Part 2: The Three Faces of Evil
Balabar Smenk; the most ambitious and manipulative mine manager in Diamond Lake, a disquieting schemer who seems determined to gain a monopoly on the town’s mining patents by forcing his enemies into bankruptcy and buying their claims at the last minute for coppers on the gold piece.
It is thought that little perturbs the corpulent and corrupt Smenk, as he finds few problems that cannot be overcome through some combination of money, blackmail, subterfuge and thuggery.
But something has disturbed Smenk at last, something he discovered deep within the Dourstone Mine, disturbed him badly enough to send for an old associate from the Free City, the deranged necromancer Filge, a self proclaimed expert on cults and undead.
Smenk spoke to Filge of chambers deep below the mine inhabited by awful beasts in hooded robes, masked cultists and strange undead. He urged Filge to begin preparing a defense against the horrors below Diamond Lake – even if that meant fighting fire with fire.
But Smenk’s plan has come crashing down, as Filge was slain by a band of adventurers – the same adventurers who have killed one of the mine manager’s toughest cohorts. Will Diamond Lake now succumb to the things that have scared Balabar Smenk so badly … ?
"Sounds reasonable," Andolphas says as he dons the blue cloak and tucks away one of the healing potions and the potion of shield of faith. "Hmmm... does this blue clash with my green robes? What do you think, Boland?"
"It definitely clashes," Boland says, somewhat hopefully.
Allustan also responds to Brashen. “Unfortunately, necromancy and the undead are outside my areas of expertise. Perhaps they are susceptible to magical weapons, or a certain material such as silver or cold iron, or a particular element or energy type such as fire or acid ... but that is all pure speculation on my part.”
Boland considers his own knowledge of the darker of the arts to see if he can shed an more light on the topic. He does so with a quick glance at Allustan, conscious of his mentors disapproval with his particular area of interest.
"Perhaps the notes we took from Filge's study will reveal some further information as to the exact nature and weaknesses of the Spawn of Kyuss. I should retire early for some reading." Boland makes the suggestion with relish, clearly missing the quiet time of study so rare over the past couple of weeks.
"So what should we do about Smenk? He was clearly concerned about the Spawn and wants them gone. However, we are responsible for killing two of his agents in Filge and Kullen. I would suspect we might not be too popular with him now, and even if he will strike a deal, I would not trust him as far as I could throw him." Boland glances at his rather unimpressively muscled arms for further emphasis.
"So, do we set up a meeting with Smenk, or do we head to Dourstone mine of our own accord to see what is going on?"
'Maybe we should lay low for a few days and let Smenk cool down a little (assuming he cares that we've killed Kullen) before approaching him and applying for the job. He obviously now has a vacancy, and where obviously better qualified than his last employees were. His a buisnessman, im sure he can be reasoned with.'
After an initial nod and greeting Harrigan keeps his mouth shut and listens to the sage's advice while fiddling with a tobacco pouch and his pipe. He does perk up a bit at the mention of a price on the documents, but considering he's heard of the relation between Allustan and Neff figures he wouldn't be doing himself any favors to make too strong of an impression. Midway through the discussions, the dwarf excuses himself to step out for a smoke and wait for the others.
After an initial nod and greeting Harrigan keeps his mouth shut and listens to the sage's advice while fiddling with a tobacco pouch and his pipe. He does perk up a bit at the mention of a price on the documents, but considering he's heard of the relation between Allustan and Neff figures he wouldn't be doing himself any favors to make too strong of an impression. Midway through the discussions, the dwarf excuses himself to step out for a smoke and wait for the others.
Boland nods slowly at Brash's reasoning, but the cautious wizard is still not fully convinced. When Harrigan returns once finished with his pipe, Boland asks the Dwarf for his thoughts. "What do you think Harrigan? Do you feel it's wise to approach Smenk?"
Brash stands to leave, thanking their host somewhat akwardly for his hospitality.
'So we lay low for a day or two. Lets meet up at the Dog the day after tomorrow, at sunset, and we can discuss how to deal with Smenk then. We may still have enemies around town, so everyone watch your backs and dont do anything stupid. See you all at the Dog.'
Brash takes his leave
"Hmmph. I don't know about wise. I'm pretty sure we left wise behind way back at the necromancer's tower. So wise... no- potentially profitable... yes. "
"Really though, the way I see it we either confront him and come to some kind of arrangement, leave town, or watch your backs every day and night you decide to stay here oth his whole mess unresolved."
