Felrin effortlessly opens the lock and bypasses the trap on the door of the Cauldron, then keeps an alert eye and ear out as the doctor inspects the inventory. Once he’s looked through Caldwyn’s papers, he tells Ottakar what he’s found. ”Doctor, it looks like on top of all the stuff he’s got here, the alchemist owns a warehouse across town. And the dwarves staying at the inn may have dug him a special cellar. Maybe that’s what he’s so nervous about? Anyway, once you’re done here, we should go take a look at the place, since we know he’ll be busy for a bit.”
Starday 6 Kuthona
Jenna accepts the brandy, smiling faintly, but she can't bring herself to comment on what had happened: apparently too shaken by what had happened, the woman scratches the head of his dog without saying anything.
Evening
You have always been good with people, and just occasionally you surprise even yourself - there was that case some years ago (before your more recent... problems) where you had neither the law nor the facts on your side, but still won the day; by working out exactly what the jury wanted to hear and telling them until they were putty in your hands.
You see Tereth visibly relax as you speak, lulled by your cadence and tone as much as the words; in its own way, it's a form of magic. He smiles, uncertainly. "Well, that sounds... reasonable?" He frowns and shakes his head, but his gaze never leaves Tkaara's figure. He hastily does his best to compose himself. "I mean, of course, that I'd be happy to offer you some company. W-whatever you might need. But we'll say no - no more about that, please?" He looks significantly at the drugs now stored in your valise.
"So... how may I 'keep you going' exactly?"
Dominik's wife, Vanessa, nods thoughtfully at Erevan's comments. "I did wonder about Kate, with that remarkably plain man as a husband; but she was always so busy, so involved, she never struck me as unhappy in her marriage... I suppose I know why, now!" She sighs. "It was an arranged marriage, I understand. Such a shame. So much horror. How well, truly, can we ever know those around us?"
She sighs again. "But forgive me - I'm being morose! A poor hostess indeed. Another drink? And would your lovely little doggie like anything? He's so sweet - it's almost like he understands what we're saying..." She smiles at Winston, adoringly.
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Tkaara nods and moves her hand from where it was resting near her pouch back onto the table as she waves to Barhold's daughter indicating her wine glass.
I understand entirely, although you should see the bright colors and life that can be brought to a dark dreary winter's day.
Smiling back at the alchemist, she turns to small talk:
So, how do someone as skilled as you end up here in the far north of Talingarde? From the short time in your shop, it is clear that you take great pride in your shop. Even in Gastenhall and Matharyn I have seen few alchemists whose shops are maintained with such care. In fact, I think that many are closer to insane in their devotion to the profession, and most are missing an eyebrow or half their hair from some accidental explosion.
If/when he answers this, she continues:
So, what do you do with your free time? I hear that the famed Bard of Barrington is going to put on a show soon. Would you like to attend?
During the conversation, she will also inquire more about the local flora and fauna. If there are any unusual, or rare plants in the area, Tkaara will file the information about them away in the hope of being able to talk the alchemist into leaving town on the night of the raid so that he, and any alchemical creations he might have, will not be available when the attack goes down. She would prefer not to have to kill the man, although if there is no way around it, he is one more piece in the puzzle that must be eliminated.
At the end of the evening, if Tkaara feels it is necessary, she will take the entertaining elsewhere. She would prefer not in the inn as she does not know when the "Professor" might return. No real need to go into details on this.
"Oh no, I'm fine. I really shouldn't drink too much." Jenna shooks her head gently. "Wiston would eat anything, on the other hand!" the noblewoman brightens up a little "He really is very sweet, yes. Even if a bit dense sometimes." the disguised ifrit smiles, petting the dog.
Sorry, Winston. I promise this is the last time you'll have to pretend to be a normal mutt.
Winston pretends to look in bewilderment at all the people talking around him, only wagging when Jenna mentions the words "Winston" and "eat".
For the briefest of moments, he throws a sidelong glance at his mistress when she mentions that he wasn't the brightest dog around: still, knowing full well that he had to maintain the cover, the Basset Hound looks back and forth between Jenna and the Mayor's wife, waiting for someone to hand him some food.
"Still..." Jenna pauses for a moment, thinking back to Oathday "Why did this have to end in such a tragedy? To think that, when I visited Kaitlyn two days ago and she said she had plans for Fireday, I assumed she had plans with her husband! What a tragedy, what a tragedy..."
Ottakar takes careful mental notes, cataloging the shop's contents for later use. Not wishing to risk tipping the band's hand prematurely, he refrains from taking anything for now. After hearing of Felrin's findings, he smiles, never a pleasant sight. "It would seem most likely that our resident chemist has an underground laboratory in a discrete warehouse location. What might he be working on that might necessitate such efforts, I wonder" Satisfied at the reconnaissance, he urges his fellow Forsaken to return everything exactly as found and leaves the premises, contemplating the question of whether or not there is enough time left in the night to investigate the warehouse in question...
"I'd bet you're right, Doctor," Felrin concurs. "And the night is yet young, let's go take a look while Tkaara has Caldwyn tied up...or whatever she's into."
He carefully resets the trap and re-locks the door on the shop, making sure that no traces of their presence are left behind. He then walks with Ottakar to the warehouse. After taking a careful look around to be sure no one is nearby, he checks the door for traps and unlocks it, then quietly steps inside.
Evening
Tereth is flattered that you noticed the detail of his shop, but somewhat evasive when you ask him how he spends his free time. He has no business with the fort; you get the strong impression - although he never says so directly - that he goes out of his way not to attract attention from the military, although he evidently has nothing but respect and admiration for the work they do guarding the nation from the Savage North.
He is happy to talk extensively on the local flora and fauna, none of which are particularly unusual. Eventually, however, he notices your eyes starting to glaze over, and breaks off from his lecture, with an apologetic laugh. "Forgive me. I'm boring you. But plants are fascinating - much of my work in this town is as apothecary and healer as much as alchemist, and many useful medicines come directly from plants. I can be a little over-enthusiastic on the topic. But I trust that I've provided some diversions for your mind..."
Felrin opens the door to the warehouse with ease and glides in, making little more noise than the falling snow as he does so.
At first glance the warehouse contains nothing more than wooden crates of glassware and other trappings you would expect an alchemist's warehouse to have; but knowing what you are looking for, it is easy to find the hidden trapdoor which leads to the laboratory. This too is locked - and trapped - but again Felrin is able to disarm it.
A stairway leads down to a fully-stocked alchemical laboratory. Benches and shelves are pressed against the wall of the cellar, leaving the room clear except for a large table, of the surgical kind for operating (or dissecting). On it is a large corpse-like figure, evidently stitched together from a number of different people. Huge, and muscular, it thrashes against its restraints; already some of the smaller straps binding its wrists and ankles have broken.
It cannot obviously speak, but groans, mindlessly. It notices you and redoubles its efforts to escape; the shackles are stretched, but hold - for now.
Ottakar studies it from a safe distance, before wandering through the laboratory in search of any notes. He finds the alchemist's formulae book, which has a number of pages given over to the creation of the beast. He is able to decipher the annotations: it seems that Master Caldwyn has been able to bypass some of the arcane requirements for creating a golem and has done so. However, Ottakar notes that he was not able to find an alchemical equivalent for the final component (a high-level spell, Limited Wish) and thus control of the creation is lacking.
