It was too late to worry about it now.
After years of stagnation, indecision, depression and sometimes almost wishing something would end it all, Karl had committed himself to something. Now he only hoped that he lived long enough to see it through and not let those counting on him down.
The young paladin had him feeling old as hell. What could he really bring to the fight? Experience is great, but would he prove a paper manticore? He had hoped young mr Beckett would becoming with him. Then the could could have at least sparred a bit. . . . Then again maybe it was better this way, it might be better to have the team remain confident in him.
He was vulnerable while neck deep in enemy turf, but the closer he got to the Knuckle the safer he knew he was, there was a problem though. Whomever was tracking him was up to something. The opportunity to snuff him had passed. Someone wanted him alive, but for what?
His steps quickened as he neared his room. He had something bigger and more pressing on his mind than his own demise. Something that he had been struggling with for a long time. Tonight it had come to a head and Karl had gathered himself to confront it.
"You can do this. You don't need it. You have lost far to much from it ready. . . .Go straight in, get it and Throw it into the fire!"
Karl unlocked his door, stepped in with purpose, and whirled around quickly to close and secure the door. As he reached for the lock realization set over him. His brain delivering details of what he couldn't see in the dark. The scent of someone sleeping . . . the scent of a woman.
Miranda was in his bed.
Karl was thrown into an emotional maelstrom once more. He rested his forehead against the rough wood and iron of the door. He was so close to getting rid of the mask. This is why he had been afraid to make any kind of move for so long. He helps one halfling drop off a key and was now entangled. His actions were placing Miranda in danger. Her life was hard enough without bringing her more grief.
Karl had not been with another woman since Elsa. The man was overwhelmed, everything was moving too fast.
He felt the urge to cry, to just let himself sob into his hands, but he couldn't allow that to happen, not now.
He stepped over to small hearth, stoked up a coal to light a candle. His eyes adjusted to the light. She was facing out lying near the edge of the bed with her hands drawn up towards her face. From her hands the etched silver charm swayed ever so slightly on its delicate chain with the rythm of her breathing. The facets of the metal returned the candlelight with a twinkle. The sight of the silver butterfly holy symbol only caused Karl more angst. Miranda slept peacefully, Elsa had been dead when Karl had taken the necklace from her body.
Karl did something he had not done in a long time. He hit his knees and began to pray.
"I don't know what god, if any, hears my prayers anymore. I have surely cursed any that may have once been sympathetic to me. I know your graces have left me for what I have done, but I am trying to do the right thing and my demons are coming back. I don't know what I will do if life leads me to yet another dead end. I ask you again to trade my soul for theirs. . . , but I know you won't. So please let me make at least one small difference before I go. I don't know what to do."
Karl kneeled there a moment longer before removing his belt and armor. He thought about waking Miranda, but decided he could speak to her in the morning. He was sure he would wake when she stirred. Karl had always been a light sleeper.
He settled into bed with Miranda and snuggled in close to her body. He rested a hand on her side above her hip. Her warmth felt comforting, it was so nice not to be alone and he was so tired. Soon he was asleep and remained so long after she had gotten up to begin her day.
.................…............
Karl awoke with a start. Opening his eyes he saw blood encrusting the links of his chain shirt. He stood up to gingerly begin working the kinks out of his spine.
"Who knew that as you got older even a full night of quality uninterrupted sleep would be painful?"
He saw that his room had been cleaned and organized. On the dresser his violin sat in its case. Stepping over to it, he removed the old instrument with trembling hands and brought it to his chin. He picked up the bow and tried to play a familiar tune, but the music he played came out harsh and discordant.
Angered and frustrated by this he chucked the bow back into the felted case and switched hid grip to grasp the instrument by its slender neck. He raised it up to dash it against the wall, to destroy it, but caught himself. Tears finally began flowing from his eyes. He laid the violin on the bed and stalked over to the chest in the corner with purpose.
"This ends now!"
He threw open the lid and dug down to the very bottom of the chests contents. His hand found and closed over the package and he hauled it out into the light. In front of his face he held a burlap sack bound and wrapped in corded knots.
He immediately felt the effects of the item bound inside as it filled his mind with hideous whispers and images of murder and violence. He could feel the fear emanating from the walls of he building and the misery in the basement crawling up at him. He could hear his heartbeat along with the other beings in the inn beat with fright. Everything around him smelled of fearful sweat and his arms began to shimmer to reveal the veins and arteries that lay hidden beneath the skin. He was called to resume the hunt and to kill once more!
The warrior reeled from the psychic assault and he stumbled about the room. His first thought was to reach for his weapon, though he didn't know if it was to defend himself with or to open someone's, anyone's, throat. As his hand groped for and gripped his Templar sword, a new pain filled his consciousness drowning out the searing pain in his head with a new one in his hand.
His father's sword was burning him!
The pain dropped him onto the floor where he lay on his side gasping. He clutched the bundle to his chest with one arm and cradled his injured hand next to it.
Moaning with pain and effort he reached over with his burnt hand to draw his boot knife and began slashing at the knots holding the mask inside.
He heard laughter coming from it as he struck and rended for what seemed to be an eternity. The mask tried to make him believe it was his own living children crying and begging him to stop.
At last he held up the source of his torment, a hideous mask made up of a patchwork deformed face with one bulbous eye, grimacing mouth with long fangs and a flat nose. It transformed to Marcum, then his own face leering at him.
"No more!"
Karl hurled the mask into the hearth and crawled over to his pack to launch two flasks of oil after it. The lamp oil erupted into a ball of white hot flame. Karl shielded his face. The mask screamed, but even it's pain caused Karl to feel the ecstasy of the harm he had caused it. Insanity clawed at his mind and then . . . It was gone.
Rising to his feet Karl stood and looked in disbelief at what we had done.
Karl looked over the man seated in his chair at his table. The coat draped over the back of the chair was quite the statement. The older warrior chuckled like a man with nothing to loose.
"I see that you are in my chair Mr Dobbs, but since you know my name and who I am that means you already know that. Does this mean you are buying today sir? Luckily I have two chairs here at my table and you look like you are enjoying your meal so I will just sit over here."
Karl sat down.
"Are you recently from Brevoy or do you just have an appreciation for fashion?"
Perception
Sense Motive
Marsh is watchful of the stranger. The man sits confidently, arms giving now waste of motion and eyes keenly taking in their surroundings. Dobbs wasn't young, but younger than Karl by a decade or so. Upon closer inspection, the armor he wears is softened leathers, not studded as he'd initially thought, and of a quality he'd not seen on a very long time. But most important were the man's eyes. Strongly blue and sharp and certain. There was was a horrible efficiency about them, almost an inevitability.
Dobbs smiles around a mouthful of eggs, then wags his spoon in his direction. "Well done, Mr Marsh. I like a person with a sharp eye." He wipes his mouth with a napkin and drapes the cloth across his now empty plate. His blue eyes come back up and study Karl for a few beats. "An old coat that's served me well o'er the years, sure sure. Was up Brevoy ways a few weeks gone. T'was my home for a most of me youth, but this trip was to visit my employers." His tongue works at the back of his teeth as he places a forefinger on the table at one point. "Lessee, Port Ice for a time, theeen,"
Dobbs draws draws the finger along the table's marred surface like he's tracing along a map. "...then on to New Stetven to put some business to rest..."
His finger follows a winding path until it ends at the edge of the table. "Then to here. But where are my manners? Young miss," A respectful wave signals to one of the barmaids. Chesain makes as though to approach but it's clear she wants nothing to do with what's going on at on at the table. Dobbs saves her the trouble, smiling he calls over his request. "If you please, set up Mr Marsh with another of these excellent plates of eggs and chips. That's a love..."
