Othos makes a hasty but accurate copy of the rune before placing it before Torbjorn. After a moment of thought, Torbjorn does indeed recognize the strange marking.
...bells and memories, indeed...
Torbjørn's meaty hand shook slightly under the sketch, his heart racing. Gods! he thought, the curse has followed me, even to this place! When will the torment cease!
He turned to Othos with fear in his eyes. "Aye," he said, barely above a whisper, "this symbol is indeed familiar to these eyes. It represents death, and suffering, and curses of which I know naught."
Torbjørn gently released the paper from his grasp, letting it flutter to the floor of the apartment, afraid as if the thing might well explode in his face. "This symbol crossed the path of me and my crew some weeks back. It brought to us nothing but heartbreak, and we destroyed all in our possession that bore this mark. This bodes ill, indeed. Where did you find this, good sir? And why are you offering me assistance, and yet throwing me back out into this foul night? Shouldn't we perhaps discuss this further?" His brow creases with concern, tinged perhaps with a bit of fear, fear to leave this place and encounter yet more horrors this night...
"Why, yes, we might as well do that. Please wait here, and I will be back momentarily". Othos wanders out into the hallway, trying to calm down his agitated neighbours - No, nothing serious; Yes, he is a drunken boor, but one cannot really choose who your friends are, can you?; No, there is no need to call for the Watch; No, there will not be any further disturbances... On his return, he is calm and awake. "Now, could I perhaps offer you some food and drink? Unfortunately, all I have is leftovers, but they are both fresh and tasty. Here, take a seat". Othos pulls out a chair for Torbjørn, and takes one himself after putting on the teakettle, taking some care in positioning the Norseman so that his back is towards the bedroom. Berzeral would be most displeased if anything happened to his precious prisoner in there, and Othos had no desire whatsoever to anger the Malarite lunatic. Come to think of it, Berzeral made him even more nervous than Torbjørn, and that was saying quite a bit. Hopefully he would not have to make a choice about whom he’d rather anger - at least not tonight...
Taking a deep breath, he starts talking in a calm, professorial voice. "You know, Torbjørn, even though I recognise that the rune is meant to approximate some form of magical sigil, I have never seen this particular sign before. Though I intend to remedy this, I do not yet know what it signifies. That alone is enough to pique my interest, but, more importantly, that scurrilous little knife-vendor Morn carried it secreted away on his person. Perhaps fate has linked us closer than we first thought?" He takes a sip of tea, and offers the kettle to the oversized sailor. "Would you care to elaborate a little more on how the mark signifies death and doom? Establishing how the rune ‘works’, so to speak, can bring us closer to determining what it is and who is behind it - and that will enable us to solve your mystery". Lost in thought, he takes a minuscule pause before resuming. "Is this the entire symbol, or is it just a part of a bigger whole? And where did the symbolically marked goods intersect the path of the Nansen and its crew?" Fascinated, Othos pulls out more parchment and dips his quill in ink. This could be a magnificent tale in its own right…
Intrigued by the talk over the rune and Torbjorn's change of attitude, Shador slips out of the shadows and stands beside Orthos and Torbjorn at the table. "Are we all friends then, at least for now?" he asks quietly, his eyes on Torbjorn. "No more kicking in doors and waving weapons about?" Without waiting for an answer, Shador sits down at the table between the two humans, looks at the teapot derisively and shakes his head slowly, as if mystified by the many strange things he has seen humans do throughout his life.
He turns his attention to the rune Orthos drew for Torbjorn and wracks his brain trying to determine if he has seen anything like that before.
Ignoring the little man appearing suddenly at his elbow, Torbjørn's brows creased as his thoughts took form. "I know little of the mechanics of runes, or how they come to exist. But I do know that curses and foul evil lurks within the curves and points of some symbols."
Taking a deep breath, Torbjørn leaned back and stared directly into Othos' eyes. "While I may not have the skill or experience to decipher exactly who made these marks, nay even that they are anything more than decoration, I have witnessed with mine own eyes the results of brandishing such things on one's being.
"Seven, perhaps eight moons ago, as we sailed across the southern seas, the crew came to possess several containers of clothing and personal goods - belts, capes, some tunics, belt pouches, blankets, what have you. All carried this very mark. Rumour has it that the cursed thing had become quite the fashionable trend with Calishite tailors and haberdashers; indeed, some of these items were covered in a ridiculous amount of the things."
Torbjørn shifted uneasily in his stool, his glare never wavering. And yet, slowly, the fire began to seep back into his eyes as he remembered those distant times. "Myself, I have no need of such accouterments, and am perfectly happy in a kilt and cape and metal. But there were many on the ship who reveled in vanity, gallantry, putting on fine airs at every turn...as if there was time or place for such things on a working frigate such as ours." he sniffed. "These new shinys were just the thing to set them prancing about the deck, as if their duties meant nothing in contrast to how they appeared. RUBBISH!!" he added with a solid thump on the table with his ham fist.
"Why the captain allowed such foolish behaviour to continue was a mystery whose truths I shall now never know, but I for one was disgusted by the whole thing. He simply laughed it off, as the articles had little resale value," Torbjørn said; " apparently he felt it lifted morale, heightened spirits, made for a happier crew. Piffle. A war galley is a place of combat, and pillage, and HONOUR!" A cautious glare from Othos calmed the rapidly rising volume of Torbjørn's booming voice.
