogue and used allowed him to write down his responses. She asked him about the attack, who sent him and the coins. She also tried to build a rapport with him. Mari established that he was working for an ancient power and that he was more fearful of that entity than merely meeting his fate at the hands of the heroes.

When she was done she put him to sleep through hypnotism.

I have lost my notes from that session, so I am not what she gained from the conversation. I was hoping the GM would have posted him session notes by now. I will have a think and a sniff around for my notes.

Mari cast hypnotism on the mute rogue and used allowed him to write down his responses. She asked him about the attack, who sent him and the coins. She also tried to build a rapport with him. Mari established that he was working for an ancient power and that he was more fearful of that entity than merely meeting his fate at the hands of the heroes.

When she was done she put him to sleep through hypnotism.

I have lost my notes from that session, so I am not what she gained from the conversation. I was hoping the GM would have posted him session notes by now. I will have a think and a sniff around for my notes.

Thanks, that fills in some of the most important details actually.

Tain’s Journal
Late Afternoon, the 27th of Abadius
Citadel Volshyenek

Little was said during the coach ride across the city, as none of us wished to speak freely in front of our three prisoners (who all sat on the floor of the coach, throwing baleful glances at us and each other, but unable to act under our watchful eyes). Even had we wished to interrogate him at this time, we soon realised that we would have a hard time in getting Marcus’s prisoner to talk - he had no tongue in his head, and could do no more than gurgle. Marcus did briefly tell how he had managed to catch and over-power our tail when he ran as the ambush started. He also noted that the purple cloak the man had worn (which Marcus now held) seemed unusually resistant to damage.

Soon enough we arrived at the Citadel. Departing our coach, we announced ourselves (and our prisoners) to the guards at the gate, and asked to see the Field Marshal. A harried and sceptical looking Sergeant informed us that the Field Marshal was indisposed and could not see anyone at present; if we’d like to give him our statements, and hand over our prisoners into the Guard’s custody? We declined on both counts, leaving the Sergeant unsure what to do - he could hardly arrest or throw out Lord Merivanchi and company.

In the end we (and our prisoners) were shown to a spacious but sparsely appointed meeting room and asked to wait. After we filed in, we heard the lock of the door click behind us. It seemed that, for now at least, we were prisoners in all but name.

We separated our own prisoners into different corners of the room, then huddled together to discuss our next moves - or at least the others did whilst I kept a close watch on the prisoners, especially the thief, who was eyeing the others like he would have another go at killing them, given the chance. Lamm’s man was curled up in his corner, weeping, whilst the former purple cloak stood stoically, occasionally shooting hooded glances at us.

The others apparently decided that Mari would try to question purple cloak on her own, giving him a slate and chalk to write his answers, given that he could not talk. I suppose she must have used some sort of magic on him (though I did not notice her cast any spell), for he at first seemed unwilling to respond to her, but after she spoke to him softly for a few moments, a rather dazed expression came over him, and he began writing on the slate in response to her questions.

I could neither hear Mari’s questions nor read the man’s answers and still keep proper watch on the other prisoners, so I did not try. Aria and Marcus huddled close to Mari, but I take it most of the man’s answers were lost on them too, as he seemed to be writing in some obscure language. Fortunately, Mari seemed to understand his script.
While that interrogation went on at the other side of the room, I spoke to the thief. He gave his name as Sart, though I had my doubts that this was entirely true. Initially, the man was all bravado, claiming that his Guild would see that he was not locked up beyond a day or two, and that any crime he was charged with would not stick. I assured him that while there may be corruption enough within the ranks of the Korvosan Guard to allow such a thing, the church of Abadar would not stand for street wars between criminals - or said criminals firing upon an official of the church. I promised that if he did not co-operate, I would use my position and influence within the church to see that he be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. This seemed to sway him.

My offer to him was simple; if he told me what he knew of Lamm’s group and the purple-cloaks, I would make it known that he had co-operated with us, which should have some influence over his judgement and sentencing. He looked horrified; “You’ll put the word out that I co-operated? What, are you trying to get me killed?” I was surprised at this reaction, but went with it, and soon he began to talk.

He was not as forthcoming as I had hoped (he claimed not to know very much), and I cannot be certain that all he told me was the truth, although it had the ring of truth about it. He claimed that neither he nor any in his guild knew who the purple cloaks were (so far as he knew). They had shown up in the city three or four months back, the first sign of them being when members of the Guild of Thieves began showing up dead on the streets with coins on their chests or in their mouths - coins marked with a skull and dagger. This correlated with what Agon had told me of his murder investigation, though Sart claimed to know no more than our sometime companion in regards to the identity or real motives of the purple cloaks.

The shadow war had continued since then, with the Thieves Guild steadily losing men and territory to the new-comers, with few gains of their own. At the same time, Lamm’s Lambs had taken advantage of the Guild’s losses to emulate the purple cloaks, launching a war of his own against the guild to expand his own territory. He even copied their idea of marking his conquests with specially marked coins (or at least Sart assumed that Lamm’s skull and cleaver coins were in emulation of those used by the purple cloaks).

As of several weeks ago, the Cerulean Society’s grip on the city’s underworld had been reduced to about a third of their former territory., with the purple cloaks and Lamm’s Lambs each controlling approximately another third each. The Guild’s leaders had received a message (presumably from the leadership of the purple cloaks) that this would be the new status quo, and indeed, the acquisition of territory seemed to have stopped, though the war had not, with the Thieves Guild continuing to launch attacks to retake their former holdings, mainly without success (although Lamm’s organisation seemed to be in much disarray over the past week or so).

And that was it. Sart claimed (truthfully I thought), not to know where the purple cloaks had come from (though most of them ‘looked foreign’ he said) or what their real goals were. While the various criminal pies that Lamm had had his fingers in were well known, the purple-cloaks’ dealings (beyond their war with the Guild) were much better hidden.

***

By the time Sart had told me all he knew (or was willing to), Mari had also finished with our mute friend, who sat slumped, apparently asleep or unconscious after his talk with Mari. Now she huddled in quiet conference with her brother and cousin, sharing what she had learnt. I stepped back so that I could hear, but my attention was focused on watching our prisoners and I did not hear or take in everything that was said. Still, from what I did hear, it seemed that the man had revealed little of worth, or at least sense.

Mari thought that (as well as being physically unable to speak) the man seemed to be under some sort of geas that prevented him from revealing much at all about his organisation. His written answers had been vague and mysterious, as well as being in some ancient and obscure language akin to an archaic form of Kelish (fortunately Mari could read the language - probably through magic I thought).

He had claimed that (at least until now) his organisation had no special interest in us - apparently (if he can be believed) his fellows had been at the Sweeping Griffon the other night on some unrelated business, and attacked the Merivanchis only because they thought that they were following them - a rather deadly confusion as it turned out.

He would say little of his group’s goals, but Mari got the impression that they were something more akin to a cult than a criminal organisation. He had indicated that he, or his group, worked for some ancient power, and that he was more afraid of it than anything we might do to him. The man had also referred to some group that he called ‘The Harbringers of Doom’ - Mari thought that he meant Lamm’s Lambs, though this did not make much sense to me - perhaps either I or she had misunderstood.

The man’s obscure answers had reminded Mari of the strange prophetic sounding verses in the book we had discovered at Lamm’s hideout. She had quoted some of the lines to the man from memory, and at this he had clammed up, refusing to answer anything further, whether cajoled or threatened.

***

So there remained only one of our prisoners left unquestioned - Lamm’s man. While I continued to keep the other two under guard, Aria, Mari and Marcus began to interrogate him. He told them that his name was Barvasi. We’d had a long day, so I do not fault them overmuch that they did not question him on this coincidence - or lie. It was not until later when I heard of it, and pointed out that he appeared to have the same name as the man who had recently been torturing him.

At any rate, ‘Barvasi’ (if that is his name) claimed that he was no criminal - not a real one at least. Apparently he only worked at Lamm’s warehouse, loading and unloading boats. Although he admitted that he knew of Lamm’s criminal activities, he claimed that he took no part in them, and did not share Lamm’s taste for children. He was just a working man, he said, trying to make a living and provide for his family. Under Marcus’s questioning he admitted that he had observed Ambassador Amprei meeting with Lamm several times over the past few months. He did not know what they talked about, or the nature of their relationship. Marcus had the man write a confession, swearing to the connection between Lamm and Amprei.

It was just as ‘Barvasi’ was finishing this that the door was opened from the outside. In came the Guard sergeant we had spoken to earlier; it seemed that Field Marshal Kroft had sent for us.

Tain’s Journal
Late Afternoon, the 27th of Abadius
The office of Field Marshal Kroft

Ariadnae was ready to admonish the sergeant for keeping us so long, but I gently reminded her that the man was simply doing his job. I then requested of the man that our three prisoners be kept in separate cells, and (as we had all agreed earlier) that no one be allowed to take statements from them or otherwise question them until after we had spoken to the Field Marshal. I reminded him that, officially, the three were in my custody - or the custody of the church of Abadar - and not the Korvosan Guard. Meanwhile, Marcus, who had penned a hasty letter whilst we were in the meeting room, passed it to one of the guardsmen and requested he deliver it to his manservant at the town house. His sergeant nodded and the guardsman hastened off with the letter.

We were still forced to wait another hour or so before the Field Marshal could see us, but at least we waited in a rather comfortable waiting room this time. While we waited, I asked Marcus what the letter he had sent was about. “I’m calling in a few favours,” he replied, “trying to see if I can set up a meeting with Amprei. If we confront him with what we have on him, especially with Lady Yasmin’s murder, I believe we can force him out of this city.”

Field Marshal Kroft looked like she had not slept since last we saw her; obviously keeping the peace in these dark times was taking its toll. We wasted little time in briefing her on our encounter with Devargo Barvasi and what we had learnt of Ambassador Amprei. She seemed pleased, intimating that the information we had gathered should be enough for her to use against the ambassador. However, when Marcus mentioned that he had already put the wheels in motion to meet with the ambassador, she recommended caution; knowledge of his affairs should be enough to blackmail or embarrass the man, but accusing the Chelaxian Ambassador of murder, with evidence that was circumstantial at best (after all, we did not even know for certain that Lady Yasmin was dead), could start an international incident.

