Drogan blows a ring of smoke.
"Tunnels? Now you're talkin' my language."
He looks at Agidor.
"What? I know I wasn't much of a rock hound myself, but it's in my blood. It's been a long time since I breathed in the scent of earth an' darkness."
Darkness . . .
Yes darkness has a smell doesn't it . . . You know that smell well . . . Don't you . . .
The two children fled before them, they were maybe two or three years old, their bodies covered with feces and rat bites. Karl remembers how the fresh blood mixed with the old and the green puss and the somehow clear fluids run together and flick from their bodies to be absorbed on the cobbles and dirt as they continued along their path directly into the morning court traffic.
The father in Karl wanted to go after them, but he had is own problems at the moment. He was fighting the man that had done the things to them. His men were pursuing his accomplice whom had fled in a wagon taking the team of horses directly through the stalls in order to escape Karl.
Karl realized he would have to leave the children's fate to his fellow citizens, of whom he was becoming less and less confident in.
When he finally put the man down he descended into the basement. It was indescribable, but he had been in places like this more times than he cared to count. Feces literally covered the floors and walls in overlapping patterns of children's small hands. There was refuse an vermin everywhere and they clung to his boots. The food they had been feeding the babies was even left alone by the rats and mice. . .
I found three more children that day. Their skeleton arms reaching for me, their voices and eyes pleading with me. They just wanted to be picked up, their small minds fractured by the fear of the rats that literally ate at them in the cages they were held in. I can never forget the eyes . . . And the amazement that they could still reach out with innocent hope and happiness to a stranger they had just met.
it is strange how your mind picks out small details to fixate on. The old crone who was held down there with them had done her best to care for them. She sat outside in the sun while my men gathered matrons to remove the children. She had seen horrors, but she was smiling and reveled in the feel of the sun on her face . . . She died the next day.
"How many children? . . . How many children are among them? Are the prople families that are gathered there?"
Family
My father was from House Lebeda, my mother from House Medvyed. I was a fourth generation Judge Arbiter for the Crown. My father was as consummate a sword master as any that bore our name. A dashing, chiseled and cosmopolitan bachelor of high birth and title that could have had his choice of almost any maiden in the city, but his parents demanded he marry a girl from House Medvyed. . . The less polite in court would call it Clan Medvyed to disparage it as being a collection of tribal country bumpkins. Mother always held her head high though, and my paternal grandparents knew what they were doing, they chose a woman of the highest caliber to be my mother.
My father was a staunch follower of Abadar, this caused him to be regimented and rigid at times, my mother on the other hand paid her respects to The Holder of the Golden Key in public, but held the ways of Erastil close to her heart. House Medvyed held to the old ways. How I loved spending parts of my childhood summers and winters with them in their mountain holds. I learned the way of the woods and the bow. There was a warmth among the people there that missed those dwelling in the tight confines of the city. . . My father complained that the visits eroded my studies and took away from my swordsmanship. In truth it was my fathers frequent absence from home due to his position that had more to do with that than anything.
Listening to my thoughts one might think I had no love for my father, or he for us, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. My mother's devotion to the marriage was returned by him. In time they grew to respect, then love one another and three sons were born to them.
My father was good to us and spent as much time with my brothers and I as the world and his position would allow. He always saw to it that we were well taken care of and instructed. My eldest brother was destined to be the next family head. He was better with words than weapons, and spent much of his time with my grand sire learning the affairs of state. The youngest of us had been divinely gifted. Only
I mastered the blade enough to earn the right to wear the black jacket, which left me to inherit my father's sword and title if not his land and possessions.
Funny though isn't it that my family motto is "Success Through Grace" but I always subscribed to the Medvyed's motto of "Endurance Overcomes All" . . .
Karl mulled things over for a moment while he looked into Lavios's eyes, before looking over at Linkah.
"Darn it Linkah."
Karl gave the man behind the counter the sly grin of a wolf.
"You are obviouly in charge here . . . Okay, but I want something as well. First off, I want to be assured that you can get a few of our non-combatants out of the way and someplace safe. Next, I want some information that I believe you already hold Mr Marcum. I should have darkened your door long ago for it. Then, if this must be done tonight we are going to need some healing if we go in tonight banged up as we are we are going to take losses and failure is worse than doing nothing in this case. If we have a day to outfit, rest and supply that would be better."
As he speaks a growing darkness and anger wells up unbidden from somewhere deep within the older man.
"And Finally, when the killing starts, keep that one out of my way."
He ends his venting comment with a finger stabbed in the direction of the paladin.
Marcum is much like the Marquis isn't he? The only difference is over whom he holds influence. . .
While my family has held the position of Judge Arbiter for the last four generations by the pleasure of his majesty, the King, I reported to the Marquis the highest ranking noble in the city. The marquis rarely interferes in my investigations unless a member of the court is involved. At times he has been my shield, protecting me and my family, and sometimes he has held me on a tight leash, preventing me from completing my work for some political or financial gain. He is often frustrating, but he is the cousin of the King and has ruled the city for a score of years. He was better than some I had dealt with and in following Abadar I had learned to follow the orders I was given.
I was certain that the Prince would know almost everything I did. His network of informers is impressive; especially amongst the noble families. If he was feeling generous maybe he would gift me with some of the information he had on Alastar. I thought through what I was going to say as I awaited an audience. I was kept waiting almost three hours. No else had entered while I waited. The Prince kept me waiting to reinforce his power and to subtly show that his time was far more valuable then mine. Inwardly I laughed, I was the second son of a Judge Arbiter, it wasn't like I had delusions of moving up in line to the Throne. I am sure he had me watched while I waited. Hopefully it pissed him off to learn that I would pass the time by reading something of interest to me or playing my violin. Just to show him that he was doing me a favor by granting me free time. Heh heh.
When I was finally allowed entrance, I marched forward and dropped to one knee, head low. “Your Highness, I bring sad news of the murder of Lord Alastar al-Cashan. He was murdered sometime in the last two days. How he was killed has me concerned. There is much left that I have to learn.”
The Prince kept his back to me, fingering a delicately jeweled goblet. “The removal of his heart could be symbolic, as young Alastar played so casually with the hearts of others. Still the care taken in its removal does not strike me as something one of my court would do. Most would have ripped it out and thrown it at his feet. Jealous lovers are very emotional. Strife between the minor houses is likewise and this murder was cold and calculated, with a precision that would be beyond them.”
He knew every detail before I spoke. It shed some light on why I was delayed; he wanted time to gather the information before our meeting. I started to think who on my staff had that information and could be his spy. That I was being closely watched was no surprise. With no fresh facts to add I voiced the thought that had been nagging at the corner of my mind since the meeting with Yolan.
“Your Majesty, I don’t believe this is the last murder. The killer wanted a living heart for a reason and I need to find out why.”
With a dismissive wave, the Prince began to walk away towards his hidden passageway. “Then do your job and try to keep more of my court from dying. Some I could easily do without, but this killer does not have the good manners to allow me to chose whom he kills.”
I left knowing two things. The first was that the Marquis would support me against the other noble families for now; and second that his patience was limited when nobles are killed. His tone may have seemed light, but he tolerated no mistakes.
”Information I have, Mr. Marsh.” He pauses the drawing and writing he’s committing to the parchment so he can look Karl in the eye. ”The question is, do you really want to hear it.” Marcum ceases his work all together and places the bit of chalk he’d been using down on the counter. ”And don’t think you’ve not crossed my mind before this, sir. Did you think I’d not know you were looking into me for Linkah’s benefit?” The misshapen man locks eyes with Karl and shows no signs of flinching. ”There are a great many things about you that leads me to believe you’d be able to contribute to this undertaking. But because of what I know of you, I’d prefer that Squire Shieldarm remain precisely ‘in your way’, so to speak. You need the balance and the reminder.” Marcum works his jaw, like he’s grinding his teeth. ”As for being in charge, I have no control over you or any of these people. Information is my medium, and I exercise as much control around me as to maintain my modest existence. I don’t use blood or threats or thumbing the scales. If that’s the type of person you seek, then might I recommend speaking with Tarik directly.”
