Hey folks,
I am presently running my tabletop group through the first adventure of the Shackled City adventure path and, based on the interest received when I did the same for the Age of Worms AP, I figured I would post it here. It's going up on my website at http://fcneko.deviantart.com, complete with additional bits (like a Prologue depicting Adimarchus and the source of his insanity), so if you want, you can read it there.
Otherwise, following this is the first LONG sequence (written over the process of about two weeks).
Hope you enjoy and if you like, feel free to comment!
One
Life’s Bazaar
It had been a long evening at the Tipped Tankard. Lauryl was feeling the beginnings of the ale and wine she had drunk throughout the evening. It was a necessity, she told herself. Tenor and Ielenia’s flirtatious bickering required ample amounts of ale or wine simply to put up with at times. As it was, the two were presently singing a song about dragons and maidens and whether virgins tasted better or not. Off-key. Badly.
Never mind that it was raining hard enough to have small rivulets running through the cobbled streets, or that the blackness of the night sky was like a lid on the bowl-shape that was Cauldron. The black stone buildings, only the occasional lit lantern shining through a window, and the ever-so-rare lamp of a street light on a corner made the cool evening a miserable trek across the city, back to their accommodations at the Golden Griffon. She had forgotten to bring a cloak, and the wet was slowly burning its way through the pleasant, warm feeling the combination of drinks had finally managed to provide. She was about to ask them to stop their butchery of an otherwise good song when they each, quiet clearly, heard a muffled cry for help in a nearby alley, followed by the crash of a crate tipped over.
Without stopping to think, Tenor, being the youthful knight fresh from training that he was, shot straight into the alleyway, holy symbol of Heieroneous jangling as he ran. Ielenia, all trace of drunken stupor gone, unslung the leather-wrapped bow she habitually wore over one shoulder and nocked it with an expertise that belied the drink she’d imbibed throughout the evening. Before Lauryl could react, they were into the alleyway entrance, and a fight had erupted.
“Back off!” she heard as she reached the edge of the building edging the passage. It was dark, dank and sounded of echoing rain falling from drain spouts all about, the sharp decline of the alley toward the center of the city making footing treacherous. Ground water reflected what little light there was from the city in an inconsistent sheen. Lauryl’s elven eyes picked out figures midway down the passage; two men beating a fallen third. Another figure was visible in the mass of crates and barrels that lined the alley, a short sword out and pointing at Tenor’s midriff.
For his part, Tenor reacted as he had been taught. A threat was perceived, a man was down and being beaten. Clearly, the weak needed tending to. Grabbing the first thing that came to mind, he tossed a crate at the fellow with the sword, following it up with a crushing right hook that sent the fellow crashing against the wall. When he recovered, the other two who had been accosting the third on the ground had backed away, drawn blades ready. At the sudden silvery light erupting in the middle of the passage from seemingly nowhere (Lauryl’s whispered prayers answered at last), the three men bolted.
“Well then,” said Tenor, turning to the fallen fellow and offering a hand, “It would seem you are in need this eve, good sir.”
“He is safe because WE deem it so,” a feminine voice called from above. Looking up, the trio was favored with a shadowy shape against the dark clouds beyond, only partially lit by Lauryl’s moon-like radiance. “Take this back to your temple, priest,” she spat. “The children are gone and best you cease your meddling, lest you find yourself in worse condition next time!”
She disappeared a moment later, as if she’d never been.
“Och,” said a blustery voice from further down the alley, “Lasses on rooftops, fights in alleys, and glowing nothin’s floatin’ about! I knew I needed ta come listen at this place!” Standing at the base of the alley, war axe in hand, stood a stout dwarf, horned cap and furred cloak making his shape seem almost barrel-like in the half-light.
Lauryl spun about as another individual stepped into the light near her and smiled, nodding and then sweeping into a bow. “Herodotus Forgeborn, Milady,” he said, straightening and setting his cap back on his head. The holy symbol of Boccob the Uncaring rattled on his chest as he straightened. Noticing Tenor nursing a growing bruise on his head, he swept easily to the young knights side, whispered a few words, and then tapped the growing bruise.
Before Tenor could mutter a complaint, the bruise faded and he was left staring at the fellow. “Eh… Hello?” he said by way of greeting.
Herodotus smiled and offered another bow.
“Wonderful,” snapped Ielenia. “Somebody throw a party and not tell us?”
“That…” said the fellow on the ground, “would be me, I believe.” Finally accepting Tenor’s hand, he stood and straightened his robes, smeared with refuse and wet with runoff. The sigh he offered a moment later when Herodotus whispered another blessing and touched him spoke volumes and he carried himself ever so slightly more upright.
“Where’s Davik?” asked Ielenia. “He was here a moment ago?”
“He was?” asked Tenor, looking around.
“I’m here,” said a quiet voice from the shadows. With a glare at the glowing silvery luminescence, a gnome in a black cloak stepped into view before disappearing once more into the darkness.
“I hate when he does that,” Tenor muttered. “I didn’t even know he was with us.”
“Let the man talk,” suggested Lauryl, not unkindly. “Who are you, sir?”
“My name is Rufus Laro,” said the young priest, eyeing the troupe gathering around. “Priest of St. Cuthbert.”
“Lot of priests out,” said the dwarf. Stomping up the inclined alleyway, he offered a hand to Tenor. “Ivan Hammerfist of the Hammerfist Clan.”
“Tenor of Heieroneous. Let the man speak.” Tenor smirked at Lauryl and turned back to Rufus. “And what were you doing in an alley at night, alone?”
“I was returning from the Temple Street Orphanage, actually,” said Rufus. Whispering a soft blessing of his own, he healed the last of his bruises and bumps and then shook off a bit of the muck from his robes. “The temple has taken an active role in the disappearances of late.”
“Ah, it’s about time one of the temples took interest,” offered Herodotus.
“So says the priest of the Uncaring One?” Ielenia asked.
“The Uncaring One has no temple to take interest, young waif,” the priest replied, turning and grinning at her. “One man alone doth not a temple make.”
“One man can make all the difference in the world,” Tenor replied. “Are we going to let him talk?”
“I thought we were?” said Ivan.
“Shush,” said Ielenia.
Rufus grinned. “You seem a capable lot. I thank you for rescuing me. I know not what they had planned for me, but when they neglected to demand my purse, I felt it had to be more than just a simple robbery.”
“Did they say anything?” asked Lauryl quietly.
“They did. They told me to stay away from the Orphanage, just as that last one seemed to suggest. I think they may have something to do with it.”
“What would a bunch of thieves have to do with an orphanage?” asked Davik softly.
“A good question. One I would like to ask the acting head priestess of my order. Will you do me the favor of escorting me back? I am afraid that I have learned my lesson not to go about alone at night in the rain.” Rufus smiled faintly.
“We would be pleased to,” said Tenor. He looked about at the others curiously. When they each agreed, he nodded approvingly.
Ielenia rolled her eyes. “But what were you doing at the orphanage to begin with?” she asked.
“I spent the day there trying to calm the fears of the children.”
“What about the children?” asked Herodotus. “Is there something wrong?”
“Four children disappeared from there three days ago,” Rufus answered quietly. “From locked rooms with barred windows. I was trying to calm their fears. I neglected to beware of my own, I suppose.”
“Do not worry. There is strength in numbers, friend,” Ivan rumbled, gripping his axe.
“You might want to put that away,” Ielenia said playfully. “Might hurt yourself.”
“I’ll hurt ya if you suggest that again, lass,” Ivan grumbled. Still, he slung it over his shoulder. “Never can tell,” he added, looking up and down the street as they emerged. “Guards in this town are awful picky about how ye store yer blade.”
“There shouldn’t be a need for them again, I hope,” Rufus said. “If you will follow me, Priestess Urikas will likely wish to speak with you.”
---
The temple of St. Cuthbert was a massive white marble affair, two armored figures done in matching marble to either side of the front entrance, massive maces held high. The words “In Law Lies Hope” had been carved into the architrave. Inside, the echoing main hall was bustling even this late at night, acolytes going about the daily work of cleaning the temple and polishing its walls and floors now that the public had gone home. Candles and lanterns glowed throughout the large space, lending the otherwise stark chamber a hint of homely comfort. Once they had been let in at Rufus’ request, blankets and warm tea had been offered, and the troupe moved to a small sitting room to one side of the temple itself.
“Alright, so who are you folks and why did you butt in on what we were doing? I already had things well in hand.” Tenor was seated in a comfortable chair facing a large fire, warming his hands. His tea sat steaming next to him on a small end table. Ranged around the room stood the rest of the troupe, excepting Ielenia. The youthful elf had taken up residence in the other chair, seated across the seat, her legs dangling off one arm while she leaned half against the other and into the seatback. Her long blonde hair was bunched behind her head, giving her a golden halo that caught the firelight and reflected it back. Her calf-length boots left a length of thigh visible up to the bottom of her bodysuit beneath the bizarre floor-length leather jacket she wore and he found his eyes continually wandering in her direction.
“I heard a scuffle and came to investigate,” Herodotus replied, shrugging. “Would-be knights are not the only ones with a kind heart, you know?”
