Here is my humble attempt to catalogue Wellard's Rise of the Runelord's campaign. I will break the into a few posts to make it easier on the eyes.
The forest near Lost Coast Road grows denser as one travels further into it. The trees are only cut back for half a dozen steps beyond the edge of the trail. And that is only to deprive bandits of concealment. Anyone that walks into the woods must do so under his own concern for his safety.
I took slow steps with great care not to drag my feet. If robbers were present I did not want them to hear my steps on the floor of the forest. Daylight had just begun to color the sky when I reached a large outcropping of rocks. For three breaths I paused then pulled myself atop a flat stone that was the size of a large table. Quickly I crouched down and listened for any sound of threats. The light was not enough for me to see anything more than a short distance away but I knew that many predators are not so disadvantaged. The thought set my pulse beating for a furious moment before I calmed himself.
I loosened a pouch at my belt and withdrew a piece of charcoal. Then I began to circle around on my heels, drawing a line on the flat stone surface as I turned. In my mind I pictured an intricate design inside of a circle. "I have seen it so many times that I can draw it with my eyes closed," I muttered to myself. In the space of three score breaths I completed drawing the pattern on the stone.
To reassure myself I withdrew a piece of cloth from an inner pocket of my cloak. There was not enough light to clearly see that the ink drawing on the cloth exactly matched the one I had made on the stone. "It will have to be", I said and then stepped down from the rock. In the direction of the drawing on the stone I called out a name I never spoke to a living being:"Naberious, the Grinning Hound".
I counted my breaths after I spoke; six passed before sound followed my own. Then I heard feathers behind me and beside me, all around me. Feathers brushed my face and I pulled back reflexively. When I turned back to the circle on the stone I met the gaze of Naberious, a three-headed mastiff whose bulk barely fit atop the stone table. The hound's left head addressed me: "You called me to a rude spot here; if I step or even shift myself I will fall. Is this befitting?" Naberious' voice impressed me with its depth and grating sound. It suggested a cavernous throat. The right head of the giant dog slowly chewed the body of a crane it had caught before the flock flew off. The middle head silently considered its audience.
"I mean no disrespect by this location. But I needed secrecy. As you know, those who call you are persecuted."
"What do you want?” asked the monstrous dog.
"I wish to speak with your voice, to move listeners and to demand of them and to bear misfortune with your stoicism."
I spoke as respectfully as I could and bowed my head slightly. "In return I will be your portal to the world. All my experiences will be yours to know and share. You will feel the wind, smell the scents, taste spices and hear music as well as see all that I do." This was the promise he had made to Naberious each of the times that he called the hound into the world of men. Naberious' right head had finished eating and all three heads now stared into Imy own. For a moment I felt myself grow rigid as if held against my will or buried in a grave. A great weight pressed in on me from all sides and stiffled by breathing.
"I accept your plea and will grant you my power". This was said with all three of Naberious' heads. Then the left head turned and sniffed at the air. For a moment it said nothing. Then he turned back and warned: "Men approach. Leave now, binder." The three-headed dog then faded from sight but I sensed part of him in my mind. I wanted to converse with him and know things that are known only to beings such as he. But the great hound's warning reverberated in my ears.
I exhaled and felt the blood flow again in my limbs. I climbed atop the rock where the dog stood and looked in the direction that he had sniffed. Enough sunlight now shone that the diagram was clear on the rock. The trees prevented me from seeing more than a dozen yards from this vantage. In great haste I pulled another cloth from my pouch and wetted it with water from a skin. I used the damp rag to wipe away the chalk marks from the stone. If it were discovered I would be revealed as a binder and hanged. When the circle was nearly eliminated I heard ruffling in the trees and the voices of men.
The musician rubbed oil along his flute and rubbed it with a dirty rag before putting it to his lips. He played a scale of notes while his children looked up from where they sat about in a semi-circle around him. Two other men sat down beside him. One carried a larger flute with a brass piece on the end and the other man had a long-necked instrument with six thick strings stretched out between two ridged pieces of white material that looked like bone. He set its end on the ground in a way that suggested that it was too awkward to play except when the performer sat behind it.
I looked at the three musician and the women and children that congregated about them and tried to count them but was frustrated because they often walked into a nearby tent while others exited it. They were Varisians and played music at the Swallowtail Festival for coins while family members sold sweet baked goods from a table next to the tent. When the adults played the children would often slip their little fingers into the purses of the audience. Casually, I tightened my cloak about myself and shifted my pouch-belt to reassure myself that nothing had been stolen from me. The Varisians numbered about fifteen. "That would be enough for them to distract anyone and make off with his his gold", I thought and decided to move on.
The Festival had already begun in earnest and the city of Sandpoint was filled with music, the scent of cooked meat and the heat of the risen sun. Noon had come but the air was thick despite the early autumn breeze. At the corner religious pilgrims testified to their faith in Densa, goddess of travelers. I wondered why they had chosen a spot that blocked passage in order to do so. But the festival was in Desna's honor and Inikai had no desire for ill will from any god so I said nothing and wove through the midst of the worshipers. Around the corner was the town center where butterflies would be released after Abstalar Zantus; Sandpoint's head-priest harangued the crowd.
After only a short walk my right foot started to ache so I leaned up against the wall of a building in order to adjust my boot. The traffic on the muddy street was heavy and slow moving so I intended to wait for a lull in the flow of passersby before he would reach down and take it off. I did not want to bend over and expose my back to nimble thieves. While I waited my mind drifted to the small hours before the dawn and felt anxiety touch my chest. "Did I eliminate all signs of the circle? Did anyone see me before I left the woods?" It was doubtful that anyone would recognize the significance of the marks he made on the rocks even if I had been observed before I removed them. Doubt was not enough to put me completely at ease. There were too many instances where an accusation had damned a man for no more than a poor choice of words. In my memory I re-read dozens of pages detailing the condemnations and deaths of men labeled as "soul-whores", "body-slaves" and the like. To get my mind off this I considered the festival itself; those who traveled the Lost Coast Road for the festival would be intent on getting into Sandpoint before the heat of midday. They would not be loitering in the woods close to the city.
Of course, those with something to hide from customs taxes often secreted things in the woods. Obviously such people would need a landmark in order to find their concealed wares again and the rocks that Inikai had visited served that purpose superbly. Such people frequently would have a companion follow at a day's distance to retrieve the hidden goods, which could then be sneaked into the city after arrangements had been made. The Swallowtail Festival was a perfect opportunity for this type of smuggling. And the Varisians that Inikai had watched earlier were the sort of people who traded this way.
I realized that no one was near enough to cut my purse while I removed my boot. So I shifted my morning star under my robe to move more freely. As I reached downward I heard a scream that brought the music, speeches and nearby conversations to a halt. More screams followed and quickly, the silence displaced sounds of revelry from afar as well.
When I straightened up and reached for the morning star under my cloak the spikes caught on the fabric and I nearly lost my grip on it. I brought the weapon to a ready position and caught the sight of a bloody dog under a wagon. The wheels of the wagon had no blood on them so the dog was had not been run over. Then a small shape darted from beneath the wagon. A diminutive creature with a wide mouth and a sword in its hand took rapid steps toward me, seemingly giggling as it went. A goblin, I thought, as another leapt from atop the wagon to join its fellow. This is the first time I had seen the misanthropes and he felt some comfort in their small stature; they stood only to my belly. But their quick movements and light weapons were unnerving. "Is my weapon too heavy and slow to face them with?” I thought. "Running from such fast creatures is not an option so blood must be drawn."
Other members of the crowd drew weapons and formed a line as those less inclined to fight ran for safety. I drew in breath and bellowed at the goblins, "Come closer, vermin, don't cower so." Two of the goblins fled at my unnaturally deep and gravely voice which was really the voice of Naberious. But the others moved in for blood. The menacing beasts moved a few steps past the dead dog but in a moment they were as dead as the mutt. A tall ruddy man stood over their bodies. He pulled a sword from one of the goblin's chest and wiped the blood off into its hair. In his other hand he held another shorter sword angled outward from him.
The third person to catch my eye was a Varisian. This one also wielded a short sword, a type most often used in close-quarter fighting. I turned to address my fellow combatants but before I could speak we heard the goblins' song.
Five goblins broke off from a marauding swarm and steadily advanced toward Inikai and the others. They sang a war-song that declared their intention to eat their enemies. Now I understood the origin of the word "goblin". At the climax of the song the goblins charged and fray erupted. I found that Naberious' voice held no authority to command these wretches. They must only know enough Chelexian to sing depraved lyrics in it. I tried Shoanti, the other language I converse, in but they did not recognize commands in it either. The powers granted by Naberious were of no use here so I flailed about with my spiked club. As often as not I struck goblin hide. I spun about at every sound and fended off the chopping swings of the swarming enemies. All the while I feared an unseen thrust would drop me to the ground, helpless before the savages and their hunger.
After the fighting reached its bloody end I stood facing the two swordsmen and a wolf that became a gnome maiden before my eyes. "Where did the wolf come from?” I thought as I recalled the confused pieces of the battle. I feared that this wolf-gnome might be one who also hosts spirits and could know the source of my power. Even if she were not hostile to a binder her open display of transformation would likely bring unwanted attention. Yet she showed no fear and simply sat down and spoke in a hesitant and disjointed manner with many wild gestures. She said her name was Ali and little more. The swordsman was Muchorak. The young Varisian introduced himself as Jael. He had the look of a thief about him.
The carnage had ceased judging by the temper of the people in still in the street.I wondered how long we had fought. My lungs burned and my limbs hung at my sides, leaden with fatigue. Cheers went up around us. Others wailed over lost loved ones. I saw one of the young Varisian street musicians being carried by her father. Both were bloody and weeping. There were no signs that other family members survived. I watched them go in silence and fought back the lump in my throat. I turned back to the impromptu group just as a man urged the townsfolk to prepare for another attack. This was just the beginning he said and then paused as if he expected affirmation.But I was emotionally spent from the battle and said nothing. With a plaintive look, the man carried on down the street announcing that the goblins would return.
The goblins did not return. In fact, no sign was seen of them for days following. The prevailing mood in Sandpoint was not of fear as one would expect but of jubilation. Many within the town hailed me and my new companions as heroes. How we came to be esteemed above others who fought was a mystery to me. Would they be so endearing if they knew that forbidden beings looked out at the world through my eyes?
My newly made friends joined me in my house and took up residence in the unused rooms. Muchorak and Jael seemed to fit in as one would expect but Ali never seemed at ease there. For the most part she prowled the streets in the form of a wolf. But she retained her faculties in this shape and even played with children, as a friendly dog would do. With the innocence of youth they flocked to her, never fearing the jaws that rent goblin to shreds only days before.
We four set into a banal regime of cohabitation. It was strange to have others share my home. Since my father was murdered four years ago I had lived alone here and grown accustomed to solitude. I took greater care to hide the tools of my craft and did not speak of it to the others. Muchorak cut an intimidating figure when he practiced swordsmanship in the yard. Often he would draw an audience of passersby but for the most part he kept the more intrusive neighbors at bay. If nothing else came of this I would have been satisfied. "Besides, it is good to have someone to converse with in Shoanti." Jael initially made me nervous that someone would accuse him of theft and that my home would be searched and my library of proscribed books discovered. I was considering just that when a summons from came from Zantus that asked us to attend an audience with him.
An audience with a priest like Zantus would be an honor to most men but I feared that Zantus would recognize the nature of my power and call for my arrest and execution. The others saw this an opportunity to be seized. The fight against the goblins had raised a longing for adventure in them. I felt it too and used that feeling to overcome my fears. If the priest accused me of heresy I would simply feign indignation and claim that the shock of recent days had been too much for the gods-man. If nothing else it would give me time to gather my things and flee on the first ship out of Sandpoint.
Grave robbing, marital infidelity, sibling disputes, goblins and their feeling towards animals were the topics of discussion at the audience with Zantus. Belor Hemlock, the sheriff of Sandpoint and an elven woman, a ranger named Shalelu briefed us about the goblin attack. Different tribes of the sub-humans had banded together for the raid despite their normal enmity to one another. Shalelu made a point of this and suggested some external leadership as the explanation for this. She spoke of her scouting missions in the goblin lands nearby and of the vile currs that they breed as pets. Hemlock detailed the carnage brought on Sandpoint. Much of it was caused by fires the goblins set. He stressed that goblins are not organized by nature and that he too felt someone else urged their hand in the attack.
Zantus was far from the threatening figure I had imagined. He seemed of a most gentle nature and never inquired about my craft. My father had been a priest of Nethys and perhaps that put me in good steed with the godservant. He told us that several graves had been robbed during the attack on the town. One of the bodies stolen was of the late priest who was killed in a fire when the old shrine burned down five years ago. The very priest whose body had been defiled presided over my father's funeral.
An woman employed as a servant at Sandpoint's most prominent Inn was at the meeting.She brought a note that was left in the room of her employer, Ameiko Kaijitsu. In the note her brother, who might not be more than half that, implicated their father, or her father at the very least, in the goblin raid. In the note he hinted at more and requested that she meet him in the glassworks that were owned by their father, or at least her father. The maidservant told us of the brother's terrible reputation and of his many misdeeds including disrupting their mother's funeral. He even came to blows with Ameiko's (and possibly his) father at the funeral. She feared that her mistress would come to harm if she met with her erstwhile brother. The sister (or half) had gone missing, of course, and it was decided that the glassworks was the most likely place to seek her. Many of those in the town militia were still at the walls waiting for another goblin attack so the task rescuing the young miss Kaijitsu fell to the "Heroes of Sandpoint" as were now being called.
The mission to rescue Ms. Kaijitsu was accepted. I thought about the glassworks. While I had never been inside them I knew that they contained large furnaces that gave off dreadfull heat. It was unpleasant to even walk close by it on a hot day. If we are to enter a potential fire trap I wished to be prepared. The others were ready to go forth right away but I insisted that I needed something from my home before we set off. With that I sped to my house, locked myself in my room and started to draw on the floor with a piece of chalk.
When I finished the diagram I listened for a moment to see if anyone had followe me into the house. Satisfied that I was alone I called out for Aym, Queen of Avarice to appear. The room then became as hot as a kiln. I closed my eyes and turned away from the heat. When I turned back there sat a dwarf woman in royal attire upon a huge pile of gold coins. Instead of legs two snake-like tails wound their way around the mound of gold and in her hand she held a fire poker. "By what right do you call me?" she demanded. "By your seal, by your name and by your title" I replied. "I seek the power of your blessing that I may use to war on goblins and free their prisoners. I wish to spurn the heat of flames and to crush objects in my path as a good dwarf crushes those that oppose him. And I will be your conduit to the mortal world. All my experiences will be yours as well.
