Valryssa smirks in response, then adds in a mocking downcast tone. "Hmm, the downside of working for the good Captain here and thereby the Harbormasters is the stipend I've been asked to subsist upon."
"A substantial stipend, you swindling web-weaver." Onura frowns for her own part.
"Naturally," Valryssa answers with a shrug. "One so blessed with such talents as I possess soon find that legitimate employ is a surprising source of proper remuneration." She stretches her back and returns her gaze to the journal, checking the cover and spine. "Besides, I meet all the interesting people in this line of work."
The spine along the journal responds to her touch, a small section of it coming loose and nearly falling to the table top if not for Valryssa's quick reflexes. "Hmmm, what have we here?" She replaces the journal on the table and turns the small section - a thinly made wooden container - over in her hand.
Out of it emerges a small key, brass with tiny inlays of gold.
"Well, I bet I know a certain half-elf that would find his pride immensly damaged if he were here at this moment. I am not certain I saw anything that the key would have fit."
Onura holds out her hand for the key, seeing the hesitation - ever so briefly - in Valryssa prior to handing it over. "It has not resonance of magic that I can detect. But perhaps your wizard can learn more in that regard."
She hands it back to Valryssa. "Anything familiar about it?"
She shakes her head, face an unreadable mask. "I'm not seeing a keyhole in the journal." Beneath their feet, they felt the booming shudder of the Slip's guns loosing a salvo. Valryssa arches an eyebrow towards the captain. "We'll have to go on faith that we're not sending whatever it goes to down to the depths..."
"I won't tolerate another incursion upon that doomed ship. Give it over to Karthan and let him take the investigation where it leads him and his group." Onura places her hands upon the table, indicating her words were not a suggestion.
"As you command, Windsinger. But if I may offer my services should they require them when we get landside. I would enjoy the challenge." She hands the key to Karthan, watching it and drinking in the memory of it before ceasing contact. "Puzzles are a hobby of mine." She purrs softly. "As I said, I can steer you towards an encounter with Wendell at the Clockwork Academy...perhaps the key has significance to him?"
"The rest of this mess, the darkness it could portend," Onura looks down at the journal, brows furrowing, her cheek quivering as she chews her lip. "I'm thankful there's no trace of the vileness on my vessel. But I'll need to pass this along to Stoneanchor once we reach harbor. He'll need to mollify the Gill-men, acknowledge their concern over the Wake was a valid one."
"But once we reach port, I'll request that the Slip be placed at your service should you need to depart Kortos. I'm not certain I wish to know more before I consult with my officers and determine their willingness to take part in such matters." She pushes the journal across the table back to Karthan. "I've a ship and crew to look after and responsibilities to the Harbormasters to fill my sails. But what you've presented here intrigues me. I'll help when I can."
"We may well need to meet this man Wendell, but I would strongly prefer that our meeting not be announced prior to our arrival if a meeting is required."
"As far as the key goes . . . I truly have no idea. We may well have sent whatever lock it fit to the bottom of the ocean, but there is very little want on my part to find what is secured by this key, for it is likely to cost mind, body and soul."
"I urge you Valryssa to resist your own interest in investigating these matters. There are trails of bodies behind them and precious little to show for it. That is not a threat, but a statement of fact. Having said that, I will pass along your eagerness to be employed in the endeavor should the need arise."
"I thank you Windsinger for your time. If I am not needed here further I shall retire and see to my own affairs."
Valryssa chuckles a bit, deep in her throat like a cat purring. "Not to fear, master elf. Surprise meetings are my specialty." She turns from the table, a simple motion to be sure, but Karthan can't help but see a dancer in the movement. A soft chair along the wall receives her, her hands somehow full with a rolled cigarette and a tindertwig for lighting. "When you're ready to see him, let me know. You can get in touch with me through the Captain here once we reach the city and part company."
She lights her cigarette and reclines in the chair.
Less amused than wary, Onura agrees with a dip of her chin. Then she turns back to Karthan. "Thank you, Dawnsetter, for sharing this information."
A dismissal if ever there was one.
With that Karthan leaves to go seak out the party members to share what had occurred.
Zandra gathered up the charts she needed to return and headed for the helmsman's post.
Cendrik keeps his good eye on the horizon, guiding the Slip cleat of the derelict as the guns are clearedand readied. Next to
him Scribble the mute dwarf navigator stands atop a crate nailed to the deck that allows him a view of the chart table.