Tain’s Journal
Twilight, the 27th of Abadius

“Perhaps I should recall that note sent,” Marcus commented. “It might be better not to meet with Ambassador Amprei at this point after all.” He looked about at the rapidly darkening sky and shrugged. “Well, it’s unlikely that anything has been put in motion as yet. It can wait until I get back to Brock House. Now, what are we going to do about Trinia Sabore?”

“I have been thinking about that,” I said. “Agon’s brother had an idea for getting into that block - I think I may know what he meant; the Shingles.”

The others looked at me blankly. “The Shingles, the Thieves Highway,” I explained. “The rooftops of the city, particularly the poorer and more densely populated areas. Many of the criminals I have arrested use the rooftops to get around. I suspect that Felix was thinking along the same lines.”

“So how exactly do we get to and make our way along this Thieves Highway?” asked Mari. “Can any rooftop be used, or just particular ones? How does one cross streets using this method?”

I had to admit that I could not answer these questions. “We need Felix,” Marcus said, “and who knows where he’ll be? Agon perhaps … but we don’t know where he is either.”

“Felix isn’t the only person who might know how to get around on the rooftops,” Aria suggested. “What about Osric?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, nodded. “Osric’s warehouse is not so far from here - closer than home at any rate. Feel like taking a detour?”

The streets were quiet, and none of the dubious looking folk that we did pass seemed inclined to trouble our well armed party as we walked through Midland towards Osric’s warehouse. The dwarf was in, and after dismissing his employees, sat down to tell us about the Shingles.

Tain’s Journal
Early Evening, the 27th of Abadius
Osric’s Warehouse

Around mugs of steaming Qadarin coffee, Osric explained the workings of the Shingles to us, from where to gain access to the rooftops, how to choose the best or safest routes, and how to cross streets (using makeshift rope bridges). I tried not to focus on how and why Osric knew all of this.

“I’m not certain about using the rooftops,” spoke up Mari. “None of us are really adept at such things.”

“I tend to agree,” I said. “And as for crossing these rope bridges, I cannot see how we can do that quickly, and remain unseen and unheard by the Hellknights patrolling the street below.”

“But their attention will be focused at street level,” Marcus countered, “and those fiendish helms they wear should limit their perception.”

“Perhaps,” I said, dubious. “But I think we should explore all the options before making a hasty decision.”

We discussed various options for getting past the Hellknights. Combat was not viable, and we fairly quickly dismissed a diplomatic route, or anything that required us trying to bluff, bribe or threaten our way past them, given their intractable reputation. Options involving either trying to sneak or dash past the guardians unseen were also mentioned.

“Do you have a map of the city?” I asked suddenly. Osric nodded, and pulled out a furled map, unrolling it onto the table. I studied the map for a few moments. “Ah, here it is,” I said, stabbing my finger at the map. “This is probably the narrowest point along the streets bordering the blocks that the Hellknights guard. And here, and here; narrow streets on either side. A perfect place to hurry across between patrols without being seen. Even if we are spotted, we should be able to outrun the Hellknights in their heavy armour, lose them in the backstreets here.”

“Well, that narrow point may also be a good place to cross above the street on one of these rope bridges,” Marcus suggested, looking past me to the map. “If the Hellknights have trouble running in their armour they’ll surely have an even harder time climbing in it.”

“There’s another way,” spoke up Marianna, who had seemed lost in thought for the past several minutes. “We could disguise ourselves as Hellknights; then we could likely walk in and out of the blockade without being stopped.”

“Oh? And where are we going to get several suits of Hellknight armour?” Marcus asked. “Not to mention how will we manage to walk about if we were to find them. Tain is a broad-shouldered fellow, he might manage it, but I that most of the rest of us would manage very well in full plate armour.”

“What exactly did you have in mind Mari?” asked Arianna.

“Well,” began Mari slowly, seeming to choose her words rather carefully. “You recall that I had someone use magic to make me appear as that old Varisian woman at … several nights ago? Well, I believe that I could arrange for that same person to make us all appear as Hellknights - an illusion only. It may take some time to organise … but I believe it can work.”

Marcus was giving his sister a very hard look and now shook his head vigorously. “No. I really don’t think we should be relying on this person’s magic.”

Mari was returning Marcus’s hard look, her delicate chin out-thrust. Aria, sensing the tension in the room (and, as suddenly occurred to me, perhaps knowing Mari’s secret - after all, the cousins were close) spoke up. “We should keep our options open. All our options. Now, if we are going to be sneaking about or climbing up on to rooves, Tain and I will need lighter armour. Osric, do you have any leather armour that might fit us?” The dwarf indicated that he did, and Aria and I followed him out into another room to allow Mari and Marcus some privacy for their inevitable argument.

After a bit of searching through the dusty recesses of his warehouse, Osric found a couple of battered suits of leather armour that looked like they would fit Aria and myself. By the time we returned, the argument was over, and Mari had apparently won. “Alright, we’ll look into the disguise option,” Marcus told us somewhat morosely. “Apparently it might take a day or two to organise though…”

Tain’s Journal
Evening, the 27th of Abadius
Brock House

We returned to Marcus’s townhouse for dinner and to continue our planning. Marcus had barely taken his key from his pocket when Dante, his manservant, opened the door from within.

“Ah, Master Merivanchi, Lady Marianna, you’re home,” he said, looking with barely disguised dismay at our outfits, weapons and armour. “Your guests are waiting in the dining room … with Lady Cristiana"

Marcus was taken aback. “Guests? What guests?”

“Master Seth Jeggare,” answered Dante patiently, “And the Chelaxian Ambassador.”

“Amprei’s here? asked Marcus, incredulous. “And he’s being entertained by my wife.” He looked back at the rest of us. “Gods help us,” he muttered. “And Kroft wanted to avoid an international incident …”

We moved into the hall. “We can’t greet our guests dressed like this,” said Mari, picking at her linen skirt. “We’ll have to wash up and change before we go in there.” Her brother and cousin agreed, and the three began to hurry towards the stair and their rooms above (Aria stayed at Brock House from time to time and kept several changes of clothes and personal effects in one of the guest bedrooms), when Marcus looked back and noticed that I had remained where I was, arms folded across my breastplate.

“Tain! Of course, you don’t have any other clothes here … Well, little that I own will fit you … maybe one of the servants have something…”

“I’m happy to meet the Chelaxian Ambassador in what I’m wearing,” I answered stiffly. “My clothes are well tailored, clean enough, and largely free of blood. My own at least.” I saw little reason to make an effort for an avowed hater of our fair city, a man of vices, and a possible murderer to boot.

Marcus rolled his eyes, and Mari looked cross. “Whatever you may think of him, you really can’t meet the ambassador looking like that Tain,” she said. Then her expression brightened. “Just go and wash up in the guest washroom. Leave your clothes - all of them - outside the door. They’ll be fine by the time you’re ready.”

I wasn’t sure what Mari had in mind, but there was no denying her - and as it turned out she was right; by the time I had finished towelling the day’s sweat and grime off, the clothes that I had left outside the door were as clean as if they had been freshly laundered. Either Marcus’s staff were almost superhuman in their efficiency or, more likely, here was a practical application of Mari’s magic. I could not help smiling as I dressed.

***

Upon the four of us entering the dining room (the three Merivanchis looking very smart, and me at least out of my armour and wearing clean clothes), introductions were made. Seth Jaggare was a contemporary of Marcus’s, a younger scion of one of the more influential Korvosan noble families. I believe the pair fenced together under Master Orosini. Apparently the Jeggare’s are on reasonably good terms with Amprei, and Marcus had entreated Seth (in the letter he sent earlier in the day) to set up a meeting with the ambassador. Now, even Marcus seemed taken aback that his plan had worked so quickly, and somewhat on the back foot given that he had had second thoughts about holding the meeting at all.

However, he recovered admirably, and soon took charge of the situation, quickly finding diplomatic and believable reasons to send Cristiana and Seth from the room so that we could speak with Amprei alone. Actually, both of them seemed only too pleased to leave, no doubt sensing the underlying tension in the room.

“I trust you have found our fair city to your liking Ambassador?“ Marcus began politely after the others had left the room,

“Actually, I find very little about this back water town to my liking,” replied Amprei.

“We would be most pleased if you left then,” I interjected coldly. Amprei spared me a disdainful glance, then returned his attention to Marcus.

“Such a coincidence Merivanchi,” he continued, “for me to receive word that you wanted to meet with me, not an hour after I had heard you’d been running about town asking after me. Oh don’t look so surprised. You should have realised that Devargo Barvasi would sell out anyone for a fee, and he was only too eager to tell me about you. Apparently your conversation left him quite upset.” He flicked another brief glance my way. “Although for the amount I hear you paid him, you probably could have bought his silence - if only you’d thought of it … Now I suppose your interest in me was either in regards to my recent investments, or to do with my relationship with Yasmin Marcella?”

“You admit your involvement then?” I asked. Amprei gave me the same disdainful look again. “Admit to what exactly? Yes, I have made a number of real estate acquisitions - I think you’ll find that they have all been entirely above-board. I have been known to frequent Mister Barvasi’s businesses - legal businesses I note. And yes, I knew Miss Marcella, intimately you might say. But I didn’t come here tonight to tell you things you already knew.” The ambassador sighed, some of the haughtiness and bravado seeming to drain out of him. He stepped back and slumped down into one of the dining chairs.

“I think we’ve gotten off to the wrong start here,” he said, his voice subdued. “What you know of me has no doubt led you to certain conclusions, and for my part, I don’t take well to people prying into my affairs. Ha,” he added, with little mirth, “no pun intended. No, I came here to tell you my side of the story … and ask for your help.”

