Bruendor crosses his arms in displeasure by the turn the conversation has taken. "Really? Our best plan is to give the greenskin the resources to burn down half of Riddleport if he wished? I'm no arcanist, but there has to be some other spell out there that would have a similar effect but with less pyrotechnics."
"I could do that now, if I wanted to," Anklebiter says, blinking at Bruendor in puzzlement. "Doesn't need magic, just throw a few torches on rooftops. The spell could help us in battle."
"Despite his...enthusiasm, I trust Anklebiter with this 'burning fists' spell, or whatever it is called," The barbarian shrugs. "If he thinks it will be of use in battle, then it is likely of use in battle."
"That's not exactly helping your case. But it seems I'm the lone voice of reason here. Fine, get the scroll. And we'll want to scout this out before we charge in blindly. Could be a trap we'd be walking into, for all we know."
"Then we treat it like a trap as well as a source of information, I think."
On the second day, Anklebiter and any of the other party members interested in joining him for this little excursion make their way to the stronghold of the Cyperhlords.
Anklebiter takes a little time to review some alchemical notes he made after his analysis of Saul's blood before he knocks on the door, then turns to the others and brushes imaginary lint from his shoulder; one might always assume that the Goblin is nervous.
"I look okay?" Anklebiter asks in an anxious tone of voice. "I bathed for a whole hour, washed my clothes... I look okay, right? Bigjob Wizards; need to look my best. Too important to get booted out now. Spot in sky; blood analysis; lotsa stuff. So... I look okay?"
"You're the belle of the ball. All the boys will be hoping to get a dance with you," Calla tells the goblin, rolling her eyes.
"I am trying to look like a professional, Calla," Anklebiter says with sudden, brittle dignity -- and without the 'funny Goblin'-accent he usually has. "The Cyperhlords represent... knowledge! I may not get another chance to make a positive connection with them. Please assist me; the Cyperhlords are a resource with no equal in this city."
"Probably not the best idea to ask a devotee of Calistria if you look like a professional, but yes, Anklebiter, you look very shiny." Kelendra smiles at the little goblin and his flustered antics.
"I doubt these...cypher lords will think highly of an Ulfen warrior, but I will go with you if you wish."
"Probably not the best idea to ask a devotee of Calistria if you look like a professional, but yes, Anklebiter, you look very shiny." Kelendra smiles at the little goblin and his flustered antics.
"Just so long as I don't look like I just wandered in from the junkyard after raiding someone's chicken coop," Anklebiter sas with a sigh, his ears drooping for a moment.
"I doubt these...cypher lords will think highly of an Ulfen warrior, but I will go with you if you wish."
"Please do," Anklebiter says with a brief bow. "I think highly of you. Your support is deeply appreciated -- and you underestimate how impressive you look. I can but hope that your honourable presence will validate my own unlovely presence a little in the eyes of he Cyperhlords."
You manage to make your way to the cypherlodge with no problems. As you walk, you see more of the same from yesterday; people whispering while watching you, some furtive and some staring quite openly. Some didn't even bother to whisper, and you heard the rumors flowing freely about raid at the Goblin, and your roles in defending it. Still, Riddleport isn't that large, and it didn't take too long to walk to the cypherlodge.
Anklebiter clears his throat, straightens his clothes one last time, squares his shoulders, straightens his spine... and approaches the door guards. He addresses whoever these may be in squeaky-voiced, but otherwise flawless Varisian:
One of the two lavishly dressed young gentlemen standing outside the main entrance to the cypherlodge smirked at the goblin as he approached, then smiled openly at Anklebiter's words. "Lords above Jol, I didn't know they could talk, did you? Imagine a talking dog or monkey! Say, that might not be a bad idea for spell research..."
He broke off as Lefrik loomed over him. The other mage took in the companions and said "Shut your mouth, Fredo, before you get your head removed to quiet you down! Don't you know who they are? Some of those that the Goblin hired. The ones that killed thirty men two nights ago."