"Mr. Scribble, elf off the port bow. You'll be getting your charts back I reckon." Cendrick motions for Zandra to step up to the table. The Mwangi works his tongue at his teeth trying to loosen a morsel from a meal he must have had the night before, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the cat o' nine tails hooked to his belt.
"Good your in one piece," Cendrick observes. "Mr. Scribbles is cranky enough without his gods forsaken charts going to the sharks."
The old dwarf spits on the deck at Cedrick's boots, slapping down the chalk skate he uses for communication down on the table. Then he proceeds to withdraw an ink well and quill from a pouch at his side. Thick fingers point at Zandra then to the charts in her hand then to the table, gray whiskers bristling with anticipation.
Karthan is greeted by another salvo from the canons add they treat into the Lydia Wake.
Sacerdos is seeing to the dispensation of the caskets in the cargo hold, Fir aiding him by verifying the wards that they did not alter with the change in location.
Interestingly enough, Mal is standing starboard to catch a glimpse of the cannons add they fire.
"Well the good news is that I managed to bring most of your maps back to you in great condition."
Scribble looks up at the elf, eyebrows arching.just below his left eye his cheek muscle twitches. But his gray, elderly eyes see that she's stretching the truth... And in no small part his patience. But he resists the urge to let his ire rise to the occasion. Instead he waves her forward to lay the charts on the table.
Besides, the mute dwarf's attention is still drawn to the compass in his right hand. The bad instrument is put on the table, and his gray eyes go from Zandra to the hand-sized compass. The elf can tell that despite her efforts to be a clever annoyance, the compass is filing the bill much better.
He draws a few words on the chalk board.
On the chart table, instead of pointing to true North, the needle spins on its handcrafted pin.
Zandra eyes go from the compass and crawl along the table to where Scribble taps a stubby finger.
S T A R T E D W I T H T H E C A N N O N S
In answer, the cannons let fly another salvo, rumbling the deck beneath their feet add they stab iron and fire into the Lydia's Wake.
Discordia. Chaos . . . It has come aboard ship with us. Something is not right.
"The rest are in excellent condition, just the way you loaned them to me Mr. Scribbles. Please tell me what is happening with the instruments and such. It is very important that you do not leave out the details however small they might seem."
Karthan seeks out Mal in order to pull him aside or catch a moment in a room.
"We might have a little problem. This key was hidden inside the journal. We might be sending the container to the bottom of the sea, but I am not so sure I care. Also Onura brought in that Tuan girl. Now she is in the know and I think she has a line on the dead captains brother."
Mal's eyes are closed in closet inspection. Karthan is taken aback as the half elf signals for a moment of silence. He seems more a musician listening for the perfect note than a rogue at the rail of a ship.
In answer to his patient ears, he catches the whomp of the wardrobe being blown apart by his improvised device. "Ah there's the magic I know, kid." He sighs with a bit of nostalgia.
He looks at the key, taking it if Karthan offers, and shakes his head. "Hand made, look at these grooves here... They spiral inward. Looks like a music box key." He hands it back to Karthan. "Caleb might be of some help. Him or those crafty gnomes who keep coming around. Music boxes are gnomish for the most part. Though they're known to come out of Alkenstar on occasion. I guess the gun makers down there try and balance out."
"As for Valryssa, she's not one to trifle with. Caleb went out of his way to turn me from a rotten path, but I don't think anyone's done the same for her." Mal glances over his shoulder, half existing to find get eyeing him from afar. But she isn't in sight. "But then again, she works for Onura as her personal fixer among other rumored tasks. That's in her favor. " At Karthan's questioning look Mal holds up a hand and chuckles, but his gaze remains serious. "Just a rumor, but I've heard she still has all her old contacts... giving Onura some advantages."
A L L C O M P A S S E S L I K E T H I S. S T A R T E D F I R S T S H O T O N W A K E. The dwarf wipes clean the board and resumes writing, the chalk like the break of a gull pecking at a class shell. N E V E R S E E N I N M Y L I F E O N T H E WA T E R. H E A R D O F T H I S I N T H E N O R T H W H E N C O M P A S S D O E S N O T W O R K.
Zandra thinks quickly.
"Do you have anything else that has been or might be affected? Like a ships clock or anything else clockwork? Even a plumb bob?"
"Heh heh, like you mean Onura is a switch hitter and Valryssa is one of her team captains? I guess that would explain how she was able to fight off and resist your legendary charms."