“I thought Boccob didn’t care what happens in the world,” opined Ielenia.
“If he truly did not care, what would be the purpose in worshiping him?” Herodotus answered, grinning. He saluted her with his tea. “All things happen for a reason. Including your and my encounter this evening.”
“And does he explain mine, then?” asked Ivan. The dwarf had taken up residence near one side of the fireplace, his thick hands held out toward the flames now that his oversized gloves had been removed. “Feel like I’ll never dry out,” he mumbled.
“One never knows the workings of the most sublime master of magic,” Herodotus answered, grinning mysteriously.
“Fine. Don’t answer the question,” said the dwarf.
“I thought you went off to find some overly wealthy merchant to steal from,” Tenor asked. For a moment, Lauryl wasn’t certain who he was speaking to, and then Davik spoke.
“I changed my mind. The wealthy of this town are inevitably linked with the nobles. Nobles have access to magic that can find me.” The gnome was standing near one corner of the room, all but invisible save for his faintly bulbous nose poking out from his hood.
Ielenia gasped. “Even you can’t hide from magic? I thought you were the master of shadows!”
“Just because you can’t find me doesn’t mean no one can find me,” the gnome replied softly. “Even I cannot avoid magic.”
“He has a point,” offered Herodotus.
“You haven’t answered my question,” said Tenor. “What were you doing out there?”
“I thought I told you,” said Herodotus. “Someone was being assaulted. It was only proper to offer assistance if it was possible.”
“Alright,” Tenor said thoughtfully. He massaged the growth of dark beard just beginning to grow in around his jawline. He thought it made him look more masculine. Ielenia just liked to tease him about it. “And you?” he asked the dwarf pointedly.
“I don’t answer to you, boy,” Ivan replied huffily. “Yer jes’ old enough to be put over me leg an’ paddled fer bein’ inconsiderate to yer elders!”
“I certainly hope that is not necessary.” A middle-aged woman walked into the room with Rufus at her side. Her smile was pleasant, and the premature gray in her hair gave her a sense of gravity that belied the youthful eyes and friendly smile. “Rufus has told me all about your efforts this evening. I should hope not to see a troupe of heroes such as yourselves trying to… well… let us just say that I should hope you would all wish to work together, as you apparently did with Rufus earlier.”
“That’s questionable,” muttered Ielenia. “It was taken care of by the time they arrived…”
“In any case, you have Rufus’ as well as my own thanks. I am Jenya Urikas, acting high priestess of the temple of St. Cuthbert, here in Cauldron.” She touched the silver holy symbol at her neck, the rubies at the points in the stylized cross glittering in the firelight.
“Acting high priestess?” Herodotus asked quietly.
“Indeed,” the priestess responded, nodding. “Our high priest has recently left for Sasserine on a mission vital to the church. In his absence, I have been tasked to act in his stead. As such, I am grateful to you for your bravery, earlier this evening. Had it not been for you, Rufus might not be standing here.” At her side, the youthful acolyte smiled sheepishly.
“It was our duty to help a man in need,” spoke Tenor.
“Speak for yourself,” Ielenia replied, grinning. “I was just curious.”
“Either way,” Jenya answered, “You have our thanks, and if you are willing, I would like to ask of you a boon…”
“You have but to ask,” Tenor offered.
“As Rufus may have explained to you, there has been a rash of disappearances over the past three months. People are disappearing from locked homes in the middle of the night. Nothing stolen, no violence taking place. Just… vanished. It has caused quite the stir in Cauldron of late, but the City Guard were investigating and it seemed just another thing to deal with. And then, four children went missing from the Lantern Street Orphanage. Since several of our acolytes were raised there before joining the holy orders of St. Cuthbert, we take some interest in the happenings there. Who knows what could be done with children, but none of it is something I wish to sleep at night worrying about. Thus, I sent Rufus.”
Jenya moved to a nearby cabinet, where a large crystal bottle held a supply of brandy. Offering it to the party, she poured into snifters before offering a silent toast and sipping. She began pacing again while the others enjoyed the drink in silence. “As you have seen, Rufus did not return safely, and while his efforts were likely helpful to the children, I would rather not see the acolytes of this temple harmed in the pursuit of their duties. Since you seem a capable band, I was hoping to engage you in a bit of… service…”
Tenor began to bow but was stopped by a hand on the back of his collar. When he looked back to see what had taken place, he looked into Lauryl’s glittering eyes, and the grin she offered. A moment later, she shook her head to ask him to wait, at least until they had heard what it was the priestess was asking. With a sigh, he subsided.
The priestess took note and smiled privately before continuing to talk. “Four children were taken from within two different rooms. Two boys. Two girls. The doors to each dormitory are locked at night, and the headmistress has the only key. There are bars on all of the windows, and none of the children report seeing or hearing anything the night the other children were abducted.”
She took a moment to watch the thought processes working through the gathered would-be heroes and then took a sip of her brandy. With a moment to let it slip down her throat, she continued. “Fearing the worst and knowing that the city guard have been unable to accomplish anything regarding capture or even identification of the kidnappers, I took to the only recourse I could think of. The temple is home to an artifact – the Star of Justice. A holy weapon once used by one of St. Cuthbert’s most ardent followers, it offers those who are properly beholden to the saint, the ability to ask of Him a question, which he will almost inevitably answer.”
Reaching into her robes, she produced a slip of parchment, upon which she had written a short passage. “This is what I learned. It says, ‘The locks are key to finding them. Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron. Beware the doors with teeth. Look within the malachite hold, where precious life is bought and sold. Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long.’”
Offering the parchment to Tenor, she began pacing slowly. “I have reason to think that the first part mentions something about the locks, given that the orphanage is equipped with locks of rather high quality. More than that, I am afraid, I cannot say.”
She stopped, her back to the fire, the party spread out before her. “If you are willing to accept this duty I am about to offer, you will have the thanks not only of the temple of St. Cuthbert, but the people of Cauldron itself. I ask only that you investigate this clue, and if possible, return the missing children to me.”
“Of course,” Tenor spoke without thinking. “No reward is necessary!”
“Speak for yourself,” Ielenia and Davik spoke nearly simultaneously. Around the room were a chorus of interested agreement.
Jenya smirked. “I thought as much.” Turning, she nodded at Rufus, who went to a cabinet nearby and produced a coffer, which he offered to the priestess. Producing a small key, she unlocked the coffer, opening it to reveal a number of small glass vials, wrapped about with a pewter icon of St. Cuthbert’s encircled cross. “Each of these is enchanted to heal considerable injury, but only once. I offer one of these to each of you, in return for accepting this request.”
”Done,” Ivan said. Stepping forth, he held his hand out and waited while the priestess laid the vial in his hand. “Aid for those who aid your charges. Done and done again,” he proclaimed.
“I accept,” Herodotus spoke next. He too, took the vial when offered, slipping it into a pouch on his belt.
“You know I will…” Tenor began. He fell silent at Lauryl’s humorous glance and accepted the vial, examining the pewter before slipping it safely into a safe place. Moments later, Ielenia, Lauryl and Davik had each accepted their own potion.
“Then it is done. I entrust upon you that you will return the missing children, or at least word of their location before this is over. If you can stop the disappearances in the process, then so much the better. Saint Cuthbert’s blessing upon all of you.” She raised her glass in a toast, echoing the call for cheers and drinking the rest of her brandy in a gulp. “Rufus will see to it that each of you is seen safely to your abodes for the night. I look forward to hearing from you when you have found something. For now, however, I have a temple to attend to. If you will forgive me…”
Bowing, the priestess left the room with Rufus, leaving the party to speak among themselves.
“Tomorrow at dawn, then,” Tenor said firmly.
“Dawn? Give me at least nine bells!” Ielenia whined.
“I told you that you were drinking too much,” the paladin replied, grinning.
“I was not!” came the reply, followed by a yawn. “It’s just getting late is all.”
“I thought elves didn’t sleep,” asked Herodotus.
“Don’t ask,” Lauryl quipped. “She’s awfully lazy for an elf.”
Ielenia’s response was a raspberry that caused the newly formed troupe to laugh.
“Nine bells, then,” Ivan confirmed. “Meet at the orphanage. I’m goin’ home!”
“Until tomorrow, then…” said Lauryl.
Her bed felt somehow less secure that night, the tree outside her bedroom window rattling about kept drawing her back to this world, wondering if that rattle was the sound of a tree branch, or a kidnapper in the night…
---
Lauryl awoke from her Reverie and stretched, enjoying the peace of her room for a moment before moving. Unclothed (or ‘skyclad’ as she liked to refer to it), she stood and walked to open the heavy curtains that hung across the doors that opened onto the balcony. Morning light poured in, greeting glacial blue eyes that crinkled in a smile before they turned away and found a place in the center of her room where she could perform her morning ritual. A short dance followed, the whispered words of her daily prayer spoken to the glowing air. An urgent request followed upon completion; a request that Eilistraee continue to bless her priestess as she had in the past while she went about trying to find the children the priestess had spoken of. Finally, finished with her morning ritual, she washed off and toweled dry.
