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THE HANGMAN’S NOOSE
From the twisted mind of Nicolas Logue and the twisted fingers of Moonbeam, here is a tale of horror and madness, the story of a long night during which several guilty people, and a few innocent ones, suffered tragic fates in the old courthouse of Beldrin’s Bluff, prisoners of a vengeful spirit and pawns in his mad game.
To give you a taste of things to come, here are the chapters of this story:
INTRODUCTION: MORNING
CHAPTER 1: THE CAPTIVE JURY
CHAPTER 2: THE ABANDONED COURTHOUSE
CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST VICTIM
CHAPTER 4: THE SECOND VICTIM
CHAPTER 5: THE THIRD VICTIM
CHAPTER 6: THE FOURTH VICTIM
CHAPTER 7: MALENE’S LAST DANCE
CHAPTER 8: THE FIFTH VICTIM
CHAPTER 9: HOPELESS
CHAPTER 10: THE SIXTH, SEVENTH AND EIGHTH VICTIMS
CHAPTER 11: FEAR OF THE DARK
CHAPTER 12: PUNISH THE GUILTY
CHAPTER 13: THE HANGMAN’S NOOSE
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INTRODUCTION: MORNING
The sun rose slowly; its pale rays crawled lazily over the discarded ruins of the abandoned district of Beldrin’s Bluff. In other parts of the city of Absalom, the living awoke with the coming of the light, yet barely anything moved here. Every morning for the past ten years, the district had been as quiet as a graveyard.
Yet today, the morning’s silence was disturbed by the creaking of a heavy wooden door, as the door of a ruined courthouse slowly opened from inside. Two ragged people – their clothes covered in dried blood – painfully limped out of the sinister building, slowly dragging two bodies behind them. They hurried to close the doors of the courthouse behind them, and once they were fully in the light, they fell to their knees. They had reached the very limit of both their physical and mental strength.
That night had been, by far, the most horrible of their existence. They had witnessed things that no mortals should ever see, they had been the victims of the vengeful dead, and they had seen their fellow men and women die in the most horrible fashion, one after the other.
It was truly a miracle that the two of them had survived, and even then, only by the narrowest of margins. Both of them had almost paid the ultimate price for the sins of a terrible villain.
They wished to forget. They wished to erase the dreadful memories of the night from their shattered spirits. They wished never to be left afraid in the dark again. They wished they had never been embroiled in this sordid story at all…
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CHAPTER 1: THE CAPTIVE JURY
The awakening
It all started roughly twelve hours earlier, when twelve people found themselves in a dark, dusty room. As a nearby clock loudly tolled six times, they slowly came to their senses, waking up as if from a long sleep. Each of them immediately felt a shock of fear and incomprehension, and asked themselves the same question.
“Where the hell am I?”
Some of them vaguely remembered collapsing while they were eating a meal that they realized, only too late, had been drugged. Others thought they remembered hearing distant, hushed voices speaking to each other, or having seen blurry shadows carrying them…
But the details of how they had come to this place were somewhat inconsequential at the time. What was more important was to figure out where they were, why they were there, and what was going to happen to them.
They were surrounded by darkness, within which only about half of them could see. Once it became clear that the vision-impaired humans were effectively blinded, two of the people present kindly provided illumination: one with a spell of Light, the other with a Sunrod.
A few of them were shocked to realize that they recognized both the place they were in - the Beldrin’s Bluff courthouse - and the faces of some of the other people in the room. They had been here before; ten years ago to the day, in fact. The courthouse showed the expected signs of age and neglect. Similarly, the people had all aged over the ten year period, although it was more visible in some than in others…
Sir Rekkart Cole, the stern paladin of Iomedae, still stood tall, but his hair now had more gray than black in it.
Madge Blossomheart, the halfling acrobat, despite her short stature, was obviously not a wee girl anymore, but rather an extremely lovely woman in perfect physical condition.
Killian Paltreth’s elegant but dusty clothes looked as though they had seen better days, hinting that the wealthy dilettante had likely suffered many gambling losses since they had last seen him. He adjusted his monocle as he looked around in dismay, producing a flask of liquid courage from his vest pocket, and taking a swig to steel his nerves.
Ebin Blithoddle wore a tight jester’s costume just as he had ten years before, but the cloth was now stretched more tightly over his hanging paunch. His gaze, which had been annoyingly amused before, now had a disturbingly insane edge to it, and his smile displayed much less teeth than before.
The gnome was not the only one to have gained weight: Patrissa Vrakes, who had been a breathtaking beauty ten years before, was still a very attractive woman, but the somewhat overly abundant curves that her figure-hugging gown of red silk prominently displayed indicated that she had perhaps indulged a little too excessively in some of the finer things in life. Despite the current predicament, Patrissa’s makeup and hair were in perfect condition, yet she nervously twirled her magnificent necklace of fire opals between her fingers as she looked at the people around her.
Three others among those gathered there had in fact changed very little from the last time they had all met. Malgrim Hurkes was still a towering hobgoblin brute with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. Everyone immediately noticed that he still wore that dreaded spiked chain around his waist, and with the presence of this item came the implied threat of pain.
Old Tablark Hammergrind hadn’t changed one bit since the last time they’d seen him – but at over four hundred years of age, the passage of ten years had surely not meant much to the grizzled dwarven veteran.
The last familiar face was a very ugly and a very green one. The massive half-orc smith, Halgrak Five-Toes, sat by himself in a corner, casting fearful looks around him. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, as if he had already reached the conclusion that all of his fellows would reach some time later that same evening: that they were all going to die.
Horribly.
As the eight people took note of each other’s presence, they quickly understood the significance of their appearance, in this place, on this date… The tenth anniversary of the judgment of Jarbin Mord, the one where they had sent the executioner to his death on his own gallows. The last judgment that had taken place in this courthouse, before it was closed and the entire district was evacuated in a state of emergency.
They remembered the trial well, for it had been very emotional for many of them, and they had thought about it many times over the previous decade. The memories had been revived especially recently, as the entire city of Absalom had been on edge over the anniversary of Mord’s hanging, what with the rumors of the courthouse being haunted, rumors that had only been made worse when, five years ago, a band of famous adventurers had gone into the courthouse with great fanfare, and had suffered horrible fates within…
And now the old jurors were back, seemingly in the very same room where they had sentenced Mord to death. The place was dusty and in a state of disrepair, but it was surely the same room. They recognized the mural on the ceiling, showing Iomedae in glorious combat, as well as the benches, the judge’s desk and seat on their platform. The evidence table was still there, and strangely enough, Mord’s old bloodstained axe still seemed to be resting on it after all these years.
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An unpleasant inheritance
Another odd thing was the presence of four young people that none of the old jurors had met before. Like them, they were sitting on the jury’s benches, seemingly coming out of a drugged stupor as well. But soon, they deduced their reason for being there, which was obviously linked to the absence of the last four members of the jury of Mord’s trial. The jurors got up and cautiously examined their surroundings, and questioned each other, as well as the four strangers, whom they got to know.
The first of them was a woman with long black hair, dressed in a flowing and colorful purple robe over a chain shirt. Much like everyone else, and quite strangely, all things considered, she was armed, which meant in her case that she carried a long and sharp glaive. At first glance, this woman, who introduced herself as Ramaka, a priestess of Shelyn, seemed quite attractive from afar, but upon closer examination, and in good lighting, one noticed the disturbing tinge and the roughness of her skin, as well as the sharpness of her teeth. Yes, despite the large quantity of makeup she wore, it was clear that she was in truth a half-orc.
The jurors remembered that among them had been an aged priestess of Shelyn, a kind woman but also almost completely senile. She had passed away but a year ago, and now, the acolyte who had taken her place at the temple had seemingly also taken her place in this courthouse reunion.
Ramaka Kemmog (NN Female Half-Orc Cleric Level 1) – Worships Shelyn
Str: 15 Dex: 13 Con: 13 Int: 8 Wis: 17 Cha: 14
AC: 16 HP: 10 Fortitude: +3 Reflex: +1 Will: +5
Initiative:+1 Speed: 30’
Melee attacks: glaive +2 (1d10+3)
Cleric Domains: Charm, Luck.
Height: 5’7”. Weight: 170 lbs, Age: 16, Date of birth: Calistril 20th
Black hair, green eyes.
Feats: Dodge.
Skills: Spellcraft 3.
Languages: Common.
Main gear: Glaive, chain shirt, light crossbow.
Prepared spells:
Level 0: Detect Magic, Guidance, Light
Level 1: Bless, Charm Person (D), Magic Weapon
The second one was a stranger to everyone but Madge, who in fact knew the young man quite well. His full name was Zarreven Alarik, but people usually just called him “Zarr”. Just like Madge, he was a street performer, an acrobat, juggler and dancer. His older brother had been a member of the jury, and at the start of his career, he had performed many shows with Madge’s father Daben. Since Zarr’s brother had died a few years ago, it seemed that Zarr had somehow been chosen to take his place tonight.
Zarreven Alarik, aka “Zarr” (CN Male Human Bard Level 1) – Worships Calistria
Str: 15 Dex: 20 Con: 12 Int: 10 Wis: 9 Cha: 13
AC: 20 HP: 10 Fortitude: +1 Reflex: +7 Will: +1
Initiative: +5 Speed: 30’
Melee attacks: rapier +5 (1d6+2/18-20)
Height: 5’6”. Weight: 160 lbs, Age: 19, Date of birth: Pharast 13th
Short black hair, brown eyes.
Feats: Dodge, Weapon finesse.
Skills: Escape Artist 7, Knowledge: Dungeoneering 5, Knowledge: Local 5, Perception 3, Perform (dance) 5, Perform (wind instruments) 5, Stealth 7.
Languages: Common.
Main gear: Rapier, Studded Leather Armor, Light Wooden Shield, Flute.
Known spells:
Level 0: Dancing Lights, Know Direction, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation.
Level 1: Expeditious Retreat, Feather Fall.
The third newcomer was a beautiful young woman with long, smooth red hair. Of all twelve people present, she seemed the one who was the most in distress, as she had woken up sobbing uncontrollably. Ever the gallant knight in shining armor, Sir Rekkart immediately approached the young woman to comfort her, and as he got closer, he recognized her not only as a novice paladin from the local temple of Iomedae, but as the daughter of an old friend of his and fellow paladin who had also been a member of the jury.
The red-haired girl was named Kamettia Sarn, and she was thankful for the presence of Sir Rekkart, someone she could truly trust. As in the case of Ramaka’s old mentor and Zarr’s brother, Kamettia’s father had passed away since the trial… and now, for some bizarre reason, as his daughter, she had found herself here in his stead.
Kamettia Sarn (LG Female Human Paladin Level 1) – Worships Iomedae
Str: 14 Dex: 11 Con: 12 Int: 5 Wis: 11 Cha: 16
AC: 15 HP: 12 Fortitude: +3 Reflex: +0 Will: +2
Initiative: +0 Speed: 20’
Melee attacks: falchion power attack +3 (2d4+6/18-20)
Height: 5’8”, Weight: 120 lbs, Age: 18, Date of birth: Erastus 18th
Red hair, brown eyes.
Feats: Power Attack, Weapon Focus: Falchion.
Skills: Diplomacy 7.
Languages: Common.
Main gear: Falchion, Scale Mail, Silver Dagger.
The last member of the “reconstructed” jury was quiet and seemingly nondescript: a tall, thin man wearing a gray robe. But in fact, the man seemed much more unusual once one noticed that he had the cloven feet of a goat: this was no human, but a tainted tiefling!
Although a few members of the jury were wary in the presence of this individual, who claimed to be a wizard named Lorven, since there were already two half-orcs and a hobgoblin nearby, and that they were in dire straits, their suspicions soon melted away in the face of much graver dangers. Indeed, the others remembered his mentor, now deceased as well (they sensed a pattern here), as a cold and cruel old transmuter who had impatiently asked them to hurry through the procedure of the trial as quickly as possible “so he could be freed of such mundane trivialities to return to his arcane studies”.
Lorven Haldram (NG Male Tiefling {Daemon} Wizard, Level 1) – Worships Nethys
Str: 9 Dex: 14 Con: 13 Int: 16 Wis: 8 Cha: 10
AC: 12 HP: 9 Fortitude: +4 Reflex: +2 Will: +1
Initiative: +2 Speed: 30’
Favored School: Transmutation.
Forbidden Schools: Evocation, Illusion.
Height: 6’3”. Weight: 183 lbs, Age: 22, Date of birth: Rova 10th.
Black hair, brown eyes, cloven feet.
Feats: Scribe Scroll, Great Fortitude.
Skills: Appraise 10, Craft (alchemy) 7, Knowledge (Arcana) 7, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) 7, Spellcraft 7.
Languages: Common, Infernal, Draconic, Elven, Abyssal.
Main gear: Cold Iron Dagger, 2 sunrods.
Prepared spells:
Level 0: Detect Magic, Mage Hand, Mending
Level 1: Mage Armor, Obscuring Mist, Feather Fall
To Lorven’s dismay, his beloved raven familiar was nowhere to be seen…
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Haunted
As mentioned, Sir Rekkart consoled the beautiful Kamettia, who said in between sobs that she had seen something dreadful before waking up, in a sort of vision.
“It was horrible!” she wailed, “it was very dark, and I saw a huge warrior from behind, who appeared at first to be talking to the love of his life. He seemed very scared, but there was something mad about him. I realized that he was using a big knife to cut something from a corpse he was leaning in front of. He spoke to her… the dead woman.” The young paladin chocked back a sob, and now, most of the jurors were listening to her, grimly fascinated.