"But heh seriously, we flipping missed this key in the journal I hope we didn't miss what it went to. Also, if the demon this was U then why did the captain need that candle thing and why did he report having a hard time talking to U if he was a cabinet away?"
"Nice work on the explosion though. It was a nice punctuation to the pummeling Onura's giving her. I don't get why she didn't just hit it with a few fire arrows or a flaming bucket of pitch though. . .$hit, you think she is so scared or flustered by what she saw she would vent 1000's of gold in powder just to get some distance?
Is there something we missed? Did we release something? What could cause this? . . . raven come to me I need you.
Zandra walks to the side of the rail and summons the raven that pops into position 30 yards and pumps its wings to gain altitude and soar above the ships to get a top down view of the situation.
She returns back to the navigator to see what he is writing in response.
R E S T N O R M A L. P L U M B S T A Y S W I T H C E N T E R O F G R A V I T Y. C O M P A S S D E V I A T E S. N O R T H S H I F T S. T W O P O I N T S. He slides the compass across the table so she can get a clear look at the needle. It seems to spin lazily, but it bumps at two points, as though sticking momentarily, then spins only 5 degrees before bumping again.
He gives a short laugh. "Onura Limnestti scared? More likely she's being thorough. Can't say as I blame her." He glances over his shoulder again, checking to see if Valryssa is nearby. "As for the fixer, if we do deal with her, best we tread carefully. Like I said, I don't thing she's shed all her former life. But it could be the link we need to get to the dead captain's brother."
Then he watches the key as Karthan slips it into a pouch. "We'll check with Caleb, maybe the gnomes. A key for a music box is like a signature on a painting." Mal waves off Karthan's concern, realizing that even if it the key did go to a box on the Wake, it is far too late to try and confirm that now. "We found about as much as we could aboard. I don't like thinking I missed something...maybe I'm slipping in my old age."
"As far as that candle and the beastie? My guess is as good as yours. Better bring it up with your cousin." He shrugs and scratches at his chin. "Wonder since that thing cut into our heads, maybe distance was the key to safe conversation?"
The raven soars upwards, buffeted by the ocean winds that threaten to twist him from his course. But something else tugs at the summoned bird's senses and causes him to seek the relative stability of the upper rigging of the Lucky Slip.
He shakes his head, midnight beak flicking a lazy 8 in the air before him.
Mistress, something pushes me, confuses... The raven looks about the ship, then over to the sinking vessel as it's torn about by the loud human noise makers. He jumps from his perch as the ship beneath him lurches and belches smoke and flame. As he alights back on the perch, his eyes blink and he turns his head to the side to look closer at the dying ship, then caws loudly. Kill it, kill it, Mistress! It bothers my mind and sets my feathers to fluttering. Once dead, I can fly and look and tell.
"Magnetic interference with the Earths lay lines. My raven and other birds use them to navigate. . . I am glad nothing else has manifested. Hopefully it will end once that derelict has sunk beneath the waves." Zandra hesitates long enough to sight along the compasses bearing. "Have you tried to walk it around the deck? Does the reading remain the same? Or does the false magnetic north remain consistent?"
"I won't keep you here it it bothers you so. You are released from service. Thank you for answering my call."
"It seems to be ship wide, Zandra," Onura answers from behind Zandra. She clamps her personal compass back to her belt and beneath her longcoat. She closes her eyes allows some of her magical energies to enhance her senses. Then she hisses in vexation. "It would seem that my own senses are being fooled as well, causing me to find true north there," she points off the bow, then points in a direction 20 degrees off (2 points). "...and there."
"Whatever lay behind this devilry, the Slip's guns will set to rights." Onura responds confidently. "Maybe it's that dead beast on the deck, maybe some other thing that lunatic managed to drag aboard his ship. I'm at the point of not caring so long as I get me and mine away from here with no further loses."
At the last, she decides to voice her own question she'd been holding the last few minutes. "Zandra, what news of your companion? I do not sense sadness in you, but is the tiger...lost to the depths?"
Sacerdos completes the task of securing the two sarcophagus to the cargo deck. Over near the wall he grabs up the gear and cloak he'd lay aside so he could help the crew directly. Fir'umil is there, leaning against the wall, his own inspections of the vessels' integrity finished.
"Nothing to report, Inquisitor." he responds to Sacerdos' raised eyebrow. "The seals remain undisturbed."