Then, for reasons she had never been able to explain to anyone, she moved to the floor-length mirror as she had whenever one was available, and stood there, staring at herself. It was as if she needed to see herself as she truly was, unclothed, unhidden, brazen in her white hair and dusk-gray skin. People were quite often frightened of her, seeing in her only the reminder of those ebon-skinned, white haired villains they heard of in their nightmarish tales of hatred and racial enmity. The very word “Drow” brought forth images of hate-filled glowing red eyes, savage butchery, and fear of the dark.
But Lauryl was not a Drow. “Half-Elf” was the derogatory term for an individual born of a Human and Elven union, neither fully Human, nor fully Elven. Thus, they were perpetually caught on the fringes of both societies, accepted in neither, appreciated nowhere. But she was not “Half-Human” as snarky elves frequently called such individuals. She was fully Elf. Only, her father was of the surface world, and her mother was Drow. Lauryl had the blue eyes of a surface Elf, but the white hair of a Drow. In place of the charcoal dark skin of her mother’s race, she had the ash gray of an early night, a true mix of her father’s pale skin and her mother’s night dark flesh.
Caught up as always in the image that was reflected before her, she recalled the faces of her parents to mind, smiling immediately at the warmth and love that had emanated from their eyes the day she had left them to find her own way. “Go with the blessings of the Seldarine,” her father had urged her. “Go with Eilistraee’s guidance to light your path,” her mother had said.
Many years before, such words would have brought spite and hatred to that beautiful face. Her mother had been a victim of her own upbringing – a lesser priestess of Lloth in a family that served the Spider Queen. She had been sent to the surface on a slave-hunting raid, to test her mettle.
She had failed. During a surprise skirmish, she had been knocked unconscious and was then slowly… ever so carefully… brought around from the twisted hatred of the Drow of the Underdark, to the care and love of those Elves who live in the light. Her conversion to Eilistraee had been powerful, effective, and immediate. Within a fortnight, her daughter was conceived. Many of Lauryl’s father’s family felt that Lauryl was a blessing, destined for great things. Lauryl’s mother felt only that she was the consummation of her conversion, a living breathing proof that the Drow and the Elves of the surface could live in harmony, if they only tried.
Lauryl had set forth to help spread that word. By the silvery moonlight of Eilistraee, she had traveled far and wide, eventually finding her way to Cauldron, where she had fallen in with Tenor and Ielenia. From there, the story had yet to be fully told…
Turning away from the mirror at last, she slipped into the clothing and armor she habitually wore while out in the World Above (as her mother had called it). With a last glance at the peacefulness of her room, she slid her hand-and-a-half sword into its shoulder hilt and headed out once more.
Downstairs, the half-elven tavernkeep started as he had since they’d first met, still somewhat uncertain as to how to go about dealing with a daughter of his elven parent’s racial enemy. With a reassuring smile, Lauryl hoped to remind him of her first conversation with him – that not all Drow are evil, and that there can be a meeting of the minds, but only if both sides are willing to come down from their millennia-enforced hatred of one another. Nodding and swallowing, he proved to have remembered her plea and asked if she wanted breakfast.
With a nod and another friendly smile, she turned and scanned the room for her companions, finding them in a sunny nook on the street side of the tavern room. Tenor was halfway through a trencher of ham and eggs, a large chunk of bread being taken apart bit by bit as he used it to sop up the gravy. Across from him, Ielenia ate sparingly, as always, a sprig of grapes, a slice of cheese, and a slender hamsteak being all she needed to function for most of the day. The morning sun dappled through the thick glass wall facing the road, and the elven girl’s laughter rang lightly. As Lauryl approached, Ielenia threw a grape at her friend, her laughter rising in pitch as it bounced off his temple and fell onto his eggs. Nearby, Davik sat eating his own small repast, sitting at a separate table so as not to get caught up in the ‘waste of time’ that was breakfast when the other two were at the same table.
“Slept well, I take?” Lauryl asked, approaching the table and smirking at the trio.
“Well enough,” Davik answered, not looking up from his plate.
“I dreamt of shiny knights and dark alleys,” replied Ielenia.
“That was last night, you twit,” replied Tenor, plucking the grape from his eggs and setting it to one side. Smirking, he dodged another grape and then caught a third in his open mouth when she did not stop.
“Try not to make a mess?” Lauryl asked, exasperated. The innkeep followed, a plate of breakfast held in one hand, a pitcher of warm milk in the other. He set it down on the table with Davik and then returned to his place behind the counter.
“She started it,” Tenor said, grinning. He popped the last piece of bread into his mouth and then sat back, crossing his arms behind his head. Ielenia tossed a piece of egg at him, giggling as it stuck on his breastplate. He wiped it off irritably.
“Uh oh,” Ielenia said, filled with mock horror. “I’m in trouble now!”
“You should not defile the symbols of our gods, regardless of who they are.” Tenor’s voice took on the scolding tone the others knew well. “Respect should be given to those who act in their stead!”
“Respect needs to be EARNED, big boy,” Ielenia replied, shrugging. “Just because you graduated from some high and mighty knightly order and spent the night praying not to fall asleep on your sword…”
“I spent the night meditating on the mysteries of Heieroneous!” Tenor shot back. “If you fall asleep, you fail the test!”
Ielenia shrugged again and Lauryl sat down and turned away, hunching over her food and praying that no one came in and saw them sitting close enough together to be thought of as a group.
“Okay, so you swing a sword, sleep on the hilt one night, read a bunch of boring treatises on some puffed up god of chivalry…” Ielenia was on a roll now. Her smile was insouciant, her words heavy with sarcasm.
Tenor was turning red. “That is blasphemy!” he said, barely controlling himself. “Ielenia, just because you are a friend does not mean you can simply go about disrespecting Heieroneous! Are you crazed to think you can insult the gods and go unpunished?!”
“Oh? And what are you going to do about it? Turn me in?”
“I have half a mind to do so!”
“You have half a mind,” retorted the elf. “That’s why they let you in!” She giggled.
“Enough already,” said Lauryl, turning and glaring at Ielenia. “Tenor, she is pulling your leg and playing at your expense. She does not mean any of it. Do you?” The last was directed at Ielenia, who turned and offered a raspberry in response.
“You take away all my fun.”
“When your idea of fun has your best friend fuming and ready to strike you…” Lauryl paused and nodded meaningfully at Tenor, who was glaring dangerously at her.
The young elf eyed him for a moment and then relented. “Oh, stop! I don’t mean any of that! What are you thinking? That I’m crazy enough to actually MEAN that sort of thing?”
Tenor’s expression relaxed and then became perplexed.
“I’m sorry. Okay? You stayed up all night praying to your god and I’m proud of you. Now stop. I’m PROUD of you.”
Tenor’s scowl turned into a faint grin and he nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome,” the elf replied equally quietly.
“Thank you,” Davik said, meaning it.
“No problem. Perhaps we can eat in peace now.” Lauryl turned back to her food.
Behind her, Ielenia threw a piece of bread at Tenor. Both smirked.
--
The orphanage rang with the sounds of children playing, echoing from the walled enclosure that wrapped an open courtyard and separated the building from the street. Lauryl, Tenor, Ielenia and the others met at the predetermined time, greeting one another as if for the first time now that the sun was up and they were not in unusual circumstances. Unlike the night before, when their attention had been diverted elsewhere, the heroes were able to actually examine one another.
For his part, Davik was hunched into his dark cloak, glaring at anyone who came down to his level, daring them to say something about his near pathological dislike of being out in the open. A history of eons of time spent underground was hard to overcome, and Davik, while different from the majority of his forebears, was still distinctly uncomfortable when under bright light, particularly the open sun. Cauldron’s bowl-like shape seemed to focus the light into its depths, the flecks of mica and malachite in the black stone the city had been built out of seeming to glitter brightly, blinding his sensitive eyes. Still, he was prepared to do what needed to be done, and his friendship with the two elven women and the human warrior had been steadfast and solid, ever since they had come to his defense against a drunken half-orc several years before.
Herodotus had dressed lightly for the day, a long jacket over woolen trousers, with knee-high boots to protect his clothing against the filth that had been washed into the streets the night before completing his outfit. The symbol of his god done in metal shown from his chest, and he bore no weapons. His smile seemed sufficient, and his outgoing welcome of the others when they approached drew smiles and nods. He was, if anything it appeared, a morning person.
Ivan was dressed as they had seen the night before. Horned helmet, furred cloak and banded armor covered his stout form, his war axe securely bound against the pack on his back, but still within reach. He had plaited his mustache into his beard this morning, and the effect was almost of a dandy, excepting the thick profusion of dark hair all about his head where not jammed into his helm. His armor and axe gleamed, freshly oiled in the morning sun. He was still eating a massive turkey leg when he appeared, wiping his hands on a fabric apron hanging from his kit belt.
Assembled, the troupe re-introduced themselves and then stepped back to watch Tenor knock on the door. After a delay, in which the shouting of the children momentarily lapsed and the chanting sounds of children counting could be heard from the open windows upstairs, a slide flew back at waist level and a Halfling madam looked out.
“What do you want?” she asked simply.
“We come on behalf of the Temple of St. Cuthbert,” said Tenor.