Patrissa was listening as well, but she felt a strong surge of jealousy toward this beautiful woman. Ten years ago, those fools had been hanging to her every word, just like they were now doing with the young girl. She had not had such competition the previous time around!
“He called her Sashrala, his love,” continued Kamettia the young paladin. “He cut off her head! And he kissed it! But the poor woman was still alive, I could sense it! Oh, Sir Rekkart, it was so horrible!!!” she concluded, hiding her head against the fatherly paladin’s shoulder.
“Sashrala,” repeated Patrissa. “We’ve all heard this name before, I’m sure.”
Ramaka frowned and gave her a quizzical look.
“You haven’t heard about Father Kelgaard’s adventure?” asked Patrissa.
Seeing that the priestess of Shelyn seemed somewhat ignorant about local folklore, Ebin, the little gnome, chuckled madly: “Where have you been living, lady? Under a rock? Ha ha!”
Ignoring the gnome, Tablark, the old dwarf, enlightened Ramaka. “It’s like this, lass. Most people in Absalom have been dreading this night. You see, ten years ago to the day, most of us were brought here to be part of a jury.” He then pointed to and introduced the seven other jurors still present. “The case was a grim one if I ever saw one: Jarbin Mord, the executioner of this here courthouse was accused of the grisly murder of his young, beautiful wife Malene, and their young son Gabe. How a charming human beauty like that poor lass Malene ever fell for a twisted madman like Mord in the first place, I can’t tell ye, but we dealt him tha’ justice he deserved that day. Aye, how ironic that the executioner was executed on his own gallows…”
“It happened in the wake of other tragic events,” added Sir Rekkart. “Several buildings of the district had already collapsed into the sea, and the entire area was to be abandoned as soon as possible – this grave trial was the last one to have been conducted within these walls before the building was closed for good.”
“But there have been rumors of hauntings in the area since Mord’s execution,” continued Zarr, who, as a performer, was quite knowledgeable about the rumors that circulated within the city. “And especially in the courthouse, if this is indeed where we are. On the fifth anniversary of the execution, so five years ago to the day, a group of famous adventurers ventured into the courthouse to exorcise it from its evil. At their head was Father Kelgaard, a wise cleric of Sarenrae, and with him went Grisdom Twin-Axe, a powerful fighter and a captain of the Absalom guard, as well as an elven mage named Sashrala.”
Kamettia gasped upon hearing the familiar name.
“Aye, lass,” said Tablark. “They failed in their mission. Failed horribly. Kelgaard and the elf did not survive the night, and even mighty Grisdom came out with his mind forever shattered, gibbering like a madman and holding the severed head of Sashrala. A dark tale indeed…”
“Oh, that’s horrible!” cried Kamettia. “But I’ve never seen these people, how did I see them inside my head?” One thing that should also be mentioned about Kamettia is that, despite being a stunningly beautiful and admirably virtuous defender of justice, she was also astoundingly dumb.
“In recent weeks,” said Zarr, “people have been afraid that something even more terrible is going to happen tonight, on the tenth anniversary….”
Everyone shared a fearful look. Well, almost everyone.
“Bullsh!t,” said a coarse voice coming from a shadowy corner.
Everyone turned toward it and saw the hulking shape of Malgrim the hobgoblin, his face only dimly illuminated by the light of the cigar he was smoking.
“I’m not going to die here,” he growled, “and for sure I’m not going to sit around pissing my pants like you pathetic little weaklings…” With that, he stood up and started making his way toward a boarded-up window.
“He’s right,” said Patrissa, also getting up, “we should get the hell out of here, and quick!”
But as the lovely woman walked toward Malgrim, a loud groaning sound was suddenly heard from the ceiling while she passed next to the evidence table. A large chunk of plaster fell down just next to Patrissa, striking the table, and sending the bloody axe that had been lying on it flying swiftly toward Lorven the tiefling, who only narrowly avoided being hacked in two.
“What the HELL was that?” exclaimed Ramaka as everyone emerged from a moment of stunned silence.
“Are you all right?” asked Kamettia in a worried voice as she rushed toward Lorven, and as Sir Rekkart went to look after Patrissa. Thankfully, neither the tiefling nor Patrissa had been seriously hurt, but it had come quite close.
Ebin was cackling amusedly: “Oh, don’t worry, we won’t be attacked by ghosts in this place! We’re just going to die because it’ll collapse on top of us! Hee hee hee!”
“Thank you, Sir Rekkart, I’m all right,” said Patrissa. “But indeed, ghosts or no ghosts, if this place is truly falling apart, all the more reason for us to make a hasty departure.”
“How strange,” mused Kamettia, “that the piece of plaster that fell down was the one with Iomedae’s sword on it.”
“Sounds like ill omen to me,” whined Halgrak the half-orc, “if the justice goddess loses her sword in a hall of justice.”
“Don’t worry, sir half-orc,” said Kamettia, “even without her sword, the brave lady can still battle the evil gods depicted in this mural: Asmodeus, Calistria and… errr… the other one.”
“… Norgorber,” said Zarr in a tone that didn’t sound helpful at all, but rather annoyed. The young woman’s stupidity was already getting on his nerves. “And Calistria’s not evil, by the way!”
“She’s not?” asked Kamettia with big round eyes of surprise.
Lorven was examining the large axe that had clipped his shoulder, and which was now lodged firmly in one of the walls. “What seems ominous to me,” he stated to anyone who’d listen, “is that the murder weapon was left here all these years, and nearly killed me a moment ago…”
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No escape
But nobody really heard the wizard’s musings, for they were drowned by the loud noises of Malgrim violently ripping open the wooden planks that were closing the windows. Outside, a thick fog blocked the way almost as surely as a brick wall. Taking another puff on his cigar, the hobgoblin cast a nasty glance back at those who were already milling close to the exit: Patrissa, Sir Rekkart and Ramaka, and then he climbed out the window.
Or rather, he tried to. The fog seemed most unnatural in origin, and felt like some kind of spongy moss to the touch. Although Malgrim was able to extend his limbs outside the window, he could only push them forward a short distance. It was clear that he could not use that exit to leave the building.
Zarr and Madge looked quietly from the shadows as Malgrim growled in frustration and hurried to a second window, repeating the same operation, with the help of the others who seemed most eager to leave. But Zarr and the pretty little halfling had already sensed, somehow, that escaping this place wouldn’t be quite so easy. They spoke in hushed tones with each other, agreeing to stick to the shadows for now, and let the louder members of this bizarre group attract the attention of the courthouse’s ghost, if it indeed truly existed.
Malgrim and the others were disappointed to find out that the second window led only to more impassable fog. They voiced their frustrated disbelief out loud, but the wise old Tablark only shrugged. “I’ve heard many ghost stories in my days, young ones, and I know it’s never so easy to leave a haunted house once ye get sucked into it! Surely we’ve got ta find another way out of this place, one not so easy to find, I think.”
“What the hell are you talking about, grandpa?” asked Ebin insolently.
“I’m sure we’ve all been brought here for a reason,” replied the dwarf calmly.
“And what might that reason be, master Hammergrind?” asked Killian, who had spoken very little until then.
“It must be Mord’s ghost!” said Halgrak, shaking slightly. “That angry ghost, he brought us here… And now he wants revenge!”
Tablark grunted. “You don’t fear, lads, Old Tablark’s seen more ghosts than these walls ‘ave rats. Nothing to quake about. Well send this foul spirit a’packin’ or me clan name ain’t Hammergrind!”
“So you really believe these ghost stories, then?” asked Killian.
“If they are true,” replied Sir Rekkart, “then it is our duty to cleanse this place of Jarbin Mord’s spectral taint, and send him into the afterlife once and for all.” He drew his sword and added: “This, I will do, by my honor and my faith in Iomedae.”
Kamettia drew her falchion as well, and somberly added: “Err… me too!”
And it was Ebin’s turn to add: “And if we really get killed by the ghost instead, we’ll come back and haunt him too! Hee hee!”
“I don’t have time for this crap,” growled Malgrim as he headed toward the large double-doors that led out of the room. “You idiots can try to kill the ghost if you want to; I’m going to find a way out of here.” He stopped in front of Ebin. “And you… you little piece of dung. One more word out of you, and I’ll kick a few more teeth out of that annoying little mouth of yours.”
Ebin suddenly stood very still, and he nodded slowly, his eyes wide with fear.
“Hey! You can’t talk to him like that!” said Kamettia, approaching to defend the wee gnome.
Malgrim slowly turned to face the young woman, and the dark look in his eyes made her stop and immediately regret speaking up. The hobgoblin leered at her evilly. “You talkin’ to me, little darlin’?” he growled dangerously.
Sir Rekkart immediately placed himself in front of the younger paladin. “Malgrim Hurkes, in the name of the law, I did not object to your participation in the trial ten years ago, but I will not allow you to threaten innocents in my presence!”
The hobgoblin slowly approached Sir Rekkart. The entire room was silent, for everyone’s eyes were on them. All were afraid that the muscular and temperamental creature would lose its patience and attack those who crossed him.
Malgrim stopped just inches in front of Sir Rekkart. He calmly took another long drag on his cigar, and blew a thick cloud of smoke right into the paladin’s face. Sir Rekkart tried to remain stoic, but coughed slightly from the discomfort.
“I think you should be very careful tonight, old man,” said the thug. “Maybe you should worry less about ghosts and more about… corporeal threats.”
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Other visions
“There is something unnatural about all of this, though,” said Ramaka, breaking the tension. “Kamettia was in tears about a vision she said she had, but I had one too. I wasn’t present at the trial you all had for Jarbin Mord, but I saw it in my mind. Just now, before I woke up. I saw it. I saw you all there… And I heard the judge giving his sentence.”
“I had a vision too,” said Lorven. “I believe I saw the murder itself. A beautiful woman was knitting a child’s sweater, and I saw her look up in horror and get attacked!”
“Really!?” exclaimed Killian. “What did the attacker look like?”
Lorven shook his head. “Alas, I only remember a scary, dark shape. I believe it was a man, probably human, and wearing dark clothes, but beyond that, I cannot tell.”
Zarr shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t Mord. Maybe he wasn’t the murderer.”
Sir Rekkart’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Jarbin Mord did commit their heinous crime, as was demonstrated by our jury. You should not speak of things you know nothing about, young man!”
“Sir Rekkart’s right, lad,” added Tablark. “Mord was nuthin’ but a filthy child-murderer and wife-killer! Hangin’ was too good for ‘im, ya ask me. Shoulda let me give ‘im a taste o’ dwarven justice, with the same axe he did his loved ones with, ya hear!”
Zarr smirked. “Well, the axe is right there,” he said calmly, pointing to the wall. “Seeing as though you’re unarmed in this potentially dangerous place, I recommend you take it.”
“No, wait!” said Ramaka suddenly. “Don’t touch it! It might be cursed… Or something. Here, I have a mace I keep for emergencies. You can use it, Tablark.”
“Thank you kindly, sister,” said the dwarf, bowing.
But Killian seemed more intrigued by the occult than by mundane weapons. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he had been considering the various visions that had been reported so far. “And what about you, young Zarr? Do you remember a vision as well? It seems that those of you who are new to this place somehow caught glimpses of the events that transpired ten years ago…”
Zarr had indeed received a vision, but he felt uncomfortable with everyone looking at him. “Yeah… “ he said slowly. “I saw Mord hanging from the gallows… Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it.” In truth, his dream had been much more vivid than he had implied, as he had not seen Mord being hanged, but he had felt the experience as though through Mord’s body, which had been disturbing to say the least.
Malgrim tossed his cigar butt to the floor, and ground it under his boot. “All right, if you old ladies are done scaring yourselves senseless with those stupid tales, I suggest we get going.”
It took a few minutes for the group of strangers to muster the courage to venture deeper into the courthouse, and to organize the logistics required. Ramaka cast a Light spell on Sir Rekkart’s sword, and two other sources of illumination were provided: a Sunrod carried by Lorven, as well as a lantern handled by Madge.
During the preparations, Zarr cautiously approached Kamettia and whispered to her: “I would be very careful when addressing Malgrim, if I were you, m’lady. He has a nasty reputation as a murderer. I’d hate to see you get in trouble.”
“Is he really that dangerous?” asked Kamettia with a quiet but worried tone.
“Oh yes. He’s one of Absalom’s most powerful and most wanted criminals. He runs a gang called the Grindle Street Shades.”
“It’s strange that such a miscreant was chosen to be part of a jury,” whispered the young paladin.
“Yes. Quite strange indeed…”
But the two went silent as Malgrim cast an evil look in their direction. Then, the hobgoblin opened the door, and they left the court room. Even if their frightened states, the twelve strangers could not begin to imagine the horrors that lay in store for them that night. In fact, little did they know that three of them would perish in this very room but a few hours later…
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CHAPTER 2: THE ABANDONED COURTHOUSE
The mad clock
Malgrim and the two paladins were the first to enter the great hall that stood at the center of the courthouse. Just behind them came Ramaka, who firmly gripped her glaive. In the middle of the group were Tablark, Lorven, Patrissa and Killian; behind them, and only very reluctantly leaving the confines of the courtroom, were Zarr, Madge, Ebin and Halgrak.
The entire hall was quite dusty, as was to be expected. Eight thick marble columns supported the weight of the upper floor of the courthouse. In the distance, to their right, the visitors could see two large staircases leading up, as well as a large, rusted chandelier. A large set of double-doors to their left seemed to lead outside, but many more doors opened here and there along the shadowy walls of the hall.
On the opposite wall stood an impressive grandfather clock which was quite sinister in appearance, decorated as it was with carvings of Asmodeus torturing guilty souls in a myriad of unpleasant ways. As the last of the jurors entered the hall, the clock suddenly, and very surprisingly, erupted in a cacophony of ringing noises that reverberated in the entire building and assaulted the very sanity of those who heard it.
