Lenz swallows, wiping a soiled sleeve across his face. "Whatya mean, sir?" His voice is barely a whisper. "I ain't on station for a while yet, sir. Just let me get cleaned up.."
His hands begin to tremor and he busies himself with trying to smooth out his shirt and lacing up his breeches. He licks his lips and sends a furtive look towards the trunk on the west wall. "Maybe there's something we can do, eh gov? Something we can work out, eh?"
"Torag's hammer, I can't get this bugger off of me!
He attempts another swing at the creature clamped onto his leg.
"We'd better pick up our game or we are plant food."
|
Beckett's face takes on a scarlet mask of anger. Pointing at Lenz, he takes another step forward.
"Don't even try to play me Lenz!" Beckett spits out the name like an epitaph.
"That harbor is the life blood of the city. Do you think for a second that they don't watch everything that happens?!"
Beckett pauses and shakes his head. Then continues as if speaking to a child.
"Do you know what a clairvoyant is Lenz? Do you know what kind of people are employed to ensure that weasely filth like you keep your place?"
Beckett's smile grows wicked.
"Have you ever seen a raven perched on the roof? Watching you? Or the rats?"
Beckett shakes his head again.
"You really didn't know, did you? They'll let a little seed go Lanz. But this thing with Ardo and the Stags? You're in way over your head."
In the Group (in Marching Order)
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
Drogan stomps his foot causing the green gasher to step back, but his follow up swing misses again as his frustration mounts.
Karl takes a moment to study his own opponent. He notes the way it flows and shifts to match the rogue's movements. But the realization comes too late as he swings and slices nothing but the rotting air between them.
---- ----
Lavios steps over the fallen figure at his feet and steps in behind the one slashing sadistic lines in Drogan's leg. The inquisitor stabs his trident into the short assailant and manages to nearly tear off its left arm at the shoulder with the force of his thrust.
Hal'dorel, grip sure on his finely crafted elvish blade, brings his weapon down from high right to low left and cuts his malignant miscreant in twine.
Linkah, for his part, attempts to juggle the group's lantern and withdrawing his sling but to no avail as he can't bring the weapon to a full spin in such close quarters. Instead he looks over and grabs up one of the little greenies' thrown spears and readies to return it.
But the vile creatures have other ideas. The one between Lavios and Drogan clutches at the ruin of his shoulder, black eyes glaring hatred at the two surrounding him. It rasps a yell of defiance that sends a shudder down the spine, but the effort costs him his life as his form begins to slough away in mossy chunks until he's nothing more than compost at their feet. Likewise the one Lavios had killed earlier loses whatever bonds that held its body together.
In front of Karl, his little nemesis looks to the decomposing form of his brethren at Hal'dorel's feet then bares its black and mossy teeth and hisses at the rogue. But instead of attacking, it takes a cautious step back then turns to flee into the darkness to the north. It's tiny footsteps make barely a sound even at a full run.
"Ewww!" Linkah exclaims and tosses the spear he'd picked up to the muddy stone floor. "Looks like a rib bone at tha tip n' a longshank jaw on tha handle...gah, that's fresh it is..." The halfling wipes his little hands on his leather jerkin and glances about with the lantern held up in his hand.
The elf pulls a strip of cloth from his belt and gives his blade a wipe. "We call them 'Démons de la vigne et des arbres'. Vegepygmies in the common tongues." He shoulders his bow and maintains a grip on his sword. "Though they aren't so aggressive back in Kyonin."
The tunnel takes on an eerie silence in the aftermath of the battle. All around them the dank moisture in the air and the a muddy surroundings feel all the more oppressive.
➢ 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)
Drogan winces as he punches a gloved fist against the wall, an attempt to fend off the pain and frustration at being utterly caught off guard by sewer trash.
"I'll be fine" He says through clenched teeth.
He the words lack their usual eloquence, but his hands begin to glow over the teeth marks at his legs.
He dusts himself off, axe now in hand and at the ready. A fresh determination in his eyes."Let's get going."
Karl watched the creature melt away.
"Vegepygmy you say? Hummm, wonder why that one screamed himself to death?"
Karl wipes down his blades and returns them to his scabbards.
"Good work with that trident of yours yet again, Master Lavios."
Karl watches Drogan heal himself.
"I hope you can do more of that, because I fear we are going to need it. We haven't even made it in the door yet and we got attacked. You're right though we better get moving because we are on a time schedule. Lets go."
"Here Linkah give me the lantern. Light might be a bad thing, but my eyes need it. We need to move fast, but quiet. I am going to go forward. Look, it's what I used to to, five can't move quiet enough. If you hear fighting run up, but if I tell you to run just do it. You can regroup on the surface."
Perception +1 more for traps
Stealth
Stepping over the area where the two vegepygmies had expired, Karl's mind drifted back to its preoccupation.
So what did I have?
Two dead victims, they were from different social classes, both young and healthy, both taken seemingly without a struggle or at least not one that was witnessed. Was the killer acting alone? Probably not, as he’d have to move his victims, both of whom were large men, to the location of their killing. So how many people were involved? How few could you have and still ensure success? From my own dealings in the back alleys of the city I knew the more people involved the more dangerous it gets. Too many players mean too many chances that someone will make a mistake or word will get leaked out before or after an action. You need to have absolute trust in people working with you, something that’s in very short supply amongst most who would kill and butcher their fellow citizens.
I tried to get into my adversary's mind.
If I were the killer, how would I approach my goal? I’d pick my targets well in advance, so I could know their routines and when they were most vulnerable. I’d pick a place they travelled frequently that I could get out of quickly and keep away from prying eyes. They’d have to be taken unaware, so there wouldn’t be much if any struggle.