Aym was pleased and said "You would have made a fair dwarf yourself." Then she smiled and the heat of the room lessened. "Hold your left hand to me" she said. I did as I was bade and she pressed her poker into my hand, burning a crescent shape into my palm. There was no pain in this. "Now go and kill many goblins. I long to feel their deaths." With that Aym flickered as a dying flame does and was no more. I wiped away the diagram and joined my companions who were outside, waiting impatiently for me. As we made our trek to the glassworks I felt Aym's presence in my mind and expected to hear her voice but she was a silent observer.
"Why would anyone want to sheath a corpse in glass?" Inikai pondered as he and his new friends stood among dead goblins. They had entered the glassworks and encountered the humanoids there. The melee was swift and ended well for the adventurerers. Jael loomed over a trio of surviving goblins and interrogated them in their own language. While he waited for a Jael to translate Inikai looked about at his surroundings. He and his fellows stood in the furnace room of the glassworks. The goblins had apparently killed several humans and dipped the severed limbs of the victims in glass. But seated in a chair was Lonjik Kaijitsu, the father of Amieko Kaijitsu and owner of the glassworks. He was dead and completely encased in glass. Do goblins understand irony? This seemed to reinforce the idea that the small beasts worked someone else's will. "How did they get him into a seated position and covered with glass? Why was his skin not burned off from the heat when he was immersed?" I asked no one in particular. "Perhaps he was to be a trophy. Who, then was the priest who conducted the funeral for the Ameiko's mother? If it was the same one that was rudely disinterred from the graveyard that suggests that the prodigal son is indeed the vilain here. It fits with the theme of revenge agains the doubtful father as well."
Jael and Muchorak said nothing but indicated by their expressions that I was talking too much. The two men flanked a door leading to another room. Ali, in her wolf form, sniffed at the door and shook her head back and forth. Muchorak then grabbed the handle of the door and opened it.
In the five years that I have lived in Sanpoint I have only entered the Rusty Dragon Inn on a handfull of occasion. My late father was an austere man and looked at most forms of commerce as distractions from the faith of Nethys. After he was murdered I was looked after by Ilsoari who runs the Turandok Academy for the children of sandpoint. It is strange to sit now in the taproom of the inn with Muchorak, Ali and Ilsoari himself.
Since I was nearly an adult when I came to Sandpoint I lived in my father's home and continued his work as best I could. Tobyn, the priest of Desna was to have taken me on as an acolyte of the goddess of travelers. But the murder spree of Jervis Toot, Tobyn could do little more than give funerary rites to the victims. He probably wished he were a priest of Pharasma during that bloody month. When fire later consumed the shrine to Desna and Tobyn with it Ilsoari took me under his wing. I spent days at his academy as a scribe and pupil.
Ilsoari is a sage who has adventured throughout the world. He can work magic and the tales of his exploits can ensorcel a listener. He does not know it but it was one of his stories that provided me with the key to understand binding of vestiges. Now we sat, sipping wine as examined the spoils we took from Tsuto. As he worked he told us of the Tsuto family's tragic history.
Lady Kaijitsu fell to her death from a balcony in her home. Tsuto accused Lord Kaijitsu of murdering her. Muchorak was taken aback at the thought of familial violence because the Shoanti know little of this. Ali probably has even less ken for such things. Muchorak also showed his roots when he glared at an odd young woman who had given us a challenging stare when we sat at our table. She averted her eyes from him and, perhaps without knowing it, acknowledged her lesser status. That is how the Shoanti often resolve conflicts without recourse to bloodshed. I would not advise travelers to indulge in this practice in the Shoanti lands. There is much more depth to it than one can safely understand in a short time.
The odd woman sat close to priest of Nethys but they did not seem to be acquianted. The priest was a Varisian by the look of him but he had Shoanti tattoos. "Perhaps he is a half-breed like I am" I thought. Ali noted his marking and brought them to Muchorak's attention. As she did, the priest lifted his mug in acknowledgement of us. It seems there might be good cause to get to know these strangers in town.
As we spoke with discussed the journal that we took from Tsuto. It detailed the hand he took in the goblin raids and the theft of Toby's body from the graveyard. The attack was only a diversion for the graverobbing and a larger assault was promised. Tsuto wrote of his obsession for Nualia, the daughter of Tobyn. Nualia had been thought dead in the fire that killed her father. Now, accoding to the journal, she defiled her father's body in a ritual sacrifice to Lamashtu. More dire events were foretold in the journal as well. Most striking were Tsuto's professions of love for Nualia. To a saner mind these clearly the stuff of obsessions, not love. In his writings Tsuto seemed to simple to understand the difference. But, if his accounts are accurate, this Nualia is a sinister woman with the capacity to bring ruin to Sandpoint's people.
I just wanted to say this has really been useful to me as far as getting caught up on the campaign. It let me know how you guys wanted binders to be viewed by society as well(that was one point I was about to ask about in the OOC thread).
I just wanted to say this has really been useful to me as far as getting caught up on the campaign. It let me know how you guys wanted binders to be viewed by society as well(that was one point I was about to ask about in the OOC thread).
Don't mention binders and I won't bring up the Black Witch of Sandpoint or the time I walked in on you and that boy, Timmy, or whatever his name is. (Kidding)
In all seriousness I am glad that you find it useful. James Jacobs wrte about binders in his journal for Tyralandi Scrim. That is what got me interested in the class.
In most campaigns binders are persecuted, especially by clerics and religious orders, because they traffic with beings that are beyond the powers of gods. Theses beings are called vestiges because they are the remnants of beings that no longer exist in the normal sense of the word. Several vestiges came to be as a result of divine punishment or they were falled gods, demons etc... If a being cannot be affected by a god then that shows that there are limits to a god's power.
Some churches and religions might have no opinion at all about binders. This ultimately is Wellard's call for the campaign. Inikai tends to be evasive about the source of his power. Kali would know that Inikai's father was a priest of Nethys.
Sweet. Now, that's some good writing.
Thank you. Give it a try. It is more fun that I expected it to be. But It does make me impatient for the game to move quickly.
Ha! Well That happens anyway ;-) Welcome to the world of PbP's :p
While we were discussing the journal the priest of Nethys approached us and introduced himself to us. He is a Varisian named Marak Quan. He looked a bit shifty, as all Varisians do, but he said that he came to Sandpoint explicitly to meet with Ilsoari. The sage spoke pleasantly with him while I took efforts to hide my discomfort. "A priest of Nethys, just like my father!" I thought to myself. While all godsmen brought me discomfort, the clergy of Nethys were most dangerous to me since any one of them might know of my late father's mission. This Marak Quan was too young to have known my father, in fact he looked no older than I am. But I always dreaded the day that the church of Nethys would remember my father's library and send for it. In this current unpleasantness I had shown my powers to Muchorak and Ali but they are steadfast companions. My fear is that others could have observed me and their accounts might come to the ears of witch-hunters.
I wondered aloud if any travelers brought news of the goblins and pointed out a strange woman sitting nearby who was poorly concealing her interest in our conversation. Ilsoari laughed and identified this woman as Kaliciel from the Turandok Academy! This revealation took my mind from its fear. Her hair was now a striking shade of red that does not come naturally to a human maiden. When last I saw her she was raven-haired and enamored of morbid poetry now she was grown and, according to Ilsoari, a sorceress. He said that she used her power when the goblin set upon the town. This stunned me. Had enough time passed that Kaliciel was now grown? Did she wield magic all the time that I saw her as a silly young girl? More traffic in secrets than I had imagined.
I called the waitress over and sent a glass of wine to Kaliciel's table. When it arrived she ackowledged our party and approached us. The young girl that we called Kali was still apparent in her features but not in her manner. The former silly girl added much to our discussion of the current crisis and shortly she and Marak Quan volunteered to join our excursion to the tunnels below the city. Jael was to meet with us in the morning after he visited his sister who he said had been injured in the goblin raid.
Now I rest in the bed of this fine Inn and am less at ease than I have been since my father's murder. "What if I am discovered as a binder?" I thought. "Will Ilsoari be accused as well on the strength of his association with me. And would Kaliciel stand accused also or would she be horrified at what I am? Would the cleric, Zantus, turn on me?" All these thoughts vyed for prominence in my mind. In time, though, I welcomed them. I came to see them as problems to be solved and imagined how each could be overcome. In the end I sought refuge in these excercised because they occupied my mind. They kept me from facing the fact that tomorrow I would delve below the ground. And there I would face a demon.
Much to my surprise my sleep was peaceful and my limbs were strong when I arose. The exertions of the last few days did not wear on my body; truly youth is a splendid thing. I will miss it if I live beyond these years. If I am to reach my dotage then I must be prepared and to that end I set off to my home and my craft.
The walk to my home took only a little time in the morning sun. I passed many familar faces on the short journey. The smells of the bakery wafted pleasantly in the street until they met the stands of the fishmongers. I was reminded of an account that I read concerning fish and how their smell could be used to bind devils of great power. The story had always struck me as folly. But on this morning I was tempted to purchase a fish in the unlikely event it could lend me an advantage over the demon underneath the ground that I walked on. Instead, I indulged myself with hot bread glazed with honey from the baker's oven. If this might be my last day to live I wanted to savor as much as possible.
The windows of my house were shuttered and the heat of the day had not warmed it within. I stood at the threshold and waited for five breaths. Nothing stirred within and I could see no assassin hiding in the foyer so I set about checking each room in turn. Convinced that the house was empty I locked myself in my room and withdrew a piece of charcoal from my pocket and began to draw upon the wall. Twenty breaths passed and then I was finished. I stood before a large circle of black soot with many intricate details inside. When I was satisfied that the seal was correct I called out the name of "Dahlver-nar, the Tortured One."
The name had barely left my lips before the moaning reached my ears. It was unpleasant as all moaning is but it did not ebb as normal moans do; this tortured sound did not depend on mortal breathing to sustain it. The moaning grew in volume but the more disturbing aspect was that it never faltered or promised any respite. Reflexively, I covered my ears but this offered little defense. For a moment I averted my eyes and pressed my hands hard to my ears. When I looked back at the seal there floated a great mouth, easily capable of swallowing a man. The teeth were hideous in their variety; all manner of species seemed to be represented between cracked human lips. The teeth were yellowed, some were broken and many came at odd angles. There were dozens of them. What I could see of the tongue looked human enough but it writhed in a way that contrasted with the moaning sound.
I drew back against the wall but then steeled myself. "I ask for your power" I beseached the mouth but the moaning filled my ears and I hesitated. "Protect my mind and my body, give me the ability to share pain and torment" I added with an faltering voice. The moaning did not vary in response to my entreaties. I found myself moaning softly as I considered what to say next. My confidence was shaken and my immediate desire was to escape this madness.
"Will you grant me wisdom not given to men?" I asked. This was not part of the pact but I made the request in the vain hope that this being would favor me with such. The only reply was the moaning but it grew fainter now. My resolve to question the shade of a legendary being faltered. The teeth commanded all my attention. I focused on them to the exclusion of all else. Even the fading moan now seemed distant and vague to me. Only the teeth mattered. In the space six hearbeats the teeth, the lips and the moaning all ceased to be in my room. For ten heartbeats more I stared at the empty air in front of the seal. I considered the seal for another moment and then picked up a rag that I had wetted for this moment. As I wiped the seal from my wall I could not restrain my thoughts. They ran riot in my head and I could not catch one for more than a fleeting second. Several times I realized that I had not completed removing the seal.
Once the seal was gone I looked to the candle that lit the room. It had burned more that I expected but I was not able to determine the time it had been lit. This frustrated me; I had intended the candle to mark the time as much as to provide light. For a few moments I looked carefully at the blackened length of the wick but I was unable to marshall my thoughts on the task. On the table next to the candle was a book that I had forgotten about until this moment. It was open to a blank page so that I could record my experience of binding Dahlver-nar tome. This being was said to have been the mightiest cleric to ever live and I wanted to examine every aspect of his presence. However, I found that my thoughts would not cease straying from the task. In frustration I let my head fall into my hands and it was then that i felt the teeth. Six teeth had grown from my scalp. There they protruded, among the stubble of my hair. This brought me to my senses in a rush of fear.
Teeth growing from the scalp was the sign that a man had made a pact with Dahlver-nar. Anyone that new the sign could denounce me as a heretic and surely there are learned folk in Sandpoint who would have the knowledge to do so. The priest Marak Quan would surely know tales of the soul-whores and the signs of their trade. "And what of Zantus", I thought. A stout helm could hide the teeth but what if it were knocked off? How would I explain to the others this bizarre sight?
With all my resolve I found myself wishing that the teeth were not there. I felt childish and angry as if I were a youngling wishing for gifts from the fairie folk of babe-stories. The anger gave way to self-pity and I often thought the word "betrayal", as if someone else had driven me to this dire situation. Self-pity gave way to self-loathing for my inability master the sign of Dahlver-nar. "Binders have walked unnoticed for centuries!" I castigated myself. "How am I to wield the power of great beings if I cannot master their marks?"
Anger fueled my physical strainings and my resolve. I clenched my jaw tightly and held my breath as the blood pressed against its pathways in my neck. With my fingers upon the teeth I pressed as hard as I was able. My hands are those of a scribe, not the calloused hands of a mason. The teeth pierced into the tips of my fingers as I pushed downward. When the pain was too great I withdrew my hands, breathed deeply and redoubled my efforts. The pain was great the second time. In effect I was biting my own hands with teeth that were not my own. This time, though, the teeth were receding. Whether the success was due to physical or mental efforts the teeth had yielded.
Soon after, my bloody fingers traced over the smooth lines of my scalp. I found a mirror and examined my head in the dim light of a the candle. Nothing showed there but a mild redness from the pressing of my fingers. I waited to see if the teeth would emerge again but, thankfully, they remained hidden. With a sigh I stood and collected the tools or my craft and hid them in a secure place that I would never commit to parchment. It is now time to rejoin my companions and trek beneath the ground. I saved one piece of honeyed bread for the walk.
When I rejoined my companions at the Inn I found one that I had one fewer and one more. Jael, it seems, has taken his leave of our little group. He had said that he was in Sandpoint only to acquire healing for his injured sister who had been wounded. How odd that he never secured a sick-bed for her in town or sought to have Zantus aid her. I felt foolish at the realization that his lies were so blatant on examination but had fooled me in their telling.
Instead of Jael we now welcomed Romon, a son of Magnimar like me. He had a shiftlessness about him that was in keeping with his association. He had approached the others asking for Jael. While I was binding Dahlver-nar they had made an assessment of him and decided that he could be trusted. Initially, I wanted to question him at length but I found that my mind would not adhere to a line of thought for long. Where Aym sat quietly behind my eyes Dahlver-nar felt like a visitor that I would like to disinvite but could not. This made me disinclined to focus on anything and simply go along with the will of the group. If they felt this Romon person a fitting companion then I agreed.