The journal states that most of the golem, including its head and torso, are from the body of Captain Jared Gauldenforth, who served with distinction for nearly 50 years before dying of old age. The notes are extensive; it appears that Master Caldwyn has spent some years in trying to create such a thing, with the intention of creating deathless guardians from the bodies of fallen knights who would defend Talingarde forever.
The thing on the table doesn't look like a guardian; thrashing and groaning mindlessly, it looks like the sort of thing that the citizens of Ustalav have to put down with torch and pitchfork after it has rampaged through their town...
Ottakar explains his discoveries to Felrin, or at least as much of it as he thinks that the barely-sentient fiendling will be able to understand.
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Tkaara smiles back at the alchemist laughing cheerfully as she does:
Oh no, you are not boring me at all. At least this is new. On the way up here, the Professor spent the better part of a week explaining the difference between a sugar maple and a red maple, and why you can make syrup from one and not from the other. While the subject may have been sweet, the presentation was far from enthralling. You on the other hand have a eloquent way of describing the topics you so adore.
She takes a sip from her glass, enjoying, if briefly, the taste, before the sweetness of the alcohol quickly turned bland, as was not uncommon these days.
Tkaara is about to inquire about perhaps taking a ride to see some of the hidden locations of Tereth's favorite plants when it dawns on her that between the sickness she has been experiencing during the day, and her general lack of a shadow, that it might not be the best choice.
As she considers this, Tkaara notices that the innkeeper's wife is wiping down the counter and appears to be about to begin the nightly ritual of herding the dwarves into their lower level abode. Looking up at the alchemist, she continues:
I have really enjoyed this evening. I would love to continue the conversation, perhaps you could show me more of your shop, or where you live. I have visited a number of the local merchants and the town hall, but have yet to really see how cozy the homes are in this northern clime.
She says this last part with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
I assume that Tkaara, Felrin and the Doctor would have a plan as to how much time the boys would have to play around in the alchemists shop. If the plan required more time, then Tkaara will further entertain Tereth, as necessary. Otherwise, she will play more slightly hard to get, to convince the alchemist that they should continue this later in the week so as to allow the rest of the party to prepare/utilize the alchemists equipment, as necessary.
Felrin studies the struggling monster for a few moments, considering how it might be put to use. "Wow, what an ugly thing - and that means something, coming from me. I'd hate to have it break out too soon," he muses to Ottakar, "but this creature could certainly serve as a very useful diversion, to bring troops from the fort when we make our move. Maybe I can secure it a bit better."
He carefully examines the damaged straps - avoiding any contact with the monster while doing so - and then looks around in the warehouse for replacement straps he might use, or ways to subtly reinforce the straps in place. Better to have this thing get free when we want it to, rather than on its own schedule.
Evening
Tereth looks keen. "Well, tomorrow is, um Sunday - I'm not in my shop. Perhaps you would like to visit my house - say after lunch?"
He gives you directions
Felrin is able to put together a control harness which will restrain the creature. As an additional feature, he includes a release catch which can be triggered remotely: attaching a length of rope to the catch will enable the release without having to stand nearby.
Their work done, the two of them return to the Lord's Dalliance.
A pale, watery sun rises this morning; not enough to melt the snow that has settled on the ground.
Morning
Nobody from town is invited to chapel at the fort today; the soldiers are burying Captain Eddarly. There was some disagreement among the remaining high command on this point: Captain Barhold wanted a posthumous court-martial to strip him of his rank and bury him without honours, while Father Donnagin pointed out how popular he had been and how bad such a move would be for morale.
Ultimately Lord Havelyn decided to honour the late Captain's many years of dedicated service on the Watch Wall, and provide an opportunity for his men to pay their respects; but the funeral oration was more in the nature of a cautionary tale, warning how immorality and foolish decisions can blight even the most noble of lives.
You are therefore left to your own devices for the day, although nothing is open (except Mama Rosie's, of course - so Ottakar gets his ghulosh and stolchnya, which are every bit as good as the others had told him); it therefore is a perfect opportunity for some planning.
After lunch, Tkaara pays a visit to Tereth Caldwyn and is gone most of the afternoon.
Evening
Tkaara returns from her visit to Tereth Caldwyn's house (looking - if not flushed - certainly less pale: the alchemist may not be much of a conversationalist, but his knowledge of anatomy is spot on) and you embark on a quick summary and planning session.
Tkaara's understanding of engineering is put to good use as you study the fort; combined with Felrin's recollections of how the place works, you are able to game out a quick analysis of how the fort would survive an attack. The assumptions made are that you manage to poison/incapacitate the ravens, together with around half the remaining garrison and open the gatehouse/portcullis for the invaders.
To your dismay, you realise that even that - combined with the damage already inflicted - would result in defeat. In particular:
- The remaining Captain and Lord Havelyn (backed up by Father Donnagin) could likely hold the bridge;
- The wizard could wreak significant damage (possibly assisted by his ice golem?);
- Meanwhile the archers would use the arrow room (38 on the map) and the parapet above the bridge (24 on the map) to inflict heavy casualties;
- Even though the trebuchet on the keep is non-functional, the siege engines on the gatehouse would be lethal to a massed horde;
- The dwarves are likely to be a formidable obstacle if they are manning the siege engines - or even just in combat
- You've no idea how the lantern archons in the chapel would react, but probably not on your side;
- The stone seal would mean that the bugbears would have to fight their way into and through the lower levels of the keep, even if they get across the causeway
Your review therefore is useful, as it shows plainly that what you have accomplished - and your existing plans - are not enough: you will need to do more.
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Tkaara, thankful that the sun had set before she returned as the walk to the alchemists, having had to stay in the shadows on the north side of the street to avoid any unwanted attention, and the ill feeling that she usually suffered from in bright sunlight, is not in quite a poor a mood as usual, although she, if anything looks even thinner, despite the increase in color from her usual pale pallor.
When together with the rest of the party, she sighs, perhaps there is a slight smile, but you are unsure do to its brevity, if it existed at all:
So, despite a rather successful week, we still have a number of critical issues that we need to resolve before the Fireaxe will be able to succeed in his assault.
First, there are two key casters among the forts defenders that we should eliminate. I would hope that one or both could be quietly eliminated on the night of the attack. A quick blow to a sleeping wizard should eliminate that problem, and the same for the father. However, I do not know what type of magical wards one or both might have.
As far as the paladin goes, I would prefer not facing him in combat, but if necessary, we can hopefully meet with him when he does not have any of his archons or other aids. Also, - she looks over at Felrin - if there is a way to find when he sleeps or bathes or something, so that we can gain access to him without his monstrous suit of armor, that would make our lives much easier.
Finally, there are several nuisances that could be troublesome for the bugbears. First is the siege engines on the gatehouse. If we can gain access to the gatehouse, which is really a necessity if we are to hold it open while the hordes attack, then we should be able to destroy them. There are also guards serving as archers and the ravens on the roof.
She turns to the Doctor: Could you craft something from the alchemists' stores which might take out the ravens? I am sure that we could lace their food or water with poison. The real question is whether you could gain access to them. Also, if necessary, I have found that I can change some of my abilities each day. Recently I found that with the proper preparation I can create a nice arc of flames. These could be useful against any group of enemies, for instance the ravens if we cannot poison them. Of course, it does require me to get in close proximity to the ravens, which means going to the top of the fort. It is also not the most subtle means of attack.
As far as the archers go, if we know where the arrows are stored, some oil and flames should make the arrows rather less useful.