"It was thus that the crew began to have, shall we say, mysterious accidents. No, before you ask, neither I nor my mates were responsible for their fate. Not everyone, and not simply those who continued to carry this accursed mark; but many that did experienced unsavory endings, or accidents. Some could be passed off as simple carelessness or drunken idiocy. But many men simply vanished into the night. Others discovered missing limbs, as if chewed from their torsos, with not a clue in sight as to the attacker."
"Some slipped and plummeted to their gruesome deaths from high atop the yardarms. Others were fine one moment, then by first bell were covered head to toe in pestilence and puss, and expired in a most unpleasant torrent of screams. Some who simply used pouches, like these," he said, indicating the rune before him, "were robbed and shivved. Common thuggery! On our ship!"
Torbjørn breathed deeply, shook his head, and continued. "No, I am no expert in the ways of magical runes and abhorrent curses. But I can assure you that I, for one, will never carry on my person anything bearing such a device. The Calishite faeries may claim the blasted things are good luck as much as they wish. But from what these eyes have seen...this is the mark of a terrible, terrible curse."
Seemingly finished, Torbjørn looked around him, noticing his surroundings for the first time. "Well, what are you two sitting there gaping at? Don't you have any ale and meat in this hovel? A fine tale like that calls for some replenishment. You there, wee man," he said, pointing a massive finger in Shador's face, "fetch me a full tankard and I promise you I won't use your skull as a footrest later." Torbjørn's eyes gleamed and his cheeks crinkled as he chuckled to his own jape...
"Heh heh…" Othos’ laughter is wildly incongrous with Torbjørn's grim tale. "So, the symbol fills the hearts of men with vanity and greed, eh? Morn was carrying one of those pouches, and we promptly killed and robbed him! What delicious irony!" After a last snicker, Othos regains his composure.
"This is both better and worse than I initially feared. First, it is better, because we did decide to do so independently of any magical, or even monetary compulsions - indeed, what we primarily wanted was information, not his possessions. It is also good that not everybody fell prey to the runes’ insidious power; your own self is one such exemplar, unless, of course, your angry resentment against your enruned companions is yet another manifestation of its curse. On the other hand, it is worse, as it indicates that the marked items possess the power to change the minds of both those who wear them, as well as those who observe them". He chuckles again. "Morn did change his sartorial habits quite radically before he met his sad end. Hmmm….. Did your friend at the tavern display any symptoms of the curse? How about the captain - was he encouraging the proceedings? We should look for both of them tomorrow morning".
He leans back. "I do have meat. No mead, though - you will need to go elsewhere for that tonight".
"Nay, Helg had no interest in the decorated items. It seemed as if the curse would pass him by...but then again, who knows if the curse still lingers on all who touched it? The wet gods did strike my ship from the face of the sea, and for all I know we two are the last survivors of the calamity."
He scratched his head in thought, then said, "The captain? Hard to say. When the things first arrived, he laughed and wore a bit or two as a way to have some fun with the crew, but after the second day moved on to the business of running our ship. It is...or perhaps, was...hard to tell what motivated the captain to do the things he did sometimes..."
Torbjorn stretched, nearly filling the room with his bulk in the process. "Lads, it has indeed been a long night, and while I don't normally require a lot of sleep, I feel that a nap is in order, especially in light of the rather busy day we've all had. If you don't mind, I'll pass on the snack and curl up on this open chunk of floor in the corner."
"Unless, of course, you're hiding your own wench in there," he said, gesturing towards Othos' curtain-covered sleeping chamber with a meaty finger, "and intend to keep us up all night with your screams of ecstasy..."
At Torbjorn's indication of the curtained room, a small snicker could be heard just on the other side of said curtain before it swished slightly to one side, permitting Gimble to step back into the common room.
"Hardly," Gimble smirked. As he felt all eyes in the room settle on him, he shrugged slightly. "What? Someone had to keep her from panicking with all the ruckus you were causing out here. And before you ask, no, she was not harmed."
The halfling crossed his arms in front of his chest and stood to one side of the doorway. "The Northlander is right. I think it's about time to call it a night as well. No sense in facing more trouble without proper sleep. More answers, and likely more questions, will be found tomorrow."
Gimble made his way under the dining table with a small bedroll, settling in and preparing to sleep.
The night draws to a close as the group drifts off to sleep, thoughts of the rune and what the future could have in store for them haunting their rest. The young woman from the tavern stays in Othos' room, sleeping on the floor and wrapped in a blanket. Morning comes swiftly, though Othos' home is bereft of windows save the one in his bedroom which is covered with heavy drapes. The sounds of another day of business in the streets of Calimport carry dimly through the apartment walls.
The sounds of the rain have long since faded and have left the city with a musty smell of moist refuse and packed dirt. Out in the streets, the sounds of numerous conversations and the passing of merchant carts can be heard on their way to the Bazaar. The fountain at the neighborhood square bubbles actively, nearly overflowing with the excess water from last night's storm.
Shador is the first to awaken, his eyes adjusting quickly to the dim lighting provided by sunlight trickling in from around the front door's frame. Gimble awakens not long after him, rubbing his eyes and stretching with a lazy yawn.