”Now, your request,” Marcum considers for a moment, glancing about the motley gathering. ”I can send word to the Scarlet Knuckle if that is your wish. My question would be to where or whom shall they be directed? I can supply a few names, but I have the feeling that is something you’d prefer to give me.” He glances down to Linkah. ”If you’re so insistent upon joining this venture, than might I suggest the inclusion of your family.”
”Might I suggest Vennie?” Helios rests his chin in his hand, sifting through his own mental catalogue. ”He’s got a few places near the northside.”
”Possibly,” Marcum considers and looks to Agidor. ”You know him, yes?”
Agidor nods. ”He’s a good man, friendly to our efforts, as you know, but he’s never been one for that direct an involvement.” He shakes his head with disappointment. ”I don’t think it could work, he departs for the Wildwood Lodge early in the morning.”
Marcum looks back to Karl. ”They may have to remain where they are, unless anyone else here may have something to offer by way of protection. I can send word to the Knuckle that they are to remain untouched as a personal favor. Outhouse will honor it, if that satisfies your needs.” In the man’s tone, there is no impatience but the impression of the gears of a complicated clock come to mind when watching him think.
”As for what I know about the moving parts,” Marcum continues. ”Hektor Lenz. Before learning of the Stag Herald’s choice of cargo, I had arranged the discreet use of a ship bound for Absalom. A portly harbor master with a penchant for Chelaxian purple-seed and the absinth in which to cook it. I found him a supplier long ago, a sharp-tongued Tiefling in eastern Cheliax willing to send regular shipments under cover of ornamental boxes.” He taps a finger against the countertop. ”He’s been given ample incentive to see that the Stag Heralds get what they want, I made sure of it. But judging by those you encountered outside...my thought is Ardo sought more from me, or to simply leverage Hektor Lenz himself. There’s quite a bit of coin to be made by having a harbor official in one’s book.”
”Transit,” Marcum moves down the mental list. ”The Stag Heralds will require the low tide to be able to use covered wagons to move the villagers to the harbor. The ship I acquired for them is called the Lina Varden which makes dock tomorrow and departs the following day.”
Marcum taps a finger on the counter and looks at Drogan. ”Tunnels. Everyone knows there are intricate networks of tunnels under Cassomir. Everyone also knows one doesn’t enter those tunnels lightly, nor alone. Dark things in those places, and if it’s to be believed, they’ve been in place longer than Cassomir.” He points to a series of drawings he’s made on the parchment. ”I’ve not received word on what sort of condition the tunnels are in beneath the Tannery, but I can almost guarantee Ardo and his band knows about them.” He shrugs his narrow shoulders, more an exercise in stretching them than anything. ”But Tarik set them up there, why I don’t know...Ardo’s a clever one. Clever and willing to go a lot further than Tarik or his weasel-faced lieutenant. Maybe Tarik sees it, and didn’t tell him much about the tunnels.”
”Then there are the dwarves here with Stigion Ironhand. A rough and ready lot I think you’d do well to avoid.” Marcum gives a glance towards the cloth-wrapped key on the counter near to hand. ”I don’t plan on disappointing him. He’ll be back tomorrow evening for the key. But why he’s involved himself with the likes of Ardo and his cutthroats, I don’t know”
------------
I was convinced there was going to be another murder, but I had no way of telling who would be next to die.
While I waited, I tried to determine when and where Alastar had last been seen. There was too much time unaccounted for, likely it had been spent with a woman who was afraid to come forward or was being prevented from doing so by her family. If I assumed a late night dalliance between dusk and the hour before midnight, he was likely abducted and killed between midnight and dawn two days ago. I wasn’t sure knowing the time of death would help me, but it might be a way to track the killer if I learned when he killed if not why.
I was at a loss of what to do. I hated waiting for something to happen; I preferred action. I had spent more than a day chasing dead end leads. My mood was most foul until I reached home.
Home was my refuge, my safe place. . .
I was a different person when I was outside of it . . I had to be.
My home guard admitted me and took my horse. Mary Goodwin came from the kitchens with hot lemon scented towels for me to wipe my face and hands while my boot boy scrubbed and polished my boots clean.
Right on que, my elderly Butler Alhearn came from inside the house. How that man always appeared pressed, groomed, and ready to greet me no matter what hour I came or left I will never know. He had served my grand sire and had earned his pension while in my fathers service. He was offered retirement in one of my families country estates, but wished to stay on. He had out lived both both my grand sire and father. He was my link to them. As a boy my father had appointed him my ward, he covered up several of my youthful mishaps and short comings from my father, but whipped me soundly with a switch if I needed it. I trusted him implicitly and loved him like my own father.
I was glad he was there for my own children when I couldn't be.
"Welcome home Lord, I pray to Abadar that you have solved the matter and will be allowed to stay home a while."
I shook my head, "A rough one and somewhat out of the ordinary Alhearn. While I was out any word from Inquisitor Yolan?"
"None as of yet lord."Alhearn, bowed and led me through the front outer doors of my residence before closing and shuttering them behind me. Away from the others eyes I made a move to grab the heavy door bar and assist the ancient butler in his task, but earned naught but a lightning quick and painful rap to my knuckles for my effort.
<Tisk Tisk> "We'll have none of that now, I'll not be having my lord put me out of a job. It would be hard to find another one at my age. Even if I did, I doubt the lady of the house would be as fair as yours."
Rubbing my knuckles I chuckled as the wiry old codger set the bar in its bracing cradle and tumbled the locks. Locks can be picked, but you'd need a ram to get through that bar reinforced door, I had made sure of it myself.
"Alhearn, you know I would hire a doorman if you would allow it."
"Nonsense, Karl, this is how I get my exercise. A man my age must keep his heart in shape for when your lady graces me with her presence and I must keep up with your girls."
"My wife home?"
"No milord, she is down at the temple and expects to be there overnight, she waited to see if you would sup with her tonight, but when it was apparent that you were delayed she left word for you to see to tucking the girls in for the night, if you made it home. Of course you've arrived well past that hour."
My wife was also from house Medvyed. The most beautiful girl you could imagine and as fine a mother any could hope for. I am biased of course, but justified in my opinion. She wasn't chosen for me, we had met as children and grew up together. Our love was a hot one, luckily our union was favorable politically and economically as well as romantically. We were wed just after I had donned the black leathers. Elsa and I had five children together. Two boys followed a few years later by three girls.
Elsa was a cleric of Desna. In the city there was a small temple dedicated to the deity. Her worshipers weren't numerous, at least in the public eye, but quite devout. The Church of Abadar allowed the Church of Desna to operate openly for despite its different and sometimes unorthodox approach to things its presence made the city run more smoothly as a whole. My beautiful wife was often out helping the poor, counseling or healing this person or that. She was always out trying to improve the world around her. Her beautiful view of life helped keep my skewed sense of the reality of human existence at bay.
"The boys?" I inquired.
"With their uncle m'lord. I have enough to deal with having three little ladies to wait upon. I don't need two teenaged boys added to the mix. You and your bothers almost killed me and I was twenty years younger then . . . Sebastian was asking about his sword lessons again m'lord. Made me swear upon the Golden Key I would remind you."
"He knows better than invoke Abadar's name over something like that.", I replied a bit more sharply than perhaps the offense warranted.
Alhearn raised a bushy grey eyebrow, "Perhaps he knows there is small chance you will see him in person to have a chance to punish him for it. You have put off the lessons for weeks. You have the work habits of your father m'lord, just an observation."
That man wielded guilt like a rapier, "Alright, alright, I am properly chastised. Tell him I will have Master Don'Aleveda come over for his brother and him when I've received word that the two of them have lived up to their potential in their geography and penmanship lessons."
Both of my boys were good with sword for boys their age and showed promise. If one or both of them pursued wearing the black I would be proud of them, but deep down I wanted more for them than what I had. Becoming a Judge Arbiter is romanticized by many, but they don't know the weight that mantle carries. I hoped that my older brother would help them develop skills and traits that I lacked. Truth be told I had been dragging my feet. The boys needed the harsh lessons of a Sword-master that was not their own father. A man needs to know how to defend himself and his family.