Some among the group were able to cover their ears with their hands, and were not harmed by the sounds beyond mere surprise and annoyance. But others were the victims of disturbing visions of strangulation, evisceration, and other forms of violent deaths, and where left badly shaken, these visions having heightened their already growing sense of dread at having been kidnapped and placed in this haunted building. Halgrak, Killian, Zarr, Kamettia and Lorven were especially scared by this effect.
Even though the clock’s berserk outburst lasted only a few moments, Kamettia’s reflex was to immediately seek shelter within the protective arms of Sir Rekkart, who comforted her under the scornful glares of Malgrim and Ramaka.
“I thought paladins weren’t afraid of anything?” asked the priestess of Shelyn with a mocking grin.
“I’m… s-still just a recruit,” replied Kamettia hesitantly.
At the back of the group, Ebin seemed vastly amused to see Zarr and Halgrak’s fearful reaction to the clock. “Hey guys, don’t piss your pants now, otherwise we’ll slip in the puddles and break our necks! Meh he he he he!!!!”
Malgrim immediately headed toward the entrance doors, which were barred. This didn’t stop the massive thug for long though, and he soon pried them open. Beyond the entrance, one could still only see the thick bank of fog. The hobgoblin tried to pass through it, but again, it seemed to be made of a strange substance that wouldn’t let him pass, nor the two paladins who tried as well.
Zarr and Madge stayed close together and watched their surroundings, and the interaction of the rest of the group with detachment. Malgrim was getting visibly very upset at these setbacks, but he did not give up, and tried to escape through several more windows, but again with the same result. The two paladins, Patrissa, Lorven and Ramaka also tried their best to escape. But it was all useless.
Close to them, Halgrak stood alone, looking miserable. He made no attempt to escape, and looked as though he had already lost all hope. Further in the hall, Killian and Tablark warily examined the clock. Killian steered clear from it, but Tablark opened its compartment, casting a critical eye at the mechanisms within. Mumbling to himself in a low voice, he played with them for a while, finally closing the compartment and informing the elegant human that the thing should work normally from then on.
“So you think the problem was mechanical in nature, and not supernatural?” asked Killian to the dwarf.
“Nah, clock mechanisms are tricky, they do strange things all the time. No need to get overly worried about it.”
“You seem to know a lot about them. I don’t remember asking you before, friend, do you work with clocks for a living?”
Tablark shrugged. “Ah, I must’ve held over a hundred odd jobs in cities all over Golarion. I’ve done everything at least once in me life. There’s not much these old dwarven eyes haven’t seen in me four hundred and fifty-two years, I tell ye…”
Meanwhile, tension was rising among some members of the group. The fact that the exit of this scary building was tantalizingly close, yet blocked by a strange phenomenon, heightened the sense of captivity everyone felt. A chaotic conversation ensued in which Malgrim, the paladins, Ramaka, Patrissa, Lorven and Ebin all talked at the same time and offered their opinions on the current predicament and ways of escaping it, without really paying much attention to what others were saying. Zarr looked at them as if they had lost their minds, and was one of the few to realize how futile it all was.
At some point, Malgrim decided to vent his frustration on poor Ebin, whom be brutally punched, sending the gnome reeling against a wall. The little man rubbed his painfully sore jaw and spat out a tooth. “Oh, not another one,” he said miserably.
Sir Rekkart once again stepped up to defend an innocent against Malgrim, and the two almost came to blows, but were stopped by the women, who were barely able to convince them to back down.
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”Let’s split up!”
“All right, here’s the way it’s gonna be,” finally said Malgrim. “I’m going to look for another exit to this place. I’ve got an idea about how to avoid the fog. If anyone wants to come with me, that’s all right, but I don’t want any wise guys questioning me: I’m the boss, you do as I say, or you get left behind. Oh, and you,” he said, looking at Sir Rekkart, “aren’t welcome, grandpa. You can find your own damn way out.”
The aged paladin looked back defiantly, but was wise enough not to anger the murderer.
“It’s no use… We’re never going to be able to escape!” whined Halgrak, who now sat on the ground dejectedly.
Malgrim chuckled sarcastically. “Fine, stay here and cry, you fat, useless green baby. Anyone else who’s got the guts to try and make it out, come with me.”
“Wait!” said Lorven. “We should stick together! We can’t split up!”
“He’s right,” said Patrissa. “That’s the worst thing we could do. If there’s truly a dangerous spirit haunting this place, we stand the best chance of surviving by all staying together and working as a team.”
Malgrim slowly approached her, staring at her voluptuous figure. “Oh honey,” he growled, caressing her one of her smooth cheeks with a massive paw, “you know you’re always welcome in my team…”
The beautiful woman recoiled slightly in disgust, but she too was wise enough not to anger Malgrim.
“I didn’t think so,” soon said the hobgoblin with a grin. He turned around and headed toward the shadows at the end of the hall. “If any of you aren’t yellow-bellied dogs like those ones, follow me!”
The members of the group then had to make a difficult choice: following the evil hobgoblin might mean later facing his wrath and treachery, but he was clearly the most powerful person around, and therefore, he could offer protection for those who came with him. Ramaka, Zarr, Madge and Tablark decided that their best chance of survival lay with the thug, and they followed after him.
“Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re actually going with him!” pleaded Lorven. “Come on!”
Madge and Tablark looked back behind them, as if they had second thought, but they still followed Malgrim.
Halgrak and Ebin clearly had their spirits broken and would not follow the hobgoblin. Likewise, Sir Rekkart stood erect, watching the others leave with an angry glare. How could they choose to follow of such an unworthy leader? Lorven couldn’t believe the others had been so stupid to split the group. Killian seemed to still be hesitating as to which group to follow. So did Patrissa; she felt she had a better chance of escaping with the strong Malgrim than with the uptight Sir Rekkart, but she feared what Malgrim might to do her for his own sadistic enjoyment.
Kamettia wanted everyone to get along, so she tried to convince Halgrak and Ebin to get up and try to look for a way to escape with them, or perhaps to try to patch things up with Malgrim. The beautiful red-haired young woman knelt next to Halgrak, and with great kindness, tried to rekindle the hope he had lost.
It was quite a rare thing for the ugly half-orc to be shown such kindness, and he was not prepared for it. The gentle paladin’s words overcame the last of Halgrak’s defenses, and he suddenly began sobbing wretchedly.
“It’s no use!” he cried. “We’re all doomed! We’re going to pay for the horrible thing we’ve done… It’s our fault… We can’t escape this… It’s our fault.”
Patrissa, Sir Rekkart, Ebin and Killian immediately stiffened and turned their attention toward the half-orc. “What is he talking about it?” asked Lorven with a perplexed expression.
“What is your fault?” asked Kamettia.
“We… we condemned an innocent man…” muttered Halgrak.
“What the hell are you talking about?” hissed Patrissa.
“We did no such thing! You are mad, Halgrak!” added Sir Rekkart.
But Lorven’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. It seemed there were some things he had not been told about the trial that had taken place ten years before. The plot thickened…
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Offensive literature
Malgrim led his group to the room just north of the courtroom where they had woken up. It seemed to be an old judge’s office, well-furnished if rather dusty. A number of large books on the local laws were scattered throughout the room. Ramaka had transferred her Light spell to Zarr’s rapier, so his weapon and Madge’s lantern illuminated the room as the group quickly went through it.
“Are we really hoping to find an exit here?” asked Ramaka, who remembered as soon as the words had come out of her mouth that there was supposed to be no questioning of Malgrim’s orders.
Fortunately, for reasons known only to himself, the burly hobgoblin seemed to have taken a liking to the half-orc priestess, so he bestowed upon her neither physical nor verbal abuse.
“I know,” he said briskly, “but I just figure we can look around and a bit and see if we can find anything precious that got left behind; you know… something to take back with us for our trouble.”
Zarr and Madge grinned – they had no problem with that reasoning.
“Well, I guess that makes – OUCH!” said Ramaka, as a book suddenly flew up from the ground and struck her.
“What the – HEY!” exclaimed Madge, narrowly dodging another flying tome.
Several of the books were thrown throughout the room, as though an invisible spirit was animating them. At the same time, an annoying, high-pitched giggle, like that of a little boy, was heard, coming from an unknown direction. The five victims tried to dodge the books as best as they could, but Malgrim, Ramaka and Tablark were bruised by some of the heavier volumes that hit them. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the book-storm ended, and the annoying laugh was not heard anymore.
“So the rumors were true,” said Zarr. “This place truly is haunted.”
“Aye, unless it be some magic-wielding prankster’s idea of a joke,” said Tablark.
Ramaka whispered the words of a prayer and concentrated as she looked around the room for the traces of any magical tampering. She found only one magical aura, which belonged to an old scroll tucked between several books. No-one present could read the arcane writing on it, but it was surely precious.
“See, what did I tell you?” said Malgrim smugly, before taking the valuable parchment from Ramaka’s hand.
The priestess started to complain, but was immediately silenced by a warning look from Tablark. Justice was not something one could hope to obtain in Malgrim Hurkes’s presence.
“Well this is odd,” said Madge, who had been examining the desk. She pointed at a large book entitled “Punish the Guilty”, which had landed open on top of the desk. She read out loud a passage of the page that was displayed: “We, entrusted with justice, must be above reproach. Those who fail to serve justice blindly shall reap what they sow.”
“Ah,” said Ramaka simply, not quite understanding why Madge looked so worried.
“All right, we’re done here,” said Malgrim. “Let’s go.”
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Tough questions
Meanwhile, Kamettia and Lorven were questioning Halgrak about his claims that an innocent man had been condemned. However, the half-orc smith now seemed more reluctant to speak, since Sir Rekkart looked so upset that the ten-year-old trial was being evaluated. He claimed that it was an insult to his integrity. Patrissa also appeared annoyed that Kamettia and the tiefling were wasting precious time talking to Halgrak instead of looking for a way to escape this place and the threat of the ghost.
Kamettia seemed less intent on questioning Halgrak (believing whole-heartedly Sir Rekkart’s claim of a fair trial), than on simply soothing the massive smith’s spirit, upon which fear and doubt weighed so heavily. Lorven, though, appeared much more skeptical, convinced as he was that the half-orc’s words were but hints of what was likely the real cause of their presence there that night.
While the exchange was going on, Ebin sat in a corner, quiet at last, nervously twirling his sap. Likewise, Killian said little but seemed to listen with great interest to the exchange, every now and then taking a sip from his flask. Lorven kept an eye on him as well. He found there was something fishy about this dandy, but he figured that as the night progressed and the man got more and more inebriated, questioning him would only get easier.
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The lock-picker
Malgrim’s group continued toward the back of the building and quickly examined a closet behind an old wooden door, but there was nothing of interest within. Then, they turned their attention toward a heavy iron door that they believed led to another section of the courthouse. It was locked, however. Still, Malgrim seemed to think that what they were looking for was to be found beyond this door, although he didn’t care to elaborate.
Madge spoke up and said she could take care of this. She produced a few lock picks from her pocket and started working on the lock.
“It’s a toughie,” she said, “I’m going to need a few minutes.”
The others warily stood watch. Zarr thought his companions looked quite confident, but he was worried that something monstrous could crawl out of the shadows at any moment. He found himself wishing that he too could see in the dark like the half-orc, dwarf, and hobgoblin. He wanted to make the night his friend… To become one with the shadows. He hoped that he would one day be able to.
Finally, they all heard a click coming from the lock, and Madge gently pushed the door open. It wailed slightly on its rusted hinges. “Ta-daa!!!” she said proudly.
Malgrim passed in front without acknowledging her at all, but Tablark nodded toward the halfling in gratitude. “Well done, lass!” he said.
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A charming woman
“Lorven, please, this is pointless!” said Patrissa, placing a hand on the wizard’s arm. “You’re obviously a reasonable man, surely you can see the need for us to leave this place at once. When we’re safe, then we can try to understand the reason behind tonight’s events!”
The tiefling had been eager to solve the mystery, but the gorgeous woman’s nearness and the touch of her hand on his arm had driven away all rational thought from his mind, at least temporarily. As a cloven-hoofed tiefling, Lorven had always been scorned by most people, especially attractive women. And as a recluse who enjoyed studying dusty tomes in ancient libraries, his entire life had been rather devoid of romance. He found himself under the influence of the beautiful woman’s charm.
What’s more, unlike many worshippers of Nethys (and many tieflings), Lorven was a profoundly altruistic individual, who cared about the safety and well-being of people. He sensed that they were all in danger here, and did not want to see any of these people – even if they were strangers – come to harm. Especially not ladies as attractive as Patrissa and Kamettia.
While Lorven was reconsidering his stance, Kamettia finally was able to melt down the last of Halgrak’s defenses. He turned his dark eyes to look straight into her own, and confided in the kind woman: “I was forced to condemn Jarbin Mord to death. I didn’t want to do it. It didn’t seem right. I… wasn’t convinced by the evidence. Or rather, by the lack of evidence. Nothing really seemed to incriminate him! I couldn’t in good conscience sentence him. But Malgrim forced me. He threatened to kill me, and to kill my children.” The half-orc was shaken by a sudden sob, then continued. “Look what he did to me!!” he wailed, removing his left boot and showing to the horrified eyes of both paladins that he had no toes on that foot. They know understood his nickname of ‘Five-Toes’.
“He said he’d do the same to my children…” continued Halgrak. “I couldn’t risk it… I had no choice… I gave in, and sentenced Mord to die… To save myself, and my children… I’m sorry… I am so sorry… And tonight, I’m going to pay… I deserve to pay!”