To Anklebiter, he said "Umm...I don't know if any of the masters are available, but I'll pop inside and ask." He looked thoughtful and then replied "Or maybe Fredo should go, instead. There's a waiting room just inside if you'd care to come in."
A few quiet words later and the loudmouthed mage popped inside the lodge. Jol led you inside to a large parlor, big enough for a dozen to wait comfortably on cushioned chairs and small couches.
It didn't take long before another man appeared, dressed in robes of red and purple. "Fredo told me a well-spoken goblin was at the doors asking for a moment of a master's time. I assume you are the Anklebiter that is working for Saul Vancaskerin? The one who helped repel the raid? I must say, good for you! Good for all of you, really! Speaker Tammerhawk is even now using your good fortune against the Overlord, who really should have known better. Now, what can I do for you?"
Anklebiter bounces out of his chair and bows to the newly arrived Wizard.
"My thanks for your valuable time!" he says. "I have indeed been named Anklebiter by my tribe's shaman. May I ask for the honour of your name, sir?"
The Goblin sweeps back his ears with one hand and smiles without showing any teeth. "It was my hope that I could ask of the honoured Cypherlords whether they have knowledge of the strange blot in the sky. There are many other questions I would love to ask, now I have gained access to this great place of learning, teaching and discussion, but the blot seems somehow... urgent."
Anklebiter bows again and eagerly waits for a response.
Calla's about to make a cutting remark about how a goblin manages to speak more intelligently than Fredo when his comrade interjects first.
"Thirty-two," she says coldly as he sums up the tally of men the group killed at the Golden Goblin.
In the room, she sits back, content for the moment to let the goblin ask his questions and to see what happens.
"My name is Caladan. I am of the Third Circle, just below Speaker Tammerhawk himself. And as for access, I am afraid you are under some misapprehension here. The foyer is as far as most visitors get without either entering our ranks or donating a very sizable amount of gold for the privilege of study in these halls. As for the 'Blot', we have been studying it and its effects for over a month now and no one is closer to figuring out what it is or what caused it to be than we were when it first appeared in the skies. It is surmised that the Blot is a convergence for focusing arcane energies, but I'll be frank and tell you that no one has any idea what that really means."
"Thirty-two," she says coldly as he sums up the tally of men the group killed at the Golden Goblin.
"That many? It had all become a blur to me," Lefrik comments almost nonchalantly.
"My name is Caladan. I am of the Third Circle, just below Speaker Tammerhawk himself. And as for access, I am afraid you are under some misapprehension here. The foyer is as far as most visitors get without either entering our ranks or donating a very sizable amount of gold for the privilege of study in these halls. As for the 'Blot', we have been studying it and its effects for over a month now and no one is closer to figuring out what it is or what caused it to be than we were when it first appeared in the skies. It is surmised that the Blot is a convergence for focusing arcane energies, but I'll be frank and tell you that no one has any idea what that really means."
Lefrik looks to Anklebiter to see what he says to that.
"Honoured Caladan, I am well-pleased to make your acquaintance. As an amateur historian and researcher into the past of Varisia and its Thassalonian predecessor, I am gladdened to have have been allowed this far in the Lodge and to be heard, but I must admit that your words disturb me," Anklebiter says, his ears trembling slightly.
"If the Blot is, as the Cypherlords have surmised, a convergence for focusing arcane energies, that might suggest that it is... artificial in nature? Worse, that someone is preparing to cast a most powerful spell, indeed! So far, the strongest effect I have personally noticed is an unusual display of magnetic power."
Anklebiter frowns, tapping his jaw. "If artificial it is... Have any lines of power or residu thereof been detected, leading towards the place where the Blot is? Has its actual position been determined? Is it growing larger, or simply closer?"
The Goblin makes an apologetic gesture. "Forgive me. My upbringing has not been... delicate. When I see an odd phenomenon I can not touch, my first thought is to find out whence it came and what gives it life."