We five descended into the tunnels below the glassworks and made our way along in a clumsy manner. Ali padded along in her wolf-form with Muchorak close behind her and me behind him. Kaliciel walked behind me and the Varisian Romon was last. “An unknown Varisian with a bow walks behind us in a narrow corridor!” I thought. Perhaps the demon we sought was not a Pit-dweller after all. But again, Dahlver-nar roamed about in my mind and disturbed my concentration even more than ever before.
I don’t know how long we walked in the tunnels. They turned this way and that and more than once we found ourselves confronted by bricked walls. My mind wandered and I followed the others by default rather than design. What finally brought my thoughts to bear on the subject was an assault by freakish things. As we turned a corner, two man-shaped beings with jaws like insects fell upon us with murderous intent. Only the mail of my chain shirt protected me from their wild clawing. They were distasteful in form with gangly limbs, gray hairless skin and the mien of beasts without thoughts. They fought savagely but without skill and they were laid low after several harrowing moments.
Where goblins are evil in behavior they are still natural creatures. These freaks were evil in form. One had sunk his jaws into Muchorak in the melee and left a bloody wound in his flesh. While the wound was not mortal it poisoned the warrior’s mind. It was only with great strength of will that he was able to master himself. As he told it he wanted to indulge in bloodlust against us all. That such a man could be turned to savagery by tooth and claw shook me. Where I had seen the tunnels as leading us to our foe I now saw them as a trap. Would any of us emerge? And if so, would we be the same men when we did?
More than the foulness of the creatures affected me. They wore scraps of cloth that looked like they might have once been clothes. Were they men once? Had they been twisted into depravity by outside influences? By the demon who awaits us in these tunnels far from the sun?
While I stood in idle speculation Marak Quan crouched down by the fallen beasts and placed his hand on one. His head snapped back and his eyes, even in the dim light of torches his eyes showed nothing of humankind. They were gray solidly and suggested that he saw from the vantage point of the spirits. He spoke and his voice was not his own but rather it came from a great distance, somewhere removed from Golarion world.
Marak Quan’s lips moved but the words were not of his choosing. This was a practice of the priesthood of Nethys. I knew it from my readings; my father never exercised it in my presence but he had recorded accounts of it and I had studied them often since his death. In his trance-like state Marak Quan discoursed on the origin of the slain things. He called them “sin-spawns” and said that they were corrupted in something called a “rune-well”. Their bite carried the taint of their affliction and could soil the essence of their prey.
Whereas my companions were glad for the knowledge Marak Quan provided us I felt trepidation. Could he uncover my secrets with a touch? Could he name the spirit bound to me and reveal me as an apostate? I made a note to always keep a distance from the young priest but, at the same time, to always keep him in my sight.
We resumed our search for the demon’s lair but were stymied again and again by corridors that ended in impassible stone. It stood to reason that other means of entering these paths must exist. Why would someone construct these tunnels unless they could be used for transport? One of the walls yielded its secrets to our searching hands. In the torchlight we found a latch that freed a section of a wall to swing outward. The tunnel then yielded to a natural cavern and the salty air and sound of the ocean. Below us the beach near the bay spread out below us. The remains of a campsite were evident far down. The goblins must have been ferried in on ships and then used the tunnels to infiltrate Sandpoint. But then why were there no signs of their passing? Who thought it was in their interest to convey them?
Until this moment I had assumed the tunnels were used by the Scarzi families to evade the harbor tax on their goods. Smugglers would not seek the destruction of those who purchase from them. The dead spend no coin. These thoughts occupied me as we ambled along in the sputtering light of our torches.
I was brought to attention when I nearly walked into Muchorak. He had stopped to examine a statue in the corridor. I started when her marble skin came into view; I thought she was a real woman. Embarrassed, I hoped that no one had noticed my reaction.
The statue was stern in her countenance and gripped a pole-arm in her hand. Marak Quan said that the statue was Thasilonian and represented the sin of wrath. This was his field of interest. She was not a goddess and not a demon. “The Thasilonian culture encompassed beings that occupied unique roles”, he said in response to our questions. This gave me some comfort; perhaps he would not hold pacts with spirits as anathema. Still, the comfort was small.
A short way behind the statue was a shallow well containing water and stained with blood. Skulls adorned the walls but there were no religious or magical symbols and the craftsmanship was of poor quality. We agreed that his well was nothing but a ruse. A truly magic well would be hidden and well guarded.
Close by the well was an altar to Lamashtu. It was only appropriate that the Mother of Monsters should be present where horrid things make their home. Briefly, I considered defacing the altar but it is best not to invite the wrath of the gods. My thoughts themselves might have been temerity enough because it was then that I saw the heads.
Plainly speaking we heard the heads before we saw them. A shrill scream filled the stale air. I turned, expecting to see the skulls on the well with their jaws now opened. What I saw were two heads without bodies and they flew at us like birds of prey. There were two of them and they were nearly of a kind with the sin-spawn but more fishlike, with odd ridges and teeth.
Fear moved me and I let forth with all the anguish and confusion that Dahlver-nar visited upon my mind in a sustained moan. My jaw and throat ached and my mind surged with images of horrors but I maintained the sound. Dahlver-nar knew matchless torture in his life and the moan that left my mouth conveyed them to the obscene flying heads. One heard me fully and stopped there, motionless above the ground. My lungs strained for air as I held the moaning sound.
Finally, I surrendered to the need for breath. Marak Quan and Kaliciel laid into the vile head with their magic. It fell to the ground behind the well. Its companion recoiled from Muchorak’s swords but did so too slowly. It joined its companion in death.
Ali sniffed at these hideous monstrosities then rolled them over with her snout. No doubt they were dead. “How can a head live without a body” I thought. Certainly, the others wondered as well but all remarked on was the vileness of these things. First we saw men who had been transformed into monsters. Now heads without bodies. Do they portend more dire and more obscene enemies?
I thought back to Ilsoari’s lectures. “Ignorance is weakness. When you know nothing of the nature of a problem you cannot solve that problem” he had told me. “You must learn all that you can about whatever you confront.” With that in mind I picked up one of the heads and examined it. The light of the torches revealed grotesque features that suggested the reptilian as much as the icthyoid. I placed the head inside an empty sack I carried and then placed it inside my backpack. In the event of another attack I would drop the pack from my shoulder.
"These things are disgusting and fascinating at the same time. I would like to show them to Ilsoari. In fact, I am going to collect souvenirs of our slain foes." This last thought came to me unbidden. It surprised me that I had such an interest and had to admit to myself the fascination I experienced. More surprising was the optimism I felt; this was the first time since we invaded these tunnels that I spoke of leaving them alive.”
My optimism was short-lived. Not long after the attack of the heads we found a room dedicated to the practice of torture. Instruments of pain were strewn about. Simply looking at them forced me to imagine their functions. They were everywhere around the room and their numbers made me feel a sensation of being trapped in this chamber. Muchorak could not contain his disgust; he proclaimed that the Shoanti would never debase themselves with such items. This lifted my spirits. Ali growled at the vile devices while Marak and Kaliciel voiced their disdain as well. Marak’s admiration for Thassilonian culture appeared to flag a bit with our discovery of this room. Romon protested as well but it seemed to me that he was simply following the example of the others. Could he be completely trusted, I wonder.
Disgust hurried our exit and we later encountered more evidence of depravity. A chamber near the torture room contained dozens of skeletons twisted into unnatural shapes. The bones were locked into small closets and left there for years, as evidenced by their age. These bones inspired more questions. What were they? Why were they forced into these rude crypts?
Again, revulsion prompted us to wander further and explore more of these cursed passageways. Behind a door we again confronted the twisted sin-spawn and engaged them in violence. Our skill at arms and magic laid them low but I was bitten by one before it fell. The thing’s foulness infected my thoughts with rage. The beasts were slain so my anger turned toward my fellows. Muchorak was now imperious and arrogant savage. Ali was a simple beast who belonged in a pen. Kaliciel’s childishness infuriated me as did Marak’s ludicrous infatuation with a culture best left dead. And Romon looked nothing more than a scavenging cutpurse.
Thoughts of violence toward my companions screamed for attention but I resisted them. Only resentment lingered. Perhaps I should be grateful for the distraction that my pact with Dahlver-nar visited upon me. Perhaps it prevented me from focusing on the rage that poisoned me. I managed to say to my fellows: "These wretched things pass their rage on through their bites. Should one of us succumb the others would have to restrain him or her and hope that it passes. Against foes we have been deadly, I hope we would be able hold back against friends. For my part, if it seems as though I am turning into one of them” here I pointed at the dead sin-spawn “then kill me as quickly as possible."
Muchorak was direct as is his custom. “On my honor”, he said. Marak replied that if he should fall to that curse that he expected all of our efforts to rescue him. His tone and manner were sardonic and I yielded to laughter in reply. The illness left me through my laughs. It is not only with steel that we protect one another.
After we licked our wounds we fell into disagreement on a further course. Ali decided things for us in her own way by trotting ahead and we all fell into ranks behind her. Her senses warned of an enemy in the darkness ahead and we sprang upon a humanoid with arms growing from its neck and feet from its head. Leaking soars covered its skin and its mouth occupied nearly the whole of its face. The effect of its hideousness took us aback for a moment.
The thing’s malformations worked against it, though, and it could only advance slowly and unsteadily. Ali was able to dig her teeth into its haunches while I sent an arrow into its chest. The misanthrope reeled back a step and looked at the arrow protruding from it. In that instant Muchorak brought both his blades into the freak and slew it. It fell atop a wooden covering over a pit in the floor. Six other pits ringed the room and in each we heard shuffling sounds like footsteps.
With weapons drawn we uncovered the pits and in each stood a walking dead man, long decayed but still upright. Kaliciel and Marak rained their spells down on the abominable residents of the pits and one after another they were put to their rest. For a moment all were silent. The stench of death forced Ali to transform back into her gnome shape to spare her sensitive nose. None of us would be spared the memories of this place with its deformed residents, deformed tools and deformed character.
Marak laid his hand upon the corpse of the bizarre creature we slew and channeled the insight of Nethys. This was no less disturbing than before. His eyes turned an unnatural hue and his voice came from somewhere else. He proclaimed that the thing with limbs in its neck had been a goblin once. Now its flesh hid its very nature.
Again, questions surged about. What purpose did these tunnels now serve? Who would warp the flesh of men and goblins? What kind of demented mind revered such depravity? How soon would we find our ultimate enemy and what face would it wear?
I tried to put my questions to Dahlver-nar in the hope that he could hear my thoughts as he resided beside my soul. But instead of answers I received only silence. In the hope of communicating with the legendary priest I searched the far corners of my mind but found no trace of his consciousness. Instead, I fell deeper into confusion. The priest’s vestige carried with it the madness that he suffered in life and a small vestige of that madness was visited upon me. My thoughts reeled incoherently. Only with great effort could I master myself and bring my attention to bear on surroundings.
When I regained my focus Romon was suggesting that we explore a doorway we had passed earlier. For a moment I considered raising an objection but my reason for it escaped me as suddenly as it appeared. In a haze, I nodded and followed as we trekked toward the doorway. I cannot recall my steps as we traveled. In fact, I only became aware that we had arrived when Muchorak stood still in front of me and I nearly walked into his back.
The big man started to say something but never formed any words. Ali whined and dropped low with her tail close to the ground. Kaliciel and Marak stood in wonder and even Romon had moved to the front of the pack, no longer concerned with stealth it seemed.
I shifted around Muchorak and looked though the open doorway. Inside was a scene that stole all sense from the world. A book, a scroll, a twisted metal rod, a bottle of wine and a dead raven all circled about in the air as if they floated in a whirlpool. Absently, I noticed that a swarm of maggots orbited the dead bird. The room was spherical and its walls were covered with metal plates that sparked here and there with flashes of electricity.
For a moment the sparks flashed brightly and formed into symbols. The shock of this took me aback and I was unable to recognize the symbol in the air. Then it happened again but they formed into a word that faded from sight before I could recognize it.
All the bizarre events we had witnessed were beggared by this revolt against nature. It pulled me from my distraction and at the same time sapped my confidence in everything that I held to be true. It seemed as if Nethys had touched this room in anger and destroyed all sense of order that we normally expect. In order to escape from the feeling of dread and wonderment I examined the objects that danced about unsupported. Books, scrolls and wands are the tools of sorcery. The raven was likely a familiar. The maggots about the bird suggested that it had died recently; otherwise they would be flies by now. Taken together the flying debris suggested that a spellcaster had met his end here. Were the spark-words his messages to us? Were they a warning? Silently, we all held ourselves clear of the threshold to the room.
Kaliciel pulled an apple from a bag and threw it into the room. It joined in the dance of the floating objects. She pointed out that the maggots were alive in the room so that must mean they were not killed by whatever slew the raven. “A sharp observation,” I thought. "Kaliciel is not the little girl I knew years ago."
Marak channeled the power of Nethys to procure the scroll, book and wand from the air in the room. He proclaimed the scroll as a minor spell but said nothing of the book. I longed to know about it and of the wand but Marak said nothing of them.
We had been below ground for three or four hours at this point. It was difficult to say if the time had passed quickly or slowly. When I thought on the matter I found my thoughts veering off to the many strange experiences and sights we encountered. Perhaps this was because of the distraction from being bound with Dahlver-nar. No, it was understandable that I would have difficulty coming to terms with what I had seen here. It was all overwhelming and the only way to keep from being driven to a catatonic state was to avoid contemplating the events and sights. Better to push them to the back of my consciousness and promise myself that I would consider them later, when we returned to the surface.
This made me wonder how the others coped with these shocking and horrific experiences. Marak is a priest trained in the magic of Nethys. He must have had at least an inkling that such things as we have see exist. In any event, he seems morally appalled by what we have encountered here. His resolve appears to fuel his courage to fight on against the demon and its works. Kaliciel also wields sorcerous power but it springs from her blood not from study of the magic arts. She would need to depend on her own wits and courage to maintain her sanity. She is so young that I fear for the soundness of her mind.
Alisebett is almost as much a part of the fey world as she is of the “real” world. Gnomes endeavor to experience all that they can. I do not fear for her so much. After all, she is a creature of two natures, wolf and gnome. She moves back and forth without trepidation that she might lose herself fully in either form. Her command of fey magic also inures her to mental scarring from these horrors beneath the ground.
Muchorak draws strength from his Shoanti heritage. His remove from Chelish civilization allows him to distance himself from the madness of the past hours. He can easily decry the depredations here as the moral decadence of foreigners that trafficked with devils. It can be useful to label as evil anything that clashes with your culture. In this, though, he has justification.
Romon is still a stranger to me. He has shown no sigh of being greatly appalled by our venture in these tunnels. In fact, nearly all that he has expressed is curiosity and a measure of amusement. It could well be that he shows little of himself simply as a professional tactic. It could be that he is simply sly; I cannot say.