Ebin, Sir Rekkart and Killian had heard all of this, as had Lorven and Patrissa. “That’s terrible, my poor Halgrak,” said Patrissa, “but as I’ve said a hundred times already, we have to leave. The ghost won’t be able to get its revenge if we get away from it. Not put your boot back on and let’s GO!”
But Sir Rekkart was fixing the half-orc with a merciless glare. “You despicable filth,” he growled between clenched teeth. “How could you sully the immaculate justice of this courthouse like this! You and Malgrim broke the sacred vows you swore upon the symbol of Iomedae, to speak the truth and seek justice!”
Patrissa gave a heavy sigh, seeing that the paladin would not drop the issue, and she walked away into the shadows, toward where Malgrim’s group had gone. Lorven wanted to go after her, but he was riveted by the story once more.
“I’m sorry, Sir Rekkart,” mumbled Halgrak. “I just wanted to protect my little ones.”
“That is not enough. You should’ve brought this forth to the jury. We could’ve done something. You disgust me!”
Kamettia got back to her feet, her own eyes now brimming with tears. “With all due respect, sir, I believe you are being too harsh on this poor man!”
Sir Rekkart recoiled in surprise, having not expected the young recruit to disagree with him.
“This poor man did the only thing he could think of to save his family, and that he did,” she continued. “If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at the horrible thug Malgrim who forced him into this! Or be angry at yourself for not realizing what was going on! It is our duty as paladins to defend the weak and to fight injustice!”
Sir Rekkart’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he found his ability to speak once again. His fists were shaking in impotent anger. “You… You do not know what you are talking about. You should remember your place, recruit. How dare you question a senior member of the order?”
Kamettia seemed to suddenly remember who she was talking to, and lowered her eyes. “My apologies, sir.”
“Despite this half-orc’s words, I can guarantee you on my honor that the trial was well-conducted, and that the man who was executed was indeed a murderer, who paid for his crimes. If it is indeed his intent to bring some sort of evil vengeance upon us tonight, his actions will be done in the name of chaos, not justice!”
Lorven, however, was not convinced by the older paladin’s words. It seemed that he was saying those things out loud to convince himself more than anyone else. A quick look to his right showed him that Killian seemed similarly skeptical. Ebin was listening intently, but his face betrayed no emotions.
Patrissa suddenly came back within the light. It seemed she had not gone that far after all, or had changed her mind about joining Malgrim’s group. “All right, so now can we go?” she asked the group. She looked surprised when neither Lorven nor Sir Rekkart answered her, but Kamettia immediately turned toward her, seeming to have forgotten all about the conversation.
“Sure, Patrissa! Where do you want to go?”
“It was really stupid to split up with Malgrim. We should catch up with them.”
“You’re right, Patrissa! Let’s go, everyone!”
Lorven was surprised to see that the others started following the two women. Kamettia’s mood had changed so quickly from tearful to briskly obedient toward Patrissa. Hmm… He suspected there was perhaps more to Patrissa than met the eye. Had she gone off into the shadows just to hide behind a pillar to work some enchantment magic on some of them? Kamettia surely acted as though she was controlled by Patrissa.
The wizard smiled ruefully to himself as he watched the beautiful woman in the red silk dress in front of him. He was doomed. He realized that the seductress wouldn’t even need to use magic to control him like a puppet…
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CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST VICTIM
Dead men walking
Malgrim’s group entered a wing of the courthouse that contained an area divided into several cells by thick metal bars. Several doors stood here and there, and there were some stairs leading down.
“Let’s go,” said Malgrim briefly, indicating the stairs with a nod.
“You want to go down?” asked Ramaka incredulously. “Why??”
Malgrim gave her another one of his dirty looks. The priestess was definitely starting to get on his nerves with all her questions. As he started going down the stairs, Tablark whispered to Ramaka: “I think he hopes to find some kind of underground passage leadin’ into tha sewers. There are lots of ‘em in Absalom. They form a network ‘o passages that thieves often use… Or so I’ve heard.”
They all followed Malgrim and found themselves in a dark, cold, damp hallway with a door on either side. Malgrim carefully walked forward, and entered through the right room. Once inside, the group noticed that the room was very cold. A mist bathed the area, and icicles dangled from the ceiling. Along the walls were a number of compartments that seemed to be used to store bodies: they had found the morgue.
Some of the compartments were open, as though the bodies had been taken out… or had climbed out of them… Through the mist, the group saw several shapes lumber toward them. As they got closer, they saw that these were all dead men, their necks twisted as if they had been hanged, and had then been brought to life by some mysterious dark magic. Each still bore a rotting noose around its neck. With incoherent moans, the three dead men attacked the living.
Malgrim, Tablark and Ramaka readied their weapons. Malgrim was in front, spinning the spiked chain he had until then used as a belt, trying to keep two cadavers at bay. To his right, Tablark approached a third zombie, tightly gripping the mace Ramaka had given him, while the priestess stayed behind and readied herself to help the others with her glaive.
“Daddy! Daddy!!! You’re here!!”
All were surprised to hear this outburst from Madge, who ran to the right of the room, where a smaller zombie was now visible: it looks like a long dead, middle-aged halfling, partially eaten by worms. Before Zarr could stop her, Madge ran toward her dad and hugged him tight. It was as if some madness had taken over her mind, and that she failed to realize that this wasn’t simply her father, but rather, his mindless corpse whose only urge was now to kill her.
Zarr ran after her and tried to slay the father-zombie. He pierced it with his rapier, a clean and very precise blow to the heart that would’ve slain any living person. But alas, it had little effect on the zombie. The bard drew his dagger instead and gave a few more blows to the zombie, and was growing desperate, because the zombie didn’t fight him back, but instead, was choking the life out of poor Madge, who cried innocently, as though she thought her father was simply hugging her tight. Her mind was clearly gone, and soon, also, would be her life. Zarr felt like this was a nightmare; it couldn’t be real! He couldn’t believe that he was stabbing the corpse of old Daben Blossomheart, the famed acrobat who had been a mentor to him and to his brother!
Meanwhile, the other three were having a hard time against the undead. Malgrim slashed the zombies with his chain, but they were quite resilient. Tablark fought bravely, but his weapon was ill-suited to destroy the living dead, and the concussions he inflicted did little damage to his foe, who in turn badly battered the old dwarf with his rotting fists. Ramaka sliced carefully with her glaive, not wanting to skewer Tablark, and only managed to inflict a single wound on his opponent.
Malgrim grunted in pain: one of the two zombies he was fighting had dealt him a powerful blow that had almost broken his left arm. Ramaka then slew Tablark’ foe, cutting its abdomen in two with a powerful strike.
But then, Daben snapped his beautiful daughter’s neck, despite Zarr’s best efforts to stop him. “Daddy…” she moaned one last time as he wrenched her head free of her body with a wet ripping of sinew and tearing skin.
Zarr recoiled in horror.
Madge was dead…
Her pretty little body, now headless, fell to the ground, with blood pooling around the stump of her neck. Daben’s corpse, covered in fresh dagger wounds, still clutched Madge’s head by her hair in one hand, and was trying to claw Zarr with the other. Zarr’s hand was shaking… and for a moment he could not strike back, and only thought to defend himself.
Malgrim swung his spiked chain madly, but those nasty zombies were just so resilient… They wouldn’t go down! Then, Tablark made his way behind one of Malgrim’s opponent, and by coordinating their attacks, the hobgoblin and the dwarf were able to destroy it. Alas, the dwarf was then savaged by the other remaining zombie, who struck him across the face. Old Tablark fell to the ground, where he lay unmoving.
The hobgoblin growled in anger, but now that he didn’t risk hurting the dwarf, he swung his weapon in a wide, low arc, twisting the coils of the chain around the zombie’s neck. Then, he pulled suddenly and violently, snapping the corpses’ head from its body. The creature fell to the floor, now dead for good.
At the same time, Zarr finally regained his senses and avenged the poor, insane Madge by slicing Daben twice across the chest with his dagger. It was finally enough, and the undead halfling collapsed to the ground, at last letting go of his daughter’s head.
Ramaka hurried to Tablark’s side, and used a healing prayer to revive him. He was still badly wounded, but he sat up and thanked her.
“You better use some of that healing magic on me too, darlin’” growled Malgrim. Ramaka looked at Madge, but clearly, she was beyond help, and Zarr hadn’t gotten wounded. She reluctantly used her only other healing spell on the thug, as she would’ve rather kept it in reserve in case she got hurt.
Zarr was kneeling next to Madge’s corpse, cradling her in his arms. Ramaka had overheard that the two knew each other, and she felt sorry for the young man. It had all been so sudden… and Madge had seemed so vulnerable. How could she have gone so quickly insane?
While Malgrim examined the walls of the room, seemingly looking for a secret passage, Ramaka spoke with Tablark in hushed voices. What had Madge’s father’s corpse been doing here? Judging by the ropes around all of the undead’s necks, they had all been executed by hanging. Had they been killed by Mord? Were all of his victims going to come back to attack them?
They wondered if Madge would come back to attack them as well, but they thought she wouldn’t since she hadn’t been killed by Mord.
There was definitely something more than a “mere” haunting in this place. The fact that the exits were blocked, and that the dead that should’ve been long buried had suddenly reappeared in this morgue indicated that some very powerful dark magic was at work.
Suddenly, Ramaka noticed some suspicious movement and realized that Zarr wasn’t just holding Madge’s corpse against his to mourn her: he was pilfering the valuable pieces of equipment from her still-warm corpse…
“Just what do you think you’re doing, you heartless scum??” she said.
Zarr looked up in alarm, his cheeks blushing from having been caught.
Malgrim seemed to have given up trying to find a secret passage here, and approached. He wore his familiar grin as he looked down at Madge’s well-balanced daggers, silk rope and thieves’ tools.
“Tssk, tssk,” he admonished, “robbing the dead, that’s just not a very noble thing to do, boy. But tell you what, give me this stuff and I won’t turn you in to the paladins.’
Zarr hesitated only for a moment before giving Madge’s items to the hobgoblin. He knew he wouldn’t stand a chance in combat against him. He did curse himself for being so clumsy and having been spotted by Ramaka, though.
The priestess then turned back toward Tablark, who winced as he stood up. He was still in a very bad shape. She considered channeling some of her precious positive energy to heal him, but the dwarf waved her away when she presented her holy symbol. “Stop fussing about me, lass, Old Tablark’s been beaten up worse than this many times before!”
And then, leaving Madge’s mutilated body behind them, they left the morgue.
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The dark figure
Following Patrissa’s advice, the other group ventured past the door that Madge had recently unlocked. They found themselves in the hallway with the jail cells, the doors, and the stairs leading down. They looked around nervously, with Lorven’s Sunrod as their only source of light. While they were wondering where Malgrim’s group had gone, they suddenly heard some screams of horror and pain coming from downstairs.
“They’re in trouble!” gasped Sir Rekkart. “We have to go help them!”
“Err, are you insane??” said Patrissa. “There’s no way we’re going down there!”
“I concur!” added Ebin.
“But we have to …”
Sir Rekkart’s reply was cut short by another scream – this one originating from much closer. It came from Kamettia, who seemed to be utterly terrified of the darkness between the cells. Her scream stopped abruptly, and instead, she groaned painfully, as though strong hands were strangling her. Lorven, Killian and Sir Rekkart immediately jumped to her aid; the young woman fainted in their arms.
Halgrak was clutching his smith’s hammer in a trembling fist, keeping a wary eye on the stairs leading down. Screams were still coming from down there.
“They’re getting slaughtered…” mumbled Ebin, his eyes wide with fear.
Killian was able to quickly revive Kamettia. Her eyes fluttered open, and once again filled with tears when she realized where she was, and remembered what had caused her to lose consciousness.
“What happened, girl?” asked Sir Rekkart.
“Oh, sir,” she said, “it was horrible! I had my vision again – I’m sure this is where it took place… I saw poor Sashrala get killed again, but hiding in the shadows, watching Grisdom kill her, I saw a menacing shadow. It was wearing a black cloak. I turned to face it, but it clutched by throat with the cold grip of death and choked me… until… everything went black.”
“The Croaker!” gasped Lorven.
“I think the young lady is right,” said Killian, looking between the cells. “Look!” The others saw that he pointed at a headless skeleton that was lying there.
Sir Rekkart made a sign to ward off evil and spoke a brief prayer to Iomedae. Then he stood up, and helped Kamettia to do the same. “Let’s go help our comrades,” he said.
“No, no way!” said Ebin vehemently. “I am NOT going down there!”
“It’s stopped…” said Halgrak. “I don’t hear anything anymore.”
Indeed, they could hear nothing but silence from downstairs.
“That’s either a very good thing or a very bad thing…” said Killian before taking another swig of alcohol.
Suddenly, a loud noise almost made him drop the flask. It was the clock in the great hallway they had recently left. It rang seven times.
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CHAPTER 4: THE SECOND VICTIM
Malgrim’s own medicine
For a few more moments after the echoes of the Asmodeus clock faded, Sir Rekkart and Patrissa argued about whether to go down or not, but eventually, they heard new sounds coming from below. First came the loud sound of a door banging shut, followed soon after by some muffled shouts (as though they came from behind the door), followed by some terrifying screams.
This time, Sir Rekkart went downstairs, with Lorven following him closely. Not wanting to be left in the dark, Patrissa had no choice but to follow them, taking Kamettia with her. None of the other three followed them, though.
They soon found themselves in a hallway with two closed doors. Tablark Hammergrind seemed to be in a terrible shape, badly bruised and covered in blood, yet he was in the process of furiously trying to break through the left door. Meanwhile, Ramaka and Zarr, who seemed in much better shape, but who wielded bloody weapons, were arguing in frantic voices.
