Part One:
Night falls over Lukasport, with a crisp breeze and the tolling of bells. The Syrenfall district is crowded as usual, with the lilting tales of balladeers sailing through the air on threads plucked on taut lute strings. Voices rise and fall, and the wanton laughter of harlots punctuates the din rising up from the taverns.
A stretch past Syrenfall, the Front grows quiet. No less crowded than the lavish quarters of Syrenfall, this place was teeming with dockworkers and sailors…now with nightfall, the city’s hidden economy springs to life. Gambling dens and taverns catering to those who shun the ample lamplights of the Lukasport, open their doors.
Behind the ornate gates of the Sifford district, the gentry of Lukasport stream up Bonfire Street where stone houses extend in neat rows on a lane adorned with trees and polished oak benches. At the top of the hill, a large estate with a gated entry terminates the street.
This is the estate of Solomon Beard, one of Lukasport's richest merchants…a man who has made his fortune acquiring and re-selling spices, textiles and…other things from distant lands. He is said to have boasted, that if it exists and not nailed down to the floors of Hades…he can produce it for sale.
The garish opulence of his estate stands as a testament to his success meeting the promise of his boasts.
The gates, the posts of which are sculpted in the shape of naked giants, swing open and permit entry to Solomon’s guests. Tonight is his annual gala, an event as regular as the seasons and as anticipated. Already the music fills the district and as in the city beyond Sifford’s gates, merriment and laughter shimmer in the cool evening air.
The guests press into the great hall, lit with wondrously mirrored lamps from above, where musicians and prestidigitators entertain them. The food is served in an adjoining hall, where seating is provided at a series of round tables…draped in silk and adorned with silver.
On the balcony above the great hall, flanked on either side by sweeping marble stairs, Solomon holds court with his wife on his arm and his son, Rupert at his side. His daughter is nowhere to be found. While Rupert's wife, Freya clings to her husband’s arm with a smile pressed onto her face, seemingly enduring the social event only barely.
The center of the great hall is cleared and the musicians alter their tune, the evening’s first performance by The Tumblefoot Trio is about to begin.
Till Tumblefoot
Till and the rest of the Trio wait in a small room adjacent to the galley, servants race to and fro around them, re-stocking the banquet tables outside perhaps. The arrangements for the Tumblefoot Trio were made much in advance of this night, requested by Miriam Beard, Solomon’s wife.
Till
Gaius Octavian Cicero
Waiting, that’s what Gaius finds himself doing. In a garishly decorated sitting room in the rear of the house. He had entered by way of a rear entrance when the music was just beginning, now it sounds clearly that this gala is well under way and still, Gaius is waiting for his audience with Solomon Beard, and Gaius is not alone. Across the room he sees an imposing bearded man, with tanned, weathered skin, wild hair, and vivid, blue Pictish tattoos that encircle his deepset grey eyes.
Gaius
Imbolc Taloran
The storms that sought him out a fortnight ago were full of auspicious signs, and led Imbolc south, down the edge of Canysfane moor with its howling wolves and into the Taegish woodlands…it was there that his Master’s message reached him. The message brought him to Lukasport, and after a day of inquiry to the estate of Solomon Beard. The gatekeeper brought him in, through the back entrance of the estate, most perplexed at the druid’s appearance on the night of the gala, without invitation…but as custom on the night of the gala, no effort was made to turn Imbolc away…he would wait for his audience, but he would have it. Into a garish sitting room he is brought, looking across the room, and sees a gaunt man, with long-hair, and dark-eyes.
Imbolc
Mort Timos
Mortimer Timos left the Necropolis in the southern reaches of Dwarfhold, and made haste to Lukasport. On his way, he had opportunity to save a young woman from a roaming beast…it was in its first life a worg…but some foul necromancy had brought it back as something else. His urgency would have spurred him on his way, but the chilling embrace was on him and he was reminded of his vows. He still feels the chill as he joins the two men in Solomon Beard’s garishly decorated sitting room. The sound of clapping hands wafts in from the great hall through a set of heavy double doors opposite of the one he was brought in through. One of the men in the room is seemingly a foreigner, judging by his gaunt tone, long-hair, and dark-eyes; the other a similarly striking figure, with tanned, weathered skin, wild hair, and beard. Vivid, blue Pictish tattoos encircle his deepset grey eyes.