I considered Yolan's theory that the victims were drugged. If so, how? Was there something in common between the two men; wine perhaps or a tavern? Once taken, they’d have to be killed quickly in case they were missed. Fortunately or possibly planned by our killer, both men came and went routinely and could be gone for several days or longer at a time.
The more I thought about the killings the more respect I had for the killer. He was methodical and had likely planned out every murder well in advance. If he was as good as I thought, he would know I was hunting him and would take steps to keep me in the dark."
As the hours ground or slipped by, I realized that the killer probably already had his next victim or soon would and I was no closer to capturing him than the first day of my investigation. It was a race and I was losing.
As the day waned, I had Lord Bashar and Yolan in my office to compare thoughts. The only connection we could find between the two victims, besides how they died, was a very tenuous link through the army. Alastar’s family supplied the army, but they were more merchants than soldiers. The two men didn’t mix socially and lived in different parts of the city. I was convinced there was a connection but we just couldn’t see it. I was frustrated and angry that I was helpless until the killer gave me even more bodies.
The killer was either toying with me or I was so inconsequential to his plans that he was ignoring me. Neither were good options; he was either so powerful that he felt untouchable or he was dangerously insane. . .
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
Lenz works his mouth but no words come out, just a series of mutters and groans of despair. He doubles over and plants his hands on his knees, trying to breathe. "Those were real? I thought it was the seed..." He squeezes his eyes shut and starts making what sounds like some sort of chant. "Wake up...wake up..."
But when he finally opens his eyes again, raising his head slowly to find Beckett and Agidor's illusory forms, Lenz cries out in misery. He falls to his knees and begins blubbering. "Ya have ta believe me, gov. They were going to kill me! They said if I didn't do as they said, Ardo would out me to my bosses, tell 'em about my awful condition...then murder me in my cell." He crawls to the side so they can see the depths of his remorse as he cries and scrapes. "All's I did was get 'em a secret time to load cargo...they're payin' the tariffs n' everything... All I have to do is set it up once a month, that's all..."
Something occurs to the blubbering addict as waves of narcotics flow thru his veins. A moment of clarity causes him to look up with with a glimmer of hope. "But it was a scheme...honest to goodness...just check the trunk. All the gold they gave, it's there! I was gonna set the Watch on 'em, honest! I just had to come back here on account of my condition...I work so many hours, no breaks... But there's more!" The hope grows in him to the point he makes to stand up, a notion that withers on the vine at one look in Beckett's eyes. He drops back down but continues. "There's a fella down in Dog's Teeth, he's the one what got me hooked on the seed. He's got information on all sorts in town. I could get ya him, name's Marcum. Bet he's worth a pretty copper... I'll give ya him then the Stags...those are moving their cargo tomorrow. Alls I gotta do is the opposite what they want...just make sure a patrol and inspection happen..."
Agidor's glammered jowls jiggle as he shakes his head disapproving and adds fuel to the fear.
Lenz clasps his hands together in a plea. "Mercy, huh? Don't feed me to your witches..."
-----------------
Nosaturb watches the goings on for a time, but the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs draws his attention. The paladin glances over to see Alaric climbing the steps one by one. His hands are free of weaponry, but his morning star is at his hip.
"Can't imagine your bein' here's anything good for Lenz, huh?" He holds up his hands as he continues to climb up the stairs. "Look, I never imagined I'd be workin' muscle for the likes o' him...but when the ship I worked on was scuttled... I got a wife n' kids to feed, ya see? Was a time I woulda joined the phalanx, but I got married early..."
He gestures to the door next to Nosa. "You're with the temple...so I'm guessin' your not in the killin' game...is he gettin' arrested?" He glances down at the last stair, a hand resting on in the bannister. "Shoulda turned him in a long time ago...but it woulda meant me outta job..." He grinds his teeth and then looks the paladin in the eye. "Look, I'll bear witness, but this guy Lenz, he knows some dodgy sorts. I can't have this comin' back on my family..."
-----------------------------------
In the Group (in Marching Order)
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
"I am unsure what would motivate him to choose to die in such a way, Karl Marsh." Hal'dorel responds as the rogue sheaths his blades. "In my homeland, they are known to be territorial, but these are more aggressive than simply scaring us out. And they are strangely motivated creatures, made worse by their birthing host."
"Blech, that don't sound any sort o' right..." Linkah shudders. But his mood perks up as he scans the ground and finds something of value. "Hey, wanna o' me daggers!"
The elf smiles slightly at the halfling, finding some sort of amusement in Linkah's enthusiasm. But he continues his description. "What I mean to say is, vegepygmies are spawned. They are inserted into a host body, usually a dead forest creature, then they are expunged from the body after an incubation period." He looks back to the northern passage where the surviving creature had fled. "They take on the traits and appearance of the host body too."
Hal'dorel glances about as he readies to move on, nodding to Karl when he and Lavios indicate they're taking the lead.
At Karl's request, Linkah reluctantly hands over the lantern. "If ya yell, Longshanks, let us know if we needs some weed trimmers, eh?"
The group presses forward, Lavios and Karl in the lead by several feet. While the going isn't as quiet as they'd like, their approach doesn't seem to have disturbed or alerted anything else in the vicinity. The two scouts reach the four way split and peer in all directions. Judging by the map, any turns might be premature, but they do note that the first turn according to the map would be a left one (east).
The passages heading south and west are roughly the same width and height. While the passage to the east opens into a bigger area and ends in a T-Section with passages going north and south.