“What’s going on here?” asked Sir Rekkart loudly.
“It’s Malgrim, the door closed after he went in!” said Ramaka. “We heard him scream… I think the ghost’s in there with him!”
“Malgrim’s dead, you fools!” roared Zarr. “Help me stop that stupid dwarf from ramming the door!”
Just at that moment, Tablark finally broke through the door in a shower of splinters. He hurried inside, as Zarr rushed back toward the stairs, clearly afraid of what was inside. The two paladins and Ramaka carefully followed the dwarf, holding their weapons at ready.
The room beyond must have once been a storage room where the files of the courthouse had been kept in cabinets. Due to the partial crumbling of the district, though, it seemed that walls were leaking, because the floor was covered with about two feet of dark water. Hanging from the rafters, his spiked chain tightly wrapped around his neck, was the corpse of Malgrim. His back was turned to the group, but he wasn’t moving except for a slow swaying of his body. Blood from his wounded neck flowed down his body, dripping from his boots into the water.
“Torag’s breath,” cursed Tablark in a low voice.
“We have to get him down!” said Sir Rekkart.
“Careful!” warned Ramaka.
The four brave souls carefully entered the room with a mixture of disgust and grim curiosity, with Tablark in the lead, heading toward Malgrim. Behind them, Lorven and Patrissa observed cautiously from the hallway, while Zarr had finally worked up the courage to approach the door.
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Venomous vermin
Sudden splashes of water were the only warning sign that they were under attack. Skittering forth from the dark recesses of the room, four enormous centipedes, each the size of a man, rushed forward. Kamettia was quick as lightning and sliced one in two with her sharp falchion. Tablark was not so lucky, though, and he gave a brief cry of pain as one of the foul insects bit him in the shoulder. With blood flowing from this new wound, the badly battered dwarf lost consciousness once again and fell in the water.
Patrissa screamed, but Zarr pushed past her, toward the monster that had just felled the dwarf, and he lunged at it with his rapier. The blade struck true, piercing the vermin from side to side. The creature shook with the frenzy of death, but when Zarr pushed it back into the water, it did not rise again.
Meanwhile, Ramaka had come to Kamettia’s aid against another centipede, slashing it in two with her glaive. Sir Rekkart narrowly missed the last of the vermin with his sword, slicing only water. He grunted sharply as he was in turn bitten by the creature. The paladin and the insect struggled against one another for a few moments, while Zarr reached underwater and lifted Tablark back above the surface.
Finally, Sir Rekkart’s blade cleaved through the centipede’s chitin, killing the last menace.
“Priestess, can you heal him?” gasped Zarr as he dragged the dwarf’s body toward Ramaka.
“I can heal all of us,” replied Ramaka, holding her holy symbol of Shelyn in one hand and speaking a quick prayer. A wave of healing energy washed over everyone there, reviving Tablark, and healing the wounds several of them had suffered, including the bruise she had taken from a flying book and those Patrissa and Lorven had taken in the court room.
Tablark coughed up some water and growled several choice curses in dwarven. He was alive, but he was in a truly bad shape. His left shoulder seemed to be numb from the poisonous bite of the centipede, and his left eye didn’t quite open anymore. Yet, he stubbornly refused any additional aid from Ramaka.
Next, the group carefully examined Malgrim’s body. He was indeed dead, and his face was twisted in a grimace of abject terror.
“It was horrible,” said Ramaka. “He entered the room first, and the door closed right behind him. As if it was haunted! We couldn’t get in! It looked like it was locked! And then, and then we heard him say: ‘Get away from me! You’re dead! I saw you swing!’ And then he screamed…”
“It’s the Croaker!” wailed Patrissa, who was now white as a sheet.
“Jarbin Mord…” said Sir Rekkart sullenly.
“Is it going to come after all of us?”
“Wait… Where’s Madge?” asked Kamettia, noticing the Halfling’s absence for the first time.
“She’s dead,” said Ramaka somberly.
“We heard you fighting from upstairs, what happened?”
“That room on the other side of the hallway is a morgue,” said the half-orc cleric. “We saw several walking corpses in there. They had nooses around their necks. We think they were some of Mord’s earlier victims. One of them was Madge’s father, I think. But he was one of them. I think she lost her mind when she saw his corpse, and she thought he was still alive. But he… he killed her.”
“Poor Madge,” said the paladin.
“Yep,” said Zarr, “she lost her head in more ways than one.”
The others all looked toward him. He was callously going through Malgrim’s pockets.
“What are you doing, man?” asked Sir Rekkart, outraged at seeing the youngster pilfering a dead man’s possessions. “Have you no honor?”
“Not really, no,” answered Zarr with an insolent shrug.
“But I thought Madge was your friend,” said Kamettia, also outraged.
“Yes, she was my friend!” snapped back Zarr. “But she was also stupid! She let herself be killed like that! I couldn’t do anything!! All I can tell you is that if any of us are going to survive, if any of us are going to escape that damned ghost, it’s by being smart, and by doing the right thing. And that includes going through the pockets of those too dumb to survive! Ha, see!”
The bard showed them a potion he had just found among Malgrim’s things.
“I saw him almost drink that potion to recover from the wounds he’d taken in the morgue,” continued Zarr, “but when he saw that Ramaka could heal with her magic, he put it back in his pocket and had her heal him for free! Now, here’s something we can use to survive through this ordeal!”
“All right, all right, calm down,” said Lorven, raising his hands in a soothing gesture. “I agree that we all need to keep our heads and be open to a few compromises tonight, although in normal circumstances I would wholeheartedly agree with the worshippers of Iomedae in this manner.” He nodded graciously toward the two paladins. “Now, we seem to be in an archive room, with hopefully some of the records having survived the water damage. Judging by what we’ve learned so far, it seems likely that there was something special about this trial that might be the source of our predicament. I say it would be a good idea to spend a few minutes trying to locate the files on Mord’s trial.”
Patrissa and Sir Rekkart loudly protested that it was a waste of time and that they were starting to get upset at having the young pups question the trial they had taken part in. Tablark also mumbled a bit incoherently about Mord being a wife-killer who deserved some dwarven justice, but he seemed to be struggling to stay conscious, and not in a state to talk much, or fight.
But Lorven, Zarr and Ramaka were by then quite suspicious that some sort of foul-play had been involved, especially when Lorven repeated what Halgrak had admitted upstairs. Although Kamettia unsurprisingly supported Patrissa and Sir Rekkart, eventually, the other three younglings were able to convince everyone to look for the record of Mord’s trial.
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Shadow of a doubt
Even though they searched for some time, Sir Rekkart was the only one who found some useful information. Despite his confident exterior, he was beginning to have second thoughts about the trial. Now that he thought about it, some parts of it were very fuzzy in his memory. Had he really carried out justice as necessary? The more he thought about it, the less confident he was…
He did not find any notes about Mord’s trial (which was another slightly odd fact), but he found a document stating that one of Mord’s first executions had been that of Daben Blossomheart: Madge’s father. As he read this out loud to the others, Sir Rekkart felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. In addition to Halgrak, and obviously Malgrim, it seemed that Madge had also been a biased juror, with a perfect reason for wanting to see Mord die, despite his potential innocence. Had Sir Rekkart been manipulated all this time? Had someone drawn a curtain over his eyes?
And another suspicious element was to be added to the growing list of things that made him uneasy: he was sure that Patrissa had gone over the document about Madge’s father before him. Had she really missed its significance due to haste and sloppiness, or had she purposefully tried to hide this evidence, intending for some reason to let everyone think that the jury had been fair?
For now, though, the paladin did not voice his concern out loud. But he would be more vigilant than ever from now on.
Lorven also seemed skeptical. He stated that now, it seemed obvious that three jurors had been compromised: Madge, Halgrak and Malgrim (who had threatened Halgrak, perhaps seeking revenge against Mord for condemning some of his men in the past). The tiefling spent a few more minutes questioning Sir Rekkart, Patrissa and Tablark, but learned nothing knew: they were either really innocent of any wrongdoing, or sticking to their stories for now.
He did ask, though, to examine everyone under a Detect Magic spell. Ramaka also said she’d do the same thing. Having little choice, they complied. He noticed that Sir Rekkart and Patrissa carried a few magical items, and that Kamettia radiated an aura of magic. This increased Lorven’s earlier suspicion that perhaps Patrissa had used some enchantment magic to make the young paladin more ‘docile’.
Fantastique !
yesterday I bought the module and I printed down your version. So I passed this jet-lat subjected night (I'm in USA for work at the moment) reading it all... what can I say... I loved any paragraph of the module (great Logue) and the same can be said for your work...
Now I really want to try to play it and I'll, as usual, adopt your version as my main reference... as did for RotR
What else... I'd like to try to start from the end as for your chronicle (with survivals exiting in the morning) and I'll adopt all the minor adjustments you have apported to that (Pharasma cult for Sveth, no familiars, Patrissa charm using...)
Thanks a lot as usual and I hope you'll do the same effort with some other module (what you think of Logue's Carnival of Tears?) and before or later perhaps with a new campaign as you did for RotR and ST.
I cannot wait for the end of this story and thanks again mate.
Good stuff as always are you guys playing it or just making up a story that goes with it?
So, do you have any guess as to who are the two survivors who will walk out of there at the end? :)
1st don't tell that to us until the end...
2nd my vote goes to Kamettia, too stupid and beautiful to die, and perhaps Karr, sneaky as a rogue but also smart and diplomatic as a bard can be.
I really would like to find a way to play it that way... could be very scare to roleplay in a group knowing at least 2 PCs are going to die...
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Good stuff as always are you guys playing it or just making up a story that goes with it?
Hi Joey, actually, for this one, I did this project more like a novel. I did it all by myself, writing my story based on the module, and of course adding randomness by rolling dice to determine the outcome of combats, randomly deciding where the group went, how people felt in some circumstances. While it's great to play with other people because they can always surprise you with their actions, this time, at least, I controlled 100% of the characters, which allowed me to delve much deeper into the inter-character relationships.
I think this adventure sounds very challenging to run as a DM, due to the large number of colorful NPC's, the challenge of creating the scary atmosphere, which is always hard, especially in D&D, and because you need the players to agree to play by the premises of the game, and be ready for them trying to escape the building, etc. That's also why I changed a bit the adventure to say there was some fog around. I wanted to make it even more obvious that leaving the courthouse was not an option.
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So, do you have any guess as to who are the two survivors who will walk out of there at the end? :)1st don't tell that to us until the end...
2nd my vote goes to Kamettia, too stupid and beautiful to die, and perhaps Karr, sneaky as a rogue but also smart and diplomatic as a bard can be.
I really would like to find a way to play it that way... could be very scare to roleplay in a group knowing at least 2 PCs are going to die...
Yes... hehe :)
Well, that's just the way things turned out... All 4 PC's COULD have survived... it's mathematically possible, but statistically improbable. This adventure is VERY tough... Especially if you play it with 3.5 rules for PC creation... which I did not. I used the PFRPG rules.
It's interesting to see who you imagine is going to make it out alive. Let me know if your opinion changes along the way. :)
Btw: good luck with your stay in the USA, I hope it goes well.
Hi Joey, actually, for this one, I did this project more like a novel. I did it all by myself, writing my story based on the module, and of course adding randomness by rolling dice to determine the outcome of combats, randomly deciding where the group went, how people felt in some circumstances. While it's great to play with other people because they can always surprise you with their actions, this time, at least, I controlled 100% of the characters, which allowed me to delve much deeper into the inter-character relationships.
I start thinking to this kind of solo games reading your RotR story and I really think this could be like a new RPG prospective for a lot of gifted minds and for some DMs not completely satisfied of the few attentions to their work lot of times given from real PCs that usually is traduced in lower game playing possibilities wrt prepared story... Then I also think that after this kind of effort (I'm using yours at the moment) it could be easier to play a standard more deep game with real PCs.
...That's also why I changed a bit the adventure to say there was some fog around. I wanted to make it even more obvious that leaving the courthouse was not an option.
This solution was already proposed in a past message of someone else...
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I start thinking to this kind of solo games reading your RotR story and I really think this could be like a new RPG prospective for a lot of gifted minds and for some DMs not completely satisfied of the few attentions to their work lot of times given from real PCs that usually is traduced in lower game playing possibilities wrt prepared story... Then I also think that after this kind of effort (I'm using yours at the moment) it could be easier to play a standard more deep game with real PCs.
Yeah... there are pros and cons to playing with others. In the best case scenario, a group of interesting, imaginative people getting together will create something that's wonderful, and better than what any one member could've created on their own.
A lot of times, though, you have one very dedicated DM, and several very casual players who, as you said, aren't too deeply involved in the story. The end result is something that's good, but not great, and that leaves to be desired.
What I'm doing here is a bit weird in the sense that it's not how RPGs are meant to be played, but I see it, as you said, like a new RPG perspective, kind of a hybrid between playing D&D and writing a novel. It's almost like DM'ing a game where even the PC's are NPC's... But you're in control, so you can make sure that something fun and meanginful happens to the PC's, and that their actions mesh well with the story you're trying to tell. (i.e., you don't have silly, greedy, obnoxious PC's who ridicule your BBEG, for example).
...That's also why I changed a bit the adventure to say there was some fog around. I wanted to make it even more obvious that leaving the courthouse was not an option.This solution was already proposed in a past message of someone else...