“What proof do you offer? You are not the first to come visiting.”
Herodotus drew forth the potion bottle Sister Urikas had offered the night before, presenting it at the level of the opening in the door. “We were given these,” he said quietly.
The eyes in the doorway widened and withdrew, the slide closing. A moment later, a slide bolt was shot and the door swung open, revealing a Halfling lady in her later years, care lines worn into her face. “I apologize for my abruptness,” she said, gesturing for the troupe to enter. “The city guard and representatives of the Lord Governor have come to visit lately and I do not wish to intrude upon the children any further if I can avoid it. Still, Sister Urikas did say she would send help. Is Brother Rufus well?”
“Well enough,” said Ivan, stepping inside and looking about. “Bit of a bruise on ‘is ‘ead.”
“What happened?”
“He was attacked on his way back to the temple,” Tenor replied. “Apparently, the thieves’ guild of Cauldron is involved in some way.”
“Or they were paid to cause a distraction,” offered Davik thoughtfully. The gnome was appraising the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary – locks, in particular.
“Or that,” Tenor nodded. “Either way, he is in good condition now, but we have been sent by Sister Urikas to investigate on the temple’s behalf. I hope you do not mind?”
“Of course not. Though the activities have been distracting for the children. We were quite thankful for Brother Rufus’ efforts yesterday. I am sorry to hear that he was not able to return safely from his work.”
“Would you mind if we asked a few questions?” inquired Lauryl softly. “We do not mean to intrude, but there are some clues to the mystery that can only be found here, from what we understand.”
“What clues might those be?”
“’The locks are key to finding the children’,” quoted Herodotus. “From a divination Sister Urikas attempted last night, I believe. We believe it may have something do with the locks here.” He gestured toward the door, where a slide bolt held the door closed.
“Davik here is something of an expert at locks,” offered Ielenia. She was leaning against the wall near the door, watching Davik inspect the sliding bolt.
The headmistress shrugged. “Feel free to look around, but please, do not interrupt the children. I would have them at least try to return to a normal life?”
“And ignore the fact that several of them happened to disappear into thin air one night?” offered Ivan. “I’d think they’d have a reason ta be worried!”
The headmistress sighed. “We are trying to keep them from worrying about such a thing happening again,” she said. “They barely rested the next day and only started sleeping at least somewhat last night. To rouse their fears again would serve no one any good.”
“We will do our best. Davik, if you do not mind, I would like you and Ielenia to go upstairs?” Tenor was eyeing the glass windows that looked out onto the garden area. A young woman sat in a grassed area, playing with babies and the very young wards of the orphanage. In the bushes surrounding the small courtyard, a dwarf pruned the bushes and collected the remainders in a small pouch at his side.
“Of course.” Davik moved toward the stairs and began climbing, several of the others following.
Tenor stayed, watching the main area and taking it in. There was a large room with several tables spread about it, chairs surrounding them. A door on the far side opened into what looked like a simple kitchen, an elderly human working on preparing whatever meal the children ate for breakfast. A half-orc with a patch over one eye mopped the floor. Upstairs, a teacher’s voice could be heard making the children recite their numbers. The recitation cut off abruptly, replaced with shouts as the others appeared at their doorway.
“How many staff work here?” asked Tenor. He nodded, realizing Lauryl had stayed as well.
“Six, counting myself. The cook, the groundskeeper, the nurse, the teacher, and Patch, along with myself.” She nodded at the half-orc at the mention of the patch on his eye, smiling gently. The half-orc looked up and smiled back before going back to work.
“And no one noticed anything unusual before the disappearances?”
“No… Should we have? The orphanage has been here for years, and no one has ever bothered us.” The headmistress eyed the ceiling with a frown, listening to the bedlam breaking out. Children were asking if the people at their door had come to adopt them, what this was, why someone’s hair (likely Ielenia) was so long… She shook her head, smiling faintly.
Tenor grinned as well, humored by the thought of the rambunctious elf rogue getting a taste of her own medicine for once. “You said others had come to visit. Might I ask who?”
“I told you. The city guard, and the Lord Mayor. The Lord Mayor sent a pair of half-elves, who poked about and asked questions without offering anything in return. Are you going to do the same?”
“I hope not,” Tenor answered solemnly. “I have sworn to aid the Temple of St. Cuthbert in this matter and will not rest until the children are found and returned if such is possible.”
The headmistress eyed him for a moment before nodding. “I hope you do,” she said quietly. “Their presence is sorely missed.”
“How many children do you care for here?” asked Lauryl.
“Sixty, before the disappearances. Two from each room upstairs. They are locked at night, you know? The dormitories? Boys in one, girls in the other. It helps to cut down on the shenanigans after hours. The elders take care of the younger ones until we unlock them in the morning. None of the children report hearing or seeing anything, either. I daresay I do not hear how this is possible.”
“Magic,” Lauryl whispered. “There is no other explanation. They were likely invisible and silent through magical means. How they gained access, however, is the question.”
The headmistress looked curious. “Could magic have opened the doors, perhaps?”
“Such is possible, yes,” Lauryl answered thoughtfully. “But such is not a silent procedure. Doors opened thusly tend to explode…”
Tenor’s eyes widened. “I don’t think that is what we are looking at, in that case. The doors are still in good condition?”
The headmistress’ expression mirrored Tenors. “They are in one piece, aye.”
Any conversation they might have had beyond that was cut short by the clanging of a bell from the kitchen, followed moments later by a roar of approval from all around. In the garden, the children who could began rushing toward the door, while upstairs, the sounds of many footsteps thundered across the creaking boards, followed by a cacophony of orphans rattling their way down the stairs and then jostling for space around the tables. Lauryl and Tenor found themselves shoved against the wall, trying not to get in anyone’s way. The others came down shortly after, Davik nodding with a slight smile on his face when Tenor caught his attention.
“Well, we will not distract your students from their meal,” Tenor nearly shouted across at the headmistress. “We apparently have what we came for. I will return with word as soon as we have anything to report!”
The headmistress smiled and made her way across the room to the front door, unlocking it before swinging it open for them. The troupe tumbled out into the brilliant sunshine moments later, happy to get away from the din of clattering wooden spoons, pewter tureens filled with gruel and children speaking at the top of their voice in order to be heard.
When the door swung shut, Herodotus straightened his jacket, looked around the otherwise empty intersection and smirked. “Well, that was entertaining.”
“Yes. I particularly liked how you turned that one boy’s hair purple,” snickered Ielenia. “Did you see their faces?”
“You wanted a distraction,” the youthful priest said, grinning. “Parlor tricks like that keep children pleased for hours.”
“Will he get his own hair color back?” asked Ivan grumpily.
“In about an hour, I believe. It is but a cantrip.”
“Can you teach me how to pull coins from people’s ears?” asked Ielenia.
“Of course.”
“Could we PLEASE pay attention to the reason we are here?” asked Tenor, rolling his eyes. “Davik, did you find anything?”
“The locks are of excellent quality,” the gnome said once the others had turned to wait for his response. “And all bear the mark of the same locksmith. Since there is but one smith with the capability to make those locks in Cauldron…” Davik waggled his eyebrows.
“Who might that be?” asked Tenor.
“Kheygan Ghelve. Proprietor of Kheygan’s Locks over on Obsidian Avenue.”
“Then we go there.”
The gnome smirked. “My thoughts exactly.”
---
Kheygan’s Locks was a small shop attached to a short tower. The sign outside was nicely made and bars could be seen through the thick glass windows. A small bay window displayed the effects of his trade, locks of all sizes and the keys that went to them. A thick black curtain hid the workshop beyond from the street. A bell rang as Tenor, Ielenia and Davik entered. The others stayed outside but nearby, Herodotus just beyond the doorway where he could hear the conversation within. Davik dropped a small wooden dowel in the doorway to keep it from closing. Lauryl and Ivan struck up a conversation nearby, both watching the priest surreptitiously as they did so.
Inside, the place was homey, with a fireplace, two chairs, a red rug of some exotic make and a mahogany counter. A cabinet against the far wall held what looked to be hundreds of keys on small hooks. A florid red curtain separated the front portion of the shop from the workroom in the back. At the sound of the bell, the curtains parted, revealing what, at first glance, looked to be a six foot tall gnome! While properly proportioned from the waist up, his legs were obscenely long. It took a moment to realize that he was standing on stilts, his pants made to hide them while he moved about.
“Welcome,” the fellow said. He offered a smile at Davik and the others, but seemed particularly intrigued by the dark cloaked gnome. “How may I be of assistance?”
“We are in need of locks,” said Tenor.
“Or at least, information about them,” uttered Davik. Behind them both, Ielenia was looking the place over, eyeing the few locks on display and whether or not they matched that on the single door opening into the back of the building.
Kheygan quirked a brow. “What do you require? There are, of course, some trade secrets, but…”
“Specifically, whether or not you made any specific alterations to keys for the Lantern Street Orphanage,” Davik interrupted.
The unusually tall gnome paused a moment, a mix of emotions crossing his face before he answered. “Not that I am aware of…”
Tenor eyed him curiously for a moment. “Are you aware that four children recently went missing from the orphanage?”