"Hmmph. I don't know about wise. I'm pretty sure we left wise behind way back at the necromancer's tower. So wise... no- potentially profitable... yes. "
"Really though, the way I see it we either confront him and come to some kind of arrangement, leave town, or watch your backs every day and night you decide to stay here oth his whole mess unresolved."
Boland nods, not particularly happy with the dwarf's assessment, but acknowledging the likely accuracy of it.
"Ok, so we lay low for two days, then we approach Smenk. But in the mean time we have to keep a low profile," he adds, to Brash's departing back.
Turning to his mentor, he says "Allustan, we'll sell you the book on the proviso that I can still access it and study it, when I find the time? In the meantime, have you got a spare room here that Harrigan and Andolphas can use if they need?"
Brashen, that all goes smoothly.
Filge’s spellbook is bound in what looks disturbingly like dried human skin. The pages are filled with cramped writing – much of it spell formula, but some random musings, insane ramblings and delusions of grandeur – as well as diagrams, disturbing sketches of undead erotica and the like. Many of the pages are stained or smudged, and some have been torn out.
The book contains the following spells: 0 level: bleed, detect magic, disrupt undead, ray of frost, read magic, touch of fatigue. 1st level: cause fear, chill touch, disguise self, identify, mage armour, magic missile, ray of enfeeblement, restore corpse. 2nd level: command undead, magic mouth, scare, spectral hand, touch of idiocy, unnatural lust. 3rd level: animate dead, lesser.
"Alright then. Tell me where to meet up and I'm there. Meantime I think it's about time I check in with Uncle Rags so he can stop pulling his beard out over the necromancer's tower."
Harrigan gives everyone a nod and a slap on the back for Brashen then takes Dolly's reigns in hand and heads out by cutting cross-country as a shortcut to his Uncle's place.
Moth
Brash:
Harrigan skirts around the edges of town in the deepening twilight. His companion Dolly makes any real attempts at stealth next to useless, but he keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any signs that he is being watched or followed, and notices nothing out of the ordinary as he picks his way carefully between the hillocks, slag piles and hovels at the outskirts of Diamond Lake. It is fully dark by the time he nears his uncle’s home. A dull buzz comes from the direction of the brightly lit Vein as Harrigan heads around towards the back gate as has been his custom since arriving to stay with Ragnolian several weeks earlier. It’s been several days since he has been back here – not since prior to the night that he met his current companions.
Harrigan:
There’s a small wooden gate in the high stone wall surrounding Dourstone’s squat manor house facing the rear lane, and you’ve learnt the trick of slipping the latch from the outside by shifting a loose stone. You slip into the back garden and quickly stable Dolly next to Ragnolian’s bad tempered hill pony, then approach the back door … only to find that the key your uncle gave you doesn’t seem to fit the lock anymore. A close examination reveals that the lock on the door is shiny and very new, and it looks to be quite a secure one.
Light can be seen behind two of the house’s shuttered windows, one downstairs from a window in the servant’s quarters, and one in what would be your uncle’s upstair’s study, suggesting that both the master of the house and his butler, Jankins, are at home.
Harrigan sighs and shakes his head. Paranoid old bastard. The dwarf slips a small pick from his inner belt loop slips it into the lock giving it a quick circuit feeling for the tumbler until he catches it it.
Harrigan: You make quick work of the lock and slip into the darkened kitchen. Nothing appears out of the ordinary here (beyond the new lock).
Boland is at first deeply disturbed by the snapshot into the mind of the depraved Filge, to the point that he considers throwing the book into the fire and letting it burn. Eventually, his thirst for knowledge wins out though, and he instead takes a sharp cutting blade and cuts out those pages he wishes to keep, and throwing those of disturbing nature.
Once he has gone through the contents and set aside the spells that might prove useful, he leaves the house only briefly to purchase the supplies he will need to scribe the spells he's interested in. He then sets to work, closing himself in his room for close to 10 hours.
Boland works hard learning and scribing spells all the next day.
Boland works hard learning and scribing spells all the next day.
Disguise Self:
Identify:
Restore Corpse:
Command Undead:
Spectral Hand:
A grumbling from his stomach takes precedence and Harrigan heads for the kitchen to throw together a plate of leftovers. Once that is well in hand he slides into a chair at the dining table and calls out to his Uncle, "HEY RAGNOLIAN! YOU STILL UP?"
Harrigan:
At your yell, there is a crash from upstairs as if something has been dropped or knocked over.