The others are awakened a few minutes later by a rapid knock at the door. Gimble arches his brow and looks at the doorway, then looks to Shador and shrugs. The knock comes again. Whoever it is clearly believes that urgency is called for.
“One short moment, and I will be right with you!” Othos had not slept well – not only had Torbjørn snored like a walrus in heat, but his side still ached after last night’s escapades. With a grimace, he mutters a magical formula and passes his right hand over the angry welts, smiling in relief as the swelling subsides a bit. Not bothering to put a shirt on, he walks to the door, tucking his dagger into the waist of his linen pants before pulling the door open. “Yes?”
Opening the door and filling the entire common area with dazzling sunlight, Othos is confronted with the obviously flustered Berzeral who seems to sigh with relief when Othos answers. He is once again wearing the guise of the matronly old woman he donned previously and states in a hoarse whisper: "I'm here for the woman."
"Terrific. I have been expecting you. Look who showed up here last night". Othos indicates the still-sleeping Norseman with a nod and a sour smile. At least all that mead he swilled last night was good for something. "Can you believe it? Incredibly, he does not know that she is here, but you had better get her out of here fast. She must know about him, though, as he was far from quiet on his arrival. Need any help?"
Berzeral glances at Torbjorn, his expression souring ever so slightly before shaking his head. "No, I will not require aid. However, I must remove her from the city at once to meet with my people in the grasslands. I have been told that their envoy will not return to the city for at least another month and I cannot allow this to wait that long. My faith demands this. I will not be able to assist your hunt until my return."
Moving quickly but quietly, he slips into Othos' room and retrieves the yawning maiden, whispering to her briefly and hustling her out the door without allowing her to awaken enough to realize who the massive man on the floor was. As he exits the apartment, he turns again to Othos with a smirk. "Until we meet again. Take these coins for your trouble and to replace the clothing she has taken."
Berzeral reaches into a pouch and hands Othos 5 gold pieces before continuing along the landing and down the stairs to merge into the busy streets, quickly losing himself and the girl in the crowd.
Pocketing the gold, Othos raises his hand in a mock salute as Berzeral makes off with the girl. "May the gods, both yours and mine, look favourably upon your endeavours, maniac", he mutters. "May your travels be obscured by the cloak of darkness, leaving your enemies confused and afraid. It was a pleasure knowing you, and I look forward to seeing you again". For all Berzeral's quirks, if that was what one should call them, Othos had grown rather fascinated by the feral shaman. He would definitely have to look that kid up in, what, 15 years or so?
He turns around, flipping Shador and Gimble a gold piece each. "Spoils of war, lads", he says with a small smile, keeping the last three coins for himself. "Now, should we perhaps wake our rather large friend? Just give me a little time with my scrolls first". He picks up a leather-bound book and wanders off into his study.
After memorising his spells, Othos feels far better. He allows himself some extra sugar in his tea as he eats breakfast with Gimble and Shador, before nudging the sleeping Northman awake.
"Rise and shine, big fellow", he says with a evil grin, deriving a small measure of amusement from the sight of Torbjørn’s pounding hangover. "Obviously, some of the marked goods made it to town despite your valiant efforts to destroy them. Either your captain lied about his complicity and smuggled them here, or someone else are supplying Calimport with cursed trinkets. It seems to me that the easiest way of finding out would be to have a chat with your captain. Do you know where he stays when the Nansen is at port? Of course, he could turn out to be entirely incidental in this whole story". He turns to Gimble and Shador. "If the Shadow Thieves were involved in importing the geegaws, their internal chaos could be ascribed to the items’ baleful effects - and that makes the Nansen and its crew bit players. However, we are about to find out".
He drains his cup and stands up. "Lead the way, sailor. I will get you some kebabs and a pitcher of drinks on our way".
Shador ate the dried fruit and sipped his tea in silence, his eyes turning again and again to the sleeping Torbjorn. What is it about that human that I find so annoying? Perhaps it is because he has but one tool, his strength, and thus all problems are reduced to ones that must be solved using it. One day, this attitude will be the end of him. Perhaps I will be there to pick over his corpse. He smiled wanly at Orthos as he harbored these thoughts, hoping the mystic could not read his mind. Orthos and Torbjorn seemed like they were getting on well enough; it would be poor form for him to wish death upon another house guest. Poor form, perhaps, but not entirely unwarranted.
The dwarf's smile broadened into a true smile and at Orthos' questioning of his jocular mood, Shador only shook his head. "If it is the same to you, Orthos, I should like to see an acquaintance of mine about this rune of yours, especially given what I heard last night. It may be that I can learn something of it. If you would be kind enough to sketch another for me to use for reference, I will show it to a few people that may be able to tell me more. I will meet you back here no later than the evening, unless you have another suggestion."
...oooooh, not so loud....
Torbjorn rolled over onto one arm, snapping his lips and rubbing his eyes. For someone who had obviously had a Very Busy Night, the big Northman awoke with surprising quickness and was on his feet in moments.
After yawning and stretching so wide he virtually filled the tiny sitting room, he ruffled his long hair and beard and smiled at Othos. "You're the great seer, magician," he said, smirking at the tiny pale man before him. "If anyone knows the whereabouts of the captain - or his corpse - it would be you and your macical agents spread far and wide about the city, no?"