We all looked at him in surprise - or shock. I searched his face, listened closely to his voice. My years in the Guard, not to mention my current duties at the Bank had trained me to read people. I could sense no deception in Amprei - but then the man was likely a practised liar.

“I’ve made no secret that I do not much care for my posting here,” he continued. “For the most part I’ve viewed it as little more than a stepping stone to better things. But some months back, I found to my amazement that there was something that I loved here, or rather someone. Yasmin Marcella. She was a breath of fresh air to my life. What began as a diversion - to my amazement more than anyone’s - blossomed first into a genuine friendship, and then into love. I promised Yasmina that we would spend the rest of our lives together, but I could not immediately declare our union to the world. While there is little stigma placed on those who choose to indulge in affairs in my homeland, leaving my wife for a Korvosan woman would no doubt be the end of my career - my wife would see to that, as well as gouging me for as much as my estate as she could.”

“You claim to love the Lady Yasmin,” I said. “And yet Barvasi told us that you would often frequent the brothel at Eel’s End.”

“What does one have to do with the other?” Amprei asked. “I love Yasmin, but obviously, given my position - political and marital - and her being a single young noblewoman, it was difficult for us to spend much time in private. I was in love … but a man still has certain needs, and I satisfied those at the House of Clouds.” So far as I could tell, he genuinely did not see anything wrong in this. I shook my head in disgust, but let him continue with his story.

“So I began buying up investment property here, property in my name that neither my wife nor Cheliax could touch - enough to ensure that Yasmin and I could live long lives in comfort, after I had divorced my wife. But it seemed that my trysts with the lady were not as secret as I had believed. Somehow, word of our dalliances leaked into the city’s underworld. You can be sure that I did not confide in Barvasi, but somehow he knew of the affair, as evidenced by the fact he told you. But far worse for me, word of this reached Geadron Lamm - perhaps you’ve heard the name? And he decided to use it against me.”

Amprei looked up at us, no longer morose, but grim, angry. “He tried to blackmail me, but I would not give in to him- although I was not yet quite ready to announce my intentions, I was close enough to having enough things in place that it would still work well enough. I never dreamed he would do what next he did - he kidnapped Yasmin, kidnapped my love - and demanded a large sum of money to get her back.”

“You would not pay it,” I theorised out loud.

“Well, not if there was another way,” Amprei answered. “But Lamm was careful. He was not keeping her at his warehouse, where he met me, and would not let me see her. He would only show me tokens to prove he had her, such as articles of personal clothing, her diary, things of that nature. He promised me that if I did not pay him, or if I attempted to move against him in any way, she would die. I tried to find out where she was being held, but I could not. I have wealth and power, but I do not have the right sort of connections. The Korvosan Guard has no love for me - they would probably arrest me on suspicion of her murder if they knew my involvement - and the only low-life I know is Barvasi, and he has little interest except keeping his own personal empire at Eel’s End intact.

“I had to pay him … but all my money was tied up in investments and I could not liquidate it quickly. I was meeting with Lamm regularly, paying him what I could in an attempt to forestall him doing anything. But then, almost a week ago, your King died; riots broke out, Lamm was killed,” Amprei took a brief moment to scan us with narrowed eyes - it seems perhaps he knew or suspected our involvement, “his warehouse burnt down.” At this Marcus and I exchanged surprised glances - that wasn’t our doing.

“I fear that my Yasmin - if she still lives - is locked away in some hidden oubliette. As I said, I don’t have the right resources to find her - but perhaps you do. You are obviously resourceful and tough to have gotten to Barvasi the way you did. If Yasmin lives still, I think you may be able to find her. Will you?”

He looked at us with the plea evident in his eyes. Could this all be true? It seemed so unlikely … and yet …

“A moment, please,” Marcus requested of Amprei, then gathered in a huddle. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” he asked us quietly. I nodded slowly. “As far as I can tell - yes. I know, it seems unlikely, but why would he make up such an elaborate lie. Even if he is, for some reason … if there’s some grain of truth to it, if the lady is really locked away somewhere in this city, we must find her. Not for his sake, but hers.” I paused. “And if it is all true … she may not have much time.”

The others all seemed to agree, although we were at a loss to know where to start our search. It seemed we had less faith in our abilities than Amprei did. Of course, it had been a very long and eventful day - something might come to us after a proper night’s sleep.

Still huddled close to us, Marcus nodded. “All right. But I want to speak to Amprei alone for a moment. Tain, Ari, Mari, do you mind waiting outside for a few minutes?”

Aria and I looked at each other, shrugged, then agreed. Mari did not. “Fine,” said Marcus, rolling his eyes. “You stay.”

The two of us left the room, until a few minutes later when Marcus poked his head out to call us back in. “We’ve come to an arrangement,” he said. “We’re going to try to save the girl. Any ideas on how to go about it?”

And that marathon series of posts brings the summary of the game on the 13th of November to an end.

I’ve begun writing up the first scene for the session on the 27th, and I believe that Agon is chronicling this one too. This was a somewhat unusual game in that we went ahead and played despite the GM being absent. Fortunately, The 8th Dwarf (Ari’s player) was able to step in the admirably fill the GM’s shoes, but because he wasn’t quite sure where the GM wanted to take the Trinia Sabore or Yasmin Marcella plots, we put that action on hold and went with another diversion instead…

Stay tuned!

26th of Abadius, 4708
Late evening

The night of the street fight was, at the time, one of most confusing and despairing of my life. I was not the only one who felt this way. As the Guard came running to answer the ‘Hue and Cry’, those of us who were there looked around at each other, each of our faces revealing our true selves for the shock of the violent action had removed our all of our masks.

Marcus looked overwhelmed. Oh, not by the combat, nor by the taking of life – neither his first time nor his last. But something else tugged at his mind. His hands shook from the come-down of combat. He was trained, and had fought life-and-death duels before, but he was no warrior. He breathed deeply to try to calm himself, to still the emotions and threatened to beat down the stern aristocratic mask he wore so often and so easily. I wondered what had happened to him earlier in the day that would allow the fight to effect him so.

Marcus looked sideways at his sister, Mari, a few times before he noticed she was trembling and moved to comfort her. In his hesitation I saw confusion and anger in his eyes. How had she angered him in the fight? Her clothes were not torn. She was pale, but not out of breath. She had not been physically in the fight… Ahh, realization hit me. Had she perhaps revealed her … mystical talents in front of her brother? Ever since his other sister had been murdered by Gordon Lamm, Marcus had become very protective of Mari. He wanted a quiet life of study, socializing and child-rearing for her, not that of a sorceress or renegade wizard.

Watching the nobleman hug his sister I saw the pain and confusion in eyes change not one iota. No, it was not Mari, but something else that disturbed him. When the time right I was ask what it was.

Mari shook slightly, crying softly in her brother’s arms. Overhearing the Guards’ talk of slain bystanders and their horrible bloody deaths I began to understand why it was Mari cried. For all of her talents she was just a girl and a largely innocent one at that. She had seen violence and murder tonight; no wonder she trembled! I tried to remember the first time I saw death. It was so long ago, out there on the Borderlands… Mari was an innocent. At least she had been up until tonight. Her tears were washing away the childlike mask on her face of quiet beauty.

Ari presented an entirely different sight to her cousin. She trembled, but with excitement. She had tasted violent action and her soul sung for more. She had a worrying taste for death, that girl, as befitted her religious calling; the Death Goddess could have found fewer more willing servants than Ari. As my attention slipped away, called by the Guards, I could not shake the feeling that Ari’s excitement was due to something more than the violent action she had just taken part in. Something else drove her frenzied spirit, something I could not place…

And what did my companions see on my face? Well, I hoped they saw the calm face I like to present during any crisis. The blood of the assassin I had slain soaked my clothes. Death was nothing new to me, and violent combat had been a part of my upbringing in the mercenary bands of the Borderlands. Tonight’s encounter had been fast and close-in. There had been no room for wit or trickery, just savagery and steel. It was not how I preferred to fight. But despite the after-play of nerves from such swift and violent action, more than anything else I felt confidence; not just in myself and my skills but in my companions. They had faced down and fought a superior foe. Not only had they won, but they had not once lost heart – a more important victory in my eyes. I was proud of them all.

My companions were an interesting bunch and I would have liked to have gone with them that night, to talk more about the events of that evening and what was unfolding before us across the city. It turned out that my destiny lay elsewhere.

“You there,” an officer called me over. “My men tell me you’re in the Guard.”

I didn’t recognise the officer. That was not unusual for I did not know all of the Guard; not yet. The officer was balding, aging prematurely from a sour disposition towards life. He was stocky and obviously physically tough, but I saw no great intelligence in his eyes, only great opinion. He was a captain, meaning he was likely the officer-in-charge for this district. As it was one of the richer areas of town, it made sense that the captain was some minor Chelaxian nobleman. There was little doubt he had busy towel-flicking and secret-handshaking his way to promotion when our affray disturbed him. I walked briskly over and stood at ease in front of him.

“Yes sir,” I offered no salute as I was not in uniform. “Cadet Deparle, assigned to the Midlands Docks. I was with my friends when they were assaulted.”

“A Varisian and a half-elf,” the captain snorted, “in my Guard. What is the world coming to?” The captain shook his head. I waited silently. This was not the first time I had encountered such bigotry. “So you’re a cadet.” It wasn’t a question. “Does your OC know you’re here?”

“No, sir. I was off-duty and came here…”

The captain cut me off.

“Off duty? -You- were off duty?” I could sense a diatribe coming. “So the half-breed Varisian takes a holiday while the real Guardsmen are dying out on the streets?”

“Sir, that’s not exactly…”

“Don’t interrupt me, cadet. Don’t you dare interrupt me! What were you doing here anyway? Stealing something? Robbing someone? Conning your better-class friends over there out of their rightful money?”

“No, sir.”

A soldier at the captain’s arm spoke quietly into his superior’s ear. As my senses are somewhat sharper than a human’s, I was able to make out what was said.