My musings were interrupted by the realization that my fellows were silent and staring at me. The decision to press on had been reached while I was lost in thought. There was not a little impatience in the faces of my companions I noted. I promised myself that I would fight to master my thoughts and restrain them to what is at hand. There was more than a little shame that underpinned my determination.
I watched every footstep that brought us to the last doors in this twisted domicile. Ever pause and shift of equipment that my teammates made I noted. As Romon set his strung bow down and drew his sword and as Kali muttered something inaudible I took in every detail. Marak limbered his fingers for their magical exertions.
Ali regained her gnome form and blessed Muchorak and me with a charm that filled our limbs with strength and dissolved the fatigue of our exertions. Muchorak looked at me and pressed his shoulder to one door then nodded. I nodded in response and set my shoulder to the other door. We both held our weapons down but ready for immediate assault. As we shoved the doors yielded with surprising ease and gave us entry to a large chamber dominated by a pool of water ringed by an obscene skull motif. Torches along the walls lit the interior so I dropped my own against the floor and began to survey the area. Before I observe anything of note the demon made itself known to us all.
The demon flew in place on wings that looked too small to support it. Its skin was a wrinkled affair that hung loosely about its small body and its stature seemed more diminutive than that of Ali. The black tiara and black dress it wore suggested a childish effort to strike a haughty bearing. However, the effect was to make her seem laughable. Only when she cut her own wrist and dripped black blood down into the pool below her was her power revealed. The blood caused the water in the pool to boil and steam. One heartbeat later the misshapen form of a sin-spawn rose from the rolling boil and advanced toward us. Three others then stepped out of the shadows and engaged us in combat.
I loosed Dahlver-nar’s moan at two of them and stopped them in their tracks. Romon shot an arrow that struck the demon true but it stayed in flight. To my right I heard Muchorak wade into his foe and then the sound of a body fall to the floor. I spared a moment to look and was filled with relief to see the tribesman standing over the thing. Muchorak finished his foe off just as Marak and Kaliciel let their magics fly. His sword struck out, wielded by his will alone. It dug into one of the sin-spawn and drew blood. Kaliciel conjured a gelatinous mass than engulfed the demon and held it fast to the side of a pillar near the pool. The gods smiled on our efforts!
Ali mauled the leg of another sin-spawn as Romon attacked it in tandem with her. He stabbed it but the thing counter attacked with its claws and left him bloody. The Varisian reeled back more stunned than injured and quickly regained his composure. The wolf-gnome feigned another charge and kept the freak off balance. The spawn seemed confused by the team-work of Ali and Romon. Apparently they attack only by instinct and without strategy.
Marak positioned himself to intercept the spawn that emerged from the pool. The thing would be at a disadvantage by the need to step over the small lip that surrounded the pool. As he waited Kaliciel hurled a cerulean fire at the demon. Her aim was perfect but the fire burned away the gel-prison that had held the fiend. If it suffered any harm I could not tell. Now free, it called out threats but there were of such a simple-minded fashion that again I wondered if it were anything more than a child. The advancing sin-spawn reminded me that this was no babe to dismiss lightly.
I used the moment to focus on the demon. Inside my self I summoned a part of Dahlver-nar’s being that became almost a tangible fullness in my gut. The act of this brought pain and a passing nausea. I fought the urge to vomit and breathed all the air in my lungs out toward the demon. In a manner that I cannot explain I felt a fleeting connection with the foul thing. In my mind I entreated all the gods I could name for it took take root.
In order to connect myself with our foe I needed her to be close to me. Her apparent immaturity suggested mockery as a tactic to be pursued. The words to a children’s song recalled themselves from my memories and I twisted the words to make sport of the demoness. Apparently I underestimated the fiends for she ignored the insults and hurled a mass of vile liquid at Kaliciel then continued to direct her minions against us. Kaliciel was engulfed and nearly wretched. The spawn nearest to her would have slain her in her defenseless state but for Romon’s quickness. The Varisian ran the freak through as it stepped forward toward the sorceress.
In that moment my attention strayed from my own foe and the misshapen thing tore its claws into my chest and shoulders. It pulled me forward and bit into my left arm which I had raised defensively. As I bled the demon screamed as its flesh was pulled open. The connection has been made! The demon would share my wounds! Elation filled me at this realization and drove away the maddening taint that the spawn’s bite injected into my blood.
I was able to raise my morning star defensively against the spawn’s face and rake its spikes against the freak’s eyes. The spawn shrieked and broke the clinch it held me in. It covered its eyes with its left arm and left its head open for an attack. I caved in its head with my weapon and struck it repeatedly as it lay on the stone floor.
Satisfied that it was dead I took in my companions again. Muchorak pressed his attack against his foe and prevailed as a spray of blood announced its death. In the dim light and confusion I lost track of Romon and Ali but I saw that Kaliciel had mastered herself and once again threw her white fire at the demon. Her aim was true; the demon-shrew screamed and threatened in a most insipid manner. Still this was a demon and it worked its magic to bring pain to all our limbs but the weight of all our attacks stymied it. An acrid smell came from my left but I could not determine its source in the darkness. I reached down and picked my torch off the floor then stepped toward the stench. The light showed Marak standing over a spawn. Liquid poured down his arm onto its dead body and melted its flesh. I could see no container holding the liquid. What was its source?
Marak looked up at me and shouted a warning. I was too late and another of the spawn savaged me with its claws. And again the demoness shared my wounds and pain. I managed to loose a moan that stopped the creature before it could press its advantage. A wolf’s snarl filled my ears and the spawn fell with Ali at its legs. The wolf-gnome mauled its thighs and tore open a vital blood vessel. The spawn died in the space of a few spasmodic moments.
Meanwhile the demon had marshaled all its efforts to stay in flight. Ichor flowed from the wounds that crisscrossed its chest and arms. The unclean blood fell into the pool and brought the water to a rolling boil again. Two arrows found their mark in the demon’s small form and it fell against the lip of the pool then bounced to the floor clumsily. She tried to gain her feet but all of us fell upon her. Steel and tooth rent her but she was hardy. Her flesh was not the soft skin of a mortal. Finally, Ali locked her jaws on a one of the demon’s legs. I took hold of the opposite arm and stretched it with all my might. The she-demon pulled me to the ground with her with surprising strength but I held my grasp.
Muchorak cleaved our enemy and Romon stabbed her straight through. The evil beast’s limbs slackened but I did not let go. Kaliciel rained her white fire down but the demon showed no reaction this time as it sizzled like meat on a spit. Marak warned us to let go and he extended his arm over the wretched thing. The tattoos on his arm blurred for a moment as if the ink were running off of his skin. Instead, the green liquid I saw earlier flowed across the demon’s body and melted it.
We five stood around the spot where the demon had been a moment earlier. Her dress, crown and dagger survived our onslaught as did a symbol of the goddess Lamashtu but nothing remained of her form. For several moments none of us spoke. Marak then took the symbol of Lamashtu and muttered something I could not understand. No more threats confronted us and we all examined our wounds. None of us were unscathed; this battle had tested all of us sternly. Marak bade us all to stand closely and then he invoked the power of Nethys to close our wounds and cleanse our afflictions. The effect felt like warm water that passed over my skin but the sensation faded as quickly as it could be felt. I was still trying to recapture the sense of it when I realized that my much of my strength had returned and I was no longer bleeding. The rest had similarly been healed.
Muchorak pointed out that two doors lead from this room. “We cannot leave this place without exploring them”, he said. Romon had moved behind us and told us to stay back while he checked them for traps. He startled me when he spoke. “How did he get behind us without me seeing him?” I thought. It seems that he takes advantage of any distraction to cover his movements. This helps to explain why I was unable to keep track of his location during the melee.
I found my bow and quiver where I had dropped them to the floor and retrieved them. Romon examined the door for several dozen hearbeats then eased the door open.
Our search discovered odd robes and masks of beasts in a small room adjoining the foul chamber. It seems likely that devotees of this wretched cult would have used these strange clothes in their rites. In another room we found an empty scriptorium. Initially I was relieved that nothing more was at hand. Then I considered what we could have learn had we captured texts belonging to the cultists. Also, there is much to be learned from books that are anathema to good people. This thought of knowledge lost brought a plaintive sigh from the presence in my mind. It was the time that Dahlver-nar communicated anything understandable to me. He would never do so again.
The return journey to the surface was without incident. I moved without consciousness of my surrounding. Questions swarmed about in my mind. Who were the men that had been twisted into sin-spawn by the hideous pool? Do we mortals have the power to destroy the pool? Would Lamashtu curse us for doing so? What happened in the whirlpool room? What were the words in the air? Was someone trying to speak to us?
The sunlight stung my eyes and brought my mind back to the present. Zantus, Belor and the people of Sandpoint were gathered around the glassworks. They gawked and a few pointed furtively at us. They all withdrew a step as we approached. Suddenly, it occurred to me just how ragged we must look. Our clothes were bloody and disheveled. But the townsfolk stole glances at our faces, not just our clothing. I followed the gaze of one young man he looked over us. Horror had etched itself in the countenance of others in the crowd also. Surely, I wore it as well. A demon had spat on us. Dead men stood in pits, waiting to be called. We had seen a womb that gives birth to abominations. The sun could no longer drive away all the shadows in this world.
And yet Ali seemed unaffected by it all. She was as animated as a child, thrilled as she related the events to Ilsoari. Kaliciel tried to divert her ramblings when she touched on some embarrassing details. Kali herself was as contained as usual otherwise. Muchorak maintained his typically direct manner and simply gave a factual account of our endeavor. Marak expressed his grave concerns regarding the remains of the dead that were strewn about so obscenely beneath us. But the hideous pool and what to do about it dominated the conversation. As for Romon, he was gone. How does he do that?
Our telling of what festered below was spare in details. A more thorough account would have to be given in private. For who could be trusted in this crowd? Surely all the dire events of the past days could not have transpired without the involvement of some here. Who can we trust?
Ale is a drink best tasted cold it is said. I am unable to recall who said it, though. This detail is one of several that are missing from my memory of the previous night that was spent in Ameiko’s tavern. The residents of town were only too willing to bring us drinks and hear tell of our exploits below the ground. My companions and I had agreed to omit many details of our venture for fear that unfriendly ears might learn more than we wished to impart. But now I worry that drink might have loosened our tongues along with our wits. For my part I was grateful for the attention of bestowed on me. In fact, I might have been overly candid in relating my story to the pretty barmaid. On the other hand I believe I dwelt mostly on her dark brown eyes.
On the whole the evening was a great celebration. Romon held court with a rapt audience. His telling of the adventure bore little semblance to the truth and yet I was enthralled listening to him. The lad can spin epic stories! He accentuated his words with many theatrical gestures and often portrayed battle scenes as if he were commanding a stage in Magnimar’s finest theater. Several times he whisked Kaliciel out of her chair to play opposite him in his performances. It really was a clever way to secure his arm around her waist while he “re-enacted” for his listeners how he had pulled her from harm’s way.
Kaliciel laughed and played along sportingly. That she showed a more human side did much to relax the onlookers. Most of them were taken aback earlier when she had made her grand entrance. Initially she stood silently at the door to the taproom. A hush gradually fell over the room as heads turned toward her. Although she is slight she seemed to fill the doorway as she stood with her head turned down to her right hand which glowed with a white tongue of flame. When all conversation had died she looked up and surveyed the room with her eyes without turning her head. Then she took a step and paused to take note of her still glowing hand. As an afterthought she deftly flicked her wrist backward and dismissed the wisp of fire as she strode. Clearly she enjoyed the attention she garnered. A grown woman has replaced little Kali whom I had knew from the academy. I saw many a man trace over her form with his eyes and this conjured a protective urge in me. Or was it that I took note of her figure as well? This made me uncomfortable so I quickly fetched another drink from the bar when the opportunity arose. “Where was Ameiko in all this?” I wondered.
Muchorak was remained steady as one would expect. He smiled more than ever remember him doing before. Of course this would still be fewer smiles than one sees at a funeral. A few times the townsmen prod him for his account of his part in the struggles. Muchorak was polite but downplayed any heroism that was attributed to him. His reserved nature does not change with his surroundings. I must admit that I envy his self-control.
Ali, partook of more drink than her small stature would suggest was wise. The whole affair must have fascinated her. She spoke little other than to order more drinks and watched the “two legs” cavort. She was dressed in high style, certainly the handiwork of Kaliciel. Gnomes seek adventure and this would suffice for her, it seemed.
Ilsoari approached me and I meant to ask him about Ameiko. To my surprise and embarrassment I overlooked this. Instead, I gushed like a child before an approving parent as I recounted the events that took place beneath our feet. More than once he subtly raised a hand in a gesture told me that I was saying too much for these surroundings. This left me flush and ashamed; familiar feelings of talking to a parent. The old wizard was gentle in his rebuke but the memory of my failing stings.
We rejoined my friends at the table. Muchorak was standing and pantomiming swordplay for townsmen who were eager for his attention. Most of them were militia men who had never seen combat other than the goblin assault days ago. He showed his good nature in indulging them until one finally one of them reminded his fellows that even heroes need to sit and relax. They graciously withdrew and sent more drinks to our table. Muchorak lifted his in appreciation but set it down without drinking any more. Ali, Kaliciel and Romon, however, drank with the enthusiasm of youth.
Marak was surprisingly quiet that night. He sat contentedly, it seemed. It is unusual to see a Varisian sitting when those around him dance. When he did speak it was invariably on the subject of the un-interred dead in the tunnels. The atmosphere was not appropriate for such a discussion so the priestman of Nethys said little more. I noticed that he often ran his fingers over the runes tattooed on his arm. Is he aware that he does this?
Drink finally dissolved my reticence and I ambled to the bar and the pretty maiden behind it. Ilsaori offered encouragement but his words were drowned out by the crowd. She is a pretty lass, the barmaid. Chestnut brown hair falls over her shoulder in thick curls. She has almond eyes and can bat her lashes exquisitely. She has a sister who took her place at the bar.
Ale is a drink best tasted cold. It gives a man courage. It also turns sunlight into a bludgeoning weapon.
The next day was one of mute poultry, bloody money, and strenuous efforts not to slay a nice old man.
It was the second Wealday in the month of Rova when we gathered at Belor Hemlock’s office. Shalelu the ranger was with him and she nodded an acknowledgement at my arrival. The lawman assured me that she brought important news and bade me to be patient while we waited for the others to arrive. Six chickens in wooden cages ruffled their feathers but did not cluck because their beaks had been tied with string. They rubbed their beaks against the wood in vain. I wondered why someone would gag chickens.
Muchorak was there as well and he showed no sign of the prior night’s entertainment. His forbearance served him well. Ali stood in her gnome form but snarled in a lupine manner even though I saw no source of provocation. The plainsman comforted her in his rough way. Much like Shaleu he says little more than what is needed and quietly observes events. Life in the wilderness forces one to be alert and unobserved.