"Now, where were we?" Dobbs drums his fingers along the table top. Marsh notes the close cut nails over calloused hands that have seen their fair share of fighting. From behind the full luxury of his beard, a contrast to his bald head, Dobbs smiles. "Ah yes, I'll not waste your time, Mr Marsh, I'm here to get the measure of the man who brought Hem to his end. And to retrieve an item personal to me. A dagger he had on his person." He makes makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger and brings it up to his eye like a sea captain sighting down a spyglass. "Has a pommel with a setting yay big wear a stones gone missing."
Dobbs lets his hands rest on on the table and studies Marsh for a good long while, calm as a morning breeze. The old warrior somehow feels like a deer being studied by a huntsman, being weighed and measured to be sure an arrow was warranted or should there be on killing it in the forest today.
"I care not for the strange substance Hem favored...always felt it was a cheat. And his fascination with that axe..." He shakes his head in pity. "He meets aaman from Tian Xia and loses his senses over tryin' to use the bloody thing. That you can most assuredly keep with my wish of luck to not slice your Jacobs off."
Again Marsh owns struck by the inevitability of the stranger.
Marsh is watchful of the stranger. The man sits confidently, arms giving no waste of motion and eyes keenly taking in their surroundings. Dobbs isn't young, but he's younger than Karl by a decade or so. Upon closer inspection, the armor he wears is softened leathers, not studded as he'd initially thought, and of a quality he'd not seen in a very long time.
But more important are the man's eyes. Strongly blue and sharp and certain. There is a horrible efficiency about them, almost an inevitability.
Dobbs smiles around a mouthful of eggs, then wags his spoon in his direction. "Well done, Mr Marsh. I like a person with a sharp eye." He wipes his mouth with a napkin and drapes the cloth across his now empty plate. His blue eyes come back up and study Karl for a few beats. "An old coat that's served me well o'er the years, sure sure. I was up Brevoy ways a few weeks gone. T'was my home for most of me youth, but this trip was to visit my employers." His tongue works at the back of his teeth as he places a forefinger on the table at one point. "Lessee, Port Ice for a time, theeen,"
Dobbs draws the finger along the table's marred surface like he's tracing along a map. "...then on to New Stetven to put some business to rest..."
His finger follows a winding path until it ends at the edge of the table. "Then to here. But where are my manners? Young miss," A respectful wave signals to one of the barmaids. Chesain makes as though to approach but it's clear she wants nothing to do with what's going on at the table. Dobbs saves her the trouble and calls over his request. "If you please, set up Mr Marsh with another of these excellent plates of eggs and chips. That's a love..."
"Now, where were we?" Dobbs drums his fingers along the table top. Marsh notes the close cut nails over calloused hands that have seen their fair share of fighting. From behind the full luxury of his beard, a contrast to his bald head, Dobbs smiles. "Ah yes, I'll not waste your time, Mr Marsh, I'm here to get the measure of the man who brought Hem to his end. And to retrieve an item personal to me. A dagger he had on his person." He makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger and brings it up to his eye like a sea captain sighting down a spyglass. "Has a pommel with a setting yay big where a stone's gone missing."
Dobbs lets his hands rest on the table and studies Marsh for a good long while, calm as a morning breeze. The old warrior somehow feels like a deer being studied by a huntsman, being weighed and measured to be sure an arrow was warranted...or if there should be no killing it in the forest today.
"I care not for the strange substance Hem favored...always felt it was a cheat. And his fascination with that axe..." He shakes head in pity. "He meets a man from Tian Xia and loses his senses over tryin' to use the bloody thing. That you can most assuredly keep with my wish of luck to not slice your Jacobs off."
Again Marsh is struck by the inevitability of the stranger's eyes as he waits for his answer.
"I know the one you mean. He tried to pull it on me and got dead for it. Turns out it was meant for a bard. Funny he would mistake me for a half elf. Isn't worth much as a weapon though. It looks like it would have snapped off the first blow it dealt. A pitty about the stone, might have made it worth keeping. What would a man of your obvious tastes in equipment want with a blade like that?"
"As for the axe and chain contraption, I whole heartedly agree with you. A silly weapon, though useful in specific applications if you cared to devote enough time and energy to master it. it didn't appear that Hem was all that proficient with it. I didn't even know whom Hem was until after I killed him. I guess he was a man of some import in his organization. Evidentily I stumbled into some sort of a turf war quite unintentionaly."
"I guess I shouldnt judge someone on their gravitaion towards exotic weapons though, as you can see I prefer the blade of the swordlords from our homeland."
"So Mr Dobbs. How do you find my measure? Now that you went through all the trouble to track me here and quite skillfully I might add. I spent the entire walk home last night wondering when you might make your appearance. . .Nothing quite like the hunting of man is there?"
|
Beckett nods to Agidor, and sits at the table he indicated. He pulls out his water skin and takes a long drink, and then sits quietly, his eyes closed.
"More precious than gold, your shining splendor.
Sweeter than honey, your radiant forgiveness.
Oh dispeller of darkness, shining one,
You banish choking night and the blindness of our ignorance.
The dawn brings new light, let us embraces it with your might."
”No prayers, little morsel. No prayers for you, line of Foxglove…”
Beckett takes a deep breath and rubs his forehead.
"You will not have me. The line of Foxglove ends with me." he mutters under his breath.
"A dead man fears nothing. A dead man has no fear."
Beckett's head begins to clear, the dream fading.
"Was it a dream? I can't remember."
Shaking himself back to the present, Beckett looks to his companions, his smile returning.
"So, he says quietly, what are the chances that our good friend Hektor is going to see reason? Are there any arguments that may be effective? Does he have any weaknesses that we can exploit?"
Dobbs continues to smile and study the man across from him. His head tilts to the side and he chuckles. "I see a man who wears the blades out of habit. You favor them, Mr Marsh," He smiles and bobs his head low near where his hands rest on the table, he continues as though sharing a secret, eyes never leaving Karl's. "But I don't see them favoring you." He sits up again and busies himself with gathering his breakfast plate and sliding it to the edge of the table.
As if on cue, Chesain returns with a plate of eggs and a warmed sweet bun along with a mug of the local cranberry juice for Karl. Her normally vivacious persona is diminished and subdued like a street lantern with a cloth covering.
"Cheers, love," Dobbs slides one of his hands across the table palm down. The move causes the barmaid to bite her lower lip. But when the bearded man slides his hand back he leaves behind a pair of gold coins. "Run along, if ya please, dear heart, with my thanks."
Chesain maintains her composure and sets to clearing the neatly arranged remnants of Dobb's meal. Then after a pause, she claims the two gold coins and slips them into her apron pocket before departing
"Please, Mr Marsh, eat up." He gestures cordially and leans back in his chair, the creaks and groans of the wood familiar to Karl's ears.
"To answer your question, what I do see is a man who sits his place in a tavern, his own little fiefdom of the mind. Oh how he loves this place where things and people are transitory. Oh the warm shroud of mystery that lends you the air of strength n' solitude. I see a man whose hands and body has gone soft resting in the arms of anonymity. But I also see a man whose face tells the story of years gone by." The last Dobbs adds with a sincerity and understanding that feels off putting and out of place.
"Listen, mate. Tis not a shame to be comfortable, or to be left alone. Gods, I look for that around the occasional corner." Dobbs leans in close again. "But I see you're turning a corner. You seem different from the man I saw last night..." He leans back again and drums his fingers on the table amiably and sighs. "We have time, Mr Marsh. We have time, you and I, sure sure."