"I shall relay the message for you m'lord."
"The girls give you much trouble?" I asked already knowing what his answer would be.
"None whatsoever m'lord, they most assuredly take after you."
"Lair." I replied and we shared a laugh together.
"In my old age I failed to make them go to bed on time. As long as the lady of the house doesn't get word of it we both may live."
I clapped Alhearn on the shoulder. I unbelted my sword belt and entrusted my weapons to his care. "I doubt my father ever took these off. He might have even worn them to bed for all I know, but he didn't have daughters. It is hard to sit at a miniature table and have a tea party with these on." . . .
When the killing starts.
When the killing starts.
"When the killing starts, I want you to stay here." That's what Veras said before riding down the hill, leading the paladins of Iomedae into battle.
Then it started. The shouts of pain. The sound of steel rending flesh from bone. The snarls and moans of undead fiends. The light.
The light, it welled up inside him until he felt that it would burst from his skin. Then he heard it, her voice. "Go Nosatrub, for you are my shieldarm and you will drive away the darkness. Do not be afraid,your valor will win this day."
"But lady, I am..."
"You are what I have helped make you become," the lady whispered,"and you are an agent of retribution."
"I am an agent of retribution. I am your agent of retribution."
He ran. Down the hill, toward the screams and fiends. His longsword drawn and held high above his head. His roar heard above the din of the battle. He ran and the light came with him.
Nosa looks at the older man, still unable to fathom the depths of him. Though confused, he still knows what he must do.
When the killing starts I will be right where I belong, bringing justice for those who cannot bring it for themselves. How about you? What will you bring? I only hope your steel is as sharp as your tongue.
Its coming back. . . Let it come . . . If it swallows you---tie a noose, you've tested the beam above your bed a dozen times. No it's time to face it. . . It will be too strong. You've waited too long already. Look at yourself you've watsed away, your sword moves like molasses, your man gauche strikes like a child's boffer. . . It is now or never, now or never . . . and for once I am not alone.
One that might grant you release . . . No, not before my last futile play. Time to face what you may not have wanted to know.
Anger, murderous, unchecked, anger Squire, and a certain skill set that is lacked by most here.
Karl stumbles and grabs the first stable object he can to steady himself.
bluff
"If he halflings must shelter in place so be it. Maybe later we can move them to the ship destined for Absalom."
"Lets hear your plan or must we let it wait for I fear I will need to return to the Knuckle before things are set in motion? You have my word I will see this through."
Marcum and Agidor’s eyes meet briefly, both nod at an unspoken understanding. Next to Agidor, Linkah stirs a bit and looks ready to say something cross when the bard’s hand rests on his shoulder. ”I think your relatives staying in place is for the best. Especially if someone notes our appearance in Dog’s Teeth, at the least they aren’t in the know…”
He gives the halfling a pat on the shoulder and moves over to the counter and Marcum. The bard gives the counter a tap and then moves forward to Karl and rests his hands on his hips. ”I get where you’re coming from, mate. I don’t think I’ve graced such dark corridors as you, but there’s a hurt we get sometime that doesn’t let go.” Agidor raises a hand, a steel flask bound in boiled and darkened leather in his right hand, his left deftly unscrewing the cap. After taking a sip he hands it to the old warrior with a smile at his lips but concern at his blue eyes. ”Here, take a snort. We aren’t moving tonight and it sounds like we could all use one...you especially.”
In his methods, both Marcum and Agidor are attempting to aid Marsh in his subterfuge.
Linkah limps towards the counter and leans against it. ”So like Marshy asked, eh? What’s the plan?”
”It’s simple actually, the choice is between three avenues...Use the tunnels to attempt a break in from beneath the tannery and free the villagers and Kheegan.” Marcum draws the piece of parchment back along the counter so he can continue his plot of the tunnels as he knows them. ”To be sure, a dangerous option since we don’t know what Ardo’s men know of them...unless scouting is done. Add to it, we are at the mercy of the tides. At the rising of the tide some of these tunnels will flood and be unusable. I’ll notate them on the map.”
Marcum resumes drawing as he speaks. ”Or an attempt is made to attack them while in transition to the docks. They will have to go at the lowest tidal point so the wagons are able to travel on the road and not flounder in stands of mud. For our benefit, the lowest tide is just after noon. Hence the reason they will be in covered wagons.”
”Then of course there is dear Hektor, a harbor official with a taste for Chelaxian purple-seed. He is complicit in the connection with the Lina Varden. Perhaps the proper leverage on him could prompt any number of scenarios to barr the transport of the Southridge villagers.” Marcum uses a thumb to begin blotting and smearing details on another area of the parchment. A new drawing is forming, the visage an old man with a bald pate and a long beard.
”Three avenues, three choices of which one or some or all could be taken.” Marcum’s bit of chalk ceases its motion, he doesn’t look up from his drawing but his next words add a bit of weight. ”I don’t need to tell you Hal’dorel, that Kheegan most likely will not be among the villagers at the time of transport.”
”I understand.” the elf responds smoothly, like he’d just been told by a barmaid that the inn was out of Osirion pepper.
Helios looks to the ground, outwardly feeling the weight of Marcum’s words. But he remains silent and awaits the group’s consensus.
Jak pulls pipe from his coat and a pouch of tobacco. ”I’m with you, Lavios.” He states flatly as he fills the bowl of the pipe.
”I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve that might help.” Agidor says, taking up a spot next to Karl, leaning against the wall. ”I can assume the identity of a baddie for a brief time. It won’t hold up if someone decides they need to give me a kiss, but it’ll do in a pinch.” He gives a sly grin and juts his chin towards Linkah. ”And our resident troublemaker can sneak like nobody’s business.”
”Hey!” Linkah protests. But he too offers his own grin.
”I can be persuasive when it comes down to it,” Helios throws in after giving Hal’dorel a reassuring grip on the forearm. ”My line of work, you have to use some...less than authentic talk and bit of magic to get things going in a negotiation. Plus, I can manage to blink out of view for a few ticks at a time.”
”Don’t trust him with a bow,” the elf says. ”He can sing, thankfully taking after his mother in that regard, but his skill with a bow is...questionable.” Hal’dorel looks at Lavios as if to say the disciple of Gozreh knows first hand. ”But I am no stranger to my weapon and know it well. My eyes are sharp and I’ve managed cultivate some magical ability thanks to my heritage.”
Marcum, still scratching away with his bit of charcoal, speaks up again. ”While I am most assuredly not getting involved in any adventures of the physical variety, I can at the least offer you provisions. What I have in my stores I make available to you...within reason. I can’t have you matching off with my front door to use as a Tower shield.” He turns a sidelong glance to Nosatrub and goes back to his drawing. ”So, tell me, which way or ways would you all choose? We have roughly a day and a half to put a plan into motion.”
Nosa smiles at the bent old man,walks over to the door and gives it three forceful raps.
This would never do. Poor construction.
"Don't underestimate it, Squire Shieldarm." Marcum says with a minor chuckle. "That door stopped a crossbow bolt not a fortnight ago."
"Right. As I see it, I'm all for going into the tunnels, but I know you lot might not find them as welcoming. There's also the notion that I'm not keen on drowning any time soon."
"In light of this..." he points to the map. "an alternate consideration if you ask me, would be to have ole Hektor give 'em a bit a' bureaucratic beating right around 'ere, perhaps egged on a bit by an infiltrated Agidor, and the rest of us sneak the innocents away in the commotion. That way, if things turn ugly, we don't 'ave to worry about needless damage done to village folk. Sound like a plan to anyone else? Otherwise I'm open to suggestions."
Karl takes the flask and gives it a good hit.
"Eh . . . Finally someone with a taste for decent drink around here. My thanks."
The color begins to return to Karl's cheeks.
"Sounds like we are going to have to hit this in at least two ways. The wagons could be important to transport the victims out and away to wherever the safe destination will be. We will need to hit the main detention area to get your man Kheegan out. The advantage of a two prong attack is the strength of the enemy will be reduced."