Sacerdos raises his head from his satchel where he was inspecting the contents. The kukri still remains, wrapped safely in an oil cloth, likewise undisturbed. "Good," he finishes belting on his sword and throws his cloak and satchel over a shoulder. "Thank you for being so diligent."
"You leave no room for equivocation." the wizard responds flatly. His keen elvish eyes are looking upwards to the decks above, probably eager to be in the open air.
"Hmmm."
Fir'umil's eyes land upon Sacerdos. "Not that I am offended, mind you."
"I wasn't apologizing. I will not let my remaining brothers to fall to evil."
"In either case," Fir'umil shrugs and searches for a clear path to the ladder stairs leading back up. "Direct is preferred."
Sacerdos nods to the port side and the stairs leading out. The wizard follows, staff thumping along his progress.
Soon they are on deck, standing near Mal'undil and Karthan who are watching as the burning and breaking ship of horrors is gasping her last breath of life.
Part of him regrets not putting up a bigger fight. There were too many aspects of the wardrobe and the machine that held unanswered questions. It wasn't in Fir'umil's nature to allow questions that interested him to remain unanswered for long. That simply bred laziness.
But the level of evil in the creature...the mania, the Chaos...even its simple thoughts and emotional shifts were enough to nearly overpower. When it had exerted is will in even a fraction of moment, it had been enough to set their teeth on edge and nearly overwhelm them. No, the creature had to have been destroyed.
As the answers to questions descend beneath the surface to remain mystery, Fir'umil focuses on what they know and where they needed to travel next. "Once we have attended to the reconciliation of Sacerdos' brethren, we will need to pursue the matter of the dead captain's brother. Who is he, what is his investment in this dark undertaking? Was he the one who summoned and bound Ugoxyl'glek? To what end?" The wind across the deck sets his cloak and robes to fluttering like a raven's plumage. "And just who else knows about this? Was there any information from the good captain? Who was aboard the other ship? Were they pirates, salvage? Or were they here specifically for the Lydia's Wake?"
"I hope you are right Captian. If nothing else we should be able to trust the sun and stars, unless this discordic event is more powerful than any I have heard of."
"To answer your other question, I must first thank you."
Zandra removes a magnificent jade figurine depicting Thor swirling and snarling.
"Due to your wise counsel, I prepared a spell that allows me to change Thor into this . . . I had intended to use the spell in the event we had to disembark, but when Thor fell to the contagion that afflicted the crew . . . he was able to warn me of his condition. By transforming him into this figurine, I placed him in stasis. I am thinking I should keep him in this form until we reach the temple. I shudder to think what would have happened had the infection taken over his mind. Thor makes a formidable ally or enemy."
Karthan folds his arms and watched as Onura's guns ripped, tore and shattered the ill fated Wake to death.
"By the gods I hope that slime will be killed by the salt water or we are going to distribute it all across the globe on the floatsam. The wardrobe and the lab should be burned beyond recognition along with anything else we might have missed."
"Ah well, water under the bridge now. . . As far as Wendell Velsurian goes though, I have a bit of information. He has a shop in the Clockwork Academy, sells navigational equipment, that sort of thing to fund research. A few of the Harbormaster's ships hold sextants and signal lamps of his design. Onura's fixer, Valryssa, can arrange a meeting if needed. Dealing with that band of tinkerers can be a troublesome thing according to her."
"I guess that removes some of the mystery surrounding recent events."
A blossom of fire erupts and expands outward from the windows of the captains quarters. As the expend themselves and dissipate into the night air a scintillating display of colored sparks and colored smoke mark Mal's grand finale.
A true smile threatens to spread across the ranger's face.
"Nice Mal, real nice. That was what the magnesium, copper, zinc and iron oxide were for. To an alchemist, the powdered metals would be invaluable ingredients, to our showman of a rogue, they are a chance to display his unique cunning and to satisfy his need to be notibly memorable. . . Mission accomplished, you can't do anything halfway can you?"
"Be a real waste to short change my fans, right?" Mal gives is best rogue's grin and rests a foot on the rail, looking for all the world like a ship captain casting his sights on the open ocean. As the last of the Wake melts beneath the waves, he surreptitiously exhales in relief. The kid's mention of the slime creature gave a stir of the willies.
No need to spoil the party...the thing's deader than Taldoran crochet work. he thought to himself.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm looking forward to 3 days of hard drinking and losing some coin at the dice table. Absalom's far away and so are my responsibilities at this point." He stands straight and stretches, twisting his torso a few times to work out the kinks from where he'd been sent to the deck during the fighting. "No offense, gentlemen, but Mal'undil is off duty."