A silence stretches between them that neither is keen on interrupting. Two wolves circling the same watering hole.
"I met Hemmish three years ago in Riddleport. Business and such carrying me abroad." Dobbs chuckles again, a touch of honest nostalgia. "I almost pitied him. He hadn't chosen to be put on my platter. But when I woulda set to carvin' him up and set 'im to the dogs...then he'd be forced to confront the brutal inescapable truth... All he'd ever amounted to was tender viddles." He sucks air through his teeth as though chiding a child. "But I'm the sort who doesn't like needless things. And unzippin' his throat qualified."
Dobbs refocuses on Karl. "He was a boffer, head strong n' didn't look down the trail like he should. But I trained him, lesson after lesson till we wound up here in Cassomir, lookin' for a fella name of Agidor...not a half elf as ya say.." He eyes Karl wondering if he'd been testing him or just hadn't possessed the right information. "Hem picks up some work for an Ardo, not my business, but it's what he wanted. I gave him the dagger you have as his last lesson. Always bein' up close n' personal, that's last lesson."
"Now, I'll have that dagger, Mr Marsh." He withdraws a soft leather wrapping with a tie strap and unrolls it on the table top open. "Lay her down, Mr Marsh and our business this morning will be concluded."
Marsh smiles brightly with knowledge as he nods thanks to Dobbs the digs heartily into his plate.
"I thank your for your insight and the food. It's too bad you hadn't shown up last night it we could have spoken over a few drinks. It's still a bit early for drinking yet today."
"I didn't realize it was Agidor you were after, there was in fact a half elf present when Hemmish expired. It was through the city watch I learned Hem's, excuse me Hemmish's name. I guess he made a big enough ripple to get noticed. I had always figured someone would come looking for Agidor though, he always seemed a bit out of place playing here."
"Now normally I would say that I would figure the dagger won fair and square, but I've lost plenty of men through the years and I know how some things hold sentimental value. So I am inclined to return it to you. I don't know why I kept it really, other than it seemed someone was keen to put it in me and the blade was covered with a unique lubricant I wanted it identify."
"Curious though that you would give him a one way ticket as a last lesson. What's the meaning of it to take ones mission to the grave, take ones killer with you or death before failure? Perhaps something entirely different I suppose. I can see that this weapon must have significant symbolic meaning to you."
Dobbs sighs, glancing down at the table top for a moment. There is a sense of disappointment in his shoulders and his tone as he speaks. "Do not cast shadows over the honesty I've given you with lies and feeble attempts at misdirection, Mr. Marsh."
His hand brushes along the unrolled span of soft leather still laying open on the table. Dobbs next words bear the notes of caution. "The dagger, if you please. And I'll be on my way."
"Very well Mr Dobbs, especially since you have more than paid for it with this meal and your company."
Karl wipes his hands.
"Now don't get excited.I have it tucked in my belt and I will get it for you now."
Karl reaches back and produces the dagger.
"I do appreciate the honesty Mr Dobbs and I assure you, I had no idea you were looking for Agidor until after Hemmish's death at which there was indeed a half elf present."
Places the dagger on the indicated place.
"There you go."
Whats he disappointed about, killing me? I doubt that, something else I said? I am going to have to find out more about Agidor.
sense motive
"You know . . . you aren't an ugly cuss. That's the way Dobbs was described to me and though I am in no way attracted to men, you don't fit that description at all. That's fine though, because my name isn't really Karl Marsh either. A man must be allowed some secrets don't you agree?"
”Secrets.” Dobbs says the word and Karl knows it means quite a few things to the stranger across from him. "In this line of business, there’s a fair bit of trade in secrets, and a market for some who would trade on my name for their own uses." He shrugs and slips the open leather wrapping closer to him. "I care not. There is tell of a Dobbs in Sothis with a missing left ear, another in Botosani responsible for the death of their council representative. That one had hands ending in talons and wore a scarf tied across his eyes...the Blind Blade Hand...I forgot the terminology in their dialect...the local common doesn’t do it justice."
Dobbs smiles in gratitude, then looks down to the dagger. He shakes his head as he draws the blade gingerly a few inches from the scabbard, the oily substance on the shoddy steel evident. "What a mess he's made of my gift to him. It'll take me a good night's work to get this substance off it." He puts the blade away and begins the process of wrapping it up and using the leather strap to tie it securely. "It troubles me that Hemmish may have been trading on my name too..."
"I thank you for your honesty and I apologize for me gettin' a bit rambunctious. I'm still a bit disappointed in Hemmish. As I mentioned before, I have a dislike for unnecessary things. I said as much when he gained work with this chap Ardo." Dobbs sighs again and presses his hands to the table. "And it seems I may have been on the wrong side in estimating Hem's his quality. But as is the nature of this world, mistakes have a tendency of righting themselves. I paid for mine with the loss of a student, Hem's paid for his with his life on the edge of a stranger's blade."
Into another silence Karl's silent questions climb. The phrase about 'unnecessary things' hangs in the air and holds his interest. Dobbs strikes him as a man of singular purpose. Everything from the way he speaks to the way he moves has a defined outcome. Right now, he is in the Knuckle to retrieve the dagger. Whatever things might come up that could block his efforts would naturally come to an end or would end him. Inevitability, that is the best word to describe Dobbs, or whatever his name happens to be. Inevitability.
”Bloodroot.” Dobbs’ voice blooms in the silence. ”A nasty way to fester and die,” He shakes his head again. ”And wasteful. Perhaps I should have followed through with my employer’s wishes three years ago. But I shall see what that decision bears out in the coming days…” He looks down to the now wrapped bundle of the dagger. ”...or years.”
He stands slowly from the table. ”T’was a pleasure, Mr. Marsh.” Dobbs reaches behind him and dons his jacket. Karl notes the hilts of paired daggers at the small of his back. By the time he’s done, the wrapped bundle has disappeared into the interior of the garment. At full height, Dobbs is no taller than Karl, in fact an inch or two shorter. ”I’ll be in town for two more days for business. I should like to have another meal with you before I leave Cassomir, but I’m not sure the opportunity will present itself.”
His longcoat is a mixture of leathers and colors ranging from blacks to dark blues to deep greys, patches here and there marking past repairs. From the back of his tunic he pulls a thin hood up and over his head and he inclines his chin respectfully to Karl. ”I look forward to seeing what you make of yourself, mate. There’s no greater waste for a man’s days than having no direction.”
With that, Dobbs angles for the door and disappears into the early morning gray of the Admiral’s Fen. After he departs, the Knuckle seems to exhale a breath.
--------------------------
Karl continued to eat his meal after the man left. He delicately pulled apart the sweet bread and savored each small bit thoughtfully.
I found Yolan in my my office. I prayed he had something, anything, that might help break the case.
“I just came from where you found the body. I believe Alastar was killed there. The body was not brought from another site.”
That sparked my interest. “What proof do you have and why would he be murdered there?”
Yolan walked around my desk. He set my rectangular pen box in the center of my desk and set my ink blotter atop it. “imagine that a body is spread out here held fast with some form of chains. To keep the body in position, the chains would need to be anchored in the ground some three to five feet from the sides of the slab the the victim was vivisected upon. I looked at the floor and found four small round holes driven in at an angle to the slab where we found the body. I believe spikes were driven into the floor to hold the chains. The killer removed them along with the chains after he had Alastar’s heart. The killer tried to hide the holes by filling them with dirt, but in daylight it was fairly easy to find, once knew what I should be looking for.”
