As the sun scrapes the roofs of Westcrown, the streets are abustle with its people rushing home or to their amusements. Lanterns flicker to life with an eerie hum as twilight approaches, flooding busy streets with manufactured light. Mothers corral their sons and daughters inside their homes, fear painted on their weathered faces, and men stumble as best they can from their taverns and whorehouses. The streets of the high nobles were always lit throughout the night, to prevent the shadow beasts from haunting their streets, but the poorer districts lights were cut off not long after sunset, to enforce the city wide curfew. The well-lit streets of the nobility are never touched by darkness, lest the horrors of the night encroach. Poorer districts are not so lucky, and after curfew, the dim islands of light fade to hungry darkness. The Dottari claim this is to keep the fuel costs down, but there are whispers of a darker truth. Dottari haunt the streets in daylight, and pass their iron-fist reign to the beasts as the sun falls. They say they patrol the streets at night to hunt the beasts, but it’s a lie- they never stray far from blessed light. No one sane ever does.
Of all the poor houses that lie rotting in the stagnant heart of Westcrown, one building stands defiant. A tavern known as the Drunken Brigade, for many it is their only reprieve from the soul-crushing fact of life in this city. Vizio and his family took over the bar not too long ago, bringing a heavenly scent to a city in hell. Inside, renovations had just begun to restore the famed Wiscrani style and class before the money ran out. Though Vizio would normally charge a half-pound of copper for visitors after dark, he pointedly ignores this citywide custom, instead busily wiping the spotless bar. This motley crew sitting in his tavern gave him an uneasy feeling. Though he was forewarned of tonight, he still told his wife and daughter to go home long before the lamps were lit.
Thank you, Vizio. A stern voice spoke from the room behind the bar. A slender woman moves through the doorway, her rough clothing draped with the telltale weight of chainmail backing, her black Chelish hair wrapped into a tight bun, secured with a plain wooden hairpin. She nods to you in greeting as she walks into the room, the soft pad of her steps amplified by the creaking of the old wood.
It’s the least I could do, for all the help you’ve provided. Vision’s lifted a lantern from beneath the bar and lit it. He nods at the woman and sighs. Take care young miss, god bless. Vizio takes one last look at the group and leaves through the kitchen.
Thank you for agreeing to meet with me here, the woman begins, my name is Janiven.
She pauses a moment for any who wish to make their own introductions.
I have chosen each of you for a singular reason—everyone here, myself included, has suffered, whether we realize it or not. I have lived in Westcrown my whole life, and although I love this city, I must admit, as must you, that despite our peace and prosperity, we continue to suffer. As she speaks, her fists ball with a deep passion and a deeper frustration. Or, is it anger?
Fear should not be an expected part of life, and yet each night brings fear to our doorsteps. Yes, Westcrown has been safe from war and famine for nearly seventy years, and yes, our businesses have prospered—but this safety and prosperity has been bought in the coinage of fear and prayers to Hell, she waves a hand at the door, barricaded against the evils of the night. A distant scream echoes, punctuating her words.
Other lands live free from tyranny. Other cities do not fear the night. Other governments do not cede the streets to monsters of the infernal shadows. Westcrown was once such a place, and she wants to be such a place again. Westcrown is not only her buildings and canals and docks and history—she is also her people. Westcrown is our friends and neighbors, our mothers and fathers, our siblings and cousins, our sons and daughters!
She pauses briefly to see if everyone is agreeing, and allows brief vocalizations of approval before continuing.
With but a small group of supporters and dedicated brothers and sisters, we can earn the trust and admiration of those people. A Westcrown free of these shadowy beasts that stalk our streets is one step closer to a Westcrown free of the devil that is the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune!
She utters this treason without hesitation. Everyone has a friend, or a friend of a friend, who has gone missing after speaking so boldly, but this woman, Janiven, seems to ignore that possibility.
Krumps gaze lifts from his snack as Janiven enters and begins to address the party, looking around with an almost curious expression before looking back towards the woman. He rises to his feet, approaching without hesitation to investigate the apparently important person in his less-than-graceful manner.
