Grit accepts the reward for the group. We are glad we could be of assistance, and since we do have some coin expect us to call on you soon to buy a few choice items. I for one have a breast plate I would like enchanted. If you tell me I must work with the local guild I will do so, but I do not care for them as would rather your people receive my coin.
Safia had been lost in trance for almost all day since their return to the city. Something she had seen on the raider that fell to her blade had pushed her into a sort of unstable state, even worse that it normally was. While sitting there she mumbles incoherently but sometimes thing seep in over the mind link, visions of the same village where they killed the raiders. The corpses laid on the floor where they left them but added to them were the corpses of more raiders, standing upright seemingly frozen in fear. It were just flashes that seeped through but the images were clear.
"One of our artificers should be able to see to the breastplate," Nell says, before turning to Daina. "We can also help procure inks and other reagents, perhaps more safely than you could in the Elven Market. If you'd like to prepare a list, I will see to gathering the items or arranging for any enchanting, at a reasonable rate. Writing it down might seem strange, but we'd all be executed for the contents, anyway."
With that, Nell rises to follow the old man. "Thank you again - you assistance has been more valuable than you can know, and we may soon call on you to do even more."
You return to the warehouse after your meeting with the Veiled Alliance. "Be ready in two days time - we will have need of you again," the old man had said. Nell's calm demeanor eased some of your concern, but what danger might be involved in this new task?
Lacking answers, you sleep. Daina returns to copying spells the next morning and Safia still seems lost in one of trances. Gorkhan leaves early on some unnamed errand, while Raun seems determined to sleep the day away.
Seeing the others preoccupied, Grit and Nnn'tkklik'l set out on their own for the Crystal Spider. Stopping on the outskirts of the Elven Market, the pair buy skewers of sand viper meat for breakfast and try to gather a few rumors about the gaming house.
"The Spider? You'll need a heavy purse to spend there my friend," the meat vendor says. "I expect they'll be wary of a kreen, though they're friendly to half-breeds like yourself - the new owner, Krysta, is a half-elf herself and likes to hire them as share mixed blood."
"Runs a tight ship, they say, though some thought she'd fail. Used to be a gladiator, regular champion, til she caught the eye of the old merchant that owned the Spider. Bought her freedom, then left her the place when he died half a year later. Some say he was her father, others say he was just an old lecher looking for a firm handful before he went to the Gray."
Chewing on their breakfasts, the mul and thri-kreen walk through the dusty streets to the edge of the Bard's Quarter. Looking out of place in the crumbling, ramshackle neighborhood, a three-story estate rises above an ancient stone wall. Beyond the gate, a a courtyard contains a small bubbling fountain - a sign of the gaming hall's obvious success, considering the astronomical value of a private well. An arch above the gate bears a silver-plated spider as symbol of the house.
A pair of half-elf guards check you at the gate, using leather strips to tie Grit's scimitar into its sheath and admonishing you against violence within.
Inside, thick stone walls keep the place cool despite the heat. The interior is expansive, with a long bar at the rear of the first-floor hall. Musicians and dancing girls entertain customers as they wager coins in a variety of games.
Nnn'tkklik'l's initial efforts to gather information bear little fruit - "I seek knowledge of the dead man-thing Faestulas" proves a poor introduction. After several very brief conversations, a scarred half-elf draws you inside.
"I'm sorry, but I must ask you to cease questioning the other patrons. Word of your inquiry has reached the mistress of the house, however, and she has asked that I bring you to her office above," the man says.
The half-elf leads the way up a flight of intricately-carved wooden stairs, then down a dim hall lined with doors. Muffled gasps and moans can be heard behind many.
At the end of the hall, a polished blue door opens into a dim room shrouded in purple curtains. An ivory-skinned half-elf sits behind a broad desk, her dark hair falling over her shoulders and providing almost as much coverage as the sheer silk robe she wears.
"I am Krysta. It is good to make the acquaintance of ones who have so quickly made a name in the city," she says, extending a slender hand covered with a delicate tracery of scars - mementos from the arena that polish and powder cannot hide.
"Let us speak plainly. I know what you seek and I can give it to you - Faestulas put the crystal up as collateral almost a month before his death and never came close to reclaiming it. And as it turns out, I have a task I believe well-suited for those who brought in the head of Yodar Klar-Killer ... then met for a drink with the Veiled Alliance."
The woman sits calmly, letting her words sink in.
[b]"The price for the crystal - and my silence - is simple: I want you to kill a templar for me."
The kreen clicks his mandibles, thinking for a moment. While the others were likely accustomed to tuning out the incomprehensible clicks that accompanied kreen thought, Grit could actually find meaning in them. The only other sound was the kreen idly tapping the staff he bore.