Kheygan looked away and then back, his eyes flicking around the room uncertainly. “I… I had heard of that, yes.” More firmly he added, “but I fail to see what that has to do with me?”
“Did you make the keys for the orphanage?” asked Davik.
“I did. And the locks as well. But if you are claiming I had anything to do with this, I…”
“You’ll what?” asked Tenor curiously. “We have not made any claims…”
“Did you make any skeleton keys for those locks?” asked Davik suddenly. “Do you make them as a habit? Do you have any in your shop at this time?”
“Who… who are you? Why are you asking me these things?”
“We were sent by the temple of St. Cuthbert,” said Tenor. Casually, he set the vial Sister Urikas gave him on the counter.
“You have the symbol of Heieroneous on your chest,” Kheygan said, nodding at Tenor’s holy symbol. “I know they are allies, but why would you be working for another temple?”
“Quit trying to change the subject,” Davik interjected.
Kheygan paused, breaking out in a sweat. After a moment, he jerked his head toward the curtain behind him, eyes going wide. Ielenia, seeing this, smiled darkly and moved to the front door, opening it before looking outside for her companions.
Meanwhile, Tenor frowned and nodded as well. “Alright then. If you have nothing to do with it, how can you prove that your locks can keep others out?” While he spoke, the others moved into the room, adding to the crowd in Kheygan’s small shop. The gnome backed up into the corner behind his counter, out of the way of anyone wishing to investigate the curtain.
Looking around the room, Herodotus mouthed a question – “What is going on?” Ielenia, halfway around the counter at this point, nodded at the curtain and lifted her rapier, which she had just drawn. In response, the priest leapt onto the counter and then through the curtain. With a loud clatter and the popping of several rings from the support rod, the curtain came down, burying the priest in its voluminous folds. As he did, Davik darted through, using the noise as a distraction, but to no avail.
In short order, the cloaked gnome was dropped upon by a figure hiding above, its rapier slipping through the gnome’s body as easily as a knife through cheese. The impact drove the breath from the stricken rogue’s body, and bedlam broke loose.
“Stop!” cried Tenor, hoping to do this peacefully.
He was ignored. In moments, the workshop was filled with flickering blades, the assailant appearing to be chameleon-like against the walls of the room. With a dart this way and then that, his nimble rapier blooded several of the heroes before they could react. Ielenia joined Davik on the floor but was roused by Herodotus’ healing touch, only to have Ivan stomp on her leg as he charged the creature flickering in and out of view. She cried out in pain as the dwarf shouted, “DOWN wi’ ye, Ugly!”
Moments later, the dwarf’s axe crashed through the creature’s defense, sending the rapier skittering across the floor. Before the being could shout, it was beheaded, it’s eyes glazing as its head separated from its neck and fell to the floor, black blood pouring forth from the horrid wound.
“I HAD hoped to parlay!” Tenor said, stepping through the remains of the curtain and looking around. Kheygan’s workshop was centered around three open chests, which contained the tools and items of his trade. Gears, cogs and a variety of bolts and vises were piled seemingly haphazardly in the collection, a work table and a clicking grandfather clock against the far wall finishing the room. A staircase went along the back wall of the shop to his home upstairs.
“Explain yourself,” Lauryl said, coming around the counter and stepping to the now wide-eyed Kheygan.
“They came out from Jzadirune about three months ago,” the gnome babbled. “There are two kinds. Tall and skinny, like this one, and short and cloven-hoofed. They all wear black and speak a strange language I cannot understand, when they speak at all. They took Starbrow! I had no choice!”
“Slow down,” the half-drow priestess said gently. “It’s over now.”
“No, it’s not! They have Starbrow!”
“Oy, and what’s a Starbrow?” asked Ivan, wiping his axe on a rag he’d produced from his pack. He kicked the creature, which had ceased to blend with the walls when it died and was now a pallid skinned, slender humanoid. It wore only a reddish breach clout.
“My familiar,” Kheygan replied, shrugging helplessly. “In my free time, I took up studying magic. Starbrow responded to my call for aid and we have been together ever since. When they first came up from below…”
“Below? Below where?” asked Herodotus, looking around and spying the staircase. “I only see an up!”
Kheygan moved to the wall below the staircase and pressed in on one of the panels. There was a faint click, and the panel popped out and swung on oiled hinges. Beyond was revealed a stone staircase, leading down into dusty, web-lined darkness. “Down there. They came from Jzadirune.”
“What is that?” asked Ielenia. She fingered the hole in her bodysuit and cursed quietly in Elven.
“Jzadirune was an active Gnomish community below Cauldron that closed up 75 years ago when the people there started disappearing.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tenor curiously.
“The Vanishing, they called it. After it broke out, people started literally fading away, out of view. Jzadirune was packed up and abandoned, and I am the last and only guardian of its approach. They came up from there. They took Starbrow, forced me to provide them with skeleton keys to the locks of the city and have held my familiar against me to ensure I would not say anything. If I do anything, they will kill him!”
“Have you any idea of where he might be?” asked Herodotus.
“I know that he is hungry and scared and in a dark room. More than that, he cannot tell me.”
“Tell ye? How does he tell ye anythin’?” Ivan had finished cleaning his axe and was now leaning on it, the blades against the floor digging scratches into the wood. Kheygan eyed the damage to his floor, looked at the fallen creature lying in a pool of its own blood nearby, and said nothing.
“Wizards have a connection to their familiars,” Herodotus offered. “They can share basic emotions with one another.”
“You have to rescue him! Now that you’ve done this, they’ll find out the next time they send someone up!”
“How often have they been sending sortie’s out and have you seen them?” asked Lauryl.
“Every couple of days, I would think. I haven’t been out watching the workshop at night very often. I’ve just heard the doors open and close as they went and watched a few from the balcony above.” He gestured at the balcony above the workshop, from which the creature had attacked Davik.
“Then we might have a few days.”
“I would not assume that. We will need to go down there as soon as we can,” said Tenor. “For tonight, we stay here and head down in the morning. Those who need their gear, go get it and come back in the morning. Those who do not will stay and stand guard.”
Ivan, Ielenia and Davik agreed to stay with Tenor. Lauryl and Herodotus left to fetch their things.
“Now, to get rid of this body,” said Ielenia.
“I’ll never get the stains out of that carpet,” muttered Kheygan.
“There are worse things than that,” the elven girl retorted. “Like losing your familiar, or your life.”
“Or your freedom,” added Tenor. “There could be repercussions for aiding them, no matter the circumstances.”
Kheygan straightened to his (albeit short) height. “I will do whatever I can to make up for what I have already allowed to take place. I give you my word. To be honest, this has been bothering me since it started and I am right glad you have come to put an end to it. When I heard that children had gone missing, my heart told me that this had gone too far.”
“Tenor, if you will get the legs,” said Ielenia.
That's beautiful. How close was the in-game dialog to what you've written? I shall certainly bookmark your site. Nice work.
M
That's beautiful. How close was the in-game dialog to what you've written? I shall certainly bookmark your site. Nice work.
M
Thanks for the compliment. The words and actions the characters take in the story are a close approximation to what happened in the tabletop game, with a few adjustments to generate a more interesting storyline. Some of the more humorous scenes are taken directly from the game, while the r action-oriented sequences are approximations of what happened on the game mat.
Two
Jzadirune
It began with a room lined with masks depicting gnomes, a room filled with the sounds of children playing, and of the wind blowing on a summer’s day. There were two doors, round, surrounded by ornate entablatures that surrounded the doors themselves. Gear-shaped, they instantly had several of the party murmuring to themselves.
“Beware the doors with teeth,” Ielenia said quietly. Eyeing one of the two doors which was half-open, she noted the gear-cogs forming teeth around the edges of the circular door.
“Ah, but what exactly does that mean?” asked Herodotus.
“It means,” said Tenor, “that we should leave them alone.” He nodded at a passageway leading further into Jzadirune directly opposite from the stairs they had come down. “That way, at least for now. We’ll see what we can find.”
“But that door is partway open…” said Davik, moving toward them.
“Later,” said Tenor. “’Beware the doors with teeth,’ she said. That was part of the answer for a reason, Davik. Let’s see what we find out elsewhere before we go risking them, shall we?”
Davik nodded uncertainly, eyeing the strange, circular tunnel leading out the other side of the room the door opened into. It looked as if it had been BORED through the stone, bits of rubble scattered about the floor from where whatever it was that had tore through the stone had broken through.
---
Jzadirune was far from anything the troupe had ever seen before. The circular doors had small inch square openings to one side in the entablature stones surrounding them and were marked with gnomish runes depicting letters of the alphabet. They weren’t in any sort of order that Davik could discern, and none of them would open without what the troupe quickly decided were the keys the denizens had once employed to move around.
“This doesn’t make sense,” said Tenor at one point, eyeing a long hall filled with floating balls of light and painted with images of gnomes going about their lives. Twenty foot tall pillars formed of gnomes standing on each other’s shoulders to support the ceiling decorated the chamber. Several of the round doors opened in all directions. “You would have had to have carried twenty keys with you to get anywhere!”