Jankins pokes his head into the kitchen, sees you with your feet up on a chair and with a cold chicken leg in one hand, sighs in a long-suffering sort of way and retreats back to his room.
A moment later comes an answering shout; “HARRIGAN?” and you hear Ragnolian’s heavy tread on the stair.
Your uncle, your mother’s younger brother, is only a few decades older than yourself, but the top of his head is mostly bald, with a fringe of brown hair around the sides and back. Always an odd coot, his chin is clean shaven beyond a layer of stubble, but he wears a grandly long and thick moustache that hangs down to almost his mid chest. At the moment, his austere clothes are wrinkled and unkept, and his eyes are bloodshot.
“Harrigan! Where have you been lad? Well? What of the tower? What treachery does Smenk plan?” He speaks urgently, glancing about as he does so as if he fears being watched.
Between mouthfuls Harrigan explains, "Well- you were right sort of. Smenk had pulled in a necromancer and set him up in that tower to study something one of his spies found in your mine. Little green worms. Don't worry about it though. Recruited a few hands to put down his zombies and I caved his head in. Won't be bothering you anymore. The tower is empty again."
The dwarf washes down his mouthful with a mug of ale from the little cask in the kitchens. "Took a little longer than I thought though. His bald half-orc came after us and we had to put him down too. Him and a couple others out of his gang."
Harrigan:
At the mention of green worms, you are sure that Ragnolian looks scared for a moment; blink and you’d miss it, and most would, but he is family and you can read him well enough. He recovers quickly though.
“Good work then,” he says with a nonchalant sounding grunt. “Killed Kullen did you? The town’ll be better off, but watch your back – if Smenk traces it back to you I don’t want him to trace you back to me, understand? So ... this necromancer was studying some sort of green worms you say? Reckon you must have been mistaken about where they came from ... likely Smenk was wanting to introduce them into my mine, make the workers sick or something.” He fixes you with a steely glare. “That sounds about right, doesn’t it lad?”
Andolphas:
“Kyuss,” muses Amariss. “Little is known of him. He apparently lived many thousands of years ago, rising from obscure beginnings to rule an empire amongst the jungles of the distant south. What he was – a man, an elf, a fiend, a lich, a mage, a priest – is not clear, although by all reports he was a powerful magic user and necromancer, commanding and creating legions of the undead, including the creatures known as the Spawn or Sons of Kyuss.
“Then, at the height of his power, he apparently vanished. Through what cause I do not know, but the empire he had ruled was left in disarray, and soon enough only a small and scattered cult of worshippers and the undead that bear his name were left to show that he had ever been.
“But it seems that he did not die. About a thousand years ago Kyuss – the same entity, or another bearing his name, it is unclear – marched forth from the great Rift Canyon to the north at the head of a legion of undead, strange worm-like monsters and dragons. It is said that a great undead dragon stood at his side as the general of this force. There was a great battle, or war, and Kyuss was eventually defeated, either killed or driven off back into darkness. It is strange … a thousand years is a long time, and the Rift Canyon a long way off … but not so far ago or far away that so little should be recorded. And yet, the history books are very vague on Kyuss, and the story seems little more than a myth … almost as if the details have been deliberately obscured. For good or ill I cannot say.
“There is one more thing known of Kyuss though – his title, or one of them; Harbinger of the Age of Worms … can it be that Kyuss has something to do with my dread dreams?
“You asked also of the Spawn of Kyuss. Thankfully, they are rare, sometimes encountered in the far southern lands, and sometimes near the Rift Canyon to the north, but rarely in the lands in between. They resemble zombies – walking, rotted corpses, crawling with worms – but are much more difficult to destroy, and bear a rudimentary intelligence that allows them to plan and use strategy. It is said that damage inflicted to them heals quickly, and ordinary weapons barely affect them, though magic and divine power should. What one must be most wary of are the green worms that infest their flesh. The worms can quickly move onto the skin of those that the Spawn attacks, sometimes even jumping to new hosts. They quickly burrow into flesh, and if not quickly cut out or otherwise destroyed, they make their way to their victim’s brain, where they breed and multiply, and transform the poor unfortunate into a new Spawn.
“It had not occurred to me before now, as they are so rare, but the rumours of unkillable zombies in the hills … they could be the Spawn of Kyuss. Andolphas, if you have heard anything about this, if you have reason to believe there is an infestation, you must act quickly to cleanse it. Those killed by a Spawn, or infested by its worms, will rise as another, enough of the creatures could quickly overrun Diamond Lake.”