Now I was angry, but at myself. I was so convinced that the body had been dumped that I hadn’t taken the time to search the site properly.
Sensing my mood, Yolan quickly continued. “It would have been almost impossible to see under torchlight. If I hadn’t been looking for them, I probably would have missed them as well. As to why there, I have nothing. The site has no significance that I could find. Alastar had to have been abducted from somewhere in the court district and taken there for slaughter. I can’t prove it, but I suspect he was drugged to slow the flow of blood and prevent him struggling as they took the heart. He may not have been aware of what was happening.”
Yolan’s theory fit well into my growing concern that Alastar’s death had nothing to do with his various affairs. There was some other purpose that we were missing. I needed more information and the only way to get it was for someone else to die.
Karl finished his bread and dabbed at his face with a napkin.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Knowing that Alastar had been killed in that warehouse, I had the local watch increase their patrols and search known empty buildings. There are always dead bodies in this city, especially in the crowded slums. For the most part I didn’t care much about the scum that lived on the fringes of the city, nor did I abuse them. As long as they respected and obeyed the orders of the watch, I left them alone. I wanted the searchers looking for someone of means, someone who was out of place in the slums or missing internal organs. On the morning of the 15th they found him to the east of the city center.
The searchers had almost passed by the body, as it was stripped of most of its clothes and the way the locals knew it would be of interest to me was by the state of his hair and beard. Time and money had been spent on his appearance in life. Looking down on the body, I realized that I knew him. He was a cavalry officer, one of many that I’ve seen with the King’s entourage. He was part of a group who spoke in open opposition to the King's appointment of his own sister to act as Queen Regent until he married? While his views had a great deal of silent support, they were dangerous politically. It’s likely why he wasn’t with the King now and could be a reason for why he was here, nearly naked, chest cut wide open.
I brought Yolan with me so we could review the scene together. The similarities were all there. A large empty building, no roof, a slab of stone large enough for a body, little to no blood, and the tell tale signs that spikes had been driven into the floor to restrain the victim. There was one major difference with the though, the heart was still there . . . but his lungs were gone.
Our killer was collecting organs.
"Yolan, I may be reading too much into the character of the victims, but the first was a womanizer and his heart was gone. Now we have a very vocal, arrogant blowhard, with no lungs."
"And the places he is doing this, could the lack of a roof have some significance?"
It was Lord Bashar who had what I thought was the best and most practical answer. No roof meant no squatters and thus no disturbances or witnesses. With no protection from the elements the building was worthless, even to the homeless.
The killer was likely picking places where he wouldn’t be disturbed.
Like Alastar the officer had been dead no more then three days. Our killer was efficient and might be on a timetable. Two killings in less then a week, both were men who could defend themselves. I knew that if the officer had been dead for three days, there may already be another body we haven’t found.
The first victims remains had been left wearing its garb. The calvary man's body had been stripped of most everything he wore. I ordered Lord Bashar to round up the locals and search for the officer’s clothing. I had doubts we would find anything, and whatever the possessor told us would be self serving, trying to get us to leave as quickly as possible. Despite this however, every stone, no matter how minor had to be overturned. If a few feathers got ruffled so be it.
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
The early morning miasma of smells wafting to and fro on the streets outside is thankfully held at bay by the smells of baking bread and cooking sausage from the kitchens in the back. All around them the tables are clean and the floor recently swept with a single brown-haired barmaid coming from the kitchens with a tray of mugs and plates for the two seated along the southern wall.
On the southern wall, seated a few tables away, the lone figure there strikes an imposing form. If he were to stand he’d stretch beyond 6 feet. His gaze passes over the three newcomers, lingering on Nosatrub longer than the other two. But soon he lets his eyes drop to a small book in his hands with a well-worn leather cover. He licks a finger and turns a page to continue his reading.
"So,” Beckett says quietly, “...what are the chances that our good friend Hektor is going to see reason? Are there any arguments that may be effective? Does he have any weaknesses that we can exploit?"
”Can’t say there’s more we need than his addiction, Master Beckett. A man in his position as a harbor official would go to great lengths to keep that as private knowledge.” Agidor responds, his gaze going over Beckett’s shoulder to the approaching barmaid.
”What can I get ya, love?” She asks, her grin at odds with the tiredness dwelling at the corners of her eyes.
”I think we’ll make do with some of your stronger caff if you’ve got it brewing.” Agidor answers for the others. ”And maybe a few links of the delicious sausage I detect in the air.”
Her eyes brighten a bit. ”Just made ‘em myself, love. Glad ya know a good thing.” She turns and heads towards the back, a spring in her step, not bothering to stop by the big man’s table on the north wall.
Agidor continues in a low voice where he left off. ”Purple-seed’s highly illegal in Cassomir, but with this being a port town on the Sellen, it passes through. Now Marcum mentioned Chelaxian purple-seed, that’s even rarer...more addictive. Having access to that seed could attract the wrong sort of attention...” Agidor let’s that hang in the air for the moment. ”I’m sure those criminal elements in the area wouldn’t like to know this Hektor is getting his supply from someone not on the payroll.” His brown eyes dart to the stairs at the center of the room that lead up to a balcony. From their angle, the backs of a few chairs can be seen but look to be empty. ”There’s balcony seating, plus that’s where the owner’s room probably is…” This gaze slips to the man reading by himself along the north wall. ”Guessing that’s this Alaric, the bodyguard Marcum mentioned.”
For Nosa, he sees the men along the south wall and detects the air of business in their conversation. They don’t look dangerous, perhaps locals preparing for the day. In fact, one of them has what looks to be a ledger on the table. Across the room, the solo patron is more interesting. Though he busies himself with reading, Nosa’s trained eye spots the handle of a weapon leaning against the wall behind him. The squire tilts his head a bit and spots the long haft descending downward to end in a spiked morning star. That’s the weapon type Marcum mentioned Alaric favoring.
”I think our options would be to work our way through the owner, see if we can get a table upstairs so we can knock on Hektor’s door, threaten him with outing to the officials or worse...or…” Agidor spreads his hands with a grin. ”I’m open to suggestions.”
---------------
In the Group
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Hal'dorel
➢ Linkah
The tunnel below stinks of the ocean marshes, a stomach churning twist of salty, stagnant water, rotting fish and mold. The walls of the tunnel are supported by heavy timbers, the ceiling rising 8 feet above their heads. To Drogan’s keen eyes though, he detects something more. A brush of his thick fingered hands across a section of mud-packed wall reveals stonework beneath. Not the precise carvings of his mountain kin, but at the least he rests easier knowing he doesn’t have to depend solely on the timbers to stop tons of marshland from dropping on their heads.
At their feet, the firmness of the ground beneath the packed in mud gives the impression that there could be stonework beneath them too. In and around the bits of looser mud is a strangely shaped moss that looks like a hybrid of vines and seaweed.
Getting over the stench, Drogan takes the lead as to give his dwarven eyes a chance to penetrate the veil of darkness around them. From the ladder leading down, a narrow corridor roughly 10 feet across stretches forward. Twenty feet in, he can tell a larger area opens to the east while another passage leads south. With the group close behind, Drogan moves forward and spies the larger area. Drogan is able to tell that the area to the east extends beyond his vision, but looks to be 60 feet from north to south. Along the floor of the larger chamber, there’s a myriad of tracks and bits of wood and that strange plant growth. But along the wall of the north side of the chamber he can see a body about at the edge of his vision, all but entirely eaten away by time...and whatever else may lurk in the shadows.