“The dead assailants appear to be Harbingers, sir. It seems the cadet killed one and captured the prisoner we have. The nobleman there killed the other one.”

The captain looked back at me. It could have been a glimmer of respect in his eye, but I doubt it.

“According to reports, cadet, it was you who started this trouble by attacking this gentleman’s friends and killing one of them.” The captain indicated the bound cloaked assassin. So much for respect!

“Sir, that’s not…”

“What did I tell you about talking back, cadet – IF that’s what you are!” Oh for the love of the Great Goddess. “Take this scum downtown for questioning. I want to talk to him personally.”

“Oh good; a fair trial then.”

That was possibly not the smartest thing for me to have said.

The captain took a step closer and spoke very clearly into my face.

“Make no mistake, Varisian bastard. You WILL tell me everything, but only after I make you sweat for a while, boy.”

“No thanks, sir; that sounds like a violation of the Anti-Fraternization Guidelines. Plus you’re not really my type.”

It was another dumb thing to say, but it made the soldier standing next to the captain laugh, and it stopped me from actually physically attacking the idiot.

“Get him out of my sight, Private Cays.”

I was frog-marched down to the station house. My friends had headed off, confident that I would be taking care of the Guards. It seemed though, that the Guards were taking care of me.

*

Every station house has a ‘sweat room’. The ‘sweat room’ takes advantage of the central heating design of the station houses. Underneath each station house a large oven or furnace burns. This is usually rented out to a baker or other such small businessman who uses the facility to ply their trade – so long as they give a reasonable kick-back to the stationhouse of course. The smoke and heat from the oven circulates through cavities in the walls and floors of the station house providing heat throughout even the coldest of winters. It is an innovative design imported from the Chelax homeland and makes the station houses a pleasant place to be during winter nights completing scroll-work.

The ‘sweat room’ is a questioning room which with the turn of a few levers on nearby walls, receive substantially more of the circulating heat than it normally would. Leaving a suspect in this room and turning up the heat was a good way to make them sweat, both literally and figuratively for the physical discomfort that came from being in the overheated room for too long gave added incentive for the suspect to not be backward about speaking their mind.

I was stuck in the sweat room. And it was awful.

The heat presses in on you from all sides, cloying, sticking; a merciless enemy you cannot hold back. I didn’t last long with my armour on, but even shedding it and keeping only my shirt gave little respite to the heat. The ‘sweat room’, like any room set aside for questioning suspects, was sparsely furnished with only a table and two chairs. I displayed the classic symptoms of any suspect in such an environment – I sat still, then I paced, and finally I just sat, my head bowed and leaning on the table. I could do nothing but endure, or to try and endure.

I felt like a prisoner. I had done nothing wrong, yet I was forced to sit here and take this treatment … this punishment!

I tried the door. It was locked. I even pounded on it a few times, demanding to see someone, or for someone to turn down the damned heat. I yelled my innocence to the Guards outside – my fellow soldiers! I even knew which damned switches to pull to turn off the heat. I yelled the instructions at them.

I was ignored.

So I just sat at the table and soaked up the heat.

Before too long I knew I was real trouble. My heart was pounding, as was the blood in my ears. I hadn’t stood for a while, but I knew if I did I would be in trouble, barely able to control my limbs. A raging thirst dominated my conscious mind. I hadn’t drunk water, cool refreshing water, in a thousand years or more. Not that it mattered, for my insides were melting and my muscles were robbed of all their strength and could not have raised a cup of water to my lips.

If I just lay down, I could find some relief. Perhaps in sleep I would be more comfortable; if I just closed me eyes…

No!

Some semblance of will asserted itself, some remaining instinct of self-preservation kept me from lying down to die. I will NOT submit!

If I had possessed the strength to throw my chair at the door, to run at it and break it down, I would have. I just gritted my teeth and tried to wipe the sweat from my face.

My hand barely made it to my face. My head rolled back and then forward as I collapsed down onto the table, and then the floor.

*

When I came to I was lying on a stretcher bed. As I stirred a gentle male voice told me to be still. A hand pushed down on my shoulder. I was too weak to fight. A cool wet cloth dripped sweet water into my mouth. I lay there still at first, taking in the precious water before flexing my hands and feet. I was alive. My body still worked.

I drank some more. Soon a cup of water was held to my lips and my head raised by the same gentle hand. I drank deeply but the cup was pulled away.

“Easy now, soldier. Easy. Not too much at once.”

I took the advice. I drank several times over the next few minutes, slowly opening my eyes to see where I was.

I was in the station house still, but out of the sweat room. I was in the main room, a large expanse filled with the desks and scroll cabinets necessary to handle the scroll-work of any Guards station house. The stretcher bed on which I was lying had been set up against one wall, out of the way. My nurse was, judging by the look of him, a veteran soldier. He had kind eyes set in a weathered leathery face. His salt-and-pepper hair was kept short in a military cut. He introduced himself as Sergeant Wils.

“What happened, Sergeant?”

“Captain Olsini left in you in the sweat room. It seems you ticked him off pretty good before they brought you in here. He gave orders to leave you there until he came to question you personally. And he just never showed. When you dropped, me and some of the boys came in and got you.”

“The captain… why?”

The sergeant shrugged, offering me more water from a bucket nearby.

“Captain Olsini is just mean. He doesn’t like Varisians, and he kept going on about how he’d heard tale of you being the aggressor in the ruckus.”

“He’s an a&@@&!*%.”

The sergeant chuckled softly.

“Yes, Cadet Deparle, he is. But he’s still the captain.”

I lay back in the stretcher.

“Now son, you lie there and get your strength back. Get some sleep if you can. You’ve lost a lot of fluids. I’ve had Cook prepare some stew for you and I’ve left a bowl over here. When you’re feeling better, try to have some. But for now, I want you to rest.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“One team, one fight, I always say. Race don’t make no difference once you’re in the uniform.” I nodded my agreement. “I’ve got some scroll-work to do, so I’ll be here ‘til morning. By then you should be right to get on your way.”

I tried to speak my gratitude again, but sleep claimed me and held me tight until morning.

*

I woke to the raised voice of Captain Olsini.

“Where is that murdering lying cheating Varisian scum I ordered held last night? Sergeant Wils! Sergeant Wils!”

“Here, sir.”

“I hear you took that Varisian out of the question room without my authority. Explain yourself.”

“Well, sir,” the sergeant began. I didn’t let him finish.

“Here I am, Captain Olsini.”

I must have been a sight. No uniform. Rumpled sweat-dirty clothes. The drawn sallow face that follows severe dehydration. I was a far cry from the stract bright-young-cadets the Captain was used to seeing. I also didn’t care in the slightest. I made no effort to keep the dislike and distaste I felt at this officer out of my eyes.

“Get the silly expression off your face, cadet.”

I reeled back in surprise, like a bad actor stabbed in the chest with a paper dagger.

“Oh, so now you agree that I am actually a member of the Korvosan Guard, do you Captain Olsini? Tell me, captain, do you always have soldiers thrown into the sweat room to drown in their own boiled insides?”

“What gives you the right to back-talk me, son?”

The captain was yelling. Good. That meant I could yell too, and I wanted to tell.

“And what gives you the right, sir, to treat me like a prisoner?” I listed the points on my fingers. “What was the charge? Where was the reasonable suspicion? Where was my legal counsel? How many rules of conduct did you break last night even if I was just a citizen suspect, let alone a fellow member of the Guard?”

“How dare you…”

“How dare YOU, sir! You drag us all down with your petty dictatorship!”

“You are addressing a superior officer, cadet, and I warn you that….”

“Not a superior officer, sir, just a higher ranking one.”

I didn’t even see the captain’s fist move. My head snapped back at the captain’s right jab. I stumbled, but didn’t fall. I blocked his next punch and responded with a right cross to his jaw. I then followed up by tackling him around his waist and driving him back into a desk. We rolled onto the floor, furiously exchanging punches, although in truth neither of us were doing much damage to the other.

Sergeant Wils and his fellow pulled the captain and I apart. We were both yelling at each other, pointing fingers and demanding justice. The captain had the louder voice AND the authority. I was hustled off and thrown into a cell. There was no mistake this time. I was a prisoner.

Damn.

*

Have you ever spent time as a prisoner? Four walls and one big door you know you can’t out of. You’re trapped, like an animal in a cage. Exactly like that. Your sense of worth takes a beating. You doubt yourself. You itch. You get bored. There is nothing you can do. You just have to take it. But you remember. And a hatred slowly grows inside of you for those who put you there.

I sat and stewed in that cell for most of the morning. The Guards ignored me. No surprises there – I had just had a bout if fisticuffs with their officer-in-charge.

To keep myself busy I mentally prepared the legal defence I would need to use to prevent me from being hung, whipped or dismissed from the Guard.

Only the afternoon cleaner’s bright and happy whistling disturbed my solitude. I was not in the mood for happy whistling. The layout of the station house had the cells out of sight from the central room and from most of the station house, but the sound carried easily enough.

The cleaner shuffled over to the holding cells. As he came closer I recognised the cleaner. He wore the dress of a low-class Varisian. He limped a little. His head was down, intent on his duties. But despite the disguise one does not easily miss the sight of one’s own twin brother.

Felix winked at me as he closed the distance. When he was next to the cell we exchanged a few quick words in the Elven tongue of our father.

“Agon, what happened?”

“Arrested last night after street fight – Merivanchis & me versus some of the purple cloaked assassins; I hear they’re called ‘Harbingers’. This morning I had a fist-fight with the local area commander and they threw me in here.”

Felix nodded, wandering off to clean more of the station. He came back some ten minutes later.

“Hang tight here brother. I’ll get you out by morning. Wish me luck.”

And then Felix was gone. I heard his happy whistling for another twenty minutes before I was left with only the background murmur of the Guards going about their duties.

*

I had my doubts that Felix could get me out, but it wasn’t like I had too many choices open to me. I couldn’t dig my way out. I couldn’t jump or bribe the guards. I couldn’t swap clothes with a serving girl. I couldn’t pick the lock or steal the key. I had to use ‘Escape Plan #5 – Rescue’.