“Welcome to gnomish society,” Davik commented, grinning. “Where it can be complex, why make it simple?”
“Isn’t that a bit… masochistic?” asked Ivan, admiring the stonework about the room. Here and there, piles of stone had been left haphazardly across the floor. Nearby, the mysterious round openings led off.
“Call it what you will. Gnomes simply call it entertainment,” said Davik. For once, he seemed perfectly at home, despite the fact that they had already uncovered a few dangerous pit traps.
The troupe was attacked from time to time by the strange chameleon-like creatures they had run into upstairs. These attacked and then ran as soon as they were injured, fleeing into the darkness where their curious ability allowed them to disappear into the shadows. Deciding it was too dangerous to give chase to individuals who could appear like the walls around them given a moment’s notice, the group clutched their weapons and kept at the ready.
This did not mean that they were invulnerable, however. It was not until deep into Jzadirune, after a few reverses and another battle with the chameleon-folk that they ran into their first major challenge.
It was a curious room, shaped like a lozenge, with a two-foot tall marble bath tub rising out of the floor. Above the pool, a large gnomish face spat water into a fall that fell into the tub. All around the pool, thick webs filled the space above the vaulted edge surrounding the mask. As they entered the chamber, a massive spider, the size of a hunting dog, leapt out and caught purchase on Tenor’s armor.
With a terrified shriek, the paladin fell back, the black, multi-eyed monstrosity falling off him as he collapsed. Still uttering in panic, the knight skittered backwards, rising to his feet and fleeing into the darkness, forgetting everything but his sword and the lantern he had been carrying to light the way. As Ivan and Ielenia moved to intercept and kill the monstrous insect, Lauryl turned and chased into the darkness, following the flickering beam of Tenor’s light, calling his name and wondering just what in the blazes had just happened.
---
He had been just a youth, barely of age to start his squire training. His family had stopped in a village while traveling, only to hear that a young girl had gone missing. No one had been able to find her, despite several days of searching, and Tenor’s mother and father, retired heroes long past their best years, had agreed to aid in the search. Tenor and his sister were left with a local, to wait out the results of the search.
But such was not Tenor’s way, and never had been.
“Make a distraction,” he told his sister.
“What are you planning, brother?” she asked.
“I know where the girl is.”
“How?” she asked, clearly not believing him. “You’re just trying to get away from here, aren’t you?”
“NO!” he had cried, shaking his head. “I can’t explain it, but I know where she is.”
“Having visions?” his sister retorted, grinning wickedly.
“No… I can’t explain it. But… I know…”
She stared at him for a moment, realizing that this was no game and that he meant what he was saying. “If you’re caught, I don’t know anything about it.”
“Agreed,” Tenor replied, “and thank you.”
Moments later, she was shrieking. While the family came to see what was wrong, Tenor slipped out the window in another room and made his way out of the small village. Most of the adults had already gone off to find the missing girl, and it was not hard for him to get away.
Soon enough, he was making his way through thickets and brambles, following a curiously strong feeling that the girl was this way, and that she did not have a lot of time. He was proven right when he came to a ravine several miles away and found her lying unconscious between a pair of wolf spiders the size of hunting dogs. Hearing his approach, the predators spun about and stared at him, measuring him with their cold black eyes.
Frozen with fear, uncertain what to do now that he had found the girl, he did the only thing he could think of. He broke off a sharp branch and held it before him as his father had taught him while growing up.
Moments later, the spiders attacked, leaping over one another in a hopscotch pattern that confused him and made it impossible to tell which of the two was in the front. Unable to decide, he thrust the stick out, impaling one of them in its eyes and causing it to shriek violently as it fell back, chitinous legs scratching dangerously as it chattered to its companion. The other one simply leapt, catching him in the side and bouncing him off the tree behind him. He his shirt tear, smelled the vitriolic acid on the thing’s fangs, felt the rip of his skin and the horrible burning sensation that sped through his body like quick-freezing ice.
Screaming in pain and fear, he shrugged the spider off and crushed one of its legs with his stick, retreating around the tree he found himself beside. It attacked again, ignoring its broken leg, having seven more. He retreated further, turning around the bole of the tree and trying to put his back to the ravine and the girl. Somehow, he knew that he had to keep them from her. She was close to death, if the shallow movement of her chest spoke of anything, and he could not afford to have them attempt to finish her off. It would make this struggle worthless if he failed.
Hearing the strange crackling sound of the other spider’s body behind him, he spun about, lifted his stick high to protect himself, and speared the leaping thing through its thorax. Leaping with adrenaline-fueled strength, Tenor put both hands to the stick and rushed forward, thrusting the stick further into the wolf spider’s body, feeling the black ichor of its fluids spattering his face even as he shrieked alongside it. The spider wriggled on the impaling stick, legs thrashing and tearing strips out of his shirt and face.
With a roar, he raised the spider into the air and then slammed it down, point first, into the ground. With a last chitter, it spasmed and died.
But the other one had not simply ceased to exist. With a vicious chittering sound, it clattered out of the brush and caught Tenor on the hip, digging its fangs in and injecting more of the icy toxin of its kind. Shouting in pain and fear, Tenor swept his stick out of the fallen spider and smashed it across the front of the already half-blinded creature’s head. With a gush of fluids, its other eye shattered, and Tenor half-leapt, half-rolled away.
The toxin was making its presence known by now. He could not feel his shoulder where the first bite had penetrated, and his hip was a grinding pain swiftly fading into a tingling oblivion. He knew that was not good. If he could not feel pain, he certainly wouldn’t be able to feel much else. Seeing the blinded spider moving about the ravine, trying to follow him with whatever senses it still had, he circled around it, trying to draw it away from the fallen girl, who still lay senseless in the dirt not far away.
It took the bait, and spun, leaping at him as he rolled in the opposite direction, underneath it. Spinning the stick into a reverse position, he thrust up, catching it in the tail end and punching through the hard exoskeleton. As it tried to move away, he reversed his hold on the stick and plunged it into the ground, pinning the monstrosity before throwing his leg back and kicking out with all of his swiftly-draining strength. With a heavy CRACK, the body shattered beneath his boot, and fluids and ichor spattered the ravine.
Silence fell, but for the sounds of his breath laboring to exit his body.
“That’s it,” he thought. “Here, I die.” Still, he turned to the girl and moved to her, his hip a distant agony, his left arm entirely numb at this point. With his right, he turned the girl over. Putting his ear to her lips, he felt breath and sobbed out a sigh.
She still lived.
“But not for long,” he whispered. Fighting against every impulse to simply sit still and rest (for rest meant death, he knew), he struggled to wrest her into position and lifted her, holding her close to his body before starting to struggle up the incline.
The pain was too much, however, and he blacked out with pain and exertion. When he came to a moment later, they had both fallen to the dirt, and he could taste mud and feel grit in his eyes; on his cheek.
“Get up, son,” he heard a voice say. “There is much left to do.”
“I can’t,” he managed to whisper, his face now almost completely numb to his senses. “She’s too heavy.”
“You can manage,” the voice said. A shadow appeared above him, a kind face discerning itself from the fog a moment later. A hand reached out and Tenor felt his good hand responding. Somehow, he got to his feet, lifted the girl, took a few steps. “She has no time,” the old man said. He was ancient, white haired, with a mustache and beard as white as snow. “You can do it.”
“I can’t,” he sobbed. But even as he said it, he forced himself into motion.
“If you do not, she will die. No one else is close enough to find her in time. It is up to you.”
Tears flowing from his eyes, gritting his teeth and biting his lips until the pain wore through the numbing fog surrounding him, Tenor crashed through the trees surrounding the ravine. He saw fields, a fence in the distance. Smoke pillars rising from the village came from over a hill what seemed like a hundred miles away.
“I’ll never make it,” he said. He slipped on a rock and fell, barking his shin and screaming as it awoke seemingly every nerve in his body. His hip was a shrill source of shrieking pain, his shoulder suddenly ice cold and flame hot all at once.
“You will make it,” the old man urged him quietly. “You have to. Come.” And once again, Tenor felt himself being lifted, felt the girl coming to him, as light as if she were a feather in his hands.
He struggled on.
He crashed through another line of bushes, beneath a small tree line, where a little stream ran by the village. He slipped on the mossy stones and fell, this time letting the girl go and watching distantly as she fell, face up, onto the small stones of the running stream. Vaguely, he felt his clothing soaking up the freezing cold water. Felt his body cooling from fire hot to ice cold as the water seeped into seemingly everything. He felt as if his eyes were going to freeze in a moment…
And then, there were figures in the haze that was his eyesight. They were moving toward him. “I can’t,” he whispered through a sand-filled mouth. “I can’t…”
“You already did,” the old man sighed quietly. “Good boy…”
He awoke three days later, in a small room in the house where he had left his sister. His mother and father were in the other room, his sister at his side when he first flicked his eyes open. She shouted, and the entire town seemed to appear at his bedside in a matter of minutes. He was hailed as a hero, they told him. A searcher had come across the two dead spiders a day after his return. They would never have found the missing girl in time.