The passageway south of them, away from the large chamber, looks to coincide with the map Marcum had provided. Hopefully, it’s the one leading to the tannery.
”Can’t see a bloody thing, Mister Drogan, sir…” Linkah whispers to the dwarf ”Can we light a torch, huh?” Drogan looks just behind him where the halfling is peering into the darkness to no avail. The light from the opening leading up to Dog’s Teeth above their heads is the only light in the place, standing like an uninspiring pillar of grey.
--------------------------------------
"So be it indeed, Mr Dobbs. . . Its well past time. . . Years in fact."
Karl felt invigorated. His warrior spirit was returning. He was aware that mood of the common room felt spooked.
"Like a deposed lion, my pride watches to see how I will react."
Karl went back up to his room and got himself outfitted for the tunnels. When he came back down he carried his violin case. He stepped onto the raised pile of planks that served as the Knuckles stage. He was aware that all eyes would be upon him and he took his time to lift his instrument from its case, making sure that someone fetched Miranda from the kitchen.
Ladies and gentlemen, I know it may be a bit early for musical entertainment and I have not picked this instrument up for so long that some would say it has been a lifetime since I last played, but if you would indulge me a few minutes."
"The piece I am about to play wasn't written by me. Truth be told, most of my life I have simply tried to recreate or emulate the works of others. This piece was written and given to me as a gift. It is called Song of the Caged Bird. The writer said the song reminded her of someone close to her. I now know that it was me she had in mind, but I pray the music will speak to others here."
"I promised to play the song so that she could hear me play it . . . The opportunity never arose. I have never played this piece before so you will be the first to hear the music given life from the notes inked on parchment so many years ago. I am a man of my word and I have recently been inspired to keep the promise to play this piece rather than allow it to lay still born on these yellowing sheets."
Karl closes his eyes, draws his bow across the strings of his violin. He begins with slow mournful notes, but as the healing begins flowing through him he gradually picks up tempo until the tears threaten to well up, so he ends on a clean note.
Karl Plays The Song of the Caged Bird
"Thank you for your attention and now I will leave you to return to your morning."
Karl cased his instrument and stepped down from the stage.
"Will someone? . . . Ah Miranda, you will do fine. I have business in town that I am already late for. Would you mind holding onto this for me until I get back?"
Karl said aloud and he crossed over towards the serving girl and handed it to her. He leaned in as though she was saying something to him.
"Tell Corvim and his kin to go to their Uncles house and wait there. Give them the large bag. I will return, but if I don't, or things become dangerous here, the small bag is for you."
He patted Miranda's shoulder and gave her a smile.
"Thank you, you have been most kind to me."
Karl hoped his eyes would adjust better to the dim light of the tunnels.
Unpacking his bundle he handed out a few items he had picked up on the way over.
"Sorry I was so late to arrive, but I recently broke a few flasks of oil and figured we could use a lantern . . . So, I stopped by the hardware store and bought a few things I thought we might benefit from. A crowbar, some a flask of oil for each of you with a rag, some spikes, a hammer and a set of caltrops."
"Also I must tell you that the most unsettling visit from a man who claimed to be Mr Dobbs, the name of the Heralds second in command. I am far from convinced he was who he claimed to be, but regardless I was forced to give him the dagger I took from the bandit leader we slew."
"The man is after Agidor, and knows quite a bit about the battle though it seems second hand to him. He will likely be chasing down the identity of Hal and Helios. . . That may mean today will have to go from a scouting mission to a first and only chance rescue."
"I also want to tell you I am somewhat out of practice after just coming out of retirement, but you can count on me to do what I can to see this thing through."
"Lastly I wish to apologize to any I may have offended yesterday. I find myself in a better place this day."
Karl quickly seeks to raise the mood.
"Ah, I guess I misspoke, one last thing. If I offend you Mr Drogan, please refrain from throwing me to the ground as I might break a hip. A bad thing for someone my age. Heh, heh, I am glad at least one of can see in the dark!"
Karl gets his Lantern wick lit.
"There we are."
Karl shines his lantern about.
Woefully out of practice. . . Tracks, but what kind
Karl's bandaged hand strays to his swords pommel and touches it as though he is testing if a pot removed from the stove is cool enough to pick up.
"Always be on your guard my son. Your enemy, he will seek whatever advantage he can gain on you and when you are in his surroundings, those advantages could be great. You can offset his advantage by being on your guard".
Veras' words ring in Nosas mind. He closely examines the big man that seems to be the mercenary Alaric, measuring him in the event things go poorly.
Finally he turns his attention back to the table.
What do you say Master Beckett? Shall we go the diplomatic route and use your silver tongue to get what we need, or is there some other avenue that must be explored?
|
|
Beckett scans the room once again, his face growing frustrated, his sunken eyes giving evidence of a night with precious little rest.
"This sort of cloak and dagger. I haven't the mind for it."
He looks down to the table, shaking his head for a moment, two fingers pressed against one temple.
"Have you ever seen what you are suppose to do? Not be told, or have to ponder it out for yourself... but actually seen? Seen it to the finest detail? With complete clarity?"
He looks back up to his companions, a feigned smile on his face.
"There is an old saying of wisdom... from a time long forgotten... that the truly blessed are those who haven't seen, and yet still follow."
Beckett's smile grows hard.
"I am not so blessed. I have been shown. I have been shown my enemy, and my fight... and my fate. I see it every night. Every. Night."
The Inquisitor's eyes grow distant.
"I am sworn to fight all evil... and so I shall. But the wrath boiling within me. It consumes... You ask me, good sir knight, what avenue I would explore? I would burn. I would burn this place to the ground, and scatter the ashes with the heels of by boots." Beckett's teeth grind together forcefully. "Right here. Right now. Just to ensure that even one unrighteous never again darkened the face of the world."
"I know with certainty that I am not an evil man. But I would do this."
Beckett looks to the Paladin, searching...
"What does that make me?"
"Okay boys here is what I suggest for marching order. If single file we will go Drogan, cause he can see, then Lavios because he has that trident and can attack over the top. Next will be myself, then Linkah and then Hal in the rear. Hal has low light so he can keep our sixes covered. If we start taking injuries or are expecting trouble from behind we can switch it up."
"Now if we can get side by side we will go Drogan and I up front, Lavios behind Drogan and Hal behind me with Linkah the center pip like a five on a die. If we get in trouble from one direction you are in charge of rear guard Mr Linkah."
"Sound reasonable?"
"Calm yerself, Linkah, and trust me. I won't let you trip on anything too dangerous. A torch could give us away," He sniffs the air, "And I'm not entirely sure what an open flame might do down here."
He views the open space before him. While he is happy to see there isn't anything crawling about, he can't help but wonder what made those tracks. "We should be able to go two wide. Seems plenty of space far as I can see. But still, tread light. Hopefully Lavios can give us some idea as to what might scampr'in' about. Anyways, according to Marcum's map, that's the way we'll want to be heading." He points in the direction of the tunnel ahead of them. "Personally, I'd say we avoid going too deep into that eastern chamber. I can't see the back wall of it, and we're fightin' the tide here."
+2 to find traps/doors in stone
"Are you suggesting that I should put out my lantern Mr Anvilsong? Do you smell some sort of gas?"
He turns to Karl.
"We're sloshin' through tanning waste. We are, quite lit'rally, wading amidst alchemical waste and animal dung. Nothin's wrinkled me yet, but I'd like te add 'not exploding' te the list of things we accomplish here."