He passes Karthan and gives him a clap on the shoulder and shares a private word. "Nice work, kid. You lived up to the station most admirably. I'm proud of you."
And Mal is more than happy to set his feet to an old tavern tune as he swaggers to the decks below and his waiting room, withdrawing a thankfully intact long-stem pipe from his hip pouch and prepping it for smoking, singing his tune along the way.
"And the coast is all too far,
no way to see it clear,
But I'll bet that second star,
there's nothing left to hear...
But the scrape of plenty gold
and a flagon full of mead
will set my mind to fold
and knock me from my seat!"
"...Thor makes a formidable ally or enemy."
Onura agrees appreciatively. "Indeed. I can empathize, I'd hate to think of my Jack falling to prey to this contagion." As if on cue, her capuchin familiar lands on the map table, much to the annoyance of Scribble. The Windsinger holds out a hand and the monkey is more than happy leap upon he arm and expertly walk his away to her shoulder to take his accustomed seat. "Only thing I could do for the fella is feed him to the hammerheads!"
Jack screeches his disagreement with her solution and reaches up to pull her hat down over her eyes.
"Heh, heh, okay old friend, I guess we'd have to see to a cure of some kind, right?" She laughs and tips the brim of her hat into place. "But I'm thankful your own companion is safe as houses, Zandra."
Scribble thumps his fist upon the map table, drawing their attention. He's pointing at the compass which has stopped bouncing between two points and settled on what she estimates is true north. An unspoken question to the dwarf and he nods affirmative. Yes, true north by his own reckoning.
"Seems that whatever was causing our ills has died with the Wake. Good riddance, may the seas swallow here and never give her back." Her forefinger taps a rhythmic pattern of thanks to her goddess. "Mr Scribble, Mr Cendrik, all possible speed to Absalom. Time to put this light forsaken pool of mess to our stern."
The next days finds the Lucky Slip living up to her reputation as one of the fastest ships in the region as her captain keeps all souls aboard a step ahead of the storm coming in from the west. There are few minutes where Onura cannot be found standing the wheelhouse alongside Cendrik or whomever is set to the wheel, her senses cast in all directions and her commands short and precise to keep the ship under all possible speed.
On the first evening, between a rested Sacerdos, Zandra, Fir'umil and the ship's doctor, it is determined that the Druidess' quick thinking in shifting Thor to a figurine saved the tiger's life. He is reverted back to his natural form, a thorough examination - medical and spiritual and arcane - concludes that the tiger is free of the dangerous slime mold or any spores.
A few nights of rest, gambling and research give the party a much deserved rest. And in fact, Onura makes sure that they're given just that and doesn't allow any to lift a finger in the aid of the ship's operations. The normal response always leads back to 'the captain thinks otherwise' or 'the captain frowns upon guests being sucked into service'.
On the dawn of the 3rd day, heavy clouds all around and rain beginning to dampen her sails, the Lucky Slip weaves her way through the Flotsam Graveyard and past Pilot Island and into the docks of Absalom.
"Get those planks set and get us tied off before we float into the Puddles!" Onura calls to her deckhands. She's changed her outfit, a more ritzy affair of reds and greens and thread of gold. The hilt of her rapier appears freshly polished and despite the fresh rain, the deep red feather coming from her hat is no less jaunty. "I'll have your guts in a sack for oiling the decks if my ship even kisses those docks, Mr Cendrik!"
"Aye, Captain!" But both Onura and Cendrik are wearing slight grins.
All part of a general buoying of crew morale since the battle 3 days prior. The more distance they put between the sinking of the Lydia's Wake and their stern, the better all concerned felt. The mood spurs the crew on as one being, ropes and sails and gear and pins and boot all moving to a singular rhythm Karthan and the others had learned to appreciate over the past 6 days. In a matter of a half hour, the ship is lashed tight to the dock and the gangway set and dock cranes already at work fishing the precious cargo of Ragathiel's faithful from her hold.
On the dock, Sacerdos watches intently the goings on, though he seems more at ease than is the norm. Perhaps knowing that a conclusion - for good or for ill - is in the offing of his mission.