Andolphas is visibly shaken as the Lady Amariss shares what she knows about the Spawn of Kyuss and their ability to infest the flesh of the living, their reputation as intelligent and nearly unkillable... and by the weight of the enormous burden now placed on his shoulder.
"Yes, my lady... I have reason to believe that Spawn of Kyuss are present in the hills... Surely, the Cult of the Green Lady will help my companions and I with the cleansing? I... this task is greater than I am... There must be some mistake, I am not ready..."
The young cleric hesitates for a moment. He reddens, clearly embarrassed by his temporary display of weakness and wavering faith before the head of his order, then takes a deep breath and tries to put on a brave face.
"Forgive me, my lady... I will do as you--and the Ruby Sorceress--bids. Does the order have magic weapons or defences, my lady, that it could bestow upon me to help me fulfill my task... I mean, my destiny...? Can anything protect against infestation by the worms?"
In the moment it takes Harrigan to swallow Ragnolian's clumsy lie there is a momentary uneasy pause. It wasn't that he lied, but the audacity of it and the vaguely implied threat that surprised the younger dwarf, but younger or not Harrigan has been around the block a few times himself and covers it up as smoothly as he can.
"Wouldn't put it past the greedy bastard for a second. Anything to choke out the competition." He takes another swig of his ale then takes a chance. "Listen- that guy is obviously intent on getting inside your operation. We've killed his wizard and his right hand man. If he's trying to get into your mine and has some vacancies, what do you say to the idea of us getting some double agents in there. My boys hire on as his team to spy and sabotage your works. Then we've got a direct line to what that bastard is up to. Feed him misinformation, control the sabotage attempts. What do you say old man? I kinda like the idea of him paying me to dick him over."
Andolphas:
Harrigan:
Ragnolian stares at you for a moment, then lets out a deep chuckle. “Sounds like a plan lad. Gain his confidence, then feed him false information. Go with it. But I don’t want him to trace you back to me, understand? You’d best not be seen around here while the plan is in action – got somewhere else you can stay for a bit?”
Andolphas is taken aback by the Lady Amariss's response, by her cold, unsympathetic, and haughty tone. For a moment, he stands completely tongue-tied, blushing. He then bows deeply before his superior, concealing his trembling hands while doing so. Of course, people did not normally approach the Cult of the Green Lady expecting warmth and charity. What a fool he had been, to have shared his fears so openly and so soon with the head of his order. "Please forgive my momentary uncertainty, my Lady... With the Green Lady and the Ruby Sorceress at my side, I shall not fail you. You will not regret having chosen me for the task..."
Without looking the high priestess in the eye, he whirls around and leaves the chamber... even more unnerved than he was when he first approached her...
Are the powers the goddess has granted me this far really sufficient to halt these nigh unkillable zombies and their parasitic worms? thought Andolphas to himself, ashamed to be filled with so much self-doubt... and such unusually weak faith in his divine patron? This was not typical of him... but then, never had he been tested in this manner before...
Brash approaches the Dog just on sunset, striding down the Vein, not quite so sure of himself as his outward appearance suggests. This could be a big mistake, but I guess if where going to get Smenks attention, nows as good a time as any. Brash pushes through the doors of the Dog, and quickly scans the room, looking for any familiar faces, both friend and foe. A grin then spreads across the big mans face. What the hell, if where going to do this, may as well do it with a bang. Brash strides across the room, and takes a seat at the table usually reserved for Kullen and his men, then calls out for ale and food, and sets in to wait for the others.
Andolphas eventually wanders into the Feral Dog, clad in fresh green robes with hood drawn over his head. He glowers at all who meet his gaze as he walks on, and then takes a seat by Brashen, not even realizing that the warrior has opted to sit at Kullen's customary table. The priest nods at his companion, and orders a glass of mulled wine. "Gods how I hate this place," he mutters, but no one can hear him above the din of the crowd.
The pale-faced cleric fiddles with the ruby red skull that hangs from his neck, his mind apparently somewhere else. In time he asks Brashen absent-mindedly whether he has learned anything new since they last saw one another.