The dwarf puts his nose to work a bit more, holding up a hand to Karl before he douses the lantern. The mixture of smells is nearly overwhelming...The plants, the salt marsh, the dead and waste of whatever calls these tunnels home... there's a hint of lye in the fetid combination...but oddly enough a hint of rotting wood...
Back home, there were two types of tanneries; they both used tannin - the softening acid for helping with fat and hair removal - but one used a vegetation method, uses the bark of certain trees to accomplish the process while the other used alchemical agents. This most likely uses the former, meaning that torches and the like will be safe for me now. But keeping a sharp nose out will be wise. If the smell gets more sour and causes the eyes to water, then it could be a sign of the chemicals either being used or dumped.
He rears back from the smell. He says "Should be fine. Smells like a dire bear's behind, but it won't light. Still, though, keep that lantern door cracked. We still don't want to give away our position."
Nosa looks at Beckett, a mixture of compassion and confusion clouding his face. One so young, full of such wisdom and knowledge and yet full of pain and anger. Almost as if he were staring at a mirror into his own soul.
It makes you a man of conviction. One who will do what he needs to do to bring justice. Evil? It deserves what you say. Burn it, grind it beneath your feet. Doing such a thing does not make you evil. No, it makes you an agent of change. One of retribution.
Nosa looks down at his hands and flexes both. Open then closed, open then closed. Now solemn. He speaks softly.
It is what I would be. An agent of retribution. It is the path set before me.
Nosa becomes lost in thought for a moment then looks the young man in the eye.
It would seem we think alike in many ways master Beckett. Let us work together here to bring what justice we can.
His eyes then turn to Agidor.
I have no gift for subterfuge either. What do you think is our best choice?
In the Group (in Marching Order)
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
Drogan gives himself a shake and points the group south into the narrow tunnel. While there is room to stand side by side, there is a bit more elbow room if they proceed single file. Drogan and Lavios share a look, knowing that if trouble should emerge ahead they would be the first line of defense.
The tunnel around them is given a putrid green aspect by the lantern light which reveals the rough-hewn stones beneath the mud and roots and strange seaweed-like vegetation. Lavios focuses on the latter, wondering at the growth of such plants. The way each vine twines its way through the mud brings to mind a time long ago when his father had taught him to clean and butcher a deer. This seaweed-like growth spidered out like the veins of an animal. The Inquisitor runs a careful finger along the plant, half expecting it to recoil or move under his touch. But while it doesn’t move, there is an unsettling warmth to it. And along the length of the vine are small nodules roughly half an inch across. He doesn’t squeeze it, but Lavios gets the sense there is some kind of fluid inside.
At their feet, Karl and Hal’dorel spy the tracks in the mud. Some are made with booted feet, some spread far apart to indicate humans, maybe half-orcs based on what they knew of their enemy at the tannery. Further still, there are smaller tracks, bipedal, but whatever made them couldn’t weigh more than 30 pounds. However, with the moisture in the tunnel, it’s nearly impossible to determine the age of the tracks.
The group proceeds down the southern corridor, and ahead of them it stretches beyond both dwarf sight and the jaundiced glow of the lanterns. But just before the darkness closes at the edge of vision, Drogan spots a four way section ahead. One passage each for left and right, and then the one south continues. Referencing a mental image of the map, they probably weren’t at the junction quite yet where they would make their first turn to the left.
Drogan calls a stop for a brief second.
--------------------------------
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
Trepidatious eyes stare out from Agidor’s thin face. Perhaps wondering at why he suddenly found himself between two zealots or just conscious of the change in plans their demeanors and motivations warranted. Inquisitor and Paladin have no time to tell before the barmaid returns with a festooned with mugs and a stack of plates and a platter holding freshly warmed sausages and even a loaf of what smelled like cranberry bread.
The bard claps his hands together and casts his nose to the wind even as his stomach growls in anticipation. But he actually places on hand on the table, while his other darts to his hip pouch and then holds whatever it retrieved out to the woman. ”I wonder if it would be too much trouble to have the private balcony above…?” His brown eyes glance upwards and then back to the barmaid. ”My friends and I have some important business to discuss and would like some discretion…”
Her eyes narrow and her lip curls like a viper ready to strike. It’s plain on her face she doesn’t buy Agidor’s excuse and wants a better explanation…and a glimpse of what the bard’s offering in his right hand.
”We have business with your guest…” Agidor drops a pair of gold coins in her outstretched palm.
Her brow forms a valley of disgust and she looks ready to toss the heaping pile of steaming mugs of caff and cooked sausage on their heads...but her eyes settle on Nosatrub. Shoulders settle and the tray stops shifting and vibrating with her anger. Something in the paladin changes her mind and a smile comes back to her face in an instant. ”Oh, well Master Cosgrove, I should have recognized ya, sure as I’m standin’ here… Of course the balcony is available.” She steps back and angles towards the stairs leading up, leaving the trio behind her to decide if they’re going to follow or not.
For his part, the burly man seated on the north wall dips the spine of his book and watches, but makes no move to rise when the group ascends the stairs. Again, his gaze lingers on the paladin, but again he does and says nothing.
The barmaid leads them to the northern table (See Map, table above #3). She sets the tray down and waits for the three to be seated then leans over and plants her hands on the table. ”If n’ ya hear ta roust that, Lenz, ya do it with me blessin’.” The last she says pointedly to Nosatrub. ”He helps his self ta our home n’ bar n’ food, given my da a set o’ the tremors. Thinks he gots tha palsy… ‘Ware Alaric down stairs, he’s a nasty cuss, but I don’t think he likes Lenz any more n’ us.”
Finished with her conspiracy among the trio, she sets the plates and platter and mugs and steps back from the table. ”Enjoy, Master Cosgrove. Ya tell me if ya need anythin’ else.” And with that, she heads downstairs and sees to the needs of the other patrons. As she departs she waves a finger in the direction of a set of doors on the southside of the balcony.
”Well that went better than I expected…” Agidor says with a sigh, a bit of shame in his face at not having put one over on the barmaid at the onset of their conversation. He eyes the doors and shrugs. ”I told you gentlemen before that I can assume the guise of someone else, even make one of you look like someone else. Might be useful in gaining access. You might not have the gift, but I can give it to you.”
--------------------------------------
"People will call for help in many ways. Some will ask directly, no fear, no pride. Others will hide true motive. Follow your instincts and act wisely. Iomedae will guide you."
The words of his mentor, his father Veras ring true. The barmaid needs help, that much is sure. He could see that from the look she gave him. But stooping to disguise?
I do not like the idea of hiding my identity.
|
|
Beckett looks to Agidor with a newfound respect.
"Well. That was amazing."
Then his face darkens.
"What else is this man capable of disguising."
But then he smiles and looks warmly at Nosatrub.
"It seems that we may not need to burn any taverns to the ground today, my friend. At least not right away."
Beckett picks up a sausage and sniffs it.
"Agidor, I would be content to march through those doors and pound the misbegotten man into tomorrow's sausage..."
He tosses the sausage back to its plate, and looks up.
"But I have the sense that other options may be available. How reliable is that ability of yours? Could you give me the appearance of someone with some leverage over Hektor? Perhaps some sort of criminal or official?"
"A dire bear's back end and something else. I don't know what you are seeing, but I can smell something big is dead down here."
Drogan says, "Some things are best unseen. Consider it a blessing and stay careful."
He turns to Linkah and whispers "You hear it too don't ya? Do you know what that sound is? A bit too regular for footsteps, no? like it's following a beat."