"They are more vulnerable out in the open away from their stronghold. They will know that, so they will be on point. They will need a lot of players to move that many bodies. So if we strike the lair while the transport team is out there should be less resistance to overcome. We could send our heavies into the lair. I'll wager there will be some kind of obstacle blocking easy entry into the main building from the tunnels."
"Another idea is we let the delivery be made so we don't even have to tangle with the transport team. Through Hector we make sure we are there to catch the victims on the drop off end. Meanwhile we hit the lair. Any objections to burning the place to the ground in the process?"
"Biggest worry I've got right now is what we do with the victims once we have them in hand. They are going to need to be cared for and moved."
Burn it to the ground. I remember Grayce burning.
I have no objections. If by burning the place we can spare the innocent, then so be it. But I am wary too of the victims. Is there a safe place we can bring them Marcum?
Helios scratches at the stubble on his chin. "I think the group I serve can do something for them. My main contact is out of the city, but there is another I can call on. Not three years ago we had to relocate a small village outside of Oppara when a landless noble sought to claim right by force the place those villagers called home." The half elf considers for a moment and nods to himself as though coming to a conclusion. "I'm sure something can be arranged for them."
|
Beckett snaps out of his introspection at the mention of burning, his eyes regaining focus.
He smiles and shrugs.
"I'm afriad that I have little training in tactics. Tho, I am somewhat accompished in following orders."
Beckett's grin widens as if he just said something very amusing. Then his face grows earnest once again.
"I trust in Marsh's experience in planning this assault. I am content to follow where he leads."
Planning. . .
Sometimes you plan every thing down to the minute detail, other times you have to come up with something and just go with it. The times when it just goes down without warning are easy, you just go on instinct and experience. But then there are the times you are led into a situation . .
I remember when I walked in the light. I was led places, given signs, acted on sudden impulse. . . Took me a while to realize where those odd coincidences came from, but once I understood and accepted those gifts they came more often . . .
I was walking down a narrow twist of an alley deep in the skilled worker district. I was on my way someplace or another, I can't remember where now. That's when I saw it. A bloody hand print on the wall outside one of the residences.
It caught my eye for several reasons. First was the color, though dry it had color to it rather than the dulled brown of old blood. The finger tips of the palm print hooked at the end, this meant the hand had made contact and pulled at the wall with force leaving only a quick impression. Glancing around I noted no cast off blood or prints anywhere else except for the smallest smudge near the door jam.
Only had Lord Bashar with me, we hadn't gone out looking for trouble, but I would find us this day. I suddenly had a dread premonition. I pounded on the door, proclaimed my title and demanded entry in the name of the crown. There was nothing, no response. It started somewhere deep in my gut. A strange sense of power and determination welled up within me unbidden. I could feel the evil that was about to happen and the fear concealed behind that door as clearly as you can can feel heat radiating off of a fire you are standing too close to.
There was no time to even warn Lord Bashar of my next move. I reared up with my leg and kicked out with all my might planting he sole of my riding boot just next to the catch and lock. I will never forget the power and energy that flowed through my leg. I could feel the wood and iron yielding and breaking apart before my flesh and bone as I continued to drive it painlessly into the planks forcing ever inward as the stout constructed door broke and yielded swinging inward.
Adrenaline is a strange thing. Everything had been occurring in slow motion, but as soon as the door was breeched everything sped up, it was choppy even.
Just inside, in the vestibule a man was in the process of both strangling and covering a young bloodied girls mouth. His eyes burned into mine with hatred, hers seared with panic.
He released her and I was vaguely aware she was not wearing anything on the bottom half of her body as she fled somewhere off to my right deeper into the residence.
Without a single word, the man and I went directly forthwith into combat. I went to draw my weapon, but he kicked me in almost exactly the same way I had kicked the door pinning my right hand to my body preventing my quick draw of the sword and he was on me like a knight in a military saddle. I was bigger and likely stronger, but the man was fighting to kill us. It was the only way he was going to escape judgement.
[I[I countered and got an arm around his neck and began to cut off the blood supply to his brain. It usually take only few seconds to but someone out this way. I thought I had him, until I didn't. He was a trained street fighter and knew what to do.[/I]
He dropped his weight, trapped my hands and flipped me up and over his back so that my hold slipped off and I suddenly found myself on the ground and In danger of being pined under him.
Now I was in a knockdown, drag out, ground fight. He drew large knife across my midsection. Luckily for me, my grandfather's celestial chain turned the edge of the blade. I got a few elbows in before I Broke free and struggled up . . . Only to be brained in the back of the head by a blow from Lord Bashar's cudgel meant for my attacker.
I give my man credit, but he was smaller, older and over
matched. As I staggered and fought to regain my senses and control over my body, Lord Bashar was taking the business in the form of a sound ass beating.
Thankfully I got back into the fight and was able to hammer fist him then pommel strike him down to the ground with my man gauche.
We never spoke a word to one another during the whole thing. We later learned that the girl had been taken from her family who didn't know where to turn for help. The man had gotten her pregnant out of wedlock and had been keeping her in her cell over 7 months. The girl was young. He had kept her compliant by giving her pets then mutilating them in front of her. On the day I had arrived she had gotten the courage to run away after he had been abusing and beating her.
The girl was returned to her family and had a lot of issues to work through thanks to her imprisonment and mistreatment. . . I never knew what became of the baby.
The smoldering tobacco glows in the bowl of the pipe. Drogan blows smoke through his nose like some luxuriating dragon.
"I've no love lost fer slavers. If we can divert the townsfolk to a safe place, we can scour the city of the place and salt the earth behind us."
I hope Hector knows what he's doing. Otherwise, this will all be for nothing.
"I'm in."
"Thank you for your confidence young man, but this will be a collaborative effort. I can use a bow, I collected a loaner from the Heralds, but if we do decide to take them above ground I can bend a composite longbow, not as far a draw as I once could, but better than the average man my age."
Agidor, this is your home turf, if we send Drogan, Linkah and at least one other to scout the tunnels is there something you will need me to help you accomplish up top? Or can I go with them."
Agidor considers Karl's question for a moment, sparing a glance for the group as though assessing the accompanying instruments for his next performance. "I think it would be fine for you to journey with Drogan and Link..."
"Lavios too." Jak adds. "He's good in a fight either with that crossbow o' his or that murder stick." He eyes the finely made trident in its harness across Lavios' back. "And he's had a run in with some less 'n natural beasties out on the Blackwood Causeway. Going into those tunnels is a necessary, no argument there, but like Master Marcum says, there's a reason chaps go n' don't come back."
Agidor nods as more of the plan unfolds. "Squire Shieldarm, Beckett and myself could meet this Hektor first thing on the morrow. See if we can't turn him to our way of thinking."
"Be cautious with that one." Marcum interjects. "If there were Stags at my door, only prevented from knocking by your opportune intervention...that tells me that Hektor most like made an arrangement with them and cut me out. Ardo and his men are just new enough to the city to think they can do me in..." Marcum grinds his teeth again. "Be prepared that Hektor has made a new deal. But I have have a feeling that Master Beckett will prove to be an excellent negotiator."
"Helios and I can resume our watch of the tannery." Hal'dorel says as he begins going thru his stores of arrows, inspecting the fletchings.
"Not so sure of that, bub." Jak responds. "The half elf can blend, but you're gonna stand out like a torch in midnight. I'll go with Helios if you'll have me. I've got some...experience watchin' blokes."
Helios grins to himself, realization in his eyes. "I can live with that..." He places a hand on the elf's shoulder. "તમે મારા મિત્ર ચિંતા કરવાની જરૂર નથી. અમે તેમના સ્વતંત્રતા માટે જોશો. કદાચ આ ટનલ ખોજ લોકો સાથે જવા તક મેળવી છે."
The elf inclines his head then glances towards Karl and Drogan. "If being seen is an issue, then I can lend a hand to the scouting efforts underground."