Janiven freezes as the intimidating creature approaches, wondering if that particular invitation was a very good idea after all. She weathers the unorthodox introduction, letting out a sigh of relief when it concludes.
When Arael arrives, he will be able to give you a better picture than I of how our group plans to change Westcrown, and through it, Cheliax.
She glances at the door in trepidation.
He should be here soon, she says, but it sounds more like she's convincing herself than you.
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A low croak of annoyance is issued by the chair as its owner shifts his weight to listen to the speech and observe the curious encounter.
At the mention of this Arael fellow, he rises from his chair, which creaks with relief. He goes to the window, and hunches down to gaze out. Under the impressive cover of his thick canvas cloak, he contorts his neck in a strange manner to study the darkened streets.
What plan do you have exactly? These beasts are not easily defeated. And what use would you have of us? A human, two misfits, a beast, and a halfling?
Krump, seemingly satisfied, is almost immediately distracted by the bar. It would come as no surprise that conversations didn't hold his attention for long. Clambering behind the bar, the orc sets about idly rummaging about. Sniffing anything that looked even remotely edible and inspecting anything shiny his meaty hands stumbled across.
Oh, and Krump? Please don't destroy the bar. I rather like this place and would prefer to keep it on my list of preferred places.
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Ignatio stood with his back to the room, leaning his forearm on the mantelpiece as he took a long slow draw from his pipe. Frowning into the cold depths of the fireplace, he exhaled a ring of smoke, sending it up to the ceiling above his head. He sighed softly before tamping out his pipe and sliding it behind his belt, before turning to join the conversation, a confident smile appearing on his face as if by magic.
"Well I assumed there would be more of us but this is almost perfect. A small force, dedicated to change within Westcrown? Exactly what we have needed for the longest time. I do not want it to sound like I am boasting, but I have been attempting to affect that change myself over the last while but sadly I am just one man!" His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his rapier as he strode casually around the room, stopping near Krump and patting the man on the shoulder. "Well... One man and a mountain of muscle!" He grinned at the giant Orc beside him.
He took a moment to peruse the room, glancing at each of the other occupants in turn before turning back to Janvien. "I can only speak for myself but I am in. If I can thumb my nose at the controlling council, the Devils who call this city home AND the monsters that inhabit it, all at the same time, I will do whatever the hell you want me to lass!" He grinned before sweeping her a bow.
"Ignatio Frederico Alexander Aulamaxa, at your service!"
The small fellow, child-sized by the standards of the others in the room, chose to sit on the edge of the table, rather than on the large iron pot that had been set on the chair to accommodate his height in comparison to that of the other furniture. He eyed the other people in the room uneasily at first, but the woman's introduction opened him up a little. His voice is soft, as though not used to making himself heard. "I've lived in Westcrown all my life, with a little time away to pick up certain... skills." the Halfling says. He is bundled up in a cloak that covers most of the cured leather armor he wears, and the hood, which previously covered his head, he doffs now to reveal a tousled mop of brown hair, small, pointed ears, and large brown eyes. "And all my time in Cheliax has been as a slave, until now." he says. "I've lost loved ones to these Shadows." he adds even more softly so that it's almost lost even as it leaves his lips. "But what can we do?" he asks, his tone becoming more animated. "Not to say I don't think we should try..." His eyes lower.
Janiven looks at the halfling as he speaks up, a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes as she inspects the group she has gathered, a curious expression shining through her rough demeanor. Could it be pride? Relief?
Before she can say anything else, a sudden pounding on the door pierces the quiet of the tavern. Janiven jumps, her hand flying to her sword, and she practically sprints to the window. She peers out, and gasps quietly. Opening the door, she pulls in the frightened teenager and slams the door behind him, locking it.
Morosino, she whispers his name worriedly.
They've got Arael! he calls out before falling into a coughing fit.
Janiven's face is grim as she comforts the ungainly boy, but she presses the matter.
What happened, Morosino?
A heartbeat after he catches his breath, the boy stutters T-the Dottari nabbed him, and the Rack is trying to get custody! I only just made it here and-
A tinny voice, booming through loudspeaker, echoes through the streets.
You are surrounded. Lay down arms and surrender, and you will be entitled to a trial. Resistance is death.