A few deckhands are tasked with getting the adventurer's gear settled on dock underneath an overhang crafted from wood and canvas tarpaulin to keep them dry. Amazingly enough, as Karthan and Zandra and Fir'umil and Mal descend the gangway to join Sacerdos, they see Caleb's faithful assistant Hindre, grizzled visage and all awaiting them. The old man is ready with a grunted greeting to the group and quickly sets about pushing a pair of youths to the task of loading gear onto Caleb's carriage. He points to a second vehicle, a buckboard wagon with covering and drawn by a pair of camels with a dwarven coachman sitting the driver's seat, booted feet resting on the dashboard. Then Hindre crooks a crooked finger towards the first of the sarcophagus being offloaded from the ship.
"I'm estimating a visit to the Temple of Iomedae first?" Hindre inquires.
"Yes, good sir." Sacerdos answers for the group. Fir'umil looks to argue but instead nods affirmative also.
Hindre shouts to the dwarf to back the wagon into position. The dwarf blows out his moustaches and gives his dark brown beard a tug but complies.
"Best get a move on, then. We may have to spend the evening in the Ascendant Court if things take long. The coming storm may prevent clear travel through the streets." Hindre tells the group. His voice is a bit rougher than normal, and upon closer inspection it appears the old assistant may have a malady of some sort. He waves off Zandra's look of concern. "A bit of croup, that's all. I'll ask a cleric at the temple to see to it."
Soon, the sarcophaguses are rested in place on the wagon and the group's gear is properly dispersed amongst the wagon and carriage. The group stands before Onura and crew to say their farewells.
"I'll say this for you," Onura says with a grin, Jack seated on her shoulder with what is curiously a grin of his own. "You make my life interesting. I have a good report to give the Gilmen and Captain Stoneanchor with regards to our findings. I'm sure patrols will be stepped up in the area with regular reports for your people at the Temple and Master Beleg I'm sure."
Valryssa is seated atop a stack of crates, looking down on the gathering and working at her nail with a dirk. "And look me up should you decide to pursue the dead captain's brother. My services are at yours...for a good price of course."
"Of course," Onura shrugs, as if saying there's no changing the fixer's nature, and looks back to Karthan. "As for you, Dawnsetter. I recall mention of visiting the embassy to Kyonin here in the city. See to it I go along with you, I want to make sure your sails are properly leaned to the wind."
Karthan gracefully steeples his fingers and executes an informal salute a student gives an esteemed teacher.
"I appreciate you Windsinger and the things you have taught me. You have opened my eyes anew. I shall indeed seek out your counsel should I venture to The Queen's Court here in the city. I imagine that being a succulent fresh cut of meat at that table may indeed be more perilous than at others."
"Let us not be as ships that pass in the night and speak each other only in passing;
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence."
"Perhaps our courses will cross again someday. Until then fair winds and following seas, full sheets and rolling waters and may the sunset be red across your sails."
After her brother moves away, Zandra steps towards Onura and takes her hand in hers. In the way of females of all races across the world their eye contact held the volume of the communication that transpired between them silently. An entire conversation of words literally in a few blinks of an eye.
"Thank you." was all that Zandra spoke aloud.
"Really, must we all bend low and kiss her arse?! I mean really, besides using fowl language and transporting us about on her overly glorified barge, what did this woman really do that was so stupendous? But no really, I mean the woman has chosen a monkey . . . a monkey for crying out loud to bond with. Why not a sealion at least? Anything besides something that revels in flinging its own excrement."
"Well, not everyone is as lucky as to bond with something as magnificent as you Thor. I am reminded of that humbling fact everyday."
"Hummm, yes quite so."
Onura smiles warmly at Karthan's formality, willing herself to not chuckle to herself for all his devious innuendo. "Sadly it will be several weeks before I'm able to pass anything in the night, Dawnsetter. For the Windsinger's course has been plotted towards the shores of endless council meetings and debates over trade rights." the elven captain allows a grin to slip across her face like a ship in a fog. "I thank you and your companions for the last week's diversions and look forward to the promise of more in our future."
Then to Zandra, after sharing a look that passed a small measure of amusement and an equal request of an unspoken request for permission, Onura stands back and waves the rest of her crew to get back to work.
"You better get moving too," she says, her full authority evident once more in her tone and bearing. Her eyes drift to the other end of the dock where the throngs of people part themselves before an approaching cadre. Past the shoulders and others, she sees the end of a green feather bobbing along and soon the gruff voice of her dwarven commodore can be heard. "I detect my next few weeks fast approaching."