Kallieciel arrived and greeted me in a whisper. She then slumped into a chair and rested her forehead against her hands and said little more. Marak looked haunted. Last night he was so eager to return to the tunnels and give the defiled dead their honors. Now that his intention was to become concrete was he losing his resolve? The thought filled me with trepidation that his mettle might be weakened.
Ilsoari and Zantus sat and made small talk. I formed the impression that Ilsoari was doing his best to comfort the cleric. Zantus seems to be a good man but is he prepared for what we will confront below? I did not fear for my mentor; he did not survive so many travails by lacking bravery and skill. Romon finally appeared and nearly fell into his chair. He would have appeared dead to most observers but his eyes were open as narrow slits. I traced his gaze from beneath the broad him of his hat to the curves of Shaleu as she bent to look out through the curtains one last time. Since the opportunity was there I did the same. Fortunately I saw her turn just in time for me to look at the ceiling and feint that I was yawning.
It was agreed that we would return to the glassworks and proceed directly to the evil pool in the tunnels. The chickens would provide blood to fuel the magic of the foul waters so that its magic might be consumed by overuse. “What if the pool cannot be overcome this way?” I asked. “We might face an army of sin-spawn and manufacture our own doom.” At least I knew what the chickens were for. Ilsoari responded that there was no other alternative. “If the pool were left intact then surely some malign force would set it to work again” he said. “Zantus has studied all available works on Lamashtu and her faith.” This he said as if a bad taste filled his mouth. Zantus joined him and said “there is noting that touches directly on such a font but the principles of godly power share many aspects no matter what form the worship takes. It is simply due to the limited nature of mortals and how we interact with the all-powerful.” I nodded in such a way to pretend that I understood and hoped that my façade was convincing.
“We should map out the tunnels when we are finished”, Muchorak said. “This way we will know where they lead inside the town. This might also help us determine who might benefit from the existence of them and so want to maintain them.” For Muchorak this sentence was verbose but it was completely in keeping with his hunter’s mindset.
At this we all rose and walked to the glassworks. Nearly a dozen of the town militia men stood guard around the building. Most seemed ill at ease and Sheriff Hemlock advised us that some of them claimed to have heard strange noises coming from the building last night. I knew most of these men from my time in the militia. I saw that a few regarded me strangely and wondered if they questioned how I came to wield magic. All here know that I undertook no study of sorcery nor did I follow my father’s footsteps as a cleric of Nethys. I must avoid this topic at all costs.
The Sheriff and Shalelu did not accompany us inside the glassworks. He explained that he was needed above if any crisis should erupt elsewhere in the town and that Shalelu was lending her aid in keeping up the militia’s strength. The unspoken understanding was that if we were to perish below then Sandpoint would not be left without them. It reminded us all that we might not survive this second foray to the demon’s pool.
My familiarity with the glassworks did nothing to diminish the sense of dread they instilled in me. We went from room to room in search of enemies but found nothing. Blood had stained the walls and floor of the furnace room and shards of glass glinted as we passed them. It struck me that the master of the glassworks had been removed from this place. Where was he now? Was his body freed from its glass cocoon? That question would have to wait.
Satisfied that the upper rooms were secured we made for the tunnels. As we passed the hiding place of Tsuto Kaijutsu I speculated who he was running to before we captured him. The only possibility was the demon-whelp. Or was he trying to reach an exit to the surface and then to allies unknown to us? If so, are those enemies alert to our movements and planning against us? These thoughts were interrupted by the he sight of a head lying on the ground. It was one of the flying heads that had assaulted us in our earlier venture here. It was oddly free from decomposition. Nonetheless it was disturbing in its alien features. I kicked it over onto its other side and it rolled with a wet sound like that of a fish rolled over. Ali turned and snarled sharply at my careless noisemaking.
We proceeded to the doors of the defiled font and made ready to force them if need be. Romon examined the doors and signaled that the wax seal he had placed on the bottom of them was still intact. The doors yielded as easily as they had the day before and we stood again in the horrid chamber. The light of our torches reflected of the still water in the pool. The chickens rocked in their cages and Zantus awkwardly tried to quiet them .For several heartbeats we stood waiting for threats to emerge from the darkness. Ali sniffed several times then indicated by head movement that nothing dwelt here. Zantus set the chicken cages down and lit two lanterns he had brought. Ilsoari lit another pair of lanterns and advanced to the lip of the pool.
When the room was illuminated as well as out light sources could allow we took up positions around the pool. Muchorak and I stood at the lip of the pool nearest the double doors and held arrows in our bows. Romon and Kallieciel positioned themselves to our left and Marak and Ilsoari to our left. Zantus was in the corner busying himself with the chickens and safely away from the pool. Ali stood guard over him. We reasoned that if an attack came from behind Muchorak and I would turn and meet it with arrows before entering melee. The others would fall in behind us or pull the doors shut and Zantus would retreat to the other side of the chamber.
Marak conjured a ghostly hand in the air in front of him and placed his sword in its grasp then directed it to float over the surface of the water in the center of the pool. Kallieciel and Ilsoari made strange hand gestures and then crouched in the direction of the pool as if she were about to leap. Zantus slit the throat of the first chicken and threw it in the water. It landed short of the center, nearer to where he and Ali stood. Romon and Kaliciel had to move further toward the far end of the chamber in order to have a keep it in view. The blood seemed to expand outward from the point where it landed and colored nearly a quarter of the pool. This was far more than the blood that a small bird contains. Then the water rolled as it boiling and a foul stench permeated the air. My eyes watered and I fought the urge to cough. I held my breath for a moment and blinked. In the second that my eyes were closed I heard a splash as and water landed on the floor close by me. A bowstring twanged beside me. When I opened my eyes I saw the terrible form of a sin-spawn where the bird had landed in the pool. Muchorak’s arrow protruded from its chest. White fire from Kallieciel’s hand leapt upon its back and it dove below the stained water. “Where is it? Where is it?” Zantus cried. He advanced toward the pool but Ali pushed him back and he relented. “It is hiding beneath the bloody water” Ilsoari said. Marak’s ghost-hand held its sword over the spot where the spawn had last been. Muchorak cursed in Shoanti and circled around for a better line of fire when the spawn reappeared. I followed him and readied myself for its return. “Let it come to us. It will be slowed when it climbs over the wall and we can focus all our attacks on it then.
A silence followed for scores of breathes and then the surface of the water broke. I loosed a moan that carried all the torment of Dahlver-nar and hoped to stun the freak. I launched my attack too soon; only the things arm had emerged. I tried to hold the moan until its head surfaced by my lungs betrayed me and fell silent. The thing threw its arm over the wall of the pool and pulled itself up with surprising agility. Romon shot an arrow that pierced its side but Kallie refrained from loosing her white fire and yelled to Zantus that he was in the way. The old priest rushed backwards away from the spawn and nearly tripped on the hem of his robe. The abominable sight made it to its feet and pursued the priest and would have fallen upon him if it were not for Ali. The wolf-gnome lunged at the spawn’s thigh and dug her teeth deeply. The thing screamed and blood covered Ali’s fur. She released her grasp only when the beast flailed its clawed arms at her. I noted a strange glow emanating from her teeth and remembered her command of other fey magics.
Muchorak and I had closed the distance on the monster now. I feigned an attack in order to draw off its defenses. The freak did not fall into my trap and backed away a few paces instead. Muchorak never broke his charge and laid into the monster with both his blades. The thing’s long arms worked against it in close combat and in the space of five breaths it was dead. The others had all closed in by now. All could see the unnatural vitality of the thing as it stirred despite its mortal wounds. Kallie warned us back and then set it alight with her tongues of white flame. White light illuminated this quarter of the chamber and reflected oddly off the bloody water onto the ceiling. The effect suggested that the blood was dripping from the ceiling and high on the walls. This reinforced my loathing for this place and my wish to be in the sunlight again.
We resumed our positions and again Zantus threw a slain chicken into the bloody water. Again a sin-spawn emerged but this one was quicker than its predecessor. It made a straight line for the doorway, heedless of the threat we represented. This time when I loosed Dahlver-nar’s suffering moan it stopped the hideous beast in its tracks. My mind felt singularly clear from the effort and I saw Muchorak’s arrow in sharp focus as it landed in the spawn’s flank. Romon’s arrow struck it in the back and then the sword in Marak’s phantom-hand ran it through. For good measure Marak used the hand to pull the corpse toward him. Once it was within reach he invoked the runes on his arm to throw acid onto the creature’s body. The water seemed to dilute the acid somewhat and the air grew more putrid as the spawn’s head dissolved. There was no question that this foe was slain.
Before the third creature was spawned from the pool we changed tactics. We formed a line in front of the doorway and Zantus stood behind us. He hurled the sacrificial bird over our heads and into the pool. No more that two breaths passed before the pool birthed its monster. The spawn dragged itself atop the wall quickly but left itself helpless in so doing. Again I moaned with Dahlver-nar’s power and this spawn was left stunned. Arrows and sword then pierced it and arcane power burned it as well. It fell to the ground in a heap. It lifted its head only for a moment and then, shockingly, it haltingly uttered “why?”
None of us moved to finish it off. “Did it just speak?” Marak asked. I affirmed that it had. “I thought they were mindless’, he said. Unlike the others this one showed no sign that it could rise from fatal wounds. Instead it remained motionless. Despite this curious difference from the other spawn we burned it just the same.
When I considered that this thing had spoken I became conscious of something I never experienced before; echoes of coherent thoughts competing with my own. Dahlver-nar was contemplating the curiosity of what he had seen through my eyes. The distraction that he had visited upon me was gone. In its place was a determination to know more of what he and I had seen. But when I voiced questions to him in my thoughts the phenomena ended as suddenly as it had manifested. I was left with the curious sensation of being alone in my own mind, wishing to speak with a guest who had departed without notice.
When Zantus hurled the forth bird into the water it brought forth nothing. The surface of the bloody pool rippled then became still. For countless breaths nothing stirred. Another bird tossed in elicited nothing in return. Ilsoari suggested throwing the last bird in alive. Zatus twisted the chicken’s wings then threw her in. She fluttered awkwardly and sank. We waited for any sign but there was none so we moved to the edge of the water and prodded it with a spear Zantus had brought. We were able to retrieve the six birds. This relieved my conscious because it meant that the fiends we slew were created full from the pool and were not men transformed by the tainted waters.
As I took in these events Marak announced that it would be appropriate to gather the remains of the dead men in the other chambers and give them a proper burial outside. All agreed. I said that I wanted to examine “floating room” as we had come to call it. Romon then called out that he had found some silver coins on the ground. “They must have fallen from these monstrosities”, he said. Then he added theatrically “They are the wages of sin-spawn!” I must admit that I laughed harder than the rest at this. Kaliciel rolled her eyes dramatically but I saw her suppress a smirk all the same. The young man seems unperturbed by anything.
We returned to the surface and arranged for a crew of men to accompany us below to help retrieve the bodies we wished to bury. These were men who were thought to be trustworthy so as to keep their silence about what dwelt below. It is amazing what services enough silver will buy. Still, we had to keep them from entering some of the chambers below and I volunteered to watch over the floating room. Ilsoari accompanied me and he brought along Brodert Quink.
Satisfied that the defiled font was no longer a threat we examined the room of floating objects. After much study Ilsoari opined that the spell had been warped somehow. Most likely the intended effect was to lift object aloft in the air but it had been made permanent. The cloud of maggots still engulfed the corpse of the raven but its numbers were fewer. Some flies appeared to be trapped inside the room and unable to cross the threshold. Runes manifested in the air again and Brodert recognized them. “That is a Thassilonian rune from a religious tract common to many of their faiths.” He could not be more specific. He suggested that the room had been a meditation chamber at one time. Brodert was clearly uncomfortable being in this place and Ilsoari suggested that the two of them return to the town. He assured Brodert that we would provide him with sketches and accounts of anyting we saw of Thassilonian origin. With that the two of them took their leave.
I focused my attention on contacting the mind of Dahlver-nar again. His confused state continued to affect me despite my efforts to resist it. Then a chilling realization struck me. I had used my power in front of Ilsoari and Zantus. I could not pretend to have a divine connection nor could I claim any arcane prowess. What could I do? Ilsoari perhaps might look with at me with a blind eye for the sake of our friendship. But Zantus? Surely a provincial priest would denounce me as a heretic. The thought of condemnation focused my mind brilliantly but did not present an answer to my plight.
Lost as I was in dread imaginings I did not observe Marak’s efforts to honor the dead here. When the work was concluded I walked if in a dream to the surface. My mind was reeling and for once I could not blame this on the presence that shared my mind.
When I stood in sunlight again it eased my despondency less than I had hoped it would. Marak was returning from blessing the remains of the dead. He reminded me of the meeting to discuss the trials below. Absent-mindedly I fell in step with him toward the office of the lord-mayor. I occurred to me that his humor had been absent since the day before. He had not made a jest that I could remember for quite some time and this unnerved me. I could not escape the thought that he had discovered the source of my magic.
I took my chair at a table set out for us. The mayor, sheriff Hemlock, Ilsoari and Shalelu were there. The mayor congratulated and thanked us. In reward for our deeds were granted more gold coins than I had ever seen. Kallie and Romon were ecstatic. Ali grew excited when Kallie explained to her all the “shiny things” that could be bought with gold. Marak’s response was mild and this increased my discomfort. Muchorak was gracious but spoke only of what practical benefits that the gold would bring. He is a hunter to his core and does not wish to be weighed down with unneeded wealth.
Shalelu then took the floor. She informed us that goblins were massing at a place called Thistletop. This was obviously the prelude to another assault on Sandpoint. We already suspected that the first attack was only a diversion or probing attack at the most. The elf confirmed this. She had been scouting in the goblin lands since the first attack. Her reconnoitering led her to Thistletop where the goblins had established a staging area. To date they seemed only to have made preliminary preparations for war. The goblins were from varied tribes, emissaries on behalf of their peoples to an outside leader. It is a goblin custom, she said, to test the virtue of a potential warlord before casting their lot with him. “With her”, she corrected herself. She also believed that Nualia was the hand that drove the goblins but could not confirm her presence at Thistletop. Nor could she say how many goblins were there beyond an estimate of two dozen. She had seen other figures ordering the small maniacs but their identities were a mystery.
“If Nualia or whoever is leading the goblins succeeds in even a mean victory against Sandpoint then the ranks of the other clans will fall into her camp. Just by weight of their numbers they will overrun Sandpoint. The second attack need not take this village but the third attack will lay it to waste.”