The tunnel system is heavy with the aroma of sodden sand and earth and the underlying rot of plant life. But other than the sounds of their own breathing, all is quiet.
---------------------------
"We've already made enough noise to announce our coming so we'd better clear passageways and move on. Hold here, I am going to button hook left.
+1 more for traps.
Nosa watches intently as the big mercenary climbs the steps. As he watches, he notes that there seems to be no threat in his mannerisms or his words. Nosa's hand had strayed to the hilt of his sword out of habit, but listening to the man speak, he removes it.
"Not all conflicts are won by strength of arms. There will be times when the diplomatic approach is just as effective as your sword."
The words of Veras ring in his memory.
Goddess, guide me
Arrest him? I think not. I believe my associates are here only for information that you boss possesses.
Nosa sizes up the man closely, noting the wicked looking morning star. He can tell that this man can handle himself and should it come to blows, would not go easily.
I understand that you are here only for work, but how can you work for one such as him? Nosa cannot help allowing the venom to come out at his last words. He is a miserable, wretch of a man. Surely someone of your skills can find more honorable work elsewhere?
|
|
Beckett nods towards Alaric with understanding. Then looks back down toward Lenz.
"If this one were enslaved by a demon, I'd move the world to set him free. The seed seems... similar... Is the seed itself a tool of the devil spawn? Is Marcum really responsible for what happened to him?"
The Inquisitor rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. Not all of it feigned.
"You really screwed this up Lenz. Some powerful people are angry. Really... angry... Lenz! You'd be lucky if they only fed you to the Witches!"
Beckett glances back to the mercenary, his face taking on a trace of sorrow.
"And he won't be going down alone."
He pauses, as if considering.
"I don't believe for a minute that you were going to the Watch. But... That may be something of a good idea. If we could put things to the right somehow... Cost Ardo and the Stags.. and you were to help pull it off. Well, with some fast talkin' it might be enough."
Beckett kneels down to address Lenz in the eye.
"But let me be clear. You are standing on a knife edge. Mess this up... even a little, and you'll be cut to pieces."
He pauses to make sure Lenz understands.
"You need to do two things. If I see them both happen..."
He sighs.
"Then I'll do the rest of my side to cover your worthless hide."
Beckett sticks up an index finger.
"One. That slave shipment cannot go through on schedule. You gotta hold em Lenz. Whatever it takes. Give me time to get the Watch there in a way that makes us all look good. And ya gotta tell me right now how you're going to do that.
He adds another finger to the first.
Two. Ya gotta get off the seed. You were beneath their notice before. Now you're not. If you're not white as snow, you'll remind them that you're here. Then you die."
Beckett stands and looks toward the mercenary.
"If you want to keep that job, and keep everyone safe, you'll kick him in the gut if he even thinks of touchin' the seed."
He smiles an evil grin.
"Your call Lanz. Whatcha gunna do? Tell me now."
"When Drogan catches up sent him button hook right. Oh, and see if the elf has any magic light spells. We are going to have someone fall down a hole or something if we keep knocking around in the dark like this."
Drogan picks up a loose bit of rock on the floor. He whispers in a bright, lyrical dialect as the rock begins to glow with a soft light. He tosses the stone to Lavios.
"Why send an elf to do what a dwarf can? He gives a wink and a smile. "I'm dwarf of many talents, useful and otherwise."
Drogan takes a look down the path to the right of them. (+2 for traps and doors in stone. 60ft darkvision)
The next day was the 16th.
Thankfully I hadn’t been called to see the Prince. The last murder either didn’t concern him or he knew as little as I did.
I had spent the last two days either in my office or out on the streets. I had to send home for fresh clothing and dispatched assistants to handle at least some of my households more pressing business. I’d done everything I could think to do on my part and just had to wait for more information to come in.
I had even passed word through the information brokers and street runners that I would pay well for good information. My hooks were out; I just had to hope that someone would bite. Greed is always a good motivator.
I spent the better part of the afternoon clearing family accounts and writing orders to the staff. I wanted ensure no family distractions for the rest of the month at least.
I was preparing for a siege; I knew the pace of my investigation was going to increase. The body count was far from over. I had a wardrobe and cot sent to my office and told the home staff not to expect me home for at least the next ten days.
My only business was to find the killer.
I ate a quick supper and contemplating on wether sleep a few hours or to leave on patrol to beat the craftsmen's district again when Lord Bashar arrived. He didn’t have to say anything, we had another body.
“Where?”, I asked pulling on my coat and cape.
“On the edge of the city to the southeast, near the cattle market. The body is . . . Well whatever was done to him, is less then a day old.”
“Send for Yolan, have him meet us there. Tell the men they’re all on duty until we catch the killer. They shall be barracking here in the building and that includes lords."
Now I was convinced there was a definite time pattern emerging. He had been killing every three days. If he kept to that schedule then I had about two days before the next death. The next victim was still alive and we had less then 48 hours to keep him that way.
In the Group
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
-----------------------
Lavios watches Karl recedes into the tunnels around the left corner, the light of his lantern trailing him like a gossamer cloak. Darkness covers over Lavios, black and oppressive. With his vision gone the smell of the place becomes all the stronger. Musty and earthy and promising to show the rot hidden around every turn. After images of Karl’s lantern dance in the inquisitor’s sight like strange ghosts. The urge to grip his trident at the ready burns in his belly and Lavios feels that chill touch he’d experienced out on the Blackwood Causeway when he’d heard the strange creatures’ wailing. But there were no sounds at his ears, no flesh-rending demons chasing him down the road...
...but the words running over in his head are of little comfort when Drogan startles him out of his reverie. Lavios doesn’t show it, but he senses something vile about this place and it’s setting his nerves on edge.