“Is she…”
“She is fine,” his mother told him, brushing jet black hair back and looking into ice blue eyes. “As are you. If we had been any later, though…” She fell silent, her throat locking at the very thought.
“You did well, Tenor,” said his father. Tenor beamed at the praise. It was all he could ever have asked for.
“Did anyone see the old man?” he asked suddenly.
They looked at him, perplexed. “What old man?”
He described the old man who had come to his aid. Who had picked him up when he needed it, and urged him on.
There was, they said, no one in the village who looked like that. When his description was relayed to the local priest, the old man came immediately and inquired about specifics. Tenor answered each one as clearly as he could. Given the circumstances, the priest said, there could be little doubt.
“You saw Anselm of Heieroneous,” the old priest said, awed.
“Who is that?” Tenor asked, curious.
“Who was that, you mean. Anselm is one of the most famous paladins of Heieroneous in this part of the world.”
The room fell silent, watching and waiting for what Tenor would say next.
“Heieroneous…”
“The Lord of Chivalry,” the priest said by way of explanation. “There can be no doubt. You have had a vision. You were touched by Heieroneous in your time of need.”
“Heieroneous,” Tenor responded more clearly. The message was clear…
---
“And that is how I came to serve Him,” Tenor said, slurring his words. He and Lauryl were sitting in the Drunken Morkoth Inn, downstairs in the common room. Four large mugs of what had been ale were scattered across the table. Lauryl was nursing her first.
She had caught up to him just as he fled Kheygan’s Locks with a manic look about him. The gnome, clearly distraught by the panicked look about the one man he thought could have handled whatever was going on, had taken one look and then locked the doors behind him. Lauryl had taken Tenor to the inn, nearby, if only to calm his nerves and return his shattered resolve into some form they could both identify.
“And THAT,” Tenor said, raising a finger to the sky, “is why I… DO… NOT… LIKE… SPIDERS!” he shouted.
Lauryl smiled faintly and leaned over to hug her companion. There was little she could do, except be there for him. Ielenia and the others had no doubt dealt with the issue by now. Even as she straightened, she could see them approaching the inn, safe, to a man.
“All will be well,” Lauryl whispered into his ear, smirking when she realized that he had passed out while she was hugging him. “You will see, my brave Paladin…”
---
The next morning, Tenor awoke alone in his bed, somehow unclothed and amidst a jumble of sheets. He remembered quiet words spoken into his ear, the warmth of a body close against his, and then nothing more. When he sat up, he was immediately reminded as to why.
“Oh, Heieroneous, my head…” he muttered. Reaching up, he palmed his eyesockets in an effort to cause the pain to cease. It helped, but only momentarily. That was when he noticed something lying amidst the sheets, caught up as if forgotten there.
A pair of soft, feminine underwear done in lace. They were red, and rather slender.
Reaching out slowly, he lifted them and stared for a long moment. “Oh, gods… Why do I not remember more?” He turned them this way and that in the morning light, as if doing so might awaken any memory of having removed them from anyone the night before. When nothing came to mind, he shrugged. “I hope I enjoyed it,” he muttered.
Turning, he stood and went about the process of getting dressed before beginning the process of putting on his armor and strapping his gear to his belt and pack. At least they were where they belonged. No more lacy things hiding away there…
Coming downstairs, he found Lauryl, Ielenia and Ivan gathered in the common room, waiting for him. Davik and Herodotus were nowhere to be seen. A moment’s thought and he realized they must have chosen to stand guard over Kheygan’s the night before. He would have to thank them. Ielenia and Lauryl were grinning at him.
“Sleep well?” Lauryl asked, her gentle smile a balm he could vaguely remember having been applied well the evening before. Even through the enveloping haze about his memories of the night before, he remembered her presence and her gentle words soothing his terror.
“I certainly hope so,” said Ielenia, smirking.
“I did. Thank you,” Tenor responded, moving to sit at their table and gesturing for the servant girl to bring him something to eat. “There was… a visitor… I gather?”
“You gather?” Ielenia asked, twitching a blonde eyebrow. Reaching up, she flicked the long braid of her hair back over one shoulder and eyed him meaningfully. “You mean, you don’t remember?”
Tenor shrugged. “Nothing. Vague recollections is all.”
“Recollections of what?” the young elf asked, lips quirking into a wry grin.
“Soft voices is all I remember, really. I did not wake up entirely alone, however,” he said. Reaching between his chest and his armor, he pulled out the lace panties.
“Och! Looks like ye had more’n a visitor last night!” Ivan snorted, spitting beer. “An’ ye say ye can’t remember the lass!?”
Tenor shrugged again. “I find it hard to believe that such would have happened without my recollection.” He grinned wryly. “After all, such an event is not something you willingly forget.”
“So you don’t remember a thing, huh?” asked Ielenia. Reaching out, she snagged the lace underthing from his hand and stuffed it into the pack at her side. “I wondered where that had gone…”
Tenor nearly fell out of his chair. Lauryl began laughing, while Ivan’s eyes bulged, his gaze switching between the young knight and the youthful elf.
“Bleedin’ HELLS, man! Ye mean to tell me ye can’t remember the lass visitin’ ye last night!? She’s a might bony fer me tastes, but by the gods, man!” Ivan was aghast, his beer forgotten in his fist beside his empty breakfast plate.
Tenor stared, Ielenia’s grin giving nothing away. “You didn’t…” he managed.
“You don’t remember,” the young elf drawled, batting her eyes. “So how would you know?”
“As I recall, I was with him for much of the evening as well,” Lauryl commented wryly, drawing another dazed look from the young knight.
Ivan’s eyes resumed trying to exit his head at a high rate of speed. “Blimey! Congratulations are in order, then, me boyo!”
Tenor gazed from one elven woman to the other, stunned. Dredging his memory furiously, he could only remember Lauryl’s voice telling him quietly that all would be well, but at no point could he remember touching either of the elven girls. After a moment, he shook his head, half-closing his eyes. “This is a trick,” he said. “It can’t have happened.”
“Can’t, huh?” replied Ielenia, smirking again. “Are you so certain?”
“Am I certain that you would not have taken advantage of me in such a state, no,” Tenor replied, eyeing her evenly. “But I think even you have a certain amount of taste…”
“Is that a comment on your… eligibility?” asked Lauryl, looking him up and down and assuming the wry grin Ielenia was now wearing. “Because I can assure you that you are most certainly the type…”
Ivan pushed away and stood up, looking at the trio. “Somethin’ more’n I care to know is goin’ on here. I’ll be at Kheygan’s when ye’re finished makin’ eyes at each other…”
“I’m not making eyes!” Tenor exclaimed. The waitress arrived and ducked his flailing arms expertly, setting a platter of eggs and ham steaks in front of him, along with a fresh mug of beer. Ivan glared at him a moment before turning and stomping off. “I’m not!” he exclaimed. He turned to the bar maid, expression hopeful that perhaps she had seen something.
“I’m only here in the morning’s, hon,” the young lady said, smirking. “Though if you ask me, I’d tend to hear more boastin’ about such things, whether or not they actually happened…”
“That’s what I like about you, Tenor,” Lauryl said, smiling openly now. “You’re so modest…”
“How DID I end up naked, anyway?” the knight asked curiously.
“I would think that is obvious,” Lauryl answered softly. She quirked an eyebrow and stared at him.
“I’m cursed,” Tenor said, picking up his fork and starting to eat. Though, truth be told, he thought, eyeing the girls across the table from him, there were far worse things to be cursed with…
---
“So, I took a swack at it with me axe and cut it’s ‘ead off,” Ivan said, gesturing with his axe. They were walking through the halls of Jzadirune, perhaps an hour after their encounter over breakfast. The dwarf was in a seemingly better mood, now that he was underground. Even Davik had greeted the others with a smile, and Herodotus was, as ever, his happy morning-person self. They had plunged into the darkness of Jzadirune after only a few words with an increasingly worried Kheygan.
“Starbrow does not have a lot of time! If they find out that I have turned against them, they will kill him! You have to save him!” he pleaded. After assuring the panicky locksmith that they were doing everything they could, they descended once again into the world of circular, toothed doors and gnomish confusion.
“What’s this, then?” asked Ielenia, stepping through an ornate arch into a large chamber lined with wooden benches. They faced a raised stage area and curtains had been drawn partway back to either side. The walls behind the curtains were painted to depict a sylvan scene, with trees and greenery surrounding the stage area. As they entered, torches set on irregularly placed pillars dimmed unnaturally, and a figure appeared mid-stage. It was a short bear, or rather, a gnome dressed as a bear. Raising a paw to his lips, he spoke softly.
“Night hath fallen in the Magic Woods, and while myriad woodland creatures dream, Willowbough and her faerie friends frolic beneath the sorcerous moon!” The gnome curled up on the floor, feigning sleep as another gnome, this time female and with briars for hair, stepped out as if invisible moments before. Solemn music filled the air and butterfly-winged faeries appeared from backstage, joining the ballet that began.
“What in all the hells?” asked Ivan.
“Shhh!” said Lauryl. “It’s a play!”
“Well, I know that!” retorted the dwarf. “But ain’t this place supposed to be abandoned!?”