Having finished her rather lengthy dissertation, she looks to the others waiting to see what they think.
Etna nods at the mention of magic wards "I cannot speak for the wizard, but it's a possibility that the priest's chambers are in the chapel. If that is the case, he would have all of those bound outsiders, probably Lantern Archons, to protect him. I doubt that would work well for us."
Having considered the progress of their plans, Felrin is glad the Ninth Knot has an opportunity to discuss strategy. He listens to Tkaara’s ideas and has to agree with her assessment, ”You’re right, we have learned and done a lot – but not enough to ensure our success, not by a long shot. I should be able to sabotage many of the mechanical defenses, though some will be a challenge to get to. The stone seal that closes off the keep I can access and should be able to jam it open easily enough. The siege engines on the gatehouse are a trickier matter. I might be able to talk my way out to the gatehouse and have a chance to mess with them a little, but I’m not sure I’ll get there.”
He considers a moment, then continues, ”Maybe I can befriend a soldier, tell him I hope to join the guard one day and that I’d like to see the gatehouse, see if he’ll get me out there? Or I could try to sneak up there, but I’m sure the gatehouse is always manned, so that would be tricky. Our last option would be to try to sabotage the siege engines just before or during the attack, but that’s risky.”
”As to the wizard, cleric and paladin, I think we need to take care of as many of them as possible before the attack, to minimize the risk when the attack comes – both to us and Sakkarot’s horde. It might not be as easy as killing them in their sleep, but perhaps we could use Etna’s skill at forgery, try to lure Tacitus or the Father into town somewhere, where they could be quietly killed. I might be able to catch a peek at their correspondence during my work, to coime up with a name and a sample of handwriting. Or someone could come up with a clever ruse, perhaps the alchemist wishes to discuss a discovery with the Magister? Tkaara, can you find out if they are in communication at all?”
”The ravens…I expect I could make my way into the rookery and try to charm Mad Martin. If he lets me feed his birds, we can make sure that’s their last meal, if Ottakar can cook up the right feed from Caldwyn’s stores. And I see no reason to wait on that. As when I delivered that fateful letter, I can disguise myself to look like one of the other servants, so if anyone is suspicious the blame will fall elsewhere. And I do like the idea of burning the arrows before the attack, that should reduce the threat from the archers.”
He looks back to Tkaara and says, "You know what we found in Caldwyn's warehouse. Do you think that information could be used to blackmail him into working for us? He could be a useful ally, if he's got the nerve."
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Tkaara shakes her head at Felrin's last comment:
As much as I would like to say that we could twist Caldwyn, I think that he is as good and lawful as they come. I doubt that he could be blackmailed. From what you have told me, I think that he actually believes what he has created is for the better good. He is much like the Doctor, dedicated to his craft, even if this may blind him to the reality of what he is doing.
I like the idea of luring out the father, the magister, or the paladin. Unfortunately, with the reduction in the number of captains. Tkaara smiles, if briefly. Then I would think that having another senior leader disappear would be very suspicious. If there is nothing suspect, then I would hope that we would be able to catch one or more of them sleeping. Yes, I know it sounds too easy, but we are talking about a castle that has not fallen in decades. As Felrin has seen, this castle is not on heightened alert, and we should do all that we can to keep it that way.
"Although I agree that he should be dealt with, luring the paladin into an ambush through trickery and lies is probably not an easy task, considering his position and divine powers," Erevan offers his opinion, his mind traveling back to a certain vision he had not too long ago. "The wizard or the good-natured cleric may be better targets for such a plan. And perhaps less resilient and thus quicker to deal with than the holy knight."
"Speaking of the wizard..." Etna turns to the tiefling "Felrin, didn't you say that he was studying a golem. THey are not my are of expertise, and I can't examine it myself, but there is a possibility that I could rig it to attack the wizard. It'll look like and accident, and the distrust most Mitrans have for magic will make more likely that they don't delve too deeply into the matter."
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The sun appears to have disappeared completely; low, thick cloud and freezing fog blot it out. The occasional flake of snow falls from the sky, adding to the general sense of gloom.
Morning/Afternoon
With the need now plain from yesterday's review for further, additional action, it is decided to smuggle another of the Forsaken into the fort. To that end, Felrin pays an early visit to Edith and Jasper Iverson's house. Despite his inhuman appearance, he's not a monster: he ensures that their deaths are as quick and painless as he can manage. But speed and secrecy are of the essence here.
Afterward, the 'new' Jasper and Edith Iverson (aka Felrin and Etna) make their way into the fort. Once inside, Felrin is careful to appear both as Jasper Iverson and as his own alter ego from time to time, to give the impression that all is as it should be.
The first thing of value that they find is the new Captains' rota:
Magister-Captain Tacitus - on duty from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m.
Captain Barhold - on duty from 4 p.m. until midnight
Lord Havelyn - on duty from midnight until 8 a.m.
That means the wizard's quarters will be empty until 4 p.m., so they start there. Despite her earlier statement that this is not her area of expertise, Etna has hours to examine the ice golem at her leisure, and is finally satisfied that she can issue at least some rudimentary commands. She is all set to order it to attack the wizard as soon as he returns from his shift; but Felrin intervenes, clearly aware that timing here will be critical. The important thing was to study the golem; the command itself can wait until the timing is right.
While he waits for Etna to finish her work in the wizard's laboratory, Felrin takes the opportunity to investigate the mechanism controlling the stone block that can be lowered across the entranceway. With his knowledge of clockwork, it is child's play to sabotage it in such a way that it cannot be used. No one looking at it would be any the wiser.
Another consequence of the shift change is that servants now have access to the gatehouse; it is against orders, but Tacitus apparently insisted that if he is to be on duty in the freezing cold, then he requires hot drinks to be brought to him regularly. Felrin and Etna volunteer for this duty, and are therefore able to walk across the bridge and examine the gatehouse in some detail as they do so.
Finally, the Iversons' long day of service comes to an end - but the Forsaken's day of service to their Infernal master has only just started...
Evening
As earlier agreed, the party splits up. Tkaara pays yet another visit to Tereth Caldwyn, and will spend her evening with him to ensure that he stays out of the way.
There is no pain, at the end; only a struggle for breath which ends quickly. You do at least have the presence of mind to remove your iron circlet (your other goodies are stored in your haversack back at the inn) and hide it under the mattress; hopefully one of the others will find it...
..
.
Ottakar meanwhile breaks into Caldwyn's alchemist shop, and fills his magical haversack with all of the reagents he will need to make a poison. Once this is done, he joins Etna, Felrin and Erevan inside the warehouse, where they conceal themselves as best they can.
Felrin opens the trapdoor to the concealed laboratory and the animated corpse(s) that are restrained on the slab. Attaching a rope to the harness mechanism that he adapted to his own purpose the other day, he then ascends the ladder again and hides with the others, before pulling the rope. The effect is gratifyingly instantaneous: with frightening speed and a fearsome roar, the flesh creature bounds up the ladder and crashes out of the warehouse into the night. The destruction it wreaks on those it finds is horrendous: screams and alarms fill the air, and the clanging of the bell signals an appeal to the fort for aid. The town watch is hideously outmatched, and concerns itself with getting the citizens of Aldencross out of harm's way rather than trying to engage with the beast. They will leave that job to the military.