It was a long night in the cells. It was actually my first – something some of you may find hard to believe. While I had lived a fairly raucous youth on the Borderlands, there aren’t too many gaol cells in the Borderlands.

I disliked the feeling of confinement intensely. True I was sheltered from the cold. I was given a meal. I was in no danger. But none of that mattered when it came at the cost of my freedom. If shelter and comfort were so great by themselves, why is it that if you opened to the gates of the prisons, everyone would leave?

The night was a long one. None of the Guardsmen spoke to me, each too concerned that their captain would be displeased with them for doing so. And I had been separated from the other prisoners, theoretically for my own safety although I fancied myself enough to think it was a least partly for theirs.

I admit I lost a little bit of faith in the Guards that night. I shouldn’t have been there. I was one of their own, and yet here I was, their prisoner. True, I had thrown a few punches at their officer commanding, but he had started it. I’d joined the Guards not only because I loved the military life, but because I believed in justice, in fair play and in helping people where it was worthwhile to do so. Yet here I was, rotting in a cell and watching all of those ideals slip away. Maybe I was in the wrong organisation. I wouldn’t wear a uniform I didn’t believe in, and the racism of the captain made me begin to doubt if I believed in the Guards anymore.

*

27th of Abadius, 4708

For all the despair of the night, dawn brought an interesting experience – the change-over of shifts. Tired Guardsmen were finishing up, eager to go home. The day shift, a mixture of the bleary-eyed-not-quite-woken-up and the bright-eyed-and-keen-to-get-going shuffled in, trying to get a sensible report from the too-tired colleagues they were replacing. Though I could not see the proceedings from my position in the cells, just listening was fascinating. I tried to picture in my mind’s eye what was happening, who was saying what to who, and so on. Through it all I heard a someone call my name from the other side of the station house.

“Deparle? What are you doing here? I thought the captain had you arrested.”

“’Detained temporarily’ is the better way of putting it.” I recognised my own voice – Felix! What was he up to? “The captain let up and had me move on. Didn’t get far though. I caught a couple of rats who need some time to cool off.”

“Hands off me, Guardsman!”

“Mind your tongue, gutter-trash.”

The exchange escalated into some colourful Varisian insults, but also included some silly ones. ‘May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your short hairs at dusk,’ was one I recall. Given that camels are not a part of Varisan culture, I suspected something was afoot.

The detainees’ aggressive exchange with Felix (in disguise as me, I presumed) grew more widespread, and nastier. Soon I heard the sounds of a brawl. It was short-lived, with the Guards laying a good dose of smack-down on the detainees who were led off to a pair of questioning rooms for statements to be taken and charges laid.

I heard my brother claim injury and ask to lie down in one of the cells while he rested. Perhaps a medic could be sent in to see him?

Within a minute I saw my brother wander around the corner to the cells. He was dressed in my uniform, and wearing my weapons. The uniform was scruffy from the recent brawl. On seeing me he grinned from ear to ear.

“Quickly brother,” he said to me in Varisian. “Change clothes with me.”

As I stripped Felix produced from his pocket the cell keys he had lifted from one of the Guards during the ‘brawl’. He explained with quick words what I had mostly summised.

Felix had arranged for two of his associates to be ‘arrested’ by him and assist him in infiltrating the station house. With his ‘arrest victims’ in tow, and wearing my uniform and weapons, Felix was easily able to walk into the station house. Some bluff had convinced the morning shift I had been released. Now all that remained, in theory, was to walk out as bold as brass.

“But what about you, Felix? And what about the arrest records?”

Felix gave me a hurt look.

“I’ll be fine. And the as for the records, it’s all taken care of by a certain Sergeant Wils One team, one fight, he tells me.”

“Outstanding work, brother.”

“Naturally.”

With my disheveled uniform on, and my head held high, I strolled through the stationhouse to the front doors.

“Cadet Deparle,” Sergeant Wils called. “What’s the charge for these two?”

“They’ve copped a flogging. That’s enough for now. Just hold them their four bells and then let them go. I can’t be bothered with the scroll-work.”

“Sounds good to me. Have a nice day, Deparle.”

I exchanged waves, and a nod of thanks and understanding with Sergeant Wils, and walked out the front door, as free as a bird.

*

As I hadn’t slept well the previous night, I slept for the larger part of the morning. Perhaps I was hiding a little, but in truth I did enjoy a day sleeping in, and having a long bath and a few good meals. In the early evening I received a summons to go to the citadel and see Field Marshall Kroft.

With a heavy heart, sensing an impending doom resulting to the consequences of last night’s … indiscretions, I went to the citadel.

The city seemed a little calmer. There were no riots. No disturbances other than what evening usually brought in its wake. It was no ‘calm-before-the-storm’ either, just a calm with the storms of the previous week having passed. It couldn’t have lasted, but it was nice to enjoy the peace while it was there.

The Guardsmen at the gate of the citadel had been told to expect me and it was with alarming alacrity that I was ushered before Field Marshall Kroft. She was still looking tired; still surrounded by a constant flow of subordinates and information; and still in command of everything around. The only difference I noted was the presence in her hand of a coffee mug, a sign of the slightly more relaxed atmosphere in the Guards’ command centre now that the rioting had at least paused.

I saluted as was proper and stood at attention.

“At ease, Cadet,” the Field Marshall began. “I have been hearing mixed reports about you, Cadet.” She looked at, gauging my response. I was as silent as the stone floor.

“According to some,” she picked up and referred to a wax slate, “you are as gifted a young officer as the Guard could ever hope to have, nothing short of a prodigy, destined for higher command, and so on.” My chest expanded just a little with pride. The Field Marshall put down the tablet and replaced it with a scroll held casually in her hand. “And yet according to other reports, you are reckless, lack personal discipline, assume far too much authority, and have far too close relations with members of the criminal element of this city.”

My puzzlement was clearly written on my face.

“May I ask whom that might be, Ma’am?”

“Your brother, Cadet Deparle.”

“Ahh,” I made a face as I struggled to find the right words. “Felix is … a law unto himself ma’am.”

“You would call causing a riot a ‘law unto himself’?”

Again, I was confused.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ma’am.”

“Five nights ago, on the night of the King’s death; your brother is reported to have started a race riot in the docks area. Several warehouses were burned as a result and looting was widespread.”

“Felix didn’t start that riot, ma’am; and in fact his presence helped me in gaining control of the…”

“Save it, Cadet.”

I was silent.

“You are to suffer disciplinary action. You need to learn to control your associates, even if they are family.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My faith in the Guard was slipping away fast, but I kept it to myself.

“My ruling is this: effective immediately you are relieved of your duties in the midlands docks district. Sitting behind a desk is obviously not good for you. You are assigned to Headquarters here where I can keep an eye on you. Your duties are to co-ordinate street patrols in the Heights.”

I couldn’t believe my ears – the Field Marshall was effectively giving me a promotion, or at least preparing me for one. Plus, she was rescuing me from the prison of my desk.

“I’m not sure I understand…”

“The patrols are ‘feel good’ operations, Deparle. Patrol the main streets. Be seen. Establish a presence. Settle some nerves among the city’s rich and powerful. How you go about the specifics of your duties I leave to you. Report to me personally once a week.”

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

“Thank you, ma’am. May all of your administrative punishments weigh so lightly on my shoulders.”

“Yes. Quite.” The Field Marshall hid her smirk well. “Sergeant Cox will help you find your feet. Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I saluted, turned and marched off, a spring in my step and positively giddy at skipping out on the boring desk-work to which I had been previously assigned. Sergeant Cox, standing nearby, waved me over. Introductions were made and we moved over to a map of the Heights district so we could plan the patrol routes.

*

28th of Abadius, 4708

The following morning saw me in early at the citadel. I was keen and as eager as I had been the first day I ever pulled on the Guards’ uniform. My patrol routes had been set and revised by my good and capable sergeant. Aiming to begin as I intended to go on, I would walk the first day’s patrols with those under my command, joining two Guardsmen to make up the standard three-man patrol.

Despite my enthusiasm the day was wet and windy. I cheered Privates Tyrene and Gydus who were to accompany me by letting them know this meant it was a good day for making sure coffee houses, bars, cake shops and restaurants were crime free. My meaning dawned on them when we stopped for our first ‘on the house’ coffee and pastry in a ground floor shop barely five minutes walk from the citadel and stayed almost a full turn of the bell investigating any crime around their sugar-puff pastry selection.

The day continued in this leisurely pace. By a stroke of what I felt was excellent patrol route planning, the three of us found ourselves outside of Brock House just on lunchtime.

Private Tyrene banged uncouthly on the door. Garic the footman answered, his face portraying slight alarm at seeing three Guardsmen in the doorway.

“How can I help you?”

“If you could be so kind as to let the master of the house know that I’m here.”

I figured, rightly, that Garic had seen me often enough to know who I was, and it was nice to impress the lads by showing I was known to a member of the Chelaxian nobility.

Marcus told me later that Garic was less than pleased at having to report my presence with two of the Guardsmen and had recommend we be turned away. However, in a few minutes the three of us were let inside. The smells of the superb Brock House kitchen indicated another fine meal waited.

“Lads, go see if there’s any crime going on in the kitchen. No need to hurry back.”

Smiling like school children given permission to attend a festival, the two privates set off at a gallop to the kitchen. Garic went after them to ensure they behaved themselves. I let myself in to the house proper, finding Marcus and the others in the sitting room.

“Marcus, Mari. Nice to see you both. Tain,” the champion and I nodded, each genuinely pleased to see the other. “This looks like a council of war. What have I missed in the last two days?”

I found Tain and Marcus’ summary of recent events highly amusing, wishing I had been there to see Tain lay a savage dose of street justice upon the crime boss. Mari piped up from time to time with her usual girlish comments, of interest to her but largely irrelevant to the rest of us. She was young and liked pretty things, and the rest of us were happy to let her be young. She had a powerful mind to be sure and was far more intelligent than the even Marcus or myself, but her naivety put a spin on her perceptions that made the rest of us, far more jaded, shake our heads and ignore the majority of what she said.