Marcum furrows his brow, rubbing a hand along his bald pate. "Then we have the beginnings of a plan for tomorrow. The access via the tunnels will be scouted by Karl, Drogan, Lavios, Linkah and Hal'dorel. And Beckett, Nosatrub and Agidor will pay a visit to our friend Hektor. As Drogan put it, give him a bureaucratic bearing. Might I suggest you follow the cart path out of Dog's Teeth and thru Admiral's Fen towards the docks. It will give you practice for that is the route they will be taking with the wagons two days from now."
Marcum replaces his charcoal pencil under the counter and slides his finished drawing forward. It includes a drawing of Stigion Ironhand, Hektor Lenz and a rendering of the front of the Tannery. This goes along with the layout of of the tunnel system he knows.
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Drogan points to a wide set of the boots. Those should do nicely for tunnel walking, and I'll grab a torch or two."
After securing a few basic supplies, he goes to look at Marcum's drawings. His eyes go wide as he peers over parchment. He points at the image of the dwarf. You are sure that this is Stigion Ironhand? You are certain that you didn't just remember him from another deal?"
He did not wait for the shopkeeper to respond. "Seven hells, what is he doing here? This won't do. Doesn't smell right." He turns to Karl and Lavios, "If it is at all possible, this dwarf is not to be harmed. I have questions for him, an' it'll be hard to ask 'im if he were dead. If it's not possible," he paused, "Then may the lucky drunk have one for us all."
Drogan pulls out his notebook and attempts to find the page he had recorded the glimmer he used for stagecraft. Who knows what will happen if the old dwarf sees him.
"I'm positive that's the name he gave me when he visited me yesterday evening." Marcum replies, flipping open his book and jotting down a note or two.
Jak let's out a laugh. "T'won't be a problem not killin' the bloke. He's got a smidge o' armor on maybe 2 or 3 hundred years old. N' that hammer o' his...no offense but I ain't gettin' on the workin' end o' that hunk o' metal. Then there's his mates."
Drogan shouts in dwarven as he pushes Jak to the ground.
"Did you stop for one moment and contemplate how a dwarf with such such advanced age was able to GET that way? Were he to notch that hammer you speak of so flippantly for each victory recorded in the archives of Highhelm, there'd be nothing left of it but a sliver. And he'd prob'ly use that sliver te pull out your fool tongue an' eat it like a bit a' cheese on a cracker."
The initial rage simmering, he offers his hand to Jak and helps him up. "Danton Ulformis Foeward, the one they call Kingmaker, is one of the foremost authorities of dwarven histories for the past three generations. And that's because it was his hammer that helped forge them."
Drogan picked up the sketch and focused his attention, as if Foeward could hear him. "He is a good, an' honorable dwarf. As such, he has little care for me. I'm sure there is a reason he is here in this city, but if we find he is somehow tied to this filth, I'll personally watch him burn with the rest of the building to save the shame."
The plan seems a good one and I will do my part to see it done.
Jak brushes away the dwarf's offered hand with his left and sheaths the dagger he'd drawn with his right. "Don't get your hackles up, mate." He regains his feet on his own, dusting off his ratty clothing. "Wasn't offering up insults when I said I'll give his hammer a miss. Twas statin' a fact; this bloke's a professional."
He glares at the dwarf but puts away his offense for the time being. "Marcum said this guy's here to pick up the key the halfling just handed over. Plus he'll be here tomorrow night to collect it if ya wants a conversation."
"Ma olen vastik, kuid mitte teadmatuses ..." Jak growls at Drogan.
"Plus this Stigion or Danton...whatever he wants to be called...he's havin' chats with half-orcs n' low-lifes who 'r nice n'cozy takin' gold from Ardo." Jak works his shoulders and resumes his leaning against the wall. "Hoidke meeles selge, poeg High Helm. Muidu see oleks sina, kes kannatab teadmatusest."
". . . Well . . . That was odd. If this party can attack the enemy as well as we attack each other, they won't stand a chance."
Karl bursts into laughter for a moment.
"No, but seriously, I think it is a good plan. We will be happy to take Hal. The low light vision will be handy when paired with a red lensed, shutter or bullseye lantern if we can get one of those, a few heavy stones, a few sacks and some large pots, buckets or pails. That should give us a a last ditch defense for flooded tunnels. That trident will be at home down there too."
"I like the idea of Beckett and the Squire going in to talk to Hektor. It will make him think at least. A paladin and inquisitor of separate powerful religious churches will require consideration on his part.
Maybe you should tell us a little more about these dwarves and what they are up to around town Marcum. Then Drogan, maybe you can tell us what you know about them, because there is too much coincidence going on here."
"Nice drawings by the way."
Marcum grins at Karl's compliment. "As I said, I have an excellent memory for things I've seen and commit them to paper when I can. But as for the dwarves traveling with Stigion...or Danton aa it were, I've only the knowledge that they arrived earlier today. They paid me a visit to confirm they'd be back tomorrow for the key. I'm not certain when they arrived in Cassomir nor their method of travel." He scratches at his chin and grinds his teeth. "Vexing to say the least."
"As for buckets and such, you won't have much chance if the tunnels flood. No where to put the water. Besides, low tide is at noon...As I indicated earlier. You'll have a good 4 hours of exploration before you'll have to turn back. I also mentioned that I don't have much experience in those depths...none who have tell much of what they've seen. Caution is your best ally down there."
"Heh, heh, the buckets are to trap air. The stones to weigh it down."
"We left a lot of dead men and their leader out there. We can work that a few ways. It can send a message, we can pit two organizations against one another, maybe destabilize one, or use it as an example for Hektor of what switching alliances might mean for him. . ."
"Better get a few tools and some spears for the tunnels too." A few men with spears can hold a tunnel."
"Any idea of what kind of condition this Kheegan might be in? If we have a chance to get him out on the scout, I wouldn't want to walk away from it. The man's got a full blood elf ready to take the big dirt nap over him, he's got to be out of the ordinary in some way."
"Hmmm, I see. Well, I might have a bucket or two in the shed behind the shop. I'm sure they're serviceable."
Marcum's face darkens at the mention of the dead bodies. "Chances are they've been picked over by now. Maybe even taken. It's best they're cleared out so their demise isn't attributed to me. There are two groups here, Tarik's and Ardo's. They are now in an alliance... But I suppose anything is possible. But they are burgh very cunning leaders in their own right. Be careful of leveraging animosity between them. "
Hal'dorel replies to Karl. "Kheegan was once a slave in Isger. His parents stolen away while he was a youngling from a tribe making their home in the foothills of the 5 Kings. Myself and my cousin ran across him in Greengold when he effected his own escape from servitude aboard a ship bound for Riddleport. The elf's face sets a grim cast. "I took my first life that day. Kheegan, nearly dead bound his life to mine in return. Our friendship has grown since then. While my cousin moved on with his magical studies, I bound myself to the cause of finding Kheegan's parents." Hal looks to Karl, blue eyes piercing. "He's my friend. That is enough."
Hal looks to Karl, blue eyes piercing. "He's my friend. That is enough."
Karl drops his eyes and nods. There is no sense of condensation or mocking to it. Accepting the answer he continues.
"Okay, the tunnel rats will take a potion and the antidote, mud boots, the picks, Linkah you grab that rope there. Drogan, you are a stout type grab a pick and a pack. Same for you son (to Lavios). I guess we will need the torches. . . We'll grab those buckets. . . Take that map from you and I'll probably paraffin soak it so it doesn't get wrecked in water. We should take a bit of grub with us too."
"Any rabbits feet in your drawer there?" he adds to lighten the mood.
"Now for the meet up and entry. What's our best option? The best approach?"
I had made my approach as quietly as possible, but the rattling of the door pulls gave me away. . .
Knowing that I was discovered I entered the girls' nursery chambers calling out that it was me. This was the best part of my life back then, coming home to my girls.
A chorus of sounds went up after Freya my four year old announced, "Its daddy! Daddy's home!" And came skipping over to give me a hug and wrap herself around one of my legs and slid down to sit on my boot.