Oh, ok. ;)
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Angel of justice
It seemed that, in spite of what Malgrim had been hoping for, there was no way out of the courthouse in the basement, so the group headed back upstairs. The cells area had been quite dark in their absence, illuminated only by a lone candle held by Killian. The old gentleman sat alone in a cell, watching the companions pour in from the staircase with what looked like an amused twinkle in his eye. Had he completely lost his mind, or was he perhaps quite drunk by now?
Huddled in shadowy corners, Halgrak and Ebin sat apart from each other. The gnome was shivering slightly, and the half-orc was rubbing his dirty boots as if his toes were tingling. “Justice… he wants justice…” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m glad to see you’re all right,” said Killian. “Or at least, most of you are,” he amended, wincing as he looked at Tablark’s wounds.
“Malgrim… and Madge… Are they dead??” asked Ebin.
Sir Rekkart and Ramaka nodded sadly.
“It’s only a matter of time before he gets all of us,” whined Halgrak.
“Oh, will you shut the hell up?!” spat the gnome. “I’m going insane listening to you whine! I hope it’s YOU he kills next, you fat loser!!!”
Killian gestured toward those who had come back from the basement. “If I could draw your attention toward something of interest for a moment,” he said, “our keen-eyed friend Ebin found something rather intriguing in this here cell.”
Sir Rekkart, Lorven and Ramaka carefully joined Killian in the cell. The others were wary and stayed away. Killian showed them, under the brighter light of Lorven’s Sunrod, some words that had been scrawled under the bunk of that cell. Lorven read out loud:
“I have served as an angel of justice my entire life. I shall have mine. Even if it be in death, justice shall be mine. Sveth, my only friend, you will find this when you clean the cell. You are my avenging angel now. Bring those liars and fools back to me after I swing, so that I might have my justice. Ten years to the day, then they will pay, my soul shall stay until ten years to the day. When the true murderer of my beloved Malene and my boy Gabe swings from my gallows as I did, on the tenth anniversary of my hanging, then at long last I shall be free.”
The others listened in a stunned silence, which was only broken by a chocking sob from Patrissa. Lorven stood back up and said gravely: “It’s signed: J.M. Jarbin Mord. Well, this confirms some of what we suspected.”
The muscles of Sir Rekkart’s jaw clenched and unclenched nervously. “We sent an innocent man to the gallows.” His words were heavy with the feeling of guilt.
The other jurors seemed to be in various stages of discomfort. Ebin and Killian merely exchanged worried and suspicious glances, but Patrissa was now crying uncontrollably, while Halgrak sat against a wall with his head bowed low, as if he had lost all hope. Tablark was also huddled in a corner, seemingly too weak to stay upright. When Kamettia approached to help him, he feebly pushed her away: “I’m just… resting… me old legs for a moment… child…”
“So it sounds like this Sveth character is the one responsible for putting us in this mess,” said Zarr. “I don’t suppose anyone knows who that man is?” He looked around, but nobody answered. “I didn’t think so…”
“But if the Croaker kills his true murderer, then the rest of us should be safe, right?” asked Ramaka in a hopeful tone.
“I hope so,” replied the bard. “But who knows who it really was?”
“My guess would be Malgrim, if it was really one of us,” said Ebin.
“So now that he’s dead… we should be all safe… right?” asked Ramaka.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” said Killian. “The words Mord left clearly indicated that the true murderer was to hang from the gallows, not simply to die, for him to know eternal rest.”
“Well, he was kind of hanging when we found him,” replied Ramaka. And she added with an angry tone: “of course, you’d already know that if you’d had the balls to come down and help us.”
“Touché,” replied the old dandy calmly.
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The true killer
“All right then,” said Zarr, “maybe we need to hang Malgrim’s corpse on some real gallows, just in case.”
“Well, we’re not positive that Malgrim was the real killer,” corrected Lorven. “He’s just the prime suspect.”
“All right, if you’re so smart, who else do you think it could be?”
The tiefling looked around. “Well, it could be anyone of us, really.”
“Err, NO, actually,” said Zarr. “It couldn’t be ME, because I had nothing to do with this trial! Hell, I was only nine years old when it took place!”
“Well it sure wasn’t me either!” growled Ramaka.
“Me neither!” added Kamettia, raising her hand shyly.
“Yeah, we pretty much all assumed it wasn’t you, little miss perfect,” hissed the priestess. She carefully observed the six remaining jurors of the trial that had taken place ten years before. How to guess which one might be guilty?
Ramaka smiled to herself. One of them was surely coming apart in a suspicious way.
“Say, Patrissa,” she purred,” you seem aaawwwwfully weepy about Mord’s message. Has it hit a cord, maybe?”
The lovely woman, who still had fresh tears on her cheeks and who had been twiddling her necklace more nervously than ever before, looked up with alarm. “W-what?” she stammered.
Lorven also approached her. Although he found Patrissa immensely desirable, her behavior had become increasingly suspicious. “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you think Malgrim was the true killer?”
“I… errr. I don’t know! I thought Mord was the killer, like you all did! Why are you all looking at me like that!?”
But Ramaka wasn’t buying it. She strode toward Patrissa and gripped her by the wrist. The woman tried to struggle, but she was nowhere near as strong as the warrior-cleric of Shelyn. “What are you doing?” she cried. “You’re hurting me!”
“I suggest you stop telling LIES first, and THEN I’ll think about letting you go!”
But Patrissa had charmed way too many people for Ramaka to be able to use an intimidation tactic so easily. Both paladins came to the aid of the damsel in distress, and even Lorven intervened, despite his suspicions.
While Sir Rekkart and Kamettia argued with Ramaka about using too much force, Lorven gently took Patrissa in his arms. Much to his delight, the gorgeous woman hugged him tight and wept against his shoulder. Despite the soft touch of her body against his, and the sweet smell of her perfume, he was somehow able to keep his wits about him, and while he soothed her, he questioned her about what she knew, more gently this time.
After sobbing quietly for a few more moments, Patrissa looked up into the tiefling’s eyes. He thought he saw some hurt and shame in them. Then, finally, she opened up.
“I know who the real killer is…” she said weakly.
Everyone immediately turned toward her.
“What?” asked Ramaka dryly.
“I… I know who the real killer is,” repeated Patrissa, her eyes downcast. “It wasn’t Mord. And it wasn’t Malgrim, either.”
If Sir Rekkart had been outraged earlier in the night, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. The room seemed to spin about him, and he felt like shaking the woman and yelling at her. Through a heroic act of self-control, he asked through clenched teeth: “And might you perchance divulge the identity of this person, if you please?”
“It’s… I … I can’t.”
Ramaka’s eyes widened in fury and once again she advanced toward the crying woman.
“It’s not anyone here!!!” sobbed Patrissa. “It’s not any of us… Mord’s got the wrong people…”
Everyone exchanged astounded looks. Then, Patrissa continued:
“After the trial… I had my doubts… I wondered if we had perhaps made a mistake. Wracked with guilt, I conducted my own investigation, in secret, over the years. I only recently found the truth. The true murderer… is still at large, and lives in Absalom… But it’s not one of us!”
“All right,” said Killian. “Who is it, then?”
Patrissa looked around in panic. “I … It doesn’t matter. He’s not here. We have to find a way out. If we get out of here, I swear, cross my heart, that I will tell you who it is! Please! You have to believe me!”
A brief struggle ensued between the people who wanted to wrestle the information out of Patrissa by force, and those who wished to protect the vulnerable, yet not entirely honest, woman. Eventually, it was decided that the identity of the murderer was, for the moment, of lower priority than survival. Ramaka, the most vocal proponent of the “let’s break a few of Patrissa’s fingers” movement, sighed loudly and went to sulk in the shadows.
“It seems we are truly doomed,” finally said Lorven with a somber expression. “If the true killer indeed isn’t present here, then this Sveth – whoever or whatever he is – has failed, and the ghost of Mord will slay twelve innocent people tonight, and still be damned for all eternity.”
“Well, Malgrim wasn’t really innocent, I guess…” mused Kamettia.
“Yeah. Whatever,” said Zarr. “What goat-hooves over there is trying to tell us is that we’re screwed if we don’t find a way out of here.”
“Yes, we should go,” said Ramaka, who joined the group once again. “But I will just ask once more: Patrissa, are you sure you won’t tell us who killed Mord?”
“Later,” replied the beauty, who had regained some of her composure thanks to Lorven’s kindness. “I promise you, I will tell you later.”
Ramaka nodded with a skeptical smirk.
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Funnier than thou
Kamettia noticed that Sir Rekkart was staring in turn at everyone present. When she asked him what he was doing, he replied: “It is the gift of a paladin to sense the corruption of other’s souls. Open your heart, young Kamettia, and look at those around you. Can you feel the taint of evil within any of them?”
The young woman looked at everyone, just as Sir Rekkart had done, and she finally felt something. “Yes,” she whispered. “I can feel something… from him!”
She pointed at Ebin.
Sir Rekkart nodded gravely.
The interrogation continued, with Sir Rekkart now questioning the gnomish buffoon. Lorven and Ramaka soon joined him in the questioning. Ebin looked at them with a resentful expression, but answered very little. Kamettia knelt down next to him and also asked him what he knew, but she did so with much more gentleness than the others had done, and finally, her charm won her Ebin’s confidence. Realizing that he probably didn’t have anything to lose anymore, the jester admitted that he had known Mord before the trial. The executioner had bested him in a joke-telling contest, gravely humiliating the gnome in front of the people he had tried to entertain.
“The District Councilman said that death itself was funnier than me,” said Ebin sullenly. “Yeah, they all laughed… They all laughed AT me! But at least I got my revenge. That’s right! I sent Mord to the gallows! Ha! At least I had the last laugh!!!”
“You despicable little man,” growled Sir Rekkart. “By indulging in the sin of wrath, you may have cost us all our lives, not to mention that of Jarbin Mord, who seems more and more likely to have been innocent, as much as I hate to admit it.”
“But you don’t know what it’s like,” whined the gnome. “There’s tremendous pressure in being a jester! Sometimes people don’t laugh! And sometimes, they even break your teeth when you tell the wrong joke!”
“Hey, do any of these belong to you, by any chance?” asked Zarr, producing a small purse he had taken from Malgrim’s corpse. Within were several gold and silver teeth.
“Yes, this one, thank you,” replied Ebin, picking up one of the teeth and putting it into his pocket.
It now looked like many of the jurors had been corrupted in some way. Lorven, Ramaka and Sir Rekkart then questioned Killian, but the man was either truly innocent, or a very good liar, because they got nothing out of him.
....mmm... good as always but this time there was something I didn't love so much... in the Patrissa confession you was, in my opinion, too explicit.
I think it could have been a better approach to leave more doubs about the event, something like this perhaps:
The true killer
...After sobbing quietly for a few more moments, Patrissa looked up into the tiefling’s eyes. He thought he saw some hurt and shame in them. Then, finally, she opened up.
“I fear the real killer is not one of us…” she said weakly.
Everyone immediately turned toward her.
“What?” asked Ramaka dryly.
“I… I don't know who the real killer is,” Patrissa told, her eyes downcast. “But my opinion is that it wasn’t Mord. And it wasn’t Malgrim, either.”
If Sir Rekkart had been outraged earlier in the night, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. The room seemed to spin about him, and he felt like shaking the woman and yelling at her. Through a heroic act of self-control, he asked through clenched teeth: “And might you perchance divulge the reason why you have this opinion, if you please?”
“It’s… difficult.”
Ramaka’s eyes widened in fury and once again she advanced toward the crying woman.
“It could have been someone else not here!!!” sobbed Patrissa. “It’s not any of us… Mord has perhaps got the wrong people…”
Everyone exchanged astounded looks. Then, Patrissa continued:
“Before the sentence a man came to me and gave me this necklace to assure my vote against Mord... I was already sure of his guilty so it was not a problem for me to accept the gift... but now I see this under a different light... perhaps he was the killer and if that's true he is not between us!”
“All right,” said Killian. “Who is it, then?”
Patrissa looked around in panic. “I … I don't know. But he’s not here. We have to find a way out. If we get out of here, I swear, cross my heart, that I'll do everything I can to help you find him! Please! You have to believe me!”
A brief struggle ensued between the people who wanted to wrestle other information out of Patrissa by force, and those who wished to protect the vulnerable, yet perhaps not entirely honest, woman. Eventually, it was decided that the identity of the murderer was, for the moment, of lower priority than survival. Ramaka, the most vocal proponent of the “let’s break a few of Patrissa’s fingers” movement, sighed loudly and went to sulk in the shadows.
“If that's true and lady's suspects are right, it seems we are truly doomed,” finally said Lorven with a somber expression. “If the true killer indeed isn’t present here, then this Sveth – whoever or whatever he is – has failed, and the ghost of Mord will slay twelve innocent people tonight, and still be damned for all eternity.”
“Well, Malgrim wasn’t really innocent, I guess…” mused Kamettia.
“Yeah. Whatever,” said Zarr. “What goat-hooves over there is trying to tell us is that we’re screwed if we don’t find a way out of here.”
“Yes, we should go,” said Ramaka, who joined the group once again. “But I will just ask once more: Patrissa, are you sure you don't know who killed Mord?”
“I told you everything I know,” replied the beauty, who had regained some of her composure thanks to Lorven’s kindness. “I promise you, I have no idea of his real identity.”
Ramaka nodded with a skeptical smirk.
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That's a very good comment, I could have gone this way. Very interesting. It could indeed have been smart of Patrissa to remain so evasive.
The way I handled this scene, and several others, was based on dice roll (Diplomacy, Bluff, Sense Motive, etc) from various characters. Based on the results, I determined how much information everyone was giving.
Patrissa rolled quite badly in this encounter, so I decided that she divulged some information. Perhaps I could've kept her a bit more secretive or manipulative than I did.