”Why send an elf to do what a dwarf can?” Drogan announces, a rock beginning to softly glow and come alight at his mysterious command. He winks and smiles at Lavios and hands him the rock. ”I’m a dwarf of many talents, useful and otherwise.” With that, Drogan veers right (west) and begins searching out the tunnel there.
From the northern tunnel the smell of burning oil and canvas wafts. Hal’dorel emerges, the glow of a torch above his head like a halo of sorts. Linkah is close to his side, shaking hand holding out a dagger. ”I will go and follow our dwarven ally and see that he doesn’t get up to trouble.” The elf listens for a moment, brow furrowing, but moves on to the eastern passage, torch in his left hand, elven-curve blade in his right.
Linkah stays close to Lavios, relieved there’s light coming from the stone in the Inquisitor’s hand. ”Can’t say as I like it much down ‘ere, Mister Lavios. Don’t like much at all.”
The young inquisitor closes his eyes despite the glowing rock in his hand and reaches out with his other senses, trying to ascertain anything that could give them insight into their dank surroundings. He signals Linkah to remain silent...there is something on the edge of his hearing. Something echoing from the tunnel south of their position.
...is that a whimpering?
Lavios cants his ear to the side, cupping it with his free hand and leaning his body as though a secret is to be revealed if he could only be patient…
-----------------------
His business had ever been above ground, not for the trodding of such dark places. Despite himself, Karl can’t help but feel a shiver intrude upon his stoic nature and crawl up his spine until it tickled horribly at his scalp. He listens again, but the sound of needles is gone, perhaps imagined. The lantern light shines before him and he spies more tracks on the ground, these older than the ones he’d found to the north. Strings cinch around his belly and he narrows his gaze and focuses on the tracks and finds himself following them around the corner ahead. Seized with a strange curiosity and the need to ensure no enemies would sniff out their backtrail, Karl along moves the angle of the tunnel, a degree of turn not unlike a snake’s coils. Ever cautious, his left hand drifts to the hilt of his main gauche…
...but the tunnel ends in a solid wall of mud and stone. Karl shines the lantern light about, looking left and right and above and below…
...there, the tracks end there in a small depression amid a pile of mud and mulching plants. He toes aside some of the debris to reveal a hexagonal grate with a circular symbol in raised-relief at the center. The lantern light edges over it so Marsh can see it more clearly. The strange symbol swoops in an odd pairing of circles and hexagons, a writing at awkward angles among the contrivance of symbols can be seen but is unintelligible to the old warrior. Worse still, seeing the wording sends those same chills up his spine once more. Karl takes a step back and his left hand goes to his midsection...a wave of nausea moves from his inner ear and down to his stomach…
-----------------------
Drogan nods a grin towards the Inquisitor and begins making his way westward to explore. He leaves behind the light he’d created and steps into the darkness held at bay by his dwarven vision, axe held at the ready for more of those miscreant plant devils. Along the floor of the tunnel he sees pockets of moisture, remnants of the earlier day’s tidal flow. The tunnel stretches forth only 60 feet before coiling to the right and out of sight. Drogan frowns and presses onward, following the curve. His boots keep him sure-footed over the slippery mud and stone, giving his mind time to wonder at the potential of such a place. If not for the tide the tunnels around him would fit quite well into any number of strange tales he’d read as a youngling. A lurking den for thieves and cutthroats and worse! There had been one intriguing tale out of Riddleport that recounted the dark deeds of a dastardly band of dwarven rogues who kept the treasures of the less intelligent human pirates locked away in a maze of…
...Drogan’s boot sinks into a spongy mass of mud and ooze, his mind having got the better of his eyes. He squirms his heel about and begins to extricate himself. But his boot is held fast in the muck. Drogan’s eyes study the mess he’s in, and wondering if it’s the trick of his Darkvision or if what he’s seeing is truly a horrid mass of rotting flesh and blood…
Drrrooooooooogaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
The dwarf stops his struggle, eyes going wide at the sound of his name whispered through the tunnels. He stands motionless, axe at the ready, eyes darting about to get bearing on where the voice had...
Drrrooooooooogaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
A strange revulsion creeps over the dwarf, the whispering of his voice reminding him of a trio of gypsies he’d encountered on his travels south...how their dissonant chords gave his mind to racing and his heart to fluttering towards corridors and halls of too dark a nature. Drogan doubles his efforts to free his boot, stomach roiling at the sight of offal and flesh holding it fast.
Drrrooooooooogaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
Over his shoulder, around the corner from which he’d arrived, a red-orange glow flickers and crawls along the tunnel’s mud and stone, seeping ever closer to the trapped dwarf.
Is this demonic? I can't read it. Infernal maybe. S$+&, there is more than one level to these tunnels. Something has used this hatch and not so long ago fresh flooding hasn't erased it. . . Better take a closer look.
In the Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
Alaric's eyes fall to the wood of the balcony, his hand resting on the railing at the top of the stairs. "There could have been something for me, a long time ago. But I had the misfortune of falling in love with a woman...of lower station. It cost me some opportunities..." Alaric looks up and meets the paladin's stern gaze. "Don't get me wrong, huh? I wouldn't trade anything in this wide world for my Lana, nor my little ones, but things are topsy-turvy in Cassomir. It's not so easy as just goin' out for work that'll keep bread in my kids' mouths."
He makes as though to say more but stops himself. Either he didn't feel like shaming himself further or just didn't think more explanation would do any good, Nosa couldn't tell. Alaric chooses to stay where he is for the time being.