“Thistletop is a natural fortification, a small isle only little removed from the coast. The brambles that surround it are a formidable barrier against invaders and the slope itself gives great advantage to defenders. As daunting as this might sound the only hope of defeating the goblins is to drive them from their base. This would cause Nualia or whoever to lose face and the goblins would desert her. The clans would probably fall upon one another as the chiefs sought to reestablish themselves after implying fealty to an outsider. If we fail then the goblins will form an army and all us will probably die.”
How little this speech resembled the storied elven ballads that all praised but none had ever read. I felt some relief for always having entertained doubts of the elves’ otherworldliness. To me Shalelu was no different that a human ranger. She was direct and to the point; victory or death. At least she spoke of “we” instead of “you”. Or was that just a mistranslation of elvish to Chelexian?
Here is a brief interlude before the foray against Thistletop gets underway.
The texts that describe the binding ritual for Focalor insist that his seal be drawn with a liquid medium. As I poured the water to create the intricate diagram written on the page I feared that the water would evaporate too quickly. Mercury is a metal that I am told does not evaporate at all but its price is too great for me. Only alchemists use it and even then none but they are certain what purpose it serves. Therefore, I had to make do with water. The diagram took several minutes to complete and then it was necessary for me to retrace several places where the water had dried.
Once I was satisfied that the seal was adequate I read the lines from the pages of a book that is a grave crime to possess. “Focalor, Prince of tears, mighty angel fallen from the heavens, come to me that I may bring your power again into this world and ease your sufferings”, I intoned. For the space of several slow breaths nothing occurred. I lost count of my breaths and wondered if the diagram had been rendered incomplete and therefore worthless by the evaporation of the water. My inspection of the diagram showed that it was intact and I compared it to the seal displayed in the book. They matched perfectly. What then was the reason that there had been no response to my conjuration? Had my voice faltered? It was true that I had spoken softly in order not to be heard by anyone who might have been outside my house.
With a sigh I resolved to repeat the process and to speak more confidently this time. To my surprise the seal remained perfect; not a single gap appeared in it. This struck me as strange that none of the water had evaporated. Then I became aware of how humid the room had become. I was perspiring heavily. In fact my clothes were damp against my skin and great beads of sweat fell from into my eyes. I cleared them with my arm and for some reason that I cannot account for I looked to the ceiling. There I saw moisture accumulated and looked as if it were about to drip down onto the floor. This was strange because the day had been clear earlier, without a hint of rain. I wondered where would this water have come from to drip down from my ceiling.
Just then on the ceiling, right above the center of the seal, a drop of water expanded with amazing speed almost to the size of a man. It assumed the shape of a perfectly formed tear and hung there longer than I would have thought possible. Curiosity moved me to touch it but I was too slow. It dropped to the floor and exploded. I was covered just as if I had stood before a wave in the sea. The water was salty but less than seawater. Instead, its taste reminded me of tears and it inflicted on me a grievous sense of sorrow. Memories of my slain father assailed me and my own tears joined those from without. Again, I wiped them away with my arm. When my vision cleared I saw an angel.
Focalor did not compare favorably with accounts of angels that I had read. He stood stooped inside the drawing of his seal. Great feathery wings that wrapped around him were his sole garb. His shoulders were hunched and his posture was that of an old man. Even his wings were tattered; they looked as if flight were no remotely possible. Worst of all, though, was the sobbing. This angel convulsed with a great wailing that resounded in my ears. And as he bawled tears flowed from his eyes in streams that fell to the floor and formed a puddle about his feet.
The sight of him filled me with disappointment. I waited for many moments hoping he would speak. Only tears and tremendous sobs filled the moments. I decided to initiate the pact. “Focalor, Prince of Tears, hear my offer. For your sorrow I will give the joy of living. See the world through tearless eyes. I will give you my hands to direct the wrath of the heavens. Swim the waters of existence with me. Know the world of men once again.”
For a reply, Focalor redoubled his tearful spasms. It seemed as if he would collapse from the effort to pour out such sorrow. One of the candles that lit the room expired and in the dimmed light I grew conscious of the time that had passed. “What say you, great one?” I implored. But again, the angel only cried without pause.
The sobbing began to wear on me. Long moments passed with only the bawling and coughing from my otherworldly companion. When another candle wavered I grew frustrated. “Can this truly be a legendary being?” I asked myself. He seemed…pitiful. I must have failed in my attempt to call Focalor and garnered an inferior being instead. This wretched thing was probably sent as a mockery of my failure. Then I considered that the book must be the work of a fraud. The author was a charlatan. What other explanation could there be? And I was a fool to have been so deceived.
The thought that I had been deceived stirred my anger. I seized the book from the stool where I had set it. For a moment I considered lighting its pages with the candles that still burned. The sound of the crying filled my ears and prevented me from focusing on the words on the pages. Then I felt water seep through my shoe and wet my foot. The puddle of tears had obliterated the seal and now it covered the entire floor of the room. This raised my anger still more and I harshly addressed the weeping angel. “Say something! Say something or be gone from my sight, you wretch!”
The winged man let out a wail that shook me physically. This was followed by a moment of silence as when a child has cried to his limit. Then the winged man inhaled most impressively. Then his tears and wail burst explosively from him. The force of their expulsion was like gale and my eyes were forced closed. I dropped to my hands and knees from the pain in my eyes.
When I opened my eyes they were filled with tears. The room was empty but for me and the pool of water that the angel had cried. My mind was again filled with sadness. Hurts and sorrows from floated to the surface of my consciousness. It was if the dam of my memory had burst and melancholy flooded my thoughts. All the pain was familiar to me, of course. However, something foreign accompanied the pain. A presence lurked in the edges of my awareness. I felt the sensation of someone not simply beside me but closer than that. The realization struck me that I had called Focalor and now he inhabited my mind. It was his presence I felt, sharing my soul, rummaging through my sorrows. His sorrows blended with mine and tears fell down my cheeks as they inflicted their hurt upon me. Strangely his sorrow, that of an angel, was duller than my own.
The water would evaporate in time. I opened the windows and snuffed out the remaining candles. For this day an angel would abide behind my eyes. “Would this bring me to more grief and tears?” I wondered.
Another interlude until we mop up Thistletop or get mopped up ourselves.
Autumn in Varisia usually begins in the month of Rova but the summer heat was slow to yield. The townsfolk went about with their sleeves rolled up or, for those who could afford more than one set of clothes, in short-sleeved shirts. Inikai wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt and wondered why the gods chose to extend this summer. This was pure curiosity on his part; he was hesitant to question divine will, even in the privacy of his thoughts. As he made his way toward the Turandok Academy he chastised himself for sleeping through the coolest part of the morning. He had hoped to journey to the school and complete his affairs there without encountering anyone who would delay him.
The seamen had already set off in their ships and the store owners had opened their shops on the main street. Inikai walked down a secondary street in order to avoid the press of men starting their work. Wives were about in the yards, though, tending to their gardens and to their young. A small crowd of children called to Inikai and ran towards him. In the space of two short breaths Inikai was surrounded by children who were too young to work. They ceased their play and vied for his attention and asked him to recount his part in defending the city from attack.
He indulged them reluctantly at first. But his generous nature toward children overcame him and he decided that he could spare a moment for them. “Well, young worthies” he said, “the filthy little creatures swarmed here and there but we all sent them back to their hills!” To emphasize his speech, Inikai drew his morningstar and mimicked fighting motions with it in his right hand. “They did cause some ruckus, though, and that is why we must work so hard now to repair our walls and homes. And that is why you little scamps should listen to your mothers and fathers. Because they need your help right now so we can make out town strong again!” He said with a boisterous grin, the kind that adults typically use when speaking to young children. Most of the children cheered him and asked for him to stay and tell them more.
One young boy broke into tears and screamed “my daddy was killed! The goblins killed my daddy and their dogs ate his hands!” Inikai was taken aback and stood with his mouth agape. The other children fell silent while this one bawled horribly. For long moments Inikai desperately sought to think of something to say but could not. A girl of about ten years came over to the boy and seized his hand. “Stop it, Brul!” she said with tears falling down her own cheeks. She resembled the boy and Inikai thought she was probably his sister. “Come home now!” she said through her own tears. The sister pulled her weeping brother away to their home and left Inikai with the crowd of silent children. With little sound the children dispersed and Inikai was left standing alone in the road.
And another interlude:
When Valac the Inquisitor manifested above his seal it was the first time that I felt regret for calling a vestige into existence. A cold draft wafted in the room and carried a rotting smell with it. I waved my hand in front of my face to dissipate the odor. As I looked at the seal it became obscured as a pile of bodies coalesced into existence on top of it. There were half a dozen corpses flat on the floor. Among them were two heads that I thought must have been cut off and thrown into this mass grave. The image was revolting and even though the stench of death had faded. I looked over the charnel mass to see if the bodies shared any common traits such as mortal wounds. As I searched the mound of dead one of the severed heads opened its eyes. Inadvertently, I jumped back a step before steadying myself. I told myself that I had willingly summoned this grotesque being into my house. Therefore, I would see this ghastly transaction through to its end.
The head then rose up on a great serpentine neck that was as at least as long as I am tall. I could not see the tail because it was intertwined in the stack of dead bodies. The head glared at me for a moment and then quickly turned to face the opposite direction. Just as rapidly it twisted about and took in the entire room as it rose up. It continued scanning in every direction without making any sound. This disturbing addition to the scene distracted me and for several moments I did not notice that a second, identical, head had snaked up to face me.
The second head gazed into my eyes and smiled the least sincere looking smiled that I ever saw. “Greetings, Inikai” it said to me as its twin continued to examine the surroundings. “Where are your friends? Are you alone?” When Valac spoke I could see that he lacked the forked tounge of a snake and I must confess that I was surprised by this. This fact did little to comfort me. Valac seemed to possess the malignant qualities attributed to serpents.
“Where is Marak, the priest? Surely it is for the best that he is not privy to our meeting. Even a wandering mystic like him would be too provincial in his outlook to appreciate someone like me. You know that he can learn much about you simply by touching you. You have seen it, haven’t you? He might claim to favor you with the gift of Nethys’ magic when he is really prying into your mind. How can you trust such a man?”
“And a hidebound provincial priest like Zantus would surely denounce you as a heretic. Be guarded in every moment that he is near you. Just think of how your father would have reacted had he learned your secret. Where was he going when he was murdered? Pity the loss of a good man. There is probably much that has not been revealed to you about that ‘Late Unpleasantness’ as you call it here. Why was no one able to stop the murders?”
At the mention of my father my blood rushed and my face became hot. Valac had touched on a raw nerve. Why? What was his intention in this? I decided to forbear responding until I could take his measure. It would mean more painful interrogation but I would have to endure. So I kept silent and hopped that a lack of patience on his part would spur him on. Valac said no more and simply stared at me with a steely gaze. The head that addressed me swayed just slightly as one would expect a snake to do. The silent head maintained its vigilant circling of the room. For hundreds of breaths I stood wordlessly facing this despicable thing. The anticipation weighed heavily on me, though, and I felt sweat bead on my forehead and my palms were wet. My breathing was hurried and aches from my recent injuries felt as though they had been intensified. I wanted nothing more than to take Valac’s power and cease this hideous duel of wills.
I must confess that I broke the silence. “Well?” I asked in an insulting tone. The word had hardly left my mouth when Valac menacingly demanded “Do you fear me?”
“Yes” I involuntarily answered.
I was crestfallen that I had yielded submissively. “How did he wrest the truth from me so readily?” I wondered. Valac smiled at me but this smile was different than the one he had when he greeted me. This smile was one of unmistakable satisfaction. He had defeated me. My shame burned. I could hear my blood surging in my neck and my breathing came in labored heaves. I promised myself that I would defy this evil creature from that moment on. He would be made to obey me and serve.
“Valac the Inquisitor, you will give me your power and I will grant you the taste of existence.” I hardened my voice with anger in order to assert control. “By the terms of this pact” I continued but Valac interrupted me.
“Do you wield any power of your own?”
“No” I answered. Again, the truth was wrung from me against my will. This time I had yielded even faster than the first question. “Why does he have power over me?” I asked myself.
Clearly this conflict would end in my defeat. Valac’s smile had become a mocking smirk. The twin head paused for a moment to regard me with contempt. Even it looked likely to break into a smile of contempt. But it resumed its watch instead.
Valac sighed and began to speak again. “You should sit down. It will relax you. Just look at how you are sweating and how hard your breath comes. You would never be able to hold back the truth from even a mildly inquisitive questioner. I am afraid that you are just not made of very stern stuff, boy.”
“Let’s not make this any harder than it has to be. You don’t want that do you?”
“No” I answered meekly.
“Good. Do you have a chair?”
“Yes” I said, no longer resisting him at all.
“Where is it?”
This last question had an odd effect upon me. I was left confused. I wanted to answer “yes” but that would not have answered the question. “No” was not an appropriate reply either. My anxiety abated and in its place bewilderment was left. But this faded as well and I was again curious about why such an innocuous question would flummox me.
“Get the chair and sit down” Valac bade me.
I opened the door to the other room and took a step toward a stool that sat against the wall. In that instant my mind rushed wildly. I thought of slamming the door behind me and fleeing. Valac would not be able to pursue me; he needed a host in order to stay in the mortal world. This realization focused my thoughts and brought about my resolve. I turned to face Valac and slowly began to close the door.
“What are you doing?” he demanded of me. “Sit down here at once! There is ample room for you among the ranks of the dead at my feet. Do you think you can simply run away?”
“Yes” I answered but this was said willingly.
I smiled at Valac. “You need a willing vessel to exist here, isn’t that true?”
Valac’s composure faltered for a moment. His eyes went wide and his head bobbed on its serpent neck.
“Well? Is that not so?”
Many breaths passed and Valac’s face contorted with hatred. For the first time his gaze fell away from my eyes. Then, in a voice of disgust, Valac answered me.
“Yes”.
“And if I leave here you will be forced to quit this world and wait for another to volunteer himself as your conduit to existence?”
“Yes” Valac said and he quickly added “but you need my power because you have none of your own.”
I ignored this and interrupted him before he could say more. “There are few who can call your name and bring you to this world. So you might have to wait to be summoned again. You might have to wait eons before feeling the world of existence again” I said with a mocking smile.
“That is true” Valac said. “But you would not have called if you did not have a need of me. With this understanding we should proceed to agree on our pact to benefit us both. “
“There are others I could call upon. But there are few who would call upon you. So I have the upper hand here. Is that not true?”
“If you wish to see me expire then do so. You have no power to force answers from me. That is my gift and you will only receive it if we conclude our pact to our mutual satisfaction.”
“No, I have the upper hand here. And I will maintain that in our pact as well. You will give me your power to use as I see fit. But in exchange you will have no influence in my actions and you will benefit only by living vicariously through them. If this offer is not acceptable to you then depart.”