The kreen strained his mandibles to produce normal speech, unpracticed in doing so out loud. "I come for information about crystal, not to have. but have is better than not have. kill templar? very tough. i think get in trouble if kill templar."
Before entering the establishment Grit casts and maintains his Detect Magic spell until such a time that his full attention is required such that he can no longer maintain the spell. He moves about the Spider noting what he might as his friend asks questions.
<< Yes. Bad.>>
Grit tries not to look astonished at Krysta's request. Before speaking he looks about the room, assessing the defenses of this brash woman. I do not know If I should first laugh at the request or or become angry at your less the veiled threat. I suspect neither will deter you though, so instead, since I have no love for templars, I'll humor you and hear you out. You have some good ears and eyes about the city, I'll give you that and hope you would make a better ally then enemy. But know that if we could do such a thing the price would be greater than some rumored crystal that holds a passing interest for one of our number. All our group would require a comparable reward. And the price of your silence shall be paid by out silence in the matter of your dislike for templars. He says this in a calm rational voice and smiles at the lady.
"The reference to your veiled friends was meant less as a threat and more as a warning - you have not been particularly careful in your dealings, for those who know how to look," Krysta says. "But I hope your choice of associates is an indication a shared dislike of the templarate. My own disdain for the black-robed slavers - and this templar, in particular - is well-known. They dare not move against me - this place is a well of secrets. Still, I find it is safer to act through intermediaries."
The half-elf shifts in her seat, leaning back and gesturing lazily to the reliquary bonded to Nnn'tkklik'l's brow.
"I'd wager your friend has more than a passing interest in Faestulas's crystal - he already has one, and knows what it is. I keep many practitioners of the Way on staff - they have confirmed that the stone contains an ancient entity of some sort, though none have wakened it. How you choose to divide its value among your partners is your problem, not mine. But I can sweeten the pot. The templars gave you a sack of silver for Yodar's head, did they not? A templar's head should be worth as much, if not more, than a raider chief's. I'll double what you received for Yodar. And you can keep whatever you take from the target and his guards - he's rather fond of rings, as I recall."
Krysta's hand goes to her face as she makes the last comment. You notice another faint lattice of scars where she rubs her jaw. Her eyes narrow at the memory, then turn to you as she waits for an answer.
<<I give discs and gems to collective too. I don't need.>>
Nodding Grit responds Your warning is appreciated. We have followed a requested protocol but perhaps it is time to impose our own protocol on any potential future meetings. I do appreciate your increasing your enticement but cannot assess the risk until you tell me further, but it would be untrue to say I am uninterested. Please provide us with the details of your plan for how we can both accomplish this task and then live to collect and spend the reward.
Krysta nods at Grit's question.
"The templar I want you to kill is Vackus, a dwarf serving under Tithian, the High Templar of the King's Games. Vackus handles acquisitions and training, finding animals and slaves to fight in the arena and preparing them for battle. His methods are ... not gentle."
"Kalak has called for a great game day to celebrate the completion of his ziggurat, likely in the next few weeks. Vackus will be spending much of his time training gladiators at an estate outside the walls - a noble's villa that Tithian had seized several years ago. He usually has a few trainers with him, perhaps a deadheart to animate failed students for the others to fight."
"The villa is isolated enough - Kalak is unlikely to respond even if Vackus petitions for help; he'll think he's simply run into trouble with unruly gladiators."
The beautiful half-elf leans forward at her desk.
"You could try to take him in the city, I suppose. He sleeps in the Golden City, the templar district surrounding Kalak's towers - far too dangerous a place for an assassination. But he frequents a brothel in the Bard's Quarter. You might try to take him there if you'd rather avoid the villa."
"As I said, you'll likely have to deal with a few of his guards. He has a bonded pair of tareks that help with the training, and a nikaal mind-bender that works with the beasts. There's also a necromant, a human woman, one of Dote Mal Payne's disciples."
Grit considers all that he has been told so far.
The druid listens intently watching Krysta's eyes and facial expressions for any untruths. When Krysta is finished speaking he asks his question. What is your timeframe for this "assignment"? Do you have a map to the villa and plans of the house and grounds? And most importantly, why do you want the man dead? While capable, we are not assassins or murderers. I hope you have some compelling reason for your desires that you can share with me.
As Krysta talks he tries hard to tell if she is hiding anything at all.
After his questions are answered he looks to Nnn. <<Any questions of your own my friend?>>
He will then say I shall take this offer back to my group and should have you an answer in the morning. How shall we communicate. I would rather not be seen here again.