Inside the room, Lenz begins to shudder under Beckett's withering scrutiny. Somehow the Inquisitor's intensity is no less potent for Agidor's illusion. His words settle in the harbor official's addled brain, offering an escape route if only Lenz would take it.
"I...I don't know if I gots the time, gov..." His focus goes distant and he rubs another hand thru his lank, dirty hair. "But I could delay the ship...set a inspection, eh? Last minute...requested from the tip-top...sure." He chuckles to himself, a manic sort of sound that sets Beckett to grinding his teeth. "They have the slip till 10 tomorrow. An inspection will keep them till midday...enough time for ya to put the clankers on their wrists, eh? I'll slip a note to Tacitus...Tacitus Olfrey. He's the one to see, eh? I got an arrangement with him...I get my boxes, he gets a bit of the spices coming in from Varisia...ya know how it goes..."
Lenz rubs his hands together and looks about the room nervously. He coughs a bit and Beckett can see the glimmer of crimson at his lips. A hand goes to his clavicle and Lenz begins scratching as as he thinks. "That'll keep ol' Lenz outta trouble, eh? No witches or potions eh?" There's a muttering under his breath, unintelligible and sordid like the bawdy and raunchy tunes sang by the sailors on the Lamprey. After a moment he glances back up to Beckett. "But who's gonna keep Ardo of me back, eh? I'm taking the risk, I should have assurances, no?" There's an honest fear in the man's eyes, but if it's spawned by the thought of Ardo or just paranoia, it's hard to say. He continues to itch at his clavical then his chest, wincing a bit as he does so. "You can keep me safe, Lower Counselman? I'll serve as I should...you keep my biscuits out of the oven."
"This Ardo is nasty business, mate." Alaric offers from outside the door. "Rumor is he's setting up shop in town, but his bosses are back in Absalom. I had to find out more on 'em when he turned on Marcum." He nods to Hektor.
"Shut it, bruiser!" Lenz warns from inside the room. "I didn't turn on Marcum. Besides, he's just as dirty as us..."
"No he ain't..." Alaric responds darkly and shrugs, directing his attention to Nosa. "I told him it was the wrong side of business...turnin' on Marcum...but Ardo's got connections. Even saw him speakin' to a Bearded, friendly as ya please."
Lenz crawls back a pace and pushes himself to his feet. Still bending low to prostrate himself before Beckett, he hisses a warning to Alaric. "Shut your fool mouth or I won't have nothing to barter..." He scratches and pulls at his soiled tunic, working at an increasing annoyance on his chest. Beads of sweat, new and sickly begin to stand out on Lenz's forehead. His breathing becoming more labored.
|
|
"Such a defiled creature. Perhaps the Final Healing is what is best for him..."
Beckett nods at Lenz.
"Midday. That should be enough. Very well. You make that happen."
"Probably getting low on time here. Need to wrap this up."
"You are not taking the most risk here Lenz. Not by a far sight."
Beckett's glamoured lips press into a thin smile.
"And, past tomorrow, you'll be the least of Ardo's problems."
Beckett pauses, considering.
"Still... I suppose it could all go down sooner than I hope. You getting caught in the middle might cause problems. Some 'assurances' may be in order."
Beckett points over to Nosatrub.
"I'll send the knight here to watch over ya until it everything is resolved."
Beckett looks over the Paladin and the mercenary. Then he speaks to Nosatrub.
"Just to make sure, grab yourself a couple local boys for muscle. Four of ya should be enough to keep Lenz here in one piece. Make sure none of them have any ties to the Stags."
The Inquisitor looks back to Lenz. Then over to the beguiled form of Agidor.
"I know they gave us the Blood Runes for you to use, Jeeves... But they're going to serve us better on Lenz here."
Beckett's smile grows cold.
"I want some 'assurances' myself."
Without warning Beckett kneels down and grabs Lenz's right arm, pushing up the soiled fabric of his sleeve.
"Keep calm Lenz. This'll hurt a little, but it'll be done quick. Don't fight it."
Muttering under his breath, Beckett intones the words of branding, focusing the energies of the sun upon the stone... directing it into Lenz's pale flesh.
Beckett traces six small runes like shapes onto Lenz's forearm. Then, holding the arm tightly, Beckett jams his thumbnail hard into Lenz's skin, drawing a small trickle of blood. The Inquisitor smears the blood across the runes, then releases Lenz's arm by dropping it in disgust.
Beckett casts a wicked grin at Lenz.
"Don't worry about the marks. The runes start working immediately, but they'll be absorbed into your blood in a day or so and become invisible."
He pauses to let that soak into Lenz's muddled mind. Then he speaks softly.
"Now they see what you see. They hear what you hear. No more ravens. No more rats. You're their rat now, Lenz."
Beckett stands and walks to the door, wiping his hand on the nearby wall.
"I need to go set things in motion. The knight will be back in an hour. Wait for him, and his associates, here." Glancing toward the chest. "You can keep the gold. But stay out of the seed. We'll know if you don't. You do everything I say, when it's all over, I'll send someone to remove the runes."
Turning back, Beckett points to Lenz.
"This conversation never happened. If you approach either myself or Jeeves, we'll deny ever talking to you. It has to be that way."
As Beckett turns back to leave, he places a hand on Alaric's shoulder, and speaks softly.
"When he gets back, talk to the knight here about other... opportunities. There is more room than you might think for an honest, hard working man who just wants to do right by his family."
Nosa looks at the pitiful man in the room, a mixture of revulsion and pity filling him.
"What leads a man to this state?" he thinks to himself.