Of course, any who are familiar with the Hellknights of the Rack know that not only are they named quite aptly, but that their trials often mean worse than death.
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Possi pugnoume nychi kai me donti, he responds to Dingo.
You understand the gist of the remark, which is "we should kick ass", but the specifics are in an esoteric language.
We can fight, with teeth and nail.
I am... it seems to pause, as if remembering, or thinking.
Ruark. I was not always such, but have been made so.
Just before the teenager knocks, Ruark takes a step away from the window.
Company, he says, unnervingly, just before the knocking.
After the brief exchange, he hisses in frustration, and looks out the side windows for a path of escape.
Well Ruark, nice to finally have your name. See any openings?
Maldrek seems undisturbed by these events, only minorly annoyed with the interference of the Hellknights.
Krump looks up from behind the bar as the boy is hauled inside, shortly afterward a loud voice booming from outside the building. He looks around at the others then back towards the front door. The orc was dumb as nails, but he could pick up on tension easily enough and could smell a fight brewin with the best of 'em. Glancing towards the bard first for any indication otherwise, the orc grabs the nearest heavy object and lurches towards the door with it raised above his head.
Hang on a second Krump. We should at least see what's going on outside.
As Maldrek heads towards the window, his eyes start to
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Jumping to his feet and drawing his rapier, Ignatio stares around for a moment before kicking over a table and setting his shoulder to it as jet black runes begin to flow down the length of blade he held.
"По всем адов, которые когда-либо были, могут в этот день стать еще хуже"
"How about we stay away from the windows and see about getting out of here? I dunno about you guys but I honestly do not want to fight a Hellknight. I hear they tend to kill what resists them!"
The Halfling's eyes widen and his hand goes to his hip when he hears the banging on the door, and they widen more still when he hears Ruark speaking Infernal. He shivers at the sound of the loudspeaker and he hops down from the table and looks around for an escape route or a place to hide. "Arael? Not him... he's the one I'm supposed to find!" he says.
Janiven starts to draw her sword, but drops it as she sees Morosino's terrified expression.
Quickly, follow me, she says in a hushed tone.
She hurries to the kitchen, the frightened Morosino fast behind her. As quietly as possible, she opens a large floor-level cupboard and hastily empties it of its contents, tucking a cloth bag into her belt. She leans inside and fumbles for a moment, then motions for Morosino. The two of them strain to remove a secret panel, which comes loose in a shower of dust to reveal an iron ladder set in the stone foundation.
This drops to the sewer. Morosino, you know the way, go ahead.
She glances over her shoulder, towards the kitchen door, where the ominous sound of mailed boots grows louder.
Hurry! she urges, pulling open the cloth bag.
Westcrown's sewer system is a marvelous relic of ancient engineering, designed by the same genius who built the Arch of Aroden. Incredibly low-maintenance, the sewers were designed to run for centuries, if not millenia, with little to no human maintenance. Which does not, necessarily, mean that they are unoccupied.
The cloth bag is a tanglefoot bag.
Krump watches the reactions of the others curiously, deciding to drop the heavy object he had acquired before collecting his Blunt Instrument (TM) from the wall as he follows the others into the kitchen, where he is undoubtedly distracted by the smells (and if given even the slightest opportunity the tastes) of food while Morosino clambers down into the sewers.
I never did particularly enjoy the smell down there... i guess desperate times call for desperate measures.
Maldrek pulls his hood even more firmly over his head.
The Halfling follows Janiven and Morosino with numerous glances back at the front door, then raises an eyebrow when he sees where they are headed. "Ah, the sewers. We're not going to be alone down there, so watch yourselves." Dingo says.
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Ignatio growls and darts to the back room. He hovers around the hole in the ground, grumbling to himself and glaring at the front door. "Bloody Hellknights. Bloody Cheliax. Bloody everything. Krump! No time for eating. In the hole man. We will find you something to beat or eat later!"
Sliding down the ladder, Ignatio crouches in the darkness for a moment before golden runes begin to form around his hand. Drawing his rapier with his other hand, he reaches out and momentarily presses his palm to the weapon Krump carries, looking away as light bursts forth from his hand and the weapon begins to glow brightly.