"Of course those questions have been brought up, and studied intently by dozens of cyphermages." snapped Caladan somewhat testily. Then, the man seemed to relent. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but these questions have been asked of us and by us for nearly two months now. Several mages have flown up to get a closer look. Those that didn't fall from the sky, their magics gone awry, found it to have the appearance of a normal cloud. We surmise that it is a focus for arcane energies, but for what purpose, and who is responsible? I am afraid I can't answer those questions - for you or for anyone else."
"I meant no offense," Anklebiter says, bowing his head again. "And of course the Cypherlords are cooperating with the local temples, nearby druid circles and other arcane societies to pool resources. Foolish of a little Goblin to think he might have something to add to the research."
"The pursuit of knowledge and understanding is never foolish. Did you have anything else for me, or is it only this matter of the Blot that you wish to discuss? I am afraid I have pressing business elsewhere in a half hour."
"Just one question, really," Anklebiter replies after a moment's thought, "although my comrades might have questions of their own.
My question is this, Cypherlord Caladan: can I help with the research into the Blot?"
"Hmm...that is a question with multiple layers of response. Of course, you can always do research on your own, sharing the results with whomever you will. No one will forbid you that - though you might not be too surprised that more than one Council member has suggested such a thing. But, I think you are referring to a more...collaborative effort. One in which you work side by side with the others who are studying the phenomena. In that case, the answer is no."
He held up a hand to forestall any further comment. "Not unless you were to join the ranks of the cyphermagi. And, I am afraid, there would be great resistance to that course of action. It is a lengthy process, in any case, and you would need to be sponsored by a cyphermage of good standing. Your exploits, and those of your companions, have severely limited that possibility, however justified they may have been."
"I see," Anklebiter says with a little sigh. "Very well."
The little Goblin digs around in his pocket and brings out a sheet of notes. "A copy of my observations," he says, offering the sheet to Caladan. "Fragmentary, of course. Some conjecture, linking the growth of the Blot's visual manifestation with the magnetic activity I mentioned."
The Goblin cocks his head and looks at Caladan. "If... if the Cypherlords are not officially interested in working with, shall we say, freelancers, might I be helpful in organizing the freelancers and passing on any information we could compile? I would need some names, of course..."
"I'll be sure to pass these along. As for organizing the freelancers, you are, of course, free to do so. I don't know of any offhand, but there are likely dozens. Come back tomorrow and I'll have one of the Plebes compile a list for you."
"Yes, Calistria forbid that we defend our place of employment,
Calla snarks at the Cyphermage's commens. "If you know something more about our employer that should cause our defense of him to be taken askance, please, feel free to share it."
Calahan looks taken aback for a moment at Calla's vehemence, then rallies. "Mistress Tas'vere, it seems that Calistra forbids very little, and as I mentioned before your actions may have been perfectly justified. However, they have generated the sort of aggrandized attention and rumor-mongering that the Cyphermagi tend to avoid like the plague. I know nothing of Saul Vancaskerin, other than he was once a criminal that fell into the bad graces of his fellows, and came out of it with an apparent change of heart and came clean. Why? Do you have suspicions about your employer?"
"That, perhaps, is a discussion for another time?" Anklebiter suggests, as tactfully as he can. "We are, after all, the gentleman's employees just now."
The Goblin bows to the Cyphermage again. "I shall gladly return for the list tomorrow, and thank you for it. I hope it will prove beneficial to all of us, sir. Certainly, I shall do my best to make it so."
"All I know is the blot puts everyone on edge... even beyond normal nervousness. Perhaps that's part of its magic." The Ulfen grumbles, thinking on those that have attacked not for pay, but in some sort of rage. "Are we going then?"
"Hmmm, a good point," Anklebiter muses. "I hope there is at least one Enchanter on that list. It might be interesting to see whether the Blot is affecting not just natural law, but also mortals' emotions."