He turns his attention back to Alaric. Heed this mans words. nodding at Beckett for he speaks the truth. I can see the honor in you. You do not need to work for a wretch such as this one.
With that, he prepares to leave, always keeping a wary eye.
In the Group
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
-----------------------
He'd known fear in his days. The kind that came from understanding the evil that dwelt in the hearts of men. But what had stolen over him for the briefest of moments was altogether separate a thing. Reflexively he wipes at the leavings of his near vomitous event, eyes drifting back to the grating but hovering over the strange writing for only a spell.
Karl focuses his energies, an old trick from a life long removed. But his faculties prove adequate to the task. With a near unconscious skill he searches the grating for any traps or locks...perhaps conclusive proof that something had been through the odd aperture recently.
...no locks. Just the odd symbol that set his stomach to rolling if he stares at It for too long. For all his experience the language is unlike anything he'd encountered. He stands up from his evaluations and gives the hexagonal grate a nudge with the toe of his boot. No movement. And the density of the iron which comprise the grate feels unyielding.
He crouches and rests his lantern on a stone curb at the join of the tunnel floor and wall, careful to avoid the sticky muck. Karl stares at the hexagonal barrier, letting his eyes slip and avoid the odd writing. He works his hands, knuckles that's seen their fair share of combat cracking loudly in the small alcove. A moment of consideration and he reaches for the grating to test the give, to see If it can be opened...
"yeeaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiii
The shriek stabs through the tunnels, echoing off the walls. Karl nearly stumbles as he jumps to his feet, hand darting for the lantern while his other drew his main gauche.
The wail of terror continues to resonate all around him, chilling him to the bone.
-----------------------
The Inquisitor moves forward, Linkah shadowing him just so he can stay within the shelter of the lit stone. Step by step Lavios moves forward into the tunnel, crossing the four-way intersection and continuing south, straining at the edges of his perception to hear the whimpering again.
He calls another halt. Listening again...yes, there it is, but it's not just whimpering...no are words too...
"We dance and sway
and play all day...
see how we float
see how we joke
nothing we have to pay..."
The voice is weak, distant, that of a child. But that's not why grabs his attention. Lavios knows the song. Knows it from his youth back home in Southridge. An old nursery song about the freedom of childhood.
He glances over at Linkah, expecting the halfling to mid in agreement that he'd heard the singing too. But Linkah just shakes his head, furtive looks behind them where he hopes to see the others soon.
"Maybe we should go back, eh Mister Lavios? Whatdya say, huh? Gets back with Marshy n' tha dwarf."
Lavios frowns down at the halfling, considering what he might say to bolster the little one's confidence when he hears the child singing once more. The notes a sorrowful melancholy pulling at his heart, urging him to listen closely...perhaps he knows the child...
"We dance and sway
and play all da..."
The singing stops abruptly. Lavios feels a surge of panic in his guts, rolling and churning.
Linkah tugs at his breeches, "I heard it that time...I don't like the sounds...something..."
"yeeaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiii
The shriek stabs through the tunnels, echoing off the walls. Linkah screams in fear and curls himself into a ball.
-----------------------
○○○○○○○○○○○○○○
Drrroooooooaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
He pulls at his boot, his bowels watering with a growing dread. Drogan casts a narrowed eye over his shoulder as the red-orange glow slid over the walls of the tunnel and along the ceiling and then the shadows are cast. Inky black and thin of form, the shadow heralds the sound of footsteps in the mud.
Drrroooooooaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
Louder now. The voice calling his name approaches, the promise of things unutterably black and empty in its tones. The steps slip along the mud and their ease of passage engenders a loathing in Drogan the likes of which he couldn't quite explain.
Drrroooooooaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
His ax fills his hands, the haft warm to the touch.
Drrroooooooaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnn….
The light's source rounds the coil of the tunnel and there before him is Hal'dorel, torch held before him, sword in his other hand. "Drogan, how fairs your search?" he whispers, eyes wary of the the dwarf's visage as its cast in the dancing light cast by the torch.
His mouth dry, nape of the neck chilled, Drogan looks down to see his boot caught in a morass of mud and dead plant mulch. No blood...no blood...
"What was that, Master Drogan?" The elf whispers in question.
Had he been speaking out loud? Drogan works his boot free, trying not to notice how easy it is to do so. He makes to offer a reply to cover over the dread shading his heart but is cut off.
"yeeaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiii
The shriek stabs through the tunnels, echoing off the walls. Hal'dorel nearly drops his torch as as he brings his sword to bear, facing back the way they'd come. He mutters something elvish that to Drogan's ears sounds like a ward against evil.
Karl turns and heads back to Lavios.
Drogan shakes his head. No idea what that was, but no time to figure it out. He begins running towards the sound of the screams."Let's go!"
Group
➢ Beckett Foxglove
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Agidor
The disheveled man bites his lip to stifle a cry of fear as Beckett grabs hold of his arm and works his divine magics. But he can’t stop the cry of pain nor him falling to his knees once again as blood is drawn away and smeared upon his now tattooed flesh like the first colorings of an artist’s brush.
Agidor surveys the Inquisitor’s work, declining his head a bit so he can look down the bridge of his illusory nose at Hektor Lenz. ”A much better use of the Runes, my lord. Much better.”
The cowed and corrupt harbor official looks ready to panic as Becket steps away and lays out the man’s instructions. Lenz nods to each item in turn but his eyes can’t leave the swirl of runes and the smear of blood on his forearm. He makes as though to touch it, but stops as Agidor clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
”No, no, Mister Lenz. You can draw a sleeve down over it, but do not attempt to rub it away or mar the stain of blood.” Agidor narrows his eyes down at Lenz when he looks up to him. ”As my lord has stated, we will know.” He gestures with a pair of fingers and the small leather pouch floats out from under the bed and over to Agidor’s hand. ”You shan’t be needing this, Mister Lenz.”
