Kalam tosses down his singed coat, "As always your informants outdo themselves. The docks are a meatgrinder. From what I gather it's the influence of a runewell that is pushing the people to slaughter. We have felt it's effects firsthand, the draw is...powerful to say the least."
"Our trip wasn't entirely fruitless though. We think we've found a location for the runewell itself. It's within the sewers and we have a decent idea where. Problem is it's guarded by a damn host of some sort of abominations, damn nasty things...", he drains his flask, "We're hoping the professor might have some idea what in the hells they are? Regardless, they seem to dislike light and hit like an angry bull. We're hoping the library here might have maps of the sewers we can use to find a back way in? Backup would also be a good idea if you mean for us to assault the well."
Abramov listens and nods. Kalam pretty much just said it all. "A back entrance is a necessity or else it will turn into a grinder. And seeing what those things can do, it will result in casualties."
The old Varisian woman’s thin lips press together into an unhappy scowl as she processes the report. After an uncomfortable pause, she opens a drawer and retrieves a heavy tome. Her gnarled wrinkled fingers flip through the pages before settling on a certain section.
Zelda reorients the book so that it’s right-side up for the party. ”Did they look anything like this?” she asks.
Drawn on the thin pages are several images of the horrors the party encountered.
Kalam leans forward to get a good look at the drawings, recognizing them, he eyes move upwards to meet Zelda's. He nods slightly, one eyebrow raised, "Just so. Let me guess, you've had your suspicions all along but hoped you might be wrong?"
The older woman's attention is no longer on Kalam or the rest of the party. She focuses wholly on the book and waves a wrinkled hand dismissively. "I'll see what we can learn and we'll figure out a plan. Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
Kalam sighs and snaps a mocking salute, "Of course...I don't suppose you have another copy of that book lying around? A little light reading might be just the thing if "we" are going to come up with a plan."
"No? Very well then, I guess we'll have to see what we can find in the sewer maps. Do we have leave to talk to the professor again?"
Zelda waves dismissively again. "Check the library."
Halsanna finds some back information on the Runelords but nothing that seems immediately relevant.
The Runelords were masters of an ancient empire known as Thasillon. They were cruel despots that maintained order with foul corrupting magics known as 'sin magic'. Something happened at some point that wiped out their empire and killed them all. The details are sparse at best and largely inconclusive.
Making his way to the quarters where the professor is being held/staying, Kalam nods to any guards that are present, "Here to see the old man, we've uh, come across a few more questions for him."
Abramov tags along with Kalam. The man must know something useful .. he isn't being kept around by the consortium just because of his pleasant personality.
Ursus is once again standing guard when Kalam and Abramov leave to find Teveran within his 'guest' quarters. The huge Ulfen shakes his head but steps aside to allow the pair entrance. "Whatever the priests did for him is fading fast. You're gunna have a hard time getting anything useful outta him."
Inside, the previously mourning scholar has once against been replaced by the frazzled mad man Lady Yll had found originally. He looks up at Kalam with bloodshot eyes. "The city burns! Their power grows!"
Kalam notices Abramov eyeing him. "You'd almost think he could function as a compass if we took him along."
Kalam frowns, "It's certainly possible. Though I don't think having him along would be very conducive to a surprise attack..."
He looks at the doctor, leaning down to his level, "Their power indeed. Power to raise monsters, yes? Arms on their heads and murder in their eyes. Can you tell us about them?"
The broken man’s eyes bug out at Kalam’s description. ”It cannot be contained. The well overflows. Sin-made-flesh.”
Before Kalam can say anymore, Teveran curls up on the bed and sobs. It seems unlikely he’ll be able to get much more out of him.
Kalam gives the old man a dismissive gesture, reaching for his flask before realizing he had drained it on the way back from the docks.
Frowning he nods to Abramov, "You're welcome to see if you can get anything else out of him?"
Striding out of the room he nods to Ursus, "Correct as always Ursus. The old fossil in there seems pretty out of it. I'll see if I can turn up anything in the library."