From down the hall came a click, clack, click, clack, clickity-clack sound off the marble floor as Anastasia my youngest came charging down the hallway in a pair of heels she had probably ferreted out from my wife's collection in her dressing room. Her face was alight as she spread her arms wide to come in for a hug tackle leading with a runny nose she would almost assuredly wipe on my knee. She almost tripped because she was also trying to look down at her feet to see how her footwear looked as she was running. She slammed into me with such force I was sure she had injured herself, but she just grinned up at me from under her crazy mop of hair. Ana would suffer no bows, but liked to drape herself in all kinds of other accessories.
She jumped up and down with glee as she gave me her report, "I go pooh! Ana go pooh pooh on the potty! Pick me up! Pick me up! Ana go upside down, pick me up upside down daddy. Make Ana fly! Run fast! Go! Go! Go!" The little blonde sparkbug shrieked in pure cherubic joy as I scooped her up and suspended her upside down by her legs.
Of course this immediately incited a bit of feminine rivalry from her sister Freya who called out, "Hey! Why did you pick her up first?!"
Seige warfare was easier than raising multiple girls in one manor house at times so I had to think quickly to avoid what I had come to call the green monster of envy. "Um, well because you were so attached to my leg I was going to have to surprise you like . . . this!" I called out an scooped Freya up with my free arm and flipped her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and spun around inciting giggles from both of them. After a few circles and running around making silly noises I was quite dizzy myself so I dumped them both in the soft pillows of the day bed despite protests of, "Again! Again!"
"Oh you are going to have to wait daddy's got to get his head to stop spinning."
"WHAT?! Silly daddy! Your head is not spinning, it's right there on top of your neck! Go look in the mirror! Come on, come on!" Next thing I knew I was being dragged towards the dressing mirror by two determined little ones who forgot just as quickly what their original objective had been.
"Hold on, hold on there little ones, where is that sister of yours?" I asked feeling a slight twinge of loss that any father whose children no longer ran to greet him at the door feels.
"Um, you mean Karina?!", my little auburn headed beauty asked in a raised earnest eyebrows kind of way.
"Well yes, I hope so, she's the only other sister you have that's not here unless you mom has something to tell me."
The joke of course went right over Freya's head, but it brought on another bout of the giggle and smiles as I was pulled towards my eldest daughter's bedroom. Inside Karina sat on a stool in front of a oval mirror piling her hair atop her head with curlers, combs and other womanly hair gear scattered about. "Hi dad." And a little wave was all I got from my preteen.
"Hi sweetheart, you must not have heard me come in."
"No I heard you, I knew you were coming to see me and I am trying to get the layers right on my hair."
"Oh, well, thank you for sparing my self esteem---"
---"Dad! Guess what?!"---
"What sweetie pie? I"---
---"Jenzelle's father just told her that she's going to be married to Jamie Cartcher! Isn't that crazy?!"
"Um, yes I think it is. I mean isn't she close to your age"---
---"Dad! I totally need an ecru dress for Tabitha's confirmation feast, because I talked to Elizabeth, who talked to Victoria and"---
"Uh, ecru, that's the color that's like a cream color right?"
"Well, actually, its closer to bone or ivory color than cream, hello? Never mind, I'll talk to mom about it, just tell her its fine okay?"
"Well, I will have to talk with your"---
---"Dad!"---
"Now wait a minute let me"---
"No, seriously dad! Ana has your violin!"
Looking over I saw Ana, still in her barrowed heels coming back back down the hallway running hellbent for leather carrying my violin precariously by its delicate neck in one hand and its bow in the other. Freya was in hot pursuit behind yelling, "Dad! She climbed up on your chair and got it down!"
After carefully extracting the valuable instrument from Ana and assuring Freya that her pragmatic adherence to the rules had been correct, Ana's energy and exuberance continued unabated. "Play Devil go to Shell Axe Daddy!"
"Ah, I don't remember the words to Devil goes down to Cheliax. . . You think you can help me sing it?!"
[i]"YES!" They replied in unison.
It was my children's favorite song and soon I had all three of them jumping, dancing and cavorting around me. . .
. . . It's still one of my fondest memories . . . But, like so many other times of joy in my life it got cut short. . .
As I finished the last strokes of the song I looked up. Alhearn was standing there with my sword belt. He had let me finish the song so the moment wasn't ruined by the demands of my work. He cleared his throat and intoned, "Well now, I know some little ladies who have had their share of fun for the evening and need to be getting into bed. It is quite late and I shouldn't like to explain to your mother why it is you can't get up in the morning."
As any parent who has raised their children can tell you, this led to an immediate protest, but Alhearn masterfully quelled the riot with his next words.
"Smart girls, would be quick to move, because I have procured, whipped cream, powdered sugar, fresh blueberries and honeyed pecans for crown shaped pancakes in the morning for any who are good listeners." The bribery worked like a charm and after a sweet, but brief hug shared between my three girls and I, they went streaking off to bed with Ana shouting out where she wanted everyone to lay on the mattress.
A control freak that one m'lord." Alhearn said smiling warmly after the little toddler running flat out in an attempt to catch up to her two older sisters.
"Thank you for not letting me disappoint them again."
" Of course m'lord, now trade me your instrument for your belt. Inquisitor Yolan awaits you. I will see that they brush their teeth and hair before bed.". . .
So what is the time we are to start? If we are starting tomorrow, I would suggest a good nights sleep for all. I myself will need time to pray and prepare.
"Better to start early in the morning," Marcum replies to the paladin. "If I know Hektor, he will be enjoying the spoils of my original arrangement. His love of the purple-seed will mean a long night this evening...and a late morning awakening tomorrow." He reaches under the counter, fumbling around until he withdraws a scroll. With think fingers full of a dexterity that belies his frail form, he unfurls it to reveal a map annotated as "Admiral's Fen".
"So a waking at night's ebb?" Agidor says with a smirk.
Marcum nods. "Indeed. Hektor has used his station as a harbor official to take the master room of the Peacock. He is given some measure of protection by a mercenary named Alaric. A big fellow as I recall and quiet and handy with the morningstar he keeps close to hand." He runs over the map and adds more notations. "This is the crossing from Dog's Teeth...the Scarlet Knuckle...and this is the Peacock on the corner. Just to the north is the avenue to the docks. Alaric is a reasonable man, not prone to unwarranted violence. Hektor, owing to his addictions and secretive dealings, is a paranoid sort."
"For your group," Marcum looks to Karl, Drogan and Lavios. "I can show you the entrance to the tunnels nearby. It is covered by a capstone to keep the locals out, but it can be moved with some effort." He rubs at his chin and shakes his head. "I wouldn't begin until just before midday when the tide is at its lowest. Then you will have 4 or so hours before the tide begins flowing back into Dog's Teeth. Maybe an hour beyond that before the tunnels become impassable."
The planning and scheduling complete, Karl seems more subdued.
"Well, looks like that's it then. See you tomorrow tunnel rats, good luck to those heading off to dip their wicks at the Peacock. I will return to my chambers. Any here heading back to the knuckle with me?"
”I’ll be stayin’, Marshy.” Linkah says, eyes downcast. ”I ain’t set ta rights, just yet. Not nearly ‘nuff ta keep me, mates outta this one.” He looks up to Karl and smiles, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. ”You give Corvim tha news n’ tha gold, eh? Let ‘em know ta go o’er ta Uncle Kiggins’ place n’ wait for us there. Ya do that for me?”
The rain outside the shop has slackened since the battle. Enough so that the normal stink of the ocean marshes is given free rein to rise once more. It’s an unpleasant aroma on the best of days but the tinge of death is still fresh in Karl’s mind and the rotting mud & sand in Dog’s Teeth only serves to remind the old warrior of the evening’s business earlier. Muscle memory takes hold of his body as Karl slips into the shadows of intervening shanties and shacks and low buildings, old habits not quit of his bones. The path in his mind twists and turns so the possibilities of picking up a tail dwindle in number, but his steps inevitably take him on a roundabout to the scene of the battle earlier. His old ways, old curiosities...the fires stoked by Marcum and his mysteries...Helios and his cause...the dwarf’s revelations… Too many things to reckon on too little rest. But that was an old habit too, right? So many nights without sleep. Who could sleep when the chase was on?