He scratched his wild mane for a moment, then mumbled, "Yes, I can now see that some of these cursed items made it here. But surely there are hundreds, perhaps thousands more just like them, and from other sources. I would wager that this nasty little purse was not from the same shipment that we obtained. In fact, I cannot say that I remember any bags such as this among our number."
Shrugging, he said, "I suppose too that Helg may know some small bit more, as he was part of the load gang that brought the original crates on board. But I for one was, shall we say, preoccupied...yes, that's it, preoccupied, when we overtook that sloop and lightened its holds of some unnecessary cargo. However," he said, his voice and gaze turning slightly darker, "I would not wish to visit upon Helg more of the same unluck that seems to have attached itself to my ignorant hide. For all his weaknesses, he is a good man, and had the common sense to not carry any of the marked goods. All things equal, I would prefer to leave him out of this mess."
Torbjorn shouldered his pack, and smirked at the dwarf who seemed to have nothing better to to than sip his tea like some schoolgirl at play. "Well, wee man? Are you just going to sit there enjoying your crumpets, or did you have someplace useful to be?"
"Aha! I was under the impression that your ship had contracted to transport the cursed goods to Calimport, but it now turns out that it … fell … off another ship in a rather unfortunate accident. How serendipitous. You could not perhaps recall the flag this hapless freighter flew, could you? Hmmmm… This does complicate things a bit, but such are the obstacles that fate throws in our way". Othos gets up, still running his hands through his hair in frustration. "It seems to me that we should still visit the port, if nothing else just in order to see who else is showing an inordinate interest in the Nansen. If your captain did not go down with his boat, he should be one of them".
He loos back to Shador. "Your plan is as good as any I have. Let us meet back here as dusk falls to eat dinner and compare discoveries. With some luck, we will have plenty to talk about". He turns to Gimble. "Do you have any tasks planned for today? If not, could I prevail upon you to head over to the textile districts and ask them if they have seen anything marked with the rune? Here, let me draw you one more copy - if the goods’ curse is as potent as it seems, we probably should not carry the original items around on our persons. Now, let us be off".
"How kind of you to concern yourself with me," responded Shador, his tone one of polite condensation. "As a matter of fact, I do have a thing or two to check on elsewhere in the city regarding these runes. It will likely be a quiet, subtle conversation and thus would be lost on you. I am certain you do the right thing in punting about the docks with Othos and I wish you godspeed." Shador consumed the last of his tea and stood up from the table. He collected his things from the corner, folding and storing his pelerin in his pack. He then turned his attention to Othos, saying, "I am off to speak to an acquaintance of mine named Majib. He may be able to help us understand these runes or give us other information. I should be back before nightfall, sooner if possible. I will leave word here for you if my plans change. Do the same in case I must find you." With a quick look to Torbjorn, he adds, "Be careful. We do not need to make it any easier for our enemies to find us than it already is."
Gimble takes the copy of the rune in hand and nods slightly, rolling the parchment and placing it within his tiny rucksack. He sighs heavily before giving a mock salute to everyone and makes his exit, heading towards the town center where most of the industry warehouses and manufacturing centers would be found.
After Gimble had departed, the others gathered their collective belongings and set out from Othos' small upstairs apartment and into the sun-lit streets of Calimport. As they reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the huddled masses of vendors, guardsmen, shoppers, messengers, and all manner of other folk, Othos and Torbjorn split away to head south towards the docks and the Efreeti's Djinn while Shador turned north all alone, making his way to a former Shadow Thief hideout located within a harem in the royal district called the Sand Pearl.
The voyage to the royal district was relatively uneventful. The dwarf received no small number of strange looks as he passed by various stalls and patrons, all of them human or some close proximity thereof, and all of them equally perplexed at the presence of a dwarf in the southern reaches of Faerun. After passing through the main thoroughfare of the Bazaar, Shador became increasingly aware that he was sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the taller humanoids and occasional halflings that frequented the marketplace.
Within the Bazaar itself, the frequency of guard patrols increased dramatically. Often, each group of 3 or 4 stalls would have their very own guardsman assigned to them by the city's mandate and, at key entry and exit points from the town center, more of the sorcererous guards could be found in full view.
To the northeast of the Bazaar, behind high walls and heavily guarded gates, lay the city's royal district at the center of which was the Sultan's Palace. The high, gilded domes glistened in the early morning sun and utterly dwarfed the surrounding buildings (which was no small feat, given their high level of opulence) with it's grandeur. The guards here bore equipment of remarkably superior quality compared to their fellows in the Bazaar and many of them had the stern countenance of experienced warriors. Shador would have to be careful here. Any act he committed would likely fall under scrutiny here, either from the watchful eyes of the guards or from any number of unseen magisters peering around with their magics. The Sand Pearl was only a few blocks into the district but a moment's observation revealed that the guards who stood at the entrances to the district were ensuring that anyone not bearing the marks of a city official or a royal family was thoroughly disarmed before being admitted.