Talk soon tuned to the three-way ‘Grey War’ we had been on the edge of and in the middle of over the last week.

It seemed clear that our purple-cloak-wearing assassins belonged to a group calling themselves the ‘Harbingers of Doom’. They were religious zealots and whatever their aim was, or rather as I pointed out, whatever the aim was of the one directing them, the group had carved out a powerful niche from Khorvosa’s thieves guild. Priests or madmen, we viewed the Harbingers as an assassins’ guild – powerful and secretive. That their members had their tongues sliced spoke volumes as to their savagery and zealotry.

The thieves guild, victims of so many of the Harbingers murders, seemed to have established some sort of equilibrium. Possibly an understanding of sorts had come to the two factions in their war over the illicit profit centres of Khorvosa.

It was the third player in this game that confused us the most. Gordon Lamm, while as vile as the summer day was long, was no criminal mastermind. Yet all of our investigations pointed to him as the headman of the third faction. We knew this could not be the case, but could not find who was backing him. I had my theory, of course, and wished to lay the blame firmly at the feet of the city’s resident rich decadent Chelaxians – the Akonis Family. Marcus opposed me, claiming I had no proof and should not throw around blame out of hand as to do so would not only colour my/our investigations but possibly make very dangerous enemies of a very powerful and influential major Household. Tain took the middle road, suggesting nothing be dismissed nor bought into until more evidence was forthcoming.

And what would we even do with the information? Marcus and I feared corruption within the Guard. Tain would not work with criminals. Ari wanted only to report to the Church, and Mari feigned disinterest and refused to contribute.

The only clear conclusion we reached over lunch was that we did not know enough.

Eventually it was decided to continue our individual investigations and meet back tonight at the warehouse of Osric the Fixer. The others had not yet gone to find Trinia Sabor, and now that I was back on the streets, they wish to move quickly. Mari had been making some preparations, the nature of which she would go into (although I could hazard a guess they were something to do with her magic). She would be ready tonight, so at the third bell of evening we would meet and Osric’s and prepare to go and capture the Queen’s patsy.

I was pleased to find that the others had come to the conclusion that Trinia Sabor was highly likely not to be the deadly poison-dealing murderer that she had been painted to be. The others felt she was likely innocent and a fair trial would be the result of their capture and collection for the Queen. I felt this was a little naïve on their part. Personally, my appreciation of the situation was that it was now a case of her or me, so innocent or not, she was a dead-woman walking as far as I saw things.

Garic the footman appeared in the doorway.

“I have your salad roll and ‘chips’, Officer Deparle. It is wrapped ‘to go’.” Distaste dripped from every word. “Your entourage is waiting in the vestibule.”

“Thanks Garic,” I said taking the bag and slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a real prince.”

“Yes, sir. Quite.”

I laughed, waved at the others and headed for the front door.

“Agon,” Mari called out. “Can you wait?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“We’re all getting ready to go out. Can you wait with us while we go?”

Marcus nodded and the Marivanchi clan all began to file out.

“Of course, Mari.”

A carriage was waiting outide. The others began to discuss where they would go first.

“Agon,” Mari began softly, “can you ride with me up the street for a while.”

On any other day I would have said yes, but I would not ride in a nobleman’s carriage while my men walked in the street. That didn’t seem appropriate to me.

“I can’t Mari, I have to patrol with my men.”

“Agon, please…”

I stood resolute. Mari obviously wanted to speak privately with me about something, and I would hear her, but my duty as an officer came first.

“Mari,” Tain interjected, “leave him be. Now’s not the right time.”

Thank you, Tain!

Mari leaned forward and taking my hand, pressed a pouch of coins into my palm.

“Take these. Go to Osric. They are to pay for a vial of sleeping poison, a barrel of ale marked with the symbol of the Hell Knights, and a tray of mugs. This MUST be done before tonight. Do you understand?”

I nodded my agreement. Mari stepped inside the carriage. The driver cracked the whip and the horses set off.

“She seems a nice girl, boss,” commented Private Tyrene.

“Aye. Too nice.” I turned to look down the street, hefting my shield and unwrapping my ‘to go’ lunch. “Let’s get moving lads.”

*

It hadn’t even been five minutes since leaving Brock House before I felt the ground shake. Not an earthquake as such, but a localized tremor, distinct and short-lived. It came from behind our patrol route, over near the amphitheatre … where the Merivanchi’s carriage was traveling. Just after the tremor I heard the screams – human and animal.

“Stop. Listen.”

Tyrene and Gydus looked at me in confusion. They could hear nothing. My elven ears heard what they could not. An underground tremor near the amphitheatre. Screams. I had a good idea what this was. I raced over to a citizen riding along on his horse. I grabbed the reigns.

“There’s an emergency. I’m commandeering this mount for the Khorvosan Guard. Get off.”

I helped the rider come to his decision by giving him a quick shove. I swung myself onto the horse, calling out to Tyrene and Cydus.

“Blow you whistles. Sound the ‘Hue and Cry’. I’ll need three squads near the amphitheatre ASAP to deal with a Code Brown.”

With that, I galloped towards the screams as fast as the horse would take me.

*

At the first tremor, the Merivanchi’s driver slowed the carriage. As the shaking continued he was forced to stop, the road ahead having become jammed with two more carriages, an overturned cart and several bystanders. Marcus poked his head out of the carriage and instructed the driver to go around. As Marcus began to draw his head back in, the Otyugh erupted from beneath the streets.

An Otyugh is an ugly thing. In physical structure it is much like an octopus, comprising of muscle and cartilage rather than bone. A central body and head is dominated by a large saw-toothed mouth. Locomotion is supplied by four long powerful tentacles, each lined by strong suckers. Its mottled brown skin, much like a shark’s, is smooth from one angle and rough enough to cut leather from another. But overwhelming all other impressions of the otyugh is the all pervading stench that accompanies it – a smell born from the sewers themselves and powerful enough to outlast religion itself. To have endured that stench is to have known a torture from Hell.

With the arrival of the otyugh the screams began. It lashed out with its tentacles, making straight for the horses and mules nearby. Tied to overturned carriages and carts, the animals could go nowhere. The otyugh ripped and crushed and dragged their fleshy carcasses into its maw. People ran everywhere all at once; no direction, no plan, just panicky flight in response to this monster of their nightmares wreaking bloody havoc in front of them.

Tain’s response was direct and typical. His voice was level and filled with determination.

“Not in my city!”

The champion grabbed his crossbow and stepped out to meet the foe. Running from cover to cover he fired repeatedly at the sewer monster. His bolts struck hard, drawing blood, and distracted the beast from its human prey. As the sewer monster turned its attention to its assailant, Tain would duck away again and move to another location. Fire and move. Fire and move.

Marcus leaned back inside the carriage, telling Mari to stay inside. The nobleman then climbed out to speak to the driver. A great tentacle whipped forward towards their carriage. Marcus ducked but the driver was not so lucky. The blow caught him by the head. He fell from the carriage, his skull crushed. Marcus drew his rapier and took a stance on top of the carriage, asking himself once more why it was he found himself employing fencing techniques against a giant monster. His blade formed an effective shield, keeping one of the sewer monster’s tentacles at bay, scoring it lightly whenever it came too close.

Mari, disobeying her brother – he didn’t really mean for her to stay inside while the others risked their lives – stepped out and took shelter by the carriage door. From her purse she withdrew the strange magical wand we had found with Gordon Lamm. Mari had studied the wand. She knew what it was and how it worked. She formed the words of power clearly in her mind. She focused her will and channeled it through the wand. She visualized the magical energy untapped, unleashed at the monster. Three bolts of magical energy flew from the wand and burned bloody holes in the sewer monster’s side. Mari smiled at her handiwork. Let her brother say she couldn’t handle herself now! But her brother was busy fighting for his life, as was Tain. Neither noticed what she had done. Mari realised this was no game. She ducked down and concentrated again on bending the magical wand to her will.

The tentacle flailing around Marcus drew back, another easier prey sighted by the monster – the horses of Marcus’ carriage. His mind ever full of the sense of noblesse oblige, that noble obligation to aid and assist those he knew were beneath him and hence needed his help, Marcus turned his mind towards helping the horses. The young nobleman dropped agilely down from the carriage roof, landing with a foot on the backs of the two rearward horses. The great brown tentacle of the sewer monster again lashed out. Again, Marcus parried, able to keep his balance thanks only to years of personal instruction from Khorvosa’s greatest fencing instructor. In the give and take of blows, Marcus slashed downwards at the leather straps holding the horses. His aim was true and free from constraint, and with such a clear predator close by, all four horses bolted from the carriage. His balance lost, Marcus jumped to the ground, rolling nimbly to his feet, his blade out and ready to attack and defend again. The young nobleman smiled. He had never before done something like that. It was true what the master had taught him – that until you are pushed to your limits, you will never know what you are capable of.

Two women screamed from the carriage closest to the otyugh. A tentacle wrapped around the carriage, dragging it slowly towards the great maw. From the corner of his eye Tain saw another salvo of magical energy shoot from their carriage to slam into the monster. The otyugh reared back in pain. Tain took his chance. Dashing across the ruined street, Tain threw open the carriage door. Two aristocratic women, one old one younger, looked at the champion of Abadar, who spoke simply and earnestly.

“Come with me if you want to live.”

Tain, great flail in one hand, the other assisting the ladies down from the carriage, saw the otyugh rear upwards again for another attack. From above Tain, vaulting over the carriage, came Marcus, sword in hand and a grin as wide as can be on his face.

“Have at thee!” he cried, throwing himself into a lunge at the sewer monster. His blade pierced deep and the monster shrunk back. With the women running for their lives away from the monster, the two heroes exchanged a grin and turned back towards the beast.

Two great tentacles slammed down on their like waves, dashing them against the cobblestones and wrapping them tightly.