"We should get moving!"
Krump's head darts towards Ignatio as his name is called, blinking dumbly with the aftermath of his curiosity still dangling in his maw. The orc doesn't quite catch the sentence, but the urgency of his voice and the gesture are enough to get Krump to follow the others down into the sewers.
The orc watches curiously as Ignatio touches his Blunt Instrument (TM), eyes narrowing with discomfort at the sudden glow but watching curiously nontheless as he waves it about (perhaps a little recklessly).
The sound of shattering glass and tipped furniture echoes down the shaft, followed by cursing from a course voice. Janiven quickly climbs down to join you, pulling the trapdoor shut. The darkness is complete, save for the light provided by Krump's blunt instrument (TM).
Janiven takes in the situation and sighs deeply, shaking her head.
Not quite the way I had planned our first collaboration, she laments.
Look for the marks. We explored this before, in case we needed it.With a dagger drawn from her boot, she jimmies a loose brick from the wall. Reaching into the cavity, she retrieves a leather satchel, filled with small syringes containing faintly shimmering blue fluid.
These will mend your wounds, should you sustain any,she says as she distributes three vials to each of you. As she is about to hand Krump his allotment, she pauses, and instead hands them to Ignatius.
Give him one if he needs it, she explains.
Krump is too busy flailing about with his glowing toy to notice the distribution of potions behind him, oblivious to them. Probably for the best, really.
Dingo accepts the vials with a smile and a nod. "Thank you, Janiven." he says, then draws from a holster at his hip a compact device - a pistol, and checks it over. When he is satisfied all is in working order, he keeps it in hand. "I am ready to move." he says.
Maldrek accepts the vials and stashes them in a pouch on his belt. He then draws his bow and readies an arrow in one swift movement.
Well, shall we?
He then slinks into the shadows.
Or rather, he hides near the back of the group.
There's the mark, Morosino says excitedly as the light washes over a chalk image of a sword pointing down the corridor to the left.
Arael and I made these marks a few months ago when we explored the sewers. We marked all the intersections so our people could find their way through to the hideout.
As the group makes its way down the tunnel and towards safety, the sounds of the Hellknights in Vizio's tavern grow fainter.
They might take a few minutes to search, Janiven remarks, but some are going to follow us down here after they grab a lantern or make torches.
In the shadowy light of the blunt instrument torch, she looks worried.
They might even send word, and try to infiltrate the sewers ahead of us, try to guess our route. We need to move, and fast.
Krump has no qualms about being the front of the march, waving about his glowing toy idly and pausing at intersections for directions from those more.. intellectual behind him. He may not be paying much attention but his Blunt Instrument was in hand and he was all too ready to slam it into something.
Onwards and upwards, then. I'll keep an eye on our rear.
Maldrek's eyes glint as he peers into the darkness.
Dingo slinks along with the others, becoming all-but invisible as he moves.
Janiven slows to a stop with a glance back down the long, black tunnel.
Morosino, she calls in hushed tone.
Startled, he turns to look at her.
You know the way, she continues, take them to the hideout. I'll meet you there- I must warn the others.
Before Morosino has a chance to intercede, she stops him with a shake of her head.
I have to know they're safe. I know the way, and you'll be fine without me. Go on.
With a sniff, the teenager turns to face the uncertain dark ahead, takes a deep breath, and starts putting one foot in front of the other once more.
Long after the sound of Janiven's footsteps have faded, and as the boy's confidence is beginning to fade, a flickering orange light illuminates in the wall directly ahead a chalk sword, leaning diagonally to the right.
I knew it! Morosino exclaims in what is most certainly not a confincing tone.
Giggling and yammering in a guttural language comes from ahead, echoing down the corridor.
"Quiet! I hear something! Voices ahead!" Dingo whispers. He grips his pistol tightly.
Maldrek perks up and turns around swiftly.
Yes, i hear it, too.
Krump's attention whips forward as he faintly hears the sounds from ahead, headtilting curiously with his Blunt Instrument (TM) hanging at his side. Smelling a fight brewing he stretches his neck to either side, cracking it as he loosens up for the impending brawl.
Who ever said we'd lose the advantage?