Perhaps the Sand Pearl can wait thought Shador as he took in the guards' serious expressions and glanced at the walls and other fortifications that separated the royal district from the rest of the city. I could return at night if need be, let me see what else I can uncover. The dwarf wandered away from the heavily guarded walls and gates of the royal district and returned by a different route to the Bazaar, stopping to examine wares on display as he moved steadily back toward the Bazaar's main thoroughfare. If the Sand Pearl is inaccessible, perhaps I could learn something at the potion dealer's. Shador continued his path through the crowd, searching for Alej's Ointments, a known gathering place for the Shadow Thieves.
Passing back through the Bazaar, Shador encounters stalls of various sorts selling many both mundane and exotic items. He does his best to blend in by appearing to shop and is largely successful, the majority of odd looks he receives seem to be solely because of his race. It takes him only a few minutes to make his way onto one of the major streets leading out from the busy marketplace where Alej's Ointments is located. While the streets are still quite active and filled with guards, consumers, nobles, and other sorts, there is room to breathe outside of the Bazaar and Shador enjoys the space as he makes his way to the establishment.
It had been a long time since Shador had heard anything of the potion dealer or his shop and it was not entirely surprising to discover that the store had apparently closed some time in the not-too-distant past. The windows had all been boarded up, the doors locked and the sign outside removed, replaced with a simple board that bore the word 'Closed' in three different languages (Alzhedo, Chondathan, and Common).
While there did not seem to be any activity inside, Shador knew the Shadow Thieves had used a complex located beneath the store for their meeting place, accessible through the store by some unknown means. Shador glanced around for a moment, trying to seem unsuspicious, and took note of the alleyways on either side of the building. The buildings on either side of Alej's former establishment cast the alleys into shadow and there was certainly a backdoor to the place to facilitate the transport of reagents and other such things. Perhaps he could find a way in...
Shador drifts to the nearer of the two shadowy alleyways next to Alej's Ointments and then slips inside, using his experience in moving subtly in the city to remain unobserved. Once inside the darkened alley he freezes, keeping a defensive posture in the event the alleyway is occupied. From his position in the darkness, he glances back out at the passersby in front of the closed shop to determine if anyone noticed his actions.
The alleyway is empty except for a stray cat which flees at Shador's approach. The stealthy dwarf creeps his way into the shadows and glances around to see if anyone had spotted him. He catches the eye of one random passerby but the individual does not appear to care about the dwarf's presence in the alley and continues down the road, continuing the conversation with his well-dressed companion who seems oblivious to the rogue's actions. Waiting another moment to see if the guard is summoned, Shador is relieved to pass the time in peace and no further parties make note of his presence.
Circling around the back of the establishment, Shador discovers the backdoor of the potion shop has been secured with a deadbolt of remarkable quality and is in unusually good repair for a store which had clearly been closed for some time. Checking the surrounding areas, Shador takes note that much of the debris and muck present in this alley had been disturbed in the recent past, likely by some other party passing through, but his limited tracking skills could not tell if the disturbance was caused by someone entering or by someone leaving leaving. Pressing his ear to the door itself, Shador can hear nothing on the other side. He could not be certain if the building was occupied currently or not. After inspecting the door and deadbolt for traps, Shador felt certain that there was no immediate threat and he believed that the deadbolt was certainly within his capacity to breach but it would require substantial effort for such a finely crafted mechanism.
This does not bode well. The lock is a good one and seems suspiciously well-cared for for a deserted building. The mystery deepens it would seem. With a final glance toward the street, Shador fetches his tools and the does his best to hide in the darkness of the alley as he sets to work on the lock. I have always been fairly lucky, perhaps this time... He sets to work on the lock, hoping he can bypass it swiftly.
Shador produces his finely crafted set of tools from his belt and begins using a few tried-and-true lockpicking techniques in an attempt to more hastily bypass the mechanism but all is for naught. The sturdy lock resists all of Shador's attempts. There would be no easy entry against this finely wrought device. Upon closer scrutiny, Shador recognizes a small rune on the lock itself - the very same rune that he and the others were investigating! As with the other runes, his discerning eye determined that it was not magical nor did it seem to be associated with any kind of trap. Glancing around the alleyway again, Shador went down to one knee and began to have at the lock once more, using a more meticulous and detailed strategy to bypass it this time.
In the middle of his attempt, Shador hears the very quiet sound of the stray cat's return as it nonchalantly makes its way back into the alley and continues it's hunt for rats, casting a curious glance at the dwarf as it passes by but otherwise pays him no attention. After another minute of working the delicate tumblers, Shador hears the 'pop' of the lock opening at last and wipes the sweat from his brow, breathing a sigh of relief.
With a deft slip of his shoulder, Shador drops his pack long enough to secure his tools and then shrugs it back into place. With a final look toward the street, he slips his dagger out and creeps as quietly and as carefully as possible into the abandonded shop as he can, closing the door behind him gently as he scans the room.
Just inside the heavy wooden backdoor was a small holding area where shipments and supplies were likely kept during the store's operating days. To the right was a set of three steps leading into the shop's main area with a high bar across the doorway where a curtain must have once hung. To the left was another set of steps leading down. Sunlight coming through the cracks of the boards in the windows was poor lighting but enough to see by and Shador's darkvision allowed him to see the stairwell with more clarity. There were a dozen steps leading to a solid oak door which bore a small sign that said something in Alzhedo but its meaning was lost on the dwarf. A quick survey of the store revealed that it had been completely cleared out and had become strewn with dust and cobwebs. The storage room where Shador first entered, however, was cleaner than the store proper, and the stairwell was similarly so. Holding his breath and straining to hear any signs of activity, Shador could very faintly hear the sounds of hushed conversation on the other side of the downstairs door. It was impossible to make out any details of the conversation, however, without at least descending the stairs and pressing his ear to the door.