Mort
Christoph Buhrer
Christoph feels out of place, but the food is good and his stories, when he feels he must share them with the curious gentry that shuffle about him. Not three nights ago he was drinking swill and eating stale bread in a tavern called the Rusted Nail…now he is here exchanging such pleasantries as he can muster with the city’s elite. He looks across the great hall, as the Tumblefoot Trio is about to perform and sees Rupert Beard. Rupert is the reason he is here…Rupert who apparently likes to dress down and take risks in the city’s most dangerous quarters. Perhaps it is more than gratitude for saving his life from that cutthoat in The Front district, that made Rupert invite Christoph to the event.
Christoph
Imbolc looks briefly around, nods to the gaunt man, and walks over to take a seat in a nearby chair. He begins cleaning his nails. He seems resigned to waiting.
Gaius returns the friendly nod of the tattooed man. Thereafter, he returns to his vigil with nary a sign of irritation or fatigue. Years of experience seems to be paying off.
Gaius uses his peripheral vision and hearing to observe the entire room.
To the Archivist:
Further, Gaius gets the impression that Solomon Beard is noveau rich or he has extremely bad taste on account of the garishness of the sitting room. But considering that he is hailed as a successful merchant, his accumen should not be underestimated. The two traits suggests a possible surprise from Solomon Beard.
Cristoph knows full well he is out of his domain. The borrowed tunic is of fine make, but it is just that fine nature of the garment that gives him a feeling of unease.
"They're all looking at me!" thinks Cristoph. He tries to hide his unease as best he can.
Circulating slowly through the hall packed with guests, Cristoph manages to smile slightly and nod at others who glance his way, some of whom are clearly curious and unnerved at the same time. As he moves about, he listens intently to conversations around him, filtering out the din of the crowd.
I enter into the room looking at my new waiting companions. I meet their eyes and give them each a polite shallow bow.
"Evening gentlemen. I am to wait hear for an audience. I hope this causes no discomfort." I try to place a pleasant smile upon my face and look for a place to sit with my items.
In the sitting room:
"Compliments of the master of the house," says the porter. "He will see you after he has addressed his guests."
For Gaius
In the great hall:
For Cristoph
I thank the girls and ask their names (so I can thank them by name). I take a small selection of food and drink to be polite.
I ask the porter to "Please inform the mistress of the house that I am here."
I try to sense the mood of the house the other "guests" waiting with me.
Sense motive (serving girls): natural 20 (23)
Sense motive (Norseman): 9
Sense Motive (Forgeiner): 14
Imbolc nods at the newcomer and helps himself to some bread, a selection of meats, and a healthy helping of wine.
"Think nothing of it," Gaius replies to the newcomer. He then takes out a wand and uses a charge from it.
Spellcraft check for the wand use = 25
So you're here to see the Mistress of the house?
And you sir, the Mistress as well?
Turning to the tattooed man, "Sorry, no."
Gaius rises from his seat. Smiling, he addresses the newcomer and the tattooed man, "You may call me Gaius. My full name is rather long." Extending his hands in a gesture of peace, Gaius asks, "And how may I call you, good sirs?"
Taking Gaius' hand I say "Well met to you sir. I am Mortimer."
I nod politely to both men.
And you good man? How may I address you?
"I take it that you both are here to see the lord of the house?"
So you're here to see the Mistress of the house?
"Yes. She is my sister. And what brings you both here? I imagine it is not the party."
"And good evening to you, gentlemen. I am Imbolc Talorcan. "
"And no, not the lord of the house. I am here to see his son. Your nephew, I believe."
"It seems we are all here for different reasons."
"Tell me Mortimer, do you know your nephew well?"
"Not as well as an uncle should. I spend much time in travel, adventure and religious duties."