<<no questions. up to clutch now.>>
Safia was stuck in the warehouse. Occasionally she'd sink into trance, often suddenly dropping in a sitting position to stare absently at nothing for a good ten minutes. Other than that she paced around the inside of the place. Unlike her comrades she did not have an identifier to mark her as a legal independent person, having entered in the guide of the dead merchant, and she did not want to risk getting arrested and getting sold into slavery again.
Raun awakens late, yawning and stretching before taking the simple breakfast she is used to without complaint. She frowns when she finds two of the group missing but calms when she is informed of the reason. "If don't have anything else to do... gon go back to market, want to talk to ink lady... Ris." she murmurs to Safia and Daina, before gathering her equipment and heading out.
She has to stop a few times and ask for directions, chatting briefly with a few different people as she tries to recall the way back to the elven market.
Krysta appears sincere as she answers Grit's questions.
"I'd like you to act quickly - certainly before the games, which could come in as little as a week. The slave gangs have been making fast progress on the ziggurat, although I hear rumors that your veiled friends have been causing delays" she says. "I don't have a detailed map of the villa, but I can provide you with a general layout and an accounting of any staff to expect when you arrive."
Her jaw clenches and her eyes harden as she considers Grit's other question.
"As for my reasons for wanting Vackus dead ... they are personal. Suffice to say he has taken much that was precious from me and those I called friends. More than one innocent has died at his hands, or worse, been broken. More importantly for you, he is one of the cruelest slave-masters in the city and a foe of your allies behind the veil. He is evil, and I say that as one who routinely interacts with men's basest desires."
Do you have a map to the villa and plans of the house and grounds? And most importantly, why do you want the man dead? While capable, we are not assassins or murderers. I hope you have some compelling reason for your desires that you can share with me.
Taking what information is provided Grit agrees to take the offer to his team and to try to convince them to accept the assignment. I am convinced this man needs to die, but I do not command my friends. I will present your offer and the information you have provided on the Villa. How shall I convey our decision to you, and how might we contact you if we have more questions?
"Grik, the weaponsmith on Caravan Way, is an old friend - you can send word to me through him," Krysta says, before rising and seeing Grit and Nnn'tkklik'l to the door.
Leaving the luxurious gambling house, the pair make their way back to the warehouse where they share what they have learned with the others. In addition to talking over the offer, the group spends part of the day selling off some of the loot accumulated recently, then divides the proceeds.
After explaining the mission to the group Grit asks everyone So, what do you think? Do we want to do this? Can we do this? We can try to verify the information independently but I think its accurate. And if so this dwarf, Vackus, needs to die. And this woman, Krysta. We could do worse than to have her in our debt. What are your thoughts? Concerns?
<<And I am interested in the crystal. Like the one i have>> the kreen projects, pointing to the crystal embedded in his head.
Right. This is a paying gig. In addition to some good silver, Nnn here will get a second gem that he wants. And Nnn has been more than generous with all of us so far so we owe him. What do you all think?
Daina bites her lip. "That sounds dangerous, do you think we can handle it?" She pushes her bangs out of her face. "It's actually nice thought, this kind of work..."
Raun scratches at her chin as she tries to peace together what Grit has related of the proposed mission. "Sound like bad people, if not get help at villa should do it there... I take out mindbend person, then um... tareks?" she says, appearing somewhat lost in thought. The mindbender had to be first... Nnn seemed okay now she was used to him, though the feel of him in her head and the others talking still occasionally set her teeth on edge. She was somewhat aware that Gorkhan did something too, but he did it to himself so that was okay; other psionicists did not share their protection however.
She focuses on Daina as she expresses her satisfaction with their line of work, nodding. "We real good at it, so why not get paid good too. Then spend money on more magicky stuff and get even better. Raun like it." she agrees. "So we not have to do for days, give time to talk to veily people about magicky stuff. Have idea for scary tattoo, wanna see if they can do."
Yes, I think we can Diana. Its not without risk, but we will get paid, and it makes the world a little nicer place to live. I am for that. Grit nods at Raun, accepting both his vote of confidence and his desire to strike at the villa. He the looks to Gorkhan and Safia. And you?
Safia is unresponsive, as she often is, and Gorkhan has been in and out, off on some personal errand. With a majority supporting the strike against Vackus, you decide to begin planning but hold off on an attack, allowing time to collect the enchanted items you commissioned and to hear back from the alliance.
The next two days pass uneventfully. Grit and Safia retrieve their newly-enchanted armor and Grit’s klar-skin cloak from the alliance drop site, but hear nothing from Nell or the old man. Raun spends her afternoons and evenings with an alliance tattooist, returning with a fearsome facial tattoo.