"I don't know magic, but I know rage," The ulfen states simply and scowls, "If I ever find who is making this 'blot' I think I shall make them regret it."
"Hmm...I see. Well I really must be going now. Thank you for stopping by, and I hope that you do find out something of interest regarding the Blot, young goblin. It would be a fine thing. A very fine thing." With that, Caladan left the room. Shortly, another acolyte came to escort you out of the cypherlodge.
At Saul's encouragement, you left the Goblin just before dusk, hoping to get set in place at the Boneyards, near a place called the spar, before anyone else arrives for the late-night meeting. By Saul's estimate, you have about 2-3 hours after full dark before the meeting will start, and another hour after that before the moon rises - what little off it that will be visible before the Blot extinguishes its light. He handed you a scrap of parchment with a rough layout of the Boneyard, including a couple of approaches through the water near where the spar is. Saul indicates that the western or eastern approaches are the only ones likely to be relatively shallow at this tide - no more than 1 or 2 feet deep, surely.
The night air is calm, and a hazy mist rises from the marsh and rolls in from the bay. The sound of night birds and frogs can be heard as you approach the marsh, and the place feels still and peaceful.
On the way back from the cyphermages, Calla will stop and buy two potions of cure light wounds, tucking them into her pouch.
"Well, which way do we go?" the half-elf asks as she nears the spar. "This work for everyone?" she says, gesturing to the west.
"I'd like to check both, see if the bosses have someone doing exactly what we're trying to do. They've got to know we'd want to strike here, so they might use this to lure us out. Start with the western span, then check the eastern to be sure."
The water of the marsh is cold and fetid, about 18 inches deep in most areas, rising up to 2 foot and beyond in others. For Lefrik, the water was basically an inconvenience, but for Anklebiter, the deeper areas rose up to his chest. At one point, the goblin tried climbing on the piles of rotting ship hulks and fetid debris, but the footing crumbled and the noise he made caused Bruendor to shoot him a glare that might have melted steel.
The mists swirled and condensed, sometimes opening visibility for a few dozen yards, sometimes restricting it to 10 feet. Finally, you recognized the hulk of a ship called the Persephone. According to Saul's directions, the Spar should be just to the east of here.
The mists cleared and you can see a flickering globe of light centered around a bit of ship's rigging protruding from the water. This can only the Spar that Saul described. Huddled around the lantern dangling from the Spar are 5 figures, cloaked in dark cloth. Indistinct murmurs come from the figures. One of them turns slowly back and forth, as if on lookout duty.
Here is the map of the area around the Spar. You are coming in from the west (the left of the map - ignore the compass rose).
While wading, you have found that movement is hard in the water (counts as difficult terrain), and all but impossible to move quickly or quietly on the mounds of detritus (difficult terrain, with a DC increase to any move silently stealth checks.
What do you do?
Well, at least everything's waterlogged here, Bruendor thought. Less chance of the greenskin starting a bonfire.
He quickly surveyed the scene, then looked back at the group. He gestured to all of the group, then held up three fingers. He held up a single finger, then pointed a Calla. He then gestured towards the pile of rubble immediately to their left , and pantomimed pulling a bow and loosing an arrow. He then held up two fingers, and pointed at Kelendra and Anklebiter. He gestured towards the vaguely crescent-shaped mound of detritius jutting out of the water ahead of them , then waggled his fingers, clearly aping the gestures of spellcasting. He then held up three fingers, and pointed at himself and Lefrik. The motion he made was simple and straight-forward: a gesture directly towards the five men. He pulled his rapier, and glanced around the group to see if there were any questions or refinements to his plan of attack.
Lefrik nods, readies his axe, and stays close to the dwarf and readies for 'part three' when it comes.
Calla shrugs, willing to take the dwarf's orders ... for the moment. She nods and begins making her way toward the pile of rubble, her bow out.
Once she arrives at her destination, she intones a quick prayer to Calistria, asking for her protection.
Lefrik will think about it, then cup his ear, in exaggerated mime of listening.