Both men tried to extract themselves as they were dragged painfully closer to the otyugh’s maw. Tain punched again and again with his spiked gauntlets. Marcus drew his parrying dagger and stabbed repeatedly at the tentacle pinning his sword-arm to his chest. Their efforts were of no use. Spots appeared at the edges of their vision as the monster squeezed their breath from them.

Suddenly, the monster relaxed its grip, dropping the two heroes to the street where they lay gasping for breath. Turning towards their foe, the two men saw the sewer monster swaying slightly, as if to music only it could hear. Its tentacles flailed softly, waving in patterns only it could understand. Looking back towards Mari, Tain and Marcus saw her staring intently at the otyugh, the fingers of her hands mimicking the gentle flailing of its tentacles.

*

It was to this sight I arrived, my horse sweating and frothing at the punishing gallop I had driven it to in my ride to the incident. But I was no skilled horseman, no cavalry man. And as the stench of the sewer and of the blood of horses and men hit my mounts ears, it reared, throwing me to the street. Sensing panicked prey so close by, the otyugh broke its trance and struck out, wrapping two of its tentacles around my mount. A third struck out at me, but I warded the blow off with my shield and scrambled back to reach for my spear, dropped when I was thrown from the saddle.

Marcus, Mari and Tain all acted again to rid the city of this danger.

Marcus threw himself forward in a jump lunge; a skip and then a violent propulsion forward to put all of his weight behind a skillful thrust. He struck home deep into the body of the beast just behind the ‘shoulder’. The otyugh’s tentacle dropped uselessly to the ground, the nerves and tendons severed by Marcus’ thurst.

Mari, her will focused, used the wand again to drive three smoking holes into the eye of the beast. It screamed, blinded by pain and burns.

And Tain, summoning all of his strength, smashed a mighty blow with his flail that lifted the great sewer monster from the ground. As it fell he stepped forward and drove his bloodied flail into its brains, pulping them across the broken street.

The monster was still.

*

No cheers or applause greeted the triumphant heroes. Those present were still in shock. Some seven souls had perished at the otyugh’s rampage, due to the beast’s flailing tentacles or crushed by overturned carriages and panicky flight. Eight horses and mules lay dead. And the stink did not disappear with the beast’s death.

Privates Tyrene and Gydus were only minutes away. The Guards they had called for would not be long behind them. I hadn’t contributed to the defeat of the sewer monster, but I could help manage the scene of devastation before me. I organised the bystanders who seemed to have the most clear states of mind and, when the Guard members arrived, gave the instructions for clearing up the disaster.

I looked in vain for another officer to hand it all over to. The scroll-work associated with this would be incredible. One of the NCOs must have tipped off their commanding officer, for a note was passed to me that I was to ‘take charge’ of the situation. Translation: -I- would be stuck with the scroll-work. Damn.

My friends were a little shaken by the event, but when nerves calmed down, all three seemed a little excited. They had cheated Death, and had won. They had every right to feel proud.

Some of the locals recognized Marcus and Mari. The two were speaking quietly to some of the bystanders, accepting the thanks and praise of those whose homes and lives they had just defended. Marcus looked a little concerned at the attention. He told me afterwards he was worried about Mari being seen as some kind of sorceress, hardly a proper role for a noblewoman.

Tain pitched in to assist with managing the disaster. He spoke to those in shock from the events, he calmed them down with his presence and his touch, and was a boon to have present. His self-appointed tasks kept him from noticing the attention paid to him by the two women he had saved. The elder, the mother of the daughter, called Marcus over and spoke to him briefly.

“Excuse me, sir,” her heavy accented speech gave her away as being from Gelt, a distant land in social upheaval. “I vant to zank you and your companions for your assistance. You have saved ze life of myself and of my beautiful daughter.”

“If I have been of service, milady, then I am grateful for having been so.”

“I am Lady Leilla Delamor. My daughter and I have arrived only recently in zis city. With all zat has been going on, we find ourselves a little … how you say … lost?” Marcus nodded in encouragement, not sure where this was going. “Zeeing as you are such a gallant nobleman, perhaps I could call you and beg further assistance.”

“Of course, milady,” Marcus said.

“Very good. I zee that big strong man who rescued us,” Lady Delamor pointed towards Tain, still helping the injured. “Is he married?” Marcus blinked in surprise. “My daughter has no husband, and …” The aristocratic match-maker saw the surprise in Marcus’ eyes. “Forgive me. I have been inappropriate. We will discuss zis at another time.”

Lady Delamor said her goodbyes, gathered her daughter, and departed.

Marcus shook his head in wonder and bemusement.

*

I’ve begun writing up the first scene for the session on the 27th, and I believe that Agon is chronicling this one too. This was a somewhat unusual game in that we went ahead and played despite the GM being absent. Fortunately, The 8th Dwarf (Ari’s player) was able to step in the admirably fill the GM’s shoes, but because he wasn’t quite sure where the GM wanted to take the Trinia Sabore or Yasmin Marcella plots, we put that action on hold and went with another diversion instead…

How can the 8th dwarf take over from the GM? Does he know the adventure already? Indeed, even so, it mustn't be obvious to take over, since the GM has made a LOT of changes compared to the adventure as written. ;)

Regarding the other characters: we don't see a lot of Osric and Felix. Are they PC's whose players are most often absent, or is the GM handling what's happening to them separately, which is why their actions aren't reflected in your journal? Or are they simply NPCs?

How can the 8th dwarf take over from the GM? Does he know the adventure already? Indeed, even so, it mustn't be obvious to take over, since the GM has made a LOT of changes compared to the adventure as written. ;)

Regarding the other characters: we don't see a lot of Osric and Felix. Are they PC's whose players are most often absent, or is the GM handling what's happening to them separately, which is why their actions aren't reflected in your journal? Or are they simply NPCs?

Hello Moonbeam

I knew that there was an otyugh encounter that our GM had dropped from the game so I ran it past him to make sure I wasn't spoiling anything.

One of our discussions with the GM was that he had significantly changed the AP (Both Mothman & I own the path (I haven't read the AP, Just the monsters and fluff in the back)he had also dropped some encounters as he said that they weren't necessary to the story.

I used the encounter as an interrupt for the plans that we (the players) were making to find Sabor.

Our group will spend an entire session planning the ultimate tactical attack only to kick open the door and go on a very unsubtle rampage.

The GM and I had a discussion about pick up games in the future, as long as we don't kill the plot he is happy for us to run some side treks.

I used the otyugh to set up 2 short treks if I get the urge to GM in the future.

I was the main GM for a while and was running Savage Tide - the lesson I learned from that was the players need time to full-fill their own stories as well as going with the main arc.

Unfortunately I kept rerouting their own initiatives back to the main story. Although it was a very scenic rail-road (of my own making not the fault of the AP) it was still a rail road.

I think what our GM is currently doing is trying allow for more sand box style with the AP as background.

I found that my best GM experiences were when I staged an event then allowed the players to drive the story from the event. It meant that I had to ad-lib a lot but the players owned the story.

Osric's player has had a horrendous work schedule the last 8 weeks have been 7 days a week. We hope to have him for the next game.

Felix is kinda special he has two players and is mostly NPC. One player lives about an hours drive away and has a new baby and makes it when he can.

The other is in the Royal Australian Navy so gets stuck with duty. He is due to ship out to the Gulf but hurt his back. He got better and was ready to go again but got hit by a car (he is mostly ok but will not able to go to sea until he passes another medical)so until then its lots of desk work and weird hours.

Yes, what he said!

That otyugh encounter sure looked like fun on the cover of the AP – and was a lot of fun to play out too (I have to admit I was very worried when it grappled Marcus and Tain – and then Agon turned up, after riding hard for several rounds, only to roll a 1 on his charge attack roll! Fortunately, Mari’s magic stunned it, and I rolled a crit on my next attack).

Good to see you on Paizo Deparle, and thanks for the updates, very fun reading.

Tain’s Journal
Discussion, updates and plans
Before noon, the 28th of Abadius
Brock House

Dinner of the previous night was awkward as expected, with little conversation. Even so, the hour was late by the time Ambassador Amprei and Seth Jeggare had departed in their coaches, and Lady Cristiana had gone to bed. The rest of us attempted to further brainstorm on how to deal with the Trinia Sabore and Yasmin Marcella situations, but we were so fatigued we made little progress. We agreed to sleep on it (all of us were spending the night at Brock House) and talk further in the morning.

It had begun to rain during the night, and the morning was grey and blustery, with squalls blowing in over the bay, interspersed with sunny periods, veiling the city in mists and fogs. Aria departed early, having duties at the cathedral of Pharasma to attend to. My own hopes of a morning spent in planning and discussion with the others were soon dashed, as Mari retreated to her room to study (apparently consumed with the problem of how to make us appear as Hellknights, though she did not say it in so many words) and Marcus got caught up in business of his House that had been somewhat neglected for the past week or so.

I had no duties at the Bank this day, so stayed in, confining myself to the guest room to update the events of the last several days in my journal, and pray to Abadar for strength and guidance.

It was approaching noon when I heard someone at the door, and soon caught the faint murmur of conversation coming from the sitting room. Heading downstairs, I found Marcus in conference with Agon Deparle, who was outfitted in his Guard uniform and full patrol kit. I nodded a greeting to him, pleased to see our sometime companion – Agon and I did not always agree on matters of law and order, but we were essentially in the same business, on the same side, and he was a good fellow to have about in a fight – or planning for one.

“’lo Tain,” he said, returning my nod. “Marcus was just updating me on events of the last few days. I hear you’ve been putting the smack-down on local crime bosses.”

“Something like that,” I agreed. “It was strangely satisfying. But it may be the Hellknights we go up against next.”

“Yes, Marcus was getting to that,” Agon replied. “I’m so glad you decided not to go ahead without me on that front. So have you found out any more of that situation? As far as I’ve been able to discover they’re not here on the behest of the Guard.”