Heading off, Kalam makes a stop by the mess hall to down a pint to quell his frustration and refills his flask before making his way to the library. Digging into the city records, he attempts to turn up any information he can about the dock sewers that might be useful.
"It beats me. I think the man is only going to get worse until we do something about the Sin Well."
Ceinwynn sat and ate quietly next to Halsanna. "That didn't go so well...
Ursus grunts in acknowledgement and locks the door behind the pair after their exit the 'guest quarters'. "Have fun."
After a couple tedious hours of research, Kalam comes across some old maintenance maps of the tunnels. Interestingly enough those tunnels lead down to a large, long abandoned, series of chambers that the maintenance crew used to use to store supplies and, on occasion, rest overnight. It appears there are other surface-level entrances that lead down to this complex.
"I hope a good meal is all you ladies need to stay sharp because I haven't seen either of you in the training yard yet", a harsh voice calls out interrupting Halsanna and Ceinwynn's meal.
It's Gerard Villanova, the Gold agent Halsanna saw overseeing combat training the day she arrived.
"Once you're done with whatever errands Zelda's got you on, I expect to see you there logging double-time."
It's the middle of dinner at the Crossroad's restaurant/mess hall when the summons arrives via a short pock-marked waif of a messenger. The boy extended the missive as if it was plague-ridden. "For you Mister Mur. From Zelda herself."
Mezzen Mur,
It seems the time for your talents to be put to use again has arrived. Visit my office as soon possible to discuss the details. Do not doddle.
-Z
The tiny gnome plucks the missive from the poor waif and reads it with more than a little trepidation. Last time Mistress Zelda required his talents three people had burned alive in their beds. Mezzen Mur knew what he could do; he also knew what Mistress Zelda could do. Doddle? Never that.
Hurrying -- an uncharitable observer might say scurrying -- to her office, the gnome arcanist knocked on her door. When admitted, he pulls his favorite bow and gushes in Varisian.
"Zelda, a szemed ragyog a ragyogása ezer-ezer csillag. Mi lehet a legalázatosabb Mur tenni az augusztus és a kegyes én? Kincset állította? Néhány szöveget lefordították? Egyes parasztok gyulladt?"
The older Varisian woman glares at Mezzen with disdain and gestures to one of the chairs opposite her desk. "Can it Mur. I have a long night ahead of me and I don't have time for ass-kissing."
After he's had a moment to mount the significantly over-sized furniture, Zelda closes the tome she'd been studying. She slides a folded sheaf of papers his direction before closing her hands for her signature finger-steepling.
"It's been a long time since your last team had to be removed due to creative differences. It was a messy affair but you convinced me it was worth my time to keep you around. Is it still true? Are you worth my time?"
But I so love kissing your ass, harridan.
Keeping his thoughts to himself and plastering a suitably charming grin on his face, Mezzen Mur assures Zelda of his continued worth. "My worth is both quantifiable and verifiable. It was once even notarized. As long as it is within my expansive skills set, you know I will turn all my thoughts to attending to your whims, fancies, and dictates. And, unlike those execrable cretins, I do not get creative with my loyalties -- those are determined by my hide and the market. We both know who controls the fates of both of those."
The extremely petite gnome looks at her hopefully before turning his curious gaze to the papers she presented.
Zelda listens to Mezzen's words, takes a deep breath like she's going to speak, but only gives a grunted reply. "Good."
"In those pages is everything you need to know about your new team; their names, skills, and a few words about where they came from. They've been working on the Dockside Killer case for one of our biggest benefactors. I don't need to impress on you how important it is that they succeed. If what they've stumbled into is as bad as I believe, they're going to need your talents."
"Necessity, madame, is the midwife of success. I will help this group of loyal worthies resolve this unfortunate untidiness. If these murders have something to do with my specialities, then someone has been incredibly naughty. Nevertheless, talents will be exercised, benefactors will be pleased, and enrichment will be attained by all. Will that most excellent Ulfen be making introductions, or should I seek out this . . . Kalam?"
The gnome voraciously consumes the details of these new associates, while he waits to be dismissed.
Zelda opens her book again and gestures toward the door the gnome had let himself in through.