Despite their recent set-backs, the soldiers of Balentyne are well-drilled and disciplined: they arrive speedily, led by Captain Barhold, the officer on duty. The beast is no respecter of rank or persons, and inflicts incredible carnage on the squad: several soldiers die almost immediately, ripped apart; but Samuel Barhold is a fighter of experience and renown, and the remaining men stand firm. Captain Barhold wields his halberd with great skill and trips the beast, slashing at it with great strokes while his men pin it with spears. Despite that, it lashes out, killing more soldiers in its death throes; until a gravely wounded Captain Barhold is the only one left standing.
But not for long: Ottakar, Felrin and Erevan are quick to correct this oversight, before melting back into the shadows, each going their own way back to the inn.
Slinging him over your shoulder you lope, under cover of darkness, back to the hidden laboratory underneath the warehouse. Luck – again – or something else(?) is with you: the golem did no damage as it stormed out, concerned only with its freedom.
Putting the alchemist onto the table, you bind him with the restraints that were until recently holding his own creation. A smile, perhaps, at the irony? And then – the change.
The Beast surges forth from you, becoming you (or are you becoming him? An alarming thought). No matter – the Beast cares not for such subtleties. The Beast cares only for serving its master – the Lord Haagenti. A soft chuckle floats on the air, imperceptible to any without your supernaturally keen senses So good of you to remember me... The Beast has a mission. It wants to serve. The Lord Haagenti wants this fool sacrificed and his papers delivered up.
The Beast is eager to comply. The alchemist dies, bloodily.
When all is over, the Beast slowly fades, and there is Ottakar again, blinking slightly at the unholy sight before him. Shaking his head at the mess, he turns and leaves, heading back for the inn and civilisation.
As the Forsaken leave the crime scene, the Mayor, Dominik Vallinson, and the remains of the town watch arrive to find the carnage. Dominik cries out in despair as he finds the body of Captain Barhold, mutilated beyond all hope by the wretch of a golem. The golem itself is carefully inspected, to ensure it is dead. During the inspection, there is a general cry of rage from all those assembled: the name of its maker, Tereth Caldwyn, is branded on the back of the thing's neck.
A mob is quick to form, but Mayor Vallinson orders calm, and is obeyed – but only just. The people of Aldencross (as in all of Talingarde) are Lawful, but there are some things that stretch that tendency almost to breaking point. Mayor Vallinson orders a detachment of the watch to guard the alchemist's shop, while he himself takes the remains of the squad directly to Master Caldwyn's house. There, they find another horror...
…
..
.
Late at night
You are all back in the inn, but far from bed: it seems as though almost the entire town has gathered inside, to buy drinks and do their best to chatter away the horror that has been visited upon them. After much counting and re-counting, it appears as though none of the townsfolk has died; for this, the valour of the watch and Mayor Vallinson are much praised, in getting everyone to safety and out of harm's way. The shock of losing so many soldiers – and Captain Barhold! – is severely felt, and anger burns deeply against the alchemist, who appears to have escaped justice. Some of the more stolid locals – and/or the more drunk – decide to form a mob to burn down his shop, and only the intervention of Bellam Barhold, the late Captain's brother, prevents them.
Bellam himself is a wreck, pale as a ghost and almost as uncomprehending; his wife and his daughter Eponine, up far beyond her bedtime, do most of the serving. He says nothing, until he is called to do so by the situation.
Things are just starting to get out of hand when the Mayor, Dominik Vallinson, reappears. He looks grim. “Yes, yes, we found the wretch. He had a cellar underneath his warehouse. It appears that the thing he created got to him before ever it got to us. So he is already facing Mitra's justice.” An angry cheer goes up, and the Mayor excuses himself, coming over to talk to you.
“I bring bad news, I'm afraid. Your travelling companion – she was...” he coughs slightly, but carries on anyway. “She was – shall we say – seeing Master Caldwyn, yes? It appears as though – actually, I'd better show you; follow me, please?”
He leads you out of the inn, along the silent, hushed streets. Snow is falling again, thick, white flakes; they are disregarded. You arrive at the alchemist's house, now under guard. Two of the watch are outside it: they salute Dominik respectfully and nod at you, their expressions... what? Sad? What have you to be sad about?
The answer lies upstairs, in the master bedroom. There, stretched out on the double bed, is the barely recognisable corpse of a human female. It takes you a moment to realise that it's Tkaara: it's as though all the flesh (and she was never plump) has evaporated, leaving skin tightly stretched over her skeleton. It's as though she has starved to death in the short space of time since you last saw her.
Mayor Vallinson offers his condolences, in a hushed murmur. “I'm so very sorry. It appears that the monster we all knew as Master Caldwyn was vile even beyond measure. How – why – would he do this to such a charming young woman? I obviously did not know her, but she...” He trails off. The sheer enormity of this night has clearly overwhelmed him.
There is of course another explanation – that, for some reason, she has been starving herself for months, and used the iron circlet to conceal her appearance. But why? And how did you not notice? Surely you remember her eating, on occasion... don't you?
Etna stands completely frozen in place in front of Tkaara's mummified body.
Killing the Iverson had strung some chords in her hearth, true. They seemed like nice enough folks, and everything she was doing was for people like them to live a better, and more disciplined, life.
At least, they had gone away without suffering.
She felt a little sorry as she studied how to control the golem to kill the wizard, too: he was a man pursuing knowledge, a lighthouse in the sea of ignorance that was the Mitran faith.
Being killed by his own research would be poetic, at least.
The ifrit respected the guardsman and soldiers that tried to fight the beast, too. Many men would have simply turned tail and run, but they fought to protect the civilians and the town.
All that had happened before that day may had solicited some reactions in her, but this...
"...this is horrible..." the words barely escape Etna's mouth. "Why would s- he do this?"
the ifrit catches herself.
This...this doesn't make sense. There has to be an explanation: a spell, maybe? There are some that have effects like this-wait, why am I not crying? It will look awkward if Jenna doesn't cry in this situation.
The ifrit, indeed, isn't shedding a single tear: all she can do is stare at the sunken eyes of Tkaara's body. Frustratedly, she tries to force herself to have some other reaction, to keep up the façade.
Oh, come on! I've cried a river for those two blasted captains and that trollop: why should it be any different for her! I've prepared myself for this! After what happened to Hecate, I swore to never have to pass trough that again.
Felrin, Erevan, Ottakar, Tkaara...they're all strangers to me. They have to be. I want it to be like this. I know perfectly in what kind of situation I am: if I want to fulfill my objective, they could get in the way, they could betray me, they could...die
Etna opens her mouth and stretches her hand to Tkaara's, but stops after a few moments.
I knew it could have ended like this: but it shouldn't have affected me. Their death shouldn't be different from those of the Iverson, or the soldiers. They should have been the same, but...they weren't.
It isn't.
With eyes clear from fake tears, Etna kneels down at the side of Tkaara's bed, a gaping hole in her hearth.
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Like Etna, Winston moves slowly next to Tkaara's bed.
He could hear the maelstrom of thoughts in mistress' head, but for him it was different.
The dog knew to have a simple mind: there were no thoughts about what had actually happened, there was no self-convincing, no purposeful isolation to avoid getting attached to someone.
The only thing that he could think about, and that he was sure of, is that he liked Tkaara.
She was nice.
She wasn't as scary as some of the others, like the doctor.
She had saved mistress Etna's life back on the Frosthamar.
She was mistress Etna's friend.
Sitting next to Tkaara's bed, the dog starts to howl, to let out both his sorrow, and Etna's.