“They weren’t there a moment before we came in,” said Herodotus curiously. “It must be an illusion cast at some point and never removed when Jzadirune was abandoned.”
“Indeed,” said Davik. The gnome had approached the stage and climbed up. He was presently waving his hand through the gnomish dryad prancing about on the stage, grinning faintly. While the others watched the strange play, he moved into the backstage area and began examining the walls, looking for anything that might reveal a secret passage. All he found was an opening in the middle of the stage leading to an undercroft. When he attempted to open it, however, he was told to leave the stage while the others watched the play.
“Are you daft?” asked Herodotus, watching as Ielenia, Lauryl and Tenor sat down to watch the play. “Aren’t we looking for a certain rat that belongs to our friend the key maker upstairs?”
“We’ve been walking for a while already,” replied Ielenia, eyes on the play onstage. “It’s time to take a break anyway.”
“It’s not really that bad,” said Ivan from near one of the columns. “For gnomish acting, that is…”
It appeared that the plot of the play incorporated a ranger who had fallen in love with the dryad, but that a were-boar named Moontusk, a bitter rival of the ranger, had chosen the dryad for himself. Throughout the entire ballet, the ranger, dryad and were-boar spoke, fought and battled on occasion, finally ending in a riveting duel between the ranger and the were-boar while the dryad sang a song about having to choose between two mutually hostile options. In the end, Moontusk was slain and the ranger joined the dance, his love apparently consummated as the lights began to rise.
While the others had watched, Herodotus had wandered away, shaking his head and deciding to investigate the other room. Idly picking at a pile of stone in the gnome-columned chamber, he discovered a small box with a glowing stone in it. Recognizing it immediately, he threw it up into the air above his head and was rewarded with a knowing smirk when the stone began to orbit his head.
“Thought so… Guess they forgot this when they left,” the theurge said victoriously.
Moments later, his victory was forgotten as a pair of crossbow bolts buried themselves in his chest and he fell to the floor.
Ivan, having taken up a position near the entrance to the theatre when he realized the others were content to take their lunches and watch the play, heard the clatter of Herodotus falling, gave a shout, and shot into the darkness. His dwarven senses allowing him to see in complete darkness if need be, the glowing chamber was as bright as day to him, and he had seen where the bolts had come from. With a roar, he flew at the closest of the two columns, axe coming free from its place on his pack and slamming into the column as he came close enough.
His actions were answered by the shape of a chameleon-creature leaping away from where the axe had just missed him, and drawing a rapier in response, the crossbow he had just used clattering to the floor at his feet. From the other pillar, another chameleon-like humanoid became apparent, firing again at the dwarf. With a contemptuous swipe of his axe, however, the dwarf swatted the bolt from the air and turned on the first. Behind him, he could hear his friends coming belatedly to the party.
Ignoring the feeble stabs of the surprised creature before him, Ivan ducked his shoulder low and bull rushed the thing, bouncing it off the pillar behind it. As it staggered to catch both its balance and its breath, Ivan ripped it in two with a howling slice of his axe. The other, realizing it was outnumbered and incapable of doing much else, ran for the darkness, the dwarf’s catcalling insults following on its heels.
“What happened?” asked Lauryl, catching up finally and moving to examine the fallen theurge. “What is this thing?” she asked, eyeing the stone lying on the ground nearby.
“No idea. Best try to bring him back around, however,” Tenor said. Careful to place pressure only where he was needed, the knight jerked the bolts loose from the theurge’s chest and abdoment, wincing in compassion as Herodotus’ body jerked, spasmed and fell still. Moments later, Lauryl’s whispered prayers were answered as silvery light filled the bolt holes and closed the wounds.
Herodotus shot up moments later, reaching for the space above his head. “What!? Who!? Wha…?” Seeing the others gathered around him, he fell silent, but one hand reached out and swept the stone up, holding it close.
“What’d ye go wanderin’ off by yer lonesome fer?” Ivan asked gruffly. He was wiping the mess off his axe blade nearby.
“And what is that?” Ielenia asked, nodding at his hand.
“It is a magical stone,” Herodotus replied, “I found it in the pile of rocks over there. Shortly after… Well… Here we are…” He managed to look sheepish as he prodded the holes in his jacket.
“I’ve found something!” shouted Davik, from the direction of the theater. “Come and look at this!”
Helping Herodotus to his feet, the others returned to the theater, finding Davik standing amidst the replaying figures of the play, the door in the middle of the stage standing open.
“And what did you find?” asked Ielenia, leaping up the steps to the short stage and looking into the dark hole.
“Not sure, actually,” said Davik. “But unlike some,” he nodded at Herodotus, “I don’t tend to like to investigate dangerous places by myself.” Herodotus’ reply was a sharp look and then a sigh as he realized the gnome was right.
“Let’s see what we’ve got, then?” said Ielenia. Reaching into a pouch her side, she produced a length of iron tipped with a piece of foil-thin gold. Striking it against the stage, it began to glow, first as bright as a candle, and then as brilliantly as a torch. With a casual toss, she threw it into the shallow place beneath the stage. “You should be able to see in there with that, I think?”
Davik nodded. “Cover me, if you will,” he said. He leapt into the hole.
Moments later, the thumping and crashing that emanated from the slender crawlspace told the entire party that something was terribly amiss. Dropping in, Ielenia saw immediately what the problem was. A slender creature with long rubbery arms had grabbed the gnome about the throat and was in the process of crushing his windpipe. Pulling out her rapier, she slid into the space and began crawling, attempting to distract the thing by poking it until it either gave up or died.
Above, things were about to go from bad to worse, however.
“We have company!” shouted Tenor. Even as the others turned, they could see several dark figures entering the theatre from the direction in which Herodotus had been attacked. The survivor had brought friends.
To Lauryl, it was an insane melee. Beneath the stage, Ielenia, Davik and eventually, Herodotus, were fighting for their lives, while in the theatre itself, Ivan, Tenor and herself fought off at least their number if not more of the chameleon-like beings. Shouts, cries of pain, the gurgles of death throes, and the clangor of weapons on weapon and shield filled the small theatre. Blood splashed the walls and Tenors and Lauryl’s prayers filled the air as they called upon the blessings of their gods.
The creatures were terribly hard to see in the dimmed light of the chamber, their skins making them seem to disappear only to appear again in a blur of light as their bodies adapted to their surroundings. Every time they appeared again, the silvery rapiers they bore flickered out, pierced armor in a weak point, and drew blood. Tenor watched as Lauryl was caught in a flurry of attacks and fell, her armor splattered heavily with her own blood. He too, was bleeding from a number of minor injuries, but the fury of his god was with him, and he dispatched two of their number in quick succession while Ivan distracted the other two.
Below the stage, Ielenia had managed to get the creature to let go of Davik, but by then, the gnome was lying insensate on he floor next to her, his throat a torn mess thanks to the sharpened pads of the creature’s three-fingered hands. Before she could see to her friend, however, it had switched targets, and she was being choked into darkness, struggling to release its insane strength, wracking her body and trying to jerk herself out of its grip even as the edges of her sight became red and then black, the air cut off at her throat unable to replenish that which was being lost in her lungs. Gasping for breath, her last image was that of Herodotus crawling beside her, a short sword he had borrowed from Tenor in his hands…
Above, the two surviving creatures fled into the darkness, leaving Ivan cursing them for cowardice as Tenor knelt over Lauryl and began fumbling at his pouch for the potion Sister Urikas had given him. Praying fervently to his god that this would work, he poured it into her throat, watching her swallow reflexively. Taking care not to spill any of the miraculous elixir, he watched as her wounds closed and she opened her blue eyes, looking up into his.
“The others!” Ivan shouted, leaping to the stage. His axe at the ready, he stomped to the edge of the undercroft and stared in shock as Herodotus stood and leapt nimbly out of the way, making way for Davik, and Ielenia, who followed as soon as they were able.
“Everyone alright?” Herodotus asked, looking about. For all the violence that had just been committed, the only thing out of place with the theurge was his hair, which he calmly combed down with his hand.
“By the hells,” Ivan grumbled, eyeing the trio who had gone below. “With all that noise, I coulda swore someone was dyin’ down there.”
“I was,” said Davik. His voice was gravelly and he was holding his throat, where the scratches had been mostly healed by Herodotus’ prayerful touch.
“As was I,” said Ielenia, eyeing the theurge curiously. “I did not think you could fight with a sword like that?”
Herodotus eyed the blade in his hand and dropped it as if it were a snake. It was covered with the green-black blood of whatever the creature was below the stage. “I can’t,” he said simply.
“Well, it seems like ye did a mighty fine job of it, then!” Ivan said, chuckling. He patted the cleric on the shoulder, nearly flattening the fellow.
Tenor, reaching the stage with Lauryl close behind (and now fully healed of her injuries), swept up the short blade and sheathed it back on his belt. “All in favor of a quick rest, say aye.”
There was a chorus, and it was decided to retreat back to Kheygan’s for a bit. Not something the gnome was pleased about, but there was little he could do about it. Besides, there wasn’t a one of the group he had sent down who did not look as if he or she hadn’t recently been close to, or perhaps even visited, death only moments before.