"Ursus is guarding a man they brought in within the guest corridor. He'll know where they are."
Angels above and devils below, did she just try to make the word 'corridor' sound ominous? She missed her calling in the theatre.
Clambering down from a chair twice his size, Mezzen Mur bows several times before making his way out of her office. He commits each page to memory before setting it alight. Leaving behind evidence is untidy.
Eventually the arcanist makes his way to the guest corridor. "Urus! You might ask what auspicious cosmological event has brought our stars back into alignment with each other? Mistress Zelda has instructed that I aid and abet some of your young protege's resolve the mystery of murders most eldritch. Care to direct me to their leader?"
”Hey”, the massive northman grunts noncommittally but the twinkle of amusement with the gnome is visible in his pale blue eyes.
”You’re joining up with them? I’m assuming the Boss okayed it?” he asks.
”Can’t say I’m surprised. They’re good kids – just a little green. I think you’ll fit in just fine. I know don’t if any one of them is in charge but they’re all over the Crossroads right now. Kalam’s in the library and I think the girls left to find some grub.”
"Indeed she has! I have been most motivated by her loving exhortations and ominous inflections to make myself useful."
The gnome pauses to catch his breath. That last sentence coming out in one rush. "No team leader? How democratic! How Andoran! Well, their admirable collective has been appointed to a most vexing problem. What problem cannot be fixed with a little wit and the application of clever fingers? If they do not suffice, you know what my mother always said: 'Burn it to the ground! Burn it all.' Gods rest her gentle soul."
Mezzen couldn't keep the hint of a smile from curving his lips. He enjoyed entertaining the huge human. Their not-quite friendship had been useful to them both in the past.
"I don't suppose that our erstwhile scholar had any reference texts on him? Has anyone found his past lodgings? Collected his books and notes?"
Ursus offers the gnome a throaty belly-laugh for his trouble and nods.
He retrieves a folder and leafs through a short stack of papers within. Picking out a few of them with one meaty paw, he offers them to the gnome. ”That’s everything the Abadarans got out of him while he was lucid. The fool’s a mad man . Most of the shit he says doesn’t make any sense.”
Nodding sagely, the gnome glances through the papers before handing them back to the Ulfun.
"Scholarship is not for the weak of mind."
After taking his leave of Urus, Mezzen Mur makes his way to the library where he finds a man fitting Kalam's description.
"Good day, sir. Are you known as Kalam Sayros? I am Mezzen Mur, linguist and scholar of the arcane. Our most wise employer has engaged me to help fix some of the problems your team has discovered recently. Would you care to give me a brief summary of what you know and your initial thoughts on how you want to resolve this issue?"
Kalam glances up from his book with a slightly startled expression, looking expectantly at what he quickly realizes is empty space. Lowering his gaze several feet, he takes in the scholarly gnome for a moment before offering a crooked grin, "I am indeed. So kind of the lovely Zelda to send us a proper research assistant.", he gestures to the maps spread out before him on the table, "At last I can stop embarrassing myself."
Slipping the silver flask, engraved with a dented tankard from his belt, Kalam offers it to the diminutive gnome, "Welcome to the team, Mezzen. Tell me, are you more the freelance consultant type or have you been reassigned in a more permanent capacity?"
The gnome refuses the flask politely. "Work must come before pleasure. Alas."
With a crooked smile, Mezzen continues, "As for what the future holds, I cannot say. The Harrow is not my gift. Besides the indomitable Zelda is the only mistress my fate recognizes. Think of me as a resource and sounding board. I speak numerous languages including Thassilonian and Azalanti. I have some small knowledge of arcane matters. And these are just the tip of my many gifts. Tell me your plan and let us see if we might improve and enact it."
Ceinwynn chuckled at Halsanna's response. What next? Do you know where the others went?
Kalam raises a sarcastic eyebrow in the gnome's direction before taking a deep drink from the flask. He smirks as he fits the flask back in his belt, "Come now, there's always time for at least a hint of pleasure. That's half the fun of working for the esteemed Aspis."