However, my point of view was the following: by that point in the story, Patrissa was in a state of terror. Two other jurors had already died horribly, and the message Mord left in his cell sounded terrifying. She felt they were all going to die. It hit her more strongly than anyone else, because among them she was the only one who knew the identity of the real killer, and that he wasn't present.
So, due to being destabilized by the fear, and also by the anger she felt toward Alastir (after all, it was HIS fault that she was in this predicament), she was not as good at manipulating people as she usually was, in less stressful circumstances.
Also, but telling the others that she knew the identity of the true killer, she made herself seem more valuable in their eyes. Now, to solve this mystery, they needed to ensure her safety.
...Also, but telling the others that she knew the identity of the true killer, she made herself seem more valuable in their eyes. Now, to solve this mystery, they needed to ensure her safety.
That's a good point to give an explanation why now she is not going to give the others the name... but I'm not sure this is now going to really protect her life... usually in films when you wait to reveal something you'll have not a later possibility for this... let's see.
However as usual I really enjoyed the reading don't misunderstand me.
You mean the classic:
"All right, now I'm finally going to reveal to you who the murderer is. The murder's name is... aaarrghhh!"
(arrow through the heart by a shadowy form sniping from the rooftop) ;)
Yes that was what I was referring too :) and coupled with the fact that I didn't find a reason why she was not going to reveal it now after what already said (but you explain me a possibility) it was why I didn't love so much your version related to that... but I'm sure you know how to go on... ops a trapdoor under Patrissa feets opened... sorry mates... joking...
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CHAPTER 5: THE THIRD VICTIM
The Gallows
The group then decided that they had explored all the avenues they could with mere questioning. It seemed they were doomed to face the Croaker’s wrath if they didn’t find a way to escape the accursed courthouse and find the true culprit of Malene and Gabe’s murders, a man whose identity was supposedly known by Patrissa.
They readied their weapons to continue the exploration of the dark building, helping Halgrak, Ebin and Tablark to their feet. They opened one of the nearby doors, which opened on a dark room where the air was very cold and still. They lights illuminated raised gallows, and they knew immediately that it was in this place that many miscreants, and Mord, had met their end. A noose was still hanging from the crossbeam, as if the gallows were ominously set up for an execution.
Suddenly, the wooden stairs began to creak, and a horrible apparition materialized: a massive shape lurched toward the jurors, dressed in a long, dusty black coat, and with a black bag over his head, which hung impossibly at a right angle off his neck. The thing’s wrists were tied together by a rope, and from within the folds that covered its head, a single eye shone with an evil red light. The thing emitted an inhuman croaking sound, as if it struggled to breathe through its crushed throat.
It was the Croaker.
Panic washed over the group of jurors. Ebin, Halgrak, Killian, Ramaka and Lorven immediately turned tail and ran way. Zarr stood transfixed while the two paladins seemed to hesitate between attacking the spirit or running away as well.
“Run!” shouted Patrissa as she rushed toward the door. Kamettia immediately turned and followed her out of the room.
Sir Rekkart hesitated, seeing that Tablark was grimly advancing toward the Croaker, firmly gripping his mace. Zarr was still standing completely still, as if he were paralyzed by fear. The paladin was a brave man, but he doubted he and the badly injured dwarf would be able to defeat this terrible monster.
“Run, Tablark! Run!” He said. “I’ll take care of Zarr!”
The silver-haired man took hold of Zarr and dragged him toward the hallway. As he did this, the bard seemed to regain his senses, and once he realized what they were up against, he fled as fast as he could toward the entrance hall, following the rest of the group. Sir Rekkart tried to keep up, but his cumbersome chainmail slowed him down too much.
Behind him, he heard a horrible cry. Tablark!
Sir Rekkart had just emerged into the great hall. To his left, toward the entrance doorway, he saw the rest of the jurors trying to force their way into the fog, with no success. He turned around and brandished his light-enchanted sword toward the hallway he had just left: from within the darkness came the howling shape of Tablark. The unfortunate old dwarf was now covered with even more blood than before, most of it flowing down his face. It seemed that something had clawed at his eyes, and now, he ran blindly into the hallway. Sir Rekkart stepped back just in time to avoid being hit by the barreling dwarf.
As Tablark entered the great hall screaming, the cursed Asmodeus clock began to ring loudly, adding to the confusion. It ran eight times. To Sir Rekkart’s horror, just as Tablark passed underneath a massive iron chandelier, the chain supporting the ornament snapped, and the heavy contraption fell down on the unfortunate old dwarf, crushing him under its weight.
The paladin closed the heavy iron door behind him, and rushed toward Tablark, fearing at any moment to see the Croaker bash through the door and come to finish them all off. After a few moments, the sounds of the clock faded away, and it seemed that the Croaker wasn’t giving chase. The rest of the group slowly realized that they seemed to have avoided immediate danger and came to help Sir Rekkart lift the chandelier from over Tablark’s body.
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The murderer’s scar
To their horror, they realized that the dwarf seemed to have clawed his own eyes out. His face was a bloody ruin with two gaping holes where his eyes had once been, and his fingers were covered with his own blood. Yet even with all this punishment, the old dwarf was still alive. He soon began screaming again, and struggled to escape the touch of the other jurors who tried to bandage his wounds. His mind seemed to be gone.
Unsure how to help their unfortunate comrade, the group had to knock Tablark senseless and tie him up with Madge’s silk rope. They didn’t feel up to the task of carrying his bulky body, especially since his chances of survival were slim; therefore, after bandaging him as best as they could, they carefully hid his body in a latrine next to the hall.
Dread and gloom hung over the remaining companions heavier than it had ever been yet. They spoke in hushed voices, always keeping a wary eye toward the metal door that led to the section of the courthouse that they now knew was haunted by the Croaker. They weren’t sure what the thing had done to Tablark. Had the dwarf tried to attack it after Sir Rekkart had left? They felt they should steer clear of that area.
“At least I was able to bring you out of that room, young Zarr,” said Sir Rekkart. “You were overcome by fear for a moment back there.”
“No, I wasn’t,” snapped the short young man. “I had another one of those damned visions…”
“You too!” gasped Kamettia. “What did you see?”
“It was a bit like the dream I had before I woke up earlier… But it was more vivid. I was still hanging from the gallows… In that room we were just in. The crowd cheered as they watched me die… They laughed at me. I guess that’s the way it happened when Mord died.”
The old jurors exchanged grim glances.
“There was one guy in particular that I noticed,” continued Zarr. “He was young and had blonde hair. He seemed especially satisfied to see me… Mord… die.” The acrobat considered this for a few moments. “There was also something strange about him. He had a scar on his left cheek. It seemed recent, like he had just received it. Does this sound like anyone you know?”
The others didn’t seem to recognize the description. It didn’t seem to match any of the jurors, not even the deceased ones like Kamettia’s father or Lorven’s mentor.
“I wish I could remember the scene as vividly as the vision you had,” said Killian. “I can’t quite remember seeing such a man. But tell me, my dear,” he said, turning toward Patrissa. “Does this description match that of the man you suspect of being the true killer of Mord’s family?”
The woman nodded slowly. She looked quite pale now.
“We’re making some progress,” said Lorven soothingly as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “With a little luck, we’ll be out of here soon.”
“Are you all right, Patrissa?” asked Kamettia with a worried tone. “You look white as a sheet.”
“I’m all right,” replied Patrissa. “My stomach hurts, that’s all. I think it’s from the fear and seeing all this blood. Let’s get moving.”
“All right – but where to?” asked Killian.
“Let’s go up,” suggested Zarr. “We’ve seen that this fog is very thick, but maybe we’ll see a way to escape from higher up.”
Since nobody had any other idea, the remaining captives carefully climbed up one of the stairways at the end of the hall.
I'm curious about the next developments, I'm starting to doubt about the fact you'll leave Zarr exit the place alive in the morning... his dreams of himself hanging could be a sort of dejavu later. I'll be, surely, here reading that when you'll post it.
Forgetting it, last posts were wonderful as usual.
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I'm curious about the next developments, I'm starting to doubt about the fact you'll leave Zarr exit the place alive in the morning... his dreams of himself hanging could be a sort of dejavu later. I'll be, surely, here reading that when you'll post it.
He he... yes, being paralyzed by a vision in the Croaker's presence can surely be an obstacle for survival. Good for him that Sir Rekkart was there to save him...
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The sentence
Both stairways led to a spacious lounge that still contained several leather couches and a sturdy table. Although it was covered with a thick layer of dust, this room must have once been quite comfortable. A number of portraits were hanging on the walls.
The two paladins were the first ones in the room, advancing cautiously with their weapons ready. Behind them came Zarr and Ramaka, then Killian and Ebin. At the rear were Patrissa, Lorven and Halgrak. As she looked around the room, Ramaka went stiff for a few moments, as another vision now washed over her. Once she recovered, she told the others that she had seen once again the moment when Jarbin Mord had been sentenced.
“Only this time,” she said, ”I had the chance to pay more attention to the jurors, now that I know most of them.” She paused, looking at everyone. “Ebin had more teeth back then, and Patrissa was a lot thinner.” The voluptuous beauty gasped in outrage. “But I still recognized them. And I noticed that they both seemed extremely satisfied when Mord was sentenced. Just like Malgrim and Madge.”
Sir Rekkart turned an accusing stare toward the two.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that!” said Ebin. “You were there!”
“Wow, you really have something against me, don’t you?” said Patrissa hotly as she faced the priestess of Shelyn. “Ever since you’ve laid eyes on me, you’ve criticized me.”
“I’m just shedding light on the dubiousness of your story, that’s all,” replied the half-orc woman.
“What, by mentioning I looked happy? Of course I looked happy, I thought we’d avenged the poor woman and child who’d been murdered. I told you, it’s only LATER that I learned about Mord’s innocence!”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’M TELLING THE TRUTH!”
“I believe you, Patrissa,” said Kamettia helpfully.
“Oh, shut up!” snarled Ramaka.
Meanwhile, the others had begun to carefully spread out in the room and began searching for anything that might be useful. Ramaka approached the portrait that had drawn her attention when she’d experienced her vision. She removed the dust that covered it, and saw that it showed a plump man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick moustache.
“This was the judge of the trial,” she said.
“Silman Trabe,” said Lorven, reading from the plaque underneath the portrait.
“Indeed. He was the judge of our trial,” said Sir Rekkart.
“I see,” said Ramaka. “How come he’s not with us here tonight? Mord didn’t want vengeance against him?”
Lorven shrugged. “Maybe he died since the trial.”
“Judge Silman Trabe was not guilty of anything,” replied Sir Rekkart sternly. “If there was corruption within the jury, he was surely not influenced by it.”
“Oh, open your eyes, Rekkart!” snapped Killian, who looked angry for the first time. The paladin turned to face him with a surprised look on his face. “It’s quite possible that he was heavily involved in whatever shenanigans were going on. He made sure that we were on the jury, after all.”
“Oh yeah?” said Ramaka, arching an eyebrow. “How come he wanted you two on the jury, then? Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Killian shrugged, and that disturbing mirth came back in his eyes. No, the man wasn’t drunk, unlike some had believed earlier. His wits seemed quite sharp indeed. “If I were hiding something from you, sister, I wouldn’t be telling you just like that, now would I? Besides, if you want my opinion, Rekkart and I were chosen simply because we were such gullible fools… And failed to realize the travesty we helped to put in place.”
“Hey! Halgrak!”
It was Ebin, who seemed very excited about something he had found. He had been investigating an old ice box on top of which were placed several old bottles.
“I think you’re going to want to see this!” said the gnome merrily.
The half-orc approached cautiously, and Ebin handed him a jar of liquid. Halgrak took it and squinted at its contents, then shuddered in disgust, almost dropping the container in the process. Ebin erupted in a fit of sadistic laughter.
“What’s all this about?” asked Sir Rekkart sternly.
“Oh… I just found bits of Halgrak… floating in there!” giggled Ebin.
“What?!?” said Patrissa.
“My toes…” whimpered Halgrak. “My toes are in this jar…”
Indeed, as they approached, the others could see five smallish dark shapes floating in the liquid.
Lorven looked disgusted. “That’s just… That’s… What the hell is it doing here, anyway?”
Halgrak, looking more morose than ever, shrugged lamely as he clutched the container close to his chest.
“I guess Malgrim had a really, really sick sense of humor,” said Patrissa.
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The biting fog
The next room the group entered was another large one, but which was divided into several sections by thin wooden walls with glass panes. Within the cubicles were a number of desks, some of which had been overturned. There was still a large quantity of documents here, for it seemed it had once been the office of several barristers. As the jurors entered, they noticed that a large window to the north was broken, showing the sinister landscape of Beldrin’s Bluff under a pale moon. Suddenly, a threatening hiss and a large shadow passed in front of the opening, making a few people jump back in surprise, but Zarr and Ramaka calmly explained that it was only the branches of an old dead tree.
“Let’s see if we can escape through that window,” said Zarr, leading the way toward the opening. Suddenly, though, another shadow fell from above – this time, inside the room. A slimy, hideous worm-like creature dropped above Kamettia, but the young redhead dodged out of the way just in time, letting her assailant fall to the floor with a thud.
Kamettia had dropped her falchion in surprise, though, and she scurried to fetch it from behind the desk where it had fallen. The others rushed to help her, striking at the creature – which they saw was in fact a giant leech, with a round maw that tried to bite anything that would come close enough. Ramaka pierced a deep wound in the monster’s side with her glaive, and Sir Rekkart finished it off with his glowing sword. Thankfully, no-one had gotten bitten by the terrible creature, which had just served as another source of fright.