Moments later, safely ensconced in Caleb's carriage, the adventurers make their way up the dock and out on the streets of the district. Sacerdos elects to sit atop the driver's seat with Hindre in order to keep an eye on the covered wagon holding his priestly charges.
In the carriage, Karthan and Zandra and Fir and Mal find their comfort with Thor lounging upon the floor between them to take advantage of a few blankets Hindre had ensured were placed there just for the purpose.
"I will continue on to the Arcanamirium once things are settled at the temple," Fir'umil climbs into the relaxed silence between them. "I wish to confer with Masters Beleg and Tabir as soon as possible regarding our research into the glass daggers." he nods thanks to Zandra who'd been his research partner during their journey on the ship. "The information we've uncovered points to an individual or group who also knew this information and managed to create these daggers. If we take into consideration the mad cleric Lamech's actions, it could be said the daggers' purpose was to feed life energies to his deity. Our next step here would to be somehow ascertain who was doing this research and who could have create the daggers in the first place."
As the heroes have conducted their investigations, they've uncovered some clues along the way...
Story of the Stone of Zamnahd Ur
This clue details the finding of a rock by adventurers in Geb, the land of the undead. On the rock were etchings of strange symbols. The only word decipherable was “Zamnahd Ur”… Of the 8 person group, only one of the adventurers survived the experience. All of the adventurers were from Magnimar, survived the return trip from Geb, all but a man named Jorg were driven to madness and suicide. Jorg had been on the run, a homeless pauper surviving on the streets of Magnimar, the stone from Geb still in his possession.
No one knows what befell of Jorg or if he still lives...
Fir’umil thinks it has a link to an ancient evil named Xhamen-Dor. A creature thought to have been awakened during the cataclysm of Earthfall, little is known outside the insane cultist who worship him.
What little Fir was able to glean from Beleg’s and Caleb’s libraries lends Xhamen-Dor the power to create of undead. The is also a strong following in Geb of this particular creature. Comparing the symbology found on the crystal daggers and that found on this stone from Geb, there are some similarities.
There was an image Fir’umil found that purportedly gives form to Xhamen-Dor. When viewed, whether for the first time or for the 100th, it causes a disquieting feeling of dread and hopelessness...and sometimes nausea and fear in those who look upon it. For this reason, Fir’umil has it (the image) sealed away in a warded scroll case, not certain of the types of magics worked into the ink or vellum.
Driven by curiosity, Fir delved the drawing and came away with the surety that the ink used to put the image to the vellum is actually blood drawn from multiple sources. After this viewing, the elf has been reticent about pulling the drawing forward again.
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Book on Mwangi Spirit Faiths
The book gives more insights into the rumors out of the Mwangi Expanse of a rite designed to provide the spiritual leader of a village with the strength of the faithful during times of war. The use of the rite must be approved by all the village, not just the elders or chieftains. The reason being that those whose spirits are drawn forth run the risk of not returning to their bodies. Even worse, they could be banished to the Shadow Plane should the one casting the rite fall. Left behind are the empty husks of the sacrificed, but those husks do not remain empty for long. There is an old Mwangi story, an oral telling, warning of wandering spirits looking for homes to possess. These wandering shades - at least according to the oral traditions - are malevolent in most cases.
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Varisian Etchings
Fir’umil pulls a vellum scroll from the bag of holding, the item rolled and bound in a horse hair tie that fastened with a tiny brass clasp. The wizard unrolls it to its full 12 x 3 ft dimensions. On it is the depiction of a rubbing, probably transferred from the thin material used by whomever had acquired the original. The first thing that draws the eyes is an ancient rune, Thassilonian in origin according to Fir’s research. Then there is the writing. Fir'umil indicates that his research led to older forms of Shaonti and Varisian to get a rough approximation of the language being used. The words arch from the rune on both sides, those appearing clearly, but only half the rune on the vellum.
”If I don’t miss my guess, this is a rubbing from an old temple, the tympanum to be precise.” With the vellum rolled out, it’s easy to see that the width of it could easily depict a mighty over the double doorways of a temple. He points to the word right below the half rune. ”Here, this is a name, Lixxahla I think it says. On either side, it repeats a phrase...something to the effect. ’As one we give, endless Lixxahla, as one we give...’”
He speculates it to be used on thralls to inspire unwavering loyalty and adoration as they enter the temple for worship..