Valac answered by way of a cold silence. He regarded me with his malign gaze for several more breaths. In turn, I focused on his eyes. I was determined not to blink but this proved to be impossible. Finally, I closed my eyes for second and when I opened them Valac and the pile of bodies were gone. I feared that he had departed in answer to my challenge. This smacked of defeat and it deflated my spirits.
Idly, I found that I unconsciously started to scratch the inside of my left forearm. The itch returned after a few breaths and I scratched it again through my sleeve. It took some moments for the itch to be relieved. When the itch resumed I pulled my sleeve back so that I could scratch the skin directly. When my arm was no longer covered I discovered the source of the discomfort. A tattoo was now there. It depicted a young man in a military uniform riding a two-headed dragon. I held my arm close to my eyes in order to examine it. There was something written below the picture in an alphabet that I did not recognize. The face of the man astride the dragon was the face of Valac.
The tattoo on my arm resisted my efforts to banish it. By concentrating mightily I was able to make it fade somewhat but my endurance failed me and it resumed its appearance. Why did it persist so when the signs of other vestiges could be hidden more easily? Perhaps this was a mark of Valac’s spite towards me. The writing below the image vexed me as well. I did not recognize the alphabet it was written in. The book that described Valac and his history did explain what the writing said. I copied the writing on a parchment and the placed the parchment between several others in order to hide it. Then I rolled the parchments around my ankle where my boot would hide them.
The sight of the tattoo seemed insulting to me. Mentally, I sought to converse with Valac. “Remove this tattoo” I insisted. “By the terms of our pact you are only to observe me. This is outside of your freedom. Now remove it.” But if Valac heard me he made no response.
I lost count of the breaths that I took waiting for Valac to respond to my order. Finally, I decided to try to hide his sign again. I relaxed myself, wiped away my sweat and calmed my breathing. To take my mind off of this task I decided to busy myself by concealing my book. Then I wiped away the seal that I had used to call Valac. To distract myself, I was as meticulous as possible in going about my work. When the last bit of charcoal was cleaned away I went outside and emptied the bucket on the grass. The sun had risen halfway by this time and they sky was a clear blue. For a moment I took in the beauty of the sunrise and watched two sparrows flit from tree to tree. “What have birds done to deserve such a gift as flight?” I asked myself quietly. If the sparrows heard me they made no indication.
I went back inside my house and checked that I had left no evidence that would incriminate me in soul-whoring. Once I was satisfied I ate a small breakfast and washed myself. I felt refreshed and decided that it was time to remove the mark from my arm. I sat in my most comfortable chair and put my feet up on a stool. “There should be no discomfort for Valac to exploit. I will give him no advantage in this duel of wills” I told myself.
I rolled my sleeve up again and examined the tattoo. It was remarkably life-like in its depiction of Valac’s face. Perhaps a bit idealized, I thought. The mouths of the dragon’s heads were open to expose wicked-looking teeth. Valac was depicted sitting in a saddle and holding reigns to control the beast. Was this to suggest that the creature was a mount or was it a conquered enemy? It seemed pointless to put the question to silent Valac now.
With a deep breath I closed my eyes and made a fist with my left hand. As stridently as I could I wished this mark to cease to be. However, I was careful not to let my physical exertions match my mental ones. If this was to succeed I needed to remain composed. When I opened my eyes the tattoo had faded again but was sill completely discernable. This brought me a moment of frustration. But instead of giving in to my anger I redoubled my efforts. This caused the man and the dragon to disappear for a moment while the writing remained as clear as ever.
Was the writing more important to Valac than the depiction of him on the dragon? In the moment that I wondered this I lost my focus. The tattoo replenished itself and my will diminished at the same time. “Would it be better to simply cover it with a bandage?” I considered. “No” I thought. Several scenarios occurred to me in which this would not be a sufficient disguise.
Another solution presented itself to me. Many of the sailors who land in Sandpoint are heavily tattooed. Often they add to their tattoos by seeing a man who lives near the docks. He is a Shoanti man whose name I could not recall. If I visited him I am sure he could cover this mark. Of course, he might be curious where I received this picture, though. It might even be a point of etiquette for one tattooist not to cover over another’s work. And what if another sees this and recognizes it for what it is? No, this was too dangerous a course of action.
Inspiration then struck me in a most unexpected fashion. “Valac” I said aloud. “You seem to feel that vicarious experience is not enough to satisfy you. In that case, I offer to amend our pact. You can leave your sign upon me. You can also direct my interactions with my fellow mortals. It will be just as if you are alive again. From the moment I leave this house you will be in complete control and I will be little more than a steed for you. Of course I am not so grand a steed as a dragon, but you agree that you will have to settle for less that you want. Is that not so?”
“What are you playing at?” Valac said in my mind?
“If you agree then you will be the master once I leave this house” I said.
“There is more to it than that. You are hiding your intention. You don’t plan to leave the house if I accede.”
“That is correct. For the sake of complete understanding I will explain my position further” I said. “If you do not remove this mark from me then I will not only stay in the house for the duration of our pact I will go down into the root cellar. And I will remain there in the dark. Won’t that be splendid? I will stretch out on the floor with a blanked roll under my head and you can experience the tedious doldrums of doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. When our pact expires you will have crossed the border to the mortal world and spent your time in a dark root cellar. Won’t that make it all worth while? You will treasure such a memory, I am sure. ”
After a long pause I added “If you are fortunate someone else will summon you again in a short time. But I daresay that you will not be fortunate. If you wish to walk in the mortal world again then accept my prior offer and remove your sign from my arm.”
For a moment I thought I saw movement in the corner of my eye. Something that vaguely suggested a serpentine form, I thought. When I turned to look there was nothing. It was just my imagination. My mouth tasted of bile and I took this to be a manifestation of Valac’s displeasure. I opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass. The wine washed away the bile taste but the itch on my arm returned.
I rolled up my sleeve to scratch and found that the dragon tattoo had vanished along with the foreign writing. In their place, written in Chelexian, were the words “This account is not settled.” They remained long enough for me to read them and then disappeared.
If anyone is interested, this is the vestige for Valac. I took the name and background from the Ars Goetia and based the rest on Lavrety Beria.
In demonology, Valac is the mighty Great President of Hell having thirty (thirty-eight to other authors) legions of demons under his command. Valac is said to give true answers about hidden treasures; he reveals where serpents can be seen, and delivers them harmless to the magician. He is said to appear as a small poor boy with angel wings riding on a two-headed dragon.
Level: 1
Binding DC: 16
Special Requirements: Yes
Legend: Irkud Valac served as the chief of a feared ruler’s secret police and maintained a network of informants that rooted out all enemies of the state. He claimed that he started as a lowly food taster, risking his own life to keep the premiere safe from poison but most believe that this is self-aggrandizement on his part. Valac’s name came to inspire fear in the people of his nation because his agents were thought to be everywhere. Many feared that their very thoughts were being pried into by Valac in his search for subversives, or “serpents” as he called them. Fear of foreigners, of treason and, above all, of Valac and his men (or “demons”, as the people called them) pervaded the lives of ordinary people.
Valac, however, described himself as an honorable man who preserved order and defended his land and people against numerous enemies. Only reactionaries, traitors and foreign agents had cause to fear him if he is to be believed. His work in rooting out and destroying foes was essential to the survival of his country. It was a sad necessity for him to purge many of the ruler’s own advisors and servants throughout the years, he said. But, in truth, the innocent people of the land suffered the bulk of Valac’s depredations. Terror was the foundation of the regime that Valac served and he ensured that terror was ever-present within its boundaries.
When the ruler of Valac’s land died a mad and bloody scramble for power ensued among those who sought to succeed him. Valac cast his lot in with an unsuccessful aspirant and paid the price for this when the new ruler settled accounts with his rivals and their supporters. The once-dreaded Valac was judged in a mockery of a trial, just as he had condemned so many others. Several of his own men denounced him as a traitor and spy while ordinary citizens watched from the audience. The verdict of guilt was predetermined and Valac was sentenced to death. The witnesses who gathered to watch his execution no longer feared him and many in the crowd pronounced curses on his head. Something must have acted upon these curses and punished Valac by turning his soul into a vestige.
Special Requirement: Valac is just as distrustful of strangers as he was when he was alive; he will not appear to the binder if any living creatures other than the binder are within 30 feet of his seal.
Manifestation: A pile of dead human bodies appears over Valac’s seal and fills the air with the stench of death. Among the corpses are a few severed heads. One of the heads opens its eyes to look at the binder. Then the head rises above the pile on a giant serpentine neck and looks all about the area. A second identical head follows a moment later and addresses the binder. Valac asks the binder who he is and who his enemies are. He also asks questions of the binder’s allies and often implies that there could be reason to distrust them. Throughout the pact-making process the second never ceases scanning the area.
Sign: An intricately detailed tattoo appears on the inside of the binder’s left forearm; it depicts a young man wearing an ornate military uniform riding on a two-headed dragon. The slogan “Death to Traitors” is written in a foreign language. This is the mark that Valac and his men all wore to identify them as members of the dreaded secret police. A DC 20 Knowledge (History) will reveal this to an onlooker as well as what the writing says.
Influence: Valac’s sadistic nature will force the binder to take any opportunity to mistreat or even torture helpless captives.
Granted Abilities: Valac grants a binder the ability to force the truth from his enemies.
Reveal Serpents: Valac gives binders the ability to detect shape-changers by sight. This functions like the spell Discern Shape-changer but it also gives the binder a +4 bonus on Spot/Perception checks to oppose anyone using the Disguise skill or illusionary magic. If the subject is under a spell like Shapechange or Alter Self the binder is at risk of being overcome by the spell's aura just as if he had cast Detect Magic on the subject.
If the binder scores a critical hit against a shape-changed being the victim must make a Fortitude save or immediately be forced into its natural shape and stunned for one round. The DC for this save is 10 + 1/2 the binder’s effective level + the binder’s Charisma modifier. If the victim was under the effect of a spell that changed its shape that spell is cancelled when the being is forced back to its natural shape.
True Answers: The binder is able to force a creature to answer questions truthfully by virtue of his steely gaze. The question must be a "yes” or “no" question that is asked in a language that the subject understands. If the target fails a Will save he immediately and truthfully answers either "yes" or "no". If the subject succeeds he can choose to lie or not to answer. This power is a gaze attack with a range of 25 feet plus 5 feet per effective binder level and can be used once every five rounds. The DC for this power increases by one each time the subject fails a save. Each time the subject succeeds on his saving throw the DC decreases by one for subsequent questions. After one day the DC resets to its normal number.
Torturer: Pain was one of Valac’s most effective tools for interrogating prisoners. Valac grants the psionic power Inflict Pain which functions as if used by psion of the binder’s effective level. At 4th level the binder can use Multiply Pain. The binder must wait five rounds after this power ends before using it again. The binder must show Valac’s sign to use this power.
Multiply Pain
Telepathy (Cha) [Mind-Affecting]
Level: Psion 2
Display: Me
Manifestation Time: 1 action
Range: Medium (100 ft. + 10 ft./level)
Target: One living creature
Duration: 1 minute/level
Saving Throw: Will negates
Power Resistance: Yes
Power Points: 3
This power causes the subject to believe that any wounds it suffers while this power is in effect are worse than they actually are. This belief so strong that the sheer mental stress causes the subject to suffer physically, taking an additional 1d6 points of subdual damage for each attack that causes damage. The maximum dice of subdual damage a subject may take in a round cannot exceed 1/2 your manifester level.
Interlude continues:
Kinnia Hachoum was one of the least likely people that I expected to meet in the library of the Turandok Academy. We had known each other only in passing and that had been years ago. She was a striking woman with amber eyes and dark brown hair gathered into a single silver ring at her neck. These features had served her well as a courtesan at the Pixie’s Kitten. Rumor was that she was a favored companion of the better clientele. In recent years she had established herself as a salt merchant with half a dozen servants and a profitable business. Her sharp mind obviously served as well as her looks had done.
“Inikai!” she said as she stood from her chair. “I heard of your fight with the goblins! I am so glad that you are alive. Someone told me that you were among the dead when I came back the village. “It embarrassed me a bit that she gushed forth so. Unconsciously, I stooped and lowered my head. When I realized this more embarrassment overcame me and I could only dispel it by standing normally and trying to change the subject.
“The tales you heard were exaggerations. My friends and I just happened to be standing in the square when the attack started. Because of that the crowds that had gathered there it made for more witnesses. The heaviest fighting actually took place where Raven Street and Festival Street come together. It seems that the goblins aimed to set the village to the torch rather than engage in fighting. The militia and residents fought them fiercely and under worse conditions that those of us nearer to the Cathedral. We had ample room to fight where the folk in the narrow roads were stymied by the close quarters. “
Kinnia cocked her head to one side and regarded me with a smile. It seemed sincere but I am certain that she practiced feigned expressions in her prior employment. “I am sure you understate your contribution. How like your father you are. He never heard a bit of praise that he could not refuse. “It struck me as odd that she would have any kind words for a man like my father. He had nothing but scorn for prostitutes, just as he had nothing but scorn for anything but the faith of Nethys. Then I remembered that Kinnia’s younger sister had nearly been murdered by Chopper. It was my father that had saved her life by using the power of Nethys to close her wounds. Even then he brushed off any praise. He seemed positively insulted when Kaye Tesarani came to our house and offered him free use of her establishment.
I still wanted to change the subject so I asked Kinnia what brought her to the library. “Oh, I am researching dinning customs of the palace in Korvosa” she said. “The master of the kitchen has bought salt from me in the past but now he has shown interest in larger supplies. It is to my advantage to know as much about how much salt they use for flavoring versus preserving. The more I know of a client the more able I am to do business with him.”
This sparked some worry in me for a reason that I could not identify. I was tempted to make use of Valac’s power to compel her to answer some innocuous question. That I would entertain such an idea surprised me. Was this Valac nudging me? I would have to be on my guard against both enemies that might be hidden in this village and against his presence in my mind.
Our conversation continued amiably despite my wariness. Kinnia had come to live with a suitor, a Korvosan named Mirdim. Mirdim arranges trade caravans between Korvosa, Magnimar and the outlying towns like Sandpoint. He is an associate of the Scaretti family and maintains an office at the Consortium. I suspected that this man might be the source of Kinnia’s ability to expand her business. It was likely that she learned a great deal about business from her clients when she worked at the ‘Kitten. I could see that she noted my reserve but pretended that she was not put off. More than anything, I wished to tell her that I held nothing against her late profession. After all, I am a soul-whore I reminded myself.
Much of our talk covered friendly banalities. I tried to learn more about her business and that of Mirdim. It seemed odd to me that caravans would come into the village so soon after the attack. I had not heard that any where expected. Would it not have been safer to withdraw back to the safety of another village before coming here? Of course, they might not have learned of the attack in time to retreat. Or they might have been closer to Sandpoint than to any other town. Staying on the open road could have proved the most dangerous decision. But the feeling that something was amiss remained with me. And again, this made me wonder if this was Valac at the edge of my thoughts.