As Othos and Torbjørn head down the street towards the harbour, they stop at a cafe to get the big man some breakfast, as well as a glass of lemonade for himself. As they sit down, a sudden look of utter disgust and annoyance crosses Othos' face. "I forgot to do an incredibly basic procedure on the purse. I will run right back and do just that, and then return momentarily. Just enjoy your meal, and I will be back in no time at all". He pays the proprietor for the food and drinks, and promptly jogs back to his apartment, cursing himself with every step.
Ah, not as deserted as it would seem. The question is: who is here? Is it Shadow Thieves meeting to discuss their plight, or is it those that wish to ambush them? Only one way to find out...Shador slipped his dagger back into his belt and then examined the steps carefully before dropping into a low crouch and moving quietly down the stairs.
I am getting sloppy. There is no excuse for this sort of silliness. Othos is in a foul mood as he rejoins Torbjørn at the cafe. Not only had he forgotten to check the purse, but once he had gone back, it was all for nought. A proper practitioner of the magical arts would have committed neither of those mistakes. Curses! "The purse is entirely mundane; there is not a shred of magical properties imbued in it", he replies to the Northman's questioning look. "However, the design is obviously a replica of a magical original. That leads me to believe that the goods your mates came upon is of a mixed nature - some items are magical, while others are not. That would also explain why some sailors went crazy and others did not. The disappearances, on the other hand - they still puzzle me. Now, let us see how the Nansen looks in daylight".
The dwarf silently descends the steps with unearthly grace, creeping up to the door and listening intently to the conversation being held on the other side. Though the individuals inside spoke in soft tones, the door was not thick enough to obscure their talk entirely from the prowling rogue.
Shador could tell that there were at least two people within. One of them spoke with a strong Alzhedo accent but spoke Chondathan currently and the other responded in the same language but was clearly a native speaker, likely from somewhere up north.
The accented man seemed to be dominating the conversation, speaking to the other man with a sense of urgency in his voice. The other man occasionally confirmed that he was still paying attention with a simple statement or brief question, but seemed to be doing more listening than talking.
At Shador's approach, the first part of the conversation he could make out was spoken by the accented man.
"...and that's why we are in this situation, my friend. The temple has practically disappeared and what few clerics remain have either gone into hiding, fearing to use their powers lest they be caught or fled the city entirely. I can't begin to guess the reasons behind their disappearance but, without their support, the Shadow Thieves are dying."
The other man responded with a simple "Mm-hmm."
"You're not from around here. You're an unknown. They won't be on to you... whoever they are. Maybe you can find a couple of others to poke around with and try to get to the bottom of this. The fact that some of those assassins last night got away means that they might spread the word, though. They likely already know about you. If you plan to stay in town, you're going to need more protection than I can offer. You might want to consider hiring a mercenary or two if you can afford it. I know a few good ones, but I can't be certain that they haven't been compromised too." The accented man heaves an exasperated sigh. "We've really got quite the mess here. We can't trust anyone, as you've already seen firsthand. Even the few old guildmates I stay in contact with can't be trusted one-hundred percent, but I imagine they're probably still clean... hopefully."
"If your guild is in such disarray, how will you ever manage the support that I require if I aid you in this matter?"
The accented man scoffed, "Once we solve this mystery and recover the missing clerics, the guild will be back on its feet in no time. We will recall all the guild members from all over Faerun and take back the nation of Calimshan. There's hundreds of us out there, Absalon. Thousands even. You've personally seen what I'm capable of. Imagine a few hundred more ready to fulfill your wishes. A Sembian merchant clan won't last a day under our kind of siege. Unfortunately, my word is all I have to give at this point. I know it sounds foolish in my line of work, but you'll just have to trust me."
Now the other man scoffed, "Hmph. You present an interesting offer, Majib, but I need some time to think on it before I give you an answer."
The accented man replied, "I understand. Don't think too long, though. Every night you spend here, the dagger inches closer to your throat."
The conversation seemed to be concluding and the sounds of footsteps began to approach the door that Shador was pressed against.
Signs of comprehension flash across Shador's face as he listens to the whispered conversation. As the talk draws to a close, Shador scampers up the steps as quietly as he can and moves to the side so that he would not be seen when the door opens. Drawing his rapier from its soft sheath, he waits until he hears footsteps beginning to ascend the steps from below before stepping boldly out to face those leaving the room below...
"Conspirators would do well to talk more quietly, would you not agree Majib? You and your northern friend had best come up, for we have much to discuss. Do nothing foolish and no blood will be spilled. In fact, we may all come to an mutually beneficial arrangement." His voice was quiet and filled with the practiced calm one develops living on the streets. His Chondathan marked him as a native speaker and a stranger in Calimport. At least, Shador hoped it did.
Majib's jaw dropped open at the sight of the dwarf at the top of the stairwell. He cast a quick glance to the man on his right and then focused his gaze back to Shador.