"Then we got this Wendell character." Mal offers. "Ain't gonna take long for word to come back to him that his brother's ship went down. Unless he knows already because of the candle or some other magic."
Food for thought for the group as the carriage and covered wagon wind there way through the streets and into the Ascendant Court. It's not long before they find themselves before the closed gates of the Iomedae Temple. Guardsmen descend upon the vehicles, inspecting them closely, but one of them recognizes the group and signals for the group to be admitted at once.
It's a stark contrast to the first time they encountered grounds what seemed like a year prior - but in fact was only two weeks. Back then, the gates had been open during the day with few if any guards placed on the constant watch. Now, things felt differently in the temple grounds. Nearly all were armed with the priests and young acolytes even carrying the longsword of their faith.
As the group disembarks, Sacerdos finds himself surrounded by a few of the younger paladins and clerics with whom he'd shared words of training and encouragement. All are willing to aid in getting the wagon unloaded. Before long, the venerable Father Aegius arrives, his face as friendly as ever and begins directing the group to see the sarcophagi to his own private chapel in order to begin the rites to free their souls of the kukri.
"I must go and prepare my soul for this endeavor," Sacerdos speaks to the group. He bows formally, fist to his chest. "My honor to have served. I will see you soon." And the Inquisitor spins with military precision to follow the group of acolytes managing his fallen comrades.
Father Aegius has a hug for Zandra and a friendly grip of the shoulder for both Karthan and Mal'undil and even a nod of respect for Fir'umil. "I believe Chaplain-Protector Duneheim is on patrol now but will be back in a few hours." Aegius says, leaning upon an ash cane and the dutiful eyes of his assistant Percival upon him, ever ready to support the aged cleric. "She will be most pleased of your safe return. Come, let's get you inside before the weather becomes something all together dreadful. I'll see to comfortable lodgings and warm meals for you all. I must beg your patience and forgiveness as I'll not be able to join you this day. My prayers and preparations for Inquisitor Sacerdos' friends must be at the center of my efforts."
"Father, if I may," Fir'umil interjects, coughing briefly into his fist and continuing. "I'd like to be on my way to the Arcanamirium immediately to make my report to my master. Could I have use of one of your camels?" The last couldn't help but elicit a subtle sneer. By now, the young wizard's dislike of riding beasts was well known in the group.
"Of course, young man. Of course." Aegius gestures to Percival. "Go on, now squire, see to Fir'umil's request...now, don't give me that look. I know my cane shall be sufficient whilst you do so. Go on, go on."
Fir'umil pauses long enough to see if others in the group would care to join, or opt to remain and rest and view the outcome of rite to restore Sacerdos' priests.
Karthan moves in to steady father Agius while simutaneously shooting an ernest look in his cousin's direction.
"Cousin, it is far to dangerous to travel by one's self. We have learned a harsh lesson in that department that I don't wish to see repeated. If you could wait we could see about gathering you a proper escort."
"Thor and I shall go with him."
Karthan turns his head sharply to look at Zandra as though he is about to speak before she holds up a dimunative hand to still his protests before he can voice anything.
Thor stands up and fixes Karthan with his eyes as well.
"Listen cub."
Karthan startles at Thor when he rises up. Caught off guard he doesn't get his own words out.
"We all know that many eyes watched for our return. I feel it is safest that Fir'umil and I go as soon as possible to the Arcanamirium before welcoming parties can be moved into position. Speed and action will be our best shield."
"Look, I know you have your reservations, but listen to me. I trusted you when Onura put you in charge on the Wake. Now it is your turn to trust in me and let me go and do this."
"Besides, look into your heart. I know your need to be here and see the outcome of that kukri."
Fir'umil waits patiently, trying to not drum his fingers along his staff. But providence seems to smile down on them when he notes three riders coming through the gates. "If I may offer, cousins, our friend the Chaplain-Protector has just returned from her patrol." The wizard gestures to the gates. "She looks none the worse for wear, perhaps she will be so bold as to provide escort or at he very least assign someone to us?"
He spares a glance to Mal'undil for some support, but the half-elf responds with the slightest of nods to the negative. As if to say he wants no part of their discussion.
The siblings look to the gate and just as Fir'umil has indicated, Oliva Duneheim is walking her camel into the courtyard, a two more armored figures flanking her. The others look to be younger, perhaps paladins in training. Both defer to the Chaplain-Protector as she gives speaks to them.
From this distance, Olivia does look acutely aware and not tired from her time on patrol.