"How unexpected," the Doctor comments before stepping forward to examine the body with a cold, clinical, nearly inhuman calm. While doing so, he slyly slips the circlet into his bag.
Craigh appears shocked at the sight of the emaciated body. Although there are no tears running down his face -'Looking distraught and in shock should be more appropriate and fitting to the situation than crying, all things considered,' the man behind the illusion reasons silently and in a detached manner- he moves closer to Jenna and puts a comforting hand on his cousin's shoulder, sadness clearly evident on his face. The usually talkative noble has been stricken mute by the awfulness of the crime.
Erevan, on the other hand, studies Tkaara's body. He may not possess the good Doctor's medical expertise, but he certainly recognises the telltale signs of starvation when he sees them. 'This is not the result of the last few hours, no matter what may have transpired. She must have been starving herself for months on end, using the magic of the circlet to keep that fact hidden from the rest of us,' he concludes. 'But why?'
Despite the circumstances, behind the facade he cannot help but smile thinly. 'Ah, secrets. I know someone who positively relishes them.'
As the golem’s rampage and its aftermath develop, Felrin continues to feel quite pleased with the progress they’re making in reducing the number of their foes, pruning back the dense, thorny hedge of Balentyne to a more suitable bramble, to be crushed underfoot by Sakkarot’s horde. His satisfaction turns to puzzlement and mild concern when he and his companions are led to the alchemist’s home. Surely they don’t suspect our connection to today’s events…
His confusion deepens when he sees Tkaara’s emaciated form, dead on Caldwyn’s bed. As accustomed as he is to dissembling, he has no difficulty passing off his confusion as dismay at the woman’s death. In truth, he had seen her as a bit of a threat to his leadership – but a very useful tool in the completion of the Ninth Knot’s mission, nonetheless. He hangs his head as if in sorrow, his mind methodically moving through the work yet to do and how to tackle those tasks for which Tkaara had been most suited. His thoughts are periodically derailed, however, by his awareness that Tkaara had done this to herself. Perhaps the doctor can sort out what happened here, for I cannot fathom why she’d do such a thing. To have survived so much, to end like this? It makes no sense.
The temperature rises above freezing for the first time in a while; the grey sky seems to weep as the rain pours down, melting the snow and churning the roads to mud.
Morning/Afternoon
No entrance is permitted to fort Balentyne today, and all the servants are given the day off. The soldiers are burying their dead. Father Donnagin conducts the eulogy for Captain Barhold; he weeps as he does so, but he is not alone in that. "Iron Sam" was a constant presence in the regiment for over 20 years, ever since he lied about his age to sign up. His death has shaken morale greatly. Father Donnagin also presides over the funerals of the other five soldiers who died last night: Corporal Johan Smithson; Privates first class Jem Preston, Tom Hamworth, Lewis Bradley; and Trooper Simeon Featherstonehaugh, of Captain Varning's cavalry. All had served with merit, and all died bravely so that others might be safe.
In Aldencross, there is a funeral for Tkaara; it draws a surprising crowd, given how hard it is raining and how few knew her - but then the manner of her dying and the accompanying sensation makes for a distraction from the tragedy now being commemorated at the fort. Brother Justin of Travismere, priest in charge of the church of St Alden, does his best to lay her to rest with all the appropriate rites, but it is clear that his devotion to Mitra does not make him a public speaker.
Tereth Caldwyn is not so much given a funeral as buried with extreme prejudice.
Once the ceremony is over, business resumes: Aldencross is a market town, after all, and trade is its lifeblood. On the plus side, this means that Ottakar's new spear is now ready. Erasmus VonKraig, the dwarf smith, is slightly less gruff: it is known that Tkaara was the professor's assistant. "Here it is. Sorry for your loss. I've got to get back to work now."
The rest of you have the day at liberty to take advantage of the market stalls and the shops.
Evening
Your evening is brightened by the appearance of William Marcus Marlowe, the Bard of Barrington (and his splendid hat, which is even more extravagant than you remembered it). He sweeps into the bar of the Lord's Dalliance; it is a fabulous entrance. "Darlings! What horrors! So very sorry for your loss." He kisses Etna extravagantly, before shaking his head. "And what a lovely girl she was, too."
He sighs, before buying you all a round of drinks. Gulping down his own draught of ale, he looks at you mournfully. "And of course, all of this quite ruins any thoughts I had of my play - really, if recent events were to be put on stage, I should decry them as the most improbable fiction. How is a simple playwright such as myself expected to compete? And now of course the staples of my craft - star-crossed lovers, tragic deaths - are completely verboten if I'm to perform at Balentyne; they won't want to be reminded of recent horrors." He sighs. "Honestly, I had half a mind to refund Donnagin's money and leave; but then I remembered we'd already spent it, so... Fortunately, my genius - and I do have a most singular gift, darlings, though I say so myself - came to my rescue as it has so often. I shall write a farce, about the latter days of the House of Barca and how it came to ruin, only for the land to be rescued by the brave House of Darius. I am calling it The many wives of Dalcourt - they were a major House, you know, once upon a time; It's about their Prefect, Justinian, and his spendthrift ways that led the House to ruin, only for a good Darian noble to step in and save the day. I have hopes for it."
He beams, and orders another round of drinks. "I do hope you'll attend its debut. I'm performing a matinee this Fireday; I understand that the soldiers have a good luncheon, so I'm hoping they'll be receptive. Lord Havelyn will be there, of course, and dear Donnagin, naturally. I am assured that I may bring guests. Donnagin hopes to provide something that will allow us all to take our minds off recent events. I do hope you'll attend, darlings - I intend to bring the house down!"
Too shocked by the recent events, Etna goes back to her room at the inn, without uttering a single word for the whole time.
After all she and the forsaken had gone trough in the last day, Etna almost immediately drifts into a deep, tormented slumber.
However, after a brief sleep riddled with images of Tkaara's consumed body, the ifrit wakes with a sharp headache. No, calling an headache is not the correct word: it wasn't her head that was aching, the pain was coming from inside the cranium. Holding her head, the fire-haired woman absentmindedly passes her hand on her horns.
They had indeed grown longer since she made the pact with Dessiter, and become a little more sharp, but aside from that the changes had been very minor: the only thing that she noticed was that now she could see colors in the darkness.
I really don't know if I'm doing something wrong, or if the change is supposed to be this slow...
Before she can finish her thought, a sharp pain runs across the ifrit's back. As if someone was slowly, methodically, and painfully pulling her vertebrae farther from one another one by one. With the pain in her head growing even more intense, Etna runs to the bathroom door and closes it down behind her, fearful that some gruesome change was about to take place in her body.
In fact, before the ifrit can take a breath of respite, her spine starts to sway left and right, only to straighten abruptly, forcing Etna to bite her lip to avoid screaming for the pain.
Removing her night gown, the fire-haired woman examines her spine: at the end of her back, she had just grown a tail, even if it was only a couple of dozens of centimeters long. Terrified by what had just happened, the woman sits on the floor and examines the tail: the tip resembled that of a spearhead, and she definitely feels it as a part of her body. What was really scaring her, however, was not the tail, but the liquid that was coming out of the wound: it wasn't her blood. It wasn't blood at all: or, to be more precise, it wasn't the blood of any living thing Etna knew about. Poking it to feel its consistency, it indeed seemed like it had the same consistency as Dessiter's blood.