"Shador! By the gods, you're alive! I-" the Calishite stammered a bit, looking for something to say as he raised his hands in compliance, beginning to ascend the stairs as instructed. "I had no time to send word to you. The Djinn was stolen out from under our noses only a few nights ago. That traitorous witch Kaja..."
The Calishite man's face twisted in disgust at the mention of the woman's name before he shook his head. "I am deeply sorry for any trouble you may have encountered, my friend. It is good to see you well, though, and perhaps a sign that all hope is not lost. Shador, this is Absalon, a swordsman from up north recently come to seek aid for a... personal matter of his. Absalon, this is Shador, an accomplished associate of our guild from Waterdeep." Majib's smile was wide with excitement as he spoke, perhaps far too wide for a man at sword-point.
In a glinting flash Absalom's rapier was in his hand. The lean Sembian remained tensed, a snake coiled to strike. He stood there, inwardly cursing his disadvantage as he fixed the Dwarf with a cold, dark stare.
Nothing of the diminutive devil recalled his previous assailants, but he found little comfort in that. 'Not a Calishite by his tongue,' thought Absalon playing and replaying every possible line of attack, every parry and thrust that was possible from his position on the stairwell. While it didn't make sense that Majib would save his life one night, and take it the next - he obviously he had more in common with this dwarf than he did with him.
Not liking any of his options Absalon kept his eyes fixed on the stealthy prowler. He then permitted himself a sly smile, "and another player joins the stage with talk of mutually beneficial arrangements...you play your part well, Dwarf, but I've already had my instruction on Calishite betrayal," then without shifting his eyes away.
"Majib - what the hells kind of farce is this? You said this was a safe house, is your associate here a guard dog then?" His crooked smile faded, "Take his leash and have him lower his sword, or he'll learn how little my temper has fallen from last night's crooked business."
Majib glanced nervously between Shador and Absalon. He had the unfortunate position of being situated directly between two rapiers and he raised a hand to each of them.
"Gentlemen, I assure you there is no need for bloodshed! Absalon, this man is no mere guard dog. In fact, I am quite pleasantly surprised to see him alive again. He is, as I said, an associate of mine from Waterdeep. He knows of our meeting places. I do wonder how he knew that we would be here this morning, however..." Majib raises a curious eyebrow to Shador. "Regardless, you may both stay your arms. In dark times like these, we need all the allies we can get."
"Now, let us see how the Nansen looks in daylight".
Torbjorn and Othos continue on from their breakfast to the docks. The morning streets are thick with vendors selling wares that had only recently arrived by boat, consumers fat with coin, and guards on patrol to keep everything civil. As the pair approached the dock where the Nansen had once weighed anchor, they could see the wreckage protruding from the deep blue waters. The entirety of the hull had been blackened by fire and the ship itself had sunk in the harbor, the castle sticking a few dozen feet above the waterline and the blackened masts reaching high above the tide.
Numerous smaller vessels were in the dock nearby with dozens of dock workers swimming all around the wreckage, attaching tow lines and hooks into what few parts of the hull seemed sturdy enough to bear them. The lines ran out to several of the smaller ships and it seemed clear that they meant to tow the wreckage of the Nansen out of the dock so that other ships might use the space. Several onlookers witnessed the event with curiosity and a pair of guards were present on the dock to oversee the operation.
"Gentlemen, I assure you there is no need for bloodshed! ... "
"I hope your wit is as sharp as you claim your blade to be, Northerner. If you apply it, you will see that if I desired, neither of you would have left the chamber below alive. The very fact you are standing here before me should be proof enough of my intentions." Shador lowered his blade slightly, making a point to drop the tip toward the floor in a sign of parlay common among those that live on the street. "Majib, we have much to discuss and it would seem the three of us have the same purpose, at least for now. Can we return below and talk, though more quietly this time?" The dwarf stood atop the stairs, waiting for his answer, balanced on the balls of his feet in case the dangerous swordsman tried anything rash.
Majib smirked at the dwarf, nodding slightly. "Yes, we have time to speak I think. But not too long. The more time we spend here the more likely we will be discovered. Come."
The Calishite motioned to the two to follow him back into the cellar, opening the door and stepping inside. The cellar itself was remarkably nondescript, containing nothing more than a stone floor and walls that had cracked with age. It was cool and dark within, but Majib made his way over to a small oil lantern that rested in a corner and lit it, illuminating the entirety of the small place.
"Good enough," said Absalon. Allowing the tip of his own blade to drop. True enough, there were any number of ways the dwarf may have killed one or both of them.
He scrutinizes Shador for another moment, and then returns his sword to its sheath with a small flourish. "Let's talk, then." He retreats with Majib into the cellar, and once the lantern is lit, "Why don't we begin with how you happened so readily upon us this morning. Perhaps you can tell us where the disciples of the Shadowlord have taken to."
"Why don't we begin with how you happened so readily upon us this morning. Perhaps you can tell us where the disciples of the Shadowlord have taken to."