Boland runs through the town, panting heavily from the exertion. He doesn't know why he's running, but a sense of dread fills him. "Brash!" he yells. "Andolphas! Harrigan!" There is no reply, and he comes to an abrupt halt, realising the streets are uncommonly empty. Staring around at the abandoned buildings, he hears a strange shuffling sound, coming from the lane just beyond the Dog. Nervously he approaches the corner, the dread within deepening with each hesitant step. He stops when he spots a dim shadow extending from the mouth of the lane, in the vague outline of a man, shuffling from side to side and getting closer. A loud moan breaks the silence and a horrid, decaying zombie comes into view, another just beyond it. "Mum? Dad?" he whispers, horrified when he realises the putrified, maggot ridden features bear a resemblance to himself. He tries to flee, but finds his feet rooted to the ground, held in place by other zombie hands that have broken through the packed earth. "No", he whispered, watching in horror as his zombified parents shuffled ever closer.
"No!" Boland sat bolt upright, searching wildly for the zombies still vivid in his mind. It took him a second to realise he was in the safety of his study, his spell book and a stack of scrolls and pages strewn out before him. He must have fallen asleep at his work. His neck was stiff from sleeping at his desk, and his stomach growled at him hungrily. Hoping to put the dream from his mind, he flipped through his book and found the spells he had scribed appeared to be in order. Satisfied, he closed the book and wondered what he was going to do for dinner.
He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, keeping an eye out for Allustan as he went. The old mage was nowhere to be found, and his survey or the larder showed little that looked appetising to his complaining belly.
"Looks like I'm eating out," he said to himself. He ran upstairs and gathered together his stuff. "Maybe I'll find the others at the Dog." He exited the tower and made his way down the strip, heading for the pub.
Andolphas eventually wanders into the Feral Dog, clad in fresh green robes with hood drawn over his head. He glowers at all who meet his gaze as he walks on, and then takes a seat by Brashen, not even realizing that the warrior has opted to sit at Kullen's customary table. The priest nods at his companion, and orders a glass of mulled wine. "Gods how I hate this place," he mutters, but no one can hear him above the din of the crowd.
The pale-faced cleric fiddles with the ruby red skull that hangs from his neck, his mind apparently somewhere else. In time he asks Brashen absent-mindedly whether he has learned anything new since they last saw one another.
Brash gives his head a slight shake. 'Nothing of interest. You?' He downs the last of his ale and signals for another from the nearest barmaid.
Brash gives his head a slight shake. 'Nothing of interest. You?' He downs the last of his ale and signals for another from the nearest barmaid.
"Hmmmm?" It takes Andolphas a moment to break out of his reverie and acknowledge Brashen's reply.
"Just a bit more lore about Kyuss and his spawn... and if that's what's infesting some of the mines, we may be in more trouble than we thought. And when I say "we," I don't just mean the four of us, I also mean Diamond Lake and the surrounding areas. Given the nature of the threat, I would have expected a bit more help from my order... But I guess it's all up to me... and you and Boland and Harrigan, if you're all in..."
The pale-faced priest stares from the depths of his hood into his cup of mulled wine, then mutters again to Brashen, barely audible above the tavern din. "Do you think it's even safe to drink this? Are any of the bar tenders and bar maids loyal to Kullen, and likely to slip something in our drinks?" Despite this concern, the cleric still seems oblivious to the potential twin faux pas of sitting at Kullen's traditional table while wearing a cloak that had belonged to one of the half-orc's associates.
Brash thinks for a moment, looking thoughtfully at his empty flagon. He then shrugs. 'I don't think that Kullen was the type to inspire loyalty - now that his dead and the fear of a beating or worse is gone I doubt many will mourn his passing, let alone wish to avenge his death, except perhaps his companions who escaped our ambush. If Smenk wants us dead, then where probably goners anyway, so why worry to much about it?'
As if to prove his point, Brash takes his next drink from the barmaid, and swallows a large gulp, burping loudly afterwards.
|
The Dog is much the same as you’ve seen it of an evening previously – busy and rowdy, filled with off shift miners and local toughs and layabouts. Kullen and his boys are conspicuous by their absence, and their table remains empty – until Brashen decides to fill it, drawing looks (some shocked, some scowling, some respectful) from a number of patrons (though no one the warrior really recognises).
As the table fills with Brashen’s companions, an undercurrent of whispers and comments goes about the room. The rumour mill in Diamond Lake works fast, and Kullen’s absence has no doubt been noticed before now, and his interest in Brashen was likely not unknown. Now people are starting to fill in the blanks (no doubt helped by the fact that some of the group wear or carry conspicuous gear previously owned by Todrik and Kullen, not least of which being Kullen’s distinctive great axe).
The drinks seem normal enough at any rate - the usual watered down ale and rotgut that the Dog serves, but no worse than that.