It sounds familiar, but not at the same time. I wonder if it's related to that awful music we heard on the way to Marcum's place?
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
”Indeed I could, Master Beckett,” Agidor says with a sly grin and appreciation for his idea. ”There’s a particularly hard-edged chap named Remulus Algrin I think would be about your build…” He holds up a thumb to block the lower half of Beckett’s face and squeezes an eye shut as he compares the young Inquisitor’s features against the image of the man in his memory. ”Algrin is a man on the lower council in charge of inspections. He’d be just the man Lenz would fear…”
A thought crosses the bard’s mind and he lets his hand fall to the table softly. He glances Nosa’s way and includes both of the men at the table as he speaks. ”Look, I respect the distaste for such deceptions, Squire Shieldarm. And I have to admit, I respect both your unwavering loyalties to the goddesses of your lives.” His brown eyes drift to the tabletop, his left hand goes to the back of his neck. ”I’ve been running so long, playing the musician and dwelling among thieves and cutthroats that I’d forgotten what it was like to breath the free air of a heart not weighed down with guilt. Believe me, I know I’ve been helpin’ out Helios and his folks, trying to make a difference for the underclasses and half-castes whose only crime was bein’ born without land or title.” Agidor looks up to the two in turn. ”But I think it was also to somehow get my life some definition...to make a good mark before I turn in for Pharasma’s last gig in the sky. I guess what I’m trying to say is...I’m thankful to be among men of conviction. Helios, Hal’dorel...now you two...it’s good for me.”
He gives himself a chuckle and unslings his guitar case, laying it on the ground gingerly and sliding it under the table where they’re seated. ”Okay, back to business. This harbor official and seed addict Lenz, he’ll fear a proper man of station like Remulus Algrin. We could press him on our knowledge of his dealings...maybe even try and call him on rumors of a deal with Ardo and the Stags…” Agidor rubs at his chin, eyes far away as he cogitates. ”...we can go that far, threaten him with exposure...see where it leads.” He refocuses and looks to Nosatrub. ”You’ll be our five pips face up, Squire Shieldarm. You won’t even have to say a thing, your presence will be enough...a knight of Iomedae accompanying a lower council member...I’ll be a your assistant…”
Agidor looks to the others and considers their thoughts. ”What do you think? We let him talk himself into what we want, which is to spill his guts on the deal with the Stag Heralds...and to set up a safety net for those people from Southridge if they’re moved out of the tannery early. If we can turn Lenz towards outing the cargo vessel...the Lina Varden... What do you think, gentlemen? I can maintain the illusion for 10 minutes or so.”
------------------------------------------
In the Group (in Marching Order)
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
Linkah nods worried agreement, but doesn’t look fearful. ”Don’t know tha sound, Mister Drogan…*click* *click* *smack*...” The halfling attempts to imitate the sounds to himself, then looks up to Drogan and the others. ”Seems like somethin’ talkin’...”
”My thoughts as well…” Hal’dorel adds as he catches up to the others from his spot at the rear of the column.
Suddenly, the clicking and taps increase to an angry forte...enough so that all can hear them...then they go silent.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Their eyes are drawn to Lavios as he lifts away a section of the strange marsh vine. His dagger goes to its sheath and the length of vine goes to a pouch at his hip. But back at the wall, the two separated parts squirm and twist like worms out of soil. The yellow light of the lantern brushes along the tunnel wall and illuminates their unsettling undulations and the glistening trail of ichor the two ends leave behind as they scrape along the wall and the mud and the stone beneath. After a few moments they retreat into the wall and from sight.
”Hmmbrrmrm….” Linkah’s hand goes to his mouth, his cheeks puffing outward like tiny waterskins being filled at the well. He drops his hand to his knee where he stoops over and tries to draw in breaths to steady his middle.
For the rest of the group, a noxious aroma crawls through the stagnant air of the tunnel around them. It minds a person of rotting vegetables in the rubbish bins behind the taverns. Their stomachs churn but soon are back to rights as the smell continues on its way in either direction.
”Ah, behind!” Hal’dorel hisses a warning, longbow coming up and arrow coming to full draw.
At the same time, Linkah’s pointed ears flicker and his face comes up as he looks forward, squinting. ”Eeep!!” He manages to blurt, turning his body and bringing up one of his daggers for throwing.
--------------------
☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣
From out of the darkness in front and behind spears come flying. With the group spread in a single line, they have the room to avoid the weapons as the spears stab into tunnel wall or over shoulders. The clicks and taps return and small humanoid shapes burst into the yellowing light of Karl’s lanterns. Short and thin and tinged a sickly, dark green, the tiny humanoids flail about with elongated fingers that end in wicked claws, tendrils of fungus and those strange vines dangle from their arms and midsection and legs. As they close the distance they emit a keening wail that sets chills along the adventurer’s spines.
☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣
➢
➢
➢
➢ 19 Baddies (x4) (HP ??/??)
➢ 15 Drogan (HP 9/9)
➢ 14 Karl (HP 9/9)
➢ 13 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 12 Linkah (HP 16/16)
➢ 12 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
...Drogan
...Lavios
...Karl
...Hal'dorel
The party attempts to ready themselves but the little green humanoids are just too fast. They rush into the fray, 2 from the front and 2 from the back, flailing away with their fiendish claws and attempting to rend flesh from the group.
The first attacks the bard, its claws tearing into his thigh, face a horrid rictus of insanity and malevolence.
The second slams into Lavios, attempting to slash at the young Inquisitor’s legs but misses in its ferocity.
From behind the group, the third tiny enemy slashes at Karl Marsh, but even flat-footed, the older warrior’s innate instincts prove too much for the green terror.
The last one, black eyes wide with the promise of pain, digs its claws into the chest of the elven archer, but with all its unhinged anger is unable to penetrate the leather armor.
☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣ ☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣ ☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣
➢ 19 Baddies (x4) (HP ??/??)
➢ 15 Drogan (HP 6/9)
➢ 14 Karl (HP 9/9)
➢ 13 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 12 Linkah (HP 16/16)
➢ 12 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
"You little bastard!"
Drogan takes his battle axe and brings it down hard on the one gnawing on his leg
Though I am uncomfortable with trickery, I do agree that this seems to be the best course of action. What if things go wrong with this path? What ramifications could there be if the conflict becomes physical?
Main blade
damage
Man Gauche
"What kind of creatures are these little bustards? I wonder if they are connected to the vines you just harvested Master Lavios. Heh, that might make me wish I had brought hedge trimmers and a can of defoliant rather than my blades!"
"I don't suppose you speak common, but how about a little trim?"
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
Agidor considers the question for a moment. "I think we would have to worry about Alaric downstairs. If at all possible, perhaps we avoid killing him? I know he's protecting marsh-scum...but this may be just a job for him." He shrugs. "There's always the risk that if we are somehow detained by the City Watch, it'll be our word against his...being he's an official, that might not go well for us. Perhaps we avoid permanent harm if at all possible, should it come to a fight."
-------------------------
Very well. I will accept whatever consequences my actions bring about if it leads to the freedom of the little ones and the others taken into capture. What do you say Master Beckett, are you ready?
|
|
"Heh. What would Lord Bromathan say if he could see this? Well... He always has encouraged me to grow and look at things differently..."
He looks to his companions.
"But what of these? Have they truly listened to what I have said? I am a dead man. Are they really ready to join me?"
Beckett shrugs.
"We should be about it. Try to stand in a spot where you can eye both the man and the door."
He grins.
"Let's see what happens."
Deep with in the bowels of Dog's Teeth, the heroes battle a new and disturbing evil...