“Field Marshal Kroft indicated as such,” Marcus agreed. “And that they’re not working for the Crown either.”

“Well, so far as the Field Marshal knows,” I corrected him. “I had the distinct impression that she was not entirely convinced that her intelligence was correct on that matter.”

“Oh? The Field Marshal and our Chelaxian queen are not exactly bosom friends as yet then?” asked Agon, a twinkle in his eye.

“Let us just say they do not confide in each other on all matters,” I replied.

“Well, to be fair, Kroft is not the easiest woman to understand,” Agon said, shaking his head. “I met with her again yesterday too. It was … odd. I couldn’t quite tell whether she was rewarding me or punishing me.”

“She didn’t respond to your good looks and charms is what you mean,” said Marcus with a grin.

Agon glanced at me before responding to Marcus. “Let us just say she does not confide in me on all matters,” he said with a half-smile.

I chuckled, then tried to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand. “At any rate, the Hellknights…”

“Yes, Hellknights,” said Agon. “Do you have a plan for getting by them? My brother had suggested that we try to find our way above them, through the Shingles.”

“We’ve discussed that,” I said. “But the current plan seems to be to disguise ourselves as Hellknights, and simply walk in there.”

“Oh? And how will you manage that? Hellknight armour going cheap a the local general store?” Agon raised an eyebrow, looking between us. Marcus and I looked at each other.

“Ah … Mari has a plan …” Marcus replied.

“Is she going to cast a spell on us all?” Agon asked. We looked at him in surprise. “Yes, I’ve known about Mari’s talents – or at least had strong suspicions – since Lamm’s warehouse. I take it you two know?” We both glanced at each other, then nodded slowly.

“I don’t know that we should be discussing your sister behind her back,” I said to Marcus. “Oh, she’s probably eavesdropping on us through the chimney stack anyway,” Marcus replied, but Agon nodded in agreement with me.

“Dante!” he called out loudly, and Marcus’s manservant momentarily appeared from the direction of the kitchen. “Ah, Dante, by your master’s leave,” Agon glanced at Marcus, who nodded, “will you ask Miss Marianna to join us in the sitting room? Oh, and Dante … on your way back, could you ask the cook to whip me up some salad on a bread roll? And perhaps some fried slices of potato? Thanks.”

The long suffering Dante bowed (hiding the roll of his eyes) and departed the room.

“I’m still not sure we should all be accepting and discussing this so openly,” Marcus muttered.

“I have to admit, I fail to see quite what the issue is with Marianna learning magic,” I said. “She is a sensible girl for the most part, and I do not see her dabbling in the black arts. We are living through … interesting times in Korvosa. If Mari’s magic can help her, help us all – as I believe it has already – we should show her gentle encouragement, not treat it as some dirty secret.”

Marcus shook his head. “I would think you’d know our father well enough Tain, from when … yes, well. The life of a sorceress is not what he has planned for Mari. And to make matters worse, she is not only learning magic, but is not Acadamae trained. It will not reflect well on the family, and could jeopardise her betrothal.”

“One less Acadamae trained mage – and one less imp flying free on our streets – is a good thing in my opinion,” I replied, before Agon gestured for us to cease our argument. “Let’s wait until Mari can defend herself,” he advised.

I nodded. “You’re right. Moving on from how we might get past the Hellknights … has anyone thought further on what we will do if and when we find Miss Sabore?”

“I’d like to question her myself before we hand her over,” Agon said. He glanced in the direction of the kitchen. “Though perhaps we should also forestall this conversation to a later time…”

“This all assumes we get to Sabore first,” said Marcus. “I’ve been trying to reason why the Hellknights have apparently had her surrounded for several days without appearing to make a move to capture her. I think they’re guarding the area so that someone else can nab her.”

“Who do you have in mind? These ‘Harbringers of Doom’?”

“Perhaps; the purple cloaks, Lamm’s group, I don’t know,” Marcus responded to Agon’s question. “But there must be some reason they’re not moving in.”

“Marcus believes that Lamm was not calling the shots in his organisation,” I explained as an aside to Agon, “that there is someone else running things from behind the scenes.”

“Yes, Marcus and I have spoken of that,” Agon said grimly. “And I have an idea of who it might be…”

He seemed reluctant to explain further, and before I could press him, Dante returned to the room, announcing himself with a polite cough. “Sirs, it seems that Mistress Marianna is not yet ready to come down quite yet.”

“Still hard at work is she Dante?”

“I would suppose so sir. Her, ah, cat, did not seem inclined to allow me into the room…”

“Ha! She’s doing the ‘speak to the cat’ thing again is she?” asked Marcus with a grin. “Poor Dante. Never mind, I’m sure she’ll come down if we begin gossiping about her.”

While we waited for Mari, the conversation ranged over several subjects, including Ambassador Amprei and Yasmin Marcella, the underground war between the various criminal groups, and the nature of the ‘Harbringers of Doom’ – all without coming to any real conclusions or plans. Soon enough, we heard Mari’s light tread on the stair.

“I heard you talking about me before you know,” said Mari, sweeping into the room. “Hello Agon. I’d rather you didn’t - If Orlando hears rumours - true or not - that I’ve been learning magic, it could jeopardise a very advantageous marriage and family alliance. Father would be most upset.” Her light tone belied the seriousness of her words - perhaps she did not consider that scenario such a bad thing.

“You are too young to be thinking of the political advantage of your betrothal,” I said. “You should be marrying for love - as Talia and I did.” There was an awkward silence. I reached up to touch the twin wedding rings that hung on a chain around my neck. That had not evoked the emotions I intended. Talia had defied her father’s wishes to marry me, and we had been blissfully happy in our life together … right up until the day she was murdered.

“Anyway …” Mari began again after a moment. “The plan has changed. We aren’t going to disguise ourselves as Hellknights any more, there are too many things that could go wrong. We’re going to be invisible instead. I just need to go out into town to pick up a few reagents…” She looked out the window at the rainy street, and her face fell. I quietly noted that she seemed to have dropped the tale about someone else using magic for her – perhaps she was almost ready to claim this as her own.

“I’ll need to head back out on patrol shortly,” spoke up Agon, “if I can tear my men away from your kitchen. Perhaps I can pick some things up for you?”

Mari looked dubious for a moment. “A lot of the things I need are awfully specialised … ah, but Ari will probably have a lot of them at the cathedral!” She looked at Agon. “If you’re passing through Midlands there are a few things you can get for me - I’ll go and see Ari for the rest.”

Agon said that he could go that way if needed, and Mari called for Dante. “Dante, could you have Gavik call a cab for me? To go to Grey.”

“Yes Miss Marianna,” replied the manservant. He turned to Agon. “Mister Deparle, would you like to fetch your men from the kitchen? The chef has made your salad roll and … chips ‘to go’.”

While Agon went off to sort out his men and his lunch, Mari made ready to leave. I insisted on accompanying her. She protested that she was only going to Grey, and that she would take Claudio, her servant and sometimes bodyguard and Marcellano (her cat) along for protection anyway, but I insisted. “Things have certainly been improving, but the streets are still not entirely safe,” I said. After a little more backwards and forth, she relented.

“I’ll come along too, at least partway,” said Marcus suddenly. “I have some business to attend to over on Pillar Hill. It’s not far out of the way.”

I returned to my room to don my armour and secure my weapons, whilst Mari and Marcus gathered winter cloaks, boots and whatever else they would need for a short journey. By the time we came back downstairs, a coach was waiting for us out on the street, and Agon and his two Guard privates stood by the door. Mari hurried over to Agon, pulling him aside and spoke quietly to him for a few moments, then pressed a small coin purse into his hand. Then we all bid the Guardsman farewell, suggesting we meet back here at sundown. Agon started off on foot with his patrol, whilst Marcus, Mari and I climbed into the coach, headed for Grey.

Well, it's nice that you have the flexibility to run parts of the game when the GM isn't there. Do you guys play every week?

Again, I want to say this journal is beautifully written... You guys are very talented.

But I am a spelling freak and I just want to point out that (unless your GM changed it officially) is should be Korvosa (no "h"), Sabor (no "e" at the end), and Gaedren Lamm. ;)

I hope Osric/Felix's players get a break from real life (be it from work or getting injured) and get a chance to play with you guys!

Well, it's nice that you have the flexibility to run parts of the game when the GM isn't there. Do you guys play every week?

Again, I want to say this journal is beautifully written... You guys are very talented.

But I am a spelling freak and I just want to point out that (unless your GM changed it officially) is should be Korvosa (no "h"), Sabor (no "e" at the end), and Gaedren Lamm. ;)

I hope Osric/Felix's players get a break from real life (be it from work or getting injured) and get a chance to play with you guys!

We play fortnightly our spouses would slice us open and strangle us with our own intestines if we played any more than that. :-)

Thanks again - The spelling is kinda funny the GM had a problem with Gaedren he misread it as Gordon :-) it got stuck in his head so for a whole session he called him Gordon (Even though we corrected him).

Yeh everybody should be spelling Korvosa right - I will follow up on that.

Unless we ask in character how to spell a characters name the GM wont tell us. So the names are always spelt in a weird half phonetic half fantasy style. :-)

The guys I play with are all amazing creative people. Marcus's player will usually have a 4 or 5 page back story, he was the one that wrote up the family, found the family crest and used campaign cartographer to draw up Brock house (his residence).

Mari's player is very similar, although he can be a little too creative for his own good and come up with six or seven highly original characters all with back stories, and not know which one he wants to play. In fact Ariadnae is based on an idea for a Cleric for STAP that he rejected and I "borrowed".

When we were playing STAP Agons player bought a hard-backed journal and wrote the ships log. He aged the pages with coffee and tea, and stuck in pictures and handouts. We would read the log at the beginning of each game to refresh where we were up to.

We will probably loose one of Felix's players (for a year) when he finally gets deployed. Felix's other player is tied down being a dad (I know how tough that is).

We will eventually loose Osrics player as well as he is moving 1200 kilometres away some time next year.