Sounds of footsteps in the mud, sucking and slurping, draw his attention back to the present. Karl puts himself across from the spot where he and the group had dealt death. Half a dozen shadows flit to and fro, crouching over the dead. Karl doesn’t need to inspect for long to realize they’re locals scavenging what they can, even it means picking over the bodies to get it. He observes for a few moments, but a needle like feeling between his shoulderblades gives him the impression he’s being watched.
A left hand rests on the pommel of his main gauche and he moves to the next shanty and begins peering into the darkness about him. Karl keeps moving, shifting the angle by which he sees his surroundings so his mind can compare the observations for things out of the ordinary. But no matter how much he sees, he doesn’t put a shape or face to the instinctual warning. Maybe he’s gotten old...maybe it’s nothing…
He doesn’t believe that for a second.
Through the Dog’s Teeth he continues, reaching the tidal pools that separate the slums from Admiral’s Fen. The tide is coming in, but there’s just enough of the stepping stones and dryish land to make the crossing. Over on the Fen’s side, a few men dressed in rags are working at getting their modest canoes and rafts in place to charge those desperate enough to make the crossing a small pittance. One of them sees the shadow of Karl crossing and sets the early stages of a gap-toothed grin only to have it die as he sees the look in old warrior’s eyes. He busies himself with his raft and leaves the man to his privacy.
His journey to the Scarlet Knuckle is uneventful, but Marsh still has the impression he’s being followed. No matter the twists and turns he makes...he feels a shadow is just out of the corner of his eye. He’ll turn when he sees a shift in light or feels a presence, only to have nothing appear when he looks directly. Like smoke from a pipe drifting on the edge of his peripheral.
Paranoia...old senses reawakening and hungry to find the denizens of a world he’d thought left behind. But oh how the plight of halflings and slaves can change a man’s path.
The Knuckle is quiet by the time he reaches it deep in the third watch. Even the barmaids have dwindled to only one, Kitia. She nods towards the living quarters in the back, as if answering his silent question of Miranda’s whereabouts. There’s no surprise in seeing Karl arrive, making him think she’d not told her anything about his earlier departure nor the gifts and promises he’d bequeathed.
Add to it, Linkah’s brethren were thankfully not in the common room, probably off to bed or to play at dice in their own living area. Nor were there many other folks still at their drinking. A table of usuals hacked their way through a hand of Mother’s Down, playing cards slipping from the tabletop and falling to stick in drying puddles of spilt ale. Nothing out of the ordinary. Outhouse tosses a chin Karl’s way as a greeting then goes back to wiping away his countertop.
Karl heads back and aims for his humble living quarters. There he finds Miranda fast asleep on his bed, hands clasped over the necklace he’d given her earlier in the evening.
----------------------------------------------
He wakes from the usual kaleidoscope of dreams and nightmares to the clanging of the kitchen as the girls begin getting things set to rights for the small collection of morning fishermen who seek a quick meal after being out on the boats all night. Karl looks around the room but Miranda isn’t to be found. Her natural and feminine smell still clings to the air around him.
After preparations, Karl finally admits he still has the needle feeling along his spine. Something’s not right but he can’t get his mind around the warning his instincts are signaling. But when he leaves behind his quarters and heads into the common room, those instincts prevent him from being surprised when he spies a man seated in his usual chair and table.
The figure is of average build, a bald head, but a bushy and scruffy beard is easily seen. Karl dismisses the first thought of it being a noble, for the strangers clothing is drab greens and browns, a worn and dismal tunic belted over studded leather where each of the metal buckles have been tied with soft cloth to prevent noise. Further discrediting the theory of nobility, the man’s face is not Taldoran...more the sculpting of the River Kingdoms, especially in the cold blue eyes. A long coat is draped over the back of Karl’s chair where the stranger is sitting, the cut something out of Brevoy.
Around the common room, although the normal fishermen and hangers on are present, and the barmaids - Miranda included - are going about their business, there is a tension in the air with which Marsh is all too familiar.
”Morning, Mister Marsh,” the stranger greets, tone friendly but face impassive. He uses a bent metal spoon to bring a mouthful of scrambled eggs to his lips. With his other hand he gestures to the only other seat at the table positioned across from him. He finishes chewing and swallows, looking at Karl and speaking in that same conversational tone. ”I hope you don’t mind, mate. Thought I’d squeeze in a bite to eat while we chat. Name's Dobbs.”
He’d slept on worse things than the palette Marcum provides, but not by much. Beckett turns over on his side and focuses on his prayers and seeking wisdom for the day ahead. He and the other two would have to leave at first light, and that was only a brief time away…
------------------------------------------
Lightning flashes across the sky, ruining his vision in brilliances of white and blue. But the sucking sound of mud coming from the direction of the well clamors up Beckett’s spine and sets a chill along his scalp. He soon finds himself using all his strength to haul the cellar door aloft on its hinges swing it aside. Below him, sodden and chipped and rotting wood steps lead into darkness. With an effort spurred on by the fear of what lay slurping and sloshing behind him, Beckett descends.
The rotting steps want to give way, want to send him tumbling forward, but they hold for the time being. Beckett considers turning back and trying to close the cellar door behind him, but whatever had climbed out of the well is nearly upon him. Instead he scrambles down into the darkness and begins repeating an old prayer to Sarenrae, one his mother had taught him years earlier…
”I see the glow on the horizon.
Rise or many-splendored goddess!
Come set a fire in our eyes!
Come set a fire in our souls
for service to you!
Banish the night,
Curse the demons with light,
and bring courage to your chosen few!”
But all Beckett hears in response to his prayers are the steps behind him, sloshing and slurping through the mud. He chances a glance back up the stairs as lightning illuminates the sky again, a thin, hunched silhouette is at the top of the cellar stairs, arms elongated to unnatural dimensions, fingers stretched and ending in scythe-like claws.
The creature takes a step to the first stair, one of its grotesque arms reaching up and scraping along the stone wall. ”No prayers, little morsel. No prayers for you, line of Foxglove…” It’s voice is like a hissing snake, throat full of horrid liquids to lend its tones a ichorous discordance.
Beckett calls out for help, calls out for his mother! Again his voice betrays him. He takes a step away from the cellar stairs, backing into the darkness of the basement...and arms stretch from behind him and close about his midsection, pulling him deeper into the basement! He struggles against them, but his youthful vigor is nothing compared to the strength of his older years...nor the power of the shadowed arms dragging him.
The cellar steps and the thin strands of light coming from the outside shrink in his vision. But he hears the creature at the top of the stairs descending, slowly now, step by thumping step...its claws dragging along the stone walls. It hisses into the darkness, voice a mocking tone of Beckett’s call to Sarenrae. “No prayers for you...no prayers for you...no light to shine down on what we do...no prayers for you…line of Foxglove.”
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Beckett’s eyes fly open, dust motes floating before him as regains his bearings. He remains unmoving and casts outwards with this senses. He sees the walls of the back storeroom where he and the others had taken up temporary residence. But nothing of the dangers of his nightmare.
Out in the shop, Marcum is already awake and seeing to setting up for the day. The little man moves with a distinctively malformed gate, a waddle more than a walk that seems to cause a sting of pain in every step. But the information broker and shopkeeper doesn’t let it interfere with his comings and goings. ”Up so soon?” he asks, noting Beckett’s gaze. ”Good, it’s better for you and the others to leave soon. I believe the Squire is already awake. But Agidor is content to sleep in…” He nods to the storeroom where the bard can be heard snorting away.
I’ll leave this open for you to expand upon if you’d like. I’m sure you want to grow a bit of your backstory but I thought I’d give you a bit of a nudge… :) For now, I’ll move you and Nosatrub on in a separate post below as you make your way to the Admiral’s Fen, the Peacock, and Hektor Lenz.
He feels the cold of the stones through the soles of his boots. Strange how nothing in Highhelm had felt so cold before then. But now, his father standing in front of him as he thunders away about tradition and honor and loyalty and the mountain, Drogan has never felt so cold in all his life. The very sparks of Torag sat in semi circle around the father and son Anvilsong, ancients of the dwarves and all brimming with barely checked emotions as they listen to Drogan's father.