Etna doesn't even have the time to take in what happened, that the pain from inside her head suddenly grows insufferable: grabbing a towel to bite into, the ifrit feels as if someone was keeping her head still and pulling out her horns with raw strength. Instinctively, the fire-haired woman closes her eyes as the black ichor from her wounds start to streak across her face.
Trying her best not to alert anyone, the ifrit still wails silently as three other pairs of smaller horns jut around her head, as if piercing Etna's skull from the inside.
Tentatively, she then tries to open her eyes: reaching out for a bucket filled with water, she washes the ichor off his face: as she does so, however, the woman stops to examine her hands. In the span of a couple of minutes, her hands, her arms and all of her skin had taken a reddish hue: far from being close to the one of a devil, and still believable for some of the races of Golarion, it still was a stark contrast from the pearl white skin she had until moments before.
"What do I do..." Etna mutters to herself, looking around the ichor-like blood splattered around the bathroom. As quietly as she can, the ifrit starts casting Prestidigitation around the room, cleaning any trace of what had just happened. After a few minutes of cleaning, Etna sits in front of the mirror to gauge the changes in her body.
Despite her best efforts to clean them, a few streaks of her hair seemed to have turned as black as the ichor that seeped from her wounds; the wounds themselves had closed themselves after a while, but not without fizzling painfully first, as if they were being cauterized.
The two things that stood out the most, obviously, were the tail and the horns: the first just was never there, but the seconds, too, were unrecognizable from those she had just months before, save from their blac-onyx like appearance. The ones on her forehead had grown in an arch close to her head, reaching almost the back of it, and three other pairs had grown around her cranium , about the size of her old horn but much more sharper. Sighing, Etna pulls up her night gown and redresses herself, sitting in front of the mirror one more time.
"Well, surely I can't go around like this. Curses, I hoped that could have stopped wearing this circlet after we finished here, but is seems I'll have to hide me appearance with it. Like Tkaara di-" Etna reasons to herself, before stopping abruptly.
For how much it hurt, more than most she had ever experienced, only behind the night that Dessiter shared his blood with her, at least the changes of the last hour had helped keep her mind off what had happened to the barrister.
Now, after what she saw came back to her in one moment, sitting alone in the bathroom, Etna starts crying softly for her dead friend.
In your sleep, you hear sounds coming from the bathroom.
At first, only some muffled wails can be heard. After they stop, you hear the sound of splashing water for about 4 or 5 minutes, as if someone was washing himself. Then silence again.
After another couple of minutes, you can hear Etna crying.
After the revelation of Tkaara's death and what appears to have led to it, Erevan -and Craigh along with him- retires to his room a little after Etna has done the same. As nothing more can be done, at least for now, he opts for some rest, though sleep does not come immediately to him. Instead thoughts of the how and why regarding the ex-magister's cause of death swirl in his mind as he tries to reach a satisfying conclusion. Alas, he is unable to do so and eventually gives up as drowsiness finally claims him.
Craigh remains silent for most of the proceedings, as well as Tkaara's funeral. It is only natural considering the gravity of the situation and the general sadness hanging over everyone. Erevan, on the other hand, does a good enough job hiding his slight discomfort at the various Mitran holy texts being read and rituals being performed. As minutes and then hours pass, he finds that discomfort somewhat puzzling; it is an almost physical one, not merely the annoyance the pompousness and platitudes and holier-than-thou attitude of priests, especially Mitran ones, and their ilk would cause him from time to time. 'Perhaps a side effect of my... change,' he reasons, letting it go, at least for now.
"I am sure both my cousin and I will do our best to attend, yes," Craigh answers in a slightly distracted manner, the events of the last few days obviously having taken their toll on the usually chipper man. Even his appetite seems affected. "What do you think, Jen? I am sure you could use something to make you feel a little better. Or at least a little less bad..."
"Yes, I'd be happy to attend" Jenna smiles faintly to both her cousin and the bard "I think I need a little distraction."
We have to focus on the mission, now, and just get out of this damned place as soon as possible. Now that we even have our scapegoat, everything is almost set.
Evening
The Bard of Barrington claps his hands. "Wonderful, darlings - I'll let the guards know to expect you. Play starts at 2 p.m. sharp, so don't be late!"
The temperature remains above freezing, and for the first time in a while, the sky is clear and sunny. The locals know that this merely portends a brief respite and that the cold will return very soon.
Making enquiries, you are directed to a stall toward the end of the market; it is clear that the others are leaving it a wide berth, although to your eyes it is no more sinister than any other such store. The owner, a middle-aged man in spectacles, greets you cheerfully enough: "A Wayfinder? Yes, I think... Let me see, yes, here you go! I'm not entirely sure of its provenance I'm afraid, but I can vouch that it works." As indeed it appears to. The man blinks at you owlishly behind the thick glass of his lenses. "Yours for a mere 500 gold, my Lord."
There is also a cracked Dusty Rose Prism Ioun Stone available for sale at 500 gold pieces.
Erevan examines the small magical device carefully, as Craigh's face assumes an expression of wonderment at the prospect of owning a small piece of the Pathfinder Society. All the while he takes a good look at not only the stall and the various items it has for sale, but at its owner as well. Somewhat curious that such a store does not have more customers, he says as much.
"My good man, that sounds like a fair price indeed," he agrees with a wide smile as he turns the compass-like item in his hands. "I have heard that a Wayfinder can hold one or more of those... umm... what are they called? Magical? Twirl around your head usually?" The ioun stone catches his eye as he speaks. "Ah, like that one! What does that do?"
Looking around and seeing that he is basically the only customer, his expression turns to one of puzzlement. "You have such wonderful little things to sell! Why are people not fighting each other for the privilege to peruse and purchase them?"
The weather remains bright and sunny, although the temperature plummets well below freezing. The mud on the roads, churned up with the snow that has fallen, freezes solid once more.
Morning/Afternoon
Bad news awaits you as you enter the castle in your disguise as the Iverson couple: Father Donnagin, by his art, has apparently communed with Mitra and discerned that the recent misfortunes that have struck the fort are not bad luck at all, but the first stages in an attack. The guard has been doubled on each post, and locations that servants previously had access to are now off-limits.
Fortunately, no one suspects you, and you are allowed to go about your normal duties; although it is clear that the guards are on alert for intruders or suspicious activity. And - thankfully - you are still permitted into the wizard's chambers: there are few servants - or guards! - who venture there willingly and so you are allowed in unobserved. With her earlier work, it is relatively simple for Etna to program the golem; she instructs it to attack the next person who enters, on the basis that it will be the wizard (more complicated commands would require her to be present as they are carried out; this is the best she can manage via 'remote control').
...
And so it is, at 4 p.m., that the ill-fated Magister-Captain Tacitus takes leave of his duties and returns to his chambers, where - after much alarum, surprise, noise and the unleashing of arcane forces, he takes leave of this life.
Father Donnagin is quick to the scene; while the soldiers are inclined to dismiss matters as the wizard meddling in things he shouldn't, Donnagin knows better. His divinations have prompted him to be on guard, but apparently not well enough. It is a simple matter to determine from the guards who has entered the room, and shortly after that all guards that can be spared are looking for Jasper and Edith Iverson. The castle is ordered sealed - but nobody in the garrison knows about the secret door in the vault beneath the armoury, and it is via this passageway that Etna and Felrin return - in their usual guises - to the Lord's Dalliance.
However, it is well known where the Iversons live, and a patrol is quickly dispatched to bring them in - only to find evidence of murder. Whoever entered the wizard's chambers had obviously dispatched the Iversons beforehand.