The evening of her return, you are awakened by an explosion that shakes the walls of the warehouse. Rushing outside, you see a plume of green smoke rising above the walls around the Templar District.
Smaller flashes of light – unmistakably magic – can be seen elsewhere in the city over the course of the next few hours.
Dawn brings a flurry of tense activity. Templars march through the streets, kicking in the doors to scattered homes and businesses. Sometimes they emerge empty-handed, other times dragging screaming citizens – or mute corpses – out with them. The great Caravan Gate remains open, but the templars stationed there allow no one to pass.
”It was them soul-sucking wizards in the Veiled Alliance,” whispers a dark-skinned dwarf selling skewers of z’tal meat at a corner stand. ”Word is they caught a bunch of ‘em sneaking around the Templar Quarter last night, sparked a spell-battle right next to Kalak’s tower. The black robes have been rounding up accomplices all morning. Closed the damn gates to keep the rats from running and called in the last of the templars and soldiers that had been stationed outside the wall – now no one comes in or out without an escort and the say-so of a senior templar.”
Thankfully, the templars’ informants are less observant than Krysta’s contacts – none of the sweeps come into Iron Square that morning. Still, you try to stay out of sight, and close to the warehouse. A few hours after high sun, a pair of porters turn down the alley hauling a cart stacked with heavy crates. Stopping in front of your warehouse, they rattle the barred doors and call out a greeting.
”Delivery here,” one says loudly. Hearing no answer, he shrugs and motions to his comrade. Grunting with effort, the two lift a pair of long crates off the cart and onto the ground near the warehouse door, then turn the cart and leave.
After waiting a minute to be sure they’ve left, you ease open the door to take a closer look. Nothing about the crates appears amiss, so Raun drags them inside. Levering the lid off the first reveals a stack of cured hides. The second appears to be the same, until the hides shift and bloody hand emerges, feebly dragging the skin out of the way to reveal the battered form of your Veiled Alliance contact, Nell.
Her hair is caked with blood and dirt and ash smudges her face. One shoulder is scorched and a section of her robe appears rotted and black – underneath, a seeping wound stains the flesh of her abdomen the mottled colors of a corpse rotting in the sun.
One hand clutches a charm of some sort, the twisted leather cord emerging from her clenched fist. Grimacing in pain, she tries to rise but falls back, her eyes rolling back as she loses consciousness.
Nnn'tkklik'l immediately and wordlessly rushes over and sets to work, plunging headlong into her mind and attempting to mend what he can.
It's quickly obvious that Nell's body is not only physically damaged but also is suffering from an insidious, arcane effect targeting her life force , in the form of the blackened wound on her side.
Grit moves with purpose to help Nnn, casting his curative magics and assisting with Heal checks. These would require greater magics than I command to fully heal. he admits.
<<I cannot remove the blackness. Can diminish its effects for some time until find more powerful healer or her body fights it.>>
Däina cries out in shock, her face going pale. She runs up and holds Nell's hand, tears coming to her eyes. "Wha-what happened?"
Peering in at the bloody, abused form of Nell, Raun takes a closer look at the other crate, pulling the hides out and dropping them on the warehouse floor. Even she can figure out what to expect in that one...
Looking worried the druid ponders Is this an escape, or is it a warning to us?
Nnn'tkklik'l will assist in healing any wounds until her body is completely restored aside from the blackened wound.
Seeing Raun digging through the other crate, he will also look to aid anyone that happens to fall out of there, be they alive.
After that, the kreen will be meditating to swap out his 3rd lv power for resist death. It could take as long as eight hours, as he can swap his powers known after a rest.
Wordlessly Safia rises from a spot as Nell comes out of the crate. Without much further ado she places a hand on the woman's head, her hand glowing a sickly white for a moment.
She looks strangely at the woman, "Seems death touched you somehow. Who did this? Which of the templars?"
Gorkhan, keeping to the periphery in the shadows and darkness, keeps an eye out for any observers or patrols. Interesting development. I may need to accelerate my own task before our cover is completely blown.
Raun moves to the second crate and dumps it onto the floor, but it contains only hides.
"I was the only one ... to escape," Nell says weakly, her eyes fluttering open as the concerted effort of the group heals some of her wounds. Her left hand goes to her side, where the black wound continues to seep.
"The templars caught us as we were leaving the district ... just dumb luck, I think, running into a patrol. They didn't look like they were waiting."
With help, she raises to a sitting position, shaking her head as if to clear it.
"I'm sorry, I'm not making much sense," she says, taking a deep breath and grimacing. "I was with a team, the other members of my cell, on a mission."