"You intrigue me, Master Mortimer. Perhaps, you can regale us with tales of your travels. One such as I could learn much. That is, if I am not imposing too much."
"I could if you like. But I will warn you, my tales are not always cheery. But if you would still like to hear one I would be happy to oblige you."
"A scholar always keeps an open mind. Please, Master Mortimer." Gaius then checks the trays brought by the servants for some wine. He then pours some into goblets and offers them to his new companions.
"To new friends found and old ones remembered."
"It seems we have little else to do but wait, so by all means regale us with tales of your travels, Mortimer. Have you traveled through much of Umbria?"
Imbolc takes the proffered goblet of wine and raises it in his own toast:
"Be they stormy or no, may the winds blow always fairly for you."
Well then let me think… hmmm maybe this will do. I was traveling down to Briarton, just along the coast and a couple of days south of here. I stopped by the town's tavern to get a warm as it had been raining quite heavily for the past few hours.
The locals looked startled to see me and one even went so far as to draw his dagger before the bar mistress gave him a look that made him timidly put it back. Knowing that it was stormy and I, a stranger had suddenly showed up carrying a scythe I realized I had probably given them a quite a scare. Ordering a cup of mulled wine I went and sat by the fire. I started to get warm after sitting there for a few minutes. The locals slowly started to go back to their business. That’s when Mary, the barkeep, came over to refill my mug. She asked if I helped people. At that I realized my appearance alone had not caused these people to be so jumpy.
Asking her what the troubles might be I got the jist of the situation right away. A couple of the local girls had disappeared. It was known something had taken them as their homes had been broken into. Apparently a group of locals had already banded together to go find them.
Sheena Fairview, age 18, musician; Arthur Cromwell, age 21, farmer; Peter Stonethrow, age 17, lumberjack; & Daniel Halfmoon, Age 20, hunter.
I was told that if I hurried I might be able to catch up to them. I was given directions on how to get down to the sea via the rocky cliffs nearby. I went as fast as I could to catch up to these fellows. The weather forced me to go down the cliff trail slower then I would care for in that situation. When down on the beach I spent more time looking for where those men had went. In one of the lighting flashes, as the storm had gotten no better, I saw a glimmering on the rocks a bit down from me. It turned out to be a cave, laced with crystals.
Finally out of the weather, I could see tracks that haven’t been erased by the wind and rain. I heard the sound of fighting from deeper in the cave. Moving into the cave I found a battle in progress. Two of the rescuers were down in heaps on the floor. The other two were fighting for their lives. Facing them was a muscled and mean hob, with his abomination of a dog on a chain lease in front of him. As well it seemed that he had four goblins with him, though only one was still standing. The dog you see, was foul and twisted, had most of its flesh was in some state of rot and its bones protruded from its flesh in boney spikes. I quickly slew the beast but Daniel Halfmoon took a dagger in the back at that very instant. The goblin that did that was quickly cleaved in twain by Stonethrow’s axe. Teaming up on the hob we caused him to bleed. Unfortunately he had a trick up his sleeve. Out from under his bracer shot a small poisoned blade that caused Peter Stonethrow to fall over with a painful groan.
Judging the hobgoblin's physical condition, I called upon the power of Valdis and washed his life from his body. I then looked around at the battlefield and quickly realized that the others were beyond my power as they had already passed beyond the veil. After a quick search of the cave I found the girls battered but still alive, thanks to their rescuers. I helped them get back to town and then immediately went back to the cave. I spent the next few hours bringing the fallen back to their brethren. The weeping sky washed their bodies as I carried them home up the cliff path. The slain enemies were decapitated and thier heads were put upon pikes along the edge of town. The next day there was a heroes funeral and an appropriate monument was built in the town square. The villagers then went to the tavern where they were told the tale of the band of four and the crystal cave.
For those that fell that day started that it as men and woman but ended it as heroes.
He takes a sip of his wine and then holds the cup up. He pours some wine out into the nearest fire as tribute to the dead.
"Do either of you have a story of your travels? I'm sure you have travelled and seen things that I never have."