In the Group (in Marching Order)
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
Drogan, aghast at being torn at by the little green devil, swings his axe in a murderous arch. But his anger alters his aim and his axe blade goes high over the enemy’s head.
For Karl, he pulls his weapons and goes to work, expertly dancing forward to thrust his sword at the creature’s head, then coming up with his left hand to cut away with his main gauche. His first weapon comes the closest, but the wily cavedweller is able to bend away from the thrust and avoid the attack.
The Inquisitor of Gozreh summons up his blood, grip shifting on the haft of his trident and his feet planting well on the mud and stone of the tunnel’s floor. He thrusts forward, ducking beneath the swing of the dwarf’s axe as though he’d been fighting alongside the bard for years. The three prongs of his weapon stab into the diminutive enemy, the side two destroying its eyes and the middle - the longest of the three - plunges a vicious swath through its head. Lavios steps forward and plants his boot on the dead creature’s body and rips his trident free of the kill.
Linkah flings one of his daggers but the halfling’s aim is again too high as his little blade flies over the even smaller combatant and into the darkness beyond the lantern light.
Having an opponent so close, Hal’dorel elects to draw his weapon and slice upwards to try and cut open the creature, but the act of shifting his longbow aside and the sword’s scabbard hinder his ability to connect.
☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣ ☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣ ☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣
...Drogan
…Karl
...Hal’dorel
Enraged by the sight of his dead fellow, the green critter in front of Drogan let's loose a high pitched shriek of outrage and swipes away at the dwarf's thigh once more. Once again it's claws bite deep into Drogan's flesh.
The tiny terror in front of Karl leaps forward and slashes away with its claws, finding purchase on the swordsman’s armor. But like the one attacking Hal’dorel a moment ago, its attacks are unable to penetrate the hardened leather protecting Karl’s chest.
For Hal’dorel, his sudden baring of elvish steel gives the one attacking him a moment of doubt, so when it launches its attack it falls well short as it dances within the elf’s reach.
☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣ ☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣ ☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣☣
➢ 19 Baddies (x3) (HP ??/??) | (AC - ??)
➢ 15 Drogan (HP 3/9) | (AC - 14)
➢ 14 Karl (HP 9/9) | (AC - 17)
➢ 13 Lavios (HP 13/13) | (AC - 17)
➢ 12 Linkah (HP 16/16) | (AC - 16)
➢ 12 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32) | (AC - 16)
Rolls from Above
➢ ADCB: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (13) + 19 = 32
➢ ADCA: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (14) + 19 = 33
➢ HLWS: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
Agidor nods and closes his eyes, first focusing his attentions on Beckett. His fingers begin to work and the two are reminded of a wizard with his strange incantations and components. But they soon realize, as Agidor begins to sing very softly but clearly, that he’s pantomiming the strumming of his guitar. His voice is low and gravelly, like an old man’s whisper to his grandchildren when he’s about to share a secret.
”Don’t believe in the stories
the Golden Age corrupt,
you glorify the past
while the future dries up…
The air around Beckett shimmers and bends like dropping a stone in a lake to watch your reflection distorted by the ripples. It isn’t a moment before the likeness of the Inquisitor changes along with his clothes and his bearing. On his face, a beard groomed to an artful point holds fast to a jaw much narrower. His hair goes from dark to the grey of the clouds and fog outside. And his eyes go to a pale shade of blue. His clothes change in fabric to fine cottons and a silk undershirt with a blue and gold sash across his body from the left shoulder down to the right hip.
Agidor takes a breath and his focus alters, head tilting slightly to the side as though he wants to listen more closely to someone just over his shoulder. Then he continues his song.
"Heard a singer in dirty bar
late last night
said he’s going to kick darkness
till it bleeds daylight…"
His own countenance shimmers and alters, his slim features expanding to a man with jowls and a hair line barely holding the ground at the back of his head. A clean-shaven, pudgy face is left behind while his clothes are a drab, dark blue but fitting to a man serving as another’s assistant.
The portly man seated before them lets a small smile crease the swell of his right cheek as he brings his whispered song to a close and opens his eyes.
"I, I believe in love…"
”Call me Jeeves,” Agidor snickers, his newly grown jowls jiggling with the effort. ”I’ve always loved the name…”
To each at the table, the disguises are flawless. The paladin and inquisitor would not have known the other had they passed in the street or struck up a conversation. Agidor nods appreciation for his weavings and motions for the other two to slip around the north side of the table and then up against the wall before he has them follow him to the doors at the other end of the balcony. As they move away from the table along the wall, Agidor begins to drum a beat along his chest and then softly sings 4 notes that would do well in a children’s lullaby. Then he gestures towards the table where they’d been seated and the carafe of warm beverage lifts of its own accord and begins filling the mug next to it. That done, he gestures again and a pair of forks begins tapping on a plate and pushing food around.
”Go on, through the doorway. There should be a second door inside and to the right. That should be his room.” He points at the first doorway. ”Squire Shieldarm, you can stand a post there and monitor the stairs and our progress.”
The door in question is unlocked, so they open it slowly to test for sound but are pleasantly surprised to find the hinges in good nick and silent. Through the door, Beckett and Nosa can see a door across the way, and a door to the right adjacent. From behind the door they can hear the sound of heavy snoring.
Inside the small hallway, Agidor tests the door’s latch and finds that it too is unlocked. He quietly opens the door and all three adventurers are welcomed by the horrid stench of a full chamber pot and the bodily odor of a man who’d not bathed in at least a week. Amid the stench is the heady aroma of sweet chemicals and burnt wood. The room is dimly lit, a varied collection of candles burn on a desk to the right and there is a low fire still smoldering in the tiny hearth on the back wall. And in the back corner, laying in beddings stained and tossed, arms akimbo and tongue lolling from his mouth, is what must be Hektor Lenz, Harbor Official and sometime embezzler and bribe taker...and addict. On the stone floor near his outstretched left hand is a clay jar and a copper scoop and a leather pouch with room for both.
Agidor nods for Beckett to step into the room and looks back to Nosatrub as he closes the door a foot but leaves it open enough for the knight to be able to see inside.
The slovenly man snorts amid his slumber song and awakens, the man’s eyes roll and search the dimly lit room and then bulge as they alight on the form of Lower Councilman Remulus Algrin. He flops out of his bed and hits the stone floor. Despite his bleary eyed presence, Lenz has the wetherall to scoop the implements of his drug usage under the bed as he struggles to his feet. It’s an obvious gesture to the three adventurers, but something of note just the same.
”Ahem...uh… I wunt ‘specting compny…” Lenz manages to mutter as he tries to right the wrongs of his decrepit appearance. He clears his throat again and attempts to repeat himself, rubbing a hand through his lank, dark hair. There is recognition in the addict’s eyes, but more of the uniform than the man. ”I mean...I wasn’t expecting company…”
---------------------------------------
Nosa positions himself as best as he can at the door so as to be able to see inside while still maintaining a close eye on the stairs.
"Mind your surroundings" Veras would warn. "They can be the difference between life and death. Victory and defeat."
He cautions a glance through the open door and sees the slovenly, reeking man. Nosa is disgusted by what he sees and anger wells up inside him.
How can people like this wallow in their own filth while others are taken captive and forced into slavery? .
The thought repulses Nosa and it is all he can do to temper his anger and not rush in and throttle the man where he sits, but he knows he must keep his anger in check and fulfill his role in this little ruse.
He turns away and focuses on the stairs, knowing the mercenary who had been attached to Lenz is still downstairs.