"We were following this," she says, opening her right fist. A talisman drops out, dangling from a cord. Looking closely, you see it is a gnarled human finger, inked with dark, arcane sigils and bound to the cord with silver wire. Three glossy black feathers are twined into the silver thread.
"This is what you brought us from the druid, or rather what we made from the material you provided. It is a charm that seeks ... important things. We used it to track our target to the templar quarter. We got in without any problems, did what we had to do and were on our way out when we ran into the templars. There was a defiler with them, one of Kalak's acolytes. They were as surprised as we were, but they recovered quickly ... too quickly for those I was with."
Tears begin welling in her eyes, but she brushes them aside and continues.
"It's been decades since we struck so near the Golden Tower, and the retribution was swift. A half dozen safehouses and meeting sites were torched within hours. I managed to hide in a baker's shack, then paid a tanner's apprentice to ship me here."
Nell takes another slow, painful breath.
"It's too dangerous to try to contact another cell - everyone will be on lockdown, waiting for the storm to pass. But my mission is too important, to the Alliance and to Tyr, to wait. You must do it for me."
She reaches out her hand, dangling the talisman.
"Take this, and follow where it leads. There are two more targets, one somewhere under the arena and another underground near the Noble's Quarter. The finger will point the way. If you pull free a feather and release it, it will find a path you can follow, but will only take you so far before its magic fades."
"At the end of each path, you will find a body - each must be destroyed. They are clones, lifeless duplicates of another that can provide a vessel if the original is slain."
She looks each of you in the eye, in turn.
"They are clones of Kalak. Someone is going to kill the sorcerer-king, and you must ensure he stays dead."
Grit swallows hard. He wants to refuse. This is not his fight. But he cannot say no. His eyes, filled with both fear and hope look up from Nell to his companions questioningly.
Raun loses interest in the other crate when it's obvios it contains nothing of importance, turning to peer at the veil-woman. "Already have one job, but veil people gave Raun cool tattoo. Maybe can do this job before other one. Follow feather finger thing and smoosh... clooney thing?"
After waiting a moment for the others to object Grit reaches over and takes the talisman, letting it dangle and point where it will. As its swinging becomes less erratic and settles on a single direction grit says We will need a good map of the city..
The kreen continues its trance, meditating on the shaping of powers within its mind. Nonetheless, those familiar with it know that it does not sleep and is aware of its surroundings.
Daina bites her lip. Two jobs, but killing a sorcerer-king...can we really help with that? She looks at the others, a fearful determination in her eyes. "Defilers don't deserve to live, and even if it's one this powerful I want to do what I can to end his reign."
Seeing Grit's resolve, Nell sighs in relief.
"We were able to triangulate the general location of the remaining clones, but a map isn't going to help you find them," she says. "Tyr isn't built on solid ground - the dirt below our feet is riddled with caverns and the ruins of at least two older cities, including the one Kalak razed when he captured Tyr centuries ago."
"Locals call the lower levels UnderTyr. Parts are used by smugglers - the alliance uses a number of passages and hidden rooms for meetings - and others are sealed off, left to monsters that thrive in the dark."
"As I said, one of the clones appears to be somewhere under the arena, perhaps 100 feet judging from the measurements we took. You should be able to access those tunnels relatively easily - more than one shop cellar conceals an access to those old tunnels, which the alliance has used in the past to smuggle things in and out of the arena. A former gladiator might know more, or be able to tell you what to expect in the arena itself."
"The other clone, in the Noble Quarter, could be more difficult. We weren't able to take as many measurements, but it appears to be underground, in the north part of the district. The cave system in that area is known as the Belly of the Noble. Unsurprisingly, most take a dim view of burglars crawling around beneath their estates. Every few years some thief finds a new way in and makes off with a haul, then the nobles pay to find the access and seal it off again."
She grimaces, adjusting her position. "Still, someone must know a way in - there's been no shortage of assassinations in recent years, so some bard must be sitting on the secret.
"Does that mean we can use the alliance for protection in...UnderTyr?"
"Do we know any old gladiator's that might be helpful to our cause?"
"As far as finding a bard goes, we can either scare one into talking or ask nicely. I'd do ok at the latter."
"Triunglat?" Raun repeats seeming confused, though it passes as Nell explains the locations in more detail. "Know gladiator... are clooneys protected by..." she wiggles her fingers and shakes her hands around her. "or monsters?"
She looks at Daina as the woman suggests how to go about the second part of that. "Raun can come help." she says with a grin, then a moment later. "What's a bard?"
"Uhh, minstrels. Singers, dancers, performers. Come Raun, let's go find some." She looks to the others. "We'll go investigate the second part, shouldn't be too dangerous."