You spend the day in the remains of the late Master Caldwyn's laboratory beneath his warehouse; it is a simple matter to sneak in undetected first thing before dawn. There, with ready access to the laboratory - which is relatively undamaged - you prepare a large quantity of poison, which will be slow-acting but still lethal even in relatively small doses; and which will kill a bird as readily as a man.
It is a trivial matter to apply it to the birdseed you have acquired.
Evening
True to your earlier word, you arrive at Mama Rosie's to help her prepare the stew. She smiles in thanks and sets you to do the heavy lifting - literally, handling the great casserole dishes and heavy enameled cast-iron pans which she uses for only this purpose. Armed with the poison that Ottakar has earlier prepared, you are able to ensure that this is evenly distributed between the pans before Mama Rosie shoos you out with a wink and a smile, so that she can add her own "secret ingredients".
You return to the Lord's Dalliance, shortly before...
As you recline in the warmth and comfort of the Lord's Dalliance, your ease is broken by the arrival of a detachment of soldiers. The leader, Colour-Sergeant Erasmus, offers you an apologetic salute. "Begging your pardon, my Lord, my Lady, masters, but would you accompany me back to the fort? My Lord has some questions for you."
There is no suggestion that you are under arrest: their weapons are sheathed and there is no hostility. It is not clear however that a refusal will go down well.
The rest of the inn falls silent; from behind the bar, Bellam looks on with dismay; his daughter Eponine, with curious interest. The dwarves - and the off-duty soldiers - pause in their drinking, wondering what sport might present itself now.
It's dark. It's very, very dark. Your nightvision is not much help: you are in a small, fabric-lined box that smells of soil. And your stomach hurts. Your whole body is in agony, like ice and fire together. Your cravings are new, and unfamiliar; but at the same time not, perhaps, so foreign after all.
Welcome back to the land of the living, sweetie - enjoy the food...
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Oathday 11 - night
Tkaara takes deep breath, smelling only wood and the faint smell of earth and . . . and what smells slightly like decaying flesh. This last smell causes her to awake slightly more. Decaying flesh . . . flesh . . . where there is flesh, there is . . . blood. Mmmmm . . . blood.
She reaches up to see what is before her. It is dark. Pitch black. Yet . . . yet, she can see something. Red . . . is it red she can see. Red . . . the color of blood. She tries to reach up again and finds a roof above her, but inches above her. She tries to grasp the roof, but it . . . it is covered in some fabric. Grabbing the fabric, she rips it and finds wood behind. Then she begins to scratch at the wood. She knows that this will simply break and destroy her manicured nails but . . . but instead, she can feel the wood rip and scratch. She continues to rip and suddenly wonders why she has not run out of air. Then, she realizes that she is not breathing. Confused, but slowly understanding, she renews her clawing until she feels dirt begin to fall on her. Grabbing the hole she has made, she begins to rip at the wood. She is sure that her hands should be ripped and bleeding, but does not feel any pain or sense any blood.
After what seems like an eternity, she finally rips a hold large enough to get out of. And, above the wood is dirt, and more dirt. She senses that the dirt is rather soft, as though it is recently used to fill a hold. She pulls, wiggles and digs her way through the dirt until she reaches a solid level of earth. Pounding the cold solid, she feels it crack, and then shoves her head through the icy ground and into the dark night air above.
As soon as her head gets out of the earth, she smells smoke, wood smoke. Once more, her mind suddenly turns to her hunger. She has not felt hunger like this in months, months that she has not eaten more than a few bites. Yet, now she is ravenous, and where there is smoke, usually there is food. Pulling herself fully out of the ground, she looks around and sees a building in the distance with smoke rising from its chimney. Not knowing where the town is, but feeling the hunger within her grow, she moves toward the house. Looking in the window, she sees an elderly man and his wife, farmers from the look.
Tkaara suddenly feels her stomach growl again and a deep hungry desire begins to overtake her. She is about to break throught the door, when a brief glimmer of though breaks through her hunger. Grabbing a rock, she looks around. Seeing a small shed, she opens the door and sees several rakes and shovels. She throws the rock into the shed, causing the tools to crash down in a great clatter.
A few moments later, the farmer, having heard the noise, appears out of the home pulling the second sleeve of his jacket on, while carrying a club in his other hand. As he checks, Tkaara, like a ghost, jumps him from behind. The farmer gives a sudden gasp and shout of surprise, but a moment later, feels his life drain from him. Not knowing what comes over her, Tkaara rips his throat with her nails (claws?), and begins to engorge herself on the sweet warm food.
So enraptured by the glorious taste of the life-giving nourishment, Tkaara does not sense the old wife behind her until she hears a soft grunt. Ducking her head, she just avoids the old woman swinging a wood axe. Tkaara turns faster than she ever recalls moving and leaps at the woman. It is over in not more than a second and the woman is a pasty white, her life drained in the blink of an eye.
Nearly an hour later, coated in a combination of blood and dirt, Tkaara, her clothing ripped an torn and far from decent in even the most debased of societies, looks around. No longer controlled by the overwhelming hunger, she sees the lights from the town, and in the distance past the town the fort, shining brightly. Realizing that she is standing on the edge of the cemetery, and that the old man and woman must have been the caretakers of the cemetery, Tkaara leaps over the cemetery fence and begins to run toward the town, partially hunched and an almost animalistic manner. Tkaara gets to the town quickly. Now being after the middle of then night, she makes her way silently toward where she recalls the inn being.
Finding the inn, the door is locked. So, she makes her way around to the back where she locates the second floor window of the room joining her and the Doctor's rooms. Climbing up with great care, she gets up to the window, amazed that her emaciated arms and muscles feel no exhaustion or pain despite the exertion.
Not knowing what the rest of the party intends for the night, she wipes her finger in some of the partially dried blood on the remains of the rags she is wearing and writes:
Tk's back.
Sensing that she will need to sleep, much as she has done for the past months during the day, Tkaara moves from shadow to shadow until she arrives at the business of the coffin maker. After listening for guards, she smashes the lock and makes her way into the shop. Spotting a finished coffin, she picks it up, amazed that she can carry it, and not tired doing so, she leaves the business and makes her way back out of town. Recalling a cave she spotted just outside of town when the group was tracking and slaying the guard patrol a week earlier, she lugs the coffin into the cave, before returning back to the town. Sensing that it is but two or three hours before sunup, and that her new resting place is a good hour from the town, she once more returns to the inn to see if she can make contact with the Doctor or any of the other members of the party before she must leave.
After a busy, yet satisfying day, Felrin is glad to be back at the inn, readying himself for a good evil night's rest before a day of mayhem and slaughter. He's both disappointed and slightly concerned when the soldiers arrive and the sergeant asks them to come along, though he's easily able to mask these emotions.
"The Lord wishes to speak to me?" he asks in a tone of reverence. "But whatever for? Questions about what?" As he speaks, he scans the faces of the soldiers for any sign of what the true nature of their errand is, drawing gently on the power of the Dark Prince to see into the colour-sergeant's soul as well.
Colour-Sergeant Erasmus is polite, but reserved. "Couldn't rightly say, sir. My orders were to locate you and ask you to come for interview with Lord Havelyn and Father Donnagin." Lurking in the air between you is the knowledge that Donnagin at least appears to know that the fort is under attack, and has apparently managed to convince Lord Havelyn of this. Of course, the evident murders of two of the servants and the apparent infiltration of the fort likely concentrated the mind wonderfully.