Shador sheathed his blade and followed the pair back into the cellar of the abandoned store and closed the door. Seeing that Majib and Absalon still eyed him suspiciously he stroked his beard and said, "I have no idea where our brethren may be found, though that is the purpose of my returning here today; I hoped to find a clue here or perhaps even find you, Majib. It was a broken meeting with you that resulted in my troubles at the Djinn, after all." He let his eyes linger on Majib a moment, gaging Majib's reaction to what he said. The dwarf's eyes moved to Absalon and he added, "As for finding you so readily, I put that down to simple reasoning. It is unlikely, Majib, that you would be in the brothel; it is too well guarded and I very much doubt you would return to the temple itself given the situation. Thus you would likely be here. Now, tell me what you know of Kaja and Morn, and whatever else you may about the breakup of the guild, and do so quickly, lest our enemies use the same reasoning I did to trap us all in here."
Majib smiled slightly and nodded at Shador's statements. "You always were a clever one, Shador. I'm glad you appear to be on our side for now. Now, you say that both Kaja and Morn were at the Djinn? I was unaware that the knife peddler had anything to do with this whole mess. Kaja, however, is certainly known to me. All too well..."
Majib scowls as he likely remembers some detail of her treachery and continues to speak. "The royal family and the merchants' guild have some alliance here in Calimport. They have slowly but surely been recruiting our own people in the war against us. With the recent economic boom, the combined financial strength of those two parties is undeniable. It started small, bribing a few couriers and two-bit thugs into revealing a few names. Then the bribes went out to those names. A few of them took it and revealed even more of our clandestine family. The few who didn't either disappeared or died in the most horrible ways." Majib visibly shuddered at the thought. "The bribes and assassinations moved up the ladder. Thousands, perhaps even millions of gold pieces must've changed hands during those days. They seemed to be targetting the clergy first. Many of the clerics were too strong-willed to be bought, though. That's when the war began. Our own people turned against us for a few gold pieces. During a sermon in the temple of Mask, an insider in the front row moved forward and assassinated the high priest before anyone knew what happened. Then, the other traitors stood up and attacked the rest of the congregation. It was terrible... but it didn't stop there."
Majib wet his lips before continuing, giving the information just a moment to settle in. "It spiralled out of control from that point. No one knew who the traitors were. Everyone was suspicious of everyone else. Clerics started going into hiding. Many of them were killed, and not just the clerics of Mask. Several from the church of Shar were slain as well, and at least one cult of Cyric was annihilated to a man, though admittedly we were unaware of their presence until after the deed was done. Now the underworld finds itself in a vacuum of faith. There are no more temples to give us shelter. No more clerics to tend our wounds. The twilight is upon us and, unless we can discover who is masterminding this entire affair and put an end to them, I fear the days of the Shadow Thieves of Calimshan will come to an end. With us out of the picture, there would be nothing stopping this alliance from spreading to the rest of the Sword Coast."
Majib hung his head dejectedly, shaking it slightly as the gravity of his situation was once again upon him. "Even with the traitors giving out the names of our guildmates, many of those who died were powerful assassins and warriors. People who had survived far more than a few simple treacheries. There is some powerful force backing these traitors. I suspect that this force may also be behind the addition of sorcerers to the town guards, making all of our lives more difficult."
"Now, you had asked about Kaja's involvement in all this. She, as you may know, was nothing more than a low-ranking assassin who happened to possess a few special tricks learned from her time in Kara-Tur. She told the enemy about the Djinn. From that point, it seems that they paid a large sum of money to the Djinn's proprietor, Ji, in exchange for a promise to keep them abreast of any further Shadow Thief developments that happened there. Fearing retaliation, Ji hired Kaja as a bodyguard to protect him from us and thus her treason came full circle. This took place very recently and, again, I am sorry that I could not warn you ahead of time. This is all I know at this time, but the involvement of Morn is very puzzling to me. It would seem that a blade merchant would suffer from a dimunition of thieves and it makes no sense why he would want us gone. He was not a member of the guild itself, merely someone we sought out to fulfill certain needs. This is very strange indeed."
Majib scratched his stubbled chin in thought, then shrugged slightly and waited for a response from the other two.
Absalon leaned a shoulder against a damp wall, resting his hand on the braided hilt of his rapier. He listened to Shador's response, judging the meticulous dwarf's words, and his astute appraisal of their peril. ‘Yes, this one is a professional. One no doubt that would be an asset in the long run - provided his current allegiance was not a ruse.’
His brow rose at the first mention of the names, Kaja and Morn. ‘Every question spawns more puzzles,’ he thought. ‘Gods, what I would not give to be a simple blade’s length from the cowards behind all this.’
Then as Majib spoke, Absalon tilted his face towards him, listening with mounting dread to the sullen Calishite’s tale.
“Hells! This alliance between the royal family and the merchant’s guild is damn shrewd,” said Absalon with a clear tone of admiration. “Sembia’s merchant-princes play at nobility, but never to such devastating effect,” Absalon pushed himself away from the wall and flexed his fingers together. His eyes cast a blind gaze at the floor as his words chased his thoughts.
“Who benefits,” he looked up at last. “That’s what I find myself asking. This was a narrow attack meant to cut out the desperate middle of Calimport's shadow wealth. I’ll wager there’s one hand behind all this. It wouldn’t surprise me if some rival cult was involved. One with recently acquired sway in the merchant’s guild, the royal family or both.”
"How much do we know about the heads of the guild?" Absalon asked turning to Majib.