Lenz watches with wide, bloodshot eyes, mouth working in silent pleas as he still holds his forearm like a wounded animal.
”I’ll see to it...I’ll see it...done…” Lenz mutters still cradling his forearm. His gaze follows the small pouch in Agidor’s hand as the glammered bard stashes it away in his satchel. Blinking to clear the haze, he refocuses on Beckett. ”I’ll see it done, sir…” He looks to Nosatrub and seeing the man’s armored form and recognizing his patronage, is even further cowed. ”If ya see me safe, I’m sure I can get it done… Ardo’s sure to be cross, sure to come after me when I sends for Tacitus Olfrey, eh? He’s a clever one, that Ardo. He’ll sniff me out.” He rubs at his chest, leaving his forearm for the time being for the obsessive scratching instead. Lenz licks his lips and nods to the knight and Alaric. ”They n’ more, eh? Keep my biscuits from burnin’? Okay, sure, sure… I’ll stay here, safe as houses...but I gotta deliver the note to Tacitus...down at the Constables office, he’s got shift till 3 today.” His eyes dart about the room and he begins digging at a phantom pain at his chest. Then his paranoid countenance alights on Beckett once more. ”But you’re man, he and these others, they’ll keep my biscuits safe, eh?”
”I’ll do my job, Master Lenz.” Alaric offers.
A brief fire lights in the corrupt official’s eyes. ”Of course you will, why else do I pay for your misbegotten…” He cuts off his words and clears his throat, seeing a warning glare in Beckett’s eyes. ”I mean, uh, sure, sure ya will, Al. You n’ the others…”
As the two depart the room, leaving Lenz to mutter to himself, Alaric nods to the doorway to the west side of the little vestibule. ”Another exit, leads to the upper street.” He gestures to the guitar case pressed into the far corner of the lobby. ”Don’t forget your gear,” The bruiser smiles, teeth a tinge of yellow from too many years of tobacco use. Alaric whispers, ”I ain’t the sharpest blade in the butcher block, but I had ta be sure ya weren’t from Ardo’s crew...or the other scum he’s gots deals with. If ya really do come back in an hour, I’ll help ya as I can, then I’ll take ya up on your offer. Time’s come I was able ta look me little ones in the eye.”
Alaric places a hand over his heart and inclines his head. ”Thanks. Whoever you are...”
-------------
-------------
Once outside, the overcast skies are brighter and the pathways and streets are busier. Hawkers and more permanent merchants have opened their doors for the day’s business, one of the former passing by with a brace of freshly slaughtered grouse he proudly claims is free of the waters of Dog’s Teeth. Agidor, his glamored jowls shaking, nods to an alley nearby where the trio can find some privacy. Just as they clear the corner and venture a few steps into the alley’s interior, Agidor’s spell dissipates.
”Well done, Master Beckett. Squire Shieldarm,” he grins. ”Now what? Do we surveil? Grab some breakfast? We have an hour to kill...” He stops his phrase short as he peers around the corner of the alleyway. His eyes focus on two figures coming down the road from the south.
Beckett is already studying them, having spotted them before the bard. Rough characters, earning a berth through the gathering crowds and merchants on the road. One of them has a sword belt over his shoulder rather than buckled at his waist, the hilt of a broadsword peeking over and he’s garbed in studded leathers. The second doesn’t appear to have weapons on him, but the long coat he wears is pregnant with possibilities. Their faces are calm, stubble at the chins, eyes unfocused but perceptive to their surroundings.
Nosatrub takes a look around the corner of the alleyway. They look familiar to him, these two rough characters. Both had been at the Tannery last night when he, along with Helios, Hal’dorel and Kheegan had been watching the place.
The two, approaching from the south, turn right onto the street where the Peacock stands the northeast corner. But instead of going into the inn, the two continue on and out of sight.
-------------------------------------------
Nosa begins to walk toward the door that Alaric had gestured toward. He stops long enough to look Alaric in the eye and holds him in his stern gaze. He puts his left hand on Alaric's shoulder.
I will return in one hour.
With that he turns and heads out the door.
Once in the privacy of the alley he watches in fascination as Agidor's spell wears off. He had not been around much magic before, so seeing this little display was quite amazing to him.
Well done indeed master Beckett, master Agidor. It seems that our little ruse worked. What do you have in mind by way of helping Alaric? I believe that I can help him. My father is in Vigil. He could help him find honorable work there as well as a home for him and his family. Or do you have another idea?
Nosa then sees the two thugs as Agidor's eyes follow them.
I saw those two last night, they were both at the tannery. They may know where Kheegan is. Shall we follow?
In the Group
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
-------------------------------
-------------------------------
Likewise, Drogan exits his own exploration, Hal'dorel close behind.
[b]"Linkah? Lavios?" The elf hisses into the darkness, his keen elf eyes searching to the north and to the south. He grips his sword and focuses his attention on the south tunnel.
Drogan spots it first. His dwarf sight sees the last vestiges of a light disappearing down the southern tunnel.
-------------------------------
They come to a t-junction, the tunnel extending west and east. Next to him, Linkah grips his dagger and searches to and fro, but it's clear he hopes to find nothing. Something has unnerved the halfling.
Lavios listens closely, trying to hear the little voice again. But after the shriek there's been no further sounds. He doesn't want to think the worst... Doesn't want to consider that the cry of fear had been that of the child who'd been singing softly in a trembling falsetto.