“Are you here to scribe again?” Kinnia asked me. “There must be gold in your purse now from grateful citizens. I am surprised that a patron has not taken you into his good offices by now.”
“No, I just want to look up information about the goblins. It could prove useful.”
The fact was that I hoped to learn the translation of the writing beneath Valac’s sign. It was unlikely that anywhere else in the village would have information that I could use. But I wanted to be alone for my work. Sadly, I do not have the social aptitude to escape from a conversation gracefully. I found myself wishing that I had Romon’s wit.
“There are some grieving folk who might wish me to write letters to inform distant family of their losses. I may well meet with them later today. Perhaps you could carry some of their letters to Korvosa on your caravan. It would mean so much to them.” It was a lie that anyone had approached me to write such letters but, no doubt, I could easily find someone who would need one. The subjects of death and grief had their desired effect on Kinnia; she appeared distinctly uncomfortable.
“Of course” she said with the typical insincerity one finds in conversations about death. “I would be happy to assist. I am sure that Mirdim would carry these letters without any thought of compensation.” Now she was looking down at the table where the book she had been reading was resting. “Hmm, I should speak with him about this. He is probably just playing cards right now at his office. Surely I can interrupt a silly game.” Her play acting faltered the more she spoke. “I will go now and tell him about this. I was good to see you again, Inikai.”She hugged me again and left.
Our conversation left me with many questions about Kinnia’s business and these caravans. This man, Mirdim, also interested me. I wanted to know more about him and about his business but that would have to wait. Instead I spent the afternoon looking for anything related to the writing under Valac’s seal but, to my frustration, there was nothing.
Ilsoari met me as I left the Academy. “Ah, Inikai”, he said as he took me by my right arm and urged me to follow him. “Have lunch with me, I’m headed over to the Hagfish”, he said with a smile. “We can have a game of checkers.”
When Ilsoari said “a game of checkers” it really meant at least half a dozen games. But, it would give us a chance to confer about recent events and the mood of the town. We sat at a table on outside the roof, nearly on the docks. We endured the heat of the day without shade but this afforded us more privacy since most of the patrons preferred to sit inside. The noise of sailors and dock-hands working also drowned out our conversation.
“I met Kinnia at the Academy today. She was doing research on Korvosa for her business.”
Ilsoari looked up from the board. “She sells sea-salt, dosen’t she?” he asked. “Wasn’t she one of the girls at the ‘Kitten for a while? Why do you bring it up?”
“Yes, she was at the ‘Kitten and now she works for herself. “I told him of her lover and his connection to the Scarettis. He said that many people have connections in business. Ilsoari said he knew little of the man and listened attentively as I spoke.
“I thought it odd that a caravan would come in so soon after the attack. It raises questions about the goblins and how they came so close to us without being detected.”
“I thought the tunnels explained that”, he said. “But, in any event, no caravans have come in recently. Mirdim came in on a boat, not by caravan. I can’t remember the name of it or what it was hauling. Did Kinnia say that she came in by way of caravan?”
“No. I just assumed when she told me about her man.”
“You need to listen better and learn to ask questions more adroitly”, he said. “What else is troubling you? It is plain that you have something on your mind.”
“Something in my mind”, I thought to myself. “I feel as though I can’t trust anyone here. I suspect treachery from everyone. Someone in the village must have aided the enemy, someone other than just Tsuto.”
“If you suspect everyone then it alienates you. You will not be able to focus on anyone that truly deserves scrutiny. And you will alienate yourself from potential allies. Remember, we need as much help as we can get.”
“I know”, was all that I could say.
“What’s wrong with your arm? I see you have it bandaged.”
“I just sprained it. The wrapping just makes it feel at bit better.” It surprised me how easily this lie came to me. I felt guilty for lying to Ilsoari and for having done it so well.
“Kinnia would have nothing to gain from siding with the goblins. She can’t sell salt if she can’t get to the beach, can she? And her fellow would not want to destroy a trading post, either. I think they are unlikely villains. No, I would look elsewhere for any traitors in our midst.”
The word “traitors” resonated with me. Throughout the course of our conversation and the games of checkers I could not stop thinking that word over and over. Ilsoari must have noted my distraction but he said nothing about it.
When we had finished Ilsoari took his leave and I walked along Gull Street and stopped in front of the Ameliko family’s glassworks. A man stood guard at the front door. Some strangers loitered near the boarded windows. From the looks of them they were sailors. One of them approached the guard and from their gestures and expressions I guessed that he told them of what had transpired inside. I positioned myself around the corner of a building on Sand Street so that I could watch them without being observed.
It struck me as inadequate that only one man stood guard there. These five men could easily have overcome him, I am sure. One of the sailors turned and saw me looking at them. He turned to his companions and said something then pointed in my direction.
“Are you looking at me? Do you think I am pretty?” he said to a laughing response from his fellows. He puffed out his chest and held his arms in fists at his sides. A crowd of locals began to gather and this spurred the man on. “Didn’t your daddy teach you about what girls and boys do with each other? Because you must be confused about it if you are looking at me like that.”
His insult raised my ire and I approached him quickly with obvious hostility. Once again, the mention of my father inspired me with anger. The sailor took two steps back and said in mock fear “Oh no, I made him mad!” His accent was unfamiliar to me and he looked at to have seen many fights by the marks on his face and hands.
I drew near enough to strike him when one of his companions shoved me from the side. “Get off!” I yelled and pushed back. But then another shoved me and then they formed a ring about me. The guard at the door drew his spear and threatened them and they threw their hands up and retreated. But they sported insulting grins and made sport of the situation.
“We were only playing!” one cried in false indignation. The instigator then threw his arm around my neck and said “Look we are boon companions, me and him.”
I thrust my left palm under his jaw before he could say anything more. It was a stiff blow but not sufficient to do more than shove him away. Yet he dropped as if I had stabbed him and he let loose a scream of pain that froze me in place. His friends were likewise stilled. Quickly I recovered my wits and jumped behind the man as he gained his feet. I grabbed him around the throat with my left arm and squeezed with my right. He struggled frantically but I had gained too strong of a grip. Within the space of a few breaths I felt him go slack and let him fall to the ground.
His fellows rushed at me in a body but the guard jabbed one from behind and that one turned to face his attacker. Blood showed through the back of the man’s shirt. This caused the others to pause and I seized the opportunity. I called on Valac’s power and struck the nearest sailor with my open hand. Again there was a scream as if the man had been cut open. He staggered back away from me and the others stepped back as well.
Rather than let them initiate again I pressed my advantage. Once more I called upon Valac’s power to inflict pain and this time I brought it to bear on the wounded sailor. He cried out as if he had been stabbed a second time and fell to the ground. His fellows drew back but for one who went to aid the wounded man. The other three regarded me with fearful gazes and I met the eyes of each one. When I looked into the eyes of the last one I demanded of him, as Valac had demanded of me, “Do you fear me?”
“Yes!” he said with a frightened voice.
“Do you wish to flee with your life?”
“Yes” he said, this time with a whimpering quality. Apparently Valac’s power is cumulative and grows harder to resist with each question.
“Take your friend and get back to your ship. “
The four men lifted their fellow from the ground and made off with him as quickly as they could. I felt the sense of satisfaction that a young man feels when he has bested a foe. This lasted until I saw the faces of the people standing in the street.
How stupid of me! I had displayed my power in the open. The guard knew me from the militia and surely would tell the other members what he saw. And the others in the street would also spread word of what had taken place. How could I explain this? I have placed myself in peril with my rashness. If only I had practiced forbearance!
Ilsoari would want to know the source of my power. And that is assuming he does not guess. How well did he know my father? Would he know what writings my father collected here in Sandpoint? If so he would have little difficulty deducing the nature of my craft. It is possible that he would not expose me. But could I take that risk? No, I had better see to it that I have a plan of escape.
No doubt Zantus would see me in chains and sent for judgment in an ecclesiastical court in Magnimar or Korvosa. The former would be worse. To be dragged back to my native city and tried as a witch would be a shame I could not endure. If my mother still lives it would cast a pall on her and any other family she may now have. Her own family would likely ostracize her as would the Shoanti people in that region. This thought added to my horror at being returned to Magnimar.
I made for my home without delay. When I arrived at the gate in the wall outside the house I stopped. In a manner that is uncharacteristic of me I examined the wall. It is a low wall, only three feet high, used to delineate the limits of the property. It would make a poor hiding place for an enemy lying in wait. But I could not help but look over the wall for potential attackers before I opened the gate. Even if the sailors had decided to seek revenge they would not know where I live.
As I stood in front of my door it occurred to me that the fight that had just taken place might not have been a random event. It could well have been an attempt on my life. In that case the sailors might know of my home. With this in mind I decided to walk around the house and search for any sign of threats.
There was nothing to indicate danger. I stood near my well and considered the chance that poison could have been dropped into it. Such fear! These were not my own thoughts. Valac’s obsession with enemies was seeping into my consciousness. These were his habits that I was adopting. I decided that I would not yield the freedom of my thoughts to him. Instead, I would wield his powers as I wished and not when he prodded me to do so.
Even with my resolve to resist Valac’s influence I had to admit that his outlook had some merit. With that in mind I filled a bucket with water from my well and poured it out into a smooth depression in the top of the wall. Birds often drink rainwater from this spot. Then I gathered some seeds from a compost pile and spread them around wall near the water. I sat at the back door to the house and waited until a few birds drank this water. For over an hour I watched for any sign of distress in the birds but there was none. If nothing else, I thought, I could still drink from my well.
There were no assassins lurking in my house. Nor had anything been stolen while I was gone. I poured a cup of wine and sat in my comfortable chair. Then I closed my eyes and spoke to someone who was not there. “Valac, I know that you can hear me. I know that you rest just beside my thoughts. I can feel you at the edges of my vision. What are you doing?”
The reply was clear to me even though it never sounded in my ears. “You made it quite clear that I am to do nothing but watch. Though, I do confess that I did enjoy tasting fish again. It has been so long. I do hope you will visit the Hagfish again. And I should mention to you that you play checkers poorly.”
“I asked what you are doing. Don’t venture off on irrelevant tangents. What aim do you seek to fulfill.”
“First of all, you need to learn to think strategically. You react to situations instead of planning for them. I pointed out your weakness at checkers as an example. It would be to our mutual benefit for you to learn to think ahead. If you are killed I gain nothing. Remember that.”
“Answer my question. What are you doing? You spurred me to face those ruffians near the glassworks. And you urged my hand to visit pain upon them.”
“Again, no, you defended yourself as you should have. You had considered testing my powers earlier and this just gave you an opportunity to do so. I have great experience in judging what drives a man. You are a young man still driven by the fires of youth. When something confronts you your reaction is immediate instead of considered. This returns us my point that you do not understand strategy. A cunning enemy would have every advantage over you. You would do well to learn from my experience. “
The thought of learning from the tutelage of such a vile man disgusted me but I could not argue against his points. Though he had been a prolific murderer in life Valac did possess great experience in discovering enemies. It made for a long and distasteful night but I did profit from Valac’s counsel. When my bond with Valac expired I went to the well again because I needed to cleanse myself. This was more than a physical need to be clean it was a fervent desire to wash the stain from my soul. Even though the tattoo on my arm was no longer there I scoured the spot where it had been. The well water might not have been poisoned but I was certain that I had been.
"May your boldness and ambition afford you the position in Hell that you did not live long enough to secure in the living world." Marak pronounced these words over the grave of Nathaniel Morai-Thrune an Asmodean Sorcerer of Cheliax whom died horribly in Thistletop. Marak rendered the ceremony briefly but with solemnity. A few awkward pauses and changes in tone made it clear that he was not fully familiar with the burial rites for a worshipper of Asmodeus. Nonetheless, the funeral was respectful and those in attendance later remarked favorable upon his efforts to see the dead man’s soul off properly. Father Tobyn seemed greatly impressed and after the conclusion of the rites he thanked Marak and the two talked for some moments before the older priest took his leave.
When the subject of laying Nathaniel to rest was proposed Muchorak objected on the grounds that the dead man had been a worshipper of Asmodeus and a member of the Chelexian imperial house of Thrune. Muchorak is a proud Shoanti who bristles at the domination of his ancestral lands by the Chelexian Empire. He would just have readily left the corpse for scavengers. I was able to persuade him of the wisdom in a proper burial by appealing to his pragmatism. Were we to let him remain where he died the body might come under evil forces”, I said. “We might well face him again as a host to malignant spirits. Besides, he did fight at our side, if only for his own purpose.” That I share the Shoanti heritage and language with Muchorak certainly helped to ease his opposition. In the end he simply chose not to interfere with the burial and watched from a short distance as Nathaniel was interred. To him, Nathaniel was almost on par with the enemies we had faced in Thistletop.
Muchorak took his leave as quickly as he could without causing insult to Marak and Ali accompanied him. Throughout the service the gnome maiden displayed an almost childlike curiousity. At times I thought she would interrupt the eulogy with questions but she displayed forbearance. No doubt she would now question Muchorak at length about the human custom of interring the dead. And there is no doubt that his answers will be free of deference to the traditions of those men who settle in cities.
Romon had disappeared before I had an opportunity to speak with him. In fact, he had been inconspicuous throughout the service. I suspect he made have taken his leave while the rest of us were distracted by Marak’s oration. I expect to see him lounging in a tavern, regaling a crowd with tales of our exploits while drinks are bought for him. Romon bore no love for the dead Nathaniel and will most likely minimize the efforts of the later in his tales. In truth, I am anxious to hear Romon’s tales for they never disappoint.
The gravedigger had started to shovel the dirt atop Nathaniel when I made my way to the center of town. The body had been wrapped with cloth that was tied with a knotted rope. According to Marak, this is symbolic of the chain of order that rules the faithful of Asmodeus. The young priest of Nethys had betrayed signs of distaste at preparing the body in this way. Later I learned that unholy water was to have been sprinkled on the ground once the grave had been filled in. Marak neglected this out of an opposition to handling such a substance. I could have secured the water and poured it out once Marak had left, but the opportunity had passed and I had no desire to bring attention to this missing detail of the funeral.
Some townsfolk loitered in the distance and kept a distance as I made my way. Even before the grave had been dug they had learned that a noble of the Chelexian Empire was to be laid to rest in their midst. The fact that we would bury such a dubious foreigner in their midst seemed set the people of Sandpoint against us. The gravedigger would take every opportunity to tell listeners that he had been paid greatly for the indignity of toiling for one such as Nathaniel. “And still” he would say “it was more the threatening way of those outsiders than their coin that decided things for me.” In truth, we had compensated him greatly for his work. I had no doubt that this work might be held against him but I had not expected that he would be among its bitterest critics. He would have many sympathetic listeners as we would later learn.