Sighing, he breaks into a brief rundown of the events of the past couple days. Covering the investigation, the run in with the tears, the riots and the sin horrors in the sewers. Whetting his mouth with a little more liquor from his flask, he turns to the maps he has dug up, standing to peer down at them and gesturing for the tiny gnome to stand on the vacated chair in order to get a proper look himself, "This is where we entered the sewer earlier. It looks as though there are a number of other routes we might take to reach the same general area. Hopefully we can identify one that's less well guarded than our attempt today."
"From what I can tell, it looks like workers broke into an ancient tunnel complex below the city some time ago. I figure the runewell itself must be buried somewhere within these tunnels. Unfortunately they were never fully surveyed..."
"Ancient tunnels? How exciting! In my experience when something has been locked away for some time there are things both valuable and dangerous to be discovered. We should make sure to bring surveying gear on our return. Mapping those tunnels could be give Aspis an edge. Describe these sin monsters to me again. Do you remember any identifying marks, odd weapons, language?"
The doctor had gone to his room to relax with a cup of tea. There he was, sitting on his bed, wondering where he had gone wrong, how it came to be that he had to face inhuman monstrosities that were all too happy to tear him apart.
Kalam smirks, "I feel like we might have better luck with the survey after we've shut down the damn runewell. As for the monsters we encountered? Damn ugly things, arms on the sides of their heads, backwards legs and misshapen mouths they're all to happy to turn against you. Seemed happier to use their claws and teeth than the crude weapons they seem to have been outfitted with. If they do speak it's not any language I'm familiar with. Zelda seems to have some more information on them, I'm sure she can fill us in properly in the morning."
This fellow expects Zelda to do a lot of legwork . . .
The gnome gives the human a pleasantly bland smile. "No doubt it would be too distracting to an exhaustive survey, but basic mapping might mean the difference between life and death if our primary route of egress is cut off. What time is this meeting in the morning? Perhaps if the rest of your democratic collective has gone to bed, then it would be best if I made my introductions on the morrow."
Kalam yawns softly before turning it into smirk at the title of "democratic collective". Shifting one of the maps distractedly, he gives a nod to the gnome, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Being a shining example of democracy, I haven't been keeping tabs on the others overly. The doc at least strikes me as the night owl type. You're welcome to try and track them down, or keep searching through these records. We'll compare notes over a decent breakfast. The kitchens have a wheat ale that's perfect for washing the cobwebs out in the morning."
He offers a slight bow, "For the moment I bid you a good night, Master Mur. I suggest whatever you decide, you get some sleep eventually. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a rather drawn out affair."
Taking his leave, Kalam slips into the mess to grab himself a quick refill of his flask before strolling to his room. Trying not to think overly about tomorrow's inevitable trip back into the sewers...
No reason to do today what can be put off tomorrow.
The gnome hops to the floor and makes his way to his room, but first he stops by supplies to requisition map making supplies.
One by one the member of the party make it to bed. Far too few hours later, a sharp knock on the door announcing the presence of a messenger. Zelda has summoned you. Immediately.
The underground nature of the Crossroads makes telling the time of day difficult but based on the activity, it appears to be early. Very early.
Arriving at Zelda's office, the party finds Ursus, equally unhappy about the hour and obviously hungover. He glowers at the party through bloodshot eyes before gestures for them to enter. The sting of a pungent incense almost immediately assaults the senses upon entering.
Zelda is seated behind her desk as usual but looks to have aged a decade overnight. Dark bags hang under her eyes and her lips looks especially dry and thin. She gestures for the party to sit.
"Those things you encountered in the sewers are known as sinspawn - a kind of living manifestation of runewell magic. If there's that many down there and they're as active as you've described, it means your close and the well's stored a good amount of juice. This is it, you don't have anymore time for research and planning."
The aged Varisian woman hands over one of the folded, now more familiar, requisition papers.
"Get to the armory and get some supplies. Report back here when you're ready. There's no way of telling exactly how many sinspawn are down there so I'm sending Kujo outside and some other agents with you to act as interference and buy you the time you need", she explains.
"Do we know if there is any trick to destroying a runewell?"