The group approached the open window. The abandoned buildings of Beldrin’s Bluff would’ve looked sinister in different circumstances, but that night, they represented the hope of salvation. The captives could now see that the fog extended around the courthouse in a limited area. According to Lorven, it was clearly of magical origin. He was even able to confirm this by analyzing the fog’s aura with a cantrip.
Zarr decided to try and climb down into the fog and see if we could make his way out from there. The others lowered him down on a rope. As soon as he entered the fog, though, Zarr felt very uneasy. It was quite thick, like when they had tried to escape from the first-floor windows or the main entrance. It was also very cold. He felt something slimy brush against the back of his neck, and then one of his hands was bitten as if by a rat. He suddenly realized that he would be stuck in the fog if he continued down there, and that there were some nasty things within. As fast as he could, he climbed back up the rope and told the others what he had felt. Once again, it seemed that they needed to find another way out.
After discussing it for a few minutes, they decided to keep looking through windows of the second floor, to see if perhaps there was a breach in the fog anywhere. They didn’t have much hope of success, but they didn’t have anything better to do, really.
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Fire opals
Before they left, though, Killian suggested that they take a few minutes to look through the documents scattered among the various desks to see if they could find any information about Mord’s trial. While Halgrak and Kamettia nervously stood watch, the others searched the desks.
The silence was only disturbed the sound of shuffling papers, old drawers creaking open, and Zarr softly singing an old song:
“I'm waiting in my cold cell, when the bell begins to chime.
Reflecting on my past life and it doesn't have much time.
'Cause at 5 o'clock they take me to the Gallows Pole,
The sands of time for me are running low...”
“Zarr?”
“Yes, Ramaka?”
“Shut up…”
Patrissa had joined in the search at first, but after a few minutes, she sat down on a chair, looking tired. When Lorven quietly checked on her, she replied that her stomach was still hurting. She wondered if her captors had perhaps put more than just drugs in her food before kidnapping her.
“My, my, what have we here?” finally said Ebin, sounding quite satisfied. “Whose crude signature do I see at the bottom of these vouchers? H – A – L – G… That’s Halgrak!”
All eyes turned toward the half-orc smith. “Yes,” he said with a sigh. “One of the barristers here lent me some money when I was in trouble.”
“One… ‘Alastir Wade’, it seems,” added Ebin, reading from the documents.
“And this Alastir Wade used your debts to force you to condemn Mord, did he?” asked Sir Rekkart.
“He tried to… But I wouldn’t do it at first… I already told you: I only did what Malgrim asked once he threatened my children… Which was AFTER he cut off my toes,” he said miserably, looking down at the jar he was still holding.
“Perhaps we can find more about this Wade character here,” said Ebin merrily, as the rest of the group milled around the desk. The gnome produced some beautiful red silk scarves from the drawer. “Apparently, he was fond of … women’s scarves… Not that there’s anything wrong with it...”
Ramaka caressed the soft fabric and examined the garments closely. “Those are made in Varisia. They’re quite expensive.”
Killian rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but did not speak up.
“Let’s see…” said Ebin as he kept on rummaging through the desk. “Useless… useless… Hmm… Now that’s odd. A buyer’s receipt for a string of twelve fire opals. My, Mister Wade sure loved expensive women’s accessories!”
While the gnome giggled at his own jest, Killian said, “Twelve fire opals. Impressive. That would sure make a beautiful necklace, wouldn’t it… Patrissa?”
Everyone now turned toward the woman, who had ironically been fingering her beautiful necklace… which consisted of twelve large red gems.
“Oooohhh… “ said Ramaka with an evil grin, “now you’re so screwed, sister.’
Lorven and Kamettia immediately came to Patrissa’s defense as Ramaka and Zarr prepared to force her to reveal the information that she had clearly been hiding from them all along.
“But can’t you idiots see that she’s manipulating you?” growled Zarr. “She was bribed by Wade!”
“Enough!” said Sir Rekkart firmly. “Miss Vrakes, justify yourself. We now have damning evidence that you were bribed by the barrister Alastir Wade. Why did you hide this from us?”
Patrissa wrung her hands nervously. “Why do you think?” she replied bitterly.
“Don’t play smart, b$&#*!” snarled Ramaka.
“Patrissa,” said Sir Rekkart more calmly. “Our lives are all in danger, yours included. We must work together to find the true killer. Clearly, this evidence shows that you were guilty of corruption when you voted to send Jarbin Mord to the gallows. You know that his ghost will hunt you down tonight if we don’t do something to stop it.”
“Or, don’t talk,” said Zarr threateningly, “but I can guarantee you that we can make your life even more unpleasant than the ghost can.”
Patrissa hesitated for a long time, looking at all those around her one after the other, and finally gave up. She breathed a heavy sigh. “All right! All right! Alastir was my lover! I was young and foolish back then. He was a handsome man, rich and successful. Yes, he bought me expensive gifts. And yes, he did sway my vote with his honeyed words. I admit it! And I’m sorry! You think I didn’t feel terrible afterwards? Well, I did!! And this bastard, well, he left me less than a week after the trial ended! He had used me all along! Don’t you think I felt horribly stupid? I had condemned a man out of love, I know I was a fool! I know!”
Even Ramaka and Zarr backed down at seeing her outpour of emotions. There was anger in Patrissa’s voice, and tears were starting to well in her eyes.
“I was furious at Alastir! Once I realized he had used me, I started investigating him, trying to find out why he had wanted Mord to be condemned in the first place. It took a long time, and it wasn’t easy, but I finally found some evidence: he’s the killer! He’s the one who murdered Mord’s wife and son!”
Some of the others gasped upon hearing this, others had seen it coming, but were glad to hear the confirmation coming from Patrissa.
“So you see?” she continued. “He isn’t here!! If we don’t find a way out of here, we’re doomed!”
“But what do we have to do?” asked Ramaka. “Are we supposed to bring him back here, or what?”
“Are you NUTS??” asked Ebin, his eyes wide with disbelief. “If we find a way out of here, we never, ever come back anywhere close to here! Hell, if we find a way out of here, I’ll be on the first boat out of Absalom tomorrow morning!!!”
“Do you know where Alastir lives?” asked Zarr.
Patrissa nodded.
“Well, at least we can go pay him a visit,” said the acrobat darkly as he fingered the hilt of his rapier.
“Well, that was quite informative,” said Killian. “Thank you, Miss Vrakes, for your… belated honesty. It seems we were really played for fools, weren’t we, old boy?” he asked Sir Rekkart with a wink.
The paladin stood stiffly, his face a stern mask whose eyes burned angrily. “It would appear that we were,” he said through clenched teeth.
I see now Patrissa behaviour seems much more solid and your story was fantastic as usual, if some company would put a description like that near their adventures I'll buy everyone for sure, it's really more enjoyable to read a module this way...
I see now Patrissa behaviour seems much more solid and your story was fantastic as usual, if some company would put a description like that near their adventures I'll buy everyone for sure, it's really more enjoyable to read a module this way...
Sorry to butt in, but we've missed you for the last month in our Savage Tide thread, Sneaky!
Sorry to butt in, but we've missed you for the last month in our Savage Tide thread, Sneaky!
You're right Gull, and I'm sorry about it. Thieves entered my house and rob my PC a month ago (I know it seems strange but this is what happened, now from about two weeks I bought a new one and I have also been last week outside for work, these seems a lot of excuses but they aren't...) and now I'm trying to reread all your writings in order to be again with you... I hope to post again tonight or tomorrow (the problem is I read a page and you write down two ^^ and I'm not very fast with english :( ). You'll hear about me very soon m8s
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You're right Gull, and I'm sorry about it. Thieves entered my house and rob my PC a month ago (I know it seems strange but this is what happened, now from about two weeks I bought a new one and I have also been last week outside for work, these seems a lot of excuses but they aren't...) and now I'm trying to reread all your writings in order to be again with you... I hope to post again tonight or tomorrow (the problem is I read a page and you write down two ^^ and I'm not very fast with english :( ). You'll hear about me very soon m8s
I'm very sorry to hear that!!!
That's terrible... I hope you had some backups of what was on your PC and that they did not take too much else!Does this mean that somewhere out there, there are some thieves who have a copy of my Rise of the Runelords journal translated in Italian?? ;)
I'm very sorry to hear that!!!
That's terrible... I hope you had some backups of what was on your PC and that they did not take too much else!Does this mean that somewhere out there, there are some thieves who have a copy of my Rise of the Runelords journal translated in Italian?? ;)
Yeah that's also the reason why I stop, just for now, the italian post of your ROTR, but I had at least a copy of that on a secondary HD... but I had a lot of other stuff (a 3D version of my house with google sketch up, revised to be extended on which I worked for two months) and something else... However at least it was not so dramatic really, now I have a 24' screen :)...
Oh I forgot that, next week I should have my second daughter so now my old PC, old camera, phone etc etc has been almost forgotten...
However Annie I'll try to recover also our Savage Tide posting very soon... I'm doing the best I can, please excuse me with our new GM.
Oh I forgot that, next week I should have my second daughter so now my old PC, old camera, phone etc etc is almost forgot...Congratulations, and good luck! Are you back home now?
Yes I came back last Sunday and, strange to be said, now with the first 2 years old girl and the bigger pregnant one (she is sure I have a lover whom I'm chatting with, she is not able to understand RPG), I have perhaps less time then when I was in OHIO... but I hope my wife's hormones will be back to normality soon... and then I'll have long nights to remain up with the new baby crying...
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CHAPTER 6: THE FOURTH VICTIM
The belfry
The group returned to the lounge and went through a door in the far corner. It led to a long, dusty corridor with no windows. It was quite dark within; the only sources of illumination were Sir Rekkart’s sword (on which Ramaka kept casting Light spells regularly) at the front, and Lorven’s Sunrod near the back.
An old spiral staircase in a corner led upward, and the corridor turned right, leading toward the back of the courthouse.
“Maybe we’ll see something interesting upstairs,” whispered Sir Rekkart. “I believe this leads to a bell tower.”
The silver-haired paladin led the way up, and the group emerged into a belfry. A gust of chilly, salty coastal wind greeted them. A massive rusted bell hung from rotten wooden beams at the center of the room, and a window opened in each of the four walls. Through the windows, the captives could see the nocturnal landscape of Beldrin’s Bluff in all directions. It was a rather bleak sight, especially to the west and south, where the island’s erosion was causing it to slowly crumble into the sea. At the edge of the cliffs, old buildings still desperately clung to the ground, trying to postpone the inevitable and tragic fate that awaited them at the bottom of the churning sea below.
To the west, Zarr pointed out the huge round shape of the Arboretum Arcanis, another one of Beldrin’s Bluff buildings that was rumored to be haunted.
“Wonderful, maybe we can check it out once we’re done here!” chuckled Ebin.
Kamettia smiled at this. “Good one! I don’t know why people don’t find you funny…”
Ebin looked up at the beautiful young woman, his eyes filled with vulnerable surprise. “You… You think I’m funny?” he said with a hopeful tone. A small tear seemed to be glistening on the corner of his eye.
“Yes, I do!” replied Kamettia warmly.
“Well, that must be because you’re so dumb!” replied the mischievous gnome, who had only been faking the emotions. “Bwa ha ha ha ha!”
“Shut up, you two!” hissed Ramaka.
The group observed the surroundings, but they couldn’t find an easy way to escape. The fog surrounded the entire courthouse. It seemed like they were trapped, and that Mord or whatever was the mastermind behind this nightmare wanted them to stay inside.
“Perhaps we’re meant to solve this from within the building,” said Lorven. “Maybe there’s a way for us to avenge Mord right here, and we just have to find it.”
“Oh, really, Nex*?” replied Zarr sarcastically. “And just how are we supposed to appease the bloodthirsty ghost when the one he’s after isn’t even here???”
A pointless argument followed, where people discussed what they should try to achieve: escaping the haunted building, or continuing its exploration in the hopes of finding a way to avoid death at Mord’s vengeful hands.
Suddenly, the discussion was cut short when Halgrak shushed everyone and raised a hand. The half-orc had not taken part in the argument, instead keeping a close watch near the stairs.
“Did you hear something down there?” whispered Ramaka after a few moments of silence.
The other half-orc nodded.
“What did it sound like?”
Halgrak merely shrugged. He wasn’t sure.
The group listened in silence for a few more moments, when all of a sudden, they heard two of their members scream in horror: Patrissa and Kamettia had both noticed the horrible creature that was peeking through one of the windows. Its head looked like that of a giant insect with long antennae, but its body looked like it belonged to the carcass of a massive bird.
Ramaka was the first to react: she took a few quick steps toward the window, stabbing toward the enemy with her long weapon, but the insect dodged out of the way and disappeared behind the wall. Everyone readied their weapons and the group made sure they had at least one person watching each of the four windows. They didn’t want the thing – or things, in case there were more than one – catching them by surprise again.
Every now and then, they now noticed some furtive noises coming from above. Was it the creature crawling on the roof of the bell tower? After a minute or two of anxious waiting, the group relaxed… It seemed that neither the creature, nor the thing that Halgrak had heard downstairs, were going to attack soon.
“Well, that settles it, then,” said Sir Rekkart. “We can’t attempt to climb down into the fog with that giant insect waiting to swoop down on us.”
“Well, it’s not really an insect,” corrected Ebin, “it had the wings of a bird.”
“It was a ghoul-stirge,” said Zarr enigmatically. When he realized that everyone was waiting for him to elaborate, he added: “They’re a form of dangerous undead. They can paralyze their foes with a bite, and then they drink their blood. We really don’t want to be fighting creatures like these. As much as I hate to say it, it seems that trying to escape this place is just as dangerous as staying inside. I guess we should head back down.”