"Of course. I hope nothing grave happened..." Jenna replies, feigning ignorance, while she prepares herself to follow the guards.
"Oh, dear," Craigh says with more than a little nervousness, "this sounds serious. Of course, I would be happy to come if you think it will help." As he grabs his kitbag, he bites his lip, his usual smile and mirthful expression faltering as he steals a look at one of the pastries still sitting in their plate. Grabbing a couple, he shrugs apologetically. "Forgive my nervousness, but I am not used to being summoned for what must certainly be serious business. And stress... well...," he adds, not finishing his sentence but looking at the pastries he just took with him instead.
"What is it now?! One interruption after another! Isn't it bad enough that my assistant dies so horribly, now I am to be harassed by the authorities? Do you have no respect for higher learning in this backwater country?!" The Professor scowls as only a cranky old man can, groaning and clutching his back as he stands stiffly, then taking up his bag and ivory walking stick.
”We’re to speak with Lord Havelyn and Father Donnigan? What an honor!” Felrin exclaims, continuing to feign being impressed. ”I can be ready in a moment.” He scoops his bag off the floor by his chair and gets to his feet, looking to the colour-sergeant to lead the way.
As they begin moving toward the door, Felrin says, ”I know we’ve met at the fortress, Sergeant Erasmus, during my work there, but I’m not sure I know everyone in your unit. It does make it a little more comfortable to know the names of the troopers.” He then turns to the four other soldiers and introduces himself to any he doesn’t already know. ”I’m Dav Mulson, I work at the fort.”
Not sure how I’ll use their names, but if we need to disguise ourselves as these soldiers in some way, it’d be helpful to know who I’m pretending to be.
It is a simple matter to convince the guards that you are prepared to follow them back to the fort, which lies about a mile and a half from the town of Aldencross. It is equally a simple matter to wait until you are out of sight of the town and then slaughter the guards. Felrin, Erevan and Ottakar make quick work of the job, before dragging the bodies off the road. The ground is too hard to make it worth even trying to bury them, but removing the bodies from the road will make finding them almost impossible without darkvision or daylight.
Time is moving: it is likely that you have perhaps 20 minutes before the fort realises you won't be coming.
You return to the Lord's Dalliance, where only Bellam is still present, together with the ubiquitous dwarves. This makes matters considerably easier. Etna stands just inside the front doors and strikes the bartender dead with magic fire, while the other three fall on the dwarves. Even while drunk, their leader fights valiantly, but to no avail. Etna's magical fire scorches their bodies and scours the rest of the room, covering your tracks to some extent.
You are just about to make your way down to the cellar when the door flies open with a crash: the smell of freshly-spilled blood has drawn someone - or something. Someone/thing familiar, albeit coated in a combination of blood and dirt - Tkaara, her clothing ripped and torn and far from decent in even the most debased of societies. Apart from that, she looks much the same as you last saw her.
Etna is about to prepare herself to go into the cellar, when the unidentified creature barges into the room. The ifrit jumps on the defensive, before recognizing the familiar, emaciated barrister under the blood and dirt.
Tkaara?How...how is that possible? Why is she here, and coated in gore? Most of all, how is she alive? No, no, this must be some sort of trick...
"Who...who are you?" the fire-haired woman asks warily to the creature that surely couldn't have been Tkaara.
I doubt that the Mitrans would do something like this to lure us out, if they had suspicions...is there a third involved in all of this? Maybe we jumped to the wrong conclusion and she didn't starve herself to death...
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The . . . creature that used to be Tkaara looks back at the four companions, an animalistic lust appearing in her motions before a flicker of recognition appears to pass across her eyes.
After looking at you for a few moments, the former barrister seems to realize that you addressed her. I was hungry. Not much to eat in a box.
She then looks about the room, her eyes settling on the leader of the dwarves, as though sensing that he was more powerful than the others.
You seem to have sped things up.
"But...you were dead! We all saw it! And how did you get out of a coffin sex feet under the earth?" Etna asks with a a mix of incredulity and fear on her face, tentatively making a few steps in the creature's direction, before stopping abruptly.
As her expression changes to one of pure horror, the ifrit swallows as her eyes grow wide.
"Did...did we bury you alive?"
Control of the situation is slipping from Felrin’s fingers, and this disturbs him. Keeping things quiet and under control has served him this far in his long life – with a few exceptional moments of shocking violence. It is clear that the coming days will be similarly exceptional, beginning in a few moments with the death of the guards.
On returning to the Lord's Dalliance and taking care of things there, Felrin is pleased that the slaughter of the guards, and the subsequent slaying of the dwarves, goes smoothly, though he can’t help but wish none of it were necessary at this juncture, as it will certainly put an already unnerved Fort Balentyne on its guard. Still, he’s able to keep a reasonably calm outlook on the situation, and can still imagine a successful outcome.
This cool and rational approach is turned quite upside down when Tkaara enters the inn, looking even more dead than she did at her funeral. Many questions come to mind, but they’re voiced first by the quick-witted Etna. Felrin nods along as she speaks to the Tkaara-thing, his eyes wide with a blend of fear and wonder.
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Smiling back at Etna as though nothing happened, Tkaara chuckles.
How did I get out? How do you think. I clawed a hole in the cover and then dug through the dirt. How else would I get covered in dirt like this. She raises her hands.
After once more glancing at the dwarf leader, she turns back to Etna:
No, I was certainly dead when you buried me. But, as you can see, death didn't agree with me.
She then looks down at the corpse of the dwarf leader, licking her lips as she does. When she turns back, you can see a bit of desperation in her eyes. Not desperation, rather a hunger, a hunger that cannot be satiated.
So, as I said. It appears the timeline has been rather abruptly accelerated. What else have you done? The mage? The cleric? The alchemist? The paladin?
At this, she looks over her shoulder and glances into the street before stepping the rest of the way into the corpse filled common area of the inn.
So, anything else that I should know? Where are you planning on spending the night, since it is clear that this inn will not be accommodating for long.
With that, she moves over toward the dwarf where she squats down, the torn remnants of her clothing falling partially off as she reaches out a dirty hand and runs her finger through the blood of the fallen dwarf leader. She then lifts the finger and sucks off the blood, savoring every moment as one would savor the finest chocolate truffle, closing her eyes in pleasure.
She then looks up at her companions:
Better than the finest Chelaxian red, but, with just a touch of earthiness?
The Doctor scowls at the barrister's antics. "It would appear that I am not the only one among us with an inner beast. You are correct: you were entirely, undeniably, dead. I assume that you still are; I imagine that the Mitrans have not had to deal with one of your ilk in quite some time."
He gestures vaguely at the corpses strewn about. "Yes, our hand was forced; the Talireans were not quite as blind as we had believed. Still, they have already lost all of their leadership save their commander and the head priest. They have lost their engineers and their alchemist, and we were just on our way to eliminate their ability to communicate with the outside. There is a shipment of poisoned food on its way here tomorrow; if we can manage to steal or destroy a portion of their food stores tonight, they will be even more likely to fall for the ruse."
"At this juncture, our base of operations shall be the secret basement. I suggest we all retrieve any possessions still in our rooms, then retreat there for now. Afterward, we should conduct our sabotage quickly; they are currently expecting us to be escorted into the keep in short order, and so will not be expecting us to strike from below. Any more questions? If not, finish your meal later; we have work to do!"