To the left, hands resting on the stone arms of his seat on the council, Danton Ulformis Foeward - Kingmaker as he was known - casts the first oath and sets down his decision…
Dark memories of days gone by and of a distant land he calls home. Drogan lay awake remembering. He lay awake wondering. He’d never presumed aiding a halfling or stopping a slave trade was the best thing for his future, but the dwarf had never anticipated being handed Danton’s likeness in the form of a human’s drawing. It brought about more questions than he’d care to ask, but they all demanded answers. All of them. Why was he here? Why was he consorting with these Stag Heralds?
Not for the first time he wished his old friend Darby were there so he could get into one of their famous conversations. The little gnome had a flair for dramatics and twisting discussions in all manner of directions until you never knew you’d left the initial topic until you ended up right back at its doorstep hours later.
The morning begins to glow, soft and gray. Drogan stretches his back, having received enough rest to feel the pull of his songs and stories and their potency. A few more hours of sleep would have been nice, but the others in the shop were beginning to stir and rise. Especially those who would be leaving soon. Beckett is outside the storeroom where they’d taken their rest, speaking to Marcum. Nosatrub is likewise awake and preparing. But Agidor is still snoring away, mumbling tunes under his breath in that gravelly singing voice of his.
Sleep is hard to find for the Inquisitor. Knowing his mother and the other villagers of Southridge were so close, Lavios wonders if he can prevent himself from just slipping into the night and trying to rescue them himself. But his mind calms the raging storms of emotion that are tossing him like the torn and ragged main sail of a ship. He rests his head back and listens closely to the falling rain and the occasional thunder in the distance as Gozreh continues his deluge of the region. Though some religions saw lightning and thunder as objects of fear, Gozreh taught his followers that they were the implements he wielded like a man would wield a sword or trident in his name. Though capricious, the god of storms and air did not seek to draw fear from his followers, but loyalty.
When his eyes finally close and he claims a much needed rest, his dreams are filled with flames and the cries of the villagers as he relives the attack on his home. Muttering in his sleep, he begins reciting the names of those taken, starting and finishing with the name of his mother. Lavios knew all of them, even had been something of a mentor to one of the children - Caius is his name.
The morning comes, finding Lavios rested enough to function despite his tensions over the coming day’s events. He glances about and sees that Karl has not returned, but the dawn had just arrived. The young Inquisitor stirs from his cot and begins preparing for what was to come.
As the others ready for their rest, Nosa begins the long process of removing his armor. Over the years of learning to wear it, removing and donning his steel skin had become a ritual. HIs gauntlets came first. Then his right hand went to the buckles under his left pauldron, left hand crossing over to his right. Then the side clasps and the smooth motions of removing the breast and back plates. Then the process of using the oiled cloth in his kit to wipe down the metal and the fittings and the joins. That part done, he moves on to his weaponry, spending the most time on his longsword. It had been a gift from Varus, one he treasures because of its connection to the goddess and to his mentor.
Nosa finds himself trying to fit into the cot provided by the shopkeeper, but gives over to using his own bedroll when his tall form seems more apt to break the given bed than use it. He finally closes his eyes for sleep when a phrase comes unbidden to his mind.
”The light is as much for where you’ve been, as it is for where you’re going….”
It had been something one of the gypsies had told him, a man named Matei who was something of a leader in the nomadic group. Nosa had liked him well enough during the time he’d lent them his shield for protection. But after the fighting with the band of goblin marauders, Matei had taken to watching over Nosa, ever seeking to provide the young paladin with advice for when they parted company. The phrase on Nosa’s mind was the one that stood out most from their myriad of conversations. It made Nosa all the more steadfast in not forgetting from where he’d come. He thanks Iomedae for the insight and drifts off to sleep.
The next morning, he is among the first to awaken. He sets about his ritual of eating his hard trail rations and then readying himself for battle. He would be departing soon with Beckett and Agidor.
It's always the same dream, him running down the hill, wading into the beasts, his sword held high. He swings, but his sword arm is weak and the blow is ineffectual. The zombie before him wails in undead rage and swipes at him, knocking him to the ground, sword falling. The fiend, snarling and snapping descends on him. He puts his gauntleted hands up to fend off the beast.
"Help" he cries, "help", more desperately now, his strength failing, the fiends mouth snapping at his throat.
Nosa jerks awake, drenched in sweat. The dream is always the same. The fear is always so real.
Nosa bends his knees and prays.
Goddess. Help me. Take away the fear and doubt. You have led me here, to this place for a purpose. Let me be your shieldarm.
Nosa lays back down, knowing that he will need his rest for what is to come.
Take a little walk to the edge of town
Go passed the fish racks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the strumming lyres
Hey man, you know
you're never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks.
On a gathering storm comes a tall handsome man
in a dusty black coat with a red right hand…
- Loremaster Nicholas Cave, Scribe & Herald of the Nawlins Court
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Group
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Linkah
Even though it stands at midday, the gray clouds are so heavy the sun sees a nearly forgotten dream. They encircle the entryway to the tunnels, a large mound reminiscent of the burial hillocks in the far off lands of Ustalav sits squat and low blocking their view from the areas south of Marcum’s shop. The few locals who are about their business in Dog’s Teeth conduct it away from the access point. An odd revulsion crawls along their respective skins and makes the group consider that the locals most likely avoid the place with purpose in mind.
Moments ago, between the five of them had moved the capstone free, exposing the darkness beneath - well four when you consider Linkah was busy watching the opening as it grew. A ladder hewn from red walnut and lashed together with sinew reaches down into the black. Only Drogan with his dwarf sight is able to see the bottom. What looks to be a moss covered, cyclopean stone floor stretches southwest and away from the ladder and his field of vision.
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Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
They leave in the early dawn hours, forging the pathway out of the Dog’s Teeth and passing a pair of silvers to a ferryman to bring them across the shallow basin that had been covered in the morning high tide. With the Squire in their midst, most give the trio a wide berth, not wanting to start trouble at so early an hour. But there are a few on occasion whose eyes linger over them longer than is appropriate. A hard look from Beckett or Nosa usually sets things aright. Agidor, the resident expert on direction in the area, leads them into the Admiral’s Fen, bypassing the streets would lead to the Scarlet Knuckle and taking them on a northerly swing through the district until they arrive at a collection of buildings who’d seen the least amount of damage from the Blackwood Swamp’s reclamation of the area. From the buildings being in better condition to the horses and their owners having less of the muck and mire on their persons, they feel the transition clearly as they come closer to the roads that lead to the Shipyards.
It seems like weeks since Beckett had been dropped off not more than a few blocks to the north and had made his way to the Scarlet Knuckle. Had it been only a day? How a few hours and the plans of a halfling could change things in so drastic a fashion!
”There she is,” Agidor says as they approach a T junction of two thoroughfares. On the corner is a two story tavern, the sign out front a wooden placard with the carving of a flourishing peacock engraved into the surface. ”Owner’s name is Domitius. A very pleasant fellow as he’s placed himself here to gather the folks going to and from the Fen in the hopes for a higher class of customer. I’ve played here once, sometime last season.”
As they enter, the group notices three patrons, all of which are male. Two sit at a table to the left, while one sits at a table to the right. None of them match the description of Hektor. Agidor nods to a nearby table and whispers. ”He’s probably in the room upstairs past the balcony. There’s a basement here too, Domitius uses it for storage and for loading and unloading supplies...and performers.” Agidor grins at the last.
Nosa scans and notes the 3 patrons as Veras had told him so many time.
"You must weigh and measure every potential foe. Underestimate no one.
Drogan takes the first steps into the darkness. It doesn't take long for his eyes to settle in and begin to catch the fine shadows.
"I don't mind going down this hole first. In fact I prefer it, truth be told. Jus' stick close behind and be ready for whatever we might find down here. I doubt they'd put too much thought into some idiots boundin' through these tunnels - but there's no way Foeward would leave it completely untended either."
(+2 for detecting traps/doors in stone walls/floors)