Left or right? The magical light given him by Drogan gives no clue. Nor does the silence that seems to press in on them.
-------------------------------
Likewise, Drogan exits his own exploration, Hal'dorel close behind.
"Linkah? Lavios?" The elf hisses into the darkness, his keen elf eyes searching to the north and to the south. He grips his sword and focuses his attention on the south tunnel.
Drogan spots it first. His dwarf sight sees the last vestiges of a light disappearing down the southern tunnel.
Karl looks south.
"Okay looks like choice is made. Let's go after them."
In the Group
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
➢ Linkah
➢ Hal'dorel
Lavios studies the tunnel, glowing rock held before him like a talisman. There, among the mud and mulch and sand, remnants of the stone floor. He alters his perspective and looks at the spots where the stone is more evident.
That's when he notes the pattern. Points at which the mud has been depressed as though a staff were making holes. These holes walked a progression from the floor to the walls and then...
"Goaahh, I'm gonna be sick..." Linkah mumbles as he closes his free hand over his mouth.
Lavios stands and shines the stone along the ceiling 10 feet above their heads. Thick ropes of webs create a near membranous lattice that stretches from the far reaches of the western passage and into the eastern passage from where they're standing. But what raises the bile in poor Linkah's throat is the ruined firm of a man suspended in the webbing, most of his body wrapped save for the midsection. This was opened, rib cage splayed out. From the way the light shined, the interior of the body is devoid of content.
Lavios frowns up at the body, the skin along the back of his neck crawling. He looks away and closes his eyes briefly. What is Gozreh calling him to this place? Was this the right path? Would facing whatever evil lurked in these tunnels free his mother and the villagers?
His deity could be so capricious. Giving blessing and hard lessons by turns. Lavios frowns down at the tunnel floor and opens his eyes to see something new. Small footprints...only two or three of them...no there is more. They approached from the eastern passage...stopping short then turning back to the east.
The Inquisitor considers the finding and it's portent. The footsteps are fresher than any other disturbances on the tunnel floor. And tthey're small enough to belong to a child...
Linkah tugs at his cloak and points back towards the northern passage. There is a flickering light approaching, bathing the passage there with a red-orange glow. Soon the shapes of his companions resolve. Each of them, even the elf, have a strangely haunted look in their eyes.
Unable to contain his relief, the halfling rushes to Marsh and wraps his arms about his waist. "Thought ifn I'd nearly gone cold at that scream...Surely ol Marshy'd had a hearattack..."
He gestures to the lattice work of cobwebs above them, pointing out how it only ran from east to west and not back towards the northern passage. Then he juts a chin towards the desiccated body suspended from the ceiling.
---------------
"Thanks for the vote of confidence little buddy. Everyone is trying to place me in an early grave as of late. My heart is fine, but there was some sort of grated trapdoor back there with a sickening symbol on it. As I bend down to touch it, the scream came from all directions around me. Unnerving and tested my mind, but It still holds. My guess is its a manifestation of a spirit or haunt or something. Heck, it may even just be illusionary wards."
Karl looks up.
". . . Oh let gods be merciful."
I had thought I had problems before with a dead noble and calvary officer . . .
When I saw him I knew we had entered into a much higher level of pain; the victim was a High Cleric of Abadar. He was like the others, spread eagled, cut open and missing an organ, this time the liver. My simplistic connection of Alastar’s heart to his womanizing and the officer’s inflammatory oratory to his lungs, made no sense here. I could make no connection as to why a Cleric of Abadar had been chosen for his liver. What the victims did in life may have nothing to do with why they died. It could be just what they symbolize, a dissolute noble, a self serving calvary officer, and a Cleric, representing order on behalf of the Crown. For the first time, I thought that someone associated with some cult or resistance group may be the murderers; but I still couldn’t see what they hoped to accomplish.
There were a few important differences in this murder. First it was in an area of the city that saw frequent use. The building was intact, had both a roof and a sturdy door that showed signs of a forced entry. The damage to the door is what alerted the local watch and allowed us to find him so quickly. There was no slab of stone, but in its place was a sturdy wood table. We found where the chains had been anchored to the floor. Once again, there was little blood.
The killer was smart in his choice of buildings. This area of the city was busy with mid to late afternoon cattle drives. During the early summer the area was almost deserted, especially at night. We rarely patrolled it, except when the horse clans came to market. The killer had his choice of buildings and found one that provided security and privacy. It was blind luck that we found him so quickly, he could have rotted here for days without notice. With the tanneries nearby, even if the stench of the body escaped the building it would difficult to smell over the leather works.
Always tanneries and pig farms . . .
As I looked at him, I realized that it could just as easily be my little brother, Lara's on that table. Laras, also wore the robes of the order, but was a more a scholar then a fanatic. If the killer was choosing symbolic targets, he could have taken Laras. Looking at the body, I noticed something else. The table had been moved, very slightly. The position was important to the killer. Then it hit me, the bodies were all facing in toward the center city. The killer who has been so precise, moved the table a few inches to ensure the victim was facing a certain point. This was crucial to the murders and if I could figure out what the bodies were facing, I might understand the killer’s purpose and possibly stop him.
And finally . . . this victim was technically still alive . . .
Drogan looks up at the gruesome display.
"It seems these tunnels are ripe with villainy." He looks around the others, trying to fight back the in his eye. In the somber weight of the tunnels, he swears he can still hear that voice.
"No disrespect to the dead or anythin', but I venture we keep movin' down this path. As much as I'm not lookin' forward to what happens at the end of this little venture," he says, looking over his shoulder, "We need to get the hell out of these tunnels. Now."